This story contains scenes involving the _s_e_x_ual and physical abuse of young boys by adults. I f you do not like such stories do not read this.
I would be glad to receive any comments or suggestions. Please send these to me zelamir@hotmail. com. The only comments I will ignore are those that tell me they do not like the story because it contains descriptions of _s_e_x_ual and physical abuse of boys by adults. That is what this story does contain. You have been warned.
Once Marcus got back to his rooms he dragged Pisclus over to the window. He turned the still sobbing boy so his left side was to the light. Eagerly he examined the place where the hot iron had been pressed into the side of the lad's hip. He noticed how cleanly the brand had been scorched into the smooth flesh. Marcus found this mark, that so harshly and completely established the other boy's servitude, intensely exciting. It was a cruel blemish but it's very savageness served to emphasise the vulnerable beauty of Pisclus's delectable boy's bottom.
For a moment he stood gloating over this, to him, enchanting disfigurement. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to the tortured flesh. Pisclus whimpered and involuntarily backed away. Marcus caught hold of the boy by his waist holding him in place as his tongue explored the outline of the imperial eagle etched into the side his young slave's bottom .
Marcus could restrain himself no longer. He stood up. Pisclus caught sight of Marcus's rampant _c_o_c_k_. No order was necessary. He knew what was required of him. He knew also that it would hurt as much, if not more than, the branding he had just experienced but his pain was of no significance when matched against the Marcus's pleasure. Unsteadily he made his way across to the couch. His knees felt weak and his feet seemed to be made of lead but he knew he had no choice. Reluctantly he lay down on his face. He spread his legs and lifted his bottom ready for his master to enjoy. He heard Marcus approach and began to whimper with fear.
The sight of the trembling boy offering his sore but lovely bottom for his enjoyment increased Marcus's excitement to fever pitch. He knew that the boy had not had a chance to recover fully from his father's assault two nights previously. If he was to be able to enjoy the boy again he realised it would be as well to grease his _c_o_c_k_ and the boy's hole thoroughly. It never occurred to him however that he should forgo his pleasure altogether. He covered the tip of his index finger with grease and began to work it between the lips of Pisclus's anus. The boy cried out as Marcus probed his hurt. Pisclus's suffering served only to further arouse the older boy's lust.
So excited was Marcus that Pisclus's agony, acute though it was, was not long drawn out.
The crisis past Marcus lay for a moment beside the weeping boy. Then he sat up and examined the lads bottom. So far as he could see he had not reopened the wounds.
At this point Corax and Bestia walked into the room. Marcus stood to greet his father and Bestia hurried over to the couch.
Bestia put his arms about the sobbing boy comforting him. He glanced back over his shoulder. It seemed to Marcus almost as though there was a hint of reproach in the Bestia's eyes. He quickly dismissed the idea. It was ridiculous; a slave daring to make a judgement about his behaviour.
Marcus shrugged on his tunic. From the inn yard came the sound of a boy screaming mixed with loud male laughter. It was clear the brandings were continuing. He strolled over to the window. The crowd of men was pressing so close about the bench that he could see nothing of the actual brandings although he had a clear view of the crowd of naked boys waiting to be marked with the hot iron. It was clear from the shouts of the men and the enthusiasm with which the legionaries harried their young charges that for all but the unfortunate slaves the occasion was an enjoyable one. Falco, Marcus thought, would be in a state of very great excitement by the end of the day.
He picked up an apple from a bowl on the table and bit into it.
"Father," he asked casually, "were you planning that we should go out anywhere this evening?"
Corax who had heard that tone of voice before when his son had a plan in mind and was testing the water smiled to himself.
"No," he replied, "why?"
"Well Father you were out last night and I thought if you didn't need me I might just go over and see Falco. He said he'd tell me about some of the missions he has undertaken for the emperor."
This was bound to happen Corax thought. The lad was a good looking one. Handsome rather, than pretty, he was just the sort of adventurous, hardy boy that would appeal to an old soldier like Falco. And he was a blonde, Corax reflected bitterly, he knew, none better, how highly Romans prized blond boys.
At least Marcus had the right to choose. That was a right that was denied him when, at very much the same age, his bottom had been brutally raped. Falco too was not a bad sort of fellow, tough but trustworthy. He wasn't the sort of man who would deliberately alienate a boy from his family or make him question the values on which his own fortune was built.
Corax looked across at his son. Standing by the window, his head thrown back, the sun glinting on his fair hair, his lithe young body outlined against the light, he seemed to be charged with energy. A boy looking to the future with enthusiasm and hope. Quite unlike he had been at his age or indeed as the grandson of his old master now was. Living not in hope but in dread, waking each morning knowing the new day would bring only further drudgery, humiliation and pain, that was the life of a slave. Knowing that to resist or even show resentment would bring the savagest of beatings, no wonder the boys were cowed and fearful. His son would not know that. He would face the world with pride and an unbroken spirit.
Corax did not betray these thoughts that passed quickly through his mind.
"Do you think it is only about his work for the Emperor that he wishes to speak to you?" he asked dryly.
"No Father I do not." Marcus looked at the floor and blushed.
"And you still wish to go?"
Marcus nodded silently.
"Very well. There are worse men about than Falco. I would want you to make a good impression. You must have a bath and wear fresh clothes. Pisclus will attend you provided he is capable of it."
Corax turned away from his son and glanced back into the room. Pisclus lay prone on the floor whimpering quietly as Bestia tended his damaged bum.
"Come on you little runt," he snapped. "If you can't work you're no good to me. Get up on your feet let's see if you're worth keeping."
Pisclus dragged himself painfully to his feet.
"All right come here." Corax watched the boy coldly as he hobbled towards him.
"Looks as though he's laying an egg," he remarked and he and Marcus both laughed.
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Marcus stood upright in the tub of warm water while Corax sponged his body down. Bestia stood to one side holding a heavy jug of hot water ready to replenish the bath as required. A maid servant fussed about Pisclus near the window. A childish murmur of protest followed by the sound of a sharp slap and a burst of hopeless whimpering showed that discipline was being maintained.
Corax worked quietly at his son's body. He was resolved that if the lad was to be bedded he would make a good impression. Sponging carefully between the boy's legs he reflected that there was every sign he would be a lively little performer if a stiff _c_o_c_k_ was any thing to go by.
"Out you come," he said helping Marcus from the tub.
He draped a thick towel over his son's shoulders and vigorously dried him off. He really was a very good looking boy he thought; strong firm legs, neatly put together body, hair the colour of ripe corn and a clear skin tanned an almost golden honey colour except about his bottom and crutch. He was proud of his son and loved him. He was determined that his son's initiation should be a gentle one. The lad had much to learn and the lessons could be hard ones for a high spirited boy. Pain he knew was unavoidable but it could be minimised and was after all only a stepping stone to ever more intense pleasures. Falco he was sure would treat Marcus kindly and he would himself do what he could to ease the boy's path.
Corax seated himself and spread the towel over his knees. The boy was already highly excited and he did not want his tunic soiled. He reached up and guided Marcus face down across his knees. He rested his hand on the boy's upturned bottom while he waited for Bestia to bring him the goose fat. Marcus, without needing to be told spread his legs and pushed his rump upwards. Corax dipped his index finger into the fat and gently ran it along the lips of Marcus's anus. The boy tensed.
"Try and relax," Corax said gently. "it will be easier."
He pushed his finger gently but firmly into the boy. There was a sharp intake of breath but Marcus gave no other signs of pain or nervousness as his father's finger explored his bottom. Corax pressed the finger further into the boy feeling his body close about it. He became aware that he was himself becoming excited. Well that was only natural, he told himself, the boy was an attractive one as well as being his son . He would have to be a man of iron or a eunuch to explore so lovely a boy's bottom without being effected. He withdrew his finger, wiped it clean on Bestia's bare thigh before applying more grease to it. This time he inserted two fingers and then three, deliberately stretching the boy's sphincter. Marcus caught his breath slightly but otherwise gave no sign of the discomfort he must be experiencing.
Corax worked his fingers further into his son's body. Marcus's breath quickened. The muscles in his bottom began to pulsate as he reacted to his father's probing. The spasms became more intense and then suddenly ceased. Marcus lay still across his fathers knees. Corax withdrew his fingers from the boy's bottom and helped him to his feet.
"Lucky I used the towel," he remarked lightly handing the soiled cloth to Bestia.
"That must have hurt a bit Marcus," Corax continued.
"Just a bit Father," the boy gasped.
"Most boys make a good deal more fuss of it then you did."
"I'm not a slave Father," Marcus spoke between gritted teeth. "I'm not going to whimper and moan and show myself up like some little slut."
"Good boy." Corax was obviously pleased with his sons answer. "now get dressed. Clean tunic and loincloth and you'll be ready. Lucky you are so young. A lad of your age can cum a dozen times in a day and still have energy to satisfy his lover."
"Now let's see how Pisclus looks. Bring the child over girl."
The maid, a sturdy eighteen year old slave girl, dragged Pisclus across the room to Corax. Rouge had been applied to his nipples, cheeks and lips while the boy's eye lids had been painted black and his lashes darkened with mascara. The only thing that stopped him looking like a crudely painted child's doll was his _c_o_c_k_ ring which forced his tiny balls and prick out from his body giving them an unnatural prominence. Pisclus stood in front of Corax his head bowed looking utterly miserable. The man put his hand under the boy's chin and tipped his head back. He saw that the Mascara and eye shadow had run leaving dark stains down his cheeks where the tears had flowed.
Corax gestured to the girl who handed him a fragment of damp cloth.
"What was he fussing about?" Corax asked her as he wiped the dark stains from Pisclus's cheeks.
"He didn't want to be made up Sir," the girl replied spitefully. "He said he was a boy and boys don't wear make up."
Corax laughed.
"Well, well," he said, still chuckling he leant forward and took the boy's balls, no bigger than a pair of grapes, between his finger and thumb, "a little bit of pride eh? We'll soon deal with that."
He squeezed gently and Pisclus began to whimper.
"Listen slut," he grated. "What you want is of no importance. You're of no more importance than a lump of dog's _s_h_i_t_. You do what your Master says and you don't argue . Ever."
He increased the pressure of his grip on the child's testicles..
"Do you understand boy?"
"Sir yes Sir," Pisclus sobbed.
"If I want you to be a girl you will be a girl. I've got a good mind to have these off you now." He squeezed and twisted. Pisclus howled in agony.
"But for the moment I'm just going to make sure you don't forget. Turn round and take hold of your ankles."
Corax stood up.
"Fetch me the cane," he said to the grinning girl.
He measured the distance between himself and the trembling boy's bare rump with care. He lifted the cane above his head and brought it whistling down through the air, aiming not at the boy's defenceless bum, but at the ground beyond it. There was a crack as wood impacted on bare flesh and Pisclus's sobbing rose to a shrill howl of pain. Twice more Corax laid burning stripes across Pisclus's quivering bottom.
"Right turn and face me."
"Tell me boy what are you?"
Pisclus hesitated. It wasn't stubbornness or false pride. He just wasn't sure what the correct answer was...slut?....pig _s_h_i_t_?...whore? ...tart? and if he guessed wrong ...
"Pig _s_h_i_t_, boy..." crack, the cane caught him a stinging blow across the front of the shins, "Pig _s_h_i_t_ and don't you forget it. What are you?"
"Pig _s_h_i_t_ Sir."
"Yes and a slut," crack, another cut across the shins, " and a whore," crack, "and a tart," crack.
The last stroke Corax delivered across the front of the boys thighs leaving a scarlet weal across the smooth bare flesh.
"Now I want to hear you thank the girl for making you look pretty. Come on boy speak up."
"Thank you Miss for making me look pretty," Pisclus managed to gasp out between sobs.
"Good and it's no good her taking all that trouble with you for you to stand there blubbing. You're a tart, you're got up like a tart, and like a tart you should try to attract men. Smile boy ."
Corax raised the cane threateningly. Pisclus terrified, forced his lips into a ghastly imitation of a smile while tears still coursed down his cheeks and his thin chest with the obscenely painted nipples heaved with sobs.
"That's better," Corax said.
"Tonight," Corax continued wiping the snot away from the boy's nose as he spoke, "you are to attend on your Master while he visits his lover. It's not like with you when it doesn't matter how much your bottom is hurt or ripped provided you please your Master. It does matter if he is hurt and your job is to see that he isn't. When the man tells you or when you see the opportunity you've got to grease his _c_o_c_k_. You're not to kiss it or lick it or anything else except grease it. That _c_o_c_k_ is for your Master. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir."
"Well I hope you do for your own sake because if Marcus comes back with a sore bottom I'm going to rip the skin off yours with the cane."
"Marcus I'm quite serious. We set out for London tomorrow that's more than sixty miles away and we have only two days for the journey. You'll be riding and you don't want to start off with a sore bottom and you don't want to start off exhausted either so be sensible tonight."
"Yes father," Marcus replied cheerfully and then added. "What about Pisclus and Bestia?"
"What about them...Oh they'll be walking and they'll have burdens to carry as well. We've treated them too soft up to now. The next few days they'll have to earn their keep. Don't worry they'll manage the journey all right. The whip will keep them going."
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A cold wind was gusting across the Inn yard as Marcus and Pisclus made their way to Falco's room. Heavy clouds scurried across the sky warning of worse weather to come.
The room when they got there was warm and cheerful. Despite it being still summer a fire burnt brightly in the grate and wax candles shed a soft light relieving the gloom cast be the threatening weather.
Falco came to meet Marcus at the door and guided him to a couch in front of the fire. He sat down beside him near, but not crowding, the lad.
"You've brought your boy with you," Falco remarked, "perhaps he could serve us with wine."
Pisclus hurried to a table in the corner of the room where he could see food and drink had been laid out in advance. There was a large jug of sweet white wine from Thrace that Falco had rightly guessed would be more to his young guest's taste than the dark red Falernian that was his own favourite. The only drinking vessel was a silver goblet embossed with a scene where satyrs sported with pretty boys. Pisclus filled this and took it across to the couch kneeling to hand it to Falco. He returned for the tray of food, roast door mice, almonds coated with honey, pickled sky lark tongues among other delicacies.
"Don't try kneeling with that," Falco said hastily as Pisclus approached the couch. "It will be too heavy for you to hold up. Just stand in front of us with it."
He removed his arm from along the back of the couch where he had draped it as he leant forward to hold the goblet to Marcus's lips so that he could taste the wine. He noticed the fresh brand mark on the side of Pisclus's hip.
"A nice clean mark," he said touching it. "We've got pretty good at it now. Plenty of practice I suppose."
"Still sore is it?" he asked as Pisclus stirred uneasily as his finger tips traced it's outline in the boy's flesh.
"Yes Sir."
"Well the pain will fade though the mark never will. Still I think it rather sets off the lines of your bottom than any thing else."
"It shows he's a slave and always will be," Marcus, who was none too pleased at the attention that the man was showing Pisclus, interjected.
"Yes," Falco said hastily catching the edge in his young guests voice, "and a slave is good to give you relief if you're feeling horny but that's it. They're a good _f_u_c_k_ and nothing else. If you decided you wanted to _f_u_c_k_ that boy there he would give you as good a time as he could and then if you lent him to me he would do the same for me. But I want more from a boy I love than that."
"I want to be able to talk to you, to tell you about life and to listen to your ambitions and plans and advice you."
"If I asked that little tart what he hoped for he couldn't answer me or all he'd say is a kind master or enough to eat. He couldn't have real ambitions like you to be a great soldier and conquer new provinces for the emperor or become a great orator and set the senate alight."
"I don't want to be an orator and I don't want to be a general either," Marcus, who was getting bored with this monologue interjected. "I want to be a sailor."
"What and sweep the seas clear of pirates?" asked Falco with an indulgent smile.
"No I want to travel further and farther than any one up to now. I want to know what's out there."
"Very little I should imagine," Falco said dryly. "to the West just the grey sea to the end of the world, to the North a land of constant ice and snow and to the South the deserts of Africa. There are people to the East, we know that because we trade with them but you can hardly sail across dry land."
"We don't know what's to the South. My father took me down the African coast once and it was all desert but it went on and on and we turned back. We don't know if anything lies beyond that but people come to Libya from the South to trade with us and they bring gold and slaves so there must be something there. And people come from the East to Pontus with spices and silk and my father trades with them and he tells me they speak of great empires there as rich and as powerful as Rome and also great seas. Suppose there is one sea and you could sale round Africa to the East."
"Well suppose," Falco said with a laugh. "what good would it be to know that? We trade with the East. We get what we need from them with out the trouble of sailing there.."
"But there might be much more and I would like to know. And you say there's nothing to the West but ...but I've been with my father far up to the North and there I was shown a little boat like nothing you've ever seen. Sharp at each end and made of skin and I was told that was blown there from the West in a great gale that blew for ten days with a strange man inside it also dressed in skins. When we went there the man had died but they still had the boat and they showed it me. That man must have come from somewhere...and ...and I want to know where."
Marcus in his earnestness had turned his face towards Falco. The boy looked up into his eyes. Enthusiasm transformed him from a rather spoilt arrogant youth into some thing a good deal more appealing. Falco could not resist the temptation. He bent forward, their lips met and he slipped his tongue into Marcus's mouth. He rested his hand on the inside of the boy's thigh and began to move it slowly upwards. He might not be interested in exploring the world but Marcus's body was another matter.