"I do trust you have enjoyed my gifts," she managed to say with practiced confidence, easing into the chamber. She sat on the bench across from the pair of brawlers. Suddenly she had no use for her hands, and she fiddled with her hair before forcing them into her lap.

"Oh yeah, isn't that so, Dinos?" Laris prodded, elbowing his companion.

"Fine fare, my lady," he added. "The jailer brought us wood, bedding, and wine not an hour ago. I hope that you have not troubled yourself overly much on our account."

"Oh, it is no trouble," she assured them, waving off his false worry. "I only wanted to see to your comfort. You traveled so far, and I only desired you to feel welcome in our city."

"Yeah, welcome," Laris said almost cynically, devouring her with his gaze. He sneered in a hungry smile. "Why don't you take off your cloak and get warm here by the fire with us?"

Kallista burned inside, knowing what was to come, versed in this verbal dance. She rose and let her garment fall from her shoulders so that it pooled at her feet. Beneath she wore a silken tunic so short and sheer that a slave girl would be ashamed to serve in such a garment. Cheeks heated, she stepped around the brazier and sat between the gladiators. Her sheath flooded as she inhaled their musk. She placed a hand on each of their thighs and caressed gently.

"Why don't you boys get out of those tunics and show me your appreciation?" she asked huskily, sliding her palms up to cup their cocks through their clothing. A smile split her freckled face and pleasure writhed like a serpent deep within her soul.

Kell stood in darkness as Marcus lit a candle. Her eyes adjusted as he ignited more. Then he kindled a bronze oil lamp, as well as a similar little torch on the other side of the room, and then several more candles. She looked on his bed and saw a finely made, high-mounted mattress dressed in red and black silk. On the wall opposite his bed was a broad, circular mirror of polished bronze with a lion's head adorning each point of the compass. The disc was so finely buffed that she could clearly see herself with a ruddy, aural complexion. Soon the room was blazing, and everything seemed to be bathed in an amber haze.
 
Kell stood at the foot of the bed and before the feline-crested imager. Marcus joined her, clothed in only his scarlet tunic. He cupped her heart-shaped face with his strong hands and stroked his thumbs across her cheeks, admiring her beauty. Kell closed her eyes and pressed into him as he kissed her, pursing his lips over her lower lip and tugging. He nuzzled his nose to her, and his stubbly chin scratched across her fair skin. The Nordic girl inhaled sharply at this contact and leaned into him all the more. His torso was like the trunk of an oak, and she pressed her breasts into him, her arms snaking around his waist. The praetor tangled his long fingers in her shining locks and pulled her head to the side to expose the elegant tendon on the side of her neck. He kissed his way down the rounded cord, nibbling as he went, his breath a dragon's flame on her winter-kissed flesh.
 
Calloused, sword-hardened hands slid down Kell's linen-clad back and gripped her pert, supple ass. Her pitifully short tunic did nothing to cover her globes as they were mauled and rolled by Marcus's seeking fingers. His lips continued downward, and she offered him all of herself, tossing back her head and curling her tapering leg around his hip as he clutched her closer. He bit her shoulder and kissed his way up the other side, stopping at her ear where he exhaled and whispered, "I'm going to fuck you so hard, little slave girl."