5. Losing patience
Five times now .. five times lifted .. raised to the ominous echo of the wooden ratchet. Like a wooden peg hammered into his ear. Each jerk a dire menace warning Conan of another drop down on to the wedge .. unless he wanted to spill the beans.
Han had not talked. No questions, just watched. Seemingly not interested in hearing if the barbarian had changed his mind. If the fool preferred to end up with busted balls rather than remember anything he might want to say. Five times dropped. Five times his agonised bawls had shattered the chill of the air in this dungeon.
The barbarian face was hung down on his grimy chest. Han approached. The naked animal was lifted up off the wedge again .. a fall imminent unless he had anything useful to say. Dangling over the wedge of agony .. his legs trapped by ropes on either side. His knees were raised to just above the top edge. He was moaning. Again he was cursing in some barbaric twisted obscenity. Panting. Moaning. Groaning. To grab his attention, Han placed his hand on the hairy thigh. He squeezed on the solid muscle. But still the brute just groaned.
Han’s hand reached up in between his thighs, the legs tried to squeeze together, too late. Between finger and thumb Han crushed down hard on a tortured nut.
Or Han had to assume it was some blasphemous curse like that. What fired up the cold air was some foul-mouth snarl. Burst from an animal in pain .. that was how this stinking brute sounded. Han twisted his face upwards. Looking up across the filth-and-sweat-streaked chest. Up into the pained features half-hidden by the matted hair.
“I’ll be sure to inform his Lordship. Pass on your recommendations for his well-being.”
That tone from Han .. that supercilious gentlemanly attitude .. it had long-since got right up Conan’s nose. The fucker was torturing Conan out of his mind. He was busting up another man’s balls .. probably never get to use them again. And yet that tone …. that fucking supercilious courteous manner!
This arsehole was blind to the irony. It was Han that reached out to barbaric means. Put to the service of his master, that arsehole his Fuckship. It was this supercilious cocksucker that was the brute in this dungeon.
Conan could happily have slaughtered the beast. And one day he would. Through his delirium .. through the frenzy of maddening pains that had his body in their grip .. that had him gulping back on the agony burning in his balls .. through all that Conan promised himself. This gallant .. this gracious motherfucker .. one day he would meet Conan on equal terms. No ropes, no guards, no motherfucking wedge up his gonads. Then Han would then see what kind of barbarian brute he had on his hands.
“Nothing else? No other message for his Lordship?”
Han gave the nut a sudden hard squeeze. Half-convinced this was where the barbarian kept his brain. Certainly not in his head .. this stinking foul-mouth couldn’t see a good offer when it was staring in his face. No idea of what was good for him.
Reckoning that pain might have got a hold of Conan’s head .. wondering if he had drifted off .. Han gave the ball a long hard attention-grabbing squeeze. Gratified by a hiss. Pleased to hear a sharp intake of air through tight-clenched teeth.
“Any more felicitous greetings for his Lordship?”
Yeah. For you too, arsehole, Conan thought. His head in a spin. His spirit threatening to betray his earlier resolve. His will at risk of buckling under this overwhelming attack on his determination. All he had to do .. with a nod .. with a few words .. he could end all this agonising. Put an end to his suffering. He never thought .. not for one moment .. never fooled himself that his precious Lordship planned for Conan to come out of this alive. He’d get his treasure back. Then he’d string Conan up by the neck. But Conan could put an end to this suffering, now. With just a few words. With a nod. Agreeing to talk.
Over his dead-fucking body! For you too, he thought. Same message. To his Fuckship and his barbaric courtier .. a greeting to the pair of you cocksuckers .. You go get fucked. His eyes glowered at Han. Looking down over his sweat-matted chest. Bleary his eyes sought out Han’s expressionless face. Go get fucked. He didn’t need words. His glower said it all.
Han got the message. He nodded. Signalled to somewhere behind Conan .. already up in the air .. dangling dangerously above the menacing edge. A nod. His face showing no emotion. A nod to order the ratchet released. Seeing for a brief moment the look of dismay. The look of recognition on the barbarian’s face. Knowing himself dropping. Unable to help himself. Nothing in his filth-streaked stinking body could prepare him. Bawling out in shock even as he still dropped. Breaking to a sudden stop. His bodyweight crashing on to the metal edge. A sudden jerk to a stop. A loud bellow filled the dungeon. An agonised bawl. The heat of his tortured roar heated up the chill dungeon air.
A brute. An animal. Was the barbarian too much of a beast even to treasure his manly balls?
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