The Muscle Punishment ﹠ Humiliation Society

I am almost naked in a dirty alley that smells of urine. The ground is covered with greasy papers and broken bottles. The air is heavy and foul. My stomach turns, and my mind is confused. I try to stand up, but everything spins around me. I feel sick and vomit in a corner. Far away, I hear strange noises: deep growls, sharp cries. The ground is wet, and the air is cold. I try to understand how the soft nights of Pompeii have become this dark, heavy, freezing place. I stagger toward the lights at the end of the narrow passage. Then I begin to remember. The rumbling. The earth shaking. Then the screams, the cries, the cracking sounds, the noise of falling stones. The air suddenly burning inside my chest. And then that wind, that whirlwind, that intense light, that tunnel where I was thrown forward at incredible speed. And finally, I woke up here, in a corner of Pompeii I do not know. Did I drink too much of that Cretan wine again, the one that makes your head spin so quickly?

Leaning against the wet walls, I finally reach the light. The world rising before me is a chaos of Titans. Steam rises from the hard, dark stone ground. Herds of stinking beasts rush in straight lines between temples that climb toward the sky. Torches without flames light the place with a dirty, harsh glow. The beasts growl and release foul gas. Sharp cries pierce my ears, then disappear, only to be replaced by others. An army walks past me, eyes fixed straight ahead, pushing me aside with complete indifference. Some throw words at me, words that seem full of anger.I am lost.This is no longer sweet Pompeii. This is Hades.

One of these beasts suddenly stops with a scream, lighting the street with red flames. Two men rush out of it. Guards? Soldiers? They speak to me, or rather, they shout strange words I do not understand. Strange commands they repeat, threatening me with blades that, in the end, are only sticks. One of them grabs my shoulder and my arm, trying to twist it behind my back. He has no time to go further. A hard headbutt crushes his nose and sends him falling into the crowd now gathering around us. The other man tries to pull a dark object from his uniform, something that looks like a weapon. I rush at him and slam him to the ground, driving my knee between his legs squeezing his balls. He grimaces and screams. His wet hands press against my thick chest, trying to push me away, while my fists crash down on his face.He groans and loses consciousness. I stand up.

The crowd moves away from me, and I begin to run without direction, shoving aside everything in my path. Panic fills me. Then suddenly, I hear familiar cries and shouts. They sound like the voices that rose in the arena during my fights. I go down a gentle slope, wet and dark. I pass men and women in strange clothes. They look at me with fear or curiosity. A low space opens before me, full of an excited crowd screaming at the top of their lungs. The smell of blood, sweat, leather, and other stronger scents reaches my nose. The gods have led me to the only place where I can still be myself. A place of combat. A place where gladiators fight with bare fists, until blood flows. And perhaps until death.

I suddenly felt every eye on me. A wave of whispers moved through the crowd. Men nudged each other and exchanged comments. Women’s eyes moved over my stinking, muscular body, stopping for a moment on certain parts of my anatomy. At last, I was where I belonged. I wanted only one thing: to fight. A thrill of pleasure ran through my body, and my cock began to harden under my loincloth.I walked toward the center, to the place of combat. One man seemed to be the ludi magister. Beside him stood a beast of muscle, the lanista.I did not hesitate.With movements of my hand and a few Latin words, I asked for a fight. They laughed, thinking I was a fool, but my body made them hesitate. I continued, louder this time, pointing my arm toward the stone arena. “Gladiatorem, vincere!” I repeated the words again, making my muscles move like a stallion ready to charge. “Pugna. Gladiatorem. Vincere.” (Fight. Gladiator. Victory.)

The ludi magister turns toward a broad man sitting in a private box. He is probably the owner of this gladiator school. He is surrounded by his friends, rich nobles of this city. The man gives a small nod, and the lanista pushes me into the middle of the arena.I hear the crowd laughing. Some people shout words at me that I do not understand. They think I am a miserable beggar from the streets. But my arrogant nature, my confidence, and all the battles I have already won keep my determination alive. Loud cries of joy welcome my opponent. The mockery grows even louder. He must be their champion. And yet, he does not look very dangerous. I am heavier than him. I am more muscular than him. I feel excitement rising inside me. I turn my eyes toward the owner, to show him with one look that I will win. 

Then a violent blow hits my face. A second one strikes my chest. A third crashes into my abs. The air leaves my lungs, and I stumble backward. The crowd boos me. Insults fly around me, probably. The lanista wants to stop the fight, but the magus prevents him. I return to my fighting stance. The smell of my opponent surrounds me: a heavy smell of sweat, leather, and urine. The familiar smell of my old world. I see him moving in front of me, searching for an opening. I do not move. Only my eyes follow him. I paid the price for my lack of focus. But now, nothing will stop me from winning.

I watch my opponent. He is fast with his strikes. He does not fight like a gladiator. He does not look for close combat. He moves, steps forward, steps back, and strikes. Again, he comes at me, ready to hit my face. But this time, I am prepared. I lower myself. I feel the breath of his fist brush my hair. I see surprise in his eyes, but it is already too late.I am on him. My arms wrap around his waist like a python around its prey. I lift him from the ground and squeeze with all my strength. His fists strike my back hard, but I tighten my traps and every muscle along my spine. My lats flare as I crush him against me. I squeeze harder, pressing my chin against his shoulder to stop him from headbutting me. I see the peaks of my biceps rise, two balls of stone. I see the veins running across my forearms. Then I hear the crack of his spine.

I feel his bitter, hot breath against my neck. He struggles, hits me, digs his fingers deep into my shoulders, scratches me. Nothing will stop me from winning. My strength is terrible. My grip is feared. More than one man has died like this in my arms, his back broken, his breath stolen. But here, I do not know the rules. I feel the crowd becoming uneasy. Their eyes show surprise. The insults still come, but no longer against me. Now they are against their champion. I have what I wanted. Victory. Soon, the man is nothing more than a rag doll in my arms. I throw him to the ground, unconscious. 

A heavy silence falls. I place my foot on his chest and raise both arms in a double-biceps pose of victory.  The effort has covered my body in sweat. I turn toward the master of this place, smiling, triumphant. Then the cries of the crowd break the silence. Suddenly, I hear a name shouted by hundreds of voices. "Bonebreaker! Bonebreaker! Bonebreaker!” I do not understand the word. But I understand victory.  

I see the angry look on the lanista’s face. He speaks to another man, who also seems upset. Then I see him disappear backstage. I enjoy the cheers, curious to know what will happen to me now. I have proved myself. They should hire me. Then a voice comes from nowhere. A voice preceded by unbearable crackling sounds. I look around, searching for the man behind these words pouring down over us. Is it Zeus, my supposed father, coming to congratulate me? Or is it a god of this world? I only keep the last word in my mind "RHINO".

Suddenly, the crowd becomes wild. I see paper bills changing hands. Clearly, they are betting on a new fight. Two men come to take away my defeated challenger.  I am about to leave the arena when two men block my way. Then loud  sounds, a kind of savage music, fall from the sky. A man walks forward heavily under the cheers of the crowd who is chanting his name. “RHINO! RHINO! RHINO!” The man is tall, white-skinned, bald, and terribly muscular. His size is far greater than mine . His pecs are thick and massive. They rise with each breath like cushions being filled with air. His biceps are the size of ripe melons. His body is massive like a huge rock, with thighs as wide as tree trunks.

I feel him coming closer, more by his smell than by his steps. His scent is intense. He gives off an animal smell, close to the stink of the stables of Augeas. His footsteps are heavy. That must be a weakness, and it should be to my advantage. He is only a few steps away from me, and the crowd is screaming for my death. I do not understand the words, but they have the same force as the voices of the past, the ones that asked for the same.

Without hesitation, I rush at him and try to bring him down. My shoulder hits his side like a battering ram. My hands grab his hips, and my fingers sink into his flesh. I push with all my strength.In vain. I  feel sweat running down my back from the enormous effort I am making. Suddenly, his arms slide under my armpits, and I feel myself being lifted into the air. With a violent move, he throws my 110 kilos against a barrier. My back crashes into the steel bars. The crowd laughs. Some spectators take advantage of my fall and kick me I get back up, stunned. I underestimated him. His weight is not his weakness. It is his strength.

Rhino does not give me time to breathe. He comes at me again. His shoulder crashes into my chest. My feet slide on the wet ground. I try to hold him back, but his weight is too much. He drives me down. I fall hard on my back.The air leaves my lungs.Before I can rise, Rhino is already above me. His shadow covers my body. He lifts one huge foot, ready to crush my ribs.The crowd explodes.I roll to the side at the last moment.His heel slams into the wet floor beside me.  If that foot had landed on  me, my bones would have broken like dry wood. Rhino turns, furious. I do not stand.Standing would be too slow. I throw myself at his leg. My arms close around his knee. I pull with all my strength and drive my shoulder into the side of his thighRhino roars.For the first time, it is not anger.It is pain. He tries to hit my back, but his blows are badly placed. They crash against my shoulders, my traps, my spine. I hold on.

I pull again.His leg bends.His balance breaks. Rhino falls to one knee.But he is still dangerous.His hand grabs the back of my neck and forces me down. His weight comes over me like a falling wall. For a moment, I cannot breathe.The crowd screams.They think he has me.But he is too heavy.Too slow.I slip behind him.My chest presses against his back. My arm slides under his throat. My other hand locks the hold.  Now I have him.Rhino tries to stand. I hook my legs around him and pull him backward. He falls with me, crushing me under his weight, but I do not let go. My forearm stays locked under his throat.His hands claw at my armHe tries to roll.I roll with him.He tries to rise.I drag him back down.Every breath becomes harder for him.

Rhino strikes the floor with one fist. Once. Twice.Then his body slows.His fingers open.His weight becomes dead and heavy.I keep the hold for one more breath.Only then do I release him.Rhino falls forward onto the wet floor, enormous and silent. I push myself up slowly.My back burns. My ribs hurt. My legs tremble. Mud and sweat cover my body.This victory is not beautiful.It is survival.I look at the crowd.Now they know.Their Rhino could almost break me. But even their monster could not finish me.

I raise my arms in victory, but I am exhausted. The ludi magus comes closer to me. He slips papers into my hand. They form a thick bundle. I do not understand what it means. I know only that the games are over, because there are no fighters left. No one pays attention to me anymore, and I do not want to return to those unknown, terrifying streets. I smell bad, too, and I dream of a hot bath, of a massage given by a beautiful young man, and of taking my pleasure with him afterward. My cock begins to harden as I imagine the scene. I close my eyes. Then the scent of figs reaches my nose. A hand rests gently on my shoulder. I open my eyes, and the noble men is standing before me, serious. His perfume is refined, a scent of Mediterranean fruits. He speaks to me, but I understand nothing. I answer him in Latin, using signs with my hands as I speak.Then he answers me. And I understand him. He speaks my ancient language.He introduces himself as Adrian DUVAL and invites me to his home, so I can tell him my story. His build is impressive, and he gives off a quiet, reassuring strength.

The man makes me climb into the back of one of those noisy, foul-smelling beasts. I understand that they are chariots without horses or oxen to pull them. The city shines   in colourful lights without flames. Very quickly, I realize that this world is ruled by countless buttons. They give you everything: heat, cold, warm water, hot water, light, darkness, sounds, and images. They call your slaves. They carry your orders. Adrian’s home is worthy of a rich senator. Everywhere there is marble, colourful images on the walls, and many sculptures from the past. By then, I have learned that he is a famous Hellenist, an antiquarian specialized in ancient Rome and ancient Greece.

One of his slaves leads me to a private bath, the kind only a very rich patrician could have owned in my world. My naked body is reflected in the mirrors and the shining marble. Hot, perfumed water waits for me in a marble basin. I sink into it with delight, scrubbing my body with a brush. After a while, the servant appears again, carrying a light, colourful garment. He takes the brush and scrubs my back with strength, awakening the flow of my boiling blood. Then, before giving me the garment, he sprays me with a fine perfumed mist. The scent of mandarin fills the air, bringing me back to Capri, to the gardens of Emperor Tiberius. I take the chance to observe my body. It carries the marks of my last fights : bruises, scratches, and dark stains. But they are nothing compared to the old wounds that mark my body in certain places.

Adrian waits for me in the same kind of garment, so fine that it seems woven for the gods. Some food is placed before me. “A hamburger and fries,” Adrian tells me. “A typical dish of this world.” But only the Gaulish cervoise attracts me. They call it beer here. I empty my glass in one swallow. Then I speak of my adventure, of my passage from the past into the present. I breathe in the scent of my host. Now it is a mixture of figs and a little sweat. I can feel his nervousness. I am drawn to him too. He speaks a scholar’s Latin, refined and elegant. Sometimes he changes to Greek. My own speech is heavy and vulgar, the speech of a man without education. Suddenly, he stands and returns with an object. “This is a book I wrote,” he says. “A book about gladiators. My passion. I spent years researching their traces, in texts, on tombs, in old wall graffiti”

He opens the book and stops at a page. I see the image of a bust.Then he points toward the fireplace, where the same bust stands.It is my image, from the time of my glory. A bust made by Aulus Umbricius Scaurus, a sculptor from the time of Pompeii. 

He points to the left page and reads my name.“Marcus Meretrus…”I smile. This man could be my father, and yet I feel drawn to him. Suddenly, doubt enters my mind. He has told me about the fall of the Roman Empire, about the end of the ancient cults. Could he be Zeus, hiding here in this world? I tell him my idea, and he bursts out laughing. He reads my biography. Everything is exact, except my death in Pompeii. I cannot read, so I turn the pages and stop only at the images. «You know, Marcus,” he says in Latin, “I lived a life  not so different from yours. At fifteen, I began fighting to earn money, to support my mother and pay for my studies. The Greek and Roman world was my passion. I trained my body and my mind to become a champion. Today, I am still addicted to this underground world. It brings me back to my youth. I support certain fighters, just as rich Roman patricians once supported certain gladiators. When I saw you today, I recognized you immediately. At first, I thought it was only a resemblance, a double, or perhaps a reincarnation. Marcus, your bust has been with me since I was twenty-two. Today I am forty-eight, and you are here before me, magnificent. More beautiful than I ever imagined…”

He has no time to continue. My hand rests on his thigh, and one of my fingers caresses his cock through the fabric. My mouth finds his lips. Soon, our tongues begin another kind of battle, while my hand slips beneath his robe, searching his brief for his blade, already awake to fight.  

Soon my mouth wanders to other discoveries. I nibble his earlobe, go down along his neck then to his shoulders, kissing his soft and perfumed skin. Suddenly I press my face against his pecs, burying myself between the two thick cushions, sniffing the virile smell of this deep hollow. I finally move down to his nipples which become hard under my caresses and attacks. I tear off his dress completely revealing this athlete's body. I get up and in turn let my dress fall to my feet, naked, my hard cock pointing at him. He's rather the passive type... perfect for my dominant nature.

His moans excite me and I grab his two legs to put them on my shoulders. I spread his two muscular buttocks with my hands, revealing the secret temple of my pleasure. I spit on my dick and push it gently between these two globes. Adrien tenses up, his muscles contracting to guide me and squeeze me. He closed his eyes when I penetrate him, me thrusting with a violent hip movement deep inside him, enveloped by the humid heat of his canal.

I lean over him to kiss him, biting his lips, seeking friction with his tongue. I feel his hands on my back pressing me against him crushing our two big chests, pulling me even deeper into him. His moans are soft expressing real pleasure. Then quickly pulling my chest away, I grab him by the back my arm wrapping his waist and I lift him still impaled on me. His arms wrap around my neck and I feel how he presses against me, face twisted with pleasure.

I crush his back against a large bay window overlooking a terrace. The city they call New York is at our feet. My thighs are fully pumped, covered in veins that burst under the thin skin. They testify to my strength and my power. I slide into him gently at first, back and forth, then more and more violently, taking what is mine. I feel my glans overwhelmed by a tingling pleasure. I rest my head on his shoulder, sniffing the particular smell coming from behind his ear.

I feel the orgasm rushing through me. All my muscles vibrate, awaken. My body is shining with sweat. Soon my cum floods Adrien streaming from his ass, to form a thick puddle on the floor. At the same time his dripping cock that slaps my abs with each of my movements, spills like a powerful fountain, his own seed in several massive spurts. Our mouths meet in numerous final passionate kisses. I cast an arrogant look at the city at my feet. I have dominated Adrien, soon I will dominate his city.

The next morning, I woke up in his bed, my body pressed against his, his arm resting on my chest. The gods had saved me and led me to him.  From now my new life became the life of a rich noble patrician. For two months, I travelled with Adrian and discovered the world. We moved like gods, flying through the sky, sailing over the seas in a ship without sails or rowers, a boat Adrian called his yacht. Most of these journeys were for his work. I helped him with my advice and with my direct knowledge of the vanished ancient world. I learned English with him, and soon I could speak it correctly. The insults stayed in my memory most of all. Bastard. Pussy. Bitch. Fucking coward. I amused myself by using them when I was bored, trying to start fights in bars or restaurants. Often, Adrian managed to calm things down with apologies, a round of drinks, or a generous tip. But I was bored during those days without action, days spent shopping clothes, visiting museums, or sitting through endless lunches and dinners.

I passed the time training in hotel gyms or on the yacht, trying to push my limits with heavier dumbbells, more repetitions, and more sets. 

Then finally came our arrival on that island, where temptation was everywhere : Saint Barth. It was the place of our first real test. I slept with two beach attendants who pleased me. Adrian caught us. I did not understand his anger. In Rome, emperors betrayed their wives with their slaves, and wives did the same. I was only affirming my new social status. But clearly, the bond that tied me to Adrian was more serious than I had thought. The quarrel ended at a jeweller’s shop, with a gift of reconciliation : my first watch, a fantastic object that made real the passing of time.

Then a call from a family of Roman aristocrats, who wished to sell several ancient works, brought us to Rome. My heart tightened when I saw the ruins spread everywhere. What remained of the Roman Forum, the Colosseum, the imperial palaces? Every morning at dawn, I went running, searching for my memories. The air was still cool. The stones shone with a light dampness. The streets of Trastevere were almost empty, crossed only by a few hurried men, delivery workers, skinny cats, and the smell of coffee drifting from half-open doors. I ran without any clear goal, but my body seemed to know the way. My legs carried me toward the hills, toward the ruins, toward those stones that were both dead and alive. I was already sweating lightly under my pale green tank top. My orange shorts clung to my thighs. My body enjoyed this run without an opponent. But my mind kept searching. Where was my Rome?

Not this city full of tourists, shop windows, and priests of a single god. No. My Rome. The Rome of cries, temples, heavy perfumes, oiled bodies, markets, games, masters, and slaves. I went down a narrow street. Then another. The sun was only beginning to gild the tops of the buildings.

Suddenly, I heard a sound. A footstep behind me. I turned too late. Four men came out of the shadows. Then two more. They wore dark clothes. Their eyes were not searching for gold or jewels. They looked at me like hunters looking at a beast finally caught in a trap. One of them spoke in Latin. A harsh, badly pronounced Latin, but Latin all the same. “Marcus Meretrus.” My blood turned cold. I leapt at him. My fist struck his jaw. He fell against the wall without even crying out. The second tried to seize my arm. I grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the gate. His body hit the metal with a heavy sound. The others stepped back. I smiled. At last men mad enough to come looking for me.

I rushed at them, carried by that brutal joy I had missed so much. My fists struck, my elbows opened paths, my shoulders drove bodies back. One man took my knee in his stomach and folded like a reed. Another clung to my back; I threw him over my shoulder onto the stones. A burning pain suddenly exploded in my thigh. I looked down. A small dart was planted in my skin. I tore it out at once, furious. Poison. A coward’s weapon. I tried to move forward again, but my muscles, so powerful only seconds before, became heavy. My arms still struck, but more slowly. My vision blurred. A second dart hit my shoulder.  One man came too close. I caught his face in both hands and hurled him against the stone. But my legs gave way. A black rage rose inside me. I refused to fall. Not like this. Not like an animal put to sleep by frightened shepherds. A third bite of fire entered my neck. The world spun. The sky of Rome turned white.Then black.

I woke in pain. My mouth was dry. My tongue was heavy. The smell of ancient dust and dampness filled my nose. Not a modern cellar. Not a garage. Not a place from Adrian’s world. I tried to move, but my arms resisted. My wrists were caught in iron cuffs, fixed by chains to a cracked block of marble. I was bare-chested. My shorts were gone, replaced by a rough cloth tied around my hips, almost like an old arena loincloth. I pulled on the chains. The metal groaned. But it did not break. Around me, torches burned in bronze rings. Their  light trembled across walls covered with damaged frescoes. I could make out painted bodies, gods, monsters, faces erased by time. Farther away, broken columns disappeared into the shadows. Then I understood. The Domus Aurea. Nero’s Golden House.   Or rather, what remained of it, hidden beneath the new Rome.

My heart began to beat harder. I was not only a prisoner. I had returned to the belly of the Empire. I pulled on my chains again. My biceps swelled, my shoulders burned, my traps hardened like stone. Sweat ran down my chest. The iron creaked, but the men who had taken me knew what they were doing. They had not chosen the chains of an ordinary slave.Then I heard footsteps. Someone was moving through the shadows.I raised my  head, ready to kill the first man who came close enough.A figure stopped in front of me, still hidden behind the torchlight. Then a voice rose. Perfectly Latin.“Salve iterum, Marcus Meretrus.” Welcome back, Marcus Meretrus.

To be continued...

MARCUS MERETRUS : THE LAST GLADIATOR BOOK, Part I  II  & III

https://mars.chatfighters.com/book/1376

Published: 2026-05-20, viewed 63 times.