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Ritual of Pain (Africanus 2) by Geoffrey Allen
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Chapter 1
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She was tall, shapely and naked, seemingly walking in a daze, her head twisting from side to side and occasionally looking over her shoulder as if she feared some unseen predator. At a rock pool she halted, bending low to splash its captured water over her bruised shoulders. Suddenly she stood up and looked swiftly at the black, towering rocks, but then realizing the sound was nothing more threatening than the beating wings of a seagull, she knelt again at the pool and continued washing her sand-caked limbs.
All along the shore, shattered remnants of a ship lay scattered and broken. A few lifeless bodies, mostly female drifted aimlessly on the surface, disturbed only by the gentle motion of the waves. Above, the sky was clearing as the dark thunder clouds that had caused the storm began to disperse. On the cliff top a small group of men from the Dumnonii tribe watched in silence as their women folk collected driftwood and searched through the wreckage. There was little worth salvaging.
Africanus, as yet unnoticed by either the Celtic men or women, made her way to a cave in the cliff side and laid herself out on a large, flat rock. It had all happened so quickly, a storm that seemed to come from nowhere, the seas, one minute calm and serene and the next boiling with fury. The ship, rowed by female slaves destined for the slave markets of Londoninium, had been tossed like a cork, its terrified passengers, crew and slaves shrieking and swearing in terror as it drifted helplessly onto the rocks. All sense of discipline was lost and the rowers who might have propelled the vessel to safety scrambled onto the upper deck praying for deliverance. Even the whip lashing onto their bare backs failed to restore order. Above the sound of splintering wood came the command to abandon ship. Then, in an instant, the vessel keeled over. It took only one gigantic wave to wash its occupants overboard and cast them to the mercy of the raging sea.
Dimly, Africanus recalled seeing Circo swimming desperately towards her, and then he was lost from sight in the heaving swell. She never saw what happened to either Quintus or Nydia. All of them drowned, she assumed. And she was alone; it was as if the entire population of the world had suddenly vanished.
But gradually as her sense regained authority, she realized that could not be true. She was alone in a land occupied by people. But where was she? She knew the ship had been heading for a country called Britannia;
Circo's homeland. The ship had been wrecked on a wild and barren shore; a landscape as dark and foreboding as the storm clouds that had sunk her. She wished she had planned her escape from Rome with all its cruel perversions and uncertainty with more thought. It would have been better if they had set off overland instead of trusting to the sea. But that was irrational, for the
Emperor's Praetorian Guard would soon have overtaken them and put them all to the sword, or worse.
She sat up and rubbed her naked thighs. The blood was flowing more freely through her veins now she had rested. Quickly, she inspected her body. No broken bones or gashed skin. Only a few aching bruises that would soon heal. Her grumbling stomach rumbled like an angry volcano reminding her she must eat and restore her strength. Somewhere there was a city called Londoninium and she must head for it. But in which direction? And clothes. She needed clothes to cover her nakedness. The short skirt she had been wearing when the ship struck had been ripped from her when she was washed overboard. If this strange dark land really was inhabited by savages, a naked woman would be like fresh meat to a tiger. She stood up flexing her limbs and walked out of the cave and along the deserted beach. She could see the corpses of the drowned bobbing in the surf; perhaps one or two might still have clothes upon them. As she drew closer to the
water's edge, she hoped that none of her friends would be there.
The nearest body was one of the slave girls who had plied the oars. She was naked, except for the iron manacles still attached to her cold, lifeless wrists. Another floating close by was one of the female passengers. Remnants of a robe floated around her shoulders, badly torn but suffice to make a skirt that would just cover a naked rump. Africanus bent low to ease the cloth from its owner and then turned so quickly she almost lost her balance.
Out of the corner of her eye she had seen someone or something move behind one the rocks. Her eyes did a quick tour of the cliffs and beach and satisfied it was nothing more than the shadow of a passing cloud, she ripped the robe free from the dead woman. Deftly, she wrapped it around her hips, and feeling a lot less vulnerable set off along the sand.
She walked for about a hundred yards and then halted. She turned full circle, her gaze slowly sweeping the bay, a vast amphitheatre of high rugged cliffs slowly descending to the sands. Again that uncertain and eerie feeling that she was being stealthily followed crept over her. The sand beneath her feet trembled as if by an approaching earthquake. The sound grew louder and closer and she recognized the sound of wheels and beating of horses hooves. A pair of chariots came thundering from behind the rocks and quickly divided; one heading along the surf, the other along the sand sweeping in a wide arc to cut off her retreat. Africanus broke into a run, her long bare legs carrying her swiftly towards the
cliffs' end where boulders littered the beach. Get amongst them and she was safe, the rocks would break the chariot wheels and hurl the driver to his death. But the drivers knew the landscape well and skilfully avoided the jagged obstacles, steering their chariots clear and closing the gap between them and the fleeing woman.
She tripped and fell, rolling over and over, tearing her skirt and baring her naked buttocks to the driver. But she was on her feet in an instant and heading for a break in the cliffs. The nearest chariot, a light springy, wickerwork affair thundered past and began a long turn, coming back straight at her. She dodged the horses and leapt into a thicket of scrub. The chariot could not follow her there amid the deep gullies and ravines. Ahead lay a wood and she ran full pelt towards the trees, taking great leaps over the ravines, not caring that her heart was close to bursting and her soles cut and bleeding. The second chariot had disappeared somewhere in front of her, but the first was still hard behind, bouncing and bounding over the gullies and small protruding rocks. The driver, with a superb display of horsemanship, ran along the shafts and leapt onto the
horses' backs. But Africanus was still ahead and entering the fringes of the wood. The driver stood upright on the horse and made a flying leap missing her legs by only a foot. She heard a deep throated groan as he hit the ground and ran on into the trees, not stopping until she found herself in a clearing. Her heart and lungs could stand it no longer and she crashed against a tree trunk gasping for air, her magnificent naked breasts heaving from exertion. The acrid smell of sweat filled the air around her and she closed her eyes; exhausted.
She opened them again and saw him standing directly in front of her, a tall burly man with long wild masses of hair reaching below his shoulders. His beard was long but well brushed it seemed. He looked at her with a curious mixture of surprise and intrigue as if trying to fathom who she was. She moved slightly, unnerved by his penetrating gaze and in a flash his sword was drawn and at her throat, the point just touching into the well. One false move and
he'd pin her to the tree. The bushes rustled and his companion emerged, a younger man whose long hair was tied in a pony tail and his beard not so pronounced or luxurious. The point of the sword pressed deeper and she was up on tiptoe, her calves and thighs straining from her recent flight. She was still breathing hard, her tongue parched and her throat so dry it hurt.
"What have we here, father?" the younger man asked, taking a step closer.
He too looked at her with curiosity, but was still on his guard, one hand, she saw was on the hilt of his sword.
"A woman from that Roman ship we saw dashed on the rocks," he suggested, bringing the point of his sword slowly down her chest.
Africanus froze while the point travelled through her breast cleft and under her right breast.
The younger man moved closer still and reached out placing his hand on her breast and lightly squeezing it. There was more than just lust in his eyes, but a fascination both with the texture and colour of her skin. He left off fondling her breasts and reached for her braided hair, running the tightly woven braids through his fingers, seemingly admiring the skill that had woven them. Some of his own hair had been formed into plaits but not as artfully as her own.
The older man took away his sword and sheathed it. She knew it was useless to run now, she was their prisoner and they knew it.
The older man took her wrists and lifted them above her head. With surprising tenderness coming from a man of such rough mien he placed them gently on top of her scalp.
"She is tall and has a fine body," the younger man acknowledged, admiring her figure.
"But why is her skin so dark?"
"Maybe she is one of the traders from over the water," his father remarked, placing a hand under her left breast.
He lifted it, wondering at its size and weight. None of the village women had breasts of that size, or such full and ripe nipples. Fear and a sense of hopelessness made the teats hard and erect, and they throbbed when his thumb passed lightly over the spreading pimpled disc. He gave her breasts a squeeze, harder this time, sinking his fingers into the ample mound of soft, sensuous flesh. Then he placed both hands on the sides of her breasts and pushed them together marvelling at the deep crease forming between them. His son, emboldened from his
father's groping ran the flat of his hand over her ribs and belly, patting it and smiling at the hollow sound it made. Africanus stood rigid, not daring to move, suffering in silence the humiliation of having her naked body explored by these barbarians. The
son's hand travelled over the swell of her hips and down her thighs, then slowly back up again and into the perfect vee of her tightly knitted pubic curls. She could see both men had large erections bulging against their trousers. She guessed that soon they would both have her and there was nothing she could do about it but submit to whatever they chose to do.
The older man placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her facing the tree trunk. Her head turned sideways staring at the dense undergrowth. A fine bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face as she awaited the next assault.
A pair of hands lighted on her buttocks, smoothing the skin in circles, pressing and poking each buttock.
"A strong arse," she heard the older man remark.
And he gave each half a hard slap, hard enough to make her jolt against the tree. Her breasts flattened on the rough bark forcing the nipples to rub hard into the trunk and she winced with pain.
"A good back, too," the son admired, running his hands over her shoulders and down the sides of her deeply indented spine.
The older man knelt behind her and felt her legs, pinching the flesh of her thighs and tight muscles of her calves. At an unspoken command, the son took hold of her ankle and eased it over the earth, spreading her legs open as far as he could. She knew what was coming next and held her breath. It was not long in coming. A hand went under her legs and rubbed the soft sex lips, going back and forth until she felt her sex juice creaming over his fingers.
"Wherever she is from, she must have had many men in her cunt. Feel the size of it. Even a mare would be hard pressed to match
that."
His father placed his palm over the mound of her sex and squeezed hard. The son stood up and placed his hand on the small of her back, holding her still against the tree.
"Have all the men from your tribe fucked you?" the older man asked, taking his hand from her sex and running his fingers through her arse crease.
She nodded thinking it wise to go along with whatever they wanted to know. She wished Circo would come crashing through the bushes, armed to the teeth, his sword flashing, or even Fortuna wielding her deadly whip.
They'd soon show these barbarians how not to insult a gladiatrix. But that was just fantasy. Both of them were miles away, and Circo was probably making that fateful journey into the underworld. If only she had her sword and was free. These barbarians would have the biggest shock of their lives.
A hard slap landed on her rump and she was spun roughly round, her back pressing on the tree. Without warning the older man bent his bearded face to her breasts and sucked on the erect nipples, drawing each teat into his mouth, sucking as if she were a wet nurse suckling a thirsty babe. She bucked when his teeth bit on the nipple, her hands flying to his head to pull it away. But his son moved fast and unsheathed his sword, aiming the point at her throat. Even though she was a woman and naked, they were taking no chances. Secretly she admired the speed at which he moved and his accuracy in delivery. Gradually she was forming the opinion that they were not so stupid after all. It took a good deal of skilful training to handle a sword like that.
The older man lifted his head and slapped her breast, bringing his hand down in a fast swoop, landing the flat of his hand directly on the bouncing globe. The nipple rose with pain, but inwardly she felt a sensation of pleasure, a cold stirring in her belly and hoped they
wouldn't notice it. It wouldn't do letting them know that pain, particularly sexual pain, brought on an overwhelming desire to have a stiff cock pounding inside her soaking cunt. But they
didn't seem to notice the fleeting look of desire in her moistened eyes. The older man hit her again, slapping each breast in turn while his son went wide eyed at the way her breasts swung and wobbled to and fro, each enormous mound colliding with the other, and the nipples! Now they were as hard and stiff as young acorns and he
couldn't resist taking them in his fingers and rolling each teat so hard her eyes watered. But still she did not cry out. All those many months of hard, arduous training as a gladiatrix had instilled marvellous self-discipline and it would take a lot more than a couple of groping savages to make her scream.
The son started slapping her thighs, delighting in beating the hard, solid fleshy pillars that quivered with every blow.
"The girl shows strength," his father acknowledged, standing back to get a better look at her tight-lipped face.
"Let's see how strong she rides," his son leered, taking a fistful of hair and twisting her head.
"You can ride her all in good time. But now we'll take her to the village and she can join the others. Bring her to the
chariot."
Muttering curses, the younger man dragged her by the hair through the thicket, not letting go until they reached the place where they had left the chariots.
"You run fast," the father told her with begrudging admiration. "Now we'll see if you can run a lot faster. Tie the bitch to the horse. If she falls,
we'll drag her the whole length of the beach. See how she likes that."
The younger man baulked at not having the opportunity to ride her magnificent arse, wasted no time in carrying out his
father's instructions. He took off his belt and fastened one end to her wrist. The other he secured to the
horse's collar. He gave her arse a final hard slap before mounting the chariot. The older man had mounted his own equipage and was heading out of the thicket onto the beach. His son followed behind at a slow walk with Africanus walking in long strides beside the horse.
"Now we'll see your tits shake," he laughed, steering the chariot further onto the broad expanse of sand.
Africanus stared into the distance. The sea had ebbed and the beach looked a lot longer than when she had first made her escape. She took a deep breath and broke into a steady trot as the chariot gathered speed, keeping her eyes on the sand directly in front of her. If she stumbled and fell before they reached the rocks
she'd be dashed to pieces. Suddenly a whip lashed over her shoulders and back, not exactly painful, but the humiliation of being driven like an animal was real enough.
"Heyaa, heyaa," the younger man's voice barked, urging his horse to greater efforts.
The pounding hooves increased in speed and Africanus ran beside it, taking longer and longer strides, trying desperately to keep up and above all, not lose her balance.
"Look at her tits, father," the younger man shouted. "See how they bounce!"
The older man slowed his vehicle and came alongside, leaning over to see
Africanus' magnificent orbs bouncing and jiggling with every leap. Her nipples were stiff with fear and he could plainly see the pointed teats rising and falling on her swaying breast. He could also see her long, gleaming thighs and calves taking ever greater strides, jumping over a small outcrop of rock and pebbles. His son whistled at the sight of her buttocks and hips doing the most cock hardening dance
he'd ever witnessed.
"Keep your mind on your horse boy! Instead of between that woman's legs," his father shouted, steering his chariot towards the piles of wreckage still littering the beach.
"Aye, aye, father," he responded, but couldn't resist lashing his whip into her beautiful arse.
The sudden pain made her leap high and her bouncing breasts went in circles, jiggling and wobbling with every renewed stride. She was sweating like a mare now, her back, bottom and legs gleaming in the sun like polished jet. It was almost possible to smell the heat rising from her soaking skin. If ever there was a sight calculated to give a man a rock hard cock it was a naked women drenched in her own sweat, especially a tall black one with a figure that any other woman would have gladly killed for.
She was beginning to tire now, her legs were drained of strength and she was panting like a race horse, catching her breath in great gulps.
"Please," she wailed, "I can't go on. I'm finished."
The driver reined in the horse and slowed to a steady trot, letting the exhausted woman regain her breath. He steered the chariot across the beach to where the water had receded and the sand was as hard as stucco. Here the going was easier, at least her feet found a surer footing and the pace had mercifully slowed. He tugged on the reins and the chariot wheels splashed through the surf. The
horses' hooves pounded through the water throwing up great lumps of sand and pebbles. When it hit
Africanus' naked skin it was like being pricked with a thousand red hot needles. With her free hand she shielded her eyes from the gritty spray threatening to blind her. From somewhere under her feet the sand suddenly gave way. The chariot lurched dangerously and spun round throwing her off balance. In a trice she was being dragged through the shallows, her arm almost wrenched from its socket. She twisted and turned, her legs only a whisper away from the
animal's pounding hooves. One false move now and she would be crippled for life. Then the belt snapped and she fell flat on her face. The chariot wheel rushed past, missing her body by an inch. She rolled over and over and lay curled in a ball, hugging her knees and sobbing bitterly. The chariot made a sharp turn and came thundering back to where she lay.
"She's had enough," the older man remarked, bringing his own chariot to a halt. "She can ride the rest of the
way."
The younger man jumped into the sea and hauled her roughly onto her feet.
"That taught you a lesson, eh?" he smirked, running his lascivious eyes over her sand-caked skin.
Africanus was still breathing hard and her chest rose and fell, drawing his attention to her heaving breasts. He
couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing the sweating globe. Africanus stood still, not looking directly into his gloating eyes, but at the chariot. It was only a couple of feet away. If she could mount it, she stood a good chance of reaching the distant cliffs and woods. The older man would surely chase her but once she was clear of the beach and heading over the moor land there would be little he could do to stop her. It was worth a try, anything to escape these savages.
The younger man let out a groan and collapsed like a dead weight into the sand, his hand clutching his balls. The older man watched stunned as the black girl leapt into the chariot and seized the reins. Then he broke into a wild peal of laughter. Now matter how hard she lashed the horses the stupid beasts never lifted a hoof.
"Just shows how much you know about horses," he snorted. "Now get out of that
chariot."
Feeling very foolish, she climbed from the footboard and stood on the sand looking at the younger man struggling painfully to his feet. In his eyes she saw murder and took a step backwards.
"Put her over the stallion, bottom up," his father said drily, his lips creasing into an infuriating grin.
"And next time try not to let a mere woman get the better of you."
He was livid with anger. No woman had ever dared to humiliate him in such a way. If the rest of the tribe got to hear of it he would have lost all respect and would probably be cast out. He seized her arm and, with a dexterity and speed that surprised her, threw Africanus over the back of the horse, her bottom baring its splendid curves to the sky. He was in no hurry to make it back to the village, but set off at a slow trot, lashing her naked rump with the reins. It hurt far worse than any whip or cane she had endured, the thin leather straps cut onto the fat of her buttocks like tongues of fire. She knew she would receive no mercy and, as the lash whipped into her bottom and thighs, had a horrible feeling this
wasn't the only punishment she going to receive from his outraged pride.
Africanus clung to the shaft between the horses with her outstretched arms, her head upside down and buried under her cascading braids. Beneath her the earth seemed to pass by with increasing speed and she could feel her body slowly slipping over the
beast's back. She took her weight on her arms, now as straight as arrows. A dull ache started to spread through her shoulders and back as her whole bodyweight bore down on the shaft. But that was nothing compared to the fiery pain going through her upturned bottom. The young Celt was lashing her rump with increasing fury, striking each buttock in quick succession and loving every moment. He heard her cry out and sent the reins whistling across her bare back, striking where he knew the pain would be fiercest, at the base of her spine and crease of her arse. He left off beating her for a few moments and Africanus almost plunged to her death as the horses swung in a wide arc, deftly missing a protruding rock. They were gathering speed now and again the hooves threw up a deadly hail of sand and pebbles.
She turned her face away from the hail and fell forward bumping her head on the shaft. She was so far over the horse's back that her legs were horizontal and opening wider to help keep her balance. Underneath her chest, her breasts flattened against the hot hide of the horse, her nipples erect and throbbing as they rubbed hard into its coarse hair. Why did this have to happen now? Her naked body upside down and being aroused both from the renewed lashing and the thrilling sensation of her nipples and buttocks whipped and teased. She knew that the older man was riding alongside her, gazing enraptured into her open sex. She wondered if he could see the first signs of her orgasm trickling between her legs.
The Celts were superb horsemen and knew well the effect that horse riding had on a woman. Many a village girl had reached her first orgasm riding bareback on a pony only to lose her virginity to the first man that happened to come along soon after.
Now the older man was sure this splendid piece of fucking flesh he saw naked and jolting over the beast was no exception.
He drew his chariot alongside the spreading legs and saw at a glance the bitch was already in heat.
"Pull up, boy," he yelled, and Africanus felt the chariot grind to a halt.
She heard the older man dismount and come behind her, hauling her quickly from the horse. Her eyelids were heavy and dolorous with longing and sexual arousal when she stared him in the face.
"Stay where you are, boy," he commanded. "And guard the horses."
His son watched sullenly as the black girl was dragged by the hair into the nearest thicket. The old man could display an amazing strength when needs must, and in a flash Africanus was on her back, legs wide spread watching him releasing his trouser belt. She knew what was coming and it was useless to pretend otherwise. She would just have to submit to the rampant throbbing cock she saw springing free from his groin.
He was like an animal with none of the refined ways she had grown used to at the hands of the Romans. He smelt like a bull and probably
hadn't washed within weeks. But there was nothing unmanly about the massive cock rearing up at her, or the powerful muscles honed from so much battle. Scars from previous combats lined his rugged face and chest. He was going to take her like a wild animal and a cold, familiar chill went through her stomach. He slapped her hard on her belly and laughed out loud.
"You're a fine mare," he complimented, putting his hairy forearms under her knees.
With no more delicacy than a rutting cock, he threw her legs over his shoulders and penetrated her with a single thrust. Their eyes met and for a couple of seconds they just stared at each other, the barbarian warrior and his captive slave, eyeing their respective bodies, getting the measure of their physique and strength. He moved slowly at first, riding her as he might an untried horse, settling into the saddle of her soft belly, taking care not to drive her too hard. Africanus looked over his shoulder at the trees rustling gently on the breeze, then at his huge weather-beaten face and wild beard. She rested her hands on his hips and rocked in time with his thrusting. He wrinkled his nose, breathing in her hot, earthy smell of sweat.
She in turn could feel the sheer power of his muscles rippling with lust.
The hot reek of their unwashed bodies threw them both into a wild frenzy. Her skin was hot and slippery with a texture that was entirely new, and he wondered at it as he thrust violently into her sex. She grunted and flung her arms tightly around his back. Her legs slipped from his shoulders and locked over his buttocks. There was nothing soft about them when they flexed with every renewed thrust. For a savage and primitive barbarian he certainly knew how to pleasure a woman. Grunting aloud like a boar, he rammed his pelvis hard into the join of her legs, keeping her shoulders pinned to the earth with his outstretched hands. His pace slowed while he lowered his shaggy head to her quivering breasts and gorged himself on her throbbing nipples. He knew a few women from his village that had large teats but none compared to this dark beauty.
Neither did they have such splendid, long shapely legs. He glanced over his shoulder at the shimmering pillars of her thighs, the way they went hard when he thrust and softened again as her belly relaxed.
Africanus thrilled to the primitive ambience of it all. She was being fucked hard on the bare earth, her body naked and writhing under her captor, snorting and grunting, treating her like an animal, or some loose whore
he'd bought with no thoughts of love other than raw, unbridled sex. She wondered what he would do with her when he had finished. Let her go, beat her for the pleasure of punishing her beautiful bottom, or make her his concubine. She just hoped he
wouldn't do anything worse like slit her throat. Circo had told her that the more savage of the Celts killed and ate women on their feast days, or was that just a story he made up to frighten her? But it was that fear that made her feel so horny; a dark, unexplained inner feeling that sent quivers through her belly and made it tense and her sex tight around his grinding cock.
But the feeling was short lived. She started moaning, the beginning of her climax. Pinioned to the earth, she could do nothing but gyrate her hips and thighs. He was right over her, blasting his hot breath over her face, growling like a hungry wolf and slamming harder and harder into her dripping sex. Her heels fell from his buttocks and dug into the soil, lifting them both into an arc. His eyes widened at the power hidden in her legs and hips. Suddenly she was all muscle; her stomach flattened and sucked inwards, her thighs were like iron as she bore his full weight and the splendid length of maleness pounding inside her. Their climax did not last long, maybe no more than a few minutes, and they collapsed panting like mare and stallion at stud.
Her fingers had raked the earth and she clutched fistfuls of black, crumbling soil in her palms. She smiled with sexual exhaustion and closed her eyes. He grunted his satisfaction at her performance and lay inert on the soft mound of her body smelling fruitier now with its heady mixture of sex juice and sweat. He eased himself up and rolled off her and, with his cock still hard and throbbing, reached for his trousers.
The black girl was sitting up rubbing her aching thighs and calves, looking at him with a languorous level gaze. Her eyes were so dark he could hardly discern the pupils from the mahogany irises that seemed extraordinarily large. Between her open legs he saw the glistening traces of her love juice clinging to her tight nest of pubic curls. He would have sucked her dry, but a cry from the other side of the copse had him on his feet in a trice. Roughly, he hauled her to her feet and dragged her to where the chariots were still waiting.
"Was she a good fuck, father?" the younger man asked with a note of hostility in his voice.
"She fucks like a stoat," the older man replied on a note of celebration.
Without another word he lifted Africanus into the chariot and whipped up the horses.
The tide was coming in fast and if they didn't get a move on they would be stranded on the beach.
"Hold tight!" he yelled, lashing the horses.
And the beasts broke into a gallop heading towards a break in the cliff and the road that led to the village beyond.
End of Chapter One
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