A gay story: Publius Octavius Ch 02 Publius Octavius Ch. 02
Tavi begins Joshua’s training
Readers may wish to consider reading Ch.01 before this, at least for some background. This story is entirely fiction, although historical research has shown that many of the customs and practices described probably actually happened–t least among the upper class “provincial” Romans of the First and Second Centuries. With one major notation: This story takes place after Tavi’s twentieth birthday. In all probability in the former Greek colonies which became part of the Empire, it would have been his fourteenth—and many of the other practices described would have occurred prior. This would not meet contemporary publication standards. Therefore, I can state that all sexual activity in this story takes place among individuals over 18—but that is author’s license on my part. The story is told in the first person byTavi. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.
During the previous night, I had fucked my new slave for the third time that day. He had been an adult anal virgin before we purchased him although he doubtless had been used at the academy years before. In fact, reading between his confessions, as a slightly younger man, he was likely the top cocksman of his brigade. And that brigade had been infamous in Roman circles. It had consisted of more than a hundred expert cavalrymen—unique warriors in the Empire, who had learned to shoot arrows accurately from horseback. They had been feared raiders of Eastern frontier towns for many years—raping and pillaging to create terror. Neither the Roman legionnaires nor the recruited Palestinian fighters had been successful in preventing the periodic raids. And the frontiersmen feared their attacks, which often ended in the rape of young women and the taking of young men as slaves. The Parthians were “hit and hide” with no fixed encampments or forts. They were a nuisance “we” lived with—not the Roman citizens of Scythopolis, but those living in the farther Eastern territories.
My slave (servus) is somewhat challengingly named Joshua, the revered name of the ancient Palestinian general who had put down a joint Parthian/Philistine revolt involving thousands of warriors, hundreds of years ago—a battle chronicled in the notoriously inaccurate “histories” of the Palestinian people in their holiest book. Quite colorfully, the account noted that the general had delivered the “foreskins” of the defeated (and presumably slaughtered) warriors to the leaders of the people. Thus my slave had the name of the famous general of the Israelis—eternal foes of his people, taker of their very manhood—as recorded in the Hebrew Bible! I wondered at the irony of his naming. Was he a rebel?
I had decided to let him keep that name, confident that some learned friend of my family would at some point warn me that he would someday successfully castrate me or be castrated by me. But we both indeed still had our foreskins! In fact, he was very pleasing to look at: dark, lean, almost feral, about my height, with dark shaggy hair, deep purple eyes, and completely shaved below his eyebrows (a routine procedure prior to a slave auction) with well-developed warrior muscles, and a prodigious darker phallus hanging between his bowed legs. When he stood before me, legs akimbo and staring into my eyes, he projected the very image of a powerful warrior and top—an image that I am sure, he treasured. And that I relished taking at will.
Today would be the second day of his “training.” It was the day of my weekly mandatory warrior service. A condition of my freedom to live with family was that I appear once each week—and for a few weeks each year—to practice war-making skills and learn the newest concepts that had been developed by our generals and engineers.
It would also be the first day that I would appear as an officer and with a personal servant—who would be sharpening his skills as my bodyguard and “second”. We would be carefully watched by the instructors to ensure that I was sufficiently challenged—and if they didn’t think so, an instructor would sideline Joshua, and he would become a mere spectator. I was sure he wanted to avoid that status.
We woke at dawn. I was wrapped around Joshua, pulling him hard into my gut and with my stiff morning erection nestled nicely into his muscular crevice. My left arm was thrown over his flank and gripped his phallus tightly. My right was looped under his neck, pinching a hard brown nipple. The body language certainly projected ownership. Let’s hope that becomes a reality. I guess I had been dreaming. As I came fully awake, I pulled away. “Remember, you are to rise before me and prepare my morning ablution and break-fast. I will forgive this one time. But not again. Now take my phallus in your mouth and coax out the seed so I can start the day. You do not have my permission to cum.”
Joshua rolled away and then turned without a word and bent to take me into his mouth. His cock was hard and dark, demanding release. But he dutifully ignored it. He started to use his hand to retract my hood, but I stopped him. “No hands. And no teeth.” So he used his tongue to roll down the hood and began to suckle on the knob, occasionally taking me deeper and stroking with his lips as his tongue stimulated the sensitive glans. He was an amateur, but he would learn and I was fully aroused anyway. “You may use your hands on my balls–gently.” He reached under and began to fondle and urge my seed into flow, stroking the spot between the sacs and the anus carefully. Within minutes, I released my morning cream, filling his mouth and coating his lips. “Now bring the basin and wash me.” He did, and without a further request, when he finished, he brought my tunic. His raging erection had softened, but not completely. I think I’m going to leave him in this state.
“After we eat, we are going to the armory for a day of exercises. This is my weekly obligation. We will be there about four to five hours. You will accompany me.”
“Will I be an observer or a participant? What do I wear, Young Master?”
“You will fight. In fact, you will fight me. Wear the loin cloth and sandals—at least until we reach the armory.”
“When we arrive, we will strip. All exercises are performed nude—except, when we don pads and protective shields of our procreative equipment for swordsmanship practice.”
“You will begin today to learn the rules—and your responsibilities. If I am hurt—at exercise or in battle—your life is forfeit. But that does not mean you should feign weakness. You shall be my opponent. I expect you to fight with everything you can muster. I fear a furtive attack from enemies of my family, not you. Do you understand?”
“It is as I would have expected. I do not think you will be disappointed, Young Master.”
“And it will please me if you drop the ‘young’ from my address. You are only months older than I.”
I could see the surprise in his face. He might be only a few months older, but his experiences had vastly exceeded my own—he had been a revered warrior for several years, living off the land and plunder, taking what and whom he wanted. He was obviously the more mature and experienced of the two of us. But, he was resigned to please me, although I expected that within months, if not weeks, he would begin to chafe under my demands and control. But, I will detect his recalcitrance at it occurs and block it. Of that I am sure. His apparent boast did not displease me, but by then he would have fully accepted my commands and control. I had seen others with sycophantic, obsequious or effeminate personal slaves. They disgusted me. I wanted someone with equal or greater physical prowess, intellect, and conversational facility. I wanted a reliable body-guard and worthy opponent in practice.
Ultimately, my slave would be my most valuable assistant—and friend. I can think of nothing more exciting than fucking and subduing a powerful alpha male. And, if I am fortunate and the gods so ordain, he will be devoted to me as a lover. After seven years and even as a free man, I was convinced, he would plead to remain with me. But of course my expectations needed to be tempered by actual events—we shall see.
I could be patient. And I was already looking forward to training this man to respect me and my will in all things. My use of his body was already very satisfactory.
A servant had delivered a tray of bread and fruit and a tea made from local fruits and leaves, my regular.
When we finished, I handed him a soft sueded leather loin cloth, bearing our family’s crest. It was smaller and tighter than the linen he had worn yesterday, and would hug his loins (and his phallus) more tightly, completely exposing his thighs and hiding little of his size. But it was sturdier for wear in the city. And of course I was advertising my possession to the city. Others might have breastplates and sashes; I had a slave with extraordinary presence and a huge phallus. “From this time, your covering will be this outside this house, but the white linen in the house—and of course nothing while you are in this apartment. Later in the autumn when it chills, I shall permit you a short tunic and a woolen shroud. Swords and lances, pads and guards will be ready for us at the Armory. But, I doubt they will have archery equipment,” I added with a sly smile.
He of course responded in kind. “Thank you, Master.”
We left my apartment, Joshua walking a pace or two behind me. I greeted and spoke briefly with Pater in the atrium, who knew already my responsibilities for that day. “I am pleased that your first day with this young man seems to be agreeing with you. I wish you well in the trials today. I will expect you to dine with family late this afternoon for the family meal. I presume your servant will have had sufficient breeding or instruction by then to dine in public without embarrassing you. Good day, Tavi. May the gods walk with you.” Pointedly, Pater scrutinized every aspect of Joshua’s body, obviously pleased, but said nothing more.
He gazed at our backs as we moved to the portal gate. Then he remarked, “He has a strange gait. Surely that is not the result of only one night’s conditioning? Perhaps you are more powerful, my son, than even I had imagined.” He laughed. And Joshua darkened in embarrassment, but remained silent.
“No, he had been a Parthian horseman. He has spent so many hours mounted that his thighs have spread. It has changed his gait—I think forever. But we’ll see.”
Pater laughed, and apparently to continue the joke and keep the upper hand, “Well, it does make some things easier,” and turned back to his papyri. He certainly knew the score. He knew I was bedding Joshua, probably often and hard. So, he would tease me, no us, for some time. I think he was perhaps a bit envious of my “virility”—and my new slave.
The ways were deserted, except for a few early cart deliveries of food until we neared the Armory—where numerous chariots were dropping young men at the gate. Typically, there would be about a dozen of us, many now with personal slaves. Many stared at Joshua—he was tall, fierce and definitely foreign. They wondered whether I would take him on in practice combat or continue with my instructors.
“This is my new personal servant, Joshua, formerly a Parthian warrior, brought down by the Roman guard. Today I will see whether he is worthy opponent.”
We walked into the preparatory room and stripped. One of the Armory slaves oiled our bodies. Then since we would be starting with sword wielding exercises, he wrapped pads around our upper arms and flanks. Then he handed us each a T-shaped linen garment. Joshua looked at me, puzzled. “Let me show you. First, you wrap the ends of the tee around your loins and knot it in the front. Then you take the tail, pull it hard into your cleft and up in front over your genitals. Take the pads and place them over your genitals. Then use the tail to anchor them to your gut. Tie it again at the waist. Be sure the knots are secure. That will be your protection during the sword practice.” He followed, fumbled and tried again. Finally, we were both “dressed”—and our genitals swelled heavily before us. “In actual battle, we also wear a metal cage over the pads for additional security.” (In addition to protection, the cod piece exaggerated our endowments—a necessity in hand to hand combat. We needed to intimidate before we engaged.) Then we grabbed the dull heavy swords and the small wooden arm shields that were for practice and moved to the arena. The swords would bruise and sting, but rarely would they wound or cut.
“Look over there. Those men are addressing each other before they begin. Note the courtesy. We will copy that in a minute.”
Joshua seemed very pleased to be ready for combat. It had been, after all, his life. And it had been months since he had held a weapon—even a blunted one.
We stepped into an open space and ceremoniously addressed each other. He had observed well and learned quickly An instructor joined us and called the beginning. Immediately, I began the long-practiced strokes. Joshua defended the first few quite eassily, but seemed unwilling or unable to go on the offensive. It was like a choreographed dance of a master and a slave—much too easy to please the military instructors. We moved into a clinch and I whispered, “If you don’t fight, the instructor will cause you to sit and watch, and he will take over your place. Don’t fear injuring me. I’m really quite good at this.”
We backed off and we parried again. I attacked, and again he defended with dexterous positioning. Then, he attacked—in a way that I had not before seen. It was not a classic move. Although surprised, I guarded well. Back and forth we moved, striking, blocking, and occasionally strafing a shoulder or an upper arm. This continued for what seemed like a long time. Finally, the instructor gave the ending signal. We dropped our swords to our sides and bowed to each other, as I heard the instructor say to another, “This slave has some new moves that we must note and include in the practice. Tavi has found a worthy opponent.” Joshua started to smile, but quickly turned his face blank. Two more rounds ended with similar stalemates. Both were witnessed by several instructors who noted the foreign moves carefully, and my responses. Then it was time for a break. We were sweaty and bruised.
So it was back to the prep room. The attendants removed our pads, and as we stretched on the pallets, they oiled us again and massaged our swollen arm muscles while eyeing wistfully other swollen parts of our bodies.
Next it was the wrestling arena. This part of the training was open to free citizens and the viewing stands were quite crowded that morning. Rome had attempted to provide entertainment for the populace—and stadiums for viewing wrestling were one such gesture. Typically a dozen or more choice young Roman male specimens would grapple nude with “barbarian” opponents. Erections were inevitable. Coupling was often the climax, with the victor taking his conquest. Today there would be two sets of three simultaneous matches—three rounds each of about three minutes each, unless there was a take-down or surrender. We were in the first group. I quickly told Joshua that there were no rules—other than the opening stances. No holds were barred. But no one was to be injured. If one felt in danger of injury it was necessary to tap out voluntarily. There was no shame in avoiding injury. In fact obstinate young men were punished for risking injury, or actually suffering injury. This was sport and entertainment, not war.
In the first match, he started on all fours beneath me in the classic Greco-Roman starting position. I leaned my chest hard into his back and pushed my phallus into his cleft, as my right arm held his gut close, then slipped down as my fingers cupped his balls. His back rose into my chest. His phallus began to swell. He whispered, “Master, is that legal?”
“I said anything goes—particularly when the opponent is my personal slave. No one else will touch you there. The bronze around your throat marks you as mine.”
The gong sounded and exertions began in earnest in the three circular rings. Joshua tried to throw me off, but I held fast, then suddenly faded and, when he moved up, I flipped him and pounced. Our chests met. I rose to a squat to capture his head between my thighs by pressing on his upper arms and succeeded, placing my cock firmly on his lips. Then I reached down behind me and grasped his genitals firmly and began to squeeze. He was clearly in pain, but pride took over. He didn’t tap. Instead, he bucked hard and threw me off. Then he pounced, trapping one arm behind my back. He moved above me and started to execute a pin maneuver. But he was unpracticed and slow. I rolled, escaped, aided by the oils, and we both stood, circling and facing. Now we were both erect.
The audience was glued to our spot in the arena and was cheering wildly. He charged immediately, head down. I stepped aside, tripped him and fell on his back, sitting on his upper thighs as I held him to the ground. My phallus lengthened again as it nestled in his smooth cleft. The audience noticed and began to cheer. They wanted me to take him right there. My chest dropped to his back and I reached around to begin a choke. But he tapped out. The crowd boo-ed, deprived of the ultimate victory—the fuck of a barbarian. I was a favorite, and I had won the first round.
The next two matches were very similar. He was strong, but I was quick, oiled, and I had been trained in man-to-man wrestling. I won all three matches—although it was clear by the end that he was learning quickly and would be a dangerous equal soon. His military training had not included hand to hand combat or wrestling—he had been cavalry. He was also losing his fear of defeating his Master.
With the third victory and to the roar of the crowd, I forced my phallus into his mouth to moisten it. Then I flipped him, entered in one thrust, pumped him hard, and filled him with my seed. Then, I rose, still monstrously erect and dripping, raised my arms in victory and bowed to the crowd, to their loud applause. I noticed he darkened in embarrassment. I had taken him publicly and roughly—a terrible blow to his ego.
It was time for the baths (not the elaborate baths I was accustomed to, but a quick plunge to remove the oils). We were both exhausted—and I was very pleased to have a slave who was going to become a worthy opponent. After refreshment, we were forced to spend a few hours in instruction—new formations, geography and history lessons—focusing on great battles, and mathematics—focusing on trajectories (for catapults).
Then it was home. The midday meal would be served in the atrium at 3 p.m.—the largest meal of the day. This was to be Joshua’s command performance.
On the way home, I reminded him he was only to speak when asked a direct question. He was to address Pater as Lordship, my mother as Revered Mater, and others as Sir or Lady. He was to watch me eat and follow—always taking less, and never the last morsel on the plate or tray. He was not to touch the wine. And he was never to look directly into the eyes of any member of the household when responding. “Yes, I’ve got it Master. I understand.”
“If you screw up, it reflects on me—and I will punish you or Pater will. You must always be alert and careful. If you have any doubt, look to me. If I point to my phallus, stop immediately what you are doing and sit back on your haunches in silence. Food and drink are less important to you this afternoon than pleasing Pater.”
Lunch took place without incident. It included grilled goat and lamb, vegetables, fruits, bread, and of course the famed Scytho Wine. The family was very interested in Joshua’s life and asked many questions. He answered all politely and with short responses. Until I cut in and remarked to Pater that the Armory instructors were quite interested in several swordsman techniques that Joshua had used. I did tell them he was an extraordinary archer, but they didn’t seem interested. Perhaps in the future.
“I beg your leave Pater, Mater—and family. We have had a long morning of combat. I would like some time to rest and recuperate.”
“As you wish, Tavi. Please remember that I would have you accompany me to the Council in the morning. Your slave is not welcome. We will have the company of a few household guards to escort us. But you are free the next day. Plan as you wish.”
“Of course, I’ll be with you. As to the next day, I haven’t considered that yet. I would like to show Joshua the city—and the places where I might send him to pick things up for me. I will take him to the baths we use, with your permission.”
“Of course, he is welcome anywhere you will go—unless there is some reason for a specific prohibition. I have word that the Cult will be initiating new members soon, within a fortnight, depending on the omens. So you must be prepared. The initiation takes the entire night. You must be well and well-rested—ready to respond on two days notice.”
With this, we rose and Joshua followed me back to the apartment. As soon as he entered, he dropped the loin cloth. He was learning fast. “I do wish to rest, but I’ll rest better if you give me a massage first. And then perhaps, I will massage your chute.” I leered at him, and he dipped his head in acquiescence.
“I am at your command, Master.”
I stretched out on the pallet and he applied the oils. Slowly, he caressed, then pounded my muscles. He was a natural masseur. I was in heaven. His hands on me were perfect. Just enough pressure; just enough caress. Periodically, his hands strayed to my cleft, and pretending to massage my cheeks, the fingers penetrated. And once or twice his erect phallus brushed my body. Now, I needed to be careful. I needed to establish myself as the master. He was my slave. I could not permit him to take me so early in our relationship. Soon he had me at the edge. Massage be damned! I needed him under me now. I rose and pointed him to my bed. He knew the sign. He soon was prone, belly down, legs and arms outstretched in surrender. I moved to him and tapped his flank. “Flip over. I will see your eyes when I take you.”
This was new to him. Almost always before, he had taken and been taken like an animal. He seemed confused. So I took over. I knelt between his legs and spread them wide and up into the ceiling of the chamber. I leaned into him and pushed him back into a roll, presenting his love hole for me to ravage. It quivered and the bright pink rim winked involuntarily at my touch. I placed a few drops of oil on my phallus and then slicked his hole. I leaned forward and penetrated. He was ready, and our previous couplings had enlarged his chute a bit. He accepted my stroke with a small gasp and widened eyes. Face to face was a new experience for him. It was way more intimate. He couldn’t fake his pleasure. I was going to make him mine—even more than the ownership of a master-slave. I wanted him to crave my cock inside. I needed him to need me. Would this be the time? I bent forward and took his lips in mine. His eyes shot open. This was another totally new experience for him. Never before had his lips touched those of another man. But, he responded as only a warrior would—and our tongues dueled. Even in this situation, Joshua was a warrior. And he seemed to be enjoying the situation and the new experience. His cock was leaking prodigiously.
I was near and ready. I started pumping with my thighs. My cock swelled and stretched his chute, scraping the prostate with each stroke. And he responded like a lover, not a slave-whore. He bucked up with each stroke, pulling my phallus deeper into his body, my hot engorged sacs bouncing on his muscled ass—and, it seemed, his eyes were pulling me into his soul. We had crossed a threshold. He had learned to accept and revel in my taking. He wanted to please me. (Or perhaps he was enjoying my fucking—wich I knew was skilled and desired by many.) Unless he was a far better actor than I could have imagined! But, it didn’t seem so. His face was bathed in sweat—and pleasure. His eyes were dilated and hooded. His nose was flared and his musky aromas permeated the still air.
I continued to stroke, seeing his eyes widen with each touch of his prostate. This was not an act. I was going to bring him to climax with me—and no hands will be used. “Joshua, you may cum. You have my permission. I am close. Soon I will fill you again with my hot seed. You belong to me. This ass is my property. Never forget that.”
He whispered, “Yes, Master, I am yours indeed. My ass longs to be filled with your phallus and seed.”
(Now there is a line of erotic poetry never uttered by Catullus!)
A few more strokes, and he exploded long ropes of creamy white cum–onto his chest, throat, and chin. This caused the contraction of his anal muscles and brought me to a huge orgasm. I pumped and pumped filling his cavity again, then fell onto his creamy chest, releasing his thighs. He immediately repositioned and curled his legs around my flanks, holding my still hard phallus in his hole and my chest to his cum-covered body. I continued to spasm, releasing almost no fluid, but enjoying the sensations. He was holding me close, like a lover. My seed, held in place by my cock, was seeking home deep inside his body. That was another first.
I fell asleep on top, sated and quite pleased with myself.
But, I was surprised in the morning that somehow Joshua had returned to his pallet, escaping my embrace without awakening me. He had covered me with the linen against the night chill and was waiting.
He woke before me, washed and had my breakfast prepared when I finally opened my eyes. He was of course nude, standing at the side of my palette, and glowing from the coarse hair-cloth which he had used to scrub his body. This was a sight I would never tire of. The long phallus hanging limply between his bowed legs was a novel and stimulating sight. He was quite simply magnificent. He smiled at me. “Good morning, Master. I have your basin and chamber pot ready. I used the latter and he sponged the night sweat from my body. Then he moved the tray near the pallet and helped me to sit. He had learned perfectly what was expected.
“I am to attend Pater this morning. He has a meeting of the Council. You would not be welcome. You will take the morning to offer assistance to the domus-servants. There is no better way to engage their approval than relieving them of tasks. I would very much like if you became a favorite of the staff. As of now, they see me as a young entitled heir—I want more. I want their respect and ultimately their fealty and affection as I begin to take over Pater’s responsibilities. Whatever you do for them, they will know it is at my request—and it will reflect on me. Many personal slaves have been sabotaged, destroyed by hostile domus-servants. That should not be you. You will need them to like you.”
“Of course, Master. As you command.”
“Later or more probably tomorrow we will visit the baths. I will introduce you to my masseur and barber. It will please me if you continue to be completely shaved.”
He didn’t seem terribly happy to know that he would continue to be smooth, like a woman, but he quickly hid his displeasure. “As you wish, Master. I am here to please you.”
I rose and he dropped the tunic over me. He buckled the leather sash. Then I pointed to the narrow toga—much narrower than Pater’s and with only a thin band of blue color along one edge. This marked me as a patrician, but not one with military, senatorial or administrative rank. He bent to tie my sandals. As he did so, he looked up into my crotch. “Please forgive my ignorance. Do not Roman men cover their genitals and asses when they go about the city or the forest?”
“Not unless we are anticipating going into combat. In the winter, we survive by wrapping ourselves in woolen cloaks. Some say Roman men are ever-prepared to screw another. The saying is not literal—rather it reflects our willingness to take advantage of another whenever we can. Our family is known for its ruthlessness in commerce and politics. Besides, it makes it much easier to use the public facilities which are mostly street-side.”
“It pleases me to know that you are always ready to take me. I shall try to be worthy. Certainly the size and shape of your phallus would draw the envy of any man and the desire of any woman.”
He was quickly learning the attitude of a personal slave—always praise the master. I must be sure to teach him that the praise is ok when warranted, but idle praise would not earn him my esteem.
I turned and walked out to meet Pater. He emerged from his rooms shortly, and we headed to the Praetorium for the meeting. It turned out to be typically boring—long discussions about the selection of an architect and a builder for the newest temple planned for the acropolis. We talked about the merits of various marbles, the building techniques which utilized the art of the Greeks, but the engineering expertise of our own people. Then there was the inevitable discussion of finance. We were a “free city”, but that did not mean there were no taxes. It only meant that goods entering or leaving the city were not taxed by Rome. But tax collection is difficult. Mostly it is taken in a share of crops. Fortunately the wine harvest appeared to be plentiful this year and the sale of our renowned wines to Roman households would yield a significant share for the city.
There were too many—way too many strong opinions (which really didn’t count). Ultimately, after giving lip service to the peoples’ representatives, Pater and his two senior partners would decide—in fact they already had. My only contribution was to second a suggestion made by Pater, adding a few cogent reasons in support.
Soon we were released and walked back home. “What have you asked your slave to do in our absence?”
“I instructed him to assist the domus-servants.”
“Very good. I have taught you well. It is important that they come to like you as more than an attractive young entitled boy—and gestures like that are sure to help.”
“I think we will take some time in my apartment after dinner. After the hours of military drills yesterday and this morning’s meetings, I feel soiled and need the relaxation. Tomorrow we will go to the baths.”
“A very good idea. It will also give you a chance to show off your new slave. He is a beauty and will attract many surreptitious glances and hungry stares. I presume you are enjoying his body. But, remember, don’t let up on the discipline for some time—or you will regret it. While it is a decision for you alone to make, I recommend that you not ‘share’ him with friends—even if it might bring you temporary advantage. In the long run, he must be yours, and yours alone.”
Joshua had requited himself quite well in my absence. He had worked in the scullery, scrubbing the vessels used in cooking over the open fires, removing the carbon until they gleamed. The exertion had bulged his muscles and brought moisture to his skin surface. By the end of the morning, any one of the chamber and kitchen maids would have fallen into his bed without persuasion. He was that kind of living aphrodisiac.
As we returned to my rooms after dinner, Joshua removed his cloth and asked, “Master would you be willing to teach me the classic moves in your wrestling? I wish to be a worthy opponent, but I feel that I am just a barbarian fighter. I lack the finesse of a tutored wrestler.”
“Actually, that would be enjoyable. I have been sitting and talking about nothing all morning. There are mats in that room. Bring them out and create a spot on the private terrace outside my room.” Then I too removed my tunic.
“Oil me and then I shall oil you.” He grabbed the ewer and we went outdoors onto the shaded space. He wiped my body with the oils, caressing everywhere, including my cleft, my phallus and my balls. Then I did the same to him, pushing fingers into his hole as he gasped in pleasure. Both of us were already semi-erect.
“First, we have the opening position. It is always exactly the same. Get on the mat on hands and knees—but don’t plant the hands or rest hard on them. You must be immediately ready to use your arms to back your opponent off at the start. Try to push your ass up, tensing your thighs to give you more strength.” He assumed the position. I tested his hands and arms and realized he had already marshaled his strength and coiled. Then I gripped his thighs which he had already tensed. “You learn fast.”
“Now I will position myself over you. I am required to place one hand on your shoulder—be sure your opponent does not hook into the bronze neck ring or you could be choked immediately. I am just behind you. You are as tall as I and most of your opponents will be much shorter than I. Thus, they will have to choose: place their chest on your back which will destabilize their position or place themselves behind you without pressure on your back, only your ass. In either of these cases, your size gives you an initial strategic advantage.”
“My second hand must be around your waist and into your gut. Shorter men will hold your chest higher to compensate for their chest position. Taller men like me can afford to grip lower—and tease your genitals—as I did yesterday.”
“I think I understand Master. It is about leverage and maximizing the use of strength. This is more intellectual than I had imagined. And your tease was indeed distracting.”
“At the start, your opponent will anticipate a blast—an attempt to throw him from your back. I guess you may have experienced that with a new horse.” Joshua nodded in understanding.
“So, often, if I am under, I release the tension, drawing my opponent down with me. Then I slip to one side, attempting to dislodge him. Slipping out of the initial position is a plus for you. Turning quickly and pouncing gives you great advantage. Now let’s try it.”
He positioned himself and I climbed over him. I could not resist attempting to slip two fingers under the neck ring (which he tossed off) and grasping his scrotum (about which he could no nothing).
We began. He had learned quickly. He faded then fell to his right away from me. But, he wasn’t fast enough. I pounced as soon as his back hit the mat and pinned his shoulders. My phallus dropped heavily on his lips as his eyes widened in acknowledgement of defeat.
“Let’s try again. This time when you flip, try to rise on your feet—or at least your knees—as quickly as possible.”
We positioned again. His penis was steel hard. So instead of his balls, I gripped the shaft. He moaned. “You are not playing fair, Master.”
“Begin.”
“Again he faded, but this time he flipped toward me on the left, pinning my left leg under his body. He reached up to grab my arms, but this gave me the chance to bring my right leg over him and into a scissor. I squeezed and his breath exploded.
“You must always be ready for an attack by arms or legs. It is best to defend and exhaust your opponent rather than attacking immediately. The opportunity for attack will occur if you are careful. Wait and look for a weakened stance or opening.”
For nearly an hour, we wrestled—and he was becoming more and more comfortable with various strategies which capitalized on his strength, height, and strong fingers—while I repeatedly reminded him that his height and reach would be a major asset with a shorter opponent.
We were both incredibly pumped—and aroused. Both of us were leaking on the mats. I wanted a shower—and fortunately, our villa was equipped with the most desired feature—water rooms in each apartment with ceilings concealing bladders of water, fed by the aqueduct and warmed by the sun. But, first, I wanted him—sweaty, oily, and aromatic. I could smell the musk that we each were throwing. It was intoxicating, almost hypnotic. The taking would be on the mats, outside, so as not to soil the linens in my bed. He was ready and understood my hunger. He rolled onto his back and lifted his legs in invitation.
I knelt between his thighs and took his manhood in my mouth—another first for us. I sucked and stroked, reveling in the musky odors that rose from his genitals. “Master, I am so close. I do not wish to defile you with my seed.”
I hardened my gaze into his eyes. “You may cum, Joshua.” Then I began to work his shaft with my tongue as my lips sealed around the head and sucked out his seed. My hand reached under and fondled his balls and scraped his taint. Then an oiled finger penetrated and poked his prostate. It was too much for him. His gut compressed; his thighs tensed. He spasmed a few times. And then he exploded and filled me with his delicious creamy cum. I captured it all and whirled it around inside, relishing the texture and the taste. Then, I rolled off onto the mat, my phallus stretching high into the late afternoon breeze.
Joshua quickly recovered. “Shall I take you now Master—in my mouth?”
“No, I would have you show me your riding skills.”
He knew exactly what I meant. He straddled my loins and began the descent onto my phallus, quickly bottoming his ass on my crotch. He bent over, took my nipples into his lips, and using his strong thighs began to rise and descend, obviously positioning his prostate for maximum stimulation. I wasn’t going to be passive or let him do the work. So I planted my feet and began to push up when he rose. After a few strokes, I began to buck and he reached down to my shoulders to hold on. My pushes became more frantic. He could feel I was near—and his own phallus had fully recovered. It bounced on my gut as I bounced on the mat. He reached around and pressed on the taint, feeling the fluid rising. So he redoubled his ride. And I blasted again into his hole. He did too, covering me with his ropey cream. Then he fell forward and took my lips with his. At first he was tentative, but when I responded by wrapping my arms around his back pulling him hard into my chest, he began the mouth-duel that we had only once before tried. Sex after exertion was always special.
We rested, cooled, and our breathing returned to normal. Then, it was to the shower. He was amazed, but very pleasantly surprised at the contraption which dripped the warm shower slowly over our heads and bodies—one of Rome’s gifts to the world. And as my slave, he carefully washed my entire body. Then he dried me, and I headed for my bed.
He dried after me and stepped into the bed chamber, eyes sated behind dark shaggy hair that partially covered them. He was quite the man: lean, pumped, visibly exhausted from the sex. I was quite pleased at what I had accomplished in only three days.
“I will have you here tonight,” as a patted one side of my bed. Joshua dried himself and slipped in, permitting me to take him into my big spoon. I soon was asleep with a complacent smile and a thickening penis, sliding into his cleft, ready for lurid dreams—or perhaps middle of the night playtime. His training was progressing well—very well.
TBC BD