Fuck ‘em! Maciste had tested his restraints. No give. He had kept struggling as they were shoving him onto the cart .. he had taken punches, he had fended off their blows. Powerful legs had kicked out, getting one in the thigh, once managing a lucky knee-kick to the groin. And getting it back in return. A fist to the jaw. A punch into his belly.
The Hellgate brutes didn’t seem fazed by his resistance, it was almost like they took it for granted. Now they had him trapped. He had little or no movement. His shoulders had fought back, he had used their fearsome strength. He had struggled like mad to stop them from trapping his hands in the ring.
But numbers and clubs were on their side. And once his muscular arms were out of the way, they’d had no hesitation in taking it out on him. Clubbed in his guts. The message clear. He could put a fight .. as much as he wanted. But there was a cost.
Playing the prick gave them the excuse. They welcomed the chance to put him right. Show who was boss. End of a club right in the belly. And why hold anything back?
It was still early but the heat was already up. He’d watched the preparation. Tiradates was still bitter at getting robbed of his prize but watching the arsehole getting his stubbornness slapped around was some diversion. Finally Tiradates saw it was time. Despite the court intrigues, this was still HIS prisoner. Time to take a fond farewell .. a temporary farewell. Till Tiradates welcomed his prisoner to court.
The prick eyed him angrily when Tiradates mounted the cart. The general knew why, the prick had no reason to expect them to kiss-and-make-up. His gaze took in the man’s helplessness. His eyes mocking him as they ran from head to toe over that muscled hide. All that ripped muscle .. the strength in that belly .. showing signs of the lessons from the Hellgate guards that shredded muscle had had to learn …. that muscle-might that the prick thought defined him …. What-the-fuck-use was that to him like this? Tiradates grinned his disdain for the futility of the prick. For his belief in his toughness. Tough? Where this arsehole was heading …. Hellgate … he’d see how fucking-tough he was. Soon find out for himself how much a shredded belly was going to help.
Mocking Tiradates returned the prick’s defiant look. What-the-fuck was looking strong like that going to help? Arsehole! What was he thinking back then? Thought he could surrender and free the hostages? How fucking noble! What a fucking-prat! Trapped here because of his own foolishness. Only right he should be treated like the arsehole he was.
Tiradates could not hold himself back, touching up that prickling manly pride. Goading Tiradates kept on taunting his prisoner. Fingers slicking down the sweaty chest, traipsing lazily over the muscle-solid ridges in his belly. Slowly provocatively running down to the slave pouch that shamed his princely state. Sweat was glistening already on those power stomach muscles. He was breathing heavily .. barely holding down his pointless anger. Beads of sweat dotted the skin on his chest.
Few people knew where Hellgate was. Tiradates did not know how much time the journey would take. But exposed to the sun, as-good-as-naked, it’d be a rough trip through the wilderness, suffering the heat ….. the prisoner would be sweating a lot more than this.
“Remember this face. Slave.”
Tiradates removed his finger from inside the pouch. Enjoying humiliating the arsehole by fingering in the sticky clamminess of his hair. Poking down at his cock. The slave had glared back. What-the-fuck did he plan to do?
Tiradates had no fear of the dog. But he was no danger anyway. The escorts taking him away had bound a leg on either side of the post, strong cord was biting into his ankle flesh. Bound hand and foot to this post. No risk for Tiradates’ fond farewell. Bound for a long hot and sweaty ride. Bound for the gates of hell.
Tiradates felt the rush of hatred as his finger swiped a nail across the root of the dog’s cock. The slave glared back. He tried to flinch away when Tiradates reached at his chin .. with fingers stinking of his own old slave-sweat.
“Remember this face.”
The slave was trying to wrench his jaw free. But he had no means to fend off the grip. Tiradates had his jaw in a tight vice. He squeezed. Forcing the prick to look in his face and remember whose prisoner he was.
“When the emperor sends for you …..”
His forearm knotted with crushing on the jawbone. He did not continue talking until the arsehole was forced to wince at the pain. Knowing he had got through, Tiradates finished his promise.
“ …. I’ll be there. Be sure of it. We’ll meet again .. with you cowering at the emperor’s feet.”
Privately Tiradates swore an oath to himself. This one-time prince was HIS. With his capture he’d make his fame. Despite all those court intrigues against him …. the emperor WOULD reward him.
But first the prisoner would be made to pay. The emperor had condemned him to indefinite servitude. In Hellgate. Where even the toughest backs of the most stubborn wills were broken.