Zelamir

adapted by Pueros

The Traitor's Son

– Sejanus –

(Combined Nialos and Eunuch version)

Chapter I

Normally this would not have surprised Crastus. He was accustomed to causing fear amongst those he met, as the phenomenon went with his profession. However, to see trepidation on the face of his employer, the supreme pontiff, the first consul, the man everyone in Rome other than himself referred to as the Emperor, struck him as strange.

It would have been understandable perhaps a day or two earlier when the outcome of Sejanus' bid for power was still in doubt. Now, though, when the Praetorians had declared for Tiberius, the traitor himself had been slaughtered, his body exposed on the Gemonian steps before being cast into the Tiber and his supporters were being hunted down, such fear was strange indeed.

Yet the feel of a regime under threat had been palpable throughout Crastus' journey to the island of Capri. One clue had been provided by the naval squadron lying close off shore, the long sleek hulls of the galleys reflected in the almost unmoving sea, elegant and beautiful until his own boat had drawn close enough for him to catch the stink from the rowing benches. The double guard of marines at the single landing place, hard men in full battle gear, had added to the suggestion that Tiberius and his rule were under threat rather than, as they truly were, triumphant.

"I can trust no one, no one!"

The man who was Emperor of Rome stood naked, waist deep in the pool, with beads of water glinting on the thick dark hair that matted his powerful chest. He stared at Crastus through cold distrustful eyes.

"Sejanus," Tiberius declared, "whom I made my companion in power and whom I was going to bring into the my own family, betrays me. If he had been content to wait, who knows what might have been open to him? But no, he must snatch at the prize, as many have before him and many undoubtedly will in the future, and to what end? What has the supreme power brought me?"

Crastus glanced round at the vast marble-lined pool, with the opulent imperial villa towering behind it, and the crowd of beautiful naked boys, lithe-limbed and attentive, hovering eagerly about them, and thought that power seemed to have its compensations. Then his eyes went back to the Emperor's distracted and frightened face, disfigured by a mass of angry, white-tipped pimples, and he wondered if such luxuries were enough.

It was not the first time that Crastus had been summoned by the Emperor to receive his instructions direct from the Princeps himself. However, he thought the man looked more under strain and more troubled than in the past. Certainly, the pimples, which on earlier occasions had been merely a nervous blemish, now covered Tiberius' face with a livid rash of pustules. It was clear that Sejanus' attempted coup had hit the man hard.

Lucius Aelius Sejanus, like his father before him, had been the Prefect of the Praetorian guard, and had acquired great influence in Rome under Tiberius, which he had used to sinister effect, particularly of late, after he had persuaded his Imperial master to live on Capri. However, his relatively humble background had meant that he was unlikely to be adopted by the ageing Emperor as his successor, and he appreciated that, after the Princeps' death, his many enemies were sure to seek his own demise.

Becoming desperate, Sejanus had therefore organised a conspiracy to usurp ultimate power. However, his plans were betrayed to Tiberius, whose authority, despite his unpopularity and voluntary exile, still proved sufficient to have his minister overthrown. This successful trial of strength actually did much to strengthen the Principate as an institution.

"You have some special task for me, Sire?" Crastus asked. Experience had taught him that, once the Emperor began to talk about the burdens of his office, he would prose on indefinitely, in an incoherent disjointed sort of way, unless checked.

Tiberius made a small gesture of assent with his hand and one of the beautiful naked boys, mistaking the meaning, slipped, with a flash of smooth light brown limbs, from the side of the pool into the water and began to swim towards his master. A couple of yards from the Princeps, the youngster jack-knifed.

For an instant, the boy's tight bum broke the surface of the pool, and then, like a fish, he swam submerged, with his hands pressed to his sides, propelling himself forwards with small kicks of his bare feet. Crastus watched intrigued as the gorgeous outline of the youngster's slim body, distorted by the ripples of the clear water, approached Tiberius' crutch, with his lovely head thrown back ready to nuzzle his master's currently flaccid cock and heavy hairy balls.

Crastus resigned himself to a long wait before the Emperor would be ready to give him his instructions. However, it was soon clear that Tiberius did not wish to postpone the business immediately at hand. Turning slightly, the Princeps reached out his left hand and seized the attendant boy by his hair, holding the child firmly under the water. The youngster's feet then scrabbled desperately on the floor of the pool, as his master turned his attention back to his guest.

"I have indeed Crastus," Tiberius said, apparently oblivious of the increasingly frantic struggles of the boy whose head he continued to hold beneath the water, "as, in so serious a case of rebellion as that of Sejanus, it is of course not enough that the man himself should perish. His whole family must be expunged from the face of the earth!"

"At your command, his son and daughter have both been disposed of, Sire," Crastus advised, "and their naked bodies displayed to the Roman mob." Meanwhile, he could see that the desperate boy in the pool had grasped Tiberius' hand with both of his and was trying to break the man's grip on his beautiful young head. .

"I know, Crastus," Tiberius replied, "but I understand that there is another child, another son, younger than his dead brother and sister and whom Sejanus supposedly loved the most. He was kept on an estate in the countryside to preserve him from the temptations of Rome and the Imperial Court. I did not myself know of this but the freedman, in whose charge the brat was left, sent a messenger to me after the plot was unmasked, informing me of the boy's existence and asking me what was to be done with him. I want you to look after the matter for me!"

"A very loyal man, Sejanus' freedman," Crastus observed dryly.

"Yes, yes," replied Tiberius, oblivious to the sarcasm in Crastus' voice. "I would wish the freedman to be appropriately rewarded," the Emperor instead informed, "and certainly he may be left to manage the requisitioned farm for the state. However, first and foremost, Sejanus' remaining son must be eradicated as a potential future problem!"

The boy in the water had now ceased to struggle. Tiberius released his hold and the nude youngster's lovely but now still body sank gently down until it floated just clear of the marble floor of the pool.

Some other young naked boys, already in the water, then, with as much discretion as they could manage, as they were acting dangerously without Tiberius' permission, recovered the worryingly still body to the side of the pool and began to attempt to revive their companion. The Emperor spotted their merciful action but decided to defer painful retribution until later.

"It will be done Sire," Crastus responded in response to Tiberius' command, "but where ."

"A villa just outside Perusia," Tiberius answered, "so sail back to Rome and pick up your men there. Then ." The Emperor did not, and did not have to, complete his sentence, which was nevertheless a fully understood sentence of death for the boy concerned.

Crastus himself also said nothing more. He instead bowed and turned to go to fulfil his mission.

"Crastus," Tiberius then called after him, "the two dead children, they were very young. Sacred convention decrees that virgins may not be executed. Did you ."

Crastus turned and stared at his employer coolly before advising grimly "Neither were virgins when they died, Sire. I can personally vouch for that!"

Tiberius grinned wolfishly at this reply before declaring "Good, excellent, I am glad that your trade, distasteful as it sometimes is, has its occasional little pleasures. Now, Titus, escort our faithful friend to the shore. We must not let so important a servant of the state be killed by over-zealous guards!"

A fat man, wearing a spotless toga, waddled forward from the shadows of a nearby colonnade and touched Crastus' arm. He was Titus Caesonius Priscus, Tiberius' official 'Comptroller of Pleasures'. The Emperor then clapped his hands and there were a series of splashes and squeals as conscious attendant boys threw themselves into the pool, eager to show their devotion to their Imperial master.

"I hope," Titus remarked, as he later escorted Crastus down the narrow path to the island's only landing place, "that he didn't drown that boy. Decent quality ones are becoming harder to come by all the time and the price is rising steeply. What we need is an end to the present peace and a good foreign war or a revolt in one of the provinces. Either of those would enrich the market with fresh stock fast enough!"

"You won't obtain much out of the treason trials then?" Crastus enquired absently, although he was not really interested in this fat old ponce's problems, as his mind was busy considering the new task he had just been set.

"Not much for my needs", Titus lamented, "as we receive three quarters of the property of those condemned, including their slaves, but what our Emperor really wants are young fresh boys and what we generally acquire may be young but hardly fresh. If we could have the virgin sons of the accused, it might help a bit but they either get passed to you and your colleagues to dispose of or are impoverished and exiled. Still, it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good!"

"It's a busy time for me," Crastus admitted moodily, "but often not a particularly profitable one. Apart from a miserly wage, I just earn what the criminals have about them when I kill them and that's often precious little when it comes to the young ones. What good is a doll or a toy soldier to me?"

"At least the older ones," Crastus continued, "wear rings and other jewellery, which they frequently press on me to try to persuade me to make their deaths easier." His eyes then rested for a moment on Titus' precious equestrian ring, made of silver, before announcing jealously "It's the informers who do best. They are awarded a quarter of the criminals' property. You can become rich on that!"

"But, as an informer, you make enemies," Titus reflected, "and a change in policy or regime might have you standing accused. Then it's slit your wrists or face a visit from you. At least your job is a steady one!"

"I've never been short of work," Crastus agreed with a harsh laugh.

"And never will be," Titus suggested, "but me, if the Emperor's tastes should change, I could be finished at once. Meanwhile, I have to try to keep him satisfied and he's become more demanding since Sejanus' plot was revealed."

The two men, the pimp and the executioner, whose positions comprised the two most important officers of state in many tyrannies, then walked on in silence, each bewailing to himself the hardness of his own lot.

Their narrow path, cut into the side of the cliff, turned sharply to the right. Visible below them now was the cove that formed the only landing place on the whole island, with the fierce Mediterranean sun glinting on the almost still water. Crastus saw that, since he had disembarked, a small fishing vessel had arrived and moored behind his own boat.

A skinny-looking youth, about 16 years old, his only clothing a brief threadbare tunic, was trudging up the path towards Crastus and Titus, with two large baskets of fish hanging from either end of the wooden yoke that rested across his narrow shoulders. Bent under his heavy burden as he laboured upwards, the lad's eyes were fixed on the ground, clearly unaware of the two men he was approaching.

"Watch where you're going, boy," Titus growled, as the youth almost collided with him. The startled lad then glanced up.

Crastus saw the youth's eyes widen with alarm, as he saw the two men looming over him. The lad, who might have been rather handsome if he had been fed and cared for properly, then stumbled to a halt and pressed himself against the face of the cliff to allow the pair of adults to pass.

"Stupid little oaf," Titus commented, whilst beginning to slap the youth hard across his face, "I'll give you a taste of the whip this evening to teach you to keep out of the way of your betters!" The lad said nothing and made no attempt to ward off the harsh blows with which the fat man punctuated his threat. He just stood quietly, with head bowed and tears beginning to stream down his face as he started to sob hopelessly, as a result of not only the humiliation and pain of the moment but also the thought of the flogging to come.

"Look at this useless brute, Crastus," Titus requested, reaching out and lifting the youth's tunic up to reveal a hairless crutch and a chest so thin that every bone in his young rib cage was clearly visible. "Scrawny little runt isn't he?" the fat man suggested, "and look at his face." He caught hold of the lad by his chin and roughly pushed his head back.

"I don't think that I've ever seen an uglier or stupider boy," Titus declared, "but do you know if I had to replace him it would cost me perhaps a hundred denarii in the market, which is more than half the price of a decent mule. The world's gone mad if you ask me!"

Titus glared at the youth in silence for a second or two, apparently rendered speechless by the farcical values of the moment.

"Oh get up to the kitchens with you," Titus then ordered, "where I'll have the skin from your shoulders later!" He swung the starveling boy round and helped him on his way with a sharp kick up his backside. For a fat man, Tiberius' Comptroller of Pleasures was quite agile on his feet.

"I haven't told him yet," Titus then advised Cratus, whilst referring to the youth, who was rapidly disappearing up the path with his heavy and somewhat smelly load, "but I'm also going to have him castrated soon. He's recently been taking too much interest in some of the young female kitchen slaves to allow him to keep his balls!"

Chapter II

To the left, a double row of cypresses marked a lane branching off from the surfaced road. About a mile away was a jumble of whitewashed walls and red-tiled roofs, where a large farm lay at the end of the track.

Four riders reigned in their horses at the point the lane joined the road and consulted together for a moment. Then they wheeled off and began to trot briskly along the track, their steeds' hooves casting up behind them a reddish cloud of dust. Members of a slave gang, hoeing the dry baked earth between the olive trees, turned to watch them until the shouts of the overseer and the crack of his whip drove them back to their arduous labours.

The middle-aged horsemen did not look pleasant men. All four of them were big with hard faces, and three had short swords hanging from their belts. There was something about them vaguely suggestive of the military, although they were not in uniform.

Nevertheless, despite their lack of uniform, the grooms at the various imperial post-stations, where they had changed horses, seemed to know the men well. They had brought out fresh mounts for them with a speed that suggested that they were eager to send the foursome, again commissioned to perform official Imperial business, on their way and to be rid of them.

The only man that did not carry a sword was the leader of the small band, Crastus.

When the sinister quartet eventually trotted through the gateway into the farmyard, it was clear that word of their approach had arrived ahead of them. A short, well- fed freedman stood ready to greet them, and young slaves were standing by to take their horses.

The four men stopped their mounts and slid from their saddles, throwing the horses' reigns to the waiting youths. "Welcome, Sir, welcome," the freedman said to Crastus, whose bearing clearly and correctly suggested that he was the leader of the quartet.

"My name is Echion," the freedman announced, whilst smiling ingratiatingly and nervously rubbing his hands together in front of Crastus, "and I was in the service of the criminal, Sejanus, acting here as his bailiff. I have been expecting you ever since I sent word to the Imperial authorities that I had secured one of the traitor's sons."

"Your message reached the ears of Tiberius himself and he sent us to take care of the boy," Crastus replied coldly. "We have him here waiting for you, Sir," Echion responded, "as we've had him incarcerated for the last week awaiting the Emperor's command."

"The last week," Crastus repeated, with a slight note of interrogation in his voice. He then made a small gesture and two of his companions moved forward to stand nearer to the plump little freedman. The remaining member of the sinister quartet began to whistle softly through his teeth and turned round, apparently to take a view of the yard, whilst his hand fell nonchalantly on his sword hilt. A look of alarm spread over Echion's face and he edged backwards until brought up short by the farmhouse wall.

"That is some time after Sejanus launched his coup against the Emperor," Crastus advised accusingly, "and indeed after the Praetorians declared their continued allegiance to my Imperial master, Tiberius." "News takes a long time to reach us here, Sir," Echion explained unconvincingly, his voice now shrill with fear.

"Really," Crastus commented, "as it only took two days for us to ride here from Rome? It would seem that somehow news of Sejanus' treachery took five times that to reach you, or did you wait until you knew that your master's attempt to seize power had failed before demonstrating your loyalty to the Emperor?" He then smiled icily, as he waited for a reply and whilst his hands began to untie the thick length of cord, with wooden toggles at either end, which kept his leather jerkin closed.

"No, no, Sir," Echion begged, as his legs began to quake and his petrified eyes watched, as if hypnotised, Crastus' strong blunt fingers play with the cord. "I am a loyal subject of the Emperor, Sir," the freedman continued, "and, as soon as I knew of the treason, I secured the boy. I swear it, Sir. I was in Sejanus' service, Sir, but I didn't know about his plot. I would have informed on him straight away if I had!"

"The Emperor expressed his initial appreciation of your loyalty," Crastus remarked, "but authorised me to investigate its extent and to reward it appropriately." He now had the cord free from his waist and was holding it loosely in front of him, a toggle in each hand.

Echion gave a high pitched moan and dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Sir, please," he then continued his entreaties from this shameless perspective, "I did my best. Sir, I have been loyal to the Emperor. I assure you that the boy's been locked in the farm cellars ever since I learnt of his father's treachery!"

"And fed on the fat of the land and generally spoilt," Crastus sneered, "so that, if by chance his father came out on top, you could say you were just protecting him!"

"No, Sir, no," Echion petitioned, "as I wouldn't do anything to help an enemy of the Emperor. In fact, Sir, the boy might have starved before now if one of the household slave girls hadn't been feeding him on the sly. We caught her only yesterday, Sir, and I've had her well whipped and she'll now work in a field gang until she dies!"

"I wish all would deal with the family and friends of traitors with similar harshness," Crastus commented, with quiet irony. "Now show me where you have imprisoned this young threat to the state, about whom you informed the Emperor," he then commanded.

Echion half rose to his feet and then, bent almost double, scuttled off round the side of the main house, followed closely by Crastus and his three companions. The freedman eventually stopped before a stout door and fumbled in his tunic pocket for a key.

"The key was kept there by the door," Echion explained, as he fumbled the implement out of his pocket whilst gesturing towards a rusty nail hammered into the wall, "because I didn't think anyone would dare to use it to help the boy. Of course, once I found what that treacherous girl had been up to, I took charge of it personally."

Echion's hand was shaking so violently that it took him some time to find the key and fit it into the lock. However, he eventually succeeded and the door swung open to reveal a steep flight of stairs disappearing into darkness. A dank, cold smell then rose up from the cellars to greet him and his guests.

"The boy has no light down there?" Crastus asked. "No, Sir, none," Echion answered whilst fumbling at a lamp that stood on a ledge behind the door.

"Well perhaps you weren't spoiling him after all," Crastus remarked before turning to his companions. "All right," he then suggested, "you three stay up here. I reckon I can cope with a half-starved brat without your help. Just keep an eye on my back!"

Turning to face the frightened freedman again, Cratsus ordered "You, show me where the boy is." Echion replied by leading the way down the steps, with the rekindled lamp throwing an uncertain light ahead of him, as the flame flickered and guttered in his trembling hand.

At the bottom of the stairs, a narrow, earth-floored corridor stretched ahead of them, its damp stone walls glistening in the lamplight. Echion shuffled a few yards along the passageway to stop outside another door, which was fastened shut by two heavy metal bolts.

"The boy's in there," the freedman announced, for some reason in a hoarse whisper. Wordlessly, Crastus took the lamp from Echion and, with a jerk of the thumb, dismissed him.

Echion turned and set off at a half-run towards the pool of daylight now illuminating the bottom of the stairs before clambering back up the steps into the outside world. Crastus then shot the bolts and opened the door, to be greeted by a foul animal odour assaulting his nostrils.

Nevertheless, holding the lamp in front of him, Crastus stepped forward to meet the boy he had been sent to rape and kill.

Chapter III

Lifting the lamp higher Crastus saw in its uncertain light a dark bundle lying in the corner of the small windowless cell. The bundle stirred and a small, scared, white but rather grubby face turned to look up at him.

Crastus now noticed a tousle of fair hair, not the insipid straw or flax blonde of the North but the deep dusty gold of Illyria, wide blue eyes, momentarily blinded by the light, and red lips, parted in momentary fear. So far as the man could judge in these dark and awful surrounds, a pretty but also clearly a very frightened boy, about 11 years old, awaited him.

Crastus moved closer to the boy, who responded by asking "Who are you? What do you want?" The youngster was trying to sound confident but there was a tremble in his voice and he pushed himself back against the cold and damp cell wall, trying to move as far away as possible from the sinister approaching man.

"This place smells like a pig-sty," Crastus observed contemptuously. "I can't help it," the boy retorted, "as Echion chained me here a long time ago. Please, can you release me. My father will reward you. He's rich and powerful. He's Sejanus, Prefect of the Praetorians, and I'm his younger son, Marius. Oh please, help me!"

"Your father's not rich or powerful any more, boy," Crastus announced brutally, "because he's dead!"

There was a moment's silence, during which Crastus placed the lamp on the floor. He then heard the boy begin to blubber.

Crastus did not try to comfort Marius with meaningless words, as he knew that the father was dead and soon the younger son would be too. He had a job to do and do it he would. However, he would not perpetrate the deed in this stinking pit because the boy was not to die a virgin. He would move the child outside and have him cleaned up before he had his moment of fun with him.

Kneeling down, Crastus could see that Marius was lying on a thin layer of filthy straw and was tethered to the cell wall by a short length of iron chain and a shackle locked tightly around his ankle. The greedily alert man also noticed something else. The boy was not wearing a silver or gold medallion about his neck, or bracelet, armlet or anklet of similar precious metal, as would normally be expected of the son of a rich and important man such as Sejanus.

Crastus swore uncouthly, disgusted at having travelled all this way from Rome to perform an Imperial commission and not receiving a bonus in the process, other than depriving young Marius of his virginity. He felt cheated, and his men, who would also share the pleasures of the boy's body, would be equally disappointed as well. Their pay for their work was measly enough and it was the little extra incidentals, acquired from the condemned, which made the job worthwhile.

Crastus had confidently expected Sejanus' son to sport some sort of expensive body ornaments. After all, he now reasoned, the tunic Marius was wearing, although currently horribly soiled, was of the highest quality, indicating that the job should have yielded rich pickings in the form of matching valuable jewellery.

Surely, Crastus thought, Marius must have worn some jewellery, but where was it? Had the boy hidden it in the straw in which he was lying, perhaps at the suggestion of Pannychis, or had the girl been friendly to the incarcerated child for devious reasons? Whilst pretending to help, she might have stolen it from him on some pretext, as slave bitches were often cunning enough to perpetrate such thieving deceptions!

"Didn't you have a medallion or bracelet or other jewellery?" Crastus asked Marius. However, the boy did not answer but continued to cry quietly. The child did not even seem to have heard the question.

Crastus therefore lent forward and flipped Marius hard across the face with the back of his manly hand. A dribble of blood appeared at the corner of the boy's mouth in response.

"When I ask you a question you answer me," Crastus grated, "so tell me: did you have a medallion or bracelet or other jewellery?" "Yes," Marius whimpered, whilst now holding a hand to his bruised and bloody mouth.

"Well, where are they then?" an impatient Crastus then enquired. "Echion took them off me," Marius answered.

"Oh, did he!" Crastus commented, more to himself than Marius. He then advised the sobbing boy, but without any noticeable compassion, "Well, the first thing to do is to move you out of here. Then we'll sort out the little matter of your jewellery!"

Leaving the lamp on the floor, Crastus stood up and made his way back to the cell door. "Varro," he then shouted at the top of the voice, "can you hear me?"

Crastus was rewarded by an equally vociferous answer before announcing "I want the boy out of here but his ankle's manacled to the wall. Echion will know where the key is. Get it from him and bring it here so that I can release the brat!"

Crastus then waited at the door, where the air was slightly less foul, for his companion to obey his command. Meanwhile, from the corner where the boy was lying, the sound of occasional distressed sniffing and sobbing could be heard.

It was not long before Varro appeared with the key. The man, nostrils already disgusted by the pervading stench, then drew in his breath sharply when Crastus returned to Marius to open the tight iron shackle fixed to the boy's ankle.

"Well it's been on him a week," Crastus observed in relation to the increase in obnoxious odours and whilst now looking at the band of raw suppurating flesh where the metal had galled Marius' flesh, "so what can you expect?" "Come on, get up," he then ordered of the boy, whilst straightening himself and prodding the child sharply in the ribs with his toe. "We're not going to carry you, you filthy little brat," he subsequently harshly advised.

Marius began to comply, making his way unsteadily out of the cellars, urged on by occasional slaps and kicks from both Crastus and Varro. The boy eventually reached the top of the steps, where he hesitated, standing blinking and confused in the bright sunlight.

Crastus came up behind Marius and gave the boy a heavy push in the back that sent the child staggering forward. "Get his filthy tunic off him" he then ordered one of his other companions, "and washed down. I'm not having my fun with him in his present condition!"

A man stepped forward and took Marius by the arm and half dragged and half marched the boy towards the well in the centre of the farmyard. Crastus, with Varro at his side, then turned to face Echion, who was standing against the wall just outside the cellar door.

"Now," Crastus asked of Echion with clear irritation, "what have you done with the boy's valuables?"

"Valuables," Echion quavered uncertainly, "I .I .don't know what you mean!" "The boy's jewellery, the medallion, the bracelet and all the rest that you took off him," Crastus retorted. Meanwhile, Varro, without warning, menacingly half drew his sword before ramming the hilt into the freedman's bulbous stomach.

As Echion now lurched forward, Crastus drove the butt of his hand into the freedman's face. There was then an audible crunch, as a nose broke and a head slammed back against the nearby wall.

Echion's knees began to give way under him but Crastus twisted his left hand in the freedman's tunic to hold him upright before repeating his earlier question. The assailants were then rewarded when their victim, desperately raising his hands to try to ward off any further blows, declared "I .I .took the jewellery from the boy in case he tried to use it to bribe someone to help him escape. I intended to keep it safe for the Imperial treasury!"

"Very estimable," a disbelieving Crastus sneered, "but, as the Emperor has made us responsible for the boy, we'll look after his jewellery as well. Where is it?" Echion hesitated to answer, instead staring round with wild eyes, searching for a way to escape his inquisitor but there was none.

Crastus pulled Echion forward, away from the wall and then slammed him back once more against it with all his strength. There was a sickening thud as the back of the freedman's head struck the stonework.

"I .I .haven't got it any more," Echion now duly confessed, "as .I .I .had lost some money on the races and I 3;. I had to hand it over to satisfy the debt. They sent men here to collect what I owed. I .I . had no choice. They would have beaten me otherwise!"

Crastus swore fiercely. He then balled his right fist and punched Echion in the crutch. The freedman screamed shrilly.

Crastus released Echion's tunic and, whilst the freedman collapsed on the ground at his feet, remarked disgustedly "We ride all the way here from Rome to do a job of work and we're not going to get anything extra for our trouble!" He then drew back his foot and kicked the latest victim of his displeasure as hard as he could in the face.

Crastus finally turned his back on Echion and, followed by Varro, walked across to the well in the centre of the farmyard. The freedman remained behind, curled on the ground, moaning softly.

The man who had been ordered to clean Marius up had stripped him and was busy using the naked boy's own dampened tunic to sponge him down. Crastus settled himself on the stone wall surrounding the well and stared gloomily at the child whom he was commissioned to rape and kill.

Crastus then confirmed in his own mind that Marius was indeed a good-looking child. The man knew, from the cursory glance he had of it in the cellar, that the youngster's face was pretty in a boyish sort of way. However, he could now see, out in the sunlight and with the young form stripped of all cover, that his next imminent victim had a very nice little body.

Being revealed before Crastus was a good, clean-limbed young 11 year-old human animal, slim but not painfully thin, with a nicely formed rib cage, a good straight back, a tight well-rounded bottom, possessing two well- pronounced dimples on either side, and firm strong thighs. The creature was shivering now and looked rather out of condition, which was not surprising considering what he had had to endure over the past week. However, the man's watchful eyes could perceptively imagine how attractive the boy would have looked with the sheen of health restored to his smooth young body.

Crastus also now noticed that a number of farm slaves were lurking around the edge of the yard and in the doorways of the main house and surrounding outbuildings, quietly watching what was going on. He gained the impression from their expressions and some overheard muttered remarks that they were not at all worried at the treatment inflicted on Echion but were not so happy about that being perpetrated on Marius.

Crastus told himself that the slaves' obvious concern for Marius would probably come to nothing, almost certainly remaining at the level of sullen muttering. They must know that if they did attempt anything against him and his mission that, with three swordsmen to help him, he should be able to see off such an unarmed servile rabble. However, he recognised that, if they started throwing rocks or acquired scythes and pitchforks, events might turn a little awkward.

Meanwhile, the man engaged in swabbing down Marius had come to the boy's curvaceous rump. He was currently trying to persuade the lad to lean forward and part his legs so that he could clean the cleft of his bottom but the youngster had frozen.

The man therefore clipped Marius lightly on the back of his head and then reinforced his order with a sharp slap of his open hand on the boy's bum. A murmur, unhappy rather than angry, rose from the watching slaves but the lad obediently shuffled his feet apart and bent forward.

"Problems?" the grinning man asked of Crastus, whilst jerking his head towards where Echion still lay whimpering in the dust. "Yes," the leader of the quartet growled, "as the little fat sod has thieved the boy's jewellery and used it to pay off his gambling debts. We've therefore come all the way here to take care of the little turd you're cleaning but will receive no more than our wages for our efforts!"

"Well," the man replied, whilst speaking quietly so that the watching slaves could not hear what was being discussed, "the boy's not bad looking. I'd also say that he's a virgin too, so there'll be a bit of pleasure from him for us all before you finish the job!"

Marius seemed oblivious to what was being debated, instead just standing passively still, his eyes glazed as the man worked on his body. However, Crastus was not surprised at this reaction, as he had seen it many times before.

Some of Crastus' victims fought and struggled to the end. Others, and Marius appeared to fit this category, seemed to become mesmerised with terror and went without protest to their deaths like cattle being herded into a slaughter house.

Crastus preferred the more compliant subjects of his brutal trade, as they represented less trouble. Nevertheless, he hoped that the boy would liven up when the time came to rape him.

Crastus looked at Marius appraisingly, wondering whether the boy would be a good fuck. Certainly the naked young body looked good and, perhaps by regaining a bit of bloom, could prove exceptional. This thought then caused an idea to invade the man's avaricious mind, which was still keen to secure a financial bonus for the work at hand.

"You think that the boy's a virgin?" Crastus was now spurred to ask of the other man. "Near certain" was the answer.

"Bring the brat over here," Crastus then requested, "while I check."

The man propelled the docile Marius over to his leader, with a series of gentle pushes and slaps of encouragement to the boy's young bum. Crastus then levered himself wearily upright from his seat on the wall of the well and began a methodical examination of the lad.

Marius stood still, unresisting, as manly hands travelled over his young nude form. He even lacked the spirit to try to hide his nakedness with his hands.

Crastus steadily worked his way down Marius' body, ascertaining that no head lice or fleas and no obvious ear or eye infections were present. He assured himself that the boy's young face was clear of blemishes and that his mouth possessed good even white teeth and a clean tongue, with no inflammation of the throat.

Crastus checked that there was no indication of ringworm under Marius' arms. He also rubbed the side of the boy's neck with his fingers to ensure that there was no sign of swollen glands.

Crastus considered Marius' ribcage to be pleasantly defined whilst the overlying skin was not too tightly stretched. He decided to confirm this judgement by pinching the boy's flesh between manly finger and thumb. He then tweaked one hard young nipple.

Marius gave a small gasp of pain but otherwise did not react. Crastus then moved his hands downwards pressing the tips of his fingers firmly into the boy's stomach, seeking lumps and hardness but finding none. He took hold of the child's small hairless balls, rolling them gently between the tips of his fingers. The youngster caught his breath sharply at this intimate invasion but made no other protest.

Crastus pulled a face as he rolled back Marius' foreskin but reminded himself that the boy had had, for a week, little chance to clean himself. He then moved to check the inside of the lad's thighs for ringworm before kneeling on the ground to run his hands down the 11 year- old's firm lithe legs to explore the young feet below for parasites.

Crastus stood again and signalled to Marius to turn round. He then checked the boy's rear, including the back of the head, neck and shoulders, all the time moving his hands slowly down the lad's body, stroking, squeezing, probing.

Crastus finally ordered Marius to part his legs and bend forward to rest his hands on the top of the wall around the well. Again, zombie-like, the boy obeyed.

Crastus placed his hands on Marius' bottom, relishing the feel of the boy's cool flesh and smooth silky skin. The man knew that the key tests were now imminent.

Crastus had found nothing physically wrong with Marius, rather the opposite in fact. However, for all that the fat Imperial pimp, Titus, had said about the shortage of quality virgin boy flesh in the markets, he knew that no one would pay good money for a lad unless there was a bit of life to him. At the moment, the youngest son of Sejanus was hardly better than dead flesh to handle and dead flesh he would be unless he soon began to show a bit of spirit.

There was no point in going to the trouble and expense of taking such a brat to Rome unless he would fetch a good price on the auction block when he finally reached there. For that to be achieved, the boy's virginity had to be accompanied by obvious sexual liveliness.

Crastus slipped his right hand between Marius' splayed legs and pushed upwards, forcing the boy's bottom higher into the air. He then used his two thumbs to pull open the lips of the lad's anus.

Marius could be cleaner he thought at first, as he examined the revealed scene, but at least there is no sign of round worm and the boy's clearly a virgin. He then licked the tip of his index finger and pressed it into the lad.

Marius tensed and for a moment resisted the intimate invasion. However, Crastus increased the pressure and forced the young pink sphincter open. The boy then cried out in anguish and shock but compliantly maintained his degrading posture.

The slaves standing round the edge of the yard moved uneasily. Varro, who until then had also been sitting on the wall of the well, watching events, lounged to his feet, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Crastus now placed his left hand on Marius' shoulder to steady the boy before probing deeper into his young body. The lad resumed his moans but more quietly this time.

Crastus probed still deeper and smiled when he felt Marius' body tighten once again about his finger, this time not resisting the intrusion but apparently trying to draw it further into him. He then glanced round the boy to observe his little cock standing rigidly to attention, its tip pressing up against his tummy. A woman amongst the watching slaves giggled, then another and another. Varro removed his hand from his sword and joined in the laughter that now rang out round the farmyard.

A grinning Crastus eventually pulled his finger out of Marius. There was an audible plop as the now grimy digit came clear of the boy's bottom.

With a laugh, Crastus then landed a hard and noisy open- handed slap on Marius' bare rump. "The boy's just a slut like any other brat of his age," he then announced cheerfully and with deliberate loudness so that the crowd of slaves could hear. There was a murmur of agreement in response. The spectators might have felt uneasy when they saw the lad, who until very recently was their master's rather pleasant son, being humiliated and hurt but they had liked being told that he was, after all, no better than they were.

"Take the boy into the kitchens and get him cleaned up thoroughly using hot water," Crastus asked of the man who had been washing Marius by the well, "as there's sure to be a woman there who is used to dealing with dirty brats and their cuts and bruises. Tell her to pay special attention to his foreskin and bottom, as they're both still filthy. Also, tell her to look at his ankle, where the iron manacle has cut the flesh. However, when she's attended to it, don't let her bandage it. I think the wound will heal quicker exposed to the air."

"When she's finished," Crastus continued his instructions, "bring the boy back to me. By then, we'll be in the principal guestroom. I don't yet know where that is but that's where we'll be. One of the slaves will no doubt show you where it is. Meanwhile, keep a careful eye on what's going on, as I wouldn't put it past this lot to try to spirit the brat away if they saw a chance."

The man took hold of Marius by his arm and led the boy towards the house. Crastus was pleased to see that, whilst tears had resumed streaming down the lad's pretty face, the 11 year-old was also now trying to hide his still rigid prick with his hands.

Clearly Marius had snapped out of his fatalistic apathy and was now lively enough to feel his humiliation deeply.

Chapter IV

Crastus settled himself back on the low wall surrounding the well. The slaves who had gathered round the edge of the courtyard drifted off one by one to resume their work.

It was some time before Varro returned, holding Echion none too gently by the arm with one hand and dragging with the other by the ear a pretty 12 year-old boy with a mop of curly black hair. The freedman had disappeared from the farmyard and had obviously made some attempt to clean himself up. His nose had clearly been broken but he had put on a clean tunic and the blood had been washed from his face.

"Sorry not to be back sooner," Varro apologised whilst giving Echion a shake, "but it took me sometime to find our friend here."

"Where did you find that tart?" Crastus asked, nodding at the boy, whose only clothing was a very brief tunic, fringed with tassels, which reached only halfway down his bum. Forced to bend forward by the grip on his ear, this sparse attire totally failed to cover his pleasant little rump.

"This?" Varro rhetorically enquired, "this is Pulchellus. I found him washing the blood from Echion's face and kissing the man's wounds to make them better." "Oh," Crastus sneered, "he must be the bailiff's favourite bumboy, whom I suppose is better fed and plumper than any other brat on the farm."

"He's my own property," Echion protested, "as I bought him myself. I can do what I like with my own."

"So you can, so you can," Crastus replied, "but not with what belongs to the Emperor. He'd be very annoyed if he found out that, to pay off your own gambling debts, you took Marius' jewellery, which should have been forfeited to the Imperial treasury."

"You'd only have taken them yourself if I hadn't acquired them first," Echion retorted in a brief and ill-judged moment of defiance. Crastus lashed out with his foot, catching the freedman on his right knee and causing him again to scream shrilly.

"Don't be insolent," Crastus suggested to Echion, "as the Emperor won't be interested in what we might have done. He will be interested in what you have done, should I remember to tell him about it, but you don't want to me to tell him, do you?"

Echion stared sullenly at Crastus who moved his foot, threatening another kick. "No .no, I don't," the freedman then reluctantly confessed.

"Then ask me politely not to tell," Crastus commanded, "not forgetting to say 'please'!" He was rewarded with a humiliating request from Echion. "Please, please don't tell," the freedman begged.

"I might help you," Crastus advised, "but I think that you'll have to do something for me in return. However, you'll be glad to do that, won't you?"

Crastus had to repeat "Won't you?" with a more threatening slant to the words before Echion answered "Yes, yes I will."

"Well then, you can first show us the way to your office, where you can write out a couple of documents for me," Crastus advised before instructing Varro, whilst referring to Pulchellus, to "Bring the tart along too!"

Echion hobbled painfully across the farmyard, followed closely by Crastus and Varro, who kept a tight and painful hold on Pulchellus' ear. The bailiff's office eventually proved to be a long, low room set immediately to the left of a wall archway.

The room had a bare plank floor and the only furniture comprised a table, a couple of wooden chairs and an open cupboard containing a number of scrolls. However, hanging from the wall just inside the door was a heavy whip and in a large earthenware pot beneath it were a number of canes of various lengths and weights.

"I see that you're a bit of a disciplinarian, Echion," Crastus sneeringly commented on catching sight of these implements. "How else," the freedman responded, "am I to get work out of the lazy slaves? The whip and cane seem to be the only things the brutes understand and respect!"

"And I suppose your little tart," Crastus suggested astutely and correctly, "looks on laughing while you slice up the bums of less fortunate slave brats. It must be fun for you both!" Without waiting for a reply, he then selected a cane and swung it experimentally in his hand.

"Nice springy movement," Crastus remarked before suddenly and unexpectedly lashing Pulchellus across the front of his thighs with the cane, raising a livid weal across the boy's smooth light brown skin. He was rewarded with a loud scream, shrilly uttered by the young victim's rosy lips.

Crastus then lifted the cane to make another cut. "Master, stop him!" a crying Pulchellus yelled desperately. "That's enough please," Echion protested weakly in response.

"Enough?" growled Crastus, "Enough? I've hardly begun. If ever I saw a slave boy who would be improved by a sound thrashing it's that one. Still, business before pleasure I suppose. Echion, go over to that table of yours and write me out a receipt for the body of Marius and an acknowledgement that you are taking responsibility for disposing of the corpse."

Echion limped over to the table and seated himself. The freedman scribbled away for a minute or two in silence and then passed what he had written to Crastus, who glanced through the parchment quickly.

"That's very good," Crastus informed Echion, who began to lever himself painfully out of his chair. "No, no," the former declared, putting his hand on the latter's shoulder to force him back into his seat, "as you haven't finished yet. You see, I'm going to sell Marius when we go back to Rome, as compensation for your thieving of his jewellery. Premium goods he will be on the slave market, a lively, beautiful virgin boy. However, he'd lose a good deal of his value if he went to the auction block with his bum ripped from our cocks and that would never do. You'll therefore need to provide me and my men with another lad to keep us amused on our journey, the state of whose bottom doesn't matter. So, just write out another note transferring ownership of your Pulchellus to me. I know you've been fucking him but we're not fussy and, judging by the look of you, even after having your cock up him, he'll be tight enough to give us pleasure!"

"Never, I won't do it, I won't," Echion exclaimed with as much vehemence as he could muster, but somehow his words lacked conviction. "Oh dear," Crastus replied wearily, "and I did so hope that we could conclude our business without any more unpleasantness!"

Crastus then placed his hand on the back of Echion's head and slammed the freedman's face down onto the table. Grasping the bailiff's hair, he subsequently hauled his victim back upright.

"Dear, dear, now look what's happened," Crastus commented with feigned sympathy, "and you're dripping blood all over your desk. However, I do admire the way you stick up for your Pulchellus. It's really brave of you when you consider what the Emperor will do to you when I report that you only remembered your loyalty to him after you knew Sejanus had been arrested. I really don't want to make that report, as I'm truly a kind-hearted man. So, perhaps on second thoughts, you will ."

"Master," Pulchellus screamed whilst wrenching himself free from Vacco's grasp and throwing himself on his knees before the table where Echion was seated, "please don't do it, please, Master, please!" However, Crastus was round the table in an instant, his foot crashing into the boy's crutch. The 12 year-old bent over, doubled his hands and clasped them protectively around his grief- stricken balls, his anguished action causing his brief tunic with its silly tassels to ride up his body to leave his bottom exposed.

"You talk only when you're spoken to brat," Crastus rasped before bringing his cane hissing down onto the boy's bare rump. "That," he then stated menacingly, whilst raising his voice to be heard over the child's anguished scream, "is just a foretaste of the thrashing you're going to get this evening. Now shut up!"

Leaving the sobbing Pulchellus curled on the floor and returning to the freedman, Crastus asked, now with impatience, "Well, Echion, are you going to transfer the boy to me or shall I make my report to the Emperor? Come on man, we haven't got all day for you to make up your mind!"

For a moment there was silence apart from the sound of Pulchellus whimpering. Then Echion started to write again.

"May I go now?" Echion enquired after he had finished writing. Crastus noted that the freedman took a great deal of care to avoid looking at Pulchellus, still hunched and weeping on the floor.

"Just one last thing," Crastus informed easily, "as I'd like you to show me again the place you kept Marius, in case the boy's left anything important behind. Come along!" "Varro," he also instructed, "bring the tart along and the cane too. I'm personally going to have to help our older friend here because he seems to have some trouble in walking!"

Holding Echion firmly by the elbow, Crastus guided him back across the farmyard to the door of the cellars, still open with the key in the lock. Followed by Varro and the blubbering Pulchellus, he then forced the freedman down the steps to the foul smelling cell in which Marius had been confined.

The cell door was also open. At the threshold, Crastus gave the bailiff a shove, kicking his feet from under him and sending him tumbling headlong into the filthy hole.

Crastus then slammed the cell door shut and shot the bolts, leaving Echion inside in the awful darkness, before subsequently leading the way back up the stairs and into the fresh air and bright sunlight. There, he locked the cellar door and, carrying its key with him, walked over to the well.

"I wonder," Crastus remarked, as he threw the key into the well, "how long it will take the slaves to break down those doors and release Echion after we leave tomorrow. I don't expect they'll hurry, as I don't think any of them like their bailiff very much apart from slut boy here, and he of course will be coming with us in order to keep our cocks happy!"

Pulchellus wailed dismally. Crastus and Varro laughed at the boy's misery.

Chapter V

Selia had dressed similar for him many times in the past because, despite being the beloved son of her late master, the normally very lively 11 year-old was as liable as any other active youngster to tumble and hurt himself in play. In the past, though, as a reflection of their former mutual status, the boy would have been sitting on the stool that the woman now occupied and she would be kneeling on the ground ministering to him.

Marius did not protest at this change. Indeed the boy hardly noticed it, as he had relapsed into the state of dull acceptance from which he had briefly been roused by the deep humiliation but strange accompanying excitement engendered by Crastus' fingers probing inside his bottom.

So much had happened to Marius in the past few days. The boy's comfortable privileged world had been torn apart. The 11 year-old had cried for his father when Crastus had told him of Sejanus' death but the sheer extent of the youngster's misery had eventually overwhelmed him and had now emptied his mind of all emotions except for fear and hopelessness.

"It's infected," Selia announced, whilst pressing her thumb into the angry ring of raw flesh that had been scored round Marius' right ankle by the leg iron. Meanwhile, the boy caught his breath and involuntarily jerked his damaged limb, as the resultant pain hit him.

"Mariullus, stay still now, as I can't do anything if you wriggle about," Selia chided, adding 'ullus' to the end of the boy's name for the first time, in line with affectionate customary Roman practice if the age, attractiveness and diminished status of the individual suited. For example, 'puer', or 'small boy', becomes 'puerullus', or 'pretty little slave boy' through the addition of the suffix.

Consequently, calling Marius 'Mariullus' implied that he was young and beautiful but also a slave. It seemed that even Sejanus' most loyal servants were now happy to remind their late master's youngest son of his new lowly station in life, despite the boy's previous popularity amongst them.

Marius had been a cheerful, generous-spirited young lad, who was constantly indulging in all sorts of adventurous scrapes. However, he was also always ready to intercede for anyone, especially the other boys about the place, whenever they faced a flogging, deserved or not, for what they had been caught perpetrating.

Most of the freed servants and slaves had been uneasy when Echion had locked Marius in the farm cellars. Most of them at least knew that Pannychis was smuggling food to the boy, with some actually helping the girl.

They were even more uneasy when Crastus and his three men arrived, being already aware of the execution of Sejanus and his two other children and the fact that it seemed that sadly their former master's youngest son was to share their fate. However, sympathy for the lad did not extend to taking action to save someone, even an 11 year-old, who was tainted with treachery against the Emperor. The consequences, if caught, would invariably be fatal and, if you were not a Roman citizen, you would be flogged and then nailed to a cross to die in long drawn-out agony.

The freed servants and slaves therefore muttered among themselves whilst they believed Marius' life was in danger, and there was even a chance that some brutality inflicted on the boy might have prompted an heroic attempt on their part to free him. However, that moment never came. They instead learnt that the 11 year-old was himself to be a slave and they were certainly not going to risk their own hides to try to preserve the youngster from a fate that all of them had experienced.

"The quickest way of dealing with it would be to take a red-hot iron to it," Selia advised the man who had brought Marius her, "to burn the infection out!" However, Crastus' colleague frowned and replied "The boss said he didn't want the boy permanently marked, as he wants to get the very best price for him."

Selia looked down again at Marius' right ankle, with its broken skin and chafed flesh. "The infection's only in one or two places," she then remarked, "where the edges of the fetter bit into his skin. I suppose that I could cut it out instead and the wound would probably still heal cleanly, as boy's flesh usually mends very well!"

Selia twisted round on her stool, turning her back on Marius whilst tucking the boy's right leg firmly under her arm. She then picked up from a table beside her a small knife, the light glinting on a short wickedly sharp blade.

Selia subsequently bent her head and cut down into the boy's healthy flesh, directly above one of the puss-leaking sores disfiguring Marius' smooth, tanned leg. A scream was wrenched from the depths of the lad's lungs. He collapsed backwards on the floor, rolling about in his agony, with his hands drumming a frantic tattoo of pain on the cool flagstones. The woman had to fight hard to retain hold of the 11 year-old's captive limb, especially when the youngster's wildly flailing left foot caught her in the small of the back, almost knocking her off her stool.

At a shout from Selia, a well-muscled, half-naked youth darted forward and caught old of Marius' miscreant left leg. The watching man also helped by deliberately placing his foot temporarily on the boy's chest, so pinning the naked 11 year-old's slim shoulders to the floor.

Selia then waited until the boy was still again before putting the knife back down on the table and turning on her stool to face the lad. "Mariullus," she then said quietly, staring straight into the youngster's tearful blue eyes, "I know that I'm hurting you. I'll also have to hurt you a great deal more before I've finished, but not half as much as I will if you dare to kick me again! Do you understand?"

"Yes .yes, Miss," Marius sobbed.

"Well, to help you remember," Selia advised, "and give you a little taste of what you can expect ." She then did not complete her sentence but instead ground her thumb into the ring of raw flesh on Marius' right ankle. The boy's screams rang out again, with his mouth distorted into a rictus of pain, whilst his eyes rolled back in their sockets until the pupils were hidden. However, further bodily reaction was minimal and so the woman turned round and settled once more to her work.

For almost half an hour, Selia carefully sliced away at the infected areas, while Marius lay writhing and screaming on the floor, until at last she was finished with the knife. The woman then opened a small jar of ointment and dipped the tip of her right index finger in the unguent. Using her left hand to open the cuts that she had incised in the boy's leg, she subsequently worked the salve into the wounds.

Marius now felt that his veins were being filled with liquid fire and his agonised howls redoubled in volume. The restraining youth, whose bare chest now glistened with sweat from his hard work, fought to control the boy's seemingly re-energised thrashing form, while the woman, oblivious to the 11 year-old's sufferings, concluded her task by roughly bandaging the youngster's tortured flesh.

"It should heal well enough," she appraised Crastus' colleague, whilst raising her voice over Marius' screams in order to do so, "although there may be a slight residual puckering of the skin. However, there shouldn't be any other mark left."

"The boss said we were to leave the sores uncovered," the man remarked. "I suggest you wait until the cuts stop bleeding before doing that," Selia responded, "and instead leave the bandages on for tonight and see how the wounds look tomorrow morning."

Marius' cries were now decreasing in volume to a constant low whimper. Selia looked down at the boy, his face smeared with snot and tears and his young body trembling convulsively. She then ordered the youth to release his restrictions on the 11 year-old and, bending down and holding the youngster under the arms, lifted him on to her knees.

Marius wriggled close to her, burying his face against her shoulder, whilst a thumb stole into his mouth. Selia cuddled him tightly, with one motherly hand cupping his firm boy's rump whilst the other wrapped itself round his narrow shoulders.

"That's the worse over, Mariullus, but we've still got to get you nice and clean for your new Master and his friends," Selia advised gently, whilst referring to Crastus and his three companions. "You don't want them to think," she added, "that they've got themselves a grubby little slut for his new slave boy, do you?"

Marius shook his head slightly and mumbled something. Nevertheless, Selia seemed to understand the boy because she continued "No, you couldn't help becoming dirty, shut up in that dark horrid cell!"

Selia now moved Marius slightly on her lap, so that the boy's naked body was turned away from her. She then reached out to draw a rag from a bowl of warm water on the table beside her.

Now obeying Crastus' order to clean other parts of Marius' anatomy, Selia took the boy's small prick between her finger and thumb and peeled back his foreskin. The resultant sight caused her to wrinkle her nose, as the underlying penile surface was coated with dirt, which she then began to wash gently away, whilst the young recipient of such attention stirred uneasily.

"Is it a little sore, my pet?" Selia asked, as the surface beneath the filth was indeed red and inflamed. "I know that you couldn't help it this time," she continued, without waiting for Marius' confirmation, "but you must now learn to keep yourself tidy for your new Master. Such a man is likely to want his boys clean and sweet smelling!"

Having eventually concluded this further chore, Selia informed "Well, that's that bit of you done, and I think you'll enjoy the next." She then lifted Marius off her lap and stood him on the floor, before putting the flat of her hand in the small of the naked boy's back to encourage him to bend forward.

Selia then washed the cleft of Marius' bottom with her damp cloth, whilst commenting "You've got to learn to keep yourself clean here too!". Meanwhile, the boy's prick stiffened and he found himself pushing his bottom further out towards her.

"That's right, my love," Selia cooed softly, "open your bottom up for me. I can see that you're going to make a good little whore!" She then laughed, whilst pushing the cloth between the exposed lips of the boy's currently virgin anus. Marius gasped, as she subsequently forced her finger further into him, but his cock stood up straight and hard.

When Selia was satisfied that Marius' bottom was finally clean, she handed the soiled cloth to the boy. "Get rid of this in the fire and then come back to me," she ordered.

Marius trotted obediently off, speeded on his way by a good-natured slap from Selia's open hand on his bum. This time, the nude boy did not make any attempt to hide his erection.

Selia watched Marius, and smiled indulgently as the boy made his way back to her, with his rigid pricklet wobbling in front of him. "Could he have something to eat before you take him back to his new Master," she then considerately asked Crastus' man, "as he must be very hungry and he's had such a hard time?"

"I suppose the Boss wants to keep the brat in reasonable shape for the slave market," the man shrugged in response, "so why not?" A moment or two later, Marius was squatting beside the kitchen fire, spooning a bowl of oatmeal gruel hungrily into himself, apparently oblivious of the bustle about him.

Chapter VI

"Come on brat, the Boss is back," the man advised ominously, "and I think you'll soon have something else, bigger than a finger, up your bum!"

Crastus' colleague was towering over Marius, grinning hungrily. Looking up from where he was crouched on the floor, the boy could see the man's cock bulging upwards, forcing outwards the loincloth beneath his tunic.

The man was clearly anticipating, with intense eagerness, being rewarded soon for his recent work by being allowed to enjoy the delights of Marius' now clean body. Meanwhile, the very pretty boy himself, who was still rather traumatised by recent events and rather ignorant of the brutal ways of the world of Roman politics, had previously given little thought to his imminent destiny. In fact, if he had recognised that rape, followed by strangulation, had been the original plan for him, the 11 year-old might have been less compliant in respect of his Crastus and his colleagues.

Marius scrambled to his feet, feeling sick with fear in respect of what he believed might now come but also strangely excited. The 11 year-old was far from being a complete sexual innocent. A boy at that time, even a free one of the highest class growing up on a country estate, could hardly be anything else, and the man's most recent comment, along with his lecherous look and hardened cock, had hinted at what the youngster might now experience.

Marius had seen boys hobbling about the yard often enough, with dark stains down the inside of their thighs. He had also heard the slave brats concerned talking among themselves.

Marius' father, Sejanus, had possessed an eye for a pretty boy and so had many of the Prefect's friends. It was now the turn of his 11 year-old son to wonder how he would manage to accommodate a man's thick cock inside him. The thought of his bottom being stretched and ripped to accommodate such an implement terrified him, and he appreciated that it was likely that he would now have to satisfy more than one such object.

Besides Crastus and the man currently with him, there were another two companions to be satiated, perhaps with even bigger cocks to ram into Marius' bleeding and torn body. Nevertheless, the boy's current trepidation continued to be accompanied by an incongruous under-current of excitement.

Marius remembered the feel of Crastus' finger inside him, the delicious sensation as Selia sponged his bumcrack and the excited gigglings of the slave brats as they discussed their lovers. They had often whispered among themselves about the pain, and he had seen blood occasionally oozing from their anuses, but they had at the same time boasted about the size of the cocks that had sodomised them and had speculated breathlessly as to whether there would be a repetition.

Clearly there was great pain involved being the subject of sodomy but that could apparently be exceeded by the subsequent excitement and pleasure. As Marius thought of this, his own little prick hardened once more. Selia, who was still watching him and also believed that the boy was imminently to lose his virginity, again laughed indulgently.

"Look at the little whore," Selia exclaimed fondly, "as judging from his cock he seems really eager for his first fuck. Come here, Mariullus, and let me clean your face for your new Master!"

"You're sometimes a grubby little boy, Mariullus," Selia commented, with affection despite the reproach. She then wiped the oatmeal from the boy's lips and chin, down which he had allowed some of his recent meal to dribble during his eagerness to fill his stomach, whilst adding "And we can't let your new Master see you like this!"

Having eventually completed her task, Selia suggested "Now go along with you, Mariullus, and see that you give your new Master and his friends a good time!" Laughing, she then pinched his boy's bare bottom to send him on his way.

By now, Crastus had appropriated the principal rooms of the main house for his own and his men's use. Marius saw his new Master standing just inside the door of the large chamber where his late mother used to summon him to show off her youngest son to guests when she was visiting the estate. Then, the boy 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 now caused Marius the first faint stirrings of resentment at his treatment. Up until then, the boy's spirit had been so cowed by his sudden change of circumstances, along with hunger and fear, that he had not yet really felt all the humiliations being inflicted upon him. However, remembrance of his mother kindled a small spark of anger and rebellion in the 11 year-old's mind. Why was he, the freeborn son of very important Roman citizens, being treated as if he was spawned by common slaves?

Marius did not consider slavery to be incorrect, as it was a part of the natural order of things. What was wrong was that he, the son of elite citizens, should be treated as a slave.

Marius hesitated at the doorway of the room and moved his hands to cover his crutch, suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness. However, the man behind him pushed the boy forward, with an open hand against the pleasant curves of the 11 year-old's bare bottom.

Crastus turned and looked appraisingly at Marius. The boy then felt his stomach somersault in fear, guiltily mixed with excitement. His cock, which had begun to soften, sprang back to attention. The shame engendered by this penile reaction also caused the temporary flame of anger deep in his mind to flicker and die.

Marius wondered how he could he feel like he did? How could he be excited by the touch of a hand on his rump and being brought naked to stand before the man who now claimed to own him, unless he was the same as any other slave slut about the estate?

Marius was eventually brought to a position in the room where he stood immediately before Crastus. "Put your hands down by your sides," the leader of the sinister quartet of strangers then ordered sharply. Hastily, the boy obeyed, thereby revealing his penile excitement.

"Don't try to cover yourself up in front of me again, boy," Crastus grated coldly, eyeing Marius' naked body again. "The little bitch is permanently on heat," he then laughingly remarked to his grinning colleagues, whilst flicking the tip of the lad's erect prick with his thumbnail.

Crastus then took Marius' chin in his hand, tipping the boy's face back so that he could stare down into it. The 11 year-old shivered, as he gazed up into the man's slate grey, cold and pitiless eyes.

"Being a slut runs in the family I suppose," Crastus commented to his companions, "as the brat's brother and sister were the same, the pair of them. The boy and girl were virgins before I took them but they both seemed to enjoy riding my cock like furies when the thing was fairly buried inside them!"

"But didn't you say that they were dead, Sir?" Marius remarked enquiringly, although he could hardly speak for upset and fear, and whilst referring to a grievously sad aside made by Crastus earlier. "They are now, boy," the man answered grimly, "as I can vouch for that personally. Your brother hardly struggled. He knew he had no chance when I put the cord around his neck. However, the girl screamed and kicked a bit. She was a silly little fool, as her actions just prolonged her suffering!"

"Yes," Crastus advised, in response to Marius' look of horror, "I personally strangled the pair of them, as I had to, being a faithful subject of our Emperor Tiberius. I should also kill you, a traitor's son, but it seems a pity to destroy a pretty little thing like you. That tight boy's bottom of yours is too attractive and valuable to waste, as you should make a good price on the auction block for me and my friends!"

Crastus' comment was the first inkling that Marius had gained that his destiny might have been rape and death rather than enslavement, although currently he was unsure which was the worse fate. "But remember, boy," the man continued menacingly, "you live only because I choose to let you do so. Do anything to make me want to change my mind and I'll kill you, and it won't be a quick, easy end, 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 or your body speared after you're nailed on the cross either!"

"Do you hear me boy?" Crastus asked. He then added "And call me Master when you speak to me!"

"Yes, Sir .Master," Marius whispered through trembling lips to the man who had raped and murdered his older brother and sister and whose cold eyes still bore down into those of the appalled and terrified younger boy.

Marius now could not tear his own stare away from Crastus' merciless gaze. Terror instead gripped the boy, whose legs began to quake.

Crastus then released his hold on Marius' chin and the boy's knees gave beneath him. The 11 year-old sank to the floor, and an amber pool began to form on the marble flagstones where he crouched. The lad had lost control of his bladder.

Crastus first stepped back with an expression of disgust. He then roared with laughter.

"You gave the little brat something to think about then boss," the man who had charge of Marius in the kitchen yelled, "but can we give him something more now? Shall we throw dice like you previously suggested for first go at his anus?"

"Neither you, Grynium, nor I, nor any of us are going to fuck his bottom," Crastus replied levelly, "as we're going to sell a virgin bum when we get back to Rome to recompense us for the bother of journeying out to this awful place. Such a pretty slut should fetch a decent price as long as we keep his hole undamaged!"

"The Emperor won't like that if he finds out," Grynium remarked, as he aired his doubts about the proposal, with an additional air of disappointment that his cock might be deprived of suitable entertainment, "as he's ordered the boy to be killed."

"He won't find out," Crastus replied, "as I've got the bailiff to give me a receipt in writing for the brat's dead carcass and an undertaking he will dispose of it. If anyone asks for evidence that we've done our duty faithfully, we produce that. As for the boy, nobody will listen to what a slave says and anyway he won't disclose his origins, unless he wants to be killed like his brother and sister!"

"I was looking forward to fucking him though," Grynium remarked regretfully. "Don't worry," Crastus responded, "as we'll not be without a boy to fuck tonight. Varro, bring that bitch Pulchellus here!"

From where he currently huddled on the floor, Marius saw the bailiff's dark-haired beauty, one year older than the youngest son of Sejanus, being dragged forward, whilst Crastus' companions laughed and whistled. It was immediately clear to the 11 year-old that the 12 year-old had recently suffered a hard time. A thick livid weal was visible across the front of the boy's thighs, just below the bottom of his short, tassel-fringed tunic and marring the taught, light brown skin. The covering garment was itself soiled and torn, with the wearer's eyes 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' terrifying attention. He had always disliked Pulchellus, in so far as he had any feelings about a creature previously so much his social inferior.

Unlike the brats his father owned, Marius had no jurisdiction over the property of the freedman, Echion, who was much better fed and clothed than the generality of the slave boys on the estate and was hated and mistrusted by the others. Pulchellus was regarded as a spy and an informer for his Master, the bailiff.

Pulchellus could personally do Marius no harm. However, the latter had heard the talk among the slaves and had seen the bloodied shoulders or rumps of lads whose misdeeds had been espied and reported to Echion by his fancy boy.

Marius accepted that slave boys should be beaten occasionally when really deserved, as otherwise they might become disobedient and lazy. However, he despised Pulchellus as a sneak who betrayed his own sort.

"Give me the cane, Varro," Crastus commanded, "as I've promised to instil a bit of discipline into this tart!" The implement was a vicious-looking object, about three feet long, tapered, split and bound with waxed cord at the end to give it extra bite.

The cane now leapt and quivered in Crastus' hand, as he became reacquainted with its weight. Meanwhile, Pulchellus threw himself on his knees at the man's feet.

"Master, please, Master," the kneeling Pulchellus whimpered, at the same time quickly affirming Crastus' new status in the boy's life, "please don't beat me Master. I'll do anything you want but please don't beat me!"

Pulchellus' desperate pleadings were then interrupted by a high pitched scream, as Crastus slashed the boy across his chest with the cane. "Shut up, tart," the man then ordered, "as you've got a few lessons to learn. 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 and revealing that the cane had raised an angry crimson welt across his chest, which was deepening to purple at the edges, as the bruising spread. The naked boy now stood facing Crastus, shivering with fright, his garment clasped uncertainly in his right hand.

Crastus leant forward and, snatching the tunic from Pulchellus, hurled it to the floor. The garment fell into Marius' urine puddle.

"The dirtying of your tunic doesn't matter," Crastus observed coldly to Pulchellus, "because you won't be wearing it, or anything else, again. Now, keep your hands by your sides!"

Crastus raised the cane over his left shoulder, clearly intending to land a back-handed cut across Pulchellus' chest. The very pretty boy responded by screwing up his face in terror.

"Open your eyes, tart," Crastus growled, cruelly wanting Pulchellus to be a spectator of his own caning. When the boy had reluctantly obeyed the instruction, the man then brought the cane hissing down across the front of the lad's bare chest.

The end of the cruel rod had landed across Pulchellus' left nipple, just missing the tip but splitting the flesh. For a fraction of a second, the young victim of the blow stared at the wound, as blood welled from it. Then, the excruciating pain hit him.

Screaming shrilly, Pulchellus clasped both hands to his torn flesh and collapsed to his knees. The boy fell forward so that his head rested on the floor, whilst his bottom was raised into the air. A piercing wailing simultaneously rose from the 12 year-old's shuddering body.

"Get up, tart," Crastus snapped and brought the cane slicing down across Pulchellus' vulnerable taught rump. The boy yelped and raised his face, tear-stained and contorted with pain. He then somehow began to climb back to his feet but he was not quick enough to satisfy his new Master. Burying his free hand in the 12 year-old's dark curly hair, the man yanked him to his feet.

"I said keep your hands down by your side," Crastus snapped, knocking Pulchellus' hands away from his chest. The sadistic man then lent forward and took the injured nipple between his finger and thumb, simultaneously squeezing it harshly to ring further screams from his young victim.

"Echion was too soft on you, my boy," Crastus gritted, "because he spoilt you. You belong to me now, and I don't spoil my slaves because otherwise they might get insolent and lazy. You've got a lot to learn and the first lesson is to fear me!"

Crastus released his grip on Pulchellus' nipple and licked the blood from his finger and thumb. "Now I'm going to thrash you," he then announced, quietly hooking his foot round a nearby stool, pulling it towards him.

"Unfortunately, I won't be able to beat you as much as I'd like and you undoubtedly deserve," Crastus then declared, "as we'll need you to be able to serve us tonight and be capable of bearing a load tomorrow. However, six strokes across your pert little bottom should be sufficient to show you what a disobedient, lazy slave brat can expect at my hands. Get down over that stool, head down and your bum in the air. I want your skin stretched good and tight for your beating!"

Crastus then helped the crying Pulchellus to assume the required position. The man temporarily dropped his cane before slipping his right hand between the boy's legs and, cupping it around the lad's balls, pushing upwards against the young crutch, while with his left hand pushed downwards on the back of the 12 year-old's head.

Finally satisfied that he had positioned Pulchellus correctly for the job in hand, Crastus stepped back. He then picked up the cane again and rested it across the boy's upturned rump. The 12 year-old, feeling the touch of the rod on his curvaceous buttocks, instinctively clamped his bumcrack tight shut in terror.

"When did Echion thrash you last boy?" Crastus now asked nonchalantly. "I 3; don't 3; .remember, Master," Pulchellus muttered fearfully through his tears.

"I thought so," Crastus remarked, "as there's not a mark on your bottom apart from the two cuts I've given you today. Echion was much too soft on you, but that'll all change now!"

Chapter VII

The flexible cane curled round Pulchellus' bottom, the split tip cutting the boy on his flank. The 12 year-old's pretty body simultaneously jerked convulsively, as the weapon struck home.

Pulchellus threw his pleasant head back, and for a moment there was silence as he fought for breath. However, this quiet intermission was soon ended when the 12 year-old began to scream, whilst his lithe arms and legs flailed because of the acute pain now coursing though his body. In his agony, the lad rolled off the stool and tumbled to the floor, where he curled in a little ball of naked boy misery on the marble flags, sobbing wildly.

Crastus swore and kicked Pulchellus in the ribs, the force of the blow lifting the boy's body from the flags. "Get back up, you miserable little runt," he grated before turning to his men and instructing "One of you hold him for me!"

Varro stepped forward, grinning broadly. He twisted his right hand in Pulchellus' dark curls and dragged him back across the stool. Then, pinning the boy in place with his left hand pressed flat against the small of the lad's back, he nodded to Crastus, signalling that he might care to resume his thrashing of the 12 year-old.

Marius quietly hunkered on the floor, watching fearfully as the flogging proceeded. A beating was not an unusual event on the estate and he had seen many boys over the years having their bums tanned for various misdemeanours. Often such events would attract an audience, amused by the cries and twistings of the brat under correction. However, the enjoyment of the drama by any young male slaves watching 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 or whip was brought into play.

Marius himself had, in the past, been beaten on occasion by his father or his tutor but always, as befitted the dignity of a free boy of high social standing, without the benefit of grinning spectators. However, nothing he had seen or experienced matched the cold ferocity with which Crastus now went about his work of flaying the tender bottom of the unfortunate Pulchellus. The open, savage pleasure with which the man and his companions seemed to enjoy the frantic writhings of the helpless 12 year-old were also new to the appalled young spectator.

Methodically, Crastus laid stripe upon stripe across Pulchellus' defenceless bum, pausing between each stroke to ensure that the writhing, screaming boy could feel each individual cut to the full. The cane scored livid lines across the sweet curves of the child's rump, the tip curling round the firm quivering flesh to raise beads of blood.

Crastus' companions laughed and shouted, revelling in Pulchellus' agony and cheering their leader on. However, the flogging slowly eventually drew to a conclusion.

Crastus then lent forward to examine his handiwork, running a fingertip along one of the welts that now marred the previously very pleasant curves of Pulchellus' smooth, light brown skin with a line of angry red, deepening at the edges to purple. He noticed that, around the earlier cuts, the boy's tender flesh was beginning to take a yellowish, almost green, tinge, as the deeper bruising began to show through.

Crastus smiled, pleased at a job well done. Then, standing upright and shifting his position slightly, he delivered the final cut of the punishment, laying it deliberately across the stripes he had earlier inflicted. He earned another loud, anguished yelp from his young victim, as, at each point of intersection, blood began to well from Pulchellus' broken flesh.

Varro then released his hold on Pulchellus' hair and 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!"

Chapter VIII

"Only the best wine in the cellar and goblets in the kitchen will do," Crastus continued, "and tell the servants to bring our dinner to us here as soon as it's ready. Grynium, keep an eye on the brats whilst they perform their errand, as we don't want them fleeing, do we?"

Crastus prodded the still prone Pulchellus on the bottom with his foot in order to encourage the boy to stand up and embark on his mission with Marius. By doing so, he wrung a further howl of pain from the boy.

"Now you've got your blood on my boot you filthy little brute," Crastus subsequently commented in disgust. "Lick it clean, brat, before you do anything else," the man therefore also ordered.

The still sobbing and tearful Pulchellus somehow managed to rouse himself to lick Crastus' boot clean of his own blood before standing and leaving the room with the similarly naked Marius and the watchful Grynium. As they proceeded on their errand, Sejanus' son could hear the other boy snivelling beside him as they padded on bare feet along the outside marble-floored corridor.

Marius' sympathy for Pulchellus' suffering then overcame his dislike of the boy and he silently offered him his hand. However, the 12 year-old brushed the proffered palm to one side contemptuously.

Pulchellus' tears were not only of pain but also of anger and humiliation. The very pretty boy believed that he was something special. After all, his old master, Echion, had often told him so.

Pulchellus considered himself to be the best little tart on the estate, namely the liveliest fuck with the sweetest bottom and the nimblest tongue. However, he had now been stripped and beaten as though he was just a common little slave brat.

Pulchellus did not want sympathy from Marius, who, in his opinion, when the younger boy had been the free son of the very important owner of the estate, had clearly disliked Echion's catamite. The 12 year-old had believed that, what he considered to be, regular slights towards him provided the evidence for such an attitude, although they were in fact unintended and unnoticed by the alleged perpetrator.

Marius did dislike Pulchellus but he did not deliberately attempt openly to display his distaste. The younger boy had simply diplomatically tried to avoid Echion's catamite. However, the latter incorrectly considered such action to be insulting disdain.

Consequently, Pulchellus, who had also resented Marius' previously privileged lifestyle, despised the younger boy in return. The 12 year-old also recognised that, now that they had been reduced to the same level of servitude, he could more safely display his hatred, which he fully intended to do in a vengeful manner.

Pulchellus' spiteful attitude was only exacerbated by the fact that Marius had witnessed his humiliation and punishment at the hands of Crastus, whose favour he was already, even in his current misery, planning to win, as he had once done of his old master, Echion. If he could do so in order to try to safeguard himself from the man's cruel brutality and, at the same time, manoeuvre the other boy into trouble, the success of his plan would be even sweeter.

Not only did Pulchellus now hate Marius but also he saw the younger boy as a rival, at least until Crastus sold them on to others. The 12 year-old felt no sympathy or solidarity with fellow slaves. He selfishly sought only to try to make his own life of servitude as easy as possible, and who could really blame him?

The world was cruel and slaves like Pulchellus were not humans and therefore possessed no rights. They were just the chattels and tools of the free, who could do anything they wanted with their property, as Marius was soon to discover.

Marius and Pulchellus arrived in the busy hot kitchen. For a moment, the nude boys went unnoticed in the bustle and heat of the large room. One of the half-naked youths, engaged in washing saucepans in the great sink, located just inside the door, then saw them. He grinned and nudged his neighbour and whispers soon ran round the amenity.

"Pulchellus, dearest," a mincingly affected voice subsequently enquired, "is your poor little bottom sore?" "Did the nasty new Master cane your bum, sweetie?" giggled another.

Pulchellus blushed crimson, as other slaves joined in taunting him. One of them also flicked a wet dishcloth at the 12 year-old's raw rump, snapping the towel painfully against his sore flesh. The boy immediately spun round to face his tormentor but another youth darted up behind him and slapped him harshly across the bottom.

The watching Marius knew it was common practice to tease boys who appeared in the kitchen bearing marks of a recent beating on their bums. He had seen such torments often before, with freedmen and slaves, young and old, joining in the process. However, on this occasion, proceedings appeared to possess an extra edge of violence and cruelty.

The bailiff was not a popular man and his favourite bumboy and spy less so. Now, with Pulchellus deprived of his protection, the workers in the kitchen took the opportunity of settling old scores.

An infant kicked Pulchellus, whilst a much larger youth clouted him on the side of the head. Soon hard blows with hands and feet were raining down from every side on the 12 year-old, who was helpless to do much to defend himself and therefore just sank to his knees, trying to cover his head with his arms.

Grynium therefore attempted to intervene. The man tried to drive Pulchellus' many tormentors away but, as fast as he knocked one off the boy, another darted forward.

Marius, largely unnoticed in the mayhem, wriggled clear of the scene and ran across the kitchen to where the cook, usually a stickler for discipline in his domain, stood by the stove, a heavy ladle in his hand. The man was watching the commotion with a faint smile on his fat cheerful face.

"Daedalus," panted Marius initially, whilst referring to the cook's name. The boy, subsequently seeing a frown cross the man's face and remembering his own changed status, then added a hasty "Sir".

"Daedalus, Sir," Marius next begged, whilst feeling a little ashamed at having to give one of his late father's slaves such a title, "please stop them. They'll really harm Pulchellus' soon if you don't!"

Daedalus considered the plea for a few moments before perhaps realising that the sinister Crastus might not like Pulchellus to be harmed by anyone other than himself or his men. He therefore began to move ponderously across the kitchen towards the disturbance. However, he still did not hurry himself.

Daedalus remembered a dispute with Echion, during which the bailiff had alleged an over-ordering of provisions. The cook had been sure that Pulchellus had played a major informing role in trying to bring an end to this, in his view traditional, perquisite of his office.

Pulchellus was down on the floor. He could hardly be seen beneath the surging mass of vengeful boys and youths struggling to punch or kick him, as older onlookers cheered them.

Severe retribution was being extracted by many against Pulchellus for the snide tales that he had frequently previously passed on to Echion, which had often resulted in the punishment of other slaves. In fact, the sheer number of his assailants alone probably prevented the 12 year-old from being seriously injured.

After Daedalus had finally arrived at the fray, he wasted no time. The cook used his ladle, cracking the implement down on young close-cropped heads, bare shoulders and bottoms. Pulchellus' juvenile attackers therefore quickly scattered, leaving their victim still crouched on the floor, with his hands clasped on top of his head, whilst blood swelled from between his fingers and trickled down his once more tearful face.

"What do you mean by coming in here and creating chaos in my kitchen?" Daedalus then asked of Pulchellus, whose naked curled and hurting frame the cook prodded with a foot in order to encourage a quick answer. The man was clearly satisfied that order had now been restored to his kitchen and was now following the well-tried political expedient of blaming the victim for the acts of the aggressor.

Pulchellus remained silent, probably because his present grief was too great to notice Daedalus prodding him with his foot or the cook's verbal question. Marius too hesitated to answer, whilst Grynium also now began to tap his boot against the 12 year-old's prone form and cursed him for allowing himself to be injured.

Daedalus repeated his question with increased anger and more violent physical prodding. However, Pulchellus remained silent and so Marius considerately realised that he would have to answer on the other boy's behalf to prevent any further harm, although he feared that what he had to say would do nothing to decrease the cook's irritation.

"Daedalus, Sir, please Sir," Marius intervened, "we have orders from the man that you're to send him and his companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. He also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!"

Daedalus looked across into the nervous frightened face of Marius and his anger evaporated. The cook had always possessed affection for the pleasant boy, who had never displayed any real pomposity or cruelty towards his late father's servants. The man's attitude persisted, even after the 11 year-old's loss of freedom.

Such affection did not mean that Daedalus, or anyone like him, would continue to treat Marius in the same way as the past. The boy was effectively a slave now and would be treated as such.

Crastus' proposals in respect of Marius were, of course, not only against Tiberius' orders but also completely illegal. No free Roman boy could be enslaved without either parental approval or a court order. However, given the circumstances, no-one aware of the plans, even the 11 year-old himself or his allies amongst his late father's estate household, were going to object or inform in respect of such an outcome. After all, such a future for the child was surely better than rape and execution.

Daedalus could clearly remember the day when he had himself been a boy and the Imperial tax collectors had called at his own father's tiny farm with a court order. The youngest child had then been taken and enslaved to pay a parental debt.

Daedalus did not blame his parents for letting the tax collectors take possession of him. After all, the choice was either the boy or the large family's sole oxen, without which they would all have starved.

The fates had decreed that Daedalus should be a slave and they had decided the same for Marius, albeit technically illegally. The cook had once had to concede to such a destiny and now the boy would have to as well if he wished to live. The outcome was harsh but formed part of the natural order and must be accepted.

Beforehand, Daedalus had treated Marius with the friendly respect due to the master's son, and had provided him with the occasional sticky sweet almond and date cake, of which the boy had been so fond. However, the cook now regarded the child with the amused indulgence that you would accord to a puppy or any other lively young animal.

Such indulgence, however, had to have limits. A young animal might be played with but it must also be broken and disciplined. There was something about Marius' reply to Daedalus' recent question that did not please the cook.

"Who did boy?" Daedalus enquired sternly, in respect of the person referred to in Marius' reply. "He did, Sir, the man ."

"I know he is a man," Daedalus commented with irritation, "you said so before." The cook had dinner to prepare for the household and could not spend an indefinite amount of time trying to teach this boy, pleasant and pretty as he was, manners, including how to convey messages properly.

Daedalus therefore approached Marius and lifted his hand to strike the 11 year-old with the ladle. "Who is this man," the cook then asked, whilst delivering a hard blow to the pretty head below him, "who is he now to you, boy?"

"My 3; my 3; .Master, Sir," Marius muttered, whilst rubbing his suddenly sore head. The boy was also overcome by shame at finally affording such a title to Crastus, which caused him instinctively to stare at the ground and rub one bare foot against the shin of his other leg in embarrassment.

"Yes he is your Master," Daedalus retorted, whilst delivering another painful blow of his ladle to Marius' head in order to encourage remembrance, "and deserves your reverence, boy, and don't you forget it. Now give me his message properly, and look me in the face and speak up whilst doing so!"

Marius subsequently overcame his embarrassment in order to comply with Daedalus' instruction. "Please, Sir," the humiliated boy advised, whilst obediently looking into he smirking cook's flabby face, "we have orders from my Master that you're to send him and his companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. My Master also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!"

"That's better, boy," Daedalus remarked. "Now I'll fetch the wine," the cook added, "although it's really the steward's job. However, he's away on business and he's left me the keys. I'll try to find something decent for your Master to put him in a good temper with you!"

Daedalus then hurried off. Marius subsequently noticed that Grynium had tired of cursing Pulchellus and prodding the prone boy with his foot. Selia had now taken the opportunity to practice her healing skills on the 12 year-old.

Selia was seated on a stool, with her skirt pulled up above her knees and Pulchellus crouching between her legs. The tearful boy had his head bowed whilst the woman used the fingers of one hand to part his hair in order to expose the torn scalp and then pore stinging white powder on the open wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Miss….ouch….please," Pulchellus pleaded urgently between anguished gasps, as Selia performed her painful ministrations on him, "please….ouch….just let me have a bit….ouch….just enough to grease me. Please, Miss….ouch….there's four of them and….ouch….they're all going to fuck me….ouch….and I'm sure they'll have much bigger cocks….ouch….than Echion!"

"I expect they have, Pulchellus," replied a smiling Selia, sounding amused. "From what I've heard," she added, "your last Master was not much of a man, although, being a woman, I wouldn't have first-hand knowledge of his cock!"

"And no I won't let you have any grease," Selia advised, "not unless your new Master says I should. He might want your bum to be fucked dry. Perhaps he's looking forward to hurting and tearing you, and where would I be if I spoiled his fun?"

Pulchellus shuddered. Selias' speculations about the tastes and wishes of Crastus seemed to the boy to be all too likely.

Nevertheless, Pulchellus was not going to give up his entreaties too quickly. "Miss, I won't use it unless he says I can," the boy continued desperately, "I promise, Miss .really .please, Miss!"

Selia, satisfied the flow of blood on Pulchellus' scalp had been stopped, tipped back the boy's head and, picking up a damp cloth, began to wipe the dried blood and tears from his usually very pretty face. "You must believe I'm pretty stupid," she simultaneously laughed, "if you think I believe a word that you or any other slave brat says. You'll all say anything and swear anything to escape being hurt!"

"Please .Miss ." Pulchellus then began to say again but Marius' attention was now suddenly distracted by a sharp clip on the side of his head. The naked boy swung round rubbing his stinging ear to see that Daedalus had returned from the cellars.

"If you can spare me a moment of your time, boy," Daedalus advised sarcastically, "I've brought two jugs of wine for your new Master." The cook nodded to the table beside him, on which stood two large silver ewers brimming with dark red, almost purple, liquid.

Marius gazed in amazement at the ornate jugs and the adjacent matching quartet of silver goblets. He had only seen them fleetingly from a distance in the past, being carried into the dining room when his father had been entertaining some of his special cronies to dinner, which were occasions deemed unsuitable for a free boy of his age.

Marius had also noticed that, although he was banished to bed at such times, there were always many pretty slave boys of his own age and even younger in attendance on his father and guests. The fine and elaborate decoration of the jugs and goblets, which the astute 11 year-old now saw from a much closer distance, provided a clear clue as to why such young male slaves had been present at the banquets.

Embossed satyrs with huge erections were depicted on the silver jugs and goblets, chasing beautiful young naked boys through wooded glades or, having been successful in their pursuit, burying their monstrous cocks into the slim bodies of their prey. However, Marius' mental reflection in respect of the obscene portrayals was quickly ended.

"Pay attention, boy," Daedalus had snapped. "Yes, Sir," Marius had answered, reverting his glance from jugs to cook.

Marius then screwed up his face, into what any onlooker would see as a comical grimace of apprehension. The boy had seen and laughed at Daedalus carrying out this little entertainment of his often enough in the past on other young slaves to know what was coming to him and he knew that people in the kitchen were turning to watch the fun.

"Well keep your hands down by your side then," Daedalus commanded, whilst again picking up his heavy ladle and once more bringing the implement down hard on the crown of Marius' head.

"Are you listening boy?" Daedalus subsequently asked, whilst Marius knew better than to rub his sore head again, whilst this scene was enacted. "Yes, Sir," the hurting boy instead simply once more replied.

"You are to inform your new Master," Daedalus then instructed, "that this wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper slopes and dates from the first year of the reign of the Divine Augustus. Repeat what are you to tell him!"

Marius, standing obediently to attention, with his hands firmly against the sides of his bare thighs and his face twisted in fear of the next blow that he knew was to come, recited in his answer in his clear boyish soprano voice. "I must inform my Master," the abashed 11 year-old announced, "that the wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper slopes and dates from the reign of the Divine Augustus!"

"Don't forget then, boy," Daedalus subsequently ordered, whilst rewarding Marius for his good memory by again banging the ladle down on top of the 11 year-old's head, thereby making the child's ears ring.

"Now," Daedalus commented, whilst turning to Grynium, "if the other boy is ready, the pair of brats can each carry a jug and two of the four silver goblets. Perhaps they'll even manage not to spill some wine, especially as they'll know that, if they do, their backsides might feel the strap of their new Master!"

"What about our dinner?" Grynium demanded roughly. "It'll be artichokes with fish pickle sauce," Daedalus replied, "followed by boiled pork stew with olives and then figs in honey to finish. Send the brats down in half an hour to fetch the first course!"

"That sounds all right," Grynium said ungraciously and, followed by Marius and the partially recovered Pulchellus, stumped from the kitchen, whilst Daedalus pulled a rude face at his back. Like nearly everybody else whose paths crossed those of Crastus and his companions, the cook was ready to do anything the men wanted in the hope that if he did they would go away quickly and inflict themselves on someone else.

Crastus and his three companions subsequently quickly emptied one of the jugs of wine. Pulchellus, whose extra bruises had been ignored by his new master, was then returned to the kitchen to obtain a refill, whilst Marius was kept busy topping up the goblets with the contents of the other silver container.

The silver jug was heavy and Marius had to use both hands to pour the wine, which left him defenceless against the pawing attentions of the increasingly drunken men. As the naked boy served the strong red liquid, rough fingers strayed over his gorgeous body, caressing the inside of his legs, stroking his bottom, toying with his little cock and small hairless balls, and generally poking and prying into the most intimate recesses of his form.

The men frightened Marius, especially Crastus. The boy could not look at his heavy strong body and broad hands, with their hairy backs and thick stubby fingers, without remembering that the adult had raped and killed both his brother and his sister.

Marius despised Crastus but, despite his revulsion at having to serve the man and allow his hands to paw his body, the boy also found himself becoming increasingly excited and so he began to hate himself too. Surely, the 11 year-old thought, he could not enjoy the caresses of an adult male, who had treated his own brother and sister so cruelly. However, the child's stiff cock betrayed the shameful fact that he was indeed being pleasured.

Pulchellus eventually returned from the kitchen with more wine, having on this occasion been spared the bullying previously endured there. The four men then became drunker and wilder.

Pulchellus circulated with the newly refilled jug, and was also subjected to intimate fondling. However, the boy, keen to gain the favour of the men, especially Crastus, reacted rather differently to the blushing but quiescent Marius.

Pulchellus deliberately lingered for a while by each man he served, whilst wriggling his little sore bottom invitingly as he moved about the room, with his rosy lips half parted and his eyes glazed with lust. Marius, whose own jug was now empty, tried to use the opportunity to fade into the background but Crastus soon demanded a fresh service from him.

"Bring the empty jug here, boy, as I want to pee," Crastus shouted. Marius subsequently found himself kneeling in front of the man.

Marius held his the jug ready, and was rewarded when a stream of tarty smelling amber fluid jetted from Crastus' cock, only a few inches away from the boy's face, to fill the bottom of the ewer with frothing urine. The 11 year-old, who had never seen a man's penis so close before, wondered at its size and the great blue veins that ribbed it. He also wondered how Pulchellus' bottom would accommodate so monstrous an object.

Crastus eventually shook the last drops of liquid from his prick and wiped his fingers dry on Marius' short silky fair hair. Another of the men subsequently shouted for the boy, who then went from adult to adult as they emptied their bladders into the increasingly heavy jug.

Varro was the last to call for Marius' services. The boy again knelt at a man's feet, holding a few inches from his young pretty face his heavy jug, which was now more than three-quarters full of steaming urine.

When Varro had finished relieving himself, a single bead of fluid hung from the tip of his large hairy penis. "Lick it off," the grinning man then ordered of the shocked and appalled Marius.

"Don't hurry the boy," Crastus shouted from across the room, "as I don't want to do anything that'll cut his value on the auction block. He'll learn to suck cock soon enough, don't you worry."

"Marius give that jug to Pulchellus," Crastus continued, "and come over here to me, as it's time we became better acquainted." "After all, I knew your big brother and sister very well," he added with a brutal laugh.

Before Marius could obey, Pulchellus pushed him aside, apparently eager to take the younger boy's place at Varro' feet. Without awaiting further instruction, the 12 year-old then lent forward to introduce the tip of his tongue to the droplet of urine at the end of the man's cock.

Whilst the amazed younger boy looked on, Pulchellus then lingered briefly before licking and exploring Varro's penile slit with his tongue. "Marius," Crastus's voice then resounded round the room, assuming an edge of impatience, "come here!"

Marius rose to his feet and began to walk towards Crastus, fearing what was to come next but, at the same time, as was evident from his little erection, deeply excited.

Chapter IX

Crastus next extended his left arm round Marius' chest to tease the boy's lefthand nipple roughly with his fingers. Meanwhile, the man's other hand rested for a moment just above the boy's right knee before beginning a slow teasing journey up the inside of the youngster's thigh.

Stirring uneasily in increasingly libidinous reaction to Crastus' lewd attentions, Marius could not help but eventually moan softly, whilst throwing his head back. In response, the man bent forward and nuzzled the side of the boy's neck, whilst his right hand finally reached the 11 year-old's completely smooth crotch.

For a moment, Crastus subsequently gently rolled Marius' small hairless balls between his finger and thumb before carefully cupping them in the palm of his hand. The man then withdrew his hand and pulled the boy further back so that his young bottom was pressed tight into his own adult groin.

Marius now felt Crastus' erection through the coarse material of the man's tunic, pressing uncomfortably hard against his young naked rear. The boy therefore wriggled a little so that the adult's swollen cock was resting more easily along the cleft of his bottom, which resulted in further apparently very happy penile growth.

This penile phenomenon caused the insatiably curious Marius to want to forget all decorum and instead experiment by continuing to move his bottom carefully up and down against Crastus' eager erection. "Well done, boy," the man whispered into the 11 year-old's ear in satisfied reaction.

"Go on," Crastus added, in a successful effort to encourage Marius not to stop and whilst his manly penile swelling and throbbing increased even more substantially in response, "you good little slut. You really want it. Don't you, you little whore?"

Despite the insults inherent in Crastus' words, Marius shamefully complied with the request to continue because the feel of the man's hard cock rubbing the lips of his virginal anus somehow, even through the intervening tunic, filled him with intense excitement. This situation was exemplified by his own maintenance of a fulsome but, of course, much smaller erection and a glazing of his sensuous blue eyes.

Nevertheless, amidst his increasing sexual excitement, Marius managed to look across the room, where he saw Pulchellus squatting between Varro's opened knees. The boy's head was buried in the man's hairy groin.

Pulchellus had taken Varro's cock into his mouth. The cheeks of the boy's pretty face were also sunken as he sucked on the large manly penis.

Marius' attention to Pulchellus' activities then suddenly stopped when he next felt Crastus' hands again intimately fondle his nude and shamefully willing young body. The boy was simply enjoying himself too much for any considerations of personal disgrace at his reaction to such activities intervening to dampen his ardour.

Marius did momentarily contemplate the fact that the hands molesting him were those of a rapist and killer and not just of anyone. Crastus had defiled and then murdered the boy's own elder brother and sister. However, the present delectable feelings overwhelming his form encouraged him to the notion that currently at least he did not care about the man's previous perfidies, as he only desired the continuation of the delicious sensations.

'Perhaps it's true that I'm just a whore,' Marius mind considered, as he began to pant and strain in his eagerness. Meanwhile, Crastus smiled at the boy's clearly eager submission to his expert sexual ministrations, learnt from playing with many other similar young sluts over the years.

Crastus now put one hand under Marius' groin and momentarily eased the panting boy partly clear of his lap. The 11 year- old next felt the man's tunic being pulled away from under him.

After the lustrous curves of Marius' bare bottom were subsequently allowed back down to rest again on Crastus' lap, there was now nothing between his bare bumcrack and the man's distended cock. Nevertheless, the boy resumed moving the cleft carefully up and down against the adult's eager erection

At the same time, Varro finally seized Pulchellus harshly by the ears. He subsequently rather brutally dragged the boy's head forward to bury the full substantial length of his manly cock in the 12 year-old's mouth.

Varro next began to work Pulchellus' head backwards and forwards, as he mercilessly sodomised the boy's oral orifice. The man then eventually cried out and Marius saw him arch his body as the 12 year-old sucked and swallowed desperately.

Thankfully for Pulchellus' ability to breathe, Varro quickly released the boy's ears and the 12 year-old fell backwards onto his bottom. Some white fluid trickled from between his lips and down his chin.

Marius simultaneously felt the blood pulsing faster in Crastus' tumid cock. The man then jerked convulsively, whilst pulling his erection backwards, and the boy soon felt jets of warm sticky fluid splash upwards against the small of his back.

Crastus grunted and pushed Marius roughly away, tipping the boy onto the floor. The 11 year-old subsequently knelt there on all fours, aching with unassuaged need. His little cock was still robustly hard and copious manly sperm was trickling down his bare back and bottom.

"Pulchellus," Crastus next shouted after a moment's rest, "come here!" The boy obediently scrambled to his feet, whilst wiping Varro's seed from his lips and chin with the back of his hand.

Pulchellus then trotted compliantly over to Crastus. The boy's own cock was still was hard and wobbled stiffly in front of him as he moved.

Crastus said nothing but instead pointed. Still wanting to please and understanding the gesture, Pulchellus therefore bent forward and licked the extraneous cum off the man's softening cockhead, as well as the spilt spent sperm from the dark hairs that covered his stomach and crotch.

"And the other whore too!" Crastus eventually rasped, after Pulchellus had accomplished his literally distasteful chore. Consequently, the 12 year-old knelt behind Marius to lick away the man's semen from the younger boy's back, with his tongue also lapping the thickening liquid from where it had begun to trickle down the cleft of the other youngster's bottom.

Marius' own still hard cock quivered in delighted reaction to the feel of Pulchellus' tongue on his body, especially when it ran down his bumcrack. The younger boy had never previously experienced such delicious feelings and he did not want such intimate attention to stop. However, Crastus had other ideas.

"Well," Crastus next commented whilst laughing, "you've had your supper, Pulchellus. It's now time for you and Marius to bring us ours. Off with you both once more to the kitchen!"

"Varro," Crastus subsequently asked, after the two naked boys had left the room, "was the dark-haired brat any good!" "Well boss," the other man replied with a grin, "if his bottom's as good to fuck as his mouth, we won't have anything to complain about!"

Chapter X

Meanwhile, Pulchellus had to move around the room serving the food and wine, whilst enduring the men's lewd jibes and fondling. However, as he moved among them, the boy was still attempting to make the best of his situation to gain favour.

Pulchellus therefore deliberately wriggled his own bottom invitingly, whilst giggling at the men's crude quips and intimate manhandling. The boy even appeared to enjoy rather than to resent their lecherous attentions, whilst he alluringly looked at them with clear seductiveness.

Evidence for Pulchellus' seductive enjoyment came from his slightly parted mouth, from which his tongue regularly emerged to lick his lips, his rather glazed eyes and his small boyish cock straining upwards. These symptoms seemed to verify that he was himself in a state of high sexual excitement.

"Boss, who's going to fuck this tight-arsed little slut first?" Grynium eventually asked of Crastus, whilst his hand stroked Pulchellus' bottom, which was normally extremely nice but currently besmirched by the linear bruises resulting from his recent caning. The boy had finished serving the final course of figs and honey and had been called over by the man to refill his goblet with wine.

"Well," Crastus answered generously, "Me and Varro have already shot our loads, so we both need some time for rest and recuperation. I therefore think that the privilege rests between you and Lucillus!"

"Only after you two have fucked the slut," Crastus continued, "will me and Varro have our turn. As I'm the oldest of us and so I take longer to get back on form, I'll go last!"

Crastus then took a fig from his plate between his finger and thumb and popped the little fruit into Marius' mouth. "As for which of you two goes first," he subsequently added, "you can decide that between yourselves, perhaps by throwing a dice!"

"As thoughtful humane people," Grynium responded with a cruel grin, "I think that we should allow the man with the smallest cock to go first. That should lead to less tearing of the brat's bum!"

"But which of us is the smallest?" enquired Lucillus. "Let the whore decide," Grynium answered, "as, after all, it's his rump we'll be fucking!"

"Fair enough," Lucillus replied, whilst unsteadily climbing to his feet and pulling off his tunic and loincloth underwear. "You strip too, Grynium," he then suggested, "as the slut can't be expected to choose between our cocks unless he can get a clear view of both of them!"

Grynium complied and the two men proved to be very similar in build. They were heavily muscled brutes, well suited to their cruel profession. However, Lucillus' body was topped with a thick matt of coarse ginger hair, whilst the hirsute covering of the other was black and, except about his chest and crotch, less prolific.

Marius, from his place nestling on Crastus' knees, gazed in wonder at the two men's already partly swollen cocks. There appeared to him to be little to choose between them in size.

Marius also wondered how Pulchellus would be able to accommodate the fully bloated versions within his slim body. The boy then shivered when the thought struck him that in time he too would now probably have to bear the agony of a man's penis forcing his bottom open and penetrating deep into his insides.

Meanwhile, Pulchellus' previous act of apparent enjoyment at serving the libidinous men had ceased and worry was now the obvious prevalent emotion expressed by his face. The boy was, of course, no virgin. His previous master, Echion, had sodomised him on a regular basis. However, the estate steward only possessed a small cock, which had been relatively easy to accommodate, especially after his catamite had become accustomed to the relevant sexual act. The much bigger penises now displayed by Grynium and Lucillus, and previously by Crastus and Varro, represented another challenge entirely.

Pulchellus' bottom would have not only to accommodate more monstrous cocks than usual but also to entertain four in succession. The experience was bound to be painful but the boy clearly had no option but be compliant.

Pulchellus glanced apprehensively from cock to cock, albeit also with a clear perverse degree of excitement pervading his pretty form, which had humiliatingly enticed his own much smaller penis back to erection. From his fearful but additionally obviously shamefully stimulated base expression, it was clear that the boy was fully aware of the enormity of the task ahead him.

Indecision, consternation and thrill, in almost equal proportions, were reflected on Pulchellus' face, which was as attractive as his character was unpleasant, as he stared at the two men's cocks, which were already beginning to rise in anticipation of ravaging his tender bottom. In response to the scene, Crastus commented "I don't think that the brat can make a sensible decision with your pricks almost limp."

"Therefore sink down to your knees, slut," Crastus added, "and use your mouth and tongue to interest the men's cocks further so that you can make your decision with more accurate information. The more you dampen both pricks, the easier it'll also be for you in the end because there'll be nothing else to lubricate them other than spit!"

Pulchellus compliantly knelt down between Grynium and Lucillus, now appreciating that disobedience would not only lead to punishment but also more distressing ultimate sodomy. By the enthusiastic way the boy then buried his lovely head consecutively in the men's crotches, Crastus' words had clearly been delivered with the desired effect.

Marius watched as Pulchellus licked and sucked the cocks and balls of the obviously very happy Grynium and Lucillus, bringing the two manly hirsute penile shafts very quickly to full erection. The cocks then maintained their hardness, even proudly quivering in apparent cruel anticipation of the pleasures to come.

Having successfully completed his literally distasteful task in respect of both Grynium and Lucillus, Pulchellus next squatted back onto his heels to look again at the two rampant cocks, which would soon to be buried to the hilt inside his body. The rigid penises in question were both blue veined and leaking copious precum just in front of his face.

Lucillus' cock had risen from its bed of coarsely curling odorous ginger hair in a curved manner, reminiscent of a scimitar. Meanwhile, Grynium's penis stood upright, ramrod straight from its base among the smelly forest of black hairs that covered his own crotch.

Grynium's patience then broke before the hesitant Pulchellus could decide which cock should first have the pleasure of sodomising him. With an impatient curse, the man suddenly grabbed the boy by one arm and, after first jerking him roughly to his feet, he half threw him, face down, across his nearby couch.

Pulchellus felt himself hanging over the side of the couch and, knowing that he had no choice, he hastily spread his legs and pushed his bottom upwards to offer himself to Grynium's enthusiastic cock. The man then took two quick steps across the room to where the boy's bottom had been so considerately and invitingly raised and dropped to his knees between the 12 year-old's two outstretched lower limbs.

Lucillus began to protest the usurpation of his rights but then quickly shrugged and grinned. His generous attitude was summarised by his subsequent comment of "It's only a slave brat's bum, so I can wait!"

Grynium spat on his fingers and worked his saliva generously between the lips of Pulchellus' anus. Despite his fear of imminent pain, the tingling feelings generated by the man's action meant that the boy could not help but moan in excitement.

Marius noticed the muscles in the backs of Pulchellus' lithe legs straining as the 12 year-old forced his bottom higher in shameful instinctive response to Grynium's probing fingers. The younger boy's own hard cock quivered at the sight.

Grynium next dug his thumbs into the flesh of Pulchellus' bruised and sore bottom, pulling the boy's buttock's apart to expose fully the pink sphincter. The man's action caused the 12 year-old now to change his tune and wince and gasp in pain.

Of course, Grynium, mind and penis oblivious to all considerations other than immediately satisfying their carnal desires, ignored Pulchellus' whimpering and instead pressed the tip of his engorged cock against the entry to the boy's anus. Marius then saw the man's powerful haunches thrust overpoweringly and mercilessly forward.

Pulchellus instantly threw his head back and screamed, whilst his fingers tore desperately at the cloth covering of the couch across which he lay. However, Grynium continued to show the boy no mercy.

Again and again Grynium drove relentlessly forward before withdrawing to repeat his action. The man even lifted the diminutive boy bodily from the couch under the force of his remorseless assault, as he pitilessly repeatedly hammered the full length of his swollen cock into the 12 year-old's pretty form.

Pulchellus' face became contorted with pain, whilst saliva dribbled from his mouth to mix with the tears and mucus that flowed from his eyes and nose onto the couch below his head. However, the boy's screams eventually became more muted as the initially excruciating act of sodomy continued unyieldingly, simultaneous to an apparent abatement of the ferocity of the man's attack.

Grynium's movements became less violent, as he instead began to thrust his cock in and out of Pulchellus more regularly. To aid his rhythm, the man also placed his two hands on the boy's hips to steady the pair of them.

Pulchellus' shrieks gradually decreased in volume until they finally fell away to an occasional low whimper, punctuated by the harsh panting of both man and boy as they copulated energetically. The 12 year-old's body also began to respond submissively and apparently co-operatively to the movements of the large cock invading him.

Marius could eventually see the muscles in Pulchellus' bottom working with patent willingness, as the boy clearly attempted to draw Grynium's cock ever deeper into himself. In response, the tempo of the man's thrusting began to increase again, whilst his young victim's earlier screaming was now replaced by the return of his original contented moaning.

Grynium eventually shouted incoherently and drove forward with more vigour than ever. The man's rigidly ecstatic body then jerked convulsively, as he ejaculated deep inside the now deliriously moaning Pulchellus.

Grynium allowed himself to appreciate his orgasm fully before heaving his softening cock, now soiled with a mixture of cum, blood and worse, out of Pulchellus. Marius subsequently again caught a glimpse of the older boy's bottom, which displayed a similar foul mixture oozing from the 12 year-old's ravaged and undoubtedly hurting anus, before Lucillus stepped eagerly forward to take his colleague's place.

Grynium picked up a napkin from the table and dipped the cloth into a water jug before using it to wipe the filth from his now flaccid cock. In contrast, Marius' own bare but still virginal bottom became aware that Crastus' own manly penis was again beginning to stiffen underneath him, having undoubtedly been stimulated by the recent show.

Shamefully perversely excited by the feel of Crastus' hardening cock again pressing against his bare bottom and the spectacle of Pulchellus' subjection to multiple sodomy, Marius could not next prevent himself from wriggling his smooth boy's rump tighter into the man's lap. The adult penis beneath him happily hardened further in response.

Crastus also laughed and, reaching out, dipped two fingers into the bowl of figs and honey. Dripping with sticky sweetness, he then pressed them against Marius' rosy lips.

Marius took the gooey fingers eagerly between his lips. The boy then licked and sucked the honey from them, as Crastus worked them inside his mouth before repeating his action several times. Meanwhile, Lucillus and then Varro sodomised Pulchellus with eager speed, having previously been highly stimulated by the sight of their colleagues doing so.

Crastus' turn to experience the pleasure of sodomising Pulchellus then finally came. He therefore lifted Marius gently from his knees in order to walk over to where the older boy, face awash with his own tears, saliva and mucus, lay half on the couch, with his bottom, shedding blood and extraneous semen, still compliantly raised ready for his enjoyment.

As a consequence of Marius' wrigglings, Crastus was again fully rampant. Consequently, he wasted no time in satisfying his obvious desire.

Pulchellus' anus, already torn and well stretched, offered little resistance and soon Crastus' cock was fully buried in the once more whimpering boy, whose renewed audible distress resulted from the fact that the latest invader was the biggest of the four that he was required to accommodate. The man's hips then regularly slapped against the whining child's bare rump, as he enthusiastically thrust in and out.

Nevertheless, Marius noticed that Pulchellus' body, despite suffering renewed pain, was still capable of reacting with a degree of instinctive interest to Crastus' relentlessly probing cock. The boy's form was still responding submissively and co-operatively to the movements of the large penis invading him.

Crastus' rape of Pulchellus proved to be brutal but brief and the man was soon back on his feet. He then placed one hand on the small of the boy's back, pinning him to the couch on which he half lay.

"Did you enjoy the honey I gave you, Marius?" Crastus next asked with an evil grin. "Yes," the boy replied uncertainly before remembering to add "Master". The ominous tone of the man's voice and his wicked smile had warned the 11 year-old that something unpleasant was going to happen but he was not sure what.

"Good," Crastus commented, whilst the three other men laughed in recognition and anticipation of the fun to come, "I'll therefore give you a chance to have some more. Bring the bowl of figs and honey here." Marius naturally obeyed, albeit apprehensively.

Crastus once again dipped two fingers into the honey and then thrust them into Pulchellus' torn anus. The older boy whimpered a protest, which the man, of course, ignored.

Cratus instead spent a few moments probing Pulchellus' ravaged, soiled and sore anus with his honeyed fingers before withdrawing them. "There you are," the man then commanded, whilst holding his filth-coated digits out to Marius, whose little cock was still shamefully rigid, "suck them clean!"

"There's honey on them," Crastus added, "as well as other delicious juices for your delectation!" However, Marius was not now convinced about the desirability of sucking the proffered fingers and so backed away. Unfortunately, the naked boy was not allowed to retreat far before Varro grabbed him from behind and pushed him back forward.

Crastus now extended his fingers with their noisome filth towards Marius' gorgeous young face. "Suck them clean, brat," he again commanded, whilst taking the boy's chin in his other hand in order to hold the pretty head still whilst introducing his obnoxious digits to the child's rosy lips.

Marius' nostrils then caught the stench of the foul mixture and he gagged. Crastus instantly used the opportunity to thrust his fingers inside the boy's opened mouth.

The bitter almost metallic taste of blood and cum, mixed with the sweetness of honey and the sour mustiness of a little faeces, immediately overwhelmed Marius, who was naturally reluctant to suck the unwanted intruders. However, such unwillingness was quickly overcome.

"Suck, brat," Crastus roared, "or your bum'll be beaten even worse than the other slut's!" To the terrified young recipient of this threat, the man's ugly face, which was still evilly grinning rather than exhibiting signs of anger, seemed to fill the whole room whilst he issued this warning.

Despite Crastus' maintained wicked smile, Marius also appreciated that the man's threat of a beating was real. The boy therefore reluctantly he began to suck the adult's unwholesome fingers.

Unfortunately, Crastus was not easily satisfied. After allowing Marius to suck his fingers for a few moments, he withdrew and inspected them before returning them to the boy's mouth, whilst instructing him to lick the remaining detritus from between his digits.

"Your treat's not yet over," Crastus subsequently announced, having finally satisfied himself that his fingers had been cleansed to perfection and whilst maintaining his evil grin, "as there's now honey for you in your little friend's hole. So, fall down on your knees, brat, and lick it out of the boy. We don't want the slut dribbling it over the floor after I finally allow him to stand!"

Marius again hesitated to obey but the impatient Crastus caught hold of him by the back of his head and pushed his face down towards Pulchellus' damaged rear. The younger boy resisted but the man was too strong for his rather feeble efforts.

Marius' cute nose was soon pressed against Pulchellus' still uplifted bumcrack. 'They won't make me do it,' the boy then defiantly thought to himself, in respect of the very distasteful chore that he had been ordered to perform, but he subsequently felt a finger pressing into his own raised bottom.

Delicious perverse excitement suddenly flooded again through Marius' body and he somehow could not now help himself. The boy voluntarily pushed his rump upwards, positively inviting further intrusion.

Marius' tongue also now began with shameful willingness to probe Pulchellus' tortured anus.

NEXT PART