The prefect's purse VII : Herod Agpippa : Part 3

Vilmes grabbed me roughly and twisted his ass on my face. I pulled back a little, just to breathe, then bit hard on each of his ass cheeks. The girl-pitched squeal that came from Vilmes encouraged me to bite even harder, eventually his open gash drew me back into that sweet cherry of a cunt.

‘Eat me, man!’ Vilmes begged, the long drooling drip of precum from his dick showing how much he was enjoying it.
My cock was agonisingly hard, and as I touched it lightly I felt that precum had started to ooze from me too.
Vilmes rolled over on the poolside, drawing his knees up to his chest. He looked down at me through his thighs, but the flicker in his eyes flashed doubt through my mind. It betrayed the increasingly clear suspicion that we were not alone in the servants’ pool at Herod’s baths.

I dragged Vilmes nearer to me, pushing his hips up after I’d pulled him close to my face. Rather than show my suspicions openly, I angled Vilmes so that I could look across the pool and about its sides as I gnawed down on him. A shadow gathered for an instant, then faded out through a door.
‘Come here,’ Vilmes growled at me. He grabbed hold of the hair at the front of my head so he could lever me over him, my face a breath away from his, my arms pinning his legs back, and my cock sliding along the full length of his ass crack.
‘You’re fucking massive,’ Vilmes sighed, his icy stare piercing me.
I covered his mouth with mine, my tongue searching against his. I watched his eyelids flicker and close, then once more I turned him around beneath me to scan the length of the pool. We were alone, but perhaps not unobserved.

‘Fuck me,’ a soft whimper came from somewhere at the back of Vilmes’ throat, his hands toying with my rock hard meat, and aiming it at his puckering hole. Vilmes drew one hand back to take some spit, then he offered it to me to spit on. Craning his neck to find my lips once more, he smeared the spit over my cock and pointed my rocking thrust toward his cunt.
A sharp, sucking breath pulled Vilmes’ head away from my face as I opened his hole then drove home with patient effort, taking my timing from him.

When I felt a sudden sharp spasm tear across Vilmes’ body, I broke into a deeper rhythm and slid my cock up his ass right to the hilt.
He screamed out loud, squeezing eyes tight shut and gritting his teeth. His face said it hurts, but his gyrations told me he wanted more. I slid back from him and then removed my cock from his hole, but before he had a chance to exhale, I rammed right back in to him again.
Vilmes bit his lower lip then pulled an arm up to muffle a yelp by biting on his wrist. ‘You ready to cum?’ He asked, almost pleading.
I shook my head and carried on pounding his ass.

‘Fuck!’ He threw back his head. He trembled beneath me, still rising to meet my thrusts, but he threw up his arms pushing at my chest with his hands. ‘Please!’ he cried, ‘you’re fucking hot, man, but I really can’t take any more.’ He put his hands on my hips to lessen the pounding. ‘Let me fuck you,’ he said, drawing his face close to me so he could whisper in my ear, ‘Please, man!’

Pinning him down with the weight of my body, I kissed him, and let my cock take a spill out of his hole. Without releasing him from my hold I worked my way down his sweat-stained chest. Around the light red-blond hairs on his belly little pools of sticky precum mingled with his sweat, I let my tongue linger there for a few moments, licking him to a struggling frenzy.
‘Bacchus’ balls, mate! You’re driving me mad,’ Vilmes struggled against me harder, but he couldn’t break away from my grasp.

After a few moments of just holding him down because I felt like it, I let him go. Rather than spring free, he reached out to me. He touched my face with his fingertips and squeezed at my waist with his thighs. At last, with a swift peck on his lips I stood up, pulling him up with me.

Tenderly, Vilmes enfolded me laying soft kisses on as much of my skin as he could while working his way round to my backside and down into my butt cheeks. ‘Give me your Venus, man,’ he said, kneeling behind me to open my asscrack. The trace of his tongue on my hole was incredible, he knew what he was doing, and I was ready to let do it.
‘You want to take it?’ I said, not really recognising my own voice as I spoke.
Vilmes looked up at me, and grinned. He spat on his fingers and eased me open.

The feel of him probing me, like my hole was a special treat for his tongue, was a stunning thrill. A thrill that I could not let myself relax enough to enjoy to its full. My senses were heightened, not just because I was being taken to erotic places that I do not normally go, but also because I was aware we may not be alone.

Vilmes mixed spit with the great ooze of his dick’s precum, and shuffled into a position that would allow him to take my asshole. Taking a hold on my hip with one hand, he guided his short stiff prick up to my ring and pushed in with a stinging pop.

The taut surge of Vilmes' dick beating into my hole sent waves of varying emotions over me. So all the thoughts in my mind seemed to shut down, at the same time my body filled every available sensation with pleasure; all in tune with the broad rim of his swollen cockhead heaving inside me. A horny moan escaped my throat with such vigour that astonished even me as I settled back on him, completely embedding his organ in my tightening fuckhole.

‘I'm going to let it go, man,’ Vilmes exhaled with effort. ‘Oh! Friga, I'm almost there.’
‘Keep it going!’ I whispered. ‘Do it! I’m ready too.’
And he did. He stuck his dick as deep and hard as he could into my asshole and he quivered so forcefully we both shook.

He filled me with his dick till I could stand it no longer, I shot my load in a vast fountain spray of cum reaching across the poolside and into the water. I felt like a water pump, filling at one end only to spew out at the other, it just kept pumping out me with every push from Vilmes letting loose his own spunk torrents into my hole.

We hardly had time to collapse into each other in exhaustion when they were on us. Armed men appeared at the doors on either side of the servants’ pool. Vilmes and I sprang to our feet, and I eyeballed him unsure of his role in this. He read me plainly enough, he shook his head, denying any betrayal or part in a scheme to trap me.
‘You take the right,’ he said spinning round to challenge the nearest two men advancing with daggers drawn, ‘this little lot are mine.’

I had a few moments more to prepare before the two assailants on the far side reached us. In those few seconds I saw Vilmes set to with consummate skill. He had a grip on one man, his dagger held out to keep the other man back. A cry of agony shrieked out as I too braced to receive the first slash from a shining blade.

A searing tear ripped across me, marking the edge of the attacker’s dagger with blood. Yet I felt nothing, I knew only the urgent desire to disarm or destroy. Energy swelled up as I caught a kicking hold on one of the men, his knife turning in the struggle. Blood spurted together with the low sounding thud of a blade, piercing flesh to the hilt. It mingled with the blinding moan of one who saw his future pass among the shades.

I threw my attacker against his companion but kept a firm hold on the man’s dagger as they were sent sprawling together across the poolside, lost amid sickening gore stains.
Turning to Vilmes I saw one body already lifeless, but also that he and the other man were locked in mortal struggle. Vilmes tripped over the dead man and his head dashed noisily against the wall, nonetheless he still pulled the other man with him. I watched as the man’s dagger aimed then fell toward Vilmes’ throat. I lunged at them, only to see the blade rip into Vilmes’ neck. Yet Vilmes kept sufficient balance and temper to force the man against me and the dagger in my hand. I drove it home and twisted it with grim joy. The man dropped to the floor without a word or further strain.
Beside us the sole remaining attacker had risen, and seen the odds reduce then swing against him. He turned and fled. At the far door a slave wailed in shock, it was Vilmes’ young friend.
‘Stand aside!’ I shouted at him, for the man was now running toward him, his dagger flailing dangerously. The lad skipped away just in time as the man rushed passed him and out into the service area. ‘Get help!’ I called to the weeping servant, as he stood gazing at us in horror. ‘It’s Vilmes, he’s hurt,’ I bawled.

I dragged Vilmes from the dead body at our feet, then knelt down beside him. Shock and the knock to his head had finally poleaxed him. The tear at his throat was spewing blood across his chest and my legs, so I looked around frantically for something to staunch the flow.

Vilmes juddered into consciousness as a compressed his wound with one of our modesty towels. Although he looked up at me, I could see his eyes carried no sense of recognition for time, place or person. A kind of blind panic swept across him and he panicked, struggling against me and my hold.
‘Be still, Vilmes, old chap,’ I sushed him, ‘you’re OK, it’s Lancianus. We’re fine.’

The tension in Vilmes’ body seemed to drain away as my voice or its even tone sank in. His sheer weight slid back into me, perhaps in another faint. With childlike surrender he allowed his head to flop onto my arms and be guided securely in to an embrace at my thighs.

Having pillowed his head on one leg, and reapplied full pressure on the blood soaked towel at his neck, I looked to the pool’s farside door. Tentative footfalls had begun to sound in from the corridor. Whoever it was had come only so far then stopped. I looked around for the nearest dagger, or the nearest way out. Then I looked down at Vilmes, a grey-blue tint had suffused his skin. It would have to be the nearest exit, or nothing. I couldn’t hold on to Vilmes and fight. ‘Old chap,’ I gave Vilmes’ jaw a tweak to wake him, ‘we might have to move.’ Pretty damn quick too, I thought.
The sound of more feet patted in the far corridor, slinking like a cat.

‘Here!’ I cried with relief as Vilmes’ bathhouse slave friend came in with a gaggle in tow.
Vilmes woke with a start. After a swift glance over at the small body of help coming our way he grasped my hand, ‘Herod Agrippa.’ He croaked then coughed.
‘Be still, friend.’ I patted at him to lie at peace.
‘You!’ Boomed an all too familiar voice at the door opposite. It was the Tribune, P. Junius Lollius, and he wasn’t happy to see me.

Again Vilmes grabbed my hand, this time as some medic slaves set to work on him. He brushed them aside, so that he could draw me closer. ‘We don’t have much time,’ he whispered. ‘I recognised one of the attackers.’

The slaves nodded at me to go so they could get on with their job. I bent into Vilmes, and sighed, ‘I’ll not leave you till your settled, don’t worry. But I must sort this out,’ I pointed at the Tribune, and laid a kiss on Vilmes’ cheek.
Vilmes smiled, ‘Go, friend.’ Then he tugged me back, ‘Be careful.’

The Tribune glared at me as his eyes stripped off my naked blood-splattered skin. He prowled over the scene before he returned to me. ‘Do you make a habit of this sort of thing?’ He growled.
‘No sir!’ I snapped with military precision.
‘You do know this isn’t the place for blood sports!’ He mocked.
‘Sir!’ Though bollock naked I held myself to attention.
‘Three more dead bodies in a public bathhouse,’ the Tribune sneered at me. ‘And, by the looks of it,’ he nearly howled, ‘one of the Prefect’s personal servants wounded.’ He stood before me, rigid with anger, ‘Do you have a death wish, Centurion?’
‘No sir!’
‘How the fuck are we to explain this to the Prefect?’ The Tribune exploded with exasperated self-pity. ‘Report to me at the barracks tomorrow,’ he yapped then huffed off.
I went back to Vilmes. The medics had staunched the blood flow, effected a temporary minor repair, and were clearing the gore from his body. ‘You’re looking good.’
‘Another scar to frighten the girls and impress the boys,’ he laughed.

Behind me a soft hand touched my elbow, I leapt round.
‘Clothes, sir.’ It was Rudio carrying a bundled of our possessions.
I took hold of Rudio’s shoulders and shook him, then enfolded my boy. Almost on the edge of tears I asked him, ‘Did anyone try to harm you?’
‘No!’ he shook his head. Clearly he had something to say, but was unwilling to share it. ‘I noticed Tesserarius Felix and his slave boy heading back to camp,’ he went on, ‘so I got them to take your arms, sir.’
‘Did you notice anything going on?’ I asked.

Rudio furrowed his brow and again gave a little shake of his head. ‘I moved your things to a smaller and more convenient store, sir. So I heard the commotion, and that the Tribune was called for by the bathhouse owner.’
‘We need to move to a better place than this,’ one of the medic slaves told me. ‘The victim says the Prefect will provide care for him,’ the slave said, seeking confirmation from me.
‘He is a servant in the Prefect’s household,’ I agreed. ‘My slave has some of his property,’ I said, holding my hand out for Vilmes’ money bag. The rattle of gold, however, carried more weight than my naked authority.

The slave clicked his fingers and his subordinates rallied to hoist Vilmes onto a stretcher. A few choice words cracked the air as they humped him up and walked toward the slave.
Vilmes called them to a halt and laid out his hand for his money.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ I asked.
Vilmes shook his head.
‘But I’d like to see that you’re made comfortable,’ I almost sulked.

Once more Vilmes shook his head, this time screwing his face up as Rudio had done. They exchanged glances, then Vilmes took my hand and said, ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances.’
As they carried him away he didn’t look back, but I followed anyway. I was stopped by Rudio before we reached the public corridors.
‘Sir, you must make ready.’
I stared at him.
‘You still have a meal to get ready for,’ he insisted and took control over me.
‘Herod Agrippa, Rudio, Herod Agrippa.’ Is all I could say.

To be continued... : THE PREFECT’S PURSE (VIII): A LAST MEAL ...