Hercules in Submission, chapter four (Patreon)

Chapter Two HERE: https://www.patreon.com/posts/hercules-in-two-17501597  

Chapter Three HERE: https://www.patreon.com/posts/hercules-in-17501773

Hercules jerked when the whip caught him across the back of the legs again. All he could do was pull harder. Tethered to a grist stone, he had to fight for every inch. The shackles made it hard to walk and every time the whip landed, Hercules could feel the fire in his hole double as he involuntarily tensed.

When that was added to the exhaustion, thirst and fear, today had gone a long way toward breaking him. The whip landed again, and Hercules leaned forward into his task. Ten years, the oracle had condemned him to. Ten years and ten tasks. If one of the tasks was to walk a circle to drive a grist stone, Hercules doubted his ability to survive. A year of this, and he would be quite mad. 

The reins brushed across his chest, tickling the hair, and Hercules focused on that annoyance rather than the thousand pains that tried to distract him. His shoulders ached from the weight of his harness. He felt like his groin had been rubbed raw by the rope. His jaw ached and he drooled endlessly at this point, which drove his thirst even more. Unable to ease any of those pains, Hercules pushed forward.

As he came around the circle again, the warrior with the whip stepped forward and grabbed the reins. “Whoa,” he said as if Hercules was, in fact, a dumb beast. Unable to summon the strength to even glare at the man, Hercules stopped, spread his legs as much as he could to ease the ache in his genitals, and waited. The warrior yanked on the reins, forcing Hercules’ head down, and he stumbled forward as the weight of the harness shifted. When the warrior stepped back, Hercules fell to his knees. Since he was down anyway, he rested his weight on his heels and closed his eyes.

“He looks calm enough,” a voice behind him said, but Hercules would have to turn his whole body to see who, and he didn’t have the strength to try.

“If he is feigning exhaustion, we may be putting the king at risk.”

“The king wants to see him, and his patience is not infinite.”

“I want his eyes covered. He cannot attack what he cannot see.”

“Don’t you think you are taking these concerns a little far?”

“Be grateful I do not ask you to blind him,” the first speaker said with venom in his voice, and then Hercules could hear him stride away, his sandals slapping the stone. A thin man with heavy age lines and a bare head walked into Hercules’ line of sight.

“Hercules, I am Damas, the tender of the king’s schedule. He will grant you an audience, but as you have heard, the head of the guards fears you are still a danger. If you attempt to take the life of any of our royal family, your death will be neither short nor merciful.”

After a day of Tiryns’ hospitality, Hercules could believe that.

“Help him to his feet,” Damas ordered. The solder’s help consisted in pulling at Hercules’ head. Damas came to his side and helped lift Hercules. “He’s hot and rather unpleasant to smell.”

“I can throw water on him,” the soldier offered.

Damas studied Hercules for a moment. “Perhaps you should. I will wait for him in the palace. And be sure you cover his eyes before you bring him or Acte will have you tied to the grist wheel.” Damas turned and walked away. Hercules regretted that because the others looked at him with such hate. Yes, Hercules had believed he was slaughtering the royal family of Tiryns, but he had been under Hera’s spell, and that spell almost cost him his children. These people believed he had lost his whole family, and they still treated him as the monster.

The soldier held the reins tightly, and led Hercules with a series of hard jerks that constantly made him fight for balance and suffer the intense heat of the pepper when he tensed. They headed to a well, and the soldier pulled up water, giving no warning before he flung the bucketful at Hercules’ head. Hercules breathed in the water before coughing and snorting as much as he could back out. When the second bucket headed his way, he breathed out to protect his nose. The third load of water hit his back, and every lash mark burned. The solder slopped a fourth up between Hercules’ legs, and now he had wet skin and wet rope between his legs. Just when he believed things could not be worse, reality proved him a fool.

The soldier grabbed the reins and started toward the main building. Hercules had to turn to the side to get through the narrow doors because the harness stuck out wider than a man’s shoulders. They climbed the stairs, and each step was a heat of rope burn and pepper, but Hercules ignored it. He felt so little in an average day—his skin was so impenetrable to human touch, that he suspected that it was not the torment that Bythios hoped.

They reached the top, and new soldiers met them. “Here,” one said, tossing something to Hercules’ guard. The man shook out a rough bag and then reached up to put it over Hercules’ head. “The king will see him now.”

Hercules was blind as the guards pulled and poked and prodded him into the king’s presence. He wouldn’t have known where to stop had someone not put a hand in his chest while another guard kicked the back of his knees. Hercules crashed to the stone floor and waited.

Footsteps approached him, and Hercules fisted his hands. If Eurystheus believed Hercules a danger to his children, he might strike without warning. If that happened, Hercules would die on this floor, and the secret of his children’s survival would die with him. King Eurystheus and his patron goddess Hera would have no more reason to plot against him.

“He’s quiet for a man who claims to want an audience.” The amusement, the educated tone—that was King Eurystheus.

“Bythios believed him a danger and bridled his mouth, my lord.”

“Did he? That explains it.” The footsteps came closer. “He seems to have gone overboard with the bindings.”

“Bythios was disturbed by the stories brought back from the oracle.” That sounded like it might be Damas, but Hercules didn’t know the man well enough to be sure.

“Yes, Hercules killed his children.”

“I think Bythios was more concerned that the hallucination made him believe he was killing your children.”

There was a long silence after that. So an oracle had sent them word. Hercules suspected it was the same oracle that had sent him here—that was the sort of irony the gods enjoyed.

“Free his mouth,” Eurystheus ordered.

“Yes, sire.” 

Hercules held still as the bag was half lifted. He could see the hands working at the ties around the branch in his mouth and he tried to relax his jaw as the man worked at the tight knots. “I knife might be helpful,” the man finally said. 

Footsteps came closer, and Hercules could see the embellished sandals standing right in front of him. A sharp dagger appeared and cut through the rope and leather. The bag shifted, and then Eurystheus cut through the ties on the other side and pulled out the branch.

Hercules gave a sigh of relief as the pressure finally vanished. He could not properly close his jaw, and he felt twin trickles of blood from the corners of his mouth, but at least the horrid thing was out.

“So, cousin, do you come to apologize for believing you had killed my family or to steal my throne?”

“Neither,” Hercules said. His voice was rough and his throat dry.

“If you desired to be treated as a beast in the field, I doubt you needed to travel as far as Tiryns to find someone that hated you enough to put you to use.”

Hercules touched the corner of his mouth with his tongue. He could feel the scab and taste the blood. “The oracle has sent me.”

“The oracle?”

“Yes,” Hercules said.

Something poked him in the back. “Address King Eurystheus properly.”

Hercules grimaced. “Yes, sire,” he amended his answer.

The second poke was much less gentle. “A slave does not speak to his king in such a manner.”

Hercules closed his eyes and fought with his own temper for a second. Eurystheus was a pompous ass who had a throne only because of Hera, but he was not the villain of this tale. “Yes, master,” he tried again.

Eurystheus chuckled. “If I thought that was sincere, I would be a very happy king.”

“The oracle set the terms of my atonement. I am to serve you for ten years and perform ten tasks which you will reveal to me.”

Again, there was a long pause. Hercules wished he could see what the others were doing during these gaps.

“I may have received a similar message from the oracle, but I know you Hercules. You are the sort of man to murder a tutor to relieve your own boredom. I do not trust this sudden interest in appeasing the gods.”

Hercules closed his eyes. He had killed Linus, and he had no defense for it. He’d been young and unaware of his full strength, but still, he was haunted by the sight of Linus’ skull crushed by the weight of his own lyre. “I know my own faults well enough that I consented to your men binding me,” Hercules said, “but I have killed my own children. What worse sin could a father commit? Do you not think that could make me change?”

“I don’t think anything can temper your arrogance, Hercules.”

“I think the man who killed Linus would never have spent the day grinding your emmer and wheat. I am no longer that man. Will you keep me at work as your ox? Is that what you require for me to atone for my sins? Should I put the strength of Zeus to work in your fields?”

“Don’t tempt me, slave.”

“Master,” Hercules said, pausing long enough to emphasize his use of the title, “I am not tempting you. If you chain me to a plow, I will pull it. The oracle sent me here, and I am here to stay for ten years and the completion of ten tasks. If a task is to be the grinding of a year’s wheat, then I will grind. If the task it to grind your wheat while bound and chained, then I will perform that task.”

“So, you humble yourself to me?” Eurystheus asked in an incredulous tone. Hercules hated that others had such a skewed view of him. He’d never been more than a pawn, a thing used by the gods and kings and even his family. He’d tried to tell his father, his mother, his step father, and even Megara’s father what he wanted. Instead he had learned to fulfill his duty. His supposed arrogance didn’t exist outside of stories.

On the other hand, Eurystheus was well known for his treaties and persuasive words. Hercules had to tread carefully if he wished to protect his secret.

“I have no arrogance left. I buried it with my children,” Hercules said.

“And will you subjugate yourself to me?” Eurystheus asked.

“Yes, master.”

Again, Eurystheus chuckled, and this time, the hairs on Hercules’ arm stood up. “What if I wished to put you on your belly and use you as a woman?”

“Use me as you will, master.” Hercules didn’t fear being used as a woman. He had dozens of lovers he had gone onto his belly for, and he’d never been weaker in the morning. He was often weak in the moment, lust stealing his strength until he could only lay in a wet spot caused by his own come, but the strength returned. 

“Get him up,” Eurystheus ordered. Hands pulled at Hercules, and he tried to cooperate. They pushed him one way and pulled him another, but with the bag over his head, Hercules couldn’t see well enough to help them move him along. They went through a doorway, and the harness hit the side of the door hard enough that Hercules stumbled.

“Through here,” Eurystheus said, and Hercules felt hands shove him hard. He stumbled forward and expected to land on his knees. Instead his chest hit a bed, and then people pulled him up onto it. Eurystheus laughed. “Bythios takes every precaution, doesn’t he?” Eurystheus pulled at the ropes shoved between Hercules’ ass cheeks.

“He is thorough, master,” Hercules said. “He’s put a number of peppers into my hole, and the rope was to make it more difficult for me to get them out.”

“Roll him,” Eurystheus ordered. With the bulky harness, that was not easily done, but soon Hercules was awkwardly braced on one hip, his shoulders in the air as fingers explored his abused cock and balls.

“That appears painful,” Eurystheus said. Hercules had assumed he was the one fondling him, but without being able to see, he couldn’t be sure.

“It is,” Hercules agreed. He didn’t add that he liked having something he could feel around his cock. When he had sex with women, he so often couldn’t feel much of anything, but as he had been told so often, he had a duty to provide heirs. 

“I think I like this.” Eurystheus tightened the ropes, and Hercules hissed and arched his back. It was all he could do to protest the rough treatment. “Do you have a complaint?”

“No, master,” Hercules hissed though clenched teeth.

“If you can keep that attitude and submit yourself to me, perhaps I will believe that you have changed.” Eurystheus pushed Hercules back down onto his stomach. “No complaints?”

“No, master.”

“Do you want to beg?”

Hercules definitely didn’t plan to do that. If Eurystheus used him, Hercules was no worse off. But if he begged, then he would lose some part of himself.

A hand slapped Hercules’s bare ass before Eurystheus said, “Maybe you aren’t that humble. I want to hear you beg for mercy.”

“I don’t know how to… I can’t…” Hercules took a deep breath. 

“Maybe I will put you outside my gates and let Hera deal with you.” There was a sadistic joy in his voice.

Hercules couldn’t allow that. If Hera believed he was going unpunished, she would be tempted to take too much interest in his life. It could lead her straight back to his children. Panic welled up in his chest.

“Please, master. Remind me that I am worthless compared to you.” The words choked him, but Hercules forced them out.

“No, you’re worthless compared to anyone, slave. You used to be an arrogant murderer, so who are you now?”

Hercules cringed from that description. Even without killing his children, it was true.  “I’m your slave. I’m nothing,” Hercules said. His voice cracked in the middle.

“You never learned discipline,” Eurystheus said, he brought his hand down three times, each harder than the last, and Hercules was embarrassed to find that the gathering heat was affecting his cock. “Your mother indulged you and Zeus shielded you from ever having to face your mistakes.” Eurystheus brought his hand down three more times. “Admit it. You are a spoiled monster.”

Hercules didn’t want to say the words—they were close enough to the truth that he feared them.

“Be a good slave or you will not like what happens,” Eurystheus warned. Hercules closed his eyes tightly and tried to find some balance. He had come here with a purpose, but he was tired and sore, and he couldn’t track reality.

Eurystheus brought down a switch or whip on Hercules’ ass, and a line of fire made Hercules jerk. “Three strokes for every moment of silence,” Eurystheus warned. He brought the whip down three times, and Hercules felt like his skin might come off. The sharp pain made the world face away as he centered only on that. Three more stokes came down right on top of the first three, and Hercules cried out in pain.

“I could happily do this all day,” Eurystheus warned.

“I am spoiled,” Hercules shouted in the middle of the next set of three. “I should have been flogged for Linus’ death. I should have been forced to look his wife in the eye as I told her that I had killed him out of frustration.”

The whipping stopped. “Keep going,” Eurystheus said.

“I shouldn’t have been sent to mountains as if killing a man deserved reward.”

“You don’t even know what to ask forgiveness for. I should keep you in my stables because you are as bright as an ox.”

“Eurystheus.” Hercules growled the name, and a dozen swift hits with the whip came down on his unprotected ass. He cried out, but he couldn’t escape. The weight of the harness held his shoulders down, and someone was sitting on his legs.

“Do not use that tone, slave. Clear?”

“Yes, master,” Hercules said in his meekest voice. There was a long pause, and he wondered if it hadn’t been contrite enough. Eventually, though, Eurystheus spoke.

“Whose ears did you cut off?”

Hercules could feel himself blush. “Master, it was only two of them. I didn’t set out to do that.”

“Who?” Eurystheus demanded.

“Two Minyan emissaries who had come to claim an unfair tribute.”

“Tribute is to repay a state for the cost of having to defeat another, so what was unfair about the Theban tribute to the Minyan state?”

“They wanted 100 oxen per year for twenty years. The Thebans could not pay that price year after year,” Hercules explained.

“So, the tribute was unfair?”

Of course it was. Hercules hated the way that those in power used it against the farmer, the worker, the man who only wanted to feed his family. And the oxen came from those average Thebans, not the herds of the wealthy. Or at least the wealthy missed their oxen less than those Thebans who had to send their children into the fields after the Minyans had demanded the yearly tribute. “The tribute was destroying people who didn’t deserve it.” As an afterthought, Hercules added, “Master.”

“Perhaps they should have considered that before killing the Minyan king,” Eurystheus said dryly. “So tell me, what did the Thebans demand after you led them to a victory over the Minyans?”

Hercules opened his mouth, but the trap was laid out in front of him so clearly. Eurystheus truly did have the advantage with words.

“Yes, perhaps you see now. You led your people to victory claiming that tributes were unfair, and then you allowed the Theban king to demand twice the tribute. Twice as many innocents are destroyed, but you don’t see them. You truly are an unbearded and unschooled child. I should cut off your beard to remind you what a fool you are,” Eurystheus said, and he brought the whip down twice more.

“Eurystheus,” Hercules said, and he hated the weakness he could hear in his voice.

“Cousin,” Eurystheus said softly. “You know why the oracle sent you to me.”

“Because it prefers Hera?” Hercules guessed.

“Because you are a great fool and too few people will tell you. Now, will you truly submit to me, bend your knee to me, listen to me?”

Hercules truly thought about it this time. The silence grew heavy as Eurystheus’s words weighed at him as much as the bindings on his body.

“Your children are dead, the Minyan farmers are starving, Linus is in his grave—how many more mistakes must you make before you learn your lesson? How many innocent lives will you destroy?” Eurystheus’s voice was thick with emotion.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” Hercules said. He meant it.

“Then yield, and for once do not use that strength of yours to substitute for listening. Submit to me until you learn to be more than the tool of your father.”

Hercules swallowed. This felt like something more dangerous than a rape. If Eurystheus had taken his body, it would have meant nothing to him. It would have been one more wound inflicted by an enemy, but this was something more. Eurystheus wanted Hercules’ soul, and Hercules wasn’t sure what his cousin planned to do with it once he owned it.

“Last chance, Hercules,” Eurystheus whispered into his ear. “Say you submit to me or I will put you out, and you will never learn of the tasks Hera has set for you.”

And in that case, Hera would seek other revenge. Feeling a dark fear closing over him, Hercules pressed his forehead to the bed. “I submit to you. I am yours, Master.”

Had his children died at his hands, would that have made this moment better or worse? He’d been used against innocents while Athena and Zeus promised that he was defending the innocent. He’d been shielded from his own crimes. Even when he listened to the oracle, he’d bristled at the unfairness of it, but if he had killed his children, how could ten years repay the lives he’d taken?

For a time, Eurystheus was silent. Eventually he said, “You would be safer taking a position in my stables than you would continuing to fight battles for the gods. I would definitely be safer if you had not brought this battle to my door.”

“Would you have me work as an animal tender or an ox?” Hercules asked. He had not enjoyed being a beast in the harness. 

“Either,” Eurystheus said, “although I think you would learn more from being an ox, at least for the time.”

“The oracle said that you would have tasks for me. I have to atone for what I’ve done,” Hercules said softly. For the first time, he understood the danger to Eurystheus. Hercules’ sins had brought Eurystheus to the attention of the gods. While Hercules didn’t expect his father to take any actions, Athena had championed him in the past. He wasn’t sure what the goddess would do if she found him tethered to a plow or if she learned that Hera had him bound to slavery for ten years. However, it was better to give Hera the ten years she wanted than to invite her to seek some greater revenge.

“You would definitely be safer locked in my stables,” Eurystheus said with a sigh. “However, the oracle has set your first task. You are to find and kill the Nemean Lion.”

Hercules suspected the task would not be as easy as killing a beast, but at least he understood the task. Eurystheus moved to the side, and then pulled the bag from Hercules’ head. He blinked as the light blinded him. It took a few seconds for him to focus on Eurystheus. He was older than the last time Hercules had seen him. Streaks of gray stained his hair, even though he was only days older than Hercules. 

“Will you release me so I can begin my quest?” Hercules asked. Someone behind him poked him with a spear, and Hercules realized they’d had an audience the whole time. He blushed, but he also added, “Master.” To call Eurystheus master when he wore a blindfold was difficult, but to look this man in the eye and acknowledge his ownership made something in Hercules stomach curl into knots.

“Ask more politely, slave of mine,” Eurystheus said.

“Master, will you please release me so I can begin my quest?”

“Tomorrow or the day after,” Eurystheus said. “You have traveled a long distance and worked like a draft animal all day, so tonight allow the stable master to care for you as he would one of his animals. If he says you are fit and healthy, you may go tomorrow.”

“And if he does not?” Hercules asked. The stable master seemed like a fair man, but Hercules wanted freedom to move his limbs, even if the oracle decreed he should not be a free man for many years.

“Then you remain in his care until he believes you healthy. And if you argue, I will have him make a bridle and bit that fit you better than that stick shoved between your lips,” Eurystheus warned. “Understood?”

“Yes, master.” Hercules shifted and his neck ached from the harness. Perhaps serving ten years under Eurystheus would be more difficult than he had imagined. So far he had served one day of slavery, and he could already feel bits of him flaking away like imitation gold falling from the brass form underneath.