The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Have you been wondering to where your old drinking and whoring companion Lucius disappeared? Is the city still talking about the violent death of Septimus Magister? Is my tight-fisted uncle still alive?

I must know. This letter will reach you some weeks before I will. After months of wandering, I am back in Athens, having come to acquire a slave, and as soon as–but there, I must tell you the story from the very beginning. Read on, Publius; I have now reached my twenty-fifth year, and so when I arrive back in Rome, divine Rome once more, the treasures that my father laid up in trust for me will be mine, and even if my sour old uncle yet lives, he cannot order me to say this or to do that any longer. We will have such wonderful times, my old friend!

But to my tale. You know from my last letter to you (how strange it is to think that letter was posted nearly a year ago!) of my sorrows. I had just received word of my father’s untimely death, my uncle was calling me a useless parasite and refused to support me unless I did exactly his bidding, and in short he treated me like a plebeian! Since I could not yet claim my inheritance, and since I wanted above all to be out of sight of my accursed uncle, I asked him in the humblest of ways if I might perhaps travel to our provinces in Greece to further my education. With an ill-tempered comment on my truthfulness, at least my uncle consented to my going to Athens, which I had always yearned to visit, but only on the condition that I work there for six months for his old school friend Septimus Magister. If I did not work, he said, I would not eat; and so at last, grudgingly I admit, I agreed to serve the old potion-maker, giving up half a year in exchange for an allowance and for freedom during the last six months of my year’s stay.

It has been so long, Publius, I do not remember whether I told you of my situation. Septimus Magister was an elderly man, perhaps seventy (which would make him of an age with my uncle, who was the eldest of six brothers). I disliked him on sight: a wiry, twisted, hunched little gnome of a man, with a sour eye and a sharp tongue, not loud and bellowing like my uncle, but grating and bad-tempered all the same. He kept a small, dark shop in a main thoroughfare of the city, near the Agora or marketplace. Looking at it from the outside, you would have thought him merely a dreary shopkeeper, of no account. But I quickly learned that the people of Athens, Greeks and Romans alike, thought much more highly of him–and that he was rich beyond even the dreams of my greedy uncle. Day after day, wealthy men, aristocratic ladies, even–well, I shall breathe her name to your ear in secret, but let me say she was a daughter of the most august family and you can make a shrewd guess–I will say even the highest members of society visited Magister’s shop and put down gold for tiny vials of liquids.

“Are these medicines?” I asked the crook-backed old man on my first day.

“They are remedies,” he said with a leer. “They are the products of natural philosophy, that is all.”

I gave him a rather knowing smile, for I was well aware of the severe punishments for practicing magic under the Quintullian law. “I am sure they are perfectly natural,” I said, with every show of sincerity.

Yet the gnarled little man seemed to penetrate my irony. In his grating voice, he murmured, “I need fear no prosecution, for I do not practice the demonic arts. I compound all myself, and the mixtures perform naturally, by filtering through the blood of the patient and effecting whatever change is needed. Does a woman have too small a bust? I can make it grow until she rivals the buxom statues of Venus herself! Is a man’s member not all it should be? I can sell him new youth, new springiness, new length! Does a rich young man desire a disdainful young lady who won’t look twice at him? I have a very expensive remedy for that–a bottle that holds domination, a medicine that will move all her heart and soul to him and make her forever his devoted slave of love! And other things for other purposes, of course, all for a price, for a price. If a matron decides her husband is too jealous, I can make him complacent even if she cavorts in the arena of Rome with three lusty gladiators at once. Or if a lady decides she can no longer live with her husband, I can sell her a quiet way to usher him into the tomb. . . .”

I forget it all, for in truth I was no longer listening. I had stopped in my ear-tracks, as it were, at the mention of that love potion, thinking that there had been times in my life when it would have come in so handy! And of course I would never have turned in the old wizard to the authorities, first, because his shop had been a fixture in Athens for so long that I was sure the authorities themselves had been as you might say “fixed,” and second because as you know I have from childhood been fascinated with tales of magic and enchantments.

Publius, you would have wept with pity to see the way that old rogue ordered me around. I had to sweep and mop his shop, I had to run to the market and buy this and that mysterious ingredient, I had to prepare his food, forsooth, and behave as though I were not the son of a noble sire, but a peasant and a servant. As far as I could tell, Magister had no family of his own, and almost no friends. He did have a rival, one Melanthius, a man twenty-five years older than I and twenty years younger than old shriveled Magister, who would drop by some days to talk shop. To hear them gabble of mandragora and poppy, of hellebore and aqua aurea, and to see them try to extract from each other little trade secrets, was my only entertainment for a long time, and I assure you, it was not as amusing as seeing a good bawdy comedy in the theater.

Such a dreary existence! Because I had no money of my own (Publius, should you ever come to Athens, do not, do not wager even one brass coin on the street-corner game of cups and balls), I subsisted on the stale leftovers from Magister’s morning and mid-day meals, and I slept on a wretched pallet in a dank corner of the shop. I could not have borne such a life for much longer, but fortunately my uncle sent my allowance on at last (only two months late!), and I used a good part of it immediately to rent a set of rooms in a house not too far from the base of the great hill they call the Acropolis, in a better part of town, in short, and more of the money to buy myself decent clothing and to pay for admission to some entertainments. And at one of these, a genteel poetry-recitation by some of those clever Greeks, I met Crispissa!

Oh, Venus, great goddess of love! Help me describe Crispissa for my friend Publius!–There, Publius, that is called an invocation to a goddess, something you wouldn’t know at all, you ignorant turd! Athens finishes one’s education off very nicely. But where was I?

Publius, Crispissa was the daintiest thing in sandals. She wore flowing robes of purple silk–silk from far Cathay, Publius! And gold rings decorated her shell-like ears, and a ruby-studded gold tiara nestled in her abundant curly black hair, and more gold encircled her swan-like neck and her beautiful wrists! And quite aside from the evidence that she was rich, she had an animated face, with a fine, straight nose, full pouting red lips just molded to give men pleasure, an enchanting dusky-tawny complexion, huge liquid brown eyes, a swelling bosom, a thin waist, shapely legs, and small feet. I managed to buy her some wine, and she thanked me and we fell to talking–for her duenna, a shapeless old bag of a woman, had nodded off and was snoring away–and I learned her father is a former Senator and a former general, now helping to administer Roman interests in Athens, and she was sure that during his time in the Senate her father must have known my father. I asked if I might walk with her back to her home, and she declined, sweetly, whispering that her father despised seeing her in the company of young men, for he was saving her to marry off to a cousin–a fat, bald man, built along the lines of the late Emperor Nero, she said, with a shudder.

Oh, my friend, I tossed and turned that night, afire with desire for Crispissa. I even–yes, I will admit this to you–stroked the little gladiator until he rose up, his helmeted head high, and hurled his white javelins! Gods, but I wanted that girl. Asking around, I discovered that her father was Marcus Claudius Lepidus, of whom I remembered my father speaking warmly when I was just a lad. They had both served in the Senate together, and my father had even preceded Marcus in the office of Consul. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have sought his acquaintance, but since my purpose was to ravish his daughter, I thought that might be unwise. Over the next weeks I frequently met her at the poetry recitals, but she maintained a dignified aloof air, though she condescended to converse with me, eventually even calling me by name. But should I so much as try to hold her hand, she would casually pull away, giving me an amused, reproachful look. Oh, but I wanted to bed her!

And of course I bethought me, soon enough, of Magister’s shop and of what he had told me about the potion of enslavement. It was far too expensive for a young man on a tight allowance to buy, of course, but there might be other ways. Oh, I thought, if I only knew which one it was, and if Magister would only be neglectful enough to give me the opportunity of stealing it! But the old wizard trusted no one, least of all me, and the forest of small, tightly-stoppered multicolored bottles on his shelves bore no symbols or labels to distinguish, say, a deadly poison from a delightful potion. On the days when Melanthius came to visit, I listened with both ears pricked up, but not a word did I hear of that potion–their talk running more on cures for the gout, sleeping draughts, and the like.

Still, I am nothing if not resourceful, as you know (do you recall the time I cleverly got us out of the boudoir of the charming and infinitely inventive “widow” whose husband seemingly came back to life and returned at an inopportune moment?). Within a day or two I had hit upon a scheme. It involved visiting the public baths, which by the way are utterly delightful, and fraternizing with young patricians. Some were friendly, some reserved, but within a week I had built up a small circle of acquaintances. Once that was done, as we sat in a steam room, I brought up the subject of unrequited love, and of how cruel young Roman ladies could be to gentlemen whose hearts had been pierced by Cupid’s arrows. Like young men everywhere, these patricians I speak of had love (or at least her twin sister lust) on their minds most waking hours, and soon a lively discussion was going on, full of gossip. And from that discussion I learned that another citizen of Rome, young Maximus Titus Aquila, had fallen hopelessly in love with a Greek girl who, alas, had decided to dedicate her life to Diana, the goddess who for some insane reason espoused cold chastity.

I did not know this Maximus, but now I knew a man who did know him; and contriving an introduction was not difficult. Maximus loved exercise, and we found him hurling the discus. Though I always performed so well with that instrument, I pretended to be a rank amateur, and Maximus, a loud and somewhat boastful fellow, undertook to teach me the rudiments. I took care not to best my teacher! Afterward we had a meal together, and over the figs and wine at the end of the meal I casually broached the subject of unrequited love, saying how wonderful it was that a friend of my “revered” uncle’s had such a sure cure for the ailment. Maximus instantly wanted to know more, and before we broke company, I had told him all about Magister’s shop and the potions therein.

The next day was a working day, and I was at the shop when Magister showed up to open it. He was quite impressed, for I tended to be a bit laggard. I cleaned with much industry, welcomed customers, and made change as they purchased this or that. I will not say I was very surprised when, well before noon, a furtive Maximus slipped into the shop. I was in the back room, and he did not even notice me, though I stepped to the doorway and spied on him. He whispered his need to Magister, and Magister named a price that made the young patrician turn a bit pale (and made me glad that my plan did not call upon me to purchase the potion, for on my allowance I would have to save money until I was sixty to be able to afford it), but without even a protest or an attempt to haggle, the wealthy Maximus produced the gold. Magister then handed over–ah!–a tiny teardrop-shaped bottle, no bigger than my thumbnail, filled with a light blue liquid. I heard the instructions: “You must place one drop of this on your tongue. No more! And before one full day passes, you must kiss the young lady, making sure that your tongue touches hers.”

“But she won’t kiss me!”

“The first time, do it as though joking. She will pull away, of course, but if your tongue but brushes hers, the thing is done. Let four hours pass. She will then feel a most burning desire for you, and you may have your way with her as you please. Place another drop on your tongue the next day, perhaps before she leaves your bed, but be sure to kiss her before twelve full hours have gone by. The second day she will gladly kiss you–but you must be sure to tongue her well, or the spell will wear off and you must begin all over. After the second kiss, she will be your devoted lover for no less than one year. Then you may refrain from putting the third drop of the potion on your tongue, for it may chance that as the months pass by, you will perceive you tire of this young wanton–”

“Never!”

“As you will. If you put the third drop upon your tongue any time within the first year of her earnest passion and then within one hour kiss her deeply, she will become your devoted slave for her whole life. She will obey any order you give her and object to nothing. She will be docile, subservient to your will alone. You may take her in any way you please, or if you would like, you may command her to make love to other women–or other men, if your tastes so run–while you look on. She will not object if you bring concubines to her bed, if you take another woman–or another man, if your tastes so run–before her very eyes. She will belong to you, body and soul, a devoted slave, for as long as she lives.”

“What joy!” And young Maximus hurried from the shop, cherishing his expensive little bottle.

Business slacked off after noonday, and Magister came into the back room, where he compounded his mixtures, to replenish his supply. I was feeding the fire, and then I fell to washing the alembics and flasks, humming a tune and not obviously looking at Magister, though, Publius, you may be sure I was spying all the while. He unlocked a tall cabinet and with a tiny funnel began to fill new vials with maroon, red, purple, green, clear, and black liquids. Then he took out a shimmering square bottle half-full of the glowing pale blue potion, and my heart beat fast as I saw him pour a little, a very little, into one tiny bottle. Three drops? I doubted if the little teardrop shape could hold much more than that! The old man placed all his new stock on a tray and carried the vials into the shop, where I heard him placing them on the shelves.

As quick as a wink I slipped over to the table where he had been working and placed a single drop of the blue liquid on my tongue. It tingled like the wines of Tuscany! I felt a heady pleasure, and my manly staff rose of its own accord as if saluting the arrival of the God of Love! When Magister came back to lock the stock up in the cabinet once more, I had to kneel down and begin to scrub the floor to conceal my erection.

That evening I went again to the place where I had first met Crispissa (for she loved poetry, and she frequented that place of entertainment) and waited quite anxiously until I saw her at last, with her doddering old duenna at her side. I had saved her a place, and she came and sat near me. We heard some fine performances on the lute, but I was waiting anxiously until her old companion fell asleep, which she did at long last. Then, in turning to comment on the music and the poetry to Crispissa, I pretended to see something on her face. “What is it?” she asked.

“You have a smut on your cheek,” I said. “Here, let me wipe it away.”

Placing my hand on one cheek as if to steady her head, I leaned forward and pretended to flick at the imaginary spot; then with no warning, I pulled her close and kissed her. She gasped, and in the moment that her red lips opened, I darted my tongue into her mouth and wiped her tongue hard with mine. Delightful! She tasted of cinnamon and spice! But with an angry jerk of her head, she broke our kiss and shoved me away. “Lucius!” she exclaimed in an angry whisper, her black eyes flashing in fury. “You forget yourself!”

“I am sorry,” I said, hanging my head. “You look so lovely in the torchlight–and your skin is so soft–”

“I will never sit beside you again,” she whispered sternly. “Nor will you ever speak to me after tonight!”

I apologized again. “It was an impulse that Cupid inspired,” I said. “I will abide by your wishes, of course, Crispissa. But please blame my rashness on Cupid’s mischief. Should you change your mind, or should you ever think my humble efforts could in any way please you, I will tell you my address. Do but send a message to me there, and my heart is yours.”

That was at about the second hour past sunset. You may believe, Publius, that I waited in my rooms anxiously for the next four hours. They passed . . . and no Crispissa appeared. In a state of utter dejection I prepared for bed, when I heard a frightened, low tap on the door. I opened it, and there she stood, her delectable bosom heaving, her beautiful cheeks flaring pink. “I was–prehaps I was too harsh,” she said in a flustered voice. “I just came to tell you that.”

“Where is your chaperone?” I asked, staring out into the darkness.

“I left her behind. I–I slipped out,” she confessed, blushing even a brighter shade of pink.

“Come in, then, Crispissa.”

She did, looking oh, so lovely in the lamplight. “I should not be here,” she said.

“It is dangerous for a young Roman girl to walk the streets of Athens alone,” I agreed. “You should learn to defend yourself.”

“Alas, what young lady is taught such skills?” she asked.

“None, but you might be the first.”

She gave me a coy smile, and my heart leapt. “And who would teach me?”

“I will,” I volunteered. “I know the art of wrestling.”

“How–how would we begin?”

“As the contenders in the arena do.”

“They–they fight naked,” she said, her cheeks becoming rosier and rosier.

“Yes. They fight naked.”

As though she found herself in a dream, she stripped down. She stripped, Publius, revealing to me the most perfect body I have ever seen! Her breasts were round and proud, the nipples and areolas a deep color, reddish-brown. She was darkly (but not thickly) furred down below, the cloven swell of her sex visible as through an ebon mist. “Now what?” she asked, licking her lips.

“Now we oil up.” I spread the sweetest, finest olive oil over her naked body, she writhing and sighing with pleasure as my hands glided over her marvelous curves, until she gleamed from head to toe, and then I shed my own clothing and she did the same for me, lingering over my straining member.

“You will not hurt me,” she pled. “This is my very first time–to wrestle.”

“I will be gentle.”

I spread blankets on the floor and explained that the main thing was to pin your opponent in a hold that could not be broken. Then we grappled, she rubbing her firm young breasts against my chest, writhing, slipping her thighs between mine. Oh, Publius, if this became a public entertainment, how the crowds in the arena would love to watch! My friend, if you have never oiled up a lithe young girl and then come to grips with her delightfully squirming body, I highly recommend the exercise. It is good to develop the muscles–or at least one muscle! I enjoyed our bout so much that I prolonged the moment of throwing her, though at last I had her stretched out supine on the mat, my legs straddling her middle, my hands grasping her wrists. She panted beneath me. “I win the first fall,” I said.

“What should your prize be?” she asked with an excited smile.

“A kiss.”

Publius, this time she kissed me, so deeply that I thought her tongue would go down my throat, the way a hummingbird’s tongue pierces into the heart of a lily! We rose, both of us flushed and excited, and then we fell to grappling again. This time the minx grasped my member! Her hands, slick with oil, were so delightful! I suffered myself to be pinned, with her sitting astride me, legs spread wide so that I could admire the pink flower of her womanhood, glistening with the dew of arousal. “I yield,” I said with a laugh.

“It is not fair,” she pouted. “We are wrestling, and here sit I all unarmed, and yet you are armed with a stout gladius!” She reached behind herself and stroked my manly sword.

“Must I surrender it?” I asked.

“It must go into the scabbard,” she said decisively. She rose on her knees, grasped my cock, and moved it up and down, so the head of it parted and rubbed her nether lips, already slippery-wet and ready. I heard her purr in her throat like a kitten. And then she slipped herself right over my member, gasping as it took her maidenhead, but then falling into a clenching, pounding rhythm. “Oh,” she moaned. “It is such a delightful sword! I love how it thrusts!”

“Such a welcoming, hot, clasping scabbard,” I gasped, holding her hips and guiding her movements.

“This is so wrong,” she said. “My father would kill me–and you.”

“That makes it more exciting,” I said, and I felt her muscles squeeze me hard. She found it more exciting, too. I began to move faster, lifting her whole body with the rise of my hips.

“I want–oh! Oh, yes, like that!–oh, I want to learn the whole art of wrestling! I want more instruction, dear Lucius! I want you to pin me on my back and administer the coup with your sword! I want to feel it thrust and thrust within me while I writhe on my back! But my father will–oh, right there, yes!–will never permit such lessons. What must we do about this?”

“We must meet secretly once more tomorrow and plan our way,” I said. I told her the address of the shop and said, “Come there at mid-day. We must–ahh! Ahh!”

Crispissa clutched her own breasts, kneading. A rosy flush crept up her torso and covered both beautiful round bobbing breasts as she began to reach her climax. “Oh, what is happening to me!”

“Gods, gods, gods!”

She collapsed on me after having shuddered through a prolonged, intense orgasm, and I clutched her tight. “Come at mid-day,” I said again when I felt I could speak. “We will plan what to do. I love you, Crispissa. You love me.”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “Yes, I do, my teacher. And now could you–could you show me another hold?”

I arrived at the shop early the next day, but old Magister had preceded me. Though he was not yet open for business, I heard angry voices from inside: the old man’s grating, harsh gabble, and Melanthius’ deeper, more somber tones. “Curse you, old man!” the latter was saying. “I need the elixir for a valued client! I offer good gold!”

“But your client would offer more!” shot back Magister. “Therefore, refer him to me!”

“I have shared my secrets with you in the past!”

“The more fool you!”

And with a dreadful curse, Melanthius said, “One day you will pay for your greed, old miser!” He came out, his face dark as a thundercloud.

I crept into the shop with a heavy heart, for I was sure the old man would be in a foul temper.

He was.

Grumbling and growling to himself, Magister fell to filling up his little vials for the day’s business while I made up the fire. I noticed, with a little skip of my heart, that he made up one of the tiny vials of the pale blue love potion. Once again, he carried the tray into the front, forgetting to lock up his stock. This time, though, I quickly took not only a drop on my tongue from the big bottle, but also filled and stoppered a little vial–telling myself that I could never be sure of this kind of luck. You might remember, Publius, that I have always worn about my neck a trinket from that resourceful courtesan Livia, she whom we took simultaneously fore and aft the night after we both won prizes at the oratory contest. It is, you will recall, a small round brass bell. But you might not know that it unscrews at the join around the middle, so that one can carry a small folded love-message or the like. Or in my case, so that one can hide a tiny little bottle, hardly bigger than a fingernail! Now, come what may, I would have on hand the crucial third drop.

Oh, I waited for mid-day with growing trepidation. Would Crispissa come? Would the enchantment last so long? Then as the sun reached its zenith, a plague of a street boy began to catcall right in front of the shop:

“Old Septimus Magister, / Should be on the felon’s register! / It’s so tragic / The magistrates use his magic!”

And other, more offensive rhymes, comparing Magister’s face to the withered privates of a diseased dowager. “What is that rascal doing?” screamed Magister, who was busy with a customer.

“I’ll get rid of the young villain,” I told him, and ran out of the shop.

And I did get rid of him, too, by giving him the other half of the reward I’d promised him for beginning to bawl and shout when he should see Crispissa approaching!

She flew straight into my arms–I kissed her, our tongues wrestling just as our bodies had–and the old duenna came huffing up, squawking and protesting like an angry hen: “Lady! What is this? Lady, you forget yourself! Your father will hear of this!”

“Oh, quiet, Ana,” said Crispissa peevishly. “I’ll have you know this young patrician’s father is an old friend of my father’s! They were Senators together in Rome! I merely greet an old family friend!”

“Tonight, at midnight,” I whispered in her ear. “I will be outside your house!”

Crispissa smoothed the feathers of her ruffled duenna, and they walked away. When I turned to go back into the shop, old Magister was staring balefully at me. “Did you get rid of the boy?” he asked with his voice dripping venom.

“I did,” I said. “I frightened him away before seeing an old friend from Rome here in the streets. It is truly a small Empire, after all.”

“Yes, I saw.” He leered. “Is she perhaps a . . . close friend?”

“A bosom friend,” I said.

“Good for you, young man. It is good to plow many fields while your oxen are young.”

To my surprise, for the rest of the afternoon the old man treated me with more courtesy and respect than hitherto. I began to suppose that he must know who Crispissa’s father was, an important man, and that he realized for the first time that I was not a young fellow without prospects. As we were closing up, he was moving his tray of vials to the locked cabinet in the back room when he called me over. He slipped the tray onto its broad shelf, then plucked out a round porcelain pot with a wide corked top. “I shall have to discard this tomorrow, for its virtue will be gone by then,” he said. “But it is still good tonight. Are you perchance going to visit your friend?”

“Possibly,” I said.

“Ah. Would you like to have the . . . equipment of an ass?”

“What?” I asked.

“Would you like to have a cock like a donkey’s?” he asked coarsely. “If so, take this ointment. The moon is full tonight; in the light of the full moon, massage this into your member. The results will surprise you, I’m sure. And your lady.” He waggled his shaggy gray eyebrows.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, taking the pot from him.

I had a good evening meal, and then as darkness fell, I took out the pot and opened it. The ointment inside was gray and thick. It had a pleasant smell, not unlike freshly cut hay. I thought of impaling Crispissa on my gladius, and then I wondered how she would fancy a long sword instead. I already had good proof of how well Magister’s potions worked. I decided to do it.

I left in the darkness, but instead of heading directly to Crispissa’s mansion, I slunk along to an unfrequented part of town, a refuse dump stinking of rot and decay. No one would be there. I shed all my clothes, excepting only the bell on its long thong around my neck, and scooped up the ointment. I began to rub it into my balls and cock, and I felt a most amazing tingle begin to spread. Under my hands, my cock was growing! Not becoming erect, but enlarging even in its flaccid state! It became twice the size it formerly was. I chuckled, thinking of the grand surprise in store for my beautiful little wrestler.

And then–then the moon seemed to fade. The world spun around me. I could not keep my balance, and fell forward, thrusting out my hands to take my fall. They hit the earth with a hard clopping sound! I could not see! Something slipped around my neck and tightened!

Dizzily, I looked up from where I crouched. It was as if all faint colors had drained from the night. A black silhouette loomed above me. “Well,” said the voice of Septimus Magister, “how do you like your donkey’s prick?”

“What happened?” I asked, or tried to ask. But the sound that came from my mouth was a bray.

Publius, the rogue had transformed me into an ass!

“You will be docile,” the old magician said to me, and I felt compelled to obey. I had started to kick up my heels and bellow–or bray–in my alarm. “Yes, that’s right,” he said sternly. “The rope I have placed around your neck has magic powers. You cannot fight against them. Young fool! I saw at once you must have robbed me. So you have kissed the girl–how many times? One? Two? I know it cannot be three, for that must be done within an hour of putting the drop upon your tongue, and we were together in the shop for longer than that before you ran out to meet your victim. I must assume it is two. Very well. She will be vulnerable to you for a full year. Therefore you will therefore live as an ass for a full year! Only when she is beyond your trickery and lechery will I give you the antidote that can release you from this humble form!” He leaned over, grabbed one of my long ears, and whispered into it, “But if you could persuade the young lady to kiss you on the mouth–as you are, an ugly little ass–you would break the spell. I tell you this, because magic has certain rules. And I also tell you that since I have promised your uncle that you shall get up to no mischief, for a whole year you will wear the halter of obedience, so you have no chance, no chance at all, to disobey! Now come!”

He turned, yanking the rope, and I felt compelled to follow him. But we had not gone a dozen steps before someone else materialized from the night, a taller, broader shadow. “Are you Septimus Magister?” this shadow rumbled.

“What if I am?” the old magician snarled, his leftover anger with me heating his words.

“Yes, I know that voice. It is you. I lost track of you there for a while,” the other said, sounding somewhat relieved. “Melanthius asked me to give you–this!”

For a second I thought the stranger had punched Magister in the gut, a thought that brought me some pleasure! But then my enlarged nostrils caught the horrible metallic scent of blood. Magister bent over, gurgling. I realized that the stranger had stabbed him! The assassin ripped open Magister’s clothing, tore the keys to the shop from their string around his neck. I heard the death-rattle in Magister’s throat–and his fingers loosed their hold on the rope that bound me, and the spell of the halter was broken.

Frantically, thinking that Magister was the only one who knew how to change me back, I spun and kicked! I had never been an ass before–Publius, don’t you dare say what you must be thinking!–but instinct took over, and my hard hind hoofs connected with the murderer’s knee. I heard a bone crack, and the man fell with a terrible curse! I was just wondering whether to rush in to snatch away the keys–how? With my mouth?–when a third man joined us in that stinking rubbish dump.

“What’s happened?” It was Melanthius.

With another vile curse, the fallen man said, “I fixed Magister and took his keys. But that ass kicked me! My knee’s broken!”

“Give me the keys.”

I was cowering in the shadows by this time. I heard the jangle of keys. Then Melanthius asked, “Can you walk at all?”

“Not on this leg!”

“Then you are of no further use to me.” I heard a gasp and a gargling, choking sound, and I smelled blood again–and realized that Melanthius had cut his own henchman’s throat! From my place of concealment I saw the magician haul first his henchman’s body, then Magister’s, to a spot where he pulled down a towering pile of refuse to cover them. While he was thus busy, I made a break to run past him–for there was no other way out of the heaps of garbage–and found myself brought up short when the trailing rope tangled around a runty olive tree! I tugged and pulled furiously, until I felt a strange compulsion to be still. Melanthius had found the end of the rope.

“Come along, little ass,” he said. “I will need help, and my helper is dead.”

I had to walk along beside him, quiet and obedient as long as he held the rope. He led me back to the shop, unlocked it, and left me tied outside. In a few moments he came out with two loaded bags, which he tied over my back. “You are a pitiful specimen,” he grumbled. “Smallest ass I’ve ever seen. I suppose that old miser wouldn’t buy a better one. You will have to do.” He brought more and more bags out, balancing them over my back. I realized he was cleaning out the cabinet in the shop–Melanthius was stealing all of Magister’s mixtures!

Then–the thought crossed my mind in a flash–he must have the antidote to the accursed ointment!

I expected Melanthius to lead me to his shop, wherever that might be, but instead he took me to a vacant site near an old building that had been torn down. Heaps of rubble were still spread everywhere. In back of the site he shifted a stone and uncovered a disused cistern. One by one he lowered the bags into the dark opening. I realized what must be happening: Melanthius, knowing that Magister’s disappearance would be investigated, was keeping his potions safe until the investigation blew over. But my only hope was vanishing into that cistern! He finished his task, shifted the stone again, and dusted his hands.

And just as we were leaving–it was past midnight by this time, the moon high up in the sky–three soldiers in the street called to him: “Stop!”

“What is it, Officer?” he asked in a voice that sounded confident.

A fourth man, who had been hanging back behind the three armed men, stepped forward. “That’s the murderer,” he said. “I saw him cut the poor fellow’s throat!”

Melanthius sprang forward toward the cowering witness, his knife flashing–but two of the three soldiers already had drawn their swords, and they skewered him!

Publius, can I tell you the woe I felt, the horror of my situation? There were only two men that I knew of in all of Athens who might have the power of restoring my humanity–

And they were both dead!

Just the memory overwhelms me and tears of self-pity blind my eyes. Publius, my friend, I will write more soon. For now, though, think of my situation and feel some sorrow for your old friend–

A week ago I wrote to you, telling you of my strange adventures since last you heard from me. Should this letter reach you first, I beg you, read no further but wait for my earlier letter. Then you will understand much that otherwise would seem most fantastic.

Have you read the first letter? Good! Then I continue from the point where I left off. The soldiers took me along, with Melanthus’ dead body trussed up and flung over my back. He was tall, and I made but a short ass (I do hope you have read the earlier letter), so they had to bend his knees and tie a rope from them to his head to keep bits from dragging.

As we took the body to the inquest, I forced myself to think sensibly, as we used to do in logic class at school. I decided to reason out my predicament with myself, calling one voice Reason, the other voice Ass. The process went like this:

Reason:

Well, this is one for the books, isn’t it?

Ass:

I’m an ass! I’m an ass, for the gods’ sake! I’m an ass!

Reason:

True, but as this condition cannot be immediately changed, it must be borne with. Therefore, let us look to the positive side: We know there is an antidote.

Ass:

Antidote! I cannot open that cistern! I cannot haul out the bags of potions! I don’t have thumbs! And anyway, I don’t know which potion or ointment it might be! In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an ass!

Reason:

True, you are an ass, and true, as an ass you are incapable of reaching the antidote that would make you human again. Yet there is hope.

Ass:

Hope! What hope is there? I am an ass! If you didn’t notice, egghead, I. Am. An. Ass! An ASS! Do you understand Latin?

Reason:

Calm yourself, my friend! There is hope, as I said. The old wizard told you that if your beloved kisses you, as you are, tongue to tongue, you will be restored!

Ass:

But I can’t talk! I can’t tell her who I am! She’s supposed to be submissive to me for a year, but here I am held prisoner by these soldiers–and if I get away, even if I can get to Crispissa, what hope is there? She won’t recognize me! How can I make her kiss me? How?

Reason:

You’ve got me there, old boy. I expect it would be rather difficult. You’re an ass, you know.

Ass:

You gods-damned son of a bitch! I’ll do you for this! I’ll kill you! I’ll–

Well, Publius, I will go no further in this philosophical dialogue but to say that I found no promising path to a solution.

Would I could forget the next months! I became a lowly denizen of a gray world! Because I was so small, they neglected me in the army stables, leaving me alone in one dark, smelly corner. I learned that I had to eat hay (by the way, let me recommend a mixture of wheat straw and well-dried long hay for your draft animals, with good, dry grain at least four times a week, and the occasional juicy apple. I didn’t get any of that, so I know it would mean a lot to your horses and mules. Trust me on this.) The army did not want or need me, for I was very puny by their standards, and so after months of being tied in a stall by that blasted magic rope, I was auctioned off, being bought for a few copper coins by one Senex Cratius as a gift for his young wife.

Senex was a handsome youth of about eighty, with bleared eyes, trembling bony legs, a hooked nose, and no teeth in his gums. His wife was a dainty little bit of eighteen (I should have mentioned that Senex had been a magistrate and had evidently embezzled from the fines he levied, for he was rolling in money). She was short and rather on the plump side, but not too plump to be unappealing, I assure you. Gods, but I admire these girls with swelling breasts, hips you can dig your fingers into, and a jolly, greedy disposition! Though as I say the lady, whose name was Monitia, was not slender, she was not fat, either, and because she was short, she could ride me quite easily. Even if the soldiers had not sold me with the rope of obedience or whatever the damned thing was called around my neck, I would gladly have supported that little bird.

The very first day that she owned me, Monitia rode me to the Agora, the marketplace, where she bought some cosmetics, a silver mirror, and some sex. Well, she didn’t buy the latter–she simply met a good-looking, strapping young fellow in a jewelry shop. He escorted her to rooms behind the shop (I was not inside, of course, but tied out back, and through the room’s one window I could see and hear all). First they undressed; then Monitia knelt down before the young man and sucked his member until it was stiff and standing (not half as stiff or as long as mine had grown, for I did not think or feel like an ass, but like myself; none of the mares in the stable had attracted me, but a naked girl was something else again!), and then he took her standing, reaching around to hold onto her fine hips. I could smell their love juices! Oh, gods, it was agony!

She came out in fifteen minutes (no staying power, these Athenian boys) and giggled when she saw that my own member was engorged. “What a pity you aren’t a man!” she said. “Poor assy, did you see what we were doing?”

Well, of course I saw! From there we went to a street where lawyers kept their offices, and in one of these was another young man, and he had a room around back, and they led me into an enclosed paddock there, and right in the open–well, there were no windows or open doors, but you could hear people passing by in the street just beyond the tall walls of the enclosure–they lay in the hay and fucked like a couple of inflamed rabbits! I could not help moaning. Monitia laughed and that, and when they had finished (ten minutes this time! I wished I were back in human form and could show her what a lover with stamina could do for her! “Once you try Rome, you never go home,” the ladies say!) she dressed and called the young law-clerk’s attention to my plight. “When we made love, we excited him,” she said.

They came over and patted me. “Get him a good mare in heat,” the young Athenian advised. “You can always sell the mule.”

“No, he’s too small for that. A mare would eat him alive! Poor little assy. I’m going to take his halter off and let him trot around a bit. It may work off his excitement.”

She removed the rope, and I did start doing laps, with my little (little!) gladiator practically dragging the ground. I do not know when the two of them began toying with each other, but I came to a stop when I saw that Monitia had playfully dropped the rope around the young man’s neck–and was pretending that he was an ass, riding him as he lumbered around on hands and knees! She quickly learned that the rope had an enchantment, for she began to give him other orders, orders that he was compelled to obey!

She lay back on the straw, holding the rope in one hand and spreading her pussy with the other, and had him lick and nibble at her for a good long time! She came happily, moaning, “At last, at last!” I stood mournfully nearby. She looked on me with pity and said, “Come here, assy. I’ll help you out. She reached out, seized my throbbing member, and began to stroke it. “So big! So firm!” she said. “You like that, don’t you?” She had the young lawyer eat her out again while she cooed, “If only I dared try to fit this into my poor little slit! Oh, the lady horses must love you! Oh, my friend was right, and I must find you a fine high-spirited mare! But you’ll have to stand on a box to mount her! Oh!”

She took her time, and when she came again, so did I, in three monstrous squirts! Monitia laughed happily. At last, seeming fully satisfied, she stood and made the lawyer kneel and promise he would forget everything that had happened. She took the rope off his neck, put it on mine, and we went home to old Senex. On the way, Monitia talked to me: “Where did you come by a magic halter, little ass? Such a thing has so many uses! I have been yearning to visit my dear friend in Egypt, but my old husband has been refusing my request. Now I think I shall find a way to get there–and I shall take you with me, little ass. But you deserve a name! How about . . . Goldie? You are tawny-gold in color, and you have made me as happy as a golden treasure would! Come along, Goldie!”

Publius, on the one hand I was grateful that someone actually spoke to me. On the other hand . . . she was such an airhead.

What need I say of matters you will have already guessed? Monitia secured her old husband’s happy consent to her trip–you know how–and he gave her a handsome amount of gold to pay for her excursion–you know why–and she didn’t touch me again–you know where!

Within a week, Monitia had arranged our voyage across the sea to Egypt. “Our” voyage? Yes, for I think she had the idea that the halter somehow derived its power from me. Or maybe she just had a soft spot for her little ass. But, Publius, I never want to voyage that way again! Stabled below decks, with some goats and chickens! Sick from the rolling of the ship! Nothing to eat but moldy hay and wet grain! It was not a pleasure cruise, I assure you.

And once in Egypt, my gods! how uncomfortable I was! The heat, the flies, the noise! As an ass I saw things very differently now–did I mention to you that asses evidently are blind to all colors, and to them the world exists in shades of gray? Sounds were trebly loud to my big sail-like ears! Scents, from pleasant aromas to reeking stenches, assaulted my overlarge nostrils! And the sun beat down all day from a merciless, cloudless sky. My troubles multiplied, my woes expanded. I mourned my altered state, I wept inwardly for my sad prospects, I bewailed my unfair fate. In short, I was fucked.

Monitia’s friend in Alexandria was Josefa, a temple virgin by profession, a whore by way of after-work relaxation. As I stood in the meager shade afforded by a couple of date palms in Josefa’s inner courtyard, I saw Monitia loop the halter around her friend’s neck. I saw Josefa become complaisant and still; and then Monitia began to whisper such filthy suggestions to her friend that I wanted to close my eyes and avert my head from very shame! Only the slim hope that one day I might return to human form and so be able to tell it all to you, Publius, forced me to view the disgusting spectacle, and I hope that what I write of it satisfies your curiosity, you revolting pervert.

Josefa, enthralled, stripped as Monitia ordered her to do. She had an enchanting body: slim, but with abundant breasts, dark-tipped and firm. I assume her skin was deeply tanned, for it looked dark to my ass’s eyes, and I could just imagine how succulent the sex concealed beneath her black nether curls must be. Monitia had Josefa pose in all manner of lewd postures, kneeling and bending far back with legs widely spread, standing and bending over with thighs far apart, lying on her back with her feet locked behind her head. Oh, had I been a man, I could not have kept myself from leaping aboard that pleasure craft and burrowing into her hold!

Then a smiling Monitia likewise stripped. She stood over a sitting Josefa, her right foot in the space bounded by Josefa’s upper thighs and pussy, her left foot behind Josefa, nuzzling her friend’s shapely butt. Josefa leaned and stretched and began to lap Monitia’s pussy, slurping and smacking in her enjoyment. At an order from Monitia, Josefa reached down to pleasure herself, her fingers busy and eager. Both girls began to moan and murmur, and I found myself suffering another hard fate, with no kind hand to ease me. Both ladies climaxed, and then Monitia, still disdaining to take the halter from Josefa’s neck, had her friend stretch out on the grass (Egyptian grass, Publius, is stringy and tough and has no succulence to it, none at all. I’d far rather have a nosebag full of barley!) and then reclined on top of her, pussy to mouth, mouth to pussy, and they began to devour one another. My tongue hung out, a grieving witness to that in which it could not participate!

And then, as the two, like ladies from Lesbos, began to hump each other’s mouths, I saw a dark shadow gliding toward them through the grass. It was a serpent, Publius! Even in human form, I despise and detest serpents, but now that I was in asinine form, that one terrified me! Yet, driven mad by my throbbing member and my sad predicament, somehow I summoned up the will to gallop forward, toward the creature, not away from it! Strange, is it not, to think how one can pluck courage from an ass when the occasion demands?

The women were so utterly and juicily engrossed in each other’s coming climax that neither at first noticed. The serpent reared–it was the deadly cobra, with outspread hood–and I leaped away as it struck out at me like lightning! For only an instant it stretched out its full length on the ground, and I trampled its head beneath my hoofs! I broke its spine! I smashed its skull! I shattered its fangs! I gave it the worst day of its life!

“What?” asked a dazed Monitia, glancing up. She screamed and leaped off Josefa, leaving Josefa’s tongue quiveringly questing for her pussy, and then snatched the halter off Josepha’s neck.

Her friend, whom she had not commanded to forget, moaned, “Finish me off, please!”

But Monitia showed her the snake I had killed, and Josefa gasped and told her it was a terribly venomous serpent and that I had undoubtedly saved both their lives. They caressed me and made much of me, but gave me no handjob, alas, and then, aware of their narrow escape and still horny, retired into Josefa’s house to entertain each other further.

Such in these unworthy modern days is a hero’s reward. They got pussy, I got fucked.

But strange are the ways of fate, Publius. The very next day, both of the women (full of lascivious plans for that halter) took me with them to a temple of Venus, where they made sacrifice and thanked the goddess for their narrow escape. Whilst they were praying and pouring libations, I approached the temple as far as I dared–the top of the steps, but I could see the statue of the goddess inside, in the dimness–and knelt on my front legs, as well as an ass can kneel, and in my mind I prayed most fervently thus:

“O divine Venus, giver of love, bringer of lust, hear me! O most beautiful of goddesses and mortals, possessor of the bosom divine and the buttocks supernal and the private places most desirable in all the universe, grant an humble ass his prayer! You must know, goddess, of my plight! Only you can save me! Only you can return me to my proper form! Goddess, do so and I pledge to worship you in my own way every day! My dick shall swell and find a cunt to receive it, and I shall think of you as I fuck! When I come, I shall shout out not my partner’s name, but your own! And if you but suffer to grant me my request, I shall return to Athens and make Crispissa my mate and my love-slave, and we shall dedicate every blowjob, every rimjob, every handjob, every titfuck, every doggy-style, every ass-fuck, every around-the-Empire, every LXIX, every straight fuck, every orgasm, to your glory!”

I felt a strange tingling then, and when I looked up, lo! The statue of the goddess moved! It moved, Publius, stirred, and stepped out of the temple. Yet it did not, for I could still see it standing–yet it did, for a transparent version of the divine goddess stood before me! It was a miracle, or an impressive special effect!

“Poor Goldie,” I heard a phantom voice say in my head. “Yes, you are up to your ass in trouble, are you not? Be of good cheer, for I have heard your prayer, and I choose to grant it, though you named but nine means of a man’s and woman’s making love. But I shall reveal unto you the other three-and-thirty, and you and Crispissa may devote them all to me in thanks. I cannot myself return you to your former shape, Goldie, but I will see to it that you have the opportunity to do it yourself, if you are wise and resourceful enough. I give thee now the Goddess of Love’s best blessing: Fuck you!”

And like a dream she was gone!

A moment later, I saw the priestess of the temple engage in speech with Monitia; they spoke for some time, glancing my way, and then Monitia came out with tears in her eyes, knelt, and put her arms around my neck. “Little Goldie!” she said. “The priestess says the goddess asks for you as a gift. I must surrender you! Yet I shall always remember you and the wonderful halter you brought me. Farewell, and may your days be blessed!”

And she and Josefa strolled away, arms around each other’s waists, not once looking back at me. You’d think she’d want to check her ass, but no.

Another sea-voyage, this one no better, and in short order I found myself back in Athens, a gift to the great Temple of Venus on the Parthenon. For weeks, Publius, for months, I participated in the worship services by bringing out the flowers, placed in panniers athwart my back. I heard many prayers in that temple, and I got to eat the flowers after the services. But my heart was heavy, for it seemed to me the goddess had forgotten her promises.

And then one day . . . .

The Priestess supervised as a portly, balding man made sacrifice. And then I heard her say, “Now make your libations and speak your prayers, Marcus Claudius Lepidus.”

“It is that my daughter come to her senses,” he growled. “For months she has been pining away and refusing to accept my will and marry the man I have selected for her!”

My knees shook, all four of them! This was my father’s old friend! This was the father of my beloved! This was my chance!

As always, the minions of the temple led me back to my stall and tethered me whilst Claudius prayed. But they had no halter of obedience, just a plain rope, and I soon bit through that! I crept out of the stable and followed Claudius as he left the temple and descended into the town. People pointed and laughed, but I pretended to be a tame ass with doglike devotion. I followed Claudius, at a discreet distance, through the twists and turns of streets. Then, just as we neared his mansion, disaster! An oxcart driver had to swerve to avoid me, his cart scraped a wall and broke a wheel, and he leapt down, livid with anger, and began to whip me!

Gods, Publius, I hope that fiend’s soul rots in Tartarus! He wielded his heavy ox-whip with a will, and try as I might, I could not avoid the blows. He lashed me a dozen times, two dozen, beyond bearing! I am going to die, I thought.

Things went black. And then I heard a tearful woman’s voice screaming, “Get away, you brute! You’ll kill the poor little thing!”

The world swam back into focus–

And my darling Crispissa was crouched over me, her white arm raised, warding off the bestial ox-driver! Her father was expostulating at the top of his voice–a crowd collected–they condemned the ox-driver for a brute (may a thousand Furies flay his own pustule-covered back with whips made of living asps!)–and he slunk off to see to his cart.

“That ass is mortally wounded,” said Claudius impersonally. “I shall have a servant put it out of its misery.”

Oh, I believed him at the moment, for all my back was on fire! Blood dripped from my snout and my ears. But Crispissa was embracing my neck and weeping. “No, father! It is cruel!”

“Crispissa, his back has been laid open. His wounds will mortify and he will die.”

“Give him to me, father! I will salve his wounds and keep off the flies! Poor little creature!” She swallowed hard. “Give him to me, and I–I will consent to marry Livius, though I despise him!”

Was Venus playing me the cruelest of tricks?

“Very well!” her father said. “I will get some servants to help move him into the stables!”

No. No, no, no. If that happened, all was lost.

I painfully turned my head. Crispissa’s face swam into my view. I made my lips quiver. I stared into her lovely eyes.

“Poor little ass,” she murmured, bending close. “You look as if you would tell me some–aarrgh!”

She exclaimed thus because I had moved my head forward, thrust out my tongue, and had kissed her in the middle of her word! Kissed her as well as an ass can kiss a woman, anyway!

For a moment I thought I was truly dying. The world spun round and round, my senses reeled, and I felt a terrible jolt all through my body. And then–

“Lucius!” exclaimed Crispissa. “Lucius, my love!”

“Who is this naked man?” demanded her father, who had returned with the servants.

You see, some explanations were in order.

They carried me inside, for I still bore the stripes and wounds given to me by the accursed ox-driver, may his dick shrivel up, drop off, and be devoured by a passing mongrel cur afflicted with hydrophobia, with pestilence, and with the mange! They lay me in a bed. For hours I heard raised voices as Crispissa, her father, and her mother went at it hammer and tongs.

In that time, bandaged and given some wine to drink, I began to recover my wits. Hanging around my neck, on a leather thong that had been stretched thin but–thank the gods!–never broken by my transformation into an ass was–a little brass bell that unscrewed and that hid a secret.

Claudius and his wife, a handsome but formidably high-tempered Amazon named Cunticia, came in sternly to interview me when the physician he had summoned had seen to me. “Young man,” said Claudius, “we–”

“You have to leave Crispissa alone!” snapped his wife.

“My dear,” said Claudius, I am handling–”

“Shut up!” she ordered. “We’ve picked out a husband for her. I can’t believe her ungodly story about how you returned, but however you returned, you are to get out of our house and out of our daughter’s life, or I will make your life so miserable–”

“My dear, he has been wounded–”

“Shut up! If you’d listen to me, you miserable worm, you would have forced the little fool to marry a year ago, when the fellow she fancied disappeared–”

A year!

“It hasn’t quite been a year, my love–” began her husband.

“Shut up!”

He gave me a resigned look. For half an hour the virago gave me the sharp edge of her tongue. Then she raged out. I saw that to conquer this citadel, I could not merely overcome the commander–I had to beat down the walls of his wife as well.

“Your wife is very decisive,” I said.

“Gods know,” he sighed. “Young fellow, I must send you away tomorrow, whether you are well or not.”

“Sir,” I said, “My name is Lucius Gaius Pius. I believe in your youth you knew my late father, Horatius Gaius.”

“Yes,” he said, wonderingly. “Yes, indeed! My old friend–he died just over a year ago, quite wealthy, I heard.”

“And I am his heir,” I said. “And I want most fervently, sir, to marry your daughter.”

“Alas,” he said. “That cannot be.”

“Tell me,” I said, fingering the bell that hung around my neck, “how long–exactly how long–has it been since I vanished and left Crispissa disconsolate?”

“That was on March 12 of last year,” he said.

“And what is today?”

“March 10,” he said. “Not quite a year–I like to be strict in accounts, and–”

“Then let me see your daughter,” I pled. “Not a moment is to be lost! Let the two of us convince you that we must marry!”

“My boy,” he said, “speaking as her father, I can tell you that I would be pleased with such a son-in-law. But my wife will never agree. Indeed, Cunticia never complies with any of my wishes at all, and sometimes I wish–but it is a curse I bear.”

I held up a tiny blue vial. “That curse can be remedied,” I advised him.

There were exactly four drops of precious potion in the bottle, fortunately for us. The very next morning, Claudius ushered his daughter in to see me, and I, having taken the second of the four drops the vial contained, kissed her deeply and earnestly. Would you believe it, Publius, but she climbed right into bed with me, and there, right in front of her beaming father, she straddled me and fucked me? Oh, she was so tender, so careful of my aches and pains! She sank her pussy gently over my member and did not bounce up and down, like a woman riding a wild horse, but as it were sucked my member gently with her pussy! And all the while she cooed, “I love him, Father! He wants me, and I must obey him!”

Her father looked a bit pained, but he gave me a weak smile, as between two men who had the utter loyalty of their women. “The vial, please, young man?” her father asked me, and I handed it over. He put a drop of potion on his tongue and hurried off to plant his second kiss on his own compliant and obedient wife.

Just four days after I last wrote to you, Publius, Claudius and his devoted slave of a wife arranged for a lawyer to inquire into my affairs, and it turned out that not only have I inherited my father’s vast wealth, but my miserly uncle has in the meantime died, and I am his heir, too–a fortune thrice the size of Claudius’ own, and that is no pittance! Immediately, Claudius agreed to advance me money for certain purchases. Limping, leaning on a staff, I went with him to inquire about a certain vacant lot. It had belonged to one Melanthius, deceased, and he dying without heirs, the State had claimed it. It had been neglected for a year, and I purchased the weedy, overgrown plot easily enough. “I want it for one day only,” I told my future father-in-law. “Then I will give it freely to you. If you’d care to sponsor a small shop there, it would do well. I would suggest a provender shop for asses, mules, and horses. I can tell you exactly what to have the shopman stock!”

We moved the stone, probed down into the cistern with long hooks, and soon fished up four heavy bags. The vials had been well wrapped and none had broken. Better, there were five scrolls inside, detailing what each and every mixture would do!

I spent a day studying the scrolls and burning certain ointments and poisons, including a big pot of the stuff that had forced me into asinine form. The precious pale-blue liquid I split half and half with Claudius, who has his eye on some nubile young maidservants and whose wife is now utterly compliant to his will and eager to satisfy his every demand and wish, no matter how perverse. Other mixtures are very promising, and I have carefully kept them.

Yesterday Crispissa and I were married. In a week we set out for Rome, where I shall claim my inheritance. I look forward to seeing you again, Publius, my friend, and to giving you certain gifts that are bound to bring you delight.

My slave-wife Crispissa is so delightful. As I sit at the table writing to you, she kneels naked between my thighs and sucks my enormous cock–oh, did I tell you that this one bit of me did not change back fully? Well–oh, gods, she’s great–it did not.

And I have enough potion left to allow you, too, to sample its powers, and to find for Crispissa and myself perhaps half a dozen willing and athletic lady love-slaves, and–but I must close, Publius. I am terribly, terribly busy at the moment.

Please excuse the shaky handwriting.