The Traitor's Son Chapters 5-8
By Zelamir, adapted by Pueros

This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY

Chapter V

Marius sat on the kitchen floor, with the flagstones cold
against his bare bum and with his right foot resting in the
substantial lap of the freedwoman, Selia. She was skilled in
treating cuts and illnesses and the still naked boy
currently possessed many grazes on his legs and knees. 

Selia had dressed similar for him many times in the past
because, despite being the beloved son of her late master,
the normally very lively 11 year-old was as liable as any
other active youngster to tumble and hurt himself in play.
In the past, though, as a reflection of their former mutual
status, the boy would have been sitting on the stool that
the woman now occupied and she would be kneeling on the
ground ministering to him.

Marius did not protest at this change. Indeed the boy hardly
noticed it, as he had relapsed into the state of dull
acceptance from which he had briefly been roused by the deep
humiliation but strange accompanying excitement engendered
by Crastus' fingers probing inside his bottom.

So much had happened to Marius in the past few days. The
boy's comfortable privileged world had been torn apart. The
11 year-old had cried for his father when Crastus had told
him of Sejanus' death but the sheer extent of the
youngster's misery had eventually overwhelmed him and had
now emptied his mind of all emotions except for fear and
hopelessness.

"It's infected," Selia announced, whilst pressing her thumb
into the angry ring of raw flesh that had been scored round
Marius' right ankle by the leg iron. Meanwhile, the boy
caught his breath and involuntarily jerked his damaged limb,
as the resultant pain hit him.

"Mariullus, stay still now, as I can't do anything if you
wriggle about," Selia chided, adding 'ullus' to the end of
the boy's name for the first time, in line with affectionate
customary Roman practice if the age, attractiveness and
diminished status of the individual suited. For example,
'puer', or 'small boy', becomes 'puerullus', or 'pretty
little slave boy' through the addition of the suffix. 

Consequently, calling Marius 'Mariullus' implied that he was
young and beautiful but also a slave. It seemed that even
Sejanus' most loyal servants were now happy to remind their
late master's youngest son of his new lowly station in life,
despite the boy's previous popularity amongst them. 

Marius had been a cheerful, generous-spirited young lad, who
was constantly indulging in all sorts of adventurous
scrapes. However, he was also always ready to intercede for
anyone, especially the other boys about the place, whenever
they faced a flogging, deserved or not, for what they had
been caught perpetrating.   

Most of the freed servants and slaves had been uneasy when
Echion had locked Marius in the farm cellars. Most of them
at least knew that Pannychis was smuggling food to the boy,
with some actually helping the girl. 

They were even more uneasy when Crastus and his three men
arrived, being already aware of the execution of Sejanus and
his two other children and the fact that it seemed that
sadly their former master's youngest son was to share their
fate. However, sympathy for the lad did not extend to taking
action to save someone, even an 11 year-old, who was tainted
with treachery against the Emperor. The consequences, if
caught, would invariably be fatal and, if you were not a
Roman citizen, you would be flogged and then nailed to a
cross to die in long drawn-out agony.    

The freed servants and slaves therefore muttered among
themselves whilst they believed Marius' life was in danger,
and there was even a chance that some brutality inflicted on
the boy might have prompted an heroic attempt on their part
to free him. However, that moment never came. They instead
learnt that the 11 year-old was himself to be a slave and
they were certainly not going to risk their own hides to try
to preserve the youngster from a fate that all of them had
experienced.

"The quickest way of dealing with it would be to take a
red-hot iron to it," Selia advised the man who had brought
Marius her, "to burn the infection out!" However, Crastus'
colleague frowned and replied "The boss said he didn't want
the boy permanently marked, as he wants to get the very best
price for him."

Selia looked down again at Marius' right ankle, with its
broken skin and chafed flesh. "The infection's only in one
or two places," she then remarked, "where the edges of the
fetter bit into his skin. I suppose that I could cut it out
instead and the wound would probably still heal cleanly, as
boy's flesh usually mends very well!"

Selia twisted round on her stool, turning her back on Marius
whilst tucking the boy's right leg firmly under her arm. She
then picked up from a table beside her a small knife, the
light glinting on a short wickedly sharp blade.

Selia subsequently bent her head and cut down into the boy's
healthy flesh, directly above one of the puss-leaking sores
disfiguring Marius' smooth, tanned leg. A scream was
wrenched from the depths of the lad's lungs. He collapsed
backwards on the floor, rolling about in his agony, with his
hands drumming a frantic tattoo of pain on the cool
flagstones. The woman had to fight hard to retain hold of
the 11 year-old's captive limb, especially when the
youngster's wildly flailing left foot caught her in the
small of the back, almost knocking her off her stool.

At a shout from Selia, a well-muscled, half-naked youth
darted forward and caught old of Marius' miscreant left leg.
The watching man also helped by deliberately placing his
foot temporarily on the boy's chest, so pinning the naked 11
year-old's slim shoulders to the floor.

Selia then waited until the boy was still again before
putting the knife back down on the table and turning on her
stool to face the lad. "Mariullus," she then said quietly,
staring straight into the youngster's tearful blue eyes, "I
know that I'm hurting you. I'll also have to hurt you a
great deal more before I've finished, but not half as much
as I will if you dare to kick me again! Do you understand?"

"Yes .yes, Miss," Marius sobbed.

"Well, to help you remember," Selia advised, "and give you a
little taste of what you can expect ." She then did not
complete her sentence but instead ground her thumb into the
ring of raw flesh on Marius' right ankle. The boy's screams
rang out again, with his mouth distorted into a rictus of
pain, whilst his eyes rolled back in their sockets until the
pupils were hidden. However, further bodily reaction was
minimal and so the woman turned round and settled once more
to her work.

For almost half an hour, Selia carefully sliced away at the
infected areas, while Marius lay writhing and screaming on
the floor, until at last she was finished with the knife.
The woman then opened a small jar of ointment and dipped the
tip of her right index finger in the unguent. Using her left
hand to open the cuts that she had incised in the boy's leg,
she subsequently worked the salve into the wounds.  

Marius now felt that his veins were being filled with liquid
fire and his agonised howls redoubled in volume. The
restraining youth, whose bare chest now glistened with sweat
from his hard work, fought to control the boy's seemingly
re-energised thrashing form, while the woman, oblivious to
the 11 year-old's sufferings, concluded her task by roughly
bandaging the youngster's tortured flesh.

"It should heal well enough," she appraised Crastus'
colleague, whilst raising her voice over Marius' screams in
order to do so, "although there may be a slight residual
puckering of the skin. However, there shouldn't be any other
mark left."

"The boss said we were to leave the sores uncovered," the
man remarked. "I suggest you wait until the cuts stop
bleeding before doing that," Selia responded, "and instead
leave the bandages on for tonight and see how the wounds
look tomorrow morning."

Marius' cries were now decreasing in volume to a constant
low whimper. Selia looked down at the boy, his face smeared
with snot and tears and his young body trembling
convulsively. She then ordered the youth to release his
restrictions on the 11 year-old and, bending down and
holding the youngster under the arms, lifted him on to her
knees.   

Marius wriggled close to her, burying his face against her
shoulder, whilst a thumb stole into his mouth.  Selia
cuddled him tightly, with one motherly hand cupping his firm
boy's rump whilst the other wrapped itself round his narrow
shoulders.

"That's the worse over, Mariullus, but we've still got to
get you nice and clean for your new Master and his friends,"
Selia advised gently, whilst referring to Crastus and his
three companions. "You don't want them to think," she added,
"that they've got themselves a grubby little slut for his
new slave boy, do you?"

Marius shook his head slightly and mumbled something.
Nevertheless, Selia seemed to understand the boy because she
continued "No, you couldn't help becoming dirty, shut up in
that dark horrid cell!"

Selia now moved Marius slightly on her lap, so that the
boy's naked body was turned away from her. She then reached
out to draw a rag from a bowl of warm water on the table
beside her.   

Now obeying Crastus' order to clean other parts of Marius'
anatomy, Selia took the boy's small prick between her finger
and thumb and peeled back his foreskin. The resultant sight
caused her to wrinkle her nose, as the underlying penile
surface was coated with dirt, which she then began to wash
gently away, whilst the young recipient of such attention
stirred uneasily.

"Is it a little sore, my pet?" Selia asked, as the surface
beneath the filth was indeed red and inflamed. "I know that
you couldn't help it this time," she continued, without
waiting for Marius' confirmation, "but you must now learn to
keep yourself tidy for your new Master. Such a man is likely
to want his boys clean and sweet smelling!"

Having eventually concluded this further chore, Selia
informed "Well, that's that bit of you done, and I think
you'll enjoy the next."  She then lifted Marius off her lap
and stood him on the floor, before putting the flat of her
hand in the small of the naked boy's back to encourage him
to bend forward.

Selia then washed the cleft of Marius' bottom with her damp
cloth, whilst commenting "You've got to learn to keep
yourself clean here too!". Meanwhile, the boy's prick
stiffened and he found himself pushing his bottom further
out towards her.

"That's right, my love," Selia cooed softly, "open your
bottom up for me. I can see that you're going to make a good
little whore!" She then laughed, whilst pushing the cloth
between the exposed lips of the boy's currently virgin anus.
Marius gasped, as she subsequently forced her finger further
into him, but his cock stood up straight and hard.

When Selia was satisfied that Marius' bottom was finally
clean, she handed the soiled cloth to the boy. "Get rid of
this in the fire and then come back to me," she ordered.

Marius trotted obediently off, speeded on his way by a
good-natured slap from Selia's open hand on his bum.  This
time, the nude boy did not make any attempt to hide his
erection.

Selia watched Marius, and smiled indulgently as the boy made
his way back to her, with his rigid pricklet wobbling in
front of him. "Could he have something to eat before you
take him back to his new Master," she then considerately
asked Crastus' man, "as he must be very hungry and he's had
such a hard time?"

"I suppose the Boss wants to keep the brat in reasonable
shape for the slave market," the man shrugged in response,
"so why not?" A moment or two later, Marius was squatting
beside the kitchen fire, spooning a bowl of oatmeal gruel
hungrily into himself, apparently oblivious of the bustle
about him.

Chapter VI

Marius had emptied the bowl and was squatting, half dozing
in front of the fire, his stomach comfortably full for the
first time for many days. However, the boy was brought back
to reality by a boot prodding his bare thigh.

"Come on brat, the Boss is back," the man advised ominously,
"and I think you'll soon have something else, bigger than a
finger, up your bum!" 

Crastus' colleague was towering over Marius, grinning
hungrily. Looking up from where he was crouched on the
floor, the boy could see the man's cock bulging upwards,
forcing outwards the loincloth beneath his tunic. 

The man was clearly anticipating, with intense eagerness,
being rewarded soon for his recent work by being allowed to
enjoy the delights of Marius' now clean body. Meanwhile, the
very pretty boy himself, who was still rather traumatised by
recent events and rather ignorant of the brutal ways of the
world of Roman politics, had previously given little thought
to his imminent destiny. In fact, if he had recognised that
rape, followed by strangulation, had been the original plan
for him, the 11 year-old might have been less compliant in
respect of his Crastus and his colleagues.  

Marius scrambled to his feet, feeling sick with fear in
respect of what he believed might now come but also
strangely excited. The 11 year-old was far from being a
complete sexual innocent. A boy at that time, even a free
one of the highest class growing up on a country estate,
could hardly be anything else, and the man's most recent
comment, along with his lecherous look and hardened cock,
had hinted at what the youngster might now experience. 

Marius had seen boys hobbling about the yard often enough,
with dark stains down the inside of their thighs. He had
also heard the slave brats concerned talking among
themselves.   

Marius' father, Sejanus, had possessed an eye for a pretty
boy and so had many of the Prefect's friends. It was now the
turn of his 11 year-old son to wonder how he would manage to
accommodate a man's thick cock inside him. The thought of
his bottom being stretched and ripped to accommodate such an
implement terrified him, and he appreciated that it was
likely that he would now have to satisfy more than one such
object.   

Besides Crastus and the man currently with him, there were
another two companions to be satiated, perhaps with even
bigger cocks to ram into Marius' bleeding and torn body.
Nevertheless, the boy's current trepidation continued to be
accompanied by an incongruous under-current of excitement. 

Marius remembered the feel of Crastus' finger inside him,
the delicious sensation as Selia sponged his bumcrack and
the excited gigglings of the slave boys as they discussed
their lovers. They had often whispered among themselves
about the pain, and he had seen blood occasionally oozing
from their anuses, but they had at the same time boasted
about the size of the cocks that had sodomised them and had
speculated breathlessly as to whether there would be a
repetition. 

Clearly there was great pain involved in being the subject
of sodomy but that could apparently be exceeded by the
subsequent excitement and pleasure. As Marius thought of
this, his own little prick hardened once more. Selia, who
was still watching him and also believed that the boy was
imminently to lose his virginity, again laughed indulgently.

"Look at the little whore," Selia exclaimed fondly, "as
judging from his cock he seems really eager for his first
fuck. Come here, Mariullus, and let me clean your face for
your new Master!"

"You're sometimes a grubby little boy, Mariullus," Selia
commented, with affection despite the reproach. She then
wiped the oatmeal from the boy's lips and chin, down which
he had allowed some of his recent meal to dribble during his
eagerness to fill his stomach, whilst adding "And we can't
let your new Master see you like this!"

Having eventually completed her task, Selia suggested "Now
go along, Mariullus, and see that you give your new Master
and his friends a good time!" Laughing, she then pinched his
boy's bare bottom to send him on his way.

By now, Crastus had appropriated the principal rooms of the
main house for his own and his men's use. Marius saw his new
Master standing just inside the door of the large chamber
where his late mother used to summon him to show off her
youngest son to guests when she was visiting the estate.
Then, the boy would appear, hurriedly bundled into a fresh
tunic, his face, hands and knees scrubbed clean by one of
her maids, to stand bashfully, shifting from foot to foot,
while the grown ups asked him condescending questions or,
worse, discussed him as if he was not there.   

The memory of his mother now caused Marius the first faint
stirrings of resentment at his treatment. Up until then, the
boy's spirit had been so cowed by his sudden change of
circumstances, along with hunger and fear, that he had not
yet really felt all the humiliations being inflicted upon
him. However, remembrance of his mother kindled a small
spark of anger and rebellion in the 11 year-old's mind. Why
was he, the freeborn son of very important Roman citizens,
being treated as if he was spawned by common slaves?

Marius did not consider slavery to be incorrect, as it was a
part of the natural order of things. What was wrong was that
he, the son of elite citizens, should be treated as a slave.

Marius hesitated at the doorway of the room and moved his
hands to cover his crutch, suddenly embarrassed by his
nakedness. However, the man behind him pushed the boy
forward, with an open hand against the pleasant curves of
the 11 year-old's bare bottom. 

Crastus turned and looked appraisingly at Marius. The boy
then felt his stomach somersault in fear, guiltily mixed
with excitement. His cock, which had begun to soften, sprang
back to attention.  The shame engendered by this penile
reaction also caused the temporary flame of anger deep in
his mind to flicker and die.   

Marius wondered how he could he feel like he did? How could
he be excited by the touch of a hand on his rump and being
brought naked to stand before the man who now claimed to own
him, unless he was the same as any other slave slut about
the estate?

Marius was eventually brought to a position in the room
where he stood immediately before Crastus. "Put your hands
down by your sides," the leader of the sinister quartet of
strangers then ordered sharply. Hastily, the boy obeyed,
thereby revealing his penile excitement.

"Don't try to cover yourself up in front of me again, boy,"
Crastus grated coldly, eyeing Marius' naked body again. "The
little bitch is permanently on heat," he then laughingly
remarked to his grinning colleagues, whilst flicking the tip
of the lad's erect prick with his thumbnail.

Crastus then took Marius' chin in his hand, tipping the
boy's face back so that he could stare down into it. The 11
year-old shivered, as he gazed up into the man's slate grey,
cold and pitiless eyes.

"Being a slut runs in the family I suppose," Crastus
commented to his companions, "as the brat's brother and
sister were the same, the pair of them. The boy and girl
were virgins before I took them but they both seemed to
enjoy riding my cock like furies when the thing was fairly
buried inside them!"

"But didn't you say that they were dead, Sir?" Marius
remarked enquiringly, although he could hardly speak for
upset and fear, and whilst referring to a grievously sad
aside made by Crastus earlier. "They are now, boy," the man
answered grimly, "as I can vouch for that personally. Your
brother hardly struggled. He knew he had no chance when I
put the cord around his neck. However, the girl screamed and
kicked a bit. She was a silly little fool, as her actions
just prolonged her suffering!"

"Yes," Crastus advised, in response to Marius' look of
horror, "I personally strangled the pair of them, as I had
to, being a faithful subject of our Emperor Tiberius. I
should also kill you, a traitor's son, but it seems a pity
to destroy a pretty little thing like you. That tight boy's
bottom of yours is too attractive and valuable to waste, as
you should make a good price on the auction block for me and
my friends!" 

Crastus' comment was the first inkling that Marius had
gained that his destiny might have been rape and death
rather than enslavement, although currently he was unsure
which was the worse fate. "But remember, boy," the man
continued menacingly, "you live only because I choose to let
you do so. Do anything to make me want to change my mind and
I'll kill you, and it won't be a quick, easy end, with the
cord round your neck. It'll be a long lingering one, suited
to a slave brat who fails to please his Master, and I won't
give you a quick release by having your arms and legs broken
or your body speared after you're nailed on the cross
either!" 

"Do you hear me boy?" Crastus asked. He then added "And call
me Master when you speak to me!"

"Yes, Sir .Master," Marius whispered through trembling lips
to the man who had raped and murdered his older brother and
sister and whose cold eyes still bore down into those of the
appalled and terrified younger boy.

Marius now could not tear his own stare away from Crastus'
merciless gaze. Terror instead gripped the boy, whose legs
began to quake. 

Crastus then released his hold on Marius' chin and the boy's
knees gave beneath him. The 11 year-old sank to the floor,
and an amber pool began to form on the marble flagstones
where he crouched. The lad had lost control of his bladder. 

Crastus first stepped back with an expression of disgust. He
then roared with laughter.

"You gave the little brat something to think about then
boss," the man who had charge of Marius in the kitchen
yelled, "but can we give him something more now? Shall we
throw dice like you previously suggested for first go at his
anus?"

"Neither you, Grynium, nor I, nor any of us are going to
fuck his bottom," Crastus replied levelly, "as we're going
to sell a virgin bum when we get back to Rome to recompense
us for the bother of journeying out to this awful place.
Such a pretty slut should fetch a decent price as long as we
keep his hole undamaged!"

"The Emperor won't like that if he finds out," Grynium
remarked, as he aired his doubts about the proposal, with an
additional air of disappointment that his cock might be
deprived of suitable entertainment, "as he's ordered the boy
to be killed."

"He won't find out," Crastus replied, "as I've got the
bailiff to give me a receipt in writing for the brat's dead
carcass and an undertaking he will dispose of it. If anyone
asks for evidence that we've done our duty faithfully, we
produce that. As for the boy, nobody will listen to what a
slave says and anyway he won't disclose his origins, unless
he wants to be killed like his brother and sister!"

"I was looking forward to fucking him though," Grynium
remarked regretfully. "Don't worry," Crastus responded, "as
we'll not be without a boy to fuck tonight. Varro, bring
that bitch Pulchellus here!"

From where he currently huddled on the floor, Marius saw the
bailiff's dark-haired beauty, one year older than the
youngest son of Sejanus, being dragged forward, whilst
Crastus' companions laughed and whistled. It was immediately
clear to the 11 year-old that the 12 year-old had recently
suffered a hard time. A thick livid weal was visible across
the front of the boy's thighs, just below the bottom of his
short, tassel-fringed tunic and marring the taught, light
brown skin. The covering garment was itself soiled and torn,
with the wearer's eyes red from crying and his face bruised.

Marius felt no pity for the other boy, only relief that he
was for the moment at least no longer the subject of
Crastus' terrifying attention. He had always disliked
Pulchellus, in so far as he had any feelings about a
creature previously so much his social inferior. 

Unlike the brats his father owned, Marius had no
jurisdiction over the property of the freedman, Echion, who
was much better fed and clothed than the generality of the
slave boys on the estate and was hated and mistrusted by the
others. Pulchellus was regarded as a spy and an informer for
his Master, the bailiff.   

Pulchellus could personally do Marius no harm. However, the
latter had heard the talk among the slaves and had seen the
bloodied shoulders or rumps of lads whose misdeeds had been
espied and reported to Echion by his fancy boy.    

Marius accepted that slave boys should be beaten
occasionally when really deserved, as otherwise they might
become disobedient and lazy. However, he despised Pulchellus
as a sneak who betrayed his own sort.

"Give me the cane, Varro," Crastus commanded, "as I've
promised to instil a bit of discipline into this tart!" The
implement was a vicious-looking object, about three feet
long, tapered, split and bound with waxed cord at the end to
give it extra bite. 

The cane now leapt and quivered in Crastus' hand, as he
became reacquainted with its weight. Meanwhile, Pulchellus
threw himself on his knees at the man's feet.

"Master, please, Master," the kneeling Pulchellus whimpered,
at the same time quickly affirming Crastus' new status in
the boy's life, "please don't beat me Master. I'll do
anything you want but please don't beat me!"

Pulchellus' desperate pleadings were then interrupted by a
high pitched scream, as Crastus slashed the boy across his
chest with the cane. "Shut up, tart," the man then ordered,
"as you've got a few lessons to learn. One is that you don't
speak unless you are spoken to. Now stand up and take that
tunic off!"

Pulchellus scrambled to his feet, pulling his tunic off over
his head and revealing that the cane had raised an angry
crimson welt across his chest, which was deepening to purple
at the edges, as the bruising spread. The naked boy now
stood facing Crastus, shivering with fright, his garment
clasped uncertainly in his right hand.  

Crastus leant forward and, snatching the tunic from
Pulchellus, hurled it to the floor. The garment fell into
Marius' urine puddle.

"The dirtying of your tunic doesn't matter," Crastus
observed coldly to Pulchellus, "because you won't be wearing
it, or anything else, again. Now, keep your hands by your
sides!"

Crastus raised the cane over his left shoulder, clearly
intending to land a back-handed cut across Pulchellus'
chest. The very pretty boy responded by screwing up his face
in terror.

"Open your eyes, tart," Crastus growled, cruelly wanting
Pulchellus to be a spectator of his own caning. When the boy
had reluctantly obeyed the instruction, the man then brought
the cane hissing down across the front of the lad's bare
chest. 

The end of the cruel rod had landed across Pulchellus' left
nipple, just missing the tip but splitting the flesh. For a
fraction of a second, the young victim of the blow stared at
the wound, as blood welled from it. Then, the excruciating
pain hit him.   

Screaming shrilly, Pulchellus clasped both hands to his torn
flesh and collapsed to his knees. The boy fell forward so
that his head rested on the floor, whilst his bottom was
raised into the air. A piercing wailing simultaneously rose
from the 12 year-old's shuddering body.

"Get up, tart," Crastus snapped and brought the cane slicing
down across Pulchellus' vulnerable taught rump. The boy
yelped and raised his face, tear-stained and contorted with
pain. He then somehow began to climb back to his feet but he
was not quick enough to satisfy his new Master. Burying his
free hand in the 12 year-old's dark curly hair, the man
yanked him to his feet.

"I said keep your hands down by your side," Crastus snapped,
knocking Pulchellus' hands away from his chest. The sadistic
man then lent forward and took the injured nipple between
his finger and thumb, simultaneously squeezing it harshly to
ring further screams from his young victim.

"Echion was too soft on you, my boy," Crastus gritted,
"because he spoilt you. You belong to me now, and I don't
spoil my slaves because otherwise they might get insolent
and lazy. You've got a lot to learn and the first lesson is
to fear me!"

Crastus released his grip on Pulchellus' nipple and licked
the blood from his finger and thumb. "Now I'm going to
thrash you," he then announced, quietly hooking his foot
round a nearby stool, pulling it towards him.

"Unfortunately, I won't be able to beat you as much as I'd
like and you undoubtedly deserve," Crastus then declared,
"as we'll need you to be able to serve us tonight and be
capable of bearing a load tomorrow. However, six strokes
across your pert little bottom should be sufficient to show
you what a disobedient, lazy slave brat can expect at my
hands. Get down over that stool, head down and your bum in
the air. I want your skin stretched good and tight for your
beating!"

Crastus then helped the crying Pulchellus to assume the
required position. The man temporarily dropped his cane
before slipping his right hand between the boy's legs and,
cupping it around the lad's balls, pushing upwards against
the young crutch, while with his left hand pushed downwards
on the back of the 12 year-old's head.

Finally satisfied that he had positioned Pulchellus
correctly for the job in hand, Crastus stepped back. He then
picked up the cane again and rested it across the boy's
upturned rump. The 12 year-old, feeling the touch of the rod
on his curvaceous buttocks, instinctively clamped his
bumcrack tight shut in terror.

"When did Echion thrash you last boy?" Crastus now asked
nonchalantly. "I .don't .remember, Master," Pulchellus
muttered fearfully through his tears.

"I thought so," Crastus remarked, "as there's not a mark on
your bottom apart from the two cuts I've given you today.
Echion was much too soft on you, but that'll all change
now!"


Chapter VII

Crastus lifted the cane over his head, paused briefly for a
moment, deliberately to heighten the horrified nervous
tension undoubtedly being experienced by Pulchellus, and
then finally brought his cruel implement down with the full
strength and weight of his adult body. He was rewarded by
the sound of the rich whistle of the rod through the air,
followed by a sharp crack as it struck the boy's tightly
drawn rump.   

The flexible cane curled round Pulchellus' bottom, the split
tip cutting the boy on his flank. The 12 year-old's pretty
body simultaneously jerked convulsively, as the weapon
struck home.  

Pulchellus threw his pleasant head back, and for a moment
there was silence as he fought for breath. However, this
quiet intermission was soon ended when the 12 year-old began
to scream, whilst his lithe arms and legs flailed because of
the acute pain now coursing though his body. In his agony,
the lad rolled off the stool and tumbled to the floor, where
he curled in a little ball of naked boy misery on the marble
flags, sobbing wildly.

Crastus swore and kicked Pulchellus in the ribs, the force
of the blow lifting the boy's body from the flags. "Get back
up, you miserable little runt," he grated before turning to
his men and instructing "One of you hold him for me!"

Varro stepped forward, grinning broadly. He twisted his
right hand in Pulchellus' dark curls and dragged him back
across the stool. Then, pinning the boy in place with his
left hand pressed flat against the small of the lad's back,
he nodded to Crastus, signalling that he might care to
resume his thrashing of the 12 year-old.

Marius quietly hunkered on the floor, watching fearfully as
the flogging proceeded. A beating was not an unusual event
on the estate and he had seen many boys over the years
having their bums tanned for various misdemeanours. Often
such events would attract an audience, amused by the cries
and twistings of the brat under correction. However, the
enjoyment of the drama by any young male slaves watching was
a trifle marred by the thought that it might fall to anyone
of them to play the starring role on the next occasion the
cane or whip was brought into play.   

Marius himself had, in the past, been beaten on occasion by
his father or his tutor but always, as befitted the dignity
of a free boy of high social standing, without the benefit
of grinning spectators. However, nothing he had seen or
experienced matched the cold ferocity with which Crastus now
went about his work of flaying the tender bottom of the
unfortunate Pulchellus. The open, savage pleasure with which
the man and his companions seemed to enjoy the frantic
writhings of the helpless 12 year-old were also new to the
appalled young spectator.

Methodically, Crastus laid stripe upon stripe across
Pulchellus' defenceless bum, pausing between each stroke to
ensure that the writhing, screaming boy could feel each
individual cut to the full. The cane scored livid lines
across the sweet curves of the child's rump, the tip curling
round the firm quivering flesh to raise beads of blood. 

Crastus' companions laughed and shouted, revelling in
Pulchellus' agony and cheering their leader on. However, the
flogging slowly eventually drew to a conclusion.  

Crastus then lent forward to examine his handiwork, running
a fingertip along one of the welts that now marred the
previously very pleasant curves of Pulchellus' smooth, light
brown skin with a line of angry red, deepening at the edges
to purple. He noticed that, around the earlier cuts, the
boy's tender flesh was beginning to take a yellowish, almost
green, tinge, as the deeper bruising began to show through.  

Crastus smiled, pleased at a job well done. Then, standing
upright and shifting his position slightly, he delivered the
final cut of the punishment, laying it deliberately across
the stripes he had earlier inflicted. He earned another
loud, anguished yelp from his young victim, as, at each
point of intersection, blood began to well from Pulchellus'
broken flesh.

Varro then released his hold on Pulchellus' hair and the boy
sank to his knees, huddled against the stool, his body
wracked by sobs.

"That," remarked Crastus, panting slightly after his
exertions, "has given me a thirst!"

Chapter VIII

"Pulchellus, get up on your feet and stop making so much of
a fuss unless you want another dose of the same," Crastus
next commanded harshly of the sobbing highly distressed boy.
"You and Marius can then go and fetch a couple of jugs of
wine from the kitchen and some tankards for me and my men,"
he then added, "and don't bring us any old rubbish either if
you value your hides!"

"Only the best wine in the cellar and goblets in the kitchen
will do," Crastus continued, "and tell the servants to bring
our dinner to us here as soon as it's ready. Grynium, keep
an eye on the brats whilst they perform their errand, as we
don't want them fleeing, do we?"

Crastus prodded the still prone Pulchellus on the bottom
with his foot in order to encourage the boy to stand up and
embark on his mission with Marius. By doing so, he wrung a
further howl of pain from the boy.

"Now you've got your blood on my boot you filthy little
brute," Crastus subsequently commented in disgust. "Lick it
clean, brat, before you do anything else," the man therefore
also ordered.

The still sobbing and tearful Pulchellus somehow managed to
rouse himself to lick Crastus' boot clean of his own blood
before standing and leaving the room with the similarly
naked Marius and the watchful Grynium. As they proceeded on
their errand, Sejanus' son could hear the other boy
snivelling beside him as they padded on bare feet along the
outside marble-floored corridor.

Marius' sympathy for Pulchellus' suffering then overcame his
dislike of the boy and he silently offered him his hand.
However, the 12 year-old brushed the proffered palm to one
side contemptuously.   

Pulchellus' tears were not only of pain but also of anger
and humiliation. The very pretty boy believed that he was
something special. After all, his old master, Echion, had
often told him so.   

Pulchellus considered himself to be the best little tart on
the estate, namely the liveliest fuck with the sweetest
bottom and the nimblest tongue. However, he had now been
stripped and beaten as though he was just a common little
slave brat.    

Pulchellus did not want sympathy from Marius, who, in his
opinion, when the younger boy had been the free son of the
very important owner of the estate, had clearly disliked
Echion's catamite. The 12 year-old had believed that, what
he considered to be, regular slights towards him provided
the evidence for such an attitude, although they were in
fact unintended and unnoticed by the alleged perpetrator.

Marius did dislike Pulchellus but he did not deliberately
attempt openly to display his distaste. The younger boy had
simply diplomatically tried to avoid Echion's catamite.
However, the latter incorrectly considered such action to be
insulting disdain. 

Consequently, Pulchellus, who had also resented Marius'
previously privileged lifestyle, despised the younger boy in
return. The 12 year-old also recognised that, now that they
had been reduced to the same level of servitude, he could
more safely display his hatred, which he fully intended to
do in a vengeful manner. 

Pulchellus' spiteful attitude was only exacerbated by the
fact that Marius had witnessed his humiliation and
punishment at the hands of Crastus, whose favour he was
already, even in his current misery, planning to win, as he
had once done of his old master, Echion. If he could do so
in order to try to safeguard himself from the man's cruel
brutality and, at the same time, manoeuvre the other boy
into trouble, the success of his plan would be even sweeter.

Not only did Pulchellus now hate Marius but also he saw the
younger boy as a rival, at least until Crastus sold them on
to others. The 12 year-old felt no sympathy or solidarity
with fellow slaves. He selfishly sought only to try to make
his own life of servitude as easy as possible, and who could
really blame him? 

The world was cruel and slaves like Pulchellus were not
humans and therefore possessed no rights. They were just the
chattels and tools of the free, who could do anything they
wanted with their property, as Marius was soon to discover. 

Marius and Pulchellus arrived in the busy hot kitchen.  For
a moment, the nude boys went unnoticed in the bustle and
heat of the large room. One of the half-naked youths,
engaged in washing saucepans in the great sink, located just
inside the door, then saw them. He grinned and nudged his
neighbour and whispers soon ran round the amenity.

"Pulchellus, dearest," a mincingly affected voice
subsequently enquired, "is your poor little bottom sore?"
"Did the nasty new Master cane your bum, sweetie?" giggled
another.

Pulchellus blushed crimson, as other slaves joined in
taunting him. One of them also flicked a wet dishcloth at
the 12 year-old's raw rump, snapping the towel painfully
against his sore flesh. The boy immediately spun round to
face his tormentor but another youth darted up behind him
and slapped him harshly across the bottom.   

The watching Marius knew it was common practice to tease
boys who appeared in the kitchen bearing marks of a recent
beating on their bums. He had seen such torments often
before, with freedmen and slaves, young and old, joining in
the process. However, on this occasion, proceedings appeared
to possess an extra edge of violence and cruelty.   

The bailiff was not a popular man and his favourite bumboy
and spy less so. Now, with Pulchellus deprived of his
protection, the workers in the kitchen took the opportunity
of settling old scores.   

An infant kicked Pulchellus, whilst a much larger youth
clouted him on the side of the head.  Soon hard blows with
hands and feet were raining down from every side on the 12
year-old, who was helpless to do much to defend himself and
therefore just sank to his knees, trying to cover his head
with his arms.

Grynium therefore attempted to intervene. The man tried to
drive Pulchellus' many tormentors away but, as fast as he
knocked one off the boy, another darted forward.

Marius, largely unnoticed in the mayhem, wriggled clear of
the scene and ran across the kitchen to where the cook,
usually a stickler for discipline in his domain, stood by
the stove, a heavy ladle in his hand. The man was watching
the commotion with a faint smile on his fat cheerful face.

"Daedalus," panted Marius initially, whilst referring to the
cook's name. The boy, subsequently seeing a frown cross the
man's face and remembering his own changed status, then
added a hasty "Sir".

"Daedalus, Sir," Marius next begged, whilst feeling a little
ashamed at having to give one of his late father's slaves
such a title, "please stop them. They'll really harm
Pulchellus' soon if you don't!"

Daedalus considered the plea for a few moments before
perhaps realising that the sinister Crastus might not like
Pulchellus to be harmed by anyone other than himself or his
men. He therefore began to move ponderously across the
kitchen towards the disturbance. However, he still did not
hurry himself.  

Daedalus remembered a dispute with Echion, during which the
bailiff had alleged an over-ordering of provisions. The cook
had been sure that Pulchellus had played a major informing
role in trying to bring an end to this, in his view
traditional, perquisite of his office.

Pulchellus was down on the floor. He could hardly be seen
beneath the surging mass of vengeful boys and youths
struggling to punch or kick him, as older onlookers cheered
them. 

Severe retribution was being extracted by many against
Pulchellus for the snide tales that he had frequently
previously passed on to Echion, which had often resulted in
the punishment of other slaves.  In fact, the sheer number
of his assailants alone probably prevented the 12 year-old
from being seriously injured.     

After Daedalus had finally arrived at the fray, he wasted no
time. The cook used his ladle, cracking the implement down
on young close-cropped heads, bare shoulders and bottoms.
Pulchellus' juvenile attackers therefore quickly scattered,
leaving their victim still crouched on the floor, with his
hands clasped on top of his head, whilst blood swelled from
between his fingers and trickled down his once more tearful
face.

"What do you mean by coming in here and creating chaos in my
kitchen?" Daedalus then asked of Pulchellus, whose naked
curled and hurting frame the cook prodded with a foot in
order to encourage a quick answer. The man was clearly
satisfied that order had now been restored to his kitchen
and was now following the well-tried political expedient of
blaming the victim for the acts of the aggressor.

Pulchellus remained silent, probably because his present
grief was too great to notice Daedalus prodding him with his
foot or the cook's verbal question. Marius too hesitated to
answer, whilst Grynium also now began to tap his boot
against the 12 year-old's prone form and cursed him for
allowing himself to be injured.   

Daedalus repeated his question with increased anger and more
violent physical prodding.  However, Pulchellus remained
silent and so Marius considerately realised that he would
have to answer on the other boy's behalf to prevent any
further harm, although he feared that what he had to say
would do nothing to decrease the cook's irritation.

"Daedalus, Sir, please Sir," Marius intervened, "we have
orders from the man that you're to send him and his
companions some wine, and he insisted that it must be the
finest in the cellar and be served in the best goblets. He
also wants dinner for four as soon as possible!"

Daedalus looked across into the nervous frightened face of
Marius and his anger evaporated. The cook had always
possessed affection for the pleasant boy, who had never
displayed any real pomposity or cruelty towards his late
father's servants. The man's attitude persisted, even after
the 11 year-old's loss of freedom.

Such affection did not mean that Daedalus, or anyone like
him, would continue to treat Marius in the same way as the
past. The boy was effectively a slave now and would be
treated as such. 

Crastus' proposals in respect of Marius were, of course, not
only against Tiberius' orders but also completely illegal.
No free Roman boy could be enslaved without either parental
approval or a court order. However, given the circumstances,
no-one aware of the plans, even the 11 year-old himself or
his allies amongst his late father's estate household, were
going to object or inform in respect of such an outcome.
After all, such a future for the child was surely better
than rape and execution. 

Daedalus could clearly remember the day when he had himself
been a boy and the Imperial tax collectors had called at his
own father's tiny farm with a court order. The youngest
child had then been taken and enslaved to pay a parental
debt.

Daedalus did not blame his parents for letting the tax
collectors take possession of him. After all, the choice was
either the boy or the large family's sole oxen, without
which they would all have starved.   

The fates had decreed that Daedalus should be a slave and
they had decided the same for Marius, albeit technically
illegally. The cook had once had to concede to such a
destiny and now the boy would have to as well if he wished
to live. The outcome was harsh but formed part of the
natural order and must be accepted.  

Beforehand, Daedalus had treated Marius with the friendly
respect due to the master's son, and had provided him with
the occasional sticky sweet almond and date cake, of which
the boy had been so fond. However, the cook now regarded the
child with the amused indulgence that you would accord to a
puppy or any other lively young animal.

Such indulgence, however, had to have limits. A young animal
might be played with but it must also be broken and
disciplined. There was something about Marius' reply to
Daedalus' recent question that did not please the cook.

"Who did boy?" Daedalus enquired sternly, in respect of the
person referred to in Marius' reply. "He did, Sir, the
man ."

"I know he is a man," Daedalus commented with irritation,
"you said so before." The cook had dinner to prepare for the
household and could not spend an indefinite amount of time
trying to teach this boy, pleasant and pretty as he was,
manners, including how to convey messages properly. 

Daedalus therefore approached Marius and lifted his hand to
strike the 11 year-old with the ladle. "Who is this man,"
the cook then asked, whilst delivering a hard blow to the
pretty head below him, "who is he now to you, boy?" 

"My .my .Master, Sir," Marius muttered, whilst rubbing his
suddenly sore head. The boy was also overcome by shame at
finally affording such a title to Crastus, which caused him
instinctively to stare at the ground and rub one bare foot
against the shin of his other leg in embarrassment.

"Yes he is your Master," Daedalus retorted, whilst
delivering another painful blow of his ladle to Marius' head
in order to encourage remembrance, "and deserves your
reverence, boy, and don't you forget it. Now give me his
message properly, and look me in the face and speak up
whilst doing so!"

Marius subsequently overcame his embarrassment in order to
comply with Daedalus' instruction. "Please, Sir," the
humiliated boy advised, whilst obediently looking into he
smirking cook's flabby face, "we have orders from my Master
that you're to send him and his companions some wine, and he
insisted that it must be the finest in the cellar and be
served in the best goblets. My Master also wants dinner for
four as soon as possible!"

"That's better, boy," Daedalus remarked. "Now I'll fetch the
wine," the cook added, "although it's really the steward's
job. However, he's away on business and he's left me the
keys.  I'll try to find something decent for your Master to
put him in a good temper with you!"

Daedalus then hurried off. Marius subsequently noticed that
Grynium had tired of cursing Pulchellus and prodding the
prone boy with his foot. Selia had now taken the opportunity
to practice her healing skills on the 12 year-old.  

Selia was seated on a stool, with her skirt pulled up above
her knees and Pulchellus crouching between her legs.  The
tearful boy had his head bowed whilst the woman used the
fingers of one hand to part his hair in order to expose the
torn scalp and then pore stinging white powder on the open
wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Miss .ouch .please," Pulchellus pleaded urgently between
anguished gasps, as Selia performed her painful
ministrations on him, "please .ouch .just let me have a
bit .ouch .just enough to grease me. Please,
Miss .ouch .there's four of them and .ouch .they're all
going to fuck me .ouch .and I'm sure they'll have much
bigger cocks .ouch .than Echion!"

"I expect they have, Pulchellus," replied a smiling Selia,
sounding amused. "From what I've heard," she added, "your
last Master was not much of a man, although, being a woman,
I wouldn't have first-hand knowledge of his cock!"

"And no I won't let you have any grease," Selia advised,
"not unless your new Master says I should. He might want
your bum to be fucked dry. Perhaps he's looking forward to
hurting and tearing you, and where would I be if I spoiled
his fun?"

Pulchellus shuddered.  Selias' speculations about the tastes
and wishes of Crastus seemed to the boy to be all too
likely.

Nevertheless, Pulchellus was not going to give up his
entreaties too quickly. "Miss, I won't use it unless he says
I can," the boy continued desperately, "I promise,
Miss .really .please, Miss!"

Selia, satisfied the flow of blood on Pulchellus' scalp had
been stopped, tipped back the boy's head and, picking up a
damp cloth, began to wipe the dried blood and tears from his
usually very pretty face. "You must believe I'm pretty
stupid," she simultaneously laughed, "if you think I believe
a word that you or any other slave brat says. You'll all say
anything and swear anything to escape being hurt!"

"Please .Miss ." Pulchellus then began to say again but
Marius' attention was now suddenly distracted by a sharp
clip on the side of his head.  The naked boy swung round
rubbing his stinging ear to see that Daedalus had returned
from the cellars.

"If you can spare me a moment of your time, boy," Daedalus
advised sarcastically, "I've brought two jugs of wine for
your new Master." The cook nodded to the table beside him,
on which stood two large silver ewers brimming with dark
red, almost purple, liquid.   

Marius gazed in amazement at the ornate jugs and the
adjacent matching quartet of silver goblets.  He had only
seen them fleetingly from a distance in the past, being
carried into the dining room when his father had been
entertaining some of his special cronies to dinner, which
were occasions deemed unsuitable for a free boy of his age.  
 

Marius had also noticed that, although he was banished to
bed at such times, there were always many pretty slave boys
of his own age and even younger in attendance on his father
and guests. The fine and elaborate decoration of the jugs
and goblets, which the astute 11 year-old now saw from a
much closer distance, provided a clear clue as to why such
young male slaves had been present at the banquets.   

Embossed satyrs with huge erections were depicted on the
silver jugs and goblets, chasing beautiful young naked boys
through wooded glades or, having been successful in their
pursuit, burying their monstrous cocks into the slim bodies
of their prey. However, Marius' mental reflection in respect
of the obscene portrayals was quickly ended. 

"Pay attention, boy," Daedalus had snapped. "Yes, Sir,"
Marius had answered, reverting his glance from jugs to cook.

Marius then screwed up his face, into what any onlooker
would see as a comical grimace of apprehension. The boy had
seen and laughed at Daedalus carrying out this little
entertainment of his often enough in the past on other young
slaves to know what was coming to him and he knew that
people in the kitchen were turning to watch the fun.

"Well keep your hands down by your side then," Daedalus
commanded, whilst again picking up his heavy ladle and once
more bringing the implement down hard on the crown of
Marius' head.

"Are you listening boy?" Daedalus subsequently asked, whilst
Marius knew better than to rub his sore head again, whilst
this scene was enacted. "Yes, Sir," the hurting boy instead
simply once more replied.

"You are to inform your new Master," Daedalus then
instructed, "that this wine is choice Falerian from the
prime upper slopes and dates from the first year of the
reign of the Divine Augustus. Repeat what are you to tell
him!"

Marius, standing obediently to attention, with his hands
firmly against the sides of his bare thighs and his face
twisted in fear of the next blow that he knew was to come,
recited in his answer in his clear boyish soprano voice. "I
must inform my Master," the abashed 11 year-old announced,
"that the wine is choice Falerian from the prime upper
slopes and dates from the reign of the Divine Augustus!" 

"Don't forget then, boy," Daedalus subsequently ordered,
whilst rewarding Marius for his good memory by again banging
the ladle down on top of the 11 year-old's head, thereby
making the child's ears ring.

"Now," Daedalus commented, whilst turning to Grynium, "if
the other boy is ready, the pair of brats can each carry a
jug and two of the four silver goblets. Perhaps they'll even
manage not to spill some wine, especially as they'll know
that, if they do, their backsides might feel the strap of
their new Master!"

"What about our dinner?" Grynium demanded roughly. "It'll be
artichokes with fish pickle sauce," Daedalus replied,
"followed by boiled pork stew with olives and then figs in
honey to finish.  Send the brats down in half an hour to
fetch the first course!"

"That sounds all right," Grynium said ungraciously and,
followed by Marius and the partially recovered Pulchellus,
stumped from the kitchen, whilst Daedalus pulled a rude face
at his back. Like nearly everybody else whose paths crossed
those of Crastus and his companions, the cook was ready to
do anything the men wanted in the hope that if he did they
would go away quickly and inflict themselves on someone
else.

Crastus and his three companions subsequently quickly
emptied one of the jugs of wine. Pulchellus, whose extra
bruises had been ignored by his new master, was then
returned to the kitchen to obtain a refill, whilst Marius
was kept busy topping up the goblets with the contents of
the other silver container.    

The silver jug was heavy and Marius had to use both hands to
pour the wine, which left him defenceless against the pawing
attentions of the increasingly drunken men.  As the naked
boy served the strong red liquid, rough fingers strayed over
his gorgeous body, caressing the inside of his legs,
stroking his bottom, toying with his little cock and small
hairless balls, and generally poking and prying into the
most intimate recesses of his form.   

The men frightened Marius, especially Crastus.  The boy
could not look at his heavy strong body and broad hands,
with their hairy backs and thick stubby fingers, without
remembering that the adult had raped and killed both his
brother and his sister.

Marius despised Crastus but, despite his revulsion at having
to serve the man and allow his hands to paw his body, the
boy also found himself becoming increasingly excited and so
he began to hate himself too. Surely, the 11 year-old
thought, he could not enjoy the caresses of an adult male,
who had treated his own brother and sister so cruelly.
However, the child's stiff cock betrayed the shameful fact
that he was indeed being pleasured.

Pulchellus eventually returned from the kitchen with more
wine, having on this occasion been spared the bullying
previously endured there. The four men then became drunker
and wilder.  

Pulchellus circulated with the newly refilled jug, and was
also subjected to intimate fondling. However, the boy, keen
to gain the favour of the men, especially Crastus, reacted
rather differently to the blushing but quiescent Marius.

Pulchellus deliberately lingered for a while by each man he
served, whilst wriggling his little sore bottom invitingly
as he moved about the room, with his rosy lips half parted
and his eyes glazed with lust.  Marius, whose own jug was
now empty, tried to use the opportunity to fade into the
background but Crastus soon demanded a fresh service from
him.

"Bring the empty jug here, boy, as I want to pee," Crastus
shouted. Marius subsequently found himself kneeling in front
of the man.

Marius held his the jug ready, and was rewarded when a
stream of tarty smelling amber fluid jetted from Crastus'
cock, only a few inches away from the boy's face, to fill
the bottom of the ewer with frothing urine. The 11 year-old,
who had never seen a man's penis so close before, wondered
at its size and the great blue veins that ribbed it. He also
wondered how Pulchellus' bottom would accommodate so
monstrous an object.  

Crastus eventually shook the last drops of liquid from his
prick and wiped his fingers dry on Marius' short silky fair
hair. Another of the men subsequently shouted for the boy,
who then went from adult to adult as they emptied their
bladders into the increasingly heavy jug.

Varro was the last to call for Marius' services. The boy
again knelt at a man's feet, holding a few inches from his
young pretty face his heavy jug, which was now more than
three-quarters full of steaming urine.

When Varro had finished relieving himself, a single bead of
fluid hung from the tip of his large hairy penis. "Lick it
off," the grinning man then ordered of the shocked and
appalled Marius.

"Don't hurry the boy," Crastus shouted from across the room,
"as I don't want to do anything that'll cut his value on the
auction block. He'll learn to suck cock soon enough, don't
you worry."

"Marius give that jug to Pulchellus," Crastus continued,
"and come over here to me, as it's time we became better
acquainted." "After all, I knew your big brother and sister
very well," he added with a brutal laugh.

Before Marius could obey, Pulchellus pushed him aside,
apparently eager to take the younger boy's place at Varro'
feet. Without awaiting further instruction, the 12 year-old
then lent forward to introduce the tip of his tongue to the
droplet of urine at the end of the man's cock. 

Whilst the amazed younger boy looked on, Pulchellus then
lingered briefly before licking and exploring Varro's penile
slit with his tongue. "Marius," Crastus's voice then
resounded round the room, assuming an edge of impatience,
"come here!"

Marius rose to his feet and began to walk towards Crastus,
fearing what was to come next but, at the same time, as was
evident from his little erection, deeply excited.

(To be continued)



  
TTS5-8_The_Traitors_Son_Chapters_5-8