Bred by the Spartans by Emily Tilton Read Free Book Online Page B

himself to his faithful servants—such men as raised the pigs that were sacrificed to him from time to time, like Clemaeus—her red hair in beautiful disarray, was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen, entirely naked and waiting, it seemed just for him.
    Clemaeus could scarcely tell why, but the urge to have her immediately, to show her that even if he could not get a good price for his pigs, Clemaeus of Olympia knew how to fuck a beautiful young woman, came irresistibly upon him. He strode toward the temple of Zeus, across the sacred precinct. At first, he thought the girl looked happy to see him, but he supposed he could not keep the hunger from his face, so greatly did the need to fuck lie upon him, and he watched the fear enter her eyes.
    “Good morning,” she said, uncertainly.
    “Turn around, girl, and get ready for a fucking,” Clemaeus said, though he wondered at his audacity.
    “What?”
    “You heard me, girl,” the swineherd replied. “Do you need me to make you cut a switch from the trees over there, so I can whip your backside before I fuck you?”
    “Oh, please… I’ll… I’ll serve you… I’ll go with you…”
    “I don’t need a servant,” Clemaeus said, “and when I marry I’ll surely marry a good girl and not a hussy like you who’s clearly been lying with the priests all night in the temple and profaning the sanctuary.”
    The girl still stood, frozen in place, touching the column, achingly beautiful and desperately—it seemed to Clemaeus—in need of ravishment. Clemaeus stood now only a step below her. When the girl put her feet on the top step and her hands on the floor of the temple, her backside would be perfectly positioned for Clemaeus to drive his cock, rock-hard now, into that lovely, hairless cunt that seemed to have taken control of him entirely.
    “Must I?” she whispered now.
    “You must,” Clemaeus said gruffly.
    The girl turned around, and Clemaeus could not suppress a gasp at the beauty of her bottom and her shapely legs. “Put your feet on the top step.” He put out his hands and seized her roughly. She cried out as he pulled backward, and obeyed him. “Bend over, with your hands on the floor there. Knees bent just a little bit.”
    The girl obeyed.
    “Spread those feet. I want to see that sweet little cunt of yours.”
    An idle wonder that Zeus had chosen a poor swineherd like Clemaeus for the sacred gift of that glistening furrow, and the tight grotto he knew must lie inside, went through his mind, and then he had raised his chiton, and he was inside her with his hard length.
    But… there was resistance there, and the girl cried out.
    “Girl,” he said, hearing how strained his voice was in the extremity of his pleasure, “are you a maiden?”
    “Yes, sir,” she said, with a sob that he could tell held pleasure, and willingness despite herself, in it.
    Somehow, through all the blind lust the girl had incited in him, Clemaeus found a certain graciousness, for Zeus’ gift, and the girl’s. He said, “Thank you, girl,” and then he took her maidenhead, holding her hips fast and fucking harder than he had ever fucked a woman before. Clemaeus was not a cruel man, though he could often be a rough one. As he fucked this beautiful virgin, a part of him told him to be tender, to have a care for her feelings, but something about her seemed to make it impossible to heed any softer emotion than the need to master her completely.
    The girl cried out in pain at the ravishing, but also in pleasure at the thrusting. Clemaeus couldn’t resist spanking the little bottom as he rode her, either, saying, “Such a bad girl—a virgin—here for a swineherd…”
    And he could tell that the spanking made her ever more ready for his thrusts. Then, to his astonishment, she started to find bliss, and she found it, screaming, again and again, before at least Clemaeus himself found his, and shot his seed into her grotto, then ceased to move, shuddering and