Nova Baiae Rhodri's Story Chapter Twelve "Telemachus"
This is a story of erotic fiction and contains male on male sexual references. It is meant to be read by adults over the age of eighteen years. If you are under the legal age of your respective jurisdiction, please leave now.
Written by Jean-Christophe: Posted February, 2020 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.
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Chapter 12:
The slave-pens of Volpiscus are hives of activity as prospective viewers come and go at will. They are, for the most part, genuine buyers who are eager to preview the livestock they will bid for at Saturday's auctions. However, I am left wondering if others are merely voyeurs impersonating real clients who have no intention of buying - possibly the prices we will fetch are beyond their means - but nevertheless, they are able to peruse the newest batch of slaves brought over from the mainland. From my studies of the Latin authors, Martial, Persius, Juvenal, Horace and others I know the slave-traders hated these lecherous fake-buyers, who dressed in borrowed rich tunics and togas to give a false impression of wealth, waste the time of the genuine buyer who is forced to wait as they inflict every possible obscenity upon the hapless slaves.
The one thing I recognize about these men, both the genuine buyer and the time-waster, is that they are all perverted individuals - sadists - who derive erotic pleasure from the sufferings of the helpless. They are promiscuous lechers who lust over naked, male flesh and salivate at the prospect of crudely invading their bodily orifices.
If I'd expected a break in my inspections after the odious Senator Maximus departed, then I am seriously mistaken. No sooner had he left than another stepped forward to take his place. And after him, another and then another.
By mid-morning, my cock is feeling chafed from the frequent stroking of it and my balls feel heavy from the constant 'weighing' and jiggling of them. Even my ass feels 'invaded' and sore after so many fingers have been inserted in it as a test of its tightness and my response to anal stimulation. Periodically, a halt is called in our inspections as the slave-handlers enter the pens to oil our cocks and to lubricate our battered assholes against the constant assaults on them. How grateful I am for this small measure of relief allowed by Volpiscus even though I know it isn't done out of consideration for our suffering. The reason it is done is more mercenary than merciful; it is done to protect his 'goods' against damage. This sets the pattern for the day and there are two more days of this to endure.
And the same is true for Cleon and Telemachus. Even though the young slave hadn't been inspected by the toad-like Maximus, he is popular never-the-less and is subjected to a number of invasive inspections. It would seem Telemachus appeals to a particular demographic of middle-aged, debauched men who roughly examine him and lewdly debate his 'charms' in the coarsest language. They leave no doubt in the trembling teenager's mind as to his future. He is destined to be a toy, a fuck-slave; a prospect that terrifies him.
Telemachus weeps profusely and cries out to his parents to come and take him home. At other times, he pleads with Volpiscus to set him free and when this is ignored, he sobbingly begs the buyers not to violate his virgin ass by finger-fucking him. All of his pleading is to no avail and he is ignored. In fact, his distress seems to amuse the buyers who openly laugh, jeer and taunt him through the bars of our pen. Despite my own dire situation, I feel great sympathy for this na‹ve and vulnerable young man who has been torn so cruelly from his previous life as a college "jock" and spirited away into the horrors of slavery. No doubt, back on the mainland, his distraught parents are wondering about his disappearance and are vainly searching for their eighteen-year-old, student son who is now lost to them forever.
I stand with the front of my body pressed up hard against the bars as my musculature is appraised. By now, after several such examinations, I am building up an indifference to having my body violated and I submit passively as the hands roam freely over my chest and belly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Telemachus is also undergoing a similar inspection.
Telemachus quietly weeps as an elderly man, who is inspecting him, orders him to,
"Kneel slave! Down on your knees and press your face to the bars. I would have you suck my cock as a test of your oral abilities."
The panic-stricken teenager cries out "Oh no!", breaks from position and retreats to a back corner of our pen where he seeks an illusory sanctuary by curling up in the foetal position.
Angrily, the buyer shouts for the intervention of the overseers who are prowling ominously back and forth along the wide passageway between the pens. Two burly overseers hurry forward and one asks.
"What's the problem, sir?"
"That slave," the angry buyer points to where Telemachus is cowering, "defied me. He refused to follow an order I gave him. I ordered him to kneel and suck my cock. Instead, he broke from position and moved away."
"Did he, by Jupiter!" The overseer thunders. "Don't worry sir, we'll soon have him back in position ready to obey you."
As he speaks, the overseer unclips a whip from his belt as the other overseer unlocks the gate allowing him to enter our pen. I have my back to the overseer and I can't see him. However, I do hear the loud crack of his whip, its sibilant hiss and the thwack of raw leather cruelly striking naked flesh as it wraps itself diagonally across my shoulders and upper back. Momentarily, as the lash sears itself across my unprotected flesh, I feel nothing. And then a sudden paroxysm of unimaginable pain explodes in my brain. From deep within me, I hear my disconnected scream of agony. Once more, with my back aflame, I hear the cracking of the whip and Involuntarily, I bunch the muscles of my back and flinch waiting for a second strike. But I am spared. Instead, I hear Cleon's scream of outraged pain as the whip cuts across his ass and the overseer's angry command to us.
"You two, stay in position and don't move a muscle unless you want more of the same!"
Cowered into obedience, we do as he commands.
The crack of the overseer's whip and our screams reverberate throughout the pens terrifying our fellow slaves and awakening the curiosity of the buyers who cease their inspections and focus their attention on events in our pen. Eagerly, they move closer to watch.
The overseer moves swiftly to where Telemachus is cowering in the corner and wastes no time in whipping him but not enough to damage him irrevocably; after all he is to be sold in three days and buyers would be reluctant to buy a slave whose flesh is whip-shredded. They would conjecture such a slave is "troublesome" and many wouldn't be interested in bidding for him. However, the majority of buyers are understanding and know a slave must be subjected to a reasonable amount of discipline in order to make him obey all lawful commands and to submit to authority. And there are those buyers who might even feel a welted back, judiciously applied by a careful overseer's whip, enhances a slave's ascetic appearance and highlights the slave's true status and vulnerability. It could be said most slave-owners possess a sadistic streak and they enjoy watching as a slave suffers.
As Telemachus cries out, the buyers talk among themselves and I hear fragments of their disjointed conversations.
"Why is the slave being whipped? What was his offence?" A buyer asks.
"I understand he refused to obey an order." A second answers.
"Then he deserves his punishment! We can't have a slave showing defiance and refusing to obey his masters."
"What was the order? Does anyone know?"
"I believe he refused to suck the cock of the buyer inspecting him." A third replies.
"WHAT!" The questioner reacts with outraged indignation." Then he should be whipped hard. These young slaves need to learn their obligations to their new masters right from the outset. The wise master begins as he intends to continue. You can't show mercy or leniency to a slave. It goes against the nature of the animal."
"Quite right!" Another buyer volunteers." Last year, I bought a young slave similar to this one who tried my patience by fighting as I attempted to fuck him for the first time. Such impertinence!"
What did you do? Did you break him?"
"Naturally, there isn't a slave alive who can best me." The speaker boasts. "I strung the slave up by the wrists and shoved an oversized leather dildo soaked in lime juice and coated with a paste of cayenne pepper and ground-up chilli up his ass and left him suspended for a few hours without food or water."
"And did it work?"
"It surely did" the buyer laughs. "The slave's ass-hole was hotter than the crater of Mons Vesuvio itself. I'm happy to say, he 'broke' and was soon screaming and begging for mercy. Now, I only have to snap my fingers and immediately he falls to his knees, presses his nose to the floor, spreads his knees and lifts up his ass ready for me to fuck him. And guess what? Now, the foolish slave loves me fucking him; he literally worships my cock. He's continually begging, 'Domine, fuck me, Domine. Please fuck your slave?' And of course, I always oblige him."
These conversations forcibly bring home to me the utter helplessness of being a slave. I had seen something of this at Soterus' tavern with how Aeolus, Ovid, Virgil and Rufus had been treated so abominably. But I had witnessed this through the eyes of Rhodri Fraser, a free man, and if I am honest with myself, I had enjoyed watching as the four slaves were abused and humiliated. I'd callously fucked Aeolus with only my own pleasure in mind and hadn't given too much thought to his feelings. I denied Rufus' humanity by treating him as a true canine by feeding him scraps of food, ruffling his head and stoking his back. And I had joined in the cheering, jeering and taunting as Rufus and Virgil "entertained" us. And if it hadn't been for the effects of the drug which Soterus had used to lace my wine, no doubt, I would have used Ovid as I had used Aeolus earlier.
As I reflect on these things, I realise that I had acted no better than the buyers now clustering around my pen watching as the overseer forces the young slave, Telemachus, to crawl on all fours across the straw-strewn floor to the front of the pen where the buyer still awaits him.
However, there is a difference! Now, I am the slave and not the master and I feel the full desolation of my condition.
The overseer, aided by his whip, forces Telemachus to kneel and press his face to the bars.
"There you are, sir," He tells the buyer, "the slave is back in position. I'll wait for a moment or two to make sure he doesn't give any more trouble. Go ahead and finish your examination of him."
The elderly buyer lifts his grubby, wine-stained tunic and, fumbling, he manages to free his flaccid penis from the folds of his subligaculum. Next, he thrusts his cock through a gap in the bars just centimetres from Telemachus' face. The young slave gazes in horror as his body is convulsed by a shudder of revulsion. Nevertheless, he knows he has no other option than to obey. He leans forward and gags as he sniffs the buyer's urine stained undergarment; reluctantly he begins by using the tip of his tongue to tentatively lick the cockhead.
"Have a care, slave!" the buyer warns, "Begin by gently suckling my balls by using your tongue and take care not to bite. Should you do so, I will have great pleasure in buying you and having all your teeth extracted one after the other as a punishment. Some of my other slaves have learned this to their cost but I must say a slave's toothless mouth can be most pleasurable for cock-sucking."
Some of the other patrons drift away to continue their inspections while others stay to watch as Telemachus struggles to please the buyer. They laugh at his amateurish attempts and taunt him. They cheer as the buyer is gradually aroused; he grabs Telemachus by his ears to hold his head steady as he now rams his cock deeper into the young slave's mouth seeking out the depths of his throat.
As the buyer's cock swells in his mouth, Telemachus is convinced he is choking and begins to struggle wildly in an involuntary attempt to save himself. As he noisily gags and splutters on the invading cock, he desperately battles to break free from the hands firmly grasping his ears but to no avail. The spectators continue laughing at his distress and jeer at him.
One spectator, perhaps feeling pity for the young slave, speaks soothingly to him.
"Relax, slave! Stop struggling and breathe through your nose. You'll find it much easier."
I have my back to the bars; I am bent at the waist and with my buttocks spread open as a prospective buyer inspects my ass-hole, and so, I don't see who spoke these words. But they surprise me; they are the first words of encouragement I have heard spoken to a slave since arriving on Nova Baiae. To date, I have not witnessed any acts of kindness or compassion directed at any slave. Quite the contrary. Is it possible that some slave-owners can feel pity for a slave?
My anal inspection continues and I am in a heightened state of arousal at the digital stimulation of my prostate. Despite the degradation and humiliation of such inspections, my body responds - positively - to the stimulations the buyers inflict upon it. I maintain a rampant erection. And the same is true of all my fellow slaves for we all sport the most magnificent hard-ons and our swollen cocks throb with unreleased anticipation - much to the delight of the buyers. It could be said that we are "selling ourselves" by this blatant display of our virility.
I am so engrossed in my own inspection and I am unaware that the buyer is finished with Telemachus and is moving on to another pen. He tells Volpiscus.
"I congratulate you on the quality of this fine, young slave, Volpiscus. I would happily buy the stripling and I would enjoy stretching his virgin ass open with my cock. But I also noticed a couple of other young slaves in another pen who attracted my attention and I will inspect them before making my final choice."
"As you wish!" Volpiscus replies. "You are correct. This shipment of slaves does contain one or two striplings worthy of further inspection by the serious connoisseur of young, male flesh. Good fortune in your quest."
My own inspection continues until, suddenly, my ass is dismissively smacked signifying that the buyer is finished and his examination of me is at an end. And without any instruction, I am unsure what I should do.
I stand and face outwards into the walkway between the slave-pens; I grasp the bars and wait for the next buyer to inspect me. It is then that I see Volpiscus and Soterus deep in conversation as they keenly scrutinize Telemachus. If Soterus recognizes me, he chooses not to show it and he ignores my presence. Obviously, from his point of view, any "friendship" he'd previously felt towards me no longer exists and I am now "just another slave".
Acting on Volpiscus' instructions, a slave-handler enters our pen and after shackling Telemachus' wrists behind his back, he attaches a chain to his collar and leads him away to one of the "private viewing" rooms for a closer more detailed inspection by Soterus.
I'm not a witness to what takes place at the private viewing. However, if I were, I would see Telemachus' distress and descent into abject slavery. He is subjected to the most humiliating and degrading inspection by Soterus.
Telemachus is made to bend at the waist and pry his ass-cheeks apart giving Soterus free access to his inner body. As Soterus cruelly thrusts his finger through the pulsating orifice and enters deep into virgin territory, the slave begins to struggle under his merciless onslaught, Telemachus weeps and vainly begs for mercy. Instead, the inn-keeper taunts him.
"Get used to it, slave! I have decided to buy you and I am your new master. Your tight, young, virgin ass will be popular with my customers. And they'll pay handsomely to fuck you! Soon, I intend to auction your tight ass from the floor of my inn to the highest bidder from among my patrons and watch as he robs you of your virginity by publicly fucking you as entertainment for my other clients. I stand to make a handsome profit from you, slave. In the meantime, you'll serve in my inn and the patrons will have free access to your body. Tomorrow morning, as my newest slave, you'll begin your new duties by collecting my patrons' piss-pots and taking the urine to the local fullconica."
"Do you actually sell your customers' urine?" Volpiscus asks incredulously.
"Of course!" Soterus replies. "My patrons spend their nights drinking to excess and so the piss-pots I supply for their convenience are usually full to overflowing. Why waste it? The fullo pays well and it's a good money-spinner. The Emperor Vespasian once defended his urine tax to his son, Titus by saying 'pecunia non olet'" or 'money doesn't stink'. And anyway, even if it does stink, it isn't my nose that is affected. It will be this slave's and who gives a fuck about his sensibilities? And I know Karelius uses his slaves' urine to fertilise the pomegranates he exports to the mainland. He claims the slaves' urine makes them juicier and tastier."
Thus, Telemachus' fate is sealed. Soterus has bought him by private treaty to replace Ovid who he recently sold to Senator Karelius.
Telemachus now faces a bleak future as one of Soterus' slaves. The only certainty is that he will be exposed to long hours of unremitting, hard labour, the physical abuse and constant brutal beatings at the hands of his new master. And, of course, there will be the shameless, sexual exploitation of his young body at the hands of Soterus' lecherous patrons.
Perhaps the only redeeming feature of Telemachus' private sale is that he'll be spared the indignity of being sold, naked, at public auction. But even this is poor compensation for the life that now awaits him.
Soterus, having made the decision to buy Telemachus, now enters into negotiations over a suitable purchase price for the slave. Both men drive a hard bargain but eventually, they decide on a mutually acceptable price and shake hands on the deal. All that remains to be done is to conclude the transaction with the age-old, ritualistic custom of "servi possessionis usurpatio". This means "taking possession of the slave' and was an Etruscan custom which predates Rome itself. Today, ancient Rome is associated with slaves and gladiators and Romans enthusiastically embraced both.
However, Rome didn't "invent" the gladiatorial games with which we are all familiar. The Etruscans used gladiatorial fights as part of their funerary rituals and when Rome asserted its dominance over Etruria, they enthusiastically adopted and adapted them into the bloody, brutal spectacles we are familiar with. As a student, I discovered that contrary to public perception, gladiators didn't always fight to the death. The Romans were a pragmatic people and gladiators - most of whom were slaves - were expensive to buy, to train and to keep. It stands to reason that the owner of a gladiator would expect more than one fight and a profitable return on his investment.
And for the gladiator freedom always beckoned and to achieve it many gladiators fought well and built up reputations that made them favorites of the Roman populace. By doing so, a gladiator just might - but not always - be given the "rudis", the wooden sword of freedom which he was expected to carry on his person at all times to indicate he is a freed gladiator and not a slave.
Similarly, the ceremony of "servi possessionis usurpatio" was another Etruscan custom adopted by the Romans who "refined" it to suit their own purposes. The actual details of the ritual vary with the purchase of each slave and it often reflects the perverted, sadistic nature of the new master. I had read enough of the ritual in my studies to know slaves were routinely subjected to it and I have no doubt that whoever buys me will subject me to it. It's a prospect that fills me with utter dread.
My sympathies are very much with the newly purchased slave, Telemachus. I wonder what degrading things were done to him and what humiliations he suffered at the hands his new master, Soterus. No doubt I will experience similar debasement when I am sold. Of course, Cleon is unaware of this and I don't have the heart to tell him what awaits us once the rap of the auctioneer's hammer closes our respective sales.
I catch my final glimpse of Telemachus as his new dominus, Soterus leads him away - collared and leashed - to immediately begin his new life slaving at the inn alongside Aeolus and Virgil. It's inevitable that he'll be called upon to entertain the inn's patrons in the evenings and perhaps even with Casca's dog-slave, Rufus.
Neither Cleon nor I are given the opportunity to say goodbye to Telemachus and for my part, I feel an incredible sadness for the new slave and his bleak future.
To be continued ............