Marius had emptied the bowl and was squatting, half dozing in front of the fire, his stomach for the first time for many days comfortably full. He was brought back to the present by a boot prodding his bare thigh.
"Come on brat, the Boss is back. You'll have something else bigger than a finger up your bum in a moment."
Crastus's man was towering over him grinning hungrily. Looking up from where he was crouched on the floor Marius could see his _c_o_c_k_ bulging upwards forcing outwards his loincloth beneath his tunic. He was clearly anticipating with some eagerness his enjoyment of the boy's body.
Marius scrambled to his feet feeling sick with fear but strangely excited. He was far from being a complete innocent. A boy, even a free boy, growing up on a country estate at that time could hardly be so. He had seen boys hobbling about the yard often enough with dark stains down the inside of their thighs. He had heard the slave brats talking among themselves. His father had an eye for a pretty boy and so had many of his friends. He wondered how he would manage the man's thick _c_o_c_k_ inside him. The thought of his bottom being stretched and ripped to accommodate it terrified him and then it was not only this single man. There were three others, perhaps with even bigger rods, to ram into his bleeding and torn body. But with the fear was an under current of excitement. He remembered the feel of Crastus's finger inside him, the delicious sensation as Selia sponged his crack, the excited gigglings of the slave brats as they discussed their lovers. They had whispered among themselves of the pain and he had seen blood sometimes oozing from their holes but they had at the same time boasted about the size of the _c_o_c_k_s that had _f_u_c_k_ed them and had speculated breathlessly as to whether there would be a next time. Clearly there was great pain involved but that could be exceeded by the excitement and pleasure. As Marius thought of this his own little prick hardened once more. Selia who was watching him laughed indulgently.
"Look at the whore," she exclaimed fondly, "really eager for his first _f_u_c_k_. Come here Mariullus and let me wipe your face clean."
"Grubby little slut," she continued, wiping the oatmeal from his lips and chin down which he had allowed it to dribble in his eagerness to fill his stomach, "we can't let your new master see you like that. Now go along with you and see you give him a good time."
Laughing she pinched his bottom.
Crastus had appropriated the main rooms of the house for his own and his men's use. Marius saw him standing just inside the door of the large room where his mother used to summon him when she was visiting the estate to show him off, her youngest son, to guests. Then he would appear, hurriedly bundled into a fresh tunic, his face, hands and knees scrubbed clean by one of her maids, to stand bashfully shifting from foot to foot while the grown ups asked him condescending questions or worse discussed him as if he was not there. The memory of his mother caused the first faint stirrings of resentment at his treatment. Up to now his spirit had been so cowed by hunger and fear that he had not felt the humiliations inflicted on him. Now the memory of his mother kindled a small spark of anger and rebellion in his mind. Why was he, the free born son of a Roman Citizen, who would be a citizen himself in time, being treated as if he was spawned by a common slave. He did not see slavery as wrong it was a part of the natural order of things. What was wrong was that he should be treated as a slave.
He hesitated. He moved his hands to cover his crutch suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness. The man behind him pushed him forward an open hand against his bare bottom. Crastus turned and looked appraisingly at him. Marius felt his stomach somersault in excitement and fear. His _c_o_c_k_ that had begun to soften sprang back to attention. The flame of anger deep in his mind flickered and died. How could he feel like that? How could he be excited by the touch of a hand on his rump and being brought naked to stand before the man who claimed to own him unless he was the same as any other bare arsed slave boy about the estate?
Marius moved forward into the room and stood before Crastus.
"Put your hands down by your sides," the man ordered sharply. Hastily Marius obeyed.
"Don't you try to cover yourself up in front of me again boy." Crastus grated coldly eyeing the boys naked body.
"The little bitch is permanently on heat," he remarked with a laugh to the grinning men and flicking the tip of Marius's erect prick with his thumb nail.
Crastus took the boy's chin in his hand tipping Marius's face back so that he stared down into it. Marius shivered as he gazed up into the man's eyes slate grey, cold and pitiless.
"It runs in the family I suppose. His brother and sister were the same, the pair of them. The girl was a virgin before I took her though the boy was not but they both rode my _c_o_c_k_ like furies when the thing was fairly buried in them."
"But you said they were dead Sir?" Marius could hardly speak for fear.
They are now boy," the man said grimly. "I can vouch for that. The boy hardly struggled. He knew he had no chance when I put the cord around his neck. The girl screamed and kicked a bit, silly little fool, it just prolonged her suffering."
"Yes boy, I killed the pare of them, as I had to, as a faithful subject of our Emperor Tiberius. And I should kill you also, a traitor's son. But it would be a pity to destroy a pretty little thing like you. That tight boy's bottom of yours is too attractive to waste. You'll make a good price on the auction block for me and my friends."
"But remember boy you live only because I choose to let you do so. Do anything to make me change my mind and I'll kill you and it won't be a quick easy death with the cord round your neck. It'll be a long lingering one suited to a slave brat who fails to please his master. And I won't give you a quick release by having your arms and legs broken after your nailed on the cross either. Do you hear me boy and call me Master when you speak to me."
"Yes, Sir....Master," Marius whispered through trembling lips.
The eyes of the man who raped and killed his brother and his sister bored down into his. He could not tear his eyes away from Crastus's merciless gaze. Terror gripped him. His legs began to shake. Crastus released his grip of the boy's chin. Marius's knees gave beneath him and he sank to the floor. An amber pool formed on the marble flagstones where he crouched. He had lost control of his bladder. Crastus stepped back with an expression of disgust. The man roared with laughter.
"You gave the little tyke something to think about then boss," the man who had charge of Marius in the kitchen yelled. "Can we give him something more now. Shall we throw dice like you said before for first go at his arse?"
"Neither you, Grynium, nor I, nor any of us are going to _f_u_c_k_ his bottom," Crastus replied levelly. "We're going to sell his virgin bum when we get back to Rome to recompense us for the bother of journeying out to this place."
"The Emperor won't like that if he finds out," Varro remarked doubtfully. "He wants the boy killed."
"He won't find out," Crastus replied. "I've got the bailiff to give me a receipt in writing for the brat's carcass and an undertaking he will dispose of it. If any one asks for evidence we have done our duty faithfully we produce that. As for the boy. Nobody will listen to what a slave boy says and he won't say anything anyway, unless he wants to be killed like his brother and sister and father."
"I was looking forward to _f_u_c_k_ing him though," Grinium remarked regretfully.
"We'll not be without a boy to _f_u_c_k_ tonight. Varro bring that bitch Pulchellus here."
From where he huddled on the floor Marius saw the bailiff's dark haired beauty dragged forward while the men laughed and whistled. It was clear that he had a hard time. A thick livid weal across the front of his thighs just below the bottom of his short tassel fringed tunic marred the taught brown skin. The tunic was itself soiled and torn. His eyes were red from crying and his face bruised.
Marius felt no pity for the other boy, only relief that he was for the moment at least no longer the subject of Crastus's terrifying attention. Indeed he had always disliked Pulchellus, so far as he had any feelings about a creature so much his inferior. A year or so older than himself, the property of Echios, better fed and better clothed than the generality of the slave boys on the estate, Marius could not order him about, hit him or even play with him as he could the half starved brats his father owned. Furthermore Pulchellus was hated and mistrusted by the other slaves. They saw him as a spy and an informer for his master the bailiff. Pulchellus could do Marius no harm but he had heard the talk among the slaves and had seen the bloodied rumps or shoulders of boys whose misdeeds had been spied out and reported to Echios by his fancy boy. Marius accepted that slave boys should be beaten occasionally, they would get lazy and fat otherwise, but he despised Pulchellus as a sneak who betrayed his own sort.
"Give me the cane Varro," Crastus commanded. It was a vicious looking object, about three foot long, it's tapered end split and bound with waxed cord to give it extra bite. It leapt and quivered in the man's hand as he felt it's weight.
Pulchellus threw himself on his knees at the man's feet.
"Master please Master," he whimpered, "please don't beat me Master.... I'll do anything you want ... Please..."
His desperate pleadings were interrupted by a high pitched scream as Crastus slashed him across his chest with the cane.
"Shut up boy," he ordered. "You've got a few lessons to learn and one is that you don't speak unless you are spoken to. Now stand up and take that tunic off."
Pulchellus scrambled to his feet pulling his tunic off over his head. The cane had raised an angry crimson welt across his chest that was deepening to purple at the edges as the bruising spread. He stood facing Crastus, shivering, his tunic clasped uncertainly in his right hand. The man leant forward and snatching it from him, hurled it to the floor. It fell into the puddle of Marius's urine.
"It doesn't matter," Crastus remarked, "you won't be wearing it again."
"Keep your hand by your sides."
He raised the cane over his left shoulder clearly intending to land a back handed cut across the boy's chest. Pulchellus screwed up his face in terror.
"Open your eyes brat," Crastus growled and brought the cane hissing down across the front of the boy's chest. The tip of the rod had landed across the boy's left nipple just missing the tip but splitting the flesh. For a fraction of a second Pulchellus stared at the wound as the blood welled from it and then the pain hit him. Screaming shrilly he clapped both hands to his torn flesh and collapsed to his knees. He fell forward so that his head rested on the floor his bottom raised in the air. All the time a shrill wailing rose from his shuddering body.
"Get up," Crastus snapped and brought the cane slicing down across the boy's taught rump. Pulchellus raised his face, tear stained and contorted with pain. He began to get to his feet but was not quick enough to satisfy his master. Burying his hand in the boys dark curly hair Crastus yanked him to his feet .
"I said keep your hands down by your side," Crastus snapped knocking the boy's hands away from his chest.
The man lent forward and took the injured nipple between his finger and thumb and squeezed it, ringing further screams from his victim.
"Echios was too soft on you my boy," he gritted. He spoilt you. You belong to me now and I don't spoil my slaves. They might get insolent. You've got a lot to learn and the first lesson is to fear me."
He released his grip on the boy's nipple and licked the blood from his finger and thumb.
"Now I'm going to thrash you," he continued quietly hooking his foot round a chair that stood near by against the wall and pulling it out towards him. "Unfortunately we need you to be able to serve us tonight and to be capable of bearing a load tomorrow, so I won't be able to beat you as much as you undoubtedly deserve but six strokes across your plump little bottom should be a sufficient to show you what a lazy disobedient slave brat can expect at my hands. Get down over that stool."
"Head down and your bum in the air brat. I want your skin stretched good and taught."
Crastus slipped his right hand between Pulchellus's legs and, cupping it around the lad's balls, pushed upwards against his crutch while with his left hand he pushed downwards on the back of the boy's head.
Satisfied he had got the boy correctly positioned for the job in hand he stepped back. He picked up the cane again and rested it across the boy's upturned rump. Pulchellus feeling the touch of the rod clamped his bum tight shut in terror.
"When did Echios thrashed you last boy?" Crastus asked mildly.
"I.. Master ... I ... don't remember," the boy muttered through his tears.
"I thought so. There's not a mark on it," Crastus remarked, "apart from the two cuts I've given you today. He was much too soft on you. That'll all change now."
He lifted the cane over his head, paused a moment, and then brought it down with the full strength and weight of his body behind it. The rich whistle of the rod through the air was followed by the sharp crack as it struck the boy's tightly drawn rump It curled round his bottom, it's split tip cutting him on his flank. Pulchellus's body jerked convulsively as the cane struck home. He threw his head back. For a moment there was silence as he fought for breath and then he screamed. His arms and legs flailed as the pain coursed though his body. In his agony he rolled off the stool and tumbled to the floor. Curled in a little ball of naked boy misery he lay on the marble flags sobbing wildly.
Crastus swore and kicked the boy in the ribs, the force of the blow lifting the boy's body from the floor.
"Get back up you miserable little runt," he grated. "One of you hold him for me."
Varro stepped forward grinning broadly. He twisted his right hand in the boy's dark curls and dragged him back across the stool. Pinning Pulchellus in place with his left hand pressed flat against the small of his back he nodded to Crastus, signalling that he might resume thrashing the lad.
Marius quietly hunkered on the floor watched fearfully as the flogging proceeded. A beating was not an unusual event on the estate and he had watched many boys over the years having their bums tanned for various misdemeanours. Often such events would attract an audience of freedmen amused by the cries and twistings of the brat under correction and slave boys whose enjoyment of the drama was a trifle marred by the thought that it might fall to anyone of them to play the starring role on the next occasion the cane was brought into play. Marius himself had been beaten on occasion by his father or his tutor in the past but always, as befitted the dignity of a free boy, without the benefit of a grinning audience. Nothing he had seen or experienced matched the cold ferocity with which Crastus went about his work of flaying the unfortunate Pulchellus's tender bottom or the open savage pleasure with which his companions watched the frantic writhings of the helpless boy.
Methodically Crastus laid stripe upon stripe across Pulchellus's defenceless bum, pausing between each stroke to ensure the writhing screaming boy should feel each individual cut to the full, the cane scoring livid lines across the sweet curves of the child's rump, it's tip curling round the firm quivering flesh to raise beads of blood. The men laughed and shouted revelling in the boy's agony, cheering Crastus on.
The flogging was drawing to a conclusion. Crastus lent forward to examine his handiwork He ran his finger tip along one of the welts that marred the boy's smooth brown skin with a line of angry red deepening at it's edges to purple. He noticed that around the earlier cuts the boy's flesh was beginning to take a yellowish almost green tinge as the deeper bruising began to show through. He smiled, pleased at a job well done. Shifting his position slightly he delivered the final cut of his punishment laying it deliberately across the stripes he had earlier inflicted. At each point of intersection blood began to well from the boys broken flesh.
Varro released his hold on Pulchellus's hair. The boy sank to his knees huddled against the stool, his body wracked by sobs.
"That," remarked Crastus panting slightly after his exertions, "has given me a thirst."
"Pulchellus," he continued harshly, "get up on your feet and stop making so much of a fuss unless you want another dose of the same. You and Marius go and fetch a couple of jugs of wine from the kitchen and some tankards. And not any old rubbish either if you value your hides, only the best in the cellar will do. And tell them to bring our dinner to us here as soon as it is ready. Grinium keep an eye on them."
He prodded Pulchellus in the bottom with his foot wringing a further howl of pain from the boy.
"Now you've got your blood on my boot you filthy little brute," he said disgustedly. "Lick it clean before you do anything else.
.