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ass.
    “You love it don’t you, Babe? Before you get back on that van, I’m gonna fuck you in the ass,” he hissed, his warm breath burning her ear and firing her with lust. He gave her an extra stab with the deep-seated plug and she gave an open-mouthed groan.
    Her handler laughed, gave Blaze an affectionately slap on the rear-end, and walked away, leaving the impaled girl with butt plug shoved up her clamping ass, to adjust to the strange feelings emanating from her violated bottom.
With all six ponygirls properly plugged, the pretty tails inserted up their pert behinds, the grooms unhooked them from the bar, one at a time, and led them to the waiting buggies.
    The reins were attached to the head-harness at the bits. They were backed into place between the traces of the light-weight sulkies, and harnessed up to the rigs.
    Two buggies were readied, each to be pulled by a team of three girls. Now the stable doors were thrown open and the newest set of Spaulding’s ponygirls were led out into the sunshine of a bright June day.

Ponygirls Four
    Romans!
    With the successful conclusion of our spring campaign, the Bernesium garrison was ordered to stand down and immediately retire back to our barracks. We were relieved in more ways than one; thanking the gods to be alive and more or less intact. We were all looking forward to a well-deserved rest. The Germanic hordes had finally been beaten back, at least for now. Of course, we knew it would be so. It was just a matter of time. No people on earth could stand against the power of Rome, once the decision was made to unleash the legions against them. It was a familiar story: barbarian tribes rebelling, then steadily pounded into submission, one after the other.
    And so with a summer of peace before us, army life settled into its usual dull routine. And if things lacked excitement at our little outpost on the northern fringe of the world’s mightiest empire, well, at least there was no shrieking mob of dirty, foul-smelling savages trying their best to get at you with the intention of lopping off your head! All in all, peace is so much more desirable than war -- even if it does make army life a bit boring.
    Truth be told, there was not much to do at Bernesium. Between visits to the Gratius’ whores, Lucius and I spent most of our time at Filo’s, one of two local taverns, gambling, wrenching, and solving all the problems of the Empire. With the aid of the heady local wine, our problem-solving went on till the wee small hours of the morning.
    The room was warm; the crowd lively and raucous. Lucius, in his cups, was at that point in the evening when he was loudly swearing to all around us, that he and I were the best of eternal comrades, brothers in arms. With one arm slung around my shoulder, he closed in on me, breathing his wine-saturated breath in my face, while filling my cup with the other hand.
    “Marcus, my friend, you must come with me to the parade grounds on Thor’s day. The word is Kimar intends to exercise his slaves in one of his famous chariot races -- that is something you will not want to miss.”
    I had heard of these extravaganzas from old-timers at the post, but I knew them only by reputation, since no such games had been held since my posting to Bernesium.
    Those were the days when Rome seemed to need an endless supply of fresh slaves, and the slave traffic, in spite of bandits, hijackers, and savage tribes, was very lucrative indeed! The slave caravans normally bypassed us preferring a more easterly route, but it so happened that during my tour of duty at Bernesium, they were diverted to the north by one of those frequent dustups with the quarrelsome Scythians.
    It was our good luck that slavers choosing this northern route would seek safe haven in Bernesium after the long and dangerous hardships of their mountain crossing. Under the shelter of our garrison, they could rest their drivers and their precious human cargo, and replenish their supplies before