Part One
In the sweltering summer of Rome, 79 CE, young Lucius Aelius, the 21-year-old son of Senator Gaius Aelius Marcellus, felt trapped in the marble halls of his father’s villa. Despite the privilege of fine tunics, learned tutors, and invitations to elite banquets, Lucius yearned for something raw, untamed—something beyond the polished world of the Senate. His heart found its answer in the Colosseum, not in the bloodlust that thrilled the mob, but in the gladiators, men whose defiance and strength stirred a fire he couldn’t name.
Lucius, at 21, had bedded women—slave girls and courtesans arranged by his father’s clients—but those encounters left him cold. His secret visits to the games, hidden from his disapproving father, were driven by a fascination with the fighters’ raw power. It was there, under the blazing midday sun, that he first saw Cassius, a 28-year-old gladiator from Gaul. A murmillo, Cassius was a towering figure, his bronze skin scarred from countless victories, his broad chest matted with dark hair that glistened with sweat. His trident struck like lightning as he felled a retiarius, and when he removed his helmet, shaking out his dark, damp hair, his fierce, haunted eyes locked briefly on the crowd. Lucius felt a heat surge in his chest, one that had nothing to do with the summer sun.
For days, Lucius returned to the Colosseum, his eyes fixed on Cassius. The gladiator’s victories tightened a knot in Lucius’s stomach—admiration laced with a forbidden desire he couldn’t fully grasp. Cassius, too, noticed the young patrician in the stands, his fine tunic and soft features marking him as an outsider among the plebs. Lucius’s gaze was intense, almost reverent, unlike the lustful stares Cassius was accustomed to from men and women alike.
Their paths crossed one evening at the ludus near the Colosseum. Lucius, having bribed a guard to wander the training grounds under the pretense of inspecting fighters, sought Cassius. He found him in the torchlit courtyard, shirtless and glistening, his hairy chest heaving as he swung a wooden sword. The sight of Cassius’s powerful frame, his thick hair curling across his broad chest and down his abdomen, stopped Lucius in his tracks.
“You’re far from the Senate house, boy,” Cassius said without turning, his voice low and rough. Lucius froze, heart pounding. Cassius lowered his sword and faced him, dark eyes narrowing. “What does a senator’s son want with a man like me?”
Lucius swallowed, his mouth dry. “I… I wanted to see you fight. Up close.”
Cassius smirked, stepping closer. The scent of sweat, leather, and the musky hair on his body filled Lucius’s senses. “You’ve watched me for days. What do you *really* want?”
“I don’t know,” Lucius whispered, his face flushing. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Cassius’s smirk faded, his expression unreadable. He closed the distance, his hairy chest nearly brushing Lucius’s tunic. “Careful, boy,” he murmured. “Men like me don’t play gentle games. You’re soft, untouched by this world. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
But Lucius was beginning to understand. The confusion that had plagued him crystallized into a desperate need to surrender to Cassius’s strength. His body betrayed him, a small hardness stirring beneath his tunic. Cassius’s eyes flicked downward, and his smirk returned, sharp and mocking. “Is that all you’ve got, little patrician?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he tugged Lucius’s tunic up, exposing his modest arousal. “By the gods, I’ve seen bigger on a boy half your age.”
Lucius’s face burned with shame, but the humiliation only fueled his desire. Cassius chuckled, his calloused hand brushing Lucius’s small length before tucking it back into the folds of his tunic. “Keep that hidden,” he said, his tone both cruel and teasing. “No need to embarrass yourself further.”
Cassius led him to a shadowed corner of the ludus, behind crates where the torchlight barely reached. Lucius’s pulse raced as Cassius pressed him against the rough stone wall, one hairy arm pinning him in place. “You want to play with a gladiator?” Cassius growled, his breath hot against Lucius’s ear. “Then you play by my rules.”
Lucius nodded, speechless. Cassius’s hand roamed lower, lifting Lucius’s tunic but leaving his small length covered as promised. The gladiator’s dominance was overwhelming, his hairy chest radiating heat as he leaned closer. “On your knees,” Cassius ordered. Lucius obeyed, sinking to the dusty ground. Cassius unfastened his subligaculum, revealing himself—nine inches, thick, hairy, and intimidating. Lucius’s eyes widened, his breath catching.
“Go on,” Cassius said, his hand resting on Lucius’s head. “Show me what a senator’s son can do.”
Lucius leaned forward, tentative, his lips brushing the coarse hair at Cassius’s base. The taste was raw—salt, musk, and masculinity. Guided by Cassius’s hand, he took more, finding a rhythm as the gladiator groaned, a primal sound that sent a shiver through Lucius. “You’re a natural,” Cassius said, his voice thick. “Born for this.”
Cassius pulled him up abruptly, pinning him back against the wall. “Not yet,” he growled. “You don’t finish until I say.” He kissed Lucius, rough and possessive, his tongue claiming his mouth. Lucius moaned, his body yielding to Cassius’s strength. The gladiator’s hairy chest pressed against him, coarse and warm, a stark contrast to Lucius’s smooth skin.
Cassius turned Lucius to face the wall, lifting his tunic entirely. “Ever had a man touch you here?” he asked, his fingers brushing Lucius’s entrance.
“No,” Lucius whispered, trembling. “Never.”
Cassius chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “Then I’ll be your first. Relax, boy. I’ll take care of you.” He produced a vial of olive oil, slicking his fingers. Lucius tensed as Cassius’s finger pressed against him, but the gladiator’s other hand stroked his back, calming him. “Breathe,” Cassius murmured. “Let me in.”
The intrusion was strange, a mix of discomfort and pleasure. Cassius worked him slowly, adding a second finger when Lucius began to push back. “Gods,” Cassius said, his voice low and approving. “Your hole’s tight, just like a virgin’s pussy. Perfect for me.”
Lucius’s mind reeled at the words, shame and desire warring within him. He’d been raised to command, yet here he was, yielding to a gladiator. The thought of Cassius claiming him was intoxicating. Cassius withdrew his fingers, and Lucius whimpered. Then he felt something larger, hotter—the gladiator’s enormous, hairy cock pressing against him.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Cassius asked, his voice commanding. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Lucius gasped. “Please, Cassius.”
Cassius entered him slowly, the stretch overwhelming. Lucius’s screams rose, raw and desperate, but he pressed his face into Cassius’s broad, hairy chest, the coarse hair muffling his cries. The gladiator’s scent enveloped him, grounding him as the pain gave way to pleasure. “Good boy,” Cassius murmured, his lips grazing Lucius’s neck. “You’re taking me well.”
Cassius began to move, slow at first, then faster, each thrust drawing a muffled moan from Lucius. The pleasure was deep, shaking Lucius to his core. He reached down, but Cassius’s hand stopped him. “No touching that little thing,” he growled. “You’ll finish when I say.”
Lucius’s release came suddenly, untouched, spilling beneath his tunic as Cassius’s thrusts grew erratic. The gladiator groaned, filling Lucius with a warmth that felt both foreign and right. They stood panting, Cassius’s hairy chest still pressed against Lucius’s face, his weight heavy and grounding.
Cassius pulled away, cleaning himself with a rag. “You’re braver than you look, patrician,” he said, his expression softening. “Come back tomorrow. I’m not done with you.”
Lucius nodded, legs shaky, mind reeling. As he left the ludus, the night air did little to cool the fire in his chest. He should have felt shame—his father would disown him—but all he could think of was Cassius’s hairy body, his mocking words, his dominance. He was 21, young and untested, but he belonged to the gladiator now, and that was enough.
That night, in his bedchamber, Lucius’s thoughts lingered on Cassius—the coarse hair, the commanding voice, the overwhelming pleasure. He knew he’d return to the ludus, kneel again, surrender again, and let Cassius claim him once more.
In the sweltering summer of Rome, 79 CE, young Lucius Aelius, the 21-year-old son of Senator Gaius Aelius Marcellus, felt trapped in the marble halls of his father’s villa. Despite the privilege of fine tunics, learned tutors, and invitations to elite banquets, Lucius yearned for something raw, untamed—something beyond the polished world of the Senate. His heart found its answer in the Colosseum, not in the bloodlust that thrilled the mob, but in the gladiators, men whose defiance and strength stirred a fire he couldn’t name.
Lucius, at 21, had bedded women—slave girls and courtesans arranged by his father’s clients—but those encounters left him cold. His secret visits to the games, hidden from his disapproving father, were driven by a fascination with the fighters’ raw power. It was there, under the blazing midday sun, that he first saw Cassius, a 28-year-old gladiator from Gaul. A murmillo, Cassius was a towering figure, his bronze skin scarred from countless victories, his broad chest matted with dark hair that glistened with sweat. His trident struck like lightning as he felled a retiarius, and when he removed his helmet, shaking out his dark, damp hair, his fierce, haunted eyes locked briefly on the crowd. Lucius felt a heat surge in his chest, one that had nothing to do with the summer sun.
For days, Lucius returned to the Colosseum, his eyes fixed on Cassius. The gladiator’s victories tightened a knot in Lucius’s stomach—admiration laced with a forbidden desire he couldn’t fully grasp. Cassius, too, noticed the young patrician in the stands, his fine tunic and soft features marking him as an outsider among the plebs. Lucius’s gaze was intense, almost reverent, unlike the lustful stares Cassius was accustomed to from men and women alike.
Their paths crossed one evening at the ludus near the Colosseum. Lucius, having bribed a guard to wander the training grounds under the pretense of inspecting fighters, sought Cassius. He found him in the torchlit courtyard, shirtless and glistening, his hairy chest heaving as he swung a wooden sword. The sight of Cassius’s powerful frame, his thick hair curling across his broad chest and down his abdomen, stopped Lucius in his tracks.
“You’re far from the Senate house, boy,” Cassius said without turning, his voice low and rough. Lucius froze, heart pounding. Cassius lowered his sword and faced him, dark eyes narrowing. “What does a senator’s son want with a man like me?”
Lucius swallowed, his mouth dry. “I… I wanted to see you fight. Up close.”
Cassius smirked, stepping closer. The scent of sweat, leather, and the musky hair on his body filled Lucius’s senses. “You’ve watched me for days. What do you *really* want?”
“I don’t know,” Lucius whispered, his face flushing. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Cassius’s smirk faded, his expression unreadable. He closed the distance, his hairy chest nearly brushing Lucius’s tunic. “Careful, boy,” he murmured. “Men like me don’t play gentle games. You’re soft, untouched by this world. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
But Lucius was beginning to understand. The confusion that had plagued him crystallized into a desperate need to surrender to Cassius’s strength. His body betrayed him, a small hardness stirring beneath his tunic. Cassius’s eyes flicked downward, and his smirk returned, sharp and mocking. “Is that all you’ve got, little patrician?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he tugged Lucius’s tunic up, exposing his modest arousal. “By the gods, I’ve seen bigger on a boy half your age.”
Lucius’s face burned with shame, but the humiliation only fueled his desire. Cassius chuckled, his calloused hand brushing Lucius’s small length before tucking it back into the folds of his tunic. “Keep that hidden,” he said, his tone both cruel and teasing. “No need to embarrass yourself further.”
Cassius led him to a shadowed corner of the ludus, behind crates where the torchlight barely reached. Lucius’s pulse raced as Cassius pressed him against the rough stone wall, one hairy arm pinning him in place. “You want to play with a gladiator?” Cassius growled, his breath hot against Lucius’s ear. “Then you play by my rules.”
Lucius nodded, speechless. Cassius’s hand roamed lower, lifting Lucius’s tunic but leaving his small length covered as promised. The gladiator’s dominance was overwhelming, his hairy chest radiating heat as he leaned closer. “On your knees,” Cassius ordered. Lucius obeyed, sinking to the dusty ground. Cassius unfastened his subligaculum, revealing himself—nine inches, thick, hairy, and intimidating. Lucius’s eyes widened, his breath catching.
“Go on,” Cassius said, his hand resting on Lucius’s head. “Show me what a senator’s son can do.”
Lucius leaned forward, tentative, his lips brushing the coarse hair at Cassius’s base. The taste was raw—salt, musk, and masculinity. Guided by Cassius’s hand, he took more, finding a rhythm as the gladiator groaned, a primal sound that sent a shiver through Lucius. “You’re a natural,” Cassius said, his voice thick. “Born for this.”
Cassius pulled him up abruptly, pinning him back against the wall. “Not yet,” he growled. “You don’t finish until I say.” He kissed Lucius, rough and possessive, his tongue claiming his mouth. Lucius moaned, his body yielding to Cassius’s strength. The gladiator’s hairy chest pressed against him, coarse and warm, a stark contrast to Lucius’s smooth skin.
Cassius turned Lucius to face the wall, lifting his tunic entirely. “Ever had a man touch you here?” he asked, his fingers brushing Lucius’s entrance.
“No,” Lucius whispered, trembling. “Never.”
Cassius chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “Then I’ll be your first. Relax, boy. I’ll take care of you.” He produced a vial of olive oil, slicking his fingers. Lucius tensed as Cassius’s finger pressed against him, but the gladiator’s other hand stroked his back, calming him. “Breathe,” Cassius murmured. “Let me in.”
The intrusion was strange, a mix of discomfort and pleasure. Cassius worked him slowly, adding a second finger when Lucius began to push back. “Gods,” Cassius said, his voice low and approving. “Your hole’s tight, just like a virgin’s pussy. Perfect for me.”
Lucius’s mind reeled at the words, shame and desire warring within him. He’d been raised to command, yet here he was, yielding to a gladiator. The thought of Cassius claiming him was intoxicating. Cassius withdrew his fingers, and Lucius whimpered. Then he felt something larger, hotter—the gladiator’s enormous, hairy cock pressing against him.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Cassius asked, his voice commanding. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Lucius gasped. “Please, Cassius.”
Cassius entered him slowly, the stretch overwhelming. Lucius’s screams rose, raw and desperate, but he pressed his face into Cassius’s broad, hairy chest, the coarse hair muffling his cries. The gladiator’s scent enveloped him, grounding him as the pain gave way to pleasure. “Good boy,” Cassius murmured, his lips grazing Lucius’s neck. “You’re taking me well.”
Cassius began to move, slow at first, then faster, each thrust drawing a muffled moan from Lucius. The pleasure was deep, shaking Lucius to his core. He reached down, but Cassius’s hand stopped him. “No touching that little thing,” he growled. “You’ll finish when I say.”
Lucius’s release came suddenly, untouched, spilling beneath his tunic as Cassius’s thrusts grew erratic. The gladiator groaned, filling Lucius with a warmth that felt both foreign and right. They stood panting, Cassius’s hairy chest still pressed against Lucius’s face, his weight heavy and grounding.
Cassius pulled away, cleaning himself with a rag. “You’re braver than you look, patrician,” he said, his expression softening. “Come back tomorrow. I’m not done with you.”
Lucius nodded, legs shaky, mind reeling. As he left the ludus, the night air did little to cool the fire in his chest. He should have felt shame—his father would disown him—but all he could think of was Cassius’s hairy body, his mocking words, his dominance. He was 21, young and untested, but he belonged to the gladiator now, and that was enough.
That night, in his bedchamber, Lucius’s thoughts lingered on Cassius—the coarse hair, the commanding voice, the overwhelming pleasure. He knew he’d return to the ludus, kneel again, surrender again, and let Cassius claim him once more.
