Back in his hole. Another body-crippling day. Weak from lack of food. Weakened by the heat. The sacks only got heavier. The effort of filling them seemingly taking forever. The trudge up the slope before dumping the sand only got longer.
His first day he was ten sacks short. Twenty lashes across his backside. Exhausted, Worked from first light to sunset. No idea of the passing of time. Starved of food. Energy levels at nothing. He’d missed his target.
But failing to fulfil his quota .. that was part of the routine. Who was counting? Maciste had lost his total before the sun was at its highest. He’d lost focus before then. And anyway, if he argued …. who would decide? The guards were doing the counting.
And it was they who decided …. his arse would get it anyway, obvious. Ordered between two stakes. His meagre covering protecting nothing. Twenty stinging lashes across his bare backside. Biting at his exhausted will.
“Suck my cock!”
Immediately afterwards, Nightmare came with his nightly invitation. Maciste declined. Dumped instead into the chilled darkness of his hole. His arse was on fire. He tore into the meagre rations of stale bread. Weakened by merciless hard work. Starved. No energy, no reserves. Barely managing to gnaw his way through hard bread before he collapsed.
Day after day. Maciste’s work-day in Hellgate.
In the quiet of his freezing hole, he resolved. He couldn’t go on like this. If he was to stand any chance of escape …. If he was to survive until the Parthian emperor sent for him and ironically rescued him from this place …… if he was to have any strength of mind to make the best of any chance ……. Maciste had to keep his wits about him. He had to keep his strength up.
He’d faced the punishing regime. Building that ramp up the rockface …. fifty sacks a day …. Head reeling with the heat .. starved, getting weaker every moment. The sacks seemingly getting heavier every time .. the sand up the ramp deeper .. the more he built, the harder it got .. as he got weaker. A daunting task even for a body like his …..
Maciste would have to eat, he’d have to get his strength up.
Nightmare had it well thought-out. Taking his time. He was letting Maciste see the risks for himself. Starvation weakening him .. the strength of his will crumbling. In time, Maciste would get round to accepting his offer.
And there was only one way Maciste would get anything like enough to fortify himself for the back-breaking tasks …. Suck cock! Maciste saw that now. With food in his belly he stood a chance to last out the days. He’d put up a reasonable show. Yothin would see he was no pushover.
Nothing for it ….. Well, fuck it. He’d suck cock. He wasn’t giving in. He wasn’t broken. He was playing these bastards at their own game, he told himself. After this day’s labour …. After he’d got thrashed for again failing to meet his quote ….. and Maciste was convinced he’d always have missed his target ….. end of the day, he’d go down on his knees.
Playing them at their own game. He’d crawl forward on his knees. Lick Nightmare hard. And get him to cum in his mouth. Who gave a fuck? Maciste would get his rations improved. He’d get enough to keep his strength up. Enough strength to fight another day.
Unless …… in Hellgate did things always quite turn out the way you planned ……..?