Just as Bizia approaches with the lotion...

The door to the room is flung open with great ****. "Stop! What is the meaning of this?" demands a stern voice. You turn your head to look in surprise, and see a tall, fierce-looking woman in armor striding into the room. Her dark skin and thick hair reveal her Scythian ancestry, and her armor, cut, like her queen's, in a very flattering manner, reveals fading battle scars on her powerful body.

Bizia's gaze snaps away from you, her hand slipping the torturous ointment back into the jar. Her angry eyes flash with hate. "I could ask you the same, Captain Samahe!" The witch spits the other woman's name like a curse. "This man is mine, to break however I see fit!"

"Her majesty," answers the other woman coldly as she advances on Bizia, "once the heat of her rage had cooled, decided to appoint a... supervisor over your methods." The captain... Samahe, you remember, harshly growls out the last word. "Especially after the debacle you made of the last interrogation." The tall Scythian glares down at the priestess, her voice low for a woman's. Even with your pleasure-disrupted wits, you can sense the intense disdain the two have for one another. "I see she was prudent to do so. A living madman is as useless to our people as a dead prisoner. Moreso, really."

"You dare to presume to dictate my tasks to me? I-"

Unable to hold it in any longer, you involuntarily groan, spraying your chest again with seed. Both women look at you, Bizia with a flash of sadistic satisfaction, Samahe with disgust and... something else you cannot identify. "This... method," says the military woman, breaking the brief silence, "is clearly failing. Clean him off and begin with something else, or by Hera the mother of goddesses and women, I will follow her majesty's orders and hold you personally responsible when he dies."

With a wordless snarl, Bizia strips off her leather gloves, hurling them onto the floor as she replaces the pot of lotion. Swiping up the rest of her wine, she splashes it over your frantically-masturbating hand. You sigh, instantly, in relief. The mere touch of the liquid is beginning to rub away some of the burning sensation in your phallus, melting the terrible arousal and leaving only a painful aching. But, even diluted, it is now soaking into your hand. Even as your eyes begin to widen in terror, however, Captain Samahe snatches up your fist and claps it into place on the table. She turns to face the priestess, but Bizia is storming out of the room.

"If you are to deny me the use of my lotion," growls the witch, "I will need to find some other means to break the Roman's mind. He has demonstrated a unique... resilience to physical sensations. I must bring my **** and incenses to pry into his mind directly."

"But, the substance is still-" begins Samahe.

"Wipe it off yourself," cries Bizia, slamming the door behind her.

The captain looks down at you, then looks at your hand and penis. You see that same, untraceable emotion flit behind her eyes, before, with a sigh, she snatches up a cloth and begins wiping away the wine and ointment mixture from your hand and genitals. Her touch is rough and steady, unpracticed, but as the burning arousal of the ointment is wiped away, you feel a kind of sexual exhaustion that makes being aroused at a woman rubbing your genitals near-impossible anyway.

The Scythian woman throws aside the cloth and stares down at you, silently. You, in turn, examine her. She is not, perhaps, as beautiful as her queen or the priestess, but Samahe is still a striking woman. Her features are marred, here and there, by a few old scars, and her hair is cut short around her head, but you believe that with a little makeup and effort the captain could still turn quite a few heads. She is, you would guess, a decade younger than her queen, and though her armor hides her figure a little better than her master's, you find her broad shoulders and hips oddly attractive.

"Roman," the captain finally says, breaking the silence, "speak to me. Tell us what you know, what can keep us safe from the grasp of your city. Is a few paltry answers about your settlement so much to ask? Surely you must prefer to give me the truth now, rather than to let that sorceress wring these things from your mind."

You believe, from your equestrian training in the art of politics, that Samahe is sincere. You sigh, then answer her. "You too, are a soldier, Captain. You too have men... or women, rather, who lean on you for their lives and fortunes. If our positions were reversed, if you were the captive and I the captor, would you so easily give up your sisters in arms to me?"

The captain does not answer at first, her expression neutral, but her eyes are honest. They are surprised and... that other emotion again. What is it? "No," she answers finally, turning away, "No, I would not. A pity, Roman, that you were not born a woman. I would have liked to have you under my command. But, I must obey my queen, even when I find her orders... difficult. As a soldier, do you understand?"

You think of the mission that brought you here, and nod. "Yes," you say, sadly. "I do not understand why, however, your queen has chosen to make war on Rome. There is no need for this! Your people can join us, add your greatness to ours, blossom-"

"Speak no more of this, Roman!" answers Captain Samahe angrily, turning to face you again in a fury. "You do not know what you are saying!"

You quietly remember your conversation with the queen. "Vesta," you murmur. "Your queen, she is in terror of the virgins of Vesta. But why?"

Samahe is silent for a long moment, before turning away again. "I cannot answer, Roman."

Unwilling to answer, or unable to? You are unsure, and can tell that she will not readily reveal anything to you that might weaken her people.

Just as you try to ask, however, the door opens again.