The Emperor's Concubine

Chapter One-2

Evidently the man had required proof of my virginity, and had been satisfied. He nodded to the slave-master and I was instantly withdrawn from the auction and take back inside. In a moment I had been tied hand and foot, carried outside to the back and thrown over the saddle of a white horse. A man got up behind me, the back door was thrown open and out we galloped into the street. Half an hour’s ride took us to the outskirts of the city, where we approached a large country house. We clattered into the courtyard, where I was pulled off the horse and carried inside, to a small room in which the one window was barred. There was little furniture apart from a small wooden bed, a chair and a table. The man who had brought me here threw me onto the bed, still bound at wrists and ankles, and left me there, locking the door after him.

I lay in silence for what seemed like hours. At last a man came into the room, a man I had not seen before. He picked me up and arranged me on the bed, lying on my stomach, my bottom lifted so that I was in a kind of kneeling position. Then, without warning, he began to beat me with a leather strap. I cried out and tried to wriggle free, but bound as I was it was difficult to avoid the blows. After ten minutes of this, the man abruptly left. I lay there, wondering why I had been beaten. Was it to teach me some kind of lesson? To remind me forcibly of my status? Or merely to satisfy the whim of the man who had done it?

Sometime later a woman came in, an older woman. I could tell by her appearance she was a slave too. She untied me and led me to the back of the house, into the kitchen. Two girls were working there, one scrubbing pots and pans, the other chopping vegetables. The woman, whom I later learned was called Drusilla, set me to chopping up wood for the cooking fire. While I was busy a couple of male slaves came in. I was still dressed only in the revealing tunic I had been given to wear at the auction. I could see how they looked at me. Even though I felt grubby and unkempt, it did my ego a bit of good to know that I could still attract men. I had no idea of whether male slaves were allowed to have the use of slave-girls. I later discovered that most slave-owners did not care much about what their slaves were doing when they were not required. If they f****d in the very small amount of free time they were allowed, the owners were largely oblivious. However, even had I known that I would have kept my distance from the men. I still valued my virginity. I had thought carefully about my role as a slave and how I could make the best of it. I had nothing to offer except my body, and for the time being it was intact. So I would use that to my best advantage and not throw it away on a fellow slave who could do me no favours.

I worked hard in the kitchen until nightfall. Then I and the other girls were given some food. It was not such as the owners were eating, no carefully prepared meats and vegetables in a tasty sauce or fresh fruits, simply some stew and some bread. But the quantity was ample. I was taken to a small room, where there were two straw mattresses on the floor. One of them was mine, the other that of one of my fellow workers called Niobe. Later I learned she was Greek, though she spoke good Latin. Over the next few days I learned a lot from her, both the language and the rules and customs of the household.

In the middle of the night I awoke and found that Niobe was not there. I lay awake for a while and she returned. I did not ask her where she had been, but it seemed likely she had visited one of the male slaves. Or perhaps the master himself?

We rose at dawn and commenced work. In the middle of the morning a man came into the kitchen. I recognised him as the one who had beaten me, though I was still in the dark about his motive. Though evidently a slave himself, he seemed to have some supervisory position, judging from the way he spoke to Drusilla. He looked at me often, his eyes lustful, running over my body. He was a good-looking man, but I had no desire to go with him. I feared no good would come of it.

Later in the afternoon Drusilla took me into the master’s quarters, into his private room, which even his wife was not encouraged to enter. A man entered, the man who had picked me out at the slave market. I had learned that his name was Cassius. I bowed to him, which I thought the right thing to do. By now I had picked up more than a few words of Latin. It’s quite an easy language to learn; the sounds required are not difficult to articulate, and the syntax is for the most part straightforward and logical, unlike my own language, which foreigners always struggle to master. It turned out that Cassius knew a little of my tongue, having served in the army of occupation in my country (and there, it appeared, developed a taste for girls like me: tall, dark-haired, well built). He took a seat and motioned to me to stand in front of him. I was still clad in the now rather ragged tunic in which I had arrived. He made me turn round, then spoke to me. I gathered what he said was that I was greatly to his liking. He favoured my thick, glossy black hair, my brown eyes, my full red lips. He liked that I was tall, that my limbs were straight and that from appearance I had firm breasts and a neat, high ass. At that point he made a gesture for me to take my clothes off. I let my torn, shabby and skimpy tunic fall to the floor and stood naked before him. His eyes roamed up and down my body. I wanted him to like what he saw, because I knew that I was wholly in his power and that in the situation I found myself in my face and my body were my fortune. I had nothing else to offer.

He stood up and came near. He touched my breasts, squeezing them gently and then pinching the n*****s so that they became erect. He ran his hand over my belly, evidently liking its flatness, then he slid a hand between my legs. When he had touched me at the slave market it was in a more practical manner, to ascertain the nature of the goods he intended to purchase. Now, his touch was more intimate, stroking my labia gently, pulling them a little apart to find my clit. I trembled when his finger found it and he smiled. He ran his fingers through my bush, which was luxuriant, a thick mass of black curls.

“This will have to be dealt with,” he said. “In Rome all girls are coiffed.”

He turned me round and made me bend over to touch my feet. He pulled apart my buttocks, then put a finger to my anus, touching it but not attempting to penetrate. Then he raised me up and turned me back to him. He was smiling slightly, as if the inspection of my body had pleased him. He pushed me down onto my knees and lifted his toga to reveal his c**k, swollen if not fully erect. I stared at it, wondering if I should take the initiative, but he seemed to prefer to be in charge.

“Open your mouth,” he said. I did so and he pulled back his foreskin and brought the tip of his c**k to my lips. I pursed my mouth, kissing the c**k, and then took hold of the shaft and bent forward, pushing the head of his c**k between my lips, held firm so that he might enjoy the pressure. I was gratified to hear a sigh of pleasure. I began to suck on the head, holding it steady by setting my teeth just under the rim, gripping but not biting. He sighed again. While the head remained firmly at the front of my mouth, I moved my tongue against it, running the tip over the little hole at the top, attempting to force an entrance, though of course this was not possible. Then, very slowly, I slid his c**k all the way into my mouth, to the back of my throat. I had spent many hours with men perfecting my technique, so that I could take the whole of a man’s shaft all the way in, the head lodging in my throat without my choking, though of course I had to hold my breath. This practice is known as deep-throating, for indeed unless the c**k is very small it does go in deep, as far as the throat. Men invariably find this act highly pleasurable.

When I took him into my mouth I was trying to discover what style of fellatio he favoured. I have found that men divide generally into two classes. Some prefer a hard and vigorous performance; indeed, many like to treat the mouth as a v****a and f**k it hard, even “raping” it for maximum pleasure. They will ram their c***s right to the back of a girl’s throat, grasping her hair, twisting and pulling on it, sometimes slapping her face. I don’t find this kind of violence disturbing; in fact I rather enjoy it. And I like it when he comes, when his desire for me overwhelms him and the semen spurts forth, either filling my mouth, and if he comes heavily, over-spilling and running down my chin, or else erupting onto my face, my cheeks, my brow, my nose, even my eyes, though it is as well not to let too much get into your eyes, because some men’s semen can sting you there.

But this was not the way of Cassius. He did not wish to force his c**k down my throat. Instead, like many men, he preferred a more sensual experience. Such men like to have their c***s licked and kissed and played with, sucked and nibbled and squeezed. They like to be coaxed to orgasm, even teased if you know them well enough. Instead of the semen spurting out violently, they like it to be drawn forth slowly, eking out the pleasure. Of course there are many men who like both kinds of experience; it depends on their mood which one they prefer at any one time. But it seemed from his responses that Cassius wanted me to take my time, to caress the semen from him, and this I did after perhaps half an hour of carefully and slowly building up to the moment.

He came in my mouth gently, the semen bubbling forth like a spring. There was enough of it to fill my mouth and I held it there, then I smiled to show I had enjoyed it and opened my mouth to show him I still held his seed there. He stroked my cheek and then made a gesture for me to swallow, which I did. I cleaned up his c**k with my tongue and then remained kneeling, awaiting any further instructions.

There were none. Cassius waved his hand, dismissing me. I thought I had done a good job and that he had liked it, but it seemed he was not a man for post-orgasmic kisses and cuddle. Perhaps, I thought, a master would never do such a thing with his slave. Once the service has been provided, he has no further need of her.