Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

I see this scene in the aetherglass, my sons Dak and Daemon, drunk and in their passion. The aether pulls through to me a hint of their scent, of their young horny bodies in rut, of their sweat and their cum…

“So if the two new orchid boys that I fucked are actually pregnant,” said Dak, “then I’ll have more pups than Kyler. Because I’ll have six, counting the four orchid boys I knocked up at the hotel, and Kyler-Father has just the five of us.”

“That’s totally and wildly not true,” said Daemon, “and dumb as fuck. And you’re so drunk. You’re forgetting first off about our three sisters. And that the four orchids that you pregged at the hotel are Kyler’s sons also. And that all ten of them—including the six that Kasyn did—are his sons. And that they are probably just ten of like two or three hundred of them from when he fucked all those orchid boys on the Moon, dumbass!”

Dak laughed and fell backward onto Daemon’s mattress. “Oh yeah! I forgot about all that. It’s hard to keep up with all the details of our fucked-up family, my brother. Especially now!”

“Especially now, brother,” agreed Daemon.

“But,” Dak said, trying to rise again, falling back again, “I am going to move to the Moon and fuck like a thousand of those hot purple bitches!”

Daemon climbed onto the bed and spread his brother’s knees and raised his chunky muscular ass. “I’m gonna fuck you, brother!” he said. Both boys laughed drunkenly. Daemon hawked a few whacks of thick spit onto Dak’s asshole and onto his own cock. Daemon slicked his long wang with spit and slippery pre-jac and humped into his brother. Or tried, too. He missed his target a couple times and Dak giggled beneath him. Eventually he made it in and Dak cried out, perhaps surprised at the Daemon’s sudden entry. They rocked together for a little while, Daemon buried to his balls in his brother’s cunt. A few hours later they woke up, limbs wrapped around each other in a sweaty tangle, neither hungover boy probably quite remembering if they’d finished their fuck.

Said Blue Radical, his face shivering in the aetherglass, “This isn’t about Kasyn this time. It’s about Naxon. He came to see me this morning.”

I’d been expecting this call, but I hadn’t expected that it would come so soon. I said, “About his gender affirmation procedure. He told me what he wants to do. It’s fine.”

“Well,” said Blue Radical, “did he tell you that it’s already done?”

I refrained from spitting my drink in mid-sip. “Already? No! How is that even possible?”

“You said it was fine!”

“I know! But still! Is that not a…major job? Would he not need to be in recovery for a while? I saw him not two hours ago wandering the garden with Torus.”

“The technology nowadays is pretty wicked, Kyler. I had him out of recovery in two hours and, while he should, you know, take it kind of easy for a couple days, he’s really, um, good to go, you know?”

“No, I really don’t know. What exactly did you do to him?”

Blue Radical’s eyes widened. “Well, he wanted to keep most of his overtly male features—like, he still has his same exact dick and balls. But he wanted to gain a new, more feminine, ability.”

“I know. He said he wanted to be able to get pregnant like an orchid boy. So did you somehow make him into an orchid boy?”

“Not exactly. We used a different template for his alteration—the so-called ‘maphs’ of Venus.”

It was just too much now. I said, “The ‘maphs’ are a myth. Or at least they are long-extinct.”

“Not exactly true, Kyler. They still exist in the arboreal villages of the Amtor Vepaja. And they are exactly as described in legend: mildly fey-looking lads who present more or less as males but with vaginas located in the space between their nut-sacks and their assholes. They cannot breed with one another, so in order to have a baby they need to get inseminated by a cis-human male. It is, in fact, something of a rite of passage among the teenage boys of the Amtor Vepaja to attempt to lose their virginities by fucking one of these maphs. In many cases, these boys sire children on the maphs but they’ll never know about it.”

I absorbed this claim for a moment. I said, “You’re telling me that Naxon has a vagina now? Like a girl?”

“Yes, basically. And he still has his cock. We didn’t change that in any way.”

“And he can get pregnant? As if we need someone else around here who can do that trick.”

Blue Radical grinned widely. “I believe that he can. He’ll have heats kind of like the orchids do. It’s a tricky hormonal art, let me tell you!”

I sighed.

“I had to invent sort of a new gland for him. You can imagine it as a clockwork regulator moderating his hormones during his heats so that pregnancy is possible. If you wish, I can explain—”

“Please! You may skip the details. I get the general idea.”

Blue Radical smiled. He said, “So, in conclusion, you’re totally fine with all of this?”

I sensed a set-up, but I replied thus: “Yes. So long as Naxon is happy and unharmed, then I am fine with all of this.”

Blue Radical smiled harder and exhaled. “Oh, good!” (and here it comes, I thought). He continued: “There something else that I need to share with you, on another matter entirely.”

“Please proceed.” I reached for the bottle and poured another drink. I lit another narcowhirl cigarette and slumped back into my chair.

Said the body-hacker: “Well, perhaps you recall the recent imbroglio, as it were, wherein  the pop music superstar Jaustin Moss was castrated and then provided with a pair of new cum-factories by me?”

“Yes. And you somehow came to own Moss’s balls and you installed them in the Cthulhist exorcist/priest Elisha who is an agent of the Chaos Ejaculatum. Continue!”

“Sooo,” continued Blue Radical, “Jaustin Moss himself showed up here this morning. He and his entourage are in the city this week. He is fronting an act with the baroque-core band Cards of Cthugha. Obviously I was shocked to see him.”

“Most obviously! Did he know that you had once possessed and then gave away his fucking nuts? My god, Blue, you are a madman!”

Blue Radical recoiled for a split second and then said, “Of course not, Kyler! He did not know that I was the purchaser of his nuts! I am a better businessman than that! He sought me out because of my reputation for my fine craftwork in male genitalia, of course. He had figured out that he didn’t have balls anymore, despite his mutilators’ efforts to fool him with fake rubber nuts in his sack. He knew right away that something was wrong, you know? So he came to me to see if I could do a nut-replacement.”

“And you put new nuts in his sack. So what?”

“The graft took instantly and he was back in the horny cum-pumping business immediately.”

“Great. But I guess that you are telling me this lurid story for some other reason.”

Said Blue, “Well, here’s the thing: while I prepped Jaustin for the procedure, I had my son Blue Junior go fetch the replacement balls from our ur-gel storage facility, and it seems that he grabbed the wrong set.”

I slammed my drink and poured another, having no idea what this maniac was about to tell me. I said, “Blue, I am probably going to want to write about this conversation in my journal later, but I doubt that I will have the stamina to capture its full tedium if you do not get blessedly, and at last, to your fucking point!”

Blue Radical leaned forward. He said, “I had in storage, as an experiment for later study, a cloned copy of Kasyn’s nuts—made after I had modified Kasyn’s with the tissue from the trans-aetheric gay punk poltergeist.”

If I’d had wine in my mouth at that moment, I might have spit it out.

“So,” Blue Radical continued, “I ended up installing those nuts in him. Jaustin Moss is now running loose with copies of Kasyn’s balls in his sack, and he is probably horny as fuck, even more so than he was before with his own balls.”

“You have got to be fucking joking.”

“I wish I were! But it’s not all bad. Look: I wouldn’t even have known about it this so soon if it were not for the fact that Blue Junior took a cum sample from Jaustin. Junior sucked him off and spat Jaustin’s load into a collection cup for later examination. It was rather a dream come true for Junior, actually, being the Jaustin Moss fan that he is. A couple hours later, I examined this cum and at first it all looked pretty normal. But then I noticed a certain trans-aetheric signature in the semen, and then in the sperm itself. It was clearly Kasyn-cum.”

Now there are two of them! I thought and refilled my glass. My cock grew achingly hard at the thought even as I knew that I should not be aroused by this development.

“Kyler,” Blue Radical said, “I don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily, but you should know that Jaustin Moss is a well-known pansexual. The boy will fuck just about anybody whether male or female or trans or inter or whatever in between. I did not know much about him until recently, as I do not follow pop music that closely, but according to Junior, he is evidently notorious for fucking fans backstage and in his hotel. And most of those are girls because his fanbase is said to be about ninety percent girls and ten percent gay boys. And it’s rumored also that he refuses to rubber up and that he has left a lot chicks knocked up in his wake. So, you see.”

I slumped back. A new vector, I thought, perhaps even more potent than Kasyn! Until recently, boys who can pregnant weren’t that much of a thing around here, but there are hordes of girls in this city, and if Jaustin Moss is willing to fuck them…

“I need,” I said, “to get hold of Jaustin Moss and stop this.” The idea that he could seed a whole slew more of these preternatural sons who, under genetic scrutiny, would pass as still more of Kasyn’s sons was unacceptable. I needed to contain this phenomenon within this house.

“I can’t help you with that, Kyler!” cried Blue Radical. “I’d be no good at a kidnapping!”

“Just have some different balls ready for him when I have him in my custody.” I sipped at my wine. “I won’t deny him the right to have nuts—he is a boy, after all—but damn if I’m going to let him run amok as Kasyn 2.”

Phibes grimaced over the rim of a steaming mug of jasoom maté. His cigarette expired as a long ash its tray. “I don’t suppose,” he said, “that you had even a second thought about letting your son mutilate his body like this?”

The doctor really pisses me off sometime, and he did now more so than ever. I said, “Stop being such an old bigot, Phibes. There’s nothing wrong at all with Naxon getting the body-configuration that matches his conception of his gender. In fact, it can do nothing but make him a happier and better person. So, fuck you, you stupid old man.”

I want to say that Phibes flushed, but it’s almost more like he turned thunder-cloud gray and he said, “I could not give a rancid rat-fuck shit less about what you or your over-sexed sons want to do to express your genders and sexualities, but this is a little bit fucking different and you fucking know it, Lord Prince Kyler!” He lit another cigarette.

I remembered being a boy, maybe five years old, sick with the mauldron fever and Phibes smiling and cooing over me and giving me a tiny toy kitten with which he booped my nose and then tucked under my blanket with me while my father Seth—still a teenager at the time—watched helplessly, tears pouring from his eyes. “I am sorry, Doctor,” I said. “I know your concern is in the right place. Please excuse my previous remarks.”

But, “You’re a real piece of work, Kyler,” said Phibes. “For five generations, I have coddled and doctored the children of this Aetheric House, and I have never considered retiring or resigning until now.” He rose from his seat. “I bottle-fed your worthless fucking father Seth when his mother rejected him and left for Hypnolandia, and now you call me an old bigot.”

“My gods, Phibes! I am trying to apologize! Please calm down!”

Phibes settled back into his chair and refilled his cup. “Kyler, you need to understand that Naxon can get pregnant now, and that you have running amok in your home a horde of boys all carrying this exotic sperm, starting with your husband and continuing with his sons. I used to not give a shit about all the incest in this family when it was just run-of-the-mill boys who happened to be fathers and sons and brothers fucking each other with no danger of anyone getting pregnant. But it’s different now. Just look into the eyes of Kasyn’s sons, that weird silver glare.” The doctor shifted in his seat and lit another cigarette. “You need to keep Naxon away from them somehow.”

I sighed and said, “I’ll make sure of it.  It will all will work out.” I pushed away a memory of Magran, throat slashed, falling from the parapet far down into the Insemina River. I pushed away my need to consult once more the prophecy.

In this dream, I am there again, on the Moon in the village of Phototopsia, one of a small cadre of young soldiers carrying out our commander’s orders to fuck every single orchid boy inhabitant of that captured village. Even though the tent in which we fuck has two sides open to the balmy air, that air is very still and it concentrates around us the funk of our sweaty rutting bodies, of the sweet and spicy musk of the orchid boys’ cunts and armpits, the semen spilled from our cocks and overflowing from the orchid boys’ asses and also the cum of the orchid boys themselves as they juice out under our vigorous fucking. It is a heady and sweet fuck-stench that only accelerates my cock’s need to thrust—well, that and the continual doses of Erec-T and Juice-E that my comrades and I are giving ourselves. 

I’m lying on my back, happily sweating and gasping, having just spent another load inside a pretty tight-cunted purple-skinned boy, who was promptly escorted out after receiving that whack of my cream up his hole. On the cot next to mine, lies a fellow soldier and orchid-fucker named Drotte. He’s an eighteen-year-old Earth boy like me, but he’s a barely literate kid from the bean farms of Kaskandia. He says, “Hey, Kyler. How many we’ve done today? I think I lost count.”

“Ten maybe? Or twelve?” I hypo-spray myself in each of my nuts and my cock balloons full again. I pass the hypo over to Drotte. “You ready for another?”

He says, “I’m ready for you, brother!” and he laughs. “You think those purple orchid boy cunts are tight, just wait till you jam that big dirty stick into mine!” He rolls his foreskin up and down over his arrow-head as if he is going to jack himself off thinking about this.

If we were not on duty I’d be very tempted to jump onto Drotte’s sweaty cumstained cot and bone his dumb farm-boy brains right out his cute oversized ears and then jizz all over the heavy corona of his greasy red knotted hair, but I tell him he’ll have to wait. Our next round was here:

Even though they’d been stripped naked by the MPs, the pair of orchid boys held between them something, something like a game board floating under their four hands. The pair suddenly looked at me directly, and their board tilted in air to face me, its planchette hovering near my face. They grinned, two faces exactly like Kasyn’s except lavender in tone, and the planchette spelled this for me: “CAN YOU REPEAT THE QUESTION?” 

Upright in bed I sprang, gasping. Kasyn slept next to me, softly snoring.

I felt unaccountably hungry—it not being my habit to snack in the middle of the night—and I rose from bed and trod naked down to the small kitchen on the level below assuming I’d find some kind of snack, and some distraction from the lingering impressions of the strange dream. But I did not assume that there’d be anyone there.  A diminutive black-skinned boy with an amazing tousle of red hair, clad in a harness and kilt, feet bare, surprised me when he stepped out of the pantry closet. Evidently I surprised him as well, considering that he jumped back and bumped his head against the edge of the door. “My Lord!” he yelled. “My Lord Prince Kyler!”

Clearly the kid recognized me despite my sleep-dishevelment and lack of clothing but I had no idea who he was. Must be new here, I thought.

“Take it easy, kiddo,” I said. “I was just looking for a midnight snack.”

“But, My Lord!” he gasped. “If I’d only known that this was a possibility then I would certainly have been better prepared for your arrival! If only Supervisor Ryan had told me!”

I did not mind how he was ready to blame someone else since his training was clearly deficient. I said, “Supervisor Ryan, while a great executive chef, still disappoints me constantly. But you do not.”

I drew close to the boy, and he did not retreat. I hugged him into me, and I pressed my stiff cock against his hard and smooth belly. I tipped his head back and pressed my lips to his, and I fed him my tongue from which he slurped eagerly. As I kissed him, I drooled pre-jac on his belly and his thick dick rose between my legs and nestled in my nutsack. 

“You need a snack, my Lord Kyler!” gasped the boy under my mouth.

“Later,” I said. “For now, you are perfect.”

I reached down and lifted the boy by his thighs and carried him to his steel prep table. On his back he lay and I stood at the end of the table, my cock aimed into his asshole.  lubed with  the bottle of olive oil. He cried out just a little bit when I breached his ring, and then he cooed and gasped softly as I worked off my midnight load into his gut, a heavy spunk-load into his tight cunt. Just as I was cumming, the kid grabbed his dark knotty cock and streamed out a spatter of white goo onto his shiny belly and chest, which I lapped up from his skin and fed back to him in several more long kisses. 

After this I felt extremely thirsty and I was still hungry. The kitchen boy sliced a ripe jerkfruit which I ate along with a couple bottles of cold sparkling water. The boy offered to wash my prick and balls, still greasy with olive oil, and I let him do so. He said this: “You blessed me, my Lord Prince Kyler, with your spunk inside me!”

“Ridiculous,” I said. “It’s simply that you are cute and that I love to fuck, and that is all. Do you understand?” The boy nodded and smiled and I let him return to his work.

The cock-bath restored my arousal, and when I returned to bed, Kasyn was still sleeping sweetly, naked and sleep-erect. I wanted to jump upon him, to spread and legs and press my tongue into his snatch and then fuck him hard, but he was so pretty in his sleep-peace that I decided to let it to go until morning. Instead I lay next to him and jerked off. I wiped my jizz-wet fingers into the hair of his armpits and he stirred and cuddled against me.

At the same time, the priest Elisha decided to attend the Cards of Cthugha show at the Dank Amphitheatre in Deepest Old City, that old district that was located ass-and-balls up against Prince Kyler’s compound. No way they can’t hear this, thought Elisha, as he pressed his drunken way step by step through the mob closer and closer to the stage, the din of the Cards percussive music and Jaustin Moss’s ethereal vocals swamping all his senses. “Do you hear this, you bitch, Lord Kyler!” screamed Elisha, but no one really heard him. He continued pressing closer to the stage, and after about an hour of such pressing, he was right in front. Jaustin Moss, who sang half-naked and sweat-drenched, just a few meters way from Elisha, screamed into his microphone: “If you like the way you look that much, oh baby/ you should go and fuck yourself!” Elisha felt himself totter a little bit. I have your balls, dude, he wanted to say, but then he passed out.

From Kyler’s journal…

Naxon has invited his birth-mother to the compound for lunch. I feel rather ashamed to be spying on them through the aether glass, but it is hard to resist, so rare is it that one of the boys’ mothers visits. After their births, the five girls that I’d impregnated to create these boys were given villas on the Island of Serene and Lush Contemplation, a refuge established by the nektonic witches for their acolytes and coven sisters. Of the five of them, I’d only ever seen three of them in person again, and it had been years since the most recent visit. This one, Daris, mother of Naxon, is actually the one that I best remember because her enthusiasm for the project of conceiving one of my sons was rather greater than that of her coven sisters. 

My own physical enthusiasm for it had not been great at first, and I’d suggested that it be done artificially with samples of my sperm that I’d produce by masturbating, but the witch Magran said that such artifice was unacceptable to the coven and that I would indeed have to produce my sons by fucking their mothers (which should not have surprised me since it had been Magran’s idea years earlier to drug me in order for force me to sire my daughters). Magran had offered the assistance of the nektonic tea again, but I wanted a clear head for this task, and a natural erection. To help with the latter, I hired a couple dozen young rentboys and had them occupy the various couches and window seats in my bedchamber and told them to strip naked and touch and kiss and caress and suck and fuck each other throughout this entire episode with Magran’s women. The sights and sounds and scents of these lithe naked boys having sex in my room, (coupled with the thrill of the fact that five blasts of my spunk would soon produce a quintet of sons), would be sufficient, I assumed, to keep my cock stiff for this unaccustomed hetero fucking, and all else I’d need was a shot or two of Juice-E to ensure that I’d produce five substantial and thickly spermy loads in short order.

The actual event was cloaked in ritual by Magran, each one of the young women being bought to me clad in a sheer black gown, and each one of them thanking me for “choosing" her to be the “vessel” for my seed, which terminology I found rather creepy. Magran had used this term, “vessel,” as well when she’d explained to me how this would work: “These vessels’ ova will accept only the correct sperm— and they will conceive only sons, just as you wish and just as the prophecy suggests.” With each one of these women, I shared a sparkling wine toast before taking her to my bed and sheathing my cock in her cunt, thrusting into her a few times, cumming quickly, aroused as I was by the two dozen sweaty rutting boys arrayed around the edges of the room, and also by the fact of what I was setting in motion by impregnating these women. 

But when Daris was brought to me—the final of the five “vessels”—we shared not just a toast but an entire bottle of the sparkling wine, and then most of another, and she remarked very bluntly about my naked body’s beauty and that of the rentboys who were still busily creating their fuck-entertainment around us (by this point, the sweet stench of their sweat and their copiously spilled semen was intense even with the room’s open windows). “I’ll confess, Prince Kyler,”  she’d said, “that I find male-on-male sex to be intensely beautiful and arousing. It is such a nice surprise that you have provided such a grand view in here this morning!” By the time we took to the bed, we were rather tipsy, and since she seemed sincere in her appreciation of my body and my cock, I extended the sex with her longer than with the others, tried to behave more as I imagine a hetero male lover might, and she climaxed (or at least pretended to) beneath me, my cock still thrusting inside her, and I followed a few moments later, flooding her with cum and creating Naxon.

I watch and listen to Naxon and Daris eat lunch and sip wine, and I feel glad that the boy has managed to have some kind of relationship with his mother even after nearly two decades of me doing less than nothing to foster such a thing. She laughs at his little jokes and she praises his beauty—the gloss on his lips, his eyeliner, the purple polish in his nails, the osmium barrettes that pull back the shaggy locks of his black hair—and she remarks favorably upon his new gender affirmation. “I think I’ll keep using my ‘he’ pronouns,” he says, “because it feels okay for now, and it is less confusing for my brothers and Kyler. But if I want to change that someday, then I will.”

“I hope,” says Daris, “that Kyler has been a kind father to you and that he understands you as you really are.”

I brace a little bit, fearful of what he may say. But my sweet son says, “Kyler is the kindest man. Some people don’t see it. But he really is, and my brothers and I love him very much. Our sisters…I am not so sure about them. They live apart from us even though they are here in the compound, and they are so much older than me and my brothers that they have always regarded us as children and not of much importance. But I think that they, too, at least respect their father.”

“What about this new husband that Kyler has taken?” wonders Daris. “I don’t recall his name right now.”

“Kasyn,” says Naxon. “Even though he has not been with us for very long, I feel like I have known him for a long time. He is almost the same age as me, and he has been a good friend to me and my brothers. Though he does sometimes use the paddle a bit too freely, if I may so say.”

Daris laughed as she might if surprised by the sudden appearance of a rabbit upon their table. “The paddle!” she cries. “Whatever do you mean, my boy? Surely he does not abuse you?”

“We are boys—even me,” says Naxon. “And sometimes we require discipline, to make sure we remain good boys. The paddle can hurt, but it also does me good, and Daddy always rewards me when I take my lesson correctly.”

“Daddy?”

Naxon laughs. “We call Kasyn ‘Daddy’ sometimes. Because he is not quite ‘Father,’ but he is Kyler’s husband.”

I attempt to make the eye of the aetherglass zoom in a bit on Daris, and I can’t help but see skepticism under her smile. She says, “Did Kyler actually marry Kasyn, as in an official wedding ceremony?”

Naxon laughs and sips at his wine and says this: “That’s exactly what I need to talk to him—Kyler—about. He did marry Kasyn in a chapel, but it was more like an elopement. He told me that they had the automated ceremony in a chapel fed by the Penultimate Dildo and that they consummated—fucked!—right then and there. But when I marry Torus, I want something more grand than that, something more suited to our stations as princes of an Aetheric House. Is that stupid?”

“Of course not, sweet boy!” Daris raised her glass and Naxon clinked his against it. “And I suspect that your doting father will provide whatever you and Torus wish.”

I groan, imagining some kind of over-the-top royal wedding. I sincerely hope that he does not intend for this happen very soon, given all else that is afoot about us now.

“Let me ask you something before I forget,” says Daris. “I have an older sister—well, I call her a sister, anyway—named Magran whom I know to have been close to your family for decades. Indeed, she was how I met Kyler, and how I came to bear you. Would she happen to be here today? I should certainly like to see her again if it is possible.”

Naxon looks puzzled and says nothing for a couple moments. He takes a sip of wine and says, “Honestly, I haven’t seen Magran around here in a while. Not that I ever had much contact with her, but I really haven’t noticed her around the compound lately. To tell you the truth, Kyler discouraged us from speaking to her when we were young, and I guess that training has stayed with me.”

Says Daris, “I see. I wonder, then, if I might see Kyler himself for a moment today?”

Oh fuck no…, I thought.

“Perhaps,” she said, “he would know her whereabouts.”

Naxon grins and my belly sinks because I know that he will not be able to resist contriving a reunion of his biological parents, but then Naxon—my sweet and perfect child—says, “That would be so great, but I know that Kyler is in the Inner Village today doing a charity for one thing or another, as he always does. I have no idea if he is even coming home before tomorrow!” Even if Naxon had known he was being spied upon, he could not have known the angle of the aetherglass, but I swear he looked through it right at me and winked.

Meanwhile, in a hotel room in the Inner Village…

Jaustin Moss, pop superstar, stands naked and hungover, hair disheveled and cock half-stiff, next to a bed in the second bedroom of his suite. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?” On the bed lies a partially-dressed young man, about Jaustin’s age. He wears a waistcoat and the shreds of briefs but nothing else and he seems quite unconscious. Jaustin pokes at the boy’s cheek, and the boy moans and rolls over onto his belly. “Okay, well at least you’re not dead.” He steps to the bedroom door and shouts, “Hey! Where did this punk come from!”

“Dude!” came a stressed reply from elsewhere in the suite. “It’s some bitch who passed out at the show! I don’t know! We brought him back here because we figured you’d want to fuck him! But you were too wasted!” And then, “Can we sleep some more please!”

Jaustin sighed and flipped the boy back over onto his back and opened the clasps of his waistcoat. In an inner pocket, Jaustin found something that looked like an ID card, but it was weirder than that: it bore no name at all but it did display a cartoon picture of the boy and a glyph that suggested an arrow-headed penis bisecting a galaxy, and Jaustin recognized it as the emblem of the Chaos Ejaculatum. Jaustin Moss’s nuts—new nuts, newly gained—ached and his upright swollen prick drooled a glossy stream of preek. I’m gonna drill this fucking priest!

To be continued…