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smthino-odiffrnt · 28 days ago

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Marcus Acacius's daughter gets caught up in his attempt to dispose the twin Emperors.

9k words.

All smut, no plot. Threesome. OC (fem)

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*** Preamble***

Marcia was Marcus Acacius's daughter from his first marriage. She has been kept safe by her father and his second wife, Lucilla. Always at their estate or under the watchful eye of supervision. She could count the amount of parties she had been to on one hand, all hosted in her own home.

She learned not to mind, realizing how much effort her father made to keep her safe. What did it matter that she was a woman grown without knowing any man besides her father and their private guards.

Marcus Acacius's life has grown into being the top general of the Roman army.

Under the rule of the twin Emperors; Geta and Caracalla, Marcus Acacius's life has become hell. Sent off to fight war after war with little reprieve from the bloodshed. What had mattered to him became all the more precious.

When his wife suggests an end to his and the Empires suffering, Acacius takes the chance to rid the world of the twin Emperors not realizing how much it would cost him.

The plotting would not only cause his and his wife's life to be in danger and expose Lucilla's long lost son to those she meant to protect him most from, but throw his daughter into the hands of the greedy Emperors.

***The Night of Acacuis's Coup***

There was rustling and she knew something was wrong.

This wasn’t the usual rustle from servants beginning their day. No. There was a tension in the air. The same static charge one would feel before a lightning storm. Marcia’s hand crept under her pillow, feeling for the smooth ivory handle that she knew would be there.

There it was, the confirmation she needed, shuffled feet and mumble speech.

She gripped the handle tight, until she could feel her knuckles straining. She swung the pugio out as soon as she heard the leather sandals rub against the stone floor beside her bed. It landed square in the praetorian guard's neck. His hands reached up to his throat on instinct enabling Marcia to pull his sword from the sheath at his side. As he crumpled down she rolled across the bed landing opposite of the remaining guard.

To say she didn’t expect this would be a lie. Marcia had heard the hushed conversation between her father, his wife Lucilla, and the senators that shared their mindset. She knew what he had planned. Of his army making its way towards Rome’s gates. That the Emperors knew of it was a small surprise. She had expected one of the senators to betray them. Probably Thraex, he seemed the type. Killing his men would have been less of a problem, but now that she had the blood of a praetorian guard on her hands, there would be no good end to this.

Marcia took a defensive stance watching the remaining guard carefully. He started to shout so she ran for him using all her weight to shove her shoulder square into his belly. He grunted and staggered to the ground, but not before he managed to get out, “I need help!" in a loud baritone.

Shit, this was worse. She shoved the stolen blade into his throat watching him choke on his own blood before she had to withdraw and watch the door.

Maybe she could run. Jump out the window. No, she was on the second floor of a building with very high ceilings. That would be an equally painful death. Lucilla’s son. Yes, that gladiator that they kept talking about in hushed tones. Her father was supposed to be rescuing him tonight. Perhaps they didn’t know about that. Maybe she could find a way to them.

With a plan in mind, though a weak one, she ran out her chamber doors. Her bare feet slammed hard against the marble tiles as her eyes took in the chaos of her home. Slaves and servants herded together to be taken away and Lucilla being dragged off by two guards.

“Another one!”

She hears it, but doesn’t see who said it, still running, to focused on finding a way out. The servants' passages, that was the smartest.

She turned the corner only to have her chest run into what felt like a tree branch. Marcia landed against the stone floors. Her head slammed so hard that she saw stars for a moment. Her breath had left her, the gladius she stole clanging to the floor. She crumbled to the side as she clutched her chest, wheezing. Before she had even managed to take in air large hands grabbed her forearms and dragged her up.

They shoved her in with Lucilla, threatening to kill both of them if one of them tried to escape.

“I’m so sorry my dear,” Lucilla’s voice sounded as if she was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t be. You were only doing what you believed to be right, mother,” Marcia said as she leaned her head against the older woman, taking what comfort she could. Lucilla wasn’t technically her mother, but with Marcia’s own mother dying in childbirth, her father’s second wife was the only one she had ever known.

The pair of them traveled in silence. Both knowing there had been too much said already. Anything more would just be used against them.

The troop stops in front of the palace, dragging both women roughly into the massive structure. It was opulent to be sure. Part of Marcia wished she had gotten to see it in its full splendor. That she had been allowed to go to any of the elaborate parties or festivals that the Emperors frequently hosted. Instead her father kept her nestled away at his and Lucilla’s estate. Marcia had understood why. Powerful men were always a problem. No, was a foreign word to them, one that they rarely responded well to. Marcia was content with being kept away from such men, learning the art of war from her father and philosophy from Lucilla.

All Marcus’s efforts of protection were for not as they were dragged before the twin Emperors. The night was still far from over.

The praetorians let go of Lucilla allowing her to stand, with her chin held high as she made her way towards the others in the room. Their grip on Marcia however did not loosen. All she could do was watch the scene play out while they kept her a safe distance from the Emperors. The last thing the guards wanted was her finding another blade. General Acacius was behaving himself at least.

Emperor Caracalla, only dressed in a makeshift toga, hollered and swung his sword at them. He seemed erratic, near mad. If it wasn’t for his brother, Emperor Geta, Marcia was certain that they would have all been killed that night. But Geta’s white hot rage was no better. Devising the plan to have her father enduring the arena till his blood was spilled on the sand. At this Marcia could stand it no longer. The shriek from her came deep from within, at the horror of being left behind by her father, her only flesh and blood left in the whole world. She shifted her weight to her right leg, shoving that shoulder in the guard and pulling her left away from the other as he took in what was happening.

She ran for him, desperate with the need to touch her father again. She could hear the guards at her heels as she crashed into her father. His arms wrapped around her as he spoke to her. “Don’t cry my love. I have lived a long life. I would gladly give up my life for Rome,” he says in his calm stoic voice, managing to place a kiss in her head before she’s dragged back by the guards. They changed their hold so that they now had her with their outer arm holding her forearm and their arm closest to her grabbing her bicep, preventing her from repeating the move again.

Her sorrow now turned sour as she glared at the men responsible. They looked ridiculous. Caracalla, with his bedsheet draped around him while he swung a gladius around like a child playing soldier and Geta, with his open red robe and reminisce of makeup on his skin, he looked so feminine compared to how her father always presented himself. They were both so pale, Marcia wondered if the sun had ever even touched their skin. Her father taught her to have a distaste for men with too soft of hands, and theirs were the softest in the empire.

“Is this your daughter, dear Acacius?” Geta asked, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. At the lack of response for Acacius Geta knew it must be the case. He made his way towards her, taking advantage of how tightly his guards were holding her. “What a pretty little thing. No wonder you kept her hidden. Tell me, were you shipped off with your brother? Or did they send you somewhere else?” he questions with a sickly soft voice. The back of his hand stroked down her cheek as she shuddered under his touch, unable to keep eye contact with his cold black eyes.

“If you mean Lucius, he is not my brother,” Marcia manages to get out through gritted teeth as she stares at the floor. She wanted him to move away, to bring his focus back to her father. She couldn’t breathe with him this close, his musky perfumed scent filling her lungs.

“One less person to miss then,” he says. His black eyes stare at her before he finds himself again, pulling back.

“Your Imperial Majesty, what would you have us do with her?” one of the Praetorian’s asked.

“Just throw her in with Lucilla,” Geta sighs, flipping his wrist as if it was obvious.

“Emperor, she must pay,” the guard’s gruff voice shuddered through her.

Geta turns, sitting down on his throne to look at his Pretorian. “Why must she pay exactly?” he asks, the irritation clear in his tone. He had decided their fates already and wanted to head to bed, to get what rest was left of the night.

“She killed two of your men.”

This had him looking up, his eyes wider than before looking at the guard who had just spoken of the girl in their arms. She couldn’t be more than twenty, between her size and the fact that she was still unwed.

“Two of them?” he asked, his eyes narrowing on her.

“Yes, your majesty. An attack on your guard is an attack on you.”

“I know what it means!” Geta snaps, his voice becoming shrill.

His outburst drew the attention of his brother who pointed the sword he was playing with down so its tip rested on the ground, resting his chin on the hilt a little. “She killed two grown men?” his voice was surprisingly soft as he asked the question, tilting his head in query.

“Yes, Emperor Caracalla.” With each word out of the guards mouth Marcia felt her fate sealed more and more.

“And you would admit this publicly?” Caracalla asks him. He watches the guard shuffle around, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words. The Emperor couldn’t help but burst out into laughter. “Maybe we should throw her into the games too brother,” he jests with more laughter.

Fuck, this was getting worse by the moment.

Geta’s dark eyes looked to her again, his brows slightly pinched, taking her in. They did have to do something with her. It felt like a pity to kill off someone so beautiful, with her olive skin, warm brown eyes and dark hair. She looked enough like her father to make it funny to him. A small breathy laugh escaped as a vision crossed his mind. “No, I have a better idea.”

Marcus could see the wicked look in Geta’s eye. He had been through too many campaigns, seeing that exact same look on many a soldier’s face when sacking a city. “NO!” he shouts, stepping forward before he remembers himself. All the guards in the room had their hand on the hilt of their sword in a second, save for the two holding Marcia. His eyes flicked up to the twin Emperors, a vindictive look was added to Geta's previous lustful gaze. “Please, anything but that,” Marcus begs, his voice getting caught in his throat. He had faced death countless times, but this moment brought tears to his eyes.

“Oh definitely that,” Geta confirmed his worst fears. A maniacal grin spread across his face as walked towards her, keeping his eyes peeled on his once triumphant General. As he made his way towards her, his robe billowing in the wind, Marcia began to tug against the guard's tight hold, desperate to flee from him. She would pull her arms out their sockets if that’s what it took, but she couldn’t even make them budge as he stalked ever closer. She might be untouched, but she knew exactly what he was implying. Every warning her father ever gave her ringing through her head. The tall Emperor looked down on her with a face of indifference before his right hand reached around, gripping the hair at the base of her neck. Her hands, the moment the guards released them, flung up to where Geta held her. She tried to pull his hand away, to loosen his grip even just a little, but his hand felt as if it was made of iron. He dragged her over towards her father, ignoring the feeling of her nails digging into his wrist. Caracalla’s giggle echoes through the hall. Finally some entertainment. “I think becoming the Emperors’ whore is the perfect fate for her,” Geta says, tilting her head back, forcing her to look up at him. “She is beautiful,” his breath fans across her face causing her to shudder, in his grip.

“Why you-” Marcus begins, lunging towards them before Geta cuts him off.

“Praetorians!” he shouts. The guards quickly grabbed Acacius. “Take him away. Booth of them,” he says, shooing them away with his spare hand. He pushes her head up, moving it so it follows her family’s departure. “Look look look,” he whispers into her ear. “There they go. Any chance of saving is being forced out the room. They can not save you. No one can. Not for what we have in store for you.”

She hears Caracalla’s laugh echo through the room. She wants to cry but the feeling of Geta’s tongue licking up the side of her neck sends shivers down her spine. “Look at her quake,” Caracalla laughs at her. When she hears Geta snickering join his brother’s a fire is lit within her again.

She twists down and in, punching Geta in the gut. Marcia feels his hand release before hearing him grunt. She takes the opportunity and bolts as fast as she can. She can hear Caracalla’s maniacal laughter as she flees from the room. The halls are nearly empty with most of the praetorians leading General Acacius away.

“What are you doing? Go after her!” Geta groans at his brother as he begins to stand, the punch had more force than he expected from a woman.

Cara needed no more encouragement. He dropped the sword and took off in a sprint after her. Though he had little experience in running, the thrill of the chase coursed through him. A deranged laugh made its way out as he caught sight of her running down the halls. She was blind to where she went, desperate to find some kind of safe haven. Caracalla had to signal the guards to deter them from helping. No, this fun was for him and his brother alone.

When she skittered at a dead end he took his chance to pounce on her, tackling her to the hard ground. He made sure she took the brunt of the fall. Using her disorientation from the fall he pins her hands to the floor beside her head and uses the weight of his lower body to keep her down. He giggled while she writhed under him, kicking and screaming. It only made him laugh more.

It was this sight that Geta walked in on. Seeing his brother’s poorly done toga beginning to fall apart. It was a little funny to watch his younger brother try to fondle such an angry victim. “Brother,” his voice interrupted them. Cara looked up, making sure to hold her still. There was a glint to his eyes, the shine of his gold tooth. The same that he had when they watched the games together. “Grab a leg,” Geta sad as he leaned down and proceeded to grab one of her ankles waiting till Caracalla grabbed the other. Before she had the chance to fight back the brothers began dragging her on her back towards where their guards waited. They dropped her at their feet. Geta uttered, “bring her to my chambers,” before they walked off.

One of the guards roughly picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder, making sure to keep her legs pinned so that she couldn't kick him. He follows after the Emperors, dropping her when Geta prompts him upon entering his chambers. Once again she lands hard on the cold stone floor.

But this time she’s ready for it. She rolls with the fall, lessening the pain. Using the time she knew that she had, she sprung up reaching her hand out and clasping it around the praetorian’s hilt. She pulled it out, swinging it up in a fluid motion, the tip caught at his chin and scraped across his face. He clutched at it, rearing back in pain. Caracalla laughed at the sight, not wanting the entertainment to end, but Geta grabbed one of his gladius's, bringing it to Marcia’s throat. “Tsk tsk tsk. Drop it,” his voice was deadly calm.

“Kill me,” she utters, pressing her neck into the blade. The small sting felt like a life line distracting her from the dread she felt.

“You think dying would grant you peace?” Geta said with a smirk. “Know that if you die now your father will meet a worse death than in the colosseum. Crucifixion. Or maybe thrown off Tarpeian Rock?” With her eyes focused on the gladius pointed at her neck, Marcia failed to notice Geta’s hand tick in a quick gesture to his brother. Cara easily slipped out of her peripheral, making his way towards her back. Before she has a chance to answer Caracalla makes his move. Wrapping his arms over hers, getting her to drop the sword as he pulled them back. “If kill yourself, get killed or otherwise become too difficult…”

“Your father dies a most gruesome death,” Caracalla’s light crackling voice whispers in her ear.

“I’m just to lie back and let you have your way with me?” Marcia grits out.

Geta sks at her while Caracalla laughs. “Where’s the fun in that?” Caracalla questions her, tightening his grip.

“We have real whores for that. Ones who are no doubt better at it than you,” Geta teases. The sting hurt somehow, as if being pure was now a failing of hers. He comes forward, taking the opportunity to gently stroke her face again. He loved how she shivered under his touch. “It doesn’t matter if you resist or lie back like a good little girl. My brother and I will do exactly as we wish,” he said. His hand snaked through her hair making a fist at the back of her skull. The power of being emperor coursing through his veins. He tugged her down as Caracalla knocked out the back of her legs, Marcia’s knees thudding to the floor. Caracalla let go of her arms as she fell, enabling her to grab at Geta’s iron fist. “Now, open your mouth.”

Geta pulled open his robe revealing his engorged cock, suddenly feeling very awake despite it being the middle of the night. Marcia hesitates for a moment looking at the pale veiny thing in front of her face, glistening with precum. It was larger than statues depicted, but somehow looked more like stone than flesh. No doubt the hardest thing on the soft handed emperor. The idea of having something that large in her mouth had Marcia swallowing hard.

Geta tightened his grip and shaking her head roughly till her mouth opened ever so slightly. Cara laughs, only stopping to watch his brother push his cock against her mouth. The salty musk of him filled her senses as he pressed against her top lip. He hooked his thumb around her bottom teeth, pulling her mouth open enough to push his head against her velvet tongue.

Geta has had better. Much better. She kept her mouth around him, using her tongue to try and keep him back to prevent her from gagging. But the sight of her more than made up for it. Truly the female visage of her father. It felt as if he was mouth fucking General Acacius himself. It felt like power. The defiance in her eyes made it feel that much sweeter.

He pulled out for a moment, his spare hand slapping her jaw roughly. Her scowl drops as her eyes open wide in shock, she was under the impression that cooperation would be the less painful root. “Suck on it,” he says breathlessly. He shoves it back in groaning as he feels her hollow out her cheeks. It felt embarrassing and shameful and Marcia felt like she could hardly breath, but some part of her body started to betray her. A small thrum began in-between her thighs. Like a drum beat from the gods.

The pull of the suction causes a shiver to travel up his spine. His head lulled back as he fucked her mouth. It was the whimper of his brother that brought him back. Caracalla’s would-be toga discarded to the floor as he pawed at his own cock. Stroking himself at the sight of them. Geta pulled her off his member. “Now, my brother,” he says as he manhandles her head to face Caracalla’s erect cock. He has to pull harder on her hair before he can shove her opening mouth upon his brother’s throbbing cock.

The shorter length was easier to manage, though Caracalla thrust at a much faster rate. He hit the back of her throat several times causing Marcia to gag on him, nearly losing whatever was left in her stomach. Geta kept a firm grip on her, enjoying how he was making sure she took care of his brother. Caracalla’s hands joined his, holding her by the top of her head as he continued his brutal pace.

Geta looked up and saw his brother’s jaw begin to twitch and flex. He yanked her off his brother’s cock so hard that she fell backwards onto the floor. He didn’t want the fun to end too soon. Caracalla panted and caught his breath after being so close to cumming, though didn’t do his usual complaining at being forced to stop.

Marcia was getting too used to ending up on the floor. She scrambled up again. Maybe she could become just annoying enough that they would grow tired of her. Make them work a little too hard. Marcia plants her feet in a defensive position looking at the pair of them. Caracalla was completely naked now. A happy smile on his face as he looked at her. Geta’s red robe hung open, showing off his pale stomach and thighs. A devilish smirk spread on his face as he locked eyes with her.

“That’s it,” he coos.

“Play the game with us,” his brother taunts.

“What game you sick fucks!?” she yells at them. They looked far too pleased with themselves, having already taken her mouth.

“Cat and mouse. Run and chase,” Caracalla pauses, “predator and prey. Whatever you want to call it.”

“The one where you try to get away,” Geta adds.

“And what if I just give myself up?” she asks. Marcia could feel her fear trickling up her arms.

The joint Emperors laugh. Geta answers, “there’s too much fight in you.” He grins at her slowly walking to her right as Caracalla moves to her left. “So, much like your father,” he teased.

Not wanting to get pinned in, Marcia runs straight towards the large table at the far end of the chamber. She slides across it, knocking things as she made it to the other side, making it a barrier between her and them.

Glancing to one another, each brother grabs the edge closest to him. Pushing up together, flipping the table and scattering its contents towards her. Their twin laughs mix with Marcia’s shocked scream. Platters clattering and goblets smashing all around her. Marcia had to back up to avoid cutting her bare feet on the broken glass.

She spotted Geta first, rounding the right side of the massive table that now laid on its side. Marcia split left taking a wide turn, hoping to avoid Caracalla who was making his way to the corner closest to him.

“That’s it. Come on!” Geta’s voice echoes through the chamber. Caracalla’s laugh follows behind.

They liked this game too much. It wasn’t going to work. Clearly it only spurred them on. ‘If this is a game then there has to be a way for me to win,’ Marcia thought to herself. ‘So, how? How do I win?’

“How does the game end then?” she asks, trying to ignore her heart rate.

“We catch you and fuck you,” Caracalla says with a laugh.

“That’s if you win,” Marcia adds. She keeps slowly stepping backwards. Her eyes darted from one of the emperors to the other.

“We always win,” Caracalla’s cheery voice answers her.

“You can’t win,” Geta says. His eyes followed her carefully. She was backing herself into a corner. Excitement was bubbling inside of him. Picturing how she’ll look when she realises there is nowhere for her to run to. How her eyes will widen, her mouth will open and she’ll start pleading and begging, his cock twitched at the image.

“So, you both just use me and then I’m free to go?” She knew there was a table over here, but where was it? Why hadn’t she run into it yet?

“You go to the Praetorians next.” There was the shock he loved to see. “Your body as payment for the lives you took,” Geta explains. There it was the moment he was waiting for, her ass had hit the edge of the table.

But the wide eyes didn’t come. Instead her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Marcia’s hand reached back grabbing any object from behind. She flung the small metal cup she had managed to find, throwing it at Geta. He turned his shoulder letting the cup hit him in the side, laughing. Her next projectile was a fig wielded towards Caracalla. Who screamed as it hit in the shoulder, a little more surprised by the attack than his brother was.

He let out a small whimper as he rubbed his barely bruised shoulder. She threw another, taking advantage of the full bowl of fruit. Geta hit the next one targeted at him away, becoming agitated. The second one that hit Caracalla wacked him in the head. He whimpered again, rubbing the spot on his head as tears pricked at his eyes.

Geta couldn’t stand it. No one made his brother cry. Not any more. Least of all a traitorous bitch. “Enough,” Geta barked. His long strides brought him to her within seconds, ignoring the objects that hit him in the chest. Marcia hadn’t realised how fast he could be when he wanted. Geta’s hand gripped her throat before she could blink. “Say sorry,” he growled at her, squeezing tightly.

Marcia tried to breath in a ragged breath, turning her eyes towards the snivelling Caracalla. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed. Geta’s grip tightened. Her eyes felt as if they might pop out of her head.

Caracalla sniffled a few times before looking up at her, he wiped his eye with the back of his hand. His slightly teary eyes met hers. “You don’t really mean it,” he says, his chin having a small tremble.

Geta leans in close, his breath fanning along her cheek. His nose nudges the shell of her ear as he says, “go show my brother you mean it.”

He gives a quick threatening squeeze before releasing her. Geta watched her carefully as Marcia took slow tentative steps towards his brother. Caracalla looked so much like a boy when he acted this way. It reminded Geta of their youth and what they had to endure. Never again would they suffer by the hands of another.

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracks a little. It was hard to talk with her throat still tender from Geta’s harsh grip.

When Caracalla’s mood doesn’t shift she looks back to Geta. His face is unflinching. It was clear to her that he expected her to try harder. Marcia sucked in a deep breath a foot away from Caracalla now. Her hands tentatively touched his shoulders, settling in when he didn't flinch away. She bites hard on her bottom lip, letting the pain drown out her thoughts as she leans in. Being close in height she only has to press her heels up maybe an inch off the floor before their lips met.

Marcia didn’t realize how soft they would be. Somehow thinking they would be like stone. Caracalla returned the kiss with soft gentle movements, allowing her to drag him out of the fog he was in. As the world came back into focus he wrapped his hands around her back and neck drawing her in to deepen the kiss. Their mouths parted and Marcia could taste the slight metallic from his gold tooth.

She got lost. It felt like drowning as their mouths collided again. The first time she had kissed anyone and she never wanted to stop with the warm fuzzy feeling it gave her. There was a new tug in her hair, pulling her mouth from Caracalla’s. The two of them panting slightly, with reddening lips.

Geta looked down at her, scowling. “Brothers share,” he mutters, leaning down and open mouth kissing her already parted mouth.

His kiss was harsh and demanding. Nothing like how soft and sweet Cara’s were. His mouth worked against her, keeping her mouth wide open as his tongue explored her. It was overpowering. Consuming. When Caracalla’s mouth met her neck, licking and nibbling, her knees gave out, lust flooding her for the first real time.

The brothers, having her front pinned by Caracalla and her back by Geta, easily held her up as their hands began exploring her still covered body. Cara’s hands pawed her breasts over the thin silk of her night dress. Geta’s hand, that wasn;t holding her hair, traced down the side of her body and hip, curving in towards the tenderness of her inner thigh. It was as if she was under a spell. Perhaps Cupid had flown in and shot her with one of his arrows.

The moment Caracalla yanks the straps of her dress off her shoulders, leaving her breast to the chill of the night air, the spell breaks. Marcia once again becomes deathly aware of her predicament. The twins laugh, both drinking in the sight of her shocked face. Her hands fumbling to gather the fabric, trying to cover her breasts from their hungry eyes. Nearly all of her weight was being held by Geta, who had his leg between hers, propping her ass up with his thigh.

She needed to get away. Needed to clear her head. It currently felt like she had over imbibed in wine. That her consciousness was swimming and her body was a long lost idea. She needed to get away. Create some distance between her and the feelings bubbling up inside of her.

The second she goes to make her move, Geta feels it. The subtle shift of her ass against him. He grabs her wrists before she gets the chance to leave them, pulling her hands out from her body so that she has to struggle for balance, strung out for his brother. Marcia becomes erratic with the fear of becoming a caged animal racing through her mind. She wrenches against his hold desperate to get away. The ease of which it takes to restrain her makes Geta let out a cruel mocking laugh.

What she had managed to pull back up around herself had fallen back down leaving her breasts exposed. Caracalla gazed at them as they bounced with every pull, twist and tug she made. Unable to help himself, he latches his mouth to her breast, suckling at it as if he were a babe starved. A moan ripples through her before she can suppress it. He licks around the areola before switching to the other breast, beginning the feast anew. Marcia’s head landed against Geta’s shoulder. Her ass pressing against him as her chest arched uncontrollably, moaning from his brother's work. She looked perfect.

Geta’s laugh pulls her back to reality. An embarrassed blush bloomed on her face. No. She couldn’t give into them. Not now. Not ever. She looked down to see Caracalla devouring her left breast as his hand fondled her right. She needed to catch her breath. Marcia forces herself to focus on the cold marble floor seeping into her toes, at the burning pain happening at her wrists from Geta’s steel grip. Breathing in and out trying to bring her mind back. To focus on the other senses. The smell of incense in the room. The scratch of Geta’s robe against her back.

How could she get out though? She could see the door over Caracalla’s shoulder, but with his hands wrapped around her waist and Geta’s hands holding her in a vice like grip, how could she get to it? Stomping on one of their feet? Or maybe kicking one of them? Maybe she could head butt Cara and step on Geta’s foot. If she could tug her hands free she could shove Caracalla away and… And then what? Try to flee from all of the Pratoreans who are no doubt stationed throughout the whole palace now. They knew about Lucius. They knew which Senators were in on it. Even if she could escape the Emperors-

“You’ve just realized it, haven't you?” Geta coos into her ear. He feels Marcia’s body tense up against him, bringing a smile to his lips as he rubs them against her neck. “You’ve just realized there’s no getting out of this. You’re ours Marcia.”

She flexes against him, straining to get away, desperate for escape. Geta drops her wrists, quickly wrapping his arms around her ribs as she thrashes out, screaming, “no! Let me go! Let me go, you overgrown ape!”

A surprised Caracalla takes a step back. It takes him a moment to understand what his brother was doing. He watches Geta drag her thrashing body towards the raised platform that held his canopied bed. Caracalla happily follows going to the other side of the bed to help pin her in. Geta throws her onto the bed. He reached for the jambiya he had received as a gift, pressing it to her throat, before she has a chance to get up. Marcia stilled instantly, trying to keep the curved blade from cutting her throat.

“Come brother, you should be the first to try her since she hurt you so cruelly,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as his black eyes never left hers.

“Glady,” Caracalla says in answer before crawling onto the bed. He rubbed his face across her smooth skin as he brought his face to hers. “Turn around,” Caracalla whispered into her ear. Her eyes widened in confusion as she at last looks at him. He let out a chuckle before his hands started directing her body into the position he wanted.

Caracalla made her prop herself up on her hands and knees, her ass to him and face to Geta. Who was patently watching from the side lines. Only sliding the ceremonial dagger under her chin, tilting it up till she looked at him. Caracalla spat on her cunt, sending a jolt through her body. She desperately wanted to turn her face back to look at what was happening, but Geta’s blade was a constant reminder not to look away from his black cruel eyes.

She could feel Cara press the head of his cock against her entrance, circling it slightly, gathering what slick was there. The teasing sent a shiver through her. This was easily caught but Geta, who only smirked wider. With one swift thrust Cara buried his cock inside of her. Marcia’s head fell at the invasion, biting hard on her lip, like Orcus was she going to cry out in pain from his assault. She refused to grant them the satisfaction. A matching sting to what she felt from her womanhood simmered at her neck as the foreign blade cut into her.

The blade guided her face back up, but Geta’s eyes were on his brother. Watching him drink in the sensation of a tight virgin cunt. A small satisfactory smile crept across his lips as he watched his brother experiencing pleasure. Caracalla’s mouth had fallen open as he began slow pleasure driven thrusts, wanting to take in every inch of sensation he felt. Her warm damp walls sucking him in as she clenched at the intrusion inside of her.

Marcia felt breathless as Caracalla gradually started picking up speed. His hands grabbed either side of her hips, helping him bounce against her. She scrunched her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath as the sharp pain began to ease. That was worse. To be taken in pain was one thing, but to get pleasure from it was something Marcia didn’t want to face.

“Has a man ever taken you before?” Geta asks. She clenched her jaw tighter, refusing to answer him. When she doesn't even open her eyes Geta kneels down, switching the position of the jambiya so its point is pressing into the soft spot on the underside of her jaw. “Open your eyes,” he says with a calm sweet tone. Marcia clenched them tighter. Still too focused on finding her breathe. “Look at me,” he said through gritted teeth, pressing the blade ever so slightly in. It pricked into the soft tissue. Marcia’s eyes flashing open and she loses the control she had on herself. A soft moan escaping her lips, her mouth falling open, as she locks eyes with Geta. He looks like a mad god with the smile that he gives in response. “Why don’t you play with her?” Geta asks his brother while his black eyes bore into Marcia’s.

Her bottom lip quivers and she shakes her head, trying to stifle her building moans again. Her bottom lip was back between her teeth, chewing on it. Caracalla reaches a hand under her. His fingers delicately stroked her clit with feather light touches. She couldn’t take it. All the noises she was trying to suppress ripple out of her. Satisfied Geta pulls his blade away, allowing her to drop her head as she continues to moan. A pleasure she had never known coursing through her.

Marcia finally catches her breath, starting to hold moans back again, as Geta’s hand grabs her jaw. He forces her to look up at him again, squeesing her cheeks into her teeth so she opens her mouth once more. He shoves his cock into her agape mouth and then pinches her nose shut. She tries to draw in breath through her mouth causing her to suck hard on his cock. Geta pulls out for a moment, Still pinching her nose, allowing her to take a breath before shoving back in. He repeats this motion a few more times before pressing in deep and holding there. With no release in sight Marcia’s body starts reeling at the invasion, trying to get breath somewhere. Caracalla has to stop his thrust to focus on holding her down, a manic laugh coming out as she bucked against them.

Marcia starts to still with her chest growing tight, screaming for air. Her mouth starts to clench prompting Geta to pull out and release her nose. Marcia’s chest falls to the mattress as she coughs, gasping at the welcome fresh air. Caracalla’s laugh is joined by Geta’s as they watch her so desperate for something as basic as air. Caracalla pulls out and lets her hips fall to the bed. She lays there panting on Geta’s bed for a moment. Geta drops his red robe to the floor moving to join Caracalla on his bed. He grabs the jambiya, passing it over to his brother who eagerly begins to cut Marcia’s rumpled nightdress. The un-dyed silk falls to the side, leaving her completely bare to them.

WIth air returned to her brain panics at the knife so closer to her flesh and kicks her leg out, hitting Caracalla and knocking him off the bed a little. The noise of the knife clattering to the ground eases her a little. Retaliation is what she had to prepare for though. Marcia raises herself up onto her knees, eyes locking on Geta. The look on his face implied something closer to “really?” rather than any form of worry. Then he launched himself at her. His hands quickly grabbed her wrists, handing them to his brother to hold above her head. While she looked up to Caracalla, his gold tooth glinting in the lamplight as he grinned down at her, Geta lined himself up with her, burying himself into her the moment his cock meet her damp folds. A sick smile spread across his face as she cried out and clenched around him, furious at the new intrusion.

“She feels good, doesn’t she, brother?” Cara asks, easily keeping Marcia’s hands in place as she tugged on them.

A quiet groan of pleasure escapes Geta’s lips before he answers, “I can’t decide what feels better. The father’s victories or the daughter’s cunt.” He looks down at her, a mockery of a lover’s smile on his face.

“Let’s keep her. Dundus could use a new friend,” Caracalla says, sounding like a boy asking his parents for a puppy.

“Whatever you want brother,” Geta answers a little breathless, lost in his own sensations as he felt every shift she made trying to get away from him. His eyes start to look like black voids as they hood with lust, taking her body that was spread out under him. His mouth dived into her throat as his hands went to her breast massaging them with his long smooth fingers. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers into her ear, his thrust beginning a gruelling pace. “So, so beautiful,” he continues to whisper into her skin as he scatters kisses across her upper chest. He had wanted her the moment he laid eyes on her and finally he was inside her warm cunt. Her body shivering perfectly for him. She was his. “So soft and warm for me. Such a pretty little thing,” he coos.

A moan escapes her. She couldn’t help herself falling apart under his languid administrations. His smooth deep thrust shoving his cock in till it kissed her cervix. The sweet little confessions to her. His gentle touches all over her body. Acting as if he was her lover. Marcia didn’t even realise she had wrapped one of her legs around his hips as he at last captured her lips in a sensual kiss. She got lost to it. Caracalla released her hands, happy to watch how she became clay, molding to his brother. Her hands quickly weaved themselves into Geta’s ginger hair pulling his face closer in deepening the kiss.

She was fucked, completely and utterly fucked. She couldn’t help losing herself to it all. Geta sat up, pulling her up with him to have her on his lap as he thrusted up into her. His hand gripped the back of her head again, pulling it back gently so that he could feast on her neck once more.

His slow movements went unnoticed by Marcia, to0 lost to his touches and gradual thrusts. Geta had positioned them so that his legs dangled off the edge of the bed. Her back towards Caracalla who had been patiently waiting for his brother to finish his turn.

Geta moved his mouth back to her lips as Cara began to suck at the crook of her neck, a deep violet mark starting to bloom under his lips. When Marcia felt Calacalla’s hands pawing at her ass she froze. They had trapped her again and she was too caught up to have noticed. How had she become this dumb. Why had her mind abandoned her and left her only with a weak traitorous body?

“Brothers share,” Caracalla provided as explanation. Their hands tightened around her and Geta began his thrusts again, distracting her from his brother’s actions. Her mind became lost again as their mouths continued to work her over. Cara took the provided opportunity to gather and pour oil on his cock before pressing the weeping head against her puckered asshole. Geta’s hands spread her wide for him access. He thrust in. His whole cock sheathing itself into her virgin asshole.

A moan caught in Marcia’s throat twisting into a strangled cry as her body burned once again from such a fast invasion. Becoming devastatingly full with both of the brothers' cocks. Geta covered her mouth with his drinking in her cries of pain. Sick pleasure rushes through him as she whimpers into mouth. Tears trailing down the side of her face. From the pain, from the pleasure, from being overwhelmed by them.

She looked absolutely perfect in their eyes. A whimpering moaning weeping mess as they stuffed her full. Geta laid back, his hands still holding her hips to help keep an even pace. Caracalla’s hands around her, kept her up, happy to have her so close to him. Geta closes his eyes, enabling him to better focus on every little noise she makes. Her hands rested on his lower stomach, trying to keep herself upright. Cara’s hands reached up and grabbed at her breasts, pinching her nipples. Marcia let out another cry before it quickly turned into nonsensical moans. Lost in the twisted game of pain and pleasure that they were inflicting on her.

As Cara’s end crept up on him he pushed her down against his brother’s chest. One hand planted on the center of her back keeping her there as he fucked into her at a brutal pace desperate to come in her.

Geta let out a groan as she landed on him. Though he didn’t object, feeling his brother’s frantic thrust through her. His hands gathered the dark hair that had fanned out across his face blocking his sight. He held it tightly to pull her head up off his chest, getting her warm brown eyes to look at him. They looked like Acacius but not. His were tired and bitter where hers were excitable and hopeful. And now they looked pleading and lustful as his brother fucked into her.

“You’re ours,” Geta cooed to her.

“Completely ours,” Caracalla added as he spilt his seed deep inside her.

Geta wrapped his other arm across her shoulder blades before saying his next words, “you’re ruined.”

“Nooo!” rips from her throat as fresh tears spill out as she feels Cara’s hot cum inside of her. She tried desperately to wriggle free of them, both had too good of a grip on her to make that possible. Caracalla laughs and Geta grunts from her clenching him so tightly

“Shhh. Shhh,” Geta tries to calm her, “be still unless you want to bear my son.”

His warning had Marcia become as still as a statue. Caracalla pulled out of her, pausing for a moment to watch her stretched hole pucker a little and leak his white cum out of it. He grabbed her by her hair, dragging her up against his sweaty chest.

“Do you not want to grant my brother the honour of an heir?” Cara questions her. With one hand still fisted in her hair and the other wrapped around her waist he started to raise Marcia up and down on his brother’s cock. Geta’s hands dug into her thighs desperate for her to stop moving. Everything felt so tightly wound inside of himself that he could hardly think. Even his breath became tight as he tried to hold himself back from coming.

“Brother!” Geta says through gritted teeth, glaring at him. Caracalla threw his head back laughing at his brother as Geta laid trapped, struggling not to come. Caracalla drew her up and down once more at an agonizingly slow pace watching as Geta clenched his jaw tight enough it looked as if he might shatter teeth. The brothers were locked in a death stair with each other while Marcia struggled to feel her legs, twitching slightly on top of Geta, unintentionally flexing around him. Cara used her one more time to stroke his brother before pulling her up enough that Geta could pull his cock out. He strokes it a few times and comes hard, splashing on his own chest and her belly as relief washes over him.

Caracalla’s laugh pulled Geta back to the land of the living. “Give her to me,” Geta says, opening his arms to receive her. Cara gives an affectionate, almost childish kiss to the side of Marcia’s head before pushing her towards his twin. She crashes into him, her body slack from being used.

“Aren’t you done?” she whimpers out as Geta manhandles her, twisting her around so she lays with her back against his chest.

“We are, but you're not,” he explains. Caracalla joins them back on the bed, walking on his knees towards them. Marcia can only manage whimpers of refusal as Geta’s arms hold her down against him and Cara’s hands spread her legs open wide. Their twin laughs echoing through the chamber.

Cara’s tongue licks her cunt in long strokes. “She tastes like us,” he says with a grin. “Here,” he thrusts two fingers inside of her, before stroking it against her abused puckered asshole and then her cum smeared stomach. Marcia wiggles at the sensation wishing this humiliation would end. “Taste us,” he says to her, raising his white covered fingers up to her face.

“Open your mouth, beautiful,” Geta directs her, sweetly nudging his nose against her cheek.

Marcia’s jaw falls open, too little fight left in her. Caracalla happily rubbed his sticky fingers in her velvety mouth. A smile spread on his face as she responded to the tangy pungent semen coating her tongue, gauging slightly.

“Suck them.”

She closed her lips around Caracalla’s fingers sucking on them slightly till he pulled them out, leaving what he had gathered in her mouth. The thick substance sitting like a puddle on her tongue.

“Swallow it,” Geta commands. He watches her throat bob. His hand came up to caress her face. “Good girl,” he coos at Marcia, feeling her collapse into him in sweet submission. He couldn’t help the satisfaction that washed over him as his brother began working his mouth on her, causing her to fall apart in Geta’s hands.

Caracalla added his fingers back in crooking them to stroke her insides. Electricity sparked through her body. Tension formed in her gut. A sense of foreboding began to take over. “No, no, no, no, no,” she started to beg, not wanting to completely give in to them. For the Emperors to have all of her firsts.

“Yes,” Geta says in a hushed whisper, his breath tickling her ear and neck.

“Please. No,” Marcia begged, tears spilling from her eyes as her body betrayed her. Hardly even able to wiggle anymore.

“You’re going to come for us, and only us,” Geta’s whispers turn harsh, demanding.

Caracalla twisted his hand so that he could add his thumb to her cunt and slip his pinky into her cum slick hole. His pinky ring pressing against the outside of it. “No, no, no,” Marcia whimpered, barely able to contain herself.

“Come for us,” he coos. One of his hands strokes some of her hair off her face.

Her breath becomes erratic as she desperately tries to keep from falling off the edge. Geta’s hand slips down her body to her clit, flicking his brother’s face off it. Marcia catches her breath at the pause thinking they were done. That she survived.

“Yes, please come for us,” Caracalla politely begs before his mouth moves to suck one of her nipples while his spare hand squeezes Marcia’s other breast.

Her resistance crumples up into uncontrollable moans as her mind becomes overrun with pleasure. Her body overrun, full once again.

“That’s it,” Geta's lips tickle against her neck. He feels her tighten up against him. All of her muscles pulling taunt. “Let go of yourself. Let go for us.” She sucks in a tight breath. “Come for us Marcia,” Geta murmurs against the soft skin under her ear.

“Please.”

She shatters in their arms. Letting out a guttural moan as she comes on both of their hands. Her pussy pulsing around Caracalla’s fingers. Waves of unimaginable pleasure washing over her. Their hands stroking her through it till she twitched against them

Marcia’s body becomes limp against Geta. Caracalla pulls his hand out, sucking on his fingers. He pushes them back in roughly, causing Marcia’s whole body to shudder and a whimper to leave her throat. He pulls them back out and offers her juices to his brother. Geta opened his mouth for him, moaning at the taste of her on his twin’s fingers.

“Let’s keep her,” Caracalla says as he happily moves things around on the bed to make it easier for him to sleep.

“Fine,” Geta says in answer.

His hands never leave her as the twins manoeuvre Marcia to lay between them. Her nearly unconscious body was positioned so that her head was propped up by Geta’s shoulder, snugging her against his chest while Caracalla pawed at her ass before spooning her. Both the Emperors’ arms wrapped around her as the three of them, their bodies sweaty and exhausted from their activities, drifted off to sleep.

#emperor geta #emperor caracalla #gladiator 2 #smut #i don't know how to tag this

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