Seedmaker: Galactic Stud – Chapters 2-4

 

This illustration is merely representative of the mood and themes of the story. Sources: ZodoAI (https://www.patreon.com/ZodoAI) (https://twitter.com/zodo253) (https://www.deviantart.com/zodoai)

Chapter 2: The Eye of the Masters

 

The Circle was as dreadful as he remembered. Incredible how, despite all their technology, every single room in that station (station? Planet? He wouldn’t know) managed to be as dark and dreary as the most isolated corner in the starless space between the galaxies.

He heard a voice call. “Enter the stud.” And he heeded.

A white rectangle appeared in front of him. The whiteness receded, and then it was all black again. «Yes. Indeed.» He looked inside through it. «The Circle is as dreadful as I remember.»

Stepping through the portal, he entered what seemed to be a perfectly dark place safe for thirteen small bright spots: twelve above him, equidistant from each other, forming a circle, and one spot in the middle, much below the other twelve.

He knew what to do. In fact, he did it as quickly as possible just to avoid the sound of those dreary voices; to not be asked or demanded to walk straight and stand still in the middle of the room, and there to wait for their judgment—or for whatever they had in store for him.

He simply walked and stood and waited for their words. His heart beat steadily. He was proud of it. «If they finally decided to finish me off, at least I will go peacefully, unafraid of death.»

Many a Seedmaker had an unreasonable fear of death—or, at least, unreasonable to him. As early as he could remember he had indeed pondered about death—if not to have it, then about its nature, what it meant, or what all in life led up to. As he aged and the wombs his prick seeded piled into the hundreds of thousands, indeed, he began thinking about death in a more... invested manner. Still, his heart remained strong; his dignity continued to be his guiding star: “Endure what you have and then quit on your terms. They don’t have to control your fate, nor do they have to set the pace of your death.”

So he endured, spreading his seed to as many wombs as he was required while only casually pondering about the Final Journey. It was not as if he would have to endure that for much longer, after all. At thirty years of age, he had just drawn into the final decade of a Seedmaker’s lifespan. The last golden years before his penis would ejaculate no more.

The giant stud stood still, waiting for their announcement. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. No suspense or drama. Straight to business, it seemed.

“Seedmaker Roberto.” A voice spoke. It wasn’t known from which of the twelve floating dots it came. It simply spoke, and like the voice of god it seemed to envelop Roberto from every direction. “Pleasantries? Chit chat?”

The stud raised his chin. “No. Straight to business, if you will.”

“Very well.” A pause. And then... “Care to explain yourself?”

Roberto’s mind came back to that hideous box floating so close to his face. There was a rumble in the room. The sound of stretching and tearing. Those were his muscles expanding on their own, tearing the constraints of the tight-fitting clothes he wore.

“Personal space.” He answered, and then there was another silent, slightly longer pause.

“We apologize for that.” The voice came again. Impossible to know whether the same or a different voice. They all sounded alike—but also slightly different in some inexplicable way. “We would assume you would be in a jollier mood, having bred so thoroughly and such.”

The giant stud moved his jaw, again looking like he was chewing his tongue. Then, he cracked a tender smile, and his face, so rough and masculine, looked as innocent as a child’s, as the smooth and inexperienced face of his twinky years. “So you do *not* know me completely, I see.”

There was another pause, as long as the previous one, and then they delved straight into business indeed: “Have you thought about your punishment? About your reclusion here?”

Roberto drew in a deep breath. “What do you mean by this? If you mean whether I’ve been thinking about these dark walls and cramped spaces, then I can say...” A burning fire in his eyes. “Every single day.” Another rumbling. His body seemed to be growing, if only slightly at every second. “If you mean whether I’m repented or not for my supposed crime...” His voice grew deeper. “No.”

There was a rumble and a quake within the room. That wasn’t supposed to happen. No creature, Seedmaker or not, should be able to so disturb the room—but Roberto’s voice did, and at that moment the longest silence transcurred between the glowing dots, one which saw the rumble grow mighty, then disappear like a distant echo.

There seemed to be flickers in some dots before the voices returned. “Do you enjoy your existence, Seedmaker?”

Roberto was taken aback by the question. He was, and at the same he wasn’t. “No. Not really.” His heart changed little. His pulse skipped no beats. “Do you wish me to be specific?”

Pause. Then... “No. Not really.” The voices came, and then they kept coming as if their Masters had already made up their minds. “It matters little now. We have one final mission for you.”

Roberto raised a brow. “A final mission?”

Then there came another voice, and this time Roberto was sure this voice was quite different from the others: “I would like to congratulate you, Seedmaker Roberto, for your recent streak.” This voice also had a much different tone from the others. Unlike the others, it didn’t sound like it wanted only business. For once, it actually sounded like there was a soul in the creature that spoke it: “Nine hundred and ten thousand females! Nine hundred and ten thousand wombs successfully colonized! You must be feeling pretty proud of yourself, even though you may no longer enjoy the act of sex or even the breeding itself.”

The earnestness in that voice molassed Roberto’s heart a bit. “Hmm. Indeed, it was a good day.” His body was awash with coolness and his muscles deflated a bit. “Two weeks ago. Ninety thousand wombs to a million.” He didn’t have much to say on the matter. Things weren’t just a number to him, but they also weren’t anything more special. They stood awkwardly in the middle. Somewhere in that mediocre, unexciting middle. “I hope the Universe is a better, kinder place because of it.”

The voice—the same one, he knew it—sounded overjoyed: “And this is what the Seedmakers are all about! Power? Virility? Beauty? All of those things, indeed, but also something much greater and deeper: Seedmakers are Happiness! The happiness that comes from the best genetics! The happiness that comes from knowing that the Gods, should they ever exist, truly love you! And they have shown this love from the moment you came out of the womb, perfect in every way, a superior specimen to guide your species closer towards this very superiority! You have, dear Roberto, made the Universe a much brighter, better place. In a couple of generations, all your virile offspring will successfully reproduce, and they will amount to dozens of billions (at least!) who will in turn amount of trillions a couple generations further. You are, or at least you shall be, quite literally, the father of half the Universe in under one millennium—and you should be just as proud on this scale! Just as proud as your progeny shall be numerous and its quality so elevated!”

There seemed to have been a *clap!*, though (this Roberto was mostly sure) was probably just a figment of his imagination.

There was a weird churn between his thighs. His testicles had just unleashed a massive amount of cum into his system, and his body trembled a bit, overfilled for an instant with almost more semen than the god could handle. He felt the desire to unleash it all, but one second later he cooled down and controlled himself.

It was good to know that such random, spontaneous bursts of virility still occurred to him. After his prime days, there just hadn’t been much in Roberto’s life to justify such natural, brimming sexuality.

He was, indeed, just a machine. A machine of cumming, a machine of breeding, and often times he forgot just how much of a passionate being he could be beneath all this cumming, all this breeding, all this (near pointless) fertilizing.

«Nine hundred and ten thousand wombs.» The thought occurred to him in a flash. «And not one of them was the same twice. Not one face was repeated. Not. One!»

He hadn’t even kissed and made out with more than five percent of these. He couldn’t even remember the last time he squeezed a boob or groped a buttock.

Day in, day out, it was just cock in, cock out. Cumming and cumming and cumming. Another conquered womb, another fertilized female. And nothing other than this.

His heart finally skipped a beat as different (and colder) voices returned. “Would you be interested in leaving this prison?”

Roberto reacted nonchalantly. It wasn’t a front. No facade in that man. He truly did react like the news meant nothing at all to him—and perhaps they really didn’t. “That depends where I am leaving to. Space is mostly inhospitable, as you know.”

“What about the best space there can be in space?” A voice uttered, then paused, gauging the stud’s reaction. “A paradise planet?”

Roberto’s attention was finally peeked. “A paradise planet? Of what sort?”

“Of the technical, non-generic kind of sort.” The voices seemed to consult with one another for a bit before they continued: “One of our paradisical worlds. Big and lush and green and full of life—and (up until recently) completely uninhabited, as far as sentient life is concerned.”

Roberto felt his heart pick up pace and the neural activity increase in his brain. He could see it so clearly, oh, the metal map of his brain firing up in all the interesting areas! After all, there was indeed quite a bit interesting to dissect in those short, casual sentences. Not a lot, but interesting regardless: two pieces of information that would immediately catch the attention of anyone (or anything) at the same level of intelligence as Roberto.

One of these concerned the phrase “our paradisical words.” The other one, slightly more intriguing, was “up until recently.”

He decided to be a good sport and start with the lesser of the two: “One of your worlds, you say?”

“Exactly.”

Damn it! Roberto wanted to let them do the talking, but his brain went far ahead of his will: piercing two and two together, he already deduced what the mighty beings were going to ask of him. “One of your worlds has been invaded.” He said. He didn’t ask; he said it.

The silence that followed was proof that, if not completely right, then he was mostly on the right track.

The Paradise Planets were arguably the second greatest feat of technology from the Masters—whoever they were. These were either fully-grown or heavily terraformed planets meant to become the center of the empires of the Seedmakers’ trillion-strong offspring. Most of these planets were idyllic “dumping grounds” (for lack of a kinder term) for the strongest and most promising of the studs’ offspring. Some were “test planets” meant for the Masters’ continuous techno-biological developments, be them kind or... not so kind. Some planets effectively acted as giant laboratories for new kinds of species and all sorts of genetics experiments. Some other planets, paradises at first, became living nightmares as the Masters used them to test their latest weapons and all sorts of destructive concoctions.

And some really special planets, the rarest of them all, were rewards to the most powerful (and most faithful) Seedmakers, given to them with no strings attached so that the mighty studs might enjoy their final years of retirement with overabundant peace.

Few were the Seedmakers who ever reached such high rewards, and of these fewer still were those who actually got to *enjoy* said reward for longer than five years. Most Seedmakers whoever got so far only gained these planets at the age of thirty-five, thirty-six. Most Seedmakers were dead before forty.

In his mind, in the secrecy of his dreams, Roberto always imagined how these powerful breeding machines—the most powerful of the most powerful males in the literal Universe—got to enjoy their virgin worlds for less than half a decade; less than a third (or a fourth!) of the time they spent relentlessly and mindlessly breeding, only to then die and be replaced by another “bitterly lucky” Seedmaker.

He always had this image in his mind of a new Seedmaker arriving at a planet only to later randomly come across the corpse of its previous owner—realizing, not without some disgust, if not outright horror, that his “Paradise” planet wasn’t even a unique Paradise at that.

All these thoughts ran through Roberto’s mind after he uttered his deduction. They all came and went in under a second, and after this second flashed by he waited for the next utterances of his Masters, hoping that they wouldn’t be too aggrieved—for whatever reason.

“You are quite right.” Their voices came, neutral and matter-of-factly. “There has been an unidentified foreign organism invading our planet. We want to task you with finding it, identifying it, and (if it comes to that) neutralizing it.” No more words were said before the final question was asked: “Do you accept?”

«It’s a trap!» His mind sounded the alarm. «Some mischief.»

He didn’t take these alarms too seriously. If anything, it was only a natural, instinctive reaction—one that proved that his mind was still healthy enough to harbor these.

He lowered his chin and pondered. His shoulders little by little came down, as if brought under the weight of his heavy thoughts.

The pondering went in silently for a couple of seconds. It ended with him raising his chin and proclaiming: “I see. Well, here’s the situation as I see it.” He gave the shining dots a conciliatory glance. “You can stop me if I veer too away from the facts.” A silence followed. He took it as a sign to continue: “Very well. You say one of your paradise worlds has been invaded. Right, right. It is a virgin paradise, I suppose. Not a planet you have been using for some other undeclared purposes, correct?”

“You are correct. The planet is yet untouched by our devices. It was supposed to stay resting for two hundred years longer until we found a purpose for it.”

“Two hundred years, huh? So no colonization yet in plans?”

“The planet is too far away from the main breeding ground of you Seedmakers.”

“Hmm, that is peculiar.” His shoulders boomed as he shrugged them. “In what part of the Universe is it?”

There was silence. Then the answer: “Classified.”

«Oh.» Went his mind. «Now, that is peculiar indeed.»

Roberto made no fuss. He simply continued: “An untouched, virgin paradise world has been invaded, you say, and you’re sending me personally to evaluate the situation. To locate such an organism, study it, and if necessary neutralize it.” The word rubbed him the wrong way. Roberto wasn’t a man for euphemisms. They sounded too cowardly. Too disrespectful. Much of a waste of his or anybody’s time. “To kill it. Eliminate it if I see fit—or, I suppose, if you give the order.” He paused, and then... he left his place.

There were many glows in the blinking lights as Roberto turned around and, with his enormous hands crossed behind his gigantic, prominent rear, all disguised in the dark by those fully black, tight-fitting clothes he was wearing, began to walk to-and-fro around the room, going from wall to wall while pondering aloud:

“I see. So this organism is sentient... well, not necessarily. What it is is powerful. Crafty. Special in its abilities. You are sending me, a Seedmaker, personally, and not on a breeding mission—or at least that’s what I suppose. You’re sending me because you want me for my other abilities—namely my strength, my agility, my intelligence. A living weapon. You’re sending me as a weapon, so this is what I can conclude about this organism: it’s either intelligent or dotted with enough skills to avoid all your detection and capture systems. If that wasn’t the case, you would have sent probes or ships or any of your fancy robots to capture it. That you haven’t yet proved that this organism, whatever it may be, if of such a nature that can evade all your crafts—all of it, of course, except your last resort.” A minor pause. Even in his walk. “A Seedmaker.”

Roberto peppered his talk with pauses here and there, and let them go on for just long enough so he could gauge the reaction of his Masters, who all seemed, until there, pretty agreeing with his words. “Very well.” He walked again. “So I continue: you can’t find this organism. You can’t pinpoint it. You can’t do anything other than identify its arrival and conclude that it's beyond your grasp. Hmm. Hmm...” He paused again. “You probably didn’t even see the creature—if it is indeed a creature, not some robot or some artifice from another advanced civilization... You probably didn’t see it arriving on the planet. I would suppose, even, indeed, that the entity has landed on the planet long ago, and you only detected it because its influence on the world—its developing of the land, for instance—grew noticeable enough for your probes to capture it.”

He paused. No comment came from the blinking dots. He continued: “The entity, whatever it may be, is probably enacting changes on the planet. Land development, buildings, terraforming... something of the sort.” A gentle pause. “Something of the sort in such a scale, again, that its presence was finally felt. And you’re sending me—me personally; not some other more trustworthy Seedmaker—because, unless this is some trickery...”

He paused. He thought. Many strands and pathways followed from that line of reasoning. He picked up the most probable ones and threw away the rest.

He continued: “There is danger. Or at least you feel there is.” Roberto paused and raised an arm. Those tight-fitting, all-covering black clothes he was wearing, suppressing every inch of his powerful physique from tip of the toe to the top of his neck, merged his body with the darkness, to the point he looked like a faint head floating in the nothingness.

Still, his presence was powerful enough, his muscles magnificent enough that even in that profound darkness he could see the swollen shape of his arm, the turgid mass of his biceps, triceps, and all other delicious muscles, as well a glimpse the outline of his powerful, thick, throbbing veins, all rumbling and booming with that power that never really stopped coursing, never really stopped flowing in his ultra mega superior organism.

“I am strong.” He declaimed, and a little fire, a lovely flame burned somewhere behind his heart. “Not the strongest, but one of the strongest. I have been one of the most powerful Seedmakers since conception, and I suppose this is one of the reasons why you keep me around; why you put up with me and not just discard me for my transgressions.”

He stopped and said; despite his words, there was no arrogance in his voice: “Seedmakers are the most advanced of your technologies. The most complicated... and the most expensive. There are only four thousand, eight hundred of us. Four thousand, eight hundred Seedmakers with the task of breeding a Universe of potentially quintillions of life forms. Even if you just select for the one percent most fertile while excluding all species that are not really compatible with our genes—namely, all non-humanoids—you’re still left with trillions of potential mates. Trillions to be bred by mere thousands.” He stopped walking and stroked his chin. His face was the only naked part of his body. “It’s no wonder that you’re so lenient. Seedmakers are not creatures you can just afford to go without. Not without heavy consideration. Not without a serious and thorough cost-benefit analysis.”

He looked around. No sound or blinking seemed to come from the lights. So he walked again and kept on talking: “So this is what you do: the breeding dens are well-stocked. The Seedmakers are doing their purpose. Nothing wrong in there. But now you have one of your untouched planets finally touched by a foreign organism—one that you just can’t pin down, control, and tame. The situation is bad enough that you call me, one of your most powerful, but also recalcitrant Seedmakers, and you task me with the awfully simple and straightforward duty of “search and destroy.” A living weapon. Predator and prey. If I’d put it like that, I’d say that this planet is a precious crop and this entity is like a new pest against which you have no real medicine. No real pesticide. So, like when fighting against pesky mice, you send in the cats.” He stopped and pointed both index fingers toward his massive, sprawling pectorals. “You send in me.”

There was no voice or blinking still. He resumed his walking and talking: “Why me in particular? Your other Seedmakers might be stronger, but they are loyal—and their breeding tasks never cease. They never relent. You need all the Seedmakers you can get to make a tangible impact on the universe. You’re not going to cast aside a more powerful Seedmaker just to have him risk harm by this foreign entity or species. Or worse yet, perhaps...” He stopped. His glances towards the lights were not without great irony and defiance. “To risk giving this Seedmaker a taste of freedom. A taste of autonomy. A taste of rebellion.”

No sound. «Hmm.» Roberto was surprised—and positively so. It was quite a nice thing that the Masters allowed his talk to continue even into heathen territory. Their mere mention of that topic had gotten lesser Seedmakers arrested—or killed.

That they allowed him to speak so openly and cleanly meant only one thing: “The situation is dire. You have made your cost-benefit analysis, and these are the results that came back: send in Roberto, they say. He is thirty years old and on the last lap of his life. His breeding is notorious, but unexpectional among our most notorious breeders, and slightly decreasing every day. He might even “go barren” eventually, you say, refusing to procreate or just succumbing to his (rather infamous) ennui. He might give us some trouble if his captivity persists. He might turn into a real nuisance—a great sink in our accounts—if we don’t find something else for him to do. Some other task he might be useful for.”

He stopped again. His hands went back to his buttocks. It was very nice, indeed, having muscles so overdeveloped on his backside. His ass was so prominent and powerful he could easily rest his huge hands on it like bottles on a firm table.

His ass was also really smooth, somewhat. The thing was pure muscle, yet his muscle also behaved in a fleshly, gentle manner, like silk and gel, something really pleasant to the touch. He was all-muscle, but unlike other creatures of such musculature, he was soft and cozy like a giant, virile pillow.

It was such a shame, he often thought, that this gentle, but virile body; this soft, but hard physique; a body so well made for cuddling and snuggling; for fondling and caressing; for massaging and kissing; was instead only used for rough and uncouth thrusting; for pile-driving a meat rod into a meat hole, and then inseminating this meat hole with (to be honest) more gooey seed than any hole would ever need.

«A waste. What a waste.» He thought sadly, and then continued talking to distract himself from his sadness: “So you send me. You can only win, can you not? If the entity is really dangerous; if it is as intelligent and crafty and powerful as we think it is; if it actually poses a threat to our greatest technology—say: if it actually kills me—then you will have some meaningful information to work with. Some clear data. It might cost you a Seedmaker, but... hey: it was one rather useless Seedmaker. A Seedmaker that was more trouble than it was worth. A fair trade. You put me down while also putting me to some good use. A fair trade indeed.”

He paused. No words. No comments. So he continued: “If the creature is no trouble and I dispatch with relative ease, it’s business as usual. This little incursion, you reason, will certainly wake me up from my boredom and my rebellion. It might even instill in me a sense of purpose again. Happiness, as you put it. Once it’s done, I might even become a better breeder and rise through the ranks, now that I have tasted some sort of autonomy and, as the rough tongue puts it, “got it out of my system.” The threat is eliminated and a better Seedmaker is acquired. Again, pure profit.”

A pause. Then... “If not of this happens; that is to say, if the threat is eliminated, but I remain the same sour servant I have been for the past decade... then nothing really has changed. You arrest me, you throw me in the breeding dens, you kill me... again, no real change from the options you have presently available. At least I will have neutralized a potential threat. If nothing else comes out of this, you will get that which you value the most: your status quo. Preserved. Untouched. Like your paradise planet before it was violated.”

Another pause. That silence told him so much! “This is not a decision you have made likely. If anything, I would say you have spent at least some weeks, maybe over a month pondering on whether to summon me and give me this task, or figuring out things on your own by the “usual” ways. I won out, but by a slim margin. Even now, in your silence, you’re still pondering, you’re still thinking: He’s too clever, you say. He might get out of our grasp. He might escape, somehow, or forge an alliance with this entity—should it be clever and technologically advanced enough—and then flee. He might even ally with this entity’s civilization and pose a bigger threat to us a near future; not during his life, probably, which is short and near its end, but in his future lives, through his descendants; descendants we haven’t accounted for because they were bred out of our dens. They were bred with the members of this entity’s species, and soon, with enough generations, they will grow outside our designs and hold in their hearts the rebellious will and intent of their father: the desire to find us Masters... and then kill us.”

He paused. Silence. Forever silence. “He might escape. Like a cat thrown in the fields to catch the mice, but then going wild and escaping the grasp of its masters. The cat goes on to the wilderness and breeds with all other wildlings, and with his fangs behind an unplanned devastation of the wildlife, and through his progeny begins to oppose the very masters who once controlled him, raiding their pantries and refrigerators and eventually, who knows, assaulting their babies on their cribs and overrunning their manors. The mice become the lesser of evils. The medicine becomes the poison.”

He stopped walking. After a moment of stillness, the huge bull perused his brain for more thoughts or lines of logic, finding none. He considered himself satisfied, thus he returned to the middle of the room and there he waited patiently for his Masters’ verdict.

Not without some parting words, of course: “Even now you’re thinking: clever. He’s too clever. He might prove a foil to us somehow. This cleverness is not one that can easily be tamed. And you are correct: I don’t consider myself particularly smart, but I am indeed clever enough to work my way around even your most elaborate and meticulous plans.” His eyes flashed with a treacherous gleam. He didn’t intend them to. They just did. “This is why I am here, after all. This is what got me arrested.”

The silence continued. He had no cause to keep on speaking. In fact, it would have been wise for him to shut up, to play his better hand, for continuing to say the things he ultimately said would only work against him. Against his chances of freedom. Against him seeing a blue sky and smelling fresh air again.

Still, he spoke. He just had to keep on speaking: “You mentioned that the planet is so far isolated from the usual breeding grounds that you didn’t even have the expectation of colonizing it with our offspring for at least two hundred years. This is far. And long. Too long for a planet that, as you mentioned and I inferred, is a fully liveable, fully habitable planet. A true paradise. It is unusual, again, that such a planet remains so, virgin and untouched, without any clear use for so long. Centuries, in fact. Therefore I must conclude that the planet is especially isolated, and that you perhaps had plans for it that go much, much beyond what is usual for you. For us. For this whole lifestyle.”

His muscles boomed. No reason in particular. They just did, and the room echoed their booms like drums of power. The beast breathed deep. He continued: “I asked where it was located. You said no. Confidential. If I were a little smarter, I would conclude, therefore, that the planet is located on some potentially threatening corner of the Universe. Or some interesting corner that will serve your higher purposes. A place so important that you decide to hide from me. From us. A place that probably no Seedmaker knows, not even your most powerful and trusted one. A place that may hide secrets that, once revealed, would be too inconvenient for you or the exercise of your power. A place that may hide opportunities that, if well exploited, will yield far greater returns than those on these old corners of the Cosmos. A place that can greatly increase your power if you tame it... and that can easily undo your power if you let it slip through your fingers.” He lowered his head slightly. “Assuming, of course, my Masters, that you have fingers.”

Silence. He shouldn’t, oh, he shouldn’t have continued talking. So he did: “Which probably explains your urgency. You might not be only power in the Universe. Someone, somewhere, somehow intruded on your planet—a planet that you placed, probably along with others, in that far corner of the Universe to slowly dip your toes into it. Slowly test the waters. A planet that is now invaded—and, with its invasion, might spell doom if not for your entire kind, then for plans you have been making for a very long time. Plans that have grown too expensive, and I’ll even say too dear to your hearts. Plans that you don’t want to see ruined—so much that they force you to swallow your pride, summon me to the Circle, and then reward me with precisely this: a reward. A paradise planet. A wild adventure after I had been sentenced to a life in chains.”

He stopped. He felt he had said everything that he had to say—wise or unwise. Good hand and bad hand. He was naked. Fully clothed in his body, but totally clean in his mind.

“This silence has gone on for long enough.” He uttered, finally. “I hope you’re still here. Would have been truly awkward if I spent all this time talking just to myself.”

“We are here.” Said a voice, and then there was silence again.

He waited. He could hear his powerful heart in his ears. His muscles booming. The powerful, godly blood flowing inside his countless veins. In that silence, he could hear it all: the full might of his latent power!

And then he heard again the voices: “Will you accept this mission?”

He took a deep breath. Business. Straight to business. He loved it! “Any catch?”

“You will have to take a Communicator with you.”

“No.”

Brief pause. “No?”

“I do not accept the mission.”

Longer pause. “You can dispense with the Communicator, but you will have to take...”

“Nothing. I take nothing with me. Nothing but my own body.” His voice boomed deeper, even though, again, he had no intention for it to be like this. “I take nothing. And I accept no spies.”

Long pause, though briefer than before. “We accept it.” There was another pause. A short one. They probably tried to use it to gauge their beast’s reaction, but they got nothing meaningful out of it. Nothing at all.

His heartbeat was steady. Even the flow of his thick, mighty blood in the thinnest of his vessels was undisturbed as from his most relaxed of moods.

That beast had the upper hand and he knew it. They all knew it. Even if someone didn’t know it, now they did: the Masters had accepted his terms. They really wanted that threat to be extinguished, and for that they were going to risk a Seedmaker going rogue.

A Seedmaker who had already conspired against them. A Seedmaker who, even now, stood defiantly before them.

They had very few cards to play. And they knew it. Still, whatever cards they had, they played it: “But you will need to show us something. Some proof of your commitment.”

There were gentle pauses between every quip and response. Roberto was silently gauging his own reactions and perusing his mind. He himself didn’t quite know what he wanted.

Well, he did, but not in the exact terms. In this back-and-forth, both parties were discovering themselves and each other: the Masters discovering Roberto. Roberto discovering the Masters. The Master discovering just how much they were willing to surrender. Roberto discovering just how much he could get away with.

“How so?” He asked, testing his hand.

“Once a month. Once a month we will send a probe that will report your progress to. One month. Just once. Every thirty days. Even if you succeed in your mission before that, we will still count thirty days to send each probe.”

“How long will the questioning be each time?”

“As long or as short as you can make it. We just need to know and make sure you’re on track.”

Their voices seemed to grow deeper by the latter half of these sentences. Still, Roberto remained undisturbed. “If I’ve got nothing to report?”

“Then we come back the following month. Another countdown of thirty days.”

“If I lie?”

“You won’t lie. It isn’t in your nature.”

They were right. He wasn’t going to lie, no matter how much a lie would benefit him. “Fair enough. I won’t lie.” He shrugged, and his shoulders were like mountains being split apart: *BOOOM!!!* “I’m not capable of it, I think.” He looked up, back to the shining dots. “I can, however, omit things.”

“You shall be read. Every reaction in your body shall be read by the probe, just as they are always read here, everywhere you go. Heartbeat. Blood flow. Neural activity. All.” The voices seemed to come back deeper in their next sentences: “If you hide something, we will know.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Likewise, Roberto.” They said simply. “Likewise.”

A brief silence. “What if I still refuse?”

“You go back to the dens. There you shall spend the remainder of your decade.”

“Hmm. So this is a much concession I can get from you in this regard?”

“Yes.”

“One month? Can we make it three?”

“No. One probe every thirty days. This is the longest we will allow ourselves to be in the dark.”

There were no thorny comments. No ironies. No pokes at Roberto’s ego or reminders of his subservience. No words saying he should be grateful. No disrespect of any kind.

Just facts. Fact laid out with the honesty known only by the supremely powerful. Absolute sincerity that came only with absolute power.

Business. Just business and nothing else. “I accept.” He said. “But this is the farthest extent of your reach with me. I will accept no other intrusions.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will leave the planet, nay, the entire solar system in the dark. You shall not send satellites to orbit the planet. You shall not set outposts on a nearby moon. You shall not send even a ship to cross into the gravitational boundaries of the system’s sun (or suns). You shall send only a dumb, limited probe every thirty days, and then leave me completely alone. If I suspect as much as a whiff of interference; if I detect the slightest intrusion outside this one, singular monthly probe... I will rebel again.”

“You shall be destroyed.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“You cannot sense a satellite on the edge of the solar sister.”

“I may not, but I also may. I have a feeling neither of us truly know the extent of each other’s power. You may surprise me, but I also may surprise you.” He shrugged. *BOOOM!!!* The room rumbled again. It wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t even possible to! “You may send your other probes, of course. There’s no guarantee I will sense them, indeed. But if I do...” A pause. A short, honest puff of breath “You know.”

A longer pause. Then, the facts. Machine-gunned. One after the other after the other:

“Seedmakers shall be sent if you rebel again.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“You cannot survive them.”

“I’m well aware of that, but I can kill some before I die. If you send your strongest, I can maim them. I can make them hurt. I can aim for their genitals and make them infertile. Hard, but possible. Your roster of most precious breeders will grow smaller.”

“This is a risk we are willing to take.”

“Likewise, death is a risk I am willing to take.”

“If it comes to it; if the entity is one that you can ally, as you yourself put it, and breed with to create your own little empire against ours... will you do it? Will you oppose us so?”

“I most certainly will.”

“What can we offer to dissuade you from this idea.”

“You know what you can offer me: the very paradise planet you send me to.” A pause. “You send me there. I end the threat. I gain the planet. Forever. ‘Til the end of my short days in this Universe.” He looked to one hand, finding comfort in its shape and form, so massive and manly, even though the thing was completely covered like the rest of his body by that dark, tight unipiece. “You shall supply me with maidens of my choosing and I shall fill the planet with my own offspring. As far as I can guarantee this, you shall respect my sovereignty on the planet like an Emperor of my own.”

There was a longer pause. Two seconds. And then...

“We accept it.”

Roberto took a deeper breath. “Hmm. I am surprised. Your need is indeed dire.”

The voices ignored this comment. “The planet shall be yours after the deed is done.”

“And my offspring?”

“The planet shall belong to your bloodline until the end of the Universe. We renounce any ownership of the celestial body. And its star system. You and your offspring shall rule this little corner of existence for as long as you survive. You’re not going to be allowed to leave it though. No colonization beyond the planet’s solar system. If you try it, we exterminate it.”

“Hmm. It is fair.”

“We take you trust our words.”

“I don’t. Not really. Not entirely.” A deep breath. A gulp. “Seedmakers cannot lie. Masters may. That’s what makes you “Masters”, after all.”

“Is this going to be a problem?”

“No.” Again, a shrug, and another powerful quake in the room. “Past my death, there’s not much I can do. No guarantees I can assure. These are my chances. This is what I can realistically get.” He raised his head. Looked at the shining beams with earnestness. “I accept.”

During the silence that followed, he waited for his mission briefing, or to be sped up into a capsule and hurled to the other side of the Universe, for all he cared. They had discussed all there was to be discussed. Still, he wondered... he just pondered... what little trick the other voices could come up with, perhaps to not let him leave the Circle on his own terms, or perhaps to try and catch him off his guard.

“Roberto, do you like living?”

Roberto’s heart skipped a beat. And that’s it. All else remained normal in him. Or so it seemed.

“A personal question.”

“Refusing to answer it is already an answer.”

A quiver of the lips. A tremble in the tip of his nose. Another beat skipped in his heart.

“Can I be relieved?”

“Of this session? Not yet.”

He raised his eyes. “No.” The pace of his breath quickened. “I do not enjoy living.”

Pause. Silence. Then... “Aren’t the wombs you so fertilize worth your life?”

“No. They are not.”

Silence. Blunt and heavy. His words had brought that uneasy silence in the room. The temperature in his body was slowly rising. “You’re a Seedmaker. Breeding should bring you infinite joy.”

He answered with a snarl. “If this is how you programmed or designed me, then I must confess your design came slightly off with me.”

“What exactly is wrong with your lifestyle?”

He scoffed. “Past the ten thousandth womb, they all feel like sandpaper around my sex.” He looked down. The monstrous bulge on his thighs captured his eyes. “I do not like breeding. If chastity was my only alternative, I would pick it on a heart beat.”

“And yet you desire maidens for your future planet.”

He raised his head again. “This is entirely different.”

“Entirely different, you say. How so?”

One second. Two seconds. Three...

“They are not breeders. They’re wives.”

Blinking came from some lights. The Masters were discussing with one another, he could feel it. “Wives, you say. You have any idea what this means?”

Roberto pondered for a bit. “No. But my heart seems to know. I want women. Women to call my own. But... also women could can call me their own. I want... partners. I want friends. I want warriors who will fight by my side and die... die on my breast. As I die on theirs as well.”

Roberto wasn’t used to feeling those things: a swelling on his breast, not just on his cock. The burn intoxicated him. There was a throb and a pain under his eyes, and... and he...

He just wasn’t used to feeling those things! “I want... wives. This... this is what I take wives to be.” He looked up. “I don’t want breeders. I don’t want to breed ever again. I want...”

He paused. He wasn’t really going to say that word, was it?

It was ridiculous. It was ludicrous. It was the most humiliating thing a male of his standing could ever say.

Yet... though he barely knew the word... though he barely understood what it mean... it burned like brazen steel in his heart and throbbed as mightily as his giant cock.

The word he had been taught to detest. The word he came to love above all others.

“Love.”

The word echoed in his mind, if not in the room. The silence stretched on, and it promised to stretch towards infinity. The shining dots were blinking and shimmering, little stars around him, silent and judgemental.

They were laughing at him. They were baffled by him. They were taking a long time discussing that most unexpected turn of events—and all the time Roberto just stood there, head low, shoulders lower, and fists surprisingly tightened. His grip had been tightened during his last speech. He barely realized it, but now his body was in a firm, defensive posture.

He was surrendered. And he felt naked in a way no man should ever be. Not before strangers. Not before such hideous creatures as those he called his “Masters.”

He raised his head. The silence no longer pleased him. “I want to love. I want to be loved.”

The silence no longer pleased the Masters either, it seemed: “What does a Seedmaker understand of love?”

“Little, I suppose.” He shrugged. *Boom...* “I want to discover it by myself.”

“What need do you have for love?”

He felt impatient. Were they going to waste his time with circular questions? “I will discover it by myself.” He repeated and left it at that.

Then the voices brought in their big guns: “Do you think any female can ever love you? We don’t mean “desire” you, for they all obviously do.” In their pause, malice seeped into the Circle. “You’re a Seedmaker. You were designed to be the most desired object of any female anywhere in the Universe. What we mean is what you call “love.” Do you think any female would ever be capable of loving you? A female! Not as strong as any Seedmaker, for nothing in the Universe is ever as strong as a Seedmaker, but just this: an average female. A creature that trembles and collapses at the mere scent of you. A female, never a lover. You are too arousing, too sexually enticing to ever be loved. Do you think, in all the vastness of the Universe, there are female equivalents to your power?”

Roberto moved more openly. It was a subtle motion—a raise of the head, a lifting of the shoulders, *boom! Boom! Boom!*—but still it meant all the difference for the Master, who promptly responded to that movement as it had been the greatest affront ever committed against them by their rebellious test subject:

“There are not. You Seedmakers are the only life form in the entire Universe who can possibly be considered a “God”—that is, under the cultures that have a concept of godhood. And gods, dear Roberto, can never be loved. Worshiped? Yes. Adored? Yes. But never loved. Every woman you pick will fall on your feet and spread their legs for you, begging for your seed. If you reject them, you will madden them. If you deny them the only thing that pollutes their minds, that intoxicates their thoughts—breeding! Breeding! Breeding!—they will go mad and resent you. Well, probably not resent you—again: you are designed in a way it’s impossible for any female to have any negative thought towards you whatsoever—but they will resent themselves and cast their own bodies out from precipices into their dooms. The thought of their mere existence without your seed in their wombs will drive them insane in a day’s time.”

A pause. A silence during which the full weight of their words was felt in his heart.

The knife was in. All that was left was... to twist it! “You think you can ever be equal to your females. You cannot. You will never be equal to them. Only equal to your Seedmaker siblings. If you should wish for anything, it should be for other Seedmakers to make you company. We won’t grant you those, of course, but this is what you should wish for, if you had any chance of actually getting it: tall, strong, muscular virile breeders with whom to share a planet and maybe breed and have intercourse with as well. A man-to-man pairing is the only one you can aspire to, if these are your expectations, for elsewhere you’re never going to find a match. Elsewhere you are never going to find... an equal.”

Another voice came. It sounded absolutely the same, and maybe it was, indeed, the same voice. Still, he interpreted it as a different voice—one much crueler, much less patient than all the others: “A warrior to fight and die alongside you. Foolish! You are a petty prince who has been bred and raised in the utmost luxury and comfort your entire life. You know nothing of the Universe or of anything that lies in it. You think of yourself as a baseline when instead you are an extreme: an extreme of beauty, of virility, of fertility, of power, of masculinity. There isn’t anything equal to you because there isn’t any other spot vacant at the top of Power. There’s only Power. There’s only a Seedmaker. There’s only you!” The voice let a silence stretch for one second... one second and hal- “At the top of the cosmic hierarchy you stand, and you stand alone! This is what it means to be at the top. Of course, not that we actually think you’re going to listen to us. You never did then, when your bargain chips were so inexistent, and you certainly won’t now, when Fate has given you finally an opportunity to demand and extract concessions out of us!”

The voice, for once, seemed seriously angry—“pissed” would be the right word for it—and Roberto was now certain that the other voices who picked from it were trying to tone down the aggression and cool off the nerves. “You dream with something that cannot exist, Roberto. You dream of something that may kill you. You think, by choosing your own mates, you’re bringing yourself close to this ideal of... a strong mate. An equal.” In the silence that followed, Roberto could clearly read the denial in that voice, as if a head was shaking behind that blinking star. “You’re only going to get breeders. Stronger, taller, more voluptuous breeders? Certainly. But breeders are all the same. As brainless and emotionless as all the females you fuck. Other than perhaps a finer selection of meat, your new reality will be the same as the old one: breeding and breeding and breeding, such as the fate you’ve been designed to.”

“Still...” Roberto was quick to answer. During their talk, he had managed to build his case: “If a male stands atop the pyramid, so can a female. So must a female. The top might be lonely, but two seats must stand on it: one male, and the other its counterpart. Such is the way with the Universe.”

“As if you know anything about the Universe. Don’t philosophize, boy. Your understanding of reality is as shallow as your semen is thick: your manhood, for one, was never something that arose naturally from the Universe. We have created it! We have bred it! And we now grant it a new life—though a new life is not exactly what it deserves! You think there is a natural counterpart to your masculinity when there’s nothing natural at all about your masculinity. You are a product of intelligent design. An artificial biological machine—and a machine that was meant for a very clear purpose, and one purpose only: to breed! To breed endlessly! To breed infinitely! And any other purpose or intent besides this one will end up in failure—and, along with its failure, heartbreak. Misery. Death.”

Roberto tightened his fists. Then he loosened them. *Pheeew!* Deep breath, deep breath. In and out, in and out. “I see.” He consulted his heart. Amazing how often he found the sharpest answers in it. Not in his brain, not in his cock, but in his heart. “I will risk it. I will risk it all.” A deep breath. A stronger (even stronger!) chest. “Worst comes to pass, I dispense with them all. All females. I live alone in my little paradise, and you won’t have to be troubled by me ever again.”

Silence. His answer seemed to have the weight he intended.

Silence. Eventually broken: “Do you think your life so detestable?”

“Yes.”

“Have you thought it detestable for a long time?’

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Hard to bear? Ever since I colonized my ten thousandth womb. So I guess that was one or two months past my eighteenth birthday. The first or second month into my breeding schedule. That’s when life became hard to bear, and turned truly unbearable when another ninety thousand wombs were seeded under my strong torrents. So...” He raised his eyes. There was a glimmer of wetness in them. Too much water. More water than those strong, heavy eyes were normally expected to carry. “One year. About one year after my breeding. When I was nineteen years old or so.”

“And yet you bore it. This life.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Roberto stood firm. His posture was exemplary. His frame, no less than godly. “Because I respect life. I don’t see it fit to forfeit it.”

“Is it honor, then?”

“You can call it that.”

“And what if we deny you everything?” Silence. Roberto didn’t know how to take that question—so he waited, and in waiting he hoped, like he had hoped throughout all of his life, that a silver lining would shine: “If we decide to just annihilate this planet. Nuke it from orbit. Erase it, costs be damned. What if we deny you all and condemn you to spend the rest of your life here, trapped in eternal darkness, breeding ever less appetizing females, seeing wombs whose mere smell we suppose grows detestable to your senses? What if we decide to punish you so?”

The question was left at that. There wasn’t one reaction out of the ordinary from the stud. None. If anything there was really out of the ordinary, that was his pose. His military stance. His sheer, unbridled respect—not for the Masters, but for something that he felt was much superior, much grander, much more encompassing than the Master could ever aspire to be.

“Life goes on.” He shrugged his shoulder, and this time it seemed as if the room was about to crack under their might. “Same old, same old?”

“Don’t you despair?”

“No.”

“May we know why? Or how?”

Again... a shrug. A much kinder, much more peaceful and resigned one. “I am the strongest male in the Universe. One of the two hundred and fifty strongest, at least. It would befit me to face life with all its hardships. Forfeiting it just sounds cowardly. Dirty. Much as I don’t enjoy it, I bear it.” He shrugged one final time. “It’s not as if I have too much time left in it, anyway.” The silence endured, and this time he wasn’t willing to let the Master have the next word. “So? Is this all?”

A conversation. No words, of course, but he knew the Masters were conversing with each other.

“When do you wish to part?”

A glimmer in his eyes. His answer, faster than light: “As soon as possible.”

“Would you wish to breed again if it took any longer than a day?” A pause. Then, something of a correction. “An hour?”

“No.” The answer, even quicker.

A longer pause. A deeper conversation. “Do you wish to go now?”

Roberto’s body was filled with joy, though through his looks and voice alone one would hardly notice it: “Ten minutes.”

“Oh. Not as soon as possible, we see.”

“I need to make peace with myself. With my mind. My body.” Looking up, he saw only darkness. Still, it looked the brightest and most beautiful nullness he had ever seen inside those dreary walls. “After all, it’s been five years.” He gulped, and his body quivered a bit. “Five years. My body longs for life.”

The silence endured. It wasn’t known whether the Masters knew or not the meaning of their stallion’s words. “Go back to the Wait. You shall be called when all is ready.”

The dots dimmed and disappeared, and a rectangle of light shone on Roberto’s back, calling him once more to the waiting room—the last dark room he would have to endure. The final darkness in his longing heart.

 

Chapter 3: The Light of Freedom

 

Sitting on nowhere—or rather, sitting on a seat so dark that it blended seamlessly with the darkness and made it look like he was sitting in the void—Roberto twirled his thumbs around one another, hunched over and brought with him all the weight of the Universe on his shoulders.

The god was pensive. He had been relieved of the obligation of wearing that tight-fitting black unipiece, but he kept it one. He quite enjoyed it. For once, it was good to not think about his body at all. Merging seamlessly in the dark. No longer a body, but just a face. No longer a tool, but an actual individual. A person, so to speak.

«I should be sad.» The giant thought. He wanted to voice these thoughts out loud, but he trusted nothing. When still inside that prison, he knew he was being seen. Every tiniest pump of his bloodstream  within his thinnest vein was being monitored, and he wanted to give his Master none of his individuality. None of his hopes, thoughts, and dreams.

«I should be sad.» He repeated, and in thinking so he touched his enormous chest with a hand. Underneath the tonnes of muscle in that pec alone, an armor mightier than the hull of any ship, he felt his mighty heart throb, and in throbbing it warmed his palm, and in its warmth he felt it, he knew it that he had it inside of him: a mind. A will. A soul.

«I feel so bad right now. These beings... the things they asked me shouldn’t be asked of anyone. Not like this.» He sniffed. His manner was like that of a wild feline mama who’d just lost her cubs: she was dismayed and yelping in pain, yet she could not be said to be “crying.”

He wanted to cry. Wanted, but maybe couldn’t. «I should be sad, though all I can feel right now is... peace. Understanding.» No. These were not really the right words. It was... «Acceptance.»

Come what may, it would still be the greatest thing that had happened or would ever happen in his life. Come what may, good or bad, he would embrace it. And by embracing it he would honor it fully.

A fissure opened up somewhere unseen in the room. The darkness hid it perfectly, but the sounds didn’t escape the titan’s mighty ears.

“Seedmaker Roberto.” A box appeared before his face. Even just ten feet away from him, it was almost completely invisible against the dark. “Are you ready?”

The beast rose. “Yay. It’s been ten minutes, after all, and my mind is clear.”

The box rose to meet his eyes. “Ay.” A white rectangle beamed behind it. Now the boxy outline of the Communicator was the clearest it could possibly be against the blinding white light from the passage behind it. It stood as a perfectly black, smaller rectangle against the bigger, perfectly white frame.

The box spoke. “Seedmaker Roberto. You shall be transported to your destiny by teleportation.” There was an audible wince. Even in his most subtle frown, Roberto was almost as loud and bombastic as when he was in his studly form tearing through the bodies of hundreds of females. “We understand you might be reluctant to this method, but we assure you: the technology is much improved now. No more teleporting each limb to a different part of the galaxy.”

“Well, that’s comforting.”

“Was this sarcasm?”

“It was.” He frowned again. He had just the sweetest smile budding on his face, and this smile was quickly undone. “I am not in bad spirits. Let me have some fun.”

“You will have your fun in the loneliness and fastness of the paradise planet.” The box gave it a slight pause. “Your paradise planet, should you fulfill your mission.”

“Hmm.” Roberto stood ready. Through his posture, massive and broad and expansive, he let the box (and whoever else was watching) know that, upon command, he would be inside the room beyond that white portal in one second, and ready to work and fight to the best of his Masters’ expectations. “Please continue.”

“You shall be teleported to your location. Alas, the planet is far too distant to be reached through any other means. Also, as efficient and reliable as our teleportation technology has gotten, we still cannot guarantee you what you would call a “safe landing.” Given the distances involved, you may end up on the planet’s atmosphere, even its low orbit, and it falls on your Seedmaker genes the task to survive the fall and carry on your duties.”

“My genes are invincible,” Roberto answered without a waver. “I am not going to be transported inside the planet, will I? I mean... literally inside? Deep into its core by accident, by any chance?”

“No. We can calibrate the machine for this.”

“Good, good. I can guarantee my survival in orbit, even some minutes deep in space, but there isn’t much I can do if you transport me to the flaming core of a planet, with tens of thousands of miles of digging above me. Invincible, am I? No, not really. Just close enough.”

The box seemed indifferent to his comments. For someone who just ten minutes ago was insistent upon business-business-business, Roberto was the one now in the talky, cheery mood.

If he was inquired about it, he would be honest: «I’m happy!» The thought sizzled in his mind. «If I weren’t so strong, I would be jumping up and down like a child right now.»

He tried very deeply to keep a stern, neutral expression—but here and there slivers of smile budded in his face. He wasn’t expecting it, but feelings rarely follow a person’s intent: the anxiety of freedom was getting to his heart! He was singing songs of liberty without having even stepped out of the darkness yet—and he loved this!

“Please step inside when ready.”

Roberto was slightly off by the instruction. “That’s it? No more instructions?”

“Is there anything else you would like to add? We understand you want to be out as soon as possible, and whatever had to be discussed was discussed ten minutes ago in the Circle.”

“You are correct. Hmm. Perhaps just a couple of questions, of... clarifications before I go?”

“What would you like to know?”

“What am I carrying with me?”

“A priori, nothing. You have your body. Your Seedmaker’s genes. This is more than enough for the full might of any intelligent species.”

A flame burned on Roberto’s breast. He answered the box with a kind nod. “Indeed they are. I would like to request, however, a couple of things.”

“Name them.”

Roberto thought better and corrected himself slightly: “Well, I think only one thing: a small bag or container; really small, understood? At least for my size. No more than, hmm, my forearm in width, if I had to give some measures. A small, portable bag with enough casual clothing of good variety.”

“Casual clothing, you say?”

“Comfortable, light, easy to put on and take out. No hassle. Also, very chaste clothing.” He looked down at his own massive being. That black, smooth unipiece had quickly grown on him. “Like this one I am wearing, but perhaps not too uniform or too restrictive.”

The box stood quiet for a moment, and then came its voice in a clear tone of curiosity: “That’s a unique request. It shall be granted, of course. However, may we know the reason for it?” It approached Roberto slightly. “You’re a Seedmaker. Exposure does you as much harm as flecks of space dust would do the hull of our strongest spaceship. Why the need for clothing in a Paradise without anyone to judge you for it? Are you ashamed of your own form, by any chance?”

It was Roberto’s turn to have a pause and skip the beat. “Indeed.” He uttered them: his thoughts. In speech he uttered the words of his thoughts unfiltered, no longer caring about his privacy, for freedom... oh! Freedom was so close! So within his grasp! “I have grown a little nauseated by my form. Not that I find myself “unappealing” or anything like that. It would be foolishness. Instead... I’m just tired. Tired of being a sex machine. Tired of being seen as one.”

“As said: no one will be on the planet to judge you for it.”

“Oh, but you don’t know that. The entity I’m tasked to eliminate...”

“Eliminate if you must.” The box corrected him. “Contain it and bring it to us if possible. “Neutralize” it: by all possible means peacefully, if you can, and only then, if all else fails, through violence, if you must.”

“Understood. Still, my point is: this entity might be a living creature. A sentient being. Whether female or male, it will be able to see me. The planet is no longer untouched.”

“Why would this be a problem?”

He shrugged. *Boom!* “No real problem. Just my preference, if I can make it known. I no longer want to be seen as a sex machine. A breeder. Even by a potential enemy.” He gestured to the box, in which he felt something of an impatience, a sense of absurdity growing. “I know, I know. Let me remind you that I am not a machine. I’m not logical. I’m dreams and insanities, just like most living creatures are. So, in this final moment in your arms, I ask of you: lend me a little understanding, alright? A little ear for my... dreams and insanities. Or the little quirks that come from them.”

The box stood still. Eerily so. For the most of the times, it wobbled here and there, up and down, as if constantly trying to fix itself around a single point in space, but lacked the fine-tuned coordination to do so.

Now... it stood still. Something was going on inside its “mind”—that is, inside the mind of those behind it—and eventually, once the silence became a little too uncomfortable for Roberto’s liking, it voiced its mind: “Seedmakers aren’t supposed to be like this.”

Roberto shrugged. *Boom!* “Alas, I am not a regular Seedmaker.”

“We beg to differ. There’s nothing inherently wrong with your genetic makeup. No deviation—out of the standard measures—in your genome. We read your brain and see that all the neural pathways are as expected for a Seed-”

The box kept on speaking, but Roberto was no longer listening. Those fools! They rambled about genes and genomes and neural pathworks while being completely incapable of understanding that life—real life!—was much more than just this!

Roberto thought about lecturing them, about making his views heard, but... «No.» He simply smiled and waited contently for the box to finish its ramblings. «Even if they were worth my piece of mind, I don’t believe they would ever understand it.»

The Masters weren’t interested in life for life’s sake. Only in controlling it and making it their property.

The box was finished. Roberto pretended to pick up from its words: “Very well. In any case, I am odd for a Seedmaker. Everything inside of me might be as expected, per your usual standards, yet you can’t deny that I don’t behave within standards.” He raised one eyebrow. “How many Seedmakers have ever attempted a rebellion?”

The box stood silent, moving somewhat still again. “We concur. In any case, it sounds silly. We do try and understand you, Roberto. It is important for shaping the next generation of Seedmakers.”

And there it was: the next generations! «They don’t try to understand me. They try to inspect me, and through their inspections better control me!» His breath grew slightly out of pace, his chest rising and falling even mightier than its normal state. «All they care about are their little experiments. As if they could ever read me for who I am...!»

But his thoughts got so ahead of him that he became quite self-conscious of them, and quickly he tamed them to still sound and look as normal as the Masters expected him to be: “I will enjoy the clothes, if you may. If the entity I come across is a living being, sentient, and male...”

“Then it will be completely paralyzed before your might. No male—other than a Seedmaker—can stand next (or even just close) to you and not suffer an internal combustion that fries its body from the inside out. The stronger ones will be consumed with envy, jealousy, and sexual arousal. They will be driven mad or into suicide. The weaker ones will be cooked alive.” The box added a hasty note, as if feeling the need to specify things: “Therefore we do ask that you are cautious. Don’t damage the foreign creature without need.”

They really didn’t listen to him, did they? “Hmm.” Roberto merely nodded and carried on. “I will take my precautions.”

“Especially so if the entity is a sentient living being... and female.” The box rose higher, almost as if celebrating an early victory. “If this is the case, your being a Seedmaker would have been the most perfect, ideal weapon for this mission: females cannot even resist your scent from halfway across a planet! As soon as your presence in a world is felt, however big this world may be, all females in a ten-thousand-mile radius begin to ovulate and suffer from the intense desire to breed, even though they might not know who exactly is this creature that they want to breed with, who is causing them so much pain, so much arousal, so...”

Roberto giggled. The extent of the Master’s cluelessness and indifference was rather charming. «It’s like they’re going out of their way to misunderstand me.» At that point of heightened absurdity, it even got quaint to his ears.

The giant stud crossed his arms, and the space around him seemed to have been deformed by the simple gesture. *Wrooom!!* Roberto heard the noise of his super massive muscular arms crossing, then hoped that the expanse of a full planet would prove less delicate than those cramped walls of pure metal of the station were.

The box rambled on and on and on, and then it finished: “If the entity is female, all you need to do if get close enough to her and she will be in your power. Simply alert us when the time is come and we will pick it up from there.”

Roberto puffed out a whiff of steam. He would have been wise to have stayed silent and let the whole episode conclude speedily... but he couldn’t. Not just yet. Not without making one final piece of his mind he heard and known: “You don’t even consider it, do you?”

Silence. Very brief. “Consider what? Don’t get too lost in your own thoughts, Seedmaker. We might read your brain, get all the data we need from your neural activity, but we do not read your mind—alas.”

Roberto raised his chin slightly. “You do not even consider the possibility...”

“... of a female ever resisting you?” For someone who did not read minds, the voices behind the box had picked up on his thoughts pretty flawlessly. “Now you’re just being foolish again.”

“So you don’t? You are so certain, huh? All the Universe. All its size and myriad of species. You don’t consider that a single individual female, not one single...?”

“No.” The answer was so definitive that, again, it sounded to Roberto like the voice of god. Of the Universe Itself speaking to him. “There is not. There shall never be.” Then, he could perceive something of a *smile* on the damned creature! “There can’t be. You... are a Seedmaker. Not just the greatest male; the Supreme Male! You are Masculinity itself. The purest form of it. The incarnation of the gods of Manhood, if they ever existed. So long as there is a womb, there will be submission. Always. And you can be sure we a sure of it!”

On the surface, those words would have been the typical bragging of someone without much to show in terms of sustenance, of actual content. Hollow posturing. Big hat, no cattle. Roberto was very good at reading these empty gestures of potence, being the supreme Alpha Male and all that, but at the same time he couldn’t miss the incredible firmness of the tone; the calm and smooth security of someone who did, indeed, know what they were talking about. Like a male who acted the most arrogant and almost as unbearable as a male could be, but who also did indeed pack a twenty-inch mega cock and fat bull balls between his thighs, making all his bragging not only justified, but a right.

The right of the strong. The only right that mattered: Right born out of Might. Supreme Might leading to Supreme Right.

Roberto detected such a Right in the tone of the speakers. Before such natural, unwielding confidence, he could do little else but gently bow and acquiesce: “I see. Perhaps my heart does speak louder than my mind sometimes. I no longer question your reason.” He bowed again. It was only natural to him, a supreme Alpha male, to recognize the superiority of others in a hierarchy. The love of fight and competition—and above all, domination—is precisely what made him Alpha, and the very essence of every male. “Still, I will get my clothes, if I may. A man must be properly dressed, no matter the occasion.”

The box floated gently aside. “They’re ready. We arranged them during our talk.” Roberto merely bowed again. There was some giddiness in his port. A trembling almost too great to be contained. “Do you need to hear the terms again? Of your mission?” The box drew slightly closer. “Of this conditional release?”

The giddiness stopped. He eyed the box with a burning gaze. “No need to. Neutralize the invader. Peacefully by all means, then aggressively if all these fail. Exterminate it if all else fails.”

“Do it and the planet shall be yours. Do it... and you shall get your freedom.”

The box didn’t need to say the latter part. It was beyond mere redundancy. It was... revealing. It was the Masters telling him that they did indeed understand what fire burned the hottest in his heart: the yearning for liberty. The desire for freedom!

Roberto stepped forth. The box moved out of the way as he walked into the light. “Good tidings, Seedmaker Roberto. We wish you speedy success.”

Roberto stayed silent. It would indeed be in his best interest to complete the mission as quickly as possible. It would be, yet he didn’t quite feel like it. «Reason commands, but the heart doubts.» It was so bad that he couldn’t read his heart nearly as well as he did his reason! Life, he felt, would have been much simpler like this.

Shrouded in doubt, and feeling quite the unexpected hesitation, Roberto stopped at the edge of the blinding door, the cast a very discreet look at his surroundings. Darkness enveloped him, nowhere else to go, nothing else to be seen. Darkness that he should be happy getting rid of. Darkness, however, that he had grown quite used to.

«The child leaves his home. The boy sets out to become Man.» The Seermaker smiled, not one to lose such an obvious irony. «Would you look at this! Almost a million wombs fertilized... and I’ve never been more than a boy. Just a boy.»

On foot rose beyond the limelight. Whiteness enveloped him, and darkness receded far behind. «No problem, though. Now I’ve got my chance to finally become Man.»

Moving his other foot forward, the Seedmaker disappeared into the light, and Darkness abandoned him forever.

 

Chapter 4: A Horse, Freed

 

Hot wetness everywhere. Umidity surrounded him, made his skin burn. “Uuurhh!!” Roberto felt the groan escape his breast on its own. The ground beneath him shook. All sound died out for a while, with animals and birds fleeing his might.

The air was wet and hot, but also cool. It was the soothing type of air that was just perfect for every kind of person. Impossible to complain. «I... I...» Still dizzy and disoriented, the Seedmaker remained on all fours, getting all those... feelings... and sensations... of the new space around him! «Okay.» Little by little, his thoughts returned. «Let’s do it slowly. Inch by inch. Like easing myself into a female.»

He quite disliked himself for always thinking in such terms—sexual metaphors all—but he knew he was excused for the time being. Ever since he was born, sex was the only thing he knew. It was the only paradigm that was imbued in his very genes. How long it would take him to look past it? Who knew! What mattered to him, though, is that now he finally had a chance to find out!

The Seedmaker slowly stood up and scanned his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was... green! Green everywhere! Green surrounding him, green going over his head, almost as intense as the darkness from his prison, but... good. Lively. And not one bit asphyxiating.

“T-... trees.” Unbeknownst to him, his lips were moving. “Trees. These are... trees.”

He was surrounded by them. Trees. Indeed, trees. Trees everywhere. As lush and rich as his own body. Trees that, for the standards of a tree, were Seedmakers on their own: perfect and thick and infinitely rich. Trees the kind of which he would have to work hard to even just imagine: tall and wet and brimming with life. Trees that sweat. They perspired thickly through their trunks. A green aura of burning life emerged from these many trees—that’s how nutritious and potent they were!

After the green... the yellow. And the red. And the purple. And the myriad of colors that came from the richest, juiciest fruits ever! The green of the trees was like the darkness of space: it was everywhere! Almost overwhelming! Yet the darkness didn’t stand alone: stars peppered it, sprinkled upon it like jewels on a lake of tar.

The same was for that green: green, green, overwhelming green, yes, but not a lonely green, not the only color there was. Like stars, the fruits of the trees shone like beacons of hope in the vast sea of emerald—but unlike the actual space, the stars and the dome both meant the same thing—life! Nutrition! Power!—unlike the opposing forces of the vacuum of actual space and the light of actual stars!

Green! So much green! And now yellow and red and purple and blue and... “Ah, fuck!” He took in another thing. Oh, heavens! It was so much! “Fuck!” It was so much it nearly overwhelmed him. “THE SMELL!!” He boomed, and then the ground quaked, the trees were bent away, and all the animals and birds in a hundred-mile radius fled.

He would be excused, of course: it was his first time feeling real nature and real smell! Even before his imprisonment, all the environments he fucked in were tightly controlled and mostly sterile. Even in the odd occasion when he was allowed to walk in the open air—with several restrictions so that lesser beings never caught a glimpse of him, lest they went mad with arousal and jealousy—most places were urban environments, and their gardens looked all artificial, and their plants were sterile and stiff. Fake, fake, all fake—just like his birth itself had been fake. Birth from tubes, not from wombs.

“Nature... the nature...” Roberto stood still, stars twinkling in his eyes. Taking deep and powerful breaths, the muscular monster now pulled the tree's crowns all towards him. The air could be seen by the naked away forming streams into his nostrils. The ground itself bent towards him. He was a godly stud in a real (albeit ideal) world, so reality itself bent towards his will, whether he intended it or not. “Smell... the smells...” The god kept smelling and that beautiful world kept shocking him!

If not for his state of sheer ecstasy, like a blind man who suddenly regained sight and was immediately bombarded by all the colors of the spectrum at the fullest brightness of a birthing Universe, Roberto would have walked back and... taken a lean against a tree... supported himself on something, anything, for it was indeed too much, oh, “fuck!”, too much even for his mighty, genetically engineered superior senses.

He was a stud from heaven, and it was like he was suddenly overwhelmed by too many pussies! “So much... just...” He panted. He gasped. The vegetation around him was pushed and pulled by his motions. “So fucking much!”

It was beyond the point trying to describe everything that he was feeling. If even himself tried to do it, using his reason to its fullest capacity, he would have spent fifty years just going through all the little new things he was experiencing: the thickness of the air, the two hundred major scents from all the fruits around him, then the fifty thousand smaller scents that made every single fruit unique, like prints on a man’s digit, then the five million micro scents of every single leaf, then the muskiness of the tree, the richness of their wood—and the eighty million different variations of said wood!—the moist wet dirtiness of the ground beneath his feet, the slimy touch of that rich, thick soil, the wetness...

Oh, the wetness! It was all wet in that environment! Wet like the pussy of a woman. And... even more inviting? “Oh, this head.” After a literal hour of just... taking in all those sensations and emotions... Roberto felt stronger and more in control of his speech, enough to chuckle and smile and think aloud in longer sentences: “One day you will stop thinking in terms of sex. This is a promise.”

He opened his eyes. He looked around. Now and only now was he really opening his eyes and looking at his surroundings. The world was vast and intimidating and rich and disorienting, yes, but now... it was a world he could actually inhabit. A place he could actually live in and interact with, not just... a violent assault of images in his head. No longer just an unfathomable reality that his brain felt too constrained and shocked to grasp.

Now... he raised one arm. He touched the air. And the fibers and strands of his muscles, he felt them, almost grew too strong and powerful for his black unitard. There was the sound of fibers stretching and something tearing up. At first, he thought it was his clothing, but then he realized that... no. That was just his muscles. His impressive, massive muscles reacting naturally, with powerful and booming sounds, to a world that was open and free—no longer a dark and dry room made of plastic and metal and wires.

A real world that begets real growth of his muscles. “Hmm. Mrm!!” For a man who didn’t want to think of himself so much, all that Roberto felt in the next second of his senses was... his full self! His body, through and through, and just how powerful the thing really was. “God. I’m so... buff!” Roberto looked down, and before that sight all of nature, all of existence seemed to pale in comparison.

He was seven feet and six inches tall. Tall, he knew it. Much taller than any female and quite taller even than the average Seedmaker. Tall and powerful, yes, but always... small. Not really tall. When all he had for comparison was the bodies of feeble women, his tallness didn’t mean much. Now, with his feet standing on real ground, his toes curling around real, mushy soil... his muscles surrounded by real air and graced by the soothing scent of real leaves and real wood... now...

Now he really got to understand how tall and powerful he really was!

“Heavens al-... mighty!” The giant man boomed. The leaves fell from the trees more aplenty over his head. Fire erupted in him and his muscles swelled. For the first time, he actually felt the constraints of those tight-fitting clothes, and for the first time he felt out of his control that desire to just... grab those clothes... and... “Ooooh!!”

*RIIIIPP!!* One wouldn’t know it just by looking at it, but that unitard, that simple piece looking just like an elegant, smooth sweater, was actually stronger than the steel. It was woven from a special material which, when more refined, formed the base layers of interstellar ship hulls. To tear it would require special machinery able to crush smaller ships into boxes of scraps... or a Seedmaker.

“Roooaaarr!!!” Steam burst from the monster’s nostrils. His face, those contorted, was the most handsome it’s been... in forever! “Gooooods fuck!!” The monster tore the unitard off his torso like nothing, muscles booming and bulging, and the lights became almost blinding as his pinkish-white skin shone so naked, so freed onto that new air.

The place he had landed on was a deep forested area where light came in beautifully, but humbly. It was the dense, crowded dampness so typical of a heavy tropical forest—but without any of the discomfort that came with such a hostile environment. The lighting was dimmed, but no one could call it “dark.” It was a well-lit area. Despite the full coverage of leaves above one’s head, light seeped generously through billions of different crevices, shining stars in a sea of green, making the place cozy and inviting even for a complete stranger—hell, even for someone without one lick of survival skills.

The uncovering of Roberto’s chest, however, cast all this subtlety to the wind. As his super pectorals were revealed, the light bounced off of it a million times stronger, and for a brief moment it was like a new sun was shining on the ground, burning the trees and vaporizing the soil until nothing was left but steam and dust.

T’was merely an impression of course, but even as the light receded the Seedmaker shone like a thousand light bulbs. His mere presence seemed to carry a light of its own. Breathing harder, yet also more steadily, the giant bull god looked around once more, now with the biggest smile he ever had. “I’m such a god!!”

One second earlier, he was as humble as any man could be. He didn’t want to think of himself. He didn’t want to see himself as a sexual beast at all. Now... “God, fuck!” He looked down and marveled at his body. “Look at this rocking body!”

He was like a thin, feeble teenager who had been magically granted the Universe’s biggest, baddest body. With the unipiece still clinging to his arms, he raised his right arm and... *FLEX!!* He mightily flexed it, and a loud tearing sound came from the sleeves. The biceps ballooned enormously, and little by little the garment began to tear.

He raised his other arm. He gave it the mightiest of flexes. *BOOOM!!* The air and the trees, even the tiniest leaves all stopped moving. Nature itself took a pause from all Her labors to watch, in awe, that giant stallion flex and harden. Mother Nature, after all, was a woman—and no woman could resist a Seedmaker in heat.

Roberto enjoyed the pressure the clothes caused, fighting back against his swelling biceps. Grinning harder and making a slightly bigger effort, the god made his right biceps roar and then, after a lot of tearing and stretching... *BOOOM!!* A shockwave burst from the muscle as it tore completely through the sleeves. A hole was punched into the crown of trees above it. The biceps swelled almost too enormous even for Roberto’s enormous frame, and then it settled back into a fully proportional, but still gigantic swollenness. “Fuuuck!!” The ground shook as Roberto boomed, each burst of his voice coming like giants chanting from the depths of the deepest oceans.

Turning his gaze to the other arm, the monster raised it up, saw all his muscles boom and bust, and then... he flexed it! “Oooorh, so good!!” He felt the blood and the power coursing through his hyper-thick veins, and then the muscles bulge and bulge and bulge while his biceps bulged the hardest, the biggest, the kings of all mighty muscles!

His pectorals swelled as well, tearing through the black rags that still clung to his skin. The biceps ballooned and ballooned and ballooned until, after a tense, roaring stretching, it burst violently free from the sleeve, *BOOOM!!*, causing almost a flash of light as it broke free. Such was its power that the sleeve was completely torn from Roberto’s arm, its long and sturdy wool come undone into four different stripes. As each stripe crashed on the ground, the soil sunk around it. *WOOOMP!* Each piece of rag sank several feet into the soil, and the four of them combined made a gentle crater where Roberto was standing—something barely noticeable for him as he only had eyes for his immense throbbing muscles.

*BOOOOM!!!* The release of his biceps had been so powerful that the tree suffered even harder than his unitard: the crown of leaves above him was blasted by the shockwave into a massive hole at least a dozen feet wide. Light poured into the grove now and Roberto’s body shone like a god. A literal god! A being of light contemplating his own immense power—and getting increasingly more aroused by what he saw.

“Fuck! Fuuck!!” The monster had no words. No words could ever hope to encompass that sheer power and potency he felt! His smile was pussy-melting, and for once he wished for some fresh pussy to be there, ready for him to bang and splay and fill with his seed.

The smells... *sniff-sniff! Sniff! Sniff!* The smells kind of pointed out to... to...

*Sniff-sniff! Sniff! Sniff!*

Nevermind. The god needed no pussy. He had something much better. Something incomparably superior: himself!

Tearing the sleeve off the other arm, the beast stood beheld his two arms. Virile veins pumped and throbbed all over the massive trunks—arms literally thicker than most tree trunks he saw around himself. “Fucking... pumped!” Bringing each of those arms in front of his chest, groping them and feeling their cheer hardness, their thoroughly virile and bullish power, the god also sensed the immenseness of his chest standing in the way.

The Seedmaker had the biggest, widest, most virile pair of tits any male of any species could ever hope to possess—and now these ultra-hard pectorals, literally thicker than the hulls of spaceships, stood in the way of his own adoration; a shining white body resplendescing with more muscles than the eyes could drink or the mind could count. “Fucking... swollen!” Groping his monstrously large pectorals, the god felt a pain he could no longer... oh, no longer ignore! “Roooaarr!!”

The bulge on his crotch grew extreme. Even at its most relaxed, yes, his penis was a beast of its own: it bulged and throbbed with peerless power, and its resting state made it still much longer, harder, and thicker than the penises of all equine species. The most virile animal stud in the Universe’s species most adept to animal husbandry would still come (far) shorter, with its dick fully hard, to Roberto’s totally flaccid prick—and now that prick was awakening and casting upon its owner the same kind of pain as his biceps were feeling when freeing themselves from their constraints. “Ooorh!! Ooorh, oooorhh!!!” Grunting and booming and roaring, the god undid all the rest of his clothes over his hips.

*Boom! Boom! Bump!!* Piece after piece of hundred-pound clothing cratered the ground as the god undressed, and then he groped powerfully his mega bulge with one hand, rubbing it and taming it, showing his cock just who was the Alpha dog there. “Hello, my breeder. Time to break free.”

He didn’t free it directly. No. He didn’t tear the “pants” or even flexed the penis or his thighs, no, no. Acting now purely on instinct, following a voice of heart he never even thought was possible—a heart not of his chest, but of his cock itself!—the monster raised his hands to his formidable body and then explored, with his heavy, sprawling palms, every inch of delicious bulging muscle he had in that picture-perfect torso.

Roberto was Manly. Manly! Manly!! He was every bit a Man as any Man could be. He was so raw his definitions blasted past mere Manhhood and reached those of Maleness itself. He wasn’t a Man. He was a fucking Male!! “Fuck yeah!” And this was shown so clearly, so humiliatingly in his powerful frame itself: Roberto had the widest, thickest, most delicious pecs anyone would ever dream of... and just underneath it, in the sides of his mega torso, lay the biggest, fattest, hardest obliques any man could ever feel.

And he felt them, oh yeah, he did, groping and touching himself whilst his penis was filled with blood, pumping and throbbing and bulging and bulging, damn, bulging so aggressively from his pants it was insane to look at! The shape and thickness of his uncoiling snake was... it was...!

Men would ejaculate just at the sight of it. Women, already creaming their pants with the mere scent of Roberto, would ejaculate as well, longer and harder than any man, and then collapse with exhaustion. Their bodies would have been sapped of strength and fiber due to the hardness of their ejaculations. They would collapse not even out of pleasure, but out of literal physical depletion.

Most women would never walk again. Their muscles would have been torn out and ripped at the mere sight of Roberto’s bulge. That’s how insanely virile it looked, and it was still only half awake.

Roberto boomed and puffed thicker clouds of steam as his hands groped his obliques and under-pecks. Meeting the obliques on his powerful sides, his traps complemented that triangle shape which was the apex of all virility; the pyramid of arousal that enslaved all female minds and engayed all male brains. “Fuck... fuck... fuck...” Groping his pecs and feeling their massive prominence over the rest of his muscles... sliding his heavy, manly palms along the turgid edges of his humongous pecs... getting a feel of just really how immense those man-tits were... the monster felt aroused like with no female before.

Even his very first lays, at the very peak of his prime years, fell short of that incredible heat he was bringing himself just by the touch of his pectorals. His body was so manly that he himself wasn’t immune to it: for the first time in his life, Roberto felt the joy of gayness. “Holy... fuck!” Roberto was turned homosexual by the mere contact of his palm with his mega-hard chest. “Fuuuck... fuuuck...!!” The booms of his voice followed the deep, growling purrs of his cock. His entire genitals, protruding so obscenely from his pants, looked like a third whole legs cramped in there on his crotch.

The fabric stretched and stretched and ripped, showing the first tears of his mega-cocks unstoppable inflation. “Uuuurhh!!” The fire was only rising on Roberto’s groin. His hands still needed to graduate from the second most delicious set of muscles on his torso into the most delicious ones. The hardest ones. The most rippling, bulging ones. “What a god...!”

His fingers slid down to his nipples. He pinched and pulled them, then felt the turgid surface of his under-boobs. Based on the elevation alone, on how prominent those pecs were compared to the lower half of his torso, Roberto had a more bulging pair of tits than even the giant females he got to fuck—and those were nothing compared to the harder, stiffer, hotter muscles that laid below, in between those massive pectorals and his bulging, throbbing crotch.

Pair after pair, his palms slid down over his amazing rippling rock-hard abs. Roberto had the most bulging set of eight-pack any man could ever envy. Combined with the prominent bulges of his under muscles connecting the abdominals to the crotch, he almost looked like he had five whole pairs—though he personally thought that would be too much even for a Seedmaker, and that supreme male beauty lay in a sweet eight-pack bulging rippling abs. “Ooooh!!”

Fondling those muscles, he felt the semen bubble on his cock. The fabric ripped and tore, and parts of his steamy white cock began to show in the open air. The monster fondled and fumbled his immense muscles, feeling how hard they rippled and bulged and roared. His abs were harder than the hardest material known to the Universe. He had cruise ships hurled into them, only for the titanium-built crafts to crush and collapse under his unscathed, mighty muscles.

That was no joke: that’s literally how he was trained in his teenage years, when he wasn’t even a tenth as hard, as big, as bulging as he was now.

Sliding the tips of his fingers over those burning abs, Roberto gave them a slap, and a shockwave boomed from his hands. Lifting his palms again to his mega pecs, he gave his nipples a twist, and then... “OOOORHH!!”

*TEAR!!* *BROOONK!!* Like a mountain being lifted off the planet’s crust, his penis exploded freely from its containment. *Blooorsh!!* A lot happened in the same instant. Some pause would be needed to explain it all.

There was a *BOOOM!!* followed by a flash of fire followed by a trail and trench of soil being destroyed and blasted away in front of the mighty monster. The penis being released from its confined created a shockwave that burst forth and destroyed everything in its path. Three trunks were blasted as if by cannon balls. The splinters themselves were further blasted in the middle of the air. The nearby trees had their sides blasted away, and one by one they fell away from the trail, where a deep trench had been formed.

The magnificent cock sprung up in all its hardness, hitting the monster straight on his pecks, *BLAAAAM!!!*, then leaning back down in a less obscene, extreme angle.

Then, his monstrously large balls throbbed and the penis emitted a fat, thick, but lazy gush of cum. *Blooorsh!!* It was more cum to overfill the bellies of probably four hundred women, and it gushed and cratered on the ground in a huge pile and lake of white filth. His cum was steaming, as it always did, but the boiling itself was much harder, the bubbles rising and popping much faster despite all the thickness his material contained.

“Roooo-ooorh!! Roooar!!” The monster latched onto his mega penis with both hands, trying to tame it back. “Roooohh!! Roooorhh!!!” Low roars boomed from his throat. He was on the edge of his will, yet the sight of his booming, swelling pectorals, plus a glimpse of his glistening angelic abs was another spark to the atomic bomb fuse in his mind. “ROOOOAAAARR!!!”

A massive pile of cum streamed from his balls. His oversized cock head bloated outwards, doubled in size, and then expelled a formidable stream of semen, so powerful that it arched eight feet in front of the man, the entire arc probably being longer than fifteen feet.

It wasn’t an orgasm, however. When Roberto came, he really came! That lazy arc, that fat and horny ejaculation, oh, it didn’t rank even as a wet dream to the young god.

He literally wasn’t ejaculating at all! That fat emission was just excess of semen overflowing from his ball; a dumbing of the excess seed his body probably had no use for—as well as the purest expression of his extreme arousal, his extreme passion for his every inch, shape, and muscly form. “Oooh, god!!” Whenever he spoke of the divine, he pictured only himself in his own mind. “God!! GOD!!” His penis beat itself against his mighty torso. Fully turgid, it was long enough to go from his crotch up a couple of inches into his humongous pectorals. “OOORHH!!” Weighing about 2,400 pounds—a trickle, actually, compared to his full weight of 25,000 pounds—that mega cock had enough power to punch the monster back every time it smacked against his torso. “OOORHH!!!”

Tripping on the back of his own hells, the giant collapsed. *BOOOOM!!* A tree was shattered under his back, and all he heard was the noise of the huge wood leaning, then falling. *Boooom!!* Leaves fell all around him. More and more of the sky was being revealed as bursts of fire only rose and burned hotter and hotter within him. “God!! I’m a fucking... god!!” Groping his own pecs, the monster raised his biceps.

*Mwah!!* His lips, thick and meaty and perfect, the purest expression of his health—aside, of course, his pecs, his abs, his arms, his cocks, his each and every mighty ball...—his lips were very quick to meet his turgid, immense biceps, which he kissed and kissed, then proceeded to bite, pull with his teeth, lick and kiss more wetly, and then the monster stud was using his (ultra long and ridiculously thick) tongue to lick his clean, smelly armpits, and then...

“ROOOOAAARRR!!!”

He lost it. His penis rose to full mast and his right hand came there to meet it. *Booom!!* It was a good thing that his muscles acted on instinct as the penis emerged and began to spew the most ferocious load he had ever ejaculated. Had he not stopped the monster cock with his uber-muscular, the prick would have smacked him again right between the pectorals, and the gallons upon gallons of cum he would ejaculate would have gone all straight up into his face, blasting him with the force of the gods, probably knocking him out with their sheer strength.

“OOOOOORRRHHH!!!!”

Roberto banged his head against the ground... and passed out. The ejaculation was too intense for him to process. With everything going white, then black in his sight, he weathered those gushes of semen with as much pain as his females weathered them inside their own wombs. “GOD!! OH, GOD!!!” As he called his own name, he imagined his own self fucking him ruthlessly in the ass. He was being seeded by the image of his own muscular being. He was being fucked by himself—and that unashamed homoerotic experience had become, from the get-go, the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced, bar none. “I’M A FUC-...!!! ROOOOOAAARR!!!”

The forest was surrounded by the most beautiful mountain chains in almost every direction. The mountains were hundreds of miles away, yet they could still be seen so clearly on the horizon, so mighty as they were.

The distance mattered not: they trembled! And from every peak and through every surface all the snow began to roll, the most catastrophic snow slides washing away all the area at their feet, enough destruction to cover entire countries in properly civilized countries—even whole mid-sized continents! “OOOOOOORRHHH!!!”

With his eyes at first bulging out, then receding violently into his skull, Roberto made the most pained grimace of his life and felt pump after pump after pump of scalding semen burst from his cock right up into the skies. The semen rose who-knows-how-high before it began to rain down, blasting his body with pellets as thick as the tree trunks around him and as heavy as whole sections of mountains. Pump after pump, the monster felt himself bathed on his own cum—and that wasn’t anything compared to the filthy destruction he was wrecking on the beautiful environment around him.

Blast after blast flowed from his ultra-heavy mega balls into his magnificent blasting penis. He felt each volley of ejaculate flow along the (seemingly) miles-long length of his urethra, making the penis bulge along its flow, then exploding with volcanic might from his ultra-thick cock knob. The god was ejaculating a piece of himself with every throb. Pulse after pulse took limb after limb, and the very first surge of semen had knocked whatever energy remained from his legs, letting the Seedmaker stay there, with his ultra-wide uber-muscular back on the ground, squirming and groaning, wrecking the ground as he waited, oh, he so painfully waited for his ejaculation to petter out.

But it did not petter out. Not immediately, and not without the hardest fight of his life. Opening his eyes with great pain, feeling his entire body imploding with every throb, the monster watched his two virile testicles pump and pump and pump on the ground, building a deeper and deeper crater around his crotch. The virile mighty testicles were entirely covered with veins, each vein as thick as a horse cock and as long as a coiled anaconda, and each throb sent in gallons upon gallons of the Universe’s thickest semen coursing through, making them bulge even thicker, then thin out brutally as they pumped the semen into the cock.

His main ducts—those flowing from the base of his mega testicles to the ludicrously thick draft of his god cock—were as thick as his wrists. They almost hurt as they swelled and throbbed with such ridiculous levels of virility, and the loads they contained were just as proportionally insane, just as bulky and virile as to breed a billion women and fill entire pools of a whole planet with his stuff.

The sight of those massive mega bull balls throbbing and growing and filling themselves with so much virile spunk, only to pump it all into his mega penis and blast (what felt like) billions of gallons high up in the air, becoming as small as they could be, tightening up and hitting him right on his mega buttocks... yet still looking so swollen, so turgid, much bigger than any equine testicles even at their smallest frame...!!!

“ROOOOOAAAARRRR!!!!”

It was almost too painful for the giant to endure, and from that moment onwards he clung to his sanity—to his life!!—only by a thin thread, ejaculating and ejaculating while feeling his soul bit by bit coming out with his penis.

The things he heard and saw during the whole ordeal—the remainders of his beat-up, cum-ridden senses—were only fragments. Even his mighty Seedmaker brain—a brain that had been designed in a laboratory to endure the most arousing and physics-defying acts of virility and fertility!—could only barely grasp the sights and sensations that came from such a power, ungodly ejaculation.

“UUUURH!!! OOOOORRHH...!!!” The Seedmaker tightened his fist on the ground, desperately holding onto something, anything, and whatever his fist crushed became dust in the instant. Only his cock, always held at bay by either arm, remained invincible. Only his god cock barely suffered a dent under his atom-splitting grip! “ROOOOOAAAARRR!!!!”

Fatness. He felt the hot, filthy fatness of his loads exploding, rising, surging. Sheer fucking fatness, like the fatness of his cock, but purer, filthier, wholly virile.

The bodies of nine hundred and ten thousand females flashed in the dark of his mind. Orgasming females. Panting females. Females with blushing cheeks and their eyes wide open. Females with utter shock in their faces and females with nothing but joy.

Females who knew they were going to be fertilized by a god. Females who were finally sure that, now and forever, their progeny had been the chosen one to win, triumph, and inherit the universe.

Females that moaned, females that screamed: “FERTILIZE ME, STUD!!” Females that panted in near orgasmic desperation: “B-B-BREED!! B-BREED...!! BREED ME!!!” The air left their lungs hot and sizzling, burning every each of their throats until it burst like lava from their thick, luscious lips: “BREED ME WITH YOUR FAT FUCK DUMP, YOU GOD STUD!!” And their screams rose as he began to pump into them. “YOU GOD!!” And pump. “O-O-O-OH... YOU...!!” Trembles and shivers and pants and gasps. And pumps. “YOU GOD!!!!”

Pump and pump and pump and pump and...!

He always wondered what it was like to be those females. What it was like to feel such joy that your body couldn’t stop orgasming, that your bones and ribs were cracked and bent under the strength of your shivering alone, and that the very memory of that orgasm was enough to easily, nearly instantly trigger powerful orgasms of their own—a trick that he was told all of his females used after being seeded, using the memories of his scent, his power, his cock to replace the physical cock that was never going to seed them again.

He always wondered about it, and now he needed to wonder no more. “OOOOOORRHH!!!”

The sky was darkened. His geysering sperm covered the sun. The fatness of his seed was almost too much even for his cock. Along with the pleasure, the super stud felt as well the pain of such unfathomable virility; such discharges and emissions that would probably blow up a mare or tear a bull form inside out with only a single, painful pump. The monster felt his balls cooking on lava. Sometimes, it was like he was firing up iron shells steaming like lava—only that his seed was actually much hotter than lava, and it flowed much thicker. The most virile thing in the universe now covering every fucking inch of that paradisical forest.

The man wouldn’t know it yet, but what he was doing was extremely instinctive, down to the most primal parts of his carefully put-together genes: in his glorious masculinity, the male always felt this instinctive yearning for marking his territory. He fulfilled it with every womb he conquered. Every womb he splashed hot and thick with his steaming broth, overfilling it with more semen than any female would know what to do with, battering her ovaries with so much cum that the organs themselves were almost crushed into uselessness—another reason as to why so very females were indeed compatible with a Seedmaker. Even the strongest species could only muster a slim percentage of its femalehood to breed with a Seedmaker and not end up dead.

With every womb he colonized, he marked it as his property forever. Literally. There’s no steamy exaggeration here or titillating hyperbole to get a person off: once a Seedmaker ejaculated into a female, that was it! That womb would be his forever! No other semen would ever survive a single inch inside the womb. The seed of the Seedmaker would remain there forever, and even just a single one of his sperm cells would be enough to fucking massacre any other rival sperm that dared violate its territory.

For a Seedmaker, fecundation was literal turf war: only a mightier Seedmaker could theoretically wash away the semen of an inferior Seedmaker—and that was never a guarantee! In the many tests that were done to Roberto, Seedmakers twice his power still failed to fecundate most of the wombs he had fecundated first. The strongest Seedmaker—a God such as the mere thought of Him was enough to make Roberto bow his head and lower his shoulders instinctively in respect—still failed to reliably colonize the womb first taken by the weakest Seedmaker.

For all practical purposes, a womb that had been seeded by a Seedmaker remained property of this Seedmaker for all eternity. Even subsequent generations, in the most egregious of cases, reported being only fertile with the other broods of the original sire—an issue that generated no small deal of headaches for the Masters with all the incest that it provoked.

Thus for a Seedmaker breeding was conquering, and breeding countless wombs was what kept Roberto’s worst fears in check. He didn’t know it—he couldn’t know it, of course, the phenomenon being so primal; pure ancestral genes!—but he only endured his boredom because of this instinctive pleasure; this subtle sense of achievement and satisfaction that came with making his body count grow bigger and the piles of passed-out, squirming and squirting women go higher: like a king expanding his territory, or rather, like a businessman expanding his market share, every womb colonized was a new property acquired.

As far as life went, the Seedmakers were literally owners of the Universe. Their powerful sperm was the instrument of said ownership.

What Roberto was doing now, however, went far beyond any of it. It was such a pure and unfiltered expression of this ancestral desire that, after one random mighty pump from his erupting cock, everything was revealed to him. *FLASH!!* His mind went all white again, longer than any of the previous flashes, and then it receded back into darkness. With that flash, however, the god stud had achieved a new sort of enlightenment.

He could see now, very clearly, this ancestral desire. By colonize not a womb, but a goddamned PLANET with his seed, there were no more shadows in which these primordial genes could hide: he was meant to breed with the Universe! He was meant to shower that planet with his seed and turn it into his own personal bitch! He was meant, by virtue of his mere masculinity, to grow and conquer and seed every living thing with his almighty seed.

He was not a stud of god. He was God. Period. And God had right over the entirety of Being!

“OOOORHH-OOOORHHH-OOOOOORH...!!” Roaring and orgasming, the stud of heavens passed out time and time again, often as frequently as every ejaculation of his mighty mega super cock. Those were countless ejaculations amounting to countless paintings.

Time went on. He began to come until the very Heat Death of the Universe. Or so it felt. “OOOOOORRHHH!!!” Semen! “OOOOOORRRHHH!!” Cum! “ROOOOAAAARR!!!” A cauldron of sperm!

The semen no longer flowed, but rampaged violently and madly through his mega prick. His fat cock grew fatter and spewed the most amazing mega load any male could ever aspire to. If his other Seedmakers could see him, they would congratulate him and give him many jealous pats in the muscular back.

His orgasms, each and every one of them, were so excessively fat and bulky they triggered another instinctive memory in every male who witnessed them: by seeing such huge, godly loads of the thickest semen emerge from the two biggest, most virile balls ever, every male felt in him the urge to compete! The urge to fight! The urge to jerk their dicks off and coax as much seed as the stallion was cumming, and then beat the god stud on his own virile game.

Roberto was performing so excellently that his performance itself inspired the desire for excellence. His load was so big any man would do everything to beat it! To surpass it!

His ejaculation, in short, was so extreme that even weaker Seedmakers wouldn’t mind dying if that gave them a shot of rivaling his sperm. Like men taking the biggest dumb and comparing the sizes or, more typically, like dudes flapping their monster dongs out and seeing who had the biggest fuck stick, Roberto’s might inspired the most productive type of jealousy: the burning passion to out-fuck him and out-cum him and take him down a peg or two—in his own bloody game!

“UUUUUUURHHHH!!!” Time passed as the god stallion roared, and his semen kept blowing and blowing and blowing. During the first hours (minutes? Days? Years??) of his maddening cumming, Roberto felt the semen washing over him, blasts upon blasts of the thickest sacks of cream collapsing onto his body, splashing his pecs whole, painting him all white, but then... as the days (seconds? Millania??) passed, he felt no longer wet or smeared, and the heat of his cum was something he only felt boiling inside his balls and flowing through his prick and finally erupting violently from his mega cock head before disappearing into the stratosphere—which is where he felt the force of that ejaculation pushed his semen into...

... but no longer did he feel it in the rest of his body, on his face, all over his shinny virile abdominals, and for a brief second of sanity and consciousness the god wondered whether or not he was really coming, or if his ejaculation had ended long ago and instead what he was shooting were blank, dusty pellets of blazing ego, his mind making up all the rest. “UUUUURRHH!! UUUUURRRHH!!!” Hands crushing the ground. Fire burst from his fingers. His grip was so extreme that the dusted ground and rock under it was further dusted itself, with the individual atoms nearly being split up and unleashing atomic energy. Thus fire literally burst from his tightened hands and his knuckles shone all red with the near-atomic explosions that were going in his palms.

The god came and came and came, and in coming so much he only glimpsed the ludicrous feats of his ejaculations—feats that he wouldn’t know were true or false, real or imagined, many long hours after his ejaculation had finally receded.

In a flash, he saw a whole tree being caked under the thickest boiling seed. In another flash, monstrous jets of indescribable force tore the trees ahead of them; like laser blasts, the tree trunks exploded upon contact, and more and more trees behind were further exploded until the jet was weak enough to “merely” splash an entire tree with white and them explode into several directions around it, painting all the nearby trees white, white, white.

One more flash and his penis was exploding with dozens of virile streams of cum everywhere. A massive fountain of “main” cum erupted upward, messy and fat and thick like a lazy stream of cum, while several strands around it, like spikes from a crown’s ring, were ejected much more powerfully and straight, literally dozens of them at a time, as if eight to sixteen males had formed shoulder to shoulder, with their backs and buttocks turned to each other, and began ejaculating straight, each one with powerful emissions to rival horses and bulls and all the equines of legend, each emission enough to fill a bathtub in a single load and make the belly of a woman bulge with enough load for a thousand generations!

The next flash knocked him out. Almost. He saw the hugest mass of boiling semen climb up his erect shaft, then another flash saw the most grotesque load of even steamier, more boiling cum descend upon the trees, as if somebody had turned whole containers of the hot stuff around and over their crowns. The biceps of the enormous man got to insane proportions. He could hear the constant wear and tear of his muscle fibers; the painful stretch and hardening of every uber-virile cell he had in his body. The veins pumped around it with more virility that a hundred mega cocks, and this feeling of virility, this sensation of such an overwhelming, yet almost effortless power only added fire to the raging geyser of his ejaculation, which only kept coming and coming and coming...

After many flashes, the sun disappeared. The beautiful blue sky, turning yellow, turning red, turning blue again, but dark, the disappearing altogether into darkness was often covered wholly by the mantles of his powerful ejaculations. He had seen the greatest equines of the most powerful and potent species; so-called “horses” and “bulls” which sported ugly hidden penises when relaxed, but then proudly flaunted dozens of exposed inches when they were hard. He had watched countless of these stallions and studs breed with yet more countless females, being told that failure to match the performance of the strongest, most virile of bulls would mean they were defective Seedmakers, soon to be discarded.

He had watched hundreds of thousands of the biggest, baddest animals, made purely of cock and muscle, penetrate and splay and fecundate easily over ten million mares, cows, and fertile females of all kinds before he even turned eighteen. Having a pretty clear mental image of what virility—true virility—entailed, he was thrown into his first den at his Maturation age of eighteen... and then tore through all the females with literally thousands of times the potence of the most legendary of this equine breeding machine.

His ejaculations now were like a thousand of the biggest, studliest of these animals were gathered together and stimulated by machines on their rousing sturdy hard mega penises, and then volley after volley of the thickest, steamiest semen they produced would fail to match a single load of that dashing young muscle stud.

Cows and other such females, when exposed to him, rejected their male counterparts every time. He had become a breeding machine, truly a bag of penis, balls, and filthy semen with a huge muscular body attached. His very walking, talking, breathing existence was reduced to, across all species, fucking and fucking and fucking! And breeding! “ROOOOOAAARR!!!” Breeding and breeding and breeding! A purpose that he resented just a while ago, and now a task he dutifully embraced.

As his ejaculations exploded, the male desired many females to seed. He wished his harem was there, and that the Master continued to demand fecundation out of him even during his mission, even during his most pressing of tasks. “OOORHH!! OOOOOOORHHH!!!” Jerking and jerking and jerking his monstrously thick cock, the young lord resented the fact that now a million bodies would become a farther away target; a delayed duty to fulfill. “OOH, OOOH, OOOOH!!!” Roaring and jerking, jerking and roaring, the monster waltzed in and out of consciousness, seeing darkness all around him when he opened his eyes, then falling into a much deeper darkness as he seemed to ejaculate a full person through his penis. “UUUUUUUURHHHHHH...!!!”

The land roared and quaked for hundreds of miles. Seeing from above, everything in that forest turned white. With nothing but images of semen and praises to his own virility in his mind, the giant accepted succumbing into what he felt was a growing weariness: his muscles were heavy, his ejaculations less pleasurable and more forceful (but altogether not one joule weaker). Through the hours of that frantic ejaculation, he had reduced himself to literally just an object. A giant fountain of cum! A giant pipe connected to two humongous testicles, cumming and cumming and cumming the thickest, hottest stuff into the air, and then... nothing else!

He spent the entire day ejaculating. If it depended on him, he’d spend the rest of his life as well. “I... AM... A BREEDER!!!” The monster roared, and in roaring he was knocked out fully with pleasure, and after darkness had enveloped him—a very good and soothing kind of darkness—he let go of his monstrous penis, and then the immense stuff beat him on the chest into the ground, *BLAAAKK!!*, pushing his torso many inches deeper into the soil, and then ejaculated wildly into his own face, covering him with cream, caking him white under the starry sky until the sun were to rise and reveal his masterpiece.

A whole ocean of white ejaculated by his single prick.