Seduced by the Gladiator(60)

But he didn’t give it to me, not yet. His fingers wandered down until he found my clit, and I gasped as the first waves of pleasure began to roll through me, urging me to forget Gaius, to forget Hilaria, to forget everything but the delicious sensations that this man was sending through me.

He slipped a finger inside of me, and my knees wobbled. He had a firm grip on me from behind, though, which was good. When his finger retracted covered in my wetness and began to stroke over my hard nub, my legs shook so hard that I thought I might fall.

His hard shaft nudged at the cheeks of my ass, searching for my drenched cleft. I leaned over as far as I could, lifting my ass high in the air, so he could more easily access all of my sweet, hidden spots.

The sudden pinch of his fingers on my clit made me cry out, and before I could quiet again, two of his fingers were inside of me, nestled between my sleek, snug inner walls. He rubbed up and down, pleasuring sensitive spots I had not even known I possessed. The pressure built in me, growing brighter and brighter, until I was blinded by the sensations and swallowed a scream. My inner muscles clamped down on his fingers so tightly I was afraid I would hurt him. I rode the wave, whimpering as its huge pounding crests dulled down to tiny little ripples.

I thought that now he would finally give me a taste of his cock, but instead of entering me from behind with his shaft as I had expected, he slid more fingers inside of me, and the stretching of my insides felt so good that I rocked my hips and pressed against his hand, wanting to take them all in.

He understood and tentatively wiggled in the tip of a fourth digit, rotating it back and forth until it was slick enough with my cream to slide all the way up to join the others. My rocking movements against him became frenzied, and I growled, feeling the primal need to mate, to fuck, to entwine myself with my lover.

His fingers flickered inside of me, and I cried out in desperation, because the only thing that could possibly assuage the ache I was feeling was his cock ramming into me from behind, over and over, battering my pussy until I shattered.

From behind me, I felt Christus position his cock at the entrance to my cleft. He used his hands to help separate the folds of my ass cheeks, guiding his cock up and down, stroking me, until I felt the head slide past my entrance.

I sighed in pleasure as he was inside me in one smooth thrust—all the way inside me—and my pussy clenched around him like a warm, wet mouth. He set a slow pace, and it felt so good, so right, the slow building of that undeniable pressure.

He reached around to fondle my breast again, and I arched my back against him so more of my flesh spilled into his palm. He began to thrust harder, picking up speed until our flesh began to make harsh, slapping noises. I was so close, so close. When his hand lowered to brush over my clit, just one single time, I came so hard that I forgot, for a moment, who I was and why I was there. I could also feel the hard shot of him deep within me as he let out a groan, and I felt immeasurably pleased that I was able to bring him to such an intense orgasm.

As we sprawled there, muscles quivering, the air kissing the sweat on our skin, a sense of calm stole over me, and I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my soul.

Even if I were to die tomorrow, I thought, even if that was it . . . at least I would always have this.



As we climbed to our feet and refastened our clothing around our sated bodies, we became aware of the noise beyond the curtain—not the noise of the other couple, who had long since quieted and moved on to other things.

No, it was the noise of the party—the sound of festivities that had denigrated into something dark and wicked.

Slowly we peered around the curtain. I blinked at the sight that confronted us.

The party—the feast to honor the gladiators—had become a drunken orgy. Every possible surface was covered with a tangle of limbs. The smell of sex hung heavily in the air; everywhere I looked was a gladiator twined with a patrician woman, a patrician man entering a gladiator from behind, two patricians and a gladiator—the only people not involved in the tangle of limbs were some slaves who cleared away the platters of food.

In the middle of it all I saw the blond head of Hilaria. One man had his mouth between her legs; another man entered her from behind. Yet another caressed her breasts.

Beside her was Gaius. He lay on a couch, thrusting in and out of the red-haired woman whom I recognized from the house of my dominus.

Another woman, a new one, knelt over the back of the couch, working a phallic-shaped object in and out of Gaius’ ass. Yet one more female knelt beside the couch, her breasts framing the face of the redhead. Propping his weight on his elbows, Gaius alternated between slapping her face and pinching and pulling at her nipples. She moaned in time with his blows and fingered her clit and cunt.