5. Command performance
“Sergeant. Stand down.”
WHAT! Stopping it? A groan went up. Hands were already groping their own cocks. At the thought of seeing this enemy prince .. this oh-so haughty, this nothing-you-can-do-to-put-me-down cocksucker .. forced into spewing himself down Fuck-arse’s throat.
WHAT! Not gonna get sucked off? Get humiliated. Good ol’ Fuck-arse with his mouth around his helplessly stiff cock. They’d all had Fuck-arse, they knew he was good.
Who-the-fuck was calling a halt? But the moan of protest was soon silenced when they saw who had intervened. The general. Tiradates was already on his feet.
He was resolutely stepping into the circle of light. Striding purposefully towards Maciste. A surprised stillness blanketed the darkness. The general had called a halt. And every eye from outside was focussed on him.
On the way, Tiradates grabbed Menander. On his knees, Tiradates grabbed Menander by the hair. Yanked him, not breaking stride. Forcing Menander forward. Slamming him like Maciste’s discarded rags against Maciste’s legs.
Roughly Tiradates kicked at Menander slumped at Maciste’s feet. As if out of nowhere Tiradates produced a long strip of leather in his hand. He struck away at Menander’s shoulder with it, a makeshift whip. Maciste heard Menander hiss at the sting. Biting at sunburned flesh. He saw water spray off the thin strip of leather cord. It was sodden. Maciste quickly started to rethink. What this sudden appearance of Tiradates in the show could mean.
He’d got impatient. He wanted on with things. This night of celebration had been his plan. Part of the strategy while camped to break the back of this captive’s truculent will. Tiradates had funded the feast. To this sergeant he had set out in outline how the show would go. Start of days of grinding the prick-of-a-prince into the ground. Working on his will like that had worn down his body every day. So when the emperor invited Tiradates to return in triumph .. he’d be handing over a rebel prince whose will was as good as ground to dust. For his emperor to do with him as he willed. And favour his general who’d delivered the prize.
But WATCHING ….? That was not his style. Tiradates was a man who got things done. He got his hands dirty. The humiliations were winding up .. the arsehole-prince was losing his temper .. it was going to plan. BUT ….. Tiradates was a hands-on man.
The general had come prepared. Not just some passive spectator. Maciste’s mind was already working on the picture when Tiradates stomped a metal-cleated sandal on Menander’s thigh. Getting his attention.
“Tie it. Bind up the end of the scumbag’s cock.”
Another sharp kick encouraged Menander to his knees. The cord slashed stinging across his face.
“And tight around the back of his balls.”
A hard smack across the back of Menander’s head knocked him against Maciste’s muscled legs.
“What’s wrong? Not understand? FUCK-ARSE?”
Hearing their general use their nickname brought the soldiers out in a roar. Cheering him on. Drunk on his booze.
Tiradates kicked out at the kneeling Menander .. brutally hard.
“Not understand, Fuck-arse? You only do it with men?”
His sandal tore had into Menander’s side.
“Never had a woman? Never had a whore do this? Have you?”
Another kick had Menander cornered up against Maciste’s legs.
“Or only been with men? Eh, fuck-head?”
Maciste glowered at the reminder.
“You know what to do.”
Tiradates loomed over Menander threatening.
“Must have had some stinking goat-shagger whore tie your cock up? Haven’t you?”
Another hard kick reinforced the question.
“Got-the-fuck on with it. And …. “
Tiradates looked at Maciste with hate-slitted eyes.
“ …. make it fucking-tight.”
Menander set about the task. Head down, not daring to look Maciste in the face. Another degrading act. And Menander made to do their dirty work..
Maciste seethed .. not hiding his anger with the general. Feeling Menander at work between his legs .. the leather dripping as it was pulled tight .. trapping his ballsack. Cutting into the root of his cock.
He felt guilty that for days he’d been on Menander’s back. Lecturing him for his failure. Not understanding what he’d been put through. Night-after-night. And by day having Maciste remonstrating that he wasn’t trying. Scornful. Why-the-fuck hadn’t he managed to get away?
Sexually used by a dozen men. If any wanted to get their rocks off ….. a slave on-call .. forced to take their stinking cocks down his throat. Several times a night. Doing the bidding of a dozen horny men .. getting their rocks off .. lording it over a helpless slave. Sticking it to them .. whenever they felt like it. In pairs .. a gang of the bastards .. roughly ramming themselves up him inside. Scraping him raw. In constant demand. Escape? These animals were not going to let their sex-animal out of their sight. How the hell was Menander supposed to get away?
And too ashamed to tell. Too horrified by the depths to which he had plunged. Not even when his friend called him a useless piece-of-shit. Scorning him for failing to escape.
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