fronting the attack Maciste knew they were there watching. He had been lined up with them, four rows of men, stood in submissive slave mode, hands clamped to the back of their heads. His back was to them. They could see what he could not. Taken a murderous lashing, his back on fire as he swayed up in the air. Breathing hard, sweat running off his hair, Maciste imagined the scene .. as the other slaves saw it. His sight blurred, his vision clouded by streaks of watery pain. But the fires in his back told him how he looked to them. When it stopped, when the stinging bites taken out of his back abated, Maciste had thought that was it. Fifty lashes. But the slavemaster was not done with him. "Turn the fucker round." Hands immediately began turning his suffering, turning him on the single rope to face the lines of watching slaves. ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ “Let the animals see.” Maciste hadn't given up the fight. But his back was burning him up. His bare backside screamed from the savagery of the beating. Already exhausted before this thuggery had even begun, still he had told himself he’d not give these morons the satisfaction. And he had managed. It had been a fight .. but he’d given it back to them as hard as he could. But not completely. Inevitable that the some cries would escape his tortured body. It had felt more like a hundred strikes, the agony on his sunburnt skin sending his exhausted senses in a sickening spin. Caught up in this own pain-maddened torment, with a bitter mixture of anger and dismay he’d heard them eventually break through. These last mind-crippling blows to the screaming muscles of his back had split his stubbornness open .. forced out sharp tortured cries. Beaten out of his burning back. Punching the wind out of his chest. Finally ripping down that dam of defiance blocking his fiery throat.
fronting the attack Maciste knew they were there watching. He had been lined up with them, four rows of men, stood in submissive slave mode, hands clamped to the back of their heads. His back was to them. They could see what he could not. Taken a murderous lashing, his back on fire as he swayed up in the air. Breathing hard, sweat running off his hair, Maciste imagined the scene .. as the other slaves saw it. His sight blurred, his vision clouded by streaks of watery pain. But the fires in his back told him how he looked to them. When it stopped, when the stinging bites taken out of his back abated, Maciste had thought that was it. Fifty lashes. But the slavemaster was not done with him. "Turn the fucker round." Hands immediately began turning his suffering, turning him on the single rope to face the lines of watching slaves. ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ “Let the animals see.” Maciste hadn't given up the fight. But his back was burning him up. His bare backside screamed from the savagery of the beating. Already exhausted before this thuggery had even begun, still he had told himself he’d not give these morons the satisfaction. And he had managed. It had been a fight .. but he’d given it back to them as hard as he could. But not completely. Inevitable that the some cries would escape his tortured body. It had felt more like a hundred strikes, the agony on his sunburnt skin sending his exhausted senses in a sickening spin. Caught up in this own pain-maddened torment, with a bitter mixture of anger and dismay he’d heard them eventually break through. These last mind-crippling blows to the screaming muscles of his back had split his stubbornness open .. forced out sharp tortured cries. Beaten out of his burning back. Punching the wind out of his chest. Finally ripping down that dam of defiance blocking his fiery throat.