"You're telling me that's one man?" Heracles wiped sweat from his brow, squinting at the distant figure crossing the sunbaked plains below. The heat made the air ripple, distorting the silhouette into something impossible.
Beside him, Iolaus shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no. Not exactly." He cleared his throat. "Local legends say King Geryon has three torsos, but —"
Heracles cut him off with a bark of laughter. "Bullshit. No man’s built like a hydra." His calloused fingers tightened around his club, muscles tensing with anticipation rather than fear. The stories had been vague, contradictory — more tavern drunkenness than truth.
Then the figure drew closer, resolving into three identical muscular giants striding shoulder-to-shoulder, their shared shadow stretching long across the dust. Each stood taller than Heracles himself, their oiled skin gleaming over corded muscle, loincloths straining against thighs thick as tree trunks. The one in the center — Geryon, presumably — grinned wide enough to show every white tooth. "Are you lost, hero?" His voice was a rumble, deeper than the others'.
Heracles felt his pulse kick sideways.
The triplets moved with eerie synchronization, their heavy footfalls thudding in perfect unison as they closed the distance. Up close, their scent hit him — olive oil, sun-warmed leather, and something muskier beneath. The twin to Geryon’s left raked hungry eyes down Heracles’ body, fingers twitching toward his own prominent bulge.
"Lost?" Heracles scoffed, flexing deliberately. "I came for cattle. Not ..." He gestured vaguely at their hulking forms, suddenly aware of Iolaus shrinking behind him.
Geryon chuckled, the sound vibrating through all three chests. "Our herds roam freely." He stepped closer, close enough for Heracles to feel the heat rolling off him. "But you look ... parched." His tongue swiped over his bottom lip. The twin on the right mirrored the motion, his gaze dropping pointedly to the sweat-slicked hollow of Heracles’ throat.
A challenge thrummed in the air, thicker than the desert heat. Heracles’ fingers itched — not for his club, but to test the give of those oiled pectorals, to see if their knees buckled as hard as their stares promised. Behind him, Iolaus made a strangled noise.
Then Geryon’s hand — large enough to span a wine jug — settled on Heracles’ shoulder. The touch burned through his lion pelt. "Rest first," he murmured, breath hot against Heracles’ ear. "Then we’ll see whose stamina falters." The twins flanked him, their thighs brushing Heracles’ hips, corralling him forward without a word.
Somewhere, distantly, cattle lowed. Heracles didn’t turn to look.
The twins’ hands slid down his arms in unison, fingers tracing the scars webbing his biceps — some from battle, others from less honorable tussles. Their palms were rough, calloused from reins and ropes, and the way they touched him wasn’t exploratory so much as claiming, like men assessing the heft of a prize stallion. Geryon’s thumb pressed into the tendon of Heracles’ neck, finding the pulse there and lingering.
"You smell like a man who’s been too long without proper company," the rightmost twin murmured, his breath stirring the sweat-damp curls at Heracles’ temple. His brother’s laugh was a low echo, and their hips shifted — subtly, deliberately — until Heracles could feel the thick heat of them bracketing his thighs.
Behind them, Iolaus made another noise, half-protest, half-fascination. Geryon didn’t glance back. "Your boy can wait with the servants," he said, not unkindly. "Unless he’s sharing your bed?"
Heracles snorted. "He’s a squire, not a whore."
"What a shame." The left twin’s fingers tightened on Heracles’ wrist, tugging him forward a step. "We’d have made it worth his while."
The tent they led him to wasn’t some campaign flimsiness, but a sprawling pavilion of dyed hides, its interior strewn with cushions and low couches. Wine skins hung from the supports, their spigots already dripping. The air was thick with resinous incense, undercut by the salt-tang of bodies and the musk of well-oiled leather. Geryon pushed Heracles down onto the nearest couch with a hand that could’ve crushed marble, then straddled him in one smooth motion, his knees caging Heracles’ hips.
"Prove those legends right, hero," he growled, grinding down just enough to make Heracles’ breath hitch. Behind him, his brothers shed their loincloths with identical, unhurried grace, their cocks already thick and flushed. One reached for a wineskin, the other for Heracles’ chin, tilting his face up.
"Drink," he ordered, thumb pressing against Heracles’ lower lip. "Then we’ll see if you can take what we give you."
Heracles bared his teeth — not in refusal, but anticipation.
The wine was honey-thick and heady, pooling on his tongue before Geryon sealed their mouths together to steal it back. Heracles realized that his own loincloth had also been removed and was lying with theirs on a pile in one corner of the tent.
The king’s lips were softer than expected, his beard scraping rough against Heracles’ chin as his tongue delved deep. Behind them, the twins moved with practiced synchronicity: one pressing a slicked palm against Heracles’ stomach, fingers splaying over his muscle-laddered abs while the other guided Heracles’ hand to his own cock, encouraging him to fist the leaking length.
The twins’ bodies were furnace-hot against Heracles’ back, their chests pressing flush against his shoulders as they worked him open with slow, relentless fingers. The oil they used smelled of crushed almonds and myrrh, warmed between their palms before slicking over his rim. One twin crooned praise into the sweat-damp curve of Heracles’ neck while the other twisted three fingers inside him, scissoring gently until Heracles shuddered, his thighs trembling against Geryon’s hips.
Geryon didn’t rush. He lifted Heracles' strong legs to his broad shoulders and cupped his hands on either side of Heracles’ head, rolling his hips in shallow thrusts that made their cocks slide together in the slick mess between them. When he finally sheathed himself inside the hero's well-lubed asshole, it was with a groan so deep it vibrated through Heracles’ ribs. The stretch burned — good, gods so good — and Heracles arched, his nails biting into Geryon’s biceps as the king bottomed out. One twin murmured encouragement, his breath hot on Heracles’ ear while the other stroked him in time with Geryon’s thrusts, his grip perfectly tight, twisting just so on the upstroke.
The rhythm was relentless but not hurried — Geryon pulling nearly all the way out before driving back in, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin and the twins’ murmured filth. Heracles came first, his vision whiting out as his back bowed off the couch, his sperm striping his stomach. Geryon followed with a growl, his hips stuttering as his seed erupted deep inside, one hand fisted in Heracles’ hair to hold him still. The twins weren’t far behind — one spilling across Heracles’ chest, the other into his own palm before smearing it over Heracles’ parted lips, grinning when the hero licked it clean without prompting.
Panting, Geryon nosed along Heracles’ jaw. "Do you still want those cattle?" he teased, voice wrecked. Heracles’ laugh was equally ragged.
"Later."
Heracles' voice was hoarse, his thighs still twitching from the aftershocks as Geryon carefully withdrew, his softened cock dragging wetly against oversensitive flesh. The twins shifted in unison — one pressing a warm, damp cloth to Heracles' stomach to clean away the mess, the other guiding his legs down from Geryon's shoulders with hands that lingered at the bend of his knees. Their touches were reverent now, thumbs tracing the thick cords of muscle along his inner thighs as they helped him settle back onto the sweat-slicked cushions.
Geryon stretched out beside him, his massive frame curling possessively around Heracles' side. He nuzzled into the crook of the hero's neck, lips brushing the pulse point there in slow, open-mouthed kisses that made Heracles shiver. One broad hand splayed across his abdomen, fingers idly tracing the divots between his abdominals while the twins arranged themselves around them — one draping himself across Heracles' chest to lap lazily at a peaked nipple, the other kneeling between his spread legs to press apologetic kisses along his tender inner thighs.
The air was thick with the scent of sex and spilled wine, their mingled sweat glistening in the lamplight as they moved together in a drowsy tangle of limbs. Geryon's hand drifted lower, cupping Heracles' half-hard cock with a gentleness that belied his size, his calloused thumb rubbing slow circles over the sensitive head. One twin hummed approval against Heracles' collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt there while his brother's clever fingers traced teasing patterns along the crease of Heracles' thigh, just shy of where he was still loose and slick from their earlier attentions.
Heracles arched into their touches with a groan, his body responding eagerly despite his exhaustion. Geryon chuckled darkly, his breath hot against Heracles' ear as he murmured, "Again, hero?" His grip tightened fractionally, just enough to make Heracles' hips jerk, and the twins' answering laughter vibrated through his skin like distant thunder.
The left twin shifted, sliding down Heracles' body until his lips brushed the tip of his cock, already stirring back to life. His tongue flicked out, tracing the slit with teasing precision before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking lightly. Heracles gasped, fingers tangling in the twin's dark curls as his brother pressed open-mouthed kisses along his thigh, nipping gently at the sensitive skin there. Geryon's hand replaced the twin's mouth, his massive palm gliding effortlessly along Heracles' length, his thumb swiping over the slickness beading at the tip.
The right twin nudged Heracles' legs apart further, his fingers slick with fresh oil as he circled the hero's rim once more. Heracles shuddered, his body still pliant from their earlier attentions, and the twin pressed in with two fingers, crooking them just so until Heracles' breath hitched. Geryon's free hand cradled the back of his head, guiding their mouths together in a slow, deep kiss as the twins worked him open with relentless patience. The stretch was delicious, the twins' fingers sliding against his prostate with every practiced twist, and Heracles moaned into Geryon's mouth, his hips rocking between the king's hand and his brother's fingers.
Geryon pulled back just enough to watch Heracles' face, his dark eyes gleaming with possessive satisfaction as the twins withdrew their fingers. The left twin moved to straddle Heracles' thighs, his cock thick and heavy against Heracles' stomach as he leaned down to claim another kiss. Behind him, the right twin pressed against Heracles' entrance, his cockhead catching for a breathless moment before sliding home in one smooth thrust. Heracles cried out, his back bowing as the twin buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against Heracles' ass. The twin paused, letting him adjust, his hands gentle on Heracles' hips as Geryon guided the hero's cock back into his brother's waiting mouth.
The rhythm they built was slow but deep, the twin above him rolling his hips in counterpoint to his brother's thrusts, their movements perfectly synchronized. Geryon's hands roamed possessively over Heracles' chest, pinching and rolling his nipples between thick fingers until they peaked tight and aching. The twin between his legs swallowed him down greedily, his throat working around Heracles' length with obscene wetness, and Heracles could do nothing but surrender to the pleasure building like a storm in his gut.
The right twin's cock dragged against his prostate with every inward stroke, the thick heat of him stretching Heracles perfectly, the oil easing the way but not dulling the exquisite friction. His brother's mouth was relentless, tongue swirling around the head before hollowing his cheeks to suck hard, and Heracles' thighs trembled with the effort of not thrusting up into that wet heat. Geryon's lips traced the shell of his ear, his breath hot as he murmured filth in a voice gone rough — praising how well Heracles took them, how tight and hot he was, how beautiful he looked split open on his brother's cock.
The twin inside him shifted angles, grinding deep until Heracles gasped, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slick skin. He found Geryon's forearm, gripping hard as pleasure coiled tight and sudden in his belly, and then he was coming with a shout, his cock pulsing thick ropes down the twin's throat. The vibration of the man's moan around him sent another shudder through his body, and the twin behind him groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as Heracles' body clenched around him. With a final, deep grind, he spilled inside, his hips stuttering as he filled Heracles with his sperm.
Geryon pulled Heracles into a languid kiss, his tongue sweeping possessively through his mouth as the twins disentangled themselves with slow, sated movements. The one who'd been between his legs licked his lips, wiping his chin with the back of his hand before stretching out beside them, his head pillowed on Heracles' thigh. The other twin pressed a kiss to the small of Heracles' back, his fingers tracing idle patterns over the swell of his ass before settling behind him, his chest warm against Heracles' spine. They lay like that, a tangle of limbs and satisfied murmurs, the air heavy with the scent of sex and contentment.
Heracles chuckled, his voice rough with exertion, and curled a hand around Geryon's thick wrist. "Tell me," he said, thumb stroking over the king's pulse point, "how flexible are your brothers?" Geryon raised an eyebrow, and Heracles grinned, rolling onto his back and pulling Geryon with him until the king was straddling his chest. He tilted his head back to meet Geryon's gaze, his fingers trailing down the king's thighs. "I want them both inside me," he murmured, "while you sit on my face and let me taste you."
Geryon's breath hitched, his cock twitching against Heracles' sternum, already half-hard again. The twins shifted instantly, their movements synchronized as they rolled Heracles onto his side, arranging his legs with practiced ease. The left twin curled behind him, his chest pressed flush to Heracles' back, one arm looping under his knee to hitch his leg up high. The other settled between his thighs, his fingers slick with oil as he pressed first one, then two fingers into Heracles' still-loose hole, scissoring gently to stretch him further. His brother mirrored the motion, working him open from behind with slow, patient strokes until Heracles was panting, his cock heavy against his stomach.
Geryon knelt over Heracles' face, his thighs framing the hero's head as he lowered himself with deliberate slowness. Heracles' tongue flicked out the moment he was close enough, tracing the tight furl of Geryon's hole before pressing inside, his nose buried in the musk of the king's ass. Above him, Geryon groaned, his fingers tightening in Heracles' hair as the twins positioned themselves — the front one lining up his cock with Heracles' stretched entrance, the other pressing slick fingers against his brother's shaft to guide him in alongside. They pushed in together, their cocks sliding side by side into the tight clutch of Heracles' body, their groans harmonizing as he clenched around them.
Heracles moaned around Geryon's ass, his tongue working deeper as the twins began to move, their thrusts slow and deep, each stroke dragging perfectly over his prostate. Geryon rocked back against his mouth, his thighs trembling as Heracles' tongue fucked him in counterpoint to his brothers' rhythm, the pleasure building in a relentless, consuming wave.
Heracles reached up blindly, his fingers wrapping around Geryon's thick cock, already slick with precum, and stroked him in time with the twins' thrusts, his grip firm but tender, his thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. Geryon groaned, his hips jerking forward into Heracles' fist, his cock pulsing hot against his palm. The twins moved as one, their bodies pressed flush against Heracles' back and front, their cocks sliding in tandem, stretching him impossibly wide yet perfectly filled, every movement hitting his prostate with pinpoint precision.
Heracles could feel his own orgasm building, a molten coil tightening low in his belly, his cock twitching against his stomach. Geryon's moans grew louder above him, his cock leaking steadily into Heracles' fist, his thighs quaking with the effort to hold himself still. The twins' thrusts grew more urgent, their rhythm faltering as they neared their own peaks, their hands gripping Heracles' hips possessively, pulling him back onto their cocks with every thrust.
Then it hit them all at once — Heracles' anal channel clenched around the twins' cocks as his own orgasm ripped through him, his cum spilling hot across his stomach. Geryon cried out, his cock pulsing in Heracles' hand as he came thick and heavy over his chest, his hips jerking uncontrollably. The twins groaned in unison, their cocks twitching deep inside Heracles as they filled him with their sperm, their thrusts slowing to gentle rolls as they rode out their pleasure.
Geryon slumped forward, his hands braced on either side of Heracles' head as he panted, his cock still dripping onto the hero's chest. The twins collapsed against him, their bodies molding to his, their softening cocks still nestled inside him, their breaths hot against his skin. Heracles let his head fall back, his body boneless and sated, his tongue lazily tracing Geryon's rim as the king shuddered above him.
"Gods," Geryon rasped, his voice wrecked, and Heracles chuckled weakly, his fingers still loosely wrapped around the king's cock, stroking him through the last tremors of his orgasm. The twins murmured agreement, their lips brushing Heracles' shoulders as they nuzzled into him, their hands roaming possessively over his sweat-slicked skin.
Heracles sighed, his body humming with satisfaction, and closed his eyes. The cattle could wait.
Geryon shifted, his fingers tracing idle patterns across Heracles' chest. "Stay," he murmured, voice still rough. His brothers echoed the word, their lips brushing Heracles' shoulders — not a request, but a command softened by shared breath.
A servant — smooth-skinned and broad-shouldered — entered with a platter of roasted goat meat, the fat still sizzling. The scent of rosemary and charred flesh filled the tent. Another followed with figs split open like wounds, their centers glistening with honey.
Heracles reached for a hunk of meat, tearing into it with his teeth. The juices ran down his wrist, and one of the twins caught them with his tongue, lapping up to his elbow. Geryon chuckled, feeding Heracles a fig, his thumb pressing against the hero's lower lip to smear the honey there. The third brother poured wine directly into Heracles' mouth from a golden vessel, the dark liquid overflowing, dripping down his neck and chest.
The servants moved silently, their eyes downcast — except for one, who lingered just a second too long, watching Heracles' hand wrapped around Geryon's wrist.
"You like what you see?" Geryon asked, without turning.
The servant swallowed, his throat working.
Heracles grinned. "Let him join us."
Geryon's laugh was low, approving. He snapped his fingers. The servant dropped to his knees, his hands trembling — not from fear, but want.
The twin behind Heracles nipped at his ear. "Greedy," he teased, but his hands were already guiding the servant forward, between Heracles' spread thighs.
The feast, forgotten, grew cold.
The servant dove between Heracles' thighs with a desperation that made the twins chuckle darkly. His fingers dug into the hero's hips — not gently — as he spread him wider, his tongue lapping at the slick mess dripping from Heracles' used hole. The taste of almonds and musk and salt-spunk flooded his mouth, thick with the twins' spend, and he moaned against Heracles' skin, his tongue delving deeper, chasing every drop.
Geryon watched, amused, his fingers carding through Heracles' sweat-damp hair. "Hungry boy," he murmured. The servant didn't pause — only groaned, his nose pressed flush to Heracles' perineum as he licked and sucked, his chin glistening. One of the twins reached down, guiding the servant's head with a rough grip, forcing his face harder against Heracles' ass.
Heracles arched, his thighs trembling — whether from exhaustion or renewed arousal, even he couldn't tell. The servant's tongue was relentless, probing and swirling, his lips sealing around the loosened rim to suck the twins' seed straight from the source. One of them groaned, his cock twitching against Heracles' hip at the obscene sight.
Geryon's thumb traced Heracles' lower lip. "You've made a mess of him," he said, voice rough. The servant whimpered, his fingers tightening on Heracles' thighs — like a man drowning in ambrosia.
And Heracles?
He laughed, breathless, and let the servant have his fill.
The twins tightened their grip on Heracles’ hips, their fingers digging into his flesh as the servant worked his tongue deeper, moaning into the heat of him. One twin leaned down to murmur something filthy into Heracles’ ear — too low for the servant to hear — and Heracles shuddered, his spent cock twitching against his stomach.
Geryon’s palm settled on the back of the servant’s neck, urging him on. "Clean him properly," he commanded, his voice thick with amusement. The servant obeyed eagerly, his tongue lapping up every slick trace of the twins’ release, his lips pressed wetly to Heracles’ rim as if he could drink the memory of their coupling straight from his body.
Heracles groaned, tipping his head back against the cushions. The sensation bordered on too much — overstimulation humming under his skin — but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tangled his fingers in the servant’s hair, holding him close.
One of the twins chuckled against his shoulder, his teeth grazing the muscle there. "Look at him," he murmured. "He’d beg to be filled next."
The servant whimpered, his hips jerking forward against empty air, his cock swollen and dripping against his thigh.
Geryon hummed, considering. He traced a finger down Heracles’ sternum, catching the last streaks of his own release. "Would you?" he asked the servant.
The man didn’t hesitate. "Yes," he gasped, his voice wrecked.
Heracles grinned, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He shifted, guiding the servant up onto shaky knees, his hands broad and warm against the man’s waist. "Then take what you want," he offered, his tone daring.
The servant’s breath hitched. His hands trembled as he reached for one of the twins — the one still lazily stroking his own cock — and hesitated, glancing at Geryon for permission.
The king waved a dismissive hand. "He’s yours," he said, smirking.
The servant moaned, his fingers wrapping around the twin’s shaft, slicking him with the oil still glistening on Heracles’ thighs. The twin arched into the touch, his eyes dark with approval, and when the servant finally sank onto him, it was with a broken cry that echoed through the tent.
Heracles watched, satisfied, as the servant rode the twin with desperate abandon, his body slick with sweat and want. Geryon’s hand settled on the nape of his neck, possessive.
"Rest, hero," he murmured. "There’s more to come."
And Heracles, for once, obeyed.
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