Page 19 of Dominion
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mateo knew of the letter that Rama had sent to the god, Eloy, offering his body for the god’s pleasure. He also knew there was nothing he could say or do about it. For the three weeks that he spent healing from his injuries, he was to remain untouched. Several gladiators had been punished for having attempted to take him for themselves, and it was no secret now that he was a virgin.
That knowledge alone seemed to excite and enrage the other gladiators who wanted him. As a precaution, he slept in a cell alone, which was far nicer than the first cell he’d been tossed into. This one at least had some comfort and a bucket to piss in. He was tended to by several female servants and the medicus. The Wickleberry medicine they had given to him was healing him even faster than they had anticipated and that pleased Rama, who had plans for Mateo.
Mateo sat in his cage watching the gladiators as they bathed after their rigorous day and night of training. He listened as they insulted and jested with each other. There were a few who were fucking in the corner in front of everyone and no one seemed to care. That kind of display was something Mateo wasn’t used to. People in the badlands were more modest and kept such intimate interaction away from prying eyes.
One of the gladiators walked up to his cell and he leaned back as the man shoved his fat, dirty cock through the bars. “Suck it,” he ordered.
The man was one that frightened Mateo. His body was covered in scars from his time in the arena, which meant he was a seasoned gladiator. His muscles were massive and extremely defined, and he stood over six-foot-four, from what Mateo could guess. The man’s black hair was cut in a Mohawk and his beard was thick and wild.
The gladiator’s gray eyes stared down at Mateo. “You heard me, little fox… your mouth isn’t virgin like your cunt. Suck it!” He wiggled his uncut cock at Mateo, who scooted back from the bars.
“You’re not supposed to do that,” Mateo warned.
“Shut your mouth, you fucking whore!” the gladiator spat at Mateo, hitting him on his cheek.
Mateo jerked back, hitting the wall behind him. He wanted to wipe the spit away immediately, but he didn’t want the gladiator to know it affected him, so he didn’t. “Get away from me,” he snarled. Though he feared the man, he would never let him know it. So, he kept his expression hard as he glared back in his resolution.
“I’ll fuck you soon enough after your cherry cunt gets busted in,” he snarled, and then walked away, back towards the others. Some of the men laughed at his antics.
“Boris, you frighten the little bird,” one of the other gladiators said as he slapped Boris on his back.
“I’ll break that little bird’s wings, too,” Boris added as he looked back at Mateo and blew a kiss at him, taunting Mateo further.
Well, at least Mateo knew the man’s name. Boris. He groaned as he wiped Boris’ stinking saliva from his face and cleaned his hand off on his loincloth. He’d seen men be boorish in the badlands, but they were easy enough to avoid and tended to hang out in one area. But even still, they weren’t on this level of barbarism. He laid down on the thin, flimsy mattress that was provided to him so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor, but only because he was healing. The other gladiators had let him know that the floor was where he would have been sleeping had he not been injured. But then again, some reminded him that he wouldn’t even have to worry about where he’d be sleeping had the god of fire not called an end to the match.
It’d been three weeks since that fateful day when his life changed once again and was given new meaning. Of course, he had no way of knowing how much longer his life would last considering he was to be trained as a gladiator, whose sole purpose was to fight to the death all of the damned time. He had asked one of the nicer men, Malec, a few questions because he seemed to be more inclined to not treat him like the others did.
He wanted to know if any other gladiator had actually earned their freedom, and the answer was yes. After many battles and glory given to the gods and the house he or she served, seven gladiators had been set free. Their dominus, Rama, being one of the lucky few. The number was hopeful to Mateo, but not by much. The gladiatorial matches had been taking place for over a hundred years with monthly Games. Out of all of that time, only seven gladiators had earned their freedom. Would he be so bold as to think he’d make eight?
Another question he’d asked was if surviving the training would be possible and Malec had told him only if he wanted it bad enough. Of course, that made sense to Mateo. He wanted it, and with the knowledge of a gladiator being set free, he had something to fight for, as did the rest of them. Although, Mateo sensed that some of the men only wanted to fight for glory, and even a death in the arena was an honorable and welcomed one.
Mateo didn’t share those sentiments and maybe he never would. A loud bang against his cell bars jarred him from his thoughts and he lifted his head to see who’d disturbed him.
“Dominus wishes to see you,” Cervantes informed him, then proceeded to open the door.
Mateo rose from the mattress and made his way over to his doctore. Once the door was opened, he walked through and was accompanied by both Cervantes and another guard. There were at least ten guards on the premises from what Mateo could see, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t more. His access to the main house was limited.
He did note the many other slaves that stood watch or tended to the house as he followed Cervantes to where Rama was. The dominus’ house was grander than anything he’d ever seen in his life. Concrete pillars, marble floors that shined. The many torches along his path illuminated the beautiful artwork that was painted on the walls in the form of murals, and Mateo found himself fascinated by such glamour.
“Keep pace,” Cervantes chastised when he noticed Mateo drifting back.
“Apologies, doctore,” Mateo said, then picked up his pace to keep up.
Mateo was led from the gladiator slave quarters, through the main house to the parlor where Rama laid on a divan as a female slave massaged his back. Cervantes presented him, then took several steps back, but not the armored guard, armed with a sword and dagger, who remained at Mateo’s side.
Rama turned his head, looking at Mateo, his eyes scanning over his body with a certain scrutiny. “You’ve bulked up some. That is good. Your wound looks to be healing well.”
Mateo nodded. “Yes, dominus.”
“Good. I have sent message to the god, Eloy, of your virtue. I am expecting to hear back from him shortly. Have you even done anything with a man before?” Rama asked him.
Mateo’s mouth was dry and he had to force himself to swallow in order to moisten his tongue so he could speak. “No, dominus.”
“Even better.” Rama moaned a little as the female slave’s fingers kneaded a certain spot that rendered pleasure to their master. “You will be sent to the god, Eloy, and you will do whatever he demands of you without protest, without question, and without complaint, comprehend?”
The thought of being whored out to a god or anyone was detestable to Mateo, but he knew he had no choice. He wasn’t looking forward to being a god’s plaything, nor a gladiator. Still, he nodded because angering his dominus would only make his life harder than it already was.
