Hercules and the Nemean Lion, part 4 (Patreon)

Hercules tended the fire in front of Bythios’ hut. Seven months. His quest had kept him busy for seven months and now snow dusted the ground and the trees stuck bare fingers up toward the heavens. The silent heavens. Hercules had not yet heard anything from Zeus or Athena. He could only assume that meant that nothing had changed.

He used a stick to poke at the fire, and a puff of smoke rose up into the air. Bythios might leave him out here for five more months, until the end of his first year. The oracle had sentenced Hercules to ten years and ten quests, but he wasn’t sure if that meant that he could only complete one quest in a year or if he could end his slavery more quickly by completing his quests. He would soon find out. If the oracle had not sent Eurystheus word about the next quest, Hercules could do nothing but suffer slavery until word came.

He hoped he had to serve under Sarpiden. Being a beast in the stables and pulling a mill was less onerous than being forced to bend his knee to someone. But the choice was not his. Hercules carefully avoided looking at the shackles and bridle next to the smith’s block. Someone had visited because a heavy harness like for an ox but scaled down for a man waited for him.

His fear was that he would be put in service to Bythios. The man searched for a reason to kill him, and given his love for the young princes, that was unlikely to change. Besides, service to Sarpiden required no emotional effort. He didn’t care how Hercules felt. Being around Bythios felt like walking while Poseidon shook the ground, only it was Hercules’s emotions that trembled.

Tiryns’ walls looked empty without the thongs of sellers and petitioners crowded close, but it did make it easy to spot a small cart coming out the city gates and turning toward the hut. Hercules tossed the stick he’d been holding into the fire and stood. The cart had covered about half the distance before Hercules could say for sure that it was Bythios who drove the cart. He had wide shoulders, and curled hair a bit longer than most soldiers. He also carried his war spear.

Despite the cold, Hercules shrugged out of his cloak and even his chiton so Bythios would know that he did not stand armed. The horse slowed on the rocky slope and Hercules walked slowly toward the cart, his movements easy, even when Bythios put a hand on his spear. At a particularly large rock, Hercules sat and waited. 

“You’ve returned,” Bythios said when he was close enough to speak without shouting.

“I told you that I follow the word of the oracle.”

Bythios pulled on the reins, stopping his horse before he stared at Hercules. “On your knees, slave.”

Hercules sighed, but he slid off the rock and chose and least rocky spot to kneel. Bythios climbed out of his cart and took his horse by the bridle, leading it toward the hut, but Hercules remained on his knees. Free men sometimes played games with the enslaved, and Hercules understood that. He’d been ordered to kneel, and if he was cold or if his knees ached, that did not matter. Standing would earn punishment.

Bythios led his horse up to the hut and tied its reins to a wooden support before going inside. He would find that Hercules had not touched the leather or steel bindings, if that’s what he feared. There were no traps. There was the small cache of food Hercules had gathered as he traveled, since he avoided the small villages that might offer him provisions, and there was the pelt. 

Several minutes passed before a voice called, “Get in here, slave.”

Hercules stood and headed toward the hut. When he reached it, he was unsurprised to find Bythios standing with the smith’s tools in hand. Bythios pointed to the ground, and Hercules moved to that spot and knelt, placing his hands behind his back. The shackles were ice cold as Bythios fit them around his wrists, but Hercules didn’t comment as Bythios pounded the pin into place. He worked quickly, and soon Hercules was chained.

“I did warn you that you would wear this whenever you returned,” Bythios said, and he sounded very odd as he held up the bridle.

“Yes, you did. I have no objection,” Hercules said.

Immediately Bythios’ expression hardened. “I did not ask for your opinion, slave.” He put the bridle over Hercules’ head and began to tighten the straps. The bit pressed into Hercules’ mouth so he had no opportunity to ask what he had said to anger Bythios.

Bythios lifted the harness and put the curved padded board across Hercules’ shoulders before he began to work the hanging leather straps. It was cleverly made, with thick leather that went around Hercules’ waist and arms to hold the harness in place and then a criss-cross pattern across his chest, probably so that Hercules could pull forward without having the harness come off. It suggested someone had given this thought, which was an uncomfortable situation. However Hercules kept his muscles relaxed as Bythios tightened it around him.

He was almost surprised when Bythios left him his loincloth and boots, but the chill was quickly making his skin turn to plucked bird flesh.

“Comfortable?” Bythios asked cruelly, since Hercules had no way to answer. “You will be allowed in Tiryns when you are worn out and weak with fatigue, and not before, understand?”

Hercules gave a nod, but he wasn’t sure his agreement was required at his point. Bythios threaded a rope through the part of the bridle that hung below Hercules’ chin and let him outside. When he pulled a tangle of metal hooks and rope out of the back of the cart, Hercules started to get a little nervous. He shook out the tangles and draped the contraption over his arm before picking Hercules’ reins up again and leading him down the very path Hercules had walked to meet him.

They reached the large rock Hercules had sat on, and Bythios stopped. “I’m going to rebuild the hut, but as you can see, the earthquake that ruined it sent the rocks tumbling down the slope. You will drag them back up.”

Hercules eyed the large boulder and the steep slope up to the hut. This should count as a second quest for the task seemed as impossible as that of Sisyphus. However, no one asked for his opinion, and he could not give it with the bit in his mouth. He watched as Bythios fastened the ropes around the boulder.

When Bythios finished, the boulder was harnessed as effectively as Hercules himself. Bythios gave a hard tug, and all the ropes held. Only then did he turn to Hercules.

“Turn around, slave.”

Hercules turned so his back was to the boulder, and Bythios attached the two metal hooks to the rings on either side of Hercules’ harness. Then he gave Hercules a sharp slap on the ass. “Pull slave.”

Hercules leaned forward and all the leather straps tightened. The front part of the harness board pressed into his shoulder and Hercules put his head down and threw all his weight into moving the boulder. The ground groaned and cracked, but nothing moved, but Hercules kept trying.

Bythios walked around to the front and picked up Hercules’ reins. “Come on, boy, put you back into it,” he ordered as he pulled Hercules’ head to the right. Hercules shifted his angle and did put his back into the effort. When Bythios leaned down and picked up a thick stick with its dead leaves still attached, Hercules knew what to expect. Bythios pulled his head to the left and then added a swift hit with the stick. It stung, but Hercules ignored that and focused on the small pops he could feel through his harness. The rock was trying to pull free of the ground, and Hercules doubled his efforts.

His breath came in heavy gasps now. Bythios walked in front and pulled up on his reins, pushing against Hercules’ sweating chest with his hand. Confused, Hercules took a step back, and all the ropes went slack. Bythios pulled the reins to the right and hit Hercules much harder than before. Hercules lunged forward, and all the ropes jerked hard and he stumbled forward a step as the rock gave.

“Good boy,” Bythios said, and Hercules was caught between anger at the condescension and the pride of accomplishment. Bythios pushed back against Hercules again and then pulled his head to the left before hitting him with the stick, and now Hercules understood the pattern. He shifted his weight from left to right until the rock finally slid free of its cradle.

Then gravity tried to pull it downslope. Bythios stood next to Hercules, whipping the back of his legs to encourage Hercules up the slope, and up Hercules pulled. The harness was so tight that he fought for every breath and his boots often slipped on the loose rock so that before long both his knees bled, but he pulled. Slowly he forced gravity to yield as he dragged the boulder up the slope, Bythios walking beside him the whole time.

The combination of the warm of the whip marks and the praise had an unfortunate effect on his cock, and Hercules was grateful for the loincloth. Otherwise the humiliation would have unmanned him. Bythios stopped Hercules when the boulder rested next to the hut.

“Whoa. Good boy. Sit.” Bythios urged Hercules back so he could sit on the boulder. “You’ve made a mess out of your knees.” Bythios took the reins and tucked them under Hercules’ legs before tying the rope tightly. The shortness of the rope forced Hercules to hunch over, and his legs were now tightly tied together. Hercules was beginning to think that Bythios had an unnatural fondness for bindings, but then the reason for his precautions became clear.  

Bythios knelt down in front of Hercules and wiped his bloody knees. He took a skin of water and carefully washed the broken skin so that watery trails of blood ran down Hercules’ legs, and then he used the edge of his thumbnail to pull out a bit of gravel that had embedded itself in his flesh.

When he was done, he looked up at Hercules. Hercules could see the confusion in those light brown eyes. They were a striking color—so light that Hercules could see the darker ring of brown along the outside and the variation of color within. They were interesting eyes, and since Hercules had no freedom to turn his head away, he chose to gaze into them.

Bythios snorted and loosened the knot tying Hercules’ legs. “You’re going to pull these boulders back up the slope until you are so exhausted that you can hardly walk, and if I believe you are feigning exhaustion, I will whip you senseless, understood?”

Hercules nodded.

From the way Bythios pressed his lips together, he didn’t totally believe it, but he didn’t issue more threats. He cupped his hand in front of Hercules mouth and poured water into it. Most of the water had dribbled away before Hercules recovered from his shock and leaned forward to slurp what he could around the bit.

The water tasted of cured leather and sweat, but Hercules didn’t care. Bythios poured a second handful of water and a third, and Hercules drank them just as eagerly. 

“It’s cold out here. I need my cloak,” Bythios said before he headed for the cart. Hercules was anything but cold. The light whipping on the back of his thighs still sent tingles of warmth through him, and he sweated from the effort. However, his breath turned to fog in front of him, so perhaps it was cold for those not being worked like a draft animal.

Bythios came back, caught Hercules’ reins and led him downslope again. They had just pulled the sixth stone up the hill when Hercules thought of the men of Cleonae. He had hunted for them, returning with thirty brace of fowl and a dozen rabbits. However he’d seen their fields, crude things with lines of plantings that had to dart and dodge around boulders. They would have valued this labor, although Hercules would have died in shame to have those who saw him as a hero witness his shame. It was fine for Bythios and those of Tiryns to see him in chains because they believed him a monster. Hercules wanted to retain his good name in Cleonae.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t farmers equally poor in the hills around Tiryns.

When Bythios tried to lead him back downslope, Hercules set his feet and shook his head. Bythios whirled around, his hand on his sword as though expecting attack, and Hercules could only take a step back and avert his gaze to reassure Bythios that was not his intent.

“What? Do you need to piss?”

Hercules did, but it wasn’t a pressing need, not yet. He raised his head and chewed at the bit.

“Thirsty?”

Hercules shook his head.

“Hungry?”

Hercules shook his head and opened his mouth wider to exaggerate the motion of his jaws.

Bythios’ gaze turned dark. “You want to speak?”

Hercules nodded. 

Bythios jerked at the reins so hard that Hercules stumbled forward. “I don’t want to hear your complaints.”

Hercules narrowed his gaze and glared at Bythios. He had never once complained, not in Tiryns, anyway. And he had every right. He’d been convicted of a crime he never committed, one that had been orchestrated by a goddess who had driven him mad. And still, Hercules was not complaining.

Bythios studied him for a time. “Every favor requires repayment,” he said slowly. Hercules waited for him to name his price.  “A dozen lashes with a horsewhip in return for one conversation.”

Hercules sucked air in through his nose and considered the offer. A whipping would hurt, but probably not as much as Bythios assumed. Hercules nodded.

Bythios’ eyes grew large and he drew back for a second before he gave a huff of laughter. “You are not all that intelligent,” he announced. It was a fair assessment because an intelligent man would have figured out how to appease Hera, and Hercules never had. When Bythios reached for the bridle, Hercules leaned forward so he could better reach the clasps.

“Go on, speak your mind,” Bythios ordered.

“I do need to pee, although that his not my first concern,” Hercules said.

“And what is this great concern of yours?” Bythios said before Hercules could continue. 

Hercules felt a flare of temper at not being allowed to finish his own thoughts in his own way, but complaining would get him nothing, so he kept his frustration to himself. “Perhaps there are farmers near who would better appreciate the moving of a few boulders from their fields. You would still get the rocks for your hut, but the labor would do some good, more so than dragging rocks from one part of an abandoned hill to another.”

Bythios grabbed the strap that went around Hercules’ stomach and pulled him close. “So you think to do our farmers some favors and so gain leniency? Will you have them love you so much that King Eurystheus fears to put you in your proper place?” 

“I think I will be bridled and the farmers will never know who chose to have me clear their fields. I think that if I am to labor myself to death I would have it do some good.”

“You want to do right by the people of Tiryns?” Bythios didn’t even hide his disgust and disbelief.

“I want to help someone,” Hercules said. “I have heard it said that the best way to avoid the sharp claws of Eris is to work harder, to prove one’s worth so that not even the daughter of Nyx can torment you with whispers of all you lack.”

“And so you wish to do good works rather than be praised for them?” Bythios shook his head. “Perhaps you do want the first, but it is your desire for the second that drives you. Perhaps you think this will soften my heart. Perhaps you want me to become a worshipper of Hercules, the great.”

“No.”

“Good, because that will not happen. You are Hercules the ignorant, the murderer of your children, the man who would have murdered my princes. You are the fool who has led other fools to war and you are the rusted and broken tool of the gods. I have no admiration for someone who can take the gifts that Zeus and Hera offered and turn them to stupidity.”

“Hera offered me no gift.” Hercules spat on the ground. “Athena took me to Olympus and she convinced Hera to nurse an abandoned waif.”

“And Hera did,” Bythios said. “Perhaps you do not appreciate gifts, so I shall make sure to never offer you one. You traded this conversation for twelve lashes, and I will complete our trade before you might suspect it a gift.”

Hercules opened his mouth to defend himself, but Bythios was quick with the bridle, slipping it over his head and fastening the bit in place before he began to tighten all the clasps. Their conversation was over, and Hercules suspected he would have no others for many months. Oh, the stable boy would remove his bridle, but that boy was touched in the head and talked only of girls.

Bythios unhooked the ropes and led Hercules over to the largest boulder. It rested near an old log someone had dragged up here, and Bythios pushed Hercules down so that his chest rested on the boulder and he faced the log. Bythios wasted no time in tying Hercules reins to one of the protruding branches so that Hercules could not stand. Between the bridle and the weight of the plow harness, Hercules would have trouble freeing himself, even if he tried.

And if he did try, Bythios was there with his sword to end the attempt long before Hercules succeeded. 

Bythios pulled the loincloth off Hercules before going to the cart. Hercules could hear his boots crunch against the gravel as he walked. When he returned, he gave his whip a few cracks in the air, and a shiver went through Hercules. 

The first strike came down, and for a second, Hercules didn’t realize the whip had made contact with his flesh. Now that he’d stopped working, he was cold, and his exposed ass had developed some numbness. After a few seconds, the heat started—a line of fire that made Hercules gasp and squirm. 

“You will learn to accept your lot without asking for more,” Bythios said. He pressed his hand against the lash mark, and now heat added to heat. Hercules felt each finger, the warmth of Bythios’ hand, the string where his hand crossed the lash. All the various sensations sunk into him like a ship going slowly under in a calm sea. And as it sank, it headed straight for Hercules’ cock.

He closed his eyes from the shame, but he couldn’t control his cock’s interest any more than he could choose to stop breathing. After a minute or so, Bythios removed his hand and the second lash followed soon after. Again, there was an initial numbness followed by the bright heat that made Hercules press up onto his toes and squirm since he could do nothing else.

“I haven’t even broken skin, so settle down,” Bythios said. He patted Hercules’ ass with the strength one might pat a horse or an ox, and that brought more heat to Hercules’ skin. He felt like he was on fire. If he’d been given a choice right now, he’d be torn between throwing himself in icy water to ease the flame or grabbing his own cock and jerking it until he came all over his hand, spilling his seed to the ground.

“I am surprised. I thought that second hit would show more. You’re tough, tougher than I thought,” Bythios said. He backed up, and Hercules braced himself. Sure enough, the next two hits were much harder. The first hit from the right, the tip curling around to bit at his hip, and the second following so closely that Hercules didn’t even have time to catch his breath. The second was a backhand lash from the left, and this time when the tip curled around, it nearly reached his cock. The tip tore at the soft of his skin where his hip and torso met, and Hercules bellowed.

“Finally, a response,” Bythios said with a chuckle. “I am prepared to tell everyone that you have both the brain of an ox and the hide of one. He ran his fingers over the length of the two lash marks, and Hercules twitched. When Bythios leaned into Hercules and reached around to explore where the whip had curled around, Hercules stood immobile. It was as if Medusa had turned him to stone because he dare not even breathe as Bythios explored with his fingertips. “You have some bleeding, but I think you’ll be fine,” he said after exploring the right side. 

He then explored the left side, and this time he had to reach farther. His fingers brushed against the nest of hair between Hercules’ legs, and Hercules shivered. Perhaps it was fear or humiliation or lust… Hercules could not distinguish one from another right now. Bythios hesitated, but then he reached farther and found Hercules’ hard cock, throbbing with need.

“Well this is interesting. You don’t mind the pain.”

Hercules avoided pain, but what the whip offered wasn’t pain. It was heat. Glorious heat that sunk into his bones and helped him feel alive. Bythios tightened his grip on Hercules’ shaft, and Hercules groaned with need.

“How much pain do you enjoy, son of Zeus?” Bythios backed away, and struck again, this time with a pair of hits. Bythios aimed more carefully and the tip didn’t curl around to cut Hercules, but the force of the hits drove him into the rock. Pride forsaken, Hercules pressed his swollen member against the cold rock and thrust as much as his bonds allowed.

He might have come, only Bythios grabbed him by the hips and pulled him back. “This is not for your pleasure, slave. This is payment for use of your mouth, and I know how to make sure you remember your place and don’t enjoy this.”

Hercules could hear fabric rustling, but he couldn’t turn to see what Bythios was doing. The mystery was solved when cold fingers shoved up his ass without warning. Hercules snorted out his nose, disgusted when snot ran out and he could do nothing to wipe it. Bythios stretched him quickly and without mercy. He had some sort of slick, but it wasn’t enough. Hercules could feel the drag of skin against skin, and the friction created a heat that drove him up onto his toes. He grunted into the bit, desperate to beg for more and grateful for the steel and leather in his mouth that kept him from debasing himself by doing just that.

Too soon Bythios shoved his cock into Hercules in one long motion. Their bodies slapped together and Bythios pulled back and began pounding into him immediately. With no chance to adjust to the impressive size of Bythios’ cock, Hercules had to endure as muscles stretched and skin warmed and his cock grew harder and harder.

“You are here to serve, slave. You are to be used and bring others pleasure.”

Hercules would have agreed in a moment if it meant that Bythios would keep using him. Skin slapped against skin and now Bythios was hammering in so hard that every thrust slammed Hercules into the rock. It was perfect. He could feel everything, and the numbness that so often surrounded him vanished. 

Bythios reached around and grabbed Hercules’ cock, and for a second, Hercules hated him for it. The soft hand muted the sharp sensations he craved. But then Bythios tightened his fingers so much that tears came to Hercules’ eyes and he trust into Bythios’s hand.

Hercules came with an animalistic scream, but by then, Bythios’ come was already leaking out of his ass. Hercules fisted his hands and rode waves of heat and pleasure to heights he’d not known before. He thought he heard the distant cry of a peacock, that distinctive almost childlike wail. Perhaps Hera watched. If so, this was not the punishment she probably hoped. 

Exhausted, Hercules could only slump against the rock.

“Now let’s see if you enjoy the last six lashes as much as the first,” Bythios said. He stepped away, and Hercules missed his body heat. The next lashes fell harder. The warmth still soaked into Hercules’ skin, but tingling pains and aches appeared in its wake. Six lashes, and between each, Bythios would run his hands over Hercules’ body, checking for blood or whispering truths about what a whore Hercules was, about how Bythios could do this every day for five months, and he would probably enjoy the attention.

Hercules closed his eyes so that Bythios could not read the truth in them. Hercules would enjoy this. His whole body was one exposed nerve and Bythios ran his fingers along it until it sang. And yes, the song was sharp and hurt in places, but it was better than silence.

Bythios finished and untied Hercules’ reins. “The nearest section of farmland is miles from here, and you will be dragging a boulder back the entire way. I hope you have thought this through,” Bythios said. He picked up his cloak and pulled it around himself before he picked up Hercules’ dusty loin cloth.

“Do you still need to pee?”

Hercules nodded, and Bythios led him toward a bush and held Hercules’ penis as he peed, putting the loin cloth back on when he was finished.

“Tiring you out may require more effort than I expected,” Bythios said. The soldier looked ready for his own bed, but instead he walked Hercules to the cart and tied him to the back before harnessing the horse. “Let’s go find some farmers for you to impress with your impression of an ox.”

Hercules and the Nemean Lion

Part One 

Part Two 

Part Three 

Part Four 

Part Five 

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