game. And the little bitch couldn’t wait.
So there I lay on the first night of our captivity in the Gothic camp, alone. Delicia had set up her campbed by the loosely covered flap of our tent, so that she wouldn’t be overlooked by any of the carousing drunken boys who kept staggering past. It wasn’t long before I heard the flap thrust aside and the smell of beery breath wafting into the shadowy recesses of the tent.
I heard Delicia give a nominal gasp of shock and then... silence. I crept out through the curtains and there in the flickering light of the oillamp a huge Goth, of about eighteen, was swaying, already buck naked, above Delicia, working the foreskin back from one of the biggest cocks I had ever seen. Delicia sat transfixed as it reared, stiff as one of the tent-poles, before her gaping mouth. Hard and stiffly heaven-pointed though it already was, our young man kept playing with it, groaning and swaying with half-closed eyes, as though happy enough to simply pleasure himself in front of the astonished slave. I was just about to leap upon him when Delicia beat me to it.
She took hold of his punctum with trembling fingers, lowered it to her lips and commenced sucking on it hungrily. Oh, how that firm, lean, muscular golden abdomen rippled in the lamplight. He took Delicia’s head in his silver-braceleted hand and, gripping a tress of her black hair, darted in and out of her mouth with lightning speed. He drew it out to admire it—and what a thing to admire. The foreskin melted back, tautly flush with the thick shaft, the pulsing inverted-heart shaped head gleaming with Delicia’s spittle and the first premonitory dew of cum. My fingers had already parted my cunnus’ lips while my other hand squeezed and rolled my primped-out nipples. The Goth then signalled for Delicia to turn over. She did so, lifting her thin shift to reveal that lovely tanned arse of hers. He gave it a few slaps with the flat of his knife before straddling her and inserting his huge verpa with maddening slowness into her cunnus. She was trembling and moaning loudly enough to cover my own groans as I stood shifting from foot to foot pushing my thick-ringed fingers deep inside myself. He gripped her by the shoulders and started thrusting, setting her big breasts with outburst nipples swinging like the clappers. How much longer could I contain myself? My juice was dripping down over my hand as he rammed into her, his tight arse and the muscles of his lovely back glazed with sweat. Oh, just thinking of it now makes me wet. I wanted that huge tormentum inside me. But, before I could tear him off my slave and thrust it inside me, he lifted Delicia up off the bed with one arm and drove into her with all the fury of a charioteer whipping his horses in the last yards of the race. The camp bed shattered under the force of those savage pelvic blows which reduced Delicia to orgasmic pleadings of mercy while the Goth hammered her with wild releasings of spunk into the ripped canvas and broken frame of wood.
I tottered back to bed and quickly retrieved my favourite dildo from my travel kit—a Priapus Maximus—and while it soaked in a bowl of olive oil I vowed that I wouldn’t be a frustrated pawn in Flaccus’ machinations. He might get his gold and his triumph but Faustina Maxima would have that Gothic cock.
As it turned out he was Athalaric’s youngest son, and I decided to embark on a campaign to inflame his senses until I had him begging for satisfaction. It couldn’t fail. The whole camp was already enamoured of the beautiful young ‘Roman Princess’. Soon every male over the age of three—and quite a few of the females—were salivating like starved dogs at the merest whiff of my perfume. It was extremely naughty of me, I admit—Athalaric would execute anyone who interfered with the Legate’s wife—but it was also incredibly erotic, and Priapus certainly earned his keep before I got what I wanted.
Two or three nights after
So there I lay on the first night of our captivity in the Gothic camp, alone. Delicia had set up her campbed by the loosely covered flap of our tent, so that she wouldn’t be overlooked by any of the carousing drunken boys who kept staggering past. It wasn’t long before I heard the flap thrust aside and the smell of beery breath wafting into the shadowy recesses of the tent.
I heard Delicia give a nominal gasp of shock and then... silence. I crept out through the curtains and there in the flickering light of the oillamp a huge Goth, of about eighteen, was swaying, already buck naked, above Delicia, working the foreskin back from one of the biggest cocks I had ever seen. Delicia sat transfixed as it reared, stiff as one of the tent-poles, before her gaping mouth. Hard and stiffly heaven-pointed though it already was, our young man kept playing with it, groaning and swaying with half-closed eyes, as though happy enough to simply pleasure himself in front of the astonished slave. I was just about to leap upon him when Delicia beat me to it.
She took hold of his punctum with trembling fingers, lowered it to her lips and commenced sucking on it hungrily. Oh, how that firm, lean, muscular golden abdomen rippled in the lamplight. He took Delicia’s head in his silver-braceleted hand and, gripping a tress of her black hair, darted in and out of her mouth with lightning speed. He drew it out to admire it—and what a thing to admire. The foreskin melted back, tautly flush with the thick shaft, the pulsing inverted-heart shaped head gleaming with Delicia’s spittle and the first premonitory dew of cum. My fingers had already parted my cunnus’ lips while my other hand squeezed and rolled my primped-out nipples. The Goth then signalled for Delicia to turn over. She did so, lifting her thin shift to reveal that lovely tanned arse of hers. He gave it a few slaps with the flat of his knife before straddling her and inserting his huge verpa with maddening slowness into her cunnus. She was trembling and moaning loudly enough to cover my own groans as I stood shifting from foot to foot pushing my thick-ringed fingers deep inside myself. He gripped her by the shoulders and started thrusting, setting her big breasts with outburst nipples swinging like the clappers. How much longer could I contain myself? My juice was dripping down over my hand as he rammed into her, his tight arse and the muscles of his lovely back glazed with sweat. Oh, just thinking of it now makes me wet. I wanted that huge tormentum inside me. But, before I could tear him off my slave and thrust it inside me, he lifted Delicia up off the bed with one arm and drove into her with all the fury of a charioteer whipping his horses in the last yards of the race. The camp bed shattered under the force of those savage pelvic blows which reduced Delicia to orgasmic pleadings of mercy while the Goth hammered her with wild releasings of spunk into the ripped canvas and broken frame of wood.
I tottered back to bed and quickly retrieved my favourite dildo from my travel kit—a Priapus Maximus—and while it soaked in a bowl of olive oil I vowed that I wouldn’t be a frustrated pawn in Flaccus’ machinations. He might get his gold and his triumph but Faustina Maxima would have that Gothic cock.
As it turned out he was Athalaric’s youngest son, and I decided to embark on a campaign to inflame his senses until I had him begging for satisfaction. It couldn’t fail. The whole camp was already enamoured of the beautiful young ‘Roman Princess’. Soon every male over the age of three—and quite a few of the females—were salivating like starved dogs at the merest whiff of my perfume. It was extremely naughty of me, I admit—Athalaric would execute anyone who interfered with the Legate’s wife—but it was also incredibly erotic, and Priapus certainly earned his keep before I got what I wanted.
Two or three nights after
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