Ransomed



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Contents

Part Three Games 5

6. Games people play 5

Dark thoughts 5

Fightback 8

Enter the parade 9

Line-up 10

Blind-man’s-bluff 11

General urges 14

7. Doubts 16

Recovery 16

Challenges 19

8. Guile 22

Ogre 22

Waif 24

Going, coming 25

Pulse of life 27

Master of her trade 29

Male vulnerability 32

Part Four Trials 34

9. Breaking wills 34

Ransom demands 34

Assets 37

Tests 39

10. Demands 42

Doa 42

Submit 44

Proof 46

Akhton 48

Much to swallow 50

Compliance 52

Offer 54

11. Sacrifice 56

Slut 56

Plugged 58

Monstrosity 59

Foreplay done 60

Dawn 61

12. Not the end 66

Part Three Games

Games people play

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Dark thoughts

Again he had been summoned to her cruel presence. Brought before Mabat like a piece of wild game bagged in the hunt. Yoked, to make Garth feel small. After hours in tortured darkness in that stress position. Now bundled with that weighty yoke and shoved outside into the morning light. To attend Mabat’s arrival.

Again that waiting trick. Awkwardly Garth had been made to walk the length of the courtyard, up to the point in the middle where there was a bulky frame. A place of torture if ever there was one. Letting him inspect it, - where they were going to go for him. Left to stew. In the sun, in the light. To attend her arrival.

They were going to torture him, he’d known that when he’d persuaded Gazaan to give him up. Here under this frame. Or down in the dungeons. What did it matter?

At least this time they had abandoned the gag. The chance now to show her what she had got on her hands. Not some dumb piece of game thrown at her feet.

The light was welcome, daylight. Sun, the promise of warmth. The feeling on his back was bliss. After his black tortured night, kept in rigid spasms all night. Abandoned to his thoughts, Garth reviewed his strategy to himself. Come face-to-face with Mabat, seen the dissension. Not sure yet how best to use it. How she had scoffed at her general. Seeing her humiliated, even in front of him.

Garth was as eager as hell to work Mabat out. How to play her, what advantage he might have gained. In that tortured blackness, strains and stresses taking hold of his every sinew, her face burned like a demon’s in front of him.

He remembered above all those eyes. Deep-set, so deep they were hard to penetrate. Intensely cold, an eerie black. A snake’s. So penetrating, for a moment Garth had thought she could see into his heart. He had dismissed the thought ..... but a discomforting sensation had stayed with him during the tortures of the night. It took supreme effort to cope with his aches, it took as much to dismiss those black thoughts about Mabat. Doggedly Garth had made himself turn to the positive. What was his plan? Did he have a plan?

Strategy was a never-ending feast. Playing the Krottak guards, these minions - easy. He was not going to take any shit from them. They’d not expect a warrior to take things lying down. Yet they held all the cards, so far they had the advantage, done him over, several times - but no way had he given up. He’d see them right, he’d see them pay. As yet - it was two-nil to them. But they’d get trigger-happy .... then he’d pounce. Then like a cobra Garth would strike.

But Mabat? How to play Mabat? He had no ideas about rolling over and taking things come-what-may. Question was, How to play her? And keep up the fight? Play along so that some time or other he’d get his hands around that throat?

But first it came down to him and her, prisoner and the head-bitch. How would she see expect him to behave? Compliant? Frightened? She had a reputation for viciousness. How ‘d she expect him to react in her hands? Behaving himself, crawling? In the hope of buying some brownie points?

What had she said? She wanted him dead, but before that she wanted his name dead. She was going to kill him, - yes but first she was out to slaughter Earthman-the Myth. Clearly those two happenings were not the same.

AND she wanted that destruction seen, done in public. That why he was out here in the courtyard? Under her torture frame? Garth was a tool in her propaganda machine. He had given the Maru hope, she wanted that slaughtered. She’d not want other tribes getting ideas. So the slaughter of the Earthman myth had to be seen. Then - and only then - was she going for Garth-the-Man.

Was there something in the way she’d looked him over, he’d wondered? Garth knew how he looked, he knew his physique impressed the opposite sex. Usually his looks turned women on, he thought he’d felt that from her council. He’d got their imaginations running.

With Mabat? Could it be ....? Was there a woman underneath all that coldness ....? Wishful thinking, the demon in his head mocked. Male conceit? Or could she be moved to move on him?

He wouldn’t bet on it. That was one bet he reckoned he could win. If she did show some response to him physically, it would not be the normal kind. Domination, - that was more her kind of thing. Lording it, shame and humiliation, physical - sexual .... the kind of hard-on some men got in torturing.

Garth had reckoned you could count on that being more her line of things. This regime was vicious, cruel, sadistic. And it was Mabat was top-dog, she set the tone. A guy who looked like hell of a guy, a prisoner, defenceless, male, vulnerable, AND a stud who looked the part - Garth reckoned, with a female of her ilk, ... that could only bring out the worst.

Garth wondered if he had sensed a lurking suspicion that she welcomed some personal combat in this? She wanted him to stand up to her? Had he been reading her right?

Was there some super-ego at work here? What they couldn’t do, her council, she could ....? Was Garth an opportunity to put her general down?

“Why am I surrounded by fools?” Was that it? She was going to do what they had not?

Did she crave to break Garth herself? Show them up? Garth a tool in asserting her supremacy?

If that was it, was she inviting Garth to join her in this game? A partner? Did she want him to put up some fight? So she could show off her skills, battling him. And all the better when ultimately she triumphed. Was she inviting Garth to put up a fight? Just so she could keep applying the pressure? So she had to keep upping her game? Squeezing him harder till eventually he cracked?

If that was her game, was there a chance here? Play along with her, playing his own game, play her along, - so one time she got too close and his hands closed around her throat. It was like an ambush. And playing the waiting game in an ambush was just as much a part as the attack. Key was, Be ready when the chance came.

Was that the slut’s game?

“How to squeeze maximum value out of this …?”

High risk strategy for Garth, - if he played along, if he did not make it easy for Mabat, - that was going to hurt. If he made her fight for him every inch of the way - she’d keep turning the thumbscrews.

Worth the risk? Did that make sense? Did any of this make sense?

But anyway, he was not the kind to bend the knee. He had never meant to roll over and take things lying down. His innate inclinations were to stand up to her. Fight her every inch of the way.

One thing was sure, more pain. She held all the cards, all the implements of torture. But lasting out meant Garth would win himself more time. More chance to get his hands on the witch and settle this once-and-for-all. At some point she’d let her guard down?

Risky, bloody high risk for him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Fightback

Right now Garth’s main problem was tiredness. Been trussed-up like that, strung-up with his every muscle under strain - exhausting like crazy. Every cell ached like hell. His back was killing him. All down his sides - weakened by a fearsome burning, robbed of rest.

Banned under Geneva Conventions. Declared an infringement of human rights. Obviously the Krottak had not read their copy. Stuck inside that hood, deprived of all senses for hours. Hours focused just on agonising physical strain. Trapped inside his own private hell, locked inside with only his agonies. Psychologically torturing his spirit. Physically breaking him down, body and soul. Now shoved out into daylight in some Krottak arena, - it knew no let-up.

And he needed to get his wits about him. Exhausted, deprived of any rest, barely eaten. Water only what he had grabbed. Wearing him down by multiple deprivations. And now, followed by her council females, Mabat was walking to a dais where a chair for her stood. From which she was going to attend ... what?

No public here, though. Whatever she had planned for him, that destruction of Earthman-the-Myth, it was not going to happen here, not now. From the way she had been talking, from the way he’d been thinking - it was not going to be a short ride to that annihilation

“He’s got a mouth on him, queen.”

Mabat alone sat, her council made to stand. Her general was speaking. Stood near Garth trapped in his yoke. Her baton tapped disdainfully at the yoke, asking Mabat’s permission to gag Garth again.

Garth suspected this general had looked in several times in the night to check on him. Certainly someone had been there in his torment. He had called out into the dungeon at sounds. But the presence hadn’t replied. He had cussed through the hood guessing it was her out there, come to gloat. The general or ... Would Mabat have come herself?.

Whatever, whichever slut had come visiting, - if they’d hoped to hear him beg, they had gone back empty-handed. That night of torment had cost. But it had also reinforced his resolve, he’d do his damned best not to show his pains. Whatever was happening in this arena with his yoke back on, buggered if he was into showing his suffering.

“I should silence him.”

Garth’s features did not flicker. But the idea of being robbed again of that chance - that annoyed. He held his breath, he crossed his fingers and hoped. Getting gagged again, that idea plunged like a stone to the pit of his stomach.

If only they’d get rid of the yoke, leave him free, hands free, legs free. Mabat was only about 10 metres away. He could go for her, it would take only seconds to sprint the distance and grab her. OK, Krottak guards were around, but his determination would swat them aside. Garth could finish off the cruel bastard. Throttle her, batter her to death.

But .... his hands weren’t free. Little chance of that right now. By the sound of it, though, she was not in any hurry. The sadistic she-devil did not want to see him finished off too soon. There’d be another time, he’d just have to tough it out.

The general approached, she handed some cord to a guard. To gag Garth again, to silence him. Damn-it. They were going to gag him again. OK - still he’d find some way to prove he was fighting Mabat every inch of the way. Not one easy to break. Over his dead body.

“No.”

The voice from the throne stopped the guard making to gag Garth’s mouth.

“No, not this time.”

Grateful, a big THANK YOU swamped Garth’s spirit. Ironically grateful to the she-devil. For making that mistake.

“ ..... if he wants to beg for mercy - he can.”

As if ....! Garth eyed her, a wry smile flickered across his face. As if that was going to happen .... She saw it, she read it. Over my dead body, bitch! His expression repeated itself. But her face did not flicker either. Eyes green and bottomless.

The general nodded, over-ruled. Probably irritated. But bowing to the authority of the throne.

“Guards!”

Her voice rang out across the bare arena. Echoing eerily off the stone walls.

“On parade!”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Enter the parade

She’d put up with enough snide remarks. Enough of Mabat’s sarcastic comments. Out to show it was Mabat’s general that had this in her, going to have the crap beaten out of this Earthman, going to break the dog. Hand him over to her queen, - tenderised meat on a plate. And kick that evil turd of a brother out of her bed. She had jumped through enough of his perverted hoops.

“Guards! By the left. March!”

A drum beat set the pace. A heavy thump onto leather. Started this odd procession.

One-two-three-thwack. One-two-three-thwack. One-two-three-thwack.

The soldiers had first lined up in a single phalanx in front of Garth, stood in the centre of their arena. Mabat and her crew watching from the other end. The soldiers had formed line in silence. Stripped of their tops. Stripped for action. Not one of them was a match for Garth. Smaller by far, wiry not broad. But they were soldiers, they were fit, they were lean-muscled, precious little body fat between the lot of them, - and they knew how to make the best of what they had. Stood at ease but looking intense. Looked intimidating. Particular with the canes in their hands. Stood at ease, their hands crossed over in front, in front of their crutches, the tip of their weapons resting on the floor.

March! They’d set off. Parading in some weird militaristic ritual around Garth. Circling him. Staring at him, heads turning as the circled. Walking a menacing circle around their victim, stood imprisoned in his preposterous heavy yoke, his hands trapped, his torso exposed, his back unprotected.

One-two-three-thwack. One-two-three-thwack. One-two-three-thwack. Circling him. A parade to menace.

In time to the drum, choreographed to hell. Marching in a threatening loop around. Intimidating. Marching one-two-three. At four - thumping their weapons into the ground. In unison. A resounding thwack that threw up dust. A game, a play of nerves. Playing on Garth’s nerves. Round and round, the menacing parade, beating out a warning. A threatening thump. Throwing up dust. Thwacking into the earth a forewarning of his pain.

When they’d been stood at ease, Garth had squinted. Trying to make out what it was they were carrying. Hard to tell at first but in morbid curiosity Garth strained to see. Now being thwacked in ominous unison. Beating the earth with a deadly thud. Each weapon, maybe a half dozen wooden switches, perhaps willow, bound together with cord. Bound at the top, again in the middle. And again at the base to make a handle. Willow he knew, flexible, springy. Willow smarted. Bound together with cord. Tied together to give it strength. Bound into a cudgel. Like these Krottak warriors, bound together, bound in unity to give them strength. Bound to make a bludgeon, bound to make a mark. Thwacking at the dust. Thwacked against his flesh.

Garth could have held them down, two of them at a time, pinned them hopeless and flailing to the ground. These Krottaks were no match for his physique, height or build. But he was not being given that luxury. He stood here defenceless. Imprisoned in his yoke. Arms trapped. Watching this bizarre pageant of mean-minded muscle encircling him. About twenty of them, stripped for action. Circling him in some creepy parade of intimidation, thwacking the end of that weapon of theirs. Beating it at the ground and raising dust. Weapons soon to be turned on him.

One-two-three-THWACK!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Line-up

This was rehearsed, this ritual. This had every feeling that every single intimidating move had been rigorously practised.

“Positions!”

At the general’s snapped order the circling menace broke up. At a run, the twenty-odd guards broke off their ominous circle-dance and rushed out across the arena. Spreading themselves out, at random, in no particular formation, it seemed. If Garth still wanted to go for the queen, there were now twenty of her bare-topped guards in-between. A sheen had coated their bodies. A gleam of effort from their odd militaristic ritual. Or maybe they glowed with an anticipation of the task to come.

Randomly the men were spread out. In some arbitrary formation. They were all over the place. Dotted around, stood between Garth and Mabat. There were fights you won, there were fights you lost. Whatever was going on now, he suspected they did not mean him to win. But only one thing mattered, - winning the war. And Garth was as determined as ever that eventually this would end in his victory.

He had learned to keep his eyes everywhere. His focus was on the queen, that was where the ruling vindictiveness resided. But it was that general of hers who had approached. The hellcat who had subjected him to a night of horrors. Looking him over, looking at him from head-to-foot. Garth eyed her back. Wishing to hell he could get his hands free of this yoke.

She’d wanted him gagged, to humiliate him, to put him in his place. Again over-ruled by Mabat. Now she was scrutinising him. Starting from his head, smirked at his proud manliness reduced to helplessness in their yoke. Down over this chest, running her gaze down his defined abs. It almost felt like her fingers were toying with him there.

Full of scorn Garth eyed her back. Angry at the night of hell she’d put him through, angry at the beatings she’d ordered on him - his anger determined to show she’d have to try harder. Suddenly, though, she disappeared in a blur. In a confused split-second, something was over his face. Suddenly something closed tight around his neck. Hooded. She had blind-sided Garth with her scrutiny. The slut! Garth had a bag around his head. Suddenly Garth could not see.

“Blast you!”

The bitch had distracted him.

She did not grace him with a reply. Garth felt hands on his shoulders from behind. Twisting him, hands from behind were turning him. Turning him round and round. Disorienting him. Hands roughly span him round. So he didn’t know where he was facing. In the background he heard a pair of drums start up, a steady beat, two-tone. The drum of the dead-man’s walk. Their ominous regular beat echoing around this arena. Bouncing menacing off bare stone walls. Suddenly a hand shoved him hard from behind. Propelling Garth into the unknown, he stumbled forward. The weighty yoke swaying wildly off his neck. Pushed into the unseeable. Weighted down by the swaying yoke. Arms defenceless. A game of blind-man’s-bluff. An obstacle course. Around him human obstacles wielding weapons. Willowy bludgeons meant to hurt. Twenty-odd glistening warriors with springy weapons intending to hurt.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Blind-man’s-bluff

No doubt about it, they’d pack a punch. Those weapons that he’d analysed as the bare-topped Krottaks had paraded around him, - they hit you, you knew you were hit. The first blow Garth took was across the shoulders, right under the yoke. Taken by surprise, still not into this little game of theirs, Garth had jerked forward. Surprised. And then knocked forward by the force. Unsettled by the weight of the swaying yoke. That bludgeon of bound willowy staves packed enough punch to jolt him forward. Unable to see, not expecting any such blow, any sound disguised by the drumbeats echoing off stone walls.

Garth took an unseen smacker of a hit across his back. Unable to anticipate. Shocked, not holding on to himself. Knocked forward. By force, by the surprise. And then that god-damned yoke was all over the place. Swaying wildly, threatening to tip him up. Pulling his head down to the earth, yanking his body with it. Forcibly he wrenched it back up, his neck cracking at the effort. Just one blow - and Garth saw the shit he was in. Right up to his neck. Up to his yoked neck. Pawn in their silly game. Jarring himself to a halt. Getting the drift of their stupid game. Standing stock-still, feeling a sudden panic.

The general scowled at the referee. The soldier given the job to keep the game going. Chosen not for his brain, he was the bulkiest of the lot. His job was to keep the prisoner on the run. Chosen because his bulk stood more chance of shoving the giant Earthman around. He withered under her angry gaze, the fool knew better than not to do his best, at last the idiot caught on.

The prick rushed forward, he shouldered the Earthman in the middle of his back. Shoved him stumbling forward. Towards a guard. Unsuspecting, staggering into the downward slice of a soldier’s club.

The general had anticipated the Earthman would need some help. To get him into this game. To kick off the match, he had been given a shove forward. The first blow had taken him by surprise, suddenly he was reeling, struggling with the weight around his neck. But blindfolded he had stopped himself, hesitant, unsure of himself. Catching on fast, assessing rapidly the risk. Rightly working out any step was a risk. He was catching on, realising what stepping forward would bring. In any direction. The stud needed some help.

The referee lent the giant a helping hand. The whoosh of his switch caught the Earthman right behind the knee. A stinging slap, a smarting bite. Weakening the knee, jarring him forward. Assisting by a shove from the referee into his shoulders. Propelling an unbalanced player forward into the game. Lost, confused inside his blindfold, the yoke on his neck wobbling wildly under the shove. Stumbling forward right down a perilous path. Wobbling into a sideways trajectory. Stumbling blind into blows from a pair of clubs. Caught unawares, smacked across his waist. Caught unexpected by a two-handed swipe across his abs. Doubling up with a cry. Then jarred unawares by another in the middle of his back. Jolted up, yanking that yoke with him.

Stumbling on, hit again, unexpected. In the picture, understanding this game - yet not mastering it.

Not able to see. But he’d soon know the rules of the game. There were none. Lurching forward under the momentum, the weight of yoke unsettling his blind-man’s gait. Wobbling around his neck, threatening to throw him sideways, pitch him tripping to the earth. Catching unexpected another hard blow, smashed across the shoulders, forcing him stumbling into another soldier’s reach. A cry of surprise blurted out of his hood.

Thwacked again with a harsh sting across his broad back. Another shocked grunt. Twisting away, spun off the pain, twisting blind, away from the fire of the blow. Twisting with him the slow moving burden around his head. Jerking away, turning blindly. Lurching into another sideways swipe. Cracked hard into his ribcage, eye-watering hard. Pain lifting him, pain twisting him. His grunt of pain mixed with a yelp of surprise.

Garth was panting, sweating. He’d stood still again for a moment. Panting, thoughts flying. A moment to try and get a hook on this. Brain racing, trying to think how to help himself. Any one step in any direction had hurt. Moving again was going to set it off. He’d been buffeted from one blow to the next. He must have taken a half-dozen blind swipes. His brain was racing, his face was sweating. One step in front of the other - that was all it seemed to take.

Suddenly a shove shouldered him in the middle of his back. A split-second later a stinging blow caught him. Across the belly. The shock making him fold-up. Another bludgeoning hit into the small of his back. Jerking his spine upwards. That preposterous yoke around his neck holding him down, his neck cracking under the strain. The bloody thing was swaying ungainly. Wrenching at his head, cracking at his neck-bones.

Unable to see. Unable to hear the swish of canes. Finding them too late. A pair of drums blanking out sound. Grunting out in pain himself to the beat. Ominous beats echoing off the bare walls. A painful thwack caught him across a thigh. Stumbling forward, another ungainly step, one step forward that moved into reach. Taking a burning swipe, caught a stinging blow across a taut delt struggling with his neck brace. Under his blindfold, the sting leapt to his eye.

He’d tried to stand still, out of reach. Trying to get his senses together. Mind running ahead. What was the lay of the land. Recalling where the guards had lined up. Seeing only a random configuration. Armed Krottak spread loosely around. And who ever said they had to stand still? What the guess that they were stalking him? Unseen creeping up to his side, the canes braced over their shoulder. Coiled muscle like a spring about to snap. Letting go the tension. Two-handed, swishing unseen shocks across his ribcage. Like a red-hot iron burned into his side.

Garth was panting, short, light. Heart thudding. His blood racing. Tense, unsure. His nerves raging, on edge. Barely daring to move. Then made to move. A full-body weight thudding into his back, barged hard from behind. A burning swipe across the back of his leg to back-up the shove. Dozens of blows already were burning on his flesh. Dozens more awaiting him. Somewhere. Hate-packed. Each blow hurt like hell. The unwieldy yoke only made things worse.

The pulse in his ear pounding. Breathing in and out of his mouth in rapid pants. The air inside his hood choking, hot, panicky. Ears pricked. Under this blindfold seeing nothing. Against the echoing beats of the drums hearing nothing. Drowned out by the thudding of his blood.

A sudden sharp jerk. Jarred into the back of his neck. Someone had grabbed him from behind, grabbed at the yoke. Shoved it upwards, shoved it forwards. Barging Garth on in surprise. He felt the bones in his neck crack. Lurching a pair of stumbling steps forward. Reluctant, Unstoppable.

A smarting bite tore across his backside. Jerking him forward. Fear following him into a tunnel of blinding pain. Forced to keep moving. In the same moment, at the last second he heard a brief swish of air. Pain tore across his shoulder blades. The touch of a blowtorch swished across his skin. A short unstoppable yelp propelled him forwards. Struggling with the unwieldiness around his neck, his body lurched. Garth was on the move again. Blindfold. Running a gauntlet of horror. Krottak-style.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

General urges

The general watched with heightening satisfaction. She had grabbed this chance. Using this Earthman for her own purposes. Going to give Mabat a show. Showing what her general was made of - after all her snide remarks. And to showcase what she was going to dish out. To deliver the queen this Earthman on a plate. Tamed and broken. Who could fail to be impressed by this show of arrogant male muscle? And fail to get off on it forced into the humiliating dance? Dancing to a general’s tune.

Broad-backed, deep in the chest. The limbs powerful and muscular. Yet all caught up in this tortured jig. Tortured arrogance stepping it out with every uncertain step. The tune written by Mabat’s general, the dance dedicated solely to him. Muscle ambushed into an inescapable trap. The arrogance of this man who had made her troops sweat. This beast of a terrorist who had denied them access to the Maru forests. All that this muscled power had denied her - and brought her infamy and shame ….. now she had it jigging blind and ungainly to a general’s tune. All that brawny male arrogance - shamed. That self-assured muscle and might - dancing a jig he did not know the steps to. Prancing to a tune he could not hear.

What use now all that muscular strength, eh, Earthman? Flesh colouring up, burning red, hurting. Stumbling from one vicious blow to the next. All that confidence in your male strength, eh? Where’s it gone? Lurching. Ungainly. Lost control. What good all that muscled pride to you now?

Her men knew better than to hold anything back. Didn’t need telling twice. They were performing for their general, their job to put on the best show for their queen. Or-fucking-else ….. Any one soldier who did not give every single blow into that conceited muscle every bit of his grunted effort - the fucker knew how he’d end up. With increasing excitement, she watched their efforts. Checking each body-twisting blow. Checking they were putting their all into each studding hit. Beating their general’s lust for revenge into every single slash. Thrashing agonies into his writhing torso. Giving their general payback for each embarrassing defeat. For each mate fallen at Maru hands.

She could not stop the smile. The satisfied smirk. Two-handed, a swipe had just caught the stud across his ribs. Catching him unseen on a tender spot, already gory-red, already bruised. Jerking his body upwards in pain. The yoke on him unbalancing him, making him stumble over to the side, a couple of uncertain steps till he got himself steady again. Just in time, - he was blundering into the path of another blow, this one thwacking across his front, under the belt. Bending the sucker up. Throwing him forward, another pair of ungainly steps. Struggling desperately with his arms to right the yoke again. Lurching as he went, stumbling towards another vengeful guard, the soldier stood trembling like some coiled spring. Aching for the Earthman to take one more step closer. Place himself blind into the perfect place. Determination to make his mark written in the grimness on his face. Then the spring snapped. The general let her breath go. Searing pain took the rebel hunk across his back. Briefly she saw that magnificent torso go rigid, frozen at the slash of smarting burn. The pain then released him. The force of the blow sending him staggering on again. Blind, stumbling unseen. Staggering into a maelstrom of merciless blows.

He was sweating, his arms glistened with his struggles. Crimson-red colouring his broad back, gleaming, his flanks running with pained sweat. Her men were putting on a show. They had craved this moment for a long time, they had ached for revenge, to get their hands on this hated enemy. Now they were holding nothing back. All this Earthman haughtiness. All this muscled conceit. Stumbling under the blows, running with the sweat of pain. Their pain, their vengeful pain. Lurching helpless under the force of their hate-filled blows.

All those unjust lectures she had got from the queen, all the bollockings they had got from their general - grabbing the chance, taking their revenge. Injustice being exorcised here, vented in the Earthman’s burning pain. Taking payment, grabbing it in handfuls of his pain, wrenched out of the god-damned Earthman. Made to suffer in his dance of torment.

Throbbing with pain, shoved relentlessly on, through his blackened tunnel of torture. Staggering hopeless and helpless from one blow to the next. Flesh jarring as it was torched, jigging awkwardly as hurt thrust him unstoppable on. Lurching under that burden around his neck. Payback burned fiery-red on his skin, revenge was torched with each stinging swipe into that conceited flesh.

Her heart was pounding. At the sight of his helplessness. Knowing she was moist between the legs. Biting her bottom lip at another tortured yelp. He thought he was something, this Earthman. He thought he had the guts to defy. He’d stared her down in the dungeons. He meant to deny her his pain. Let him try. In her he had met his match. He was learning the rules, here there were no rules.

She had got that right, she had denied him rest last night. He had been tired before this started. Before the music of agony struck up and she made him dance to her tune. Jig to the drumbeat of her torture.

She’d teach him. He’d learn. Respect for Krottak might. Respect for a general’s plan. Where does all this muscle get you, stud? It would take a woman’s guile to break this, this Earthman’s might. A woman’s spite to make the Earthman’s muscular arrogance cough up. To pay the price.

And this was just the start. Mark my words, Earthman. First steps. First faltering steps in the dance of hell. First steps before he broke. Before she broke him in.

Doubts

Recovery

He’d come-to. In a barred cell a fire raged within. In his every muscle, Garth ached like mad, every bone felt sore. Coming alive burning up deep in their Krottak dungeons. He had little recollection of getting here. Being dragged away, back across the courtyard where he’d had the crap beaten out of him. At first every step his guards took yanked pain through his tortured body. He must have blacked out then, he had no idea of being dragged through the tunnels to here, being thrown into this cell.

Since he remembered coming-to, several times. The cell was dank and cold, the earth beneath him chilly. But Garth was on fire. He lay on his front where they had dumped him, not moving. When at one point some rational thought did creep into his thinking he was very nervous about moving. A torch flickered outside his bars, he could see his surroundings. He couldn’t see himself, his injuries, Barely dared raise his head to see. By the door there was a plate of food, bread, meat. A flagon to drink. But nothing could induce him to reach for it, the agony of creeping over for it. He had not eaten in a day, little liquid had passed his lips since capture. But Garth could not move himself to grab the drink.

“Get him up.”

At the time Garth had not registered the general’s order. Or taken it on board that Mabat too was within reach. His arch-enemy stood over him only a few paces away. Still in the courtyard, still out there where the crap had been beaten out of him. He was in agony, breathing was torture, close to blacking out. He’d taken a ferocious beating, , inhuman, sustained.

He hurt, every-damned-where, every god-damned-bit of him. Those bound switches slamming into him, front, back, thwacking into his sides. Beating the strength out of him. Hard to focus. Nothing was working for him, robbed of muscular power. Beaten nearly senseless. His mind kept washing away from him like waves on a receding tide.

Someone loosened the hood. The sudden light blinded him. Aware for a brief moment of that courtyard where they had thwacked the hell out of him. Blurry-eyed seeing the gritty earth of the arena before him. Garth was on his knees, his body bent forward, tipped onto the yoke. The front end resting on the earth. Like Garth was some supplicant bowing before this queen. He panted, unstoppable he moaned out loud and hard, heaved like crazy for the air of life. Heaving in oxygen mixed with his moans as his powerful body was swamped by their pain. Burning up, frenzied whirlpools of weakness spinning in his head. Legs kneeling under him, his whole body weight tipped forward, the front end of that damned yoke rested in the dirt, the back digging into his neck. As if Garth was willing to kiss the earth on which Queen Mabat deigned to tread. Couldn’t move. Tipped forward. Like Garth was bowing deep before Mabat his queen.

His head swimming, Garth hovered on the edge of blacking out. A bucket of water splashed over his head. Garth broke with a cry, shocked. But the cooling waters flooded his brain, relishing that fresh awakening as a coolness trickled down his back dampening some of his flames. Awaking, though, to fresh agonies, arousing mind-crippling pain as his awareness woke up. A hand grabbed at his hair from behind, his head tugged back. Pulling him up to his knees. Yanked up by screaming agonies in his scalp as his full bodyweight was lifted up. Another bucket, this time splashed into his face. Catching him unawares, swallowing liquid, spluttering, coughing up his brutalised guts.

The hand still held up Garth’s head, twisting his neck backwards so the queen could look down into his face. The yoke dug painfully into the back of his neck, the ungainly weight would have unbalanced his weakness if it hadn’t been for the grip twisted in his hair. Blinking through the water streaming off his hair, barely seeing his deadly enemy so close. From the tortured body that hung off the grip in his scalp Garth was barely aware of her. Till Mabat spoke. Till Garth’s inner self registered his arch-enemy’s nearness, she stood close, so temptingly close. Awakening his fighter’s instincts, the predator was near.

“The dog played well, don’t you think, queen?”

Played? That some bloody game this general had thought up? That had been just some god-damned sport?

The queen answered, addressing her general.

“It did. Entertaining.”

Curt. Dismissing the hurt that overwhelmed Garth.

He shook himself, her voice, Mabat was near. The enemy stalked close-by.

Groggy as hell, still Garth tried not to give in to the pain. His head was still twisted up by the pull on his hair keeping him upright. Vision swam before his eyes, water still dripped off his hair. Briefly he viewed Mabat through the sweat and tears. Alongside her general, right by him. Within striking distance. If it weren’t for this damned yoke .....

“A game that certainly confirmed my appraisal.”

They were talking freely, - as if Garth was not right under their feet. As if they reckoned he was passed the edge of his endurance after their “game”. Not far from the truth, he barely was with them ..... But Garth made himself get a grip, forced himself, made himself focus. But still looking like he was done-in, luring them into speaking freely. In the hope of something useful. Not hard to fake it, Garth could barely see, his guts threatened to erupt. It was harder to stay alert than look done-in. Garth was battling away with himself, trying not to pass out before he heard something he could use. Looking for them like he was near-broken by that thrashing. And he damned-near was .... But strength-of-mind kept him going, bloody-mindedness kept up the fight.

Breathing hard, groaning for breath, moaning into his pain, not faking that. Seemingly out of it. Garth, his eyes still swimming, sounding like he was fighting for his last breath, - he forced himself to listen, he forced himself alert.

“It did not plead. Barely even cried out. As I thought it wouldn’t .....

Garth was astonished at that. A rush of satisfaction. Mabat was saying he hadn’t cried out? After the way he felt …. he found that hard to believe. After that agonising “game” they’d played on him it seemed like his body must have been crying out in pain for hours. Still, a manly pride rushed to his head, apparently he’d stood up to the she-devil. Through that inhuman attack. Proud he’d put one over on her. Hard to be believe. But Mabat seemed to be saying just that.

“Hardly the broken beast, .... Is it?”

Was she talking about him? He didn’t look done-in?

“The dog took well over 50 blows,” the general sounded hesitant. Like she was surprised by the critique. Had expected praise.

“ Breaking him …. Can’t happen in one day …..This is one tough brute.”

It sounded to Garth that the general was on the defensive. Protesting .... but deferentially.

50 strikes. Only fifty? Garth could hardly believe only fifty. It felt ten times that many. Delivered with such mind-blowing ferocity. And he had managed to hold himself in, Mabat had said so. He couldn’t believe it. But yes, - inwardly smiling to himself, that must make him one tuff sonofabitch.

“Tough? .... did you expect anything else?....”

Garth sensed a sweep of Mabat’s gaze whoosh over his bent back. That hostility again.

“What did you expect?”

Mabat’s tone was scathing. She never seemed to miss a single opportunity to put her general down. Garth remembered how Mabat had looked at him, over dinner, while he stood there trapped in his yoke, observed in cold silence. Looking him over, working out what he was capable of. And she had read him well. He’d be a tough nut to crack. He had performed well in this arena, it seemed. Worryingly - Mabat was saying just as she had expected. Performed to her expectations. Disturbingly Mabat had read him right. Reading right the defiance in his eyes. Rightly summing up the resistance in his body language.

At dinner last night she had been making an appraisal of his strengths. Signs of their kickings and beatings on his body. Made helpless and vulnerable in that yoke. - and still she had got him right. Worrying or what? All the better to beat an enemy when you had read him right.

But right now Mabat was summing up this “little game” of the general - this Earthman was far from beaten, it was going to take a lot to break him. Garth’s surprising performance in the arena had just confirmed to Mabat that it was still a lifetime away from breaking the Earthman down.

“He has not given in. Or you think he has ....?”

Mabat’s voice was quiet, - like she was talking only to the general. Ignoring the fact that Garth too was listening in. Within striking distance. Capable of dealing Mabat a killer blow. Or would have been if ......

“This is what you call broken ....?” Mabat sneered. “This the best you and your men can do ....?”

Tiredness suddenly washed over Garth, weakness threatened, dizziness came back. It would have been so easy to give into the pain and let himself drift away. But Garth could not afford to, desperately aware his body was close to breaking down. NO, not right now. Not when there was this dissension in the ranks. Mabat going for her general, cutting her down to size. Dissent. Disagreement. Where that existed, there was something to exploit. Gut instincts dictated he had to keep listening in here. He made himself. Fighting the temptation to sink into oblivion. Black-out.

“Look at it? Has THIS given in? Has this charade of yours broken him ....? This little game …..”

Mabat again. Garth, on his knees, burdened by the unwieldy yoke, sensed as much as saw Mabat’s eyes scanning his body. To him, it felt beaten. To Mabat that was not enough.

“This myth? This Earthman? Is THIS what you call broken?”

The general cut in, stumbling, sounding feeble ….

“Only a matter of time .....”

The general was cut short by Mabat.

“How much MORE time?”

Mabat’s snarl bounced off the bare stone walls.

These growls of dissent were a welcome sign. But .... BLAST! Garth was shattered, his brain wasn’t working. Pain raged in his body, oblivion beckoned.

Dissent in the Krottak ranks - a good sign. But where the heck did that get him?

SHIT! What could he do?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Challenges

suddenly forces changed. A momentary lapse of focus - and the hand in Garth’s scalp holding him up gave a push. In his exhaustion and trying to stay alert enough to listen in to the tension between Mabat and her general, Garth had lost out on how much he was being kept upright on his knees by that hand in his scalp. It was almost like out of spite at Mabat’s scorn he’d been let go. With a slight shove to make sure …..

Inexplicably, unexpected, Garth was collapsing forward. Momentum did the rest. A panic flutter in his chest. Seeing things happening. The earth rushing upwards at him. Like in slow motion. His head feeling the shock before it happened. Unstoppable, no way of helping himself. Carried forward by gravity. Tipping forward on his. Garth was going down.

The front-end of the yoke hit first. Jarring the ponderous device to a sudden halt. Falling forward onto his face. The momentum jarred to a halt. Suddenly. Tipping forward to the earth face-first. It was like breaking his neck. The front-end jammed at the dirt, pain jarred itself into his neck. His head exploded. Pain burst out of the top of his head. The impact reverberated through his torso. Agonies shuddered down his spine. The cry of shock was out before he could prevent it. Pain and horror smashed through his body. He’d smacked yoke-first onto the hard sandy earth.

She was talking now, the arch-bitch. Mabat had the floor. Addressing her council, her gang of female thugs.

“Entertaining, ... these little games ....”

Garth’s head was in a swirl. Exhaustion, pain, lost and confused. His stomach lurched. Pain snorted out of his nose. His grunts were twisted into unstoppable groans as he body crumpled under the force of his shock.

Around him there were voices. Mabat talking. He was hearing her words but the crippling hurt that had hold of his body threatened to wipe him out. Teeth gritted, tears of pain streaming down his face, tipped forward, crushed in his yoke, Garth’s vision saw only the dirt at Mabat’s feet. Agonisingly, he clawed his way back. Like his fingernails were gouging into implacable rock, he dragged himself back to the surface of consciousness. He was bent double by this yoke, like some supplicant bending the knee to Mabat. Hurting. Torture raging throughout his body. But he had to be on top of things. Mabat was the force to fear here.

Still he’d heard that disparaging tone in Mabat’s voice. “These little games.” Another put-down. The general had taken another slap in the face. Almost overcome with exhaustion, ...... Garth forced himself to listen.

“But how far has it got us? This show, this little ... entertainment .... of yours. ”

Garth’s back knew full well where.

“Does this look broken to you?” Mabat nearly hissed.

Garth could not imagine. How much more broken did he have to feel? Or she just wanted to see what suited her. He remembered his earlier thought. Mabat wanted to dominate, show off. Wanting to succeed where her cronies had failed.

“And if that charade had broken his body ... where does that get us?”

The general stayed silent. Knowing better than to answer back. Best keep her head down when Mabat was in a mood like this.

“Don’t get it, do you? This is more than a mere body to be beaten,” Mabat snorted. “Break every bone in his body - what have we got .....?”

Another barely disguised snort of contempt. Humiliatingly dished out in public.

“Most men, - yes, you and your men can beat the crap out of weaklings - play your games like this. Lesser men break.”

Garth was suddenly full of disgust for this pose. Like he was bent on his knees, at her feet, kissing the earth. Kissing the very dirt on which Mabat walked. He was too exhausted to move. But this symbolism did grate. On his knees, his head bowed ...... And she was only inches away ..... If only ..... If only he had the strength ....

“But is this one of your easy pickings ....? One like this .....?”

Garth was in danger of losing the plot, so tied up in his own pains. So near too to the woman he wanted to kill. Frustrating, no way could he attack her. He doubted he could even get to his feet. If he tried, even a woman could overpower him. Yoked up and done-for like this.

“ ... break every bone in his body .... flog him to death ...... So what? THIS one is more than that ...much more. This is a legend. This body personifies hope.”

She must have given a signal. He missed it, too caught up in his exhaustion. Hands were suddenly pulling Garth up, lifting him to his feet. The tugging awoke all the pain. The movement in his back had him hissing out with the pain. Brutalised flesh and muscle protesting tenfold.

“Maru hope - and any other feeble tribe that thinks they can stand up to us. There is more to do with this one than merely beating the life out of him. Don’t - you – get - it ...?”

His head was swimming but Garth managed the defiant thought. Too right, queenie .... but the thought was cut short. Cut off by stabbing pains. Hands had grabbed at his arms, guards were pulling him away. Mabat must have dismissed him.

“It is the spirit. It is the will we want. It is what he represents to those stinking peasants.”

Garth was being turned away but still hearing Mabat lecturing. Pain shook his body as roughly they hauled him off.

“Broken bones. Battered flesh .... Worth nothing if this NAME lives on .... Just some dead martyr .. ”

Garth lost the rest. The sudden pain of moving had him cry out. Being hauled away. A battered body grabbed and dragged hurting from Mabat’s royal presence. With every tortured muscle in his body protesting.

“Feed it,” she had said.

Garth never heard that order. Not hearing that Mabat didn’t want him weakened or starved to death, she had other ideas for him.

“Food and water. Let it rest.”

Even now, hours later, waking up after his fitful rest, agony still burst out of his every pore. Hurting, burning, on fire. Beaten into exhaustion by their barrage of blows. He hadn’t imagined when he’d surrendered he’d go through something like that arena “game”. Just kill him off. Garth had surrendered to save Lenana, he’d had to safeguard his unborn child. Alone now, deserted, in the dank darkness of Mabat’s dungeons. Cold was eating him from the damp earth beneath yet flames of hell were burning in his back. Beaten up three times already, that last one beat the best. One day only spent in the clutches of these vindictive women - and Garth had begun questioning his resolve. How long he was going to hold out? Could he last out? If it kept on going like this ...?

He cussed the hurt as he struggled on all-fours towards the food. He needed to eat, he’d need every bit of his strength. If he had to tough this out, he needed his strength. But the distance to that plate was a lifetime of agony away. Reaching it, he fell back moaning against the gate. Head crushed against the iron bars that kept him Mabat’s prisoner, panting out his pains. The plate stayed by his side. Unable to find the strength to get it down.

He was in unchartered territory, uncertain what was going on, what to do. Food and drink - that meant Mabat wanted him fed, the slag. She wasn’t going to starve him to death, she wanted him strong. Garth’s powers of recovery before had never let him down. Steeling himself, his chest rocking with the effort, he reached for the plate. His head swam, acid flooded his throat.

But out of nowhere Garth enjoyed a sudden rush of strength. He’d battled the Krottaks for months. Now he had their queen in his sights. He had victory in his crosshairs. He was in touching distance of settling this. Not going to be easy .... but ..... All was not lost.

Right, bitch. You want a fight? God-damn you, Garth ’ll give you one.

She wanted to break him herself, did she? By hell, he’d show her what-for.

Too right, bitch, Garth thought, too right, you have a fight on your hands.

Today he’d survived - somehow. Incredible after the inhumanity of that “little game.” But he’d got through it. He’d endure tomorrow too.

Bring it on. Do your best, you evil slag.

Guile

Ogre

Garth nodded in the direction of the man. He was huge. A big bloody bruiser.

“So what’s his line of work? Why’s he have to come dragging along? We’d get along fine, just you and me.”

Garth was keeping it deliberately flippant. All of a sudden things had changed, though. He was keeping it light - in part to hide a slight nervousness. Brought here, tied down by the usual gang of guards. Then left. Left alone for some time. Allowed to find out any amount of struggling was not going to loosen the restraints that kept him lying on this elevated flat stone. And then in they came, the veritable Odd Couple.

Garth might be keeping things light - but this bugger wasn’t someone you’d want to come across on dark night. The guy was massive, even for Garth. Now Garth understood how the Maru had looked on himself. A giant among their wiry race. This guy was no local, they must have brought him in. Built like some rhino. Question was, Why was he here?

Garth towered over the Krottak, he could imagine why their inferiority complex itched to put him down once they had him defenceless. Garth looked a threat - just by standing still and looking down on them.

This man could do the same to Garth. Glowering in silence, standing nearby, a towering hulk of physical threat. Stood above him, looking down on Garth tied down helpless on this flat rock in the dungeons. Was that why they’d left him? So Garth knew there’s be no escaping this ogre.

What he had of a neck looked like one of Garth’s thighs. If this had been back on planet Earth Garth would have put him down for one of those really super-freakish bodybuilder-types. Massive, an ogre. All bulk, muscle that could not find enough space. He wore a tunic down to his knees. But Garth could imagine his knees had never touched, so much muscle grinding on his thighs.

The Odd Couple, the pair of them had appeared, out-of-nowhere. Enter Ogre with Waif-Woman in tow. Enter Gross and Miniscule.

“He has a job to do. Orders of the queen,” she replied. Calmly.

Her eyes were travelling the length of Garth’s defined body. Garth saw the look, it was like he was being dissected. For now Garth’s focus was elsewhere, though, - one of the rare times in his life Garth was suddenly feeling small, alongside this Ogre to his right.

No sign of the general, though. Strange, she had not been slow to be around when Garth was being given a doing-over. Was she “otherwise engaged”? Or - had she been “displaced”? Was Mabat’s general out of the picture, the queen was taking charge? She’d sent this brute to do her will, had she? To beat the crap out of him? The thug didn’t need to fold his arms across his chest like that, as a specimen of raw brute force he impressed anyway. Relaxed those biceps would still bulge. How did a man get as big as that?

“Like?”

Garth was toying with the Waif, leading her into some kind of conversation at last. In his interests to find out why this freak had turned up. He was tied over some raised stone, he had a good-looking woman for company. That beat being taken out in the arena by the Krottak guards. But if she unleashed that muscle-freak on him, Garth was going to know he’d come calling.

She was a bit skinny for Garth’s taste. But otherwise the Waif was quite a beauty.

“All in good time .......”

Not unkindly Garth half-snorted.

“Muscle? Back-up ....?”

Garth’s wrist tugged at the rope that was keeping him tied to this stone.

“Security? You planning on releasing these, ...?”

Fat chance! Garth was keeping his tone light - as much to disguise the worrying feeling deep inside his gut. He didn’t believe in fairies. Or fairy stories. Mabat was never going to let Garth run free. But he did believe in ogres when he met one. And if that one got Garth’s head in some headlock the brute could snap his neck. His glowering presence towering over Garth tied down like this was not just for show. The tunic was clung tight down to the waist. The snug top showed everything he’d got. And with Garth tied down defenceless, what he was parading was going to be more than enough.

“Too many questions,” The woman said dismissively. “Let’s get down to things.”

She did, right down. Arms moved out to the side, slipping her cloak back over her shoulders, Revealing her body, skinny but eye-catching too. Especially as she had hardly anything on. The nipples covered, only, braided cord keeping soft leather pads in place. Bare otherwise, a good figure, firm, everything in place. A body hard not to fancy, striking.

Garth’s suspicions snapped to attention straightaway, she wasn’t here looking like this for a photo-shoot. Inevitably his man’s eyes slipped down. Another minimal triangle of soft black leather did the job. She wasn’t here for a bit of fun, though, she’d not come to show off her figure to him. Not dressed like that. She was Krottak. And she was a woman, one of their sadistic bitches. She’d said the Ogre was here for a job, - she was too. With a plan to “get down to things”. Quite a combination. With her dressed like that, - it did not take much imagination to work out where “things” were headed. And with back-up in a guy who could do a good line in back-breaking punches - quite a thought!.

The monster came with a job to do, she’d said - looked like he was made for torturing, built for breaking the strongest of bones, those fists could smash up the most thick-headed guy.

He was god’s gift if you wanted to put the shits under someone, - just imagine having him let loose on you. Garth assumed he was going to find that out. He could imagine this naked bitch smiling coldly and giving the order. To take Garth out - most men would be wetting their pants.

Astonishingly the Ogre had done nothing when she’d revealed herself, didn’t flinch, didn’t look. Not like Garth whose man’s eyes naturally look in the landscape. The hulk had not batted an eyelid. HOW was that possible? He’d just stood there, his gaze didn’t even flicker towards a naked woman, just stood arms crossed over his massive barrel of a chest looking down at Garth. Intimidating to say the least. Garth wasn’t going to show it. But he felt disconcertingly vulnerable lying underneath all that brute force. And Garth knew well enough it would only take a word. A single word. Just a nod from the Waif and those daunting shoulders would aim a hammerblow of a punch into his abs. Crush through his ribs. The thought was intimidation enough.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Waif

In fact, strong-arm tactics weren’t needed. Turned out the bare-assed slut could manage things by herself. Without any ado, she climbed onto Garth’s stone, slung a leg over his hips and settled herself down. A rocking movement assured her pose, nuzzling herself none-too-coyly into position, her womanhood dominating Garth’s manhood. As if to focus Garth’s eyes on the job, her hands moved to caress herself. Garth had guessed right at why she’d got undressed. He could have resisted, he could have tried to buck her off. Any point? With the glowering ogre alongside? Question was, What was Garth going to do about her? How best to beat her at her little game?

Arms crossed over, lightly touching the opposite breast. Pushing aside her minimal covering and fingering carelessly at a nipple. Her tongue had slithered out and was toying with the corner of her mouth. Lightly caressing her breasts, then cupping them, shaping them, enjoying the feel of their firmness. Reminding Garth for a moment of his wondrous nights with Lenana. Tempting not to look away, - even when not interested sexually. The cupping , the gently squeezing, shaping and moving beguiling pert breasts, - her work-out went on some time. Garth watched, not letting himself get impressed. Physically he was not responding, not yet at least. Not naïve, he understood what she was starting on. Garth was in no doubt, she’d be skilled enough to get him aroused. Why else was she doing this? But just feeling herself up, - she was going to have to try harder.

What did she expect? Once she’d got him carried away? For him to get animal-like aroused, dying for it, begging for it? Just so she could deny him? Make him feel a prick for letting himself be caught out? Her hands, still crossed over, were now stroking lasciviously down her sides, down to her hips. Then pausing a moment, deliberately bidding to get his eyes’ attention, one hand travelled over to her core. The back of her hand was pressed against Garth’s still disinterested dick as she fingered herself.

She inserted a pair of fingers inside. To Garth that felt distinctly uncomfortable, maybe even perverse. He squirmed away. But there was no escaping the sense of her hand feeling herself inside. At the same time, while languidly caressing herself, the backs of her fingers were massaging him too. At one in this game. Making out she was starting to arouse herself, breathing deeper, slower, starting to rock onto her self-loving, starting to sway from her hips, her womanhood getting warmer as it move against Garth’s own core. Hard not to feel some sensation as she masturbated her womanhood, as the heat of her self-loving was rolled over his cock. As her thighs squeezed around him and she moaned with self-lust on each rise. Even if she was faking it.

Or maybe she was expecting him to get irritated, to try and bump her off him? Just so that she could foil his futile attempts. Get that Ogre-friend of hers to thump Garth into behaving himself. Force Garth into accepting. Clear as day, she planned to shame him into a forced hard-on. Despite his valiant efforts to fight her back. Proof he could not win. That the Krottaks had control over even his uttermost self.

Still rolling on him, somewhat taken in her own arousal, Garth saw her hand extend out to the side. Practised, on signal, her Ogre poured oil into her hand. Spreading it over both hands, then her one hand went to a breast, stroking, caressing, the skin beginning to glisten, her upper body rising and falling as she touched herself up. Her hip movement still massaging on Garth’s now-reacting bulge. Fingers of a hand slicking over her glistening skin. Visibly arousing a nub, her oiled nipple catching the torchlight.

The other hand lowered to Garth’s chest. Oily fingers played in his abs. Circling themselves in his hard definition. Slowly moving upwards, finding his ribs. Joined by the other hand, massaging fingertips stroking strongly over his upper abs. Hands splayed out, thumbs massaged deeply at his stomach. A sensuous deep massage, not unpleasant, But not welcomed. Not if Garth was going to manage to resist her efforts. And still she rocked upon him, still her thighs squeezed on his hips, rising and falling as he felt himself firming up, her womanhood working on his manliness.

An eager slick finger had found his nipple. A tingle of expectation thrilled through his skin as expertly she lightly played on the nub. Garth knew before that first touch he was already reacting, her touch found the flesh there had already firmed up, his nerves were tingling to her touch. The firmness of flesh there giving signals back to her searching fingertips. As if that was signal enough, she leaned forward, her firm breasts swaying forward, the sight of them filled his view. The movement pressed down on his awakening cock. She had a hand over each pec, soft oily hands massaging him there, the thumb only occasionally gliding over his nub, sparking a tingle of excitement. Sensuously her fingers worked on the hardness of his pecs, lightly tickling into the armpits.

Leaning forward over him, her hips rolling on him, her whole bodyweight rocking over the dome of his cock. Confirming to Garth what he could not prevent. Despite any intentions he might have had, his body was going to do otherwise. Under her weight, her willing heat weighted immediately over his crown, Garth felt his condition had changed. Irreversibly. And she knew it too, he was pressing up into her.

The inevitable was happening. As she had known, as she had planned.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Going, coming

touching-up his erect nipple was getting the right responses in the wrong part of his body. As his “body-worshipper” worked her oily focus on his pec, Garth felt a second touch slide onto his belly. Her other hand groped at his flat stomach, fingering him deep below the navel, inside his kilt, gliding seductively down over his fur trail. And then, just a hair’s breadth from her target, the toying halted. As if giving Garth time to take in the next move. Then seductively the fingering tickled its way back to his belly button. Circling it, lightly playing there. Leaving the thought behind.

Garth felt his pulse had upped, he was breathing deeper now, slower, exhaling stronger. There was going to be no macho fighting back, no ignoring these moves. He was starting to feel the perspiration, the sweat of sex, - even if that was the last thing he wanted. His head could tell him about wanting to fight back. But against that continuing rocking over his shaft and her deft groping, there was going to be no holding back. He couldn’t fight it, he had to accept it, his genitals were up for it. And they were in for some kind of mis-treatment.

The other hand was still working his chest. Disconcertingly he could feel his nipple as firm as he was going to get against her thumb. Further down, he was rapidly heading the same way. Still she rolled on him, pressing, leaning forward, hips sliding her over his solid crown prickling against her heat. Rocking onto him, her occasional moaning the only sound he could hear. Except the increased pulsing of blood in his ear.

The slut had got him going. What the hell was he supposed to do?. He was a man.

She’d been taking her time, though. She’d slid back down off him, pushing herself down over his legs. Her hands massaging on his thighs, her soft oily fingers spread, a thumb playing with the nerves up the inner part of his legs. But before deserting his chest, her nails had racked agony’s stripes down his front. Talons digging into his skin and tearing sizzling pain through his flesh. Worryingly Garth felt that painful scrape flare in a response elsewhere too. A rush of energy crackled up his erect cock and broke out in sparks at his tip. His heart rate increased. Nothing he could do to stop it.

Like briefed, the Ogre used her move downwards, he used his knife, sliced Garth’s final clothing away. Revealing Garth at his full power. Letting his strong erection spring for the skies. No disguising it. A sudden shower of beaded sweat flushed through his torso. He’d known it happening. But the actual sight of that erection aroused at her will and against his still annoyed him. She had grabbed full control over that part of him. He stood solidly erect, she had got him hard, she had him prepared. Fun over, inevitable, the serious stuff was going to begin.

Not much of a conversationalist, she simply extended a hand. Her Ogre handed her something. A delicate set of clips. Pearly-handled, dainty, woman-like. But with the sharpest set of teeth. A bite to cause the sharpest pain wherever attached. On his nub. Expertly applied, not grossly clamped down anywhere on a nipple. Adroitly, experienced. Snapping on to get the strongest effect. Biting straight into his bud. Firmed up by her massaging, eager for more. At the first clench of teeth, Garth’s torso reacted, his body twitched, his attention opened wider. Snapped dexterously on his firmed-up flesh.

Garth felt himself react lower down, pretty damn-quick. She moved back up, straddling him again about the hips. His full erection again pressed back down by her body, hungry, crushed onto his belly between her heat and the strength of his abs. A rush of sexual flush roared up the length of him. Her flattening him, the sharp teeth biting on him. Getting to him. It felt like life’s energy throbbed in his crown, frustrated, nowhere for such force to escape to. She was on top of him. Their heats co-mingling. The full hardness of his erection wallowing in the reaches of her feminine wetness.

Had she felt his rush of energy too? Had she felt the measure of her success? No telling, her expression did not change. Garth doubted she had any plans about being here to enjoy this. No woman here was gleefully arousing a man in sex. A torturer had clocked in for work. This was a job, this was what the slag did for a living.

Manfully Garth made a last-ditch attempt to control himself, get a grip, at least not to show his nervousness at losing this fight. He told his head to think himself somewhere else. But, truth was, the sight of the second clip held tantalisingly hovering over his other nub, - torturing his sight, tormenting his nerves, playing on his fears, signalling he was about to lose this, this playing with his anxieties as effective as the response itself - ... it was hard not to stare, not to give in to a slight rush of panic. Hard not to wish that clip away. Difficult not to betray his apprehension and twist his torso away. Dying to escape that bite. To avoid that extra surge of energy in his cock. Wanting more than anything to prevent that further confirmation. That he was becoming prey to his own weakness. Failing to resist her guile, no longer managing to repel her come-on.

Blood pounded in his ear, his heart-rate had quickened, he was holding his breath. A hiss escaped as the evil teeth found their mark. And then Garth heard himself panting hard, he was biting on his bottom lip. His only way of coping with that unwanted rush of energy. Sparkling and crackling, trapped underneath her heat. Biting into the pain. Fighting back for control.

A flick of a finger, - that was all it took. Flicking her finger tip against the clip. Garth jumped, he jerked. Trapped under her heat, captive within her thighs. Garth could feel sweat trickling down his temples. Desperate sweat.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Pulse of life

She did it all herself. No need of the beefy bully-boy by Garth’s side. After slipping her cloak completely from her shoulders, still naked except for those toying bits of leather covering her womanly parts. She received the dripping wet leather cord from the Ogre and workman-like she bound up Garth’s genitals. As a boy, he’d played at such games. As a man, a few women he’d had had been into domination games, he had played along, gone with the flow for the fun. But here Garth was in the hands of a female torturer ... with her own evil intentions in mind. A figure of eight tied up his balls, it cut off his blood supply tightly bound around the root of his cock. He’d already been firming-up for some time from her toying. By the time his body heat started drying out the wet cord, he’d stay that way. No backing down.

For some, sex was about power, the root cause of rape and other disgusting acts. With Lenana his love had been about sharing, about pleasing, about giving. For those of a more perverted disposition, for this Waif, sex was all about control. Her power over her victim. Over Garth. About power, inflicting pain – the intoxicating ingredients of the sadist’s MO. About wresting control from him. Putting down, humiliating. Unable to protect his utmost male self. Against a woman’s malice and guile. And how much more control could a female exert over a male? De-humanising. De-manning. Now she’d got him like this.

No much of a move. Not getting her dolt of an Ogre to smash up Garth’s guts, take him apart with his fists. No reaching for the whip. Just womanly moves. Small, deft, subtle. But doing the trick. Wresting power from him in that area that defined him as a man.

Her oily thumb played over his throbbing cockhead. Electric shocks. Circling over the top, her touch drooping smoothly around the sides. Looping around the hot solid shaft. Seductively slicking lightly laying at his trigger spot. Knowing this was unwanted. Knowing her victim was desperate not to react. Hating what she could do to him. Hating himself that he could not fight back. That she could do with him as she wished. Nothing he could do to stop it.

A game that was being played out in silence. Garth trying not to whimper, her intent on her task. Her experiment in de-humanisation. Violating him as a human being, as a man expendable. Since this had all started, not a word had passed her lips. Only her moans as she had masturbated on his erection. Replaced now by his groans as his body unwillingly twitched under her touch.

Her thumb was underneath his shaft. Slick, oily, light. Over and over that spot. Garth was fully aroused, his strength shooting straight upwards. But of no consequence. A tool, a weapon she would use against him.

His body was tingling, a victim caught in this ever-long tight-bound arousal. On edge, knowing she had total domination over that part of him, barely daring to wonder where she was taking him. Anxious that control over that part of him might extend to taking his whole. Like Mabat had said, break his spirit. Control over his soul. Conscious his body was beginning to prickle with excitement, aroused by anticipation. Not wanting that, not liking it. Slow languorous movements of her thumb. Working him over. Light touches, electrical sparks crackling in his shaft.

Garth worried. It was happening, he could feel the signs, he was going to come, she was going to make him come. No harm in that, eh? What loss was there in that? It was what men did, wasn’t it? But that was his Head talking, there was harm. No matter how much his Head told him it couldn’t be helped. How often his mind reminded him she was a professional, the bare-arsed slag had done this many times before, it was what the slut did. Head telling gut that it was nothing a man could stop. Natural. Nothing a hot-blooded man like Garth was going to hold in check. Get bothered? Why? So he shed a load? Why get hung up on that? If this had been Lenana, would he have held back? Let it be, let this slag have her little victory. If he ejaculated, - what the hell ….?

But it was just that. Ejaculating - that meant she had won. This was a fight, he knew that, one he could not afford to lose. His emotions flared. Fearing he was losing this fight. This Krottak bitch was beating him. Where it mattered. At the heart of himself as a man. A warrior-man.

His Gut roared out in frustration. Needing. Wanting what she was offering. His Head in conflict with his Gut. This was a fight - and a fight he could not win. Shedding that load - it was symbolic. Of their power over him, that he could not stand up to these Krottak women. A sign of a weakness, one he could not control. It was that symbol that got right to him. That made him desperate to hold himself back. That willed him to try, not to let that happen.

But you’re battling it out with Nature, sneered back his Gut. A fight no male can win. Battling against the innermost nature of his man’s being.

NO, snarled back the Head. The fight had to go on. BECAUSE ….. putting up a fight just because she could do this to him. And she was hell-bent on wrenching that most-defining part of him as a man out of his control. Not without a fight! Intent on making him cum. With him desperately not wanting it. Agonising to prevent it. To show that weakness. She had to be fought.

Giving in? What more would that prompt her to try out?

SHIT! It was happening, all that stroking, the slick fingers playing on and around his trigger spot, stroking it, leaving it, going back, circling, stroking up and down - it was coming, want it or not. Every desire in his body wanted to move, wriggle, squirm. Stop it. Unlike when Lenana was pleasing him, here Garth told himself to keep his reactions hidden. He was fighting against his nature. Battling with Nature herself. Not lifting with his hips. Not offering his manhood into Lenana’s hand, showing her loving touch was all he wished. Not feeling like how with her, her kindnesses and love was what he desired.

Damn this bitch! Garth forced himself back, he made himself lay still, he let the slag have her games, he was not going to play any part in her god-damned sport. Control, grabbing back what control he still had.

Damned if he was going to play along with this slut. Bugger that. No humping, no shoving with his hips, no pleasurable drool of a smile playing on his lips. Moan as he’d cum - bugger that!

But deep-down he also feared this bitch knew, she knew his mind. She could read his body too. He was cuming, she knew it herself, he felt the inevitability. He could not stop his man’s body from finding that release. Regretting it as Nature betrayed him, his breathing coming hotter, harder. Without thinking his head gave a few releasing sways, rocking from left-to-right. On the spot of shooting his spunk.

Then suddenly her touch was gone. Her hands raised above him, her eyes on him. Slipped back off him, letting his freed erection spring for the skies. Untouched by human hand. Her eyes reading his reaction, reading Garth like an open book, the bitch. Denying him.

Unstoppable, Garth heard himself moan. He regretted it in the same instant. But once there was one, others followed. He felt her cold eyes on him as his body squirmed, - first hoping to stop himself from cuming, now willing himself to ejaculate. Then left trembling with his frustration. She’d turned his emotions upside-down. First not wanting it, now eager for it. Feeling the shock of wasted energy sizzling in unbridled flesh. There, on the verge, on the brink. Quivering. Frustrated.

Bugger the bitch! So THAT was her game. The slut.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Master of her trade

So that was her frigging game. Sexual torture, cum-denial, part-and-parcel of her little sport. Played to undermine his image of himself. Questioning who now was master. Garth was used to playing a dominant role, throughout his challenging life it was always him making the moves. A woman torturing his sexuality, taking that authority from him ..... By force .... . Made against his will to dance to her tune, - in a place where it really mattered. His image of himself twisted out of recognition. Forced to play by the rules, the rules she was writing, the slag. Rules that denied Garth any say. Rules that said he was a nothing.

A game that she played out repeatedly, many anguishing times that night.

Mounting him yet again, judging when the peak of his urges had lessened, leaving him in angry and trembling frustration, she leaned herself hot against his hardness. Trapped in her figure-of-eight, the wet heat of her toying with his frustrations, sending nerve-biting waves of despair through his belly. Riding him lightly, deftly stroking over his smarting desperation, her hot womanhood moist against his raging and needy manly pride. Rubbing up him with her heat, the length of him prickling, slowly, stroking his achy firmness to crazed desires. On this stone he had been here before, many times this night, he knew it was heading nowhere. But the crazed need still hoped. Hoped beyond hope.

Rising above him when the hoped-for moment came. Lifting off his crazed urges. Like she could read his needs, however hard he tried to mask them. Like he was an open book to her, she judged precisely the right moment. He dissembled, his features stilled to nothing. Play-acting to deceive. Just when he thought he’d tricked her, quivering with wild hope that this time …. this god-damned time ….. craving the yearned-for moment had come, - she slipped out of his reach. Not a glimmer of sadism on her face. No joy in beating him at his own games. Knowing she was going to better him, she was master of her trade. Just workman-like lifting off. Abandoning his tortured urges. An urgency of need burst from his tortured throat. Burning with frustration. Continually his body had been tormented, he had earned her repeated denials, Garth had tried the lot. He’d done make-believe, he’d dissembled, he’d pretended. He tried like hell to fool her.

But the slag was a past-master at her game, her game of mastering him.

Garth was sweating, - profusely. He could feel it freely flowing down his bare legs. Sweat like from wild abandoned sex had collected on his abs. But there hadn’t been any wild sex, there wouldn’t be. Other times with a woman who was into bondage, the feeling of powerlessness like this could be an incredible turn-on. Made to hold himself back, denied what he craved, the intensity of sexual urges overwhelming. His manhood taken over by his grinning playmate. But this whore was not grinning, she was not enjoying herself. She was doing her job, Garth was not invited to play along. He was the victim, she the Master. The sick bitch was torturing his dick. Torturing his sexuality. Nothing more, nothing less - it was what she did.

Knowing what she was up to, knowing this was her game of demeaning, trying to degrade his idea of himself – surely knowing that helped the head to understand? Stop this from getting to him? At first he had feigned disdain. Indifferent to her fumblings around his crutch, mauling at his private self. Unable to stop her so Garth had tried falling into an indifference to her moves. Indifference, though, had given way to shame. Ashamed that she could lord it over his body.

An act of perverted intimacy. This obscenity that made his most private into a public act. Made to perform, made to fail. Crazed that he could not control that vital bit of himself. That he was subjected to this indignity, forced to having his utmost privacy being used like this. His innermost being. Turned against him.

Shame that his own manliness could desert him, treacherously siding with his tormentor. Human nature, the way he was built as a man - eventually under this constant torture of his sexuality he was becoming ashamed that he could become such easy prey. His Head knew what was going on. It knew not to play along, not to let her take over his spirit. But his body insisted otherwise, it craved her touch. Willingly sliding down into the slimy depths of her control. Wanting to side with her. Dragging his sexuality to places his Head did not want it to be. Knowingly giving him into the claws of her vicious grip. Her evil talons grasping tight on his cravings.

Shame had given way to need, mad, frantic needing. Her slick thumb rode up and down his clammy bulging shaft, her slick fingers wrapped around his hotness on the other side. Tight in her claws. Sometimes squeezing on him, sometimes arousing him to let go a moan. That grip on him reminding Garth how hot he was, how hard she had made him become. Blood-engorged, achingly hard, aching with frantic frustration. There were intense moments when he thought he might even pass out, panting, hyper-ventilating.

Her stroking on him was sometimes tantalisingly light, other times her hand strongly massaged down his shaft. Prickling, life leapt up like static all over his skin. Desperate moans escaped, plaintive groans seeped out betraying him. He couldn’t help it, his Head told him not to, his thinking warned against giving out signals. But obscenely his body gave his Head the finger. That promiscuous slut of his gut reactions trembling throughout his torso, - it wanted only to FUCK. There was only one thing in the whole universe it craved. Garth was trembling, his whole being was wired. Each pass over his trigger point had his shaft burst with light, his whole core aflame.

A dozen times he had been ridden to the brink of bursting point. And then abandoned, deserted to the fullness of his dismay. Orgasm suspended, achingly suspended in the tortures of endless time. His whole body pumped full of unsatiated desires. Every frantic pore throbbing with pulsating need. The first times those desires were containable, he could curse, he could rant. And then he had managed to laugh them off, laugh at himself for letting her beat him, - telling himself it was nothing, it didn’t matter. Nearly crossing the finishing line but held back at the last quivering second. Laugh it off - what the hell! What did it matter? As if this was some whore he had bought, a girl who was paid to play him at this game.

But it did begin to matter. Like crazy. The repetition of massive inescapable sexual torment gradually splintered his knowledge of who and what Garth was. The life-experiences in which he’d taken so much pride, which had given him self-confidence were being fragmented by this sustained and inexorable imprisonment under her sadistic regime. Afterwards, still dismayed at himself, in moments of lucidity after she’d released him from her grasp, Garth had to confess she was good at this. No game, no pleasure, no paid whore. Keeping him tortured on the edge, bursting on the brim, kept tottering on the verge. Crazily needing to let-go. A female torturer, master of her game. He throbbed, all of his powerful body ached. Physically all his life he’d been a match for any challenge. Muscled to perfection for any fight. But here, now, - trapped within his own compulsive desires. Craving only one thing in the world. Burning up with denied release. Garth crushed tight his eyes, he concentrated, teeth gritted, sucking in an agonised breath. Forcing his Head to take back control.

She had played him like an maestro on a musical instrument, though. Despite his earlier resolve, his muscled chest heaved with the effort of containing those raging needs. His Head fighting like a mad man to claim him back was slammed face-first into a terrible realisation, like running face-first into a wall. Lust. Garth’s lust. Shamefully he was overcome with such whorish lust. He had to, he just damned-well had to ..... He almost pleaded, it was on the tip of his tongue. Beg her to finish him off. Beg her to let him. His brain sprang to life. Reminding that she had no such plans. Begging only boosted her success. But SHIT .... he ached. Such wanton unattainable lusts. His whole being wanted only that one thing .....

She thought it a game to play tricks on his cord-bound bollocks, tickling the aching balls busting to break free their prison of taut skin. Toying with his craving, driving Garth beyond himself, beyond his control. Releasing to his nostrils the piquancy of his body’s natural musk. Reeking with his efforts, stinking of his failures. His long-engorged shaft shuddered rigid with aching frustration, his pulsating cockhead ached purple with torrid sweated heat.

But nothing came, no release. Pain and denied fulfilment pulsating wildly in his loins. Pitiful moans were his only release, not the one he craved. Not one he was proud of. Plaintive moans that oozed from deep in his tortured soul. His spirit abused, violated. His proud sense of himself cruelly crumbling into shattered fragments.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Male vulnerability

Garth swam in confusion. Drowning in a current of bleary events. Out of synch with himself. Tossed in the waves of this tortured world into which he’d been sunk. Her Ogre was handing her the cloak abandoned on the floor, - what?. Garth looked as if through a blurry dream at her. Slowly coming-to, drifting back from a tortured sex-haze. Seeing her unexplainably alongside him. Covered in her cloak. When had she climbed off him?

Sexy, shapely, in many ways desirable. A bitch, a slut of the highest order. A tart. A sex torturer. He lay in a pool of sweat on his platform. His chest breathing in deep, his skin coated with thick gluey perspiration. He reeked of sex, unfulfilled sex.

The Ogre had retrieved her cloak. She was going? She had finished? She had done with him?

Her eyes travelled over him. Tied down, helpless, flushed with unfulfilled needs. Overlooking as if it was of no consequence his proud tumescent organ reaching for the skies. Where Garth saw there strength in proud male glory, she found her victim’s vulnerability. In that organ full of her torment and frustrated cravings, she identified male feebleness. Tortured, aching, trembling with need.

Standing close by him, right by his side, cloaked to deny him sight of her evil. Not a word had passed between them since this torture had begun. Seemingly hours ago. Garth for all his strength, for all that strikingly muscled physique, - reduced to a sweating reeking hulk.

She hadn’t broken him, later he told himself - but she had invaded his spirit. Had she even tried to break him? Had it been part of the plan all the time to leave him like that? Abandoning him to his unsatiated cravings? He hadn’t survived with his head held high. She had made an object out of him, a nothing, a toy. Not even one that could hold her attention. Discarded in the dirt when she’d played enough. Toyed with his sense of intimacy. Abused him at the heart of his privacy. Invaded his spirit, showed that she could possess his body - if she had a mind to. If he was worthy of her time ….

Her hand extended over his hips. Her hand crept towards and touched the aching purple crown of his manhood. It leapt greedily for the touch, her touch, any touch. His heart sprang to life at the promise. With reckless abandon his pulse lifted at the prospect. Scoffing at his Head’s warning, in that one instant his Gut bawling back at how much he had craved her touch. His Head facing with some dismay what power she had taken over his body. His Gut bellowing back in crazed excitement at the prospect of her touch. Yelling out how much one single contact of her hand filled his yearning body with sexual lust. Garth hated himself for the thought. Hated this proof of himself as her victim. But that was his Head thinking. Not the tumescent fire raging in his groin.

Two fingers touching his cockhead. His spirit leapt at the hope. Bulging, raging, her fingertips hot to his skin. She pressed him backwards. Her malicious hand was pushing Garth’s aching, long-engorged purple-bulging erection back down towards his legs. Against Nature, against how he was built. Her eyes now full on his tumescence - as if to her the growing anxieties on his face were of no concern.

Prising his solid stiffness backwards, pointing first at the ceiling, now being moved down to the wall. To the point when Nature warned, no more. No farther. Fear of being pressed down too far already had Garth’s body trying to prise his shoulders off the rock. Straining his torso upwards against his bonds, trying to bend in half. Trying to release the strain that trembled at the root of his inflexible hard-on. Hoping to create more freedom to move. He was trembling, he was sweating. Out of fear. Not one single reason to trust this bitch.

Still the pressure continued. Pushing him back, pressing his hardness down. Until it began to feel beyond uncomfortable. Continuing the downwards pressure. Garth was tense, rigid, biting his bottom lip. Knowing if she carried on, .... damage could be done. Trembling ... it could not go any further. Any more - and there’d been serious damage. Permanent damage. On the tip of his tongue ….. About to beg, pleading with her not to. No eye contact, her eyes on the magnificence of his erection, flaring purple, at risk, at the danger tipping-point, at the point when he could snap. When irreparable damage would be done.

Unaccountably. Thankfully. Letting him go. Releasing the pressure. Letting his manhood spring back. A loud slap of hard flesh bouncing off his belly.

“BIIITCH!”

Garth’s yell bounced off the walls. Echoing off the bare rock walls. She walked out on him, without a word, not sparing him a single glance. In the emptiness, his cry still bounced back at him. Abandoned to his shame. The echo mocking his downfall. His own futile curse laughing at his disgrace.

Part Four Trials

[pic]

Breaking wills

Ransom demands

Garth snarled his protest at Mabat.

“You said they’d go free.”

Brought again into her presence, shoved roughly into the great hall to find the two brothers on their knees, Muran and Doa. They looking at him in astonishment too. Seeing unexpectedly their friend encased in some unwieldy yoke around his neck. His fabled strength disabled, his mighty body inescapably in Mabat’s clutches.

“That was the deal. Hand me over, they go free.”

Gazaan’s sons on their knees in front of Mabat. For whose freedom Garth had bargained his.

A contented sneer lifted the corner of Mabat’s mouth. She could have had him silenced before being brought into her presence. But letting the Earthman mouth off his annoyance was one part of today’s little pleasures.

“Only part of the deal. Did that slut not report my words accurately?”

Garth frowned. Slut? Gazaan’s daughter? Which part of the message did Syda neglect to tell? Or was this just more of Mabat’s tricks?

“When I have got what I want ... the dogs go free. My exact words. That is what I told her.”

Garth remembered that clearly. Syda had faithfully reported the exact words. And everyone had known exactly what that meant. Mabat wanted Garth. When she had what the bitch wanted ......

“And you have got me,” Garth snapped back. “These bruises give proof. The stripes on my back are evidence - I have surrendered. Now let them go.”

Angry he stood up to the lying bitch. Deceit always annoyed him.

Eerily Garth saw Mabat smirk, she was up to something. Looking at him, looking him over. Stood tall and proud - yet looking stupid and useless, locked up in this ungainly yoke. For all his power, looking the peak of male flawlessness. For all his reputation as a warrior-leader - wearing this thing made Garth no danger. As he felt her scathing glance whip across the sight of his subjugation, he was at conflict with himself. A mixture of unwillingness to face the facts, he WAS her prisoner. What the hell could he do about that? He had offered himself to save the Krottak, they kept him locked in this stupid contraption. But he was also angered to stubbornness by her deceit, he itched to do something about that. At the very least, he was damned if he was going to take this lying down. Muran and Deo were still her captives. After he had ransomed himself. And put up with all this being pushed around …..

BLAST! This god-damned thing around his shoulders - just symbolised his weakness. Even if he launched himself at a guard, just as a gesture, just to show he was no snivelling coward, - if he did that, he ran the risk of overbalancing. Just a Krottak foot stuck out and tripping him up. Finishing up on the floor with everyone sniggering at his stupidity. And what would he have gained? Just feeling a prick.

He posed no danger, that was clear. Mabat knew that. That was why she had descended from the dais, left her throne and was circling him. Irritatingly close-up and not a damned thing he could do. Her finger stroked toying across his broad bare back, black-blue bruised and hot to her touch. Taunting his uselessness, her hand stroked over his backside, marked with the stripes from the arena game. A mocking touch rested on his powerless bicep, flexed under the weight of the yoke, under strain from keeping it up. Mabat’s hand slapped lightly at his cheek. Not to hurt, to make Garth feel small. To rile him.

“Have I got what I want, though? Earthman?”

Mabat stood in front. Only about a yard away. Without this crippling imponderance around his neck, she would be a gonna. And she knew that, - and she knew his incapacity to do just what Garth itched to do. She knew how that irked. How he ached to do something about it ….. Her chin was cupped in her palm, the classic figure of a thinker. A ring finger stroked meditatively across her cheek.

“What have I got?”

It was like their whole world had got reduced to just the two of them. Mabat was ignoring the captive brothers on their knees. Watching this game intently. Concerned for their friend, still catching up on what had been happening while they had been getting a dose of Krottak treatment down in their dungeons. Astonished to find out their friend had sacrificed himself for their freedom. Seeing him made helpless by that odd contraption around his neck. On their knees, their own bare torsos bruised and striped with the severity meted out in Mabat’s dungeons.

“And just what is it I have gained, Earthman?”

Garth felt her eyes on his own. He frowned, she was playing tricks with him, she knew where this was going if he didn’t.

“One. I have your freedom ......”

Mabat smiled, she nodded, ticking off her assets on her fingers as she counted them down.

She was really getting on his nerves. He could rush her, not do any serious harm. Just frighten her, unsettle her, knock that smirk off her face. Would he go for a woman? Not his style. But with Mabat? Especially looking so god-damned smug. He could make an exception. They’d go for him, of course. Teach him a lesson. It wasn’t the hurt that held him back. He’d have proved how useless he was like this. He have been making their point for them. But that smug look on her face had got under his skin. He wanted like crazy to scratch.

“Two .... This …. magnificent body ..... just look at you …. ”

She took her time. Slowly giving Garth the look-over, from head to foot. Taking in the powerful chest. Bearing her stripes and bruises from that game in the arena. Going down, appraising the hard rocks of muscle protruding in his abs. A lingering gaze down on his hips, rounding over the short kilt. Lording her power over the full length of his bare legs. Stopping a while at the bare feet. Lingering on the way back up, relishing the muscled power in his thighs. With a slight tremor, Garth reckoned her gaze rested long and hard on his private parts. Hidden still from sight under the kilt, - his only covering since the Ogre had ripped away his underwear. She could see nothing. But it felt like she had X-ray eyes. No doubt that slut of a waif had reported back, Mabat would have demanded a description, full details. She knew exactly what had happened in the waif’s dungeon that night. In her imagination was Mabat’s gaze on his crutch envisioning the sights?

It was a look of mockery, though, that took in the power of his arms. Held helpless in these stocks, trapped strength bulging as his intimidating biceps curled to support the weight. It was a pleasure of domination that passed taunting over his peaked shoulders, the muscled strength there locked-down in that yoke. Enjoying the sight of him standing only a yard from her and frustrated to hell from doing what he longed to do. Attack her, kill her, end her reign of terror.

“So much power in this body. So much strength. And now ... it belongs to me. You’ve given to me.”

Over my dead body, thought Garth. Only as long as you keep me in chains. Or in this preposterous yoke.

Mabat smirked into his face. As if she had read his thoughts.

“What else?” she pondered. “Is there something missing, Earthman?”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Assets

Mabat’s gaze greedily swept over the powerful body she held captive.

“What else might I want from .... this ....? Anything more it could offer?”

Seeing her prisoner ridiculously stuck in his preposterous yoke. What else might I wish to take?”

Garth was losing patience.

“What are you after, bitch?”

It hurt enough to be her prisoner. Without having to put up with her mind-games. She was getting right up his nose.

Mabat did not react to the insult. Except by raising her eyebrow. Like in answer to his question, What was she after?

She took a long time in answering. Garth knew just what she was up to. Trying to mess with his head. She knew exactly what she was after. And she was playing at keeping him waiting.

“Your life?”

Garth snapped back, laughing in her face.

“You’ve got that. You can kill me any time.”

To emphasise his point, he shook his shoulders. Showed her how he could do nothing against her powers.

“Agreed.”

Mabat’s eyes passed over the powerful shoulders locked down in the ridiculous yoke. The fool had freely given himself. Ransomed himself to free the brothers. A deal Mabat had never planned to keep.

“True. Yes. Any-time. Any-how.”

Her eyes were on his. Cold. No revenge burning there. The calculating eyes of a snake.

“I could have a guard run you through with a spear. Here. Now, this second.”

A brief smile flickered on her lips.

“Problem over.”

He snorted lightly. Did he care anymore? But she still had her games to play.

“Or .....” Mabat mused, “... I could have you starve to death. Yes. Slowly fade away. In my presence of course. Your dying would attend me at all times. Denied sustenance. Your body eating up all reserves of fat, consuming this arrogant muscle. Withering away. Depressed and powerless at what was happening, - your life-strength draining away. Eventually too weak even to protest. Too feeble to beg.”

Garth answered her with a sneer.

Her head cocked to one side.

“How long, Earthman .... ? How long for all this ..... “

Mabat’s hand passed through the air, in mock appreciation of Garth’s unrivalled physical power. A sample of male physique unknown in her race.

“How long for …. this …. to wither away? Days? A week even? And how hurtful? To take so long to die. Under such enforced conditions. That alone has to hurt. Too weak to help itself ..... This specimen of supreme masculinity withering away .... Sad ....”

She nodded to herself.

“This .... “ her arms open, palms up, taking in the matchless physical might she kept trapped in her yoke.

“ ... undoubtedly .... take long to shrivel away.”

“Anytime. Anyhow.”

Despite himself Garth bristled at her smirk.

“Yes, true, Earthman, I have your life, already. I have your freedom .....”

She was back to counting on her fingers. Like some prim school mistress Mabat was listing off her assets.

“Your body .....”

Her upper lip broke slightly. As if she was really appreciating having such an peerless specimen of male power manifestly in her grip. The way she kept looking him over .... for a brief moment, Garth toyed with the idea .... had his experiences with the Waif had been some test. Testing his sexuality to the limit. Did Mabat plan to keep him for herself ....? But his train of thoughts was interrupted ......

“Your life. Anytime. Anyhow.”

She was shaking her head.

“No, not just anyhow. Only one way.”

A dramatic pause. Christ, was this she-devil into melodrama, Garth thought! Get the hell on with it. What else do you want?

But Mabat was not to be diverted.

“Yes, only one way …. Slowly. A body like this deserves the best. The best way to go ..... Only a drawn-out death .... only dying slowly will do to test such strength. Such bloody-mindedness. Such conceit.”

She grinned. Briefly.

“You’d agree? Of course. Tables turned, it would be the same?”

Mabat raised a questioning eyebrow. Garth didn’t need to answer.

He had known what it was going to mean to deliver himself into Mabat’s clutches. He’d seen enough of her reprisals. Yet despite that mindless, the Maru had bravely stood their ground. They had not weakened. These two brothers, brought here, on their knees, were testimony to that. Syda had said they had been beaten with an inch of their lives. But they would not betray Garth. Mabat had had to use other techniques to get that.

Killing slowly. The Krottak way. He knew of warriors taken, flayed alive. Then left out in the blistering sun. Flies driving them mad. Maggots feeding on their wounds. Others staked out near the woods. Alive and well. Waiting for wild cats to come feasting. The remains picked over by carrion.

Dying slowly, in torment. The Krottak way.

Mabat was back to cupping her chin. Mock-meditation, eyeing her physically potent prisoner, helplessly trapped. Stroking pensively at her cheek.

“Freedom, body, life.” Ticked off three assets on her fingers. She shrugged. “I’ve got it all. Haven’t I?”

She cocked her head at Garth.

“Or ... is something still missing?”

Looking down on her, his gaze unintimidated, as if not imprisoned in some cumbersome yoke, Garth smirked.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me, bitch.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tests

Mabat left it at that. She turned slowly on her heels.

“Your will.”

With a chill down his spine Garth remembered. That first occasion. In this chamber. What Mabat required above all. To destroy his name. To annihilate that living legend. The hope he had given the Maru. By his resilience. Steeped in his fortitude. Never to give up. Battle through, never giving in. His will. The root of what had inspired resistance.

“You’re still holding out, Earthman.”

Mabat was back on her throne. She’d defined her task. Break his will, smash the legend.

“And …. “

She smiled her cold lifeless smile. As if only she could enjoy her own private joke.

“ …. And a woman always wants what she cannot have ….

Garth would hardly have besmirched the word “woman” by referring to her.

”You dare call me “bitch”. Still that spirit of yours rebels. You have given me this body, your freedom, your life.”

Garth stared back firmly.

“But that one thing that matters ….. “

Garth swore to himself that one last thing was not on the cards, - his willpower.

“… that thing that interests me most …. without that … you are worth nothing.”

Kill me then, bitch, Garth thought. Get on with it.

“I can have you beaten. See you humiliated. I can have your prowess as a man shrivel to nothing.”

….. So she had had her report from the Waif about last night.

“I can have a soldier run you through any time. But something else comes first. THAT I will have. This will that will not bend. An iron-defiant will. That will not bow the knee.”

And nothing you can do can change that ..... Garth swore to himself. Over my dead body .....

“In that case, ... bitch .....”Garth deliberately used the word again, “ .... you’ve got a long wait.”

He snorted in contempt.

“ ..... this conversation is over. Nothing more to say.”

Garth saw her eye him. Snake-like, cold and calculating. That look suddenly gave him the feeling he had made a wrong move. A mild panic that he had walked into some trap. One set up for him. And he’d stepped right in.

“There’s nothing more a woman likes than a challenge ….,” Mabat said eventually.

After a seeming eternity, she gestured. Garth was returning her look, giving it her firm and hard. But something clawed away at his guts, something unnerving. Worrying he had stepped into something treacherous.

Mabat gestured to her general.

“Take two of them outside. Bind the Earthman between the stakes.”

Two? Garth did not have to wait long for an explanation. Mabat’s eyes travelled over to the brothers. In the battle of wills between the throne and his preposterous yoke, he’d almost forgotten them. With a sudden realisation Garth recognised they were not here as non-actors.

“The younger one, I think .....” Mabat had quickly appraised the men on their knees. Settling on Doa. Garth flashed a look at them, Muran the older brother suddenly looking concerned at Doa, his younger brother had been singled out. For what?

Mabat let Garth know the consequences of his stubbornness.

“Bind that one to the Earthman’s front. Face-to-face. Thirty lashes for him now. With the metal flail. Clean him off with salt water.”

Garth felt his jaw set. His eyes reduced to slits. He was suddenly breathing slow and deep through his mouth. Face-to-face with Mabat’s viciousness.

“At noon, another thirty. Same procedure. Flail the flesh off his back. Disinfect with brine.

Mabat eyed Garth. Telling him this was all his fault.

“Don’t want him too soon to die. ….. do we, Earthman”?

“You bitch!”

Garth’s words came out slow and long. Quiet but audible enough for Mabat to smirk. Like answering him back, A bitch that exercises total power over you. And will soon lay claim to your will.

“Nightfall, another thirty,” Mabat declared. With evident delight at Garth’s predicament. Adding salt to Garth’s wounds.

Ninety. With a flail. There’d be nothing left of Doa’s back. But the torture would be dragged out over the whole day. Passing in-and-out of an eternity of agony. Tied to Garth’s own front, forced to confront his guilt. Best if Doa could pass out, stay out cold. Somehow Garth doubted the Krottak would allow Doa that luxury. Garth neither. Face-to-face with the torture his obduracy had caused. Tortured by his own guilt. Chest-to-chest with Doa’s agonies. All the daylight hours.

“Left like that all night. A pair of lovers. Bound together in their obstinacy.”

Bound together, burning up. Doa in his agonies, Garth consumed by his guilt.

“Left like that, day and night,” Mabat was rubbing it in. Speaking as if only Garth were present.

“Till flesh is stinking. Till the stench of responsibility invades your nose, Earthman.”

Garth could feel the gloating eyes on him. Now he knew why he had felt unnerved. She had read him right, - AND she had this all worked out. The torture of Doa’s back, the mental torture of Garth’s own mind - customised just for him. Making Garth responsible for the sustained agonies of a close friend. Pinned to him. Face-to-face with his blame. Guilty of Doa’s agonised end.

“Bitch. You god-damned evil bitch.”

Mabat eyed him. Scrutinising him. She smiled briefly. Enjoying his anguish.

“Your choice, Earthman .....”

She paused, letting Garth quiver with his anger and anguish.

“ ... he will be cut down. Once you have seen the error of your ways, this dog will be put out of the misery. Your gift to him.”

Garth saw his fists stuck up through the yoke ball into fighting machines. His upper body, hard with muscle, readied itself for the fight. But what did he have? His physical strength was in Mabat’s control. Now his strength of mind - she was going for that. Going to test it beyond the limits.

“Or if not …. then the other one ....”

Mabat gestured over to Muran. Looking thunder, glaring daggers at the monster who has having his younger brother tortured into an agonising death.

“Replacing his younger brat. Same procedure, bound to your front, flayed alive. Your choice, Earthman. You offer me your will - or he gets the same.”

Mabat smiled at Garth. A smile that did not reach her eyes.

“Any time you change your mind, though, Earthman, .... - this can stop.”

Muran exploded to his feet.

“The fight will never stop,” he yelled.

The club across the back of his skull collapsed Muran to the floor.

Mabat barely took any notice. Her fight was elsewhere.

“And when that fool has breathed his last agonised breath - “ contemptuous her hand flickered towards the now-inert Muran ....

Mabat smiled. Closing the trap. Dropping the predator’s net over Garth’s head.

“Plenty where he came from .... the whole of the Maru tribe. All their fighting men. One-by-one butchered against your chest.”

Mabat allowed an mock-appreciative look. Lightening her cold face.

“ ..... Such a powerful, impressive chest.”

Her mock-praise lasted only a second.

“Such a powerful impressive will.”

Spoken with a predator’s smirk. Cat playing with its prey.

Mabat looked Garth over in a long silent stare.

“Your decision, Earthman. Their lives - or your will.

Her look hardened. To say, This was no idle threat.

“Your choice. Your guilt.”

Demands

Doa

Garth was kicking himself. Realising with bitterness how he had under-estimated the evil bitch.

“Every single one of us ....” Doa confirmed.

The bitches. They’d taken him for a ride. Stupid dumb moron, Garth had taken them at their word. Mabat had made a fool out of him.

“The whole tribe. Everyone ....,” Doa went on back. “We spent the night in the slave pens. They are all there.”

Garth looked Doa in the face, the words were unspoken. Lenana as well? Doa nodded. Taken captive, made hostage. Till Mabat broke the Earthman’s will.

Doa was tied with his arms around Garth’s chest, his hands secured to his friend’s shoulders at the back. Bare to the waist, the pair of them. Outside in the courtyard. Doa was awaiting his lashings, waiting to be whipped to death. His back flayed raw. Unless Garth gave in, unless he gave Mabat what she wanted. His strength of will. His full submission. Holding nothing back.

Doa confirmed the story. That day that Gazaan had delivered Garth into Krottak hands, the gates had closed on Garth sealing him to his fate. But even as they were kicking the crap out of him, outside the gates the Krottak had leapt on Gazaan and his men. And then, the surprise in the hands, the Krottak army had gone out and rounded the Maru up. Brought here and kept in slave pens.

Mabat had cheated him. Beating the hell out of him. Handing him over to the waif. And meanwhile ..... Why the hell had Garth expected anything else? What a prick! Why had he even thought he could trust her? Like some idiotic prick, Garth had thought his life had bought the brothers’ freedom. Wanted to believe the Krottak would leave the Maru alone. But he’d been tricked. He’d been putting himself through all this - for nothing.

Back to square one. But Mabat still not got what she wanted from Garth. And she was intent on wiping the Maru out if that was what it would take. One-by-one. Flayed raw, flayed to death. Including Lenana. And Garth’s unborn child. If Garth did not give in. One-by-one, helpless, like Doa bound to Garth’s bare front. And after Doa’s screams, when the life had been agonisingly torn from him, Doa would be replaced. First by his brother. And then the rest of the Maru, one-by-one.

A waste, all of this a waste, this ransom, these beatings. For nothing. And who had been the biggest prick? Out-flanked, out-manoeuvred. Garth wanted to kill.

Mabat was counting on the fact that Garth could not let that be. She would, though, she’d go ahead, Garth had no doubt she’d do it. She’d enjoy the turmoil destroying Garth’s strength of mind as one-by-one he was responsible for men and women being flayed alive. She knew he couldn’t go ahead with it. Against his front, under his eyes. Their screams filling his ears, the smell of their blood full in his nose. Garth seethed. He’d give in, he’d surrender. Of course he would. Mabat knew it, counted on it. She had him trapped.

Garth was left with the enormity of what was going to happen. Young Doa bound to his front. Over the course of the day beaten, whipped. Lashed until he was dying on Garth’s front. Flayed. Garth was left to stew, sweat it out. Until the general and her henchmen arrived to do their evil deed.

Doa was brave, Garth need have no doubts. But that nervousness would get to him. Waiting for the first vicious strokes of their metal flails tearing away at his bare flesh. An agonising and meaningless end, one that could achieve nothing in their fight. No way for a brave warrior to die. Garth felt that Doa's nerves had already got to him. Feeling the nervous reaction pressed against this own body.

The very thought of how she had out-manoeuvred him angered Garth. So much so Garth almost willed himself to be tempted, his temper was so up he was almost prepared to go ahead with it. Call their bluff. But he couldn’t let them go through this. Mabat didn’t bluff. Whatever Mabat demanded of him as proof - that he had given himself up totally - .... he’d give it her. The thought of putting Doa through such meaningless agonies. And then the others ..... Unthinkable. For what? For the sake of Garth’s own pride?

Mabat had gone back on her deal .... Garth had acted in good faith. She had him. His life, his freedom, his suffering if necessary. Not enough for the evil bitch. His blood boiled. Enough would never be enough. When he heard about the Maru being rounded up and condemned to slavery, .... he wanted to blow his top. Like hell! Damned if he was going to give in to that she-devil! Give in? He’d already paid that price, he bore the scars on his back.

But of course he would, time wore him down too. When Dikton stood there with her thugs, Garth had decided. He conceded.

Dikton was not interested. She ignored his words, she had a thug unfurl his whip.

“One.”

Garth shouted out, “Stop!”

Pained jarred Doa into Garth’s chest. Breath-taking agony as metal scythed across Doa’s bare back. Garth himself had been stood loosely-bound between two stakes, his arms outstretched with rope. He had to steel himself as the searing agonies of the lash threw Doa into his front

“Stop this!”

Garth snarled his fury at the general. She wasn’t listening, the evil bastard.

“Two.”

Sharp teeth tore at Doa’s back. Pain shivered like an electric shock through Garth’s chest. Still shuddering as it earthed down his powerful legs.

“Are you deaf?”

Garth shouted over the pain-stricken body roped to him.

“Stop this! NOW!”

“Three.”

Doa could no longer suppress the cry.

“Take me to Mabat.”

Fury broke through the shudders of agony crackling through his chest. Doa’s yelp burst against Garth’s shoulder. It shivered like sharp blades into his soul.

“I demand to speak to Mabat,” he snapped.

“You have nothing to say to her,” Dikton rejoiced. “You are shit. You have nothing of interest to say.”

She smirked. “Four.”

Furious, Garth gave his friend support. Setting his legs like tree trunks. Pulling hard on the arm ropes to give Doa’s agony firm support. Doa’s head went back. Sweat flushed down between their fronts. Doa’s body broke in twisted torment against Garth’s chest.

“You want to be to explain ....?” Garth demanded. “You going to tell Mabat ....?”

Fury blazed in his eyes. But cunning as well. He’d read how Mabat had treated her general.

“ .... when the Earthman was submitting? And it was you defying her will .....?”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Submit

Garth was back in her council chamber, surrounded by her other women.

“You have something to say, Earthman?”

This time Garth was not bound, there was no sign of that infernal yoke. And guards stood at a distance. As if they already knew why he was there. And they were going to make him say it himself.

“You win.”

That hurt, speaking those words, every fibre in his body bristled. He wanted to rush forward and strike the bitch dead. He was tempted, …. What held him back was the thought of all the Maru in the slave pens. And Mabat’s retribution. Garth had to find some way to set them free. If tricking this queen into thinking he was giving in would do the trick, Garth would bite his tongue.

Studiously he wiped the look of defiance from his eyes. He managed a look of deference, his shoulders hung like defeated as she stared over at him. He saw her cock an eyebrow. As if she was waiting for more. Garth complied.

“Whatever you demand. You want me to bend the knee, .... Say the word.”

She looked over at him, a coldness in her face. Not even the expected look of victory. Taking his capitulation for granted. After the way she’d out-manoeuvred him.

A long pause. Still in victory the she-devil showed no emotion.

“Take off your clothes.”

All he had remaining was the short Maru kilt, nothing underneath. Garth had no worries about going naked before women. But it was with some reluctance that he obeyed, playing at showing how it irked. He released the cord and felt the coarse material scrape down his leg. Genuinely hesitant to appear like this before the women who were now dictating his life. On the other hand, if he was to set the Maru free ...... Garth bit his tongue. Demeaned he looked back, he hid every sign of his anger from his eyes. His every pore spoke only of surrender to Mabat’s will.

“Hands behind your head, dog.”

Garth had been taken prisoner often enough, he knew the pose, it should not feel humiliating. But in front of these ….. Still he obeyed. Stood fully naked, in a pose of total submission. Facing the enemy he had doggedly fought against. Now he was giving in to her. submitting himself to her will. To do with him as she wished. If she wanted him naked …. for the sake of the others …..

He was not unused to impressing others. Enough women seeing him like this in his full glory went weak at the knees. Men knew not to stand up to him. His physique daunted even before he wielded his fists. He was used to appreciative looks.

But what faced him across the council chamber was a cold indifference. Garth expected a female curiosity to glide down over his broad chest and flat belly to grab a view of what had so far lain hidden. Nothing of the kind. The queen just stared at him. Seeing an enemy defeated. Forced down to nothing. One who had successfully tied down her troops for months. One that she had now out-manoeuvred. Looking at a rebel leader who had just put his will in her hands, totally surrendered. But no sign of gloating, no victory in his defeat.

“I surrender,” he repeated.

Garth stood tall and strong before her and her council members. Not looking cowed, though, no evidence of fear in his stance.

“I submit to you. Do with me as you will.”

Garth took a deep calming breath. Emphasising the power in his strong body. Giving evidence of the force he was putting into her hands.

“On one condition, ......”

Her general exploded.

“You think you can negotiate, slave? Are you blind?”

Garth wasn’t, he ignored her. He knew full well the risks he was running. His fate was already in their hands, his future was bleak. Negotiating was digging his hole even deeper.

Astonishingly - but grateful - Garth saw their queen raise a hand. Silencing her general.

“Holding something back already, Earthman?

She cocked an eyebrow, curious at such behaviour from a slave. One who had just said he was submitting totally. Her gesture invited Garth to continue.

“We had a deal. My life for the brothers. You broke our deal.”

Garth sensed rather than saw the general bristle. In her eyes, he had no right to talk at all, never mind be so impudent as to offend. Quickly Garth pressed on.

“Worse ….,” he sensed the general bristle even stronger.

“ You rounded up the Maru. Put them into your slave-pens.”

He saw a wry smile briefly lighten Mabat’s lips. Was she laughing at his naivety? If not, it was certainly what he deserved.

Truly in surrendering to her like this, he didn’t know what he was letting himself in for. She’d want proof of him subjugating his will to her. They had already beaten the crap out of him. Before the gates had closed on Gazaan, ….. beaten him, though he was bound and helpless. Beaten the hell out of him, beaten him near unconscious.

Then again, hooded and blind, in that preposterous yoke, their bizarre game of blind man’s bluff. Every bit of his torso still hurt. Thwacked mercilessly.

Still he shuddered at when the Waif and her Ogre-mate had come visiting. Torturing the man in him, torturing him by degrading every modicum of his male sexuality. Demeaning, humiliating him with his sexual frustration. Shaming him that he was so easily overcome.

And now ....? What was Mabat going to exact as proof that the Earthman was holding nothing back?

“Here’s the deal .....”

Garth stood tall, no yoke, no bonds. Proud, strong, a man to his very core. But giving himself up, to her, to his enemy, to this evil-minded bitch - even if it was just a way of winning time.

“ .... I submit. I place my fate in your hands. You wanted my will. You have it .....”

Standing tall and powerful with his hands behind his head, naked, Garth gave out the appearance of his unmatchable physical strength combined with the prospect of him submitting that to her. Sacrificing his will. What made him the man he was. Giving himself in to her evil ways.

“ .... Set the Maru free. Then you have my will. Do with me as you wish. I will not fight.”

It hurt like crazy to say this. Even if he did not mean it. Even if he saw this as some way to win himself time. A trick till he could squeeze the last breath out of her neck.

“I am yours. Totally. Nothing held back.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Proof

Mabat looked at the tall giant standing naked before her.

“Totally mine? Nothing in your demeanour, Earthman, says anything of the kind.”

Garth had declared his willingness to submit his indomitable will to her wishes.

“Still you think you can make demands ….?”

It was a trick, Garth was playing for time. Could this she-devil read his thoughts, he wondered? Mentally he adjusted his thinking.

“You want it on a plate?” Garth looked at her firmly.

“You want it that easy?”

Mabat frowned at him. And awaited his explanation. After all, time was on her side. Everything was on her side.

“My apologies ….,” Garth sounded contrite but still firm … “- I thought you welcomed a challenge. Someone to stand up to you? You want some snivelling rat? You’d prefer some cowering slave?”

Garth was putting his faith in guessing he had read the woman right. She had a track record of cruelty. So ......

“I am sorry, I read things wrong. You don’t still want to have the pleasure of seeing me break me down?”

That was his temptation - but had he got it right? Was he going to reel her in? A risk, too - once she had him broken, what attraction in having Garth in her clutches then?

She sat watching him, frowning, looking like she was struggling to catch on to his game. Garth stood alone in the centre of the large bare chamber. Clothed in nothing but his nerve. His deadly enemies were seated in their ceremonial seats. Women of cruel power set against a single muscular male with no weapons but his wits.

“You have asked a high price, Earthman. Giving me free run at my will. The price of taking your strength of mind - one man’s will - for the price of setting the Maru free... All of them.”

Garth cocked his head to one side.

“What use have you for simple hunters? Are there not woodsmen enough?”

Mabat eyed him. Eventually she answered him.

“I need proof. This demeanour of yours betrays your real meaning, Earthman. You are not offering your all ..you are holding back. Still you dare make demands.”

Garth repeated himself.

“I have told you. Do with me as you will. Now. My will is yours to possess. Any time. Squeeze it out of me, I will not fight. Not resist.”

Mabat nodded. But was she convinced?

“Beat me. Whip me. Have me tortured - take your proof. “

Garth remembered the game of blind man’s bluff. And his night in the dungeons with her Waif.

“Humiliate me as you wish.”

Impatient to test him, the general glanced behind Garth, her nod prompted some movement behind. Garth started to turn. Curious.

“Eyes front, dog.”

The general snapped, banging her staff against Garth’s chest. It did not hurt. But it hurt Garth not to be able to react. He didn’t hit out at women. With these Krottak bitches he’d make an exception. This piss-arrogant general who thought she had him beat. That hurt, - the first of many hurts, he suspected.

At the unexpected move, his first reaction was to yank his arm away. A guard had grabbed Garth by the elbow pulling him to one side. First reaction - but in quick time he remembered. It went against the grain. Letting himself be pushed around by his enemies like this. But circumstances had changed, he had told Mabat she could have him, he’d not fight back. He was going to have to prove to Mabat she could have his will any time. But it was going to take some getting used to, allowing these enemies to do with them as they wished.

But he had to convince. If he was going to gain some thinking time, he had to give Mabat her proof. He let himself be led. Arms still up, hands clasped behind his head, he let himself be led around some frame that had been installed behind his back. Something like the asymmetric bars he’d used in gymnastics. Led like some lamb to the slaughter around to some torture frame.

From behind the frame, he was looking straight into Mabat’s face, seated at the heart of her council. The rest of her goons were gawking at him. Pushed by his guard towards the lower bar of the frame. Asymmetric bars like he’d used in the college gym. The lower bar on his side, the higher closer to the BITCH. Letting himself be led until the lower bar pushed against his hips. Hands on his shoulders bent him forward. He let himself be lowered till his upper chest rested against the upper bar. Garth kept his eyes on the source of his torment. He was being tested, his every move, gesture, look was being investigated, looking for proof that he was playing them along. Control over every bit of his body, every look, trying to give Mabat what she craved, her proof. That she could crush the will out of him, he’d not fight back. Biting deep, playing the submissive part, Garth was looking straight at Mabat, forcing a look of neutrality into his eyes.

Making himself look pliant. But knowing himself that he was letting this happen on his own accord, he had not been forced into it by the arch-bitch. Somehow that difference meant something to him, - but the result was going to be the same. Pain, humiliation, loss of self-pride. Done to rescue the Maru from her clutches, - his decision. Tamely letting hands pull on his wrists, spreading his arms out the length of the upper bar. Rope around his wrists, binding him in place. Bent over the lower bar, forced to lean over the lower bar, his chest touching the upper bar. And now his arms spread along the upper bar, tied at the wrists. This felt unnerving, bent forward, his body at about 45˚. Arms out-stretched and tied. His bare backside helplessly exposed. Bent like some badly behaved kid bent over the teacher’s desk. Waiting to have his arse tanned.

Was that what this was about? They were gonna whip his arse? Surely not? Humiliating, yes. But devastating, no. Surely there was more to this than having his arse caned? This was the Krottak he was dealing with.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Akhton

“You know Akhton.”

Garth had not spotted her, he’d had eyes only for his act with Mabat. With clothes on and her hair tied up on her head, he had not noticed the Waif from the previous night seated at the council table. Not till she had stood up and come to his side.

Garth knew Akhton all right, her ogre-in-crime had come and joined them, lumbering up out of his primeval slime. Gross and immensely grotesque he stood now on Garth’s other side. Leaving space so that Mabat had an uninterrupted view of Garth spread out, bent forwards over the frame.

“He has a job to do.”

That was the phrase the Waif had used. Garth felt a shiver, recalling his night in the dungeon. Then this Akhton had done nothing much at all, just attended, a monstrous looming presence. As if there had been some signal, the Ogre now started pulling his tunic over his head, he had a job to do.

Underneath just some brief loincloth on. As Garth has suspected, his upper torso was all meat and heavy-duty muscle. Last night he’d just been in attendance, Garth had worried about him unleashing all that brawn on him. Tonight, he was beginning to worry about something more sinister being released. A rush of heat flushed through Garth, things had suddenly changed gear, Akhton-the-Ogre had a job to do. With him near-naked and Garth pinned out over the frame like this - and with nothing on at all - , a bad picture began to form itself in Garth’s head. He shivered. Inevitably that thought led Garth’s attention down to the Ogre’s groin. Similar heavy-duty. Even with that slight covering, an intimidating weapon was pushing forward to attack. A feeling of deep menace was beginning to shape itself in Garth’s gut.

“Queen Mabat needs proof of your submission.”

The Waif was right beside Garth’s head. But Garth knew where to direct his attention. He knew who called the shots hereabouts. And the bitch he had to convince if his plan to free the Maru was going to work.

“As proof she claims your back passage.”

No hanging about. No subtlety of expression. Straight to the heart of the matter.

A shiver passed through Garth’s guts. A tightness had Garth by the throat. He felt his heart race, the pulse in his ear hardened its beat. Garth stole a glance towards the weapon he suspected was going to be used on him. His imagination saw it, in proportion to the grotesque ogre. Limp, it’d be the size of most men fully erect. Garth feared the Ogre held down this job with the Krottak because of its ultimate size. Not a promising prospect.

“Akhton has a job. To hand Queen Mabat that prize.”

And, Garth suspected, it was in the slave’s best interests to please. Good work if you could get it. Better than slaving away down in some mine.

“That price, Earthman ....” Mabat had started addressing Garth. Already the Waif was down on her knees in front of Akhton, he had torn away his covering, she was binding cord around his cock. Incredible scene, perverted, sick. But morbid curiosity had Garth searching for sight of his greatest fear. The Waif had snapped her fingers, Akhton had approached her, yanked on his loincloth to snap the cord. In some debauched theatrical move, he had thrown open his legs, thrust his hands behind his head in classic prisoner pose - and was letting Garth’s tormentor tie up his shaft and balls in a figure of eight with cord. To get him ready for Garth.

“... you demand too high a price, Earthman ....”

Mabat was addressing Garth as if nothing untoward was going on between her and Garth, as if her line of vision could wipe out the sordid sight of the Ogre growing erect. To do his job. Fucking Garth up the arse.

“.... all the Maru set free .....to earn that, there would have to require a high fee ...”

Why does that not surprise me, Garth wondered to himself? On the other hand, this had been his own stipulation .....

“This demanding ..... this assumption you have some right to negotiate ..... that is not to my liking, Earthman.”

Garth kept silent, remembering his role.

“… hardly giving my your all …..”

All Garth’s instincts were to curse, defy, be strong. But he acted stumm, tamely he looked reprimanded - for now. He had to win her conviction. It was going to be helluva high price to pay. Unless something occurred to him quick ....

“I claimed your will. To be given over to mine. Nothing held back. But ....”

The Waif had stood up, already the blood trapped in the Ogre’s cock was well into doing its work. The monster didn’t hang about.

“ ... still you think you can make demands ...?”

Already the gross menace between them was taking shape. Not a pleasant sight, - if you were going to be on the receiving end.

“Not to my liking .... is that surrendering to me your free will?”

Garth had to have eyes for the queen only, he tried to make them look repentant. But his heart was racing at the thought of what was shaping up in-between. And no reason for Garth to expect the Ogre to take his job easy. What points did an Ogre-slave earn for going easy on the Earthman?

“But let’s say I go part-way .... .”

Mabat was talking to Garth as if in-between there was not the most ominous of weapons being forged. But on the other hand, his spirits lifted a little at her words. Was that condition he had made for his submission winning him some advantage? Did she really like a challenge? Garth kept his eyes soft, obedient, focussed on the queen, subservient. But still in his peripheral vision his worst fears were being confirming. There was one obvious reason why Akhton had been appointed to this job. He has getting huge. And not even reached the perpendicular yet.

But Garth forced himself to concentrate. Was Mabat going to give in partly to his conditions about the Maru?

“What need have I for women and children? They just need feeding and finding work.”

Garth’s spirits lifted. Since hearing that the Maru had been rounded up and brought here, his main priority had been Lenana - and their unborn child.

“Let’s say they go free. Convince me, Earthman ... give me unbreakable proof that your will is surrendered ... without any more conditions, without anything held back .... then the women go. And their brats too.”

Garth had saved Lenana. Whatever it cost, ... whatever that awesome weapon on the edge of his eyesight did to him - it would have been worth the cost.

All he had to do was put on a convincing act.

And with the sight of Akhton now standing in his full glory, Garth could see that was going to be no easy performance to give.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Much to swallow

It took a massive amount of self-control. Whatever his intentions, however clear Garth was about his mission and setting the Maru women free - when it came down to it, it was a lot to swallow, everything went against the grain. The brutish Ogre was standing behind him. Rough calloused thumbs were on either side of Garth’s arsecrack, he was prising him open. Thumbs sliding down to the point where he would begin his attack. Garth was fighting against a racing pulse. Easy to agree to saving the women-folk, hard to take the act of rape. A high price, a massive conflict.

Earlier the brute had positioned himself right by Garth’s head. It had hurt enough that the brute had Garth gripped by the hair, forcing up his head, revealing his every nuanced look to Mabat. Garth had meant to do that anyway - but his blood had boiled at the thought Akhton-the-Ogre was making him. Then to add to his anger, the Ogre had gone and stood right by Garth’s head. A position engineered to strike horror into Garth’s soul. Right under his nose that monstrous weapon, engorged, throbbing veins, bursting with evil energy. The bastard was not too keen on personal hygiene, rancid smells assailed Garth’s nose, the stink of old sweat. Still battling to keep his eyes glued on Mabat and persuade her of his intent, the proximity of such menace jutting at his face was enough to send shivers down his spine. Excited, fully aroused in the heat of attack, could that bugger grow even more? Garth had to fight hard to battle the panic out of his blood. Nothing he could fight here, just had to take what came. Make it look to Mabat that he was giving in to her will. Live on and fight another day. He’d almost let out a gasp of relief when the monstrous club moved from under his nose. But relief had been short-lived, the evil bugger had moved behind. Thumbs prising him apart. Battle-stations.

Already Garth had felt Akhton step between his feet, roughly kick his legs outwards. Garth had felt of rush of heat to his head. A knee had jarred into the backs of his thighs, bent Garth’s legs at the knee. Hands were immediately on Garth’s ankles, cord being tied around them, pulling his legs apart, keeping them spreading outwards. Garth gulped down. The move disabled him. Opening him up for attack. No defence, no way to resist.

Garth had intended none. But when another man’s thumbs were prising open his crack, - when he felt something hot and hard pressing against his backside, it was hard not to put up the barricades. The thought of a man fooling around with his virgin territory ..... Garth had no doubts about that sweaty weapon pressed against his arsehole, in his mind’s eye he could see the enormity of it. His hands were clenched into fists, his abs pulled in tight. He wanted to beat the living shits out of the dickhead behind. He wanted to crush the life out of the bitch who had tricked him into this. Without thinking his reflexes started squeezing his arse-cheeks together as best he could.

A stinging slap to the face reminded him of his resolve. No resistance, no defiance, the Krottak could do with him as they wished, that was his offer. Garth looked over his burning cheek at the Waif. Her eyebrow cocked. Asking if he was giving up already. Garth forced himself to relax. He forced himself to give in to the inevitable. Full of dread for the burning torture about to penetrate his back entrance. At the enormity he’d had right under his nose. Going to rip him apart.

“Akhton will claim Queen Mabat’s prize.”

Garth felt an enormous lump in his throat at the Waif’s words. A shiver in his gut that ended in his balls. The Waif-tormentor made sure she stood to one side, giving the queen a clear field of vision of Garth giving her his will. Now the Waif had his hair in her hand, holding up his head, displaying Garth’s defeat to his victor. A symbolic gesture. The Waif had Garth in Mabat’s grip.

“But first, …..”

It was Mabat speaking.

“I make another offering .....”Garth’s vision flicked over to a movement from the queen bitch. Picking something up from the table in front of her, holding it aloft. Something that glistened in the lights. Something shiny and metal.

The Waif retrieved Mabat’s surprise. Flourishing it above her head. In a dramatic move to attract Garth’s attention. When she lowered it in front of Garth’s eyes, he could see it confirmed for what it was. A metal-cast cock. In shiny steel, a cock in full arousal. Intricately cast, veined, every detail exact. A full-sized cock cast in shiny steel mocking Garth’s vision. To tempt him to refuse. Refuse a dildo fit for a queen.

“I will have it raped …..”

Mabat’s voice sounded icy-cold.

“As proof of its surrender.”

Mabat paused.

“Starting with its mouth.”

Why should such a pronouncement get his heart racing? It was illogical. Garth already had an Ogres’ hard-on of eye-watering proportions dangerously up against his arsehole. That Akhton was a slave, he held his position by doing what pleased - and he was going to go-to-town in pleasing these hellcats. Nothing would hold him back from pleasing by the brutality with which he was going to take Garth’s arse. So why get so worked up about swallowing Mabat’s dildo?

“Honoured by a queen’s own dildo.”

Illogical. Why should the idea of being raped in the mouth by some inanimate object have the pulse pounding in Garth’s ear? Compared to Akhton’s primeval warclub? But the idea did get right to Garth’s guts. On top of everything else! Bugger that! And the thought of where the she-devil Mabat had had this thing before ....!

Garth was struggling. He was trying not to panting out loud with the crush on his lungs.

“Open!”

The Waif commanded Garth to have Mabat’s sex toy shoved down his throat.

Bugger that!

Then Garth got a grip. He remembered. The act he was playing. His decision, his plan.

Anyway, what choice was there? He had decided on this mission with eyes open. OK, so the full impact of that idea had just come crashing down on him. Get with it! Besides, ... what other option was there? He had pretended to surrender his will, totally. Invited Mabat to do with him as she wished. He had made his own bed .... now he was already lying in it.

Garth did as told. Got a grip on his features. He slid open his clenched jaw.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Compliance

The slag was playing with him, tempting Garth, damn-well fucking with his mind. Stroking the head of the dildo across his now-parched lips. Circling it around his open mouth. Tempting Garth to shy away. Why should it fill him with such disgust? Why so sickening that his mouth was being toyed with by Mabat’s own sex-toy? Damn it, nothing to be revolted by, that didn’t make sense. Garth made himself put such feelings to one side. He looked Mabat in the eye. He adjusted his looks to suit his act. Looking submissive, meekly taking this humiliation. But secretly Garth was stepping into line on his own terms.

A sudden pressure leant against Garth’s arsehole. Making him focus, getting him to concentrate. The Ogre was going for it? Attack on two fronts?

Wrong. Garth felt a hand in his hair. From behind, Akhton was leaning his hard-hot groin into Garth’s backside and had grabbed hold on his hair, pulling Garth’s head up by the hair. Opening his mouth wide. Garth gave a grunt with a sudden tug in his scalp. The Waif followed through. A sense of dread that was hard to suppress shivered through Garth. Seeing the bullet-headed metal thickness gliding menacing through the air, aiming for his gaping mouth. His mouth forced open, going to be forced into swallowing the thing. Not allowed to let them think he was doing this willing. His mouth was to be raped, - against his will. Not allowed to surrender, not allowed to accept. Forced.

The bulbous crown seemed to be glistening evil - as if the thing was showing sadistic pleasure at his discomfort. Accurate in every detail. An erection in full arousal, the slit open-eyed and gloating. Garth’s instincts were to twist away from that steely monster before it could invade his mouth. The bulbous head passed over his lips, cold, steely, metallic. But somehow vibrant and alive. The hard thickness quickly filling his reluctant mouth, his head throbbing. Feeling the veined surface of the shaft prickle like nettles over his tongue. Mabat’s sex-toy was sliding in and filling Garth’s mouth. Suddenly he felt sick, cheapened, shocked. He was sucking cock! Used like some common whore.

“Relax, dog.”

The big aroused metal cockhead had come up against a barrier. It had come up against the reluctant entrance of Garth’s throat.

“Take it right down. That is what you owe. Serving Mabat’s will.”

Hard to focus. Garth was under attack from two directions. The tormentor was demanding to fill his throat with Mabat’s toy. And the Ogre could not be ignored. Hot against his virgin rear, a mammoth-sized weapon pressed sticky and menacing against his entrance. Attack-ready. Relax, she said!

It was thick, in his mouth it felt greater than the entrance to Garth’s throat. He had shivered at its ponderous size as reluctantly the sickening thought was sliding further down into his mouth. Not able to get rid of the idea of where it had last been. But she meant him to, didn’t she? She meant him to think like that, that was her torture - and her temptation for him to revolt.

Yet he had agreed, they could do anything to him they wished. Even the sordid. Even the disgusting.

She gave him some time, the general, to relax his muscles. Gagging on the thing wasn’t their plan, they wanted the full humiliation. Swallowing the thing right down, a common whore. Garth was breathing rapidly through his nose, his mouth and throat constricted by the enormity thrust into him. Garth forced himself, he made himself relax. He told himself this didn’t matter, no shame. Part of his plan, think of the bigger picture.

But still the size that was supposed to enter his throat seemed beyond his powers. She was giving him time, chance to get himself together and swallow this humiliation down. More important to succeed in the Earthman’s shame than for him to choke and fail. For him too, Garth had to please, he had to demean himself. He had to win Mabat’s trust, she had to believe in his defeat. For his plans to secure the Maru release ….

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Offer

It felt like the whole of Garth’s being had been inflated. That thing was so far down his throat. It seemed to conflate his whole body with the shame.

“Bite on it. Keep it in place.”

She had taken her time, this slut. No point in letting him gag, she had waited when Garth’s reflexes fought against the invasion of his throat. The point was not to have him puke up his guts, Garth understood, it was to see him grotesquely humiliated. Mabat’s own personal dildo plugging up his mouth. A dildo made for a queen jamming open his slavish throat. Forced to swallow her, made to take Mabat’s man-thing right down into his throat.

Hard to breathe. His whole body tense, hands clenched into fists. Not now in anger. In discomfort, extreme embarrassment. His eyes were watering at the effort. Shivers of distress trembled through his helpless torso. He’d sworn he would stand up to their treatment. He’d invited them to do anything they wished. Now he was learning the full impact of what he had brought on himself. And they hadn’t resorted to violence yet. But this was Krottak torture, they’d have much more in hand.

He tried to lower his head. An unwanted tear released itself and trickled down his cheek. But from behind the Ogre felt his move and yanked his head back up. Letting Mabat see the shameful tears forming in his eyes. Garth was sure his face had turned red.

Was Mabat pleased?

“Older men, too ....”

Garth in his temporary confusion did not understand what she was saying.

“You wanted all Maru released. Out of the question. But what need have I of old men?”

Was Mabat enjoying the sight of Garth brought so low like this? It was almost like she was taking it for granted. After all, that was what a slave did. PLEASE. But was she conceding more? Releasing the old men? Because she was pleased with what she was seeing? His tears, his distress, his shame. Garth’s extreme discomfort.

“Only men of fighting age will be held back.” She continued. “Made to work, earn their keep, made to pay back the costs of their insurrection.”

Garth had seen often enough how the Krottak exacted their payback. The young men would be worked into the ground, a life of hell. But that was going to happen to them anyway whatever Garth himself chose to do. At least, his actions could save the women. And now the older men. Had the sight of Garth in torment won that concession? From Mabat, he snorted to himself? Think again.

“Proceed.”

If he had won that indulgence, she was going to make him pay for it. His eyes bulged in shock when the Ogre jarred a calloused thumb afresh into Garth’s rear entry. Shock waves reverberated down his backbone. Reflexes shut it off, slammed together the door. Awkwardly corny fingers scrabbled around his entrance, pulling at the flesh trying to prise him up. Garth was still struggling with the shock of the suddenness of the attack. He’d known this was going to happen. But when it started, mentally he was not prepared, gut instincts kicked in. His head still swimming with feelings of his mouth being raped. Natural reflexes sealed off the entrance.

Snot blasted out of his nose, his eyes burst open wide in pain. The Ogre had punched him hard between the shoulder blades. A hammerblow right on his spine. His upper torso crumpled into the bar under the devastating force of a sledgehammer into his back. Pain exited muffled through his body, the sounds gagged by Mabat’s sex-toy in his mouth.

Too shocked to stop it from happening. The Ogre’s crippling punch had broken down the gates. His thumb jarred itself inside. Before Garth knew it, two fingers of the other hand were in there too. Jammed in hard. Just to the point where the Ogre could start jabbing at Garth’s sphincter. Whatever he might have resolved otherwise Garth tightened in anticipation. With a sense of relief, he felt the fingers pull out. Holding his breath, but banking on some relief. Then a thud in his lower back, his upper torso arced back up. Fingers stabbed back in, jabbing themselves hard inside. Clawing iron fingers into the cliff wall of Garth’s insides. Buzzing from the shock, reeling from the punch, Garth fought against an impending swoon. Stretching, opening him, prising him apart. Threatening to tear him open. Over the penis gag in his throat, Garth cursed. Incredibly, it was beginning. The rape on his arse.

Sacrifice

Slut

Garth was in a bewildering whirl. A part of him knew he had brought this largely on himself, he had decided of his own volition to let this happen. For the sake of others.

“Head up, slut.”

He had imagined beatings, torture. Seen enough of what the Krottak could do. Evidence of brutal beatings, men worked to death. Men flayed alive and left to rot. Back stripped of flesh eaten alive by maggots and carrion. Staked out in the woods for the wild animals to tear apart. He had been prepared for that. But rape .... somehow male rape had not been part of his expectations. He was doing rapid catch-up emotionally, his head was racing to come to terms with this turn of events. Dizzying thoughts which threatened to destroy him from within.

The plan had been to play Mabat at her own game. She wanted him to crumple, she wanted him to see him humiliate himself, - cleverly she’d out-foxed him. She’d set him up so there was no way out. Garth’s strategy had been to get her convinced that she really had him broken, that he’d agree to anything that came into her evil mind. Then, - once she thought she had won - he’d find some way of taking her down.

Mabat would not expect a warrior like him to find submission easy, - that allowed him a few lapses he might make by mistake, he thought. She’d tempt him to resist, expecting he’d baulk. She’d read him right, too often so far. She’d rightly identified the iron resolve of a man given to winning. To give up that easily! Even though he was trapped .... even though he couldn’t win. No, Mabat knew Garth was the type to go down fighting.

But this ..... Mabat seemed to be holding all the cards. And the pack was stacked - against him. The plan, Garth’s plan - easily sketched out. Proving bloody hard to carry out. Especially this .... To take THIS quietly .....

He had bet on the fact that when he did give in, she’d think it was genuine. She’d seen him fight, she’d applied the pressure, then she’d see him give up, taking whatever she threw at him with only a slight hesitation. But had he reckoned on THIS .....?

It was a plan ..... First give her the proof, first get Lenana and the women and children out of her clutches - then he’d find some way to beat the she-devil at her own game. Once free of those human shackles, it would be down to Garth. He was banking on the fact that she was not just into breaking his will and then quickly having him killed off. He reckoned she’d be revelling in his shaming too much for it to be some quick one-off. This was no one-night stand. He was going to be kept on his toes for some time. He was going to be tested to the limit, he reckoned.

..... Winning him time, offering a chance. To get his hands on her throat. Time was his best pal, it was time that gave him the chance to strike back.

But once Mabat got down to the action, Garth’s plans went flying out of the window.

“Keep your head up, slut.”

Slut! That word from the Waif sent a genuine tremor throughout his torso. He was stretched out across the upper bar of this torture frame. Nervous sweat was dripping off his drooping head, he saw a heavy bead of tortured sweat splatter beneath onto the floor. He could smell it on him, his back felt drenched in sweat. The sweat of nervousness, the sweat of anger, the sweat of bewilderment as his guts in turmoil tried to question if he was doing the right thing. Dizzy in a haze of conflicting emotions.

Slut! He could still rationalise, he realised - they were playing with his head, working on his emotions, making him angry, keeping him confused. But through all the whirling vortex of emotions, - still that word could make him seethe.

“You deaf, slut?”

For a change, it was Mabat intervening. Ordering Garth to look her in the eye.

Garth knew better than not to obey. He had to, it went with the strategy. He raised his head to her. A mixture of reluctance and enforced compliance looked her in the eye. He saw himself in her face. A face streaming with his sweat. Garth revealed a man in pain. Mentally, physically. His whole body trembled with the indignity he had been forced to endure. Genuine tears of pain cut through the sweat on his face. The sensations that ravaged at his threatened backside had spread over his whole being. Psychologically Garth was being torn apart - by the nervous menace centred on his backside. By the mental torment into which he had plunged himself. In part kicking himself for letting himself be trapped into this situation, he’d not seen this coming. A sudden concern at the lengths to which this douche-bag would ache to see him suffer. The humiliations worse than the beatings he’d taken here. This bitch-queen, impossible to read, hard to know how much more he was going to have to endure.

How long had she thought about this? How long had it taken her to work out the worst thing she could throw him? This unexpected side-ball. Something he had not anticipated. Garth felt she was managing to keep him on the hop, he was constantly having to play catch-up. Keeping him on the run. And for all his guile and experience, for all his physique, strength and determination, dangerously it felt she had the capacity to stay one step ahead. Unnerving, unsettling. Garth had to rely on his wits. But plagued by doubts, caught in a dizzying tumult, tortured by pains, humiliated by these acts to the depths of his core - it was getting hard to stay on top of his game.

But the face that lifted to Mabat’s gaze revealed nothing of his uncertainties. He knew she could see his face reddened with shame. See the tears of pain streaked in the viscous glue of sweat on his face. From her angle, she could see how his dick had reacted. With all that finger-poking, to all that sexual humiliation, the nerves getting to him, between his out-stretched legs Garth was half-erect. He had brought everything on himself, he had bought into all of this. But everything went against the grain. Hard to take this lying down. Hard to swallow.

But the face he gave to Mabat betrayed nothing of such thoughts. His mission was clear, freeing the Maru women - and his unborn child.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Plugged

That bastard of a Waif was talking sense. But what a choice! T

“Best let Akhton do it while the thing is still wet.”

The Ogre had had his fingers jammed up inside. Garth reckoned all fingers and thumb of one hand had been jabbed into him. Despite his agreement to allow them to do whatever they wished, his backside baulked against this invasion. The Ogre’s inward successes had been torn at Garth’s instinctive reluctance, painfully every little step clawed out of him. Nails tearing at him on the inside. Powerful fingers squeezing and clenching, stretching, opening him up inside. Clawing at him forcing him wider open. Devastatingly hard thumps jarred into Garth’s backbone to catch him unawares, thrusting the fingers deeper inside. Garth wondered desperately how far he’d go, whether the bastard was going to try and fist him. Garth recognised the panic in the thought, unhelpful - but he couldn’t avoid the flush that rushed through his blood. In all his travels, in all the tight corners he had found himself, Garth had been saved from anything like this. But that nagging worry was trying to take hold of him, this moron of an Ogre was not going to stop. Not until he had his whole fist up inside.

Wrong. Thank god, wrong.

The Waif had whipped Mabat’s dildo out of Garth’s mouth and handed it over Garth’s back to her slave. In one deft move, Garth felt the Ogre’s finger-raping claws withdraw. Oddly Garth still felt full of his presence. And a split second later the dildo was being rammed up inside him. Hard, painfully hard. Lubricated with Garth own saliva. Jammed up inside, viciously, agonisingly painful. The Ogre-slave was out to impress.

Defence reflexes kicked in. Screamed, NO. Hauled up the drawbridge , Garth’s reflexes denied his enemy access. The Ogre felt the resistance. Jarring, jabbing, poking, forcing its way it. Thumping Garth repeatedly on his backbone. Grappling with Garth’s will for access. Garth could feel the Ogre’s hard-on gyrating against his leg, menacing and hot pressed against his thigh. Shivering at contact with the boner the monster was sporting. A battle for the touch-line, dogged opponents battling it out. The Ogre equally determined to overcome any resistance. The pressure of that club of a hard-on a worrying reminder, the enormity that was still to be used. To test Garth’s submission.

That hellcat was right. Better to take in the dildo when still wet with his own saliva. Better than having this monster of a man force it up inside when it had dried out. But everything .. all this .... all this assault on his dignity - it was hard to swallow.

Reluctantly Garth made himself relax. Letting the invasion in. Driven in with such force that Garth let go a hard grunt of pain. It was long, longer than the fingers had dug so far. Garth’s eyes shot wide with the shock. The monster dug in fast, he burrowed in hard. The pain crackled in stars of white pain. Mabat’s own dildo jammed in hard, jarring Garth’s protective tight ring of muscle. Impossible to disguise from Mabat the spasms of pain. The eye-popping shame as his back passage was forcibly penetrated. Raped by her own artificial cock. Eyes cracking open wide each time the monster pulled it back and then maliciously thrust it hard inside. The stretch unbearable, the shock indescribable. Garth’s backside was being raped. Being fucked. By Mabat’s dildo. Mercilessly rammed inside of him. The Krottak enemy #1 being raped. The Earthman was being fucked. Done over by pain. Crushed by Mabat’s fake cock.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Monstrosity

Garth recoiled at the sight of the Ogre’s erect cock right in his face.

“You can take it wet. Or dry.”

The tormentor’s words sounded like they were enjoying Garth’s discomfort.

“Suck it. Wet it,. Or take it dry.”

No skin off my nose, your choice, Earthman. Garth heard the pleasure in the tormentor’s tone. She was lying, the whore. Not all the same to her. She’d prefer it dry. She’d rather Garth kept his mouth tight closed and have the Ogre force his way into Garth’s back passage. Violent rape. Vicious male rape. Agonisingly every inch of resistance broken down with hisses of pain, with pangs of suffering. Akhton ramming himself inside against muscled opposition, against muscular resolve. Brutally raped, viciously take against Garth’s will.

Mabat couldn’t see his face, the Ogre and his monstrosity were back right in front, - one plus in all this sickening play. She could see his out-stretched arms, glowing with his embarrassment and perspiration. But the Ogre’s girth hid his face. The atrociousness of the bloated blood-purple horror was filling Garth’s vision. Huge. Garth licked at his lower lip. He swallowed deep at the awesome sight. Then he opened his mouth. Garth welcome the Ogre’s straining cock in. The head, long imprisoned in tight cords, deep purple, heavy with blood. The shaft, thick-veined, throbbing with need. Prodigiously long, grotesquely thick. Throbbing with trapped heat, needy with imprisoned desires. Thrust into Garth’s throat. It was all Garth could do not to gag as it passed over his lips. He felt his stomach heave.

In all the pain of having his arse dildo-raped, Garth had neglected on thing. It was Akhton going to take his arse. And as a starter Garth was being invited to suck the bastard off. Before the ugly monster raped him. Offered the chance of the bastard raping Garth’s face. Supposedly going to maker it easier for hi to take - when they got down to the real thing. Generous thought from these Krottak bitches.

At least they couldn’t see. But they could see the Ogre’s arse rhythmically squeezing as he ploughed Garth’s mouth. It didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Unmistakable. The Ogre was pumping himself against the roof of Garth’s mouth, working himself up even more. Garth was filled with evil pulsating hot-hard flesh. He felt sick, wanted to choke. His nose full of the heavy sweaty scent, the hateful curls of thick black hair. So dirty, so unclean. Quickly it was hitting the back of his throat. In an instant, releasing all the pent-up responses. Garth thought he was going to throw up. From deep in his chest, powerful wrenches propelled unpleasant desires from up in his guts.

But the Ogre had done this before, he withdrew. He withdrew a little, to let the captive’s reactions settle down. But still his huge domed crown was sickeningly sliding over the top of Garth’s mouth. But he was coming back, the sick bastard was going to be coming back. How to take this? How to make his mouth go slack? Stay loose enough to feel that monstrous thing deep down his throat?

Garth had not planned on anything like this.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Foreplay done

Garth had lubricated it.  But that was all, thank god, the bastard had not shed his load inside his mouth.  What would he have done if that had happened?  Shooting his sperm down Garth's throat.  Filling him with Mabat's hate.  The evil bastard was not in any hurry, though, when he pulled himself out, he hung around so Garth could see the horror of what had played with his mouth. Garth astonished himself at his own morbid fascination, could hardly credit how his eyes centred on his own saliva glistening on the ugly monster.

He also found himself worrying. The dickhead was in no hurry to go round to Garth’s rear. The bugger would be drying off. The benefits of the face-fucking wearing off. Incredibly Garth found himself willing the bugger to get on with it. He was actually eager for the moron to get round there and finish the sick job off. Quickly Garth saw the panic in his reaction. He saw how Mabat was getting hold of his mind and making it her own. Seeing his mistake. Grabbing back control. Gritting his teeth, gearing up for the fight again.

The tormentor-bitch helped, inadvertently her move flushed the anxiety out of his blood. Grabbing him by the hair. Tugging his head up. Giving her queen full sight of how the legend of the Earthman had been brought low. His arse still full of Mabat’s male-substitute, his mouth just possessed by Mabat’s slave. Her orders, her will, her design. In her cold eyes Garth saw himself for the act he was playing. Her victim. Her volunteer victim. But still moving on his own plan.

Maybe there must have been a signal. Ordering the Ogre to proceed. But Garth didn’t see any warning, his focus was on Mabat. Giving her the image she desired. Overcoming his own fury, flushing away that moment of panic. Masking his eyes with the look of a warrior letting this happen - because he had to. Not some snivelling coward, still showing some spunk. He reckoned Mabat would prefer to see him still a bit feisty. Giving in to her but finding it hard to take. Hating himself for letting this happen. But trapped, trapped by her ingenuity, out-manoeuvring him by catching him on the hop. Just enough strength in his features to show he was hating this. His arse raped, face-fucked, sexually aroused so he himself was throwing a boner. But having to bend to her will, no choice. Beaten. Forced to let her do with him as she wished.

If there was a signal to the Ogre, Garth had not seen it. But the fingers grabbling at his backside were warning enough. Fingers grabbing hold of the dildo. Roughly pulling it out, emptying his back passage. For only one reason. For only one purpose. Garth had got the measure of it, his eyes had rounded on it, the warclub that now threatened him from behind. He’d had his mouth on it, the fullness, the strength, the length of it. That revenge-tipped missile now poking at his backside. The thought was devastating, the size unnerving. It was impossible, he reckoned, for him to open that wide. It was going to rip him open. It was going to drive him out of his head. With the pain. And with the shame. With the sheer raw emotion that another man was forcing himself onto Garth. And he himself had invited this to happen.

Despite all the foreplay, - rough finger-raping him inside, despite have had Mabat’s artificial cock slid deep inside him, - the mere touch of that monster against his arsehole sent shudders down Garth’s spine. However he knew it was going to happen, whatever mental preparations he had made, however often he had told himself this had to be if the Maru womenfolk were to go free - the touch of that warclub there shocked. Like a pass of electricity. The feel of the Ogre’s hands on Garth’s hips as he prepared to thrust sent of shiver of panic through his guts. This was a nightmare. Garth could not fight it. No escaping this rape of his backside. Not tied up like this. Not under the conditions he had sworn himself into. Mabat had his permission to do as he pleased. Garth’s legs were roped, kept widespread by ropes. Deep in his guts, he felt there was no dignity left. But ..... Garth could only pray that soon this horrifying nightmare would pass.

AND he was damned if Mabat was going to see this terror showing on his face. There was no defence, nothing he could do about this. Nothing except grit his teeth. There was no avoiding this horror. His face put on an act for Mabat. She never saw the dread he felt.

“Enough!”

Mabat’s command echoed through the bare chamber. Cutting through the atmosphere like a sharp knife.

“Enough. I’ve seen enough.”

Garth’s disbelief equalled the look of confusion on her council. She was stopping the rape. Right at the moment of highest sadism. No doubt the other bastard-bitches seated at the table were already wet between their legs at the prospect. Seeing this hunk of a man forced to take the monster of a cock. This rebel who had plagued their lives for months - getting his come-uppance in the worst possible way. For a fighter like him to be publicly raped. Yet she’d stopped it, Mabat had seen enough!

Garth didn’t believe it. He couldn’t fathom it. Was Mabat taking pity on him? No, she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, she had no pity. His head was in an even greater whirl now. Knowing this made no sense. Had she seen enough? Enough of what? Proven to her his submission? He couldn’t believe it. But for the sake of his arse he wanted like hell to believe it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dawn

Mabat had stood up. She had walked the length of her council table and was standing in front of Garth.

“We convene again at dawn.”

Her tormentor had tugged Garth’s head up by the hair, making him look into his dominatrix’ eyes.

“Not enough, Earthman. Not enough to convince.”

Garth’s eyes hardened. The way he saw it he had given more than enough, certainly more than he had bargained for. What else did the bitch want?

As if reading his thoughts ....

“You want the women to go free?”

The tormentor shook Garth by the hair. It felt like she was going to pull hair out of Garth’s scalp. He suppressed the wince of pain. He nodded.

“... And the old men. I was generous enough to offer the old men too.”

Something suspicious in that. The she-devil gave nothing away, Garth had already told himself.

“You want their freedom?”

Again Garth was shaken by the hair.

“Answer, dog.”

Garth could not hold back the grimace at the pain in his scalp.

“Yes. Yes.”

He hesitated, he wondered if he should add anything extra.

“... Mistress ..”

Mabat snorted. She laughed in his face.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You are nothing to me.”

She turned and walked away from him. The grip in his hair released. Garth let his head droop. Happy to hide his face and give way to the pain in his scalp. Feeling a sting in his eye as sweat trickled down his face.

“Tomorrow at dawn, Earthman ....”

Garth again raised his head. To receive the news. To find out why she had stopped this game of hers.

“... outside in the courtyard ... you will give me proof. Prove your will is mine.”

Over my dead body, Garth thought. But I’ll play along. His eyes betrayed no such thoughts. Back on track, back at playing the bitch at her own game. She wanted proof, he’d give her it. Then, once Lenana was safe, he’d find some way to take this monster down.

“Of your own free will, you will bend over. No ropes, no restraints. Bend over and, spread your legs. No guards to force you, no soldiers to hold you down. Arse in the air, of your own volition.”

So far so good, Garth looked over at her, breathing slow. So at dawn, they took off from where they were now. Had this just been some dress rehearsal? So he knew the steps? So he had learned the pose?

“Akhton will claim your arse. You will not resist.”

If that was what it took ..... Only difference was, Garth knew what to expect. No surprises, not like today. He’d spent the night worrying about that monster tearing him apart inside, he had the night to come to terms with the violence of male rape. No change, though, that has been going to happen right now. At least he’d be mentally prepared, he’d have accepted his fate by then.

“Watched by the Maru.”

Head up, Garth looked at her hard. Stopped by her words.

“The Maru gathered in the courtyard. To see and to learn. The champion giving in to the violence of rape. Willingly, not forced.”

Over my dead body ..... Gut instinct yelled back his response. But a chill reality hit the pit of his stomach like a stone. What choice did he have? If his unborn child was to know some semblance of life? Garth was caught in a trap. One of his own making. Mabat wanted only one thing. The destruction of the myth. True, she had set him a trap too, with open eyes he had walked into it. Because Garth wanted only one thing. For the mother of his child to go free. That was his own trap. One from which he had no escape. And he had just sprung it on himself.

Blast! He hadn’t seen that one coming. THAT took him completely by surprise. Yet she had warned him, the evil bitch. Destruction of the legend, - that had been what she had said. In public. Seen. The Maru herded into this courtyard to watch. To see the legend that had become the Earthman destroyed. Seen to be destroyed. Annihilated. He had heard her, he had listened to her planning his destruction. But he’d not reckoned on THIS. Not to be seen by his Maru friends, volunteering to bend down and take it up the backside. Never had he contemplated the thought of his love Lenana looking on as some Ogre tore agonies out of his arse. He would survive, Garth would live. But Lenana? It would kill her. To see the man she loved and admired allowing his enemies to do such a hateful thing. Not fighting, not resisting. Submitting, letting this happen.

Garth had volunteered himself into Mabat’s hands. But he’d not reckoned on this.

“Convince me, Earthman ...... and the women go free.”

And did he trust the bitch?

Not the end …..

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