Pharsexia: The Adult Version of The Escapades of Caesar E-Book

anonymous

• Herausgeber: Olympia Press
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

The mighty Caesar has installed himself indelibly in the annals of history... as a ruler... a warrior... and a lover. From childhood on... we have read and been taught... about the exploits of Caesar as a ruler and warrior. Now... we are presenting our version of the remarkable sexual exploits of Caesar. He ruled with an iron hand and commanded complete loyalty from his followers. He believed that he was guided by his Gods and that he was one of their chosen children... infallible and destined for a unique place in history... although his people did not all share his beliefs. The Roman Empire was in the throes of a full conversion to a democratic state... and while Caesar was one of the exponents... he still felt that he was far above the state and the dictates of the Senate. His sex life was never complete or fulfilled... as his conquests brought him a constant supply of the most choice morsels of femininity. He took them as he took his military victories... always leaving a burning hunger for more. Here is the tale of the mighty Caesar... Caesar the man.

Leseprobe

The Adult Version of The Escapades of Caesar

Anonymous

This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.

PREFACE

The mighty Caesar has installed himself indelibly in the annals of history... as a ruler... a warrior... and a lover. From childhood on... we have read and been taught... about the exploits of Caesar as a ruler and warrior. Now... we are presenting our version of the remarkable sexual exploits of Caesar. He ruled with an iron hand and commanded complete loyalty from his followers. He believed that he was guided by his Gods and that he was one of their chosen children... infallible and destined for a unique place in history... although his people did not all share his beliefs. The Roman Empire was in the throes of a full conversion to a democratic state... and while Caesar was one of the exponents... he still felt that he was far above the state and the dictates of the Senate. His sex life was never complete or fulfilled... as his conquests brought him a constant supply of the most choice morsels of femininity. He took them as he took his military victories... always leaving a burning hunger for more. Here is the tale of the mighty Caesar... Caesar the man.

CHAPTER ONE

“The Die is Cast!”: Caesar invades his homeland

Caesar lay naked beneath the white, silken sheet. Slowly, the rich, purple curtain that protected the inner chamber of his huge tent parted, and the captured girl of the Bellovaci tribe entered. She had been suitably prepared by Roman handmaidens traveling with Caesar's army in Gaul, and she was a vision of voluptuous womanhood, her full body tantalizingly visible through a floor-length, semi-transparent negligee.

“Enter, my dear,” he commanded, speaking her language fluently and mixing both firmness and gentleness in his voice.

She stepped in daintily and let the purple velvet fall closed behind her. As she approached Caesar's cot, her steps inaudible on the plush Persian carpet, she came into the flickering light of a hanging oil lamp. The nipples of her massive, round breasts pressed out against the thin cloth as she came to a stop before the conqueror of Gaul.

“Ah, this daughter of a barbarian chieftain rivals the cream of Roman womanhood,” said Caesar with a pleased smile.

She did not alter her stoic expression as he continued to gaze up at her in admiration. Her long, thick locks of golden hair framed a beautiful face of milky white skin, and flowed down to and over her smooth, round shoulders. Beneath her negligee, Caesar could see her great breasts quiver with her slightest motion and the swell of her hips curve out against the garment.

“Let me see your naked body,” he said.

She let the silken thing slip off her shoulders and down to the carpet in a heap. Caesar felt his cock harden and push upward against the sheet to form a little tent of its own. A tingling warmth crept through his loins and spread throughout his whole body. The pressure of the sheet on the sensitive head of his tool made it an effort to avoid a premature emission of his seed. His eyes dropped to the vee of female flesh where her luscious thighs met. There, her thick mat of blonde pubic hair did not completely hide from view the large, pink lips of vaginal flesh that forced their way invitingly out of her cunt.

Caesar threw back the sheet to reveal his nude figure, all lean and hardened, a remarkable physique for a man of fifty-one years. He slid over to make room for the girl, and motioned for her to join him. Soon, they lay nestled beneath the sheet, the superb Bellovacian girl resting her head on his shoulder and he embracing her with both strength and tenderness.

After kissing her sensuous and fleshy lips passionately, he moved a hand to one of her out-sized teats. He squeezed the thing, big and round as a ripe cantaloupe, and ran a finger lightly over the hardening nipple. She let out an involuntary moan of pleasure as the general massaged her whole mammary with a firm, rotary motion and caressed the sensitive little button of flesh at its center.

Caesar now poured kisses all over her soft, downy cheeks and let his lips buss their way affectionately to her graceful throat. At the same time, his hand roamed from her giant bun to the undulating surface of her belly, and onward to the clefted, hair-covered mound of her sex. As Caesar's army had marched inexorably from Rome to the shores of Britain, so did his hand move to the center of the girl's sexual pleasure. And as his avant-garde had thrust through all defenses of the enemy, so did his fingers spread her thighs and invade the inner sanctum of her sex.

Again she moaned in ecstasy, as her lover moved the thick outer lips of her vagina apart with his practiced fingertips, and toyed with the large, hypersensitive inner lips. He felt an oily moisture cover his hand, as his caresses inside her twat aroused her passion to liquid emission. Swiftly, he poked a finger upward in her hot, moist cunny and made contact with her clitoris. As he did, she let loose a spurt of burning jism on his fingertip and cried out aloud with painful pleasure.

“A woman is a woman in any land,” laughed Caesar. “Lie back, my sweet one, and enjoy what the gods have sent from Rome.”

So saying, he began to rub her slit with an experienced touch. Again and again she came off, the feel of the hot spunk titillating his skin and urging him on. His own member was now swollen to its full size, and he had all to do to keep from shooting off on the sheet. When her tiny organ of ejaculation finally ceased its throbbing, he explored all of her soft-walled love channel. Then he withdrew his hand and patted her on the hairy mound in a friendly manner.

“How is it,” asked Caesar, “that the unwed daughter of a chieftain is lacking that membrane which is usually taken by Hymen, the god of marriage?”

“Our men learn early,” she said, speaking to the conqueror for the first time, “what the purpose of a woman is.”

Caesar laughed again. “And do you dispose of such infants made out of wedlock,” he asked, “as do a tribe of Germans of whom I have heard, by eating them on a certain feast day?”

“Germans and Romans are barbarians,” she snapped.

“We shall see if Romans are not enough civilized to know 'the purpose of a woman' at least,” said the general with a grin.

With that, he raised his body up off the girl's and gazed down toward her slit. His great shaft, stiff as the standard of his own legion, hung suspended over the crack, the knob at its end enlarged with excitation. He reached down and spread open the lips of her cunt, already dripping as they were with her own milky scum. Then he set the head of his dong within the gaping hole. He allowed her flaps of pubic flesh to slap closed around it, and he returned his hand to her upper arm.

Gently, he lifted her torso up and slid the palms of his hands easily behind her back, so that he was embracing her tightly, the knob of his bone still set between the lips of her quim. As he kissed and nibbled at her ear, he began to move his dick up and down inside her snatch, so that he was again stimulating the inner lips and the clitoris at the very top of her slash. He held off orgasming as she came off some more on the tip of his rod, while it fucked the vestibule of her vagina in an up-and-down motion. Then, taking in a deep breath, he thrust his whole, monstrous organ straight into her cunt and all the way up her tight-walled sheath.

Gripping her whole body in a vise-like hold, he began the long, rhythmic battering of her womb. Each time he withdrew his prick, he dragged it out till the knob perched uneasily between the outer lips, and each time he shoved it back in, he buried it, making their hair-covered pubic areas slap together loudly. Each slap was accompanied by a splattering of her copious female juice onto the silken sheets. In and out he plunged, with a painful slowness at first, but with a quickening pace as he got up a head of steam. He rammed his weapon all the way into and all the way out of her sweet cuzzy with each powerful stroke, and several times she cried out in sheer ecstasy.

Caesar's own orgasm was building to a climax. He held off as long as he could, enjoying the sensation of the hard friction of the inner lining of her tight sheath on his tingling meat. Finally, as his rhythm had increased to a rapid pounding, he felt his cream fill the end of his pecker, screaming to escape in a burst through his pee-hole. Waves of thrilling pleasure wracked his whole being as he went on with his staccato-like banging with all the speed and force he could muster.

Then he came off! His first blast of burning-hot goo shot out of his dork with a mind-breaking shock of keen pleasure, just as he reached the height of an inward thrust. He held his cock there till the come was out and the spasm of joy subsided. Then he withdrew with an agonizing slowness, holding off for all he was worth on his second blast. After he had reached the entrance to her pussy, he paused for a second and then began a long, steady shove back up into the nest of her sex. As his pole traveled up the sheath, he emitted a second shot of gunk, the force of the pleasure making his senses reel.

Repeatedly he whaled away at her with his thick shaft, shooting a load into her belly with each inward stroke, and experiencing an almost painful building of pressure with each withdrawal. After a while, his thrusts were accompanied by lesser spasms of pleasure and no liquid emissions, but still he humped away at her. Finally, there was no more feeling of orgasm in his rod as he stroked her steadily, but still he pumped away at her. At last, he came grinding to a halt, and they lay pressed together in each other's arms.

As they lay, the musky odor of their intermingled sex juices and the reek of perspiration filled Caesar's nostrils. The sheets, both atop and beneath them, were soaked with both sweat and jism. When he had regained his breath, he spoke to her.

“I must not linger here any longer. The paramount duty of my life awaits for my action this day.”

“Stay awhile,” she said in a whisper. “Have wine to reawaken your spent passion, and then let us enjoy this wintry day within the warmth of your tent.”

“Would that I were able. But today it is much more than duty that calls. It is destiny herself. I have led my gallant troops against stiffer opposition than I expect to meet on this campaign, yet never before have I undertaken so momentous a quest. This day is not for wine, which beclouds the thinking.”

“Tell me of this quest,” she said, becoming alert.

“On this day,” said Caesar solemnly, “I take the gravest action a soldier can take, if I cross the Rubicon river with my troops, I invade my own homeland. Yet, this is exactly what I must do.”

“To seize power?”

“To accomplish what need be done, what can only be done through autocracy, and what shall never be done by the autocracy that surely shall come to power if I fail to act. To bring about the reforms for which the people of Rome so loudly cry.”

“And what of the Roman's vaunted republican system?” Her blue eyes twinkled, and a smirk came across her face.

“A failure! Even now, the agents of Pompey in the Senate act illegally in his name while he is with his army in Hispania. It is clear to me that he will return to Rome with his army and cement the power he has already gained through the Senate. Then, he and his clique will do nothing that disturbs the entrenched and corrupt rich of the city.

“The Senate has illegally ordered me to disband my army or be declared an enemy of the people. Only the action of my trusted Marcus Antonius stayed that unlawful bill, and now he has had to flee Rome and join me here at the threat of his life.

“Now with Marc Antony beside me, I cross with my troops out of my assigned territory of Gaul and proceed on a forced march to Rome to get there ahead of cursed Pompey and take power. On this day commences a new and prosperous era for mother Rome, but the beloved Republic is dead.”

The snide expression left the girl's face, and she fell back in thought. Caesar freed one of his hands and resumed fondling her heavy breast. He tightened and untightened his grip on her great globe, squeezing the soft flesh out between his fingers. Then he lightly caressed the nipple.

“Is Caesar certain,” she asked, beginning to breathe heavily again, “that he is not imagining both the danger to the Republic of this man Pompey and the need of his own autocratic power to accomplish what is needed in Rome?”

Caesar placed a loving kiss on her forehead. Then he looked squarely into her clear blue eyes, the like of which he never saw in a Roman girl. “The lust for power is in me,” he said in an even tone. “But could it not be that the gods have put in a man what they knew to be required to save the State? Even as a child, my mother predicted to me my destiny, and oftentimes have I dreamed it again and heard it stated to me by oracles. Always the omens have promised one thing: rule... and unfettered rule at that, and over the whole of Rome as Alexander had dominion over the whole of his world.”

“Then go to your destiny, Julius Caesar, for no one will be able to stay you with words.”

“And have I your blessing?”

“Yes. If you promise me a single thing. That no more pain befall my father, and that he not have to endure being led through the streets of your city in a triumph, naked and with a chain about his neck.”

“It is done,” said Caesar, as he rose from the cot and strode across the carpet to where his armor hung. Quickly, he stepped into the tight-fitting woolen underpants and donned a heavy leather, short-skirted suit. He put his ornate metal breastplate in position and fastened it to the backplate at the side with leather tongues. Then he tied on his sandals and added leg and arm plates. Lifting his helmet and holding it at his side, he turned and strode out of the inner chamber of the tent.

Soon he was outside, and the chill of the day nipped at his nose and ears. He continued his quick striding, as was his habit at all times, and the officers who fell in behind him had all to do to keep up. All about him was his camp, a formal and severe arrangement of simple military tents. Men moved about stiffly, nervously, in the way they did on a day when they were ready to move out... and into danger.

Horses were already saddled, but still together in small groups for warmth. There, fenced off by ropes, they stood stamping and snorting, vapor from their nostrils showing the coldness of a January day in Northern Italy. All eyes were on the leader as he made his way toward a large, well-guarded tent. They had already been briefed as to the plans and harangued by the general to follow him into Rome, yet could there have been a man among them who did not question if he would, at some last minute, change his mind, or who did not, in some secret corner of his own mind, hope that he would?

Caesar sensed the tension, as a guard pulled back the heavy flap at the entrance of the tent and he stepped inside. Inside was a sight that would have turned the stomach of the strongest man unaccustomed to the rigors of warfare. The entire interior of the tent was lined with poles stuck in the hard ground. To each was tied two or three men, all stark naked. Every one of them bore the marks of some kind of torture. It was in this tent that Caesar extracted from captured enemy officers the information he desired about their stores of arms and supplies and about the movements and recruiting grounds of their troops. As well, it was in a similar tent or building that the leaders of his enemies extracted similar information from his own men when captured.

Caesar walked swiftly among the hung and bleeding Gauls. Most were recently caught Bellovaci, stout and courageous men who had held like a fortress a goodly portion of the northwest corner of Gaul where they made their home between the Atlantic ocean and the Sequana, a river that is now called the Seine. Some were Helvetians, still in captivity since the start of the war a decade earlier, and others were the brave followers of Vercingetorix, the leader of the Arvernians who had nearly ended Roman rule in Gaul. There were even among the captives a few Germans and Britons, taken when Caesar made forays across the Rhine and the Channel.

All the men were cut and bloodied, or, if they had long been captives, mutilated and crippled. Many had suffered hands being cut slowly off, all the while having been told that the only way they could save their hands and feet would be to tell the Romans all they wished to learn. Some showed the ravages of dull knives or red-hot pokers in tongueless mouths, or eye sockets empty of all, save festering sores and crawling maggots. Many an ear had been cut off, and few men were spared their generative organs. A favorite method of the Roman torturers was to cut off a single testicle and then sew up the ball sack. The poor man could save his masculinity, he was informed, if he told all he knew. If he did not, not only was his remaining testicle taken from him, but his penis was cut off a half an inch at a time, so that others would know by his howling and babbling and by the bloody sight they were forced to see, exactly what would be their fate if they did not give in.

Caesar soon located the father of the girl he had just pleased so well with his talented fucking. The chieftain, a minor personage among the whole Bellovaci tribe, hung by thongs tied about his wrists from a high pole. His feet just touched the ground, but his body was badly stretched. Naked, over half of his skin had been stripped off his carcass with small knives. In spite of the coagulant ointments that had been everywhere applied, trickles of blood ran down all over.

His face was little more than a skull-tattered with bits of blood-clotted dry skin. His ears had been cut from his head with such fury, that on the downward stroke a strip of cheek had been ripped off down to the chin. His eyes had been cut out and their sockets looked like spear wounds in a dead man's chest. Yet he still breathed and his tongue was intact, a sign that his torturers still hoped to learn something from him.

“What has this man told us?” asked Caesar.

“Not a thing, my general,” answered the soldier Caesar had placed in charge of the tent of torture.

“Nor shall he,” said Caesar, and so saying he drew a sharply pointed dagger and thrust it mercifully into the heart of the old man. “Carry on,” he said to the soldier, “and good job all around.”

Then he made his way out of the stench-filled tent into the cold fresh air. He went immediately to where his horse was saddled and held in wait for him. He mounted it and all the other officers soon followed. Then he ordered a horn to be sounded for the assembly of every tribune and centurion under his command. When they were all assembled he spoke in a booming voice.

“Our duty is clear. We must take Rome from the corrupt Senators under the hire of Pompey. We must reach the city before Pompey embarks from Hispania with troops and his fleet. The people themselves cry out for us to do what the Gracchi and Marius attempted before us in their selfless and benevolent courage. I have already detailed to you the latest atrocities of the Senate, news of which has just been brought back by Antony. We must act today. Who is with me?”

A great cry went up from the crowd of officers, and it seemed as if every one joined in his voice. When the din died down, however, a voice spoke up to break the brief silence.

“I joined not Caesar to make war on my own nation,” said a young tribune who had shown great bravery in the grueling campaign against Vercingetorix and had won the personal praise of Caesar for his courage and leadership in the key battle at Alesia. “Let us lay down our arms and seek permission from the Senate to leave Gaul and return to Rome. It is the law of the Republic.”

“There is no more Republic since Pompey has made of the Senate a den of outlaws,” replied Caesar.

“Then let us restore the Republic through the means provided by the constitution while still there is time,” answered the tribune from his horse.

“On with it!” shouted an impatient officer, and several others joined in with his yell. Many others, however, listened quietly to the debate.

Caesar cast his eyes quickly over the assembly, then looked directly at the young officer who questioned him. “Do you follow my order to proceed across the Rubicon?” he asked in a loud, clear voice.

“Nay,” said the tribune.

“Then I deprive you of leadership of your legion,” said Caesar. “Give me your sword.”

The young man rode up to Caesar, drew his sword from his scabbard and handed it over to the general. Caesar took it, spurred his horse a step or two backward and let fly a mighty swing of the sword at the tribune. The blow caught him square in the neck below the helmet, and the power of it sent the sharp steel straight through skin, muscle and bone. For an instant, the head remained perched upon the shoulders, a puzzled look on the face giving way to a screwed up expression of horror. Then, as the man's body slumped forward, the head tumbled down, helmet clattering against breastplate.

Caesar thrust forward with the blade, shoving it up through the bloody hole where it had been attached so recently to the body. He raised the helmeted head high above him, so that blood ran down it to his hand as he showed it to the men. The body of the dead tribune slid down off his horse to the ground.

“This man's legion I give to Marc Antony who served me so well in Rome,” yelled Caesar. “Now we take that course pointed out to us by both the omens of the gods and the corruption of our foes.”

With that he placed his helmet upon his balding but still handsome head, and spurred his horse into the chill, swirling waters of the Rubicon. He guided his steed with both his matchless horsemanship and the dedication of a man driven by the highest motives of idealism.

Then he thrust the bleeding trophy as high as he could reach and threw back his head, his face breaking into a jubilant expression that could belong only to a man driven by a quest for personal power. As all his officers and the whole great army of his men followed, he forged ahead through the splashing water. Still smiling ecstatically, he bellowed at the top of his lungs, “The die is cast!”

CHAPTER TWO

The Early Years idealism, cruelty... and a childhood sweetheart

Who was this man who so completely subjugated Gaul and then so boldly led his troops into Rome? From where did he come, and what early experiences formed him? More importantly, what can we learn from his life that will help us understand the others of that group of rare men—the Alexanders, the Ghengis Khans, the Hitlers—who attempt to conquer the whole world?

Julius Caesar was born in the year 100 B.C., although some claim 102 B.C. pointing out that he would otherwise have been two years too young to hold certain offices he held. He was descended of patrician stock, even though his elders—and later Caesar himself—were of the popular party. In fact, he was the nephew of Julia, wife of Caius Marius who led the plebians in civil war against the patricians. One influence on young Caesar is undeniable; he never forgot the idealism of Marius!

Caesar's father died when he was sixteen, but even before, the greater effect upon him had been made by his mother, Aurelia. There was a day, for example, when Caesar was but thirteen years of age and his father was away on a secret mission pertaining to a popular conspiracy that was later aborted. He was summoned by a house servant to the quarters of his mother.

Young Caesar left his room on the north side of the villa and crossed the atrium—that garden-like court in the center of Roman houses—to the suite of his mother. He loved the open-air square of walks and flower beds that was so important in the family life of a Roman. He had not a care in his young head as he stepped back into the building across the atrium from his own room.

Quietly, he entered the marble-floored sitting room of Aurelia. She was reclining upon a couch of the type the Romans favored. Its elaborately ornamented, gilded legs supported a long, simple cushion—covered in crimson velvet—that curved up at the end where Aurelia rested her handsome head on her elbow. As the lad approached her, he could not help but be aware of his mother's huge, pendulous breasts. She wore no undergarment beneath the long gown of silvery satin that clung to her full, matronly figure.

“Come here, Julius,” she said, displaying a bare trace of smile as his eyes shifted quickly from her bosom to her face. “Stand before me. I have an important matter to discuss with you.”

Caesar walked up to her. A warmth crept through his body as her perfume wafted up to his nostrils. The large alabaster-walled room had a certain foreboding aura about it—Caesar had only rarely been admitted into it—and he experienced an odd tingling sensation throughout his body as he looked down at the display of femininity before him. His mother's face was quite comely, all pink and smooth from creams and lotions. Her dark hair hung down in curls on both sides of her head, and a single ringlet bobbed gaily in front of her forehead.

Aurelia began to recount to Caesar the accomplishments of his forefathers, and the importance of his lineage. She went into great detail and impressed upon him the fact that he was his father's only child, and that as such he bore a great burden that she had withheld from him through his childhood in order to spare him the ill effect of worry and responsibility. She explained how his uncle, the great Marius, was about to take up the standard of the populace that had fallen from the dead hands of the legendary brothers Gracchi, and he-Julius Caesar—would some day take it in turn from Marius.

“Do I not see how you dominate your little playmates already with the force of both your personality and your strength?” she asked him.

Caesar looked down at the cold marble floor. He had indeed bullied his friends on many an occasion, but he had not known that his mother had been aware of it.

“Yet,” she added quickly, “you step in to save them from older boys, fighting lads bigger than yourself, sometimes even two or three at a time, with such fury that they depart in discouragement. That is your destiny, to seize leadership by any means, but to use it in the name of the weak.”

She reached out and touched Caesar's bare arm. Her soft skin made a shiver of pleasure spread through his body. Beneath the simple, skirted tunic he wore, he could feel his half-mature penis stiffen at her touch and her warm smile. His little tool pressed outward against his tight underbriefs and made his tunic stand out revealingly.

“Have you spent much time with Kossutia?” his mother asked. Caesar felt his face become heated as he shook his head no. “You must get to know her better,” she replied, smiling up at him. “She will be your wife some day, as has been arranged for so long now. And she will be a great help to you in your mission in life. You are of an age now”—and she glanced quickly down to where his tunic stood forth—“at which you must begin to assert your personality over her.”

Suddenly, her tone of voice became less engaging, sterner. “Do you play with yourself, Julius?”

“Ma'am?”

“Do you make the white cream come out of your pissing hole?” Caesar felt his face flush and he looked down at the floor. His rod was standing out fully now, and the feel of the roug [...]