A dog’s life
NO ONE stood up to him like that. NO ONE defied him. Staring back. Posturing. Even that merchant, a regular client .. clearly he’d had an eye on the American dog for his fight-pit – he’d known. Rais’ was not a will to defy.
NO SALE! He’d been offering a good price, more than fair, he wanted the dog for his fights. He was a good customer, rich .. Rais sent for him after refusing to sell, it was good for business to explain himself.
He wanted the muscle-head American pig for his fight-pit .. a huge commercial success. Alternating cock-fights with desperate slaves going up against each other. Fights to the death. The gambling was wild, the fighting intense, murderous.
Even a slave wanted to live another day. They fought like madmen. The fight ending in death .. or until one was so maimed he couldn’t carry on. Even then .. usually for an added portion of food .. the victor would play to the crowd .. snapping the loser’s neck anyway.
Fancied himself as a fighter, did he? Few infidels lasted long in the pits. How long would that American conceit survive? Would still be good to find out.
He had a good nose for a fighter, this customer. He had smelled the warrior in this pig. Rais himself could testify to that spirit after their fight on the ship. Maybe Rais had cut off his nose to spite his own face .. refusing to sell. He’d have enjoyed the sight of seeing that American insolence cut down to size day-after-day in the arena. The merchant knew how to please a crowd. He’d have appealed to their hatred for infidels. Nothing better than seeing the unbeliever beaten into the dirt. He’d have set the American pig up in every fight to be taken apart .. out-numbered, out-classed. He knew what the pubic wanted to see. The infidel brutally attacked, his body broken, his fighter spirit smashed every time he ventured into the arena. Hearing that muscled arrogance was announced for a fight, the arena would be crowded out. Cheering on true believers pounding his stinking hide into the dirt .. the mob would have howled with joy. The betting would have gone mad.
But Rais was not one to let others do his dirty work. And this foul American dog deserved personal handling. That audacity to challenge him on the ship! Rais would have cut the cur down. He’d have taken a killer thrust to the gut. And Rais would have left his insolent hide to bleed out, a slow agonising death before his own mates.
But that was not the point. The dog had dared! This stinking infidel pig had dared raise his hand against him. And still he stood there .. naked, in slave-chains .. still he had dared eye him back.
The gladiator-owner was a good client. Rais concernedly explained, he greatly valued his custom. But this time things were different. Please understand, Rais clarified conciliatory, there were matters to settle with this slave. Personal. He begged the gladiator-merchant to appreciate .. personal matters.
But .. when he had had his satisfaction …… Rais grinned .. when the insolent pig had gone on his knees and sucked his dick .. then it would be Rais’ pleasure to offer the customer first option on the infidel. It was HIS. For the same price. Rais agreed, the merchant had a nose for it. This pig was just made to get the crowd to their feet in the pits.
Indeed it HAD become personal. At every encounter since .. singled out for the slave bench .. even after that humiliation in his cabin .. the damned cur had sneered back. Not going to be got to. Arrogant. His conceited infidel contempt. NO ONE took on Rais like that. NO ONE dared. And no stinking SLAVE dared even let such a thought into his head.
Revenge had cost him. Selling the dog to the gladiator-merchant .. that would have been a sweet deal .. a good price. But he’d make the pig pay. Sweeter still would be settling that conceited dog’s pride himself. The way that cur had postured after Rais had refused to sell him off ……! Like there was nothing an Arab slaver could do to his American conceit! Well, Rais was just the man to see about that.
Afterwards Rais had gone straight to his own slave-master.
“Work the dog till every muscle in his damned body screams.”
Rais didn’t bother to spell it out. His handlers were expert at interpreting their master’s will.
“And I mean SCREAMS.”
The handler nodded. It would be done. To perfection.
“See his cursed will is broken. Smashed. He is strong. The pig is arrogant. Stubborn. He will resist. But I want that pig-headed infidel crushed.”
Rais scowled his anger. He could foresee the pig’s reaction.
“He’ll stand up to you,” Rais recognised. “Let him. I WANT him to resist.”
He imagined the conceited pig.
“Let the dog try. Think he can get away with it.”
“Then crush it. Squeeze it. Beat it. Smash that will into the dirt.”
Rais was nodding at the scene he was playing out in his mind’s eye.
“I want the pig too see himself fail. Crushingly.”
Now it was Rais sneering in contempt.
“Let the cur feel himself being crushed. Fight all he will, struggle, resist. Do his best. But then … he fails. EVERY TIME.”
His eyes turned on the handler.
“You hear me? Every single time ……”
Rais felt a tingling at the tops of his legs at the sweetness of the thought.
“To see for himself that .. for all that muscle .. for all that damned sneering .. the infidel has not the strength to stand up to Rais. Get it?”
The handler knew better than to fail.
Rais felt a sadistic streak flush greater strength to his breeches.
“And publicly. Do it in the open. All the slaves are to see it. His muscled conceit crushed into the dirt.”
A cruel smile lit his eyes.
“Let him see himself BEING SEEN to fail.”
It was tempting to stroke the power in his breeches. A god-granted right to rule over this arrogant infidel slave.
“His weakness impaled on a pole,” Rais continued, relishing already his triumph over American conceit ….
“Let his mates see his failing strength crucified. Shattered into tiny pieces.”
Rais give in. He stroked himself. Power over that pig hard in his grip.
“His mates should see him feebled. Shown up for the arrogant cur that he is.”
Rais nodded, squeezing on his god-given power.
“Publicly humiliated. Worked into the ground. That insolence destroyed. Smashed.”
“Shattered. That will that dared defy Rais crushed. Smashed to bits before their eyes.”
His mouth contorted into a cruel sneer.
“His damned American arrogance broken by an Arab will”
He scowled his demands to the handler.
“Let the swine hear him scream. Beg.”
His resolve slitted into vengeful eyes.
“Do NOT let me down.”
Rais knew his handler. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare.