Serving the Emperor

[Spiritual_Camera]

The Roman legions were marching east to Syria, ready to launch an attack on the Parthian Empire, but the road was long. As the army camped for the night the tent of Emperor Titus stood at the heart of the camp, just as he stood at the heart of the empire. Known for his military prowess and his imposing physique, Titus was a figure of legend. His hair was as dark as the night, his face clean-shaven like a true Roman, but his chest was a mat of thick, oiled hair, glistening under the lamplight. His body, sculpted by countless battles, bore the scars of war like badges of honor, each muscle a monument to his might.

Among his retinue was a young guard, barely nineteen, whose name was Lucius. Small, lithe, and with an innocent face that belied the harshness of camp life, Lucius was tasked with guarding the emperor's tent. His youthful energy and the subtle grace in his movements had not gone unnoticed by Titus.

One evening, after the camp had quieted down to the whispers of the night, Titus summoned Lucius into his tent. The air was thick with tension, the oil lamps casting long shadows that danced across the canvas walls. Lucius entered, his uniform consisting of a short leather skirt, which was all part of the guard's attire, leaving his legs bare and his body accessible.

"Tonight I don’t need you guarding me, tonight I need you to relieve me of my stress, and you’re such a pretty boy I know you’ll be perfect," Titus said, his hands finding Lucius's shoulders. His voice was a low rumble that filled the space between them, his touch sending shivers down Lucius's spine.

Lucius' eyes widened, his breath catching as he understood the implication. A small nod, indicating his acceptance. His cheeks flushed with a mix of fear and excitement. The emperor, clad only in his military tunic, approached him, the scent of his skin—sweat, leather, and dust—overwhelming.

Titus chuckled, a sound that was both menacing and inviting. He moved closer, his breath hot against Lucius' neck. "Good. Then serve me."

With a trembling reverence, Lucius reached up, his hands finding the hem of Titus's tunic. He pulled it over the emperor's head, revealing the glory of his body. The sight was breathtaking; every muscle sharp and defined, his chest covered in a thick mat of hair, oiled and shining in the lamplight. Lucius couldn't help but gasp at the sight, his eyes wide with awe.

"You're like a god," Lucius whispered, his voice barely audible, as he trailed his fingers over Titus's broad shoulders, down his arms, marveling at the strength beneath his touch. His hands moved to Titus's chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the coarse hair, the hard, muscled planes.

Titus smirked, enjoying Lucius's worship. "You like what you see, boy?"

Lucius nodded, his eyes still roaming over Titus's body, taking in the scars, the power, the sheer masculinity. "Yes, my lord. You are... magnificent."

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Titus's chest, kissing the muscles, tasting the salt of his skin. His tongue traced the lines of Titus's abdomen, worshipping each part of him.

Titus's breath hitched slightly, a sign of his pleasure. "That's right, boy, show your emperor how much you admire him." He allowed Lucius this moment of exploration, his own desire mounting as Lucius's hands and mouth moved lower, to the waistband of the emperor's undergarments.

Without hesitation, Lucius freed Titus's erection, his 8 inches standing proudly, already glistening at the tip. Lucius looked up, seeking permission with his eyes. Titus nodded, a silent command, and Lucius took him into his mouth, maintaining eye contact with his emperor even as tears streamed down his cheeks from gagging. He kept up the eye contact, showing Titus he was submitting totally to him.

The warmth, the sensation of Lucius's lips wrapping around him, sent a wave of pleasure through Titus. "That's it, boy, serve your emperor," he growled, his hand finding its way to Lucius's hair, guiding him, though gently, to take more of him.

Lucius moved with tentative eagerness, his tongue swirling around the head of Titus's cock, tasting the pre-cum, the saltiness of his skin. He took more, feeling Titus's girth fill his mouth, stretching his lips. His movements were slow at first, learning, adjusting, but soon he found a rhythm that made Titus groan in approval, all while his eyes never left Titus's, a silent testament to his submission.

"Such a good little slut," Titus praised, his voice rough with desire. "You learn quickly."

After a moment, Titus pulled Lucius's head back, his cock slipping from those eager lips with a wet sound. "Enough. I have other plans for you," he said, his voice thick with need.

Before proceeding, Titus looked at Lucius with a curious smirk. "Are you a virgin, boy?"

Lucius nodded, his cheeks flushing deeper. "Yes, my lord. I have been saving myself for my emperor."

Titus laughed, a deep, resonant sound. "The older soldiers must have been desperate to get between your legs then."

"Many have tried, my lord," Lucius admitted, his voice low with a mix of embarrassment and pride at having held out for the emperor's favor.

Ever since Lucius had been assigned to the emperor's tents two weeks into the campaign, along with a collection of other handsome young soldiers, the praetorian commander had instructed them to keep their holes clean and ready.

With that, Titus began to strip Lucius, removing everything but the short leather skirt, leaving it to cover what he crudely referred to as Lucius's 'boy clit.' The skirt was short enough to reveal the 'boy pussy' between Lucius's legs. Titus spread Lucius's slender, pale thighs, inspecting the hairless, pink hole between them. It was perfect in every way, clearly untouched, the smooth, unmarred skin a testament to Lucius's purity.

"Let's see what a treasure you are," Titus growled, his eyes gleaming with lust at the sight.

Having inspected Lucius's 'boy pussy', Titus lay down on the fur-covered bed and pulled the boy down on top of him, covering the emperor's face with Lucius's cheeks. The emperor then began to feast on the boy's cunt, lapping, kissing, and sucking at the tight hole above him. Gradually, it began to relax and pucker, twitching on Titus's penetrating tongue, readying the boy for his deflowering. Lucius moaned, the sensation of being so intimately explored by the emperor was overwhelming, his body responding to Titus's skilled ministrations.

"Look at you, spread out like a feast for your emperor," Titus growled from beneath Lucius, his voice muffled but still commanding. Near the bed, there was a pot of olive oil and honey mixed together, a concoction meant for lubrication. With one hand, Titus reached out, scooping some of the mixture onto his fingers while his tongue continued its work, ensuring Lucius was well-prepared.

Titus then shifted, laying Lucius on his back on the furs, his legs still draped over Titus's shoulders as he positioned himself. He didn't wait for compliance; he took control, his fingers digging into Lucius's flesh, spreading him further.

With a predatory grin, Titus aligned himself, his thick, hard member pressing against Lucius. It was a sight of raw power, the head glistening with the mixture of oil and honey, veins prominent against the taut skin. Lucius could feel the heat, the size, and knew what was coming.

"Take it all, my little virgin slut," Titus growled, his voice a deep rumble. His first thrust was powerful, making Lucius cry out, his body adjusting to the overwhelming intrusion. The emperor's cock stretched him, the sensation of being filled so completely by Titus's manhood overwhelming.

As he moved inside Lucius, Titus kept repeating, "This pussy is so good, boy," each thrust punctuated with praise that both humiliated and aroused Lucius.

Titus set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward with the precision of a seasoned warrior. Each thrust was deep, hitting places inside Lucius that made him see stars, his moans filling the tent. The emperor's hands were focused on Lucius's hips, ensuring his positioning for maximum penetration, not on Lucius's pleasure.

"Feel how you're stretched for your emperor," Titus taunted, his words punctuated by hard, relentless thrusts. "You're mine now, broken in by your emperor. This 'boy pussy' is mine to claim."

Lucius could only whimper, his body enslaved to the pleasure and pain that Titus was expertly mixing. "Yes, my lord... all yours," he managed to gasp out between moans.

The emperor's dominance was complete, his body and presence overwhelming Lucius, who was lost in the sensation of being thoroughly taken.

Titus lifted Lucius's legs higher, changing the angle, driving deeper into him. "You're mine to use, to pleasure, to fill," he growled, his thrusts becoming more fervent, his breath ragged with the exertion and pleasure.

"Your cries are music to my ears," Titus whispered, his voice rough with his own approaching climax. "You were made for this, for me."

He didn't touch Lucius's cock, focusing solely on his own pleasure, on the act of breaking in this young, untouched body. The night was long, and Titus was relentless. He turned Lucius over, pressing him into the furs, his hands gripping Lucius's hips as he entered him from behind. This new position allowed for deeper penetration, and Titus took full advantage, each thrust a claim of ownership.

Lucius felt like he was being split apart, yet the pain was laced with a pleasure so intense it was almost blinding. Titus's dominance was absolute; he controlled the pace, the depth, every aspect of their union. He whispered filthy praises, "Look at you, taking every inch like the good little whore you are," each word a lash that both humiliated and aroused Lucius further.

Finally, as the peak of their encounter neared, Titus's movements became more urgent, his grip on Lucius tightening. "You'll take every drop, my new conquest," he growled, his voice thick with the promise of his release. With a few more powerful thrusts, he buried himself deep, his body shuddering as he climaxed, filling Lucius with warmth that felt like a brand of possession, breeding him with his seed.

After he had finished, Titus commanded, "Show me that pussy."

Lucius, still trembling from his ordeal, got on all fours, his ass turned to the emperor. He arched his back and spread his cheeks, exposing his stretched, leaking hole to Titus. The sight of Lucius's now gaping entrance, marked by the emperor's seed, stirred a deep lust and desire in Titus.

"Look at how I've stretched and gaped that hole," Titus murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction and desire. "Such a perfect little slut for your emperor."

Having inspected Lucius's gaped hole, Titus inserted his still hard cock back into his bodyguard's gaped cunt. He pulled the boy into his chest, cuddling up with him, and began whispering praises. "I love this boy pussy," he murmured against Lucius's ear, his voice a mix of satisfaction and possessive desire. "You've pleased your emperor so well."

They lay there, breathing heavily, the air around them heavy with the scent of sex, oil, and honey. Titus didn't pull out this time, instead keeping himself inside Lucius, his weight a comforting press against the boy, who was too spent to move, his body still quivering from the intensity of their encounter.

"You've served your emperor well tonight," Titus murmured after a moment, his voice softer now but no less commanding. "You served like a true Roman."

As dawn approached, Lucius lay beside Titus, the emperor's arm heavy across his body, a possessive claim even in sleep. "Remember, boy, this is just the beginning," Titus whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction.

 

[somehowstraight]

so need the next part

 

[ZuhayrKhan27]

Nice

 

[Spiritual_Camera]

Chapter Two: The Emperor's Favor

As the Roman army continued its march eastward, the landscape shifted from the barren deserts of Syria to the fertile regions closer to the Euphrates. The sun beat down with an unrelenting fervor, casting long shadows across the camp where the soldiers of Rome rested their weary bodies. Amidst this backdrop of military rigor, a different kind of conquest was unfolding, one that held the heart of the campaign in its sway.

Titus, the Emperor, known for his might on the battlefield, had found a new kind of battlefield within his tent, where Lucius, his young guard, was not just a soldier but had become his favored plaything. Normally, when Titus chose one of the beautiful young men assigned to 'guard' his tent to bed, his interest would wane within days. Once he had broken in their holes, he would dispose of them out of boredom. Those who had pleased him might be promoted and sent off to serve in a legion far away, a reward for their service. However, those who displeased him, failing to submit fully to his desires, faced harsh punishments; they could be sold into slavery, or worse, handed over to his praetorians to use as they wished, their bodies ravaged until they could bear no more, often leading to their demise.

But with Lucius, things were different. The soldiers whispered amongst themselves, their voices tinged with jest and envy, about how the Emperor had become utterly "pussy drunk," fixated on Lucius's 'boy pussy'. The rumors were not far from the truth, as Titus's behavior towards Lucius was far from the fleeting indulgences he usually enjoyed.

Every morning, the sight of Lucius perched on the Emperor's horse, clad only in his short leather skirt, was a common one. The skirt did little to hide the emperor's frequent and bold explorations of Lucius's 'pussy'. With Lucius's cock and balls hidden away in a leather pouch beneath his skirt, it was clear where Titus's interests lay. His fingers would often delve into Lucius's warmth, spreading him open, or if the mood struck, he would take Lucius right there on the horse, his cock sliding into the boy's already slick hole, the movements of the horse aiding his thrusts.

"You've bewitched your emperor, boy," Titus would growl into Lucius's ear as he fingered him, his voice both a taunt and a compliment, feeling the clench of Lucius's muscles around his digits. Lucius would bite his lip, his moans stifled to maintain some semblance of decorum, though his body betrayed his arousal, his hole twitching around the invasion.

At night, the tent became a temple to lust. Titus would summon Lucius with a single look, a silent command that Lucius had learned to follow with eager anticipation. The emperor would strip him down to the leather skirt, and sometimes not even that, leaving Lucius bare for his pleasure.

"Look at you, my little slut," Titus would say, his voice thick with desire as he pushed Lucius to his knees. "Open that pretty mouth for your emperor." Lucius would comply, taking Titus's cock down his throat, his eyes locked onto the emperor's, tears streaming from the effort but never breaking the connection. His throat would bulge with each thrust, spit dripping down his chin as he gagged, his nose buried in the coarse hair of Titus's groin. Lucius's submission was complete, his service to Titus a testament to his loyalty.

Titus loved the power of making Lucius gag, the sight of his own cock disappearing into Lucius's mouth, the control he had over this young, beautiful body. "You take it so well, boy. You were made for this," he'd praise, his hands in Lucius's hair guiding him, feeling the vibrations of Lucius's moans against his shaft.

After, Titus would lay Lucius out on the fur-covered bed, spreading his thighs wide, the pink flesh of Lucius's 'pussy' glistening under the lamplight. "Show me that pussy," he'd command, and Lucius would lift his legs, exposing himself completely to the emperor's gaze. Titus's eyes would gleam with lust, seeing the stretched, often leaking entrance that he had claimed repeatedly, the muscles twitching in anticipation.

"You know what I want," Titus would say, his voice low and husky as he buried his face between Lucius's legs, his tongue lapping at the sensitive flesh, tasting the mix of honey, oil, and his own cum from the previous night. Lucius would moan, his back arching off the bed, his hands clutching at the furs beneath him. The emperor's tongue was expert, knowing exactly how to bring Lucius to the edge of pleasure, his hole twitching under the ministrations, begging for more.

Then came the main event. Titus would position himself, his cock hard and ready, coated in a mix of olive oil and honey for lubrication. "This pussy is mine," he'd claim, pushing into Lucius with a force that made the younger man cry out, his body adjusting to the overwhelming intrusion. The rhythm would become relentless, Titus's hips snapping forward, each thrust a declaration of ownership, his cock hitting deep, the girth stretching Lucius to the limit.

"You feel that, boy? This is what you were born for," Titus would grunt, his pace brutal, his hands bruising on Lucius's hips, ensuring he took every inch. Lucius would whimper his assent, his body responding in kind, his hole stretching to accommodate his emperor, a mix of pain and pleasure that was intoxicating. The sounds of wet flesh meeting, of Lucius's moans, and Titus's heavy breathing filled the tent, a symphony of their carnal dance.

Night after night, Lucius's 'pussy' would be filled, stretched, and bred by Titus. The emperor's seed was a constant within him, never fully leaving his body, a physical sign of his favor. Lucius's diet was simplified to salads and fruits, ensuring he was always ready, always clean for Titus's desires, his hole always slightly open, always leaking a bit of the emperor's cum.

One evening, as the camp settled into the quiet of the night, the sounds of their union carried through the thin canvas of the tent. The soldiers outside would hear the moans, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh, the squelch of Lucius's hole taking Titus's cock, and the emperor's deep, commanding voice praising Lucius.

"You're the best I've had, boy," Titus would whisper, his voice a mix of satisfaction and possessive desire. "Your pussy is my addiction," he'd add, his fingers trailing down Lucius's torso to feel the evidence of his claim.

Lucius, despite the physical toll, felt a strange sense of pride. To be wanted so intensely by the Emperor was an honor, a status that made him feel powerful in his own right. He was no longer just a guard but had become something akin to a concubine, a title unspoken but understood by all.

One night, as Titus was particularly relentless, pulling Lucius into his lap, facing him so he could watch the expressions on his face with each thrust, Lucius spoke up, his voice a mix of submission and boldness.

"My lord, your pleasure is all I seek," he panted out between thrusts, his hands clutching at Titus's shoulders for support, feeling the emperor's cock deep inside him, stretching him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"And you give it so well, Lucius," Titus responded, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "You're unlike any I've had. I might keep you longer than the others."

This was the first time Lucius had heard such words from Titus. It wasn't just about the physical act; there was an acknowledgment of Lucius's place in the emperor's life, a place that seemed to grow more permanent with each passing day.

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between them deepened. Titus would often keep Lucius by his side during strategy meetings, his hand resting possessively on Lucius's thigh or slipping under the skirt for a quick, teasing touch, sometimes even dipping his fingers inside to feel the warmth of Lucius's 'pussy'. It was a clear sign to all that Lucius was favored, perhaps even loved in his own way by the emperor.

One moonlit night, after yet another session where Lucius had been thoroughly used, his body marked by the emperor's passion, they lay together, sweat cooling on their skin. Titus, unusually tender, ran his fingers through Lucius's hair, looking into his eyes with an intensity that was new.

"You've done well by me, Lucius," Titus said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of emotion he rarely showed. "Perhaps when this campaign is over, I'll take you back to Rome with me, not just to my bed but to my court."

Lucius's heart skipped a beat at the prospect. The idea of going to Rome, not just as a soldier but as part of the Emperor's inner circle, was beyond what he had ever dreamed.

"I would serve you there as I do here, my lord," Lucius replied, his loyalty and adoration clear in his eyes.

With that, Titus pulled him closer, his body a shield around Lucius, protecting him even in repose. They drifted to sleep, the emperor's arm heavy across Lucius, a possessive claim that now felt like a promise.

As the campaign continued, Lucius's position seemed secure. He was no longer just a temporary amusement but had become a fixture in Titus's life. Their nights were filled with passion, their days with the unspoken understanding of a bond that transcended the battlefield. The soldiers' jests about the emperor being pussy drunk held more truth than they knew, for Titus seemed genuinely enamored with Lucius, his 'pussy', and the pleasures it brought him.

And Lucius, in turn, found his pleasure in serving, in being the center of the emperor's world, his body a temple where Titus worshipped at the altar of lust and perhaps, in his own way, of love.

Thus, the march eastward continued, but for Lucius, the journey had taken on a new meaning, one of conquest not of land, but of heart and soul, under the dominion of Rome's most powerful man.

 

[Alex472]

Chapter Two: The Emperor's Favor

As the Roman army continued its march eastward, the landscape shifted from the barren deserts of Syria to the fertile regions closer to the Euphrates. The sun beat down with an unrelenting fervor, casting long shadows across the camp where the soldiers of Rome rested their weary bodies. Amidst this backdrop of military rigor, a different kind of conquest was unfolding, one that held the heart of the campaign in its sway.

Titus, the Emperor, known for his might on the battlefield, had found a new kind of battlefield within his tent, where Lucius, his young guard, was not just a soldier but had become his favored plaything. Normally, when Titus chose one of the beautiful young men assigned to 'guard' his tent to bed, his interest would wane within days. Once he had broken in their holes, he would dispose of them out of boredom. Those who had pleased him might be promoted and sent off to serve in a legion far away, a reward for their service. However, those who displeased him, failing to submit fully to his desires, faced harsh punishments; they could be sold into slavery, or worse, handed over to his praetorians to use as they wished, their bodies ravaged until they could bear no more, often leading to their demise.

But with Lucius, things were different. The soldiers whispered amongst themselves, their voices tinged with jest and envy, about how the Emperor had become utterly "pussy drunk," fixated on Lucius's 'boy pussy'. The rumors were not far from the truth, as Titus's behavior towards Lucius was far from the fleeting indulgences he usually enjoyed.

Every morning, the sight of Lucius perched on the Emperor's horse, clad only in his short leather skirt, was a common one. The skirt did little to hide the emperor's frequent and bold explorations of Lucius's 'pussy'. With Lucius's cock and balls hidden away in a leather pouch beneath his skirt, it was clear where Titus's interests lay. His fingers would often delve into Lucius's warmth, spreading him open, or if the mood struck, he would take Lucius right there on the horse, his cock sliding into the boy's already slick hole, the movements of the horse aiding his thrusts.

"You've bewitched your emperor, boy," Titus would growl into Lucius's ear as he fingered him, his voice both a taunt and a compliment, feeling the clench of Lucius's muscles around his digits. Lucius would bite his lip, his moans stifled to maintain some semblance of decorum, though his body betrayed his arousal, his hole twitching around the invasion.

At night, the tent became a temple to lust. Titus would summon Lucius with a single look, a silent command that Lucius had learned to follow with eager anticipation. The emperor would strip him down to the leather skirt, and sometimes not even that, leaving Lucius bare for his pleasure.

"Look at you, my little slut," Titus would say, his voice thick with desire as he pushed Lucius to his knees. "Open that pretty mouth for your emperor." Lucius would comply, taking Titus's cock down his throat, his eyes locked onto the emperor's, tears streaming from the effort but never breaking the connection. His throat would bulge with each thrust, spit dripping down his chin as he gagged, his nose buried in the coarse hair of Titus's groin. Lucius's submission was complete, his service to Titus a testament to his loyalty.

Titus loved the power of making Lucius gag, the sight of his own cock disappearing into Lucius's mouth, the control he had over this young, beautiful body. "You take it so well, boy. You were made for this," he'd praise, his hands in Lucius's hair guiding him, feeling the vibrations of Lucius's moans against his shaft.

After, Titus would lay Lucius out on the fur-covered bed, spreading his thighs wide, the pink flesh of Lucius's 'pussy' glistening under the lamplight. "Show me that pussy," he'd command, and Lucius would lift his legs, exposing himself completely to the emperor's gaze. Titus's eyes would gleam with lust, seeing the stretched, often leaking entrance that he had claimed repeatedly, the muscles twitching in anticipation.

"You know what I want," Titus would say, his voice low and husky as he buried his face between Lucius's legs, his tongue lapping at the sensitive flesh, tasting the mix of honey, oil, and his own cum from the previous night. Lucius would moan, his back arching off the bed, his hands clutching at the furs beneath him. The emperor's tongue was expert, knowing exactly how to bring Lucius to the edge of pleasure, his hole twitching under the ministrations, begging for more.

Then came the main event. Titus would position himself, his cock hard and ready, coated in a mix of olive oil and honey for lubrication. "This pussy is mine," he'd claim, pushing into Lucius with a force that made the younger man cry out, his body adjusting to the overwhelming intrusion. The rhythm would become relentless, Titus's hips snapping forward, each thrust a declaration of ownership, his cock hitting deep, the girth stretching Lucius to the limit.

"You feel that, boy? This is what you were born for," Titus would grunt, his pace brutal, his hands bruising on Lucius's hips, ensuring he took every inch. Lucius would whimper his assent, his body responding in kind, his hole stretching to accommodate his emperor, a mix of pain and pleasure that was intoxicating. The sounds of wet flesh meeting, of Lucius's moans, and Titus's heavy breathing filled the tent, a symphony of their carnal dance.

Night after night, Lucius's 'pussy' would be filled, stretched, and bred by Titus. The emperor's seed was a constant within him, never fully leaving his body, a physical sign of his favor. Lucius's diet was simplified to salads and fruits, ensuring he was always ready, always clean for Titus's desires, his hole always slightly open, always leaking a bit of the emperor's cum.

One evening, as the camp settled into the quiet of the night, the sounds of their union carried through the thin canvas of the tent. The soldiers outside would hear the moans, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh, the squelch of Lucius's hole taking Titus's cock, and the emperor's deep, commanding voice praising Lucius.

"You're the best I've had, boy," Titus would whisper, his voice a mix of satisfaction and possessive desire. "Your pussy is my addiction," he'd add, his fingers trailing down Lucius's torso to feel the evidence of his claim.

Lucius, despite the physical toll, felt a strange sense of pride. To be wanted so intensely by the Emperor was an honor, a status that made him feel powerful in his own right. He was no longer just a guard but had become something akin to a concubine, a title unspoken but understood by all.

One night, as Titus was particularly relentless, pulling Lucius into his lap, facing him so he could watch the expressions on his face with each thrust, Lucius spoke up, his voice a mix of submission and boldness.

"My lord, your pleasure is all I seek," he panted out between thrusts, his hands clutching at Titus's shoulders for support, feeling the emperor's cock deep inside him, stretching him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"And you give it so well, Lucius," Titus responded, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "You're unlike any I've had. I might keep you longer than the others."

This was the first time Lucius had heard such words from Titus. It wasn't just about the physical act; there was an acknowledgment of Lucius's place in the emperor's life, a place that seemed to grow more permanent with each passing day.

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between them deepened. Titus would often keep Lucius by his side during strategy meetings, his hand resting possessively on Lucius's thigh or slipping under the skirt for a quick, teasing touch, sometimes even dipping his fingers inside to feel the warmth of Lucius's 'pussy'. It was a clear sign to all that Lucius was favored, perhaps even loved in his own way by the emperor.

One moonlit night, after yet another session where Lucius had been thoroughly used, his body marked by the emperor's passion, they lay together, sweat cooling on their skin. Titus, unusually tender, ran his fingers through Lucius's hair, looking into his eyes with an intensity that was new.

—Me has tratado bien, Lucio —dijo Tito en voz baja, con una carga emocional que rara vez mostraba—. Quizás cuando termine esta campaña, te lleve de vuelta a Roma conmigo, no solo a mi lecho, sino a mi corte.

A Lucio se le encogió el corazón ante la perspectiva. La idea de ir a Roma, no solo como soldado, sino como miembro del círculo íntimo del Emperador, superaba lo que jamás había soñado.

—Te serviría allí como lo hago aquí, mi señor —respondió Lucius, con lealtad y adoración claras en sus ojos.

Dicho esto, Tito lo atrajo hacia sí, su cuerpo como un escudo alrededor de Lucio, protegiéndolo incluso en reposo. Se quedaron dormidos, con el brazo del emperador sobre Lucio, una posesividad que ahora parecía una promesa.

A medida que la campaña continuaba, la posición de Lucio parecía segura. Ya no era solo una diversión pasajera, sino que se había convertido en una figura fija en la vida de Tito. Sus noches estaban llenas de pasión, sus días con la comprensión tácita de un vínculo que trascendía el campo de batalla. Las bromas de los soldados sobre el emperador borracho de coños contenían más verdad de la que creían, pues Tito parecía genuinamente enamorado de Lucio, su «coño» y los placeres que le proporcionaba.

Y Lucio, a su vez, encontraba su placer en servir, en ser el centro del mundo del emperador, su cuerpo un templo donde Tito adoraba en el altar de la lujuria y quizás, a su manera, del amor.

Así, la marcha hacia el este continuó, pero para Lucio, el viaje había adquirido un nuevo significado, el de la conquista no de tierras, sino del corazón y del alma, bajo el dominio del hombre más poderoso de Roma.

Tanks

 

[Spiritual_Camera]

Chapter Three: The Fall of Ctesiphon

The Roman army had laid siege to Ctesiphon, the heart of the Parthian Empire, and after a battle that was fierce but brief, the city fell. The gates were breached, the defenders scattered, and the city was theirs. As the dust settled, Emperor Titus, clad in his resplendent armor, entered the city atop a majestic white horse, the sun glinting off his polished steel, casting him as a figure of divine conquest. Beside him, on his own steed, rode Lucius, his presence now as much a symbol of victory as the banners of Rome.

Lucius had proven himself in battle, fighting with surprising bravery for one so young, gaining the affection and respect of the common soldiers. The pair had been dubbed "Alexander and Hephaestion" by the troops, a comparison to the legendary Macedonian king and his beloved companion, a nod to their inseparable bond. However, among the aristocratic officers, there was disdain. The emperor's open displays of lust for Lucius were seen as a humiliating spectacle for Rome, a mockery of Roman dignity.

But Titus cared little for the judgments of his court. As they reached the steps of the royal palace, Titus dismounted elegantly, his movements assured and full of authority. He then turned to Lucius, offering his hand to help him down, an act of chivalry that drew cheers from the watching soldiers, their respect and affection for Lucius clear.

The palace was a marvel, a testament to Parthian opulence, now to serve as the stage for Roman celebration. Inside, the feast was set in the grand hall, where tables were laden with exotic foods and wines captured from the city. Titus and Lucius shared a couch, a traditional Roman dining arrangement, but their interaction was far from traditional. Lucius wore a silk tunic that did little to conceal his allure, his boy clit hidden by the leather pouch, his 'pussy' subtly outlined by the cling of the fabric.

The atmosphere was jovial, filled with the sounds of clashing cups and laughter. Titus, in his full armor, was a commanding presence, yet his hands were all too often under Lucius's tunic, groping the boy's 'pussy' with a casualness that spoke of ownership. Lucius, for his part, fed Titus pieces of exotic fruits, their fingers brushing, their eyes meeting in a silent communication of desire and loyalty. The officers around them might frown, but the soldiers celebrated, drinking to the health of their emperor and his favored consort.

Hours passed in this revelry, the air thick with the scent of wine, roasted meats, and the musk of satisfaction. Finally, as the night deepened, Titus stood, his presence silencing the room momentarily. With a predatory grin, he lifted Lucius from their couch, throwing him over his shoulder, exposing the boy's 'pussy' to the room. The silk tunic had ridden up, leaving Lucius's most intimate parts on display. Titus then delivered a loud, possessive slap to Lucius's bare ass, the sound echoing through the hall.

The soldiers in the room erupted in cheers, their voices loud with admiration for their emperor's virility. It was a moment that encapsulated the raw power of Rome, a celebration not just of conquest but of the virile might of their leader. Lucius, flushed with both embarrassment and excitement, could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, the thrill of being so openly claimed by Titus in front of his army.

They made their way to the royal bedchamber, an opulent room with a large bed covered in silk sheets, a stark contrast to the fur-covered bed of their tent. Here, in this place of conquest, Titus would claim Lucius anew. He laid Lucius down on the bed, the silk cool against the boy's skin, contrasting with the heat of their bodies.

"Look at you, my little queen," Titus growled, his voice thick with lust and the thrill of victory. He shed his armor piece by piece, each clink and clatter echoing his dominance. Lucius, lying there, his silk tunic bunched around his waist, his 'pussy' exposed and ready, was the perfect image of submission and allure.

Titus didn't wait; his need was too great. He positioned himself between Lucius's legs, his hands roaming over the smooth skin, the muscles of his arms flexing with the effort. "You're mine to conquer, again and again," he murmured, his breath hot against Lucius's ear, his fingers slicking the entrance with the remnants of their feast's oils.

His cock, hard and eager, pushed into Lucius with a thrust that was both a claim and a celebration. The energy of the battle, the joy of victory, all poured into his movements, his thrusts deep and relentless. Lucius moaned, his body adjusting to the familiar invasion, his hands clutching at the silk beneath him, his back arching to meet each of Titus's movements.

"You fought well today, boy," Titus panted, his voice a mix of praise and command. "Now you'll take your reward like the queen you are to me." His pace was brutal, fueled by the adrenaline of conquest, his hands bruising on Lucius's hips, marking him further as his own.

The room was filled with the sounds of their union—the wet slap of flesh, Lucius's moans, Titus's grunts of exertion and pleasure. The emperor took his time, savoring every moment, every twitch of Lucius's body, every gasp that escaped his lips. This wasn't just sex; it was a ritual, a celebration of power and possession, of battle won and love declared in the most primal of ways.

Hours passed, the night outside the palace quiet except for the distant sounds of celebration from the Roman camp. Inside, Titus and Lucius were lost in their world, where the lines between conquest and affection blurred. Titus, finally spent, collapsed beside Lucius, pulling him close, their bodies slick with sweat, the silk now a testament to their passion.

"You are more than just a soldier, Lucius," Titus whispered as they lay there, the afterglow of their union mingling with the cool air of the chamber. "You are my triumph."

And as they drifted to sleep, the echoes of their lovemaking lingering in the room, the soldiers outside continued their revelry, their chants of 'Alexander and Hephaestion' a toast to the new legends of Rome, one built on the battlefield and sealed in the bedchamber.

 

[Spiritual_Camera]

**Chapter Four: The Bitter Retreat**

The triumph at Ctesiphon was but a fleeting glory. The plague swept through the ranks with lethal efficiency, weakening the Roman forces, while Parthian raiders, emboldened by the Roman army's vulnerability, struck with vengeance. What had been a parade of victory soon turned into a retreat, a hurried and disorderly march back towards Roman Syria. The humiliation of this retreat cast a long shadow over Emperor Titus, his once victorious aura now marred by defeat.

The retreat was a somber affair, the mood of the army reflecting the darkening skies of their emperor's disposition. Titus, feeling the sting of failure, allowed his frustration to seep into his interactions with Lucius. The nights that once were filled with the celebration of conquest now echoed with the sounds of his rage, his treatment of Lucius turning more violent, his need for control manifesting in harsh, unforgiving thrusts.

In the tent that was no longer a place of victory, but of retreat, Titus would summon Lucius, his eyes dark with an anger he could not vent on the battlefield. He would push Lucius down onto the furs, his hands gripping with a ferocity that bordered on cruelty.

"You belong to me, boy," Titus would growl, his voice a storm of frustration and desire, as he entered Lucius with a force that made the younger man cry out, not with pleasure but with pain. His thrusts were punishing, each one a release of the tension that bound him, his fingers digging into Lucius's flesh, leaving marks that spoke of his turmoil.

For Lucius, the sex was no longer about pleasure. Physically, it was agony; every thrust was a sharp reminder of the brutality of war, of defeat, and of Titus's inner turmoil. Each movement was ruthless, stretching and bruising him in ways that left him sore for days. Yet, Lucius endured it all, his love for Titus transcending the physical pain. He found his joy in the simple act of having the man he loved on top of him, the thrill of feeling Titus inside him, even if it was a painful reminder of their current circumstances.

"You are my solace in this defeat," Titus would whisper between harsh breaths, his movements relentless. "Take it all, my love, my little queen." His words were a twisted comfort, a reminder that even in his darkest moments, Lucius was his anchor, his prize to claim.

Lucius, despite the agony, took it all. His moans were now laced with pain rather than ecstasy, his body accepting the punishment as a form of devotion, his eyes locked with Titus's in a silent communication of pain and love. He understood that this was Titus's way of coping with the humiliation of their retreat, and his endurance was his way of showing loyalty and love, even through the physical torment.

Meanwhile, the camp was rife with whispers, the officers, already disgruntled by the emperor's public displays of affection towards Lucius, found their disdain turning into plotting. Their whispers grew more vicious, spreading tales that Lucius was nothing more than a whore, that he had worked as a boy prostitute in Rome before the campaign. They spun a narrative that Lucius would let any soldier with a gold coin fuck his 'cunt', painting him as a corrupting influence on the emperor and on the morality of the army.

These rumors were designed to tarnish Lucius's reputation, to fuel the resentment among the ranks against him. The officers hoped that by degrading Lucius in the eyes of the soldiers, they could isolate him, make him an easy target for their machinations or even for the emperor's eventual wrath. They used Lucius's perceived vulnerability to shift blame for the campaign's failures onto him, suggesting his influence was what led to the retreat.

Lucius, unaware of the growing conspiracy against him, focused solely on serving Titus, his loyalty unwavering even as the emperor's mood darkened. He tended to Titus's needs with a quiet intensity, his presence a balm to the emperor's wounded pride, his body a battlefield where Titus could still claim victory.

One evening, as the march westward continued, Titus, in a rare moment of vulnerability, pulled Lucius into his arms after their brutal union. "You are the only true thing in this chaos," he murmured, his voice soft with an emotion that was usually buried beneath his imperial facade. It was a moment of connection, a stark contrast to the violence of their earlier coupling.

But the rumors among the officers grew, their resentment fueling plans that could threaten Lucius's life. They spoke in hushed tones, planning how to expose Lucius to the emperor, to turn Titus against him. Yet, for now, their words had not reached Titus's ears, but the atmosphere was charged with the potential for betrayal.

As they neared the safety of Roman Syria, the tension within the camp was palpable. Lucius, sensing the shift, remained close to Titus, his every action one of submission and love, hoping to shield both himself and his emperor from the storm brewing around them. He knew the dangers of the court, the fickleness of favor, but his heart was set on Titus, ready to endure whatever came for the man he loved, even if it meant bearing the physical, emotional, and now reputational scars of their tumultuous relationship.

The retreat had turned the once-celebrated victory into a lesson in humility for Rome, and for Lucius, it was a test of loyalty and love, under the shadow of an emperor wrestling with his demons and an army whispering of dissent and disgrace.