shivers - rendszworldactive.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewSomeone whose word does count."He gave the growing hard-on in his breeches a squeeze. He matched it with a good hard

LABOURS OF MACISTE

1. SHIVERS 52. A MOTHER'S DESIRES 73. EXECUTION 104. DECREE 135. CRUSHED? 176. RESENTMENT 207. HELL’S GATES 248. CAMP GUARDS 279. KINGLY ORDERS 3110. NIGHT DUTIES 3511. ROUTINE 3912. STOCKADE 4213. ANOTHER DREARY DAY 4614. PUNISHMENT PARADE 5015. FRONTING THE ATTACK 5316. SPINNING 5617. PUTTING ON THE SQUEEZE 5918. ANIMALS 6319. RESPECT 6620. END 70

Starring as Maciste Liam Jolley

A RENDSZ WORLD STORY PAGE 2 LABOURS OF MACISTE

LABOURS OF MACISTE


LABOURS OF MACISTE

Remember Maciste?Things haven’t been looking too bright for the young prince recently.

In the earlier story “Stepbrothers” ….In his absence Maciste’s stepbrother Kheir has usurped the throne. A plot hatched by Maciste’s stepmother. Probably murdering Maciste’s own father, her husband, to put her own son on the throne.On his return, Maciste got taken prisoner.

For the young prince, things just kept going downhill.

Publicly whipped and humiliated

For the years Kheir stood in the shadows of his warrior-stepbrother, feeling inadequate. Now he’s been getting his own back. Exacting revenge.

If that’s not enough …..

Maciste has been condemned to death

To be executed by public crucifixion. Before the people over whom Maciste should have ruled

Kheir is using his stepbrother to send a message.The old regime is no more. Maciste is finished. Only Kheir’s will prevails.

Prospects for Maciste aren’t too rosy ……


LABOURS OF MACISTE

1. shivers

He gave another sharp shiver. The cold. Not surprising. He’d spent a seeming eternity in this dank cold blackness. How many hours since that crippling session before Kheir’s guffawing court? Mocking him as unspeakable pains took him in their grip? It seemed like days. It seemed like he hadn’t slept.

Not surprising. He’d barely eaten in days. And what scraps he’d been thrown .. no nourishment in that. Even the water in this bowl .. it stank.


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And the cold. This evil bitter cold. A cold that had eaten into his bones and refused him sleep. Like he’d been incarcerated down here for endless days? Yet Maciste knew that was not true. With the dawn his stepbrother wanted him executed. And Kheir couldn’t wait for that.

And in that the shiver there was perhaps a tinge of fear. Fear of the death promised him. Kheir had laid it out. Gloating. His visions of the most vicious crucifixion Kheir could dream up. Wallowing in Maciste’s suffering. Exacting screaming revenge.

Little wonder Maciste shivered. Now alone - no prying eyes - he could give way to his fears. Kheir was sick. In his head unhinged. Twisted by envy. Warped by jealousy of his stepbrother, the warrior-prince. Hero-worshipped. And for THAT he had schemed .. imagined. Plotting Maciste’s undying agony on a cross.

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2. a mother's desires

Shivering in the dank chill of his own dungeons, Maciste awaited his fate. After that agonising ordeal before Kheir’s court .. his dignity mocked by his stepbrother’s sycophants .. now, naked still, in his father’s own dungeons, Maciste hunkered down against the cold. Deserted by friends. Abandoned by luck.


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But in his guts he refused to accept that fate. Innerly he railed against his stepbrother’s treachery. That underhand creep .. thinking he had won over Maciste .. NO, Maciste would not go down that easily. His destiny did not end this way.

Hoisted up on a cross. Nailed, agonizing. Sentenced to die like some base criminal .. suffering before his own people. NO! The gods did not will his life to end that way. He would not accept that.

Kheir had no right, HE was the traitor. The throne belonged to Maciste. He was convinced his people wanted that so. That bitch, his stepmother .. she had schemed and plotted. Murdered her own husband to grab the throne. Maciste was condemned to die, next day at dawn. But NO. Maciste refused to accept that fate. Not the will of the gods. Maciste did not give in like that!

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Looking back on it .. an after-thought .. it all made sense. If Kheir had thought becoming king would give him influence and power, he didn’t reckon on his own bitch-of-a-mother. Her scheming had got rid of the old ruling class .. and she wasn’t in any mood to let go of the reins. It was inevitable, Maciste thought later, the evil bitch ‘d get her way .. she’d over-rule her son. After all, this whole usurping of power .. grabbing the throne from Maciste's family .. arresting him and setting his stepbrother on the throne .. that was the result of months of her scheming .. even down to having her husband murdered. The evil bitch had put a puppet on the throne. And that was the way it was staying. She had not put a puppet on the throne .. without meaning to keep in pulling his strings.

She insisted. Kheir whimpered back. She overruled. Have your hard-on if needs-be, she’d sneered. Kheir had ached to get his own back on that preening warrior-hero of a stepbrother. His mother could indulge that. Kheir could get off on seeing his older stepbrother publicly humiliated if he wanted. But if her son knew what was good for him .. if he wanted to keep that arse of his on that throne, she hissed .. he'd know to do as told. Be a good son. Fall in with his mother's plan.

Kheir could have his execution of Maciste - of sorts. He could have the people’s true prince stuck up on a cross .. if that was what turned him on. See Maciste publicly crushed .. “ .. if that gets your rocks off”, she’d scoffed. But THEN …. Mother knew best! His mother was more far-sighted, Kheir would recognize that, .. wouldn’t he, she’d snarled? How many more times did she have to drum it into his thick head, she’d growled. She still had something in reserve for the former heir. REMEMBER?And Kheir would let his mother have her way .. to deal with Maciste .. in her way .. in her own time. Wouldn’t he, my son? If Kheir had any sense .. his arse would remember to whom he owed that throne on which he perched. And he’d be a good son .. do-as-told .. if Kheir knew what was good for him.


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Kheir knew his mother, alright. Kheir knew better than to try. As she reminded him .. Kheir didn’t want to finish up like his stepbrother .. did he, my son?

It was as clear as the matted hair on his head .. in hindsight. Give it a moment’s thought .. an after-thought .. Maciste didn’t have to ask where the real power lay. The power behind the throne. In an tussle between choices, Maciste could have guessed who wore the breeches. But he couldn’t have realised that when the soldiers had come for Maciste before dawn. Thrown him some soiled rags and told to “make himself decent”. Maciste didn’t know about the difference of opinion between Kheir and the bitch-queen when long heavy leg irons slowed his gait through the town where he should have ruled. He was being walked through his own streets to his death. To Kheir’s long-held desire for Maciste .. the most agonizing death his stepbrother could dream up for him.

Dressed only in dungeon filth, heavy bruising and few rags, Maciste refused to believe his destiny ended this way. A heavy beam across his shoulders, thick metal studs underneath dug into his flesh. The heavy weight of the beam pressing sharp studs into the thick muscled power in his shoulders as Maciste’s bare flesh was caned into keeping up the pace. In no time those thick studs were working their power .. a gnawing grinding pain with every labored step he took. On a tortured march through his city .. before Maciste’s own people. Towards his death. A slow pained walk through his own town to his execution.

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3. execution


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Kheir wasn’t to get his nailing. He would have to forebear his sniggers .. at hearing Maciste’s cries from the hammering echoing around the square. He’d have to do without so much he had craved.

That didn't fit with his mother's scheme. But gloating Kheir recompensed himself with the knowledge that Maciste did not know that .. as he dragged his clanking chains up the temple steps .. where Kheir’s brand-new cross was awaiting him.

And the crowds could not know that either. With a deep despair they watched Maciste, this final hope for their liberation, being roughly thrust through their midst towards an agonizing death .. that they were to be made to watch.

Kheir had decided to join Maciste. Seated on a throne on the steps. With relish feeling the dismay as the mob watched their prince. Walked under a weighty yoke and dragging heavy leg irons through the town. Up the temple steps. Reluctantly shoved towards his smug stepbrother. Waiting for him with a cross. Both waiting to triumph over his once-proud muscular body.

✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖Their despair plummeted further. Once the enemy king had him raised up on the cross mounted on the temple steps, the people heard Kheir order their prince stripped. The rags that were Maciste's last shred of princely dignity ripped away. A murmured gasp went up in the crowd at this shaming of their prince in this way.

Not as shocked, though, as when this new king had his soldiers pull Maciste’s dangling legs apart and set about tying wet rawhide around his private princely parts. In dismay they’d seen their prince mounted up on the cross, strong arms tied back to the crossbar. His proud muscular chest thrust manfully forward. A fine figure of the warrior-prince .. but helpless trapped up on the cross. Doomed. Their last ray of hope.

Shocked they were made to watch Maciste’s last shred of dignity destroyed. Wet leather strips were looped around the root of his proud manliness. All stood watching, embarrassed, horror-struck at this abuse .. made to watch his manhood shamefully forced to rise .. for all to see. At the behest of this new king. Maciste in his manliness .. forced to salute their new ruler. Done to mock Maciste’s last vestige of male pride. This shaming a symbol of their prince’s downfall. His manhood forcibly made hard for all to witness. For their new rulers to mock.Kheir had judged the crowd’s reception well. Everyone forced here to witness this humiliation knew this should not be. Even the most pernicious of criminals were not abused like this. Yet no one dared speak a word. Not one murmur of protest on their prince's behalf. No one dared. They had learned better. Kheir had taught them better.


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A thick crude iron nail was set between Maciste's legs. Hammered into the upright direct under his crutch .. to take his weight. And to press princely agony up into his manly parts. Tortured by his own weight. As his arms tired, the agony could only get worse. Pinned onto that coarse vindictive nail by his own failing strength. Bearing down .. crushing his balls .. pressed down on that shamefully enforced erection. A hard-on that dried rawhide would never let subside. A torture that would not let Maciste go free.

The crowd knew to listen in silence when the king’s representative stepped forward. An army captain stood beside Kheir and read from a document."By decree of your king …...Everyone here-present knew that meant Kheir. And not their heir-to-the-throne on the cross. Their young vindictive king seated gloating into his stepbrother’s glaring face. The one who had seized them by conquest. Who ruled over them by fear. And who meant it to stay that way.-" … the execution of this traitor has been stayed."

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4. decree

Maciste was surprised. At this announcement. Surprised and excited. The execution to be stayed? So the gods were watching, after all?

At these words Maciste pricked up his ears. He glanced at the captain stood with his parchment. Then his eyes flicked over at Kheir, wallowing in smug satisfaction from his throne.


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He frowned down at Kheir. Had there been a change of heart? But he couldn’t believe that. He had got to see his young stepbrother in a different light there past few days. He’d groped himself under the sheets hundreds of times .. dreaming of this day. Give up seeing Maciste made to suffer? Like hell!

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Tied to the crossbeam, arms out-stretched, Maciste had been glaring over at Kheir. That word traitor had inflamed his blood .. the idea that HE was roped to this cross and not the real traitor …. But the captain’s words about a reprieve had stolen his attention.In the look from Kheir that returned his anger, though, Maciste read there would be no change of mind. Kheir had his brother just where he wanted him. Whatever plans Kheir had changed, for Maciste there’d be no reprieve. He prepared himself for worse news. Kheir didn’t disappoint."For a traitor such as this execution is not enough."So why was he hung here suffering, Maciste wondered?

"In the king's home-land, for any who threatens the king’s rule .. death is not his reward.”The captain’s arm indicated backwards .. at Maciste up on the cross.“A traitor like this .. he will spend the rest of his miserable life .. slaving for his king. Condemned to slavery.” There was a murmur in the crowd. But the captain saw not one hint of protest. Only yellow-bellied curs. There’d be no uprising here to save Maciste.

“Any who rises up ….”To make sure this mob stayed cowed, he underlined the point.“ .. like this dog .. for THIS swine .. a lifetime of hard labour. In the service of his king.”

Maciste pricked up his ears. He was already feeling the burn setting into his upper body. Pulling with his arms to raise himself off that nail between his legs. The pull beginning to tell in a tightness across his upper chest. His muscles starting to warn him about the effort of keeping that up.Not executed, then? But the idea of slaving away in the service of that smug-looking brat …..!“A lifetime of regret.”The captain confirmed.“Back-breaking work. To break his evil will.”

The captain nodded backwards. At this traitor the people had once thought of as their rightful king. “Traitors are worked into the ground .. serving the king. Making amends. Sentenced to hard labour .. to break his back. To break his will. In back-breaking submission to the king.”The captain’s hand disdainfully swept over the suspended body, the weight of muscled flesh pressing down on the vindictive nail. Crushing its hard-on underneath.“Endless drudgery .. payback for revolt against an anointed ruler.”


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The captain spat in the direction of the cross. And the one-time prince.“To the end of his miserable days."

Kheir smirked into Maciste’s scowl. That look! This was almost as good as those screams Kheir would have loved hearing when nails had hammered up his bones. Maybe his mother was right. Back-breaking hard work .. will-breaking penance .. every sting of the whip a cruel reminder of Kheir ruling from Maciste’s throne. Worked into the ground .. his every laboured breath wishing it could be Maciste’s last.

At this announcement, though, Maciste's spirits lifted. He'd not be executed here today? He remembered his brother's taunts. Kheir had mocked him with the kind of punishment his mother preferred for Maciste. So she had got her way, had she? Maciste sentenced to lifelong drudgery in the mines. Whipped into working until he dropped.But Maciste was strong, fit, healthy. Nothing would break his back. And he had a will of iron. His hatred for his brother would keep his spirits alive. Maciste was to live. He would break free, he vowed it. He'd come back, he promised himself. He’d set his people free. He'd exact revenge. Kheir had better watch his back. Keeping him alive was the worst mistake Kheir had ever made.

"The king has instituted here the same law. The captain's arm gesture behind to the cross."THIS is your king’s warning. For any tempted to rebel."The captain turned his face up to Maciste on the cross. Naked, exposed.“The traitor hangs here in this shame. A warning to all who threaten the king."

So Maciste was up here on this cross as a warning, was he? Not to die here. To suffer ….? An example to any thought of future revolt? And then .. after being made an example of .. Maciste was to be sent to the mines? He saw the captain roll up his decree. The soldier looked out over the whole city, assembled before the cross, forcibly driven here to attend the shaming of a former prince."Hang in shame. Hang as a warning, “ he repeated.Maciste saw Kheir turn his head towards Maciste. And snort in derision. The crowd glanced with him. Collectively their eyes took in this human warning. The muscled power tied down and condemned to suffer on the cross. A symbol of the pointlessness of revolt .. even in a prince. Once destined to rule, now condemned to hang on a cross. Once the resolute warrior-prince, now showing signs in his muscled flesh of the pains beginning to grow. His manhood shamefully exposed. His cock forcibly made hard with his trapped blood. An ugly thick nail between the legs crushing his balls. A symbol of futility. A king’s warning against revolt.

His brother was hurting now, Kheir knew … but he'd made sure Maciste would suffer longer. The captain completed his announcement to the mob. With a final twist meant to strike a further blow at his brother’s anguish."Hang here till dawn tomorrow.”ANOTHER DAY! Kheir wanted to shout it out. He knew how that news knew must strike a spear of


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despair into Maciste’s fresh hopes. Hopes raised and then dashed. Execution stayed but to suffer like this the whole day .. and into an endless night. The pains in his balls. The shame to his pride. The strains in his chest and his arms. An announcement intended to mock his brother with the taunt. His life had been reprieved. But before that .. before the dawn .. only endless hours of torture .. suffering-without-end like this. His proud warrior-spirit broken by unbearable pains before his people’s eyes. That image of Maciste put to public shame.

“Then ….”The captain continued.“ …. Dawn tomorrow .. this stinking traitor will be taken down. Dispatched to a life of never-ending regret."The captain’s eyes sternly swept over the mob below.“The fate of any who rises in revolt.”

Kheir smirked to himself. If this arsehole of a stepbrother thought he was suffering .. stuck up there .. balls crushed .. naked in his shame .. the agonies of endless hours on the cross ….. if the fool thought he had it bad now .. then the prick was fooling himself. Kheir had given instructions .. to be carried out in the mines. A fate waiting for him in those quarries. Kheir’s decree that would hang like a millstone around his cocky stepbrother’s neck. Weighing him down pitilessly. Worked till he dropped. Then whipped till he struggled to his feet. For the rest of his miserable days.This prick Maciste .. he didn't yet know what suffering was. Nothing like.

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

5. crushed?

It had played on Maciste’s mind .. in the endless chill of his night in the dungeon .. in the first moments when they lifted him up on the cross. How was he to show himself?


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What would his people see of their prince? What lasting image would they take away of their rightful king?

Strong. He had to stay strong. His people had to carry away that image of Maciste. Maciste looking strong. The message whispered in the privacy of their homes. Their prince hung on the cross and looked strong for them.

Now he was not to die, Maciste swore to himself .. he’d survive .. he would get free. A revenging Maciste would return and liberate his people. He’d give them Kheir. Give them what their suffering deserved.

Maciste would be back. For that reason he had to leave his people with a glimmer of future hope. He had to leave his people with the lasting image .. their prince suffering but looking strong. His promise to them .. Maciste would still fight for them .. as long as he still drew breath.

✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖The gods had not deserted him. It was not their will that Maciste should die. They had spared him that nailing. His cries of pain echoing in the square .. stabbing his people to the core. Spared a death on the cross, the gods offered him hope in escaping the torment of Kheir’s mines. Maciste’s destiny did not end with his last breath on this cross. But the gods did not intervene in everything either. They did not dictate to an anointed king his every move. Here too they did not deign to interfere. They had saved Maciste. He’d not die. The rest was down to him. And after all .. a king’s decree was law.

When he was glaring his fury at Kheir smugly watching from the throne .. lording it over Maciste’s downfall .. preening as the victorious king before a cowed people .. THEN for Maciste it was easy to stay strong. Taking that fury and fueling his body with fiery hate.

But Kheir had long since gone .. withdrawn from the temple steps. Gone too his soldiers. A pair of guards left at the base of the cross .. to fend off any who might think this traitor needed water. To curse at any who got too close and shot the prisoner a comforting word. Beneath Maciste’s suffering, life in the city went on. Guiltily hurrying past the muscular man roped to a cross above them. Hung there in his misery.

He managed. Maciste kept up appearances for a long time. He fought to keep his anguish in check. Praying for the setting of the sun. Struggling to keep looking strong until the curfew broke in. Until the city was empty of human life. Then, tortured, in agony, he could give way to his pain.But not always, there were lapses .. the strain just too much. Ignored .. abandoned .. left to his own resources .. in time the pains that had crept over his skin had been absorbed into his flesh. By stealth, gradually taking him unawares. A quiet sustained ambush, Maciste never felt the enemy taking possession of his body. Tiring of the fight, in his failing strength, anguish would steal up on him. Till pain


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shocked him out of his trance. Warrior-bred, he knew to keep up the fight. He had sworn to himself, he owed it to his people to keep looking strong. But it was cunningly armed, this unseen and unseeable foe. Insidiously taking hold. Stealthily by-passing his reserves of strength. Furtively infusing itself into the core of his manly might. He could not afford to drift off, no rest, no reprieve, the fight unceasing. The strain on his reserves constantly increasing.

Night had fallen. The curfew had driven the people inside. Maciste no longer fought, his strength crushed from his soul. The grimaces on his face were permanent. His features contorted. His breathing shallow, pained. Pain had suffused every fibre of his being. In the deep darkness, alone, abandoned, he hung. Helpless. Pain had crushed every bit of fighting strength. Agony saturated his very soul. Torment pumped up every fibre of his being.In tortured exhaustion he hung. An endless night. Shattered his mind gave way and collapse. But still the evil demons of Kheir’s vicious mind visited him .. ground their talons up through his balls to his core. Saturated his flesh. He’d wake with a start. He’d return with a tortured cry. Endless hours of suffering. Abandoned .. tortured .. desperate for the first grey fingers of dawn to release him from this cross.

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6. resentment

The other slaves threw him angry looks when they could .. pissed that this former prince got the privilege to ride. Rode on the cart while they were yoked into hauling him along.

They knew who he was, would have become their king it he hadn't been out gallivanting when the invaders struck. Instead of being at home leading their army .. driving the invaders back. Looked like the prick had got what was coming to him.


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So what, he was now just a slave like them, wasn’t he? So why he got the right to ride. Life didn’t fucking change, did it? Slave or not slave .. it was one rule for the rich, another for the poor. Even when the nobility fell, they still enjoyed their privileges, it seemed. This fucker got to ride, they got to haul.

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It had taken Maciste all morning to regain the strength to stand. He was not aware of the slaves who were ordered into hauling down his cross. Unconcerned they dropped it to the temple steps. Maciste’s unconscious body had cried out. But his tortured soul was too far gone. Hauled uncaringly over to the cart and thrown on. Soldiers left him there comatose .. couldn’t give them any trouble like that .. tying his arms to an upright set up on the cart. Thick strands of unbreakable rope would keep him safe, no way this arsehole got the chance to make a run for it. More than their life’s worth .. to lose this fucker. His guards could never risk losing a cargo like this arsehole. Too valued by the king.

The sun was already high when, confused, Maciste began to come round. Slowly crawling back to the surface of pained consciousness .. every fibre in his body hurting. His head filled with throbbing, full to bursting. Tongue like old leather in his mouth. As his head cleared, he found himself on the way to Kheir’s visions of hell. He was already crossing the great wilderness, no sign of life around. Tied to a stake, thick rope pinning back his arms, on some cart hauled by a gang of slaves. Taken away to serve. To labour under a pitiless sun. Labouring in service to the usurper Kheir.

The guards' whips cracked. With a joint grunt of effort, the newly enslaved men dug their bare shoulders into the yoke and hauled it jolting out of another rut. The sun had been beating pitilessly down on them since first light. It had now reached its height. They would have been running with sweat if they'd had any left. And that fucking prince was allowed to recline on the cart and ride in comfort. The sucker was big, the arsehole was strong enough, he could be pulling his weight. Instead they were pulling him. Riding in luxury.

The guards didn’t like it either. Orders were orders. Keep the fucker safe, tied up, no chance of getting loose. Orders maybe. But it didn't mean they had to like them. Not one of them liked the idea of this royal piece of shit not being put in his place. This was an opportunity missed .. to sort some royal bighead out and show the cocksucker who was boss. They’d been bottom of the shit-pile long enough .. now it was this fucker’s turn. It was a long march to the quarries. It'd take all day to get across this wilderness. Endless hours trudging on bare bleeding feet .. - that was where they’d have had him. Yoked to the cart, sweating his bollocks off and hauling shit. Grit and stones scraping at his princely bare skin. That was where this royal fucker should be. Yoked with the other scum .. getting his arse whipped like any other lazy ox. Shoulders baked by the sun, head fried in this fucking heat. Allowed no let-up in effort despite this merciless heat.


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This prince-sucker had spent a lifetime pushing his weight around. Let the arsehole see what it felt like. Treated no better than an animal. Beaten like a beast of burden. Kept slaving away by the sting of a slavemaster's whip .. keep the cocksucker hauling shit through this heat.

Each guard wanted to let this fucker see how it felt like. Life as the under-dog. Instead .. fuck-it .. orders were, he got to ride on the cart. They didn't like it, they took their resentment out on the others. But, given every chance, they got their own back on the once-royal swine. Stopped to water the beasts - whoops, they forgot the one on the cart. Catch a break in the heat of the midday sun, letting the slave-scum crawl into the shade of some rocks .. like the lizards they were. But their noble arsehole had already had it easy. Riding in comfort on the cart. Orders were not to let him make a run for it. No choice, eh? Had to leave the prick baking in the sun, didn’t they? Stood regal at his stake on the cart. Resentful at not getting their chance to show him for the shit he now was .. they let the royal dog get fried. More than one way to skin a cat …..

Maciste had been jarred and jolted for hours. Tied to a stake, stood upright on the cart. Stupidly-thick rope binding him to the post .. impossible to break. A sign that they did not dare lose the king’s prize-prisoner. Maciste had been bounced and jolted as the cart was hauled over stony ground. Wheels getting caught on rocks. Jarring down into a rut. He ached from being tied in the same position all day, weak from the blistering heat. Still struggling after a day-and-night on the cross. Not eaten a thing since the previous day. A drop of water hadn't passed his lips. Deliberately being weakened.

But still he had it easy. It was those poor bastards hauling the cart taking the brunt. Relentlessly whipped into continuous effort. Maciste had managed slaves. Bringing captured soldiers back from war .. destined for the slave markets. As part of his education his tutor had taken him to the mines. To appreciate the wealth under their royal feet. Maciste’s family was kept on the throne on the backs of those stinking sweat-streaked males .. worked into the ground in the mines. Maciste had seen what it meant to be a slave. Grime clinging to their flesh. Endlessly whipped into labouring .. worked into the dirt.

And now that was him. Maciste knew about work slaves. But had he ever thought it could come to this? Himself condemned into slavery, back-breaking work in Kheir’s quarries. Stuck on this cart he was observing at first-hand what it was going to mean. Watching the poor bastards yoked into hauling him along on this cart. His sentence - condemned by his step-mother to never-ending suffering. Stood on the cart observing the random dishing out of stinging blows across straining bent backs. Sadistic guards .. dishing it out to slaves who were less than dogs.

He was weakening, he knew. Parched. Starving hungry. A day strung up on a cross. A night of endless torture between his legs. Exhaustion kept taking him. He’d drift off .. a fitful rest. But then a wheel would catch in another rock. He'd jar back to a painful reality. Feeling exhaustion threatening to crush his resolve.

He made himself remind himself. He was fit, he was strong, he'd told himself. His hatred would keep his will alive. But already he was seeing what an uphill struggle he was taken on. On the other side of


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his endless baking wilderness .. his destiny .. Kheir’s quarries. Condemned to pitiless hard labour, meant to break his back. Intended to break his will. He had no doubts special instructions had gone ahead. For now he was having it easy on this cart. When they got to the slave quarries .. it would be another thing. All treatment meant to break his will .. his every waking moment .. every single breath. Maciste had resolved to survive. He had vowed to escape. He’d liberate his people. He’d get back his throne. Judging by the way things were going .. to keep up that resolve .. he had a fight on his hands.

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7. hell’s gates

From brutality to savagery took only a few moments. The cart heavy laden with grain - hauled by a team of exhausted slaves .. carrying the king's special guest - was steered by whip wielding slave-masters into a compound between mudbrick huts.

Ominously either side of the line of yoked fresh slaves were two burning braziers, irons sticking out, ready to get on with the job.


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A pair of brutish slavemasters clambered aboard Maciste's cart and cut him free. With a hard shove on his shoulder they pushed him off the cart. Ordinarily Maciste would have nimbly leapt back down to the earth. Landing athletically on his feet.

But he was exhausted. He tripped. Disturbingly .. a mark of the heaviness in his legs .. his foot caught on a sack of grain. Falling head first off the cart. Instinct twisted him in mid-air. Landing with a hard thud on his side. The wind driven out of his chest with the surprise.

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"Move your stinking arse."Still down in the dirt, a kick slammed into Maciste's back. Still half stunned by his sudden weakness. "UP. NOW"A foot slammed itself up his backside. Hard, bringing a grunt to his throat. The guards couldn't be bothered to wait. Each grabbed Maciste up by an arm and dragged him like a sack of grain, his bare feet dragging in the grit behind."You listening now, fuckwit?"They'd dumped Maciste on his front at the foot of a stake. A boot stomped down on his back."Move your arse. UP!"Maciste was incensed. Getting hauled around like this. His hands clenched in anger. He'd given them no cause to go for him. Now, though, his fists were battle-tight. His hands were tied together. Instinctively every fibre in his body was going to defend himself .. on the attack. Bound but still he could throw a good two handed punch.

He'd got himself halfway up. Suddenly a hand twisted in his hair, his head was yanked upright. His skull crashed against the stake. In the same instant a club smacked him across his side. Normally he would have been prepared, his reactions react faster. But hourly he’d been weakened, his responses worryingly slow. The surprise took his breath away, the blow to his skull had him reeling. Before he knew it, he was up against a pole, his hands were tied above his head. Pinned with his back to the stake. Defenceless."You raise your fist to me again, arsehole .. you'll get more of this."The guard drive the club, end first, into Maciste's lower belly. In the last moment as best he could he’d tensed .. but too slow to fend off the damage. Pain collapsed him together. The club struck in deep .. driving all the air form him. Coughing, badly winded. Realising he was reacting alarmingly slow. Shockingly too late.

Once they had him tied to the stake, the guards wasted no more time with this one, the king’s prize prick was secure, his royal arsehole wasn’t running off. Left at the post, Maciste’ senses were beginning to recover from the blow to his guts, then loud screaming started filling his ears. From that team of


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exhausted slaves that had been worked into the ground hauling the cart all day. They were being branded. Still stood in their yokes, five pairs lined up behind each other. Trapped. A guard walked either side of the rows. Stuck a red-hot iron into the nearest shoulder and pressed down hard. Branded as Kheir’s slaves.

The slaves on the journey hadn’t been too kind to Maciste. They hadn’t shared their water with him when they’d stopped for a break. He’d had to beg a guard. Then a slave had been ordered onto the cart. Unwilling he’d held the jug towards Maciste’s lips but he’d resented every drop. And he whipped it away again before Maciste had got enough. When Maciste cursed, water trickling wasteful down his front, the slave growled back.“Go fuck yourself. Prince.”

They hadn’t shown Maciste any human kindness. But Maciste wouldn’t have wished on them the cruel way the savage guards went about their business. Branding them and getting off on their cries. The men could barely move, no chance of squirming away. The brand held screamingly long, burning with gusto into human flesh. The guards laughing into their cries. Singeing savagely tired male muscle. Maciste winced. He saw one slave's legs fold under him, broken by mind-blistering pain. But the yoke cruelly kept him upright, no escape. Encouraged by his cries, the guard kept the iron forced into muscle even longer. The poor slave was still shrieking - even as he passed out.

Savages. Demons. An object lesson to Maciste. The cart had brought him to Kheir’s gates of hell. He couldn't see the marks from the men’s fresh brands clearly from this distance. But everything pointed to it being the mark of Kheir's family clan. Maciste winced. The idea of bearing his stepbrother’s mark burnt into his flesh for the rest of his days …. the thought made him sick. The idea filled him with rage.The freshly branded slaves had been released. Now with seared flesh they were being made to unload the heavy sacks of grain. Hoisting them up onto scarred shoulders. Crying out as they raised their arms with their heavy load. Gasping as pain scraped its vicious claws through freshly scorched wounds.

The idea he’d carry Kheir’s brand on his flesh the rest of his life .. the thought was stomach-turning. Maciste branded! With his hated brother’s mark. Owned. A chattel. Owned by his treacherous stepbrother. His living flesh claimed by that scheming bitch queen. Kheir's mother .. this was her plan .. for Maciste to spend the rest of his life as her chattel. She had sent him to the gates of hell. To be worked to the bone. Worked to death. To suffer with every breath he snatched. Branded with Kheir’s mark in his flesh.The idea made Maciste’s blood boil. But when they came over to him, smirking at his fury .. taunting him with Kheir’s branding iron .. what the hell was he going to do?

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8. camp guards

"This arsehole .. this is the prick we were told about ….. "Maciste assumed this was the head slavemaster. And Maciste was being honoured with a personal introduction. Being presented to the assembled guards .. the thugs commissioned to watch over Kheir’s


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prize prisoner.“ .. told we had summat to look forward to …..”

Maciste had been left at his stake as the day drew to an end. The suffering slaves had unloaded the cart. Then, still abandoned, he watched them herded off in the direction of a high fenced wooden stockade. Home-from-home for the night, he assumed.

Sometime later another band of exhausted men shuffled into sight. About forty he reckoned. Filthy, bedraggled, most in just rags. From the shoulders on them, these were work slaves. And they’d been here some time. All were muscled, all lean, strongly built though signs of being underfed. Living off a diet of crippling hard work and meagre rations. Hell-gates’ other inhabitants.

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Later .. the place had gone quiet, only guards around .. from his stake, Maciste caught the smell of food in the distance. Food to keep the slaves alive. His stomach cramped at the smell. It was probably shit. But it’d fill his empty belly. He doubted those men returning from their punishing labours feasted much on prime meat. But it didn’t matter, nothing much had met his stomach in days. Anything in his belly would stop these griping pains. Calm around, the slave camp had settle down for the night. Men locked inside the stockade too exhausted for anything but sleep. Slaves worked into the dirt now locked away, the guards lounging around with their beers. Indifferent to him. Just another fucking animal to push around. Again Maciste's senses lurched wildly at the thought of liquid. How long was it since he’d known a drop of water? No wonder he was feeling weak.

Maciste was used to dealing with rough men .. from his time with the military. He was comfortable in the company of uncouth soldiers, he’d enjoyed their bravado, their brash manly sense-of-humour. He let their coarse language and foul habits pass over his head. They were invaluable in a fight. But these thugs lounging around were not soldiers. Hired hands. Guards. He’d seen what they were capable of .. wielding a branding iron. Hired more for their thuggery than service to any cause. He’d seen them bully these newly arrived slaves. Heard them laughing through their tortured branding. Big and brawny, men prone to pushing their weight around. Who got off on showing who held the whip hand. And as he had observed in the short time here, not given to taking any second thoughts about sticking it in. Maciste at the stake was vulnerable .. enough reason for sadists like these to get the itch to thwack that club in end-first. And when a slave was being crushed by the agony of a red-hot iron .. their screams were a perfect excuse to keep it eating up human flesh. Brutes, beasts. Savages.


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He’d been fetched from his post when the slaves were locked away for the night. The guards had assembled still swigging back their beers outside of their huts. The same pair that had worked him over before enjoyed the honour of leading their princely prize over to their mates. “Remember? We were warned.”The head-guard gave a mock bow. He was sarcastically introducing Maciste to his new minders. “Distinguished company joining us.”

Maciste felt a great relief to have some freedom of movement again. Free from that stake. But freedom was not something granted here. They quickly set the tone.“On your knees, arsehole.”Maciste was stood now between mud-brick huts. Surrounded by maybe a dozen hostile guards. All looking him over. Like he was from some other planet. Maybe he was for them. How often did they get a prince for company? When did they last play host to a rightful king? Or have the pleasure of playing host to a prince near-naked, surrounded by enemies. Sent to them for safe-keeping? Sent for them to dish out -- how at Kheir put it? - never-ending punishment? Little wonder they looked at him intrigued.

Maciste gave them something to look at. He’d pulled himself up to his full height. Sucked in his belly and lifted up to their eyes a hard muscular chest. He gave them a man not easily intimidated.“You listening?”A hand from behind grappled in Maciste’s hair. “Down, arsehole.”A club thwacked him across the back of the knees. A push on his scalp forced him to his weakened knees. And got Maciste’s blood boiling.

His head was pulled backwards. Looking up into the guard’s snarling face. That club only inches away from Maciste’s face. It’d take only one split second to crack it across Maciste’s nose.“I tellya to do summat .. ya do it .. fucking fast.”That hand in Maciste’s hair shoved his head forward. Right in front was the other brute. Tapping his club into the palm of his hand.

“Hands behind your head, arsehole.”Back to that position again, the way these guards seem to like seeing a prisoner. Submissive, vulnerable to the thwack of a club. Everything in Maciste’s blood was screaming out for him to lash out, fight back, not put up with this. But the thinker in his head reminded him, they’d just beat the shit out of him. And he’d finish up as ordered just the same. Morons like this were just looking for the slightest excuse. Yes, he needed to fight back. But Maciste needed to fight smart.

Reluctantly, though not showing a single sign of worry on his face, Maciste did as told.“And every fucking time I lower mysen to open my gob to ya .. ya do just fucking that. Hands behind ya fucking head. Got that, arsehole?”Maciste got it. He didn’t like it. Everything in his nature was screaming NO! But his plan had to be first to get the lay of the land. Lie low. See how things worked here. And then get the hell out of here. Not


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getting the hell beaten out of him unnecessarily .. so he couldn’t think straight. If that meant eating their shit a few times .. Maciste would show them, he could eat shit. When it suited.

The head-man was grinning down at this fallen prince. On his knees in their dust. Made to do as told. Hands submissively behind his head.“This arsehole-here joins us with special instructions.”He wiped his lips after slurping long on a big flagon of beer. For the sake of it, he gave a loud belch. Long, manly, uncouth.“Orders straight down from the king.”

Looking as if he gave a shit about the king, his eyes passed from guard to guard. Making sure he had their attention.“So listen up, ya fucking drunken pricks .. ya better listen. ORDERS OF THE KING.”He belched again. Deliberately. Someone sniggered.“This one-here .. our once-princely guest .. he’s in for special treatment …..”He snorted.“Orders of the king.”The whole assembly stood to mock-attention. “Orders of the king.”Together they shouted it out. Belched. And laughed.

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9. kingly orders

The slavemaster took another swig of beer. Then he sauntered up to the slave down on his knees .. looking up at his new body-master .. stood only a couple of paces away. Intrigued that the cur dared stare up at him, looking unfazed .. hands stuck behind his head, obviously reluctantly.


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“When it last eat?”One of the thugs who had brought Maciste on the cart called out.“Fuck knows.”The head man nodded and shrugged.

“And drink? It get anythin’ to drink on the way.”The same brute sniggered.“Come-to-think-of-it, boss .. that might have slipped our mind.”But the question got Maciste’s blood racing. At what thought of water .. counting on what this head slavemaster had in his mind. That even a fucked-up prince needed to take on water.

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This head slavemaster was tall and powerfully built. Looming over Maciste down in the dirt, he seemed huge. Maciste saw the brawny thug nod to himself, thinking .. his eyes all the time down at Maciste.“Anyone here …?”The slavemaster was looking over at his men.“Anyone need to take a leak?”

Maciste would have gone for it anyway. Desperate for his body to rebuild itself. The hell they thought they were winning one over on him ….. he needed fluids. That need was greater than any manly pride. He’d show the bastards later.A couple of thugs came forward. Untied their breeches and pissed into Maciste’s face. His mouth went for it. He didn’t give a shit about the taste. Didn’t give a toss that this was a deliberate act of shaming .. cretins allowed to piss over a royal prince .. getting rid of years of resentment as they wiggled themselves around and made Maciste fight for it. He didn’t give a toss. Their rancid-stinking piss would help him recover. Get his strength back. He’d put up with the fact that they smelled foul .. that they were fucking with him .. waggling their streams around. Making him work to drink their stinking piss. What the hell! He let himself be played with .. chasing the streams as they escaped his gaping mouth. He put up with these sneering thugs fucking with a prince .. messing with him because they could .. for the first time in their worthless lives. He didn’t give a toss. His time would come.THIS was what he needed. Liquid. Fluids to refuel. He didn’t get down as much as he needed. But it went a long way to making him feel more in control of himself again. Rebuilding a determined Maciste meaning to get his strength back.

“Orders say …..”Maciste saw the prick had a parchment in his hand. He doubted this moron could read .. he didn’t refer to the text once. Was he making it up as he went along? Or had someone brighter drummed in


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into his thick skull?“Heaviest work duty. Worked to the max.”He looked over at his men. He grinned.“Puttin’ it simple for ya pricks .. work this fucker into the ground.”

From behind Maciste heard someone cheer. In front he saw someone nudge his neighbor. They both sniggered. For cretins like this .. getting their hands on someone like him .. privileged, a noble .. it was like a gift from the gods .. payback time. Overdue payment for a life where they’d barely raised their head out of the shit. Morons who’d never made anything of themselves .. couldn’t even make it into the army .. who blamed everyone else for the fact they were muscle-bound cretins .. HERE was the chance of a life time. To get their own back. They were going to go to town on kicking back. Angry at the life they should have had. But were too much of a moron to fight for it. Work this princely captive into the ground? Grind his fucking face into the dirt? Just watch them!

“This arsehole gives any trouble .. go for it.”A cheer acknowledged that freedom.“It gives ya as much as a bad look .. give it the fucker.”A pair of drunken whoops greeted the idea.“Bet ya fuckin’ arse on it!”

Maciste was here under the queen-bitch’s rules, he had no doubt. It was Kheir’s mother that would have sent orders like these out. These had her sharp claws written all over them. Orders were, Break his back. Crush his will. Make Maciste suffer every waking minute.“Ya see this prick ballin’ its fists in anger .. ya know what to do.”Maciste imagined his own special escort giving each other the look. That club they’d punched into his belly for looking angry had just been justified.

“A couple of special conditions, though ….”Maciste pricked his ears. Bound to be bad news. But forewarned was forearmed. Whatever that bitch-queen had ordered for him, he’d live with it. He’d come out on top, he’d show these bastards when the time came. He was already feeling better after taking on fluids. No matter what flavour they had come in.

“Not to be branded.”Maciste saw a couple of thugs frown. Everyone here was branded.“The king will do that hisself. Says here ….”Referring to the parchment this arsehole could not read.“ .. the king reserves that right for hisself.”The head-slavemaster belched out loud.“Whatever that fucking means …..”That fitted, thought Maciste. His stepbrother would enjoy commanding that privilege for himself. He’d want to be watching. But only if Maciste was still hanging around for that prick to come and do the dirty …...


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“No injuries. No maimin’. No lastin’ damage.”Again Maciste saw a couple of thugs look at each other and scowl. Like inflicting injuries was what they did. How they supposed to discipline? Breaking a few bones .. came with the job.“When the king sends for this arsehole, he wants the fucker in one piece.”The slavemaster’s stern look picked off a couple of individual guards in the crowd.“Anyone of ya fuckin’ dickheads gets the wrong idea .. goes and maims it ….. ya’s guilty of disobeying the king’s order, it says here …”Again shaking the parchment. Not that any of them were going to ask to see what was written.“ …. expect to find yasen the other side of that stockade. Got it?”

The head slavemaster relaxed his stern look slightly. He sniggered He explained to the confused gaggle of morons he worked with.“Probably, you see ….?” With a half-drunken belch, he explained it to his men “… probably the king wants to see it pulled apart on the rack hisself.”He shrugged.“And ‘ case ya fuckwits have forgot … it’s the king what pays us. And the paymaster can tell us what to do. Get it, ya stupid pricks?”

His eyes returned to his prize-slave. On his knees, hands dutifully clasped behind his head.“So …. Get this right, men.”His eyes travelled around the dozen or so thugs surrounding Maciste. “This arsehole .. work it into the ground. It gives ya trouble .. ya go for it.”His face was stern. Warning.“Canes. OK. Willow-switches. Of course. Use your clubs .. no problem. Give the fucker a taste of the whip. But flay the skin off its back .. any lastin’ damage .. I’ll have ya fuckin’ balls.”As Kheir would have his, Maciste thought .. if things got out of hand ……

The slavemaster turned his look back on Maciste. Sneering down at his most important slave. Orders direct from the king. From Maciste’s brother..“And if this pig-headed fucker is givin’ ya too much trouble .. refusin’ to buckle under ….”He smirked into Maciste’s upturned face.“ … bring it to me.”He gloated. Eyes running over Maciste’s muscular form. Once a prince, a famed general. But HIS responsibility now .. orders of the king. A prick down on his knees in the dirt. In submissive posture. The slavemaster’s mouth twisted into a sneer of sadistic pleasure.“Sure we can find something to make this princely prick mend his ways …...”

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10. night duties

“Oh and one final thing ….!”At a nod from the slavemaster the two cronies that had been minding Maciste edged over towards him. Daylight had nearly gone. A few torches set up around illuminated the prisoner surrounded by guards.


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“Get it out of those rags. Orders are .. he’s naked. No clothes. Nothing. None of the time.”

Maciste didn’t bother resisting when one of his minders took a knife to the sacking. It barely covered anything anyway. But Maciste smelled that bitch-queen in this. Coming up with ways to humiliate him and grind Maciste’s will down into the grit.

Worryingly, though, he felt dozens of eyes on himself fully exposed. Eyes like hands all over his royal crown jewels. No different from any of them. But when had they ever had a prince like this? Seeing him .. bound to give them ideas. A loud appreciative whistle from behind, a slight shiver went down his back. Without turning he sensed a guard eyeing his arse. A place like this ….. it had to be expected. But just let them fucking try!

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“Get the arsehole outta here. Got better things to do ….. Wasted enough time on the prick.”The guards retreated back to their huts. For more booze to wash down the day’s grit in their gullets. Maciste’s minders gave him a shove. Moving him towards the stockade. But they couldn’t arsed to open it up. Didn’t want to miss out on drinking time. “No point in stirring the animals,” one of them said as an excuse. He planted his torch by the stake where they’d kept Maciste waiting earlier. The pair of them set about tying Maciste’s bound wrists to the ring on the post again. One of them keeping an eye on the slave .. tapping his favourite club into his palm as a warning, the other fastening Maciste to the post. Where the hell did this moron think Maciste would go running off to in the dark? The cart had traversed that wilderness for hours. Escape and wander off through the darkness? Meet up with some wild big-cat? No hiding place out there. He’d not seen a horse anywhere here, no escaping on foot. Not till Maciste worked out a plan.

“Ya know …?”The palm-slapping cretin looked thoughtful .. his eyes traversing down Maciste’s front.“Has it ever occurred to ya …?”He was addressing his mate still checking the ropes had Maciste secured to the stake.“What it might look like? A kingly cock?”He snorted. Laughing.“That it? That what a royal cock looks like? Nothing but that? Ain’t even decorated .. what no jewels?”He lifted his kilt. Held his own out, waggled it around for comparison. He walked up to the stake showing his friend.“No different from mine. Is it?”


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He waggled his limp cock up and down. Grabbed Maciste by the root of his shaft and did the same.“Fucking the same. No bigger. No better. Ya sure this fucker’s got royal blood?”

Maciste was irritated. But he had taken notice of the orders. No glares. No bad looks. Otherwise they’d stick it to him. And for now his plan had to be to toe the line. Head-down, take what came, no trouble-maker. For now. Fool these suckers. Let them get the idea he was not going to be any trouble. It’d hurt, it’d grate like hell. He’d get frustrated. But looking like he was no problem .. that was going to give him chance to observe .. see how things played out here. And come up with a plan. No point in having the shit beaten out of him so he couldn’t think straight.

The other one tugging tight on Maciste’s ropes grinned back.“Difference is, thickhead …”The other one was smirking at his mate horsing around.“ .. his ‘n can make royal babies. Yarsen can’t.”His mate looked back at him. He frowned.“Ya mean .. with these fuckers ….? Not any more they won’t …..”His hand-grip switched. His grip shot forward. He was holding Maciste’s balls tight in his hand.“These worthless beauties …?”He was squeezing hard. Maciste had to wince. The moron kept on squeezing .. looking into Maciste’s face .. demanding the slave show his pain. Kept on squeezing until he got himself a sustained grunt.“I don’t think so ….”He gave another sudden sharp squeeze.“Not anymore. .. Arsehole-here .. he’s got no use for these fuckers .. not anymore ….”He laughed.“Bollocks!”Maciste couldn’t hold in the gasp when the crushing grip let him be.

“Ya never know … “It was the other cretin sniggering,“ … princey-here might find himself some arse to plough in the stockade. Ya know what those animals are like …. Can’t stop themsens. ”He nudged the other’s arm.“Speaking of which … they kept a couple of newbie’s back. In the huts. C’mon. The others are getting theirs in first.”

His hand dismissively slapped at Maciste’s hard-muscled belly.“We’re wasting our time with this fuck-ass. Got better furrows to plough …..”He ground the end of his club into Maciste’s belly. Not hurting. Just showing he could .. if the mood took him.

“On the other hand ….” His mate stood alongside Maciste, looking pensive. His thumb indicated their princely slave stuck naked against the post .. hands vulnerably pinned above his head.


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“ …. we have this fucker to oursens.”He winked.“What ya reckon?”His hand stroked suggestively at the solid muscle of Maciste’s lower belly.“No standin’ in line here.”He cocked his head to his mate, enquiring.“Ya up for it?”

The other looked Maciste over. Naked as the day he was born, tied and helpless with his back up against the post. Easy pickings.“Ya dim or what?” he spluttered. “Ya not listenin’ to the boss. This fucker’s got ‘owned by the king” all over its arse. And ya wanna fuck it?”The other started to protest. He was stopped.“Go on. Untie it. Bend the fucker over a barrel and fuck it up the arse.”He snorted.“Ya such a fuckwit? Gonna take that risk? Look at the fucker. Seen the strength on it? Reckon ya can hold that down? Reckon he’s going to lie there quietly while ya stick yasen up his kingly arse?”He shook his head.“Ya THAT stupid?”

The other laughed it off.“Only joking ….”Though his final gaze over a manly torso so up-for-grabs betrayed a frustrated disappointment.“Let’s go get us a beer …” he laughed. “Get us some arse. Before the others have scraped those newbies red-raw ….”

Grinning into Maciste’s stern look, stood in the near-dark, he taunted.“Besides ….”His club tapped lightly against Maciste’s bare backside. Suggestively.“ … no rush .. plenty of time for that .. ain’t there?” Mocking Maciste’s warning scowl.He gave a final check on the thick rope binding Maciste to the post. And cheerily the pair of them buggered off. For more drink and a messy fuck. Taking their torch with them. Safe in the knowledge that their precious charge was securely stuck there at the post for the night.

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11. all in a day’s work

It had been a fitful night. Maciste was starving, not eaten anything since the mouldy bread thrown at him before leaving that morning. Had only snatched some piss when these guards had had their laugh with him.


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He’d spent a day on the cross. And another day with little or no rest on the journey here. He needed to sleep .. like hell. His body had to recover. To fight another day.

But they’d left him tied upright against a post. Regularly throughout the night he’d come-to .. the cramps in his empty belly arousing him. The twinges from having his arms raised above his head. Exhausted, no rest, no sleep. First night under Kheir’s thumb. Denied rest, left sleeping upright, tied to this stake. Welcoming the prince to the gates of hell.

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With first light it felt that he’d had no rest at all. And he anticipated a day of “never-ending punishment”. In the night his nerves had been jittery .. craving sleep .. desperate to make his body rest .. fearful about the meeting demands of the coming day. But as daylight broke .. he was still dog-tired .. bones aching .. his legs trembling with exhaustion. Nothing for it. A long restless night at the stake had taught him a thing. An endless journey to dawn had determined Maciste’s next moves. He was Kheir’s marked man. They’d all be on his back .. every minute breathing down his neck. Kheir’s orders had given them free rein .. inviting their worst sadistic bent. He’d go with it, come-what-may .. come-what-they-threw-at-him. Till they got bored. Till his failure to fight back and curse was no longer any fun. Till they looked the other way. THEN he’d be ready to strike.

And yes, fuck it. He’d cope. He was strong, he was determined. Come what may, he’d survive. Fuck that evil stepmother. That bitch-queen did not want him dead. She wanted him to suffer. He’d suffer .. and if that did not kill him, it would make him all the stronger. And Kheir, that mean-minded wimp? He wanted Maciste whole so he himself could break his bones on the rack. Watch as his flesh was cruelly subjected to Kheir’s brand. Well, fuck him. Fuck them all! Maciste would survive, he’d come through. When the time was right, he’d hit back. He’d show these morons what they were dealing with.

It was only thick gruel .. but it filled a hole. The grain they had brought on the cart ground up and water added. But Maciste wolfed it down. Tasted like the cook had pissed in it. Probably spat in it a good few times. Maciste didn’t give a shit. It was plugging a gaping hole.They were herded up, about forty haggard men in an dishevelled crowd .. whips cracking moving the work-slaves out of the stockade. The sun was up, the forthcoming breath-robbing heat was already announcing itself. In the last minute, still desperately hungry Maciste had grabbed a piece of flat-bread out of another guy’s hand. The man’s leathery face looked furious. He himself was muscular, honed by punishing hard work. But Maciste was taller, broader. And the man must have seen the look of a the ravenous wild beast in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he snarled. Maciste was prepared to fight him for it. But the sucker backed down. Maciste wolfed down his rations.


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He reckoned this was the lay of the land here. Dog-eat-dog. Survival of the strongest. And Maciste had needed that bread. To keep himself strong for the day.

Endless hours swinging a heavy hammer. Mercilessly smashing at a huge granite boulder that did not want to break. For no purpose .. except the hurt. With every hit, the reverberations sending shuddering pains up his arms. Dozens of times .. like thunderbolts the shocks cramped in his shoulders. Hundreds of times .. even his broad muscular his back in no time screamed out with the pain. And pitilessly the sun rose above Maciste’s head. Heartless the sun’s rays burned at his bare skin. The heat frying away at his brain. And the ever-present crack of the guard’s whip. Keeping them at it .. no rest, not a moment’s reprieve. Earning their gruel. Paying back for the scraps of stale bread.

Mid-morning he was given a break. Handing over that massive heavy hammer to another near-naked slave. Led to a sledge .. the box laden with rocks. Made to haul it the length of the quarry. Ordered to drag it back again. The job had no purpose, it was just a routine. A mindless punishing routine. The sledge had no wheels, the runners caught in the sandy grit. The coarse leather strap around his waist dug in with every meaningless step. Up and down the quarry. Doing nothing worthwhile. Achieving nothing useful. Just wearing him down. Purposefully working him into the ground. To be broken by exhaustion. Worked till he broke. Weakened in the heartless heat.

No one could work in the heat of the day, though. Even a place this merciless had a heart. Each slave was packed off with a flask of water. Each had worked out a hole to crawl into .. crept under the overhang of a boulder and stayed out of the pitiless sun. Not for Maciste. He was delivered to a pair of stakes. Long leather straps hung down from each top, looped around his wrists, pulled tight, stretching his arms out to the top of the poles. At the base the leather straps were fastened to his ankles .. splaying his legs wide apart. No one had to work in this heat, that would be heartless. But Maciste was left strung out .. left to fry. Orders of the king.

Maciste breathed in deep, calming himself. Preparing himself for being left to roast. Sure in time his body would falter .. he’d pass out from the heat. He’d be left to deal with the sunburn after.Just one final farewell gesture from his minders. Thin cord was looped around his ballsack. Roughly handled, groped in-between his wide-spread legs. A heavy net of rocks was left dangling off his nuts. Orders of the king.

The quarry must pass east-to-west, he realised. There was not one moment when the sun did not burn everything alive there that moved. Or even a motionless man strung out .. barely able to breathe. Pain dragging down on him. Drained of strength. Breaking his princely will. Orders of the king.

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

12. stockade

A day of pitiless exhausting heat. Not for one moment were his minders not breathing down his neck. The pressure to squeeze maximum effort relentless. Constantly on his back .. demanding work to the maximum and beyond. Ruthless. Punishing.


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The last to be released from his work. Still slaughtering unbreakable rock when others were being escorted back to camp. Trudging exhausted back through the dying light .. a seemingly endless trail, the other slaves already rushing for their grub.

Maciste had been ready that they might keep on at him once back. Another night at the stake. A session in the huts with the guards. Grateful to drag his hide exhausted back to the stockade.

Uncaring he elbowed his desperate way through a huddle of hungry slaves. He barged others aside to grab himself a huge slug of water. He strong-armed himself through to a bowl of gruel. If anything it tasted worse than in the dawn. But the thick tasteless paste was plugging that gaping hole in Maciste’s raging hunger. A day like any other in Kheir’s mines.

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With a bowl of stale water and grabbing an old piece of flatbread, Maciste hunted around for a place to dump his shattered body. Barely slept in days, he needed sleep.“Gis ya bread, arsehole.”Maciste had his back to the wooden wall of the stockade. Tiredness had locked down his eyes, though still his raging hunger had been slowly gnawing away on the bread. It would take nothing to collapse .. fall into the sleep of the dead.A foot kicked his leg.“Ya listening? Gimme ya bread.”

Maciste looked up. A big broad-shouldered man, bald-headed, was looming over him.“Get off ya arse. On your feet. Ya got dues to pay. Starting with that bread.”Maciste’s heart sank. He recognized the prick for what he was, a slave gang bully-boy. Every place like these had them. The loud-mouth was accompanied by a hulking brute, shaved head, looked like a muscled slug.“Ya failed to turn up last night. Every newbie pays his dues.”

The foot kicked his leg again.“Ya hear? On ya feet. Hand over that bread.”He smirked at the other slaves around. Their looks told him they all knew what else he was owed.“And when I’m finished with ya bread .. ya owes me ya arse.”His filthy hand groped greedily at his groin. In case Maciste had missed the point.“Every newbie pays. No exceptions.”

For now all Maciste craved was a quiet life. The only thing in life he wished for was a good night’s sleep. But the slave-gang’s rules dictated he had to pay. Every newbie paid to join up.


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With a heavy heart .. with an even heavier groan as he struggled to his feet .. Maciste held up his hand as he rose. Offering the required bread as a peace offering.

“Ya come to me, arsehole.”The loud-mouth bully was gesturing with two hands .. demanding Maciste do his bidding. Rules dictated the newbie made the move. A sign of offering. Too tired to fight back, Maciste took a step forward .. still holding out the peace offering. Another step. The bully had his hand stretched out, palm up. His other hand slapped the out-stretched palm .. demanding Maciste succumb fully and place the bread in the extended palm. Submit to his authority. Pay his dues.Maciste took another step forward. The bully turned to his partner-in-crime, he smirked at him. Gesturing that this sucker was a pushover. In no time they’d have their dicks right up his arse.

Maciste grabbed the bully’s hand. In a move so fast light moved in a blur, he twisted the bully’s arm round. In less than a heartbeat, the bully’s back was slammed against Maciste’s chest. Before the man took a breath, with a hard kick in the back of the bully’s leg, Maciste had him on his knees. Before anyone could register the speed, Maciste had one hand on the bully’s chin, the other on his skull. Not a moment’s hesitation, not a second thought .. Maciste twisted his arms. Everyone around heard the bones snap.

Disdainful his knee kicked out. Dead the bully fell on his front in the dirt.“Want my arse, do you?”Maciste had already rounded on the muscular slug.“Yours for the taking, sucker.”The man looked like he was about to make a run for it. But the stockade full of men had gathered to watch. Come for the night’s entertainment. The newbie prince having his arse raped. The slug was surrounded by a wall of ogling slaves, no way out, nowhere to run. Besides, the look of terror in his eyes had him rooted to the spot. Maciste took the three steps to him in a single bound. Instinctively the shocked bully threw out an arm protectively.

Maciste grabbed it. He twisted himself around, he was holding the bully’s arm against the joints. With a quick jerk, not even drawing breath, Maciste dislocated the arm from the shoulder joints. The bully’s scream doubled when Maciste whipped him round by the arm and threw him onto the corpse of his mate.

Maciste spun round.”Who’s next? Who else is up for this arse?”Bristling, in a rage, he slapped his bare backside.“Come and get it.”Already the mob that had been eager for a bit of fun were quickly evaporating.“And get that fucker out of here …”He kicked at the bully yelling in pain at his dislocated arm.“He’s disturbing my peace.”The bully screamed even louder when slaves dutifully grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away.


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Maciste looked around for his bread. He slapped it against his bare thigh to shake off some of the grit. Scouting around for a place to lie down. Somewhere to lay his exhausted body. Interestingly there now seemed to be plenty of space wherever he looked. The other slaves simply melted away. He grabbed a space by the wall, gave a huge exhausted sigh, his eyes shut on themselves. And gnawed absent-minded on the stale bread.

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13. assets

All the slaves were stood in line .. a change in the routine at the end of another punishing day. They’d trudged back from the quarry in their filth and stench. Craving food and rest.

But a change in routine. Forced into lines of slaves lined behind each other, facing a high frame of wooden stakes. Four lines of men exhausted at the end of 15 vicious hours of grinding labour under a pitiless sun .. bellies aching for food.


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Stood dutifully with their hands clamped to the back of their heads .. wearily placed there when guards’ snarls ordered their arms up.

They were lined up in the shadow of a punishment frame. The head slavemaster walked the first row .. his club always menacing. Sometimes taking the effort of jabbing it hard into a slave’s chest. Finally he growled out an order.“Go get the fucker out here.”

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The head slavemaster snarled out his order. When Maciste’s own pet minders stepped forward, he knew why they were standing here. This was about him.

Again he’d been the last to be released from his labours. All day that back-breaking grind of dragging those resistant runners on the sledge. He could swear they had piled the rocks on it even higher today. His back ached, his powerful thighs had taken on the challenge of digging his feet into the grit and planted one foot slowly in front of the other. Hour-after-endless-hour. Bleeding-foot-weary, The muscles in his legs still trembled as he stood there .. watching his minders come for him.

“That brand on yar shoulders .. it says ya’ll are owned. Property of the king.”From the top crossbar of the frame a hefty bar dangled off a single rope. Maciste had surrendered to having his arms raised up and tied to the bar. His minders took special pleasure in tugging the leather bonds tight .. digging into his wrists. He was half-ignoring the slavemaster’s homily .. more intent on preparing himself for the coming ordeal. The snarling slavemaster glared threatening at the forty-or-so slaves lined up to watch. Was this just some new way of grinding Maciste down? Piling on the pressure? Orders of the king. Whatever, he was less concerned with the lecture to the slaves .. more concerned with himself. Steeling his mind. Preparing himself.

“Get into a fight. Break a slave’s bones ….”Now this act did make sense. Now the slavemaster did have Maciste’s attention. That fight in the stockade. He himself had given them their excuse. “Injured slave .. like a horse gone lame .. waste of fuckin’ space …”That certainly described the bullies Maciste had seen off.

The slavemaster continued growling.“Damaged work-slave .. lame horse .. same thing. Worthless.”He spat out his contempt in a big rasping glob.“Nothin’ for it …. Useless .. slit its throat. It’s worth fuck-all.”


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Good riddance to bad rubbish, Maciste thought. So that arsehole with the dislocated shoulder? Had he been put down like a lame horse? Destroyed?

But Maciste’s thoughts were disrupted. Suddenly unbalanced. Grabbing at the swaying overhead bar he fought to keep himself upright. His moronic minders had grabbed an ankle each .. yanking them outwards .. nearly up-ending him. Tying them to the end of another bar behind his feet. Binding leather cord tight around his ankles .. Standing Maciste with his legs splayed uncomfortably wide.

“Fatally injurin’ another slave. That’s stealin’. Robbin’ a master of a valuable slave.”He paused. Making a dramatic statement.“Robbin’ the KING …..”Not that Maciste had seen any sign of worth being put on the king’s slaves here.“For THAT .. for robbin’ our king of his slave .. that’s the crime of king-theft. For that ….”His head turned and snarled at Maciste.“ .. ten lashes. Laid on hard.”Maciste was already ahead of the head-prick. Personally he’d had a criminal sentenced to more for doing less.

But the head slavemaster wasn’t finished.“KILL a fuckin’ slave ….. Get into a fight and destroy another man’s property ….”Suddenly the bar above Maciste had given a sharp jerk. Quickly he spotted four guards on the other end of the rope. Pulling on the rope, jerking it up over the crossbar. Maciste already had his arms at full-stretch.“Destroy the king’s property ….”Maciste felt another pull .. he was on tiptoes. Already sunburnt skin gave him a wince .. painful flesh pulling as he was getting stretched. His feet left the earth.“ … rob a king of a valuable piece of human hide ….”Maciste was dangling a good foot off the ground. Hard-worked muscle groaned. Bruised flesh protested. Maciste was rocking. Swaying up in the air. Burning strains clawed like finger-nails down the exhausted muscles of his back.“For murder. For robbin’ a king. Deprivin’ him of an asset he can profitably use ..… “Sadistic eyes met Maciste’s. The slavemaster was relishing this. This is what he did. Enjoyed doing. Got off on this.“…. TWENTY lashes.”Maciste added it up.

“AND ….”Again the slavemaster laid in another theatrical pause. Glaring from the slaves over to Maciste. Then back to the slaves lined up with their hands submissive behind their heads. For a moment now Maciste saw himself through the slaves’ eyes. Swaying off his arms above his head. His strong-muscled back displayed to them, vulnerable. Legs splayed out .. tied to a bar behind his ankles. Dangling a good foot up in the air, helpless, swaying. The overhead rope stretched taut up over the crossbeam and held


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by four of these sadistic morons. The other slaves knew from experience what this crew of cretins were capable of. Knew better than Maciste what he could expect.

He had been forced into settling a fight with a pair of bullies. Now Maciste was going to pay for his mistake. As good an excuse as sadists like these guards had ever heard. But whatever he had done ….. Maciste suspected he’d have finished up dangling in the air anyway. Orders of the king.“And for being a royal pain-in-the arse ..”With another glance at Maciste the slavemaster gloated over the hopelessness of his charge. Strongly built, muscular. His royal torso helplessly stretched. Filthy in its sweat and degradation .. powerful muscles aching from hours of punishing labour under the sun. And HIS. That once-royal privileged torso HIS to use. HIS to earn for his slavemaster royal rewards for a job well done. He wasn’t going to miss out on a god-sent chance like this.“… another twenty lashes.”

Maciste did the calculation. Fifty lashes. He’d ordered the same. For deserters. He’d had them publicly flogged. Tied at a post .. commanded to take fifty from the whip. And sometimes he’d left them there .. to wither and die. Fifty lashes .. laid on hard. He’d seen that break a man.But those deserters had not burned with the anger of Maciste. They had not been fired up with his will to strike back. Fifty lashes. THAT was supposed to break his will?

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

14. punishment parade

He’d got the sucker where he wanted him. Orders of the king."Stick it to the prick."The lead-moron snarled his order."And lay it on the fucker hard."


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Strung up in the air, limbs spread, Maciste bit on his upper lip and waited for the threat of the first swish. To come biting through the air. Instincts readied him. Biting down on a teeth clenching pain. The strike didn't disappoint.

From the back the other slaves saw a broad muscled back twist. Burst into a sharp spasm. A cane of twisted leather nearly the height of a man . it left a clear burning trail across that muscular expanse. Upraised muscled arms clenched at the air. Fingers clawed into tight bunches of pain. The overhead bar rocked him wildly .. pain in the upper body twisting tortured off the single rope.

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Maciste had organised whippings in the military. A necessary move for discipline. But here his skin had been burned red in the sun for long blistering hours .. sensitive to the touch .. screamingly painful under the claw of a leather bound cane. His skin shrieked.

The minder with the whip was wasting no time. Already the next vicious message of stinging pain was lashing downwards. Biting at Maciste's shoulder .. cutting across his backbone .. snapping at the waist on his other side. Pain twisted Maciste .. force tugged at the bar .. unhinging the balance .. rocking Maciste in a defenceless dance in the air.

Maciste was still biting on the pain .. clenching his back teeth together .. instinctively refusing to give them the satisfaction of his cries. Surprised, then, by the on-rush of the next strike .. taking a vicious bite out his waist. His head went back. A trickle of a pained tear formed in his eye.

"Stop pissing around. I said, Lay it on hard."The men lined up heard the slavemaster growl. From behind the prisoner they saw the leather bound cane snap across the shoulder blades of his vulnerable broad back. Big muscles spasmed. Pain slammed his chest forward. Shock shot the muscled heavy frame up .. gravity cruelly grabbed it back. His torso danced .. jerked in a contorted jig. All watching were on tenterhooks, crew and slaves alike. On edge for the moment when that muscular body could no longer hold in the pain. Skin red-burned .. stinging bites nipped harshly out of his exhausted spirit. The slaves too had been worked into the ground. But all day his pair of sadistic guards had given the newbie-slave not one moment’s rest .. exacting maximum effort out of every exhausted breath .. cruelly pinning him out in the midday sun when the all others got a break.

Another bite was taken out of his waist. A bite that sent him spinning to the right. Rocking him in a wild pained jerk in the air. Maciste felt his whole stretched torso shaken by a pained shudder .. a pain that tore through at his flesh inside. His chest lifted by the force of that jerk. Willful he clenched together his teeth .. bloody-minded, determined. Damned if he'd surrender his pain to them. Maciste forced tight


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his throat. Making a dam that blocked a red hot cry of pain. Closing off a build-up of crimson agony raging out of his chest .. battering with a fiery storm at that stubborn dam in his throat.

A fear articulated itself in his guts .. wondering how long he could keep this up. Fifty lashes. How much more would it would take? Before he could no longer hold it in? A searing slash around his side had his arms jerk him upwards. How long before they ripped it out of him, that first yell of his pain? What reserves of bloody mindedness he could call on? On the earth a shadow of a raised arm caught his eye .. a split second later reality tore pain out of an upraised shoulder. Giant jaws seemed to wrench a great bite out of his muscled flesh. A flaming torch set alight his back. Pain nearly unblocked the obstinate barrage in his throat. A stubborn crush of superhuman will killed off the cry at the back of his teeth. Maciste swung wild in the air. In pain his hands grabbed at the bar. Madness shuddered in tremors up his back. Head thrown back, neck stiffened in a maddening spasm, fighting back the cry.

A moment later the next evil minded strike was already cutting at the air. Greedy for the sight of Maciste's muscular back. Hungry for his cries of pain.

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

15. fronting the attack

Maciste knew they were there watching. He had been lined up with them, four rows of men, stood in submissive slave mode, hands clamped to the back of their heads.


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His back was to them. They could see what he could not. Taken a murderous lashing, his back on fire as he swayed up in the air. Breathing hard, sweat running off his hair, Maciste imagined the scene .. as the other slaves saw it. His sight blurred, his vision clouded by streaks of watery pain. But the fires in his back told him how he looked to them.

When it stopped, when the stinging bites taken out of his back abated, Maciste had thought that was it. Fifty lashes. But the slavemaster was not done with him.

"Turn the fucker round."Hands immediately began turning his suffering, turning him on the single rope to face the lines of watching slaves.

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“Let the animals see.”Maciste hadn't given up the fight. But his back was burning him up. His bare backside screamed from the savagery of the beating. Already exhausted before this thuggery had even begun, still he had told himself he’d not give these morons the satisfaction. And he had managed. It had been a fight .. but he’d given it back to them as hard as he could.But not completely. Inevitable that the some cries would escape his tortured body. It had felt more like a hundred strikes, the agony on his sunburnt skin sending his exhausted senses in a sickening spin. Caught up in this own pain-maddened torment, with a bitter mixture of anger and dismay he’d heard them eventually break through. These last mind-crippling blows to the screaming muscles of his back had split his stubbornness open .. forced out sharp tortured cries. Beaten out of his burning back. Punching the wind out of his chest. Finally ripping down that dam of defiance blocking his fiery throat.

Angered at his prisoner for still managing to put up a fight, the slavemaster refused to give up on this prick. At last the pain had got through to him. Those last few strikes had shown this princely fucker up. He’d finally given them his pain. Now for more twists on the screw .. he’d show his royally-tortured features to the others .. no disguising his pain .. as now the lash ripped cry-after-cry out of his front with every forceful blow."Turn it. Let the animals see the pain."

The other of Maciste’s minders stepped forward and took the cane .. ready for the next round. Waiting the order, gloating at his pet slave swaying helpless in his frame. He stood relaxed, one end of his whip planted on the earth, his hand on the springy other end by his shoulder. As if inviting Maciste to scrutinise for the first time the leather-braided instrument of punishment that had set his powerful back alight. A brutal cane near-man-sized in length. His hand lasciviously stroking the end .. like he was


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coaxing life into his own erect cock .. drawing Maciste's eye to the thin willowy tip that he was about to lash across Maciste's muscular front. Goading him, taunting the royal prisoner. Both knowing Maciste was in extreme pain, done-in. His body physically exhausted. The whip mocking the futility of his resistance. Strung up helpless like this, how long did Maciste think he was going to keep this defiance up?

He was given the nod. Maciste's pet minder strode to his right side, turned half away, arm stretched out to his side. Then with a grunt of determined effort, spinning around like a child's top, using the momentum of his spin, the breadth of the leather braided cane slapped stinging across Maciste's midriff. Seeing it coming, Maciste had tensed. He'd thrown all his effort into forcing belly muscle, putting up a strong muscular wall of protection.

With dismay Maciste discovered this stretch on his suspended body robbed him of flexing power. The sting of leather taking a bite out of his straining waist took his breath away. The force of the blow across his waist sent his dangling body careening backwards. The shock of a smarting strike across belly flesh drove his legs upwards. The overhead bar waggled wildly in the air. His legs dropped. Jerkily. Tearing away at his defences. Pain shuddered up his injured torso. Tortured muscle spasmed. Distressed Maciste heard a painful cry break from his rasping throat.And the whoosh of braided leather was again slicing sadistic through the air. Targeted on the same tortured spot.

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

16. spinning

The slavemaster had a bucket of water thrown over the stubborn slave. To revive him. His head hung down, audibly groaning out his burning pains. But the animals had to see the suffering on his face. Otherwise what was the point?


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The shock of water brought him it out his half-conscious state. Brought back with a jolt and a shocked cry. Crying out as the hurt gripped his princely torso again.

The guard knew better than to waste the moment. The water caught him full on the upper chest. Water splashed up into the slave's face. Reviving him .. but doing nothing for the dog's raging thirst.

✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖"Start turnin’ the prick."The guard moved to Maciste's right foot and gave the lower bar a shove. Maciste's body still splayed out on his punishment frame started to revolve. The burning strokes pockmarking his midriff began to turn away. Evil looking stripes coloured the soft skin of his side. Into sight came the muscular stretched back. A mass of burning flesh. Blotches of fiery crimson glistening in runs of agonised sweat.

Still the dog’s body turned. The lead slavemaster's glance turned to the face. Twisted with pain .. contorted with anger. Fighting to hold it in still .. but failing. Streaks of watery pain running from his eyes. His features a display of agony .. but seemingly still refusing to surrender fully to the pains that were almost overwhelming him. Arsehole! That got right up the slavemaster’s nose. No way could the defiance of this royal motherfucker be allowed to persist. This face visibly struggling to carry on with this fight. A face contorted by pain but streaked with this fucker’s obstinate will. The prick was still battling for control over his features .. hitting back .. fighting back .. face gritted to keep a grip on his suffering. His jaw tight clenched as if ignoring the chest marked with stinging stripes of red. A jaw clenched in bloody-minded determination .. fighting back against the agony meant to break his pigheaded will. The arsehole still thought he could win!

Fuck the prick!"Keep that arsehole turnin’."The guard dutifully gave the frame another shove, giving the assembled slaves a revolving gallery of this prick’s agonies.

"For bein’ a royal arsehole ...."The slavemaster growled, addressing the assembled slaves. He glared at Maciste's two minders. They dutifully put down their jugs of water .. refreshing themselves. They got the message. They weren’t finished with this prick. They cricked their necks preparing themselves .. The one behind worked his arm in a circle by his side, his cane whooshed in evil readiness. In front the minder gripped each end of his cane in his hands .. above his head, flexing it, lending his weapon extra springiness.

"... for thinkin’ he's better than this .. For thinkin’ he can beat this ..."The slavemaster snarled at the guard tasked with showing off Maciste's suffering."Keep the fucker turnin’."


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The revolving frame got another shove."For getting’ up my fuckin’ nose ..."

The slavemaster took a look at his "animals" .. obediently watching .. following the rules, doing as ordered .. hands up behind the head. Submissively doing what was expected of them .. obeying .. fearing. And he’d have THIS royal motherfucker obeying without question too .. just had to get it into his thick skull .. just had to drive the message in through that muscled flesh .. till the arsehole caught on. What had he'd been sentenced to? Orders of the king. Never-ending punishment.

" .. for bein’ an arsehole ….. “Dramatically the slavemaster paused.“Another 20."He glared at Maciste's pair of minders.“At this time … do as fuckin’ told. Lay it on hard.”His gaze flashed down the length of Maciste’s suspended torso .. slowly revolving."Let 'em hear the fuckin’ pig squeal."

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

17. putting on the squeeze

The guards were jostling the lines of slaves back to their stockade for the night. They needed no encouragement, they were dead tired, that was where food was waiting.

Their bellies had grumbled while that slavemaster had kept them back for that sadistic parade of his power. And resented getting held back because that royal arsehole was getting done-over.


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The slavemaster remained back with his prime prisoner. Legs spread, dangling in the air, every muscle in his body under stretch. Every muscle in his body burning with pain.

He ordered another bucket of water thrown over him. As this arsehole was spluttering and struggling to lap up liquid, he strode up close. He inhaled. Under that stink of old sweat was that the odour of exhaustion? He looked into the pain streaked face .. Searching for the defiance he'd spotted there before. Where was that now? The face looked shattered. The eyes lifeless. Was this prick catching on?

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A spasm of pain shook the torso while he watched. The slavemaster saw the eyes flash to lift, they engaged with his. Then it was there again. A stiffening of the body .. a sudden hardening of resolve. That flash of defiance as their eyes met. The swine suddenly bit down on his lip. Refusing to let the pain out.

What did it take? How long did they keep having to prove to this arsehole? How much to prove his days of thinking he was above them was over? Just ‘cause he’d had it easy all his life, this prick still thought his new masters owed him respect? They’d crawled in shit all their lives, now it was his turn. Annoyed that still this stubborn arsehole dared putting on airs-and-graces. Frustrated his hand reached out. He grabbed the swine by his dangling nuts. He gave this stubbornness a long hard squeeze. Kept on. Kept crushing him by his princely balls until he squeezed a long hiss of pain out of the big-headed swine.

"Go get some grub down ya’s."His order released Maciste’s minders. A token of appreciation for the efforts they had put up. They'd put their backs into it. Lashed the strength out of this royal prick. Not their fault this arsehole had his brains in his juts."And get a beer in for me."

All the time his hand kept squeezing on the princely sweaty balls. His features snarling into the slave’s face as he reluctantly gave in to the crushing on his nuts. His shattered body was squirming. Futile efforts to wriggle free. But he wouldn't, he couldn't."Think ya're better 'n us?"The minders had willingly gone off to get a flagon of beer down their parched throats.“Born to summat better 'n us, eh?"The slavemaster felt a burn building in his forearm. But that only made him more determined to tighten his grip. The squeeze had the swine's head back, writhing back and forth. Teeth gritted, hissing to keep in the cry."Got word for ya ..."


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At last the slavemaster felt real hands-on with this special charge .. hot, sweaty, pained .. his spirit getting painfully crushed in his palm."Someone thinks ya're not. Someone whose word does count."He gave the growing hard-on in his breeches a squeeze. He matched it with a good hard squeeze on the arsehole’s nuts .. digging into the burn in his arm .. pleased at the long groan he'd crushed out of the pigheaded swine. Satisfied he let the arsehole go. Gratified he had got this arsehole's full attention.

"Ya's here by royal decree. That says ya're the worst kinda scum."Goading he was sliding the back of his calloused hand back up the swine's inner thigh. His way of threatening that he could have him by the balls anytime if he felt like it."And the king has decreed ya one thing. One thing and one thing only.”The fingers circled taunting on the soft skin in the fold at the top of the thigh. Warning he might be back.“Never-ending punishment. That’s ya’re in here for."

It felt like he had nothing left. Resisting that crushing on his nuts seemed to have robbed him of the last shred of strength. Maciste had his head slumped back .. hung heavy back over his shoulders. Eyes closed, jaw clenched. Done-in. Shattered like he couldn’t remember. Not even finding strength to feign a show of defiance. His head was in a spin. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach .. exhausted, tortured out of his skin.But in his guts he renewed his vow. He’d escape. He’d break free. Somehow, sometime. And deep in his guts he made this prick of a slavemaster a promise. Maciste would seek him out. He’d come back for him. Let’s see if you’ve got balls when Maciste is not tied up. Teeth gritted, clenched into his pain, Maciste swore an oath. He’d see how big his balls were then, this slavemaster .. without his bully-boy-guards to back him up.

He couldn't resist it. How often did that chance come? To have some princely arsehole crushed in his grip? Something to tell his sons about. The slavemaster grabbed out. He squeezed. He crushed the arsehole’s nuts till his forearm trembled with effort. He kept on squeezing .. teeth gritted .. sneering into the cocksucker’s squirming .. squeezing till he had heard enough royal pain.

"Now ya think on that. Gonna give ya chance to let that run through ya thick princely skull."He turned his back on the royal prick. He'd let the arsehole hang. Hang while injured muscles inflamed. Muscled flesh would seize up. Pain would claw its path into every burning bit on his body. Who knew, pain might even put a good squeeze on his royal stubbornness. The guys could move him back to the stockade. But later. After this prick had gone out of his mind with the screeching aches in every muscle of his stretched body. After all, the boys had had a hard day. The men had earned their grub. They needed their break. Plenty of time before they needed to return this princely cocksucker to the stockade. So what if the animals had gobbled everything up before the guys got him back? By order of the king. The sucker wasn't there for the good of his health.


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LABOURS OF MACISTE

18. animals

"Any ya animals looking for some arse tonight ..."The guard slapped his hand hard across Maciste's bare backside. Exhausted from the beating .. Tortured


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muscle on fire from being left hanging. Still the shock of a good slap on his whiplashed arse lifted up his head in response to the fiery pain." ..be my guest. "

They’d cut him down. He couldn't stop himself when his feet jarred to the earth. He fell forward. Not able to stop himself, slumped exhausted in a heap to the dust.

An escort of six took him back to the stockade. A guard grabbed a hand and a leg each. Lifted him, laughing at his groaned protests and hauled their prize prisoner off .. dragged away face-down, suffering, laughing at him, hauled back to the stockade. For safekeeping for the night.

Maciste couldn't hold in the groans. His tortured torso had had enough. Carried face down .. body slumped down between his extended limbs. Pain registering where pain should no longer have reached. Another dose of excruciating agony in a vicious day of torture. Orders of the king.

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The gates crashed open. Shocking the slaves in their stockade .. dead-beat, they’d wolfed their meagre rations down .. and now all they wanted was some sleep. Slaves by the gates were kicked and trampled out of the way. The guards' clubs beat a parting through resting slaves. Though exhausted they struggled to their feet, curious, following the guards and their broken trophy. Held by wrist and foot, visibly hurting, groaning as his tortured body was rocked in the grip of uncaring guards.

They'd witnessed him taking a beating .. a vicious sadistic whipping ,.. worse than any they’d seen. Curious they followed .. wondering at the slave being returned like this. Guards shoved aside the remnants of bowls and water jars off the big flat boulder where food was served. The guards relieved themselves of their burden. They dumped the slave across the stone. Everyone heard the dismay in his voice as he dropped face-down onto the stone. A deep ragged moan broke free, dumped on his front, spread over the stone. Lifeless, seeming unconscious .. except for the rasping breaths. Looking broken, done-in, his back rising and falling as he laboured to breathe. Done-in, spent, flat out on their eating stone, his legs one side, the arms falling on the other. Bare whiplashed arse stuck up in the air.

"Yours for the taking, animals."A guard dug his club at the slave’s exposed back entrance and snorted.“Princely arse.”Another hard jab barely got the prone torso reacting .. showing it was easy pickings. “Hungry? Eat ya fill.”The helplessness of the bare muscled backside underlined the guards’ idea. Wide-open, hopelessly


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stretched out over the stone. A tempting invitation. A rare treat. Princely arse theirs for the taking.“Up for grabs ….. ya animals.”

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

19. rejected

It was late in the night that Maciste realised what had happened. Pains from the beating kept waking him from a sleep of exhaustion. But he was dog-tired. He’d collapse overtired back into oblivion.

He kept on coming to life, regularly, always with a hiss, shuddering from the pains of his ordeal. Battling the hurt that threatened to overwhelm his spirit. Grinding aches in his every muscle sending him careening down into the pits of despair. Craving sleep. His spirit as good as sobbing for rest.


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It was deep in the night when his mind woke up to the idea. Woken again by pains. His body aching like hell. But in his sleep his mind had seen the light, it must have got enough much-needed rest. There, in the darkness, amid snoring and manly stench, he saw it. The chance. The miracle that had happened. Incredible. Better than anything he could have hoped.

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The guards had gone back to their boozing. Shattered Maciste had lain draped over the stone .. inert, near-passed out .. in no position to help himself .. or defend himself. Open market for any slave needing to quench his lusts .. splayed out defenceless over the stone. Inviting, open for the first customer to get himself worked up.

Suddenly hands were untying the cut rope from his legs. Maciste’s spirit wanted to fight back, fearing what was going on. Others were undoing the knots on his wrists. Maciste was pushing them away .. he’d taken in the guards’ parting words. But he was easily overcome.Men were getting him up, rough work-torn hands grabbed him, held him upright by the shoulder. Offering him water .. there was a bowl held to his lips. Barely conscious .. yet Maciste drank at it like a madman. They slowed him down .. stopping him from choking in his greed. The animals were looking after him!

A hand held a flatbread to him. Maciste’s senses could barely take it in. Seeing but barely registering .. food! Bleary-eyed he looked up .. In confusion. The man offering the bread waved it towards him .. inviting him to take it. Eat! Was that man the one whose bread he'd once stolen? Was that only yesterday?

They'd even kept back a bowl of the foul tasting gruel for him. He’d woken up in the night, he’d turned over in his sleep. Instantly pain rushed through his torso. Bruised muscle screamed and yanked him awake. In the darkness he gasped out. The sudden return of agony overwhelming him. He lay still on his side .. teeth gritted as pain rushed through brutalized flesh. Watching and waiting for the pains to subside. Confused by a bowl next to him .. lit by the moonlight. Food! And a jug of water, another piece of flatbread. Left for him by the slaves. The “animals” were caring for him! Flatbread. Someone had gone without food for him.

Maciste lay on his side in the darkness, taking this in. Surprised. After that beating he’d been aware of the slaves shuffling their hungry way back to the stockade, leaving Maciste alone, abandoned to the hands of the slavemaster. Tired, starving hungry .. yet the slaves had prepared for his return. They hadn’t greedily gulped down his rations, taking advantage. They had kept food back. They had put water aside.


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Surprised. Before, no one had given a single sign of showing any interest in him .. barely talking to him after that fight with the bullies. Staying out of his way .. seeing how the guards singled him out .. smelling trouble on his stinking skin. Lying in the moonlight surrounded by snoring slaves Maciste struggled to put this together. Food, water. It hardly made sense.They could have jumped him. Like the animals they were treated as, they could have taken up the guards’ invitation. Raped him .. repeatedly. Wild beasts satiating their lusts. He’d have been defenceless. Animals fighting over him, a feeding frenzy .. drunk on a bloodlust. Instead they had looked after him. Clearly they had prepared for his return .. deciding to keep back food for him. They were ready with water. They'd done as much men in their position could do for him .. bread, gruel, water. Knowing he'd need looking after, need to build up his strength. The "animals" had shown they cared. How that that make sense?

Keeping himself still to prevent the pains in his flesh from exploding in his battered torso, slowly his head began to piece this together. Gradually Maciste understood .. with increasing excitement .. what this meant. What signals he was getting from this meaningless turn-of-events. Had they seen him for what he was? A fighter. A warrior, a leader of men. Did they see in Maciste their chance. Their way out of this mess? Escape from these gates of hell.Were they ready to put their trust in him? Had he won their respect? From the way he had taken everything thrown at him. And not backed down. Even under the worst duress. Had standing up for himself won their admiration? They’d seen the guards throw at him punishments that would have broken most men.

They’d seen how the guards had beaten the hell out of his muscular back. But they wanted him to recover. Or did they need him to recover? To lead them? They’d saved food to help him regain his strength. What did this mean? More important .. how far could this go? They knew who he was. A prince .. should have become king. Still could ….? They knew he was a general. He planned campaigns, he led men through a fight. Rather than taking it out on him .. seeking revenge for all the times some noble had done them over .. rather than giving into to the temptation and following the guards’ invitation to take him .. they’d made sure he would recover. Why? Looking to him for a lead? They wanted him strong again. For what? To keep up the fight? To lead a fight-back? A leader? Were they putting their faith in a man like him ….?

Maciste glimpsed his chance. Saw what he had. He had an army .. fitter and stronger than many he had led. Every single muscular one of them built by punishing hard work. And motivated. Motivated as hell. What better cause would any man fight for? For their freedom from this hell. Was there one of these "animals" who would not give anything to be free? Who would not risk his all for that chance? To be free. To get their own back.

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LABOURS OF MACISTE

20. a plan


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The guards were armed. But only with clubs and whips. And stupidly each day they re-armed the slaves. Handed out heavy hammers to the "animals". Bone crushing hammers. And everywhere there were more than enough rocks. Rocks to smash in skulls. Maciste's army had weapons. And they had the numbers on their side.

Timed right .. coordinated, attacks launched simultaneously .. on Maciste's signal .. the guards wouldn’t stand a chance. It would take no time at all. A dozen guards at most. More than forty slaves, muscled and desperate, fighting behind Maciste.He had their respect. He'd give them hope. He’d offer them faith .. and like hell did they want to believe! .. believe that they could again be free. THAT they would fight for.

He'd give them a lead. Lead them into the fight. A fight for their freedom. Maciste did not give the guards much hope. What cause were they fighting for? Except that they’d be battling for their lives. Battling, struggling. But fighting in vain. Outnumbered. By muscular men battling to be free.

And finally, in victory ….. the "animals" would feed. In huge vengeful gulps. The slavemasters would be strung up .. like Maciste had been. Suspended, helpless, prey to vengeful slavering beasts .. dangling hopeless off the ground. The “animals” would feed. On blood.

The gates of hell would open .. this time for the guards. No one .. no power on earth .. nothing could hold these men from taking their lives back.

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shivers - rendszworldactive.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewSomeone whose word does count."He gave the growing hard-on in his breeches a squeeze. He matched it with a good hard