Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

From Kyler’s journal…

The next morning…

Kasyn and I had made something of a splash at the opera gala, and I’d learn the next day that we’d filled the news feeds with our photos and with the many accounts of our perceived snub of the Pope Nazrata II, first by declining our seats in his private box, and later, during a post-show cocktail reception, skipping the literal ring-kissing and hat-doffing in which everyone else felt pressured to participate. Even for the Pope himself, I will not engage in performative piety. Kasyn and I kissed no rings nor did we lower our crowns (which I will say were much more stylish than the Pope’s). I did, however, come away with a measure of this man: small and weak in character, a tool of his church’s bureaucracy—the Byzantine Curia and the Chaos Ejaculatum—a shallow cipher pushed into this role by the Chaos specifically because they needed a malleable pawn in order to retain their own power. But I pushed these thoughts away because they brought back to mind Corvis’s outlandish proposition, a thing that I could consider neither last night nor under the hangover-horniness of the early morning, in bed naked with my just-awakening and beautiful young husband.

“Do you ever just want to spend all day fucking?” Kasyn sai. “I think you do, Kyler, because you never really take a whole day off.” My young husband said this as he drilled  his thick shaft into my ass as deeply as he could. I’m on hands and knees on the wood floor of our bedroom, he on his knees behind me, his fingers digging into my shoulders, slamming into me on each syllable. I didn’t answer him other than with moans and fuck-gasps as he hits my prostate. I thought he might actually fuck the first morning cum right out of me with neither of us even touching my dong, but I wanted to hold it back as long as I can. He continued: “You like this, my big pretty man? Do you like my big dirty boy-dick up your cunt?” I only bottom for him maybe once for every ten times that he bottoms for me, and when Kasyn is on top, he likes to try to talk the jizz out of my balls as much as fuck it out, by pressing on the hard buttons of my kink about our age difference, about how he—at not quite twenty years old—will not legally even be a voting-age “man” under our laws for another ten years. “You love it, don't you, faggot? Getting your fucking hole creamed by a boy less than half your age!” He yelled and grunted as he accelerated toward his climax. I’d literally bought Kasyn as piece of property, though marrying him immediately emancipated him from his indenture. “You could have kept me as a slave,” he said, voice rising with his impending orgasm, “but you married me because you want a nineteen-year-old boy fucking owning your ass!”

He continued a bit longer than I’d thought he would—holding back the oncoming jizz-whack—and I thrilled to the sensation of the fat fucking club of his cock battering into my gut.

“There you go, Kyler!” he cried. “You’re getting it right now!” And I felt him spasm inside me and fall forward against me, rocked by his climax—his first of the morning.

But it would not be his last—not even close—and I had no intention of even giving him a break in between. I dragged the boy back into bed, onto his back, and I went down upon his still-cum-dribbling dick, sucking out the end of his first load and beginning the process of forcing him to his second. “Kyler!” he screamed. “You’re too much!” Over-sensitized, having just shot off, he laughed and writhed as I tormented his throbbing wang with my tongue and squeezed his nuts in my left hand.

I pinned him to his back by trapping his legs, hugged by mine, and reaching upward with both hands to force his elbows to the mattress. Sadly this removed the option of ball-squeezing him, but it kept him fairly helpless against my mouth on his tool. It was maybe only a full minute of torture until he started to enjoy it again, until his cock which had never really deflated very much, went full-steel again. He relaxed and I released his arms. His hands went to my head and he pushed it down, and he fucked up into my throat. “Suck it, boy!” he commanded.

I lifted off him a bit, freed his cock from my mouth, and with one hand pulled back his full tight foreskin. He squealed as I lapped at the bare creamy crown of his cock like it was a candy sucker until he jerked again and spat out another couple pulses of thick white cock-juice onto my lips.

I lifted myself up and straddled his pelvis between my thighs. “You know what I’m going to do now, right?” I gripped my stick on one hand and my ballsack in the other. Grinning, Kasyn widened his huge dark eyes; laughing, he opened his mouth wide. At my age—even with my mods—I am not quite such a copious cum-factory as Kasyn, but my first load in the morning can soak him, and it does, battering him on his forehead and over his whole face, and raining over his smooth chest and belly, glazing white his large brown nipples, clots of it pooling in the throat-dent under his apple and in the deep well of his navel.

I lay down next to him and spread the slick gloss of my spunk over the entire skin-surface of his torso and his face and his shoulders. I wiped my hand in the hair of his head and his crotch and we snuggled together, kissing, enjoying the close clasp of our bodies, and we did this until both of our cocks were stiff again. We fucked for another four hours, stopping only when hunger motivated us to seek brunch. During this time, I truly relaxed and I truly forgot about the various crises compiling around us. This was possible only because of Kasyn and our utterly open love for one another. Going forward, every decision I make will be one that will protect him and keep him right here next to me.

Blue Radical seems to not notice me as I enter the makeshift lab that he has made out of the gymnasium in the long dis-used school building in the rear quarter of the compound. It’s probably been a century this huge chamber was actually used as a gym, but some part of my body imagines that I can smell the faint and ancient after-stench of the sweat of young men in their athletic exertions. I notice on a table, a few feet away from Blue’s aether-terminal, a bunch of cum-collection bulbs. I wonder if they are the ones we’d used to collect sperm from Kasyn’s six orchid sons. “Have you finally had a chance to analyze these samples?” I wondered.

“Oh!” Blue Radical looked up, startled. “Prince. I did not notice you arrive, so rapt in my studies as I am now.”

“I am glad this facility has proven useful to you.”

“It’s perfect. Well away from the main house and the myriad distractions there. I do not know how you get anything done with so many noisy boys up and about in all rooms and wings.” He focused on me and said, “Have you news of Blue Junior? Have you found him yet?”

I smiled, tried to be comforting. I said, “I know where he is, and he is safe. We will soon finalize the negotiation for his release to us.”

“Negotiation!”

“Do not fret! We will retrieve him very soon. Tell me what you’re doing here. Have you found anything new?”

Blue Radical fidgeted in his chair for a moment and then stood. He straightened random desk objects and stacks of paper. “As you probably know, my computer is an aethercore artificial intelligence.”

“I suspect,” I said, “that this is going to take you a minute to explain. I assume you have something to drink around here?”

“Whiskey?”

“You know I don’t like whiskey. And you know why.”

Blue Radical pointed underneath a table behind him. A cooler there held a few bottles of prosecco. Gratefully, I opened one and (not seeing any glassware around) gulped from it. I sat down on a bench and bade that he continue.

“So, the intelligence in my computer draws its cognition from the aether by way of a series of biotectic processors.”

“Please,” I said, “remember that I do not understand this technology like you do, so please use layman’s terms in your recitation to the fullest extent possible.”

He said, “There is obvious data in this sperm from Kasyn and his six orchid boy pups. It is what I now recognize without any ambiguity whatsoever as the signature of a trans-aetheric gay punk poltergeist, and the very one who raped the entire student body of the Academy Dhalgren.”

I sighed. “I suspected as much, but is there any possible way that you can denote that ridiculous phenomenon in fewer words? Must you say that whole fucking phrase every single time?”

“Well, I suppose I could just say ‘poltergeist’ but it would not be specific enough. ‘Poltergeist’ can refer to any number of phenomena that are not necessarily related to—”

“Simply ‘poltergeist’ will do for this purpose, Blue!”

“Well, fine then. But will you at least stipulate that each time going forward when I say ‘poltergeist’ that you will understand that I am referring to a trans-aetheric gay—”

“Yes! For fuck’s sake, yes!” I chugged from my ice-cold and bubbly bottle. I lit a cigarette and waited for him to continue.

“I gave the sperm-data from the boys to the AI, and I just let it…run on its own for a while.” He paused for a few seconds and added, “Based on your utter lack of reaction to that statement, I assume that you do not know what is implied by this.”

I agreed: “You know fully well that I do not know what you are talking about, and I have already asked you to keep it simple for my little non-tech-savvy brain!”

Blue Radical actually grinned, and he literally rubbed his hands together as if excited for a great and scandalous unveiling of some sort. “Letting an aethercore AI run unattended for any lengthy period of time, letting it work on its own, letting it intuit its own perception of the data without any input from the operator is not generally considered good scientific practice. It can produce strange and incomprehensible results and it can actually burn out the biotectic processors. There are legends of scientists literally going mad after seeing what such an AI has produced, as if they have seen with unaided eyes some kind of raw and eldritch horror from the abyss of the aether!”

I sipped from my bottle and dragged from my cigarette. I said, “So you did something wildly weird and probably ill-advised. That does not surprise me in the least, knowing you as I do, my old friend. What will you next say that does so surprise me?”

“I have a ton of data that I need still to collate, but I did pull through one thing the likes of which I have never seen before and which I cannot explain. The computer compiled and recorded for replay on an aetherscreen a voice.”

“A voice?”

“There is no imagery with it. Just sound. It’s rather faint and a bit scratchy but one can clearly hear a human male voice speaking. Are you prepared to hear it?”

I felt  a chill. “You say that rather ominously. Why would I need to be particularly prepared to hear it?”

“I can’t explain in words why, but the total effect of it is rather…unsettling. I will play it for you. Listen.”

And I heard this…

This is not a dream... not a dream. We are using your brain's electrical system as a receiver. We are unable to transmit through conscious neural interference. You are receiving this broadcast as a dream. We are transmitting from the year one, nine, nine, nine. You are receiving this broadcast in order to alter the events you are seeing. Our technology has not developed a transmitter strong enough to reach your conscious state of awareness, but this is not a dream. You are seeing what is actually occurring for the purpose of causality violation.

I wanted to back away from the terminal.

I wanted to leave.

But we listened to a second playing of that message.

I said, “What the fuck is…the year one, nine, nine, nine?”

“I think it means a year from an old calendar when a different church ruled Earth, about two thousand years ago. The predecessor to the Church of the Penultimate Dildo dominated much of the planet for about two millennia until the aether swallowed the solar system and it became possible to sail among the planets.”

We listened to the eerie voice a third time. Its statement denoted that there was something that we were supposed to see as well as hear, and I felt strongly that I needed to leave this room but I had no idea as to where I would run that would make me feel better about what I had heard, even though I could not point to what it was about this recording that had so unnerved me. Blue Radical said, “Can I ask you something, Kyler?”

I nodded.

“Have you had any weird dreams lately?”

I do not recall exactly the details of my departure from Blue Radical and his aethercore machine. I just remember that I was very quickly back in my own chambers, alone and recoiling against what had just been implied by that voice from one nine nine nine. 

“Grandfather, am I disturbing you?” The voice did startle me. I had been sitting alone at my desk in my study ever since I’d left Blue Radical and his weird machine, staring at the same reports from Ian about Mars and Jaustin Moss’s unexplained flight there, sipping wine and sucking on smokes and trying to dismiss the voice from the aether as nothing. I was trying not to remember recent dreams, but then came unbidden this voice from one of them and a thrill of deep cold passed down my spine. 

“If you continue to call me ‘grandfather,’” I said, “it will be disturbance. It makes me feel far too old. Call me Kyler, please.” I knew this boy’s name immediately even though he looked so similar to his five brothers.

This was Dagon again, Dagon whom I’d seen floating in the pool like the planchette of a giant watery ouija board, his brothers seeming to glean information from his gliding path. And Dagon who had recently been the subject of my bizarre and disturbing dream. Because this dream had been so intense, I’d felt that I’d already had sex with Dagon. But I haven’t. Not yet. I’d seen the boy naked in the pool, observed him jack off into a cum-collection ball, and he’d fucked me in a hallucinogenic dream-world, but I’d never actually touched this strange part-orchid boy, neither with my hands nor my mouth nor with my dick. Stay away from him! said the back of my mind, focused on the the lad’s weird opaque eyes, shifting from black to silver to white. But my shaft rebelled, swelling achingly in my jock-pouch, hardened involuntary by the lithe twinky beauty of Dagon’s nearly naked lavender-skinned naked body—so much like Kasyn’s in form—and by the sweet-spicy aroma of a Moon boy’s sweat. I knew that the air-swamp of pheromones from this lad was probably intensified by his pregnancy by way one of my sons (so ordered by the doctor to eliminate any danger of Kasyn knocking them up).

It would be a while before this boy would exhibit any obvious sign of his pregnancy, any hint of a bulge in his belly, because his baby’s father was not begat by Kasyn’s preternatural jizz. Dagon would presumably bear this child under a normal timeline and his pup would presumably not grow to maturity in a matter of days the way Kasyn’s offspring have. I asked him who had impregnated him, though I believed I knew that answer already. I was sure that it had been Phobos though I could not recall why I was certain of that fact.

But Dagon said, “Your son, the one called Dak. He has been very kind to me.”

“Dak! I see.” There was something else there:  “You like him.”

“I was born of your Moon-son Tier, from Kasyn’s seed, but it was your son Dak who eased my birth. He fucked his Moon-brother Tier as I was about to be born. Kasyn’s spunk started me growing inside Tier, but Dak’s lubricated my entry into your world.” Dagon circled around the center table and leaned a bare thigh against my desk. “When I met him for the first time, after I was grown, I felt as if I knew him already, that perhaps I even loved him. And he seemed to me to be so kind and good when he breached into me and gave me his spunk so that I might create our pup inside my body.”

I focused on one phrase:Your world! “You say that as if my world is something other than yours—or other than another one from which you came. What do you mean by that?”

“You suspect it, don’t you, Grandfather?”

“I told you to call me Kyler!” My mind flashed upon the idea of taking the paddle to this lad’s ass and my balls ached for release.

“Kyler. Of course we are of your world now, but I think you suspect that our origin is somewhere else, somewhere that was accessed by Kasyn’s sperm.”

“Where? What is this place that Kasyn’s sperm accesses?”

“We cannot really answer that yet. We perceive it only dimly, as if through a glass darkly. But one day it will become clearer, and I can tell you that this is nothing to fear. We are nothing to fear. I am nothing to fear.” Dagon stepped around to my side of the desk, and I inhaled deeply of the Moon youth’s scent, thick and sweet from his armpits and his crotch. I saw the shine of his nipple nectar, and his hard dong stretched the pouch of his jock so far outward that I could see his sack and the fringe of his pubes above the band. “Does your cock want me, Kyler? Does it want my body, even if you don’t? It can have it, you know.” He looked down at the plainly visible bulge my pants.

“Fuck it,” I said. “Fuck yes, I want you. I’ve only had you before in a dream and it has tormented me since.”

He leaned in, his lips to mine. “I know,” he whispered. “I had the same dream.”

Meanwhile on the planet Mars…

“What is this place?” wondered Radon. He turned his head to the right and then rotated his entire body to take in the strange vastness of the chamber.

“I don’t know.” Jaustin pulled Radon close. “Sshh. We should be quieter.”

They’d followed the instructions of a weird feather-clad cab driver who’d taken them to a narrow alley, a barely shoulder-wide gap between two ruddy stone buildings that rose at least fifty stories above them. The door that the cab driver had said would be there, about a hundred meters down that alley, was, in fact, there. And it did, in fact, bear in a blood-ruddy smear upon its fuligin black wood an insignia or graffito that suggested a bird of prey or perhaps a winged dinosaur or perhaps a dark angel. Jaustin had opened this door as instructed, and he and Radon descended a very steep and very narrow flight of stone stairs in a barely-gaslit gloom, down and down what seemed like more than four or five stories. “I’m not scared, baby,” Radon had said at about the halfway point, evidently detecting Jaustin’s worry that he was leading them into trouble. Neither of them mentioned that they’d had no idea why they’d gotten into that cab in the first place, nor how they’d given he driver no instructions. 

Jaustin and Radon, quietly, looked around and it seemed to Jaustin that his eyes were adjusting to the odd wavelength of the light in this place. Now it seemed almost brighter, and he could make out more and more details. It reminded him of an ancient catacomb under Byzantium if that catacomb had possessed the height and depth of the cathedral above it. What appeared to be unfinished stone columns rose upward here and there, some higher than others, none reaching the vault of the ceiling.

“Look!” Jaustin whispered to Radon. “See, on top of these columns? And there in those…balconies or whatever they are?”

Radon smiled and he whispered close to Jaustin’s lips: “Are they statues of birds?”

Jaustin gave Radon a quick kiss on his mouth. “I have no idea.”

The boys pulled apart, startled by a sudden warm breeze that seemed to descend upon them from above, and by a faint sussurus that seemed to surround them. And then they were transfixed by this: a half-dozen of the statues, high on the columns above them, toppled over and descended.

“Oh fuck me!” Jaustin yelped, and tugged Radon close.

Winged creatures fell, circling, lower and lower, and Jaustin repressed a scream. Radon clutched Jaustin’s biceps.

The creatures lit upon the stone floor, surrounding the pair of Earth boys, but before either of those boys could apprehend these beasts’s appearance they were overwhelmed by their scent: sugar, cloves, roasted chiles, sweat and red wine and spent spunk. Jaustin—wholly terrified—was shocked at how fast his cock hardened in his shorts. He inhaled deeply, and then he was no longer afraid. His dick dripped, making a wet spot on the front of his pants. “What the fuck is going on?” he said, or maybe just thought he said that.

As if the light had been raised a couple notches, the six winged entities became truly visible: their bodies were basically like those of Earth males , harness-clad but otherwise naked, but there were differences: skin of a garnet tinge like no son of Earth, hair rising in great black crests above their brows, eyes so black as to suck all light into them, and…and…oh my god, Jaustin cried…rising from their shoulder blades were sets of appendages like a second set of impossibly long arms with too many joints, too many fingers, and these arms were clad thickly in glistening feathers, red and black and purple and silver. And, with a hard slap, they flapped and fluffed those wings and Jaustin and Radon felt a spray of sweet sticky mist on their faces. And Jaustin ejaculated in his jock. Oh, fuck! What the fuck was that!

One of these winged creatures stepped more closely to Jaustin and Radon, and the tips of his wings brushed their shoulders and their necks in a gentle half-hug, leaving a warm ichor on their skin. This creature leaned in—oh fuck he is beautiful! Jaustin thought—and he said, very softly, barely a whisper in the cavern of the cathedral, “Welcome to Mars, Jaustin Moss.”

To be continued…