5. Losing patience
“Well, barbarian ….?”
That arsehole Han was stood right next to the wedge. Conan’s vengeful thigh was only a quick heart-beat away. But his feet were trapped, tied-down.
In other circumstances, Han would have lost a few teeth .. Conan’s heel smashing into his fucking gob! He’d have paid for it, Conan would have got fucked-over in return. But he’d have done it if he could. Out of sheer bad-temper, done out of fucking spite. But he could do nothing. Conan seethed, frustrated. No chance. Not the way he was.
But he WOULD. LIKE FUCK, he would! If only he could ….
“Any second thoughts?”
That prick stood there. Agonisingly close. Within range. If only …. But Conan contented himself. Biting into the grinding aches between this thighs. Turning all that hurt into a glower. A glower full of barbaric hate. Looking down at his tormentor. Seated a head above Han’s face .. astride this god-forsaken-fucking metal edge. Digging into him.
He had to contend with a glower. Truth-be-told, Conan was not sure he could get his tongue around a curse. Not without sounding like a fuckwit. Mouth turned to sand. Knackered. Done-in. Whipped in the market place. Beaten unconscious. Then hours under an unremitting sun. His strength drained by the heat. Tortured by that bucket full of rocks. His strength of will put to the test.. To an extreme test. Fucking done-in.
Second thoughts? He had his second thoughts alright. His third. And his fifth. And they all ran the same way .. these fuckers could go get fucked! He’d sooner die. He might soon enough but he’d go down knowing he’d fucked THEM over in return.
They’d dragged out those nails out of him. Agonisingly slowly. Deliberately. Rough rusty edges had been withdrawn out of his open bleeding wounds. Every little bit scraping teeth-clenching torture out of his flesh. Despite his stubbornness, Conan didn’t bother to contain the hisses of pain as coarse metal was slowly drawn out through his stinging muscled flesh. He was knackered after hours in the heat. No way could he hold back showing that pain. And no way did he fucking care. They were getting fuck-all out of him.
He’d told himself .. once he had promised himself .. these fuckers would not see him hurting. BUT .. for seemingly endless hours, they had got to him. Weakening his spirit. Torturing his flesh. But so what if he shed a tear of pain? They’d not get his fucking gold. Over his fucking-dead fucking-body.
Patiently Han repeated his question.
“Second thoughts, barbarian?”
Aware his prisoner was struggling against hours of debilitating weakening. Han reckoned he was getting through this thick head, getting through to this less-than-human hide. Han could see his barbarian was struggling under extreme duress. Just a bit more pressure .. soon he’d squeeze the truth out of the barbarian fool.
“Has the barbarian remembered? Where he might have stashed away his Lordship’s gold?”
Despite himself, a groan escaped Conan. Partly from the boredom of this same fucking routine. Not more of the fucking same. Every bit of Conan’s body had suffered unrelenting torture. The rusty nails in his chest were gone. But not the grinding aches in his chest. And now sitting stride this wedge in agony .. pressing down on his tortured balls. The bucket dragging on him had been cut away. But that had not freed him from the mind-crippling pains that were eating up his groin.. tortured, aching, inflamed .. now crushed onto this fucking wedge. Fanning flames that were burning away at his insides. Agonising fires torturing his guts .. enflaming his insides. Fires kept screeching hot by this pressure pushing up against tortured balls.
Han saw the fool was getting self-indulgent, focussed-in on his pains. Patiently he pulled Conan’s attention back. To where important things were discussed.
“Got anything useful for his Lordship to hear?”
Conan looked down from his wedge. Agony digging into him. Digging into that precious part of him .. been put to torture for hours. For unremitting endless agonising hours. And still this fucking cocksucker was not letting him be. Still the motherfucker’s torture knew no rest.
Second thoughts? Something useful for his Fuckship? He decided. Conan decided for himself his fate.
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