Hercules vs Antaeus - 8. The violation

Hercules' mind struggled to comprehend this puzzling inversion of power dynamics, this unexpected violation that transcended the physical. Yet, there was something in Antaeus' eyes, a strange blend of longing and obsession, a flicker of vulnerability that belied his immense strength, that suggested this was not merely an act of sadistic triumph. This was something more… something intimate.

Antaeus retrieved a small, ornate bottle from a wooden bench at the corner. The bottle itself was a curious thing, crafted from dark, polished wood, intricately carved with swirling patterns that seemed to mimic the veins of the earth. It contained a dark, oily balm, its scent thick and musky, a heady aroma that filled the confined space of the cave, a blend of earthy pungency and something subtly sweet, almost floral. The scent hung heavy in the air, like a perfume to accompany the ritual about to unfold.

Antaeus dipped a finger into the viscous liquid, the oil coating his digit in a glistening sheen. The oil was dark, almost black, reflecting the dim light of the cave in oily, shifting highlights. The gesture was deliberate, almost ritualistic, an echo of the "oil check" – a seemingly innocuous move that had been the key to his victory in the arena – but now twisted into a tool of torment. The oil clung to his fingertip, a dark, glistening promise of the violation to come.

With a chilling calm that sent a fresh wave of icy dread through Hercules, Antaeus slowly and deliberately probed his oily finger into Hercules' anus. "No! Stop this, you fiend!" Hercules' voice was a strangled cry, raw with pain and outrage. "Antaeus, have mercy!" It wasn't the swift, brutal strike of the earlier moves in their brutal contest; this was a slow, agonizing violation, designed to maximize the hero's sensation. "Please...God's...stop..." Hercules' pleas were broken, choked by the agony. The invasion was a deliberate, methodical exploration, each movement deliberately slow as an excruciating torment. "I...beg you..." The oil, slick and intrusive, added another layer of violation, a greasy intrusion that amplified the already profound degradation. Hercules' body tensed, his powerful muscles straining wildly against the unyielding bonds of the manacles, his groans growing louder, a mixture of pain, outrage, and a deep, visceral humiliation. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, his face contorting in a mask of agony and fury. The cold, slick oil, the intrusive finger, the sheer unexpectedness of the act – all combined to create a maelstrom of sensations that left him reeling. Yet, amidst the searing pain, the burning humiliation, a strange, unsettling reaction began to stir within him, a response that was as unexpected as it was deeply disturbing. The friction of Antaeus' oily finger against his sensitive flesh, the unexpected stimulation, sparked an involuntary response, a betrayal of his own body's autonomy. His manhood, despite the profound indignity of the situation, despite the rage and shame that consumed him, began to react. The physical response was undeniable.
A cruel smirk played on Antaeus' lips as he leaned closer to Hercules, his massive form looming over the hero, his breath hot and heavy on Hercules' skin. His voice, a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down the hero's spine, was a chilling counterpoint to the intimate nature of his actions. "I know you like it," he purred, the words dripping with a mixture of malice, a cruel satisfaction in his dominance, and a strange, unsettling tenderness, a hint of something almost… possessive.