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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website. You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

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A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, Abduction, Bondage, Slavery)

Part I

"Greetings sir, could you be so kind as to drop a few coppers into my tin . . . No? Oh please, I implore you. Think not of me as a beggar, but of a poor wretch who has suffered greatly in his long life. Notice my back. How bent over it is. And my legs, so horribly mangled they are, that I must use these two canes just to walk a short distance and . . . what? Three coppers? Oh, thank you! Your generosity will help ease the pain as I make my long journey to Rome.

“That is where I am from, you know, and since my youth, I have spent most of my days on earth traveling throughout our great empire. I have been as far east as Persia and stood on the ruins of ancient Troy, and Britania to the west, where savage tribes harass our Roman legions beyond the great wall. Yes, I have seen and experienced much in my long life, in spite of my disfigurement.

“In fact, if you have the time, and perhaps a few more coins for my cup, I can tell you a story that I heard during one of my travels. That is my trade you know, storytelling, and the tale I have in mind is about a bloody war between our Roman army and a remote tribe to the northeast dominated entirely by women. Yes, woman -- beautiful, exotic and fierce in battle. I know you will find this story intriguing, even disturbing. If you do not agree with me when I am finished, then you owe me nothing. What do you say? Yes? Very good! Come sit with me on this marble bench.

“Before I begin, I must first tell you about this strange tribe of women, and how they came to be . . .”

---------------

When the world was still in its infancy, a great cataclysm destroyed the ancient kingdom of Atlantis “in a single day and night of misfortune”, as described by the Greek philosopher, Plato, and it sent smaller civilizations scattering throughout the land. These civilizations became wandering tribes of savages and reverted to using flint to battle for their lives against the myriads of beasts that inhabited the region.

One such tribe, thrived in the mountains north of the Black Sea about 700 years before the time of Herodotus. According to Greek myth, these strange beings, called Amazons, were an all-female society of fierce warriors, who flourished by mating with the men of neighboring tribes for their own offspring, while sending the male infants away.

The Amazons adopted the warlike culture of the hunter and the warrior. When a woman gave birth to a girl, they would sear the right breast of the infant. This allowed them to wield the bow more effectively without being hindered by their right breasts when releasing the bowstrings. The Greek historian, Herodotus, wrote of these strange women, describing them as “an exotic and lethal race of one-breasted military dervishes.” In more recent accounts, they dropped this savage ritual, preferring instead, to lace a band of leather, called a mamillare, tightly around the breasts to contain them before going into battle.

Now there were many tribes that flourished within the Amazon race. One them, the Themiscyreans, you might recall, fought the Argonauts in the Greek tale, The Iliad. Their downfall came when they joined King Priam of Troy in their war against the Greeks. When that great city fell, so did Themiscyra, sending the remaining survivors scattering throughout the region once again, as their ancestors were centuries ago.

One sliver group found themselves in the land of The Scythians and soon began raiding and looting their villages. The Scythians were also skilled in horsemanship and archery, and out of respect for the women warriors, called them Oior-pata, which means “man-slayers”. They began courting the Amazons in their desire to mate and produce children by such amazing women. This interbreeding succeeded, but the Themiscyreans refused to settle down with the Scythians, where the women stayed at home in their wagons, occupied with female tasks. They invited some of the Scythians to go off with them to a new place. Very little is known as to what happened to these Amazon women after that. Some say they were bred out, others claim their whole existence is nothing but a myth.    

It wasn’t until the time of our great emperor, Caesar Augustus, that the Romans became aware of a mysterious race of women that lived far to the north past the great desert near the Eastern Sea. Visiting traders told fantastic stories of a culture where the females dominated every hierarchy of their society, while the men were scorned and treated like animals. Under tribal law, all prisoners were castrated and forced to live out their lives in servitude. A few of the more viral men were spared this painful torture, and set aside for special breeding or to fulfill the sexual appetites of their female captors.

The Emperor Augustus was convinced this mysterious tribe was a direct descendant of the Themiscyreans and the mythical Amazons. He wanted to bring these pure-blood female warriors under Roman rule, and perhaps recruit them in his legions. Scouting parties were sent out into the vast uncharted desert to find out for themselves if such a tribe existed. They were an elite group of horseman, the best in the legion, and their skills with a sword were unmatched. Their mission was to locate the Themiscyrean village without being detected, gather any information as to the size of their army, their strengths and weaknesses, and report back to the emperor. An army would then be raised and sent to confront these warrior women, and if necessary, defeat them in battle.

One such party, crossed the northern part of the desert to a small, remote village called Mycinia. There they found an old man who claimed he was once captured by a tribe of women, and spent most of his adulthood as a slave until he finally escaped. He showed the Romans how his balls had been removed, and other scars left from years of torture and abuse. When the Romans ordered him to serve as their scout, he refused, even when he was placed under the sword.

“I would rather die now,” he said, “then go back there again.”

So the Romans continued on northward in an attempt to re-trace the old man’s journey, only to be faced with a range of cliffs that stood before them like an impassable rampart. After many days of searching, they found a river and followed it to the mouth of a narrow canyon. The Roman commander, Scafious, knew that venturing into the canyon could place his men at a disadvantage if they were attacked, but there was no other way past the cliffs, so the small army proceeded cautiously. 

A single scout had been sent ahead of the group. His name was Flavious, a young warrior who had yet to experience the taste of battle, yet possessed sharp eyes and a keen wit. He also served as their interpreter, and was fluent in sixteen languages and dialects.

The young scout moved slowly on his horse, his eyes constantly scanning the scenery around him, and searching his gut for any signs of danger. Then he stopped. The inside of the canyon was strangely quiet, not even a single bird to announce his presence. Flavious could not tell how or why, but something was wrong. He stood up in his stirrups and began to alert the others, when suddenly, the air was filled with the whistling of arrows. Each Roman horse was hit with three or more fatal shots at once. Several riders were also struck and killed before they even knew what was happening. Instinctively, the Romans drew their swords and formed a tight circle to defend themselves, only to be forced to break rank and run for cover as another shower of arrows and spears fell upon them. Flavious also felt his own mount slowly sinking to the ground and quickly rolled off with his weapon in hand. Hiding behind a large rock, he quickly scanned the cliffs above for any signs of the enemy.

Then he saw her – a tall dark-haired woman brandishing a javelin. She was naked, save for a type of loincloth that hung low around her hips by a leather cord decorated with colored beads. A piece of leather flowed between her long legs in front and back. Her upper arms were adorned with gold armlets, a necklace made of animal teeth around her throat.

Flavious watched in admiration, as the woman climbed upon a rock. Her light bronze skin, obviously covered with some type of oil, glimmered in the sun. Her pointed breasts hung high off her ribs. She saw Flavious, raised her javelin above her shoulder and let it fly. Instinctively, he jumped to the side and barely avoided the spear by mere inches. Then the woman was gone.

Flavious was sure this was the tribe they were looking for, but instead of conquering them, the Romans were in the midst of defeat. Some caught glimpses of their adversaries as they dodged the rocks above, and they too, were astonished at what they saw. The army was made up entirely of women, scantily clad in animal skins and armed with spears or bows. The Romans fought hard, but they were heavily outnumbered and the few that survived the attack were forced to retreat out of the narrow passageway and back into the desert. As Flavious rushed to join his comrades, a figure darted out from behind a rock and struck him squarely behind the head, knocking the young scout completely unconscious.

He was the only survivor taken during that battle. When he came to, he found himself surrounded by dozens of woman, all quite striking in appearance. They were tall, lean and darkened by the desert sun, yet still very feminine-looking. Like the javelin-thrower he saw in battle, the animal skins they wore permitted just enough coverage for female modesty, and leggings laced up to the knees to protect them from the thorny plants that grew in the area. Some of the women had leopard hides donned on their heads, others were even lightly-armored.

They grabbed Flavious and took him to their commander for inspection. She was taller than the others, statuesque, and strapped to her naked thigh was bloodied Roman sword.

"This one has a fine physique, very well proportioned," the commander observed. Their language was of the ancient Scythian dialect, and being an interpreter, Flavious was able understand most of the words spoken about him.

"Strip him," she ordered.

The warrior bitches forced Flavious to lie on his back while his armor and clothing where pulled off and discarded. He struggled desperately to break free of their hold, but there were too many of them. They pulled his arms and legs apart and held him down with his limbs stretched tight so he couldn’t move. The young Roman was completely defenseless and stripped of almost all of his clothing. The only garment that remained was a simple loincloth, called a subligar, that stretched tightly over his groin area, and then up between the buttocks.  Everyone was awestruck at the sight of this magnificent-looking male lying spread-eagled and sweating before them in the hot sun. He had a very lean and well-chiseled form - ridged abdominals, well-defined squarish pecs, and moderately muscled elsewhere. Unlike the other Roman soldiers, he wasn't a "bear" or brute, but a young healthy man, and there was no arguing the fact that his endowments were much larger. The women warriors immediately took notice of this, which may have been what saved him from the immediate fate his comrades had suffered.

As they held him down, the commander knelt down between his legs for a closer look. Flavious felt a familiar tingle in his loins, and much to his dismay, his cock began to swell quite noticeably against the undergarment. He struggled, twisting his tormented body this way and that, but his actions only seemed to fuel the excitement of all the women watching.

He watched helplessly as the leader slid the blade of her steely knife under each leg hole of his subligar to cut it. She then took hold of the garment with one hand and pulled it roughly away from his body. The young Roman was now completely nude, his captive limbs stretched taut and pinned down against the dusty earth. There was an appreciative murmur from the group, as they were now given a superb view of his young manhood. The commander proceeded to examine him. Taking his balls in one hand first, she palpated them firmly between her fingers.

"His gonads are quite large for his physical size, as well as his cock."

She then turned her attention to the muscled organ, which again, sprang to life as she stroked it.

"Mmmmmmm, and very responsive!"

Flavious was totally bewildered now. Under normal circumstances he would be enjoying this attention from such knowing female hands. But he was a prisoner now, being degraded openly in front of his captors. He did not want to appear weak in any way, or to accept the sensations he was feeling, but his body had already betrayed him.

"The foreskin has been removed. I did not know these Romans were capable of performing such a delicate ritual. It does improve his appearance, unfortunately it will deprive our trainer the opportunity of removing it herself."

She released him and stood up.

"Turn him over."

Together the women rolled Flavious onto his flat stomach. His arms and legs were pulled apart again. The commander lifted her foot and placed it squarely on the right cheek of his buttocks, and the young Roman grimaced as she leaned into him with all of her weight, pressing the front of his pelvis into the soft earth. 

"The cheeks are quite firm, too." She observed while rubbing her heel into his flesh. "He'll do."

They turned him over onto his back again. Flavious tried to remain calm but he remembered the shrunken scrotum of the old man in the village, and not surprisingly, was petrified at the thought of having to face a similar fate. The commander looked him and smiled as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Fear not, young beast, for you will not be mutilated. We have far more fitting plans for one such as you."

Keeping his limbs stretched tightly apart, they laid two long poles on either side of him and tied his wrists and ankles to the poles with leather thongs. Then four women took hold of each of the ends and lifted the poles onto their shoulders. His body was now slung between them and they carried him off into the brush as though he were prize game from a hunt.

The journey back to the Amazon village was a long and difficult one for the young captive. Drenched in his own sweat and covered with dust from the trail, his outstretched body swayed back and forth helplessly as the pole bearers made their way through the rocky canyon. Behind him, there were low whispers and giggles among the female soldiers. He could almost feel their eyes, gawking and appraising the organs that were now exposed in his gaping crotch. Flavious wished he could bring his arms and legs together but the pole-bearers deliberately kept themselves spaced apart, depriving him of any relief from his shame.

There was no questioning now, that this was the lost tribe his emperor, Augustus Caesar, had sent them to find. Flavious recalled stories of how these woman cut the right breast of each newborn infant to make them better archers, though he saw no evidence of this among his captors. In fact, many of the warrior bitches he saw took pride in displaying their endowments quite openly by wearing animal skins that revealed much of them. Only the archers showed restraint, by wearing a type of leather garment that kept their tits pressed tightly against the chest so they would not catch in the bowstrings when released.

When they reached the village, the prisoner was paraded in a circle to allow everyone a chance to see him at close quarters. Then the poles were set on four posts and he was left hanging alone in the middle of the village square before the excited, mostly female crowd. Several of the leaders approached and a full inspection was conducted. Fingers probed every inch of his body for any physical weaknesses - his hands, feet, and teeth were checked, his nipples were twisted and pulled, his ball sack was lifted and each of his testicles individually handled. The leaders voiced their approval at the size of his cock and how quickly it became erect when stimulated. As each of the women repeated the process, Flavious could do nothing but submit to their attentions, feeling totally degraded by his plight.

Then one of the leaders spoke to the crowd,

"Since the period of our ancients, it has been written into law that all men are inferior by design and by history. Their very existence should be tolerated only to fulfill one function, and that is to serve our needs and desires, for that is all they are capable of. The law must be strictly enforced so that the purity of our race can be maintained, the strength of our people unchallenged. The prisoner that hangs before you is Roman. Observe how weak his is, when stripped of his armor and sword. For centuries, other man-tribes have tried to invade the sanctity of our realm. They failed miserably. Now this one will pay for his people's transgressions by forfeiting his freedom to us."

Cheers followed until their leader silenced them with one raised hand. She then turned to Flavious and spoke to him, surprisingly in his Roman language so he could understand,

"You are now a slave of our people and shall be treated as such. You will be given a number by us, and you shall be called by that number until you have earned a new slave name."

A metal pot hanging on a pole was carried over from the fire. An iron was then placed into the pot and left to rest on the glowing coals inside.

"Now you will be branded to befit your new status."

She took the glowing red iron and applied it to the left side of his buttocks, leaving a slave insignia permanently burned into his skin. Pain, blinding white pain followed, but Flavious managed to keep his senses and not show any weakness by crying out.

"This is the number you will answer to. Forget your old name, for you shall never hear nor speak it again."

Flavious was then carried from the cheering throng of people to the entrance of a cave. Pain and exhaustion finally took their toll on the fallen warrior and his mind faded into merciful unconsciousness as they descended the dark, narrow steps.

(continued)

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website. You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, BDSM, Slavery, Whipping)

Part II

When Flavious awoke, his mind was somewhat disoriented and he felt the strangest sensation that he was floating. The feeling only lasted a moment, then he felt the steel shackles pulling against his wrists and ankles. The young Roman realized that he was hanging in a small room, brought here by the Themiscyreans shortly after he had been taken prisoner. His arms were fully extended and shackled to a steel bar chained to a pulley above. His legs were also spread and chained by each ankle to the floor, forcing him remain suspended with all four limbs stretched in the shape of an X. Being that he was still naked, only added to his degradation.

Worse still, was in how his cock was bound – in a type of leather harness with three metal rings running up the shaft and a small steel cage encasing the tip. It was secured with two leather straps buckled tightly around the base of the organ and his balls. Flavious had never seen such a device, nor could he imagine what devious purpose it served.

The cell was small, very dark and oppressive. Water trickled down on him from somewhere above to mix with the sweat that shimmered off his body. In front of him, a large steel door stood like a sentinel at the top of the five stone steps. Beyond it, a flickering torchlight shined through the barred window onto his chest and arms. Many hours had passed, or so it seemed, since his captors had left him there. Flavious felt alone and abandoned. He knew his people had no idea he was still alive, so there was little chance of rescue. He began testing the shackles for any weaknesses, pulling first his wrists, then ankles alternatively, twisting and turning his body this way and that. It was no use. The chains allowed him only a certain freedom of movement, but not nearly enough to even bring his limbs together.

As the time passed, the young man's discomfort and vulnerability began to take its toll. Every muscle ached terribly from the strain of being suspended for so long. Several more attempts were made to escape his bonds, each time more desperate, yet all he did was elicit the tinkling laughter of the chains. Flavious wondered what would become of him in the hands of these warrior bitches.

His thoughts were broken by the loud, metallic sound of the sliding lock in the door. Light spilled into his tiny dark chamber and on his body as a woman entered carrying a torch. She was very young and very attractive with long blond hair. Her features were much softer, her flesh lighter in tone compared to the women he fought in the canyon, her body loosely draped in white silk over one shoulder with a long slit up her thigh, and a glittering gold band tied about the waist.

She silently moved to the opposite wall and turned a crank wheel. The chain made loud clinking noises as it passed through the pulley above. In slow, jerking movements, Flavious was lowered until his feet just barely touched the stone floor. She then unclipped each ankle chain and shortened it so that he was forced to stand before her with his legs and arms still spread apart, though at least it offered some relief from his painful suspension.

Her young breasts stood out proudly underneath the simple garment, and as she moved about him, Flavious could make out her pink, coin-sized tits poking against the fabric. His eyes instinctively moved downward to see if he could get a glimpse of her pretty bush as well, but then the blonde woman caught his gaze, and smiled knowingly before he could turn away.

She brushed by him, lightly swishing the silk dress against his thigh. He felt his cock twitch, then begin to swell with the slight, but deliberate contact, followed by the uncomfortable sensation of the steel rings pressing hard against it. She moved in close and strapped a leather gag tightly over his mouth, her perfumed scent enveloped him and mingled with the smell of leather. More than ever, Flavious wished he could break free of his bonds, if anything, just to take this little nymph into his arms.

About this time, another woman entered the room. In her hands she carried a bucket of water and two sponges. Her appearance and dress were the same as that of her companion, only this girl had long, straight dark hair.

Anticipating further agonies, Flavious tried to prepare himself for what might happen next, only to be surprised, and pleasantly so, when they dipped their sponges into the bucket and began washing down his body. It took some time, and two buckets of warm water to cleanse him. A hollowed out gourd with body oil was brought in next and, once again, he felt their skilled hands upon him. Every screaming muscle was rubbed and massaged. The warm oils tingled, then soothed. Flavious began to relax, forgetting the pain and anguish he had been subjected to since his capture, allowing more pleasurable sensations to surface as his chest, shoulders, arms and legs were equally pampered. He felt their probing fingers move around to his buttocks. The strong muscles there were kneaded and stroked, while they were also mindful not to touch the fresh brand on his left cheek.

At first, Flavious was overcome by this attention, but quickly new dilemmas surfaced, for each time he became aroused, the pressure from the restraint only increased, so he was unable to achieve a full erection. The women seemed to take pleasure in his predicament. They touched him gently in many places and watched with delight in how his cock strained in swollen agony against the unforgiving rings.

Being an interpreter for the Roman army, Flavious was able to understand snippets of their conversation.

“This one is as big as a horse,” the yellow haired giggled. “I wonder if all Romans are built like him?”

“He will certainly fetch a high price at the auction,” replied the dark haired girl, “so save your coins, Phoebe, and perhaps you can . . .”

“Enough,” came another voice.

All three pairs of eyes suddenly turned to the doorway. Standing just beyond it was a third woman. She stood much taller than the other two, and she was very striking in appearance. Her fiery red hair fell loosely around her milky white shoulders. A strip of black silk was stretched tight and low around her breasts to emphasize their shape. A gold cord hung noticeably low upon her bared hips, with a long swath of matching silk flowing between her legs in front and in back. The coverings on her feet were of leather that had been dyed black and decorated with metal studs. On each upper arm, was a silver bracelet, molded into the image of a coiled snake.

The two nymphs in white silk immediately moved away from Flavious and showed submission to the third by falling to their knees and bending forward with both arms stretched out on the wet floor in front of them, the palms of both hands facing down. The sides of their togas fell open, baring their naked flanks all up to the hips.

“I did not instruct you to touch him in that manner, did I?” The red haired woman glared down at them.

“No Madam,” the other two chimed out in unison. “We are sorry.”

“Get up.”

Both women rose and brushed themselves off, but their eyes never left the floor, as their leader approached Flavious, who was still chained and helpless. In an act of defiance, the Roman flashed an angry gaze in her direction. He knew this one held a position of some authority, and he was determined not to bend to any of them, no matter what happened.

At first, his contempt drew no reaction from her. Then Flavious saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes. He could not tell if it was lust, or perhaps laughter. Or cruelty. She finally broke eye contact and slowly circled him, her attentions turning to the more dispassionate appraisal of his body.

“Romans,” the red haired woman scoffed, speaking as if to no one, though the other two girls listened attentively. “The ignorance of their breed is matched only by their vanity.”

She turned to face him again.

"I am Madam Penthesilia,” she spoke to him in Roman. “I am here to train you. If you submit to me freely, then you will suffer no more than a wretch like you deserves."

Flavious could say nothing with the gag over his mouth, but the glare in his eyes told her everything.

“You think you are too strong for me, do you not?”

She grabbed one of his nipples and twisted it between her fingers. The suddenness of this action nearly made Flavious cry out.

“I have broken horses more spirited than you,” she released him and laughed, “but please continue this charade of yours, if you must.”

Once again, he was forced to endure more rough probing and fondling of this body by this woman’s hands, while the servants took their positions next to her so they could be ready to assist if needed.

"A magnificent physique,” the Madam said. “Very unusual for his breed. Remove the harness."

Gently the dark-haired girl released the leather straps and slid the rings off his cock. The relief was only temporary though, as the Madam reached under his crotch with one hand and slowly fondled his balls. Chained as he was, Flavious could only watch in helpless frustration.

"Mmmmmmm, Commander Alkala was right in her assessment. The size of this one’s sex organs ARE impressive. Now let us see how viable he is."

Flavious tried to remain strong and not give into her casual advances, but this fiery-haired bitch had a skillful hand. His cock was stroked and milked in a manner and with such persistence that even the strongest of men could not resist for very long. Within moments he was fully erect.

"It certainly takes little effort to excite this one,” she said. “Very typical at this young age."

Enraged, he began pulling at his chains again. He cursed at her in Roman, though his words were muffled. The Madam grinned. In spite of his struggles, the rhythm of her movements did not change. She continued the palpations, this time stroking his organ with one hand while gently kneading his balls with the other. He could feel all the strength flowing into his loins from the rest of his body.

“See how easy it is,” the Madam told her servants. “And they consider themselves the masters over us just because they have one of these hanging between their legs,” she then gave his cock a painful tug. “It truly disgusts me how the gods could have created these men, being as weak-minded as they are, and with their most sensitive organs located outside of the body, no less, where they can be manipulated so skillfully.”

The other two women nodded their heads in agreement.

Flavious was totally bewildered now, the sensations coursing through him were like nothing he had ever experienced before. The Madam was playing with his body so gently and so expertly that all resistance left him. His cock throbbed uncontrollably in the palm of her hand as she directed it downward, then just before he ejaculated, she held a hollowed out gourd underneath to catch the streams of milky-white semen.

When he was finished, the Madam let out a cry of approval and pulled it away to study the contents.  She seemed very pleased with what he had provided.

“Mmmmm, good quantity,” she said. “I’ll recommend we put this one to stud before he is sold on the block.”

When the young Roman’s head cleared, he became furious. He lunged forward as best he could to get to her, but the chains restrained him.

The Madam looked at him, amused. "Well it is good to see that you have spirit. Soon you will learn how to use it properly."

She snapped her fingers, and the yellow-haired girl they called Phoebe disappeared behind him, then re-appeared with a leather chariot whip. She handed it to her mistress.

"Prepare him for punishment."

Once again, his body was hoisted into a full suspension with all four limbs still stretched wide. He watched nervously as the Madam ran the leather whip through her fingers.

"Now we will find out if you are as brave as you are virile and handsome."

She circled behind him, still brandishing the whip. Flavious waited for, what seemed like a long time, then felt the searing hot pain across his back and shoulders. She struck again, and again. Each blow fell within a millimeter of each other, all carefully placed so as to create a neat pattern of welts across his upper body. His muscles flinched; his body trashed and bucked on the chains. He tried not to show any reaction, but he could not prevent himself from groaning as further lashings were laid across his buttocks. The other two women stood in front of him and watched with giddy fascination while his hips lurched forward with each painful blow to his cheeks, his tormented body transformed into a lewd display of male flesh.

Madam Penthesilia finally halted, but only step back and to admire the pattern of angry red welts that now criss-crossed the back of his body. Flavious was wheezing through the gag, trying to catch his breath. Satisfied, she hung the whip on a wall peg.

“I’m very pleased,” she voiced her assessment. “Despite the pain he has suffered, he shows great physical strength. Bring him down and remove the gag. We don’t want choking on the thing, do we?”

“Yes Madam.”

When Flavious was released from his suspension, he collapsed with his face to the floor. After the gag was finally removed, he wanted to curse the bitch, but he was very wise for his young years, and thought better to hold his tongue, or else suffer more abuse.

“Now he knows what the punishment will be for disobedience.”

Taking hold of his collar the Madam pulled his head up and held a large goblet to his mouth forcing him to drink the warm thick liquid it contained. It was very sweet and had a strong smell of spices and herbs. The Roman took it, thankful to have had anything offered him after being starved for so long. Then he fell to the floor again and slipped into semi-consciousness. Something had been put into the drink that left him very disoriented and too weak to even move a muscle.

“Take this piece of meat to the recovery room,” she barked another order to the servants. “Have them tend to his wounds. Then I want him groomed for his next session.”

The other two women responded immediately.

Just then a fourth woman entered the room. Through half-closed eyes, Flavious immediately recognized her as the leader that spoke to the tribe upon his arrival. She was somewhat older than the others, body modestly covered in blue silk with a type of gold crown on her head. Flavious pretended to be unconscious and listened as the women spoke in their native tongue.

“How is our guest,” asked the fourth voice.

“It seems he is not as strong as we thought,” Penthesilia replied. “I will soon have him under my control."

The other woman then laughed, "Your confidence is clouded by your inexperience. I have seen a look like his many times before when I was a trainer. The body has been weakened, but his mind is still strong. Be very careful."

"You must have more faith in my instincts, Queen Marpesia. He will submit to me like the others."

"Well I hope you are right, my dear. What do you intend to do with him next?"

"As soon as he recovers, he will be moved to the first stage of preparation. I will not break this one with physical force though, and risk permanent damage to his flesh. Far more subtle methods will have to be applied."

"Very wise, and such beautiful flesh too for a man. If your method prevails then he will be ready for our next auction. Some of our overseas traders have taken great interest in this one. His price should run high on the block. In fact, I may outbid them all and keep him for myself."

Flavious heard no more as he was dragged out of the room by the two servants. But there was new hope for the young Roman, for they did not know yet that he could understand their language. Perhaps he might use this to his advantage in formulating a plan for an escape.

(continued)

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website.

You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, BDSM, Slavery)

Part III

Flavious lay stretched face down and naked on a filthy bed filled with straw, his limbs bound tightly to the corners so he could not move. He had more stripes on his back and buttocks than a zebra. Occasionally a woman would come to him with wet towels and ointments, and every time his wounds were touched, they sang like larks. But in spite of that, he had found something he had lost since his capture. His dignity. If these women thought he was going to submit to them so easily, then they were fools. So he bore the whip with no complaint.

Four times a day he was visited by one of his nurses, his body, soothed and massaged with well-oiled hands until the wounds were nearly healed. Some of the women seemed to enjoy their moments of intimacy with the young Roman, as evidenced by the casual manner of their touching and probing which at times, seemed more than just therapeutic. Though his privates were hidden against the bedding, that did not keep their wandering hands from probing underneath, nor could he prevent the inevitable stiffness that always followed. Throughout his recovery, they continued to bring him more goblets of the strange drink to keep his strength depleted, rendering him completely helpless – as if the bindings were not enough. 

Finally, when his wounds were fully healed, two female guards, clad in light armor about the breasts came in and put a gag on him. They dragged his limp body to another room lined with stalls where two more women were waiting, armed with sponges. They placed him in one of the stalls and tethered his wrists high above his head, and his ankles to the corners. The wash maids swabbed down every inch of him with soap and warm water. They washed his genitals, and once again, his cock grew as stiff as a tent pole, much to his embarrassment.

After he was toweled off, the guards carried him to a long, narrow table next with a rack and shackles looming over it. His arms were pulled up past his head and strapped to each corner of the tabletop by this wrists and elbows. As this was done, his legs were stretched wide bent down over the sides and tethered to keep them in place.

Through it all, Flavious could do nothing, since he was still very weak in his drugged state. He did manage to lift his head up off the table, then stared wide-eyed at how vulnerable his genitals looked. One of the wash maids brought over a tray that contained a flask, sponges, a strop and a razor. Just looking at the blade in the woman’s hand terrified him more than any fear he had experienced in his life. His heart began to beat faster. Blood rushed to his head and throbbed against his temples. He was told at the time of his capture that he would not be castrated. It did nothing however to assuage the black fear that was twisting his gut into knots. He wished he could stand and run, but there was no chance of that now, and even if he could break off the restraints, he knew he wouldn’t get far with two guards standing nearby.

“Much of his body has already been shaved,” one of the wash maids gazed down at his sleek chest with some disappointment.

“I hear these Romans spend their days preening themselves while their women and slaves do all the work,” the other replied. “However, there is still a few days growth here and there, and Madam Penthesilia wants this one well-groomed when she arrives.”

She poured a creamy gel out of the flask into her hands while the other woman began stroking the razor against the thick leather strop to sharpen it. The gel was applied liberally to his chest and stomach. Then she took the razor and proceeded to shave the area. Flavious was surprised at how efficient she was, in fact, the gentle scratch of the blade across his flesh felt rather pleasant, even sensual. The razor was made of bronze with mythical images etched into the blade and the handle carved into the shape of a horse’s head. As a shaving implement, it was much more efficient then the crude iron shaving tools they used back in Rome.

She turned to his underarms next and applied more gel. The thought of losing his underarm hair made Flavious feel uncomfortable, and he wondered if these women realized how weak and juvenile a man felt to lose that symbol of masculinity – but this was only the beginning of his symbolic emasculation. When the armpits were finished, she leaned back and gazed upon the patch of hair between his open thighs.

“Would you like the honor?”

The other woman nodded eagerly, then applied the gel to her hands and began preparing this area for the blade, rubbing much more than was really necessary. She stopped briefly to admire the size of his physiological reaction to so much friction. Then, stropping the blade few more times to maximize its sharpness, she began scrapping the hair away. Feeling the cold steel so close to his cock sent chills down his spine, but again, the proficiency in their methods surprised him. With a steady touch, she pulled his now-shrunken member and carefully moved the razor around its base and up the shaft, rinsing the blade in hot water after each swipe until the whole area was completely bare.

Then Flavious watched miserably as they released his ankles and knees from the table and locked them into the shackles high above. His legs were now raised and spread wide like a V, his crotch gaping wide. More gel was applied. Greasy fingers stroked and kneaded his balls, parted his buttocks, and worked the gel around the tight, circular muscle surrounding the puckered hole between them. Each touch made him quiver and jerk. The voices above him were discussing something, laughing gently, but he could not make out the words past the throbbing of blood in his ears.

Again the razor was used to scrape away all of the hair so that even his scrotum and perianal area would be buff. His legs were shaved last, then soothing oils were applied to his body.

"Rest while you can,” one of the women spoke in him in Roman. “Madam Penthesilia will be here shortly."

With a sigh of relief, Flavious watched the two wash maids and their guards file out of the room. He was finally alone and had time to ponder over his situation. He raised his head and frowned at himself. His manhood looked like that of a boy’s. He then saw movement beyond the bars of his cell, and turned his head to look. Four men were being led down the hall by a female guard. None of them turned to look at Flavious, but kept their eyes to the floor. A single chain linked to their collars kept them in line. These were the first men Flavious had seen since his capture by the Themiscyreans. He had no way of knowing if they were of the same tribe or taken from another, for their appearance was the same – no hair on the body or genitals, even their scalps and eyebrows had been shaved clean. Their stares looked blank and their faces seemed to hold no emotion. He watched them walk past, then began to think about his own situation.

Flavious realized the only hope for his escape was to somehow find the strength to resist these women, yet appear to capitulate to every demand, no matter what, convince them that his spirit was broken, and hope they would release him from his bonds long enough to allow him the opportunity to gain his freedom. He continued to formulate the plan in his head until Madam Penthesilia entered the room followed by four young women that he guessed were servants. Her body was draped over one shoulder in black silk with a gold cord bound around the waist. The servant girls were dressed the same, only in white.

She circled the table to inspect his grooming, running her hands over his chest, then around his stomach and back up to his armpits.

“Impressive,” she nodded her head in approval. “Shaving the beast has certainly improved his appearance.”

Flavious lay there helpless with his legs still raised and spread wide like a V while the Madam moved to the end of the table. She pointedly studied his open crotch, then invited the other women to each do the same, followed by assessments on the size and shape of his genitals.

“Let us commence with his training,” Madam Penthesilia then announced.

Flavious watched with great interest as Penthesilia began to disrobe. She untied the gold cord around her waist, and slid the black silk off her body. She was a handsome woman -- tall, lean, though still very feminine in appearance. Her round breasts sat high off her ribs, her pink nubs pointed outward unabashedly from the tips. The pallid color of her complexion suggested that she saw very little of the sun, and her fiery hair almost glowed in the torchlight. Looking down between her legs, he saw that her bush was of the same color as the hair on her scalp and that it had been trimmed back neatly.

When she approached the table again, her actions were slow and deliberate, as if flaunting her newly bared flesh to the young Roman. She moved in close between his legs. He could almost feel the warmth of her body against his. She leaned forward and allowed her naked breasts to brush between his legs while she massaged his chest. Using all of her skills and knowledge, she played every inch of his well-oiled physique, running her fingers over his chest, along his abdominals, then up and down the sides of his ribs. She seemed to take pleasure in the way his rigid muscles felt under her hands. Flavious too, forgot about his own misfortune. He began to lose all sense of reality and was sure he was now in the midst of a dream from which he definitely did not want to be roused!

Penthesilia motioned one of the servants, and the girl returned with a wooden bastinado and a hollow gourd full of warm oil. The Madam took the stick and dipped it into the oil, then inserted it between his open buttocks. Flavious moaned his protests through the gag; his groin muscles trembled to her touch, but she worked the stick in gently, exploring the tight circular muscle surrounding his anus, until she felt the opening slacken slowly. Flavious was now totally confused. His brain would not accept the sensations being forced upon him, but eventually, his body betrayed him.

Looking up, the Madam smiled as she noted that at last the Roman was showing signs of weakening. His cock slowly grew in size in spite of his bucking and thrashing.

“He responds very well even while stimulated through the anal cavity,” she finally withdrew the stick. “Of course this hole will need to be stretched somewhat before he goes to the block, but a few days with a plug should achieve this efficiently enough. Now lower his legs.”

They released his ankles from the shackles above, then carefully bent his legs back over the sides of the table and tethered them as before. Satisfied that this new bondage position would accomplish its goals, and noticing that his impertinent erection still had not subsided, she began to message him again, hands stroking and kneading his muscles while deliberately avoiding the part of his body that longed for her touch the most.

Flavious now realized that he was, yet again, being tortured but in the most exquisite way! Abruptly the sensations changed as her light probing tongue went to work, each of his fingers were taken into her mouth and he felt the hardness of her teeth run up and down them. She ran her tongue like a snake up the insides of his arms and lapped at the very hollows of his hairless pits. She then moved on to his chest, placing her wet lips over each nipple and sucked on them gently. The smooth curves along his ribcage were then explored, his lumbar muscles licked and kissed.

The young female assistants gasped appreciatively at the sight of his gifted appendage, once it was fully aroused. They admired the way his handsome body moved as he strained helplessly under her touch, relished the sounds of his pitiful moans begging their Madam for some end to the relentless torment he was being succumbed to. He cried out gratefully when she finally took his cock gently, almost lovingly, into the palm of her hand. Her fingers curled around it, then moved up and down the rigid staff, and with the lightest of touches, flicked back and forth across the very tip of the glans. She took his balls in her other hand and teased them. His body was now writhing more rhythmically under her touch and the Madam was warmed by the sound of his animalistic moans.

Flavious could feel his will to resist diminish entirely as she continued to manipulate him with the skill of an artist, taking him almost to the edge of the precipice. He groaned loudly, his body sweating, jerking against the restraints as spasms ran through every muscle, but before his organs could finish the task they so longed to complete, her hand tightened around the base of his scrotum, then pulled hard to block the flow of semen. The sudden pressure made him cry out.

"Oh no, we cannot have that," she teased, her hand still grasped tightly on his balls. "For now on, you are forbidden to spill your seed unless I give you permission to do so.”

There was a sound of both the pain and frustration in his muffled voice. His cock twitched, but stopped just short of exploding, and Flavious had to fight to hold back his anguish.

Madam Penthesilia turned to the servant girls.

"He will remain here until sunset,” she instructed them. “In that time his bodily needs will be tended to while each of you continue to stimulate his genitals. Under no circumstances should he be allowed to spill his seed. If this happens, the girl responsible will be punished with twenty lashes to the back. Understood?"

"Yes Madam," the four servants chimed in unison.

“Good. Now remember your training. Observe his reactions closely as you time your strokes. If necessary, apply pressure to the base of the scrotum, as I have shown you here, to block any flow of seed. He must not be allowed no rest, so you will all have to work in shifts.

“Before you each begin, strip off all of your clothing. You may use your breasts and other parts of your body to stimulate him, but any form of penetration is forbidden. You may stimulate him orally, but keep your mouths away from his lips and especially his cock. Understood?”

“Yes Madam.”

And so the torture continued, with each servant girl teasing his flaccid manhood until it became hard and stiff again. They used their hands, their arms, lips, tongues, and their breasts upon his body to stimulate him, bringing him to the very peak of arousal. Then came an abrupt stop and silence, followed again by alternating cycles of arousal and frustration, repeating for what felt like many hours of endless torment. His arms remained pinned to the table above his head, his legs to the sides, locked in their leather restraints, so he could do nothing to defend himself from the endless touching and probing of his genitals.

Flavious tried to outlast them by forcing himself to remain focused on his escape, but the physical part of him seemed to react more quickly and violently to their teasing caresses.

At one time, Madam Penthesilia, herself, entered the room. She whispered into his ear, her hands rubbing his smooth chest. She teased his cock a bit and promised him some form of reward if he gave her no resistance. When he pleaded with her for a release, as his body could take no more, she seemed very pleased with the response, but took no action, and left him alone, in silence once again to contemplate his unfulfilled needs. Flavious was almost in tears after that, and felt sure this woman must be insane to be so cruel.

The women continued their task, one after the other, so that he was allowed no rest, no relief. Hours passed, but for Flavious, it seemed much longer. His whole body ached from its awkward, back-bending position on the table. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw as he had tried so many times in desperation to free them from the leather restraints. Even worse, his cock now remained in a constant, semi-erect state, its muscles throbbing painfully from the constant stimulation, and his balls, so engorged they were with his seed, felt like they had swollen three time their normal size.

His spirit had also been broken so that each time a woman entered the room, he clamored for release, his feelings expressed in moans and shrieks. When Penthesilia came to him again, he tried to raise his head and as he looked directly into her eyes he whispered in his own Roman tongue,

"No more please, I beg you," then his head fell back on the table.

She gave him a look of apathy, though clearly, the woman was incapable of such emotions.

“Poor beast,” she gently brushed the sweat of his brow. “You are going to accept your new life with us,” her hand trailed down his chest. “Not at first, but soon and completely.”

Flavious closed his eyes and nodded, “Yes . . . yes I accept it.”

Her hand found its way down his stomach to surround his cock again, which was still swollen, very tender, but growing soft. He groaned when she touched it.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the Madam chided, her hand slowly stroking him, “you must learn to keep this nice and stiff for me.”

Flavious felt himself growing hard again, only with considerably less pleasure now, for once she had achieved an erection from him, the stroking stopped and reached down to gently fondle his swollen balls. Tears of frustration began to well up in his eyes, his hands twisting in their restraints. Her grip slowly tightened, and then relaxed over and over again, as if she was pumping his balls.

“Eventually, we’ll have to do something about these,” she told him. “We have a little procedure I call milking. It relieves some of the pressure, though our men receive little satisfaction from it,” she smiled and stroked his cheek with the other hand. “That is something you will have to get used to.”

She looked into his eyes, licked her upper lip, and placed her hand on the top of his cock. Her hand sat there, not moving, just providing the slightest sensation. At first the touch was slightly annoying, irritating, then it became unbearable.

Tears streamed from his eyes and he whispered in a fit of desperation, “Please. Please help me.”

“Help you?” she laughed. “I think not.”

Flavious lay motionless for as long as he could, then without thinking, without conscious intent, he found himself squirming, pressing frantically up into her hand; trying with all his strength to create enough sensation to achieve what the Madam would not grant him. He pulled frantically on his wrist restraints, willing to let the course leather cut them to shreds, he twisted, bucked and tried to free himself.

The Madam laughed again and pulled her hand away, keeping it just out of reach. When Flavious exhausted himself, she gazed down at him and in the same tone – calm, measured, and reserved – she said to him,

“You tell me you have accepted this new life, but you haven’t.”

“Why . . . are you doing this to me?” he asked between breaths.

The Madam said nothing at first, but reached down and gently stroked his cock, again slowly and methodically, until it throbbed in her hand once again.

“Perhaps I can answer your question by telling you what we expect from all of our male slaves,” she ceased stroking him, but kept her hand on his cock. “First, this piece of muscle that men like you pride themselves in possessing no longer belongs to you. You will never again touch it without my permission. At night, your hands will be bound to the bed, and during the day, placed in restraints to keep them away from it, even as you move around.

“During the first stage of your training, your cock will stay hard, 24 hours a day. There is no excuse for it to be any other way. You are also not permitted to cum unless I give you permission to do so. If I catch you spilling your seed, you will be punished with 20 lashes to the back, buttocks and genitals. Second offense will be 30, and so on. Understood?”

Flavious nodded.

“Tell me what you understand.”

“I am not to touch my cock or cum without your permission.”

“And are you my slave?”

He paused, then nodded again.

“Say it.”

“I am your slave.”

“Good. Now to insure that your cock stays hard day and night, you will be given a special brew of herbs. The effects of this drink are instantaneous. First, it will increase your libido, and your cock with remain hard for hours, even as you sleep. The second effect is not a pleasant one, for the swelling becomes so intense it closes the urethra, making it impossible to cum. Needless to say you will get very little rest the next few days,” the she laughed. “Most men end up begging me to cut it off.”

“Now I am sure you are wondering why I would tell to all of this,” she continued. “The reason is simple – it doesn’t matter if you know, for there is no way you can prepare yourself for what you will be experiencing; no hope of outlasting the treatment,” she reached for his cock again, “and it matters little to me how long it will take because in the end, you WILL be broken.”

The Madam felt his balls again, “Mmm, I believe it is time to relieve some of this pressure.”

She began to stimulate him again, only this time, jerking on it violently. Flavious twitched and squirmed on the table, his muscled began to spasm uncontrollably. He expected the Madam to take her hand away as she had done so many times before, but she didn’t. Then, as if

a dam had burst, stream and stream of thick white seed shot into the air and landed on his chest. The Madam watched his reactions carefully, then curled the fingers of her other hand around the base of his scrotum and pulled again, blocking any further discharge.

“That should be enough,” she said. “We don’t want to waste any more, do we?”

Flavious groaned and tried to hold back the tears. She was right about one thing – he received very little satisfaction from it.

Madam Penthesilia took a cloth to wipe her hands with, then rang a bell. Two guards appeared in the doorway.

"Have one of the servants clean him up," she told them, “then take him to his holding cell and allow him to sleep, but for no longer than two hours."

She turned and glanced at the young slave once more before leaving the room. He lay motionless on the table, his eyes closed, his body covered in sweat and cum. The results of this one's performance were very positive and his spirit appeared to be broken, yet there was an expression in his eyes that was difficult to interpret, was it true submission or masked defiance? For the first time since he was brought to her, the Madam began to doubt her own judgement, and she could not shake the feeling that she was being deceived.

(continued)

  

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website.

You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

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A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, BDSM, Slavery)

Part IV

Flavious was taken down a long corridor to his sleeping quarters. Two of the guards had a firm grip on each arm, but there was really no need in his weakened condition. Inside the tiny room, they forced his tired body onto a narrow bed, then placed his wrists and ankles in the shackles at each corner and locked them. No clothing of any kind was brought to him, once again denying him any modesty from the eyes of his Themiscyrean captors. Food was brought to him -- a strange mixture of vegetables with small cubes of meat. It was not very appetizing, but as ravenously hungry as he was, he consumed all of it as if it was his final meal. When he was finished, the guards left him alone in his tiny quarters. Even though his bonds were loose and allowed him a small amount of slack to move around in, he wasn't able to lower either wrist below the level of his shoulders. The mattress was made of filthy dried burlap stuffed with straw, but he had little to complain about after being bound to the hardwood table for so long.

The humiliation Flavious had been made to suffer since his capture was unbearable, and he realized much worse was sure to follow unless he found a way to escape this place. He knew there was little chance of success, but that he had to at least try if he was to maintain any degree of self-respect. He carefully considered his options -- first he would have to find a way to free himself from his bonds, then make his way through the corridors undetected and find a way to the outside, and freedom. Flavious continued to ponder over his situation until he at last drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Two hours later, he was roused by the sound of Madam Penthesilia’s voice,

"Sorry to waken you so soon," she crooned, "but there is much work to do yet and little time to waste.”

-----------------

The next several days of his captivity continued much like the first – his body, always nude, would be restrained in different positions, some tolerable, some with his limbs wrenched in ways that brought him the most unbearable pain. His genitals were always accessible to them, which meant long hours of teasing and stroking, stimulating him to the very brink of release, only to be denied that simple pleasure, again and again. Occasionally his cock was ‘milked’ to relieve some of the build-up of sperm, but there was nothing sexual in their method, no pleasure in it -- just the pumping and jerking of a woman’s hand until some of the milky white contents were drained from his balls. Bound as he was, Flavious could do nothing to keep any woman from touching his genitals – only HE was denied this simple privilege, even while urinating. Day and night, he remained this way, as if it were a reminder that his own body was no longer his to control. 

There were beatings too, usually with a leather flogger, a whip, or even a tree branch fashioned into a switch. The blows were always carefully laid so as not to permanently scar or damage him. He was forced to kneel whenever a woman entered the room, and then to bend forward with his face nearly touching the floor. He was ordered to address every woman as “Madam”, and always to ask for permission to speak first, or else suffer the lash.

Yet it was the never-ending provocations of his manhood that he found hardest to tolerate. Days and days of this activity, began to wear him down. His remained, at least, partially erect all hours, in spite of the milking, his balls felt as swollen as a leather ball. Flavious never thought this part of his body to be so vulnerable and weak, nor even could he imagine how such subtle torture could be so effective.

Quite often, Madam Penthesilia came to perform the task herself. Each time she would remove every stitch of clothing from her body, and lie with him on a bearskin rug spread out over the floor, between his open legs with one naked arm draped over his thigh, as if she were lounging on a couch. Then her hands would go to work in stimulating him, while taunting him with verbal lashings and insults that slowly stripped away his manhood much like the whips stripped away his flesh. Flavious grew to hate the Madam, but at the same time, he wanted her like no other. Each night while chained to his bed, he would think of her, his hands wrestling silently with the metal restraints. He tried to sleep, or at least divert his thoughts, but it was very difficult as his body and mind were in a constant state of arousal.

Then one night, Flavious was summoned to the Madam’s bedchamber.

Now before I continue with the story, I should describe to you what the Themiscyrean village was consisted of mostly huts made of mud and straw that dotted the base of a large cliff. Within the cliff, and over many, many years, a system of natural caverns had been transformed to accommodate the Queen and the rest of the upper hierarchy of the tribe, while the heartier peasants and soldiers remained outside. The rooms were furnished and decorated elaborately befitting the status of each member of the tribe. Compared to the more classic Roman architecture, these living quarters were still primitive, but nonetheless, very comfortable. Penthesilia’s room was no different. Her bed had a large canopy above with colored silk draped down the sides.

When Flavious was brought to this room, he was immediately forced to kneel before the Madam. She wore black silk, draped loosely and provocatively on her body, baring her arms and legs generously. Her fiery red hair was done up in braids to show off her long and graceful neck. She ordered the guards to roll out a wooden platform from a compartment under her bed. Flavious was then shackled to the platform with his arms and legs stretched wide to each corner. She sent the guards away, threw down a pillow and lay on the floor beside him. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his cock. He immediately became erect. She then released her grip slowly, and ran her fingers up the length of muscle until she reached the head, where her touch was as light as a feather. She began stroking him again, interrupted with periods of rest and gentle teasing by tracing circles around the head of his cock.

There was no reason to expect it, but Flavious prayed this would finally be the end of the torment; that she would grant him mercy this time and allow him to cum. He gazed at her body as the flickering torches cast shadows of her under the garment she wore. He could see her milky white breasts, her pointed nipples pressing against the paper-thin silk. Her long, willowy legs were together and bent forward as she lay on her side. She smiled and whispered to him,

“Do you think I brought you here for YOUR benefit? Well you are wrong. I would never let a wretch like you touch my body, much less violate it.”

Just then, the guards brought in another slave. He was not much older than Flavious, his body tanned and well-muscled all over as if he had spent many hours laboring in the hot sun. When he saw the Madam, he immediately fell to his knees and bowed to the floor.

“I am here to serve, Madam,” he said. “Do with me what you wish.”

Flavious nearly sobbed when she released his cock and stood up to greet her guest.

“Rise,” she ordered, and the slave rose to his feet, his eyes still glued the floor.

“Kiss me.”

He kissed the Madam on the lips. It was a long passionate kiss. She brought his hand up to her breast and drew in a hot sigh as he squeezed it, then gently pushed him away.

“This is the manner in which a true man behaves,” she said. “To serve his Madam, not because he must, or out fear of torture or death, but because of he worships her. I am speaking of unconditional love, of devotion. That is why a well-trained slave does not flee, even when left unchained, because he accepts the life given him, no matter how miserable. He knows his place in the world; a world which should always be dominated and ruled by women. Now, I will grant you the privilege of listening while I bed down with a man far more worthy than you.”

She ordered the other slave to push the platform, with Flavious on it, underneath her bed. Then the panel was closed behind him.

Lying in the dark, he began to whimper and moan softly as he listened to the sounds of lovemaking above him; of the other slave pleasuring the woman he so desperately wanted. As she came, she screamed and bucked on the bed, moaning frantically. It was too much for Flavious to take. He burst into tears as the frustration overtook him.

For most of that night he remained awake. Sweat beaded, then rolled off his body in the hot compartment, and once, he thought something might have darted across his chest, like a spider, though he could see nothing in the pitch darkness. All of this happened while he thought of the Madam, only a few feet above him, lying naked on clean silk sheets, sleeping soundly in the arms of another man.

Eventually, Flavious drifted off as well, only to be awakened again to the touch of her hand, coated in scented body oil, sliding over his cock. The compartment he had been lying in was open, and the platform pulled out from under the bed, but it was the overwhelming sensation that he was about to cum that finally jolted him to consciousness. Then at the very last second, when his eyes popped open, she stopped.

“Love can be a cruel Mistress, can it not?” She laughed.

Frantically, he screamed and begged. Flavious was at brink of insanity now, his words barely audible.

“If you want mercy,” she told him, “then you must prove yourself worthy first.”

The Madam instructed him on how a slave must worship a woman correctly. Although exhausted and trembling, Flavious eagerly attended her bare feet, first licking the heels, then the bridge and toes. When the foot worship satisfied her enough, she removed her silk robe, and commanded him to provide even more intimate services.

The weary Flavious watched her as she placed her knees astride his shoulders and lowered herself down to him. His vision was suddenly filled with the sight of her neatly-trimmed bush, her pungent aroma sent his senses reeling. He felt the moistness at his lips as her body touched them. The taste of her was delicate and his tongue probed gently into her depths, he flicked his tongue forward and backward until he found the bud he sought, then took it in his lips and sucked gently. He was rewarded with a loud groan of approval by the Madam. She leaned back and forced the V of her body more firmly on his mouth allowing him to probe deeper inside. He was aware that her hips were now gyrating above him. Again he took her bud into his mouth and he sucked more vigorously. The sound of low moans filled his ears and he felt her juices flowing which he licked away with relish. Then he heard a loud shriek and felt her body spasm.

Madam Penthesilia was still trying to catch her breath as she collapsed on the floor beside him.

"Well, at least you know how to please a woman."

Flavious steeled himself, determined to not cry. He was exhausted, his body sweating all over from a combination of frustration, exertion and fear. Desperate to cum, he whispered the only word that came to mind,

“Mercy . . . “

The Madam gazed down at his cock. It was still throbbing and very swollen. A drop of fluid seeped out of the opening. Noticing this, she encircled the base of his shaft between the fingers and thumb of her right hand. Then she leaned forward, allowing her fiery locks to fall between his thighs, and slithered her tongue around the tip.

Flavious moaned, his body jerked pitifully against his restraints, he felt total indignation toward this woman, yet he could still feel his passion rising as her moist lips touched his cock. She trailed wet kisses downward to his testicles, her snake-like tongue lapped at the smooth, freshly-shaven surface, then she parted her lips and slid the entire length of his cock into her mouth, sucking on it eagerly.

All conscious thought left his mind, as though he were floating in a white hot sea of sensation. He felt a surge deep within his body and he bellowed loudly. Sensing that he was ready, she released her mouth and continued to stimulate him with her hands, jerking on it violently. As he came, the Madam did not let go this time, nor did she grab hold of his balls to block the flow of seed, but tightened her grip, stroking him, as if to squeeze every last drop of fluid from his body. Flavious moaned out loud, and his muscles continued to spasm uncontrollably for some minutes after.

The Madam rose and unceremoniously wiped her hands with a piece of cloth. She said not another word to him, but summoned the guards to take him away.

-----------------

The rude shock of a cold wet towel assaulted his face as Flavious realized that he had been sleeping in his cell. But for how long? One hour? Two hours? Shuddering, he tried to rise only to be reminded that the leather bindings on his cot were still in place. As the Madam removed the towel, she ran the palm of her hand down his chest to his thigh, and his cock quickly became erect.

“Your muscles have lost some of their tone from being restrained for so long,” she cooed, “so beginning today, we must bring you back to peak physical fitness."

Still just a little groggy, he offered no resistance as she attached a leather harness to his cock and balls, and affixed a short leash.  His wrists and ankles were released from their shackles, offering Flavious the brief opportunity to relieve the soreness that cried out from deep within muscles that had been pulled taut all night, before his arms were bound tightly behind his back with a black leather sheath. Madam Pentesilia then took the leash in her hand and pulled on it smoothly, leaving Flavious no choice but to rise to his feet and follow her out of the room.

"Now for your first public outing," she said.

As he was driven along the corridors, he quickly learned that if he did not turn in the correct direction or walk at the required speed that his cock and testicles would be cruelly punished with a sharp tug of the leash. They climbed a narrow flight of steps, and blinking as he emerged into the daylight, he found himself standing in a small arena, where a crowd of women had gathered on the benches surrounding it. Flavious was forced to stand in the open, completely nude with his arms bound securely behind his back as hundreds of female eyes turned on him.

In the center of the arena there was a large wheel sitting horizontally, about waist high. A single long pole tethered to it extended almost to the arena's perimeter. Ropes were tied about two feet apart along the length of the pole with a short chain and hook dangling at the very end. Flavious was led up to the wheel. The chain from his cock harness was removed, then replaced with the hook. Several male slaves trotted out into the area and took hold of the ropes. A single crack of a whip motioned them to pull on the ropes and the arm began to rotate slowly with the wheel. As tension was applied to the young Roman’s cock harness, he was forced to walk forward. He then heard loud cheers from the crowd, who seemed to delight in his predicament.

"Faster! Faster!" they roared.

The speed of the wheel was increased and he was forced to start jogging with the chain tugging at his cock. After a few minutes Flavious was now working at a steady running pace. The audience whooped with delight as Madam Pentesilia pulled out a bullwhip from her belt, and with great accuracy flicked it across his buttocks as he passed by. He flinched as he felt the lash and struggled to avoid tripping and being dragged around by his cock. He was forced to run, his feet kicking up the loose earth, until he was completely exhausted, then at last he felt the wheel slow down and stop. He sagged to his knees for a moment, but a crack of the whip forced him to stand again.

He was detached from the wheel and next led across the arena to where the Madam had taken her seat in a small rickshaw. The arm sheath was taken off and replaced with a harness over his shoulders and around his chest. Once more he felt the sting of the whip forcing him to walk forward conveying Madam Pentesilia around the arena. His shoulder and neck muscles strained under the burden as he was forced to halt at various points around the arena to allow the crowd a chance to see him at close quarters. Then just as he felt he could go no further, Flavious was released from his harness, and finally allowed to collapse. Drenched in sweat and panting, the guards removed the harness and dragged him by each arm from the arena.

They took him to a shower stall and shackled his wrists to a bar overhead where the wash maids took over and washed his body thoroughly with soap and water. He was then taken to his cell, where he was, once again bound naked to his bed and allowed to rest.

Later that day, Flavious was taken back out to the arena. An even larger crowd had formed, and there were other slaves training with him. All of them were nude, some with their heads shaved as well as the rest of their bodies. The guards took Flavious to vertical pole attached to a wheel, with four long steel blades extending outward, two high and two low. His arms were freed from the restraints, then one of the guards chained his collar to a stake in the ground, leaving just enough slack to allow some movement, but not enough to clear the path of the blades.

As the wheel turned, Flavious was forced to leap into the air and bend his knees, then duck as each blade passed. Again the crowd roared with excitement. There was much anticipation as to how a well-trained Roman soldier might perform in their arena, and this one did not disappoint. They admired the toned musculature of his body and the athleticism of his movements – a criterion of male perfection, not seen since the Greeks, struggling to keep in time with the rotating blades, or else be cut to ribbons. The crowd of women still roared even after the wheel stopped turning and Flavious collapsed to the ground.

He was allowed to rest a while before summoned to his feet again and forced to wrestle another male slave in Greek style. Both were told that the loser would be punished with thirty lashes to the body, as a means of provoking each to fight the other. So the two men wrestled in the dirt to the jeers and whistles of their female audience, muscles straining, their tanned bodies sweating in the hot sun, until Flavious finally pinned the other exhausted man. “The Roman” was declared a winner, and as promised, the other man was tethered between two poles and forced to endure the thirty lashes.

The long day was finally over for Flavious. They took him to the showers, then two powerful-looking women massaged his sore limbs. He was fed and strapped to his cot for the night, though he got little rest, for not long after, Madam Penthesilia came to him and he was again forced to commit more acts of perversion to satisfy her sexual appetites.

His mind was in turmoil. He realized now that he could not fight these women, no matter how hard he tried. And of what use did Madam Penthesilia intend him for? Was she really insane and using him for her own needs? After she left, Flavious found sleep impossible as he contemplated whether there was any hope of escape.

-----------------

Hundreds of miles away a very heated discussion was taking place in Rome after the Emperor Caesar Augustus was informed of the Roman defeat in their eastern province against the mysterious Amazons.

“What do you mean they found nothing,” the Emperor rose from his chair and paraded around the room. “Surely there must have been some trace of the enemy . . . bodies . . . tracks . . . or did these women sprout wings and carry them off!”

“You could be half-right, Caesar,” the commanding general of Rome answered him. “It is not unusual for even most primitive tribes to remove their own dead from the battlefield, and as for the tracks, they may have covered them up in anticipation that Rome would send a larger army after them.

“Their anticipation was correct,” the Emperor took his seat again. “How many legions do we have in Alexandria?”

“Three cohorts.”

“Dispatch them immediately. Then send another scouting party ahead to locate this tribe. The local villagers must have some information about these women. Bring them in for questioning – in shackles if necessary."

“Yes, Caesar.”

“Were any prisoners taken?”

“Commander Scafious reported only one man missing -- their scout. We have little hope he is alive though. There is evidence that all of the wounded were killed and left to rot in the sun.”

“Then I will grant these women no mercy,” the Emperor struck the arm of his throne with one fist. “When their village is found . . . kill them all!”

(continued)

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website.

You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

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A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, BDSM, Suspension Bondage, Whipping, C/B Torture)

Part V

His new life settled into a daily routine: twice a day Flavious was led out to the arena. Each time he was made to ‘run the wheel’ a little longer and pull the rickshaw a little further. Most humiliating of all, he was forced to wear a Y-shaped leather harness around his thighs with lubricated plug inserted up his ass, and then trot around the field in front of the crowd.

Through it all, the young Roman, square jawed and block shouldered, showed no emotion. He was both a savage and an automaton now, able to perform each task with physical perfection, and with no complaint, while harboring a deep, unspoken rage for his captors. After the arena, is body was cleansed and massaged by servants who performed their duties adequately without given him any satisfaction from it. Food was brought to him three times a day. The rest of the time he was left alone and naked in his cell, his arms and legs always chained loosely to the corners of his bed to keep him from masturbating. Only then, was he allowed time to formulate some plan of escape.

Three weeks had passed and his body was much leaner and powerfully muscled due to the rigorous training in the arena.

“I am very pleased with your progress so far,” Madam Penthesilia once told him. “Your physical appearance has greatly improved, as well as your behavior. Soon, both attributes will be put to the test, and only then, will I decide if you are ready to move on to the next stage of your training.”

That test came shortly after when Flavious was taken, once more, to the arena. The usual rituals were performed -- his entire body shaved and rubbed down generously with oil, for these Amazon women were meticulous about keeping their male ‘livestock’ smooth and sleek.

This time though, the order was given to shave his head also, and Flavious was forced the lay there helplessly as his long roman locks were cut, and his scalp shaved. Even his eyebrows were removed, so that his entire body had no hair at all!

The Madam approached him carrying in her hands an elaborate black leather harness decorated with silver studs.

"You look superb, I feel I could not have prepared you better,” there was a wild expression in her eyes. “I will be proud to present you."

The ornate harness was fitted on him with two straps passed close around his genitals leaving them naked and exposed, and the third strap drawn tightly up between the buttocks. The straps were then buckled tightly to a belt to keep it all in place. Finally, a small cock and ball harness, much like the one he wore when he was first captured was laced on with a length of chain clipped to it. He was then led down the maze of corridors. The occasional ‘tug’ of the leash and flick of a horse crop from behind reminded him who was in control. He climbed the now familiar steps and entered the arena.

Night had fallen and the whole arena was now lit with torches. Every seat was taken, and he noticed a group of regally dressed women in the “dignitaries box” at the end. A large platform had also been erected in the center of the arena. Two posts measuring at least twelve feet in height stood upright from the center, each with a turn wheel mounted into it. A third post was tethered across the top of the other two posts and there where wooden pulleys with ropes hanging down from the corners. Though there were other slaves in the arena with him, Flavious knew this device was reserved for him, and that he would be the main attraction that evening.

He felt the sting of a crop on his buttocks as he was commanded to walk forward and kneel on a large mat with a dozen other slaves. One by one, each man before him was called up to perform some grueling task. Two of them were pulling rickshaws with their trainers riding in back and cracking their whips to spur them on. Another one trotted around the wheel, the cock and ball harness pulling him along by a chain, only this one seemed to be struggling to keep pace. He stumbled once, but regained his footing and kept running to the cheering of the crowd.

“More GAIT!” they yelled.

The slave then stumbled again, only this time, he did not regain his footing and fell to the ground screaming. The slaves turning the wheel were ordered to keep moving. With his arms bound behind his back, the poor wretch could do nothing, but scream and writhe in agony as he was dragged through the dirt by his genitals. He was unconscious by the time the time the slaves were finally ordered to cease pulling and the wheel stopped. Two guards then grabbed an ankle and dragged him away.

Flavious waited in silence for over an hour while all the slaves before him were called up. He looked gazed upward to the stars and wondered what his family and friends were doing back home. Finally, Madam Pentesilia ordered him to his feet. He did so with no objection. He allowed himself to be led around the arena by the leash on his genitals so the crowd could get a good look at him. Eventually he was brought to a halt in front of the box and forced to stand to attention. He suddenly realized that the spectacle he was providing bore close similarity to the Emperor’s prize stallions being paraded through the streets of Rome!

One of the women that he recognized earlier to be the queen, stood up and said, "Thank you, Madam Pentesilia, we are ready to inspect him now."

Flavious was steered towards the platform and forced to climb the steps leading up to it. Two women dressed in white silk carried a heavy wooden box and placed it at the center of the platform. There were four holes cut into the top, all forming one line with the two holes in the middle being slightly smaller than the outside holes. One of the women unhooked a catch at one end of the block, which was actually composed of two halves attached by hinges on the other end. The leather harness was removed and, guided by two guards, his ankles positioned in the outside holes. He was then forced to bend sharply forward so his wrists could be slotted in the two center holes before the other half of the block was closed and clamped in place.

Flavious struggled to maintain his balance while the two guards stood to each side of him holding torches. The warm light flickered down on his buttocks, exposing his vulnerability. Looking between his legs, he could see the women had left the dignitaries box and were making their way toward the platform.

His Madam stood beside him, stroking his thighs as if to reassure him as the group climbed the steps.

“I am very impressed with his over-all appearance,” Queen Marpesia complimented the Madam. “Let us now proceed with our inspection.”

Flavious could feel hands running over his buttocks and down each leg, his glutes squeezed, his thighs measured and recorded, knee and ankle joints explored. The process was then repeated on his upper body. Particular attention was paid to his spine. They measured his biceps and triceps. Each woman took her turn in handling him. By the time they had finished their inspection his leg muscles were in agony from being bent over in such an awkward position for so long, but this was soon forgotten as a large lubricated, phallic-looking object was suddenly and unceremoniously rammed into his ass, his sphincter muscles contracted, holding it firmly in place. He jerked against the restraints, hissing his surprise between clenched teeth.

He heard one of the women comment. "Excellent! He has taken the maximum size plug with little difficulty.”

After removing the plug, Flavious was released from his restraints, but immediately taken to a heavy block table. Mounted across the top, were a pair of stocks, again with four holes forming one line. The guards forced him to climb on the table and kneel. The stocks were opened, and his ankles placed in the two larger slots on the outside. His arms were then forced behind his back and his body bent backward as they set his wrists in the smaller slots, before clamping the stocks back in place.

His only points of contact with the table’s surface were now his knees, his toes, shoulders and his head. His spine was arched sharply backward like a bow and his smooth chest and open crotch thrust upward. Whispers of approval from the dignitaries could be heard as this new position offered a superb view of his freshly-shaven genitals. Even his Madam was awestruck at the sight of his magnificent body stretched and exposed for all to admire.

Stage two of the inspection began. Attention was first focused on his mouth and jaw line.

“When the teeth rot, so go the bones,” one of the women commented as she waited her turn, but a close inspection by all proved that part of his body to be in good health.

They checked his eyes for any disease and found none. They thumped his chest, squeezed his pectoral muscles and pinched his nipples. They probed his stomach, even his navel. All agreed his muscle to fat ratio to be excellent. Madam Penthesilia, waiting off to the side, felt her excitement rise and her body's arousal as she anticipated each phase of the proceedings.

The women commented on his thigh and lumbar muscles, which were much more prominent now and well-defined thanks to the Madam’s training. Both patellae and their ligaments, his calves, the arches of his feet were all probed and explored, with no weaknesses found. Again, two of the torches were brought in and positioned close between his legs, his genitals bathed in the warm light, so he could be closely examined. He felt total indignation at being used for such a public display. Nonetheless, his cock began to stiffen with anticipation, as if the damn thing had a mind of it own. His balls were tested first, the finely crinkled skin covering them pinched and pulled gently, then each ovoid palpated and felt for any abnormalities. There were soft murmurs from the audience as each dignitary then took her turn in stroking and jerking his cock until the hard, veiny muscle grew to maximum stiffness and throbbed in her hand.

“A criterion of male perfection, reminiscent of the Greeks,” one woman praised, “and his penis and testicles are unusually large for such a lean physique.”

“Yes, we MUST put this one to stud before he goes to auction,” added the queen. “These attributes should not be wasted.”

His chest was heaving now, his breathing erratic. His eyes were wide and black with

arousal and his cock proudly jutting upward from his body, darkening and throbbing with the rush of blood. Everyone in the small area could see it now in the torchlight and utterances of “glorious” and “magnificent” could be overheard from the stands.

“How is the seed count?”

“Very high, My Queen,” Penthesilia answered with pride.

Queen Marpesia began stroking his cock vigorously, her fingers curled tightly around the hard muscle as if she were milking a cow. His hips began writhing more rhythmically with her touch. He did not want to give them the satisfaction, but he was powerless to resist. Flavious held out for an impressive length of time, while waves of stimulation pulled him nearer and nearer until finally, with a hoarse cry, he surrendered, his swollen cock pulsing in her hand while streams and streams of white, milky fluid splattered onto the stage. The crowd roared.

“Very impressive,” she gasped her approval. “My compliments on your training.”

The Madam bowed her head in return.

Their inspection complete, the women finally returned to their box leaving the slave and his trainer alone on the stage.

"You may proceed with the endurance test,” the Queen ordered.

Madam Penthesilia approached and gently stroked his chest as if to reassure him. The bindings were released, allowing Flavious to straighten his posture into a more natural position again, yet he knew the ordeal was far from over when he heard his Madam announce that the “slave’s endurance test” was about to commence.

The guards pulled Flavious to his feet and positioned him between the two posts he had noticed earlier. Leather cuffs were fastened around his wrists, and tied to a pair of ropes that were threaded through the pulleys above with the other ends left lying on the ground behind him. Four powerful-looking slaves then ran out to the platform and positioned themselves, two to a rope. When the order was given, each pair grabbed their rope and pulled, lifting him up high between the posts. His arms were stretched wide like a V. As he hung there, the two guards placed his ankles in leather cuffs and attached them to ropes from each turn wheel in the posts.

Two more slaves began to reel in the ropes. Flavious groaned when he felt his legs being pulled in opposite directions. His neck muscles were corded with tension and sweat glinted on his brow. His hands fisted within the restraints, knuckles white. The whole arena was silent, with all eyes fixed on him, so silent that the creaking of the ropes could be heard with each turn of the wheel. The slaves manning the pulley ropes behind him were then ordered to take a few steps forward, reversing the ropes though the pulleys. As he descended, the added weight from his own body put even more pressure on his legs, while further extending them to the left and right of his torso.

If it were not for the weeks of rigorous training and conditioning of his body, Flavious might not have endured the tension, yet there seemed to be no end to it. The slaves kept pulling, the crowd cheering, his muscles and tendons stretching, until he began to fear the worst -- that these Themiscyreans would not be satisfied until his limbs were literally ripped out of their sockets!

Finally, the order was given for the slaves manning the pulley ropes to cease and hold their positions. The wheels in the posts were locked in place. He was suspended between the posts now, his tanned body bathed in sweat. His legs had been drawn so tight they were literally parallel to the earth with his genitals eye-level to the madam. Flavious watched helplessly, his face twisted in shear agony, as she approached. She was holding her flogger in one hand while running her fingers through the tethers with the other. One did not have to guess what was about to happen next.

With a dry voice, he whispered a plea. “Mercy . . .”

“You must be strong my young beast,” she replied in a low voice. “You must draw on that strength deep within you, for not even your gods can help you now.”

A small gourd containing body oil was brought out to her by a servant. Madam Pentesilia stuck the flogger under her belt and dipped her hands into the oil. Gently she kneaded and massaged his genitals. Flavious moaned with disbelief when his cock grew stiff again, as if completely unaffected by the mind-numbing torture ravaging the rest of his body.

“You are forbidden to beg or cry out, no matter how much pain is inflicted on you,” she pulled the flogger out of her belt again. “You must hold your tongue. Understood?”

Flavious nodded, though he was unsure if he had the courage to endure any whippings in this condition.

The Madam circled around him and ran her hand across his buttocks, which were now drawn tightly together from the tension. She kneaded each cheek gently with her hand, then stepped back, and without warning, raised the flogger and brought it down hard across them.

The first crisp smack seemed to reverberate throughout the silent arena as it hit its mark making him wince instinctively.  Seconds later, a burning sensation spread across his buttocks, and he could only imagine the redness that must have ensued. His allotted portion would be only ten strokes this time, but it still felt as if his cheeks were on fire. Letting her arm drop to her side, she swung the flogger sharply upward and with a loud ‘snap’ struck his vulnerable balls underneath. Flavious grunted and lurched forward; rivers of sweat ran down his face and body, though he still did not cry out.

Finally, she moved to the front, signaling to Flavious that the pain he feared of the worst was about to be realized. Raising the flogger high over her shoulder, she brought it down hard between his legs. He nearly screamed, but the Amazon bitch didn’t stop. She laid many more stinging, crippling blows right across his inner thighs and loins. The pain was so intense, his vision became blurred, and then everything seemed to turn white. Remarkably, his cock was still half-erect when she was finished. The Madam curled her gloved hand gently around the lacerated organ, and with a few strokes, it was stiff and ready again, much to the delight and approval of the crowd.

Finally, he was lowered to the ground. Flavious grimaced, his aching joints screaming as his limbs were released from the ropes. The guards grabbed him by the arms and dragged his limb body back to the table. Once again, he was bound to it, only this time, with his arms above his head and his legs stretched over the sides and bound underneath, leaving his genitals exposed and vulnerable to more abuse. Generous amounts of oil were applied to that part of his body.

As they did this, every woman in the arena was invited to come down to the platform and inspect the slave. The beating Flavious just experienced was the most painful so far, but nothing equaled the utter humiliation he would have to endure next. Rows of women filed down from the stands and one by one, approached to table to the make their own assessment of the Roman’s physique and virility, touching and groping in ways they knew would frustrate and embarrass. Like geese, they clucked and cackled in high voices among themselves. They watched with insidious delight the way his cock rose in swollen agony, only to became flaccid again and again, for he was never permitted to cum.

When it was all over, and the last goose had taken her turn in tormenting the poor slave, he was dragged out of the arena back to his cell.

---------------

Later that evening, Flavious lay quietly on his bed, feigning sleep. His arms and legs were still chained the frame, but there was no longer a guard posted at the door to his cell.

"Tonight is the night I make my try for it. Just a little bit longer to wait and then I'm free," he reassured himself.

For weeks, Flavious had submitted to every demand, no matter how painful or degrading, to convince the Themiscyreans that his spirit had been broken. What he was last forced to do in the arena was, by far, the most challenging for him, both physically and mentally. His body still ached and he could feel the marks of the flogger, but Flavious was not defeated yet, and more importantly, his captors believed he was. Even Madam Pentesilia was impressed with his progress. He thought of waiting longer to gain more of their confidence and hopefully a better opportunity would arise, if only he felt strong enough to resist them, which he did not. So now was the time.

He turned his head to the shackles around his right wrist. For weeks he quietly inspected and tested the chains, looking for any weaknesses he could exploit. He found one link in the chain to his right that had rusted through a little. He began counting the minutes until he could safely begin. The evening wore on and the traffic out in the corridor finally ceased.

"This is it," he thought.

Then a lone set of footsteps forced him to wait again. He listened carefully to the sound of booted heels ringing out loudly in the confines of the corridor, until they became softer and more distant.

"I've waited quietly for hours while hunting for game in the forest, but it is much more difficult to be patient when I'm the prey looking for a chance to flee!"

When the night became very still, the ‘sleeping’ warrior decided that it was safe to begin. A determined, almost feral grin crept onto his face as he began slowly twirling his right wrist inside its steel cuff, causing the chain to double up on itself. The chains were old and he doubted that it would take much effort to break the rusty link. He shifted himself as far up on the bed as he could and kept twirling, knotting the chain into tighter links, until he had taken up all but the last inch of slack available to him. Whispering a quick prayer, he yanked with all his might, contracting leg and stomach muscles as well as his biceps. The chain creaked and groaned.

"Freedom is near, I can feel it!" he exclaimed to himself, pleased with the sound he had elicited.

Establishing a rhythmic motion that looked a lot like a convulsion, he threw his entire strength against that one chain, over and over again. The welds were old and rusty, he could hear several of them creaking, on the verge of breaking under the unaccustomed twisting load he was applying.

Fatigue burning in his muscles, Flavious continued his onslaught against the steel until finally he was rewarded by the sound of a weld cracking. He lay still for a few minutes until his breathing had returned to normal. The muscles in his right arm were screaming now, but he ignored the pain, and again began methodically tugging and twisting the chains until he had managed to bend the rusty link enough to give him hope that his efforts would soon be rewarded. Fortunately they were light chains; had they been a size or two larger he wouldn't have stood a chance of bending them open, even after breaking the welds.

Then suddenly, his hopes were dashed when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A guard entered his cell with the keys to his shackles in one hand. Flavious held his breath as she bent over to unlock them, praying that she would not notice the broken link.

She did not, and Flavious quietly thanked the gods for their mercy.

The guard, an attractive and athletic-looking blonde with long hair tied in one braid down her back, motioned him to get up. Like the other guards, she was trussed up in a leather cuirass and helmet, battle skirt that barely covered her ass, and leggings up to the knees. She bound his arms behind him with a leather sheath, then attached a small chain to his collar and guided him out into the corridor.

He was taken to Madam Pentesilia’s bedchamber where she waited for him wearing a long robe made of bright red silk.

“Wait outside,” she told the guard, “and lock the door behind you.”

It was clear to Flavious that his Madam was ready ‘to play’ again. She fondled his organ until it grew stiff in her hand.

"It must feel nice to have your freedom again, little worm," she chided, "and to respond to my beauty without being bitten by that nasty whip."

Flavious did not move; he stood straight with his eyes cast downward as he was trained to do.

“I am here for your pleasure, Madam,” he said. “Do with me what you wish.”

“Oh I shall,” she chided in response. “Come with me and tend to my bath.”

The room was adjacent to her bedchamber, and it resembled a Roman Thermae, though somewhat more primitive than what one might see at the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. Like the Roman design, the bath was raised off the ground by pillars and spaces were left inside the walls so that hot air from a furnace in the next room could circulate through these open areas and heat the bath.

Flavious was ordered to stoke the furnace in the next room with wood, then he was allowed to watch as Madam Pentesilia disrobed. He helped her into the water and listened to her contented groans in response to the soothing heat of the water while he knelt at the side of the bath. She raised her arms behind her head and closed her eyes, the water gently lapping at her breasts. She remained that way for sometime, with her slave watching, then finally sat up and instructed him to wash her back with a loofa sponge, which he did with gentle reverence.

Rising from the tub, she gestured first for a towel to dry off and then stretched out on a table so her body could be anointed with oil. More purrs and groans filtered past her lips as Flavious rubbed the scented oil into her skin. After getting her robe, she allowed him the privilege of brushing her long fiery red hair, complimenting his technique, but reminding him that hairbrushes also have another more sinister use for men who misbehave.

Now, thoroughly refreshed and relaxed, The Madam was definitely ready to play.

She praised his perseverance, even observing that he was 'quite impressive' for such a novice.  And since he had been such a good slave, she would give him another reward. Taking his hand, she brought him to his feet and led him into the bedroom, instructing him to sit at the foot of the bed. She laid back on the bed, opened he robe and spread her long legs apart, then gave him permission to offer the ultimate form of homage.

He didn't need to be told that the best way to worship her sacred spot was to do so gently and

slowly. He knew that the path to maximizing her pleasure was to take his time and make the

experience last. He even paused briefly to enhance her longing and anticipation, only to

resume a moment later and bring her to even greater heights of arousal.

As he cautiously approached the bud of her womanhood, he tried to remember the lessons that he had been taught by his Madam and all the other techniques that he had learned over the years. Every gentle kiss, every soft lick, would be a gift to this beautiful goddess that he had longed for long. He forgot about his plans of escape and to get as far away as he could from this horrible place. For the moment, he was content to be with her and no where else.

Time seemed to stop as he worshipped her. As a reward for his devoted ministrations, she beckoned him in with a whisper, and he reverently slid his own body between her open milky-white thighs. After weeks of being teased and tormented, he was fucking her. Closing his eyes, he allowed his cock to be engulfed completely, relished for a moment the hot, sticky wetness of her womb before meeting her gentle thrusts with his own.

The thrusts quickened, their bodies rocking together violently, until he opened his eyes and watched her soar to an apogee of erotic bliss. Waves of violent spasms rolled through her body, then stopped abruptly.  A soft cry of "Yes." followed by blissful contentment.

Moments later he followed her into that bliss. His eyes rolled back, he took an inordinately deep breath, then convulsed violently, again and again, as thick white fluids erupted in forceful spurts deep inside her womb.

As he slowly came back down to earth, he looked down at her, her eyes still closed, a smile of smug contentment stretched across her lips. Flavious had been the source of it all. He had pleased his Madam by his obedient surrender, and he had delighted her in ways that only a man could. He had performed the task he was summoned for, and now he would be sent back to his cell, to the dirty cot and rusty shackles.

Of course, it would not have been appropriate for his Madam to thank one of her slaves, but Flavious couldn’t quell the anger rising inside. He looked down at her again and as she opened her eyes and smiled at him, he raised one fist and stuck the side of her face with such force, she rolled off her bed to the floor. For a moment, Flavious stood over the unconscious body of Madam Pentesilia. The robe was still fanned wide open, one leg bent sharply to the side so he could see her neatly trimmed red bush. Blood trickled from her nose, but she was still breathing.

He knew he had little time to waste. The first plan was no longer achievable, but his desire to escape was stronger than ever. He quietly moved to the door and pressed his ear against it. He could hear the guard on the other side. Slowly and carefully, he slid the latch. Swinging the door open, he wrapped his arm around the woman’s throat and dragged her into the room, pulling her tightly against his body, then slammed her against the wall, her pretty head striking the stone and killing her instantly.

Flavious stared down at the lifeless body, then glanced over at The Madam who was just beginning to stir.

“There is no turning back now,” he whispered to himself, then slipped quietly out into the corridor.

(continued)

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website.

You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: F/m, BDSM, Suspension Bondage)

Part VI

Flavious cautiously made his way down the darkened halls toward the arena. He knew the way, for each day he was aroused from his sleep and led by a leash outside to be conditioned and exercised. Rubbing the chill from his arms, he regretted not finding some clothes back in Pentesilia’s bedchamber, at least a loincloth to cover himself with, but that was the least of his worries right now. Killing a guard and attacking his trainer would most certainly mean his execution, or worse.

Two women dressed in white silk suddenly approached, and he hid in the shadows, pressing his body up against the stone wall and holding his breath until they passed. Luckily, it was so late in the evening that most everyone was asleep. He still had to get past the guards and cover as much ground through the forest beyond as he could before the Themiscyreans discovered he was missing.

He found the entrance to the arena. Outside, it was cold, but the fresh air felt good against his face. It smelled of freedom. Peering across the empty arena, he saw the main entrance and was surprised to see no guards posted. Could it be this easy? Just a short run across the arena and he would be free?

He stayed in the shadows, his eyes scanning everything around him. As a scout for the Roman army, Flavious learned to always stay alert for any signs of danger. The moon was full, bathing the whole interior in its light. The seats, once filled with spectators were now empty. He saw the platform and the upright posts where, just hours ago, he was bound and whipped. Yes, there seemed to be no danger, but something deep in his gut told him different.

Nonetheless, he had no choice but to test his luck. He emerged from the shadows and out into the moonlight, his eyes darting everywhere like a deer moving tentatively through an open meadow for some grass. He began to jog slowly, then sprinted. As he got to the entrance, he could see the open space beyond, then the forest and mountains in the distance.

He was almost free!

He passed two large columns, then suddenly, felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. As he fell to his knees, four husky female guards emerged from behind the columns and wrestled his body to the ground. Flavious fought back, unwilling to accept defeat, until Queen Marpesia struck him again with her staff. This time, it landed right between the legs. Flavious screamed and covered his balls with both hands to protect them from another blow. The pain was excruciating and it spread outward from his groin area, crippling him. His vision doubled and the world spun sickeningly. His escape attempt had failed, and he was once again at the mercy of the Themiscyreans.

“You are a fool, Roman,” she looked down at him and smiled ruefully. “Did you think you could roam our corridors at will without being seen? And just how far through the forest did you expect to get without any clothes?”

Flavious writhed helplessly in the dirt, his face a mask of shear agony. He couldn’t even speak, much less formulate any words.

“Bind him,” the queen ordered.

The guards rolled him over on his stomach and pulled his arms and legs apart. A five foot steel pole with shackles on the ends was locked around his wrists. An identical pole was then shackled to his feet. Just as he regained his senses, the queen motioned the guards to raise him, and the four women lifted the poles to their shoulders so that Flavious was suspended face down between them, his limbs stretched and the front of his body hanging down low at the center.

He swayed from side to side, his pitiful groans filling the empty arena, as the guards followed their queen back inside, down a long corridor to a large room. In the center of the room, four chains hung down from the high ceiling, each with a pulley and wheel assembly.  Without setting him down, they fastened his shackles to the chains and removed the poles, so that he was suspended in the same position, only now from the chains. All four wheels were then turned. The large room echoed with the clinking sounds of the chains coiling against themselves in the reels. Flavious felt a slow steady pull on his arms and legs as he was raised about six feet, his body parallel to the floor and bent downward in a back-breaking arch.

Queen Marpesia stepped closer and inspected the chains. Satisfied that everything was secure, she motioned the guards to leave. Now they were alone, and he noticed the anger in the queen’s face soften a little. She ran her hand along his outer thigh, then Flavious winced as she grabbed his sore balls underneath and kneaded them gently with her fingers.

“After weeks of training, it is regrettable to see such fine male flesh go to waste,” she seemed to be speaking to no one, but Flavious listened quietly, for the Themiscyreans still did not know he could understand their language. Curling her fingers around his cock, she stroked it lightly until it grew stiff again and throbbed in her hand.

“And such a strong muscle too,” she shook her head, “very regrettable.”

Her moment of intimacy with the slave did not last long, for another woman suddenly entered the room. She appeared to be an advisor, or held a position of similar importance.

“My Queen . . .”

“What is it?” she answered without taking her eyes off his cock.

“The guard is dead, but I am pleased to report that Madam Pentesilia recovers.”

“Pleased?” the queen scoffed. “That woman should have had more sense than to let herself be deceived and overpowered so easily. Death would have been kinder, for she will have to be punished severely, and only I can decide how that punishment will be administered.”

“And the slave?” her advisor asked.

At first, Queen Marpesia said nothing. She was still teasing the Roman’s cock, running her fingers expertly over the now rigid body using varying pressure and techniques -- at times, with the tips of her long sharp nails, and at others, grasping it tighter in her hand. She seemed too distracted at the moment to even contemplate her advisor’s query, or she was simply avoiding the obvious answer. Finally, as if waking from a trance, she released him and turned to face the other woman.

“He attacked his trainer, then killed a guard. The law states that he must immediately be put to death.”

“And how will the sentence be carried out? Will it be a public execution?” The tone of the advisor’s voice revealed a hint of excitement that annoyed the queen somewhat. Executions were a popular spectacle among the Themiscyreans, almost as much as the arena games or the auction, but the queen was thinking only of her disappointment with the second decision she had to make -- first, she was losing her best trainer, and now, this magnificent-looking slave.

“Of course it will be a public execution,” the queen answered shortly. “I want everyone to witness this, including all the slaves . . . especially them, for he must be made an example of. But first, I will give him to Madam Skyilla.”

“Skyilla? That butcher? There will not be much left of him to look at when she is finished . . . and the crowd will not be pleased.”

“Damn the crowd! This Roman will not go to the grave knowing he made a mockery of us. When he is brought into the arena again, every ounce of pride and vanity will been drained from his broken body. Madam Skyilla will see to that, then your mob will have its execution.”

“Will he be gelded?”

"That is up the Madam to decide."

Flavious groaned out loud when he heard this, but the two women took little notice of it, thinking it was only the pain of his suspension that drew the outburst.

“My Queen . . .” the advisor paused a moment to change the subject. “We have received further reports on the Roman army advancing toward us. Our scouts estimate they will reach our valley in ten days.”

“That is unfortunate. As poor a race as the Romans my be, they are still much larger in number than any army we could raise.”

"We can fight them in the canyons where we have the advantage.”

“They’ll only send in more legions. Our only hope is to leave this village before they arrive, back across the sea from where we came. I fear there is no longer a future here for our people among these barbarians. Give the order for everyone to start building boats, and remember, time is crucial, so we must work day and night.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Marpesia’s eyes then turned back to Flavious, who was now pretending to be unconscious, but still listening to every word.

“Perhaps we will leave this one as a parting gift for the Romans when they arrive, though I doubt they will want to keep him after Skyilla is finished.”

(continued)

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website.

You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, BDSM, Caning, C/B Torture)

Part VII

For hours, Flavious hung naked and alone in the dark with his body stretched between the four chains, and his head bent downward toward the floor. The sharp, burning pain in his balls from Queen Marpesia’s stick had finally settled into a dull ache, but now he was forced to endure more anxieties as the weight of his own body bore down on his limbs and back. Every muscle screamed in protest while the tightness of the restraints made his hands and feet numb. He wondered if he could possibly endure anything else before death granted him a final mercy from this nightmare.

There was still one small chance for freedom left, when he overheard the Themiscyreans say that the Roman army was marching toward their village. But they were still days away. Could he possibly last that long?  And if so, would life even be worth living after being tortured and castrated?

Finally, he heard the lock slide and the door to his cell swing open. With tears of hope, he listlessly raised his head to see who it was, but didn't recognize the woman standing in the doorway. She met his gaze with an inscrutable expression, watching him blink at her with dull curiosity. For a long moment she made no reaction at all, then broke eye contact and began dispassionately inspecting his body. Her face was so pale, it looked like she had never seen the light of day. Her hair was cut short and jet-black in color. Her eyes were large and dark as coals.

Stranger still, was her style of dress – shiny black leather stretched tight and covering most of her body up to the neck, with a wide tear-drop opening low in front, exposing her milky-white cleavage. Her hands were covered with black leather gloves, her feet clad in high, thick-soled lace boots that made her legs appear even longer.

Flavious looked directly into her dark eyes and whispered hoarsely "Water please, I beg you!"

The woman cocked her head and stared at him with hint of amusement, then gave him a cup-full of water from a barrel nearby. With a motion of her gloved hand, the two guards immediately lowered him to the floor where he was unceremoniously stripped of the chains from his wrists and ankles. Too drained, both physically and mentally, to put up any struggle, he allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and forced out into the corridor.

He was taken down a long, narrow flight of steps, dimly lit with torches, then through a maze of passages. One of these passages opened up into a room. In the center of the room, Flavious saw a naked woman hanging from two chains over a fire ring, smoldering with red-hot coals. Angry welts from a whip covered her flesh.

Madam Skyilla ordered the guards to halt, and while she pulled the keys out of her belt to unlock a door, he watched with interest, the woman struggling with her chains. Her wrists were shackled to one, and her feet to the other, so that the rest of her body was draped between them like a hammock with her ass closest to the burning embers. The intense heat turned her flesh on both cheeks a bright crimson.

A type of black leather mask encased her entire head. There were no openings for her eyes or ears, just a few pinholes over the mouth for breathing. Her long, fiery red hair was drawn out of a large opening at the top of the mask and cinched into a ponytail. When Flavious saw the color of her hair and the wisp red curls between her legs, he realized the identity of this woman could be no other than Madam Pentesilia!

For weeks she had been his tormentor and nemesis, but now, she was undoubtedly paying the price for allowing him to escape. Surprising still, was his own reaction to seeing his Madam’s demise – on one hand, he felt justified in seeing her suffer, and on the other, profound sympathy for the same reason.

A soft, gravelly moan echoed in the mask as she tried to herself up on the chains with her arms, then roll her body to one side to avoid the fire ring. Sweat rolled off her and spat on the bed of hot coals below. Another woman suddenly appeared, brandishing a whip. She took a position behind the former Madam, then raised her arm and with a sharp CRACK struck the back of one leg, leaving a bloody gash on the smooth muscle between her knee and upper thigh. Pentesilia moaned and let herself go limp again, dropping her ass once more into the heat of the burning coals.

“Do not shed a tear for that one,” Skyilla spoke to him in Roman. “The fate you suffer will be far worse than hers!”

The guards shoved him, stumbling through the annular passageway to a small, dank room. Like the rest of the complex, it was dark and decrepit. Squatting in the middle, under dimly lit torches, a massive, foreboding rack awaited him -- an ancient abomination of torture realized in stone, wood and iron. By use of a hand wheel bolted to a vertical screw, its height could be adjusted to apply relentless tension. Four large, metal eyelets were affixed to its front. Dried, darkened bloodstains – a mute testimony to the anguish of past victims -- dotted its heavy beams.

Flavious was led to it, turned, and pulled spread-eagle as each of his limbs were tightly bound to the iron loops. Then, the rusty, grinding sounds that he recognized all too well sounded off as the rack was slowly raised, his arms and legs pulled taut. The strain quickly made his hands numb again and he tried to maintain the circulation by opening and closing them.

A young servant girl entered next, lugging a large pail of cloudy, brackish water. She stopped before Flavious and heaved the entire bucket into his face and body. As he coughed and gagged, the girl took a sponge and began wiping him down. With obvious relish she moved the sponge between his legs as the others stood by, leering, yet, perhaps fearing punishment by her Madam who was also watching, she went no further.

After the girl completed her task, Skyilla approached. Flavious managed to glare at her, but given his utter helplessness and vulnerability, she merely found this amusing.

"So this is what a Roman looks like," she announced with a laugh, speaking his language so he could understand. She ran her hand along his smooth chest, then down to his genitals, which were just as smooth and hairless as the rest of his body.

“Shave them and they hardly seem the brutes we have heard so many stories about,” she said contemptuously.

The Madam stared at him, as if waiting for some reply, but Flavious held his tongue, and his expression did not change.

My whip," she ordered, and the servant girl dutifully stepped forward, the heavy weight of a whip dropping to the floor as she handed it to her.

The Roman’s hands felt leaden; there was no more feeling left in them. His entire body was a throbbing mass of pain from being stretched. He tried to take a gamely measure of his opponent, but he did not find much comfort in that. He knew he was going to be whipped, like so many times before, yet this time it would not be for discipline or for entertainment in the arena.

And the woman holding the whip? Her eyes were black, round and lifeless, like a shark’s eyes. He saw no mercy in them.

For the first time, he was truly afraid; even worse, he felt his hopes for freedom slowly slip away. Only the river of death could take him away from this place now, and even that would not come easily. Closing his eyes, he moaned in hopeless despair, and waited.

What happened next was pure hell. Just as he anticipated, there was no deliberation as to the force or placement of the lashes; no concern with preserving his flesh. The greased leather tails cracked again and again against his stretched and vulnerable body.

Where the tethers stuck, it felt as though he was being impaled with a knife or spear. The time between each stroke seemed interminable, yet the next blow always came too soon. He refused to scream, but in his extremis he bit his tongue, and soon he could taste his own blood as it filled his mouth.

Despite every effort, it became impossible for him to think of anything except the next blow, and of the searing pain where his flesh was being flayed open. Between lashes, with an inner voice, he began to beseech his gods in terrified and broken fragments.

(“No more . . . no more . . . no more . . . please let this end . . . let me die . . . have mercy . . . kill me now!”)

The Madam grew increasingly frustrated with his silence, and began to whip him harder and faster, but Flavious held his tongue. When the whip struck him between the legs, he writhed spasmodically against the restraints, his face twisted and grotesquely contorted in a mask of agonizing pain as each crack landed within 18mm of his bared genitals.

Yet he still did not cry out.

At last, the Skyilla could no longer restrain herself. Her white chest heaving under the black leather, she rolled the whip and struck him with it. The whip landed across his left cheek and his head reeled back, then flopped down to his chest. She lifted up his head to stare into his unconscious face, but he did not stir. Blood and spit rimmed his cracked lips and ran down from the corners of his mouth. She was impressed by the fact that he had neither screamed nor cried out. She could recall no previous victim of her torture who stayed completely silent throughout the brutal experience. Lips pursed, with a dismissive gesture she yanked his head down roughly and relinquished her grasp.

Flavious hung limply as a guard finally lowered the rack. His whole body was marked, his tanned flesh alive with rivers of sweat. Only his cock and balls had been unharmed, but not out of pity for him or any female sentiment. For that part of his body, the Madam had more insidious methods of torture in mind.

And more importantly, she had time. Time to break his silent defiance, crush his loathsome spirit. When she was through with him, there would be nothing but a look of sheer terror in his eyes, and the Madam’s perverse desire to see that fear was worth keeping him alive -- for a while.

Flavious was dragged into another room where two servant girls stood waiting next to a large hardwood table with open steel shackles mounted into the four corners. Both servants were dressed identically -- a simple white silk robe, hanging loose around the body. After the guards forced him onto the table, the they immediately took over, stretching his body taut until he was lying spread-eagled on the wooden surface before locking the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Then they rubbed his body down with oils to sooth the wounds from his whipping.

When they were finished, Madam Skyilla told everyone to leave, and took one last look at Flavious before closing the door behind her. For a very long period of time, he was by himself, alone with his pain. He looked around at the disgusting surroundings. From cracks in the walls water leached down the broken, vertical surfaces. Moss and mildew grew in the corners, and here and there climbed toward the ceiling. There was a steady drip, drip of water. Insects crawled secretly along the musty surfaces. He heard the distant shouts and activities of the soldiers, no doubt preparing themselves for the advancing Roman army. The wind blew through the adjoining passageway, making a low moaning sound. Looking to his right, he saw an array of whips and other tools for torture. One instrument he recognized well from his father’s staples back in Rome – a cutting tool used for gelding horses.

He tried to think of something, anything other than where he was and what horrors awaited him, but he could not blot out the bleak surroundings and his wretched situation. Even his training in the hands of Madam Pentesilia had not been as bad as this. He regretted hitting her and killing the guard. He even cursed himself for even thinking of escape. How could he have been such a fool! His cohorts were only days away from reaching the village. All he needed to do was wait, to submit until they arrived. If only he had known sooner about the advancing army!

Now he felt alone and abandoned. His thoughts turned again to Pentesilia. Was she still chained over the fire? Her body draped and her pretty ass smoldering near the burning coals? He loathed the Madam, and at the same time, cherished the intimate moments they had together. She was truly the most beautiful and exotic woman he ever had, and he had bedded down with many women in his young life. Now her beauty would be scarred forever – that is assuming she was still alive.

He gazed down at his own body and frowned. The oil the servants treated him with offered some relief, but the marks were everywhere – except the attributes he valued the most. They had not been touched, but that was soon to change.

He turned his head to the sound of approaching footsteps. The two servant girls filed into the room, followed by a guard, and finally, Madam Skyilla. As Flavius lay there with his legs splayed out before them, the servants immediately went to work in bringing him erect by massaging and caressing his helpless, naked body, cynically kissing the areas the Madam had assaulted with her whip, and taunting him with wicked contrived innocence. Predictably, their hands wandered inward between his legs, and they took turns massaging him, their well-oiled hands moving effortlessly around the smooth glabrous flesh of his freshly-shaven genitals. The two women prattled over the size of his stiff member, yet Flavious could take no pleasure from their talk or the ecstasies overcoming him as he nervously observed Madam Skyilla approaching the table. In her hand, she was holding a springy switch.  

She took her position between his legs at the end of the table. The servant girls quietly stood aside. Holding the switch up, she allowed him to get a good long look at the cruel weapon she was brandishing before bringing down hard on his balls. Flavious shrieked and jerked helplessly at his restraints. Looking up to her face, he saw in her cruel smile the triumph in finally eliciting the reaction she desired.

He was struck again and again with the switch until his cock became limp once more. It was impossible to withstand such abuse and hold an erection, but the Madam was well-prepared for this and summoned one of the servants to bring her a small glass flask containing a clear liquid.

Holding out her hands, which were still covered with black leather gloves, the servant poured the contents into her palms. She then rubbed the greasy oil on his genitals, and

Flavious immediately felt a tingle against him as the strange liquid began to work its way into the skin, awakening every nerve until he became so aroused he could barely stand it. His cock seemed to grow even larger than normal -- the shaft long and veiny, the bulbous head, dark purple in color. He was aware of low feminine chuckles, as the servants were obviously taking great delight in witnessing his discomfort. Now it was impossible for his rock-hard prick to hide by shriveling, should she want to strike him with the switch again.

He pulled helplessly against the restraints as one of the servants took a thin piece of jute twine and wrapped it tightly around the base of his testicles several times before tying it into a cinch. Then she reached high to a metal eyelet above and thread the other end of the twine through it. As she did this, the sleeves of her robe slid down to her shoulders, baring her smooth, delicate arms to him. The sight of her naked arms, and how the torch behind her cast a silhouette of her pointed breasts under the thin garment, made Flavious forget momentarily his fate.

But that moment fleeted by quickly when he felt something being pulled over his head. Everything went black, the vision of the beautiful, young girl gone. The mask was made of shiny black leather and it covered his entire head with just a few pinholes over the nose for breathing and openings for the eyes. Through the holes, he could see the servant girl tying the rope to a wheel that had been clamped onto the edge of the table between his feet.

When the order was given to turn the crank, the rope immediately tightened around his balls, then pulled against them, lifting him upward until he could no longer feel the table underneath his buttocks. Hollow, muffled screams filled his mask. The pain was like nothing he ever experienced before. He was literally hanging by his own testicles! As the wheel continued to turn, the leather restraints began to pull against his wrists and ankles, stretching the testicles even more while forcing spread-eagled body into an arch.

The other servant stood by with a wooden bucket (the same one used to splash water on him earlier), and gently shoved it upside down underneath his ass to keep his own weight from ripping his balls off as the rope kept stretching them. Finally, the order was given to stop turning the wheel.

Trussed up as they were, his testicles bulged alarmingly against the smooth skin around them, creating even more possibilities for Madam Skyilla, who by now, had demonstrated no limits to the barbarities she was willing to inflict on him.

She inspected the rig, then gently stroked his throbbing cock, slowly and methodically, inciting more groans from Flavious behind his mask, followed by the twisting of his limbs against the restraints which only caused the course rope to burrow even deeper into his flesh. Going in for the kill, the Madam rubbed the palm of her leather-clad hand back a forth over the head of his cock, and he cried out again. Despite the pain, he felt a surge of arousal, but his balls were trussed up so tight that he could not release it, so his cock merely bobbed uselessly against her hand.

Taking the switch again, she touched his balls with it, stroking the bulging sack, then stuck him hard several times. Flavious screamed again. There was no hope of escape left in him now, no thoughts of his Roman army coming to free him. All that was left was a prayer for the boatman (death) to come and take him away from this miserable existence.

She finally turned her attention away from his balls, only to bring the switch down hard on his vulnerable and very tender (but still very stiff) cock. She struck the underside, on the head, and not just once, but again and again. More muffled shrieks came from him, but they made no difference, for there was no mercy in this woman. When the effects of the oil finally wore off and his cock began to shrivel from the abuse, the Madam only had to apply more of the oil to get him stiff again. After several more beatings, she finally put the switch down and moved to another part of the room, and out of his line of sight.

Flavious lay there wheezing through the leather mask. It felt like his head was broiling in a furnace, his temples throbbing. He looked at the wall again where the torture devices all hung in a garish display, and saw one the servant girls polishing the ‘gelding’ tool -- two arms made of iron, hinged together on one end and closed by a screw nut, forming an oval ring, accompanied by the serrated teeth of two longer arms; the penis kept out of harm's way by its insertion through that oval, while the teeth sliced away the skin between the scrotum and the body.

He remembered the old man in Mycinia – the one who had managed to escape this village. He remembered seeing his scarred, empty sack. Was this to be his fate?

When Madam Skyilla appeared before him again, she was holding a long, narrow tube with a small funnel on one end.  What happened next, was much worse than Flavious could ever imagine. She lubricated the tube, then inserted the end into the tiny slit at the tip of his cock. The pain was unbearable.  He screamed loudly, his body jerked pitifully against his restraints as she continued to force the tube into his cock. Then she held the other end up and poured some clear fluid from a tiny flask into the funnel. Flavious watched in agony through the holes of his mask, his eyes as wide as circles, and black with fear, as the fluid slowly made its way downward through the clear tubing, until it passed into him. The first reaction was a cool, wet sensation, then the heat quickly began to build until his whole cock felt like it was on fire and thousands of needles were attacking him inside and out. The Roman screamed again, his body screamed, his every inner physical thought screamed as he did, oblivious to the sound he was making. Then just as the pain began to fade, the Madam poured more of fluid into the tube.  What he felt next was more than he could handle, and by the mercy of the gods, his mind finally drifted into darkness.

---------------

Days later, when the Roman army entered the village, they found it completely deserted. The only living soul remaining there was the young scout that had been missing after their first battle with the Themiscyreans. His battered body was staked to the ground, and yes, he had been castrated, the opening in his empty ball sack neatly sewn shut, but he was still alive.

They searched the coastline and found evidence that many boats had been assembled and launched, and since the Romans had no boats themselves, there was nothing more they could do but declare victory and go home.

“Not since the capture of Queen Cleopatra in Egypt has a war been won without so much as unsheathing a sword,” the general bragged.

But when the other soldiers saw Flavious, many were thankful they didn’t have to engage these women in combat. In the years that followed, The Great Roman Empire would continue to expand in all directions, but to this day, no trace of the Themiscyreans has ever been found.

And what became of our hero? Due to his deformities, he was never able to serve in the Roman army again, but it pleases me to tell you that he lived a long, fruitful life, and never forgot that his surviving that horrible nightmare among these Amazon she-devils had truly been a blessing from the gods.

---------------

“That is the end of the story, sir, and I can see by your reaction that you were both intrigued and entertained -- well worth the payment we had agreed on, I am sure.

“Is it true, you ask?

“Perhaps, or perhaps not. I am merely the narrator of this tale and have no such evidence to support or refute it, so I will let you be the judge.

“Oh my! The day is getting late, and I have a very long journey ahead of me, so I will grab my canes and bid you farewell . . . but first, I implore you sir one last time, a few more coppers for my tin, if you please?”

End