The Story of Philo

It was after almost six months that the three lads met again. Philo, Ely and Darbo crouched in a dark alley near the main port of Rome.

“Well?” asked Philo, his body shaking with excitement.

“Good news,” Ely smiled.

Darbo also had a smile on his handsome black face, his white teeth showing. “I have made contact and I know how we can make a break and where to go. All we need is money, but it looks like it’s going to be postponed until we have enough for the bribes.”

“I have a few gold coins that Cassandra gives me, especially after a good hard fuck,” Philo said. “But Master Thalpios is always vigilant and irritatingly inquisitive. I don’t dare to draw the wrath of Lord Karelius after the first time when I got raped.”

Ely’s grin widened. The sly Israelite cleared his throat. “With Ely on your side, boys,” he said gleefully, “need you worry about money? I have it!”

Darbo gazed unbelievingly at Ely, but Philo nodded remembering the pouch that Ely had shown him months ago, filled with coins and jewels.

“Philo,” Ely continued, “I told you about the young nobleman who fell for my cut cock. Darius Lavonius. He is very rich and very appreciative of my services. And I have been able to hide what he gives me every time he visits, which is every day, sometimes twice a day, from the eyes of everyone in the brothel. Darbo, I can get you all you need.”

Darbo was speechless. Finally, he heaved and smiled: “Looks like it’s Ely’s cock not Philo’s that’s going to help us.” For which he received a punch on his shoulder by Philo. The three laughed, hugged, and Darbo continued, a little out of breath: “Then I can set it up? Ely, when can you get me the gold?”

“Any time you want,” Ely answered, a huge grin on his face accentuating his crooked nose.

Philo shifted his gaze from one face to another as the Israelite and the Nubian planned. His heart was racing. Finally, it was going to happen. Freedom or crucifixion: that was what it came down to.

“I wish I can take you back to my room,” Ely said after some ten minutes of discussing possibilities and opportunities. “I need to sample some black dick.”

Darbo laughed. “You’re welcome to it, sissy-boy. With the coins you are going to supply, my cock is yours for the taking in whatever hole you desire.”

Ely licked his lips lasciviously.

“All right, boys,” Philo said. “We agree that Darbo will fuck Ely. Now what next?”

“Go back,” Darbo instructed. “After I get the gold from Ely, I will take care of arrangements. Lay low and make sure you don’t show any signs of what is going on.”

The date was midnight on the festival of Ludi Piscatorii, 7 of Iunius (June), in honor of the Tiber River, when the fishermen of Rome sacrificed all their fish by burning them in an offering to Vulcan, the god of fire and volcanoes. As per Roman habit, especially propounded by Cicero, slaves would not work during feriae, or a festival day.

With the money that Ely had supplied, Darbo was able to arrange for the three boys to escape during the night, when the noblemen were at the Temple of Vulcan celebrating, drinking and carousing while the fishermen built their fire. It was also a time when the piers of the port of Rome were virtually deserted. Darbo had rented a small boat, with two oars, that could transport them to one of the hiding places of a band of rebellious slaves following the leadership of Spartacus.

Under the cover of the night and the absence of the nobility, Darbo collected Philo who had crept stealthily after knocking Thalpios on the head from behind with a piece of kitchen wood, rendering him unconscious. Thalpios never knew who or what hit him before he fell.

The two lads hurried through the dark alleys and found Ely waiting for them near the piers. Darbo led them to where the rented boat was moored, and they rowed away, feeling the evening breeze on their smiling but fearful young faces.

Some two hours later, Darbo steered the boat onto one of the shores where a blinking lamplight was ushering them in. They were met by a band of ten slaves in loincloths, bearing swords and wearing helmets. They still looked like slaves, but to Philo, they looked gloriously fierce nevertheless.

Spartacus was a brawny almost-thirty-year-old gladiator with huge and bulging muscles which could only be those of a rigorously-exercised soldier or gladiator. In a deserted hut, he greeted the escapees and instructed that they should be armed and trained, declaring them free citizens.

For three weeks, the lads trained hard by gladiator-slaves in their hideaway in the woods. They were taught how to use a staff, a knife, a sword, an axe, and other tools of war. Philo learned fastest and best. He was wild and often had to be checked back by his trainers. Ely was developing muscles in his scrawny body, but he was still a boy who craved other boys, especially Philo and Darbo. True to his word, Darbo gave Ely his fill of dark meat, even though Ely hungered more for Philo.

Sitting around a small fire one star-lit evening, the three boys were reminiscing their time as slaves. Suddenly, Philo stood up, paced for a while, and then squatted, drawing circles in the dirt.

“I have a plan,” he said in a voice that was getting deeper and manlier. He was even showing a fuzzy moustache line on his upper lip and a sprinkle of downy hair on his chin. “I need to get back to Teshret.”

“Teshret?” Ely asked.

Darbo looked at Philo: “What the fuck is Teshret?”

“My home,” Philo whispered reverently. “My home, Darbo. I want to go home.” There were tears glistening in his eyes.

“But this is our home now,” Darbo said. “This is our fight. Soon we will be raiding villas and killing noblemen. We will take our revenge. Our home will be the vast expanse of the whorish Roman Republic. It is ours now.”

Ely remained silent watching his friend. But Philo was adamant.

“My war is not here. I must find us something, a ship, a caravan, something, anything that would take me back. Will you come with me?”

Philo gazed at his two friends. Ely was already weeping openly, nodding his head, clinging to Philo’s arm, but Darbo was not so sure. For him Teshret might as well be another Rome. There was no way he could get back to Nubia. And even if he did, what would he do there? It would be the same servitude but without the collar.

“I think I will stay and fight,” Darbo finally said.

“Tell you what,” Ely finally broke the silence. “Philo is right in feeling homesick and wanting to leave this fucking place. And wherever Philo goes, I will go, too.” He wrapped an arm around Philo’s waist.

“You just love Philo’s cock,” Darbo countered.

“Yes, I do. I do,” Ely confessed, slipping his hand down to caress Philo’s crotch. “But more than that. It was Philo and his family and his village that gave me back my life. Had it not been for them I would have either been still a beggar roaming the cities of Canaan or raped and knifed in a dark alley in one of their cities. Philo gave me life, Darbo.” Tears were flowing again down Ely’s face cheeks as Philo wrapped his arm around his shoulder and hugged him.

“You are my friend, Ely,” Philo said in a choking voice.

“Listen lads,” Darbo said, seriously, moved by the strong emotions. “I will not go with you if you decide to run away again. But I will do my best to help you. And I think I can. Philo? Will you let me at least do that? Will you hold back and wait until I can arrange something? Please?”

Philo nodded, his handsome face glistening with tears. The three boys hugged each other around the fire under the dark summer sky of a Roman night. Ely slowly licked down Philo’s body onto his crotch as Darbo crawled behind the kneeling Israelite.

Moaning, Ely took Philo’s hardened member, stretching his lips to engulf the engorging knob as he felt Darbo’s finger rubbing inside his crack, preparing him, loosening him. The penetration of black cock into Ely’s rim muscle and the hitting of Philo’s cockhead at the back of his head came simultaneously. His moans were loud and lustful, increasing, as the pumping of both of his holes began in earnest. The three lads were linked in body: Darbo deep inside Ely’s ass as Philo’s cock invaded Ely’s throat.

The vibrations of the sucking throat quickly brought Philo to ejaculation. He bent over Ely’s back and found Darbo’s lips, their tongues entwining. Philo squirted hard and long, his eyes shut tight with the intensity of his orgasm as Darbo sucked on his tongue and Ely sucked on his ejaculating rod.

Philo opened his eyes into pitch blackness with a start, feeling wetness in his groin. He was dazed. He heard snoring and heavy breathing. He reached down and touched his penis. It was semi-hard and dripping. His hand came up sticky with sperm.

Little by little, his eyes started to get used to the darkness and the buzzing in his head gradually diminished. Turning his head, he saw the silhouette of other human shapes on mattresses. He rubbed his eyes, his heart racing. Where was he? Where were Ely and Darbo? How come was he indoors? Who had been sucking on his dick? Whose lips was he sucking on?

Silently, in slow motion, he crept out of the room and into the Pantius’s kitchen, lit dimly by one lamp. As if moving inside a barrel of molasses, he reached for the cask of water, dipped in a ladle and splashed his face with cold water, then sipped some, quenching his dry mouth, not believing that what he was seeing was real. It couldn’t have been a dream, could it? It dawned on him: it had all been a fucking dream. Oh gods, why were they so cruel? It was a dream. A nightmare. Philo dropped onto his knees and started to weep, sobbing and heaving, his youthful body racked with anguish and sorrow.

Philo spent the rest of the day in a lethargic state. The other slaves noticed this change in the Levantine, who, although never gave cause for trouble, had always kept to himself. They all knew that he was servicing their lady sexually. Master Thalpios kept his vigilance over him but never attacked him directly and never had any reason to punish him. As for the father of the family, Karelius Pantius, Philo filled a very important gap in keeping Cassandra leashed and contended. As long as there was peace in the household, Karelius seemed satisfied. He even felt some gratitude towards the young animalistic slave for maintaining his relationship with Cassandra passionate and ongoing. It seemed that the lady of the house never got tired of the slave.

Lady Cassandra treated Philo like a precious pet. Even when he rode on top of her, she thought of him as a stud pet, there for her pleasure. Philo, on his part, played his role smartly. He accepted all her demands without complaints, even when she ordered him to do things he was averted by, such as massaging her feet or kneeling suppliantly in front of her when it was his cock that was raising her to sexual heights she had never experienced before.

“What is the matter, slave?” the rough voice of Master Thalpios sounded sternly from the hall outside the kitchen as Philo crouched in a corner in total despair. It was late evening when the slaves were supposed to be gathered in their sleeping quarters. But Philo could not bring himself to go to sleep for fear of another dream like the one he had had the night before.

Philo started, wiping away his tears, and quickly stood up, lowering his head.

“Nothing, Master. I just feel… I’m sorry, Master,” Philo said hoarsely, looking down at the kitchen floor.

“Slaves are not supposed to be roaming around in the house at night, slave,” Thalpios admonished. “Just because the lady Cassandra looks favorably on you does not mean that you are free to do whatever you like.”

Philo wanted to strangle the housemaster. He was dying to wrap his strong young hands around the old Greek bastard’s neck and squeeze the fucking and miserable life out of him. But he controlled himself and silently shuffled with a bent head back into the slaves’ sleeping quarter.

The young dejected lad lay on his straw mattress, trying not to re-live the dream. Oh how bitter! Oh, how sweet! If only it had been true. Philo felt the hot tears on his face cheeks again and he tried his best not to make any sound. Morning light found him cowered on his straw mattress like a fetus, more miserable than he had ever felt. The cruel gods had dangled freedom in front of him and then brutally snatched it away.

As the first rays of the morning sun appeared and the slaves started to move and awake, Philo made a silent promise to himself. No matter what happened, regardless if the slaves really rebelled or not, if there was a Spartacus or not, Philo vowed that he would earn his freedom with a high head, not slinking away in the darkness of the night like a thief. He might have been raped and lashed. He might have been used as a bull for the pleasure of a whore. He might have been kidnapped and shackled and treated like an animal. But inside, he was still the proud and valiant Philo. No one could break his spirit. He would not only survive, but also prosper and return to his home village a fearless free man, not a runaway slave. How? Philo had no idea.

For a week or so, the young lad experienced the most difficult time of his servitude. Pretending the opposite of what he was feeling was way more exhausting than rebelling and getting punished with lashes or hard labor. Under the stern orders of Karelius, the demanding lust of Cassandra, and the inquisitive eyes of Thalpios, Philo had to be constantly vigilant. His looks, his posture, his attitude, all had to be controlled with no room for any mishap.

Soon after, things started to lighten up. Karelius was less prone to anger when Philo was around. The father of the household even smiled at him a couple of times when he delivered messages from Cassandra.

The mistress glowed. Her skin shone more healthily and a smile of content was ever on her face. Philo noticed that even her wrinkles were disappearing. He had often wondered if it was his sperm, which she insisted to swallow every time they fucked, thus avoiding any unwanted pregnancies, that had rejuvenated her, giving her a more youthful look. He had heard from some of the other slaves that one or two noble lords kept a few virile studs to be “milked” twice every day, their sperm collected and expensively sold to noble ladies and aging lords in transparent glass phials exhibiting the creamy whiteness of the male juice as an elixir of youth.

The last time Philo spoke with Darbo and Ely, Philo told his friends that he was not planning on any escape. Darbo was surprised at Philo’s decision since he thought of Philo as a brave and proud young man. Darbo took this as a sign of cowardice and complacency; whereas Ely understood Philo’s love for life and that it was exactly the opposite of what Darbo thought, that it was Philo’s courage and pride which would not allow him to exist as an exiled rebellious runaway slave.

Two months later, Darbo disappeared, true to his word. Philo was sad.

“Darbo can take care of himself,” Ely said, when the two boys met stealthily in a dark alley.

“Maybe,” Philo said. “I just couldn’t think of myself as a runaway.”

“I know,” Ely nodded.

“I dreamt that we actually escaped, Ely,” Philo confessed in a hushed voice.

“Really?” Ely whispered back.

Philo told Ely about his dream, even the last part where Ely was fucked by Darbo as he sucked Philo’s cock to ejaculation. Ely laughed when Philo told him about the huge orgasm he had had just before he woke up in the middle of the night.

“I tell you Ely; it was so vivid, so sensual, so real,” Philo whispered.

“I wish I was there. Damn! You feeding me and Darbo fucking me? Dear god, I want to close my eyes and visualize it. I already am erecting.”

Philo slapped Ely on his butt as they kissed

“Let me suck you,” Ely said wistfully.

“What? Here?” Philo glanced around in the narrow alley. Seeing no one, Philo fished out his cock from under his tunic and leaned against a wall as Ely knelt between his spread legs and gobbled the offered thick rod, fast-erecting. With the memory of his dream so vivid in his mind, Philo quickly exploded into the Israelite’s throat, thick, creamy strings of young cum erupting hard and deep. Ely swallowed and sucked for more.

“Philo,” Ely said, finally standing up and smacking his lips, as Philo tucked his cock into his loincloth. “Your juice is so amazingly unique. I love you, brother.”

Philo grabbed Ely by the hair and planted a deep, sensual kiss on the glistening lips.

“I love you, too, Ely,” Philo said and the two lads parted.

Meanwhile, Rome was going through turbulent times with the uprising of the slaves. The nobility was scared of the bands of slaves who were roaming the countryside, raiding and killing. The Legions were not able to stop the tide although they managed to capture many of the rebellious bandits, who were summarily crucified outside the gates of Rome. The Appian Way was bordered by lines of crosses for miles, as a vengeful sign of Rome’s wrath.

For almost three years, Philo and Ely had been slaves. Philo had just turned 19 years old. His beard was noticeable and it gave his face a much brawnier look. If at all possible, his body had transformed into a more awesome shape, the muscles more pronounced, a patch of hair appearing in the middle of his chest. He was still Cassandra’s fuck-pet. And he performed with more virility each time he fucked her, establishing and reinforcing his worth, but at the same time hating it. His only enjoyable sex was with Ely, whom he occasionally got to see and hastily and stealthily fuck.

It was the year 70 BC, and the slave rebellion led by Spartacus was still ongoing even though it did not look too good for the rebelling slaves. The Roman legions were no joke and they seemed to be gaining ground.

Karelius Pantius went ill. For weeks, he lay in bed, withering away. One morning he sent after his wife, his house master, and, surprisingly, Philo.

The ailing senator lay on pillows and cushions, gaunt and pale, his skeletal body covered with a thin sheet of cotton.

“I am drawing very close to my end,” he mumbled hoarsely, holding Cassandra’s hand as Master Thalpios stood on the other side of the raised bed and Philo kept his distance a few paces away from the foot of the bed, wondering why he was called upon to be present.

“My Lord,” Thalpios said. “We are doing the best we can. I have arranged for you to move to your villa on the Island of Capri. The climate there is healthier than that of Rome and soon you will recover.”

“No, Thalpios,” the weak voice of the senator came back. “I refuse to be taken by slave rebels on the way to Capri. You know how risky the trip there is. Besides, I have lived my life and now the gods are calling to me. I shall soon be led to Osiris, and I will rest.” The ill senator paused for a rasping breath, sweat beads appearing on his pale forehead.  “But I wanted you here to hear and record what I need to say.” He coughed hard for a minute as the others looked on, concerned

“Rest, my Lord,” Cassandra pleaded anxiously, rubbing his frail hand.

Karelius ignored her and motioned for Philo to approach.

“Raise me, lad,” he said.

Both Cassandra and Thalpios gasped at Karelius’s use of the word “lad” addressing the slave. Philo approached slowly and held the senator from under his armpits and gently lifted him up into a half-seated position. Karelius reclined heavily against the pillows, his breathing coming out in grating sounds.

“Thalpios, record this in writing.” He looked at his wife and smiled. “One: My Lady Cassandra will inherit all that I have, villas, lands, gold, slaves, fields and quarries, businesses. Everything. But, upon my death, the following shall pass. Two: I bestow the Levant slave his freedom. Did you write this down, Thalpios? The slave Philo will be a free citizen of Rome.”

Philo almost fainted. He felt his knees shake uncontrollably threatening to collapse him. He supported himself by leaning against the wall behind Karelius’s bed. Thalpios stared at the frail senator with amazement. Cassandra covered her mouth with her free hand, shaking, pressing on Karelius’s clutching palm. She glanced at Philo, giving him a slight smile as her eyes teared. Philo realized that he had been more than a fuck-boy to the noble woman. She did not only crave for his cock but probably had more profound feelings for him.

It was not rare that a nobleman gave a favorite slave his freedom, especially on his dying bed. But Karelius had never intimated that he favored Philo. The way he had broken the Levantine by raping him on the first day he bought him did not indicate any favoritism. On the contrary, the raping had been vicious and agonizing.

“But before I die, effective this instant,” Karelius’s voice came out shakily, “Philo gets my villa on the Isle of Capri with all the land and vineyards around it.” Philo dropped onto his knees, unable to stand, his head dizzy, his stomach churning, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. The old senator continued: “He will also get five thousand gold coins, five slaves that he chooses from this household, and the whole household of the Capri villa.”

Karelius took a deep breath, turned towards his wife and smiled. “There is one condition, depending upon Lady Cassandra’s wishes: Philo will remain by her side and not leave her unless she wishes it. If he does her for any reason whatsoever, the Capri villa and land and money shall be returned to her ladyship. Is this understood?” In spite of his frailty and illness, the senator retained his imperial tone.

Philo moved on his knees to the side of the bed, placing a hand on the senator’s shoulder, as if he were a son touching his dying father. The senator gazed upon the young boy’s face, streaked with tears, with a pleading look, as if he were begging for Philo to remain near his wife after he died.

“My Lord,” Philo uttered in a quivering voice, barely able to believe his ears, his throat constricted, words smothered by strong emotions.

“Hush, boy,” Karelius raised his hand. “I have no offspring as you know. You have been able to be a faithful and precious person here,” he turned and faintly smiled at the amazed Cassandra. “Three. Are you writing this, Thalpios?”

“Yes, my lord,” came Thalpios’s incredulous murmur as his quail scratched on the scroll held in his hand.

“Three: The Israelite, your friend, Philo, shall also become a free citizen when I die. Thalpios, send my order to Magnemonus to fetch the Israelite slave here immediately. He will stay in this house with Philo. Four: You, Thalpios, shall get two thousand gold and remain as Housemaster, if Lady Cassandra so wishes. Upon her joining me in the netherland, you get to keep this villa and what is in it as yours, but only if Lady Cassandra wishes.”

Karelius dropped wearily back on the pillows, his breath coming out with difficulty; sweat beads covered his forehead and plastered his curled gray hair onto his wrinkled skin. Philo watched the Housemaster scribble quickly on his parchment, but he could not tell what Thalpios was writing. When Thalpios finished, he walked over to a wooden desk by the heavily curtained window and brought Karelius’s silver seal. Cassandra helped the shaking senator press the seal on the molten wax that Thalpios placed at the bottom of the scroll.

Philo and Thalpios left the room, but Cassandra remained next to her husband, holding his hand as he closed his eyes and seemed to go into fitful sleep.

Two days later, Karelius Pantius died. Philo and Ely regained their freedom. Philo and Ely became rich.