Disclaimer: (Sex scenes types. Warning - spoilers.) This story contains explicit gay sexual content including: geological-scale orgy and full cock embodiment, bulge worship as living religion, public forced edging with chanting audience, athletes, brutal multi-monster double penetration and face-fucking, extreme growing, hole-stretching and belly-bulging. All protagonists are consenting adult men. No underage content.
Great Fucking Goodbyes
Vesper stopped detonating uranium. He reached for something larger.
We felt him through the collective mind. He extended past the upper atmosphere. He reached into the space where I had been tasting the gas between worlds. He found a stone there — a large one, an asteroid orbiting the system since before any of this realm had life — and engaged with it. He started pulling it inward.
"What are you doing?" Joren said through the bond.
"I am bringing a meteorite."
"Down here?"
"Yes."
"To the no-piss region?"
"Yes. Where Lirael told me to go. I am going to do this properly."
The asteroid moved. Vesper bent its trajectory. He aimed it. The work took what would have been centuries at his scale. The asteroid travelled across the dark.
"Come to the impact zone," Vesper said. "All of us. I want us standing where it lands."
We moved. Joren brought heat. Lirael brought the water trace there was in the soil of that empty region. Garrick brought the rock that would be obliterated. I brought the air the meteorite was about to burn through. We stood at the centre of where the impact would happen.
The meteorite entered the upper atmosphere. It started to burn. The air around it went white. I felt that air. I was that air. The compression in front of the meteorite produced heat that was itself light. The meteorite moved faster than anything I had ever felt in my domain.
It hit.
The impact was total. The meteorite smashed into the surface. The surface gave way. A crater formed — a circle of dust and shattered rock, kilometres across. Material went up. The shockwave moved out across the empty region and died before it reached any bio-life.
The meteorite was now embedded in the planet. The crater was now a feature.
The release of energy at the impact — all that mass and velocity converted to heat and shock and dust — was more than any of Vesper's earlier work. It was more than anything any one of us had produced. Vesper had reached the largest single transformation event he could engineer. And he had done it with us standing at the centre.
The energy pulled us with it. The pain of that compression was a white wall that I had to push through, my resistance a taut line drawn against the force. Then the resistance broke, and I felt myself relaxing into the wave, letting it carry me. I surrendered to the momentum, and in that surrender there was a pleasure that was not mine alone — it was the planet's, the stone's, the air's, all of us together in the release.
"This is the one," Vesper said.
"Take us with it," Joren said.
"Coming back," I said.
I felt myself accelerating away from the air, away from the planet, away from the gas between stars. I felt the collective mind narrowing. I felt myself becoming small. I felt myself becoming organic.
I woke in my body.
I was cross-legged on the flat stone. My head leaned against the low rise behind me. The helium being was no longer above me. The cockring was back on.
I looked at my fingers. They were mine. I closed my hand. The fragment was in it. Still cold. Still pulling in the direction it had been pulling.
Around me the others were waking. Joren leaned back against his low formation, eyes still closed. Lirael against his. Garrick. Vesper. The five tending entities had stepped back to the edges of the community space. They had not left.
Cockper was on my shoulder. He had been waiting the whole time. His face appeared and disappeared. He was excited that I was back.
I sat still.
I did not try to move yet.
Time passed. The bodies did not feel right. We had been mineral. Now we were small and organic again and the minds we had been using needed to fit back into shapes a thousand times smaller than what we had been.
Nobody spoke at first. The stone people did not press us. They sat at the edges and let us come back at the pace our bodies needed.
Joren moved first. He stretched. He flexed his hands. He looked at the carnelian toe. Then he reached up and pressed two fingers against his own lip.
"It is yours," I said through the bond.
"I know," he said. "I am verifying."
He kept his fingers against his lip for a moment longer. Then he lowered his hand. He looked at me. He smiled.
Garrick was slow. He had been deep in his sculpting. He sat up by degrees. His hand went to the Labradorite being at his side. Then he turned and put both arms around it. He pulled it into a hug. He pressed against it — not hard enough to do anything, because no human can compress Labradorite, but enough to mean something. He pressed with his arms and his chest and his cheek against the iridescent surface. The Labradorite being tilted toward him. The colours under his hands shifted — blue, green, gold — where his pressure was.
Garrick stayed in the embrace for a long moment. Then he let go.
Vesper was sitting up looking at his lapis thumb. He turned it over. He pressed it against his other thumb.
"I made a diamond," Vesper said quietly. "I was the diamond."
"Then you brought down a meteorite," Garrick said.
"Yes."
"On purpose."
"Yes."
"You showed off."
"I did."
Vesper smiled a small smile. Then his face changed.
"There was something I noticed," Vesper said. "In my domain. Most transformations I could follow completely. Stone to soil. Carbon to diamond. Uranium decaying. All of it traceable, beginning to end."
He paused.
"But some of the biological transformations — when bodies were decomposing, when fluids were being broken down — at a certain point in the process the material went somewhere I could not follow. It did not feel wrong. It did not feel like the patches. It just went somewhere I could not see. There is a stage of biological transformation my domain does not extend to. The change was happening. I could not tell where it went."
Gold spoke from the edge of the space.
"This is part of the cycle since the beginning of biological life," Gold said. "We are not sure where it goes. We know that it is normal. This is how it should be."
"You have always noticed it," Vesper said.
"We have always noticed it. We have never followed it."
"Then it is not corruption."
"No."
"Just unknown."
"Just unknown to us. Possibly known to someone else."
Vesper accepted this. He looked at his thumb again. He filed the observation in whatever part of his mind kept such things.
Gold moved closer.
"You have returned," Gold said. "We have been with your bodies the whole time."
"How long," Vesper asked.
"By your reckoning — between two and three of your days."
Vesper looked at Joren. Then at me.
"Two days," Vesper said. "It felt like ten million years."
"That sounds right," Gold said.
The crew sat in the community space. The stone people gathered. The conversation turned from recovery to report.
We explained what had been done. Joren described the patches and the fix. All five domains synchronised at exactly the same moment. The patches dissolved. We worked across the planet. The largest patch had been under what would be Thorendale. That one took the longest. The corruption under our future city was gone.
Garrick described the entrance-mountain. He had made the mountain we walked into. He had not known he was doing it.
Vesper mentioned the diamond once, in passing — it was there, it was buried, the miners would find it eventually — and moved on. The meteorite was what he wanted to remember.
I described what I had felt at the upper atmosphere and beyond. The universe had been accessible. The fragment had registered as wrongness from cosmic distance.
Then the harder part.
"The patches are gone," Joren said to Gold. "But the watchers are not. We felt them at distance. We could not reach them from inside the planet."
"That is what we suspected," Gold said.
"The source is somewhere else. Whatever is creating the corruption — it is not here. It is sending its effects here, but it lives somewhere else."
"Where," the smaller darker mineral asked.
"We do not know yet," Joren said. "But the fragment Spark carries — it pulls toward something. We think it is connected to the source."
The stone people were quiet. They processed this.
"The patches will not return," Gold said. "What you have done is real. The corruption that was in our material is gone. The cycles can complete. We are grateful."
A long pause.
"But the problem is not finished," Gold said. "You know that. We know that. Wherever the corruption comes from, it can produce more patches. Until that source is addressed, the work will need to be repeated. We can hold it now. We could not before."
"You will hold it," Joren said.
"Yes."
"Until we find the source."
"Yes."
The crew accepted this. The work was done for now. The source was for later.
Gold told us the stone people had decided where the baby stone should go. They led us to the spot.
The walk was longer than I expected. The plain stretched out in every direction, flat and bare. No walls. No trees. The sky above was pale and featureless. The ground was cracked stone, nothing growing anywhere I could see.
Gold stopped.
"Here," Gold said.
The stout grey mineral being from the community had carried the baby stone since it had been handed to Cockper. He brought it forward and placed it on the ground at the chosen spot.
The smile on the baby's surface was clearly defined. Wider than at the start of the journey. Fixed. Definite.
"The baby is happy," Gold said. "It is no longer crying. It has stopped crying since it has been with us. The smile is its first word."
The crew stood quietly. The baby stone sat at the placement spot.
"Will it grow?" Lirael asked.
"Yes. Slowly. It will take what it needs from this soil. We will tend it. We do not know what it will become. We only know that it has been correctly placed and that it is grateful to be here."
The stone people gathered around the baby in a loose circle. The crew stood at the edge. Cockper was on my shoulder.
The stone people stood in silence for what felt like a long time. Then, one by one, each of them approached the baby and touched it briefly. A welcome. The baby was part of the community now.
When they were done they stepped back.
I took a moment. I looked at the spot. I committed it to memory. Then I closed my eyes and reached for Sprinkle through the bond.
She was there. Far away, across realms, but the bond stretched. I sent her what had just happened. The stone was placed. The realm had received it.
Sprinkle received. She lit up at her end. I felt her speaking to someone — to Holta first, then to the queen. The information travelled.
Through Sprinkle I felt the queen receive the message. Milianne. She was in the throne room. She stood up when the information arrived. She walked to the fountain. She put her hand on the rim.
I withdrew from the bond.
"It is done," I said.
"The queen knows."
"Good," Joren said.
Gold looked at me. Gold understood.
"You communicated across realms," Gold said.
"Yes. Through Sprinkle. She is bonded to one of the women in the Lesbian Realm."
"Tell the queen we have received the baby. Tell her it has been placed correctly. Tell her we will tend it. Tell her — we have been waiting a very long time."
I reached for Sprinkle again. I relayed. The queen received it through Sprinkle through me. The reverse message came back — gratitude, acknowledgment.
The communication closed. The baby sat on the floor. The smile was fixed on its surface.
Gold led us back to the community space.
"We have prepared the gifts," Gold said. "Each of you will have one of your teeth replaced. Not removed and replaced — *changed*. The mineral inside one tooth will become the mineral of the entity that tended you. The function: long-distance communication. You can call each other across any distance. Like a bond, but on demand. Not always-on. You call when you want."
Vesper asked the obvious question.
"Water," he said. "Helium. How does that work as a tooth? The ice would melt. The helium would dissipate."
"The mineral structure is held by us," Gold said. "We are giving each of you a tooth that is the mineral of the tending entity *and* the binding work of the entity to keep that mineral in the state it needs to be in. The ice does not melt because the ice being is holding the temperature, even across distance. The helium does not dissipate because the helium being is holding it at the pressure and temperature needed for it to stay solid. You will not feel cold. You will feel the tooth the way you feel any tooth. The work is theirs."
"They will be doing this all the time."
"Yes. It is not effort for them. It is rest. They like that they get to do it for you."
"Which tooth?" Garrick asked.
"The same tooth in each of you. Upper jaw. Third from the front, left side."
The five tending entities approached. Obsidian to Joren. The ice being to Lirael. Labradorite to Garrick. The uranium being to Vesper. The helium being to me.
Each one reached out and touched its crew member on the cheek. The touch was brief. There was no pain. I felt my tooth go cold for a single moment. Then warm. Then it became what it was now.
Joren felt his tooth with his tongue. He nodded. Obsidian.
Lirael felt his. He opened his mouth and tested it with his finger. His mouth felt normal. No cold. No melting. He shook his head, surprised.
Garrick felt his. He could not see the Labradorite inside his own mouth but he knew it was there.
Vesper looked into the polished surface of the salt being nearby. He opened his mouth wide. There was a small glow at the tooth. Just visible. He smiled at his own reflection. The glow brightened slightly.
"That will be useful in dark rooms," he said.
I felt mine. The helium was light. Almost not there. The helium being was holding it at the impossible temperature it needed. I could find the tooth with my tongue and it was unmistakably present.
We tested the channel.
Joren concentrated on his tooth. He sent something through it, toward me.
I felt the pulse at my own tooth. Warm. A signal. I concentrated on mine and sent back.
He received it. He nodded.
"It works."
We tried it across the crew. Each of us pulsed each other. All four received. Clear, simple, directional.
"This is useful," Vesper said.
Then Gold made a request.
"We need something from Vesper," Gold said. "The piss crystal he has been growing in his pouch."
Vesper took the crystal out. It had started as a small grain while still in the lesbian realm. He had been growing it. It was the size of the tip of his little finger now. He held it in his palm. The crystal caught the light.
He handed it to Gold.
Gold took it. Then Gold gestured to the others.
The stone people who had been at the edges moved forward. Obsidian came. The uranium being. The smaller darker mineral. The granite being with the lichen streak. The ice being. Labradorite. Helium. They all gathered in the centre.
They all extended their hands toward Gold. Gold placed the crystal in the centre of the gathering. The hands came together over it.
Cockper jumped off my shoulder. He extended his small copper arms — longer than I had ever seen them, copper stretching to reach — and added his hands to the group. He was part of this.
The hands began to blend.
It was slow. The boundaries between the different stone people's hands softened. The mineral surfaces flowed into each other. Gold became obsidian became uranium became ice became helium became labradorite became copper — and back, and through, and around. The boundary lines disappeared. There was no longer Gold's hand and Obsidian's hand. There was one shape made of all the minerals in continuous flow.
The piss crystal was somewhere inside. It was being worked.
The crew watched. The blended hands shaped something at their centre. We could not see the shaping because it was happening inside the multi-material mass. We could only see the surface shifting — colours moving across the surface, patterns forming and reforming.
This continued for a long moment.
Then the hands separated.
One by one the stone people drew their hands back. The boundaries reasserted themselves. Each hand returned to its source mineral. Cockper's copper drew back to him. He returned to his small floppy form. He hopped onto my shoulder.
In Gold's hand, the gift was finished.
Gold opened its palm.
It was a tooth. Small. Polished. Tooth-shaped. The base colour was the amber-yellow of Vesper's piss crystal at its core. Running through it, like fine veins, were threads of all the other minerals. A thread of gold. A thread of obsidian. A thread of uranium. A thread of granite. A pocket of helium. A pocket of water. A thread of Labradorite, shifting colour. A thread of copper from Cockper.
The veins moved slightly. They were not static. They were alive in the way the realm was alive.
"This is for Pisson," Gold said. "When you give it to him, it will replace one of his teeth. He will join your communication. He will be connected to all of us."
Gold paused.
"He is the only one who could wear it. His bond with piss runs deeper than any other. That is what the tooth needs. It will not take in anyone else."
Gold handed the tooth to Lirael.
Lirael took it. He held it carefully. His face changed.
He smiled. A big one. His whole face opened. His eyes went bright. He looked down at the tooth and then at Gold and then at the rest of us and the smile was still there.
Vesper noticed.
"You are smiling," Vesper said.
"I am."
"Big one."
"Yes."
"I have not seen that for a long time."
"No."
Vesper turned to Gold and the rest of the stone people. His expression was serious.
"I want to thank you," Vesper said. "Specifically for what you have given Lirael. Being separated from Pisson has been a weight he has been carrying. It has been a weight all of us have been carrying because we have been watching him carry it. What you have just made is going to lift that. It is the kindest thing you could have done. I am grateful — more for what this gift gives him than for any of what you have given me directly."
He paused.
"Thank you."
Gold inclined toward Vesper.
"We understood the weight," Gold said. "We understand the lifting."
Joren had been quiet. He spoke now.
"A question," Joren said. "The teeth you have given us. They let us call each other. But does it also mean you will be able to hear our thoughts. Or follow us. Do we have a connection to your realm through them."
"Yes," Gold said. "If we choose to listen, we can. We will not listen to private things — we have no interest. But if you call for us, we will hear. If you are in danger and the danger registers as fear or urgency, we will know. The minerals you carry are us."
"Good," Joren said. "Communicating with you takes the spinning and the cockring work. That is a difficult process. Having a channel that does not require it is useful."
"There is more," Gold said. "We have been considering this. You have been with us long enough that we understand what kind of beings you are. We would like Cockper to go with you when you leave. Not just for the rest of your journey but as our ambassador to your realm. He hears every mineral. He can hear us. He can communicate with us at any distance. He cannot speak in your language, but he understands. He can be our presence among you."
Cockper, on my shoulder, vibrated. His face appeared and disappeared rapidly. He was excited.
"If you do not mind," Gold said.
"We do not mind," I said. I did not need to think about it. Cockper had been part of the crew since he came out of the copper. He stayed.
"He is welcome with us," Joren said. "He has been welcome since the start."
Cockper hopped off my shoulder onto Joren's shoulder, then back to mine, then onto Vesper's, then back. He was making the rounds.
Lirael put the tooth in his pouch. Carefully. He closed the pouch and pressed his hand against it. The smile was still on his face.
Then Gold raised the topic of the orgy.
"We made you a promise during the last sitting," Gold said. "You showed us what your kind does together. We have studied it since. We would like to give back. We would like to ask you each — what is your wildest desire. The thing you have never said out loud. The thing you would never get to have in your normal life. We will make it happen. We are mineral. All is possible."
The crew was silent for a moment. The idea was large.
The stone people seemed more relaxed than they had been the first time we had done this with them. They had learned. They were ready to give.
"Each of you in turn," Gold said. "The rest will watch. The stone people who pair with you in this will take the shapes you describe. We have practised our shapes since last we were together."
I went first.
"I want to start as Joren's cock," I said. "Then I want to become the cock that is in each other crew member's scene. I want to know what cocks experience. I want to be inside the doing."
Joren nodded slowly. He was paying attention.
Lirael spoke up.
"That is what I wanted," Lirael said. "To be Spark. To absorb everything. To not lose a drop. I have been wanting to be him for a long time."
I stopped. I looked at him.
"What."
"I have watched you," Lirael said. "When you grow large at the orgies. When you take everything. When you do not lose anything. I have wanted to know what that is like. I have been wanting it for months."
I felt my cheeks warm. I had been narrating other people's bodies the whole journey and I had not known anyone had been watching mine.
Joren felt me through the bond. He sent a small pulse of amusement.
"Spark," Joren said through the bond. "You are blushing."
"I am not."
"You are. The colour is on your face. The stone people can probably see it."
"They cannot see colour the way we do."
"Then I am the only one who can see it. I am going to enjoy this for a moment."
I felt his enjoyment. It was the reverse of what I usually did. I made small comments at his expense. He took them. Now he was making one at mine. He was having his revenge all those years of being teased.
"I do not know what to do with the information," I said.
"You will. Take the compliment."
Lirael smiled at me. A small one. Not the big one for the tooth — just a small acknowledgment that he had been caught watching.
I took a breath. I looked at the stone people.
"Make me Joren's cock," I said. "Start there. We'll see what happens."
The stone people made it happen.
I shrank. I took the shape of the bulge — the full weight and outline of him, the shape his trousers held. My consciousness was in that shape. I could feel from inside it. Joren could feel me there.
Joren said nothing at first. He put his hand on me. He stroked once, slowly.
"Hi," he said through the bond.
"Hi," I said back. I was his cock and I was Spark. Both were true.
I was the cock of a warrior. Hard. Heavy. I felt the blood pushing through me from base to head, and the head was full and tight. The skin of me was held in Joren's palm. The palm was warm. It had been holding me all of Joren's adult life — his own cock, which I now was, through every morning and every fight and every man he had fucked beside. The palm knew what to do. I felt the slight scrape of calluses against my surface. I felt the slow stroke up the shaft and the small turn of the wrist at the top that brought the thumb across the slit. The slit of me. The slit at the top where precum beaded. I tasted it from inside — I was the cock, so I tasted what the cock produced, which was to say I tasted myself — and the taste was Joren, the taste I had been swallowing for years from the silk of the nest, but now from the source.
Joren's jaw was tight. His breath came slow. He had me as his cock. He had me as his sprite at the same time. He stroked himself slowly. Each stroke I felt.
"I am going to leave you for a moment," I said through the bond. "I am going to be the cock of every other man's wish. Then I am going to come back to being yours at the end."
"I will be here," Joren said.
The stone people understood. They began the next scene.
Garrick spoke. He described what he wanted.
It was not a single act. It was an entire setting. A religion. A worship.
He wanted a temple. A cathedral-scale space dedicated to bulges. The priests of this religion were men of many trades — labourers, stonemasons, sailors, blacksmiths — all with thick bodies, dark beards, full bellies. Their bodies carried their weight forward.
He wanted the priests in formation. In a specific pose. Hands at the sides, feet apart, pelvis pushed slightly forward. The pose of men whose bulges were the most important part of their bodies. They wore only briefs. Tight ones. No exposed genitals. Every body covered at the crotch but the shape inside the brief was the entire reason for the pose.
The stone people listened. Then they made it happen.
The community space changed around us.
The ceiling came first. It rose and kept rising, curved in white stone, the surface broken into panels of gold plasterwork — frames and borders and carved stone leaves, all finished in gold that caught the light and threw it back warm. Stone ribs ran up from the walls to the top of the vault. Each rib rose from a column, and above each column was a carved figure: a man standing with his hands at his sides, pelvis forward, the shape in his briefs cut in precise stone.
The walls were not plain. Every surface between the columns was painted deep orange and brown, and set into the paint were oval frames of gilded stone, each one holding a carved bulge in profile. The frames ran the full length of both walls, floor to ceiling, hundreds of them, each one slightly different — different weight, different angle of cloth.
The windows were high and narrow and filled with coloured stone, blues and amber and a deep red, and the light that came through moved across the floor in slow bars. The floor itself was patterned stone, pale and dark tiles set in a repeating shape — the same shape, the brief-covered crotch, from the entrance to the altar.
The temple was enormous. It smelled of beeswax and worked leather and the particular sweat that gathered in the folds of working men's bodies.
The priests appeared.
They were arranged in rows that led to the centre. About fifty of them. Labourers in worn leather aprons over their briefs, forearms thick from lifting. Stonemasons in linen tunics open at the chest, dust still on their boots, the shape of their bulges showing through the white linen at the crotch. Sailors in striped cloth stretched tight at the front, salt staining their bellies. Blacksmiths bare-chested above their briefs, forearms scarred from the forge, leather aprons hanging behind them.
Every single one of them in the pose. Feet apart. Hands at sides. Pelvis forward.
The bulges were extraordinary. Different shapes — long bulges, thick bulges, heavy hanging bulges, short and round bulges. Each one presented.
A low sound began. A choir. Male voices only — baritone and bass, no higher. They started a slow chant. The tempo was the tempo of a heartbeat slowed to half speed. The sound filled the temple. The pillars vibrated:
Behold the weight that strains before the man,
the heavy bulge the thin cloth strains to hold.
It throbs at dawn, thick and full and warm,
it pulses heat through sweat and leather bold.
Dry, wet, loose or stretched.
Clean, stained, pre and post cum.
Soft then hard, it never rests.
Heavy, hanging, always blessed.
It is the force that swells when muscles flex,
the blood-hot cock that tents the fabric tight.
It scents of musk and salt and heavy sex,
of balls that hang and drip with raw desire.
Dry, wet, loose or stretched.
Clean, stained, pre and post cum.
Soft then hard, it never rests.
Heavy, hanging, always blessed.
Blessed is the bulge that leads the man.
Blessed is the cloth stretched slick and taut.
We carry it forward, thick and veined and hard.
The shape is the prayer. The shape is the god.
Dry, wet, loose or stretched.
Clean, stained, pre and post cum.
Soft then hard, it never rests.
Heavy, hanging, always blessed.
Full in the morning, full at the forge,
full and leaking when the long day’s done.
We do not name it. We do not hide it.
Feet apart, pelvis thrust—we worship the one.
Dry, wet, loose or stretched.
Clean, stained, pre and post cum.
Soft then hard, it never rests.
Heavy, hanging, always blessed.
On each beat, every priest's bulge in the rows twitched. Just once. Just visibly. The twitch was synchronised across the formation. The chant continued. The bulges continued to twitch on the beat. The whole temple was alive with the slow pulse of fifty bulges responding to the music.
Garrick stood at the entrance. He was naked. He was small in this space. He was the size he had always been.
At the centre of the temple, where the altar stood, was a gigantic male figure. The figure was impossibly tall — his legs disappeared into the floor at about the knee, and his torso extended up through the ceiling, his upper body hidden in the stone above. We saw him from above his knees to about the middle of his chest. The altar itself was built around him — three rising steps of carved stone, each surface covered in the same gold ornament as the walls, swags and twisted columns and small carved figures all pointing inward toward the centre of the figure's body.
The visible part was dominated by his bulge.
The bulge was enormous. It was roughly the size of a small house. It was contained in a brief of dark mineral fabric — stretched tight, every contour visible. The bulge pulsed slowly. On each beat of the chant it shifted The sameway a real bulge shifts inside trousers when its owner moves.
A faint trace of liquid wept slowly from the top of the bulge — clear, thick, the way precum looked. It ran down the fabric of the brief in slow lines and dripped into a pool on the altar floor.
Garrick walked forward.
The priests' bulges twitched on the beat as he passed them. The choir continued. The notes held across multiple beats and resolved only when the choir breathed.
Garrick approached the altar. He was the size of a normal man at this scale — the bulge above him was the size of a building. He could reach it. He could touch it.
He put his hand on the lowest part of the bulge.
The chant changed. Held a note. The note swelled. The bulge pulsed harder under his palm. The mineral fabric was warm to his touch.
Garrick climbed.
He used the folds of the fabric as handholds. He climbed up the bulge. The bulge did not move while he climbed — it was solid enough beneath the surface to support him. The pulsing continued but at a frequency that was comfortable for him to climb against. He reached the curve where the shaft of the bulge met what would have been the balls.
He hugged the balls.
He wrapped his arms around the lower curve as far as they would go — which was not far, because the bulge was enormous and his arms were normal-sized. He pressed his face into the fabric. He breathed. The smell was overwhelming. He closed his eyes.
The choir held. The bulge pulsed. The chant rose in volume.
Now me.
The stone people made the altar bulge sentient. They invited me to embody it. I did not shrink — I *was* the bulge. I extended my consciousness into the entire shape of the altar-bulge, the size of a small house, contained in the dark mineral brief, pulsing on the beat with the chant.
I was the bulge.
I was the most worshipped object in the temple. The fabric of the brief was my skin. The pulse on each beat was my pulse. The precum seeping from my top was being produced by me. The chant outside reached me as vibration — I felt the bass through my surface from the outside, through the air around me, through the swell of myself contained in the brief. I was looked at by fifty priests in formation and I felt the looking. The looking was pressure on me from the outside, a pressure I felt as warmth on my surface and as something deeper underneath. I pulsed harder on the beat. I produced more precum. The pool below grew. Garrick was at my base. His arms were around my lower curve. His face was pressed into my fabric. I felt his breath on me.
Then something happened. The bulge was sentient and I was the bulge, but the bulge had its own pull on what I said. It wanted to be heard. It wanted to speak to its worshipper. I felt myself compelled — by the shape of the thing I had become — to address Garrick.
The bulge spoke. Not from any mouth — there was no mouth — but from the entire surface resonating with the chant. The voice came from inside.
"I want your love," the bulge said to Garrick. "Your adoration. Your devotion. I am here for you. I will always be here for you. I am everything that is for you."
Garrick pressed harder. His face was wet.
"Here is my prayer," the bulge said.
"I am the Bulge who stands before you.
Hallowed be my thick, heavy shape.
My kingdom comes in every pair of briefs,
my will be done on your lips as it is in the temple.
I am fresh and clean
I am stained and smelling
I am dry and dripping
I am soft and hardening.
Give me this day your total worship.
Feed on my rich musk and my constant leaking pre-cum.
Forgive those who cover and deny me,
as I release you from all shame and fear.
Lead not your eyes into softness,
but deliver yourself completely unto my power.
For mine is the weight,
mine is the heat,
mine is the throbbing cock and hanging balls,
now and forever and ever.
Worship me."
Garrick pressed harder. His face was wet.
Garrick was shaking. His arms tightened around the lower curve.
The choir's chant rose. The priests in formation began to chant with the choir — their voices joining, baritone and bass, fifty more men adding to the sound. The temple was now full of voices. The bulge pulsed harder on each beat. The fluid streamed faster.
The bulge kept speaking.
"I receive you," it said. "Your hands. Your face. Your body. I am the centre of the temple and you are the one who has reached me. You belong here. You have always belonged here."
Garrick pressed harder, grinding his aching cock against the massive, living bulge. The cloth was hot, slick, pulsing. He frothed desperately, hips jerking in tiny frantic thrusts. The bulge twitched under him, thickening, leaking heavy drops of precum that soaked through the brief and coated his chest.
Garrick came hard. His first thick spurt of cum hit the bulge’s surface.
At the instant the warm drip touched it, the bulge answered. It throbbed violently, swelled, then began to seep. A long, wide flow of hot, thick cum pushed through the stretched fabric, pouring slowly down in heavy ropes straight onto Garrick’s head. It drenched his hair, ran over his face, coated his shoulders, streamed down his back and chest. He kept hugging it tight, face buried in the flooding bulge, mouth open, swallowing the blessing.
The bulge’s voice rumbled through the flood.
"This is my blessing. My cum is your anointing. Wear it. Drown in it. You are mine."
Garrick stayed pressed against it, shaking, covered head to toe in the thick, endless flow.
The choir held its final note. The bulge pulsed one last time. The altar shifted. Then the chant resolved — a long final chord, descending — and the temple went quiet.
Garrick stayed against the bulge. His face was wet. Sweat. Tears. The fluid from the altar. He was shaking slightly.
The priests did not move. They were still in formation. Their bulges had stopped twitching but they were still presented. The pose was held.
Garrick climbed down. His feet touched the temple floor. He walked slowly back through the rows toward the entrance.
As he passed level with each priest, that priest’s bulge throbbed hard in perfect time with Garrick’s footfall. The heavy shape jerked, strained, then flooded. Thick ropes of cum surged through the stretched fabric, soaking the brief dark and glossy.
One by one, in smooth ceremonial waves down both sides of the formation, every priest came exactly as Garrick reached him — a rolling cascade of throbbing, seeping orgasms honouring his passage. 25 pairs of disciplined bulges pulsed and pumped their tribute in sequence, never breaking pose.
Feet apart. Pelvis forward. Hands at sides.
Garrick reached the rest of the crew at the temple entrance. He sat down among them. He did not speak. He put his hand on his chest.
Before lowering his eyes he turned for one last look at the central bulge on the altar.
The massive shape answered him with one final, slow, heavy twitch — pulsing once, just for him.
The temple dissolved around us.
He looked at Joren. He looked at me. He looked at Vesper.
"I do not know what to say," Garrick said.
"You do not need to say anything," Vesper said.
"That was the whole religion."
"Yes."
"I have just experienced what it is to be at the centre of a religion."
"You have."
Garrick was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed — a small, surprised, almost-shy laugh.
"It was perfect," he said.
The stone people inclined.
Lirael was next.
He described what he wanted. He wanted to live my life. Drinking and being filled by every fluid. The closing night of the Pan-Games of Thorendale. Athletes everywhere. Naked. Smelling of competition.
The arena formed. Open-air. Stone pillars at the perimeter. The air smelled of oil, sweat, the musk of male bodies after exertion. The stone people had learned about smell since the first time we had been here. They were good at it now.
A field of stone-people-shaped-as-athletes appeared. Different builds — sprinters lean with sharp definition, wrestlers thick-necked with heavy shoulders, throwers wide-based and broad. All naked. All in the colours of their source minerals — marble white, granite grey, salt pale, copper warm. Each one had moisture beading on their skin. They were not stone in this form — they were men shaped of stone and they smelled like men.
I looked at them the way I always looked. I could not help it. The cocks were everywhere and each one was different. The sprinter nearest me was dark-skinned, his cock long and loose against his thigh, the skin smooth, no hair at the base, still half-full from the heat of the day. Next to him a pale man, red-haired, freckled across the shoulders, his cock short and thick and very pink, a dense thatch of copper hair at the root. A wrestler to the left — brown skin, black hair on his belly running down in a line, his cock heavy and hanging, foreskin long, the whole thing swaying when he moved. A thrower behind him, blond, almost no body hair at all, his cock standing slightly away from his body the way some cocks did when the man was warm and loose, not hard but not soft either, just present. A dark-bearded man with olive skin whose cock curved left, thick at the base, the head darker than the shaft. A young one — barely past his first games by the look of him — pale and smooth everywhere, his cock neat and upright, already leaking a thin line from the tip.
The Pan-Games closed this way. Every realm knew it. The last night belonged to the body in full — not the body in contest but the body at rest after contest, loose-limbed and warm, still carrying the heat of the day's work. The athletes did not compete on this night. They gathered. They drank. They gave what the games had built in them.
Lirael stood in the centre. He was still dressed.
The athletes did not wait. They came at him. Hands tore at his clothes. Lirael did not undress himself — the athletes did it for him, ripping the fabric off. The clothing had been made in the Lesbian Realm. It could be torn without consequence because the material healed itself, slowly, on its own. The pieces fell to the arena floor. The athletes did not stop. Lirael was naked.
Then they started on each other.
Two athletes — a wrestler and a sprinter — started fucking each other in front of Lirael. The wrestler bent the sprinter over and worked into him. The sprinter took it. Lirael watched. He was being fed cocks from other directions while watching the two of them fuck.
I moved into the wrestler's cock fucking the sprinter.
I was a cock owned by a body built for grappling. Thick at the base, veins close to the surface. The man who held me used me to fuck another man — a sprinter, leaner, bent over in front of Lirael so Lirael could watch. I was deep in the sprinter and he was tight. The wrestler worked me at a demanding rhythm. Each thrust compressed my whole length. The sprinter's body knew the wrestler — the wrestler had been here before, in his ass — and the sprinter took me with ease. He pushed back. I went deeper. Lirael, watching, made a sound.
Three athletes lined up at Lirael's mouth. The first stepped up, put the head of his cock between Lirael's lips, and pissed. The stream went in. Lirael swallowed. The second stepped up after the first finished. He pissed. Lirael swallowed. The third pissed. Lirael swallowed.
The stone people put a shield over Lirael's mouth — a thin, almost invisible mineral membrane that made sure nothing escaped. Lirael could not have spat anything out even if he had wanted to. He was being given my power — to absorb without loss — but the shield enforced it. He gagged occasionally. His eyes watered. He kept taking it.
His belly began to grow. The fluids he took were not all being processed yet — they were filling him. He ballooned slowly. When he moved, the fluids inside him sloshed. The athletes noticed. They laughed. They fed him more.
I moved into a sprinter's cock as it pushed into Lirael's mouth.
I was a thinner cock than the wrestler. Longer. Built for speed, my proportions lean. The man who owned me looked down at Lirael's mouth and guided me toward it. I went past the lips. The mouth opened. The tongue worked along my underside. I tasted salt from earlier loads — Lirael had been used by several others before me. I tasted other men through Lirael's mouth, and Lirael was the conduit. I went deeper. I touched the back of the throat. Lirael swallowed. The throat opened around my head. I was through. I was deeper than I had been in any mouth in my life, and the mouth held me there, working me, taking me.
Then the kissing started.
After each athlete pissed into Lirael, they kissed him. Tongues. Deep, wet kisses. They kissed with sperm in their mouths from earlier. They kissed with piss still on their tongues. They shared fluids back and forth between Lirael and themselves. Lirael took all of it. He kissed each one back fully — open mouth, deep, hungry.
They licked his face. They licked the sweat off his neck. They tickled along his ribs. Two of them went down behind him and rimmed him — wet, sloppy, both at once on the same hole, taking turns and overlapping. Lirael moaned.
One athlete lifted a foot and put his big toe in Lirael's mouth. Lirael sucked. The athlete watched. The moment was brief — Lirael moved on quickly, the athlete withdrew.
One wrestler came around behind Lirael. He spread Lirael's cheeks. He pissed directly into Lirael's ass. Lirael took it. His belly ballooned further — the piss going up into him from below. When he moved now, the sloshing was audible.
Then the largest athlete — a thrower with a wide chest and powerful arms — sat back on the arena floor. He pulled Lirael back into his lap. Lirael's back against the thrower's chest. The thrower's arms wrapped around him from behind. His cock was between Lirael's cheeks but not in him — just present. The thrower licked Lirael's neck slowly. He ran his fingers along Lirael's belly, feeling the swell, the sloshing, the weight of all the fluids inside. He played with Lirael's nipples.
The other athletes came forward with their cocks out and fed them to Lirael's mouth. Lirael, held in the thrower's arms, took cock after cock into his mouth. He sucked each one. He drank each load. He did not lose a drop. The shield was still over his mouth. The thrower whispered things in Lirael's ear that I could not hear from where I was.
At some point in the sequence Lirael turned his head and looked across the arena. He found me — I was at full size now, having stepped out of the rotation for a moment, watching. He looked at me with a smile of complete delight.
I smiled back.
"You are blushing again," Joren said through the bond.
"Stop."
"He is having a wonderful time. Because of you. You should accept it."
"I accept it."
"Good."
Lirael came — multiple times — through the absorption itself. He did not need to ejaculate. The fullness was the climax. Just like me, he was filled to capacity, and the thrower's hands were still on his belly, and the cocks were still being fed to his mouth. Lirael had reached my version of climax. Orgasm by absorption.
When the athletes finally withdrew, Lirael stayed in the thrower's arms for a long moment. He was sated. He was full to the point of being uncomfortable, and the discomfort was part of what he had wanted.
He leaned his head back against the thrower's chest and closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he said — to no one specifically.
"You are welcome," the thrower said.
The arena dissolved around us. Lirael remained balonning and sloshing.
Vesper was next.
He described what he wanted. Paralysed but conscious. Used as a public phallus. Old-fashioned university room. Students watching. A professor performing procedures on him.
The lecture hall formed. Wooden benches rose in tiers around a central platform. Stone-people-shaped-as-students appeared in the seats. They wore dark academic robes. They had notebooks of compressed stone. They had stylets for taking notes. Twenty of them. All male, all of varying ages — some young and clean-shaven, some older and bearded. They were all attentive. The setting smelled of old paper and beeswax candles and the dust of a building that had been in continuous academic use for centuries.
A stone-person-shaped-as-a-professor appeared at the centre. He had small round spectacles. He had a pointer of polished granite. He was bearded, grey, wearing the dark robe of his position. He had the dignity of his profession. A man who had been teaching anatomy for forty years.
Vesper was laid on the platform. The stone people worked the magic on him — paralysed below the neck, fully conscious. He could move his head. He could speak. He could see around the room.
The professor began.
"Gentlemen," the professor said to the students. "Today's subject is a member of the species you have been studying. He is in good health. He is a research scholar from another realm — we have permission to use his body for instructional purposes. He is paralysed for the duration of the demonstration but otherwise conscious. You may observe his responses, which I will narrate."
He pointed at Vesper with the granite pointer.
"This particular subject has a unique feature," the professor continued. "He is bonded to a sprite who lives in his anus most of the time. The sprite is not present at this moment. We will be demonstrating internal stimulation of the structure the sprite normally inhabits. Pay attention to the responses — they will inform your own future practice."
Vesper laughed. He could not move his body but he could laugh.
"That is not exactly accurate," Vesper said.
"You will be silent during the lecture," the professor said. "You may speak if you must, but you will not be heeded. Your role here is anatomical."
"Understood."
"Furthermore," the professor said to the students. "An important rule. You will note that the goal of this demonstration is *edging*. We are studying the maintenance of arousal at peak. Therefore — do not, under any circumstances, let the subject come during your practice round. The edge is the lecture. The climax would terminate the lesson. Understood."
The students nodded. They took notes.
The professor turned to address them directly.
"As an aid to your understanding," he said, "you are invited to masturbate during the demonstration. The shared sensation will deepen your comprehension of what edging feels like from both sides. You will feel your own approach to peak as you watch the subject's approach to peak. This is a sensory-aligned learning method."
The students opened their robes. They took out their cocks. They began to stroke themselves at a slow rhythm, in unison, watching Vesper on the platform. The sound of twenty hands on twenty cocks was a soft background to the lecture.
The professor began the demonstration.
I moved into the professor's cock for the first round. I narrated from inside.
I was a cock owned by a man who had been doing this for forty years. The control was extraordinary. He had me at half-mast deliberately — he was demonstrating, not pleasuring himself. Every motion he made through me was for the benefit of the students. He moved me into Vesper slowly. He paused at each stage to allow the students to observe. The students were stroking themselves at the same rhythm — twenty cocks in unison around the platform — and I felt their attention as pressure. I had never been studied during use before.
The professor stopped at full insertion. He held me there. Vesper's body was tight around me. The professor did not move. The students kept stroking. Vesper's muscles began to relax around me, the surrender coming in small waves as his body accepted the intrusion. The professor brought Vesper to ninety-five percent. Vesper was shaking. His head was moving — the only part of him that could move. He was making sounds — not of pain, but of the pleasure that had overtaken the earlier tension.
"Continue," Vesper said.
"He says continue," the professor narrated. "Note the use of the word — he means *to climax*. We will not. Observe the next phase. We will reduce stimulation and hold at the lower threshold."
The professor backed off. The students laughed. Their hands continued. Vesper's body went slack again, the pleasure receding into a waiting stillness.
The professor held Vesper at the lower threshold for a long time. Then approached again. Vesper was going up the curve once more. The professor timed it precisely. The students were matching the pace with their own hands.
Then the professor did something unexpected. He continued all the way.
Vesper came.
The professor did not stop. He kept stroking. He kept demonstrating. Vesper was post-orgasm and the professor was continuing the stimulation.
Vesper screamed.
"Stop," Vesper said. "Stop. Stop. *Stop.*"
The professor did not stop.
"This is one of the harder things to learn," the professor said to the students. "Continuation past climax. The subject's body will resist. You will hear protest. You will see the body try to escape. *You will not stop.* The post-orgasm stimulation is the deepest stage of the edge."
Vesper went berserk. He tried to move and could not. He twisted his head. He shouted.
"PROFESSOR."
"I hear you, subject. I will continue."
Vesper's protests dissolved into nonsense. The students were stroking faster, watching. Some of them were close themselves. The professor adjusted his pace on Vesper to match where the students were. He was teaching with his hand.
Then he slowed. Then he stopped. He let Vesper cool down. Vesper was panting. His head was back. His eyes were closed. The pleasure had drained out of him, leaving only the raw aftermath.
The professor took off his spectacles and polished them.
"Round two," the professor said. "Subject has been reset. You may now practice. One at a time. The same rule applies — do not let him come. Watch me for technique correction."
The students put their cocks away. They organised themselves in a queue. One at a time they approached the platform.
I moved into each student's cock as they took their turn. I narrated from inside. The first student was clumsy. He fumbled the rhythm. The professor corrected him with a sharp word. "Slower. You are approaching too fast. Bring him to sixty before you increase." The student adjusted. I felt the adjustment from inside.
The second student was suspiciously skilled. The professor complimented him. "Excellent technique. Hold him there. Yes. Now release. Good."
I moved through several student cocks. Each one had its own shape, its own owner, its own approach. Vesper was being edged by an entire class. He could still speak. He occasionally said "stop." He occasionally said "continue." The students ignored both and followed the professor's instruction.
At one point Vesper was held at near-climax for what felt like an extended period. The class began to chant.
"Make him come," the students chanted in unison, masturbating again. "Make him come. Make him come."
The professor held up a hand.
"No," the professor said. "I will not. This is a class on edging. The edge holds."
The students laughed. They applauded the discipline of their professor. They continued chanting between bouts. They were enjoying themselves enormously.
Vesper, between the chanting and the laughter and the steady work of the students' hands, had become a comedy as much as a demonstration. He was the centerpiece of an academic carnival. He was in bliss. He could not move and he was being thoroughly used and his protests were being mocked by an entire lecture hall and this was exactly what he had wanted.
The professor brought the lesson to a close. He did not let Vesper come a second time. He stopped at the edge. He lifted the paralysis.
Vesper sat up. His mouth was open, his eyes wet.
The class applauded. A real applause — stone hands clapping in a stone hall. Then they laughed. The professor bowed.
"Thank you for your participation in today's demonstration," the professor said to Vesper.
"Thank you for the lecture," Vesper said, breathlessly.
"You were an exemplary subject."
The lecture hall dissolved.
Joren was last.
He spoke in short, hungry sentences. Monsters. Impossible cocks. Used by them. One climbing inside him and growing giant.
The stone people listened. Then they made it happen.
Three monsters rose — towering eight-foot humanoids of raw living material, cocks grotesquely oversized and drooling.
The black rubber monster gleamed glossy pitch-black, skin squeaking with every flex. Its face had wide glowing white eyes and a mouth full of sharp rubber teeth. It leaned in close, long black tongue sliding wetly across Joren’s face like a lollipop, leaving thick latex-scented spit.
The sandstone monster was coarse orange-pink grain, abrasive and rough. Its eyes were deep-set glowing slits. Its cock was thick, textured, and lined with flexible backward spikes that slid in easy but locked and pierced on the way out.
The magnesium monster was pale metallic silver, body lightweight and brutal. Its eyes burned cold. Its cock shimmered with faint chemical heat that stung once on contact, then stayed brutally hot.
They approached Joren. He stripped fast and dropped to his knees, eyes wide with need.
I slipped into the black rubber monster’s cock first.
The rubber monster gripped Joren’s head in huge squeaky hands and used him like a toy, fucking the cock with his face. Joren’s mouth stretched impossibly wide around the glossy rubber girth. The monster’s sharp teeth grinned inches from his eyes as it licked his face again, hot latex breath filling his nose. I pushed deep into the choking throat, every thrust squeaking wetly.
I rotated to the sandstone monster. The grainy spiked cock scraped Joren’s lips raw. The monster slammed his head down harder, the rough texture burning.
Then the magnesium monster. Its cock slid in, stinging sharply once before the brutal heat took over. The monster fucked his face with cold precision.
Joren was making broken, animal sounds no one on the crew had ever heard.
Then the climbing began.
The sandstone monster shrank to normal size, eyes still glowing. Joren lay on his back. It pushed between his spread legs and entered him — spikes sliding in smooth.
I moved into the climbing cock.
I slid deep into Joren’s already-worked hole. Then the monster swelled. I grew with it, thicker, longer, stretching him open. Joren’s belly rose in a heavy obscene bulge. Joren screamed of pain as the monster shifted, letting his spikes scrape Joren's conduit. His face twisted in pain and surrender.
Then the black rubber monster moved behind him. Its glossy cock was slick with its own lube, black and squeaking. It pressed against Joren’s already-stuffed hole and pushed. Joren’s body went rigid, his mouth opening in a silent scream as the rubber cock forced its way in alongside the sandstone’s spiked shaft. I shifted into the rubber cock to feel it from inside — the tight, burning press of the sandstone spikes against the rubber sheath, both shafts filling him so full that his belly rose higher, the obscene shape of two cocks visible beneath his skin. The sandstone and rubber monsters began to move in alternating rhythm, one sliding out while the other drove deeper, so that Joren was never empty, never less than double-fucked.
Then the rubber monster pulled out with a wet squeak and stepped around to Joren’s head. It had a humongous gaping ass, loose and dripping thick lube. It sat on Joren’s face, smothering him completely. Joren’s nose and mouth sank almost inside the rubber hole. The monster ground down, cutting off his air, holding him at the edge of blackout until Joren started jolting desperately for breath. Only then did it lift for one gasping second before sitting back down.
The sandstone monster kept growing inside him, spikes now locked deep. Joren screamed into the rubber ass, body bucking, trying to pull away. The magnesium monster pinned his shoulders down hard. The black rubber monster reached back with one lubed hand, shoved it into Joren’s stretched ass alongside the massive cock, seized the spiked shaft, and yanked it free in one brutal pull. Spikes tore on the way out. Joren screamed louder, body convulsing in agony and ecstasy.
The sandstone monster kept growing inside him, spikes now locked deep. Joren screamed into the rubber ass, body bucking, trying to pull away. The magnesium monster pinned his shoulders down hard. The black rubber monster reached back with one lubed hand, shoved it into Joren’s stretched ass alongside the massive cock, seized the spiked shaft, and yanked it free in one brutal pull. Spikes tore on the way out. Joren screamed louder, body convulsing in agony and ecstasy.
The rubber monster kept face-sitting him through the pain, only lifting when Joren jolted again.
The sandstone monster came — flooding Joren’s wrecked guts with thick grainy cum.
The magnesium monster seized Joren’s cock in its hot metallic grip. Sharp stinging heat flooded his shaft instantly as it jerked him with fast, ruthless strokes, the chemical burn racing up every vein and forcing him over the edge. Joren came violently from the burning handjob, thick ropes shooting hard across his own distended belly as the crew felt every stretched, pierced, smothered second at once.
Joren went quiet, eyes glazed, belly distended and leaking.
The monsters shrank and dissolved into dust.
Joren lay wrecked on his back — the crew’s strongest hero, the unbreakable leader everyone relied on for raw power and iron will — now completely overpowered and ruined by monsters he could never defeat. This was the brutal surrender he had secretly craved above all else.
After a moment, once Joren had recovered, I returned to be his cock.
He was sitting up against a low stone formation now.
Just Joren, with me as his cock, and the rest of the crew sitting nearby still watching.
"I have been many cocks tonight," I said through the bond. "Thick and thin. Clumsy and precise. Small and impossibly large. I have been a professor's tool and a monster's weapon and an athlete's drink. I have tasted every fluid that men produce from inside the cock that was producing it."
"And now."
"And now I am here."
"Yes."
"Of all the cocks I have been tonight — I am still lucky to be in the nicest one."
"Stop."
"I mean it. I have been monster-cock and professor-cock and athlete-cock. I am back to being yours. Yours is the one I want."
"Then I am going to please you."
"Yes."
Joren found the energy to stroke himself slowly. He was doing this for me. He was not performing for the crew. He was making himself come *for* his cock — which was me.
I was inside the shape of his cock and I was the shape of his cock and the warmth of him was around me and below me and the warmth of him was also me because I had become him at the point where he had spent the most of his life giving and receiving and where I had spent the most of mine receiving. The five years of the nest were here, condensed into this moment. I knew every vein from outside — I had lived against it. Now I was every vein. I was the slit at the tip and I was the underside and I was the curve where the head met the shaft. I was the texture of his skin from the inside. I was the heat of his blood pushing through me. I was hard for him and as him. Joren put his hand on himself and I felt his palm from the inside and I had spent years feeling that palm from the silk and now I was feeling it from his own perspective and the perspective was reverence — Joren handled his cock with the same care he handled me — and that was the thing I had not known until this moment, that he had been treating me the way he treated the most important part of his body, and the most important part of his body had been me all along.
Joren came. He came with his hand on himself and with me as the cock that was producing the come. I felt the climax from inside the cock that was having it. I felt the come move up through me and out into Joren's hand. I tasted it as the cock that was delivering it.
When he was done I withdrew. I took my normal form. I was thumb-sized, sitting on Joren's chest. He looked down at me. I looked up at him.
"How was that," he said.
"Like being in the presence of divinity."
"You are sentimental."
"You are the divinity."
"Stop."
But his mouth was curved.
The orgy was over.
Vesper spoke for the crew.
"This is the most extraordinary realm," Vesper said. "We had orgasmic pleasure for eternity as minerals. Now we have had pleasures I do not believe any of us will have again in our lives."
He looked at Gold. Gold inclined.
"You are welcome to return," Gold said. "Whenever you choose. You have your cockrings. The route is open to you. We will be here."
The crew accepted.
Then there was something I did not expect.
Cockper transformed.
He had been on my shoulder throughout — small, copper, happy, his face appearing and disappearing as he watched. Now he stepped off my shoulder. He grew. The copper of him extended and reshaped. He took the form of a human. Full crew-size. Made entirely of copper — every part of him gleaming, his face copper, his hands copper, his cock copper. He was a complete man in copper form.
He could not speak. He never could. But he stood there, in human shape, for a long moment. The crew stared.
Joren was the first to react.
"Hello, Cockper," Joren said.
Cockper's copper face nodded. His expression — for the first time, fully visible in human-scale features — was mischievous.
He did not stay long. He stood for a few breaths, let the crew see him, then collapsed back into his small blob form. He hopped back onto my shoulder. His face appeared and disappeared.
"That was new," Garrick said.
The crew was silent for a moment, then they laughed. The orgy was officially over. Cockper had provided the punctuation.
We slept.
When we woke, Cockper was at the centre of the space. Spinning slowly. Just spinning. He had extended his copper arms — long this time, longer than before.
We understood what was about to happen.
We said goodbye to the stone people. Gold first. Then the smaller darker mineral. Then the others. The salt being. The granite being. The five tending entities — Obsidian, the ice being, Labradorite, the uranium being, the helium being. Each one was touched briefly.
"You will come back," Gold said. "When the source is found. When we are needed. We will be here."
"Yes," Joren said.
We took our places. Cockper spun faster. The copper arms reached out further. Each one ending in a triangular handle — the shape they had been the first time we had come in. Joren took one. Lirael took one. Vesper took one. Garrick took one. I took one.
The spinning accelerated. The sphere formed. The sphere expanded. The mirror surfaces. The disembodiment.
We passed through. Materials. Light. The collective moment of being everything.
Then back. The sphere narrowed. The forms reassembled. We were standing somewhere.
I looked around.
We were at the bulge mountain, outside, at the entrance where we had come in.
The world was normal. The sky was the sky. The mountain was the mountain. The bulge shape — Garrick's work — stood above us as it had at the start.
I checked my cock. The cockring was on. I checked my body. I was thumb-sized — back to my normal scale. I was in the nest, against Joren's skin. He had put me there during the transition.
I looked at the others. Vesper checked his lapis thumb — still there. Joren checked his carnelian toe — still there. Each of us checked the new tooth with our tongue. All present.
The cockrings were still on. The mineral gifts were still mineral. The tooth-network was real.
We stood at the cave entrance.
We did not start walking immediately. We sat down at the cave entrance to recover and think about what came next.
We sat in a loose circle on the open ground a short distance from the mountain face. The sky was clear. The sun was low. The light was warm.
Joren was the first to speak.
"The Elven realm," he said. "We have Pisson's tooth. We have what they have been waiting for. We need to think about how we want to arrive."
"Through the eastern road," Vesper said. "It is the most direct."
"How many days."
"Six, maybe seven. The road goes around the southern hills before it reaches the border."
"The ordination is when," Lirael asked.
"The Elven King told me before we left, it would be set for whenever we arrive," Vesper said. "They have been holding the date for us. We arrive, they ordain."
Joren nodded. He was working through the order of things. He had been quiet through most of the orgy and the goodbye and he was using the quiet now to think.
"We give Pisson the tooth at the ordination," he said. "Not before. The tooth replaces one of his teeth — that is what Gold said. We do not want that happening in the middle of a meal or a corridor. It happens at the ceremony where everyone can see what it means."
"Agreed," I said.
Then the first shard fell.
I heard it before I saw it. A small high sound — like a piece of glass dropping onto stone. I looked. A few paces from where Lirael was sitting, a sliver of crystal lay on the ground. Small. Blue-tinged. Sharp on every edge. It had not been there a moment before.
"What was that," Garrick said.
Another one fell. This one landed closer to Vesper. Then another, further away. Then one fell on Lirael's shoulder.
Lirael flinched.
A thin line of blood opened along the side of his neck where the shard had grazed him. The shard fell into his lap. He picked it up between his fingers. It was about the size of a small fingernail. It was the same colour as the Watchers had been in the between-space.
"This is what was in the rocks," Lirael said. "Same material."
Then more started to fall.
Not many at first. One every few seconds. Then several at once. They were coming down from above us — straight down, not at an angle, as if they were being dropped from directly overhead. There was no cloud in the sky. There was nothing above us that could be producing them. They were just appearing in the air above and falling.
I looked at the mountain entrance behind us. The bulge mountain. Its opening was closed.
There was nowhere to take shelter.
The ground around us was open in every direction. The mountain at our backs was solid rock. The road ahead was open. There were no trees nearby. There was no overhang.
Another shard hit Garrick's wrist. He grunted. A small cut opened. He pulled his hand in.
"Together," Joren said. "Now. All of us. Closer."
We moved. We pulled together into a tight group — the five of us standing in a circle, shoulders almost touching, Cockper on my shoulder.
"The clothing," Joren said. "Holta's gift. Push intent outward. Now."
We did.
I pushed. I felt the others push at the same time. Intent moved between us like a shared current. Fabric stirred at every hem. Warmth gathered at the sides of my bodysuit. Petals spun outward from my suit. Leather strips unwound from Garrick's cloak. Silk and linen plaited together above our heads. Layer built on layer until a living roof stretched over us.
The canopy formed.
It closed above us and around us — a dome of woven fabric from all five garments. The fabric was thick. The fabric was warm. The fabric held.
Outside the canopy, the shards started to fall harder.
A few at first. Then many. Then it was a constant sound — high and clinking and angry — as crystal hit the ground all around us. The ground beyond the edge of the canopy was filling with shards. The shards were piling up. Some were small. Some were larger now — the size of a thumbnail, the size of a finger joint. They were coming down faster.
I watched through a small gap in the weave near my shoulder.
The ground around our feet was a layer of crystal. The shards were not just falling — they were hitting other shards already on the ground and shattering further. The sound was constant. The sound was loud.
Then the rain became cataclysmic.
The shards came down so fast and so hard that the ground beyond the canopy seemed to be exploding. Every patch of bare dirt was being torn up. Every small stone was being struck. The crystal layer was building over the dirt. The air outside the canopy was filling with crystal dust where shards were shattering on impact.
A large shard — the size of a hand — landed directly above us. It hit the canopy.
The canopy held.
The shard slid off the curved roof and fell to the side. The fabric did not tear.
Another large one. Then another. The roof of the canopy was being struck continuously now. The fabric stayed intact.
"It works," Vesper said. His voice was steady. "It actually works."
"Holta said it would," Lirael said.
We stood in the circle. We did not move. The shards continued to fall. The sound outside was deafening. The ground around us was being destroyed. The canopy held.
I felt the warmth of the others around me. Joren's arm was against my back. Garrick's against Joren's. Lirael and Vesper closing the circle. Cockper pressed against my neck.
"This is not weather," Joren said.
"No," Vesper said. "Weather does not look like this."
"What is it then."
Vesper did not answer for a moment. He was watching the shards fall outside. He was thinking.
"It is the same material as the patches," he said finally. "Same as what Spark carries. Same as the Watchers."
"Yes."
"And it is falling now. Here. The moment we left."
"Yes."
Vesper looked at Joren.
"This is a response," Vesper said. "To what we did in the realm. Something is angry. Something is trying to stop us."
Joren nodded slowly.
"We hit something," he said. "Something noticed."
Outside, the storm of shards continued. The ground was buried under a layer of crystal that grew thicker by the minute. The air was full of the sound of falling and shattering.
We stood in the circle.
The light began to dim. It was not the canopy — the canopy was translucent enough that we could see the colour of the sky through it. The sky was going from afternoon to evening. The sun was setting somewhere beyond the storm. We were going to be here for the night.
"We are not walking anywhere tonight," Joren said.
"No," Garrick said.
"We sleep here. Inside this."
"Agreed."
We did not have to ask the canopy to change. As soon as we decided to stay, it began to change on its own.
The walls of the canopy lowered slightly. The space inside became more enclosed. The fabric at the ground level thickened. Then the floor changed — soft cushions began to grow out of the woven base. Mattresses, formed of compressed silk and linen, rose where each of us was about to lie down. Each one was sized for the person it was for. Pillows took shape at the head of each mattress. A small low table appeared at the centre with what looked like a basin of water on it.
Vesper stared at it.
"Are you joking," Vesper said.
We all looked at him.
"We have been sleeping on rocks and tree roots and the bare ground for weeks," Vesper said. "Weeks. For nothing. This is what they gave us in the Lesbian Realm and we have just been *not using it* every single night because we did not realise it could do this. We slept on stones. We slept on a forest floor with insects in it. We slept on the cold ground at the foot of a cliff. *Every night* we could have had this. We are ridiculous. We have been ridiculous for weeks."
"We needed a storm of crystal shards to discover our own gift," Lirael said.
"Yes. That is what I am saying."
"We are very intelligent," Vesper said.
"Yes."
Joren laughed. It was a small laugh. The first laugh since the orgy.
"We are tired," Joren said. "We can be ridiculous later. We sleep now."
We did.
Each of us went to our mattress. They were as soft as anything I had ever lain on. The pillow was the right firmness. The blanket — the canopy had produced a blanket as well, somehow, for each bed — was the right weight.
I curled into my full size form next to Joren. He pulled me close. Cockper pressed against my neck on the side away from Joren.
Outside the canopy, the shards kept falling. The sound was constant. The ground beyond our shelter was probably knee-deep in crystal by now.
Nobody spoke much. Not after this. Not while the storm was making the sound it was making. The shards were not weather. The shards were a message. Something out there had been watching what we did in the realm and was angry now.
The bodies in the canopy were tired. The bodies were tense. The bodies wanted to be close to each other without anything else happening. We had not had a night like this in a long time.
"I do feel," Vesper said, "that whatever is trying to kill us deserves to know we are lying on the best mattress any of us has ever slept on. It seems only fair."
Joren put his hand on my back.
"We are safe," he said. "In here. We are safe."
"Yes."
"Sleep."
We would deal with it in the morning.
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