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Roman Romps 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Roman romps 1
Date: Sat, 25 Feb 1995 02:02:50 UTC
Golden Emperor, Silver Stallion, Moonlight Mare
[Translated very loosely from the original Latin text.
Translator's note: Caligula's odd political
promotions are a matter for historical fact. And
Roman horses were small, rarely over 13 hands high.]
Cast of main characters:
Caligula: Emperor. Mad, but definitely not dull.
Helena Fundius: widowed noblewoman of Imperial ambitions.
Pertinax: overseer of Helena Fundius's estates.
Naissa: slavegirl, recently purchased.
Lenia: older slavewoman, initiate of Demeter.
Martio Imperus: newly made Consul of Rome.
The Goddess Demeter. Off on Olympia, but still in touch.
The banquet was reaching its end, in the splendid Imperial palace
high on the Palatine Hill overlooking the sprawling mass that was
Rome. Splendour shone everywhere, from the white brimming marble of
the pillars to the costly rugs, loot of empire, that were scattered
underfoot to be trampled and ground underfoot by the jewelled sandals
of the guests.
Helena Fundius looked across the wild scene over a brimming
goblet of Thyrnian wine, the rich vintage mostly ignored as her
narrow-slitted gaze swept the room. Those deep-set, mascara'd eyes
missed nothing. From the hurrying slaves and servants in their plain
white tunics, to the sprawling piles of nobles engaged in swilling
princely wines and enjoying whatever pleasures came to mind. With a
squeal, a slave would be pulled into the heaving mass of bodies, male
or female, to be used as the decadent court desired.
She smiled. Emperor Caligula did know how to throw a good party.
Recalling her own impoverished estate on the Esquiline Hill to the
East, she decided to enjoy herself tonight. There wasn't much future
for a widow with her past, without prospects.
Reclining languidly in the couch, Helena looked the very image of
a Roman matron. Round of hip, plump but pleasing, her hair piled in
the latest coiffure - appearances were so important, now she had so
little else left. A little past forty, she had gone through two
husbands before her thirtieth year - marrying penniless young
officers, who she had shrewdly chosen as likely to get ahead. She had
chosen well: both Severus and Cornix had had the good luck to come
back laden not with promotions but good, hard loot - and the bad luck
to not come home at all, after both being sent to the wars in the
endless forests of Germania.
There was a stir from the raised dais. Caligula the Golden was
rising to his feet, a goblet in hand. He waved away the trio of
senators who had been whispering their latest betrayals to him, and
gestured for silence.
"Subjects, countrymen," he gazed at the enthralled crowd, those
who were on top turning to look interested. "As you may know, the
Senate has been having a few - differences of opinion, with some of my
... more innovative proposals." He stared down at them, eyes glazed.
Helena shivered. It was rumoured that the Emperor was not-so-
slightly insane, and it was definitely insane to argue with him. Only
Senators and Consuls were safe from being thrown into the arena at his
whim - for those, he needed a well forged excuse. With just a few more
seats in the senate, though, he could set about changing any law he
pleased.
"So.." the boyish face took on a hellish glee, blonde hair damp
with sweat in the humid August air. "I have decided to make a new
consul, and have the backing of my Divine Will to do it. Welcome one
who has supported me faithfully for three long years - Consul of Rome,
Martio Imperus !"
There was an automatic spattering of applause. And then it
stopped, every eye glued to the parting curtains as the newly created
noble entered the room. Nobody had recognised the name - but they all
recognised the face.
Martio was a pure-bred roman, of the type that had served the
Empire for centuries; he had even been born of a long and proud line.
Muscles rippled under his skin; the hair was much the same yellow-gold
as the Emperor who he had indeed supported, in the most direct way
possible.
Nice tail, Helena thought to herself as she raised a fascinated
eyebrow. Fourteen hands high, hooves shining with gilt shoes, and hung
like a horse. Which was hardly surprising.
"And all of Rome's talking of nothing else !" Naissa paused in
her labour of sweeping the steps of the Fundus mansion. It was an
eternal task: her mistress should have had a dozen extra slaves to
work the house.
"Whatever folk think about our Emperor, he's not stupid. Votes that
aren't against him, count as for."
Naissa straightened up. Nineteen years old, she was thin and
hard-muscled by a lifetime of work and little thanks. But then, her
family had been Carthaginians, one of the thousands brought to Rome
two generations earlier. She brushed the dust off her thin tunic, the
coarse white linen hiding her small breasts, unbound beneath the robe.
Lenia, the cook, cast a wary eye towards the fountain garden.
"Best keep working: the Mistress is in a bad mood today. Didn't get
back till dawn, up at the palace. You know what she's like at the best
of times.
Naissa shivered. She had been the last purchase Milady Fundius
had made, before the unfortunate financial deal in Samartian wares had
forced the estate to the edge of financial ruin. She had been expected
to share her mistress's bed as and when required - and despite having
no option in the matter, she had been unable to disguise her revulsion
as she dutifully lapped at the thick, crinkly labia. Helena had
eventually cursed her roundly, thrown her out of bed, and issued dark
threats about selling her to a brothel. The only thing stopping her
ending up on the block again, she knew, was that the estate could ill
afford to replace her.
Just at that moment, a shadow fell across the two busy workers.
Naissa looked up, and flinched. The Mistress must have come round the
side way, to sneak up on them so silently.
But Helena Fundius was smiling, a thin and triumphal smile. For a
second she looked down at Naissa, and then cupped the girl's chin in
her hand.
"Why, Naissa," she purred. "I'll have to get you some new robes.
We're having a wedding next week - and you're going to belong to a
Consul's wife."
Pertinax, overseer of the estate, scratched his head in
bafflement. The last few days had been one frantic rush, getting the
estate tidied and partly rebuilt. Most of the work he had wanted to
get done for years; now there was money in plenty to carry it out. But
it was the modifications to the stable block that he could only stare
at in amazement.
"Well, it looks like one'o them practice rings, like gladiators
use," he commented as he looked down on the refurbished room. The old
stable partitions had been torn out and the floor relaid with white
Etruscan tiles: the room was fresh-smelling with the freshly cut
cedarwood of its furniture.
In the centre of the room, was a raised platform four paces
square, waist-high and solidly built. Yet it was padded with fleeces,
and covered with finely cured oiled skins, stitched so cunningly that
their surface was waterproof. In the rest of the room was a haynet, a
trough and a drain at one side, oddly incongruous. Oversized doors led
to the cobbled patio outside.
One of the workmen grinned. "I won't tell ya, then. We're special
artisans, right ? You wants a secret trapdoor building, you wants a
tunnel digging - no questions, we'll do it." He eyed the low, solid
structure. "This ain't the first we've built. It's for them with,
like, special tastes. More than a poor man can run to."
Pertinax shrugged. The ways of nobility never ceased to amaze
him. But then he turned, and sighed as his stylus moved to cross off
one more item from the list of jobs to be done. He hadn't seen who his
mistress was marrying - he only hoped the consul was as good a man as
his predecessors.
"It isn't every day you see a wedding like THIS one." Lenia
commented, as the sounds of the triumphal procession faded, heading
for the Temple of Venus in its cherry grove by the Appian Aqueduct.
That night, they would have - on parchment, anyway - a new head of the
household.
Alaxus the ostler nodded. His newly furbished estates had been
gone over with a fine curry-comb the day before by three fussy eunuchs
of the Palace domestic staff, their high-pitched voices loud with
indignant complaints at the slightest flaw. "I'll wager we're in for a
fine time of it. You know what the Emperor's like - once he gets an
idea into his head, then that's the way things are going to be." He
paused. "I don't think there's anything in the Laws that says you
CAN'T have a horse for a husband - just that no priest in their right
mind is going to allow it."
Lenia winced, even as she kissed him. "They do say the Emperor's
insane - but he's pretty shrewd, whatever. Folk who try argueing with
him, though - that's real insanity for you." A speculative look came
into her eyes. "I wonder what the, er, domestic arrangements are going
to be like. Do we bring Martio his bran mash on a silver platter, or
what ? "
Alaxus grinned. "The Emperor's going to be checking, I know
that." He gestured at the stable boudoir, where workmen were hanging
up laurel wreathes. "If you look in the alcove behind the second
pillar, you'll see a spy-hole; I saw the workmen building it. They're
from the Palace, and I think they've done that sort of work before."
There was a silence. And then Lenia's stout face split in an
unladylike grin. "You know, before I was .. sold, my family ran a stud
farm, down on the coast near Ostia ? I'm an initiate of Demeter,
Goddess of horses. I bet there's a few things I could tell the
Mistress - but slaves speak when they're spoken to. She'll find out."
Six hours later, the wedding feast was drawing to an end. Outside
the freshly plastered walls of the estate, a convoy of litter-bearers
limbered up in preparation to carry their replete guests back to the
Palatine Hill.
Inside, Helena Fundius stood by the flank of her new husband,
trying to suppress the gloating she felt. Matrons and landowners
daughters, the pick of her neighbours, were staring at her in mixed
envy and loathing. After years of ignoring her, they now found
themselves living next to a Consul's wife, one of the most favoured
positions in Rome. And one whose position at the Palace had led to him
acquiring various skills - he was at least house-trained.
"Why, dear," Helena bent to whisper to Scylla, her dearest rival
of ten years' standing. "I'm SO glad you could dress for the occasion.
I've heard your husband keeps you dreadfully short of money. And he
beats you, I've heard." She stroked the flank of Martio, feeling the
powerful muscles hard beneath the fur. "I'm sure Martio won't. Why,
just think of it. The estates and revenues to manage, and still never
a cross word will pass between us."
Scylla's face turned an interesting colour beneath her
fashionable lead oxide powder. "At least I can bear MY husband
children," she snapped. And instantly regretted it.
Helena regarded her with an amused smile. After six years, she
knew, her neighbour was childless. The estate did ring to the sound of
young voices, but as a result of all the young Nubian girls who
Scylla's husband spent his money buying and his seed in impregnating.
"Oh ..." she gave a dismissive wave of an elegantly manicured
hand. "If the legendary Parsiphae conceived the Minotaur with a bull,
I'm sure it'll be possible. At any rate -" she ran her other hand down
the stallion's flank "I intend to have fun trying."
Night fell, and the party ended. Naissa stood behind her mistress
at her toilette, untying the tight and complex hairstyle. Helena was
dressed in a simple robe, the bridal wreath cast negligently in one
corner.
"Er ... Mistress ?" Naissa asked shyly. "Will you be - requiring
me tonight ? I believe your .. er, husband awaits." She had seen
Alaxus leading the stallion into the strangely furnished room earlier
on, having fed him a generous helping of oats and beans.
Helena turned and looked at her strangely. "Oh, yes. I haven't
informed you of your new duties, have I ? Naturally, my new ...
status, will bring new responsibilities. But we shall discuss this
with my ..." she gave a delicious shiver " ... husband. Carry that
tray."
Naissa picked up the silver tray, three pots of slippery unguents
and a large soft sponge. At an impatient gesture, she also picked up
the wreath of flowers from the corner, and followed her mistress
through the incense-scented tiled corridors to the house door of the
bridal chamber.
Inside the room, Alaxus was holding Martio's leather bridle,
talking soothingly to the horse, who looked nervous in his new
surroundings. As he saw the two women enter he slipped the bridle and
retreated through the patio doors, bowing. The door slid shut, and
there was an unexpected click as a lock closed tight. White walls
shone in the even glow of a dozen expensive wax tapers, sheltered from
the draught in alcoves around the room.
Helena removed her robe and stood naked, her hands balled as
fists on her well-padded hips. Her hair was loose: she tossed it back,
as she looked around triumphantly.
"Mistress ?" Naissa asked hesitantly. But Helena was busy
elsewhere. She had removed all her rings: dipping a hand in one of the
pots of oil, she lightly rubbed the black soft skin of the horse's
muzzle, massaging it till it shone. Martio snorted gently, and licked
her hand. The smell of sweet almonds was in the air.
Keeping her hand on the gently heaving flank, Helena walked round
to the rump, and twitched the tail aside. "Oh, Naissa," she called,
softly and yet with a hidden edge to her voice "there's something here
I need a hand with."
Relieved that her mistress seemed occupied, Naissa trotted round,
putting the tray down carefully.
"Now. Isn't this .... interesting ?" Helena grabbed Naissa's
wrist, and pulled her closer. "Just think about that. Imagine if you
were a mare."
Naissa's hand was pushed into contact with the smooth black skin
of Martio's scrotum: the horse gave a shiver at the touch of flesh.
Casting a fearful glance at Helena, Naissa explored. Loose in the
swollen sack, each testicle was an elongated sphere like a slightly
squashed apple; she felt them moving between her fingers. She traced
the slight roughness inside, feeling the finger-thick spermatic cord
running up to vanish in the uncharted interior of the powerful equine
body.
"Here." Helena thrust forward the jar of almond oil. Tremblingly,
Naissa dipped her fingers in the cool slipperiness, and began to
massage the alien skin. Someone, she noted, had already cleaned
Martio's rump: he was as clean and sweet-smelling as fresh-dried hay.
Soon the huge testicles were glistening like polished anthracite, and
Naissa looked round at her mistress for guidance.
"Kneel. Forwards, between his legs." Helena's voice was thick
with urgency. "I want Everything clean and ready.".
Obediently, Naissa got to her knees, and began to rub the furry
sheath, hanging above her head like a barbarian's furred sleeve. This
was Fascinating, she thought - I'm actually going to see this go up
inside my mistress. Dipping her fingers again, she went to work on the
fleshy lips to the scabbard. An oil-slick finger probed deep, working
between the stretchy sidewall and the solid, rubbery shaft that was
only a hand's breadth away from her face.
Closing her eyes against the tickling fringe of belly fur, she
concentrated on her touch alone. Yes - the shaft was coming alive in
her hands, thickening and pulsing into life. She shivered at the
thought of where it was going: remembering the well-trodden Mount of
Venus of her mistress. The thought appealed to her.
Just at that moment, trembling hands grabbed the shoulders of her
tunic, yanking it off above her head in one swift motion. Helena
thrust her backwards and she fell, landing on the softly padded bridal
bed with legs flailing.
"I didn't say you could get up." Helena's voice was flat and
hard: Naissa froze like a rabbit at the sight of a hawk. She draped
the bridal wreath around Naissa's goose-bumped neck, and stroked
Martio's glistening muzzle with a cold affection.
Helena looked down at the girl, legs still spread wide, her
sparse bush slightly split pink-lipped, the perfect height for a
mare's vulva on the specially fitted bed. "Of course .. if you'd have
enjoyed MY generous offers," she mused "you wouldn't have to do this.
But," she gave a deep mock sigh "it seems you prefer a male. So be it.
That's what slaves are for - to do the tasks too demeaning for their
betters."
"He'll ... he'll kill me !" Naissa's eyes were wide in panic. She
could see a great trumpet-like bud of mottled pink and brown beginning
to slip out into the open: shiveringly the impression of a giant blind
leech came to mind. Her mistress looked at her coldly.
"If necessary. But then, I can afford to replace you now. And I
can't possibly have the Emperor thinking his friend and supporter is
... unhappy, with my household." Her fingers wrapped around the oil-
glistening length, urgently rubbing it. "Now, husband dear, in we go."
But as Naissa watched, speechless, the older woman's touch seemed
to shrivel the bud back into its sheath. Martio turned to look
questioningly, his ears laid back: shaking his hide, he stepped away
from the enraged noblewoman and disinterestedly began nosing at the
haynet on the wall.
"Little witch !" Helena hissed at Naissa "you'll pay for this !"
The evening went distinctly downhill at that point.
"Oh, you poor girl," Lenia rubbed healing balm into Naissa's raw
flesh the next morning. "She's never been THIS bad before."
Naissa's eyes were downcast. "I'll recover. But .." her eyes
found her friend's; they were wide and helpless "she says she's going
to get a bucket of horse piss from a ripe mare, bathe me in it and tie
me down ... and if Martio won't do it, she'll find a stallion that
WILL." She winced as Lenia massaged a tender bruise. "And poor Martio.
She didn't dare beat him, of course - but she locked him into a mule-
stall all night, there's not room to turn round, and nothing to
drink."
"Alaxus let him out and fed him, don't worry." Lenia said
consolingly. Her gaze was curious. "but - you were the one got
whipped, and still you're concerned about him ?"
Naissa nodded. "He can't help it. He's a Regal horse if ever
there was one - he smells so nice, and he's so .... stallion." She
swallowed, her mouth dry. "If I was a mare, I'd like him. Only, I'm
not."
Lenia carried on rubbing bruises and weals dilligently, but her
eyes were distant. "Hold that thought," she said quietly "we may be
slaves to some, but from some points of view .... all mortals look the
same."
That night, Helena departed to look over her recently acquired
estates that had come with her husband's position, promising to return
in three days with "a little something - or a herd of them" for
Naissa. She cast Martio in his stable a possessive glance as her
bearers picked her litter up, and she departed in high spirits.
The moon rose full over the crowded seven hills of Rome. Lenia
had the freedom of the city as cook and supplies buyer: she had paid a
visit to a sympathetic Priestess her family had known in happier days.
Slaves were not allowed personal possessions in the Fundius
household. So it was in borrowed robes that Lenia stood in the garden,
the regalia of the Goddess Demeter on her head, and performed a
marriage thousandsfold more sacred than the one of the day before.
Naissa and Martio were there before her in the garden, white skin
and silver-gold fur blending as one in the moonlight. Martio seemed
glad to be outdoors: instead of wandering off to graze he stood
attentively, occasionally nickering slightly. Naissa felt her body
charged with a tense expectation as she stood there, her arm around
his neck, fingers entwined in the splendour of his mane. No costly
orchids were her bridal wreath: in her hair was a simple band of green
and white, sweet clover picked fresh and living beneath the moon's
approving sight.
Lenia raised her arms to the Heavens, and began to chant.
"Oh wise Demeter, mother and guardian
Whose feet trod the green in the first of times
Before the hard stones of Man for our feet,
Before the cruel bits of Man for our mouths
Hear us.
"Oh mother, mare, guide of hooves and souls
Protector of all who seek your gifts, your wisdoms
Bless now these two who stand before you, mate and mate
Hearts freely choosing, let flesh and souls be one
Choosing, giving, feeling, sharing
Hear us."
There was a silence, in which the constant background hum of Rome
seemed to fade into infinite distance. And then it happened. The
narrow garden was filled with a bright, clean scent, a wind bourne
surely from Olympian pastures into the hot Roman evening, that washed
over all who stood there, leaving them feeling new-born as Venus
rising from the waves.
Naissa looked down, half expecting to see her feet turning into
hooves. They did not - but a deeper, more subtle change spread through
her body. It began as a golden glow, a dawning of pleasure spreading
from her loins throughout her whole body, as if she was clay being
squeezed in the grasp of a divine potter. She turned to Martio - and
stopped.
Martio had not changed, outwardly at least. But he had - she
could smell a bewitching scent that she seemed to half-remember from
some infinitely distant memory. The scent was raw, primal - and it
fitted into a newly awakened part of her soul like a key in a brand
new lock.
The stallion whickered, and the key turned. His smooth black
muzzle nuzzled at her small breasts, and pressed lower, till it
pressed firm at the pit of her stomach.
"Oh, dear. Sorry." Naissa exclaimed in shock. Her bladder emptied
itself involuntarily, splashing onto the thirsty grass. Martio
snorted, and his muzzle seemed to turn inside-out, the black lips
riding up to show his sharp, even white teeth. A tongue explored the
wetness of her thighs.
"No need to worry," Lenia smiled, relief on her face. "That
always happens. It's done, now. He's yours." She took off her regalia,
and quietly left them there, human mare and royal stallion.
For a few minutes, Naissa could only hug the thick neck, feeling
the strong swell of the crested muscles in her arms. Then, shyly, she
disengaged and stood staring at her new mate.
Her new mate. The enormity of what had happened was slow to sink
in. She turned, to stare into those great brown eyes, reading things
that she had never seen before.
She leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
"I want you."
In the bridal chamber, they made love.
Naissa sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling while Martio's
tongue explored her parted vulva. She had examined herself, wondering
what she would find. Nothing seemed to have greatly changed: she was
as turned on as she had ever been, though how much use that would be
to a full stallion, she hardly knew. Would the Goddess have shrunk him
down to fit, she wondered ? Looking down at her own flat, hard-muscled
stomach, she envisaged the space he would take up, thrust up to the
sheath in her flesh, huge black testicles bumping at her loins. It
wasn't going to physically fit, not a quarter of it.
But then she felt that warm glow again. This is a Goddess we're
talking about, she told herself. If the Emperor can make things
happen, a Goddess can, without anybody arguing. Turning over to
present her rump, she displayed herself for Martio's approval.
Martio approved. The trumpet-shaped bulb slipped pinkly out of
its sheath, an armslength of corrugated flesh like a rolled-up flag
following it. Turning round, Naissa shivered in helpless delight as
she saw her husband's penis swing like a fleshy pendulum, then stiffen
and point forward towards the bipedal mare beneath him.
With a lunge, Martio climbed halfway onto the bed, the specially
designed structure easily taking his weight as his fore hooves pressed
the padding flat on each side of Naissa's head. He dropped to his bony
knees, and they were avidly grasped by his mate, who held on tightly.
Naissa felt the rubbery organ probing her soaked thighs, still
feeling like a big man's fist. But then she dismissed all worries, as
Martio lowered his head to snort tenderly in her face, sweet hay-
scented breath filling her lungs. She wriggled, spreading the cheeks
of her human rump a little wider ......
By the grace of the Goddess Demeter, the stallion slowly covered
his chosen mate. Her love-lips stretched wide - unbelievably wide - as
the mottled flesh sank into her pale whiteness, filling her
completely. And yet further it probed, defying mundane biology, until
the bristling hairs of the sheath were rasping at the tight-spread
labia, tickling her pearl of joy as he gently began to rock back and
forwards.
This is all a dream, Naissa's shocked brain told her. This can't
be happening ... but then the wash of sensation flooded over her, and
all she could do was to hang on, eyes clenched shut and concentrating
on what was in her vagina as a drowning man concentrates on the
lifegiving rope grasped in his hands.
Cautiously, but then with more confidence as squeals of pleasure
and not pain spilled out of his mate, Martio began to rock to and fro.
The mare was tighter than even the unbroken onagers he had been put to
cover for the Emperor's amusement - yet somehow she seemed infinitely
deep, like the roundest-bellied mare ever foaled. For several minutes
he rocked, lengthening his strokes as resistance slackened, and the
wonderful feeling built up inside his testicles, pumping against the
soft hairless rump.....
"Oh, Goddess..." Naissa cried aloud in ecstasy. She felt the head
of the stallion's pizzle beginning to expand, in preparation to trap
the child inside her. Now Martio was thrusting in and out a hands'
length with every stroke, pleasure-giving bumps and ridges satisfying
her as no human male could possibly do: the stallion began to quiver
....
A tearing, screaming neigh burst out of Martio's mouth, as he
felt pleasure explode in his loins. Sharp teeth lunged down
instinctively and bit hard into the rolled towel that was wrapped
tight round the fragile human neck. His splendid glory of a tail
flagged up and down, each spasm a fresh burst of ecstasy as hot sperm
jetted into the she-mare below him.
Naissa surrendered herself utterly. Her lover was where she
wanted him: thrust to the hilt, her own pleasure suddenly boiling and
spilling like an unwatched pot. She felt her womb open to swallow hot
beast-sperm eagerly, pulse after thick pulse pumping into her
innermost depths. Nine surges she counted, and then she could do
nothing but lie there, feeling the receding tide of pleasure swimming
in her glutted body.
For several minutes Martio stayed inside her, before struggling
to his hooves, and gently pulling his softening member out of the
impregnated mare. He nickered softly to her, and was rewarded with a
drowsy murmur.
Naissa rolled over and looked at him, eyes wide and deep with
love. She patted the padded bedding next to her and the stallion lay
down, folding his legs carefully beneath him.
She lay propped on one elbow, close to his head so that she could
trade satisfied, snorting breaths. Somehow, she seemed to know what
was expected of her - this felt Right, now, as if a deeper layer of
knowledge had been revealed, peeled away by the moonlight outside.
Suddenly, there came a clapping from outside, and the door slid
open. Emperor Caligula stood there not four paces away, six big
Praetorian guards in armour looming impassively behind him. A
quizzical smile was on his face.
"Majesty, I .." Naissa looked across in horror. Martio scrambled
to all fours and stood by her side, head down and ears back, prepared
to defend his mate.
But the Emperor smiled. "If I hadn't wanted to watch, I wouldn't
have arranged a spy-hole. Though it wasn't you I was expecting." He
gestured to one corner of the room. Then he extended a regal hand.
Wide-eyed, Naissa accepted it. She was acutely conscious of her
position; only a towel round her neck, and her thighs awash with
thick, slippery semen that trickled down her legs and pooled on the
floor as she walked.
Caligula, Emperor and Deity, cocked an eyebrow. "Well, it seems
that even I can make a mistake. " The Praetorians looked at each other
worriedly: this was the sort of information folk tended not to live
to repeat around here. "My dear consul seems to have chosen a wife
more to his liking - therefore, I approve. The records will be changed
to match."
"Your ... Ma..majesty.." Naissa stammered. "But .. I'm a slave. I
CAN'T be wife to a Consul."
"Do you love him ?" Came the blunt question. There could be no
second thoughts on this one.
Naissa wrapped her arm around the great stallion's neck, and
hugged him. "I do."
"Then .... your slave status is another thing we can alter. In
retrospect." There was a pause, as the Emperor looked them up and
down. "I may have my enemies. But one thing I DO appreciate, is how to
reward my friends." With that he swept out, the Praetorians leaving
without a second's glance back. In their job, they saw far stranger
things every day.
The dawn came, and Naissa made love to her husband again, this
time with him lying on his side on the ample leather bed. This was her
first time as a free woman: there was no urgency, just a happy, gentle
sharing of pleasures. When it was done, she wept tears of happiness
into his mane, as her loins spilled pearls of happiness into his
matted belly-fur. She had awoken in the darkness hours before, with
the heavy fullness of her lover's seed active in her womb. She
silently gave thanks to Demeter, as she pressed close to the huge
barrel of the equine chest - and wondered if the Goddess would do one
more thing for her. She had heard tales of centaurs - or however it
turned out, man-foal, beast-foal or whatever, she would welcome what
child he gave her.
"I suppose it's not all fun being a Consul's wife," she mused,
running a comb through his beautiful mane a little later. "There's the
status, and the money to look after - good thing Helena" (she smiled
at using her ex-mistress's first name) "put me in charge of the
accounts. I know how to save, and what to save."
A smile came to her face, as she decided whether or not to ring
for oatmeal porridge for two. "But one thing I'll splash out on," she
decided "If any Temple to Demeter needs my help - they've got it !"
[End of part one. Part 2 in translation, Univ. Beograd]
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