Gore Vidal’s Caligula (20 page)

“Very nice. My compliments, Proculus. Perhaps a
little
heavy in the hips, but . . .” He grabbed a handful of the girl’s buttock and squeezed hard. With a cry, Livia pulled away.

“Don’t move,” snapped Caligula. “Until I give you leave.” He turned, smiling, to Proculus, whose eyes blazed with fury. “Is this the first time you have ever seen your beautiful wife as she really is?” he cooed.

“Yes, Caesar,” gritted Proculus through clenched teeth.

“And are you really a virgin?” the Emperor asked the girl.

“Yes, Caesar.” It was no more than a whisper.

“Amazing. If true. Lie down!”

Livia looked around in terror. In the kitchen! But Caligula was pointing to a large wooden table that had been freshly scrubbed. Biting her lips, Livia laid herself down on the rough wood and closed her eyes.

Caligula cast off his cloth-of-gold as though it were a worthless rag, and hoisted up his tunic. Livia’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but Proculus saw the immense erection that poked out of Caligula’s belly. He gave an involuntary start, taking a step forward.

“Yes, Proculus?” asked Caligula sweetly.

In an agony of divided loyalty, unable to protest, Proculus moaned, “Nothing, Caesar . . . What . . . ?” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What am I going to do?” Caligula struck an Imperial stance, one hand on his erection, and delivered a mock proclamation in his best oratorical style. “I, Caligula, in the name of the Senate and the people of Rome, declare that henceforth there will be a tax on all virgins in the Empire, directly payable, upon demand, to the Emperor in the form of one maidenhead per virgin. Very reasonable, don’t you think? But then more than one would be technically impossible. And very tiring for Caesar.”

He seized Livia’s ankles and pulled her down the table until her buttocks were positioned at the edge and her legs dangled. Standing in front of her, he began to caress her naked body with casual hands, as though he were inspecting a piece of meat. The girl lay with her eyes closed. Her back was raw and bleeding from being dragged over the splintery wood, but she felt no pain there. She knew only the feel of Caligula’s hands pinching at her nipples, probing into her tight, dry mound. She whimpered in fear.

“Open your eyes!” commanded Caligula.

He reached over and forced her eyes open with his fingers. Livia looked up at him, terrified. She’d never seen so insane an expression on anybody’s face; his eyes radiated madness. She shuddered and tried to draw away from his hands, but he pressed them more firmly against her belly. Now he forced Livia’s knees apart. Proculus gasped as Caligula’s finger disappeared into her.

“How lucky you are!” laughed Caligula to the petrified girl. “To lose your virginity like this. After all, I am a direct descendant of the goddess Venus. How I envy you!”

Grasping her ankles, he pulled her legs up to his shoulders, forcing her vagina open, and roughly inserted the tip of his prick. Behind him, he heard a moan from Proculus.

“Open your eyes, Proculus,” he called over his shoulder. “If you want to have eyes to open.” With a grunt, he thrust himself deep into Livia, who uttered a loud cry of pain.

In the atrium, Caesonia sat chatting with the parents of the bride. Suddenly, Livia’s cry from the back of the house shattered the polite conversation. All the guests heard it clearly.

“Listen!” Caesonia lifted one finger for silence. “Caesar is giving the young people his
special
blessing. Your daughter must be so thrilled.”

“Yes . . . yes . . . of course, Lady Caesonia,” stammered the bride’s father. Another sharp agonized cry came from the kitchen.

“Caesar has always taken an interest in young Proculus. Such a handsome boy,” purred Caesonia, holding out her cup for more wine.

“Yes, a fine young man,” said the bride’s father, his ears straining toward the kitchen.

“In fact,” smiled Caesonia, “it was quite on the spur of the moment that Caesar decided to come to the wedding.”

“We are deeply honored.”

“I do hope you will become one of the priestesses of Isis,” Caesonia said to Livia’s mother.

“Well, naturally. Yes. Of course.” The strain was beginning to tell on the older woman. She was very pale, and breathed heavily as she waited for her beloved daughter’s next scream.

“We need Roman matrons like you. Respectable, virtuous ladies.”

Another strangled cry made both parents wince.

“We have always worshipped Isis,” said the father nervously. “Except when it was illegal, of course.”

“Caesar wants to make the worship of goddess Isis the state religion,” Caesonia went on serenely. “The father Jupiter will be replaced by the mother Isis. The male by the female. The age of iron by the age of gold.” Her dark eyes gleamed as she took a long draught of her wine.

In the kitchen, Livia’s shrieks of agony had given way to sobbing. She lay almost unconscious, as Caligula thrust his cock in and out of her burning vagina. In. Out. In. Out. It would never end. She’d had no idea . . . was this what men and women did . . . she wanted to die . . . Please, Juno, let me die . . . But Caligula wouldn’t stop. The pain was unbearable; he would tear her apart. She could hear him grunting above her, feel the drops of his sweat falling on her breasts and neck. The odor of his rutting came to her nostrils, and she retched.

Suddenly, it was over. She felt him leave her. Instinctively, she drew herself up into the womb position, her knees pressed against her breasts, her hands clenched over her head. The flower petals from the destroyed wreath were tangled in her sweaty braids.

Caligula stared with satisfaction at the streams of blood that trickled down Livia’s thighs. “I’ve never worked so hard in my life,” he gasped cheerfully. “I never realized virgins were so . . . so . . . tough.” He touched his penis tenderly. “I’m raw.”

He turned with a hearty smile to Proculus. “Anyway, you were right. The girl was a virgin. Are you?”

“Me, Caesar?” gasped the young officer.

“Yes. Are you a virgin, too?”

A blush stained Proculus’ cheeks. “Well, no . . . Caesar.”

Caligula put on a chiding tone. “Isis will not like that. One law for woman. One law for man. That’s not fair.” He shook his head. “We must do something about that. Come on.”

“Come on?” repeated Proculus helplessly.

“Off with your clothes. The spirit of the goddess Isis—as well as Venus—is upon me. You’re in luck.”

Thunderstruck, the young guardsman stared at his Emperor. Even Livia turned on the table to stare at her husband.

Scarlet with humiliation, Proculus slowly stripped off his wedding toga and laid it aside, the muscles in his jaw jumping in anger.

Caligula made a leisurely tour around the young man, just as he had with Livia, appreciating his fine musculature. Proculus was built like something carved by Praxitiles, all except the genitals. The Greek sense of moderation in all things extended to the sculpture of private parts, which were always on the small side. But Proculus’ were not. His balls were round and full; his penis was long and thick. Caligula laughed as he pinched Proculus’ scrotum. The boy was a regular Priapus!

Proculus gasped, but remained at attention, like the obedient soldier he was. Caligula felt his own penis responding; it rose and began to stiffen as he examined the boy’s muscular tightly-clenched buttocks, patting them like a horse’s flank.

“All right, Livia, get up,” he instructed. The bride rose stiffly from the kitchen table; her back was covered with scratches and splinters.

“Go and sit over there,” Caligula ordered, pointing to a low stool. Clutching her robe against her nakedness, Livia obeyed.

“Lucky girl! I wish I’d been you . . . with me. All right, Proculus. Onto the table.”

“Onto the table?” Proculus’ eyes widened.

“Do not
repeat
my words.
Obey
them,” snapped Caligula.

The terrified Proculus perched gingerly on the edge of the table, but Caligula motioned for him to lie on his back. Then he roughly shoved the young soldier’s legs apart and pulled his own tunic up again, exposing his throbbing erection. From the bench, he heard Livia gasp in fear, and he turned to observe her. The girl was watching them, repulsed and fascinated at the same time. Caligula determined to give her a good show.

He aimed the tip of his cock at the line of Proculus’ ass, and rubbed it gently along the crack, teasing himself.

“Caesar . . . no . . . please,” begged Proculus, white and sweating.

“Don’t you love me, Proculus?” grinned Caligula.

“Yes, Caesar, but . . .”

“I’m doing my best to make your wedding memorable . . . holy. Just think of me as the goddess Venus, born again. With certain differences, of course.” He seized Proculus’ penis in his hand and began to manipulate it skillfully, pulling the foreskin back and forth over the head. But it remained limp.

Scowling, Caligula tugged Proculus’ legs up into the air so that one leg dangled over each of his own shoulders. The young officer’s anus was exposed, and Caligula positioned his cock at the tiny entrance.

“He’s almost as lovely as you are,” he called to the horrified Livia. “I particularly like all that wonderful thick hair.” He tugged at it viciously—the hair on Proculus’ head, the thick fur around his balls. A shrill scream rose from the boy’s lips.

Caligula thrust his hips forward, and a few inches of his erection disappeared into Proculus.

“You’re very tight,” he said with an evil grin. “You lied to me. You’re a virgin, too.”

“I am, Caesar. There,” grunted Proculus, wincing and biting his lips as the Emperor’s swollen cock entered him deeper.

“You’re a lot tougher than she is,” gritted Caligula, laboring to penetrate to the hilt.

“Don’t!” wailed Proculus in agony, his very bowels on fire.

“What!” roared Caligula. He thrust again. “What did you say to your Emperor?”

“I . . . I . . . mean . . . yes, do . . . please,” sobbed the young officer hopelessly.

“All right, I will,” purred Caligula. “Just to please you. But this is hurting me a lot more than it’s hurting you.” He was in all the way now, ramming in and out, smiling down into the young officer’s eyes as he fucked him savagely. And a strange thing began to happen. Slowly, the boy’s cock rose and stiffened, his body began to respond to the thrusts with little buckings of his hips.

Why, the fellow is enjoying it! thought Caligula. But I don’t want to give him any pleasure, only pain, pain and more pain. Suddenly, in a flash, he understood why he hated this officer so much. It went deeper than jealousy. He wasn’t jealous of Proculus; he wanted to
be
Proculus! He wanted to be tall, hairy, muscular, virile, brave, skilled in battle. He wanted to be a real man, instead of half-man, half-woman! With a growl of rage, he banished the thought and pulled away from Proculus.

“Say you love me, Proculus,” he demanded.

“I . . . love . . . you . . . Caesar.”

“Caligula,” cooed the Emperor. “Let us be intimates.”

“Caligula,” echoed Proculus.

“Well, I don’t love you, bitch!” snarled Caligula. “You’ve worn me out.”

Contemptuously, he flung Proculus’ tunic at him and the young officer used it to cover his nakedness.

Livia’s head was still reeling from the nightmare scene she had witnessed. Her body shook with dry heaves as she crept forward to stand by her husband, unable to drive from her memory the loathsome images that made her want to put a stop to all thinking. She felt Proculus shrink from her, and she shared his shame at the desecration of his manhood. Women had traditionally been victims of brutal lust . . . but a man! A Roman soldier! How could the stain ever be wiped away? How could she ever share his bed, or that of any man? She wished she were dead, that she had fallen on Caligula’s dagger the very moment he’d drawn it to cut the knot of Hercules.

Caligula smiled expansively at both of them, spreading his arms wide as though to embrace them. “Dear children, I have done my best to make your wedding a memorable one.” He assumed a brotherly tone. “My dear Livia, although you have had the ill luck to marry a practicing sodomite, if you mount him, at regular intervals, the way I did, using some cylindrical object, you will at least make him relatively happy. A thousand blessings on you both.”

He turned and left the kitchen. The raped bride and groom shuddered as the door closed behind him. They would have huddled together for warmth and comfort in other circumstances, but in these . . . neither could bear the thought of touching the other’s outraged flesh.

“A superb young couple!” Caligula announced joyfully, as he entered the wedding reception again. “I witnessed their union. And I predict,” he added archly, “in nine months’ time . . . a son!”

Accepting their cheers and applause, Caligula made his way through the wedding guests to Caesonia’s side. Bending to kiss her, he gave her a secret wink and leer.

CHAPTER NINE

“Gaius! Oh, Gaius . . . I’m going . . . going to . . . ah,
yes!”

Drusilla panted heavily from her orgasm. They were seated on a wide chair that had a high back for support and deep cushions for comfort. Drusilla was straddling Caligula’s thighs; both were facing front, their eyes glued to the mirror by the bedside. Every movement, every caress, had been reflected back to their avid eyes.