The Paradox

It had been more than two weeks since Proximo had last seen his favourite bed-boy. It was an issue of some surprise for him that he had found himself missing the boy more than he had expected. He missed his face and his gentle voice. His whores, his girls, where all buxom and curvaceous, the way he liked women, but he had found he missed the lithe and straight lines of a supple boy’s body. And he missed his ass.

The seductive demure look was a part of Alecto’s soul. He had done it so many times. It was the signature of his charm, and it was to his charms he owed his life. And his heartache.

He pushed the thought from his mind. This was not the time. The little slave bowed his head and kept still as Proximo swaggered across the chamber to him. Fingers reached under his chin, and quicker than he expected he found his little mouth captured in a demanding kiss. Proximo thrust his tongue into the boys mouth and explored greedily, pulling the body against his firmly, with both hands. His erection had come quickly, and the disparity in their heights meant he pressed it against the boy’s stomach.

Alecto submitted, but soon he felt he could barely breath. Proximo dominated his mouth so fully he could barely move it at all. This kiss cared nothing for him, not like…Stop it, his mind ordered. You must keep Aulus from your thoughts. You must.

Finally, Proximo released him. He fought to keep an expression of relief off his face. With both hands, Proximo grasped the neck of the slaves’ flimsy tunic. He paused a moment, then violently pulled on the material, ripping the garment almost in two. He let it flutter to the floor. “On the bed,” ordered his master.

As gracefully as he could, Alecto crossed the chamber. Climbing on the bed, he found it was higher than he remembered. His heart began to pound and he felt the flush of blood in his skin. He tried to calm himself down, but to no avail as he stretched out on the bed. When he looked back, Proximo was setting down his goblet and approaching. Within moments, he was by the bed. Alecto did not dare look at him, but in his peripheral vision he was aware that Proximo was undressing.

“Roll over. Present yourself.” This was not like Proximo. If he were not so distracted he would have cared more, but Alecto did know that Proximo was acting strangely. He used to enjoy playing with him, toying with his body and taking his time to savour his pleasure. Alecto had been in Proximo’s bed many times in the last two years, and had never known him so abrupt. More often, he would wind himself into such agitation he would end by pounding Alecto so hard he tore. This strange behaviour could only indicate that his sentiment for the boy had changed.

Alecto obeyed, turned over and raised himself on his knees. Proximo entered him, no lubrication, no preparation, nothing. Alecto sucked in his breath.

Determinedly, with aggression and force but barely any passion, Proximo fucked the boy. He was pushing his chest hard against the mattress with every thrust. He screwed his eyes shut against the pain as the friction in his passage built. He tried to curl his head under his chest, but Proximo suddenly reached down and yanked his head up by his hair, burying his face in the crook of Alecto’s neck. At first he thought he meant to kiss him, but suddenly he felt teeth, hard and sharp. He had to bite down hard on his own lip to keep from crying out, and the next moment he tasted blood.

Panting now, feeling faint from the pain, Alecto felt his legs were moments away from faulting. Proximo then grabbed at his hips with one and pulled his head back again. He thrust himself into the boy as hard as he could three final times before finishing.

The hot seed on his raw skin stung, but Alecto could not move or react to it. He collapsed into a heap as soon as his master withdrew from his body. Eyes still closed, he struggled to keep his grasp on consciousness. He was only aware that he must await the next command, the next move, what ever it would be.

An arm slipped itself between Alecto’s stomach and the bed sheet. He found himself being turned over into an embrace, being pulled to lean against Proximo’s chest. Then Proximo’s lips kissed his cheek. And then they whispered into his ear; “I know.”

The boy’s eyes flew open. He tried to turn, to implore his master for mercy, but already his strong hand was around his throat and he had been tossed onto his back. Realisation dawned on his when the pressure at his neck was not released; the man intended to throttle him.

“Master, please! Please, no!” Losing himself to instinct he struggled, panicking. That plea had used up the last of his breath and now he truly felt faint. His head spun and his vision blurred, he was suddenly aware of every pulse throbbing in his face.

No sooner than Alecto begun to slip into unconsciousness, Proximo released him and drew his fist back. He backhanded the boy, hard. Almost hard enough to break his jaw. Alecto felt as if his eye had exploded. Instinctively, he rolled onto one side, quaking with fear, but Proximo turned him back and stuck his hand between his legs.

“I’m going to pull off your cock and choke you with it, you little whore!” And for the first time in his life, Alecto screamed in earnest as Proximo pulled at him, hard. The sound echoed through the chamber, redoubled with his sobs. His hand still wrapped around the boy’s penis, still attached to his body, Proximo looked down at his slave and waited for the weeping to stop. He exhaled heavily and made a very strange sound. And then Proximo said something that Alecto did not expect. “How could you betray me so?”

His eyes drowning in tears, Alecto looked up, stunned, winded. What?

“You were my favourite…” he continued, “I was a good master to you, was I not? What more could I have done to make you love me as I do…”

Alecto’s eyes were wide with shock and disgust. Everything in him rejected this. It was not possible that Proximo could have feelings for him. He was a toy to his master, a pet, nothing more. And the man imagined that he returned the feeling? That he could feel affection for this fat roman who used him as a whore? It was sickening. It turned his stomach.

Trembling, Alecto opened his mouth to say something, he knew not what. But before he could Proximo had sprung on him, pinning down his arms, taking his mouth in another kiss. This time there was passion, this time the kiss was deep and desperate. And Alecto offered no more resistance than to stiffen for a minute. He submitted. What else could he do? He submitted, surrendering his mouth pliantly, relaxing his arms under Proximo’s tight grasp.

The kiss was broken suddenly. Proximo pushed Alecto away from him roughly, of the bed. “Get away from me, slut. Get out. I swear to the Gods, I’d sell you if I could. Get out.”

Without even stopping to bow, Alecto fled the chamber. Tears streaming down his face, he ran to the kitchen. Once there he darted for the table and picked up the first knife he could reach. Closing his eyes and shaking, he held it to his throat.

Gods of the Underworld, give me the strength to die. Sweet Dis, help me now. I beg you. I beg you.

Minutes passed. Finally, he lowered the knife. He could not find the strength to do it. He opened his eyes. Staring at him from across the table, Tertius stood. His eyes were cold.

“I beg you…” began Alecto, chocking back a sob. “I beg you, Tertius, kill me. He says he loves me. I cannot bear it.”

“He has always loved you, you shit.” Tertius crossed the room and yanked the knife from the boy’s hand. “Why do you think he never took another brat like you? Two years of your looks and fucking your sweet as, I’m not surprised. Any man would tell himself he loved you.”

Had there been the smallest hint of pity in Tertius’ voice, it would have given Alecto some hope. But there was none. Again, his legs failed him, and he broke down upon the floor. No tears this time. He sat in stunned silence. A void seemed to have opened up before him, in which there was no sense, no understanding, no sadness and no joy. He longed to step into that oblivion and die. But his little boy’s mind would not obey his heart and he could not perform the act. He could not kill himself.

Still time marched on. Tertius left the boy. Feeling almost numb, as if he were half in a dream, Alecto wandered aimlessly in the dark. He could not seem to remember where he ought to be. Finally, after an hour, he passed out in the main courtyard.

He did not hear Proximo approach, was only aware of his presence when he felt the fingers probing his ass. Lying prone on the cold stones, Alecto did not stir. For all Proximo knew, he was still unconscious. Two oiled fingers penetrated him and stretched him, carefully. One hand began gently stroking his buttocks, and Alecto heard Proximo’s heavy breathing turn into sighs and then into sobs. Weeping like a woman, his master pried open his cheeks and pushed his cock into his body.

His thrusts were shaking and slow. Proximo shook and quaked with sobs that seemed to rack not only his chest but his hips and legs too. When he came, he fell on to the boy and clutched at the body he was crushing beneath him. Exhausted, he too fell into sleep. Alecto’s last thought was to curse the sun that would cause them to wake again the next day.