Cato raised his head an inch from the soft pillow as a thin ray of morning sun hit his face. He turned away with a groan, his bleary eyes coming to a familiar face. Evandor, the gladiator with the long brown hair Cato encountered the first time he came to Waxon’s estate, lay there naked, mouth open, snoring.
As Waxon’s newly appointed Quaestor, Cato’s primary duty was to assist in managing the financial, logistical, and administrative needs of Waxon’s goods and trade within the region. This would require him to carry a substantial amount of coin as he traveled in, out, and within Ostia, the surrounding settlements within the region, and visits to Waxon’s ships that docked at Ostia’s portus. Cato needed a personal guard. He chose the gladiator.
Evandor, while not the biggest or tallest of Waxon’s champions, was a seasoned fighter, having gone into the Ostia gladiatorial arena twice and survived. As it so happened, Evandor’s teasing and fondling of Cato and his large cock was a prelude to several days of not so subtle gazes in his direction as he chose who would take up the position. Who better to protect him than a man trained to kill, and willing to take Cato’s cock whenever he pleased.
Evandor’s thick, heavy leg lay across his, his soft cock pressed against Cato’s thigh. The uncomfortable heat between them left a slick layer of sweat, and he pushed the large mans’ hairy leg aside causing him to groan with irritation. His eyes remaining closed as if still asleep, Evandor hooked his leg back around Cato’s. Wrapping his arm around his torso, he pulled Cato into his big body, a petulant smile coming to his lips.
“Get off you fat lout.” Cato grunted, pushing back. Evandor was more burly than fat. Not as toned as Cato, his body was thick and packed with muscle. Evandor’s broad, firm pectorals and belly pushed into him, his cock immediately hardening; the fat shaft rubbing up against Cato’s own cock, which, despite his annoyance, started to harden as well. Cato did what he could to free himself from Evandor’s sweaty embrace, but the gladiator was far stronger than him.
“I said…get…off you…fat…smelly…”
“Oi, stop your complainin princeling. You love my stink.” Evandor half laughed half drawled. He took hold of Cato’s cock beneath the silk sheets, and started stroking the shaft. Despite his annoyance, his cock fully stiffened at the big man’s touch.
“Don’t call me princeli…Nnguuuuh.” He groaned, unable to control himself or his body as it shuddered.
“Aye, see. I knew the moment I saw yeh lookin at us animals down in the pit the first time, you wanted to put that fucking horse cock in a thick arse.” As he stroked, semen started to leak from the head. “And you’re always ready, aren’tcha.’ Evandor murmured, and threw the sheet that covered them away from their bodies, and turned Cato onto his back, climbing on top of him. Evandor began kissing his torso and stomach, then commenced tonguing his nipples.
This was the reason why he chose Evandor.
The gladiator’s unabashed desire for him was straightforward and unrestrained. Cato preferred to be with men who were attracted to other men. He preferred men who were willing, not just chosen. Evander was more than willing, his enthusiasm to pleasure Cato always evident.
Sure, he wasn’t Auri. In no way was he well toned and slender. Nor did he possess his delicate face, both handsome and beautiful. Evandor was a bit squinty eyed, and had a round upturned nose. A youthful fervor resonated from his round, pudgy face, his precocious grin contrary to what Cato assumed had to be thirty years of life. He wasn’t a chiseled god like Salvator, yet his chest was broad, firm, and hairy with fat nipples, and his ass was round, plump and doughy, perfect for gripping when Cato pushed his huge cock deep into his puckering anus.
Cato continued to put up a struggle, fighting against Evandor’s pawing hands. It frustrated him, if only for the sake of winning the contest, and yet aroused him just as much. The gladiator knew this, which seemed to only spur him on.
“You think yeh can take me on prince?” Evandor teased. He took hold of Cato’s wrists, pulling his hands above his head.
“I said…don’t call me that brute.” Cato replied, squirming in vain as Evandor put his weight into the grip, pinning him down. The big man’s face came within an inch of his.
“Yeh luv it dontcha boy…A brute like me holdin ya - Ow!” Evandor cried as Cato raised his head and bit his cheek. Evandor pulled away, releasing one of the wrists as he touched it, checking if there was blood. There wasn’t, and Cato attempted to take the advantage and pull away, but Evandor was too strong. Straddling Cato, he held him firmly down on the bed with his thick thighs as he continued to inspect his cheek. A smile came to Evandor’s face, followed by a deep, husky laugh. “Why you little, fuckin…ow!” With his free hand, Cato took a handful of his chest hair and pulled. Evandor swatted the hand away, losing a couple hairs.
Cato was unsure of what had come over him. He had awoken, not planning for this, but his cock was fully erect, and his body was flushed with heat from exertion and arousal. He leered up at Evandor, challenging him to continue the fight.
Taken aback, Evander stared down at him for just a moment. Then, quick as a cat, he snatched up Cato’s free hand, and pressed both against his chest. He leaned in slow, pushing his weight down onto Cato. No amount of wriggling would free him now. Thrusting his pelvis back and forth, Evandor began to rub his hard cock, slow and steady against Cato’s, the hair of his testicles scraping softly, their pre orgasm semen slicking both shafts. Cato’s cock radiated with heat. Pleasure streaked through his body, causing his breath to catch. Evandor’s face was close again, his hot breath blowing into his face, the intensity of his brown eyes halting any further struggle.
“Let me pleasure you…” Evandor said, his tone near a whisper, husky and wanting. He released his hand and gripped Cato’s chest, massaging the pectorals, as he pressed his face into Cato’s neck, sucking the tender flesh.
Giving in completely, Cato gripped Evandor’s hair, now cut short in a way that suited his new position, pulled his face up to his, and they began to kiss hard and deep, Evandor’s tongue pushing into Cato’s mouth hungrily.
There was little time for this. He had to meet with Waxon that morning, but the sun was barely up. Cato allowed it to continue. Evandor licked his way down to his cock, Cato closed his eyes and rested back, a smile coming to his face as Evandor commenced sucking with hungry slurps, like a starving hound.
Evandor’s exuberance in worshipping Cato’s cock heated his entire body, the blood boiling into his mind, and when the man climbed forward, spread his thick glutes, and pushed his tight anus against Cato’s fat head, Cato took hold of his meaty arse with both hands and thrust up, plunging his rock hard cock deep in.
“Gyuuuh!” Evandor cried, throwing back his head as Cato sat up, slowly pulling back before thrusting back up, making sure every inch of his huge cock felt the warm squeeze of Evandor’s sphincter as it slid in. Cato’s mouth came to one of Evandor’s hairy pecs, and he began to suck on the fat nipple, feeling the groans in the man’s chest on his lips and tongue, as he bounced up and down, his weight pushing Cato’s cock deeper and deeper in. Semen seeped out of Evandor’s head, mixing with the sweat as their bodies rubbed against one another, the smells of their fluid sharp and intoxicating.
“Yeh love using me arse dontcha prince.” Evandor breathed, their faces coming close to each other.
“I said..don’t…call me prince…you fucking…fat…hairy…” Cato said, his voice coming out as a hiss, his breath too labored to allow him to finish what he was going to say.
“Aye…You love sticking that horse cock right up into commoner’s like me. Make you feel good. Superior.”
Flush with agitation, and a powerful desire to shut Evandor’s mouth, and drain his own aching testicles, Cato pulled his cock out of Evandor, and pushed him hard on his back, grabbing his thick legs and spreading them back and apart. Evandor looked almost gleeful, a devilish grin leering up at Cato as he placed his cock over his open wet hole.
“Show me how a noble prince fu - Gyuuuhhh!” Cato plunged down hard, the slam reverberating up into Evander’s belly and burly chest.
He got into a steady rhythm, his knees bent, his weight on the balls of his feet as he pounded downward; sloppy wet slaps with every slam. Evander grunted with every thrust.
“Gruh! Gruh! Gruh! Gruh.” His eyes wide, Evandor held his red cock in his hand as he stroked it hard and fast,
Never had Cato fucked anyone like this; With such abandon and fervor, his wanting to show this brute he was more then the rich son of a nobel Evandor espoused him to be.
“Yah…push my seed out of me! Fuck me! Yes!” Evander’s guttural cries were too much for Cato. His testicles seized. A rush of hot semen surged through his shaft, out the head and deep into the moaning, laughing Evandor’s ass as his own white milk sprayed out of his fat cock, onto his chest, stomach and face.
“Fucking-Yuhhh.” Cato cried, bucking and squirming as he held his cock deep in his anal cavity, allowing Evandor to squeeze his glutes, pulling out every drop of semen. He fell onto Evandor, both their bodies shaking with post-orgasm shutters.
“Seem’s your cock approves of my arse young prince?” Evandor growled, his lulling tongue out as he laughed. “Let me taste it.” He said and pulled him up to spread his lips, latching them onto Cato’s tongue. Cato pushed in; the warmth, wet, and stink of the man, his lips, his taste, taking him for a moment, before he rolled away, slapping the man’s firm, heaving chest.
“I’ve business to attend to” Cato said, his tone becoming flat, attempting to bring coolness to his words. Evandor laughed, a scratchy sound, and rolled off the bed, heading to a chair where his uniform was laid.
Cato’s eyes followed Evandor’s thick, round, ass as he sauntered away, his cock already rising again. It was a shame they had no more time. He would love to use it more before the sun rose too high. He turned away, going to a basin across the room filled with fresh water by one of the servants before he had awakened.
Today was the third official day as Quaestor. Cato had spent those three days as a guest in Waxon’s home. Eight days had passed since the night of his appointment to the position. The first five days allowed him to cut ties with Praetor Trius, who despite his initial irritation, congratulated his young secretariat with more grace than Cato anticipated. He understood Cato's position, agreeing it was a prudent decision for any young man given the opportunity.
Dressed in hard leather, with a short sword and shield in hand. a more stoic, guardsman version of Evandor exited the room and waited as Cato dressed in a clean white tunic, and his finest pair of sandals.
They left Cato’s room minutes later and went down to the front gate of the estate where they met with Tristan, who Cato had requested be hired on as his assistant in the logistical and financial needs of Waxon’s affairs.
From there they went to Waxon’s office, arriving the same time as he, along with Auri. Cato nodded to the young man, who spared a glance at him before entering the office behind his master. As always, he wore a vacant expression, as if looking into the distance, to a place far away from where they were.
“Is this the ward you spoke of?” Tristan asked, a look of concern coming to his face as he gazed upon him, as he whispered into Cato’s ear. Cato’s response was to give his friend a discerning glance. Tristan said no more, but his meaning was plain. Auri appeared as someone who had not slept in days, his eyes heavy..
Evandor waited outside the office along with Waxon’s own guards. Auri stood by holding a pitcher of wine as they all settled into chairs. Not a few minutes passed before two other men entered, introduced by Waxon as the Magister Navis of his shipping empire, a man named Faustus Ectorius Macer, and Abel, the Ethiopian Navarch of Waxon’s ten ships. With their arrival, Auri poured wine for all five, then went back to his position just behind Waxon.
Cato wanted to understand why he appeared so unhappy. His concern went beyond his desire.
It was a struggle for Cato to listen as Macer began to speak. He spent no time bringing his power and position to bear, not hiding his hostility toward the new, young, inexperienced upstart. The thin, older man, a patch of hair barely hiding a bald head, knew his trade of buying and selling goods abroad well. If the decision were his, Cato would in no way encroach on his work. Abel conveyed a more subtle dislike of Cato, speaking very little, his dark grizzled face hard and unfriendly, telling all he wanted to convey his feelings toward him. When Abel did speak, his voice held a strong accent, and the authority of a man who captained ships for well over a decade.
Cato’s experience in running his father’s estate was advantageous, yet he knew how difficult it would be to manage while working for Waxon. This was why he asked for Tristan’s assistance, and the two young men sat rigid in their chairs within the Equites office, the anxiety that they may or may not possess the required skills and aptitude to meet Waxon’s lofty expectations, stiffening their necks and backs.
Cato was grateful that the meeting was brief.
As they all made to leave, Waxon asked to speak with him privately, sending them all away, including Auri, whose green eyes met with Cato’s, so empty, and yet…did he see fear within them?
Auri turned away and exited with the rest, the two large doors shutting behind him, with an ominous thud and click.
Waxon sat in his chair, and for the second time, he gazed to his left at the stag head, the stirring of deep thought in his dark eyes.
“I need you to understand why I appointed you as the Quastor to my business.” The older man said.
“I think I know why, Master Waxon.” Cato replied. Waxon turned to him, his expression curious. Amused. Questioning.
“Do you…? tell me. Why?”
“I believe you have been pondering on the acquisition of a progeny. For some time mayhaps. Your wife has borne you five daughters and no sons. Upon your passing, your lands, this estate, your title, would all be passed on to someone not of your blood. It is your desire that this person would be someone of your choosing, rather than placed in the hands of greedy government officials to dole out amongst themselves. Someone you find to be worthy of your great legacy.”
“And you believe that person to be you?” Waxon asked, the softness of his tone, setting an uneasy shiver across Cato’s skin. The young man did not, however, show his weakness.
Not in this moment. Especially this moment.
“If I were to be so bold. Yes. I believe you see in me something of yourself. I will not presume you have made any sort of final decision on this, but I challenge you to deny my line of thought.”
“I do not…” Waxon said, his amusement starting to show even more, revealing the handsome face beneath the scars. It was not a comforting moment. Cato was far too adept at reading a person’s countenance to believe Waxon’s amusement was anything but that of a man gazing upon a child picking up his father’s sword for the first time. Seeing if it fits in his hands.
Cato hated this about the man, yet all of this was necessary, a means to an end.
Several ends.
“I…Well then…I am eager to prove that I-”
“Remove your tunic, young master Quirinus.”
Cato’s mouth remained open, the words he meant to say dying in his throat.
“I…I do not understand…” Cato said instead, but once again Waxon cut across his words, his voice as still as the dead animals covering his walls.
“What’s not to understand? Remove your tunic.” The Equites commanded.
It took but a moment for Cato to regain his thoughts. A moment in which the veil of naivety, a veil he had convinced himself did not exist, fell away.
Waxon waited, his black eyes an unnerving mix of anticipation, hunger, and demanding.
There was no choice for Cato here. He knew it. Waxon ordered him to do something. Cato would and there would be no questioning it. Things always came to this with Waxon.
Always.
The muscles in his face tightened. Cato undid the brass clasps and let his belt fall to the floor, then pulled his tunic off. The cool air of the room tingled his exposed skin, the silence, unbearable, as Waxon gazed upon his naked body.
“Aurelius.” The older man called out. The door opened. Auri entered the room.
Aurelius…That was his full name, or rather, the name given to him by Thaddeus Waxon, meaning golden.
Gilded.
Aurelius eyes came to Cato, a startled flash coming across them as brief as a blink of his full lashes. He came to his master, stopping next to his chair, resting his hand on the high back. Cato swallowed, doing what he could to push down the lump within his throat.
“I want you to look upon young master Quirinus.” Waxon said. “Tell me. Do you find him to be a handsome man?”
Auri did not hesitate. He looked at Cato, his eyes flitting around as it took in his face, chest, legs, feet, and cock.
“Yes dominus. I believe he is handsome.” Auri answered. He spoke in a clear voice, reciting rather than expressing. That didn’t seem to matter to Waxon.
“Remove your clothing and go to him. I want to see you pleasure his body.”
It was then that Cato lost all pretense of calm. His eyes widening, his heart, a bird trying to escape its cage.
Once again Auri did not hesitate. Stepping around the desk, the beautiful young man came to stand in front of Cato. He pulled down his tunic, exposing his thin torso, toned enough to show the slight ridges of his stomach muscles, his ribs just showing through his sternum on his thin chest. He pulled it further down, exposing his cock, soft, and hairless. His skin looked to be free of any blemish, smooth and olive brown, but it was his face that caused Cato’s breath to catch. His forlorn, almond shaped eyes; green as the moss on a tree pulled him in. Cato noticed the beginnings of hair growing above his upper lip. His coiled hair fell loosely over the side of his forehead, and he smelled of some sort of flower, exotic and pleasant.
To his undying shame, Cato’s cock began to swell, the ache of lust pulsing in his shaft and testicles.
He did not want this, yet he did…his body did.
Auri…Aurelius did not want this.
It was Thaddeus Waxon who wanted this.
Cato looked over the young man’s shoulder at him. The man’s thumb caressed his lips and the tip of his tongue.
“Master Waxon…I…”
“You have my permission. Use my ward’s body as you please. Show me what you think I seek from you.” The man said, a mocking now coming to his tone.
“Sir…” Cato began, but Waxon’s dark gaze stopped him. He looked back at Auri, who maintained a level of composure, but he could not hide his trembling.
Cato looked directly into his eyes, and while the words did not come from his lips, his gaze said everything he needed to say as his hand came to Auri…Auriellus’s chest, hesitant, gliding down the skin, as smooth and soft as he had fantasized.
Auri gazed back, just as Cato dare hoped he would; the beautiful young creature he had dreamed of for days and nights.
It was distorted. Morphed to become Waxon’s own dream.
What he desired.
Still, Cato was glad the Equites had taken him as the Quaestor. His own plan had worked. His future was being etched in the stone of history. His own legacy becoming much more than what his father ever dreamed for him. Cato would marry one of Waxon’s daughters, and he would inherit all that surrounded him
But for now, despite mistaking he had risen above any of this, Cato would be another one of the Equite’s desires, his perversions.
And Cato would be close to Waxon’s ward.
He had a plan. He would do what it took to see it through.
He would endure, and then when the time came, he would right the wrong of all of this.
