Invictus

[Travis]

This is perhaps a monologue, or short play with one speaking part and others nonspeaking, rather than a story, so I hope it's not out of place. It was inspired by a work by the artist MSSF, which is at the end. i

INVICTUS: or, The Captive

Aside, to himself:  My mind is mine and never will be his.

Then, speaking aloud:  I am your captive.  My life and my body are yours. Beat me. Torture me.  But enslave me not, nor keep me idle in a dungeon deep.  Hasten my life to its end. Make of me with knives your complete sacrifice.

Again to himself:  Thus will my last moments pass quietly in my mind, for I will know that my end comes soon. When it does, I will have freedom, freedom from this mortal body which he defeated in battle, freedom from the shame of defeat before my warriors, my men, my sons.

Aloud:  Yet with your knives, take special care before you stab and slice my mortal flesh.  Make sharp your sweet steel and as you carve and sever keep fresh your blades that you may cleanly cut and my blood may quickly flow. Limit not the artifice of your craft, but fulsomely display your handwork.  Create thus a pleasing sight for your eyes, but not for your eyes only.  A worthy deed well done must be seen.  Issue a summons. Bring forth your high priest and his acolytes. Call forth your sons who must with their own true eyes bear witness that they may know, not by the poetizing of your scribe, but by their own beholding, the savage beauty as their father draws death from life and my unworthy body, flayed and bled, expires to a corpse.

Again to himself:  His look is fierce and keen, but still unquenched.  

And now aloud: I see and all here now assembled see your risen cock, and mine.  Your manhood rises in triumph.  Mine rises to honor your victory.  Yet among the assembled, whisperers pass judgment that your captive flaunts his member in defiance.  To quell them, command my final ejaculation. Order a show. For in my tribe, as high priests and consuls attest, the jizzum of their warrior-prince possesses potent magic.  Nothing in alchemy surpasses it.  Indeed, my very sons have supped on it, that they may be strong and valorous. To honor your manhood, command the last surge of my seed.  From my risen cock, engender a fountain of virility.  Provoke my testicles in their sack.  Rouse my idle semen and incite my hoary balls to issue yet more sperm, as you do, and pull and stretch my scrotum, and slice it off.  Take with it those two jewels which men so admire and praise.  That kind action of yours will make my manhood prouder still, and in its pride, it will bring forth for you my rapturous final ejaculation.  No further touch will be necessary.  But have your chest ready that my unctuous jizzum may splurge there as my tribute.  And have your sons at hand that they may lap at your nips, not as pups, but as men.  For in my seed, there is that powerful magic of which I spoke, and which will make them brave and strong.  Thus will they make battle victorious against my own sons, for your sons will have the power of your seed and my seed against my puny sons who have but the power of their own father’s seed.  

Sotto voce, and turning his head slightly:  Scribe, if you hear this tale, write it as I tell it.  But know yourself, and in confidence tell two or three wise poets, that my conquerer is a gullible and foolish man who puts faith in such magical potions and tall tales as educated men long ago put aside.  I know his weakness in this, as in blood and in lust.  Thus, even in defeat, I prevail over him, and in this way, abrupt and savage, I make a quick end for myself.  

Aloud again:  When I have thus anointed you, then slice again.  Slice off my shaft, which even then will stand erect in your honor. Display my defeat. My cock is your scepter.  Then vanquish me as you and your sons, splurge your cum on your bloody trophies.   

The deeds being done, the captive dies.

 

art by MSSF