theromanbaths

[theromanbaths]

The mosaic floor of a dining room in a Roman villa in Antandros in Anatolia, which was occupied between the 3rd and 6th centuries AD.

[theromanbaths]

The Triumph of Light over Darkness by Franz von Matsch

[theromanbaths]

Sinday Touches - NSFW edition

Send me a symbol for your muse to touch mine in some way:

😈 – grab butt 🤖 – kiss neck 👽 – nibble on earlobe 😺 – fondle outside of clothes 💋 – kiss on the lips 👀 – go down on/suck-off 💐 – finger/jack-off 🌈 – spank  ���� – deny orgasm 💥 – force orgasm ☀ – massage with oils ⚡ – use shock collar on ❄ – rub ice on skin 🍆 – pants/expose 🍌 – cum on (specify location) 🍒 – suck on fingers 🥥 – motorboat breasts 🥕 – bite inner thighs 🥒 – insert cock/strap-on (specify which hole) 🌮 – grind against 🍭 – suck nipples ⚽ – talk dirty to (specify what is said) 🎱 – tie-up/bind 🏹 – pin to a wall and kiss 🎯 – undress 🔮 – pull hair 💵 – pay for sex 💰 – pay for a lap dance/striptease 💡 – slap/punch 🎈 – steal a drag of their cigarette/joint 💊 – drug 🔪 – stab 🔫 – shoot

[theromanbaths]

Caracalla still had his face heavily painted even now, to hide the signs of the disease but he always let Titus touch his face like this and smudge his rouge, he could feel the young Emperor's soft cheeks as he looked up at him so helplessly and despite Caracalla's many angry outbursts, he looked nothing but sweet now.

"B... but... why? H... how can we make it to the safe room? I think Geta is angry at me a-and.. and... we shouldn't go without him... it is his safe room as well."

He trembled more. "It is ours." He knew Titus was afraid but he could think of nothing to say or do to help him. He was so confused. His own palace seemed strange but he did reach his small hand out to Titus'. His 22th birthday present. Now, his only friend.

"I have a sword... I can look f-for it. I can fight."

Caracalla's Nightmare. Gladiator II Open RP.

Open to: All males, would love an Emperor Geta as well

Plot: Caracalla, the smaller twin Emperor of Rome, is hidden under a table and trembling after a fight with his brother Geta. An angry mob has formed outside to kill the Emperors and Caracalla is also suffering from a disease that is affecting his brain, unknown to the palace physicians, that keeps worsening and he has grown increasingly anxious and paranoid. You heard him call for help.

Caracalla did not know who to trust anymore... his twin brother had thrown a cup of wine at his little pet monkey, Dondus, and there was an angry mob shouting outside the palace.

He felt alone. Entirely alone. He felt disorientated and his sick brain would, at times, not allow him to recognise his own chambers anymore. He resorted to hiding under one of the many marble tables that decorated the palace.

An Emperor of Rome did not cry.... but he was just so afraid. Why would no one help him?

He called out in a small voice, thinking no one would even hear him here. The mob outside was shouting loudly and Emperor Geta and their advisor Macrinus were in one of the many other large rooms of the palace. They would not help him. His brother hated him and he hated his monkey,

"Help me... p-please."

[theromanbaths]

Varro could get loud... once he got started but there was no helping the large blond was still nervous. But he seemed to enjoy the kisses, the touches, perhaps more than he should. The strong gladiator was slowly melting to all those talented touches... he'd never been with anyone so experienced before and proved no match for it, judging by his heavy breathing and the way his muscular chest moved up and down.

His bronzen skin proved soft and sensitive for a gladiator as well and each kiss, each grope and caress brought more color to his cheeks. He laughed, his blue eyes meeting Alexios' dark ones a little uncertainly. "Oh... if... if you're sure." It was against everything Batiatus taught him but he no longer belonged to Batiatus.

He wasn't shy about nudity, gladiators always washed together and wore little to begin with and when Alexios pulled away from him just to quickly undress him, he just stood there. He was half erect and getting there and it was as large and thick as the rest of Varro. And, of course, the carpet matched the drapes.

He was hairless save a tuft of curly, golden pubic hair that crowned his beautiful cock, which was a few shades paler than the rest of him. His original skin color, before the sun bronzed him during endless training sessions.

He moved a hand up to cover his eyes. Shamed by his better performing such an act? Overwhelmed by the pleasure?

"Ah! I will not last... I will not last like this." He let out a moan... and another. And his hips bucked. He lowered his large hand to look as he took him.

Varro's face flushed... maybe it was because his burdens have been lightened or perhaps he just discovered he really, really enjoyed kissing a man with a beard. But there was no hiding it.

"I like it." He smiled nervously, messing with one of his arm braces as Alexios told he he doesn't have to be so submissive. At Batiatus' ludus, everything is very strict. Some parties he just has the gladiators stand there, lined up for hours, as decoration. The female slaves are treated even worse. No one has any rights and they're all expected to be seen, not heard, and that doesn't come easily to a friendly and talkative man like Varro.

"Are you certain? The Dominus told me I was to be quiet and spread cheeks." Batiatus had a... way with words and no regard for anyone's feeling. He'd been sold and now had to act no longer like a boisterous gladiator but like a bed slave. A very big one but Batiatus thought there was no accounting for taste, it certainly wasn't common for men to get a gladiator for this.

He laughed. "I admit I am relieved." But now he was ashamed because somewhere, deep inside, he was curious about trying it. How could he admit that now... and not lose face?

[theromanbaths]

Emperor Caracalla saw Titus, his favorite lover, his favorite male slave who he had been given a few months ago on his birthday. A present from Geta. Geta considered himself to have better taste than his brother and he never cared for Caracalla's gaudy slaves so he had gifted him Titus, a naturally very attractive young man.

H-how silly that a present from Geta would now come to him.

The small Emperor was trembling. "Titus... is it you... I recognize your voice." He was afraid to come out and just looked at him, blue eyes glassy, the little monkey, Dondus, now perched on his right shoulder.

"What is happening, Titus?" He heard the screaming outside grow louder and flinched visibly.

Caracalla's Nightmare. Gladiator II Open RP.

Open to: All males, would love an Emperor Geta as well

Plot: Caracalla, the smaller twin Emperor of Rome, is hidden under a table and trembling after a fight with his brother Geta. An angry mob has formed outside to kill the Emperors and Caracalla is also suffering from a disease that is affecting his brain, unknown to the palace physicians, that keeps worsening and he has grown increasingly anxious and paranoid. You heard him call for help.

Caracalla did not know who to trust anymore... his twin brother had thrown a cup of wine at his little pet monkey, Dondus, and there was an angry mob shouting outside the palace.

He felt alone. Entirely alone. He felt disorientated and his sick brain would, at times, not allow him to recognise his own chambers anymore. He resorted to hiding under one of the many marble tables that decorated the palace.

An Emperor of Rome did not cry.... but he was just so afraid. Why would no one help him?

He called out in a small voice, thinking no one would even hear him here. The mob outside was shouting loudly and Emperor Geta and their advisor Macrinus were in one of the many other large rooms of the palace. They would not help him. His brother hated him and he hated his monkey,

"Help me... p-please."

[theromanbaths]

Varro's face flushed... maybe it was because his burdens have been lightened or perhaps he just discovered he really, really enjoyed kissing a man with a beard. But there was no hiding it.

"I like it." He smiled nervously, messing with one of his arm braces as Alexios told he he doesn't have to be so submissive. At Batiatus' ludus, everything is very strict. Some parties he just has the gladiators stand there, lined up for hours, as decoration. The female slaves are treated even worse. No one has any rights and they're all expected to be seen, not heard, and that doesn't come easily to a friendly and talkative man like Varro.

"Are you certain? The Dominus told me I was to be quiet and spread cheeks." Batiatus had a... way with words and no regard for anyone's feeling. He'd been sold and now had to act no longer like a boisterous gladiator but like a bed slave. A very big one but Batiatus thought there was no accounting for taste, it certainly wasn't common for men to get a gladiator for this.

He laughed. "I admit I am relieved." But now he was ashamed because somewhere, deep inside, he was curious about trying it. How could he admit that now... and not lose face?

Varro's kiss was nervous and uncertain at first but soon enough, he learned that kissing another man was not unpleasant. The stubble surprised him and he grinned into the kiss, it tickled, and then Alexios moved closer and he almost forgot he was the wealthy Spartan's property. He felt free, more free than he had in years.

He was wearing so little, a few leather scraps he had also worn during the fight, that his softly hardening bulge was barely hidden at all. He let out a noise, surprise? Pleasure?

And then he began to deepen the kiss. Why was he so eager now? Why did it feel so good to kiss him? Varro's own boldness surprised him... had he forgotten what Batiatus had told him, that he was to be obedient and docile?

The kiss was anything but, now. He kissed him just like he'd kiss any other, he was excitable once he got going. "Mmmff!" The blond was getting carried away. It had been a while since anyone kissed or touched him.

[theromanbaths]

I'll make some actual profiles once I figure out where to put them, lol

[theromanbaths]

Caracalla's Nightmare. Gladiator II Open RP.

Open to: All males, would love an Emperor Geta as well

Plot: Caracalla, the smaller twin Emperor of Rome, is hidden under a table and trembling after a fight with his brother Geta. An angry mob has formed outside to kill the Emperors and Caracalla is also suffering from a disease that is affecting his brain, unknown to the palace physicians, that keeps worsening and he has grown increasingly anxious and paranoid. You heard him call for help.

Caracalla did not know who to trust anymore... his twin brother had thrown a cup of wine at his little pet monkey, Dondus, and there was an angry mob shouting outside the palace.

He felt alone. Entirely alone. He felt disorientated and his sick brain would, at times, not allow him to recognise his own chambers anymore. He resorted to hiding under one of the many marble tables that decorated the palace.

An Emperor of Rome did not cry.... but he was just so afraid. Why would no one help him?

He called out in a small voice, thinking no one would even hear him here. The mob outside was shouting loudly and Emperor Geta and their advisor Macrinus were in one of the many other large rooms of the palace. They would not help him. His brother hated him and he hated his monkey,

"Help me... p-please."

[theromanbaths]

Edging you with the tip of my cock until you beg me to fuck you senseless.

[theromanbaths]

Varro's kiss was nervous and uncertain at first but soon enough, he learned that kissing another man was not unpleasant. The stubble surprised him and he grinned into the kiss, it tickled, and then Alexios moved closer and he almost forgot he was the wealthy Spartan's property. He felt free, more free than he had in years.

He was wearing so little, a few leather scraps he had also worn during the fight, that his softly hardening bulge was barely hidden at all. He let out a noise, surprise? Pleasure?

And then he began to deepen the kiss. Why was he so eager now? Why did it feel so good to kiss him? Varro's own boldness surprised him... had he forgotten what Batiatus had told him, that he was to be obedient and docile?

The kiss was anything but, now. He kissed him just like he'd kiss any other, he was excitable once he got going. "Mmmff!" The blond was getting carried away. It had been a while since anyone kissed or touched him.

"I am set on it." Varro admit, somewhat flustered, nerves aside he wanted to give Alexios what he wanted. He wasn't afraid. He wouldn't break easily.

"I-I am not nervous..." He laughed and tried to ignore the orgy comment. His wife could not come to something like that. This was the one thing he would attack him over. He was so protective. And she was a very modest kind of woman. She wouldn't enjoy it. But Varro may, once he learns to enjoy a man's touch. He was certainly curious about it all now.

From what he knew of Spartans, they were the fiercest of warriors and also honorable men. That couldn't be said of most Romans. The Roman elite was famously decadent and pleasure-orientated and watching two well-built young men kill each other was also pleasure to them. To a Spartan, this would likely be considered sick.

They were beat often here and being carressed, touched with intent beyond pain, that was new. He began to feel some pleasure now. His face was turning red. The only reason Varro's skin wasn't whipped and scarred was because he had given Batiatus no reason for punishment.

But Varro was well-behaved. But Alexios knew that already because few gladiators would allow being stroked under their chin like that. But Varro was pettable. He shouldn't try that with Spartacus or Crixus though, they'd probably bite him. But he picked the right one to purchase.

"Yes." What would it be like to kiss another man?

[theromanbaths]

Varro, who had been confused by the whole ordeal and was on edge until the moment he was actually brought here, could now only look around in wonder, his blue eyes struggling to take everything in at once.

Batiatus' villa was lavish enough but it was a typical Roman villa and not one you'd find inside the city walls, these were the outskirts of Rome and Batiatus' ludus wasn't the best or most profitable so everything the blond has seen so far faded in comparison to his current surroundings... had he died, had he been slain and was he now in the afterlife?

But it wasn't so. He had been cleaned from head to toe by slaves before he was send here, here to be... enjoyed by the wealthy man who had paid a large sum to enjoy his company and body after seeing him fight in the arena. What had caught his eye, Varro wondered... he was no more handsome than Spartacus or Crixus.

Perhaps it'd been his slightly larger, thicker built or the blonde curls, the haircut giving away that he was a Roman citizen and not a captured prisoner of war with either long hair or a shaved head, from Thrace, Greece or Carthage like most of the others. Only a Roman looked like this.

Here, in the light of this spacious area, he appeared at his most favorable, cleaned and scrubbed. Certainly a beautiful man. A little too friendly looking to be a gladiator but that did change in the arena, where he fought hard and well. He had won when Cyrus first noticed him and then, in his second match against Spartacus, lost. It'd been hard to resist him. He looked even better on his knees.

Though compared to the man that lended him from Batiatus, he was almost... unimpressive. But he had never seen anyone Cyrus' size or height before and he could only be grateful he did not have to face this giant in the arena. Instead, he gave him a somewhat nervous smile when he heard him call out his name.

"I am not as magnificent as yourself." He admit, smiling and looking away. "I could not have bested you in the arena, I think." He was not so naive that he did not know his purpose here but he still struck up friendly conversation. It was just what Varro was like. He'd been told to only speak when spoken to by Batiatus. And to spread cheeks and offer ass without complaint or struggle.

But he couldn't do it. He always had to talk back. He always had to try to make friends. But it was hard for most to resist Varro's friendly smile. "I am grateful for the meal and to use your baths... but... I have not been with a man."

He plucked at the brace Cyrus just toyed with nervously. "I must have given a wrong impression with- with my appearance." He wasn't a pretty, slim and feminine youth but he knew his blond curls and typical Roman features, that he looked like one of the statues outside the colosseum rather than a fearsome Barbarian with matted hair or a scowling Spartan warrior, that he must've... made this man think that he knew much more than he did about what went on between men. In reality, he was married. He'd only ever slept with women. He was fairly unadventurous in love, until now, a typical Roman citizen with a wife and infant son, now fallen on hard times.

As a gladiator, he sold his body and his life in a way but never like this before. He was out of his debt here. He did not know how to please this large man, who paid Batiatus so generously for his company.

He flushed. "You should have put coin to someone else. There are some who know how to be with a man." But they didn't have such nice, shapely ass and thighs. If Cyrus liked a gladiator with meat on his bones, Varro was pretty much his only choice. Batiatus did not feed them well and the blond was pretty much the only one who cleaned his plate every time.

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the sprawling estate Cyrus owned, a manor that seemed pulled from the realm of myth. Its towering stone walls, intricately carved with runic symbols and adorned with vines of blooming wisteria, spoke of both opulence and ancient sorcery. The manor sprawled across lush gardens where exotic flowers unfurled under the enchantments that kept them in perpetual bloom, and sparkling pools shimmered with waters drawn from mystical springs. All the allure that was not often met by human eyes.

Inside, the cool stone floors were softened by sprawling tapestries depicting battles, triumphs, and rituals. This was a place not just of immense wealth but of boundless power—a sanctuary befitting a man of Cyrus’ status.

In the heart of this labyrinthine paradise, on a shaded terrace overlooking the gardens, Cyrus reclined on an ornate lounge chair. The chair was cushioned with soft crimson silks, its gold accents catching the sunlight. He held a worn leather-bound tome in one hand, his long fingers idly turning pages as his eyes skimmed the arcane symbols etched into its text. He appeared relaxed, though the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the book’s edge betrayed a simmering anticipation.

Cyrus was dressed in a garment that was as much a statement of his allure as his wealth. A simple yet decadent wrap of white linen was tied low around his waist, leaving much of his broad chest and sculpted abdomen entirely exposed, all of it marred with varying scars and burn marks—he wasn't born into wealth, he fought for it. His bronze skin seemed to glow in the light. A slight breeze teased his dark, shortened hair as he waited.

It was not often that Cyrus found himself unable to focus, yet today, his mind wandered constantly to the gladiator, Varro. He had first seen the man in the blood-soaked sands of Batiatus’ arena—a whirlwind of muscle, ferocity, and grace. Varro’s strength was undeniable, but it was the juxtaposition of his raw power and his noble beauty that had captivated Cyrus entirely. The way the sun caught the sweat on his bronzed skin, the sharp intensity of his gaze even in the heat of battle—it had been impossible to look away. Cyrus had felt something stir within him, a hunger beyond the usual whims of desire.

And so, with a single word and an obscene sum of coin, Cyrus had claimed Varro for an entire fortnight. The terms of the arrangement were simple: Varro was to be his. Whether as companion, servant, or something far more intimate—Cyrus had not yet decided. But he knew he would savor every moment of having such a man within his domain.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall drew Cyrus’ attention, and he glanced up from his book. His piercing hazel eyes gleamed with an almost predatory light as his lips curved into a knowing smile. He closed the tome with deliberate care, setting it aside on the small table beside him before rising from the chair with a fluid grace to his movements.

As Varro stepped into view, his rugged form still marked by the trials and his suffering, Cyrus felt his breath hitch. The gladiator was everything he remembered and more—a vision of masculine perfection, his powerful frame exuding strength and defiance. His chains, though purely symbolic now, only added to the allure, a reminder of the beast that had been tamed, if only temporarily.

“Varro,” Cyrus greeted, his voice smooth and deep, carrying an undertone of strength. He stepped forward, his towering figure stood a foot away from the gladiator, his linen wraps shifting with his movements, revealing glimpses of firm thighs and the lines of his hips. “You are as magnificent as I recalled—perhaps even more so without the haze of blood and dust.”

Cyrus’ gaze roamed unapologetically, taking in every inch of the man before him. There was no mistaking the desire in his expression, though it was tempered by a certain regal composure. He reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of one of Varro’s leather bracers. The touch was light, almost teasing, as if testing the boundaries.

“This manor, for the next fortnight, is yours as much as it is mine. You will find no chains here—only indulgence.” His lips curved into a sly smile, his tone dipping into something more intimate whilst his hands began to untie the man from his armor and restraints. “And if I have my way, perhaps a touch of pleasure amidst the respite.”

He stepped back slightly, carelessly throwing the bracers and cuffs away, gesturing toward the terrace behind him. The view of the gardens, framed by the golden light of the setting sun, was breathtaking, though Cyrus seemed entirely focused on Varro. “Come, sit. Eat. Whatever your heart desires. You’ve fought enough for others—now it is time to be seen, to be worshipped.”

Cyrus’ eyes sparkled with something deeper than simple lust—a curiosity, an appreciation of the man. As he waited for Varro’s response, he couldn’t help but wonder: would the gladiator resist his new surroundings, or would he surrender to the temptations Cyrus so generously offered him? "Once your belly is full, we'll bathe, but before we do, I must ask—have you ever been with another man, Varro? And if you haven't, would you like to?" It was a bold move, but Cyrus wanted to make his intentions clear.

closed starter for @theromanbaths.

[theromanbaths]

"I am set on it." Varro admit, somewhat flustered, nerves aside he wanted to give Alexios what he wanted. He wasn't afraid. He wouldn't break easily.

"I-I am not nervous..." He laughed and tried to ignore the orgy comment. His wife could not come to something like that. This was the one thing he would attack him over. He was so protective. And she was a very modest kind of woman. She wouldn't enjoy it. But Varro may, once he learns to enjoy a man's touch. He was certainly curious about it all now.

From what he knew of Spartans, they were the fiercest of warriors and also honorable men. That couldn't be said of most Romans. The Roman elite was famously decadent and pleasure-orientated and watching two well-built young men kill each other was also pleasure to them. To a Spartan, this would likely be considered sick.

They were beat often here and being carressed, touched with intent beyond pain, that was new. He began to feel some pleasure now. His face was turning red. The only reason Varro's skin wasn't whipped and scarred was because he had given Batiatus no reason for punishment.

But Varro was well-behaved. But Alexios knew that already because few gladiators would allow being stroked under their chin like that. But Varro was pettable. He shouldn't try that with Spartacus or Crixus though, they'd probably bite him. But he picked the right one to purchase.

"Yes." What would it be like to kiss another man?

Varro just couldn't say no, especially when people acted as though they were his friend. He wasn't dumb... definitely not as dumb as he looked, people didn't expect anything when you looked the way Varro did but he did have a tendency to be too trusting. But other than that, he was well-spoken, friendly, just general good company which couldn't be said about a lot of Batiatus' gladiators. There were some real pieces of work in there.

But it turned out... that Alexios himself wasn't a bad sort, at least not the kind to force himself on someone and he didn't even poke fun at Varro's genuine tears. He even rubbed his back, giving him a hug.

Varro didn't return it, he was too nervous, but he did lean in, shoulders shaking. His healthy appearance, bronzed skin and blonde hair did hide how tired and broken he was but those tears didn't lie. "You'll do that? You'll help them?" He didn't care about himself. But he had a genuine smile for him now. This was a dream come true.

"I thank you. I will repay kindness tenfold. H... how can I best... offer my ass?" ...he was so awkward about this but the thick cheeks made up for a lot. He certainly had enough of it back there, when he turned around. "It is what you wanted, isn't it?"

[theromanbaths]

The offer was given willingly, out of deep gratitude, but there was no helping the large blond was nervous and uncertain about what he was offering. The squeeze just made him laugh. "H-hey...!" These were all signs he felt much, much more at ease around Alexios now, tears and fear replaced by laughter was a good thing. And those firm, muscular glutes felt good to squeeze. Most gladiators had beautiful bodies but he had a little extra padding here and there that made him extra squeezable.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. Alexios did not mean to treat the large blond like an object to release tension on, he even asked for his name which few wealthy Romans ever did.

He smiled again, a hand wiping away the last of the tears himself. "My name is Varro. You are now my friend. I am deeply grateful for your offer... you- you have taken away all fear of an uncertain future. I want to..."

A light blush spread over his tanned face. Should he place hands on the wall, stick his ass out? How was he supposed to- he wanted to please him now.

Varro just couldn't say no, especially when people acted as though they were his friend. He wasn't dumb... definitely not as dumb as he looked, people didn't expect anything when you looked the way Varro did but he did have a tendency to be too trusting. But other than that, he was well-spoken, friendly, just general good company which couldn't be said about a lot of Batiatus' gladiators. There were some real pieces of work in there.

But it turned out... that Alexios himself wasn't a bad sort, at least not the kind to force himself on someone and he didn't even poke fun at Varro's genuine tears. He even rubbed his back, giving him a hug.

Varro didn't return it, he was too nervous, but he did lean in, shoulders shaking. His healthy appearance, bronzed skin and blonde hair did hide how tired and broken he was but those tears didn't lie. "You'll do that? You'll help them?" He didn't care about himself. But he had a genuine smile for him now. This was a dream come true.

"I thank you. I will repay kindness tenfold. H... how can I best... offer my ass?" ...he was so awkward about this but the thick cheeks made up for a lot. He certainly had enough of it back there, when he turned around. "It is what you wanted, isn't it?"

[theromanbaths]

Varro just couldn't say no, especially when people acted as though they were his friend. He wasn't dumb... definitely not as dumb as he looked, people didn't expect anything when you looked the way Varro did but he did have a tendency to be too trusting. But other than that, he was well-spoken, friendly, just general good company which couldn't be said about a lot of Batiatus' gladiators. There were some real pieces of work in there.

But it turned out... that Alexios himself wasn't a bad sort, at least not the kind to force himself on someone and he didn't even poke fun at Varro's genuine tears. He even rubbed his back, giving him a hug.

Varro didn't return it, he was too nervous, but he did lean in, shoulders shaking. His healthy appearance, bronzed skin and blonde hair did hide how tired and broken he was but those tears didn't lie. "You'll do that? You'll help them?" He didn't care about himself. But he had a genuine smile for him now. This was a dream come true.

"I thank you. I will repay kindness tenfold. H... how can I best... offer my ass?" ...he was so awkward about this but the thick cheeks made up for a lot. He certainly had enough of it back there, when he turned around. "It is what you wanted, isn't it?"

The Romans partook in something called 'boys' love' where an adult man would take a pretty, slender youth for a lover but a man going after a fully grown man Varro's age so openly was unheard of. Varro himself had only been with his wife and once, when forced, a slave girl when he was made to copulate for Batiatus' guests amusement.

He has much to learn from Alexios and his tired body was much in need of softness, of pleasure, of good food. But he couldn't give in to any of the offers.

But now he'd made a mistake, bringing up that he was in debt, that he wasn't a born and bred warrior, though anyone who saw Varro's demeanor could tell as much.

"I am not a criminal. I..."

When his strong chin was tilted up, he finally admit it. "I am in debt to the Dominus and others. I gambled too often. And... I paid for it with my freedom. My wife and child are outside these walls and I send them all my earnings. If I can't fight anymore, I can't provide for them. And then I can't gamble either in hope of winning." His eyes teared. It just hit him that becoming this man's bed slave meant worse things than just spreading cheeks. It was a loss of wage.

What kept happening, of course, was that Varro was fairly gullible and gambling, even inside ludus walls, kept seeming a good idea. His appearance and smiling face did him no favors there, any swindler would sniff him out.

His shoulders began to tremble and he shed a tear, much as he tried to supress his sadness. "Please let me go back and fight more. Once I win, I will come here and you can put cock in arse." ...he was no poet. Another difference with the Greeks.

"These earnings keep my wife from selling herself and my son from starving." He would beg to fight if he had to. He didn't consider he could be paid for his own body, he assumed Batiatus had given him away as a favor. Varro's head was swimming.

How did he come to be in this position?

[theromanbaths]

► "Undress. Lay on your back and spread your legs for me."

Varro did so, somewhat uncomfortably... he was still in the leather scraps of fabric the ludus provided but it did not hide much.

"For what purpose?"

[theromanbaths]

The Romans partook in something called 'boys' love' where an adult man would take a pretty, slender youth for a lover but a man going after a fully grown man Varro's age so openly was unheard of. Varro himself had only been with his wife and once, when forced, a slave girl when he was made to copulate for Batiatus' guests amusement.

He has much to learn from Alexios and his tired body was much in need of softness, of pleasure, of good food. But he couldn't give in to any of the offers.

But now he'd made a mistake, bringing up that he was in debt, that he wasn't a born and bred warrior, though anyone who saw Varro's demeanor could tell as much.

"I am not a criminal. I..."

When his strong chin was tilted up, he finally admit it. "I am in debt to the Dominus and others. I gambled too often. And... I paid for it with my freedom. My wife and child are outside these walls and I send them all my earnings. If I can't fight anymore, I can't provide for them. And then I can't gamble either in hope of winning." His eyes teared. It just hit him that becoming this man's bed slave meant worse things than just spreading cheeks. It was a loss of wage.

What kept happening, of course, was that Varro was fairly gullible and gambling, even inside ludus walls, kept seeming a good idea. His appearance and smiling face did him no favors there, any swindler would sniff him out.

His shoulders began to tremble and he shed a tear, much as he tried to supress his sadness. "Please let me go back and fight more. Once I win, I will come here and you can put cock in arse." ...he was no poet. Another difference with the Greeks.

"These earnings keep my wife from selling herself and my son from starving." He would beg to fight if he had to. He didn't consider he could be paid for his own body, he assumed Batiatus had given him away as a favor. Varro's head was swimming.

How did he come to be in this position?

It was rough, if they lost too many games Batiatus would send them to the underground fighting pits, pretty much a guaranteed painful death or to the salt mines to work until they dropped dead.

But Varro's blonde curls, that had caught Alexios' eye, along with the typical haircut betrayed he was a Roman citizen himself. Massive debts had brought him to willingly become a slave, a gladiator, something he did not regret because it kept his wife from selling her body and his infant child from starving. His wife and he had grown estranged because she was furious he sold himself as a gladiator without her knowledge... but he had sacrificed himself for their sake.

But now he was out of his element. Fighting, he knew. The hard life of a gladiator. But standing there with a Spartan telling him he should be tending to Aphrodite's temple rather than fight... that he was too pretty to be a gladiator? That made him nervous.

His big, nervous smile faded somewhat. And his bronzed face flushed visibly as he still stood there in the same skimpy leather garnment he just fought in. "I'm not... I... you're jesting...? This is amusement to you?" The wealthy man was already undressing, circling him. The blond's thighs and buttocks were certainly worth a second look.

He had never been told he was pretty before. Probably because of his size or his easy-going personality, he was never teased with... pretty much looking like an overgrown cherub. He didn't know. He thought of himself a gladiator. And outside the arena he was the kind of humble, amiable kind of man most would want to be around. A good friend.

An outsider who'd not seen him before probably thought differently.

"I am not some..." A lavish life of pleasure sounded like madness to him. They ate disgusting stew and stale bread every day.

".. ...I am in debt. If you could..." No, he couldn't ask this man to look after his wife and son. He would no longer want him if he learned of his wife. Varro, you fool. A prize fool, just like all those times clever charlatans had tricked him into gambling. He sighed deeply and just eyed his sandals.