All of a sudden they locked eyes. A silent hate-filled tension. Anger and defiance filled Maciste’s eyes. Yothin was not fazed, he had seen that look from other victims. Before their heads got around the indignity of this threat. An ox’s nose ring. Stuck in through the chest. What man could hold his head up high? With that indignity dangling off his tits? Marked as the lord emperor’s chattel.
Yothin held the brutal looking ring up above his prisoner’s chest. Crudely wrought, mal-formed …. presaging how this emperor’s slave would conceive of himself. Ugly, unworthy of any self-respect. The crude ring held up in full view .. to observe. His prisoner’s eyes on Yothin’s hand as he was opening up the clasp. Holding it by the pin, as coarse and brutish as the skewer stuck through Maciste’s nipple. Tauntingly dangling the thing by its pin .. the shame that would be stuck through the sucker’s tit.
With this performance Yothin was opening up his victim’s imagination too. Seeing in his mind’s eye that open-end of the pin inserted into the bleeding hole gouged out of him. Inviting his mind’s eye to see the pin forced into the blood-raw wound under his nipple.
The coarse pin forced through. Gouging a painful path into trembling human flesh. Until the ring’s open ends were sealed closed. A long journey through pain-ridden flesh. A shame-laden path scuffing off layers of wasted pride from his pig-headed soul.
Could Yothin spy a moment’s hesitation? Was the thought of this indignity blooming in the prisoner’s head? At the idea of his chest adorned with a pair of ox-rings through his nipples? Branded as a beast. Marked as the lord emperor’s prize brute. Possessed. Owned.
The fact that Yothin was not going to impale him right now did not matter. It was the shit that was going on in his mind .. there was the torture. Fucking with his mind. His indignation billowing that Yothin could do this to him .. that was going to get his blood boiling. And frustration at the sheer helplessness of him .. that this prisoner could do nothing at all to prevent it ….. Seething .. a futile anger that was going to be gnawing away at him as he lay there on the stone .. useless, powerless.
Such extremes of futile anger had the power to gnaw away at a manly soul. This spoiled prince, this Menander .. the sucker had known privilege all his life. He’d commanded. He’d snapped his fingers and others had jumped. The idea that he was a slave .. shamefully marked on the chest for all to see … the notion that his dignity could be toyed with .. that he could be impaled on a thick piece of iron .. implanted in that muscular torso of which he was so proud …….! No more than an animal, a beast led to market .. that mocking thought was almost as good as the piercing itself.
Yothin returned the look of anger. Facing it with indifference. He did not flinch from the slave’s searing fury in his gaze. After all, who was in charge here? After all, what-the-fuck was this arsehole going to do about it? Tell me, SLAVE …. Who is boss? A lowly scumbag like me, like Yothin …..? Did he carry the mark of the beast on his chest?
Yothin dumped the ring on the prisoner’s chest. He let his prisoner feel the weight. He let the thought insidiously slide into the prisoner’s mind. Feeling the heaviness. Getting into his head the idea of moving around with that weight dangling off his man-tits. Struggling up the ramp weighed down by a huge sack of sodden sand …. And this ignominy swinging off his tit with every move.
The resentment would build at the thought. The indignity of displaying that symbol of Parthian slavery .. with every move feeling that insult tugging at his false sense of manliness .. his anger at being marked out as Vologases’ beast …..
No need yet for the piercing, Yothin smirked. First the prisoner would do most of the torture work. Torment himself with his emotions. Burdened by his growing dismay. Spiralling down. At the thought of his helplessness. This leader of men! This spoilt brat of a prince who’d always had things his own way.
Infuriatingly slowly and painfully his hand went to the skewer stick under his nub. He gave it a twist, he shoved it further through under the aroused nub. The scraping sliver hissed pain out of twitching flesh. As expected, he saw the slave grit together his teeth, biting down on the pain which was welling up in his chest.
For the fun of it …. another slight twist of the wrist .. just to show who was boss here. A scumbag called Yothin … who could make a one-time prince jump to his every move. Who dominated over this downfallen slave. Soon to be disfigured with the lord emperor’s ox-ring through his tit. With satisfaction Yothin’s eye shot to the pearls of sweat that had formed on his prisoner’s face.
Yothin thought he could see a moment’s hesitation. Before the injured pride fought back. At the idea of his chest adorned with a pair of ox-rings through his nipples. Branded as a beast. Marked as the lord emperor’s prize brute.
“Not now, though …..”
Yothin gloated. The power over his lord emperor’s scumbag was building at the tops of his legs. He gave himself a squeeze. Fucking over this arsehole always got him there.
“Time now to get out of this sun.”
Not for the prisoner, though. Yothin would leave him with his thoughts. Trapped in the heat, grilled on the stone. The heat weakening him. Depleted of physical strength. Wearing down his will. His strength of mind draining with every last drop of sweat. His willpower wearing away as the heat grilled him from underneath.
Increasingly feeble against the power of that helplessness that would insidiously take mastery of his mind. Weaken his spirit as much as break down his body. Weaken the scumbag, body and mind. That ring was a mere tool. Another torture to twist at his mind. Cripple the strength-of-will out of this brute. The piercing could wait.
Annoyingly all this fumbling around his nipple was making Maciste hard. Despite the pain from the needles .. or because of it .. and the anger that was bubbling in his blood after Yothin had sawed the skewer through his nub .. Maciste could feel himself pushing up against his rags. And Yothin was never one to miss a trick.
As a parting thought Yothin jabbed his finger at his prisoner’s groin. Internally he grinned at making the prick jump.
“I hear, though, that my lord emperor prefers his pets adorned elsewhere ……”
Yothin’s claws had fumbled in under the rags. He let the idea linger about Vologases’ adornments. But to help his victim’s thoughts in the right direction, he pressed a finger on the half-hard cockhead. Another finger sliding up and over the trigger spot on Maciste’s strengthening shaft.
“The lord emperor’s like his best bulls pieced through here.”
Yothin sneered at the anger that had flushed to his prisoner’s face.
“What a picture of manly pride you’ll make. The lord emperor’s prize bull. Honoured. Sporting the emperor’s own ring.”