This story is pure fantasy. It involves the abuse physical and _s_e_x_ual of young boys by other boys and adults. If you are under age or do not enjoy such stories please do not read this. There are to my mind some exremely unpleasant scenes in this instalment. You have been warned. Any comments or suggestions to zelmar@hotmail. com. The only messages I will not reply to are those complaining that this story includes scenes involving the abuse of young boys. That is what this story is about. Earlier instalments of this story can be found in zelmar's personal archive on MMSA Stories:.
Pisclus squatted on the pot. His insides appeared to have turned to water but now he seemed to have emptied himself and the stomach cramps had ceased. He had learnt enough over the past few days to know that he must stay where he had been put until told otherwise or face yet another beating. So he stayed there alone and naked waiting for Marcus to return.
He had heard Marcus's suggestion to his father, that they should keep him as a slave, but it had meant little to him. For some time after he had set off with the two of them he had nursed the thought that his slavery was just a charade. That the time would come when he would resume life as what he really was Gaius not only a free boy but a member of one of the oldest patrician famillies in Rome although now impoverished and in political disgrace. But as the days passed another, crueller, reality of pain, abuse and humiliation had taken hold of him.
Very quickly the idea of a not too distant release from his bondage had ceased to be an expectation and became merely a vague dream that offered him occasional comfort. Every cut of the cane across his bare rump, every _s_e_x_ual assault on his body, and there were many of both, made that dream of ultimate freedom seem more unrealistic until it had all but vanished from his mind. He no longer thought as a free boy but as a slave. His concerns were those of a slave, to survive and if possible, escape the lash by serving and pleasing his master. He did not even question the fate that had made him a slave and Marcus his master. That was the reality and against that reality he could not struggle. He could only accept it.
All that Marcus's words had done was to finally destroy what had already become a dream in which he had ceased to have any real belief.
There were foot steps on the stairs. Marcus came into the room. Pisclus looked up at him from where he hunkered down over the chamber pot and smiled timidly. Marcus seated himself on the bed beside his little slave.
"Filth in the pot and filth squatting on top of it," Marcus said half to himself with a contemptuous smile.
"Yes Sir," Pisclus had no false pride and fully understood and accepted his lowly position in the world.
Marcus reached out and stroked Pisclus's cheek with the back of his hand. He ran the tip of his thumb along the boy's half open lips.
"Sir, please Sir," Pisclus said and then hesitated.
"Yes boy?"
"I'm glad I'm a good _f_u_c_k_ Sir."
"So am I boy." Marcus smiled. "You better get that sweet little bum of yours healed too because I'm not waiting for ever before I _f_u_c_k_ you again."
"Yes Sir...I try to be a good boy Sir."
"You know what will happen to you if you're not don't you?"
"Yes Sir"
"Well tell me what"
"You'll beat me Sir."
"That's right. I'll have the skin off your bottom with the cane."
Marcus paused a moment relishing the thought. His prick had begun to harden yet again.
"Well you're going to be branded tomorrow then," he continued after a second or two. "Why do I enjoy the thought of the boy's suffering?" he asked himself.
"Yes Sir." Pisclus sounded far from happy at the prospect.
"The mark will be here," Marcus leant forward and put his finger on the left side of Pisclus's rump just below his hip. He felt the boy's flesh shrink away from his touch. "Yes there. You'll be stripped and dragged to the bench and bent over. The branding iron will be red hot. You'll feel it's heat before it ever touches your flesh. You'll try to quail away from it but you will be held firm and the glowing iron will be pressed against your unprotected rump.
"There'll be a sizzling sound like meat frying in a hot pan as the iron sears your flesh. You'll be screaming even before you feel the heat of the branding iron. A little smoke will rise as the hot iron is pressed into your bum. There'll be the sweet smoky smell of burning boy's flesh and the imperial mark will have been neatly incised into your bottom. Just there, where my finger is. It'll hurt for a long time afterwards."
Marcus's voice sounded gleeful as he described the agony awaiting the boy.
"Please Sir will you be there Sir? When they brand me Sir?"
"Of course I will," Marcus laughed heartlessly. "I wouldn't miss the fun for anything."
"I'll try and bear it Sir," Pisclus said unhappily.
"You'll have to bear it boy. You have no choice my poor little slave."
Yes Sir..I know I am your slave Sir...Please Sir I'll stay with you as your slave Sir."
"I'll decide what will be done to you boy," Marcus snapped cuffing Pisclus on the side of his head to punish him for his impertinence.
"Now here's Ceres come to clean you up."
The coloured boy came into the room carrying a bowl of steaming water and some rags. White teeth splitting his dark face in a cheerful grin. It was clear that the prospect of tending Pisclus's firm young bottom was one he regarded with enthusiasm.
He helped Pisclus to his feet. Making the younger boy stand leaning slightly forward with his legs apart he knelt on the ground behind him and began to gently sponge between his legs and along the crack of his bottom. Marcus could see from the bulge developing under the narrow strip of white cloth, that was Ceres only covering, that he was finding his work enjoyable. It was also clear that Pisclus found the touch of the damp cloth in the most intimate recesses of his body arousing. At last Ceres could prolong his task no longer. He hunkered back on his heels and looked up at Marcus.
"Well let me see if the job has done properly. Come here Pisclus and let me see. Turn round boy. Legs apart and bend forward."
He parted the boys buttocks and examined the area in between. The lad seemed spotless which was not surprising considering the thoroughness with which Ceres had washed him. Marcus, who by now was thoroughly aroused himself, was not going to allow a little thing like this to spoil the fun.
"This will not do at all," he announced firmly patting Pisclus's bottom with the flat of his hand. "Still filthy. You must do better than this Ceres."
The black boy started to shuffle forwards on his knees clearly eager to resume his intimate swabbing of the young boy's delectable rump.
"No," Marcus said sharply. "Pisclus back on the bed, face down, legs apart. Now Ceres get behind him and use your tongue to clean him up and do it properly this time."
Neither of the two boys showed the slightest reluctance in obeying these orders. In a second Pisclus was lying prone on the bed his bum slightly elevated while Ceres's agile tongue explored the cleft of his bottom.
Marcus slipped his hand under Pisclus's hips. The little fellows tiny prick was hard and throbbing. He walked round to the end of the bed. Ceres had chosen not to lie flat on the mattress behind Pisclus but to kneel between his spread legs. As a consequence his bum was stuck high up in the air as he licked between the other boy's legs. The little slip of white cloth running down the centre of his bottom seemed to exaggerate the natural the darkness of his skin that gleamed like ebony.
Marcus stood there a moment or two admiring the view, then he leaned forward and ripped away the fragment of white cloth. He ran his hands over the boys bottom enjoying the feel of the silky smoothness of his flesh. Ceres pushed his bottom higher inviting, perhaps begging, Marcus to carry his exploration further. Marcus required no invitation, indeed the idea of a slave boy inviting him to do something would have appeared to him ridiculous. He believed he had the right of entry to any slave lad who took his fancy and he had every intention of exercising that right on this occasion. He moistened his index finger and inserted it into the coloured youth's anus. There was only the slightest resistance and then the finger slid into the lad with surprising ease. For a moment Marcus explored the boy's hole feeling the heat and pulse of his young eager body. Ceres, spurred on by the probing finger, gyrated his hips while simultaneously teasing with added energy Pisclus's bottom with his tongue.
Marcus not yet fully engaged in the fun, drove his finger deeper, enjoying the spectacle of the two slave boys' ever increasing _s_e_x_ual excitement.. Feeling that he was about to burst he pulled out his finger. Ceres moaned in disappointment and frustration. Marcus slapped him sharply on his taughtly uplifted rump, mounted the bed behind him and taking aim pressed the tip of his pulsing _c_o_c_k_ between the lips of his anus. Ceres went wild. He worked his bottom desperately trying to catch the other boy's member and draw it into his body. Marcus deliberately withheld it a few seconds bringing Ceres's excitement and desire to fever pitch. Then he thrust forward. If _f_u_c_k_ing Pisclus was like riding a highly mettled pony, _f_u_c_k_ing Ceres was like trying to master a fiery untamed animal. Marcus, lighter and smaller than his mount, felt the full force of the older boys passion. The strong lithe young body writhed and bucked under him as he tried to sate Ceres's lust for _c_o_c_k_. Both rider and mount were sweating when at last Marcus felt the black boy's body clench tight and shuddering about his prick and orgasm came.
Marcus lay for a moment on top of the other boy then he rolled clear and got to his feet. Pisclus he saw now lay prone on the bed his bum no longer raised to accept Ceres's questing tongue. It would appear he also had come
Ceres scrambled from the bed, gathered up the various rags and the bowl of water. He glanced nervously at Marcus and receiving a short nod of the head from him scuttled from the room.
Marcus patted his young slave on the bottom and having nothing further to do there left the room in search of his father.
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"The first boys are arriving Father," Marcus said from his place by the window where he had been standing in a state of increasing excitement for the last half hour. "They've had the brazier burning for hours now and the irons must be really hot. Isn't it time I took our boys down?"
Marcus had been sent to bed early by his father on the grounds that he had been clearly overdoing things and needed a rest. His father referred particularly to the redness of his eyes and a certain pallor in the face to justify this, to Marcus, quite unjustified interference with his freedom. Corax himself had not stayed in but had gone to have supper with the tax collectors taking Bestia with him. Marcus had not only had to go to bed early, even worse he had had to go to bed by himself. As a consequence of this Marcus had woken full of energy and bubbling with excitement. Corax how ever was clearly feeling the strain after the previous night and was eating his breakfast in grumpy silence. The only time he had really laughed that morning was when his son had drawn his attention to the comical way in which Pisclus, who had been sent back to their rooms by Vacca, walked. "As if," as Marcus put it "the tart had a marrow up his bottom." Marcus had made quite a bit of fun of Pisclus after that but without doing more than winning a dry smile from his father.
Bestai and Pisclus seemed very nervous and subdued and did not appear to share Marcus's enthusiastic interest in the preparations taking place in the inn yard.
"How many boys are there Marcus ?" Corax asked in a voice that made clear his patience was near breaking point.
"At least twenty Father. They're coming in all the time now. A lot of them are crying. And Vacca's just turned all the boys out from her kitchen. There are quite a lot of men watching the fun too. I think I should take them down now Father. If we leave it much later there maybe such a crowd that I won't be able to see anything."
"Oh all right. Strip you two boys, fold your tunics up neatly and come here. Now take these two pieces of wood with you and hold onto them they're evidence your duty has been paid. If you loose them I'm certainly not going to pay it twice. You'll finish up down a mine shaft in Cornwall and you'll never come out of there even when your dead. There's no point blubbing Pisclus, your hides going to be marked with the hot iron and that's the end of it."
Pisclus appeared to have panicked now that the time for the branding was so near. He held the small tablet of wood that Corax had given him tightly in his hand but seemed unable to move away from the man. Corax raised his hand to hit him. Quickly Bestia took the frightened boy's hand in his and gently lead him to the door. Marcus followed the two naked children as they walked hand in hand down the staircase to the yard. His eyes were fixed on the two tender boys' bottoms soon to be scorched by the darkly glowing branding iron. He felt a sense of rising excitement as he reflected that shortly they would each be made even more exciting by the addition of an imperial eagle neatly incised in the smooth boys' flesh.
The inn yard was getting crowded although they had not yet started branding the boys. Down one side of the yard legionaries were lining up the boys as they arrived, all naked and many openly weeping in terror. The soldiers were not gentle. They strode up and down the yard maintaining order among the boys with fist, boot and blows with the flats of their swords across bare rumps and shoulders.
Elsewhere in the yard was a considerable and growing number of men. Some stood about in small groups chatting and enjoying the spectacle. A few wandered up and down the among boys taking a connoisseurs interest in the more attractive ones and occasionally assisting the soldiers by clouting a frightened boy back into line.
Pisclus and Bestia stumbled into the yard. A legionnaire spotted them and strode over.
"Where did you two little tarts come from," he demanded roughly.
Bestia pointed up to the rooms where Corax and Marcus were staying. Although he was in a better condition than Pisclus he too was very frightened and he found it all but impossible to speak.
"The duty has been paid," Marcus said stepping forward. "they have their receipts with them."
"Ah," the soldier said turning to him, "and who are you young Sir." The deference with which he spoke to Marcus contrasting strongly with the harsh contemptuous tones he had used to Bestia.
"I am Marcus son of Corax and these are two of our slaves."
"Falco," the legionnaire shouted and a harsh faced tough looking character wearing a shabby toga hurried over.
"Corax's slaves", he continued, "and that one," he nodded significantly at Pisclus, "is the right age."
"He maybe the right age," the man addressed as Falco said looking the trembling boy up and down coldly, " but he looks like a common or ordinary little whore to me not a son of the Cornellii. Can you see that gang of upper class snobs allowing a member of their family to be paraded naked with a _c_o_c_k_ ring. Still I know my old friend Corax well and there's one sure test."
He grabbed Pisclus roughly by the arm and swung him round so the boy's back was to him. He put his hand on the back of his head forcing him to bend forward. He parted the boy's buttocks and laughed.
"No that's not a Cornellii," he said. "They'd never allow Corax to enjoy one of their children like that. He's just an ordinary boy tart. Nice bum though. I wonder if Corax would let an old acquaintance enjoy it if I asked him nicely. I must try."
"Get the pare of them in line soldier and use your intelligence before bothering me again." He walked away.
"You heard what the man said," the legionnaire shouted, none too pleased at being admonished by Falco and taking it out on the two helpless slave lads. "Get over against that wall move."
He lashed out with the flat of his sword catching first Pisclus and then Bestia heavy blows across their bottoms. Bestia grabbed Pisclus by the hand and ,tugging him behind him, scuttled across to join the other slaves.
Watching the boys Marcus could see that Pisclus was still beside himself with panic and was earning himself more than his fair share of blows from the soldiers and their enthusiastic civilian assistants. Bestia did his best to calm him and keep him from straying from his allotted place, keeping hold of his hand despite receiving numerous blows about his own body. Suddenly Marcus spotted Ceres. He appeared to be trying to wriggle his way through the crowd of boys towards Bestia and Pisclus. He was sworn at and hit but still he persevered. He got to the two boys and took Pisclus's free hand. Holding him in this way the two older boys were able to control him better although, having already attracted the attention of the guards, they were still regularly thumped and kicked.
Marcus thought how stupid Bestia and Ceres were. Surely they could see that by involving themselves with Pisclus they were getting them selves hurt. Of course they were slaves and their feelings and thought processes, such as they were, would be quite different from his own.. They were brutes, hardly different from any other animal, they were used to being beaten and wouldn't feel the blows rained on them the same way as he or any other properly civilised being would .
There was a loud scream, a cheer rose from the man standing around, a low wailing rose from the crowd of boys. Marcus realised the first child had been branded. He tried to push his way to where the brazier with it's load of smouldering coals stood. The crowd was thickest here and he could make little headway. He resigned himself to having to listen rather than to watch the fun. He could see little. Just Falco towering over the crowd as he grimly supervised operations. The man turned his head and caught sight of Marcus.
"Make way there," he shouted stentoriousley. "Let the young gentleman through you men. Son of my old acquaintance Corax. Let him through at once."
The crowd parted. Marcus found himself standing beside Falco next to the brazier and within a couple of feet of the sturdy wooden bench over which the boys were held to be branded. He noticed that the top of the bench was already soaking wet and that a pool of urine had formed on the yard floor beneath it. Falco 's gaze followed his eyes.
"Most of them wet themselves when they feel the iron," he explained. "I assume you did want to get a good view of what we are up to."
"Oh Yes. Thank you very much."
"You're your father's son I can see that. Well stand here and you will see everything." Falco rested a hand on Marcus's shoulder.
"All right," Falco said turning to his men, "lets get on with it then."
The men who had stopped working while Falco talked to Marcus sprang back into action. The legionaries exercised a fierce and merciless control over the boys waiting their turn on the branding bench. The slightest hesitation or failure to keep moving was visited with blows and curses. The yard was filled with a cacophony of noise, shouts, the thud of blows landing on bare backs and bums, yelps and howls of pain and over it all the shrill screams of the children as one by one the glowing iron burnt its mark into their bare flesh.
Standing where he was Marcus could see everything. The terror on the face of the unfortunate boys as they were dragged to the block, the way their thin bodies managed despite being held firm to quail away from the approaching iron, the agony on their faces as the glowing iron was pressed home.
The men worked hard and fast. Three men controlled the actual branding. Two were engaged in hauling the boys from the head of the line up to the block. As one dragged the lead boy forward the second would lay hold of the next in line and hold him ready. The man would force the boy down over the bench holding him in place by twisting his arm hard up his back. The third man was the one who did the actual branding. He used three irons alternating their use so that each iron on being withdraw from the brazier was red hot.
Once a boy was branded he was simply turned loose into the crowd. Some were collected immediately by their masters. Others ran off howling but quite a few would skulk off holding their bottoms only to reappear later watching their fellows suffering with glee. Marcus noticed that quite a few of these boys became _s_e_x_ually aroused and became targets for certain of the men in the audience.
Marcus felt himself becoming excited and looking at the men about him he could see that they were being similarly effected. Falco without moving his hand from his shoulder began to stroke his cheek with his thumb. Marcus moved closer to him and felt he hardness at his crutch pressing through the folds of his toga.
"I thought you fancied my slave Pisclus," he murmured to the man.
"He's a pretty little whore," Falco replied but no slave boy however pretty can compare with a handsome young free boy like you."
"I can't see why," Marcus replied with a pleased giggle.
"Why it's easy." Falco interrupted himself to boot a boy who was not quick enough in getting away from the block. "Scat, curse you get your idle carcass out of here dog's turd," he shouted and then turning back to Marcus. "Sorry about that. A slave has no choice. I see one I fancy I, provided his owner does not object, _f_u_c_k_ him. With a free boy the boy has to choose me. He has to give himself freely. Now I saw you and I thought that's just the sort of handsome lad I could really love. The sort of good looking boy to whom I would like to give my silver hilted dagger set with emeralds that the king of Dalmatia gave me for saving his life."
"A silver hilted dagger....?" Marcus asked.
"Yes here it is. Want to look." Falco pulled the dagger from the folds of his toga.
"Have you killed anyone with it?" Marcus asked wonderingly.
Falco smiled.
"If your father gives permission will you come across to my rooms tonight? If you do, you can have the dagger and if you want I'll tell you it's history as well."
"Yes I'll come," Marcus replied, "thank you." It was the first time a man had propositioned him seriously and he felt flattered that Falco, a dare devil a figure, was that man.
"Oh look," he added, "here comes my boy Pisclus."
He watched fascinated as the boy's frail body was dragged to the bench and forced brutally down. The hot iron was pressed against the tender little rump and Pisclus screamed shrilly. The man pulled the boy roughly from the bench and flung him onto the ground.
"Pisclus," Marcus shouted. "Here boy. Here."
The boy got unsteadily to his feet. Marcus stepped forward and put his arms around his trembling body. Pisclus tipped his head back and Marcus kissed him full on the lips feasting on the boy's suffering. He could almost, he thought, taste his pain. Pisclus's thin arms came round his neck and hugged him. Marcus slid his right hand down Pisclus's back. He let it rest a moment on the curve of the lad's rump. Then he moved it sideways to the boy's left hip. With his thumb nail he traced the brand mark incised in his little slave's bum. He felt the boy's body twist in his grasp as this action sent fresh waves of agony through his tortured body.
He pushed Pisclus away.
"Come up to the rooms now," he commanded roughly. "I am going to _f_u_c_k_ you however sore your bum."
"Don't use up all your energy now. Keep some for tonight," Falco called after him amid gales of laughter from the crowd of men.