Aion of Olympio Ch. 01

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.