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High noon of the twentieth day of the month of the goddess Juno in the Roman year 701 was brightly sunny and dry under a celestial blue sky. Lisinia brought her young son, Valens, to the servant’s quarters of the latifundium owned by the Solinus gens, the wealthiest patrician clan in Tivoli.
Lisinia introduced the boy to Oliva, the toothless and round-bellied cook.
“Obey her wishes as you would mine,” she told the boy of eight years and kissed his forehead.
“Here, young fellow, help me grind this millet into mash,” Oliva said with feigned sternness as Lisinia exited to another stucco-walled room, barren but for a bench and a row of pegs on one wall.
Lisinia paid no heed to the equestrian tending the patrician’s horses just outside an open rectangular window and took off her coarse linen tunic, which was tied at the waist by a sash, and removed her crinoline undergarment.
She had bathed in the public bath near the forum in Tivoli during the late morning time reserved for women. Now she needed to primp before her performance at the banquet.
Lisinia gently ran a sharped novacila over her right leg, then the left, from her ivory thighs to her muscled calves, shaving any remnant of hair. After tying back her long, golden tresses with a thin leather strap, she shaved over her shoulders before lifting her arms to clean any trace of new growth.
Then she inspected her arms and hands to make sure they were devoid of hairs. Finally, she held her small, square mirror in her palm and plucked a few tell-tale strands of hair sprouting above her lip.
Lisinia removed her silk stola from her satchel. It was dyed red, imported from Damascus, and freshly washed in a urine rinse. She turned her sculpted arse toward the window, where the keeper of the horses enjoyed the view, and wrapped herself in the lovely gown, her most valuable possession.
Lisinia carried her lyre under her arm and went to the main house, where the banquet was to be held. Barely audible, she hummed the melody she would sing and practiced touching the strings of the ox-bow-shaped instrument, as the first of the guests, all gentlemen of superior social rank, arrived.
The hosts were Gaius Solinus and his wife, Iuliana, a greying, slightly withered beauty.
The servants—most of whom were either Lybian or Gallic—began to lay out the plates of food. There were ostrich eggs, songbird tongues, quail and partridge, olives, grape leaves, figs, pomegranates, dates, millet mash, and lentil beans. For drink, there was an infinite stock of wine, poured from skins into silver challises.
As Lisinia began to perform, striking her lyre and reciting the poems of Sappho in a haunting, floating melody, the guests, numbering ten in toto, reclined on floor cushions while dining and drinking. The only other woman present was Iuliana, the matron of the latifundium.
“Your music is most delightful, young woman.”
The lady of the estate gave Lisinia a sincere smile, not the stiff, condescending smirks usually doled out by the high born to their inferiors.
By the time, Lisinia finished her repertoire of lyric poems, the first of the guests had begun to waddle out to the vomitorium and purge themselves to make room for more food and drink.
The time had come for Lisinia to give each of the gentleman a “kiss,” beginning with the patron, Gaius.
Gaius was over fifty and kindly, but flabby and unattractive. Still, Lisinia approached him with respectful deference, lightly touching his clean-shaven cheek with her lips as she reached underneath his toga.
She handled his stout penis by squeezing it with her fingers before licking it thoroughly. Then she pushed back his foreskin to reveal his round, pale bulb. She kissed the tip before putting his phallus in her mouth. He discharged his liquid seed almost instantaneously.
The next patrician was younger and taller, but bald-headed and slovenly, stains of food and drink adorned the front of his toga. His lector was lengthy and curved, and Lisinia could feel its prominently protruding vein against the roof of her mouth. Lisinia’s steadily insistent sucking brought forth his bitter semen in short order.
A chubby little man of foul odor insisted on laying his hands on Lisinia’s breasts and buttocks. He shot forth only with great difficulty and tasted like smelted iron.
The youngest gentleman at the banquet had a dark brown phallus that erupted in Lisinia’s mouth with the power of Vesuvius and carried a warm salty flavor.
The senior that followed was another besotted hog. His withered manhood barely grew between Lisinia’s lips, but, gratefully, the sot’s issue flowed in due course.
The last one to receive a loving kiss from Lisinia was the mater familias, Iuliana. Lisinia showed the lady the sweetest tenderness, softly kissing illegal bahis her bulbous breasts, swollen belly, and wrinkled thighs before smothering herself in the folds of the matron’s vulva.
Lisinia licked and sucked Iuliana’s clitoris and slid two fingers between her moist labia. Slurping and gulping the nectar of Venus, Lisisnia affectionately tended to Iuliania till her vagina undulated in pleasurable spasms.
As Lisinia tried to take her leave, the elder beauty clasped her hand.
“Would you lay with my husband?” Iuliana asked with an air of authority.
“I am an entertainer, not a prostitute,” Lisinia responded firmly.
“You can do without your twelve ducats, then.”
“Neither am I a slave,” Lisinia said, unintimidated by the aristocratic lady she had just pleasured.
“Brazen wench!” Iuliana’s eyes blazed and she approached Lisinia as if she were about to attack her.
Instead of confronting the angry wife, Lisinia turned to the patron, Gaius. “I shall have my twelve ducats now, sir.”
Gaius fetched twelve gold coins from a cinch sack and handed them to the young beauty.
“You are a man of gravitas,” she told him. Then she spun around on her heels and faced Iuliana. “Be grateful to the gods that your husband did not fuck me. He would make me his new wife and put you in the stable with the horses.”
The guests laughed uproariously and Lisinia grabbed her lyre and fled the banquet room before Iuliana could cajole Gaius into taking back the money. Lisinia ran to the kitchen, whisked Valens from bed, and dragged the stumbling boy out to the darkened streets of Tivoli.
The mother and boy slept on a bed of straw behind a modest wooden home in the plebeians’ residential area. At sunrise, they walked past the temple of Hercules Victor and the forum, where merchants were preparing to sell their wares at market.
Lisinia held Valens’s hand and led him to the public latrine, a large pool of running water, accommodating twenty people. A Roman water wheel pumped clean water in and waste water out, powered by two slaves, bound by chains, turning a massive crank.
Lisinia directed the frail boy to sit next to her on one of the keyhole shaped openings that served as toilets. She instructed him to take off his tunic to avoid fouling it. For herself, she lifted her linen skirt and modestly draped it across her lap.
Seated alongside them was a muscular, bearded fellow in crude clothing—a leather tunic and leather strapped sandals. He was neither young nor old and had kindly blue eyes. He was taken with Lisinia’s beauty, marveling at her graceful aura and elegance. He was also tantalized by the slight glimpse of her porcelain flesh.
“Salutations, madam.” He spoke in a crude Latin dialect, common to soldiers. “I am Titus.”
“Are you a legionnaire?” she asked directly.
“I was a centurion,” he replied, pleased at her interest. “I served under the Legatus Caesar in Gaul, Germania, and Britannia. I was pensioned off after ten years.”
Lisinia nodded without comment, though she had heard rumors that the Consul Pompeii was jealous of Caesar’s successes and fearful of his ambitions.
Valens had a bored expression on his face.
“Are you trying to pee, boy?” Titus asked, surprising Lisinia with his straightforward attitude bordering on rudeness.
“Then stand up, youth, and direct your stream into the hole as a man.”
Valens happily jumped to his feet, held his petite twig, and peed into the toilet hole. Lisinia found the scene quite amusing, but bit her lip so as not to laugh.
“Are you making a journey?” Lisinia asked, noticing a large sack at Titus’s feet.
“I am joining Caesar’s army in Gaul,” he said proudly. “I am done with the life of a pensioner in Rome. The city is a sewer of poverty and death. I can only live and die as a soldier.”
“What have you in your sack?” the boy asked.
“Let me show you, my lad,” answered Titus, as he reached for the heavy bag at his feet.
The veteran took no pains to conceal his exposed private parts, especially his distended testicles. He pulled out first a metal shield, then the hilt of a short sword, and finally a helmet adorned with a fox’s head and pelt.
“The fox is the mascot of our legion,” Titus explained and he handed Valens the helmet, which the youngster regarded with awe.
Lisinia sat serenely and watched the crusty warrior educating and entertaining her son. Neither her facial expression nor her posture belied the natural function in which she was engaged. Her beauty and grace were antithetical to any unsightly act.
“May I ask you the same?” Titus was charmingly awkward, Lisinia thought, as he inquired, “Are you making a journey?”
“Do you not think I am a lady of Tivoli?” She put her elegantly illegal bahis siteleri prominent nose in the air.
“You would not be using a public toilet or the baths if you had a house in the civitas.”
“How do you know I used the public bath?” Lisinia shifted her weight on the stone bench, unintentionally revealing the perfect line of her womanly buttock.
“I saw you going inside the bath house yesterday,” Titus confessed sheepishly.
“Indeed!” Lisinia delighted Titus with a smile that displayed two rows of handsome white teeth, no rot or gaps. “I am from the town of Spa, north of Rome. I am returning there to leave my son with my mother.”
“Has he no father?” Titus asked as he reached for one of the sticks with a sponge on the tip.
“My husband was killed in a servile revolt before I gave birth to Valens.” She watched his fingers on the handle of the brush, scrubbing between his legs.
“Was he a soldier?” He dipped the sponge end of the brush into the clean, incoming water and swished it about.
“No, he was one of the rebels who revolted against Rome.” There was a lilt of laughter in her voice as she held out her open palm. Titus passed her the sanitary tool and averted his eyes as she used it to wipe herself.
“Why are you bringing the lad to Spa?”
“I am a musician. I travel throughout the year. It is a difficult life for the boy.” An edge of sadness colored her voice.
“It must be difficult for you to care for him as well,” Titus commented, surprising Lisinia with his insightful empathy.
“Did you kill people when you were a soldier?” Valens asked brightly.
“Don’t be rude to the proletarian,” she addressed him as a citizen-soldier veteran.
Titus was good-natured, however. “I only fought other soldiers in battle. I worship the Persian god, Mithras. The apostates of Mithras believe that the spirit of a soldier who dies bravely fighting for a noble cause will be rewarded with eternal life in paradise.”
When the mother and child were ready to depart, Titus bade them farewell and accompanied them out to the streets of Tivoli.
“I beseech thee to stay on the paved roads, my lady.” Then he boasted, “The roads of Latium, Sabina, and Etruria were built by soldiers of the Roman Republic. We are the finest engineers in the world.”
Titus wanted to tell this golden woman all about his campaigns with Caesar in Gaul, where his legions defeated Vercingetorix, and Germania, where they built a bridge over the Rhine river and tore it down after burning the villages of the barbarians who waged war against the might of Rome.
Alas, the lady and her young one went on their way.
Titus set out on foot and came to a farming village. He took some fresh water, supped on grape leaves and lamb, and asked the contadino if there was a graveyard nearby where retired soldiers might be buried.
He found the graveyard at the top of a tree-lined hill. The burial locations were indicated by piles of stones. He placed a plate with small bits of food on one of the graves, an offering to the spirits. If the spirit was happy in the afterlife, the food would be eaten by morning.
At nightfall, Titus decided to make a bed of grass under the stars as he had for ten years as a soldier. After laying motionless for a long while, he gave up and set out on foot once again.
After a mile’s walking, Titus came to a crossroads, which Titus remembered led to the Po river. Shortly, he heard a shrill scream followed by a sharper cry, sounding like a woman and a young child in distress.
Titus followed the sound, running at battle speed, into the thick woodlands. The scene became clear as Titus neared a campfire that looked to be a bandits’ hideaway.
Lisinia was prone on the ground, being held down by two men. One scrawny outlaw was wiggling his penis inside her mouth and a second outlaw was plunging into her mound of Venus. Titus saw Valens in the clutches of a third villain, hairy and burly, who could easily have snapped the boy’s neck.
Titus struck the hairy blackheart first, creeping silently and striking the top of the wrong-doer’s head with his sword, splitting it in half.
“Titus!” Valens shouted his name with pure joy.
The veteran of Caesar’s wars in Gaul went after the jackal at Lisinia’s head, knocking him off of her and running him through. Titus’s sword cut through bone and muscle, setting off a fountain of blood. Then he severed the evil one’s head with one, clean slice.
By this time, the third outlaw had withdrawn his cock from Lisinia’s cunt and brandished a knife to defend himself. Titus swung his sword and opened up the swine’s chest. He swung again and cut off his head, as he had done to the others.
Valens and his mother swarmed in tearful gratitude around Titus. Up close, Titus saw scratches canlı bahis siteleri and bruises on the beautiful lady’s face.
“Those men came out of the woods and grabbed us,” Lisinia explained breathlessly. “They stole my money, twelve ducats.”
“You killed them all.” The boy said excitedly. “You are Hercules!”
“No, I’m just a soldier,” Titus responded with true modesty. Nonetheless, he felt aroused by the stark naked lady desperately embracing him.
Titus took the boy and his mother to a cleaner spot in the woodlands, where she dressed and they bedded down for the night while he cleaned up the villain’s camp site, burying their heads, stacking their bodies, and burning them. He found Lisinia’s lyre, fortunately undamaged. She was joyful at her instrument’s recovery.
Titus slept alongside Lisinia and Valens, happily enveloped in the odor of their bodies.
In the morning, he led them to a spring, where they could bathe and tend to their private necessities. A simple man, yet Titus sensed the irony of having met them in a public sanitary system yesterday and washing outdoors today.
“I found your gold coins at the villain’s camp,” he said, handing them to Lisinia.
Titus had kept some nuts in his sack and shared them with Lisinia and Valens.
“I shall accompany you to Spa,” Titus spoke decisively. “I cannot leave you to face further danger.”
“What about joining Caesar in Gaul?”
“His legions are in Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul.” What Titus said meant nothing to Lisinia until he clarified by adding, “The nearest campo is just beyond the Rubicon.”
Then Titus surprised his lady love still more by handing her a purse with 100 gold coins.
“I earned my salt after ten years,” Titus told Lisinia. “Two sacks of salt was my pension. Some of us trade the salt for land or a wife, but I sold mine for 100 ducats.”
“Why are you giving your money to us?” When she asked him, she softly touched his hand with her fingers.
“I won’t need it when I rejoin Caesar’s legions. In battle, we have one order: follow the red cape. Gaius Julius Caesar is always the first man into the fray.”
Nevertheless, Lisinia had less interest in Caesar than in the man who admired him so.
For five days, the trio sojourned along the cobblestone roads, picking berries, hunting squirrels and pigeons, and bathing in a brook or pond. No outlaws dared threaten the lady, her son, and their fearsome protector. In the evening, Lisinia would hum a sweet melody and play the lyre.
On the final night of their journey, Valens fell asleep as he laid on his mother’s chest. Then she left him wrapped in her tunic and went to Titus’s side. He felt her naked body against his and smelled her intoxicating scent. She wrapped her legs around his hips and rubbed her seething vortex against him.
“I want to give you a kiss.”
Lisinia nuzzled her head below the battle-worn veteran’s waist and lavished saliva-dripping affection on his penis, testicles, and thighs. Just before his cock spewed hot lust into her warm mouth, Lisinia pulled his hand to her garden. He fingered through her wiry pubic patch and inserted himself into her vaginal cleft. After he drank from her thick, tangy font, they cleaved with the force of an earthquake, his cobra spitting fire inside of her feminine vase.
“Oh, Jupiter, fuck me!” she moaned.
Titus fucked Lisinia once.
“Oh, Juno, split me like an oak,” she groaned.”
Titus fucked her twice.
“Oh, Venus, make me your cock’s whore.”
Titus fucked her thrice.
At daybreak, Titus brought Lisinia and Valens to the wall of the town of Spa.
“I am going to stay here with Valens and my mother,” Lisinia decreed to Titus’s surprise.
“But why?” the scarred hero wondered. The loveliest, most intelligent woman Titus had ever known took his hand and placed it on her abdomen.
“I have quickened,” she said to his puzzlement. “You planted your seed in me last night and it will grow here.”
“By Jupiter, I’ll stay with you…as your husband.”
Lisinia laughed at him. “No, go find Caesar and his legions. Return to me when Caesar returns to Rome. He is getting old. I suspect he must be tired.”
“Vini, vidi, vici,” Titus recited. “‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’ Yes, I know he must be tired.”
Two years passed and Titus, promoted from Lieutenant to Captain, served under Caesar when “the die is cast” and he led his army to cross the Rubicon, invading Italy, defeating his rival, Pompeii, overthrowing the Republic, and becoming Dictator for life. Caesar generously paid his loyal troops and Titus joined his lady of Spa and their two children, son Valens and daughter Titian. They built a large estate outside of town and employed a staff of peasants and servants. Titus was elected to the Tribal Assembly, becoming a Tribune of the people. On holidays—there were fifty each year in the Roman calendar—the beautiful Lisinia would entertain a banquet hall full of guests with the poems of Sappho accompanied by the music of her lyre.
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