Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

“Abso-fucking-lutely not!” is Kasyn’s reply when I tell about Doctor Phibes’ suggestion that he get a vasectomy as a precaution against siring further mutant sons. He stands on the bed, naked save for a few black rubber necklaces and bracelet and anklets. He has allowed Naxon to paint to his fingernails and toenails and they shine and glitter violet and gold. His thick veiny prick stands upright, the tip of its head and its wide piss-slit just barely peeking out from the puckered end of his foreskin and leaking a dribble of pre-jac, his enormous nuts hanging low in their tight smooth-shaved sack. 

I want to throw his lithe smooth body down onto the mattress, put him face down on his pillow and pump a load of spunk into his gut, but I say, “You know, I could by rights command you to do so.”

Kasyn laughs and drops to his knees and reaches toward my crotch. I push forward, knees against the edge of the bed, and let him rub my blood-swollen dong through my pants. He says, “And if you dare to command me to do anything like that, then I will never let you stick this thing in my snatch again!” He feigns a shocked gasp, eyes wide and shiny with mirth. “And I know you think that I am the finest piece of ass you have ever had in your life!”

I cannot deny the truth of his words: I’ve fucked literally thousands of men and none have crazed me with lust as intensely as my young husband does. But I say, “According to the doctor, all nine of your strange offspring are in heat, and should any of your super-powered cum get inside any of them, then…”

He shushed me, his open palm against my mouth: “Silence, Kyler! Worry not, my boy. If I should happen to get in bed with any of them, I swear I will be the bottom exclusively! The last thing we need is more of those hot little freaks!”

Kasyn calling me “my boy” fuck-thrilled me so hard that I thought I might jizz in my pants. I undid my fly and released my stiff prong. Kasyn grabbed it with both hands and pulled back my foreskin and smeared my slick leaking pre-jac over my swollen shroom-head. “Now,” he said, “get into this bed with me and perform your one worthwhile duty as my husband and my man.” He leaned forward and kissed my sticky dripping cockhead. “Do the one thing you’re any good at, Kyler, and fuck my brains out on the pillow.” If this boy’s beauty is captivating anyway, his fuck-arrogance is the most intense aphrodisiac: that he reduces my function and person to a cock who was born onto this Earth just to fuck him makes me crazy with arousal and love.

I push Kasyn down onto the mattress, onto his knees and elbows, his face into his pillow and his plump bulbous ass raised to my face. I spread with my fingers those thick cheeks and I see that his anus weeps a dribble of white clotted cum and I tell him that I am glad that he is already lubed for my stiff meat.

“Daemon was here just before you returned,” says Kasyn, “and he jammed a big fucking load into his Daddy after I spanked him for being a bad boy.”

That my son—and Kasyn’s stepson—had boned this boy’s hole so recently that he is still leaking spunk inflames me with passion for his body. I press my tongue into Kasyn’s cunt and taste his sharp ass-funk and Daemon’s sweet-salty cum.

“Are you just gonna eat me out,” Kasyn says, “or are you gonna fuck the shit out of me? Are you gonna break me in half on that fat cock?”

I spread his knees further with mine and push his head into the pillow, palm of my hand to his nape, and I spike my prick into his pussy, jam my thick fucking penis into the boy, a single steely stab all the way from knob-head to root and balls and Kasyn screams and then laughs. He says, “That’s it, my man! Give me that fucking stick!” He asks me if I like it that I’m wetting my dick with Daemon’s leftover nut juice. “Do you like that, my big man? That you are fucking right into his slop, that the boy you made with your cream had filled me up with his right before you got here?”

Goaded by his words, I fuck him at speed and muse briefly over how I cannot understand why some men claim to not want “sloppy seconds;” and, yes, enjoying how it is Daemon’s slick semen that’s making it so easy for me right now. I continue with the fuck, trying to hold back my climax, trying so hard to keep my load inside for as long as possible,  until Kasyn forces it out of me by saying, “You ever gonna give me your juice, Kyler, you dirty fucking cock? Fucking fill me, boy!”

I lose it inside him, nutting out in a dozen pulses, and I know that he feels hard the shudders of my pulsing orgasm and he cries out, “Oh yeah, Kyler! I fucking love you so much, baby, my hot hard boy!” And this makes me cum again, a little sequel to my climax, and I pump out a few more spurts into my husband. When finally I withdraw my meat from his hole and flop over onto my back, gasping and sweating next to him, he says this: “I don’t know why we love each other so much, Kyler, but I am so glad that we do.” He rolls on top me and kisses me for a while, our tongues together, our spit sopping our chins, his dick rubbing on my thighs and on my belly, and soon he juices out, covering my belly in his thick hot seed. He laps it up from my skin and tongues it out of my navel and, a little bit at a time, spits it into my mouth. We doze together for a little while, my naked body enclosing his like a spoon.

I bought Kasyn from Blue Radical and married him because it felt in my bones to be the correct response to the prophecy that had lain over my entire life ever since I was raped by a nektonic witch and made to sire Spathe. I remember these words from my father, the Dark Prince Seth: “Being my son—an aristocrat of a powerful Aetheric House—you have wealth and privilege far beyond most other boys, beyond all but the sons of the probably mythical Emperor on Mars, but you cannot escape your destiny. And you should not even wish to because you owe to your people what is to come.” I had found it outrageous that my own father had signed off on me being raped by a witch, that he had forced me to sire my first daughter, but I also knew that there was nothing I could do about it. But then, one day, apparently outside of the realm and range of the prophecy, he died.

Seth had left a lot of recordings, stamped into scratchy plaz discs that I can hear by inserting them into a five hundred year-old machine meant to play them. In one of them, that I have played again and again, I hear this:

Seth, speaking in a voice that sounds almost exactly like my own now: “Kyler is still very young. We may be moving too quickly.”

And a witch voice, Magran’s, says: “Doctor Phibes has confirmed that he is mature enough for the purpose.”

Seth laughs and says, “That wadded, boy-stained undershirt that he keeps in the drawer of his nightstand confirms this also. But Phibes also confirms that Kyler is a total and intractable homosexual. How will you make my still-innocent fag-boy son comply with your demands? He’s still a virgin, the sweet thing, and he will not want to fuck a woman.”

Magran says, “We have a special tea that we will give him. It will make him a bit drowsy, and loosen his muscles, and it will also make his prick stiff whether he is aroused by sexual desire or not, and it will stay that way whether he enjoys the sex or not. Our womb-woman will have no trouble coaxing out the boy’s seed. It’s just a matter of friction, just a matter of stimulating his penis since he will have no control over his erection.”

And Seth says, after a long pause, “Fine. Send your woman to take his sperm. But do not think that I am a true believer in this sorcery.”

“You’ll believe it soon enough, Prince Seth,” Magran says. “If you live long enough.”

I know now that Magran had held back an important part of the prophecy: Seth would die within five years and I would be the true vector for their plans. It is no wonder that I am now a bit paranoid over the advent of virile Kasyn and my weird grandsons by him.

Meanwhile, in the stone torture room in the Holy Keep of the Chaos Ejaculatum…

“So, out with it then, Corvis!” said one of the masked Inquisitors. “If you have learned something new, please do not withhold any of it. We only have so much time before the Pope himself becomes interested in what we are up to!”

Corvis weighed exactly how much to give her new allies. She did not fool herself into thinking that she could escape if these three men were to decide to turn upon her and place her into the now-empty Frame of Discipline for a more aggressive style of questioning. Also, she suspected that all three of them were probably homosexuals and that they would derive little to no erotic thrill from torturing her as they might if she were a male, making her excruciation in the Frame all pain and no pleasure. 

“These are the facts,” she said. “And please hold back from any commentary or questions until I have finished speaking.” The trio nodded. She continued: “Kasyn Mutara’s genitals have been modified by a body-hacker for the usual purposes of making him hornier than the average male in his age cohort, to enable him to produce a tremendous amount of semen in short periods of time, to make his cock and his nuts bigger than they were before, and to make him nearly insatiable sexually. What’s different about what this hacker—Blue Radical—did to Kasyn Mutara, however, is that he used an exotic tissue that he transplanted into the boy’s nuts, a trans-aetheric tissue extracted by means that I do not understand from a so-called trans-aetheric gay punk poltergeist.” She paused, glanced at her audience of three, and added, “I am sure you will not be able to resist asking questions at this point, so go ahead if you must.”

One of them said, “A what the fuck?”

“An entity that in your religion would probably be regarded as some kind of demon or malevolent ghost—or perhaps a manifestation of an Elder God depending on how Cthulhist you all are nowadays. But there is probably a perfectly rational and scientific explanation for it. At any rate, one of these poltergeists is believed to have rampaged through the dormitories of the Academy Dhalgren and somehow raped the asses of every boy in the place and deposited some kind of preternatural plasma—ghost cum—in their rectums. A Cult Cthulhu exorcist was brought in, and he, after much struggle, contained this entity in an aether bottle and killed it. Somehow this disgusting hacker, Blue Radical, gained possession of pieces of this entity’s trans-aetheric flesh-analog—specifically its testicles—and he transplanted some of this exotic matter into Kasyn Mutara’s balls on a hunch that it would make the boy extraordinarily virile. Evidently it did, but this foolish body-hacker did not anticipate the stranger side effects, namely that  Kasyn’s sperm would carry with it traits of the poltergeist into any offspring that he may sire.”

A cowled man lean forward to peer at Corvis. “You’re saying,” he said, “that this boy’s pups are literally demon-children!”

Corvis sighed. “I am saying that his body’s exotic modification has enabled traits of a trans-aetheric entity to pass from the aether and into physical form by way of this lad’s sperm. And given his obvious fecundity and unrelenting sex drive, he could possibly soon be the father of an entirely new species of human. How will the Church grapple with that?”

One of the masked men rumbled and said, “Kasyn Mutara and all his pups must die. Or: we must control them.”

Corvis smiled and sipped from her goblet of communion wine. “I think we are finally in agreement on something. But to get to Kasyn, we are going to have to go through Lord Kyler. Are you men prepared to slay an Aetheric Prince?”

No one replied. Corvis sat back in her chair, satisfied that she would continue to be in command of this situation whether the Church and the Cult knew it or not. She called an end to the meeting, deciding it was time to check back in on the young priest Elisha, whose nuts she was storing in a tank of ur-gel. 

Meanwhile, in a small hotel room in the Inner Village, the priest Elisha jammed his penis hard into the pussy of a young sobbing rentboy. “I don’t know what you want!” cried the boy, suffering under Elisha’s rough fucking, his hands bound behind him. 

“I paid you for this,” Elisha said, thrusting hard.

The boy cried out and said, “I’ll give you all your fucking money back! Just don’t hurt me!”

“You’ll tell me,” said Elisha, “what you saw when those purple Moon boys were here. Where did they go? Who were they with?”

“I don’t fucking know!”

Elisha slammed harder, as hard as he could with his almost painfully stiff cock, into the kid’s cunt. Elisha was sure that he wasn’t just imagining it that he had been hornier than ever before in his life since he’d acquired Jaustin Moss’s nuts, grafted into his sack by that body-hacking scumbag who seemed to have a very special relationship with Lord Kyler. He even had newly sprouting hair on his chest in spots where none had grown before and the fur in his armpits was thicker than ever. The rentboy beneath him screamed. Elisha said, “I want to know if you saw Lord Kyler’s husband and one of his sons here. If you tell me the truth, you’ll be rewarded just like a good boy deserves.”

The boy said, “I am loyal to my Lord Kyler! I am not a traitor!” He writhed and twisted beneath Elisha. He turned his head and spat but he was not able to twist far enough around to hit Elisha in the face with it. 

Elisha fucked harder. He said, “I’ll cut off your nuts and feed them to you if you don’t tell me what I need to know, you little bitch-boy.”

“Fuck you, priest!” shouted the kid. “I’ll never betray my prince!”

Elisha, overcome by the boy’s emotion, shuddered and ejaculated inside his rectum. But he said, as he rolled off the boy and onto his back, “I can’t understand why Prince Kyler commands such loyalty from you street losers in this shitty city, but I’ll accept it as a fact and let you live for now, you dumb punk.” He gazed into the rentboy’s wet and defiant eyes. “But if I ever show up here again, you’d better be ready to be more talkative.”

Doctor Phibes looked like a ghost behind the cloud of his constant ginger cigarette smoke. “Kyler,” he said, “I don’t think you understand the situation here.”

“I don’t see it as a problem,” I said. “The witches and the Church don’t want Kasyn to sire any more pups. But why should I care? Have the pups we already have proven a problem for anyone yet?”

“The world,” he rumbled, “is bigger even than you, boy. Kasyn must be restrained until you have defeated the Church and the witches. Because you have been slow in dealing with this, I have issued a prescription of sorts.”

“What do you mean? What kind of prescription?”

Said Phibes, “Kasyn’s orchid boy sons—and their mothers—are all in heat. Your sons are fucking them all right now. Your sons will get all their lunar half-brothers and nephews pregnant—with their normal sperm—stopping Kasyn from doing it to them himself for at least a few months.”

I conceded that this was probably the best way to buy us some time, though I mourned just a little bit the notion of being a grandfather so many more times. I am just not old enough for this! The calendar reminded me that my forty-fifth birthday would be next week.

Little do Kyler and Kasyn know, the orchid sons, now all pregnant by Dak or Daemon or Naxon or Phobos or Torus, have reconvened in the pool deep under the house, and in its humid warmth, they again seek an answer from their lavish watery rendition of the Cthulhist ouija board. Naked, the six half-brothers and sons of Kasyn, stepped to the edge of the pool. All six of their dicks were stiff. Dagon tugged on his for a moment, drooled a stream of pre-jac from it, and then he dropped off the edge into the water. He rose to the surface, on his back, his cock rising over his pelvis, and he floated. With unblinking silver stares, his five brothers— Hex, Mosch, Thuga, Kaam and Nod—raised their arms, palms straight out from their bare chests, and they chanted:

“Zero! Zero! O-rekt!

Zero-path rad-na!

Rad-na A-Star!

A-Star! A-Star!”

And again twice more they chanted this riddle, and Dagon slid across the water, his head touching one floating symbol after the next. If anyone had been there to observe this, and if that observer had been able to read the Cthulhist script, then that observer might have made out this phrase, gradually spelled out in the water by a naked lavender boy:

KYLER—ANTI-KYLER…NOW

And, YES. 

To be continued…