Lord Humungus

Merciless ruler of the wasteland lord Humungus takes a new pet

The dust storms had passed, leaving the refugee camp in ruins. The survivors huddled together in the center of the compound, surrounded by the smoking remains of their homes. Lord Humungus sat upon his war bike, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the afternoon sun. He was a giant among men—six-foot-six of corded muscle and scarred flesh, his face hidden behind a steel mask that had been welded and re-welded a dozen times, pierced with holes for his eyes and mouth. His body was barely clothed, just leather straps crisscrossing his chest, studded bracers on his wrists, and a codpiece that did little to hide the obscene bulge beneath. His skin was baked brown by decades of radiation and sun, every muscle defined and twitching with barely contained violence.

His raiders had rounded up the survivors—twenty-three in total, filthy and trembling in the red dust. Humungus dismounted, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel, and walked among them like a lion surveying prey. He stopped before the first—a woman in her thirties, grey-faced and malnourished, clutching a child who had died hours earlier.

"What do you offer me?" Humungus asked, his voice like grinding stones.

The woman fell to her knees, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on her face. "Myself," she whispered. "I will serve you. Please. Don't kill me."

Humungus looked at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable behind the mask. Then he reached down, grabbed her by the throat, and snapped her neck with a single twist. The crack echoed across the silent camp. He dropped her body and stepped over it.

The next was younger, twenty maybe, with matted blonde hair and hollow cheeks. She didn't even speak before he shot her through the head, the revolver booming, her skull painting the dust behind her.

The third tried to run. Humungus caught her by the hair, yanked her back, and slit her throat with a serrated blade he kept on his hip. He let her bleed out at his feet, watching her twitch and gurgle, then kicked her aside.

"Next," he commanded.

Two men stepped forward—brothers by the look of them, lean and desperate, clutching makeshift spears. "We can fight," the elder said, his voice shaking. "We're strong. We can raid with you. Kill for you."

Humungus studied them, then laughed—a sound like boulders tumbling down a mountain. "Strong?" He grabbed the elder by the throat, lifting him off his feet with one hand. "You are weak. Pathetic. The wasteland has no use for you."

He crushed the man's windpipe, dropped him, and shot the younger brother as he tried to flee. Two more bodies in the dust.

Then he came to Gregory.

Gregory was eighteen, though he looked younger—small and wiry, with auburn hair that fell across his face, hiding his eyes. He was dressed in rags, his body thin from rationing, his hands trembling at his sides. He had survived the raid by hiding in a fuel drum, pissing himself while the screams echoed outside. Now he stood before this giant, this monster, and felt his bowels loosen with terror.

"What do you offer me?" Humungus asked, his voice dropping to a murmur that somehow carried more menace than his roar.

Gregory's mind raced. He couldn't fight—he was weak, always had been, beaten by his father, beaten by the older boys in the camp, beaten by the wasteland itself. He couldn't work—his hands were soft, uncalloused, useless for labor. He had nothing. He was nothing.

But he had one thing. One thing that might buy him another sunrise.

"I..." Gregory's voice cracked. He swallowed, his throat dry as the desert. "I can be your... whore."

The silence was absolute. Then the raiders erupted in laughter—harsh, mocking, cruel. They pointed at the skinny boy, at his rags, at his trembling frame. "Him?" one cackled. "That scrawny thing? Humungus would break him in half!"

"Silence," Humungus commanded.

The laughter died instantly.

Humungus stepped closer to Gregory, so close that the boy could smell him—sweat and oil and copper and something musky and male that made Gregory's head spin. The giant reached out, his hand massive and scarred, and gripped Gregory's chin, forcing his head up. He studied the boy's face—the delicate bones, the full lips, the fear-dilated eyes.

"You offer yourself?" Humungus asked, his voice low, almost gentle. "To me? To be used?"

Gregory nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Yes. Please. I'll do anything. Just... just don't kill me. Please."

Humungus held his gaze for what felt like an eternity. Then he released Gregory's chin and turned to his lieutenant. "Take this one to my tent. He has bought himself at least one more night."

The raiders murmured in surprise, but none dared question. Two of them grabbed Gregory—rough hands on his thin arms, fingers digging into bone—and dragged him toward the massive canvas tent that served as Humungus's quarters. They threw him inside, onto a pile of furs and salvaged cushions, and tied his wrists to a tent pole with rough cord.

"Wait," one of them sneered, spitting near Gregory's feet. "The Lord will come for you when he's ready. Try not to die before then."

They left him in the dim heat of the tent, the canvas walls glowing orange with the setting sun, the sounds of the raiding party celebrating their victory filtering through the fabric. Gregory sobbed quietly, his arms aching from the position, his mind racing through what was coming. He had bought himself one night. One night of... whatever Humungus wanted. And then? Then he would probably die anyway. But one night was better than none. One night was survival.

Hours passed. The sounds outside faded as the raiders passed out drunk or drugged on their spoils. Gregory drifted into a half-sleep, his body exhausted, his mind numb. Then the tent flap opened, and the air changed.

Humungus entered, ducking beneath the canvas, his massive frame filling the space. He had removed his mask, revealing a face that was brutal and beautiful in equal measure—jaw like an anvil, nose broken multiple times, eyes that burned with an intelligence that was almost worse than his cruelty. He was still dressed in his leather straps, but now Gregory could see what the codpiece had hidden—an erection that strained against the leather, thick and heavy and obscene.

The giant approached, his shadow falling over Gregory like a shroud. He untied the cords with a single pull, freeing the boy's wrists, then grabbed him by the throat—not choking, just holding, just possessing—and lifted him to his knees.

"You bought yourself a night," Humungus rumbled, his voice vibrating through Gregory's chest. "One night as my whore. My boy bitch. My cum pig. Do you understand what that means?"

Gregory nodded, his tears fresh, his body shaking. "Yes. Please. I'll do whatever you want. Just... please..."

"Good," Humungus said. "Because I am going to use you until you break. And then I am going to use you some more."

He released Gregory's throat and stepped back, his hands going to the straps of his codpiece. He unbuckled it slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation build, letting Gregory see what was coming. When the leather fell away, Gregory gasped—a sound of pure terror that escaped before he could stop it.

Humungus was enormous. His cock was a weapon—twelve inches at least, thick as Gregory's wrist, the head flared and dark and already leaking a steady stream of precum that ran down the veined shaft like sap from a tree. His balls were heavy, swollen, each the size of a fist, dusted with dark hair and smelling of musk and sweat and male power. It was the most terrifying thing Gregory had ever seen.

"Look at it," Humungus commanded, gripping the base and slapping it against Gregory's cheek. The weight of it was shocking, the heat burning against his pale skin. "This is what you bought. This is what you're going to take. All of it. In every hole. Until I'm satisfied."

He grabbed Gregory's hair—thick, auburn, soft—and yanked his head back, forcing his mouth open. "Open," he commanded. "Show me what that pretty mouth can do."

Gregory opened his mouth, his jaw already aching from the stretch before Humungus even entered. The giant didn't wait for him to adjust. He thrust forward, filling Gregory's mouth in one brutal motion, the head pressing against the back of his throat, the shaft stretching his lips obscenely. Gregory gagged immediately, violently, his throat convulsing around the intrusion, his eyes watering as he struggled to breathe.

"Choke on it," Humungus growled, his hips beginning to move. "That's it, boy bitch. Choke on my cock. Take it deep. Take it all."

He set a brutal pace, fucking Gregory's face with deep, punishing strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo through the tent. Each thrust drove Gregory's head back against the tent pole, his skull rattling, black spots dancing in his vision. Humungus's grip in his hair was iron, holding him in place, using him like a sleeve, a hole, a thing. Gregory's hands came up to push against the giant's thighs, but they were like stone, immovable, corded with muscle that didn't yield.

"Look at you," Humungus panted, his thrusts becoming erratic, his massive body tensing. "Pretty little whore with his mouth full of cock. You like this, don't you? You like being used like a cum pig?"

Gregory couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but take it, his throat working convulsively, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the drool that spilled from the corners of his mouth, coating his chin, dripping onto his ragged shirt. He was drooling uncontrollably now, his body's response to the invasion, the gagging, the lack of air. Humungus was swelling in his mouth, getting thicker, harder, and Gregory knew what was coming.

"Swallow it," Humungus commanded, his voice a growl. "Take it all, you little slut. Every drop. Don't you dare spill a fucking drop."

He thrust deep one final time, burying himself to the root in Gregory's throat, and exploded. The first pulse hit Gregory's gag reflex immediately, making him choke violently, but Humungus held him in place, forcing him to take it. Hot, thick cum flooded Gregory's mouth and throat, pulse after pulse, copious and endless. It was bitter and salty and overwhelming, filling his cheeks, backing up into his sinuses, spurted from his nose in white streams mixed with snot and tears. Gregory gagged and choked, his body convulsing, but Humungus kept cumming—six, seven, eight thick ropes of seed that Gregory had no choice but to swallow or drown in.

When Humungus finally pulled out, leaving Gregory's mouth with a wet, sucking sound, the boy collapsed forward, gasping, coughing, cum spilling from his nose and mouth onto the furs. He was covered in it—his face was a mask of Humungus's seed, white and thick and dripping from his chin. He retched, his stomach heaving, but there was nothing to vomit up except the cum he'd been forced to swallow, which he gagged on again, his body rejecting the violation even as he knew there was more to come.

Humungus didn't give him time to recover. He grabbed Gregory by the hair again and dragged him to the pile of furs, throwing him face-down onto the soft surface. Gregory's rags were torn away easily, the fabric shredding like paper, leaving him naked—pale, thin, his ribs visible, his hip bones sharp, his ass white and untouched and clenching in terror.

"Fuck," Humungus breathed, and Gregory felt rough hands spreading his cheeks, exposing him completely. "Look at that. Pink and tight. Virgin hole. I'm going to ruin you, boy bitch. Gonna stretch you out so good you'll never shit right again."

"Please," Gregory whimpered, his voice high and breaking. "Please, it's too big. You'll tear me. You'll kill me. Please, I can't—"

"You'll take it," Humungus growled. "Or you'll die. Your choice, whore."

There was no preparation, no gentleness. Humungus spat on his hand—once, twice—and rubbed it over his massive shaft, which was somehow hard again, angry and dark and glistening with Gregory's saliva and his own seed. He pressed the head against Gregory's entrance, and the pressure was immediate, overwhelming, like being crushed by a boulder.

Gregory screamed as Humungus pushed forward. The pain was instant and blinding, a tearing, burning agony as his virgin hole was forced open, as the tissue ripped and bled. Humungus wasn't entering him—Humungus was splitting him in half. The head of his cock, thick and flared, forced past the ring of muscle, and Gregory felt the slow, wet ripping of his own flesh, felt his insides being displaced, pushed aside to make room for the impossible invasion.

"Fuck, you're tight," Humungus grunted, his hips pushing forward, relentless. "So fucking tight. Like a vice. Like a virgin cunt."

He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against Gregory's pale thighs, his pelvis pressed against the soft give of the boy's ass. Gregory could feel it—the impossible fullness, the way Humungus's massive cock was rearranging his guts, pushing against his organs, filling every available space within his skinny body. It felt like Humungus was in his stomach, like the thick shaft was pressing against his spine from the inside, filling him completely, owning him from within.

Gregory screamed again, a high, piercing sound that was muffled by the furs, his voice raw, his throat shredded from the face-fucking. His hands clawed at the cushions, his fingers white-knuckled, his whole body shaking violently. He could feel blood now—warm, wet, mixing with the spit Humungus had used, making each thrust slicker but no less painful. His anus was being destroyed, the muscle torn and swollen, the tissue raw and bleeding, his insides being ravaged by the giant's cock.

Humungus began to move, pulling out until just the head remained, watching Gregory's rim cling to him, pink and swollen and bleeding, watching the mixture of blood and precum leak out in thin streams. Then he slammed back in, and Gregory screamed again, feeling fresh tearing, feeling his body being destroyed from the inside out. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the tent—wet, filthy, obscene—mingling with Gregory's screams and Humungus's grunts of pleasure.

"Take it," Humungus commanded, his hands gripping Gregory's sharp hip bones, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises that would last for weeks. "Take it, you little slut. Take my cock. Feel me in your guts, boy bitch. Feel me owning you."

Gregory's body bounced with every thrust, his sharp hip bones rattling against the furs, his head hanging down, his face a mask of pain and tears and drool. He was sobbing continuously now, his body learning that resistance only made it worse, that he had no choice but to accept the invasion, to endure. He was being hollowed out, his insides shaped around Humungus's cock, his virginity not just taken but annihilated.

Humungus grabbed Gregory's hair and yanked his head back, forcing his back to arch, changing the angle to hit deeper, to cause more damage. Gregory felt the cock pressing against something inside him, some organ that made his vision spot, made him feel like he was going to pass out from the pain. Humungus was hitting his prostate, but there was no pleasure in it—only agony, only the overwhelming sensation of being too full, of being torn apart from the inside.

"Going to fill you up," Humungus growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, his massive body tensing. "Going to breed you, cum pig. Make you carry my seed in your guts. Make you my personal whore."

"Please," Gregory sobbed, though he didn't know what he was begging for. "Please, no more. Please, I can't—I can't take anymore—"

"You'll take it," Humungus snarled, slamming into him harder, faster, his hips a blur of motion. "You'll take it all, boy bitch. You're mine now. My property. My fuck toy."

He roared, a sound like an avalanche, and buried himself to the hilt. Gregory felt it—the hot flood of seed filling his destroyed guts, pulse after pulse, Humungus's massive cock throbbing inside him, marking his torn insides from the inside out. The cum mixed with the blood, creating a warm, wet mess that began to leak from Gregory's gaping, ruined hole immediately, running down his thighs, pooling on the furs beneath him.

But Humungus wasn't finished. He pulled out slowly, watching Gregory's hole cling to him, watching the mixture of cum and blood leak out in thick streams, watching the boy's insides try to follow his cock, the pink flesh prolapsing slightly from the abuse. Then he grabbed Gregory and flipped him over, the boy's body limp and trembling, his face a mask of tears and snot and the cum that had dried there from earlier.

"Clean it," Humungus commanded, gripping his own shaft, which was covered in blood and cum and Gregory's own shit, filthy and obscene. "With your mouth. Ass to mouth, boy bitch. Clean your filth off my cock."

Gregory stared at it, his eyes wide with horror, his mind shattered. He couldn't. He couldn't do it. But Humungus grabbed his hair again, forcing his head forward, and Gregory opened his mouth automatically, his body responding to the command even as his mind screamed in protest.

He tasted it immediately—the copper of his own blood, the salt of Humungus's cum, the bitterness of his own insides. He gagged violently, his stomach heaving, but Humungus held him in place, forcing him to take it, to clean his own destruction from the giant's shaft. Gregory's tongue worked weakly, lapping at the filth, his tears mixing with the blood and cum until his face was a mask of fluids, unrecognizable, destroyed.

When Humungus was satisfied, he pulled back and looked down at Gregory—at the broken, ruined boy lying in the furs, covered in cum and blood and tears, his hole gaping and leaking, his eyes empty and shattered.

"Again," Humungus said, his cock already stirring again, hardening at the sight of his handiwork. "Again and again until you break. Until you admit what you are."

Gregory sobbed, but he didn't resist as Humungus positioned him again, as the giant entered him again, as the pain began anew. He didn't resist because he had already broken. Somewhere in the pain, in the violation, in the complete destruction of his body, Gregory had accepted it. He was Humungus's whore. Humungus's boy bitch. Humungus's cum pig. And he would be those things until the giant tired of him and killed him.

But that night, Humungus didn't kill him. He used him until dawn—fucking his mouth, his ass, making him clean his cock with his tongue again and again, covering him in seed until Gregory was glazed with it, inside and out. And when the sun rose, Humungus looked down at the boy, at the complete submission in his eyes, and smiled.

"You live," Humungus said. "For now. But you belong to me. Body and soul. My pet. My whore. My property."

Gregory nodded, his voice gone, his body wrecked, his mind shattered into pieces that would never fit together again. "Yours," he whispered, the word barely audible. "I'm yours, my Lord. Your whore. Your cum pig. Your boy bitch."

Humungus dressed, then produced a collar from his gear—a thick leather band with a metal ring, stained with the blood of previous pets. He fastened it around Gregory's neck, the leather tight, the weight of it immediate and permanent. Then he attached a chain, short enough that Gregory would have to stay close, would have to crawl on his hands and knees, naked and used, always following behind his master.

"Come," Humungus commanded, leading Gregory out of the tent by the chain.

The raiders stared as they emerged—the giant warlord in his leather and steel, and behind him, crawling naked in the dust, the skinny auburn-haired boy with the collar around his neck, cum and blood drying on his thighs, his eyes empty and devoted. Gregory crawled, the chain pulling him, the leather of the collar chafing his neck, his knees scraping on the gravel, his body aching and ruined and completely owned.

He was alive. He had survived. He was Humungus's whore, his pet, his property. And he would follow behind him, naked and collared, until the day he died.