A Beggar's Tale

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WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website.

You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

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A Beggar’s Tale

by Night Owl

(Story Content: FF/m, BDSM, Suspension Bondage, Whipping, C/B Torture)

Part V

His new life settled into a daily routine: twice a day Flavious was led out to the arena. Each time he was made to ‘run the wheel’ a little longer and pull the rickshaw a little further. Most humiliating of all, he was forced to wear a Y-shaped leather harness around his thighs with lubricated plug inserted up his ass, and then trot around the field in front of the crowd.

Through it all, the young Roman, square jawed and block shouldered, showed no emotion. He was both a savage and an automaton now, able to perform each task with physical perfection, and with no complaint, while harboring a deep, unspoken rage for his captors. After the arena, is body was cleansed and massaged by servants who performed their duties adequately without given him any satisfaction from it. Food was brought to him three times a day. The rest of the time he was left alone and naked in his cell, his arms and legs always chained loosely to the corners of his bed to keep him from masturbating. Only then, was he allowed time to formulate some plan of escape.

Three weeks had passed and his body was much leaner and powerfully muscled due to the rigorous training in the arena.

“I am very pleased with your progress so far,” Madam Penthesilia once told him. “Your physical appearance has greatly improved, as well as your behavior. Soon, both attributes will be put to the test, and only then, will I decide if you are ready to move on to the next stage of your training.”

That test came shortly after when Flavious was taken, once more, to the arena. The usual rituals were performed -- his entire body shaved and rubbed down generously with oil, for these Amazon women were meticulous about keeping their male ‘livestock’ smooth and sleek.

This time though, the order was given to shave his head also, and Flavious was forced the lay there helplessly as his long roman locks were cut, and his scalp shaved. Even his eyebrows were removed, so that his entire body had no hair at all!

The Madam approached him carrying in her hands an elaborate black leather harness decorated with silver studs.

"You look superb, I feel I could not have prepared you better,” there was a wild expression in her eyes. “I will be proud to present you."

The ornate harness was fitted on him with two straps passed close around his genitals leaving them naked and exposed, and the third strap drawn tightly up between the buttocks. The straps were then buckled tightly to a belt to keep it all in place. Finally, a small cock and ball harness, much like the one he wore when he was first captured was laced on with a length of chain clipped to it. He was then led down the maze of corridors. The occasional ‘tug’ of the leash and flick of a horse crop from behind reminded him who was in control. He climbed the now familiar steps and entered the arena.

Night had fallen and the whole arena was now lit with torches. Every seat was taken, and he noticed a group of regally dressed women in the “dignitaries box” at the end. A large platform had also been erected in the center of the arena. Two posts measuring at least twelve feet in height stood upright from the center, each with a turn wheel mounted into it. A third post was tethered across the top of the other two posts and there where wooden pulleys with ropes hanging down from the corners. Though there were other slaves in the arena with him, Flavious knew this device was reserved for him, and that he would be the main attraction that evening.

He felt the sting of a crop on his buttocks as he was commanded to walk forward and kneel on a large mat with a dozen other slaves. One by one, each man before him was called up to perform some grueling task. Two of them were pulling rickshaws with their trainers riding in back and cracking their whips to spur them on. Another one trotted around the wheel, the cock and ball harness pulling him along by a chain, only this one seemed to be struggling to keep pace. He stumbled once, but regained his footing and kept running to the cheering of the crowd.

“More GAIT!” they yelled.

The slave then stumbled again, only this time, he did not regain his footing and fell to the ground screaming. The slaves turning the wheel were ordered to keep moving. With his arms bound behind his back, the poor wretch could do nothing, but scream and writhe in agony as he was dragged through the dirt by his genitals. He was unconscious by the time the time the slaves were finally ordered to cease pulling and the wheel stopped. Two guards then grabbed an ankle and dragged him away.

Flavious waited in silence for over an hour while all the slaves before him were called up. He looked gazed upward to the stars and wondered what his family and friends were doing back home. Finally, Madam Pentesilia ordered him to his feet. He did so with no objection. He allowed himself to be led around the arena by the leash on his genitals so the crowd could get a good look at him. Eventually he was brought to a halt in front of the box and forced to stand to attention. He suddenly realized that the spectacle he was providing bore close similarity to the Emperor’s prize stallions being paraded through the streets of Rome!

One of the women that he recognized earlier to be the queen, stood up and said, "Thank you, Madam Pentesilia, we are ready to inspect him now."

Flavious was steered towards the platform and forced to climb the steps leading up to it. Two women dressed in white silk carried a heavy wooden box and placed it at the center of the platform. There were four holes cut into the top, all forming one line with the two holes in the middle being slightly smaller than the outside holes. One of the women unhooked a catch at one end of the block, which was actually composed of two halves attached by hinges on the other end. The leather harness was removed and, guided by two guards, his ankles positioned in the outside holes. He was then forced to bend sharply forward so his wrists could be slotted in the two center holes before the other half of the block was closed and clamped in place.

Flavious struggled to maintain his balance while the two guards stood to each side of him holding torches. The warm light flickered down on his buttocks, exposing his vulnerability. Looking between his legs, he could see the women had left the dignitaries box and were making their way toward the platform.

His Madam stood beside him, stroking his thighs as if to reassure him as the group climbed the steps.

“I am very impressed with his over-all appearance,” Queen Marpesia complimented the Madam. “Let us now proceed with our inspection.”

Flavious could feel hands running over his buttocks and down each leg, his glutes squeezed, his thighs measured and recorded, knee and ankle joints explored. The process was then repeated on his upper body. Particular attention was paid to his spine. They measured his biceps and triceps. Each woman took her turn in handling him. By the time they had finished their inspection his leg muscles were in agony from being bent over in such an awkward position for so long, but this was soon forgotten as a large lubricated, phallic-looking object was suddenly and unceremoniously rammed into his ass, his sphincter muscles contracted, holding it firmly in place. He jerked against the restraints, hissing his surprise between clenched teeth.

He heard one of the women comment. "Excellent! He has taken the maximum size plug with little difficulty.”

After removing the plug, Flavious was released from his restraints, but immediately taken to a heavy block table. Mounted across the top, were a pair of stocks, again with four holes forming one line. The guards forced him to climb on the table and kneel. The stocks were opened, and his ankles placed in the two larger slots on the outside. His arms were then forced behind his back and his body bent backward as they set his wrists in the smaller slots, before clamping the stocks back in place.

His only points of contact with the table’s surface were now his knees, his toes, shoulders and his head. His spine was arched sharply backward like a bow and his smooth chest and open crotch thrust upward. Whispers of approval from the dignitaries could be heard as this new position offered a superb view of his freshly-shaven genitals. Even his Madam was awestruck at the sight of his magnificent body stretched and exposed for all to admire.

Stage two of the inspection began. Attention was first focused on his mouth and jaw line.

“When the teeth rot, so go the bones,” one of the women commented as she waited her turn, but a close inspection by all proved that part of his body to be in good health.

They checked his eyes for any disease and found none. They thumped his chest, squeezed his pectoral muscles and pinched his nipples. They probed his stomach, even his navel. All agreed his muscle to fat ratio to be excellent. Madam Penthesilia, waiting off to the side, felt her excitement rise and her body's arousal as she anticipated each phase of the proceedings.

The women commented on his thigh and lumbar muscles, which were much more prominent now and well-defined thanks to the Madam’s training. Both patellae and their ligaments, his calves, the arches of his feet were all probed and explored, with no weaknesses found. Again, two of the torches were brought in and positioned close between his legs, his genitals bathed in the warm light, so he could be closely examined. He felt total indignation at being used for such a public display. Nonetheless, his cock began to stiffen with anticipation, as if the damn thing had a mind of it own. His balls were tested first, the finely crinkled skin covering them pinched and pulled gently, then each ovoid palpated and felt for any abnormalities. There were soft murmurs from the audience as each dignitary then took her turn in stroking and jerking his cock until the hard, veiny muscle grew to maximum stiffness and throbbed in her hand.

“A criterion of male perfection, reminiscent of the Greeks,” one woman praised, “and his penis and testicles are unusually large for such a lean physique.”

“Yes, we MUST put this one to stud before he goes to auction,” added the queen. “These attributes should not be wasted.”

His chest was heaving now, his breathing erratic. His eyes were wide and black with

arousal and his cock proudly jutting upward from his body, darkening and throbbing with the rush of blood. Everyone in the small area could see it now in the torchlight and utterances of “glorious” and “magnificent” could be overheard from the stands.

“How is the seed count?”

“Very high, My Queen,” Penthesilia answered with pride.

Queen Marpesia began stroking his cock vigorously, her fingers curled tightly around the hard muscle as if she were milking a cow. His hips began writhing more rhythmically with her touch. He did not want to give them the satisfaction, but he was powerless to resist. Flavious held out for an impressive length of time, while waves of stimulation pulled him nearer and nearer until finally, with a hoarse cry, he surrendered, his swollen cock pulsing in her hand while streams and streams of white, milky fluid splattered onto the stage. The crowd roared.

“Very impressive,” she gasped her approval. “My compliments on your training.”

The Madam bowed her head in return.

Their inspection complete, the women finally returned to their box leaving the slave and his trainer alone on the stage.

"You may proceed with the endurance test,” the Queen ordered.

Madam Penthesilia approached and gently stroked his chest as if to reassure him. The bindings were released, allowing Flavious to straighten his posture into a more natural position again, yet he knew the ordeal was far from over when he heard his Madam announce that the “slave’s endurance test” was about to commence.

The guards pulled Flavious to his feet and positioned him between the two posts he had noticed earlier. Leather cuffs were fastened around his wrists, and tied to a pair of ropes that were threaded through the pulleys above with the other ends left lying on the ground behind him. Four powerful-looking slaves then ran out to the platform and positioned themselves, two to a rope. When the order was given, each pair grabbed their rope and pulled, lifting him up high between the posts. His arms were stretched wide like a V. As he hung there, the two guards placed his ankles in leather cuffs and attached them to ropes from each turn wheel in the posts.

Two more slaves began to reel in the ropes. Flavious groaned when he felt his legs being pulled in opposite directions. His neck muscles were corded with tension and sweat glinted on his brow. His hands fisted within the restraints, knuckles white. The whole arena was silent, with all eyes fixed on him, so silent that the creaking of the ropes could be heard with each turn of the wheel. The slaves manning the pulley ropes behind him were then ordered to take a few steps forward, reversing the ropes though the pulleys. As he descended, the added weight from his own body put even more pressure on his legs, while further extending them to the left and right of his torso.

If it were not for the weeks of rigorous training and conditioning of his body, Flavious might not have endured the tension, yet there seemed to be no end to it. The slaves kept pulling, the crowd cheering, his muscles and tendons stretching, until he began to fear the worst -- that these Themiscyreans would not be satisfied until his limbs were literally ripped out of their sockets!

Finally, the order was given for the slaves manning the pulley ropes to cease and hold their positions. The wheels in the posts were locked in place. He was suspended between the posts now, his tanned body bathed in sweat. His legs had been drawn so tight they were literally parallel to the earth with his genitals eye-level to the madam. Flavious watched helplessly, his face twisted in shear agony, as she approached. She was holding her flogger in one hand while running her fingers through the tethers with the other. One did not have to guess what was about to happen next.

With a dry voice, he whispered a plea. “Mercy . . .”

“You must be strong my young beast,” she replied in a low voice. “You must draw on that strength deep within you, for not even your gods can help you now.”

A small gourd containing body oil was brought out to her by a servant. Madam Pentesilia stuck the flogger under her belt and dipped her hands into the oil. Gently she kneaded and massaged his genitals. Flavious moaned with disbelief when his cock grew stiff again, as if completely unaffected by the mind-numbing torture ravaging the rest of his body.

“You are forbidden to beg or cry out, no matter how much pain is inflicted on you,” she pulled the flogger out of her belt again. “You must hold your tongue. Understood?”

Flavious nodded, though he was unsure if he had the courage to endure any whippings in this condition.

The Madam circled around him and ran her hand across his buttocks, which were now drawn tightly together from the tension. She kneaded each cheek gently with her hand, then stepped back, and without warning, raised the flogger and brought it down hard across them.

The first crisp smack seemed to reverberate throughout the silent arena as it hit its mark making him wince instinctively.  Seconds later, a burning sensation spread across his buttocks, and he could only imagine the redness that must have ensued. His allotted portion would be only ten strokes this time, but it still felt as if his cheeks were on fire. Letting her arm drop to her side, she swung the flogger sharply upward and with a loud ‘snap’ struck his vulnerable balls underneath. Flavious grunted and lurched forward; rivers of sweat ran down his face and body, though he still did not cry out.

Finally, she moved to the front, signaling to Flavious that the pain he feared of the worst was about to be realized. Raising the flogger high over her shoulder, she brought it down hard between his legs. He nearly screamed, but the Amazon bitch didn’t stop. She laid many more stinging, crippling blows right across his inner thighs and loins. The pain was so intense, his vision became blurred, and then everything seemed to turn white. Remarkably, his cock was still half-erect when she was finished. The Madam curled her gloved hand gently around the lacerated organ, and with a few strokes, it was stiff and ready again, much to the delight and approval of the crowd.

Finally, he was lowered to the ground. Flavious grimaced, his aching joints screaming as his limbs were released from the ropes. The guards grabbed him by the arms and dragged his limb body back to the table. Once again, he was bound to it, only this time, with his arms above his head and his legs stretched over the sides and bound underneath, leaving his genitals exposed and vulnerable to more abuse. Generous amounts of oil were applied to that part of his body.

As they did this, every woman in the arena was invited to come down to the platform and inspect the slave. The beating Flavious just experienced was the most painful so far, but nothing equaled the utter humiliation he would have to endure next. Rows of women filed down from the stands and one by one, approached to table to the make their own assessment of the Roman’s physique and virility, touching and groping in ways they knew would frustrate and embarrass. Like geese, they clucked and cackled in high voices among themselves. They watched with insidious delight the way his cock rose in swollen agony, only to became flaccid again and again, for he was never permitted to cum.

When it was all over, and the last goose had taken her turn in tormenting the poor slave, he was dragged out of the arena back to his cell.

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Later that evening, Flavious lay quietly on his bed, feigning sleep. His arms and legs were still chained the frame, but there was no longer a guard posted at the door to his cell.

"Tonight is the night I make my try for it. Just a little bit longer to wait and then I'm free," he reassured himself.

For weeks, Flavious had submitted to every demand, no matter how painful or degrading, to convince the Themiscyreans that his spirit had been broken. What he was last forced to do in the arena was, by far, the most challenging for him, both physically and mentally. His body still ached and he could feel the marks of the flogger, but Flavious was not defeated yet, and more importantly, his captors believed he was. Even Madam Pentesilia was impressed with his progress. He thought of waiting longer to gain more of their confidence and hopefully a better opportunity would arise, if only he felt strong enough to resist them, which he did not. So now was the time.

He turned his head to the shackles around his right wrist. For weeks he quietly inspected and tested the chains, looking for any weaknesses he could exploit. He found one link in the chain to his right that had rusted through a little. He began counting the minutes until he could safely begin. The evening wore on and the traffic out in the corridor finally ceased.

"This is it," he thought.

Then a lone set of footsteps forced him to wait again. He listened carefully to the sound of booted heels ringing out loudly in the confines of the corridor, until they became softer and more distant.

"I've waited quietly for hours while hunting for game in the forest, but it is much more difficult to be patient when I'm the prey looking for a chance to flee!"

When the night became very still, the ‘sleeping’ warrior decided that it was safe to begin. A determined, almost feral grin crept onto his face as he began slowly twirling his right wrist inside its steel cuff, causing the chain to double up on itself. The chains were old and he doubted that it would take much effort to break the rusty link. He shifted himself as far up on the bed as he could and kept twirling, knotting the chain into tighter links, until he had taken up all but the last inch of slack available to him. Whispering a quick prayer, he yanked with all his might, contracting leg and stomach muscles as well as his biceps. The chain creaked and groaned.

"Freedom is near, I can feel it!" he exclaimed to himself, pleased with the sound he had elicited.

Establishing a rhythmic motion that looked a lot like a convulsion, he threw his entire strength against that one chain, over and over again. The welds were old and rusty, he could hear several of them creaking, on the verge of breaking under the unaccustomed twisting load he was applying.

Fatigue burning in his muscles, Flavious continued his onslaught against the steel until finally he was rewarded by the sound of a weld cracking. He lay still for a few minutes until his breathing had returned to normal. The muscles in his right arm were screaming now, but he ignored the pain, and again began methodically tugging and twisting the chains until he had managed to bend the rusty link enough to give him hope that his efforts would soon be rewarded. Fortunately they were light chains; had they been a size or two larger he wouldn't have stood a chance of bending them open, even after breaking the welds.

Then suddenly, his hopes were dashed when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A guard entered his cell with the keys to his shackles in one hand. Flavious held his breath as she bent over to unlock them, praying that she would not notice the broken link.

She did not, and Flavious quietly thanked the gods for their mercy.

The guard, an attractive and athletic-looking blonde with long hair tied in one braid down her back, motioned him to get up. Like the other guards, she was trussed up in a leather cuirass and helmet, battle skirt that barely covered her ass, and leggings up to the knees. She bound his arms behind him with a leather sheath, then attached a small chain to his collar and guided him out into the corridor.

He was taken to Madam Pentesilia’s bedchamber where she waited for him wearing a long robe made of bright red silk.

“Wait outside,” she told the guard, “and lock the door behind you.”

It was clear to Flavious that his Madam was ready ‘to play’ again. She fondled his organ until it grew stiff in her hand.

"It must feel nice to have your freedom again, little worm," she chided, "and to respond to my beauty without being bitten by that nasty whip."

Flavious did not move; he stood straight with his eyes cast downward as he was trained to do.

“I am here for your pleasure, Madam,” he said. “Do with me what you wish.”

“Oh I shall,” she chided in response. “Come with me and tend to my bath.”

The room was adjacent to her bedchamber, and it resembled a Roman Thermae, though somewhat more primitive than what one might see at the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. Like the Roman design, the bath was raised off the ground by pillars and spaces were left inside the walls so that hot air from a furnace in the next room could circulate through these open areas and heat the bath.

Flavious was ordered to stoke the furnace in the next room with wood, then he was allowed to watch as Madam Pentesilia disrobed. He helped her into the water and listened to her contented groans in response to the soothing heat of the water while he knelt at the side of the bath. She raised her arms behind her head and closed her eyes, the water gently lapping at her breasts. She remained that way for sometime, with her slave watching, then finally sat up and instructed him to wash her back with a loofa sponge, which he did with gentle reverence.

Rising from the tub, she gestured first for a towel to dry off and then stretched out on a table so her body could be anointed with oil. More purrs and groans filtered past her lips as Flavious rubbed the scented oil into her skin. After getting her robe, she allowed him the privilege of brushing her long fiery red hair, complimenting his technique, but reminding him that hairbrushes also have another more sinister use for men who misbehave.

Now, thoroughly refreshed and relaxed, The Madam was definitely ready to play.

She praised his perseverance, even observing that he was 'quite impressive' for such a novice.  And since he had been such a good slave, she would give him another reward. Taking his hand, she brought him to his feet and led him into the bedroom, instructing him to sit at the foot of the bed. She laid back on the bed, opened he robe and spread her long legs apart, then gave him permission to offer the ultimate form of homage.

He didn't need to be told that the best way to worship her sacred spot was to do so gently and

slowly. He knew that the path to maximizing her pleasure was to take his time and make the

experience last. He even paused briefly to enhance her longing and anticipation, only to

resume a moment later and bring her to even greater heights of arousal.

As he cautiously approached the bud of her womanhood, he tried to remember the lessons that he had been taught by his Madam and all the other techniques that he had learned over the years. Every gentle kiss, every soft lick, would be a gift to this beautiful goddess that he had longed for long. He forgot about his plans of escape and to get as far away as he could from this horrible place. For the moment, he was content to be with her and no where else.

Time seemed to stop as he worshipped her. As a reward for his devoted ministrations, she beckoned him in with a whisper, and he reverently slid his own body between her open milky-white thighs. After weeks of being teased and tormented, he was fucking her. Closing his eyes, he allowed his cock to be engulfed completely, relished for a moment the hot, sticky wetness of her womb before meeting her gentle thrusts with his own.

The thrusts quickened, their bodies rocking together violently, until he opened his eyes and watched her soar to an apogee of erotic bliss. Waves of violent spasms rolled through her body, then stopped abruptly.  A soft cry of "Yes." followed by blissful contentment.

Moments later he followed her into that bliss. His eyes rolled back, he took an inordinately deep breath, then convulsed violently, again and again, as thick white fluids erupted in forceful spurts deep inside her womb.

As he slowly came back down to earth, he looked down at her, her eyes still closed, a smile of smug contentment stretched across her lips. Flavious had been the source of it all. He had pleased his Madam by his obedient surrender, and he had delighted her in ways that only a man could. He had performed the task he was summoned for, and now he would be sent back to his cell, to the dirty cot and rusty shackles.

Of course, it would not have been appropriate for his Madam to thank one of her slaves, but Flavious couldn’t quell the anger rising inside. He looked down at her again and as she opened her eyes and smiled at him, he raised one fist and stuck the side of her face with such force, she rolled off her bed to the floor. For a moment, Flavious stood over the unconscious body of Madam Pentesilia. The robe was still fanned wide open, one leg bent sharply to the side so he could see her neatly trimmed red bush. Blood trickled from her nose, but she was still breathing.

He knew he had little time to waste. The first plan was no longer achievable, but his desire to escape was stronger than ever. He quietly moved to the door and pressed his ear against it. He could hear the guard on the other side. Slowly and carefully, he slid the latch. Swinging the door open, he wrapped his arm around the woman’s throat and dragged her into the room, pulling her tightly against his body, then slammed her against the wall, her pretty head striking the stone and killing her instantly.

Flavious stared down at the lifeless body, then glanced over at The Madam who was just beginning to stir.

“There is no turning back now,” he whispered to himself, then slipped quietly out into the corridor.

(continued)