“Hands behind ya fucking-head. Ya bin told enough times, fuck-arse!”
The sergeant had strode over to Menander on his knees in the centre of the circle of light. He slammed his fist across the back of Menander’s head. Hands already up. Had he not got them there fast enough? Or was the hard slap just an excuse? Setting the scene .. the way things were to carry on.
The hard force jolted Menander forwards. Landing on hands and knees. A boot slammed up his backside make him jerk. Maciste worried for him. Seeing Menander shaking his head. To clear the pain.
When Menander was already half-way up, the sergeant grabbed Menander by the scruff of his neck.
He shook Menander savagely by the neck. Like some animal disciplining its brood.
The sergeant bawled down Menander’s ears.
“How many fucking times ya gotta be fucking-told?”
His knee jabbed hard into Menander’s side. Hard enough to lift his torso.
“Hands where they belong. Goat-shagger. Fuck-arse.!”
That went down well. The opening of the show was cheered on by his men.
“You tell the cocksucker, sarge.”
“Give it to the fuck-arse!”
As he’d been summoned into the circle, before this kicking, Menander had looked seriously nervous. Not understanding why he’d been called out. Now Maciste joined him in feeling jumpy. Made jittery by the scene .. the flickering light of the torches .. this set-up, a public spectacle .. the general waiting in anticipation. And him and Menander brought together. A joint performance in this show?
He didn’t have to wait long.
“What ya reckon, lads? We done right by own prince-slave here, don’t ya reckon? We treated him well?”
Jeers broke the ring of light.
Laughter at Maciste. Even his exceptional muscular power had been sorely tested by the efforts of pushing their damned cart to this river. To this border with the empire. HOME for this drunken mob. And start of a downward journey for Maciste.
“Here’s to the cocksucker-prince,”
An anonymous voice in the crowd raised an invisible beaker to toast Maciste’s efforts at getting himself this far. Stupidly ensnaring himself in the Parthian net. A few more days Maciste could be in the emperor’s grip .. not a prospect to look forward to .. his time up. So why the hell hadn’t Menander got away? That was trapping Maciste. He couldn’t go till he knew Menander was safe. Unable to grab the first chance that came. So what the hell was keeping him?
“Soon crossing the river, lads. Soon be home.”
Cheers beyond the torches broke out. Maciste wondered how many wives would really welcome this rabble back in their beds. Knowing where they’d been sticking their stinking dicks these past weeks.
“Ain’t it right, lads? Don’t we owe it to the fucker?”
The rabble outside the circle of torches broke out in cheers.
“Let’s hear it for the fucker!”
The soldiers cheered. Mock cheers. Taunting Maciste. Knowing what the empire had in store.
“Ain’t it right?”
The sergeant was holding centre-stage. But Maciste knew this was all some act. Prelude to the bigger scene. Where Maciste played the major role.
“Don’t we owe it to this fucker?”
The sergeant’s hand extended backwards. Inviting the mob’s drunken gaze to cast their eyes on his muscular torso. Eye-catchingly strong. Etched muscle made even harder by days of back-breaking hard work.
“Ain’t it right, men? We owe him a favour.”
Even words that made no sense were getting a massive drunken bawl of approval.
“What say ya’s? How about it? Ain’t it right .. to let this fucking-arsehole know what to expect?”
Now THIS was what they had come for. The raucous mob of soldiers outside the ring of torches scented blood.
“Stick it to the fucker, sarge!”
Their sergeant held up his hand. He waited for the jeering to calm down.
“Shall we show this arsehole what Parthian justice has got in mind?”
The wall of drunken hostility beyond the torches broke out in savage guffaws. This was more like it. Stick it to the prick. Put the goat-shagger prince in his place. A good dose of Parthian brutality to make its mark.
Maciste too got the picture. Thinking through the wall of jeering. Seeing through the roar of Parthian sadistic thoughts. They were cheering .. welcoming the thought .. of this cocksucker who’d got under their skin feeling the heat.
“Only right to let the fucker in on the secret. Eh, boys? Show the prick what he might expect?”
The jeers tore through the darkness. Eagerness burned. Every mocking voice wanted their prince-slave to feel the heat.
“Trouble is …….”
The sergeant was now standing right alongside Maciste. Both stared into each other’s faces. Maciste with steely resolve .. daring the Parthian soldier to try anything on. The sergeant’s lip curled up. Asking, And what the fuck ya gonna do about it?
From behind the sergeant’s hand clutched into Maciste’s hair. A sharp yank hauled his head back. Maciste was looking up at the stars. He shook his head to try and release the grip. But the clutch in his hair just tightened. Twisted. Almost pulling hair out at the root.
“Trouble is, guys ….. This ……”
Maciste tried to twist his body away. The sergeant’s other hand was squeezing on his chest. He’d grabbed a nipple between finger and thumb. Squeezing.
“This belongs to the emperor.”
The hand had started moving down Maciste’s torso. Stepping provokingly from one row of muscle in his belly down to the next.
“Slave of the empire.”
The free hand quickly slid down. Maciste was grabbed between his legs. Squeezing. Crushing tight.
Jeers burst through the ring of light. The sergeant waited. His forearm flexed, crushing. His provocative grope making the muscled princely torso contract at the pain. As the cheers faded away, the sergeant got to his point.
“A quandary. To you arseholes, that means, we got ourselves a problem. We owe it to this motherfucker. He ought to know what’s coming. But we can’t touch the arsehole.”
A groan burst the bubble of the drunken expectation. The hand between Maciste’s legs gave an extra sharp squeeze. Maciste could not disguise the grimace on his face.
Outside the ring of torches, noise had subsided. Disappointment. At getting it spelled out. Maciste was owned. And by their emperor. Untouchable. These days on the journey they had been told repeatedly .. the arsehole was the preserve of the emperor. Not once had the whip cut across the arsehole’s back. The disappointment was palpable. What had they been promised? What was this fucking evening all about? Their drunken bloodlust had been promising their loins some fun. But hopes were being dashed.
The sergeant’s word caught everyone’s attention. The grip in Maciste’s hair had been released. Maciste was again taking in the scene around. And then the crush-hold on his gonads was gone too. The sergeant’s hand was now pointing. Maciste did not have to follow the line. He was one step ahead.
“Lucky we have a substitute. A cocksucker-supreme. Just the fucker to show our prince-slave what to expect.”
Menander. Whatever they could not do to Maciste .. HE was the “captive prince” .. Maciste was sole possession of their emperor. BUT Menander .. the peasant .. goat-shagger .. FUCK-Arse! .. he was going to get it instead.
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