A gay story: Publius Octavius Ch 03 Publius Octavius Ch 03
The Baths and the Cult Initiation
Readers may wish to consider Chaps .01 and 02 before this, at least for some background. This story is entirely fiction, although ancient historical research has shown that many of the customs and practices described probably actually happened–at least among the upper class “provincial” Romans of the First and Second Centuries. All sexual activity in this story takes place among individuals over 18. © 2023, Brunosden. All rights reserved.
I slept until late and when I awakened, Joshua was ready for me. A basin with luke-warm water, perfumed with scented oils was on the night table. When my eyes opened, he moved to the bed and kissed me deeply as his right hand slipped beneath the cover to grasp my swollen phallus. His tongue trailed down my chest, teasing nipples, then rolling over my indented abs, until it reached the prize—the base of my cock. He circled the base and pushing my thighs apart, took each of my balls into his mouth where he rolled them and bathed them with his tongue. My hips rose from the bed in welcome. So he moved to the cock-head, pursed his lips and pushed the hood down while tonguing the slit. Suction mounted, relaxed and mounted again. Fingers fondled my balls, traced my taint, and ringed the hole. I suddenly realized he was seducing me while I was half asleep. I loved every second—but I hadn’t given him permission to enter my hole—with a finger, a tongue, and certainly not his hugely erect penis.
“I need the bedpan before we continue. And remember your place, Joshua.”
“I’m only trying to please you Master.”
“But I think you are pleasing yourself even more.”
“Not me, Master. I am your slave and I know my place.”
“Good. Get the bedpan—unless you want something more than cum in your mouth.”
“As you wish.”
So he somewhat sullenly stopped, fetched the large ewer and placed it over my phallus. I willed my phallus to soften and slowly began to relieve myself. As I did so, Joshua began to wash my chest, thighs and calves. When I finished, he motioned me to turn over, and he repeated the sponge bath on my back, taking a little long and apparently a lot of pleasure from spreading my cheeks and washing my cleft, permitting liquid to fall onto my hole. I had had enough of his subterfuge. He did not have permission to touch me there. I rolled over and punched his offending arm. “Hand me the towel and prepare breakfast.”
“What is wrong Master? Have I displeased you?”
The words were sincere, but the face was not. I could see the secret smile behind his not-so-blank face. He would fail on the proscenium stage near the agora—he was no actor. It was only day four and already he was attempting to stimulate me into allowing him to take his pleasure from my body.
“I will not grace that ridiculous question with a response. I repeat myself for the last time. Know your place, Joshua. You shall not touch yourself without my permission. And under no circumstances shall your finger, or your tongue or your phallus touch my anus. Do you understand? If it happens again, I will punish. You would not like to see me angry.”
“We are going to the baths this morning. Before then, I need to instruct you on what to expect and what is permitted for you.”
Joshua pulled up the tray of food and sat back to listen as I ate. He was either contrite, or resigned to the fact that I totally understood his motives and his needs. But, he must learn to subjugate his needs to my desires—if not my whims. “I will eat when you finish, Master.”
“The baths are nearby, reserved to members and guests. The water comes from aqueducts and is fresh and clean. There are five areas: the ante-room/changing space; the tepidarium, the scrubbing and rinsing pool, the frigidarium, and the reception rooms. We will enter and disrobe. Our garments will be taken, washed, dried in the sun and returned to us at the end.”
“There will likely be a few Jewish patrons. You will recognize them immediately—they will rewrap in a linen loin wrap as they disrobe in private—they never exhibit their circumcised penises or loins in public. But they will keep to themselves. Do not stare or comment.”
“The first room is steamy hot. The bath water is almost unbearably hot. We will plunge and remain submerged for some time to open our bodies to the release of dirt and evil spirits. Occasionally an attendant will pour hot water over our heads. When we rise, attendants will scrub our reddened skin with harsh brushes. Your balls will hang lower than you ever seen, but don’t be concerned. It is only a response to the heat.”
“Master, how deep is the water? You know that I cannot swim.”
“About to your waist. Don’t be concerned.”
“Then we proceed to the second room. Here other attendants will cover us in soap and scrub again. We will enter the warm waters and submerge again for some time. I find this very relaxing. Conversation is to be expected, although some will doze. In this place, I am always vigilant to hear gossip—particularly from the legionnaires who are just arriving in the city. You would be wise to do the same. Under no circumstances are you to touch me or speak to me in that room. Then another brush scrub and a rinse.”
“Then it is to the icy frigidarium. We will plunge quickly into the very cold waters. We will only remain a few minutes as our fingers begin to turn blue—and our phalluses shrink! Attendants will dry us.”
“Finally we will enter the reception hall. There we will choose an attendant, male or female. Choice of attendant determines the services you will receive. If the attendant is clothed, the patron is taken for a soothing massage. If the attendant is wearing only a loin cloth or in some cases less, we would be taken for a massage which will end with sexual release—either as giver or receiver, with man or woman. It is entirely the patron’s choice. Finally, we will be served refreshments as we relax on the sun terrace, dressing and leaving when we wish.”
“You should speak no words while we are in the baths. Here I am going to violate Pater’s advice. You may choose any attendant—but if you choose release, you must be the top. Otherwise no one but me may touch you or be touched sexually by you—except of course those scrubbing and brushing. You should attempt not to be aroused or to give any signal that you are open to engagement with anyone. It would be wise for you to avoid even eye contact with the Jews—they will likely see you as an enemy. They will recognize you by your color and the size of your upper arms. They would prefer you dead to slave. And as to us, they consider us decadent occupiers, defilers of their precious spas—even though it is we Romans who have made them acceptable. If any man or woman approaches you, point to the neck ring and walk away. It is not rude or an insult; merely an acknowledgement that you are owned.”
“Is this clear?”
“Yes, Master. If I may be so bold: would you take me, fill me with your seed and permit me to spill mine before we go? If so I will choose the massage. At this time, I have no need of anyone but you.”
What a clever slave! And, I certainly noted the words “at this time”.
“I have eaten enough. Remove the tray and position yourself on my pallet.” He comfortably moved onto his belly, placed a bolster under his gut, and spread his arms and legs in surrender at the edge of my bed. His muscular ass was ripe for taking, a continuing pleasure for me. The deep indentations of his hips were particularly prominent this morning. So his butt muscles were exactly the size of my hands. I stood behind him. A few drops of oil to my phallus and his rim, and I was soon plunging while using my hands to separate to permit greater depth. He had just taken me by mouth and so I was prepared to prolong this coupling.
I stretched out over him, and my mouth reached for his neck. I would surely brand him as mine before we appeared in public. Right next to the bronze ring where no one could miss it or its significance. Meanwhile my hips and thighs were propelling my phallus deep into his shaft, over and over, slowly, then with pressure and speed, scraping the prostate with each stroke. And my hands had trapped his genitals, tightening around the base of the shaft and pulling the scrotum away from his body. This would forestall his orgasm and allow me to edge him to the end of his endurance. Then he will surely be emptied. At the baths, he would remember the skillful handling by his Master. He moaned, hissed, and somewhat uncharacteristically, called for it to be deeper, faster, rougher. I, of course, complied.
I murmured in his ear, “You are indeed the finest bottom that I have ever taken.”
“And you Master are the best that has ever taken me.” (I wondered at this since I understood that he had not been taken by anyone since he was a young boy.)
He began to squirm and push his butt into me as I stroked. He was ready. As was I. The blood had swollen by phallus to great size and the bulbous head was dark, large and leaking. So I released and began a fast, light stroking of his shaft. His cream shot out into my waiting fist as I filled him with mine until the fluids began to escape from around the edges of my shaft. He was indeed full of me, but I continued to milk him, massaging his balls and rubbing the glans with his early cum to induce more spasms. He shot twice more, weak, but decent-sized loads. Then I raised the fist to his mouth. He knew what was expected. He slurped his cum inside and swallowed.
Then I fell to the side. “Now you will need to wash me again, Joshua. Quickly. We need to be going.”
We dressed and headed for the baths. It was exactly as I had described and quite crowded. And we both finished with massages several hours later—much to the disappointment of my regular attendant whom I had serviced so often in the past. All eyes were on Joshua, but he kept his eyes down, spoke little, and did me honor in the process. He was an exotic, magnificent warrior specimen—and mine.
Finally we moved to the barber. I introduced Joshua to my regular. “We need your services, Marcus.” He pointed to two side by side benches. We both climbed on. He soaped and shaved, leaving me with my preferred inverted trapezoid of pubic hair, but otherwise smooth. He looked to me for instruction on Joshua. “Everything below the eyebrows.”
“As I expected.” Then he went to work carefully removing all the hair with a sharp blade and a practiced hand. He motioned Joshua to flip and did the same on his back, pulling the cleft open to remove everything. When he did, he noticed that Joshua was pink and swollen with his recent taking. Marcus smiled over at me and nodded approval. And, of course, expecting a larger tip, he complimented both of us on the size of our genitals. “Two of the best specimens in the city—and nicely matched I see.”
We finished; I paid; and, attendants brought us our garments. We were “new men.”
“We will do this every week. I hope you enjoyed the experience.”
“Of course. Thank you Master for including me. In our brigade, we were fortunate to find a welcoming river to clean ourselves. This seems to be one of the pleasures of Roman civilization. But, I think I miss my body hair.”
“I can assure you. You are no less a man for the lack. But I prefer you as you are now. It reminds me—and you–that I’m domesticating your wildness. And it is what I prefer that matters.”
When we arrived home, the mid-day meal was served. Pater was particularly upset with a political fight that was brewing—over the allocation of the super-abundant grape harvest. Local wine merchants were expecting a record year of legionnaires on R&R. Once again there had been troubles in the south. Rebels were again threatening Roman control of Jerusalem—and they had engaged many of the religious residents who claimed Roman presence in their Holy City was a defilement of their Temple and its city, blasphemy of their god, and unsustainable. Fortunately, our city location in the north of the Valley of the Gallil, removed us from most conflict. And the presence of so many legionnaires gave us a feeling of security.
The merchants didn’t care much about the political situation in Jerusalem—but they knew it would mean legionnaires would be flooding our city. The taverns would be full. The “recreation” rooms controlled by the Cult would be busy. And all would be profitable. Why should we ship more than the minimum quota to Rome when we can charge so much more here—and not risk the losses of shipping?
Joshua sat silently. His people did not worship the god of the Palestinians who had self-described themselves as the “Chosen People”—claiming virtually all the Levant as their ancestral patrimony. Parthians and Jews had been at war for a thousand years over lands to the east of the Jordan River. Roman rule had changed little of the political situation or their ancestral hatred.
I asked to be excused. And Pater nodded, adding almost as an afterthought, “The Cult has determined that the initiation ceremonies for new members shall be on the day following the full moon—next week, two days after your military exercise. You would be wise to be ready. Do I need to repeat what is to be expected of you?”
“No, Pater. I know it well.” So we rose and returned to my apartment. “I will rest for some time. You will assist the domus-servants in finishing up the meal clean-up. We will talk tonight.”
Later that evening, I briefly described the Cult of Bacchus. “The priests of Bacchus have the largest temple in Scythopolis–nominally to pray for the god’s favor on the vineyards and the harvest. In actuality, the Cult maintains the space which is the glory and economic mainstay of the city as the center of pleasure for this part of the Empire. The courtyards, spreading over four city-blocks, are walled and encompass in one quadrant the famed hot spa pools of the god. The centerpiece of the space is a large Greco-Roman temple, columned in the Corinthian style with an enormous mosaic floor depicting vines and grapes and gods and humans copulating. The centerpiece is of course a statue of Bacchus. It is the height of two men and carved of two pieces of marble—light above the waist, dark below. The figure is smiling and bearded. He is looking up into a luscious bunch of grapes. His loins and legs are carved in curly hair in the darker marble, resembling a goat. His feet are cloven hoofs. His phallus is erect and enormous in comparison with his body. Quite suitably, he is surrounded not by torcheres, but by barrels of wine, set on their sides, with spigots and clay cups. The entrance is guarded at all times by priestly assistants, quite remarkably, given the place and what it celebrates: eunuchs!”
“There is also a larger “meeting” (party) hall with a smaller replica of Bacchus presiding at one end and dozens of hostels, each equipped with a dozen or more pallets. Finally, there are the dormitories for the “servants of Bacchus”—men and women, mostly slaves, who are available for “private worship” or as “assistants” during the regular bacchanalia celebrations.”
When I mentioned the last, Joshua smiled. “Master, I don’t need a temple to worship my favorite part of you.”
“Don’t be blasphemous, Joshua. While there is certainly revelry among the cult members, there is definitely an underlying belief that sex in all its forms and wine in all its tasty beauty are gifts of the god for which we are to be eternally grateful. Pleasure and procreation are the “fruits” of Bacchus. Without them, we wouldn’t exist. So why shouldn’t our enjoyment be worship? Also, by the way, the Cult is the wealthiest institution in the city.”
“Doesn’t the Cult frown on male on male sexuality?”
“You must have picked that up from your Semitic enemies. They alone among the peoples of the Empire condemn such sex. We Romans joke that their total emphasis on the procreative aspect of mixed sex intercourse must reflect on their own fear of infertility. They are always concerned about their numbers. Strange for a people who focus so much on the past. Strange for a people who mutilate the foreskins of their sons to deprive them of pleasure. And stranger still for a people who permit men to have multiple wives in the same household—certainly a sign of their infertility fears.”
“I think I will never understand them. For me, I will have a wife—at least I know who she is now–although she was chosen by Pater. She will be the mother of my children. We will not sleep together except to permit me to plant my seed in her belly. But, I shall have the pleasure of sex with men—and other women—so long as it is discrete or within the confines of our home. Be not afraid, Joshua, you shall be mine—even after the marriage in a year or so. And I expect you may be my favorite for a long time.”
“As to the Cult, you will get to witness my initiation next week, but you won’t be able to participate in the ceremony or the celebration—it is reserved to male free citizens of Rome. I promise you will be impressed—and we will resume our ‘friendship’ on the following day. That night you will be my second and my guardian.”
During my telling, Joshua was becoming rigidly erect, so much so that he was tempted to touch himself. Quite admirably, he restrained himself. “Now, come to my bed. I have need of you before I sleep. On your back, I wish to peer into your eyes as I enter you.”
He knew what was expected. He lay on the pallet. I started by giving him my taste. I pushed his legs down, straddled his chest, pinning his upper arms and fed him my bulb. He grasped it with his lips and began to suck and stroke. Almost immediately, he brought me to full size. “That was just a tease.” I backed off and lifted his legs and held them behind his knees in a wide vee. I knelt between and poured mint scented oil on his shaft and rim. I breathed on it and he immediately felt the cooling tingle of the mint.
I knelt between his legs and he drew them up again. I fingered lightly, and, noting his wet readiness, I plunged. He took it well, gasping at first, but quickly smiling encouragement. I stroked, massaged his point of sensual tension, and began to squeeze his pecs as my thumb and forefinger pinched his nipples into erection. I sucked on them and bit down lightly. He gasped again. “Master, you are so good. I long for your seed. Go deep and make me your own. If I could carry your child, I would gladly do so.” With these words, he released his legs and they encompassed my flank. His heels dug into my ass drawing me hard into his body. We were indeed one, moving, massaging, stroking as one, taking and giving pleasure. I was near the peak. I stopped, did not even breathe to prolong the orgasmic crest until I could feel the fluid rising and my shaft pulsing in his tight chute. Then, like Vesuvius, I erupted with hot lava into his gut—and he covered our chests with his cream. I spasmed a few times, then dropped again to his chest, my lips sucking on his throat. He had pleased me again.
As we cooled, I rolled off, and he dutifully fetched the wet cloth to wash us. He was headed for his pallet, but I motioned him back to mine. I will sleep with him pressed into me again, and perhaps during the night, my snake will seek to hide itself in his chute.
The next week was predictable—leisurely days, some requiring me to attend Pater at the Praetorium, another day of military exercise, and another day at the baths—the day before my initiation into the Cult. Joshua exercised daily to maintain the peak of his physical condition. I released Joshua frequently to assist the servants, and they were quickly learning to appreciate his help and were also warming to me as their future master. They were visibly drawn to his male beauty.
Then the day of the Cult initiation arrived—or rather the night. We rested throughout the day, ate well, but refrained from coupling. I would need my strength. At sundown, Pater and I, Joshua and Antonius, Pater’s personal slave, were escorted to the Cult compound by our household guards. The guards did not enter, but were housed for the night in the caravanserai at the entrance to the compound—weapons (at least of the war-making variety) were not permitted inside. Pater and our personal slaves accompanied me to the Temple. They gave my hand to one of the senior priests and retired to the balcony gallery to watch the proceedings. They would be witnesses, as required by Temple rules—three men, at least one free Roman citizen.
There were six other young men. I knew them all. They had been mates at the Gymnasium and two were with me each week in the military exercises. We were lined up, completely naked before seven makeshift wooden table altars under the watchful gazes of the seven senior priests—and of course the giant image of Bacchus. The High Priest, one of the seven, offered a lofty, but short invocation. He and his assistants were wearing long red robes, completely open to the front, exposing their fat bellies and erect penishes. Then attendants presented each of us with a cup, filled with a dark red liquid. We drank while a sturdy naked attendant stood behind each of us and took the empty cup. Within minutes, we felt weak and dreamy, but our shafts engorged to amazing size. At first, I thought I would burst. We were grasped by the attendant and led to the altars. We faced the altars. Then seven women, presumably priestesses of the Temple, were brought forward and reclined on the table, spreading their legs in welcome. We were each positioned prostrate on top or one—in a sacrificial position.
[The next portion of this story was related to me by Joshua as I was apparently in a drugged trance for much of it. Thus, it is in Joshua’s words.]
The old man fat man, whom I presumed to be the high priest approached and encircled Tavi’s shaft and scrotum with cords that were then tightened. Other cords dyed deep red were drawn up from the base of the altar. Tavi’s wrists were stretched up and out and secured to the edges farthest from the onlookers. Then he was pulled downward and bent over the woman. His legs and ankles were left free, but the outstretched arms left him without purchase on the floor, so the weight of his body was upon her. He was pinning her completely, but appeared entirely vulnerable and sacrificial. I looked over at Pater in horror—this looked like a sacrifice that I had witnessed in the wilds! He calmed me. “He will be safe. He will survive. And he will remember little. All is as it should be.”
The room was filled with heavy sleep-inducing incense, and clouds of it wafted over the onlookers. Through the haze, we watched as an attendant proceeded to stimulate Tavi’s phallus to rigidity—as though the drug and the cords had not already done so–and then placed it inside the woman. The senior priests approached—the High Priest had selected Tavi.
The priests dropped their loose robes and plunged their oiled phalluses into the young men. They began to stroke, while standing and using their thighs to move the young men who were thus forced into stroking the women beneath them. The drug had done its work. This continued for several minutes, very long minutes. The priests were obviously enjoying this part of the ritual. Finally, the senior priests withdrew and spilled their cum into a silver cup. Then Tavi was pulled from the woman, the cords were removed, and he was stroked to orgasm. His cum was commingled with the priest’s. Wine was added to the brim. Each assigned priest tasted the liquid, then offered a deep drink to the young men. Then the cups were placed ceremoniously on the base of the statue of Bacchus.
The women left—we would see them again in the celebration hall. But, the young men were returned to and retied to the tables, bent and draped over the altar tables, their asses offered for use. Over the next hour, dozens of other priests entered and took the young men in turn until the young men were dripping with creamy cum. All of us in the gallery as witnesses of this orgy were painfully erect, but no one moved. We were observers, not participants.
Suddenly, the incense disappeared, and we noted that the young men were beginning to wake from their drug-induced delirium. They were soon released and handed their silver cups. All drank. And finally, the High Priest concluded the first part of the ceremony with a benediction, welcoming the young men into the brotherhood of the Cult, reminding them that for the rest of the night, they would continue to couple—taking and being taken with men and women—and that those who participated in the bacchanal would be particularly blessed with the potency of Bacchus for the rest of their lives.
[We return to Tavi’s narration.]
I was quite sated—and sore, but I knew what was now expected. We would all move to the celebration hall for refreshments and “recreation”. Pater and I, as free men, and now Cult members, remained nude, but short red tunics with white sashes were provided to our slaves, setting them as “off-limits”. They would not be permitted to participate in the recreation. They were observers and guardians only.
We engaged in the revelry until dawn—dozing a bit now and then. Joshua always remained at my side as I entered the anuses and mouths of men, planted seed in the young women, and even when I was occasionally taken by an older man. Joshua’s fierce stares prevented any of the other young male initiates from taking me—or being taken by me. Ceremony and initiation were okay—but copulation with peers was apparently off limits—at least as far as he was concerned. Frankly, I hadn’t even noticed this until Pater noted it a few days later. But Joshua had been jealous as well as protective. I was becoming his as much as he was mine.
Pater also seemed to be enjoying the evening, although his age meant that he would choose his partners less frequently and drink far less wine, but his endurance gave me hope for my own future.
In the morning we stumbled back to the house. I could barely walk. So Joshua supported me, and even carried me for part of the walk. I went immediately to my apartment. Joshua sponged me and left me to sleep. He went to his pallet. I’m pretty sure he relieved the incredible tension in his erect penis before he too slept—even without my permission. A full night of watching others had earned him this small violation of my orders. He knew I would not need him further. His master was now a full member of the Cult. My night of recreation had seen me taken and taking dozens of times. I guess maybe he was wondering what that would mean for him. But, I’m sure he marveled at my ability to couple so often.
********
The next several weeks were routine—military exercises, meetings with Pater, baths—and of course, our now familiar pattern: Joshua took me by mouth in the morning unless I slipped my cock into his welcoming ass as I woke; I took him at night, often roughly, always deep and always edging him to the end of his endurance. Most nights he would then spoon into me, and occasionally, I would wake him during the night for a reprise.
I’m pretty sure he was now addicted to my phallus. What had started as routine duty had become genuine affection—for both of us. And genuine need. He knew his place without direction from me, and he was ingratiating himself with the household servants. I was beginning to relax—my training of Joshua had been apparently successful. I now had a friend as well as a slave. And someone with whom I could relieve my sexual tension at will.
It was damn good to be a Roman patrician in our Golden Age. And in the home of Bacchus.
TBC BD