roman_orgy

Archive-name: roman_orgy

Subject: SP fiction: ROMAN ORGY

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

(see info at end of extract)

The slim fingers of the Egyptian slave girl trembled lightly
as she guided the penis of her master, Lucius Crispus, into the
bronze urn. She pulled back the skin to make it easier for him.
She wanted to look away but she didn't for fear she would make a
mistake which might cost her a lashing.
Senator Crispus, whose banquet it was, lay drunkenly on his
side on the couch and relieved himself noisily into the urn. His
hand wavered up and fondled the buttocks of the girl as she bent
over her task. The long stola which she wore to indicate she was
not just any slave, but the slave of Lucius Crispus, did nothing
to hide the sleek bulges of her flesh from his caressing fingers.
His long, white member thickened slightly in her hand, but then
she had drawn the urn away and was gliding quietly away herself.
Lucius Crispus turned his attention wistfully towards his guests.
They numbered a good thirty including the few women which his
wife Clodia had insisted on inviting for company. Looking around
at them where they chatted animatedly on their couches, stuffing
themselves with his best wine, Crispus could not repress a smirk
of satisfaction. They were drawn from some of the oldest and best
patrician families of Rome and they had all come to the fine
house of their fellow senator, he who had started life as a
small, ambitious farmer, he who could still hardly believe that
he was hob-nobbing socially with the descendants of the
aristocrats who had ruled Rome since its earliest days.
It was true that some he had hoped might come had sent their
apologies or had simply not turned up. Before the wine had
mellowed him, Crispus had suffered agonies at the thought that
they might still not consider him to be of the proper clay. But
now he didn't give a damn. His guests had enjoyed themselves, he
knew. And why not? His wine was of the very best. His slaves,
male and female, of the most comely. On the tables from which the
guests took their fill were panniers of olives, dormice rolled in
honey, a ram's head, crab, lobster, wild pig, truffles, succulent
mushrooms, a goose -- no table in Rome could have looked better.
And as a special treat a boiled calf had been brought in,
followed by a slave in hunting clothes.
Crispus peered hazily through the welter of sprawling bodies
and what seemed like a solid din of voices until he could make
out his wife chatting, calmly, with a group of people on the far
side of the heavily draped room.
Clodia was one of the most beautiful women in Rome. Her
reputation, unlike that of so many of her time, remained
unsullied. Crispus knew he had her to thank for his rise in the
world. But then, although her wealth had introduced him to new
worlds, it was true that it was his good looks and clever, smooth
tongue which had ensnared her. He could feel no gratitude towards
her. In fact now that the settlement was made on him, she could
have gone, as far as his emotions were concerned. It was simply
that his position and vanity demanded the retention of a
beautiful and virtuous woman by his side. He had to admit he'd
found her very cold of late.
"Well, Lucius, at the risk of being indiscreet, I say here
and now that I've never known a better feast."
Crispus felt his heart warming, his face flushing with
pleasure. This was the sort of confirmation he loved to hear. He
twisted awkwardly towards the speaker, who was sitting behind him
on the same couch. He had quite forgotten the presence of Tullius
Canus.
"Could have been better, could have been better," he said
with hypocritical modesty.
"Well, of course, we've yet to see the dancing girls -- but
if there were a better feast I'd like to be there."
"Ah-ha. You liked the dinner? Wait until you see these
dancing girls. They're real, full-blooded barbarians from the
province of Spain."
Tullius Canus raised his eyebrows, eyes gleaming with
voluptuous anticipation. He reached out a pudgy hand and whisked
a few olives from the nearest table.
"Nothing better than a bit of barbarian flesh," he wheezed
with a wink at his nearest companions.
Crispus took another long draught of wine from a silver
goblet; a long, satisfied draught. Tullius Canus, one of the most
powerful and influential orators in the Senate, was notorious for
his attendance at many of the orgiastic banquets of the city. His
appetite was well-known. If he was pleased then there was good
reason for the host to be pleased.
Crispus, clapped his hands and several more huge vats of
wine from the hills of Alba were brought in by his slaves.
Goblets were filled and refilled throughout the room.
"Now for the barbarians," Crispus whispered to Tullius
Canus.
When he clapped his hands a second time most of his guests
were too drunk, or too steeped in argument, to pay any attention.
The noise of voices and laughter droned on, along with the noise
of clinking goblets and the clatter of dishes. But when the
Spanish maidens danced into the room, there was an immediate
hush. They were completely nude.
The fame of the dancers from Spain had spread to Rome, but
few had been seen up to now. It was joked that they so excited
the governors of the Spanish provinces that they could not let
even one out of their sight.
Crispus had indeed had to pull strings to obtain the two
specimens now moving under the flushed eyes of the company. And
he'd had to pay a stiff price as well.
The two girls weaved sensuous patterns in the central space
before the couches and tables. Their long black hair swished
around their shoulders and the little ebony castanets with which
they clacked out a fast rhythm seemed to add a mysterious lustre
to their taut, brown skins.
Watching them, Crispus unconsciously passed his tongue over
his lips. Behind him he heard Tullius Canus shift his bulk,
wheezing, to get a better view.
The girls were slim, but their breasts were enormous. Their
pubic hair had been shaven and their strong, slim thighs ran
straight into the soft brown flesh of their bodies.
"Did you ever see such breasts?" Tullius Canus' voice was
soft, almost awed in Crispus' ear. "I've seen a few on my
campaigns. I remember the woman I raped in Gaul on Caesar's last
expedition. She was a wild one, and we]l made too. But these..."
Words failed him and his eyes bulged.
Crispus forced his hot eyes from the supple movements of his
dancers for a moment to steal a swift glance around the room.
Everywhere eyes were riveted on the extraordinary proportions of
the Spanish girls. His gaze swept back to them with renewed
satisfaction. This was going to make him the talk of aristocratic
Rome. And the younger Cato was the only one who would disapprove.
The dancers kept time with each other, clacking their
castanets above their heads in gestures which raised their
breasts upward, then sweeping their arms down in a windmill
action to a level with their hips. Their feet pattered on the
marble floor which Crispus had had specially laid for the further
glory of his name.
"Beautiful... beautiful," Tullius breathed. And Crispus
clamped his thighs eagerly together under his toga on the couch.
The dances became more and more lascivious with each of the
girls weaving her hips from side to side, pushing out her breasts
with a backward movement of the arms towards the guests. Their
skins began to glisten with perspiration, giving a sensual
oiliness to their bodies. Their buttocks brushed the food tables
as they whirled, and the guests -- some of them laughing and
making lewd gestures, others deadly serious with hot, hard eyes
-- began to clap in time with the castanets.
Face shining with lust and triumph, Crispus leaned forward
on the couch. They were well worth the price, he told himself. It
was true he had wavered, even though it was Clodia's money -- but
now he knew they were well worth the price.
Big, bulbous breasts swaying from side to side, seeming
about to swing away from contact with their bodies, the girls
bent slowly at the knees until they were half squatting, buttocks
a couple of feet from the floor. In that position they began a
last wild convulsive dance in which their hips seemed to undulate
apart from them, describing incredible circles in the air. With
every fifth circling they would plunge their rumps down to within
a few inches of the cold marble as if running themselves onto a
phallus. Every man in the room wished he could have been lying
there on the cool marble beneath those plunging thighs to skewer
up inside the warm, soft depths of the brown bodies with each
descent they made to the floor.
Breathing was heavy in all parts of the room, faces flushed
with wine and desire, bodies moving, shuffling uneasily on the
luxurious couches.
Clodia must hate this use being made of her wealth, Crispus
thought with a chuckle, and involuntarily he raised his eyes to
where Clodia reclined on one of the far couches. He was surprised
to see she was not looking at the dancers at all. Her glance was
directed at the darker extremities of the room. There was a
curious expression on her face that he could not fathom. He tried
to follow her gaze, but all he could see were guests with slaves
waiting on them. Nobody was looking at Clodia.
The Spanish maidens were now making a last tour of the room,
hips weaving a sinuous pattern in the hot air. Their castanets
had fallen from their fingers and now dangled from their wrists
on slender gold chains. Their hands clasped the underside of
their breasts and offered the full globes with their lush, ripe
nipples to the choking aristocrats of Rome. Their hips thrust
forward suggestively, thighs wide apart and offering. A single
movement would have taken any man they passed right between those
lovely legs which promised such delight. But no man moved to
break the voluptuous spell which had been cast.
When the girls disappeared, with a final backside quiver at
the eyes which followed them right to one of the entrances to the
room, there was a momentary hush. All eyes turned to Crispus, and
suddenly the room echoed with clapping and wild applause.
"Bravo, bravo," Tullius Canus chuckled behind Crispus. "That
little spectacle alone is worth any man's place in the Senate."
"I should bring them back for another dance?" Crispus
suggested, his bloodshot eyes warm with delight.
"Ah -- no." Tullius lowered his voice. "That would be a
mistake. Don't overdo it. Bring them out every time you have a
dinner and your name will go down through the centuries and be
remembered even longer than Sulla's. By Jupiter, I can see you
ruling political decisions of the Senate with your offers to show
the beauty of Spanish flesh." Tullius broke into a roar of deep,
contagious laughter which soon had one side of the room rocking.
Taking cover of the din, he bent towards Crispus and whispered:
"Give me but one of your beauties tonight and I'll boost
your name as the finest host in Imperial Rome -- and give my
allegiance in the Senate into the bargain."
"Done!" Crispus whispered back.
The two men sat grinning at each other for a few seconds
until Crispus became aware of the hot tension at his loins.
"Excuse me," he said, and looked around for the Egyptian
slave girl.
She was standing with averted eyes close to one of the
doors. She took badly to slavery. It was said she had been
snatched from the Egyptian court, a girl of noble blood.
Crispus clapped his hands, and through the resumed babble of
voices and laughter the girl turned her face toward her new
master and slid quietly through the couches with the urn clasped
in her hand.
"This is a beauty of a different sort," Tullius said behind
him. "A timid deer. What is she like with a man between her
legs?"
"I had cause to give her a lashing soon after her arrival
and she squirmed nicely," Crispus replied. "But as to how she
wriggles with a staff in her body I couldn't say."
"What!" Tullius' voice was a bellow, which a he controlled
with difficulty. "You mean to say you've not yet given her the
pleasure of a Roman rod in her cranny -- an aristocrat's at
that?"
Crispus felt his heart beat in gratitude at his alignment
with the aristocracy.
The slave girl reached him and fumbled under his toga,
pulling it awry to find him. Yes, it had been an oversight, he
admitted to himself. But even now there was something which made
him wary of raping his slaves -- but perhaps it was the noble
blood in the girl. And then he scorned the idea. Was he not
himself accepted as nobility? Had Tullius not just referred to
him as such?
The girl's fingers had found the thick tower of flesh and
were delicately performing their unaccustomed task of pulling it
into view. It was stiff as a Roman sword.
Trembling, the girl held the great erection over the urn.
She had vivid, painful memories of the similar weapons with which
she had been violated by two Roman centurions, one after the
other. She wanted to run away, but her back still smarted from
the whipping she'd received for refusing to perform this function
a few days ago. She was very frightened.
The hot flesh moved in her hand, seeming to expand. She held
up the urn a little while Crispus and the great pig-like man
behind him talked in a language she didn't understand and roved
hot drunken eyes over her. Crispus did not relieve himself and
she was forced to stand, bending over, holding his sweating organ
in her hand -- waiting.
"Difficult to see her under that stola," Tullius was saying.
"You should dress her in a tunic, Lucius."
Crispus was looking at the girl, at her huge dark eyes, her
small, slightly flattened nose, full, crimson lips and that long
dark hair which had been torn out from its neat bun by Roman
hands and now cascaded around her shoulders like that of the
Spanish dancers.
She was quite small. When she walked one could see the
slightly outlined mounds of her breasts under the loose-fitting
stola, one could see the lines of her thighs as she moved, and
now as she bent sideways before him, he could see where the cloth
indented slightly between her buttocks, billowing out on either
side, tracing the ovals of her rump. His flesh throbbed in her
hand.
"You like her? She's quite a beauty too, in her way," he
said over his shoulder.
"Well I know, by Jupiter, that I'd have been athwart her by
now," Tullius said, shuffling. "Why don't you strip her, Lucius,
and show us the quality of your latest slave."
As the slave girl felt Crispus' hands pulling at her stola,
she was tempted to resist. But she was completely in his power.
She had no recourse to justice. Her mind sank into bewildered
submission. Only recently, it was said, a slave had broken his
master's favorite vase and half the slave household had been
killed and beaten as a punishment.
All those around Crispus' couch drew closer as they saw the
slave girl's stola being pulled over her head. Her calves were
slim and shapely as they came into view, her thighs slim and
strong, and then her hips, with creases in the flesh following
the bones, dark hair lightly covering the jut of flesh above her
mound. Her buttocks were firm and oval, dimpled and seeming to
squirm away from the light which suddenly, rudely revealed them.
Forcing her to bend before him, hearing Tullius' approving
clucks and wheezing behind him, Crispus pulled the stola over her
head and flung it to the marble floor.
The girl tried to cover her breasts with her hands, but
Crispus knocked them away with a threatening gesture, and the
firm, pointed orbs swayed before the lustful eyes of the company.
"Jupiter, she is a sweet little beauty," Tullius hissed.
"She must have been at pains to hide that from you."
Crispus felt a little irked. He felt slightly foolish in the
eyes of his guests that he had not taken advantage of the sexual
splendors of his new slave before this.
Frightened and bewildered, the girl had risen to her feet
and taken Crispus' penis once more to direct it at the urn.
Crispus felt it pulsating at her touch. He wriggled slightly on
the couch and her hand slipped on the flesh. His face flamed and
his heart thumped loudly.
"If you don't ram her now instead of trying to piddle in
that pot, I shall beg leave to," Tullius said hoarsely.
Crispus became aware that the whole company was now
watching, amused and lustful. He could see Clodia, too, watching
him with expressionless eyes from among the women.
"Go on, have her, have her," Tullius urged, "and give a lead
to your guests. Hospitality demands that you show your guests the
way and then offer them like facilities."
"Go on Lucius -- and then pass her over." The cry was taken
up by all near the host.
Crispus was sweating with desire. After all, this sort of
thing was not uncommon in the very best houses. It should never
be said that he was lacking in one iota of hospitality.
He made an indication to the girl and she began to move her
hand gently up and down his staff.
Feeling terribly helpless in her nudity, the girl obeyed her
master's instructions, revolting though she found them. The
presence of dozens of pairs of eyes all ransacking her nakedness,
leering at her body and her actions, filled her with a further
undefined terror so that she tried to forget the room, the lewd
faces and just concentrate on the gentle massage of the horrible
organ in her hand.
She cringed with fright as she fe]t Crispus' large hand
stroke up her thigh and fondle her buttocks. The touch of his
flesh on hers was a physical shock which almost robbed her of
breath. His hand was holding her bottom, squeezing it, fingers
probing lecherously between her buttocks.
All around loud, coarse voices were talking, with eyes that
never left her body. Her knowledge of Latin was increasing with
each day that passed, but she recognized none of the words that
filled the hot air around her.
And now the fat, piggish man was moving off the couch and
Crispus was pulling her towards it to the lustful cheers of his
guests. She pulled back in sheer, blind terror, but he jerked her
savagely onto the couch beside him, muttering something
furiously, daring her with his bloodshot eyes to disobey him.
She lay on her back on the couch with a ring of faces
pressing around and glaring down on her and Crispus' hand
fumbling over her breasts which jutted helplessly toward the eyes
above. He was degrading her; he didn't care what he did in front
of all these men -- and women too. He sucked on her nipples so
that sharp pains shot down in her chest. He squeezed the plump
flesh of her bosom, tweaking it pressing it. She would rather
have been buried alive.
And now he forced her legs wide and his vile fingers exposed
her sex, revealing it to all the world that seemed to be
contained in the circ]e of obscene, salacious faces above her.
Crispus' hands ran trembling all over her body, roughly, as if he
wanted to tear her into pieces. His breath jerked as his fingers
squeezed the flesh of her belly and she could feel the stark, hot
mass of him on her thigh.
She felt lost in a horror from which no god could save her.
All these bawdy faces were evil gods, too powerful for anyone to
help her; she was descending into the bowels of the earth. And
then she cried out in horror, and pain shot through her belly.
Her breath constricted under her breasts as the rigid flesh of
Crispus seared into her. He drove into her mercilessly, every
thrust feeling as if it were doing her some horrible internal
injury. He forced her legs wide, abandoning her channel and his
surging, violating member to the gaze of the eyes which seemed to
dance and laugh, become pink and green, around them. His mouth
descended on hers, sucking it, containing it in his; his hands
grasped her waist in a vise, pawed her breasts, slid under her
buttocks and strained them to his shaggy belly. She was degraded
forever.
"Oh, what a punishment! what delight!" It was the voice of
Tullius which penetrated Crispus' ears as he jerked in tight,
tingling fury into the violated passage of his slave. Crispus'
body, as he bucked on the soft flesh beneath him, was a mass of
strains and gaspings. The girl's body was unworldly delight. It
was the first time he'd had a woman obviously against her will,
and he gained a sadistic thrill from forcing her into extreme
positions, from ramming into her with teeth-gritting brutality.
Under him she was moaning. Her eyes were screwed tight with
pain. Her slim legs were pressed wide, flat against the couch on
either side of him.
Flinging his hips at her crotch, he grasped her slim, warm
shoulders, and fixed his mouth like a leech on hers. He forced
her lips apart, biting them, and pushed his tongue into her
mouth. His hands trembled over the sleek bulges of her breasts,
gripped the flesh-covered bones of her hips. He took long, slow
strokes deep into her body. He didn't want it to end. It was such
pain, delight, pain, delight, on and on.
He could hear the drone of coarse, jocular, lustful remarks
around him, but he heard nothing specifically, just an
accompaniment of noise to the pressure in his groin. And the
pressure was growing and growing, his breath gasping hoarsely and
dryly, his whole body shuddering -- and then the shuddering was a
great furious convulsion of hot, burning liquid fire.
Crispus lay on her, body heaving with effort, heart
thumping.
He heard the voice of Tullius Canus:
"Come on Lucius. Don't faint on the job. Move over."

For info on the complete ASCII text, see the catalog at:
http://users.aol.com/specpress

Or request an email catalog at 71022.251@compuserve.com

Last modified (12/24/96 14:12:30) by Eli-the-Bearded.

Go back to the main erotica page.