I dream of Gladiators

This was an interesting request. It's a bit shorter than normal, but hopefully, she'll like it.

It's way more sadism than anything else, so consider yourselves warned. ;)

Livia's visit to the pens

Laura rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. Translating Latin is a strain on fresh eyes. After hours of reading about gladiators, about the real practices of the bloody sport and the less than wholesome elements of life in ancient Rome, every word was a struggle.

Maybe just a quick break. She could close her eyes, just for a few seconds. Then she'd get up, get some coffee, and come back to it. Fresh. Just a quick rest, and she could go back to learning all about Livia Drucilla, the woman who'd had a slave burned in the studio for not giving her satisfactory sexual service during a match.

Laura shook her head at the idea, permitting herself a small smile, and closed her eyes, resting her head on her arms. Just for a second.

The roar of the crowd and the jostle of the lectica, the litter, woke her up. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep. Didn't realize what was going on.

The litter bearers were careful to walk in step. The jostle was unusual.

“I'm so sorry, mistress Livia,” it was her handmaiden, pushing aside the curtain almost immediately. “There was a stone in the road, and one of the bearers stumbled. Should I have him whipped?”

“No, no, that's okay.” Laura put her hand up to her head, felt the oil in her hair and the gems woven through it.

Her handmaiden looked confused, maybe a bit disappointed, but nodded an stepped away from the litter.

Laura glanced out the window and saw the crowds cheering, some of the poorer folk pushing one another out of the way in order to get a better view of her litter, of who might be inside.

Things were starting to make sense. The coarse wool of their clothing, the wooden soled sandals with the leather straps. The silk pillows she was lying on.

Ancient Rome. She was in Ancient Rome.

Which is impossible.

Which means it's a dream.

A dream where she can do anything she wants.

They brought her inside the arena, down into a tunnel. She could hear the litter bearers straining as they lowered her lectica and carried it at their waist so it wouldn't scrape along the roof of the tunnel and annoy her. They were terrified of her.

And why wouldn't they be? She was Livia Drucilla. The terrifying, sadistic woman who used her slaves for her sexual whims and put to death those who didn't please her.

Laura smiled, a nice wicked smile. She was going to enjoy this.

They finally stopped and set her down as gently as they could. Her handmaiden offered her a hand to help her out of the litter. “We have three slaves for you to choose from.”

The three men were naked, hanging from the ceiling, shackles digging into their skins. It was clear that they could barely breathe, and they were drenched in sweat. The bruises on their faces and their chests made it clear that this was not their first torture session. The scars from battle made it clear how they had become slaves in the first place; they were former soldiers. Probably never expected things to end this way.

She walked among them, sliding her finger nails along their flesh. It felt so real. She could smell their musky sweat. She licked along the scarred and muscled flesh of one and could taste his fear. He shuddered and desperately tried to breathe. Looking up, she could see he was trying to move his fingers. She knew he was going to have to fight for his life soon, and the chains were probably doing some nerve damage.

Not that it mattered. He would be dead soon enough.

But not before she had her fun.

She reached a hand around and grabbed his cock. It flared instantly to life, and he moaned. That made her smile.

She reached out a hand, and a riding crop was placed in it. She began slapping his cock to get it harder and harder. He groaned.

She grabbed his chin. “Make noise,” she said, “And I will rip out your tongue. You don't need a tongue to fight.”

Though he would need his tongue for what she was planning on for him.

She pinched his nipples, slapped him on the ass, and then left him hanging there, doing his best to breathe and probably feeling light headed with all that blood flowing downward.

The other men were starting to get jealous of all the attention. She gave the first man a hard enough slap across his face, letting him slowly twirl on the chain as she moved on to the next one.

This one wasn't as attractive. But he did look like he'd react well. Like he would make the right noises, given the right incentives. Besides, she was feeling a bit sadistic.

She held out her hand again, and the riding crop was taking out of her hand, and a more solid wooden rod was placed in it. It was like a broom stick, and it made a satisfying thud sound when it slammed into his side.

He tried to curl up, tried to pull away, but the shackles, putting all the weight on his wrists, made curling up all but impossible. He tried when she hit him again, whimpering in pain. She swung like a baseball bat, bruising his sides. Another smack the face broke his nose, and she smiled at the blood flowing over his lips. He wouldn't be able to see for a while, the tears in his eyes caused both by the broken bones and the tears of pain from the beating. She hit him again on the thigh, tensing the muscle in his leg. She smiled as she saw the welts already forming where she hit him. He cried, and she smiled.

She was sure he was pleased when she left him alone. But she knew she'd be back. He'd been placed there for her torture, and she intended to indulge.

Number three was sweating hard, whimpering quietly and hoping not to be noticed. He was hard too.

She grabbed him around the shaft, and he made a hopeful sound. She let her hand slide down off the shaft and around his balls. He moaned. Then he gasped as she twisted. He groaned when she squeezed, and he made a sharp intake of breath when she finally let go.

Then she slammed her knee up into his crotch. He groaned. She kneed him again. He whimpered. She kneed him again, and again, slamming his balls harder and harder.

“Ask me,” she said. “Ask me and I'll cut them off.”

He shook his head, and she slammed into them again.

Want to read the rest? It's in Book Two