6 Who’s boss?
Tiradates had been scrutinising this prisoner during his struggles. He had come across enough stuck-up arseholes like him in his life. Upstarts who thought their birth bought them rights. But this one did look different .. not like the soft podgy pricks who threw their weight around the emperor’s court. Expecting the world to make way for them if they wanted to fart.
No, this one did look strong, he acted tough. Beaten down several times. But not taking that lying down. Interestingly Tiradates felt himself getting aroused at this upstart fighting back. Against the odds. Bound, it made no difference. These guards had been violent.. but this arsehole was taking it. Even hitting back. Resisting even when taking a kicking.
This Menander was turning out a surprise. This spoiled royal brat actually could put all that muscle behind his fights. His strength of will was as hard as his chest. Interesting, unexpected .. this Menander was proving to be a challenge.
Not many noble captives put up much of a fight. But the few who did …. Tiradates took it as an invitation. To up his own game, a vicious tightening of the screw. No fucking prisoner .. prince or not .. got away with that.
In the end they broke. Tiradates always broke them. It was a pleasure breaking them himself. Rising to the challenge .. it was arousing. A strong man was supposed to fight back .. Tiradates would. And getting a tough motherfucker to that crucial point .. where he finally broke ….. that always hit Tiradates in all the right spots. Relishing seeing that vain pride in manliness crumbling under that final knocking.
He glared at this dumb-arse prince. If an arsehole put up a challenge – Tiradates kicked the shit out of him .. that was a given. If this muscle-head persisted .. well, come on in, motherfucker. Welcome to my spider’s web. Here, pig-shit – here Tiradates rules. No special favours. No getting away. In my camp, you’re my fucking prisoner. That makes you a fucking slave. Like it or lump it.
“So … Prince Menander … SIR.”
The sarcasm was deliberate. Tiradates was enjoying goading him. A hopeless prince who couldn’t come to terms with his piss-awful fate. The empire’s slave. Vologases’ prime captive .. destined for a death worse than imagination could conceive. Some one-time prince who still thought he counted for something. Missing the message. He counted for SHIT.
The guards kept a good grip on the captive. Strongly held by the arms. The beatings on that bare muscle had made their mark.
“I asked you .. tables-turned .. you standing in my shoes ….”
Tiradates did not bother to mask his sarcasm. No chance of that! The arsehole had got himself taken prisoner. And this cocksucker was going to learn the cost of that.
“ … what you do to me …?”
The arsehole tried to interrupt. A club thwacked him across the back of the neck. Shutting him up..
“More fitting … What is it I am going to do with YOU?”
Well, fuck me! The cocksucker did act like something special. The way he’d just got himself together. After that clubbing. The speed with which he found his second wind! And back glaring, teeth clenched in anger. What a fucking strength of will. Looking well-trained, tough, muscled like some star gladiator. And fast.
Maybe they grew their nobles different where this Menander came from …?
Nevertheless …… Facts were facts. Tiradates had taken the fucker prisoner. No special rights, prince-be-fucked! Tiradates stared back triumphant at the bristling stubbornness. And .. in that instant .. he decided. He didn’t like what he saw. He’d put up with enough. This defiance .. this standing up to the might of the empire .. defying its general …. No longer amusing. Didn’t amaze anymore. Even after a good roughing-up, he knelt there .. chin high, chest up tall. Authoritative. PRINCELY.
Well, fuck that! A SLAVE! That was what this fucker was, this has-been prince. Vologases’ prime slave. And Tiradates was going to knock that into his thick skull.