I wasn't always the adopted "son" of Marcus Valerius Cato. I started out as a Spartan farmer, living out my life quietly on my small farm, which I had inherited from my father. In Sparta, all free men are also members of the Spartan army. I was called up to fight for my country against free-booting bandits from Persia who had eluded our Roman "protectors", and when I returned, both my father and mother has passed on, and our farm was being run by a couple of our faithful slaves. All I had was the farm, the two slaves, a big mouth, and a big cock. I was notorious for the latter two items, and before long, the big mouth lost me the first two items.

I was still trying to return things to normal and get the farm on a good footing again when the Roman tax collectors arrived, demanding Rome's duty. I asked for a year's grace from taxes, or at least a year's delay to allow me to save the money, but the tax collectors refused. My big mouth kicked into action, and soon I was denouncing in the foulest terms I could summon up not only tax collectors but even Emperor Augustus. When I drove the tax collectors from my land at the point of my sword, they soon returned with a centurion and ten legionaries. I tried to resist, but I was cast into chains and brought before the local Prefect. He ordered that for my delinquent taxes my land be confiscated and for my delinquent mouth that I be sold into slavery in Rome.

I wonder what the Prefect would have sentenced me if I had pissed on the tax collectors? No, I don't want to even think about it.

But that is how, after a gruelling march in chains across much of the Greek Peninsula, and a tortuous ride in the hold of a cargo galley across the Adriatic Sea to Brindisium, then another long, chained march up the Peninsula to Rome itself, that I eventually found myself on the sales blocks of the Graecostadium, the great slave market behind the Julian Basilica.

There slaves from all over the Roman Empire were displayed for sale: Greeks, like me, Britons, Gauls, Nubians, Egyptians, all nationalities; black, brown, white, all races; women men, children, eunuchs, all ages and sexes. There we were displayed like sides of beef, usually naked, or just skimpy garments which could be easily cast aside for a prospective buyer's eyes. Many slaves had placards around their necks listing their particular selling points. My large cock was my only real selling point, so I was not given the modesty of even a loin cloth.

Slaves like me, freemen who had been condemned to slavery, were not a popular item. We did not grow up as slaves, we were not trained in obedience, we had no servanting skills, and we resented and fought against our newly-appointed condition, and my struggle got me passed round from slave-trader to slave-trader.

Others like me were also displayed naked. We were seen as prospective goods for the brothels of the city. There was a great call for males to service the needs of wealthy women — or wealthy men.

A couple of times I was purchased, but when the buyers found I could not be trained easily, they returned me, demanding their purchase money back. No customer wanted me, so no slave-trader wanted me. I was just a mouth to feed. I was eventually traded off to one of the lesser slavers, Boca and his son Trajanus, who sold their sparse and inferior wares, such as myself, from their makeshift shop in a side-street. I was currently their only stock-in-trade. They usually displayed me naked, or with just a meagre loin-cloth, in chains.

Trajanus was a nasty little shit, who lashed me whenever his father was not around, being careful not to break my skin or raise major welts. I'm sure he envied my cock, because he eyed it constantly. His own was tiny, as I had seen when he took a leak against the alley walls. I wanted to bend him over and ram my cock up his tight ass, without the benefit of olive oil, just to hear him scream.

It was when I stuck back at Trajanus that my lot took a turn. The surly youth struck me with his knotted rope once to often. I grabbed it and gave a hard yank, sending him to the pavement of the side alley where Boca conducted his meagre trade. I happened to do this just as his father returned from some small business he had been away attending to. The old man immediately began to thrash me with the heavy staff he carried to aid his walking.

It was at that moment that Marcus Valerius Cato entered the scene. He and another uniformed centurion of the Vigiles Urbani entered the back street just as Boca was raining blows on my head. Another second and I would have grabbed the man and broken his neck or strangled him with the very chains that fettered me.

"Stop that!" the centurion demanded. "Why do you beat this man so?"

"This Spartan pig knocked my son to the ground," Boca informed the centurions. "He should be executed. He should be fed to the lions in the circus."

"That would be a waste of very fine meat," the centurion stated, eyeing my body and particularly my large cock. His comrade grinned, enjoying the play on words, and sharing his friend's pleasure at the sight of my cock.

"A Spartan, is he?" the centurion commented. "Do you speak Latin, my man?" He directed the question at me.

"Of course," I replied. "All free Spartans are educated men, and by the Emperor's decree, all Spartans are taught Latin in our schools."

"And all free Spartans are soldiers," he observed. "You are no longer free. You were a soldier?" he asked.

"Yes," I told him. "I am a soldier, and I will be free to fight again one day. And I will fight to be free."

"You are a feisty one. But you are a Greek, and a Spartan, at that. Do you practice Greek love?

He was referring to the reputation of all Greeks throughout the Empire — that we preferred sex only with other men, that we despised women. This is blatantly ridiculous, of course, or there would be no Greek children, but it was true that Greek men, and in particular Spartans, like myself, were encouraged to take a male lover to fight alongside us in times of war, to share our dangers – and our beds.

"Yes," I admitted. "My last lover died in battle beside me, fighting Persian bandits.

"And would you be adverse to practising Greek love with my friend and myself?" he asked.

"Not at all," I assured him. The centurion and his fellow were both handsome-looking men, and both fighting-men, like myself.

"You!" the centurion addressed Boca. "How much for this slave?"

Boca pricked up his greedy little ears at the thought of money, especially money for a slave that he had lost hopes of selling.

"Ah, for this fine slave, perfectly trained, hardly-used, in good health, and so well-endowed, I am asking as little as 500 sesterces. A bargain, I assure you!"

"Bullshit!" exclaimed the centurion. "I will give you 50 sesterces, not a penny more."

"That's robbery! That's an insult!" protested Boca.

It was an insult to me also. Men paid more for a sheep or a donkey.

"Take it and be thankful," ordered the centurion. "Remember I could just as easily confiscate the slave on the grounds that you were mistreating him for no good reason."

"But he knocked my son down!" Boca wailed.

"Your son undoubtedly deserved it. Now take this and be thankful," the centurion demanded, proffering some gold coins from his pouch.

Whining and snivelling, Boca took the offered money, and so I became the property of a new master, who led me away on a short leash, but no sooner were we out of sight of the slave markets than he removed the leash.

"You know if you try to run away, you'll have the whole of the Vigiles Urbani on your heels, don't you?"

I nodded

He offered me a length of cloth he had been wearing as a sash to fashion myself a loin-cloth.

When I was somewhat better clad than before, he informed me, "As you heard, I am your new master. I am Marcus Valerius Cato, centurion of the Vigiles Urbani. This is my friend Claudius Agricola. He is my 'Spartan battle-mate', shall we say."

I smiled at what he said about his relationship with Claudius Agricola.

"I see you understand me," he said. "What is your name, Spartan?"

"Ioannis," I told him.

He tried to pronounce it, but had trouble with the Greek vowels. "It is the same as our Iohannus," he told me. "I will call you Ion, for short." Ion. It was a strange-sounding name, neither Greek nor Roman, but it was short and easy to say. It really didn't matter to me.

"You will call me Master or Sir — for now, anyway."

"Yes, sir," I agreed.

"Now we had better get you cleaned up before I take you home," he said. "Mother would have a fit. There is a men's thermae near here." I knew that a thermae was a public bathhouse. I also knew that the all-male thermae of Rome were notorious for public sex acts between consenting bathers. It didn't bother me. Marcus Valerius had made it quite plain when he bought me what he expected of me, and I had made it equally clear that I would not object to such an arrangement.

My new master led the way through the crowded streets surrounding the forum, eventually leading us into another busy alley. We stopped at a building with columns decorating its frontage. Over the lintel were carved dolphins spouting water on either side of what appeared to be a large cock and balls. I gathered this indicated a male-only baths.

Marcus Valerius led the way inside. In the atrium, my master paid a small sum for the use of the baths and its amenities, and a little extra for the use of a private room. He also order a tunic and belt be supplied for me when we were leaving. He then led us into the next room where we handed over our clothes and other belongings to an attendant, who supposedly would guard them for us. These attendants were notoriously dishonest, so my master paid ours an extra fee to insure our belongings, although I had nothing other than my sash/loincloth.

My master then led me and Claudius, all three stark naked, into the natatorium, the huge pool area. Several other naked men populated this pool area, lounging on the tiled surrounds, lolling in the water, showering under one of the fountains. My master and his friend immediately entered the water, but he ordered me to stay on the tiles and be administered to by a huge Nubian attendant, who rubbed me down with scented oils, then scrubbed me with pumice stone, then washed me off with scented soaps, and scraped me down with a tool like a wooden spatula. I'm sure he took more care than usual when he washed my cock, even under the foreskin. It was more like a hand-job than a cleansing and I got more than a bit hard. He didn't bring me to completion, though, although I learned later, he would have done so if I asked. When I was clear of all grime and oil and soap, I was allowed to join the others in the pool's slightly warmed waters.

Really clean for the first time in many months, I wallowed in the luxury of the waters of the pool. The water was warmed slightly, just enough so that it was not like jumping into the ocean, but more like a body-temperature bath. Marcus Valerius and his friend Claudius welcomed me when I joined them in the shallows, both taking an undisguised look of lust at my cock, which was a little bit engorged from the ministering of the Nubian.

The centurions, too, were a somewhat horny already, and soon Marcus Valerius suggested we dry off and repair to the private room he had rented for a little more entertainment. I knew he wanted to try me out, to find out what "Greek skills" I might have. Knowing this might be my door to eventual freedom, I had no intention of disappointing him — or his friend. I would suck and be fucked like the best prostitute in Rome, or be sucked and fuck if that's what they wanted.

The private room was rather luxurious, far better accommodations than I had ever experienced, actually, and nothing like the squalor I had endured for the last months. Furnishings were rather sparse, but not much really was needed for the sort of activities which went on in these rooms. There was a large bed, of course, a small table with fruit and wine, and and small jars with oils and other lubricants, and a tub sunk into the floor, almost a small pool, actually, and in a corner a latrine bowl sunk into the floor also, with running water to carry away waste to the city sewers.

The walls were decorated with erotic mosaic murals, either to spur on our appetites or suggest some activities we might like to try. One of the first to catch our eyes was a large illustration above the bed of a threesome, with one man fucking another like a pair of dogs, while another, kneeling, took the first from behind,

"I think we should try that, don't you, Claudius?"

"Who will be the lucky man who goes in the middle?" Claudius asked.

"You, if you want," Marcus Valerius replied. "We'll change around, anyway. As long as I'm the first to have Ion's fat cock inside me.

"Ion, get up on the bed for Claudius. On your hands and knees!" We were, all three, stark-naked and it was obvious that the mural, and the idea of emulating it, had aroused us all. All three were m now fully erect, and all three cocks were about the span of a man's hand. My was a little larger and thicker than the other two, but I knew from experience that all three were larger than the average man's.

I have always admired a fine-looking cock, but I noticed that Claudius's was circumcised, in the fashion of the Hebrews. I must have shown some puzzlement, because Marcus Valerius informed me, "Claudius got an infection on the battlefield, and the medic saw fit to remove the foreskin to save the penis. I can assure you it works just as well as it ever did.

Claudius laughed, "It makes it a little more difficult for masturbating," he admitted. "I need to have extra oil or liniment to avoid friction. I'l put some olive oil on my cock now, to save you any pain."

It seemed strange, me a slave, being treated and spoken to almost as an equal to these two free Romans. I think it was the bond that soldiers have everywhere that made them see me as a brother in unfortunate circumstances.

I kneeled on the bed, and Claudius mounted behind me. Resting my head on a pillow, I reached back and held my butt-cheeks apart to allow him to find the hallowed spot. I was far from a virgin, and relaxed and let his cock make its forced entry. I felt my sphincter open to let him in, and then them bulbous head of his cock was inside me. I pressed back, forcing is rod deeper inside me, pushing past the inner muscle and finally sliding deep into my bowels, straightening a path for itself.

"Your turn, Marcus," Claudius said. "Get up behind me." He steadied himself with his hands on my back while his friend kneeled behind him on the bed. I felt Claudius tense as Marcus entered him. Once Marcus Valerius was deep in him, Claudius started a tentative movement of his hips, fucking me, while being fucked by Marcus Valerius. It was a little awkward, but we son got a rhythm going.

"Don't any one cum," ordered my master. "We want to get to try every place in this tableau at least." And that's just what we did. After a few minutes, we changed positions, and I went to the back, and soon I was fucking my master for the first time. It would not be the last time, though. I fucked him and he fucked me many times in the next three years. Of course, that was why he had bought me. I made sure that he got value for money.

Marcus Valerius had a nice ass, and a tight hole, and knew how to use it. He would squeeze it around my rod when I started to withdraw, then relax, and squeeze again as I started to enter. The actions almost made me cum several times.

When I had taken my turn in the middle, still fucking my master while Claudius moved to the back and fucked me, we tried several other positions and combinations till we all masturbated to ejaculation at the same time, each shooting his cum all over the other two. We washed off in the large bath, before the centurions stretched out on the bed and took a nap. I was relegated to the stone floor, but it was heated, so not too uncomfortable.

In fact, I felt comfortable and safe for the first time in months. I was already bonding with the handsome Roman who had purchased me, and although I was a slave to him, I already felt a certain affinity. I guess all three of us drifted off for a brief nap.

I was awoken by Marcus Valerius's foot prodding me.

"Wake up, slave! What do you think of this mosaic?" He pointed to another mosaic mural opposite the one of the threesome. This one portrayed one man sitting on another's cock, riding him. The thought of riding my master's cock was an immediate turn-on to me. My own cock began to rise to the occasion.

"I think we should try it, sir," I replied.

"Good man," he agreed.

Claudius was still dozing on the bed, so Marcus Valerius sat at the pool's edge, his legs in the water. He lay back, and his erect penis pointed to the sky.

"Sit on this," he ordered, and I straddled him, facing the pool, and lowered myself onto him. My hole was still oily from our previous exercises, as was my master's cock so I didn't need and more lubrication. I lowered myself down on to his rigid shaft. He placed the knob right on my button, and I pushed down, forcing his cockhead into my hole, opening me up. As we became joined by his impaling shaft, I felt once more and affinity with my new master, as if this were where I were meant to be, what I was meant to be doing – me, a citizen-soldier of Sparta, now a lowly slave, getting fucked by Marcus Valerius Cato

But just because I was now the property of Marcus Valerius, and quickly became his favourite fucking companion, did not mean my life became an easy ride. His mother, Julia Valerius, took an instant dislike to me. And although Marcus was the ostensible head of the household since his father had died some years before, it was Julia, in fact, who ruled the house.

Marcus, as a doting son, gave in to her every whim. When she objected that I was getting privileged treatment over the other slaves, Marcus agreed that I would have to share in household duties. Julia, of course, made sure that I got my share of those chores – and more. And always the dirtiest and most demeaning ones, of course.

When she realized that I was sharing his bed, she again objected. Slaves should not soil the beds of nobles. And so I was given a mat to sleep on at the foot of Marcus' bed – although I rarely spent the night there. When Julia discovered that Marcus was still taking me into his bed, she demanded that I sleep in the corridor outside his bedroom. She would sneak by in the middle of the night to check that that was where I actually slept. If I was not there when she checked, even she did not have the gall to burst into Marcus' bedroom to catch us fucking, but in the morning she would loudly proclaim the shame of it all — that a nobleman such as Marcus Valerius would take a male slave to his bed when he should be courting the available noblewomen to find a wife to be mother to his son and heir.

Over the next year, whenever Marcus was away on his duties or otherwise occupied, Julia would find any excuse she could to order her footman Anticles to beat me with a rod. When Marcus complained to her about the welts on my body, she made up extreme misbehaviours I had made to warrant such a beating. She knew I would not dare to contradict her.

This all came to a head at a time when there was much unrest in Rome. Mediterranean storms had delayed grain shipments from Egypt, and the people, used to their free grain rations, were rioting and looting almost daily. It was one of there riots which Marcus was trying to quell. I had gone with him on that particular morning. We were less than a block from his house when the mob came storming through the street.

Seeing a centurion of the Vigiles Urbani did not deter them. It only stirred then to a newer rage. The pounced upon Marcus Valerius and myself. Few had weapons of any kind, so at first we were able to hold them off, Marcus with his sword, and I with a pole I had wrenched from one of our attackers. But then a rioter struck Valerius from behind with a heavy club. He went down, and the clubber was determined to finish him off. I snatched up the fallen Marcus' sword and swung it upward just as the club wielding rioter raised his club to deliver a death blow to Marcus. I disembowelled him from nave to neck. The sight of violent death was a deterrent to the others. They did not want to share their compatriot's fate and backed off from me, but only to reform.

They circled me like jackals circling a wounded animal. But it was not me they wanted so much as the unconscious centurion at my feet, the centurion I was determined to protect or die trying.

The mob had gathered more weapons — clubs, spears, staves — and were circling in on me and my fallen charge. I was expecting a fight to the death. But all of a sudden a group of our household slaves, armed with whatever weapons they had been able to grab along the way, burst onto the scene. One of their fellows must have seen us attacked and run to alert the household. They quickly set about driving off the attackers. A heated street fight was underway.

The slaves were followed by Julia herself. I had covered Marcus with his cloak, and Julia immediately presumed that he was dead. While I consoled her and assured her he was only unconscious, our slaves held off, and eventually drove off the rioters.

I took Marcus up in my arms and carried my master through the streets back to the Valerius household, followed by a weeping, almost hysterical, Julia and her sycophant footman Anticles. I bore him through the house to his own bedroom, and laid him gently into his own bed. He was still unconscious, with an open wound on the back of his head. I had seen many such wounds on the battlefield, and order Anticles to bring a cloth and a bowl of warm water.

"I will not be told to do by a mere slave," he refused.

"Do as he says!" snapped Julia. "This man saved the life of your master!" she added, giving me an admiring glanced. What a difference in less than an hour!

The grovelling slug did as ordered, and I bathed the wound on Marcus' head. Julia tried to take the cloth from me and do it herself, but I said, "Marcus Valerius bought me to administer to his needs — all his needs. This is my job!"

Amazingly, she capitulated without a word, but sat there smiling as I tended to her son, my master, even though she was obviously concerned for his life.

She needn't have been. In a few minutes Marcus stirred and opened his eyes. I was the first person he laid eyes upon.

"Ah, Ion, my love," he sighed. "I think you must have saved me. The last thing I remember is being struck!"

The words "My love," were not lost upon Julia. I thought she would turn into a spitting asp again, but no — her response was quite different.

"Your love?" she questioned. "Do you mean this man is the one you have chosen to be your life's love?"

"Yes!" he stated defiantly. "I want him beside me always!"

"But he is a slave," she pointed out. "We can't have that! You will have to give him his freedom!"

"You are right," Marcus declared. "I will correct that right now. Ion," he stated,"I know declare you are free man. You are free to leave this household — or you can stay here with me."

I grasped his hand. "I choose to stay here with you — if you will have me!"

"I will have you — as my husband!" he declared.

His mother objected."Even in this new Rome where almost anything goes, you are still not free to marry a man. If you must bind him to you, then adopt him as your son. I'm sure no-one would be naive enough to accuse you of incest." She actually laughed at he own jest.

"What a splendid idea," cried her son. "Would you consent to join this family?" he asked of me. I smiled and nodded my agreement.

And so I became Ion Valerius, son and lover of Roman centurion of the Vigiles Urbani.

That night, in the family chapel, I stripped naked, cleansed my body, and gave thanks for my new life to both my Greek gods and my adopted Roman gods. My life with Marcus Valerius has continued amazingly good!

As always, I look forward to your comments: