Date: Tue, 17 Jan 2017 19:44:10 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens (Historical)

This story and its characters are fiction. It is a personal fantasy which I
am sharing with you. If any character resembles you or someone you know, I
WANT DETAILS, you lucky fucker, preferably with photos! It is, of course,
copyrighted by the author with all rights reserved and very, very
negotiable. Also, keep the cum coming -- Donate to Nifty **TODAY**! I'm an
old guy. I know what it was like when you had to BUY porn. 5 miles uphill
both ways in the snow just to GET to the XXX store. You whippersnappers
don't know how good you've got it.

This involves sex between consenting adult males of various gulfs in age,
power and dominance; if that is illegal for who/where you may be right now,
fuck off and get thee to a monastery (where you might just find scenes
similar to some below). Also, please note that all my stories exist in a
world where STDs are neither common nor deadly. Don't be a fucking idiot;
use protection. 'To die for' sex should never lead to your actual death.

I like hearing from people but if you get off on flaming people, please
know that you will HATE the results. I will weave you and your missive into
my next story to the point that you cry like a little girl. Bullies get as
bullies give.

*****
The Heathens 1: Marcus, Strasta & Ayib

By Bear Pup

M/M, M/T; mainly plot; momentary oral/anal; innocence; some piss

Harcos had bedded down for the night with the new imp. I loathed that
little toad. I had ridden with and cared for my master since he bought me
from my rather miserable home. That makes it sound bad; better ...since I
begged Harcos to give my family just enough that they would let me become
his body servant. It took me most of a year to convince him to be my master
so that I could become his slave.  We had reached a point where I knew
before Harcos what was needed.

We were ambushed by a band of those fucking Utik in the gorge of a river
name Iori as we marched South. Harcos wrought havoc among them, but we lost
seven men and five more wounded. The Utik are especially nasty; they attack
first to kill or damage the slaves and servants, then attempt to retreat
whilst holding off the warriors. I was one of the servants that they
succeeded in reaching. As I bucked the humeral pieces of his segmentata on
my Master's shoulders, one of the filthy little monsters had his
grime-smeared dagger into and down my leg, tearing flesh and sinew. It was
his last act; Harcos' backhand took off his helmet and much of his head,
but I knew it was also the last time I would stand in battle next to my
beloved Master.

Our cohort had cleared this area (except, obviously, of the Utik band that
ended my life with Harcos; an oversight remedied by my Master and the rest
of the warriors when they rooted out and destroyed them, their nest and
their kin). We were to meet the other four cohorts of the Legion in "Winter
Over" (any place where the army had a fortified position amongst fertile
lowlands). Harcos knew where, along with other seniors in the cohort, but I
did not.

Seven of the warriors, including Harcos, were left without a single servant
after the raid. We fanned out in the nearby rills and dells in search of
servants that could be bought or (for the less-scrupulous) taken. I had
bathed my wound with my best herbs and cleansed it as best I could and
Harcos, to his eternal salvation may-it-please-God, helped me bandage it
tightly. We found an isolated farmstead and I was amazed to find the subtle
signs and sigils of a family of Christians like myself.

Harcos was a loyal warrior and the Emperors had forbidden our faith, but
Harcos was more of a practical Roman than a religious one. If anything, he
laid cult to Mithras like many warriors, acceptable but not entirely adored
by the leaders of the armies. He had bought me from an open family of
Christians (Senior Father headed our family with Praveden and Petar; those
three men and their six wives ran the farm, herded and wove to keep us
humble but not poor). I was the 11th of (at the time) 21 children, but even
Senior Father was still very, very young so that paltry total could be
explained.

Harcos' previous servant, Marcus, had been broken by a chariot wheel,
crushing an ankle into a bloody mangle. He would heal, of course, but would
never again be able to keep pace with the mighty warrior. Most of the
village knew my family had more children than land to farm (such was the
plight of most Christians), and directed Harcos to our compound. He arrived
at dusk with Marcus in a litter that also held his armour and
effects... and a large bag of pay from his recent and successful forays.

He was -- forgive me the one true God for this blasphemously -- a fucking
GOD of a man.  He stood two hands taller than Praveden who was quite large
and muscular; he looked like a mere lad in Harcos' shadow. Harcos had a
thick, riotous mass of fur on his chest, but none on his sides or back. He
wore a Northmen's beard but a warriors rank.  He seemed as broad as I was
tall with endless muscles and sinew wherever his travelling breeches and
yoke showed skin. I openly drooled at him.

Petar noticed (I was a favourite). As Harcos spoke, Miriam helped the
family understand his more-sophisticated speech. Miriam and Petar were both
fierce and shrewd negotiators and the rest of the family faded back. I
could tell, though, that several others of my brood were in awe as well. I
was not the only with the wanderlust upon me, nor the only to have
true-lust eyes for this masculine bear of a Northman.

Petar and Miriam begged him not to deprive them of even a single hair on a
beloved child's head for any price, whilst selling up the skills and
virtues of each of us that might be a good match for this rich man's
needs. Marcus, on Harcos' behalf, winnowed the choices to three with
shrewd, pointed questions and the occasional rude interruption of a
polished sales pitch.

Myself, my sister Miriamal (little Miriam) and my elder brother Petarcus
were the options. My brother was larger, stronger and frankly better
looking. Miriamal was strong and lithe, with the body seemingly designed
for pleasure. Both I and my sister, though, had a skill that Marcus seemed
to value highly, the healing herbs. In addition to more children that
seemly, my mothers had a reputation as healers in the village and they had
trained us for this profession.

In a lull to feed and water the honoured guests, I promised Petar anything
he wanted if he put me first with this god of a man. Petar laughed, as he
knew I had nothing he wanted other than an ass he had sampled and taught
more than any other, and that he knew I'd give him at the slightest
nod. When negotiations resumed, Petar became quieter as he judged the man,
me and Petarcus. He seemed to ignore Miriamal as, frankly, did the guest
and his injured servant.

When darkness finally fell, Harcos (as custom required) asked leave to
depart and take his rest. The inevitable you-can't, I-must,
wouldn't-hear-of-it, please-honour-us social noises took up the next
quarter hour as I imagined they had, unchanged and unchallenged, since the
time of Eve's children. Inevitably, Harcos reluctantly accepted the
'meanest possible accommodation' which, also inevitably, was my Senior
Father's bedchamber. Petar gave me a look that I took to mean, be ready, be
in bed, you have five minutes.

I took three. When Harcos carried (CARRIED!) his servant into the room, he
found me clean and nude and shining with scented oils. He stopped and
stared. I arose quickly and took the young man from his arms (Holy Family
this kid is fucking *heavy*) and as gently as I could whilst
not-quite-collapsing set him on the side of the bedclothes. I saw Harcos
begin to undress and leapt to him, on my knees, to undo the hell-spawned
innumerable knots, buckles and hooks. I could feel the eyes of Marcus, the
soon-to-be-former servant, watching with anger, hate and appraisal.

I finally got the last of his infernal garments peeled away leaving only
the personal cloth over his loins. Marcus and Harcos had equally-intense
looks as they watched to see how I would treat the man that might (oh my
Lord God grant me this boon!) become my Master. I unknotted the leather
string that held it and allowed his manhood to fall free.

I'll admit it, I gasped like a virgin. He was HUGE. His shaft was thick
like a fresh sausage before the smoking. His balls seemed to me enormous
(over time, I'd find that many of his tribe had such low, heavy and
sensitive orbs). His foreskin is what drew me, however. As all Jews, we
Christians were circumcised when given a name. I moaned and moved forward,
then froze.

I looked at Marcus and saw nothing; I looked as Harcos and saw his head
tilted like a dog trying to guess what would come next. I locked my eyes to
his and knew the need and longing showed. In my best (horrible) Latin, a
stumbled out, "Ut i tua sanctissimaa sui tangeret?" apparently, that came
out something like, "May I your sacred self to touch?"

Harcos' brow scrunched and Marcus laughed. He said, "Ut sacrosanctum sui et
tangeret? Puto autem quod phallus!" what I now know to be correct Latin for
"Is he allowed to touch your 'most sacred self'? I think he means your
cock." The raucous laugh from each needed no translation.

Harcos smiled down at me and winked. I took that for all the permission I
required. I started with that fucking amazing foreskin and moaned as I got
a taste of what was beneath. I saw Harcos' eyes go wide and even Marcus
seemed impressed. From that point, I lost all recollection of what I did or
said, not that they could understand me; frankly, I doubt my own kin could
have. I do know that an enormous number of groans, moans, whines, whimpers
and gasps were involved... from all present.

As all true Christians, I knew that the second-most-sacred sacrament was
sex with those within the congregation. They had also taught me from an
early age just what that meant in practical, strategic and tactical
terms. I prayed to God and received His agreement that, at least for
tonight, Harcos and Marcus were, indeed, family-for-the-night.

By dawn-light, I had drawn at least three loads from Harcos and two from
Marcus. I'm not sure which took my ass so satisfyingly but I was thinking
Harcos. In a sexual lull (actually, when Harcos was snoring and Marcus was
nearly-insensate from his last orgasm), I rinsed Marcus' wounded ankle and
applied a paste of herbs to take away both pain and the prevent the
infestation of the subtler demons. I chose not to sleep (in the flush of
early manhood, who the fuck wastes time sleeping?) and re-cleaned and
anointed myself before either stirred.

Guessing that the servant habitually awoke before the Master, I had his
prick nestled in my mouth. When he stirred, I began to suckle and was
rewarded with the bitter piss of night-time and healing (you could taste
healing). I kept going, ignoring his attempts to dislodge me until he
released his morning seed. We had awoken Harcos and I repeated the morning
ablutions, swallowing both his urine and sacred semen. As per scripture and
the teaching of my faith, I studiously avoided the sin of Onan and allowed
not a single drop of either man's seed to touch the earth. I dressed Harcos
in the materials I'd cleaned whilst they slept, now much more sure with the
fasteners and patterns.

As Harcos watched, I forced Marcus to chew some local herbs and proceeded
to strip and redress the servant's ankle. The bleeding had stopped
completely and the redness was fading. The rainbow-hued bruises, however,
were as livid as ever, but Harcos could tell that something had allowed his
servant to rest. He spent many minutes staring at me, every part of me and
not just the boy bits. My hair, my chest, my legs, my ears, my lips, my
ass, my feet. He launched into a long and pause-laden polyglot conversation
with Marcus obviously designed to make it impossible for me to follow
whilst I dressed Marcus in the clothes I'd taken from him and washed as he
slept.

The three of us emerged, Harcos carrying Marcus, to breakfast with the
family. I was blushing but managed an affirmative nod to Petar's raised
eyebrow and saw his smile in return. Miriam prepared to resume negotiations
but Harcos made a sharp motion and Marcus said, "NO! Says my master."
Everyone stopped, hands dipping into bowls or even dripping near
mouths. Harcos spoke in what I thought to be a deliberately-obscure way and
Marcus spoke for him.

"I have this servant," he pointed to Marcus and Marcus darkened in sadness
and embarrassment, "who has great value and experience. He is injured and
can no longer serve me. He is skilled with leather, the loom and the ways
of defending a farm such as this. He is a moderately-skilled healer,
nothing like your esteemed selves. He has immense strength and stamina
built over years of hard travel and battlefields. He is fertile and virile
and... willing..." Another glower and pause from Marcus, "willing to join
your family. What do you offer?"

Miriam was, for the first time I knew of since I emerged from the womb,
struck speechless. They had spent the previous day and the best wine, the
richest food, the best bedchamber setting this up for Harcos to pay well
for one of their children. Instead, he was SELLING his servant? And he
expected THEM to buy?

Petar and Miriam conferred. Shockingly, Senior Father butted in and the
discussion seemed a bit heated. When they broke, Senior Father was the one
speaking through Miriam.

"You honour us beyond our ability to accept or repay. We have nothing,
honoured warrior, to offer in exchange for your skilled, strong but damaged
servant."

Harcos spoke shortly. I found it... interesting that the speech Marcus gave
was far, far longer. "You have nothing, honoured Senior Father? You sent to
me a young healer that is sound of body, mind and soul. He is trained, and
trained well. He is not... completely unattractive." I flushed in
outrage. I might not be as beautiful as Miriamal or Petracus, but I surely
wasn't a newt!

"Shall we discuss the relative value of a man, strong and skilled and able
to help you defend and expand your family, and the value of a boy just
weaned..." JUST WEANED!?! I could have spit stones at the devil for that
comment. "...and weak compared to the soldiers he must follow, but
admittedly with skills you have given him with herbs and... well, I'm sure
he has at least a *few* other skills we don't know about yet?"

The whisper-battle betwixt all of my parents (except Bethel, of course, who
was frankly not smart enough to know gold from goat-shit; if she'd had a
cud she would have been chewing it but she was still the nicest of my
mothers) was profound and, in hindsight, one of the funniest things that I
had ever seen.

They emerged from conference and glared at Harcos, who studiously ignored
them. He looked, frankly, bored and ready to be on his way.

"This boy-man," indicating Marcus who was as livid as I had been with 'just
weaned' and sputtering when he translated, "may have skills and we trust
such an illustrious warrior not to rob a poor family such as ours. He will
also, honoured sir, require many months of expensive herbs and our family's
vast knowledge (which we have passed to Strasta)," that was me, by the way,
"of the healing arts to recover. Will you leave us with an invalid {more
sputtering from Marcus} and take our treasure {bemused look from me} and
leave us to starve?"

Okay, Senior Father was a bit heavy and both Bethel and Ann were frankly
fat. Starve? Not until they'd fasted for about eleven lents...

Harcos at this point laughed out loud, again sending my family into
confusion. He picked up Marcus like a toy and walked to the litter. The
family was in a panic until they realised he was not leaving, only
conferring with his servant. Marcus did not look happy or even neutral, but
Harcos spoke and stroked his cheeks until he relented. He was silently
leaking tears when they returned to the fire.

Marcus, in a voice quiet and subdued, offered two gold and six silver
pieces to trade Marcus for me. It was good money, but not a fortune. Miriam
went to haggled and was silenced by Petar, whose eyes were fixed on the
bereaved and mourning Marcus. He said in broken Latin (over the glares of
co-husbands and wives), "We take Marcus to heal and be us. We will give him
all. He will be us, as if born to us. Strasta will help you. Strasta
becomes yours. You WILL," this was a command with the force of God behind
it, "treat as would your own. Promise this, Harcos? Promise this forever?"

Harcos did not flinch or waver. His eyes locked with Petar, he intoned,
"Before your god, mine and all of those found in Rome, I do thus promise."

An exchange of coin and a lot of tears (mainly on the part of Marcus, but a
few on the part of my sisters) sealed me to this amazing man. I could see
the sister closest in age to her new family member begin a shrewd
evaluation. If I knew Bet, Marcus would be getting a lot more than he
bargains for in the 'family duty' department.

From that day I served Harcos on seven campaigns, maturing from manhood to
man. He taught me everything, and I protected and healed and cared for
him. If he fell, I was behind him to fight off those who would defile
him. If I fell, he was there to destroy any who would dare. I cleaned and
mended and carried and cooked for the man I worshipped just slightly less
than the One True God. I drank all that flowed from him, cleaned all that
befouled him, defended him in weakness like a lion and gave myself to this
lion like a willing lamb.

And now THIS. Stuck in a filthy backwater by a vile little nothing of a
Utik? Watching Harcos find a new *me* as he had a new Marcus? Rage, fear,
lamentation and grief battled from ownership of the tears that flowed from
me.

So here I sat on the swept-dirt floor of a hovel (admittedly Christian)
with a mere six children and only one Father and one Mother. Harcos was
magnificent, but this tawdry little family looked at him like I would have
looked at a Druid!

Even the haggling was perfunctory and stilted. There was obviously only one
of their brood remotely suited. The young man was a bit stringy, but I know
that life with the cohort would rip that into lean and lithe muscle. He had
hair, plenty of it, so I knew he was past childhood and entering manhood. I
was deeply insulted that he stared at his feet. Not a single glimmer of the
honour that Harcos meant for him. Their daughter was a handsome creature,
I'll admit, and looked so deliciously ripe for the plucking. The boy
shuffled and glanced, no more, as his parents went stiffly through the
barest formalities.

Oddly, Harcos was silent and brooding, leaving the discussion entirely to
me. He stared at the young man as if trying to see though him to his bones
and, perhaps, his soul. Finally, the family even suggested that we LEAVE!
The effrontery was profound and I nearly went into a rage. Harcos laid his
hand and the considerable weight behind it, and demanded that I translate.

"I will give you this son," me, "strong and fit (once healed), to
strengthen your family and defend your farm. I swore sacred oaths to your
own god (yes, I see the signs) and all those of Rome to treat his as my
own. Thus he has the protection of my name and my fame, no mean coin in
these uncertain times. I will give you one gold Imperial," I choked on the
translation! The whole fucking homestead was worth less! I turned to Harcos
and saw a steely glint in his eye that rarely had turned on me but had
often cowed lesser mortals, "and you will relinquish any claim to
this... untrained and unskilled urchin. What say you?"

The family went into a flurry of whispers and angst. The boy in questions,
a man in fact, stood impassively awaiting his fate, eyes downcast or
watching his parents. The adults and older brother argued, apparently
mother and brother against father and the father broke.

"We accept but stay you two night so we sure can be of {pointing to me}
man's health and so skills."

Before I could object, Harcos rumbled, "It is done."

The young man was transfixed, unable to wrench his eyes away from his
father. Then, when Harcos laid is hand upon the boy's shoulder, unable to
look at anything other than the dark and deep eyes of Harcos, a place I'd
lost my soul more time than I could count.

The family went into a state that I normally associated with chicken
coops. They strutted (the males) and scratched (the females) like animals
bred to the farm, clattering incessantly and impenetrably. This disgusting
family had not even offered my master accommodation, but he didn't seem to
care. He scooped me up and marched to the stables and had me (crawling like
an invalid) lay out the soft furs and cloths for sleep.

Marcos whispered to me that I was not to take action or speak until he
asked me to, regardless of what I thought or felt. That I was to watch, and
be happy for myself, the boy and Harcos. I didn't really understand until I
realised that the little tit made no move to help. No move to do ANYTHING
other than stare in self-evident fear and horror at the most magnificent
warrior in the Empire. And I had to be SILENT?  I was supposed to be HAPPY?

And Harcos said NOTHING! If I'd done that with my own Senior Father or
(Holy Spirit forefend) Petar, I would have been unable to sit (or walk
straight!) for a week. My rage and indignation mounted and Harcos IGNORED
me. He dropped to sleep with NOTHING from this little lump of
uselessness. The little fucker acted like he was ENTITLED to curl up in
those arms. I nearly choked in frustrated outrage before the snores of my
Master and the soft breaths of that little fucktard lulled me to sleep.

As always, I was awake far before anyone else. I had spent a year training
myself to wake before dawn so I could lay out Master's clothes and minister
to his morning needs. I had stretched my throat so I could accept his
morning piss straight down my throat without him worrying about a drop. I
have learnt every twitch and snore so that I could be ready when he began
to wake and suckle his morning offering (both piss and cum) before he even
fully woke for the day, and have every accoutrement ready for him.

As expected, I awoke before the birds, before the cock-crows. I watched in
mounting anger as this little fucker did NOTHING. My Master finally
stirred, and I relished the throat-fuck that would teach this whelp his
place. How delicious! How welcome!

"Where is the pisser?" Harcos asked of the sleepy-eyed boy. He understood
enough to point outside and to the right. THE PISSER?!? Waste an entire
night's piss from this god amongst men, allowing it to flow into some
common latrine? I tried to rise and collapsed in a heap, groaning in
pain. I caught my Master's eye, his scowl of disapproval. I silently
pleaded with him to think, think about what this useless little wisp of
nothing could never, ever do! Harcos smiled crookedly and left the doorway.

I mourned the piss that I would not be allowed, EVERY AGAIN to treasure. I
wept as that fucking little useless smear stirred and moved to the edge of
the barn to release his insignificant little stream into the hay. Suddenly,
I flashed back. Was this what Marcus though as he watched me desperately
try to pleasure Harcos?

NO! I was ready! I was devoted! I was waiting and longing and thirsting and
waiting for HIM!

Harcos returned. That fucking little shit had returned to the blankets. My
Master did not admonish him; he did not correct him; he WINKED at him and
knelt to snuggle! If Poseidon had arrived to contradict the sacred story of
Jonah and the Whale, I would not have been more outraged or confused.

Harcos caressed the boy's chest, across the sparse hairs and down his
stomach and thick treasure trail. The youth wriggled then jumped when
Harcos got close to the sleep-pants that hid his boyhood. HE PULLED AWAY! I
could scream. Had Harcos not explicitly admonished me to stay still and
silent until asked a question, I think I would have gone all Berserker and
ripped the kid limb from limb. Pull AWAY from HARCOS?!?

My Master looked up and his eyes pierced mine. He shook his slightly as if
reading my soul and finding it amusing but sadly disappointing. I near died
of shame at having failed him. He told me to watch, to stay silent, to be
happy. I shook myself and cleared my head as Harcos had taught me (and his
men) to refocus before a battle. I raised my eyes again. Harcos was still
staring at me, his hand now protectively on the whelp's shoulder. He
reached down and hoisted the young man like a feather and I could see the
awe in the boy's face.

He spoke into the boy's ear and the man-child looked at me, a bit afraid,
then curious, then compassionate. Harcos put him down and he scampered over
to me. He gently stooped to help me rise, and supported the weight from my
injured leg. His touch was respectful, innocent, caring. His strength was
frankly shocking; he acted like a living crutch, not even seeming to feel
my weight. I also noticed something that had escaped me earlier. The boy
smelled like heaven on a feast day, luscious, delectable, pure and ripe. As
my breath escaped in a chuff, Harcos caught my eye and winked. I loved my
Master more than life itself, but at that moment I would happily have
throttled him.

I realised that we had never gotten the boy's name in all the discussion
and felt vaguely ashamed. I cleared my throat and asked, "And what is your
name, my child?"

"I am Ayib."

"That is the name you present to heathens, my child. What is your real
name? I am Strasta to the world and Matthaios within the Family of Christ."

He whispered now, clearly mortified, "I am Boseth in the Family of God."

It took me a minute. The language of Christ was known to me but not
well. The crude local tongue was also not completely alien. As we limped to
the main hovel, it struck me.

"You have been given THAT as a name, both within and outside the One True
Faith? How could they?" Both his 'call' name in the local patois and his
'real' name in Aramaic, Christ's own tongue, meant the same; the boy-man
was called Shame.

<eof>

I have *not* decided whether to write more on this one. It is a setup
(nothing more) for a potential series. I think Ayib is ripe to blossom from
manling to man, and that Harcos is ready to take him there. I also thing
the there is something... odd about the family that Ayib is leaving and
Strasta is joining. Let me know what you think. I won't be writing on this
until I know the characters have some spark for you, the reader.