#joelius

He tosses away your veil and kisses you like he wants to devour you, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. You have felt your desire pooling since he touched you to pull you into the workshop and you open readily for him while pulling at the simple tunic he is wearing.

He shucks his clothes until he stands before you in only sandals and a few bandages. At the apex of his powerful thighs his dark phallus stands, slightly curved and demanding attention. Joel moves to recapture your lips, but you hold up your hand as your eyes rake over his bronze skin. Your hands move down his broad chest appreciatively and then move to feel his sinewy arms. Your fingers slip along the sheen of sweat that covers him. His skin is covered in scars, some gnarled and old and some pink and fresh.

He smirks and says “Does my little heretic need more of this ungodly cock? One taste wasn’t enough?” His hand holds your mound lightly through your clothes. You whimper and involuntarily rock forward seeking friction. “Have you touched yourself since I desecrated you?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Every night.”

Joel laughs and pulls away from your hands, lowering himself into a chair. “What did you think about, priestess?”

His hand moves along his cock at a hypnotic rhythm, pushing the skin up and down. The plump, shiny head appears and disappears. Your cheeks flush hot, but you cannot look away. You fiddle with the skirt of your clothes, aching for your core to be touched. “I remembered.”

He tuts and shakes his head. “You have to do better than that if you want to get it again. You must feel so empty, poor thing. What did you think about when you touched yourself in your goddess's house?”

The room is sweltering and smells like sex and your mind is starting to feel like syrup being poured into the tight container of this moment–nothing else exists. “I thought of your cock, hard and filling me. I thought of you rutting into me like a wild animal,” you say as you start hiking the white fabric up your legs. You’re practically panting by now. “I thought of the feeling of your body when you held me like I weighed nothing. I pressed the bruises you left and thought of being hurt and pleasured by you.”

Joel is smiling wickedly as you reveal your dripping slit. “Why don’t you come take what you want, kitten?”

Your Vestal clothes are too complicated to be worth removing so you gather the fabric in your hands and straddle Joel’s legs. Then with one hand you guide his raging hot member into your wet, eager cunt. He groans as you sink down his length until he’s fully sheathed in you. You pause and grip his shoulders as you get used to the size of his cock. You can feel every bit of him pushing against your walls, carving a place for himself.

Joel kneads your breasts painfully, making you clench down on the large adamantine cock inside of you. He clutches your braids at the nape of your neck and pulls you in for another hard kiss. His kiss is like a battle and he groans as you start fighting back with your tongue and gripping his wild hair with both hands.

The feeling of being stretched around him seems to spread through your body and there’s buzzing under your skin. He groans as you begin to raise yourself up and down. You wrap your arms around his neck so your entire body is pressed against him, desperate to be even closer, consumed by him.

Joel reaches under your clothes to grip your ass and helps you move faster. “That’s it, kitten–tight priestess cunt bouncing on my cock,” he grunts. His voice sounds a little broken.

He lifts you just long enough to lay you on the nearby table. You open your legs as wide as you can and moan when he hits that perfect place inside of you. He braces a hand next to your head and mauls your breast with the other. “Harder,” you whisper and he obliges.

“See how quickly the virgin priestess became a needy cockwhore,” he taunts. “Have you been worshiping your goddess in the temple with this dirty whore’s cunt between your legs?”

You nod. “That night when I tended the hearth, I could still feel you dripping out of me.”

Joel closes his eyes and moans at the image. He tugs at the ribbons hanging from your hair, he hadn’t taken them out this time. “You know they’ll kill you if you get caught, but you just need this cock so bad, don’t you?”

An obscene whimper escapes you. He finds the bruises he left on your thighs and presses, making you arch off the table. You can feel the tension building in your core. “Yes, so close.” Your fingernails dig into his back. Maybe you’ll leave your mark on him and add to his scars.

His hand grips your jaw and he forces you to look into his eyes. “Who does this cunt belong to?” he pants.

“You, I belong to you, Joel,” you say without hesitation.

“You want to come? What have you done to deserve it? I’m not so convinced you’ve given up your vows,” he smirks and winds your red and white ribbons around his fingers as he keeps rutting into you.

“I have, I have, I swear. Please,” you say breathlessly, scrambling for something he wants to hear. You feel like a supplicant begging for divine mercy. “I don’t worship the gods, I worship your cock. Your body is my altar.”

“That’s right,” he grunts in approval and reaches his hand down to massage your mound. The pressure on your clit makes the tension inside of you snap. Your eyes roll back in your head as waves of gratifying pleasure spread out through your limbs.

“Say it again,” you hear through the thick cloud that fills your mind. You mumble vows of devotion and prayers of gratitude to the only phallus that is holy to you. Distantly you hear Joel curse as he pulses inside of you.

As you ride out your orgasms, he places wet kisses on your neck and lightly scrapes the skin with his teeth. You know he wants to bite, but you can’t risk having to explain his mark on your skin.

Finally he rolls off of you and helps you clean up.

“I’ll see you soon, my Ariadne,” he says as he takes one last feel of your body while he brushes dirt from your clothes. “We’ll save our girl and leave this damned city.”

⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶

On the first morning of the Ludi Magni, you help prepare Ellie. She is antsy as she is dressed in complicated ceremonial clothes and seashells are braided into her hair, but she makes no complaints. Green ribbons are wrapped around her arms and adorned with flowers to appear as vines from a distance.

Then it is time to prepare the chariot for General Muncius. You coax Ellie out to watch. The first day she was with you, she was giggling at every depiction of a phallus she saw. She quickly became accustomed, however, as Vesta is “the phallic goddess” and her temple is filled with such representations. You believe she will still enjoy this however.

“General Muncius has won a series of battles against increasingly formidable odds,” you whisper as your sisters decorate the chariot with roses and metal tokens that will catch the sun.

“Duh,” Ellie smiles cheekily. “Even I’ve heard of Muncius. Everyone in Rome talks about him like he’s a demigod.”

You nod. “Normally, the emperor would appear himself for games of this magnitude. Everyone is excited to have General Muncius here though. It is said that he is the fiercest and wisest man in the land and quite beautiful too.”

Ellie gives a most undignified snort.

“His last victory was against a city that should have been impossible to take. He lost half of his men, but he captured it for the emperor.” You point to a pair of your sisters descending the temple steps carrying the symbol of the god Fascinus. “The Vestal Virgins have a special honor that is bestowed on only the most dominant warriors.”

Ellie devolves into a fit of giggles as they affix the large winged phallus to hang below the chariot.

⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶

Before the games begin, General Muncius leads the opening parade into the arena in his chariot. The phallus hangs ostentatiously beneath him. Dancers, musicians, horse riders, and performers dressed in costume follow him. There are also wagons laden with crops and valuable goods that will be delivered to the capital as a gift to the emperor. Finally, the procession ends with Vestal Virgins carrying perfumes and ashes and men carrying statues of the gods.

The entertainers spread out before the stands and perform to the raucous cheers of the crowd. At the center of the arena, the competitors already stand in columns. There are so many gladiators. As broad and strong as Joel is, there are several that would make him look small.

Nausea rises in your gut. Have you made a horrible mistake placing your faith in Joel’s capacity for violence? The odds are stacked against him. Most of these men are slaves who have been gladiators for years, honing their skills for exactly this.

You had asked to be one of the Vestals who walks among the competitors and annoints them with ash from Vesta’s hearth, hoping to get a glimpse of Joel. If all has gone according to plan, he has incapacitated and replaced one of the gladiators that was meant to be in the tournament. He had chosen as his target a murmillo, a type of gladiator that is heavily armed and wears a helmet that covers his face, in case anyone who knew him got too close.

You walk along the first row of fighters, smearing ash on their cheeks and murmuring blessings while your eyes flash about for a glimpse of the scarred bronze skin and menacing posture you’ve come to know so well.

The next gladiator takes off his helmet, and suddenly those shining river stone eyes are burning right into you. You almost stumble back, but somehow his presence balances you and holds you steady like you are wrapped in his arms though he has not even touched you.

As you wipe lines of ash along his cheeks and down the center of his nose, it finally registers that he is not wearing the armor of a murmillo. He carries a curved sword and a small shield and his helmet is adorned with a griffin. Your breaths quicken and it feels like the muscles in your chest are stretched taut, threatening to snap. Thraex gladiators are meant to represent Rome’s enemies and are pitted against the strongest fighters. They are meant to lose.

But Joel looks into your eyes with unwavering resolve. One corner of his mouth twitches, a hint at a ghost of a reassuring smile, and then you move on to the next fighter.

When all of the men are anointed, the entertainers stop and the crowd quiets down. A group of dancers dressed in greenery form a line across the tunnel entrance.

The master of games addresses the crowd with his booming voice. “A terrible calamity has stalked our city for months now. Its whispered warnings rattle our bones more and more often. It crawls closer everyday. Some scholars may tell you its arrival is inevitable, but you faithful know that the gods are merciful!” The crowd roars in agreement and takes several minutes to quiet again. “The oracle told us who would save this city and our holy emperor told us how.”

At this moment, the musicians start up again and the dancers at the tunnel part revealing Ellie. Your eyes immediately dart to Joel. He stands stiff as a board, but you can see his right hand rattling as if he is anxious.

Ellie is so small, swallowed up by the arena sands as she steps out of the tunnel. The dancers twirl around her and guide her way. She looks every bit the young girl, struggling to walk in the ceremonial garb while she chews on her lip and takes in her surroundings with wide anxious eyes.

“She was found in the wilds draped in vines,” the master of games narrates. You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. “She was raised in a temple by priestesses. She is the purest innocent, unknown to any man.”

Some lewd sounds come from the crowd and Ellie startles, eyes darting around at the spectators. Every spectator in the stands seems to be leaning forward, straining to get a better look at their sacrifice, scrutinizing her against some arbitrary criteria for holy saviors. You wonder how many of them truly believe, and how many are just afraid of what it means if the prophecy is not true.

General Muncius meets her at the center while the master of games drones on about how the gods revealed her purpose to the emperor. He is handsome with his curly auburn hair and intelligent brown eyes. His jaw is clenched as he hands Ellie a torch and he seems to look everywhere but her face. Your stomach drops as you remember that despite all the stories you have heard of his heroism and kindness, he is here to send an innocent girl to slaughter.

He guides Ellie up a raised platform where a fire bowl sits. She dips the torch into the bowl and as the fire comes to life, the ravenous crowd roars in excitement for the games to begin.

⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶

You join your sisters and the General in the governor’s box overlooking the arena. The governor was quite put out to be relegated to a smaller box while Ellie is given the seat of honor next to General Muncius.

Ellie is more relaxed now that the focus is not on her. She watches the horse races with a smile as her legs swing back and forth in the large ornate chair. Muncius says little to her but orders the servants to bring her a steady stream of exotic foods and makes sure she gets more of what she likes.

Finally, the gladiator fights begin. The crowd becomes rowdier as blood splatters the sand. It is no longer common to fight to the death, but many of the injuries are gory.

“Holy crap!” Ellie says the first time blood sprays out like a violent rainbow from a deep wound. She takes no notice of the glare she receives from High Vestal Marlene and you doubt she would care if she did.

She continues to exclaim obscenities as the fights go on and you catch a small smirk on the general’s face.

“I wish Joel was watching with us. He’s a great fighter,” Ellie says suddenly between matches. She turns to Muncius. “Do you think he could join us tomorrow? I bet you two would have a lot to talk about. You’ve both done a lot of fighting.”

The general looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “You can see him after the Ludi. It would be too great of an insult to the governor if I asked him to join us.”

Ellie slumps back in her chair and goes back to grazing on figs and cheeses. You sit on a bench next to her chair and teach her about the different types of gladiators to distract her.

The crowd cheers for the murmillo gladiators as they are meant to and they are victorious in most of the matches. When a Thraex wins one match, he is rewarded with a cacophony of boos. Every muscle in your body feels tense. It is not enough for Joel to win his match. In order to be chosen by the High Vestal for the champion fight, he must win the crowd.

It is out of your hands now. You gave him the string, now he has to slay the minotaur.

You recognize Joel instantly when he comes out. Even hidden by his griffin helmet, you recognize the casual way he stands with one leg cocked out while he is introduced to the crowd as “Justin of Lycia”. Though he wears some armor, his bronze chest shines in the setting sun. The belt and loincloth he wears leave his thighs as strong as marble bare.

You notice Ellie squirming in her chair. “Kim, why don’t you take Ellie to the latrine?” you ask one of your sisters who has no stomach for watching the fights. She may not know that it is Joel on the sands, but you do not want her to watch in case the worst should happen.

You move to the front of the box and stand next to High Vestal Marlene to watch.

This is your first time seeing Joel fight and you understand why Ellie speaks of it in awe. His opponent is bigger and carries a large shield that he bashes with as he attacks. But Joel’s passion and ruthlessness dwarf everyone you have seen fight today.

The murmillo presses in and slices Joel in the side with his sword. Cheers reverberate through the arena.

Without flinching, Joel puts all his weight into pressing closer and reaches around the large shield with his curved sword to jab at the other gladiator. The opponent cries out and swings his sword at Joel, but he dodges it as he backs away.

Both fighters separate to gather themselves for the next assault. Lines of blood trickle down Joel’s ribs, but the incision does not look serious. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see the other gladiator’s wound is on his stomach. It is not enough to defeat him just yet but blood flows out of him. You silently pray to gods you don’t believe in that his lifeforce is drained quickly leaving him weakened.

The men prowl in the arena sands like beasts circling and watching for just the moment to pounce. Joel twirls his sword and adjusts his hold on his much smaller shield.

“You should go see a healer!” he shouts loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig before the real fight’s begun!”

There is booing, but as you look closely at the spectators you see them smiling and laughing as they jeer. They appreciate his theatrics playing into his role.

“I will defeat you with the might of Rome!” the murmillo cries.

There is little response to his unimaginative reply which appears to agitate him. He rushes at Joel who coolly steps out of the way, earning a surge of laughter.

When he turns to try again, Joel charges to meet him with a strangled cry that makes you clench around nothing.

Their shields collide with a savage clash. Joel is knocked brutally hard on his back and the other man tumbles after him, pinning him down. You ball your fists so tightly you think you might break your hands.

Their swords whip around hacking at each other and it’s hard to see what is happening in the flurry of their limbs and twisting bodies.

Then Joel rears his sword back and thrusts towards their tangled legs. A frightening cry like a wounded animal rings through the arena. Both men scramble away from each other and stand. The crowd begins roaring with cheers and laughter.

The murmillo is limping badly having been stabbed above the knee. Blood is smeared all over Joel’s chest and you nervously scan him for injuries. You find a gash in his shoulder worryingly close to his throat. When your eyes travel lower you discover what has the arena riled up.

Joel’s belt and loincloth have come off in the scuffle and his cock juts out stiff and engorged, like a weapon of its own. You press your thighs together staring at the plump head that’s enticingly angry and red.

Howls and whistles come from around the arena.

“I’ll take the one with the horse cock!” a woman shouts, riling up the crowd even more.

You glance at Marlene out of the corner of your eye, her brow is furrowed as she stares at Joel.

“Perhaps it is a sign,” you whisper. She looks at you questioningly. “That he is favored by the gods.”

She frowns. “Why would the gods favor a Thraex?”

Both men are breathing hard and have discarded their heavy shields. Joel approaches cautiously and the murmillo readies his sword.

Joel lunges in a few times and the other man is surprisingly able to block most of his blows, but he is obviously weakened and begins swaying on his feet.

“Is this your champion?” Joel yells, his rough voice bouncing off the walls of the arena.

He launches another offensive with all his strength and an erotic strangled cry. He knocks the murmillo’s sword out of the way and shoves the exhausted man flat on his back. He steps on the wrist of his sword hand until he releases.

Joel rests his sword under his opponent’s chin and looks up to the stands. “IS THIS THE MIGHT OF ROME BENEATH MY HEEL?” he shouts loud enough to silence the crowd. Then to your shock, he grasps the base of his still rigid cock. “OR DO I HAVE THE MIGHT OF ROME RIGHT HERE IN MY HANDS?”

The arena erupts in cheers and howls of laughter. Only then does Joel look up at General Muncius. He signals with his hand to spare the life of the defeated gladiator.

Marlene turns and gives you a considering look. “Perhaps you are right.”

⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶ ⚶

Sorry this took forever! I hope it was worth the wait.

Some notes: Ancient Rome invented truck nuts, I didn't make that up. "I'll take the one with the horse cock" is a quote from the show Spartacus and I knew I had to use it lol.

Likes are nice, but comments and tags feed my soul! What did you think of the fight scene?

He tuts and shakes his head. “You have to do better than that if you want to get it again. You must feel so empty, poor thing. What did you think about when you touched yourself in your goddess's house?”

The room is sweltering and smells like sex and your mind is starting to feel like syrup being poured into the tight container of this moment–nothing else exists. “I thought of your cock, hard and filling me. I thought of you rutting into me like a wild animal,” you say as you start hiking the white fabric up your legs. You’re practically panting by now. “I thought of the feeling of your body when you held me like I weighed nothing. I pressed the bruises you left and thought of being hurt and pleasured by you.”

Maybe the emperor and the High Vestal are right. Maybe Ellie’s death will save the city and the only just action is to remove from her the option to damn thousands of people by keeping her in the dark.

The same was said of your Vestal sisters once. Girls you knew from childhood were declared to be unchaste and buried alive. To save the city.

Maybe it was true. Maybe your city would lie in dust if your sisters had not been killed, but nothing had felt holy about standing by and watching it happen.

It will take more than the word of a man to convince you to escort another innocent girl to her death. You cannot help feeling grateful that there is someone putting Ellie first, even if Joel is only one man. He is surely doomed, is he not?

Ellie was full of stories of the lengths he had gone to to keep her alive already. It seemed he had fought off half an army to reach the gates and then he had overpowered the palace guards even while wounded. You remember his appearance when you saw him. He was intimidating and grizzled. He was determined that no man or woman or wound or weariness would part him from the girl’s side until he allowed it. And his body… His body did not have the glamorous, hard look of a man in his youth. Instead he looked… capable. Capable of–

Startling out of your reverie, you realize you have been staring at a large ritual phallus while thinking of the vagabond. Your mouth is salivating and you are lightly stroking your inner thigh far closer to your core than is appropriate here. Luckily no one seems to have noticed and you slip out of the room.

Joel does have a chance to save Ellie and he doesn’t have to do it alone. It is easy to convince the guards to let you out. They are only there to guard the Innocent. You are surprised to find the building surrounded by worshipers. They are praying for the gods to bless the Innocent and save their city. Some have brought tokens of appreciation or offerings. Many are on their knees.

If the vagabond is smart, he is watching the building well disguised. Maybe he is among them. You slowly circle the building, gathering flowers from the steps and touching the hands of the people who reach out. 

You pass the flowers to a Vestal inside and are preparing to leave when another tremor rattles the city. You hear a pot crash to the floor in the temple. Wailing rises up from the crowd. They call out to Neptune, to Vesta, to the Innocent.

Those closest to you press in desperately seeking reassurance. Countless hands are laid on you, some gently tugging at your cloak.

“Will the Innocent be our salvation?” a frail old woman touching your veil asks you. There are tear tracks down her face and a small child clutching at her legs. Guilt and fear lodge in your throat, you can only nod. You wonder how many of them suspect the fate that awaits Ellie, how many doubt the oracle as you do.

A rough hand grasps your bicep from behind and urges you forward. “Let her through,” a deep voice says. From the corner of your eye, it appears to be a guard. The dense crowd parts just enough to let you through with people reaching out on either side to touch your hands.

When you are beyond the crowd, he insists on escorting you to the market. The strength of his grip allows no room for argument.

Once you are out of sight of the temple, the guard suddenly yanks you aside. After pulling you into an alleyway, your assailant swiftly spins you around so your back is against the wall. Before you can think of making a sound, a dagger is pressed to your neck and both of your wrists are held in his other large hand between your nearly touching bodies. “Do not make a sound,” an angry voice whispers.

You are in a shadowed alcove with an old disused fountain. No one is going to see you here.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, you recognize him: the vagabond. His weathered olive skin is cleaner, but he has the same tousled pepper hair and short beard and his eyes–his eyes are like dark riverstones, polished to a shine by the turbulent waters.

You relax in his grip and he eyes you suspiciously. “You’re one of the snakes who took Ellie. You think I’m gonna let you murder her?”

“I did not know,” you insist. You try your best to keep your voice steady.

“Like hell you didn’t. What did you think was going to happen to her?” he says hoarsely.

“What did you?” you spit back, probably unwisely considering the blade at your throat.

Pain flashes in his eyes. “Tell me how to get her out of the temple.”

“That’s an awful plan. You saw it swarming with guards and worshipers,” you argue.

“I am NOT letting you kill her,” he nearly shouts.

You nervously glance at the road outside the alley, but the only sounds are far away. There’s no one in this part of the city at this time of the day.

You gulp and feel the blade press your skin. “You can still save her. I will help you on the final day of the Ludi Magni.”

He gives you a long look up and down, taking in your stark white clothes and veil and the red and white ribbons in your hair representing your vow to Vesta and your vow of purity.

“I will not sit by and watch another girl be killed because someone says it is the will of the gods,” you say earnestly.

“You want to be my Ariadne and help me slay the minotaur?” he scoffs. “Why should I believe that? How can I trust that a Vestal Virgin will betray her vows to save a girl she just met?” He looks angry, but desperate.

"I did not choose this life, it was chosen for me… What if I were not one?" you whisper and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“Not one?” he asks before understanding dawns on his face. “You’re bluffing,” he growls. “If you think I won’t fuck you, you should know I killed two men today. That does something to a man.”

"I am through with the faith," you say more confidently. “What do I have to stay pure for?”

Your wrists are released, but the dagger stays at your throat. His hand moves up your arm slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake until he grips your breast roughly like he is trying to shock you.

"I'll dirty you right up, kitten. Make you a whore for my cock, is that what you want?” he says with a leer, but you will not let him scare you into backing down.

You shiver as Joel trails his nose along your jaw until he is buried in the crook of your neck, mouthing eagerly at your skin. The cold blade is still pressed to the other side. You feel a hard, hot shape rubbing against you and you know it is his phallus.

You rest your hand lightly over his. “You have to take me with you.”

He pulls away looking disgruntled at the demand.

“This is not negotiable,” you insist. “They will kill me if you don’t. If you are not going to take me with you, I would rather you just slit my throat than let them bury me alive.”

“Deal,” he says after a moment while his free hand travels down and grips your ass possessively. “But I am gonna ruin you first, just to make sure you don’t change your mind.”

Your chest is heaving in anticipation. You want to feel his flesh sliding against yours. You start to pull up the layers of white fabric that separate you from his touch.

His eyes are locked between your legs as soon as you have the layers pulled all the way up. He looks ravenous.

“Please,” you whimper.

Electricity shoots through you as he strokes a finger down your seam for the first time and smirks. “You can do better than that, pretty girl,” he taunts. You swear you can feel his voice vibrate through your body. 

“Please. Please fuck me, I need it. I need your–your c-cock,” you beg. Your cheeks are on fire at the filthy words.

“Such a good girl,” he says in a patronizing voice. “This pretty cunt is just too empty isn’t it? You’re gonna be such a good little whore for me and I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

You swallow thickly. The dagger left his hands at some point but you do not even consider changing course.

He presses a finger into you and it slides in through the wetness that is now dripping down your thighs.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, pumping his finger in and out. “A perfect little cunt begging for its first cock. Should I take my time, stretch you out? Get on my knees and make you cum on my tongue over and over until you’re a pliant perfect ragdoll for me to fuck?”

A whine escapes your lips. You wish he could do all of that and more, but you both know you do not have that kind of time. He adds a second thick finger and your knees start to buckle, but he is holding you up. You put an arm around his neck to steady yourself.

“Oh, I know, I know, baby,” he says with mock sympathy. “It’s just so much for your little cunt.”

The stretch goes to your head like a strong wine and his fingers become more insistent. His thumb circles your sensitive nub and you feel a tension rising in you. You chase it and it feels like you are climbing through the clouds. Your core clenches around his fingers and you bury your face in his shoulder to stifle your moans as you reach the summit and pleasure quakes through your body. His musky scent fills your lungs as you come down.

You are panting hard as you feel Joel frantically pulling up his tunic. Looking down, you see him fishing his member out of his clothes. You draw a sharp breath in at the vision, angry and red, and you cannot imagine how it is going to fit inside of you. Part of you feels afraid, but no part of you wants to stop.

A hand grips your jaw and pushes you until you are leaning against the wall. “I’m gonna watch you while I tear you apart,” he breathes.

His hot length parts your folds and you take a shuddering breath. He slides the head around in your wetness and then notches at your entrance. He slides into you at an almost casual pace. The sounds you make are guttural and foreign. Joel looks pleased with your reaction and he is barely inside of you.

“Shh, you can take it, baby. You were made for this,” he coos.

He reaches up and pulls your veil from your head then takes your crown of braided red and white ribbons and throws it on the ground. You do not even care. Your faith and purity are both gone now.

He encounters resistance but keeps pushing and you let out an embarrassing yelp at the burst of pain. When he is fully sheathed in you, you feel stretched around him, but the pain has eased. It feels like you were always meant to be filled this way. You blink away the tears at the corners of your eyes.

After only a few seconds for you to adjust, he begins moving. He saws in and out of you, gripping your hips and pulling your body to meet his as you get used to the rhythm. You hold onto his biceps and you can feel his strength, his passion. He might could do it, you think, he could win.

He hitches one of your legs over his hip allowing him to reach deeper than you thought was possible. “What does your goddess think of you now, priestess? What will she think of a dirty slut in her temple?” he grunts.

Fear tugs at you, fear that you are wrong, but then you remember all the years you have given up, all the lies the High Vestal has told to hold onto the people’s faith, and all the girls who have died. You thrill at your rebellion with this sinfully attractive vagabond.

“She’s not real,” you say, but somehow it sounds like a prayer.

The corner of Joel’s mouth tugs upward and he picks up the pace. He lifts up the other leg and you lock your ankles behind him so that he is fucking up into you against the wall. It feels like riding a wild horse you cannot control.

“What a brave kitten,” he smirks while snapping his hips. “You’re mine now, little heretic,” he says huskily and then his lips are on yours. With one hand holding your jaw, he plunders your mouth. Your tongue battles with his as you drag your fingers through his wild hair. His rough hand travels down to your breast and tugs at your hard nipple through your clothes. You moan wantonly into his mouth.

You start to feel the same strange rising sensation in your core. Your hands travel all over his rough beard and his sweaty neck and the straining muscles of his shoulders. You feel like you are going to erupt.

“Please, I need more,” you whimper, pulling out of the kiss. “Fuck me harder, make me cum on your dirty cock.”

He growls and nips at your lower lip. “Say you’re mine,” he whispers into your ear.

“I’m yours, only yours,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What about the gods, priestess?” he taunts, before sucking your earlobe and sending a shiver up your spine.

“Fuck the gods.”

He pounds into you impossibly harder, sweat pouring out of his skin. You fist his hair as you feel him reaching new places inside of you. 

“Cum for me, kitten. Fall apart on my cock,” he commands and then you are cresting the hill. You feel your walls clench around him as if trying to pull him in further. He muffles your shout of pleasure with his own mouth. He thrusts one, two, three more times and then you feel his cock pulsing as he fills you with his spend. You never knew it was possible to feel so full.

He kisses you passionately as you come down from your high and you are too exhausted to do more than limply receive him. You marvel at his raw power and the magnitude of the pleasure he brought you. After he gently sets you on your feet, he gets on his knees and diligently cleans you up with the fabric of his own clothes. His breath is as ragged as yours.

You retrieve your ribbons and veil and arrange your attire.

“Now, my Ariadne,” he says, cupping your jaw with his huge hand. You can still smell your juices on him. “Do you have a plan to save Ellie or not?”

“I do,” you answer confidently, staring into his beautiful riverstone eyes. “Are you as good of a fighter as she says you are?”

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Your eyes linger too long on the tan skin that is revealed by his torn clothing. The muscles of his stomach look hard and defined. Taking in the rest of him, you find strong arms that flex as he grips the hilt of his sword in his belt. His hair is dirty and untamed and peppered with gray matching the patchy scruff on his face. His eyes are dark and bright at the same time as his gaze flickers around himself nervously.

The High Vestal had bristled when told they had rode to the city gate on the same horse and now her gaze rests dissatisfied on his arm around the girl’s shoulder. You had almost forgotten she was there.

“Thank you for bringing the Innocent to her destiny safely in time for the Ludi Magni,” High Vestal Marlene says.

“My name is Aelia, but I prefer Ellie,” she says, sounding uncertain. The vagabond grips her shoulder reassuringly. She looks so small and young by his side. She is breathing hard, they both appear terrified and exhausted.

It is with great difficulty that he is convinced to be parted from her. Marlene thanks him for his service again, but insists that the Innocent must be with only women until the ceremony is complete. He must go to a physician to have his wounds tended to and she promises his reward in gold will be brought to him there.

He nearly growls when Marlene cups the girl’s cheek as she welcomes her.

Marlene narrows her eyes at the vagabond. “I am sure you know that the Innocent will be examined by one of our priestesses. There will be no reward if she is not chaste.”

“I would never,” he says back immediately, glaring daggers through her.

Red spreads up the poor girl’s cheeks. “Gross,” she whispers, staring at the ground.

The vagabond turns her to face him with both hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want. You deserve a choice,” he whispers, although he can’t speak low enough to be unheard by the priestesses.

You glance at Marlene nervously. Her eyes widen in alarm, but she says nothing.

The girl sighs and bites her lip. You tend to doubt prophecies from experience, but she looks so innocent and pure indeed. You can understand how the man feels so protective, you already feel a devotion to her. You let yourself hope that the oracle spoke true of the Innocent who would be the salvation of your city.

A small tremor shakes the city. This one is just a whisper of a rumble. No one comments on it, but only exchanges significant glances. In the silence that stretches, the vagabond looks resigned.

“It’s my purpose. I can save people. I want to. After the ceremony, we can go wherever you want to go. Right?” She turns to Marlene.

She smiles without hesitation. “Of course,” she assures both of them.

You feel a knot begin to form in your stomach. The prophecy does not say how the Innocent will save the city, but you were sure she would become a priestess. How can she leave? You know Marlene well, she would not have any qualms about lying in service of the prophecy. Guarding the city is the highest duty of the Vestal Virgins.

“We gladly extend to you the services of the governor’s physician. His talents are known throughout the empire. These guards will escort you to the governor’s palace where you will be an honored guest and richly rewarded,” Marlene says firmly.

Remarkably, the vagabond seems ready to argue with this generous offer. A man of his station could scarcely dream of the veneration and wealth he has earned. That he seems so uninterested only increases your fascination with him.

Before he can say anything, the girl gently removes his hands from her shoulders. “Go. You need a physician. Please, Joel,” she implores.

Finally, they part. You escort the Innocent to your temple where she is cleansed and fed. As she relaxes, she eagerly enjoys the luxuries she’s allowed.

The message from the temple she was raised in warned that she was strong willed and resistant to their attempts to refine her manners and you can see it’s true. She giggles at the many phalluses in the temple for both decoration and rituals. Some of the Vestals tut at the messy way she eats figs and honey and the jokes she tells befitting the walls of a latrine, but you find her spirit endlessly endearing.

She tells many stories from her journey to the city extolling the vagabond’s bravery. You do not have an answer when she asks when she can see him again. She calls him “Joel” which must be short for something. Her fondness for him is like that of a daughter which you know is special for her.

She matches the Innocent of the prophecy nearly perfectly. She was a foundling abandoned at the small temple in the countryside and raised only by women. The oracle said the Innocent would be a maiden, unknown by any man, found in the wilderness beyond the city draped in vines. A strange mark on her forearm looks somewhat like tangled vines. You would hardly say she was draped in them, though, nor would you call the steps of a temple wilderness.

Doubt creeps in again. You have seen how prophecies seem to have endless ability to twist and stretch until they find something that fits them. Even with such flexibility, you have seen some prophecies fail. Of course, the oracle always has excuses.

You wonder if Ellie knows these things. Could her faith and acceptance of her purpose be true if she has never heard them? You know that giving her any reason to reject her role as the Innocent risks earning the ire of the High Vestal. You shudder to imagine what the punishment would be.

If the High Vestal spoke the truth that she could leave after the ceremony then she is not even giving up her future to fulfill the prophecy. You resolve to find out the fate that awaits her before deciding if you will give her warning.

While Ellie is being examined by a few of the Vestals in a private room, you seek out Marlene and ask her about the ceremony and the girl’s future.

She gathers a few other Vestals who have also been chosen to attend to Ellie and accompany her to the ceremony.

“As you know, the oracle’s prophecy did not tell us how the Innocent would be the salvation of our city. With the threat of such great destruction on the horizon I sent word to the emperor asking that he advise me on how to proceed. As pontifex maximus he is the closest to the gods of all in the land,” she says with a grave expression. “A general arrived yesterday bearing the emperor’s response. After consulting with the gods, the emperor has decreed that the Innocent will be sacrificed by the champion of the Ludi Magni.”

An iron grip squeezes your heart and you feel nauseous. “It cannot be,” you murmur.

The High Vestal gives you a reproachful look. “She is a small price to pay to save a city of thousands.”

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Joel rejects the draught the physician offers him for pain. Still, his exhaustion overtakes him while he is being treated. When he wakes in the extravagant palace room, the sky outside the window has darkened.

Attendants have come to bathe him so that he can be received by the emperor’s representative and given his reward. He is dressed in finer clothes than his body has ever known, but still not fine enough that he looks like he belongs in a palace. He will always be a commoner to these people.

The governor and another man with the regalia of a general are reclined on sofas drinking wine when he is presented to them. The man’s name is given as General Muncius. He is popular with the people and it is rumored that the emperor resents him for it. He is pale with curly auburn hair and dark beady eyes. His face is boyish, but his expression has the severity of a much older man. 

He sounds like he is barely holding back anger when he says that the emperor sent him here to represent the empire at the Ludi Magni. It might not be the largest city, but Joel cannot make sense of the man’s reaction. Of course, patricians are always contriving ways to slight each other that make little sense to plebs.

Joel is given a seat and wine that probably cost more gold than he makes in a year. It tastes no finer to him. The governor smirks when a small chest of gold is brought to him. They know how much it is to a filthy vagabond compared to what a pittance it must be to them. He does not give them the satisfaction of groveling in gratitude. He locks the chest closed and thanks them shortly.

“If there is anything else you require, simply ask,” the young general says. “I make no promises, but we will try to fulfill your requests. I am sure the governor agrees that mere gold is not enough to repay the debt for what you have done for his city.”

The governor frowns. “Of course, anything you need,” he says tightly.

His thoughts flicker to the beautiful nymph he’d seen among the priestesses Ellie left with. He’d felt her eyes rake over him lewdly despite the virginal white she wore. He could see the swell of her breasts beneath her cloak and imagine the salty taste of her skin. What did he need? He needed release after weeks on the road, fighting off an army worth of threats. He needed to show her something new to worship. Joel brushed off the filthy thoughts. No point in offending his hosts with an impossible request.

“Two fresh horses after the Ludi and food for travel,” Joel answers, watching their reactions closely.

Muncius cocks his head to the side and eyes him critically. “You are staying for the festivities then?” he says carefully. “I worry we will not be blessed with good weather for the Ludi Magni. You might be wise to depart for your next destination as soon as you are able.”

Joel works his jaw back and forth. “After she’s… completed her part in saving the city, I’m going to take Ellie back to the farm my brother works on. I think she’ll like living with other youths her age. A city would be too confining for her.”

Both men still their movements. The room is unnervingly quiet. The governor opens his mouth to say something, but the general barely lifts his hand and silences him.

Muncius rubs his forehead and takes a deep breath before leaning forward and looking the vagabond in the eye. “The girl is not leaving the city. You need to accept that.”

Joel shifts in his seat and his heart speeds up. “I don’t understand. The priestess said we could go after the ceremony.”

“I spoke with High Vestal Marlene this afternoon. She warned that you might be… confused. She does not want to cause the girl any fear.” Dread pools at the bottom of his chest like a sticky black lake. “She will be pampered with the finest comforts until the day of the ceremony. Then she will be given a draught so that Somnus may guide her through the land of dreams until she is sacrificed to appease the gods. She will know no pain or fear, only sleep, I promise you.” His words are firm, but there is sorrow behind them.

Silence stretches between them.

“Find someone else,” Joel whispers, barely able to breathe.

“There is no one else,” Muncius says, beginning to sound exasperated.

Joel startles from his seat and takes a step towards the man. “No, you take me to her. Take me to her RIGHT NOW!” Every muscle in his body is taut as he roars towards the general.

Two guards he had not noticed grip his arms and yank him back. Muncius looks to one of the guards who punches him hard in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. “Please,” he whimpers. “You don’t understand.”

“I am certain you did not question what would become of the girl when you were offered gold to deliver her. You have your payment now. The oracle chose her and the emperor decreed her fate after speaking to the gods. I do not have any choice in this.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “I do,” he says coldly. 

“I think it will be best for everyone if you do not stay for the Ludi, vagabond,” the general says as he slowly rises from his sofa. He picks up the small chest of gold and presses it into Joel’s chest before speaking to the guards. “You will escort this man beyond the city gates. Give him a fresh horse, a good sword, and food for travel.” He turns back to Joel. “Our gratitude for what you have done is not without limit, however. You are not to return to this city.”

“Or this province!” the governor says, as if he cannot stand to go so long without speaking.

Muncius gives him an irritated look, but doesn’t dispute him. He sighs, removes a signet ring from his hand, and holds it up. “This ring represents my word. Take it to any general in Hispania and tell him General Muncius recommended you for a decent position. I believe you are a good man which is why I am sparing you from more than you know.” With that he turns to the guards. “Take him now.”

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Joel cooperates perfectly as he is led away from the center of the city. He waits until they are inside the stables to make his move. It is late at night by now and the only other occupants are horses.

Finally, when one of the guards steps away to find the stable boy, he swings the heavy gold chest at the other guard’s head. It knocks him off balance and Joel wrenches his sword from his hand.

The other guard is charging him. He blocks the thrusting blade and parries. The guard is well armored. Joel pushes forward aggressively, earning a slice along his jaw that leaks blood down to stain his fine clothes. When he has pressed the man into a corner and they are too close to swing their swords, he uses his brute strength to disarm the guard.

He presses the man’s own dagger into the gap in the side of the armor with his forearm against his neck. Looking over at the other guard, he sees blood flowing from his head where it landed on the cobblestone.

He turns back to the surviving guard who is fruitlessly trying to pry Joel’s arm away from his chest. “Stop moving,” he says gruffly. His hands drop and he goes still.

Joel lets some of the pressure off his windpipe while digging the dagger in harder. “Where is the girl?”

He shakes his head and speaks with a trembling voice. “I do not–” Joel clamps his hand over his mouth and pierces the skin with the dagger and moves it around. The man groans into his hand.

“I’m going to take my hand away and you’re going to tell me where the girl is or you’re going to learn what real pain feels like,” he growls.

With warning in his eyes, he lifts his fingers one by one and then pulls his hand away.

“She must be at the temple,” the guard says hoarsely. 

“What TEMPLE?!” Joel shouts right into his face. The tendons in his neck are taut, straining against his skin that glistens with sweat and blood. He twists the knife before the man has time to answer.

“The Temple of Vesta!” he cries out. “South of here on the west side of the forum.”

Joel sighs and puts away the dagger. “Thank you.” Just as the guard begins to relax, he snaps his neck.

After paying the stable boy who had watched everything generously to stay in the hayloft until daylight, Joel changes into guard’s clothes and armor then covers himself with a blanket for the horses.

He creeps into the night without a real plan except that he will die before he loses his little girl.

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