Aphrodite's Curse
Book 4
Hera Strikes Back
Chapter 10
Thor opened his eyes. A dusty cough erupted from his throat, and echoed through the vast empty space around him as he gently moved his jaw back and forth. His jawbone ached like he had been stomped in the face by a bear. The rest of his body throbbed and he was racked by sharp pains, like he had been chewed up and shat out by the Dragon Nigghog. His mouth was drier that the sandiest dunes of the Sahara, and tasted like that same dragon had just taken a giant dump into his mouth. It was not a pleasant way to wake up.
As his long dormant brain started to fire up, and his long fried synapses starting to churn in his skull again, he felt a cold wave rush up his spine. Something was very, very, very wrong.
For one thing, although his awareness of his own body was limited, he could sense he was still naked. That, in itself, was not that strange. He had been naked for quite some time, the curse from Aphrodite being quite strong, but this was different — and far worse. After he tried to move he discovered he was chained by his wrists and ankles to the ground. His stomach dropped. He was not just chained, but locked into a crouch on all fours; face down, ass up. The drop in his stomach led to a churn at this new embarrassing revelation.
This was, sadly, yet another humiliation in a seeming unending series of humiliations for the handsome God. There had been so many, but, this was probably the worst. He only could pray to the Great God Chaos this latest degradation was not being witnessed. He could only imagine the shit he would hear from Loki, and the other Gods, if he was seen bound nude in this humiliating position. Tied down like a wet and willing wench waiting to have her wares plundered, he would never live it down. The mighty Thor, master of the thunderbolt, God of War and manliness, bound naked like a mere sex slave! When would this nightmare ever end? Closing his eyes tightly he hoped it would clear his vision. When he opened them again, he timidly peered out into his prison, hoping to discover some clue as to his whereabouts.
He was disappointed. His eyesight was still too blurry, and everything remained obscured. It was like trying to look through a glass of milk, everything a sea of white, stark and bland nothingness. Time for plan B. He closed his eyes again and listened intensely. If he couldn't see where he was, perhaps he could hear something to help him plan his escape. Breathing, wind, perhaps even water..., anything to tell him where he was. As his ears tingled in the silence, he sighed. Nothing — there was absolute silence. The air was still and quiet as a grave, wrapping him in a great muffling shroud. Only the rapid beating of his heart thundering in his ears broke the silence. Wherever he was, he knew now he was completely and utterly alone.
After a few moments, Thor tried to move again. He was still a God, after all, and what chains could hold him? He nudged slightly, feeling his way for a weakness in the links but immediately halted, collapsing face forward onto the cool sand. He was exhausted, his body aching worse than it ever had in his thousands of years of life. He could barely move. The most vigorous dragon hunt of his youth, an event that taxed the most worthy and heartiest of the warrior Gods of the north, was like a lazy summer afternoon nap when compared to the fatigue now raging through his body. He had never felt weaker in his life, feebler than a newborn kitten. What the fuck has happened to him? Who drove him to such a lowly state? Normally, the surging powers of his divinity fed his body like a never drying river, but now, that river had run dry.
His arms and legs felt as if they were made of iron and now that he was face forward on the ground, his whole body weight pinning him to the earth, he found he found he could not move at all. Every breath he took was labored, and his right foot felt as if it were being chewed off by a rabid beaver. As he lay still, trying to gather his strength, he frowned as his sense of smell and touch recovered. He was slimy, like a moss-covered rock deposited at the bottom of an algae choked, fetid swamp pond. The source of his filth was clear. Sweat poured off his body like a raging storm, and the sand beneath him was drenched in his perspiration as it drizzled off of his frame.
This was not just normal sweat, that he was used to. This sweat had accumulated for some time. How the hell long had he been here? Days? Months? Years? Who knew, but from the stench wriggling into his newly activated and fully flared nostrils, he could tell it had been quite some time.
"OK, Thor," he said to himself, his whole body shuddering as his powers started to flicker to life. He started to move again, and said, "You just have to concentrate and have patience. You just have to wait to recov..., unf!"
His thoughts were shattered when the most intense, and yet oddly pleasurable, pain seared through the anal cavity. His hole burned as if a red-hot poker had been shoved up his ass. It was horrific, like being torn in two from the inside out. Unable to cope with the riot up his fudge tunnel, he fell face forward again.
After an hour or so of uncontrollable grunting and shaking, the pain eased up, but his ass still felt "full". The time was well spent, though, as Thor's eyesight recovered. Still chained on all fours, he gently dropped his head down to glance between his legs. His eyes widened as they discovered the source of his erotic torment.
His proud, and painfully erect, manhood was attached to some sort of infernal device. It was unlike any machine he had ever seen, and, if he were not being tormented by this device, he would be impressed by its ingenuity. A metal sleeve encased his cock that was in turn attached to a long copper tube. The tube then fed into an enormous crystal tank that appeared to contain countless gallons of spooge. His own spooge! Now he knew the horrific truth. He was being milked! Milked like a cow, and, to add insult to injury, not by some stunning, top heavy Valkyrie, but by a lifeless, remorseless machine!
His eyes narrowed and rage boiled in his throat as he studied the mechanical monster between his legs. He slowly lifted his hips up so that he could get a fuller look at the machine. It was incredible. A series of complicated gears and pulleys operated this device, and even more humiliating, he saw the source of his ass pain. It was an enormous dildo, attached to a piston, shoved into his man-hole. This piston was designed to repeatedly slam into him, but, mercifully, was still now.
He knew he had to make the most of this stall as there was no telling when the machine might start up again. His heart raced as he tried to wriggle free, but sadly, he found he had to stop every few seconds. Any movement he made caused the ass reamer to hit his prostate, and when the dildo found its mark, he shuddered and collapsed back into the sand. If he was ever going to escape, he knew he had to be very still, and it was going to take a long, long, long time to gradually pull himself free of his butt buddy. With great restraint, and intense concentration, he started to slowly pull his ass off of the dildo. It took hours just to move a centimeter, but there was no other way. During this time, though, his vision completely cleared and he was finally able to see. He was amazed by what he saw.
The "room" he was imprisoned in was unlike any he had ever seen. It was completely bare with a great white curved ceiling loomed above him, seemingly hundreds of feet in the air. From the floor it was hard to see details, even with his divine eyes, but he noticed the ceiling appeared to be dimpled. It was odd. Odder still was the fact that there were no visible entrances or exits anywhere in sight. How did he get in here? And better yet, how would he get out even if he could pry himself loose from the robo-milker?
His memory told him nothing, everything a blank slate. He assumed it must be a cavern, but, if this was a cave, it was the largest cave he had ever been in. He did know one thing, though. He wanted the fuck out as soon as possible. It took all of his Godlike will to fight the urge to lurch forward, yank his ass off of his anal invader, rip his cock out of its metal prison, and bust out predicament; but he remained calm. For once, Thor fought his natural violent instincts. He was stuck for the time being and only slow and steady progress would lead him to freedom. It was hell, though, although a white hell.
The surroundings were mind numbingly dull. No color anywhere other than the white of the sand below, and the ivory, dimpled dome above. There, in that stark, blank, nothingness, it was just he and this bizarre man milker and nothing else. He had seen many fucked up things in his divine life, but this was by far the most fucked up at all.
He did discover he had a small bit of good luck. As fate would have it, the sharp pain in his right foot was the indication of a fortuitous accident. Sometime during his imprisonment, and mechanical milking, his foot had slipped and wedged itself into one of the gears at the base, causing the machine to halt. This was the reason for his brief respite, and his mind boiled as he tried to think of a way to escape once he unimpaled himself from the dildo. It was hard to move slow with his foot jammed into the gears. The pain in his foot seared up his leg like molten lead from his toes being chewed by bronze fangs.
Several more hours passed, and his ass slid another three or four centimeters off of the dildo. It was a grim and humiliating ordeal, but progress was gradually being made. His smile turned into a grimace, however, when he slipped and accidentally pulled his foot forward to stop repenetrating himself. The gears sounded out a loud screech as the milker started to come to life. He acted fasted, and quickly jammed his foot back into the device, to stop it activating. He sighed in relief when the machine again went still.
