Page 7 of Dominion
“Yeah, I was holding that in my balls for a while now… saving it just for you,” Cervantes taunted as he purposely jerked his dick up to aim his stream in Mateo’s face. Mateo closed his eyes again to keep the piss from getting in them as Cervantes laughed. “Look at me when you drink my piss, boy.” Mateo forced his eyes open and looked up at the wicked man who was obviously delighting in the debasing as he aimed his piss-flowing cock at Mateo’s mouth.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mateo could see the other prisoner drinking Kodac’s piss, which seemed to burst from his slit like a geyser. The prisoner choked on the flow twice, but manage to drink enough to not enrage their new owner, who stood and watched the entire thing. The other slaves laughed or whispered among themselves as they watched. A few only looked on with unreadable expressions, while a handful had disgust on their faces. Perhaps remembering when they’d had to go through it. At least, that was what Mateo suspected.
Finally, Cervantes flow slowed to a trickle and he did as their owner had done. He placed the tip of his cock inside Mateo’s mouth, and having seen what was expected already, Mateo sucked and licked the man’s slit clean of piss while the man moaned in delight.
“Yeeess, that is nice. Lick it clean, filth,” Cervantes said, then he began to push his cock deeper into Mateo’s mouth, taking Mateo by surprise as he gagged when the tip of the man’s cock hit the back of his throat.
“Cervantes,” Rama said.
The man immediately removed his cock from Mateo’s mouth and took a step backward. “My apologies, dominus.”
“Do not get overzealous with this lot. Not until they prove themselves worthy of the gods and my coin. These men cost me three-hundred rubios… they will earn it one way or another,” Rama said.
Mateo knew how much three-hundred rubios was. Sadly, it wasn’t much. Several kids had gone for four hundred rubios alone. Rama had spent less than that on three men. If Mateo didn’t already feel low, that knowledge only made him despair more. So little was he valued. So little were they all valued. Maybe if he or his family had had that much money, he could have bought his freedom.
“You did adequate taking my stream, filth,” Kodac said as he pulled his massive meat from the other prisoner’s mouth.
“You piss like a horse, Kodac,” Rama announced with a boisterous laugh. “This slave surely has a belly full—yes.”
“He does, dominus,” Kodac agreed.
Mateo looked at the man from out of the corner of his eye again, noting the sweaty, pale complexion turning a bit green. The man looked like he would spew up the urine at any moment. A terrible thing if he did, Mateo concluded. His own stomach rolled at the thought of what was now sloshing inside of it. Still, he fought to keep his nausea at bay.
Both Kodac and Cervantes stood to the side once again while Rama took to the center to address the new prisoners. “You have a new destiny before you. One that can offer you greatness if you desire it hard enough, or death if you do not. I am your dominus and this is my ludus. The men you see here before you are all my gladiators. Warriors of the arena and they spill blood to honor the gods and this ludus.”
“All hail dominus!” the men shouted in unison once again, and that seemed to please Rama, as his chest poked out a bit more.
He looked at Mateo and the other two men. “Tomorrow afternoon is the monthly games. As new prospects, you will present yourselves to the gods and face off with a warrior from my stable. If you survive, you will have proven yourself worthy of the gods and my stable. If you survive the first test, you will train to become a gladiator under Cervantes, your doctore.” He pointed to the man who Mateo knew more intimately than he wanted.
“The honor is mine, dominus,” Cervantes said, then his cold, hard gaze settled on Mateo and the other two men. “If these filthies prove themselves competent and worthy of the gods, that is.”
Rama nodded. “Yes, if.” He continued to address the prisoners. “You will face off with Haraka.”
When he mentioned the name of their opponent, the gladiators standing behind him burst into joyous shouts and several men patted one of them on the back. Mateo figured the one getting the congratulatory praise was Haraka. The man he was supposed to fight and possibly kill in less than twenty-four hours, or at least die trying.
“See how happy my gladiators are to serve me and the gods?” Rama asked them.
“Yes, dominus,” Mateo said.
“Y-yes, dominus,” the other two men echoed, once they realized their blunder.
“Answer your dominus faster next time. Such a delayed response could prove terrible for filth like you,” Cervantes barked.
“Apologies, dominus!” the two men said immediately after the reprimand.
“As I said, if you survive, you train, and if you survive training, you become gladiators of the celestial city of Fiary,” Rama said.
Fiary, so that was where they were. Mateo had been trying to gather that information since being kidnapped. Fiary was the city of the celestial God of Fire, Eloy. He didn’t know much about the gods, not really, having been born and raised far away from the celestial lands, which was where all of their temples resided in their respective cities. The celestial lands was also where the richest of the rich lived as well. Mateo came from the badlands of Airies, and the god of that city was Simeon. No wonder they had traveled for so many days. Mateo was a far distance from his home.
Their new owner looked at them, his frown deepening to show his disgust. “I do not have high hopes for you tomorrow. I think you all will meet your deaths. Whatever training you have, put it to use, as Haraka is well-taught. If you survive, you sleep inside the gladiator’s wing. But until then, you rest… outside.” He pointed to one of the cells built into the wall that looked to be very cramped and didn’t have any amenities. It would have been cruel to put a rodent in there, let alone three humans.
Cervantes and Kodac approached the three men, taking their chains, forcing them to rise. They walked them towards the cell with its rusty, metal bars. The prisoners were shoved in and the door was locked behind them. The space was restrictive, leaving them only enough room to lay in fetal positions on the sandy ground. Mateo sat down on the floor, his back to the wall, knees drawn up. He kept his gaze on the activity going on the other side of his bars.
Cervantes leaned close to the bars, grinning down at the men. He was missing several teeth and one was rotten, which didn’t help the scent of his breath. His gray gaze settled on Mateo and his smile turned more lecherous. “I hope you survive, pretty one. I want you to taste my cock until I shoot my ball milk down your gullet.” He grabbed his crotch for added emphasis.
Mateo looked up at the man, he didn’t bother to comment or even snarl, which was what he wanted to do. He knew he didn’t have any power here and he was far too weak, tired, and hungry to put up any fight. The doctore laughed, then hacked up a glob of phlegm and spat it at Mateo. The mess landed on his right shoulder. Mateo jerked and looked at the revolting spit that was now sliding down his skin. He turned his disgusted gaze toward Cervantes as the man continued to laugh.
“Lick that if you’re still thirsty,” Cervantes said, then walked away, scratching his balls.
