by Paolo 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 no where 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 scores 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 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 standing 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, by her side. The vibrant colors of the garland in his hair did nothing to conceal the gray. This man could as easily be 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 says, 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 smirking, "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 horse hair 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 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 legionaire'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 comes closer to inspect her. A smile burst forth as he finds her fresh and clean.
"Hera, its been so long since I've done this...hold her tight"
She begins to squirm now, she knows what he will do to her. Although she can't understand what they say, it is obvious that he is going to bite her in revenge for earlier...but there!!! These men are animals! She braces herself for the pain...
Thus she is taken completely off guard when he does not bite, but gently licks her helpless womanhood. Her eyes pop opened, she was braced for pain, but this is something altogether different. He continues his assault on her virgin sex. Licking, sucking, probing her tight opening.
"I always knew you Greeks were sick!" says Arminius
"You should try it, then again I've seen, smelled, your German women" says Aratus in between loud, smacking kisses.
"Is it that good? Let me try" says Galba, kneeling close.
The two men alternate, each rough tongue feeling different, distinct. She feels the warmth spreading to her loins. She hates herself, but its beyond her control, like nothing she's ever felt.
"Now lets see if she will do the same for me" Paullus commands 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 is told, she thinks of making them do just that, killing her. Then suddenly, inexplicably she realizes that she does not want to die. She wants them to keep doing what they were doing to her. She feels the cold, hard steel against her thigh. Those tongues darting back into her...melting her resolve.
Paullus takes her face in his hands, she doesn't resist. He pulls opened her mouth and places two fingers inside. He begins to fuck her hot young mouth with these fingers.
"Tell her Getorix, just like that"
As he does, the centurion frees his turgid member. Her eyes grow wide yet again, she has only seen a few of the village boys. They had nothing like this to show. He slowly pulls out his fingers as he feeds his hard cock into her soft, wet mouth.
"Here it comes" Bellows Arminius, expecting to hear his centurion scream for the first time.
He hears nothing more than the wet sounds of her taking his manhood into her hot mouth. She feels the flat of the cold steel sword against her warm wetness. Unconsciously her hips begin to grind her wanton sex against the smooth metal.
"Tell her she is doing fine, Getorix. Ask her if she likes hard Roman 'swords'." orders 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 lower their mouths to her straining nipples as commanded. Their stiff tongues glide over her smooth young breasts. Their firm, full lips tug at her tender nipples roughly. Her chest heaves beneath them, in obvious excitement.
Aratus pulls 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 slides down the length of the blade.
"Mmmm...we shall soon see" moans Paullus, as he works his engorged manhood into her small, wet mouth. The skin of her face ripples along her jaws, belying the fact that her small tongue is furiously battling the monster cock in her mouth. She loathes herself for doing it, but she wants this man so badly. Something has snapped in her, all thoughts of revenge are fleeting, she needs to be taken by this Roman...to be his.
Paullus pulls out of her still sucking mouth with an audible 'pop', and pulls off his heavy helm. "Time we see how ready this little sheath is for my sword. Hold her legs far apart boys!"
Paullus kneels between her outstretched legs. He catches her sky blue eyes with his. They smolder, but no longer with hate. He sees the hot embers of passion. He takes his rigid member in hand. Fanning the flames of her desire he rubs the swollen head along the slick cleft of her virgin sex. Her eyes half lidded as he rubs the places he has learned that women love. The two men at her breasts stand off to watch his entry, kneading her soft flesh roughly in their calloused hands.
She struggles in the bonds which tie her hands to her sides, breath quick and shallow, like a cornered animal. She looks into his eyes as he teasingly pushes his hardness against her maiden barrier. He sees the pain contort her features, he feels the barrier tear as he enters her. She bites her lower lip, but doesn't look away as his length slides into her. A single tear slides down her soft cheek. He feels suddenly humbled by this stoic display of courage.
"Release her" says Paullus, her legs are freed, but her hands remain tied.
The rough hands still grope her body, but more gently, almost with respect. He begins to slowly thrust himself into her, gently. He can no longer rape this girl, he knows that now, but she seems to be taking him as an equal. As he begins to pick up the pace she begins to moan, crying unintelligible words.
Paullus is disappointed as she apparently begs 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 snaps angrily at his make-shift interpreter.
Getorix bursts into laughter, causing everyone, even the girl, to look at him as though mad. "She says not 'stop', but 'more' Sir."
A wide grin breaks over Paullus' face, she too smiles in reaction. "free her hands"
She immediately pulls his broad chain-mail clad chest to hers. The many bronze decorative plaques on his harness scrape her tender flesh as she crushes against him. His excitement rapidly builds as he thrusts deep within her. She pulls her lips up close to his ear and whispers softly in passable Gallic: "For you, only you".
Paullus looks over his men, their hungry eyes devour her small form. Each man lingers on the part he wants most. He can read their minds through their searching eyes and questing fingers. He judges his own authority, does not find it wanting.
"Out, leave us,"
"But Sir, what about our turn" Bellows 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" chimes 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 says, almost too casually.
"No" bellows Arminius, "The lines on the other girls will be long by now, and this bitch owes me." His hand unconsciously drops to his sword.
"You know the fate of a man who draws steel on his centurion...crucifxion. Unless you are all prepared to kill me, and the girl, I suggest you go now..." He knows the German is half-mad with lust and hate, but he hopes the others will stand fast. For a moment it seems he will draw, but then his discipline returns and he turns to leave. Only then does he see the two feet of fine Spanish steel that Aratus holds to his back. With glares all around he stalks out.
"Now please all of you" Paullus catches the eye of Aratus, conveying his thanks wordlessly. They all curse, but leave the hovel.
He looks at his prize, her eyes wide at the confrontation she understood only too well. She was sure that the big man would fight to get at her. Her eyes soften as they turn to him. He slowly bends forward to kiss her softly. His throbbing manhood still seated firmly inside her. She has 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 picks up her slight form, and without losing their connection, seats her on his broad lap. Her small hands grasp his harness firmly, her hips instinctively know 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 takes her smooth face in his strong, rough hands. Pulling her ripe young lips to his. Their mouths partake of each other, tongues searching, teasing. His fingers run through her braids, freeing her hair to fall in a long golden cascade down her back. Her silken tresses spill across his chest as she lay her cheek against the cold metal of his shoulder guard, pulling his armored torso into her soft flesh.
He takes her firmly by the swelling of her hips, and moves her body over his manhood, pleasing them both as he thrusts deeply inside her. With each thrust she feels the hard leather of his armored loins brush across her straining clit. His hands roam over her body, gripping her soft, firm ass and pushing her further onto his cock. She throws back her head, moaning incoherently. He swiftly dives for her exposed breasts like a falcon after two soft white doves. His hot, rough tongue finds her turgid nipples, as he feels her pleasure rising within her. He sucks hard at her nipples, flicking his wet tongue over each in turn. All the while, bouncing her on his rigid man-blade.
Her body convulses, tremors shooting through her, as she cums. Her sex floods him with her nectar, fingers clawing at the unyielding steel of his armor. She howls with primal abandon as it washes over her. Each wave of passion forcing her hips to slam firmly on his deeply embedded cock. She collapses onto his armored chest as she rides out the rest of her orgasm.
Just as she comes down, he spins her around and drops her to her hands and knees on the cushion. Overcome by his own rising passion, he swiftly enters her dripping sex. Taking her hard, his breath erratic as he pounds into her warm wet sheath. His armor creaks and jingles like the chains on a hard driven chariot. He grabs two handfuls of her soft buttocks, pulling her close as he nears his own climax. He looks down to watch his shaft disappearing inside her, and sees her tight pink bud. He slowly shoves a wet thumb into her other virgin hole, watching both thumb and cock as they take her. This is too much, he pulls his cock from her dripping cunt and, bellowing like a bull, his hot cum fountains all over her ass and back. Spurt after spurt of his seed bathes her ass, dripping down into her already drenched sex.
Paullus sits back on his haunches, hanging his head, fighting to catch his breath. He finally looks up, only to see his own sharp sword held unwaveringly at his chest. Her eyes are unfathomable as his mind desperately searches for some way to escape his fate. For a long moment neither makes a sound, their eyes locked, matching breath for heaving breath. Then she slowly lays back, her legs spreading, exposing her slick cunt in unmistakable invitation. There will be no question of rape as he brings his rising member to her, if anything she is taking him. Her eyes clearly show that she believes this. He bends forward and she meets his lips with hers, as he slips again inside her. A centurion's life is hard, but in consolation he is allowed, unlike the legionnaires, to take a wife.
He pats his chest, armor jingling, "Paullus"
"Maybe I am blessed by Fortuna after all...."
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