Work Text:
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Yes.”
“Was it noticed by anyone?”
“Your lessons have not diminished my capabilities.”
Joshua hauled back and smacked him across the face, so hard that Vulpes felt his lip split on impact, but he remained sitting on his knees and upright.
“Apparently they haven't made you any smarter, either.”
Vulpes began to turn his head back to face his superior and Joshua hit him again, blood and spittle spraying across the sand.
“That’s your one warning.”
Remaining in the position he’d been knocked, Vulpes Inculta swallowed thickly.
“My apologies, Legatus Malpais.”
“Your apologies mean nothing.”
He did not flinch as the boot rose before his face, closing his eyes only to avoid damaging them as Joshua Graham pushed his foot down on the back of Vulpes’ head, until he was bowed so low over his knees that his cheek ground into the dirt. When he had first begun his training the position had been painful for Vulpes, but repeated efforts had improved his flexibility markedly in a short time. It was one of the many imprints the Legate had left upon his body. Hands at his sides, unresisting, he allowed his face to be scrubbed against the gravel as the pressure increased, keeping his head turned just enough to prevent his nose from being broken again.
“You speak when spoken to, you answer truthfully and concisely, and you don’t ever speak back to your betters. I would have thought these rules would have been taught to you long before I was ever made to lay eyes on your unclean soul, but it appears I was wrong.”
Unwilling to risk exposing his teeth to the earth, Vulpes said nothing. Aside from his split lip, stones embedded in the soil were dragging along his skin and reopening little crevices in older scabs. He could smell the blood as strongly as he could taste it. After a long moment, Joshua removed his boot. Vulpes did not move.
“Slaves, obey your masters in all fear and trembling.”
Bile collected in the back of Vulpes Inculta’s throat. Joshua laughed grimly to himself.
“Get up.”
Not waiting for him to comply, he grabbed Vulpes by the shoulder padding, hauling him to his feet. Keeping his eyes downcast, Vulpes remained pliant, arms dangling loosely, as Joshua stepped back and regarded him. He could feel his stare without looking, disdainful and bored, and privately he experienced the liberty of freely returning the emotions.
“Let me see it.”
Keeping his breathing even, Vulpes reached below the skirts of his uniform and pulled the drawstrings of his underwear loose, so that it could easily be pulled out from under his legs. It was both a relief and an action somewhat painful, as the removal of the pressure that had been hiding Joshua’s game allowed fresh air to caress the dewy lips of his cunt, his clit springing forward and erect. He did not show his discomfort, face remaining stoic and respectfully scowling. Still, he could tell his Legatus knew, hear the quiet intake of breath accompanied by a sardonic smile as he dropped his underwear and pulled up the hem of his skirt to expose himself.
Affixed tightly to his clitoris was a plastic tube, a pump which drew air from what it encompassed and in return sucked blood into the skin, and its effects were clearly visible within its clear walls. His flesh was drawn up nearly to the back of the pump, red and angry looking, jutting up aggressively between his thighs now that it was no longer tucked back between his labia by the restraints of his clothing. He’d been wearing it since before the sun had risen that morning, as he had been every day for the past number of weeks, during which time the size of the pump had increased once, and the limits of his own body immeasurably. At this point Vulpes dared to let his face turn fully to meet Joshua’s again, but this time he was spared any recourse as his superior officer’s attention lay below. Needing no preamble, Joshua stepped in close, grasping the end of the pump between two fingers and examining it.
“Hardly what I would call progress.”
As he spoke he twisted the tube back and forth, watching the way Vulpes’ trapped clit had no escape but to twist with it. His posture was stiff, though this was not unusual and were it not for Joshua’s growing familiarity of his signifiers it would have been indistinguishable from Vulpes Inculta’s already severe demeanor.
“Even after all my efforts, you’re no man.”
He gripped the pump firmly then and tugged, pleased at how the flesh pulled around Vulpes’ pudendum, and his knuckles grew white where they held the ends of his skirt.
“Who do you expect to respect you as such, with this little thing?”
When he let go Vulpes had to steady himself to keep from exhaling in visible relief. Despite the ongoing nature of the experiment, his genitals had not grown accustomed to the pain of daily, long term modification. Recently in particular, as Joshua’s malice towards him had seemingly increased, and the pressure used to inflate his clit equally so. When sucked into the cylinder of the pump, his clitoris stood a good few inches out from his groin, a vast change from the relatively unimpressive bud it had been only months prior. The initial pumping hurt, and the pain only grew as the day progressed, from his morning briefings to the final call to the Malpais Legate’s tent in the evening, until he felt nearly numb from it. He never was numb, though, never able to stop himself from jolting when a particularly quick movement in sparring jostled the tube where it lay hidden, tormenting him each time he sat as though Joshua were there himself, tugging at him to watch him squirm.
Even his natural posture had been affected, legs always spaced a little wider, movements more careful. This was good, he told himself, as mindfulness of his body at all times lent well to remembering focus, streamlining stealth. Joshua Graham said nothing, because he did not care if Vulpes became more successful at his job, or more useful to the Son of Mars. He did not care what Vulpes felt or did at all.
“Get undressed.”
Without waiting to see his command carried out, Joshua busied himself with the case of instruments he had left on a small covered table behind him, one Vulpes recognized and loathed. Pulling off his armor, he placed it neatly beside where he stood, piece by piece, casually folding and setting his tunic and skirt atop it. He was so practiced at this now that the deed was done before he had even fully registered doing it, an involuntary and subconscious routine. Each movement caused the pump to tremble, though, and that he noticed.
“Arms behind your back.”
He never invited Vulpes to his bed. Drawing out a length of rope, Joshua bound his arms as he stood solemnly, tracing the bruises left from the nights before that had long yet to heal. Though his eyes remained averted, Vulpes held his head high and proud as he was maneuvered as Joshua wanted, chest out, legs apart. The Legate was close enough that his breath should have tickled the back of Vulpes Inculta’s neck, but Graham was too skilled for that, and he knew how every sense in Vulpes’ body was searching for him, feeling his stare but unable to place it exactly, and how it tormented him.
“If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.”
Vulpes could not keep his breath from hitching when Joshua returned to the pump, reaching around his back to tug at it idly.
“Perhaps I haven’t been strict enough in my efforts.”
With a twist of his thumb he released the pressure valve. Exhaling through his nose, Vulpes did not allow himself to be relieved as air rushed back into the plastic, Joshua twisting the cylinder a few times before it properly dislodged from the swollen skin. Though not quite as prominent as it had seemed when sucked into the tube, his clit stood strikingly from his groin as the Legate removed his implement, pulsing with each breath he took. The skin was taut and shiny, particularly on the now bulbous head where it protruded from the hood. As much as freedom from the confines of the pump eased the tension on his delicate organ, being exposed to the open air of the tent felt oddly cold even in the evening heat, discomfort radiating up his pelvis.
Joshua took his time cleaning the pump with a small rag, pointedly ignoring Vulpes as he did so. It was an age old tactic that was so predictable as to be aggravating to him, and yet Vulpes knew at the same time that in feeling so he was falling for it. In total silence he stood, each beat of his heart seeming to originate in his engorged clitoris, hard and waiting between his spread thighs, and watched as Joshua Graham replaced the cylinder in its case, along with the tubing and pressure pump, closing and snapping locks.Each passing second built within his gut, the responses long trained into him all activating just as intended, no matter how Vulpes urged his breaths to remain steady, his heart to slow. Simply receiving the order to go to the Legate’s tent now had his cunt widening inside, growing wet and plump, even more so than it had been all throughout the day as the forced arousal of his clit sent confused signals through his overtaxed sex.
When he was finished busying himself, he turned to Vulpes bare handed. Vulpes had to look up to face him when they were this close. His height had never bothered him much before, as the inches differing between he and his fellow Legionaries had never mattered when on the other end of a blade or bullet, but somehow Joshua towering above him at his decidedly average build drew his ire. The Legatus should be imposing, Vulpes corrected himself – it was his right and duty to represent the Legion as such, yet here it seemed almost overkill. Swallowing his pride, he kept his features schooled politely.
It did not last. The moment Joshua Graham’s rough fingers closed around his naked clit, Vulpes lost his control to a pained grimace. The skin was so sensitive, so anguished after days of abuse, that the barest brush caused deep aches, and Joshua did not touch him gently. Squeezing the swollen length between his fingers, Joshua rubbed at him callously, watching as Vulpes’ hips trembled in an effort to remain in place, like a good soldier, not running from the over-stimulation.
“You think Caesar would ever recognize you with such a pathetic thing between your legs?”
He let go, pacing behind Vulpes as he struggled to breathe.
“You’re no man, Vulpes Inculta. Even like this.”
From behind Joshua reached an arm to again grasp him, this time carefully grasping his shaft just at the edge of the hood, and with a firm touch he began to jerk Vulpes off.
“Caesar saved you from the cross on a whim. You’re nothing but glorified breeding stock, a cunt in a costume.”
He made no attempt to hide himself now, pressed against Vulpes’ back so that he knew he had nowhere to run. Back and forth he stroked him, pulling the hood of his clit over the head and then peeling it back to reveal the inflamed bud. Each slide was liquid fire, painful and yet violently pleasurable, and with his chin falling against his chest Vulpes had no choice but to watch as his grossly distended clit-cock was manipulated. It had been days since he had last cum, weeks, really, both due to Joshua’s orders to keep his hands away from his growing clit and the pain that he felt at even doing something as simple as removing his underpants to pee. Joshua’s uncaring masturbation of him was the first attempt at pleasure he’d experienced in as long, and even with the rawness he felt himself succumbing fast.
Every now and then Joshua would dip his fingers down, never slowing the pace of his frigging, and slide between Vulpes’ labia, collecting cyprine to smear up the underside of his shaft and soothe the movements. Vulpes’ mouth slowly fell open, panting hotly as the speed increased, burning hotter. The skin all over his body prickled, itchy and hungry for relief, a tightness taking hold of his groin as orgasm bubbled in his guts. He had hardly thought of anything but his pride and anger in the recent days, but now the sudden need to cum consumed him, and he shuddered in place, urging Joshua’s hand on.
He drew away right as the jaws of orgasm nipped Vulpes at the heel. The sudden loss of sensation, at the exact moment he was nearly there, actually hurt, a punch in his gut hard enough that he was left gasping, stunned. Joshua laughed, his fingers remaining splayed just above as need rocked through Vulpes’ gut. His clit was visibly throbbing, aching for touch, dark and bloody looking.
“It hurts, doesn't it, stopping just at the last moment?”
Vulpes wasn’t sure if he was meant to respond, trying to recover himself and failing, staring blinding at the source of his anguish where it stood erect. His vagina contracted down, hungry and wanting as well, all of him confused and furious.
“I said, it hurts, doesn't it?”
Joshua grabbed a handful of his short hair, yanking Vulpes’ head back so he could spit the question directly in his face. With a dry throat, Vulpes answered, trying not to let the distress bleed into his voice.
“Yes, sir.”
Holding him there a second longer to ensure the point got across, Joshua finally let go, moving back to his table as Vulpes struggled to hold himself upright without shaking. He could feel every part of his sex, from his fat clit to his womb, awake and alive and struggling.
“It should. I’m going to punish you today, Vulpes Inculta.”
The Malpais Legate had told him, when they first began, that this modification to his body was for his benefit, to make him better resemble the man he was meant to be while keeping the gift of Venus intact inside of him, and Vulpes Inculta had believed him. Of course he had, for he had been given no reason to distrust the second in command beneath the great Caesar. Only weeks prior had he been spared death by the mercy of the Son of Mars after his disobedience and the subsequent discovery of his true nature. Caesar had come to him in person, something Vulpes had never dared to imagine, looked him straight on and told him he belonged to the Legion, as a man.
He had been laying in the tent they had interrogated him in, early morning before dawn had risen, barely even bound because his wounds were so great. His vagina was little more than an open wound after the gang rape he had endured, still occasionally seeping dark blood if he dared to shift. Vulpes did not blame them; he would have ordered the same done if a woman had been discovered among them, doing as he did, but he was not a woman. When the tent flaps opened he was unsurprised to see the sun had not crested the skyline, assumed they were there to continue his punishment before the crucifixion, but the Legionaries had looked nervous, and they had told him he was to be judged again.
Vulpes had not been able to sit upright, but to face Caesar he stood, allowing himself to be lashed to the center pole of the tent so that he might remain that way, and shortly thereafter Caesar had entered. The sky was black outside, and his attendants had brought lamps so that he might see Vulpes Inculta’s nakedness in full, but looking at him Vulpes knew it was not necessary. Caesar scrutinized at him with piercing dark eyes and knew him immediately. The silent discomfort of his cohort spoke volumes. Caesar did not ask how he had hidden himself for so long, nor did he comment on the sorry state he found the condemned Decanus in, only looked at him a long while.
“Why did you do it?”
Vulpes Inculta had made his entire life upon lies, but he would not lie to God.
“I believe in the Legion.”
Caesar regarded him, and Vulpes regarded back. In the flesh, Caesar was softer than his hawkish profile on their coins, but undiminished in regality. The refined poise of his cheeks, the thin frown he wore, the tendons flexing in his neck as he cocked his head.
“You didn’t think you’d get caught?”
“I knew I would,” said Vulpes, having to speak slowly to be clear through his swollen lips, “I expected death daily.”
“You never thought of leaving?”
Though Caesar could make out little expression on Vulpes Inculta’s face beneath the mask of blood and pain, he saw how the muscles around his jaw tensed, brows furrowing slightly. It was not with fear, nor even anger, something more akin to haughtiness, to pride.
“I’d sooner die. I wanted to fight for you. I want to kill for you.”
Caesar smiled, a look as handsome as it was cruel. Hours later, as Vulpes lay tended by slaves in the healer’s cot, he was informed of his promotion.
Joshua Graham had come to him a few months after, when he had fully relocated to the Legion’s capital camp. He had told Vulpes that, despite his pardoning, there was work to be done, work the Gods had not done themselves, work to make him a proper man. It had been painful, at first, but not humiliating. If a superior came to his inferior and demanded submission, it was to be given. Vulpes had never been party to such an arrangement prior, but to be called upon by a Legatus, the one second only to Caesar, even, was an honor. Pain did not matter. Everything he had belonged to the Legion, and the Malpais Legate was one of the men for whom the Legion existed. His cunt had healed mostly, though it was tight and sore now, a mess of scars inside, but if it could still give pleasure to the Legatus it was worthy.
He did not kid himself now. Joshua Graham did not fuck him to make him more of a man, or to please Caesar; he did it because he enjoyed causing pain. Vulpes Inculta was young and in a precarious position, eager to show his worth, tightly muscled and beautiful, and Joshua wanted to brutalize him. It was not the revelation that had lost him his respect from Vulpes. It was his right, after all. What had disappointed him, as time progressed, was the fact that Joshua had never been man enough to admit it.
“Stand still.”
There was no other warning given before the strap struck Vulpes across the chest. It was nothing fancy, an old leather belt Joshua held bunched in one hand, but it did its job excellently, cracking against the skin loudly and leaving a bright welt in its wake. Closing his eyes, Vulpes did his best to brace. He had very little breast meat, something which had aided his efforts in remaining undetected over the years, now understood as Caesar had explained to him, a feature of his existence as blessed by the Gods. If seen through his tunic, it appeared as little more than a prominent pectoral muscle, Ignorable as a sexual characteristic, but Joshua seemed fixated on flattening them further. He struck out again, lashing now across the right chest, beating another red streak into the skin and directly striking Vulpes’ already erect nipple.
He had a strong cushion of muscle, but Joshua was skilled in the art of punishment. Without pause he brought the belt down again and again, the staccato beat of whip cracks boxed within the stale air of the tent. Vulpes did not flinch, eyes clear and straight ahead for each blow, unresistant but unyielding. The dry air didn’t lend itself to sweat, the belt ripping cleanly into him at high friction, brutally, but Vulpes Inculta was a soldier. This pain he could take. Joshua’s belt landed not on unmarked flesh but skin already mottled with bruising from his drills, scarred hard from years of beatings in battle. Were it not for the purple teeth marks ringing both his nipples, the Legate’s contributions would hardly be distinguishable from the medals adorning the breast of every man in the Legion.
Despite that, Joshua was undeterred, beating his small chests until they bloomed as bright red as his cunt, scabs reopening under the lash. When he finally paused, Vulpes was breathing hard, but had yet to cry out, reminding himself of the white whip scars lacing his back, of the pain and humiliation he had endured before his postponed crucifixion.
Breathing almost as hard as his victim, Joshua Graham circled him, enjoying the fruit of his handiwork. Vulpes Inculta’s buttocks were dark from a beating he’d been given earlier in the week, and while the concept of layering bruise upon bruise was nothing he shied from it seemed to not spark his interest tonight, returning to stand before him as he considered. Vulpes took the moment to catalog the damage so far, so that he might prepare to mask it tomorrow. His chest, thankfully, was easily defended beneath his thick breast plating during the time he spent in uniform. It would be uncomfortable to compress the rapidly swelling hematomas beneath his clothing, but not insurmountably so. Joshua hadn’t broken any of his ribs. The skin was raw and tender, but intact, largely, only bleeding small amounts from the Legate’s bite marks left earlier. His nipples were hard as rocks, throbbing in the hot night air, but this too could be hidden.
The next strike connected with his inner thigh, the belt strap wrapping around his leg briefly to encompass nearly up to his right buttock before snapping back. Vulpes had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. No amount of muscle coverage or battle experience would make the nerves there less tender, particularly as, aside from the newly blooming welt, the skin had remained relatively untouched in recent days. When he mounted Vulpes he did so impersonally, never laying their bodies flush, holding him down and using him. The marks he left behind were from what Vulpes very generously allowed to be called foreplay. Just as before he was given no time to steel himself, but Vulpes was an expert in lying, and when the lash bit the other side of his inner thigh he did not need to hold himself back, jaw set tight and silent. He found focus in watching the Legate’s face, falling into the rhythm of reading the stiffness of his jaw, the vein standing prominent on his forehead, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips between blows.
“Insurance,” he said suddenly, coming to pause again, “so that I know you aren’t spending your time rubbing your thighs together over that unGodly thing.”
His clit had remained hard, though the echoes of his failed orgasm ebbed. Of course, even without the new pain radiating from his legs, Vulpes Inculta would never have deigned to masturbate himself in such a pathetic manner, far too proud and under control even when his cunt was clenching with want, but it was the Legate’s right to ensure his will was carried out, warranted or not. He hated it, still. Vulpes loved the Legion, loved his work, loved his God, but, even while he behaved perfectly, he hated Joshua Graham.
“Don’t make a sound.”
Knowing what was coming, Vulpes was unable to stop his face from screwing up in pain when the next lash hit him directly between the legs. The flat of the belt struck him across his vulva, buckling his flushed labia, the greatest pain lancing the underside of his clitoris. Using an underhand grip, Joshua whipped him repeatedly, landing each hit perfectly against his cunt, occasionally managing to snap across the exposed head of his clit in the process. He was already so anguished there, so tender, every muscle in his body tensing with the need to escape the continuous strikes. Vulpes dug his heels into the dirt, biting his lip as the cries built in his lungs, eager to escape him.
Quickly flipping his wrist, Joshua aimed the next strike from above so that it hit his clit alone. Vulpes could not hold back, hunching over slightly to guard himself, even though he knew better, mouth opened in a painful gasp. It wasn’t a cry, hardly even a noise, but the combination of his offenses was just enough to give the Legate the excuse he wanted.
His free hand snapped out, grabbing Vulpes by the neck.
“You really are a poor excuse for a Legionary. A poor excuse for a man.”
He paused a moment, looking at Vulpes with disdain.
“Those who are determined to pursue a course which shows an opposition to the designs of the Lord will lean that God can do his own work without the aid of those not dictate by his counsel. You’re nothing but a slave, Vulpes Inculta. Learn to serve.”
He began beating his clit in earnest. Joshua’s hand was constricting his windpipe, making him gulp at the air desperately as he attempted to keep from retreating any more, but the lashes were coming fast and hard and each one hurt so horribly, so intimately, that he hard to fight to keep from collapsing. He had never experienced anything like the bruising pain he felt in his most delicate place, incomparable to a battle injury or whipping wound. While he still refused to cry out, each breath he took was sharp, an obvious sign of distress, eyes tightly shut as his hips shuddered in place. It was the Legate’s right, as his superior, both as a Legionary and as a man. It was his right. He deserved every slap against his disgusting, womanly sex. Joshua Graham had earned this right. His right. Vulpes Inculta was nothing but a cog, a slave, and it was the Legate’s right.
The next lash hit his clit head directly and his knees buckled. It was not enough to make him fall, or move him out of place, but it was noticeable and pathetic and he hated himself for it immediately. Joshua held the belt still.
“Disgusting.”
He turned his back and Vulpes allowed himself a shuddering breath, wretchedly relieved it was over. His vulva was bright red and puffy, and his swollen clitoris had grown so dark and engorged it was painful just to look at. His thighs and chest were entirely forgotten, the fevered burn radiating around his cunt all he could feel.
“Come.”
Joshua had cleared his table enough for the next activity. His kit remained to the side, exuding a presence as powerfully wicked as the Legate himself, and as Vulpes approached on trembling legs he and the bag glared at one another as if enemies.
“Bend over.”
He allowed himself to be maneuvered as Joshua liked, laying his sore chest across the itchy wool runner on the hardwood. Joshua pulled his hips back so there was a good few inches between them and the edge, something Vulpes secretly appreciated as it reduced the chance of his protruding clitoris from bumping against it accidentally. Even the thought of a gentle touch now made his stomach clench in discomfort.
The beating had forced the physical response of his cunt lubricating, something Joshua noticed immediately. Using two fingers he crudely spread his labia open to inspect his hole, humming distastefully.
“Do you enjoy this, Vulpes Inculta?”
Vulpes did not answer him, but this time it did not seem like Joshua cared.
“Underneath your uniform you really are nothing but a slavering bitch.”
He was fiddling with something behind Vulpes’ back, making all the hairs along his neck rise. It should be over now. Joshua had him bent over here, spread and ready. Just stick it in.
“Oh, I'm going to fuck you,” the Legate said, reading his tensing spine, “even if you are hardly worthy.”
His hands rested on Vulpes’ buttocks, spreading his thighs wider, and Vulpes realized that, alarmingly, his right hand was now gloved. He stared at the side of the tent, now only a few feet from his nose, finding little faults in the fabric, a tear no bigger than a fingernail, a smattering of blood. Behind him a bottle cap snapped open, thick liquid being applied to skin.
“This is all you get tonight.”
The blunt head of Joshua’s cock pushed against his asshole. He hadn’t been prepared at all, the only lubricant spared for the Legate. The only times he had ever been visited there prior had been few and incredibly uncomfortable even when he had been properly attended to. Vulpes swallowed, setting his jaw.
Joshua pushed once, making no headway. His hands returned to pull apart Vulpes’ buttocks, spreading him as wide as he could, and when he pushed again he managed to bully past the natural defenses there, forcing his cock in a good few inches. Vulpes Inculta groaned loudly and painfully, the unnatural stretch like a knife twisting in his gut. Joshua slapped his ass with the gloved hand.
“Quiet.”
He had to push in short jerks, too dry and raw to get fully inside in one go. Vulpes squirmed against the table, his bruised tits rubbed angrily by the rough wool. He couldn’t help himself, no man could. The intrusion was splitting him apart, and it couldn’t have felt easy for Joshua either but he kept going, thrusting forcefully as the meager amount of lube allowed the barest slide between their skin. Something split – Vulpes felt the tear open like a ripped seam – and after a few more pushes a coppery smell hit his nostrils. Joshua must have liked that, because his cock twitched, something Vulpes was grotesquely aware of inside him.
So blinding was the agony that he wasn’t even aware of Joshua’s other hand, the gloved one, until it returned between his legs and pinched his clit harshly. Vulpes screamed between his teeth.
“You deserve this,” Joshua hissed, and Vulpes became aware that the touch didn’t only hurt due to his rough treatment but that there was something else between the glove and his flesh, dry and prickly and, more than anything, stinging like a hill of ants. He tried to buck away, beyond caring about his pride, but Joshua had him pinned, fucking into his ass as he gripped Vulpes by the clit like a leash.
“I’m going to ensure you remember your lesson tonight,” he said, but Vulpes could hardly hear him, eyes wide and teeth grit. Nettles. It was stinging nettles, applied directly to his clit, the barbarous leaves pricking his agonized sex and injecting their toxins. He tried to stand but Joshua caged him with his body, and as he continued to thrust his fingers began to work along his length in an agonizing parody of their earlier dance, jerking him off into the bundle of nettles. Scrambling in the dirt Vulpes kicked out, barking short cries of pain, but all he could do was endure.
The worst part was that Joshua’s training had stuck. Somewhere in the back of his mind signals were crossed, and even as agony consumed him arousal continued to pump through his veins. His throbbing clit was still shooting lances of pleasure up his gut whenever Joshua rolled the head between his fingers, his cock battering the back of his cervix through the lining of his intestine. The binding of his arms had always seemed pointlessly domineering before now, a symbolic gesture more to humiliate than subjugate, because Vulpes Inculta knew better than to fight back, than to run, but at this moment, with his ass being fucked raw and his clit inflamed, he could not help himself. Loyalty was the most important thing to a Legionary, but his brain at the moment did not belong to a Legionary, the animal instincts that truly governed all men cornered and screaming.
As Joshua began to pick up speed, he pushed Vulpes down tighter beneath him, keeping him pinned to make his job easier. While the lubrication barely allowed for his vigorous movements, Vulpes’ body softened around him, brutalized into submission, and as the pace of his hips increased so did his tugging on Vulpes’ clit-cock. Despite himself, Vulpes felt his pussy clench whenever a thrust inadvertently stimulated his inner walls from behind, the throbbing in his clit beginning to clash with the stinging. The pain of the nettles was accompanied by an itching, one which Joshua’s rough fingers scratched, some sort of sick relief being eked out of the tortured mess between his legs. That unresolved tension from earlier reared its ugly head yet again, nipping at his heels like the flames of hell. Spit and snot streaked down his face, tears of shock and pain puddling beneath his face and staining the table top. Disgusting, pathetic, humiliating. Through the leaf of a nettle Joshua’s thumb rubbed across the head of his clit in just the wrong way and he had to bite back a sound far too close to a sob for comfort.
Joshua Graham finished inside him suddenly and with as little preamble as the rest of the night’s violence. With an agonizing squeeze around his clit, the Legate’s body tensed, and he felt him pulsing inside, the wetness of his cum lost in the heat of his own blood. He held Vulpes there for a long moment, panting and grunting like a rutting profligate on one of his whores, and then he stepped away, his cock sliding out of Vulpes with a sickening squelch, blood and cum seeping freely after. The muscle was far too battered to close properly, feeling as if Joshua had left boiled tar behind in his wake. When his hand dropped from Vulpes Inculta’s clit he didn’t care where the nettles fell, some of them still clinging to his wet skin, the burn refusing to abate. With no other orders and a total inability to make his own choice, Vulpes remained bent over, gasping and slavering. Everything hurt, and above it all he was still hard, still left without cumming.
It was only now that the assault had ended that Vulpes Inculta was able to reflect upon his cowardice. Truly, no man alive could be expected to endure such abuses with dignity, but he had so much more to prove than other men. The Malpais Legate was to blame. He had done this to Vulpes with the intention of breaking him, but with no goal other than his own satisfaction. It was his right, but he shouldn’t have taken it.
He was pulled from his misery when the blade of a knife worked between the rope tying his wrists and cut him free.
“Get your things and leave.”
Vulpes stumbled like a newborn calf, blood ringing in his ears. He pulled on his tunica and skirt mechanically, but could not muster the strength for the rest. He would carry it to his tent, past the night fires and the curious Legionaries still up at this hour, his expression bloodshot and venomous to those who looked too long. Trying to pull on his underpants was agony before they’d made it mid thigh – he did not dare attempt further, removing and pocketing them. Though he tried not too look to closely now, saving a more thorough inspection of his wounds for when he had the privacy to lick them, it was impossible to ignore the fat protrusion of his clit. It looked bruised, far more swollen than it had been when he had first removed the pump, a pulsing mass of raw nerves. Though blood had collected on his inner thighs, he had not been torn badly enough to leave evidence that would be visible with his skirt on, a fact he thanked Mars for as he had no way of cleaning himself before leaving.
When he left the Legate’s tent, limping and hunched, Joshua was not looking at him, reading from his ratty little book of old world scripture he carried with him, his cock put away but his clothes rumpled, hair disheveled and sweaty. He looked pathetically human, sitting there with his spine straight and the scent of sex around him, a man trying too hard to transcend his place. Vulpes Inculta realized then that he would out live the Legate. It was not a thought born from the anger that still swelled impotently inside him, nor wishful thinking. He simply knew, then and there, that Joshua Graham would die, and Vulpes Inculta would live on. It gave him comfort that night as he picked the remaining patches of green nettles from his inflamed skin in the privacy of his tent, each touch sparking new agonies, and later as he lay on his side in his cot, chewing the inside of his cheeks bloody as he prayed for the heat in his stomach to dissipate, for the gross distortion of his natural body to resolve itself.
Three years later and his prediction became reality. Shortly thereafter, Caesar called him to his court.
In the time since his promotion to the Frumentarii, Vulpes Inculta had grown. Under the watchful council of the highest authorities in the Legion, he had proven that his skill as a tactician surpassed all others in his unit, and indeed likely the wasteland itself. He had traveled west with the Caesar’s troop, and he had left behind little more than ashes and the dead. Caesar spoke to him in person, confided the Legion’s trajectories to he among only a handful of others, recognized him. He had always known himself, but the pride, the true joy of being one of the closest to God, had taken root inside him. Joshua Graham had seen it, and he had been powerless in all his attempts to discourage its growth.
Perhaps that was why he had grown more cruel, yet more distant, before his ultimate failure. The more often Caesar called upon Vulpes Inculta to carry out his will, the more the Legate drew away. It was as if he could scent the divine upon him, and was repulsed by it; an interesting admission of his own continued decline in usefulness to the Legion. His false God of the old world did not smile upon him. The conviction he felt to his proper place only strengthened Vulpes’ resistance to him anyways, so that many nights he was left coughing up blood from the beating he had received. His body had grown, too, however; grown hard and lethal, his nerves blunted, and the gazes of men other than the Legate had begun to roam his form during conversation, superiors and inferiors alike becoming curious, and fearful.
The Legionary had been downed by his own emotions – Vulpes had seen his folly before the skirmish began. The other trainees stood attentive and in formation as they watched, but he could see their shared looks, hear them exchanging snippets of excited prediction. While they had heard of his prowess few had actually been privileged to meet him before, and as was expected they were dubious of the veracity of his legend. Vulpes Inculta was not a tall man, his muscles strong but lean, his face sharp and pretty. The rich tan on his skin illuminated his scars like jewelry where they curled around his limbs, but scars were not unique within their ranks, and he knew their inspection only tended to draw attention for the wrong reasons to the nape of his neck, the curve of his wrist, the shadow where his skirt lay across his thighs. It was not often the greatest of the Frumentarii deigned to practice with soldiers not of his caste, but on occasion he found the new recruits needed to be reminded why their betters were called such.
As soon as he had given the command, the recruit had struck. The mistake was so cliche as to be disappointing. He lunged, knife drawn, all his force in the width of his shoulders, his other arm raised as a guard. The consideration of his body did not extend below the waist; with a smooth dip Vulpes dropped low, kicking the recruit’s legs out from under him. As he fell Vulpes turned aggressive, using the falling body's momentum to climb on top, disarming him as he did so. With one knee he pinned the Legionary at the breast, his other boot stamping down upon his wrist to discourage and enforce, turning the blade against its former master’s throat. The entire affair lasted less than a second.
“Sloppy.”
He’d knocked the air from the recruit’s lungs. Vulpes remained on top of him until he was recovered enough to recognize the reality of his situation. It wouldn't be worth the effort without inflicting a little shame.
“Brute force will mean nothing if you hand your weapon over to your enemy so easily,” he scoffed, finally standing when he knew the recruit was listening.
“Even a child could have killed you with minimal effort.”
The Legionary stood too quickly, obviously embarrassed and angry, eyes darting back at his peers. They too had grown quiet, watching to see if Vulpes would take the kill. Good. That was how they should perceive him with fear and awe, not the juvenile interest he had sensed before. The very concept sickened him. No one but his Master was allowed to perceive him that way.
“Again.”
Dropping the knife in the dirt, Vulpes readied himself for a second brawl. The recruit tensed, this time readying himself more deliberately.
“I'm afraid that’ll have to wait. You’re wanted.”
Vulpes did not look to see who had approached the small group, continuing to size up his prey.
“Given the last performance, you will not have to wait long.”
The recruit was torn between watching him and whoever had entered the conversation, a potentially fatal distraction.
“You will not keep Caesar waiting.”
That changed things. Relaxing his posture, Vulpes turned. The messenger was no one worth remembering, although he did, as Vulpes Inculta remembered everything, a foot soldier aiming for Centurion who’d been visiting court often recently, sent likely only because Caesar would not insult Vulpes with a slave. He seemed to be on his way elsewhere, appearing impatient, but that didn’t matter either. None of this mattered, because Caesar had called for him.
“Ah. I see, then.”
Turning back to the group, he addressed them with a brief nod.
“Back to your duties.”
And he was off. Caesar’s court, once a place more frightening than a flaming battlefield, had become more familiar to Vulpes Inculta than his own tent. He now spent much of his time positioned here when not training, scheming, or otherwise involving himself with the works of the Frumentarii, standing at his Master’s side to guard him and enhance his presence. To be within its woven walls had humbled him as a green Decanus, but now he was filled with pride each time he walked through the antechamber, knowing he belonged right here.
Caesar was seated at his throne, drinking water from a glass while a slave remained attentive beside him. Much of the usual bustle was absent, likely due to the later point in the day when the business of delegation had been done. Vulpes did not fail to notice, however, that even the normal level of activity was somewhat subdued, a large number of his Praetorians dismissed to the tent’s outer stations with only the essential staff remaining. Lucius was there, as expected, idle by the throne, but he appeared somewhat more serious than usual, commanding Vulpes to differ respect with only a look. He approached quickly, knowing every second it had taken to arrive was a second of Caesar’s precious time wasted, kneeling with his head bowed.
“What is your wish, Mighty Caesar?”
Finishing his drink calmly, Caesar cleared his throat, shooing the woman off. Vulpes could not see him, but his ears visualized every movement as he shifted on the furs, gazing down at his subordinate.
“You still bleed, don’t you, Vulpes?”
Having been caught off guard, Vulpes couldn’t help but twitch in place, processing the question. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind as to what it meant.
“Yes, Caesar, sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
Caesar leaned back in his seat, lounging to one side comfortably as he waited. Vulpes forced himself to remained poised, heart racing.
“My bleeds do not come monthly as they do for the breeders; usually there are three to four moons between them, sometimes more.”
When Caesar did not say anything else, he elaborated.
“When I was... promoted to Frumentarius, the healers did not expect me to regain the ability to bleed at all.”
“But they were wrong.”
It was not a question, so he did not answer it. Caesar hummed.
“I guess that’s good enough.”
His mind raced to follow Caesar’s line of thinking, dread creeping down his spine. Perhaps he had not fulfilled his duties as desired after all and was going to be reduced to what he knew he was not, a woman. Vulpes shook that thought down immediately. He had performed every act expected of him not only acceptably but excellently, superbly, surpassing all his supposed peers and then some. He had never failed to execute a plot, to massacre a target. If Caesar was displeased, however, was he even allowed anger? The conflict between his pride and dismay rattled him.
Caesar leaned forward in his chair, tenting his fingers, and casually said, “It’s your lucky day then. You’re going to carry my child.”
Whatever mental anguish he had been feeling shattered apart. Vulpes could not help himself, head snapping up, though he managed to stop right before looking at Caesar fully.
“My Lord?”
Caesar snorted at his reaction.
“I’m going to fuck you, soldier, and you’re going to get pregnant. It’s what you’re here for. Do you understand?”
For all the years of training he had undergone, the intense schooling of his nerves, the beatings he had endured, Vulpes Inculta could not stop from staring wide and blankly before him. He licked his lips, feeling as if he was being tested, but unsure why, or how, or in what way he was meant to respond. Caesar laughed.
“Given the lack of your normal eloquence I’m guessing you’re opposed to the idea?”
Bowing his head again, Vulpes recaptured his voice.
“Not at all, Mighty Caesar! I am honored, truly. I…”
His throat was dry, but his cunt was dripping. Caesar cut him off, uninterested.
“Good. Wait for me in my quarters.”
With that he turned his attention to Lucius and began to direct his movements for the evening, mostly related to keeping the court business away from him. Vulpes tried to move quickly to obey him, standing and making a bee line for the tent flap. It was hard not to run, his head swimming with excitement, with anxiety. He was hard as a rock inside his underwear, clit shifting into the leather with each step. It didn't hurt the way it had with Graham.
He’d been inside Caesar’s tent before, of course. The structure was exclusive but not forbidden, and here he had often discussed the fine details of war plans, overseen the construction of instruments of destruction, and, most titillating of all, been invited to dine with Caesar on more than one occasion. Now though Vulpes was not sure what was expected of him, standing in the center of the room, unusually unsure of himself. Caesar lived with more luxury than most men in the Legion, but only as was just, his accommodations nowhere near the disgusting opulence of the NCR or the degenerate filth that stained The Strip. A few tables, books stacked neatly in teetering towers on most every surface, a footlocker, a variety of chairs for the private meetings held here, but it was the large bed in the back of the tent that drew his attention, the clean white sheets challenging him to dare dirtying them with his unworthy touch.
Caesar would not take him there, surely. In fact, there were few places here he thought would be appropriate for mating on, certainly none prepared for it. All his women were dismissed as well, not a soul in sight to direct him, and so Vulpes stood, hands at his side, a few feet away from everything so as not to appear presumptuous, and frowned.
He had still not moved when Caesar entered in behind him and shut the tent flaps, buckling them to ensure there would be no interruptions. As the natural light dampened, Vulpes felt his breath quicken, standing straighter.
“Sir.”
“You can suck cock, can’t you?”
Relieved to be given something to do, Vulpes nodded stiffly.
“Yes, Lord Caesar.”
“I figured as much.”
Lumbering over to a char in the back of the tent, closer to the bed and his personal items, Caesar sat down heavily. Vulpes did not dare move, watching.
“Well,” said Caesar, slapping his hands to his thighs, “get to it.”
Vulpes started, taking a few steps towards the chair before he remembered himself. Crouching down, he closed the space between them on his hands and knees, settling between his Master’s spread legs in a tight squat so that he could reach him easily. His eyes flickered to Caesar’s face briefly, needed confirmation that he was not overstepping his boundaries, and saw that he looked amused, if nothing else, eyebrows raised as he leaned back and let his crotch show prominently under his tunic helm.
Busying himself, Vulpes pushed his face in close, nosing the fabric out of the way to better reveal Caesar’s trousers, and the bulge within. This he’d seen before too, though never from this blessed angle; at meetings, during court, just a glimpse each time when Caesar shifted in his seat, patted the dust of the day off his clothes, the shape of his cock drawing tight at the right angles. He was big, too, the length of his cock tucked down his trouser leg to fit more comfortably. To be this close, intimate, was a heady rush for him, so much so that he could feel his cunt widen inside, prepared to take him, wanting to take him, desperately. It was all he could do to control himself.
Caesar was looking at him impatiently and so Vulpes got to work, kissing and licking him through his pants. His scent was strong, clinging to his clothing, salt and sweat and masculine musk, taste just as powerful as he mouthed over the shape of it. Caesar wasn’t exactly hard yet, but arousal was building, swelling as Vulpes worked. He kept his hands to themselves, just as trained, doing only what was asked of him as best he could. With only his lips and tongue he laved at the fabric until it was dark with spit, eager to please. After a few minutes of this he felt Caesar’s fingers grasp his short hair and pulled him off undelicatly.
“I said suck, didn’t I?”
With his other hand Caesar pulled at the waist of his pants, reaching in the drag his cock out. Saliva was already dewy on his lips, nearly drooling when the hot flesh was placed before him. Caesar was indeed large, gently lined with twisting veins, the redness of its head peeking with vague interest out of the thick foreskin.
“Yes, Caesar!”
He was let go and immediately dove in, drawing the head into his mouth. The taste was stronger unobstructed, and the way he had to force his jaw open nearly hurt. Another throb rocked him, enough that he moaned around his mouthful, eyes fluttering closed. Hungrily he continued, relaxing his throat so that he could take as much as possible. Caesar hummed pleasantly when he managed to completely swallow him and Vulpes’ hips twitched longingly.
The fat girth was spearing him open like a weapon, but Caesar’s control was perfect, allowing Vulpes to perform his job without interruption. This was the most freedom he had ever been given in a sex act. It was exciting, but at the same time Vulpes felt the pressure to please intensify, knowing this was not just some vengeful soldier or disgraced Legate. Graham had always forced him to hold still, fucking into his head like it was another cunt, uncaring of the pain he caused. Now, Vulpes realized that he was unsure how to continue. Careful to keep his teeth far from the length, he began to bob his head on Caesar’s cock, back and forth, simulating what Graham had done to him. It took about a minute before Caesar stopped him with another hand in his hair.
“Who trained you to do this?”
Uneasy with the question, Vulpes slid off him, licking drool from his lips, but hesitated to answer. That was all Caesar needed to know.
“Of course it was him. I knew he was fucking around with you.”
The discontent was obvious in his voice, but he didn't seem mad. Vulpes sat still, staring down Caesar’s prick, which now stood at partial attention, pointing directly at his face.
“I’m gonna have to teach you better, then.”
His cunt clenched. Using his hand as a guide, Caesar brought him back down onto his cock, swallowing it deeply again, but this time he did not leave him to fend for himself.
“Actually suck on it, Vulpes. Use your throat, and your tongue.”
It was a little vague, but he tried, closing his mouth more solidly around him and beginning to tentatively rub his tongue along the underside as Caesar moved him.
“That stupid son of a bitch didn’t know what he was doing. Bet he just used your face like a hole, huh? Fucking idiot.”
Vulpes grew a little bolder with his tongue, tracing shapes of worship with it as he took Caesar deeper. Being allowed to engage enhanced every part of the experience, letting him taste and touch and feel his Master’s growing interest. While Graham hadn’t expected much from him, his training had at least removed any trace of his gag reflex, which made it easier to handle Caesar’s large size. After a moment he was pulled off again.
“Don’t stop. Use your mouth along the outside.”
Focused intently, Vulpes did as told, kissing him down to his balls and back. Graham had never wanted him too close to his testes, perhaps afraid he would lose his grip and Vulpes would take advantage of their situation. The thought thrilled him now, knowing the ex-Legate lay in a charred heap at the foot of the dam.
“Hm. Better, but we’re going to have to work on it more.”
He pushed Vulpes back and in his daze he teetered onto his rump, staring up at Caesar hungrily. He wanted to be trained more, wanted to learn all he could, be as best he could be for the Son of Mars. The thought was so arousing it was surreal, his cunt a mess of slickness.
“I will follow your every will, Mighty Caesar,” he said, licking the taste of precum from his lips, chest heaving. Caesar pushed himself back with his heels so the chair was angled slightly to the right. He jerked his head towards the bed.
“Get naked and sit down. I want to see what I have to work with.”
So he was going to be permitted to touch that holy place. Vulpes stood, quickly undoing all the little ties on his uniform deftly, watching his Caesar’s face with every shed piece of clothing.
“Shoes too. I don't want you getting shit in my bed.”
“Yes, Caesar.”
The rug felt strange beneath his bare feet. Vulpes could not remember ever having experienced the sensation outside the field, having only known such finery in nests of sin such as the casinos of New Vegas. He pulled his tunic over his head, but before he could get to his underwear he head Caesar make a curious grunt.
“What the fuck is that?”
He paused. Caesar was staring between his legs, at the notable lump there. He straightened up. Not since Graham had begun his modifications had another man seen what lay there, and while he had considered the new oddity of his body before, he had never truly allowed himself to ponder Caesar’s reaction to it.
“My cock, sir.”
Caesar looked at him, a single eyebrow raised.
“Show me.”
Undoing the drawstrings, Vulpes pulled down his underwear, kicking it to the side before coming to stand for inspection before him. His clit no longer bore the painful bruising which Graham had once inflicted upon it, but remained a large protrusion, pulling his inner labia tight as it strained to rise erect. His entire vulva was glistening with cyprine, the blonde hair framing his sex slicked dark and flat.
Caesar hunched forward in his seat, getting a good, close look, and Vulpes shamed himself by visibly throbbing in response.
“Look at that.”
He prodded the underside of Vulpes’ clit with a finger, watching him stiffen bemusedly.
“You could practically fuck someone with this.”
Hot from the praise, Vulpes bowed his head.
“Does it please you, my Lord?”
Caesar sniffed.
“That remains to be seen. Get on the bed and spread your legs.”
Sitting his bare backside down onto the bed was one of the most riveting moments of his life thus far. It wasn’t a particularly fine bed, cotton and linen like every other one he’d known, but it was his Caesar’s, and he was invited into it. He remained upright but leaned back, legs wide open so that Caesar could look at him. He was as filthy as he had feared, the lips of his pussy spread wide open to flash his hole, shadowed over by his protruding clit-cock – which Caesar had touched, his hand rough and weathered, as if marking him for harvest. Just being observed by him was making Vulpes sweat, dripping slick. He wanted to be enough so very badly.
“Hold yourself open.”
He did so, pulling his labia apart with two fingers. His hole was so swollen, winking slightly.
“Do you masturbate, Vulpes?”
He blinked.
“Yes, sir.”
He wondered if that was going to be forbidden to him again. Graham hadn’t been as able to control him in the last year of his life, and in partial defiance and partial need he had fallen into the habit again on occasion. That did not seem to be on Caesar’s mind, however.
“Show me how you do it.”
“You want me to touch myself?”
The idea seemed absurd, so much so that he could not hide his incredulity despite the situation. Realizing his mistake immediately, Vulpes attempted to show reverence by again casting his gaze away, but Caesar just laughed derisively.
“I'd have thought that to be obvious.”
“Yes, sir,” he said quickly, a hand already straying to his groin, but once it reached there he again hesitated. Caesar had not specified how he wanted him to perform, what aspects of his body to be displayed. He did not want to fail, but to show weakness was inexcusable as well, and so Vulpes carefully pinched the shaft of his clit between thumb and forefinger. He was not easily overwhelmed by touch, but to watch Caesar’s attention drift to his groin was enough to make his heartbeat throb through his pussy. Gingerly he began to stroke himself, already slick and ready. The hood of his clit moved easily back and forth over the head, flushed and earnest. His other hand skittered anxiously over his chest before coming to rest on his thigh, embarrassed to seem too womanly in his pleasures.
It didn’t matter. Far more quickly than he would have liked, his breathing was too labored to disguise, his motions quickening. He had been soaking wet before, could have cum from being permitted to suck Caesar’s cock alone, but now the effort of keeping himself from cumming seemed Sisyphean. His fingers tugged harshly at his engorged clit-cock, remembering his place, fighting off orgasm with the pain only just.
“Fuck, look at you.”
Caesar was lazily palming his own dick, grinning with lazy enjoyment.
“You’re about to cum already, aren't you?”
Vulpes grit his teeth, ashamed.
“Not without your order, Caesar!”
He made the mistake of looking at his Master as he said this and nearly failed in his task, squirting slightly. His nipples pointed sharply from his breast, muscles heaving beneath tanned skin.
“Good,” said Caesar, “very good.”
Vulpes moaned in the back of his throat, changing his approach to focus on the head of his clit, darkened with desire, pulling back the hood to expose the sensitive nerves to his touch. Caesar made a sound between a laugh and a growl.
“You like that, don't you? Being watched by me?”
“Yes!” Vulpes ground out.
“You've wanted me to fuck you all along, haven't you?”
“Yes!” he said again, the cords in his thighs tight and trembling.
“You’ve still got that tribal blood in you, like a bitch in heat.”
Lowering his head in shame, Vulpes chewed at his lip. With spread fingers he framed his clit, rubbing over his vulva. He again spread the lips of his sex wide, showing how wet he was, how his hole hungered to be filled.
“Alright, that’s enough.”
Immediately Vulpes withdrew his hand, even as his cunt ached for him to return to it.
“Whatever he did to you, he clearly didn't know a fucking thing about it, but you’re going to learn now.”
Caesar stood, cock swaying. Vulpes was grinning widely, his throat so tight it hurt. There was no cold calculation as with Graham, no further tests. Caesar grabbed him by the shoulder and waist and forced their mouths together, pushing him down onto his back.
He’d been kissed before, but always it had been a violation, aggressive tongues and teeth plundering him in a show of dominance. This too was how Caesar took him, but now Vulpes welcomed it. He opened his mouth and Caesar took his invitation, crushing them together, full of pride and earned arrogance. The kiss was sloppy, filthy, tongue and lip capturing him wholly. At the same time one of Caesar’s hands palmed his cunt, running over the length of his shaft before plunging two fingers inside him without hesitation. Vulpes arched back, groaning into their lip lock, another little squirt of fluid escaping him. Caesar’s hands were so hot, like the sun.
Clenching down, Vulpes Inculta struggled to hold himself back, digging his fingers into the bed to keep from breaking his vows and grasping the body on top of him. Caesar dug deep, less attempting to get him off than to map out his new territory. His fingers were thicker than Vulpes’ own, even more so than the ex-Legate, and he was so much more wanting than he had ever been with Graham. They pushed in to the knuckle, scissored and curled, and just when he thought he would break they withdrew, and Caesar pulled back, breathing heavily.
“Tighter than I thought,” he said, bringing his fingers to his lips and, to Vulpes’ shock and delight, sucking the slickness from them.
“You still have scars inside.”
“Yes, Caesar,” said Vulpes, starry eyed.
Caesar straightened up just enough for Vulpes to recognize he was getting his cock into position. He tried to open his legs wider, as if it were possible, arching his back to emphasize his chest.
“You want me to breed you?”
“Yes, Caesar! Yes!”
It was difficult to keep from sounding as stupid giddy as he felt. He wanted Caesar to claim him, crush him, keep him like a trained bitch at his heel. Caesar smirked.
“Behave yourself.”
Caging Vulpes beneath him, he pushed inside. His length was thick and it hurt, even as ready as he was, burned, but well. This was the pain a true monarch provided, what should be expected when coupling with a God. Had it been any less Vulpes would have been disappointed. He hissed and Caesar descended upon him again, kissing him violently as he began to fuck him into the bed. This was true sex, the passion of man mixed with the ferocity of beast. Though he had not been given permission, Vulpes wrapped his legs around Caesar’s back, not enough to really be felt, never enough to demand, imploring more than anything. Caesar was smothering him, caging him in his arms as their hips smacked together loudly, his round belly crushing Vulpes’ own.
Caesar was not as large a creature as Legate Lanius, but he did not need to be a giant to be formidable. Even as he aged he had retained his strength, thick muscle wrapping his arms and pronouncing his torso, richly garnished with a healthy layer of fat. He was strong and virile and every part of his body showed it, the hallmark of a man who still preferred to use his fists over a blade in foot combat. Vulpes ached to touch him, to feel his divine form with his own two hands, to worship at his altar, but he resisted, tense and focused on keeping himself in line. Caesar was pumping him deeply, every thrust grinding against his oversized clit. So intense was it that within moments he was again squeezing down, forcing back his pleasure.
Of course, he could hide nothing from God.
“You’re already cumming, aren’t you?”
“I,” Vulpes gulped down air, “I wouldn’t, without…!”
Caesar laughed breathlessly, gripping his hips and riding him hard.
“You have my permission,” he said, biting at Vulpes’ neck, “cum for me, now.”
Vulpes squirmed, gasping, and in seconds he was rocked by orgasm. It rolled through him in waves, pushed on by Caesar’s aggressive rutting. He could barely contain a cry when one of Caesar’s hands grasped at his pectorals, pinching around a nipple, overstimulated and heaving.
“Fuck!”
Caesar’s other hand was bruisingly strong on his hip, keeping him in place so that his forceful thrusts left no room between them.
“Good boy, came right away, didn’t you?”
Another heady surge of pleasure swamped him. He had not been expecting the praise, and to hear it from Caesar himself was immense.
“I am yours,” he gasped out.
“True to Caesar!”
Caesar laughed. Then he pulled out, and Vulpes’ blood ran cold a moment with the sheer terror that he had disappointed, but was quickly assuaged as Caesar hefted himself up onto the bed beside him, yanking him by the shoulder so that he scrambled back and into a better position. They were barely apart a second, his legs thrust apart as Caesar mounted him again. This time his cunt was already stretched, and Caesar slid in perfectly. Vulpes hissed, writhing.
“You can touch,” Caesar growled, “but if you go too far, you’ll regret it.”
Again he knew Vulpes’ mind with frightening accuracy. He was naked before Caesar, mind and body, the only man he would ever allow such a sight. Immediately his arms wrapped around his Master’s back, holding them together tightly as Caesar fucked him. Even through his tunic and the grand mane of feathers adorning it Vulpes could feel his muscles moving, powerful and hot. Caesar was kissing sloppily across his jaw and neck, biting where he saw fit, hard enough to bruise, claiming him. As he should, and as Vulpes wanted him to, the ring of marks around his throat as humble a display as the electronic collars of their slaves, but far more desirable.
Caesar pulled up briefly between thrusts and began undoing his belt. He was still deep inside, where Vulpes could feel him throbbing, shallowly bobbing his hips as he shed his tunic and the shirt he wore underneath it.
“Fuck, it’s hot.”
Hesitant to assist, as he’d been given no orders, Vulpes tried to catch his breath, watching with rapt interest as the naked torso of his Master was revealed to him. He had the reddish tan of an older pale skinned man, blonde hair dusting his chest and stomach, and though he wore some signs of battle the lack of scarring only informed Vulpes of his power and ability, hardly touched by the bullets and blades of the Legion’s enemies. Unsure if he was permitted to touch again, now that their situation had changed, his hands hovered at his sides. Caesar however had no reason to hold back, tossing his clothing to the floor when relieved of it and immediately diving back down, this time bringing his hot lips to Vulpes Inculta’s chest, immediately beginning his hard rhythm of fucking without any warning.
He sucked Vulpes’ chest hard, pulling the nipple between his teeth with just enough force for it to hurt without overpowering the pleasure of it. His clit was aching, rubbed just enough to tease where they connected. Kneading and sucking at his chest, Caesar shifted his legs in closer, propping Vulpes’ hips up in his lap and half folding him back. The angle let him plunge in deeper and Vulpes could only squirm, pushing his cheek against the sheets. When Caesar’s lips finally popped free of his breast the skin was brightly colored and glistening with spit, almost resembling the teats of a breeder.
“You have a lot to learn, Inculta, but I’ve known you long enough to have faith in your abilities as a student.”
Sitting up, he pinched both vulpes’ nipples between his fingers and pulled on them hard, forcing vulpes to arch up to avoid harm.
“Sure, he taught you how to shut up and take it, but your technique is lacking.”
“I’m sorry, Caesar!”
Caesar twisted his nipples harshly, rocking into him hard enough the bed squeaked in protest.
“With a bad teacher any student is doomed to fail.”
Finally he let go and Vulpes near collapsed backwards, chest stinging wonderfully. Again Caesar pulled out and Vulpes groaned softly, aching at the emptiness.
“On your hands and knees.”
He rolled over quickly, burning. Such a position was extremely demeaning, the way animals fucked, but he was hardly more than a beast compared to Caesar and he eagerly displayed himself as such. Rather than plunging back in immediately this time, Caesar sat back and admired him.
“This thing really is swollen. It’s the size of a goddamn thumb,” he said, hand coming between Vulpes’ legs to pinch at his clitoris. The touch made him shudder all over, prompting a small squeeze in punishment.
“You still bleed – there’s no way this is natural. what did he do to get you like this, hm?”
Caesar’s arousal did not hide his annoyance at the fact that someone had been here first, left a mark first. Vulpes licked his lips, remaining still as Caesar curiously rolled his clit between his fingers.
“A-a pump, Caesar, sometimes injections, but I do not know of what, nor where he got them.”
“You stuttered.”
He winced, expecting pain, deserving of it, but Caesar’s touch did not become cruel, continuing to lazily toy with him.
“Anything else?”
“I do not know,” he said truthfully, “I was not made conspirator to his plans.”
“Hm.”
Caesar grabbed his hips and yanked him back, and the anxiety their short discussion had built inside him all dissipated when Caesar’s cock returned to him, pushing inside with a filthy wet sound.
“It’s mine now, do you understand?”
Vulpes Inculta’s hips jumped when Caesar reached around his stomach and grasped his clit again, this time in the way he had earlier to masturbate himself.
“I don't give a fuck how you got it, I don’t want you to ever think about anyone else when you touch yourself.”
“Yes, Caesar!”
“Good, cuz if I ever find out otherwise, I’m castrating you.”
He began to pound Vulpes in earnest, pulling on his clit in time, and Vulpes’ head fell low as he fought to remain quiet and reserved. It was too much, Caesar’s heat, his power. He was already close to cumming again, squeezing down on Caesar as if begging him to finish, desperate to be bred. He was not gentle with Vulpes’, rough fingers pinching his clit far harder than he would ever do himself, but it was an honor to be fucked alone, much less pleasured by his God, and Vulpes understood the dangers that entailed.
He wanted it, too. No mark on his body had ever been welcomed the way he did every bruise he felt form beneath Caesar’s hands. His past scars had been won in Caesar’s honor, and he wore them with pride, but for the wounds themselves to come at his God’s own design was new and exciting and made the blood throb in his cunt like nothing else.
“Good,” Caesar grunted, and Vulpes hadn’t even realized how hard he’d been clenching down until that moment.
“Good, but you have to be more than a hole. Ride me, Vulpes. Push back.”
Bracing himself, Vulpes did exactly as he was told, mimicking the movements of a well-worn whore. It was easy enough when Caesar’s humping already bounced him in place. The sound of Caesar’s hips slapping against his mirrored the faint echo of Legionaries training outside, violent in its intensity.
“That’s right, work for it.”
He did, most enthusiastically. The harder he fucked himself back on Caesar’s cock, the harder Caesar pushed him. He pulled on Vulpes’ clit punishingly, but it only made him hornier, nearly drooling into the sheets. If it weren’t for the respect he had for Caesar’s belongings he might have. Caesar’s breath scorched his neck, still nipping at his skin occasionally as he growled in pleasure. He was getting close, Vulpes could tell, his overtaxed cunt contracting hard. The blood of older men ran cooler, slower, but the Son of Mars had no such difficulty. They pressed closer together until his Vulpes could feel his abdominalflexing with each push, completely covering him with his bulk. He was huffing and panting into Vulpes’ neck like a raging bull, grabbing Vulpes’ short hair and yanking his head back to have access to more of his throat, balls slapping against his ass.
“You may cum when I do.”
Vulpes bit his lip, shaking his hips. He was so hard, so wet, thrumming with need, and Caesar was permitting him to finish not just the once but twice. The very concept was almost enough to make him break his concentration and shame himself, such an intoxicating rush of importance and pride, even in his submission to a higher being. Letting go of his hair, Caesar sat upright on his knees, one hand on Vulpes’ hip and the other still jerking his clit, and in this way pounded him while he remained crouched like a dog.
It only took a moment for him to push over the edge, and with a throaty grunt he mashed their hips together and held them there, unloading several thick spurts of jism inside him. Vulpes could not have stopped himself even if he had been forbidden it, arms giving out as he came a second time. He could feel every pulse of orgasm thrumming through Caesar and feeding into his own, the hot weight of cum in his belly. Still holding him in place, Caesar finally relinquished his hold on Vulpes’ aching clit-cock, cupping his stomach over where he knew his womb lay hidden and massaging him there as he if could feel it.
“Good boy,” he muttered again, sending another sharp aftershock of orgasm through Vulpes, “You’re gonna carry my seed well, aren’t you?”
“Yes, mighty Caesar,” Vulpes wheezed out, muffled by the sheets. Caesar didn’t let him go for several minutes, grinding his cock inside gently as the pleasure ebbed gently from both of them. When he did pull out Vulpes had gotten so used to the stretch that it burned anew, fighting himself to keep from clawing the sheets. The head popped out with a loud squelch, cyprine and cum bubbling out of his cunt as it gaped slightly. Graham was not so large, had never made his insides feel beaten to shit like Caesar had, and it was wonderful. He wanted his vagina to shape exactly to Caesar’s cock, for him and him alone. Remaining as he was left, face in the mattress and ass in the air, he waited for further instruction, trying to organize his thoughts.
He shivered when Caesar’s blunt fingers cupped his buttocks, pulling open his labia to get a better look.
“No one’s ever fucked you like that, huh?”
While he was attempting to regain his voice Caesar gave his clit another tweak, making his hips jump.
“No, Caesar, never.”
Caesar rolled away from him, slapping his ass heartily.
“Alright, get out.”
Struggling to comply, Vulpes slid off the bed and onto his feet. Caesar was half laid over the bed horizontally, legs dangling off the side, eyes closed as he caught his breath. It was striking to see him fully naked, oiled with sweat and sexual fluids, particularly along his softening cock. Even now it was an impressive sight, Vulpes shivering as his pussy flexed in memory, another drizzle of cum drooling out between his legs with the assistance of gravity.
“Thank you, Lord Caesar,” he said, collecting his clothing.
“Yeah,” said Caesar, not moving.
“Shall i call for your slaves?”
Grunting, Caesar rubbed at his brow.
“No, now fuck off.”
Not wishing to irritate him further, Vulpes pulled on his tunic quickly. His cunt was puffy with the echoes of arousal, his clit still twitching occasionally where it stood flushed and oversensitive. Caesar had fucked him brutally, and he was sure he would bruise. Sliding on his underwear was almost uncomfortable, not from pain but from how wet he still was. There was an ache in his muscles too, one he knew would make him shudder with arousal for days to come. He was almost out the door, lacing his boots while he shouldered the bulk of his armor, when Caesar spoke up again, projecting his voice impressively despite his completely deflated posture.
“Return here after dinner. I’m not done with you, not by a long shot.”
Closing his eyes as a little shudder ran down his spine, Vulpes grinned toothily.
“Yes, Lord Caesar.”
The next week Vulpes accrued a large number of very visible bruises, which he wore proudly, and a very noticeable limp. No one was brave or stupid enough to question him on the matter.