Putting things right
What had he got left to fight back with? Tied to this blood-stained whipping post .. not a shred of clothing to his name. His fighting strength disabled by ropes. Weak after a day being brutalised. And this man breathing down his neck. The man who claimed to own him. The man out to break his will. What could he still hit back with?
That damned Rais had hold of his thrusting manliness. A boner forced on him. His shipmates could see that, forced, unwanted. They knew what that grip on his throbbing private parts was meant to symbolise. How the crew were reading that? How could he counter such defeatist thoughts?
This sadist clutched him shamefully by the cock. But Mitchell was going to rise above this. He lifted his head, steadfastly he thrust forward his chin. Giving his shipmates the image. The proud marine. Chin-up. Jaw set. The proud American. Free. Defiant. Unbowed.
His chest swelled. Full of strength. Lifted high. Broadened by the lift of his arms. Projecting himself. Staring strong and proud at his mates out there in the blackness. This was what he was. This was what THEY were. Muscular belly sucked in tight. Powerful shoulders wide. Proud .. undaunted. Unbroken. A free American. NO SLAVE.
“Till it screams …… That was my order.”
Rais was glaring at the pair of handlers.
One looked to the other. The other handler returned his look, then cast his eyes down at the earth. He shook his head back. HE wasn’t going to answer.
Rais growled. Deep in his throat.
“Did this infidel pig scream?”
Mitchell felt as though the whole body of the handler disappeared in that giant gulp down his throat when he swallowed in fear. Rais snarled. The question came back again. Each word defined. Edged with anger.
“DID. THE. PIG. SCREAM?”
His voice was harsh. Critical. Proud .. gloating over these handlers’ discomfort .. Mitchell knew the answer already. And so did Rais.
Visibly nervous one handler quickly got in an answer.
“This infidel arsehole .. it’s a tough motherfucker. This fucker is stubborn .. as a mule. But it WILL, captain. It WILL.”
Next to Mitchell, his attention now glaring at his two handlers, Rais hissed. An anger that lashed across the faces of the pair of Mitchell’s handlers. His criticism as cutting as any whip.
“Yes. It will. It will scream. Now. This pig will scream. NOW.”
Mitchell’s heart stopped. His gloating froze. He knew he was not strung up here at this whipping post for no reason. But still the thought chilled him.
“Do it now. And make a proper job of it.”
Rais voice dropped to a menacing whisper.
Mitchell’s gloating had been short-lived. These handlers WOULD make a proper job of it. Under these circumstances. In the face of Rais’ whispered fury.
But whispered or bellowed out .. when Mitchell heard the pronouncement .. hearing the seething hiss of contained fury in Rais’ voice .. he bit down on his bottom lip. Mitchell steeled himself. Summoning his strength of will. Bracing his nerves. For another thrashing. And a proper one this time.
“Get your rods. Finish off the job.”
Rais spoke quietly. Maybe only the few of them could hear the anger. But it was an anger these handlers were rushing off, eager to placate.
“Properly this time.”
Rais seethed under his breath.
“Or I’ll have the skin flayed off your backs.”
Other handlers had turned Mitchell. Twisting him bodily around and slamming his front into the stake. He cried out. His solid dick smacked uncaringly in the wood. Quickly Mitchell adjusted the awkwardness .. forced himself to stand slightly sideways .. his erect cock pushed around the side of the post.
Rais was already stood there behind the post, waiting for him. For this show he had positioned himself to look into Mitchell’s face. When the bite of their punishment rods thwacked hell out of his damaged backside .. when Mitchell’s broken will could not hold in the pain .. when his face convulsed into a twisted mask of agony .. Rais had positioned himself for those moments. To catch every tortured wince. To relish every contorted grimace.
He caught Mitchell’s movement adjusting his stance. His eyes dropped to the solid cockhead peeking around the stake. Purple with strain, full with nervous blood. But there was no pleasure in his slave’s awkwardness. In his discomfort. He had willed this state on his infidel pig, this was as things should be. This was all as he had wished. As far as Rais was concerned, this defiant slave had brought all this on himself. He deserved every ounce of pain that would suck the life out of him.
Mitchell was nervous. As hell. He’d forced himself to breathe deep .. knowing his nerves were already threatening to get the better of him. He made to calm himself. And stand up for himself. He returned Rais’ glare. Pushing aside his fears. This was going to hurt. His backside was badly damaged, it jarred with his every move. This was going to be hell.
Rais had threatened his handlers. They’d hold nothing back. Rais was going to have his pound of flesh .. and more. Mitchell was already exhausted, his muscular body weakened, his backside on fire from that earlier thrashing. And, given the threats to those handlers, this thrashing was going to be even worse. Much worse.
But Rais would not read those fears on his face. Not as long as Mitchell could hold out. And he’d stand up to this monster as long as he possibly could.
Mitchell knew things were ready for him .. that his handlers had retrieved their sticks .. he knew when Rais broke off their own private war of intense glares and looked beyond the post.
“This infidel pig ….”
Rais’ head cocked over at his victim at the post. But his warnings were now for the pair of handlers who had let him down.
“What is it a pig does?”
No one answered.
“When a pig is hurt?”
An ominous threatening silence settled over the illuminated ring of light.
Rais answered for himself
Now his gaze did flick over to Mitchell .. watching him from the stake.
“A. PIG. SQUEALS.”
Rais emphasised his demands with every emphasised word. The adversaries’ eyes kept contact. Stayed gripped on each other. Mitchell felt a shiver down his back. Fear gripped his bowels. But nothing on his face let him down. Long and hard these hated foes stared their steadfast resolve into each other’s eyes. Neither was backing down.
Without taking his cold-hearted glare from Mitchell’s resolute face, Rais ordered it done.
“When a pig is hurt …. the pig squeals.”
Coldly he snarled to the handlers.
“Do. Not. Let. Me. Down.”