Downfall of the Centurion
How did he get here, he had thought, slinging the skinned pig carcass over his shoulder. Lucius Papirius had been the hero of the 9th Legion. Over three storied tours he had aided in he conquering of the northern Barbarian lands and rescued the kidnapped son of a nobleman. His name was sung in the songs of that conquest and the children of the Abentine insisted he had slain a Hydra as well. But that was all behind him now. At 33 years of age the man was glad to leave the frozen fronts of the North for the comfort of the city.These days, he was wearing the hat of humble and happy butcher.
Perhaps if he remembered that, things would have worked out differently. He wouldn’t have intervened when he saw the neighboring shopkeeper being beaten by petty thugs. He could have said to himself, “Not your problem Lucius. You’ve got your own to look after.” But the fear in the boy’s eyes stirred Papirius’s sense of right and wrong, and foolishly, he raised his hand against the goons. Little did he know that they were in the employ of Erastes Tullmen, the most powerful crook in Rome. Sure, he wore the violet tunics and jewelery of a prosperous merchant, but his true station was plain to all. Tullmen was the unquestioned kingpin of the Abentine.
As the sun was low in the sky, the scowling toad-faced man appeared at his storefront with his thugs, and proclaimed.
“Citizens of the Abentine, hear this. At noon tomorrow, in the middle of the marketplace, Lucius Varenus will heartfully apologize and get down on his knees and kiss my feet. Otherwise, I’ll have his whole clan raped by dogs and decapitated.”
The words shook. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t speak. He felt as if he almost couldn’t stand. Erastes raised a curious eyebrow, expecting some bold reply, and his hateful expression turned to one of contemptuous amusement. Erastes Tullmen could smell fear, because he lived on other men’s fear, and drawing it from the hero of 9th, the self-appointed protector of the Abentine, the fearless Lucius Papirius, made him more excited than the hundreds of whores he owned.
If Papirius’s vision hadn’t been blurred, he would have seen the sizable erection tenting out in front of Tullmen’s velvet tunic.
This kind of cowardice was something new for the old soldier and he didn’t know how to respond to it. Lucius, luckily Dullo was there to send the thief on his way and help his friend save some face.
As Dullo led him home, he felt dazed, confused by his passive reaction. The old Lucius, Lucius the legionnaire would have decapitated the little thief for saying this to him. But know he was a different Lucius, Lucius the husband, Lucius the father, Lucius the business owner. He had too much to lose just to save his honor.
That night he sent his wife and children to stay with her sister in the South. He even sent Dullo away.
“Somethings, my friend, a man must deal with on his own.” After a sleepless night, Papirius found himself at the small Christian church in the temple district. Upon leaving the Legion and starting his new life of sows and safety, Papirius had abandoned his father’s gods for this new one from the east, who preached tolerance, forgiveness, redemption. The chapel was tiny, cool and calm, like a cave. Flickering votive candles illuminating a crude mosaic of the Passion of Christ. Lucius felt safe here.
The old priest, twisted spine and pot-bellied with a long white beard, listened to the shaking man’s plight, and a sickly beatific smile crossed his lips.
“Calm, calm yourself my boy. Drink, it will steady your nerves.” He consoled Papirius, putting a bony hand on his shoulder and presenting him with a cup of warm, earthy tea.
“Drink.” And Papirius downed the rooty brew, it felt strange in his stomach at first, but then he felt a warm calm spreading through his belly.
“Our Lord and Savior teaches us that if our enemy slaps our face, we must offer him our other cheek. My son, you must submit to the wishes of this Erastes Tullmen and show your humility unto him. Not only it is the best thing for your family, it is what your God wants of you.” The blonde man closed his eyes and sunk canlı bahis his head in resignation.
“You must present your best self to this Erastes. Wear a new toga, its whiteness bespeaking the innocence in your heart that this powerful man may find mercy . Visit the baths and be clean, inside and out.”
“Yes, father.” Papirius intoned, eyes still closed.
“My boy, you must sacrifice all of your pride before him. My poor boy, you must kiss his feet.”
As the priest’s words played inside his head, twisting his fragile mind around. Erastes was powerful. Erastes was strong. Papirius was weak, a weak boy. The priest was right: he must submit to him.
“Thank you father, thank you for showing me the way.”He buried himself in the man’s lap like he did with his father when he was a boy. The old man ran his skeletal fingers through his short golden locks. What a beautiful young man.
And then Papirius, eyes still locked closed, surprised himself by sliding out of the stool onto the ground onto all fours at the priests’s sandaled feet. Feeling around in the darkness, he brought his lips to the old man’s toes.
“Thank you father, thank you father, thank you father…” He chanted as he eagerly kisses the priest’s cold, hairy feet.
Papirius followed the priest’s instructions to a T. After leaving the old man with a sizable donation to the church, he bought a new toga from one of the finest tailor’s, blindingly white. He went to the baths and paid for the full treatment. All the while the old man’s orders echoed through his head again and again, becoming firmer and more irresistible with each repetition. He floated naked in the hot soapy water as two slaves cleaned his body thoroughly. He even submitted to an internal cleansing, docilely getting on all fours while a bulky eunuch piped hot soapy water up his arse. The cramps felt right- he was being prepared for something important, he knew it. Finally, he was anointed with olive oils and perfumes. He smelled like a bride.
It was a beastly hot day. With the sun at the highest point in the sky, he sleepwalked to the center of the marketplace, to the orator’s pedestal currently occupied by Tullmen and his cronies.
Tullmen and his men guffawed- he actually showed up. Lucius had a good 5 inches on the shorter, stocky man, but Erastes stood on the pedestal and now towered over him by a foot. The two men, once mortal enemies, stared at each other for a full minute as the crowd went silent. Lucius lowered his eyes, averting his gaze submissively, and heard a chuckle from the gangster.
He cleared his throat, and started, his voice cracking like a teenager. He spoke as loudly as he could muster, knowing that this was expected of him: Erastes would want the entire assembled crowd, all of the Abentine, all of Rome, to hear Lucius’s humiliating apology.
“Erastes Tullmen, I Lucius Papirius, son of Duros Papirius, tribe of Stellatina, am heartfully sorry for my grave disrespect and inexcusable impudence. I throw myself at your mercy and I beg for your forgiveness.”
Tullmen wore a frozen sneer of surprised amusement. He stared the trembling man down, and with a single finger, motioned to his feet, which he stepped out of his sandals.
Papirius fell to his feet slowly, and as if in a dream, crawled towards Erastes on the pedestal. All around him he heard shocked gasps turn to amused guffaws.
He opened his eyes and contemplated the feet. Wide and pale, covered in thick dark hair. Each toe bearded with curling wiry black hairs, and topped with an overly long, yellowed toenail.
He planted his hands and ducked down, like a dog drinking from a puddle. Slowly, as if driven by an inexorable force, he brought his lips to Erastes feet.
Just as he was about to kiss the feet of his mortal enemy, Erastes lifted his right foot and with brutal speed kicked him square in the nose. The force of it sent Papirius sprawling from the pedestal and onto his back. He was momentarily blinded, and tasted the metallic smell of blood on his lip.
“DOG! You dare approach me in such finery? Show some fucking humility you cur!” Lucius sat up bahis siteleri and collected himself, noticing that his bloodied nose was staining his gleaming white toga with drops of red. Papirius stood in a daze, and beheld the powerful, evil man towering over him. He understood what the man wanted him to do.
With hands that felt foreign, Papirius fumbled around and grabbed the front of his toga. Erastes watched on with smug contempt, flanked by his cronies who looked on with alternating astonishment and amusement. There was a collective gasp in the crowd, a kind of exhilarated anticipation. Would he do it?
Feeling the fine linen in his hand, purchased just this day for
a handsome sum, he yanked it hard, undoing the knot and baring his right shoulder, strong and pale. He undid the next shoulder, and pushed the garb down. He felt it sliding down his chest down his waist, exposing his body to Erastes, his men, and the ever growing crowd of onlookers. It gathered at his feet and he felt a warm breeze caress his bare arse cheeks. A smile of maniacal pleasure spread out on Tullmen’s grinning face.
“The Hero of the 9th is hung like a child!” One of the scrawnier thugs loudly proclaimed, setting off a new storm of vicious, howling laughter in the crowd. A wave of nausea spread from the seat of Lucius’s belly out to his entire body. Throughout this ordeal, since visiting the priest this morning, it had been as if Lucius was in a trance, sleepwalking, but the laughter and insults about his meager manhood now woke him up.
He looked around at the familiar marketplace and got a strange sense of déjà vu, and realized that he had often been in this situation in his nightmares-one of those strange dreams where he leaves his home and gets all the way to the market before realizing he isn’t wearing his stitch. Stripped naked for all to see, his admittedly small penis on display. But now, he thought, swallowing a sickening wave of shame, it was real- he was bare ass here. Naked as the day he was born.
Erastes sneered at the younger man, his lean, tightly muscled body, pale white flesh as if he was sculpted from alabaster. Strong arms, broad shoulders and proud pectorals, but his tight waist almost girlish. Tullmen could imagine wrapping his big hands around it, squeezing it, and his fingers being able to meet. Red nipples bright in contrast to his complexion, like two symmetrical bug bites. He had a smattering of blonde hair on his chest, and a narrow trail leading to a downy bed of light-colored pubes. The meager bush wreathed a penis that was truly laughable, a single curled macaroni noodle, limp, fish white, slender and short. Capped by a tiny cherry-colored head.
“I’ve seen larger verpa on newborn baby boys!” Erastes shouted, sending his crew into hysterics. What a tiny little thing between the man’s legs. By gods it was shorter than a thumb. And his coleos , hidden behind the short little stalk, looked like two shriveled raisins. Like a boy who’s sac has not yet descended! How had this man produced 3 children; well, 2- everyone in the Abentine knew that Papirius was a cuckold. He would use that to torment the younger man later, Erastes thought absently. The boss stood staring at the tiny man for a few more moments, transfixed by the remarkably small pecker between the muscled, golden-haired thighs. He looked up at Lucius’s face, crimson with shame, and saw the look of confusion on the boy’s face. Confusion turning to panic- what had Papirius been thinking, submiting to this? What future could he or his family have no, with their honor torn to shreds. How could Lucius ever face any of these men ever again, let alone do business? He was ruined. Sensing the naked man’s second thoughts, Erastes’s temper turned.
“Down! Get down! DOWN! Crawl and kiss my feet you cur!!” He barked, making the ruined man tremble and fall to the ground and scramble on all fours to the pedestal. He brought his lips to the man’s foot and kissed it.
“Please Sir, please Sir, I beg of you please” He repeated over and over again between frantic kisses to the husky man’s hairy feet. Papirius was again under the spell, the strange spell that bahis şirketleri compelled him to bring as much shame upon himself as possible. He willingly darted his tongue between the man’s unwashed toes. Sucking and loving each one. His thuggish cohorts groaned in disgust, and Erastes moaned in pleasure at the tongue bath to his feet. Papirius carried on with this pathetic display for several more minutes before lifting his head and gasping.
“Please Sir I beg forgiveness of you Sir, I beg of you mercy-“
“Quiet whore! Suck my feet!” Erastes ordered, roughly shoving all five of his toes into the whimpering man’s gob. He pushed his wide foot in as far as it would go, then brought it to the ground, chuckling at the wimp’s anguished grunts. As Lucius went back to his degrading chores of sucking and worshipping his feet, Erastes surveyed the man’s squirming body.
“Little white worm.” Erastes hissed, and spat onto his back. Papirius’s white skin was now soaked with sweat- fear sweet, humiliation sweat, Erastes thought to himself with satisfaction. He noted the man’s ample hindquarters, two bountiful white globes dusted with the lightest of peach fuzz.
Papirius sensed Erastes shuffling with something above him. He looked up to see that the stocky man had hiked up his tunic and held his large, fat purple-headed penis in his hand. He saw it pulse once, his urethra winking obscenely at him, and release a strong thick stream of acrid, yellow piss.
A new chorus of shocked gasps and laughter rippled through the crowd around him. It sounded almost animal. He had only heard this sort of reaction at the Colliseum, when a loser got decapitated.
“Yellow piss for your yellow hair!” Erastes bellowed as he directed the stream from his scalp to his face, then traced a line all up and down Lucius’s back and arse, even staining the discarded toga at his feet. .
“Drink! Drink!” Erastes commanded maniacally, and Lucius opened his mouth and accepted the waste into his gullet.
“Whaddaya say boys, you got a drink for little Lucie?” His men crowded around the fallen man, blocking out the sky. Suddenly, 7 or 8 streams him in the burning waste. A prodding foot and a couple of rough kicks to his ribs turned Papirius over on to his back. The thugs filled his belly with their urine, and when he choked on it, they soaked his tiny genitals in their piss.
“Men of Rome, join us at the Abentine tavern to witness the continued reeducation of the great hero Lucius Papirius!”
Papirius was forced to crawl naked through the hard stone streets. All around him a crowd of men, men of all stations it seemed, crowded around him. All sorts of insults were hurled at him, and worse. Rotting vegetables were thrown at him, matting his hair, staining his face with their fetid juices.
He had been a hero to them. Perhaps they took delight in seeing someone once thought so brave acting so incredibly cowardly, someone so noble brought so low.
Erastes and his men dogged him the entire way, sending hard kicks to his arse and ribs as he scrambled along the dirty streets on the way to the tavern, Tullmen’s center of operations as kingpin of the Abentine. At one point Tullmen sent his big foot between Papirius’s spread thighs and kicked him squarely in his dangling bullocks, sending waves of naseau rippling through his belly and entire body. He collapsed in agony, holding his beleaguered manhood, and Erastes straddled over him, grabbed his hairy, and brought the tortured man’s face to his.
“Keep moving you cur! You belong to me now! Keep moving you filthy sow.” He screamed like a madman, and hocked a thick green gob of mucous directly into the man’s mouth. Lucius closed his eyes and forced himself to swallow the disgusting thing, feeling it slowly slither down his throat and into his piss-swollen belly.
As they neared the steps of the tavern, Lucius looked back to see Tullmen engaged in a bit of business. He was handing a coin purse, Lucius’s coin purse in fact, to the priest. The two men shook hands, big contented smiles on their face. It hit him suddenly- the tea the priest gave him to “settle his nerves”- an opiate, drugging him, making him… compliant and shameless.
Seeing him on the ground, fallen and completely ruined, the priest’s smile broadened, showing his yellow, gap-toothed grin. He waved at Lucius mockingly and blew a kiss.