Had Yothin read his mind? Or had he played this game before? And was always going to be one step ahead of Maciste? He’d done nothing wrong. He’d given no reason for Yothin to demand his presence.
All morning Maciste had sweated his guts out. Trying to stay ahead of himself. To achieve his quota of fifty sacks. To save his backside more stinging whacks. But with the sun at full height, he’d lost count. He was struggling under the weight of the sacks.
Further and further up the ramp he was building, the more demanding the effort. Heat sweltering. Rays of the sun biting at his bare skin. Exhausted hobbling back down the ramp to fill another sack.
But his guards lashed out at him. Made him stop.
“Yothin wants yer.”
A thought that would stop any prisoner in his tracks. What for? But Yothin never needed a reason. His lord emperor had set him a task. One he was confident of fulfilling
The men had the sucker strung up between two stakes. Dirty, tired out. And looking suspicious. Getting into his head that their meetings always turned out for the worst. Yothin didn’t waste any time.
“So a tough motherfucker, are we ?”
Yothin was smirking into Maciste’s face.
“Think yourself so motherfucking-hard …”
Yothin had to admit to himself that this prisoner was proving harder work than most nobles he’d been invited to do over. This sucker was on his fourth day on starvation rations. And still no sign of giving in. He was still resistant to that first show of knuckling-under. Hadn’t taken up Yothin’s invitation of manly humiliation.
Hunger-strike? Did the sucker plan to starve to death? Letting his arse get thoroughly whipped every single day? Worked into the ground? Before he gave the first sign of breaking?
But Yothin had taken on real challenges before and still done the business. He’d broken hard men like this sucker. With time, given that extra squeeze … with this one too it was just a matter of time. He just needed to keep pushing.
He’d had the prisoner gripped by the chin, squeezing tight on his jawline. Enjoying the wince of pain the prisoner could not disguise. He let go .. amused by the way the sucker whipped his face away. As if recoiling in disgust from the touch of his tormentor.
“Don’t know the half of it, motherfucker ….”
Yothin sniggered. His shoulders shaking at the futility of this fool.
Stretched between the frame. Arms out, pulled tight. Manacles on his ankles yanked his legs outwards, forcing the prick to stand on his toes. He could barely move an inch. Perfect.
A finger toyed with a nipple. A simple shameful reminder. A nothing, an animal, a beast. To be toyed with. Born prince maybe, but the lord emperor’s prize slave. Pig-shit. Yothin could play with his cock, tickle his balls, make him cum. What was the fucker gonna do about it?
Cruel eyes tore into Maciste’s face. Cold. Calculating. His gaze scraped like nails over the muscled chest of the once-proud fighter. With derision taking in the strength packed into his belly. What good did all that power do for him like this?
Leaning back, the cruel gaze passed over his belly. Idled over this meagre covering he allowed him to keep. Head cocked, his vision lowered, Yothin sized up the rest of this once-feared warrior. His eyes scrawled like a tiger’s nails over the bare muscular thighs. Down to the out-stretched legs, the proud hard muscles etched and straining as his legs were stretched apart.
The pull of the bonds on the body was tight, there was little give in this body. When his eyes flashed back to the prisoner’s face, he was pleased at the wince of pain that he twisted out of his mouth. A wince at the pain that Yothin’s fingernail slowly clawed out of his nipple.
Maciste had been steeling himself all day to swallow his pride and take Nightmare deep into his mouth. To take up his offer of swallowing his cum in exchange for food. End of the day, he’d promised himself. But Yothin, it seemed, had other plans.
“So tough, are we? But how tough?” he asked with a curl of the lip.
“Kill me, get on with it,” Maciste snarled back. “Be done with it …”
For a brief moment there was lightness played on Yothin’s lips.
“Killing’s too good for the likes of a cocksucker you …,” he added. “Besides, who’s the lord emperor’s favourite pet?”
Then the humour disappeared. Vologases did not commission his services to act as court fool. Yothin brought higher levels of skill.
“Hard motherfucker, are we?”
Yothin felt a tell-tale prickle under his loincloth. He was going to enjoy this. The kind of rush to his blood that came from knowing something this fool did not know. And that thing would send a shiver of fear down his spine when Yothin exposed his cruel plan.
“Let’s see just how tough …..”