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He does only what a Roman can do: dominate. \n\nA commission for Casterway. You can find stories like and more over on my [url=https://www.patreon.com/c/Ralanrwrites]Patreon[/url] and/or [url=https://subscribestar.adult/ralanr]subscribestar[/url]. \n\nEnjoy!", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Julius Varus, Centurion of the 17th legion, finds an otter barbarian in his tent. He does only what a Roman can do: dominate.

A commission for Casterway. You can find stories like and more over on my Patreon and/or subscribestar.

Enjoy!", "writing": "The long campaign wore thin on Julius Varus, Centurion of the 17th legion. The barbarians of the Teutoburg forest had resorted to cowardly hit-and-run tactics. Were it not so easy that they joined their heathen gods faster by smashing their skulls against the mighty phalanx of Rome. \n\n\nHe trudged through mud, cloak drenched from the torrential rains. What curse had Jupiter set upon them to hamper this campaign? Julius dared not speak concerns of it, else his commanders would find a way to put him in the front. Like any Roman man fit for the army, he sought glory; glory rarely arrived upon the sharp edge of an opposing blade. \n\n\n“Where is it?”\n\n\nJulius stopped cold in his tracks. He’d just made it to his tent when the barbaric language seeped through the flaps. Taking hold of his gladius, Julius carefully parted the drapes to find the speaker. By torchlight, he found the culprit, an otter in wildling furs with a rotund shape fit for eating well. Julius suppressed the urge to growl at the indignity of it. Months on rations would make even the most loyal soldier consider gutting a fat senator. A barbarian deserved no such luxury. \n\n\nHe wondered how the otter had entered unnoticed. Sentries would be punished later. Drawing his sword, Julius cried out, “Cease, barbarian! Or I shall kill you where you stand!” \n\n\n“Cease? Really? Want to try again?” The otter’s barbarian tongue did little to keep Julius at bay. He strode in, bringing his sword against the otter’s throat and brought him to his knees. Sharp steel did wonders in breaking the language barrier. \n\n\nHe was a plump one for sure. With strange glass circles over his eyes like some sort of witch. It almost made him presentable. Julius shook his head, he’d been on the warpath for far too long without a companion. No recipient for his urges. \n\n\n“Do you speak the civilized tongue? Or are you as ignorant as you are full?”\n\n\nThe otter glared back up at him, “The Goths were civilized.”\n\n\nA quick pull of his headfur back elicited a harsh grunt from his captive. “I will take that as a no,” Julius tilted the otter up by his chin. He was serviceable, perhaps worthwhile for something. “Strip, barbarian, else I will kill you where you stand.”\n\n\n“You brought me to my knees, remember?” Whatever sass the barbarian’s tone carried did little to hinder his obedience. They stripped down to the nethers, leaving little to the imagination with the rotund, almost pearlike, proportions. Not much of a fighter. Could have been a more adequate spy if they’d dressed like a senator. \n\n\n“Put these on,” Julius produced a pair of leather manacles from his tent, “Your hands behind you. Be thankful I am showing mercy for not bringing in more guards.” Though he’d prefer not to at all. The sentries may be at fault, but it was still his tent. If word got around someone snuck in for his battle plans, he’d never live down the shame.\n\n\nIt didn’t take long for the otter’s cock to rise. It sat pink and halfway hard when he stripped off his meager furs, growing to full once the cuffs were in place. “Well, well, it seems at least part of you knows your proper place,” Julius said, having kicked off his sandals to press his bare foot down on the fat cock. \n\n\nBy Jupiter, it couldn’t be one. What hung between the otter’s legs was more akin to a club than a cock. “The ancient Greeks, our forefathers, once believed that the larger the member, the more simpler-minded the man. Your women must bed feral horses for comfort if that’s what you’re working with. They no doubt are better for conversion.”\n\n\nThe otter scoffed, “The Romans would not call the Greeks their ancestors.” Yet behind that defiance, Julius noted a hint of red along the savage’s cheeks. \n\n\n“I have all the cause to kill you now,” Julius stripped out of his robe, revealing his throbbing cock to the open air. He pushed the otter’s snout against it, letting the savage drink in the scent of a hard day's march. \n\n\nThe chains held. The barbarian twitched, eyes lost in lust from the superior Roman scent. “Savages like you belong under the heel of Rome,” Julius spat, his cock pulsing with thrill. Without fanfare, he pressed the tip to the otter’s maw. The otter accepted it, eagerly submitting to the glory that is the Roman rod. \n\n\nThough meager in comparison, Julius found the savage savoring his cock. The otter suckled slowly, his tongue wrapping around the shaft or swirling over the head while his eyes looked up to his. \n\n\n“Yes,” Julius ushered, slowly pistoning his shaft down the otter’s throat, “Yes, you will make a fine slave in my household. Keep me content and I may yet let you keep your balls. I have no need for eunuchs. Perhaps I could invite guests and let them watch you dance naked, exposing that ridiculous phallus to their jeers.”\n\n\n“Is that a promise?” the otter asked with a mouthful. Julius answered with a forceful push down the otter’s maw. \n\n\n“Did I say you could speak, savage? Perhaps I’m being far too lenient. Let’s hope you’re worth training.”\n\n\n“Easy! Easy!” The barbarian bellowed. Julius ignored him, hoisting him by the ear when strength was not enough. They were a savage people, hardy and tough, but enough pressure in the right spot would break any man. \n\n\nPushed atop his bed, Julius took a better look at the savage brute. His full plump body rounded to a perfect ass. Fat and fur sank between his fingers. He spread it apart, delighted at the waiting hole stretched for him. \n\n\n“Yes,” Julius nodded, “You do have potential.” Taking special oils for lube, Julius coated his cock and then the leftover over the donut hole. The dripping rod slipped through with little force. “And what’s better is that you want it. You savage brute.” \n\n\nThe cry that followed was not the deep guttural growl of a savage. His voice cracked, gasping like a soft maiden penetrated on the eve of her union. \n\n\n“Fuck!” he grunted, keeping his German lessons strong. Julius grinned, slowly building a rhythm to pound that fat ass below him. \n\n\n“What was that?” He whispered, pulling the otter’s headfur back. “Speak up, savage. I can’t understand you.”\n\n\n“Fuck me harder!”\n\n\nThat sounded like a command. “I think I misheard you,” Julius said, slapping the otter’s backside with the palm of his hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to say it properly?”\n\n\nThe otter tried to bury his face. Julius didn’t let go, pulling harder to make those pretty eyes stare back at him. “Say it, savage. Beg for your master.”\n\n\n“Are you fucking serious?” The otter asked, earning another thunderous crack across his cheeks. Blushing mad, the otter grit his teeth and surrendered. “Fine, fuck me, Master.”\n\n\n“Good. Was that so hard, you filthy barbarian?” The fox dug deep, sniffing the sweat across the otter’s furry back. No resistance pushed against his cock, no struggle towards the true command in this wild land. There was nothing but the taming of a beast under a civilized society. \n\n\nYet even a civilized fox could lose himself. In so barest an act as this, Julius reverted to the primal stage of life. Growling and hissing, his hands clung deep into the folds of fat and fur. Possessively pounding the chubby otter until their breaths became one and more. \n\n\nThe bed springs creaked. Air from the fan above thrummed. Byron broke first, losing his accent and whatever mastery of the German language he had in the throes of it all. “Harder! Julian, harder!” \n\n\nHe complied with the weight of his entire body on his thrust. Comparably, it wasn’t much to his boyfriend. Byron didn’t notice, often citing that Julian was far bigger inside him than he appeared. \n\n\n“I’m close,” Byron grit his teeth. He’d been rubbing his fat cock against the bedsheets with Julian’s momentum. “Just a little more. A little more.” \n\n\n“Shut the fuck up,” Julian growled. He loved Byron, but he needed to focus on not finishing, not yet. He’d been doing well until the otter broke character. Didn’t help that this whole roleplaying thing was Byron’s idea. He just wanted to fuck. Sure, he enjoyed getting into it and calling his boyfriend a savage woke something that he’d need to process later, but right now he really needed Byron to shut the fuck up. \n\n\nYet when Julius next opened his mouth to reissue that command, his cock gave in. It pulsed inside Byron, surging strands of seed inside his boyfriend like the eclairs they got on their first date. The fox swore, locking into the otter’s backside as his legs gave in, body stiffening from the pleasure running through him as though he’d clutched an open wire. From Byron’s moans, he hadn’t yet finished. Not even close. \n\n\n“Damn it.” Julian collapsed over his lover, having knotted inside. It wasn’t fair. He was in better shape, or at least he looked it. Why couldn’t he last? They’d been at this long enough that Byron shouldn’t have had issues with the prostate. Was he not reaching it? He shuddered to think that was the case, sliding out when the knot shrank.\n\n\nByron, still cuffed, turned to his lover, still dressed in the makeshift toga. “You know that’s not what Centurions wore on the field, right?”\n\n\n“Of course I do. Do you expect me to grab a bunch of armor to fuck you?”\n\n\n“Hey, you’re the one going on about historical accuracy.”\n\n\n“It was your idea!”\n\n\nByron didn’t have an answer. Neither did Julian, who hung his head off the side. Shadows shifted in a constant dance from the ceiling fan. A dorm with two beds, both they shared with their sleeping bed opposite the other. The difference didn’t matter now. He could close his eyes and never wake up. If he did, it’d be as a failure of a man.\n\n\n“Hey…” Byron nudged closer, “Hey, are you alright?” \n\n\n“No…” he said, pausing to regret not lying. He took a deep breath for his conviction. “No, I’m not. How can I be? I didn’t get you off.” \n\n\n“Dude, relax.”\n\n\n“I’m supposed to be the top. How can I be ‘the top’ if I can’t get you off?” \n\n\n“Ok, stop taking the gay red pill or whatever, we’ve been over this. Besides,” Byron hoisted himself up without his hands, sitting across the bed to let his fat cock slump over to the side. “We don’t have to finish if it’s that important to you.”\n\n\nThe expression ‘Third leg’ never made much sense to Julian. It implied something one could walk on. But his boyfriend’s cock fit that, if vestigial based on the size. He shrank at the sight of it. Bad enough it dwarfed his when soft. Worse that it did when he was hard. \n\n\n“No way I could take it,” Julian said, “Ass or mouth. That thing is…” The term monster fit but was too hurtful. “Is something I’d need to stretch for.” \n\n\n“It’s a shame you’re wearing handcuffs then. Oh, wait.” Byron grinned.\n\n\n“Oh, shut up.” Julian inched closer to his boyfriend, silencing him with a kiss. Their tongues wrestled for control. With both hands, he pumped the rod. It grew hard and heavy in his touch, like a sponge soaked in water. \n\n\n“You have soft paws.” Byron’s voice fluttered, more than when Julian was inside him. \n\n\nThe fox blushed. “Shut up,” Julian argued softly, kissing harder. Soft hands rubbed that wet precum drenched cockhead. Soft hands worked the shaft. Soft hands held that rod nice and tight when the geyser shot off. \n\n\nWith their bodies so close Julian couldn’t avoid the splash against his chest. He sighed and reached for a tissue. “There, happy now?” \n\n\n“When it’s you, I always am.” \n\n\nJulian froze. The way Byron spoke filled the fox with a warm sensation he couldn’t get anywhere else. No matter how hard he tried, how much he pushed to be the proper top, it was the otter who gave him the satisfaction in the end. \n\n\n“Same, love.” Julian wiped away the splooge over Byron’s stomach fur. “Same.\"", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "The long campaign wore thin on Julius Varus, Centurion of the 17th legion. The barbarians of the Teutoburg forest had resorted to cowardly hit-and-run tactics. Were it not so easy that they joined their heathen gods faster by smashing their skulls against the mighty phalanx of Rome.


He trudged through mud, cloak drenched from the torrential rains. What curse had Jupiter set upon them to hamper this campaign? Julius dared not speak concerns of it, else his commanders would find a way to put him in the front. Like any Roman man fit for the army, he sought glory; glory rarely arrived upon the sharp edge of an opposing blade.


“Where is it?”


Julius stopped cold in his tracks. He’d just made it to his tent when the barbaric language seeped through the flaps. Taking hold of his gladius, Julius carefully parted the drapes to find the speaker. By torchlight, he found the culprit, an otter in wildling furs with a rotund shape fit for eating well. Julius suppressed the urge to growl at the indignity of it. Months on rations would make even the most loyal soldier consider gutting a fat senator. A barbarian deserved no such luxury.


He wondered how the otter had entered unnoticed. Sentries would be punished later. Drawing his sword, Julius cried out, “Cease, barbarian! Or I shall kill you where you stand!”


“Cease? Really? Want to try again?” The otter’s barbarian tongue did little to keep Julius at bay. He strode in, bringing his sword against the otter’s throat and brought him to his knees. Sharp steel did wonders in breaking the language barrier.


He was a plump one for sure. With strange glass circles over his eyes like some sort of witch. It almost made him presentable. Julius shook his head, he’d been on the warpath for far too long without a companion. No recipient for his urges.


“Do you speak the civilized tongue? Or are you as ignorant as you are full?”


The otter glared back up at him, “The Goths were civilized.”


A quick pull of his headfur back elicited a harsh grunt from his captive. “I will take that as a no,” Julius tilted the otter up by his chin. He was serviceable, perhaps worthwhile for something. “Strip, barbarian, else I will kill you where you stand.”


“You brought me to my knees, remember?” Whatever sass the barbarian’s tone carried did little to hinder his obedience. They stripped down to the nethers, leaving little to the imagination with the rotund, almost pearlike, proportions. Not much of a fighter. Could have been a more adequate spy if they’d dressed like a senator.


“Put these on,” Julius produced a pair of leather manacles from his tent, “Your hands behind you. Be thankful I am showing mercy for not bringing in more guards.” Though he’d prefer not to at all. The sentries may be at fault, but it was still his tent. If word got around someone snuck in for his battle plans, he’d never live down the shame.


It didn’t take long for the otter’s cock to rise. It sat pink and halfway hard when he stripped off his meager furs, growing to full once the cuffs were in place. “Well, well, it seems at least part of you knows your proper place,” Julius said, having kicked off his sandals to press his bare foot down on the fat cock.


By Jupiter, it couldn’t be one. What hung between the otter’s legs was more akin to a club than a cock. “The ancient Greeks, our forefathers, once believed that the larger the member, the more simpler-minded the man. Your women must bed feral horses for comfort if that’s what you’re working with. They no doubt are better for conversion.”


The otter scoffed, “The Romans would not call the Greeks their ancestors.” Yet behind that defiance, Julius noted a hint of red along the savage’s cheeks.


“I have all the cause to kill you now,” Julius stripped out of his robe, revealing his throbbing cock to the open air. He pushed the otter’s snout against it, letting the savage drink in the scent of a hard day's march.


The chains held. The barbarian twitched, eyes lost in lust from the superior Roman scent. “Savages like you belong under the heel of Rome,” Julius spat, his cock pulsing with thrill. Without fanfare, he pressed the tip to the otter’s maw. The otter accepted it, eagerly submitting to the glory that is the Roman rod.


Though meager in comparison, Julius found the savage savoring his cock. The otter suckled slowly, his tongue wrapping around the shaft or swirling over the head while his eyes looked up to his.


“Yes,” Julius ushered, slowly pistoning his shaft down the otter’s throat, “Yes, you will make a fine slave in my household. Keep me content and I may yet let you keep your balls. I have no need for eunuchs. Perhaps I could invite guests and let them watch you dance naked, exposing that ridiculous phallus to their jeers.”


“Is that a promise?” the otter asked with a mouthful. Julius answered with a forceful push down the otter’s maw.


“Did I say you could speak, savage? Perhaps I’m being far too lenient. Let’s hope you’re worth training.”


“Easy! Easy!” The barbarian bellowed. Julius ignored him, hoisting him by the ear when strength was not enough. They were a savage people, hardy and tough, but enough pressure in the right spot would break any man.


Pushed atop his bed, Julius took a better look at the savage brute. His full plump body rounded to a perfect ass. Fat and fur sank between his fingers. He spread it apart, delighted at the waiting hole stretched for him.


“Yes,” Julius nodded, “You do have potential.” Taking special oils for lube, Julius coated his cock and then the leftover over the donut hole. The dripping rod slipped through with little force. “And what’s better is that you want it. You savage brute.”


The cry that followed was not the deep guttural growl of a savage. His voice cracked, gasping like a soft maiden penetrated on the eve of her union.


“Fuck!” he grunted, keeping his German lessons strong. Julius grinned, slowly building a rhythm to pound that fat ass below him.


“What was that?” He whispered, pulling the otter’s headfur back. “Speak up, savage. I can’t understand you.”


“Fuck me harder!”


That sounded like a command. “I think I misheard you,” Julius said, slapping the otter’s backside with the palm of his hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to say it properly?”


The otter tried to bury his face. Julius didn’t let go, pulling harder to make those pretty eyes stare back at him. “Say it, savage. Beg for your master.”


“Are you fucking serious?” The otter asked, earning another thunderous crack across his cheeks. Blushing mad, the otter grit his teeth and surrendered. “Fine, fuck me, Master.”


“Good. Was that so hard, you filthy barbarian?” The fox dug deep, sniffing the sweat across the otter’s furry back. No resistance pushed against his cock, no struggle towards the true command in this wild land. There was nothing but the taming of a beast under a civilized society.


Yet even a civilized fox could lose himself. In so barest an act as this, Julius reverted to the primal stage of life. Growling and hissing, his hands clung deep into the folds of fat and fur. Possessively pounding the chubby otter until their breaths became one and more.


The bed springs creaked. Air from the fan above thrummed. Byron broke first, losing his accent and whatever mastery of the German language he had in the throes of it all. “Harder! Julian, harder!”


He complied with the weight of his entire body on his thrust. Comparably, it wasn’t much to his boyfriend. Byron didn’t notice, often citing that Julian was far bigger inside him than he appeared.


“I’m close,” Byron grit his teeth. He’d been rubbing his fat cock against the bedsheets with Julian’s momentum. “Just a little more. A little more.”


“Shut the fuck up,” Julian growled. He loved Byron, but he needed to focus on not finishing, not yet. He’d been doing well until the otter broke character. Didn’t help that this whole roleplaying thing was Byron’s idea. He just wanted to fuck. Sure, he enjoyed getting into it and calling his boyfriend a savage woke something that he’d need to process later, but right now he really needed Byron to shut the fuck up.


Yet when Julius next opened his mouth to reissue that command, his cock gave in. It pulsed inside Byron, surging strands of seed inside his boyfriend like the eclairs they got on their first date. The fox swore, locking into the otter’s backside as his legs gave in, body stiffening from the pleasure running through him as though he’d clutched an open wire. From Byron’s moans, he hadn’t yet finished. Not even close.


“Damn it.” Julian collapsed over his lover, having knotted inside. It wasn’t fair. He was in better shape, or at least he looked it. Why couldn’t he last? They’d been at this long enough that Byron shouldn’t have had issues with the prostate. Was he not reaching it? He shuddered to think that was the case, sliding out when the knot shrank.


Byron, still cuffed, turned to his lover, still dressed in the makeshift toga. “You know that’s not what Centurions wore on the field, right?”


“Of course I do. Do you expect me to grab a bunch of armor to fuck you?”


“Hey, you’re the one going on about historical accuracy.”


“It was your idea!”


Byron didn’t have an answer. Neither did Julian, who hung his head off the side. Shadows shifted in a constant dance from the ceiling fan. A dorm with two beds, both they shared with their sleeping bed opposite the other. The difference didn’t matter now. He could close his eyes and never wake up. If he did, it’d be as a failure of a man.


“Hey…” Byron nudged closer, “Hey, are you alright?”


“No…” he said, pausing to regret not lying. He took a deep breath for his conviction. “No, I’m not. How can I be? I didn’t get you off.”


“Dude, relax.”


“I’m supposed to be the top. How can I be ‘the top’ if I can’t get you off?”


“Ok, stop taking the gay red pill or whatever, we’ve been over this. Besides,” Byron hoisted himself up without his hands, sitting across the bed to let his fat cock slump over to the side. “We don’t have to finish if it’s that important to you.”


The expression ‘Third leg’ never made much sense to Julian. It implied something one could walk on. But his boyfriend’s cock fit that, if vestigial based on the size. He shrank at the sight of it. Bad enough it dwarfed his when soft. Worse that it did when he was hard.


“No way I could take it,” Julian said, “Ass or mouth. That thing is…” The term monster fit but was too hurtful. “Is something I’d need to stretch for.”


“It’s a shame you’re wearing handcuffs then. Oh, wait.” Byron grinned.


“Oh, shut up.” Julian inched closer to his boyfriend, silencing him with a kiss. Their tongues wrestled for control. With both hands, he pumped the rod. It grew hard and heavy in his touch, like a sponge soaked in water.


“You have soft paws.” Byron’s voice fluttered, more than when Julian was inside him.


The fox blushed. “Shut up,” Julian argued softly, kissing harder. Soft hands rubbed that wet precum drenched cockhead. Soft hands worked the shaft. Soft hands held that rod nice and tight when the geyser shot off.


With their bodies so close Julian couldn’t avoid the splash against his chest. He sighed and reached for a tissue. “There, happy now?”


“When it’s you, I always am.”


Julian froze. The way Byron spoke filled the fox with a warm sensation he couldn’t get anywhere else. No matter how hard he tried, how much he pushed to be the proper top, it was the otter who gave him the satisfaction in the end.


“Same, love.” Julian wiped away the splooge over Byron’s stomach fur. “Same."", "pools_count": 1, "title": "The Roman and The Savage (Commission)", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/plain", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "110" }