I am Fabia. Technically my name is Fabia Tertia, as I am the third daughter of Titus Fabius, Senator. I can trace my family directly to the founding of Rome. Censors, Consuls, and Senators decorate my line. To be Fabia is to live a life of dignity, honor, and power. When I travel in Rome I am carried upon a covered palanquin which is guarded by a team of former gladiators, purchased specially to be house guards. My husband, Marcus Corielus, is an honored Praetor, serving with Caesar in Gaul as they work to put down the Gaulish tribes to secure that land and its riches for Rome. My man is tall and handsome, with beautiful dark eyes and like me, wealthy and famous. Our son is growing strong and healthy and will be a Senator one day, perhaps even Consul. I have slaves to attend to every detail of my life. So it would be understandable if you saw my life as perfect, a dream that others should aspire to. And in many, even most ways, it was and is. Still, I felt strong discontent.  I always wanted a life as significant as my name.

First I am a woman. Tell me, how many women have you heard addressing the Senate? How many women have ever served as a clerk, much less Consul? The answer, of course, is none. Women do not rule. Women do not vote. Politics and war are sports reserved for men. If a woman wants to make a difference in Rome, she must work through her husband. My husband does listen to me when he is home, which is rarely. I am comely and enjoy regular advances, all of whom I rebuff as beneath me. Yet, even when my husband is home, I sleep alone. For a very long time, I could not understand why. I did everything I could to entice him. I even took lessons from some catamites in the art of fellatio and developed some skill. For all my skill and ardor I could not entice Marcus back to my bed.

At first, I thought the fault lay with me. His ardor for me had cooled after my belly swelled with our son, but that was not atypical. I worried my son had ruined my canal, but I could still grip a finger, and my friend Tarquinia has five fat babies and her husband keeps filling her furrow. I could sheath a man as well as I did as a maiden, and with considerably more skill and ardor. All to no avail. Marcus was a good husband in many ways, but in the bedroom, he seemed distracted at best. 

It came as a shock when I learned the real reason. Marcus had come home from Gaul accompanied by a beautiful slave, a beauty named Antoninus with dark eyes, smooth skin, and rippling muscle. All the girls of the household had noticed this new slave and it was clear my Marcus favored him. I learned why later that night. I heard my husband moaning and went in to check on him. The scent of olives oil filled the air, and my husband was on the floor, on all fours, shiny and sweating. Antoninus crouched behind him, pressing the biggest cock I had ever seen into my husband's bottom. And my husband was as hard as he had been on our wedding night, his cock bobbing up and down as he pressed back to meet each of Antoninus's deep thrusts. I was shocked but could not look away. The men were too deep into their own passion to take account of me, pushing back into each other grunting, breathing deeply, my Marcus's cock seeping fresh pre-cum, his balls pulled up tight around him. 

Finally, my husband saw me, but he was too far into the moment to stop. Instead, the most amazing thing happened. His cock and balls began to contract, without a single touch and I watched as his milky seed spurted from his pink shaft, a thing I had struggled to achieve. Soon I heard Antoninus's cries of joy and his balls contracting as he pumped his cream into my husband's delighted bottom. They collapsed together, kissing and cooing as if I did not exist. Shocked, but also aroused, I fled back to my own room, to lay upon my own bed, and press my fingers into my cunt, to slide them up and down and rub myself. As I lay back quivering after my release I realized he would likely never warm my bed again, that for all my power and privilege I would live my life as a Vestal, chaste and barren. It made me angry and furious, and I pounded my hands upon the bed in frustration. I was not meant to sleep alone. I am Fabia, and when a woman of my blood has needs, she acts!

The question became how? It would be hard to explain a baby born in a barren bed. I could have chosen affairs and trusted the witches to keep the consequences away, but I knew from talking to other women that did not always go as planned and when it did the process could be terrible. I could, of course, take a man the way Antoninus had taken my husband, but my pussy objected. She wanted her due. But I am Fabia! All Patricians were the subject of gossip. Romans are avid gossips. Oh, a little scandal, that might be fun. But I could afford no real scandals and preserve my ambition. So I resolved to throw a party.

The guests mattered. The mix was everything. Of course, I invited close friends like Tarquinia and reform-minded women like Atia of the Julia, while mixing of Traditionalists like Servilla and Cicero's wife Terentia. I even asked the late Dictator Sulla's daughter Fausta Cornelia. Oh, this struck me as a spicy brew, but not enough. To stir the pot further I decided to invite the one woman whose very presence would ensure talk and a hint of scandal. Her name was Clodia Metella. 

Clodia was tall and beautiful with long dark hair and eyes like emeralds, Her figure was lithe and all sung praises of her beauty, none more so than the poet Catullus. She was his Lesbia, his muse, his inspiration, and frustration, for she had seduced and abandoned him. Gossip said she liked teasing a man with the possibility of paradise and then crushing him. If so, Catullus was broken. All knew of his obsession; he hardly bothered to hide it and had become a subject of gossip himself. It seemed shameful, but I had spoken with him and seen the pain and desire in his eyes. I adored the poetry that pain had inspired. I understood well how disappointment could break a heart. I had to know for myself if this Clodia matched the many rumors she had inspired. Her family was as famed as my own, she was of the highest society and her handsome brother Clodius Publius was campaigning for high office. There were rumors about them of course, rumors she had seduced her brother like so many others, but I put them down to the vicious nature of Roman politics. I did know she had seduced many husbands and made many enemies. Servilla was particularly bitter for her husband had become almost as mooney over Clodia as Catullus. 

A party requires a plan, so I made one; a carefully selected mix of guests, food, entertainment, and Falernian wine. I kept my house slaves busy getting provisions. My chef, a Greek, prepared multiple courses. Many bottles of the finest Falernian wine were procured. The house was made spotless. My boy was sent to his wet nurses. My Egyptian maid Isla dressed me in my finest stola and I wore my best jewelry and waited for my guests to arrive. And I knew they would for none refuse Fabia. 

Julia Atia arrived first. We knew each other well and likely she knew some secrets of my marriage, but Atia was not a gossip, just a good woman whom I welcomed warmly and led her to her couch in our Triclinium. I'd arranged the guest couches in a circle and set Julia to the right of the center. Then Davina to the left, Quintilla and Valeria, and of course, Tarquinia all arrived, were greeted and led to their place of honor. Tarquinia and I had been friends as girls and she took the couch to my left. 

Servilla arrived next. She was a lean woman with small eyes, a small mouth, and hair the color of sand. Her eyes were gray and she smiled and thanked me for my gifts, and then asked me about my Marcus.

“Do you know when your husband might return from Gaul? It would irk me to be bonded to such a handsome man and not to have him share my bed.”

“It is a sacrifice,” I said, careful to retain my smile. “But we are Rome, and the sons of daughters of Rome do our duty for the Republic. If Marcus can endure the separation of hardship, who am I to complain when I live in such comfort?” 

“It might be less hard on him,” she said, smiling back. “Tell me, did he take that beautiful slave of his with him?”

“He did.” It took some work to keep the smile on my face.

“Well, if I had such a man, I'd keep him close,” she said, kissed my cheek, and settled on her couch. I smiled at her and led her to the couch opposite mine. Then went to greet my next guest, Fausta Cornelia, her status as Sulla's daughter giving her an air of danger. Cicero's wife Terentia's couch lay to the right of Servilla's, nigh opposite mine. 

The last to arrive was Clodia. She already enjoyed a reputation for beauty, but even Catullus could not fully capture her presence. Her lips were brilliant red and her smile bright. Her stola was brilliant green, warm and lovely and she wore jewels on her wrists and the most clever rings upon her fingers. Her skin was fair and smooth and her shape exquisite, but it was her eyes I remember most. Green eyes shifted and focused, and I felt as though when she was looking at me as if there was no one else in the world. One look and I understood Catullus's burning need for her. I felt like a virgin meeting her beautiful bridegroom. Clodia Metella was everything I'd heard and more. But Fabia learned to hide my true feelings. 

“I'm shocked you invited me, Fabia,” she said. “My reputation is among the worst in Rome. People will talk.” And she took my hands in hers, holding them gently. 

It was shockingly intimate for a Patrician woman. But I missed being touched and her touch was not too intimate. Some women touch others, and if Clodia was one, it would only enhance her reputation for debauchery. I held her hand as I replied. “Why should I care about the gossip of strangers? Your family and mine are among the most celebrated in all of Rome. Our families have made history. Who cares what fools say?”

“Fools can damage a reputation. There are many who will not welcome me. Already they talk of you. They speak of your husband's taste for the company of men.”

“I think my husband tastes wonderful,” I said, sticking out my tongue.

“You would know his flavor better than I, but I think as rule attractive men taste wonderful, unless consumptive.”

“Well, I've only tasted the one,” I said. 

“Is that so?” she said, gently stroking my forearm. “You should branch out, as much time as you are forced to spend alone. A girl needs new experiences.”

“Well, you are new to me,” I said. “Let me show you my home. After all, this is your first visit. I'm certain it won't be your last.” I led her past the atrium, and around the main room where my guests were congregating. 

“Don't bet on that,” she said. “I recognized Servilla's palanquin. Be warned she very much dislikes me. So do Terentia and her loquacious husband. There will be sparks.”

“My life is the boring life of a Roman wife whose husband is off serving his country. I need some adventure.”

“What kind of adventure?” Her hands touched my hips, gently, nowhere too indiscrete but still very familiar. I froze for a moment, surprised. I had heard of her affairs with men, but never with women. Could Catullus's pen name for her, Lesbia, be more pointed than I had imagined? It was not impossible. Sappho herself was not the first woman to choose that alternative route. Women prefer discretion in our affairs. Most of us, anyway. 

“Adventure,” I said, aware that without a thought I had pushed back to meet her fingers. Likely she was testing me, finding out what my buttons were. And I had some. I am not touched often, and it was welcome to feel the fingers of another high-born woman upon me. Still, I figured it was a game. If she could tease me, why couldn't I return the favor? I slid my fingers along her bare waist and matched her fingers' explorations with my own. Touching and being touched by Clodia made my skin tingle. What did my touch do to her? I could only play the game and find out. “I think I could stand for a bit of fun.”

“Good, because there may be some. Later, though. First, come the fireworks! Servilla thinks I seduced her husband.”

“Did you?” I asked with an amused voice.

“Well he's a handsome one, I'll grant you that, and pretty much threw himself at my feet. I seem to have that effect on some men. In his favor, he's very well-equipped under that toga.”

“I'll take that as a yes.”

She chuckled. “People are so uptight. The Gods never forbade fornication. Jupiter himself is proof. For all his adulteries and her famed rage, Juno never leaves him. I think there is a reason, one that has nothing to do with sacred vows. I think Juno likes such excitement but keeps quiet because of her duties. And why not? Why should men have all the fun?” And her hip brushed against mine. Embarrassed and stimulated, I looked around. Thankfully I saw only my Egyptian handmaid Isla. Her eyes were flashing and locked on us both. 

“Is she your handmaid?” asked Clodia, with a sweet voice, her fingers resting on my stola. “She looks like she might have the tongue of a snake.”

“I wouldn't know.” 

“Perhaps you should find out,” Clodia said, withdrawing her touch. “She looks like she'd enjoy a taste. You'd like it too. And your husband is in Gaul, with Caesar. Out in the company of men being manly.”

So Clodia believed the rumors. If lots of people did, that could become a problem. And she'd just let me know. “I can bet you didn't hear that vile rumor from Servilla.”

“We don't speak,” she said. “But Servilla speaks to everyone and many speak to me. Family matters, but in truth, each of us gets only one life. Don't spend yours longing. Live!” She touched the small of my back, leaving me strangely light-headed.

“That's good advice,” I said looking back at Isla, whose eyes were following me, mouth open. She was my slave of course, and I could demand anything of her. But would she want to? In one sense her desires did not matter, but in truth, it did, at least to me.

“Aren't you concerned that I might seduce your husband? After all, I've seduced so many!” She laughed as if it was nothing. Her arm was in mine, holding me close. 

“Not especially,” I said.

“Well, your Marcus is far away. But he won't be gone forever.”

“Clodia, beautiful as you are, and you are breathtaking, but you lack the one thing my husband wants most.”

“A cock?” she said with a wry smile. 

“A cock,” I said. 

“I thought so. No matter. I don't gossip, I am a target of it enough. If your Marcus likes a cock those can be fashioned,” she said. “I know an artisan who performs such work. Some men love playing the girl. And some girls the man.”

My eyebrow can be arched at that. “Well, I'd have to see such a tool for myself,” I said,

“You'll like it, and likely from either side. It's quite a different feeling,” she said, fingertips sliding along my arm. “To be the man.”

“I like being a woman,” I said, breathing deeply. I had more sympathy with Catullus than ever.

“Both sides have their virtues,” she said. “But as a woman, do you miss it? His cock?

“No comment,” I admitted.

Clodia laughed. “I'll take that as a yes. Nothing wrong with liking cock in all its myriad forms. I certainly do.”

I laughed. “Well, I loved being fucked. When I was being fucked.”

“I wonder what else you like?” she said. She squeezed my hand then let me go as we returned to the others. We passed the slave quarters and she summoned her handmaid to whisper something in the girl's ear. The girl nodded and promptly left. Then we entered the main room. 

I didn't say a word, but I had goosebumps and I knew Clodia had noticed. I'd known her for ten minutes and it felt as if I were an open scroll, my whole self revealed to her. I led her back to the main room where my guests reclined upon their couches. I guided her to the couch to my right, a place of honor. Faces soured when Clodia settled there. Terentia glared. Fausta Cornelia covered her mouth. None was angrier than Servilla. 

“By Mother Juno, Fabia, why did you invite her?” Servilla's face turned deep red. Clearly, she had not gotten over her resentment. “Haven't you heard what she did with my husband?”

Clodia smiled sweetly at Servilla. “Servilla darling, Cintus says you're very dry down there. It can be a problem for women as we age,” noting that Servilla was passing her prime years. “Try a little olive oil. A little oil makes penetration so much smoother and makes possible tighter alternatives that men secretly enjoy but sometimes lack the courage to request.”

I have never seen a jaw more rapidly drop than Sevilla's. It might have gotten ugly if my old friend Tarquinia hadn't spoken up. “Clodia is so right,” she said. “Venus's fountain is a bit sparse for me, but after one of my slaves gave me that advice it transformed our relations in the bedroom. For everyone!” and she rubbed her very pregnant belly to prove it.

“I had that same problem for a while,” added Fausta Cornelia. “After my second boy, lovemaking became painful. Oil did the trick.”

Cicero's Terentia covered her mouth, frowning. Her husband's feud with Clodia's brother had gotten very ugly.

Fortunately, my girlfriends kept the topic more where I intended. “Boys are not the only ones who like tighter alternatives,” said voluptuous Cecilia wiggling on her couch. “And no one ever got with child using that route.”

“That must help with your husband off serving the Great Pompey,” said Clodia. We all laughed at that. For we had male slaves too, and one of Cecelia's was a big Nubian with fine features, lean muscles, and very smooth skin.

“Well, the front way works just fine,” I said. “It gave me my son.” That reminded everyone that my husband and I had relations. At least once. 

“Speaking of our men, is there any word from Gaul, Atia?” said Quintilla. “You must know something. Your cousin Caesar is in charge.”

“No recent reports,” she said, freeing me from that duty. “Julius says the Gauls are crafty foes and he's going to have to subdue them with patient tactics. But my brother shall triumph. His men have tremendous faith in him.”

“He's very friendly with men,” said Terentia, which drew some sharp stares. 

Rumors had been spread that Caesar had served as a catamite for the King of Nicomedia. That rumor took hold when Caesar returned from that land with many ships. Some said the rumors had been spread by Terentia's husband Cicero. “Ships for sodomy,” the wags said. I didn't take them seriously as any man with ambitions had enemies, and few were more ambitious than Julius Caesar.

“My cousin has defended Rome for years,” snapped Atia, eager to defend her cousin. “He has enemies to be sure, and enemies make up stories.” 

“Stories are not always fabricated,” said Servilla. “Of course, I was not referring to your brother Caesar, who is a brave and noble soldier. Brothers and sisters can be so close,” she said, glaring a Clodia. She really must have hated Clodia to bring up the rumors that her love affairs included her handsome brother Clodius. Many claimed Cicero himself began those rumors, and all knew both wanted to become Consul. I thought the rumors had more to do with the way Clodius had rebuffed Servilla's flirtations. He was a beautiful man who had ladies as hungry for him as men were for Clodia. I too had felt him when he was near. 

“My brother has many friends and more enemies,” said Clodia. “But it does not matter what detractors think.”

“Of course not Clodia,” said Valeria with a mean smile. Her husband was also said to have pursued Clodia.

“Still,” said Terentia, “Roman society is built on the power of the family and on tradition. Anything that damages those core values endangers the prosperity we all enjoy The weakening of one value endangers the rest, like the foundations of the Forum.”

“There is some truth to that, Terentia,” Atia replied. “But it also very easy to glorify tradition from our position of plenty.”

“Servants need to keep to their place,” said Servilla. “If the Plebians wish to enrich themselves they should do it as we Patricians did, in service to Rome.”

“Very easy to say,” said Clodia, “as we lay on couches surrounded by the plenty that seems our birthright.”

“It is our birthright,” Terentia shot back. It was clear she might hate Clodia even more than Servilla did. And to be defended, for her Cicero was not from a great family like Clodia or myself.

“A think a great many quarrymen and stonemasons might feel the same birthright,” I said, not needing to say common workmen did not live on Palatine Hill.

“The Plebians share in Rome's Glory and Wealth,” said Terentia. “If they want more they can earn it the way we did. Through hard work.” 

At that point, the food began to arrive and became the topic, our first course being sweet cakes with raspberries to wet the pallet. My chef once again proved he was worth every sesterce I had paid for him. I drew many compliments on the food, and as he prepared our meal I summoned him so he could hear them for himself. Smiling, he returned to his duties. Soon the next course of oysters stewed with lemon came out, drawing more compliments, particularly from Terentia. “Oh, I never taste anything this daring at home,” she said and we laughed, for her Cicero's stomach was notably touchy.

It was at that moment the poet I had hired arrived to recite for us. I did not hire Catullus, for though he was Rome's finest poet, his obsession with Clodia would have provided a bit too much excitement. Lucretius was excellent but his long-winded epics were out of place for a light party and I did not wish to put everyone to sleep. For that night I had hired Gracchus, a plebeian poet who was acquiring a bit of a reputation for ribald and humorous verse. Gracchus's lusty verses were perfect for many of us who had husbands abroad and our bellies full of wine. I greeted him and slipped him his purse. He was an older man and smelled a bit of wine, but then poets often drank, it seemed to feed their art. 

He took his purse, a fresh glass of Falernian wine, and after a few generous sips began to recite: 

The Moon it has come late again,
My Venus is disturbed
Her husband fights with Caesar,|
None can say when He'll return.

Her belly it is swelling,
The witches can't stop it now.
She thinks I should take her with me,
And together we blow this town.

Her hubby is a centurion,
His sword is sharp and long,
Wiser to get a move on,
If I wish to keep my dong,

My wife she is a-nagging,
She needs another slave,
My daughter is a Vestal,
Who never shall get laid.

My Venus she entices,
Her pussy so wet and tight,
Her moans they do excite me,
I think we'll leave tonight!

“Bravo, bravo,” said Clodia. “Now there's an honorable scoundrel.”

We laughed, for Clodia was not the only one in the room who had inspired a couple of rumors. Romans patricians get what we want, and generally when we want it. 

“This poem,” said Gracchus, “Was not written for Vestia, may Her hearth always burn. It's short and sweet, like most men in the saddle.” We laughed at that and he began to recite: 

Jupiter be King of Gods,
Was wed to Juno fair,
Though their wedding vow is sacred
Jupiter does not seem to care.

His cock it is his compass,
It points to maidens fair
It leads him to still waters,
and to take many a dare

With white swans swam a Spartan Queen,
So lovely was Queen Leda,
Jupiter saw her naked and wet,
And up it sprang his peter! 

Leda was Spartan Queen,
Full of pride and virtue,
Jupiter's thoughts were quite obscene,
Things she might not prefer to.

But Leda fair swam with the swans
Whose Feathers are white and pure,
Jupiter wants to carry on,
While she remained demure,

He called upon the eagle,
And soon a deal was struck
As a swan the eagle shall chase him
With Leda he'll try his luck.

At her side Jupiter alights
As a swan who flees pursuit
From Leda's wrath the Eagle ran,
Their chase put her in the mood.

How fair thou art!
Thou lovely swan!
Safe here in my boudoir!
Her legs did part,
Jupiter's prick so long
Pushed into her coot-er!

In! Out! In! Out!
Leda cried out in joy!
Jupiter's seed
Was strong indeed!
As they lay together in joy

Leda's belly swelled so large,
Two daughter's they emerged
Lovely Helen to Paris's arms
While Clytemnestra perturbed

Why must you lust?
Proud Jupiter,
With Juno waiting at home?
I am King,
And kings all swing,
And maidens should not sleep alone!

We laughed and clapped and refilled Gracchus's glass. If poets drinking led to more laughter, then more wine is a positive good!

“If Jupiter comes to me, I hope he comes as a centaur,” I said, which drew laughs. 

“Did you spend much time as a girl watching the stallions?” asked Tarquinia. “I knew I did. Particularly when they found a willing mare.”

“Nothing is quite like a horse,” said Servilla, joining in the banter for the first time. 

“Are you sure you want that much mass?” said Atia. “I should be ruined by a centaur.”

“The ruin me,” said Clodia which drew laughs. And so began a fresh rumor.

“I should not be ruined,” said Tarquinia, “but stretched. I need a good workout.”

“Your swollen belly suggests you've had one,” said Clodia. Which led to more laughter and Tarquinia's full breasts shook as she joined in. 

“The baby kicks enough to make me regret it,” said Tarquinia, but as a matter of pride. A kicking baby was a healthy baby.

“I've always wondered what it would be like to fuck a God,” said Terentia. “Would it be so different from a mortal cock?”

“Hopefully Jupiter would last longer than my Gaius,” said Fausta. “But given all the children Jupiter had seeded over the years and Juno's wrath, the King of the Gods probably loses his bolt quickly lest he be caught in the act.” 

That led to much laughter. 

“I think they fight then fuck,” said Atia. “I'm told such sparring can be an excellent appetizer if you're of a certain mind.” 

“It does sometimes stiffen a man's resolve,” observed Clodia, whose own marriage could best be described as stormy. “And men are best when manly. Women, we're a different matter. ” And she shot me a smoldering glance. I shivered a bit but laughed with the others at her jest. 

There was much laughter at that, and Gracchus seemed to enjoy our banter and ventured a few jests as well. I could see our slaves watching from the doorways, enjoying treats prepared for them, relaxing between their duties while enjoying their poetry. In a few minutes, Gracchus began again, this time a poem about Minerva fending off advances from Vulcan, and then one by another name about a man who had people assassinated to steal their properties, which set Fausta Cornelia tight-lipped as it was about Marcus Crassus, a fabulously wealthy ally of her father's, but with enough obscured that no one could be accused. Gracchus concluded with a poem about a rich patrician who could not tell who had fathered her child. We laughed, but a few faces were red. Then he bowed and left, the last course of fruits was brought and people began to file out. Servilla began the exodus after Gracchus left with an extra bottle of wine. 

As she left Servilla whispered, “If you invite Clodia again leave me out.”

“Of course, I will respect your wishes,” I said with a smile. Servilla glared at her return. Terentia was more discrete but pointed out that I had chosen a very mixed company. I smiled as that was part of the point. 

One by one they filed out until it was just Clodia and me in the room with our slaves. I looked at her and said, “I'm not ready for sleep. Care to sit on our patio and enjoy some wine under the stars?”

“I'd be delighted,” she said, stepping close to me again taking my hands and hers and gently teasing my palm. “You're very different than I expected.” I felt her hand slip into mine and our fingers laced together as we walked. 

“As are you,” I said, very aware of her body. I had liked her touch. I liked being touched. Patricians rarely are, and her fingers stimulated me in ways I was not unwilling to explore. “You are famed for your dalliances with men,” I added. “Are they all with men, or are women just that much more discrete?”

“As that what we're having, a dalliance?” she asked. 

“It's a good word,” I said, rubbing my hip up against hers. “I'm not Catullus.” I slid my fingers onto her bottom, running my fingertip along her crack slowly gently, and low enough Clodia could feel my fingertip press against her sex. “There will be no great public displays of affection. I am no poet. What we do, or do not do, shall remain private. There is talk enough about my family, thanks to my husband. But he is a good man who actually listens to me, and likely to go places in Caesar's orbit. I am not content with a woman's lot. If I can't have a voice at the table, I'd at least like a voice at the dinner table.”

“Oh, I understand,” she said as her own fingers moved to squeeze my own bottom. “Cicero spreads his rumors about me to feed his own ambitions and defeat my brother's, and Caesar's as well. Which is a shame. Clodius listens to me. It amazes me how many Romans think we can prosper using only male brains. Still, men do have advantages. They go to war, which teaches lessons and sometimes gains glory. They get out more than we can in our cocoons. Have you spent much time outside Palatine Hill? You might want to if you really want to serve Rome. Have you ever explored the Suburra as a plebeian?” The Suburra was Rome's district for vice. There was a certain energy in her voice as she mentioned that spot.

“Perhaps one day you'll take me,” I said. “In disguise.”

“Absolutely in disguise! But it is possible. And fun!” 

I led her down the hallway to my patio. Slaves brought torches to illuminate it. Couches were carried out but we both lay on the same one, so the other was carried off. Clodia leaned over to kiss me. Her lips were soft and gentle, and her fingers ran through my hair and caressed my scalp. Her lips were soft, full, and sensual. She turned and pressed into me, her tongue snaking into my mouth, intense and taking, my own reaching out to meet hers to dance as one. The weight of her, though she was light, felt perfect on my chest as her fingers glided across my skin. I felt small flames prickling beneath my skin, my blood flowing and breathing into Clodia's mouth, her lips. My hands went to her stola, it hid too much, I craved all of her, bared for me, her electric skin pressed so softly to my own. I felt her breathing into me, as well, her breath hot and sweet, tasting of Falernian wine and another flavor, the taste of Clodia, exotic and like nothing my chef could manage, no matter his skill, a precious flavor that fed my hunger. 

My hands went to her waist, peeling the fabric off. Her skin was smooth as glass but warm, her body firm and angular, not soft like so many Patrician women, but firm from exercise. Her thigh pressed between my legs, onto my mound, and rocked with sweet pressure as she planted kiss after kiss upon my face. 

“By Minerva, you enchant me,” I said, expressing in words a fraction of what my body felt. She rocked into me, and I pressed my own hip to her mound, repeating a trick I'd learned as a girl experimenting with Tarquinia. Together we rocked in a steady rhythm. The pressure shot to my cunt, my wet cunt, my leaking needy cunt! I was wet as I had been on my wedding night or the night I watched my husband ridden by Antoninus. I pulled her tight and shoved my tongue deep into her mouth. 

Long, elegant fingers unwrapped me, pulled apart my stola, baring my bosom, small and ripe, nipples pinched between Clodia's fingertips, a bit of pain that want straight to my cunt. I pushed my fingers inside her dress, squeezing her ripe bottom. It thrilled me that Clodia undulated to my touch.

“Oh, I did underestimate you, Fabia,” she said in a hiss and buried her mouth in my chest. Such a smooth face and firm teeth pinned my nipples as her tongue sought my center and swirled over my skin, wetting me and making me aflame in one motion. My hands held her to my bosom, I did not try to stop her as she undressed me and laid me bare and shiny upon the couch. I did the same for her, glad to see her, to see her above me, mounting me, her sex leaving trails of slick secretions upon my thigh. 

And then Clodia dove between my legs. Her mouth pressed to my mound and I heard her breathing deeply before extending her tongue. Up and down she licked me, making me leak more, and my hips pump in delight at this new and unfamiliar pleasure. She licked me patiently, her lips and tongue missing nothing as they glided up and down to the rhythm of our breathing hearts. Mine was pounding in my chest, my hands were in her hair, holding her tight to my pussy where no one had ever been before. 

“A snake, a snake, your tongue slithers like a viper into me!” I cried out, mashing her mouth to my sex. Clodia just licked me, up and down, up and down, my hips matched her tongue grinding and grinding as two fingers slid into my cunt, stretching me. 

That did it, I was lost, head-spinning body lost in spasms. Juices poured from my lips onto her mouth, but she did not slow. Clodia was not content with one eruption, the greedy woman wanted more! And greedy me was delighted to surrender it. 

“Oh, if only you had a cock!” I sighed. 

Clodia looked up at me, resting her beautiful face on her palm. “Oh, but I do!” She snapped her fingers and her girl came forward, holding a small box. “I'm going to show you how a real man fucks a woman.”

She stepped off the couch and her slave girl opened the box for her. It was a harness of leather, holding a phallus of smooth polished green marble, bigger by far than my husband, bigger even than lovely Antoninus jutting from a leather codpiece. A smaller phallus pointed backward I watched as her slave girl knelt before her Mistress, helping Clodia step into her harness, helping the rear prick slide into her Mistress, who was clearly wet and ready. I got the idea they had played this game before, as the girl seemed more than happy to tighten the straps about Clodia's thighs and waist. And I could see my own Isla, watching from the bushes, her mouth open and wet, her eyes big as my guest prepared to mount me. 

And finally tall and imperious, with the green marble phallus jutting from her mound, Clodia returned to our couch. I pulled my legs back, wide open, rotating my hips upward for her, offering herself. “You don't look the least bit mannish,” I said with a chuckle my own fingers gliding down to my slit, wet and eager. “You have prepped me so well. I think not a drop of olive oil will be needed.”

“Not tonight,” Clodia said, climbing between my legs. “But one day I will show you why your husband loves his ass filled. I will show you why the Greeks understand that both women and men cry out to be fucked.” 

Her hands went on my shoulders, pushing me back, she found my pussy mouth and pressed, and once my lips parted she drove it hard and deep into me.

How does it feel to be fucked? To see someone regal as Clodia above me, to feel thrust after thrust driving into my cunt. To hear my own cries of ecstasy drowning out the chirp of crickets, to push back so eager for more, for the stretching and the surrender of my cunt to her. I moaned and whimpered in delight and Clodia grunted with each breath. Our breasts bounced with each thrust, my body was swelling, as she fucked me with the most delicious brutality. My cunt was singing a song of lust, punctuated by the squishing sound of our love, the grunting, the creaking of the couch and finally my own screams mingled with hers as we together reached our peaks, bodies exploding in a joy I had thought belonged only to the Gods themselves. 

She collapsed on my grunting. My hands grabbed her bottom and pulled her tight. Our lips met again, softly tenderly even as we shared the wetness of our now sweaty bodies. “Oh, Clodia,” I exclaimed. “None have ever ridden me with such joy and abandon. My fingers caressed her with love and felt her own on my face, our breasts tight together, skin tight with joy as we struggled to breathe.”

She kissed me softly. “I shall have one of these made for you,” she said. “So that when needed I shall not have to send my handmaid out to collect mine.”

“That would be lovely, Clodia. Because I do hope we will do this often.”

“Often as discretion allows,” she said with a smirk. “Besides, I think your handmaid may also enjoy being so ridden.” 

It was then I noticed Isla in the corner, her own fingers well up into her own slick cunt. “I think you're right,” I said, kissing Clodia intensely before she slipped away. 

“I must go now,” she said. “People will talk if I stay longer.”

“Servilla is already talking.”

“No doubt,” Clodia said. “But she's talking about me. Not about the Fabia whose ambition it is to rule from behind the throne.” Her handmaid came to help her take off her harness, which glistened with my juice.

“You are wise,” she said. “But this is not our last ride.”

“No,” she said as the toy went back into its box. “I have much to show you Fabia Tertia.” 

“And I have much to learn,” I said, turning to show her my bottom. Seeing her I decided I would swim more often. I did not want to grow soft like Tarquinia. I rose and kissed her one last time, a long lingering kiss before my slaves led her out. 

I headed back to the couch, to see Isla kneeling in the corner. “Come,” I called to her and lay down naked on my couch. 

And with a smile, Isla came.