Hercules enslaved - 6. The old man

"These," Demetrius announced, his voice dripping with malicious delight, "will be the instruments of your torment, Hercules. Each one will pierce the magnificent muscles of your body while Pavlos, with his vast knowledge of human anatomy, will skillfully avoid your internal organs and blood vessels. You won’t be killed but the pain will slowly consume you until you beg me to end your suffering.

The demigod's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he glared defiantly at the tyrant. "Your petty tortures will not break me, Demetrius," he growled, his voice ragged from the constriction of the iron collar. "I have faced far worse in my life, and I will endure this as well."

Demetrius' lips curled into a cruel smile. "We shall see, my dear Hercules," he purred, gesturing to Pavlos. "Begin."

With a trembling hand, the old man selected one of the short needles, its sharp tip glinting menacingly. Hercules tensed, his muscles straining against the unyielding bonds as the old man approached, his gaze filled with a mixture of fear and reverence. Slowly, agonizingly, the needle pierced the flesh of Hercules' shoulders, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from the demigod. The old man, emboldened by Demetrius' approving nod, began to methodically work his way with longer needles on Hercules' imposing traps as well as his wing-like lats, each needle puncturing the hero's magnificent muscles all the way to his back side with ruthless precision. Hercules gritted his teeth, determined not to give his tormentor the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Despite the searing pain that coursed through him with every stab of the needle, the demigod refused to break, his indomitable spirit refusing to be extinguished.

The old man paused, his hand shaking as he selected another short needle, its sharp point poised to strike. Hercules steeled himself, his gaze unwavering as he prepared to endure the next wave of assault. A symphony of torment filled the air as the old man began to methodically pierce Hercules' powerful biceps and forearms with the gleaming silver needles. Hercules, his body already wracked with the searing agony of the previous wounds, tensed against the impending onslaught, his muscles straining against the unyielding bonds that held him captive.

As the old man selected yet another needle, Hercules’ mind racing to find a way to endure the onslaught of torment that was to come. The old man, his face a mask of conflicted emotions, slowly raised an extra long gleaming needle, its sharp point poised behind the rippling expanse of Hercules' pectoral muscle. Demetrius watched, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, as the trembling hand of the old man began to descend. With a sudden, agonizing jab, the needle pierced the flesh just below Hercules' armpit where the nerve clusters converged, eliciting a strangled gasp of pain from the captive demigod. Hercules’ powerful muscles straining at the restraints in a futile attempt to escape the torment. The old man slowly guided the needle deeper, the sharp point meticulously carving its way through the dense, corded muscle. Hercules gritted his teeth, his breath hissing through clenched jaws as the sensation intensified with every millimeter the needle advanced.

Demetrius leaned in, his expression a tortuous mask of fascination. "Yes, yes, that's it," he murmured, his fingers drumming against his chin. "Let me see the true extent of your pain, Hercules."

Hercules felt the searing heat of the wound as the needle continued to burrow through his flesh, the pain radiating outward in waves of pure agony. Despite the overwhelming torment, the demigod refused to give voice to his suffering, as his magnificent chest heaved rapidly. Inch by agonizing inch, the needle crept forward, the old man's hand steady despite the trembling of his limbs. Hercules could feel the sharp point slowly, inexorably, working its way toward the center of his pectoral muscle, the sensation of the metal piercing his flesh a torment beyond description.

"Please," Pavlos whispered, his voice barely audible, "forgive me."

Hercules mustered a weak, humorless chuckle. "I...hold no ill will...toward you, old man," he rasped, his voice strained and ragged. "You are but...a pawn in Demetrius' twisted game."

The old man's eyes widened, a spark of admiration flickering within their depths, but he dared not pause in his task, for the tyrant's watchful gaze was ever-present. Slowly as the needle emerged from the opposite side of his pectoral, the demigod's flesh parting around the sharp metal with a sickening crunch. Hercules' body convulsed, his muscles rippling with the sheer force of his agony, but still, he refused to cry out. Without a moment to catch his breath, Hercules watched in horror as the old man pushed another long needle slowly into the other side of his broad chest, mirroring the insane pain he just endured.

Demetrius let out a low, predatory chuckle, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic delight. "Remarkable," he purred, his gaze sweeping over Hercules' battered form. "Even in the face of such torment, you refuse to break." Demetrius continued, "You know, Hercules," Demetrius purred, his voice dripping with cruel amusement, "I find myself thoroughly enjoying this little spectacle. And I have all the time in the world to savor every moment of your torment."

Demetrius surveyed Hercules' battered form, his calculating gaze roaming over the demigod's muscular body. The demigod's flesh was now adorned with a grim array of gleaming needles. Yet, the tyrant's eyes narrowed as he observed a single, untouched expanse - Hercules' abdomen. The king's fingers danced across Hercules' abdomen, caressing the taut, rippling flesh as if it were a work of art. Hercules tensed, his muscles coiling with a mixture of revulsion and defiance, but the unyielding bonds that secured him prevented any meaningful resistance.

"Yes," Demetrius mused, his lips curling into a malicious smile, "I believe these magnificent abs of yours deserve a little...adornment, don't you think?"

With a nod, the tyrant gestured to the old man, who hesitated only for the briefest of moments before selecting another gleaming silver needle from the wooden box. The old man, his hand trembling, placed the sharp point of the needle against the demigod's skin, just above the waistline. Even with his exceptional courage, Hercules could not help but lean back away from the approaching needle. But the searing pain from the needles in his shoulders and arms posed a stark reminder that he had better stay put. Demetrius watched with rapt attention as the old man slowly, meticulously, began to guide the needle into Hercules' flesh. The demigod's body tensed, his powerful muscles straining against the unyielding bonds, but he refused to utter a single cry of anguish. As the needle pierced deeper, the searing pain radiated outward, causing Hercules to draw in a sharp, hissing breath.

Demetrius leaned in, his gaze fixed upon Hercules' face, searching for any sign of weakness or surrender. "That's it, Hercules," the tyrant purred, his voice dripping with malicious thrill. "Let me test the limit of your endurance."

Hercules gritted his teeth, his brow furrowed with the sheer effort of maintaining his composure. The pain was excruciating, a searing pain drowning him in misery, but he refused to give Demetrius the satisfaction of hearing him scream. As the needle emerged from the other side of his abdomen, Hercules felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The old man paused, his hand trembling as he selected another needle, its sharp point gleaming in the dim light of the cell. Demetrius watched, as the old man began to meticulously adorn Hercules' chiseled abs, one needle at a time. The demigod's body convulsed with each new puncture, but his defiant spirit remained unbroken. As the old man reached the final abdominal muscle, Hercules felt the pain rippling outward in a blinding wave. His vision momentarily blurred, the world around him seeming to tilt and sway, but still, he refused to surrender.

Demetrius let out a low, menacing chuckle, his fingers drumming against his chin as he observed the spectacle. "Remarkable," the tyrant murmured, as he circled around Hercules, his calculating gaze sweeping across the demigod's broad, muscular back. A frown crossed the tyrant's features as he observed the relatively "empty" expanse of flesh, untouched by the grim array of gleaming needles.

"It seems we have neglected a rather significant portion of your magnificent form, Hercules," Demetrius purred, his voice dripping with a vicious glee. "We must remedy that, don't you think?"

The old man tensed, his weathered hands trembling as he held the wooden box of needles, awaiting Demetrius' command.

"Start at the base of his neck," Demetrius ordered, his eyes narrowing with a predatory intensity. "And work your way down, every inch of his back, until you reach the small of his spine."

***