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To serve in the bathhouse of a Roman noblewoman is the highest honor that a slave can hope for. It is a position of trust and confidence.
I stand, waiting patiently for my Mistress. My oiled body is naked except for a gold ring that encircles the root of my penis and a fine gold chain around my waist. They are at once a symbol of my trusted status as one of Domina’s household slaves, and a reminder that my perfumed body is for her pleasure alone.
The oil lamps gutter and smoke, giving a warm and intimate light to the chamber. The incense burners add their own perfume to the air, already heavy with steam from the hot water in the baths. I hear her footfall, and stand to attention, bowing my head in respect as she enters the bath chamber.
Barely glancing at me, Domina raises her arms slightly, waiting expectantly. I approach her, eyes still lowered, obeying her voiceless command. Carefully loosening the tie on the belt of her stola, I lift the loose-fitting linen dress over her head in a practiced motion, averting my eyes from her nakedness as I hang her garments, waiting as she lies down on the padded table.
As I take up the sponge and start the process of bathing her my mind begins to wander for a moment. Domina is young – maybe 20 summers, and her body has the shape of one who enjoys the privileges of her station. Soft and rounded, her curves and mounds are those of a woman of leisure and luxury.
It is my privilege to wash her, and I carry out the duty with diligence and care. Beginning with her rounded face, I delicately wipe away the powdered chalk and red ochre blush with a warmed and moistened cloth. After her face and neck I move on, working on those parts of her body exposed to the world. Inch by inch I sponge her hands and wrists, and then her feet and ankles, cleansing them of the dust and mud of the city. When I am done there is no stain or trace of the company of the day.
Next I move to her more intimate parts. I wipe the alabaster skin of her shoulders and the soft flesh of her upper arms. Gently lifting each limb, I wash the perspiration from her underarms. When they are clean I perfume each of her delicate tufts of hair with iris and rose petal oil.
With the utmost care and humility, I start to soap the generous mounds of her breasts. Domina’s dugs have not yet begun to stretch and sag, but I apply a soothing ointment to the crease beneath them. Lastly I wash her dark and dimpled areolae, watching anxiously as her teats swell and engorge at my attention.
She opens her eyes, watching me as I move down her body and start to soap her soft belly. Sponging her delicate abdomen I work to maintain my curious gaze on its almond shaped button.
Her hips are wide, the kind that a woman will thank the gods for as she labors in childbirth. As I finish washing her pelvis she bends her knees almost imperceptibly, spreading her thighs just enough to expose her intimate cleft. Wary of impropriety, I am careful to neither rush nor linger on the task. I start by sponging her fleshy inner thighs, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand, as if I were washing her clothes.
The scent of her womanhood is strong, a musky animal smell of fertility that stirs my loins. I breathe deeply, beginning to wash the triangle of fleece that covers her mound of Venus. The downy hair extends a little up the fleshy valley of her thighs. With endless care and respect I lather and rinse her maidenly parts, watching the plump lips of her cunnus separate slightly under the tender attention of my warm cloth.
I feel my rod harden, the gold ring now now gripping it tightly. Domina breathes deep, letting out a long sigh, her bosom rising and falling like ocean waves. Her belly tenses and she parts her thighs further. “You will plow my field, slave.” She commands, staring intently at the pillar of my manhood.
I kneel obediently between her legs, gently spreading them further, feeling my own appetite sharpen at the sensations of her hungry flesh beneath me. “Slave.” She orders sternly, and I look to her, lowering my head in deference even as my cock stiffens. “You will furrow my pasture Slave, but you will not sow your seed in my meadow. I want no slave mutt dishonoring my belly. I will have you flayed if you disobey me, or if you do not please me.”
“I obey, Domina.” I reply, pressing my manhood against her moistening maidenhead. She nods, her breath betraying her pleasure as I lean forward, letting the weight of my body press my cock against her gate. She moans softly, her pampered body shivering as I pierce her loins, sheathing my gladius deep within her.
I draw out slowly, my cock slickened with her juices. I watch her spine arch with anticipation, hunger rising in her body. Pausing for a moment, I plunge myself back into her, trying to ignore the exquisite pleasure of her tight wet cunny enfolding my rigid manhood.
I try to stifle my own appetite even as I feel her indulge her own. Beginning to writhe gently under me, she pushes against me in delicious longing. I draw out, then sink back in again and again, matching my thrusts to the rhythmic bucking of her hips, watching her squirm with animal need as I struggle to subdue my own arousal.
NSFW: yes
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