You look like Shit
"Example is not the main thing in influencing others. It is the only thing."
- Albert Schweitzer
Jordan opened his eyes, groaning loudly as feeling returned to his body.
The sensation was not pleasant. Far from it. His head throbbed in time to his heartbeat, each pulse a wave of pain that left him retching and nauseated. His wrists were bound together by a thick flaxen rope that raised him up, pulling his arms over his head. Looking down, he realized that he was strung up like a side of meat, feet bound together with more rope, his toes barely scraping the ground. He was imprisoned within the dark interior of a large tent and could hear the murmur and babble of many voices coming from outside.
Jordan instantly recognized the voice. His heart sank. He knew that his life was now forfeit and what little remained of it would probably be spent in agonizing pain.
"Hello, Slovenia." He croaked, his throat was parched and his lips were cracked and swollen.
He raised his head to look at her. She stood before him, every bit the warrior Queen. Even in the low light, her armor shone with polished brightness. They appeared to be alone in what he assumed was her personal tent. He noticed that she was idly toying with a wickedly curved dagger that glinted menacingly in the gloom of the tent.
"You look radiant as ever," he said, "the years have been kind."
He meant it too. She had grown impossibly beautiful in the years since their last meeting. It almost hurt to look at her.
She hesitated for a moment before replying.
"You... well, to be honest, you look like shit."
He was a far cry from the powerfully toned young man she had fallen for. While she had led her army from the front lines, charging headlong into battle after battle, honing her skills, and strengthening her body so that it appeared carved from marble, he had lounged in the rear of his army letting his muscles atrophy and whither. He was by no means a feeble man, but his paunch and jowls now disguised his once glorious core of power and strength.
"Oh, you know how it is, you try to stay in shape, but who has the time?" he joked.
His attempt at levity was slightly spoiled by a fit of coughing that left him gasping for breath.
"Spare yourself the effort of speaking, Jordan," Slovenia said, gently resting her hand on his heaving chest.
"I have no interest in anything you have to say."
She held her dagger up to his face and traced the blade against the line of his cheek and jaw. She grimaced at the sight of his beard matted and patchy with what looked like the remains of entire meals embedded in the thatch.
"What a sorry excuse for a king you are. What shame your subjects must feel when they see you."
She traced the blade slowly over his skin, down his bare chest. She applied a little more pressure as the edge crossed beneath his right breast, breaking the skin for the first time. Jordan grunted and pulled away in response but the effort was futile as his bonds kept him completely at her mercy.
"Remove his loincloth." Slovenia ordered, "Let me gaze upon the glory of the 'High' Chieftain of the Poan steppes."
Israel stepped out of the shadows and whipped the garment away from Jordan's waist. Slovenia wrinkled her nose in disgust. A putrid odor wafted up from his groin. The stench was so overpowering she very nearly gagged.
"I shudder to think how many innocent serving maidens you have spoiled with that infectious wand."
She held her breath and using the flat of her blade lifted the offending member and inspected it closely.
She couldn't help but marvel at the panoply of infections that appeared to festoon its surface. She had been harboring a fantasy of inflicting sadistic sexual torture on him but the sight of his spoiled penis put her off that line of thinking completely.
"Well this is very disappointing, Jordan," she said, thankful for the gauntlets that protected her hands.
"Hold him!" she barked at Israel.
Israel braced himself behind Jordan, wrapping his arms around his broad chest. Slovenia calmly wrapped her gloved forefinger and thumb around his dangling testicles. Jordan moaned in response. Slovenia paused and held his gaze. For the briefest of moments, the universe held its breath.
She pulled down sharply and severed his balls from the base of his penis with a stroke of her dagger. Jordan roared in agony, jerking wildly against Israel. Blood sprayed forth from his ruined groin. Slovenia stepped back quickly, being careful to avoid contact with the flood of crimson that spilled at her feet. Jordan's roar elevated in pitch and stretched out into a piercing wail.
"Here," Slovenia said to Israel, handing him Jordan's gonads, "Shut him up."
Israel released his hold on Jordan and took the offending article from her. He gave her a quizzical look as Jordan continued writhing and screaming.
"Yes, with those," she said, gesturing for him to proceed.
"As you wish, my Lady."
He stepped in front of Jordan and before the wailing king could react, rammed the bloody sac into his mouth. He quickly fished a strip of cloth from his robe and used it as a gag for the wailing chieftain.
Silence descended. Jordan's eyes widened in horror as the realization of what had just happened sank in. He began puffing heavily through his nose, willing himself not to swallow or vomit. He could taste the warm, metallic saltiness of his balls as they rolled around in his mouth.
Slovenia observed his struggle with a cold, dispassionate eye. She was not quite satisfied that he was yet fit for purpose.
"There's something missing from this picture Israel." She said turning to her eunuch.
Israel winced but was quick to disguise the reaction. This was not dissimilar to his own emasculation and was flushing out memories that had long since been buried.
"Tears!" Slovenia exclaimed excitedly, "That's what it is."
She approached Jordan, dagger raised. Jordan spotted her approach and began twisting and shouting in muffled response.
"Oh hush." She soothed, "This won't hurt. Just a light bit of cosmetic work, you'll barely feel a thing."
With that, she grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back, and made two small cuts beneath his eyes. Jordan began wailing and thrashing again as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.
"Perfect." She said, genuinely satisfied at the sight of the thin rivulets of blood trickling down his cheeks, "Tears of remorse, they do become you Jordan."
"Cut him loose and bring him outside. Our banner is ready. It is time to let it fly."
She turned and marched out of the tent, leaving Israel to carry out her instructions.
Israel watched her leave before turning his attention to the bedraggled Lord. He had stopped flailing against his bonds and was softly whimpering to himself.
The eunuch pulled out his own dagger and cut the rope that held Jordan upright. The lord collapsed to the floor, moaning and writhing in renewed agony. Israel sheathed his dagger and knelt beside him, lifting Jordan's head and cradling it in his arms.
"There, there." He crooned, "This will soon be over."
He pulled a small leather pouch from a fold in his robe, opened it up, and poured its contents into his open hand. He held the fine grey powder out and instructed Jordan to snort it. The battered king pulled his head away, refusing to comply.
"My Lord, I hold no grudge against you," Israel said, unperturbed, "mark my words, you are about to suffer death in unspeakable agony. At least let me grant you this small succor."
Jordan looked into his fellow eunuch's eyes, he sensed the compassion and sincerity there and nodded in acquiescence. Israel held his hand up to Jordan's nose again and watched as the lord inhaled the powder. He waited a moment for the effects to become apparent. A glazed, far-away look that anyone with a passing familiarity with opium would recognize.
"Here we go," Israel said, standing up as he brushed the left-over opium powder from his hands.
He clapped his hands. Two slaves hurried into the tent bowing and nodding nervously.
"Please bring our guest outside. He is looking somewhat pale and some fresh air should do him a world of good."
With that, he bustled out of the tent.
The two slaves hauled Jordan up by his armpits and dragged him outside. There was a shout and the assembled host of Slovenia's army roared into life as the captured leader of their enemy was tossed at the feet of their divine Countess like a side of meat.
Slovenia basked and preened in the waves of adulation. She smiled warmly at Israel who was standing behind and to her left.
"Warriors of the Wreghan Mark!" She cried, turning to face her army, her clear voice carrying out above the horde. "I give you, Jordan, High Chief of the Poan Empire. What better banner to hold at the head of our legions."
She turned to one of her attendants who stood at her side. He was carrying a long, sturdy pole. The pole was fifteen feet in length, carved to roughly two inches in diameter, and tapered to a rounded tip about an inch in diameter. There were two small pegs attached about four feet from the narrowed end.
"Mount the flag," she commanded.
The attendant nodded. He removed Jordan's gag and grimaced distastefully as the warlord’s bloody testicles dribbled out and landed on the ground. He pulled a small slab of lard from his cloak pocket and slathered it over the tapered end of the pole. He directed the two slaves to prop Jordan on all fours with his buttocks facing up. When the attendant was satisfied that they had a firm grip on the delirious Warlord, he placed the tip of the pole gingerly against his exposed anus. He applied gentle pressure until Jordon's sphincter loosened enough for about an inch of the pole to penetrate. Jordan did not appear to notice. An intense silence descended over the camp.
The attendant held the pole firmly and turned to Slovenia. She smiled and waved for him to continue. Israel averted his eyes. The attendant nodded, and with a grunt, rammed the pole home. It penetrated through the back of Jordan's rectum, pushed aside his intestines and stomach, and traveled part of the way up his esophagus. Jordan roused from his torpor and let out a bovine bellow that echoed out over the gathered throng. The attendant directed one of the slaves to assist him as he heaved the pole upright, while the other held the moaning chieftain steady. Once the pole was fully upright, gravity completed the job of mounting Jordan. The tip of the pole pushed up through his throat forcing him to throw his head back as it broke his jaw and came out of his mouth like a fat phallic tongue. It was at this point that the two small pegs came into play, stopping Jordan from sliding any further down.
Slovenia cackled mercilessly before turning to address her army once more.
"Soldiers of the Wreghan Mark, behold your banner. Now, we wipe the Poan scum from the face of the earth."
The assembled host let up a shout of bloodlust, hammering their swords and shields. The sound was deafening. Slovenia signaled her bannermen to take up the grotesque flag before mounting her horse.
"Israel, have my tent cleaned before I return. I would prefer not to have the stench of his cock lingering when I return."
Israel nodded and hurried back into the tent.
Slovenia laughed as she watched him scurry off. She turned to Ghana as he mounted his own horse.
"I have a feeling my Aide does not approve of our banner."
"Can't say I blame him m'lady, but I think it's quite lovely. If you ask me, it sets the right tone," he replied.