Hero's Tale (or, A Heroic Homeric)

within his testicles found its long-sought release.

His glutes contracted, body jerked, in time with the
hot-blooded cadence that beat urgently within
his brain. He felt hydraulic forces flowing through
his penis, felt the strength of every mighty gush
of semen as it jetted from his orifice.
Though many whores and slave-girls had endured the man's
deposits, he felt sure he'd never spewed one-tenth
such quantity of cum in any other cunt.

And when he bottomed out, pure instinct caused his glans
to press up achingly against her cervix—so
that each new surge of seed poured straight into her chaste,
full-ripened uterus, to swell the lake that had
begun to fill it…. Stolidly, pale Hero bore
the jolt of each ejaculatory impact, each
sharp punctuating mark of Aechus' ownership—
almost as if he stamped her with an iron brand.

Down deep within, she also felt the pressure of
each blast of cum that spurted from his penis; felt
wet warmth go flooding through her womb with each new surge.
And then… it all became too much—the mating urge,
emotion, stimulation, and the leaden heat
of liquid pooling in her belly. Eyes rolled back,
mind hijacked by unthinking passion—a high, drawn-
out, wordless moan began to pass her parted lips.

The crowd erupted at the sight of Hero, once
so lofty, now in mindless thrall to animal
arousal. Tears rolled down the cheek of Pethus as
he watched his daughter's body spasm—bucking back
with frenzied, lust-laced energy against the cock
that ravaged her. And Aechus smirked to see his prey
betray herself to the sheer weight of his assault.
He slowed and let the woman milk his pole for him.

XI

In time the primal pas-de-deux wound down, until
the coital couple ground to an exhausted halt,
with Hero still impaled on Aechus' dogged spear.
He gleamed with sweat; his balls were spent, their every drop
injected in the woman's womb. He idly stirred
his cock, and found her cunt was soft and sloppy. He
had never thought 'twas possible to shoot so vast
a load of semen in a girl, in just one go.

She panted, slumped. Her tits hung down—grateful for calm
after the jarring ride that they'd endured. Gold locks
were tarnished: damp and matted with hard use. But though
her frame was now at rest, inside her tract she sensed
invader's final triumph softly underway—
felt his hot, sticky potency ooze through her; felt
her own post-orgasm contractions guiding the
relentless sperm that sought to snare her helpless egg.

At length, with sucking squelch, assailant slowly pulled
his fleshy rapier free from Hero's ill-used hole.
Her swollen pussy and vagina gaped apart;
at his withdrawal, thick torrents of ejaculate
decanted from her brimming passage—dousing stage,
and running, greasy, down the inside of her thighs.
Revolted, Pethus winced as Aechus' semen seeped
from daughter's cunt, and drizzled, warm, upon his face.

The victor stood, cock full erect, and raised his fist
into the air—eliciting another round
of hails from the depraved among his new subjects.
He called to them, commandingly: "You see, good folk,
what to expect if you decide to cross me! I
might simply choose to kill or maim; this here is what
my mercy looks like: I will sure humiliate
you, strip your honor, and defile that which you love.
I'll fuck you over like I fucked this sorry cow!"

This stilled the crowd, who watched in deferential pose
to see what would come next. Amid the hush, the drip
of cum from Hero's pussy pattered audibly
upon the platform. Muscles spent and trembling, chest
still heaving, shoulders bent, and head hung low in depths
of mortified dejection, she dared not move from
the spot of her deflowering. Casually, Aechus grasped
a clump of her lank mane, to dry his sperm-slick cock.

The cad lacked not for confidence, and was convinced
that he'd implanted Hero's virgin womb with his
unwelcome child. Though… might be a nuisance, if
someday this bastard reemerged, to claim the dues
of royal heir. Much better (thought the lout), if he
took steps to muddy waters of its parentage.…
He spoke again: "And yet, you'll see that I can be
exceeding generous to those who serve me true!"

He gestured to his motley band of bodyguards
(though dubious of character, at least they knew
their swordplay well). "Look full upon these heroes—these
brave titans who stuck by me when so many quailed!
Do you imagine I'd forget to recompense
such loyal service? Nay! These men shall share my prize!
And thus, though common born, they'll say they've stuck their dick
up cunt of woman who was, once, a princess styled!"

Upon the dais, Hero shivered; and, with eyes
still downcast, stammered in a quiet voice to raise
one last protest. "Nay lord—please, sire—do not be,
in cruelty, so extravagant! Just look what you
have done to me—just look how low I've been abased.
But mate me not, a princess born, with common rats
and cutthroats! Suffer me to be a happy slave
to you alone, and fuck me when and how you wish!"

"Be still, cow!," Aechus roared, "Does beast now tell the herds-
man how to breed her? Do not dare besmirch these fine-
wrought champions—be grateful, rather, that they show
you the rare favor of their seed!" Then to his men:
"Some victors wear the laurel wreath, but you shall wear
this false princess around your shafts!" He paused to think,
then added: "Yet, I know some tastes may tend toward men;
so, if any prefer, use Pethus for your sport."

Still—Hero was the prime attraction. Eagerly,
the ruffians dragged up a market table. Then,
they hoisted her limp form atop, and laid her on
her back. On one side—naked legs up in the air
and sopping pussy open-gaped. On other side—
her head leaned back at table's edge, hair spilling down.
Between—her sumptuous tits spread out across her chest,
their unbound nipples pointed sprightly toward the sky.

Oh what a scene—two score and more thugs patiently
awaiting turn to fuck her. Lined up, each with rod
in hand, to keep himself full primed. They took her two-
by-two, one plunging down her throat while chum stabbed deep
in sodden cunt. When one was spent and next strode up,
they found mouth and vagina both were slack and wet—
no lube required. And as still more released their loads,
her body, hair, face became plastered with their cum.

Besides the pounding she sustained, poor Hero could
not move—just breathe, and try to keep an open throat.
Up top, seemed wise to swallow as much semen as
she could. Below, as men switched off, they saw with some
distaste, that her canal was overfull—each time
fresh penis was stuffed in, great gobs of seed squished out,
to join the pool accumulating underneath
her wide-flung ass and dripping off the table edge…

XII

…And so it long continued. But, a time did come
when every lust was sated. Woman lay there, whipped,
legs wide. What had, at dawn, been virgin passage—tight,
pristine—slopped open now, no virtue left to guard.
Inside: her female instincts were aroused, her womb
obliging host to teeming sperm from countless cocks.
Outside: she blankly watched the clouds, and felt the glue-
like lake of semen slow congeal around her.

As far as Pethus, well, my granddad never would
relate his sorry fate that day. Suffice to say
that, as we know, 'tis hard to think of fouler stain
on honor of a Grecian lord, than to be used
in manner of a woman. Yet, when all was said,
both he and Hero were alive, and still possessed
full complement of body parts. A softer fall
from kingly grace is seldom seen in histories.

Usurper's mind had, by this time, moved on to think
of other things—of knitting up alliances
and dealing with the fractious lords still camped without
the walls. Proclaiming he had no more use for slut
and feckless father, he renounced all further care
for what became of them. Though lackeys and a few
of Hero's one-time beaus came up to give her crotch
the eye, none stooped to sample such cum-drenched delights.

Yet, ere they left, the villain's soldiers seized her for
their barracks concubine. She lived, then, for a time,
in castle where she'd once been princess—albeit
now, in bare corner of the guardhouse. Several times
a day, when fancy struck, one or another of
the louts would lift her robes and fuck her. Soon, though, bloom
did fade and belly swelled. Bored by her, sick of her
complaints, they cast out pregnant Hero to the streets.

She landed at the squat where Pethus scraped along
in squalor. And, when nine months passed since fateful day
that father was deposed, she birthed up twins. 'Twas boy
and girl, as like to one-another as the sun
is to the moon. The boy was aimless, sand-haired runt.
But girl, they say, grew up to raven tresses and
a stately form (not to speak of a rancorous
and reckless nature) that brought Aechus to one's mind.

Defying proverb that says ants flock more to sweet
than sour—Aechus, early on, made Hero's crude
debauch a policy of governance. Not rare,
that year, to see him fucking wife or daughter of
some foe upon that self-same dais. Maybe it
did highlight strength and potency, for people to
see monarch exercise full manly vigor in
the conquest and insemination of a lass?

Perhaps—there are great many ways kings might secure
obedience. At any rate, my grandsire thought
this method worked for him. Of course, rogue was not 'reft
of politician's skills. As long as precedence
was seen to hold, the monarch could be swayed to grant
rich favors to the nobles. Given that, few felt
it worth opposing such a vicious cur, and quick
he found accommodation with each major house.

Meanwhile, to earn their bread, declining Pethus took
to pimping Hero out; and for a while her cunt
brought in a premium. Surprising number of
the city's low-class males, it seemed, had harbored close-
held fantasies of bedding lofty princess. Now,
given the chance, they did. (My gran among them, once
or twice—though as he told it, more in pity than
consummation of their fumbling garden trysts.)

Eventually the pitch got stale, as madams and
procurers recognized the opportunity.
Soon every working girl who plied the streets and could
be termed a blonde was calling herself Hero. Thus
the brand was watered down; and some were younger and
more comely than the one-time princess. Slowly she
receded into sad obscurity, to live
on kingdom's crumbs, just like so many other whores.

I've heard that only once did she confront the man
who brought her low. 'Twas when the banns were read between
King Aechus and the scion of a neighbor state.
Accosting villain in the roadway, Hero told
him that the raven girl was his. The rake just gave
an ice-cold laugh: "Ask anyone—they'll list off scores
of men who might have fucked that bastard into you!"
He tossed some coppers at her feet, and strode away.

As years went by, old Pathus passed this mortal coil;
while Hero fattened up and birthed an ample brood
of mutts. In time, my grandsire lost all track; and what
became of them he could not say. He stayed to work
up at the castle, though, and watched as Aechus trod
much the same path as had his predecessor. In
one way the new king was more blessed: he married well,
and sired sons. And so launched ruling dynasty.

In closing, grandpa reminisced that Aechus, in
his staid maturity (and waning vigor?) cast
aside sick habit of, in public, raping girls
who angered him. It was unseemly, and he came
to see his past transgressions as embarrassing.
And so, though many still recalled that bitter day
first-hand, he bade his bards to spin the white-washed tale
that we all know: of star-crossed Hero and her man.

END