Aion of Olympio Ch. 03

"Fuck," Maximus groaned, "brain overloaded and shit. Gotta write all this down for the boys."

He crawled, then walked, to fish the sizzle-disk from up high. Red lines oozed from the deforming oval. Gold particles drifted from Maximus' eyes to the red threads. "Sorry to kick you the fuck out, cunt, but if that's all..."

"Gotcha. Not gonna jizz about it. Bye, sir."

The two liberated dudes who'd brought tubes came back in to take those tubes upstairs to the throatbloom distillery.

Aion let his hand run between Maximus buttocks from behind and fished a line of precum from the muscleman's dick to slurp as he exited.

He had a few other places to be, and he was probably behind the intended schedule after doing the princess a favor.

###

From "Entropic Psalms", chapter 12:

Know now, labyrinth-walking brother, the fifth Key to true masculine existence, as sure as this sweat is of numinous blood. It is to embrace the hydra that is temptation. For neither slaughter nor abnegation can defeat the hydra, as even the faithless cannot ward against the Flame. It is the taut envelopment of the hydra's tangle in which you, gateway-seeking brother, can find your peace with her strength. It is not surrender. Locked in eternal conflict with her, find the hydra that is temptation static in her embrace and soon your Shadow can rest.

###

On Maximus' request, Brutus and Vulcan had carried up the remaining tubes and started sticking the first few into man-high centrifuges to separate the cloudbloom from the cloudpiss -- technical term.

Brutus turned to the larger liberated muscleman.

"Uh, Vulcan? How the fuck do you turn this shit on?"

Vulcan was tall and large, brown skinned, towering over the average-sized muscleteen Brutus. He chuckled. "First time working here?"

"Yeah," the black muscleteen confirmed. "Got jizz-sucking liberated last month."

Vulcan brought his hand down on the shorter dude's shoulder. "How long for, bitch-slave?"

"A year."

"Shit, you little cunt got lucky. You were disciplined when they grabbed you, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't fucking 'sir' a liberated, boy. We're nothing but holes, craving man-meat. I was indulgent a-fucking-lot. First lost my job as a knight, then figured I've already jizzed the next month away, so I fell in with some shady ass-whores."

"Uh," Brutus said, still trying to spot a way to turn on the centrifuge. "Yeah, I can believe you were a fucking knight, dude. So you were indulgent when you were arrested and shit?"

"Thirty years of liberation. I'm down five."

"Wow, that... uh... wow. How old are you?"

Vulcan was sexing Brutus up, rubbing his nipples, rubbing their skin together. The muscleteen responded. Their covered crotches pressed against each other. Legs in between each other, they groped ass.

"Chrono-age?" Vulcan asked. "97. For Bio-age, I picked 35. You, bitch?"

Brutus gave the nipples on the height of his mouth a lick. "Bio-age 19. Chronologically I'm 40 something. I haven't looked at the fucking date in a while. I was bio-25 for a long time but after switching to Thrasos I felt like more of an ass-bitch."

Vulcan grunted. "Fair. I thought about going teen again, but I'm used to getting taken serious as a cumshot and age helps -- more when you're just a fucking ass-slave."

Brutus was glad to have a conversation, probably or the first time all month, but he wanted to be done with his community task. As a liberated, he was an unconscious work drone for 12 hours a day, then for another three to four hours of scheduled appointments, training and time in transit. Requiring five hours of sleep like everybody left him with little time for consciousness.

His life was a series of three or four hours out of each day, subjectively happening right after each other.

He had to make the most of it.

"So, for fucking real, how do we turn this on?"

Vulcan chuckled again and pulled away. "Maximus gotta fucking do it downstairs or some shit. We're done. Come on, I'll show you how I spend my free time."

Crossing a bridge of silver silk above the subterranean streets, the liberated entered an unmarked building and found a room of benches and cushions, occupied by a dozen musclemen and some fewer liberated. All Hillstars. Most of them Brutus had at least seen on the plaza out front before. They were reflected again from mirror walls, their wide, rippling backs and thighs flexing in the rhythm of their ass-ravaging.

It seemed like too many musclemen for such a small room.

"Crammed as balls here."

"Know the fuck what's downstairs?" Vulcan asked.

"That shabby as fuck spa?"

Vulcan chuckled again as the duo picked two unoccupied dicks to sit on. Brutus' hole was as wet as can be and received the rod down to the base in one go. For a while, not having his own erection always present had helped him feel less tempted, but he'd rarely stayed disciplined for a whole month and at this point he craved relief.

"The spa is where I got busted and shit," Vulcan said. "Spent all my money on crust."

Crust, short for 'crude arc-dust', was a filtered, refined and compressed version of all that transmundane refuse floating around. It was quite a process, starting with the complexity of the required siphons. It wasn't illegal to collect and produce crust but it was highly regulated and the average merchant wouldn't have seen a profit when following the rules.

Brutus could tune into the unsecured delusions happening in the spa below, seeing them faintly in his mind's eye. Floating on an open, tranquil, purple ocean; diving through a bright sea cave full of pearls, tanning on a beach somewhere on Alcyon-II. Probably old knock-off programs cobbled together from more luxurious spas.

There were sex-programs, but of course only homo. A place that accepted potent dudes wasn't going to get licenses from the agents of any actress in the system.

Brutus had hoped someone would have brought their own cracked program with pussy. A den of crust-users wasn't going to draw the line because it was illegal, right?

But all he got to see was a delusion of getting drenched in cum from a dozen massive dicks, jizzing like hoses. No fun.

Vulcan grinned. The chatty crowd had gotten quieter.

"Huh?" Brutus made.

The much bigger muscleman nodded at the wall. "Light's on. Some fagger ordered a dose of crust. Right under our fucking feet."

The black muscleteen could feel it. A light vibration. A prickling on his foot soles.

"Get ready," Vulcan said. "It can get fucking rough as balls."

Nausea hit Brutus. He winced. His legs went numb and spasmed. His top quivered with a pained groan.

He looked up and- Fuck. For a few seconds, he was a homo.

Vulcan was overwhelmingly attractive. No woman could match the rawness of his appeal, the power. Looking elsewhere, Brutus fell in lust ten times over. His top found his footing again and the muscleteen shivered with new appreciation for assfucking.

Then it was over.

"Is that... are we fucking high?"

"Barely," Vulcan said with a sad smile. "Good as it gets, though."

The teen's vision dipped in and out of colorblindness. He cried out as his lower body lost sensation and a splitting headache bounced around his skull. Crust was regulated for good reason.

Another moment of homo-delusion. The insane beauty of the male form made Brutus cry-scream incoherently. It was like he was *really* fucking for the first time.

The top slipped out and Brutus felt cum spew from his hole. The adonis had fagged into him and he hadn't even noticed.

Nausea replaced the sexual bliss again and Brutus went blind on the left eye. Vulcan dropped onto his own face as his arms gave out.

It took longer for the semi-high to return but it was worth the wait. Another dick for Brutus' hole. The muscleteen tuned into the faint vision of the delusion below, letting a dozen gorgeous dicks rain their cumshot on him.

He lost all sense of time, so he was taken by surprise when his free period was up.

His body rose shakily by itself. He was trapped in his own body, controlling nothing, as he shambled away.

He heard Vulcan rise similarly behind him, then his ears went deaf, all sensory information given to the Brain commanding him.

His sight went next, turning him into a puppet that moved confidently through blind- and deafness with zombie steps. His arms merged into his sides, his legs elongated and merged to a serpent body. His face opened into a swirl of thorns and fangs. Pipe cleaning duty, probably.

Eventually his sense of body went away and he was left with nothing but his heartbeat. Then consciousness faded to a brief, shallow dream before being overwritten altogether.

In about 21 hours, he'd have the same experience in reverse.

It was merciful, not to experience the tasks too repetitive, dull or unprofitable for a real person to do, which his body would be doing now.

Then another three hours of time to live life. Hopefully First Feather Maximus had some more projects to do in the area to earn that extra pocket change.