A duel beyond the myths: Hercules against Samson, the first humiliation of the strongest in his region.
Through clouds and dust, the arena is revealed once more, a timeless combination of Greek and Canaanite ruins adorned with images of Greek gods and scenes from their duels, as well as biblical scenes. In this setting reigns ferocity and the desire to possess and humiliate, bodies sculpted to perfection, oiled and prepared for combat that would leave even saints speechless.
The Warriors arrive on either side of the ring, embodiments of brute power and manhood.
Hercules: With his imposing stature of 6'4", a burly and handsome man, with curly brown hair tousled by the winds of battle, and blue-green eyes that flashed with predatory cunning. His sturdy figure, clad in a few leather straps, radiated speed, dexterity, and relentless agility: the epitome of Greek warrior power, the hero elevated to godhood through his own merit.
Samson: Long, curly hair framed a fierce face, and a tribal tattoo snaked across his massive shoulder like a mark of his innate savagery. His colossal physique, barely contained in white laced loincloths, posed with biblical defiance against the azure background; his strength was a testament to unaided human endurance.
Their gazes clashed: Hercules's grin promised a battle where one would revel in subduing the other, Samson's eyes burned with unwavering resolve, a desire to show this pagan who was in charge. The onslaught ignites.
Round 1: The Falldown of his pride
Hercules launches himself with agile precision, his imposing 6'4" frame hurling Samson against the billowing curtains. The Israelite, however, does not yield and, with his immense strength, skillfully battles the demigod. Surprised, Hercules feels intimidated by his opponent's power, having encountered something he only saw once every hundred adventures: someone who could match his strength. Samson seizes Hercules by the waist and, with a swift movement of his feet, brings him down. The leather that the demigod wears tears as the impact shakes his bones, igniting a blaze of agony along Hercules' spine. Samson's fingers, like steel pincers, dig into the Greek man's arm, twisting the flesh as if it were just mere wet mud, his nails etching crimson marks that burn like molten iron. Hercules winced, counterattacking with a savage headbutt. Samson's curls whipped about, but they didn't stop the Israelite from responding in kind. The demigod roared, a mixture of excitement and rage erupting in his chest. The son of Zeus struggled to his feet, crushing Samson's foot and twisting it with calculated malice until the bones splintered with sharp cracks, eliciting piercing howls. Limping, Samson threw a thunderous punch. Hercules tried to dodge it but failed against his rival's grace and skilled movements. The blow struck the organs of Hercules, twisting him in nauseating torment. Samson prolongs the fight, pressing his forearm against Hércules' throat, slowly suffocating him, Hercules with bulging eyes and throbbing veins while the tattoos on the Israelite's body could not be more perfect since they were like two pythons strangling the Greek hero.
Second Round: From Top Warrior to Messy Puppet
Exploiting his vulnerability, Samson lifts the wobbly Hercules, his hair held tightly and jerked around like a rag doll, suspending him to instill terror; then he crushes him with seismic force, shattering Hercules' chest with his full weight. Ribs fracture in a brutal symphony of cracks, fragments stabbing into unbearably burning lungs; Hercules convulses, spitting blood-sprayed foam, each gasp a hellish inferno twisted by a blade. Completely exposed, he writhes as Samson mounts him, his fingers digging into the fractures, pulverizing him with intentional savagery to extract heart-rending screams. "Writhing suits you, idolater," Samson taunts, his fingers scraping and tearing at both the demigod's hide and chest, leaving scarlet trails of tears. He grabs the demigod's hair, twisting it until the scalp rips into bloody shreds. Hercules lets out sharp, gasping moans, his limbs twitching weakly as Samson's savagery intensifies: an elbow sinks into the sternum, deepening the indentation, transforming his breaths into writhing, bloody sobs.
Third Round: The Glee of Domination
With fluidity, Samson encircles Hercules' neck with his strangulation; his arms, forged in endurance, constrict with meticulous escalation. Savor the unfolding: the crimson hue intensifying, the veins bursting, frantic, choked pleas as the windpipe collapses inward. Hercules' scarred arms claw in vain, his nails fracturing against impenetrable muscle, his wild brown curls drenched with sweat and blood as his vision becomes a swirling vortex of anguish. "Surrender, pagan," Samson murmurs venomously, his voice rising to muffled groans, his body shuddering in a terror-fueled suffocation. Hercules' resistance dissolves into tremors, reduced to a whimpering husk beneath the inexorable grip.
THE PINNACLE: Evangelized by Force
To perpetuate the suffering, Samson pulls at Hercules's curls with ferocious tugs, forcing him to his knees and tearing open bloody wounds. To inscribe his dominion, he penetrates his mouth with merciless, hammering invasions, each with a force and vigor that seemed already stolen from the demigod, savoring the retching and the rivulets of tears. Prolonging the humiliation, his pelvis jerks with unrestrained force, ascending to a thunderous climax: a deluge of semen cascades down the throat, choking Hercules in convulsions, his desperate escapes thwarted by an unyielding grip. "Congratulations, idolater, you've gone from hero to slut!" Samson roars, trembling in a euphoric orgasm. Yet, voracity craves excess. Samson takes hold of the flimsy cloth Hercules wore, revealing his small penis, a symbol of manhood for the Greeks, erect and dripping with spilled semen. Amidst so much humiliation and pain, Hercules had ejaculated throughout the entire fight. Samson's laughter, along with that of the entire Israelite crowd, filled the arena, filling all the Greeks, and even Hercules himself, with shame. Not content with such humiliation, the defeated son of Zeus ejaculated a little more semen. Reduced to mere mortality with his tiny prick exposed and splintered, Hercules groans in defeat. Turning the vanquished shell over, Samson aligns himself with ruthless precision. "I have always longed to devour a voluptuous maiden," he growls with savage ecstasy, impaling Hercules' buttocks with vehemence, tearing the assaulted opening with powerful and lacerating penetrations. With his member coiled around Hercules' throat in a strangling vise, he penetrates deeply, each thrust eliciting sharp moans from Hercules, whose form contorts in effeminate capitulation, transmuted into a trembling, supremely delicious trophy. Samson reaches cataclysmic satisfaction, unleashing a formidable torrent of semen within him, flooding the depths with searing, sweeping torrents, bellowing in victorious ecstasy as Hercules' moans fade into fragmented wails. Hercules lies profoundly defiled, a demolished vestige of virility, vitality oozing from the destroyed vessel. Samson rises, his knee pressing against the shattered torso, pulverizing the fissures in a final groan, assuming a muscular stance: long, disheveled hair, a gleaming physique. To crown the humiliation, he drags the inert and naked Hercules to the periphery, taking him back to his own kind. "Get him ready for another round. If the strongest one is too much for this whore, maybe with someone else he'll have a better chance of winning," he taunts, the final evisceration. Samson leaves happy; once again, a real man has claimed victory over those who pretend to be. The winners leave with their members hanging proudly while the losers clean the semen from their humiliated backsides. The coliseum evaporates, but the echo of the moans lingers eternally.
