Aion of Olympio Ch. 01

A tale of intrigue, revenge, huge cocks and trying not to cum.

== 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.