Thora

 THORA

Hundreds of miles from Echo City, far off in the deserts of the Wasteland there is a growing religious cult.  Their numbers are unknown, but they have been slowly growing through the decades following the Last War.

They worship what caused the Last War, what ended life as it was once known.  God.  And they believe His message and wisdom must be brought back to all the denizens of the Wastes.

Carrying her enormous spiked warhammer in front of her with both hands, Thora Thorgrave stomps through the harsh landscape. She's been tasked with converting heretics to be true believers of her faith, followers of Him and His words.

She glances behind her.  Not long ago she encountered a group of Freemen.  Some listened to her sermon of devotion to Him, but others did not.  One dared mock the words she spoke, and Thora felled her with one mighty blow of her hammer.  As she walks, she notices a small opening in a mountain side.  Something glitters in the sunlight, seeming to call to her.

She makes her way to the cave entrance.  As she nears, she can see a figure sitting in the shade of the opened maw.  She doesn't know who, but it is John Smith.

“Oi!” Thora shouts as she approaches.  “Stranger!  I hope you're not opposed to sharing some of that shade.”

John eyes the woman.  He's never quite seen anyone like her.  Obviously dangerous.  Her hammer reminded him of the horror of Trixie and her chainsaw, but it quickly passed.  He looked to the size of the entrance.  Plenty of room for two.

“Not at all.”  John makes room and gestures for Thora to keep coming.

Thora's heart races as she approaches, feeling the heat radiating off the rocks.  But it's not just the punishing sun that makes her pulse quicken.  It's the stranger.  He wears a mix of faded, worn Freemen garb and more refined Echo City attire, as if he straddles the line between the two disparate worlds she knows.  Lennon glasses, tinted against the harsh glare, are perched atop his balding head.  A scruffy beard and mustache hug the firm lines of his jaw.  The overall effect is ruggedly handsome, with a hint of the sophistication one might expect from a man from the heart of the city.  Strange, but compelling.  His eyes, a striking blue that seems to pierce right through her, meet hers as he gestures for her to take shelter in the shade with him.  Thora hesitates for a split second, but finds herself drawn to the cool darkness of the cavern entrance and the intriguing man inhabiting it.

Thora steps closer, the ash smeared across her eyes and the inverted cross painted across her forehead, her long hair a waterfall of white streaked with purple, fluttering behind her.  Her lithe, athletic body is clad in what remains of her tattered priestess habit, barely concealing the toned flesh beneath.  The faded hospital gown-turned-nun's habit hangs off one shoulder, the other strap long since torn away.  She wears a tattered football jersey, the religious iconography of her faith crudely painted across the back and elongated collar, and matching tights, both large enough to show the swell of her breasts and the long lines of her legs.  A thick belt of rough leather, adorned with a grotesque combo of football and religious relics, emphasizes her narrow waist and taut stomach.  As she moves closer to John, herlong, muscular legs and the tantalizing glimpse of taut inner thigh vanish behind the rocky overhang.

Thora sits down nearby, not too close, yet not far away.  She keeps her distance at first, setting her enormous, spiked warhammer down in front of her, both as weapon and symbol of her cult's strange amalgamation of faith and violence she preaches in the Wastelands.

"Thank you," she says simply, meeting John's eyes.  "Not many would offer shelter to a Freemen."  Her voice is strong and clear.

“I'm from the city.” John says.  “ I'm on my way back, actually.  I've just spent some time with some Freemen.”

Thora cocks her head slightly, studying John with a mix of curiosity and caution in her piercing gaze.

"Freemen, you say?" she asks, a hint of wariness creeping into her tone.  "You are a long way from the safety of your walls.  Most men who venture this deep into the Wastes have no care for the Freemen or their ways."  She leans forward a little, ash-smeared hands clasped together, elbows resting on her knees.  The movement causes her tattered jersey to gape open slightly, offering John a fleeting glimpse of the swell of her breasts.  "So tell me, city man," Thora says, her voice lowering to a more conversational level, "what brings you out here?  Surely not just a stroll in the desert."

As she speaks, Thora's eyes rake over John assessing him, trying to reconcile the odd mix of styles in his clothing with his demeanor.  She notes the way he carries himself, the easy confidence that marks him as a man of some authority, likely used to being in charge.  And yet, there's something else there, a certain restrained intensity that makes her wonder what stories his hands could tell, if one looked closely enough.  She leans back against the rock wall behind her, her posture still guarded but not overtly aggressive.  She makes no move to touch her hammer, but it remains close at hand should she need to defend herself.  The heat of the desert sun presses against her back through the rock, a stark contrast to the relative coolness of their rocky refuge.  Beads of sweat trickle down her neck and between her ample breasts, dampening the fabric of her gown.

“Well..” he clears his throat.  “I was summoned by a friend.  Needed help with something.”

John tilts his head slightly.  “Where are you from?  I mean... I like your.. style.  West of the swamps?” he jokes.

Thora laughs softly, a sound like distant thunder rumbling in her chest.  She shakes her head, causing her long white hair to sway and dance.

"Hardly," she says, her voice regaining the earlier wariness.  "Not many from the swamps would be caught dead in this outfit.  It's a path less traveled, believe me."

She lifts her chin slightly, meeting John's gaze head on.  There's a defiant glitter in her eyes, a challenge in the set of her jaw.

"I am of the Divus Peos.  A follower of the true God.  We believe in restoring the worship of masculinity, in all its cruel and glorious forms."

Thora pauses, gauging John's reaction.  His initial unsettled expression doesn't escape her notice.  She's used to provoking such responses in the uninitiated and unbelieving.  Still, something about this city man intrigues her, and she finds herself wanting to push further, to see if there's a spark of understanding hidden beneath his civilized exterior.  She leans in a bit closer, the scent of the desert heat, sweat and something uniquely feminine washing over John.  "But you didn't answer my question, city man.  What kind of help were you summoned for out here?  It must have been... intensive."  The last word drips with unspoken implications, a subtle invitation to confess.

“Uh,” he clears his throat again.  “Ahem, what?”  John is taken back, of course.  “What?” he says again.  His heart races.  He addresses her question.  “Um, well, yeah, sometimes.. sometimes certain circumstances..” he blinks several times, then furrows his brow a little.  “I'm sorry, you do what?”

Thora's lips curl into a small, enigmatic smile at John's clear discomfiture.  She can see the confusion and wariness warring in his eyes, the racing pulse at his throat.  It's a reaction she's all too familiar with, but rarely from a man of the city.  Most of them are too busy hiding behind their shiny towers and false gods to entertain the savage truths she preaches.

She takes a step closer, invading his personal space, her voice dropping to a low, almost hypnotic murmur.

"I serve the God of Cock, the true and only God," she repeats, as if explaining it to a child.  "I help men embrace their most base, primal desires.  To cast off the shackles of society's lies and indulge in the cruel, beautiful brutalities of true masculinity."

Thora's hand comes up to caress John's cheek, her fingers lingering just a moment too long to be entirely innocent.  She can feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his jaw beneath her touch.  "And sometimes, men like you," she says softly, her eyes searching his, "men who straddle the line between two worlds, come to me seeking... enlightenment.  Seeking to drink deep from the well of their own darkest desires."  Her thumb traces the curve of John's bottom lip, a gesture that is at once innocent and obscenely suggestive.  "Is that not the kind of help you were summoned here for, city man?"  Thora asks, her eyes gleaming with a challenge that dares him to lie, to deny the truth of her words.

John's cock begins to bulge, unavoidable.

“Y-you are correct..” his heart pounds.  His eyes roam her form.  Even sitting she is larger than him.  “What are you doing in this part of the Wastes?”  He asks hurriedly.

Thora's gaze flicks down to the growing bulge in John's trousers, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.  She leans back, allowing him a moment to compose himself, even as her presence fills the small space between them with a palpable energy.

"I travel the Wastes, spreading the word of the True God," Thora says, her voice taking on the cadence of a preacher's sermon.  "Seeking out those who would listen, who would hear the call to return to the old ways.  The ways of man, before the world fell and the false gods sought to chain us with their silly rules and expectations."  She stands abruptly, towering over John in the cramped space of their rocky sanctuary.  In one fluid motion, Thora draws a finger down the length of his chest, stopping just short of his now straining erection.

“I.. I am going to unite the Freemen.” He manages to say.

Thora's eyes widen slightly at John's declaration, a flicker of surprise and something akin to respect glimmering in their depth.  She pulls back a little, studying him with renewed intensity, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Unite the Freemen, you say?" she muses, a hint of admiration coloring her tone.  "That is a tall order."  She begins to circle him slowly, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm.  The tattered remnants of her gown whisper against her skin, the inverted cross on her forehead catching the fading light.  "The Freemen are a fractious lot, divided by tribe, by creed, by the cruel whims of their so-called leaders.  But you..." Thora stops her circling, standing before John once more, her eyes boring into his. "You straddle two worlds, don't you?  Walking the line between the city and the Wastes.  Perhaps you are just the man to unite them."  She reaches out suddenly, gripping John's chin with one calloused hand, her grip firm and unyielding.  "But tell me, are you prepared for the cost?  To embrace the darkness that lies within yourself, and within the Freemen?  To lead them from the shadows of the Wastes and into a new world order?"  Thora's voice drops to a fierce intensity, her ash-smudged eyes blazing into John's own.  "The God of Cock demands total devotion, total obedience, total surrender to His divine purpose.  He demands righteousness, not righteousness of the false variety preached by the Epistles and the Law.  He demands a righteousness of the flesh, of the cock, of the cruel and brutal truths of man's dominion over woman and all of creation."  She leans in closer, her lips a hairsbreadth from John's own.  "So ask yourself, John Smith - are you willing to drink the bitter cup of the initiate and be reborn in the blood of your baptism? Are you willing to lead the Freemen in the worship of the One True God, even as you lead them into the fires of the last days?"  Thora holds John's gaze, the weight of her question hanging heavy in the charged air between them.

John’s cock throbs.  Unity.

He leaps up, grabbing Thora, pushing her against the wall.  Her breath hitches as John seizes her, slamming her against the rough wall of the cavern.  But rather than resist or push him away, she meets his passion with her own fierce intensity, her tongue battling his own in a dance of dominance and submission.  He begins pawing at her, shoving his tongue down her throat, kissing and biting her neck.

"Nnhhh,” he groans into her.

She hooks one long, muscular leg around his waist, pulling him harder against her as her hands grip the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his skin beneath.  Thora grinds her hip against the throbbing bulge of John's erection, relishing the feel of his manhood straining urgently against her.

"Mmm, yes..." she hisses against his burning lips, nipping sharply at the flesh before soothing the sting with a long, slow lick.  "Take what is yours by right of God and of nature..."  Thora's deft fingers find the waistband of John's trousers, deftly unfastening them and freeing his aching cock into the cooler air of the cavern.  She wraps one strong hand around his stiff member, stroking him with a grip that is almost rough enough to hurt.  "Lead me," she whispers, squeezing his turgid flesh pointedly, "and in leading me, show the world the glory of the True God's divine right over all... females..."

“Ohhhh,” John moans into her mouth, kissing her.  He moves her bottoms out of the way and plunges his cock right into her.  “Aaaahhhhhh..” he lets out, with utter satisfaction.

Thora cries out in ecstasy, her head slamming back against the unyielding rock wall as John sheathes himself fully inside her with one hard, brutal thrust.  The piercing pain in her skull melds with the searing pleasure radiating from her core, a cruel and beautiful torment that sets every nerve ending alight.

"AAIIIEE!!  Ohhh, YESSSSS!!"

Her body clenches down around him like a vice, muscles rippling along his thick length plundering her innermost depths.  Thora's fingers claw at John's back, scraping down his flesh, leaving bloody lines in their wake as she urges him on with wordless shrieks of unbearable bliss.  Her anguished cries echo in the enclosed space, a debased litany of worship that speaks to the savage glory of man's dominion over woman.  Her eyes roll back in rapture, the whites showing as John pistons into her with increasingly forceful thrusts, each impact forcing the air from her lungs in strangled gasps.

The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the wet, squelching noises of Thora's arousal fill the cavern as John takes his pleasure from her amenable body.  Her tattered robes and tights are shoved up around her waist, bunched and tangled around her hips and thighs as he drives into her again and again.  Her serpentine tongue curls around John's own as he kisses her brutally, biting at the soft flesh of her lips and the column of her throat hard enough to leave vivid marks.  She can feel the hot, brutal throb of his cock pulsing inside the slick, rippling sheath of her sex, each twitch a promise of the load soon to come.

He grabs her arms, pinning them to the wall.  He grinds into her.

“You feel so good."  He whispers in her ear, nipping her earlobe and kisses her neck.

Thora whimpers, a sound of blatant submission and capitulation to John's ruthless plundering of her body.  Her wrists ache under his bruising grasp, arms stretched taut and pinned above her head to the unyielding stone.  The pinpricks of pain from her scraped back and bruised arms and wrists only heighten the pleasure-pain equilibrium of her ecstasy.

"Ohhh, yes... please... I feel... uunngh!..."  Her words dissolve into incoherent moans and cries of tortured bliss, panting hotly as she feels the thick slide of his shaft pummeling her slick, rippling walls with obscene wet squelches.  Biting kisses and nips to her hypersensitive neck send electric jolts straight to her core, stoking the inferno of lust consuming her.  He keeps kissing her neck, not thrusting his cock, it twitches furiously.

“Cum you little slut.” he whispers in her ear.

Thora's cries reach a fever pitch at John's degrading command, her back arching as he holds her wrists captive.  The filthy words ignite something primal and desperate within her.  Her hips buck wildly, grinding down on his cock with shameless abandon.

"AAAIIIEEEE!!!  YESSS!!!  I-I'm cummmmingggg!!!"  Thora screams out, her body convulsing uncontrollably as her climax crashes over her.  Her slick sex clenches like a vice around his throbbing erection, rippling and squeezing rhythmically as a tidal wave of pure sensation rips through her.  Ash-smudged fingers claw frantically at the rock beneath her as Thora writhes and thrashes, pinned by John's unyielding grip.  She throws her head back with a guttural moan, breasts heaving as the brutal ecstasy overwhelms her.  Thora's juices gush around his pistoning shaft, soaking him and dripping down her quivering thighs.  Her massive orgasm seems to go on and on, each spasm and aftershock stretching out the exquisite agony of bliss.

As she comes down from her heights, Thora goes limp in his arms, panting and shaking violently as John pulls out of her dripping sheath with an obscene squelch.  Turned out, it was a good thing he was pinning her to the wall, because Thora's legs couldn't have held her up, considering the sheer intensity of her climax.  He holds her by her tight by her hair, fisting it, as he brutally fucks her slack mouth.  Her once lush lips are swollen and abused, drool leaking out the corners as he ruthlessly slams into the back of her throat.  Thora's glazed eyes roll back, vacant and unseeing, as he uses her mouth like nothing more than a fleshy sheath for his cock.

"Gluk gluk gluk," the obscene sounds of Thora choking on his dick fill the room, punctuated by the harsh slap of flesh on flesh and Juan's grunts of sadistic pleasure.  He hilts himself deep in her throat with each brutal thrust, holding her there until her air-deprived body convulses weakly in his grip.

Thora's eyes roll wildly in their sockets, the whites bulging obscenely as John relentlessly slams her head against the jagged rock.  Each brutal impact sends bolts of searing pain radiating through her skull, blurring her vision until all she can perceive is the pulsing, veins-engorged shaft plunging in and out of her utter destruction.  Her throat constricts and spasms around the thick invader, gagging and choking violently as John forces her to swallow his cock to the hilt with every merciless thrust.  Drool froths from her stretched lips, bubbling and gurgling as he wrecks her gullet with brutal abandon.  He crushes the back of her head against the wall, his cock down her throat, and he cums, his entire body vibrates.

“A...!  AH! ..... OH FUCK I LOVE YOU FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK..!”

He smashes her head back again as another climax hits him.

“OHHH FUCK YOU FUCK FUCK YOUUUU... FUUCCCKKKINNNGGG... LOOOOOOOOOVEE YOOOUUUUUU... I FUCKING LOVE YOU…”

Thora makes a final gurgling, choked noise around the thick shaft still lodged deep in her convulsing throat as the last pulses of John's release flood her mouth and guts.  Her limp, shuddering body goes boneless underneath him, only held upright by the brutal grip he still maintains on her hair.  Thora's mind is a blank, shattered canvas, painted over and over with only the words 'I love you' and the sensation of utter defilement and use.

Tears leak from the corners of her bulging, unfocused eyes as John collapses heavily atop her battered body, crushing her into the unyielding surface of the cavern wall.  Thora gasps and sputters weakly, drowning in the musky aroma of his seed and sweat that fills her nostrils and coats her bruised throat.  But she doesn't resist.  She has no strength left.  Only a hysterical giggle rises from her abused lungs and a desperate, broken whisper.

"I... love... you..."

John pants, using the wall and Thora to support himself.  His cock twitches several more times. His body still vibrates.  Slowly gently, he removes his cock from her throat and gently lays her on the cave floor.  He slowly sits next to her, catching his breath.

He checks on Thora.  She's unconscious.  John cleans her.  He uses his own supplies and starts a fire and begins to cook food, deciding to hunker down for the night.

Thora remains unconscious and limp on the cold stone floor, sprawled exactly how John left her.  Her once chiefly hair is disheveled, pieces clinging to the drying drool and tears around her mouth.  A mottled rash of finger shaped bruises dots the pale column of her neck and mottled red lines of scrapes litter her stretched out limbs.  Bite marks and vivid hickies dapple the heavy swell of her breasts, each amethyst colored blemish a testament to her lover's ardor.

Thora slowly comes to, a soft moan escaping her lips as movement stirs her battered body.  Her eyelids flutter, the ash smudges smeared beneath them, and she blinks in the flickering firelight.  As her vision clears she sees a earth that is both strange and familiar - the rough hewn log walls, a fire crackling in a pit of stones, a pan bubbling above the flames.  And then she sees John- sitting beside her, attentively watching her.  He holds her lovingly.

“Hey,” he smiles at her.  “Welcome back.”

Thora looks up at John, her dark eyes still glazed but shining with a new light as she meets his gaze.  She smiles softly back at him, her plump bottom lip still slightly swollen from his ardent attentions.  Her body feels heavy and sore in the best way possible, deliciously used and cherished.  Thora stretches languidly beneath the rough woolen blanket tucked around her naked form, acres of creamy skin and lean muscle catching the firelight as she moves.  She rolls to her side and reaches out to touch John's cheek lightly with slender, trembling fingers.  Her voice is low and husky from the ravages of lovemaking, her tone soft as she whispers to him.

"Hello... my darling..."

John kisses her forehead, on her inverted cross.

“Are you hungry?” he asks sweetly.

Thora leans into John's tender touch, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he kisses her forehead.  A shiver of pleasure runs through her at the intimate gesture, a stark contrast to the brutal pleasure they had shared just moments before. She nods slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of her bruised lips.

"Mmm, yes... I could eat..." she murmurs softly.  "I seem to have worked up quite the appetite."

John gives her some cooked food he got from the other Freemen.  He snuggles in close with Thora.

“I've got to go back to Echo City.  And you.. you should go to Zara.  Join her, and her people.”

He looks at Thora with honesty and love.  She takes a tentative bite of the offered food, humming softly at the unfamiliar but not unpleasant flavor.  As she chews, she listens to John's words, her brow furrowing slightly.  After swallowing, she turns to face him fully, her ash-streaked face etched with sincerity.  She reaches out to cup John's cheek, her thumb brushing over his lips. Her eyes search his, holding his gaze with an intensity that belies the weariness in her limbs.  In a low, fervent tone, she whispers to him.

"No... I can't go to Zara.  Not yet.  I need to stay with you... I need you..."

John's heart swells.

“Oh.. you.. you'll be fine..”  He holds Thora close.  “I.. I don't know how you feel right now, but I can imagine.”  He chuckles.  “I've been there, recently.  And.. and that's why I'm telling you, not asking, to go to Zara.”  He presses her against him.  “And it's why I need to get back to Echo City.  I.. I have people too.. like Zara.”  He looks at Thora lovingly.  “And you.”

He gets some food for himself.  She looks at him, tears welling up in her ash-smudged eyes.  She nods slowly, never breaking their intense gaze.  Her voice is choked with emotion as she whispers to him.

“Very well... I will go to Zara... as you ask of me."

She trembles as John kisses her deeply, his love and tenderness seeping into her very soul.  She clings to him, nails digging into his back as she pours all her pent-up passion and devotion into the embrace.  As they part, Thora takes a shaky breath, eyes glistening with unshed tears.  She meets John's gaze, her expression soft and vulnerable, a stark contrast to her usual fiery demeanor.  Thora leans in close, resting her forehead against his.

"Thank you... for everything.  For saving me... for showing me..."

John blushes.

‘Sweetheart.. I didn't save you.. your love.. heh.. you didn't need saving, just more of the right kind of love.”

Thora's breath hitches as John counters her thanks, a mixture of emotions playing across her beautiful face.  She pulls back slightly to search his eyes, trying to read the truth beneath his words.  After a moment, a soft, shy smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she ducks her head, hiding a blush by burying her face against his chest.  When she speaks again, her voice is muffled but filled with a new kind of tenderness and gratitude. 

“Maybe... maybe you're right.  I wasn't lost... I just needed to be found.  By you.  I needed your love, your passion... to remind me of what I truly am.”  Thora tips her chin up, eyes shining with unshed tears and newfound devotion.  She traces the line of his jaw with a delicate finger before whispering fervently against his lips.  “You've given me so much, John... a gift beyond measure. I am yours, now and forever.”

“I love you,” he speaks every word closer as he kisses her with all the love in the world.

* * * * *

As they pack up their meager belongings, John insists on giving half his supplies to Thora.  Despite her protests, she accepts them with a grateful nod, knowing she'll have need of extra provisions on her journey to Zara's camp.  It's one of the last acts of love and kindness he can show her before they part.  Thora stands before John, ash- smeared face lifted to the sun, his supplies bundled in her pack.  She reaches out to curl slim fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him in close until their foreheads touch.  When she speaks, her voice is soft and filled to the brim with an unconditional love that threatens to overwhelm her.

“Thank you... for everything.  For loving me without reservation... for giving me a reason to try again." She seals her gratitude with a tender kiss, one full of promise and devotion.  As they linger in the embrace, Thora whispers against his lips.  “Remember... no matter where we go... no matter what happens... my love goes with you.  Always and forever, John.”

“Always and forever, Thora.”  John replies.  He kisses her softly.  “You are loved.  You are Love.”

Thora watches as John checks his compass as he walks away, his tall form shrinking in the distance until he disappears into the shimmering heat haze of the desert.  She stands tall, his supplies weighing heavy on her shoulders, but her heart soaring with a newfound sense of purpose.

Turning, she sets off in the opposite direction, her feet carrying her towards the distant oasis of Zara's camp.  With each step, Thora feels the love and compassion that John has poured into her heart, a beacon of light guiding her through the harsh, unforgiving Wasteland.