CAESAR THE SQUEEZER, OR HISTORIA VERUM

I am a conqueror unparalleled. Even the storied Alexander would be proud of what I’ve accomplished. From ocean to ocean I have fought and won campaigns against the most vile of barbarians. I was born under the moon now named for me and my age means nothing to the publica Romanus. They adore me regardless; revere me as they would Jupiter or Mars. I have conquered the Celts of Bitrugala and Avarucim and laid low the Gauls under the great Vercingetorix that to which the grass will grow no longer on the left bank of their great river. I have defied the consulate and senate and led my forces, log by thick log across the Rubicon to Gallia Cisalpina. I have solidified myself as supreme ruler and every single twitch of my body is law across the known world. I am Gaius Julius Caesar, and I am equally burdened with glory and sorrow.

 

For you see, carissimi lectorem, no matter how much I conquer, no matter how much blood I spill across the fields of the lands of the barbari I can not be satisfied. This weight I’ve carried like the Greek Sisyphus since I was a young man. Even when I ran Vercingetorix through with my own sword I felt nothing. Harvesting logs with my men to cross the Rubicon I felt nothing like the dictator I was. I feel undeserving of my place, for video, vinco, but the adventum does not happen as easily as I once had thought.

 

Until now.

 

Regardless of my shortcomings I have always been a tactical genius. Fed up with my lack of feeling paralleled with the Stoics of Zeno, I formulated a plan. A plan for the ages, one the chroniclers would speak of for hundreds of thousands of years. My ruthlessness against the barbari of Celtae, Gallia and Africanus had horrified the senate, leaving them speechless. I made sure that the nobility were as unsatisfied as I had been for forty years. My spy Brutus had kept me informed about the whispers of a coup forming within the marble seats of the Aedes Iovis Optimi Maximi Capitolini. This was my time to strike.

 

I’d take on the whole of the Roman nobility myself, and either reinforce my dominance over the populus, or find the fabled little-death to bring me a relief four decades in the making.

 

Est tempus, I whispered to myself as I fell into a deep slumber on the eve of Jupiter’s sacrifice, the Ides of Mars’ month.

 

I approached the steps to the Theater of Pompey, Brutus by my side acting as bodyguard in case I fell into any danger. The senators were to meet there during a gladiatorial match to discuss the current goings-on in the republic. The morning had been calm and quiet thus far, but as I ascended towards the entrance to the foyer the previously idyllic stillness turned disconcerting such that a bead of cold sweat trickled down the small of my back. I looked over to Brutus.

 

“Do you feel that?”

“Feel what, my lord?”

“There’s something in the air. Something sinister.”

Brutus looked confused. “There’s… nothing to your left, sire.”

“You know what I mean by sinister, Brutus. Foul portents beget foul deeds.”

“You don’t think…”

“Your intelligence gathering was right on the nose. Let’s see what fun quarrels the Senators have in store for us.”

 

The painted wooden doors to the foyer creaked open and the chilly outdoor blusters of early spring met with the heated tile and dim candlelight within. A group of people dressed in the purple trim of the Senate were huddled within; their heads turned in our direction, alerted by the sound of the door. I made a mental note of the men in the gathering; Cassius, Casca and Cimber I recognized but the other twenty I knew not the name of. No-name nobles only ever briefly seen in court and never called on for personal counsel. I raised my head high, adjusted my posture, and walked up to them.

 

“Gentlemen of the Senate! What business have you to bring to the metaphorical table this morning?”

 

I scanned my eyes across the congregation, marking each face one by one. The senators struggled to meet my steely, commanding gaze, and many averted their eyes out of cowardice and shame. They jostled and shuffled amongst themselves for a moment, and one of their group stepped forward.

 

“H-hail, Caesar,” The man stammered, ”We here have found your recent policies and campaigns lacking, to, uh, say the least, and our pleas for reform have fallen on deaf ears time and time again!”

 

The man shifted his feet from side to side, betraying the burden of what he had to say in my presence.

 

“F-frankly, we’ve had just about enough with your authoritarian demands and your bullying of the men that run this republic! So, uh, me and my friends here, we’ve decided to bring our grievances directly to you, and we’re gonna MAKE you listen!”

 

This declaration was met with cheers and shouts from the other senators. The short speech had filled their hearts with courage, and they finally met my gaze.

 

This was their declaration. This was their grand plan. THIS is what I had been expecting as a coup for the past six months?

 

Really?

 

Pathetic. This is no way to get the most powerful man in Rome to do your bidding. I’d have to egg them on if I wanted to see any results.

 

“Your determination is commendable, and your quarrel understandable,” I replied coolly.

“However, did you take into account the possibility I may still refuse? What then, o  nobles mine?”

This took the wind out of the group’s sails. They mumbled amongst each other in frustration as they tried to come to a consensus. Finally, a voice spoke up.

 

“We could kill you!” It said, somewhere from the middle of the crowd. “We could hurt you real good with knives. There are 23 of us and only one of you!”

 

“Yeah!” Another happily replied. “With you gone, the Senate and the Consulate would have their full authority and autonomy restored!”

“Will it?” I retorted. “Do you really think you lot could depose me? And even if you succeeded in this farcical ploy, why do you think the political paradigm would shift back to favoring the oligarchy? Even with me gone, my legacy--and seat--still remain.”

 

“We of the Senate will decide the fate of you AND your seat.”

 

They were truly angry now. The whites of their eyes had jaundiced with envy and wrath in the face of my rhetoric. One more push, and they would break. I puffed out my chest, held myself high, and spoke down to the mass of fools.

 

“I am the Senate.”

 

This drove them over the edge. The entire group started on me like a pack of wolves, drawing long knives from their tunics. Their blood was hot and racing through their bodies like chariots at the circus. I had only a few moments to make sure that blood was put to good use.

 

“Halt, fratres!” I commanded, and whatever god shone their luck upon me in that moment I owe a thousand tributes. The pack of assailants hesitated in their attempt at a bloodbath for just enough time for me to get a few words in.

 

“I’m willing to make a deal. Put away thine daggers, and uncloth thine truncheons,” I spoke, untying my tunic and letting it fall around my feet. “Prove to me you are worthy of usurping the chosen of Jupiter. Prove it not through bloodshed, but through a Bacchanal the gods themselves would envy.”

 

My body shone in the dim light like a blade fresh from the forge. My cock began to engorge and rise to meet the assassins as I strode forward, now on the offensive against an insurmountable advantage in sheer numbers.

 

“We are the Roman people, and regardless of our standing we bleed the same red blood. But if you can make me spill the same white seed as the Roman people, then you will have surpassed me.”

 

My words were met by a mixture of bewilderment and arousal; nonetheless, I continued. Loudly, I did thus proclaim:

 

“Friends, Romans, countrymen, bugger my rear!”

 

For a moment, all was still and silent. My nude posturing had parted the sea of Senators like the blasphemer prince from Egyptum. I held my breath and they theirs, but I never betrayed my inner doubt. As the candles flickered around us, I dreaded that the gambit had failed, that I would die here unsatisfied and exsanguinated. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, until the first dagger clattered to the floor and the will of the mob began to crumble.

 

Knives were tossed aside, followed by tunic after tunic, and the cold, determined faces on the Senators faded and morphed into predatory grins.

 

“Cry havoc!” One cried, and the mob followed suit. “Cry havoc and let slip the cocks of war!”

 

In a flash, they pounced and were upon me. One senator, Cassius, flipped me onto my stomach as two others pinned my arms down. I felt something trickle across my lower back and down into the crevasse between my legs. The scent of olive oil and sweat filled my nostrils.This was it, I mused, as the grin on my face was replaced with a grimace and a moan. Cassius had entered me, split me wide open, and the familiar pressure filling my anus was a long-awaited joy. I bucked against his pelvis, lulling him into a sense of security, knowing he was succeeding in getting me off. I bided my time and enjoyed myself as he pumped into me over and over, all the while egging him on.

 

“Come on, Cassius! Hah-I know you can do better than thaAH!”

 

I allowed the poor man to build in confidence as he fucked me, but I had more tricks up my sleeve than anyone in this room could ever be prepared for. I tensed my muscles, and squeezed down around his shaft, causing Cassius to groan and mutter prayers and curses. My inner sanctum began to undulate and pulse, my anal muscles trained and practiced to cause unimaginable pleasure. Cassius would not hold on for much longer, his facade shattered. With one final push, he pulsed out his meager load deep within me and fell back, a broken and exhausted man.

One down, 22 to go.

 

Hours had passed. I made my way swiftly through the group, coupling with them and draining them. None could match my carnal prowess. I took them in hungrily, and left them empty.

 

“Come here, little boy,” I whispered in a mix of menace and lust to a scrawny Senator as i laid him out on the floor and rode him to his miserable climax. I took senators in two at a time as my lower and upper orifices serviced them. Their frenzied thrusts between me forming an architectural marvel rivaling the city’s aqueducts themselves.

 

“You lot--hnn--couldn’t possibly beat me. You know what they called me in the North?” I panted, draining the cum out of the last cock in sight. “They called me Caesar the Squeezer! I’ve made the most ruthless and savage barbarian kings whimper and mewl like kittens with my ass!”

 

I stood up. The floor was a mess of semen, sweat and olive oil. The combined seed of the Roman republic spilled from between my thighs, and I made no effort to stem the flow.

 

“They couldn’t make me cum, and neither could any of you. You brought 23 weak penises to a GOD fight!”

 

“There’s one cock left, my lord,” whispered a voice behind me, and I gasped as I was entered by the thickest cock I’d ever experienced. Struggling to stand, I turned my gaze to meet the mystery anal bandit.

 

It was Brutus. My confidant, my friend and advisor, had joined the sexual succession war. The mixture of betrayal and pleasure was too much for me to handle, and I fell to my knees.

 

“E-et tu, Brute?” I stammered out as the man began his assault. It was as if his dick was made for me, it filled every corner and alleyway of my hole like a flash flood through a city block. I moaned into every thrust as he turned my face to his and sealed his lips on mine.

 

“How do you like the traitor dick of your best friend, mister dictator?” Brutus whispered into the kiss. I answered with a sharp bite to his lower lip and bucked into him, squeezing as hard as I could.

 

“Almost perfect, but not quite, former friend,” I seethed back at him as I saw his composure break for just a moment. I knew then what his weak spot was, and knew that with only a few fierce thrusts and pulses on my behalf, I’d be able to win this battle of man against man.

 

Brutus grabbed my hair as I bucked into his thrusts over and over, and I knew he was close. It felt better than anyone I’d ever had in me, and I knew if I let my guard down for even a second, he’d prevail, but I only needed a few moments to gain the upper ha-

 

“You wish this was Octavian’s cock, don’t you.”

 

My eyes widened as Brutus whispered into my ear.

 

“Your adoptive son. You love him, don’t you?”

I did. Octavian was the light in my life. That radiant boy, that perfect nubile body, all I ever wanted was to lay with him as father and son, to pass on my legacy to him, to ah.. AH-

 

“Brutus, Octavian, Gods, I’m- AH!!”

 

He had bested me. He who I once called friend had finally satisfied me, and the resulting orgasm was like a torrent from a burst pipe. Forty years of semen left my body with a blast so powerful it scattered the exhausted Senators across the room and shattered marble and limestone alike. A pillar crumbled as I fell off of Brutus’ cock and laid there, unable to move as the building began to collapse. I heard Brutus shout and make his escape as the other Senators struggled to their feet in panic.

 

Goodbye, people of Rome, I thought to myself as bricks began to fall from the domed ceiling and shatter the floor around me. There was no amount of tactical genius in all of the known world that would save me from death here.

 

I thought of Octavian. My sole heir. At least… My legacy is secured. His shining face, his dignified eyes, the last things on my mind as the ceiling fell on me. Everything went white.

 

“A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”

-William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar