A shrill scream jolted Hercules into consciousness. It sounded like a woman being raped ... except that with the low sobbing that followed, Hercules recognized the timbre: his friend, the heavy-armed Odysseus. His heart split hearing his colleague helpless in the arms, and on the dick, of the invincible Conan. The sobbing turned into murmuring as Conan continue to impale the hero. Hercules clenched his fists. Nothing happened.

Five hard knots burned on the back of his head, testament to the force needed to subdue him. The constellation of bumps pressed into a some sort of steel grid, his head bound in place by a thick plate. His arms were bound at inch intervals by similar plates, as were his legs. He'd been welded into some sort of steel case against criss-crossed iron bars, with only the most delicate, sensitive spots exposed: and these spots throbbed with agony. He couldn't move his head. He felt strangely heavy and weak, with a fire burning in his loins. Never before had anything held him helpless like this, so there must be magic in it. Magic and tempered steel. He felt a breeze over his balls.

Rolling his eyes downward he saw his cock bound tightly in iron rings, extending nearly a foot in front of him like a glowing red torch, held up by its own tortured, restricted blood flow. Beneath it hung his balls which radiating a slow ache: a small cage had been constructed around them, forcing them apart, and out. He tried to heave a breath but a thick plate constricted his chest, limiting the amount of air he could take in to fuel his massive resistance. Clearly these barbarian torturers knew their art very well indeed.

Zzeben strolled into view, twirling his thick iron bar. He did a number of flashy spins, thrusts and jousts, stopping only centimeters from Hercules' right nut. He looked up at the giant, grinning.

The mute made hand motions for his foreign tongue that were all too plain to Hercules. He read in the man's hands, in his eyes; it's as if he heard the man's thoughts as he performed his obscene shadow play: "You're my toy for now. Conan will be along shortly. After he's finished making women of your men. Which could take awhile: he loves his work. His cock can outlast the strongest man's resistance, his mighty hands can force compliance out of the proudest warrior, his irresistible commands reveal to even the most war-scarred hero his essential subservience to barbarian King's merest whim. By the time Odysseus, Jason, Ajax and Achilles are finished licking their own shit off Conan's virility and drinking his cum like it was mother's milk, I'll have you adequately softened up for his final triumph. When he makes you beg him to fuck you again. And again."

Hercules' eyes narrowed in wrath; Zzeben laughed, silently, mockingly, self-confidently. In a flash he brought his steel rod with precision into the opening over Hercules' elbow, sending searing pain through the tendons and joints. Hercules opened his fists and closed them again. His forearms bunched against the agony. Zzeben didn't notice, so focused was he on Hercules' rapturously handsome, tormented face, but the steel plate over the man-god's forearms bulged outward, taking on the shape of those knotted muscles. Hercules relaxed and clenched again, and felt the steel give way to his steel muscles a little more.

Zzeben now went to work on Hercules' knees, whacking into the thin openings with machine-like precision. Pain exploded in Hercules' brain as he strove against it: fought to conquer the pain as he conquered every enemy, muscle it down into his unconscious mind, block it's entry into his heart and shove it like coal into the furnace that fueled his rage. He clenched his fists again and he heard a ping: a weld on the edge of the plate bent under the pressure and burst free.

Taking shallow breaths, Hercules closed his eyes and saw what he would do to Zzeben. Then Zzeben brought the bar down clean across his balls.

Searing agony reared up and blinded Hercules as again and again in quick succession Zzeben pounded the meat of Hercules' testicles with the heavy iron bar. Flames shot up his body, into his neck; his blood boiled and with a mighty roar he lunged forward. It carried him an inch, no more: but bits of rock flaked off and fell around him. Zzeben laughed at his prey and started pounding Hercules' cock, making it swell against the constricting steel rings. Then he squeezed his aching balls between his fingers, digging his sharpened barbarian nails into the bloody wounds. Hercules roared again THREW his body forward.

A loud SCREEECH knocked Zzeben back on his ass in surprise as the steel bars embedded in the wall either bent or cracked the rock in which they had been secured. Hercules felt as heavy as the earth, as if his strength had been consumed by the flames in his guts: as if Conan's manseed strangled his virility from within. He should have broken free at once, but the bucketsfull of barbarian jizz shoved by Conan's fuckspear deep into his belly made war on his mighty god-strength. Hercules grimaced and like a wildcat struggled against the bonds.

Zzeben froze in horror watching the inch-thick steel plates bulge, taking on the shape of the striated muscle beneath. Hercules lunged and the cage behind pulled farther out of the wall, the close-fitting stones half-dragged out of place by the power generated by his man-god muscles. With a blood curdling scream he SHOOK himself free of the wall, the cage still welded onto his back. His eyes gleamed with triumph as dust and rock fragments rained through the room and the ceiling sagged on creaking timbers.

Zzeben scrambled back on his ass like a crab, stopping only to cover his ears from the bone-chilling squeal of all those criss-crossed steel bars bending across Hercules' rockhard back as he brought his hands slowly down to wrest the bar from Zzeben's hand. Shaking with rage at the struggle, Hercules slung the bar behind Zzeben (each movement accompanied by the screech and whine of dozens of steel bars wrenching along behind his arms). Pulling it tight, he wedged Zzeben against the steel plate that took on the shape of his his own marble-like pecs and unforgiving abs, and started to pull. The steel plates over his right biceps groaned and the welds burst apart as the round peak of denser-than-steel muscle. His left bicep popped so hard it burst a hole through the steel, forcing its way as the metal tore and sheared around its massing bulk.

Zzeben felt his chest compress against the plate, which withstood his muscle but deformed against Hercules' body. A thin stream of blood trickled from his ear from the screaming of the steel bars warping with his every move. Zzeben's weapon, that iron rod, began to bend around his own back as Hercules' arms forced it back; and blackness took Zzeben.

He fell, straddling Hercules' cock, and Hercules had an idea. A wicked idea. He'd now half-forgotten the steel cage was even attached to him. He moved freely, the steel stressing, stretching and popping free until he looked like some fucked-up porcupine. The twisted wreakage of his bonds began to drop away in pieces as the metal could no longer stand the humiliation of being treated like rubber. Hercules never noticed.

Grabbing Zzeben by the shoulders, he crammed him down onto his own imprisoned cock. Closing his eyes, concentrating, he started to buck and Zzeben awoke with an intake of breath, in too much pain to even cry out even if he could. Hercules continued to rape the man until his cock grew so hard the steel rings burst apart: inside Zzeben. He struggled vainly against the mighty-one's hands, banging his feet against the thigh-shaped plates of steel barely hanging on (but unaffected by Zzeben's flailing). One by one Hercules' man-god meat shattered the steel that had sought to restrain it, growing huger and thicker with every thrust, filling Zzeben's guts with hot shrapnel and hotter cum as those tortured balls emptied themselves in leaping convulsions.

Hercules let Zzeben fall twitching to the ground, his own cock treacherously muddying the earth with come: despite the agony, Hercules' power still forced Zzeben's cock into erect obedience, and it vomited its sperm along with the foam and vomit trickling from his tormented mouth. Hercules stripped the remnants of the steel grid off his shoulders, kicking away the plates over his legs, and wondered at the labor even this task caused him.

A shadow fell on him. He turned: in the breach of the wall where his cage had been stood Conan. Or rather, filling the breach with a body harder than the stones that had broken away. Hercules felt the barbarian cum in his guts drew him forward like a love potion. Conan's rigid, flexing cock showed no sign of slowing down after having humiliated a dozen of Greece's finest men. His mighty chest rose and fell in anticipation as he faced Hercules again. And Hercules felt his still dribbling cock rise to the face the challenge. And deal with this upstart challenger, once and for all.