She was stretched out on his bed like all the others; arms above her head, long lean legs akimbo, naked as the day she was born. Sometimes he wondered idly what brought him to this point, as he stripped off the leather skirting that protected his thighs. But not tonight. His eyes fell indolently on the blindfolded girl as he leaned against the table, his hands in the basin rinsing off blood that splattered his forearms and smooth chest.
This one had a fascinating form. She was more curved than the others, her buttocks rising sweetly above the black silk that swathed his bed. Two dimples marked the top of the crease of her ass before it dipped into the folds of her sex. Her legs were muscular, held astride by two cords that secured the limbs to the carved wooden bedposts.
Her back was an elegant violin curve to his appreciative eye, each sweep of those orbs a palpable caress. A cascade of honey blonde hair was clasped up and off the swan-like neck, held firm with a strip of leather. The flesh of her arms rippled with goose bumps, clasped above her head with another leathern cord. Her face was turned away from him, not that it mattered. Whatever features she had — delicate, strong, lovely or plain — were half concealed beneath a black velvet mask that covered her eyes to the tip of her nose. Certainly there would be no discourse this eve. Like all the others she was a reward, a gift from a grateful Tribunus. No poetry would be written about her lovely face, no wooing, no courting. She was a prisoner, a captive brought to be fucked in whatever way a loyal Centuriones cared.
His hands were dried on a soft cotton towel as he stalked toward the bed, a darkly curious look upon his stark Andalus features. Would she lie there unresponsive, her mind a mere shadow? Or could she be aroused, mayhap even to climax?
He sat on the edge of the bed, the formidable muscles of his limbs flexing and shifting under the smooth tan of his skin as he reached forth to splay a hand upon the curve of her lower back. He could feel the muscles tense but no sound fell from her lips in encouragement or censure.
The strong fingers trailed down the curves of her backside, to cup and squeeze the firm flesh. In sudden counterpoint to the gentleness, he slapped her sharply. Her shoulders visibly tensed, her hands fought their bonds for a heartbeat then… she stilled.
He slid his naked form alongside her own, his swollen cock pressed against her hip, insistent with its heat, but he paid it no mind. Instead his tongue laved the curve of her shoulder.
“You taste like sweet summer fruit,” he murmured, as his tongue traced a tantalizing path down her spine to the curve of her ass. When his tongue delved into the crease, skimmed over her anal bud and into the damp heat of her sex he paused. His hands caressed her thighs whilst his tongue toyed with her clit and even she was unable to resist these unrelenting ministrations. For a moment, her hips ground against the pressure of his tongue, then stilled as though she remembered herself.
A single digit stroked her entrance and after an aching pause, slipped within.
“Hmmm, wetness,” the Centuriones chuckled with wry amusement, “So you are not so detached as you pretend, slave.” His calloused fingertips slid across the sensitive nerve endings and despite the disjointed air she pretended, the muscles in her back tightened and her head shifted.
“You know what I am going to do?” the rich baritone voice whispered, continuing onward with only the briefest of pauses, “I will take you here.” He withdrew his slicked finger and smoothed it over the bud of her anus. He chuckled as she pressed her groin into the bed.
His finger returned to tease her, to trace tiny circles and figure of eights across her clit. His heavy cock throbbed dark and pulsing against his lower belly, but he denied himself the exquisite desire to rub himself against her. He remained still, his control evident in every tensed muscle of his body. Two fingers slid into her and withdraw to swath the copious slick of desire across her anus a moment later.
With a slow, lazy movement, he shifted and lay upon her, supporting his weight on his arms. His cock nestled firmly in the cleft of her buttocks and he allowed himself the singular pleasure from the sensation of that satin skin on the heated underside of his flesh. His lips tasted of the golden curve of her neck, the honey blonde curls tickling his cheek.
He paused in the small licks he was tracing along the shell like curve of her ear and whispered. “I am sure you would like to resist my entry, but I want you to imagine something,” His drawl was intoxicating, the press of his cock undeniable, the head so very near her entrance, but not yet… no.
“Imagine being stretched open…” He continued, his voice husky. “The sensation of being split apart that shatters into the most intense, unbelievable, mind pounding pleasure you will ever experience.”
A hand skimmed down to replace his cock at her entrance. His forefinger slid in with little resistance and even she was unable to hold back the keening sound that fell from her lips.
“Imagine the feel of my cock where my fingers are. Can you feel that?” He pumps his finger slowly, “I know you can. I can smell your arousal, it is musky and rich. All you need do is let me into you.”
The words were spoken in rhythm to the slow thrust of his finger. A second joined the first and her hips ground on the sheets. In a brief movement he withdrew and a protest comes from her lips. To oblige he immediately presses his cock to her wet entrance and with bare pressure he moves inward a mere half inch and she moans softly, small beads of sweat breaking out on her brow.
“Let me in,” he entreats, licking the line of her ear and moves his hips hungrily. And it would seem her walls fell, because suddenly her entrance relaxed and he slid in unopposed with a groan.
“Oh…God, you are…so…tight,” He gasped and tilted his hips to gain a precious fraction of deeper entry. A quivering pause on a knife’s edge of agony consumed her until he leisurely withdrew.
The steady rocking of his hips drove the spikes of ecstasy through the base of his spine. Her composure was finally shattering after the first allowance she gave of that most intimate of entrances. Her shoulders tensed and the muscles beneath the golden tan of her skin played and arched. Her hands and feet protested their bondage, pulling and clutching at the leather straps. Small white teeth worried her lower lip as the rose flushed features of her lower face were set in a rictus of pleasure-filled pain.
The pace quickened. He held her hips, steadying her uncontrolled movements. His next breath was hard to take, then the next…and the next. Each one became a struggle and she was drawing him in…drawing the very life from him. He was holding back the tidal wave of his climax with inhuman effort.
“Come for me, slave girl, feel me in you and come for me,” He whispered as the desire for relief became palpable in his voice.
“Fuck…you,” she gasped harshly with the hesitance of using an unfamiliar language. “You… first.” He laughed, his thrusts hard in initial response.
“A challenge. The slave girl wants a challenge,” He slid his hand beneath her body and circled his fingers on her clit, “So be it.”
Her body rocked, tethered at each end, unable to grip for purchase as she strained against the inexorable straps again and again and again.
“Come for me,” he leaned forward and bit her gently on the earlobe, just enough to provide an exquisite counterpoint to her pleasure. He slammed into her hard and still she resisted release. The sounds that came from his lips were animalistic…a rutting beast. Her own were its mate.
The contractions started as her ass tightened around his cock, again and again milking him with rhythmic pulses. The sensation drove a strobe in his brain, directly linked to his length. With a final thrust he pressed deep and groaned his release. He collapsed on her briefly, spent.
When he removed himself from her he lay to one side, relishing the cool of the silk against his sweat-shined skin. Her back rose hard and fast, mirroring his breathing.
“You fuck divinely for a slave,” He uttered, his voice rich with amusement.
“Fuck you,” Her reply was smooth as honey, the vowels rounded as she emulated his tongue. Thin fingers still worked at her bonds, but he did not release her. He turns his head to regard her blinded face. “I fuck divinely for a princess.”
“I wondered who would end up with you,” He drawled while standing from the bed in one languid, predatory motion.
“I will kill you next time, Centuriones,” She promised softly, stilling her struggles.
“I will make you beg for it next time,” He spoke close to her ear. She jerked her head away from the sound of his voice.
“A challenge. I like that, slave.”