It's a hot, sticky summer evening when the colosseum champion awakes. She's restless, her petite, voluptuous form tossing and turning beneath cream colored sheets. Sitting upright, she grasps the brass bell at her bedside without even looking.
On the third ring, two brawny men clad only in tight fitting loincloths and leather collars studded with steel spikes walk into her chambers. She rises, letting the bedsheets fall away to reveal her nude, muscled form. She has no fear of her slaves' wandering eyes, they know better than to look upon her without her permission.
She turns to step behind a wooden screen, greeted by a wooden rack of lounging outfits.
"I cannot sleep, I require release. Go down into the dungeons and retrieve the Cur for me."
She knows that the two of them are obedient enough to know to bow before exiting her chambers. There really was no replacement for good, diligent training.
Attempting to clear the waking haze from her mind she begins flipping through the outfits on the rack. Half a dozen short dressing gowns made of colorful sheer fabric, a pink fuzzy, housecoat that trailed behind her whenever she walked like she was a queen, and one set of leather lingerie held together by thick steel rings.
She pondered over them absentmindedly as her mind and right hand began to wander. She imagined the Cur, rippling musculature and heaving brutality bound by iron chains to a stony wall. She thought of the state she left him in last time, flaccid penis caged in steel, her juices dripping from his face, and those smoldering black eyes begging for a chance to snap her neck.
Her fingers brushed along the tanned skin of her thigh. She made circles with her fingertips.
It was that killer instinct that she'd been so stirred by when she first saw it in the colosseum. He'd come to her domain as The Cur, a mongrel from some faraway empire sold off after being captured by mercenaries. In his first day he proved his ferocity when in a twenty man free for all, he stood the victor despite the four poisoned arrows in his back. Her eyes drank in his heaving pectorals when she forced him to battle a minotaur in a mini labyrinth battle. When they finally had their duel in the colosseum her infatuation had been secured when he kneeled over her, shortsword at her throat.
Her hand drifted toward her midsection, her thumb just teasing the outer lips of her pussy.
Her retinue of guards had made sure to subdue and secure the Cur before he could act upon his threat. Now he was her plaything.
Her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger began working in circles around the outer lips of her labia.
The creaking of the heavy double doors that led into her chambers alerted her to her guards' return. She tossed on a sheer pink dressing gown adorned with hand stitched cherry blossoms. She enjoyed the way it obscured her vagina while she stood but offered no resistance when her slaves knelt before her.
Stepping from behind the screen she saw the three of them. Her two slaves were still dressed in their collars and loincloths, but now sported fresh cuts and bruises. Trailing behind them was a tall man whose shoulders were almost as wide as the two of them together. He was dressed in a brown leather collar, a series of black leather straps adjoined with heavy steel rings highlighted his pectoral muscles, beneath what remained of his trousers she could see the glinting light of his cock cage. Her slaves dragged the cur in by chains attached at the ring that sat over his solar plexus.
She watched them bring him into the room with her right hand playing with her left nipple. One slave reached up and unclipped the chain from his chest. The cur let out a soft growl.
"Leave us," she said.
The two slaves bowed and walked backwards from the room, the door creaked once more as it closed behind them. Alone at last, she felt the same heady rush that always came when she played with her Cur. He was still so resistant despite their countless nights of...training. He knew well enough now that she did not have to bind his hands or feet together as she had in that first month of slavery.
She ran her hands down his rippling shoulders and over well toned arms. Even when left to stew in her dungeons, the Cur never lost an ounce of muscle tone. She squeezed at it jealously with one hand while her other attached his leash to the ring on his collar. She pulled his face down to her one-hundred forty-two centicubit height.
"There would be no need for all these theatrics if you'd just acquiesce slave," she cooed.
He grunted in response.
She giggled, licked up from his collar to his earlobe, nipped it and bit her lip.
"Come now Cur, you could sleep by my bedside in a large cushion rather than hanging form a stony wall. You could eat the finest of my table scraps from a gilded bowl with your own name on it. We could even arrange playdates with some of the other mistresses' consorts. Wouldn't you like that?"
He grunted again.
"Oh well, have it your way Cur."
She took the leash in both hands, the leather loop wrapped around her right set of knuckles while the left grabbed on a foot further down. She brought her hands toward her like bringing a dog to heel and she sent the Cur stumbling. He fell to his knees before her, his head hanging in disgust. She casually put her left foot atop his right shoulder and gave his leash another pull.
"Come now Cur, ask your mistress for the honor of pleasuring her with your tongue and perhaps I'll give you a treat tonight."
His head shifted upwards, his blackened pits of eyes meeting hers.
"Please o mistress of the colosseum, great champion of martial expertise, and conqueror of the wills of men. May I please have the honor of pleasuring you?"
She sighed in mock resignation, and giggled at her joke. "You may manslave."
He craned his head up to her pussy dripping centicubits away from his face. He began slow, with long laborious licks that started low and flat until they neared the peak where he veered to his right to scrape her clitoris. Previous restless nights such as this one had entombed a muscle memory into him. A subconscious awareness of exactly the height and depth he needed to touch her clitoris.
"Oh good boy," she writhed in shallow waves above him.
Her left hand reached behind his head and intertwined itself with his hair. She pulled him in closer as he licked fervently.
She felt her knees spasm once as she neared a climax. She wrenched his face away form her crotch, his face dripping with her juices. She took her foot off his shoulder and stood, then bent at the hip to plant a mocking kiss on his grimacing lips.
She walked toward her four post bed, pulling him along behind her. She could feel his eyes burrowing into plump posterior. Climbing into bed, she kneeled on it and folded herself into a downward dog pose. With his leash threaded between her legs, the Cur followed dutifully behind and began lapping at her pussy once again.
From this angle, he began to caress her clitoris with middle and forefinger while licking at her again, this time with his nose always on the verge of brushing her asshole.
