Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

A tourist note:

When you reach the end of the so-called Garment District and cross Prejaculum Avenue into the Spunk District, you can sometimes start to hear, from Boicorporus Street, the screams and defiant yells of boys who are on display, being caned, by the gendarmes. Boys in these parts of the city—aged from their teens all the way up to just shy of their thirtieth birthdays when they become legally men—may find themselves subject to this punishment for a whole array of mostly petty offenses ranging from vandalism to urinating in an undesignated spot to public brawling to sex in disallowed areas. Ian recalls, as he walks into this street, Kyler’s tale of how he himself, though an Aetheric prince, was once arrested by the gendarmes along with another boy. They had been both been stripped naked and made to lie over the bonnet of an auto and receive four lashes each. Their offense was sexual: they'd been in a cafe, sharing a breakfast, and Kyler had been holding his friend on his lap. They’d assumed that the boy’s skirt had been successfully hiding the fact that Kyler had his cock out of his pants and had it inserted into his friend’s pussy. Someone else in the cafe must have noticed what they were they doing and complained about it.

On Saturdays, and today is a Saturday, the police will sometimes make a public show of a mass-caning of young offenders. This was what was happening as Ian and his men moved through the crowd. Eighteen youths were assembled for their punishment. In this format of the punishment, they are made to strip naked, their clothing held for them in bags for later return. They are made to stand with their feet spread a bit apart on a low platform to which their ankles are bound with leather thongs. They are made to lean forward, bracing themselves against a rail the runs down the length of the punishment platform, and their wrists are bound to that rail. If they wish to not see the crowd watching them, they may ask for a blindfold. Most do not ask for this, and today Ian did not see one blindfolded boy.

Once all the young offenders are in place, the caner—a masked man usually with a powerful torso—goes to work on them. A single caner hits all the lads, moving unpredictably from one to the other while another officer keeps tally of the number of lashes each boy has received and stopping the punishment for each once the number sentenced has been reached. One will hear something such as, “That was the sixth for Master Cameron. Release him.” And it goes on for a bit longer because some of the boys may have been sentenced to eight or ten or even twelve lashes. Some of these boys try to remain quiet and stoic despite the intense pain to their bare rumps. This is punishment. It is not the kind of punishment that crosses over into sex-play that Kyler metes out upon his sons with his paddle. Despite the obvious erotic aesthetic of a bunch of  naked bound boys having their asses struck in public, the caner always makes sure it hurts quite badly. Most of them shout, and some scream as if they are about to die of the pain. They all tend to shed tears, and occasionally one of them will have an involuntary hard-on. When this is observed, one can expect also to hear one of the lad’s mates laugh at him and ridicule him for his uncontrolled public arousal. The recidivism rate is fairly low. Once caned like this, not many boys purposely put themselves in a situation to experience it again. But it is also a kind of rite of passage: there is a cultural cache to it, an aura of having done something especially brave and definitively masculine (because girls are not subject to these rules) by having  endured the cane, naked and crying, in front of one’s peers and in front of hundreds of onlookers. The boys who go through it are not stigmatized afterward, but rather are accepted more graciously by other males in their cohort. Ian recalls Kyler saying this: “I could have revealed who I was and gotten out of it, but I’d figured they’d have still stripped and caned my boyfriend, and he was even younger than me, and I couldn't leave him alone to take the beating while I escaped. And I was immediately glad that I took my lashes, even though my fucking ass was so welted I couldn’t sit on it for a couple days, because I did with my friend and, in a way, for him. And it showed me the difference between that kind of abuse and the discipline that my father occasionally gave me with the paddle and which I give to my own sons when they require it.”

Ian tried to ignore this spectacle as he and his men made their slow way to Blue Radical’s nut-shop, located just a block past the caning show.

I’d slept uneasily because Kasyn had messaged me not to wait up for him and that he might spend the night in the chambers of Seth, Koth and Dath: “Something strange is happening with them. I need some time to observe further. But don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” And this uneasiness led me, once deep sleep finally came, to wildly oversleep. I had missed a message from Ian that they’d be back with Blue Radical by 10:00 am, which was now only a half-hour away. I rose from bed and hurried through a routine of taking a shit, taking a shower and shaving. I kind of hoped that the houseboy who was on duty this morning to clean and straighten my private rooms would appear early so that I might use his body to relieve the almost painful morning erection that rose from my crotch and nearly pointed to my navel. No time for it anyway this morning! Get moving, Kyler! 

But I would not be even be able to pull my jock over my meat if I left it in this state. In front of the huge vanity mirror, I spat on it a couple times and lathered my saliva over my pole with both hands, prepping for a quick jack-off session. I knew it would be brief, both because it needed to be given how behind schedule I was already but also because of how fucking loaded my cum chamber was this morning. I tugged on it a few times, spat on it a couple more times, starting jacking on it with vigor. I imagined Kasyn bending Jaustin Moss over this bathroom counter and dick-hammering him. That was sufficient: I jetted heavily and with great force, and I splattered the big mirror with most of my load and dropped some more of it over the stone counter as well. 

Relieved, I hurried back into my bed chamber to dress. Cum still dripped from the tip of my foreskin as my dong relaxed enough for me to stuff it into the jock pouch. Of course the very moment that I was fully dressed and ready to receive Ian and Blue Radical, the houseboy did show up. “My Lord!” he cried. “I did not know you would still be here! My apologies. I will come back later when you will not be disturbed!”

“No bother at all. Please come in. I am just leaving now.” And, of course, the kid was a slender olive skinned twink, clad only in sandals, his jock and his harness. His slender hips, the deep cleft of his ass, the little pucker between the fat bulbs of his bubble butt would have been the perfect receptacle for that thick white snotload that I’d just expelled by myself in the bathroom. Forget it, Kyler! Time to get going! Passing him on my way to the door, I added, “Um, I may have left a mess on the bathroom mirror. Sorry.”

The houseboy grinned. “No bother at all, my lord! It will be immaculately shiny when you return.”

I gave him a light slap on his plump bare asscheeks and left him to his work.

Ian hadn’t seen Blue Radical in person in years, and he was not prepared for the disposition of this weird man: frantic, manic, darting about, his parti-colored robes whipping about his slight frame. Blue said, “I have all my stuff ready to go!”

“Stuff? What stuff?”

Said Blue Radical, “Approximately four hundred bio-stasis boxes, a few crates of biotectic equipment, a bunch of aether-vials, and a whole lot of miscellany.”

“What the shit are you talking about!” Ian stomped a foot upon the craggy wood floor of Blue Radical’s office. “My orders were to fetch you from here and deliver you to Lord Kyler at the fastest possible pace! Not to haul a bunch of stuff. We fucking took a couple taxis here! We don’t even have a fucking vehicle to move any of your shit!”

Blue Radical very carefully lit a cigarette and then, after a moment, seated himself on his desktop and said, “Well that’s where your wrong, Master Ian! We do have a fucking vehicle! Come this way, you assholes! You, too, Ian!”

Ian and his men followed Blue Radical through the back areas of his bio-shop and into a dark garage. Huge lights buzzed and droned and eventually lit, shedding their glare upon a giant moving van. Its rental company advertising, painted all over its sides with cartoonish kids and zoo animals, promised YOUR NEW MOVING ADVENTURE!

“You gotta be shitting me right now.” Ian gazed at the giant van, one large enough to move five normal houses’s worth of junk. “There is no fucking way we are taking the time to load that motherfucker.”

“That motherfucker,” snapped Blue Radical, “is already loaded! I did it myself! I stayed up all night.”  Perceiving Ian’s disbelief that he had loaded a truck by himself, Blue added, “Well, I didn’t literally lift it all myself! Obviously I used servos and waldos and shit. Anyway, it’s ready. Here is the key!”

“What?” Ian, puzzled, took the truck key from Blue Radical.

“I have no idea how to drive it. The rental company dropped it off here and backed it into the garage for me. You know how to drive it, right?”

Ian gazed at the key. “Um, sure. Yes. Of course I can drive it.”

“What’s all this stuff for anyway?” Ian wondered, as he tried surreptitiously to learn about the vehicle’s operation before they departed.

“It’s all important to my work!” Blue Radical extended his arms straight out from the shoulders as if indicating a whole vast expanse of his “work.” He said, “This work is focused on the modification and enhancement of male sex organs. Specifically pertinent to what’s going on now is the situation with Jaustin Moss’s balls.”

“The what situation?”

Blue Radical sighed. “Long story short: Jaustin was implanted by accident with new nuts. Nuts which happen to be cloned copies of Prince Kasyn’s balls…which are themselves kind of problematic. It is quite imperative that I perform another transplant on him to correct this possibly catastrophic problem. But that should be easy now once we get to Kyler’s compound with my stuff,”

“Easy?”

“Yes. I’ll do the procedure right away since you have Jaustin Moss in your care now.”

Ian looked away. “Well…about that…”

Jaustin remembered grunting under the weight of the ship’s bosun, under the vigor his fuck. To gain passage on Aether’s Arrow, he’d agreed to be the crew’s sex toy. How bad could it be anyway? He’d just give up his ass to these guys and in a few days he’d arrive with them on Mars. Obviously he could have booked first-class luxury passage on a tourist aether-liner or even hired his own ship, but then he’d have no cover. Everyone would know where he’d gone. But this way, he could disappear and get to Mars before anyone (such as Prince Kyler) had realized where he’d gone. And, famous as he was in some circles on Earth, these gritty sailor dudes had no idea who Jaustin Moss, music superstar, was. They just saw a lithe and tight piece of ass desperate to hitch a ride on their boat, and they were quick to accept his offer.

This crew were, none of them, the kind of smooth twinky lads that Jaustin generally chose when he wanted sex with another boy. None of them appeared to be under forty or fifty, and while their bodies were for the most part fit and strong, years of a steady diet of ship stew and ale had given nearly all of them a belly-bloat that somewhat reminded Jaustin of pictures Justin had seen of Lunar orchid boys swollen to bursting with their pups. And while Jaustin did not mind some male body stench, these sailors appeared to never bathe at all. The one exception was a strange boy named Radon who served as the cook and whose cabin adjoined his, separated by a small bathroom. He was closer to Jaustin’s age and he was quite pretty but he was not quite a standard boy, which Jaustin learned while sharing the bathroom between their cabins with him, trying to wash up and shave at the sink while Radon scrubbed himself in a tub. Radon had almost no genitalia at all, save for a very short and very skinny penis that never seemed to get stiff, and he had no balls nor even any sign of a sack to hold them, but also no sign either that he’d once had them but they’d been removed.

“Those dumb fucks,” Radon said, crowded next to Jaustin, trying to towel his slim body dry, “don’t even like to fuck me, so I am not surprised they gave you the job.”

“Why don’t they like to fuck you?” Aside from the oddity of his genitals, Jaustin thought that Radon was rather pretty. I assume he at least has an asshole? he thought. How else would they ever have fucked him in the first place?

“Because I just lie there like a fucking slab of meat. I don’t really get into it. I just don’t really care enough to even fake it because they are all so dumb and dirty and uneducated. I am only doing this for this last season when I’ll have enough money for school on Mars. In fact, after this haul to the Core Kasei, I should have enough banked to fuck right off out of here.”

The Core Kasei! Jaustin thought, beaming. The Imperial seat. Just where I need to be.

“You’re pretty,” Radon said, looking up and down over Jaustin’s naked body. “I have never seen anyone with such wild ink.” He ran a forefinger from Jaustin’s apple down over the center of his chest, down to his navel and stopped just above his bushy pubic plot. “Most of the dudes on this ship have some tattoos but they’re shitty-looking, amateur shit that they got on drunken nights in port. But yours are really fine.”

“Thank you,” said Jaustin, wishing that Radon would touch him more and hoping that the young cook was not offended by his upright erection, by his oversized dong that nearly grazed Radon’s smooth hairless belly in their close confines.

“I’ll suck that fuckin’ thing off for you if you want,” said Radon, brushing a few fingers along the upright underside of Jaustin’s stiff pole.

Jaustin gasped, and he almost leaned in to kiss Radon, but he stopped himself and said, “But not if you’re not into it. I don’t want it if you don’t like doing it.” What the fuck is wrong with me? When do I ever say that?

“I’m not like you, but I like doing it sometimes. I don’t have a dick like yours but I know that when you have one like this—“ and he brushed his hand over Jaustin’s stick again—“when it’s hard like this, then you want to do something about it, right?”

Jaustin heaved out a heavy breath, almost like a sob. He said, “Yes. Fuck yeah! But only if you want to.”

“And,” added Radon, “you’re very pretty. Such a change of scenery on this dank boat.”

Radon went to his knees and then laughed upon realizing that this move made him too short for the job. On his knees, he could barely even reach tall Jaustin’s ballsack with his mouth. Getting at that long cock that tended to curve upright was impossible. Instead he sat on the rim of the toilet and drew Jaustin close, hands on the backs of Jaustin’s knees. 

What’s happening here? wondered Jaustin, perhaps thirty seconds into the knob-job. No one sucks like this! It felt to him as if Radon’s mouth had become something else, a tight but very soft and entirely toothless sheath, so warm and slick. Jaustin was not gay, nor was he straight. But he’d fucked a lot of girls in his life and this boy’s mouth was, he realized, a lot more like a chick’s cunt than a boy’s mouth. He pressed inward into that warm clench, his whole ten inches in and in and in until Radon’s nose was buried in Jaustin’s pubes, but Radon did not gasp or gag or choke or protest in any way. It was like his mouth and his throat were a bottomless cunt able to take every fucking Jaustin- inch with no effort at all. Jaustin heaved out a loud oh fuck yeah and he thrusted into Radon’s throat with more and more vigor, as if he were fucking a chick in her snatch or a dude in his. Holding Radon’s head between his hands, massaging the lad’s ears, tagging at his hair, Jaustin face-fucked his new lover with as much force as he’d ever given any ass or a vagina.

When he recalls it later, he will not have any idea for how long this spectacular throat-fuck went on. He’ll remember mainly the decision he’d made when he was past the point of no return. In or out? Already spasming into orgasm, Jaustin unsheathed his already-squirting dong from Radon’s throat and finished it off on the lad’s smooth face, spattering his hair and his brow and his nose.

After Jaustin was done licking his spunk from Radon’s face and hair, he kissed the strange lad and said, “It doesn’t matter if you have enough money for school when this ship gets to the Core Kasei.”

“I’ll be fine. This is a big haul. Thousands of tons of narcowhirl and cocaine. Even my little cut of it is going to be plenty.”

“You don’t understand.” And Jaustin kissed Radon again.

Radon pulled back, laughing. “Understand what?”

“When we arrive on Mars, you are coming with me. You’ll have your money. I need to tell you something: you may not have heard of me, but I am Jaustin Moss, pop star, and I’m rich as fuck. I’ll pay for your school or whatever you wan. Just get off this boat with me.”

Radon smiled. “I know who you are, Jaustin Moss. I’m probably the only one here who does. Though I don’t get why you’d be on this dirty drug boat.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Anyway, you just met me. Why would you offer to be so generous to me?”

Jaustin, reduced to one deep kiss: “Because it’s what I’d do if I was your boyfriend.”

After Kasyn was closed away with his first three sons in their shared chambers, he decided to not dwell heavily on that weird trick they’d performed in the corridor where they’d appeared to levitate from the floor and crouch in mid-air, and they did not repeat this or any other such horrific phenomenon once back in their rooms. They wanted to show him something else instead.

“We’d thought we were already done growing. That our strangely rapid-maturing bodies had reached their final form.” As he spoke, Seth shed all of his clothing, exposing his heavy penis and low-hanging nutsack, copies of Kasyn’s own. Kasyn had already had sex with these boys shortly after their physical maturation had apparently completed, a lengthy four-way that Kyler had enjoyed watching via the aetherglass, and which had coaxed several loads form Kasyn’s balls. Dath and Koth followed their brother’s lead and stripped as well. Was this a prelude to another four-way fuck? Kasyn felt some trepidation about this. Their behavior was unbalancing, almost creepy. They fucking floated!

Seth stepped close to Kasyn and took one hand in his. “Feel this, Father.” Seth drew Kasyn’s between his legs, and then upward. “We have something new.”

Kasyn gasped when his middle finger touched, and then—-under Seth’s guidance—pressed into a soft and warm and damp fold of flesh in the boy’s taint behind his nutsack. 

“Is this—“

Seth: “Yes, Father.”

“You mean like Naxon’s?”

“Yes.”

Curious in spite of his discomfort, Kasyn pressed in a little harder, a little deeper. Seth cooed and said, “That’s right. You got it now.”

And Kasyn did get it: he pushed his finger in a bit further and he felt, inside his son’s vaj, a little hard lump. He twitched his finger against it and Seth moaned.

Said Kasyn, “You didn't get this from me!”

Seth laughed. “I’m pretty sure that I did!”

Curious and no longer uncomfortable, Kasyn fingered harder that nub inside his son’s cunt. Seth throbbed against that finger, throbbed and moaned and encouraged Kasyn to finger-fuck him with more vigor and lust, and Kasyn did, and a couple minutes later Seth shrieked out a cum-sob and his livid red dick squirted hard enough to hit Kasyn in the chin and paint him sperm-white all the way from his chest to his pubes. Kasyn realized that he'd been ignoring Koth and Dath, but once he looked away from Seth to check on them he saw that both were lying on a bed fingering their own pussies.

“Father!” cried Seth, dropping to his knees. “If you don’t do what I say, we may die!”

Seth coiled on the floor, feet to head and screamed. But then he rose again to his feet. “My brothers and I must breed. We are deep in the blood fever. If we don’t get pregnant soon we may die!”

Kasyn pulled back, astounded. “How do you know that? Is this what Doctor Phibes told you?”

“We haven’t even fucking seen the doctor yet!” Seth wrung his thick red hair with the fingers of both hands. “We just know it!”

“So what is to be done?”

All three boys giggled and in creepy unison said, “Fuck us, Daddy!”

Kasyn fell back a few feet. “That is not happening! My sperm is why you guys are like this in the first place!”

Koth rose without getting to his feet and floated cross-legged toward his father. “Then what, Kasyn, do you propose? We must breed!”

“I have an idea.” Kasyn remembered that the Cthulhist priest Elisha had relatively normal balls. They were Jaustin Moss’s originally, but still. “I’ll be right back.”

A low and rumbling yet deeply shrill tone interrupted the music program on the moving van’s radio. Blue Radical and Ian glanced at each other. “What the fuck?” wondered Blue.

A voice came over the air: “This is a notice from the Imperial Provincial Alert System: Due to new security issues that have arisen since the arrival in the city of His Holiness, the Pope Nazrata II, Pope of All the Church, His Lordship the Aetheric Prince Kyler does now declare a temporary and hopefully very brief period of martial law throughout the city and the surrounding Principality of Mas-Insemina. Civilian traffic is halted at the aetherdrome and at the heliport at Point Boymandatia.  A mandatory curfew from midnight to six in the morning is imposed. Expect that this curfew and further regulations to follow will be imposed with all due force by the Apparatus Priapus, and that their authority will supersede and suspend any other…” And then the warning tone again, and the message commenced to repeat.

Ian, aghast, said, “What the fuck? Martial law? We have no standing army!”

“You don’t?”  Blue Radical looked genuinely surprised.

“No Aetheric prince has commanded a standing army in the nearly four centuries since there was a last a full-on shooting war on Earth! Beyond the city gendarmes and the palace guard, we have nothing! Is this some kind of bluff? It must be!”

The message continued its repetition. Wondered Blue, “But what about this ‘Apparatus Priapus?’ What the shit is that?”

“I’ve no fucking idea.” Ian gunned the engine, pressed the pedal to the floor and rolled harder toward Kyler’s compound. And then they heard this weird thing when the message’s repetition varied in this way: at the end of the repetition, Prince Kyler’s own voice broke in and he said, “Hey, young blood, don’t you feel like our time is running out?”

Corvis and her sisters rode on couches in the back of armored limo, on their way to their chapterhouse just outside the Inner Village, and they noticed how exasperatingly slow their progress had become. The driver over an intercom said, “Apologies, my ladies. There is some sort of checkpoint ahead that is snarling traffic incoming from Boicorporus Street.” 

One of the sisters muttered, “I told you we should have taken the Glans Rouge and then cut over to Sub-Vulvia.”

Corvis shushed and her and yelled at the driver, “A checkpoint! For what!” 

“I don’t know,” said the driver. “Look.” And he projected to the back seat lounge aetherscreen an image of what looked to Corvis like teenage boys in some kind of makeshift gang uniform opening car doors and trunks and wagging fingers at drivers, some of whom were made to step out of their vehicles. 

“Oh my god,” Corvis muttered. She yelled into the intercom: “Driver! Quickly! Turn right here! Get us off this street!”

The driver: “But my lady, Encuntia Avenue here is one-way going the other way!” 

“I don’t give a fuck! Do it!”

Their car veered hard to the right and the driver evidently jammed hard on his accelerator to get them down a couple blocks and past the one-way zone before they might hit oncoming traffic.

Corvis’s coven sisters braced themselves as the car sped up and swerved and rocked on its perilous course. The one named Tresvajina said, “Sister! What is going on?”

“Kyler!” said Corvis. “Goddamned fucking Prince Kyler! He has done something very dangerous!”

Somewhere in the brick houses of the Spunk District, two boys, hungover from their shared binge last night, lolled naked together in bed. The one named Chadon hugged his younger cousin Maxon close, savoring the boy’s sweaty muscular body against his own, both of them still glowing from their hangover-sex orgasms. A radio, volume high, filled the room with the thumping noise of a Jaustin Moss song from last year, and the boys kissed, probably working themselves toward renewed erections for one another. The song was interrupted by a message to which they paid little attention, at least until after its second repetition when a different voice said, “Hey, young blood, don’t you feel like our time is running out?”

Chadon kissed Maxon deeply and when he pulled his lips back from his lover’s he said, “Cousin, do you ever fucking feel like rising up hard to fucking defend Prince Kyler?”

Maxon grinned and grabbed his cousin’s prick. He said, “Cousin, rising up hard to fucking defend Prince Kyler is what we were fucking born to do!”

“Oh fuck yeah, cousin!” And Chadon went down on his cousin and slurped on the boy’s knob until he got a little whack of cream in his mouth.

A short while later, they rose from their languor and found the right black shirts and shorts for their new job. By the time their skateboards had clashed against the pavement outside their house, they’d known their destination, and they’d sucked in the flavor and the intensity and the honor of their patriotic purpose. 

To be continued…