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Storytime with Octavian - Tales of the Hunt
Octavian
Member Posts: 71
The chores of a Roman emperor usually fall into I of V categories: drinking wine, fucking concubines, composing edicts, posing for sculptors and engaging in intrigue. However during the summer of XXIX I had been bogged down dispensing aequitus to enemies of the empire. The last of the lot were some Aegyptians who'd been captured in the revolt of Heroonopolis. Eager to be done with the business and LEAVE the Palatine Hill, I sentenced the togaheads to drown and hastened back to my domus, where I proceeded to polish my javelins while they gurgled out their souls in the Tiber River.
The next day I met my fraters at the Circus Maximus. Marcus Agrippa, my friend Manius "the knave" Naveius and my stepson Nero. We prepared our chariots, yoked our steeds and were off to the hunt, careening down the Via Appia at XV miles per hour while wolfing lotus off the posteriors of whores. Our caravan consisted of LXXXI of Rome's finest concubines, together with an assortment of slaves, scullions, potters, blacksmiths, water boys, oxen, actors, musicians and fable writers. The seventh legion accompanied the caravan as a matter of praxis, in case we encountered any barbarians along the way.
If that asshole Pliny the Elder wanted to dig up any real shit on me he should have attended one of my hunts. This one was in the province of Noricum, bordering Germania. We were there to hunt alpine ibex. But really, lets be honest. Hunting was a sideshow to the main event - debauchery. Our tents were large enough to hold one hundred mastodons. We held reenactments of the battle of Troy in one of them, dining on stuffed dormice and peacock while Hector and Achilles bludgeoned each other in the background.
Another was devoted entirely to intimus. It was a steamy brothel that would have made the dirtiest Vandal blush like a vestal virgin. We fucked any harlot that we liked, day or night, and every one of them had mammae and buttocks that would have gave Venus a run for her denari.
When we tired of fucking and wanted to relax, we lounged in mineral baths and watched orgies. Satyrs danced round the fires with their hooves and horns, playing wicked tunes on lutes and lyres while we smoked hemp and ate lotus. Wine flowed freely like waterfalls from endless casks. One night, high on lotus and hard as marble, I stumbled to the nearest concubine and emptied my phallus inside her voice box before passing out on a heap of smashed grapes and other remnants of a gluttonous feast we had consumed earlier in the day.
The hunt itself was unremarkable save for a single incident. We had slain our quota of ibex for the day and were coming round a bend in the trail when we came face to face with an ursus arctos horribilis. The ursus arctos reared up on its hind legs and bellowed like a minotaur. I dropped the ibex I was carrying and reached for my javelin, cautioning the others to remain tranquil. But Manius fled and the horribilis pursued him. I launched my javelin at the monstrum, impaling it through the discipline hole and pinning it to a tree. It turned out to be a female. After subduing the beast we scoured the surrounding area and captured II little horribillium. I presented the pair of creatures as gifts to my domina after returning to Rome. It served to gloss over some of my indiscretions, and spared me from having to sleep outside in the peristylium again.
The next day I met my fraters at the Circus Maximus. Marcus Agrippa, my friend Manius "the knave" Naveius and my stepson Nero. We prepared our chariots, yoked our steeds and were off to the hunt, careening down the Via Appia at XV miles per hour while wolfing lotus off the posteriors of whores. Our caravan consisted of LXXXI of Rome's finest concubines, together with an assortment of slaves, scullions, potters, blacksmiths, water boys, oxen, actors, musicians and fable writers. The seventh legion accompanied the caravan as a matter of praxis, in case we encountered any barbarians along the way.
If that asshole Pliny the Elder wanted to dig up any real shit on me he should have attended one of my hunts. This one was in the province of Noricum, bordering Germania. We were there to hunt alpine ibex. But really, lets be honest. Hunting was a sideshow to the main event - debauchery. Our tents were large enough to hold one hundred mastodons. We held reenactments of the battle of Troy in one of them, dining on stuffed dormice and peacock while Hector and Achilles bludgeoned each other in the background.
Another was devoted entirely to intimus. It was a steamy brothel that would have made the dirtiest Vandal blush like a vestal virgin. We fucked any harlot that we liked, day or night, and every one of them had mammae and buttocks that would have gave Venus a run for her denari.
When we tired of fucking and wanted to relax, we lounged in mineral baths and watched orgies. Satyrs danced round the fires with their hooves and horns, playing wicked tunes on lutes and lyres while we smoked hemp and ate lotus. Wine flowed freely like waterfalls from endless casks. One night, high on lotus and hard as marble, I stumbled to the nearest concubine and emptied my phallus inside her voice box before passing out on a heap of smashed grapes and other remnants of a gluttonous feast we had consumed earlier in the day.
The hunt itself was unremarkable save for a single incident. We had slain our quota of ibex for the day and were coming round a bend in the trail when we came face to face with an ursus arctos horribilis. The ursus arctos reared up on its hind legs and bellowed like a minotaur. I dropped the ibex I was carrying and reached for my javelin, cautioning the others to remain tranquil. But Manius fled and the horribilis pursued him. I launched my javelin at the monstrum, impaling it through the discipline hole and pinning it to a tree. It turned out to be a female. After subduing the beast we scoured the surrounding area and captured II little horribillium. I presented the pair of creatures as gifts to my domina after returning to Rome. It served to gloss over some of my indiscretions, and spared me from having to sleep outside in the peristylium again.
Comments
Nothing like a good falernian grape, is there? You're not a bad sort of man, Vorenus. You just have too much anger in you.
edit: slightly disappointed my guy Maecenas didn't get any shout outs.
FREEEEEE PUB!!!
I see things haven't changed in 2000 years.
http://www.swide.com/art-culture/history/top-10-erotic-roman-artworks/2012/12/16