A military commander volunteers to become a slave to save a village.
Marius placed the last goblet on his silver tray in front of the guest sitting next to Clelia, the wife of the commander of the military base. Marius was totally naked. He didn’t even have adornments like those of his companion female servers. Tonight this one displayed jewels hanging from her nipples and at the end of a chain around her hips. It rested between her legs just below her mound. Marius didn’t know her name. He had disciplined himself not to become acquainted with female slaves, ever since, in the first few weeks he was here, on two occasions young men from the village had been severely whipped in front of him, as punishment for his having allowed himself an erection without permission. Reliving that torture was enough to ward off any arousal.
He was allowed to relieve himself sexually in the privacy of his cell. But “privacy” was not an accurate de***********ion. The braziers in the hallway were never all extinguished, and the guards appeared outside the barred wall randomly to watch him. He hadn’t had an orgasm in many weeks.
The village that was home to the young men was the reason Marius was a naked slave in the household of the barbarian commander. He had volunteered when the company he commanded had been defeated while trying to defend an outlying village. The Scots commander had offered the deal. Give him a strong, handsome, important man to be his slave and the village would be saved. Marius offered himself. During those two years stoicism had been his refuge. He could only hope that someday the Scots would be defeated and he could go home. But best not to spend too much of himself on hope.
It was not a hard life. They treated him like a pet. If he allowed it, he would have felt humiliation, but insofar as he allowed himself feelings, what he felt for his captors was mostly contempt for their decadent way of living.
Clelia spoke to her neighbor. “Look at him. Isn’t he marvelous? We view these slaves as art. They are imbued with esthetic perfection. They spend hours each day in physical training. And watch this.” She motioned Marius to approach. She ran her fingers over the articulated muscles of his torso and thighs and then lightly stroked his sex, both the shaft and the testicles. Marius slowed his breathing and cleared his mind to allow his body to do its work. And, indeed, his shaft rose to attention. Clelia preened. “That slave girl over there can’t make this happen.” The neighbor leaned over to stroke the erection appreciatively. “Alright, Marius. Take it down,” said Clelia.
Marius went over to a shallow basin filled with water from a melting block of ice, brought down from the mountains. He filled a small pitcher and poured it on himself, “taking it down.” Then he resumed his position behind the commander’s chair.
From this position he couldn’t help but watch the scene a few steps down from the dais. At that level the rest of the assembly banqueted at round tables and watched as a prisoner of war was humiliated and tortured for their entertainment. This man was tied intricately and was being whipped with great skill, the whip reaching his exposed skin unerringly. This happened once or twice a week, and Marius was puzzled by his own reaction. He didn’t identify with the torturers, expressing rage at his situation, as one would expect. Instead he felt a warmth come over him at the idea of being tied and humiliated and tortured. Perhaps he was hoping to be killed? No. He had no wish to die, even though his days were unbearably tedious. But every time one of these scenes was presented he became more and more fascinated.
“Marius, come here.” It was the commander. “Do you realize that today is your anniversary? You’ve been with us two years! And we’re very pleased with you!” He let the back of his hand drift down Marius’ midriff and over his genitals. Then patted his muscular buttock. “Is there anything you’d like as an anniversary present?” The commander took on a self satisfied air, like a family friend offering a choice of toys to a young child.
Marius didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’d like to go down there.” He gestured with his head at the scene below.
“Oh? You’d like to wield the whip? What if the man or woman is your compatriot?”
“No. I want to be the victim.”
The commander looked at his wife with lifted eyebrows. Surprised and amused.
“Well…. That’s easily enough accomplished. If you’re sure?”
“But we won’t allow permanent damage! I suppose some whip marks might make you more interesting. But nothing beyond that! Alright, go ahead.” The commander gestured to an officer standing along the wall and explained the situation. Marius walked down to the central stage and waited at the side. He felt no fear. Just anticipation.
When the current victim had been removed, Marius was guided to the center of the low stage. His wrists were encased in sheepskin lined manacles and his arms raised above and to the side. Then he was instructed to spread his legs so that his ankles could also be encased in manacles. Marius understood that the lining was so there would be no distraction from the pain of the whip.
For the first time in many months he felt truly naked and displayed. Humiliation flooded him. It was as if he could feel the blood flow throughout his body and rush to his genitals. They swelled and stiffened, and the audience cheered.
A soldier uncoiled a single-tail whip. Marius’ heart beat faster. He craved the pain and degradation. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes and awaited the blow. It was perfect. The whip landed directly in the cleft between his buttocks and was dragged down until the tip scraped his scrotum with delicious pain.
What would be next? His penis throbbed. He opened his eyes and watched the soldier examine his possibilities. Watched him exchange his single thong whip for a short one of many short thongs. Marius caught his eye and nodded, submitting to the blow on the inside of his spread thigh. And then to a second on the other thigh. Blood pounded in his erection.
The soldier went behind him and whipped each buttock with the multi-thonged whip. Yes! Yes! welled up in Marius’ consciousness. Then the soldier whipped his back and chest and abdomen. When would he get to his shaft??
Finally the soldier lashed him twice across his cock, once from each side, and left Marius savoring the hot pain over all of his body.
As the pain subsided, Marius was glad to see, off to his right, 3 hefty infantrymen throwing dice of to the side. He was glad because he knew what this meant. He had seen victims assaulted not only by leather phalluses, but also by men. Marius sought abasement. To be impaled by a man instead of a tool meant that it would be total. When the winner approached him, gloating at this opportunity, Marius’ sense of abasement was like a sword in the base of him, his abdominal muscles flexed in a way that shifted his erection, and his breathing became more rapid and shallow. The soldier saw this and slapped Marius’ cock contemptuously. He went behind Marius and when he saw the strong tanned fingers dig into him around his hips and felt tip of the soldier’s cock pressed between his buttocks and pushed against his anus, Marius whole body collapsed against the chains in shame, hot, erotic shame. Welcome shame. His cock swelled even further. The soldier pushed in quickly and painfully. When he drew in and out it was as if he were pumping blood into Marius’ erection. Finally, Marius cried aloud, not with pain, but with release, as semen shot out toward the audience over and over and over.
He gripped the chains attached to his wrists to let himself hang, physically and mentally drained.
Finally his ankles were released, and when he gained his footing his wrists were released. Someone approached from behind. It was the commander. “Here, Marius,” he said while gesturing to a servant holding some clothing. “You’re not really of use to me and Clelia anymore. You can get dressed and go home. We’ll leave the village alone.”
Marius didn’t acknowledge him except to take the loin cloth and pass it between his legs and tie it at his waist. He then slipped the short tunic over his head, fastened the belt, and walked out of the building.