Titanic Persuasion
It is time for Heracles to visit an old friend, deep in Tartarus
Titanic Persuasion
It is time for Heracles to visit an old friend, deep in Tartarus
Steps.
Heavy steps echoed through the prison. The air was sweltering and dry. To the mortals, it would even be considered foul or toxic. The sulfuric taste it left after each breath, as shallow as it might be, was atrocious.
It was a place that no living being ought to thrive in. Yet, the steps continued on the dark stones. Followed then the yanks on the chains, the grunts, the roars, the huffs, the pained breath. And finally, the steps descended. But it was not the usual captors or tormentors.
“They have no pity for you. They will never stop until you are broken.”
The voice was deep, rumbling, with a slight mocking tone.
“Youuuuu!”
“Me. No order, as grand as they claim, will stop me.”
The steps continued, naked like always, though the sharp stone would hardly pierce his hide. Nor the hide he wore around him, wrapped around his head, his shoulders, chest, and waist. The Nemean Lion might have died long ago; its paws were still holding tightly onto the one who killed it, but that mouth, pried open, was to swallow its wearer’s face one day. Alas, for the moment, that mouth remained open, exposing the soured traits.
Baggy golden eyes, gaunt cheeks, furrowing brows, pursed lips, defined and tamed golden beard. At least, tamed more than the mane of gold, entwined with the Nemean’s.
So was Heracles.
His body refined by the duties given by the gods, he could have been an Apollo. If such a comparison wasn’t one to make him suffer, and if his body wasn’t a canvas of scarred tissues. Gashes, punctures, arrows, stabs, everything that made its way to the Demi-God's hide, leaving him with no semblance of perfect skin, save for his face.
But deep within Tartarus. Heracles wasn’t the worse for wear.
Spears had impaled the blue skin, sometimes piercing a red eye. From those ran chains, chains that were tangling with the horns and limbs, that were concurring in holding down whom they were attached to before they were all taut and… Bound to Tartarus’ walls in a miserable display.
The Titan those chains held was truly a force of nature, of strong winds, of tempestuous storms. Typhon. His many red eyes, some of whom were still tearing and bleeding, were following the steps taken by Heracles as he descended the stairs to the pit where Typhon was held.
The Titan might have been weakened, shrunken, reduced by the feats of magics and curses. But he remained a towering creature, especially compared to Heracles, who seemed far too confident in delving within the beast’s lair. Even Typhon’s breath, even the act of exhaling, was enough to produce a storm.
And yet, it didn’t deter Heracles in his approach, his golden eyes going on the chains as if he considered their presence like a weight and not… Security.
“This time, not even Chronos will be able to free you,” he commented nonchalantly. He didn’t have his hands on his weapons. He waited.
“Chronooos! Haaaaate theeeem!”
As Typhon shouted, the caverns of Tartarus filled with his scream. The wind rushed like an elevated cry, almost a shrill note, while the inhabitants of Tartarus were huddling up. Heracles? He remained still against the unleashed tempest, not even shifting his stance to anchor it. He remained steady. No, he even approached, and finally… Had his hands reaching for the Titan’s nearest arm, patting it.
“Yet it is done. The little witch got you,” said Heracles with a shaking head.
“Youuuu! Heracleeees!”
Heracles frowned for a second, again enduring the unleashed shout. Unleashed tempest. Unleashed wind.
Then he looked up. He faced Typhon. Those horns were still adorned with golden rings, but one had been broken. The circlet around his massive head was still the same, but some scars were covered by it, and the gold had been dented. Even the nose ring had been brutally removed from the Titan’s nose.
And that face bore so many pinkish gashes, where the skin hadn’t healed yet.
Then, he glanced at that bony jaw, incapable of closing up entirely. The protruding teeth were dangerous… Yet, nothing compared to that serpentine tongue that lolled out of that mouth and closer. Closer. So much closer that snake was at Heracles' feet and then, through contraction, ascended the Demi-God’s body.
Heracles watched, then extended one hand.
He observed the snake’s head, the fangs, and the red eyes. And smiled.
“ Youuuuu! Wereeeeee!”
“You were gone.”
The voice came through the tempest like a soft wind. A caress, right by Heracles’ ears. The snake spoke, and Heracles answered by stroking the snake, feeling the saliva dripping from those scales.
“I was. I couldn’t ignore their calls. My presence with Prometheus has been discovered.”
“Daaaaaaaamn! Theeeeem!”
“Damn them if they raise a hand on you.”
It was almost endearing. And the Demi-God scoffed, offering a different vision than he presented to their Gods and their ilk. Simplicity. Weakness. And he kissed that snake’s head, only to almost feel it press against his mouth and then… Enter it. Oddness in having that snake’s head inside his mouth and playing with his tongue like it was one.
But Heracles’ eyes darted up and looked at the plaintive red ones. Bound as Typhon was, he couldn’t even raise his hands. Shift his posture, probably. But an embrace or a caress was beyond anything.
“Damn them. For this,” finally answered Heracles as the snake left his mouth with a loud gasp. Then, he tried not to be affected by the snake-tongue rubbing against his cheeks, against him. Against his neck. All the while, that snake-tongue’s mouth opened and a flickering touch stroked the seasoned man, the abused skin, like a balm.
“Aloooooooooooone! Meeeeee!”
“No one is watching me.”
Such sultry words were unheard of in Tartarus. But the less the gods cared about Typhon, the weaker he was. And so, Heracles smiled while another serpent seemed to appear from Typhon’s mouth. And another.
The father of monsters could produce them. And though his body was monstrous, a blend of flesh, eyes, and bones, his snake-tongues were careful. Careful, as they dropped by Heracles and ran against his body. Their touch was delicate as they stroked the legs, thighs, sides, and pectorals: no yank, no purposeful pull, no stray attempts.
“The horror should they notice us.”
Heracles’ eyes met with Typhon’s frown. But the Titan did not speak, not even a whisper. His forehead’s eye was the most thorough as the iris tightened. And so… Heracles sighed, raising one hand around which one snake-tongue coiled.
“What we have is a mess… But I will spare your feelings,” said Heracles, feeling the tightening of the snake around his body, the distant hisses, and the song of scales rubbing together. Then…
The pressure eased, and the snakes moved with a different purpose.
“I will handle this, scoot,” commented Heracles, chasing one of the tongues fighting against his bracers. But there was no point since it was a matter of sliding the bracers off his hands. One by one, the bracers dropped while the cold and damp scales rushed along his body, stroking the hairy skin and the bushy pectorals while their fangs planted in the straps and the buckles to undo them.
Under the red eyes' scrutiny, of the manifold gaze, Heracles was stripped. Of the Nemean hide, of his scabbards, of his belt from which dangled all the weapons. His club gone, he only relied on the sword and the thinner version he borrowed from the east.
But even those dropped on the floor as the final part of the harness slipped free, and Heracles’ shoulders were uncovered. His golden mane flowed down his back.
He relaxed. He sighed. He gripped one snake that was playing underneath his loincloth and considered it. Then Typhon’s gaze above.
“Yeeeeeees!”
“Yes, I had to,” chuckled the snake-tongue and Titan, all the same. One light and innocent, the second loud and brutish.
Heracles arched an eyebrow, before leaning and kissing the Snake’s head, feeling it sliding through his lips and again… Playing with his tongue, the soft scales rubbing against his papillae.
Down his waist, the Demi-God didn’t resist and released his grip on the loincloth, letting the hide drop and reveal the hairy genitals he possessed. A cock that belonged to the realm of mortals, compared to Typhon, with an uncut foreskin that covered the bulbous tip. Then, there was the matter of his plump testicles with a generous golden tuft on them, even behind. A tuft that was particularly befitting his hairy groin, of the savage pubes, of the fine coating on the Demi-God’s posterior.
A posterior under a thorough scrutiny. Not only Typhon’s eyes. But of the snakes whose scales rubbed against it, rubbed against the soft flesh peppered with scars. Some coiled underneath the cheeks, cupping and hefting them. Some ran along the lower back, tracing the way along the spine to the crevice. And finally, one tongue-snake, with a flickering touch, was right in between with a caress on Heracles’ rim.
“There’s no end to them with you,” spat Heracles, words and snake-tongue. Only then to kiss that head again and watch what looked to be a hint of smugness on the imprisoned Titan’s face. No. Typhon wasn’t beautiful. But he caught Heracles’ attention. And wouldn’t release it, not even when those soft scales rubbed against the entrance, and saliva seemed to ooze from those scales so as to smear Heracles’ entrance.
That saliva was lukewarm, sticky, and perfect as it formed a sheen on the dark-red entrance. As it rubbed against the wrinkled rim, returned to its virgin-like self after a long time.
Through the strokes and caresses, through the saliva slipping inside and through, Heracles’ hole relaxed. His eyes closed, his pucker opened up, his lips kissed, and his stance widened.
And there it was… The head of the snake, preceded by the flickering touch that was on everything the Titan desired.
The hairy armpits, stained by sweat? Licked all the same.
The beard, dirty and grimy? Explored.
The shaft, engorged and slowly ascending? Touched and stroked by the tongues.
The Titan’s saliva was all over Heracles, as if he’d been swallowed by it. Instead, he was closer to being surrounded by snakes, in a pit of snakes.
But he was as relaxed as if he’d been on a lover’s bed. His lips kissed and were kissed. His back entrance was steadily penetrated. And his body, reinforced by the blood coursing through his veins, barely resisted the penetration unleashed by Typhon.
Remained, then, the joy as the snakes’ bodies started to coil around Heracles' legs, lifting him off the ground while bolstering his back, akin to a mattress.
“You have refined your touch.”
Nothing, but the way the Snake rushed to Heracles’ lips, it was as if Typhon preferred him to stay silent and to enjoy.
To appreciate what the Titan was doing for him as those snakes were rushing inside Heracles. After the one that had slipped inside with relative ease, the second had to wiggle its way inside. But like two tendrils, they were inside, and their soft scales were rubbing against the enduring flesh, against the Demi-God glorious gland…
And stimulated it in a way only a few could do… Not many women would think of stimulating a man that way… And the result, in Heracles’ case, was a thorough erection. One powerful and needy erection that pointed forward and upward with no visible signs of stopping.
An erection that glistened with precum as that liquid flowed freely from the Demi-God’s urethra. It was a font, a ceaseless rivulet that dripped from the bulbous and uncovered tip to follow the corona’s curve, then to drop directly due to the downward bend the shaft naturally took in its erection.
A bend that was corrected, ever so slightly, by one of the snake-tongues coiling around it, gripping it, and stroking it while another of those snake-tongues rushed… And used their flickering touches to kiss and nudge at the tip.
And so followed the rumble of Heracles’ pleasure, of his slow thrusts, encouraged by the snake-tongues’ head bumping against his prostate. And his sighs, even those silenced by the kiss.
However, even in that state of blissful touch… Heracles remained aware. He remained aware of the towering Titan above him, brimming with needs and yearnings. Bound as he was, Typhon could not expect any release. And so, even if Heracles wanted to throw himself at the pleasure, he thought about reminding himself to please Typhon.
A consideration that quickly vanished when a third head was pressing against his backside, stretching it to the point of burning despite his divine inclination.
“It is… Too much,” he grunted. Only to be silenced by the snake-tongue going inside his mouth, silencing him. It even swallowed his own tongue, this time to play with it from within.
A sudden and unexpected touch completed by… Well, the sensation of having his cock suddenly encapsulated, held, stroked, caressed, and loved by a tender mouth.
A glance down and here, Heracles was able to peer as the snake’s mouth forced open and the elongated body bulging with that erection.
A pleasure completed as that part of Typhon’s anatomy was completely at work. Hence, as the snake part swallowed Heracles’ erection, the inner walls inside pulled that flesh further and further, akin to swallowing it whole.
Of course, it couldn’t. But those contractions were akin to a massage, one that almost made Heracles forget about the third intruder inside his asshole.
Almost.
But as soon as that third snake was firmly lodged, it presently nudged the walnut-sized organ within Heracles. Well, the Demi-God’s moans heightened. He trembled, quivered, and heaved. Their hits, triple, were a crescendo of intensity and frequency. At first, slow and careful, they were going faster and faster against Heracles’ organ, hitting it like a drum that produced gasps and groans. Under their ceaseless assault, the Demi-God felt his body starting to tense.
Or so it tensed from his attempt to keep his composure.
“Leeeeeeeet!”
“Let it go. Do not resist,” whispered the snakes, almost all in echo. But Heracles tried to resist, not to be swallowed by the pleasure, whether from his cock sucked and gripped by the snake-tongue’s innards. Or by the abuse unleashed upon his asshole.
An effort, a tall order, an impossible labour to abandon himself to bliss.
But like such labour, impossible as they were, Heracles always fulfilled them.
The hiss coming from his throat turned into a simple exhalation. The pressure he applied with his sphincter eased. And his body, coiled and tensed, almost became limp.
Limp the moment he climaxed. The moment he let go of his need to control his situation and instead allowed himself to enjoy the moment. Even his traits, usually stoic or grave, relaxed.
The tongue left his throat as he huffed. His torso lifted, his chest puffing up, then dropped. And Heracles was able to relax… To feel the moment, the pleasure as his groin contracted and sent a shot right inside the Snake-tongue’s gullet. Then another, and another.
His testicles were pulled by the abdominal muscles. His toes curled, and his fists? Well, they clenched for a second before he abandoned. Even his head dropped back, making him look like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Only the Titan’s tongues were capable of supporting him, bolstering him as he went entirely limp, and the only signs he was still there were the unwilling contractions from his arms, legs, from his abdomen, his throat, his chest. Even his jaw.
Silence.
For a moment, there was but a silence.
One completed by Typhon, holding his breath. There was the slithering of the snake-tongues’ scales rubbing against one another, or of the muscles coiling. Even of the eyes blinking. And then, there was Heracles. Breathing but a whisper, sprawled on a bed of a strange making, one that moved, coiled, and wrapped him sometimes.
Finally, the Demi-God blinked… And reached for one of the snake-tongue, touching the moist scales, covered with the same saliva as he was. And he chuckled. A satisfied chuckle.
“This will always amuse me,” he declared.
Steadily, the snakes shifted to prop him up. Beyond that, they were eager to clean him. And what a clean he needed down there.
His orgasm had been so potent, one snake hadn’t been enough. And when the limb had gotten its fill, so another had taken its role. Twice, thrice, and then more. Each time, some cum had dribbled and been shot all over the Demi-God’s thighs and legs. A mess of white and steamy fluids, the Snake-tongues were quick to clean up with their flickering touch and their rubbings.
“Pleaaaaaaaaaseeeeee”
“Was it pleasant to you?” asked the Snakes, their red eyes focused on Heracles, similarly to the Titan from which they originated. Heracles was satisfied. Though, as the Snakes pulled free from him, he enjoyed the slight soreness of a body thoroughly abused. A fleeting sensation, for his body would recover faster than most.
But a sensation he enjoyed as he got on his feet, took a firm step, and a cautious one soon after.
“It was oddly pleasing, Typhon. But we are far from being done,” stated Heracles, shaking one foot and observing the silent, towering Titan. The tongue-snakes retracted, one by one, inside his gaping mouth. And just like the way they were spawned, they seemed to disappear, all of them, save for one.
The one that remained close to Heracles, landing on his shoulder, awaiting his words, the flickering tongue by his ear.
“I want to take you. Not them. You,” said Heracles, stroking the Snake’s head with a smile. Amusement.
“Daaaaaaamn! Youuuuu!”
“Damn you! You know how many spears I have in me? I cannot move!”
The Snake’s tone was far more hostile, but Heracles knew it didn’t come from a place of bad intention. More like hurt, much like when he tried to push back those around him whenever wounded.
“I will bring a balm. And see if I can remove some. Would it be a fair trade?”
The question was asked. Typhon held his breath. The whimpering winds in Tartarus stopped. The red eyes, all of them, seemed to tremble while focused on Heracles. Then, came the thunder.
Came the shocks, came the earthquakes that would stir the mortals, but not quick enough to stop Heracles.
So, Typhon moved. The chains held his arms and legs, but it was still possible to move that hulking body and to go from kneeling to another position. It was tedious. So difficult, tempestuous roars escaped Typhon, eliciting fear for those living in Tartarus.
Then, just as it was asked, it was done. The thunder and earthquakes stopped, then the Titan’s aching breath remained, as old wounds reopened.
At the same time, it allowed Heracles to behold what he desired, and without a doubt, he climbed.
Titans were often compared to gods. Whoever it is, Prometheus or Chronos, the result would be the same: they looked close to the gods and the gods close to the mortals.
Typhon? He was the anomaly. Free of his shackles and unleashed, he would be as tall as Mount Olympus, as dangerous as the fiercest of tempests.
In comparison, he looked reduced, limited. He remained that hunching blue-skinned giant, with golden horns sprouting from his body like golden crowns, and whose multiple eyes were peppering his skin.
But his size made it necessary for Heracles to climb and then stroll on that body, watched over by the red eyes that followed his steps. Onward, forward, continuing his path on the thighs.
Then, he took the left. He strayed from the obvious path that led to the Titan’s head and the gaping jaw. Only to advance on the Titan’s groin, then to follow another obvious path. One drawn by engorged blood rushing inside. By the throbbing of flesh. By the beating of the heart. By the veins, so immense, they felt like roots under Heracles’ feet until he was at it. And went down, carefully. The skin formed folds, then pulled back, revealing a dark-blue flesh that was damp with fluids, cleaner than expected in a state of such bondage.
To honor him, Hades could be a terrible man, but he was diligent.
Finally, Heracles was at the right place… Down, his feet on the glabrous skin forming the scrotum. He widened his stance. All the while, his body… Faced another type of entrance. And his breath, whatever it was, was heavy with the musky scent coming from that hole.
One he touched and stroked with his fingers. Only then to insert them… Then, his hand, then his arms. The entrance swallowed them whole. And whenever Heracles pulled back and free, it was to have them return with a coat of musky fluid whose salty and tart taste was enjoyable.
He would even chuckle… If it wasn’t for the nature of the situation, of the many gazes he felt upon him as he grabbed his shaft and gave it a few strokes.
Few strokes that were enough to get him going as he had his organ, engorged and stiff and needy, aligned with the hole. And inserted within. And he grunted.
The entrance was tighter than it’d be expected, despite the size. He stroked it, his hand running along the skin that wrinkled near the top. All the while, his entire cock, down to the base, was within the Titan’s urethra, enjoying the velvety walls Typhon could offer to Heracles.
But this time… It wasn’t the time for talk.
With his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against the musky flesh, Heracles wasn’t taking it slow and carefully, enjoying the discovery of his partner’s body. Instead, he began with the idiosyncratic and immemorial back-and-forth.
He pulled back, his spine arching slightly and his lower body tensing. Then, with that same movement, he thrust back in. He went in and out, without even breaking a sweat.
Above and further, Typhon’s breathing turned into raging wind. His ragged inhalations were loud, intense, but he didn’t speak lest he wouldn’t add to the chaos or even halt Heracles.
Instead, the snake-tongue remained by, nudging the Demi-God’s face while Heracles kept thrusting.
And thrusting. And thrusting.
His testicles hit the wrinkled urethra. His legs tensed and coiled, the hamstrings becoming like perfect columns of chiseled stone. They suffered no relaxation, no halt… And so did Heracles, even as his breathing, too, became ragged.
The Titan’s urethra was warm and velvety, coated with precum that made little work of all friction. And beyond that, the smell, the musky scent, was starting to affect Heracles.
Little was known about Typhon, but it was said he was a creation of Chaos. For all the curses that had been placed upon him, more boons had been bestowed upon Typhon.
And his scent was something appealing, not cloyingly sweet. But one that was akin to pheromones, as it titillated the noses of many in ways only they knew.
To Heracles, it was the scent of a feast, of clashing steel, of working sweat, of an earned reward. It was the perfume of reward he craved for.
It was…
Something intimate that no one could share or understand. But one Typhon offered nonetheless to Heracles while the Demi-God grunted and huffed and still fucked. His body acted on its own while he had his face and chest pressed against the orifice, licking it.
But as much as he licked and cleaned, the thrust elicited more shots from the Titanic creation. More precum that was starting to accumulate and then wash over the Demi-God, spraying and coating his skin with that musky aroma. It went over his chest, his beard, his hair, everything. And Heracles licked it, relished its presence while above, Typhon was… Huffing.
So did he.
So did the Demi-God as the tension within his loins grew again.
His groin ached, his cock burned, and the sultry touch upon the whole length did… nothing to help.
Furthermore, with the throb of Typhon’s desires, with the heartbeat shaking him, the urethra itself was moving and contracting. Therefore, with each heartbeat, whether his or Typhon’s, Heracles felt the tension on his shaft grow.
Therefore, he couldn’t resist long.
He didn’t.
That labour, of refusing the bliss, he declined it. He merely let himself be swallowed by the bliss the Titan’s hole offered. And he came. This time, however, he didn’t fall limp on a bed of snake-tongues. He tensed like a perfect statue and held the posture.
No. He even opened his arms to have them pressed against the flesh, his fingers digging into the soft glans… So that the moment could be maintained, so he wouldn’t fall or lose his balance as Typhon himself seemed to be… Shaken by the experience.
But not cumming.
Not even when the Demi-God’s seed rushed inside his urethra, warm and hot, like a spear of poignant power. Typhon huffed and gasped, produced whimpering winds, and a blowback. But no cum… No ejaculation.
Only precum that had been hitting Heracles and left him steamy and sticky when he stepped back, now offering a glowing smile.
“That was better this time,” he said, licking his lips and then his fingers for a second.
“Enouuuuugh!”
“Will it be enough?” asked the Snake-tongue, giving a flickering touch to the Demi-God’s cheek. A question that was answered with a hearty laugh and a shaken head, as well as a sticky hand patting the snake’s head.
“Not at all. I want to do more!”
By more, it meant for Heracles to clamber on Typhon’s body once more. For him to ascend despite the precum sticking to him until he was on the Titan’s chest, almost looking up at Typhon’s head. Watching the original eyes and observing how confused the wounded Titan seemed.
The brows were arched, and the jaw bobbed up and down. And that snake tongue kept rubbing against Heracles’ face as if to get his attention.
Then, Heracles brushed something with his feet. One nub that was, due to the size difference, quite massive.
It was one nub of purple flesh that looked quite… Well, dotted. It stood atop a pectoral, throning upon it. And presenting its curious presence to anyone who was wondering if a Titan had nipples.
Typhon had nipples. It was enough for Heracles as he chuckled at the vision. Then he looked up to Typhon’s eyes, then back to it as he began to stroke the flesh with his foot, sending the warmth emanating from it. And hearing the thunderous winces from the Titan.
It was a secret between the two, but Typhon was sensitive up there. Far more than anything. And at that moment, Heracles wanted him to feel good. To be good. To be blissful to the point of ignoring his pains and bondages.
“You want it,” he said. “I will grant that to you. But you must nod.”
A nod, and he would do this. The Titan, however, seemed to resist. Then… Well, he nodded. Or rather, the Snake-Tongue nodded for him.
Beyond that, Typhon’s mouth contorted into a thin but bashful grin that was almost… Cute. Even for Heracles.
“Be ready,” he then said as he leaned closer to the nipple, watching it get erect. And then, without a doubt, he touched the center. The flesh was uneven, bulbous, pinkish. It was bumpy, it was rigid, it was turgid. However, it was sensitive, as a single touch produced a stirring sensation from the Titan to the point where Heracles had to adjust his posture to stay steady.
An effort that culminated with Heracles approaching the center of such nipple and finding the tiny duct there, just an entrance that was, much to a default, small. But small enough for the Demi-God as he stroked the passage, eliciting more winces and moans, while the digit danced along the edge.
Like an instrument, Heracles produced those cries by his touch. And as his mouth approached the bumpy nipple, he kissed it. Then, he weighed on it, almost sat on it.
“Iiiiit!”
“Do it! Son of Zeus!” encouraged the Snake, still kissing the cheeks and licking them.
And Heracles grinned. Grinned as he used his hands to adjust his posture, to have his groin right by the tiny entrance.
And with a defiant attitude, he gripped the Snake-tongue’s head to guide it into a kiss, to have his lips tangling with those fangs and that flickering tongue… While he presented his cocktip to the Titan’s nipple.
“I will, Typhon. I will,” answered Heracles. And thrust Heracles.
His hips moved so fast that Typhon didn’t hold his breath. Nor bit his lips. His cries were like another earthquake shaking the entire earth. The cavern itself was shaking, with dust and blocks of stone dropping all around, threatening the integrity of smaller caves.
But not Typhon’s prison.
Nor Heracles, as he relished the contact of the unprepared hole, of the entrance that was bereft of purpose at this moment. But one he gave by penetrating it and allowing their precums to smear and cover the hole. Typhon’s fluids dripped all over the entrance and the edge as Heracles bent forward, rubbing his belly and chest against the bumpy nipples.
But his? Heracles’ fluids? They were pumped far inside the Titan’s nipples, bathing the duct and internal workings with a warm liquid that was felt many times more by the huffing and moaning Titan.
Each time Typhon took a breath, reeling for another cry, he lifted his chest and shook Heracles. Every time, it exacerbated the sensations Typhon experienced as the smallest of shakes caused rubbings and tensing and clenching from the Demi-god’s arms that clung to the nipple.
But those mere moments were not even stopping Heracles' thrusts as he was entirely leaning on the nipple, holding onto it like dear life while he humped against it. His hips moved in brutal spasms, shaking the entire nub… And forcing the cock to dig deeper, to rub further, to touch in places that ought not to be touched and abused, but were.
The Titan’s chest was heating up. His brutal and aggressive expression crumbled into sheer delight. His hands, bound, still tried to reach for his face to cover it. And even his Snake-Tongue was ecstatic as it rubbed against Heracles’ cheeks and neck, nibbling it.
Barely a portion of Typhon’s sheer size. Barely tall enough to reach the Titan’s cock… Heracles was yet to enjoy the sensation as he “felled” Typhon. Not through the weapons and the many spears piercing through the Titan’s hide. But through his thrusts and pumps, through the eclectic movements he imprinted as he was fucking the nub upon which he lay. And enjoyed it, from the sensation of the flesh massaging his cocktip to the deep but genuine moans he heard from Typhon.
It was all the Demi-God desired when he closed his eyes and began to pump… Faster. And faster. And faster.
His acceleration wasn’t unrecognized as the cries for Typhon became hollering shouts, sending Tartarus into chaos, whether from the guards, too afraid to see what was happening to the prisoner, or from those who wished for it all to end.
It did not. Tartarus endured. It endured as the Titan began to shake, quiver, and hit the walls with his weakened limbs.
It endured the unleashed cries and the tremors that took Typhon as his own erection, blue and purplish, ascended like a spire within the deep cavern.
It endured as the spawn of Chaos’ expression broke into… Sheer agony and pleasure alike, of an alight sensation born from his sensitive nipples. And his head dropped on the stone, his eyelids closing. All of them.
For once, the Father of all Monsters was blind.
He couldn’t see anything but felt the sensation of Heracles’ cock digging deeper into his nipple until those testicles were resting against the bumpy nub. And he sighed, sighed with the most egregious smile that could be drawn on that ugly face as he climaxed.
Those enormous genitals tensed, throbbed, and were pulled tighter. The Titan’s lungs filled with a long breath.
The entire Tartarus braced for another shout.
And instead came the softest and complete susurrus that was.
It was a faint breeze blowing over Tartarus and lessening, for a second, the wounds and woes of many. It was the gentlest caress, it was a faint embrace that even touched Heracles.
Before the Demi-God was bathed upon the Titanic seed, much like most of Typhon’s body.
His towering erection pointing up; Typhon’s seed formed a white column in a short shot before it splashed against the ceiling and dropped all over the strange couple in a steamy shower. One that continued since Heracles continued to thrust and Typhon to ejaculate, his testicles pulled closer.
And another susurrus followed, along with a flickering touch on Heracles’ neck and nape. More cum splashed around, draping the wounded Demi-God’s body in a sticky white, erasing the scars of gashes, puncture wounds, and other tools of war to make him appear like a grandiose statue.
One dripping, musky, and steamy statue.
One whose expression was still tense as the thrusts and humps continued, until… At the end of his stamina, Heracles grunted and came. After his two precious moments, this shot was not as impressive, potent, or generous as the firsts. However, it was far enough to reach Typhon’s deepest reaches and steal gasps from the Titan, making him break the relative peace from his susurrus into a brutal wind.
Only for that peace to return a second later as Heracles pulled back, pulled free, and pulled the Snake-Tongue closer again for another kiss. One in which he allowed the head to slip through his lips and for those scales to nudge and play with his tongue but a second before he spat it free. And grinned.
“You missed this, did you?” asked the Demi-God, almost smug. And joyful, as he stroked the Snake-Tongue’s head.
“Youuuuuu! Youuuuuuuuuu! Youuuuuuuuuu!”
“I want you. You to stay here. You in my life and prison,” said the Snake-Tongue, frantic and frantically bobbing its head back and forth, until Heracles’ shooting hand stopped its movement.
“I wish. But the Gods will see it and call me. They never tire of finding me new tasks to fulfill,” said Heracles, his expression souring for a moment, and so did Typhon’s, even if the Titan stayed silent.
Then, with a schlo __r_ p_ and the sensation of his skin sticking to Typhon’s, Heracles was free and about, capable of moving. He let go of the Snake-Tongue, letting it slip back into its progenitor’s mouth.
And he strutted, decided to explore the Titan’s body once more, but this time with a different purpose.
“I will lessen your burdens before I leave. As long as you promise to stay put.”
A nod.
“Good man.”