Conan’s gut feelings were uncannily accurate. Warning him often of danger .. giving him time to evade.
This time he’d been right, no act of consideration .. Han giving him support for his feet .. taking his weight as he hung upright. Not some act of kindness. His legs were stretched out, his out-spread feet supported on the frame. Legs wide apart .. and giving these fuckers an open path to his pleasure tackle in-between.
No evading any action against him this time .. legs trapped, wide-spread. No dodging their fucking toying with his manly masterpiece.
Ropes over the branch of a dead tree kept Conan in his frame upright. Tied into a crude spread-X. Guessing at their games, he wriggled and squirmed when a knife cut his last remaining covering away. He cursed and threatened when a guard took thin rawhide cord and bound it tight around his bare ballsack. Tugging each of the loops tight, catching hair, annoyingly making him wince.
Confused and nervous at his precious tackle coming in for treatment, he watched a soldier up-end the bucket and tip out the last precious water. And then worryingly he watched him approach. Down on one knee he started to tie its rope handle to the ends of the cord dangling off his balls.
“What you fucking up to?”
He snarled at the guard as he stood up. It was Han who provided the answer. Conan had been ignoring him, diverted to this disturbing tying up between his legs. Then Conan saw Han’s hand move. Throwing something. Seeing something hurtle towards him. It clattered into the bucket. The weight yanked down on his crutch. Tugged on his balls.
Before Conan could get anything else out, he had to clamp his jaws together. Clenched his teeth. Han had thrown a second sizeable rock into the bucket. Another sharp tug on his balls. The bucket between his out-spread legs swung.
Han crouched down. There was a sizeable heap of rocks at his feet. Playfully, looking at Conan, communicating by his actions, he picked up a rock. Then he let it drop with a clatter onto the pile. Another rock. And another. The sharp clatter of stone hitting stone. All the time looking at Conan. Both engaged in a silent war of glares. Both communicating without saying a word.
Han stood up, a rock in each hand. The ritual began again.
“You are Conan? The barbarian? Right?”
Conan was holding his breath. He understood. Han continued.
“His Lordship wants his treasure back.”
Not to reply would have shown weakness. If Conan had hesitated in their now-ritual verbal banter, he would have been showing Han he had got the barbarian worried. Frightened for his balls. But Han saved Conan’s face .. he made the decision for him. He lopped a sizeable rock into the bucket. Bulls-eye.
Conan grunted out loud. The tug of the weighty bucket on him tore open his tight-clenched jaw. A tortured grunt broke free.
Without waiting for Conan’s habitual reply, Han lobbed another rock into the bucket.
“FUUUUCK HIS LORDSHIP!”
The curse did not come out clearly. Expelled on a twisted gasp. Broken by an eye-popping yank on his gonads.
“Can’t tell you what I don’t fucking know.”
In response to Conan’s snarl Han threw another boulder. This time he just aimed it at the bucket. Giving it a sharp blow .. sending it swinging wildly .. yanking and tugging as it settled.
Han was stood right in front of Conan now. Naked, nervous sweat beginning to trickled down his tortured torso. Conan quickly hid from his eyes the anxiety for his manliness. He turned that fear for himself into anger. Seeing Han holding his hands up. Showing he held another pair of rocks. One hand he opened, palm up. Slowly he rotated his wrist. With tortured anticipation Conan watched it move agonising slowly across the palm .. reach the edge of the hand .. and topple. Landing with a loud thud in the wooden bucket.
His mouth ripped open .. a breathy gasp broke .. eyes closed. Feeling the sharp tug on his precious skin. In fear. Wondering how long before it ripped itself free.
“ .. unfortunate …..,”
“… because his Lordship believes your crew. Only the barbarian knows where the gold is hid …. they said.”
Conan was fighting the pain between his legs. Battling with the anxieties raging in his head. But he punched his way through his nerves.
“His fucking-Lordship’s a fucking …..”
Han dropped the other rock. To silence Conan’s reply. It did. As Han knew it would.
Han underlined the firmness of the decision,
“ …. and his Lordship can never be wrong.”
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