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Review This Story || Author: Faibhar

The (Latin) Summer Wind

Part 1

The (Latin) Summer Winds

A gust of warm air billowed the tall drapes curtaining the one domus office
window, hems of which rustled across the mosaic floor. From the street below the
usual city sounds were temporarily overcome as another fire brigade rattled past
fast on its way to extinguish some new blaze. Within the dim interior of the
room came heated sounds of a human sort: muted slurping, wet heavy breathing,
exertions.

Bridgid's mind took in the sultry sounds as she knelt with her back to the
office and facing the sunlit atrium. The atmosphere blew tricks that confused.
Her body rocked with every thrust made by Gaius. With each surge from behind he
rammed deeper inside. Bridgid tried to distract herself and took in the frescoes
and lavish furnishings in the bright airy room she faced before closing her
eyelids, allowing her body to open more to Gaius and his persistent advance.

It was all wrong, of course, to feel the way she did. Gaius was a Roman and she
a Briton. On the threat of mistreating her people he had demanded that she be
his slave. She acquiesced only to now be raped by a foreign conqueror,
satisfying his lust at the price of her honor. Why he had chosen her almost
exclusively these past weeks, she could only guess. But the really troubling
part bothering Bridgid was her own attitude. She had changed since first being
made captive. The heated air now luxuriated. As Gaius thrust deeper inside,
Bridgid softly moaned. Her own breathing hastened. Despite allowing the enemy
between her legs, Bridgid had to confess to herself that the Roman was not all
that unattractive. As a lover, he certainly was gifted. She even enjoyed having
her wrists tied to the columns at the office entrance. Her neck arched back and
hair reached down lower. Bridgid moaned more as she felt his hands glide over
the V formed by her extended arms and then his fingers caress her proud breasts.

A new voice said, "So this is the little one..."

"Murdia! I, ah, you're back so soon from the markets in the forum!"

Bridgid abruptly straightened her posture. Eyes wide, she saw the tall figure of
Murdia standing before her. At the same instant, she felt Gaius leave her. Her
cheeks flashed hot. Thick blond tresses fell forward to cover as much nudity as
they could.

"Yes my husband," said the beautiful matrona, sarcasm dripping from her ruby
lips, "but I see that the "melons" are much riper here." Gaius stammered and
rushed to greet his wife, leaving Bridgid in her kneeling position. Murdid
brushed him aside, but did notice the protruding linen poking out from his ivory
toga. She thinly smiled and grasp the protrusion and said, "The "zucchini" as
well. We musn't allow all of this to go to waste."

Bridgid watched the powerful woman pull her husband behind her and lift up her
linen tunica. Bridgid forgot all about Gaius as she saw the olive-skinned thighs
reveal the dark mossy triangle before her. She felt Murdia's fingers press the
back of her head. The world went dark as her face plunged into the pungent mossy
depths.

"You will be able to breathe much easier slave," Murdia said as she tore
Bridgid's reddened face from her and looked down, "if you use that tongue of
yours. NOW."

Murdia relaxed her grip and closed her eyes in ecstasy as she felt both her
husband and his slave pleasure her.



Bridgid was further confused by the plan Murdia whispered to her husband once
their love-making finally ended. Here she was, the next day as a result of that
plan, standing in the dark underground caverns of what Gaius liked to call his
own Coliseum, or Coliseum Minimus. From somewhere else in the caverns she heard
the sounds of wild animals growling and tussling. A female slave attended to her
hair while another applied makeup around her nipples. The same makeup was
applied to her lips. A fine golden mesh loincloth was secured over her shaven
pubic area, a thin chain holding up two corners of the small patch as the rest
of the chain encircled her hips. Thick golden rope, fashioned like two massive
hands cupped her breasts. A thin cord wrapped around her back held the "hands"
in place. Bridgid started, but was held, as a plug entered her from behind. She
looked back and saw ribbons trailing down past the backs of her calves. The
shiny color matched that of the mesh and the hands. Finally, one of the
attendants scooped up much of her hair into a pile and held it in place by a
feathery headdress that also matched the other accessories in color. Shiny
golden manacles clasped her wrists and were connected behind her by a light
chain. Similarly, her feet were hobbled.

Bridgid looked behind her, but the other slaves ignored her as a soldier led her
from the room. Ahead lay a thin tunnel. Bridgid had no choice but to enter. The
chain connected her ankle shackles hobbling her feet exaggerated the natural
sway of her hips. The golden ribbons trailing behind swung from side to side as
she made her way deeper into the tunnel, at last coming to the open door of a
large cage. Bridgid realized then that it was a form of an elevator. A male
slave stood outside of the cage and arranged pulleys to lift her up to the
surface of the coliseum.



Standing on the floor of the arena stunned. Tiers jammed with people circled
high above. Bridgid stood awe-struck in the bright sun. Awnings circling the
Coliseum flapped in the breeze, but served their purpose: shading selected
spectators. High above Bridgid saw the dull silhouettes of legionaries ringing
the top. Below them sat male and female slaves. Under the first awning sat
shaded female citizens. Brigid could feel the din thunder beneath her feet. She
shaded her eyes as tiny twisters swirled grit and sand across the arena floor.

Trumpets sounded. Peering to the shadows on the opposite side, Bridgid made out
the shape of a single horse. Behind it stood a chariot. The crowd cheered as
more of the horse and chariot came into view. Bridgid took her hand from over
her eyes as she clearly saw the driver, Murdia, dressed in a white toga with
sparkling silver armor. The white horse snorted as it surged forward. Flashing
alongside each of the two wheels protruded hub spears.

Bridgid ran as fast as her hobbled legs could move away from Murdia. She heard
the horse galloping closer. She turned and faced the onslaught. The hub spears
looked about knee-high and Bridgid knew her legs would not survive their cutting
blades. She stumbled to her right, but Murdia also changed course and came
straight at her.

She timed her leap and bent her knees to cushion her landing. Bridgid felt the
whoosh of the speeding chariot pass. She looked down at her chained legs. At
least she could bring her arms in front of her and that might help. From the
corner of her eyes she saw Murdia reign in the horse and begin to turn it around
for another attack. Bridgid fell to the ground, landing on the plug. She winced,
but pulled her linked wrists over her hobbled feet and stood, her wrists now in
front.

She had only a second to see it uncoil. Murdia's raven curls blew from under the
shiny helmet, her features raged. Bridgid jumped again to avoid the spinning
spear, but this time Murdia was ready. The bullwhip snaked out and whipped.
Bridgid's hands burned with fire as her palms caught the leather. She hung on
even after the chariot passed and she was thrown to the ground. She watched
Murdia race away, blurred by a huge cloud of dust. Only then did she see the
syrupy blood seeping from between her fingers.

Spectators cheered the opening act. They yelled encouragement as they saw
Murdia, the governor's wife, resplendent as she was in her sparkling outfit,
dismount and accept a new whip from the carnifex. This differed from the single
snake used before as it came with many strands, each tipped with barbs. Those in
the coliseum tiers became frenzied with anticipation as they watched her stalk
the Briton.

Bridgid achingly got back to her feet and turned just in time to avoid another
gust of wind-driven grit. Feathers from her headdress scattered. Through the
dust, Murdia appeared, walking this time. As she got closer, Bridgid saw the
scourge in her hand. Like an avenging she-devil, eyes glowered on a face mad
with fury. Bridgid's arms protectively rose as she saw Murdia launch a swing.

Her forearms took the brunt. Bridgid spun to her left. A strand from the scourge
caught the inner top of her proffered breasts. She ignored the pain.

Small white teeth flashed with Murdia's snarl. She yelled and charged, swinging
again. The bloody forearms of the slave would no longer offer much protection.
This she knew and would take advantage. The slave would not last for long.

The second blow stunned her chest. Bridgid looked down. Fingers from the
fashioned golden hand cupping her right breast shredded. She spun and fell to
one knee. Before Bridgid could rise, streaks seared across her back. A planted
boot kicked her forward. She sprawled, face-down. The headdress ripped from her
head. Another volley scored. Bridgid desperately clawed the arena sand in an
attempt to escape. Her hair screamed at its roots as her head was lifted higher.
She saw Murdia towering above. The other woman's knee flashed. The side of her
head absorbed the force as she rolled onto her back.

"These don't look exactly fit to wear," Murdia said. She planted a boot on the
slave's breastbone and yanked away the mock fingers accessory. "There now. Those
pretties are free to be hit." She whipped the scourge.

Bridgid gasped and spun in the dirt. Mindlessly, she tried inching her way
across the hot sand when another blow slashed across the backs of her thighs.
She felt the plug with the ribbons torn free, and then felt more fires burn into
her. Gusts of sand stung her eyes. A blurred view of Murdia's boots seemed
within view. Bridgid cried out as another hit score across her shoulders.

She would have to reach the boots. Bridgid summoned her remaining strength and
lurched forward. Both hands, connected by the chain attached to her manacles,
flew out. Her fingers clutched around Murdia's ankles. Bridgid held on and
yanked them back.

Shaded and un-shaded, plebians and patricians, men and women coliseum spectators
all rose as one. The governor's wife now lay on the sand, the bleeding slave
scrambling on top of her and then straddling the prostrate matrona.

Bridgid pulled herself on top and paused to look down at Murdia's eyes now
coal-black with hate. She hesitated only a moment before doing what she knew she
had to do. Bridgid's shiny manacles pressed forward. The chain connecting them
sank into the startled Murdia's neck. She pressed down more Murdia's eyes lost
their glare, her face changed from red to purple. With a yell Bridgid put all of
her weight forward, letting up only until she saw the whites of Murdia's eyes
and the wife of Gaius lay still.

Soldiers rushed in first, and then Gaius himself. Hands shoved Bridgid off.
Gaius tried to resuscitate his wife until accepting the inevitable. He glowered
at Bridgid once before standing. With arms raised he shouted to the crowd.

"Murderess! The slave murdered my wife before you all. Death to the murder of my
wife!"

Another blowing gust hit those on the arena floor and elsewhere. Tunics whipped.
In the seats above awnings flapped. Bridgid got more sand in her eyes. She did
little to resist as she was led back to the underground caverns. The wind
continued to bluster.



She was not taken back to where she was prepared for the coliseum, but marched
instead to the military garrison. By the time they had reached the barracks
Bridgid regained much of her wind, lost in the fight. She still bled, but at
least she could breathe. She craned her neck up at the two levels of wooden and
brick walls, taking note of the number of posted sentries with their sports
helmets and dull uniforms.

In a barracks hall, the slave was used numerously and in a variety of ways. On
arriving, chains connecting her shackles and manacles were removed. They sat her
on a table, and then connected her wrists to her ankles. The military then began
their rapes, drunkenly laughing as each took his turn.

The rapes continued even after the slave had lost consciousness. A centurion
entered, glanced at the obscenely positioned slave and ordered that she be
revived and strung up. He placed a standard in a lit brazier, insuring that the
fired coals heated the metal letters.

"SPQR" glowed red-hot. He led it close to the slave's torso. Her slick ribcage
arched over the radiated heat. She frantically protested, shaking her blond
hair. The letters moved closer, spreading over her abdominal tunnel to
occipitals lining each flank. The Romans laughed at her shallow panting and
attempts to escape the heat.

The centurion holding the standard pole with the heated letters tilted so that
they faced into the slave pressed forward. Plumes of branded flesh arose. The
slave screamed as she was burned. Her chin dropped and she hung limply. He let
the brand sear more into the stomach before finally pulling it away.



Bridgid awoke. She lay on a cell floor. Her shackles and manacles were gone. She
ached and hurt all over. No longer nude, she now wore a coarse cloak. The rough
material scraped her wounds. High on the cell wall above was a barred window.
Through it Bridgid could tell that a new day had dawned. Her head turned toward
the creaking cell door as it opened.

"It's time slave. Let's go," said the gruff voice. The de facto executioner
adjusted the leather binding encircling his wide girth and left.

She hardly had time to react before two younger soldiers came in and lifted her
up. They guided Bridgid toward the door and out into a dimly lit corridor. Wall
torches lit the way as they headed toward another room. The men and Bridgid
stopped as they entered the space. On the ground before them lay a complete
structure made of wood.

Bridgid knew the Romans like crucifixion, but never witnessed one. She certainly
never thought of herself on the cross. Her feet stopped close to an edge of the
upright that looked to be about ten feet long. Towards one end was a shorter
length of wood forming the crossbeam. The whole thing look enormous, and heavy.

"Here you go," it was the gruff voice again. "Let's lift this up and on you."

One shoulder fit where the crossbeam met the upright. Bridgid staggered under
its weight. Her back bent forward. From under her tangled bangs she saw male
hands tying her chafed wrists around the beam.

"Not so frisky as you were last night, eh?" The jibe brought another round of
guffaws. "This way slave..."



She fell. How many times Bridgid no longer cared. All she knew was that she made
the trip through the city streets with their shouting crowds and out the walls
to this small hill. The cross finally was lifted from her and dumped on the
ground. Wearily she saw Gaius approach.

"Strip her!"

The breeze actually was a relief as the cloak was torn away. Bridgid was
indifferent now to the many catcalls from those making light of her marked and
branded body. Her head hung, the disarray of once-proud blonde hair now serving
as a lank, but effective, frame for her face. Her nipples stiffened in the cool
air.

Gaius spoke to the gathered and said, "This will be for all of you good people.
Each day you will be able to see this small summit from every part of the city.
Whichever way the cross is pointed will tell you." He turned back to the
appointed executioner and nodded.

Bridgid saw a few white clouds above as she was laid upon the cross. Her arms
were extended outwards. She felt heavy knees press down on both her legs and
arms. A pain pricked her right wrist. Her head rolled in its direction. Past the
hulk with his knee forced down on her forearm she saw a black iron spike being
positioned just below her upturned palm.

Bridgid felt fresh sweat and her heart beat faster. She looked away from her arm
and concentrated on the clouds. With a crash, the sky shattered. A shriek
escaped from her depths as the spike penetrated. Her torso rose up and crashed
back down. Bridgid screamed and shook her head from side to side. Another crash
of the iron contorted her face.

She yelled as the pounding continued. No sky would ever remain placid.



Much amazed witnesses to the crucifixion. Almost silently they watched as
military raised up the crucifix with the screaming blond. Soldiers oiled its
constructed base. One of them tested the cross by slowly spinning it. The wood
moved freely around its lubricated base.

It was time to see what nature would do. Many of the civilians present covered
their heads as the winds blew. The cross shifted directions. The Briton on it
continued her painful cries. The scourged full breasts and long legs bent at the
knees finally stopped. The cross pointed as the wind came from the West.

Most there had to agree. Were it not for the fact that Gaius was who he was, he
could easily become a Roman meteorologist. At least, one who could predict which
way the wind blows. They agreed as they left to return back to their city,
occasionally looking back at the amazing wind vane on top of the small hill.



Review This Story || Author: Faibhar
Back to Content & Review of this story Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home