Waxon returned to his office not five minutes after Cato had returned from his excursion to speak to Auri. Upon his return, the Equites wasted no words, asking about Cato’s current employment and whether he found it satisfactory.
The blood in Cato’s heart and cock still pumped as he thought about the young man despite having only spent a few moments with him. The rush was only enhanced by the discovery of Waxon’s gladiators with their sweat soaked torsos, thick muscular asses, and the residual of the men’s musk. The lingering of all that testosterone caused his shaft to remain hard and throbbing . The thought of Auri’s naked body; Cato’s tongue tasting every inch of it. His lips, his chest, his tight anus. The building of tension within Cato’s aching testicles. The need for release. It all spurred his words as he responded to Waxon’s inquiry.
Cato told the Equites that working for Praetor Trius was a true privilege and a great opportunity for a person his age. He spoke of his education and his duties as a secretariat, yet there were times when he yearned for more to do than keep records for the old man.
To stand with the great minds of Ostia and express his ideas, discuss his own perspectives and thoughts, was to his mind the pinnacle of Roman citizenry. As he self-prescribed the route in which he would take to achieve his lofty goals, Waxon said nothing, his dark eyes never leaving Cato’s thoughtful, earnest face.
For his part, Cato remained composed under the older man’s intense gaze, speaking with the practiced elegance of confidence found through strict training, and a father never letting off his stern teachings and unyielding gaze.
“So you wish to waste your life toiling within the machinations of government and bureaucracy?” Waxon asked after listening with intent to Cato for an extended period without interruption.
“Pardon my contradiction Master Waxon, but I don’t see it as a waste. My hope is to one day reach the rank of Senator. If that means I must toil in the lower ranks of government for a time, then so be it.” Cato replied, his back straightening in the chair.
“A Senator? Yes…It makes sense.” Waxon’s gaze was not piercing, nor was it pitying. “A young man from a respected family and substantial inheritance looking to be appointed to the highest position within the empire. Yes…Still, I maintain my position.”
“Your…positions sir?” Cato said. Waxon continued to look upon Cato, showing him nothing, and Cato knew he had not, in any way, impressed him. He knew that to this man, Cato’s goals were…trivial.
Cato stared back at the Equites, and for a moment, he felt a blaze in his face and stomach.
Who was Waxon to judge Cato’s diligence? His ambitions? His father’s ambitions for his son?
Then, after being snagged in a moment of affront and doubt, Waxon’s meaning came, striking Cato in the face. Opening his eyes and revealing the older man’s perspective.
Who was Thaddeus Waxon?
A former soldier, recognized by the emperor himself. Retired before the age of thirty. Given land, vast and open. A merchant, wealthier than all others who resided in a palace upon a hill. A master of slaves; powerful gladiators, beautiful wards. A man not burdened by duty who lived in pleasure, unjudged and unbidden by scrutinizing eyes. With every encounter, Waxon was revealed to be all the more impressive. Cato saw Waxon’s unfathomable expression now not as apathetic, but one of disappointment. A Praetor of a different kind; self righteous and self satisfied.
Arrogant.
“What else then, Master Waxon, is there for me to espouse?” Cato asked, the flame coming to his eyes. “I lay myself and my credentials before you. Is it not enough? You asked me to come, and I’ve come. You ask me of my worth, and you mock me?”
“Have I insulted you, Young Master Quirinus? Waxon asked, undaunted by Cato’s admonishing words as he sat back in his tall chair.” Tell me, what have I said to wound you so?”
“What is it that you want from me?” ” Cato asked, not wanting to play this game of words as his jaw tightened and his heart began to harden within his chest.
“So quick to fall prey to another’s opinion? I asked you question, and you elaborate freely on your ambitions, goals, and accomplishments. All I have done is relay my thoughts on them.” As Waxon spoke, he shifted onto his left arm, his profile facing Cato, his dark eyes focused on the head of a gray haired stag.
Feeling as if his throat and chest had joined together to form a single mass, Cato took in a deep inhale, released it, then swallowed. The fire within him dulled
Within a few moments; With just a few words from Waxon, Cato had gone against his father’s teachings on how a man should carry himself amidst an adversary. the young man he met in the bathhouse; The one who commanded the great Salvator. The one who would not take Waxon’s cock in his mouth, was not here in his office with him. Instead there was Cato, the boy with the bruised ego.
“Can I rely on you to be truthful?” Waxon asked, his tone low and precise as he continued to gaze at the stag.
“Yes.” Cato said, having no other choice but to agree, and uncertain as to why Waxon was making such a request. Cato, after all, had been nothing but truthful.
“Where did you go while I was away from my office?”
Cato’s heart plummeted into his lower abdomen,
“I…where did I go?”
“Yes. I was informed by one of the servants that you left my office and disappeared into my estate. Where did you go?
“Sir…I apologize-”
“Do not apologize. Tell me where you went. What did you do?” Waxon’s voice was even, and yet, the words tingled Cato’s neck and spine.
“I admit…I have never been to a home like yours.” Cato said, his back stiff from remaining in such a straight position for so long. “My own home is beautiful, but does not compare in size or opulence. I let my curiosity get the better of my judgement. Because of this, I found myself in the slave quarters, drawn to the sounds of clashing swords. That was when I came upon your gladiators. I was…overtaken by the spectacle of their training. If it were not for your man Salvator recognizing me, and your ward who brought me back, you may have returned to an empty office. Please forgive me, Master Waxon. I know I should not have gone out without your invitation.” Cato bowed his head, keeping it lowered as Waxon, having turned his gaze back to Cato, considered the young man.
“And what did you think of my gladiators?”
Cato’s head raised with uncertainty.
“As I said…I found them impressive.”
“How so?”
“Sir I-”
“I suppose you wanted to fuck them?” Waxon said. Cato did not know how to respond to this, his mind temporarily muddled by this sudden change in tone from his humiliation, to whether he wanted to bed one of the Equites gladiators.
“Sir I…I had not considered.” Cato said, and at once regretted his answer. This was a lie. The first real lie he had told the Equites, and Waxon knew this just as well, his demeanor showing just as much.
“Not considered…” Waxon replied with a quiet scoff, then rose quite suddenly.
“Come with me.” Waxon ordered, and exited the room not looking back to see if Cato followed. It took but a moment for Cato to right his mind before he rose and followed Waxon, exiting the office, and going down the familiar path that matched the one leading toward the slave quarters.
Entering, they went a different route from what Cato had gone previously, reaching a stone stairway, and descended into the depths of the dark structure. The sounds of fighting were no longer present, and the humidity of the damp lower floor was stifling. They came to the end of a corridor that split to the right and left where several dozen rooms with no doors were. Raucous laughter, along with the clattering of plates and cups, echoed from a room from the left, most likely a dining area for the gladiators. Waxon turned right and they came to the last room.
Within it was Salvator and Osman naked on a pile of furs. Both men were on their knees, Salvator behind, his face buried in Osman’s neck, kissing it as he gripped Osman’s hairy chest and thrusted his hips forward, pushing his cock into Osman's ass. Osman’s pale face was a mask of ecstasy, his broad, muscled, chest, scarred no doubt from battle, heaved. His own cock was fully erect, seven inches at least, red with lust and leaking semen. Consumed by their love making, neither man noticed Waxon and Cato.
Osman began to laugh.
“That’s all you got for me, beast of persia.” He gasped. Salvator’s growl of a laugh came as he lifted his head from Osman’s neck. Osman turned his face to Salvator and they kissed with a fervor Cato had never seen before. Primal, spurred by some deep animalistic need. Salvator began to thrust harder, grunting louder and louder with each push of his cock into Osman.
“Aye…Aye…Fuck me.” Osman gasped. The giant man was then pushed down onto his stomach into the pile of furs by Salvator’s huge hand. Gripping Osman’s neck, Salvator positioned himself over the enormous Norseman, and commenced steady, powerful thrusts of his horse cock down into Osman’s muscular ass, the slap of his thick thighs wet from the sweat that covered both men. Osman’s chiseled back arched and mounds of the furs gripped within white knuckles, Osman let out muffled cries into the animal hides; A wailing, guttural stream of his native language, filled with pain and unmistakable pleasure.
Cato, somewhat awestruck by the sight of these giants of men in the midst of making love, found himself stepping back.
Who was he to disturb their passion?
Waxon however, did not seem to be of the same mind
“Salvator.” He called out to the huge man.
The expression on Salvator’s face as he looked up to see his master was indeed shaken. It was the look of someone being suddenly ripped away from their truest, deepest desire.
Osman was quite different. His smile, his rapped expression, was replaced by naked resentment. He scowled, rising to his considerable height, his naked body tense, the muscle flexing as he bald his fists. He hid nothing of this from Waxon, whose own countenance became hard as stone.
“If you have something to say, Varangian, speak, otherwise move aside. Salvator is needed by his master.”
Osman’s jaw flexed. His nails, long and sharp, dug into his palms. Seeing this, and understanding the Norseman’s anger, but his Master’s warning words just as well, Salvator took hold of his lover’s face with a gentle hand, turning it to meet his. He said something; a whisper that only Osman could hear. With a nod of his head, Osman’s crystal blue eyes softened, and yet, they still held an edge, sharp with bitterness and powerful longing, as if to ask Salvator.
“If only…”
They remained like this for another heartbeat before Osmond turned away and Salvator came to Waxon, returning to the hard faced beast Cato had first known him to be.
A cold stone, as if frozen in ice and placed within his stomach, pulsed within Cato.
Would Salvator confirm Cato’s indiscretion, thus dooming Cato from ever attaining position within the Equites court? Was Salvator’s summons meant to be Cato’s punishment?
Or worse, would Cato’s lack of propriety be enough to cause him harm? Waxon was a brutal man. Was he to be brutalized by the monstrous man; Beaten, choked like the man who dared to touch Auri.
“Gather up all the men, both the slaves and gladiators. I want them all on the fighting ground lined up within the next five minutes.” Waxon ordered.
Salvator, his height causing him to look down at his master, dipped his head, then turned to Osman, and nodded.
His certainty of safety still unappeased, Cato stepped aside letting Salvator and Osman exit the room. He found he could not look either man in the eye as they walked past. He was, after all, the reason their long awaited union was cut short.
As requested, it was not long before all the men Cato had seen during the training were gathered together within the fighting ground joined by a dozen or so more men of normal stature and build. They stood in a line, side by side, bare chested, wearing only loin cloths of fur or burlap, including Auri, who, even amongst a few other handsome young men, still took hold of Cato’s gaze.
Cato and the Equites stood above them in the balcony, along with three armed men wearing breastplates and carrying spears. They looked down upon the men. It wasn’t until Waxon spoke that Cato understood he was not in any immediate danger. It seemed to be quite the opposite.
“All of you. Remove your clothing.” Waxon ordered. All the men pulled down their loin cloths revealing cocks of all shapes and sizes. Against his will, Cato’s own cock began to harden, the display of male flesh a tantalizing banquet before him. This included the ward, which caused Cato’s heart to quicken. He was not small in size, nor was he overly endowed. His cock was in proportion to his build, shaved clean of all hair, and uncircumcised. His slim, light brown body, smooth and cleaner than the rest, was alluring, like the song of a siren. His handsome, beautiful face, his clear, forlorn eyes, called to Cato.
“Choose.” Waxon said. Cato turned to him, not quite believing what he heard.
Choose?
Was he allowed to choose his ward…?
Or…no…Waxon must be testing him. Auri was not for Cato, for no one expect the Equites. He was still far from his reach. Cato’s desire would not be quenched, at least, not this night.
Pulling his lingering eyes away from Auri, Cato looked out over the line of men, coming to Osman, the only man who matched Salvator in height and presence.
Cato considered the man for a moment, wondering why he had not been the one chosen as Waxon’s golden beast. His hard, emotionless grimace, lined and scarred, could not hide a handsome face, though he did not carry Salvator’s same dark, exotic allure. Osman’s tattooed scalp and scarred body showed a warrior’s pride and prowess. A barbarian to be sure, at least in the eyes of a Roman citizen, making Osman no less imposing. It had to be the size of his cock, not small, though compared to Salvator, that put to rest any further questions. Still, Cato wondered why Waxon could not just have both him and Salvator by his side on his outings.
Then Cato knew.
Waxon played a dangerous game. The looks on both men’s faces when Waxon interrupted their reunion. Osman alone looked capable of dismembering a man with his bare huge hands and their sharp nails. Waxon showed no fear in the face of the Norseman. To separate the lovers in the first place, was a play of power. An act worthy of its own merits: A show of dominance from the master of the house, or perhaps there was more…Perhaps Cato could gain back a modicum of dignity he’d lost to the Equites, while at the same time gain favor amongst his inferiors.
“Him.” Cato said, pointing at Osman. “I choose him?”
It wasn’t until Waxon called out his name that Osman raised his face up to meet them, nonplussed before a deep contempt etched across his face, his blue eyes searing into Cato’s. For Osman, this meant another night separated from Salvator. Salvator kept a stalwart gaze forward, refusing to react to Cato’s painful request.
“And…Salvator as well.” Cato said, a bit of a smirk coming to his lips. His eyes shifted to his peripheral as Waxon turned to him, questioning darkening his tan face. Before he could speak Cato spoke again, trying to keep pace with his thoughts. “If you please master Waxon. I enjoyed my time with him at your bathhouse. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And…after witnessing what we had just minutes ago with…well…why deny myself such pleasure?”
Cato now had turned to meet Waxon’s unreadable gaze, now in a more neutral state from his usual dour way. Cato could sense the scrutiny. He remained steady, turning back to look down at the fighting pit, seeing the confusion in both Salvator and Osman’s expressions. They looked at one another, exchanging a brief, wordless conversation before looking back up at Cato, both holding their own suspicions.
“Am I out of bounds by requesting both men?” Cato asked, his eyes bright with excitement. Waxon’s head raised, his cold eyes looking down on Cato. Cato turned back to look at the group of men, grabbing his cock to convince Waxon of his desire for the huge men. He spared a fleeting glance at Auri, and his heart fell. Auri’s own gaze was on Salvator, sadness for the man, his friend on his face.
“Osman. Salvator. Come” Waxon called, then made to leave flanked by his guards. Cato followed, but not before throwing a fleeing glance at Auri hoping to catch his eye, but the young man was gone.
Cato followed Waxon and the armed men out of the slave quarters and back to the large green lawn where they were joined by Salvator and Osman.
They were led to another structure smaller than most on the grounds a guest quarter that stood next to the largest section of the estate where Salvator and his family resided. It contained a single, beautifully adorned room furnished with a large bed ladened with silk sheets and furs, and an upholstered, backless bench. Embroidered rugs lay on the floor, paintings of the gods lounging in their heavenly abodes hung on the wall, and Incense burned, fresh and pleasing.
Waxon held Cato back at the entrance, allowing the two giant men to pass and go to the bed, where they waited for their next instructions.
“Now what say you, young Master Quirinus?” Waxon said, his words deliberate, his tone plain, and clear. His gaze swept across the room. “Do you still find offense to my earlier statements? Do you wish to live under the shadow of the emperor? Under the scrutiny of his council? The gaze of other Senators? Or would you rather have all this. Control…Anonimity…Power?”
Cato lowered his head, a smile coming to him before nodding.
“As I expected.” Waxon said, and put a hand on Cato’s shoulder, turning him away from the room and walking him just outside into the torchlit night. “Now drop this pathetic act of wounded pride. Show yourself to be the man I think you to be; whole and without doubt. I can show you the ways of directing one’s own fate, commands his own worth, and be damned of what others profess. If you prove worthy, I will open the gates wide…If you prove worthy.” Waxon’s gaze was a dark storm of warning, power, the Equites’ undeniable lust for him that send a cold chill into Cato. It was part of the reason as to why he invited Cato, but more so Cato knew, in a twisted perverse manner, Cato was the male protege to mold in his likeness. A potential male heir his wife had not given him. A legacy he promised himself, and was now looking to fulfill.
“The decision is yours.” Waxon said, and left Cato alone with the two giants.
Cato’s tensed muscles loosened and his breath came easier. He could finally end the performance. He had accomplished his goal to some degree, gaining back some favor in the eyes of Waxon. And still, everything Waxon had said, about power and control free of constraints, shouted out to Cato. A powerful declaration that spoke to Cato’s ambition and his own legacy. He had no intention of squandering this new chance.
As for his time with Salvator and Osman, Cato came to them, both men stoic and brooding.
“So…gentlemen. Carry on then.” He said, stepping back, His words awkward.
“What pleasure do you seek, young master?” Salvator asked, still as a statue, Osman’s was less successful at hiding his feelings, looking as if he had no other desire than to put both of his hands around Cato’s neck and squeeze his life away.
“I understand the two of you have been apart for some time…I’ll keep watch out here.” Both men’s eyes went to Cato so quickly, the young man took a step back. All thoughts stolen away, their expectations of how the night would end falling to their feet.
Osman was the first to retake his senses, and looked to Salvator, a bright smile on the Norsemans Cato would never expect from such a savage looking man. He stepped forward, gripping Salvator’s arm and pulling him into his body. As he was pulled forward, embraced by his lover, Salvator could not take his eyes off Cato, disbelief radiating from his hooded eyes.
“Aye…Ehsan…Lover.” Osman put his big hand on Salvator’s cheek and turned his face so that their noses and foreheads came together. “Just you and me now, Ulfr.“ Osman murmured and pressed his lips softly to Salvator’s.
Cato chose then to turn away, and exited the room.
Ehsan…Was that his real name?
It made sense. Salvator was a Roman name, meaning Savior. The name would have been given to him upon becoming property of the Equites, or did he earn it in the arena as a gladiator?
Cato posted up at the threshold, a warmth coming to him. The sounds of their lovemaking was less pronounced this time, and Cato, always perceptive, sensed the quiet of tenderness and intimacy.
What was Auri’s full name, and was it his native name?
Cato wondered this as he looked up at the night’s sky, and it was, for the first time, his heart rather than his cock, that yearned for the same satisfaction of the men in the room behind him.
