PORNOS
Chapter 1
`Jarod'


This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): May, 2012
An archive of my stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories 

"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add any pictures"

Note: The word `pornos' was a common Attic word used to describe male prostitution - Xenophon. 
I use the form, `pornoi' meaning an enslaved, male prostitute in that context.

Infibulation was practised among the Romans for a number of reasons including the prevention of masturbation among slaves. The method I describe comes from the medical writings of the Roman encyclopaedist, Aulus Cornelius Celsus. 

However, despite references to ancient Greece and Rome, the story isn't set in any particular time. Rather I leave the time and place to your imagination.

I wrote this from an idea that came to me one evening and I had to write it down while it was fresh in my mind. I'll add to it as I'm inspired to write.

Chapter 1:  Jarod

This morning, I have been reclassified by the city authorities as `public male whore, number M390-271-505' and I am about to begin my new life at one of the public comfort stations dotted conveniently throughout the city. Here, for a few coins, any free man can sexually use my body. 

Yesterday, my name was Jarod and my life was very different. For the past six years, I have served as a `pornoi' at the `Andronicus Club', an upmarket, male brothel euphemistically referred to as a `gentlemen's club' by its discerning clientele. 

Is there a difference between a pornoi and a whore? Not really as it is all a matter of semantics. How does that saying go - a rose by any other name? Well that is certainly true of my situation.

Whether I am a pornoi or a whore matters very little. The end result of both names means the same thing. Men pay to fuck me!

As a pornoi, my Master's wealthy clients paid exorbitant fees to use me; as a public whore my body is available to the poorest and meanest of free men providing they have the few miserable copper coins to pay for my services.  

Is it really six years since I was sold to the Andronicus Club by my former owner? As I think back over those years it does seem more of a lifetime ago. Yet, as I face the new and uncertain horrors of the comfort station it seems time has passed all too quickly. 

As a pornoi, I knew the inevitability of the fate that awaited me. I knew that once I'd lost the lustrous bloom of my youth and I no longer appealed to my Master's discerning clients he would sell me to the city and I would serve time as a public whore. I would be placed on all fours on a platform with my head and hands locked into a stock and I would serve there until I was ravished and worn out by over usage. Then, I would be sold on to serve out the remainder of my days in some heat-blasted, fly-infested quarry or in the dark, wet confines of a mine.  

Inevitably, this is the fate that awaits all pornoi!

                                                            >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The offspring of slave parents - I knew my mother but not my anonymous sire - I grew up on my former Master's plantation where from early childhood I worked as a field slave. The work was unremittingly hard but as it was the only life I'd ever known I wasn't unhappy with my lot. 

Indeed, there were other slave children with whom I could bond and although we were forbidden to play and were never given toys or other playthings to brighten our childhood, our days working together weren't without their pleasures. We found companionship in each other's company and happiness in the friendships that inevitably developed. 

As children we worked in the fields with the adult slaves but because of our tender age, our conservative minded Master segregated us from them. The stables for his juvenile slaves were placed out of sight and earshot of those for the adult slaves. 

In fact, segregation of his slaves was of paramount importance to our Master. All sexual contact between male and female slaves was strictly forbidden and any slaves caught in `delicti flagrante' paid a high price for their offence. 

My former Master's justice in such matters was both brutal and swift. There was no chance of forgiveness or redemption and even less for any show of mercy; our Master's ruthless justice was immutable. In every instance, the offending female was sold to a cheap brothel in the city where her `charms' could be bought for a few copper coins. The guilty male's fate was even more horrendous. Always he was castrated and suffered the humiliation of being sold as a `tamed' lady's slave at public auction.

And as a dire warning to all his other slaves, our Master caused these castrations to be carried out in front of us. In the eighteen years I spent at the plantation, I witnessed two such punishments. The effect upon me was salutary!  

Why did our Master impose such harsh rules upon us? The answer was simply one of business.  

Our Master - a shrewd business man - bred his own slaves and thus saved himself the expense of costly replacements from the slave markets. At some stage in the past, he'd worked out that he needed a given number of replacement slaves each year and with careful planning he put into place a breeding programme that assured him of these replacements and with some surplus ones for sale. 

He'd carefully chosen nubile, young females to serve as his slave dams and he had especially selected only the fittest, strongest and most handsome male slaves as his breeding bucks. He personally oversaw all couplings and it was rumoured that he was most fastidious in choosing which stallion covered a dam. 

The result of his careful planning and breeding programme was that the progeny of such unions were without question among the finest slaves available and the yearly surplus of his young stock was eagerly snapped up by the discerning buyer.

I am the progeny of one such coupling!

One day, shortly after my eighteenth birthday - I share the 1 January as my birthday with all other slaves - an overseer called me out of the fields, ordered me to strip out of my sweat-soaked loin cloth and to stand in a line with seven other naked, young male slaves. 

Instinctively, we knew why we were there. Every year, our Master has a `recruitment' visit from the owner of the Andronicus Club, an upmarket brothel of high class pornoi, which caters for the wealthy socialites and business men of the city.

The overseer worked swiftly to prepare us for our inspections. We were ordered to bend at the waist and to reach behind to part our buttocks as he lubricated our anuses. When he'd finished, we were told to stand up straight and face the front. Each of us was then given a sprig of fresh mint to chew to sweeten our breath for an oral inspection. 

This is a private viewing and the slaves presented for selection are the `pick of the drop' for the particular year of their birth and they have to meet special criteria in the selection process. The first of these is that they must be over the legal age of eighteen and then they must possess strong, lithe bodies, have handsome features and pleasant natures. Most importantly, each slave must have a firm, curvaceous ass that is well-rounded, pleasing to both the eye and to the touch and the sight of which will titivate the club's lascivious patrons. 

Additionally, they must have cocks of a certain length and thickness and have low hanging balls. And as a guarantee of their `newness', they must be infibulated. But this isn't an issue as our Master routinely infibulates his male slaves at puberty. 

Our Master, at some time in the distant past had read of the Roman method of male infibulation as practised in ancient Rome. Its simplicity had impressed him and he'd introduced it into his slave herd as a means of controlling the energy sapping habit of masturbation among his young, male slaves. Thus, at the onset of puberty, all his male slaves are infibulated. 

For infibulation, the slave must retain his foreskin and so we were spared the trauma of juvenile circumcision. However, this can be a mixed blessing; rather than the merciful oblivion of infantile circumcision, we can, if sold, face the painful reality of adult skinning - a cruel euphemism for circumcision.

The natural state of the slave is total nakedness and slave-owners regard the male foreskin as a `covering' that precludes complete nudity. This attitude of the freeman has its origins in the belief of the ancient Greeks who regarded the exposure of the glans in public as indecent and shameful. Therefore the Greeks didn't practice circumcision and were perfectly relaxed about appearing otherwise naked at a symposium, in a gymnasium or at games as long as they retained their foreskins to hide their glans from the eyes of others. 

As common practise, most slave owners do `skin' their slaves to emphasise our lowly, animal like status but our Master was the exception to this rule. He strongly disapproved of his young, male slaves having the freedom to masturbate at will. He genuinely believed this to be a bad influence that stopped them from focusing on their labours and sapped them of the energy and strength that rightfully belonged to him. 

That day all eight of us wore our Master's fibulae and I recalled the day when an overseer performed the simple operation on me. There was minimum pain associated with it and it took no more than a few minutes.

Firstly, the overseer stretched my foreskin forward over the head of my cock and carefully placed a spot on both the top and bottom of my prepuce. Then he allowed the skin to retract and checked to see that both marks were in front of my glans and not behind it. This is standard practice and sometimes it's necessary to reposition the two marks. However, in my case this wasn't necessary and the overseer then pierced both spots with a very sharp needle. There was some pain that caused me to wince; even more so as the overseer threaded a cord through the two holes and tied a knot that secured my foreskin and hid my glans. 

Each morning, the overseer untied the knot and checked to see that I was healing. Then he'd replace the cord with a new one and retie the knot before sending me out to my day's labours. This continued until the wounds were healed and when he was satisfied he took me to the blacksmith who threaded a small metal ring through both perforations and soldered its ends permanently in place.

That happened some years ago and on inspection day, I stood in line with my fellow slaves waiting on our Master and the buyer from the Andronicus Club. 

Modesty prevents me from boasting about my appearance but the fact that I was presented for selection spoke for itself. Obviously, my Master saw me as one of his better young slaves; among the top of my year's drop.

My years of hard labour in the fields, coupled with a strictly regulated slave diet, had given me a lithe, athletic body and because of my youth, I possessed a clearly delineated musculature that lacked the over-bulk of the more mature, male slave. There wasn't an ounce of fat on my six foot frame - indeed I have never seen a fat slave. Somehow, given the rigours of slavery, a fat slave would have been a contradiction in terms. 

At the time, I had longish, mid-blond hair that hung in a boyish bang over my forehead and its colour matched the light thatch of hair covering my manly chest. A thin treasure trail of darker hair connecting my chest hair with my golden pubes suggestively disappeared beneath the top of my loin-cloth while my limbs were lightly dusted with a golden, silky down. 

I'd been told I possessed a most handsome countenance. My aquiline nose gave me an aristocratic look - perhaps not the most desirable feature for a slave - which possibly hinted at some former ancestral greatness and my full red lips parted to reveal the pearly-whiteness of my sound, even teeth. However, that day, it was my eyes that attracted the most attention. They were the striking blue colour of the wild cornflowers which grew in the fields and pastures of the surrounding countryside.  

But my overall appearance was commonplace among my fellow slaves. And of the seven who stood with me that day there were several whose appearances suggested the probability that we were half-brothers and were sired by the same stallion.

All eight of us knew why we'd been ordered to `shuck down' and stand in line; we'd witnessed this yearly ritual before. We knew it was a precursor to our Master marketing us. We'd turned eighteen at our last birthday and now that winter's bitter cold was behind us, he was busily organising his annual spring clearing sale of excess stock. 

Nervously, all eight of us waited in line for our Master's appearance. I couldn't speak for the state of mind of my fellow slaves but in my case it was one of trepidation. Not once in my eighteen years had I been off my owner's property; my entire world was contained within the boundaries of the plantation.

Our Master was of the `old world' view which held that slaves existed for one reason only and that was to toil in their owners' monetary interests. Therefore, he'd denied us any education and not one of his slaves could read or write. Indeed, if any slave was caught looking at the printed word, be it either a book or a mere fragment of discarded newspaper, he was flogged.  

And so without the ability to read, we knew very little of what existed outside the grand entrance gates to our Master's plantation. Of course, over the years, we did hear wondrous tales of the mysterious, outside world as told to us by newly acquired slaves our Master brought home from the slave-market. 

We vaguely knew of a nearby city where people lived in close proximity to one another - and considering our isolation the concept of that did seem strange - and we could only begin to wonder what the lives of those people would be like. 

Therefore, the prospect of being sold left me with mixed emotions. Although I knew this sale was an annual event, I had no idea of what awaited those of us who were sold. In my naivety, I hadn't any notion of the uses I'd be put to in the Andronicus Club. 

Yet the prospect of being sold also excited me. Briefly, I saw it as an escape from the boredom of my life as a field-slave and relief from the tediousness of my existence. It suggested new `adventures' in an unknown world. And part of me was eager to see what existed beyond the boundaries of my Master's plantation. 

However, that excitement was tempered with apprehension and the fear of an unknown future. On the plantation, there was certainty in my life and I'd never known anything other than that. In my slave's timidity, I hoped I'd be passed over in the selection process so that I could remain within the comfort zone of all I'd ever known. 

Perhaps my concerns would prove baseless. Possibly, I'd not be chosen by the buyer and my life would continue as before.

Suddenly I saw our Master approaching with another well-dressed man aged somewhere in his thirties. Immediately the overseer in charge of us ordered us into the display position ready for inspection.


To be continued ....................


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