By Chloe Cox
3 erotic tales.
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Extra info for Bad Teacher
It was bad enough that he had endure the slaver’s abuse, let alone have his comrades make fun of him because of it. Someday, Septimius. I do not know how nor when, but someday I am going to kill you. That I promise you. * * * * * Sara was relieved she did not have to tend the sacred fire that night. She couldn’t wait to be alone with her memories. Annachie. She had thought his image was still clear in her mind. But after seeing him today, she knew her remembered version of him paled to little more than a shadow.
Bato could not keep the leer out of his voice. Through gritted teeth Annachie said, “I have told you I am no puttano. I will not service a woman so you can become wealthier, Bato. ” Rich Roman women seemed to make a game of collecting gladiators, to see how many different ones they could lay. Bato spoke the truth; Annachie had received many offers. He had been tempted to accept, if only to rid himself of the feel of Septimius. But in the end he refused each one. He was Septimius’ slave and therefore had to endure his abuse, but he did not have to become a plaything for a bunch of bored matrons.
They turned a corner and Sara saw the Flavian Amphitheater in the distance. More “games”, she thought. How could anyone call men fighting, maiming and killing each other a game? Sara hated the games. She tried to look down at her lap or close her eyes to avoid seeing the wounds and the death throes of the combatants. But she couldn’t close her ears to the howls of dying animals, the cries of injured men, or the cheers of the bloodthirsty crowd. And she couldn’t keep from smelling the blood and excrement that spilled into the sand.