#348927 - Before long, the princess, baby of the empire, feasted on the wet, fertile seed of her sire, suckling on his man-milk as she could, giggling in confusion as his excess spilled over her face and onto the satin sheets beneath them. As he walked, he thought of how he could amuse himself; perhaps a military campaign to the outer provinces might divert him? A trip to the crowded slums, disguised as a foreigner, perhaps, so he might have his way with the street children? Or perhaps an idle afternoon amongst the shepherds, commanding his finest centurions to pleasure themselves among the young boys who tended the beasts and the mute, dumb sheep whose wet and gaping vaginas winked so teasingly at groin’s height? But he knew where he’d head at this moment. With her death, Tacitavus was nothing more than in the way.
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