CHAPTER ONE

"Open the day-curtains all the way," ordered Drusilla, admiring her elegant new attire in the well-polished silver mirrors of her dressing room.

With a quick gesture the head of the ancillae, (maids, usually slaves) attending Drusilla's wardrobe, forwarded the order, and four girls hurried to the windows. An hour before dusk, the tangential rays of the sun allowed the tall Julian princess to have a better look at her gown. Made of a few layers of blue mousseline held together by small gold chains, it revealed enough of her body to underline her sensuous traits without depriving potential new lovers from the thrill of discovery. Under the adoring glance of the ten slave girls devoted to her service, she ran her fingers through her curly red hair lifting it over her shoulders, moistening her fleshy lips and the corners of her attractive wide mouth. Then she shifted the pleating of the gown on her breasts, swaying back and forth to examine the flow of the soft fabric beneath her narrow hips.

Having turned nineteen in October that year (Annum DCCXC ab Urbe condita = Year 790 From the Foundation of Rome = Year 37 CE a.k.a. AD 37,) Drusilla Julia Octaviana felt on top of the world. Not only was she the direct blood-line great-granddaughter of Rome's first Emperor Caesar Augustus–who died 23 years before at age 77–but she was the favorite sister of Gaius Caesar Caligula Germanicus, the enterprising young man who succeeded their late uncle Tiberius as third Emperor of Rome just nine months before when he was still only 24 years old. With the official title of Imperial Princess, she held almost as much power as her brother who has been her lover since she was twelve.

Acilius Trebellius, the Tribune of the Praetorian Guard, was announced in the vast dressing room of Drusilla's quarters located on the third floor of the Imperial Palace built half-way up the Palatine Hill overlooking the Circus Maximus. As he walked in, he stood at attention and greeted Caligula's sister with the Roman formal salute–raising his right arm straight at a 45 degree angle, palm facing forward with the five fingers tightly together.

"What news are you carrying, Acilius?" asked the princess.

"I've brought you a present for Sun Birth Day," said the Tribune offering her a leather case. She opened it. It contained a gold, emerald-studded hair brooch.

"Thank you, dear. It's wonderful," she commented with a sensuous voice, placing the brooch against her red curls and looking at it in the mirrors.

"It's a Tyrian brooch from Cleopatra's personal treasure which was auctioned last month in Alexandria," said Acilius. "No woman in the world deserves it more than you, my heartbreaking beauty."

She placed the brooch back in the case. Then she hugged him and allowed him to give her a brief kiss on the lips.

"It's already a full nundinum (Roman eight-day week between market days) that I haven't seen you in private," whispered the Tribune to her ear. "When will you find time for us, Drusilla?"

"The day will come, Acilius," answered the young Julian princess holding him back. "I've been terribly busy with state affairs but I want you to remain my friend and always loyal to me."

"I will, my Goddess!" he promised holding her hands against his chest. "I'll never forget your affection and your support with Caesar."

"Good... I'm counting on you," said Drusilla with a dismissing gesture.

"Tonight, I've planned to have Sun Birth Eve dinner at my parents' house," he said. "If you don't have other orders, I'll be back early tomorrow for my guard shift before the opening of the Imperial Council."

"Go, Acilius! Tell your parents that the Emperor's sister is very close to you."

Acilius saluted and left. The ancillae approached her to resume their dressing duty.

"Take that case, Briseis," ordered Drusilla indicating Acilius' gift to the head of the ancillae, a poised Gallic slave in her mid-twenties with long chestnut hair, who rose to her current position for her taste in fashion and her knowledge of Imperial etiquette.

Briseis took out the brooch from the case.

"It's a marvelous jewel, domina," she observed. "Emeralds are a perfect match to the color of your eyes." She tried to hook the brooch on the right side of the princess' hair, but the latter diverted Briseis' wrist to the left of her head.

"Not that side... Tonight is special," said Drusilla with an amused glance at the other slave girls. Some of the youngest maids giggled and covered their mouths with their hands. During private parties it was customary for noble Roman women to leave their curls untied; but holding up the left side of their hair with a brooch and keeping the right side flowing free was a fashion which Briseis clearly disapproved. Her hand trembled.

"Give it to me," said Drusilla snatching the brooch from Briseis' fingers. The Emperor's sister raised the left side of her hair and pinned the brooch on it.

"Are you sure you want to appear in public with this kind of hair style?" asked Briseis with a disparaging tone. In her view it was utterly unfit for a princess to do that since the lupae ("she-wolves" = Roman whores) paraded in the streets in that hair fashion in order to show their readiness to exchange favors for money and lure their clients into the brothels.

"I'm sure, Briseis," answered Drusilla with cool determination. The head slave disapproval grew higher as Drusilla took a small vase containing Egyptian lip dye and tinted her lips red with a brush, which was even more disturbing. From the time Egyptian priests invented lip dye fifteen centuries before, it was used by women who wanted to attract the attention of men by indicating with their red lips their ability and desire to perform oral sex, also known as the art of fellatio.

"Are you going to celebrate Sun Birth with your cousin Messalina?" asked Briseis with a sarcastic tone.

"That's none of your business, Briseis."

While Drusilla was about to take a whip and punish the Gallic slave for her audacity, a pretty slave in her late-teens rushed into the room. She kneeled down at Drusilla's feet and asked her to talk to her in private.

"Get up, Octavia" said Drusilla gesturing to the other ancillae to back away. Octavia began trembling. She grabbed Drusilla's hand and kissed it.

"Domina... You're not going to be happy with the news."

Drusilla helped her up. Octavia was in tears.

"Come on, stupid girl. Spit it out."

"The Emperor... I mean, you know about King Tudorus of Britannia, Friend and Ally of Rome... He arrived in town two weeks ago to sign a new treaty with the Emperor."

"I know. What's the problem?"

"It's about the king's daughter."

"The blonde Britannian girl who raced her father's horse at the Games?"

"Yes, domina. Her name is Ladyssa, also nicknamed Lady. In her land she's a national heroine for her horse race victories and her riding skills."

"Okay, okay... What are the bad news?"

"As a clause of the treaty King Tudorus asked the Emperor to marry his daughter."

Drusilla half-closed her eyes looking at her slave with suspicion. She knew about the main formulations of the treaty but never heard about any such clause.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"The scribe who wrote one of the copies of the treaty is my brother. He thought you should know about this clause which was attached to the treaty this morning."

"Has the treaty been signed by the Emperor?"

"I'm afraid yes, domina."

Drusilla pushed Octavia away. The slave bumped against the marble wall, then opened her tunic, exposing her slender ephebic body entirely shaved on her armpits and pubis.

"Punish me, domina! I deserve your ire," said the ancilla waiting to be whipped.

"Get out!" snarled Drusilla.

While Octavia ran away, she took a deep breath and adjusted her attire. She was deeply disappointed. Why didn't her brother inform her about such an important move before making a decision? Was he afraid to make her jealous? The idea of any kind of jealousy between the two of them was so ludicrous that she smiled at herself and quickly resumed her patrician poise. Nothing in the world would ever diminish her own self-confidence.

Minutes later, the Julian princess entered into her brother's heavily curtained and thickly carpeted bedroom.

"Cal, darling. What's this story with Tudorus' daughter?"

Gaius Caesar Caligula was in bed. The handsome blond man who had turned twenty five on the 31st day of August that year, six months after being proclaimed Emperor by the Senate of Rome according to the late Emperor Tiberius' will, was relaxing after long days of work in preparation for his first Imperial Council which he had scheduled for the following day. A few oil-lamps shed little light on the room but Drusilla noticed that his face was paler and his body skinnier than when he made love to her a few days before. He sat up in bed massaging his head.

"The treaty, Drudi. It's only about the treaty I've signed with her father King Tudorus."

"But you're going to marry her, aren't you."

"That's no big deal, honey. You'll always be my only special lover."

"Didn't you promise long time ago to marry me like the Egyptian Pharaohs do to keep power and heirs in the same family?"

"The people aren't yet ready for marriages between siblings. It's rather ridiculous but... well, I can't change everything at once."

Drusilla sat down close to her brother and hugged him.

"Are they going to tolerate a barbarian Empress who races horses like a man?"

"Ladyssa isn't going to become Empress before a year after the wedding. That was stipulated by me and signed by Tudorus in the marriage contract."

Drusilla gave him a kiss. Lots of things could happen in a year, she thought.

"When are you planning to exchange the iron rings?"

"Two days after tomorrow, the 27th day of December."

Caligula told her that Britannia was strategically important to protect the Northern Frontier of the Empire. It was in the best interests of Rome to strengthen the bonds with that country with a political marriage. Drusilla stared into his grey Julian eyes and understood that he was only telling half of the truth. Her brother did really care for the interests of the Empire, and the Roman people loved him dearly in return. Nonetheless, he was too young a man to take a wife just for political reasons if there weren't some kinds of private rewards to his official act.

Drusilla slid a hand underneath the sheets. Tenderly, she began caressing his penis erecting it quickly to full size. The unique sexual tension which was at the basis of their love was as powerful as ever. He noticed her red lips and smiled.

"Are you wearing red lip dye just for me?" he asked.

"No... It's a homage to Cleopatra," answered Drusilla indicating her admiration for the late queen of Egypt who consistently wore lipstick and adored to perform exquisite fellatio on scores of men during public banquets.

Drusilla passionately squeezed her brother's erection. He lifted up the lower hem of her gown and fondled her crotch, enjoying the moisture of her swelling labia, the tightness of her cunnus (Latin for female genitalia) and her magnificent Mount of Venus entirely covered with a luscious triangle of pubic hair. Like most Roman women she kept it untampered, never trimming any part of it, and using nettle oil to make it grow thick and luxurious. She knew that for most men a big hairy vulva was a strong indication of sensuality. Even more so since her lush pubic hair was as red as the curls of her head, which was one of the reasons for Caligula's attraction to her.

"Did you already try her in bed?" asked Drusilla before taking her brother's hardened mentula (Latin slang for penis) in her mouth.

"No," he answered with a sigh. "The marriage contract prevents me from putting my hands on her before the nuptials. As a member of a foreign royal family she is not allowed to enter the pomerium, (the sacred boundary enclosing the city of Rome within the Servian Walls.)"

Drusilla began licking his glans with purposeful strokes.

"Does she turn you on?" she asked.

"Well... You saw her riding that stallion, didn't you."

"Is that what stimulated your fancy?"

"Edepol! She clutched her nude thighs around the bare back of that animal with such a force, and bounced her crotch so hard on that stallion's spine...," whispered Caligula with a dreaming voice.

"...and now you want to feel that clutch around your waist. Am I right, brother?"

Caligula stood up in the nude and put on his caligae (hob-nailed boots worn by Roman legionaries of the rank of centurion down, which Gaius Caesar was used to wear from early age and became the reason for his cognomen Caligula = Little Boots.) He began pacing the carpeted room which was heated underneath the floor even though in that 24th day of December, Rome was blessed by hot southern winds.

"That power, Drusilla... I'm sure she got off during that horseback race at least once!"

Caligula leaned with his back against a column. His penis, bent upward like a big banana, was ready. Drusilla approached him, and kneeled down.

"I want her, Drudi! I had no other way to get her," he whispered gabbing Drusilla's hair and stroking his erection all over her face.

Drusilla pinched the firm skin of his scrotum with her well-manicured nails—properly short yet with just enough length to apply a decent scratch. Then, with voracious appetite, while her brother continued dreaming and exclaiming about Lady's powerful pelvic thrusts, she shoved his erection deep into her throat. She sucked it so well that he began panting like a mating sea-lion, expressing his appreciation for her unsurpassable oral ability. Spurred by his words, she continued until she drove him to orgasm, gulping down all what was so abundantly spurting in her mouth, licking every drop of it like she did many times before.

Besides the thrill that Drusilla felt from fellating her brother, that Sun Birth Eve she did it also for political reasons. She knew that nothing could prevent the Emperor from getting what he wanted. Since the title of Empress wouldn't be granted to that barbarian horse-riding wench before a year, Drusilla thought it was better to comply with her brother wishes until his crush for Ladyssa Tudorus would inevitably cool down.

Upon releasing his issue in her mouth, Caligula stood against the column quivering with pleasure while Drusilla massaged his thighs and his abdomen. When he felt better, he donned his embroidered chamber robe, then asked his sister where was she going to celebrate Sun Birth.

"Messalina's party," answered Drusilla.

He knew what that meant, but, under the circumstances, he couldn't blame Drusilla from doing what any Roman woman would do that night in honor of their Gods and Goddesses.

"Don't forget to come back before sunrise," said Caligula caressing her curly red hair. "I want you on my side for the ceremony on the terrace."

"You'll always find me on your side on the official occasions, my handsome brother," she said. "And whenever you want me... also in private ones."

When Drusilla took leave, Caligula began pacing the room, thinking.

A few minutes later, his two youngest sisters, Lesbia, a thirteen-year-old blond nymphet, and Agrippinilla, a high-spirited curly brunette of fourteen, marched into the room dressed up like Roman legionaries with bronze helmets, short-sleeved, mid-thigh-long shirts of coarse red linen covered by mail and boiled leather breast-plates, wiggling their leather-strapped kilts wrapped around their slender hips, the Roman gladium (short, double-edged sword, 25"-inch long, used by legionaries for slashing and thrusting) hanging from their belts, and stumping the floor with—what else?—customized caligae tightened on their feet.

Followed by four young torchbearers and by three musicians beating military drums hanging on their shoulders, the two girls stalked around their brother singing a silly little song they wrote for the occasion mocking in reverse the songs of Julius Caesar's legionaries when they entered conquered towns:

The playful "recruits" stopped in front of their brother, unsheathed their toy gladia and saluted the Emperor shouting three times, over the sound of rolling drums, the traditional "Heil, Caesar!"

Playing along, Caligula inspected their attires. While he adjusted Lesbia's belt, she fondled his groin.

"What reserves have you left here after sister Drudi's attack?" asked the nymphet with a flirting smile.

Agrippinilla took his hand and rubbed it between her legs,

"Can't you feel that your troops are in need of victuals, Caesar?"

"I think they are in danger of getting spanked," replied Caligula after a laugh.

The two girls made signals at each other according to their secret language; then they simultaneously turned, bend down and lifted their kilts, showing him their naked little bottoms.

"Need a closer look, General?" instigated Lesbia.

"Afraid of hurting our fighting spirit, Imperator?" asked Agrippinilla turning her head and grimacing at him.

Caligula pinched their cute buttocks.

"Ouch!" shrieked Lesbia

"Ahiii!" echoed her sister.

"Enough now," said Caligula pulling down their kilts. The two excited girls turned and winked at each other:

"Nooo waaay!" they proclaimed at unison, wiggling their hips.

"I've got to work, you little monsters," said a defensive Caligula.

"How dare you work on Sun Birth Eve?" asked Agrippinilla, grimacing.

"We have arranged Sun Birth dinner in your private dining room, with the best Pompeian garum money can buy, candles and the works," announced Lesbia, referring to the spicy, salty fish sauce enormously appreciated by Roman gluttons.

"But you can forget our treat unless we play Veni-Vidi-Vici!" declared Agrippinilla.

The two girls backed like two tigers getting ready to spring. The game consisted in a quick attack on the enemy, in this case Caligula playing the role of King Pharnaces when Julius Caesar routed his huge army in less than two hours at Zela (modern central Turkey) and sent to Rome a letter with his famous statement: "I came, I saw, I conquered".

While the drummers rolled their instruments, Lesbia and Agrippinilla attacked Caligula shouting Roman war cries. Always a good sport with his little sisters, Caligula tried to dodge them to no avail. They threw him on the bed and quickly mounted across his body, asking him for surrender tickling him with their toy gladia.

"You won! You won!" conceded Caligula, twisting like a snake on fire.

The two girls rubbed their naked crotches—Lesbia on his face; on his belly Agrippinilla. They gave their victory screams and a litany of veni-vidi-vici while exchanging places on top of him, forcing him to taste their young yet already fuzzy little vulvas.

They kept playing on the bed, jumping up and down over and around their big brother, screaming and taking off their military costumes.

"It's booty time!" shouted Agrippinilla.

"Let's go for the spoils, legionaries!" incited Lesbia.

They plunged down on his sides, spread and blocked his arms and legs under their bodies, and began nibbling at his nipples, watching "the booty" growing between his legs. Exchanging ribald comments in use among the legionaries, the two girls tickled it, grabbed it, scratched it, and bit it until Caligula asked for mercy.

Then they took a bath attended by two ancillae in Caligula's private bathroom. Laughing and splashing water at each other, Caligula enjoyed his sisters' light-hearted company. The two young princesses kept telling jokes about foolish relatives such as their older uncle Claudius, who was the favorite target of their pranks because he was limp and stuttered like a parrot at every public speech. While the slaves dried their bodies and prepared them for dinner, Lesbia and Agrippinilla made Caligula laugh to tears by imitating stiff-lipped Praetorian Guards such as Acilius Trebellius who, according to Lesbia, had such a small penis that Drusilla needed one of Archimedes' loops to find it and eat it like a small, small, small overcooked shrimp. They laughed and had fun until dinner was served.

Dumb friends and stupid right-wing senators continued to be object of derision. Both girls got drunk with Chian wine and attacked Caligula with all of their youthful enthusiasm. As he got drunk as well, he couldn't prevent his two little sisters from taking advantage of him.

On her comfortable lectica—a large litter carried by eight slaves— Drusilla reached Messalina's mansion on the Aventine Hill. She had pardoned Octavia and had taken her along.

The elegant mansion of the Valerian family was crowded by 300 guests, mostly young men and women wearing spectacular exotic costumes, showing off in the wildest of Rome's Sun Birth Night parties, lavishly laying on the dining couches placed in the vast central hall, or moving around to meet friends and lovers in other rooms. For the occasion Messalina's parents left the estate entirely to their single daughter while they travelled for the Saturnalia holidays to Gallia Narbonensis (today's French Riviera.) The banquet was served by about 50 slaves and entertained by an Iberian band playing the gay music of cymbals, oboes and fiddles.

Valeria Messalina, two years younger than her cousin Drusilla, was considered the most beautiful girl in Rome. Just over six feet tall, with raven black hair tied up on the left side of her perfectly oval face, wide blue eyes with a glance that melted any man's heart, large shapely breast with ever-erect nipples sticking out from underneath the fabric of whatever dress she was wearing, Messalina exuded sensuality from all of the pores of her velvety Mediterranean skin. As she was determined to give herself in utter abandonment to any men who approached her with the strength of their virility, she had no rivals in the field of pleasure.

When Drusilla arrived, Messalina was dancing with ten young men dressed like satyrs who wore huge phalluses attached to their belts in the fashion of ancient Greek comedians. Suddenly, Messalina pretended to be afraid of their lust and ran around the dining hall while the satyrs chased her, removing her costume piece by piece. When the strip-tease was over, Messalina stood gloriously nude in the midst of enthusiastic applause.

The satyrs kneeled down at her feet, adoring her and kissing her imposing Mount of Venus entirely covered by a prodigious bush of black pubic hair. Then they turned their faces upwards, like bird chicks waiting to be fed by their mother. Opening her arms like an acrobat on a tight rope, the tall 17-year-old Valerian princess walked with her legs spread over their heads allowing each one to rub their noses onto her precious flesh and lick her fabled clitoris for a few seconds, stopping briefly for the ones who flicked their tongues deep inside her labia.

As the music and the cheers reached the climax, the satyrs stood up, laid her down on a pillow, and danced around her, stroking their huge phalluses on her body, forcing her to raise and spread her legs. Two slaves to whom the duty was entrusted, scattered grains of barley from above into the calyx of her passion flower. Five white geese, trained for the purpose, were then pushed towards Messalina's open crotch and began to pick the grains one by one, sinking their beaks and even their entire heads inside her cunnus. Quickly, the starving fowls ate the grains that had slid deep into it, pinching her vaginal tract and her cervix in a feeding frenzy, providing Messalina with a tremendous orgasm all along the way.

Her moans of pleasure, covered by cheers and by the joyous wails of cavorting guests, lasted until the last grains were eaten, whence the ten satyrs lifted Messalina above their heads and carried her out to her quarters.

During the shocking performance of her younger, sex-craved cousin, Drusilla had been standing inconspicuously in the background leaning against a column, watching the show. In the general delirium which ensued Messalina's exit, the Emperor's sister became surrounded by four young men attracted by her red lip dye and provocative hair style. Expressing their relish without restraint, they fondled her both over and underneath her blue gown. She let their fingers feel her thick pubic hair but prevented them from going further, and signaled for Octavia to approach her.

"That's enough now," said Drusilla to the four men. "If you want more, discuss my price with my ancilla."

Excited by Drusilla's open-minded disposition to take multiple clients at the same time—not a rare occurrence among the lupae but always an exciting one—the four men quickly handed all of their gold chains, necklaces and rings and gold coins to the attentive Octavia. Whereupon two of them began biting and sucking Drusilla's neck, shoulders and nipples while the other two spread her legs. They quickly ripped off her tiny loincloth and took turns eating her cunnus.

Within a minute, Drusilla was besides herself with lust. Octavia got apprehensive. She was well-aware of her mistress' exhibitionist nature and her disregard for the turmoil which could ensue if a bunch of drunk party guests could watch such a gorgeous young woman as her domina copulating in front of the crowd. Forcefully, Octavia pushed Drusilla and her "clients" into a cubiculum (small Roman bedroom) and waited outside while the four men pinned the incognito Julian princess down on the bed and "raped" her with no mercy.

After about an hour, as midnight was getting close, a perfectly dressed and made up Messalina reappeared in the dining hall among the guests. Having satisfied their initial sexual desires, they were now eating, flirting and enjoying the succulent dinner. Meanwhile, Drusilla took all the pleasure she could and gave back to the four men more than what they paid for. When they were finished, Octavia came in with a basin of warm water and some fresh towels. She threw out the four guys, and cleaned her mistress' body from the traces of the men's wild intercourse.

"How do you feel, princess?" asked the slave with sincere concern for Drusilla's physical well-being as well as for her state of mind.

"Appeased yet still burning like a furnace," answered Drusilla stretching in bed like a cat after a good meal.

"I'm happy for you, domina. It's almost midnight now."

Drusilla got up. Octavia washed her, then she extracted from her bag a roll of bombyx, (soft thin fabric often used for loincloth,) and tightened it over her mistress's crotch, fastening it through her crack around her slender waist. The blue gown was still in good condition and the polished copper mirror of the cubicle was shiny enough to reflect a good image, giving Drusilla a sense of security in her own beauty.

Followed by Octavia, she went back to the crowded dining area. All the candles were ready to be lit in honor of Sun Birth. Torches and oil lamps were extinguished and everyone waited for the master slave of the house to count down to midnight. At the signal, everyone lit the closest candle. The Sun was born again as it always had done for centuries on the 25th of December of any Roman year. All the guests cheered, prayed, embraced and toasted to the Star-God that keeps everyone alive.

Drusilla and Messalina, both resplendent with glorious happiness, hugged each other with mutual appreciation of their privileges and their right to remain for another year as sensuous and provocative as Roman women were in those times.

"I've heard some rumors about Cal wedding a Britannian jockey girl. Is it true?" asked Messalina.

"Yeah. She's the daughter of King Tudorus of Britannia."

"Hmm, never heard of him. What is it? A political mishmash?"

"Well, Cal is also sexually attracted to her."

"Wow! Is he going to make her Empress of Rome?"

"Possibly... One year from now."

"Shit, Drudi! She could become a menace to your power as Imperial Princess."

"I know, Missi. But I'm going to stop her very soon."

Messalina doubted that Drusilla would risk Caligula's ire if he ever discovered a plot against his wife.

"Is Cal still screwing you?" asked Messalina.

"Yes, of course. But I'm going to let him play with his new bride for a while."

"Cool! He'll grow tired of her."

"How did you hear of Cal's marriage with the Britannian girl?"

"Hmm, let me think. What's her name?"

"Ladyssa, also known with her nickname Lady."

"Oh yes, Lady... I believe Apulius, my freedman, heard about her bridal shower and told me about it."

Drusilla raised an eyebrow. That was a promising coincidence.

"Do you know where it is taking place?" she asked.

"Hmm... Let me try to remember. Yes! At Romulus' tavern in the Subura (popular quarter of Rome)."

That was quite an unusual place for a princess, even a barbarian one. But then Drusilla remembered that Romulus' was the favorite watering hole of Roman and foreign jockeys and charioteers. So, Ladyssa's choice made sense.

"Should we go there?" proposed Drusilla raising her chin.

"What do you have in mind, cousin?" inquired Messalina half-closing her eyes. "Termination?"

"No, no... Just checking... Meanwhile, we may find some handsome populares (the working class,) and a good deal of gladiators."

Messalina uttered a shrill of excitement and rubbed her hips against Drusilla's to express her joyous anticipation for the unexpected adventure they were about to embark on.

Wrapped in their paenulae (long capes with hoods,) the two young noblewomen travelled together across the center of Rome in Drusilla's luxurious litter. When they arrived close to Romulus' tavern in the Subura, the Emperor's sister ordered the slaves to halt in a short darkened alley. This was not the time to show off since the two princesses were incognito and posing as two harlots.

Octavia, whose hair was properly combed up on both sides of her face, was sent to the tavern in advance. Separately, Messalina and Drusilla followed suit. They had some problems squeezing their way through the street crowd, but since prostitutes were held in high esteem by the Roman populace, they were gladly welcomed, with hands pinching their buttocks and safely reached the two-story tavern.

The place was packed. Light was still provided for by the candles which everyone lit at midnight. On the basement level, around two dozen solid oak desks, jockeys, charioteers, horse owners, ruffians and merchants were drinking, eating, laughing, playing dice, and carousing with girlfriends, wives and hookers. Behind the counter, Romulus filled pitchers with wine or beer. His two wives, Terentia and Papilia, served the patrons with the help of a dozen waitresses who moved in good spirit between the kitchen and the hall. On a stage elevated at the far end of the tavern, a couple of actors portrayed a poor rendition of a scene of "Orpheus and Eurydice." On the second floor, squarely open above the basement and surrounded by a wooden railing, other clients sang plebeian songs, inciting the two actors below to get quickly into a copulation scene.

Upon their entrance, Messalina and Drusilla were immediately approached by men and offered money for sex. Drusilla refused with the excuse that serious meretrices (expensive Roman courtesans) always abstained from their trade on Sun Birth Day. Messalina promised a few men to think it over and joined Drusilla.

"Did you see her?" asked Messalina.

"No."

"Doesn't look like a bridal shower, doesn't it."

"Yeah, pretty stinky place."

Octavia approached quickly after gathering some information.

"Drinks and food are entirely paid for by the bride," said the young slave.

"Wow!" exclaimed Messalina. "She's generous."

"Where is she?" asked Drusilla.

Octavia indicated a table on the other side of the hall.

"There... The blonde with the pony-tail."

A crowd of jockeys and charioteers were talking to a blonde pony-tailed girl in a leather corset which made her look like a young man if it wasn't for a nice pair of tits partially visible through her cleavage.

"No one knows to whom she's going to get married," specified Octavia. "She just said that he's a prominent Roman citizen."

"Well, she's clever as well," commented Messalina.

Drusilla asked her to go to the bride and try to find out what were her plans. Unabashed as usual, Messalina didn't waste time. She approached the table and murmured a few words into Ladyssa's ear.

The blond Britannian princess looked at Messalina and noticed her hairstyle and her red lip dye. Messalina smiled. Ladyssa stood up and moved with the Roman "whore" to a side where they continued chatting. From the other side of the hall Drusilla and Octavia noticed Lady's short leather skirt, and her straight long legs, covered below the knees by animal skin leggings tied to her calves with leather stripes. Drusilla had to admit that in a sort of barbarian way her brother's promised bride was quite attractive despite her plain hairstyle and her total lack of makeup.

A short, fat, middle-aged man in a long brocade coat, wearing an ostentatious boltus (large, rounded, firm, Byzantine headgear, about 8"-inch high and 18"-inch diameter, covered with silk, or sometimes with fur,) which made him look like a mushroom, showed up behind Drusilla.

"Is the most gorgeous Imperial Princess of all times looking for some fun?" asked the man with a unctuous smile. Stung at being recognized Drusilla faced the man with a disparaging look.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mutius Regulatus, Your Highness."

The name sounded familiar.

"He's a pander," whispered Octavia to Drusilla's ear.

"I'm not a pander, princess," claimed Mutius who overheard Octavia's words. "I'm the greatest pander of the whole Roman Empire."

"Quite an overstatement, fat man," said Drusilla. "You haven't even been able to turn this stupid bridal shower into an exciting Roman orgy."

"You're right, Imperial Grace. I feel quite humiliated but Lady Tudorus is a true Britannian woman."

"So? What does it mean?"

"People from Britannia do not like sex."

"Oh! I didn't know that," commented Drusilla.

"We all learn something every day," said Mutius licking the big rings which he wore on all of his fingers. "Don't we."

Messalina came back and confirmed Mutius' assessment. She took Drusilla aside and told her that Lady was profoundly disgusted by Roman mores. Upon her wedding, she was determined to make her views very clear to her husband. The news exhilarated Drusilla. Considering Caligula's expectations, there was no reason for Drusilla to feel threatened by such an insipid wench whose only interests seemed to be centered on horses.

Drusilla introduced Mutius to Messalina whose fame had been known to him for quite a while. In return of his sensuous hand kiss, the seventeen-year-old vixen shoot him an unmistakable glance of approval, and pulled his face against her breasts. As he was quite shorter than her, she parted her tunic above her waist and induced the ecstatic pander to fondle her breasts. His boltus fell to the floor. Octavia picked it up. Messalina slipped her hand inside Mutius' coat and grabbed his penis.

"Umm, Drusilla! He has a big one," whispered a quickly aroused Messalina while Mutius was nibbling at her nipples. He reached her hairy Mount of Venus underneath her tunic and stuck his fat, ring-loaded fingers into her wetness. She rotated her eyes towards Drusilla who watched her cousin licking her lips and mouthing: "I've got to do him."

In the heat of passion, Mutius pushed an inflamed Valerian princess into the vestibulum (wardrobe room) signaling to the ancillae on duty to get out in a hurry. The imposing Roman girl and the short Byzantine man kissed like vampires, sucking and biting each other tongues and lips. His breath was heavy, but it only increased her sudden surge of lust. Messalina fell on her back over a pile of winter cloaks and slowly opened her long legs. Mutius watched in sheer amazement at her fabled cunnus surrounded by the largest bush of pubic hair he had ever seen in his life. The sublime Roman patrician rubbed her fine high-heeled sandals against his face and got him to lick her toes while she massaged her clitoris to full erection. Mutius was flabbergasted. Her clitoris was at least an inch long!

"Come on now, take it in your mouth," solicited the Valerian princess with a hoarse voice which indicated her cravings.

The sweating Byzantine got rid of his coat, kneeled down between her legs and sank his head into her crotch. He licked and sucked and chewed her oversensitive petiole while rubbing and pulling her nipples to bursting extension. The fiery young princess began moaning provocative words, pushing forward and moving her pelvis up and down, delivering herself to his mouth and teeth, squeezing his head between her thighs.

While her senses were shaking at the peak of pleasure, he grabbed his fat, rock-solid erection and rubbed it around her wet inner labia, feeling her. She stared at his penis holding her breath, filling her mind with desire. Then he entered her with a violent thrust. Impetuously, she entwined her legs around Mutius' corpulent waist, humping back and forth, rubbing his nipples and biting his arms, spurring his buttocks with her heels, keeping the impact of his glans deep upon the mouth of her uterus which reacted with delightful throbs having been already inflamed by the pinches of the gooses' beaks earlier at her party. Her vaginal contractions resounded in her brain, involving every muscle of her body, overwhelming her senses. She felt suddenly close to the "little death," and gasped. Repressing her screams, she moaned instead, as her abdominal muscles and her feet quivered out of control.

Meanwhile, as he was drilling the deepest cone of her volcano, he squeezed and pulled her nipples, rotating his fat pubic bone, pressing the lower end of it against her erected clitoris, providing her with that kind of fusion orgasm—clitoral and vaginal together—which was for Messalina the supreme gratification of the sexual being who was dwelling in every fiber of her body. With the exception of her fast-pumping genitals engorged by unremitting afflux of desire, every other muscle fainted. She was now like a dislocated puppet, climaxing under the male frenzy unchained by the divine scent of her gushing juices.

As soon as Mutius realized that he was possessing every inch of that beautiful girl, he pounded her with savage uncontrolled virility until the sheer weight of his body issued sufficient energy for her to recover her muscular strength. Feeling transfixed and pinioned like a woodland nymph by a ferocious beast, she locked her legs around his neck, sank her nails in his back, and banged her pelvis against his groin, ferociously kissing his mouth, sucking and biting his tongue and his thick lips, inciting him to drive her sexually insane.

Suddenly, while screaming and twisting, she first felt the breathtaking joy of another orgasm, and then, immediately after, as he hammered her harder and faster, she felt her cunnus being inundated by the hot squirts of his climax. They kept banging and coming for a while until he collapsed over her.

Panting and catching her breath, she remained immobile under that mass of fat while his erection subsided and his sperm poured out of her vagina. He mumbled some pathetic words such as "Fantastic, Overwhelming, Majestic...." She felt somehow irritated by his license and rolled him over. While he kept staring at her like a zombie, she got up and looked at his big belly with disgust. She began stroking her high heels on his large flaccid penis, on his chest and on his face. He glanced up at that vision who was standing above him in all of her splendor.

"Clean me up, swine," she ordered while squatting over his face. "Use your tongue but slowly, okay? I'm overly sensitive now."

He licked and swallowed his own juices as well as hers, from her thighs and along the entire length of her crotch, but he got slapped on his face when he tried to titillate her clitoris.

"Don't even dream of doing that again, understood?"

The fat pander nodded and duly finished his job; then he picked up his clothes and went to the back end of the room, disappearing behind a corner. Messalina sat down on a chair taking a deep breath with a grin of satisfaction and relaxing her limbs. As she did so, Octavia surreptitiously appeared on the doorway of the vestibulum.

* * *