Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

Elisha, naked and sweating, sobbed out a hoarse cry when Kasyn slammed the paddle against his bulbous reddened asscheeks for the eight time. The discipline of his Cthulhist priesthood had somehow entirely dismantled itself inside him in the couple short weeks he’d been a guest of the Princes Kyler and Kasyn. What’s happened to me? he wondered to himself as he grunted and clenched against the ninth paddle-blow. His ass stung like fire but his cock stood as hard as it had ever been, dripping pre-jac to the floor. Kasyn was somehow his greatest tormentor and his perfect erotic object at once. He was almost disappointed when Kasyn laid down the paddle on the table next to his hand. Is he done? Then he heard Kasyn, close behind, hawking up spit, and then he felt Kasyn’s hands pull apart his stinging cheeks and then he felt the prince’s hot spit on his rump and on his exposed asshole. He heard Kasyn spit again, probably on his own cock, and then he gasped at the pressure of that thick dong when Kasyn breached his hole. 

Fucking his whole stiff length hard into the young priest, Kasyn said, breath hot on the boy’s ornately-inked back, “Will you call me ‘Daddy’ the way Kyler’s sons do?”

Elisha cried out—pleasure and pain at once—and he said, “Whatever you say!”

“Then say ‘yes, Daddy!’” Kasyn pulled almost all the way of Elisha’s socket and then slammed his rigid thickness back inside it all the way to the root.

“Yes, Daddy!” Tears ran heavily from Elisha’s eyes, but not ones of pain or sorrow, but ones coaxed from him by a hitherto-unknown frisson of relief and a joy, relief at finally letting go, joy at finally giving himself over to something new that he had wanted for so long without even having realized it consciously. Submission to Kasyn’s cock was a revelation. He’d almost felt it, he now realized, when he’d been skewered on Kyler’s dick, but he’d still been too closed off and too afraid to just let it happen to him.

“You’ll submit,” said thrusting Kasyn, “to Kyler just as you do to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” The power of this! Elisha marveled. I’m so hungry for him, this spunk-prince whose semen seeds strange and marvelous sons!

“If you are truly as special as he thinks you are,” said Kasyn, still pumping his pole into Elisha’s aching pussy, “then he will protect you. He will take you to his bed and love you like one of his sons. Do you understand?”

“Please, Daddy! Let it be so!”

Kasyn smacked Elisha’s rump between both hands and withdrew his staff. “On your knees.” He pulled Elisha up, turned him around and eased him knees-down onto the wood floor. “Open your mouth and your eyes, and your mind.”

Elisha, gasping, said “Yes, Daddy!” Eyes wide, gazing up at his liberator, he watched Kasyn jack his dong in both hands, pulling harder and harder on it, pulling out inevitably a spray of heavy ball-juice that splattered his whole face, partially cum-blinding him. Some of it landed on his lips and on his tongue, and he marveled at its flavor. So sweet! Just like that night when he made me suck him off on the stairs.

When his climax subsided, Kasyn put his fingers and palms to Elisha’s face and smeared the spunk over the lad’s face and neck and through his hair. He laughed. “You’ll smell like me when Kyler finds you in our room.”

“In your room!”

“I am sending you there, to wait for him. When he comes to you, you will ate last submit to him and become one of his boys.”

Baffled, Elisha said, “I am to wait in his bed?”

“In the bed he shares with me most nights, yes. He won’t be surprised.” Kasyn knelt before the boy and drew their faces close. “We’ve taken away your religion.”

“Yes,” said Elisha, a breathy whisper.

“I know it’s hard for you at first because you have lost one purpose. But you have a new one, and a new lord to serve. You’ll get it soon enough.”

From Kyler’s journal…

It took me what now seems like a long time to realize that I had slipped into a dream. I was alone in our bed chamber, Kasyn off somewhere with Ian (a reconnaissance into the city for some reason), and I felt very tired and drowsy though it was quite too early for bed time. But I was also very horny, aching deep in my nuts, and I considered calling someone to my bed to relieve the pressure. There’d been a young slender femme boy who’d come up from the grotto a few days ago, clad in a sheer white cropped shirt, a very short yellow skirt, and, underneath that skirt, a pink string that did very little to harness his prick and balls. He’d been sent to me pre-lubed by someone else’s spunk, and I’d boned him outside on the veranda, not even undressing him, just pulling aside that string to expose the pink pucker of his cunt. I thought of him calling back here again, and almost did, when I happened upon a view via the aetherscreen of another veranda—Dak’s—and I saw my naked son from behind humping another boy who braced his hands against the parapet. Though I could not see clearly who Dak was fucking, I was certain that it was Dagon, the part-orchid boy son of Kasyn whom Dak had gotten pregnant. I manipulated the viewer’s dials, trying to coax a better angle from the aether, but I still could not quite see the other lad underneath my son. And then, like a ghost entering the frame, Kasyn appeared, fully dressed, but he tugged open his waistcoat, baring his chest and belly. Then my view of him, too, was partially obstructed by Dak when Kasyn appeared to fall his knees on the deck floor in front of Dagon, a good position for him take his son’s cock into his mouth.

I decided to jack off to this scene. I stripped off my vest and my jock and reclined naked a chaise. I squeezed my ballsack in one hand and my dripping dong in the other. I pulled back my foreskin and released the pre-jac that had been trapped inside it. I lathered the whole length of my shaft with it, and felt that just a couple hard tugs would  be enough to pump out the full whack of hot cream that I felt building inside. But then the scene shifted around me, and the chaise on which I lay naked was now outside on my veranda and the setting sun lowered redly over me, like a great glowing ball hanging from the firmament by an invisible cord, and I understood that I was actually dreaming. And then Dagon was there.

The naked lavender-skinned youth regarded me with his strange color-shifting eyes and his wide smile. He joined me on the chaise, straddling me, his knees against my flanks, and he lowered his ass onto my cock, sheathing it in his slick snatch in a single quick descent. “Dak prepped me for you,” he said.

“I can feel it,” I said, Dak’s boyjuice in Dagon’s hole. I reached up with both hands and stroked the skin of Dagon’s belly, wondering if I could feel—if not actually see yet—the first signs of Dak’s pup growing inside him. “How did you get here so quickly? I just saw you with him and Kasyn in the glass.”

“That was just a dream, Kyler. Just a vision to warm you up a little bit. But I am here to pick you up and take you somewhere!”

“Take me somewhere! What do you mean?”

And then we were no longer fucking on the chaise, but rather kneeling naked next to each other on what seemed like a mat of woven reeds, and I gasped, startled, when I perceived that we were on a raft, afloat on pearlescent water, the mangrove-shrouded banks of a river a few dozen yards to either side of us.

“Where are we?” I reached over the edge of the floating mat and passed my fingers through the water. It was warm, opaque, shiny, and when I withdrew my hand from it, droplets of it clung to my fingers, depending from them just like a male’s fuck-discharge.

“This is the River Insemina. A portion of it passes through your compound, you know.”

“That’s just an old name for it. The river is not literally made of semen.”

“Can you smell it?”

“Yes! And it makes me want to fuck you!” I considered pulling the boy’s head down into my crotch, pushing my swollen knob between his lips, filling his throat with hot white juice…but then another shock: the banks of the river seemed suddenly much farther away, as if we were floating down the middle of a river that had gone from being just a hundred or so meters wide to one that was perhaps four or five kilometers in breadth. Our floating mat now seemed far too small and flimsy to be a means of safe travel on this strange water. In my waking world, I don’t think about water travel that often. I never need to do it, and haven’t been on a boat for any reason in many years. But my dream-world has been beset by fears of impassable water since I was a young kid. I have these recurring dreams:

I am driving a motorcar somewhere far outside the city, trying to find my way home, but the roads become ever more unnavigable as flood water swamps over the pavement, submerging long lengths of the road, forcing me to seek an alternate path, but I can find none as water rises everywhere…

I am flying in a glider and for some reason it is necessary to find a landing spot amid a vast oceanic expanse. Below, tiny points of land, isolated islands, are obscured by the tides overcoming them. The land recedes beneath the water, farther and farther below it until it cannot be seen anymore…

I am swimming with my sons, back when they were barely into their adolescence, but instead of the pool in the bowels of my compound where we did this in real life, we are in a deep quarry, its rocky sides rising high above us with almost nowhere to perch out of the water, and the water itself seems too blue and too dark, as if it has no bottom, and one by one, my boys laugh and vanish beneath the surface, and I can perceive their descent, down and down, until I can no longer see them at all. I understand that I need to follow them, but I cannot, too petrified by my terror of this water to even move…

The water around our small raft changes. It no longer resembles an impossibly enormous flow of cum. It’s now a dark vegetal green, yet it’s so clear that I think I can see can the river bottom, and this sight makes my stomach churn with acrophobia: this river is so deep that the Pope’s massive cathedral in Byzantium could sit on its floor and  the crowns of that cathedral’s sky-scraping minarets and onion-domes would still be a mile beneath the water.

The banks were now so far away that they were just hazy, barely visible lines at the horizons to either side of us. And ahead: an abyss. This is where the river empties through this incredibly wide mouth into the ocean ahead of us. 

“We have to go back!” I said, trying to keep the fear from breaking my voice. I found it hard to breathe. “How do we go back?”

Dagon knelt in front of me and kissed my mouth gently. “To go back, we just need to wake up, my prince.”

“Then let’s wake up! Now!” Behind us, I could perceive just barely the shores fading in the distance. We were now in the open sea. Water lapped like tongues over the mat on which we floated.

“Soon,” Dagon said. “But first you need to see something. The thing I brought you here to see.”

I could not ask him what this thing was because I could no longer draw in enough air to power speech. “Just look,” he said. “At the sky.” And, despite my terror of the water that threatened to pull us under, I let him draw me backward, fell onto my back, and I gazed up at the steel-grey sky. And I saw this:

A sun, but not like that of Earth; a red giant flaring with prominences…

An enormous shimmering orb, like a sphere of black mercury, partially eclipses the red star and then passes into it…

The red star collapsed on itself, and though I think we should be blinded by what happens next, we can stare at a new phenomenon as the collapsing star lets loose actinic white twin beams of fire from its death contractions…

“What is happening?”

Dagon said, “It’s a representation of something that cannot be perceived in a human brain-frame. We think it is a trans-aetheric burst that will come from Sagittarius A-Star.”

“A-Star? I keep hearing that term. You and your brothers say it in that chant that you do at the pool when you are the planchette in swimming pool ouija board. What does it mean?”

“It is the supermassive aetheric singularity at the galactic core. And it is speaking to us!”

“Speaking!” I shuddered and water crept over my knees. “What does it say?”

“That your world may soon end, but that you and my father can save it!”

From Ian’s journals…

Prince Kyler worries me now, with how lost in his own thoughts he seems to be, with how much time he is spending in conference with Blue Radical. He is ignoring important dangers that seem to encircle us, not the least of which is this “Apparatus Priapus” that has been awoken like a sleeper-cell army by a message that he gave them over the radio and whose influence spreads by the viral spunk of these boys. They may be providing a measure of security for now—as they confound the agents of the Chaos Ejaculatum and then Pope himself who now infest our city—but they will inevitably spiral out of our control if we do not start caring for them as if they are a real army working for the crown.

I do not know Kasyn very well yet, but I have to assume that he is trustworthy since Kyler evidently trusts and truly loves him so much, and so I dared bring my worries to him this morning. He listened silently, face unreadable, as I presented my case. I concluded my assessment, and still he said nothing for a few moments. I feared that I had alienated him, feared that he would take my concern as an attempt to undermine Kyler, but then, as if the air pressure in the room had changed, he sighed and said, “You’re right. Kyler is too busy for this problem, and so you and I should help him with it. Today.”

Two hours later, seated in my office, were two bleach-haired sun-kissed youths, dressed identically in skintight black tunics and hip-hugging black pants, cut off raggedly at the knees. Aside from their identical dress—their uniform—their faces were oddly similar, too. They reminded me of someone else, but I could not quite place it. And then Kasyn entered the room and took a seat next to me across the table from the boys. One of them gained and said, “Hello, Father! So nice to see you in person at last!”

Stunned, I looked at Kasyn—that same jawline, that same nose!—and he grinned and said, “Sorry, Ian. I should have warned you. These young men are Chadon and Maxon, and they are perhaps my eldest sons…apparently.”

“Your sons!” I needed to know the meaning of this. 

“Shortly before Kyler married me, but after I’d been…modified by Blue Radical, I was hired out as a breeding stud to a number of women upon whom I sired sons. I did not know this until later when Blue Radical discovered it and reported back to Kyler how these boys had grown to maturity in a matter of days like my sons by Kyler’s daughters and by the orchid boys.”

“Our mothers,” said the one named Chadon, “were terrified of us. I barely even remember it anymore, but I was given up for adoption to a kind family who kept me for a time. There I met Maxon, also adopted. We were told that we were cousins and we believed this. We became lovers anyway. And then later, when Kyler woke us up, we started to understand that we were very different from most boys. And we learned, too, that we’re actually half-brothers and sons of Kasyn.”

Fascinated by this weird turn, I asked, “Why were your mothers terrified by you? Because you grew so fast?”

“That’s probably part of it. Freaky, right? But I think,” said Maxon, “it was more the thing with our eyes.”

“I don’t understand.” I peered at them, and saw two sets of very blue eyes, unlike Kasyn’s very dark brown eyes, but not abnormal. And then a chill set over me as I started to understand intuitively what he meant before he showed me: he raised his index fingers to his eyes, seemed to touch them and then pulled away those fingers, a contact lens clinging to each. He looked at me, grinning, and I saw that telltale flash—black to silver to white—the signature gaze of a son of Prince Kasyn.

From Kyler’s journal…

It was not easy for me to return to the repurposed gym in the abandoned school that Blue Radical had turned into his laboratory because it came back: that deep-seated dread induced by the recording he’d thrice played for me, that voice out of time with its impenetrable warning. But I had no choice. I had to tie what I’d seen together with what I’d heard, and he was ready for me.

“I think I have the images now,” he said. “The images that match the voice.”

I took a seat near—but not too near—his aether-terminal. Nothing happened for a few moments while he fussed with buttons and switches. And then this:

The sense of a vast body of water swamping deeply over buildings and roads…

The sense of a sun rising and then blacked out by an eclipse, the corona flaring redly…

The literal sight of a maw of roiling black and grey clouds swallowing stars…

A burst of light in the aether? A supernova?…

A powerful beast, blackened in silhouette, rising against a red sunset, unfurling its wings…

The notion of a mangrove forest flattened under a sudden sheeting rain-gail of blood…

From space, a view of the rim of the half-lit Earth melting toward the terminator…

A titan—a rogue planet?—shattering the Moon…

And, underlying all these impressions, I heard this again:

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 sat for a few moments, said nothing, tried to ignore Blue Radical gazing at me, waiting for me to say something. Finally, I did: “I am going to meet with the witch Corvis. She has made a strange proposal, and I intend to accept it. You will have Blue Junior back here with you by the end of tomorrow.”

“Corvis? Junior is with Corvis?”

“Yes. He is unharmed.”

“How long have you known this?” Blue Radical straightened, as if pulled taut like a puppet by his indignation.

“Calm yourself. Several days. But I know he is fine.” I could understand, despite my own distress over what I’d just seen, that I’d upset Blue Radical with this information. I tried (but probably failed) to speak in a comforting tone. “Worry not. I promise. Tomorrow.”

In the Holy Keep of the Chaos Ejaculatum…

Nazrata II, the Pope of All the Church, sat in a high-backed wrought-metal and legless chair that hovered of its own accord, taking him in a slow circle around several priests clustered near the Frame of Discipline. In the Frame hung the bled-out body of a young man who did not survive his questioning by the Inquisition. Three of the priests were traditional Byzantine Inquisitors, faces exposed and heads crowned in tall conical scarlet hats, and the other three were of the Cthulhist faction, chests bare to expose the glyphs of their sect but their faces hidden behind their black-feathered masks. All were splattered here and there with blood. The Pope regarded the group with skepticism, with a glare. He said, “Torturing these boys is getting you nowhere. I have decided that it’s time to make our move.”

“Your Holiness, if I may please,” said one of Byzantines, affecting as much unctuous obsequiousness as he could muster, “we are at a disadvantage in this city until our reinforcements arrive, especially with this mob running the streets. Perhaps when the rest of the Holy Guard arrives—”

“Silence, Commodus!” The Pope rose higher in his chair, as if trying to attain greater stature. The chair lifted him slightly. “I have listened to you men long enough! We are wasting time. As long as this rogue Prince Kyler continues to loose havoc all over this land, and as long as his abomination of a husband continues to spread the literal seed of Satan himself, we are under existential threat!”

Commodus persisted: “Your Holiness, the situation is so unstable. We could make it even more so with rash action now.”

Nazrata reddened with fury. “Are you one of my chief advisors or not? I am starting to suspect not! Ever since my transubstantiation into the living viceroy of God on Earth, I have been hemmed in and undermined by these factions within my own Church: the Curia, the Chaos Ejaculatum, these Cult Cthulhists who have supposedly merged with us and even—God save us!—the vile coven of the nektonic witches! No more of this treachery!”

One of the Cultists said, without asking for His Holiness’s permission to express his views first, “The fucking witches have bolted. They collude now with Prince Kyler. Our sources reveal this to us. Kyler has even taken control of one of our own, our brother Elisha.”

“Quiet!” Nazrata clenched his hands over the claw arms of his metal chair. “The old ways will return and the witches will find themselves burning at stakes! Commodus, how many of the city gendarmes have you coopted?”

“A hundred or so. The older ones chafe against the tyranny of the boy gang, this so-called Apparatus Priapus, and their free use of the cane.”

“Take them and all of your monks,” Nazrata said, “to Kyler’s compound at day break tomorrow and serve notice upon him of my Holy Decree that he is required to come here, to this room, and answer questions from His Holiness, the Pope of All the Church!”

“And if he refuses to cooperate? If we cannot bring him peaceably?”

“Then bring him in shackles!”

“If the other Aetheric Houses learn of our treatment of Kyler, it could backfire upon us.”

Nazrata smiled. “I want them to see it! It will teach them that the days of decadence and apostasy in the Houses is coming to an end and that the Word and the Law are back!”

Commodus sighed. “It shall be done. But what of Kasyn Mutara?”

“Bring him as well. But not alive: behead him and dismember him and bring him here in a sealed box that we will bury in the lowest level of the necropolis beneath this cathedral, his Satanic evil consigned to the dirt forever. Then we will locate all his spawn and kill them before they can spread their devil-father’s abomination.”

“What if the ‘abomination’ gets off-planet somehow?” That was the impertinent Cthulhist again.

Commodus shook his head: “No. We are certain that the phenomenon is entirely contained here in this city.”

Meanwhile on the planet Mars…

Jaustin Moss ejaculated thickly on the taut hairless belly of an angel, an angel whose fat ribbed pole was ten inches inside Jaustin’s gut. He moaned and a final gout of semen pulsed out of his slit, rolled down the underside of his upright prong and over the tight shave-stubbled skin of his boy-sack. The angel named Truk, on his back, wings spread widely beneath him, his human hands on Jaustin’s inked and lightly fuzzy belly, laughed. “Do Earth boys always lose their juice so quickly with cocks in their cunts?”

“No!” Jaustin blushed, and he laughed. “It’s just that I can’t hold it in around you…guys. It’s like something in the air…or something!”

“Or something,” said Radon blearily, smiling, head resting in the angel’s armpit. Jaustin noticed that Radon’s odd not-quite-a-penis organ was stiffer than he’d seen it before, and maybe a bit thicker as well. “You should taste it,” he told the angel.

“Taste it?”

“Jaustin’s jizz. It’s sweeter than any I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot!”

The angel dipped two fingers into his own navel, into the white puddle that Jaustin had left there, and he slopped some of the Earth boy’s cocksnot onto his tongue. “Yes! Much as we expected.”

“Expected!” cried Jaustin and Radon together.

“We are aware of your special situation, Jaustin Moss.” Why, Jaustin wondered, am I surprised about his deep his voice is every time he speaks? What, did I expect him to chirp like a bird?

“What situation?”

Still balls-deep inside the Earth lad, Truk thrusted upward and, with his left hand, squeezed Jaustin’s huge heavy nuts. “This situation. This isn’t entirely the equipment you were born with, is it?”

He knows! Jaustin blushed further and self-consciously gyrated on the angel’s cock hoping to bring him off pretty soon before the fat pole became too uncomfortable inside him. A minute or so later, the angel did let loose his spunk, and a lot of it, too. Angel-jizz spilled from Jaustin’s hole as he flopped down onto his back, next to the angel, in the angel’s wing-embrace. “How the fuck,” he said, “do you know about my balls?”

Said the angel, “Jade-Mothra told me.”

“The new Emperor?”

The angel just smiled. Jaustin persisted: “And how does Jade-Mothra know?”

“He saw it, like a prophecy, like an answer from the aether.”

To be continued…