5. Command performance
Maciste had risen, no stopping it happening, tied-up like this with cord tight around him. He was still thickening but he was already pointing straight out. Menander was on his knees in front. Head down, mortified. Avoiding Maciste’s face. Ashamed he was being made to put his friend through this.
“Na. The fucker can do better than that.”
Tiradates mocked. His mouth turned up in a scorn at the puny power Maciste was projecting off his front.
“Any Parthian lap-dog can do better.”
From outside the brightness of the ring Maciste heard the jeers. He heard someone bark. Then a howl like a wolf. Every eye out there was on his bare cock. Forced to get hard against his will. Forced up on display. An object for their ridicule.
Tiradates slapped Menander hard across the back of his head.
“Help the fucker up more. Get your tongue on him. Let’s what this prick-of-a-prince can do ……”
More howls greeted the scorn.
“Go for the stars.”
Maciste heard the jeers. But his focus was on the real source of this torment. The general he had long-learned to hate.
“Good at giving head, they tell me.”
Tiradates grabbed Menander by the hair. He jabbed his head forward. His face collided awkwardly with Maciste’s projecting cock. Menander opened his mouth. He’d been about to do it before .. then the general had taken over. Saving his embarrassment. But not for long.
Back then Maciste had told him they had no choice. He’d ordered him to do it. Joking that sucking him off was alright,. Shut his eyes, he’d chortled. Just another stinking Parthian cock.
But Menander’s heart was pounding. It felt like it was thumping in his throat. He hated himself. This wasn’t the same. This wasn’t the hated enemy .. forcing themselves on him. This was his friend. But Maciste had shown him the way ….. Refusing .. or riling this animals up … that sort of thing was only going to make things worse. For Maciste as well as himself.
“Not like that, fuck-arse.”
Maciste hated it .. every time he heard that word. A guilty reminder. How he had unfairly abused Menander for not getting away. And he’d spent the night having his backside ripped apart. That hated name .. evidence of what these animals had put Menander through.
“We want to see it happening.”
Tiradates had yanked Menander’s head right back. Up into his own stern face.
“Tongue the fucker. Work him up. Get your mouth over him.”
Maciste saw the general flash his evil look back into his own face. No pleasure here. This was meant to hurt. Hurt the manliness that raged inside Maciste’s pounding chest.
“On the outside. We all wanna see. Give that motherfucker’s cockhead the working-over of his life.”
Maciste felt Menander shudder.
“Get your fucking tongue on him.”
“And I mean NOW. Fuck-arse.”
Menander swallowed hard. He bit on a lower lip.
“You want I get one of my men to show you how ……?”
Menander knew that would be less than kind. Much worse for Maciste. It wouldn’t be just lips and tongue …… He took a deep breath. He edged forward. His tongue slid out. Making contact with Maciste’s solid cockhead.
It was like licking a red-hot branding iron. The torture was mental. But the feeling that shot through Menander’s body was as real as being branded in the gut.
“Work him, motherfucker.”
Tiradates was snarling down his neck.
“Get that tongue all over him. Wanna see him pointing for the sky.”
Menander was dying of shame. He’d never have thought things could come to this. He’d had his mouth on enough stinking Parthian cocks these past days. But doing this to his friend?
“Up and down.”
Menander was dying of embarrassment.
“Wash your prince’s cock, slave.”
He’d done this dozens of times. But …..
“Get those fucking-lips on him.”
Blood was raging in his veins.
“Let’s hear you slurp.”
Anger pumping in Menander’s ears.
“Get that tongue over that cockhead. The fucker reeks of piss.”
He was furious at himself. For his weakness. For his helplessness. And doing this to a friend. To manly Maciste.
Deluged by a pounding sea of cat-calls. The animals were raging. Cheers. Obscene jeers. Menander felt mortified. What was he doing to Maciste! A hand twisted in his hair. Yanking his head up. Menander saw Maciste looking down at him. He nearly died of shock. And shame.
“Look up. Look up at your prince.”
The twist in Menander’s hair tightened.
“Show your prince, this is an honour you’ll do for him.”
But Tiradates was sneering into the face of his captive. Trapped under this tree. Stripped naked. Forced into this shaming. His face burned with fury. But it was an impotent fury. He was a slave of the Parthian empire. Powerless. A pawn.
“Any time, any place. Show him he can have this happening …. Any time his master wills it.”
Tiradates lorded it over this captive’s helplessness. His lip curled. He scoffed.
“Give it him. Cocksucker.”
Menander had stopped licking. Mortified. Tiradates snarled.
“Work the fucker. And smile. Honour this prick-of-a-prince.”
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