CONTENT: A naked muscleteen's psychedelic, mystical romp through space. A tale of intrigue, revenge and trying not to cum.
Huge muscles, huge dicks, voluntary and involuntary chastity, sexy space-magic, femdom (no straight sex).
== 1 -- Aion Arisen ==
The sleep pod's sheet petals opened like a blooming rose, releasing muscleteen Aion into the dorm room of barren, gray concretanium.
Glistening with somnic nutrient gel on his light brown skin, Aion's 175 centimeter (5'9'') frame showed the most aesthetic amount of muscle achievable through chimera serum, eight hours at the gymnasium a week, and the grace of the arc.
His mohawk and brows were cobalt blue and the only hair on him. A large septum ring, glinting in the same blue color, brushed against his upper lip.
His dick was semi-soft, its 25 centimeter (10'') length hanging nearly between his knees. His hand could barely close around its girth. On the smaller side. His dick skin was taut, not only lacking a foreskin but any `excess' that would have made masturbation easy.
He launched into a high-speed burpee routine while waiting for other pods to unfold. Cassius, his pod-neighbor stayed asleep, but three other adonises awoke.
Aion began to get politely erect in their presence.
His dick reached to just below his uppermost abs segments when hard. By the grace of the arc, doing exercise erect was no issue. The muscles at the penis root kept his rod effortlessly stable and pressed to his sharp abs.
"Morning, cock-slut," Aion said once his wake-up routine was done. "Who the fuck won?"
Tarquin spanked Aion's ass. "Put on the fucking reruns if you're so curious, cunt."
Tarquin was 22, which made a serious difference in muscle mass, compared to a teen like Aion. The muscleman's color -- mohawk, brows and nose ring -- was burgundy.
A tattoo on Tarquin's neck seemed like abstract lines at first but clearly indicated a Heron, symmetrically on both sides of the throat. Another mark on him was a smoothrush constellation across his lower abs -- a shimmering splash of prismatic color, underlying a set of twinkling stars, granting his motions fluency.
Aion's traveling order was the Robins, a stylized tattoo of the bird decorating both sides of his own neck. He wore no constellations.
The Heron hunk focused to request a vision. The far wall became a lifelike image of a leg-wrestling pit where two oiled adonises with immense legs and nearly matching upper bodies rolled over each other to the cheers of a hundred nude hunks.
Tarquin was tackled by Cornelio, a 25 year old Crow with a bulking but fatless frame. His mohawk, brows and thick septum ring's gleam were of a sandy yellow.
"Let me show you those fucking moves, cock-slut," Cornelio said, "before the somnic gel is dry as balls."
Tarquin laughed. "Yes, sir."
The hunks rolled on the ground, getting hard with their 30 centimeter (1') dicks touching their top abs, unlike the semi-soft wrestlers in the projection.
Aion felt a few fingers slip into his hole and jiggle. The force of 22 days without orgasm hit Aion in the center of his being. He groaned without meaning to. His dick automatically went ten percent softer to prevent discharge.
He turned his head with a grin to see his fellow Robin, Gordian. The taller 19 year old was maybe 10 kilos (22lbs) behind Aion as a muscleteen, but wore the slimmer physique well. His 27 centimeter (11'') hardon pointed straight ahead.
Gordian the Robin glistened with somnic gel. Earth-folk might have called him Asian. His shoulder-long mohawk unstuck itself from his scalp as he dried.
Gordian's hair color was a striking arctic blue, but his septum ring was clear as glass, lacking a gleam -- a shameful indicator of the teen-adonis' failings.
"Quick morning fuck, cuntboy?"
Aion rolled his eyes at the taller muscleteen. "You aren't even doing morning cardio and shit, jizzer? Just indulgent as balls, huh?"
Gordian stepped aside with a shrug and let his rod slap against his abs. "Who the fuck said anything about indulging? Not gonna fag first thing in the morning."
Cornelio pulled Tarquin into a spladle just as the winning wrestler in the vision did the same to his inferior.
Tarquin's legs remained straight as they were spread wide, pinned by Cornelio's even thicker legs and arms. With Tarquin's dick nearly at his face, the hunk gave his own slit a kiss. Cornelio's dick poked him in the face from the side.
The losing wrestler in the vision had his hole right at the camera, little more than his ass and his grimacing face visible. The athletes broke apart, the winner getting full points for the spladle finisher.
"Need a fuck, sir?" Gordian asked. "No fagging."
Tarquin chuckled even in his contorted position. "You say that shit every fucking time and then it's like `oh no, sir, I fagged, total accident'. Hehe."
Aion felt a drop of lube run down his inner thigh. His anal glands had been stimulated by the fingering. "Ugh, fuck. Hey Gordian, you got a minute until those whores are ready. Hand me my shit."
Gordian opened Aion's metal casket and handed the muscleteen his cobalt blue nipple studs.
Aion laid down and pulled his legs up. With his flexibility he could easily bring his toes to the ground beside his head while the arctic blue Robin sank his 27 centimeter (11'') into Aion's eager guts. The muscleteen was easily able to take the fellow Robin's girth by the grace of the arc.
Aion let his dick point straight up and Gordian gave the precum-drizzling head a few licks to clean it. But the older teen-adonis knew Aion was a `cunt' -- a male who preferred the pure anal experience.
Cornelio put on his own jewelry from his casket. A silver wrist chain and a thin circlet with a memoria gem to enhance his recall. Tarquin plaited his burgundy mohawk, keeping in down with a few subtle pins. He put on an echo pip -- a little black ear stud in his helix that made it as easy as walking past him to know Tarquin hadn't cummed in 158 days.
The rainbow hued membrane overlaying the entrance went transparent as four hunks checked in. The naked, erect dorm mates greeted the present company and chose from the open pods.
Aion nodded at the calls of `Hey, cunt'.
He pushed Gordian away.
"Hey," the taller Robin said as he slipped out. "I wasn't going to fag. We can keep going another fucking minute."
"Times up, jizzer. Not fucking risking it." Aion brought his legs down and leaped to a stand. He grabbed some hairpins and the four adonises headed out while their newly arrived dorm mates sank into the pods.
From "Testament of the Creed-Bound":
What proud man would obscure his frame, would hide behind layers of falsehoods, would cover his throbbing erection? Celebrate the gleam of ecstasy, soak in the gazes, suck your cock.
The quartet emerged onto a terrace, twenty floors above the streets of the Jove habitat.
Pale concretanium walls of tall, slender buildings were tinged in rainbow hues from the nacreous nebulae and halos of the cosmic welkin their spindly roofs pointed toward. The three largest suns of the Olympio system cast their rays against the backdrop of stars, bluntly visible in daylight by the grace of the arc.
Hot wind brought shimmering sparks from transmundane processing furnaces across the habitat, drifting as large, immaterial flecks.
Pearly liquid pumped in arching pipes like giant, transparent blood vessels running along buildings.
A constant stream of musclemen drifted along terraces and toward the streets. All naked, all erect. Internal blood-reflow allowed for indefinite, painless hardons.
The dorm mates pressed into a glass elevator and were ferried down.
Aion fiddled with his hair, looking at his reflection in the mirrored elevator doors where Cornelio and Tarquin had a flex-off.
Gordian slipped a quarter of his cock into Aion's ass. "Let me help with that, cunt."
The Robin with a clear, unlit nose ring had tied his arctic mohawk into what could barely be called a braid but he knew how to plait the younger muscleteen's mohawk.
Aion let him work and lightly fuck his ass. Meanwhile Aion put on his only jewelry -- a little, dangling aestas gem on a silver ear ring that cast a warmer tint over his cool-undertoned skin and drew subtly shaper shadows on the cuts of his abs.
Arriving at ground level, Gordian slipped out of Aion's ass and gave the bottom's dickhead a lick. Again, the force of 22 days without cumming - which wasn't exactly impressive -- made itself known and Aion gave his fellow Robin a kick in the ass as they left onto the street.
Gordian grinned. "On edge?"
"Fag you," Aion said with no bite.
His dick automatically softened ten percent, to prevent discharge. Orgasms only occurred voluntarily. It would have been so easy to will it...
Aion gave the older, smirking teen-adonis another kick for good measure.
The street was narrow and not much light reached the bottom between towers. Mirrors lined nearly every wall, slightly upturned to reflect the iridescent light of the cosmic welkin and the prismatic orbs on strings between buildings. Where the concretanium peaked through between mirrors, bright splashes of neon rust confused the eye with blurs of unreality.
Aion flexed his biceps at the mirrors, proudly seeing the cobalt blue of his nose ring.
Passing through a golden circle, the group merged into the pearly liquid of a flux stream -- the pipes that ran along buildings like veins. Flushed as pseudo-spatial foam, the adonises arrived at the Alpheus Forum within two seconds without so much as a perception of acceleration.
Framed by the tallest buildings on the habitat, the sky was wide open here, the three fragmentary moons Holofern A, B and C and their trails of fractured ore blinking above.
Musclemen hung out, walked between stalls, or licked each other's cocks.
House-sized Brains perched on their long black stems, forever analyzing, a few cables running along their meaty folds.
One Brain found time to give the new arrivals an observation.
Aion's body froze standing in place, while his mind was scoured. To ensure cooperation, the muscleteen got distracted with an absolutely realistic delusion.
As if Aion was right there, he saw, heard, smelled and felt a luscious ass, bend over, with a huge erection hanging underneath. It was getting wrecked by a massive cock, easily 37 centimeter (1'3''). The top cummed, squirting cups of jizz that exploded from the bottom's ass. At the same time the bottom cannoned a nearly continuous stream.
It was incredibly hot to so closely experience a lack of discipline. The top had fagged -- shot his cum into a dude's ass -- and the bottom had void-jizzed -- shot his cum without even penetrating anyone. Pure debauchery.
Both dude's faces were at the edge of the delusion's awareness but their nose rings turned from their chosen color to a pure white gleam to indicate their sins.
Aion recognized the bottom, Boreas, a Starling teen-adonis he'd met before. And Boreas was a hetero, so he probably didn't even know his shameful experience was an observation-delusion.
Aion's world snapped back into place. He flung drool off his chin. His dick had cautiously gone down to 90% hard and quickly rose again, leaking precum like he was pissing.
He arched his torso and sucked himself clean.
Next to him, the others got observed a few seconds longer, slack jawed and cross eyed. They were getting delusions of dancing women or, if they were lucky, a close up of two pussies rubbing on each other.
On regaining control, Tarquin flexed his abs rhythmically and bobbed to unheard sounds. Aion sent a mental request to be looped into the local audio projection, too. The forum's Brain had picked something rhythmic and generically upbeat for today. The Robin muscleteen walk-danced along.
Hydration across the Olympio system was taken care of by the grace of the arc, or more specifically, endo-vital circulation diffusers. And that hydration had made it through the hunks' bodies.
They weren't the only ones. The absorption-mat was crammed and the four dudes dance-squeezed in between a dozen loosely congregating musclemen to piss.
Erections were no obstacle. Aion stepped between a Pigeon and a Starling, both taller than himself, excessively muscular and pissing in high arcs.
Tarquin pushed him farther into the crowd. Aion and Gordian crouched down, leg on leg and bent forward a bit to piss clear, hard rays at each other. Tarquin rained on them. The absorption-mat always splashed more than it sucked in, initially.
The over-muscled Starling, buzzed mohawk and nose ring in bubble gum pink, let his 30 centimeter (1') dick point straight ahead and practically battered Aion with a hard ray. The muscleteen glanced up and saw the fuck-mark on the man's chest -- a subtle but central, bubble gum pink strip tattoo.
He glanced at the muscleman's echo pip, which was a tiny silver nub in his earlobe, to see 212 days without orgasm. Pretty decent run, especially having earned a fuck-mark.
"Fuck-master," Aion said. "Cuntboy at your service."
"Need your guts wrecked?" the hunk asked, pissing at the teen-adonis. "I got a minute."
"Cumshot," Aion agreed. "I'm Aion."
"I'm Thoas," the Starling responded.
Gordian grinned. "So we've got time as balls. Enough to get an omicron?"
Aion rolled his eyes. "Fag you. I should have fucking known. Not going to be your fucking treat, is it?"
The teen-adonis with a clear nose ring made puppy eyes. "Just a little favor for your favorite jizzer, cuntboy, sir?"
Aion loaded the request for a tiny money transfer and felt the tickle at the tip of his tongue. The two dorm mates leaned into each other and slowly swirled their tongues around. Money transferred.
Gordian left for a vending machine, while Aion, Tarquin, Cornelio and now Thoas squeezed their dicks and sucked their own slits dry while they walked toward the forum's stalls.
They came to stand between a wing rental where shimmering wing-sets from angelic to demonic, from realistic to abstract were purchasable for a flight.
Pink and yellow pixies circled neon pillars until they were needed to put wings on somebody, the air behind their phantomic bodies wobbling with the struggle of unreality.
Cornelio and Tarquin fucked each other, standing pecs on pecs, their dicks comfortably sliding deep into each other's asses. Aion stood with his back to his new friend and got the full length of wrist-thick rod pumped into him at the rhythm of Brain-selected music. Pleasure rolled through his body and a squirt of his own precum splattered onto his neck.
Thoas had one large hand gripping the teen-adonis' cobalt blue mohawk, the other giving gentle rubs to the bottom's dickhead, rockhard in front of his uppermost abs.
Right before them, beyond the loose stream of hunks shopping around, was a billboard, projected onto the side of a building. An enormous likeness of massive, ripped thighs took up the screen. They quivered as a silver sounding rod was gently wiggled into the 30 centimeter (1') dick between them.
Even before the view zoomed out, Aion recognized the legs.
"Fan of Urban, sir?" the muscleteen asked.
"Wrestling's not my sport, boy," Thoas said, but looked with interest at Urban's edgy face, grimacing with sounding pleasure. The background of the ad was a sequence of Urban's recent victories, pulling hunk after hunk into spladles before a thousand cheering dudes.
"What the fuck is your sport then?"
Thaos chuckled. "Don't jizz about it, cunt. You'll see in a second."
Gordian returned from the vending machine with two plastilium packs full of gold flakes.
Aion opened his, slapped the flakes onto his chest and turned the empty packaging. There was a trick to it... Ah, here. Fractal patterns rippled through the plastilium.
Some things were created 2.9-dimensional, taking up slightly less than the full three dimensions in space. Those fractal item could be folded in a way that put their `missing' part on top, vanishing them altogether.
The packaging dissolved into a geometric flash, leaving behind a little blob of fading transmundane sparks.
Meanwhile, the omicron patches had drifted into a symmetrical, configuration of patches across his body, like a light smattering of gold. He couldn't tell exactly where his aestas-gem-tanned skin was getting smoothed, but any irregularities would be vanishing now. Kind of a waste of money. His last omicron patch hadn't been a whole month ago and he didn't tend to get pimples.
A different teen-adonis, a Warbler going by the neck tats, with a narrow physique, studs in his nipples and a blue glacies gem on a biceps-band, swaggered their way. His hair and brows were a light gray, so it wasn't immediately apparent that his septum ring's gleam wasn't in his color -- but a mere even white.
In the Olympio system, a dude's nose ring ruled his life.
If it was clear, with no light shining within, this muscleman had been "Indulgent" -- recently having cummed without permission.
After 72 hours, the ring turned glowing white, marking the hunk as "Potent". A potent dude enjoyed many basic privileges but could not be chosen for mating.
Another week later -- for a full 10 days -- the ring turned the "Disciplined" muscleman's chosen color. Many establishments and jobs required a disciplined status.
Cumming reduced the indicator by a step, so if Aion had cummed he'd been merely reduced to potent and after a week he'd been back to disciplined. Not that he planned to sink that low.
The `potent' newcomer wore a thin leather strip around his right thigh, from which black paddles dangled.
"Ah," Aion said. "Quogball match, fuck-master?"
"Cumshot," Thoas agreed and pulled out.
Aion went to his knees from the lightning strike of pleasure. He groped Thoas' ass while the hunk gave the potent teen-adonis a nipple squeeze. The Warbler in turn leaned down and gave the Starling's wet rod a brief suck.
"Those hunks joining for a fucking match?" the newcomer with the paddles asked.
"Don't know," Thoas said. "Cunt, you busy?"
"Afraid so, sir." Aion rose and gave the muscleman's hard glutes another grope. "Good fucking luck to your ass."
"He'll need it," the potent Warbler said. "My ass didn't take a single fucking hit last game."
"I went easy on you, bitchboy." Thaos flexed at the muscleteen. "Don't get fucking cocky."
The Warbler flexed back. Their dicks bumped into each other. "A fuckworthy hunk is always cocky as balls."
Thaos chuckled. "When I'm done with you, bitchboy, you'll be fagging yourself."
Aion sent a request to the Brains to ping him if Thaos was ever close by and available within the next three months.
The Quogball players left and the dorm mate group broke apart. The older ones had an appointment, while the younger were going for breakfast first. But few doors were open to the indulgent, so Gordian couldn't even join Aion for a meal unless the disciplined teen-adonis was willing to gulp down dry slop.
"Little donation for a fucking bite," Gordian said, his arm around Aion's waist.
"You already got a fucking donation'," Aion said. "I'm not seeing that omicron patch money again, jizzer. And what the fuck happened to sir'?"
Gordian gave his fellow Robin's dick a rub with the back of his fingers. "I know you don't like formalities, cunt."
"I'm saving up and shit. Sorry."
Gordian licked up the cum on Aion's neck. The disciplined muscle-teen pushed the indulgent one away. "Yeah yeah, okay. Request it."
Gordian kissed Aion's dick as another shot of precum squirted out. Aion okayed the dick-to-tongue money transfer, so Gordian had a slightly fancier meal ahead of himself.
At the edge of the forum, where a dozen flux pipes lead to and fro', the duo stepped into a devouring basin. It was a gold-rimmed pool of bright white smoke as cold as ice. It reflected the iridescent interstellar clouds overhead and the neon sheen from pillars and mirrors around.
The ice bath had the viscosity of a thick gel, despite looking like mere fog, and sucked every bit of dry sweat, cum and other things off Aion's skin and from his hair. He took a quick dive and emerged the other side freezing and clean.
He said goodbye to his indulgent friend with a slap on the back and a kiss -- no money transferred - and stepped into the pearly liquid of a flux stream, already warming back up.
Chants of the Arcana, verse 29:
The Arc whispered into the ears of the first queens, and they told the traveling orders of their new home among the shining skies. And soon the ships fell upon stone, and stone was ground to dust, and into dust the queens breathed life and light.
Aion's form coalesced from the pearly flux liquid at the Jove transit hub. With the blinding suns before the cosmic welkin straight ahead, Aion squinted at the iridescent clouds where immense ribbons of gleaming emerald green arched toward other habitats, even the closest hardly more than a glint in a quarter lightyear distance.
The golden, onion domed spires of mile long transporter vessels rose around the station at various docks, transmundane sparks settling around them. The air was thick with dry heat.
Aion jogged to his breakfast spot, hard cock effortlessly stable against his abs.
Aletheia's Tongue was a simple `hole in the wall' with an amazing view of the surrounding station. The soap-bubble-like membrane across the doorway only let disciplined hunks in.
The strong shine of the nacreous cosmos was dampened by tinted windows, warm lighting supplementing the atmosphere. A corner bar, three tables, six patrons.
The bar's back wall was all glass with a view on the gold onion domes of docked transport spires.
The wall opposite the bar was wholly a live-projection of a Flareball match, making it feel like the arena was right there. Three oil-slick hunks with blue wristbands and three in red all slammed into each other, trying to herd hovering flares into their goal area in the highest-scoring patterns. The flare's glints cast rainbow rays into the bar.
Pandion was here.
The 33 year old of the order of Herons was 2 meters (6'7'') tall with black skin. His muscles were well balanced, but with his pecs and ass his biggest features. He was potent, septum ring white. His plaited mohawk and eyebrows were purple. The multicolored clouds and stars of a raysong constellation twinkled his right shoulder and bicep.
The tall, black hunk hadn't seen the Robin yet, his back to the door.
Aion smirked to himself and requested to be looped into the area's soundtrack.
With hypnotic, ethereal dance in his mind's ears, the teen-adonis snuck up on Pandion at the bar, and gave him a hard slap on the ass.
Pandion whirled around, enraged. He gave the muscleteen a shove as he realized who it was, then pulled him back in by the neck.
They crashed into a kiss. Aion's hands wandered the black pecs. Pandion's 28 centimeter (11'') erection swung as the muscleman twisted on his seat and left a trail of precum on Aion's abs.
"Sup, cuntboy?" Pandion greeted.
Aion admired the three purple, shimmering marks on Pandion's upper chest. He'd already seen the three fuck-marks between the hunk's shoulder blades when sneaking up, but now he was officially acknowledging them.
"You fucked again, sir?" the muscleteen asked.
Pandion flexed his pecs. "Honorable Lady Marcia wanted me back again, cunt."
Aion laughed. "I wish Gordian wasn't such a fagger so I could have brought him to fucking see this shit."
"I'll hit Gordian up if I see him at the fucking beach. He'll probably be void-jizzing there was always, haha."
The teen-adonis bent down and gave the black rod a lick from the base to the head. He met Pandion's eyes. "So, I guess I'll call you `fuck-master' for now but..." The younger gestured at the elder's nose ring. "How the fuck did you mess this shit up?"
Anytime a male was `invited' by a woman, he got to cum without his status dropping. Hetero sex didn't count as indulgence. Each fuck-mark a man carried indicated he had fucked in the last 30 days -- after which the mark faded. Seeing a whole three marks was not common.
Pandion shrugged. "Got excited as balls. Forgot how to behave."
Often, hunks who fucked got a little too enthusiastic. Pandion would have to wait until he was disciplined again to be chosen anew, and he had surely dropped off the recommendations list, so Lady Marcia would probably move on from him.
A fucker outranked a non-fucker, but disciplined hunks outranked potent ones. Aion was being nice by keeping the formalities. He gave the dickhead a tongue-swirl.
"Wanna sit on it, cunt?" Pandion asked and sat back on his bar stool.
Aion hopped onto the muscleman's lap, back toward the hunk, ass raised and self-lubricating.
He looked at the shake of gray sludge on the bar. "And what the fuck are you swallowing, fuck-master?"
Pandion lined up his erection with the teen-adonis' ass. "Steak. Wanna?"
"Not much of a breakfast food," Aion said. His anal glands were lubricating everything from his sphincter inward at the light pressure and Pandion got to slide in.
The muscleman groaned and shivered as he pushed Aion all the way down on his cock, kneading the muscleteen's pecs. They stayed still, Aion flexing his guts for a light dick massage. His own tool nodded with every flex.
A pale, wide shouldered Parakeet approached. He was disciplined, his nose ring as green as his thin mohawk braid that hung across his shoulder. He was marked as an employee of Aletheia's Tongue by the echo pip on his brow that said as much, along with his name, his 56 days without orgasm, and his status as an ass-whore -- preferring to receive penetration but not as much as a full-fledged cunt.
56 wasn't enough to bother putting on an echo pip outside of a service job. Nothing under 100 was. Aion felt uncomfortably reminded of his mere 22.
"And the fuck can I get you, bitch-boy?" the waiter asked.
Aion ordered and let his dick drop forward a little to let the waiter more easily kiss it for the payment transfer. He quickly got a shake of gray sludge and a psy-bulb on a stem. Same as Pandion.
The psy-bulb was a fist sized assembly of mercury-like blobs, shifting as they made contact with Aion's mind.
Before his tongue tasted the nutrient shake, the bulb wobbled to life. The muscleteen tasted fruit salad, honey-dipped croissant and crispy xeno-chick wings. Smell, texture, feeling, all indistinguishable from the real thing.
A high end establishment like this didn't just offer delusions for taste, however. Aion checked what visions were available for homos.
Two Pigeon adonises with contrasting skin tones making sweet, slow love doggystyle on black leatherglass sheets. Merely okay. A muscleteen Owl with legs far apart fucking himself with his own dick bent past his balls. Solo-humiliation wasn't really Aion's style.
Then he found a vision of the waiter's last orgasm, on his back with his feet next to his head, while two hunks double-penetrated his ass. Cute. He left that one running in his mind's eye.
It wasn't an all-consuming delusion. It felt more like he was imagining the sight vividly. A hallucination that left him present at the bar.
Pandion grunted. "Did you hear about the shit that happened to fucking Lucan?"
"No. What has that cream squirting asshole been up to?"
"Got pack-jacked."
"Shit!"
"He's fine as a jizzer," Pandion said. "Lucky the Brains didn't blacklist him since we're short on Heralds anyway. Gonna take fucking weeks to recover his memories, though. Be careful as a cumshot out there, cunt."
"Will do, fuck-master. Vigilant as balls."
In the hallucination, the waiter was jizzing buckets into his own face. Not even in anyone's ass, just void-jizzing. It was so humiliating, most dudes wouldn't have wanted anyone to see. Maybe employees at the Tongue didn't have a choice.
Two patrons who were standing face to face, fucking each other, cheered as the red Flareball team scored 20 points with a seamless blazecurve.
With the game on break, the broadcast went to a news reel. The speaker of Jove's senate, Grand Beak Quirinio, was flanked by knights so tall their balls hung next to his face, their own faces out of frame. The speaker's plaited mohawk, nose ring and the horseshoe piercing at the tip of his 38 centimeter (1'3'') rod matched the teal of Jove's flag.
He announced that pirate queen Titania and her false traveler order had been arrested. Next to him ran footage of two dozen hunks with harpy tattoos on their necks, crammed into a cell, drooling with dead-eyed stares.
Aion downed the rest of his delicious `shake'.
"Gotta go," the muscleteen said and slipped off his friend's and former mentor's dick. "Heading to the League now, sir. I'll be just in fucking time."
His ass felt the aftereffects of having a dick pulled from it, making him quiver. He gave Pandion's pecs a slap while letting his legs find stability again.
He twisted the empty shake cup and gave it a fold along the geometric pattern. The 2.9-dimensional cup folded itself away in fractals, until it was entirely disposed of.
"If you see Gordian," Aion continued, "Don't be a bad influence on each other, hehe."
Pandion flexed his arms. "Fag you, cuntboy, I don't void-jizz."
"So you fucking lost your discipline by fagging," Aion said with a chuckle. "Not much to brag about, sir, hehe."
Pandion pulled him into a goodbye kiss and turned back to his own breakfast.
Poor pack-jacked Lucan. There wasn't anything to do but hope whoever did this would be liberated quickly -- and Aion wouldn't have a run-in with them.
From "Revelations of Queen Hestia":
How, then, is this tangle of desires resolved? And how, further, do these ideal masculine essences manifest?
To make the journey the destination, is the hallmark of an eternity-worthy existence. To create catharsis out of its asymptotic approach in perpetuity. To kindle with iron resolve a perennial flame that could be snuffed out so trivially. That is at the heart of championship.
Jove stations' most touristy area, the Concordia sub-habitat, grew as a tall arch from the main structure, its inhabited area on the arch's inside, looking `up' at Jove's industry as is sparkled with reflected iridescence and the thick, weightless particles of transmundane forge exhaust.
Gordian emerged from the winding alleyways where flux streams deposited new arrivals and stepped between low concretanium buildings onto a beach of woven crystal.
The ground slipped between his toes like sand but never stuck to his skin, never broke into chunks, shining with the rainbow hues of the cosmic welkin all around.
Black pipework at the edges of Concordia leaked viscous refuse into a lazy river that spanned the arch, pink with an opalescent sheen. Erect hunks bathed in the river or drifted on floaties. Semi-soft dicked dudes held swimming competitions.
The phantomic, semi-transparent bodies of dolphins in teal, orange and rose leaped from the river and chased each other, flying as much as swimming. The air rippled with unreality behind their air-flight. Vacationers, who'd been transformed to experience life as an ocean mammal for a bit.
Muscleteen Gordian had an hour of free time before his job at the spire docks and he intended to cum at least once. His 27 centimeter (11'') dick was edged enough to void-jizz already, but he at least wanted to fag into an ass.
Long gone were the days of the arctic blue haired teen-adonis' thousand day streaks of discipline. It was pathetic, but he didn't feel too bad about it and his spectralist hadn't found anything wrong with his animus alignment -- he was just going through a phase of many, many years.
And cumming felt so fucking good.
There were plenty of potent and even indulgent musclemen at the beach and while Gordian preferred to cum without being penetrated most of the time, he was willing to reciprocate with another fagger.
To signal his interests, he went into a light squat, let his dick semi-soften, and pushed it into his own ass. A good 15 centimeter (6'') slid into his hole and stayed well stuck.
He was horny enough to could have fagged into his own ass but frankly there was a massive gulf between being indulgent and being so humiliatingly pathetic as to self-fag. No, he was going to find some ass willing to get filled.
A Brain observed him as he wandered along the woven crystal beach, the immense, wrinkly blob making him stand frozen with paralysis and a delusion of watching two women in loose white gowns dancing.
When he came to, Gordian's dick zoomed from his ass at full hardness and slapped into his abs, flinging a shot of precum into the indulgent Robin's face.
The Brain sent him a ping, letting him know Pandion was near.
Gordian found the large, black hunk with purple as his color, but a mere potent septum ring.
"Pandion, triple fuck-master," the muscleteen greeted. "Running into you is always a cumshot."
The muscleman nodded in greeting and let his dick drop a little to point it at the younger.
Gordian went into a light squat and took as much as possible of the erection into his throat as he could, as manners demanded. Without the grace of the arc willing, taking a tool like that would have been a futile struggle of esophagus destruction.
With little retching and an encouraging hand, Gordian made it all the way down, taking the shaft in far enough for the dickhead to arrive between his lungs.
"Here to jizz again?" Pandion teased as he pulled out. "Or just some light shopping, dick-bitch?"
They stood close together, their dicks kissing, the Robin's hand caressing the Heron's arm with admiration. "What the fuck can I say, sir. Always horny as balls. But..."
Pandion grunted. "Yeah, yeah, I'm only potent. Still four fucking days to go and shit. Had my dick sucked too good after honorable lady Marcia's invitation."
Gordian chuckled and bounced on his feet. "Want more of that?"
"You're going to want to fag, aren't you, bitch?"
"Cumshot," the teen-adonis affirmed. "As fast or slow as you'd like, sir."
"Nah thanks. I have a place booked with friends. Plus, if anyone's fagging into my ass, it better be a disciplined dude."
"I'll find a different ass then, sir. Have fun as balls."
"Cumshot," Pandion said. "You too, little fagger."
They spanked each other's asses as they parted, Pandion walking toward an open air ooze club behind a black pole where a Brain perched.
The club was an arrangement of pools where honey-like, pink ooze bubbled. Bathing hunks were caressed by phantom hands of that pink pseudo-living ooze, getting their bodies and dicks pleasured -- even more so below the surface where phantom tongues worked.
In the shallower wrestling pits, hunks pulled into a spladle had their ass invaded by aggressive ooze-dick. Pandion threw himself into an ongoing wrestling orgy.
Everybody on this level was potent. If you wanted more interesting pools, you had to go to the disciplined-only area upstairs, hidden by its higher elevation and golden, gothic pillars. Gordian watched until two hunks came down the stairs. They had white nose rings, having cummed upstairs and being forced to head down.
Gordian let his eyes wander further up, to the roof where a faint silver glint let him know that women were present.
With an indulgent's salary, the muscleteen was never going to get to see that place, even if he banked ten days without orgasm to qualify, let alone be invited by a woman for a recommendation assessment.
He let his dick soften again and walked down a tunnel, into Concordia's interior.
With his dick in his ass again, Gordian wandered the narrow paths arranged in patterns beyond human comprehension, often layered on top of each other.
Illuminated in stark iridescence by pillars of radiant heat, the storefronts ran side by side. There were more unlit nose rings walking around here, some with their dicks in their ass.
Gordian came to stand in front of a custom dream store. It was as expensive pleasure but one he could get no matter his status. He pondered, while trailing the abs of passersby with his fingers.
A black centaur stepped around a corner Gordian hadn't even realized was there. The horse-hybrid walked with even but uncoordinated steps, a neutral expression on its human face, carrying bundles of white pipes on auto-pilot. The Olympio liberation emblem was on its chest and flanks.
The shimmer of unreality around it was barely noticeable.
The teen-adonis glanced into the narrow side alley, to see if there were more liberated, possibly on break.
The dark sidestreet was barely wide enough to stretch his arms in. Pipes weaved organically along the wall, nacreous puffs rising from vents to find their immaterial way to the custom dreamer.
Five liberated hunks lounged in the space before an open box of phantomic, semi-real tools. Fully bald, black nose rings, with black cups lightly fitted over the shape of their limp, shrunk packages where the liberation emblem sat.
"Awake?" Gordian asked.
"Yeah, bitch," said a liberated muscleman and extracted himself from the lazy pile. "Don't know how fucking long, though. Fuck?"
"Cumshot," Gordian agreed.
Two hunks sat up. The indulgent teen-adonis checked the mandatory echo pips on their earlobes. A Sparrow around 30, large muscles under pale skin, by the name of Ceres. A lithe Crow with brown skin named August, 20 but with a lack of muscles that made him seem a year or two younger.
"With fagging," Gordian clarified.
Ceres grunted. "Should have known, indulgent as balls dick-whore. Not so sure anymore."
August tackled the liberated elder. "Loser takes the load."
The adonises in black dick-pouches wrestled each other to the ground and groped, legs first. August's lithe physique got him the upper hand in agility and within a few seconds, Ceres' massive legs were split in a wide spladle, his ass raised at Gordian.
"Fine. Fag me up, jizzer," Ceres said, his covered limp dick flopping on his abs.
Gordian teased the Sparrow's hole with his dick, but it was already well lubed. He sank his length in, while the Crow let go of the bottom and crawled around the top to eat his ass.
Pleasured by both bald, black-ringed hunks, Gordian spent minute after minute inching closer to orgasm. The gold of his omicron patches had faded into his skin by the time he was ready to blow his load of a mere twelve hours.
He was ready to fag into liberated ass, no matter how unmanly and humiliating it was to cream a shot when he was already marked indulgent. At least Ceres the Sparrow appreciated the fuck, having no other option of sexual release but to bottom.
After about twenty times of hitting the edge', Gordian willed his dick to stay hard during the next emergency semi-softening' and intended to release with abandon.
A shadow fell over the fucking trio and the indulgent Robin twisted around, past August who was nibbling his neck.
The centaur had returned, its coat sparkling with rainbow fur to fit the beach ambiance above. Now its transmundane form took on black again, befitting the environment here.
It carried fresh pipes which likely meant-
All five liberated jolted lightly. Ceres and August extracted themselves without a word, dead-eyed and slack-jawed.
The Sparrow pulled his legs together and slipped away, Gordian's dick threatening to void-jizz at the floor. He punched the ground and let his dick soften by ten percent, only squirting an explosion of precum.
"By the grace," he mumbled, continuing to jerk himself with Ceres' anal lubricant.
The liberated went back to work with spectral and more substantial tools, ready to install conduits in accordance with whatever design beyond human comprehension these systems ran on.
"Better find a new ass, bitchboy," a voice said behind the teen-adonis, "before you splash the load where my good night's getting pumped out."
Gordian rose, letting his dick point at the speaker who had just come from the custom dream shop.
A maroon haired hunk, septum ring clear. The mohawk was in a tight plait, the jaw edgy with a neck so short his Warbler tattoo wasn't immediately obvious.
He had dick piercings along the shaft and the multicolored shimmer of a darelove constellation tattoo across the right pec. Darelove could make him valiant enough to withstand the temptations of indulgence, or courageous enough to live a hedonistic life without minding the consequences. His nose ring said it all.
Gordian spread his arms. "Fag for fag?"
The maroon Warbler let his own 32 centimeter (1'1'') drop to point straight at the Robin. "Anything but void-jizzing. Homo?"
Gordian shook his head. "Full hetero."
"Cumshot," the muscleman said. "Just how the fuck I like them."
"You?"
"As homo as they come, but no cunt."
They collided. The teen-adonis was just a bit shorter. One hand roaming each other's torsos, the other opening each other's holes, they made out as they scuffled out of the alleyway where the liberated banged on metal.
Passersby trailer Gordian's ass and shoulder blades. Even his dickhead, now that his rod poked out between the stranger's legs.
Mutual squatting. Their dicks slid past each other and found a hole each. They fell into a hump-rhythm, fucking each other.
The dick piercings were a beautiful addition to the sex, rendering the Robin's pleasure a magnitude greater.
"You'll be my second load today," the Warbler said. "Made a disciplined dude shoot from a suckjob. Took an hour of throat-work but then he couldn't hold back."
"Hot as balls," Gordian said.
"He let me fag as a favor after. Didn't get him to drop from potent."
"I rarely make it that fucking far."
"Me the fuck too," the stranger said. "Afraid of the consequences?" He gave a nod toward the dim alley.
"Cumshot," Gordian agreed, "but that only makes it hotter. Uuuhh, I could fag now."
"Give me ten..."
"Fuck... gonna jizz... gonna..."
The strangers face contorted. "R-ready..."
"I'm gonna faaaaaaggg uuuuhhhh."
He willed his erection to stay. His voice turned into a crying whimper. Orgasm hit him with a strength only made possible by the grace of the arc.
Cum exploded from their spread guts, rushing in blobs down their balls and thighs.
They sank into an embrace, breathing hard and quivering.
The stranger broke the hug first. He gave the muscleteen a pat on the shoulder. "You'd make a good cunt."
They took two steps apart and their dicks slipped out of each other's holes with cum gushing forth again.
Semi-hard, Gordian sent a request for the location of the nearest devouring basin. A nearby cross-section where five paths met. He'd clean up, then spend his remaining morning lounging in the pink lazy river, then he'd-
His world turned into a lifelike scene of pussy getting licked. For a moment he was blissfully in the presence of a women.
A Brain had observed him just ahead of the basin. The muscleteen could see the house-sized organ in its black net of cables under the cross-section's domed ceiling.
Gordian stayed still as if the paralysis hadn't worn off, getting absentmindedly groped by passing hunks.
He loved getting scrutinized by the Brains almost any time, even if being indulgent carried a small risk, but right now was... unfortunate.
"Shit," he mumbled, dick throbbing back to a full erection, slapping his abs.
He'd figured, maybe this time he'd save up, become potent at least, enjoy some privileges.
Now all he wanted was to cum again. Fuck, he was so horny, he could have fagged himself, which was crazy enough to let him know he was losing it.
Maybe he could just sneak into a private place and unload. If he void-jizzed into his mouth, only the Brains would know.