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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Golden Emperor, Silver Stallion, Moonlight Mare
Translated very loosely from the original Latin text
***
Translator's note: Caligula's odd political promotions
are a matter for historical fact. And Roman horses were
small, rarely over 13 hands high. (F/beast, nc, bd,
historical)
***
Cast of main characters:
Caligula: Emperor. Mad, but definitely not dull.
Helena Fundius: widowed noblewoman of Imperial
ambitions.
Pertinax: overseer of Helena Fundius's estates.
Naissa: slavegirl, recently purchased.
Lenia: older slavewoman, initiate of Demeter.
Martio Imperus: newly made Consul of Rome.
The Goddess Demeter. Off on Olympia, but still in
touch.
***
The banquet was reaching its end, in the splendid
Imperial palace high on the Palatine Hill overlooking
the sprawling mass that was Rome. Splendour shone
everywhere, from the white brimming marble of the
pillars to the costly rugs, loot of empire, that were
scattered underfoot to be trampled and ground underfoot
by the jewelled sandals of the guests.
Helena Fundius looked across the wild scene over a
brimming goblet of Thyrnian wine, the rich vintage
mostly ignored as her narrow-slitted gaze swept the
room. Those deep-set, mascara'd eyes missed nothing.
From the hurrying slaves and servants in their plain
white tunics, to the sprawling piles of nobles engaged
in swilling princely wines and enjoying whatever
pleasures came to mind. With a squeal, a slave would be
pulled into the heaving mass of bodies, male or female,
to be used as the decadent court desired.
She smiled. Emperor Caligula did know how to throw a
good party. Recalling her own impoverished estate on
the Esquiline Hill to the East, she decided to enjoy
herself tonight. There wasn't much future for a widow
with her past, without prospects.
Reclining languidly in the couch, Helena looked the
very image of a Roman matron. Round of hip, plump but
pleasing, her hair piled in the latest coiffure -
appearances were so important, now she had so little
else left. A little past forty, she had gone through
two husbands before her thirtieth year - marrying
penniless young officers, who she had shrewdly chosen
as likely to get ahead. She had chosen well: both
Severus and Cornix had had the good luck to come back
laden not with promotions but good, hard loot - and the
bad luck to not come home at all, after both being sent
to the wars in the endless forests of Germania.
There was a stir from the raised dais. Caligula the
Golden was rising to his feet, a goblet in hand. He
waved away the trio of senators who had been whispering
their latest betrayals to him, and gestured for
silence.
"Subjects, countrymen," he gazed at the enthralled
crowd, those who were on top turning to look
interested. "As you may know, the Senate has been
having a few - differences of opinion, with some of
my... more innovative proposals." He stared down at
them, eyes glazed.
Helena shivered. It was rumoured that the Emperor was
not-so- slightly insane, and it was definitely insane
to argue with him. Only Senators and Consuls were safe
from being thrown into the arena at his whim - for
those, he needed a well forged excuse. With just a few
more seats in the senate, though, he could set about
changing any law he pleased.
"So..." the boyish face took on a hellish glee, blonde
hair damp with sweat in the humid August air. "I have
decided to make a new consul, and have the backing of
my Divine Will to do it. Welcome one who has supported
me faithfully for three long years - Consul of Rome,
Martio Imperus!"
There was an automatic spattering of applause. And then
it stopped, every eye glued to the parting curtains as
the newly created noble entered the room. Nobody had
recognised the name - but they all recognised the face.
Martio was a pure-bred roman, of the type that had
served the Empire for centuries; he had even been born
of a long and proud line. Muscles rippled under his
skin; the hair was much the same yellow-gold as the
Emperor who he had indeed supported, in the most direct
way possible.
Nice tail, Helena thought to herself as she raised a
fascinated eyebrow. Fourteen hands high, hooves shining
with gilt shoes, and hung like a horse. Which was
hardly surprising.
***
"And all of Rome's talking of nothing else!" Naissa
paused in her labour of sweeping the steps of the
Fundus mansion. It was an eternal task: her mistress
should have had a dozen extra slaves to work the house.
"Whatever folk think about our Emperor, he's not
stupid. Votes that aren't against him, count as for."
Naissa straightened up. Nineteen years old, she was
thin and hard-muscled by a lifetime of work and little
thanks. But then, her family had been Carthaginians,
one of the thousands brought to Rome two generations
earlier. She brushed the dust off her thin tunic, the
coarse white linen hiding her small breasts, unbound
beneath the robe.
Lenia, the cook, cast a wary eye towards the fountain
garden. "Best keep working: the Mistress is in a bad
mood today. Didn't get back till dawn, up at the
palace. You know what she's like at the best of times.
Naissa shivered. She had been the last purchase Milady
Fundius had made, before the unfortunate financial deal
in Samartian wares had forced the estate to the edge of
financial ruin. She had been expected to share her
mistress's bed as and when required - and despite
having no option in the matter, she had been unable to
disguise her revulsion as she dutifully lapped at the
thick, crinkly labia. Helena had eventually cursed her
roundly, thrown her out of bed, and issued dark threats
about selling her to a brothel. The only thing stopping
her ending up on the block again, she knew, was that
the estate could ill afford to replace her.
Just at that moment, a shadow fell across the two busy
workers. Naissa looked up, and flinched. The Mistress
must have come round the side way, to sneak up on them
so silently.
But Helena Fundius was smiling, a thin and triumphal
smile. For a second she looked down at Naissa, and then
cupped the girl's chin in her hand.
"Why, Naissa," she purred. "I'll have to get you some
new robes. We're having a wedding next week - and
you're going to belong to a Consul's wife."
***
Pertinax, overseer of the estate, scratched his head in
bafflement. The last few days had been one frantic
rush, getting the estate tidied and partly rebuilt.
Most of the work he had wanted to get done for years;
now there was money in plenty to carry it out. But it
was the modifications to the stable block that he could
only stare at in amazement.
"Well, it looks like one'o them practice rings, like
gladiators use," he commented as he looked down on the
refurbished room. The old stable partitions had been
torn out and the floor relaid with white Etruscan
tiles: the room was fresh-smelling with the freshly cut
cedarwood of its furniture.
In the centre of the room, was a raised platform four
paces square, waist-high and solidly built. Yet it was
padded with fleeces, and covered with finely cured
oiled skins, stitched so cunningly that their surface
was waterproof. In the rest of the room was a haynet, a
trough and a drain at one side, oddly incongruous.
Oversized doors led to the cobbled patio outside.
One of the workmen grinned. "I won't tell ya, then.
We're special artisans, right? You wants a secret
trapdoor building, you wants a tunnel digging - no
questions, we'll do it." He eyed the low, solid
structure. "This ain't the first we've built. It's for
them with, like, special tastes. More than a poor man
can run to."
Pertinax shrugged. The ways of nobility never ceased to
amaze him. But then he turned, and sighed as his stylus
moved to cross off one more item from the list of jobs
to be done. He hadn't seen who his mistress was
marrying - he only hoped the consul was as good a man
as his predecessors.
***
"It isn't every day you see a wedding like THIS one."
Lenia commented, as the sounds of the triumphal
procession faded, heading for the Temple of Venus in
its cherry grove by the Appian Aqueduct. That night,
they would have - on parchment, anyway - a new head of
the household.
Alaxus the ostler nodded. His newly furbished estates
had been gone over with a fine curry-comb the day
before by three fussy eunuchs of the Palace domestic
staff, their high-pitched voices loud with indignant
complaints at the slightest flaw. "I'll wager we're in
for a fine time of it. You know what the Emperor's like
- once he gets an idea into his head, then that's the
way things are going to be." He paused. "I don't think
there's anything in the Laws that says you CAN'T have a
horse for a husband - just that no priest in their
right mind is going to allow it."
Lenia winced, even as she kissed him. "They do say the
Emperor's insane - but he's pretty shrewd, whatever.
Folk who try argueing with him, though - that's real
insanity for you." A speculative look came into her
eyes. "I wonder what the, er, domestic arrangements are
going to be like. Do we bring Martio his bran mash on a
silver platter, or what?"
Alaxus grinned. "The Emperor's going to be checking, I
know that." He gestured at the stable boudoir, where
workmen were hanging up laurel wreathes. "If you look
in the alcove behind the second pillar, you'll see a
spy-hole; I saw the workmen building it. They're from
the Palace, and I think they've done that sort of work
before."
There was a silence. And then Lenia's stout face split
in an unladylike grin. "You know, before I was... sold,
my family ran a stud farm, down on the coast near
Ostia? I'm an initiate of Demeter, Goddess of horses. I
bet there's a few things I could tell the Mistress -
but slaves speak when they're spoken to. She'll find
out."
***
Six hours later, the wedding feast was drawing to an
end. Outside the freshly plastered walls of the estate,
a convoy of litter-bearers limbered up in preparation
to carry their replete guests back to the Palatine
Hill.
Inside, Helena Fundius stood by the flank of her new
husband, trying to suppress the gloating she felt.
Matrons and landowners daughters, the pick of her
neighbours, were staring at her in mixed envy and
loathing. After years of ignoring her, they now found
themselves living next to a Consul's wife, one of the
most favoured positions in Rome. And one whose position
at the Palace had led to him acquiring various skills -
he was at least house-trained.
"Why, dear," Helena bent to whisper to Scylla, her
dearest rival of ten years' standing. "I'm SO glad you
could dress for the occasion. I've heard your husband
keeps you dreadfully short of money. And he beats you,
I've heard." She stroked the flank of Martio, feeling
the powerful muscles hard beneath the fur. "I'm sure
Martio won't. Why, just think of it. The estates and
revenues to manage, and still never a cross word will
pass between us."
Scylla's face turned an interesting colour beneath her
fashionable lead oxide powder. "At least I can bear MY
husband children," she snapped. And instantly regretted
it.
Helena regarded her with an amused smile. After six
years, she knew, her neighbour was childless. The
estate did ring to the sound of young voices, but as a
result of all the young Nubian girls who Scylla's
husband spent his money buying and his seed in
impregnating.
"Oh..." she gave a dismissive wave of an elegantly
manicured hand. "If the legendary Parsiphae conceived
the Minotaur with a bull, I'm sure it'll be possible.
At any rate -" she ran her other hand down the
stallion's flank "I intend to have fun trying."
***
Night fell, and the party ended. Naissa stood behind
her mistress at her toilette, untying the tight and
complex hairstyle. Helena was dressed in a simple robe,
the bridal wreath cast negligently in one corner.
"Err... Mistress?" Naissa asked shyly. "Will you be -
requiring me tonight? I believe your... err, husband
awaits." She had seen Alaxus leading the stallion into
the strangely furnished room earlier on, having fed him
a generous helping of oats and beans.
Helena turned and looked at her strangely. "Oh, yes. I
haven't informed you of your new duties, have I?
Naturally, my new... status, will bring new
responsibilities. But we shall discuss this with my..."
she gave a delicious shiver "...husband. Carry that
tray."
Naissa picked up the silver tray, three pots of
slippery unguents and a large soft sponge. At an
impatient gesture, she also picked up the wreath of
flowers from the corner, and followed her mistress
through the incense-scented tiled corridors to the
house door of the bridal chamber.
Inside the room, Alaxus was holding Martio's leather
bridle, talking soothingly to the horse, who looked
nervous in his new surroundings. As he saw the two
women enter he slipped the bridle and retreated through
the patio doors, bowing. The door slid shut, and there
was an unexpected click as a lock closed tight. White
walls shone in the even glow of a dozen expensive wax
tapers, sheltered from the draught in alcoves around
the room.
Helena removed her robe and stood naked, her hands
balled as fists on her well-padded hips. Her hair was
loose: she tossed it back, as she looked around
triumphantly.
"Mistress?" Naissa asked hesitantly. But Helena was
busy elsewhere. She had removed all her rings: dipping
a hand in one of the pots of oil, she lightly rubbed
the black soft skin of the horse's muzzle, massaging it
till it shone. Martio snorted gently, and licked her
hand. The smell of sweet almonds was in the air.
Keeping her hand on the gently heaving flank, Helena
walked round to the rump, and twitched the tail aside.
"Oh, Naissa," she called, softly and yet with a hidden
edge to her voice "there's something here I need a hand
with."
Relieved that her mistress seemed occupied, Naissa
trotted round, putting the tray down carefully.
"Now. Isn't this... interesting?" Helena grabbed
Naissa's wrist, and pulled her closer. "Just think
about that. Imagine if you were a mare."
Naissa's hand was pushed into contact with the smooth
black skin of Martio's scrotum: the horse gave a shiver
at the touch of flesh. Casting a fearful glance at
Helena, Naissa explored. Loose in the swollen sack,
each testicle was an elongated sphere like a slightly
squashed apple; she felt them moving between her
fingers. She traced the slight roughness inside,
feeling the finger-thick spermatic cord running up to
vanish in the uncharted interior of the powerful equine
body.
"Here." Helena thrust forward the jar of almond oil.
Tremblingly, Naissa dipped her fingers in the cool
slipperiness, and began to massage the alien skin.
Someone, she noted, had already cleaned Martio's rump:
he was as clean and sweet-smelling as fresh-dried hay.
Soon the huge testicles were glistening like polished
anthracite, and Naissa looked round at her mistress for
guidance.
"Kneel. Forwards, between his legs," Helena's voice was
thick with urgency. "I want everything clean and
ready."
Obediently, Naissa got to her knees, and began to rub
the furry sheath, hanging above her head like a
barbarian's furred sleeve. This was Fascinating, she
thought - I'm actually going to see this go up inside
my mistress. Dipping her fingers again, she went to
work on the fleshy lips to the scabbard. An oil-slick
finger probed deep, working between the stretchy
sidewall and the solid, rubbery shaft that was only a
hand's breadth away from her face.
Closing her eyes against the tickling fringe of belly
fur, she concentrated on her touch alone. Yes - the
shaft was coming alive in her hands, thickening and
pulsing into life. She shivered at the thought of where
it was going: remembering the well-trodden Mount of
Venus of her mistress. The thought appealed to her.
Just at that moment, trembling hands grabbed the
shoulders of her tunic, yanking it off above her head
in one swift motion. Helena thrust her backwards and
she fell, landing on the softly padded bridal bed with
legs flailing.
"I didn't say you could get up." Helena's voice was
flat and hard: Naissa froze like a rabbit at the sight
of a hawk. She draped the bridal wreath around Naissa's
goose-bumped neck, and stroked Martio's glistening
muzzle with a cold affection.
Helena looked down at the girl, legs still spread wide,
her sparse bush slightly split pink-lipped, the perfect
height for a mare's vulva on the specially fitted bed.
"Of course, if you'd have enjoyed MY generous offers,"
she mused, "you wouldn't have to do this. But," she
gave a deep mock sigh, "it seems you prefer a male. So
be it. That's what slaves are for - to do the tasks too
demeaning for their betters."
"He'll... he'll kill me!" Naissa's eyes were wide in
panic. She could see a great trumpet-like bud of
mottled pink and brown beginning to slip out into the
open: shiveringly the impression of a giant blind leech
came to mind. Her mistress looked at her coldly.
"If necessary. But then, I can afford to replace you
now. And I can't possibly have the Emperor thinking his
friend and supporter is... unhappy, with my household."
Her fingers wrapped around the oil- glistening length,
urgently rubbing it. "Now, husband dear, in we go."
But as Naissa watched, speechless, the older woman's
touch seemed to shrivel the bud back into its sheath.
Martio turned to look questioningly, his ears laid
back: shaking his hide, he stepped away from the
enraged noblewoman and disinterestedly began nosing at
the haynet on the wall.
"Little witch!" Helena hissed at Naissa "you'll pay for
this!"
***
The evening went distinctly downhill at that point.
"Oh, you poor girl," Lenia rubbed healing balm into
Naissa's raw flesh the next morning. "She's never been
THIS bad before."
Naissa's eyes were downcast. "I'll recover. But..." her
eyes found her friend's; they were wide and helpless
"she says she's going to get a bucket of horse piss
from a ripe mare, bathe me in it and tie me down... and
if Martio won't do it, she'll find a stallion that
WILL." She winced as Lenia massaged a tender bruise.
"And poor Martio. She didn't dare beat him, of course -
but she locked him into a mule- stall all night,
there's not room to turn round, and nothing to drink."
"Alaxus let him out and fed him, don't worry." Lenia
said consolingly. Her gaze was curious. "but - you were
the one got whipped, and still you're concerned about
him?"
Naissa nodded. "He can't help it. He's a Regal horse if
ever there was one - he smells so nice, and he's so...
stallion." She swallowed, her mouth dry. "If I was a
mare, I'd like him. Only, I'm not."
Lenia carried on rubbing bruises and weals dilligently,
but her eyes were distant. "Hold that thought," she
said quietly "we may be slaves to some, but from some
points of view... all mortals look the same."
***
That night, Helena departed to look over her recently
acquired estates that had come with her husband's
position, promising to return in three days with "a
little something - or a herd of them" for Naissa. She
cast Martio in his stable a possessive glance as her
bearers picked her litter up, and she departed in high
spirits.
The moon rose full over the crowded seven hills of
Rome. Lenia had the freedom of the city as cook and
supplies buyer: she had paid a visit to a sympathetic
Priestess her family had known in happier days.
Slaves were not allowed personal possessions in the
Fundius household. So it was in borrowed robes that
Lenia stood in the garden, the regalia of the Goddess
Demeter on her head, and performed a marriage
thousandsfold more sacred than the one of the day
before.
Naissa and Martio were there before her in the garden,
white skin and silver-gold fur blending as one in the
moonlight. Martio seemed glad to be outdoors: instead
of wandering off to graze he stood attentively,
occasionally nickering slightly. Naissa felt her body
charged with a tense expectation as she stood there,
her arm around his neck, fingers entwined in the
splendour of his mane. No costly orchids were her
bridal wreath: in her hair was a simple band of green
and white, sweet clover picked fresh and living beneath
the moon's approving sight.
Lenia raised her arms to the Heavens, and began to
chant. "Oh wise Demeter, mother and guardian Whose feet
trod the green in the first of times Before the hard
stones of Man for our feet, Before the cruel bits of
Man for our mouths Hear us.
"Oh mother, mare, guide of hooves and souls Protector
of all who seek your gifts, your wisdoms Bless now
these two who stand before you, mate and mate Hearts
freely choosing, let flesh and souls be one Choosing,
giving, feeling, sharing Hear us."
There was a silence, in which the constant background
hum of Rome seemed to fade into infinite distance. And
then it happened. The narrow garden was filled with a
bright, clean scent, a wind bourne surely from Olympian
pastures into the hot Roman evening, that washed over
all who stood there, leaving them feeling new-born as
Venus rising from the waves.
Naissa looked down, half expecting to see her feet
turning into hooves. They did not - but a deeper, more
subtle change spread through her body. It began as a
golden glow, a dawning of pleasure spreading from her
loins throughout her whole body, as if she was clay
being squeezed in the grasp of a divine potter. She
turned to Martio - and stopped.
Martio had not changed, outwardly at least. But he had
- she could smell a bewitching scent that she seemed to
half-remember from some infinitely distant memory. The
scent was raw, primal - and it fitted into a newly
awakened part of her soul like a key in a brand new
lock.
The stallion whickered, and the key turned. His smooth
black muzzle nuzzled at her small breasts, and pressed
lower, till it pressed firm at the pit of her stomach.
"Oh, dear. Sorry." Naissa exclaimed in shock. Her
bladder emptied itself involuntarily, splashing onto
the thirsty grass. Martio snorted, and his muzzle
seemed to turn inside-out, the black lips riding up to
show his sharp, even white teeth. A tongue explored the
wetness of her thighs.
"No need to worry," Lenia smiled, relief on her face.
"That always happens. It's done, now. He's yours." She
took off her regalia, and quietly left them there,
human mare and royal stallion.
For a few minutes, Naissa could only hug the thick
neck, feeling the strong swell of the crested muscles
in her arms. Then, shyly, she disengaged and stood
staring at her new mate.
Her new mate. The enormity of what had happened was
slow to sink in. She turned, to stare into those great
brown eyes, reading things that she had never seen
before.
She leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
"I want you."
***
In the bridal chamber, they made love. Naissa sat on
the edge of the bed, her legs dangling while Martio's
tongue explored her parted vulva. She had examined
herself, wondering what she would find. Nothing seemed
to have greatly changed: she was as turned on as she
had ever been, though how much use that would be to a
full stallion, she hardly knew. Would the Goddess have
shrunk him down to fit, she wondered? Looking down at
her own flat, hard-muscled stomach, she envisaged the
space he would take up, thrust up to the sheath in her
flesh, huge black testicles bumping at her loins. It
wasn't going to physically fit, not a quarter of it.
But then she felt that warm glow again. This is a
Goddess we're talking about, she told herself. If the
Emperor can make things happen, a Goddess can, without
anybody arguing. Turning over to present her rump, she
displayed herself for Martio's approval.
Martio approved. The trumpet-shaped bulb slipped pinkly
out of its sheath, an armslength of corrugated flesh
like a rolled-up flag following it. Turning round,
Naissa shivered in helpless delight as she saw her
husband's penis swing like a fleshy pendulum, then
stiffen and point forward towards the bipedal mare
beneath him.
With a lunge, Martio climbed halfway onto the bed, the
specially designed structure easily taking his weight
as his fore hooves pressed the padding flat on each
side of Naissa's head. He dropped to his bony knees,
and they were avidly grasped by his mate, who held on
tightly.
Naissa felt the rubbery organ probing her soaked
thighs, still feeling like a big man's fist. But then
she dismissed all worries, as Martio lowered his head
to snort tenderly in her face, sweet hay- scented
breath filling her lungs. She wriggled, spreading the
cheeks of her human rump a little wider.....
By the grace of the Goddess Demeter, the stallion
slowly covered his chosen mate. Her love-lips stretched
wide - unbelievably wide - as the mottled flesh sank
into her pale whiteness, filling her completely. And
yet further it probed, defying mundane biology, until
the bristling hairs of the sheath were rasping at the
tight-spread labia, tickling her pearl of joy as he
gently began to rock back and forwards.
This is all a dream, Naissa's shocked brain told her.
This can't be happening... but then the wash of
sensation flooded over her, and all she could do was to
hang on, eyes clenched shut and concentrating on what
was in her vagina as a drowning man concentrates on the
lifegiving rope grasped in his hands.
Cautiously, but then with more confidence as squeals of
pleasure and not pain spilled out of his mate, Martio
began to rock to and fro. The mare was tighter than
even the unbroken onagers he had been put to cover for
the Emperor's amusement - yet somehow she seemed
infinitely deep, like the roundest-bellied mare ever
foaled. For several minutes he rocked, lengthening his
strokes as resistance slackened, and the wonderful
feeling built up inside his testicles, pumping against
the soft hairless rump....
"Oh, Goddess..." Naissa cried aloud in ecstasy. She
felt the head of the stallion's pizzle beginning to
expand, in preparation to trap the child inside her.
Now Martio was thrusting in and out a hands' length
with every stroke, pleasure-giving bumps and ridges
satisfying her as no human male could possibly do: the
stallion began to quiver...
A tearing, screaming neigh burst out of Martio's mouth,
as he felt pleasure explode in his loins. Sharp teeth
lunged down instinctively and bit hard into the rolled
towel that was wrapped tight round the fragile human
neck. His splendid glory of a tail flagged up and down,
each spasm a fresh burst of ecstasy as hot sperm jetted
into the she-mare below him.
Naissa surrendered herself utterly. Her lover was where
she wanted him: thrust to the hilt, her own pleasure
suddenly boiling and spilling like an unwatched pot.
She felt her womb open to swallow hot beast-sperm
eagerly, pulse after thick pulse pumping into her
innermost depths. Nine surges she counted, and then she
could do nothing but lie there, feeling the receding
tide of pleasure swimming in her glutted body.
For several minutes Martio stayed inside her, before
struggling to his hooves, and gently pulling his
softening member out of the impregnated mare. He
nickered softly to her, and was rewarded with a drowsy
murmur.
Naissa rolled over and looked at him, eyes wide and
deep with love. She patted the padded bedding next to
her and the stallion lay down, folding his legs
carefully beneath him.
She lay propped on one elbow, close to his head so that
she could trade satisfied, snorting breaths. Somehow,
she seemed to know what was expected of her - this felt
Right, now, as if a deeper layer of knowledge had been
revealed, peeled away by the moonlight outside.
Suddenly, there came a clapping from outside, and the
door slid open. Emperor Caligula stood there not four
paces away, six big Praetorian guards in armour looming
impassively behind him. A quizzical smile was on his
face.
"Majesty, I..." Naissa looked across in horror. Martio
scrambled to all fours and stood by her side, head down
and ears back, prepared to defend his mate.
But the Emperor smiled. "If I hadn't wanted to watch, I
wouldn't have arranged a spy-hole. Though it wasn't you
I was expecting." He gestured to one corner of the
room. Then he extended a regal hand.
Wide-eyed, Naissa accepted it. She was acutely
conscious of her position; only a towel round her neck,
and her thighs awash with thick, slippery semen that
trickled down her legs and pooled on the floor as she
walked.
Caligula, Emperor and Deity, cocked an eyebrow. "Well,
it seems that even I can make a mistake. " The
Praetorians looked at each other worriedly: this was
the sort of information folk tended not to live to
repeat around here. "My dear consul seems to have
chosen a wife more to his liking - therefore, I
approve. The records will be changed to match."
"Your... Ma-majesty.." Naissa stammered. "Bu. .. I'm a
slave. I CAN'T be wife to a Consul."
"Do you love him?" Came the blunt question. There could
be no second thoughts on this one.
Naissa wrapped her arm around the great stallion's
neck, and hugged him. "I do."
"Then... your slave status is another thing we can
alter. In retrospect." There was a pause, as the
Emperor looked them up and down. "I may have my
enemies. But one thing I DO appreciate, is how to
reward my friends." With that he swept out, the
Praetorians leaving without a second's glance back. In
their job, they saw far stranger things every day.
***
The dawn came, and Naissa made love to her husband
again, this time with him lying on his side on the
ample leather bed. This was her first time as a free
woman: there was no urgency, just a happy, gentle
sharing of pleasures. When it was done, she wept tears
of happiness into his mane, as her loins spilled pearls
of happiness into his matted belly-fur. She had awoken
in the darkness hours before, with the heavy fullness
of her lover's seed active in her womb. She silently
gave thanks to Demeter, as she pressed close to the
huge barrel of the equine chest - and wondered if the
Goddess would do one more thing for her. She had heard
tales of centaurs - or however it turned out, man-foal,
beast-foal or whatever, she would welcome what child he
gave her.
"I suppose it's not all fun being a Consul's wife," she
mused, running a comb through his beautiful mane a
little later. "There's the status, and the money to
look after - good thing Helena" (she smiled at using
her ex-mistress's first name) "put me in charge of the
accounts. I know how to save, and what to save."
A smile came to her face, as she decided whether or not
to ring for oatmeal porridge for two. "But one thing
I'll splash out on," she decided "If any Temple to
Demeter needs my help - they've got it!"
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 57