Marcus AurelliusbyPaolo Labico©
The centurion, Marcus Aurellius Paullus, was not a having a good day. He should have been ecstatic. The eighty men of his century were joyous. This was the first day in three weeks without the bone chilling rain that made each step a battle with the clinging mire. The anemic northern sun had actually managed to burn off the omnipresent fog before noon. The men marched, they joked, they even sang at times. They didn't know how lost they were.
Paullus did. At thirty-five, he was the youngest centurion in the legion, maybe the youngest in any legion. Somehow his men had confidence in him, though that would change when he forced them to make camp with the fort still nowhere in sight. The men said he was lucky, that may have been true. Mithra knows how many battles he and his men have walked out of unscathed, surrounded by heaps of dying Celts. They slashed through the land of the Britons, a swath of destruction behind them. Subjugating tribe after tribe. No power in that land could face them.
But Claudius wanted more: bloody Claudius. He could have stopped at the inner sea, but his greed forced his men into this hell of dark fens and foot-sucking moors. And now they were lost. Lost in the land of the half mad Eirish savages. Just as he was about to turn from praying to Fortuna to cursing her for a fickle whore, a faint pillar of smoke rose in the distance.
His men approached cautiously, fearing ambush. What they saw amazed them. A small gathering of thatched roof houses surrounded an opened central patch of beaten earth. All the people of the village, and much of another must have been gathered in this space. At least a hundred grown men: his soldier's eye assessed them first. Maybe half again that number of women: a man no less than a soldier. The children and old people were irrelevant to his calculations.
He called back for Getorix, a legionnaire, recruited from the Nervi in northern Gaul, distant kin to these Celts.
"What festival is this, what God do they placate"
"None Sir, this is naught but a simple marriage" He replied, pointing out the bride.
Paullus' eyes followed the out stretched hand. His breath caught in his throat as he found her. He had tumbled his share of these fair northern wenches, but this one seemed beyond compare. Her hair, fair even for a Celt, was drawn back in a pair of long tight braids. Her head was crowned with garlands of wild flowers. The blue and scarlet blossoms stood out against her golden tresses. Before her, an elderly man in white robes stood holding a sprig of holly and Oak...a Druid. He had memories of the resistance these shadowy figures cobbled together in Briton. They were trouble.
She stood in a stiff white robe of her own, thoroughly concealing her youthful figure. Her presumptive husband, in the same, was by her side. The vibrant colors of the garland in his hair did nothing to conceal the gray. This man could as easily have been her father as her betrothed.
"Maybe she will thank me"
"Excuse me Sir?"
"Nothing, ready the men. We feast tonight!"
The matter was decided in a few bloody, panicked moments. Not truly a battle at all, since those drunken warriors that did not fall in the first rush of the century's charge, ran screaming off onto the moors. Only those too slow to make for the woods were caught in the Roman's snare, and of course those young females that were unlucky enough to attract men to pursue them. Paullus surveyed the haul. Mostly old people, he would let them go if they caused no trouble, and ceased that infernal wailing. More than a score of young women, hardy and fair, they would fetch a high price if they remained undamaged by the men's lusts. A dozen younger boys, they were more likely to get damaged. He would have to warn the men not to cut their own purse strings. Just as he was figuring his share, Getorix approached with a prize, blood flowing freely from a gash on his forearm.
"Look at the little bitch I've found, her teeth are worse than any hound I've ever owned." He said, displaying his laceration with humor.
Paullus' eyes grew wide; he should have known that she could never escape in that ceremonial garb. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth, he knew from Getorix that it was not her own. She stood tall, eyes glazed with hate as he coldly appraised her. Her stare never wavered. Her finery was torn. Remnants of greenery in her hair hinted at the once beautiful garland. Her hands were tied behind her back with a length of rope between them, so that her tightly clenched fists rested on either hip.
"That old husband to be of hers?"
"Dumped her, and his robe, and ran like a rabbit,” said Aratus of Syracuse, the laughter animating his swarthy Greek features.
"Does she speak anything I would understand Getorix?"
"Not really Sir, some of it is close enough to Gallic for you to pick out I'd guess."
Men learned many languages in a legion fort: so many men from all over the empire, and so damn much free time between battles. Paullus could manage Greek, Syrian, Gallic and some of the Speech of the Alemmani tribes to the east of Gaul. And of course Latin, the common tongue of all the soldiers.
He said nothing for a moment, returning her stare with one of his own, but showing only amusement at her plight. Her features were as if carved by a Rhodian sculptor from milky Chiossian marble, more angular than a Roman's would be, but beautiful nonetheless. He held out his hand to tilt her chin for a closer inspection, but drew it back hastily at the sight of her snarling lips parting. For only the briefest of moments, a smile curled her lip at his discomfort. He smirked at her reaction.
"Getorix, Aratus, Galba, Tigranes, and Arminius, take her to that hovel and wait for me..."
As they dragged her, struggling, away, he issued the commands that would ensure their safety from counter attack. Then he stopped by one of the tables of food, which were crowded by those men not already fornicating. Eating some roast boar, he grabbed a platter of butter; he knew he would need it. He made his way to the hovel.
The sight that greeted him would have been comical if not for its urgency. Arminius bellowed as he tried to disengage her teeth from his thigh. The huge German dragged her around by the mouth, but she refused to let go.
"This one belongs in the arena, gnawing on Christians!" said Galba, the only other real Roman present.
"Don't hurt her, pinch her nose!" Paullus ordered. Having three small nephews he knew much of biting.
She let go for a chance to breathe, and the men quickly threw her down.
"We'll have to hold her while you take her, Sir." Tigranes lisped through his heavy Armenian accent.
"Tear opened that cunt for what she did to me!" howled the enormous German, "I want her already bleeding by the time I get to her."
"No, I think not, I have other things planned for her." Paullus said, "Throw her on the mattress, and hold her."
The men each took a limb and held her on the straw stuffed bed cushion. She looked at him again, silent, defiant. He was tall for a Roman, almost 6 feet, and far too fair to be pure Italiot. He was not unattractive in his heavy chain-mail armor, scarlet tunic showing between the links and at his collar. His shining iron helm topped with a bobbing, red horsehair crest. Unlike the helmets of his men, this crest went over the top of his helm from ear to ear. Her eyes grew wide and fear crept into them for the first time as he drew his wicked, steel gladius. He held the sword up for her to see, then slowly brought it to between her outstretched legs. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm, better a clean, proud death. The sword came up between her legs, then it slashed through the cloth of her once fine robe. She now lay bare below the navel. Her shame she could not keep from her reddening face, but they would never have her tears.
"This little one is golden all over." Paullus commented to a chorus of rude laughter.
He placed the heavy blade on her smooth belly, as he ripped the robe the rest of the way. The men's breathing increased in tempo as her nakedness was exposed. Her breathing was shallow and quick, now certain that death will not be her fate anytime soon. Paullus reached out a hand and ran it through the soft downy fur around her sex, then roughly cupped her womanhood with his hand, slowly pushing one finger inside her.
"Well, she's still a maid, but dry as a bone"
"Spit on her cunt, Sir" Offers Galba.
"No there is a better way, right Aratus?" He smiles at the legionnaire’s discomfort. "How would a decadent Greek handle this?"
"But sir, she's a filthy barbarian!!"
"Not so, see for yourself. My guess is she was bathed for her wedding night."
Aratus came closer to inspect her. A smile burst forth when he found her fresh and clean.
"Hera, its been so long since I've done this...hold her tight"
She began to squirm, she knew what he would do to her. Although she couldn't understand what they said, it was obvious that he was going to bite her in revenge for earlier...but there! These men are animals! She braced herself for the pain...
Thus she was taken completely off guard when he did not bite, but gently licked her helpless womanhood. Her eyes popped opened, she was braced for pain, but this was something altogether different. He continued his assault on her virgin sex. Licking, sucking, probing her tight opening.
"I always knew you Greeks were sick!" said Arminius
"You should try it, then again I've seen, smelled, your German women" Taunted Aratus in between loud, smacking kisses.
"Is it that good? Let me try." Galba knelt close.
The two men alternated, each rough tongue felt different, distinct. She felt the warmth spreading to her loins. She hated herself, but it was beyond her control, like nothing she'd ever felt.
"Now lets see if she will do the same for me" Paullus commanded the men to move from her head. "Hold the gladius at her sex, Galba."
"Getorix, explain that if her teeth even scratch me, she will lose her maidenhood to my sword"
As she was told, she thought of making them do just that, kill her. Then suddenly, inexplicably she realized that she did not want to die. She wanted them to keep doing what they were doing to her. She felt the cold, hard steel against her thigh, those tongues darting back into her...melting her resolve.
Paullus took her face in his hands, she didn't resist. He pulled opened her mouth and placed two fingers inside. He began to fuck her hot, young mouth with those fingers.
"Tell her Getorix, just like that"
As he did, the centurion freed his turgid member. Her eyes grew wide yet again, she had only seen a few of the village boys, they had nothing like this to show. He slowly pulled out his fingers as he fed his hard cock into her soft, wet mouth.
"Here it comes!" Bellowed Arminius, expecting to hear his centurion scream for the first time.
He heard nothing more than the wet sounds of her taking his manhood into her mouth. She felt the flat of the cold steel sword against her warm wetness. Unconsciously her hips began to grind her wanton sex against the smooth metal.
"Tell her she is doing fine, Getorix. Ask her if she likes hard Roman 'swords'." Ordered Paullus, eliciting cruel laughter from the men. "Look how hard the bitches nipples are. Two of you, put your mouths on them."
Tigranes and the Getorix lowered their mouths to her straining nipples as commanded. Their stiff tongues slid over her smooth young breasts. Their firm, full lips tugged at her tender nipples roughly. Her chest heaved beneath them, in obvious excitement.
Aratus pulled the sword away from her greedily writhing sex, holding it up for all to see. "You’ll not need the butter with this one Sir, nor oil for your sword I should think." Her nectar slowly slid down the length of the blade.
"Mmmm...We shall soon see,” moans Paullus, as he works his engorged manhood into her suckling mouth.
The skin of her face rippled along her jaws, belying the fact that her small tongue was furiously, battling the cock in her mouth. She loathed herself for doing it, but she wanted this man so badly. Something had snapped in her, all thoughts of revenge were fleeting; she needed to be taken by this Roman...to be his.
Paullus pulled out of her still sucking mouth with an audible 'pop', and took off his heavy helm. "Time we see how ready this little sheath is for my sword. Hold her legs far apart boys!"
Paullus knelt between her outstretched legs. He caught her sky-blue eyes with his, they smoldered, but no longer with hate. He saw the hot embers of passion. He took his rigid member in hand. Fanning the flames of her desire he rubbed the swollen head along the slick cleft of her virgin sex. Her eyes half lidded as he rubs the places he had learned that women love. The two men at her breasts stood off to watch his entry, kneading her soft flesh roughly in their calloused hands.
She struggled in the bonds tying her hands to her sides, breath quick and shallow, like a cornered animal. She looked into his eyes as he teasingly pushed his hardness against her maiden barrier. He saw the pain contort her features, felt the barrier tear as he entered her. She bit her lower lip, but didn't look away as his length slid into her. A single tear slid down her soft cheek. He felt suddenly humbled by this stoic display of courage.
"Release her!" Paullus ordered, her legs were freed, but her hands remained tied behind her.
The rough hands still groped her body, but more softly, almost with respect. He began to slowly thrust himself into her, gently. He could no longer rape this girl, he knew that, but she seemed to be taking him as an equal. As he began to pick up the pace she started to moan, crying unintelligible words.
Paullus was disappointed. She apparently begged for him to stop, over and over moaning what must be "No...No..."
"Tell her to stop her complaints, and this will go by faster for her, Getorix." He snapped angrily at his makeshift interpreter.
Getorix burst into laughter, causing everyone, even the girl, to look at him as though mad. "She says not 'stop', but 'more' Sir."
Paullus grinned broadly, she too smiled in reaction. "Free her hands."
She immediately pulled his broad chain mail clad chest to hers. The many bronze decorative plaques on his harness scraped her tender flesh as she crushed against him. His excitement rapidly built as he thrust deep within her. She pulled her lips up close to his ear and whispered softly, in passable Gallic: "For you, only you".
Paullus looked over his men; their hungry eyes devoured her small form. Each man lingered on the part he wanted most. He could read their minds through their searching eyes and questing fingers. He judged his own authority, did not find it wanting.
"Out! Leave us!"
"But Sir, what about our turn?" Growled Arminius, still wanting to hurt her in revenge for the wound to his thigh.
"Besides its not safe alone, you've seen what this little Fury has done" chimed in Galba.
"When the time comes that a Roman centurion can't rape a young virgin by himself, the empire is in trouble. Now go." Paullus said, almost too casually.
"No!" bellowed Arminius. "The lines on the other girls will be long by now, and this bitch owes me." His hand unconsciously dropped to his sword.
"You know the fate of a man who draws steel on his centurion...crucifixion. Unless you are all prepared to kill me, and the girl, I suggest you go now..." He knew the German was half-mad with lust and hate, but he hoped the others would stand fast. For a moment it seemed Arminius would draw, but then his discipline returned and he turned to leave. Only then did he see the two feet of fine Spanish steel that Aratus held to his back. With glares all around he stalked out.
"Now please all of you…" Paullus caught the eye of Aratus, conveying his thanks wordlessly. They all cursed, but left the hovel.
He looked at his prize; her eyes were wide at the confrontation she understood only too well. She was sure that the big man would fight to get at her. Her eyes softened as they turned to the Roman. He bent forward to kiss her softly. His throbbing manhood still seated firmly inside her. She had had ample time to adjust to the intrusion. What once was sharp pain is now a dull ache, fading behind a curtain of rising lust.
He easily picked up her slight form, and without losing their connection, seated her on his broad lap. Her small hands grasped his harness; her hips instinctively knew to move in slow circles, grinding her engorged clit against the leather flaps of his protective skirt, as his cock thrusts up between them. He took her smooth face in his strong, rough hands. Pulled her ripe young lips to his. Their mouths partook of each other, tongues searching, teasing. His fingers ran through her braids, freeing her hair to fall in a long golden cascade down her back. Her silken tresses spilled across his chest as she laid her cheek against the cold metal of his shoulder-guard, pulling his armored torso into her soft flesh.
He took her firmly by the swelling of her hips, and moved her body over his manhood, pleasing them both as he stirred deeply inside her. With each thrust she felt the hard leather of his armored loins brush across her straining clit. His hands roamed over her body, gripping her soft, firm ass and pushing her further onto his cock. She threw back her head, moaning incoherently. He swiftly dove for her exposed breasts like a falcon after two soft white doves. His hot, rough tongue found her turgid nipples, as he felt her pleasure rising within her. He sucked hard at her nipples, flicking his wet tongue over each in turn. All the while, bouncing her on his rigid man-blade.
Her body convulsed, tremors shooting through her. She came, her sex flooding him with her nectar, fingers clawing at the unyielding steel of his armor. She howled with primal abandon as it washed over her. Each wave of passion forcing her hips to slam firmly on his deeply embedded cock. She collapsed onto his armored chest as she rode out the rest of her orgasm.
Just as she came down, he spun her around and dropped her onto her hands and knees on the cushion. Overcome by his own rising passion, he swiftly entered her dripping sex. Taking her hard, his breath erratic as he pounded into her gripping sheath. His armor creaked and jingled like the chains on a hard driven chariot. He grabbed two handfuls of her soft buttocks, pulling her close as he neared his own climax. He looked down to watch his shaft disappearing inside her, and saw her tight pink bud. He shoved his wet thumb into her other virgin hole, watching both thumb and cock as they take her. This was too much. He pulled his cock from her dripping cunt and, as he bellowed like a bull, his hot cum fountained all over her ass and back. Spurt after spurt of his seed bathed her ass, dripping down into her already drenched sex.
Paullus sat back on his haunches, hanging his head, fighting to catch his breath. He finally looked up, only to see his own sharp sword held unwaveringly at his chest. Her eyes were unfathomable as his mind desperately sought for some way to escape his fate. For a long moment neither made a sound, their eyes locked, matching breath for heaving breath. Then she slowly laid back, her legs spreading, exposing her slick sex in unmistakable invitation. There would be no question of rape as he brought his rising member to her, if anything she was taking him. Her eyes clearly showed that she believed this to be the case. He bent forward. She met his lips with hers, as he slipped again inside of her. A centurion's life is hard, but in consolation he is allowed, unlike the legionnaires, to take a wife.