The Paradox

AUTHOR‘S NOTE; Just a quick thank you to my kind reviewers, especially DrkDreamer, whose work I admire so much.

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Whether it had been deliberately or mere carelessness, Alec was unsure, but Tertius had made sure Proximo used Alec the following day. When Proximo was tired, he usually wanted a woman in his bed, and tired he was after the excursions of the party. He now had business, and worked at his desk well into the evening.

Although it was not his job, Alec was sent into the study to light the torches. He moved gracefully and quickly between the brackets, trying to be silent. Despite all his best efforts, and contrary to his own disposition, Alecto was beginning to resent Proximo and dread each session in his bed. Proximo had not changed, he was the same master he had always been. To his distress, each time the pleasure-slave examined his own feelings, he came again to the same conclusion; he could not bear to be touched by Proximo because he was not Aulus.

As he knew he must, Proximo called to him from the desk. Alecto had felt the Roman’s eyes upon him since he had entered the room. He got the sense that Proximo knew he was somewhat reluctant, the air in the room felt thick with tension. The boy found he could not look up, but approached his master with eyes cast demurely on the floor.

He bent in a slight bow, but before he could raise himself, Proximo had grabbed him by his tunic. The chair scraped loudly upon the floor as Proximo stood and hauled the boy towards him. Alecto felt himself raised, twisted and slammed, chest-down, against the desk.

As Proximo lifted the hem of his tunic, Alecto parted his thighs, but found it difficult without any place to balance. For some reason, Proximo had not yet taken his hand away from between Alecto’s shoulders, he was pinning him down hard against the desk as if Alecto was going to struggle against him. He was holding him against the wood with such force Alecto could not move, and was finding it hard to breath.

He tossed his head as he heard Proximo spitting on his hand, giving a feigned little moan of pleasure as put two fingers inside him. His reluctance had been noticed and it had angered Proximo, and Alecto was desperate to placate him. Earning Proximo’s anger would be suicidal if he could not win his favour back.

“Silence, whore,” Proximo grunted, taking Alecto’s slender thighs in each hand and pulling his body back. Without a pause, the Roman opened the boy’s buttocks and pushed himself into the opening, forcing Alecto to bite down a squeal of pain.

Trembling in pain, Alecto could do no more than lie inert as Proximo began to grind his hips against his ass. Above him, Proximo grunted loudly, and pounded hard, with such force Alecto could feel his own hips being lifted and slammer against the desk. Proximo was well hung, and his prick seemed to be forcing itself ever deeper inside the slave, and he felt sure he would soon be bleeding.

The pain was becoming unbearable. The boy shut his eyes against the spinning world, his mind reeling with fear, confusion, pain, and struggling with the lack of breath. Proximo seemed to be taking forever, he pounded and pounded and he would not stop, and with each thrust the fire in Alecto’s backside seemed to grow hotter.

Despite it, and to spite Proximo, he did not cry out. Alecto prided himself on the fact that he had never cried out when he was taken. Not even the first time; he’d known what was coming and he was too proud to give the rancid soldier the prize of a scream. He had driven Muitus mad with it. He held it in.

Proximo had regained his ferocious pace, but suddenly he gave a long groan, and Alecto knew it could not be long. His thrusts slowed, and finally he buried his cock inside Alecto and moaned again, going stiff. The hot seed stung as it flooded him, and now Alecto really began to fear that he might be torn. But he showed nothing and lay still on the desk.

When Proximo withdrew, he lifted Alecto from the desk and thrust him towards the doorway. “Out, whore. Get out.”

Returning to the slave quarters after he had been with Proximo, Alecto was not surprised to find Tertius there, but he was not pleased to see him. He hesitated outside the door, knowing that neither man was yet to notice him, and he heard them speaking in low, conspiratorial voices.

“…to have a lover who must be with another man each night…” Aulus’ voice, rasping and strange. Something moved inside Alecto’s stomach, he was not sure he wanted to hear this conversation after all. But before he could move to lift the latch, Tertius spoke again.

Alecto strained to catch the words, and the fragments of sentence that reached his ears struck against his heart like hammers. “He is but a child…known this, what is more…what he always has been…is a whore.”

Without a second’s pause, Alecto opened the door . The two men looked up in surprise and Alecto fought to keep the hurt and accusation from showing on his face. Glancing first at Aulus, who looked startled and shamefaced, and then at Tertius who seemed only disgruntled, Alecto took a deep breath before speaking,

When the words came out they were bold as brass, nonchalant, just as he had intended. He looked Aulus right in the face and said, without pause or tremor; “Aulus, I think Proximo has torn me. Will you check?”

“Seeing to repairs is my job, boy,” Tertius cut in quickly. Alecto felt his heart skip a beat, sensing the anger with which Tertius had overruled him. Tensing, the young boy felt sure that something bad was about to happen, some new pain. What had he done to anger Tertius so? He searched his memory, but nothing came. “Aulus, fetch the salve from my box, please.”

The pleasure slave visibly shuddered when the door shut behind him, leaving him alone with this older man, this man who wielded such power over him. Tertius said nothing, only rose from the bed and pointed at it’s head. You know what to do the motion seemed to say, you’ve done it a thousand times over, little whore. Meekly, he obeyed, lying face down upon the bed, spreading his knees apart.

His heart was thundering in his chest when Tertius kneeled behind him and slid one cold, dry finger into his hole. He felt the sting as his nail passed by bleeding flesh, and had to steel himself not to flinch in pain.

When the finger was withdrawn, Alecto waited to hear the verdict, but none came. A moment later, the sound of the door opening told Alecto that Aulus was back. With no more care than as if he were sewing a stitch or scrubbing a floor, Tertius put two of his fingers, now greased with the salve, inside the boy’s body. He heard Aulus move somewhere behind him. He himself merely lay prone and unmoving, allowing the callous ministrations as if he were no more than a lifeless object.

When they stopped, Alecto felt he might die with grief. Had it come to this; that he was too be loathed for what he had been made? Did they not know that he could no more avoid his duty than they could? He heard the murmuring voices behind him, but he could not make out the words. Then he heard Tertius leave.

“Are you hurt?”

Alecto sniffed, fighting back tears despite his exhaustion. He wanted to scream at Aulus. Of course he was hurt; he’d been fucked over a desk, so hard his chest was bruised and his ass was bleeding. He had been treated with distain and disregard by the only slave in the household he could not answer back to. And the one other being in the whole word who was meant to care for him stood by and said nothing. How could he not hurt. How could his heart not break.

But he said none of these things. He closed his eyes and drew the blanket up over him. “He didn’t say.”