Priapus Erectus Libidinus, Governor of Macedonia, Prefect of Numidia, Proconsul of Egypt, Pontifex of Phallus, Senator of Rome, benefactor of the Plebeians, friend of the Equestrians, son of the Patricians, orator, author, philosopher, musician, and general was bored.

He left Rome for his country villa to escape the summer heat. He escaped the heat and oppression of the city only to fall captive to the heat and depression of the country.

From morning until night, from the rising in the east of Helios in his chariot of fire through his superheated progress across the pale blue sky until he disappeared into the stables of the night and the cool of the evening fell like a silk kerchief across a fevered brow, there was no one to see and nothing to do.

Libidinus paced the marble floor of his apartment without a glance at the intricate mosaic scenes upon which he trod. The day was too hot to hunt. It was too late to fish. It was too soon to nap. His library held no book of interest. His gardens were devoid of joy.

The summer air was full of dust. His fountains plashed in monotonous tunes. His groves were too dry. The buzz of insects was too annoying.

His wife was too dull for conversation. His children were too stupid to be diverting. His friends were too far away to visit. His enemies were dead and beyond torment. Libidinus threw himself upon his couch. He prayed to Phallus to relieve his boredom.

Phallus answered his high priest's prayer with a gentle scratching upon his chamber door.

The bronze and ebony doors of Egyptian design, which Libidinus had taken from a whore's house in Alexandria, were pushed open by a tall, thin stoop shouldered man of Egyptian design, whom Lididinus had taken from a whore's house in Alexandria.

The whore was dead. She had been impaled upon a massive bronze idol of Libidinus's god. Her house was leveled to the ground, by order of the then Proconsul of Egypt. Her doors and her man were installed in the Villa of Priapus outside of Rome as souvenirs of his Proconsular reign.

Toth wore his hair short, but longer than the shaved-head Egyptians. He would have worn his hair longer and curled into tight ringlets, if he wasn't afraid of losing what he had. As it was, he dyed his gray the deepest ebon he could.

He wore blue eye shadow and painted his lips red in the Egyptian fashion. He carried his thin hands clasped lightly before him. And he wore a long linen robe ... normally.

Toth longed to be a eunuch. He desired to be fat, sleek and effeminate. His fondest wish was wear his desiccated cock and balls on a ribbon around his neck. But his large cock and limber body doomed him forever to be an entire man.

Toth could suck his own cock. He could fuck himself in the ass. Such talents could not lightly be wasted. His talents were a source of amusement for Libidinus and his friends. The unhappy Toth remained a whole man.

Toth bowed and scraped his way across the marble floor to his master's couch.

Libidinus had no expectations that Toth would amuse him. There are only so many ways a man can suck or fuck himself and Libidinus had seen Toth do them all too many times.

He bowed deeply so that his folded hands were pressed into his crotch.

Libidinus sat up on his couch. He slapped his hands together in satisfaction.

He made a bow greasy with respect.

Libidinus clapped his hands for joy as he leapt to his feet,

Libidinus chuckled to himself at the joke he would play upon the Greek boys,

He permitted himself a humble laugh,

Libidinus returned to pacing the marble floor,

Toth lisped politely as he bowed his way back towards the door,

Libidinus turned his back upon the receding Egyptian pseudo-eunuch and turned his attention to his couch,

Toth, washed, perfumed and dressed in fine linen, bowed himself out the doors which once graced the portals of his mistress' whore house in far Alexandria. He drew the bronze doors closed behind him.

Libidinus threw himself upon his silken couch. He said a prayer of thanks to the beneficent Phallus. It was a lovely day. The golden chariot of Helios burned brightly in the sky.

The gardens of the Villa Priapus, green and verdant, were filled with the joyous song of summer birds. The fountains plashed in lively tunes. The lush groves, moist with the morning dew, hummed with the happy song of insect life. Joy of Phallus!
Priapus Erectus Libidinus had something to do! He had to plan for his reception of the Hun and the three Gauls.

Laying on his couch Libidinus thought back a score of years to when, like the Greek boys, he was just twenty-one, though not a virgin.
At twenty-one, Priapus Erectus Libidinus was seven years in service to Caesar in the emperor's own Tenth Legion....

General Priapus Erectus Libidinus

He was a veteran of four campaigns. He was an able soldier. He was a victor. He commander of the Legion.

At twenty-one, Priapus Erectus Libidinous was a sun bronzed demigod.

He was tall, muscular and lean. His handsome face was with out scar.

His long brown hair was turned to gold by the kiss of Helios.

In a tent in far Macedonia, Libidinous sat naked upon a leopard throne.

In one hand, he held an empty golden wine cup. In the other hand, he held his long, hard overcharged dick.

On his right hand, upon a lower stool, sat a naked youth of the age of Priapus.

He was a Scythian. He was fair of form and face. He wore his short, wavy whore-blond hair tied by a black silk cord in back as a badge of his slavery.

At the feet of the two seated youths, lay a full grown man. He was a Macedonian warrior. He was a prisoner of Rome.

The Macedonian was a barbarian. He was unshaven. His beard was dark. His black hair was tangled. His muscles, made hard by much training and cruel war, rippled beneath his light brown skin as he groveled at his captor's feet.

The Macedonian was not naked by choice. His soldier's garb had been stripped from his body by his Roman captors. He had been thrown naked at the feet of Priapus for their commander's amusement.

The Macedonian well understood his purpose and his role. He had been a victor once. He had a naked Roman prisoner cast at his feet. He had amused himself with the prisoner's muscular body.

The Macedonian knew defeat. He had surrendered in the field. H he would surrender to the in the tent. He was prepared to give to the victor his spoils.

Libidinus was not pleased with the Macedonian. The man was well formed enough. He was pleasingly muscular. He was handsome enough. His body bore few scars for a seasoned warrior who must be at least thirty years old.

He was submissive enough. He groveled nicely at his new master's feet. But he was not attentive enough. The Macedonian was not looking at the sun bronzed naked body of his master. He was staring fixedly and lustfully at the fair body of the Scythian, his master's slave.

Libidinus spoke in Greek, the language common to all present.

The Macedonian looked to Libidinus. He licked his lips. He nodded his shaggy head.

Libidinus spoke in friendly tones which were belied by the coldness in his eyes.

The Macedonian licked his lips again. He nodded his shaggy head again.

Libidinus did not have to raise his voice as his clipped intonation of the Greek syllables was enough to warn the Macedonian that he was in grave danger,

The Macedonian cringed at his captor's feet,

Libidinus threw his golden cup to the floor. He rose in majesty from his throne to stand over the cowering Macedonian.

He roared with no attempt to hide his anger,

Libidinus enthroned was a demigod. Libidinus on his feet and angry was a god. He towered over the cringing Macedonian, a full grown man of might and muscle. His face was set hard.

His deep blue eyes flashed fire. Every muscle in his body was tensed and shredded beneath his taut bronze skin. He was a lion aroused. He was a tiger ready to spring. He was a leopard of rippling muscle and deadly form. Though but twenty-one, he was more terrible to look upon than a king of many years.

The Macedonian threw himself upon his belly. He looked away from the awesome sight.

He cried as he thrust one arm up towards Libidinus as if he would stop the heat of the young man's anger with his hand,

Libidinus stood in high tension. He looked down upon the Macedonian dog who had dared to insult him by lusting after his slave before his face. He looked to his slave, Artemus the fair Scythian, who was cringing on his stool with one arm drawn across his eyes as if to protect them from a light too bright to look upon.

A smile twitched across Libidinus' set lips. The hardness of his face crumbled. The fire of anger died in his deep blue eyes. Across his handsome face spread the warm glow of an evil idea.

Libidinus sat back down upon his leopard throne. He spread his mighty muscled legs wide apart.

Artemus drew his hand from across his eyes. He reached beneath his low stool for a pot of perfumed ointment which was placed there for use as a lubricant.

Artemus, who had done nothing to arouse the passion of the Macedonian, was going to pay for his passive participation in the prisoner's insult to his master.

The fair Scythian slave rose from his low stool. With head bowed, he approached his master. Without a word, but with a face tight drawn, he turned his back upon his master.

He placed himself between his lord's powerful legs. He bent forward slightly. He reached back with his small, fair hands to spread the firm round cheeks of his ass. He lowered himself until his puckered ass lips kissed the mouth of Libidinus' hard cock.

Artemus turned pale even for a fair Scythian. He bit his ruby lip as he impaled himself upon his master's massive gift from the phallic god.

Artemus groaned. The Macedonian gasped. Libidinus chuckled as his big, ungreased dick slid into the trembling youth.

The massive Roman meat stretched the Scythian's puckered ass lips into a smooth pink circlet. The tender flesh clung to the dry meat of the hard shaft. The asshole was pulled inside Scythian's body by the rough friction.

Artemus whimpered. The Macedonian shuddered. Libidinus laughed.

Slowly the Scythian slave sank down on his master's hard cock. His face contorted with pain. His fair body trembled.

The Macedonian crawled forward on his belly to his master's feet. He rose up on his hands and knees. He thrust his bearded face into the Scythian's fair crotch.

With practiced tongue he lifted the pale soft cock of the Scythian slave He sucked the soft meat it into his mouth.

As the tangled black hair of his beard mingled with the Scythian's curly blond pubic growth, the Macedonian warrior expertly sucked the suffering slave to full erection.

Artemus moaned. He squirmed upon his Roman master's lap. His ass muscles clutched Libidinus's shaft and milked the mighty cock so that his master groaned.

The Macedonian obeyed. While holding himself up on his knees with one hand, he used the other to reach between his muscular thighs. He grasped his half hard meaty dick. One or two strokes of his calloused fingers brought his dick to hardness. He jerked his cock as he sucked upon fair Artemus' good sized prick.

The Macedonian used every trick he knew of tongue and lip and throat to stimulate the Scythian youth to sexual frenzy. He wanted the young slave to squirm and twist and thrust upon his master's cock.

As the Macedonian warrior could not delay his cum, he had to speed Libidinus on his way to make his offering to Phallus. The Macedonian knew some what awful thing would happen if Libidinus did not cum first. The Macedonian did not want to find what that awful thing was.

Artemus did his best to help the Macedonian. He squirmed. He writhed. He twisted. He rode up and down on his master's dick. He used every muscle of his ass to milk his master's cock. He used every muscle of his loins to hold back his own cum.

Scythian and Macedonian grunted. They groaned. They sweat. They strained their muscles and their imaginations in the pursuit of Libidinus' cum.

Libidinus did not cum.

The Macedonian came. Thick gobs of hot cum spewed from the gaping lips of his hard dick onto the Persian rug beneath him.

The Scythian came. He pumped his cum down the Macedonian's throat. He filled the man's mouth. Cum gushed from the Macedonian's nose and ran down into his beard in thick strings.

Libidinus did not cum.

Labidinus kept his offering to Phallus sealed within his balls. He pushed the unworthy Scythian vessel from his lap.

Artemus collapsed in a heap at his master's feet. He sobbed in terror.

The Macedonian wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He looked with fear and trepidation to the Roman demigod seated upon his leopard throne.

The two, fair youth and full grown warrior, had failed in their duty to their master. Both awaited his judgment in fear and trembling.

Two sturdy Roman foot soldiers stepped through the tent flap They clapped their clenched right fists to the center of their broad chests in salute.

Libidinus sat back on his leopard throne as the two sturdy Roman soldiers dragged the slaves from his presence.

Libidinus would make his offering to Phallus in a sturdy Roman vessel.

Libidinus emerged from his tent dressed in soldier's garb of coarse linen tunic, leather breastplate, kilt and heavy sandals laced up to his knees. Around his broad shoulders he wore his red commander's cloak.

He was followed by the sturdy Crassus. The Roman soldier was slightly disheveled. his kilt was not quite straight. The sturdy sergeant bore within his person the offering of his commander to Phallus.

Outside the tent, Artemus and the Macedonian stood. They were naked. They were humbled. Their eyes were cast down. Their hands bound behind their backs.

To one side of the despondent pair, an A-frame, a construction of three beams in the shape of the letter 'A,' was planted in the ground. On the other side of the pair stood two Greek soldiers.

The Greeks were sometime allies of the Macedonians. They were sometime allies of the Romans. They were always allies of the victor. They were ready to serve Libidinus.

They stood naked as athletes to display their muscular bodies. In the fashion of their country, they dressed only in their sandals and one in his parade dress helmet, the other in an imaginative battle helmet with spikes. Their faces were partially masked, with the face of the one in the battle helmet hidden except for his eyes and mouth.

The one looked almost like an imp -- a cruel one that delighted in torture.  The other looked more business like. The pair looked like a cat and dog ready to play with the prisoner ... and not in a friendly way.

Beside the two Greek warriors, the real dogs of war were gathered in a pack. They were sharp snouted, long fanged beasts. They were bred for sinew and muscle and a vicious propensity to attack. They roiled in the pack. They nipped at each other. They snarled at the men around them.

Ranged round about the Scythian, Macedonian, Greeks and the Dogs of War were the soldiers of the Legion. Young soldiers of fourteen, seasoned veterans of twenty, old soldiers of thirty-five stood in full uniform in the warm sun. They rested upon their shields or spears as they awaited their commander's pleasure.

Centuries of Roman soldiers snapped to attention.

They banged their spears against their shields in salute.

Libidinus returned their salute with clenched fist to the center of his chest,

Libidinus had to say no more. Hundreds of lusty male voices cheered. Hundreds of spears rattled against hard leather shields.

The two Greek soldiers took the Macedonian by his bound arms. They drew the prisoner closer to the pack of dogs.

The dogs sniffed. They growled. They snapped. They eyed the dark prisoner. They licked their chops.

The Macedonian could not take his eyes from off the vicious pack.

One Greek soldier with golden yellow skin stood behind the deep brown Macedonian warrior. He slipped one rough hand around the Macedonian's lean hip. He lifted the prisoner's heavy cock.

With the other hand he pointed to the A-frame (not for the Macedonian's benefit for he could not take his eyes from off the snarling pack) for the assembled soldier's benefit so that they would know what he whispered into the prisoner's ear.

The first Greek soldier stroked the Macedonian's cock. He whispered in the prisoner's ear in graphic detail of the torture he would endure. The second golden Greek warrior squatted before the prisoner.

He held three rawhide strips onto which been threaded large chunks of raw meat. He tied the ends of the strips around the prisoner's hefty balls. The two Greeks walked the Macedonian over to the A-frame. The Dogs of War licked their chops. They watched with hungry looks the meat swinging between the Macedonian's muscular thighs.

The Greeks unbound the prisoner's arms. Many eager Roman hands lifted him up to the A-frame. His muscular arms were spread and bound at the wrists, elbows and shoulders to the cross bar of the frame. His massive legs were pulled apart and tied at the ankles to the to the legs of the frame.

The naked, muscular Macedonian was suspended several feet above the ground by his wide spread arms while between his open legs dangled the chunks of raw meet which hung from his balls by the rawhide strips.

The Greek and Roman soldiers retreated a safe distance from the scene.

Hundreds spears rattled against hundreds of leather shields in approval of the order.

The pack was released. The hounds dashed across the ground in famished fury. With hunger driven howls they raced to the feet of the Macedonian.

The first three heavy beasts to reach the feast leapt up off all four paws. They set their fangs into the chunks of meat dangling from the Macedonian's bound balls.

The dogs fell back to the earth but only their hind paws reached the ground. They hung suspended from the prisoner's nuts as they tried to tear the meat from the rawhide strips by shaking their heads.

The triumph of the first three dogs was short lived as the remainder of the pact fell upon them. Each dog fought fang and claw for a chance to grab a chunk of the tasty meat.

When the weight of the first three dogs crashed down upon his balls, the Macedonian dug his fingers into the wood atop the cross beam. He threw his head back. He bit his lips.

As his balls were jerked downward, his large limp cock flew upward and slapped against his belly. As he cock dropped back down another hungry hound leapt up and snapped at the tender morsel which hung just outside the reach of his jaws.

Every muscle of the Macedonian tensed. His mighty chest expanded. His stomach, which was rough paved with chunks of muscle, contracted. His whole body quivered in an expression of unrelieved agony.

The pack of hounds fought beneath him. They snapped. They snarled. They fought with each other for possession of the chunks of meat. They jerked. They twisted. They tugged. They used their fangs and the weight of their bodies tear of hunks of meat.

The Macedonian was engulfed in pain, which was second only in intensity to his determination not to scream.

The pack of hounds fought on. They snapped. They snarled. They tore at the chunks of meat without regard to the suffering they inflicted to the man hanging above them. They pulled. They tugged. They jerked the Macedonian's balls this way and that while his big dick flopped about above them.

The chunks of meat were slowly shredded from the rawhide strips. When all the meat had been torn away, they continued to fight over the rawhide strips dangling from the Macedonian's balls.

One by one the hounds became exhausted. One by one they fell panting to the ground. At last, the pact lay beneath the Macedonian with each dog panting and licking either its wounds or its chops depending on whether or not it had won a piece of meat.

The pack was exhausted. The Macedonian was exhausted. He was soaked in sweat. It ran down his mighty muscled chest and legs in streams. It soaked into the ropes that bound his arms and legs. It matted the curly hair upon his head. It dripped from his armpits and his crotch.

His muscles knotted and twisted beneath his brown skin like toads fucking beneath a blanket. His fingers clawed against the crossbeam until his nails were packed with splinters and broken to the quick.

He had bit his lips through. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. It ran down in streams into his beard. His head hung down upon his chest.

He closed his eyes. His breathing was rough and shallow. Every inhalation was a ragged sob and every exhalation a low moan.

The Macedonian was exhausted. He was near death. He had suffered the torment of the Dogs of War. He had not screamed.

The Roman soldiers formed into lines on each side of the A-frame. The first man in each line stepped forward to claim his right to thrust his spear point into the Macedonian's body.

The first two Roman soldiers turned their spears and struck the Macedonian across the chest with the flat side of their spear heads. The second two followed suit and so the third.

The long line of soldiers passed by the Macedonian two by two. Each man struck him somewhere upon the body with the flat of his spear. Not one thrust a point into the half-dead warrior.

Hundreds spears rattled against hundreds of hard leather shields as hundreds of voices cheered.

Hundreds of spears rattled against hundreds of hard leather shields. One lithe Scythian youth, fair of face and form, dropped to his knees. He raised his small hands in supplication to Libidinus.

That night and the next day and the day after, hundreds of men made sacrifice to Phallus and deposited their offering into the chosen vessel of the god.

In the months that followed, Artemus was worn out in the service of Phallus. With each victory, the centuries gave thanks to Phallus.

Squads gave thanks for their preservation or triumphs. Individuals gave thanks for individual favors received. Daily offerings of hot Roman seed were deposited in Artemus, the Vessel of Phallus.

Artemus took to drink. He grew fat. In two years he was replaced by four younger and more attractive vessels. He was given as a retirement present to Sergeant Crassus who took him back to Rome as his personal body servant.

The Macedonian took the place of Artemus as the body servant of Libidinus. He became the Commander's personal Phallic vessel.

Libidinus treated the Macedonian gently and with respect. The Macedonian did his duty and served his conqueror well. Never, in his master's presence, did he ever look upon another man.

At twenty-seven General Priapus Erectus Libidinus by order of Caesar with the consent of the Senate and People of Rome was appointed the Prefect of Numidia.

He took his legions, his horses, his household goods, his servants, his slaves and his friend the Macedonian and sailed to Africa Nova. The new Prefect and his legions were met on the dockside by the old prefect and his legions and one Numidian assassin.

The old prefect saluted. His legions beat their spears against their shields in solemn salute. The assassin, with short sword drawn, fell upon Libidinus from a high wall by the dock.

The New Prefect was knocked to the ground. The assassin sprang to his feet to run the General through. The Macedonian threw himself across the body of his friend. The short sword of the assassin plunged into his broad and muscular back.

The assassin was taken prisoner. He was dragged into a nearby warehouse with stone walls and iron grates strong enough to hold any man.

The Macedonian died in the arms of his friend, General Priapus Erectus Libidinus, Governor of Macedonia, Prefect of Numidia. The last sight he saw was the tears in the deep blue eyes of his Roman friend.

Libidinus turned from the funeral pyre. He walked slowly back across the prefectural garden to his new residence. Behind him a great column of greasy black smoke rose from the massive pile of flaming, tar soaked timbers.

The funeral cloud spread across the sky to form a black pall over the city. Somewhere in the depths of the inferno of timber and tar, the mortal remains of the Macedonian were turning to gray ashes.

Labidinus stopped at the door of his residence. He looked back at the burning pyre.

Lieutenant, Antonius, the General's favorite

Libidinus closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them he was no longer a mourning citizen of Rome, he was the Prefect of Numidia.

The young Antoninus was somewhat taken aback by the sudden change in his General's demeanor.

Antoninus followed at the trot as he tried to overtake the general so that he could lead the way.

The great stone warehouse stood by itself upon the dock. Its walls were thick to withstand the tempest tossed sea and punctuated with iron grates to allow in the bright African sun.

Around its walls two circles of soldiers stood guard. The inner circle were the Legions of the General Priapus. The outer circle the Legions of the old prefect.

Before its barred and guarded doors great heaps of goods, like discarded rubbish, lay piled upon the dock. Pottery and silk, baskets of dates, wine jars, bottles of oil and tubs of olives were cleared from the warehouse and thrown upon the dock. Negro slaves awaiting sale were driven from it's cellars to huddle among the goods under the watchful eye of Rome.

a young man who was the of-age son of a woman had talked to a man
who knew the wife of a man who had a store
the assassin had bought fruit at two weeks before the attack

Inside the warehouse, waited, strip­ped naked, pensive, frightened, but trying not to show it.  It looked like one such as he couldn't be an as­sas­sin, but he was.

He was the sole author and executor of the assassination attempt.

the assassin

A tough young man with an undying hatred for Rome. He was bred to hate the conqueror.

He suckled upon old grudges and injuries done to the long dead.

He was trained and educated in hatred and revenge.

He focused his carefully nurtured rage upon the one symbol of Rome's authority in Numidia, the Prefect.

He determined in his solitary hardened heart that Priapus Erectus Libidinus must die.

Priapus Erectus Labidinus did not die. The Macedonian died. Thousands of Numidians would die. Suspected Roman traitors would die. Friends, enemies and strangers would die.

People in distant cities and far places suspected of being suspect would die. Priapus Erectus Libidinus would live. He was a priest of Phallus and favored by the god.

The tough young man suffered no injury beyond the indignity of being stripped naked and chained against a wall. He was not comfortable, but this was not good enough for the General. Priapus pointed to the chains on the wall and without question or hesitation, guards jerked the young assassin by the arms and yanked him up to them and clamped them on.

Now he would be in more discomfort, at full stretch with his arms pulled high above his head so that his feet barely rested flat upon the floor. Perhaps it would be best to allow him to slowly die over an age hanging from the chains.  But that would not be dramatic, and his crime demanded drama as well as viciousness.

The muscles of his long lean body were pulled upwards and stretched taut. His hard stomach was pulled inwards until it almost touched his spine. Each of his ribs was proudly defined beneath his brown skin. He was made lean and muscular and dark by long, hard work in the hot African sun. He was made mean and tough by injustices both real and imagined that rankled in his heart.

Marcus shook his shaggy blond head. 


Libidinus looked at the stony faced young man stretched out naked against the wall. His eyes narrowed.

Marcus was trying to ingratiate himself with his commander,

Libidinus was unfamiliar with the creatures.

His face glowed with the happiness of having his General's attention,

Libidinus' expression was as stony as the tough young Numidian's.

Antoninus placed his clenched fist against the center of his breast plate in salute before stripping the heavy armor from his body. Beneath his breastplate and leather kilt, he wore a coarse leather tunic.

He stripped the tunic off and cast that aside. Antoninus stood magnificently attired in a linen loincloth, small leather apron, hard muscle and bare skin. The heavy ridges and flat planes of his chest and belly covered with rich dark fur glowed as if oiled by the rich morning light filtering through the grates behind him.

Antoninus flexed his mighty arms. He made his biceps bulge like small boulders. He shook his hands. He shrugged his shoulders. He rolled his head to loosen the muscles and tendons in preparation for strenuous exercise.

He took a flail from a table close by. While holding the long hard handle in one hand, he carefully untangled with his other hand the five heavy plaited leather cords that made up the lash As he shook the flail out, the Roman lieutenant stepped up to the tough Numidian assassin.

The Numidian did not flinch. He maintained his stony stare at the far wall. Only a slight curl of his lip and a flaring of his nostrils acknowledged the lieutenant's approach.

Marcus, though a captain, leapt to obey the orders of a lieutenant who was so obviously a favorite of his General. Marcus grabbed the youth's over large cock and balls in one hand and used them as a handle to turn the young man around.

Where the Numidian's balls went, the Numidian followed. With a derisive snort, he rose up on his toes and gracefully pirouetted to face the wall.

Antoninus teased the Numidian youth by stepping close to the young man's back. He trailed the leather lashes over the smooth, tight muscles of the young man's back.

The tough Numidian flinched at the first touch of the leather to his bare skin. Then he never stirred again. He was determined not to give the Roman's the satisfaction of a reaction of any kind.

Antoninus stepped back. He brought the flail down across the Numidian's broad back in earnest. The five lashes whistled through the air and struck the young man's hard flesh with such a crack that Marcus jumped.

The tough Numidian twisted slightly as the lashes bit into his back. He pulled himself up, straight and stiff. He spread his arms apart as much as his chains would allow. He pressed himself flat against the wall. He held himself so hard and stiff that he might have been carved in high relief from the cold stone itself.

Antoninus did not care how hard and stiff the Numidian tough held himself. The lieutenant's orders were to flog the man until he screamed. Antoninus was a Roman soldier, an officer, a Patrician and a gentleman. He would not fail in his duty. He flogged the Numidian.

He cut a crisscross pattern of welts down from the Numidian's shoulders to the base of his spine and back up again. He lashed the tough assassin's firm round buttocks until they twitched and jumped in a painful life beyond the Numidian's control. He lashed the back of the young man's thighs and legs until they bled.

He lashed the tough Numidian until he was covered in bloody welts from the base of his neck to the back of his heels. He lashed the tough Numidian until his blood ran down his back and legs in tiny streams.

He lashed the tough Numidian until they were both dripping sweat and unable to catch their breaths. He lashed the tough Numidian until the flail grew soggy with blood.

The tough Numidian youth never screamed.

Antoninus dropped panting to his knees and let the bloody flail fall from his cramped fingers.

Marcus smiled to himself at the young lieutenant's failure. Perhaps the handsome, dark haired youth would not remain a favorite of the General's for much longer. Perhaps the General might give his favor to a more mature man with blond hair.

As Marcus spoke the words two sturdy Roman foot soldiers carried a chest into the warehouse. They set it down upon a table. Marcus followed them to the table. He opened the chest. He pulled from its dark interior a bottle carved from rock crystal containing a large and ferocious looking black beetle. With a triumphant smile, he turned and held the bottle out for his General's inspection.

Marcus, chagrined, put the bottle back before lugging the heavy chest over to the Numidian's feet. As he passed the young Antoninus, who was still kneeling on the floor, he managed to strike the Lieutenant in the shoulder with the corner of the box.

At the blow, Antoninus jumped up onto his feet. He snatched up the flail from the floor. As a citizen of Rome and a Patrician gentleman whom no man dare to strike, he took two steps after Marcus.

As a Lieutenant in the Legions of General Priapus Erectus Libidinus, Governor of Macedonia and Prefect of Numidia, he stopped himself short before striking his Captain.

Antoninus forced himself to relax. He threw the soggy ends of the flail over one shoulder. He tucked the handle into the belt of his apron. He put a hand on either hip and stood solemnly at ease to watch Marcus perform with his beetles.

Marcus reached around the bloody back of the tough youth. He grabbed the Numidian's balls. He pulled the young man around to face forward.

The Numidian made no graceful pirouette but moved clumsily and stiffly while holding his body rigid and his arms wide spread. He faced outward. He fixed his stony stare upon the far wall.

The front of his body was untouched by the lash. Except for the sweat trickling down his face and the short pants drawn hard through his nose there was no indication of the agonizing damage that had been done to his back.

Marcus dropped to his knees before the tough Numidian. He gathered up the young man's cock and balls in one hammy fist. With his other hand he took a crystal bottle from the chest.

He held it up for the Numidian's inspection. The great black beetle rested inside the crystal cylinder with the ends of its wickedly sharp pincers protruding from the bottle's open mouth.

Marcus tried to sound persuasively friendly,

The tough Numidian did not scream. He did not even look down at the insect in its crystal cave. Marcus might as well have addressed the stone wall. He would have received the same response.

Marcus lowered the bottle an inch or two below one of the Numidian's dark brown nipples. Suddenly there was a little whirring and clicking sound. The beetle leapt from the bottle. The creature sank its wicked pincers into the young man's dark brown nipple.

The insect hung for a moment with its legs scrabbling against the Numidian's rib cage until its claws sank into the young man's flesh. With its foothold secure, the beetle extended a long barb from its mouth and pierced the dark brown nipple.

As the beetle pumped its venom into the Numidian's punctured teat, the tough youth sucked his taut gut in further still. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. He drew in his breath through flared nostrils. He gritted his square white teeth.

The beetles venom worked quickly. In seconds the nipple darkened to deep purple. It doubled in size. Thick welts appeared around the rough edge of the nubbin like the discolored brown roots of some noxious growth. The welts started creeping across his chest in all directions.

The Numidian parted his tight lips a fraction of an inch. He sucked air into his lungs through his clenched teeth.

Marcus lowered the empty bottle. He replaced it in the chest. He withdrew a second crystal cylinder. He held it up to the Numidian, who even in his agony did not deign to look at it.

The Numidian youth did not scream. He looked stonily at the far wall. He sucked air through his clenched teeth.

Marcus lowered the bottle until its open mouth was below the tough Numidian's nipple. The beetle leapt out of its crystal den. It sank its black pincer's into its rough brown prize.

As soon as the creature found a foothold on the Numidian's rigid rib cage, it stuck its barb into the young man's nipple. It added its venom to the bruised flesh.

Within a minute the nipple was as deep purple. It swelled to match its brother. A spiky halo of swollen dark welts like the roots of some noxious growth radiated from its center.

The roots grew in all directions across the Numidian's breast. Like two trees growing side by side the roots from each wounded nipple met and formed a tangled mass of knotted flesh in the center of the Numidian's chest.

The Numidian's flat stomach heaved as he drew his breath in short, quick pants. Each inward breath whistled through his clenched teeth. Each outward breath, blew out his nose with a snort.

Sweat ran down his hard face. It dripped from his chin. It glistened on his body in great drops. It ran down his brown flesh in little streams that ran along the contours of his tightly stretched muscles.

The Numidian tough quivered. He shook. He did not scream.

Marcus replaced the empty bottle. He took out a third crystal cylinder from the chest. He twisted the Numidian's cock and balls with one hand until the fat balls were upper most and facing him.

The captain's hand shook as he lowered the bottle to the Numidian's nut sack. His imagined triumph was turning rapidly into a real defeat. The stubborn Numidian was making him look like a clown.

If the tough young man would not scream when the beetles were applied one at a time, perhaps he would scream if three were applied in quick succession to his most sensitive body parts. Marcus did so want to please his General and show up the sneering Antoninus.

Marcus lowered the bottle a little more. The fat black beetle leapt out onto one of the Numidian's fat brown nuts. It sank its pincer's into the ball.

Marcus did not return the bottle to the chest but dropped it to the floor. He let it shatter into a hundred shiny crystals.

He quickly seized another bottle from the chest. He brought it up beneath the Numidians other nut. The beetle leapt out. The crystal bottle hit the floor before the creature sank its pincers into the brown skin of the ball sack.

As the beetle pierced the ball sack and sank its pincers into the meat of the Numidian's nut, Marcus positioned the next to the last bottle beneath the young man's fat cock head. The beetle leapt. It sank its pincers into the dark red meat of the Numidian's cock head. It fought its brother beetles for a foothold on the young man's nut sack.

Marcus waited expectantly as in rapid succession the beetles pushed their barbs into the tough Numidian's cock and balls. They rapidly injected their venom into his most tender flesh. The effect was almost instantaneous.

The youth's cock and balls swelled so rapidly that Marcus's fingers were forced open. He lost his grip on the Numidians cock and balls. The swollen mass fell from his hand.

In moments both balls filled their sack so tightly that they pressed against each other to form a singular globular mass. Across the surface of the massive globe beneath the tight brown skin a spider web of thick welts grew. The dark roots intertwined to form into a great lumpy mass of pulsing flesh that filled the space between the Numidian's legs.

The young man's cock doubled, tripled, quadrupled in length and girth. The cock head turned deep dark purple. A collar of thick welts formed around the site beetles injection. The welts grew. They crawled over the head. They crawled down the shaft. They knotted into great throbbing, ugly lumps.

Marcus stood up. He stepped back to get a better view of his handy work.

The young Numidian was making a low whining sound that was slowly increasing in pitch and intensity. His arms, stretched high above his head, shook as if he were a human tuning fork set to humming by some monstrous blow. His thin lips parted in a hideous grimace. His stony face splintered as it twisted up in agony.

Across his body crawled a vast interconnecting network of ugly welts which knotted into masses wherever they intersected. Like living things they crawled beneath his skin. They met. They mated. They reproduced. Their swollen offspring crawled of in all direction from the intersections of their birth.

They crawled from his groin across his hips and down his legs. They crept up his stomach and met their cousins crawling down from his chest. They met. They mated. They had their bastard children. They moved on.

They crawled up his chest into his arms. They crawled down around his ribs. They crawled into the whip cut and welted flesh of his back and ass and legs. They found that wet plowed ground as fertile as the smooth fields of his chest and belly. They crawled across his shoulders and up his neck.

The young Numidian's face slowly turned upward until he was looking at the ceiling. His mouth gaped wide.

Marcus fairly crowed in his delight. Winged victory was fast descending upon him with the laurel wreath of triumph in her hand.

As the ugly welts grew up his neck, the swelling forced the Numidian's tongue to extend from his mouth.

Marcus pointed excitedly to the Numidian's extended tongue,

Marcus could not take his eyes from the suffering Numidian even as he stooped to pick the last bottle from the chest. He would have done better to look at his General's face.

Marcus protested as he lifted the rock crystal bottle with its ugly black occupant towards the tough Numidian's gaping mouth.

Libidinus gave his order to trusty Antoninus and had no doubt it would be obeyed.

Without a word, Antoninus obeyed. He took one quick step forward. He shoved Marcus with one hand and seized the bottle with the other.

Marcus lost the bottle. He staggered backwards and fell over the heavy chest. Marcus sat upon the stone floor with a look of surprise on his face. He was too stunned to move.

Antoninus, with just the slightest hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, handed the bottle to his General.

Antoninus extended a strong arm to Marcus who, with a look of hatred to the young lieutenant, took the proffered hand and was pulled to his feet.

The look of stunned disbelief returned to Corporal Marcus' face. He turned slowly to face the Numidian. The tough young man no longer looked like a man but like a crude sculpture of some deformed earth god of vaguely human form.

He had a head, arms, legs and a torso but no other distinguishing feature. He was a great bloated mass of knotted flesh and swollen lumps of tissue. His eyes, his nose, his ears, his mouth, had disappeared into the swelling and left only a few misshapen black holes through which he breathed and from one of which protruded a swollen pink mass that had once been a human tongue.

One by one Marcus removed the beetles from the keening lump of flesh. He dropped them to the floor. He squashed each creature beneath his sandaled foot. When the fat black body of the last one burst beneath his heel, he turned to face his General. He hoped for some sign of approval and return to grace.

He would have licked Libidinus' hand to get into his General's good graces and to get his commission back.

Marcus thought he was making progress. If he couldn't please the General by making the Numidian scream, then he could please the General by getting the Numidian cured.

Marcus was very pleased with his progress.

He stepped closer to Marcus,

Marcus turned pale. He stepped back from Libidinus.

Libidinus stepped forward with the bottle outstretched in his hand,

Words failed Marcus. He looked desperately from Libidinus to Antoninus.

Libidinus's voice rumbled like thunder. Lightening flashed in his blue eyes.

Marcus stuck out his tongue. Libidinus held the open bottle beneath the pink muscle. The beetle leapt out and sank its wicked pincers into Marcus' outstretched tongue.

The newly decommissioned private screamed. He pulled his tongue back into his mouth. His jaws snapped shut.

The back half of the beetle dropped to the floor with a juicy splat. Marcus' lips parted and a gob of insect guts poured out. His jaws open. His rapidly swelling tongue slid out with the front half of the beetle attached to it.

Though the creature was dying, it still buried its barb into the tip of Marcus's tongue and discharged its venom in dying spite.

With awful screams, Marcus tore the creature from his tongue. He dropped it to the floor to writhe about among the crushed corpses of its brother beetles.

Antoninus drew his short sword. He touched the knotted mass in the center of the tough Numidian's chest with the flat of his blade.

Libidinus ordered Antoninus to take the Numidian quickly and carefully to the nearest doctor of good reputation and to personally oversee his care.

Antoninus, good and loyal soldier, did his duty. For several months he oversaw the restoration of the Numidian's strength and health. Scarred of back, stiff of muscle, hard of heart, the tough Numidian was brought by Antoninus to Libidinus to be sentenced for his crime.

The tough Numidian stared stonily at Libidinus. He said not a word.

The Numidian was escorted by Antoninus from the prefectural presence. He was taken to the dock. As he passed by the warehouse where he had suffered so much he saw a mute beggar seated in the shadow of the wall from which he had leapt so many months before.

The mute was a former Roman soldier, a disgraced Captain, who after being bitten by a Numidian beetle had chewed off half his tongue. The tough Numidian gave the beggar a coin from the Macedonian's purse, the first purse the Numidian had ever carried.

He then stepped carefully around a blood stain on the dockside as he proceeded to his ship.

Senator Priapus Erectus Libidinus, Governor of Macedonia, Prefect of Numidia and Proconsul of Egypt pounded his fist upon the bronze and ebony doors of an Alexandrian whore house.

The doors were opened by a tall, thin stoop shouldered man, perfumed and dressed in fine linen, with painted face and long black hair curled in ringlets.

Two sturdy Roman foot soldiers took the Egyptian slave by the arms and dragged him off.

Libidinus strode into the house followed by Captain Antoninus and a phalanx of the Proconsular Guard.

The phalanx broke. The men scattered through the house. Libidinus with Antoninus at his side stood in the marble lined entry hall. He listened with little interest to the sounds of destruction.

The breaking of doors, the smashing of furniture and pottery, the rending of fabric, the screams of women and the cries of men filled the air.

In the luxurious rooms, Roman soldiers stripped off their tunics and began their rampage.  Customers were ripped from the arms of whores, whoreboys were dragged from their customers.  Customers and whoreboys alike were chained and gang-raped.

Some soldiers donned the flowered wreaths discarded by the terrifed customers. When their sex-rages were sated, they forced the customers and whoreboys down on all fours.  The naked Roman soldiers now slowly shoved their heavy lances into the young menís tiny puckered assholes.

They screamed.  They suffered.  They died for the crime of being in the same house as Marcus Metellus Crassius.

In less than twenty minutes, the house grew quiet except for the occasional sob of a woman or groan of a man.  The phalanx discarded their flowered wreaths, donned their uniforms and returned to the marble lined entry hall.  They threw a naked man  at the feet of the Proconsul of Egypt.

Libidinus' stern voice echoed from the marble walls like thunder,

The naked man groveled on his belly. He clasped hands around one of Libidinus' sandaled feet,

Libidinus drew his foot away from the corrupted touch of the prostrate Roman,

He clasped his hands in prayer.

The naked Roman had witnessed the purification of a corrupted Vessel of Phallus when he had been dedicated to the god. The vessel had been tied to a spit and slow roasted over an open fire while being basted periodically with boiling oil.

The purification had taken more than a day and the crispy, brown purified vessel had been fed to the dogs.

Libidinus looked with disgust on his polluted vessel,

The muscular Roman might not have been so grateful if he knew how the priests of Horus purified a man.

Outside the house beside the bronze and ebony doors the whore kept upon a marble bock a large bronze cock, three feet long and four inches in diameter. The erect cock was an idol of Phallus. The whore kept it there not out of respect for the god but as a sign for her business.

Antoninus understood that the whore was to be impaled upon the idol. She was to be lifted up and lowered until the massive bronze cock head forced its way into her cunt. She was to be allowed to slowly slide down the shaft until the destruction of her cunt and her guts caused her to die. The satisfaction of the ire of Phallus could take days.

In the garden, the Priests of Horus received Crassius. The pair of Egyptian priests were younger by four or five floodings of the Nile than Crassius's twenty-eight floodings of the Tiber.

They were smaller by at least a hand span. They were weaker by sixty pounds of hard packed muscle. They had to rely upon the might of the Roman army to hold their victim.

The Egyptians were dressed in their priestly garb of linen headdress, short skirt and sandals. Their naked chests and arms glistened in the Egyptian sun with the sacred oil of Horus. The gold bracelets of his authority circled their wrists and arms.

The two priests directed the soldiers to take the naked Crassius to a wicket on the far side of the garden. The wicket consisted of three stout stakes driven into the ground about a foot apart and connected together at the top by a short cross piece.

Crassius was placed with his mighty muscled back to the wicket. He was forced to squat down until his ass rested on his heels and his knees rested on the ground.

His arms were pulled above his head. His wrists were tied by stout cords to the cross piece of the wicket. His knees were spread apart. Between his legs was wedged a large wooden block bearing the sacred cartouche of Horus.

One young priest knelt on Crassius' right hand. With one hand, he took from his belt a handful of bronze spikes with square cut tips and large flat heads. With his other hand he lifted Crassius' generous cock and balls and laid them on the top surface of the wooden block. He held them there.

Crassius looked at the bronze spikes in the young priests hand. He could not take his eyes away.

The second young priest took from his belt a gold hammer in the shape of a bundle of papyrus reeds.

The first young priest, kneeling on Crassius' right, pushed the naked Roman's big cock to one side. He centered the polluted vessel's ball sack on the top of wooden block. He pressed the neck of the sack beneath his fingers. He pushed the Roman's large balls to the bottom of the sack.

The priest placed the square cut point of a spike in the center of one large Roman nut. His partner raised the gold hammer. With a series of gentle taps, he drove the spike slowly through the nut and several inches into the wooden block beneath it.

Crassius screamed. He screamed as the blunt bronze tip of the spike pierced his ball sack. He screamed as the cold metal sank into his nut. He screamed as the spike was driven through his nut. He screamed as the spike was driven into the wooden block until its flat head pushed against his nut. The fat globe deformed into a flat oval under the agonizing pressure.

Crassius screamed. He tried to rise up on his knees. He was pushed back down and held in place by the two sturdy Roman foot soldiers.

The first young priest took a second spike. He placed its blunt square cut tip in the center of the Roman's other ball. The second young priest raised his golden hammer. With a series of gentle taps, He drove the spike through Crassius' second ball and into the wooden block.

Crassius went mad with pain. He turned his bearded face to the sky. He howled his pain to Ra's fiery disc. He thrust his shoulders back against the wicket. He thrust his hips forward into the block placed before him. He twisted. He thrashed. He fought against the hands of the two sturdy Roman foot soldiers who held him down upon his knees.

The flat head of the second spike was driven against Crassius' second ball. The fat globe deformed into a flat oval.

The two young priests of Horus knelt on either side of the unconscious Crassius. As the tortured Roman moaned, they intoned a prayer of purification to their god. They took from the belts of their short linen skirts pure white cotton cloths.

They wiped the sweat from the naked body of the unconscious Roman. They swabbed down his loins. They wiped the cloths over his pierced.

Crassius screamed. He was awake once again to the pain.

The second young priest tucked his cloth back into his belt. He took up his golden hammer.

The first young priest, swabbed down Crassius fat dick before laying his cloth over the Roman's skewered nuts.

The first priest lifted the corrupted vessel's corrupt cock. He laid the thick tube of soft flesh on the cloth in the cleavage between the two squashed balls. With thumb and forefinger, the young priest pinched the tip of the Roman's brown foreskin.

He pulled the Roman's cock to full stretch away from the man's body. The young priest, with his thumb, pinned the end of the heavy foreskin to the rough surface of the wooden block. With his other hand, he placed the blunt tip of a square cut bronze spike against the lip of the tightly stretched foreskin.

The second priest tapped the spike through Crassius's foreskin. A second spike was driven through his foreskin and cock head. A third, fourth and last spike were driven through the thick meat of the Roman's shaft.

Each spike was hammered in with slow deliberation until its flat head dimpled the Roman's skin and squashed flat the meat beneath it.

Crassius screamed with each blow of the hammer. The square cut spikes cut through his dick meat with excruciating slowness. Each blow of the hammer sent vibrations through the block of wood to his skewered cock and balls that made the wounded flesh ring with agony.

He screamed. He twisted. He struggled. He fought as if he were being tortured and not purified.

Crassius screamed while the blood dripped from the abrasions on his wrists as they twisted beneath the cords that bound them. He screamed while the thick calloused fingers of two sturdy Roman foot soldiers dug into his arms and shoulders to hold him down upon his knees.

He screamed while coarse white foam collected on his lips and his voice crew hoarse. He screamed until the hammer's last blow drove the last spike through his prick. Then he screamed for several minutes more.

When at last the screaming stopped, the two young Egyptian priests of Horus bathed the pain exhausted Roman with cool water from the Blue Nile. They gave him drink from golden cups filled with dew collected in the early morning from the tall Papyrus reeds.

Crassius drank greedily. He was refreshed. When the last cup was taken from his lips, the Roman looked down and screamed. He screamed not from pain. He screamed from the horror of seeing his cock and balls nailed to the top of the large wooden block wedged between his legs.

The second young priest took from his belt a bronze fulcrum shaped like a triangular prism and a long bronze lever with a spoon shaped head on one end and a crow's foot shaped like a two-tided fork on the other end.

He put the fulcrum, broad side down, upon the surface of the block parallel to Crassius' hammered cock and balls. He pushed the two tines of the crow's foot beneath the broad head of one of the spikes piercing Crassius' dick.

He carefully laid the lever on the thin edge of the fulcrum. With his gold hammer, the first young priest gently tapped the spoon end of the lever. Slowly, he pried the spike from the wooden block and Crassius' dick.

Crassius screeched his torment throughout the long process. Two more sturdy Roman soldiers were enlisted to help hold him down. With the first spike removed, blood gushed from the hole in the Roman's dick. The red liquid soaked into the white cotton cloth beneath the shaft.

The second young priest removed from a pouch beneath his belt a large prickly burr from a plant which grows in the desert. The plant is famous for its medicinal qualities. The burr of this plant when placed in a wound stops the flow of blood.

The plant is the Horus Bush. Its burr is the Gift of Horus. The young priest forced the large burr into the small hole. The well of blood stopped flowing.

Crassius screamed. He struggled. He frothed at the mouth. He fainted.

The two young Egyptian priests bathed him with cool Nile water. They prayed over him. They brought him to consciousness. They gave him drink of papyrus dew. Then they pried out the next spike piercing his cock.

Each time a spike was removed a Gift of Horus, a very large and prickly burr, was forced into the wound. Each time a spike was removed, Crassius screamed and fainted.

Each time Crassius fainted, the two young Egyptian priests bathed him and prayed over him and brought him to consciousness and gave him drink of papyrus dew and then pried out the next spike.

The process continued until the last spike was removed and every wound in the Roman's cock and balls was stuffed with a Gift of Horus.

The golden disc of Ra was setting far beyond the Nile when the unconscious Crassius was carried from the garden by four sturdy Roman foot soldiers. If the anger of Phallus was quenched by his suffering, he would recover. If the anger of Phallus still burned, he would not.

The anger of Phallus was quenched but not smothered. Crassius would live but not well. The burrs remained in his wounds. Their prickly surfaces rankled in his flesh. His cock and balls became in flamed and tender.

He remained continuously erect and yet not able to bear the lightest touch upon his cock and balls without a scream. He could not bind his loins. He could only wear loose tunics. He walked about with his shoulders hunched over and his legs bowed.

His daily offerings to Phallus were such torture that he had to be held down by four sturdy Roman foot soldiers while a fifth jerked his cock and a sixth massaged his balls.

Priapus Erectus Libidinus was roused from his reverie by a soft scratching on his chamber doors.

The bronze and ebony doors of Egyptian design, which Libidinus had taken from a whore's house in Alexandria, were pushed open by the tall, thin stoop shouldered man of Egyptian design, whom Lididinus had taken from a whore's house in Alexandria.

Toth lisped humbly and bowed low,

Libidinus sat up on his couch,

Libidinus rose from his couch. As he talked he paced without looking down upon the intricate mosaics upon which he trod.

Toth bowed low with each instruction and waited for the next.

Toth, crestfallen and glum, backed from the presence of his master in low bow. He closed the bronze and ebony doors, which had once graced the house of his mistress in far Alexandria.

Libidinus continued to pace his room. He was too excited by the prospect of recreating old memories and creating new to lay upon his couch.

Three Gauls from different tribes were brought in for his amusement ... to take his mind off his troubles ... two dark haired, one blond ... one hark haired man hairy, the other smooth chested, like the blond.

The had been very muscular warriors, but the several months since their capture they had started to show signs of softness.  When they were captured, they had rangy beards small animals could easily build nests in, but they had since been cleaned up, their hair cropped short, their beards close shaved.

He also had a Hun. He was taller, more muscular ... he had lost less of his battle-fitness during his time of captivity.  He had also been cleaned up ... close shaven, his hair cropped short on the sides. His body had even been shaved of its northern fur ... just his crotch hair was allowed to start growing back, but kept trimmed short ... to keep him less of a man.

Libidinus would place the Hun, stripped naked and balls bound with rawhide and raw meat, upon the A-frame. He would let loose the dogs of war.

The Gauls?  Maybe he would torture them with his own hands ... maybe he would skin them alive.  He would let the moment decide.

Libidinus with all his heart and a deep prayer to Phallus hoped that the Hun would not scream. The Macedonian had been dead for many years. He had never found a man to replace him.