Email: Amalaric
Balbus packed his new slave into a fast taxi-chariot and rushed back to his country villa. The small party of master, slave and slobbering pup Masculissimus arrived in record time; all three hot with anticipation, though for wildly different reasons. Balbus’ mind was racing with fevered fantasies as his eyes devoured the bound muscle stud hunched at his feet in the chariot. He compulsively stroked the buck’s bristly close cropped hair then caressed the warm tensed muscles of neck and shoulders. Masculissimus was excited for roughly the same reasons as his master, though in a doggyish kind of way. His liquid eyes were also riveted on the sad stud, though from a different, lower perspective. Realizing that he really should wait for an invitation, the salacious pooch, nevertheless, found it hard to resist the occasional surreptitious slurp from the captive’s salty sweat-slick balls peeking out from the loose loincloth. The handsome slave, who had been called Rufus Scipio in another, far away life, was also filled with anticipation, but his was a heady mix of stark anxiety, deep humiliation and dread.
The chariot pulled up to the front of the villa and Balbus hurriedly paid the driver and led his new slave by the rope leash toward his new home. Masculissimus, familiar with every sight and smell of the villa, capered at his master’s heels, giddy with excitement. Balbus’ villa was a fine structure surrounded by a groined stone arcade. The day was hot and the cool shadows of the many-arched entry beckoned but first Balbus paused by the well, slipped the rope leash off Rufus’ neck and languidly ripped the scanty loincloth from his glistening body. Masculissimus yapped with pleasure as Balbus dropped the rank cloth on the ground, grabbing it with his mouth and running in circles. The master produced a small whip and, lecturing his new property on house discipline, laid several rapid strokes on back, buttocks and thighs and genitals; edified by the low, manly whimpers, the refusal to voice any plea for mercy or question the master’s motives, and, finally, the deep blue eyes welling with unwilling tears of pain and humiliation.
Balbus filled an old bucket with icy well water and dashed it over the slave’s head, washing the grime of the market and the road from his passive, naked body. Rufus gasped in shock as the cold water hit him and ran its icy course over the hard curves of his muscular physique. Balbus smiled at the slave’s reaction, produced a short piece of hemp, and bound the young stud’s hands, looping the rope over the proud swell of his creamy ass. Laying a firm hand on the buck’s broad shoulder, the master guided his boy beneath the shadowed arcade, seated himself on a marble bench and gazed in dreamy contemplation at the naked slave displayed in all his glory.
