The Telemachus Story Archive

Soldiering On
Chapter 6 - Sextus
By Anddrew Greggory

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Warm sun washed over the cream-colored marble and seemed, as it were to collect in the corners and edges of the room. Philodorus lounged in his chair chin raised, basking in the early morning light, warm and steady. The summer had begun inertest, and these soft, sensual mornings make him languorous and lazy. He could still taste the sweetness of the figs and honey he had had for breakfast.

Below him, on the other side of the wall, a small commotion drew his attention. He walked over to see what it was. There on the patio, was the doctor and several men. Philodorus remembered that today was to be the first of the treatments. He shuddered slightly, but, fascinated, could not draw back from the wall. Had the men looked up, they might have seen him watching, but it was unlikely that they would turn their attention in his direction.

“Men, there on the table are the phials. Chose one, and fill it.”


The doctor’s voice was heavily accented. It seemed more heavily accented that Philodorus remembered it.

“What part of ‘fill it’ was confusing to you, Franconis? Dump your seed into one of the phials, and return it to the tray.”

“Here? With all these brigands about? Where are the women? Where is the inspiration?”

“You must provide all the inspiration you require from your own imagination, Crassius. As to who is about, you may leave to be alone if you wish, but it seems to me you might want to prove yourself….er…. potent….. to the men you will be living with.”

The tall, blond German Alabanas walked forward, already half erect, and chose a phial. He began to fist his rising prick, making it curve up, as if it were looking to him for direction. He tipped his chin up, making his long blond curls fall back over is shoulders. Philodorus pulled back, so that he would not be seen, but once he realized the German’s eyes were closed, he leaned forward again, captivated by the sight.

The other men, one by one, some silently, some with hoots or derisive comments or laughter grabbed the phials and began, each in his own way, to work on the “task at hand.”

Philodorus looked from one to another. He had seen men masturbate before of course, but never an entire roomful, and never at the direction and under the watchful eye of another man, the man who commanded the performance.

The patio grew silent. The only sound was the occasional sigh or grunt as one of the men approached, or failed to approach the final moment. Then, the German laughed, moved the phial to his belly, above his curving prick, and began to emit gobs of thick, white fluid. He caught it all, five, six, seven bolts, in the phial and then leaned forward to milk the last several drops out. The phial was fully half full an astounding volume.

He said nothing, but put the phial on the table. His member began to grow soft and to bow again, as if expecting applause for its performance. The doctor nodded. “You may go, Alabanas.” The German stepped back, but did not leave the patio. He leaned against the wall of the patio, his hands between his ass and the warm marble, and watched.

One by one, some with laughter, some with grunts, some with what could not be mistaken gasps of relief at having accomplished the task, the men filled the phials and returned them to the table, each acknowledged by the doctor. One freckle faced man, the shortest of the group, left the patio, but the others all lingered, some wiping themselves on this hands, or on one of the towels piled at the end of the table. Some stood, fists on hips, and let their moisture dry in the air. Why did they all except the freckled one stay? to watch? to comment? nervous? relieved? Then seemed as fascinated with the practice as Philodorus.

The doctor put the phials carefully into the receptacle on the tray, picked up the tray and walked back toward the villa and out of sight. Did he look up and catch just a glimpse of Philodorus looking over the wall as he left? Philodorus was not sure.

The mood on the patio broke, and the men started to mock and deride one another, or to brag and embellish their performance. Philodorus was used to this kind of thing, and it bored him. He turned back to his chair in the sun. He sat and wondered how long it would take for the doctor to arrive with his “treatment.” Digestion would destroy the efficacy. So the preparation was to be taken through the other end. Philodorus involuntarily tightened his rectum. He was not sure how he would react to the coming invasion.

Just then, a shout arose on the patio below. A cheer, or shout, and laughter, and then a blow! Someone had been struck and the others found it amusing. Philodorus hurried to the wall and peered over. There he saw, stretched out on the table, one of the men, held face down by two of the others. The remaining men were swatting him on the buttocks. One! Two! Three! and they cheered, and the next man walked up. One! Two! Three! and then the next. Each time, the men cheered. But the remarkable thing was that the victim of this rather childish attack, did not do more than offer feigned resistance to his fate! He bucked a little, grunted when a swat was particularly heavy, and seemed to curse under his breath, but he accepted it.

They finished, all laughing in good camaraderie, and the man stood up from the table, his bottom quite well reddened, and embraced several of the men, one after another.

“Well, ok, Agrion, you took it well. Now, just don’t be the last to “come to order” next time! The last one to comply pays the price!”

“Yeah, Agrion, unless you like paying the penalty!”

“Not likely, Antoninus! More like you would enjoy, so I hear.”

“Oh indeed!” and Antoninus took a swing at Agrion, calculated to miss. Agrion shied back, and then ran around the group and high tailed it, red tailed it, Philodorus thought to himself, down the steps toward the sea. The other men followed, all naked and ablaze. Philodorus watched as they disappeared under the ridge of the hill, and their laughter faded. He watched as they re-appeard leaving the gove and crossing the narrow strip of sand, and plunged into the water. He watch as…………

“My Lord, the doctor.” Cason stepped aside as Emopocles entered, carrying a tray on which sat something hidden beneath a richly embroidered red cloth.

Philodorus acknowledged the doctor and waved Cason away.

“Excellency, I have your …… medication here ready.”

“Yes. Well. I suppose I am to take it. Now, how exactly do you propose……

“Perhaps if His Excellency were to lie here, on his belly?”

Philodorus did not look at the doctor. He did not look at anything. He walked to the chaise, lowered its back, and reclined on his belly, his feet at the edges of the chaise.

The doctor put the tray on the small table near the chaise, within Philodorus’s sight. He removed the red covering to reveal…. an elephant, with its trunk raised?

“What is that?”

“That, Excellency, is the way the medicine is to be….. delivered.” He picked up the elephant by its curved tail, and Philodorus saw that it was actually a vessel, a kind of ewer or pitcher. The elephant’s trunk was the spout. It tapered and was open on the end.

The doctor moved beside the chaise, at about the level of prone man’s knees.

“Shall I lift your tunic, sir?”

Philodorus grabbed the sides of his tunic and exposed his buttocks to the sun and to the doctor standing in it.

The doctor put his hand on the man’s right buttock, and pulled it gently to one side. His fingers dropped into the cleft, and deftly found the fundament. He massaged the ring, anointing it with some greasy unction, and slipped the tip of his finger inside.

Philodorus instinctively tightened.

“If you relax, Excellency, this will be less….. uncomfortable.”

Philodorus said nothing, looked straight ahead, relaxed his nether opening and then tightened it again.

“As you wish, your Excellency.”

He felt the cold of the porcelain push between his cheeks. He felt the tip of the spout at his back door. The doctor pushed slightly, then relented. He pushed again, and again drew back. He pushed a third time, an Philodorus drew in his breath. The pressure stopped and the spout seemed to move out. Philodorus wondered if the doctor had decided to desist. He turned to look over his shoulder, and in one motion, the spout moved forward, touched the ring, and was inside. It penetrated deeply, then more deeply, and then even more deeply into his most secret part. Philodorus’s eyes grew wide, his mouth opened, and he breathed deeply.

He felt a wet warmness, a spiciness, and somehow relaxed.

He looked up. The doctor was standing at the head of the chaise, the elephant again under its red embroidered tent. The doctor bowed.

“Do not move, Excellency, until the sand has run through this glass. Then you may…. do as your urges direct.” He inverted an hour glass and left.

Philodorus watched the sand. It would take, perhaps, a quarter of an hour, for the sand to move through the narrow waist of the hour glass. He tightened his ass, and waited.

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