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Warning: This is a vintage hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel. This is bad stuff. Both bad meaning bad and bad meaning *good*. The story is so crazy, we can't even give a proper description. Check out the free sample if you can.*******Gigantic flares on stone pedestals lighted the broad avenue of marble, and the further the girl was led, the more erotic did the statuary become. Now there were marble works, showing a man dallying two maidens, both of whom were spreading their thighs wide and competing for his marble instrument, which was made of gold. Next, three maidens covered a man of marble with kisses, and one of them had her marble lips parted to smother with kisses his silver instrument, and next to this, towering above the avenue like something not made by mortal man, rose an enormous statue in marble and silver and gold of the rape of Leda by the swan and the great bird was spreading the struggling girl's thighs with his webbed feet, while his unearthly instrument, an awesome, long thing of solid gold, was thrusting into her treasure.Now at the end of this incredible avenue, there rose a palace, with three rows of marble columns fifty feet tall across the front, and a hundred troops in gold armor, with tall, spiked helmets of gold and breastplates of silver and spears eighteen feet long, topped with red plumes from some exotic bird, guarded the edifice, each of these warriors well over six and a half feet tall.The terrified girl looked from the statues to the frightening guards, then back to the statues, and then she saw, though the trees that lined the avenue behind the statuary, moving figures in the flickering flares. And with a blush she realized they were couples, making love in public, indeed in front of the very palace itself.Now this maiden had spread her thighs for many a young farmer, and not a few soldiers, but this display of wanton and abandoned love shocked even her free giving nature.
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Table of Contents
Much has been written of the mighty soldiers and leaders, of the illustrious senators, tribunes and consuls, of the great dictators, who led Rome through the double peril of Etruscan and Gothic cruelties, and I by no means wish to slight these men in my story. Yet in drawing on the ancient archives and tales, I have discovered that many other men have been slighted, and discovered also that the story can best be illustrated by showing how it affected the lives of the ordinary men. I have also discovered that one aspect of our great history has been almost ignored, and that is the part played by women. It is a part I intend to deal with at great length.
It is my intention that through the fabric of the people's lives, of their lusts and passions and cruelties, the tale will be told, and it will be seen how our ancestors lived and ultimately survived, and though their virtues will be indicated, and indeed, they will be obvious, so also will I show their vices. And if the latter seem at times to outweigh the former, I say that is often the nature of men, and leave the judgment to the gods.
Thus ends my argument and my plan, and here begins my story. Let it begin on a spring evening soft with the singing of birds, in both Rome, and in the nearby Etruscan city of Veii, in Rome with the quiet sighs of young people delighting in the ecstasies of love, in Veii in the screams of maidens in agency.
In our city, in a clump of bushes on the Tiber, not too far from the Forum, there rolled in each others arms a boy and a girl, he a young soldier, she a mere servant girl. She was barely eighteen, and though lovely and blessed with all those treasures of delight in breasts and buttocks that the gods bestow on the fortunate, we are not concerned with her name, for she was only one in a long line of women, who loves the soldier, and then fade into oblivion.
His name was Marcus Valerius, and ram of a lover he was, blessed with a noble and enormous instrument and the strength of a bull, as well as its endurance.
He and the maid had been walking, and then had hugged and kissed, and then, though he had but met her scant half an hour earlier, she eagerly accepted his suggestion that they lie beneath the bushes. Now they lay naked, and Marcus kissed her huge breasts, taking the nipples in his teeth to bite and pull, while his large hands roamed her thighs and then shoved against her eager, damp treasure, to bring from her soft, warm lips sighs of pleasure.
Marcus had been in the field and though he enjoyed the incredible softness of the young girl's body, and would have delighted in exploring it in detail, examining every hill and valley, his body was tense with passion from his forced celibacy, and he was soon parting the hot, squirming thighs of the maiden. And when he shoved home with his stiff instrument, there came from her lips gasps of pain, and she went stiff. But in another moment, she had adjusted to the pain, and even savored its burning inside her, and as her hard nipples tingled, she began a frenzy of motion that shook small, pink buds from the bushes and caused Marcus to sport out his desire, with her unschooled but wicked and effective gyrations.
Marcus punished her soft breasts with his hands, but his coarse squeezing of those tender, heavenly mounds gave the girl great joy, and fanned the flames that surged through her body, flames that were awakening the flames of woman in the girl. She clamped her nails into the flesh of his back, and then humped her body with amazing strength, and then she sank her perfect, white teeth into his broad shoulders.
Marcus responded by grasping her rounded buttocks and pounding furiously, twisting and jerking, but the girl matched his every move, and as she tore her teeth from his skin, she smothered his ears with hot, wet kisses, then pressed her trembling lips against his mouth, and shoved her frantic tongue through his lips. His kiss was as wild and frantic as hers, and he pounded ever more furiously, ramming his instrument until he, too, felt the sting of pain in his body.
Then all his desperate lust swelled inside him, and with one mighty thrust, he released all his pent-up passion and moaned, then collapsed on her body, his scarlet face on her heaving breasts. But only for a moment did he rest, for he had many days of physical denial to make up for, and soon he was again mounting his maiden, who was equally eager to resume their exquisite work together.
Thus did they pass an evening in spring, for Marcus like many other evenings, and later they would walk along the river, past temples and arches, talking and laughing, then after wine and food and another roll beneath the bushes, he would leave her, and return to his unit, which was due to march out again the next day, after so brief a respite from the rigors of war.
The necessities of war gripped the great Etruscan city, also, and its young men tramped from their homes to gird for battle, but the Etruscans knew well that it is foolhardy to ignore religion, and suicidal to arouse the wrath of the Gods in time of peril. So in the great temple of the mother goddess Juno, which dominated the city, a dozen neophytes were being initiated into the mysteries of the deity. so that they would continue the traditions which had brought such wealth and success to Veii.
But nothing worthwhile, and particularly nothing sacred, is easy. And well did these girls learn that on this soft evening. They were each eighteen, and each a virgin, and each lovelier than the last. In a city that worshipped the erotic acts with a passion that matched their devotion to Juno, it was only natural that the girls should soon be initiated into the practices of giving and receiving pleasure, perhaps no people known to our historians, including those uncovered in travels far to the east and south, have surpassed the Etruscans in the skill and abandon which permeated their devotion to pleasure.
Yet these things were to come later. First, the neophytes had to be taught humility and total subjugation to the priestesses who would pass on to them the ancient secrets. And also, the maidens had to learn what kind of fate befell them if they betrayed their trust and thrust their city into possible disfavor with June by an act of treason or indiscretion.
In the massive temple, with its great doors shut and locked, the young girls knelt in front of the statue of the goddess, an enormous and awesome image adorned with the most precious of jewels.
Behind them in a semicircle on gold-encrusted chairs sat the priestesses of the order, bare to their waists and their lower bodies clothed in thin cloth spun with threads of gold. The girls who kneeled in fear were naked, and at each end of their group stood a priestess, tall and stately, with a long, fierce whip in their hands.
The backs of the lovely, naked girls were witness to the blows they had received, and they fought to choke back tears and cries for mercy. For if a girl was unable to endure the punishment, not only did she risk being driven from the order to face public rebuke and possible exile, but her punishment would at the least be doubled.
One girl, the youngest by months and by far the most beautiful, listened to the ritual being read by the high priestess, and choked back tears and sobs, and clamped her lips together against the terrible pain that throbbed from the gashes on her bleeding back.
Her name was Flavia, and her story is central to my tale, for in this girl can be mirrored the life of the great Etruscan nation, and the fate of her home city of Veii.
She, like the others, had been stripped of their clothes an hour earlier, and twenty lashes had fallen on her soft, tender back, and now, as the ritual droned on, and she tasted blood from her lips, she told herself she could endure no more such pain. She came from wealthy parents and was pampered, and pain was something' she knew nothing of. She had come bravely to the temple, proud to be selected. But from the moment the first lash cut into her back, she had screamed silently to her outraged body that she had made a terrible mistake. Then the droning voice ceased abruptly, and Flavia looked up in horror as the high priestess, a woman of forty who still retained great beauty, and whose body was still perfectly formed, with particularly impressive breasts, still proud and firm, and now standing bare, with gigantic, dark nipples topping them, picked up a strange and frightening instrument from the altar where burned the sacred flame.
"Listen well, neophytes," the priestess intoned, and it seemed to Flavia the flame leaped wildly with her every word. "On this night, you are dedicating your lives to the service of the goddess June, mother of all the gods. You each retain your virginity. It is the most precious thing you possess. No mortal man could be allowed to take it from you. To conform to the sacred and ancient ritual, it must be sacrificed here, before the goddess."
Flavia was weak with fear, so frightened, indeed, that tears streamed down her cheeks and her vision was hazy for a few moments. When she finally cleared her vision, the priestess had moved to the first of the girls, a small, lovely thing with huge, dark eyes and perfect legs and thighs and buttocks, but whose breasts were small.
Flavia gasped as she realized the instrument the priestess held resembled the instrument of a man, but larger than that of a mortal man. In that instant she knew well what awaited her, and she wondered if she could possibly endure the shock and pain and humiliation of surrendering her virginity in that way.
The first girl was ordered to lie back and spread her own thighs with her trembling hands, and when she was slow to obey, a quick slash of the whip across her buttocks caused her to whine and scramble into position.
Flavia watched, her eyes wide with fear and a strange fascination as the priestess chanted something and made a strange sign with her free hand. The flames that lit the temple swirled about, as though blown by a hidden wind, and the other priestesses started chanting something behind the girls. A cloud of exotic, red incense floated from behind the base of the huge, shadowed statue of Juno and Flavia strained around to see the ritual sacrifice of her companion's virginity, a sacrifice she would be called on to endure in a few minutes.
The girl was sprawled on her back, her slender thighs spread wide, her lovely face contorted and sweating with the anticipation of pain and humiliation. The high priestess bent down, and with a hand on one of the girl's thighs, she got to her knees. Then she slowly, methodically, and with great skill engineered the replica of the man's instrument between the quivering thighs. The girl shrieked with the first thrust, and her face went white, then red.
With fascination and repulsion, Flavia watched the enormous instrument disappear in the midst of the girl's unspoiled treasure, and her own body seemed to close against itself in a vicarious defense, and her muscles throbbed and contracted. Yet, her nipples tingled in a way she had never known, and there was the strangest tickling sensation in her loins.
Then the jerking, groaning girl's face became a mask of terror, and Flavia could no longer stare at her. She turned away, and nibbled at her lower lip, as the pain from her raw, bleeding back coursed through her body.
The incense was strong and sweet, and it repelled and choked the poor girl, yet aroused her in a way she did not understand. She was aching and frightened, and repulsed and excited, and all her pride at being chosen had vanished, and she wanted only to be again a normal girl, outside the temple.
The high priestess had finished with the first girl, who lay sobbing on the floor, her body still jerking from the terrible onslaught she had endured. The next girl was shaking and spreading her thighs, and the chanting continued and Flavia watched the dancing flames and thought of the many ordeals ahead, but for the first time, she was deeply troubled by the true meaning of being a priestess, namely that it meant denial of a normal life, meant that never could she marry or have a man, never again carry on the flirtations or steal the quick, hot kisses from boys she liked.
Now the girl next to her was whimpering, and twisting, and Flavia's heart raced and her face went scarlet and sweat dropped from her body. Without thinking, she drew her thighs together, as though this gesture would protect her. She shivered, yet was hot, and the animal sounds coming from the girl who was enduring the ritual aroused in her self-pity, yet disgust.
And then the high priestess was kneeling in front of her. Flavia looked into the woman's beautiful, stern face, and slowly got into position. She lay back on the cold marble floor, and her back throbbed with the pain. Then she took her hands and spread her golden thighs, her whole body rigid, her wide blue eyes bulging with apprehension, her blond hair in tangles about her sweating face and forehead.
The priestess chanted, and slid the wicked instrument forward. Flavia looked away and bit her lips, and dug her nails into her hands. As the hard, cold instrument touched her burning thighs, she jerked and gasped. She checked the panic swelling in her, checked the sudden and urgent desire to flee.
Then the alien instrument was being slid back and forth, and Flavia whined and the pain was white hot, yet her body glowed with a newfound pleasure which greatly shocked her.
She clamped her eyes shut and her nails drew blood from her palms and an agony beyond description, tempered by the new, wicked pleasure, gripped her entire body. She heard herself snorting out hot breath in rhythm with the movements of the high priestess' hand.
Then, abruptly, the instrument was withdrawn, and Flavia whimpered and opened her eyes, and curled her body up. But all the strange new feelings of pain and pleasure soared through her body, and she jerked beyond control and heard the moans of the girl next to her, and knew, though she cursed herself, that she wished the instrument would be returned to her own loins.
Soon, all girls had been duly sacrificed, and the initiation ended, for that night, and the girls were given food and wine, then led to their bedchambers.
And thus has the story begun, with the motions and sounds of love and lust in Rome and Veii. But beyond the river bush love nest and the sacred temple, the cities furthered another passion strong as lust or love, the passion of hatred.
A long and bitter series of wars had ignited the flames of hatred now to such heights that everyone knew that one city or the another, in defeat, would be utterly annihilated and subjugated. Life went on, as life must always, and lovers kept rendezvous and girls were initiated into strange rites, still armies marched and men died and suffered.
For these wars were not merely for territory or tribute, but were wars of culture, as later was the one with the Goths, and it was certain that the winner would want to utterly eliminate his hated enemy and all traces that his way of life had ever existed on earth. Even now, only fragments remain of the life of the people of Veii and the Etruscans in general, and I may say in all candor we are fortunate to have even these scraps.
But they are sufficient, and thus can we know of Flavia's initiation and of what followed. For our own people, of course, that is not so much of a problem. For always have the Romans excelled in excellent and illustrious historians and men of letters. And even when their morality caused them to hint at things that fully belong in any complete history, knowing what we do enables us to fill in the gasps.
But I digress from my tale. We were speaking of Rome and Veii and the terrible and costly wars that would ultimately end a great civilization. During that spring, fortune seemed to be favoring the Romans, and a sense of urgency and even desperation permeated the councils of the Etruscans. They abhorred the idea of a king at this time, preferring to be ruled by councils, yet the necessity of winning a war and the reality of the discipline that must be enforced led them to appoint a king, as a last resort.
Ah, and now this stroke of fortune was ultimately to aid the Romans, and how change the fate of our Flavia! The man chosen was deemed best suited to win the war against Rome, but he was not liked, and in many quarters he was actually despised. Particularly galling was his habit of taking that which he desired, even if it meant going against ancient and sacred religion.
He had earned the enmity of many when, during a solemn religious festival, when he was not chosen a priest for the occasion, he withdrew most of the entertainers, whom he controlled.
Though it had not been proved, it was widely believed that as a younger man, he had been responsible for the kidnapping of several young Roman girls, and the people of Veii knew full well that this alone was enough to have earned the undying hatred of the Romans.
So hated did this man, chosen to have his people, eventually become, that one by one, the other cities of his race refused to come to the aid of Veii. Quonus was his name, and it was a name in time to be cursed by friend and enemy alike.
But no one can deny that Quonus was both brave and skilled in the arts of war, and as the Etruscans sensed that the tide was turning against them, they at first rallied around their new king, and listened to his words on how to defend their ancient city.
And well might they listen, for the bold Romans, our young soldier, Marcus Valerius among them, were at the very gates of the city. Yet the Romans, though flushed with success, have always exercised the virtue of caution, and they knew a direct assault against those mighty walls would cost them dearly and would probably fail. And so the eight military tribunes who had been chosen by the Roman citizens for the conduct of the war decided on a siege, and ordered that the troops commence the building of breastworks and fortifications, to seal off Veii from the outside world, and to protect themselves against the possibility of sudden attack.
It was a bright, spring morning when Marcus was given command of a troop of twenty soldiers, and as he directed the construction of a ten-foot wall of earth, he gazed at the distant walls and towers, and his imagination soared as he thought of that fabled city, and of the reputation of the Etruscans. Many women had been his, in many ways, and that very night he had arranged to meet a dairy maid nearby. Yet, he wondered what new pleasures he might find inside Veii, and asked himself what he would do should the city fall.
The troops, their hatred of the Etruscans at the boiling point, often bragged of what they would do to the Etruscan women, fabled in love, when they were taken after the inevitable Roman victory. Marcus, though a thorough and often brutal soldier, was not cruel by nature, and he abhorred the idea of forcing women to bed with him. Yet on that spring day, he told himself that if the city fell, he would lose the opportunity of sampling his share of the Etruscan beauties.
Then, as he sat alone beneath a tree at lunch, and ate bread and goat milk cheese, and then grapes, and washed it down with great swallows of wine, he brooded on the Etruscans, and on the fact that though he had, like every Roman, thought on them each day of his life, he knew nothing of them, beyond his knowledge of their cruelty and treachery, and their reputation as a people of unbridled lust.
Well might our soldier have brooded for so had many learned men, and nothing had been found of the origin of these people. Indeed, the Etruscans themselves claimed not to know their origins, and each of their practices could be traced back so far, then vanished into a mist of history. Our Marcus must have found this strange, for he knew well the history of his own city, knew that Aeneas, who fled the ruins of Troy, sailed with his men and finally settled in Latium, and that his descendents helped found the great city we now inhabit, under a leader named Romulus, whose memory is preserved in its name.
But Marcus was a man not given to much brooding, and he soon returned to his work, and then when the sun was low in the sky, he took his leave and went to meet his maid. He found her waiting in the ruin of an ancient temple, overgrown now thick-leafed vines and tiny, yellow flowers. She was a buxom girl of twenty, with dark eyes and hair and olive skin, and strong thighs and gigantic breasts, and muscles developed from hard work, which ground out well the rhythms of love as she moved her body to her lover's demands.
The night was sweet with the smell of the yellow flowers, and the girl had brought a flask of heavy, red wine, which they drank in huge gulps. Then Marcus fell to his delightful prey and threw the flask to one side. He mashed his lips against the mouth of his woman and ripped off her flimsy tunic, to cup and squeeze her massive, heaving breasts. She rocked her body and then locked her strong thighs around Marcus' hips and gyrated until he was moaning with passion and mashing his lips brutally against hers and lashing the inside of her mouth with his frantic tongue.
She lacked art in love, but not desire or endurance. Finally, when he tore her mighty thighs from his frenzied body and fell between her thighs and shoved home with brute force his hungry instrument, she sighed and heaved and then locked him again. And she matched him stroke for stroke, and mighty was their work that night, and their groans and grunts echoed against the crumbling bricks of the old temple.
Marcus was a good soldier but his confidence now that Veii seemed on the edge of defeat was felt throughout the Roman camp. It is an often fatal trait-overconfidence-and well did the Etruscan king, Quonus, know this, and well did his knowledge seem at first to justify his selection as ruler of Veii.
His first act, as he sat with his council and priests and generals in the great palace, after ordering the extensive fortification of the walls, was to direct that raiding parties be sent out to harass the Romans and find out what information they could.
Several large parties attacked the main Roman fortifications and inflicted severe damage, and took many Roman lives. Smaller groups prowled the dark night, suddenly looming up on lone soldiers, killing some and dragging others far from help, to extract information.
And while Marcus and his maid pumped and grunted, and a wave of hot pleasure surged over Marcus' sweating, straining body, a group of half a dozen Etruscans drew near, moving slowly and cautiously.
Marcus groaned out his passion and slammed harder, and a flash of shuddering pleasure soaked his body, and then he fell away from his maid, grunting out his irregular breath. And this sound caught the ears of the Etruscans.
Ah, Mars, cruel god of war, he cares not for love, nor for the rights of the innocent. Marcus was still naked, refreshing himself with a swallow of wine and readying himself for another bout with his anxious maid, who lay at the ready, her mighty thighs parted, her dark eyes heavy with the veil of desire.
Just as he threw the wine flask down and turned to stare with hungry eyes at the exposed treasure of the maid, and smiled to see his instrument spring to attention between his own thighs, the Etruscans burst into the ruined temple.
Marcus, roaring like an enraged bull, snatched up his sword and shield, and stumbled backward, feeling awkward with no clothes on his body, absurd really with his instrument still straining and stiff.
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