The Bastard Son of Aphrodite

Note: This story may contain unrealistic anatomy. You have been warned.

My name is Cato. I'm the bastard son of Aphrodite and a father I can't remember. Yes, that Aphrodite.

This is the story of how a sexually depraved young adult took down an entire industry of the Enhanced (and looked good doing it).

Times Square, 2180

"Why are we here again?" I ask.

"Come on, it will be fun," Finn says.

Finn is my college roommate, and by every definition, a fucking jock. He pumps iron every day, he plays anything that ends with "-ball". He's great at baseball, eating out the entire week's worth of groceries, and blocking my vision with his massive frame.

"Come on, I want to see this," Finn says.

A swirling mass of protestors swarm the zebra stripes of the square, like ants devouring food. Their food, however, was the single man on stage approximately forty feet away, a lifetime in a jam-packed crowd.

"Jesus Christ, there's too many people here!" I say.

"Nonsense, " he shushes. The crowd ripples like a wave. Some are angry: rowdy shaved frat boys with grimaces and bad tattoos, girls with hair that look as if a unicorn vomited on them. Some are passive: doe-eyed grandmas, Starbucks employees, and college students looking for any excuse to skip class.

That includes us. We shove our way forward, ignoring the heys and watch-its, much easier to do if you have a ripped beast guiding you forward.

Finn ignores a band of hippy girls which ogle his massive biceps and ballooning pecs. One girl tries to grope his ass but he swats them away.

"Citizens of New York!"

A collective tens of thousands of heads swivel towards the front.

"Today, my colleagues in Washington have decided to value the industrial Enhanced military complex over the common lives of the citizens!"

Senator Fitzgerald's voice is technologically enhanced over the crowd. He's young and spry, a lean body, quite unlike the usual corpse of a rotting senator. A smattering of hisses erupt as a few protestors raise signs: "WE DON'T NEED THEM!" and "JUST SAY NO!" and "MY TAX, MY RULES!".

"Fuck them!" Finn shouts.

A few arms length away, the bald heads give him a nasty glare.

"For decades, our precious tax dollars have been donated to the Enhanced. But I say we don't need superheroes to wage wars in foreign seas! I say we don't need superheroes to protect us from petty theft! And I say, we don't need trillions of dollars to fund new research into turning the common man into a grisly beast!" Fitzgerald continues. The crowd cheers.

"If reelected, we will take down the mutants!"

Another cheer as the crowd echoes, "take down the mutants!"

"And I say, for the common man!" Fitzgerald cheers.

And the crowd goes apeshit. Finn and I mill towards the side of the sprawling avenue, exhausted from the heat of the crowd.

"Hey!"

A group of counter-protestors from across the street have marched into the avenue. Like a group of mangy dogs, they're out for blood.

Two arms lengths away a bald head makes a sudden movement. The glare of steel catches my eyes. I nudge Finn.

Finn smashes the bald head like a boxing pro. Fists fly. The crowd screams and wails. Pandemonium, all hell breaks loose. Beer bottles, cardboard signs, car keys fly into the air. Fitzgerald pleads for calm.

Then suddenly, I hear a sickening crunch as I am dealt a blow to the ear. My vision fizzes and sputters. Woozy, the skinhead drags me down an alleyway.

They pat me down. He's got a friend. Both of them sporting leather gear, handlebar mustaches, shit-eating grins, sweaty brows. Both of them veiny and bulging, like ex-WWE wrestlers. They pull me behind a parked delivery truck.

"Listen up, queen. We like to have fun with bleedin' hearts like yourself. And that's what we intend to do," the one with the worst mustache growls.

He throws me to the ground. I get a taste of the muddy asphalt. Calloused fingers grab my asscheeks and voraciously rub my backside. I hear the ripping of fabric. My white briefs are now exposed. The man licks my hole. He groans.

I whimper. I've never shown my underwear to anyone, and certainly I wasn't hedging on showing it to these perverts.

I'm still on my stomach when I hear the clanking of a belt. The sweat from adrenaline mats their pubic hair. With my head facing forward, chin on the ground, I see the man walk around and dangle the tip of his throbbing and veiny cock in front of my eyes. A string of precum drips onto my nose. Slimy, pungent, and potent.

I hear more fabric ripping. Another man high-fives Derek, aroused.

"Oh my god, Derek, he's a virgin!"

They're right. My uncorrupted hole, a microscopic, tight entrance, winks at the two. Pleading, begging.

"Mmm, Jason, turn him around, I wanna see this boy's cock, " Derek purrs.

Bony fingers grasp my stomach, an unwanted touch. I'm flipped over violently, landing on my back. The two rip off my pants and my underwear.

Derek's eyes light up like he's a child on Christmas morning.

"Holy fuck," Derek breathes.

"Jason?" he asks.

But Jason's already on the ground. He's inhaling the air like a drug addict, he's rolling on the floor. His cock is as stiff as a board. Precum sputtering out like gutter oil. His moans are filled with ecstasy.

"What the fuck?" I manage, breathing heavily.

And Derek glimpses at the quivering snake spilling out of my pelvis, exposed to natural sun for the first time. It roars with precum, angry at the fools who disturbed its slumber.

Derek wets his lips and jumps on me, grabs my cock, and he pumps it. He's got a wild-eyed, hungry look, laser-focused on the tip of my penis. He drips with saliva.

"Jesus fuck, dude, get off me!" I scream, swatting him away.

His erection is unmistakable. Rock solid and could smash glass. Famished, he claws onto my abdomen, but I try to squirrel out of his grasp. I swat his clammy hands away. He looks deranged. He makes a snatch at my cock, which jiggles and bounces a wad of clear precum into his open mouth.

As the pre dissolves, Derek is seemingly transformed into a sex-crazed addict. I shimmy away on the ground, getting up. Derek dry humps the ground, desperate for release. The thick pheromones that exude the air poison his brain, his eyes loll into the back of his head, his penis shaking. Quivering. Throbbing. Begging for release.

I scramble out, cock and ass still bare, using my hands to cover them up (a futile endeavor).

"Hey! Where the hell - I was looking for you!" Finn shouts.

"Dude, the cops came, so many people got hurt in that-"

He notices my swinging cock.

"Dude, I never knew you had that!" Finn coos, pointing at my crotch. He tastes the air.

He starts circling me hungrily, like a wolf.

"Jesus, dude, that's like the size of my forearm!" He runs forward and pins me to the truck.

"Dude, we're going to get caught," I protest.

But Finn doesn't care. He wets his lips on my throbbing monster and licks my cumvein, circles my foreskin with his tongue, and begins sucking. It's sloppy, it's rough. Finn reaches about halfway, and each time he comes back up and gasps for air my cockskin glistens in the sun. He smells my pubic hair and groans. My balls audibly churn, twisting and turning, begging for release. Finn doubles down, slamming on my cockhead hard. He thrusts with his hands, he buries his throat into my dick, forcing himself through his gag reflex.

Then, he hits a nerve, because I cum. Hard. A deluge of semen thrusts out of my cock, a hose spewing out jism into his awaiting throat. He chokes back and semen flies everywhere. Onto his beautiful blue eyes, onto his striated pectorals, onto the pavement below.

"Fuck, still hard?" he gasps. My balls give an agreeing grumble. Fuck, I'm still hard?

Finn lowers his gaping ass into my eagerly awaiting cock. His walls massage mine, a blissful sensation that doesn't compare to me touching myself. His muscled ass ripples through sending waves of vibrations down my shaft. He slams down, hard. He grimaces, a sensation of pain, before my cock hits something different and he howls. A wild, pleasure-filled, euphoric howl that fills the entire alleyway.

Finn's semen whips across the street, painting the brick buildings on the other side. He heaves, his heart fluttering. He groans again, and a rope of cum flies upwards ten feet, splattering down onto his abdomen. He cries blissfully, now slumped over onto the ground. He writhes, cumming his brains out all over the pavement. There's a small puddle of my cum and his cum gathering on the ground, swirling like a fantastical, pungent concoction.

"Arrrgh!" he moans, as he lets a massive flood of cum from out of the deepest chambers of his gonads. The cum splatters on the side of the truck, onto my hair, and covers half my forehead.

"Are you alright?" I scramble over. Finn's lying on the ground, faint, dizzy, mind spinning. He mumbles an incoherent mess. Another smaller spurt of cum covers his hardened juicy abs. Finn moans again, his legs shaking, his entire body shivering - from his traps to his obliques to his calves.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I thought-"

Finn interrupts me with another groan. Another spurt of cum. His heart palpitates, chest deflates, pupils dilate.

And from behind, a voice.

"Hey! Put your hands up!"

A line of uniformed riot police. They inspect the cum-soaken alleyway, sticky white plasm blanketing the cement, the truck, the buildings, the windows. They stare at the young hot bod and two bald men who all shiver with lust and desire, the young blonde's cock still whipping out droplets. They stare at the student in the center. Young and armed with a massive, destructive piece of meat, erect and pulsating.

"You are under arrest!"

A man in a crinkly dark suit barges past the geared policemen, knocking over their shields and plasma-ray guns.

"Get lost!" he spits.

"Hey!"

He flashes a badge. "Department of Enhanced Intelligence, you dumbasses."

"You, move with me," he points to me. I look around wildly.

"You wanna go with the NYPD? Your call."

A black sedan whips out from nowhere. He ushers me in. I make a split decision and dash in.

The car's less spacious than one might expect. Seeing the virile fluid dripping down my cock, he grabs a towel and shoves it under my ass. He's now donning a large respirator mask. The driver pulls up his mask too.

My cock rises awkwardly towards the roof of the car, standing tall like an obelisk in the middle of a desert, splaying the enclosed air with musk. He chooses to avoid looking at it and gazes out the window. No words.

The car rumbles through the cacophonic streets of New York. Protestors and rioters caw outside, now faint from the insulation provided by the car. Inside, all members are as cool as cucumbers. Except my cock, which is now spewing wildly. I try to ignore it.

"Where are we going?" I break the silence.

"To get registered," he says.

"Here?"

Clear fluid gushes down my thigh. I use the towel, but it's soaked and slimy. I turn it over and use the clean side.

"Washington."

I scan his face, which is turned away from me. He's wearing a small pin.

"Reelect Senator Fitzgerald." I read. "You with him?"

"That doesn't matter. But yes."

"How fucked am I?" My testicles pound and ache.

"Not fucked at all."

"What about Finn?"

"They'll make it. Medical's coming out."

He turns to look at me for the first time. He stares deep into my eyes.

"You, me, and Vilnus Fitzgerald are going to take down the biggest and most corrupt industry in the United States."

I breathe heavily. What the fuck is he talking about? He works for the DEI!

"But first, we have a few stops to make, I want to get some clothes to cage the snake," he grins.

Now I feel faint. Is this a deranged rapist or a rogue criminal?

"Why me?" I sputter.

"Because deep down, no matter how much the government wants to purify our blood, no matter how strong, or how high, or how fast they want to make us, no matter what sort of weird cryo-pyro-whatever-o gimmicks they want to attach to our skin, I know for a fact..." he says, gazing at my pulsating penis,

"...that the primordial lust for sex dominates all."

---

Later

A single black sedan barrels across the Inter-Eastern Hypersonic Freeway. Rain pelts the pavement, douses the car and creates a sheen on the hood. High-beam highway lights whirr and flash.

The rear window reveals three white SUVs, trailing almost inconspicuously, except for the fact that the highway had been empty for the past hour.

Our driver adjusts his sunglasses. A single bead of sweat trickles down his cheekbone. An arms length away, a single droplet of precum materializes from my urethra, pushing a strand of clear sweetness out of my newly bought briefs, and onto the floor below.

Fuck, I thought we calmed it down.

Our driver sweats profusely. He's got one shot at this. Not to be outdone, a spurt of precum gushes out, creating a small pond of ectoplasm between my foreskin, that runs down my drum-tight balls.

The black sedan banks hard to the right. A squealing of tires, and we nearly smash into the offramp walls. Swerving and twisting, the driver rebalances the car.

I look back, the white SUVs nowhere to be found. The driver lets out a small exhale.

"Wait, this is not Washington," I say.

"It's close enough," agent whats-his-name says.

We weave around the streets of metropolitan Baltimore. The driver eases us into a small run-down home.

Boards nailed to windows, stairs rotting like dead corpses, paint slowly fleecing off the faded and battered walls, this was a real crackhouse. Shit, they're actually going to kill me here!

The agent sees my hesitation and brandishes a pistol and points to the door.

"We could go to the police now, if you'd like."

I oblige him. The agent signals to the driver. Behind him, I see the driver scramble for the moist towel that was placed under my asscheeks. He sniffs the encrusted article, heart fluttering, burying his nose in the spot that is still coated with slime. He thrashes in the front seat, mask removed, fingering his ass, shoving the towel down his throat.

We tear out a weathered storm door, and shove open a ratty oak door. The house is near-empty. A layer of grime covers most surfaces. Yellowed wallpapers and pieces of newspaper everywhere.

The agent motions me downstairs. The creaking sound of floorboards.

The basement is starkly contrasts with the main floor. Hi-tech gadgets, modems and whirring centrifuges, vials and syringes. A balding man with a gnarly scar across his right eye mutters and pours some mystery liquid into an Erlenmeyer flask.

"Dr. Stendhal, I've brought our guy. We need the usual," the agent says.

Dr. Stendhal whips around. "Agent Luskin! It's good to see you."

Dr. Stendhal attempts to raise an inquisitive eyebrow, but it merely appears as if his scar had a seizure. "And you are?"

"Cato. Cato Lee."

"Go ahead and lie down here," Dr. Stendhal motions to a solid steel bed.

The metal is warm. Heated, probably.

"Heated. It's nice, isn't it? Go ahead and bring out your penis," Dr. Stendhal says.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your cock, Cato. Your dick."

"Hang on, you need these," Luskin motions to the masks mounted on his wall.

Supine, I pull out my cock which smacks onto the steel with a squelch. Dr. Stendhal shoves my flaccid cock into a silicone sleeve, one with giant plastic tubes flying out of it.

"Relax."

The sweat and lubricant frothing from my cock dampens the silicone. Dr. Stendhal configures something on a screen and the silicone tightens. I gasp, the plastic wrapping around my dick like a vice, squeezing out pleasured juices which dribble into the tubes. I watch as sweet nectar is transported into a clear vial.

Then, Dr. Stendhal flips a switch, and the silicone machine begins fluctuating. Pumping. A soft but firm grip that envelopes my massive cock from the head to the base, as if I had penetrated a virgin hole. I try not to think about my incessant arousal but my cock betrays me, now blood rushing into my veins, fattening up my cock so that it stands at full mast, like a grotesque tribute to the sex that oozes from my crotch.

"Fuck! Why - am - I - here?" I yelp, between thrusts of the machine.

"An extremely powerful weapon was stolen from the International Vault in Zurich yesterday. We want you to help," said Luskin, staring stoically at the lurid scene unfolding in front of him.

"Where - is - the -" I muster before the machine does a twisting motion which swirls my foreskin around my sensitive head, tickling my glans.

"- proof?" I say, sweating and trying to control my breathing. It's hard not to just unload seed. A gentle air pressure upwards now envelops the silicone sleeve, giving a sensation of a million tiny mouths kissing each inch of my skin.

"My boy. You have my doctor's cocksleeve fucking you to bits. You are in no position to make demands. Proof in due time," Luskin says.

"Fuck!" I scream agonizingly. My balls tighten and churn, rotating sperm begging to be released. A rumbling sound as a pulsing blue vein on my left testicle signals virile seed ready to be released.

The cocksleeve makes another thrust, this time sliding all the way to my pelvic bone, tightening mercilessly and voraciously. I ejaculate, arching my back and thrusting upwards, my cock head spewing with sperm and wobbling from inertia.

White-hot spunk, frothing and bubbling, churned from deep beneath my scrotum, spray into the contraption at lethal speeds. The pipes flail and threaten to burst from the volume of ejaculate being pumped into them, and Dr. Stendhal scrambles for a large metal bucket.

The overflow of semen sputters into the bucket, an obscene mass of white goo that is eye-wateringly enticing. More ropes of cum jet out from my shaft like a bullet whizzes out of a barrel.

"This collection here could feed a hundred men and transform them into a hundred musclebound gods," Dr. Stendhal says, ignoring my languished cries as the cocksleeve thrusts and procures every last drop.

"Wha-"

"You have divine blood in your veins," Dr. Stendhal says, removing the cocksleeve and wiping it down.

"Cato, you are the son of the goddess of sex. And you're going to be the one to take down the D.E.I.," Luskin says, pointing me up the stairs as I struggle to shove my engorged cock into my briefs.

Upstairs, Luskin pulls me into a dingy room, the walls a horrid ecru with outlines of removed painting frames, the area decorated only with a sad air mattress.

"I'll get you your proof tomorrow." He slams the door.

The lights flicker.

The full moon casts sharp shadows against the windowsill.

I toss and turn, flinging secretions onto the walls. A gentle rap on the grimy glass panes jolts me out of bed.

"Hey!" a voice whispers.

I snap my head to the window, but all I see is an unkempt, weedy lawn. I feel a gentle touch on my hips, and a sharp tug on my underwear.

Fuck! A catboy with a swimmer's body, tail and all, fondles my balls. He shoves my flaccid dick into his delicate hole!

Whoosh!

I look around. We're in a rundown park. Rusted benches, a rotting playground that looks like it has seen more drug dealers than children, garbage strewn across dirt lanes.

The catboy removes my cock and strokes his asshole. I look as he rubs his featherweight abs and silky pectorals. His cat ears wiggle as his tail curls gently. And a hefty piece of meat hangs below his well-groomed hair. A dollop of my precum gently caresses a neat, pale, egg-sized pair of testicles that sway gently.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Relaaax, we're like a mile away," he purrs. A sultry purr that sounds like he's half-gargling cum. "Satsuma."

"Cato. And how the hell-"