Interlude: Thor's Revenge

Discussion in 'Fictitious Stories' started by Beauxbatons, Jul 6, 2008.

  1. Beauxbatons

    Beauxbatons Member

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    First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone who has given me feedback on the Captain America series. I was burnt out on that for a while, but I do plan on returning to that arc soon, with your suggestions under my hat. In the meantime, I remember getting a request a while back for a story involving Thor (sorry, can't remember who from)... so here goes!

    DISCLAIMER: This story does contain some acts of violence and non-consensual (well, kind of :rolleyes:) sex, so it is not for the faint of heart.

    Note on language: All of the non-English words and phrases in the story are authentic ancient Norse. I am not, however, any type of linguistic scholar or anthropologist, so if there are mistakes in spelling, usage, or grammar, I apologize in advance.

    I hope you enjoy the story!

    “What?” said Thor stupidly, staggering backward, a rapidly-dissipating pink fog surrounding his head in a momentary corona.
    “Yes,” purred a voice of molten silk from the shadows in the far corner. Built of rough-hewn timbers and immense slabs of granite, the sole illumination coming from a great roaring fireplace, the room looked like the kind of place that hulking Nordic brutes and Teutonic blonds might drink and fight and fuck and drink and eat and fuck and fight (in no particular order).
    “Yes,” the impossibly smooth voice said again, “surrender to my potion… feel your will to resist crumble… give yourself over to your carnal desires.”
    “Enchantress.” The Asgardian powerhouse mouthed the word clumsily, as if unsure of its dimensions, its weight.
    “It is as the Fates have decreed, my love.” Striding from the shadows, the woman who attempted to ensnare Asgard’s champion looked every bit her name. Long golden tresses gleamed in the scant firelight; hips swayed hypnotically; diaphanous vermillion silk clung lovingly to the swell of her heaving bosom, the pert triangle of her sex, then floated away, billowing in a nonexistent breeze. “You will be mine!”
    Grabbing a handful of Thor’s straw-colored mane, Enchantress pulled his lips to hers, kissing the god savagely, claiming her prize in no uncertain terms.
    At first the befuddled Asgardian was passive, was merely kissed, but after a moment his passions stirred, and his tongue wrestled hers for dominance—ultimately futilely.
    Enchantress released her captive’s mouth, disentangled her hands from his hair, and stepped back, seeming to calculate her next move.
    Thor merely stood, trembling slightly but offering no further resistance. Although he did not move, it seemed that every fiber of his being strained toward his painfully beautiful master.
    She stepped back into him, caressing his sinewy arms, his solid chest, his firm, perfectly rounded buttocks, and wherever her lithe alabaster fingers traveled, Thor’s garments simply… melted away. After an aching, shivering eternity, Enchantress’ wandering hands found their way to the god of thunder’s rigid, pulsating sex. The moment she touched the massive organ, the last of its restraining bonds disappeared, and it sprang forward, mighty in its tumescent glory. The two divine beings became a closed circuit—the jolt of eldritch power coursed first through Enchantress, causing her to gasp involuntarily, then through the captive Thor, who arched his back, threw back his head, and gave a primal howl of—of what, it was impossible to say.
    “Liar!” Thor cried suddenly, and backhanded his erstwhile captor with all the force he could muster.
    The seductive sorceress flew some twenty feet, crashed into the far wall, and crumpled into a piteous, mewling heap, bright ochre—an exact match for the shade of her hair—trickling from the corner of her full, pouty mouth. “Svá kunna! This cannot be…”
    “Enchantments and lies,” Thor muttered darkly, cold fire burning in his eyes. “I feel their weight upon me. I will be a slave no more!” His last word was punctuated by a peal of thunder.
    As the god of thunder strode forward with murder in his heart, Enchantress found herself fixated—mesmerized—by his massive, granite-hard cock, ramrod straight and nearly a foot in length, with girth to match, bobbing with every purposeful step he took. “Yggdrasil,” she croaked, “he carries the World Ash between his legs…”
    Towering above his quarry, Thor seized a handful of flaxen hair and yanked her to her wobbly feet. Still she could not look away from his wondrous organ. “Are you really so fascinated by my cock?” He grabbed his prodigious sex at the base and shook it for emphasis, and an involuntary groan of pleasure escaped the sorceress’ lips. “So enthralled with this piece... of... meat—“ shake, shake, shake—“that you are willing to die merely for the sake of touching it?” Mutely, and against her will, Enchantress nodded, tears streaming down her face. Thor leaned in close, tickling her ear with his next words. “Did you think I would forget your special brand of treachery or the feel of your touch, brother?” Robbed of speech, the vixen’s eyes widened comically.
    “But—“
    “Enough of this pretense, Loki!” He shoved the hunter-turned-prey roughly against the wall. “I know it is you. Syná fóstbrædralag!” These last words reverberated through the air, bouncing off each other and lingering far longer than any sound should.
    The shaking, shaken form of Enchantress shimmered momentarily, then was replaced by a wild-eyed and bedraggled trickster god. The gauzy robe that had been so alluring on Enchantress looked comical on Loki’s lithe, wiry body.
    “This is impossible,” Loki stammered, without conviction.
    “Spilla vapnum,” Thor replied, and the shimmering garment vanished in a flash of emerald fire. “There, now we are on even footing. Well, as even as we can be,” he added with something of a chuckle, glancing down at his stepbrother’s exposed sex. Although not nearly as long or as thick as Thor’s, Loki’s cock was equally as hard, and huge enough by any normal standards—perhaps nine inches altogether, with pendulous low-hanging balls.
    “You lured me here under false pretenses, tried to take advantage of me in false guise. Do you truly suppose me to have forgotten the month I spent as your prisoner, fixed to the base of Yggdrasil by the cold, cold iron chains of the Frost Giants? A month of your expert hands and mouth and magic constantly tormenting me, bringing me again and again to the brink of ecstasy yet not once granting me that final release? Tell me, you fiend, you rampant cur, why I should not crush the life from your wretched body? In this place, you know I can.”
    The wheels in Loki’s mind spun furtively, futilely. He saw no way out. “Please, my Lord,” he sobbed, falling to his knees in utter despair. “I do not deserve it, but please, spare me. Surely there is some way I can atone.”
    “Rise, brother,” Thor boomed. “I will not kill you this night. I have decided to forgive what you have done to me.”
    Taken aback, Loki rose unsteadily. “Why?”
    “Because,” Thor said conspiratorily, “I have determined a better way to exact my revenge.” Without warning, the god of thunder’s hamfist plunged into Loki’s solar plexus, dropping him to his knees in a gasping, coughing fit. “Even now, you cannot remove your gaze from my cock, so to begin, you will take the measure of my manhood—first with your mouth, and then…” he left the threat/promise trailing seductively.
     
  2. Beauxbatons

    Beauxbatons Member

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    Still struggling for air, the trickster god nevertheless plunged onto Thor’s massive sex as if his life depended on it—it very well might, eagerly engulfing his stepbrother in his generous, skilled mouth. The Asgardian’s organ was so thick that it pushed Loki to his very limits just to get his mouth all the way around it. Still, he licked and sucked valiantly, thrilling to the electric charge, the faintly ozone aroma surrounding Thor, and of course, the huge size of his cock, the feel of being completely filled, dominated. Tentatively, he snuck a finger into Thor’s nether opening, and, sensing no resistance, massaged the orifice until he located the sweet spot, even as he continued to work his oral magic.
    Before long, Thor began to buck rhythmically, and grabbed a double handful of Loki’s golden locks, crying “Enough!”
    But it was too late. Unhearing (or perhaps only unheeding), the trickster redoubled his efforts until Thor’s divine juices spurted forth, spasm after spasm searing Loki’s throat in a deluge that was, quite literally, electrifying.
    Spent, Thor collapsed to the rough stone floor upon his back, Loki following. Even now, he refused to release his archnemesis’s slowly-softening cock, but continued licking, slurping, and sucking at it. “Easy, brother,” Thor chuckled. “The night is yet young, and there is, as they say in Midgard, plenty more where that came from.”
    Loki continued his ministrations for a moment longer, then finally, reluctantly, allowed the massive organ to slip free and rest against its owner’s chiseled abs. His own considerable sex was now darkly purple-red and twitching spasmodically, but he barely noticed it, caught in the reverie of this experience as he was.
    Thor sat up. “I remember that state well,” he said, gesturing at Loki’s desperate cock. “That is the state I was in for most of the time I shared your… hospitality.” His expression grew dark. “Do you wish release?”
    “No, my liege. I exist only for your pleasure and only at your pleasure.”
    “Good answer, dog. Had you said ‘yes,’ I would have been tempted to kill you.” In a flash, Thor was on his feet again, his cock once more as rigid as if it had not been serviced just a moment hence. “Get up. Now!” He fairly screamed that last command.
    “Have I displeased, my Lord?”
    “Silence! Hlýda hljód!” Loki felt a sudden chill, as if he had suddenly stepped under an icy stream, and he knew that, even if he had wanted to, he would be unable to speak further. Rough hands seized him, spun him about, and forced him against the wall. The friction against his tortured cock caused it to spasm at once, shooting forth jet after jet of faintly glowing seed. His muscles jellified, and he would have fallen, if not for Thor pinning him against the wall.
    “You have taken the measure of my cock once,” Thor whispered savagely into Loki’s ear. “Now, you will take it again.” Unceremoniously, the Asgardian thrust his rigid sex hilt-deep into Loki’s quavering pucker.
    The trickster opened his mouth to beg, to plead, mostly to scream, but no sounds escaped his lips. When did my brother start studying magic? He wondered disjointedly.
    Thor galloped his stepbrother under him ferociously, tearing apart the other’s insides with every malevolent stroke. Soon, tears were flowing freely down Loki’s face, and ochre trickled from his nether mouth. “Now you will know the meaning of violation, of betrayal, of theft,” Thor grunted, each syllable a staccato counterpoint to his irregular thrusts.
    His victory, however, was not complete. In the midst of this searing pain, Loki found pleasure—perverse, destructive, but pleasure nonetheless. He came to revel in this annihilation; he forgot the time when he was not filled to the point of bursting as he was now.
    As suddenly as it began, it was over. Whatever sound of pleasure Thor made as he brought himself to completion was lost in the pealing thunder and howling winds that had arisen outside. Sighing, he casually tossed Loki to the floor, then followed suit. “What shall we do now, slave?” Thor panted, expecting no answer.
    Loki, however, had one ready. He snapped his fingers, and a basin of steaming water and a washcloth appeared at Thor’s side. Slinking over on hands and knees, the trickster began meticulously cleaning away the sweat and various effluvia of their encounter from the body of his stepbrother.
    He saved the magnificent sex for last. Even spent it was huge, lying against Thor’s thigh like a turgid snake, and seeming to twitch in time with the Asgardian’s heartbeats. Under the trickster’s expert touch, the organ came to life again almost at once, standing proudly and all but filling Loki’s field of vision. He cleaned it in languid strokes, savoring the shivers that went through Thor’s body each time he grazed the massive head with the coarse washcloth. Soon, he added his mouth, giving first Thor’s huge balls and then the head of his glorious cock a thorough tongue-bath while his fingers continued to massage the god of thunder’s rigid pole. The slow pace was torturous to them both.
    All too soon, the pretense of washing was discarded, and Loki sucked Thor’s cock wildly, with reckless abandon, like a thing possessed. In all the sexual partners he had had, both mortal and divine, over the course of several thousand years, he had never encountered either such skill or such obvious glee in the act of cocksucking.
    Just as this thought struck him, Thor began bucking wildly, hips rising off the floor, and he drained his balls down Loki’s throat for the second time that night.
    As before, the god of lies refused to release Thor’s spent cock, but instead lay with his face in the Asgardian’s lap, idly licking and nuzzling the spent organ. As Loki swallowed his sworn enemy’s juices, a deep warmth began to spread through him, and he knew that Thor’s silence charm had been dispelled.
    Somehow finding the energy to leap to his feet, Loki cried “Syná fóstbrædralag!”, hurling back the invocation that had earlier been used against him. The body of Thor, resplendent in its nude glory, shimmered, and then resolved into a different shape—a pool of radiant golden tresses; firm, high breasts with large, dark nipples; taut stomach; shapely hips; full lips with a wicked grin.
    “Enchantress! How—when—but—“ Loki stammered, the complex tangle of emotions catching in his throat.
    “Relax, cousin. So you figured me out… what gave it away?”
    “Thor doesn’t use magic,” he replied automatically. “Also, he’s never without Mjolnir.”
    “Ah, yes! The devil is in the details, after all.”
    “So,” Loki started hesitantly, unsure of how to frame the question. “Why did you…?”
    “Why, don’t you realize?” she replied as she languidly rose to her feet. “It’s your birthday! What else do you get for the man who has stolen everything?”
     
  3. ConnerM360

    ConnerM360 Active Member

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    Amazing. Just fucking awesome.
     
  4. WolvesInTheThroneRoom

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    Hell yeah! and I usually don't like erotica! I'm very much into norse mythology ( it wasnt me who made the request however),

    "the room looked like the kind of place that hulking Nordic brutes and Teutonic blonds might drink and fight and fuck and drink and eat and fuck and fight (in no particular order)."

    :biggrin1:love it
     
  5. OffTLeash

    OffTLeash Member

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    in a word SUPERFUCKINGAMAZINGLYAWESOME...yes that is a word now...
     
  6. blackbottom2

    Gold Member

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    One word


    MAGNIFICENT
     
  7. MASSIVEPKGO_CHUCK

    MASSIVEPKGO_CHUCK Well-Known Member

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    Ten to one Stan Lee'd have kittens if he hadda publish this one...
     
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