A gay story: My Hero All Characters 18+
Even the Sun seems to mock me, laughing his light on my nakedness as I am traipsed through these foreign streets! Only this morning I was Ithaca’s Champion, with all the praise and adoration befitting a Prince. See how I am brought low by the Brute of Carthage! Unable to shield my eyes in this pitiless noon, my wrists shackled tightly under my chin, I can only shuffle forwards, driven onwards like a donkey as my Victor – the idiot Machaeus – lavishes my cheeks with strokes of the flogger.
Blinded by the sunshine, all I can see is the memory of my Father’s face, his expression dark with disgust.
“How could you let this happen?” his eyes condemn me silently from his seat of honour across the arena, “You are no longer a son of mine!”
I ask myself the same question. I was supposed to win. The crowds would cheer for me as I brought Machaeus home a slave! How did this imbecile? this lummox? …best the Golden Boy of the Ionian Islands? Sure, he has brawn, being stockier and heavier than I, but he’s a halfwit! Only listen to him hoot and guffaw as these people clap. I’ve overcome wrestlers bigger than he, with my speed, flexibility, and (above all) my intelligence. I was taught that brains should always win out against common force. Well, today this presupposed truth is shown to be quite false. The Barbarian triumphs, and every lash he gives my buttocks earns him more applause.
This shameful display, in which I am forced to participate, is typical of his boorish race! We Greeks and proud Helens would never indulge such vulgarity! I was warned that crass humiliations would await me should I fail. I am forsaken! Hear my prayer you mighty Gods! Show mercy to he who has fallen in your honour! Spare me the rumoured practices and indignities of these plebs!
Reaching the end of the road, this newly made Hero of Carthage is greeted by his illustrious Father, King Hanno. Dressed in Gold he embraces his son, raising the Lad’s hand to heaven in public celebration of their triumph. Machaeus is too simple to temper or contain his glee, as Greek decorum would dictate. On this – the only great day in his life – his stupid grin gleams with glory.
Had he more sense, he’d understand just how false his Father’s affections really are. The King expected him to lose, just like everyone else. This was his chance to wash his hands of this cretinous Son. He would never have let his elder Sons compete on Tanit’s feast day, and risk losing them to such an ignoble fate. In the event, and against all odds, Machaeus won, and Hanno can share in the acclaim.
I’m actually touched with some pity for the Dolt. All his days he has borne the ridicule and despite of his clever and accomplished Brothers. They married beautiful princesses and won in epic wars. Machaeus, for his ineptitude and his gormless face, has only ever been an embarrassment – doubtless never having so much as kissed a girl, nor been introduced to any diplomat or Great Man of any nation. But my own Father’s graces have proved to be no more sincere than his. My achievements, my beauty, count nothing to credit now. I will likely never see my Father again. But today Machaeus looks handsome in the glow of his unexpected victory, and I’m glad he can finally experience this fleeting honour.
I understand barely three words in their ugly Punic language, and the speech delivered is lost on me. I wait, naked as the day I was born, my smacked bottom on display, as lengthy homilies are shared. Eventually, the King closes his address, handing his Boy a bizarre trophy. I’ve never seen anything like it – a strange knot of silver. Machaeus descends the stage with it, and as he approaches me I’m thrown on my knees by his friends. I can fathom nothing of his thoughts reading his dumb smile, but he swiftly bungs the trophy into my mouth, and now I understand it’s purpose.
The object is a barbaric gag, contrived to keep my jaw open nice and wide. A plate on it’s lower side ensures my tongue lays flat. Now Machaeus flings his kilt aside and unwraps his lion cloth. He stands before me in the buff, save for his booties and leather cuffs. His cock bounces cheerfully in my line of sight, already pumped for the inevitable face-fuck that is his prize. Of course he had to be hung! Globs of spit dribble uncontrollably from my brace, and without preamble or ceremony Machaeus dunks his pudgy dick in my gob.
So! All the mean jokes we tell about the Phoenicians are true! These louts are no better than animals, delighting in the most disgraceful practices that can be imagined! I will show them that I cannot be humbled! I am a Greek! And I shall meet these petty abasements with all the dignity befitting my cast! I can take anything they throw at me!
Actually tho, Machaeus is rather a lot. He’s long AND wide. The meat of his fat shaft stuffs my cheeks, and pummels my gullet. I splutter awkwardly. His Squaddies hold me tight, keeping me from backing down as his Ox bollocks beat on my chin. I’m choking, he gives me no moment to breathe? I can hear him laughing again – a burbling, high-pitched, chuckle. He places his big hands on the back of my head, pounding me with brunt and fervour, overwhelming me completely. Yet I detect nothing vicious in his touch. He is simply enjoying the tingling of his bellend as it plugs my throat.
I really think I might suffocate like this – with that big Dummy’s dick stuffed in my neck! But somehow I can’t find it in my heart to hate him. These are the spoils of his conquest – a conquest we were all certain would be mine. Perhaps I deserve this chastening, for my arrogance and vanity? I assumed that any beautiful Princess of Ithaca was already mine for the taking, but the Gods preferred that I should be a plaything for a better Man.
Machaeus bangs my face with a gathering frenzy, and I convulse, breathless. Will he climax before I falter? My nose tickles in the nest of hairs on his pubic mound, and his scent does not displease. I surrender my Vanquisher, making myself a vessel for his supremacy.
*
It’s late, and Machaeus has brought me to his bedchamber. After disgracing me for the entertainment of the braying crowds, he led me round the rest of the day by a leash tethered to my testicles. Everyone pointed and gossiped upon catching sight of my shameful hard-on, but it just wouldn’t stay down. Machaeus pounded my ass several times in the course of his victory feast, and I blushed throughout the ordeal, crushing on him harder with every thump.
If someone had told me before our fight this morning that I’d be gagging for this Dolt to cram me both ends with his clumsy dong, I’d have knocked them out. But having now been thoroughly dominated by the Bull of Carthage, I can honestly say that this is a heaven I never knew existed. He has stretched me out in new ways, making me shiver and dream with the strain, and opening me up, body and soul, to a new kind of love.
My hands are still cuffed to my neck. I’ve been dragged in this miserable condition all day. I’m exhausted. Machaeus tugs me to his mattress and sits me down. We are alone at last, excepting the servant boy in the doorway, who watches us fixedly. In the soft orange glow of the lamplight, my Master looks hot – dark curls framing his deep brown eyes.
He speaks, and although I hear nothing of what is said, I know the tone well enough. Machaeus talks as I would talk to girls in my own bedchamber, gentle and warm.
“I can’t understand you,” I tell him pointlessly, knowing he understands nothing of Greek.
Ignoring me, he leans in for a kiss, our lips touching at long last, and my heart bursts like a star. His big stupid tongue fills my mouth with all the clumsiness of his penis. How I long to caress his curves! If he would only uncuff me! Such lusts would be released!
We part.
“Undo these ties, Machaeus! Let me love you!”
He smiles idiotically. Is he really that fucking dense? I’m rattling my fists, how can I make it any clearer? Muttering something opaque in Phoenician, he pinches my cheek and wiggles it like I’m a kid.
“Oh my god,” I sigh, “you big… sexy… dummy.”
Pushing me onto my back, he rolls on top, squashing me under his bulk. Our dicks touch. Our balls touch. He kisses me bunglingly once again, and drops almost immediately to sleep, even snoring on me.
This is nothing like I imagined my slavery would be. But Machaeus really is a sweetheart. I’m confident I can win his favour, and make myself a cherished concubine. Some slaves go on to enjoy incredible riches! I’ll learn his language, earn his trust, and build his confidence with devotion and care. I’ll embolden him to counter his cruel relatives, and claim everything that is his due, by birthright as an absolute Prince! And in return he will adore me, and his big stupid dick will splash me with his love.
Imagine! The two greatest fighters of the Mediterranean, hand in hand, unstoppable, taking the World by storm!
My own eyelids are closing drowsily now. I am becalmed by the hot rumbling mass above me. There will be time for loving my Hero tomorrow. I my slumbrous heart I sense that this is only the beginning of an awesome adventure.
*
Reading your comments makes this all worthwhile.