Date: Sun, 6 May 2012 18:08:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Pornos" Chapter 1 (Gay Male / Authoritarian)

PORNOS
Chapter 1
'Jarod'


This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): May, 2012
An archive of my stories can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

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"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be
used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and
don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add any pictures"

Note: The word 'pornos' was a common Attic word used to describe male
prostitution - Xenophon.  I use the form, 'pornoi' meaning an enslaved,
male prostitute in that context.

Infibulation was practised among the Romans for a number of reasons
including the prevention of masturbation among slaves. The method I
describe comes from the medical writings of the Roman encyclopaedist, Aulus
Cornelius Celsus.

However, despite references to ancient Greece and Rome, the story isn't set
in any particular time. Rather I leave the time and place to your
imagination.

I wrote this from an idea that came to me one evening and I had to write it
down while it was fresh in my mind. I'll add to it as I'm inspired to
write.

Chapter 1:  Jarod

This morning, I have been reclassified by the city authorities as 'public
male whore, number M390-271-505' and I am about to begin my new life at one
of the public comfort stations dotted conveniently throughout the
city. Here, for a few coins, any free man can sexually use my body.

Yesterday, my name was Jarod and my life was very different. For the past
six years, I have served as a 'pornoi' at the 'Andronicus Club', an
upmarket, male brothel euphemistically referred to as a 'gentlemen's club'
by its discerning clientele.

Is there a difference between a pornoi and a whore? Not really as it is all
a matter of semantics. How does that saying go - a rose by any other name?
Well that is certainly true of my situation.

Whether I am a pornoi or a whore matters very little. The end result of
both names means the same thing. Men pay to fuck me!

As a pornoi, my Master's wealthy clients paid exorbitant fees to use me; as
a public whore my body is available to the poorest and meanest of free men
providing they have the few miserable copper coins to pay for my services.

Is it really six years since I was sold to the Andronicus Club by my former
owner? As I think back over those years it does seem more of a lifetime
ago. Yet, as I face the new and uncertain horrors of the comfort station it
seems time has passed all too quickly.

As a pornoi, I knew the inevitability of the fate that awaited me. I knew
that once I'd lost the lustrous bloom of my youth and I no longer appealed
to my Master's discerning clients he would sell me to the city and I would
serve time as a public whore. I would be placed on all fours on a platform
with my head and hands locked into a stock and I would serve there until I
was ravished and worn out by over usage. Then, I would be sold on to serve
out the remainder of my days in some heat-blasted, fly-infested quarry or
in the dark, wet confines of a mine.

Inevitably, this is the fate that awaits all pornoi!

                                                            >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The offspring of slave parents - I knew my mother but not my anonymous sire
- I grew up on my former Master's plantation where from early childhood I
worked as a field slave. The work was unremittingly hard but as it was the
only life I'd ever known I wasn't unhappy with my lot.

Indeed, there were other slave children with whom I could bond and although
we were forbidden to play and were never given toys or other playthings to
brighten our childhood, our days working together weren't without their
pleasures. We found companionship in each other's company and happiness in
the friendships that inevitably developed.

As children we worked in the fields with the adult slaves but because of
our tender age, our conservative minded Master segregated us from them. The
stables for his juvenile slaves were placed out of sight and earshot of
those for the adult slaves.

In fact, segregation of his slaves was of paramount importance to our
Master. All sexual contact between male and female slaves was strictly
forbidden and any slaves caught in 'delicti flagrante' paid a high price
for their offence.

My former Master's justice in such matters was both brutal and swift. There
was no chance of forgiveness or redemption and even less for any show of
mercy; our Master's ruthless justice was immutable. In every instance, the
offending female was sold to a cheap brothel in the city where her 'charms'
could be bought for a few copper coins. The guilty male's fate was even
more horrendous. Always he was castrated and suffered the humiliation of
being sold as a 'tamed' lady's slave at public auction.

And as a dire warning to all his other slaves, our Master caused these
castrations to be carried out in front of us. In the eighteen years I spent
at the plantation, I witnessed two such punishments. The effect upon me was
salutary!

Why did our Master impose such harsh rules upon us? The answer was simply
one of business.

Our Master - a shrewd business man - bred his own slaves and thus saved
himself the expense of costly replacements from the slave markets. At some
stage in the past, he'd worked out that he needed a given number of
replacement slaves each year and with careful planning he put into place a
breeding programme that assured him of these replacements and with some
surplus ones for sale.

He'd carefully chosen nubile, young females to serve as his slave dams and
he had especially selected only the fittest, strongest and most handsome
male slaves as his breeding bucks.  He personally oversaw all couplings and
it was rumoured that he was most fastidious in choosing which stallion
covered a dam.

The result of his careful planning and breeding programme was that the
progeny of such unions were without question among the finest slaves
available and the yearly surplus of his young stock was eagerly snapped up
by the discerning buyer.

I am the progeny of one such coupling!

One day, shortly after my eighteenth birthday - I share the 1 January as my
birthday with all other slaves - an overseer called me out of the fields,
ordered me to strip out of my sweat- soaked loin cloth and to stand in a
line with seven other naked, young male slaves.

Instinctively, we knew why we were there. Every year, our Master has a
'recruitment' visit from the owner of the Andronicus Club, an upmarket
brothel of high class pornoi, which caters for the wealthy socialites and
business men of the city.

The overseer worked swiftly to prepare us for our inspections. We were
ordered to bend at the waist and to reach behind to part our buttocks as he
lubricated our anuses. When he'd finished, we were told to stand up
straight and face the front. Each of us was then given a sprig of fresh
mint to chew to sweeten our breath for an oral inspection.

This is a private viewing and the slaves presented for selection are the
'pick of the drop' for the particular year of their birth and they have to
meet special criteria in the selection process. The first of these is that
they must be over the legal age of eighteen and then they must possess
strong, lithe bodies, have handsome features and pleasant natures. Most
importantly, each slave must have a firm, curvaceous ass that is
well-rounded, pleasing to both the eye and to the touch and the sight of
which will titivate the club's lascivious patrons.

Additionally, they must have cocks of a certain length and thickness and
have low hanging balls. And as a guarantee of their 'newness', they must be
infibulated. But this isn't an issue as our Master routinely infibulates
his male slaves at puberty.

Our Master, at some time in the distant past had read of the Roman method
of male infibulation as practised in ancient Rome. Its simplicity had
impressed him and he'd introduced it into his slave herd as a means of
controlling the energy sapping habit of masturbation among his young, male
slaves. Thus, at the onset of puberty, all his male slaves are infibulated.

For infibulation, the slave must retain his foreskin and so we were spared
the trauma of juvenile circumcision. However, this can be a mixed blessing;
rather than the merciful oblivion of infantile circumcision, we can, if
sold, face the painful reality of adult skinning - a cruel euphemism for
circumcision.

The natural state of the slave is total nakedness and slave-owners regard
the male foreskin as a 'covering' that precludes complete nudity. This
attitude of the freeman has its origins in the belief of the ancient Greeks
who regarded the exposure of the glans in public as indecent and
shameful. Therefore the Greeks didn't practice circumcision and were
perfectly relaxed about appearing otherwise naked at a symposium, in a
gymnasium or at games as long as they retained their foreskins to hide
their glans from the eyes of others.

As common practise, most slave owners do 'skin' their slaves to emphasise
our lowly, animal like status but our Master was the exception to this
rule. He strongly disapproved of his young, male slaves having the freedom
to masturbate at will. He genuinely believed this to be a bad influence
that stopped them from focusing on their labours and sapped them of the
energy and strength that rightfully belonged to him.

That day all eight of us wore our Master's fibulae and I recalled the day
when an overseer performed the simple operation on me. There was minimum
pain associated with it and it took no more than a few minutes.

Firstly, the overseer stretched my foreskin forward over the head of my
cock and carefully placed a spot on both the top and bottom of my
prepuce. Then he allowed the skin to retract and checked to see that both
marks were in front of my glans and not behind it. This is standard
practice and sometimes it's necessary to reposition the two marks. However,
in my case this wasn't necessary and the overseer then pierced both spots
with a very sharp needle. There was some pain that caused me to wince; even
more so as the overseer threaded a cord through the two holes and tied a
knot that secured my foreskin and hid my glans.

Each morning, the overseer untied the knot and checked to see that I was
healing. Then he'd replace the cord with a new one and retie the knot
before sending me out to my day's labours. This continued until the wounds
were healed and when he was satisfied he took me to the blacksmith who
threaded a small metal ring through both perforations and soldered its ends
permanently in place.

That happened some years ago and on inspection day, I stood in line with my
fellow slaves waiting on our Master and the buyer from the Andronicus Club.

Modesty prevents me from boasting about my appearance but the fact that I
was presented for selection spoke for itself. Obviously, my Master saw me
as one of his better young slaves; among the top of my year's drop.

My years of hard labour in the fields, coupled with a strictly regulated
slave diet, had given me a lithe, athletic body and because of my youth, I
possessed a clearly delineated musculature that lacked the over-bulk of the
more mature, male slave. There wasn't an ounce of fat on my six foot frame
- indeed I have never seen a fat slave. Somehow, given the rigours of
slavery, a fat slave would have been a contradiction in terms.

At the time, I had longish, mid-blond hair that hung in a boyish bang over
my forehead and its colour matched the light thatch of hair covering my
manly chest. A thin treasure trail of darker hair connecting my chest hair
with my golden pubes suggestively disappeared beneath the top of my
loin-cloth while my limbs were lightly dusted with a golden, silky down.

I'd been told I possessed a most handsome countenance. My aquiline nose
gave me an aristocratic look - perhaps not the most desirable feature for a
slave - which possibly hinted at some former ancestral greatness and my
full red lips parted to reveal the pearly- whiteness of my sound, even
teeth. However, that day, it was my eyes that attracted the most
attention. They were the striking blue colour of the wild cornflowers which
grew in the fields and pastures of the surrounding countryside.

But my overall appearance was commonplace among my fellow slaves. And of
the seven who stood with me that day there were several whose appearances
suggested the probability that we were half-brothers and were sired by the
same stallion.

All eight of us knew why we'd been ordered to 'shuck down' and stand in
line; we'd witnessed this yearly ritual before. We knew it was a precursor
to our Master marketing us.  We'd turned eighteen at our last birthday and
now that winter's bitter cold was behind us, he was busily organising his
annual spring clearing sale of excess stock.

Nervously, all eight of us waited in line for our Master's appearance. I
couldn't speak for the state of mind of my fellow slaves but in my case it
was one of trepidation. Not once in my eighteen years had I been off my
owner's property; my entire world was contained within the boundaries of
the plantation.

Our Master was of the 'old world' view which held that slaves existed for
one reason only and that was to toil in their owners' monetary
interests. Therefore, he'd denied us any education and not one of his
slaves could read or write. Indeed, if any slave was caught looking at the
printed word, be it either a book or a mere fragment of discarded
newspaper, he was flogged.

And so without the ability to read, we knew very little of what existed
outside the grand entrance gates to our Master's plantation. Of course,
over the years, we did hear wondrous tales of the mysterious, outside world
as told to us by newly acquired slaves our Master brought home from the
slave-market.

We vaguely knew of a nearby city where people lived in close proximity to
one another - and considering our isolation the concept of that did seem
strange - and we could only begin to wonder what the lives of those people
would be like.

Therefore, the prospect of being sold left me with mixed emotions. Although
I knew this sale was an annual event, I had no idea of what awaited those
of us who were sold. In my naivety, I hadn't any notion of the uses I'd be
put to in the Andronicus Club.

Yet the prospect of being sold also excited me. Briefly, I saw it as an
escape from the boredom of my life as a field-slave and relief from the
tediousness of my existence. It suggested new 'adventures' in an unknown
world. And part of me was eager to see what existed beyond the boundaries
of my Master's plantation.

However, that excitement was tempered with apprehension and the fear of an
unknown future. On the plantation, there was certainty in my life and I'd
never known anything other than that. In my slave's timidity, I hoped I'd
be passed over in the selection process so that I could remain within the
comfort zone of all I'd ever known.

Perhaps my concerns would prove baseless. Possibly, I'd not be chosen by
the buyer and my life would continue as before.

Suddenly I saw our Master approaching with another well-dressed man aged
somewhere in his thirties. Immediately the overseer in charge of us ordered
us into the display position ready for inspection.


To be continued .....


You can access the Jean-Christophe stories by joining his archive at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories