The Story of Philo

Philo and Ely were thrown down into the ship’s hold, followed by Darbo, who shackled them and tied them to one of the wooden poles, back to back. He uncovered their heads and gazed at their faces. The little one looked girlish and weak, but the other lad had a masculine face, even when he was unconscious, high cheekbones, full manly lips, arching eyebrows, round and strong-looking chin, as a whole, brawny and determined.

Darbo ripped off the lads’ tunics and Philo’s loincloth. He stared unbelievingly at Philo’s crotch. It was the largest flaccid man-cock he had ever seen, never to be expected on a young teenager. Not that Darbo was into man cocks, but this was amazing. It would put to shame any of the other men. This was worth a lot of gold, he thought, licking his lips. He wondered what it might be like if erected. Driven by an unforeseen force, he reached down to grab the penis.

“Haha,” a laughing voice came from behind him, rich and young. “Darbo is grabbing a dick. Come see!”

Darbo jumped and stood up, turning around.

“Nigger,” he said in a choking voice. “I’m so going to whip you. I’m going to make your whoring mouth a vagina for fucking. I’m…”

“Darbo,” a voice yelled from above through the hold’s opening. “Get the fuck up here. Haven’t you finished with them yet? What the fuck are you still doing down there?”

Darbo glanced back at the unconscious Philo’s crotch, and then scurried up the wooden ladder, giving the coal-black slave-boy a menacing look.

Philo came to with a start. He tried to move, but he soon realized that he was shackled and tied up. With an agonizingly aching neck, he looked down at himself. He was stark naked. He felt nauseous as he rocked slowly left and right. Where was he? What had happened? He remembered watching men at the wharves working and then, suddenly, then … A blow. Dark. Nothing. He moaned.

“Philo?” came a whisper from behind him.

“Ely?” Philo whispered back, recognizing the Israelite’s voice.

But his stomach lurched, and with a loud grunt, he threw up. The sour remains of goat cheese and bread covered his chin and chest and crotch. There was an awful stench as Philo’s stomach heaved and more junk emitted from his mouth burning his throat with its acidity.

“Oh, gods,” the rich voice sounded from the darkness. “The new lad is throwing up. Not enough the stench of our shit and piss in this awful cursed heat. Now we have a new flavor.” A rich laugh and some snickering followed.

Philo burned with shame and humiliation. He looked down at his body, once so beautiful and toned, now covered with muck.

“Where are we?” Ely whispered. “Philo, are you sick?”

Philo moaned, his stomach hurting, his muscles sore, his head dizzy, his whole being disoriented. Nevertheless, he tried to take stock of the situation. So they had been kidnapped, it looked like. They were all tied up and it definitely felt that they were not on solid ground. Oh, gods, they were at sea, in a boat. The young lad’s mind reeled. But at least Ely sounded fine.

“The fucking stench,” again the rich voice out of the darkness. And then like a shadow, someone appeared. Philo gazed with wonder as the voice took shape, even darker than the darkness.

“Who are you? Where are we?” Philo said, voice shaking, aching muscles taut.

“You are in deep shit, that’s where you are,” the black person approached. All that Philo could discern from the shape were the white teeth and the glittering eyes. The black person squatted next to Philo, studying him from head to toe. “Quite a specimen, I admit,” he continued. “Maleek will get a decent coin for you, lad. I am Dangar and you boys are Maleek’s slaves.”

“Slaves?” Ely croaked in a high voice from the other side of the pole. “Slaves?” he repeated.

Philo’s eyes grew even wider, his heart beating, his stomach falling. He tried to scrunch his bad back against the wooden pole as the black man ran his hand over his naked body, resting in his crotch. The image of the two naked slave boys back in Byblos jumped into his mind and he shivered violently. Never in his wildest imagination had Philo pictured himself in such a degrading situation.

“Definitely a decent coin,” Dangar smirked, grabbing Philo’s dick and balls and shaking them.

“Fuck off. Take your filthy hands off me,” Philo growled angrily, his whole body shaking, the noble man fingering the slave-boy’s ass so vivid in his head. His physical reaction was violent, but it was all in vain against the ropes and chains holding him to the wooden pole. Philo was under shock from the physical attack, from the rocking of the boat, from the ropes and chains binding him, from the shock of his first-time seeing a human being with black skin, and above all from the image of the two naked slave-boys being poked and fondled shamelessly.

“Slaves, Philo,” Ely mumbled. He was also thinking of those two slave-boys back in Byblos, especially the one whom he cupped his genitals and played with them.

Dangar moved around and checked Ely over. “Not much for this one, though. And guess what? The lad must be a Galilean, a Jew. His dick has been cut off.”

There were snickers coming out of the darkness. Both lads watched Dangar as he checked them out. Slim, tall, body glistening with sweat as if oiled, a tattered loincloth covering his crotch.

Light streamed down the hold from the opening as the hatch was removed.

“Uggghhh,” Darbo grunted as he climbed down the wooden ladder lowered from up, followed by another man. “How can these animals breathe down here?”

The other man snickered. “They are all so full of shit and piss; you have to wonder whether we should give them more food and water.” He was carrying a bucket of slush and another bucket full of water hung by a strap around his neck.

“Get your ass down here, Gaddock. Quick, before we suffocate.”

Scooping out a ladle of water, Darbo splashed Philo’s face and body, washing down the puke. Gaddock began scooping out what looked like food to the other slaves in the hold. After wiping Philo dry with a piece of rough cloth, Darbo untied the boy’s hands and pulled him up. Gaddock did the same with Ely. The two lads were then dragged to the ladder and pushed up. It was difficult for Philo and Ely to climb up with their feet shackled in iron chain. They were helped by another two slavers by being pulled up by their hair.

The sun stung Philo’s eyes. It was not so high in the sky, but moving westward. It must be mid-afternoon, Philo thought, and he welcomed the warmth and the fresh air. It was sea air, salty and damp, but fresh.

“Get them up here, you sons of shit-eating whores,” roared Maleek from a raised plank, waving his whip.

The other sailors gathered around, watching, as the two naked lads were dragged. “Be careful, feces-faces. You damage the goods, you will become fish food!” Maleek growled ominously.

Philo noticed immediately that the slave master was not Canaanite. His Phoenician accent was rough. Philo’s father had told him about rough people from the north, a place called Anatolia, who spoke a variation of their language. Even Ely’s Hebrew was close and understandable by the people of Canaan. But many of the men from up north were taken to pirating the seas and pillaging villages near the shores of the Levant and Cyprus.

Maleek strode around in his cabin, studying the two naked boys shackled and standing in the middle of the small cluttered place. Darbo and Gaddock stood by the door.

“What do they call you, boy?” Maleek prodded Philo in the back with the stick of his whip.

“Philo.”

“Philo, Master,” Darbo said.

“From now on, boy, you will address me as master, do you understand?” Maleek stood one pace in front of the naked lad. “So, again, what do they call you?”

Philo stared squarely at Maleek, eyes glaring, standing up straight in spite of his nakedness. “Philo.”

The slap came fast, right across Philo’s face cheek, and it stung. “Master! Again!”

“Philo,” Philo said defiantly, tears welling behind his eyes, tears which he fought hard to suppress.

Maleek raised his whip, but Darbo rushed to him and whispered: “Master, this slave will bring in a grand coin if he remains unscarred, don’t you think?”

Maleek glared angrily at Darbo, then shifted his stare to Philo’s face, down over the boy’s naked body, the smooth and toned torso, the huge cock and balls, the muscled thighs. He nodded his head and lowered the whip. Turning to Ely, he growled: “And you, shit face?”

“Ely, m…ma…master,” Ely stammered, his voice getting higher.

“A girly-boy, eh? And circumcised. A Galilean,” Maleek smiled, prodding Ely under his balls with the whip rod.

“To Tyre, then, Master?” Darbo said as Maleek kept studying his two slaves, pacing around them, poking them.

“Fuck Tyre. You have an ant for a brain, Darbo. We will be arrested when they see this Phoenician boy. The same in other Phoenician cities. I don’t care for the girly Israelite. But this boy will fetch me a fortune… in Rome.”

Philo shivered. Astarte! Where was she? Why would she not do something about this? But Astarte was not a fighter or a protector. She was a lover, and there was no love now. He glanced at Ely, noticed the Israelite’s face cheeks streaked with tears, his pimples standing out flared and red.

“Even the sissy one?” Darbo asked.

“The stud goes to some lord’s home, whoever bids the highest, of course. As for the sissy here? Probably a brothel. He’d do very well there. His face is not so bad, except maybe for the nose, and those fucking pimples. There are many horny men who would pay good coin to stick their rods up his girly ass though.”

The three men snickered as the lads squirmed and ached both physically and emotionally.

“Take the girly-boy down. Keep this one here,” Maleek ordered.

Maleek scratched his curled shaggy and oily hair, which was already laced with white. So was his beard, all tangled like wire. It had been thirty years for him on the high seas, when he had joined his uncle’s pirate ship at 16. Thirty years of piracy and slavery, but throughout these years, no catch had been as magnificent as this Levantine boy standing naked right in front of him. His beady black eyes examined every inch of Philo’s body.

He marveled at the smoothness and tightness of the boy’s skin, at his unusual height, almost hitting two meters already, his boy-curls bordering his forehead, his brown eyes that sparkled like fire. The boy couldn’t have been older than 16 years. Oh, yes, Maleek scratched the lice in his hair. Sixteen years old and hung like a bull. Philo’s cock hung low over the full hanging balls, a stud of studs. This would definitely fetch gold. Maleek wondered what it would be like to bed this god of a boy. His loins ached and his stomach fluttered. But he knew that gold was more precious than a passing sexual whim, regardless of this god a few paces away, standing so regal and proud in spite of the ropes that bound him.

“So, boy, you are quite well-endowed, eh?” Maleek said after the others left, lifting Philo’s low-hanging balls with the end of his whip handle.

Philo glared at the slave master. If only he could get his hands untied, he would choke the son of bastards and whores with his bare fists. Maleek not only looked oily and disgusting, he also smelled like one of Philo’s goats back in Teshret, sweat mixed with liquor.

Maleek grabbed Philo’s flaccid cock and rubbed it, pulling back the skin, exposing the thick pink knob, the slit in the middle, glaring at him like an eye. “Let’s see how big it gets. The bigger the better, boy,” he began pulling up and down on the cock using his thumb and index finger, watching the boy’s face.

Philo started to erect in spite of his anger and humiliation. His penis had a mind of its own, it seemed. Maleek took in a deep breath of amazement and awe as the lad’s cock hardened vertically, long, thick, and proud between his fingers: thirty-fucking-centimeters of rock-hard steel.

Stepping behind Philo, Maleek placed a hand on the boy’s firm and lightly fuzzy butt and pressed on it with his fingers, and then he inserted his hand inside the crack and fingered the hole. Philo squirmed, trying to move away, feeling terribly molested. Holding him still by the hair, Maleek probed his finger around and into the ring muscle. Philo could scream all the way to the gods and heavens as he was being molested. How could the slave-boys that he had seen in Byblos ever endure such molestation? How could they live after some sleazy, dirty, sweaty, old man fingered their buttholes? Or rubbed their penises? However, the young lad, whose insides were burning like a fiery storm, maintained a frozen, erect posture, straight back, taut muscles, and humongous cock pointing upwards. His facial expression could have killed a thousand pirates.

“Hmmm. Never had a man up here, huh? Very strange. You people in Canaan fuck even goats.” The slave master removed his finger, a look of satisfaction and greed on his face, a tingling in his balls. “Tight and virgin. Excellent.” Maleek ached to pull down his pants and shove his own cock up this delicious boy ass, but he could visualize the bag of gold that he would get for this beautiful stud in Rome if he kept him intact and healthy. He knew that many of the Roman lords would bid the highest price for such a slave. However, there were other ways to enjoy this boy without leaving any marks, weren’t there?

“Listen carefully,” Maleek said in a low voice next to Philo’s ear. “You must have realized that I can’t afford to beat you up or hurt you in any way, spoiling my chances for a small fortune.”

Philo stared ahead, wondering what this sleazy slaver had in mind.

“But,” continued Maleek, “I can hurt the girly Israelite.” He snickered, rubbing Philo’s butt cheeks with his fat, hairy hands.

Philo’s heart sank. He loved the little bastard. He could not allow anything bad to happen to Ely. Philo was the stronger one. It was his duty to protect Ely, sissy or not.

“What do you want?” Philo finally managed to croak out.

“I actually want to fuck your boy ass, is what I want,” Maleek said maliciously, lustfully, rubbing his crotch. “I won’t though. What I will do is release your legs shackles but keep your hands tied. Then,” he grabbed Philo’s cock, “I want to nurse on this monster. You will be quiet. You will respond. You will feed me your nuts. And if you start anything funny, the sissy-boy will get it. Understand?”

Philo felt tears welling behind his eyes. He inwardly cringed at the thought of this sleazy old and graying man working on his pride and joy, his cock. But there was Ely to consider. Philo nodded, unable to utter any word.

The slaver unlocked the feet shackles as he stroked Philo back to full erection. Then he wrapped his lips around the fat knob pulling down on the foreskin, completely taken by the girth as his lips stretched to their fullest to be able to take the lad’s hard cock. Philo emitted a grunt. To the slaver, it sounded full of young lust. To Philo, it was disgust as he glanced down at the kinky, dirty hair and the fully-bearded face lewdly gobbling away. He almost threw up, but he resisted the temptation to kick the shit out of this animal, always thinking of what would happen to Ely.

Instead, Philo thrust into the slaver’s mouth hard, vengefully. Maleek gagged, but the young stud thrust harder, his hate driving his cock further down the slaver’s throat. Philo kept the pressure as Maleek slobbered and tried to breathe. When finally the slaver freed his mouth, he looked up at Philo, a huge smile on his face, spit dribbling down onto his thick, greasy beard, laced with crinkly white hairs.

“That’s it boy,” Maleek grunted out of breath. “Let’s do this again. Yes. You are reciprocating. Your sissy friend will be safe. Feed me, boy.” And the slaver set his mouth to greedily work on the glorious tool.

It took Philo a few minutes to empty his balls down the slaver’s throat. Smacking his lips, Maleek rose. “We will do this again, young lad. But always remember: the Israelite. Any wrong move and your sissy friend will get his mouth and ass raped by all the crew on this boat, including the fucking slaves. I can still sell him to a male brothel in Rome even if his ass hole is stretched and gaping like an open barrel of mead.”

On his way back down to the hold, led by Darbo and Gaddock, Philo scanned the span of blue sea around them, the ship rocking, the main sail full with wind, heading west. Eight oarsmen, also slaves, were heaving and sweating at the oars, aiding the wind, as the boat glided over the waters. It looked so graceful up here, but it was so contrastingly stinky and filthy and evil down in its belly. Philo’s heart sank, since every minute was taking him farther from home, from safety, and nearer to he knew not what.

Somewhere on this vast blueness were his uncle and cousins. And way back up in the green mountains in the east was his family. And along the coastline were glorious cities crowded with his countrymen. His eyes filled with tears. He felt so young, so indefensible. Where was everyone now? His father could barely walk on his injured leg and his uncle and cousins would not be back from their travels for months, maybe even for years. Oh, what was he to do? He basically already realized that the dirty swine of a slaver intended to sell them, him and Ely and the other slaves down in the hold of the ship, sell them in faraway Rome. So they were heading there, not to any Phoenician city where Philo might have had some hope of being rescued, no matter how slim.

Philo had heard many stories about the great city of Rome. He had been told that it was ten times bigger than Byblos, much wealthier, more powerful. It had a great and glorious army. Even Carthage was in awe of the might and power of Rome. Philo, the pride of Teshret, the envy of its men, the lustful desire of its women, the brawny, toned teenager turning into a man, felt totally and completely helpless and pathetic as he trudged, naked, behind the stinking thugs pulling on his chains.