Breaking Artimus

       Artimus was a god in the eyes of men. In a city that prized winning, he was unbeatable. No one had ever had a winning streak as long as his in the fighting ring. He’d been in the pits for 5 years, fighting sometimes twice a week, and had never lost a match.

       Through the pits he’d gained everything he’d ever wanted. After each battle, if the loser yielded before death then the winner was allowed to ask him for one thing in return for sparing his life. The loser then had a choice, grant the winner the offering, or be killed.

       Through these offerings, Artimus had gained women, slaves, jewels, land, and gold beyond count. Over the years his fights had become so popular that only the wealthy could get seats. Now he fought in front of royalty. He was a particular favourite of Prince Xerxes. When he wasn’t fighting he’d be invited to watch other fights with the prince, and had dined with the royal family on numerous occasions.

       He was pumped for this fight today. He could feel the usual adrenaline coursing through his veins. He lashed his armor, a shield, arm guard, shin guards and helmet on. It left his chest bare, but no one had ever been able to scratch him and it made for a better show. He favored the light weight style of fighting. His biggest strengths were his speed and technique, and being able to move was a great advantage. He chose a short sword again for speed, but also because he liked to get in close.

       When he was dressed, he walked down the tunnel to the entrance of the fighting pit. The bars were down, blocking the entrance. When his rival was at his gate and the royalty was seated, the gate would rise. He waited impatiently. The man he was fighting today was a newcomer. Normally he’d be fighting more experienced men, but this one was making waves. He’d had 10 fights, and had yet to lose. People were saying he may even be a match for Artimus. He doubted that.

       He hadn’t seen him fight himself yet, but it was said this Balthos used a two handed sword without a shield. Long swords were slow, heavy, and awkward. He’d fought enough of them to know that the men who chose to wield them usually were too. All he had to do was get inside the swing circle of the blade, and this Balthos would be finished.

       Suddenly the horn blared, and the gates began to rise. His adrenaline spiked and he shifted from foot to foot, anxious to get into the fight and prove once and for all that he was unbeatable.

       The gate finished rising with a loud clank, and the fight began. Artimus jogged out into the sunlight, and saw Balthos for the first time. He wasn’t as large as he had expected. He was only slightly larger than Artimus himself, maybe a 6’1, and not quite as bulky as a blacksmith, although close. He was early-30’s, slightly old to be beginning a fighting career. It was clear he was not from Rome. His hair was jet black and fell to his shoulders. His skin was pale. A Northener then.

       Artimus wondered how the hell any Roman would look up to this northern scum. Even more confusing was how they could think he could beat Artimus. He was younger at 23, born and raised in Rome and you could see it in his features. He had the strong jaw bone and defined features of Mars. His skin was touched by the sun, and his hair was a rich dark brown with deep blue eyes. He was the image of Roman beauty, and in his prime. This Balthos, while not unattractive for a northman was not the vision of beauty he was. What did the people see in him?

       Finally, the moment he’d been waiting for arrived, they met. Balthos swung his sword down hard, and Artimus slipped aside it, just as he had planned. He was ready to strike a blow to his side but the northman swung around faster than he could have believed and suddenly Artismus’ sword hit sword. He was not prepared to hit hard steel, and he stumbled, almost going down. But he regained his footing at the last second and got out from under yet another blow of Balthos’ sword.

       Artimus backed off, startled. How could this be happening?

       Balthos advanced and faked swinging his sword to his right. Artimus moved left, just in time for Brutus to switch directions. He managed to move, but just barely escaped a death blow. His chest began to bleed where the tip of his sword had cut him. Two hundred battles and I have never seen my own blood. How could he be so fast?

       He was advancing again. Artimus moved to meet him, brushing aside the great sword and going for a kill hit in the stomach. But the northerner dodged it, jumping aside and knocking Artimus over the head with a armored fist as he did it. He fell to a knee, but jumped back up. Even though he did it quickly, with the speed this Balthos had, he should have killed him. He’s playing with me. He realized suddenly.

       For the first time in a long time, Artimus felt fear. Balthos was toying with him, and yet still he was losing. He gritted his teeth. No way would he be bested by this northerner.

       He sprinted forward, but at the last second dropped and rolled under the northerner’s sword. Coming up on a knee, he raised his sword to skewer Balthos once and for all. But the Northerner grabbed his sword arm before he could swing and wrenched his arm back, forcing him to drop it with a scream. Astonishingly fast he dropped his own sword and punched Artimus across the jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

       Artimus’ head was spinning from the impact, but he got to his hands and knees. He searched for his sword, but his vision was still swimming with spots. A moment later he felt the bite of steel on the skin of his neck and froze. Balthos stood over him, holding Artimus’ missing sword.

       This was it. He was finished. The crowd around them had gone deathly silent.

He got to his knees, the sword at his throat following him all the way. He looked up at this northerener, waiting for his judgment. Balthos was smiling.

       “I will spare your life.” He said slowly. “For a price.”

       Artimus swallowed hard, trying to wrap his tongue around the words he knew he must say, or forfeit his life. “In exchange for this mercy, I will offer anything you ask of me.”

       His smile grew wider. His voice boomed. “I only ask for you Artimus. Sign yourself over to me, as my slave.”

       Time stopped. Whispers grew in the crowd as realization set in. No one had ever asked this. To be a slave was the ultimate disgrace, the ultimate defeat. Yet, if he did not agree, he would die. Right here, right now. He did not want to die, and so he could not refuse.

       His tongue grew thick as he steadied himself to say the words he never thought he’d have to say. And for a price he never could have imagined. “For your mercy, I will give it.”

       A sudden roar filled the crowd as Balthos raised his hands into the air, victorious. The guards rushed in to take Artimus prisoner. As they pulled him to his feet and lead him away, the crowd continued to cheer. He was a loser now, and a slave. They paid him no attention.

       The guards led him into a cell and chained his hands together in heavy metal cuffs. They locked the door and took their post outside. He sat down on the hard wooden bench in the cell and stared at his hands. He’d never worn cuffs before. They chaffed his wrists and made most movements uncomfortable. He put his head in his hands and tried to grasp what was going on, but his imagination failed him.

       A few minutes later Balthos stomped down the stone halls. He stopped outside his cell and stared at Artimus. His eyes seemed hungry. He nodded to the guards and they hoisted him onto his feet and led him past Balthos into a small book keeping office. Balthos followed them in. A short, weasily looking man sat behind the desk. He shoved some papers towards Artimus.

       

       “This is your slave contract. Sign it.” He said sharply.

       

       Artimus was not used to being spoken to with so little regard, and his anger flared. When he hesitated, one of the guards pulled a dagger to his throat.

       “Sign it or face my mercy.” The guard ordered.

       He had no choice. He signed it. The waesily man took the paper back from him and stamped it.

       Suddenly Balthos grabbed him by the back of his hair. “You’re mine now slave.” He chuckled. Grabbing his ear, he hauled him out of the room.

       They attached a short chain to his wrist cuffs and Balthos pulled him out of the stadium. A crowd had gathered outside, anticipating their exit. As they passed, someone spit on him. Half an hour ago no one would have dared. He didn’t even meet the man’s eyes as he passed. Everyone else ignored him. How fast they had forgotten.

       Balthos led him past the mob and through the streets towards the slave pavilion. Everywhere people stared at him. He held his head up, but his humiliation was overwhelming.

       The pavilion was not actually a tent, but a large series of buildings. All the major slave trading happened here. New captives from conquered lands would be brought here, cleaned, marked and sold to trainers.

       Balthos brought him into the cleaning building. There they stripped him of his clothes, armor, and jewelry, leaving him completely naked. They scrubbed the dirt from the arena off of him and cut his hair to an inch and a half long.

       When he was sufficiently humiliated Balthos brought him into another building. Artimus wasn’t sure of it’s purpose until he heard a slave scream and smelled the burnt flesh. He stopped dead in his tracks.

       Balthos didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the hair and physically dragged him towards the tent. Artimus fought back, but was careful not to hit him. Any slave that struck their Master was sentenced to be publically flayed, whether the master wanted it or not.

       With his hands tied, there was little he could do, and Balthos had no trouble getting him into the branding tent. Once inside two guards grabbed him by the arms and laid him onto the branding table. They tied him down securely, on his back with arms stretched above his head. The guards put their weight over his chest and legs, holding him steady as the brander approached with the iron fresh from the fire.

       Balthos was staring down at him, triumphant. Hatred so thick it choked him filled his chest. He would kill him for this. Even if it took him a decade, he would see Balthos’ blood empty into the sand.

       His eyes flicked back to the burning iron lowering toward his navel. The slave insignia was always burned in 4 places. Once between belly button and the pubic line, once where the spine met the neck, and once on the back of both hands.

       The guards threw their full weight on him as the iron touched, and still he nearly threw them as he screamed. A second later it was done. He was marked forever a slave.

       The guards got off of him, and began to flip him over for the next mark. He let them manipulate him onto his back and once again tie his hands above his head. He was in too much shock to care.

       Once again they held him down as the brand pressed into his back at the top of where his spine met his neck. The iron went back into the fire for a moment, and then they marked his hands.

       The marks on his front and back were for freemen, so they may never mistake him for anything more than he is. But the marks on his hands were for him, so that he may never forget.

       When he was done they bandaged the burns to prevent infection, and tied his hands together behind him. They put him on his knees as Balthos paid, and when he came back he was holding a leather training collar. It was bright red, indicating a fresh and possibly dangerous unbroken slave.

       Artimus closed his eyes in defeat as Balthos locked it around his neck. It felt foreign against his skin. It wasn’t tight enough to prevent breathing, but rubbed against him when he moved his head, a constant reminder of his place. Next came the leash being hooked onto his collar, and the inevitable tug.

       He quickly discovered it was a choke collar, and the metal chain beneath the decorative leather pulled taught. Forced to move or choke himself, Artimus rose to his feet. Balthos smiled again, turned, and led him away.

       As they walked through the city this time, no one stared. No one even glanced at the fresh slave. No one noticed he had once been Artimus. He wasn’t sure if he was thankful for that, or angry.

       When they finally arrived at their destination, Artimus was horrified. This was his house. The large villa on the edge of town had been his first purchase after defeating the previous champion. It covered a lot of land, had 10 rooms in it, and even a full bath. His 8 slaves were waiting outside, lined up for the inspection of their new owner.

       

       As Balthos led him towards them, he could see their eyes flick over him, then the sudden realization. He wondered if it was glee he saw behind their careful masks of indifference. No, he was sure it was.

       Balthos stopped and snapped his fingers beside him, ordering Artimus to kneel. He refused, and stared into the man’s eyes. He would not be humiliated here, not in front of his own slaves.

       Balthos’ hand lashed out and cracked him across the face. He stumbled, and Balthos snapped the leash down behind him, pulling him to his knees. He put his foot on the leash, holding it on the ground and Artimus with it. His face burned, partially from the hit, and partially from the humiliation of being beaten so easily. He didn’t bother looking up to see the joy in the faces of his slaves, he could feel it radiating from them.

       Balthos turned back to them, and spoke. “You are all now my property, along with the grounds, the animals, and everything else. Obey me as you did him, and you will find an easy life here.” He motioned to Artimus. “Disobey, and you will be dealt with quickly.”

       He grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look up at his former slaves. “He is no longer your Master. He is no longer your better. Nor even your equal. He is a fresh slave, in training. I expect you to treat him as such.” He released him. “Now, who is the first slave?”

       Scio stepped forward. He was a middle-aged man, a northerner, like Brutus. Captured after some battle and brought back to Rome. He had an average face, with a broad nose, thin lips and hate filled eyes but he had served well and kept the other slaves in line.

       “Your name?” Brutus asked.

       “Scio, Master.” He answered.

       “Scio, take this slave and train him as you see fit. Tie him up in the barn to sleep until he learns his place. And have him ready for use tonight in my chambers.”

       Artimus didn’t hear Scio’s response. Surely he could not mean to use him as a sex slave? Male sex slaves were lower than field slaves.

       Balthos continued on inside to make himself at home. Scio motioned for his two labor slaves, Tobias and Zerk to lead him and they grabbed him by the arms. He tried to wrench away, but they held firm and pulled him to his feet.

       “I can walk myself!” He fought back but they continued to shove him forward. “Scio, tell them to let me go god damn it!”

       Scio whirled around and slapped him across the face.  “New slaves are not to speak unless spoken to; and you will address me as First.” He turned and began leading them again.

       His anger flared. “Scio!”

       Scio turned back, switch in hand. Tobias and Zerk forced him to his knees, and pressed his head to the ground.

       “Wait!” He shouted desperately, but they ignored him.

       Scio snapped the switch over his back over and over again in a flurry. The pain was a whirlwind, striking again and again. He fought to stand, but Tobias dug his knee into the side of his head, forcing him into the dirt. The pain was growing with every strike until he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t take any more.

       “Stop! Please…”

       “Not until you’ve learned your lesson.” Scio laughed as he repeated the line Artimus had often said.

       The beating continued until Artimus was near screaming. When there wasn’t an inch of his back that didn’t burn and tears welled in his eyes, Scio stopped. He leaned down next to him and looked into his eyes. “What do you call me?”

       Artimus inhaled sharply. “First.”

       Scio smiled. “Good boy.”

       He signaled the other slaves to bring him and once again they set off for the stables. He had always had a love of riding, and so his stables were quite large. They passed the larger stalls and went to the very back of the barn. There was a small standing stall on the left side, used for only unbroken horses. They opened the small stall door and pushed him inside.

       Scio threw the end of his leash over a beam in the ceiling and tied the end off high on the wall. Tobias and Zerk untied his hands and retied them, wrist to opposite elbow behind him. Satisfied it was tight enough, they locked the stall door and left him in the dark.

       The stall was small and windowless, but at least the hay was fresh. The leash was short enough that he couldn’t sit down. He was forced to stand awkwardly in the center. There was a small pail of water hanging from the wall, but even if he had lowered himself to drinking from a horse’s trough, he couldn’t bend over enough to reach it. He moved to lean against the wall, but hit the end of the leash there as well.

       Not being able to do anything but stand frustrated him, but he no longer had any choice in the matter. All he could do was wait. Gradually his feet grew sore and his mouth dried from thirst.

       A few hours later, Scio and the others came back in. Artimus glared at them, but kept silent. He was exhausted from the day’s ordeals and all he could think about was being able to lie down and sleep.

       They unchained him from the ceiling and led around the back of the stables to the horse hitching post. Hanging from the top of the post was a bucket with a hose coming out of the bottom. He wondered what they were planning. They only used this for cleaning horses after they came in from the fields.

       They forced him to his knees beneath it, and pushed his head to the floor. Tobias put his knee on his head again, holding him down. Zerk was doing something with the hose, but he couldn’t see what with his head under Tobias’ knee. Suddenly hands began spreading his ass apart.

       “What are you doing?!” He demanded, but they ignored him. He tried to get up, but Tobias was big, and with his arms tied behind his back, he held him easily.

       With no warning or care, Zerk began shoving the end of the hose into him. His struggles didn’t even slow him down as he secured the hose and stood up. He heard a something slide from the bottom of the bucket, and a sudden rush of freezing cold water filled him. He cried out in shock, and the slaves above him laughed.

       As it filled him, he began to cramp and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Still no one paid him any mind. Scio was watching his face with satisfaction.

       When he was so full he thought he’d burst, the water finally stopped. They forced him to hold it for several long minutes before pulling the hose and letting him empty his bowels. He thought he was done, but they repeated the cycle twice more, until the water ran clear. When he was clean, they stood him up, cleaned him again, and led him into the house.

       They took him to what had once been his bedroom. It was a large room, ornately decorated with the things he’d won from his battles and lit almost entirely by the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Even with all the fancy drapes and furniture, the room was dominated by a large featherbed in the middle of the far wall. Made of hand carved dark wood and more expensive than the best trained slaves, it was one of his most prized possessions.

       They shoved him down onto the bed on his stomach. Scio held him down as each of the other slaves grabbed an ankle and tied them separately to his thighs. Sure that he was secure, they left.

       He waited there for what felt like hours, trying desperately to drown his fear. He knew what was coming. He couldn’t escape it. He was about to become the bitch boy for some fucking northerner.

       When the doors finally did open, a chill ran up his spine. He swiveled his head around to look as Balthos walked in, leaving the door open behind him. He strode confidently to the side of Artimus’ bed and grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing him to meet his eyes.

       “Looking forward to my cock, slave?” He asked, amused. Artimus searched his mind for some witty retort, but found none. Balthos smiled. Gods how he was growing to hate that smile.

       He released his hair, letting his face fall back onto the bed and walked around behind him. Standing at the end of the bed, he pulled Artimus to the edge like he weighed nothing. He flipped him over so he was laying on his back, and pulled his cock out. Artimus panicked. It was huge. A full 8 inches long, and thick around. Balthos placed it at his opening.

       

       “No!” He yelled as he tried to inch away. “No, no, no, please!”

       Balthos laughed and pulled him back into position. “You will look into my eyes as I do this slave. Do you understand? Looking away will be punished severely.”

       He turned his head away in defiance. Instantly a hand wrapped around his balls and pulled. He shrieked, but kept his head turned. The hand pulled and twisted, tugging so hard Artimus thought he’d rip them right off. Finally he could take it no more. He looked at Balthos.

       At that moment Balthos plunged his dick in as far as he could get it in one shove. Artimus screamed at the top of his lungs. He was tearing him in half! A moment passed and the tearing turned to a sharp ache. Balthos began pushing again, causing Artimus to scream again. The cycle continued for what seemed like forever until finally he felt Balthos’ balls hit his ass. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but couldn’t escape the cloud of humiliation, helplessness and pain.

       Balthos began to shift in and out, slowly thrusting. Artimus balled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw, fortifying himself against the pain. He realized he wasn’t looking at Balthos. He decided he didn’t care, no punishment could be worse than this. But Balthos wasn’t going to let it go. He grabbed his hair and forced him to face forward. The hand returning to his balls forced his eyes open.

       Balthos took his time, savoring the moment. Artimus kept his eyes on him and his stomach rolled with disgust and shame at the pleasure he saw there, threatening to break him.

       His thrusts increased in tempo and force, until finally he grunted and released his seed inside of him. He collapsed on top of Artimus, his sweaty body crushing him. He lay there with his cock still inside him for a few minutes, until finally getting up.

       “That was pathetic slave.” He scowled. “You will face your punishment for looking away, and then another for being displeasing. Scio!”

       “Yes Master?” He said as he entered the room.

       Artimus’ face burned as he realized that he must have been there the whole time. He looked away toward the windows hoping to disguise the burning in his eyes as well.

       “Take this slave to the slave quarters and have every male slave in the house fuck him.” Artimus attention snapped back to Balthos and he stared at him in horror as he continued. “Every time he looks away, that slave gets to fuck him again. This continues until he has maintained eye contact with every slave. Do you understand?”

       Scio looked surprised, but all too pleased. “Of course Master.”

       “After that, he is to be tied down in the offering position and have a cut open hot pepper stuffed into his ass, for not using it to please me. The pepper is to be changed every hour until the next sunrise or sunset, which ever it may be.”

       Artimus felt like vomiting. This couldn’t be happening. A sob rose in his throat and he just barely managed to catch it.

       “It shall be done Master.” He said, bowing as Balthos passed him. He left immediately, returning Tobias and Zerk as before. They didn’t untie him, just carried him down into the slave quarters and placed him on the table.

       He didn’t bother fighting. He knew there was no point. Slaves rarely got to fuck, and Artimus hadn’t been a kind Master. There would be no pity from them.

       Tobias took his liberty immediately. He was smaller than Brutus, and didn’t hurt as much. Artimus managed to maintain eye contact, not wanting to repeat any of them. There were 5 male slaves in his house, and he knew his ass was going to hurt.

       The next 3 all took theirs after Tobias. They were rough but efficient. Slaves were not permitted to cum unless told, and he had never given any of them permission. It made them angry, but quick. He held their gaze, defeated. When they were done his ass felt like it was on fire. Every movement hurt. Only Scio was left, and he didn’t know how he was going to take it.

       But Scio he didn’t come right away. About 2 hours passed with him left on the table. The other slaves worked around him, ignoring him for the most part, but throwing the occasional insult when no one else was in the room. The sun was just setting as Scio came in. He leaned against the door frame and stared at him.

       He had stopped fighting hours ago, but as the man who used to serve him witnessed him, helpless and slayed lewdly on a table, cum from his defeater and slaves alike leaking from him and just stood there, soaking it in, something in him broke.

       Suddenly, his anger returned to him. “Why are you staring? Have your way with me and be gone slave!” His anger fell to misery, and a sob escaped him. He looked away. Scio stood there for a few minutes more before coming over and inserting himself. He was large, although still not as large as Brutus. It hurt all the same.

       He maintained eye contact as Scio fucked him, remembering all the times he’d beaten the slave. The gods did have a poetic way about them, and now how he hated them. Scio fucked silently and slowly, savoring the moment. After about 10 minutes, Artimus felt Scio’s hot seed shoot into him to join the others.

       When he was done, he brought Tobias and Zerk back. They untied him completely, but he had nothing left in him to fight with. Even standing was painful. He let them lead him out into the yard in silence.

       They put him in the offering position, on his knees, his head to the ground and ass in the air. They pointed his ass to the front door of the house, and made sure he couldn’t move.

       Scio went behind him and spread his cheeks. Artimus breathed deeply as the pepper was forced past his battered sphincter. His ass was incredibly sore, and bleeding. The pepper slid in fairly easily, but began burning instantly. He began gasping for air as the heat of the pepper kicked in, and soon he was screaming.

       It burned forever, and when his cries finally softened to whimpers, they renewed the pepper. He began screaming again, and they gagged him.

       So began the longest night of his life. It got cold that night, and although he was sweating from the pepper, he began shivering as the cold night air touched his naked skin. The movement and clenching aggravated the pepper, and he began crying openly.

       In less than 24 hours he had gone from the most famous and powerful person next to the emperor himself, to some sniveling fuck slave, fit only to torture and stick your cock into.

       When the sun finally rose, Balthos came out to inspect him. The pepper currently occupying his hole had lost most of it’s potency, and he was more aware of his overall misery. He must have made a pathetic sight to see, because Balthos began laughing. He removed his gag and looked into his face.

       “You look like you’ve learned something slave.” He scoffed. “Have you?”

       Artimus swallowed to wet his painfully dry throat. “Yes. Yes, please…”

       Balthos raised an eyebrow. “That is the third time you have spoken to me without saying Master slave.”

       Horror filled him. “Yes, Master, please Master, forgive me.”

       “No, no. It’s too late slave.” He said cruelly. “Scio, change the pepper.”

       Scio again appeared out of nowhere and pulled the old pepper out. He slid the new one in as Brutus approached with his switch. He knelt down on one knee, and took a practice swing.

       The switch bit deeply into Artimus’ ass, causing him to cry out. The pepper was working it’s evil, and he began to whine with pain. Balthos put his gag back in, and began the beating. After 10 hits he was screaming, each hit making him clench the pepper harder. But Balthos was merciless. He ignored his cries and beat him bloody. Artimus lost count after 25, his mind turned into a sobbing mess of pain.

       When Balthos decided he was done, he untied Artimus’ collar from the ground, removed the gag, and held his tear streaked face up to look at him.

       “Have you learned your lessons?”

       “Yes Master.” Artimus replied obediently.

       

       “And what are they?” Balthos insisted.

       “Call you Master…look you in the eyes when you…when you fuck me, and do better to please you with m-my ass.” He said, ashamed.

       Balthos looked pleased. “Good boy. This may have seemed harsh to you boy, but you’ve trained slaves, you should know how to act. The offer I made the other slaves stands for you as well. Please me, and you can live a happy life here.” With that he stood, and left.