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Boy Gladiators of Capua, Book 1	By : Jake Category: S through Z > Spartacus: Blood and Sand Views: 289 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Spartacus: Blood and Sand, and make no money from writing stories based on it.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
5. The Lonely Ones
On the third and final evening of the praetor's visit, Tarin and Lykos were led back to the platform in the banqueting hall, both still visibly shaken from the previous night's exhuasting and harrowing ordeal. To the boys' immense relief, they were presented with wooden swords and ordered to fight for the entertainment of the guests.
Tarin moved with a strained grace, his body still weary from the relentless demands that had been placed upon it so recently. His shoulders slumped slightly, betraying his fatigue, but his eyes remained focused. Lykos wielded his sword with a more assured grip. Though equally drained from the soul-destroying sexual exploitation, his lifelong physical conditioning gave him an edge.
Lykos swiftly took advantage of Tarin's weariness; his strikes were precise and forceful, each swing of his weapon a calculated move. Tarin's responses appeared inadequate, his movements laboured as he tried to parry and strike back. The clash of wood against wood echoed in the hall, an audible reminder of the boys' roles as mere performers for their enthralled audience.
Despite Tarin's best efforts, his reactions became slower as his strength waned, and Lykos pressed his advantage. With a final, decisive strike, Lykos forced Tarin to the ground. The younger boy fell heavily and lay sprawled on the platform. In a purely symboilc geasture, Lykos pressed the blunt tip of his wooden sword to Tarin's throat.
The spectators cheered and clapped, which was a stark and unwelcome reminder of the previous evening for Lykos and Tarin. Lykos held out his free hand and helped Tarin to his feet, the two boys finding a deep level of comfort in each other's touch.
The praetor said something to the master, who then ordered the young gladiators to fight again. Mechanically, they complied. Tarin, still trying to summon what strength he could, moved cautiously, almost hesitantly. Lykos, though tired, had a more controlled and deliberate approach. His strikes were precise, exploiting every small opening in Tarin's defence. Tarin's parries were sluggish compared to the first bout, and it soon became clear that Lykos was regaining his earlier advantage.
The difference in the two boys' energy levels grew more pronounced with each exchange of blows. Finally, with a swift and practised strike, Lykos managed to disarm Tarin. The wooden sword of the defeated warrior clattered to the floor. The fight was over, and Lykos had emerged victorious once more.
The audience responded with cheers and applause, apparently greatly excited by Lykos's physical dominance. For the briefest of moments, Lykos found himself enjoying their appreciation of his fighting skills – that was, he reflected, what a gladiator was supposed to be good at. But then the moment was shattered in a cruel and jarring manner. Under the weight of public demand, the master ordered Lykos to remove his loincloth and then stimulate himself to the point of physical release.
Lykos felt a rush of anxiety and dread. The crowd's eyes were fixed on him with a predatory intensity, their earlier appreciation of his gladiatorial prowess now replaced by voyeuristic expectation. Lykos's heart raced. His body felt alien and unresponsive.
His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the ties of his loincloth. The fabric felt rough against his skin, an irritating reminder of the forced exposure he was about to endure. Each movement was heavy with reluctance and fear. As the loincloth fell to the ground, Lykos was left feeling acutely vulnerable, the weight of his own humiliation settling heavily on his young shoulders.
As he began to comply with the order, Lykos tried to focus on the mechanics of the task, attempting to detach himself from the sheer horror of the situation. Every instinct he possessed told him to stop, to flee. But fear of the consequences – both for himself and for Tarin – forced him to capitulate and carry out the physical act.
His face red with anger and embarrassment, Lykos struggled to maintain some semblance of control. The crowd's reactions – loud and enthusiastic – only intensified his feelings of degradation. Their cheers for his forced display felt like a relentless assault on his sense of self; their enjoyment was in direct opposition to his own pain and humiliation.
Lykos was struck anew by the awful certainty that some of these people knew exactly who he was, or at least who he had been before he was forced into the role of boy gladiator. The knowledge that they were now watching him stimulate himself sexually for their own sordid enjoyment filled him with shame and revulsion.
In the final moments leading up to his inevitable release, Lykos's body and brain were awash with conflicting sensations. As he reached the point of no return, he felt a surge of involuntary physical pleasure that stood in stark contrast to his emotional turmoil. His legs threatened to buckle under him as he felt the extreme biological satisfaction spliced with the unfathomable personal horror.
Lykos's climax was a crushing experience for him. His breathing became ragged and he struggled to maintain his composure, feeling every eye in the room focused on his suffering. The cheers and applause that accompained his forced release brought Lykos no comfort, only seeming to echo mockingly in his ears.
As the act came to a close, Lykos was left feeling physically and emotionally drained. Tarin's heart ached to have been an unwilling witness to his friend's ordeal. Both boys were dismissed from the hall without ceremony.
'Lykos, I...' Tarin said as they headed back to the ludus together, but he could not find the words to continue.
'It's all right, Tarin,' Lykos replied. 'There's no need to say anything.'
'Strange that Kaelus was given the night off,' Tarin remarked. 'Not that I mean he doesn't deserve it.'
Lykos smiled ruefully and said, 'I'm sure he'll pay the price sooner or later.'
An hour or so after this, unbeknown to any other member of the visiting party, Kaelus was summoned to the guest chamber that was occupied by the praetor's wife. The soft glow of torches cast flickering shadows along the corridor as he was led by a guard, his heart heavy and his steps slow.
When they reached the door, the guard knocked and then opened it for Kaelus to enter. The praetor's wife, a woman of about thirty, was seated by a window, the moonlight spilling over her elegant form. She looked up as he entered, her expression softening as her eyes met his.
'Come in, Kaelus,' she said, her voice carrying a warmth that was both unexpected and disarming.
Kaelus stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him. He stood there for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. This was not like the harsh conditions of the ludus or the leering gazes of the spectators in the banqueting hall. There was a softness here, but in its way it was no less unsettling.
'Are you truly only thirteen, Kaelus?” asked the praetor's wife, as she gestured for him to come closer.
'Yes, my lady,' he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
'Thirteen,' she sighed, a hint of sadness touching her features. 'You seem older... stronger than your years.'
Kaelus did not know how to respond to that. There was something almost comforting in her gentle demeanor, a stark contrast to the brutality he was accustomed to. Yet beneath that comfort was the inescapable reality that he was still being used to serve someone else's desires.
She rose from her seat and approached him, her hand reaching out to caress his cheek. Her touch was soft, and she looked at him with tender concern. For a brief moment, Kaelus allowed himself to believe that someone might be seeing him as more than just a body.
'You don't have to be afraid,' she said softly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. 'I won't hurt you.'
Her words, though meant to be reassuring, only deepened the conflict within him. He was not afraid of the physical act that he knew was coming – he was used to that. What frightened him was how easily he could be drawn into the illusion of kindness, and how desperately he wanted to believe that someone could care for him in this place.
The praetor's wife removed her hand from Kaelus's cheek and efficiently took off his loincloth. She then stroked and fondled him tenderly; his breath caught in his throat as his body responded to her touch. She smiled softly at him, then she moved back slightly and undressed herself before sinking onto the bed.
'Won't you join me?' she asked quietly.
The order was clear - the time had come to fulfil the purpose of his visit. Kaelus moved mechanically, his mind detaching from his body as he had trained it to do. The praetor's wife was gentle, her actions considerate and slow, but the underlying power dynamic was inescapable. No matter how kind she seemed, he was still trapped in a situation where he had no control over his own body.
As the act continued, Kaelus felt a hollow emptiness growing inside him. Her touches, though soft and tender, only served to remind him of the stark reality of his situation. He felt grateful for her kindness, yet guilty for feeling anything other than anger or revulsion. It was as if her care were a balm for his wounds, but one that could never truly heal them.
When Kaelus reached the point of release, a rush of conflicting emotions overwhelmed him. The physical sensation was undeniable, a natural response to the penetrative act, but it was tinged with a deep sense of shame and violation. Despite the gentle way she had treated him, Kaelus still felt used; his body had responded to a situation that he mentally and emotionally rejected.
In that moment, as he climaxed, Kaelus felt an acute sense of detachment, almost as if he were watching the scene unfold from outside his own body. The warmth and comfort that his companion had tried to offer only served to deepen his internal conflict. There was no relief or satisfaction – only a hollow emptiness that lingered after the release was over.
As his breathing began to slow, Kaelus realised that the praetor's wife was staring at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. There was a gentle warmth in her eyes - a tenderness that seemed at odds with the power she held over him.
'Kaelus,' she said softly, her voice carrying the same soothing tone as before, 'I know this isn't easy for you. I can see the weight you carry, and I wish I could take it from you, even for just a moment.'
Kaelus remained silent, his emotions a tangled mix of weariness and confusion. He did not know how to respond to her kindness, which felt both genuine and laden with the uncomfortable reality of their situation. There was something disconcerting about her care – something that made him wish this tenderness could be real, outside the bounds of power and exploitation.
The praetor's wife sensed his hesitation; she placed a hand softly on his chest. 'Stay with me just a little longer,' she whispered, her voice full of an almost maternal affection. 'I promise I’ll be kind.'
She searched his eyes for any sign of resistance or refusal, but Kaelus was too resigned to fight. There was no force in her request, only a quiet plea that carried a promise of gentleness. She held him close, each touch meant to ease rather than demand. Kaelus felt the tension in his body begin to melt away under her careful attention. She kissed him softly, her lips brushing his with true tenderness.
'It's all right,' she then murmured against his ear, her breath warm on his skin. 'We’ll take our time.'
As Kaelus positioned himself above the praetor's wife for the second time, he hesitated. She looked up at him with soft, reassuring eyes, her hands gently guiding him closer.
When he entered her, it was with a slow, careful movement, then her warmth enveloped him as she let out a quiet, comforting sigh. The moment was marked by a strange mix of intimacy and detachment. Despite her gentleness, the act felt mechanical to Kaelus. It was an obligation rather than a choice, yet it was softened by her considerate touch.
As they continued, the intimacy was different from before, driven almost by a shared need for connection. The act itself was still tainted by the imbalance of power, but in her own way she tried to make it something less about her and more about them.
As Kaelus reached the point of climax once again, his entire body tensed. The physical release brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it was quickly overshadowed by numbness. When he was spent, she held him close, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
'Thank you, Kaelus,' she whispered, her voice filled with an odd mix of gratitude and sorrow. 'I wish... I wish things were different.'
Kaelus had no reply to this. He felt her hold him more tightly, as if trying to capture something real in a moment that was, by its very nature, false.
They lay there for a while, their bodies entwined. The praetor's wife gently shifted beside Kaelus, her fingers moving to trace slow, delicate patterns on his chest. Her touch was more affectionate than possessive. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, as if choosing her words carefully.
'Kaelus,' she whispered. 'Would you... would you be with me again? I know I'm asking a lot, but I promise it will be just as gentle as before. I just... I don't want to be alone.'
Kaelus looked into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there. Her obvious longing for connection mirrored something deep within himself. He took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the complexity of his feelings. The kindness in her voice made it difficult to refuse, yet he could not ignore the underlying reality that he was still bound by circumstances beyond his control. Finally, he gave a small nod.
As they moved together once more, the act itself felt different – less like an obligation and more like a shared effort to find some semblance of connection in the midst of their complicated emotions. There was a quiet vulnerability in the way they touched each other, reflecting a clear mutual desire to offer comfort and affection, even if only for a fleeting moment.
When Kaelus reached the point of release for the third time, the physical sensation of pleasure was accompanied by resignation and sadness, but also by a faint flicker of connection. The praeteor's wife had shown him something new and unexpected about the sexual act, but the tenderness she had offered him could not ease the ache of being caught in a situation where his body was not entirely his own.
The praetor's wife held Kaelus close as he released, her breath catching as she felt the warmth of his seed within her. She tightened the embrace, her hands gently stroking his back as if to soothe them both. Kaelus allowed himself to feel the sensations of his climax, and to think about how close he felt to his companion in those few precious moments.
After it was over, they lay together in the dim light, the weight of their reality still present but somewhat softened by the intimacy they had shared. The praetor's wife rested her head on Kaelus's chest, her breathing steady and calm, as if she had found some peace in their time together.
'Kaelus,' she said at length, her voice wavering slightly, 'I... I think that's enough for tonight. You can go now.'
'Thank you, my lady,' Kaelus replied.
He stood up from the bed and started to put his loincloth back on. She watched him closely, her expression sad but contemplative.
'I have a mind to ask my husband to buy you, Kaelus,' she said. 'We could do this again. Often. Then you could leave the dangers of the arena behind you forever. Should you like that?'
Kaelus felt a sudden stab of panic; this did not fit in with his own plans at all. However, he did not feel that he could tell her so.
'As you please, my lady,' he replied stiffly.
'Come now,' the praetor's wife said softly, noticing the expression on his face. 'Tell me the truth.'
'I... I have a younger brother,' Kaelus told her hesitantly. 'Once I've had enough success in the arena, I might be able to...'
'I understand,' said the praeteor's wife. 'I won't ask my husband to buy you.'
As he left her chambers and walked back to the ludus, Kaelus could not shake the feeling of being trapped, even in the face of kindness. The memory of her touch – and her words – would stay with him, a reminder of the confusing and conflicting emotions that came with being cared for by someone who was still, in the end, exploiting him.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Boy Gladiators of Capua, Book 1