Menander wasn’t going to admit it to Maciste. Ashamed. Angry at himself for letting them treat him like that. He was a warrior, a prince, he had a strong fighter’s physique, no interest in men. He should have fought them off. But so many? And held down? HOW?
And he was pretty sure how Maciste would respond. Like his big brother would have done. It wouldn’t have helped. Only made things worse. Instead Menander kept his own counsel. Disgusted with himself.
That first night .. when the pattern had got set .. he was surprised out of his skin to hear that the women had turned up. The Parthians hadn’t sent them away at all. They’d tricked Maciste .. agreeing set them free .. their side of the bargain for his surrender. But the women had been made to follow on. They were spoils of war and the Parthian soldiers expected to make a killing selling them off.
The women weren’t free. Maciste’s sacrifice had been in vain. Menander dreaded passing on the news. Another disappointment. Another twist in this unfortunate tale. Maciste being carted away for a violent death. Reduced to a beast of burden. Menander messing up his rescue attempt. And the pair of them in Parthian hands still.
On top of that …. bad news about the women. Not to mention what these Parthians were doing every night to Menander. How would Maciste take it? Freeing the women had been the one thing he could count as making all this sacrifice worthwhile.
But still, at the time, Menander had been grateful for the shock news. It was the women’s arrival that had saved his skin. Things had just begun to turn nasty. It was about to take off when the sergeant called out the news. News that free pussy was arriving in camp had saved Menander’s arse.
Telling Maciste .. that was going to be heart-breaking. Menander didn’t know how to break the news. How to tell him that all this sacrifice had been a waste of time? For nothing. But, self-centredly at the time, the sergeant’s news had been more than timely. Menander’s arse had been on the line. He had been on the point of being raped. He’d tipped food over that soldier, he’d had it in for him ever since. And the arsehole had plenty of buddies to get Menander pinned over the boulder.
He had fought. By the gods he had fought like a wildcat. He was tough, trained to the hardest standards. But there were hands on his arms. A tight grip on the back of his neck. A kick across his midriff had emptied him of air.
He was being rushed forward. His midriff collided with the end of the stone. The grip on his neck slammed him forward. His chest slammed onto rock. Air expelled in a rush from his chest. The neck-grip jerked him back up. Then slammed Menander’s head back down into stone. He saw stars. He felt sick. He thought he’d pass out.
Hands were pawing over his bare backside. By the time Menander’s consciousness knew where he was, his legs were wide-spread. Held out sideways. Every effort useless. Bent forward over the boulder. Thumbs were prising his crack apart. And a stiff finger running down to his hole.
Menander cursed. He panicked. He was being raped. The worst thing that could happen to a man.
And on public view. All around .. piercing through the pounding in his ears .. penetrating the fear thudding in his chest .. men’s voices. Raucous. Cheering it on.
“FUCK IT! FUCK IT! FUCK IT!”
Menander knew he was the IT.
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