The Contest

[Naraku]

Something a little bit different. Hope you like it.

The Contest

By Naraku​

168 CE. Quintus Octavius Achalacus had recently been appointed as Governor of Hispania Citerier. He wanted to prove he was worthy of the appointment and ingratiate himself with the Emperor. Knowing that Marcus Aurelius considered the cult known as Christians to be a threat to the order of the Empire, Achalacus thought it would be best to execute some of the cult’s local members in order to prove his value as a governor. To this end he ordered a round up of some of the Christians in his capital of Valentia Edetanorum. Along with their leader, Martelus, 48 were arrested. Achalacus decided to have half put to death in the arena with Martelus and to have the other half crucified on the road outside of town. To his consternation, nineteen of those arrested renounced their faith and made sacrifice to the gods of Roman, requiring him to release them. That left only 30, counting their leader. So, he ordered that seventeen be chose by lot to die with Martelus in the arena and the remaining twelve, a number he understood had significance to the cult members, should be crucified.

And so, on the morning of the third day after the kalends of May, five men and seven women trudged through the city each carrying a wooden beam on their stooped shoulders. All was stripped to the waist, displaying the effects of their pre-crucifixion flogging in the torn flesh of their backs. The townspeople, most of whom recognized at least one of the condemned, watched with the usual mix of contempt, amusement, pity or morbid curiosity.

Most of the group were between their late twenties and early fifties. The women were fairly attractive, though none looked beautiful, with their backs bloody and their hair matted with sweat. Three of the men were older and not especially handsome. But two stood out.

These were the brothers Phocas and Callistus. They were nephews of Martelus, who served as their guardian after the deaths of their parents. Callistus, the elder, was 19, tall and well built with blue eyes and a head full of curly brown hair. Phocas had just turned 18, a hands span shorter than his brother but equally well formed, his hair as curly as his brother’s, but with a lighter, reddish tint and his eyes were brown.

The brothers trudged along in the middle of the line out the west gate and up the road for half a kilometer until they reached the crest of a low hill. There, a dozens upright stipes had been planted along the west side of the road waiting, along with a team of six carnifexes, to accommodate the condemned Christians.

They were each forced to kneel before a stipe and then the process of crucifixion began. The carnifexes would have had to admit that was easier crucifying Christians than ordinary criminals; they put up little resistance. Each of them seemed to accept, perhaps even welcome their fate. Still, when they started hammering the nail into the wrist of Oenone, the baker’s wife, she screamed and thrashed about like any other “customer” they had dealt with. When both wrists were nailed, they tore off the remains of her clothing, lifted her up and pushed the pre-cut hole in the patibulum onto the shaped top of the stipes. They wrapped ropes around the joint to hold the pieces firmly together. Then they bent Oenone’s left knee 90 degrees and nailed her heel to the side of the post and repeated the process with the other leg, leaving the woman naked, exposed and howling in pain.

The carnifexes were quick and efficient. Being a large port and provincial capital, Valentia kept them well practiced. They quickly moved down the line from Oenone, who was the closest the city, to Idesta. From Idesta to Philomenus. From Philomenus to Florentina. From Florentina to Avitus. From Avitus to Melaena. From Melaena to Odetta. Each taking no more than two minutes from the first nail to the last.

As he watched Odetta, the mid-wife, being stripped and nailed, Callistus felt a nauseating coldness in his stomach, because he knew he was next. Sooner than he had hoped, he was forced onto his back and the ropes that bound him to the petibulum were untied. He looked at his younger brother and saw the fear on his face.

“Fear not, brother.” he called out, “We shall suffer for His sake for a short time, but shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

“May Jesus give us strength, brother!” Phocas cried out.

Callistus wanted to remain stoic and not scream, for his brother’s sake. He failed. He cried out in pain as the first nail was driven through his left wrist and again as his right wrist was nailed. He howled as his lacerated back was dragged up the rough hewn stipes and the crossbeam was set in place. He screamed even louder as each heel was nailed. He didn’t even notice that they had torn off his loin cloth.

Phocas did not resist as they lay him on his back. He was determined to be as brave as his big brother. And so he was, screaming no more loudly then Callistus, although he felt he had shown himself to be weak by his screams.

Jucunda the tailors wife went on the cross next, followed by Emidius, and, lastly Sabina. Their work done, the carnifexes gathered their tools and the discarded clothing and headed back to town. The twelve Christians were left to suffer their prolonged punishment. Phocas hung to Callistus’ right, both of them panting and dripping with sweat.

 

[Naraku]

(continued)
The day wore on. The sun rose higher and the air grew warmer. The Christians rose and fell as they “danced” on their crosses, straitening their legs to relieve the strain on their arms and tightness in their chests, then lowering themselves when the pain in their legs and the agony of the nails in their heels became too much for them.

At first, they had prayed and praised God and called out encouraging words to one another; but pain and exhaustion and thirst had silenced them within the first hour. Now, as the noon hour approached, they moaned as they writhed, covered in sweat and dust. Travelers heading into and out of the city passed by. Most merely looked them over and kept moving, but some paused to take in the novel sight. Some who could read noted the titilus nailed to the stipes beneath the feet of each bearing the word “Christian”. Some mocked them, others averted their eyes, perhaps because they knew them and did not want to be called out to publicly by one of these condemned criminals. Most just kept going.

A group, approaching from the city stood out from the other travelers. These were four young women, well dressed in silk and bejeweled. Each was accompanied by a male slave holding a parasol above them and three more female slaves completed the group. These were women of quality and their incongruous presence was noted by travelers and the crucified alike.

The strange group strode up the road, with the other travelers stepping aside respectfully, seeming to pay no attention to the crucified along the northern side. That is, until they reached the crosses baring the two brothers. They stopped and three of the women separated from the group and approached the crosses set two paces behind the curb.

The taller of the trio, about nineteen years old with a long aquiline nose and pointed chin addressed the shorter girl next to her; “Here you have them, Felicita, just as I said. I watched them as they were paraded through town. They are both young and fit, are they not?”

Felicita looked the brothers over as if she were appraising them for purchase. She was shorter than the other woman, but looked about the same age, with a round face, upturned nose and hair that had been bleached blond.

“They are as you said, Oliva. Both fine examples of young manhood. I think they’ll serve quite nicely.”

“And the carnifexes were nice enough to crucify them right next to each other.” Oliva said cheerily, “Now, since I issued the challenge, my dear Felicita, I will let you make the choice.”

Felicita looked closely at the genitals of each brother, which were at about chest level to her. Then, she cocked her head and looked into each of their faces. Both of them stared back at her in complete bewilderment.

“I’ll take this one.” she finally announced, pointed at Phocas, or, rather, at his penis.

“Fine, I’ll take the other. Herminia?” said Oliva, walking over to Callistus.

The third woman, who had been silently watching until now, cleared her throat and said so that both the women and the others standing on the road could hear: “The contestants have made their choices. You know the rules. You may only use one hand. You may switch hands if needed, but you may only be in contact with one hand. You can not use your lips or tongue or...” she paused and thought for a second, “or anything other than one hand. First to come is the winner. Ladies, take your positions.”

Felicita took her position at Phocas’ right knee. She looked up into his eyes and smiled at him, then spit twice into the palm of her right hand and stuck her fingers in her mouth until they emerged slick with saliva. Oliva, started to stand at Callistus’ right knee, then moved to be almost directly in front of him. She too spit into the palm of her right hand.

“Ready?” asked Herminia. Both women nodded. “Begin!”

 

[Naraku]

(concluding)
With that command, both women reached out their right hand and wrapped their fingers around the male member of the brother they had selected. Oliva used an overhand grip and began stroking Callistus’ penis with a firm, pumping motion. Felicita grasped Phocas’ organ more gently with her finger tips and employed a slower, steady stroking motion.

Both the brothers were shocked and tried to rise up and away from the women, but, they could not move far enough to be beyond the reach of either of them.

“What are you doing?” Phocas shouted in horror.

“I’m giving you a last pleasure, Christian.” Felicita responded with a cheerful lilt as she shifted her grip so that she was rubbing her finger tips across the tip of Phocas’ penis, rolling back the foreskin and brushing the sensitive glans.

“Madam!” Callistus shouted, “This is wrong. You must stop.”

“You want me to stop?” Oliva said, “Then spurt your juice and we’ll leave you both to your deaths.”

The brothers looked at each other in horror. Both were virgins and no woman had ever touched them in this manner before. In fact, neither had had their penises touch by anyone before. This was humiliating. They were filled with a sense of shame and disgrace beyond the enforced exposure of crucifixion. They had expected to die for their faith, even welcoming the chance to prove their devotion to God and win a martyrs crown. But, this was more horrible than the torture of the cross. This was degradation of a wholly unique order and a shaming beyond anything they had expected. And, to make the situation even more degrading, despite their shame, both of them began to get an erection.

Herminia and the fourth woman were standing at the curb giving shouts of encouragement.

“Great technique, Felicita.” “Keep pumping, Oliva.” “You’re getting them hard now, girls.”

Other travelers stopped to watch the spectacle. Soon over a dozen common folk had gathered in the road. Some were chuckling and joking among themselves. A few were placing bets with each other.

“Please,” moaned Phocas, tears flowing down his cheeks, “Are we not suffering enough?”

“Suffering?” asked Felicita, as she changed to long, steady strokes with her first two fingers and thumb wrapped around manhood, “You don’t seem to be suffering. In fact, you seem to enjoying this immensely.”

And, indeed, Phocas’ member was now rock hard and projecting straight out from his writhing body. He was experiencing something he had never felt before. Though his body was wracked with pain, there was a sensation of pleasure where this woman was touching him. He knew this was wrong, that it was sin and a disgrace, but he also knew this was pleasure none the less.

Callistus was having a similar experience. His organ had more of an upward angle but was as hard as his brother’s. Suddenly, the stimulation stopped. He looked down, hoping his ordeal had ended.

Oliva had stopped stroking him and was shaking her right hand and flexing her fingers.

“Don’t stop now, Domina,” someone in the crowd shouted, “I’ve got money on you!”

“I’m just getting a cramp, that’s all!”, Oliva shout back, annoyed at the plebeian commentary. She licked the palm of her left hand, adjusted her stance and resumed stroking Callistus’ still stiff penis more vigorously.

The brothers were both standing on their nailed heels, squirming in a futile effort to free themselves from the humiliating grip of the patrician women. But, the ladies were relentless and would not be deterred. Oliva pumped away hard and fast while Felicita continued her slower strokes, rotating her hand slightly as it moved up and down the shaft. The crowd, which had grown to about thirty continued to shout encouragement at the women and their “partners”.

Suddenly, Phocas let out a cry that was a combination of pain, anguish and ecstasy. His body arched forward and a jet of white erupted from his penis. Herminia just barely managed to dodge getting hit. The crowd applauded and Felicita, who had released her grip as soon as Phocas had ejaculated, smiled and curtsied in acknowledgment. Phocas’ knees gave way and he sagged on his cross. He was gasping and weeping as his still hard member twitched and shot more burst of semen in decreasing intensity.

Oliva stopped her pumping of Callistus as soon as the younger brother came. She scowled with her hands on her hips.

“You worthless Christian dog.” she snarled. Then, she slapped her hand across Callistus still rigid organ. He cried out and a jet of cum arched out of the tip of his penis.

Laughter swept through the crowd as Oliva, stepping careful to avoid the continued spurts of the two men, joined her friends.

“You should have gotten rough with him sooner, Oliva.” quipped Felicita.

“I’d have won if I hadn’t cramped up. I couldn’t get as good a grip with my left hand.” said Oliva.

“Now, now,” Felicita replied, “Don’t be a sore loser. Come on, ladies” she called to the others, “Let’s get back to town. You may order whatever you like for lunch today. Oliva is paying. Right?”

“Of course,” Oliva sighed, “A deal is a deal.”

Their slaves pushed a path through the crowd, many of whom were settling side bets, as the women walked back toward the city.

Suddenly, Phocas shouted above the murmuring crowd, “I forgive you, Domina Felicita! I forgive you and will pray for you!”

Felicita stopped and looked back him in puzzlement for moment, then turned and continued toward the city with her companions.

The following morning, a four wheeled carpentum, drawn by a pair of horses trundled out the west gate of Valentia. It was accompanied by a group of eight armed guards and followed by a group of slaves and mules bearing baggage. Clearly, someone of wealth was taking journey.

Inside, Felicita Propetia rode with her mother. They were heading south to Suetabis where she would meet her fiance, the wine merchant Galerius Volusenna Quatro. It was a marriage that would join two wealthy families for mutual benefit and she would become Domina of her own household.

Felicita looked idly out the window, taking little note of the passing scenery. But, as they came along the line of crosses beside the road, she paid closer attention. The first two were clearing dead. Their lower bodies and legs were darkened by pooled blood but they upper torsos were unnaturally pale. The remaining crucified still had life in them, although the last twenty-four hours had taken their toll. They all were covered in dust streaked with rivulets of sweat and they all had the hollowed eyed look of those who know nothing but pain and are anxiously awaiting death.

Then, they came alongside the two brothers. Both were still alive, not surprising given their youth and physiques. Both hung limply and had their heads bowed. But, just as she came even with him, Phocas raised his head and seemed to meet Felicita’s gaze. She was startled. She wondered if he recognized her. She leaned her head out the window and looked back as they moved past, but Phocas had lowered his head and was no longer looking in her direction.

“Did you see someone you know?” her mother asked.

“What?” Felicita replied, “No. How could I possibly know one of those people. These Christians. They are such a peculiar lot.”

 

[Loxuru]

Domina power! Raw female pleasures!
Well written, Naraku!

Next time, the winner is, whose victim comes last!

 

[Madiosi]

Unfinished story, TBC or The End.

 

[Naraku]

Unfinished story, TBC or The End.

The End.
I usually include that. I guess I just forgot this time.