CALIGULA’S ERRAND

Feature Writer: Tiberius
Feature Title: Caligula’s Errand
Story Codes: MFfg , rape, torture, urine, scat
Story Intro: “Caligula’s Errand” — a murder mystery set in Ancient Rome during the days of hedonism and cruelty of the reign of Gaius (Caligula) Caesar (37-41 AD) The emperor engages the plebeian investigator, Phallus Majorus, to look into the murder of a senator in Pompeii. A child pleasure-slave has been accused of the crime and condemned to a hideous death by rape by animals. But Phallus must find the truth behind the crime, protect the innocent, and survive so he may return to his household where three lovely young slave girls serve his every pleasure and desire.
Author’s Notes: Being guided by Russian proverb “that is written by a pen you will not cut
down an axe” (Chto napisano perom, ne vyrubish toporom)
Warning: This story contains descriptions of sexual encounters between pre-teenagers and adults.

Caligula’s Errand

 

Rome – Januarius 41AD

I

“MASTER!” MY DOOR-SLAVE CRIED, AS HE BURST into my private privy and bathing room, his face wet with sweat, and unusually expressive. “A visitor! … from the emperor himself! You must come!”

Erectus’s intrusion couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

But how right he was! I was bursting to come! I must have looked ridiculous, on my knees on the the floor, naked, drenched from the bathing pool, and from sweat, with Vulvia, my ten year-old Alexandrian slave girl underneath, gently, expertly and sensuously lapping at my anus and testicles with her wonderful, soft, delicate little tongue. A moment earlier I had been completely lost in this delicious pleasure, the exquisite sensation of a young girl’s mouth and tongue probing and licking and sucking at my rectum, a perfect end to a long hard day. And coming was exactly what I was planning to do — all over or inside Vulvia’s beautiful undeveloped swarthy young body, or over her sweet lovely face.

For nearly one hour the sweet child had been servicing and pleasuring me. First, she washed me thoroughly in the bath. The gentle feel of her small pretty fingers washing my rectum of all grime and shit was always a delight. And as she tenderly cleaned my balls and organ, I casually, and with much pleasure, caressed her wonderful hard dark pouting little nipples, or caressed the impossibly silky folds of her smooth groin crack. She obligingly parted her legs to expose her gorgeous fine slit.

Then, clean and relaxed, I’d sprawled out naked and allowed her to lick me all over. She started with my face and neck, then licked down until I felt her small mouth suck on my own hard nipples. I sighed and closed my eyes. Slowly she worked her way down until I felt her lips and mouth engorge my throbbing erection. She gently held my organ in her dainty hand while sucking intently on its tip. I groaned loudly and grimaced as I spurted my seed into her mouth. She knew I needed to spurt early, and would soon be capable of another. I heard her swallow, as always whenever I emptied my sticky flow into her mouth. She never refused her master’s fluids.

After that she’d rested next to me while I enjoyed the flavors of her lovely maturing prepubescent body. The taste of her sweet nipples as I sucked on them; the delicious ooze of her sex as I gorged on her folds and openings; and finally the aroma of her anus as I used my tongue to explore the opening. Soon my shaft had stiffened again, and I filled her openings, one after another, repeatedly, from all my favorite angles.

Now she was back licking my anus, balls and organ again. I rested my head against a firm pillow, spread myself wide, and gave in to the sweet caresses of her mouth and tongue. My eyes closed, and lost in a realm of pleasure where perhaps only the Gods may exist in eternity, it was into this moment of sensual perfection that my giant slave Erectus blundered like a rampaging elephant.

“Go, fool!” I barked. “I shall be along shortly. Wine and cheese for my guest. Go!”

Erectus bowed and thundered out, his face a picture of embarrassment. With a household of three female slaves — all under the age of sixteen, Vulvia being the youngest — and all for my unrestrained pleasure, my coitus with the ten year-old was no shock to him. But he normally knew better than to interrupt me during my gratifications.

Angry at the intrusion, I was also suddenly uneasy. A visitor from Caligula’s retinue was surely important business, perhaps dangerous too, given his recent descent into madness. But I was not a man of politics; merely an investigator for hire by those with small mysteries to solve — theft, inheritance disputes and so on — and no threat to the emperor. My household was comfortable, but hardly lavish. Indeed I budgeted carefully — and lived likewise — keen to avoid the dangers of Rome, and intent on enjoying its pleasures while keeping a low profile. Still, for some reason I’d come to the emperor’s attention, or apparently. That was a matter of concern in these dangerous days.

These thoughts filled my mind. I’d greet my guest in due course, but first I needed my release within sweet Vulvia’s tender young body. A man once aroused close to unleashing his loin fluids must complete his pleasure. To do otherwise risks inducing debilitating imbalances into his body — or so an old soothsayer hag once told me before offering me her ugly daughter’s smelly weeping cunt for a coin. (I declined!) But my relief had to be expedited. What better than the tight gripping orifice of Vulvia’s rectum. I placed her face down, smeared oils deep into her rear entrance, and filled her with a vigorous lunge. As if the delicious friction wasn’t enough, my slave-child’s lovely muffled whimpers from my thrusts aroused me so completely I was soon lost in the waves of ecstasy that accompanied each spurt of my hot sticky fluid up her most private of cavities.

THOUGH HER ANUS WAS SURELY SLIGHTLY tender and sore from my penetrations, Vulvia, showing no sign of it, quickly helped me to wash. Hurriedly, I put on my tunic and went to meet my unsolicited guest.

“Greetings citizen Phallus Majorus,” he announced as I entered the room where he’d been waiting. Thirty-ish and nearly bald, his manner was cordial — in a business-like way — but I guessed that my delay had irritated him. “I am Glanus, who serves our Noble Emperor,” he announced, “and he requests your presence immediately.” A chill went through me. Despite subtle attempts to excuse myself, he would not be dissuaded, and I was forced to accompany him in his litter to see the emperor. Along the way, I did my best to disguise my concern and apprehension. Glanus, who had every appearance of being one of the emperor’s scribes, gave little away.

II

I WAS DULY PRESENTED TO THE EMPEROR, in a manner of speaking. He barely noticed my arrival. Around him advisors advised, and scribes scribbled. He was sprawled across a luxurious couch, reading parchment and barking orders. “Impress on General Cunnilinctus to be victorious in the northern campaign,” he growled at one aide. Yes, ensure he gives the Rome’s enemies a good licking! I thought to myself with amusement, but did not say knowing my humor would not be appreciated.

But what took my attention was a young girl on her knees before him servicing his penis with her mouth. His manhood was a puny half-flaccid affair, but the pretty, pale-skinned, early teenaged girl with golden hair — acquired from Gaul, I guessed — slurped and sucked diligently, cupping his balls and licking skillfully around his glans. He gave her little attention, pausing only once, and briefly, to pat her head and reach down to pinch her lovely budding firm pink nipples. She was much to my taste. A fair-featured slave-child for pleasure was a prize indeed, and hard to buy in Rome.

The delicious fellating slave girl wasn’t the only sight that caught my eye. Near the emperor a naked little girl, perhaps six or seven years old, lay with her legs spread wide apart. I could see matter of some kind protruding from the crack of her sex. Her hole seemed stuffed and stretched with it. Behind, a huge slave repeatedly caressed the length and folds of her stretched, filled, vagina with a long white feather. It was an intriguing sight. The little girl remained still and obedient. Her small dark nipples appeared very firm and pouting on her flat undeveloped chest. They reminded me of Vulvia’s. How I wished I was home now sucking and licking them!

After several minutes Gaius Caligula Caesar waived his aides away. Only the golden-haired child sucking at him, the little girl with a stuffed groin, and a burly soldier of the Praetorian Guard, remained. Finally head dressed me. “Phallus Majorus,” he began, “I have been told you are an investigator of the mysterious, and are a man of true character.”

“You honor me, Caesar,” I replied.

“I have need of your services,” he went on, “but first, do try a virgin’s fig.” With that, Caligula reached over and pulled two mushy pieces from the vagina of the little girl spread wide near him. “A delicacy taught me by my uncle Tiberius,” he continued, handing me a fig saturated by the child’s genital lubricants. I had heard of this indulgence, invented, they say, by the Greeks. A child virgin’s juices are both restorative and efficacious to the health, it is said, especially when absorbed and concentrated by the fruit. The slave’s attentive stimulation ensured the little girl’s folds and glands secreted copiously for the figs to absorb.

I ate the fig. It positively burst with juice in my mouth. An exquisite flavor of concentrated little girl sex — fresh and healthy and aromatic — combined with the sweetness and texture of the fruit.

I chewed the delicacy slowly, finally swallowing the exotic treat with great satisfaction. I could easily have eaten another, but it was not offered. Caligula, however, consumed several. I could not blame him; such an indulgence would be truly addictive. The thought occurred that I might add a new virgin child to my household specifically for this purpose. Of course, she would have to stay a virgin for her cultivated sexual juices to remain beneficial, and, knowing myself, that might be difficult.

Caligula looked at me intently. “Last week, Phallus Majorus, my good friend, the senator Testus Secretus, was poisoned in his villa in Pompeii. They have arrested a child slave girl for this crime, but I remain unconvinced. I suspect a plot against me in the Senate may be behind it.” Caligula’s tone had been calm and measured. Suddenly his face took on a maniacal quality, and he bellowed loudly: “Gods, am I not one of you!? Jupiter, why do you send enemies to destroy me!?” He raved for a minute or more like this, gesticulating wildly.

So it was true, I thought. He was mad — a couple of vines short of a full vineyard, no doubt. Reports of his crazed behavior were the talk of Rome. After diseased old Tiberius had died three years ago there had been high hopes for this new young emperor, Gaius Caesar. Then a fever in his first year took hold of Caligula, as he was generally known, and left him seemingly deranged. The populace had accepted his incestuous affair with his sister Drusilla. But when he cut out her unborn fetus – his child – and ate it, believing it would make them both Gods, it was too much, even for Rome. Drusilla’s death following disembowelment had grieved and surprised him, apparently. I can’t imagine why. Since then, the things he did to little boys and girls, and wives of enemies — especially pregnant ones — shocked Rome. No one was safe from his cruel debauchery.

I remained calm while he ranted.

“What would you wish of me, my emperor?” I asked after he stopped, loathing to grovel but believing it to be wise policy. Suddenly he was calm again and spoke very forcefully. “You MUST travel to Pompeii, Phallus Majorus. You WILL find the truth about this murder. Then you will return and report only to ME! … I will pay you well and guarantee your safety from all consequences. Here is a scroll with my seal authorizing you to act in this matter.”

He threw me the parchment. I was mulling over it, and my mad emperor’s request, when he suddenly flew at the young girl fellating him. “Clumsy young cunt!” he snapped. The beautiful child cringed in fear. He gestured to the guard. “Take her away, but give me her gem so that I might imbibe it.” It wasn’t immediately clear to me what he meant. But it soon became very clear. The guard reached for and held the young girl firmly, parting her legs to expose her genital slit and folds. Such pretty bright pink labia too; perfectly displayed, like a budding rose whose new fresh delicate petals are opened to the morning sun. A knee in her belly, the guard forced open the child’s vaginae, and, after drawing his small dagger, used its tip to slice off the small mounded hood of her sex — her clitoris, as the Greeks called it.

As a lover of beautiful female youth, I was appalled at this sacrilege and desecration. But what followed was truly sickening. The child screamed and clutched her mutilated groin; blood streamed down her thighs. Ignoring the girl, the guard placed the severed tissue on a golden plate and handed it to Caligula. The emperor promptly dropped the bloody mass into his bowl of wine, and, after swirling it briefly, drank the contents.

It seemed to me he chewed the girl’s severed tissue a time or two, closing his eyes to show approval of its flavor and texture, before swallowing contentedly. “Another delicacy I learned from my uncle the great Tiberius — a virgin’s clitoris,” he said looking at me. “For the promotion of longevity,” he added with a slight, forced, smile.

Suddenly the emperor was all business again. “You have your errand, Phallus Majorus. Attend to the household of Testus Secretus in Pompeii for your inquiries. Determine the truth of his murder, and do not disappoint me.” With that he gave a dismissing hand gesture and was finished with me.

As I was leaving the emperor’s sanctum, the guard took hold of the cut slave girl by the hair and dragged her away. She left a trail of blood from the cut to what had been perfection between her legs.

I returned home with a strong feeling of apprehension, and the certain knowledge that I too had been dragged unwillingly; in my case into a path filled with danger and intrigue.

III

DINNER THAT NIGHT AT MY HOUSEHOLD was a somber affair. News of my impending service for the emperor was received badly by my slave girls. They sat around me, eating silently, solemn and gloomy. They hated it whenever I left Rome on business, though I seldom did. To travel far from Rome was to invite danger — from robbers, thieves, and other hazards — and, in any case, there was work enough in the city. And my absence always left my household feeling vulnerable, particularly this time as I needed to take Erectus, my door-slave and bodyguard, with me for protection.

Labia, the oldest girl, sat closest to me, as was her right as head of the household slaves. At fifteen she had a maturity well beyond her years. With her long dark-brown hair, green eyes and flawless complexion, she was a rare beauty. I’d bought her at aged nine, and reveled in the pleasure of enjoying her since that time. How marvelously her lovely body had filled out and curved over those years, and what delicious gratification it had given me as I’d sucked, tasted, caressed, fondled and penetrated every part of her. Her breasts were still small and firm — as I like them; her dark nipples hard and pouting, seemingly all the time; and the few fine strands of hair around her groin-slit barely concealed the contour of her exquisitely delicate, silky, aromatic folds. And she was always moist. To lightly caress the length of her pleasure fissure was to ensure a pleasant smear of warm sticky fluid on my fingers. And such a delicious nectar it always was too. But most of all, she was a creature of the pleasures of the rectum. Giving and receiving, purging and cleaning — all manner of enjoyments involving the back passage engaged her. In this regard, she was a perfect pleasure slave girl for me.

Hymenia, just turned twelve, sat only a little further away. With a face of incomparable sweetness, short dark hair, and a small but perfectly proportioned body, she was a never ending source of gratification for me. Her physique was still child-like and undeveloped, and that’s how I liked her, but she had an aptitude for giving pleasure. I could see her pouting little nipples through the thin garment she was wearing. And when she moved and parted her legs, her lovely, fine, slit came into view. Often, while sitting around me, Hymenia would un-selfconsciously caress her groin crack with the tips of her fingers, pulling at her delicate folds and creases to give herself pleasure. She knew how much I adored watching her. And when, during our coitus, she wrapped her thin small legs around my waist as I penetrated her tight sheath, I could always feel her inner walls stretch against my girth, until her warm secretions permitted by organ to fill her completely. As she still did not bleed monthly, I felt no restraint in regularly emptying my fluids into her belly. And these sticky deposits she willingly and happily absorbed.

Vulvia, the youngest and most recent addition to my retinue, sat near Hymenia, equally distant to me. With long black shiny hair, beautiful big dark eyes, and dark olive-toned skin, Vulvia was a child of pure sensual joy for me, and I had to make a conscious effort not to show favor to her in front of the others. As she sat dining on the meal, I thought of my warm creamy loin fluids she’d gulped down so eagerly earlier that day during our intimacy. All of my slave girls drank regularly of my sex juices, though Vulvia seemed to imbibe them with a fervor and enjoyment more marked than the others. It never ceased to please me.

Despite her youth, Labia ran my household well, including minimizing any competition and jealously between the girls for my favors or affection. She knew I would not stand for this behavior. She was the oldest, and in authority during my absence. But my coital enjoyments were of my choosing. This was understood completely.

At the age of thirty five I had, until today, considered myself fortunate, with a regular if modest income from my work, and a household full of pleasure and enjoyment. But suddenly the emperor’s intrusion into my affairs had brought a shadow over my affairs. My own demeanor during the meal must have revealed this. The girls, knowing me well, were aware of my apprehension.

“Will my master leave early tomorrow?” Labia asked politely. I nodded.

“Must you go master?” Vulvia asked, pulling a sad little girl expression.” I told them that I must, and then tried to give reassurance that all was well. I don’t believe I was successful. All three young beauties sat glumly, until the meal was finished. Not even Hymenia’s occasional caress of the fine lips of her sex while she ate brought me much solace that evening.

*

LATER THAT NIGHT, IN MY PRIVATE QUARTERS, I was scrutinizing the emperor’s parchment when Labia entered. Just as she did so, I belched and winced from wind in my stomach.

“Are you in pain, my master?” she asked with concern. I shook my head. “A little indigestion,” I replied with a half-smile.

“May I purge you, master? It will relax and prepare you for your journey tomorrow.” Knowing that this would be beneficial and relaxing, I agreed.

We adjourned to the bathing quarters. I undressed and adopted my favorite position for a purge of my bowels: on my knees, resting against a soft bar, there for that purpose. Labia was behind me. First, the relaxing sensation of her fingers massaging my thighs and buttocks. Then I felt her fingers gently penetrating and stretching my anus and rectum, plying at my rim of tightness, and caressing the walls to relax and soothe me. I felt her finger probe me deeply, opening my orifice in preparation. When ready, I felt her gently insert the purging agents deep into my bowels with her fingers.

While the pressure mounted, I felt her again massage my rectum to calm me. “Relax, my master,” she said in a soothing voice, “and allow the waste to flow from you.” Then I felt the pleasant sensation of her soft young hands gently holding my half-limp penis and cupping my dangling balls. The pressure in my belly grew quickly until I could withhold no longer, and the first gush of shit exploded from my anus. Labia had positioned a large bowl to collect it. Several times I expelled first a lumpy, then a runny, load of bodily waste. A final explosive squirt of pure liquid purge left my rear passageway, and I was done. Labia had induced a particularly strong purging agent, believing, I imagine, that I was in need of it.

I breathed a long sigh of relief and pleasure. The cramp in my belly was gone. I felt serene and relaxed. Remaining in my favorite position for rectoral cleansing, I felt the caress of a soft brush against my buttocks and along my anus as Labia used warm scented water to wash and soothe me.

When she was done, she undressed and we entered the bath water together. Now she washed me all over. I felt the delicate touch of her fingers as she attended to every part of my body, both cleaning and massaging me at the same time. Almost lazily I caressed her small breasts, firm flat stomach, and then the folds of her genitals. Even under water, I could feel her sex ooze warm sticky juices. My organ erect and throbbing, I penetrated her tight opening. I thrust repeatedly and pleasurably into her, before tiredness set in. The day had been long and I had not the stamina to unleash my loin fluids within her.

Labia, as always, understood and knew what to do. After I withdrew from her, she gently coaxed me from the water. Stretched out, and on my back, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the pure pleasure of her mouth and fingers around my organ. As wonderful as it is to thrust into the belly or buttocks of a young girl, the simple pleasure of soft young fingers stroking and caressing the shaft and tip of one’s manhood has much to recommend it, particularly when fatigued. I relaxed completely until the ripples and waves of sensation from Labia’s caresses caused me to grimace, shudder and explode with spurts of hot fluid. After my release, I looked up to see globs of sticky cream on Labia’s cheeks and mouth, and elsewhere on her body. A drop of my sticky fluid then fell from her erect pouting nipple down to my groin hair. She leaned down and sensuously licked it off. It seemed a perfect culmination somehow.

Following bathing, I retired to my bed alone. Labia had asked if she could sleep with me and give me comfort during the night. But I chose to rest alone. As always she understood and departed gracefully. I was pleased now to be alone. The solitude would give me time to consider what lay ahead.

IV

AFTER TWO-DAY’S TRAVEL, ERECTUS AND I arrived in Pompeii. The trip was uneventful, save for menacing glances from a group of rogues during our overnight rest stop. The sight of my slave’s massive frame kept them at bay, and I was pleased I had brought him along.

Normally a trip to Pompeii was filled with pleasurable anticipation, replete as it was with every type of entertainment and diversion. The ‘Venus Houses’ in particular were always worth a visit, full, as they were, with a wide variety of exotic female beauty, obtainable for a reasonable price, including — for those in the know — the backrooms brimming with young, indeed very young, girls (and boys!). Just the thought of it brought stiffness to my groin. To see the young girls standing in a row, naked as the day they popped from their mothers’ bellies, shy, bashful, their little nipples pouting prettily and their sex slits openly displayed … ah, such a sight. And sometimes so difficult to decide which youthful innocent would be the recipient of my loin fluids. Several visits and choices were sometimes required until my thirst for young unripened fruit was fully satiated. Of course, such carnal pleasures are also available in Rome; but young girls for pleasure found in Pompeii had a mystique all their own, coming, as they did, from all parts of the empire.

But such recreation was not planned for on this trip, sadly. I had serious matters to attend to, and it was my intention to undertake the emperor’s errand as expeditiously as possible, and then return to Rome. My instincts told me I was entering into danger, and the sooner I departed the city, this time, the better.

I attended one of the city’s magnificent public baths to wash off the trip, and then proceeded to the household of slain senator Testus Secretus. A large guard slave opened the door. He looked at me disdainfully (I thought, for a slave) but after explaining my business he went to find his mistress, the late senator’s wife. Shortly, I was allowed to enter, though my slave Erectus remained outside.

Once inside, Ovaria Secretus’ greeting could only be described as brusque. “Why has the emperor sent a proletarian snoop like you to ask questions about my husband’s murder?” she said with a contemptuous tone. Ovaria Secretus, even in approaching middle-age was extremely beautiful; in her younger days she must have been stunning. Her long, dark hair pinned up high, and expensively dressed, she looked at me with utter disdain. I was unfazed. In my line of work, touchy toffy-nosed patricians were a routine hazard. I assured her the emperor merely wished to know the truth about the matter, and that I wished to interfere in her affairs as little as possible.

“The whore slave child Clitoria, inside whom my husband unleashed vast quantities of his bodily fluids, poisoned him,” she replied coldly. “The slut child laced her hard little nipples with a deadly substance, and upon sucking them, as he so loved to do, Testus fell to the floor and died an agonizing death — the emperor knows this!” she added.

“Perhaps the question unanswered is, why?” I asked politely.

“Why!? Hate, you fool, that’s why!” she said in anger. “Twelve years old, and in our household for three years. And since that time my husband had taken his pleasures with her, perforating her orifices, expending his fluids deep within her, forcing her mouth open so she might swallow his discharge, and enjoying watching our male slaves do likewise to her. I objected of course, but what could I …”

She stopped suddenly, conscious, no doubt, that she was saying too much. She adopted a typically stiff patrician posture and then went on: “Well, it doesn’t matter now. She’s destined for the amphitheater this very day, and the violations of hideous animals for the crowd’s amusement. I hope she lives long enough, through the agony of one animal after another lunging its huge swollen prickly organ inside her, and spilling its rancid burning seed deep within her guts, that she might beg forgiveness from the Gods before being torn apart.”

Ovaria Secretus’ words were full of bitterness. It seemed impossible to me that she might have been involved in her husband’s murder. As a widow of a senator her prospects would now be considerably diminished. But she was right about one thing: why had the emperor engaged a ‘proletarian snoop’ as she called me — I could hardly deny the accusation given my undistinguished heritage, and aptitude for sordid investigations — to meddle in this matter? I sensed sinister undertones at work. But whose?

I turned to leave. “One last question,” I said. “Do you think she acted alone, or on someone else’s behalf?” From the look on Ovaria’s face, she indicated strongly that she thought the question a nonsense. “Go to the amphitheater and ask her yourself,” she replied tersely. “But do hurry: the first thrust of a donkey between her legs will take place soon; and she may find it hard to talk to you when she’s impaled from anus to mouth by filthy animal sex.” The glint in the widow’s eyes revealed the cruel humor in her words.

V

I LEFT THE HOUSEHOLD OF THE LATE Testus Secretus with all speed, Erectus close behind me, and headed to the city’s main amphitheater. I knew it well. On certain days of the week, criminals and aberrant slaves were dispatched gruesomely for the pleasure of the crowd. Forced violation of women by animals was common, and always a crowd pleaser. Sometimes they were raped by condemned male slaves, or guards, before immobilized in devices which parted their legs and buttocks in preparation for penetration by aroused beasts with huge, course, sexual organs. Usually by the time bestial semen flooded into their cavities they were no longer alive, although attendant guards had grown skillful over the years in regulating the beasts’ copulation and ejaculation to maximize the duration of the violation — and the crowd’s pleasure. But a twelve year-old child’s bodily orifices would withstand bestial violation for a very short time indeed. Rupturing would often occur after a short time, and usually the crowd had to be content with witnessing the copious spurts and flood of animal sexual fluids into a dead girl’s gaping torn entrances.

It was imperative that I talk to the slave child Clitoria. Every instinct told me there was more going on in this murder that just a slave child’s revenge for years of violation.

*

BY THE TIME I REACHED THE AMPHITHEATER the day’s perverse entertainment was already in full swing. Two screaming slave women were already naked and bound over as small horses with large sexual organs mounted and copulated with them from behind. These and other animals were bred and trained for this purpose. The guards attending the punishment guided them expertly. As the horses thrust repeatedly into the women’s ruptured orifices, onlookers called out abuse at them, such as, “How do you like the feel of horse cock in your cunt, you slave whore bitch?” and “Take it up
your ass, you thieving slut, so horsy can feel your runny shit run off his balls!” “Faster! Faster!” the crowd cried, hoping the horses would drive their organs deeper and more rapidly into the females and inseminate them with their bestial sex fluids.

As I walked toward the underground area where the condemned are prepared for their grizzly fate, I held great fear that the child Clitoria may already have been violated and inseminated by animals before the crowd. As an accused murderer of a senator, she may well have been top of the bill that day. If so, her ruptured animal semen- drenched body would have been discarded already.

I walked passed the line of piteous slave men, women and children who stood, waiting their call to please the crowd. Guards were poking and feeling them under their clothes, especially the young girls whose nipples and bodily openings were at their mercy.

Many of the young girls had trickles of blood running down their thighs. A guard walked around them with a bloody wooden phallus. I guessed he was deflowering the girls thought to be virgin. Under Roman law it is illegal
to execute a virgin girl. A moment later my supposition proved correct: he clutched a very pretty young girl, about ten years old, hiding behind her mother, and roughly rammed the phallus under her dirty dress and deep into her vagina. She bellowed from the tearing, clutched her groin as blood streamed through her small fingers and down her thighs, and fell on the ground. Her anguished mother bent over to console her, and then herself felt the agony of the guard’s wood rammed forcefully into her rectum. That one had nothing to do with Roman law; the guard was merely enjoying himself. I wondered what the young girl had done to deserve execution today. Probably nothing. Possibly her mother was a runaway slave, or a thief, and, after her own bestial rape – or during it – her young daughter would, just for good measure, be held and impaled between the legs on the fully erect penis of a horse or donkey to please the crowd.

Seeing an unoccupied guard, I summoned him over. As he approached me, I caught a glimpse, through a gap in the wall, of the two women being horse-raped outside in front of the crowd. The animals were grunting and making noises, and streams of white fluid flooded from their engorged sexual organs, into the women’s bodies, and out again. This was the part the crowd liked, and they cheered approvingly. The volume of semen from the animals was astonishing. It streamed down the females’ legs, mingling with blood and lumpy tissue from their torn vaginas and anuses, and formed a ghastly sticky light-red colored pool on the ground below. Both of the condemned women were still now, dead, I imagined, from the trauma, and impervious to being copiously inseminated by the animals. I hoped for both of them it was so.

The guard approached and looked reproachfully at me. “You shouldn’t be down here citizen, this is…”

“I am Phallus Majorus,” I said with a commanding voice, “and I am here on the emperor’s business.” I held Caligula’s scroll for him clearly to see. “I am looking for the condemned slave girl Clitoria. If she is still alive I must see her.”

The guard looked at me suspiciously. After eyeing me down a moment or two, he pointed to an area at the end of the corridor. “In there,” he grunted.

I approached and entered the area he’d indicated. Erectus kept close behind me, saying nothing but seeing all. At once I saw two burly guards violating a young girl. I guessed — and hoped — it was Clitoria. At least she was alive. One guard held her on a table, while the other pummeled her small vagina relentlessly. Even for a twelve year-old she looked rather undeveloped. Very thin, absolutely no development of her breasts, hips, or around her sex, she looked no older than ten years. But a beautiful young girl nonetheless. Despite the pain and grief on her face as the guard thrust into her, there was no mistaking her long, black shiny hair, large dark eyes, and exquisite features. No wonder her master — the late senator — had satiated his desires with her.

“Leave here!” the guard holding the child barked. “She’ll be out soon enough to mate with dogs and beasts for your amusement.” The guard doing the raping stopped, his penis fully penetrating her opening, and held there so I could see Clitoria’s blood-coated vaginal folds stretched around his considerable girth. “Go!” he yelled, panting slightly from his exertions.

I stated my business, as I had done earlier to the first guard. But these two looked unimpressed. “You’ll have to wait,” the raping guard said. “I’ll empty my fluids into her belly and then you may talk to her.”

Interrupting a man doing coitus is not wise policy, especially a burly Roman soldier. So I allowed him to finish his pleasure. He grunted and puffed for several minutes. The power and cruelty of his thrusts were appalling. And he taunted the helpless girl repeatedly: “First some prick and juices for you, murdering cunt whore, to get you in the mood for the
feel and wetness of our dogs and beasts..” He repeated similar to this several times as he filled her, adding details about the smell, feel, size and prickliness of the animal organs she’d soon feel deep inside her young openings. Some guttural grunts and groans, and his climax came. He couldn’t have pumped harder into the young girl if he tried, intent, seemingly, on lodging his ejaculate into the depths of her belly. After several final powerful lunges, during which he grimaced and groaned from intense pleasure from his release inside young Clitoria, he withdrew his soggy swollen organ from her slit and then sighed deeply. I could see a ring of blood around the base of his shaft. Somehow he’d managed to ram all of it into her lithe fragile- looking frame, but the friction from his exertions had caused her to bleed.

The other guard wasted no time exchanging places with his colleague. However he turned her over and parted the cheeks of her buttocks. “Just a minute, citizen,” he said looking at me, “I’ll merely empty my load of hot juices into her young bowels and then you make speak with her.”

I raised my hand. “Enough!” I cried. “I’m on the Emperor’s errand, and I’ll speak with her now!” The guard scowled deeply and glared at me. I raised Caligula’s parchment again to emphasize my authority in the matter. The guard’s anger at being denied his sodomy with the slave girl was palpable. Finding the entrance to her rectum, he forced two of his fingers cruelly up her cavity causing her to cry out pitifully. Looking at me, he took a moment to ravage her rear opening with his fingers, before taking hold of the hapless slave girl and then throwing her at my feet. “Don’t be long,” he growled at me, “we have a procession of vile beasts waiting to mate with her for the crowd’s entertainment. It has been announced, and they are waiting.”

The guards left, and at last I was able to talk to the girl. She remained on the floor, sobbing. A drop of blood fell from her anus to the floor, and her sex slit was smeared red from violation. “Clitoria, my name is Phallus Majorus. There is little time. I am here to discover the truth about the murder of your master. If it is possible for me to help you, I will. But you must tell me all you know about this crime. You must omit nothing!”

Clitoria replied with a sobering voice. “Sir, I had no wish to harm my master. Though he took his pleasure with me, he was kind and gave me gifts. He even took me to Rome on his visits there.”

“DID you kill your master, girl?” I asked. She looked up forlornly at me. “I merely smeared the oil on my chest, as instructed by the stranger in Rome,” she replied. “He told me it would arouse and please my master. He said I would be lashed and sold to the mines if he discovered that I told my master about the oil and spoilt the surprise.”

“Tell me about the stranger,” I asked.

“He came to my master’s room in Rome while the master was away. He said he was a friend of the master’s. He fondled and caressed my body, pushing and feeling everywhere, between my legs, my back opening, and all over and …” She paused and looked down.

“Continue,” I commanded.

” …and he made me give him pleasure with my mouth — just as my master had taught me — but … but although I licked and sucked my best all over his private area I could not made him hard to finish his pleasure.”

I thought for a moment. “What was his name? What did he look like?” I inquired.

“His face was covered, sir, and he gave me no name. I don’t know who he was.”

Suddenly a woman’s scream from the outside ‘entertainment’ pierced the air, and the cringing young girl before me jolted in fear. Though I couldn’t see what was happening, my guess was another slave girl had just felt the agony of a beast’s massive engorged sex organ thrust violently and with terrible effect between her legs or up her rear orifice. The crowd’s noisy acclaim was evidence of their approval. I looked down at the pretty lithe child before me. Her tender orifices would be likewise violated by animals before long, and, because of her celebrity, it would be a long, sustained and terrible ordeal.

Footsteps signaled the return of the guards. Her time to entertain the crowd had come. I had to think quickly.

VI

EXTRACTING OURSELVES FROM THE AMPHITHEATER proved to be difficult, but somehow we managed. When I informed the guards that I was taking young Clitoria with me they were incredulous. “You cannot, citizen! She is scheduled for execution by bestial violation this very day!” one exclaimed. “The crowd has been waiting,” added the other, “and we have all manner of biting bugs to be inserted into her holes for agony, before she feels the ripping, piercing, and tearing of aroused animals as they mate and inseminate her before the crowd.”

“Do you wish to interfere with Caesar’s will!?” I exclaimed. I met with stony faces. Again I displayed my authority with the parchment. Even so, I was glad Erectus was behind me. His enormous body was a deterrent, even for burly Roman guards. “Prevent me and the Emperor will hear of it,” I continued stridently. “Perhaps he’ll be lenient with you, and only cut off your balls and throw them in the Tiber! But what use to slave girls will you be then?”

At this remark, one guard pressed his legs together. He looked chastened. But the other glowered imperiously. “She was condemned to die of animal prick rammed repeatedly into her cunt and elsewhere,” he spat back. “She should have been violated to death yesterday! Only the weather forced a postponement … and now you turn up…”

I was reflecting on this comment, considering how, but for the postponement, I would never have talked to Clitoria, when the chastened guard said to his companion: “Let us not cross Caligula, Flaccidicus. We’ll use another of the condemned slave girls. The crowd shall enjoy her torment with the beasts, and never suspect the substitution.” The guard Flaccidicus thought for a moment and then, while clearly livid at my interference, waived his hand, saying: “Take her citizen, and be thankful the Emperor’s seal spares you from my sword!”

I was thankful. I left with the twelve year-old, my bodyguard slave behind me, as quickly as possible. On the way out we were forced to witness the ‘entertainment’ in progress. To one side, the mother and child daughter I’d observed earlier, now stripped naked, were being forced to perform with a large powerful dog. With a guard’s sword for encouragement, the mother was underneath the animal, licking and sucking on its protruding bright-pink colored penis. Spurts of the animal’s semen splashed continuously on her face and into her mouth. She vomited, and yet still was forced to continue fellating the dog. At the same time her daughter was on the ground, legs spread far apart. Food had been smeared and forced into her ravaged slit. The starving dog was feverishly forcing his tongue and jaws deep inside her vagina, securing what food there was inside her, and biting into her folds. While the mother sucked and licked the animal’s sex, she could see and hear her child screaming from the dog’s eating frenzy at the young girl’s opening.

Near the mother and daughter, a slave man was standing behind a beast, forced to copulate with it. The crowd was cheering him on. And as we quietly made our way out, another slave girl, still in her teens, was brought out to please the audience. After the guards ripped her clothes off, a bulge in her belly revealed mid-term pregnancy. The crowd roared in approval. Naked and screaming, the guards secured her to the poles, her legs raised and apart. A guard squeezed her belly roughly, just to let the crowd know, if they hadn’t seen already, what her condition was. A donkey was brought forth and positioned between her legs. Its long and spiky-looking organ was fully engorged and protruding. She saw the animal’s large repugnant organ being positioned to enter her, and screamed uncontrollably. Guided by the guards, the animal thrust instinctively and violently into the sex of the slave girl, who bellowed from the pain and then fell unconscious. Water thrown on her face revived her.

A blockage prevented us from leaving the amphitheater. So we watched as the animal thrust into the girl’s orifice, tearing her open with the power and thickness of its organ, until a flood of fluids streamed inside her. At the same time, the guards placed bugs of some kind on her nipples so that they might sting and bite her while the donkey continuing emptying his load of juice between her legs. The animal’s thrusting power was enormous, and continued for some time.

We were still unable to leave as the activities continued. The pregnant girl was turned over so that the animal violating her might have access to her anal passage. As she was turned face down, there was a gush between her legs. I suspected it was the baby liquids in her belly. Some effort was expended by the guards to guide the animal’s organ up her rectum. It
was proving difficult, but, in any case, the girl was silent now, possibly beyond sensation from the bestial violation being done to her. As the animal penetrated her rear orifice, blood streamed down her thighs to mingle with the discharge from her belly on the ground. The girl bucked. Apparently she was still alive, regrettably for her.

By this time, the mother and daughter were secured together on the ground, spread wide for the violations of two dogs, placed and held by the attending guards. The mother seemed insensate to the continuing sacrilege being done to her, but the daughter struggled and screamed as the dog’s course prick penetrated her young sex opening. The guards, angry at the mother’s lack of interest, turned the little girl over and inserted the dog’s filthy organ up her anus. The girl’s cries forced the mother to try and help her child, though the guards made that impossible. The whole scene pleased the crowd very well, and they called out to her, asking how it felt watching a child from her own belly copulate with a stinking dog.

We were close to the exit when again a blockage of people held us in bay. Suddenly, there was a loud call from a guard to the crowd. I turned to look. It was the same one who’d raped Clitoria so mercilessly earlier. He and his companion — who’d rammed his fingers into Clitoria’s anus in anger from my intrusion — were holding a terrified early teenaged girl. “Here citizens, she is!” the guard announced loudly. “This is the child whore who murdered our most esteemed senator Testus Secretus.”

I recognized the pretty girl from the line of slaves I’d seen below waiting to be defiled by the animals. From a distance she did look a little like Clitoria. Now she was Clitoria’s substitute, thanks to my interference. She was always destined for execution by forced copulation with animals. But now her fate would be Clitoria’s — the worst, and most sustained the guards could conjure for the on-lookers.

The guards stripped her slowly, teasing the crowd. They parted her legs to show her sex to the people; then turned her around and bent her over to expose her anus. “Oohs” and “Ahhs” were heard everywhere, the crowd delighted to see tight, delicate, young orifices which would soon be filled by animals. She struggled pathetically. Rowdy elements urged the guards on, yelling out suggestions concerning what they’d like to see happen to her openings. Her body was so lithe, so undeveloped, so incapable of withstanding the thrusts and spurts of sexually aroused beasts.

Suddenly a group of on-lookers broke into song, calling out over and over:

“FILL HER BACK FILL HER FRONT MAKE THE BEASTIES GRUNT AND GRUNT…”

Then, from fear, she urinated copiously. As piss ran down her legs, the rabble cheered wildly.

There was nothing I could do to help her, though that hardly made me feel any better. “Her punishment will be long and deservedly unpleasant,” the brute speaking continued. I saw guards smearing something sticky around and inside her vagina. I guessed it was honey. Then they secured her to the ground. Her groin was placed over a small mound. “First the
big ants will feast on her young whoring cunt…” he bellowed. Almost immediately she screamed as the biting ants took to her delicate genital folds and tissues. The crowd roared again. “…and this is just the beginning, citizens,” he bellowed. “After the ants have made their mark, the dogs will take their pleasure of her. Then she will feel the girth and coarseness of the bigger beasts as they ply her in every way with their vile vitals. And fear not, her mating with the beasts will be measured and managed to ensure she remains awake to enjoy her foul coupling with the filthy vermin in your presence!”

The crowd’s cries of approval were deafening. While other slaves would be brought out, and defiled and violated by the beasts, they would at least be dispatched quickly. But the murderer of the senator would endure multiple and measured desecration until the body finally succumbed to tearing and ripping of the openings from sustained bestial penetration and insemination.

An opening in the crowd at last afforded us an opportunity to leave the amphitheater. Our final observations were of the young girl hemorrhaging copiously from her anus while the dog continued its sodomy on her; her mother beside her, enduring anal coitus with an animal in silence — whether she was dead or insensate could not be known — as the dog spewed its rancid fluid deep inside her; and the now dead pregnant slave girl’s belly slit open by a guard, and her half- developed baby impaled on his sword and raised for all the crowd to see.

And the girl suffering the fate planned for Clitoria screamed from the work of the ants in her sex, while the first of the large dogs to perform coitus with her was brought forward, its penis already stimulated to full erection, and the guards positioning her ant-riddled and bitten groin orifice in readiness for the animal’s sickening penetration. And biting, stinging creatures had already been placed on her honey-smeared pouting little nipples to add to her torment, and the crowd’s pleasure.

Behind there were other animals — dogs, donkeys, horses and some vile beasts not known to me — kept in readiness by the guards. Throughout the rest of the day, the young girl would be forced to mate with, and be inseminated by, each of them, until her bloody, bestial-violated semen-drenched body was lifeless.

Meanwhile, other terrified prisoners, including young women and girls, were now being led in to be defiled by the animals, while the dead bodies of those having already copulated with the beasts were dragged away. One new victim, a pretty girl probably no older than fourteen, after being stripped, was tied with her hands overhead, and her vaginal lips pulled apart so a guard could insert a small, black, nasty-looking biting-crawling creature of some kind inside her. She was screaming uncontrollably, bucking and flinching, presumably from the creature’s bites to her delicate orifice. The appreciation and enjoyment of those watching the spectacle seemed endless, even more so when guards added biting bugs to her petite little nipples.

I carefully guided young Clitoria in front of me as we left the area, concerned that she might try to flee my keeping. But she was docile enough, thankful, perhaps, that a stranger had intervened to spare her a horrible fate. I noticed that she observed the agonies and torment of the young girl substituted in her place with a blank expression. She must have known that, but for a twist of fate, those ground ants might that very minute be biting and eating the delicate tissues and folds of her lovely young sex, and bugs stinging her pretty little nipples.

VII

WE LEFT POMPEII EXPEDITIOUSLY. There seemed to be no further lines of inquiry to pursue there. I was anxious to return to Rome. Not only was I keen to return to my own household, and the pleasures contained there, but resolving this case once and for all could, I felt, only be done in Rome.

We stayed the night in a small town. A room was acquired at an Inn I knew to be safe lodgings. Erectus slept in the barn with the horses. Clitoria remained with me. I questioned her some more, but she had little more to add about the murder. She had indeed poisoned her master, but had been tricked into doing it by someone in Rome. The question was, who? The more immediate question was: what was I to do with her? Taking her to my house in Rome seemed unwise. I couldn’t afford and didn’t need another slave girl, and, in any case, she needed to be placed somewhere safe, where she could leave her past behind her. After much thought I decided to offer her to my friend Prostatus Semenatus, who owned a farm away from Rome. I’d invent a story about her, and she’d be able to live a simple country life. Nor would she have to worry about her new master taking pleasure with her: Prostatus kept a retinue of young slave boys to attend to his personal needs, and cared little for pretty young girls (poor fool!)

Clitoria was able to wash the dirt and the guard’s stains of lust from her beautiful young body. She was not concerned that I watched while she cleaned herself. As she patted dry her sore and tender vagina and anus, and caressed her lovely nipples with the towel, I felt a surge of arousal. Even after washing, I maintained a stiff and aching erection. But I would not take pleasure with her. She’d been through enough, and I was content to allow her to sleep contentedly in the corner of the room.

I, however, could not sleep. Perhaps it was watching the perverse bestial-human coitus that day that had left me aroused and requiring relief. Quietly I stroked and caressed my throbbing organ, feeling the need to loosen and release my fluids. I seldom do this, believing a man’s life juices should be discharged within the moist bodily orifices of females, or, at the very least, on their bodies. To do otherwise is a sacrilege, and an affront to the Gods whose gift to men of sexual gratification is surely the greatest of all. And, in addition to that, girls smell best to a man when they reek of sex and his semen.

At home, if arousal should strike me during the night, I would always gently wake one of my slave girls to draw my fluids with her soft mouth and lips. There is nothing more pleasing than the fellatio of a half- asleep young girl; the sound of her soft sucks and licks in the dead of night a perfect prelude to one’s own groans and sighs as spurts of creamy loin juices into her mouth brings both pleasure and relief. Had I been home this night, I would certainly have engaged the sweet, moist, mouth of one of my slave girls — probably young Vulvia, who never tired of drawing and drinking my intimate fluids.

While Clitoria slept soundly, I closed my eyes and thought of my sweet Vulvia as I slowly stroked myself to relief. For some reason, my mind went back to the day, almost one year earlier, when I acquired her in Rome…

*

Rome. A slave Market — One Year Earlier

“CITIZENS, FEAST YOUR EYES ON these lovely morsels on offer today!” the slave trader cried out at the market. I’d stopped unintentionally, merely curious about what was on offer. With two girl slaves at home for my pleasure — Labia and Hymenia — I had neither the need, nor the income, for more pleasure slaves. The trader presented five females for inspection — mostly late teenage, all shapely, one especially so — and a younger dark-skinned child who tried to stay at the back. It was hard to get a good look at her.

“Look at these beauties citizens!” the trader cried out. “Would they not warm you in the night? What better companions to help relieve you of pent-up fluids in the loins? — Or perhaps they can merely cook and clean for you!” The last comment brought much mirth. Having gotten our attention, the trader wasted no time displaying the women; quickly exposing each girl’s breasts, and pulling at ragged cloth to reveal their genitals. The buyers were looking for signs of wear and tear; stretch marks on their bellies; whip scars and other sighs of abuse or ill health.

Finally he grabbed and presented the youngest one. “The baby of the group,” he said with a grin, “not yet ten years old, from Alexandria. Surely a good worker for your household; able to cook and clean and attend to the privity.” He slipped his hand under her clothing, and was clearing playing with her sex. Then he pulled her clothing up to briefly reveal her
groin slit to the buyers. Smooth and perfectly contoured, I felt a surge of arousal. Thin and undeveloped, she was nonetheless a child of great beauty; perfect apportionment of limb; big, dark, expressive eyes; and blessed with a sweetness of face which not even fear and embarrassment could diminish. “Of course,” the trader continued, “she will also give her owner great pleasure of service from all her lovely tender entrances — in a few years time, anyway.”

“Why wait!” a comment echoed from the back of the crowd.

There was general laughter.

Why wait indeed! I thought to myself. “Has she been ruptured?” an interested buyer called out. The trader, again furtively fingering her privates, replied, “She’s as fresh and undamaged as the day she secreted from her mother’s belly!” I thought that unlikely. It was probable the trader had already taken his pleasure with her, though he may not have pierced her sex opening; doubtless the taste and aroma of male procreative fluids were already known to her.

The man at the back then made a bid for her. He looked a brute. The thought of him beating and raping her daily for his pleasure appalled me. I sensed about her a child with a predilection for pleasure; and mere gentle encouragement would be enough to open her legs, and expose other openings, for gratification.

Acting quickly, I countered with a higher offer. It was at that point she looked at me directly with those big dark eyes. Perhaps she judged me a kindly potential master. In any case, her eyes never me while the bidding went on. It was as if she was begging me to purchase her. My competitor increased his bid, and again I countered it. Two more times this happened, and I feared she would be beyond my means. Finally, he acquiesced, and she was mine.

She said little as I escorted to my house, merely informing me her name was Vulvia. But she walked with an elegance and beauty that made me desire her greatly. The mounds of her dark little nipples pointing through her thin, old, dress; the perfect curves of her small, tight buttocks; and the sensuous contour of her thin legs and thighs — all were delightful about her.

Upon arriving home, Labia – my senior slave girl – took her away to be cleaned and prepared. Hymenia’s glance, from aside, suggested disapproval of new slave child in the household. But a reproachful stare back quickly dealt with that. I am, above all else, master in my own home, no matter how just I try to be to my slave retinue.

As I hoped, Labia took young Vulvia to the main bathing area. Through a secret gap, known only by me, I was able to observe them without their knowledge, from an adjoining room. “This is the house of Phallus Majorus,” Labia was telling the child as she undressed her. “He is a kind master, but you must obey him at all times. And, in his absence, you must obey me.”

“Yes, mistress,” the lovely child replied obediently.

“You will have household duties to attend to,” Labia went on, “such as cleaning and preparing food. And you will also be expected to allow the master his enjoyment of you in his bedroom.” Young Vulvia blinked rather sweetly upon hearing these words. Labia smiled enigmatically at her. “But more of that later,” she added.

The last of Vulvia’s soiled clothes were pulled away, and I finally saw her beautiful naked young body. I feasted on it with my eyes as Labia gently washed her thoroughly and intimately. Her nipples grew hard and pronounced from the caress of Labia’s cloth; and the sight of water running between the child’s legs, following the thin crevice of her smooth slit and folds, brought an aching, throbbing arousal that cried out for relief. Whether her sex opening had been ruptured or not, I was filled with anticipation of thrusting into her soft silky groin lips and unleashing my fluids into her to belly.

Then Vulvia self-consciously informed Labia that she needed to release her bowels. The older girl placed her over a bowl and beckoned her to empty herself. Vulvia was bent over, half-squatting, and my view of her anus was excellent. After pissing a little, she grunted and winced for some time. It was obvious she was tight of bowels. Labia knew too, patting a slight bulge in Vulvia’s otherwise deliciously firm young abdomen, saying, “You are blocked with rancid waste inside – the result of poor food – and are in need of purging.” The sweet child still grunted frequently, and much to my pleasure watching her, winced until a dark, hard, stool half-protruded from her anus. She grimaced some more, and finally the dry, dense, shit plopped into the bowel.

“The master insists that we all remain clean in our bowels,” Labia told her, “and I shall attend to you now.”

Labia then proceeded with the purge. Vulvia was clearly apprehensive and looked embarrassed, and I enjoyed watching every moment of it. Clearly Labia used a very strong agent, because stream after stream of her Vulvia’s feces flooded into the bowl, first dark and rancid, and later watery and light in color as every scrap of substance held in her bowels, seemingly, was expelled from her rectum with considerable power and force. Finally, Labia washed the child’s rectum gently with brushes, warm water, and towels.

VIII

AS I RELAXED, CLOSED MY EYES, and lightly stroked my manhood to bring on relief, I reflected with much pleasure on that day almost a year ago when Vulvia joined my household. On how Labia, after purging the child’s recesses, caressed Vulvia’s nipples and sex, explaining how she would be expected to give pleasure to their master, and not to be afraid. I secretly watched as Labia sucked on the younger girl’s nipples, and licked the length of her sex to show her what intrusions would be done to her. She gave into Labia’s intimacy easily, and gave no protest when Labia requested that she perform on her. Labia spread her thighs wide to expose her slit and folds to the young girl. Vulvia’s expression when she first breathed in Labia’s sex scent, and tasted her juices, was a joy to behold. But any apprehension soon left her, and she took to licking and sucking the other girl’s sex with alacrity. Labia took her release several times, by my counting, as Vulvia performed on her, her hot fluids gushing and smearing the younger girl’s face. Afterwards a bond and affection had clearly been established between them, and Labia held Vulvia at her breast, stroking her lightly. I thought I saw Vulvia suck affectionately on the older girl’s nipple. I knew then that my new addition to the household slave retinue would blend in well.

Lost in thought, and enjoying my own self-pleasure, my memories moved on to later that evening one year ago when Vulvia was brought to me; freshly washed and perfumed; her black hair shiny from oils; lightly attired and naked beneath. The memory of pinching and caressing her small black nipples; sucking them with great enjoyment; gently stroking the length of her fine groin slit; lightly pulling back her delicate folds, and feeling the wetness of her lubricant on my fingers; gently exploring the tightness of her anus, using some of her fresh wetness to allow my fingers to feel inside her…

Then I was reliving in my mind the moment in which I penetrated her; recalling the amazing tightness of her sheath as it stretched to accommodate my swollen erection; her muted whimpers during the tearing; and the stickiness of her virgin blood around my groin.

My eyes were closed; my fingers were rhythmically stroking the tip of my organ. I could feel my fluid building up inside me. I was reliving the smell and feel of Vulvia’s body when I entered her those past months ago and consummated by ownership of her.

I was near to reaching that realm of the Gods when the mind erupts and the loin fluids spurt, when the touch of another’s hand on my organ jolted me.

Startled, I opened my eyes and saw Clitoria on her knees before me. Her soft delicate little fingers were gingerly holding my penis.

*

“SIR,” SHE SAID SOFTLY, “you are in need of pleasure and release. You are my master now, and it is my duty to please you.”

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t so; that she would soon serve a master other than me; that I didn’t expect her to pleasure me, given her unmerciful violation earlier that day at the hands of the guards, and close brush with death. But she started to caress and kiss my erection so softly, so delicately, that I had not the will to stop her. So I stretched out, and parted my legs to expose my organ and testicles to her soft moist mouth and small hands.

How exquisite Clitoria’s attentions were. Soft warm kisses along the length of my shaft; the moistness of her tongue as she licked the length of it – and below – cupping my balls carefully as she attended to my pleasure. The late senator had taught her well, or perhaps she just had a natural sense of what pleases a man.

Finally, I felt her mouth open to its maximum to receive my swollen manhood. With her small young hands around the base of my erection, she sucked with such adeptness I quickly arched back and erupted copiously into her mouth. In the dead of night, it took all my control to prevent myself crying out in ecstasy. But she did not stop there. I remained sprawled out, but relaxed, after my release. I did not even open my eyes. Clitoria continued her pleasure-giving, gently licking off all drops of fluid from my groin, and then allowing her tongue to proceed down to my rear orifice. For many minutes I felt the perfection of her tongue first lapping around my anus and then penetrating my rectum.

It was no surprise that my organ soon again stiffened and reached its full girth. Almost as if reading my mind, Clitoria gently stroked me with her small lovely soft hands. Drawing her closer, I could not resist taking her petite hard nipple in my mouth and sucking on her tenderly while she stroked me to a second release. When finally my fluid came — more sticky and less voluminous, and discharged less powerfully than earlier, but unleashed with a rare and exceptional gratification — it landed on the lovely girl’s belly and chest, splashing over her dark pretty nipples, a result which was extremely pleasing to my eye.

My second pleasure had left me fatigued but satisfied, and I was much in need of sleep. As I drifted off, Clitoria remained beside me, nestling against my body. She made no effort to remove my drying juices from her body, happy, it seemed, to allow them to remain there. Later, half asleep, I thought I felt her mouth softly sucking on one of my nipples. Whether it happened, or I merely dreamt it, I cannot be sure.

IX

WE ARRIVED AT THE FARM of my friend Prostatus Semenatus late in the afternoon of the following day. He offered us lodgings for the night, and I was pleased to accept. I presented him with Clitoria, and he was pleased enough to add her to his household slave retinue.

Earlier, I had explained to Clitoria my decision to leave her with Prostatus. At first she seemed unhappy, but when I explained that she would be far safer there than in Rome, she seemed to see the wisdom of it. Nothing of her history= would be revealed to her new master, I told her. “The ‘murderer’ of senator Testus Secretus has been put to death in Pompeii by the rape of beasts,” I explained. “The matter is done with, and you are Clitoria, slave girl from Rome, formerly of my household, whom I am releasing to Prostatus because you are surplus to my needs.”

By the time we reached Prostatus’ farm, she seemed comfortable with her fate.

Prostatus and I dined well that evening. Erectus attended to the horses, and later took the opportunity to copulate with one of Prostatus’ slave girls. He’d fancied her soon after arriving; a small, pretty girl in her mid-teens, and cheeky by nature. My host told me he didn’t mind my slave mating with his; he was hoping Erectus would put a baby in her belly. We believe we heard a muffled cry outside as we dined, doubtless the result of my slave’s penetration of his enormous organ into one of her tender openings. I didn’t tell Prostatus, but, knowing my slave as I do, it was more likely to be the girl’s rectum he filled. When later I observed her walking gingerly, I knew I’d been right.

After dinner, my host and I relaxed in his bath house. The hot steamy water was most welcomed. Prostatus was attended by one of his slave boys, a well-built and handsome young man called Spurtucus, whose genitals he fondled frequently, while Clitoria bathed and massaged me quietly and attentively. I told my host nothing of my errand for the emperor, nor of my business in Pompeii. It was better not to discuss it, I felt. Instead we talked of gossip and events in Rome, particularly Caligula’s bizarre deeds. A rumor was going around that he wished to make his horse a senator. Prostatus was pleased to learn what I knew. “The senators will never stand for it!” he exclaimed. “It’s an insult to Rome!” I could only agree.

As we talked in the bath, we each fondled our respective slaves casually. He repeatedly caressed his slave boy’s large penis to full erection before allowing it to become flaccid again; and I allowed myself to gently caress Clitoria’s vagina and anus under the water. Her young folds and openings were a joy to the touch, and I almost regretted my decision not to add her to my household.

Later, Prostatus retired to his bedroom, and his slave boy followed him. Clitoria asked if she might stay the night with me for my pleasure, but I declined. She looked hurt, but I explained that I needed a full night’s rest for the journey next day to Rome. That was true, but I also needed some solitude that night. To spent a night enjoying her flavors and charms would only make my departure in the morning more difficult.

I also needed time to think about what I would do, after returning to Rome, about the emperor’s errand.

*

MY RETURN TO MY HOUSE IN ROME late the next day was a blessed relief. Labia, Hymenia, and my sweet young Vulvia, were overjoyed to see me home safe and well. We dined, and I told them a version of what had happened in Pompeii so as not to incur jealously over my involvement with Clitoria. The amended ‘version’ had Clitoria impaled by beasts, and filled with their semen until her death. I thought it wise to conceal the true ending and Clitoria’s new life on a farm. (And I swore Erectus to secrecy, on pain of death!) Strangely, my slave girls were rather unsympathetic towards the girl’s fate. The thought of a slave girl killing her master was shocking to them and unforgivable. It occurred to me that the tolerance shown to them in my service, and the liberties I allowed them to take, were enjoyed by few slaves. However, I chose not to press the point.

Later, Labia bathed and purged me, and I felt the better for it. Oddly for me, I had no appetite for pleasure with any of my girls that night. The thought of reporting to Caligula the next day — and the potential consequences of that — dulled my ardor. But at a very late hour, when all was still, Hymenia slipped into my room and sprawled herself in front of me. Parting her legs intentionally to expose her sex slit to me, I could smell her musky youthful genital fragrance. And when she looked at me with that adorable, sweet, twelve-year old face, adorned as it is by her short, shiny, dark hair, I was incapable of resisting. Even more so when she whispered, “Master, I feel a hurt in my tummy.” This phrase had special meaning between us. It meant she would soon need to release her bowels; and she knew how much I enjoyed coitus with her while she defecated.

It was just what I needed. She slipped her thin attire off, and wrapped her legs around me. Hymenia was so slender and lithe, it was easy for me to carry her into my ablution area, and rest her high in a sitting position on a bar so that her anus was positioned above a purging bowl. Standing between her parted thighs, I slipped into her sex sheath easily, despite its youthful tightness. She was moist and warm — the result of her own self-caressing, I guessed. I penetrated her fully, and held my erection deep inside her. She whimpered slightly and held on to my arms firmly. Apart from being filled between the legs, I could tell she was feeling pressure in her belly to evacuate her back passage.

“Master ….Master…” she moaned in a low labored voice that aroused me even more while I filled her again and again. I could sense her holding on to the contents of her bowels as I plied her sex. The walls of her opening seemed to grip my organ even more tightly as a result. My release was building, but I ordered her with soft words to hold on and contain her waste. She was breathing rapidly now, wincing from the pressure, grunting occasionally, and gripping my arms with even greater force.

“Oh Master, oh Mast…” she half grunted, her voice trailing off. A few more rapid, powerful thrusts into her groin, and my fluids were unleashed inside. As I grimaced from the wonderful gratification and release, and, as my spurts left my body for hers, she exploded from the rectum, showering the floor with globs and splatters of her half-solid and half-liquid shit, the sound of it being propelled from her anus interspersed with rumbles of flatulent gas.

Several times, as I climaxed inside her, I felt her walls grip and relax, as shit spewed out of her rear hole. The final release was something like an ejaculation of brown runny waters from the depths of her insides. And each time she grunted and groaned with relief and a kind of pleasure, for Hymenia enjoyed this manner of coitus, usually instigated it, and, as on this occasion, induced (I suspected) some purging agent beforehand into her rectum to increase the intensity of her evacuation. It was probable too that Labia had encouraged and assisted her, knowing the gratification would please me.

Afterwards we were both spent, and Hymenia hugged me tightly while catching her breath. Dribbles of her discharge continued to drop from her anus and buttocks to the floor while she did so. In a rare moment of intimacy between master and slave, I kissed her tenderly on the lips. It was a show of affection following an act of privacy, and intended to convey my genuine appreciation for freely allowing such an indulgence with her sweet young body.

X

I LEFT EARLY THE NEXT MORNING to attend the emperor’s edifice so that I might report directly to him on the murder of Testus Secretus. First I met with stony-faced soldiers of the Praetorian Guard — the emperor’s personal protectors — who would have cut me down had I taken another step. A message was sent, and within minutes the scribe Glanus — who’d approached me initially on Caligula’s behalf — appeared. Caesar was very busy today, he informed me, and I’d have to wait.

I did wait — for over seven hours! — and my demeanor grew worse as each hour passed. But I could not leave; that would have been an insult to the emperor. And, as I waited, I thought endlessly about what I had to inform him: The senator had indeed been murdered by a pleasure slave child; she’d been put to death by multiple acts of sexual defilement with animals; but that she’d been tricked into killing her master by an unknown man in Rome — almost certainly an enemy of the emperor’s and, even now, in all likelihood, plotting against him. Caligula’s reaction would almost certainly be extreme. My own future involvement in this matter was unknown, but I feared the worst. Should a plot against the emperor be underway, my life would be in grave danger. Try as I might, a way of extricating myself from this intrigue eluded me. My only hope was that Caligula might excuse me from further service, and allow me to return to anonymity. That, however, seemed unlikely.

When finally I was summoned, I had fallen asleep. Slightly groggy, I accompanied Glanus to meet with the emperor. “He will see you in his private quarters,” Glanus informed me. I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

When I entered Caligula’s private domain, I discovered that my fears were well founded. The emperor had a silly adornment on his head — his attempt to look like the God Jupiter. The latest talk around Rome that he now considered himself a God were apparently true. But what was going on around the room sent a chill through me. A naked little girl sat near his couch. I assumed she was there to service the emperor with her fingers and mouth when he wished it. That didn’t surprise me. But what the emperor was doing at that moment did: Caligula was copulating, furiously. He was
between the legs of a heavily pregnant woman, who was bound, hands and feet, thrusting into her belly with full force. The woman’s bulge was so low I guessed the baby had dropped, and that birth was almost imminent. That made no difference to Caligula, who ignored her muffled anguished cries, and sent her bulge gyrating wildly from his coitus with her. And there was milk everywhere — the woman’s; he’d pinched her nipples repeatedly, and squirts of her nursing fluid had splashed her body, face and hair, as well as his. Smears around his mouth indicated that he’d sucked and drunk from her nipples assiduously as well.

But that wasn’t all. To one side, a very pretty young girl aged about ten had been stripped naked and was being held by two burly soldiers. She was watching Caligula’s violation of the pregnant woman, and, in a distraught voice, kept saying, “Mama, Mama…”

The emperor ignored my presence. He was busy taunting the woman, saying, “Your husband Vassus Deferenus was part of the plot — admit it!” Though gagged, in her suffering she was shaking her head to refute the charge. Caligula took no notice. It was then I noticed a plate nearby with a bloody mass on it. I looked intently and deduced it was a man’s severed testicles and penis. My guess was that they had belonged to Vassus Deferenus; the rest of him was probably floating down the Tiber.

Caligula continued to pound into wobbly pregnant belly, and the young girl was held close to observe the violation. The emperor raved about all of them being involved in the plot to kill him. “Do you not know you cannot kill a God!?” he ranted while thrusting his organ into her groin. I noticed however that Caligula’s penis was semi-erect at best. What he lacked in deep penetration, however, he made up for in thrusting power. I saw fluids weeping from the woman’s birthing canal, induced, no doubt, by the ordeal. Then, somewhat comically, the emperor grunted as if reaching orgasm, and then withdrew from her, before sprawling over his lavish couch. There was no sign of seminal residue on his organ, however.

It was only then that he noticed me. “Phallus Majorus,” he said panting, “you must tell the result of your investigations in Pompeii.”

Startled, I started to speak: ” My emperor, after my inquiries in Pompeii I believe….”

“Suck, young slut!” he snapped at the little girl crouching before him. Caligula grabbed the child roughly and forced his soggy organ into her mouth. The secretions from the pregnant woman’s sex smeared on his penis must have tasted vile to the child. She screwed her face in revulsion, but continued fellating him out of fear.

” … I believe that the senator Testus…” I continued before the emperor again interrupted me. “Well, fool, do the deed, right next to her whore mother on the floor,” he barked at one soldier holding the woman’s child. Immediately the soldiers placed the young girl on the floor, and parted her legs. The soldier barked at took hold his penis, which was already fully erect, and upon finding the girl’s opening, brutally filled her. The emperor watched with enjoyment as the girl screamed and struggled, and then bled from her groin after the burly soldier lunged into her.

A moment later, the girl’s mother, who was aware of the violation of her daughter beside her, grimaced as a flood of fluid gushed from between her legs. Her waters had obviously broken. Caligula looked over. Pointing to the other guard, he commanded: “Well, go on, empty your fluids into HER belly.”

The guard gulped. “But Caesar …. she gives birth!”

Caligula looked intently at the grimacing pregnant woman on the floor for several seconds. “Oh no,” he said with an unconcerned tone, “not for hours yet. You’ve time to empty yourself inside her.” Again the guard gulped, and, obviously with some reluctance, pulled at his clothing to expose his penis. A moment later he mounted and impaled the woman, so that both mother and daughter were enduring rape together on the floor at the hands of the guards for the emperor’s enjoyment.

I drew breath to speak again, but the noise of mother and child violation in the room was distracting, not to mention distasteful, to me. “Perhaps Caesar would prefer to hear my report in private?” I asked deferentially. He looked up at me quizzically, and then, quite suddenly, pushed the little girl fellating him away from his sloppy soft erection. “Useless! Worthless child cunt. No good at all!” he snapped at her. The pretty, scared, girl felt backwards, providing me a clear and sustained view of her lovely smooth sex. I cannot say the sight of her slit and folds — exposed, as they were, and smeared slightly by light-colored blood, suggesting recent and partial defloration of her barrier, very likely by Caligula’s fingers — was unpleasant to me.

For some reason, at that precise moment, I had a flash of insight. I recalled a comment the slave girl Clitoria made while describing the man who’d tricked her into poisoning her master: ‘…and he made me give him pleasure with my mouth — just as my master had taught me — but although I licked and sucked my best all over his private area I could not made him hard to finish his pleasure.’ The comment had passed me at the time. But now I saw a deeper and more sinister meaning.

“Very well, Phallus Majorus, we may speak in here,” Caligula suddenly said upon returning his attention to my presence. I followed the emperor to an enclosed area nearby. It afforded minimal privacy. The grunts and cries from the violation of mother and child nearby were still clearly audible. The emperor had no intention, of missing them. Just as he sat down and commanded that I finish my report, I heard an enormous and sustained cry from the pregnant woman outside. After I began to speak, it was the last noise I heard from her. Only the soldier’s grunts from thrusting into the young girl, and her mournful distress, pervaded the room.

I began to inform the emperor of my findings. But half-way through I faltered. When I reached the point about a likely plotter in his midst, who’d masterminded Testus Secretus’ murder and presumably now was planning the emperor’s demise, I hesitated.

“Continue!” the emperor demanded. “Speak!”

I could not. I felt overwhelmed by contempt for the young emperor. He seemed so inadequate, so unworthy of the honor bestowed on him. And to think our great Republic had diminished to a point where a young inexperienced fool such as this should govern it! I thought to myself.

Finally, stupidly and recklessly, I merely requested that I be excused from any further involvement in the case.

“Why!?” Caligula yelled. “Explain yourself, Phallus Majorus!”

I wanted to say that I believed that he, Caligula, had plotted the murder of the senator; that it was he, under disguise, who’d tricked Clitoria into killing her master, by smearing deadly poison on her lovely little dark pouting nipples; that he’d then engaged me, a lowly- born but well-known investigator for hire, in order to give the appearance of his ‘concern’ over the murder; that he’d expected me to arrive in Pompeii after the accused slave child’s execution by bestial rape, thereby ensuring that I would discover nothing of importance there; and that, having discovered the truth, I now refused any longer to be used and manipulated by him in his puerile political battles with the senate. I also felt like informing him that if the soft, moist, expert mouth, lips and tongue of a beautiful early-pubescent girl like Clitoria couldn’t stir him to full erection and release of his fluids – – so she might swallow them — there was no hope for him with any female!

But instead I merely looked him fully in the eyes and said, “I believe you already know all there is to know about this matter, Caesar. I doubt I can be of any further use to you.”

Caligula looked at me intently. I expected a tantrum, an outpouring of rage from him, followed by my arrest, and then worse to come. But he merely approached me. I saw no madness in his eyes. He seemed calm and very much in control of himself. Perhaps what some people claimed about him was true: Caligula’s madness was merely a ruse in order to achieve his ends. Whatever the truth of that, I realized that he’d guessed my thoughts and suspicions.

There was a moment’s silence. Outside I heard the sounds of the young girl’s ongoing violation; the guard’s grunts as he filled her repeatedly; the child’s mournful groans from his penetration of her — her cries muffled, as if a hand covered her mouth.

Finally Caligula spoke to me. “Phallus Majorus,” he said coldly, “return to your household and attend to your affairs.” Then he left the room abruptly. I guessed he was returning to observe the rape of the mother and daughter once again.

After a few moments, I followed him. As I passed by, I saw the emperor watching the girl’s ordeal with a look of pure pleasure on his face. (He ignored my passing departing presence completely.) The guard was raping the girl forcefully up the rectum. The fact that her rear passage was ruptured and bleeding wasn’t deterring him from achieving the goal of spurting his semen inside her. The state of her pregnant mother is almost beyond description. Suffice to say she was still now, her legs far apart, and a confluence of fluids of different colors from her sex formed a large pool on the floor. The soldier violating her was drenched in them. He was still going through the motions of copulating with her, largely to please Caligula, I suspect. As I finally left the room I heard a long and sustained groan of a man’s orgasm. I didn’t have to look behind to know that the guard pummeling the daughter’s ravaged anus had achieved his climax.

XI

AS I VENTURED HOME THROUGH the bustling streets of Rome, I knew full well the meaning of the emperor’s final words to me. He was allowing me to attend to my affairs before my arrest and almost certain execution. Whatever trumped-up charge was given would matter little. Treason, probably. Of course, he expected me to take my own life first. That was the Roman way. It allowed one’s property and slaves — not to mention family honor — to be protected; otherwise all was forfeited to the emperor and the family name ruined. And being a stoic Roman, I would indeed choose suicide. It was only a matter of deciding to whom I would Will my property and slave girls. I have no other living family.

That night, at home, I attended to my parchments. I Willed all my property — including my slaves — to my friend Prostatus Semenatus. They would join Clitoria in the country and, hopefully, be treated well.

Caligula’s soldiers would come the next day to arrest me, I reasoned. That left one last night to enjoy pleasures of the flesh. I contemplated a banquet, but had not the appetite. Labia, Hymenia, and little Vulvia, all tried to encourage me to take pleasure with them. But no amount of flirting or exposure of their lovely young bodies could tempt me. I chose not to tell them of my impending fate, though they knew I was deeply melancholic. They had no idea that the small container I placed on my working table contained a powerful and (I hoped) painless substance designed to propel me to the afterlife. I bought it in Alexandria a while back in readiness for a day which I hoped would never come. But that day was now tomorrow.

I slept little that night, slumped over my table. Next morning I awoke to the sound of pounding on my front door. Believing it to be soldiers coming to arrest and take me away, I lifted the container and steadied myself. It was my intention, upon seeing the soldiers, to gulp down the poison, and thereby deny them the pleasure of dragging me away. The sound grew closer. Just as the door opened, I raised the deadly brew to my lips.

“Master!” my hulking door-slave Erectus bellowed as he burst into the room. “There is important news!”

I put the poison down on the table.

“Well!?” I barked.

“The emperor is dead!” he replied.

*

IT WAS TRUE, AND THE TALK OF ROME. Caligula was attending the Palatine games that day, and was assassinated by his own Praetorian Guard, lead by the praetorian tribune Cassius Chaerea. His bizarre behavior had finally forced them to act. His Uncle, Claudius, had been appointed the new emperor. The aging, lame, stuttering Claudius — considered by some, but not all, to be a half-wit — had been found cringing under a table after the assassination. The assassins had decided the succession by making him emperor. The future of the Republic and the empire under such an Caesar was widely discussed and feared, though the Caligula’s demise was generally welcomed.

But I was simply and enormously relieved that the danger to my life had receded, as least for the moment. However, I had no idea what process had been initiated by the late emperor before his assassination regarding my fate. Still, no one came to my door that day to take me, so I decided to relax and await the future.

My demeanor having improved noticeably, my three slave girls attended me excellently. Labia bathed and purged me, enjoying flushing my bowels in order to sooth and relax me. As I caressed her beautiful young body in the water, the other two came in, and soon all three were naked around me, each washing and massaging me tenderly and intimately. Afterwards, I took all of them to my bed. I did this seldom — only on special occasions — and this seemed one of those days.

I relaxed as they explored and stimulated me with their bodies. The sensation of three small tongues probing and licking my body all over was truly joyful. Labia, as usual, loved to probe my anus with her tongue, sucking on my skin and opening with a rare skill. Hymenia’s mouth around my engorged organ, urgently seeking to draw the fluids out of me, was a pleasure only the Gods could have devised. And sweet little Vulvia, ever anxious to give pleasure while the older girls aroused me to climax, used her lovely soft little tongue to lick my testicles repeatedly, much to my satisfaction.

After my first powerful eruption into ecstasy, which resulted in Labia drinking the entire release of my warm sticky fluid, I allowed myself to enjoy intimacies with each of them. For some reason their nipples captivated me that day. First Labia’s small, petite little breasts; then the pouting beauty of Hymenia’s meager mounds; and finally the charm of young Vulvia’s flat, undeveloped, bosom. I took to their nipples hungrily, sucking hard on each girl, the taste and freshness of their firm, protruding teats the flavor of child-youth itself. I went from one firm dark little nipple to another, and, as I sucked my fill, I felt a calm restored to my mind that I hadn’t felt for many days.

Then I felt strong desire to savor the flavors and aromas of their groins. I licked each girl fully and repeatedly, allowing my tongue to enjoy the texture and feel of the folds and creases around their sex cavities.

Each girl’s musky feminine flavor was a joy. As usual, lovely Hymenia weeped lubricant in abundance, and I was happy to imbibe it, making the slurping and swallowing sounds which always pleased her. Vulvia’s sooth fine little vagina was completely dry at first; but, as always, my sucking on her thin dark inner and outer lips, and small, erect, kleitoris hood, finally produced a small viscous discharge which had a flavor and taste that was uniquely hers. And when I pressed my nose and mouth into Labia’s beautiful sex to gorge myself on her bouquet and flavor, I relished the sensation of the small, fine, hairs that adorned her opening. As I ran my tongue repeatedly from her slit down to her anus and back, she whimpered very slightly, not wishing to appear above herself (being a slave) in taking pleasure, but unable to suppress the waves of gratification that my tongue induced.

Finally, I entered each of my slave girls, enjoying as many of their openings as I could before a second eruption of semen left me spent. Labia, as always, was happiest when my erection filled the cavity of her rectum; Hymenia, after taking my throbbing sex into both her sex and anal orifices, was delighted to again feel the warmth and enjoy the taste of it between her lips; and Vulvia pressed herself against me as I achieved full penetration of her tight, gripping sex. Vulvia’s vaginal sheath felt so impossibly snug and compact, I found it impossible to resist unleashing my creamy white fluid inside her.

As I grunted and groaned during my finish, I saw not a hint of jealously in the faces of the two older girls; both knew just how much I relished inseminating the youngest of the three of them. And, on this day in particular, even if they were oblivious to the details of what had been pressing me, they were merely thankful just to see me happy again.

XII

TWO DAYS LATER, HAVING ALMOST CONVINCED MYSELF that this case was behind me, I received two un-welcomed visitors. One was Glanus, the scribe. Frankly, I was surprised to see him; I thought it likely he was executed after Caligula’s assassination, along with the rest of the emperor’s inner retinue. With him was a soldier; whether he was there to protect him, or arrest me, was not immediately apparent.

Glanus informed me, in a formal manner, that my presence was requested before Claudius, the new emperor. But neither he, nor the soldier with him, was threatening, so I accompanied them, maintaining my reserve and dignity as best I could. Along the way Glanus, as ever before, said very little.

I was taken directly to appear before the new emperor. He was sitting at a huge desk covered with scrolls, and he was studying them diligently. Glanus announced me, and then excused himself.

Claudius looked up at me briefly — taking me in, I felt — and then spoke: “Phallus Majorus, plebeian investigator. I have a parchment here from my nephew, the late emperor Gaius — unsigned, I might add — seeking your arrest, though no grounds are specified. What say you?”

I held my head high, though my heart pounded in my chest. I took the decision to tell our new, lame, deformed, emperor the whole story of my errand for Caligula, leaving out nothing — not even my saving of the pleasure slave child Clitoria and my final exchange with the late caesar — and thereupon proclaim my innocence of any wrong-doing against the Republic or the emperor.

Claudius listened intently and did not interrupt me. Finally, after I stopped speaking, he looked at me for a good while. He asked a couple of questions, seeking clarification on minor points. Then his face took on a contemplative appearance. I knew my future, my life, hung in the balance. At last a crooked smile came to his mouth. The wily emperor again spoke: “My nephew showed questionable judgement in many things, among them relations with the noble senate. I do not find it difficult to believe that he resorted to murder in order to impose his will on the senators. Whatever the truth of the matter, with his death it is now closed, and I find no fault in your actions, Phallus Majorus.” With that, Claudius threw the scroll alleging my treason onto a pile in the corner, presumably, and hopefully, to be destroyed.

My sense of relief was enormous. I thanked the emperor, maintaining as much dignity as I could, befitting a Roman. He waved his hand and the audience was over, or so I thought. As I turned to leave, he again spoke: “Phallus Majorus. You have a keen mind, an affinity for the truth, and a sense of honor which is truly Roman and in accord with the noble ideals of our glorious Republic. Such a man is rare and useful. You may again be called upon to render service for your emperor.” I thanked him for his praise, and placed my services at his disposal. In my private thoughts, however, I beseeched the Gods to spare me any further involvement in high politics.

*

JUST AS I WAS LEAVING THE EMPEROR’S edifice, Glanus the scribe approached me. He handed me a purse of coins. “The emperor wishes me to give you this,” he said, “in fulfillment of predecessor’s contract with you.” I thanked him earnestly. The sum was considerable, and much needed. Then he added with a smile: “So, it has worked out well for you, Phallus Majorus.” I nodded, wishing only to make good my departure. But he went on: “She’s a tasty treat, isn’t she?”

“Who?” I asked turning to face him.

“Clitoria, the pleasure slave child,” he said. “So thin and undeveloped — a cunt so tight it hurts, but deliciously — but yet nipples like small succulent cherries, and a soft mouth and tongue seemingly sent by the Gods to induce pleasure in a man in order to expel fluids from his loins.”

Glanus’ words stunned me. A wry smile came to his lips. Our eyes caught and held for a prolonged moment. My mind was racing, but before I could conjure a reply, he added: “Farewell citizen, and prosper.” Then he was gone.

I returned home through the frenetic streets, oblivious to the bustling of the crowds. Onlookers must have thought me slightly odd, or even deranged of mind. “Glanus!… Glanus!…” I kept saying to myself over and over through clenched teeth.

XIII

THE IMPLICATIONS OF GLANUS’ ADMISSION were significant but perplexing. How had he known Clitoria — during one of her master’s visits to Rome? But why should the senator share his lovely pleasure child with a lowly scribe? Unless… Could it have been he who crept into Clitoria’s room that night, face hidden, intent on tricking her into murder? But if so, was he acting alone, for the emperor, or in concert with others? Suddenly, all the certainty I’d previously held about Caligula’s complicity in the murder of senator Testatus Secretus evaporated.

*

WEEKS PASSED, AND, WHILE MY THOUGHTS were often preoccupied with the conundrum of this case, life moved on. Some interesting new cases came my way: a lost Will; an argument over an inheritance; and a background investigation to aid a rich client’s purchase of a large rural estate. I was pleased to return to my usual fare — petty disputes among the rich, and subjects sordid and squalid.

So, when my slave Erectus burst in to my room one afternoon, the aftermath of the murder of senator Testus Secretus was the last thing on my mind.

Rather, I was intent on lodging my semen as deeply as possible up Labia’s delightful rectum and into her bowels.

An hour or so earlier, Labia had given me every indication of being playful and in need of penetration and soiling. All females, whether slave or citizen, need to be filled in their bodily openings from time to time for the pleasure it provides. They need to smell the aroma of a man’s loin juices, and feel its stickiness within them. It brings relief, and calms the mind. Some are more determined and assiduous about it than others. Labia, my senior slave girl, on occasions, had the scent and agitation of a bitch on heat, and would not be denied. This afternoon was such an occasion.

She entered my room while I sat at my work pouring over scrolls, looking particularly beautiful. Her freshly washed long hair was redolent of the fragrances of fine oils, and her big dark eyes sparkled like a playful child. She’d petted and fawned over me so intrusively I began to display my displeasure. But the arousal in her was so strong it was overpowering. Even from a few inches away I could smell the aroma of her sex on her fingers from self-caressing. When she finally pressed my hand between her legs, I felt the dampness and clamminess of her undergarments from absorbed groin lubricant. I thrust two fingers deep into her juicy vagina, and, as a result, she sucked in air. Pulling her closer, I could hear her labored breaths from pleasurable anticipation. “Very well then,” I said in a low deliberate tone and looking into her lovely glistening young eyes, “you must be prepared now to please your master.” I withdrew my fingers from her sex and smeared her own wetness around her mouth and lips. Then she sucked sensuously on my fingers to taste her own flavors.

Still sucking on my fingers, she led me to the adjacent bathing area and privy. Once there, she sat me down on a low couch and began to dance — slowly, rhythmically, sensuously. She carefully peeled her garments away as she danced, furtively displaying her perfect petite breasts, pinching her own nipples provocatively, before all her garments feel away. With growing arousal, I watched as Labia gyrated her lovely lithe naked body before my eyes. Then I heard her make small whines and grunts as she danced. She started to grimace very slightly as she performed in front of me, as if in some discomfort. I knew what she was doing, or rather what she was going to do. She knew I loved it.

Labia’s moans and groans increased as I watched her. Occasionally, while she danced, she caressed the length of her sex, pulling at her lips and folds to expose, ever so briefly, the entrance between her legs. Then she’d lick her fingers again.

The finale came when she adopted a slight squatting position, parted her legs far apart before me, and, in a whispering aroused voice, moaned, “Oh, my master….” Just then piss streamed from her groin, I heard a fluffing sound of passing gas, and then she defecated violently on the floor behind. As she did so, I approached, took hold of her dark nipples, and pinched them forcefully knowing that this would please her during her motions. As she continued to piss and empty her bowels, she made sounds of ecstasy.

When the last of her shit had been expelled, she looked up at me and, panting a little, murmured, “Empty your warm waters on me master, please.” As I needed to piss anyway, I was happy to open my clothing and release a hot stream over her breasts and down her groin. Towards the finish, she turned so I might squirt my piss over small elegant buttocks and into her exposed shity anus. To see the runny brown concoction of our waste flow down her thighs was perfection itself.

After that, there was only one way I wanted to take my release with her, and we both knew it. In the bath, she washed her anus, and then allowed me the pleasure of rubbing oil deep into her rectum. I penetrated her fully and rapidly, the grip of her rear hole around my engorged penis that much= the more enjoyable so soon after watching her defecate. I thrust hard, taking my own pleasure, and she took hers. She cried out several times in climax. Her need was great that day.

Finally, I held her firm from behind, pinched her hard, taut, nipples with my fingers, and drove to the depths of her bowels. If there was any shit still left inside her, my sticky sexual fluids would be propelled to mingle with it. And moments later that’s just what happened. A powerful releasing climax flowed through me — the pleasure of the Gods, allowed us briefly during our earthly tenure. I cried out in a long and debilitating moment of exquisite gratification, as I emptied myself deep inside lovely Labia’s rectum. Even after my final spurt of ecstasy, I remained deeply embedded in her back passage, happy to allow my erection to slowly subside within her.

And so it was that Erectus found me when he burst in that afternoon. “Master!” he bellowed, “important news …”

“Later, you fool!” I snapped back angrily.

“… from the estate of Prostatus Semenatus,” he added.

A shiver went through me; for I knew, somehow, the news would not be good.

XIV

I WASHED QUICKLY, WITH LABIA’S EXPERT ASSISTANCE, and returned to my working room. I had told Erectus to await me there.

“What news?” I said to him.

“It’s the talk of the slaves in Rome,” he began, “just reached me by way of….”

“What news!?” I snapped angrily, wanting him to get to the point.

“Clitoria — the slave girl you saved in Pompeii, and gave the master Prostatus — is dead,” he went on.

I looked at him for a moment, absorbing the information. “Well, go on,” I said.

“I heard it told this way, Master,” he went on in his inelegant Latin. “She did become attached to her master’s pleasure boy Spurtucus, and was jealous of her master’s enjoyment of him. Then, four days ago, her master had a banquet. She, and the other slaves, were there to serve and to give pleasure to his guests. When the master took his enjoyment with Spurtucus in front of all, stroking the boy to full hardness and making him expel his sticky fluid for all to see, Clitoria, in anger, slipped away and then returned having placed poison on her teats. By way of flirting, she then tried to get the master to lick her teat bumps. But another man, a guest, grabbed her and sucked her fully, first vaginae and then teat. Immediately he fell to the door and in great agony died.”

As I listened to Erectus, I felt both chilled inside and flushed of face. I felt compelled to sit down. “Go on,” I said, my voice thin now from astonishment.

“Well, the slave girl Clitoria then ran away. But her master, furious beyond reason, sent the slave boys to capture her. Soon she was found and ….. was killed.”

I looked at Erectus sternly. “What have you left out?” I asked him.

“Nothing, master,” he replied, “of importance. Only her manner of end. It was most. .. unpleasant. You need not know…”

“Tell me!” I barked.

Erectus sighed. “The slave boys, having found her, spread her wide, and violated her in all ways. Having emptied their fluids inside her, they dragged her to the animals. Her face they pushed into the vile parts of various beasts, smearing her with their stains. Then male beasts were stroked until they unleased their organ juices all over her face and mouth. When drenched and reeking of animal sex stench, they took her to the master’s donkey. They used her face to stimulate the animal’s organ to full hardness. Then, holding her spread apart underneath, the beast was pushed to fill her sex with its filthy enormous organ. Sometime during its penetration, she, having ruptured severely, ceased to breathe. I’m told she was still by the time the animal’s flood of fluid filled her insides.”

After further questioning, I believed Erectus knew little more. I dismissed him, and sat for a long while considering the matter. The extent of my humiliation before Prostatus Semenatus would be enormous. The matter of apologizing to him would have to be attended to.

Then my mind went back to the night before I took her to Prostatus’ farm. I recalled the tenderness of her small hands, and the softness and skill of her tongue, lips, and mouth, as she brought me to pleasure and relief. I’d felt so sure she was utterly incapable of an act of wilful murder against her master in Pompeii. Gods! I’d even sucked her pretty little nipples, forgetting that previously she’d laced them with poison to kill the senator. Her story of a man in Rome tricking her into murder seemed so credible, and I was all too willing to assume that our former deranged emperor, Caligula, had been behind the deed. And later, having had doubts, I was more than ready to accept that Glanus the scribe, embroiled in politics around the emperor, may have orchestrated the whole affair.

But still I found it hard to accept that, in the final analysis, this was merely a case of a crazed pleasure slave girl taking revenge against her master. Something was missing. Just then, Erectus burst in again. “Master!” he said, slightly out of breath, “I omitted one detail told me by slaves informed of this matter.”

“Yes?” I inquired, expecting only to hear some missing minor detail, such as information relating to Clitoria’s gruesome violation and death.

“Clitoria is said to have told Spurtucus, the slave boy, days before that she would kill the master by lacing her teats with poison if they, together, did not flee the master’s estate. She told him she had done it before, in Pompeii, though she’d been tricked into it by her master’s wife. It seemed she was a pleasure slave to both of them, they often copulating with her together. Her master, she said, enjoyed watching her mouth slurp at the wet folds of her mistress’s groin, though his wife’s ooze was often pungent and foul. It seems her mistress gave Clitoria a potion to dab on her budding teats, telling her it would make them taste even sweeter for the sucking of her husband. Of course, it was poison, and he died most horribly. Then, after the deed was done, Clitoria was disowned by mistress and abandoned to the defilement of beasts.”

I stared blankly at Erectus, shocked, I suppose. “Master?” he said looking at me with concern.

“Why would the senator’s wife wish him dead?” I asked myself out loud.

“Oh, master,” Erectus said, slightly mocking me. “Slave-gossip has it the lady Ovaria has many younger lovers, and was anxious for her husband’s inheritance in order to pursue her indulgences. I myself suspected her involvement when we visited Pompeii…”

“You never hinted this!?” I snapped back.

“But you are the master, master,” he replied sheepishly.

Curses! I thought to myself. Why was I so fooled by that woman’s false grief? Why didn’t I investigate her more fully? (And why didn’t I consult the views of my slaves more frequently?)

I nodded to Erectus, and told him he could go. Not for the first time I marveled at the knowledge of slaves who live in a world of whispers and rumor as they attend to our daily needs and carnal desires.

So there it was. The final piece of the puzzle, though I could take little credit for solving it. My first murder investigation, and my powers of insight and intuition had not served me well. The murder of senator Testus Secretus had been inspired by his wife, Ovaria, who’d used their pleasure slave girl Clitoria to commit the act. Afterwards she’d repudiated the young girl, unconcerned about her fate in the amphitheater. No wonder Ovaria Secretus had been so hostile when I visited her in Pompeii after the murder. The meddling of a “proletarian snoop”, as she called me, would have been most unwelcome.

The matter of why Clitoria hadn’t told me about her duplicitous involvement with the senator’s wife was obvious enough: I probably wouldn’t have believed her; and, even if I had, I wouldn’t have felt obliged to take the risk of offending the guards at the amphitheater by saving her from rape and death by the beasts. Cleverly, she’d constructed a story which sounded plausible, induced my sympathy, but could not be easily corroborated. The rest — my accusations against Caligula, and my suspicions of Glanus the scribe — were of my own making, although, in the latter case, it was likely he’d mated with Clitoria while she visited Rome with her master; hence his intimate knowledge of her lovely young body and pleasure-giving skills, conveyed in his comment to me after Caligula’s assassination. (Mocking me, and justifiably so, for my slow-wittedness!) And very likely Glanus’ secretive, nocturnal liberties with Clitoria had, however, formed the basis of her story to me about a stranger in Rome tricking her to into murder.

I took a moment to tease out, in my mind, the threads to this mystery, making sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. But all now seemed clear.

I called out for Vulvia to attend me. Feeling troubled, I would enjoy the young slave girl’s purging of my bowels, before taking pleasure by unleashing my loin fluids into her sex or anal opening, to lift my mood. My errand for Caligula had, in the end, reminded me, yet again, that there is little knowledge in this world that is certain — apart from the gratification and bliss that comes from the charms, aromas, and flavors of beautiful young girls.

THE END