Chapter 1

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Reluctant, Slavery, DomSub, Spanking, Light Bond, Harem, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Doctor/Nurse, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Corvus Tullius was hoping for a quiet life as a plebeian of New Rome, but his mother's marriage to General Gaius Gallicus changes everything. Will he rise to the opportunities presented or disappear into a cloud of money, drugs, slaves and fast cars?

When General Gaius Gallicus returned in glory to New Rome after retaking the Eternal City from the heathens of Europe, he reported immediately to the Senate. Almost as soon as his motorcade left the airport, well-wishers thronged both sides and the median strip of the three-lane highway cheering and throwing flowers in an impromptu triumph.

In the Lower Brilliance, the poor threw daisies and forget-me-nots. By the time the general reached the lagoon district, Rio's well-to-do had stripped every florist in the of trillium, white roses, and iris so that they could lay them across the Via Di in numbers so great that they resembled the snowbanks of northern climes.

Among the river white flowers, in numbers far too large to ignore, were streams and swirls of violets, asters, wisteria, and impatiens, great eddies of purple declaring that the Imperial Party might still be banned, but its dreams of empire were never far under the surface.

The senate acted quickly. Already in session, they suspended normal business to declare the general vir triumphalis - a man of triumph. There was even an abortive attempt to revive the office of First Citizen and offer it to Gaius Gallicus if he could be convinced to foreswear the laurel wreath.

The general surprised them all. When asked at the end of his testimony what he wished to do next, he did not mention politics. If he'd asked to replace the current proconsul, he could have had her job by nightfall. If he'd even hinted at seeking the purple, there would have been civil war. Instead, he humbly asked the Senate's leave to marry the free hetaera Lucretia Tullius and adopt her son Corvus, elevating them from plebeians to the aristocracy. The Senate, in its relief, voted unanimously to grant his request before indulging in an orgy of accolades, granting the general estates in the interior and Britannia and ancient titles that guaranteed a ridiculously large income for himself and his new family.

Corvus Tullius hadn't been forewarned of this event, but couldn't be entirely surprised. His mother had known Gaius Gallicus for more than a quarter century and had mentioned his name with some regularity since returning to service as a civilian administrator in the Mediterranean wars. It was an audacious move, but Lucretia Tullius was never short on audacity.

By the time the press reached him, Corvus had gained some measure of calm regarding the news of his elevation. He was going to be a patrician and a certain amount of gravitas was expected. Before stepping out the door of the modest house he shared with his aunt and cousins to face the throng of reporters, he forced himself to take deep breaths and bear down on any excessive enthusiasm.

Still, when he watched himself on television that night, he looked wide-eyed and couldn't stop grinning. His twin cousins Romulus and Remus told him he looked like a dork, something they told him routinely anyway. But his aunt waved them to silence and told him he looked dignified. Corvus nodded and watched, ignoring all of them. He'd managed to say the right words and they hadn't been hard to find, talking about the honor of elevation, that it reflected the glory of New Rome, and that he found the responsibilities he would one day assume as the son of Gaius Gallicus daunting.

The reporters nodded dutifully, writing down or recording his words. Every so often, a plebe would be elevated based on personal achievement, marriage, or national lottery. Their fellow plebeians invariably followed their elevation in tabloids and on TV. Corvus noted with a certain degree of amused detachment that the coverage was as formalized as the ceremony itself would be.

Still, when a pretty young reporter with sloe eyes, high cheekbones, and reddish-brown skin asked him if he was happy, he blushed. It wasn't the de rigeur question that embarrassed him. It was being addressed directly by someone that beautiful. At that moment, he started to fully grasp how much different his life going forward would be. He took a deep breath, smiled and said. "Yes. I'm very happy."


For three days, Corvus fielded the same interview over and over in barely different forms. He considered asking to talk to the pretty reporter again, but didn't know her name or who she worked for and soon he forgot about her entirely. She was hardly the only pretty girl sticking a microphone in his face these days.

After three days, most of the media attention dried up. Terrorists from a European death cult blew up several cars from the train carrying the son of General Agricola, the supreme commander of forces on that continent. Corvus understood the enormity of what had happened. Thousands of New Roman lives had been lost in the wars to reconquer Europe, but until that attack, the wars had stayed in Europe. Never before had the bearded savages of that beknighted continent struck on New Roman soil.

Corvus was certain that his classmates, mostly the children of the upper plebiscite, were out among those ringing the senatorial forum and shouting for retribution against whichever of the primitive, squabbling tribes was responsible. He would probably be there himself if for no other reason than to not be judged unpatriotic. But he had no time for school or protests. His mother's return and his move to the Gallicus estate were rushed forward lest he become a target of opportunity.

A limousine arrived and collected him the next morning. His aunt hugged him and told him to call if he needed anything. His cousins watched in sullen silence. Their mother must have realized what Corvus's new station meant and drilled it into their heads that they weren't to torment him anymore because they hadn't said a word to him after that first night and only glared at him when they thought he couldn't see.

He paid them no mind, momentarily entranced by the car. It was an old-fashioned Republican Eagle complete with the namesake hood ornament and a burgundy leather interior. The driver had a tattoo on his neck marking him as one of General Gallicus's slaves and his short hair was a pale yellowish color that marked him as European by birth. Inside, a square-jawed centurion in dress uniform sat facing Corvus. He nodded in acknowledgement, but stayed alert throughout the drive.

Security at the airport was tight. Legionnaires in body armor carried machine guns openly through the terminals. Long lines of travelers stood waiting to be screened before they flew. None of it affected Corvus. His guard was also an escort and the men on duty, all members of General Gallicus's legion, saluted as they passed through.

His mother arrived in a cloud of porters and suitcases. She went up on tip-toe to kiss Corvus on the cheek. "By the gods, I swear you've grown three inches since I saw you last."

It had been four months since her last, brief visit home. Corvus doubted he'd grown much if at all. But he smiled and kissed her back. "You're looking as radiant as ever, mother." It wasn't quite true of course. She'd been famous for her beauty twenty years ago when her picture was distributed to the Republic's soldiers by the Comfort and Morale Division, her services reserved for the bravest and most decorated. She was still beautiful, but it was a mature beauty.

As they walked towards the car, surrounded by porters, Corvus counted their entourage. The two centurions who now flanked them were patricians themselves. Everyone else wore the neck tattoo.

He leaned in to say quietly, "General Gallicus has a lot of slaves. Doesn't he?"

His mother laughed. "They're our slaves now. I'm Gaius's wife and you're his son in the eyes of the gods and the senate. What's his is ours."

Corvus frowned. He hadn't realized that. Everyone had been talking about his mother's engagement and his coming elevation. But, he now realized that the senate's decree had happened the day of the general's return. The ceremonies were just a formality.

"That's not the way the press is reporting it," he told his mother.

She gave him a practiced smile. "And, why do you think that is?"

Corvus thought about it. When his mother used that tone of voice, it meant she was giving him a lesson. Along with his regular schooling, she'd been educating him on politics and society for as long as he could remember.

"The pomp and circumstance is important to the plebiscite," he stated. "It's a better narrative if they can watch the wedding and the elevations and say. 'Now they're married, ' and 'Now, they're patricians.' So, the media leaves the details that weaken their story out."

Lucretia turned and patted him on the cheek. "Also, we asked them to." She took him by the shoulders, looking him up and down. "I've always expected great things from you, Corvus. Now I've made sure of it."


Their new home sat on a promontory overlooking both the capital city and Bay-of-Rio with the great bulk of Panis Saccharum looming large to the east. After passing through the walled front gate, they still drove for a long time up a steep and narrow road drop-off on one side and a strip of palm tree forest on the other fronting another cliff. They were serenaded by a cacophony of birds and animals that didn't fade entirely even after the road widened out onto neatly-manicured lawns and the whole world seemed to be laid out at their feet.

The main house itself was a palace in all but name, but it passed by in a blur of white marble, green grass, and red tile as the driver, who also turned out to be General Gallicus's steward, led him through the massive entry hall, across an inner courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and into a room half as large as his aunt's entire house. The man gave a small bow. "Citizen Corvus, if you would like to refresh yourself before you join the general for breakfast, Clover will be happy to assist you."

The room was lined with couches on two walls. A TV hung from the ceiling in one far corner. A young woman with dark hair and eyes sat behind a desk in the other, a door just behind her. Corvus looked back at the steward. "Is this my room?"

The man smiled indulgently. "This is your antechamber. Your receiving room is on the other side of that door and your bedroom beyond that."

Corvus must have stood and stared for a long time because, when he turned to ask another question, the man had already left. He turned instead to the woman who sat watching him attentively.

"How may I serve, citizen?" she asked in a soft voice.

The question startled him. The general's man had just said a name. What was it? "Clover?"

"Yes, citizen?" She smiled, rose, and clasped her hands behind her back. Corvus tried to keep eye contact and not stare at the way her voluptuous curves pulled and shifted at the fabric of her simple tunic, but found himself staring instead at the provenance mark on her long, slender neck.

"Are ... you my slave?" Corvus asked. He'd understood that he owned all of General Gallicus's slaves now, but the reality of that situation and the possibilities it presented suddenly hit him, making him shy.

She continued to smile. "Yes, sir. General Gallicus ordered me to see to your needs going forward. How may I serve?"

Corvus gave a nervous laugh that he hoped didn't sound too much like a hysterical giggle. His mouth had gone completely dry.

When he didn't answer, she offered, "Malcolm said you might want to freshen up before you met the General for breakfast. Can I draw a bath for you?"

"Uh, I already had a shower," said Corvus. "Thanks."

"Of course." Clover nodded. "Would you like to change your clothes or shave perhaps?"

Corvus reached up and stroked his cheeks. He'd been trying to grow a beard for over a month with limited results. "Do you think I should?"

Clover looked up at him, tilting her head in consideration. "If it pleases you, I think a man your age should only shave when he is ready to."

Corvus grinned and stroked his cheeks again. "All right. Thanks. No shave, then. Maybe just a clean shirt."


When Clover showed Corvus into the General's presence, the older man was in a chair with his back to the bay. A slave-girl who looked to be from Nippon or Chin shaved him with a straight-edged razor. He sat perfectly still as she cut away the graying whiskers, leaving a neat goatee as was the fashion.

When he spotted Corvus, he gestured for his new son to come out onto the patio. Corvus waited patiently while the slave finished her work. The General accepted a towel from his slave and said, "Thank you, Mariko" as she stepped backwards away from him.

Then, the Conqueror of Old Rome was walking towards Corvus, hand outstretched to shake. The man was well over six feet tall and still had the firm musculature of a soldier. His grip was firm without being challenging. Corvus matched it and was rewarded with a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Well met, boy. It's good to finally lay eyes on you. Your mother talks about you all the time."

Corvus smiled, unsure how to answer that. His mother had mentioned the general with some regularity, but it was one of a hundred names he had from her as Important Men Who Can Help Your Career One Day. Lucretia considered Gaius Gallicus to possess a shrewd military mind and a keen ambition. She'd also described him as having "a face made for printing on coins." His broad chin and white, puckered scar on one cheek could be seen everywhere lately.

"Thank you, sir. I've heard a lot about you."

The General gestured to a table being carried out by the same slaves who'd carried his mother's bags home from the airport. They were the first of the household's slave he'd seen more than once. Once the table was set down, they returned with chairs and the two men sat down.

"Your rooms are to your liking?" Gaius asked. "I thought you might like a view of the water."

"I haven't seen the view yet," Corvus admitted. "I only got as far as my receiving room. I didn't want to keep you waiting."

The general nodded. "That is appreciated. My legion was the only force big enough to secure the capital when this whole bloody business with Regulus Agricola occurred." He indicated dishes of eggs, ham, and fruit, which the slaves piled onto his plate as he directed. "The senate has ordered me to take command of the home guard as well. The combination is keeping me incredibly busy."

"I'm sure," said Corvus. Experimentally, he pointed to a plate of ham steaks. One of the slaves picked up a steak with a serving fork and served it. "Do many generals command more than one legion?"

Gaius shook his head. "the civil government is afraid of any one general accumulating too much power. But, the home guard is hardly a legion. It's a haven for martinets and dilettantes - the last refuge of useless sons of the aristocracy. I may have to crucify a few before they start to fall in line."

Corvus considered how to respond. The general considered him back. "I hope I'll be able to speak plainly to you, son. Your mother says you have a good mind and can be an asset to me."

"You can, sir," Corvus assured him immediately. "It took me a bit by surprise, but I will adapt."

"Your mother's happiness means a lot to me." Gaius added.

"Thank you, sir," said Corvus politely. "It means a lot to me too."

The general picked up a mug of steaming, black coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. "She tells me you're interested in politics."

Until the news of his mother's pending nuptials, Corvus's entire plan for life had been to take the civil service exams after high school and find himself a position on a senatorial staff, feeding information to a patrician assistant who would subsequently feed it to the senator himself. If he played the game well, a plebeian could accumulate a good deal of power in a position like that. "Yes, sir."

Gaius nodded. "Would you like to be a senator?"

Corvus hoped he managed to maintain his composure. The man might has well have asked if he'd like a quick ride around the city on Pegasus. He said carefully. "Yes, sir ... one day."

The General looked him in the eyes. "Senator Petronius will be retiring at the end of his current term. Once you graduate, you'll join his staff to prepare you to stand for his job this winter."

Corvus had been reaching for a glass of orange juice. He froze, considering whether Gaius Gallicus could deliver on what he'd just promised. Senators were selected by the patricians in their district and approved by the local plebiscite, but most elections were a foregone conclusion. If a man of triumph like the general said Corvus would be senator, it was probably as good as done.

"I would like that, sir." Corvus smiled weakly.

His mother emerged from among the colonnades lining the edge of the patio. She was dressed in a flowing gown in yellow, white and orange, her hair down. "Are my boys getting along?"

The general rose, spread his arms, and drew her in by the shoulders, kissing her on the cheek. "I hope so. We were just talking about Corvus's future."

"He says I could be a senator," said Corvus, still trying to grasp the all the implications of that sentence.

"I'm sure you could." Lucretia gestured to the slaves to fill her plate like she'd been doing it her whole life. "Your father's friends would make his horse a senator if he asked." With a glance at the single ham steak cooling on Corvus's plate, she added, "Eat something, dear."

Corvus reached for the serving spoon in the bowl of scrambled eggs. One of the slaves, seeing his gesture, reached for it at the same time, then drew his hand back quickly as if he'd nearly burned it. Embarrassed, Corvus drew back his own hand and nodded to the man to continue.

As food was piled on his plate, he considered the enormity of what he'd just been offered. "Such patronage would put me in your debt, sir."

"You can call him 'father, '" Lucretia pointed out. She turned to Gaius. "He wasn't even three when my first husband was killed. I raised Corvus myself."

Gaius nodded to his wife and then turned back to his new son. "Well, you certainly don't have to call me 'sir.' You're not one of my legionnaires."

That was true to a point. Corvus's father had been one of the heroes of the Britannic Wars singled out for brave actions during the taking of Londinium to have unfettered access to the hetaerae of the morale and service corps. He'd chosen to spend most of his time with Lucretia and married her after the war. Three years later, as brave men do, he got himself killed in a skirmish with insurrectionists in the north. Until Corvus was fifteen, he and his mother had lived alone. When the Mediterranean Wars broke out, his mother had gone back into civilian service as an administrator overseeing the training of plebeian girls looking to become free hetaerae and new slaves put to the same use. She'd come home as often as she could, but Corvus had mostly been left with his aunt and cousins.

Realizing there was a question on the table, Corvus inclined his head and said diplomatically, "I'm honored that you've chosen to call me your son, General."

Seemingly considering the point settled, Lucretia gave a firm nod and began asking her husband questions about their upcoming wedding. It was going to be held at the High Temple of Vesta where the Vestal Virgins defended the spirit of New Rome with their purity and fidelity.

"Perhaps we should scale back the plans in light of General Agricola's tragedy," offered Gaius.

"We could," acknowledged Lucretia. "The country certainly does seem to want to focus on some well-deserved revenge." She sipped a glass of orange juice.

Corvus knew that tone of voice from his mother and apparently the General did too. "You have another idea, love?"

"Perhaps," said Lucretia like she was still considering the matter. "I was thinking we could go even bigger - joy in the face of tragedy, renewal in the face of death - a celebration the whole Republic could get behind. You could use it as a platform to offer your condolences to General Agricola."

She tapped her teeth with one lacquered nail and neither man interrupted. "Maybe you could even ask him to be your best man."

General Gallicus looked like he had a momentarily acute bout of indigestion. It passed quickly, but Corvus saw a whole story in the expression. His new father did not like his superior officer much. But, he clearly valued Lucretia's political reasoning and, after a moment, he nodded, "I imagine I could at that."

After that, they talked about various details of the wedding - who should be invited, how the publicity should be handled, how to position Lucretia to the media. Corvus filtered it all out and focused on eating. The food was amazing and remarkably fresh, even the ingredients he knew must come all the way from the northern provinces or even from hostile lands.

"Corvus, you should bring Crispa Iunius to the wedding," said Lucretia.

Corvus wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. "Who's she?"

"Granddaughter of the current proconsul," said Lucretia. "Now that I'm back, it's time for you to start looking for a wife."

That got a shrug from Corvus. He hadn't planned to get married until after he'd finished school and established himself in his chosen field, but he realized he was much better established now than he'd ever hoped to be. "Maybe I could ask Regula Vitellius."

"Who's that?" The General looked puzzled.

"A girl my son used to go to school with," Lucretia said with a dramatic sigh. "A plebeian girl. Her father does some accounting for the Senate."

It had really only been a half-formed thought and Lucretia didn't need to elaborate. Before the announcement of his elevation, when Corvus had just been another high school student, Regula had seemed as far above him as he must be over her now. Her father was wealthy and connected, providing professional services not just to patricians, but to senators and the senate itself. The Vitellius family had the biggest house in their neighborhood and three slaves. Corvus shook his head, "I guess it wouldn't be proper for me to date her now, though. Tell me about this Crispa Iunius."


The subject was dropped until Malcolm was leading Corvus down and around the passageways, stairs, and courtyard that led back to his rooms. As he indicated the proper stairway to get up to the family wing, the slave asked, "This Vitellius girl ... were you hoping to marry her?"

Corvus was startled by the question. He hadn't realized Malcolm or anyone else had been in earshot for that part of the conversation. "Uh, no ... not exactly." He considered why he'd even brought her up in the first place. Regula was pretty, but not the prettiest girl or the nicest one in his school. She'd always seemed singularly unimpressed with any of their classmates. He'd just hoped to impress her now that he was a patrician.

Malcolm gave a fractional nod. "Who you bring to your mother's wedding will be greatly commented on in the press. It will lead to some speculation as to what you plan to do with your future. The Widow Iunius would be a good indicator that you're interested in politics. She'll help you network."

Corvus nodded, feeling chastened. Somehow, the steward had already acquired the ability to make him feel absurd on a moment's notice. "Of course. I wasn't thinking."

"If you would prefer a less public opportunity to spend some time with Miss Vitellius, I'm certain something could be arranged." Malcolm held his hands together in a faintly obsequious gesture.

Corvus stopped in his tracks and looked at the steward. "Just like that?"

Malcolm gave a faint nod and an equally faint smile. "Just like that, sir."

Corvus couldn't help the grin that suddenly formed. "So, uh ... do it then."

"Very good, sir." Malcolm opened the doors to Corvus's antechamber. "How else may I serve?"

"I ... can't think of anything," said Corvus.

"Very good. Is Clover to your satisfaction, sir? If you would prefer someone else, there are a number of young woman ... and men in service to the General and there will be more soon."

Corvus shook his head. "No. Clover has been ... very helpful. I'm sure she'll work out just fine."

"I'm pleased," said Malcolm with no hint of pleasure or any other emotion. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes," said Corvus. Something about the steward made him oddly nervous. After a moment, he reconsidered. "Wait. I ... was just wondering. Is Clover ... mine?"

Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. "All of the slaves in this house belong to your father and, by extension you, sir. That includes Clover."

Corvus took a deep breath, almost too embarrassed to ask the next question, but it seemed too important not to. He looked around then leaned in to speak more quietly. "What does that mean ... exactly? Would it upset my father if I ... uh. That is ... am I allowed to..." He started to blush and scratched the back of his neck.

Malcolm gave a knowing nod. "Sir, Clover is a slave. You are allowed to do whatever you like."

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