This is a Gay Authoritarian story about an adult male called Marcus Aurelius Florus. The story is set in ancient Rome around the year 300 CE. The author is an adult and there are no children involved in this story; the story does not involve kidnapping or blackmail. The story does not involve murder or suicide. This is chapter 1 in the story. You can use my email address florus@post.com and I accept the nifty.org terms. The text is in British English.
The narrative references Roman ideas of manliness, slavery and references oral and anal sex, domination and submission in a homo-normative environment. If any of these acts offend you or are illegal to read where you reside please move on Any resemblance to actual activities, real persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. I welcome feedback on my first story.
The scenes are set in a Roman popina - That's a Roman bar that served food and drink at tables and to take away. An ancient fast food set-up. Some had rooms and were quite large and some were just a hatch in the wall.
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Florus grew up on a dirt-poor farm where his family barely scraped along. The few acres they farmed had no chance of competing with the rich bastards who owned the huge estates worked by thousands of field slaves. Florus had not been to Rome before and had never seen a city bar known as a 'popina', let alone owned one. Florus only knew about City inns from the tall-tales told by his great uncle Zebo recounted when they met years ago. Zebo was some kind of Syrian, who made a fortune running a popina that catered to all kinds of lusts and pleasures. Zebo died a few months ago, alone and without any descendents. Zebo left the popina to Marcus Aurelius Florus, his only male relative young enough to have a family of his own at some point along with a hand written note that basically said: "Enjoy it, kid. It's more fun than farming."
Florus knew the dump he inherited would be a magnet for the scum and rejects of Rome who went there to swill sour wine, munch mouldy bread and piss away their pitiful coin. Zebo's bequest contained a warning to Florus about the shitstorm that awaited him in the business: crooks, whores, killers and worse. Zebo was a sly old bastard who managed to rake in some gold and leave some real estate behind so he must have done something right. Florus found out that Zebo even adopted him as a son in a shady deal with Florus' own father. Florus didn't hear a word about this clandestine adoption, done behind closed doors, until it was all over but it was all legal. Zebo was scared that without a son his ghost would not get the offerings and prayers the dead expected from their children. Florus now had to act like Zebo's son with the approval of his own flesh and blood father. This was all part of Roman religion and Florus didn't get a say in the deal.
Zebo was a Syrian slave before some rich Greek brought him to Rome. The Greek used Zebo as a cook and a cleaner. Zebo, with his exotic looks and nimble fingers, was a man of many talents. Though he had started out as little more than a common slave Zebo soon became one of the most sought-after entertainers in that part of Rome. His dishes were legendary, created from scraps and leftovers that others would have discarded. Zebo had a talent for making something out of nothing, transforming bland leftovers into gourmet delights that would leave even the most discerning palates begging for more. It was not just his cooking that made Zebo so valuable to his master's guests. No, his real talent lay in his ability to entertain the male guests after dinner, to keep them laughing and engaged long into the night before hustling them for gold. With his delicate features and lithe body, the young Zebo was a vision to behold and he could dance and sing and play instruments with ease. Performances left audiences breathless and wanting more. Then there were the more intimate services Zebo provided to those who could afford them. A man like Zebo knew how to please not just the palate but also the body. With his knowledge of Latin and Greek, Zebo would flit from table to table, serving up dishes and delights that would leave his master and the guests in a state of blissful euphoria. In a world of sin and excess, Zebo was a willing man whore with a voracious appetite who knew how to truly indulge other men. He did so with a grace and elegance that left all who knew him in awe.
One day and after a lifetime of depravity, Zebo's former master died of a fever after a few hours of vomiting and sweating and, quick as that, Zebo was freed in his Master's will with Zebo inheriting a small amount of money and a rundown tavern in the slums of Rome. Zebo decided to turn the tavern into a profitable business catering to the poor and the outcasts of the city. Zebo sold cheap wine, stale bread, and his own special Syrian dishes made from whatever he could find in the market. Zebo offered gambling, entertainment and prostitutes to his customers and was a real star in how he worked. Florus was truly and increasingly grateful to his new father for his efforts.
Florus wanted to model himself on Zebo and was determined that he would be a man who towered above the dregs of society that swarmed around him like so many scavengers. With his chiselled jaw and rippling muscles Florus was a force to be reckoned with and a living embodiment of strength and Roman power. Even with ambition, personal determination and commitment, Florus felt a sense of unease as made he made his way through the filthy streets; the stench of rot and decay clinging to their every step. The popina he was looking for was a sorry excuse for an establishment, a shabby little shop front on a street crawling with the worst kind of human vermin. Beggars and peddlers, slaves and foreigners swarmed around and they all eyed Florus and his men with a mix of curiosity, greed and malice.
Florus was no fool. Although he was raised a poor country boy he knew how to charm and cajole and how to make deals and strike bargains that would keep him safe and secure. To make sure people would agree with him, Florus hired some of the toughest, meanest, veterans he could find, men who looked like they had been born and raised in the pit of hell itself. Their freshly burnished armour gleamed in the dim light of the alley as their ageing muscles bulged beneath the rough fabric of their tunics. From a distance they almost looked like serving soldiers.
As the muscular group of hardened veterans pushed their way through the throng of beggars and thieves, Florus felt a sense of relief wash over him. With experienced men like these by his side he would be safe from the endemic violence that lurked around every corner of this wretched city. Lady Luck smiled down on Florus that day, guiding him and his men through the labyrinthine streets until they finally reached their destination, the "Golden Cup." As he stepped inside, his heart pounding with both fear and excitement, Florus knew that he had found a home in this den of iniquity, a place where he could indulge his darkest desires and emerge victorious over all who dared to stand in his way.
Florus burst into the main hall of the popina like he owned the place; which he did. Florus had to shove the door open which was unusual for a popina that was always open for business. He stepped into the dim and dingy room with a low ceiling and wooden benches placed against the walls looking like rotten teeth in a decayed mouth. A few clay lamps cast a sickly light on the tables and the floor. The air was stifling and stank of booze, sweat, and piss. The regulars were there hiding from the sun. Mostly old male cocksuckers with a few women for good measure but Florus would chase the women away later. Everyone glanced at Florus as he walked in then they quickly looked away. This was not a place where you made eye contact unless you wanted to buy some cheap thrills. The patrons were not happy to see Florus and his hired muscle. They were enjoying their drinks and their dirty games in peace until this fool showed up looking like the new boss. The regulars felt a mix of resentment and fear along with curiosity and envy as they sneaked a peek at Florus. They probably saw him as a spoiled brat who never lifted a finger in his life. They saw a man who inherited a popina from his dead great uncle without lifting a finger or deserving it.
Florus looked around, searching the room for the manager of the popina who was a slave he inherited along with the bar. Zebo had been generous enough to leave him a mixed bequest of money, slaves and property and Florus thanked the gods for Zebo every day of his life. The slave-manager was behind a counter at the far end of the room. A fat man with a bald head and a greasy beard who looked like a pig in human skin. Stained clothing barely covered his flabby body as he wielded a large knife in his hand. He was slicing flat bread into pieces on a tray with bowls of cheap fish sauce called 'allec'; the dregs of the fish sauce after the good stuff had been poured out. It was the combination of laziness and cruelty that defined the greasy man, a man who was all too eager to grovel and fawn before those who held more power while spitting on those who were beneath him. As the stench of stale allec sauce filled the air around him, the slave manager revelled in his own wretchedness, snarling at any who dared to cross his path and lording his authority over those who could do nothing but stare back in fear.
Florus sensed the slave was the manager and walked towards him, followed by his guards. He reached the counter and cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," Florus said politely as if he were talking to a free man. "Are you Marcus?"
The fat man looked up at him with a sneer.
"Who wants to know?" he asked, forgetting his place.
Florus smiled ignoring the impertinent tone.
"I do," he said. "I am Marcus Aurelius Florus."
The fat man's eyes widened.
"Florus?" he repeated. "The great nephew of Master Zebo?"
"That's right, and my father of blessed memory," Florus said.
The fat man dropped his knife and bowed his head.
"Forgive me, Master," he said. "I did not recognise you."
Florus nodded.
"That is understandable," he said. "We have never met before."
He reached into his bag worn over the shoulder and pulled out a scroll.
"I have something to show you," he said. "A letter and the bequest of my father."
He held up the papyrus so the fat man could acknowledge the scroll and the seal.
"What is this?" the fat man asked.
"It's Zebo's will," Florus said in emphasis.
The fat man touched the scroll because like most people he could not read anything at all. His face turned pale.
"He left you everything, Master, everything?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes," Florus said.
"The popina?" Marcus looked nervous.
"Yes." Florus grinned enjoying the look of tension of the manager's face
"The wine?" Marcus was going through the list of things that Zebo left to the new master.
"Yes." Marcus nodded with finality.
"The bread?" Marcus was getting to the end of his mental list.
"Yes." Marcus nodded again in a weary manner.
"The customers?" Marcus himself was smiling at the idea that Zebo was even leaving the customers.
"Yes. Even the customers!" Florus enjoyed the idea of inheriting the customers although the current bar-flies were not buying much.
The fat man looked around nervously.
"Even them?" he asked.
Florus followed his gaze and saw the faces of the people in the room. They looked scared and angry.
"Yes," Florus said again, almost laughing at the incredulity of the manager.
The fat man swallowed hard.
"What are you going to do with us?" he asked in a conspiratorial tone.
Florus shrugged.
"I don't know yet," he said. "Maybe I'll keep you all as you are. Maybe I'll change you all for something better."
Florus smiled.
"Or maybe I'll just burn this place down and start anew."
Florus snapped his fingers at the slave manager of "The Golden Cup" to get his attention and hurry him along. The men who accompanied Florus deserved some rest and reward from the heat of the afternoon that had baked them like bread in an oven. The bar-flies who had been buzzing around the popina sensed the change of mood and scurried out the door like rats fleeing a cat. Maybe they would come back and maybe they would find some other place to pass their last days on earth. Florus ordered that the shutters be opened a little for light and air and Marcus, the slave manager, tried to work at three jobs at once moving his large frame between furniture like a clumsy elephant.
Florus thought that as he became older, great uncle Zebo spoiled Marcus and, in return, the manager neglected his duties taking Zebo for a fool. Florus intended to make sure that Marcus knew his place if, indeed, Florus kept him. After all, Florus could always sell the manager and get a younger slave in post who was eager to earn their freedom and earn a little money from exploiting others. Maybe a slave who would work hard and not complain was needed here?
The slave manager obediently nodded and scurried away, sensing that Florus was more demanding than the old Master. Marcus knew better than to argue. Florus watched his guards as they unbuckled their armour and laid down their burdens. They were like old lions, fierce and loyal and just a little arthritic. Florus paid them well, treated them fairly and knew how to keep them happy. He encouraged the men to loosen their clothing and relax on the couches before ordering Marcus to pour them wine and offer them bread and cheese. He knew they would, like all soldiers, soon be looking for other pleasures, such as dice or men or both. In his head, Florus was already making plans to provide entertainment for the guards using the male prostitutes who worked upstairs. A hot mouth sucking at their balls would make the guards forget their troubles and pains. Florus smiled as he saw the guards settle in, enjoying their ease. He was a good leader, Florus thought to himself and they were lucky to have him.
The dank tavern was a den of sin and debauchery and Zebo, the former owner, was notorious for his collection of slaves. They were more than mere possessions to him, they were sometimes his family, his own flesh and blood born into slavery. In Rome the status of a person was based on their mothers status. If a child was born to a slave then he grew up a slave. Florus would assess the goods for himself and feast his eyes on the hotbed of temptation before any of them could flee into the night.Florus was a man of taste with a hunger for male beauty and that could not be denied. On his family's farm he was too shy to indulge his carnal lusts fully and the slaves on the farm were far from the most attractive. So Florus bided his time for a number of years, satisfying himself with the charity of his friends who loaned him their more attractive slaves in greater privacy.
On the farm, Florus was rumoured to possess a prodigious package between his legs, a tool that was said to be the envy of lesser men and as a result his friends were quick to invite him to their most exclusive dinner parties. Florus was not a popular guest because of his witty conversation or keen intellect. Florus was in demand for his ability to satisfy every carnal desire. Like a prize stallion Florus trotted through life with an air of arrogance and self-assuredness. His massive manhood swung between his legs and was his ticket to the upper echelons of society where he was able to woo and impress the most influential and powerful men of the age. It was not just the size of his member that drew people to Florus; it was his innate ability to sexually perform to order. Florus knew all the right moves, all the right places to touch and all the right words to whisper. Florus was like a magician able to get hard as a rock at a moments notice and then make a man's wildest fantasies come true. Florus became the life of every party, a man who knew how to live and love with reckless abandon and always in public.
Friends looked up to him with a mix of awe and envy knowing that they could never hope to match his prowess. For Florus, it was all just another day in the life of a man who knew what he wanted and was not afraid to take it. With a cocky grin, Florus lived for the thrill of the chase, the rush of conquest, and the warm embrace of a partner. At a fancy party, Florus would always be served the new adult male arrivals. He would be paired with a muscular field slave, or sometimes more than one slave, fresh off the boat with no physical experience of men. Florus would just look at the slaves and become fully aroused in an instant before he would peel off his own tunic in full view of the guests and unleash his lusts on the meat presented to him. The new arrivals willingly submitted to his every desire. Nervous at first, slaves quickly gave up all inhibitions natural to a free born man and warmed to touches and embraces from Florus. Very quickly, the slave did not mind being observed by the flower of Roman high society and accepted their role as entertainment. Part of the deal was that his friends, who were the owners of the newly arrived slaves, would watch Florus mount and inseminate the slave. The slave's excitement grew. The slave always obeyed and willingly lay there without question and that is just what the owners wanted to see. Florus, their prized friend and bull was the chief entertainment who acted out their desires. It goes without saying that the slave was always grateful to Florus for his performances and they always whispered "Thank you" in their own barbaric languages as the cock slid out of them leaving a gushing sperm trail. Florus routinely refused to let the muscular slave clean himself, preferring to witness his own juice flowing from the orifice throughout the rest of the party. Florus enjoyed the experience of sexually humiliating the slave and then watched with amusement as the recently fucked flesh was compelled to serve drinks and food for the amusement of the other guests.
When Florus was not dazzling the wealthy elite with his "manly gifts," and sexual performances, he could often be found slithering through the seedy underworld of local inns and dive bars. It was there that he would seek out new and exciting conquests, eager to sink his teeth into the untamed and exotic flesh that lay in wait. Like a hunter on the prowl, Florus was always searching for his next prey, his finely tuned senses honed to detect even the slightest hint of desire. Once he had found what he was looking for he would descend upon them like a lion taking what he wanted with a fierce and unrelenting hunger. It wasn't just the thrill of the chase that kept Florus coming back for more. No, it was the power he had over his prey and the way they would willingly submit to his every whim and desire. He was like a puppet master pulling the strings of his eager playthings with a suave and confident touch. When he was not out on the prowl, Florus was busy buying and selling slaves turning a tidy profit. He would never just buy and sell without first taking what was rightfully his from the luscious and oh-so-tempting bodies. To Florus, there was no greater pleasure than the thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of conquest, and the sweet satisfaction of bending others to his will before selling them on for a profit. He was a man who lived for pleasure, overflowing with a lust for life that could never be completely sated.
Such was the life of Florus, a man ruled by his passions and driven by his unquenchable thirst for the forbidden. In this tavern, surrounded by Zebo's slaves, he knew he had found his paradise. Florus smirked as he called out to the slave manager once more, his voice dripping with sleazy satisfaction.
"Get the slaves from upstairs, all of them. I want to see them all, inspect them, test them."
The slave manager nodded eagerly, scampering off as fast as his legs would carry him. Florus could not help but chuckle at the man's desperate attempts to please him. The years of sitting idly by had clearly taken their toll and today he was nothing more than a slave, grovelling before his new master although Florus was no ordinary master. He was a man of refinement and taste and he intended to select only the best from the lot. He would test their limits, push them to the brink of submission, and leave them begging for more. The slave manager knew that if he pleased Florus with his selection, there would be enough gold to go around for everyone.
As Florus awaited the arrival of the slaves, he reclined in his chair, his eyes glittering with anticipation. He was ready to indulge his desires, to take what he wanted from the flesh presented to him. Florus knew that in this world of debauchery and depravity he was the king and the one in control of everything and everyone. Florus watched with lustful eyes as the slaves descended upon him like exotic birds. Men and women, exquisitely adorned in clothing that cost more than most free men made in a year. Their jewellery glittered like stars in the dimly lit tavern casting a hypnotic spell on those who dared to gaze upon it. The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air masking the foul stench of the popina. The slaves were insufferably arrogant, each one radiating a sense of entitlement and superiority. They had all been spoiled by Zebo and allowed to do as they pleased without consequence. They had probably not worked much in years living in luxury with Zebo. They now regarded Florus with disdain, viewing him as nothing more than a bumpkin or a foolish country boy who ventured into the big city unprepared for what lay ahead. Nothing more than a lamb, soon to be devoured by the wolves of Rome. Florus knew that each slave was a puzzle to be solved, a complex web of pleasures to be used and manipulated before being cast aside. Florus was nothing if not a master of seduction, skilled in the art of unveiling hidden depths and unlocking secret fantasies and all to make a profit. As he watched each slave strut before him, confidence radiating from their every pore, Florus knew that he would not make the same mistake as Zebo. Florus would not be won over by mere physical beauty or empty promises of servitude. No, he would test them, push them, force them to reveal their carnal possibilities until they were nothing more than quivering masses of humiliated flesh. Despite his predatory nature, there was a method to Florus' madness. He was not just a man consumed by lust but a shrewd businessman carefully selecting the slaves who would bring him the greatest profit. Florus would choose those with the rarest skills, the most coveted talents and those who would make him the envy of the entire city. So Florus ran his eyes over the slaves, sizing them up, evaluating their worth. Some were easy to dismiss their flaws all too apparent. Others caught his eye, piqued his interest and he lingered upon them mentally testing their limits, coaxing out his fantasies. Florus was no fool. He knew what he wanted, and he intended to take it all one slave at a time. With his razor-sharp instincts and mastery of the seductive arts Florus would emerge victorious as the undisputed king of the flesh trade.
The slave manager trembled knowing that his future depended on the next few minutes. He led the slaves forward, one by one and Florus watched with hungry eyes, a predator stalking his prey. For in this world of sin and vice there was no room for mercy. Only the strongest survived and Florus was determined to emerge victorious no matter the cost. The experienced guards sat and watched the slaves with suspicion rightly assessing they were not ordinary slaves but pampered and spoiled property who could always make a dash for it out of the doors. These slaves were not loyal or obedient but rebellious, indulged and defiant. Florus assessed each one as they came down the stairs. He saw that they were beautiful but also vain and haughty. After the thirty three slaves paraded in front of Florus he barked his orders.
"I want the men over there," Florus said, pointing to the group of grizzled guards huddled around the tables with bread and allec in hands. The guards nodded and the male slaves grudgingly obeyed the order seeing the guards sitting to attention.
"And the women over here," Florus continued, gesturing towards a group of women chattering amongst themselves and Florus noticed all of the slaves became increasingly nervous as they were segregated. Their chatter changed from a loud impudent tone to a tone that indicated increasing concern and fear. There was a murmur of discontent from the slaves as they took their places. Florus silenced them all with a single, steely glare.
The room was a cesspool of simmering discontent, but Florus stood firm, unmoved by the muttering and murmurs that swirled around him like a flock of carrion birds. The guards, with their eyes darting like predators kept watch, ready to pounce on anyone who dared to challenge their new master. Florus watched, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as the slaves began to obey anyone for the first time in years. They could sense the raw power emanating from Florus, a dangerous energy that buzzed through the air like thunder and lightening. They knew Florus was the new owner but they were beginning to wonder just what kind of monster they had watched enter into their midst. Physically, Florus was a sight to behold, a vibrant burst of life in a sea of dull grey. His eyes gleamed with wickedness as he surveyed the slaves, sizing them up like pieces of meat in a butcher's shop. They, in turn, could feel the magnetic pull of his lust, knowing deep down that they would be powerless to resist it. Florus was a man who needed constant attention like a ravenous beast that could never be sated. This was a role he learned back on his lonely farm and at the dinner parties of his friends. Florus hungered for pleasure in all its forms the kind that could only be quenched by the soft moans of willing slaves beneath him. The slaves knew what was coming, could feel the heat of his desire like a scorching flame, burning away all their resistance. So they obeyed, with hesitant glances and quivering hands sensing that their fates were now inextricably linked to this man. Florus only grinned wider, his eyes blazing with an unholy fire as he savoured the delicious taste of power and control. In this world of sin and vice there was no room for weakness. Florus was not weak. Oh no, he was a force to be reckoned with and a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted and he wanted everything.
The sound of the main door creaking open jolted Florus from his reverie, alerting him to the arrival of a new player in his sordid game. He raised his head lazily his eyes scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey. The guards and the slaves watched with interest unsure of what to make of the weasel-like man who had just slunk into their midst. He was tall, thin, unnamed and nervous, the very embodiment of a snake in human form. His tunic was frayed and itchy hugging his angular frame like a second skin. His movements were jerky making him look almost like a puppet controlled by unseen strings. Florus guessed that this was the slave trader he hired in advance before he started his journey to the popina. Zebo recommended the man in his will and a smile crept across Florus' face at the thought of the wealth and power that lay within his grasp from the sale of the female slaves.
The weasel-like man was not easily read as a personality. His eyes darted nervously from side to side scanning the room for potential threats. He moved with an awkward gait, as if he were constantly on the verge of falling over and his face was a mask of fear. Weasel-like eyes scanned the room like a furtive animal. It was more than just fear that radiated from him. There was a sense of menace too, a dark energy that seemed to emanate from his very pores. He was a slaver, after all and slavers were like weasels in the way they approached life. Always looking for a way to take advantage and always on the lookout for a weakness to exploit. As he drew closer to Florus, the weasel-like man's nerves seemed to intensify. He moved faster than his frail body would allow with his sandals pinching his feet with every step. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other, scanning for any potential threats like a creature in search of prey. Florus could feel the tension in the room rising, a palpable sense of danger that almost made his hair stand on end. For they all sensed this weasel-like man was not to be trifled with. The slaver was a clear player in this dark world of sin and vice, a master of the game in his own right. Florus could only imagine the kind of horrors that lay in store for the slaves at the weasel-like man's hands and that gave him a good feeling. The slaves would be working flat on their backs once more after they had probably stolen so much from Zebo without having the foresight to run away and seek a better life in the provinces. They probably thought old Zebo would free them in his will but they did not count on Zebo adopting a son and then making provision for the son in the form of property, money and slaves. Florus watched the older man with interest, noting his weasel-like characteristics. He knew that this was the type of man who was always looking for an angle, the type of man who would do whatever it took to come out on top. As the man stood before him, his eyes darting from side to side, Florus could not help but feel a certain sense of pity for the old creature. Florus knew that men like this would always exist, always searching for a way to survive, no matter the cost. The man had an assistant with him carrying a shoulder bag that no doubt contained gold. Florus watched the pair with interest as they made their way to his table.
In a conspiratorial way, Florus put his mouth closer to the weasel's ear and spoke to the man for a few moments and motioned for the man to take the women out of the door with him. Florus hoped to get rid of the distraction that the women were causing and he knew that the man would be happy to oblige. The older man nodded his head like a puppet on a string, his eyes gleaming with avarice as the assistant handed Florus a small satchel of gold coins. It was like watching vultures battle over a rotting carcass, obscene but somehow fascinating in its depravity. Florus watched the exchange with a hint of amusement, noting with satisfaction that the weasel shared his own approach to dealing with the world. It was a world of predators and prey, of hunters and hunted and Florus knew where he belonged in that food chain. The guards watched and kept silent as they supped on the wine and the final morsels of bread and cheese. The guards had seen this sort of dance a hundred times and they knew they were to just watch and make sure it all happened peacefully.
As the weasel-like man gathered the women around him and disappeared through the door, Florus settled back into the best chair in the room, relishing the silence that descended in the wake of their departure. Even as he basked in his triumph, Florus could not help but feel a twinge of amusement at the thought of what had just transpired. The weasel-like man was nothing more than a parasite, feeding off the misery and desperation of others to satiate his own never-ending hunger for wealth. In this world of sin and vice, sometimes it was the only way to survive.
Such musings were fleeting, for Florus knew that in this world, the weak would always be at the mercy of the strong. It was a metaphor for life, a reminder that there was no room in Rome for sentimentality or hesitation in this cutthroat world of sin and vice. The male slaves, with their eyes wide and their loins quivering, watched the mass sale that just unfolded before them like a pack of timid mice waiting to be devoured by a ravenous cat. Their previous bravado and confidence as they descended the stairs melted away under the piercing glare of Florus, the alpha to their beta, the predator to their prey. Huddled together like a herd of frightened cattle, the slaves knew that they were nothing more than pieces of meat to be traded and sold at the whim of their owner. After witnessing Florus use his power and sell all the women in one step, they knew that they were completely powerless in this game of lust and domination. They could feel the eyes of their owner burning into their flesh like a branding iron, marking them as nothing more than lowly chattels in this world of sex and sin. Even though all the slaves enjoyed the taste of decadent man juice, they were forced to watch from the sidelines now as mere spectators. There was no hope, no escape from the cruel and merciless world that they found themselves in. They were simply pawns in a game of power and pleasure, lost in the shadows of a world that cared nothing for their plight or suffering.
Florus had gotten what he wanted and the men had learned a valuable lesson about their own place in the never-ending cycle of desire and depravity stretching out before him like an endless sea. The room settled some as Florus gave more orders.
"And ......I want anyone over thirty years of age on that side," he said, pointing for the five men over 30 to go towards the far wall.
"And anyone under thirty on this side." Florus pointed for the five men under 30 to stand on the other side.
"And now the women are gone, I want all of you cock suckers naked. You will not wear a stitch of clothing from now until the end of October when the weather turns a little cold. Now get everything off including jewellery. I'll have Marcus sell that tomorrow. I do not want you looking like women. You are male and as males you will swing your cock and balls around this place showing what you have without looking like a dancing girl. No make-up, no perfumes, you hear me!"
Florus pointed to a place on the floor where the slaves had to deposit their clothing. One by one the slaves took off their tunics and belts and sandals because sandals would make it easier to run away. They cast their clothing in the middle of the room. Some covered up which was surprising considering their status and occupation. Like every time a group of men get naked together, one man gets an erection and then another. Before you know it all of the slaves had a hard-on just like Florus although Florus quickly ordered the slaves never to cover themselves or their hard-on on pain of a beating. Florus insisted that their genitals and hole were always on display and available for customers. Florus began to see that the slaves were quietly enjoying the experience of obeying his commands and the fear of being ordered around and stripped naked was replaced by a sort of admiration of the experience. Men started to move from side to side enjoying the feeling of their genitals swinging in the breeze and they looked at each other's equipment probably for the first time in some years. The slaves smiled at each other and admired what they saw and they smiled at Florus
Like a ruthless dictator, Florus stood before his new flock of naked sex workers and the guards who remained impassive on their seats. An aura of power surrounded Florus and was palpable in the air like a thick fog. His piercing gaze raked over the meek slaves, each one quivering under the weight of their erection. Yes, Florus had the biggest hard-on and it visibly poked up against his tunic creating a sort of tent-pole shape known to every man that has slept under a canvas tent. The end of his hard-on was wet and glistened leaving a damp stain on the fabric of the grey tunic and Florus liked that the slaves would see this sign of his growing arousal. With his arms crossed over his broad chest and his manhood poking out for all to see, Florus exuded a sense of domination that sent shivers down the spines of all around him. He was a master of his domain, a king among men and he intended to make sure that his new slaves knew it. The guards lurked in the shadows like hungry wolves, their eyes alight with a menacing fire. Their presence served as a stark reminder of the power dynamic at play. They were the silent partners in this dance, the muscle behind Florus's empire of sex and pleasure and they would stop at nothing to ensure that his rule remained unchallenged. As he watched the slaves meekly obey his every command, Florus grinned with satisfaction, revelling in the sheer thrill of power that came with ownership. Only a few days ago he had to get his thrills from performing lewd sex acts at his friends' dinner parties and now he had his own theatre in which to perform. These slaves were no longer individuals with hopes and dreams but willing commodities performing for their Master. With the re-establishment of "The Golden Cup", Florus would rule over them all like a true king of sleaze, amassing a fortune by exploiting their every sexual weakness for the pleasure of customers. For Florus, the world was his playground, and he intended to play rough.
In a voice like thunder, Florus barked out his commands, ordering the men over 30 to start working in the bar. They would serve drinks, food, and offer up their bodies for any and all who could afford the pitifully low price of admission. Woe betide those who held back becasue the consequences would be swift and savage although as Florus looked at the slaves he thought they were all willing enough. The slaves were there to make money for him, pure and simple. They would sell watered-down wine, cheap food sold at a premium, and offer up their bodies for sex acts with all the profits flowing straight into Florus' pocket. It was not all just sex and booze. Oh no, Florus had plans for these new acquisitions, plans that would make their heads spin with a dizzying mix of lust and fear. He told them of a league table he had in mind, a wall set aside for the best-performing slaves. The benefits for those who made it to the top of the league? Better food, better drink and of course, better and more-desirable sex acts with less disgusting customers. Hand-jobs, cock sucking, and all manner of debauchery would be on offer to customers for a modest fee with Florus raking in the profits hand over fist. For these slaves, it was all just part of their new job description, a way to earn their keep in this cutthroat world of sin and vice. For the men who frequented Florus' establishment, well, it was all just part of the fun and they secretly loved it. In this world, where the strong preyed upon the weak and the powerful ruled with an iron fist, there was no room for pity or compassion. Only the strong survived, and only the cunning prospered. Florus may have been a predator, but he was also a survivor, and he had no qualms about using these slaves for his own personal gain. For in the end, it was all just a game, a twisted dance of desire and depravity that would keep him on top of the food chain for years to come.
With their chiselled features and tight torsos, the adult males aged under 30 gathered before Florus were nothing less than prime cuts of meat, ready for the taking. Each one a feast for the eyes with their naked flesh displayed before their new master like a sacrificial offering. Florus, the overlord of "The Golden Cup", smiled with satisfaction as he watched each slave reveal every inch of their perfect bodies to his insatiable gaze. He could smell their lust and almost taste their wish to begin but he would allow no weakness in his new flock. For this was the world of sin and vice, where only the strongest and most daring would survive. Florus, with his grim determination and shrewd mind, would be at the helm of it all. His new right-hand man, Marcus, was the puppet master behind the scenes, pulling the strings of the establishment's network of clients and contacts. He would be the master of their fates, and Florus would ensure that all the coins flowed into his ever-growing coffers. So as the slaves stood before him, their naked flesh exposed to his watchful eye, Florus felt his power grow within him like a raging inferno. There would be no hesitation, no weakness, only obedience and devotion. Florus, with his unquenchable greed and insatiable desire, would make sure that he reigned supreme.
"Do you wish to be whipped and sent to the mines?" he barked, his voice sharp as a whip crack. "I can get younger men for a small price, who will meet the demands of this establishment so obey and survive!."
The slaves cast furtive glances amongst themselves, strangely interested in each other and feeling horny the way that men become aroused when they are naked and with other naked men. They felt their arousal rise and they began to need some release or some way to serve. Some also thought Florus need not threaten them any further because they were all ready to get on their knees for any customer who came through the doors.
"You belong to me," Florus declared, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. "And that is final."
For a moment, the room fell silent, the slaves standing naked and vulnerable before their new master. But then Florus smiled, pleased with his dominance.
"The only constant is change," he declared, a mad twinkle in his eye. "Embrace it, or be taken to the auction block."
With those words ringing in their ears, the slaves complied as the slave manager gathered their discarded clothing and disappeared into the shadows, The better clothing and jewellery would be sold and cheaper tunics would be bought for some time in october. They would wear nothing until then in line with Florus' command. Florus knew that he had taken one more step toward his ultimate goal: total and utter domination. The slaves would largely live their lives naked. Florus could not help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in himself. He knew that his establishment, "The Golden Cup," would be like no other in the city. This would be a place where the rich and powerful would come to indulge in their deepest, darkest desires. Where obedient and willing slaves would be at the service of rich men, providing not just food and drink but all manner of exotic and forbidden pleasures. The guards who watched over them? Well, they were being treated with a special kind of reverence, for they were the ones who kept the peace and protected the slaves and patrons from any unwanted attention.
Florus remembered the guards whose physical menace had made his arrival at "The Golden Cup" so easy and he wanted to reward them in a way that sealed the place of the slaves and cost him nothing in gold. This was a gift to the guards that was all at the same time worth everything and worth nothing. Florus ordered his eager and newly pliant slaves to kneel before the guards. The guard's genitals hung down from under their tunics like beacons in the dark, beckoning the hungry and horny slaves to suck and lick like wild beasts. One or more slaves went to every guard with the captain of the guard having his pick of them. These slaves, once insolent and defiant, were now there to command, their every breath and willing movement controlled by Florus' unrelenting will. The slaves quickly picked the guard they wanted to stimulate before drinking his juice. Florus knew that he had them all under his spell both slaves and guards. In this world of lust and desire, it was the strong who ruled and the weak who begged for mercy. As the slaves sucked and lost themselves in licking beneath the guards' merciless grip, their naked glistening bodies writhed with excitement because they once more had a role they enjoyed and a virile dominant Master. Florus felt his own pulse quicken with anticipation as he watched. For nothing thrilled him more than the raw power of domination, the rush of control that came with when someone allowed you to own their body and soul. Florus stood and watched as the guards dumped their loads over the faces of the smiling slaves. One load after another gushed with the moans and groans of the guards acting as an orchestra.
In this game of sin and vice, there was no room for hesitation or doubt. There was only one rule: obey or face the consequences. Florus knew without a doubt that these slaves had been given new leadership and with his leadership they would enjoy their new life and serve him well. Florus took his own huge manhood out from under the tunic to show it to everyone and waved it around before taking Lycurgus the Thracian slave upstairs. Florus shouted to his manager to lock up when they all finished.