by Clare Smith
After thrusting twice he could feel his climax coming with a rush and then she shouted something, but he could do nothing about it. He knew he had to stop but there was no way he could hold back and exploded just as she scuttled back off him screaming something in a language he didn’t understand. Whilst he remained kneeling on the bed breathing heavily she grabbed her robe from the floor and covered her naked body.
“Are you a fool, barbarian,” she screamed in perfect Roman, “that you think I want your dirty, filthy seed inside of me?” He couldn’t think of any other reason she had wanted him on top of her but decided it was best not to respond. “But I will teach you to obey.”
She pulled a tasselled cord by the bed and almost immediately a slave appeared. She was young and had the fair skin of the northern people, and the look of one who was already tired of this life.
“On the bed,” snapped the woman impatiently.
The slave gave a brief bow, took off her tunic and ignoring the dampness and the spreading stain lay on the bed with her legs apart and her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. From the corner of his eye he could see his mistress pulling on fine kidskin gloves and starting to tend to a bunch of greenery which stood in a pottery container. It seemed to him to be an odd time to do some gardening, but clearly the woman was completely different than anyone he’d ever met.
“I will teach you obedience,” she snapped. “Now you will perform again and when I tell you to stop you will stop and hold yourself erect.”
He wasn’t certain if he could do it a second time, but he needn’t have worried as his manhood responded almost immediately. He tried to take it slower this time but within half a dozen thrusts he could feel his climax rapidly building. The girl must have felt it too because she gave a little cry and the woman shouted for him to stop but it was too late and he ejaculated again.
The girl said nothing but his mistress cursed loudly in her foreign tongue and then she slapped him. It wasn’t a hard slap but just a gentle caress from the bunch of greenery she held in her gloved hand which he barely felt. He pulled himself out of the girl expecting a much worse punishment for his failure and felt a slight tingle on his left buttock where the leaves had touched. The tingle rapidly grew to a sharp pricking sensation and in moments his skin was on fire and it was all he could do not to weep with the searing agony.
“A dog learns to obey through the application of pain and you will do the same. Now you will perform again and you will stop when I tell you.”
He didn’t think he could. His buttock was on fire and he was close to exhaustion but the girl, sensing his weakness moved forward, took his flagging manhood in her hands and within moments he was ready to try again. This time when his mistress shouted for him to stop he managed to hold himself back whilst the girl slipped off him leaving him exposed at the edge of climax. He managed to hold himself erect for a few seconds before his climax receded and then he just knelt on the bed feeling sick and humiliated.
“That was better,” said the woman, moving into his field of vision. “Shea, take him back to his cage and tell Bastoph to feed him meat and red wine to improve his stamina.”
With that she walked from the room leaving him with the slave. Shea pulled him gently from the bed, handed him his loincloth and waited until he’d covered himself. When he was ready she led him down the stairs and back across the courtyard to his cage. As a young warrior it had never bothered him taking his father’s slaves or captives whenever he wanted but now, having been made to perform on demand, he could see the thing from a whole different perspective. He had an urge to tell the slave he was sorry for what he’d been forced to do but couldn’t find the right words.
Instead he asked her a question. “Why does the mistress do this?”
“Cacaphia plays games with the lives of men like you. She trains them for sport and when they lose they die.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “What happens if I won’t play her games?”
Shea looked at him horrified. “You must. The scouring leaves which you have felt can be used to maim and kill. You must learn to play her game and be her champion for as long as you can, and when you are too tired to perform any more Bastoph will swiftly cut your throat as your reward.”
With that she turned away and left him standing at the cage’s door.
*
One of the things he’d learnt early on as a slave in Tutacaraph’s house was to fear a change in the routine of the household. Change always resulted in more work, more demands from the master or mistress and inevitably the severe punishment of at least one slave who, often through no fault of their own, failed to please. The last time there had been visitors the slaves had been evicted from their rough lodgings and spent three nights chained outside in the cold so the building could be used to store those items the master didn’t want his visitors to see.
Being Cacaphia’s stallion in training, as the other slaves called him, the changes in routine had so far not affected him, but yesterday his master had left to meet with his business partners and would be away for several days. Now an air of tension hung over the villa like a thunderstorm about to break. With the mistress left in charge he could understand why everyone was so tense, but there was something else as well which made his skin crawl.
He would have liked to ask the other slaves about it, but when he tried they turned away from him or ignored him, and one had even spat at him. In a way he could understand their anger. Whilst they worked from dawn to dusk he slept or exercised, and whilst they ate the scraps the guards left, he ate good, red meat and drank wine three times a day. On top of that, as part of his training, he’d now had intercourse with most of the female slaves including Bastoph’s wife and daughter.
Under the circumstances it wasn’t surprising that they hated and resented him, but they shouldn’t have done; he was a slave just the same as they were. He had to do what his mistress commanded and take her punishment when he failed and, if his constant humiliation ate at his soul, then who cared? Perhaps Shea cared as she at least gave brief, whispered answers to his questions and brought him some soothing balm when Cacaphia had punished him with the scouring leaves so he couldn’t sit.
He could have asked Shea about the tension, but since the master had left Cacaphia hadn’t demanded his presence, so he hadn’t seen Shea. The fact that his mistress hadn’t wanted him to perform for two days together, when she clearly derived a great deal of pleasure watching him debase himself, worried him. He couldn’t work out why she would go to all the trouble of training him to do something so unnatural, and then just forget about him.
It was a mystery, but he suspected it was connected to his master’s departure and the air of tension. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, so he tried to sleep which was difficult with the sun shining through the bars and people coming and going. He must have managed it though as he was woken from a particularly unpleasant dream, where he was being sucked down into a pool of white, glutinous slime, by Bastoph opening the door of his cage.
He was used to the overseer coming to fetch him once a day for his training. Usually he had his daughter beside him carrying wash water and a knife for shaving, but this was the wrong time of day, and a different slave accompanied him carrying a bucket of water and a cloth bag. As Bastoph refused to speak to him it was the man’s habit to grunt and point at things, and because he’d become accustomed to the routine he knew what to do, but today was different.
Bastoph said something to the slave with the bucket who hurried forwards and began washing him. She took particular care around his genitals, and because he’d been trained not to react he controlled himself, but only just. When she’d finished he shaved and the slave oiled his body until it shone. He expected to be led away to Cacaphia’s room, but instead Bastoph took three pieces of leather out of the cloth bag and handed him the largest.
The contraption appeared to be some sort of belt with another belt hanging from it but he’d no idea what he was m
eant to do with it. When he looked blank Bastoph snapped a command at the slave who stepped forwards and took it from his hands. She wrapped the belt around his waist and buckled it tightly and then pulled the other strap up between his legs, so that his manhood was covered by a leather cap embossed with metal studs.
It made him look enormous and was probably the most degrading and uncomfortable thing he’d ever worn. To make things worse, Bastoph tightened a thick leather collar around his neck and then fastened a leash to the ring at the front. Feeling more like a dog than a man, he followed Bastoph across the yard, but instead of going to the villa as he expected, the overseer led him around to the front of the building.
There a small, covered, pony cart stood next to Cacaphia’s palanquin and a troop of household guards stood waiting. Bastoph ushered him into the cart, tied his leash to a hook and then fastened the covering at the back of the cart closed. After a while he heard the villa’s gate grind open and the cart set off. For a moment he thought about trying to escape, but decided that dressed as he was and with thirty guards chasing him he wasn’t going to get very far.
When the cart eventually stopped and the cover was drawn back, it was Shea who stepped inside to release his leash and let him out. She was dressed in a loose robe and looked so anxious that he wanted to say something to comfort her. He didn’t have the chance though as Cacaphia stepped from her palanquin and took his leash from Shea’s hand.
She looked him up and down without smiling. “You will perform tonight as I have taught you. I do not expect you to win on your first night out, but neither will you shame me. I have spent a lot of time and effort on your training, and you will be of no use to me if you lose and have your manhood cut from you.”
Ignoring his look of alarm, she led him up the steps of the beautiful villa which was spread out in front of him. With that threat still ringing in his ears it was difficult for him to concentrate on his surroundings, but he caught a glimpse of marble walls and tiled floors as he was led through into the inner part of the villa. It had never occurred to him that there would be other people at the place his mistress had chosen to take him, but when he was led into the atrium he was almost overwhelmed by the crowd which had gathered.
There must have been nearly forty people there in the exquisitely decorated room, most of them women but a few pale-skinned youths amongst them. It wasn’t the numbers though which staggered him but what they were doing. There were a dozen or so couches scattered about with naked women draped across them being pleasured by the youths or being caressed, petted or stimulated by beautiful girls.
In the centre of the atrium there was a shallow pool where women splashed and laughed, whilst a couple floundered in the water heaving and grunting as they copulated. Excited laughter made him turn to look at a line of five youths who were all joined to each other whilst women caressed their straining bodies and called encouragement. One of the women went to the front of the line and presented her naked behind to the leading youth and there were squeals of laughter as others hurried forward to help the youth penetrate her.
In amongst them there were girls wearing nothing but loin cloths serving wine and platters of fruit. He saw Shea there and looked on helplessly as a fat woman with sagging breasts tugged off her covering and clutched Shea’s slender body to her own. Banniff turned away in disgust and that’s when he saw the other five men who were dressed almost the same as he was.
They all wore leather collars, which were attached to hooks in the wall by their leashes, and stood rigidly still with their eyes staring straight in front of them looking through the orgy of sex without seeing it. A sharp tug on his leash brought his attention back to his mistress and the woman who was hurrying towards her. She was one of the few who were still dressed, but despite that he could see the rolls of fat which filled her semi-transparent robe.
“Cacaphia, my dear, I’m so pleased that you have been able to return to our little game. Is this Danem’s replacement?” The woman looked him up and down whilst Cacaphia just nodded. “A branded and scarred barbarian I see, how delicious but you have him covered. How are we going to access the odds if we can’t see what he has to offer?”
“He’s a novice so I must have some advantage.”
“Oh, Cacaphia, don’t be so mean, just a peek and a chance to weigh him up.”
“Very well, but only because this is your party and if you promise not to tell the others.”
Cacaphia didn’t bother waiting for an answer but walked behind him, undid the buckle which held the strap between his legs in place and then pulled the cap aside. The woman studied his manhood for a moment and then took it in her fat hand as if she was weighing fruit at a market stall. He started to go hard despite himself and the woman giggled.
“Yes, he’s definitely a barbarian and an undisciplined one at that. I’ll give you twenty to one that he’ll fall at the first fence and a hundred to one that this will be his one and only performance.”
“Done.” Cacaphia said in annoyance.
She pulled the strap up sharply between his legs, making him wince, and then yanked on his leash and led him across the room to where the other five men stood. On the way other women, all of them wearing fine, transparent robes, stopped her, and whilst she showed him to no one else, more bets were exchanged. When she reached the vacant hook she tied his leash there and left him without a word.
He would have liked to have asked the man next to him what was going to happen next, but as they were all staring rigidly in front of them he decided he’d better do the same. He’d been standing there for about an hour, trying to ignore the orgy of wanton sex going on in front of him when a bell rang. Immediately there was a sudden increase in activity, some hurried grunts of pleasure and people began detaching themselves from each other.
Even if the revellers had stayed as they were, he would have known that something was about to happen as the five men next to him all went rigid as if they were expecting to be attacked. He watched as the slaves and most of the guests left the atrium leaving behind the six women who had remained clothed throughout the orgy and one slave each to attend them. His mistress had chosen Shea who was once again wearing her loose robe and not looking too dishevelled, despite what the fat woman had forced her to do.
Unsure of what was happening he watched as the six women drew small coloured balls from two sacks, which was obviously an important ritual as there were shouts of joy and groans of despair and a great deal of laughter. Then one of the slaves hurried forwards with a small flagon of pale cream liquid and each of the women took a sip although he guessed, by the sour look on their faces, that it wasn’t drunk for pleasure. Finally four muscular slaves carried in a large bed and placed it in the centre of the room in front of the pool and then hurried away again.
Satisfied that everything was prepared the hostess clapped her hands together and a slave hurried to where one of the men was leashed, removed his belt and covering and led him to where the women waited. The man stood looking rigidly forwards as the women took it in turns to access the weight of his manhood ignoring their laughter and excited chatter. Then gold coins changed hands and one of the women removed her clothes, lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling as the man climbed on top of her and began thrusting himself into her.
Now he had a good idea what this was about as his own mistress had trained him to do the same. It therefore came as no surprise when the woman shouted something and the man withdrew, still holding himself erect and with a look of grim determination on his face. Within seconds the hostess stepped forwards, measured the length of the man’s erection and called out the result. There were shouts of approval, a couple of groans and then the man was reattached to his leash and led back to the line of waiting men.
The man standing beside him went next. He was short and muscular and had more scars on his sun bronzed body than any warrior he’d ever seen. His performance received cheers and clapping and when he’d finished he’d raised his fist in a vict
ory salute before he was led back with a hard look on his face. Next was an older man at the far end of the line whose efforts earned him derisive laughter and then it was his turn.
Shea led him forwards, being careful not to look at him, and Cacaphia removed his belt and let it drop carelessly to the floor amidst a chorus of oo’s and ah’s, before taking her position on the bed. He knew what was expected of him and would have defied them all if he could, but he’d been trained like a dog to respond and couldn’t help himself. Trying to ignore the spectators he climbed on top of Cacaphia and began his performance without touching her as he’d been taught.
Within seconds he could feel his climax build until he could barely control himself although she was letting it go on longer than she’d ever done before. When his mistress shouted he rapidly withdrew and held his position, gritting his teeth against the almost overwhelming urge to do what a man was meant to do. He held on just long enough for the fat woman to measure him and then exploded causing hilarious laughter and a look of disgust from Cacaphia.
Degraded and humiliated he let Shea lead him back to his place whilst the next man was led forwards. Sickened by what he’d been forced to do his shoulders slumped and he stared down at his feet wishing that he’d died along side of his brothers. When the short muscular man next to him dug him in the ribs with his elbow he barely reacted.
“Stand tall and don’t let them see it hurts your pride or they will make it worse for you,” he hissed.
“Why do they do it?” he whispered back without moving.
“High born women in this land don’t make wagers as other people do, they do this instead.”
So that was it. He was no better than a prize horse or a hound or the stones which some men carried and used to gamble. “It is better to die than to live like this in shame.”
