in and fucked in whatever position one requires.
It was here that myself and Caelestis, Botilda, Alexis, and horniest of the lot, Aquilina, resorted to after reconstructing ourselves at the baths—all at my eager expense. Caelestis suggested a tavern first, but the others had little patience for sitting down at table. They wanted to sit down on some living meat.
After a few wines in a bar in the edge of the Riverside district, we began eagerly wandering. Goodness me Flavia, we’d barely gone a few yards before we were all as wet as the wine; Botilda and Aquilina’s faces flushed and sweating with the plethora of choice.
There were men of every type, race, and degree of physical beauty. Big dark-skinned Africans with bulging packages, lithe, sleek-limbed Syrians, great long-haired barrel-chested Gauls with glittering mischievous green eyes; there were even a few tall, proud looking men from India, the great turbans on their heads dwarfed by the gaily coloured turbans that thrust outward at us from between their legs.
“Lugh, Lord of Light! I fancy unravelling that," said Botilda, stopping abruptly in front of a young dewy-eyed Indian, and promptly pushed her way through the beaded curtain.
“I don’t have the patience to unravel anything. I’m burning up.” Aquilina fanned herself desperately as we laughed. We walked on.
“That’s the one.” Aquilina stood beneath a great blond beast of a man slouched against the embrasure of his window, his knob, stretching the thin white material of a pair of brief gladiator’s knickers, pressed against the glass like the sucking mouth of a hungry goldfish against the glass of an aquarium.
Alexis was next to go. Two Africans stood oiling each other in a tall window further down the alley to the delight of a group of watching women.
“Aphrodite’s Arse! Look at that,” she hissed. “Can I have both of them, do you think?”
“Go and find out. It’s doubtless double the price. Here, take this.” I forced another bag of denarii into her reluctant hand and pushed her through the enraptured group around the door. Britain’s administrative links with Rome may have been severed, but her bankers remained closely linked to the capital and I had no problem withdrawing ample funds from Londinium's banks for our pleasure and comfort.
“And what about you, Caeli? Does anything tickle your fancy?”
“I’ve had little experience with men, though I am excited. But, what I’d really like is… well... if we could... share a man together?” She then squeezed my hand tightly.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Caeli, and I’m sure we can find a gentleman ready to accommodate us.”
We did indeed. A big Greek in his early forties who used to be a wrestler and still had a most powerful grip.
Caeli said she wanted to watch first, and the Greek and I put on quite a show for her. He bent me over a stiff-backed chair and, with muscled legs firmly planted, drove his wirey ballista high up inside me with such controlled fury that the chair and I were driven hopping around the room. I could hear Caeli giggling through the blood pounding in my ears, and when myself and the chair paused to face her during one of our circuits, I could see that, apart from the understandable amusement, she was also highly excited.
The wrestler and I adopted a less perambulatory position, with me on his narrow palette-bed and him on top, standard but very fulfilling, particularly with that grip of his. He pulled me up into his thrusts by my arse cheeks with one hand while the other squeezed each breast up alternately until the elongated reddened papillis could be teased to lengthier extension in his mouth.
I allowed myself to come quicker than usual lest there be nothing left for Caeli, who sat watching, her right hand buried between her legs. I needn’t have feared. Our Greek spurted a league of his Greek Fire, and immediately withdrew, still cockily hard, and approached Caeli.
It was here that myself and Caelestis, Botilda, Alexis, and horniest of the lot, Aquilina, resorted to after reconstructing ourselves at the baths—all at my eager expense. Caelestis suggested a tavern first, but the others had little patience for sitting down at table. They wanted to sit down on some living meat.
After a few wines in a bar in the edge of the Riverside district, we began eagerly wandering. Goodness me Flavia, we’d barely gone a few yards before we were all as wet as the wine; Botilda and Aquilina’s faces flushed and sweating with the plethora of choice.
There were men of every type, race, and degree of physical beauty. Big dark-skinned Africans with bulging packages, lithe, sleek-limbed Syrians, great long-haired barrel-chested Gauls with glittering mischievous green eyes; there were even a few tall, proud looking men from India, the great turbans on their heads dwarfed by the gaily coloured turbans that thrust outward at us from between their legs.
“Lugh, Lord of Light! I fancy unravelling that," said Botilda, stopping abruptly in front of a young dewy-eyed Indian, and promptly pushed her way through the beaded curtain.
“I don’t have the patience to unravel anything. I’m burning up.” Aquilina fanned herself desperately as we laughed. We walked on.
“That’s the one.” Aquilina stood beneath a great blond beast of a man slouched against the embrasure of his window, his knob, stretching the thin white material of a pair of brief gladiator’s knickers, pressed against the glass like the sucking mouth of a hungry goldfish against the glass of an aquarium.
Alexis was next to go. Two Africans stood oiling each other in a tall window further down the alley to the delight of a group of watching women.
“Aphrodite’s Arse! Look at that,” she hissed. “Can I have both of them, do you think?”
“Go and find out. It’s doubtless double the price. Here, take this.” I forced another bag of denarii into her reluctant hand and pushed her through the enraptured group around the door. Britain’s administrative links with Rome may have been severed, but her bankers remained closely linked to the capital and I had no problem withdrawing ample funds from Londinium's banks for our pleasure and comfort.
“And what about you, Caeli? Does anything tickle your fancy?”
“I’ve had little experience with men, though I am excited. But, what I’d really like is… well... if we could... share a man together?” She then squeezed my hand tightly.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Caeli, and I’m sure we can find a gentleman ready to accommodate us.”
We did indeed. A big Greek in his early forties who used to be a wrestler and still had a most powerful grip.
Caeli said she wanted to watch first, and the Greek and I put on quite a show for her. He bent me over a stiff-backed chair and, with muscled legs firmly planted, drove his wirey ballista high up inside me with such controlled fury that the chair and I were driven hopping around the room. I could hear Caeli giggling through the blood pounding in my ears, and when myself and the chair paused to face her during one of our circuits, I could see that, apart from the understandable amusement, she was also highly excited.
The wrestler and I adopted a less perambulatory position, with me on his narrow palette-bed and him on top, standard but very fulfilling, particularly with that grip of his. He pulled me up into his thrusts by my arse cheeks with one hand while the other squeezed each breast up alternately until the elongated reddened papillis could be teased to lengthier extension in his mouth.
I allowed myself to come quicker than usual lest there be nothing left for Caeli, who sat watching, her right hand buried between her legs. I needn’t have feared. Our Greek spurted a league of his Greek Fire, and immediately withdrew, still cockily hard, and approached Caeli.
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