Atilla

Pax Romana

Young Marcus Aurelius Marcellus Caesar wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. It was literally rolling down his forehead and his back in rivulets. By the gods, it is hot, he thought, but, nonetheless, I have to offer gifts to the goddess Fortuna for making me the luckiest boy in the empire. And he did consider himself fortunate. To be born into Caesar's lineage, guaranteeing the best in education and opportunity that Imperial Rome has to offer. Then, to be asked by his father, Marius Gaius Augustus Caesar, Elected Tribune of the Plebes in command of the Imperial Guard, to accompany him on an important mission for the emperor in ancient Greece was beyond belief. Admittedly, his mother was less than excited but eventually acquiesced as was expected of a dutiful Roman wife. This was the education he wanted and needed if he was to be a leader of Rome!

"Is it much further, Father?" he asked.

Marius looked over at his 13-year-old son and chuckled while responding, "Not much longer, my son."

They had left Athens before sunrise and were headed for the Akrocorinth, the fortress which guarded the approach to the Peloponnesus. For hours they traveled the dirt road paralleling the blue Aegean Sea, the dust settling on their sweaty bodies, the long ride of constant bouncing in the saddle making their muscles ache. Marcus had really enjoyed his time in Greece; while there were many similarities between Rome and Greece – the arid landscape dotted with olive trees and flocks of sheep surrounded by crystal clear blue-green water; their peoples both olive skinned; the food they ate; even the gods they worshipped (although the Romans had changed the names) – there was a big difference emotionally.

The Romans, while more hotheaded and with a better mind for organization, were much more distant in their human relationships. Marcus noted how much more affectionate the Greek men were to each other and to boys and how the boys acted towards each other. In was rare in Rome to see public affection displayed, even amongst family members, but Greece was full of men walking along the pathways hand-in-hand with a boy or with their arms around each other's waists.

In Rome, nudity is frowned upon; even the statues are clothed! But in Greece, boys are always naked until age nine or so and, even then, only a spare chiton was worn, which the boys seemed to shed at any opportunity. Marcus had been fascinated with this boyish nudity from the outset. Sure, he had swum naked with his chums in the Tiber and bathed with them in the bathhouses, but… it sure wasn't like Greece! He took every opportunity to go where he could see naked boys: in the Agora baths, along the shore on the way to the Temple of Poseidon, at the gymnasiums, and at the athletic fields. He particularly liked the athletic fields. There, both men and boys exercised and competed without any clothing at all! Best of all, they lathered their smooth bodies with olive oil so that they gleamed in the sun, their boyhood members bouncing gingerly as they ran the races. Marcus found himself strangely stirred and excited by the sight of these happy naked boys. His boyhood would stiffen at the sight which caused his stomach to feel funny; sometimes his face would flush and he felt like he wanted to be Greek. His father would disapprove of these thoughts, of course, so he kept them to himself. He had, however, started discarding the licium the Romans wore as underwear. It was hot and uncomfortable; besides, without them he could reach beneath his linen purple-striped tunic and leather cuirass and stroke himself when his boyhood was stiff. Which was often. Such as now, he thought. Casting a sideward glance to see that his father wasn't looking, he slipped his right hand under his tunica and fondled his stiff member and the grapes nestled in their winesack. Oh, to be able to relieve himself!

His reverie was interrupted by the sounds of shrieking and laughing children. He retook control of the reins of his pony with both hands and sought the source of this merriment. There… ahead, by the tollhouse! It looked to be a group of boys aged about five to eight running and playing a game of tag. As they approached, Marcus admired their lithe naked bodies, noting with satisfaction that two of them had cute erect members bobbing in front of them. Marcus audibly moaned in agony.

His father, hearing and misinterpreting the moan, said, "Have patience, son; we are almost there."

"I hope so, Father," Marcus replied, praying to Jupiter that he would have the opportunity to be alone… and soon.

A short while later, they topped a rise in the road and, there before them, finally, stood the tall mountain topped by the Akrocorinth. Marcus marveled at its size; certainly the largest citadel he had ever seen! And, at the foot of the mountain, stood the city of Corinth, hub of commerce for centuries. Corinth was also known as a city of licentiousness, full of male and female prostitutes, gambling and drinking halls, and bawdy attractions of every type and style. It had been so long before Rome had conquered her and probably would be for as long as anyone hazarded a guess. Marcus knew nothing of this and cared little for anything at the present time but a cool bath and a pleasurable masturbation.

The two riders rode up to the Roman garrison's guardhouse at the approach to the city and dismounted. Marcus rubbed his reddened and sore buttocks while surveying the area, seeking a secluded place where he could relieve the frustration of his still stiff boyhood.

"I have to enter the city and see the Praetor," Marcus' father said, "And I don't want you wandering around this city. It's no place for a young Roman boy. I'm going to ask the Sergeant-of-the-Guard to keep an eye on you while I'm away."

"Yes, Father," Marcus replied, wearily. Then, his eye caught the glint of sun on bluish-green water! There was an inlet with a small sandy beach not a half-league away! "Father!" Marcus shouted excitedly, "could I go swimming down there?" and pointed in that direction.

Tribune Marius Gaius Augustus Caesar followed the pointing arm and closely looked the area over with a studied soldier's eye. Seeing no danger, he smiled and nodded. "All right, my eager young son, it looks safe enough, but (he paused and looked intently at his son) be sure and stay within sight of this guardhouse! If the sergeant tells me he loses sight of you, I'll blister what I am sure is your unclothed rear end."

Marcus ran to his father and gave him a big hug before yelling over his shoulder, "I will, and thank you, Father." He pulled himself up onto his pony, his tunic raising up as he swung onto the saddle exposing his bare cheeks before he spurred his pony towards the water.

His father, noting the bare butt, shook his head and chuckled to himself while thinking, I've had young Marcus in Greece too long! as he turned and headed towards the guardhouse.

Marcus slowed his pony as he started down the rocky incline towards the beach. He carefully led his pony around various rocky obstacles and, looking back up towards Corinth, tied the pony where she could be seen by the soldiers. He unbuckled his belt which held the dagger he proudly wore and hung it over the saddle horn. He quickly rid himself of the leather cuirass and pulled the sweaty tunic over his head. He was now, finally, as naked as the day he was born. He faced the sea and raised his arms outward, luxuriating in the cooling breeze caressing his dirty and sweaty body, his boyhood jutting up and away from his hairless pubes, its tip glistening with a drop of anticipatory lovejuice. He stood there for what seemed the longest time, dreaming of the oily boys he had lusted over only yesterday.

Then, as the wind shifted, he heard the lilting notes of a flute. Wha… where…? he thought as he tried to identify both the source and location of the beautiful sound. It sounded like it was coming from just over that rocky outcrop, he thought. Removing his sandals, he silently headed in that direction and crawled up the rocks. Peeking over the top, he saw the source of the lilting tune. He thought he recognized it although he didn't know what it was called. A Greek boy who appeared to be about his age sat cross-legged at the edge of the sand playing the flute. His long blonde hair was held in place by a leather strap, the only item of clothing on his hairless and muscled-by-hard-work olive-skinned body. Marcus felt his stiff boyhood twitch and again experienced that feeling of desire he had recently started feeling whenever he saw naked Greek boys but didn't understand. Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? He moved to his left where he could get a better view. Yes! The boy was as hard as he!

He clambered down the rocks and, overcoming his shyness, rounded the rocks and approached the Greek boy. In the halting and rudimentary Greek he had been learning over the past several months he greeted the boy. "Y-yassou, f-filos mou," he stammered.

The Greek boy stopped his playing, lowered his flute, and looked at the stranger with his wide blue eyes; he saw a sweat-streaked and dirty boy, muscular, good looking, and obviously Roman by his bearing, hair… and nose. "And greetings to you, young conqueror," he replied, "Welcome."

"I-I-I am glad to s-see you," Marcus stammered again, hoping he was saying the right words in Greek. He knew there was no way this ignorant boy of peasant stock could speak Latin.

"My name is Demetrios," the Greek boy said with a smile, "and I can see you are glad to see me," as he pointed to Marcus' hard-on and laughed.

Marcus flushed, not sure what Demetrios meant; then, his gaze followed Demetrios's pointing finger, he looked down, and he knew then the cause of mirth! He turned red; then he, too, started laughing and said, "M-my name is Marcus."

Demetrios beckoned Marcus to approach him as he uncrossed his legs and got on his knees, his buttocks resting on his heels, his boyhood stiff and dripping lovejuice down its stalk. Marcus approached and fell to his knees in front of Demetrios; the two boys looked at each other deeply… and knowingly.

Marcus put his hands on Demetrios's shoulders and looked questioningly at Demetrios. "I-I don't know what to do," he shamefully admitted.

The Greek boy reached out and put his hands around Marcus' neck and pulled him to him so that they were nose to nose. "I will teach you," Demetrios replied quietly and confidently, moving forward and putting his lips onto Marcus', sending shivers down the Roman boy's back and raising goosebumps all over his body. His tongue darted out and pressed against, then parting, Marcus' lips before his tongue touched Marcus'. Demetrios then began kissing this young Roman, deeply and passionately. While Marcus did not know what to do he, eventually, caught on and began kissing back. They kissed for what seemed an eternity to Marcus, their tongues flitting into and around each other's mouths, swapping spit and arousing each other in ways new at least to Marcus. They pulled their bodies together so that their erect nipples rubbed together, their tummies touched, their boyhoods slipped and slid together, both literally gushing the sticky liquid Marcus had recently begun producing. Marcus started caressing Demetrios's back, eventually reaching down and cupping a firm buttock in each hand and pulling him even closer to him. He was absolutely beside himself in a lustful bliss he had never even imagined. His mind was a red haze, his balls ached as never before, and he seemed possessed by demons. Could this Greek boy be a demon?

Before he could dwell on this thought, he realized that Demetrios had broken off the kiss and embrace, had stood up, and said something to him. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Demetrios standing before him, a benign smile on his face, and his right arm extended toward him. Marcus reached up, grasped Demetrios's right wrist with his right hand in the traditional Roman salute of friendship, and smiled in genuine affection at his new friend.

"Ella," Demetrios said as he pulled Marcus to his feet. He released Marcus' right hand and took his left, leading him away from the beach. Marcus saw that they were heading to a cave in the rock wall. Upon arrival, he noted that it wasn't really a cave; more a shallow indentation in the wall caused, he supposed, by water over the ages. Demetrios, or someone, had strewn palm fronds on the floor. "Lay down," the Greek commanded.

Without a thought to the incongruity of a Roman patrician taking orders from a conquered peasant, Marcus obediently complied. He thought the fronds soft as he laid upon his back, legs splayed and arms akimbo. He closed his eyes, blissfully happy. Suddenly, he felt a wetness on his boyhood! Wha, what was happening?! A deliciously wet suction and tickling was making his boyhood throb. Marcus raised himself up on his elbows and looked down his body. There, at his groin, was Demetrios's head, the back of his naked body facing Marcus! He-he has my prick in his mouth, an astonished Marcus realized; and what a feeling! He laid back down in joy, abandoning himself to the sensuous pleasure. His ballsac was being gently massaged as his boyhood was drowned in Greek spit. By the gods, thought Marcus, have I died and gone to heaven?

Marcus lost track of time; had it been seconds, or minutes, or an hour that Demetrios had been working on his boyhood? From the funny feeling in his stomach, he knew that he would soon shoot that new and mysterious liquid and that he should warn his new friend. Yet, he was delirious with joy and drymouthed; he couldn't bring up the energy to speak. He felt his ballsack tighten and his back arch as the juice flowed up his boyhood to erupt like Mount Vesuvius in Demetrios's mouth. Spurt after spurt after spurt! He thought he would shoot forever! Then, his still erect prick cooled in the breeze and there was a whispering in his ear: "Well, young Roman. How was it?"

Marcus opened his eyes and looked into Demetrios's. "It was as if I had become a god," Marcus managed to reply in a hoarse voice.

"That, paidi mou, is only a small slice of joy," whispered Demetrios.

Marcus was literally numb with ecstasy and mere putty in Demetrios's hands. He was no more in control of his body or emotions than the galley slaves in the warship that had borne him and his father across the blue Middle Sea. He heard Demetrios scurry away, then felt Demetrios's strong and callused hands on the backs of his legs, lifting them up and back towards his head. He next felt a wetness and tickling around his asshole, a tongue probing him like a scout probing an enemy's defenses. Marcus was beyond any resistance, even if his mind were to will it… which it wouldn't! Marcus wanted this experience; no, needed it. He had never known what it was he was craving as he had watched those naked boys in the gymnasium; now he knew! This was it! This was what he had wanted ever since his arrival in Greece months before, the base and carnal use of his body for nothing but sexual pleasure. He wanted to experience it all – and now!

Marcus felt a pressure at his hole; he instinctively tightened his sphincter muscle and fought the slow penetration. It was painful! He bit his lip to keep from screaming in agony. It… it hurt, but… somehow he knew that he should relax in order to really enjoy what was happening. He willed himself to completely relax; yes, that was it! It no longer hurts! He felt his sphincter expand and his rectum achieve a feeling of fullness. A sudden shock of pleasure seemed to emanate from that area, causing a queasy yet pleasurable feeling in the pit of his stomach. His nipples hardened and his boyhood strained. Marcus broke out in a sweat all over his body. His tongue lolled from his mouth and spittle dribbled down his cheeks. His eyes teared. He felt the slow entry and withdrawal of Demetrios's boyhood in his rectum, causing a wonderfully joyous feeling all over; Marcus rose up to meet the thrusts as they increased in tempo, tightening his buttocks. Soon he was lost in another red haze of lust, his hips bucking to meet the pace of Demetrios's thrusts. Again, he lost track of time. Could this feeling last forever? In and out, up and down; faster, faster, faster! Marcus' chest heaved and he panted to gain breath. His hair was soaked in sweat, his body bathed in it, both his own and that which dripped from his Greek lover.

Just when he felt he could not stand this intense feeling of undeniable pleasure another second, he felt Demetrios ram him hard and his rectum suddenly filled with a warm viscous liquid. At the same time, his boyhood jerked and splattered his own warm slimy liquid over and onto his face, into his hair, across his eyelashes, his nose and mouth, hitting his chin and chest, before subsiding. Marcus knew that the gods had again blessed him, as mortals could not possibly realize such divine joy! He felt a contentment as never before, a fullness of body and spirit heretofore unknown. Marcus reached up and embraced Demetrios, pulling him down onto his body, the two becoming one. The slimy liquid, a combination of sweat and cum, squished out from between the two sated boys, dribbling and rolling down Marcus' sides. He felt his stiff member against Demetrios's stomach and Demetrios's still firmly wedged in his rear. The two boys kissed, then Demetrios nuzzled his head in Marcus' neck, and the two boys happily fell asleep.

Awakening, Marcus became aware that it was late. He quickly became alert, a result of his soldierly training. Demetrios was still asleep on top of him, his still erect prick in his ass. But, Marcus knew, they were not alone. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that. He shivered in fear and his boyhood shriveled. Fearfully, he opened his eyes and was blinded by the late afternoon sunlight. He blinked and blinked, trying to adjust. Yes, he could see that there was someone standing at the entrance to the cave. He rubbed his eyes and focused on the person standing above them. Upon recognition of the recent arrival, he recoiled in fear and shock, his movement tossing Demetrios off him, a slurpy popping noise caused by Demetrios's withdrawal from his ass.

Demetrios exclaimed, "Ti?" as he fell back on his buttocks next to Marcus and realized that they were no longer alone.

Tribune Marius Gaius Augustus Caesar stood straight and tall, his sandled feet apart and his muscular arms crossed over his bronze cuirass. He looked down upon the two cowering and trembling boys, their once proud boyhoods now limp between their legs. From the dried cum across their chests and the cummy liquid dribbling from his son's asshole, he didn't need a seer to tell him what had gone on. His expression was dour. Both boys, upon seeing the soldier's expression, feared the worse and immediately voided their bladders all over themselves and the palm fronds. Demetrios couldn't take his eyes off the large sword at the huge soldier's side and knew that he would soon lose his head; he silently prayed to the goddess Athena to have mercy on him. For his part, Marcus could only wish for a merciful death; no, his punishment would be far worse. Both boys' facial expressions were a mixture of fear, shame, and impending peril.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Marcus' father reared his head and he roared with laughter. He uncrossed his arms and beat his hands on his legs as he laughed as Marcus had never heard him laugh. He laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks and he had to wipe them away with the backs of his hands. Demetrios and Marcus looked at each other uncomprehendingly, then back at Marcus' father. "By the gods," he roared, "if you two aren't the most pathetic sight I've ever seen! You pizzled yourselves, for heaven's sake! Do you think I'm going to kill you?" (The answer to which, he could tell from the boys' expressions, was affirmative). Then softly and in a fatherly manner, he said, "No. How can I punish natural boyish curiosity? It was only a matter of time. Go! Down to the water, the two of you! Wash yourselves and return here presentable!" Demetrios and Marcus couldn't move, they were so relieved. "NOW! I said," the tribune roared again in mock anger, "Go! Before I change my mind!"

The boys needed no further urging. They rose, pizzle and cummy sweat oozing down their bodies, reached to each other and, holding hands, they scampered down to the water. Tribune Marius Gaius Augustus Caesar watched them with bemusement, their little rear ends wiggling as they pranced hand-in-hand away from him. He shook his head as he turned and headed up the rocky slope. When he got to his horse, he turned and watched the two boys happily splashing in the blue-green crystal clear water. His face broke into a broad smile befitting a proud father and he muttered, "Pax Romana."

The End