Ponygirl Tales by Don Winslow Read Free Book Online

pushing on to the eternal city. And so it was that one of the wealthiest and most renowned slavers of all, a crafty worthy by the name of Kimar, arrived with his caravan and was now encamped on the grassy plains just outside the walls of the town.
    It was a pleasant June day, warm with a slight breeze. A festive crowd of soldiers, farmers and town’s people had gathered to watch the various games which pitted slave against slave in athletic competitions. The crowd delighted in seeing athletic young slaves, their healthy naked bodies straining and sweating in the sun, as they were put through their paces by burly slave drivers. But these games were only preliminary events for the highlight of the day -- the chariot races in which slave girls would be enlisted as ponygirls, with “red” and “blue” teams competing for the honors. Of course, the racing “chariots” were hardly the heavy armored war chariots such used by the legions, but rather specially made lightweight traps, nothing more than a delicate frame of saplings mounted on two spindly wheels.
    As the time for the races approached, the crowds began to gather around the track, an oval of beaten earth from where they might cheer on their favorites. The reason for the popularity of Kimar’s races was well-known: he specialized in the most exquisite sex slaves, beautiful girls and pretty boys kept naked but for their high collars and the leather straps that banded wrist and ankles. These lovely creatures were far too valuable to serve as common domestics, or as laborers in the fields. No, their labors would be of a very different nature, performed in the bedchambers of Rome’s elite.
         Lucius and I plunged into the crowd. People here quickly stepped aside for a Roman officer out of respect and the high esteem in which we were held. One of the benefits of service in such an isolated outpost is that officers, even minor ones such as ourselves were treated with a respect and deference the mobs of Rome would never show to a junior officer. We made our way to the platform that had been set up under a canopy. Nearby, stood the tent where the ponygirls were being readied. Cushioned seats had been provided for the various dignitaries with whom the old slaver meant to curry favor. We took our places besides the handful of minor officials and tradesmen who constituted the local nobility. From our vantage point we could get a clear view of the proceedings, and we watched with interest as the preparations were made for the main event.
    Our host now mounted the platform, and proceeded to greet each of his guests. Kimar was a scrawny fellow with big ears and an ingratiating grin, whose bald head bobbed up and down comically as he bowed before each seated dignitary while taking his hand in greeting. The man was a well known ass-kisser, fawning over any Roman he met, if he thought the fellow might possibly be of use to him. Now he took his place to one side, waiting for silence like an impresario about to present his production in a premiere performance. He stood there overlooking the mob with surprising dignity, prepared to wait until he got their attention. Kimar was a showman, and this was his supreme moment. Such performances were his way of showing off his slaves. Kimar knew the crowd would be dazzled by their graceful beauty, athletic prowess, and precise discipline, thus adding to his considerable reputation as the purveyor of the finest goods. He clapped his hands twice, and the flaps of the tent were drawn back to allow the passage of a parade of six beautiful girls who stepped forward in single file onto the grassy field.
    There was a moment of stunned silence, then a murmur of wonder broke out in crowd: the girl’s naked bodies had been dyed, colored from head to foot in the colors of their teams; three ruddy red girls emerged, followed by three whose bodies had been tinged with blue! The crowd broke into wild applause, which our grinning impresario