Nova Baiae Rhodri's Story Chapter Ten The Slave-pens of Volpiscus "New Friends"
This is a story of erotic fiction restricted to adults over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe and posted December, 2019 Visit my blog, "Slaves through the Ages" at slvtoby2011.blogspot.com
"The characters and ideas contained in this story are products of the writer's imagination and bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add another's artwork or pictures"
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Chapter 10:
Despite the brevity of the time we've spent together, I am nevertheless very happy to be re-united with Cleon in one of the special viewing-pens of Volpiscus' slave-market. These small pens back onto high, stone, fortress-like walls surrounding the four sides of a large courtyard which also serves as the selling area on auction days. The thick, iron bars at the front of these pens are open to the elements and allow the casual observer to wander around the yard and to peruse the hapless occupants imprisoned within each cell. Stout wooden gates open onto the street beyond the walls and although closed and securely bolted, I can hear people passing by and listen to the trundling of carts and drays rattling over the cobblestoned streets. The sights and sounds drifting in from the street are those of freedom while the pens represent captivity and slavery.
As the overseers roughly thrust me into the pen, Cleon looks up from where he'd been sitting dejectedly on the straw covered floor. He recognizes me and a welcoming smile banishes the worried look from his face. Obviously, he is as happy to see me as I am to be re-united with him. Somehow, we draw comfort from each other; Cleon scrambles to his feet and warmly embraces me, drawing my body into close contact with his own. He wraps me in his strong arms and gathers me to his chest and I feel the strong, rhythmic beating of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his powerful chest. His hard body gives me a sense of security and I snuggle closer to him. We stand wrapped in one another's embrace drawing strength from each other.
Cleon is a very handsome man with a strong, muscular frame made so by his work as a construction worker but I recall his mention of a girl-friend to Volpiscus and I conclude from that he doesn't share my preference for male on male sex. I am sexually attracted to Cleon but I try not to show my carnal interest in him lest I lose his new friendship.
With my head resting on his shoulder, I can feel the pumping of the blood coursing through the artery in his neck and I smell the manly scent of his nakedness. The silky hair of the thatch that covers his chest rubs against my own chest hair and tickles my skin. To my horror I feel my cock beginning to erect. I will it to stop but as always, in such situations, it takes on a life of its own and defies me. I am mortified; what will Cleon think of me.
I feel Cleon's hand slide between our bellies where it seeks out my swelling penis. He smiles enigmatically and mischievously guides my hand until it comes into contact with his own burgeoning erection. His action surprises me but nevertheless, I am delighted. He takes my cock in one hand and begins to stroke it into a hard, pulsating erection. And he encourages me to do likewise by placing his cock in my hand.
Then, his hands move behind my body and taking an ass-cheek into each hand he pulls me closer to him. I wince as his hand inadvertently comes into brief contact with my new brand. However, the pleasure I feel far outweighs the discomfort of my raw wound.
The stubble on his chin rasps my face and as our chests and bellies touch, our groins grind together and our cocks cross swords. Momentarily, I am oblivious to our surroundings and the trauma of what has befallen me recedes from my mind. I am lost in the wonder and feel of Cleon's magnificent body. Yet, I am puzzled; by his own admission he has a girl-friend.
Almost as though he is reading my mind Cleon tells me.
"I swing both ways!" Cleon smiles at my surprised reaction. "But I have a preference for hot, male bodies and I'd choose a tight, male ass over female pussy any day. That's why I took quite a shine to you as soon as you were placed in the cell last night. So much so that I lay at your side where I could watch you as you slept. I hope you don't mind me perving on you?"
I blush at his words but I'm neither embarrassed nor offended by his obvious interest in me. In fact, his inference that I have a hot body and a tight ass both thrills and delights me. I work hard to keep my body in shape and I am vainly proud of my physique and well-defined musculature. Both are a source of much erotic satisfaction to me and Cleon isn't the first to notice them. Therefore, I am flattered by his comments and snuggle closer into his body to show my reciprocation.
"By the way," Cleon asks, "what name did the slave-merchant give you? I guess we must use our new names rather than the ones our parents gave us."
"Chrysos!" I reply. "Volpiscus named me Chrysos."
"And I am Cleon."
Our conversation is interrupted as two overseers bring another newly processed slave to join those in the pen adjacent to us. The sight of us wrapped in a tight embrace angers them. The door to our cell is thrown open and both overseers enter and use their whips to part us.
"No touching one another!" One of the overseer shouts angrily as we are whipped to the floor. "Slaves are forbidden to touch another slave's body. Your mouths and asses are out of bounds and must be kept inviolate for your new masters."
As Cleon and I crawl apart like whipped dogs, the overseers are finally satisfied that we have learned our lessons and leave the cell.
I see the angry red stripes appearing on Cleon's back and ass and I feel outrage at what was done to him. Then, my own pain reminds me that I too carry these same whip marks. I look to Cleon and I see the downcast look on his face. Our brief moment of forbidden pleasure brought with it the pain of punishment and the realization that we no longer have control of our bodies. From now on we are slaves subject to the whims and needs of our superiors. We crawl to the rear of the pen and sit with our welted backs to the wall and with enough distance between us to satisfy the overseers' instructions.
We sit in silence for several minutes; each lost in his thoughts. For my part my thoughts are centered on what is to happen to us. I'd seen enough slaves upon my arrival to know what type of fate awaits me. Whatever I become, be it an oar-slave on a tourist galley, a draft animal condemned to pull a heavily laden cart or shackled to a master's litter, I know my life will be horrendous. But all these are preferable to the prospect of becoming one of Casca's pet dog-slaves. As I think on this, I remember Casca's comments of last evening as to the criteria he'll be using to choose his new "pet". I recall that both Cleon and I meet those requirements and I wonder if that is the reason, we have been placed in a pen separate from the other slaves. Casca had said he'd visit the slave-pens to peruse the new slaves with a view to choosing a pup as an addition to his kennels.
"What's on your mind, Chrysos?" Cleon asks.
I turn to face him and I see the same uncertainty that torments me written on his handsome face.
"I was thinking of what is in store for us, Cleon." I answer apprehensively.
"Me too, Chrysos! I wonder what type of slavery awaits us. I'm sure none of it bodes us well?"
Then, he adds despairingly.
"I wish I was home! I wish I hadn't been drunk and ventured into the part of town where the slavers grabbed me before bringing me to this fucking hole."
"Is that how you were enslaved, Cleon?"
"Yes!" Cleon answers bitterly. "Some friends and I were out celebrating a birthday. We all got pretty pissed and somehow, we wandered into a seedy part of town looking for cheap booze. I don't remember how but I became separated from them and next thing I knew I'd been 'recruited' by the slavers. And I ended up here. And you? How did you become a slave?"
"I came over as a tourist on the same boat that brought you here. In fact, I watched as you and the others were unloaded and driven away from the wharf. I was befriended by a local; he seemed genuine and I went along with his suggestions. Of course, I now know he had other plans for me. Last night, I was betrayed, drugged and brought here as another new slave to be sold on Saturday.
"Is that when we are to be sold, Chrysos?"
"From what I heard last night at the tavern we are to be sold at auction on Saturday. But before then, we are to be put on public display so that prospective buyers can inspect us."
"Just like fucking animals!"
I recall the Romans saw their slaves as "talking tools" which suggests they regarded slaves as devoid of any humanity. Therefore, I have no doubts that the modern-day Romans of Nova Baiae wouldn't regard their slaves any differently to their ancient counterparts.
"Exactly, Cleon! That's what we have become."
I could tell Cleon about Casca and his desire for a new "pet" but I decide not to add to his worries. It's best if he is unsuspecting should Casca arrive and continue with his quest for a third dog-slave. Why needlessly add to Cleon's torment?
Our conversation lapses as we silently contemplate the appalling futures that await us. From time to time, another slave is dragged into the yard and locked in a pen. A pattern soon emerges; as Volpiscus finishes with his interrogation, the renamed slave is dragged into the yard and locked in a viewing-pen. I notice no pen holds more than five slaves and it will become apparent later that this is done for ease of handling as we are inspected by the buyers. For now, Cleon and I remain the only occupants of our pen.
Later, this does alter as a young slave - probably no older that eighteen - is placed in our pen. The terrified lad looks around desperately seeking escape. Through his distraught tears, he calls for his parents to come and rescue him and take him home. Cleon and I calm him - well as much as is possible under the circumstances - by inviting him to sit with us and engaging him in conversation to take his mind off of his fears.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Jake! My name is Jake Williams." He replies.
"What name did the slave-trader give you?" I persist.
He hesitates for a moment before replying.
"Tel.... Tel... e... markus, I think."
"That would be Telemachus." I correct him. "It's spelt T-e-l-e-m-a-c-h-u-s! It's best you remember it and answer to it otherwise you'll be punished. I'm Chrysos by the way. And this is Cleon!"
Telemachus lapses into silence and I can tell by the working of his face muscles that his mind is in turmoil. I feel sorry for the lad; it seems cruel that he is to begin life as a slave at such an early age. Fate has certainly dealt him a losing hand.
Clearly, Telemachus has much to offer as a slave. Physically, he is caught in that beguiling limbo between adolescence and maturity and he has a burgeoning physique that promises much. His developing musculature is clearly defined but, as yet, it's not overdeveloped and his youthful body lacks the bulk of a fully matured adult. However, with hard work, I have no doubt that, within months, he will possess a body that any master would pay handsomely to own.
His limbs are still dusted with the fine, silky down of adolescence while the coarser black hair of adulthood is beginning to cover his chest and belly. A delightful treasure trail bisects his abdominals and points the way down to his thick pubes which serve as an erotic resting place for his impressive cock and balls. His chin and cheeks are darkened by an unshaven stubble and his head is crowned by thick brown hair. His tear-filled, lustrous grey eyes stare wistfully from his angelic face.
Accepting my invitation to join us, Telemachus sits between us. Both Cleon and I reach out to comfort the young slave and gradually, his weeping ceases as he becomes calmer. Despite my own dire predicament, I feel sympathy for Telemachus. I question him about his background and how he became a slave.
He tells us that he is an only child - much loved and spoiled by his doting parents - and a student. As to his enslavement he remembers very little. He recalls being grabbed by two masked men in a deserted street who then forced him into the back of a van where he was stripped naked, tied up and gagged. He felt the sharp prick of a syringe being jabbed into an arm after which all is blackness. When he regained consciousness, he, together with other young men, were shackled together and loaded aboard a vessel of some type. The trip was short; of two to three hours duration and when it berthed, he and his fellow slaves were unloaded and whip-driven to this place.
Cleon and I listen in silence to Telemachus's story. Sadly, we have no words of comfort for him. For all three of us, our fates are identical and for the moment at least, they are intertwined.
Inexorably, time moves forward and the last slave to be interrogated by Volpiscus is placed in a nearby pen and we are left to our own devices; to pace aimlessly around the perimeter of our prison or to lie dispiritedly on the floor covered cobblestones. Each of us no doubt wonders what is to happen next.
To be continued . . . . . .