“And if a slave had special attributes …..?”
The High Priest sat comfortable back in his throne. His admonitions to the guard had done their work. Gone from the slave any look of anger. No more retorts like earlier than he had been kidnapped, he was no slave.
He was shattered, he could barely keep his head raised. Sweat ran off his hair. His whole body .. even where the lash had not struck .. it was tinged with bright flushes of pain. A good dozen strikes with the long strap across his back .. that had kept shut his protesting mouth.
The priest had raised his hand for the beating to halt. While he engaged further in philosophical queries with this Prince.
“Such as when a slave has been privileged .. because of particular assets he can bring ….? Not some grunting muscle-bound beast destined for the mines.”
The Priest’s eyes scoured down the sweat-drenched male form strung out between the pillars. Remarkably sculpted, male perfection. He himself was not attracted to men. But this masculine perfection was erotic .. he had to admit. Even to a man. What the temple handmaidens must have thought! Having this muscular hunk, naked here in his full glory, made available to service their needs.
The man was made to keep the maidens happy. But then he’d run away.
Odd to feel grateful. This bastard of a priest, he had called a halt. Had he ever been so thankful in his life? He was suffering, like crazy. Sweating profusely. He’d been determined to see this through. Stay true to himself. His anger with himself at getting captured again .. his old frustrations that he had been kidnapped, forced into this life .. he had counted on those emotions to see him through his ordeal. So damned angry. But the hits into his back! Mind-blowing. The force behind each blow .. breath-taking, he could hardly breathe.
“You mean ….?”
The Prince was stood alongside the Priest. Despite his suffering, helplessly strung out between these pillars, .. still his head could not miss the point. The ruler stood. The Priest sat. No doubt who commanded here.
“I had once a stonemason. Slave. Commissioned him effigies to venerate the temple. Some exquisite work. Some magnificent specimens adorn the temple now.”
Fuck, he needed something to drink. He was running with sweat. Every breath he took cost him massive effort. It hurt like hell. However many lashes across his back he’d taken .. he had no idea .. how many more to fifty? .. He’d been struggling. Biting on his tongue. Determined to be true to himself. But struggling like hell not to scream out.
But …. instincts told him there was something worse to listen in to here. The High Priest had not set off on this topic for idle gossip.
“But he ran away. That stonemason .. honoured to perform exquisite commissions .. he took off.”
The Prince halted. He felt those royal eyes coat his sweat-drenched naked torso. Fuck! What went on in the heads of these rulers? Watching a man sweating out his fears .. lashed across his arse .. a couple of dozen blows across the back. And still they talked as if they were doing small-talk with a friend.
“Had to make an example of him. After all, he’d led a privileged life …..”
As a slave! His blood boiled. Knowing the life of a reluctant slave. OK, so his duties had been fucking young girls. Not the worst way to spend your days. But there hadn’t been a single day when he hadn’t yearned to be free. Planned to escape.
“HOW? THAT is my point. How is it different then? A man who had thrown a privileged life back in your face?”
He was afraid of that High Priest. There was no doubt who ruled here. Which bastard was the one seated? It was the Prince who formally ruled. But it was the priest’s words that carried weight. He felt those looks, cold and indifferent, float over his flat muscled belly .. like claws. Sharp talons almost as stinging as the strap laid into his backside.
He’d been kidnapped. Set to work. Fucking this priest’s temple maidens. But his urges to be himself, free of this duty-crap .. they’d been stronger than the pleasures of his cock. True-to-himself. The need to be free. He’d spotted his chance. Escaped. Leaving this bastard High Priest with a lot of women whining down his ear.
“A mason needs his hands. His assets, so-to-speak. No hands, no effigies, no privileges.”
It all felt far from comfortable .. stood there with those eyes running over him. Examining him .. both of them .. eagerly searching for signs of whether he was suffering enough.
“So .. after the scourging .. in front of the household slaves .. I had his hands chopped off. The wounds sealed in the coals.”
He shuddered. Hearing this Prince coldly narrate the agonies of his stonemason. Who’d served him well. Fashioning effigies for the temple above.
“After all .. he’d enjoyed a privileged life. He’d let me down.”
Suddenly he felt the Prince’s gaze turn on him. Like a stinging lash with hardened leather across his front. Biting into his belly.
“Like this one has …..”