Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

From Kyler’s journal…

The transition from real life into the dream state was unclear. I know that I lay awake for a while after Kasyn had dozed, his naked body spooned against mine, his sleep-stiff wang pressed into the small of my back. I feel like I’d never fallen asleep, but I must have at some point—and entered the dream—when I rolled over to find that Kasyn was not there, but his spot was still warm and slightly damp with his sleep-sweat. I assumed he must have gotten up to take a piss or get something to drink, and I was surprised that I had not noticed him arise since I still believed that I had never fallen asleep. Then the shape of a boy passed through the door from the bath into the sleeping area, but it did not feel like Kasyn, and I tensed and sat up, and then this boy passed in front of the moonlit bay window and I saw that it was not Kasyn but rather one of his sons: the lavender-skinned naked orchid boy, grinned at me, his silver eyes shining in the moonlight. He stepped up to the end of the bed and the hopped onto it, hands and knees, and crawled toward me. 

“Which one are you?” I whispered. I cannot tell them apart yet. Though there was not really enough light to see it, the boy showed me the tattoo on the nape of his neck, identifying himself, by way of a Cthulhist symbol, as Dagon. Below that mark, running a few inches down his neck were several more smaller inscriptions. “What are these?” I wondered.

He said, “The names of the other men I have made mine by fucking them.” There were perhaps a dozen such, inked in such tiny script as to be barely visible yet highly legible and I think it was at this point that I think I understood that I was in a dream since I could not really have seen them in any detail in the bedroom’s midnight gloom. Without really being able to read the symbols, I knew one of them to describe Phobos, my son who had made this orchid boy pregnant a few days earlier.

“If I had done that—recorded every name like this,” I said, “I would have run out of skin along ago.”

“I know,” he said, flopping down on top of me, belly-to-belly, gazing at me with those freaky eyes. “You are the ur-fuck, the most fuck-worthy, aren’t you, Grandfather?” He licked at one of my nipples and I shuddered. “Do you not wish to be called Grandfather?”

“I most certainly do not!” I said, and I considered tossing this orchid boy off of me, but his lean smooth body felt so warm against mine.

“Good!” he said, and he dropped a stream of drool onto my chest. “You don’t seem old enough to be a grandfather anyway!”

I laughed and assured him that I am not, despite the bizarre biological evidence of it all around this house lately. “Then what,” he said, “am I to call you?”

“You’ll call me ‘Kyler,’ just like everyone else around here does, even my own children most of the time.”

“Can I eat your asshole, Kyler? Does it have any of my father Kasyn’s cum in it?”

I didn’t answer him verbally, but I spread and raised my knees and pushed him downward, down into my crotch. The purple boy lathered first my ballsack and then my taint with his spit and then he pressed lower and further and inward and I gasped when I knew that I was feeling his lips and tongue on my asshole, when I felt his tongue press inward.

This rimjob went on for what seemed like several ecstatic ages, and I started jacking on my dong as the boy licked, and this went on and on, and I had visions of the orchid boy and me fucking on a raft afloat on a sea of semen, a swamp of hot male discharge drugging us into higher ecstasy, and then Dagon shocked me by arching up over me and groaning a loud “fuck yeah, Kyler!” and I realized that he had slipped the entire length of his prick into my snatch.

The Dagon-fuck seemed to last forever but I was in no hurry for it to end, and my cock seemed to grow to impossible thickness as his pounded me. I feel like I passed into dream-sleep again for a moment because suddenly, with no transition, Kasyn was in the room again, standing next to the bed, smiling down upon me, stroking on his long cock with one hand and clenching his fat nuts in the other, pinching and kneading the smooth skin of his sack between his thumb and forefinger.

Another jump in dream-time showed me that Kasyn was now behind Dagon, his knees between ours, and he was pumping his dick into Dagon’s gut. This was safe now because Dagon and all his brothers were pregnant by my sons, on the recommendation of Doctor Phibes to block Kasyn from jizzing into existence another generation of these strange pups. Kasyn pumped hard, and the orchid boy cried “oh daddy oh daddy” again and again, dropping drool from his thick lips. And then Dagon looked down at me, met my eyes, and he said, “Are you ever gonna spill your milk, Kyler?”

And then, as if a cap had been pulled from a bottle, I did: spunk swamped out over my belly and my chest, burst after burst, spurting a lake of my hot cocksnot, even hitting my chin and cheeks and soaking my armpits. This was an impossible jack-load, like a literal quart of spermy juice soaking me from face to crotch and soaking the sheets beneath me.

“It smells just like Kyler in here,” I heard Kasyn say.

The orchid boy said, “Fill me, daddy.” And Kasyn howled and grunted and fucked and came so hard into Dagon that he collapsed the Moon boy down onto me and we writhed together in the slick flood of my cum. I smeared my semen into his hair and under his arms and I told him not to bathe right away when he leaves: “You’ll smell like I came all over you.” He laughed and said that his brothers will go mad with lust for him when he returns to their chambers and they smell my spent spunk on his skin and in his hair. “They’ll chain-fuck me, Kyler, one of them after the other having at my cunt.”

Dagon slid out of my hole and flopped down onto the bed next to me and he said, “You have watched me and my brothers consult the signs in the pool.” He was talking about their game in the water that looks like a giant Cthulhist ouija board, where one of them is manipulated like the board’s planchette, made to veer over the water from symbol to symbol spelling out abstruse messages. 

“I have,” I say.

Says Dagon: “It keeps telling us the same thing: Kyler will die soon or Kyler will rule the world. You have to figure out which!”

I keep replaying the conversation in the garden with Corvis where she refers to Kasyn’s six pups. That seems obviously—the number six—to refer to the orchid boys. But does she not know that he is actually the father of nine sons in total? It occurs to me to ask this question: Does Corvis—and therefore the other members of her cabal—not know about the first three, about my daughter’s sons by Kasyn? It seems impossible. Magran knew of them, and I dispatched her right after. Elisha was there at that time and he saw them himself! And this was all before the orchid pups were born. How do Elisha and Corvis know about some of them but not the others? Can it be that they are hiding information from one another within their own ranks? Weirder things have happened, and it makes sense given how mendacious these religious types are. But I assume it will all make more sense when they reply to my rejection of their request for an interview at their Holy Keep, where they imagine that they can make me submit to their Frame of Discipline like a fool from centuries ago.

As I enter the anteroom of my living suite, I hear a sharp whack on skin and a young man’s voice cry out, echoing in the chamber. Dak. I recognize that yell instantly. I enter the bed chamber and Dak is standing in position, hands braced on the sideboard, bare and reddened ass thrust out and Kasyn’s slams the paddle against it once more. “That was seven,” Kasyn says. His cock is so stiff that it tents out the sheer white shorts that he wears so far that the waist band tugs way and I can see the base of his penis and his light pubic stubble.

“How many did he earn?”

“Twelve!” and Kasyn delivers number eight and Dak howls.

“That’s a lot! He must have done something very naughty indeed!”

Blow number nine makes Dak grunt and I see a couple tears leak from his eyes. 

“Very naughty!” And the tenth strike cracks across Dak’s bulbous rump. “He’ll confess it to you himself in a couple minutes, won’t you, Dak?” 

Blow ten and Dak gasps and sobs a little bit and says, “Yes, Daddy! I will!”

Kasyn steps back and lays down the paddle. “I’ll spare you the last two strikes. I think you understand how to be a better boy now.”

Naked Dak drops to his knees, smiling, tears still streaming down his face, and he says, “Yes, Daddy, and let me show you my thanks!”

He reaches for Kasyn’s tented shorts. Kasyn steps forward, cock against the boy’s forehead, and he lets Dak pull his shorts down. Dak licks the underside of Kasyn’s dong and squeezes his fat balls in both hands.

“Not quite yet!” I say, and I pull Kasyn back a bit, out of the reach of Dak’s mouth. Both of them show me their best pout. “You’ll tell me first what this is all about.”

“Well,” Kasyn says, leaning his now-bare ass against the sideboard, kicking aside his dropped shorts, “you are aware that you have in your custody now the singer Jaustin Moss and that Cult priest Elisha.”

“Yes. But I haven’t seen them yet. I am still considering how best to interrogate them.”

“Your very naughty and way-too-horny son,” Kasyn says, pointing at Dak, “has seen Jaustin already. He lied his way past the guards and into Jaustin’s chamber where, he said, he was to measure the lad for new clothing.” Kasyn and Dak both burst out with laughter. “So ridiculous! Anyway, a while after Dak had entered the chamber and shut the door, the guard became concerned when he heard Dak crying out. Thinking, incorrectly, that Dak was somehow being hurt by the prisoner, he entered the room to find this one—bad Dak—straddling Mister Moss, riding him, bouncing up and down on his cock and howling with joy!”

“But, Daddy!” says Dak, sidling up next to Kasyn. “He was hurting me in a way: wait until you both see how fucking big his wang is! Both of you have long thick ones, but his is fucking ridiculous! I seriously did not know if I could fit it all inside me. But, of course, I had to try!”

I consider with lust the taut naked bodies of my husband and my son. There must be something in the air today, I think. It was still fairly early in the day, just past lunchtime, and I’d already had a lot of sex: first with Kasyn in bed upon awakening, then with Kasyn in shower, then with a random kitchen boy after breakfast, then later with a messenger boy who’d brought a package from Blue Radical, and I’d needed no jolt of Erec-T to keep up this pace. I shed my clothing and at once both young men envelope me, Kasyn in front and Dak behind, and they bathe my skin with their tongues, slopping their warm spit into my mouth and ears, my armpits and the crack of my ass, over my nipples and my navel and my cock and my sack. Dak takes to his knees and nibbles and licks at the backs of mine while Kasyn takes my prick into his mouth and all the way into his throat.

“Get on the bed,” I tell them,

Kasyn smirks and says, “But are you not in a hurry to interrogate our guests?”

“They can wait.” Over the next hour, Kasyn, Dak and I find many combinations and positions with which to enjoy each other, with which to make each other spill our spunk.

I’d not seen my security chief Ian in months as he’d been away on a mission to Mars, an attempt to gain some insight into rumors of new activity in the long- and secretly-vacant domain of the Emperor. His coppery skin—much of it visible through his tight harness, legs bare from just above his knees to his sandaled feet—looked especially reddened, a touch kissed by the strange sunlight effects of the red planet. When he stepped into my office, I rose from my desk and pulled him into a hug and we pressed our lips and tongues together. “My Prince!” he said. “I feel like I have been away even longer than these fast five months!” He stepped back and I peered more closely at his face, enjoying its ruddy Martian cast, the faint brush of stubble on his square chin and jaw. I’d taken him into my employment a decade ago when he was not even as old as my sons are now. I still occasionally jack off to the memory of the first time I took him to bed. An angel-pretty boy, less well-muscled than he is now, but lean and taut and tall, he’d blushed with nervousness and embarrassment over my attention to him, after I kissed him and passed my hands down the length of his back and over his firm ass. “But why!” he’d said when I asked him to take off his clothing and lie on my bed. “Because, silly boy,” I’d said, “I am going to make love to you.”

He protested that he was not worthy: “My Prince! I shall only disappoint you! I am still a virgin.”

“You won’t be for more than another few minutes if you let me do what I wish with you.”

“But Prince Kyler! My lack of experience will frustrate and dismay you. I am not worthy of this!”

Of course this insistence that he was a virgin was like a shot of Erec-T to my nuts and he was similarly aroused, made obvious when his dick popped through the fly of his shorts. It was only a couple more minutes before Ian’s virginity ended on my cock.

But today, we’d have no time for such recreation. “Kyler, I have much to share with you about what’s happening on Mars, but after being brought up to date on what’s happening here with your new husband and his pups, I think we need to focus first on that. This singer and this priest that we are holding seem somehow important. And you have not interrogated them yet. Is that correct?”

“Correct,” I said, somewhat troubled by how this was now more Ian’s focus than his finding on Mars, but I have learned to trust his instincts. “I think you should soon,” he said. “It may help us tie some things together. My report on Mars can wait.”

“As you say.” And I asked Ian if he had any particular advice for this interrogation.

Smiling, he said, “They’re both rutting young men. I think you’ll find your usual tactics to be effective with them.”

I invited Jaustin Moss first to join me for a conversation. I had seen this young pop music star, a boy a few years older than my sons, in pictures plenty of times. He was frequent masturbation material for my son Daemon in particular (and Daemon had already messaged me with his plea to meet this sex object in his confinement here). But in person he was something else entirely: somehow not as tall and muscular as he often looks in pictures, but more striking than in those pictures which fail to capture all the ornate details of the tattoos that cover the majority of his torso and arms. He’d evidently been given new clothing by one of the houseboys, and he was dressed much like them in a harness and a kilt and sandals. I stepped close to him to clasp his hands and welcome him to my house, and I could detect that, while he’d been freshly dressed, he’d likely not bathed in a while. The musk of his armpits and oil of his thick blond hair thrilled me.

“Some welcome, Lord Kyler!” he said, releasing my hands and stepping back from me a bit. “I have been kidnapped from my hotel and held here without explanation for over twenty-four hours. You need to realize how well-connected I am. People have certainly noticed me missing by now, and they will be looking for me! You better be careful!”

“Oh, I know!” I said, grinning at the boy. “And believe me, I am very careful. In fact, my people have very carefully provided to your handlers and the press a plausible reason for your absence. This ruse won’t hold forever, but I think we’ll be done here maybe as soon as today if you are cooperative.”

He sighed and glanced at the wet bar. “Can I have a drink?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll join you. What would you like?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you’re having.”

I stepped up the bar and considered the options. I was tempted to give him a sip of the aqua enphasma that I’d enjoyed recently with Naxon. But it was still only mid-afternoon. I popped open an icy-cold bottle of prosecco and split it between two large glasses. I handed Jaustin his drink and, just as he was about to sip, he stopped and said, “Wait. Give me your glass. We’ll trade.” Without comment, I made the switch with him, and then he added, “I just wanted to make sure you were not planning to drug me somehow with something that was already in that glass.”

I laughed and sipped the bubbly wine. “I certainly will not need to drug you, kiddo.”

“I see how you’re looking at me.”

“How am I looking at you?”

He laughed and said, “Like I’m a delicious piece of meat. Are you planning to fuck me?”

I noticed that his kilt was tented outward. He was either not wearing a jock at all underneath it, or the rumors of the size of his prong were true if he was pushing out that far even from inside his jock-pouch.

I asked him if he’d had any sex since he arrived here.

“Elisha has been kept separated from me since we got here. So I haven’t fucked him since the hotel.”

“That’s not what I asked. And don’t lie.”

Jaustin gulped some of his drink. He smirked at me and stepped a little bit closer. “I fucked a kid named Dak this morning. He told me he is your son. He came to visit me and he was all over my cock like the second he got in the room with me.”

“He told me about it. And I am sure he is now the envy of my other sons because of it.”

“How many do you have?”

I did not bother with the more complex answer, eliding the tale of the orchid boys. “Five.”

Jaustin grinned. “Are they all hot fucking faeries like Dak? That boy is fucking tight!”

“Oh, I  am aware of how tight he is. I had him not long after you did. I am surprised you didn’t loosen him up somehow given how big he claims your cock is.”

“Seriously!” Jaustin swallowed the rest of his drink and handed the glass back to me. I opened another bottle. “So you fuck him? Do you fuck all of them? That is so wild.” He accepted his refill and looked at me wide-eyed. “Wow,” he said, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“Dak told me you were hot, but he didn’t say you were this hot!”

I stepped closer to him and passed my right down his bare left arm from its thick shoulder, down over his bicep bulge, over his elbow and all the way down to his wrist. “I am surprised you think so. I am twice your age.”

Jaustin pressed close to me, and looked up at me, his nose nearly touching my chin. “I have some major daddy issues, you should know, and you seem like a hot daddy to me.” He extended his tongue a little bit and gave my chin a quick lick. “Can you picture adopting a boy like me, daddy?”

It was so cute how he thought he was playing me, and I enjoyed it so much that I did not want too soon to disabuse him of the fantasy that he could control me, so I said, “I can picture a lot of things, Jaustin. But you'd really have to prove to me first that you can be a good boy.”

“I’ll prove it so hard, daddy!” and he lunged, tried for a kiss, but I dodged him and gave his cheek a little slap. “Not so fast, boy,” I said. “A good boy can be patient sometimes.”

Jaustin stepped back, sighed, pouted, pulled his fingers through his hair and then grabbed his stiff dong through his kilt. I figured he was either trying really hard to keep up this act or that he really was so fucking horny at this point that I was basically torturing him. I remembered that he carried in his sack the cloned copies of Kasyn’s fat balls, those heavy nuts pumping his body so full of sex hormones that I could smell the horniness pouring off of him. I told him I’d be back in a moment. “I need to take a piss.”

He stepped in front of me and dropped to his knees. Looking up, he said, “I have a mouth, don’t I?”

Don’t let this interview become too fun, I admonished myself. He’s pretty but he’s probably dangerous. I said, “You can chug it fast? You won’t spill all over yourself?” I really didn’t care if he did, honestly, but he promised not to spill a drop.

I opened my fly and pulled out my hose, willing it to at least a not-fully-hard state and drooped it over Jaustin’s face, between his wide-open lips. He kept his eyes open, full contact with mine, as I opened the tap and released a long a stream of prosecco-piss in between his teeth, which he chugged down as fast as I could stream it out. I finished and knocked off the last couple drops onto his forehead and he grinned widely and thanked me.

I reached under his arms and lifted him by his furry sweaty pits to his feet, and then I dropped to my knees. “Daddy!” he gasped when I undid the clasp of his kilt and let it drop around his ankles. He moaned when I yanked down his jock and freed his cock. The sweat-musk stench of his crotch and balls was intensely delicious, confirming my suspicion that he'd not bathed in some time. He truly stank, but not in an offensive way: in a totally dick-stiffening way. His famous penis, which has been seen in flaccid state by the general public in many pictures, when erect is just as impressive in length and girth as Dak had claimed. I gripped it at the head and pulled back his foreskin a bit, exposing the shiny, nearly-purple and rather dirty head. I cleaned his knob-end with my tongue and he drooled out a flood of pre-jac into my mouth, and I think I tasted some that sweet, familiar spice: Kasyn-sperm from Jaustin’s clone-nuts leaking into his pre-cum and making his cockjuice taste like my husband’s. 

I got back to my feet and undid his harness, stripping him naked, and I pulled off my own clothes and drew Jaustin to the bed. “But I’m filthy, daddy! I need a bath first!”

“You’re only going to get dirtier. You can get in my shower after I fuck the shit out of you.” He giggled when I shoved him off-balance and made him topple onto my bed, the sheets stained from my three-way with Kasyn and Dak.

On my hands and knees, arms straddling his waist, I nudged his knees and thighs upward with mine, spreading the fat bubbles of his asscheeks, and he said, in a tone more like the one he’d carried when he first arrived: “This is weird. I am pretty much always the top!”

“You can be the top all day with your new brothers if I actually end up adopting you.” I dropped a glob of spit onto his navel and some of it clung to the fuzz of his trail. “But a good boy knows when he needs to bottom for his daddy.”

I half-hoped he’d refuse because I’d use it as an excuse to slam his ass with the paddle, ten strokes for rank punk-boy defiance. But he acceded: “I am a good boy, daddy!” And he pulled his knees higher, reaching for his shoulders with them and opened his snatch wide for my stick. Lube was not within easy reach: my pre-jac and spit would have to do. Jaustin did not mind. He gasped and moaned, grinning and yelling a lot of oh yeah daddy/more daddy more!

For a boy who’d claimed to not be a bottom, he was a natural at it, meeting my inward thrusts with little thrusts of his own, pressing his ass toward me, rooting my throbbing cock balls-deep in his cunt. He was an almost eerily calm fuck, smiling, meeting my eyes, moaning just barely audibly, and as I proceeded he started to whisper words that I started to understand were the lyrics of one of his songs (about fucking) and I wondered if this was a displacement tactic? Because he was playing me, because  I assumed that he was submitting to this fuck only because he thought he was advancing his agenda and not actually enjoying it, was this singing a way to retreat into a private mental place while I finished having my physical pleasure with him? But then he broke out of it and yelled, “Oh, fuck, Kyler! Fuck me, Kyler!” and I slammed him harder, grinding into the punk. Just as I was hitting my threshold, just when I passed the point of no return, just as I knew I’d flood his gut with jizz, he seized his own huge meaty prick in both hands and pulled hard on it and immediately swamped out a spraying flood of white Jaustin-goo. I shuddered through my own climax, emptying my load inside him, and as soon as my orgasm abated, I withdrew from his hole and lowered my mouth to his cream-covered belly, pressed the tip of my tongue into his cum-filled navel dent. This is the same, I thought as I tasted it. This is Kasyn’s cum!

“I know about your nuts,” I said.

Jaustin said nothing but he gazed at me wide-eyed.

“I know what was done to you,” I said. “You’ve been horribly abused. Will you let me help you?”

He rose to a sitting position. He clasped his hands over my shoulders and looked me in he eye and said, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

I think I actually believed him.

The next morning, I rose before dawn, leaving Kasyn sleeping in our bed. I figured that Jaustin was probably with one or more of my sons as I had liberalized his treatment here and allowed him to have guests in his house-arrest chambers, and I figured it would be fun for him to entertain a few of his fans. I’d yet to interview Elisha, who still languished alone in his very well-appointed but still-solitary confinement. I’d yet to meet with Ian to hear his report on the Martian goings-on. So much unfinished business, I thought, as I lit the lamp on my desk, glanced at yesterday’s unopened package from Blue Radical and noticed something else: a paper cylinder that I’d not seen before. A plaz cap on its end bore the wax-stamp sigil of the Chaos Ejaculatum, the cock bisecting the galaxy. Their reply! I pried off the cap and slid a finger inside to fish out the rolled piece of parchment enclosed in the cylinder. I unrolled it and I was surprised at how few words were printed upon it. It said only this: 

“ae Kyler, Lord and Prince, 

“Thank you for your prompt attention to our request, but we regret that we must reschedule our planned interview with you due to the impending arrival of His Holiness, Nazrata II, the Pope of All the Church. Best regards.”

Not wishing to wake Kasyn, I rushed out onto the veranda, still moon-lit, and out there I laughed and laughed, until I was nearly in tears. “They are so fucked!” I said aloud. I gazed up at the Moon and hanging in the sky near it I saw, too, both Mars and Venus, and for some reason the image of these three bodies above me brought me back to Dagon’s advice and threat: I will either rule or die. It felt right then, in that solitary moment under the sky, that whatever I did today would settle that matter one way or another.

To be continued…