andy01
Magistrate
Bang on, Repertor. Terrific story, and illustrations that set the teeth on edge!
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Marcella's Dangerous Liaison
- Thread starter Cella
- Start date
Abendlaender
Assistant executioner
When will you post further parts of the story?
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
Cella
Spectator
Sorry, I was gone for a bit. I want to finish this story -- and will. Hope there is still interest in it.
I still have a lot of pics Zaz made for me that will help advance the story, but not enough to finish it off as I wanted.
My writing will just have to carry the day on is own to finish!
I still have a lot of pics Zaz made for me that will help advance the story, but not enough to finish it off as I wanted.
My writing will just have to carry the day on is own to finish!
Sorry, I was gone for a bit. I want to finish this story -- and will. Hope there is still interest in it.
I still have a lot of pics Zaz made for me that will help advance the story, but not enough to finish it off as I wanted.
My writing will just have to carry the day on is own to finish!
Go for it!
Good to see you back.Sorry, I was gone for a bit. I want to finish this story -- and will. Hope there is still interest in it.
I still have a lot of pics Zaz made for me that will help advance the story, but not enough to finish it off as I wanted.
My writing will just have to carry the day on is own to finish!
Cella
Spectator
Well, I'm back at it, if anyone still remembers this thread. This part, actually goes before Demands . . . I'll probably repost everything in the proper sequence. I've had too long to think about this story.
More Danger. . .
Marcella walks through the forum and turns down the main street leading to her home. She stares straight ahead. Her face is burning with shame and her crotch throbs with pain from Marcus’s assault. She wonders if she’s injured in any serious way. Only an examination would tell, but that will have to wait until she gets home and is in the privacy of her room.
What will she tell her mother, coming home distressed and disheveled? She’d worry about that later. Perhaps her mother would not be home and she’d be able to get to her room unobserved. Her father would most likely be busy at the textile exchange; buying and selling is his business. Best he never heard about this. With his explosive temper, no telling what misfortune his rash actions could bring on the family. She could find comfort and understanding with her sister. Thessela wouldn’t tell anyone.
As she walks along Marcella imagines that everyone she passes is staring at her, that they know what had happened between her and Marcus, and that they consider her little more than a whore. Yes! They’re all looking at her, she knows it! They’re laughing at her humiliation. She had gotten what she deserved! A pitiful little provincial girl who thought she could seduce a Roman aristocrat! She was pathetic and laughable! Her face burns as her sense of shame escalates. Marcella’s eyes begin to tear up as she quickens her step, anxious to get home. Once she gets home she can cry, but not now.
Has Marcus has ruined her, she wonders? No, of course not. They never had sex; she was never penetrated by him, so she’s still intact. But she came so very close to losing her innocence to that horrible man. But the pain between her legs is real and throbbing. Is she bleeding? She feels as though she might be. With horror she worries she’s leaving a trail of blood drops on the pavement stones. She slows her walk, stops, and turns to look behind her. No, there is no incriminating blood trail for others to see. No crimson drops pointing to her cunnus, condemning her as a cheap tramp who was ready to throw herself at a man, to wantonly spread her legs for him. There’s no blood staining her dress. She’s imagining it all. Somewhat relieved, she continues her walk home, but is still convinced others see her as a ruined woman, unfit for any attention from decent people.
Marcus broke her heart. It’s a terrible feeling to be so full of such despair and ache and deep loss. She’s never felt this before—she’s never been treated so disrespectfully, like something of no worth. It’s left her hollowed out and feeling that life is over for her. “Marcus, Marcus,” she whispers to herself. “You bastard! How could you have done this to me?”
She walks down the middle of the road, as all respectable women do. Staying too close to the side or going down dark, narrow side streets could be potentially dangerous for a young woman out without companions, attendants or personal slaves. Oh, how many times has she walked down this particular road on the way home after meeting with Marcus! She was full of joy that she’d met the man of her dreams; she’d practically skip along as she was filled with such happiness and hope for the future. It never dawned on her that these could be rather risky—even dangerous—liaisons for a young, naïve girl. She was just too happy.
But now, as her relationship with Marcus has revealed its true, ugly nature, she walks down the same road full of shame, embarrassment and self-hatred for her foolish naiveté. She hates herself but hates Marcus more for what he’s done to her. She seethes with hatred for him! She wishes him dead! Dead in the most horrible way. Captured by rebels and tortured to death! Or to have his cock and balls cut off and stuffed into his mouth! Perhaps even crucified by them in the manner that the Romans crucify rebels and bandits they capture. He was part of all that! He deserves it! She suddenly feels fresh, overwhelming grief at the loss of her sister, Barbara. Where was she? Dead? Alive? Was Marcus responsible for her death? In her present state of mind, thinking the absolute worst about Marcus, she was certain he was.
Now anger accompanies the hatred and shame she feels. No, not anger. Rage! Rage at being so duped! Rage at being such a stupid, love-sick little girl!
Oh Marcus! You bastard! How could you have deceived me so! You used me! I was ready to give myself to you completely. I was ready to give you my virginity! But you would have taken it in the most dishonorable way. I was just a toy to you, someone of no significance.
Your mistress! Really? That’s the best you were offering me? You bastard! You fucking bastard! I was in the love with you! I would have given myself to you—body and soul. Yes! But I was just a whore in your eyes! Something to be left used and despoiled after you had your pleasure!
Oh, yes, you would have given me a fine house. And there I’d sit and wait for the great Marcus Severus to visit! Your whore! That’s what I would be. And when you came I would be oh so glad to spread my legs for the honor of being fucked by the great and glorious tribune Marcus Severus! Then, after using my body to satisfy your bestial urges you’d leave me, only to return when you needed another fuck!
Marcella feels tears welling up in her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry in public, with people looking at her. She doesn’t want to attract the attention of other men who might try to take advantage of her. Yes! They would too! She can see it in their eyes as they pass her by. The men she passes—from all stations of life—just want to fuck her and the women giving her sidelong looks just want to judge her. The welling tears begin rolling down her cheeks. She sniffles, slows her walk, and seeks the wall along the shady side of the street. She faces the wall to dry her eyes and regain her composure.
She’s by the wall for barely a minute or two and then hears a voice from behind. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Something bothering you?” She turns and three men are there. Unlike her long, ankle length tunic, they are dressed in short tunics, common apparel for workingmen and slaves. They’re dirty, with scraggly beards. And they smell bad. Very bad. She knows right away that their intentions are dishonorable.
“Please, leave me alone.”
More Danger. . .
Marcella walks through the forum and turns down the main street leading to her home. She stares straight ahead. Her face is burning with shame and her crotch throbs with pain from Marcus’s assault. She wonders if she’s injured in any serious way. Only an examination would tell, but that will have to wait until she gets home and is in the privacy of her room.
What will she tell her mother, coming home distressed and disheveled? She’d worry about that later. Perhaps her mother would not be home and she’d be able to get to her room unobserved. Her father would most likely be busy at the textile exchange; buying and selling is his business. Best he never heard about this. With his explosive temper, no telling what misfortune his rash actions could bring on the family. She could find comfort and understanding with her sister. Thessela wouldn’t tell anyone.
As she walks along Marcella imagines that everyone she passes is staring at her, that they know what had happened between her and Marcus, and that they consider her little more than a whore. Yes! They’re all looking at her, she knows it! They’re laughing at her humiliation. She had gotten what she deserved! A pitiful little provincial girl who thought she could seduce a Roman aristocrat! She was pathetic and laughable! Her face burns as her sense of shame escalates. Marcella’s eyes begin to tear up as she quickens her step, anxious to get home. Once she gets home she can cry, but not now.
Has Marcus has ruined her, she wonders? No, of course not. They never had sex; she was never penetrated by him, so she’s still intact. But she came so very close to losing her innocence to that horrible man. But the pain between her legs is real and throbbing. Is she bleeding? She feels as though she might be. With horror she worries she’s leaving a trail of blood drops on the pavement stones. She slows her walk, stops, and turns to look behind her. No, there is no incriminating blood trail for others to see. No crimson drops pointing to her cunnus, condemning her as a cheap tramp who was ready to throw herself at a man, to wantonly spread her legs for him. There’s no blood staining her dress. She’s imagining it all. Somewhat relieved, she continues her walk home, but is still convinced others see her as a ruined woman, unfit for any attention from decent people.
Marcus broke her heart. It’s a terrible feeling to be so full of such despair and ache and deep loss. She’s never felt this before—she’s never been treated so disrespectfully, like something of no worth. It’s left her hollowed out and feeling that life is over for her. “Marcus, Marcus,” she whispers to herself. “You bastard! How could you have done this to me?”
She walks down the middle of the road, as all respectable women do. Staying too close to the side or going down dark, narrow side streets could be potentially dangerous for a young woman out without companions, attendants or personal slaves. Oh, how many times has she walked down this particular road on the way home after meeting with Marcus! She was full of joy that she’d met the man of her dreams; she’d practically skip along as she was filled with such happiness and hope for the future. It never dawned on her that these could be rather risky—even dangerous—liaisons for a young, naïve girl. She was just too happy.
But now, as her relationship with Marcus has revealed its true, ugly nature, she walks down the same road full of shame, embarrassment and self-hatred for her foolish naiveté. She hates herself but hates Marcus more for what he’s done to her. She seethes with hatred for him! She wishes him dead! Dead in the most horrible way. Captured by rebels and tortured to death! Or to have his cock and balls cut off and stuffed into his mouth! Perhaps even crucified by them in the manner that the Romans crucify rebels and bandits they capture. He was part of all that! He deserves it! She suddenly feels fresh, overwhelming grief at the loss of her sister, Barbara. Where was she? Dead? Alive? Was Marcus responsible for her death? In her present state of mind, thinking the absolute worst about Marcus, she was certain he was.
Now anger accompanies the hatred and shame she feels. No, not anger. Rage! Rage at being so duped! Rage at being such a stupid, love-sick little girl!
Oh Marcus! You bastard! How could you have deceived me so! You used me! I was ready to give myself to you completely. I was ready to give you my virginity! But you would have taken it in the most dishonorable way. I was just a toy to you, someone of no significance.
Your mistress! Really? That’s the best you were offering me? You bastard! You fucking bastard! I was in the love with you! I would have given myself to you—body and soul. Yes! But I was just a whore in your eyes! Something to be left used and despoiled after you had your pleasure!
Oh, yes, you would have given me a fine house. And there I’d sit and wait for the great Marcus Severus to visit! Your whore! That’s what I would be. And when you came I would be oh so glad to spread my legs for the honor of being fucked by the great and glorious tribune Marcus Severus! Then, after using my body to satisfy your bestial urges you’d leave me, only to return when you needed another fuck!
Marcella feels tears welling up in her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry in public, with people looking at her. She doesn’t want to attract the attention of other men who might try to take advantage of her. Yes! They would too! She can see it in their eyes as they pass her by. The men she passes—from all stations of life—just want to fuck her and the women giving her sidelong looks just want to judge her. The welling tears begin rolling down her cheeks. She sniffles, slows her walk, and seeks the wall along the shady side of the street. She faces the wall to dry her eyes and regain her composure.
She’s by the wall for barely a minute or two and then hears a voice from behind. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Something bothering you?” She turns and three men are there. Unlike her long, ankle length tunic, they are dressed in short tunics, common apparel for workingmen and slaves. They’re dirty, with scraggly beards. And they smell bad. Very bad. She knows right away that their intentions are dishonorable.
“Please, leave me alone.”
Cella
Spectator
Danger Revealed . . .
“Oh, come on girlie. We can see you’re crying.” The least objectionable of the three, a tall, lanky younger man, is addressing her. He seems to be the speaking for this mangy pack. “I’m sure we can help a fine girl like you. Join us for a drink, why don’t you. It’ll make you feel better. We can all talk and have some fun.”
Marcella turns away and stands close to the wall. “Please, just leave me alone,” she pleads. “I don’t need any help from you. Just leave me be.”
“Oh, hey there! Don’t be getting all uppity with us miss,” the lanky man says Me and my friends only want to help.”
“I don’t need your help! Please, just go away! Leave me alone!”
“What, you too good for us? Makes me think you don’t like us for some reason.”
Marcella keeps turned away from the men. The side of her head is pressed against the wall and she covers the exposed side of her face with her hand, as if removing them from her sight will make them go away.
She feels a strong hand gripping her shoulder as it pulls to spin her body around. Marcella’s back is now against the wall and the three men are moving in close. She’s terrified. Her arms are spread out from her body with her hands, palms down, against the wall that is still warm from when it was in the sun. Marcella realizes she’s in a very vulnerable position. A sense of panic escalates in her as the three smelly men form a close semi-circle around her. There is no way to run. The lanky one is in the center of the three. One is big and disgustingly fat and the third is short, squat and ugly. Her heart races as fear builds. She’s breathing deeply. Her ample breasts heave within the soft, clingy fabric of her tunic.
Now the fat one speaks up, his voice rumbling and deep. “Come along now girlie. Be nice to us. We ain’t gonna hurt you. We only want to have some fun. Come on, we’ll show you a good time. It’ll cheer you up. Hey, you’re quite the looker, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re really pretty, you know,” says the lanky one. “Tell us your name. I’m Rufus, and my mates are Porcius,” he points to the fat one, “and Balbus,” pointing to the short one.
“Fuck me,” says Porcius as he stares at Marcella’s heaving chest with his little pig eyes. Her suddenly hard nipples appear to be thrusting through the fabric of her tunic. “Bet you got a great pair of titties in there, bitch. Why don’t ya let us see ‘em.” He grabs at the top of her tunic.
“Yeah, give us a peek. And let’s see the other stuff too!” The short smelly man chimes in, acting all nervous and twitchy.
Marcella shouts. “Get your fucking hands off me. Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” She brings her arms up, trying to cover her breasts, and pushes the fat man’s hands away.
“Did you hear her?” Porcius asks, feigning surprise. “This little honey has a real sailor’s mouth, don’t she?” He again grabs at the top of her tunic as she tries to twist away. “Aw, come on, honey. Let’s see what you got in there. We wanna see those sweet titties! C’mon. Be a good girl and give us a look!” His hand has the cloth bunched in his grip as he prepares to pull the fabric down. A seam starts to tear. Marcella, suddenly enraged at the assault on her person, fights off her terror enough to rake the cheek of the fat man with her fingernails. She succeeds, and he steps back, his hand to his face. “Shit!” He yells as he pulls his hand away, seeing blood on his fingers. “The bitch scratched me!”
The other men close in. Now Rufus grabs her wrists and pulls her close. He tries to kiss her. Marcella spits in his face. “Damn, we have a wildcat here boys. Guess we’ll have to teach her some manners. He points his head in the direction of a near alley. “Let’s get her where we can have privacy.” Two of them grab her arms and try to hustle her away as Marcella tries to scream for help, but a big, meaty hand is clamped over her mouth, reducing her screams to muffled sounds.
The men are trying to give the appearance that Marcella is going with them of her free will. But she’s being accosted in broad daylight! How could anyone passing by believe that? She shakes her head back and forth to get the hand off her mouth. Seeing a group of women walking down the middle of the broad street she screams for help. They turn their faces towards her. Marcella is certain they’ll help her. Rufus quickly pushes his body against hers so to push her back to the wall. He presses his face into hers and begins forcibly kissing her to quiet her cries for help. Marcella realizes he’s trying to make it look like they’re having a quarrel, not like she’s being attacked. She clenches her teeth as she feels his tongue probing between her lips. She gags from his foul stench and tries to turn her head away, but he grabs her hair and uses his forearms to keep her head facing him. The other two men crowd in to keep her from twisting away. A hand is slipped into the top of her tunic. Her breast is squeezed and its tumescent nipple is painfully pinched. She winces under the assault. Another hand gets between her thighs and strong fingers begin probing for her private parts through her clothing. “Stop fighting us bitch.” Rufus says with a low voice. He clamps his hand over her mouth. She tries to bite his finger. “What did I just say, you stupid cunt? Huh?” He slaps her hard and clamps his hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.
With her eyes open in terror Marcella can see the women in the street looking her way but with a look of disgust in on their faces. “Whore! They shout, as they righteously walk on down the road. “Shame, shame!” Their accusing words like daggers. Marcella is appalled that they won’t at least shout for help themselves! She tries to twist her face away from Rufus and shouts “Help! Help! I’m not a whore! Please help me!” But her words are muffled by Rufus’s closeness. She realizes people in the street probably consider her as nothing more than a prostitute plying her trade and getting roughed up by her clientele. They’d be thinking she’s only getting what a degraded woman in her business deserves. Too bad for her, but not worth their help. After all, she’s just a whore.
But I’m not a whore! I’m not a whore! I’m a good girl!
Marcella again screams for help as the men drag here into the nearby alley. “I told you to keep quiet, you fucking bitch,” Rufus orders as he slap her face hard, several times. “This is gonna happen, so just cooperate. It’ll go easier for you. Hey, you might enjoy this as much as we will.” But Marcella doesn’t keep quiet and continues to plead for help as she struggles against the strength of the men. Then a sudden vicious punch to her midsection crumples her and drives the air from her lungs. Gasping and heaving she’s dragged into the shadows of the alley. A hand is again clapped over her mouth. Even if she’s heard yelling for help any bystander would simply assume she was a prostitute. After all, what would a respectable woman be doing with three men in a dark alley? Street prostitutes often get beaten; it goes with the territory.
Marcella feels hands over her breasts as she is dragged into the deeper shadows of the alley. She is seized with terror knowing what is about to happen: at the very least she’ll be raped and beaten; at worst, she’ll be raped and killed. She imagines her violated, broken, cold, dead body being found in the back of the alley. Shamefully exposed. A piece of garbage now. No one would care. She’s be dumped into a common grave on the outskirts of the city, along with the bodies of executed criminals and the city’s dead scum. Her family would never know what had become of her. Another daughter lost. Her life over at such a young age.
As much as she hates Marcus, she wishes with all her might that he were here now. He’d make quick work of these three. They’d be dead before they knew it. He would owe her that—rescue from these scum. Marcus might be a cold-hearted bastard, but he wouldn’t let this happen to her. She just knows it. But Marcus isn’t here and she’s at the mercy of horrible men who only want to violate her body in the worst way. Now, well inside the narrow confines of the alley, they throw her to the ground. She feels wet dampness on her back and ass as it quickly penetrates the thin fabric of her tunic. She tries to sit up. One hand pushes against something soft and squishy on the foul ground. She prays it isn’t shit. As she struggles to stand Rufus grabs her under the arms, stands her up. He holds her from behind. With one hand he twists her arm painfully up and across her back. Marcella yelps with the sharp pain radiating from her shoulder. The other hand holds her by the throat and forces her head up. Marcella grabs at the hand around her throat with her free hand but Rufus just pulls her pinned arm tighter. “Don’t do that,” he warns her, speaking softly but threateningly in her ear. “I can break your arm you know. And don’t shout or scream, or I’ll hurt you. You understand me bitch?” Marcella whispers a strangled yes. He pushes against Marcella’s back with her pinned arm, thrusting her chest forward.
“Let’s get a look at those tits now,” says the fat man, with a wicked sneer. He stands in front of Marcella and at the neckline pulls the top of her tunic over her shoulders, all the way to her waist as Rufus holds Marcella up straight. She hears seams tearing. Marcella is an exceptionally well-endowed young woman. Her full, perfectly-shaped breasts, with their large brown areolas and tumescent nipples, are now exposed. They bobble and sway on her chest as she struggles against the man holding her. She sees the fat man’s eyes open wide as he stares at her chest. No man has ever seen her fully exposed naked breasts—not even Marcus (though she was prepared to give him that honor). That this pig of a man, staring at her slack-jawed, is the first to see her most feminine of physical attributes, absolutely sickens her. He seems mesmerized as he stares at her. His eyes follow the soft undulations of her heaving bosom. “Yeah, they’re fine tits indeed, ain’t they?” He observes with an obscene smile. “I knew they’d be fucking awesome.” He grabs at her with his hands, squeezing and kneading each breast and painfully pinching their nipples. Marcella groans and squirms at the assault on her body. Rufus tightens his grip on her throat and she stops. Porcius continues his assault, eventually grabbing between her legs with one hand as he mauls her breasts with the other.
Each man takes his turn. Balbus, the short, nervous, twitchy one, buries his face between Marcella’s breasts and sucks disgustingly on her nipples. Marcella nearly vomits as she realizes this malignant, ugly, near-dwarf is the first man to ever do this to her. Now with his turn, Rufus lets go of her neck and grabs at her breasts from behind with his free hand as he plants wet, slobbering kisses her neck. She can feel his erection pressing into her ass. Marcella knows they’ll rape her next.
“Fuck me,” says Porcius, “can you imagine this bitch hanging on a cross with tits like hers?”
“Yeah, that’d be something to see, wouldn’t it?” Agrees Balbus in his nervous, twitchy way.
A sudden surge of terror rushes through Marcella at hearing this. Were they talking about crucifying her? No, no! Not possible! How could they? Marcella looks up and down the alley. How could they even do it? There’s hardly any material present for a cross: a few rough boards, a broken-down wagon, piles of trash. They could hardly do it in this alley! No, they must be just talking. No doubt men like these would flock to a woman’s crucifixion to see her hang, but they wouldn’t grab a woman off the street to crucify her? Would they? No. . .no. . .it’s unthinkable!
As this terrifying thought races through her mind she looks over at Porcius. She’s shocked to see him stroking his erect penis. It looks rather small for some reason (maybe because his hand is so big?), and, despite her terror at what is about to happen, she can’t suppress a horrified giggle at the disgusting sight. It appears the big man has a tiny cock! Marcella is well aware that she has only a virgin’s limited knowledge of cock sizes. And what she knows comes from seeing naked male slaves being bought and sold and naked men hanging on crosses. Somewhat limited observations but she believes she can objectively state that the fat man has a much smaller than average cock. Her stomach turns over at the thought of his bloated body on top of hers and wonders if she’ll even be able to feel his cock in her. Balbus has his cock out too and it’s fucking enormous, both in length and girth! Now that’s going to hurt!
“Take her down,” Marcella hears Rufus ordering the other two who let go of their erect cocks and grab an arm on each side of her. They pull Marcella backwards as Rufus bends to grab her ankles. Marcella drops to the ground on her ass and is then forced down onto her back. Rufus and Balbus each pin an arm and shoulder while Rufus stands holding her extended legs apart at the ankles. He pushes her legs towards her body, bending them at the knees until her thighs are bent over her upper body. Her tunic drops to around her hips, exposing her long, lean legs. He then lets go of her ankles and grabs her knees, pushing down on them to spread her thighs apart. He reaches down and takes his erect cock out from under his short tunic. She feels his erection pushing into her crotch. She raises her head and looks down between her pillowed breasts to see Rufus trying to pull on the strings of her subligaculum so he can remove it and expose her genitals. She fights against the men by twisting her body left and right and trying to get her foot into Rufus’s chest in order to push him away. Rufus leans over her and she cannot effectively use her legs to push him off. She tries to hit him on his back with the heels of her feet but to little effect. With her thrashing about Rufus in unable to get her subligaculum quickly removed. He swears but finally gets the strings untied and pulls the linen garment from between her legs. Her cunnus is now exposed for the first time to a man.
Marcella screams as Rufus prepares to enter her. “No! No! I’m a virgin! Please, don’t do this.” But Rufus only grins at her. “Well then, this is a special day for you, isn’t it?” His grin becomes a wide smile. “I get to be your first.”
Rufus spits on his index and middle fingers and, holding them together thrusts them into Marcella’s vagina. She feels the rough fingers probe deeply inside of her, twisting around. Marcella winces and moans with pain and shame as she’s violated. She still hurts from Marcus’s assault; now she has to endure another—this one far worse! “Better moisten you up, girl, for your first time. You ain’t very wet yet, and you’re very tight! A perfect virgin cunt!”
“Be sure to save some for us,” says Porcius, grinning broadly. “Yeah!” Adds Balbus with his nervous voice. “We want some of that too! Don’t loosen her up too much!”
Rufus removes his fingers and grabs his erection, lining it up with her vagina. He slides it up and down her cleft. “She’s a hairy one,” he observes. “Not like a proper Roman bitch at all. A real provincial girl she is!” Marcella pleads with him. “No! Stop!” As she prepares to feel his cock thrust into her. She wonders what it will feel like, like every virgin does for her first time. Marcella can see the light behind Rufus where the alley opens into the sunlit street. There are people there, but they do nothing to help her! She hates herself for being so stupid for not paying attention to what was going on around her. She should have stayed in the middle of the street like proper women do, and not wandered off to where danger awaited her. She looks left and right at the two others holding her down by the shoulders and arms. She sees their erect cocks dangling and oozing something disgusting as they wait their turns. Marcella feels Rufus’s cock begin to enter her vagina. She tenses up for the inevitable, throwing her head back and screaming as Porcius tries to clamp his big meaty hand over her mouth.
“You in the alley. Stop what you’re doing!” Marcella hears a booming voice and looks up toward the lighted end of the alley.
“Oh, come on girlie. We can see you’re crying.” The least objectionable of the three, a tall, lanky younger man, is addressing her. He seems to be the speaking for this mangy pack. “I’m sure we can help a fine girl like you. Join us for a drink, why don’t you. It’ll make you feel better. We can all talk and have some fun.”
Marcella turns away and stands close to the wall. “Please, just leave me alone,” she pleads. “I don’t need any help from you. Just leave me be.”
“Oh, hey there! Don’t be getting all uppity with us miss,” the lanky man says Me and my friends only want to help.”
“I don’t need your help! Please, just go away! Leave me alone!”
“What, you too good for us? Makes me think you don’t like us for some reason.”
Marcella keeps turned away from the men. The side of her head is pressed against the wall and she covers the exposed side of her face with her hand, as if removing them from her sight will make them go away.
She feels a strong hand gripping her shoulder as it pulls to spin her body around. Marcella’s back is now against the wall and the three men are moving in close. She’s terrified. Her arms are spread out from her body with her hands, palms down, against the wall that is still warm from when it was in the sun. Marcella realizes she’s in a very vulnerable position. A sense of panic escalates in her as the three smelly men form a close semi-circle around her. There is no way to run. The lanky one is in the center of the three. One is big and disgustingly fat and the third is short, squat and ugly. Her heart races as fear builds. She’s breathing deeply. Her ample breasts heave within the soft, clingy fabric of her tunic.
Now the fat one speaks up, his voice rumbling and deep. “Come along now girlie. Be nice to us. We ain’t gonna hurt you. We only want to have some fun. Come on, we’ll show you a good time. It’ll cheer you up. Hey, you’re quite the looker, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re really pretty, you know,” says the lanky one. “Tell us your name. I’m Rufus, and my mates are Porcius,” he points to the fat one, “and Balbus,” pointing to the short one.
“Fuck me,” says Porcius as he stares at Marcella’s heaving chest with his little pig eyes. Her suddenly hard nipples appear to be thrusting through the fabric of her tunic. “Bet you got a great pair of titties in there, bitch. Why don’t ya let us see ‘em.” He grabs at the top of her tunic.
“Yeah, give us a peek. And let’s see the other stuff too!” The short smelly man chimes in, acting all nervous and twitchy.
Marcella shouts. “Get your fucking hands off me. Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” She brings her arms up, trying to cover her breasts, and pushes the fat man’s hands away.
“Did you hear her?” Porcius asks, feigning surprise. “This little honey has a real sailor’s mouth, don’t she?” He again grabs at the top of her tunic as she tries to twist away. “Aw, come on, honey. Let’s see what you got in there. We wanna see those sweet titties! C’mon. Be a good girl and give us a look!” His hand has the cloth bunched in his grip as he prepares to pull the fabric down. A seam starts to tear. Marcella, suddenly enraged at the assault on her person, fights off her terror enough to rake the cheek of the fat man with her fingernails. She succeeds, and he steps back, his hand to his face. “Shit!” He yells as he pulls his hand away, seeing blood on his fingers. “The bitch scratched me!”
The other men close in. Now Rufus grabs her wrists and pulls her close. He tries to kiss her. Marcella spits in his face. “Damn, we have a wildcat here boys. Guess we’ll have to teach her some manners. He points his head in the direction of a near alley. “Let’s get her where we can have privacy.” Two of them grab her arms and try to hustle her away as Marcella tries to scream for help, but a big, meaty hand is clamped over her mouth, reducing her screams to muffled sounds.
The men are trying to give the appearance that Marcella is going with them of her free will. But she’s being accosted in broad daylight! How could anyone passing by believe that? She shakes her head back and forth to get the hand off her mouth. Seeing a group of women walking down the middle of the broad street she screams for help. They turn their faces towards her. Marcella is certain they’ll help her. Rufus quickly pushes his body against hers so to push her back to the wall. He presses his face into hers and begins forcibly kissing her to quiet her cries for help. Marcella realizes he’s trying to make it look like they’re having a quarrel, not like she’s being attacked. She clenches her teeth as she feels his tongue probing between her lips. She gags from his foul stench and tries to turn her head away, but he grabs her hair and uses his forearms to keep her head facing him. The other two men crowd in to keep her from twisting away. A hand is slipped into the top of her tunic. Her breast is squeezed and its tumescent nipple is painfully pinched. She winces under the assault. Another hand gets between her thighs and strong fingers begin probing for her private parts through her clothing. “Stop fighting us bitch.” Rufus says with a low voice. He clamps his hand over her mouth. She tries to bite his finger. “What did I just say, you stupid cunt? Huh?” He slaps her hard and clamps his hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.
With her eyes open in terror Marcella can see the women in the street looking her way but with a look of disgust in on their faces. “Whore! They shout, as they righteously walk on down the road. “Shame, shame!” Their accusing words like daggers. Marcella is appalled that they won’t at least shout for help themselves! She tries to twist her face away from Rufus and shouts “Help! Help! I’m not a whore! Please help me!” But her words are muffled by Rufus’s closeness. She realizes people in the street probably consider her as nothing more than a prostitute plying her trade and getting roughed up by her clientele. They’d be thinking she’s only getting what a degraded woman in her business deserves. Too bad for her, but not worth their help. After all, she’s just a whore.
But I’m not a whore! I’m not a whore! I’m a good girl!
Marcella again screams for help as the men drag here into the nearby alley. “I told you to keep quiet, you fucking bitch,” Rufus orders as he slap her face hard, several times. “This is gonna happen, so just cooperate. It’ll go easier for you. Hey, you might enjoy this as much as we will.” But Marcella doesn’t keep quiet and continues to plead for help as she struggles against the strength of the men. Then a sudden vicious punch to her midsection crumples her and drives the air from her lungs. Gasping and heaving she’s dragged into the shadows of the alley. A hand is again clapped over her mouth. Even if she’s heard yelling for help any bystander would simply assume she was a prostitute. After all, what would a respectable woman be doing with three men in a dark alley? Street prostitutes often get beaten; it goes with the territory.
Marcella feels hands over her breasts as she is dragged into the deeper shadows of the alley. She is seized with terror knowing what is about to happen: at the very least she’ll be raped and beaten; at worst, she’ll be raped and killed. She imagines her violated, broken, cold, dead body being found in the back of the alley. Shamefully exposed. A piece of garbage now. No one would care. She’s be dumped into a common grave on the outskirts of the city, along with the bodies of executed criminals and the city’s dead scum. Her family would never know what had become of her. Another daughter lost. Her life over at such a young age.
As much as she hates Marcus, she wishes with all her might that he were here now. He’d make quick work of these three. They’d be dead before they knew it. He would owe her that—rescue from these scum. Marcus might be a cold-hearted bastard, but he wouldn’t let this happen to her. She just knows it. But Marcus isn’t here and she’s at the mercy of horrible men who only want to violate her body in the worst way. Now, well inside the narrow confines of the alley, they throw her to the ground. She feels wet dampness on her back and ass as it quickly penetrates the thin fabric of her tunic. She tries to sit up. One hand pushes against something soft and squishy on the foul ground. She prays it isn’t shit. As she struggles to stand Rufus grabs her under the arms, stands her up. He holds her from behind. With one hand he twists her arm painfully up and across her back. Marcella yelps with the sharp pain radiating from her shoulder. The other hand holds her by the throat and forces her head up. Marcella grabs at the hand around her throat with her free hand but Rufus just pulls her pinned arm tighter. “Don’t do that,” he warns her, speaking softly but threateningly in her ear. “I can break your arm you know. And don’t shout or scream, or I’ll hurt you. You understand me bitch?” Marcella whispers a strangled yes. He pushes against Marcella’s back with her pinned arm, thrusting her chest forward.
“Let’s get a look at those tits now,” says the fat man, with a wicked sneer. He stands in front of Marcella and at the neckline pulls the top of her tunic over her shoulders, all the way to her waist as Rufus holds Marcella up straight. She hears seams tearing. Marcella is an exceptionally well-endowed young woman. Her full, perfectly-shaped breasts, with their large brown areolas and tumescent nipples, are now exposed. They bobble and sway on her chest as she struggles against the man holding her. She sees the fat man’s eyes open wide as he stares at her chest. No man has ever seen her fully exposed naked breasts—not even Marcus (though she was prepared to give him that honor). That this pig of a man, staring at her slack-jawed, is the first to see her most feminine of physical attributes, absolutely sickens her. He seems mesmerized as he stares at her. His eyes follow the soft undulations of her heaving bosom. “Yeah, they’re fine tits indeed, ain’t they?” He observes with an obscene smile. “I knew they’d be fucking awesome.” He grabs at her with his hands, squeezing and kneading each breast and painfully pinching their nipples. Marcella groans and squirms at the assault on her body. Rufus tightens his grip on her throat and she stops. Porcius continues his assault, eventually grabbing between her legs with one hand as he mauls her breasts with the other.
Each man takes his turn. Balbus, the short, nervous, twitchy one, buries his face between Marcella’s breasts and sucks disgustingly on her nipples. Marcella nearly vomits as she realizes this malignant, ugly, near-dwarf is the first man to ever do this to her. Now with his turn, Rufus lets go of her neck and grabs at her breasts from behind with his free hand as he plants wet, slobbering kisses her neck. She can feel his erection pressing into her ass. Marcella knows they’ll rape her next.
“Fuck me,” says Porcius, “can you imagine this bitch hanging on a cross with tits like hers?”
“Yeah, that’d be something to see, wouldn’t it?” Agrees Balbus in his nervous, twitchy way.
A sudden surge of terror rushes through Marcella at hearing this. Were they talking about crucifying her? No, no! Not possible! How could they? Marcella looks up and down the alley. How could they even do it? There’s hardly any material present for a cross: a few rough boards, a broken-down wagon, piles of trash. They could hardly do it in this alley! No, they must be just talking. No doubt men like these would flock to a woman’s crucifixion to see her hang, but they wouldn’t grab a woman off the street to crucify her? Would they? No. . .no. . .it’s unthinkable!
As this terrifying thought races through her mind she looks over at Porcius. She’s shocked to see him stroking his erect penis. It looks rather small for some reason (maybe because his hand is so big?), and, despite her terror at what is about to happen, she can’t suppress a horrified giggle at the disgusting sight. It appears the big man has a tiny cock! Marcella is well aware that she has only a virgin’s limited knowledge of cock sizes. And what she knows comes from seeing naked male slaves being bought and sold and naked men hanging on crosses. Somewhat limited observations but she believes she can objectively state that the fat man has a much smaller than average cock. Her stomach turns over at the thought of his bloated body on top of hers and wonders if she’ll even be able to feel his cock in her. Balbus has his cock out too and it’s fucking enormous, both in length and girth! Now that’s going to hurt!
“Take her down,” Marcella hears Rufus ordering the other two who let go of their erect cocks and grab an arm on each side of her. They pull Marcella backwards as Rufus bends to grab her ankles. Marcella drops to the ground on her ass and is then forced down onto her back. Rufus and Balbus each pin an arm and shoulder while Rufus stands holding her extended legs apart at the ankles. He pushes her legs towards her body, bending them at the knees until her thighs are bent over her upper body. Her tunic drops to around her hips, exposing her long, lean legs. He then lets go of her ankles and grabs her knees, pushing down on them to spread her thighs apart. He reaches down and takes his erect cock out from under his short tunic. She feels his erection pushing into her crotch. She raises her head and looks down between her pillowed breasts to see Rufus trying to pull on the strings of her subligaculum so he can remove it and expose her genitals. She fights against the men by twisting her body left and right and trying to get her foot into Rufus’s chest in order to push him away. Rufus leans over her and she cannot effectively use her legs to push him off. She tries to hit him on his back with the heels of her feet but to little effect. With her thrashing about Rufus in unable to get her subligaculum quickly removed. He swears but finally gets the strings untied and pulls the linen garment from between her legs. Her cunnus is now exposed for the first time to a man.
Marcella screams as Rufus prepares to enter her. “No! No! I’m a virgin! Please, don’t do this.” But Rufus only grins at her. “Well then, this is a special day for you, isn’t it?” His grin becomes a wide smile. “I get to be your first.”
Rufus spits on his index and middle fingers and, holding them together thrusts them into Marcella’s vagina. She feels the rough fingers probe deeply inside of her, twisting around. Marcella winces and moans with pain and shame as she’s violated. She still hurts from Marcus’s assault; now she has to endure another—this one far worse! “Better moisten you up, girl, for your first time. You ain’t very wet yet, and you’re very tight! A perfect virgin cunt!”
“Be sure to save some for us,” says Porcius, grinning broadly. “Yeah!” Adds Balbus with his nervous voice. “We want some of that too! Don’t loosen her up too much!”
Rufus removes his fingers and grabs his erection, lining it up with her vagina. He slides it up and down her cleft. “She’s a hairy one,” he observes. “Not like a proper Roman bitch at all. A real provincial girl she is!” Marcella pleads with him. “No! Stop!” As she prepares to feel his cock thrust into her. She wonders what it will feel like, like every virgin does for her first time. Marcella can see the light behind Rufus where the alley opens into the sunlit street. There are people there, but they do nothing to help her! She hates herself for being so stupid for not paying attention to what was going on around her. She should have stayed in the middle of the street like proper women do, and not wandered off to where danger awaited her. She looks left and right at the two others holding her down by the shoulders and arms. She sees their erect cocks dangling and oozing something disgusting as they wait their turns. Marcella feels Rufus’s cock begin to enter her vagina. She tenses up for the inevitable, throwing her head back and screaming as Porcius tries to clamp his big meaty hand over her mouth.
“You in the alley. Stop what you’re doing!” Marcella hears a booming voice and looks up toward the lighted end of the alley.
Last edited:
Glad you have returned. I doubt that would be Tree sparing you...
You would do better in my state's lottery than betting on me. But then I think you like losing your bets. We shall see...
bobinder
ARTISAN
Welcome back again, Marcella!
Why?
windar
Teller of Tales
You're hardly the only one with unfinished stories here, Marcella. Take some time and you may feel another story coming that will write itself,,,