Publius Octavius Ch 04

Publius Octavius Ch 04

Harvest, mutuality and the marriage

Readers may wish to consider previous chapters in this series before reading this one, at least for some background. This story is entirely fiction, although ancient historical research has shown that many of the customs, places 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.. The story is mostly told in the first person by Tavi. © 2023, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

It was harvest time. Our family had a large country house near our vineyards, outside of the city walls. Work was already being done on the villa to accommodate Pater's planned retirement. Our vineyards were well placed on south-facing hillsides, the closest to the lake, and thus among the most valuable, producing the finest vintage grapes.

This was the first year that Pater expected me to direct the harvest, the pressing of the grapes, the initial fermentation and the barreling. We of course had staff—both full time and under-contract day workers, but all required careful supervision. So, I moved to the country house with Joshua. We'd be there about six to eight weeks. Of course, his duties multiplied—he was now major-domo (head of household staff) of this place, but he really enjoyed being in the country and free of the formalities of our city house.

One of our neighbors kept horses, and Joshua was immediately drawn to them. I made arrangements for him to ride, and he offered to teach me to do so as well. I was fearful as well as busy and begged off with, "I prefer to be ridden." He leered back at me, knowing exactly my intent.

"I was born to ride." And I knew instantly what he was implying. That was always his favorite position when we fucked.

Since I was now the master of the country villa—a sprawling complex of two and three room structures, we moved into the main quarters. They weren't luxurious, but they were very comfortable—with wide open windows opening to the courtyard/atrium, a pool in the atrium with a small waterfall, and a large plush bed in the owner's apartment. Joshua worked with the small staff to insure my dietary requirements were met. And demanded that they give us maximum privacy. By then, refreshed by the cool hillside air, I was nude most of the time and enjoying his body several times each day—but always inside the villa and usually in our apartment. I knew that Joshua was still a little offended when I took him in public—as, for example during our regular weekly military drills. I don't think he minded the exhibition—he was a magnificent specimen. Rather, it was the humiliation of being taken—a sign of defeat in combat. But, he relaxed in the country—and our relative privacy—often teasing my phallus to erection.

After a few weeks and with the harvest safely in, pressed and fermenting in the large wooden tubs, we hit a time of waiting (tasting the fermentation every few days before deciding to put some (the best) in barrels to age further or in large clay amphoras (with a sweet preservative) to ship to Rome. I decided we could take a walk into the nearby woods. Joshua had been with me for about three months and had given me no reason to doubt his loyalty—even if we were well outside the city and without our customary escorting guards.

When we had moved to the country house, I had given him permission to wear a tunic, similar to my own when outside the house. It was getting cooler, and the vines could easily tear skin. And, it was clearly an enhancement of his status. He had also taken to wrapping his calves in leather to prevent scratches. And I readily adopted the wise practice. So we left, dressed in tunics with leather sandals on our feet and leather-wrapped calves. A small pack on his back held bread, fruit, new wine and olive oil. We knew the area was riddled with clear running streams sloping down to the Sea of Galilee and secret grassy knolls among the cedars. We were up for a refreshing day in the country—and al fesco sex!

We walked deep into the woods, mostly firs and cedars in that region, enjoying the fresh evergreen aroma and razor clear air. Then we sat to rest on a thick bed of needles, surrounded by greenery—and unusual silence, save a small brook babbling at the edge of the clearing. I could tell that Joshua was relishing this return to the environs in which he had been raised. But, I wasn't concerned. He was not going to try to escape. Life was too good for him. More than once he had thanked me for choosing him at the auction and for rescuing him from the Cult service—or perhaps worse. More than once, he had confessed that every warrior anticipates an early death or capture and enslavement; it's part of the job description. This life he was leading was so different from what he had been conditioned to expect. And I was the creator of that life. I was like a god to him.

We sat and Joshua prepared our food. Then, I removed my tunic and stretched out above it, relishing the mid-day sunshine. He followed. After a few minutes, I looked over at him. His eyes were closed, but his phallus was hard and tall. I knew it was time. I flipped onto my belly and whispered to Joshua. "I would have you enter me. Now, Joshua. Show me what I have taught you in the skill of pleasuring a man."

Joshua's eyes opened wide and he took in immediately my body's invitational stance. "I cannot Master. I am yours for your pleasure."

"If you are mine, I would have you take me, now, Joshua."

I didn't have to ask again. He moved over me. "Let me remove your tunic from under you. We do not wish to soil it with your seed." He replaced it with a shroud which he rolled under me, raising my ass into position for taking. He poured a few drops of oil in my cleft, and using his tongue, massaged it softly into my rim. I was not a virgin. The rim began to quiver under his insistent tongue. He pushed in while his lips sucked on the rim. Again and again I felt his raspy tongue on the smooth walls of my chute. He withdrew and I felt his oily finger penetrate. He deepened and added a second. He scissored and widened. Then it was a third, and he reached my point of sensitive pleasure. He stroked it over and over as I gasped into my fist. Joshua, of course, had been trained as an archer—and his fingers were talented and strong. Being taken is a very different kind of pleasure from taking—a slower, more intense, whole body experience. I started to leak as Joshua captured it on his fingers and fed them into his mouth, then mine.

He hesitated again and I turned my head and looked up into his eyes with a plea. He understood. He pushed my thighs apart and I felt more oil, then the pressure of his enormous cock-head at my entrance. He pushed, paused, pushed again, popped past the first ring and froze. Slowly, he started rocking, thrusting his thighs into mine, penetrating more with each stroke and stretching me. There was a little pain, but mostly intense pleasure. He was probably the largest that I had ever taken. He hit the cener of my pleasure and I immediately thrust back into him. His chest hit my back and his hands came around to grasp my shaft and scrotum. He had bottomed and was holding me tight to him. I could feel his hot balls on my own. My chute was molding to his girth. It felt wonderful—that unique feeling of being full, complete—with a throbbing member pulsing on the source of sensual pleasure. He held me hard into his gut and began the long slow stroking. "Harder, Joshua. I need more of you. You are so large. And so hot. I feel filled with you. I am not a girl. I need to feel the violence of being taken. You will not hurt me. Show me the warrior, Joshua. I want your spear deep inside. Stab me with your weapon!"

He started a more violent thrusting, stroking the love nut with each pass, bottoming each time. His horseback riding thighs were strong and well-trained. But now, he was riding my ass. I was shaking with pleasure. I was ready to shoot my seed—but he was holding my shaft tightly to prevent this. Then, I felt his initial spasms and his jets of hot, juicy cum. He released my shaft and began a furious stroking—and I exploded. And, as I did so, he pulled me up into his gut, pumped me full of his essence, kissed my neck and sucked on my shoulder. Then he collapsed forcing my belly to the pine needles. His legs spread out, and he drew them back in to cocoon me as he would the flanks of a mare and as his arms forced under my chest. He pulled me tightly into him. I was totally his: wrapped in his arms, lips on my neck, thighs enveloping mine, and his huge, still erect, phallus inside plugging his seed deep into me. He had learned well. He could give as well as he had taken. This would not be the last time I would have this. And through all, he had not spoken a word. I had been gasping, murmuring, encouraging, whimpering—but he was stoically silent—the true stealth warrior.

I could feel his heartbeat quieting. And without even looking, I knew he was smiling. Then his phallus withdrew and he fell onto the needles beside me. And, I heard the whispered words, "I love you, Master. For you I would do anything, even die."

Later we washed in the cold stream and redressed, arriving back at the villa in the late afternoon. I could tell Joshua was a changed man. Of course, he was still my slave. But now he knew that we were also lovers. He knew it would not be last time he would have me.

********

Within days, the first fermentation of the grapes was complete. As was true of the other vineyards, we had a record crop, record numbers of barrels and amphorae. And the vintage seemed to be on the path to be one of the great ones that had made our city so famous. We returned to the city in somewhat of a triumph.

In the last months, I had taken my first slave and taught him well. He was devoted to me. And I was enjoying him. I was now a full member of the Cult of Bacchus. And I had supervised my first successful grape harvest. Pater would propose my membership to the governing council within a week or so. And we would begin the preparations for my marriage within the year. I was no longer a boy. I was a man, soon to be the master of this house as Pater retired. Soon to be married. But, already in love—with Joshua.

*******

A few weeks later, during the mid-day meal—the time when he typically conveyed news to the family or announced plans or, when necessary, warned of disciplinary issues—Pater announced that Marcella, to whom I had been betrothed near birth, planned to arrive with her family in a fortnight.

Pater had prepared the bride price and had escrowed it with the City Scribe. The plans were outlined: she and the family would travel from Caesarea Maritima, on the coast, where her father was in charge of the port fortifications—a distance of about 60 miles, perhaps four to five days' journey, depending on the size of the entourage. The family would stay for about two weeks as our guests. I was expected to "spend time" each day with Marcella during those weeks. Her mother (and mine) would prepare a betrothal chamber for her. Then the family would depart, leaving Marcella with us—assuming that, as expected, Marcella and I were "compatible". (It would be a rare instance indeed for a declaration of incompatibility in our social circles.) After the departure, I would be expected to visit her chamber several times each week, if not daily. We would copulate—to determine whether she could beget my child.

Our physicians had explained it all to us. Men carried seeds which contained all the requirements for new life. The woman would be providing a "nourishing garden" in which the seed could thrive. Occasionally, women were "infertile"—their gardens destroyed the male seeds. When this happened, the marriage contract could be terminated. But, if she came to be with child within a year of living with us, the marriage would be scheduled after the birth—and her family would return to host the marriage feast.

Joshua had heard the announcement. He suspected it would be coming soon. But, Pater's words made it clear that the marriage was a reality, not a distant possibility. I, of course, assured Joshua that it would only change our lifestyle a little. Other than my visits to her, I would remain in my apartments, served by Joshua. She would live, both before and after the birth, in the women's rooms—separate for most of the day from the men of the household. Marcella would join us for family meals, but was not expected or expecting to leave the house. When she did, she would be guarded—to protect her dignity as well as her virtue. It really wasn't necessary in our modern metropolis, but old patriarchal customs were slow to die. She would be assuming responsibilities for the entertainment and care of my mother, and of course, ultimately for our children. And when Father and Mother moved to the country, she would become the Mistress of our family's city home.

He didn't seem convinced. All of us knew of situations where envious wives (and even wives-to-be) plotted against personal slaves, particularly personal slaves who were obviously sleeping with and pleasuring their husbands. In the most extreme cases (if she failed to become pregnant), her family might even demand that I forego any intercourse with anyone else but her until she demonstrated fertility. I didn't think that would happen in Scythopolis, the City of Bacchus. Certainly Pater would not condone it—he was joining me every fortnight in the bacchanals—and he knew I was filled with seed, able to cum many times each night.

Despite my assurances, Joshua began to change. He was attentive and careful as always. But, I noticed that he seemed to be seducing me all the time. Of course, he was naked in my rooms—and it was obvious that he was always willing himself to erection. He was a veritable Priapus, walking around the room led by his prodigious cock, waiving it at me as I read or studied. When I took him (which continued to be often), he was more vocal, praising my performance, urging me deeper, and tightening his ass muscles around my phallus to hold me inside and milk me dry. He urged me to mark him, to tie him down and take him violently. And since the time at the vineyard, he often pleaded to be allowed to take me. He was really a good lover and I often relented. It was clear: he was establishing his value to me as a partner—a male partner who could understand my needs and provide for my pleasure in ways thata woman either couldn't or wouldn't.

At first, I was upset at his chicanery. But, I soon realized that it pleased me. I knew he was one of the best looking specimens in the City and that his copulating skills were of the highest quality. I could take him at will. Or enjoy him inside me. Do anything I pleased. Even take him to bed when I was sweaty or soiled. And he would accept it gladly and gratefully. I didn't even have to ask. But, then I realized he was becoming the kind of personal slave that I detested—without independence, without a feeling of worth, and obsequious. It was time to talk—again. But, first I would treat him as he had never been treated before. He would learn the discipline of denial.

I immediately decided to make him think twice about his intentions. Thus, when he tempted me, even if several times each day, I would take him, enjoy release, but hold him at the edge before abandoning him. He would be in perpetual heat and pain. A week or so of this would teach him his place. And he wouldn't dare to cross me by relieving himself. But, just to be sure, I purchased one of those nefarious belts, which gave me full access to his hole, but denied him any touch of his cock. It was metal and heavy—and so he was in constant stimulation and total denial, save perhaps a bit of nocturnal dribbling from a constrained member. I alone had the key—to the device and to his release.

We visited the smith—the first time we had been there since his collar and manacles had been released. The smith measured and extracted some leather straps that had already been prepared. These he attached securely to a small metal cage—and locked it securely, handing me the key. I carefully strapped it to my belt—a visible and constant reminder to Joshua that he was completely and totally mine. His release was entirely in my power.

Unfortunately, I began to realize that my "punishment" of Joshua was self-inflicted pain to me. I only hoped the temporary "inconvenience" would be worth the long term results: his acceptance of my role with Marcella and in this household and the fact that it wouldn't destroy what we had.

Toward the end of the week of torture, Marcella's family arrived. They didn't travel light. There were donkeys and camels, a dozen servants—the entire entourage with guards nearly ten leagues in length. The family had stopped at a luxurious caravanserai just outside the City for refreshment and to change into impressive ceremonial clothing for the final steps to our home. Pater greeted all at the gate and handed Marcella's father a golden key—the symbol of his offer of hospitality. Mater hung back at the door, but greeted Marcella and her mother graciously, handing them hot scented towels pulled from platters held by household staff.

All were ushered to rooms that had been prepared. A small ceremonial reception would take place in a few hours. I dressed in my best, most formal garments and walked to the atrium—I was to be the first to enter, by custom. Joshua, for once, remained in my apartment, apparently sulking and perhaps in pain.

Pater and Mater soon joined me. Both were regally attired. They stood on either side. Mater placed a hand on my shoulder. Pater took my right hand.

Within minutes, Marcella, veiled entirely in a gossamer silk red cover, was led into the room by her parents—one in full military dress; the other, in a fashionable off-the-shoulder gown of the palest blue, clasped at the shoulder with a golden image of a raptor.

Pater made a short formal speech, and then guided my hand forward into the void between us. The general took my hand and placed it on the veil.. I pulled it dramatically from his daughter—who was also garbed in a flowing red silk robe. Her dark, braided hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her porcelain skin glowed in the reflected sun. Her small breasts had been tied so that they swelled above the neckline. She smiled at me, perhaps with a bit of fear. Then the general took her hand and placed it in mine.

I smiled into her dark eyes, trying to calm her fears. She gripped tightly. I bowed slightly to her. Then as the parents withdrew to the cool sitting area in the atrium, I led Marcella to her new sleeping chamber.

We entered the cool, shady room, dominated by a silk-dressed bed of enormous size. I led her to the bed, kissed her lips lightly, and my hands went to the shoulder ties of her gown. I fumbled only a little and released it as it fell to the marble floor. She was naked underneath, petite, with rouged breasts, full hips, and a clean and powdered body. She looked like one of those statues of Aphrodite. She stepped to the bed and reclined into the silken pillows.

Then it was my turn. I quickly removed the toga and the cotton shift below it. I too then was naked before her. Her eyes immediately traveled from my face, over my muscled chest and stopped at my aroused phallus. Her eyes widened.

All was done in silence. Reverence. Ritual. I stretched out on the bed beside her, kissed her again, and drew her into an embrace. She was stiff and scared. I reached over and caressed her slowly and softly. When I touched her breast, she moaned and turned toward me. Her red lips parted, "Please don't hurt me." I continued to stroke and massage, pulling her tightly into me. I felt her begin to relax. Then, almost automatically, I felt her hips move forward into me.