The Traitor's Son Chapters 5-8
By Zelamir, adapted by Pueros

This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY

Chapter V

Marius sat on the kitchen floor, with the flagstones cold against his bare bum and with his right foot resting in the substantial lap of the freedwoman, Selia. She was skilled in treating cuts and illnesses and the still naked boy currently possessed many grazes on his legs and knees.

Selia had dressed similar for him many times in the past because, despite being the beloved son of her late master, the normally very lively 11 year-old was as liable as any other active youngster to tumble and hurt himself in play. In the past, though, as a reflection of their former mutual status, the boy would have been sitting on the stool that the woman now occupied and she would be kneeling on the ground ministering to him.

Marius did not protest at this change. Indeed the boy hardly noticed it, as he had relapsed into the state of dull acceptance from which he had briefly been roused by the deep humiliation but strange accompanying excitement engendered by Crastus' fingers probing inside his bottom.

So much had happened to Marius in the past few days. The boy's comfortable privileged world had been torn apart. The 11 year-old had cried for his father when Crastus had told him of Sejanus' death but the sheer extent of the youngster's misery had eventually overwhelmed him and had now emptied his mind of all emotions except for fear and hopelessness.

"It's infected," Selia announced, whilst pressing her thumb into the angry ring of raw flesh that had been scored round Marius' right ankle by the leg iron. Meanwhile, the boy caught his breath and involuntarily jerked his damaged limb, as the resultant pain hit him.

"Mariullus, stay still now, as I can't do anything if you wriggle about," Selia chided, adding 'ullus' to the end of the boy's name for the first time, in line with affectionate customary Roman practice if the age, attractiveness and diminished status of the individual suited. For example, 'puer', or 'small boy', becomes 'puerullus', or 'pretty little slave boy' through the addition of the suffix.

Consequently, calling Marius 'Mariullus' implied that he was young and beautiful but also a slave. It seemed that even Sejanus' most loyal servants were now happy to remind their late master's youngest son of his new lowly station in life, despite the boy's previous popularity amongst them.

Marius had been a cheerful, generous-spirited young lad, who was constantly indulging in all sorts of adventurous scrapes. However, he was also always ready to intercede for anyone, especially the other boys about the place, whenever they faced a flogging, deserved or not, for what they had been caught perpetrating.

Most of the freed servants and slaves had been uneasy when Echion had locked Marius in the farm cellars. Most of them at least knew that Pannychis was smuggling food to the boy, with some actually helping the girl.

They were even more uneasy when Crastus and his three men arrived, being already aware of the execution of Sejanus and his two other children and the fact that it seemed that sadly their former master's youngest son was to share their fate. However, sympathy for the lad did not extend to taking action to save someone, even an 11 year-old, who was tainted with treachery against the Emperor. The consequences, if caught, would invariably be fatal and, if you were not a Roman citizen, you would be flogged and then nailed to a cross to die in long drawn-out agony.

The freed servants and slaves therefore muttered among themselves whilst they believed Marius' life was in danger, and there was even a chance that some brutality inflicted on the boy might have prompted an heroic attempt on their part to free him. However, that moment never came. They instead learnt that the 11 year-old was himself to be a slave and they were certainly not going to risk their own hides to try to preserve the youngster from a fate that all of them had experienced.

"The quickest way of dealing with it would be to take a red-hot iron to it," Selia advised the man who had brought Marius her, "to burn the infection out!" However, Crastus' colleague frowned and replied "The boss said he didn't want the boy permanently marked, as he wants to get the very best price for him."

Selia looked down again at Marius' right ankle, with its broken skin and chafed flesh. "The infection's only in one or two places," she then remarked, "where the edges of the fetter bit into his skin. I suppose that I could cut it out instead and the wound would probably still heal cleanly, as boy's flesh usually mends very well!"

Selia twisted round on her stool, turning her back on Marius whilst tucking the boy's right leg firmly under her arm. She then picked up from a table beside her a small knife, the light glinting on a short wickedly sharp blade.

Selia subsequently bent her head and cut down into the boy's healthy flesh, directly above one of the puss-leaking sores disfiguring Marius' smooth, tanned leg. A scream was wrenched from the depths of the lad's lungs. He collapsed backwards on the floor, rolling about in his agony, with his hands drumming a frantic tattoo of pain on the cool flagstones. The woman had to fight hard to retain hold of the 11 year-old's captive limb, especially when the youngster's wildly flailing left foot caught her in the small of the back, almost knocking her off her stool.

At a shout from Selia, a well-muscled, half-naked youth darted forward and caught old of Marius' miscreant left leg. The watching man also helped by deliberately placing his foot temporarily on the boy's chest, so pinning the naked 11 year-old's slim shoulders to the floor.

Selia then waited until the boy was still again before putting the knife back down on the table and turning on her stool to face the lad. "Mariullus," she then said quietly, staring straight into the youngster's tearful blue eyes, "I know that I'm hurting you. I'll also have to hurt you a great deal more before I've finished, but not half as much as I will if you dare to kick me again! Do you understand?"

"Yes .yes, Miss," Marius sobbed.

"Well, to help you remember," Selia advised, "and give you a little taste of what you can expect ." She then did not complete her sentence but instead ground her thumb into the ring of raw flesh on Marius' right ankle. The boy's screams rang out again, with his mouth distorted into a rictus of pain, whilst his eyes rolled back in their sockets until the pupils were hidden. However, further bodily reaction was minimal and so the woman turned round and settled once more to her work.

For almost half an hour, Selia carefully sliced away at the infected areas, while Marius lay writhing and screaming on the floor, until at last she was finished with the knife. The woman then opened a small jar of ointment and dipped the tip of her right index finger in the unguent. Using her left hand to open the cuts that she had incised in the boy's leg, she subsequently worked the salve into the wounds.

Marius now felt that his veins were being filled with liquid fire and his agonised howls redoubled in volume. The restraining youth, whose bare chest now glistened with sweat from his hard work, fought to control the boy's seemingly re-energised thrashing form, while the woman, oblivious to the 11 year-old's sufferings, concluded her task by roughly bandaging the youngster's tortured flesh.

"It should heal well enough," she appraised Crastus' colleague, whilst raising her voice over Marius' screams in order to do so, "although there may be a slight residual puckering of the skin. However, there shouldn't be any other mark left."

"The boss said we were to leave the sores uncovered," the man remarked. "I suggest you wait until the cuts stop bleeding before doing that," Selia responded, "and instead leave the bandages on for tonight and see how the wounds look tomorrow morning."

Marius' cries were now decreasing in volume to a constant low whimper. Selia looked down at the boy, his face smeared with snot and tears and his young body trembling convulsively. She then ordered the youth to release his restrictions on the 11 year-old and, bending down and holding the youngster under the arms, lifted him on to her knees.

Marius wriggled close to her, burying his face against her shoulder, whilst a thumb stole into his mouth. Selia cuddled him tightly, with one motherly hand cupping his firm boy's rump whilst the other wrapped itself round his narrow shoulders.

"That's the worse over, Mariullus, but we've still got to get you nice and clean for your new Master and his friends," Selia advised gently, whilst referring to Crastus and his three companions. "You don't want them to think," she added, "that they've got themselves a grubby little slut for his new slave boy, do you?"

Marius shook his head slightly and mumbled something. Nevertheless, Selia seemed to understand the boy because she continued "No, you couldn't help becoming dirty, shut up in that dark horrid cell!"

Selia now moved Marius slightly on her lap, so that the boy's naked body was turned away from her. She then reached out to draw a rag from a bowl of warm water on the table beside her.

Now obeying Crastus' order to clean other parts of Marius' anatomy, Selia took the boy's small prick between her finger and thumb and peeled back his foreskin. The resultant sight caused her to wrinkle her nose, as the underlying penile surface was coated with dirt, which she then began to wash gently away, whilst the young recipient of such attention stirred uneasily.

"Is it a little sore, my pet?" Selia asked, as the surface beneath the filth was indeed red and inflamed. "I know that you couldn't help it this time," she continued, without waiting for Marius' confirmation, "but you must now learn to keep yourself tidy for your new Master. Such a man is likely to want his boys clean and sweet smelling!"

Having eventually concluded this further chore, Selia informed "Well, that's that bit of you done, and I think you'll enjoy the next." She then lifted Marius off her lap and stood him on the floor, before putting the flat of her hand in the small of the naked boy's back to encourage him to bend forward.

Selia then washed the cleft of Marius' bottom with her damp cloth, whilst commenting "You've got to learn to keep yourself clean here too!". Meanwhile, the boy's prick stiffened and he found himself pushing his bottom further out towards her.

"That's right, my love," Selia cooed softly, "open your bottom up for me. I can see that you're going to make a good little whore!" She then laughed, whilst pushing the cloth between the exposed lips of the boy's currently virgin anus. Marius gasped, as she subsequently forced her finger further into him, but his cock stood up straight and hard.

When Selia was satisfied that Marius' bottom was finally clean, she handed the soiled cloth to the boy. "Get rid of this in the fire and then come back to me," she ordered.

Marius trotted obediently off, speeded on his way by a good-natured slap from Selia's open hand on his bum. This time, the nude boy did not make any attempt to hide his erection.

Selia watched Marius, and smiled indulgently as the boy made his way back to her, with his rigid pricklet wobbling in front of him. "Could he have something to eat before you take him back to his new Master," she then considerately asked Crastus' man, "as he must be very hungry and he's had such a hard time?"

"I suppose the Boss wants to keep the brat in reasonable shape for the slave market," the man shrugged in response, "so why not?" A moment or two later, Marius was squatting beside the kitchen fire, spooning a bowl of oatmeal gruel hungrily into himself, apparently oblivious of the bustle about him.

Chapter VI

Marius had emptied the bowl and was squatting, half dozing in front of the fire, his stomach comfortably full for the first time for many days. However, the boy was brought back to reality by a boot prodding his bare thigh.

"Come on brat, the Boss is back," the man advised ominously, "and I think you'll soon have something else, bigger than a finger, up your bum!"

Crastus' colleague was towering over Marius, grinning hungrily. Looking up from where he was crouched on the floor, the boy could see the man's cock bulging upwards, forcing outwards the loincloth beneath his tunic.

The man was clearly anticipating, with intense eagerness, being rewarded soon for his recent work by being allowed to enjoy the delights of Marius' now clean body. Meanwhile, the very pretty boy himself, who was still rather traumatised by recent events and rather ignorant of the brutal ways of the world of Roman politics, had previously given little thought to his imminent destiny. In fact, if he had recognised that rape, followed by strangulation, had been the original plan for him, the 11 year-old might have been less compliant in respect of his Crastus and his colleagues.

Marius scrambled to his feet, feeling sick with fear in respect of what he believed might now come but also strangely excited. The 11 year-old was far from being a complete sexual innocent. A boy at that time, even a free one of the highest class growing up on a country estate, could hardly be anything else, and the man's most recent comment, along with his lecherous look and hardened cock, had hinted at what the youngster might now experience.

Marius had seen boys hobbling about the yard often enough, with dark stains down the inside of their thighs. He had also heard the slave brats concerned talking among themselves.

Marius' father, Sejanus, had possessed an eye for a pretty boy and so had many of the Prefect's friends. It was now the turn of his 11 year-old son to wonder how he would manage to accommodate a man's thick cock inside him. The thought of his bottom being stretched and ripped to accommodate such an implement terrified him, and he appreciated that it was likely that he would now have to satisfy more than one such object.

Besides Crastus and the man currently with him, there were another two companions to be satiated, perhaps with even bigger cocks to ram into Marius' bleeding and torn body. Nevertheless, the boy's current trepidation continued to be accompanied by an incongruous under-current of excitement.

Marius remembered the feel of Crastus' finger inside him, the delicious sensation as Selia sponged his bumcrack and the excited gigglings of the slave boys as they discussed their lovers. They had often whispered among themselves about the pain, and he had seen blood occasionally oozing from their anuses, but they had at the same time boasted about the size of the cocks that had sodomised them and had speculated breathlessly as to whether there would be a repetition.

Clearly there was great pain involved in being the subject of sodomy but that could apparently be exceeded by the subsequent excitement and pleasure. As Marius thought of this, his own little prick hardened once more. Selia, who was still watching him and also believed that the boy was imminently to lose his virginity, again laughed indulgently.

"Look at the little whore," Selia exclaimed fondly, "as judging from his cock he seems really eager for his first fuck. Come here, Mariullus, and let me clean your face for your new Master!"

"You're sometimes a grubby little boy, Mariullus," Selia commented, with affection despite the reproach. She then wiped the oatmeal from the boy's lips and chin, down which he had allowed some of his recent meal to dribble during his eagerness to fill his stomach, whilst adding "And we can't let your new Master see you like this!"

Having eventually completed her task, Selia suggested "Now go along, Mariullus, and see that you give your new Master and his friends a good time!" Laughing, she then pinched his boy's bare bottom to send him on his way.

By now, Crastus had appropriated the principal rooms of the main house for his own and his men's use. Marius saw his new Master standing just inside the door of the large chamber where his late mother used to summon him to show off her youngest son to guests when she was visiting the estate. Then, the boy would appear, hurriedly bundled into a fresh tunic, his face, hands and knees scrubbed clean by one of her maids, to stand bashfully, shifting from foot to foot, while the grown ups asked him condescending questions or, worse, discussed him as if he was not there.

The memory of his mother now caused Marius the first faint stirrings of resentment at his treatment. Up until then, the boy's spirit had been so cowed by his sudden change of circumstances, along with hunger and fear, that he had not yet really felt all the humiliations being inflicted upon him. However, remembrance of his mother kindled a small spark of anger and rebellion in the 11 year-old's mind. Why was he, the freeborn son of very important Roman citizens, being treated as if he was spawned by common slaves?

Marius did not consider slavery to be incorrect, as it was a part of the natural order of things. What was wrong was that he, the son of elite citizens, should be treated as a slave.

Marius hesitated at the doorway of the room and moved his hands to cover his crutch, suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness. However, the man behind him pushed the boy forward, with an open hand against the pleasant curves of the 11 year-old's bare bottom.

Crastus turned and looked appraisingly at Marius. The boy then felt his stomach somersault in fear, guiltily mixed with excitement. His cock, which had begun to soften, sprang back to attention. The shame engendered by this penile reaction also caused the temporary flame of anger deep in his mind to flicker and die.

Marius wondered how he could he feel like he did? How could he be excited by the touch of a hand on his rump and being brought naked to stand before the man who now claimed to own him, unless he was the same as any other slave slut about the estate?

Marius was eventually brought to a position in the room where he stood immediately before Crastus. "Put your hands down by your sides," the leader of the sinister quartet of strangers then ordered sharply. Hastily, the boy obeyed, thereby revealing his penile excitement.

"Don't try to cover yourself up in front of me again, boy," Crastus grated coldly, eyeing Marius' naked body again. "The little bitch is permanently on heat," he then laughingly remarked to his grinning colleagues, whilst flicking the tip of the lad's erect prick with his thumbnail.

Crastus then took Marius' chin in his hand, tipping the boy's face back so that he could stare down into it. The 11 year-old shivered, as he gazed up into the man's slate grey, cold and pitiless eyes.

"Being a slut runs in the family I suppose," Crastus commented to his companions, "as the brat's brother and sister were the same, the pair of them. The boy and girl were virgins before I took them but they both seemed to enjoy riding my cock like furies when the thing was fairly buried inside them!"

"But didn't you say that they were dead, Sir?" Marius remarked enquiringly, although he could hardly speak for upset and fear, and whilst referring to a grievously sad aside made by Crastus earlier. "They are now, boy," the man answered grimly, "as I can vouch for that personally. Your brother hardly struggled. He knew he had no chance when I put the cord around his neck. However, the girl screamed and kicked a bit. She was a silly little fool, as her actions just prolonged her suffering!"

"Yes," Crastus advised, in response to Marius' look of horror, "I personally strangled the pair of them, as I had to, being a faithful subject of our Emperor Tiberius. I should also kill you, a traitor's son, but it seems a pity to destroy a pretty little thing like you. That tight boy's bottom of yours is too attractive and valuable to waste, as you should make a good price on the auction block for me and my friends!"

Crastus' comment was the first inkling that Marius had gained that his destiny might have been rape and death rather than enslavement, although currently he was unsure which was the worse fate. "But remember, boy," the man continued menacingly, "you live only because I choose to let you do so. Do anything to make me want to change my mind and I'll kill you, and it won't be a quick, easy end, with the cord round your neck. It'll be a long lingering one, suited to a slave brat who fails to please his Master, and I won't give you a quick release by having your arms and legs broken or your body speared after you're nailed on the cross either!"

"Do you hear me boy?" Crastus asked. He then added "And call me Master when you speak to me!"

"Yes, Sir .Master," Marius whispered through trembling lips to the man who had raped and murdered his older brother and sister and whose cold eyes still bore down into those of the appalled and terrified younger boy.

Marius now could not tear his own stare away from Crastus' merciless gaze. Terror instead gripped the boy, whose legs began to quake.

Crastus then released his hold on Marius' chin and the boy's knees gave beneath him. The 11 year-old sank to the floor, and an amber pool began to form on the marble flagstones where he crouched. The lad had lost control of his bladder.

Crastus first stepped back with an expression of disgust. He then roared with laughter.

"You gave the little brat something to think about then boss," the man who had charge of Marius in the kitchen yelled, "but can we give him something more now? Shall we throw dice like you previously suggested for first go at his anus?"

"Neither you, Grynium, nor I, nor any of us are going to fuck his bottom," Crastus replied levelly, "as we're going to sell a virgin bum when we get back to Rome to recompense us for the bother of journeying out to this awful place. Such a pretty slut should fetch a decent price as long as we keep his hole undamaged!"

"The Emperor won't like that if he finds out," Grynium remarked, as he aired his doubts about the proposal, with an additional air of disappointment that his cock might be deprived of suitable entertainment, "as he's ordered the boy to be killed."

"He won't find out," Crastus replied, "as I've got the bailiff to give me a receipt in writing for the brat's dead carcass and an undertaking he will dispose of it. If anyone asks for evidence that we've done our duty faithfully, we produce that. As for the boy, nobody will listen to what a slave says and anyway he won't disclose his origins, unless he wants to be killed like his brother and sister!"

"I was looking forward to fucking him though," Grynium remarked regretfully. "Don't worry," Crastus responded, "as we'll not be without a boy to fuck tonight. Varro, bring that bitch Pulchellus here!"

From where he currently huddled on the floor, Marius saw the bailiff's dark-haired beauty, one year older than the youngest son of Sejanus, being dragged forward, whilst Crastus' companions laughed and whistled. It was immediately clear to the 11 year-old that the 12 year-old had recently suffered a hard time. A thick livid weal was visible across the front of the boy's thighs, just below the bottom of his short, tassel-fringed tunic and marring the taught, light brown skin. The covering garment was itself soiled and torn, with the wearer's eyes red from crying and his face bruised.

Marius felt no pity for the other boy, only relief that he was for the moment at least no longer the subject of Crastus' terrifying attention. He had always disliked Pulchellus, in so far as he had any feelings about a creature previously so much his social inferior.

Unlike the brats his father owned, Marius had no jurisdiction over the property of the freedman, Echion, who was much better fed and clothed than the generality of the slave boys on the estate and was hated and mistrusted by the others. Pulchellus was regarded as a spy and an informer for his Master, the bailiff.

Pulchellus could personally do Marius no harm. However, the latter had heard the talk among the slaves and had seen the bloodied shoulders or rumps of lads whose misdeeds had been espied and reported to Echion by his fancy boy.

Marius accepted that slave boys should be beaten occasionally when really deserved, as otherwise they might become disobedient and lazy. However, he despised Pulchellus as a sneak who betrayed his own sort.

"Give me the cane, Varro," Crastus commanded, "as I've promised to instil a bit of discipline into this tart!" The implement was a vicious-looking object, about three feet long, tapered, split and bound with waxed cord at the end to give it extra bite.

The cane now leapt and quivered in Crastus' hand, as he became reacquainted with its weight. Meanwhile, Pulchellus threw himself on his knees at the man's feet.

"Master, please, Master," the kneeling Pulchellus whimpered, at the same time quickly affirming Crastus' new status in the boy's life, "please don't beat me Master. I'll do anything you want but please don't beat me!"

Pulchellus' desperate pleadings were then interrupted by a high pitched scream, as Crastus slashed the boy across his chest with the cane. "Shut up, tart," the man then ordered, "as you've got a few lessons to learn. One is that you don't speak unless you are spoken to. Now stand up and take that tunic off!"

Pulchellus scrambled to his feet, pulling his tunic off over his head and revealing that the cane had raised an angry crimson welt across his chest, which was deepening to purple at the edges, as the bruising spread. The naked boy now stood facing Crastus, shivering with fright, his garment clasped uncertainly in his right hand.

Crastus leant forward and, snatching the tunic from Pulchellus, hurled it to the floor. The garment fell into Marius' urine puddle.

"The dirtying of your tunic doesn't matter," Crastus observed coldly to Pulchellus, "because you won't be wearing it, or anything else, again. Now, keep your hands by your sides!"

Crastus raised the cane over his left shoulder, clearly intending to land a back-handed cut across Pulchellus' chest. The very pretty boy responded by screwing up his face in terror.

"Open your eyes, tart," Crastus growled, cruelly wanting Pulchellus to be a spectator of his own caning. When the boy had reluctantly obeyed the instruction, the man then brought the cane hissing down across the front of the lad's bare chest.

The end of the cruel rod had landed across Pulchellus' left nipple, just missing the tip but splitting the flesh. For a fraction of a second, the young victim of the blow stared at the wound, as blood welled from it. Then, the excruciating pain hit him.

Screaming shrilly, Pulchellus clasped both hands to his torn flesh and collapsed to his knees. The boy fell forward so that his head rested on the floor, whilst his bottom was raised into the air. A piercing wailing simultaneously rose from the 12 year-old's shuddering body.

"Get up, tart," Crastus snapped and brought the cane slicing down across Pulchellus' vulnerable taught rump. The boy yelped and raised his face, tear-stained and contorted with pain. He then somehow began to climb back to his feet but he was not quick enough to satisfy his new Master. Burying his free hand in the 12 year-old's dark curly hair, the man yanked him to his feet.

"I said keep your hands down by your side," Crastus snapped, knocking Pulchellus' hands away from his chest. The sadistic man then lent forward and took the injured nipple between his finger and thumb, simultaneously squeezing it harshly to ring further screams from his young victim.

"Echion was too soft on you, my boy," Crastus gritted, "because he spoilt you. You belong to me now, and I don't spoil my slaves because otherwise they might get insolent and lazy. You've got a lot to learn and the first lesson is to fear me!"

Crastus released his grip on Pulchellus' nipple and licked the blood from his finger and thumb. "Now I'm going to thrash you," he then announced, quietly hooking his foot round a nearby stool, pulling it towards him.

"Unfortunately, I won't be able to beat you as much as I'd like and you undoubtedly deserve," Crastus then declared, "as we'll need you to be able to serve us tonight and be capable of bearing a load tomorrow. However, six strokes across your pert little bottom should be sufficient to show you what a disobedient, lazy slave brat can expect at my hands. Get down over that stool, head down and your bum in the air. I want your skin stretched good and tight for your beating!"

Crastus then helped the crying Pulchellus to assume the required position. The man temporarily dropped his cane before slipping his right hand between the boy's legs and, cupping it around the lad's balls, pushing upwards against the young crutch, while with his left hand pushed downwards on the back of the 12 year-old's head.

Finally satisfied that he had positioned Pulchellus correctly for the job in hand, Crastus stepped back. He then picked up the cane again and rested it across the boy's upturned rump. The 12 year-old, feeling the touch of the rod on his curvaceous buttocks, instinctively clamped his bumcrack tight shut in terror.

"When did Echion thrash you last boy?" Crastus now asked nonchalantly. "I .don't .remember, Master," Pulchellus muttered fearfully through his tears.

"I thought so," Crastus remarked, "as there's not a mark on your bottom apart from the two cuts I've given you today. Echion was much too soft on you, but that'll all change now!"

Chapter VII

Crastus lifted the cane over his head, paused briefly for a moment, deliberately to heighten the horrified nervous tension undoubtedly being experienced by Pulchellus, and then finally brought his cruel implement down with the full strength and weight of his adult body. He was rewarded by the sound of the rich whistle of the rod through the air, followed by a sharp crack as it struck the boy's tightly drawn rump.

The flexible cane curled round Pulchellus' bottom, the split tip cutting the boy on his flank. The 12 year-old's pretty body simultaneously jerked convulsively, as the weapon struck home.

Pulchellus threw his pleasant head back, and for a moment there was silence as he fought for breath. However, this quiet intermission was soon ended when the 12 year-old began to scream, whilst his lithe arms and legs flailed because of the acute pain now coursing though his body. In his agony, the lad rolled off the stool and tumbled to the floor, where he curled in a little ball of naked boy misery on the marble flags, sobbing wildly.

Crastus swore and kicked Pulchellus in the ribs, the force of the blow lifting the boy's body from the flags. "Get back up, you miserable little runt," he grated before turning to his men and instructing "One of you hold him for me!"

Varro stepped forward, grinning broadly. He twisted his right hand in Pulchellus' dark curls and dragged him back across the stool. Then, pinning the boy in place with his left hand pressed flat against the small of the lad's back, he nodded to Crastus, signalling that he might care to resume his thrashing of the 12 year-old.

Marius quietly hunkered on the floor, watching fearfully as the flogging proceeded. A beating was not an unusual event on the estate and he had seen many boys over the years having their bums tanned for various misdemeanours. Often such events would attract an audience, amused by the cries and twistings of the brat under correction. However, the enjoyment of the drama by any young male slaves watching was a trifle marred by the thought that it might fall to anyone of them to play the starring role on the next occasion the cane or whip was brought into play.

Marius himself had, in the past, been beaten on occasion by his father or his tutor but always, as befitted the dignity of a free boy of high social standing, without the benefit of grinning spectators. However, nothing he had seen or experienced matched the cold ferocity with which Crastus now went about his work of flaying the tender bottom of the unfortunate Pulchellus. The open, savage pleasure with which the man and his companions seemed to enjoy the frantic writhings of the helpless 12 year-old were also new to the appalled young spectator.

Methodically, Crastus laid stripe upon stripe across Pulchellus' defenceless bum, pausing between each stroke to ensure that the writhing, screaming boy could feel each individual cut to the full. The cane scored livid lines across the sweet curves of the child's rump, the tip curling round the firm quivering flesh to raise beads of blood.

Crastus' companions laughed and shouted, revelling in Pulchellus' agony and cheering their leader on. However, the flogging slowly eventually drew to a conclusion.

Crastus then lent forward to examine his handiwork, running a fingertip along one of the welts that now marred the previously very pleasant curves of Pulchellus' smooth, light brown skin with a line of angry red, deepening at the edges to purple. He noticed that, around the earlier cuts, the boy's tender flesh was beginning to take a yellowish, almost green, tinge, as the deeper bruising began to show through.

Crastus smiled, pleased at a job well done. Then, standing upright and shifting his position slightly, he delivered the final cut of the punishment, laying it deliberately across the stripes he had earlier inflicted. He earned another loud, anguished yelp from his young victim, as, at each point of intersection, blood began to well from Pulchellus' broken flesh.

Varro then released his hold on Pulchellus' hair and the boy sank to his knees, huddled against the stool, his body wracked by sobs.

"That," remarked Crastus, panting slightly after his exertions, "has given me a thirst!"

Chapter VIII

"Pulchellus, get up on your feet and stop making so much of a fuss unless you want another dose of the same," Crastus next commanded harshly of the sobbing highly distressed boy. "You and Marius can then go and fetch a couple of jugs of wine from the kitchen and some tankards for me and my men," he then added, "and don't bring us any old rubbish either if you value your hides!"

"Only the best wine in the cellar and goblets in the kitchen will do," Crastus continued, "and tell the servants to bring our dinner to us here as soon as it's ready. Grynium, keep an eye on the brats whilst they perform their errand, as we don't want them fleeing, do we?"

Crastus prodded the still prone Pulchellus on the bottom with his foot in order to encourage the boy to stand up and embark on his mission with Marius. By doing so, he wrung a further howl of pain from the boy.

"Now you've got your blood on my boot you filthy little brute," Crastus subsequently commented in disgust. "Lick it clean, brat, before you do anything else," the man therefore also ordered.

The still sobbing and tearful Pulchellus somehow managed to rouse himself to lick Crastus' boot clean of his own blood before standing and leaving the room with the similarly naked Marius and the watchful Grynium. As they proceeded on their errand, Sejanus' son could hear the other boy snivelling beside him as they padded on bare feet along the outside marble-floored corridor.

Marius' sympathy for Pulchellus' suffering then overcame his dislike of the boy and he silently offered him his hand. However, the 12 year-old brushed the proffered palm to one side contemptuously.

Pulchellus' tears were not only of pain but also of anger and humiliation. The very pretty boy believed that he was something special. After all, his old master, Echion, had often told him so.

Pulchellus considered himself to be the best little tart on the estate, namely the liveliest fuck with the sweetest bottom and the nimblest tongue. However, he had now been stripped and beaten as though he was just a common little slave brat.

Pulchellus did not want sympathy from Marius, who, in his opinion, when the younger boy had been the free son of the very important owner of the estate, had clearly disliked Echion's catamite. The 12 year-old had believed that, what he considered to be, regular slights towards him provided the evidence for such an attitude, although they were in fact unintended and unnoticed by the alleged perpetrator.

Marius did dislike Pulchellus but he did not deliberately attempt openly to display his distaste. The younger boy had simply diplomatically tried to avoid Echion's catamite. However, the latter incorrectly considered such action to be insulting disdain.

Consequently, Pulchellus, who had also resented Marius' previously privileged lifestyle, despised the younger boy in return. The 12 year-old also recognised that, now that they had been reduced to the same level of servitude, he could more safely display his hatred, which he fully intended to do in a vengeful manner.

Pulchellus' spiteful attitude was only exacerbated by the fact that Marius had witnessed his humiliation and punishment at the hands of Crastus, whose favour he was already, even in his current misery, planning to win, as he had once done of his old master, Echion. If he could do so in order to try to safeguard himself from the man's cruel brutality and, at the same time, manoeuvre the other boy into trouble, the success of his plan would be even sweeter.

Not only did Pulchellus now hate Marius but also he saw the younger boy as a rival, at least until Crastus sold them on to others. The 12 year-old felt no sympathy or solidarity with fellow slaves. He selfishly sought only to try to make his own life of servitude as easy as possible, and who could really blame him?

The world was cruel and slaves like Pulchellus were not humans and therefore possessed no rights. They were just the chattels and tools of the free, who could do anything they wanted with their property, as Marius was soon to discover.

Marius and Pulchellus arrived in the busy hot kitchen. For a moment, the nude boys went unnoticed in the bustle and heat of the large room. One of the half-naked youths, engaged in washing saucepans in the great sink, located just inside the door, then saw them. He grinned and nudged his neighbour and whispers soon ran round the amenity.

"Pulchellus, dearest," a mincingly affected voice subsequently enquired, "is your poor little bottom sore?" "Did the nasty new Master cane your bum, sweetie?" giggled another.

Pulchellus blushed crimson, as other slaves joined in taunting him. One of them also flicked a wet dishcloth at the 12 year-old's raw rump, snapping the towel painfully against his sore flesh. The boy immediately spun round to face his tormentor but another youth darted up behind him and slapped him harshly across the bottom.

The watching Marius knew it was common practice to tease boys who appeared in the kitchen bearing marks of a recent beating on their bums. He had seen such torments often before, with freedmen and slaves, young and old, joining in the process. However, on this occasion, proceedings appeared to possess an extra edge of violence and cruelty.

The bailiff was not a popular man and his favourite bumboy and spy less so. Now, with Pulchellus deprived of his protection, the workers in the kitchen took the opportunity of settling old scores.

An infant kicked Pulchellus, whilst a much larger youth clouted him on the side of the head. Soon hard blows with hands and feet were raining down from every side on the 12 year-old, who was helpless to do much to defend himself and therefore just sank to his knees, trying to cover his head with his arms.

Grynium therefore attempted to intervene. The man tried to drive Pulchellus' many tormentors away but, as fast as he knocked one off the boy, another darted forward.

Marius, largely unnoticed in the mayhem, wriggled clear of the scene and ran across the kitchen to where the cook, usually a stickler for discipline in his domain, stood by the stove, a heavy ladle in his hand. The man was watching the commotion with a faint smile on his fat cheerful face.

"Daedalus," panted Marius initially, whilst referring to the cook's name. The boy, subsequently seeing a frown cross the man's face and remembering his own changed status, then added a hasty "Sir".

"Daedalus, Sir," Marius next begged, whilst feeling a little ashamed at having to give one of his late father's slaves such a title, "please stop them. They'll really harm Pulchellus' soon if you don't!"

Daedalus considered the plea for a few moments before perhaps realising that the sinister Crastus might not like Pulchellus to be harmed by anyone other than himself or his men. He therefore began to move ponderously across the kitchen towards the disturbance. However, he still did not hurry himself.

Daedalus remembered a dispute with Echion, during which the bailiff had alleged an over-ordering of provisions. The cook had been sure that Pulchellus had played a major informing role in trying to bring an end to this, in his view traditional, perquisite of his office.

Pulchellus was down on the floor. He could hardly be seen beneath the surging mass of vengeful boys and youths struggling to punch or kick him, as older onlookers cheered them.

Severe retribution was being extracted by many against Pulchellus for the snide tales that he had frequently previously passed on to Echion, which had often resulted in the punishment of other slaves. In fact, the sheer number of his assailants alone probably prevented the 12 year-old from being seriously injured.

After Daedalus had finally arrived at the fray, he wasted no time. The cook used his ladle, cracking the implement down on young close-cropped heads, bare shoulders and bottoms. Pulchellus' juvenile attackers therefore quickly scattered, leaving their victim still crouched on the floor, with his hands clasped on top of his head, whilst blood swelled from between his fingers and trickled down his once more tearful face.

"What do you mean by coming in here and creating chaos in my kitchen?" Daedalus then asked of Pulchellus, whose naked curled and hurting frame the cook prodded with a foot in order to encourage a quick answer. The man was clearly satisfied that order had now been restored to his kitchen and was now following the well-tried political expedient of blaming the victim for the acts of the aggressor.

Pulchellus remained silent, probably because his present grief was too great to notice Daedalus prodding him with his foot or the cook's verbal question. Marius too hesitated to answer, whilst Grynium also now began to tap his boot against the 12 year-old's prone form and cursed him for allowing himself to be injured.

Daedalus repeated his question with increased anger and more violent physical prodding. However, Pulchellus remained silent and so Marius considerately realised that he would have to answer on the other boy's behalf to prevent any further harm, although he feared that what he had to say would do nothing to decrease the cook's irritation.

"Daedalus, Sir, please Sir," Marius intervened, "we have orders from the man that you're to send him and his companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. He also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!"

Daedalus looked across into the nervous frightened face of Marius and his anger evaporated. The cook had always possessed affection for the pleasant boy, who had never displayed any real pomposity or cruelty towards his late father's servants. The man's attitude persisted, even after the 11 year-old's loss of freedom.

Such affection did not mean that Daedalus, or anyone like him, would continue to treat Marius in the same way as the past. The boy was effectively a slave now and would be treated as such.

Crastus' proposals in respect of Marius were, of course, not only against Tiberius' orders but also completely illegal. No free Roman boy could be enslaved without either parental approval or a court order. However, given the circumstances, no-one aware of the plans, even the 11 year-old himself or his allies amongst his late father's estate household, were going to object or inform in respect of such an outcome. After all, such a future for the child was surely better than rape and execution.

Daedalus could clearly remember the day when he had himself been a boy and the Imperial tax collectors had called at his own father's tiny farm with a court order. The youngest child had then been taken and enslaved to pay a parental debt.

Daedalus did not blame his parents for letting the tax collectors take possession of him. After all, the choice was either the boy or the large family's sole oxen, without which they would all have starved.

The fates had decreed that Daedalus should be a slave and they had decided the same for Marius, albeit technically illegally. The cook had once had to concede to such a destiny and now the boy would have to as well if he wished to live. The outcome was harsh but formed part of the natural order and must be accepted.

Beforehand, Daedalus had treated Marius with the friendly respect due to the master's son, and had provided him with the occasional sticky sweet almond and date cake, of which the boy had been so fond. However, the cook now regarded the child with the amused indulgence that you would accord to a puppy or any other lively young animal.

Such indulgence, however, had to have limits. A young animal might be played with but it must also be broken and disciplined. There was something about Marius' reply to Daedalus' recent question that did not please the cook.

"Who did boy?" Daedalus enquired sternly, in respect of the person referred to in Marius' reply. "He did, Sir, the man ."

"I know he is a man," Daedalus commented with irritation, "you said so before." The cook had dinner to prepare for the household and could not spend an indefinite amount of time trying to teach this boy, pleasant and pretty as he was, manners, including how to convey messages properly.

Daedalus therefore approached Marius and lifted his hand to strike the 11 year-old with the ladle. "Who is this man," the cook then asked, whilst delivering a hard blow to the pretty head below him, "who is he now to you, boy?"

"My .my .Master, Sir," Marius muttered, whilst rubbing his suddenly sore head. The boy was also overcome by shame at finally affording such a title to Crastus, which caused him instinctively to stare at the ground and rub one bare foot against the shin of his other leg in embarrassment.

"Yes he is your Master," Daedalus retorted, whilst delivering another painful blow of his ladle to Marius' head in order to encourage remembrance, "and deserves your reverence, boy, and don't you forget it. Now give me his message properly, and look me in the face and speak up whilst doing so!"

Marius subsequently overcame his embarrassment in order to comply with Daedalus' instruction. "Please, Sir," the humiliated boy advised, whilst obediently looking into he smirking cook's flabby face, "we have orders from my Master that you're to send him and his companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. My Master also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!"

"That's better, boy," Daedalus remarked. "Now I'll fetch the wine," the cook added, "although it's really the steward's job. However, he's away on business and he's left me the keys. I'll try to find something decent for your Master to put him in a good temper with you!"

Daedalus then hurried off. Marius subsequently noticed that Grynium had tired of cursing Pulchellus and prodding the prone boy with his foot. Selia had now taken the opportunity to practice her healing skills on the 12 year-old.

Selia was seated on a stool, with her skirt pulled up above her knees and Pulchellus crouching between her legs. The tearful boy had his head bowed whilst the woman used the fingers of one hand to part his hair in order to expose the torn scalp and then pore stinging white powder on the open wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Miss .ouch .please," Pulchellus pleaded urgently between anguished gasps, as Selia performed her painful ministrations on him, "please .ouch .just let me have a bit .ouch .just enough to grease me. Please, Miss .ouch .there's four of them and .ouch .they're all going to fuck me .ouch .and I'm sure they'll have much bigger cocks .ouch .than Echion!"

"I expect they have, Pulchellus," replied a smiling Selia, sounding amused. "From what I've heard," she added, "your last Master was not much of a man, although, being a woman, I wouldn't have first-hand knowledge of his cock!"

"And no I won't let you have any grease," Selia advised, "not unless your new Master says I should. He might want your bum to be fucked dry. Perhaps he's looking forward to hurting and tearing you, and where would I be if I spoiled his fun?"

Pulchellus shuddered. Selias' speculations about the tastes and wishes of Crastus seemed to the boy to be all too likely.

Nevertheless, Pulchellus was not going to give up his entreaties too quickly. "Miss, I won't use it unless he says I can," the boy continued desperately, "I promise, Miss .really .please, Miss!"

Selia, satisfied the flow of blood on Pulchellus' scalp had been stopped, tipped back the boy's head and, picking up a damp cloth, began to wipe the dried blood and tears from his usually very pretty face. "You must believe I'm pretty stupid," she simultaneously laughed, "if you think I believe a word that you or any other slave brat says. You'll all say anything and swear anything to escape being hurt!"

"Please .Miss ." Pulchellus then began to say again but Marius' attention was now suddenly distracted by a sharp clip on the side of his head. The naked boy swung round rubbing his stinging ear to see that Daedalus had returned from the cellars.

"If you can spare me a moment of your time, boy," Daedalus advised sarcastically, "I've brought two jugs of wine for your new Master." The cook nodded to the table beside him, on which stood two large silver ewers brimming with dark red, almost purple, liquid.

Marius gazed in amazement at the ornate jugs and the adjacent matching quartet of silver goblets. He had only seen them fleetingly from a distance in the past, being carried into the dining room when his father had been entertaining some of his special cronies to dinner, which were occasions deemed unsuitable for a free boy of his age.

Marius had also noticed that, although he was banished to bed at such times, there were always many pretty slave boys of his own age and even younger in attendance on his father and guests. The fine and elaborate decoration of the jugs and goblets, which the astute 11 year-old now saw from a much closer distance, provided a clear clue as to why such young male slaves had been present at the banquets.

Embossed satyrs with huge erections were depicted on the silver jugs and goblets, chasing beautiful young naked boys through wooded glades or, having been successful in their pursuit, burying their monstrous cocks into the slim bodies of their prey. However, Marius' mental reflection in respect of the obscene portrayals was quickly ended.

"Pay attention, boy," Daedalus had snapped. "Yes, Sir," Marius had answered, reverting his glance from jugs to cook.

Marius then screwed up his face, into what any onlooker would see as a comical grimace of apprehension. The boy had seen and laughed at Daedalus carrying out this little entertainment of his often enough in the past on other young slaves to know what was coming to him and he knew that people in the kitchen were turning to watch the fun.

"Well keep your hands down by your side then," Daedalus commanded, whilst again picking up his heavy ladle and once more bringing the implement down hard on the crown of Marius' head.

"Are you listening boy?" Daedalus subsequently asked, whilst Marius knew better than to rub his sore head again, whilst this scene was enacted. "Yes, Sir," the hurting boy instead simply once more replied.

"You are to inform your new Master," Daedalus then instructed, "that this wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper slopes and dates from the first year of the reign of the Divine Augustus. Repeat what are you to tell him!"

Marius, standing obediently to attention, with his hands firmly against the sides of his bare thighs and his face twisted in fear of the next blow that he knew was to come, recited in his answer in his clear boyish soprano voice. "I must inform my Master," the abashed 11 year-old announced, "that the wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper slopes and dates from the reign of the Divine Augustus!"

"Don't forget then, boy," Daedalus subsequently ordered, whilst rewarding Marius for his good memory by again banging the ladle down on top of the 11 year-old's head, thereby making the child's ears ring.

"Now," Daedalus commented, whilst turning to Grynium, "if the other boy is ready, the pair of brats can each carry a jug and two of the four silver goblets. Perhaps they'll even manage not to spill some wine, especially as they'll know that, if they do, their backsides might feel the strap of their new Master!"

"What about our dinner?" Grynium demanded roughly. "It'll be artichokes with fish pickle sauce," Daedalus replied, "followed by boiled pork stew with olives and then figs in honey to finish. Send the brats down in half an hour to fetch the first course!"

"That sounds all right," Grynium said ungraciously and, followed by Marius and the partially recovered Pulchellus, stumped from the kitchen, whilst Daedalus pulled a rude face at his back. Like nearly everybody else whose paths crossed those of Crastus and his companions, the cook was ready to do anything the men wanted in the hope that if he did they would go away quickly and inflict themselves on someone else.

Crastus and his three companions subsequently quickly emptied one of the jugs of wine. Pulchellus, whose extra bruises had been ignored by his new master, was then returned to the kitchen to obtain a refill, whilst Marius was kept busy topping up the goblets with the contents of the other silver container.

The silver jug was heavy and Marius had to use both hands to pour the wine, which left him defenceless against the pawing attentions of the increasingly drunken men. As the naked boy served the strong red liquid, rough fingers strayed over his gorgeous body, caressing the inside of his legs, stroking his bottom, toying with his little cock and small hairless balls, and generally poking and prying into the most intimate recesses of his form.

The men frightened Marius, especially Crastus. The boy could not look at his heavy strong body and broad hands, with their hairy backs and thick stubby fingers, without remembering that the adult had raped and killed both his brother and his sister.

Marius despised Crastus but, despite his revulsion at having to serve the man and allow his hands to paw his body, the boy also found himself becoming increasingly excited and so he began to hate himself too. Surely, the 11 year-old thought, he could not enjoy the caresses of an adult male, who had treated his own brother and sister so cruelly. However, the child's stiff cock betrayed the shameful fact that he was indeed being pleasured.

Pulchellus eventually returned from the kitchen with more wine, having on this occasion been spared the bullying previously endured there. The four men then became drunker and wilder.

Pulchellus circulated with the newly refilled jug, and was also subjected to intimate fondling. However, the boy, keen to gain the favour of the men, especially Crastus, reacted rather differently to the blushing but quiescent Marius.

Pulchellus deliberately lingered for a while by each man he served, whilst wriggling his little sore bottom invitingly as he moved about the room, with his rosy lips half parted and his eyes glazed with lust. Marius, whose own jug was now empty, tried to use the opportunity to fade into the background but Crastus soon demanded a fresh service from him.

"Bring the empty jug here, boy, as I want to pee," Crastus shouted. Marius subsequently found himself kneeling in front of the man.

Marius held his the jug ready, and was rewarded when a stream of tarty smelling amber fluid jetted from Crastus' cock, only a few inches away from the boy's face, to fill the bottom of the ewer with frothing urine. The 11 year-old, who had never seen a man's penis so close before, wondered at its size and the great blue veins that ribbed it. He also wondered how Pulchellus' bottom would accommodate so monstrous an object.

Crastus eventually shook the last drops of liquid from his prick and wiped his fingers dry on Marius' short silky fair hair. Another of the men subsequently shouted for the boy, who then went from adult to adult as they emptied their bladders into the increasingly heavy jug.

Varro was the last to call for Marius' services. The boy again knelt at a man's feet, holding a few inches from his young pretty face his heavy jug, which was now more than three-quarters full of steaming urine.

When Varro had finished relieving himself, a single bead of fluid hung from the tip of his large hairy penis. "Lick it off," the grinning man then ordered of the shocked and appalled Marius.

"Don't hurry the boy," Crastus shouted from across the room, "as I don't want to do anything that'll cut his value on the auction block. He'll learn to suck cock soon enough, don't you worry."

"Marius give that jug to Pulchellus," Crastus continued, "and come over here to me, as it's time we became better acquainted." "After all, I knew your big brother and sister very well," he added with a brutal laugh.

Before Marius could obey, Pulchellus pushed him aside, apparently eager to take the younger boy's place at Varro' feet. Without awaiting further instruction, the 12 year-old then lent forward to introduce the tip of his tongue to the droplet of urine at the end of the man's cock.

Whilst the amazed younger boy looked on, Pulchellus then lingered briefly before licking and exploring Varro's penile slit with his tongue. "Marius," Crastus's voice then resounded round the room, assuming an edge of impatience, "come here!"

Marius rose to his feet and began to walk towards Crastus, fearing what was to come next but, at the same time, as was evident from his little erection, deeply excited.

(To be continued)