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Stories by Crassuswild
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crassuswild
Magistrate
Market Day
you’re in a pen. filthy and in chains, the stench is horrific, it is sales day and one by one your wretched comrades of both sexes are dragged away to be sold, families torn apart, sobbing and resentment fills the air, the door to your pen is opened, "you, out" demands a Slaver, whip in hand,
you stand up slowly as chains rattle...and bend head...pacing to front,
"hurry up" crack, the whip cuts across your shoulder, only a warning blow really but enough to remind you of your servile status "put on a good show for them and you might get a better buyer, your a strong lad if a bit long in the tooth, ex army?"
"you look the type, maybe get a bodyguard position, although their are miners and galley captains in the crowd, they like old soldiers , shift it, don’t be shy ha ha ha"
you can hear voices, the constant murmur of a crowd, the day is humid and your skin feels damp with heat and nerves. he yanks away the remains of your ragged tunic. exposing your chest "strong enough, good" you stand in your filthy loincloth, he starts to pull it down
"Gnnn am i allowed nothing damn you?"
"you know the law, slaves are displayed naked on the block so no imperfections can be hidden and cause later legal argument, besides , you have nothing to be shy about " he bobs your cock in his hand " wave it about and some rich widow may take a shine to you ha ha ha, give us any trouble and you will be crucified "
"gnnn..." whispers "fuck you u" under breath
he grabs your balls "better keep that mouth shut " squeezes tighter " or some old cunt with make a eunuch of you"
nods "aye overseer"
the sounds of the crowd get louder, there is a mass of people, traders, slavers, guards and voyeurs. your are led naked and in chairs to a wood block, the crowd stares and whistles, gossip and point, "get on the block" comes the command, the sun burns down
you walk up the steps with filthy feet in chains and stare out at the crowd
“Legs wide apart , arms up and flex and make it hard ha ha ha" the auctioneer starts has spiel "slave in its prime, ex soldier, strong and enduring, speaks Latin and Greek, tough and no deformities , "show them your teeth" he commands you "come and test the goods " he tells interested buyers , brutal looking men start to grab your thighs and feel your arm muscles, women look on, you recognise some of the faces in the crowd as former friends and enemies and it increases the sense of shame . a fist punches you in the guts to test your recovery speed.
"GNNN" you take the blow and rise "HUH"
there is a fascination in squeezing your ass checks and grabbing your cock even though it could not possibly reveal anything about you . waves of humiliation run through you, finally they step back and bidding commences , insults fly as they try to bring your price down "to old" "looks like bones were broken" "looks pox ed" "cut cock like a jew" cheep insults you have to endure
you set your jaw and stare into the distance...hoping that your wife is having a better time being sold as slave far away
finally the bids stop "sold" comes the simple statement, a tanned weather beaten man in armour seems to have been triumphant "hmmm bad luck" hisses the auctioneer to you as he pulls you from the block
"what...why?" you gasp as you clank down in chains
"Thats Gershon the galley master"
"i am for the oar?" shudders and you look away
the auctioneer shrugs, Gershon approaches and looks you up and down again and hands over coins and taking your chain drags you along through the watching crowd as another naked wretch is put on the block, silently you are taken to a side area where a blacksmith is working, the heat is worse as he hammers at molten metal , another one of mine grunts Gershon, suddenly two muscular henchmen grab your arms as the Smith looks at you. he takes an iron out the fire you see it is a red hot "G" at the end of it
You step back " a branded galley slave? for life?"
"for as long as you last ha ha ha" they grip your arms tighter "keep still boy unless you want to feel the whip" the red hot G comes closer and closer, you can feel the air hot around it, your chest hairs curl and vanish before the iron even touches the skin
"Uh AUHHHHHHHHHHHHH" you screech as you writhe. held by the men
suddenly the G is pressed into your chest, raw agony explodes through you as your skin sizzles, acrid stenches go up your nose, the men suddenly let you go as the brand is pulled away and a bucket of cold water is thrown over you, it does little to sooth the burning agony on your chest
You are dragged away to your life of misery.
you’re in a pen. filthy and in chains, the stench is horrific, it is sales day and one by one your wretched comrades of both sexes are dragged away to be sold, families torn apart, sobbing and resentment fills the air, the door to your pen is opened, "you, out" demands a Slaver, whip in hand,
you stand up slowly as chains rattle...and bend head...pacing to front,
"hurry up" crack, the whip cuts across your shoulder, only a warning blow really but enough to remind you of your servile status "put on a good show for them and you might get a better buyer, your a strong lad if a bit long in the tooth, ex army?"
"you look the type, maybe get a bodyguard position, although their are miners and galley captains in the crowd, they like old soldiers , shift it, don’t be shy ha ha ha"
you can hear voices, the constant murmur of a crowd, the day is humid and your skin feels damp with heat and nerves. he yanks away the remains of your ragged tunic. exposing your chest "strong enough, good" you stand in your filthy loincloth, he starts to pull it down
"Gnnn am i allowed nothing damn you?"
"you know the law, slaves are displayed naked on the block so no imperfections can be hidden and cause later legal argument, besides , you have nothing to be shy about " he bobs your cock in his hand " wave it about and some rich widow may take a shine to you ha ha ha, give us any trouble and you will be crucified "
"gnnn..." whispers "fuck you u" under breath
he grabs your balls "better keep that mouth shut " squeezes tighter " or some old cunt with make a eunuch of you"
nods "aye overseer"
the sounds of the crowd get louder, there is a mass of people, traders, slavers, guards and voyeurs. your are led naked and in chairs to a wood block, the crowd stares and whistles, gossip and point, "get on the block" comes the command, the sun burns down
you walk up the steps with filthy feet in chains and stare out at the crowd
“Legs wide apart , arms up and flex and make it hard ha ha ha" the auctioneer starts has spiel "slave in its prime, ex soldier, strong and enduring, speaks Latin and Greek, tough and no deformities , "show them your teeth" he commands you "come and test the goods " he tells interested buyers , brutal looking men start to grab your thighs and feel your arm muscles, women look on, you recognise some of the faces in the crowd as former friends and enemies and it increases the sense of shame . a fist punches you in the guts to test your recovery speed.
"GNNN" you take the blow and rise "HUH"
there is a fascination in squeezing your ass checks and grabbing your cock even though it could not possibly reveal anything about you . waves of humiliation run through you, finally they step back and bidding commences , insults fly as they try to bring your price down "to old" "looks like bones were broken" "looks pox ed" "cut cock like a jew" cheep insults you have to endure
you set your jaw and stare into the distance...hoping that your wife is having a better time being sold as slave far away
finally the bids stop "sold" comes the simple statement, a tanned weather beaten man in armour seems to have been triumphant "hmmm bad luck" hisses the auctioneer to you as he pulls you from the block
"what...why?" you gasp as you clank down in chains
"Thats Gershon the galley master"
"i am for the oar?" shudders and you look away
the auctioneer shrugs, Gershon approaches and looks you up and down again and hands over coins and taking your chain drags you along through the watching crowd as another naked wretch is put on the block, silently you are taken to a side area where a blacksmith is working, the heat is worse as he hammers at molten metal , another one of mine grunts Gershon, suddenly two muscular henchmen grab your arms as the Smith looks at you. he takes an iron out the fire you see it is a red hot "G" at the end of it
You step back " a branded galley slave? for life?"
"for as long as you last ha ha ha" they grip your arms tighter "keep still boy unless you want to feel the whip" the red hot G comes closer and closer, you can feel the air hot around it, your chest hairs curl and vanish before the iron even touches the skin
"Uh AUHHHHHHHHHHHHH" you screech as you writhe. held by the men
suddenly the G is pressed into your chest, raw agony explodes through you as your skin sizzles, acrid stenches go up your nose, the men suddenly let you go as the brand is pulled away and a bucket of cold water is thrown over you, it does little to sooth the burning agony on your chest
You are dragged away to your life of misery.
crassuswild
Magistrate
crassuswild
Magistrate
crassuswild
Magistrate
Attachments
crassuswild
Magistrate
crassuswild
Magistrate
Thanks
crassuswild
Magistrate
Attachments
crassuswild
Magistrate
REVOLT
Our village was destroyed,
The romans,
we stood no chance and yet our idiot elders had still
defied them, held back their taxes, insulted their gods, spat on the
image of their emperor.
The Romans had been swift and brutal.
The elders had made their speeches but we had to fight, the young men
of the village, farmers, blacksmiths and potters,
We had to do the fighting,
we had to protect the elders and our women folk.
we failed,
the romans were to strong, to well organised, to well armed.
We were peasants in out day clothes with heirloom swords and kitchen
knives.
Most dies, some survived.
I survived.
The men who survived the battle were chained up and lined up before
our burning village.
The great general who had slaughtered our kin sauntered down the
ranks of my family and friends.
"Enslave the women and children" he ordered "Crucify the men"...
I remember my crucifixion. I remember the grinding pain and
humiliation. As a gladiator i have faced death many times and have on
occasion been horrified and fearful at the nearness of death and yet
no mortal situation in the arena is as abysmal and degrading as
awaiting death on the cross. In combat the gladiator always has a
chance, always has his skill always has the good favour of the mob,
always has hope.
On the cross their is no hope.
No relief.
If you have ever wondered why the Roman Empire is as powerful as it is
you would only to have been stood chained in that burning village to
know.
Organisation.
Through the smoke and the cries of the wounded you could see the roman
army machine set to work, stripping trees, sawing and binding,
building crosses.
Crosses to crucify us upon.
Remembering back to that terrible time, the waiting with my comrades,
chained together, surrounded by grim faced soldiers, there swords in
their hands. My eyes filled with tears from the smoke of our burning
homes and from the terror and frustration. The waiting, waiting to die
that terrible death, the Romans ultimate contempt for freedom
fighters.
It was so unfair, none of us wanted this battle, the folly of old men
had doomed us.
I pull at my bonds in frustration but there is no escape.
My comrades react so differently, all blooded, ragged and sooted, some
stand stoic and proud, some appear catatonic as if the horror of
recent events has driven away there senses. Some beg and plead, making
pointless appeals to the bloodstained soldiers who guard us. Some
clutch family members, fathers and sons desperate to console each
other. Others hurl abuse at enemies or hurl blame for our failed
defence in battle.
Through the smoke you can see the Roman grunts starting to raise the
results of there labours.
A wooden cross stands, T shaped and fashioned from fresh cut wood,
splintered and crude, standing at a slight angle in its new dug hole,
the first of the many crosses they are building for us.
The Romans congratulate themselves on there speedy work.
We could have waited!
A wave of panic ran though me and my comrades, the smell of nervous
sweat was as strong at the stench of smoke and blood. As a conquered
people we were always aware of the threat of crucifixion, it was the
common penalty for sedition and rebellion, reserved for foreigners and
slaves, the lowest of the low, and i had joined there ranks.
And so it began.
With relentless cruelty the Romans had set about there grim task...
The method is simple to describe.
Painful and degrading to experience.
The armed and armoured soldiers converged on us on mass, bound and
defenceless men all exhausted from battle and lack of sleep. Three
soldiers per captive, any hint of resistance was met with fists and
kicks, punches to guts, blows to faces, knees in groins, boots into
balls. the air filled with the cries of pain and shouts of defiance.
orders barked in Latin, yells and grunts of pain. I was young and
strong and i fought. I knew it was hopeless but i shoved and elbowed
my tormentors, i took there threats and blows willingly, i hoped to
die, i hoped to be beaten to death by these thugs, for a quick if
brutal death to spar me the long drawn out death on the cross. i
failed.
Each of us were stripped, the sounds of clothes tearing, the mocking
of soldiers, i remember the cool air touching my naked skin as my
tunic was torn away, it was so humiliating to be stripped by another
man, to feel their eyes judging me, strange no that i spend so much of
my life naked and on public display, but i come from a proud and
private people and to be naked in public was seen as the ultimate
humiliation. Loincloth ripped away i stood naked in my chains as did
my fellows, people i had known all my life, all stripped and exposed
everything that made them men on display. We huddled together for
warmth and protection, the feeling of men's bodies pressing against me
alien and strange.
They broke into our naked huddle and started to drag us towards the
new built crosses. We fought hard but the Romans were well practiced
at the art of crucifixion and they forced our naked backs against the
crosses, i remember its cool feel on my naked flesh, i remember the
panic, i remember the shame, the utter helplessness, i remained
silent, i simply could not think of anything to say.
Rough ropes bound our wrists to the crossbars, our arms outstretched,
then they forced our legs to bend and our arms took our wait and they
roped our legs to the upright. As i say it is quick to describe but
terrible to experience, the crude violence of it, the knowing that
these men are deliberately torturing you, binding you to a cross with
the intention of slowly killing you.
And it is a slow death from asphyxiation or heart failure, from blood
clots or poisoning of the blood.
Such science was beyond my tortured mind at the time.
i remember my initial struggles, my desperate struggles to pull free
of the ropes that dug into my flesh, the grazed and tore, i pulled and
tugged with increasing desperation, i could see my comrades doing the
same muscles flexing, cocks bobbing as they writhed in a futile
attempt to escape their crosses.
the ropes bit into my skin, the cross moved and groaned along with me
but held firm.
I Remember pain. I have known pain many times since i have been
enslaved, i have been subject to many of the methods my fellow man has
created to make another squirm and scream so many times, but none of
them have been like the pain of the cross. The slow, unending, futile
hopeless pain. The terrible pull on the arms a vague ache at first
that grows and grows until my arms felt on fire, until my shoulders
felt as if they could burst, the terrible pressure on my chest, the
thirst, the loss of blood from my wounds, cramp that gnawed me, the
flies that crawled over my naked skin, my wrists arms and torso
devoured with pain, i shivered with shock and my body would spasm,
rubbing the flesh from my feet and ankles as they dance and convulse
in an attempt to take my wait to stand on the cross and take my weight
from my arms.
soon the shouts of my comrades defiance subside and the air is filled
with groans and sobs, the cry of birds that circle above us, the
terrible weeping of out women folk as they are led by our crosses
taken into slavery, mothers seeing sons and husbands crucified naked
before them.
Terrible memory.
I don't know how long i was crucified, how long i was tortured in that
pitiful state, it felt like forever but it could not have been.
i remember the desperation, the humiliation the hopelessness, but it
was not hopeless
there was escape....
Our village was destroyed,
The romans,
we stood no chance and yet our idiot elders had still
defied them, held back their taxes, insulted their gods, spat on the
image of their emperor.
The Romans had been swift and brutal.
The elders had made their speeches but we had to fight, the young men
of the village, farmers, blacksmiths and potters,
We had to do the fighting,
we had to protect the elders and our women folk.
we failed,
the romans were to strong, to well organised, to well armed.
We were peasants in out day clothes with heirloom swords and kitchen
knives.
Most dies, some survived.
I survived.
The men who survived the battle were chained up and lined up before
our burning village.
The great general who had slaughtered our kin sauntered down the
ranks of my family and friends.
"Enslave the women and children" he ordered "Crucify the men"...
I remember my crucifixion. I remember the grinding pain and
humiliation. As a gladiator i have faced death many times and have on
occasion been horrified and fearful at the nearness of death and yet
no mortal situation in the arena is as abysmal and degrading as
awaiting death on the cross. In combat the gladiator always has a
chance, always has his skill always has the good favour of the mob,
always has hope.
On the cross their is no hope.
No relief.
If you have ever wondered why the Roman Empire is as powerful as it is
you would only to have been stood chained in that burning village to
know.
Organisation.
Through the smoke and the cries of the wounded you could see the roman
army machine set to work, stripping trees, sawing and binding,
building crosses.
Crosses to crucify us upon.
Remembering back to that terrible time, the waiting with my comrades,
chained together, surrounded by grim faced soldiers, there swords in
their hands. My eyes filled with tears from the smoke of our burning
homes and from the terror and frustration. The waiting, waiting to die
that terrible death, the Romans ultimate contempt for freedom
fighters.
It was so unfair, none of us wanted this battle, the folly of old men
had doomed us.
I pull at my bonds in frustration but there is no escape.
My comrades react so differently, all blooded, ragged and sooted, some
stand stoic and proud, some appear catatonic as if the horror of
recent events has driven away there senses. Some beg and plead, making
pointless appeals to the bloodstained soldiers who guard us. Some
clutch family members, fathers and sons desperate to console each
other. Others hurl abuse at enemies or hurl blame for our failed
defence in battle.
Through the smoke you can see the Roman grunts starting to raise the
results of there labours.
A wooden cross stands, T shaped and fashioned from fresh cut wood,
splintered and crude, standing at a slight angle in its new dug hole,
the first of the many crosses they are building for us.
The Romans congratulate themselves on there speedy work.
We could have waited!
A wave of panic ran though me and my comrades, the smell of nervous
sweat was as strong at the stench of smoke and blood. As a conquered
people we were always aware of the threat of crucifixion, it was the
common penalty for sedition and rebellion, reserved for foreigners and
slaves, the lowest of the low, and i had joined there ranks.
And so it began.
With relentless cruelty the Romans had set about there grim task...
The method is simple to describe.
Painful and degrading to experience.
The armed and armoured soldiers converged on us on mass, bound and
defenceless men all exhausted from battle and lack of sleep. Three
soldiers per captive, any hint of resistance was met with fists and
kicks, punches to guts, blows to faces, knees in groins, boots into
balls. the air filled with the cries of pain and shouts of defiance.
orders barked in Latin, yells and grunts of pain. I was young and
strong and i fought. I knew it was hopeless but i shoved and elbowed
my tormentors, i took there threats and blows willingly, i hoped to
die, i hoped to be beaten to death by these thugs, for a quick if
brutal death to spar me the long drawn out death on the cross. i
failed.
Each of us were stripped, the sounds of clothes tearing, the mocking
of soldiers, i remember the cool air touching my naked skin as my
tunic was torn away, it was so humiliating to be stripped by another
man, to feel their eyes judging me, strange no that i spend so much of
my life naked and on public display, but i come from a proud and
private people and to be naked in public was seen as the ultimate
humiliation. Loincloth ripped away i stood naked in my chains as did
my fellows, people i had known all my life, all stripped and exposed
everything that made them men on display. We huddled together for
warmth and protection, the feeling of men's bodies pressing against me
alien and strange.
They broke into our naked huddle and started to drag us towards the
new built crosses. We fought hard but the Romans were well practiced
at the art of crucifixion and they forced our naked backs against the
crosses, i remember its cool feel on my naked flesh, i remember the
panic, i remember the shame, the utter helplessness, i remained
silent, i simply could not think of anything to say.
Rough ropes bound our wrists to the crossbars, our arms outstretched,
then they forced our legs to bend and our arms took our wait and they
roped our legs to the upright. As i say it is quick to describe but
terrible to experience, the crude violence of it, the knowing that
these men are deliberately torturing you, binding you to a cross with
the intention of slowly killing you.
And it is a slow death from asphyxiation or heart failure, from blood
clots or poisoning of the blood.
Such science was beyond my tortured mind at the time.
i remember my initial struggles, my desperate struggles to pull free
of the ropes that dug into my flesh, the grazed and tore, i pulled and
tugged with increasing desperation, i could see my comrades doing the
same muscles flexing, cocks bobbing as they writhed in a futile
attempt to escape their crosses.
the ropes bit into my skin, the cross moved and groaned along with me
but held firm.
I Remember pain. I have known pain many times since i have been
enslaved, i have been subject to many of the methods my fellow man has
created to make another squirm and scream so many times, but none of
them have been like the pain of the cross. The slow, unending, futile
hopeless pain. The terrible pull on the arms a vague ache at first
that grows and grows until my arms felt on fire, until my shoulders
felt as if they could burst, the terrible pressure on my chest, the
thirst, the loss of blood from my wounds, cramp that gnawed me, the
flies that crawled over my naked skin, my wrists arms and torso
devoured with pain, i shivered with shock and my body would spasm,
rubbing the flesh from my feet and ankles as they dance and convulse
in an attempt to take my wait to stand on the cross and take my weight
from my arms.
soon the shouts of my comrades defiance subside and the air is filled
with groans and sobs, the cry of birds that circle above us, the
terrible weeping of out women folk as they are led by our crosses
taken into slavery, mothers seeing sons and husbands crucified naked
before them.
Terrible memory.
I don't know how long i was crucified, how long i was tortured in that
pitiful state, it felt like forever but it could not have been.
i remember the desperation, the humiliation the hopelessness, but it
was not hopeless
there was escape....
crassuswild
Magistrate
REVOLT 2
--I was lucky i guess, rescue came to me, if you can call a life condemned to slavery as luck.
The slavers had arrived to take out women folk, there greedy eyes fixed upon our crosses, they had whispered conversations with our roman tormentors and no doubt deals were done, for the purchases of some of the crucified as slaves much coin would go the soldiers way.
The slavers walked down the lines of crosses examining us, that was a terrible moment, the sudden of of rescue mixed with the terror of being left on the cross to endure their agony of crucifixion until death. I could see the crucified flexing there muscles on there arms and legs, trying to look strong and brave despite the gnawing pain they endured, the pleading and the wails of utter woe from those rejected was the most bleak sound i have ever heard.
Part of me felt contempt for the crucified as they displayed there goods before the slavers, flexing and thrusting there naked bodies in a desperate attempt to escape there crosses and yet when my turn came i did exactly the same. The unrelieved and cramping pain of the cross was becoming beyond endurance and i would have done anything to escape. The Slavers were well armed, weather beaten men with shrewd eyes. They stood before my cross and i gritted my teeth against the pain, i pulled my arms against the ropes and allowed the muscles in my arms to bulge and flex, i tried to puff out my chest despite the grinding pain that tortured my crucified body, the watched my efforts with expressionless faces, they prodded the muscles in my legs with bony fingers, testing the strength of my fibre. The cupped my naked balls thin there hands as if examining fruit and i tried not to cringe and pull away from there attentions, They force my mouth open with the hilt of a whip to examine my teeth.
My heart pounded as they stood deliberation. i had never felt so naked or exposed, they did not know me or want to all i was to them was meat on display to be judged. Even to the Romans i was a foe to be punished but to these slavers i was just profit. i felt so degraded and yet terrified that i would not make the grade and be left to die on my cross.
They nodded and i felt a wave of relief as i felt the ropes about my torn ankles cut and then thudded into the dirt as the bonds about my wrists were cut. i rolled around naked in the dirt for a moment tortured by pins and needles tortured my freed limbs. I heard the crack of a whip and i staggered shakenly to my numbed feet. My hands were bound behind my back and a loop of rope about my neck and i was joined to the line of selected slaves, bound and naked that we were we had at least survived.
As we were lead away we had to walk the line of our less lucky comrades who still hung in agony on there crosses and would do for the the days it would take them to die, they pleaded to us to help them or insulted us as sell outs and traitors.
i was led away from my burned home and crucified comrades to a life as a roman slave....
the march seemed endless, we just stumbled along in out bonds as our en-slavers rode next to us, we were silent, in shock from the recent brutality inflicted upon us, bound and naked we were marched away from everything we had ever known. Our injuries from the cross were left unattended and no food or water were offered, any hint of weakness and the slavers would lash out with their whips, to many signs of weakness and the unfortunate slave earned a sword in the belly and left on the roadside to die.
Fear also ate at me, the Romans cruel and callous way in which they treated there slaves was now uppermost in my mind, as a slave i was now property to be abused and used in anyway my new masters saw fit. A Roman slave could be whipped, branded, maimed or marked without protection of the law. Any legal dealing i had now would be under torture the only way my evidence would now be admissible. We are rough uneducated folk, we will not go to some expensive villa to undertake kitchen or household duties, for us it will be the mines, the galley or the sword. All fates that give horror to the soul of a civilized man. I felt sick with fear and shock and so ashamed as i trudged naked through the world exposed to the gaze and taunts of those we passed.
We arrived at long last, dirty and cold ,at the small merchant town of Hazzla, it was night and the streets were lit with torches, the orange flames reflecting off our naked bodies. Forced into the market square, its edges guarded by armed soldiers the square was already packed with naked, chained prisoners who looked at us with indifferent dead eyes, there spirits broken, as were ours. These were crude, dirty men, unkempt but strong, no baths or oil for slaves such as these, the buyers for them... for us... just wanted drones, cattle, work horses, our new masters wanted muscle not elegant houseslaves to be perfumed and easy on the eye.
We squatted and sat on the cold stone flags, huddling together against the cold of the night, the heat of each others flesh the only comfort. Nobody spoke, the shock, we had all lost everything we had ever known, friends and family, wives and children, we had all suffered the cross and endured the march. One of our number wept. I just felt the relief of rest. My feet burned and everyone of my muscles ached, i was hungry and thirsty and full of terror and yet i was so tired i drifted into sleep wondering what fresh horrors tomorrows market day would bring...
The night was a cool one and we were naked,
we huddled together for warmth and protection, yet i slept from pure
exhaustion, my dreams were full of horrors, slain Friends, my burning
home, Death sneering with rage as i was removed from my cross, "Be
seeing you" she hissed.
I awoke to an explosion of activity, tunic clad slaves with water and
brooms scrubbing the flags of the market square where so many slaves
had soiled it, guards ensuring the security of the slaves, slavers and
scribes finalizing the details of the forthcoming days sale.
It was cold and early, dawn just creeping across the sky, the
surrounding buildings looking black and sinister in the gloom.
Hot wet against my bare back as the chained man behind me pisses,
acrid and stinking, i turn in rage chains clanking and yet my rage
melts as i see the look of utter degraded shame on the face of the
terrified and naked man chained behind me, wetting himself for the
first time since childhood, he whispers something in a language i do
not understand and i turn back.
"UP UP!" comes the command from many armed and brutal guards with
harsh cries and the crack of whips,
we climb to our feet, chains clanking, groaning, limbs protesting
after a night on the cold hard ground.
Row upon row of chained and dirty naked men, some cowered and ashamed,
hands cupping there cocks and balls, some proud and defiant, chests
outs and eyes full of hate. Sounds of protests, wails of fear, the
clank of chains in the air, like the waiting room for Hades. Some hard
cases dragged and kicked to their feet, snarling and spitting. I
remember trying to look casual, not too tough and not to humble,
trying not to be noticed, trying to blend into the crowd, trying to
avoid the attentions of our harsh masters.
I feel ashamed as the cold has shrunk my cock and balls, insanely i
try to think sexy thoughts and increase the flow of blood to my
manhood, my body is all i have now i want it to look good, then i
realise i am wrong, it is not my body anymore it is owned by others to
do with what they will and soon it will be sold on to another.
cruel laughter down the line where a young man sports and erection,
his face red with humiliation.
we were offered no food or water, that would be for our new masters to
provide.
The Market Master swaggered up the rows of naked, cowered or
protesting slaves, whip in hand, i remember his speech, made in many
languages, clever man despite his brutal appearance, i remember what
happened next more, "You are slaves now, you were free but now you are
property. you must forget your old lives, you must forget yourself, as
slaves you are subject to the whims of your master without defence or
rights of any kind, to survive you must obey, that is al,l obey! If
you do not obey you will suffer, branded, whipped, maimed, amputated,
blinded or crucified, work hard and earn the respect of your new
Master and you might live, you could even earn your freedom, but these
are just words, men do not believe words but they understand actions,
learn this lesson slaves for your lives depend on it..." he beckons to
his guards.
The armoured soldiers haul a struggling man into view, one of the more
rowdy of our number, a short but powerful man, his filthy body was
meaty but strong, cock swings between his powerful thighs as he
struggles in the soldiers grip, he shouts and bellows in a language i
don't recognise but his lumpen face is full of fury. They drag, punch
and kick the slave to the heart of the market square. He stands
panting and defiant all to aware that all our eyes are on him, sweat
rolls streaky lines down his dirty skin, his face a mask of hate, the
soldiers stand around him, whips in hand, flagrums's the lictors most
savage lash, three leather thongs studded with bits of bone and metal
to rip the skin. The slaves expression of anger turns to shock as with
a sudden crack the guard behind him lashes his unprotected back, his
face creases in agony before filling with hatred, he turns to charge
at his attacker when another guard to his side whips his turned back,
he spins about and is whipped by another, he is surrounded and lashed
from all sides, he tried to fight his attackers but the whip rains
down on him, his powerful body soon running with blood as the whips
hack and slice into him, back in shreds, ass, thighs chest and belly
all welted and bloody, chunks of bloody meat whipped from him, fuck he
is brave and only falls when a whip embeds into his scrotum and a
fleshy chunk torn from them, he writhes on the ground his bloody arms
raised to protect himself before curling into a quivering, rolling
ball, the soldiers are without mercy and continue to lash, his bellows
turn to screams turn to groans and then silence. If he is dead when
they call on two slaves to drag him from the market square i cannot
tell but i doubt what’s left will live long.
"Learn from his example slaves and do not suffer his fate" we are
silent and shocked as a number of slaves scrub the gore from the
flagstones, when the unhappy remains are cleared the Market Master
calls,
"Open the gates, allow in the customers..."
So we stood, waiting, new meat in the market, the customers sauntering
into the market, the slavers fawned over these rich men, the contrast
to us could not have been more stark, they in there fine robes, well
fed, shaved and pampered, us naked, chained, unshaven and starving.
We were objects, not men, goods to be sold, the customers insulting
and degrading us, mocking us, trying to get the price lower, the
slavers talking us up, highlighting our good points, but describing us
all in the physical, as things not people.
I was examined by many as were we all. I still don't know if the
customers were truly interested or needed the information they gained
from the degrading study of our naked flesh or weather it was just a
power thing, enjoying there superiority over another living being.
"Show us you teeth"
"flex your muscles"
"pull back your foreskin"
"hmmm bit short"
"looks strong enough"
"getting on a bit"
"fuck what a stink, pass me the rose water"
Feeling their hands on my body, even my most intimate parts and being
unable to do anything to prevent it, feeling them gripping the muscles
in my arms and thighs, I feel them hold my balls as if examining
fruit,
"Think he could be used for stud?"
"Nah i have seen better"
"think he is strong enough"
PAIN!
a sudden gut punch to my belly, hard. Pain explodes through my belly
and i grunt, i am shocked at this sudden unprovoked attacked and feel
myself stagger, but i am clever, i realise this is a test and i
understand that a strong slave will have a better fate than a weak on
so i keep my face calm, i stand tall, i control my breathing despite
the throbbing ache in my guts.
These particular customers look at each other and whisper, have i
passed? have i failed? why am i evening trying to impress these vile
men? Why was i cooperating with my exposure and submission, then i
remember the terrible feeling of hanging from the cross and the
horrific sight of our comrade being flogged to death and i answer my
own question. Why don't i resist? Fear.
One by one we were led to the block, an old stone worn smooth by the
thousands of slave feet that had stood upon it. It was mid afternoon
by now and the sun beat down, hot upon our naked bodies, sweat rolled
down us and the musky smell of men hung heavy in the air.
Standing on the block was a powerfully humiliating experience, to
stand naked before the vast crowd of gawpers and customers, every man
no matter how big, or strong, or endowed, always has insecurities,
always had nagging doubts and to stand so exposed to public attention
was deeply cruel. To have been free and now to stand naked and in
chains was a blow to the confidence that breaks many men. Also i
remember insane actions, suddenly wanting to look good, flexing my
muscles, sticking out my chest out, giving my half smile that had
always been so popular with my sexual conquests, trying to impress,
why? Humiliating though this was the ultimate humiliation would to be
not bid for or to go for a small fee,
mad thoughts but they went through my head.
The bidding was in Latin and i struggled to fellow but hands were
raised and numbers shouted, i was being bid for, i was going to be
sold, control of my body, control of my life was to be given over to
another.
I was sold into an uncertain future
crassuswild
Magistrate
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