Emperor Trajan watched, aroused, as the slaves were prepared backstage. He wasn’t sure whom he wanted to trade places with more: The woman rubbing oil into the full breasts of the Nubian slave, or the man bringing the gladiator Wilhelm’s cock to its full, rigid length.

Trajan was well known and well thought of throughout Rome for many things. He had led the Empire to the greatest geographic reach in its history. The public building projects were unprecedented. The circuses, races, and gladiator games were the grandest of all time. But, he was also known for his rapacious sexual desire for both men and women.

He had started these more private “games” a few years prior, and they had grown so popular among Rome’s elite that he had a venue built just for the monthly events. Senators, generals, and the wealthiest merchants and landowners crowded into the opulent arena to watch Trajan’s latest sexual theatre. The most favored retired to Trajan’s palace afterward for an orgy of their own.

Trajan hardened under his toga as he looked Wilhelm up and down. Standing over eighteen hands and layered in muscles, he would have been declared a god in Rome if it were not for the fact that he was a Germanic barbarian captured on the fringes of the Empire. Wilhelm had risen through the ranks of the gladiators when, after a particularly heroic performance, Trajan had gone to the stables to congratulate him. When Trajan laid eyes on Wilhelm, standing nude while being sponged clean by lesser-slaves, his horse cock hanging to mid-thigh, Trajan knew he had a more exciting role for the German.

Aida’s journey to Rome had similarities to Wilhelm. The young warrior-princess was captured when she and her squad were separated from the rest of her forces on a Nubian raid into Egypt. It was said she single-handedly slayed over a dozen skilled Roman soldiers until she was finally taken.

She was placed in chains and under heavy guard in the palace of the local Roman governor. He made many promises of how he would spare the other Nubian captives if Aida were to cooperate with him. By “cooperate” he did not mean that she should share military secrets. He meant that she should share the secrets of her dark, voluptuous body. Doubting him, but at a loss of what else to do for her compatriots, Aida allowed it. She fucked the Governor so hard he saw stars, but in the end he betrayed her as she suspected he would. He handed her over to a Roman general, who returned her to chains and carried her across the sea to Rome. Upon his arrival, he gifted Aida to a powerful Senator and his wife.

The wife was lovely. Aida was fond of loving with other women, and the Senator’s wife enjoyed Aida’s rough, dominating sexual habits. The Senator mostly watched, usually ending by spilling his seed upon Aida’s dark skin.

The couple grew very attached to Aida. In addition to her great beauty and sexual prowess, she was also intelligent and educated. She spoke fluent Greek and knew more about mathematics and the night sky than they had any inkling. She was more than a slave. She was a companion. After a year, they asked Aida what — short of her freedom — she would like as a gift of thanks for her service and company. To their shock, Aida said she had only one wish, which was to die in battle. In a bizarre act of love, they sold Aida to the gladiator stables.

Aida remained a ferocious fighter. In her early contests she managed not just to survive, but thrive, against ever increasing competition. She was soon slated to fight against Rome’s greatest gladiators in an elaborate (false) reenactment of the Empire’s final triumph over the Ptolemaic-Egyptians. Given the odds stacked against the “Egyptians,” Aida knew death was certain. But she also knew she would die valiantly, and join her ancestors in the afterlife. It was not to be, however. Aida never got her wish. One of Trajan’s scouts saw her training — her dark, naked body glistening with sweat — and knew his emperor would have to possess her.

And so it was that Aida and Wilhelm came to perform before Rome’s elite. The prurient audience members were not aware that Wilhelm had been the leader of a tribe of thousands. Nor, did they know that Aida was a learned princess, once destined to be queen of a land the Romans had tried, but never conquered. Rather, Aida and Wilhelm were regarded simply as exotic beasts, there only to inspire their languid cocks and dry vaginas for the orgy that was to follow.

Trajan especially loved creating scenes with Aida and Wilhelm, together. The contrast of the alabaster skin of the blonde barbarian against the rich, dark brown skin of the Nubian, was enough, alone, to lift his cock. He often imagined himself between the two, satisfying and being satisfied, simultaneously. He resolved to make it so, one day, once they were broken to the point that he was confident they wouldn’t strangle him to death when his guards weren’t looking.

Trajan’s loosely collected sexual vignettes were, like the circuses, centered around a decidedly Roman point of view of the Empire’s conquests. With disgust, in this performance Aida would play an oversexed Cleopatra. In fact, like all Nubians, Aida despised Ptolemy rulers in general, and foreign figureheads like the Roman-Macedonian Cleopatra, most especially.

Wilhelm had long ago lost his ability to be disgusted. Beatings, starvation, watching his last friends and loves murdered, had combined to convert a once noble leader to a pure killer. Worse, he was a killer paid in the promise of too much wine and too many lesser-slave whores.

Aida was no lesser-slave. She was extraordinary — a dark vision that moved with a royal grace. Before his capture, Wilhelm had never heard of brown-skinned women, let alone laid eyes on one. But when he saw Aida for the first time, it was enough to awaken him from his killing stupor. And when he first fucked her — and was fucked by her — it was nearly enough for him to forget his sixteen year old bride who had died at the hands of Roman scum. After their first time together, Wilhelm’s desire to be with Aida, even under these demeaning circumstances, was enough to cause him to want to live another day.

Aida walked through the crowd to take her place on the round stage in the center of the arena. She was dressed — barely — in a gold-trimmed white gown and a jeweled tiara. A chorus of narrators explained the scene over the rumbling audience.

Wilhelm entered from the opposite side of the arena, in the costume of Marc Antony. The chorus spoke again over the light cheers of the crowd. Wilhelm did not understand any of the words the chorus spoke. His Latin was limited to battle instructions. His role had been explained to him by Aida beforehand with hand gestures, pantomime, and the few words they had in common. Once they got started, however, passion was the only author Wilhelm needed.

Per Aida’s instruction, Wilhelm gave “Cleopatra” a quick embrace, then tore her gown from her in a single motion. Aida’s oiled, brown body elicited a mixture of gasps and applause. Aida pulled at Wilhelm’s costume breast plate and skirt. When they slipped from his body, the crowd’s gasps were re-directed toward Wilhelm’s muscled frame and the three hand cock that angled to the roof of the arena.

Wilhelm found it easy to ignore the audience. Aida was incredibly beautiful, and his few experiences with her allowed him to know how intense the next moments would be. “Marc Antony” broke his embrace and backed “Cleopatra” onto the marble bed behind her. He cupped Aida’s left breast in his large hand and took a draw on her stiffening nipple. She arched under him. Wilhelm nudged Aida’s muscular thighs apart and positioned his head at the edge of her lips. He lustfully anticipated the feeling of moving within Aida’s strong passionate body.

He was rushing it. Aida resented every eye that watched them. She did not care that whether the audience was entertained, or not. But, she did care that Trajan was pleased. If he was, the next few weeks would be relatively easy. If he was not, her existence would be unpleasant, and it would probably be far worse for Wilhelm. They needed to follow Trajan’s absurd narrative.

Aida pushed Wilhelm’s cock away from her opening, and then guided him down her body. He returned to her breasts. Both nipples now stood at taut attention. Aida’s eyes rolled back and the crowd strained to hear her low moan as she responded to Wilhelm’s suckling.

Aida pushed Wilhelm lower. He kissed and licked the firm muscles of her abdomen. The crowd murmured, anticipating what would come next. Aida despised her audience, but she would take her pleasure with the sweet barbarian in spite of them. At last Wilhelm reached the warm moistness of Aida’s pussy.

“Oh, dear Venus,” a woman in the audience gasped.

Aida lifted her body from the cold marble as she angled her pussy into Wilhelm’s eager mouth. The glistening muscles of her thighs, arse, and abdomen flexed, and her breasts heaved as she undulated against Wilhelm’s lips and tongue. She felt a shudder emerge from deep inside her. Now it was she who was going too fast.

With the athleticism of the gladiator that she was, Aida placed her hands behind her shoulders and pressed against the marble to lift herself into a full arched bridge. In a fluid motion she swung her extended left leg over her head. The momentum carried her weight over the fulcrum of her hands, and “Cleopatra” was suddenly standing over a shocked “Marc Antony.” The crowd oohed and burst into applause.

Wilhelm, his face covered in Aida’s honey, rolled onto his back. He hung his legs over the side of the marble slab and spread them wide, giving the crowd full view of his huge balls and turgid cock. Small penises were supposedly favored in Rome, but the strained groans from the audience belied that.

Aida faced the audience and straddled Wilhelm. She squatted until she could reach his cock, and then lowered herself slowly onto his thick meat. She threw her head back in rapture as his glans squeezed through her tight, wet tunnel. Her deep, loud moan was anything but acting.

Aida began to post. Wilhelm cupped the firm, round globes of her backside, supporting some of her weight as her powerful thighs raised herself up and down. Her cheeks smacked loudly against his groin as the crowd clapped in time. Aida cradled her coffee-colored breasts, displaying them to the audience. She met the eyes of the audience with an intense, hate-filled stare. But, those who cared to meet her stare took it for lust for Wilhelm, rather than disgust for them.

As the glorious feeling of Wilhelm’s penetration took hold of her, Aida abandoned her fruitless protest and focused on her pleasure. She squeezed her left breast hard at the same time that she dropped her right hand to her soaked cunt. Her hand moved in quick circles over her swollen nub. Some of the women in the audience pulled their gowns aside and joined her, playing with themselves as they watched.

Aida left the crowd behind as tremors came over her. She looked toward the orgy scene painted on the ceiling and let out a cry of passion, of anger, and despair. Her left leg shook involuntarily and, no longer able to support her weight, she collapsed onto Wilhelm. He held her tight, still thrusting his huge member into her as she spasmed on top of him.

Aida enjoyed Wilhelm’s embrace, and the warmth of his body, as she recovered her breath and her senses. The crowd’s applause reminded her of where she was — and what their final act was to be. No matter Marc Antony’s lost status, Trajan could not have an “Egyptian” appear dominant over a Roman. Aida patted Wilhelm’s hip as cue.

He rolled over and pulled first himself, and then Aida, to standing. He bent Aida at the waist and pushed her forward. She braced herself against the raised marble as he nudged her legs apart and shoved his thick cock all the way to her womb. She grunted as he thrust into her with long strokes and moaned as he spanked her with his large hands.

“Fuck her!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Punish her, Antony!” implored another.

“Breed that Egyptian whore!" shouted another.

Wilhelm did not hear them, let alone understand them. He was lost in Aida. Lost in her black beauty. Lost in her groans. Lost in the warm, slick embrace of her pussy.

Aida also blocked out the obnoxious audience. Wilhelm’s heavy ball sac was banging against her clit in just the right way, with exactly the force and frequency to bring her off, yet again. His spanks excited her. The truth was that she liked it rough, whether she was the dominant or the submissive partner. She enjoyed the feeling of her breasts swinging beneath her — they called out the rhythm of her impending contractions.

When Wilhelm felt Aida’s walls begin to tighten around him, trying to push him out, he pressed his weight into her. That seemed to increase her pleasure and he once again sensed that her seizure-like tremors would soon begin, anew.

Trajan’s script called for them to end with Wilhelm in Aida’s mouth, shooting onto her pretty face and goddess-like breasts. But Wilhelm knew in the moment, staring down at her round backside, and feeling her amorous grip on his cock, that he would not make it. When he was certain that Aida’s pleasure had crested, he withdrew his juice-covered cock, and sent rope after rope of white seed across her sinewy back.

The audience exploded into applause, but a quick glance told Aida that Trajan was not pleased that his perfect narrative had been tampered with. While the crowd still cheered, Aida dropped to her knees. Wilhelm’s cock had only wilted slightly and drops of seed still hung from the bulbous head. She licked him clean, with elaborate, dramatic trips up and down his length. When she scooped the puddles of issue that rested on the shelf of her fluted lower back, and brought her fingers to her outstretched tongue, the crowd exploded.

“Roma! Roma! Roma!” they cheered.

Aida saw Trajan smile, and she sighed with relief. She took Wilhelm by the hand and led him off stage through the raucous crowd. If she and Wilhelm hurried, they could have a few moments to themselves before the guards returned them to the stables.