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Marcellus Sanguinum End Pro Treator
Blood curdling shrieks of the condemned man could scarcely be heard
above the roaring crowd. “Innocent! By Jove, Innocent! Mercy mighty Caligula,
Mercy” but his wailing went unheeded by the mighty Emperor who sat in his
throne perched in the center of the royal box, a look of grim satisfaction
mingled with a voyeur’s thrill of anticipation on his stern royal brow. This Marcellus, once a trusted legionnaire
and sometime companion in the royal bed chamber was now nothing more than a
plaything to be bloodied, dismembered and sacrificed for the emperor’s own
gruesome lust and of course, the mob assembled in the arena under the burning
sun needed their entertainments to deflect the hunger they felt in their
bellies. Marcellus, whose masculine beauty was unparalleled in the empire, was
sought after by women and men alike.
His powerful shoulders and barrel chest, accented by two perfectly
formed tits that were encircled by thick curling ebony hair that, dwindled
just above his navel into a fine line of down that formed an arrow pointing
straight to his prodigious cock that rested atop two ostrich sized balls was
the envy of every man and boy. And then his face: blessed by a mother, a
slave from Germania, was adorned by two luminous blue eyes the color of the
Mediterranean sea on a summer’s day. His high forehead, strong jaw that
sported a perfectly trimmed beard, straight Roman nose and alabaster teeth
that sparkled when he smiled were renowned by poets and were an image often
called forth as lonely women and men with certain hungers masturbated in the
stillness of the night. But now this stunning beauty stood naked, bruised,
shackled and trembling before entering the field of his demise. These dear
comrades who now surrounded him at the entrance to the arena had been his
boon companions on the long marches north of Rome, these mess mates who had
shared meager rations, and long lonely nights in the freezing cold, now had
transformed into monsters, only to happy to see their onetime friend meet his
ghastly end. Happy they were that it
was not they who had been falsely accused of treason and so chosen by the
brute Caligula to undergo such an ignoble end when it was naught but
Marcellus having been caught in an embrace with one of Caligula’s slaves that
had ignited a raging jealousy in the emperor’s heart. There looming in the center of the arena stood a high platform
supporting a gigantic wooden cross like the one used to torture and execute
the criminal Andrew, one rabble rouser of the much maligned Christian
sect. A brazier with burning coals sat
atop an iron tripod holding instruments of torture from pokers, branding irons,
finely honed two foot long needles, long handled shears and what appeared to
be a grotesquely large silver dildo that gleamed in the sunlight. Marcellus, blinded by the sweat that coursed down his brow groped his
way up the rough hewn steps that led to the platform, his naked feet picking
up painful splinters along the way.
His chest and back showed signs of the flogging that he had received
that very morning that now caused searing pain, exposed as they were to the
relentless burning sun of noon on this cloudless summer’s day in the eternal
city called Rome. Caligula’s chief executioner, one Longinus from Britannia, wearing
nothing more save an apron to cover his genitals was a figure to strike
terror in the stoutest of hearts. Longinus, a onetime slave to the Great
Augustus, Caligula’s benighted uncle had gained freedom for his expertise in
the fine art of torture. He prided himself with making the helpless victims
last for hours, knowing where to cut, where to sear with molten iron to stop
the bleeding, where to give the condemned time to recover before the next
onslaught of agony. Yes, Longinus knew his business. Today was a special
occasion for him. To display his artistry before the Emperor, the Senate and
the people of Rome was a rare and great honor. He intended to give his
audience a show that would be remembered and recorded for posterity. “Welcome brave young Marcellus, come up those last steps. That’s
right, one last step, now turn and face the emperor. Turn, damn you. Guards,
grab this miserable dog’s arms and make him recognize our dear Emperor
Caligula. Bow down and cringe before
his divinity. You are the featured attraction.” Longinus, grabbing a handful of Marcellus long hair yanked his head
backwards causing great strain to his well muscled neck. “Look, dog, and see the thousands gathered here for the spectacle. The
senators in their finest robes, the aristocrats in their silks and gold, the
unwashed plebeians with their stinking garlic breath waiting like hungry
animals to hear your screams, to smell the fear in your sweat, to see you
piss yourself from terror and then see your crimson traitor’s blood flow.” “Mercy” shrieked the condemned man focusing his gaze on Caligula who
was licking his lips, ravenous with hunger to see this demigod whose ass he
onetime had plowed in the royal bed, whose cock and balls he had fondled with
sharp imperial nails. “Cry not to our beloved Emperor for it is his word that has sent you
here. Being the kind and gracious lord that he is however, you have been
granted one last fuck.” Marcellus, with eyes nearly busting from his skull beheld the
instrument that was his “one last fuck”, a giant finely wrought silver dildo
that was even now being lifted from the glowing embers and attached to the
end of long wooden pole. Longinus, in stentorian tones
as he desired that every last person in the great area could hear his every
word shouts for all, “Turn him around facing the cross and bind his wrists
and ankles tightly. Spread his ass
cheeks as wide as they can for it is a great prick, modeled I am told on our
esteemed emperor’s very own appendage.” The crowd in one great chorus laughed
like lunatics at the full moon. Marcellus, with what strength he still had left in his arms and legs
bucked and struggled like an Arabian stallion as four Briton guards slammed
him against the x shaped construction.
Clenching his fists in vain his thick hairy wrists and strong runner’s
ankles were soon bound tight with hemp rope.
His perfect ass glistened in the sun light, in stark contrast to his
bronzed back and thighs. “Now spread his ass and prepare the traitor to receive his emperor’s
member up his hole.” And with those words, Longinus approached holding the
long pole with its attached gargantuan dildo that smoked and sizzled. Marcellus could feel the heat on his naked
skin even from a distance. His legs
trembled like branches in a violent storm.
He pressed himself tightly against the jagged wood even as splinters
embedded themselves into his chest, his tits, his thighs and dick. Closer and closer drew the molten member. A
few more inches remained before contact but even so the heat of the iron
caused his vulnerable flesh to blister. Slowly and with great deliberation
Longinus placed the tip of the dildo against Marcellus ass hole. The crowd
went wild with glee. They cheered and stomped in anticipation at the scream
that was about to come to their ears and brave young Marcellus did not
disappoint. There was one brief moment where he threw his head back, took in
a gigantic breath that filled his lungs and made his chest expand like a
Hercules then let forth a bellow the likes of which had not been heard in
Rome since the last sacrifice of a bull in Jove’s sacred temple. The dildo pressed into the crevice, searing the sensitive flesh as it
travel further up into the anus. Tears of agony streamed down Marcellus’
face, his bladder emptied, some spatters of urine that struck the hot iron
bounced like beeding water onto a hot pan. His head
thrashed about from side to side, forward and backward in some futile attempt
to knock himself out, to escape if only for a moment the indescribable pain
from the silver dildo. Caligula, unmindful of those who stood in the royal box was unable to
constrain himself and so, lifted up his royal robes to reveal a throbbing
engorged penis. Calling for his favorite Centurion, he indicated with the
wave of his hand that the soldier should kneel down between the Imperial
thighs and give suck to his panting member. Longinus, like an expert actor, slowly withdrew the dildo, now that Marcellus
had passed into a moment’s oblivion, raised the pole to display the shit and
blood soaked object as if it were the most precious trophy seized in battle. The crowd applauded with deafening enthusiasm as the Emperor grabbed
the head of his guard and pushed the choking man’s face ever deeper along the
imperial pole. “Bring water and revive this wretch” instructed the torturer and with
alacrity his command was quickly met.
A bucket of brine was dumped onto Marcellus’ head, stinging his eyes,
burning his whip striped back and scolding the bloody rips in his ass
hole. With a violent shake of his head
and much coughing and sputtering the hapless man was brought back to life. “Turn him around” proclaimed Longinus to the crowd as he took from his
apron a long leather cord some three feet in length which he then raised up
for the mob to behold. And so addressing the throng Longinus proclaimed,
“With this leather cord I shall tied up this dog’s ample ball sack and weight
it with a stone. See how the villain trembles, how his knees buckle even as
he is tied to face you most Holy Emperor.” Once Marcellus had been secured spread eagled and facing forward, his
cock and balls displayed for the world to gaze upon, Longinus stepped between
the splayed legs and with expert care tied each ball into a separate bundle,
wrapping a fair amount of cord between the ball sack and the root of the
penis. After the package was tied
tightly with two ample ends of cord dangling he called for a ten pound rock
that lay nearby and so deftly tied the rock to the loose ends. Then, making sure to step aside to insure
that the emperor and the people could see his intentions raised the stone up
dragging Marcellus’ balls and dick heavenward before dropping the stone. The drag on the condemned mans nuts
elicited a piercing cry of pain while the crowd wildly applauded and Caligula
thrust his hips forward deep into the Centurion’s throat eliciting from the
hapless soldier a violent gagging response. Even Longinus was amazed to see how low the scrotal sack hung between
the two powerful legs. “A miracle that
the flesh can hold so much weight without ripping a little” he thought
silently to himself. Then like a kitten
with a ball on a string he tapped the dangling stone and made it swing back and
forth adding to the terrible strain on the balls and causing poor Marcellus
to weep and scream in a delirium of agony. Alas for Marcellus his season in this earthly hell was far from ended. Longinus stepped away from the spread eagled figure whose body shook
like a trembling leaf, whose blue eyes, now blood shot rolled in wild circles
of unfocused terror and pain. “Bring me my gloves” a command he addressed more to the writhing crowd
then to his helpers on the stage of torment. With lightning speed two great padded gloves were presented on a
silver tray to the smiling Longinus. “Help me put them on fool” he growled, again in full voice that
carried to the farthest reaches of the arena. Massive padded gloves covered in thick heat resistant layers of leather
and down were tightly tied to his wrists. “And now, let the piercing begin” Longinus shouted in his most
impressive theatrical voice. And with that, he marched slowly and solemnly
towards the brazier and took forth from the glowing embers five fine honed
iron needles whose tips glowed white hot.
Raising his arm he held aloft the five instruments of sublime torture
for the Emperor and the assembled crowd to see. “Behold, mighty Caligula, my own creations. These five needles I will soon insert into
this traitor but fear not, their searing heat will seal the wounds and leave
in the trail unspeakable agony but not bring death.” “Bravo Longinus, you are indeed a master of your craft. Proceed!”
shouted the Emperor, whilst his own rod throbbed deep in the throat of the
exhausted Centurion kneeling between his thighs Longinus waved his hand indicating that the brazier should be brought
closer to the condemned man. Then, returning four of the needles to nestle in
the burning coals, he slowly approached Marcellus, who was barely conscious
despite the brine soaking. And thus spoke Longinus to the
condemned man and to all those in the arena, “Behold traitor, the first of
five needles that shall pierce your flesh.
Fear not that they will dispatch you to Hades before your time but be
assured that you will suffer and so atone for your traitorous villainy
against the Emperor, the Senate and the People of Rome.” And with these words, Longinus took between
his thumb and forefinger, Marcellus’ right tit, playing with it almost like a
lover, caressing the perfect rose bud nub and manipulating it back and forth,
to the right, to the left then slowly pulling the nipple away from the chest,
straining the flesh beneath. Twisting and yanking with increasing savagery
until the tit would reach no further.
Now it was time to place the still smoldering needle at the very tip
of the tit which sparked and blistered in an instant of unutterable pain
before pressing forward till, with the tiniest of popping sounds the needle
broken the through the tender pink skin and lodged deep into the pectoral
muscle. Marcellus could not believe the tidal wave of pain that flooded in
concentric circles from the needles point of entry: wave upon wave of agony
traveled across his chest radiating to every part of his body. Tears burst
from his eyes, spittle mixed with blood burst forth from his mouth as he
threw his head back and let forth another scream of manly anguish. Longinus paused a moment to admire his work, then stepped away from
the spread eagled soldier to allow better sight lines for the Emperor and the
Senate and the People of Rome. The
needle stuck out perfectly perpendicular to Marcellus chest, a ghastly and
horrible site that tantalized the crowd who could hardly contain their impatience
to see the next four needles. Now wishing to disappoint, but always the showman, Longinus gave
Marcellus a few moments to recover before repeating the onslaught to the left
nipple. Manipulating and caressing the nipple before slowly inserting the terrible
instrument into the young man’s chest, once completed Longinus again stepped
away for the crowd to behold his handiwork. Casting his gaze now to Marcellus groin and admiring the now swollen
ball sack and rigid penis Longinus took a third needle from out the coals,
then with deft fingers held the wretched man’s right ball between thumb and
forefinger before slowly inserting the needle. Piercing the tough membrane of the gonad
took slightly more effort but the subsequent scream that burst from Marcellus’
now parched and raw throat was well worth the effort. A thunderous round of applause erupted from
the arena, save the Emperor who was near to climaxing deep in the Centurian’s throat.
Fearing that Marcellus may be close to fainting once again, Longinus
took less time with the left ball, stabbing the needle into the gonad with
one swift thrust. Stepping aside one last time for the audience to behold the traitor’s
punishment Longinus reached for the final needle. Manipulating the flaccid cock require much effort and Longinus feared
that the elegant prick with the bulbous head and considerable amount of
foreskin would never harden but the young’s man’s strength returned enough to
achieve on last hard on. Once the prick
was rigid, Longinus pulled the foreskin down the shaft as far as it would go
revealing the piss slit. Holding the
dick in his left hand Longinus raised his right arm displaying the final
needle. The arena became silent,
transfixed with the bloody spectacle that was nearing its end. Every eye was focused on the gleaming
needle as it made its way toward the slit.
Marcellus shook like one possessed, unable to control his bladder his
let forth of blood drenched piss that covered the legs and feet of Longinus
who cursed with all his might. But
never forgetting for one moment, that he was a showman, Longinus controlled
his temper. Grasping the now rigid
shaft in his left hand, with right hand placed the fiery tip of the needle
upon the portal of the penis.
Marcellus was unable to cry out, his throat now raw and swollen, his
tongue to swollen and dry though he did manage to throw his head back and
forward, right and left in response to this pain like nothing he had ever
known before. It took a few agonizing moments for the needle to travel the
length of the rigid pole, burning the tiny opening as it dug deep into his
dick, burning and lacerating the shaft, piercing the prostate and ending deep
inside his bladder. Longinus stepped aside once more to receive the crowds ovation who had
now risen to their feet cheering and applauding Longinus brilliant
performance. But the final curtain was not yet to descend for Longinus had prepared
a final tableaux, one more agony before the poor solider was to be dispatched
to Hades. Utilizing the stage
machinery that was built into the floor of the arena, a stout iron pole
ascended beneath the cross and
attached itself to an iron ring cancelled behind the wood. Grabbing onto the device, the cross rose slowly up into the air, higher and
higher it rose, the nearly exhausted soldier hanging in abject terror and
despair exposed, naked, bloody, needles protruding from his tits, his balls
and his prick was a bit of theatrical brilliance never before seen in the
arena. Even Caligula himself was
brought to his feet to see such a breath taking display of such awesome
horror and beauty. And as the cross rose to the sky, Longinus reached for the
shears whose jaws he opened wide and placed them at the root of Marcellus’
genitals. Molten hot as they were, the cutting of the dick, the severing of
the balls produced at first a small amount of blood but the Marcellus over
burdened heart raced ahead forcing blood down between his splayed legs and
then like a great fountain the crimson life giving fluid burst from the groin
showering Longinus who threw his back as if to drink the sweet nectar as it
drenched his face and chest. Marcellus cast his eyes heavenward and with a great heaving sigh gave
his soul up to the gods. |
