Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

While world-rattling events happen around them, the brothers make an important decision…

Torus and Naxon, limbs pretzeled together, throbbed against each other, their lean bodies glossed with sweat. “I love you so much, baby,” Torus cried and gave another stab of his cock into his body-modified brother’s vagina. 

“Don’t cum yet.” Naxon inhaled deeply and shivered, briefly cooled by his own evaporating sweat. “Here. Take this off now.” He wriggled beneath Torus, clenched his thighs, dislodged the fat prick from his cunt. “That fucking rubber. Get rid of it!”

Torus, wide-eyed: “You’re sure?”

Naxon reached and grabbed the boy’s thick condom-clad rod and slid it off. “I’m in heat right now. Give it to me, baby. Your pup. Right fucking now!”

“But…”

“I’m sure! And I know you are, too! I don’t want to wait for our wedding! I won’t!”

Torus moaned a little bit, savored the sensation of reinserting his dong but this time—and for the first time—with his cock-skin bare and slicked with Naxon’s pussy-juice. Keeping bare sperm-dripping cocks out of this snatch had been nearly a full-time preoccupation for Torus in the weeks since Naxon had undergone this modification to his physical sex characteristics and decreed that only Torus would one day be allowed to make him pregnant. Torus had overseen even their father Kyler and their stepfather Kasyn wrapping their poles before being permitted to fuck their son in this manner. And there three brothers as well, all agreeing to this precaution so that they might experience the novelty of Naxon’s new point of entry. His one failure—Naxon’s really as Torus had not present for it—had been Jaustin Moss. The pretty singer had indeed slipped the rubber over his huge wang before drilling Naxon, but he’d either sabotaged it beforehand (Torus’s suspicion) or it had broken sometime after penetration. Jaustin had claimed that it had been accident of which he’d been entirely unaware until after he’d splatted his seed into Naxon’s womb. Naxon had accepted that it was an accident, and he’d immediately gotten some emergency contraception from Doctor Phibes, but Torus demanded a consequence. He’d brought Jaustin before Kasyn, who punished the lad with the paddle followed by a long, hard gang-fuck, Kasyn and the five sons of Kyler all having their full use of Jaustin Moss’s tight asshole.

Moved almost to literal tears, and surging with the most intense fuck-pleasure throughout his tight and tense body, Torus sobbed out a hard “I love you” against Naxon’s lips. 

“I love you so much, boy,” Naxon whispered, and they spasmed together, united in their climax, Naxon’s spunk spilled upon his own belly, and his brother-husband’s deep inside him.

On Mars…

Jaustin and Radon sat together in the warm bath facing one another, water nearly to their collarbones. Radon spread his legs and pulled Jaustin closer. Beneath the water, he clasped both of their cocks together and stroked slowly. Jaustin laughed and pulled his boyfriend into a kiss, his fingers in Radon’s damp hair, enjoying his lips and his tongue and his fingers jacking him off under the water. “You’re very horny this afternoon, baby,” Radon said.

“For you always.” Jaustin inhaled deeply, feeling that sensation of an impending spunk-spill building in his crotch. 

“How many angel-boys did you knock up today?”

“Eighteen!” That was the most he had done in a single “workday” in Jade-Mothra’s breeding program. He still found it difficult to guess at any Martian angel’s actual age, but he’d learned just by asking them that several were actually men twice Jaustin’s age while a couple of them were quite young boys. Twice he was given pairs of twin brothers. His approach in these cases was to get right to business and inseminate one of them and then let them together arouse him for his next load. When ready, he put his pole and his spunk into the second brother while the first watched.

Radon said, “You sure make a lot of juice, boy.”

Justin sighed, rising closer and closer to the point of letting out some more. “All the Juice-E that I shoot up with helps, but I don’t even really need it that often. These nuts that I have nowadays are even better than my old ones!”

Radon squirted against Jaustin’s dong, and Jaustin jetted out a moment later. A few moments later, some of their combined juice had risen to the surface of the water between them. Radon attempted to cup it in his hands and slop it onto Jaustin’s hair. He extended his damp wings around Jaustin’s shoulders and kissed him again. “When we get out of this bath, I want to show you something that I found in that book you’ve been reading.”

“Interesting! But what if I’m still horny now?”

It was some before the boys finally did emerge from the bath.

Kyler has a sweet private meeting with Naxon…

Kyler, alone his quarters, stood naked before the bathroom’s huge mirror and dried his freshly shaved face with a thick aubergine towel. He smeared his palms and fingers with pomade and brushed them through his slightly damp hair, raising and fluffing his reddish-brown pompadour. I need a haircut soon, he thought, dissatisfied with his coif. He re-tousled his hair and made another attempt. He wanted to look decent for what he was about to do. But I won’t really be there. Just an avatar in a fake Byzantium.  He gave up on his hair, rinsed pomade residue from his hands and dried them. He heard a knock at the frame of the room’s door. Startled, he turned, ready to be annoyed with whoever had barged in on him. But it was Naxon, and the sight of his odd, beautiful son warmed him deeply. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d last seen him.

“I hope it’s okay,” said the boy, “that I just showed up. I wanted to catch you before…your thing today. Ian told me that you are going to an important meeting.”

Kyler smiled, warmed by Naxon’s gentle apologetic tone. “If I ever say I don’t have time for you, sweetheart, please let me know what an asshole I am!”

Naxon laughed and stepped into the bathroom, close to Kyler, and they hugged. Does he always smell like this? Kyler wondered. He inhaled and recognized that faint boy-musk typical of all his sons even after a bath, but there was something else beneath it. Elderflower? Is he wearing a perfume? It didn’t matter anyway, so unobtrusive and vaguely pleasant as it was.

“And what’s the occasion, Naxon, for this pleasant surprise?”

Naxon stepped back slightly and stood tall, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t mean to pester you now about my wedding plans with Torus, but it is somewhat more urgent now that we set a date for it.”

“Urgent?”

“Within six months, Kyler! I want to be seen in my wedding suit, already bulging with my baby.”

“Your baby!”

Naxon grinned. “It’s happening. I asked Torus to give me his pup. And he said yes. And we did it. The Doctor confirms that I am pregnant.” Naxon glanced downward. “Does that turn you a little bit, Kyler?”

Kyler prick pointed out and slightly upward, right at Naxon’s navel. “Yeah,” said Naxon, “it does mean you would no longer need to wrap that in rubber if you wanted to bone me.”

The lad raised his skirt and hopped up onto the stone countertop, bare ass between the two bathroom sinks. He grabbed Kyler left hand. He spread his legs and pulled Kyler’s fingers between them. Kyler pressed his middle finger to the second knuckle into Naxon’s vaj. “Torus lubed me up again before I came to see you.”

Kyler pressed close, hips between his son’s thighs. “And you’re sure you’re already knocked up?”

“Doctor-certified!”

Naxon murmured and cooed a little bit as Kyler sheathed his meat in the boy’s slit, already slippery from Torus’s very recent cum-injection. 

Kyler took it slowly at first, intrigued by the sensation of fucking a male in this unusual way. He’d not enjoyed at all the process by which he was made to sire his daughters; he’d tried to make the process of siring his sons as enjoyable as possible, but he’d never had any desire again to put in his stick in an actual vagina, but Naxon’s enthusiasm for it and their shared love for one another made the experience as hot as any he’d had previously with this young man. For some reason, as he felt the upward rise toward an orgasm build, Kyler recalled how, several years ago when his five sons were coming into physical maturity and had begun sexual experimentation with one another, being told that they’d taken up frequent games of “soggy biscuit” and how Naxon, for some reason was always the loser—or the winner depending upon how looked at it. Each time he’d been the one “forced” to eat a big butter cookie soaked to warm mush by his four brothers’ spunk (and his own, too, discharged just after the others had finished).

Kyler drooled a thick streamer of spit onto Naxon’s long upright cock and commenced stroking the boy, pushing him, too, toward a climax. Naxon soon  jetted out a hot white gush, the leading end of which reached Kyler’s throat and slid down the center of his chest. Kyler stabbed a little harder, a little faster and let go, flooding his son’s sheath as the boy’s dick spasmed out a few more dribbles of white juice.

They hugged each other close for a minute or two and eventually Kyler said, “You and Torus pick the date and I will take care of the rest. Whatever else might be going on then, we will clear the calendar!”

Kyler visits Byzantium by technological means…

Prince Kyler, having made his decision, prepared to appear “in person” in a virtual place, an aetherspace construct that would serve as the hall for a grand convocation of the electors to select a new Pope, this after Kyler’s interrogators had forced a statement of resignation from Nazrata II who remained the prince’s prisoner.

Kasyn had created an avatar for Kyler, one to which Kyler required many revisions to make it less ostentatious and sexually lurid: “I cannot appear in the convocation looking like a bara/yaoi fuck-doll!”

“But that’s kind of what you do look like!” Kasyn protested. “If your biceps and pecs were just a bit more balloon-like and if you had a two-foot dick and nuts the size of pomelos, this would be you! Focus on the face!”

“The face isn’t too absurd. But please fix the rest of it now!”

Kasyn pursed his wet red-stained lips into a perfect pout and went back to work on the avatar.

“And put some fucking clothes on me, too!” Kyler added. “I’m not going to a papal election in nothing but a harness!”

After a few moments, Kasyn had reduced the Kyler-avatar’s musculature and crotch-meat to more reasonable proportions, and dressed him in a conservative suit of black waistcoat and jacket and kilt. “This boring enough for you, daddy?”

“Much better!” Kyler leaned in and kissed Kasyn’s cheek. 

Ian, entered the room, trailed by Chadon and Maxon—the Apparatus Priapus chiefs who’d turned out to be among Kasyn’s first sons, sired from his trans-aetheric sperm. They’d quit wearing their colored contact lenses, letting their eerie shifting eye-tone be visible. Kyler figured he ought by now to be getting used to the other-light in the eyes of Kayan’s pups, but it still unnerved him a bit each time he saw it.

“What are you two doing up here?” wondered Kasyn. “You had better be following Ian’s orders to the letter or I shall have to punish you!”

“Daddy!” cried Maxon. “We try so hard, but we may have been somewhat unruly this morning. Perhaps we deserve punishment!” Next to him, Chadon nodded vigorously and moved to unclasp his belt as if he were about to bare his ass for the paddle. 

“Not now, if you please!” said Ian. “It is time for you, Lord Kyler, to appear at the convocation! They begin in moments!”

“I’ll deal with you naughty boys soon enough,” Kasyn said. “But first, we have some important business.” He turned to Ian. “The avatar is prepared.”

Ian waved open a huge projection screen version of the aetheric interference, now displaying the rapidly filling the circular hall in Byzantium where the conclave was virtually occurring. “Access sign received from Vatican One. Kyler, speak the countersign.”

Kyler: “Can you repeat the question?”

Instantly, the Kyler-avatar uploaded into the aetherspace simulation and seated itself in the lowest rung of benches facing the dais. Ian positioned a microphone in front of Kyler. “When this light is on, they can hear you in the hall. If you want to speak to us privately, you’ll mute it.”

“Got it.” Kyler spoke aloud in the hall: “So what’s all this then?”

A little roll of laughter emanated from the people—avatars—nearest Kyler, other dignitaries arriving and taking their virtual seats. One of them turned to face Kyler and a helpful sign materialized above his head ID-ing him as “Shadout, Prince-Aetheric, House Kamplex, Principality Lemuria-Id.” The red-haired, yellow-faced yaoi avatar clasped Kyler-avatar’s hand and laughed. “Kyler! It’s been entirely too long since we last spoke!”

“Oh, truly, Shadout, it’s been too long! Have you been keeping your hands clean since that little spice-smuggling incident?”

“Kyler, you’re still a rogue! I wonder now why we never hooked up!”

“As I recall, you said your mama didn’t like me (and she likes everyone). Also, you’re like seventy years older than me.” In fact, when Kyler was last in Lemuria he was a young teenager—there on a trade mission with his father—and he focused on avoiding Shadout’s attentions while at the same time trying to engineer a four-way fuck with Shadout’s identical triplet sons. Sadly the trio of identically beautiful boys were burdened with a very rigid and silly incest taboo and would not agree to even touch one another nor have sex even with an unrelated person if one of their brothers was in the same room. Kyler had been able to fuck them individually but never all together as he’d dreamed. He nudged Shadout and said, “But I had a very good time with your boys, you know!”

Shadow guffawed for a bit too long and eventually said, “But you should see me in meatspace now, young Kyler! It’s amazing what the new biotectic mods can do for one’s skin and…genitalia!”

Kyler muted his mic and groaned and tried to think up a riposte, but fortunately the moment was gone. Said Shadout, “Oh! We must be quiet! It’s beginning!” and the avatars seated themselves. 

Kyler looked around via his avatar and saw the members of the conclave, numbering over five thousand and from every point in the human-inhabited solar system seat themselves and be quiet. A voice, rumbling and low, pervaded the space: “This, the Sixty-Ninth Conclave for the Ascension of the Holy Father, is now in order!”

Mic off, Kyler said to Kasyn, “Watch this shit. How long we are here depends on what happens right now.”

A sussurus, and then a cheer, and then a loud gavel strike. “Order! What’s all this now?”

“Motion of privilege, Lord. The House Chasmata moves to dispense with the Succession Mass and go directly to nominations.”

A series of seconds to the motion—all from the secular princes, including Kyler—were recorded and Kyler said to Kasyn, “We were just spared an hour of churchy formalities.”

“The motion is agreed to,” boomed the disembodied voice. “As a point of privilege, House Chasmata may put the first name into nomination.”

Kyler was surprised to see the avatar of the Chasmata prince, Jason-Rabban, stand up just a few virtual meters away and say this: “We put forth into nomination for holy approval the name of Kyler, the Prince-Aetheric of the Esteemed and Gleaming House Phaeton, Autarch of  the Hidden City, Holder of the Charred Keys, Sovereign of Mas-Insemina, Blessed be His Name, Forever His Reign!”

Kasyn hit the mute on Kyler’s mic. “You really have all those titles? What the fuck?”

Said Kyler, “I’m more curious as to why Jason-Rabban nominated me. I don’t even know the dude.”

Then another susurrus as a new figure stood to speak.

“Look at this shit,” said Kasyn.

The just-vaguely recognizable avatar became more so by his caption: “Elisha, Priest-Speaker of Great Cthulhu.” He said, “I am authorized to speak as a bloc for the Cult Cthulhu, and we second Lord Kyler’s nomination.” 

A little graphic hove in view showing the tally of nominations. Aside from a few entered remotely and with no seconds, Kyler’s name was followed by the number 316. It jumped to 831 after Elisha’s announcement. 

Kasyn: “You fuckin’ knew he was going to do that, didn’t you?”

Kyler shrugged.

And then a commotion following a bodiless voice that said this: “The Aetheric Emperor requests and requires admittance!”

On the dais, all avatars dropped their knees, save for the Speaker who said, rather shakily, “All stand for the Supreme Lord of the Aether, His Mightiness, the True Holy Byzantine Emperor Jade-Mothra!”

“The boy is basically naked,” said Kasyn. Behind him Chadon and Maxon tittered. Kyler hushed them all. Silence settled over the conclave as the delegates got their first view of Jade-Mothra—that is until a voice interrupted with this: “The Banking Clan also supports Lord Kyler!” His nomination count ticked up by a couple dozen. Delegates shushed the banking delegate.

Kyler sighed. “Just what we needed. The fucking bankers.”

Recall the form and the beauty of the Emperor: The creature that occupied the wrought-metal throne looked like a thing bleached by centuries of sun in the cathedral grounds of Byzantium. But then, it moved: a slow rustling, a fluffing of feathers, and then a sudden unfurling of wings. The osmium-laminated adamantium crown of the Aetheric Emperor pinched back the shock-white locks of the pale avian boy. One could be excused to wonder if this being was an albino, but when ones gets a bit closer, one can see Jade-Mothra’s large shiny eyes, their irises the color of a bottle of green Chartreuse, that one can perceive that the Emperor’s hair is more gold than white and that his lips are vampire blood-red. And that Jade-Mothra was quite young.

“And he looks real,” Ian remarked. “Not like an avatar.”

“The people on the dais are real,” Kyler said. “Look closely. The Emperor looks real because he is projecting by holography into the actual cathedral in Byzantium. This is the first time we’ve really seen him: live from Mars.”

And thus spake Jade-Mothra, the Aetheric Emperor: “More than three centuries have passed since a worthy last occupied this throne, the Emperor Twink-Invictus, who was—let’s just say it out loud finally!—assassinated by the Chaos Ejaculatum with the tacit approval of the Byzantine Curia.” A hurricane of gasps and shouts of astonishment and cries for mercy. “Silence!” Somehow Jade-Mothra’s dulcet tone could command the room to utter quiet. 

Kyler muted his mic again. To the men in his room, he said, “This was not expected. This is new. What he is saying runs right up to the edge of destroying the Church…or setting off a holy war. We may not need to have a role in this after all. I am kind of relieved.”

But then the Martian boy rose from his throne and spread his wings, each an astounding two meters from shoulder to tip, and he said this, so softly yet missed by no one: “This conclave will elect the Aetheric Prince Kyler as the Pope of All the Church, and I will ensure that outcome right now by doing something that has not been possible for three hundred years: our Holy House of the Aetheric Imperium, upon my authority as its speaker and sovereign, casts all two thousand of our votes for Prince Kyler of the House Phaeton, long be his service as our new Holy Father!”

A section of screen opened to show the vine-cloaked exterior of the cathedral, its cloud-scraping minarets, and a column of white smoke rising from an ancient stone chimney. 

Stunned, Kyler and Kasyn looked at each other, neither sure of what to say. Behind them, Ian, Chadon and Maxon dropped to their knees, heads bowed, hands clasped in prayer. 

Elsewhere in Prince Kyler’s compound…

Spathe, Nox and Charon, the three daughters of Prince Kyler, sat on cushions around a low-slung triangular table. Upon it was a lit trefoil candelabrum and tiny brass bowls of spiced narcowhirl. “Will this really do anything, Big Sister?” Charon wondered.

“It can’t hurt to try, Little Sister,” Spathe replied. 

“It could make us look like fools,” observed Nox.

“No more so than we do already, Middle Sister.” Spathe smiled widely and motioned to her sisters that they should now join hands.

“Let’s do another line first.” Charon looked to Nox, who nodded.

“Fine!” Spathe picked up her little bowl. “But this is it until we are finished!”

The trio set about forming little lines of narcowhirl glitter on the table and together they dipped their heads to inhale it when the noise of a door sliding open on its heavy track startled them. 

“Oh my god!” Charon nearly fell backward off her cushion.

Boys flooded into the drawing room, nearly naked and their male sweat-scent preceding them slightly and washing over the sisters. Nine in number, they were led by the trio of Seth, Koth and Dath—recently finished with their pregnancies by Elisha—and each a son of Kasyn by one the women at the table. 

“Mothers,” said Seth, “we will have a word with you and then be gone momentarily.”

Behind those three clustered  six more: Dagon and the others sons of Kasyn by way of six lunar orchid boys. All nine of them gazed at the women with that weird flashing other-light of their eyes, black to silver to white. 

“We haven’t seen any of you in weeks,” Spathe said. “You might have called first.”

Koth, frowning, stepped close to their mothers’ table and peered down at its contents. “Are we interrupting something? Our apologies!”

“Well,” said Nox, “we were about to attempt a seance with the goal of contacting the aetheric remains of Seth.” She looked at the boy with the same name. “Not you. Your great-grandfather—Kyler’s father—dead by suicide not long after my sisters and I were born.”

The boys glanced at one another, not sure how to reply. Seth finally said, “That’s weird as all fuck, Mothers, but we shan’t keep you from it for long. We just need to let someone here in the compound know about our plans.”

“Your plans?” Spathe lit a cigarette. “Why tell us about it? Why not tell Prince Kyler or your father? Surely you all have pillow-time privileges with them both.”

“Daddy might oppose us, and Kyler certainly would. But he will soon understand that we have made the correct decision. But we need someone here who is not likely to share anything with Kyler or Kasyn anytime soon to hear of our plan in case something goes wrong and we do not survive our journey.”

“Survive your journey!” Charon stood. “What the hell are you boys talking about!”

Seth spoke quietly but with great gravity: “We are leaving here tonight and going to the Moon. The danger comes in our means of transport. We have arranged for aetheric transport by way of the nektonic witches. They will, by their magic, move us from here to there.”

“Boys are so fucking dumb,” Charon muttered and sat back down. “What the fuck are you all going to the Moon for anyway? By magic?”

“To fuck our brains out,” Dath said, totally straight-faced. 

Koth: “To find orchid boys in heat and knock them up by the dozens.”

And Seth: “Our father’s special poltergeist DNA spills from us. The spawn of Kasyn will eventually overtake the Moon. We believe this fulfills part of the prophecy.”

Spathe stubbed out her cigarette, rose from her cushion and stepped over to the bar to fill a large glass with vodka and club soda. “You realize,” she said to the boys, “how completely fucking mad that sounds, right?”

“Nonetheless,” said Dagon, stepping forward, “it is the correct course. We wish that we could also have Chadon and Maxon join us, but they are a security risk.”

Said Spathe, after a long gulp of her drink, “I have no idea who Chadon and Maxon are. You need to keep in mind that we have been rather out of the picture during the last dozen or so episodes of this lurid tale that Kyler seems to be spinning.” Her sisters chuckled. “Though that is, at in least part, by our own choice. Why do you think we live in this remote part of the compound? Well, you see, it spares us that suffocating funk of dirty boys spilling their slimy spunk all over the place that pervades the other quarters of this house.”

“We’ll spill it on the Moon, Mother,” Dath said. “We leave tonight. When we arrive we will message you. If you have not received this message by morning, assume that we have failed and please let our father know that we are sorry.”

And, with that final statement, the nine weird boys turned away and exited the room. 

The sisters finally inhaled their lines of narcowhirl and looked at one another, wondering what to make of the boys’ bizarre pronouncement. “It sounds totally batshit,” Spathe said, “but they may be onto something about the prophecy.”

Nox wondered, “Are we onto something? With our attempt to contact the residue of Seth?”

“It’s even more obvious now,” said Charon, “that we need to try. He was the last one that we know of who possessed the outline of the entire prophecy and he went to the grave with it. Magran may have known just as much but Kyler, of course, had to go ahead and kill her before we got any answers.”

They joined hands again, their three minds focused on their own dim memories and passed-on knowledge of their grandfather, that troubled man who in a way caused them all to be born by ordering that Kyler be raped for his sperm because some piece of his mad prophecy showed him that these women needed to exist as pieces of the puzzle. They slid together into the trance state. If they could have seen themselves, as if within a view from an overhead camera, they might have been startled to see how all their eyes rolled back in their sockets at once, and how with one voice, ecstatically, they shouted “A-Star!”

To be continued….