Gay Bondage Fiction | The Papal Bull – Part 1 (Page 1)

Roman prince, Cesare Borgia, tortures his childhood friend in the opening scene of this series by C.S. White with illustration by Cavelo.

The Papal Bull - Part 1 (Page 1)
by C.S White
Art by Cavelo
Series: The Papal Bull
View this page with a white background and black text!

Rome slept, the heavy, humid summer air engulfing the ancient city like a shroud. Fetid stench rose from the River Tiber, its sluggish blackness slicing the city in two. To those in power, such weather, while vastly unpleasant to endure, had its advantages; in the tangle of snarled lanes and alleyways, where the poor and starving lived in squalor and disease, the heat and oppressive air discouraged unrest. No sane man dared move more than absolutely necessary. After a long day of burning sun, the night was the populace's refuge.

Those whose lot it was to labor in the dark hours -- the city watch, street cleaners, prostitutes of both sexes -- relished the quiet, which was broken only by an occasional barking dog, and, not so rarely as one might imagine, a human cry. But even the screams cutting through the night air had increased in both frequency and blood curdling intensity since the Borgias came to power. The ferrymen, who learned early in their careers never to notice too much about their late night passengers, avoided the river near the Castel Sant'Angelo, even refusing the lure of twenty times the normal fare to go there. Built 1,500 years earlier as Hadrian's tomb, the rotund structure now served as a papal fortress and prison; the ruling family filled it with lavish treasures above ground and, in the dank and extensive dungeons below, all manner of those considered enemies of the state.

In the past week, the rivermen had not been able to ignore the increase of howls of men being tortured in the castle's bowels, the cries so savage that they ripped through the thick stone as if it were parchment. Such could mean only one thing: Cesare Borgia had returned from his military campaigns.

The year was 1498. Cesare was 23 years old and was the scourge of the holy city. His father was Pope Alexander VI, formerly Rodrigo Borgia, scion of a great and powerful Spanish family who had come to power through the expert machinations of Rodrigo's father, Alfonso (himself a pope, Calixtus Ill). Rodrigo's passionate affair de coeur with the ravishing Roman aristocrat Vannozza Catanei had produced a number of astonishingly beautiful children, including Cesare's younger brother Juan, and his sister Lucrezia, who for centuries afterward would stand as the model of feminine beauty perfected.

Cesare was tall, reaching over six feet, sending him towering over most of his contemporaries. He inherited the best traits of his Spanish forbears, a high forehead and deepset crystal green eyes, a strong chin and a powerful body, honed all the more by his military adventures. His mother's pure ancestry lent his face a dark, smooth complexion so utterly Roman, with a strong, though not overbearing, nose and full, sensuous lips which had the ability to curl into a disarming smile or a devastating sneer both revealing the rarest of all commodities during the quattrocento, a set of perfect, white teeth. As for the populace, alongside the Roman aloofness and dread of the Papal Spawn dwelled a tacit admiration of the handsome young man; it was difficult to ignore a figure of such dashing and striking proportions, whom more than one observer had declared was "the handsomest man in Italy".

Now, victorious in his duties as the Captain-General of all papal troops, Cesare returned laden with prisoners, most of whom were followers of the Borgia's deadliest enemies, the Orsinis, the clan most likely responsible for the murder of Cesare's brother, Juan, only a year before. In some minds, since Cesare assumed his brother's prestigious military post, it was widely broadcast that he had ordered the murder; indeed, such a thing was well within the bounds of likelihood. "If history would bear out, the Borgias were nothing if not devious and brutal. If a murder or two, or three, was required, what of it?

Discovering the truth was a time consuming task, requiring many hours of interrogation of suspects. But, with his mother bereft at the loss of her favored son and his father's all-consuming papal responsibilities, and, not the least of which, with his family's honor at stake, it was Cesare's duty to find the culprit or culprits. Casting a wide net over the entire central portion of the Italian peninsula, Cesare's men arrested hundreds of suspects. No one thought it odd in the least that most of the men arrested were members of rival factions active, or allegedly so, in plots to overthrow the Borgias and the papacy. So, God, in His divine way, was ridding His earthly vicar of the lice that would infest his sacred nest.

Cesare stood in the dungeon's antechamber, reviewing a list of the newlycaptured men. His eyebrows arched when he spied the name of Carlo Pompino, a minor nobleman, whose family owned estates adjoining the Borgia's north of Rome. A slight smile flickered across Cesare's face.

"Here," he ordered, thrusting the list to his adjutant. "We'll begin with Pompino."

The adjutant bowed and scurried to prepare the victim. Carlo had been a member of the papal household when both he and Cesare were children.They had played together in the vast tunnels beneath the Vatican and perpetrated the wickedest of tricks upon their hapless friar teachers. With Cesare's grandfather as pope, few were the individuals who could chastise the boys. Carlo had grown into a fine young man, handsome, fit and strong. When the Borgia desire for ever vaster territories caused them to covet the Pompino estates (some of the finest in all of Europe), it fell to Carlo to politely decline the offer made for the properties. In actuality, Cesare couldn't care less about local lands, but his father's disquiet made the refusal a personal issue and, with a wave of his hand, Pope Alexander made mortal enemies of all living Pompinos.

Now Cesare relished the opportunity to get Carlo under his control, to see of what the man was truly made. The young Borgia had always admired Pompino's military abilities and had desired Carlo as far back as he remembered. He could still recall how the water glistened on Carlo's long, strong limbs as he climbed from the waters of a local lake, his smooth, dark skin shimmering in the sunlight, and how his heavy manhood waved temptingly as the two wrestled for the last handful of berries they had picked. When Cesare had bested him and fell atop his fallen foe, the two felt their passions stir, a new sensation to both. With their rods hardening, only the sudden arrival of other boys had prevented further exploration. For the few years left to them as carefree youths, Carlo was careful never to present a situation tempting to Cesare, sometimes going to obvious, embarrassing lengths to avoid them. Still, much to Borgia's regret and chagrin, it was evident Pompino desired his friend, and desperately, too.

Cesare had never forgotten. With utter abandon and with the new passions for pain and degradation he had discovered in the wake of his family's rise to complete power, Cesare longed more than ever to fulfill that interrupted moment.

Cesare's adjutant returned, ushering his lord through the maze of corridors; from near and far, amid the beckoning darkness, men's cries and shouts of agony filled the general's ears, thrilling him. His cock stirred, filling his codpiece. As much as he enjoyed standing over the helpless bodies of his victims, it was the heady moments before the pain-giving sessions began that most satisfied Cesare. His head swam with the possibilities.

Entering one of the countless torture chambers, Cesare saw the splendid naked body of his captive. Carlo had been spread eagled within a stone arch, his feet lifted ever so slightly off the floor, causing his massive legs to tense and strain. His head hung forward as Cesare entered B, the jailers had not been kind during his three days of captivity. "So, Carlo," Cesare said, insinuatingly, "this is what you've come to?"

The prisoner lifted his head, his eyes widening at the sight of his old friend. "Cesare!"

The flickering torches glinted off the dark skin, the flames highlighting the broad planes of Carlo's haggard yet still striking face. The master flicked his eyes to the torturer in attendance. With a swift move, the man struck Carlo's cheek, bringing a trickle of blood to his lips.

"You speak to me as an equal," chided Borgia. "This will not do. You will show respect due to your lord and master."

Even in the dim light, Cesare saw Carlo blush. "But.." Carlo caught himself, his eyes lowering as he quickly deciphered his situation; he was in very real jeopardy. "Yes, my lord. I beg your forgiveness."

Cesare stepped forward. Coming closer, he was overwhelmed by his victim's manly beauty, the wide set eyes, the dark, heavy brows, the exaggerated jawline, the thick neck; it was all as Cesare had remembered it, only enhanced and more intense, mature and perfect His massive member pressed forward in its pouch. He took a whip from the torturer. Using the handle, he prodded Carlo's flat belly. "Do you know why you've been brought here?"

Carlo almost looked up, but remembered himself. "My lord," he began, his voice smooth and quiet, "I have done nothing!"

Cesare thrust the handle's butt end into Carlo's gut. "That is not what I asked." Catching his breath, the captive dared to look up. "My lord," he began, "I have been told nothing."

Cesare searched the man's eyes for fear. The large brown orbs were as meltingly splendid as he recalled; Cesare could detect many things in them: annoyance, reticence, confusion, but no fear. "Surely you know you're under suspicion of murder?"

Carlo gasped. "Murder?" His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the words to say. "My lord, whose murder?" But he knew the answer.

The lord smiled. "Ah, always the stalwart one, eh, Carlo?" he cooed, gently rubbing the hardened leather handle across his captive's cheek. "Well, we'll see!"

Borgia stepped beneath Carlo's outstretched arm, the handle tracing a path across the tight flesh. Once behind his prisoner, Cesare took in the magnificent sight he found there. The intervening years had only enhanced the twin mounds of assmeat High and tight, the cheeks flexed and tensed in what Cesare was at last beginning to think was the fear he most desired. He ran the handle between the two tight masses of flesh; Carlo tensed again. Even as Cesare reached out, cupping one of the cheeks and squeezing it, he was taken with the broad expanse of the shoulders and back spread before him, dense with striated and struggling muscle. It was so perfect, so very vulnerable. He couldn't resist it anymore. Without a word or sign, he broad the hungry whip's tendrils down hard across the exposed flesh.

Carlo cried out, more from surprise than pain. "My lord!" he said, his breath shallow and rapid. "Please!"

Cesare's cock pulsed. He always loved when they begged, even at the beginning. He cupped his own manhood in his hand, rubbing it through the rich brocaded pouch. Giving the back two more significant strokes, the general delighted in the ripples that coursed across his handiwork. Pompino's short, sharp cries were perfect. Stepping to a table laden with more torture implements, Cesare chose a small iron device, a handle with four sharp raking fingers. Pressing it into the reddened sections of Carlo's back, he dragged it across the welts, not enough to break he skin, but to enhance the unpleasantness already underway.

The prisoner sucked in his breath. With a strangled gasp, he begged Cesare to stop. The torturer stopped, laughing harshly. He pressed his raging cock into his victim's backside, wrapping his arm around the warm torso. Cesare nibbled at Carlo's earlobe, gently at first. "Remember when I used to do this when we wrestled?" He bit down harder.

"No..my lord, please!"

"Remember when I used to win all the matches?" Harder still, grinding his teeth sideways. "How could you forget the attentions of your master?" Cesare's teeth drew blood and a cry. "You ask me to stop!" Cesare bucked his pleading hips into Carlo's form. "But I've barely begun!"

Cesare almost always began his sessions with a sound flogging. It was painful and yet, if done correctly, merely softened up the victim before the real sessions began. He relished the way the leather bit into the skin, the way it caressed the man's flesh and quivered at each contact. The ripe, popping sound of the lash was intoxicating; adding a human voice in antiphony was almost too much to bear. The lingering, rewarding red trace of the stinging blow was merely a reward from God, a signal that heaven was well pleased.

Carlo moaned in dread as Cesare stepped back, unleashing a steady, unhurried series of blows, each mounting in strength and severity, followed by memorable session with the rake. After three or four of these repetitions, Cesare had worked up quite a sweat. Moving to face his old friend, the lord's gaze swept his victim's physique. "You're strong as ever, Carlo," he commented as he began removing his restrictive jeweled tunic, followed by his billowing linen shirt. Cesare glanced down, regarding his own beefy torso. Rubbing his hand across his sweaty chest, he continued, "You see, I've done well to keep myself fit, as well." The torchlight highlighted the full curves of Borgia's shoulders and arms, reflecting off the bulging roundness of his chest, which was darkened by a slight coating of blondish hair. Then, ever so slowly, he plucked at the laces holding his codpiece in place. The massive tube of meat held captive within the fabric pushed upward and, after only a few laces were untied, Cesare's flaring, plum size cockhead burst forth. He glanced up to see his captive transfixed, his own meat swaying slowing with interest.

With a few final pulls at the laces, the fabric cup fell free, and the mighty Borgia's pulsing meat roared free. Striding toward his victim, Cesare allowed his cock to bat Carlo's hesitant meat. In a few moments, the cock was rock hard. The general took the thick tube in his hand, pulling back the copious foreskin, rubbing his thumb over the cock's slit; a thin coating of precum had already formed a slippery path. With his other hand, Cesare felt the heft of his victim's balls, which hung low in a velvety sac. Again, the lord smiled, glancing sidelong at his captive. "Mmmm," he waxed, squeezing the heavy eggs a bit, "I can hardly wait until we use these to make you sing, Carlo!"

The man shook his head slightly, his brows creasing. "My lord, I beg you..."

Cesare laughed. "Ah, piccolo mio," he said, using the name he once taunted Carlo with when they were young, my little one, "you haven't yet begun to beg!" He closed his fist tighter and tighter, ever so slowly, watching for some reaction from his captive. Carlo's sectioned belly tightened, his breath coming in great gulps. He pulled his heavy form upward in his manacles, twisting in his chains. When the fire darts coursing into his gut were too much, Carlo cried out, his thick cock coursing upward despite the pain.

Suddenly, a giant drop of precum splashed to the floor. With a final, triumphant, twisting squeeze of the testes in his fist, Cesare could now accurately judge where his friend's all important pain threshold lay, an important consideration if there was to be any fun to be had. It wouldn't pay to have Carlo expire too soon. The lord resumed his position behind the man, whip and claw in hand. With renewed vigor, his body and manhood freed for serious work, the lashes fell again, the session lasting a long, long time!

Pompino had borne the pain well. Even Cesare couldn't count all the lashes he laid upon his friend's now-bleeding back. Much to the admiration of the assembled torturers and jailers, the victim never lost consciousness; Cesare was no man's pupil when it came to the infliction of pain. The blows had covered the man from neck too feet; the little claw had done its work well, too, sending ever more fiery jolts of agony into the already shrieking flesh.The prisoner had managed not to scream until long into the evening, saving his lustiest cries until the very end, when he experienced the severest pain. Deep inside, Cesare was proud his friend had not begged until he truly felt he would expire from the agony, and even then it was still couched in friend-to-friend terms, not as a broken worm.

But that would change.

For now, Cesare let Carlo rest, both of them would need to be strong to continue. Still nursing a raging erection, Borgia threw on his shirt and left the chamber in search of strong wine and more men to interrogate.

At the far end of the passageway, Cesare met a captain of the papal guard, Edgardo di Buonagamba. "Good evening, Signore," he said, bowing deeply.

"Edgardo!" Cesare replied, smiling broadly, quickly indicating his member bobbing beneath his linen shirt. "I'm eager for a challenge tonight, my friend!"

The guard laughed, nodding. "I see, sire!"

A puzzled look came over Cesare's face. Holding his hand in a questioning mien, he said, "Have you no concern for your lord's condition?"

Without missing a beat, the officer stepped forward, falling to his knees before Cesare. Grasping the shirt's hem, he glanced up at his lord. "In God's name!" he murmured fervently and lifted the linen.

"Amen," replied Borgia, thrusting his hips forward.

Edgardo reverently took Cesare's throbbing granite piece in his hands and, beginning at the base, kissed the shaft, slowly moving along its considerable length until he reached the dripping head. Licking the knob, Buonogamba cleansed it of the sticky fluid, at last taking the entire length down his throat. Cesare pressed his hips forward, plugging the guard's throat with the thick meat. He left it there until his captain began to turn bright red, yet the subordinate dared not pull away. Only when the guard began to darken into purple did Cesare relent.

Relieved and confident that he had cleaned his prince's manhood to the scion's satisfaction, Edgardo pulled back, a string of pearly fluid arcing from cock to lip, and he remaining on his knees until Cesare motioned for him to stand. This was all done as naturally as two friends greeting each other in a tavern.

"My lord, I have the most wonderful treat for you!" Edgardo offered.

"Indeed?" Cesare replied, allowing his captain to lead him to the next victim.

2 Comments

1. 

   31118azti - May 7, 2020, 9:28 am

   A well written erotic story, thanks!

2. 

   Eclecte - May 8, 2020, 12:15 pm

   I can’t wait to read more! Thanks!