Chapter 2 – Ground Up
Namor sniffed the dry air, the dust of the market house drifting into his mind. His long dark hair hung unkempt around his face, partially hiding him from the others in the room, and them from him. Just as well – Namor’s dignity burned at the prospect of having fallen so low. He was in his prime, and now he was about to be indentured.
Any person who declared bankruptcy could take an indenture – a contract of menial labor which would eventually pay off their debt. That was the theory anyway, very few ever worked off such overwhelming debt, and remained in their contracts the rest of their lives. Namor wasn’t bankrupt, but present circumstances being what they were, he was left with no alternatives.
“Stand up, maggots.” the inspector said, passing down Namor’s row. Namor could smell him getting closer – he stank of ambrosia, the strongest alcohol in the empire. “We’ve got a potential contract coming in, so look lively.” The inspector slapped Namor’s head without much force.
Namor clenched his jaw to smother his retort, instead rising to his full height. At six foot four, he stood above the inspector and most of the other people present. The inspector staggered back drunkenly. “You’re of the Blood. Which line?”
A ripple of whispers passed through the market house. Few of them had ever seen a descendant of the Blood – a genetically enhanced bloodline from a time when men sought to conquer their rivals through biology. The experiments had ended decades ago, but Blood soldiers still served in the Royal Army. Namor shifted his weight slowly, but made no answer.
“I asked you a question!” the inspector growled, slinging a low punch right into Namor’s gut. Namor didn’t move at all, and the inspector whimpered, shaking his hand in pain. “I am Namor of the Blood of Thrace,” he answered quietly, flashing his brilliant violet eyes at the smaller man. The inspector shrank away, and moved on, muttering about Thracian barbarians. Namor allowed himself a small smile.
A new man stepped into the room, and the inspector shouted, “Contract customer!” All the hopefuls in the room stood, joining Namor on their feet. The man on the bench across from Namor nodded to him politely.
The new man was dressed in rich blue fabrics with fine embroidered details. He carried a walking stick, which was obviously more about wealth and presence than physical disability. The inspector hurried over to him. “What will you be seeking today, Dominus?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.” this Dominus answered. He took some time moving up and down the aisles, considering all his options, finally wending his way to stand in front of Namor. “Who is this beast of a man?”
“Beastly indeed.” the inspector quickly agreed, “He’s a Thracian. See his violet eyes? The sign of his bloodline. You don’t want him, sir, the Thracians are notorious for disobedience, violence, generally acting like barbarians--”
“There is something fiery about him.” the Dominus agreed. “But do you know what I heard? I heard that along with their prowess on the battlefield they also gained talent in the bedroom.”
Namor locked eyes with the Dominus, trying to sense what he was after. The Dominus stared back with grey eyes, his gaze almost too direct to match. The inspector chuckled nervously. “I had heard that as well, sir, probably entirely rumor…”
“Let us turn rumor into fact then, inspector. I would like him…and perhaps this one,” the Dominus motioned to the man who had nodded to Namor before. “I’d like to see them both stripped.”
The other man and Namor looked at each other, while the inspector stuttered nervously, “S-S-S-Stripped, sir?”
“Yes, naked, man. I must see all of them before I offer them contract in my house.” the Dominus scoffed.
Without further ado, Namor began to shrug out of his clothes. He would end up naked either way, he might as well enter into the state with a sense of dignity. His tight-fitting long-sleeve shirt came off easily over his head, throwing his long hair into further disarray, and his pants dropped to his ankles shortly after. He couldn’t take them all the way off because of the chains around his ankles.
A second murmur passed through the markethouse, as all eyes turned to Namor’s revealed form.
The inspector practically turned white ogling him, while the Dominus, whoever he was, merely smirked. “A true warrior indeed.” he murmured softly, running his hands lightly over Namor’s chest. He reached down and hefted Namor’s cock with the same casual air of one evaluating a vegetable at market. Namor did his best not to flinch, nor to strangle the man immediately. “It seems at least some of the rumors about Thracians were true, inspector. And, what have we here?”
He turned to the other man, who though shorter, also had a well-sculpted physique. He was no Thracian, but Namor judged him to be well above the typical fare for non-Bloodline men, in both musculature and endowment. The other man made eye contact with Namor, and something told Namor that they were both pleased by the sight of the other.
When the Dominus had finished sizing up the other man, he nodded and declared, “I’ll take them both. A fine catch. You can put your pants back on, boys, and we’ll get your contracts sealed in no time at all.”
The Dominus lead the gibbering inspector away to draw up the paperwork while Namor and the other man pulled their pants back on. He left the shirt behind, and the other man followed suit. With a flick of a switch, the chains around their ankles were electronically released, and Namor moved forward slowly, joining the other man on the path after their new Lord.
“What’s your name?” the other man asked.
“Namor.” the Thracian supplied tersely. “You?”
“Adrianus.” he answered. “Have any idea what our contract might be?”
Namor simply shook his head, so Adrianus continued. “Cause you know I thought it might be combat, or you know like a bodyguard gig, cause you know how these outer planet barons get off fighting wars with each other, except that I’ve never been in a fight, I just like to keep fit, but you, you’re a Thracian.”
“Well-spotted.” Namor interjected. Adrianus paused, but Namor smiled. “I’m just joking. You’d like me to teach you to fight if we’re called to it?”
Adrianus nodded in relief. “Yes. I mean looking at you, I just-”
“Saw something you liked?” Namor guessed. Adrianus grinned sheepishly. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. You’re beautiful.”
Namor sighed, with a familiar grin on his face. This was a familiar situation for him. “Thank you. You’re quite the sight yourself. And to answer you, yes, I will help you train if I can, but I’m not convinced it’s a combat assignment. If it was, the Dominus would have been picking quantity over quality.”
Adrianus blushed at the compliment, then frowned. “Wait, if you don’t think it’s combat, what could it be?”
At that moment, the Dominus returned. “Congratulations, boys, you’ve both just entered contract to work for me in my House. I pay fair wages, supply food and living quarters, as well as all the necessaries of a comfortable life, so long as you keep yourselves in prime condition and perform whatever is asked of you.”
“My Lord Dominus,” Namor asked. “May we be permitted to know the name of our new Lord?”
The Dominus smiled graciously. “Of course. My title is Dominus, but my name is Vel Ravinius Sura.”
“What House is it that you are master of, my Lord Sura?” Adrianus prompted.
“The Capitol Pleasurehouse. You are both going to become phallicus, male pleasure slaves, for the most wealthy clients in the Capitol.” Sura clapped excitedly. “And there is much to do to prepare you. I’m told the Prince Primus is making a visit soon, and his appetites are notoriously difficult to sate. Come with me, boys, and you may get the chance of a lifetime.”
Though he was smaller than both of them, Sura’s arms locked around their waists and guided them with an iron strength into a carriage outside the market house doors. It shortly took off, flying to the Pleasurehouse, and their new lives.
Prince Avidus Laetius Secundus gasped as his second bodyman Zalerius slid his manhood deeper inside of him. Zalerius had a tight grip on the Prince’s hips as he pushed himself repeatedly into his lord.
Avidus moaned, “Harder!” and Zalerius obeyed, as the Prince’s first bodyman paced beside the bed in front of him.
“It’s very hard to draw your brother out, my lord.” Pindaro mused, taking no heed of the carnality happening beside him. “He’s very careful in which events he chooses to attend, he has bodymen and Vespers everywhere he goes.”
“Not…everywhere…fuck!” Avidus groaned. He pushed himself up, seizing Zalerius by the shoulders and tossing him down onto the bed on his back. Then Avidus straddled him and mounted his shaft with a cry, rocking his hips forward and back to move Zalerius’ engorged monster inside of him.
Zalerius began to writhe in pleasure so Pindaro held down his wrists as their Prince rode him fervently. Once he got into a rhythm, he brushed his hair back and returned to the conversation. “He sleeps with every man in the Capitol. That’s how we get at him. He’s vulnerable from his bed.”
Pindaro nodded. “I heard he plans to make a trip to Pleasurehouse soon.”
“Which Pleasurehouse?” Avidus snapped, running his hands up and down Zalerius’ rippled torso. Zalerius groaned, the veins popping out in his arms as he struggled not to break free of Pindaro’s grip and seize their lord, and finish their lovemaking immediately.
“I’ll find out my Lord.” Pindaro answered.
“Do. And once you know, I want you to go there and offer your service. Join them as a phallicus, go in from the ground up, and when my brother arrives, make sure you’re chosen. Then, when he’s most vulnerable, you can strike, and kill him.”
Pindaro bowed, releasing Zalerius’ wrists. Instantly, Zalerius’s hands moved to Avidus’ waist, fervently moving him up and down on Zalerius’ velvety heat. Pindaro headed to the door, his mission before him, and he smiled as he heard both men climax on the bed behind him, the Prince’s seed splattering across Zalerius’ chest and chin, and the bodyman’s essence released deep inside the Prince’s hole.
Soon Pindaro would be the one riding a different Prince, he thought to himself, and it would end very differently. Smirking at the idea, Pindaro swept into the night.
To be continued...