Publius Octavius Ch 02

Publius Octavius Ch. 02

Tavi begins Joshua's training

Readers may wish to consider reading Ch.01 before this, at least for some background. This story is entirely fiction, although historical research has shown that many of the customs and practices described probably actually happened--t least among the upper class "provincial" Romans of the First and Second Centuries. With one major notation: This story takes place after Tavi's twentieth birthday. In all probability in the former Greek colonies which became part of the Empire, it would have been his fourteenth—and many of the other practices described would have occurred prior. This would not meet contemporary publication standards. Therefore, I can state that all sexual activity in this story takes place among individuals over 18—but that is author's license on my part. The story is told in the first person byTavi. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

During the previous night, I had fucked my new slave for the third time that day. He had been an adult anal virgin before we purchased him although he doubtless had been used at the academy years before. In fact, reading between his confessions, as a slightly younger man, he was likely the top cocksman of his brigade. And that brigade had been infamous in Roman circles. It had consisted of more than a hundred expert cavalrymen—unique warriors in the Empire, who had learned to shoot arrows accurately from horseback. They had been feared raiders of Eastern frontier towns for many years—raping and pillaging to create terror. Neither the Roman legionnaires nor the recruited Palestinian fighters had been successful in preventing the periodic raids. And the frontiersmen feared their attacks, which often ended in the rape of young women and the taking of young men as slaves. The Parthians were "hit and hide" with no fixed encampments or forts. They were a nuisance "we" lived with—not the Roman citizens of Scythopolis, but those living in the farther Eastern territories.

My slave (servus) is somewhat challengingly named Joshua, the revered name of the ancient Palestinian general who had put down a joint Parthian/Philistine revolt involving thousands of warriors, hundreds of years ago—a battle chronicled in the notoriously inaccurate "histories" of the Palestinian people in their holiest book. Quite colorfully, the account noted that the general had delivered the "foreskins" of the defeated (and presumably slaughtered) warriors to the leaders of the people. Thus my slave had the name of the famous general of the Israelis—eternal foes of his people, taker of their very manhood—as recorded in the Hebrew Bible! I wondered at the irony of his naming. Was he a rebel?

I had decided to let him keep that name, confident that some learned friend of my family would at some point warn me that he would someday successfully castrate me or be castrated by me. But we both indeed still had our foreskins! In fact, he was very pleasing to look at: dark, lean, almost feral, about my height, with dark shaggy hair, deep purple eyes, and completely shaved below his eyebrows (a routine procedure prior to a slave auction) with well-developed warrior muscles, and a prodigious darker phallus hanging between his bowed legs. When he stood before me, legs akimbo and staring into my eyes, he projected the very image of a powerful warrior and top—an image that I am sure, he treasured. And that I relished taking at will.

Today would be the second day of his "training." It was the day of my weekly mandatory warrior service. A condition of my freedom to live with family was that I appear once each week—and for a few weeks each year—to practice war-making skills and learn the newest concepts that had been developed by our generals and engineers.

It would also be the first day that I would appear as an officer and with a personal servant—who would be sharpening his skills as my bodyguard and "second". We would be carefully watched by the instructors to ensure that I was sufficiently challenged—and if they didn't think so, an instructor would sideline Joshua, and he would become a mere spectator. I was sure he wanted to avoid that status.

We woke at dawn. I was wrapped around Joshua, pulling him hard into my gut and with my stiff morning erection nestled nicely into his muscular crevice. My left arm was thrown over his flank and gripped his phallus tightly. My right was looped under his neck, pinching a hard brown nipple. The body language certainly projected ownership. Let's hope that becomes a reality. I guess I had been dreaming. As I came fully awake, I pulled away. "Remember, you are to rise before me and prepare my morning ablution and break-fast. I will forgive this one time. But not again. Now take my phallus in your mouth and coax out the seed so I can start the day. You do not have my permission to cum."

Joshua rolled away and then turned without a word and bent to take me into his mouth. His cock was hard and dark, demanding release. But he dutifully ignored it. He started to use his hand to retract my hood, but I stopped him. "No hands. And no teeth." So he used his tongue to roll down the hood and began to suckle on the knob, occasionally taking me deeper and stroking with his lips as his tongue stimulated the sensitive glans. He was an amateur, but he would learn and I was fully aroused anyway. "You may use your hands on my balls--gently." He reached under and began to fondle and urge my seed into flow, stroking the spot between the sacs and the anus carefully. Within minutes, I released my morning cream, filling his mouth and coating his lips. "Now bring the basin and wash me." He did, and without a further request, when he finished, he brought my tunic. His raging erection had softened, but not completely. I think I'm going to leave him in this state.

"After we eat, we are going to the armory for a day of exercises. This is my weekly obligation. We will be there about four to five hours. You will accompany me."

"Will I be an observer or a participant? What do I wear, Young Master?"

"You will fight. In fact, you will fight me. Wear the loin cloth and sandals—at least until we reach the armory."

"When we arrive, we will strip. All exercises are performed nude—except, when we don pads and protective shields of our procreative equipment for swordsmanship practice."

"You will begin today to learn the rules—and your responsibilities. If I am hurt—at exercise or in battle—your life is forfeit. But that does not mean you should feign weakness. You shall be my opponent. I expect you to fight with everything you can muster. I fear a furtive attack from enemies of my family, not you. Do you understand?"

"It is as I would have expected. I do not think you will be disappointed, Young Master."

"And it will please me if you drop the 'young' from my address. You are only months older than I."

I could see the surprise in his face. He might be only a few months older, but his experiences had vastly exceeded my own—he had been a revered warrior for several years, living off the land and plunder, taking what and whom he wanted. He was obviously the more mature and experienced of the two of us. But, he was resigned to please me, although I expected that within months, if not weeks, he would begin to chafe under my demands and control. But, I will detect his recalcitrance at it occurs and block it. Of that I am sure. His apparent boast did not displease me, but by then he would have fully accepted my commands and control. I had seen others with sycophantic, obsequious or effeminate personal slaves. They disgusted me. I wanted someone with equal or greater physical prowess, intellect, and conversational facility. I wanted a reliable body-guard and worthy opponent in practice.

Ultimately, my slave would be my most valuable assistant—and friend. I can think of nothing more exciting than fucking and subduing a powerful alpha male. And, if I am fortunate and the gods so ordain, he will be devoted to me as a lover. After seven years and even as a free man, I was convinced, he would plead to remain with me. But of course my expectations needed to be tempered by actual events—we shall see.

I could be patient. And I was already looking forward to training this man to respect me and my will in all things. My use of his body was already very satisfactory.

A servant had delivered a tray of bread and fruit and a tea made from local fruits and leaves, my regular.

When we finished, I handed him a soft sueded leather loin cloth, bearing our family's crest. It was smaller and tighter than the linen he had worn yesterday, and would hug his loins (and his phallus) more tightly, completely exposing his thighs and hiding little of his size. But it was sturdier for wear in the city. And of course I was advertising my possession to the city. Others might have breastplates and sashes; I had a slave with extraordinary presence and a huge phallus. "From this time, your covering will be this outside this house, but the white linen in the house—and of course nothing while you are in this apartment. Later in the autumn when it chills, I shall permit you a short tunic and a woolen shroud. Swords and lances, pads and guards will be ready for us at the Armory. But, I doubt they will have archery equipment," I added with a sly smile.

He of course responded in kind. "Thank you, Master."

We left my apartment, Joshua walking a pace or two behind me. I greeted and spoke briefly with Pater in the atrium, who knew already my responsibilities for that day. "I am pleased that your first day with this young man seems to be agreeing with you. I wish you well in the trials today. I will expect you to dine with family late this afternoon for the family meal. I presume your servant will have had sufficient breeding or instruction by then to dine in public without embarrassing you. Good day, Tavi. May the gods walk with you." Pointedly, Pater scrutinized every aspect of Joshua's body, obviously pleased, but said nothing more.

He gazed at our backs as we moved to the portal gate. Then he remarked, "He has a strange gait. Surely that is not the result of only one night's conditioning? Perhaps you are more powerful, my son, than even I had imagined." He laughed. And Joshua darkened in embarrassment, but remained silent.

"No, he had been a Parthian horseman. He has spent so many hours mounted that his thighs have spread. It has changed his gait—I think forever. But we'll see."

Pater laughed, and apparently to continue the joke and keep the upper hand, "Well, it does make some things easier," and turned back to his papyri. He certainly knew the score. He knew I was bedding Joshua, probably often and hard. So, he would tease me, no us, for some time. I think he was perhaps a bit envious of my "virility"—and my new slave.

The ways were deserted, except for a few early cart deliveries of food until we neared the Armory—where numerous chariots were dropping young men at the gate. Typically, there would be about a dozen of us, many now with personal slaves. Many stared at Joshua—he was tall, fierce and definitely foreign. They wondered whether I would take him on in practice combat or continue with my instructors.

"This is my new personal servant, Joshua, formerly a Parthian warrior, brought down by the Roman guard. Today I will see whether he is worthy opponent."

We walked into the preparatory room and stripped. One of the Armory slaves oiled our bodies. Then since we would be starting with sword wielding exercises, he wrapped pads around our upper arms and flanks. Then he handed us each a T-shaped linen garment. Joshua looked at me, puzzled. "Let me show you. First, you wrap the ends of the tee around your loins and knot it in the front. Then you take the tail, pull it hard into your cleft and up in front over your genitals. Take the pads and place them over your genitals. Then use the tail to anchor them to your gut. Tie it again at the waist. Be sure the knots are secure. That will be your protection during the sword practice." He followed, fumbled and tried again. Finally, we were both "dressed"—and our genitals swelled heavily before us. "In actual battle, we also wear a metal cage over the pads for additional security." (In addition to protection, the cod piece exaggerated our endowments—a necessity in hand to hand combat. We needed to intimidate before we engaged.) Then we grabbed the dull heavy swords and the small wooden arm shields that were for practice and moved to the arena. The swords would bruise and sting, but rarely would they wound or cut.

"Look over there. Those men are addressing each other before they begin. Note the courtesy. We will copy that in a minute."

Joshua seemed very pleased to be ready for combat. It had been, after all, his life. And it had been months since he had held a weapon—even a blunted one.

We stepped into an open space and ceremoniously addressed each other. He had observed well and learned quickly An instructor joined us and called the beginning. Immediately, I began the long-practiced strokes. Joshua defended the first few quite eassily, but seemed unwilling or unable to go on the offensive. It was like a choreographed dance of a master and a slave—much too easy to please the military instructors. We moved into a clinch and I whispered, "If you don't fight, the instructor will cause you to sit and watch, and he will take over your place. Don't fear injuring me. I'm really quite good at this."

We backed off and we parried again. I attacked, and again he defended with dexterous positioning. Then, he attacked—in a way that I had not before seen. It was not a classic move. Although surprised, I guarded well. Back and forth we moved, striking, blocking, and occasionally strafing a shoulder or an upper arm. This continued for what seemed like a long time. Finally, the instructor gave the ending signal. We dropped our swords to our sides and bowed to each other, as I heard the instructor say to another, "This slave has some new moves that we must note and include in the practice. Tavi has found a worthy opponent." Joshua started to smile, but quickly turned his face blank. Two more rounds ended with similar stalemates. Both were witnessed by several instructors who noted the foreign moves carefully, and my responses. Then it was time for a break. We were sweaty and bruised.

So it was back to the prep room. The attendants removed our pads, and as we stretched on the pallets, they oiled us again and massaged our swollen arm muscles while eyeing wistfully other swollen parts of our bodies.

Next it was the wrestling arena. This part of the training was open to free citizens and the viewing stands were quite crowded that morning. Rome had attempted to provide entertainment for the populace—and stadiums for viewing wrestling were one such gesture. Typically a dozen or more choice young Roman male specimens would grapple nude with "barbarian" opponents. Erections were inevitable. Coupling was often the climax, with the victor taking his conquest. Today there would be two sets of three simultaneous matches—three rounds each of about three minutes each, unless there was a take-down or surrender. We were in the first group. I quickly told Joshua that there were no rules—other than the opening stances. No holds were barred. But no one was to be injured. If one felt in danger of injury it was necessary to tap out voluntarily. There was no shame in avoiding injury. In fact obstinate young men were punished for risking injury, or actually suffering injury. This was sport and entertainment, not war.

In the first match, he started on all fours beneath me in the classic Greco-Roman starting position. I leaned my chest hard into his back and pushed my phallus into his cleft, as my right arm held his gut close, then slipped down as my fingers cupped his balls. His back rose into my chest. His phallus began to swell. He whispered, "Master, is that legal?"

"I said anything goes—particularly when the opponent is my personal slave. No one else will touch you there. The bronze around your throat marks you as mine."

The gong sounded and exertions began in earnest in the three circular rings. Joshua tried to throw me off, but I held fast, then suddenly faded and, when he moved up, I flipped him and pounced. Our chests met. I rose to a squat to capture his head between my thighs by pressing on his upper arms and succeeded, placing my cock firmly on his lips. Then I reached down behind me and grasped his genitals firmly and began to squeeze. He was clearly in pain, but pride took over. He didn't tap. Instead, he bucked hard and threw me off. Then he pounced, trapping one arm behind my back. He moved above me and started to execute a pin maneuver. But he was unpracticed and slow. I rolled, escaped, aided by the oils, and we both stood, circling and facing. Now we were both erect.

The audience was glued to our spot in the arena and was cheering wildly. He charged immediately, head down. I stepped aside, tripped him and fell on his back, sitting on his upper thighs as I held him to the ground. My phallus lengthened again as it nestled in his smooth cleft. The audience noticed and began to cheer. They wanted me to take him right there. My chest dropped to his back and I reached around to begin a choke. But he tapped out. The crowd boo-ed, deprived of the ultimate victory—the fuck of a barbarian. I was a favorite, and I had won the first round.

The next two matches were very similar. He was strong, but I was quick, oiled, and I had been trained in man-to-man wrestling. I won all three matches—although it was clear by the end that he was learning quickly and would be a dangerous equal soon. His military training had not included hand to hand combat or wrestling—he had been cavalry. He was also losing his fear of defeating his Master.

With the third victory and to the roar of the crowd, I forced my phallus into his mouth to moisten it. Then I flipped him, entered in one thrust, pumped him hard, and filled him with my seed. Then, I rose, still monstrously erect and dripping, raised my arms in victory and bowed to the crowd, to their loud applause. I noticed he darkened in embarrassment. I had taken him publicly and roughly—a terrible blow to his ego.

It was time for the baths (not the elaborate baths I was accustomed to, but a quick plunge to remove the oils). We were both exhausted—and I was very pleased to have a slave who was going to become a worthy opponent. After refreshment, we were forced to spend a few hours in instruction—new formations, geography and history lessons—focusing on great battles, and mathematics—focusing on trajectories (for catapults).

Then it was home. The midday meal would be served in the atrium at 3 p.m.—the largest meal of the day. This was to be Joshua's command performance.

On the way home, I reminded him he was only to speak when asked a direct question. He was to address Pater as Lordship, my mother as Revered Mater, and others as Sir or Lady. He was to watch me eat and follow—always taking less, and never the last morsel on the plate or tray. He was not to touch the wine. And he was never to look directly into the eyes of any member of the household when responding. "Yes, I've got it Master. I understand."

"If you screw up, it reflects on me—and I will punish you or Pater will. You must always be alert and careful. If you have any doubt, look to me. If I point to my phallus, stop immediately what you are doing and sit back on your haunches in silence. Food and drink are less important to you this afternoon than pleasing Pater."

Lunch took place without incident. It included grilled goat and lamb, vegetables, fruits, bread, and of course the famed Scytho Wine. The family was very interested in Joshua's life and asked many questions. He answered all politely and with short responses. Until I cut in and remarked to Pater that the Armory instructors were quite interested in several swordsman techniques that Joshua had used. I did tell them he was an extraordinary archer, but they didn't seem interested. Perhaps in the future.