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His heavy chest heaved with labored breaths, soaked and beaded with large droplets of sweat. His usually shining waves of golden hair were now tussled, a mess strewn and fanned out amongst the pillows beneath his head. It clung to his forehead damply.

His normally clear and sharp blue eyes were now bleary, glazed over and unfocused as he stared up at the tall vaulted ceiling of his chambers.

The loud rhythmic breathy pants and gasps that fell from his agape mouth were interrupted by a sharp shuddering cry as a sudden shock of euphoria and pleasure ran up his spine once more.

He never thought in his wildest thoughts or dreams that things would ever come to be like this. That he, the strongest warrior in Asgard, a son of the mighty and all-powerful Odin – heir to the throne, he the mighty Thor would end up like this; beneath another, ravished, tame and taken like a heating beast.

He arched his hips upward off the bed, desperately searching for that blissful angle that would allow him more of that wonderful feeling inside of him. Above him, equally as eager and wanting, A lithe yet muscular body gleamed with sweat gasping with every sharp thrust back into the warrior. A string of hissing teeth-clenched curses spilled past his mouth feeling the Asgaurdian prince clench around his thick member.

He had always thought about doing these things with his dearest friend. His leader and companion. But to actually have Thor come to him like this, batting, alluring, enticing him, seducing him, begging him... It was all too much at once. But something seemed different now. Something was compelling him to do this. To take him; over and over again.

Fandral moved himself upright, pushing Thor's hips forward to get that angle allowing him to hit that sinful pleasurable spot deep within him. His tight knuckled fists clenched in the sheets turning white, holding up his own weight and steadying his thrust which now became ever-more rough. The large grand bed began to creak louder with each buck, and with it Thor's desperate and keening cries.

He felt like the larger man's body was sucking him in, he wouldn't be able to last much longer like this. He was so close.
Thor felt like he was losing himself and his mind as the edge grew nearer with each rough thrust.

As Fandral felt himself pushed over the edge he bent down to capture the moaning prince's lips with his own, sliding his tongue around Thor's. The son of Odin moaned needfully back into the kiss as he too lost control and shuddered, his bouncing and throbbing erection twitched and shot a hot wet and thick load of his own potent essence onto his belly and muscled chest. Battling his tongue against the other, shivering in excitement he submitted letting the other dominate his mouth and body; Fandral's cock filling him with heat coating his insides with his own seed.

Thor's body twitched and writhed, locked against his companions form until they both collapsed; huffing, sighing and desperate for air.

Soaking in the pleasurable afterglow, Fandral ran his hands lecherously across Thor's oversensitive and slightly twitching form. He palmed lazily over the Prince's chest, growling softly and nipping at one of the pale peach-colored nipples there. He let out a satisfied groan as he pulled himself from the stretched and worked hole. It twitched and oozed with his thick white cum, slipping slowly into stream down Thor's thighs and onto the crimson bedsheets.

Thor's entire body tingled with the euphoric feeling, and he trembled at the wonderful indulgent sensation of being utterly used and filled.

But as always when he did this, it did not last very long. It was soon taken over by an undeniable familiar feeling of shame that would creep its way up his spine and flood his mind. He rolled over on his side, clutching the blanket to himself as his turmoil set in and ate away at him.

This hadn't been the first time he had brought Fandral to his bed chambers.
Nor had he been the only one to disorder the bedsheets.

For what seemed like months now, Thor had been consumed by a burning, insatiable appetite and need for ravishment. It was like his pride and honor as a warrior and as the next to sit on the thrown was thrown out the highest window, and he had no shame for his own lustful desires.

But he didn't just want it, he needed it.
Like a mindless rutting animal, he felt like throwing himself at any man, guard or nobleman that gave him a second glance. He didn't care, he just wanted to be thrown down and taken from behind like a shameless chamber-maiden wet and ripe for the taking.

He didn't understand. He clutched his chest, breathing anxiously hard. He didn't understand any of this. Why was his mind so far and consumed with such lewd and immoral desires? Why was his body so willing, wanting and uncontrollable with this insatiable appetite for filth and lust?

It had all started with his brother.
Raven hair and poisonous green eyes full of mischief and hate; Loki.

Loki had done this to him. With the power of the Tesseract, he cursed Thor and his body. All for his amusement and revenge. What better way to destroy a man than from the inside out? By making him do it himself. Then slowly watching as everything he once prided and valued about himself is stripped away; Honor, morality, self-respect, and pride.

The once glowing and shining prince of the world and lord of the bifrost was now reduced to his knees using his mouth to pleasure his companions, other warriors and hall guards in the middle of the night; pulling them back to his chambers and begging them to fill him with their stiff and needing manhoods.

He used to have control.
It had only started with just the gnawing feeling of need in the pit of his stomach. But soon it grew. The flooding persistent thoughts in the back of his mind would keep rising and make head at the most innocent of times.

When he was in a meeting with council and noticed how loud, persistent and stern one of the men was. His face would slowly grow blank as he imagined that stern older man ordering him to his knees, demanding that he make his mouth useful. His hands would come up shakily yet obediently to fumble with the front of his robes and slowly reach in to pull out his.. –
He would be shaken back to reality by his name being called in the loud chamber. All of the people's eyes on him patiently awaiting his thoughts of the son of Odin on the question that he had been too engrossed and distracted to notice. He would have to stumble and ask them to repeat the question; play it off as being tired or exhausted from training.

But soon the thoughts and daydreams became more persistent, more relentless. He would walk past the training courtyards full of shirtless warriors and guards sparring; his mind would take over. Sometimes manifesting the thought of two or three of them at the same time taking him, switching places. Changing positions. Strong hands clutching his blonde hair and locked firmly onto his hips.

He couldn't control himself anymore after that.
It came to the point where he could no longer push the festering thoughts away or ignore them. Now his garb felt much too tight in the front. So much that he felt he would rip through a button or seam.

That night he had his first moment of weakness. couldn't control his hands and let them ease into his pants where he let his mind run rampant, allowing it to recall all the dirty and wild thoughts he had imagined so far; Sucking off the stern councilman, being used by the guards, three warriors taking him at once.

It was so overwhelming that he had bitten through his lip to keep quiet as he stroked himself hastily; his shameful whimpers filled with breathless need. He kept telling himself this was wrong. He kept telling himself to stop. But He couldn't stop and his body refused to listen; his hand kept stroking and rubbing until he couldn't take anymore and shuddered loudly, his body shivered and convulsed as he made a mess of his hand and sheets.

Gasping to catch his breath, he stared at his fingers now dripping with his own essence. The first feelings of the shame crept into his mind to plague him.

He told himself he would never do it again.

But the filthy day dreams, imaginations and fantasies kept coming back three-fold and with them the burning need to touch and stroke his bulge. He became trapped in a vicious cycle of it all.
The images became more vulgar, more forbidden.

One day it just wasn't enough. He was compelled to act on this desperate desire. The void needed to be filled. He needed the touch, the tastes, the smells...

He would do something that would forever change the way he saw himself, the mighty Thor, The future King of Asgard...