And in violation of the vow of chastity, they were buried alive as punishment.
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Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Fuck being a vestal virgin, whatever vestal means, being a slavegirl rocks!!
See Tash? You are much better off being a rockin' slavegirl where you can get the whipping you crave.
"This is horrible!" Tree thought. He looked about and saw no one about.
Setting his drink down he walked up to young woman as she whimpered "Please help me! They have buried me alive where a massive ant hill was and they are feasting on my body!"
Tree opened his fly and pulled out his member saying "some 80 proof piss will kill a lot of them."
She moaned "tell me you aren't serious..."
Fuck being a vestal virgin, whatever vestal means, being a slavegirl rocks!!
That's the spirit
It seems that Vestal Virgin was not something most girls had to worry about. There were only 6 or 7 at any one time, and they served for 30 years. After the 30 years, they retired and could marry - it was considered a great honour to marry a retired VV.Fuck being a vestal virgin, whatever vestal means, being a slavegirl rocks!!
Vestal Virgins who didn't maintain their primary qualification for their term were buried alive by placing them in a subterranean room, furnished with a couch, table, lamp, and some food and water. The woman was sent down into the room by a ladder, after being scourged and dressed as a corpse. Then the executioners filled the room with dirt until the room was filled to the level of the floor above. Presumably the girl had time to have a bit of lunch while she waited to be totally buried (it would take some time). Then she was forgotten (no memorial or burial honours). She was considered dead after her scourging, and the procession to bury her was conducted as a sort of funeral.
But as mentioned, it was not a status open to a lot of girls. Slave girls, on the other hand, were very popular, served for life, and had no chastity requirement.
T
The Fallen Angel
Guest
While they were still VVs they somehow managed to get front row seats at the Colosseum as this Pollice Verso painting shows.
Interesting. They were extremely highly respected, sometimes to the point of being considered godlike or magical. They were also politically influential, indicating the importance of Vesta's good graces in the minds of the Romans. They were not out of touch, it seems with Roman life. Perhaps this is why a fall from grace of a VV was seen as such a big betrayal, needing a strong response to placate the offended goddess.
Amendment to my earlier post, following additional research: the VV would be put in a subterranean room, with food, couch, lamp, etc., but the room would not be filled in with dirt (as nicely gruesome as that is). Rather, the room would be closed up and dirt piled over it and leveled. The girl was left to die, either of suffocation as the lamp used up the oxygen, or from starvation. Sorry for the mixup there.
Rather, the room would be closed up and dirt piled over it and leveled. The girl was left to die, either of suffocation as the lamp used up the oxygen, or from starvation. Sorry for the mixup there. 
that's why the Virgin Superior demands such an exorbitant fee to take on Junia as a novice
but Junia has other ideas...
Is that story finished? Only I was just getting interested.that's why the Virgin Superior demands such an exorbitant fee to take on Junia as a novice
but Junia has other ideas...
T
The Fallen Angel
Guest
The story is well in progress. Taking up Eul's idea of Augusta showing her daughters what a slave's life is like she decides to take Valentina and Junia to slave auction where there is a surprising turn of events!....but first, Valentina is whipped...pic in progress.
jonesygirl
Tribunica Potestas
VALENTINA WHIPPED
Lucius returned Junia to her mother upon completion of her whipping. Twenty lashes were agreed to be the right amount to help persuade Junia to be a little more thoughtful around the house. Augusta hugged her sobbing daughter as the house maids prepared Valentina for her whipping. Augusta may have been a calculating woman and certainly hard by today’s standards but she did consider herself a caring mother.
Lucius eyed the naked Valentina from head to toe lingering upon her ample nipples. He pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it. “Tits or Tails?” he enquired of the poor girl as the coin performed its aerobatics. “Tails!” Valentina called hopefully. Lucius of course had three coins to choose from, two of them double sided. He caught the coin and slapped it down onto the back of his hand. He showed it to Valentina..”Tits it is then!, you maids prepare this girl for a frontal whipping.” According to the list of “crimes” committed Valentina would have received twenty four standard lashes but using the rule of “A lash across the front is worth two across the back” this was reduced to twelve. Not a great deal of consolation if you are on the wrong end of a whip. Lucius ordered that her legs be chained apart so he could deliver three lashes between them. He explained to Augusta that this would deter Valentina from exploring with her fingers during the night..at least for a while. Now he needed to examine her breasts as the size and texture of skin would help him decide exactly which whip would be required. He spent as much time on her breasts as her local Physician who insisted Augusta's daughters undergo a thorough medical examination once a month. He seemed to spend an awful lot of time checking the state of their breasts and whether their vaginal muscles could tightly grip his probing finger. All her friends who used the same Physician underwent similar examinations…...well, at least the pretty ones did...and of course you had to trust your local Physician and Whip-Master didn't you.
Valentina was now in a position ready to be whipped. Lucius had stripped down to a pair of tight fitting leather shorts and whip in one hand set his sights. Valentina's already proud nipples would swell until they were fit to burst or my name isn't Lucius Lepidus he thought. Any swelling was as nothing compared to the swelling taking place inside his shorts. Lucius was out of sight of Augusta and stroked the front of his shorts, licking his lips as he leered at Valentina. He cracked his whip, Valentina clenched her teeth, held her breath and tightened her chest and stomach muscles hoping that something might help. It only helped to stifle her cries of pain as the first two lashes narrowly missed their target. Too much vino the night before!!. The third and several subsequent lashes however were well on target. Nobody would be playing with her nipples for a while.
Meanwhile Augusta was finalising plan B in her mind...a trip to the slave auction..pretend to sell off the pair of them...now that would teach them a lesson!
Lucius returned Junia to her mother upon completion of her whipping. Twenty lashes were agreed to be the right amount to help persuade Junia to be a little more thoughtful around the house. Augusta hugged her sobbing daughter as the house maids prepared Valentina for her whipping. Augusta may have been a calculating woman and certainly hard by today’s standards but she did consider herself a caring mother.
Lucius eyed the naked Valentina from head to toe lingering upon her ample nipples. He pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it. “Tits or Tails?” he enquired of the poor girl as the coin performed its aerobatics. “Tails!” Valentina called hopefully. Lucius of course had three coins to choose from, two of them double sided. He caught the coin and slapped it down onto the back of his hand. He showed it to Valentina..”Tits it is then!, you maids prepare this girl for a frontal whipping.” According to the list of “crimes” committed Valentina would have received twenty four standard lashes but using the rule of “A lash across the front is worth two across the back” this was reduced to twelve. Not a great deal of consolation if you are on the wrong end of a whip. Lucius ordered that her legs be chained apart so he could deliver three lashes between them. He explained to Augusta that this would deter Valentina from exploring with her fingers during the night..at least for a while. Now he needed to examine her breasts as the size and texture of skin would help him decide exactly which whip would be required. He spent as much time on her breasts as her local Physician who insisted Augusta's daughters undergo a thorough medical examination once a month. He seemed to spend an awful lot of time checking the state of their breasts and whether their vaginal muscles could tightly grip his probing finger. All her friends who used the same Physician underwent similar examinations…...well, at least the pretty ones did...and of course you had to trust your local Physician and Whip-Master didn't you.
Valentina was now in a position ready to be whipped. Lucius had stripped down to a pair of tight fitting leather shorts and whip in one hand set his sights. Valentina's already proud nipples would swell until they were fit to burst or my name isn't Lucius Lepidus he thought. Any swelling was as nothing compared to the swelling taking place inside his shorts. Lucius was out of sight of Augusta and stroked the front of his shorts, licking his lips as he leered at Valentina. He cracked his whip, Valentina clenched her teeth, held her breath and tightened her chest and stomach muscles hoping that something might help. It only helped to stifle her cries of pain as the first two lashes narrowly missed their target. Too much vino the night before!!. The third and several subsequent lashes however were well on target. Nobody would be playing with her nipples for a while.
Meanwhile Augusta was finalising plan B in her mind...a trip to the slave auction..pretend to sell off the pair of them...now that would teach them a lesson!
ah, that's great stuff -
the story-line I've thrown together without seeing Julie's
lets the girls into the slavegirl experience by a little longer route,
but they'll get whipped willy-nilly
Augusta glared meaningfully at her bewildered daughters. “B-but…” even sharp-tongued Valentina was thrown by her mother’s announcement. Augusta had the tone of a woman who scented triumph – a tone all too familiar to her husband, and now her troublesome daughters were feeling its volcanic heat. “You’ll need suitable slave-clothing of course. Junia, your little chiton you wear for dancing lessons will suffice.” Junia nodded glumly, though actually she quite liked the light tunic, she wasn’t so happy with the “slave clothes” label. “And you, Valentina…” she paused, her daughter glared, “that green tunic you were wearing last summer, that’ll do!” This re-charged the girl’s fury, “Oh mother! That thing! It’s so ghastly, I wouldn’t be seen dead in it – never mind slaves, I wouldn’t give it to a beggar…”
Augusta nodded to the housekeeper. “Come with me, slaves!” ordered Melissa. Too flabbergasted to even mutter, never mind give a cheeky response, they followed the housekeeper meekly. She took them to their own bright, sunlit room, where they extracted the required garments from the jumbled heaps in which – despite the best efforts of their patient handmaiden – they insisted on keeping their clothes. “A clean cloth to wear underneath, plain sandals on your feet, that’s all you’ll need - and take off all those bangles and beads.” Melissa spoke quietly but decisively, quite different from their mother, but it was a voice that didn’t invite disobedience.
Duly clad, the pair followed their new mistress out of the pretentious main buildings of Pompilius’s residence and into an area they’d played in when they were kids, but wouldn’t have dreamt of dirtying their feet in now they were young ladies – the slaves’ yard! The sun was low now, pouring a blood-red glow across the dusty quadrangle. A tall timber stake rising from a rough-cast plinth in the middle cast a long shadow, a giant gnomon counting the hours, but one equipped with a heavy iron ring.
Melissa’s abode, as senior female slave, was in a rather gloomy, cobwebby room at the corner of the courtyard. A dark-haired lass about Junia’s age in a short, plain linen tunic, off-white but for a faded blue edging around the hem, was standing outside, smartly upright, feet apart, hands behind her back, but when she saw Melissa approaching she dropped to her knees, bowed her head, and placed her hands palms up on her parted legs. Valentina noticed as they neared her the livid carmine brand-mark on the girl’s left thigh, their father’s brand – a capital P with three little discs in the loop, needless to say, they symbolised money – the sisters were used to seeing it, of course, and the different marks on their friends’ fathers’ slaves, they’d taken them for granted, naturally slaves are branded… now, the sight suddenly burnt deep into the young woman’s brain.
When they were ushered by Melissa inside the room, which was furnished with just a low bed, a stool and a table, the young slave followed them. “Now,” said Melissa, “firstly, you’ll need slave-names. No fancy handles, you’ll just be Una and Duo.” They gulped, she gestured to the youngster, standing again at the ready, her dark eyes striking in the dim light of the cell. “This is Uli. She’s an intelligent slavegirl, she know how to behave,” the youngster blushed, flexed her knee and bowed her head humbly at this compliment, “not that she always does!” Uli’s face reddened the more. “She’ll be your mentor, pay attention to her if you don’t want to get into trouble. It’s getting late now, Uli will show you where you’ll eat and sleep.”
They followed Uli out, she moved briskly, led them at a sprightly pace across the yard past the ominous pole. A good many slaves were about now, some washing themselves and lapping up water at a well in the corner of the yard, some cleaning their working tools, some heaving heavy sacks, stoneware jars or laden bakets to their various destinations. But along the shady side, a crowd was gathering, and Uli indicated they should join this throng. Valentina – no, Una – shuddered as she found herself pressed up against sweaty, pungent bodies, male and female. She felt a hand slip under the back-hem of her short tunic – she’d never thought she’d wear it without a long skirt – when she spun around three swarthy, bare-chested youths were smirking down at her, her eyes cast daggers, but she dared not speak.
There was a clattering, the mob suddenly moved forward, Duo was nearly pushed over, she grabbed Uli to avoid being trampled, and found herself hurtling towards a huge trough, into which a cart had just emptied a heap of dry, visibly mouldy, chunks of bread. Everyone was grabbing what they could, pushing, lunging, jabbing with elbows, kicking, the two newcomers were ruthlessly shoved aside. After a few moments, Uli emerged, weaving niftily through the forest of flailing legs, grasping a couple of buns. “Here, you two,” she thrust them at her companions. “B-but, what about you?” “Oh, I’lll manage.” They looked at the unppetising grey bakes.
“Get ready,” hissed Uli, pointing to where a party of muscular slavewomen were placing a huge cauldron, from which a cloud of steam bore less-than-inviting aroma. Again there was bedlam, as the horde rushed to dunk their pieces in a thick, dung-coloured soup, grabbing out half-eaten bones and rotten vegetables that floated in the vile mess. Uli scooped as much as she wanted with her bare hands, Una and Duo dipped their bread in and tried to eat the loathsome mixture, grimacing at one another as they retched. Uli glanced at them, her brown eyes twinkling. “You might not want it tonight, you’ll be only too hungry for it tomorrow. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.” Una handed hers over at once, Duo had another try at a mouthful, but then gave up.
Their meal thus concluded, the three slaves crossed to the well and rinsed the grease off their fingers and faces, then Uli led the way into a long barn furnished with wooden slatted benches extending the length of the building and in several tiers. On these lay filthy old sacks and blankets, mingled with handfuls of hay. The slaves were already clambering onto these and lying down. There was evidently a rough separation of males to the right, females to the left, Uli took her companions well up the girls’ end and got them to lie on the bottom bench, Duo cuddling up close to her, Una resting her head on Duo’s legs. Before long, a fat slavewoman had plonked herself next to Una, she muttered “’night love!” in a strange accent, and promptly rolled over into smelly, snoring sleep.
Uli was quickly to sleep too, but the new girls were fretful, quite unable to cope with the coarse rags and stingy hay-stalks under them, the stinking bodies around, the weird music of hundred slaves sleeping. They barely slept, and were awakened by a tremendous clanging, a man beating on a huge, crude gong. The whole slave-army clambered from their beds, hurried out into the moonlit yard, there was another scrum around the well as everyone tried to hastily wash and sup a few mouthfuls of water, a long queue of women snaked through the passageway around the back of the sleeping quarters to a ditch where they dealt with the needs of nature, and so the day’s work began, though even the cockerel on the barn-roof thought it too early, barely managing to croak.
Uli ushered her charges back to Melissa’s room. She instructed them to stand under the simple portico outside just as she did, legs wide apart, hands on buttocks, shoulders back, tits up, and when the housekeeper appeared, they were to get down instantly to kneel as they’d seen her do before, displaying their alert yet humble availability. She soon emerged, at of her fingers, Uli was back on her feet, and the others followed suit.
“Right,” she announced, “The Mistress has commanded that these slaves shall spend the morning at the market. That’s where slave-life begins, at least for formerly free brats, doesn’t it Uli?” “Yes, ma’am,” the girl agreed firmly.
the story-line I've thrown together without seeing Julie's
lets the girls into the slavegirl experience by a little longer route,
but they'll get whipped willy-nilly
Augusta glared meaningfully at her bewildered daughters. “B-but…” even sharp-tongued Valentina was thrown by her mother’s announcement. Augusta had the tone of a woman who scented triumph – a tone all too familiar to her husband, and now her troublesome daughters were feeling its volcanic heat. “You’ll need suitable slave-clothing of course. Junia, your little chiton you wear for dancing lessons will suffice.” Junia nodded glumly, though actually she quite liked the light tunic, she wasn’t so happy with the “slave clothes” label. “And you, Valentina…” she paused, her daughter glared, “that green tunic you were wearing last summer, that’ll do!” This re-charged the girl’s fury, “Oh mother! That thing! It’s so ghastly, I wouldn’t be seen dead in it – never mind slaves, I wouldn’t give it to a beggar…”
Augusta nodded to the housekeeper. “Come with me, slaves!” ordered Melissa. Too flabbergasted to even mutter, never mind give a cheeky response, they followed the housekeeper meekly. She took them to their own bright, sunlit room, where they extracted the required garments from the jumbled heaps in which – despite the best efforts of their patient handmaiden – they insisted on keeping their clothes. “A clean cloth to wear underneath, plain sandals on your feet, that’s all you’ll need - and take off all those bangles and beads.” Melissa spoke quietly but decisively, quite different from their mother, but it was a voice that didn’t invite disobedience.
Duly clad, the pair followed their new mistress out of the pretentious main buildings of Pompilius’s residence and into an area they’d played in when they were kids, but wouldn’t have dreamt of dirtying their feet in now they were young ladies – the slaves’ yard! The sun was low now, pouring a blood-red glow across the dusty quadrangle. A tall timber stake rising from a rough-cast plinth in the middle cast a long shadow, a giant gnomon counting the hours, but one equipped with a heavy iron ring.
Melissa’s abode, as senior female slave, was in a rather gloomy, cobwebby room at the corner of the courtyard. A dark-haired lass about Junia’s age in a short, plain linen tunic, off-white but for a faded blue edging around the hem, was standing outside, smartly upright, feet apart, hands behind her back, but when she saw Melissa approaching she dropped to her knees, bowed her head, and placed her hands palms up on her parted legs. Valentina noticed as they neared her the livid carmine brand-mark on the girl’s left thigh, their father’s brand – a capital P with three little discs in the loop, needless to say, they symbolised money – the sisters were used to seeing it, of course, and the different marks on their friends’ fathers’ slaves, they’d taken them for granted, naturally slaves are branded… now, the sight suddenly burnt deep into the young woman’s brain.
When they were ushered by Melissa inside the room, which was furnished with just a low bed, a stool and a table, the young slave followed them. “Now,” said Melissa, “firstly, you’ll need slave-names. No fancy handles, you’ll just be Una and Duo.” They gulped, she gestured to the youngster, standing again at the ready, her dark eyes striking in the dim light of the cell. “This is Uli. She’s an intelligent slavegirl, she know how to behave,” the youngster blushed, flexed her knee and bowed her head humbly at this compliment, “not that she always does!” Uli’s face reddened the more. “She’ll be your mentor, pay attention to her if you don’t want to get into trouble. It’s getting late now, Uli will show you where you’ll eat and sleep.”
They followed Uli out, she moved briskly, led them at a sprightly pace across the yard past the ominous pole. A good many slaves were about now, some washing themselves and lapping up water at a well in the corner of the yard, some cleaning their working tools, some heaving heavy sacks, stoneware jars or laden bakets to their various destinations. But along the shady side, a crowd was gathering, and Uli indicated they should join this throng. Valentina – no, Una – shuddered as she found herself pressed up against sweaty, pungent bodies, male and female. She felt a hand slip under the back-hem of her short tunic – she’d never thought she’d wear it without a long skirt – when she spun around three swarthy, bare-chested youths were smirking down at her, her eyes cast daggers, but she dared not speak.
There was a clattering, the mob suddenly moved forward, Duo was nearly pushed over, she grabbed Uli to avoid being trampled, and found herself hurtling towards a huge trough, into which a cart had just emptied a heap of dry, visibly mouldy, chunks of bread. Everyone was grabbing what they could, pushing, lunging, jabbing with elbows, kicking, the two newcomers were ruthlessly shoved aside. After a few moments, Uli emerged, weaving niftily through the forest of flailing legs, grasping a couple of buns. “Here, you two,” she thrust them at her companions. “B-but, what about you?” “Oh, I’lll manage.” They looked at the unppetising grey bakes.
“Get ready,” hissed Uli, pointing to where a party of muscular slavewomen were placing a huge cauldron, from which a cloud of steam bore less-than-inviting aroma. Again there was bedlam, as the horde rushed to dunk their pieces in a thick, dung-coloured soup, grabbing out half-eaten bones and rotten vegetables that floated in the vile mess. Uli scooped as much as she wanted with her bare hands, Una and Duo dipped their bread in and tried to eat the loathsome mixture, grimacing at one another as they retched. Uli glanced at them, her brown eyes twinkling. “You might not want it tonight, you’ll be only too hungry for it tomorrow. If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.” Una handed hers over at once, Duo had another try at a mouthful, but then gave up.
Their meal thus concluded, the three slaves crossed to the well and rinsed the grease off their fingers and faces, then Uli led the way into a long barn furnished with wooden slatted benches extending the length of the building and in several tiers. On these lay filthy old sacks and blankets, mingled with handfuls of hay. The slaves were already clambering onto these and lying down. There was evidently a rough separation of males to the right, females to the left, Uli took her companions well up the girls’ end and got them to lie on the bottom bench, Duo cuddling up close to her, Una resting her head on Duo’s legs. Before long, a fat slavewoman had plonked herself next to Una, she muttered “’night love!” in a strange accent, and promptly rolled over into smelly, snoring sleep.
Uli was quickly to sleep too, but the new girls were fretful, quite unable to cope with the coarse rags and stingy hay-stalks under them, the stinking bodies around, the weird music of hundred slaves sleeping. They barely slept, and were awakened by a tremendous clanging, a man beating on a huge, crude gong. The whole slave-army clambered from their beds, hurried out into the moonlit yard, there was another scrum around the well as everyone tried to hastily wash and sup a few mouthfuls of water, a long queue of women snaked through the passageway around the back of the sleeping quarters to a ditch where they dealt with the needs of nature, and so the day’s work began, though even the cockerel on the barn-roof thought it too early, barely managing to croak.
Uli ushered her charges back to Melissa’s room. She instructed them to stand under the simple portico outside just as she did, legs wide apart, hands on buttocks, shoulders back, tits up, and when the housekeeper appeared, they were to get down instantly to kneel as they’d seen her do before, displaying their alert yet humble availability. She soon emerged, at of her fingers, Uli was back on her feet, and the others followed suit.
“Right,” she announced, “The Mistress has commanded that these slaves shall spend the morning at the market. That’s where slave-life begins, at least for formerly free brats, doesn’t it Uli?” “Yes, ma’am,” the girl agreed firmly.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
It is quite clear that Pp must follow the established examination proceedure and introduce this into every whipping he performs. Sorry ladies but precedent is precedent.
the troublesome teens' remedial education continues -
Valentina glanced at her sister and shrugged, Junia pulled a mischievous face, if a visit to the slave-market wasn’t her first choice for a fun morning, she knew it would be a lot more embarrassing for big sister – gods, supposing her friends see her!
“Good morning, slavegirls!” roared a male voice, Uli’s head bowed, her knee flexed instinctively, “Show respect!” she hissed, Duo followed suit, reluctantly Una bobbed likewise, but her move was more of a shudder of recognition - Lucius Lepidus the Whip-Master! Her skin was still stinging from the lashing he’d given her when she was still Valentina, only Venus knows what he might do to her now she’s slavegirl Una! Duo, on the other hand, was experiencing stranger feelings – the enormous muscles of those arms and bare, hairy chest, the interesting contours of his lower tunic – when he’d given her the whipping Mater ordered, she’d cried, ‘cos that’s what girls are expected to do, but she’d thought it was really no worse than she’d get enjoying a bit of rough and tumble with the fishermen’s boys on the rocks in the bay (out of parental or sisterly sight of course), and she’d actually felt a bit jealous of her sister, getting such an attentive thrashing!
“Are they ready?” “Yes, Whip-Master, Sir” replied Melissa – even she had to display deference to the mighty brute. “Then off we go.”
It was a brisk march in the cool air before dawn along the military highway, soon the goose-pimples on the girls’ bare legs and under their featherwieght tunics gave way to a sweaty glow. Melissa and the Whip-Master strode behind them, he’d unhooked the light filly-whip he always carried on his belt, both Una and Duo felt its sting across the backs of their thighs when they slowed briefly as the road climbed the steep ridge before Rome, Uli knew she had to skip ahead.
At the summit of the hill stood the familiar sight silhouetted in the glow of early dawn, wooden crosses strung out along the way, bearing their burden of twitching, gasping, moaning bare men, young women, even kids. When they were Valentina and Junia, they’d probably have dawdled, eyeing the living corpses with a mix of curiosity and scornful disgust, but now the two slavegirls had to hasten past, as did most of the growing crowd of busy people – slaves, day-labourers, peasants and peddlers, all heading down to the great city.
Half-way down the hill there was a commotion. A tough-looking amazon, naked but for a blood-soaked rag, her skin striped with vivid weals, had stumbled under the weight of the huge wooden crossbar she was bearing up to her place of execution. Her guards, young thugs that she could probably have bested in a fair fight, were thrashing and kicking her, a small gang of followers, mostly male, was urging them on, the busy throng had to take a detour off the road and through the deep drainage ditch to get past.
At the Latin Gate, a horde was already gathered, waiting for the doors to be opened. There were people with handcarts, slaves bearing sacks, rustics on farm-wagons, kids herding cattle, pigs, goats and chickens, and among them some coffles – crocodiles of chained slaves, some newly-captured, frightened or despairing, others expressionless, resigned, urged along like farm-beasts by keepers with thongs or sharp goads.
A brass horn blew, the huge gates creaked apart, the mass surged in. Lucius used his whip-wielding arm to force a way through that Melissa and the three girls followed. Soon they were marching briskly once more, along streets where cabin-shops were opening up, market-stalls were being laden, tasty fruit, eastern silks, glittering jewellery all caught the eager eyes of the two young women, but such temptations were no longer for them, they had to keep pace with the strings of human merchandise all heading to one destination - still called the ‘Greek Games-Park’, though no longer Greek nor promising much of a game, at least not for the slaves destined for Rome’s great market.
Valentina glanced at her sister and shrugged, Junia pulled a mischievous face, if a visit to the slave-market wasn’t her first choice for a fun morning, she knew it would be a lot more embarrassing for big sister – gods, supposing her friends see her!
“Good morning, slavegirls!” roared a male voice, Uli’s head bowed, her knee flexed instinctively, “Show respect!” she hissed, Duo followed suit, reluctantly Una bobbed likewise, but her move was more of a shudder of recognition - Lucius Lepidus the Whip-Master! Her skin was still stinging from the lashing he’d given her when she was still Valentina, only Venus knows what he might do to her now she’s slavegirl Una! Duo, on the other hand, was experiencing stranger feelings – the enormous muscles of those arms and bare, hairy chest, the interesting contours of his lower tunic – when he’d given her the whipping Mater ordered, she’d cried, ‘cos that’s what girls are expected to do, but she’d thought it was really no worse than she’d get enjoying a bit of rough and tumble with the fishermen’s boys on the rocks in the bay (out of parental or sisterly sight of course), and she’d actually felt a bit jealous of her sister, getting such an attentive thrashing!
“Are they ready?” “Yes, Whip-Master, Sir” replied Melissa – even she had to display deference to the mighty brute. “Then off we go.”
It was a brisk march in the cool air before dawn along the military highway, soon the goose-pimples on the girls’ bare legs and under their featherwieght tunics gave way to a sweaty glow. Melissa and the Whip-Master strode behind them, he’d unhooked the light filly-whip he always carried on his belt, both Una and Duo felt its sting across the backs of their thighs when they slowed briefly as the road climbed the steep ridge before Rome, Uli knew she had to skip ahead.
At the summit of the hill stood the familiar sight silhouetted in the glow of early dawn, wooden crosses strung out along the way, bearing their burden of twitching, gasping, moaning bare men, young women, even kids. When they were Valentina and Junia, they’d probably have dawdled, eyeing the living corpses with a mix of curiosity and scornful disgust, but now the two slavegirls had to hasten past, as did most of the growing crowd of busy people – slaves, day-labourers, peasants and peddlers, all heading down to the great city.
Half-way down the hill there was a commotion. A tough-looking amazon, naked but for a blood-soaked rag, her skin striped with vivid weals, had stumbled under the weight of the huge wooden crossbar she was bearing up to her place of execution. Her guards, young thugs that she could probably have bested in a fair fight, were thrashing and kicking her, a small gang of followers, mostly male, was urging them on, the busy throng had to take a detour off the road and through the deep drainage ditch to get past.
At the Latin Gate, a horde was already gathered, waiting for the doors to be opened. There were people with handcarts, slaves bearing sacks, rustics on farm-wagons, kids herding cattle, pigs, goats and chickens, and among them some coffles – crocodiles of chained slaves, some newly-captured, frightened or despairing, others expressionless, resigned, urged along like farm-beasts by keepers with thongs or sharp goads.
A brass horn blew, the huge gates creaked apart, the mass surged in. Lucius used his whip-wielding arm to force a way through that Melissa and the three girls followed. Soon they were marching briskly once more, along streets where cabin-shops were opening up, market-stalls were being laden, tasty fruit, eastern silks, glittering jewellery all caught the eager eyes of the two young women, but such temptations were no longer for them, they had to keep pace with the strings of human merchandise all heading to one destination - still called the ‘Greek Games-Park’, though no longer Greek nor promising much of a game, at least not for the slaves destined for Rome’s great market.
curiousmink
Executioner
that is an excellent work. Very erotic both sexes. The onlookers in a frenzy
at the Slave-Market
The old Greek sports arena was already a busy place in the early morning sunshine. At one end, a large area was filled with fenced pens, into which the coffles of slaves to be sold were being herded. Many were already full, and prospective buyers were filling the alleyways between, prodding and feeling and intimately examining the merchandise. Selling had already begun: in the central area, on a high platform, a stentorian-voiced auctioneer was taking bids for babies, unwanted slave-brats being sold off in lots of ten or a dozen, “Mostly they’re slave-farmers who buy them, bring them on for a few years, sell them for a good profit,” muttered Uli.
At the far end were holding-pens, empty for the moment, to receive slaves who’d been sold and await collection. And alongside these were several busy blacksmiths’ shops, their furnaces already blazing, shackles and fetters displayed outside for sale, boards advertising such offers as BRANDING ONLY XIX DEN.
The girls were ushered to the front of the terraces that overlooked the auction area, where spectators had once watched athletes. Melissa spoke to Lucius, “Whip-Master, Sir, I have to do some business for my Mistress, I’m sure you’ll keep a good eye on our charges?” “No problem,” the prime flogger grinned, the sisters cringed instinctively. As Melissa departed, he flicked Una’s bum with the filly-whip, “stop lounging – that fence doesn’t need your help, stand upright!” The two sisters stood, as Uli already was, legs apart, stiff like soldiers.
“Hi Lucius!” A man bearing an enormously long whip called from down on the sand, “Bullippus! Great to see you mate!” “What have you brought us, some healthy livestock?” Lucius shook his head, “No, they’re just here to watch, it’s an educational visit.” “Oh,” the ringmaster looked a bit disappointed, “we get a lot of school parties these days, it’s in the Imperial Curriculum now, teaching them Roman Values.” He’d come to the side of the arena, where he could enjoy the sight of the three girls’ bare legs under short tunics – the sisters longed to close their thighs, but Lucius’s whip was at the ready. After a few moments ogling, he called, “Enjoy the show, lassies – and don’t forget to tell your mums and dads about our special summer holidays offer – get the kids off your hands and some useful cash in your purse, no sale no fee!”
With that he departed to his duties. The baby-sales were finished, now the next age-group, kids (just) old enough to be set to work. They were led from the pens and made to sit in rows below the auction-block, each with a wooden board round its neck showing name, age and origin. As each one’s turn came to be sold, while the auctioneer proclaimed its unique selling points, the child had to scamper around the ring for purchasers to see how fit and agile it was. The ringmaster stood in the middle, cracking the long whip. The girls were relieved to see he didn’t deliberately hit the youngsters, for the most part the swish and crack of the long, snaking thong was all they needed to set them sprinting.
Lucius had met up with other men-friends in the crowd, they were already joshing one another and guffawing at dirty jokes, he’d soon got bored with acting the nursemaid. So Una was able to ask Uli, “How long have you been a slave?” Uli shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know, four years, probably five now.” “And what were you before that?” She sniggered, “I was a little barbarian, somewhere weeks away on the edge of the world, where it was pitch dark half the year, and howling gales and pouring rain all the year, and there were monsters in the sea. Mistress Melissa thinks it must have been Ultima Thule.” The two sisters listened, intrigued. “My dad was some sort of headman where we lived, but he got killed in a squabble with the neighbours, mum was nursing my baby brother, I was the eldest kid and had to do all the food-finding.” “So how did you come to be a slave?” “I went down to the bay one dawn to get whelks and seaweed, and there were slave-raiders from across the water waiting to grab me.” Una looked shocked, Duo excited. “They took me over to their land, then sold me to some brown-skinned merchant. I had to skivvy and scrub on his boat for weeks and weeks until we got to Ostia, then he brought me here and sold me.”
Una did her best to look sympathetic, she knew she ought to though she wasn’t very good at it. “Oh you poor thing! You must feel homesick!” Uli shrugged again, “Mm, I miss my mum and brothers and sisters a bit, I tried to get the slave-traders to let me lead them to our hut, they could have taken all of us, but they said it would be too risky. “But…?” “I think I’m better off here really – I was used to hard work and getting beaten anyway, the weather’s nicer, and I know when my next meal’s coming.”
The two sisters were both looking thoughtful. Valentina/ Una felt irritated, what Uli had said in all innocence brought echoes of her mother lecturing her on being grateful. Junia/ Duo, on the other hand, was picturing herself being seized by swarthy slavers and shipped away to some exotic land.
They watched the young slaves skipping around the ring and being sold off one by one to rough-looking agents. “This is the common slave-market,” Uli explained, “There are special shops in the posh part of the city where really up-market slaves are bought and sold, that’s where Master and Mistress would have found a top-of-the-range slavewoman like Mistress Melissa. But when I was sold, Kitchen-Mistress just wanted a tough little brat for scullery-work, so they ordered their agent to buy one cheap – 20 sesterces I think they paid for me.”
They were beginning to hear a sound that sent shivers through their scantily-clad bodies, from the blacksmiths’ shops at the far end of the stadium, shrill screams and howls of pain. Duo glanced at the brand-mark on Uli’s leg, she guessed what was going on. “That brand, Uli,” she asked, conscious it was a dumb question, “did it hurt?” Uli giggled. “When I screamed, I think they had to catch the geese at the Capitol, they nearly flew off, and Rome would have fallen!” Both sisters gazed at the livid P with its money-marks. “It still hurts a bit,” the slavegirl went on, “If I get too close to a fire, or something warm touches it. But I’m proud of it.” “Proud?!” asked Una, astonished. “Oh yes, Pompilius is a great man in Rome, people respect his brand!” “I know, he’s…” Valentina was going to say “my father”, but checked herself – clearly Uli didn’t know who she and Junia were, and it’s no business of this wretch of scullery slave. Her annoyance was growing, now she heard her father haranguing her on the glorious heritage of the Gens Pompilia. And her mood wasn’t improved when her daft sister exclaimed enthusiastically, “Hey! Do you think we’re going to be branded?”
“Ouch!” Una and Duo both yelped, Lucius’s whipthong swept skillfully catching all three girls’ legs just below their tunic-hems. “Look sharp!” he snapped. Uli turned and immediately dropped to her knees, threw her arms forward and prostrated herself on the concrete terrace. Una and Duo saw Melissa was approaching, two men, and – gods and goddesses – their mother! The idea of greeting Augusta politely was one they had difficulty with, grovelling to her would certainly not have occurred to them – but Lucius was fingering his whip, his expression was like a thunder-cloud, with a shared sigh, they humbled themselves as slavegirls must.
The old Greek sports arena was already a busy place in the early morning sunshine. At one end, a large area was filled with fenced pens, into which the coffles of slaves to be sold were being herded. Many were already full, and prospective buyers were filling the alleyways between, prodding and feeling and intimately examining the merchandise. Selling had already begun: in the central area, on a high platform, a stentorian-voiced auctioneer was taking bids for babies, unwanted slave-brats being sold off in lots of ten or a dozen, “Mostly they’re slave-farmers who buy them, bring them on for a few years, sell them for a good profit,” muttered Uli.
At the far end were holding-pens, empty for the moment, to receive slaves who’d been sold and await collection. And alongside these were several busy blacksmiths’ shops, their furnaces already blazing, shackles and fetters displayed outside for sale, boards advertising such offers as BRANDING ONLY XIX DEN.
The girls were ushered to the front of the terraces that overlooked the auction area, where spectators had once watched athletes. Melissa spoke to Lucius, “Whip-Master, Sir, I have to do some business for my Mistress, I’m sure you’ll keep a good eye on our charges?” “No problem,” the prime flogger grinned, the sisters cringed instinctively. As Melissa departed, he flicked Una’s bum with the filly-whip, “stop lounging – that fence doesn’t need your help, stand upright!” The two sisters stood, as Uli already was, legs apart, stiff like soldiers.
“Hi Lucius!” A man bearing an enormously long whip called from down on the sand, “Bullippus! Great to see you mate!” “What have you brought us, some healthy livestock?” Lucius shook his head, “No, they’re just here to watch, it’s an educational visit.” “Oh,” the ringmaster looked a bit disappointed, “we get a lot of school parties these days, it’s in the Imperial Curriculum now, teaching them Roman Values.” He’d come to the side of the arena, where he could enjoy the sight of the three girls’ bare legs under short tunics – the sisters longed to close their thighs, but Lucius’s whip was at the ready. After a few moments ogling, he called, “Enjoy the show, lassies – and don’t forget to tell your mums and dads about our special summer holidays offer – get the kids off your hands and some useful cash in your purse, no sale no fee!”
With that he departed to his duties. The baby-sales were finished, now the next age-group, kids (just) old enough to be set to work. They were led from the pens and made to sit in rows below the auction-block, each with a wooden board round its neck showing name, age and origin. As each one’s turn came to be sold, while the auctioneer proclaimed its unique selling points, the child had to scamper around the ring for purchasers to see how fit and agile it was. The ringmaster stood in the middle, cracking the long whip. The girls were relieved to see he didn’t deliberately hit the youngsters, for the most part the swish and crack of the long, snaking thong was all they needed to set them sprinting.
Lucius had met up with other men-friends in the crowd, they were already joshing one another and guffawing at dirty jokes, he’d soon got bored with acting the nursemaid. So Una was able to ask Uli, “How long have you been a slave?” Uli shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know, four years, probably five now.” “And what were you before that?” She sniggered, “I was a little barbarian, somewhere weeks away on the edge of the world, where it was pitch dark half the year, and howling gales and pouring rain all the year, and there were monsters in the sea. Mistress Melissa thinks it must have been Ultima Thule.” The two sisters listened, intrigued. “My dad was some sort of headman where we lived, but he got killed in a squabble with the neighbours, mum was nursing my baby brother, I was the eldest kid and had to do all the food-finding.” “So how did you come to be a slave?” “I went down to the bay one dawn to get whelks and seaweed, and there were slave-raiders from across the water waiting to grab me.” Una looked shocked, Duo excited. “They took me over to their land, then sold me to some brown-skinned merchant. I had to skivvy and scrub on his boat for weeks and weeks until we got to Ostia, then he brought me here and sold me.”
Una did her best to look sympathetic, she knew she ought to though she wasn’t very good at it. “Oh you poor thing! You must feel homesick!” Uli shrugged again, “Mm, I miss my mum and brothers and sisters a bit, I tried to get the slave-traders to let me lead them to our hut, they could have taken all of us, but they said it would be too risky. “But…?” “I think I’m better off here really – I was used to hard work and getting beaten anyway, the weather’s nicer, and I know when my next meal’s coming.”
The two sisters were both looking thoughtful. Valentina/ Una felt irritated, what Uli had said in all innocence brought echoes of her mother lecturing her on being grateful. Junia/ Duo, on the other hand, was picturing herself being seized by swarthy slavers and shipped away to some exotic land.
They watched the young slaves skipping around the ring and being sold off one by one to rough-looking agents. “This is the common slave-market,” Uli explained, “There are special shops in the posh part of the city where really up-market slaves are bought and sold, that’s where Master and Mistress would have found a top-of-the-range slavewoman like Mistress Melissa. But when I was sold, Kitchen-Mistress just wanted a tough little brat for scullery-work, so they ordered their agent to buy one cheap – 20 sesterces I think they paid for me.”
They were beginning to hear a sound that sent shivers through their scantily-clad bodies, from the blacksmiths’ shops at the far end of the stadium, shrill screams and howls of pain. Duo glanced at the brand-mark on Uli’s leg, she guessed what was going on. “That brand, Uli,” she asked, conscious it was a dumb question, “did it hurt?” Uli giggled. “When I screamed, I think they had to catch the geese at the Capitol, they nearly flew off, and Rome would have fallen!” Both sisters gazed at the livid P with its money-marks. “It still hurts a bit,” the slavegirl went on, “If I get too close to a fire, or something warm touches it. But I’m proud of it.” “Proud?!” asked Una, astonished. “Oh yes, Pompilius is a great man in Rome, people respect his brand!” “I know, he’s…” Valentina was going to say “my father”, but checked herself – clearly Uli didn’t know who she and Junia were, and it’s no business of this wretch of scullery slave. Her annoyance was growing, now she heard her father haranguing her on the glorious heritage of the Gens Pompilia. And her mood wasn’t improved when her daft sister exclaimed enthusiastically, “Hey! Do you think we’re going to be branded?”
“Ouch!” Una and Duo both yelped, Lucius’s whipthong swept skillfully catching all three girls’ legs just below their tunic-hems. “Look sharp!” he snapped. Uli turned and immediately dropped to her knees, threw her arms forward and prostrated herself on the concrete terrace. Una and Duo saw Melissa was approaching, two men, and – gods and goddesses – their mother! The idea of greeting Augusta politely was one they had difficulty with, grovelling to her would certainly not have occurred to them – but Lucius was fingering his whip, his expression was like a thunder-cloud, with a shared sigh, they humbled themselves as slavegirls must.
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For sale!
“Hup!” The whip stung their shoulders, the trio scrambled to their feet, stood at the ready. “Ha!” they heard Mother’s voice as she approached, “I see the two slaves are being taught respect – good work, Whip-Master!” “So it’s these two females that Madam wishes to dispose of?” enquired the tall, dark man who accompanied her, in a voice that was at the same time both obsequious and sneering. He looked Una and Duo up and down with a practised eye, assessing their assets. Valentina glared at her mother, what in the name of Juno is she planning now? “Yes, in view of my husband and my decision to – er – restructure our household finances, it would seem a more convenient way to release funds that engaging in tiresome marriage negotiations.” “Indeed, Madam, when assets become liabilities, it is always wisest to liquidate them.”
Without another word, Augusta nodded to Lucius, who swung his whip and gestured towards the pens. Too flabbergasted to protest, the teenagers found themselves marching towards the area where groups of slaves were being sorted and briskly herded in and out of the cages, the older girl seething, the younger bewildered but intrigued, at the prospect of being ‘liquidated’.
At the gateway to the penning area, the party was saluted respectfully, the tall man spoke briefly to an attendant, who shouted across to an area where young female slaves were being processed, “Clear a space, Master Bonus has customers!” “I thought so,” whispered Uli to Una, “Bonus Maximus, richest of the rich slave-traders.” Augusta’s soon to be traded ‘assset’ did not find this information at all reassuring.
The seniors had completed their negotiations, quite amicably it seemed, their eyes turned again to the livestock. “Undress,” said Melissa, quietly but firmly. The girls froze. “What?!” “Strip!” snapped their mother. Lucius stepped towards them, all too obviously eager to assist. “Fucking bitch,” muttered Una, pulling up her hated green tunic. “What was that?” snarled Augusta. “I’ve got an itch,” her slave-daughter hissed back. Melissa took the girls’ tunics, underneath were only their loin-rags, “Take them off, “ she instructed them. “Why? It’s not fair, that one hasn’t!” Una pointed to a fine, statuesque young woman in the pen beside them, her titulus showing her age as XX hanging beween a pair of breasts that, if they hadn’t been rosy-pink and quivering, could have been the work of a sculptor, but below her waist her loins were wrapped in a faded though gaily-striped throw. “All that cow has to do is flash her tits, why do I have to parade round completely naked?” “If you had boobs like hers,” her mother explained, “they’d be enough to sell you. Your pathetic lumps would only get a few coppers for raising a laugh. Naked means naked!” “Take off your sandals too,” added Melissa.
“Hup!” The whip stung their shoulders, the trio scrambled to their feet, stood at the ready. “Ha!” they heard Mother’s voice as she approached, “I see the two slaves are being taught respect – good work, Whip-Master!” “So it’s these two females that Madam wishes to dispose of?” enquired the tall, dark man who accompanied her, in a voice that was at the same time both obsequious and sneering. He looked Una and Duo up and down with a practised eye, assessing their assets. Valentina glared at her mother, what in the name of Juno is she planning now? “Yes, in view of my husband and my decision to – er – restructure our household finances, it would seem a more convenient way to release funds that engaging in tiresome marriage negotiations.” “Indeed, Madam, when assets become liabilities, it is always wisest to liquidate them.”
Without another word, Augusta nodded to Lucius, who swung his whip and gestured towards the pens. Too flabbergasted to protest, the teenagers found themselves marching towards the area where groups of slaves were being sorted and briskly herded in and out of the cages, the older girl seething, the younger bewildered but intrigued, at the prospect of being ‘liquidated’.
At the gateway to the penning area, the party was saluted respectfully, the tall man spoke briefly to an attendant, who shouted across to an area where young female slaves were being processed, “Clear a space, Master Bonus has customers!” “I thought so,” whispered Uli to Una, “Bonus Maximus, richest of the rich slave-traders.” Augusta’s soon to be traded ‘assset’ did not find this information at all reassuring.
They stopped in a gap where the market officer had ordered others to leave, alongside pens in which flocks of females were already displaying their flesh, some hesitantly and shyly, many dejected and desparing, a few quite boldly. Augusta and Melissa were in discussion with Bonus, agreeing on some details, Uli spoke quietly to her companions, “Well, you two, it looks like you’re going to be sold.” “Bloody hell, she can’t…” “Sh!” the slavegirl was untypically sharp, “Listen – it’s up to you. You can behave like mules, stand there looking glum – like you’re doing now, Duo – or throw tantrums, like you’re ready to do, Una – that way you’ll end up crawling through the mines, or bonking in a brothel. Or you can sell yourselves.” “Sell myself? What the hell are you on about?” “Present yourselves so they want to buy you, decent Masters and Mistresses I mean – it’s up to you. Good luck, slave-sisters!”
The seniors had completed their negotiations, quite amicably it seemed, their eyes turned again to the livestock. “Undress,” said Melissa, quietly but firmly. The girls froze. “What?!” “Strip!” snapped their mother. Lucius stepped towards them, all too obviously eager to assist. “Fucking bitch,” muttered Una, pulling up her hated green tunic. “What was that?” snarled Augusta. “I’ve got an itch,” her slave-daughter hissed back. Melissa took the girls’ tunics, underneath were only their loin-rags, “Take them off, “ she instructed them. “Why? It’s not fair, that one hasn’t!” Una pointed to a fine, statuesque young woman in the pen beside them, her titulus showing her age as XX hanging beween a pair of breasts that, if they hadn’t been rosy-pink and quivering, could have been the work of a sculptor, but below her waist her loins were wrapped in a faded though gaily-striped throw. “All that cow has to do is flash her tits, why do I have to parade round completely naked?” “If you had boobs like hers,” her mother explained, “they’d be enough to sell you. Your pathetic lumps would only get a few coppers for raising a laugh. Naked means naked!” “Take off your sandals too,” added Melissa.
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Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Lucky for Eul Pp read this late at night and not over his coffee early in the morning. The thought of those patheritc lumps and the flash of the smooth-shaved young sex would have had him choking.