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"The new Atlas"

By Patrick D. Lambert

Commissioned by Justacritic

November 30, 2022.

City X.

The grand and glorious city has fallen. The battleground quickly turned into a war zone after the Coalition of Heroes and the Liberation Army clashed in what was meant to be their final battle. Very little information was released to the press, and thousands of citizens were forced to abandon their homes as the battle erupted behind them. Thunders, explosions, and giant boulders, they admired that and more as the evacuation airships departed to an unknown future. With nothing left to do, they put their hopes for a brighter tomorrow in the heroes risking their lives for them.

Not oblivious to their prayers, the heroes fought with all their strength. They couldn't allow the Liberation Army to succeed. But as the battle progressed, their strength faltered and one by one were subdued by the villains who kept coming one after another. They did the best they could, and that wasn't enough.

One such hero was The Cetacean, a buff orca with a semitransparent armor generated by his Torc suit--that made people believe he was naked--, with his crotch covered by a strong protective cup. The armor gave his black skin a grayish tone under the sunlight, and made the white chest bright slightly in the right angle. Known for sticking to his personal code of righteousness, his appearance on the battleground took many by surprise and encouraged the heroes to fight. But courage alone can't win a war, and the Cetacean found his end after being ambushed by several villains led by the Sculptor, a sick and terrifying villain.

The orca had lost one of his blue boots, and both blades from his gauntlets were broken. He had no strength left to even land a punch, and the only thing he could do was remain on his knees as the Sculptor approached. The brown bull was equally strong-looking as him, but he had the advantage of height being 8ft tall--1ft taller than the Cetacean. A Greek culture enthusiast, he wore nothing but an impeccable white tunic that left his arms exposed, and an olive wreath over his head. His large horns were decorated with golden rings. In the middle of the battleground, he was the only one who kept the elegancy in his gestures and poses.

"What a marvelous addition to my collection," he praised in a deep voice as his eyes inspected Cetacean's muscles. There was a small spark of lust in those red eyes, one that the orca found disgusting.

"You're not getting away with this, you sick fuck!" Cetacean spat at the Sculptor's feet, who only frowned at his desperate attempt to insult him.

"I believe I have the perfect spot for you. Take him in, boys."

The Cetacean struggled as the other villains took him away.

In a twist, the heroes were defeated, and City X fell into the hands of the Liberation Army, who turned it into an example of what was coming for the rest of the world. But the mighty hero Cetacean wouldn't see the transformation brought by the villains, as he had a spot reserved in the most iconic building of City X: the Palace of Justice, which once was the house of the strongest members of the Coalition.

He knew the Sculptor. He knew what he could do. An ability so simple in theory and terrifying in practice. All the bull needed was to put all five fingers of his right hand over someone to "petrify" his body. Deprived of his suit and completely naked for all the villains around to see, a chained orca was brought to the main hall of the Palace of Justice.

The Sculptor was there, ready to make his most beautiful work. With his handsome face, he admired once again the beauty and perfection of the orca's body. He didn't try to hide the lust from his eyes, one shared with many of the villains there. As instructed by the bull, the Cetacean was forced to kneel on his right knee and keep his left foot on the ground. They put a boulder over his shoulders for him to carry, turning him into a living representation of the titan Atlas. The orca grunted, not for the weight--which he could handle--, but for not having the energy to fight one last time.

His green eyes stared at the bull as he approached. His right hand claimed many heroes in the past, as no one but him could undo his ability. The smile on his face twisted with each step taken, as he displayed to him the five fingers that would seal his destiny. The Cetacean did one last desperate struggle to get the rock off his shoulders, but before he could have the chance, the Sculptor's hand closed around his neck.

The Cetacean didn't have time to scream or beg. The effect was instantaneous: his entire body "froze" in a second, all the time he needed to understand how terrifying his power really was. The orca couldn't move a single muscle from his body. Each one of them was completely rigid. But he remained conscious. He couldn't even look around and yet he was conscious of what was happening around him. And he was feeling everything: the cold air against his skin, the weight of the rock over his shoulders, and the bull's hands as they moved all over his exposed chest.

"Words alone can't describe what I'm looking at. This pose really helps your deltoids and biceps to stand out. And your pectorals are rock solid! You worked too hard to get this body, a true temple to beauty!"

There was lust and admiration in his voice and touch. The Cetacean stared straight at the bull, scared of the twisted expression he kept on his face as he talked. He was no different from a creep, and the orca questioned if he did the same thing to his previous victims. But the abuse and humiliation he was going through were much worse, as it was being watched by the other villains around, who smirked and laughed at the defeated hero.

When the Sculptor talked again, he did it with a grim tone that froze the Cetacean's blood.

"You are now our symbol. A hero carrying the guilt of his defeat forced to stay below us. You won't go anywhere. You will remain here, watching our world move on without you. And you will be watched by everyone. Day and night we will look at you. So stay still and enjoy our perpetual admiration! For this will be your life from now on."

And with that said, the Sculptor left, along with the rest of the villains, leaving the Cetacean alone in the ruins of what once was the most iconic building of City X, forced to see it turn into the Liberation Army's HQ.

During the first hours, the Cetacean tried to move, hoping that his will alone could stop the Sculptor's ability. But no matter how hard he tried, his muscles remained rigid. His desperation grew with each failed attempt, but not even tears came from his eyes--that monster stole that from him too, leaving a mere orca frozen in place with no expression on his face.

The hours passed by and the sunset on the horizon, a sight the Cetacean gazed through the ruined buildings outside. Angst gnawed at his heart. He failed his mission. The broken hero went through all the things he could've done better during the fight, blaming himself for being so weak. Full of sorrow and despair, he tried to find a refugee in the hopes that help could arrive soon--at least for the rest of the city.

Who came instead was the Sculptor. The sick bastard presented himself completely naked, only wearing the olive wreath over his head. The Cetacean cursed at him words that didn't come out, but the bull was clearly delighted by the anger visible in his poker face. There was no other feeling he could provoke in him--not yet, at least.

Unable to look somewhere else, the Cetacean had a perfect view of the bull's cock, a massive tool even when flaccid. It had a string of pre hanging from the tip, evidence of the pleasure that only he could find in a living statue like the orca.

"This might sound embarrassing," he started to say, taking the pre from his cock with a finger, "but I find you very attractive."

The Sculptor knelt in front of him. His expression hadn't changed. He ran the pre-covered finger over the Cetacean's lips and then reached for his flaccid cock, nullifying the petrifying effect on it.

"If it depended on me, I would have you in my bedroom teaching you every night the pleasures only a male can offer."

The Cetacean felt it. He felt his cock being squeezed and jerked off. The bull's hand was warm and rough, and yet it held his cock with care. The orca felt disgusted by his touch but couldn't do anything to stop it. He was at his mercy, forced to be used in any way the Sculptor wanted.

"But the Boss wanted you here. That doesn't mean I can't have my share of fun. You belong to me, after all."

The bull continued jerking him off. Much to his disgust, the Cetacean failed to ignore the intense stimulation. His fingers were rubbing the tip, using his pre as a lubricant to pull the skin faster. The thick and slick cetacean cock started to get hard in the bull's hand as the heart pumped blood into it. And the hero couldn't utter a single moan from all the pleasure he was experiencing at the moment. The only evidence of that was all the pre coming out of his cock. And as his captor continued, the orca was slowly accepting and embracing the pleasure, as it was a relief from his situation.

Before the hero reached his climax, as the Sculptor noticed by the way it throbbed, the effect went active again, petrifying his cock to keep it fully erect. The bull didn't need to see on him an expression to taste the frustration he was going through, after being denied a much-needed orgasm. The Sculptor only licked the pre from his fingers and left the orca alone again to scream insults that didn't come out of his mouth.

The hero didn't realize that was the beginning of his actual torture.

The days passed by and the orca remained there. The villains mocked his erection, calling him names and taking pictures with him as if his humiliation was some kind of trophy. And he couldn't do anything to stop it--he couldn't even look at them to try and express some anger through his eyes. But he kept his faces in his memory, waiting for the day of his vengeance.

But the hours and days passed by, and nothing changed. No one came to his rescue. No squad appeared to retake the city. The only heroes the Cetacean saw were those brought as prisoners, who found in the frozen orca the type of destiny that awaited them; he heard as they begged for their lives, swearing a desperate loyalty to the villains' cause. None of them came out. It caused him a huge sorrow not only to be found in those conditions but to hear them and not be able to help them.

And when the nights came, he prayed that the bull wouldn't appear. He was lucky some nights--others, not so much. The Cetacean was forced to watch as the Sculptor made small changes to his pose and cleaned his body to keep the skin moist and shiny. He showed true devotion to this task, usually talking to the orca in the same way a father would talk to his son. But when he was done, he moved to torture the hero again, making him edge for several minutes or even hours before freezing his cock again, leaving him to deal with his pleasure.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And the Cetacean remained there, trapped in that same day-night cycle that was slowly eating his sanity. He remained frozen as the Palace of Justice was renovated into a version that fitted with the new owners' vision. He witnessed world leaders walk through the main hall accompanied by the most fearsome villains. He lost count of how many times the sunset happened before him. And he eventually became the toy not only of the Sculptor but of other villains too, who couldn't resist the urge to enjoy what beautiful body the orca had to offer. No one ever heard the sorrow that was crushing his heart and mind.

The only constant in that perpetual torture was the Sculptor. The brown bull visited each night to take care of his work. He moaned and squirmed in the deepness of his mind as the stud played with his pecs and jerked him off. He had become more sensitive as a consequence of the constant edging. The Sculptor's touch became more and more possessive with each day, reinforcing in the orca's mind that he belonged to him. Until he finally gave up his hope of reaching climax and enjoyed in silence being used by his owner. His rough touch became the only comfort he could experience in that hell.

As he embraced the pleasure the Sculptor provoked on him, he began to experience it through other ways. In the soft caress of the air against his naked skin. In the eyes admiring his cock. In the jokes made by other villains. In being used. In being humiliated. And finally, he found pleasure in being there, on his knees and petrified. He discovered a maddening pleasure in adopting his place as a statue. Whenever he stopped thinking, the pleasure ran all over his body, and it disappeared as soon as he listened to the voice in his head. Determined to kept that comfort, the orca accepted his place as a statue, drowning his thoughts in the intense pleasure that it caused him

Time passed by, and the orca remained there. Memories started to fade as soon as he gave up on his hope of being rescued. Names, faces, places, everything disappeared. The notion of time lost all sense to him. His own name sank into oblivion. He once embraced the fact that he was the statue of a hero carrying with his failure, but even that concept disappeared from his mind when his mind reached his breaking point and turned into nothing but an empty shell.

Conscious.

Alive.

The orca eventually stopped thinking.

The Sculptor deactivated his ability one night. He was pleased to see the orca didn't notice it. It remained frozen in place. Even after he removed the rock from his shoulders, the orca remained still and showed no expression. His erection didn't make itself wait. There was no bigger pleasure than the sight of a living statue, and he had made one that went beyond perfection.

"I believe it's time for your reward," the bull said, kneeling next to him.

His hand closed around the thick cetacean cock and jerked it off at full speed. It was still warm, and the skin felt so soft. But the only one huffing was the Sculptor, incredibly excited for the lack of reaction. Its musk reached his nose, and his cock throbbed and leaked as much as the statue's. Where other subjects had begun to moan and squirm, his orca didn't move a single muscle. He couldn't believe what perfect work he had achieved on him.

Its climax came after months of edging, and it painted the floor in a hefty load of thick and hot cum. And he didn't utter a single moan. The Sculptor got up to the last drop of seed from his balls before stopping. He was pleased by its performance, and that confirmed the statue was finally ready.

Standing on his shaky legs, the bull admired his work one last time before placing the rock back over his shoulders. However, this time he didn't use his ability again.

"You served your punishment. Now enjoy your reward. Carry our world over your shoulders, Atlas."

The Sculptor never needed to freeze the orca again after that.