Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

by Kyler Fey

6 Aug 2018 4228 readers Score 9.1 (35 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


I purchase a lithe nineteen-year-old boy; later he meets one of my sons…

I leave the hot cloying swelter of the alley-narrow street in the teeming Inner Village’s Spunk-District and I enter the cool close confines of Blue Radical’s office. “Hi ya, Kyler!” he says standing behind his tall desk, a thin and threadbare white tunic hanging over his bony frame. He ought properly to address me as “Prince” or “Lord” but I have known this slack pile of perversion all my life, since even before that time that I went to him and as a teenager got him to double the size of my nuts. He says, “Long time it’s been! I’m glad I finally have something that you will like.”

“Well, I’ll want to inspect the merchandise before we settle on payment.” Blue Radical is often called Slut-Maker due to his biotectic skill at crafting ordinary proletarian boys and farmers’ sons into the kinds of catamites that upper caste men like me seek, horny fuckpunks whose whole life function is to give men sex. I’ve purchased boys from him several times over the years, whores to stock the pleasure grotto beneath my compound, but he has not lately had quite what I’ve been looking for my new and very special purpose. But he enticed me with the profile of one of his newest works, a muscular lad of nineteen years that he referred to in the file as ”Kasyn,” the son of an abattoir owner in the Purple Quarter who’d sold the boy to Blue Radical in hope of freeing his son from the hard life of the Quarter and its dismal trades. 

Blue Radical summarized for me the catalog of body-mods that he’d performed on Kasyn, including the usual enlarging of the kid’s balls and the maximizing of his spunk output and the reinforcing of his cock-slot so he can’t get worn out even if one were to fuck his ass constantly.  And, said Blue Radical, ”A mod that I think is particularly nice is a subtle ribbed texturizing that I’ve added to his rectum. You’ll probably feel it when you bone him. Some men might even find it to too stimulating—my son says he finds it so—but one could always dull the sensation a bit by wearing a rubber if you find that it makes your release comes too soon. Or I can always just revert it back to normal.”

I’d not clad my cock in rubber since the last time I had to do it as a young kid, made to get hard in front of my sex teacher and then wrap my dick to show him that I understood how to do it properly. “I’m sure,” I said, “that I can control myself.”

Blue Radical takes me into the inspection room, where Kasyn waits. He lies on his back on a padded table. A leather harness and stirrups kept the naked youth’s feet raised, knees spread and the pink pucker of his asshole exposed. A transparent hose, attached with a cuff to his penis, serves to drain away his piss—and his semen as well should he lose his nut during inspection. The lad’s body is as lovely as I expected after seeing Blue Radical’s pictures of him. His skin, light brown and luminous, his body mostly hairless save for a little whorl of strands around each nipple, thick black tufts in his armpits. He has no pubic hair but he does have a gossamer-thin trail stretching from his deep navel—a tempting dent in his hard abs—to the bare patch above his cock. I stroke that smooth skin and the boy grins at me, eyes black and bright. “He’s just about perfect. I’ll want to fuck him, of course,”  I say. 

“You’ll not need any lube,” Blue Radical says, “as Blue Junior just tested him out a few minutes before you arrived.” Blue Radical departs to his office, leaving me alone with the lad, though I suspect we are probably being watched on Blue’s aetherglass. I undo the fly-ties of my pants and let out my erection out. The boy says nothing but he grins widely when he sees my thick pole, rope-veiny, its knob shrouded in tight brown skin. I pull back the foreskin and let him see my shiny, pre-jac-dripping head. With the step-lever on the floor, I raise his platform a bit so that I can stand without needing to stoop to reach his hole. I punk hard into the fuck, the full length of my dong slicked by Blue Radical’s son’s leftover semen. He cries out and pants and keens as if with great joy, and I thrust into him a couple dozen times, pulling out almost all the way each time, my own pre-jac now adding to the lube that Blue Junior has left for me. I accumulate a mouthful of spit and hawk it onto the lad’s hairless nutsack, and I massage his big balls with my spit and he gasps and I see a few white squirts leave his dick, caught in the hose. After I am finished, my jizz discharged into his chute, I retie my fly and return to Blue Radical’s office.

“He’s very good,” I say. “He even came while I fucked him.”

“This kid is insatiable. He was anyway even before I slut-modified him, but now you can’t stop him. He has had…” and Blue Radical peered at something on his monitor… “twenty-eight orgasms in the last two days, none of them dry.”

“And his sperm is viable?” I had made clear previously to Blue Radical that I specifically wanted a boy that can breed, specifically to impregnate my three daughters, so ordered by the nektonic witch. 

“He is full white-card, highest-grade sperm volume and motility. I’ll of course provide you with all his records.”

“And he’ll fuck a woman willingly? Or will he need to be forced to do it?” I didn’t really care that much either way, but it will be easier on him and more enjoyable for my daughters if he’ll give them his sex and his juice willingly. And, if he is s fertile as advertised, he’ll only have to do it once anyway.

‘This kid will fuck anyone,” says Blue Radical, grinning, his lips shined with spit. “And I have bred him successfully a few times already. There’s a half-dozen rich bitches with his pups in their wombs as we speak.”

I transfer payment to Blue Radical, and Kasyn is dressed in a tunic and jeans and turned over to my custody. 

But his clothes are too shabby for a wedding, so at the chapel, the attendant dresses him in a leather waistcoat and a very short black skirt and sandals. His hair is pulled back into pomaded feathers and his brow glittered with an osmium tiara. Kasyn is dazzled by this attention and by the fact that I intend immediately to marry him. The attendant hands me a linen towel and asks that we use it to clean up after ourselves should we spill any semen during our ceremony, “should you choose to consummate with your boy right here.” I take Kasyn into a private marriage chamber. It’s odor makes me doubt anyone has every cleaned up after themselves in here. Under the spicy aroma of burning incense, I imagine that I can smell three centuries of dead sperm and sweat from thousands of men and boys who’d been in this chamber before us. We listen to the recorded intoned pronouncements of the Silicone Priest, the AI avatar of the Penultimate Dildo, and we speak our affirmations back to it to it, and we are pronounced married. I lift Kasyn onto the short altar and tip him back a bit and reach under his skirt. I press a finger into his anus, still slimed with my spunk from earlier. Though I’ve fucked him once already, that first time was little more than a rape since the boy had been trussed and helpless, so I decided to officially consummate our marriage right here. I sheathe my cock once again in his slippery slot. He kisses me deeply and soon coaxes another flood of spunk from my knob and into his cunt. After this release, I take the boy’s rod in my mouth and, after a couple minutes of suckling on his wide arrowhead, he gives me a few heavy pulses of his nut-juice. It feels uncommonly thick on my tongue and tastes uncommonly sweet. I savor it for a minute in my mouth and then kiss him again, and he sucks his own jizz from my tongue.

The legal fact of our marriage makes Kasyn my three daughters’ stepfather, but he is ten years the junior of the youngest of them, fifteen years younger than the oldest, but they’re favorite fuck-mates are the horny but sterile teenage boys of the Inner Village, and they like the look of Kasyn’s young fit body, hard with muscles and thick in the crotch with a fat wang and big lemon-sized nuts. While they have a duty with him—ordered by the witch—they regard it as more of treat and they take him to Spathe’s chambers and they share his lean and muscular body among them for several hours. Later, Spathe will tell me that Kasyn is as prolific with his cum as Blue Radical had promised, that the boy had repeatedly seeded the three women. And later still, when I recline in bed with the boy, he describes it to me, all the while holding his stiff stick. I am not particularly keen to know every lurid detail of how my daughters came to be pregnant. I am not aroused very much by sex with women, and I have not done it since the day over seventeen years ago when I sired my five sons upon five different mothers in a single day under the advice of the nektonic witch.  But Kasyn clearly enjoys regaling me with the tale of how he tormented and thrilled each of their clits with his tongue before sheathing his shaft in their snatches and filing them with thick white cheesy clots and streamers of his spermy boy-cum.

“You haven’t met my sons—our sons—yet, have you?”

Kasyn laps his warm wet tongue along the underside of my cock an. He says, “No! Are they as beautiful as you?”

I laugh. “They are nearly as beautiful as you!” and I pull the boy up, his face to mine and kiss him deeply, salivating on his tongue. “Would you like to see them? From here we can peak in on them.”

Kasyn smiles and sat up on his knees, his pretty penis sticking straight out toward me. “What do you mean!”

“I’ll show you,” I say, and I summon awake the aetherglass. Its large lens, which depends from a brassy cable, lowers from the ceiling and hovers before us. I say, “Show us Phobos.” In the lens resolves an image from life, of a lithe eighteen-year-old nude in one of the baths outside in the gardens, apparently chatting on the phone with someone. “Show us Dak,” I say, and the image changes to that of another boy—very much like Phobos in appearance—but this one is engaged in sex with one of the garden boys, humping the lad against a potting table. “He’s fucking hot!” says Kasyn, gripping his pre-jac-dripping prick in both hands. “Show us Torus,” I say, and this time we receive a bonus for Torus is also busy fucking, but it is his brother Naxon, taking his cock. “They’ve always been very close,” I remark. “But we still need to see Daemon.” The glass changes its focus again, and we spy Daemon lying in his bed, reading a paperback book and masturbating. Daemon is a bit thicker in build than his brothers, a touch more muscular, his ass a fat full deep peach. “You like the look of him, don’t you?”

Kasyn jerks on his dick. “Oh fuck yeah! He’s amazing!”

“Let’s have him join us.” We could see him jerk upright suddenly when his own aetherglass lights up and shows me and Kasyn staring at him. 

“Father!” he says. “You’re spying on me!” He laughs and half-hides his stiff penis behind his hands. “And who is that with you?”

“Your new stepfather. He wants to meet you. Attend us now in my chambers!” He rises from his bed and appears to reach for an article of clothing on the floor next to it. “Arrive naked,” I add, “so that Kasyn may see you better!”

When Daemon arrives, he kneels before Kasyn, clasps both his hands and kisses each of them. “That my father deems you special enough to be his bride means that I can love you without reservation. May I call you, ‘Daddy?’” 

Kasyn laughs and blushes red all the way through his neck and chest. “Of course, sweet thing!”

Daemon, delighted, kisses Kasyn’s hands again and says, “As I call him Father and Kyler, I will call you Daddy and Kasyn.”

“Before you get to know each other better,” I say, “there is a little matter of discipline left over from earlier today that we need to handle.”

Daemon frowns. “Oh, Kyler! Father! Must you embarrass me in front of Daddy?”

“It will be ‘Daddy’ who will administer your punishment.”

Kasyn gapes at me, totally baffled. I explain:, “Early this morning, this boy caused the chef to be late for his breakfast shift. He detained that lad in his bed, fucking him for a long time. I watched them in the aetherglass. Of course, the chef was excused for being late because he could hardly be expected to refuse one of my sons’ demands for sex—and he is just as lusty as they are—but Daemon knew better than to interfere with the work of the house, and now he needs a punishment.”

“So,” says Kasyn, “what form does this punishment take?” His dick stands upright. Whatever he was imagining it might be is obviously exciting him. 

“I think four whacks ought to suffice,” I say, withdrawing from a bureau drawer a wide wooden paddle, its glowing patina the result of many generations of young ass-sweat hammered into its grain. It had slapped against my own many, many times when I was a youth. “Six would probably be more appropriate for this one, but I tend to be more lenient with regard to their cock-offenses. They are, after all, merely boys—and they have all had their nads enhanced in the same that you did by Blue Radical—so one can’t expect perfect self-discipline from such naturally and excessively horny creatures.”

Kasyn grins and takes the paddle from me. “How hard do I hit him?” He glances at Daemon, who has already assumed his position, hands braced against the wet bar, feet spread, ass exposed to us. 

Just as I start to describe the appropriate force, Kasyn interrupts me and hands back the paddle. “Show me by hitting my ass with it. Just one stroke, and I’ll know how to do it.”

Kasyn takes his position next to his stepson, and winks at the boy. I crack the paddle against Kasyn’s ass, a perfect flat strike of the wood on his bare skin, and he yelps and then laughs. “Okay, I get it now, Kyler! Give me!” He takes back the paddle, and stage-whispers to Daemon, “Know that this will hurt me more than it will hurt you!” Daemon mutters “the fuck it will!” and both boys laughed. 

The globes of Daemon’s thick bulbous rump redden a bit more with each loud crack of the paddle. I am quite sure that Kasyn, winding up each stroke like a cricketer at bat, was probably hitting him harder than I would have based on the tone of the boy’s grunts and cries at each whack. I make a mental note to keep an eye on that, to make sure that Kasyn will not prove to be a sadist with the paddle. I have always punished my sons by this method—finding it more salutary to modifying their behavior than anything else—but I am also very consistent with the level of force and the number of strikes required for each kind of offense. It is true, however, that they each react to these spankings differently: delicate-of-spirit Phobos, who is so well-behaved that he seldom earns the paddle, always sobs and screams with each strike even though the blows that I apply to his buttocks are no harder than those taken by Dak whose pose is always to goad me: “Is that all you have for me, Kyler!” he yells. “If you want to spank me, then fucking spank me!” But his tears stream just the same as his brother’s by the time I am done. The only difference is that Dak forces a grin through the pain while Phobos looks forlorn and betrayed. And they are both equally at peace after I have taken them to my bed and made love to them, my hands spreading their stinging reddened cheeks, my tongue wet against their anuses.

With Daemon’s discipline complete, I decide it’s time to let my son and my spouse—and myself—have some fuck-pleasure. Kasyn says he’ll be right back: “I need to take a piss.” I stop him. “He has a mouth, doesn’t he?” and I point to Daemon, who grins widely and drops to his knees. I put the paddle back in its drawer and bring out a ring gag. I insert the gag into Daemon’s wide-open mouth and cinch its strap around his head. He looks very cute, his shaggy brassy hair pinned back by the strap. “You don’t need a urinal if this pretty fuck’s in the room.” Kasyn watches and laughs, astonished, as I demonstrate, emptying my own bladder into Daemon’s mouth, the lad chugging all of it and spilling none. I wag my dick, flinging off the last couple drops onto Daemon’s face, and Kasyn takes my place. He takes a minute to get his flow going, so stiff is his prick, but eventually it comes and Daemon drinks all of it. It won’t be long now before Daemon needs to relieve himself, but in the meantime, we can fuck.

I tell Kasyn to sit on the leather couch across from the wet bar. He does, his long brown muscle-bulging legs spread, his thick dick reclining against his belly, its wide head touching his navel. “Kiss your Daddy,” I tell Daemon “and fucking ride him!”

Kasyn’s dick-slit is welling out with so much excess pre-jac that no lube is needed. My son kneels on the couch, facing Kasyn and straddling his thighs, and together they work Kasyn’s long thick dong up into Daemon’s cunt. I watch them fuck in this position for a minute or two and then I step up behind Daemon, step with one foot onto the couch next to Kasyn’s thick knotty thigh, and hunker down into Daemon, my prong pushing against Kasyn’s Daemon-embedded cock, and a little more and little harder and soon I manage the breach and I am inside, my shaft against Kasyn’s, encased in a double-fuck, Daemon crying out in disbelief and glee over how he has taken us both at once, his father and his new stepfather, our thick-double-dick jammed into his slot.

I thrust with vigor, and both Daemon and Kasyn cry out, screaming their fuck-ecstasy. For a moment I imagine that I am smashing Kasyn’s dong into a flat ribbon inside our son’s snatch, but then he bucks up hard and shows me how fucking hard and full his pipe actually is. He screams a loud “oh fuck, Kyler!” and I can feel his hot juice on my prick, trapped inside Daemon’s chute. Kasyn cums in a few long spams. I withdraw from them and pull Daemon down onto his back, legs sprawled across panting Kasyn’s thighs, and I jack hard on my wang, ready to nut. I give Daemon a light slap across his cheek. “Eyes open!” I say. He complies and I jet out on his face. He laughs and wipes and blinks my semen out of his eyes and licks it from his lips. “Suck him!” I say to Kasyn, and we each pleasure Daemon, Kasyn sucking the boy’s dick and me eating his ass, tasting Kasyn’s leaking cum from that funky pucker. Soon Daemon loses his load in Kasyn’s mouth.

We relax and sip some wine and smoke narcowhirl-laced cigarettes and Kasyn says, “That was fucking sweet.”

“You know,” I said, “you have four more new stepsons that you have yet to meat.”

He grins and kisses me. “Will they all need spankings as well?”

“Oh, I am sure they all will soon enough.”

by Kyler Fey

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