This story and its characters are fiction. It is a personal fantasy which I am sharing with you. If any character resembles you or someone you know, I WANT DETAILS, you lucky fucker, preferably with photos! It is, of course, copyrighted by the author with all rights reserved and very, very negotiable. Also, keep the cum coming -- Donate to Nifty TODAY! I'm an old guy. I know what it was like when you had to BUY porn. 5 miles uphill both ways in the snow just to GET to the XXX store. You whippersnappers don't know how good you've got it.
This involves sex between consenting adult males of various gulfs in age, power and dominance; if that is illegal for who/where you may be right now, fuck off and get thee to a monastery (where you might just find scenes similar to some below). Also, please note that all my stories exist in a world where STDs are neither common nor deadly. Don't be a fucking idiot; use protection. 'To die for' sex should never lead to your actual death.
I like hearing from people but if you get off on flaming people, please know that you will HATE the results. I will weave you and your missive into my next story to the point that you cry like a little girl. Bullies get as bullies give.
***** The Heathens 1: Marcus, Strasta & Ayib
By Bear Pup
M/M, M/T; mainly plot; momentary oral/anal; innocence; some piss
Harcos had bedded down for the night with the new imp. I loathed that little toad. I had ridden with and cared for my master since he bought me from my rather miserable home. That makes it sound bad; better ...since I begged Harcos to give my family just enough that they would let me become his body servant. It took me most of a year to convince him to be my master so that I could become his slave. We had reached a point where I knew before Harcos what was needed.
We were ambushed by a band of those fucking Utik in the gorge of a river name Iori as we marched South. Harcos wrought havoc among them, but we lost seven men and five more wounded. The Utik are especially nasty; they attack first to kill or damage the slaves and servants, then attempt to retreat whilst holding off the warriors. I was one of the servants that they succeeded in reaching. As I bucked the humeral pieces of his segmentata on my Master's shoulders, one of the filthy little monsters had his grime-smeared dagger into and down my leg, tearing flesh and sinew. It was his last act; Harcos' backhand took off his helmet and much of his head, but I knew it was also the last time I would stand in battle next to my beloved Master.
Our cohort had cleared this area (except, obviously, of the Utik band that ended my life with Harcos; an oversight remedied by my Master and the rest of the warriors when they rooted out and destroyed them, their nest and their kin). We were to meet the other four cohorts of the Legion in "Winter Over" (any place where the army had a fortified position amongst fertile lowlands). Harcos knew where, along with other seniors in the cohort, but I did not.
Seven of the warriors, including Harcos, were left without a single servant after the raid. We fanned out in the nearby rills and dells in search of servants that could be bought or (for the less-scrupulous) taken. I had bathed my wound with my best herbs and cleansed it as best I could and Harcos, to his eternal salvation may-it-please-God, helped me bandage it tightly. We found an isolated farmstead and I was amazed to find the subtle signs and sigils of a family of Christians like myself.
Harcos was a loyal warrior and the Emperors had forbidden our faith, but Harcos was more of a practical Roman than a religious one. If anything, he laid cult to Mithras like many warriors, acceptable but not entirely adored by the leaders of the armies. He had bought me from an open family of Christians (Senior Father headed our family with Praveden and Petar; those three men and their six wives ran the farm, herded and wove to keep us humble but not poor). I was the 11th of (at the time) 21 children, but even Senior Father was still very, very young so that paltry total could be explained.
Harcos' previous servant, Marcus, had been broken by a chariot wheel, crushing an ankle into a bloody mangle. He would heal, of course, but would never again be able to keep pace with the mighty warrior. Most of the village knew my family had more children than land to farm (such was the plight of most Christians), and directed Harcos to our compound. He arrived at dusk with Marcus in a litter that also held his armour and effects... and a large bag of pay from his recent and successful forays.
He was -- forgive me the one true God for this blasphemously -- a fucking GOD of a man. He stood two hands taller than Praveden who was quite large and muscular; he looked like a mere lad in Harcos' shadow. Harcos had a thick, riotous mass of fur on his chest, but none on his sides or back. He wore a Northmen's beard but a warriors rank. He seemed as broad as I was tall with endless muscles and sinew wherever his travelling breeches and yoke showed skin. I openly drooled at him.
Petar noticed (I was a favourite). As Harcos spoke, Miriam helped the family understand his more-sophisticated speech. Miriam and Petar were both fierce and shrewd negotiators and the rest of the family faded back. I could tell, though, that several others of my brood were in awe as well. I was not the only with the wanderlust upon me, nor the only to have true-lust eyes for this masculine bear of a Northman.
Petar and Miriam begged him not to deprive them of even a single hair on a beloved child's head for any price, whilst selling up the skills and virtues of each of us that might be a good match for this rich man's needs. Marcus, on Harcos' behalf, winnowed the choices to three with shrewd, pointed questions and the occasional rude interruption of a polished sales pitch.
Myself, my sister Miriamal (little Miriam) and my elder brother Petarcus were the options. My brother was larger, stronger and frankly better looking. Miriamal was strong and lithe, with the body seemingly designed for pleasure. Both I and my sister, though, had a skill that Marcus seemed to value highly, the healing herbs. In addition to more children that seemly, my mothers had a reputation as healers in the village and they had trained us for this profession.
In a lull to feed and water the honoured guests, I promised Petar anything he wanted if he put me first with this god of a man. Petar laughed, as he knew I had nothing he wanted other than an ass he had sampled and taught more than any other, and that he knew I'd give him at the slightest nod. When negotiations resumed, Petar became quieter as he judged the man, me and Petarcus. He seemed to ignore Miriamal as, frankly, did the guest and his injured servant.
When darkness finally fell, Harcos (as custom required) asked leave to depart and take his rest. The inevitable you-can't, I-must, wouldn't-hear-of-it, please-honour-us social noises took up the next quarter hour as I imagined they had, unchanged and unchallenged, since the time of Eve's children. Inevitably, Harcos reluctantly accepted the 'meanest possible accommodation' which, also inevitably, was my Senior Father's bedchamber. Petar gave me a look that I took to mean, be ready, be in bed, you have five minutes.
I took three. When Harcos carried (CARRIED!) his servant into the room, he found me clean and nude and shining with scented oils. He stopped and stared. I arose quickly and took the young man from his arms (Holy Family this kid is fucking heavy) and as gently as I could whilst not-quite-collapsing set him on the side of the bedclothes. I saw Harcos begin to undress and leapt to him, on my knees, to undo the hell-spawned innumerable knots, buckles and hooks. I could feel the eyes of Marcus, the soon-to-be-former servant, watching with anger, hate and appraisal.
I finally got the last of his infernal garments peeled away leaving only the personal cloth over his loins. Marcus and Harcos had equally-intense looks as they watched to see how I would treat the man that might (oh my Lord God grant me this boon!) become my Master. I unknotted the leather string that held it and allowed his manhood to fall free.
I'll admit it, I gasped like a virgin. He was HUGE. His shaft was thick like a fresh sausage before the smoking. His balls seemed to me enormous (over time, I'd find that many of his tribe had such low, heavy and sensitive orbs). His foreskin is what drew me, however. As all Jews, we Christians were circumcised when given a name. I moaned and moved forward, then froze.
I looked at Marcus and saw nothing; I looked as Harcos and saw his head tilted like a dog trying to guess what would come next. I locked my eyes to his and knew the need and longing showed. In my best (horrible) Latin, a stumbled out, "Ut i tua sanctissimaa sui tangeret?" apparently, that came out something like, "May I your sacred self to touch?"
Harcos' brow scrunched and Marcus laughed. He said, "Ut sacrosanctum sui et tangeret? Puto autem quod phallus!" what I now know to be correct Latin for "Is he allowed to touch your 'most sacred self'? I think he means your cock." The raucous laugh from each needed no translation.
Harcos smiled down at me and winked. I took that for all the permission I required. I started with that fucking amazing foreskin and moaned as I got a taste of what was beneath. I saw Harcos' eyes go wide and even Marcus seemed impressed. From that point, I lost all recollection of what I did or said, not that they could understand me; frankly, I doubt my own kin could have. I do know that an enormous number of groans, moans, whines, whimpers and gasps were involved... from all present.
As all true Christians, I knew that the second-most-sacred sacrament was sex with those within the congregation. They had also taught me from an early age just what that meant in practical, strategic and tactical terms. I prayed to God and received His agreement that, at least for tonight, Harcos and Marcus were, indeed, family-for-the-night.
By dawn-light, I had drawn at least three loads from Harcos and two from Marcus. I'm not sure which took my ass so satisfyingly but I was thinking Harcos. In a sexual lull (actually, when Harcos was snoring and Marcus was nearly-insensate from his last orgasm), I rinsed Marcus' wounded ankle and applied a paste of herbs to take away both pain and the prevent the infestation of the subtler demons. I chose not to sleep (in the flush of early manhood, who the fuck wastes time sleeping?) and re-cleaned and anointed myself before either stirred.
Guessing that the servant habitually awoke before the Master, I had his prick nestled in my mouth. When he stirred, I began to suckle and was rewarded with the bitter piss of night-time and healing (you could taste healing). I kept going, ignoring his attempts to dislodge me until he released his morning seed. We had awoken Harcos and I repeated the morning ablutions, swallowing both his urine and sacred semen. As per scripture and the teaching of my faith, I studiously avoided the sin of Onan and allowed not a single drop of either man's seed to touch the earth. I dressed Harcos in the materials I'd cleaned whilst they slept, now much more sure with the fasteners and patterns.
As Harcos watched, I forced Marcus to chew some local herbs and proceeded to strip and redress the servant's ankle. The bleeding had stopped completely and the redness was fading. The rainbow-hued bruises, however, were as livid as ever, but Harcos could tell that something had allowed his servant to rest. He spent many minutes staring at me, every part of me and not just the boy bits. My hair, my chest, my legs, my ears, my lips, my ass, my feet. He launched into a long and pause-laden polyglot conversation with Marcus obviously designed to make it impossible for me to follow whilst I dressed Marcus in the clothes I'd taken from him and washed as he slept.
The three of us emerged, Harcos carrying Marcus, to breakfast with the family. I was blushing but managed an affirmative nod to Petar's raised eyebrow and saw his smile in return. Miriam prepared to resume negotiations but Harcos made a sharp motion and Marcus said, "NO! Says my master." Everyone stopped, hands dipping into bowls or even dripping near mouths. Harcos spoke in what I thought to be a deliberately-obscure way and Marcus spoke for him.
"I have this servant," he pointed to Marcus and Marcus darkened in sadness and embarrassment, "who has great value and experience. He is injured and can no longer serve me. He is skilled with leather, the loom and the ways of defending a farm such as this. He is a moderately-skilled healer, nothing like your esteemed selves. He has immense strength and stamina built over years of hard travel and battlefields. He is fertile and virile and... willing..." Another glower and pause from Marcus, "willing to join your family. What do you offer?"
Miriam was, for the first time I knew of since I emerged from the womb, struck speechless. They had spent the previous day and the best wine, the richest food, the best bedchamber setting this up for Harcos to pay well for one of their children. Instead, he was SELLING his servant? And he expected THEM to buy?
Petar and Miriam conferred. Shockingly, Senior Father butted in and the discussion seemed a bit heated. When they broke, Senior Father was the one speaking through Miriam.
"You honour us beyond our ability to accept or repay. We have nothing, honoured warrior, to offer in exchange for your skilled, strong but damaged servant."
Harcos spoke shortly. I found it... interesting that the speech Marcus gave was far, far longer. "You have nothing, honoured Senior Father? You sent to me a young healer that is sound of body, mind and soul. He is trained, and trained well. He is not... completely unattractive." I flushed in outrage. I might not be as beautiful as Miriamal or Petracus, but I surely wasn't a newt!
"Shall we discuss the relative value of a man, strong and skilled and able to help you defend and expand your family, and the value of a boy just weaned..." JUST WEANED!?! I could have spit stones at the devil for that comment. "...and weak compared to the soldiers he must follow, but admittedly with skills you have given him with herbs and... well, I'm sure he has at least a few other skills we don't know about yet?"
The whisper-battle betwixt all of my parents (except Bethel, of course, who was frankly not smart enough to know gold from goat-shit; if she'd had a cud she would have been chewing it but she was still the nicest of my mothers) was profound and, in hindsight, one of the funniest things that I had ever seen.
They emerged from conference and glared at Harcos, who studiously ignored them. He looked, frankly, bored and ready to be on his way.
"This boy-man," indicating Marcus who was as livid as I had been with 'just weaned' and sputtering when he translated, "may have skills and we trust such an illustrious warrior not to rob a poor family such as ours. He will also, honoured sir, require many months of expensive herbs and our family's vast knowledge (which we have passed to Strasta)," that was me, by the way, "of the healing arts to recover. Will you leave us with an invalid {more sputtering from Marcus} and take our treasure {bemused look from me} and leave us to starve?"
Okay, Senior Father was a bit heavy and both Bethel and Ann were frankly fat. Starve? Not until they'd fasted for about eleven lents...
Harcos at this point laughed out loud, again sending my family into confusion. He picked up Marcus like a toy and walked to the litter. The family was in a panic until they realised he was not leaving, only conferring with his servant. Marcus did not look happy or even neutral, but Harcos spoke and stroked his cheeks until he relented. He was silently leaking tears when they returned to the fire.
Marcus, in a voice quiet and subdued, offered two gold and six silver pieces to trade Marcus for me. It was good money, but not a fortune. Miriam went to haggled and was silenced by Petar, whose eyes were fixed on the bereaved and mourning Marcus. He said in broken Latin (over the glares of co-husbands and wives), "We take Marcus to heal and be us. We will give him all. He will be us, as if born to us. Strasta will help you. Strasta becomes yours. You WILL," this was a command with the force of God behind it, "treat as would your own. Promise this, Harcos? Promise this forever?"
Harcos did not flinch or waver. His eyes locked with Petar, he intoned, "Before your god, mine and all of those found in Rome, I do thus promise."
An exchange of coin and a lot of tears (mainly on the part of Marcus, but a few on the part of my sisters) sealed me to this amazing man. I could see the sister closest in age to her new family member begin a shrewd evaluation. If I knew Bet, Marcus would be getting a lot more than he bargains for in the 'family duty' department.
From that day I served Harcos on seven campaigns, maturing from manhood to man. He taught me everything, and I protected and healed and cared for him. If he fell, I was behind him to fight off those who would defile him. If I fell, he was there to destroy any who would dare. I cleaned and mended and carried and cooked for the man I worshipped just slightly less than the One True God. I drank all that flowed from him, cleaned all that befouled him, defended him in weakness like a lion and gave myself to this lion like a willing lamb.
And now THIS. Stuck in a filthy backwater by a vile little nothing of a Utik? Watching Harcos find a new me as he had a new Marcus? Rage, fear, lamentation and grief battled from ownership of the tears that flowed from me.
So here I sat on the swept-dirt floor of a hovel (admittedly Christian) with a mere six children and only one Father and one Mother. Harcos was magnificent, but this tawdry little family looked at him like I would have looked at a Druid!
Even the haggling was perfunctory and stilted. There was obviously only one of their brood remotely suited. The young man was a bit stringy, but I know that life with the cohort would rip that into lean and lithe muscle. He had hair, plenty of it, so I knew he was past childhood and entering manhood. I was deeply insulted that he stared at his feet. Not a single glimmer of the honour that Harcos meant for him. Their daughter was a handsome creature, I'll admit, and looked so deliciously ripe for the plucking. The boy shuffled and glanced, no more, as his parents went stiffly through the barest formalities.
Oddly, Harcos was silent and brooding, leaving the discussion entirely to me. He stared at the young man as if trying to see though him to his bones and, perhaps, his soul. Finally, the family even suggested that we LEAVE! The effrontery was profound and I nearly went into a rage. Harcos laid his hand and the considerable weight behind it, and demanded that I translate.
"I will give you this son," me, "strong and fit (once healed), to strengthen your family and defend your farm. I swore sacred oaths to your own god (yes, I see the signs) and all those of Rome to treat his as my own. Thus he has the protection of my name and my fame, no mean coin in these uncertain times. I will give you one gold Imperial," I choked on the translation! The whole fucking homestead was worth less! I turned to Harcos and saw a steely glint in his eye that rarely had turned on me but had often cowed lesser mortals, "and you will relinquish any claim to this... untrained and unskilled urchin. What say you?"
The family went into a flurry of whispers and angst. The boy in questions, a man in fact, stood impassively awaiting his fate, eyes downcast or watching his parents. The adults and older brother argued, apparently mother and brother against father and the father broke.
"We accept but stay you two night so we sure can be of {pointing to me} man's health and so skills."
Before I could object, Harcos rumbled, "It is done."
The young man was transfixed, unable to wrench his eyes away from his father. Then, when Harcos laid is hand upon the boy's shoulder, unable to look at anything other than the dark and deep eyes of Harcos, a place I'd lost my soul more time than I could count.
The family went into a state that I normally associated with chicken coops. They strutted (the males) and scratched (the females) like animals bred to the farm, clattering incessantly and impenetrably. This disgusting family had not even offered my master accommodation, but he didn't seem to care. He scooped me up and marched to the stables and had me (crawling like an invalid) lay out the soft furs and cloths for sleep.
Marcos whispered to me that I was not to take action or speak until he asked me to, regardless of what I thought or felt. That I was to watch, and be happy for myself, the boy and Harcos. I didn't really understand until I realised that the little tit made no move to help. No move to do ANYTHING other than stare in self-evident fear and horror at the most magnificent warrior in the Empire. And I had to be SILENT? I was supposed to be HAPPY?
And Harcos said NOTHING! If I'd done that with my own Senior Father or (Holy Spirit forefend) Petar, I would have been unable to sit (or walk straight!) for a week. My rage and indignation mounted and Harcos IGNORED me. He dropped to sleep with NOTHING from this little lump of uselessness. The little fucker acted like he was ENTITLED to curl up in those arms. I nearly choked in frustrated outrage before the snores of my Master and the soft breaths of that little fucktard lulled me to sleep.
As always, I was awake far before anyone else. I had spent a year training myself to wake before dawn so I could lay out Master's clothes and minister to his morning needs. I had stretched my throat so I could accept his morning piss straight down my throat without him worrying about a drop. I have learnt every twitch and snore so that I could be ready when he began to wake and suckle his morning offering (both piss and cum) before he even fully woke for the day, and have every accoutrement ready for him.
As expected, I awoke before the birds, before the cock-crows. I watched in mounting anger as this little fucker did NOTHING. My Master finally stirred, and I relished the throat-fuck that would teach this whelp his place. How delicious! How welcome!
"Where is the pisser?" Harcos asked of the sleepy-eyed boy. He understood enough to point outside and to the right. THE PISSER?!? Waste an entire night's piss from this god amongst men, allowing it to flow into some common latrine? I tried to rise and collapsed in a heap, groaning in pain. I caught my Master's eye, his scowl of disapproval. I silently pleaded with him to think, think about what this useless little wisp of nothing could never, ever do! Harcos smiled crookedly and left the doorway.
I mourned the piss that I would not be allowed, EVERY AGAIN to treasure. I wept as that fucking little useless smear stirred and moved to the edge of the barn to release his insignificant little stream into the hay. Suddenly, I flashed back. Was this what Marcus though as he watched me desperately try to pleasure Harcos?
NO! I was ready! I was devoted! I was waiting and longing and thirsting and waiting for HIM!
Harcos returned. That fucking little shit had returned to the blankets. My Master did not admonish him; he did not correct him; he WINKED at him and knelt to snuggle! If Poseidon had arrived to contradict the sacred story of Jonah and the Whale, I would not have been more outraged or confused.
Harcos caressed the boy's chest, across the sparse hairs and down his stomach and thick treasure trail. The youth wriggled then jumped when Harcos got close to the sleep-pants that hid his boyhood. HE PULLED AWAY! I could scream. Had Harcos not explicitly admonished me to stay still and silent until asked a question, I think I would have gone all Berserker and ripped the kid limb from limb. Pull AWAY from HARCOS?!?
My Master looked up and his eyes pierced mine. He shook his slightly as if reading my soul and finding it amusing but sadly disappointing. I near died of shame at having failed him. He told me to watch, to stay silent, to be happy. I shook myself and cleared my head as Harcos had taught me (and his men) to refocus before a battle. I raised my eyes again. Harcos was still staring at me, his hand now protectively on the whelp's shoulder. He reached down and hoisted the young man like a feather and I could see the awe in the boy's face.
He spoke into the boy's ear and the man-child looked at me, a bit afraid, then curious, then compassionate. Harcos put him down and he scampered over to me. He gently stooped to help me rise, and supported the weight from my injured leg. His touch was respectful, innocent, caring. His strength was frankly shocking; he acted like a living crutch, not even seeming to feel my weight. I also noticed something that had escaped me earlier. The boy smelled like heaven on a feast day, luscious, delectable, pure and ripe. As my breath escaped in a chuff, Harcos caught my eye and winked. I loved my Master more than life itself, but at that moment I would happily have throttled him.
I realised that we had never gotten the boy's name in all the discussion and felt vaguely ashamed. I cleared my throat and asked, "And what is your name, my child?"
"I am Ayib."
"That is the name you present to heathens, my child. What is your real name? I am Strasta to the world and Matthaios within the Family of Christ."
He whispered now, clearly mortified, "I am Boseth in the Family of God."
It took me a minute. The language of Christ was known to me but not well. The crude local tongue was also not completely alien. As we limped to the main hovel, it struck me.
"You have been given THAT as a name, both within and outside the One True Faith? How could they?" Both his 'call' name in the local patois and his 'real' name in Aramaic, Christ's own tongue, meant the same; the boy-man was called Shame.
I have not decided whether to write more on this one. It is a setup (nothing more) for a potential series. I think Ayib is ripe to blossom from manling to man, and that Harcos is ready to take him there. I also thing the there is something... odd about the family that Ayib is leaving and Strasta is joining. Let me know what you think. I won't be writing on this until I know the characters have some spark for you, the reader.