‘Poppaea told me how she had punished you after that unfortunate incident in her pool. I think it would be wise for me to proceed in a similar direction,’ Aulus said with a cruel smile.
Taranis licked his dry lips. Did Aulus mean the lash or the more intimate facet of the punishment? He realised exactly what Aulus meant when the senator’s hands reached round him and slid intrusively between his buttock cheeks. ‘Eventually, you may even come to enjoy what I have in store for you,’ Aulus promised threateningly. ‘But first that rebellious nature of yours has to be crushed.’ He stepped away from Taranis.
Taranis saw a large number of slaves filing into the peristyle, as the soldier moved behind him.
‘I always insist that my slaves witness punishments. It reminds them that they should be obedient at all times,’ Aulus announced chillingly. ‘Begin, soldier.’
Taranis prepared himself, gritting his teeth, as he felt the first stinging pain of the lash across his back. It hurt like hell but was not as bad as it could have been. Pain was only relative, he told himself, as he endured the whipping, trying to ignore the stinging agony that time and time again seared his back and buttocks. He would have clenched his hands but there was no feeling left in his arms, and his legs were becoming weaker by the moment. His body jerked forwards now with every lash stroke, as he struggled to draw breath into his lungs, determined not to cry out at all costs. There was no sign of any sympathy on the faces of the onlookers. Just a dull look of acceptance on some, while others were clearly enjoying, or were excited by the sight of him being whipped, just as Aulus Vettius was.
Agony turned his thoughts into a muddled blur, as the pain increased exponentially. Then, to his horror, it did what it had done before, turning into something almost sexual in its intensity, as he felt his cock stir and start to stiffen. Why in Hades was his body betraying him like this?
Aulus suddenly raised his hand, indicating that the whipping should stop. Filled with relief, Taranis immediately tried to straighten his legs but his knees were trembling so much he would have fallen if his arms were not chained. However, the strain on his arm sockets was nearly unbearable and he managed to force his legs taut as Aulus stepped behind him and examined the marks on his back.
Gently, his fingers touched the scarlet weals and Taranis shuddered. ‘You’ve cut the skin in places,’ Aulus tersely informed the soldier.
Taranis heard the man’s stuttering apology. He sounded scared of the senator and looked relieved, as he hurried away after being curtly dismissed. Meanwhile, Aulus stepped back in front of Taranis, and he saw the scarlet blood staining the senator’s fingertips.
‘My mistress would be very upset if she saw that,’ Taranis said in a cracked voice.
‘It is of no concern,’ Aulus said dismissively. ‘I have a slave who is skilled in dealing with such wounds. He’ll apply a salve which will ensure that you will heal with no obvious scarring.’ Aulus wiped his finger across Taranis’s flat stomach, leaving a smear of blood on his skin. Then his hand reached down to examine his cock, which was nowhere near as flaccid as Taranis wanted it to be. Aulus smiled. ‘Poppaea has taught you something, it seems. Or have you always enjoyed pain, Taranis?’
Taranis just managed to gather up enough saliva in his mouth to spit on the senator’s feet.
Aulus stepped back, his expression hardening. ‘You’ll be on your knees begging so very soon.’
‘Never,’ Taranis shouted as the senator walked away from him.
Sirona had no wish for morning to come; yet it did, as sunlight streamed through the thin curtains covering the window. She lay stiffly beside Lucius, surprised that he was sleeping so soundly, while she had barely slept a wink all night. She wearily closed her eyes and once again remembered what had happened the previous evening.
She hadn’t known what to think, as they’d made their way home, because Lucius hadn’t said a word and he had barely even looked at her. When they reached the villa, he had grabbed hold of her arm and marched her into their bedroom. Filled with fear for her lover’s fate, Sirona had stared nervously at Lucius, as he had torn off his toga, then his tunic, and flung them on the floor. When she hadn’t moved, he’d walked over to her, undressed her as if she were a recalcitrant child then roughly pushed her down on their bed.
Very coldly, he had told her that, if she wanted sex so much, she could have it, before he’d fucked her with a brutality he had only displayed that once before when he was drunk. Soon his anger had turned to a wild sensuality and, despite everything that had happened, she had been aroused by his lust and had climaxed only seconds before him. Then, with a muttered comment about still being able to smell that barbarian bastard’s scent on her body, Lucius had rolled over and gone to sleep. She had known without a doubt that he had not believed Taranis’s desperate claim that he had raped her. She’d lain there too emotionally drained to even cry, hardly daring to think of what might be happening to Taranis.
‘Sirona.’
She heard him softly whisper her name and she apprehensively opened her eyes to find Lucius propped up on one elbow looking down at her. ‘Lucius,’ she said awkwardly, as their eyes met. She did not know what to say to him.
Sirona went to slide from the bed but he caught hold of her arm. ‘I’m so sorry. I treated you so badly last night. Can you ever forgive me?’
‘Forgive?’ she stuttered. ‘You were upset.’
‘But I didn’t consider your feelings at all. You were upset too.’ He pulled her into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. ‘I had no right to be so brutal. I care for you so much, Sirona.’
‘I know.’ In some ways, it had been easier to cope with his anger than it was his affection. She was consumed with guilt. He had been so good to her, yet she had betrayed him without a second thought. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help still loving Taranis. ‘Lucius, I have to tell you. Taranis didn’t –’
He put a finger to her lips. ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ he said softly. ‘It’s over. We’ll try and forget it ever happened.’
Impossible, Sirona thought, as his mouth covered hers and he kissed her with a gentle passion that displayed how sorry he was and how strongly he cared for her.
Taranis had endured the curiosity of the senator’s household slaves for some time. They all wanted to know if he was worth those thousands of denarii Poppaea had paid for him, as they poked and prodded his body, cruelly twisted his nipples and curiously examined his cock. He had remained stoically silent, as he tried to ignore them, along with the stinging agony of his back and the constant pain of being held in this unnatural position for hours at a time.
His thirst had now become almost unbearable. The sun had risen high in the sky, he was no longer in the shade and he could feel the burning heat of the rays on his skin. Still the slaves came, two or three at a time, their cruel interest heaping fiery coals on the pain of his punishment Two women were with him now, crudely fondling his cock while exchanging lewd comments about what it would be like to own such a pleasure slave themselves. Neither of them was remotely attractive; they stank of garlic and their clothes were badly stained, so they probably worked in the kitchen.
Suddenly, there was the sound of someone clapping their hands sharply and to his relief the women stepped nervously away from him.
‘Return to your work,’ a pleasant-looking young man with short brown hair instructed. As the women hurried off, he turned to the two burly slaves accompanying him. ‘Let him down.’
As they loosened his chains, Taranis’s legs almost gave way. He would have fallen if the two slaves hadn’t grabbed hold of him. His arms fell uselessly down and, as the blood surged into them, he almost screamed out with the intensity of the pain. They half-dragged, half-carried him into a small room and lowered him down on to a narrow cot. Too drained to care about anything, he slumped face down on to the thin mattress.
‘Can you lift your head enough to drink this?’ Surprisingly, the young man addressed him in Sirona’s Celtic
dialect. Because he couldn’t bear to roll on to his back, Taranis managed to lever himself up on his aching arms as the young man put a cup to his lips. ‘This will help with the pain.’
The lemon-flavoured drink had a sweet herbal taste and he swallowed it quickly. ‘Thank you,’ he managed to say. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Tiro. I need you to trust me,’ the young man replied, glancing at the two slaves who appeared puzzled by the fact that he was speaking to the prisoner in a barbarian language. ‘I’ll do all I can to help you for Sirona’s sake.’
‘She’s safe?’ Taranis asked, still too exhausted for complex explanations, but somehow feeling that he could put his trust in Tiro.
‘I don’t know. Rest now,’ Tiro said, as Taranis, his arms not yet strong enough to hold him up for any length of time, collapsed back down on the bed. ‘I promise I’ll try and find out what I can. In the meantime, we need to see to your back.’
The soothing feel of healing hands cleaning his abused flesh, then applying a salve, coupled with whatever was in the drink, allowed Taranis to gradually fall asleep.
When he awoke, the small room, with its high barred window, was in darkness. The rest had eased his aching muscles and the pain in his back had dulled considerably. However, his brief moment of respite disappeared in an instant as the door was flung open and slaves brought a number of oil lamps into the room, flooding it with light. What now? Taranis wondered nervously, as he rolled on to his side and saw Aulus stride into the room, accompanied by two heavily armed soldiers.
‘On your feet,’ Aulus snapped. When he didn’t obey immediately, the two men stepped forwards and hauled him to his feet. ‘Chain him.’
They pushed Taranis towards the opposite wall, then clamped manacles around his wrists, which were attached to short lengths of chain fixed to the wall at waist height. Surely not another whipping, Taranis thought. At least they hadn’t chained him to the bed – that would have been a far more ominous move. Nevertheless, he had not anticipated what happened next. The two men pushed a wooden table between him and the wall. One of them grabbed hold of his neck and forced his body downwards, while the other tightened the chains so that he was held face down, his belly and chest pressed against the rough wood. He had no chance to resist as his legs were pulled apart and his ankles chained to the legs of the table.
How vulnerable he felt. Was Aulus going to fuck him like Poppaea had? he wondered, filled with disgust at the very idea. His anxiety increased, his stomach churned and he felt bitter bile rise up in his throat, as he heard the door being pulled shut. At first, he presumed he was alone with Aulus as the senator bent his head and stared penetratingly at Taranis.
‘Still so brave, slave? Somehow I think not.’ Straightening, Aulus slipped off his tunic to reveal a naked, utterly hairless body. Taranis shuddered apprehensively, as he added, ‘Poppaea told me how she had fucked you with her fake cock. It’s about time you tried the real thing.’
Taranis’s heart sank, as the horror of those words permeated his mind. He closed his eyes unable to even watch Aulus standing there reverently stroking his own penis, trying not to think about what the senator planned to do with it, especially as he knew that it was quite common in Roman society for owners to use their young male slaves for their own sexual pleasure.
Suddenly, he felt gentle hands on his buttock cheeks and he realised that there was someone else present. A thin trickle of cooling oil dripped into the crack, then soft fingers began to rub the oil round the rim of his anus, before gradually sliding inside him. Taranis tensed, briefly recalling the strange desires Poppaea had managed to arouse in him when she’d penetrated him with that fake penis. Nevertheless, the idea of Aulus doing that to him was horrifying. There was no way he could stand this, he thought, as the fear welled up inside him.
‘Stroke his shaft as well, Zymeria,’ Aulus instructed. ‘I want him to associate penetration with pleasure. Eventually, he’ll enthusiastically accommodate any number of my most important friends.’
Sweet Jupiter! Did Aulus have any intention of ever returning him to Poppaea? He’d rather be dead than forced to become a cinaedi, he thought, as Zymeria’s fingers slid between his open thighs.
Taranis did not want to respond but his body betrayed him yet again, as the slave girl gently caressed the sensitive strip of skin between his balls and his anus. It felt so good; he should have hated it but he didn’t. He drew in his breath sharply, as she stroked his balls, then curved her small fingers around his cock. As she began to wank him, he felt his arousal increasing, yet he was still consumed by the fear of what Aulus intended to do to him.
Suddenly, the girl’s soft hands were pulled from his body to be replaced by long cold fingers tracing the lines of the lash marks on his buttock cheeks. Taranis shuddered, as they were pulled apart and he experienced the unnatural sensation of a hot, hard cock pressing against his anal opening. Gradually, the obscenity eased its way slowly into his back passage. Taranis’s soft groan was laced with fear, yet also a wild uncontrollable longing, a primitive sensation he could not explain, as the cock slid deeper inside him. He knew he should feel only disgust, but truthfully there was a raw kind of pleasure at being impaled on living flesh that was far more erotic than the hard dildo that Poppaea had used on him.
Aulus’s belly was pressed against Taranis’s whip-marked skin, and he could swear that he could actually feel the senator’s cock pulsing with life inside him. He wanted to beg him to desist, but perversely he wanted him to continue – he was too far along the road to turn back now.
Slowly and deliberately, Aulus began to shaft him, his balls slapping against Taranis’s buttock cheeks, his thin fingers digging into his abused flesh. Taranis gave another troubled groan of anguish, as he pressed his face, turned scarlet with shame, against the rough wooden tabletop.
He tried to stop himself becoming even more aroused, but it proved impossible as the slave girl crawled under the table and began to mouth his cock. It was sheathed in her warm wet throat, while Aulus continued to thrust his cock deeper and deeper into his anus.
Taranis loathed Aulus almost as much as he did himself, as the senator led him across the river Styx into the molten core of Hades itself. His lust increased beyond all explanation, as the sharp combination of sensations sent him over the edge and down into the erotic darkness where redemption no longer existed. As he climaxed, pumping hard into the slave girl’s willing mouth, he heard Aulus give a long drawn-out gasp of pleasure, and he felt that intrusive cock pulsing wildly deep inside him.
He lay there, breathing deeply and trembling with emotion, so abjectly humiliated that he could only wish he were dead. As Aulus withdrew, he shuddered, his body feeling as though it had peeled open and was now utterly exposed.
Seconds later, a hand grabbed hold of his sweat-stained hair and lifted his head. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ Aulus hissed in his ear.
Taranis couldn’t even bring himself to look at Aulus, in case he caught sight of that cock which only moments earlier had been sheathed inside him. ‘It was disgusting,’ he managed to say in a strained voice.
Aulus gave a coarse chuckle. ‘Somehow, Taranis, I can’t bring myself to believe you. I wager that in less than a day you’ll fall to your knees and beg me to fuck you.’
It seemed hours since the senator had left, every second stretching into a lifetime, as Taranis lay on his cot, his wrists manacled, his legs chained to the bed, feeling too exhausted and dispirited to even try and move. The lamps they’d left in the room were still burning but far less brightly now and he wished they’d expire and wreathe him in darkness, as shame overpowered his thoughts, while he tried not to remember how aroused he’d eventually become when Aulus had arse-fucked him. He had resented his servitude to Poppaea but he’d do anything now to be back in her bed.
Tiro came and went, bringing food, which Taranis rejected, and a strong wine, which he drank in the hope it might help numb his pain. Yet nothing could cloud those te
rrible memories. Two more days, he prayed, blessed Andrasta, let it be no more than that.
Still the oblivion of sleep eluded him as his mind was consumed with thoughts of what the senator might do next. Fear was the enemy, not Aulus Vettius, he told himself, as he heard the door of his room open again.
Taranis shuddered, trying to control his conflicting emotions, as Aulus Vettius strolled into the room holding a goblet of wine. The senator’s long fingers played idly with a small key, which Taranis presumed must unlock his manacles.
Having placed the key pointedly on the table, across which Taranis had been so cruelly stretched not that long before, Aulus walked towards the low cot. Taranis automatically sat up, trying not to show how scared he was, as the senator sat beside him on the bed.
‘Wine?’ he asked with a cold smile, as he stared thoughtfully at his captive.
Taranis shook his head, as the senator’s long fingers slid slowly up his thigh. He repressed an unconscious shiver, half of loathing, half of a bizarre kind of primitive excitement, as Aulus touched his sex.
Almost unbidden, his heart began to beat faster, forcing more blood into his groin, as Aulus gently stroked his penis. It started to stiffen and he coloured in embarrassment, wondering how those cold fingers could arouse anything in him but disgust. Taranis was at a loss to understand why his body responded like this. He sat there stiffly, enduring the humiliation and trying to ignore the lust he felt, as Aulus played teasingly with his cock and balls, while idly sipping his wine. After he had all but drained the contents, Aulus tipped the goblet and dripped the dregs over Taranis’s belly and sex.
Suddenly, he paused and looked towards the door. ‘There you are at last, come in.’
Taranis had thought that his situation was bad enough but it became far worse, as Gaius Cuspius lumbered into the room.
‘Shut the door, we want some privacy,’ Aulus said, as he dripped the last of the sticky liquid on to his victim’s cock. ‘Come here, Gaius, I think you might want to try something else to drink. It’s a little tastier than my usual wine.’
Barbarian Prize Page 18