In a dream...
....you find yourself walking down a long dark corridor. On both sides of you are barred cells, groans and an occasional cry can be heard from within. There are guards, armed with formidable spears and swords, but you aren't afraid of them, you have no need to be--you are a general of the legions of Imperial Rome, no one will question you or your right to interrogate a certain prisoner. When you reach your destination, you order the guard standing nearby to open the door, and he obeys instantly. Telling him to leave, you enter the cell and close the door behind you.
The room is lit by a slow-burning torch standing in a holder on one wall. You look around. She stands across the room, her floor-length white gown torn by the guards' rough hands. Her long lovely legs, most of one smooth hip, and one of her high firm breasts are already visible to you. In the firelight her large dark eyes seem to be glowing; her long black hair, tied in Patrician fashion, blends into the shadows laying across the damp stone wall behind her. She gazes at you steadily, she shows no sign of fear as you walk toward her. And, once you've moved out of sight of the door, she hurls herself toward you. You open your arms, fold her body in, kiss her passionately.
After quite a long time, she breaks the kiss. "I have been condemned, haven't I, Marcus?" she asks, her Latin perfectly understandable to you.
You sigh and look away. "Yes, Alene," you answer. "I spoke in your behalf, but Tiberius would not hear me. Your brother was judged an enemy of Rome, and the emporer has condemned him and all his family." You hold her tightly. "I could do nothing..."
"My brother," she says distantly, "is beyond Tiberius' vengeance, he is dead, killed by the Praetorian Guard. We have no other family, it leaves only me. And so..."
Still nod meeting her gaze, you nod painfully. "And so, Tiberius will vent his rage upon you. You are to be sent to the arena, you are to be torn to pieces by wild beasts." The Roman mind you're sharing the moment with believes this to be a worse fate that burning alive, which surprises you. You look up, you show her your hands. "I will not allow that to happen to you, Alene, my love," you tell her. You lay your hands at her throat. "With these hands I will end your suffering here and now, tonight. I care not what Tiberius thinks or does!"
Gently, she pushes your hands away. "You must not do that, Marcus," she says, wide-eyed. "If you strangle me, Tiberius will know you've done it to prevent my torture. You would take my place yourself." With a small delicate hand she touches the short sword at your waist. "You must use this if you would save me from the arena, Marcus. You must use this as you would use it on a prisoner who was trying to escape. You must tell the emporer that I was trying to escape; then you will be safe." She moves away from you a little and abruptly strips off the remains of her gown. She is amazingly beautiful. "You must say I seduced you, that I used the moment to try to escape..."
You feel the edge of your sword. You'd been sharpening it earlier that day, and it has a very keen edge. "Yes," you agree. "Yes, I can open your throat--"
She laughs, softly but musically. "Marcus! Would you open the throat of an escaping soldier? No!" You start to answer that yes, under some circumstances you might, but before you can speak she grabs your hand and presses it against her abdomen in the vicinity of her navel. "Here, Marcus," she insists. "Here, you must thrust your blade in here..."
"But Alene," you protest, "the pain..."
"It does not matter." Her hands find your belt, she undoes it as she's undone it many times before. "But first," she says with a giggle, "I have to seduce you..."
Your kilt falls away, she goes to her knees on the rough straw mat she's been given to sleep on. She looks up at you, her eyes full of love, as she slips your cock into her mouth and begins to suck it. You groan softly, your cock surging to full erection almost instantly inside her mouth. She presses her breasts against your legs, her hands cup the cheeks of your ass. You strip off your vest and your helmet as she continues to suck your cock--and all the while you are thinking about thrusting your cold hard sword into her soft warm body.
You expect that the Roman part of you might be amazed and horrified at discovering that the prospect of killing the woman he deeply and sincerely loves would be supremely erotic, but, to your own surprise, he is not. In his memory you find an incident, an incident he treasures, one that took place during a battle in which his legions invaded a small village somewhere in Gaul.
The Gauls had given the Legionnaires a hard fight, but, in the end, they had lost. A number of warriors had taken refuge in a large house where you and your soldiers had chased them. Along with a few of your infantrymen, you'd personally invaded the house. The fight that followed had been furious and bloody, and, at the end, no man on either side was left standing except for you.
You hadn't been alone, though; one other person was in the house with you, a lovely Gaulish girl in her late teens. As was common among the Celtic tribes, she'd stripped herself naked--their women often did that when they meant to fight, and they sometimes did it to show the Romans that they were women, not to be killed. The Romans had learned to look for weapons, and that's what you'd done first.
She'd had none. Speaking in your barely-serviceable Gaulish, you'd reached out to her, told her to come along, that she would now and forever live as a slave in Rome. To your surprise, she'd refused. She would not come with you, she'd told you; she'd prefer death to slavery. Astonished by her bravery--an unarmed Celtic girl standing up to a Legionnaire with a sword in his hand--you'd relented, you'd offered her her freedom. And you were even more amazed when she declined that too, when she'd told you that she did not want to live when all her people were dead, when she'd presented her fragile little body and had urged you to run your sword through it.
Then, the erection had taken you by surprise.
You'd turned away so she would not see it, and you'd laughed to cover your confusion, telling her to go, flee to the forest, find another tribe. From behind, the girl had attacked you, all flying fists and teeth. You'd thrown her off, but she, disdaining the weapons that littered the floor, had lunged at you again, fingernails flying at your face, screaming at you to draw your sword and make an end of her.
You'd tried to resist, you'd thrown her back again. Confused, without thinking, you'd drawn your sword. You merely pointed it at her, you meant only to threaten her, but she'd lunged forward again--and the point caught her just under her ribs. Her momentum carried her on, and the iron blade had passed right though her, emerging from her back.
Instinctively, you'd pulled it back, out of her. Blood gushing, she'd fallen among the other corpses. From the floor, she'd smiled up at you and thanked you! You didn't know then which confused you more, her obvious happiness at having been fatally wounded or the extreme state of excitement you found yourself in.
You'd wanted to strip off your clothes and fuck her while she was dying, but, feeling that was not proper for a soldier of your station, you'd managed to control yourself, you'd merely stood and watched while she'd bled and finally died. And, now, looking down at your beautiful Alene as she passionately sucks your cock, you remember that you'd told her of this incident, of how much it had aroused you. You understand, now. An "escape" story is not the only reason Alene wants to do things the way she does. It's her last gift to you, a last and a supreme act of love; you decide that you cannot deny that to her or to yourself.
You wait a moment, you allow her to suck you until you are certain that if this goes on another second, you will spray your come into her mouth. Then you stop her, you reach down and pull her to her feet. Bending down, you draw your sword from the scabbard on your belt. She backs up until her shoulders and hips are against the wall, and she motions for you to come.
You do, you press against her, you touch her belly with your sword's point below her navel. "If you cry out," you warn her, "the guards will come in. We will not be able to--"
"I will not cry out," she assures you with a relaxed smile. She glances down at the sword. "Many times you have spoken of the Gaulish girl you killed, Marcus. I could see how excited you were, thinking about her; there were times, many times, when I felt jealous of her! At those times I have wondered how it would feel if your sword pierced me, I have imagined you driving it into my body, I have imagined how excited you would be, I have imagined myself dying while we were locked in love..." She quivers with her own excitement. "I know I have never aroused you so much as your memory of that Gaulish girl arouses you; there have been times when I have been close to begging you to do to me what you did to her! And now that moment has come..." She shivers. "I want your blade within me, Marcus," she whispers. "I've wanted it for a long time. I want to feel the pain, I want to feel my blood spurting out. Do it for me, Marcus; do it now!"
Tears fog your vision; you blink them away, you kiss her, you can feel the power of her love for you in that kiss, in the way her body rises toward you, in the way she's pressing against the point of the sword.
You push the sword forward. You feel her skin yield to the point, you feel it begin to slip into her. Blood, scalding hot, spurts against your belly and thighs. You feel like you are about to explode into a thousand fragments.
True to her word, she makes no sound at all. Her eyes are very wide, her mouth is open, her body is trembling, but she stands perfectly still and silent as you, gently and lovingly, shove the heavy blade on into her belly. You continue until the point strikes the unyielding stone behind her.
Together, you look down at it. It is piercing her very cleanly, the wound is little larger than the blade. Blood pumps out around it steadily.
"It... feels... wonderful..." she says as she starts to sag toward the floor. You can see her pain but you do not feel that she is lying to you.
"I'll take it out now," you tell her.
But she grabs your arm, begs you to leave it. "Fuck me," she pleads. "Fuck me, fuck me while it stands in my body, fuck me now, fuck me while I die, ah, Marcus..."
You do not make her ask twice. Lying down alongside her, you push your incredibly hard erection into her--you have never felt her so wet as this. She looks up at you as you move your hips between her legs; her smile is warm, her eyes are full of love, she does not seem to be in pain at all now. She senses that your climax will be soon; with the last of her strength she pushes your body against the hilt of the sword, forcing it to the side.
The blade moves within her, slicing through her entrails and cutting the skin, opening the wound. Blood, much more than before, erupts from around the blade. She stiffens, she starts her own orgasm. Yours is delayed only a fraction of a second more, and once it starts, it seems to go on and on, it seems as if your whole self is emptying into her dying body. As the crest of your orgasm rolls away your eyes lock with hers, but hers are already beginning to glaze. You grab the sword and jerk it out of her; her body spasms once. Then, except for some random twitches of her toes and fingers, she lies still and silent.
"I will always love you, Alene," you say as you stand up. You understand that the Roman part of you is now trying to decide whether to call a guard and tell him Alene was killed trying to make and escape or to fall on his sword and join her in death. You allow him to make the choice, though you're secretly hoping he chooses the latter. But, before he can decide, the overwhelming impact of this experience takes its toll on you, the vision fades, and your world fades with it, to blackness...