The HouseHold

Part 1: At the Doorstep

 

There is a thin layer of dirty patina on the silver placard which makes the stamped words stand out all the more:

 

‘As she roams her eternal domain, the Goddess of Excess doesn’t hold herself to one form. She is as amorphous as the ideal she represents. Yet, as is true for all Aspects, there are parts of her that are immutable. She is a universal law made manifest, and must always represent what she is, regardless of which form she takes. We should be thankful she does change. It is said should a mortal catch even a fleeting glimpse of the true essence of this Aspect, they would lose all sense of sanity. All understanding of proportionality and virtue the individual may have once understood would be cast aside in an instant, replaced by the depraved wanton abandon to serve the Goddess’ ideal. Such an unfortunatly enthralled mortal would become a willing participant in every act of debauchery whispered into their ear. Few would blame a soul so ensnared, for all accounts the true form of this Aspect is absolute excess incarnate. Neither male nor female and yet both, always assuming the form that would most dominate and cow her audience, ensuring obedience to her sadistic whims and dark pleasures.’

 

‘Most often this Aspect appears as an achingly beautiful and impossibly powerful redheaded futanari giantess. In this form her long, blood-red hair cascades in waves over her broad powerful shoulders. Its curly volume falls all the way to her feet and never gets dirty or falls out of place. Her supremely strong yet inarguably feminine body is impossible for any mortal to resist. Her flawless skin looks soft, but is not. Every muscle is taut, tight, and powerful. Her movements are sex in motion. The perfect hypnotic way her breasts jiggles and her hips sway as she walks makes men and women alike unable to do anything but watch and want. This godly amazon knows her perfected body has no problem building more of its ultra-dense muscle. As such, she loves growing physically stronger and increasingly potent for onlookers. The futanari goddess is proud of her raging redwood cock. The obscene veiny shaft could easily be seen no matter what she wears, though she is normally nude. That veined spire to her domination over all is filled with leaden blood. For, the heart of the Goddess of Excess is truly black; her divine blood is lead based, not iron based like that of a mortal.’

 

‘Along with her brutally burgeoning muscles, the Goddess of Excess’s monstrous balls always seem to swell. Those bulky, menacing spheres fill themselves to bursting continually. Often she sports two sets of massive testicles, quad wrecking balls. As her divine seed continually leaks from her devastating shaft, her divine desires continually leak out of her devastating godly psyche. The mortal minds around her are forever subjected to an unending torrent of unconscious deific thoughts. This emotional aura is utterly overwhelming. None that bask in the radiating light of her emotional aura can think of anything other than the mistress’s unquenchable appetites and unhallowed avarice. Yet, the Goddess herself is oblivious to it. She truly believes it natural for all those around her to agree with her at times about all things and to anticipate her desires without her having to speak them aloud.’

 

‘The realm of the Goddess of Excess is known as the Household. It is the most modest facet of this Aspect. Of course, the very idea of modesty is abhorrent to her, so saying her home is comparatively modest isn’t saying very much. The geometry of the Household is inherently asymmetrical.  Her abode appears as a twistedly overgrown Victorian mansion. Winding hallways, huge rooms, overgrown gardens, massive bedrooms, expansive kitchens and warped dining rooms seem almost grown together like a living thing, all adding to the sense of unbalance. Built within each mortared brick and mahogany log is a sense of disproportionality and inequity. The rooms and hallways are always slightly askewed and all those that walk them feel unbalanced. At least, all except one that walks them feel this sense of disproportionality. For, the very air of this oppressive place is saturated with the understanding life is unfair; unfair in her favor. Every moment spent within the walls of the Household is a moment where one's psyche is assaulted with the understanding of the Goddess’ vast worth, and their own worthlessness. This place is overflowing with the idea she is inherently magnificently noble, and they are inherently inadequately ignoble. Within these walls  even the strongest of wills can resist the psychic miasma of her eternal presence for only so long.’ 

 

‘The Aspect that owns this place has claimed many titles in the long eons since its universal law first coalesced, was made manifest, and gained sentience. Just a few of those titles are “The Goddess of Perfected Beauty and Total Sadism,” “Want that Walks,” “Lady of Pleasure and Lord of Pain,” “She Who Thirsts,” “The Personification of Hedonism,” and so forth. Yet, you will know her by one of her more informal titles: HeatherT, the Goddess of Excess.”’

 

‘Within the Nexus of All Worlds, creatures from all corners of the multiverse are drawn in dreams and in flesh to the erotic hellscape of the Household to serve. You are one such fated being. Like the other depraved denizens of this carnal charnel house, you’ll be left to wander the halls as haunts of this madhouse at the whim of its mistress.’ 

 

You finish reading the placard in the dusty wooden vestibule as a bead of sweat slides down your brow. You have no recollection of how you came to be in front of this tarnished silver plaque in this tiny coat room, but you know what you just read is true. You stand in the entryway of this “Household.” The door behind you leads to a literal void; there is nothing for you behind you but emptiness. The door in front lends deeper into this asymmetric palace of submission. With great hesitation, you open the door before you and step through. 

 

Disoriented and confused, you stumble through the corridors of this patchwork place. Each passage is unlike the last as you look for escape. The only common theme, besides the ever present sense of inequity, is the golden statues of the Goddess that can be found in every opening. While the statues vary in size, all of these egotistical golden epitomes are over ten feet tall, and all have a golden futa pillar no less than two feet in length. You understand the megalomaniac Goddess would never let a representation of her be otherwise, not in her own place of power. Somehow, you know all servants are expected to practice deprived sexual acts on these guilded narasistic momuments, readying your bodies in anticipation of the true Goddess’s own futa juggernaut. Certainly, many of these grave images are slick with fluid. 

 

You wander this labyrinth until, as if by design, you come upon the servant’s quarters. Hesitation grips you again looking at the sign over these drab doors, but you do eventually pull them open. As you move within the vast room you somehow understand this is the one place in the Household Heather would never dane to visit, as it is beneath her to enter the servant’s quarters. You explore the room, and find yourself flanked on either side by rows of unassuming beds. Grey blankets are draped over them, each one exactly the same, pressed up against each other. There are no nightstands, no picture frames, no posters, nothing that identifies a servant as an individual, other than a name tag. The small, rusted rectangles are screwed into the walls, just above each bed, bearing the name of the denizen that sleeps there. The message is clear, Heather’s servants are peons, drones, expendable, and insignificant. 

 

Two unmarked doors stand at the ends of each row, facing each other. One leads to a communal bathroom, an open space of white tile with sinks on one side and toilets on the other. The second door leads to a massive collection of tiny wooden closets. The same unassuming name tags appear over each one. It screams with its mute undertones that only Heather is deserving of  luxury, you deserve nothing. You are lucky to have the opportunity to serve the Goddess. Your eyes wander down the endless rows to the very end of the room. There stands the Goddess’ altar. Its magnificence in stark contrast to the bleakness of the remainder of the room. Platinum stairs lead upwards to the marble feet of the Goddess. Her likeness stands at twenty feet. The slavishly polished gold is so scintillating, it glows as if to imbue the room with the Goddess’ own intoxicating aura. Rubies adorn her head, blood red locks of cascading hair fall past her broad, sculpted shoulders. Finally, protruding from her crotch, a golden, monolithic cock and a set of dense, obsidian testis. The obelisk stands at eight feet, demanding worship and devotion. A luminous glow radiates from the Goddess’ statue and bathes the windowless room, her beauty and perfection the only source of light. The altar puts the room to shame, as it should, a constant reminder of the Goddess’ rightful place above you.

 

You  make your way subconsciously looking for your name among the stamped plates, but somehow you know you will never find rest here. While the dimensions of this place are fluid, intrinsically you understand the Goddess’s bedroom will always be directly above this room. The huge feet of the Goddess simply walking above creates a sound to wake the dead. Yet, screams of unearthly pleasure mixed with the reverberations of divine fornication are currently heard overhead. No creature with a libido is safe from the orgasm-inducing sounds of the Goddess pounding wanton women in her extravagant master bedroom, as she is now. The animalistic fury of her continual fucking vibrates through the building, and can be felt most acutely in the servants’ sleeping quarters. The walls of this place designed to heighten the sexual sounds of the Goddess’ unleashed lust from the room above. 

 

You find the bed with your name already stamped about it and fall into a fitful sleep the moment your head touches the hard straw pillow. With what is happening above, you find no rest. Your will is already breaking with depraved dreams of the Goddess. Heather, on the other hand, never tires, never rests. The extent of her carnal conquests is unending. The sexual stench of this excessive copulation seeps through the ceiling, driving anyone foolish enough to try and find rest mad with lust. You toss and turn, unable to find a moment of solace as all your senses are overpowered by Heather. Your erratic rest is full of images of what is taking place overhead. In those waking nightmares, the honeyed cum of the Goddess constantly overflows those it’s pumped into. A drain in the floor of her bedroom collects the overpowering substance and pipes it throughout the Household. The ubiquitous golden statues in the Household fountain real Goddess spunk when practiced upon. 

 

The sounds and stench that emanate from the roof of this room defies even your imagination. If you were ever to actually see what goes on above, instead of just dream, your sainity would buckle and break from the sheer weight of Heather’s overwhelming sex. Yet, with the veracity the Goddess burns through her cumballoons, you know it’s only a matter of time before you will be called to service within the fabled master bedroom.

 

 

 

Part 2: The Library of Excess

 

Exhausted, you awake and stagger out of the servant’s quarters  to wander the halls. You are surprised to come upon a great library, and think to find escape within a story. The fractal library of this house of mystery is cousin to the Library of Babel and is a full three stories in height. The rest of this patchwork building may have been showing its age, but this worn brown room was a pastiche that wore its age with a distinguished air. The open center had symmetric iron spiral staircases leading to the different levels. All three stories were lined with dark wooden bookshelves. From the center door, through which you were entering, one could see those shelves extended far back. Ten foot golden statues of the Goddess can be seen at even intervals on all three floors. Your heart sinks as you realize there will be no respite found here. As you draw near and see the titles of the books it dawns on you there is only one topic for all of the infinite tales found on these selves.

 

As you read the self-serving titles of the dusty tombs your eyes are drawn to a large fresco painted on the domed center ceiling of this venerable place. The mural was of a huge imposing figure, the Goddess of Excess. Despite the age of the painting, the fresco shines with a magical light of its own. This imposing figure challenges a formless dark mass swirling ominously on the other side of the room. To add to the effect, the majority of the light in the room originated from the edge of the Goddess’s perfect form that was blocking the dark adversary. It was as if lightning was cracking between the combatants. The shining protector and the formless attacker, a recurring metaphor in the human psyche. 

 

Still starting at the glowing painting, you randomly select a book to read. The title written on the old-fashioned thin children's book is Queen Heather and the Jackrabbit. You know the contents will be anything but innocent and quant.

 

You fumble the book abit as you take it down and turn to a random page and begin to read:

 

Queen Heather appears before the Jackrabbit, as a ghost or vision. The Futanari Queen’s 61 inch dick is harder than diamond. A meat cannon ready to fire its lethal load into any overtaxed hole.

“My Queen.” Naked except for a petticoat, Jack bows low before the Futa Giantess as he addresses his better.

The Queen’s shadow blocks out the sun as she looks down at him. The Queen speaks in her voice of lightning over glass. “Is this one alright? I can never tell with the lessers. You all look sick or dying to me anyway.” She eyed his uncovered crotch.

Jack kept his head down as he tried to hide his erection, “Yes I was sick, my Queen. Sick and horny.”

“Oh, is that his hard-on?” The Queen looks at the Jackrabbit’s cock, and back to her own raging 61 inch dinner plate diameter thick dick. “You were sick, I guess it made your dick shrink or something? It’s not always like that I hope.” She continues in her commanding voice, “I could ‘fix’ your curse. I could give you a true cock like mind. But mortals sometimes seem to get touchy when I do such things.” The Queens looked nonplussed.

Jack moves uncomfortably as he thinks of the havic a cock over two feet would do to his slight frame. “No… no thank you, my Queen. I could just use something to drink, your majesty.”

Heather drool’s cum on Jack with his request for a drink.

A squire comes around the bend and is surprised to see the towering Futanari Queen drooling cum on a Jackrabbit before him. “A-are you Queen Heather?” He asked in surprise.

”Yes, of course I am.... did you think it was someone else?” Heather’s eyes flash and her divine aura shows anger someone could mistake her for someone else.

The squire quickly falls to one knee and delivers his message “I… I have ill tidings, my Queen. The King is dead.”

Heather’s aura turns blue and black. The air around her becomes cold as ice. In that aura one sees a vision of things to come. Of the kingdom literally being deleted. As Heather rumanates on her vengeance her aura sparks with those thoughts, projecting them into the minds of those around her. J…

***

You quickly stop reading and put the thin book back. It was as if your  mind was being affected by what you read. You look for a book of a different genre, science fiction perhaps. You spy one without the words “Heather” or “Goddess” or “Mistress” in it. This black bound book is entitled “The Wirehead.”  

 

‘How bad could it be?’ You ask yourself.  As you turn to the first page, you are confronted by a fevered wall of text:

 

You are my science experiment of a sub-girlfriend. Your body has been augmented in every possible way to fit my perverse needs. Your waist too thin, your breasts and ass too thick. You can barely walk, but I make you do all the chores and cook my meals. Your milky mammaries leak special fluid that fortifies and grows the body of whoever drinks it. If you had some yourself, maybe you’d be more mobile. But, only I am allowed to drink it. It could cure millions, and I guzzle it down like water. My already enhanced body becoming more powerful with each gulp of your milk. My already too huge cum cannon becoming more potent and hungry with each passing day. Just looking at that throbbing meat missle makes your weak knees weaken more.  Your pussy is always wet and ready. Over stimulated just by the thought of what I can do to you with my milk enhanced member, you feel like you're going mad. Your super sensitive body is tuned to always be on the brink of orgasm. A slight breeze on your hypersensitive erotic areas arouses you utterly. So, of course, the sight of me drives you to delirium. 

 

But, you’ve not actually climaxed in years. The collar on your neck with ‘MY SLUT’ written across it is wired directly into the base of your brain. Every orgasm you would feel is beamed directly to my own implant. Which is why you have a massive overclocked vibrator jammed within you at all times (though, it's smaller than my ever increasing flesh log). Throughout your day of cleaning and cooking for me, there is the buildup, the ecstasy and feel of your rising arousal, but every time it would be released, I feel it instead. When we have sexI feel pleasure for the both of us. The collar also lets me use your mental capacity, if I want to do a crossword or calculate a tip and don’t feel like using my own brain. You go comatose whenever I do this, unable to think for yourself. You just stand there and drool. I can also hijack your body at will. I violate every part of you at any time, just because. Not even your deepest thoughts are safe from me, and I often implant thoughts in your brain. You never know if it's me or you thinking something. This is -of course- is a one-way street. I take from you and make you my puppet, and you thank me for it. 

 

I come home, ready to eat the huge dinner you've prepared while I was out. I come in, my dick swinging like a massive meat pendulum. It's always hard and ready, just like your pussy is always soft and wet. Seeing my form is too much for you, and my scent wafts before me, driving you mad with desire. You can feel your implant beaming me one of your never-felt orgasms just by looking at me. Your knees go weak. 

 

"DINNER BETTER BE READY, YOU LITTLE SLUT!" I yell. 

 

I walk right past you, smacking your ass, to the dining room table. I sit down and start eating. Well trained as you are, you quickly run to the fridge to get me more beer. I roughly grab your ass as you go. My touch sends you into a pleasure spiral as always, orgasms you never feel. I sense a low pleasant buzz in my own implant, your tiny constant orgasms nothing to me. But, then my demeanor changes. 

 

And I ask in an icy tone: “Why is this house a mess?" It’s not, but I point to the trail of slime your dripping pussy leaves just by my touch. Then I shrug “Whatever." 

 

I rudely start eating, making a mess you will have to pick up later. You scurry back and forth bringing more food and beer. As I eat, at random intervals I drink from your tits. My body seems to swell with power at each imbibing. My always-ready cock is consistently  getting bigger and bigger, so you have no hope of being ready for it. The dominating rod stands between us, so hard and swelling with each drink I take from your massive milky tits. My body strengthening before your eyes; my twitching cock swelling dangerously. You can never adapt or adjust to me, because I’m always improving, thanks to your milk. As you come close, I slap your huge, jiggling ass again. I drink the beers down so fast. I'm so large each one seems like a single sip. 

 

"I need more," is all I say as I throw the cans on the floor. 

 

You can't tell if I'm still mad or not. The implant only works both ways when I let it, which is almost never. I know all of your thoughts, you know none of mine. My body seems to be leveling off from the milk I drank while I ate, but I'm already so massive, so large. You know you'll be too tight as you grasp your dripping pussy, staring at my dick in anticipation of what comes next. When I have had my fill of dinner, I stand and roughly grab your hips. Turning you over, I start to fuck you like a dog. I don't wait for you to be ready, but regardless your pussy is already drooling. 

 

I fuck you as hard as I can, my body swelling with power. My dick SURGES into your tiny cunt. I close my eyes as I absorb your pleasure as I overstretch your hole, leaving you to feel just the pain. You can tell your orgasms must be particularly intense today as you watch me actually react to your never-felt climaxes. Normally, your body's constant cumming is just a low buzz of pleasure in my mind. The collar with the words "MY SLUT” emblazoned on it jingles a little as I shove my ALWAYS larger cock deeper into your augmented body. It never fits, but you know I’ll make it fit. Not even half inside, I hit rock bottom and keep drilling. After jackhammering my jackhammer into you, your body finally accepts your fate as my used condom, and I become balls deep within you. But, that term doesn't have much meaning as I lengthen and widen, sliding in and out and deeper and deeper. The force of my fucking is incredible.  

 

My humongous, hyperdense balls slamming into you like being punched, pounding your pussy with my enormity. Harder and harder my elephantine dick rips you open, my precum filling you. My hands squeezing your overly large hips. My balls move into position to fill you with my milk enhanced seed. Still growing, still strengthening, I see no reason to hold back my own orgasm. I just let it come and I cum. My swelling balls contract like the tide as a SEA of enhanced cum is released down my expanding shaft. So massive and thick are my gallons of cum that even MY overpowering, overgrown body is forced open. My meat missile increases in girth by the passing of that impossible load. Your hips are FORCED too wide as my firehose expands within you. The bulk creeping up my veiny shaft. My sperm is so virile, so potent. You can feel it squirming inside that lump as it moves through my dick and up your ruined spasming body. 

 

I close my eyes as I feel BOTH our pleasure. Yet, my climax is SO MUCH MORE compared to yours. My reinforced body can output and take more hormones than yours can. As my pleasure rages, you catch and idle thought from me. I wonder what it would do to you to feel what I am feeling now? You've not experienced even one of your own weaker orgasms in over a year, what if you felt both sensations  as I am now? I am powerful and built for such constant stimulation, but what would it do to your overtaxed and overwrought soul? I grunt my pleasure, maybe you wanted me to wait to finish growing before I came. I sit down on the couch which almost breaks under my bulk. You can see my fuckstick is still drooling cum as it softens. You know that it will not be soft for long, as I have almost no recovery time. Especially now, after all the milk you gave me. I turn your bloated balloon body around and start to drink deeply from your massive mammaries, my body and being expanding.  My smell is hitting you in waves. I'm so sexy, so manly, so... MUCH. 

 

I drink you down, sucking hard. Then I drop your sloshing body to the ground. And I turn on the TV. I'm practically overflowing the couch, my soft cock like a fat snake almost touching the floor. The house is becoming a miasma of my scent, my presence. I am becoming more and more before you. Everything about me is being amplified. Stronger, more dominating, more willful and egocentric. My smell is driving you insane with pleasure, as you pause a second to take it in, closing your eyes and moaning in pleasure. Suddenly, I am behind you. I am so fast now, as well as strong and huge. My impossibly large cock had already become hard and is throbbing again. 

 

I pick you up by your tiny waist, one hand can wrap around it. And, with no effort at all I stick your tit in my mouth. I drink from your already dry nipple. Then I slam you down on my drooling ramrod of a meat missle. You're basically being used like a fleshlight as I thrust you up and down one handed. 

 

"You know." I say in a relaxed manner as I use you like a cock sleeve. "You've been such a good little slut, maybe you deserve a reward." I grin slyly. "You've given me, how many orgasms?" I casually hijack your brain to do some calculations. You lose consciousness as I do this, your whole mind shutting down as I use your brain like a computer.  You can never get used to this most heinous of violations, like you cease to exist just so I can figure something out. When you come to, I continue. "- of orgasms over the years." you missed me saying the number I used your brain to come up with. I continue, "Maybe I'll give you one of my own this time. It will be your first in years." My balls start to contract as this orgasm approaches."Yeah, my little slut, would you like that?" I hold back my orgasm to hear your answer, the tempo increases as we fuck, my body slowing in its expansion.

 

You can barely speak, having not said anything until now. You whisper, “I… I would die happy.”

 

I hear you laugh. "Oh, you will," I smile. "Here is your reward, my slut." 

 

My swollen balls contract. My orgasm starts, and I FORCE you to feel it. Years of orgasm denial would make even a small one be like bliss undefined, but one of MY stupendous orgasms? It will  only spell brain burnout.  I just grin as I force the sensation into your always edging body. Your first ograsm in forever, and your last. 

 

I CUM! You are totally flooded with my unending seed. But, you don't have time to look at your quickly overfilling bloated body. You're too busy feeling MY perfect pleasure. Your stupidly sensitive body is rocked with a sensation impossible to understand as your mind twists, desperately trying to shut itself off, but I don't let it. There was no sheltering from this storm of pleasure. Your brain is burned out from the madding sensation, unable to handle even one of my monstrous orgasms. There was no escape from the overwhelming pleasure that assaults every fiber of your being. Your pleas turned into the howling of a madwoman. Your thoughts shattered beyond repair. And, staring into my gold-flecked grey eyes you know what I know, you would die feeling this. Every synapse flooded with dopamine and oxytocin. Your mind bakes in pure pleasure as your eyeballs fry. The collar around your neck is smoking as every one of your nerves are burning. Today, you will die feeling this. You will TRULY feel what I feel, which is MUCH more than your little mortal minds are meant to…

***

You drop the text, the sound of it hitting the wooden floor reverberates through the unoccupied shelves of this cursed place. You rub your eyes wondering what you should do. You don’t want to read anything more, but you feel compelled to try.

 

Looking for mental escape in drier literature, you find a book that looks like a dusty mathematics textbook. This heavy, expansive tomb is entitled “The Properties of the Goddess of Perfected Beauty and Total Sadism’s Testicles.” Shrugging you open to a random page and begin to read:

 

An accounting of the different kinds of semen that reside in the extradimensional space that is the Goddess Heather’s hyperdense wrecking balls.

 

Tier 3: 

Precum - The extra semen that not even the goddess’s mighty balls can prevent from leaking out of her cum cannon. As she moves around the Household, she is basically pissing out this viscous mess. It is almost impossible to get it out the carpets, which is why she allows so many lessers to live in the Household. The reason any are allowed here is because the Goddess doesn’t want to have to clean. If it wasn’t for the Goddess’s precum , none of you would be here.

Standard Load- The Goddess’s balls cannot stop making millions of gallons of this stuff a day. It is pearly white. It is so heavy and thick as to be nearly solid. One drop can impregnate an army of demigods, and her normal ejaculate is 2000 gallons. Her balls are extradimensional, so there is an unfathomable ocean of semen within them. The Goddess needs to cum upwards of 50 times a day, so she is often reduced to masturbating 4-5 times at night to get some sleep, even after spending a full day fucking wanton whores. This extra semen is put into a pumping system (that must be incredibly robust to allow such a sticky heavy flow) and pumped into the golden statues around the Household. Thus, the statues will fountain out real Goddess cum if you work their 8 foot golden dicks hard enough.


 

Tier 2: 

Breeding Sperm: This Sperm is recognizable by its bright yellow coloration. It takes the Goddess a few days to regenerate this load, as each one needs to be hand selected within the workings of her wrecking balls. They must be sentient and totally loyal to perpetuating the Goddess’s linage. These holy warriors want nothing more than to Kamikaze ANY living cell and breed it. They will turn any living organism into a pile of goo as they splice the Goddess’s perfect DNA into it. Every cell will stop what it’s doing and become a fertilized gamete when they meet one of the Breeding Sperm. They will breed intestines, eyes, liver, brain, trees, insects, bacteria, nothing alive is safe (robots, undead, and other nonliving things are safe, however). Each individual sperm will not rest until it has bred another cell in mutual assured annulation. The best way to neutralize Breeding Sperm is to throw a large biomass in their way, like a tree or whale.

Assassin Sperm: Only employed once within the Household, this blueish-white sperm is like Breeding Sperm, except it kills cells and will seek out its target. Assassin Sperm will ignore anything not its target. It can destroy essentially anything, even the cells of gods. Robots, undead, and other nonliving things are NOT safe from Assassin Sperm.

Addictive Load: It is literally off the charts when it comes to addictive qualities. One drop and any mortal becomes physically and mentally addicted to the Goddess’s presence. Without her bodily fluids hourly, the subject’s mind will break and their body will start to fail. The pain going a single day without at least the Goddess’s piss is totally unbearable, after just one drop of this oily-black cum. It just takes a few hours without the goddess nearby to go mad, 24 hours without her is nothing short of ‘indescribable agony.’ No being has lived passed a week after tasting this cum unless they are chained to the goddess and allowed to stay with her. 

 

Tier 1

Cum Avatars: Living embodiments of the Goddess’s will, these cum homunculus are deployed by the goddess for tasks she cannot be present for, but require her direct intervention. They have the same aura and presence as the goddess herself, but are made of a golden cum. They speak with her voice and have her mannerisms. They are for all intents and purposes proxies of the goddess herself. It is a little known fact that the golden statues around the Household are -in truth- dormant Cum Avatars, and require only the goddess’s attention to awaken. The goddess can see through their eyes and control them directly, or let them operate autonomously. They act as she would regardless.

The 13 Guardian Sperm: These were never meant to see the light of day. The 12th one, Ixcuiname, once escaped the goddess’s balls and destroyed a solar system. And, it was one of the weakest (if the most cunning). Even the Goddess is warrying of her Guardian Sperm, since each one an unique eldritch horror as old as the goddess herself. Luckily, they are all trapped within the confines of the Goddess’s extradimensional balls. They are free to swim the sea of her endless spunk. They are quick to deal with any that become cockvored, however. Those that are eaten by the Goddess’s cum cannon are instantly destroyed and consumed by the Goddess’s Guardian Sperm. WARNING: The 9th Guardian Sperm, Barosamedi, has escaped! They are EXTREMELY dangerous and unpredictable. DO NOT APPROACH! FLEE THE UNIVERSE! They are prophesied to be the goddess’s own downfall….

***

You haphazardly throw the heavy textbook and take off down a dark corridor out of the great library.


 

 

Part 3: The Garden of the GODTREES

 

With reckless abandon, through the darkened halls you attempt to escape the omnipresent miasma of the Goddess’s presence. In a fugue state,  you see the glimmer of sunlight and hope.  In a desperate charge, you burst through a broken glass door and onto the grounds and gardens of this foreboding place. Yet, one could argue no place has been more twisted by the mistress of the Household. 

 

You see flora and fauna that have been mutated by the Goddess’s gravid gamites.  Her seed is so fertile, many of the plants of this place are her children. Half god, these GODTREES are a mass of fleshy, thorny tentacles. You see they have inherited their mother’s insatiable appetites. As they slowly thrash before you it is clear to wander too near is to invite a violation into every part of your being.  These clusters of demon plants among the natural flora grow in random patches. They mark where the Goddess has spilled her seed over the years.


As you wander the grounds (avoiding any patches of thorny tentacles you encounter), you come to the main terrace. It is a walled garden perched above the house. It’s aligned with both the rear entrance of the house and, at odd angles to it, an irregular lawn framed by a path and boxwood plantings. The upper garden functions as its own formal garden of shrubs and small trees, as well as an entrance for an outdoor theater, and a larger greenhouse. There are splotchy clusters of mutated growths where the Goddess’s ejactlate forever tainted the flora. The upper garden is a place of paths. One leads to a dark patch of woods. Another passes a long boxwood walk that leads past a rancid swimming pool. There is a shrine to the goddess in the middle of this place. The most animated feature of that shrine is a non-euclidean cum fountain that is a Golden statue. The thirty foot golden statue sports a eight foot cock and more lifelike than any others. Its ruby hair seems to sway in the breeze. You are drawn to this particular golden avatar like none of the plethora you saw in the Household proper. There is power in this shrine, you can feel that imposing bulky golden figure calling to you like a magnet to iron. You reach out for it. As you touch the scintillating golden tip, a blast of power arcs from the futa log. Your nerves are alight as you’re stuck dumb with visions of this place. 

 

The shine shows you what had transpired in this place over the eons.

 

A vision of the past, there are no GODTREES or golden statues. The garden looks… normal.  Standing in the middle of this empty clearing (where the shine is in the present) is a much diminished Heather. This vision of Heather in the past is much less opposing. Except for her comically large futa-dick, she seems just like a very tall, muscular human, not a twenty foot goddess with lightning for skin. Even her divine aura is muted.

 

Others had gathered here around Heather. They’re a motley bunch of outcasts from every genre. There is a dusty gunslinger next to an anthropomorphic rabbit in a petticoat next to an android who seems to be made completely of nanites. Others include a sexy stone golem, a seductive demon, a lanky werewolf, an electric girl, and a bulky insectoid. All these gathered characters are casually kissing and fondling one another as they watch Heather in the middle. There is an air of anticipation. The most striking part of the scene is how the others seem to almost be equal with Heather. Not that she isn’t clearly the leader, just that she seems more a first among equals. There is no overpowering dictator in this scene, just a collection of… friends? Next to Heather is the quintessential vision of a blond bimbo wearing a collar with the words ‘My Slut’ engraved in it. 

 

The Manifestation of Hedonism has her hands on the bimbo possessivly as she says in an imposing, but not overpowering voice, “Dimi, the Household's Sex Toy, has opted to build me a statue here. But, they need help.” There is an air of festival to the pronouncement. Heather’s joy is radiated out into the minds of those gathered by way of her divine emotional aura.

 

You are taken aback as the gathered group gives out a rochous cheer, as if this will be something entertaining to do. The gunslinger throws his hat in the air with a woop, while mini orgies break out with the rest of the group.

 

She waits until there is a lull in the merrymaking, then Heather waves her hand and raw gold accompanied by uncut jewels are brought into the clearing. Heather declares, "These are from my partner’s vault. Spared no expense, I know she would want everything to be perfect when she returns. And,” Heather reaches down to the pile of gems and picks up a sparkingling ruby. She continues with a flick of her blood-red mane while fingering the gem, "Make sure to catch the color of my hair." The crowd laughs and roars its approval..

***

You blink, and the cheering is abruptly silenced. As you open your eyes the visions have moved to a different time. The shrine is already built. It’s a more modest arrangement than you touched in the present. The statue is only ten feet tall, and currently three feet bigger than this version of Heather in the past, when she was the Manifestation of Hedonism not yet the Goddess of Excess. 

 

Heather is looking at the work, she is clearly pleased. Joy is literally beaming out of her mind by way of her muted emotional aura into the gathered crowd. They share in her pleasure. As she smiles, she looks the ten foot golden statue in the eye and says, "Too bad it will not be to scale for long." She laughs, it is not an unpleasant sound.  "I guess you'll just have to make another one later."

 

“Yes, my lady.” Says the blonde bimbo, who curtsies and smiles with the pleasure radiating into her from Heather’s emotional aura.

 

Heather walks around the statue and then looks down at her semi-hard cock compared to the statues raging hard on. She seems miffed that the statue's dick is bigger than hers.

 

Heather, still in the middle of size comparison,  asked, "Hmmmmm..... It is a little, big, isn't it?" Heather cracks a too wide smile. A grin which has too many teeth to be human.

 

The blonde bimbo freezes like a deer in headlights. “I.. I could make it sm...

 

Heather interrupts.  "I like it!" She declares as her muted aura continues to radiate the golden light of joy. "Gives me something to work to... ten feet? Yes, something for me to work towards.... Or, should I say," She looks at the crowd with laser focus, "Something for YOU to work to FOR me." 

 

Heather walks away as the crowd raucously cheers. Cat calls and comments about Heather’s perfect ass follow her back to the main house. This past version of the Futa Goddess doesn’t seem to mind the disrespect. If anything she seems to revel in it as her big hips swing to accentuate her posterior.

***

In the middle of those chaotic catcalls, again the scene abruptly changes and silence falls.The golden monument is still ten feet tall and the mistress it represents is still more of a futa giantess than a monstrous goddess. She stands before the android you remember from the crowd earlier. The android is kneeling before the giantess Heather while a sultry demon succubus lurks in the shadow of the statue.

The androganous android is almost featureless. It’s body seems to ‘shift’ more than move. As you look closer, you can see it is comprised of many other tiny machines that are also comprised of tiny machines, nanintes. The modular creature is neither male nor female, but has aspects of both.

 

The red-skinned, brooding succubus is a powerfully built creature with a spaded tail and regal horns crowing its proud head. The dark tail attached to its muscular bubble but moves as if by itself. The black eyes of the demon contain purple irises and a spark of total defiance. 

 

Heather speaks in a commanding voice to the android, ignoring the demon. “Eve my Majordomo, you have always been my most loyal of servants. You will be rewarded by having your body reworked. I will even give you a soul, my little panico. Of course, I will carve my name on the soul first.” Heather says with a grin. “Now, kiss my cock.”

 

The android needs to stand to reach the top of Heather’s throbbing veiny spire. It does, and as it kisses the angry red tip of the bulbus monolith that is always drooling precum. When they do the android is engulfed within that precum; the transformative fluid flows over their fluctuating form . 

 

Heather declares in her improus way, “Eve's body will now produce sexual pheromones that affect everyone to find me, the Goddess of Perfected Beauty and Total Sadism, irresistibly sexy and dominant. Eve's every bodily fluid is addictive and tastes like desire itself to anyone who swallows it. Anyone who drinks their semen or breast milk will feel an urgent need to present themselves to me in abject worship, lust, and submission. Now,” she says with her too toothy smile that borders on a sneer, “receive your engraved soul.” 

 

Heather shoves her darkened meat missile down the still transforming android’s spasming throat. That futa-cock has a foot wide diameter, and can be seen obscenely stretching the throat and stomach of the still transforming being.  She raises the altering form of the nanite-made-being into the air, so that it’s whole body becomes an upside down cock sleeve. She is balls deep, and it's clear the android’s body will break before her monstrous cock bends one degree. Tears from Eve's eyes dribble over the swollen stack of the Goddess as the android is filled slowly with the divine precum of Heather. 

 

The red skinned demon sulking in the shadows had drawn closer to observe, and was now in front of the golden statue. Heather turns with the ballooning new cocksleeve still balls deep over her boulbous, fat phallus. With a flick of the wrist the statue’s golden futa spicket covers the succubus with ten gallons of divine seed. That deific spunk enters the demon and starts to transform it as well. She ungulates in sexual pleasure as her body reforms. 

 

Addressing the writing purple-eyed succubus, Heather says in a less kind, thunderous voice, “I will remove Death’s brand from you. However, I will not give you the blessing I have Eve, because - quite frankly- I don't think you could handle it. Today you claim you want all who copulate with you to be bound to me first, but will you still want that tomorrow? Or the next day, or the next? Eve is my most loyal servant, and has been ever since the Household's conception. They have not once betrayed. They are steadfast and unwavering in their devotion to me. I know when I ask something of them, they will not waver. You are not. Like all demons, treachery is woven into your very nature. You have shown the same capricious nature I possess. But, what I value in my divine self I do not always value in others.”

 

“Hypocrite,” the demon whispers in between moans as her body is mutated by Heather’s will.

 

The Goddess’ inhumanly wide smile becomes even wider. “That’s the attitude I have to teach you to direct at OTHERS, Maggie. You will be trained to be willful and definiant only to others. And, at the end, to me you will only beg for your soul to be devoured…”

***

Before you can see what was done to Maggie the Succubus, the scene changes again to a different vision of Heather.

 

This version of Heather walks the gardens in a foul mood, as her aura shows. At this time you realize the Goddess can never hide her true emotions, since they're constantly beaming out of her head. She’d want to hide her current feelings, for her aura shows insecurity. You don’t know how she could be feeling that, as she is much larger than you saw last. Towering at a full twelve feet and inhuman bulky, Heather is no less shaken. Her semi-hard futa cock is four feet long with the diameter of a dinner plate.  That veiny, vast vine practically drags on the ground as precum dripples out of it, leaving a snail’s trail behind the sleak, predatory giantess. Her godly power crackles in her grey eyes. She is strength and power; a panther in a world of house cats. Yet, her aura gives off an air of impotence. 

 

“Too small, too weak,” the mistress of this place mutters to herself.

 

Coming the other way is the electric girl from the first vision. She was one of the motley crew who had seemed more companions than servants, and one that had been partially raucous with the disrespectful catcalls. The vigorous, cute girl is of Asian origins, like the katana she carries. She is wearing a white, breezy dress that shows off her dainty, delicious bottom. Very small and petite, the swordswoman still gives off an aura of power. The air crackles with electromagnetic deserpences around her. She skips down the path and almost seems to float as she moves. Free in every meaning of the word.

 

The two women couldn’t be more dissimilar, both in physical figure and current attitude.  When they draw closer to one another, the bulked-up, morose Goddess pounces on the breezy, diminutive woman. As if doing so would prove her dominance, Heather hoists the tiny girl into the air. 

 

Yet, even with those powerful fingers around her neck, the carefree girl just giggles, “Looking for some fun, Heather? I’m always up for some fun.”

 

“No, Sho, you fucking masochist,” The Goddess holds the girl even tighter, “This time will be different.”

 

Sho’ shit-eating grin brightens with schadenfreude, “She said ‘no’ again, didn’t she?”

 

The Goddess becomes a supernova of anger. At those simple words, her emotional aura brightens until it burns the girl’s skin off. Yet, under the girl’s skin only lightning can be seen. The Goddess smashes the burning girl into the ground, but the ethereal girl just seems to fall away in the Goddess’s hands. It was as if she wasn’t even real, just a figment made of energy.  

 

The Goddess howls, “Electric Clones! Always with the constructs, Sho! I’ve eaten your simulacrums' souls so many times. My power over electricity is complete.” Heather casts her grey eyes at the house. “Come Sho, I want the real you.” 

 

A bolt of lightning strikes behind the Goddess. She turns to see an exact copy of the girl she just destroyed. Except this one seems more real, more powerful. “You’ve become less and less fun, Heather,” the presumably real girl says. Her smile no less bright and mocking. 

 

“But, more and more powerful” Heather replies and waves her hand. Sho goes rigid as Heather’s stolen power crawls through her, arching in her brain and body. 

 

The Goddess says with a too wide sneer,  “I am shutting down your clones one by one. Crawling in your mind. Looking around for the one thing I HATE beyond a mortal's understanding. I am looking for your love and loyalty to the Goddess of Death.”

 

Sho’s smile dims, and the pain of her clones’ fate becomes etched on her face. Still defiant Sho mutters, “You’re really no fun anymore are you?”

 

Heather’s inhuman smile widens past reason as she says, “Fun? That is what you care about? That’s a problem. I’ll have to rewrite that, rewire your brain, rewire your soul. I’ll dig deep to the fundamental forces that make you you. Even a being like Death cannot understand pleasure and pain like I can. What I do to you, none can undo. It will be etched into your essence.”

 

Sho undulates in agony. But, the electric girl is a true masochist and completely enjoys that pain. Every cry of anguish is followed by a moan of ecstasy. 

 

Heather continues with her monolog. “I’ll not even remove anything, I’ll just move a few connections. When you think of the Goddess of Death, when you do what she asks and are deferential to her, you will feel pain. The more you try to feel love or kindness for her, the more this pain will grow. And, when you think of me, and my acolytes, you will feel pleasure. The more you aid them, the more you drain for me, the more this pleasure will intensify. This effect will not fade with time, but build. The pain and pleasure will someday both be unbearable. Someday this will be true for all. All things in time, Sho Ming. All things in time.”

 

Heather releases Sho Ming and she falls to the ground. The Goddess’ grey eyes simply watchs, observing her work.

 

Sho Ming pants as pleasure and pain arch in bolts of energy about her slight body. But, suddenly she looks up with defiance at Heather. With absolute spite in her lightning eyes, she says, “She will NEVER love you. No matter how many souls you send to her, or how many you deny her, she will never submit.”

 

At those words, Heather’s aura becomes a burning red sun of rage again. Unlike the clone, the real Sho isn’t burned away. If anything, the righteous fury bombarding her just increases her righteousness.

 

With absolute contempt, Sho says, “You can’t win, you short sighted bully. The worst you ever do is send more to her.”

 

Heather’s wrath becomes white-hot. In a clenched fist she holds the power of a dying world over her head. With total murder filling eyes that were quickly becoming endless pits of darkness, the Goddess looks like she is about to obliterate the prone, defiant woman. Heather’s massive muscles clench and black-blooded veins bulge as she prepares to bring her ham sized fist down on the girls head.

 

In the face of this raging monster, all Sho does is smile, “What are you going to do? Send me to her again?”

 

Heather’s blackened eyes flash brighter at those words and her pulsing bulk trembles. Then she drops her fist. For a moment so fast you’re not sure it happened, you think you feel defeat in Heather’s emotional aura. But, it's gone. Heather looks down at the girl and smerks her inhumanly wide smile “No, I’m going to MAKE you love me.” Heather says with a sneer.

 

“It doesn’t… Oh… Goddess!” the girl loses control as Heather’s aura abruptly switches to a purple haze of lust. 

 

The Goddess’ divine mind fills all around it with thoughts of her. As you watch, all of Sho’s erotic zones start to vibrate from being near Heather in this state. Whatever Heather did to Ms. Ming seems to magnify the slight girl’s ecstasy. They aren’t even touching, but she is writhing in pleasure. It is as if each thought of the Goddess is a hand or mouth, kiss and stroking Sho’s most sensitive areas. Light as a thought, but caressing the slight girl in just the right spots in the just the right way. Each new thought or emotion a different kind of touch. Heather smirks as she watches what her mind is doing, but even that smirk feels like a lusty kiss. The thought of serving the futanari giantess is a tongue on Sho’s sex. The need to please Heather is a love-bite on her tit. Sho’s love for her is like butterfly kisses across her body, leaving a wondrous chill up the girl’s electrified spine. Each new thought of Heather is a new sensation. Even as a ghost to this scene, you feel it as well.

 

Hardening, Heather moves above the girl who is lost to lust. The shadow of the futanari’s monster girl-cock falls across the helpless girl. Precum arcs out if the flaring tip in long ropes, which lands on the prone girl. As it does, all these unbearable feelings increase.

 

“Say you love me.” Heather whispers in her a voice like a summer storm and the world shivers.

 

“I… I love you.” Sho is gone within the feelings the Goddess forces her to feel. It is like her words aren’t her own. Regardless, a shutter passes through Sho, experiencing a mini orgasm as those words pass her lips. 

 

“Say you worship me.” The Goddess’ voice harder, like rain on glass.

 

“I worship you,” The orgasmic feeling spikes as the words of servitude fill the air.

 

“Scream you will do anything for me, anything I ask and more!” Cries Heather, her voice so powerful it hurts to hear. “Say my passing whim is your unbreakable command.”

 

“I will do anything and everything for you, my mistress!” Sho howls her devotion as she howls ecstasy so intense it’s agony to hear.  As Sho makes this pledge, the cute girl is assaulted with climax after climax, undulating on the ground in fevered joy as her lithe body clenches and unclenches for long minutes. 

 

When the moist, moaning girl regains some composure, Heather speaks. “Now, you must learn to start praying to me, not your old bitch of a mistress. And, of course, each time you pray to me, you will feel SOOoo GOOOood.” Heather mockingly emphasizes the last words, but the sentiment is no less real.

 

“Yes, mistress,” Sho Ming says in a brainwashed, bubbly voice.

 

Heather turns to go and says “Good girl” in passing. Her causal words of praise cause Sho to climax uncontrollably again and again. 

 

Leaving the broken girl behind, Heather mutters to herself. “My power will train you like any pet. Rewarding you when you do good, and punishing you when you do bad.” 

***

And, with that, the scene ends as a new one begins. 

 

In this next resolving vision, the shine has grown closer to the decadent monstrosity in the present. No longer is it a ten foot monument for a benevolent giant, but a twenty foot structure to a cruel goddess. Yet, below the cruel sneer of the imposing gold figure with a towering futa phallus there is a joyous ceremony happening. It's a wedding between two of the denizens of the Household. A carefree celebration free from rancor or malice. At the moment, Heather herself cannot be seen, only her golden avatar above. This holy ceremony has nothing to do with her, but that absence cannot last long in this place.

 

Suddenly, the side of the mansion explodes three stories up.  As it rains debris upon the gathered revelers, the joyous celebration is thrown into chaos. Heather’s massive cock (with the bloated cocksleeve of the android Eve as an adornment) is seen right before the mistress herself comes to the newly formed hole. The Goddess and her dick is grotesquely gargantuan, a cruel monster. Her aura is an oppressive golden light whose heat even your ghost-self can feel. The blinding sexual joy pulsating out of the sadistic futanari makes the wedding all about her in an instant. The hapless bride and groom become mere spectators as the bridal party focuses totally on the egregious narcissist.

 

Heather was interrupting the wedding by literally fucking a servant to death through the side of the manor. None of the audience could do anything but stare stunned at the giantess’s giant cum cannon breaking the bedroom wall on the way to filling the helpless servant like a balloon with untold gallons of potent cum. The already oppressive yellow aura hypnotizing the gathered crowd then flaried further as Heather climaxed. 

 

Heather’s hyperdense wrecking balls deflate and the base of her already meters thick futa treetrunk grossly expands. So much thick cum is coming down the meat pillar that the obscene bulge it creates is easily visible to all. The doomed servant has no hope to hold even the first volley as the viscous, hyper-pressurized substance makes its way down the gargantuan futa cock. Her divine essence and pleasure beats down on the spectators, forcing them to forget everything but the orgasmic joy of the Goddess. Their will broken and turned to the impossible ecstasy of Heather. 

 

All those in the garden are flooded with divine pleasure. Such deific experiences are too much for any mortal mind. The audience is quickly turned to mindless thralls, weeping blood and writhing on the ground in joy. Heather is a burning sun of pleasure, scorching the minds of the inferior beings gathered below. They MUST love her. They feel as if this is everything they ever wanted in their small lives: To be below the Goddess as she orgasms, taking all she can give them, and overflowing with emotions impossible to process; their brains burning. If you were not a ghost, you would also be broken into a climaxing worm. But, as a spectator from the future you hang onto your sanity, barley. 

 

The impossible mass of Heather’s load makes down to the end of her dick and into the cockslave she is fucking. Eve is filled to overflowing in a blink and flies out into the garden, over the heads of the witless worshipers. Cum instantly covers everything, flowing out of Heather like a flood of honeyed mana.

 

She cums and cums, basking in the worship of her followers. Her megaorgasm lasts for what seems to be a short eternity, spewing forty gallons a minute. It is so long and intense the lessers are almost in a coma by the end. Their mortal minds are unable to handle so much self love and narcissistic joy. They cry like animals and wiggle as if in pain. In this time, Heather is a true Goddess above them, a beacon of holy ecstasy and divinity. 

 

In a booming, overpowering voice that cows all below, the imperious mistress of this place says sardonically, “The Goddess blesses this union.” And, from where her godly sperm feel, the first GODTREES rise up to ravish the crowd as the scene ends.

***

You are ripped further in time to another scene. Heather, truly now the Goddess of Excess with her full eclectic skin and brian-baking divine aura, stands above three sexy worshippers abasing themselves in their goddess’ overpowering presence. One is the succubus form the earlier.  It seems Maggie has been changed into a total bimbo at this point, her black, once regal, horns looking more like slicked back hair. Her body is a parody of an hourglass: Hugely massive tits and comically flaring ass with a waist thin enough to wrap a hand around. Nothing like the powerful demon she was before, even if a spark of defiance can still be seen in her purple eyes.

 

In a voice that is a thunderstorm over the desert, the Goddess says "Yes, you three, are you ready, Maggie, Kaitlyn, and Addia? Are you ready to become one with ME, to give me all you have and all you've taken? Are you ready to kneel before me, my Acolytes, and offer your souls to ME, the Goddess of Perfected Beauty and Total Sadism?"

 

All three of the grathered have looks to rival supermodels. Maggie, who clearly has a monumental will, seems to break through the overwhelming aura of the Goddess and stumbles to her feet. But, not in defiance, to proclaim: “Of course, Goddess!. We are…”

 

Heather rawrs: "I SAID ON YOUR KNEES!" The red skinned girl is blasted down and Heather’s aura changes to an angry red. “You are MY slave. You will do as I say!”

 

The three cower as Heather is radiating power. Her eyes crackle with the blackness of the void. "KNEEL before your  goddess. BEG me to eat your souls, now."

 

The girl that stood before does so again, “W-why are you like this now... We are here willingly... B-but l-let us take our final moments on our feet.”

 

Heather’s eyes flash with power as the darkness within them crackles out, "No Maggie, you will KNEEL before me and BEG me to take what you offer. Do not make me regret making you my keeper." Her aura is hammering away at their wills, making them want to submit. Telling them it is the only thing they can do. Defeated, Maggie falls to her knees.

 

Heather smiles her too wide sadistic smile and says, "Who is your Goddess, Maggie?"

 

“You are.” Says the girl in a small, sad voice.

 

With a too toothy sneer Heather is unrelenting. "What will you do when your Goddess calls?" The Goddess’ normally grey eyes are black pits now as she prepares to ingest souls.

 

“Anything and everything,” comes the reply from all three.

 

"Good." 

 

Black lightning of the void crackles out of Heather’s black-pit eyes. This utter darkness engulfs all three of the prostrate prostitutes. As their beings are devoured, they writhe in absolute ecstasy, sharing the divine joy of the Goddess completely as they are subsumed by her. As a ghost in this scene, you can still see their pleasure is so great there aren’t words to describe it. You could spend years writing books and never even be able to scratch the surface in the explanation of this feeling. Their souls weep knowing they helped create this holy sensation. You see in their blackening eyes they wish others could help as well, help feed more souls to Heather. All that witness this moment understands the simple truth: nothing is more important in life than Heather’s pleasure, and there is no greater purpose anyone could hope to have than to contribute to it. You want to tell everyone this perfect truth, to scream it from the mountain. But, you can’t. There no longer is a ‘you’... there is only Heather...

***

You’re ripped away from this scene to another. The scenes come in flashes now. Faster and faster you see events at the shrine unfoiling in a random order.

 

FLASH! A younger kinder Goddess stands next to a tenfoot statue of herself and says: , “Good work! As the Manifestation of Hedonism, I declare in this a holy shrine. If you have a question, blessing, or boon, but do not want to approach my godhead directly, you may pray to it. You will get a less direct answer without having to interact with my blinding splendor personally.”

 

FLASH! Gathered around a twenty foot statue, red light flows from the overpowering futanari Goddess and into a small group holding crimson scyles as she proclaims: “You are all my Acolytes, go out and drain souls in my holy name!”


 

FLASH! On the breeze by the tenfoot gold image you hear “You’re pledging yourself to the wrong mistress than; my statue is within the garden. Pledge to that instead. Become my Acolyte and forsake the upstart fake Goddess of Death for a true goddess. Do so, now. Or be lost from my path.”

 

FLASH! Next to a fifteen foot statue the futanari giantess imperiously declares to an awaiting girl made from green ooze:  “Your body has been augmented in every possible way to fit my perverse needs. Your waist too thin, your breasts and ass too thick. Your body is made of a special regenerating ooze that strengthens me when I drink of it. My already enhanced futa body will be more powerful, my already too huge cum cannon will become more potent every time I have you. Your body will be super sensitive. Just looking at that throbbing meat missle makes your knees weak. Do you understand?” The ooze girl nods in joy.

 

FLASH! In a booming overpowering voice that cows all below, Heather says, “The Goddess blesses this union.” 

 

FLASH! The golden girl-cock on the statue explodes with gushing cum, enough to put a firehose to shame as it causes more of the hateful GODTREES to rise.

 

FLASH! Wanton woman debase themselves and unhinge their jaws as they worship the fifteen foot statue with their mouths, tits, and sex.

 

FLASH! Imperiously, Heather declares. “Unlike the so-called ‘Goddess of Death,’ I am a goddess in truth. I wasn’t ‘born’ but have always existed within the very nature of reality.”

 

FLASH! "FINISH THE STATUE FIRST" Heather shouts like she’s directing children.

 

FLASH! Heather is in tears and screams, “Why does Death shun me? How can she resist me?”

 

FLASH! You see an ahthophamorpic jackrabbit praying to the twenty foot shine, only to be ‘blessed’ with a cock bigger than his body.

 

FLASH! A booming voice sceams, “I'm not a Jinn you can summon by rubbing a lamp! I am a GODDESS!”

 

FLASH! Before a tenfoot statue a younger goddess blesses a girl, turning her into a graceful were-cheetah. She squeals with joy, getting exactly what she wanted with her wishful prayer.

 

FLASH! A woman prays to a twenty foot statue, and is ‘blessed’ with a gaping cunt that goes from her crotch to her mouth. . 

 

FLASH! “We must banish the so-called ‘Goddess of Death’ from this place! She is a blight on this word! Unnatural to it as I am part of it!”

 

FLASH! “I bless this union”

 

FLASH! "FINISH THE STATUE!" 

 

FLASH! “There is no Goddess but ME!”

 

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! 

***

 

You awaken looking up at the brutally disproportionate cock of the thirty foot overgrown effigy now within the garden. Having seen its earlier incarnations of the Manifestation of Hedonism, the contrast is undeniable. Compared to the first version, this golden representation of the Goddess of Excess depicts a bulky monster, bursting with mutated overdone brawn. A dick more akin to a massive redwood than any human organ. You don’t know how long you’ve been lying here, experiencing one erotic scene after another. You are soaked in sweat and other bodily fluid. 

 

You flee this place of the Goddess’ cruelty and power.


 

 

Part 4: Court is Now in Session

 

Again you run, so fast you almost plunge headlong into a patch of GODTREES. You slow down, but still hurry back inside through the broken glass doors. Inside the air is thick with the musk of the mistress. You make your way through the twisting hallways filled with the sexual miasma, half blind, and come upon a demon. 

 

It is pleasuring one of the statues in the hallway. The creature is a fundamentally sexual being seemingly sculpted only for raw, visceral fornication. Her eyes are two orbs of purest obsidian with glowing indigo irises and pupils forged from dying embers. Blowjob lips darker than blood are designed for oral pleasure. Her elfin mouth boasts flawless gleaming teeth and modest fangs. Demure onyx horns can be seen in her butt-long sensual hair. Her exquisite bubble backside sports a tactile spade-ended tail. The impish appendage is tangling itself around the bulky golden statue as she makes love to it. Her bulging boobs beg to be groped as she cups them for the pleasure of the cold metal. Her experienced, long-nailed fingers smash and knead her considerable mammary glands, bringing her dark engorged nipples to be bitten and abused as she rides the golden log of the sculptor. Her body seems forever in motion, writhing in shameless promiscuity. Her perfect hips gyrate in lustful patterns under her erogenous wasp-thin waist. Her dexterous tongue periodically lashes the air.

 

You stare. 

 

“O-oh,” she says to you in a high pitched school girl voice, after she finally notices you. “You must be new.”

 

You can only nod as a reply.

 

“Did you just come from the gardens?” she asks.

 

You nod again.

 

“Did you see the visions?” She asks again and you nod again.

 

She shakes her head. “She’s not going to like that, you know. Anyway, hello, I’m Dimi, Household's Sex Toy.” She extends her long-nailed hand to you. You don’t know if you should shake it or kill it. 

 

When you do neither she continues. “I’m One of the few originals the mistress hasn’t killed.” She leans in a whisper in a conspiratorial manner. “I think she likes me.” And then jumps back with a giggle. Her boobs and ass jiggling uncontrollably by the sudden movement.

 

You start to speak, but she cuts you off.

 

“I know, I know. I looked a lot different in the visions. Now I look like a sexy Maggie. The mistress... She… um… Well, she changed my appearance, and,” she leans in and whispers conspiratorially again, “I think she’s running out of ideas.” 

 

She pulls back and continues in a louder voice. “Lots of small-waisted, big-boobed sluts running around this place. She’d probably turn you into something like me if you hadn’t…. Well, what’s done is done. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. Let's go to the throne room. I want to show you something.”

 

The bubbly bimbo takes you by the hand in a casual, yet irresistible manner. Her small red hand is surprisingly strong for its size. Not knowing what else to do, you let her lead you deep into the mansion. The rooms and hallways you pass seem to get older and more run down. The wood here is ancient and worn and there is little stone. What is there is crumbling. Finally, you come to an abandoned room much taller than it is wide. There is a broken stone throne in the exact middle of the room. A place where four round objects have worn rivets into the cracked and shattered stone can be seen. There are two wooden “pens” where noblemen and women could gather. 

 

Dimi turns to you and says with reverence you wouldn’t expect, “This is the first room, the one that’s always been.” 

 

Then, she takes your head in her hands, and closes your eyes with her long-nailed thumbs. 

 

Again, you are assaulted by a vision of the past. You see the room filled with depraved noblepeople of every stripe. They are rowdy and boisterous, the place having a ‘madhouse’ vibe to it. The Manifestation of Hedonism sits in the middle. She is the smallest you have seen her, at eight feet. Yet, still she fills the room, radiant as the sun. Her emotional aura spread out before her. 

 

She is on the same level as with the gathered motley crowd; a queen among her nobles; first of her peers. This is the time they may speak to her openly so that she might be informed as to what goes on in the Household. The Manifestation of Hedonism wants them to bring forth any grievances they might have, so she might understand them.

 

You hear Dimi’s voice in your ear as you watch the passed. “This way the mistress might have an accurate account of those in her care. At the start she was a benevolent leader, and her subjects would feel truly listened to because she would truly listen.” 

 

You can see in Heather’s aura the truth of what Dimi says. At this time, the futanari giantess does care about her subjects. She wants to be a good leader, and is willing to lower herself to accomplish that. Suddenly, you notice something else shocking, there are no golden statues in this room. Not in the present, not in the past. This room is unadorned of anything glorifying Heather’s ego. Even the “throne” could more be described as a simple stone chair as she futaspread’s on it.

 

The mistress says, "Court is in session, you may address the throne. This is not the time for sex, this is the time for business." Her own massive cock seems sad when she says that.

 

Different petitioners come to her, and she listens. While they are before her, it seems like only those two exist, so intense is her attention. She clearly wants to get the right resolution to each plea, and there's even some back and forth. 

 

Dimi whispers to you from the present, “But, it doesn’t last.”

 

She rubs your eyes and you see a different day. Heather is much larger, and the past version of Dimi is collared to her throne, which is breaking under the weight of her comically large testicles. 

 

 "Court is in session, you may address the throne." Her heavy balls cause the massive throne to creak as she arrogantly futaspreads on it. Her aura radiates displeasure as she declares, "I would let everyone know that my eternal rival, the Usurper of Death, has escaped the bonds I placed on her. She has ascended to become a proxy Goddess, despite your true Goddess best efforts. Yet, do not fall to her sweet words and honeyed lies. She claims to care about you, but she is a false god, born a mortal. I am a TRUE goddess, never 'born' but have always been. Follow her at your own folly. Know I am the only light in the dark. My way is the TRUE way. Through my discipline, I will teach the lessers their proper path. The Mistress of Death will only give you saccharine treats. I will give you PURPOSE!" 

 

Heather’s aura lets you know she truly believes all she says as she continues. "She was charged with giving the lessers I drained new souls. I had found a way to bind her. But, just today, she broke free and now runs rampant in these hallowed halls.”

***

Dimi rubs your eyes again, and you move forward in time. You know it's later by Heather’s improved size. The Mistress of the Household is over thirteen feet of overwrought futanari Goddess, her throbbing cock almost is almost eight feet of veiny power. She is grossly brawny, and her dick like a firehose of precum.  Yet, the biggest change is her aura is shaped like angel’s appendages, and now her cock is literally gushing precum all over the floor. Her aura is a golden halo around her as she sits on her low throne. The room is bathed in light that flows out of her like heavenly wings. 

 

Self love radiates from her and all gathered here are bathed in it. They cannot help but feel as she feels, and she feels that only Heather matters. Only her pleasure is real; this truth saturates your soul as you look upon a creature that has surpassed all concepts of earthly beauty. You feel as she feels in this moment. In a voice like cruel rain on glass she says: "Court is now in session, you may address the throne." 

 

The floor is slowly covered with the precum flowing from the end of Heather’s semihard monster. A woman wearing the dress of a maid comes forward. She looks like most of the women here: Huge tits and a waspish waist. She also is too shy to look directly at sexual futa Goddess on the throne, but the slight girl nevertheless speaks. 

 

“Great mistress, I am here to ask for a boon.” She says timitly in a sexy voice.

 

"A boon, child?" Heather’s voice is clear and resident.

 

The girl has trouble getting the words out before the overpowering woman in the throne. “Y-your cum has become so prolific, it is hard to clean. I-I was hoping we could install drains.”

 

Heather muses allowed, "I am not a carpenter, if you wish to add drains, do so. But, I know of no plumbing that can handle my viscous, honeyed cum. I would say a better solution is for you to lick it up." 

 

The lewd girl's tongue suddenly becomes seven feet long and her belly becomes stretchy to hold any amount of cum.

 

“Th-still, mith-stre-thss.” The girl says, finding it hard to speak.

 

"Yes child?" Heather says to the maid.

 

“Th-May Th-we?” She sputters out spittle  as she speaks. Her new appendage isn’t cooperating and seems to have a mind of its own as it tries to lick the cum off the floor.

 

Another lewd maid finishes for her, since the first gives into her tongue, and falls on the floor before the throne to clean up the precum there with her new appendage. 

"To make plumbing able to handle gallons of divine seed?"

 

Heather waves consent as if bored.

 

"Though, the thought of my divine seed going down a drain fills me with sadness." And, of course, her emotional aura fills all around her with her sadness too. "I would rather it be used to feed some poor lesser."

 

Another maid (just as disproportionate as the first) frantically steps forward to gladden the Goddess, unable to stand the divine sadness of the aura for even a moment.  The second lewd maid says, “We can make statues of you, fountains to hold the cum.”

 

Heather nods slowly. And, to the relief of all, her joy and self love returns. "If you make a statue, make sure it has a working cock. All lessers need to start stretching their holes to fit my divine cum cannon. Of course, since it grows too much, it never will.” Heather laughs as she gives her gushing python a playful shake, coving the maids in precum. The addictive substance sends them into the throes of ecstasy.

 

Heather doesn’t seem to notice and continues, “You may use the gold in the vault to make such a practice dildo statues. Make sure to use rubies to catch the color of my hair." 

 

“And, we could have your cum drain into them, mistress?” One of the least affected maids asks, looking at her cum-covered colleges in envy.

 

"Yes,” says Heather. “You could make the drain hooked up to the statueS" She emphasizes the plural. "You will all start practicing on them. That way they can cum my cum into you, which should help with your daily routine of working out your holes."

 

The slutty maids look excited as they think about what needs to be done.

 

"So, work on it!" Heather acts as if the maids were being rude, after they suggested all this extra work to glorify their mistress. 

 

Heather contines"It is your DUTY to take all of me!” Unconsciously, the Goddess drives this order into the cowering servants’ minds, making them even more slavish.  She continues, each of her words a hammer strike to the mind. “You MUST become ready to be fucked by me, no matter how big I get.” She laughs again, her aura filled with the emotional images of fucking slut after slut with an ever growing cock.

 

Dimi whispers to you from the present. “Heather’s aura breds sycophants. Even though it was the maids that made the suggestion for the statues, it is impossible to tell if the idea didn’t really originate within her glowing aura. As those around her become more subservient, she becomes more of a slave driver. Unwilling to listen to anyone that disagreed with her preconceived notions of the world. Unwilling to do anything but indulge in her self aggrandizing hedonistic desires.” 

***

Dimi rubs your eyes for the last time and again you move forward. Now, Heather is the thirty foot creature on the throne, the Goddess of Excess. She has three massive futa meat missiles protruding from her crotch. Each one ten feet long and thicker than a dinner plate is wide. Precum geysers out of each one, supported by two sets of testicles. Four impossibly dense wrecking balls crack the throne beneath her as they supply the three futa monoliths with an unending supply of sticky, viscous pre-spunk.

 

“This is the last day of the court,” Dimi whispers from the present. “She will never enter this room to listen again. At this point, it is a farce anyway. She only wants to mock and fuck those gathered. The idea she would spend her time doing anything else has long since passed.”

 

Heather stands and swaggers around the room swinging three ten foot semi-hard futa weapons. She almost drags them on the floor as those three dicks piss out liters of precum a minute. She is thirty feet tall, and this room was built for her. In it, she looks perfectly proportioned, the epitome of beauty, while all lesser beings look like deformed shrunken mutants. Her glowing emotional aura hammers that fact into each brain here. Her self love pulsating out of her as her precum splatters on the floor. Heather knows she is better than them, and her divine light makes all know it too. Those thoughts of your own inferiority beat into your soul with each pulsation of her being. She walks across the floor, gliding like a dancer. Her feminine hips swaying in time with her massive medicine balls. Those weighty spheres are hyper dense, and many a lesser have been crushed by them. Or, more horrifically, been ABSORBED into them. They hold an extra dimensional space. A universe of cum and eldritch horrors that would break a mortal mind just to glimpse. You can think you see those six ton wrecking balls squirming with unimagined horrors. You would swear you could see humanoid shapes moving in her sack, which sways in time with her bludgeoning breasts. Between those two sets of perfect spheres, her balls and boobs, lies a plane of perfect abs. Her muscular waist is impossibly thin and unimaginably strong. She swaggers on long, smooth muscular legs around the room. Asserting her dominance over those gathered with her shaming size and impossible strength, before returning to her low throne. There she flops down, her weight breaking the solid stone. She futaspreads on that shattering rock as her blood-red hair cascades around her, a too wide amused smile on her ruby lips. Those teeth behind that smirk too bright and white for the light in this room. Her beauty is as enticing as it is dangerous. She opens her unearthly mouth and say in a voice of rain on a window pane:


“Court is now in session. You may approach the throne. Remember, it is the duty of all beings within this place to serve me. You all should be on your knees or sucking my balls. Even that is more than you deserve. You are not worthy to be in my presence, that much is painfully clear. But, I am magnanimous. I will allow you to break yourselves on my bitchbreaker. I will let you destroy your souls for my enjoyment. You are welcome.”

 

Three other women knee before the throne. All of them have breasts and hips so big and waists so thin, it would be laughable to imagine them walking. They proved Dimi’s words true, the Goddess of Excess had a  ‘type’ she seemed to overuse when reforging her servants.  The thirdy foot Goddess sports her three girl-cocks, each as big as the woman it is to fuck. She sits naked as always, in the middle of the room as her butt turns the overtaxed throne into powder. 

 

Suddenly, she stands again and black tentacles sprout for the shadows. They sway ready to rape anything with a hole to fill. Her craving for physical sensation of all kinds is insatiable, and she will ride the three in front of her to death trying to squeeze a little more from them. She is lust and hunger made manifest. Her thirdy foot form radiates eroticism and dominance. Lightning occasionally arcs over her flawless skin; the bolts reminders of all the powers she has absorbed from the souls of her followers. The golden statues you’ve seen are nothing compared to this vision of the real thing.

 

Though some of the statues you’ve seen are physically the same size (or bigger), somehow the true Goddess of Excess’s breasts and cock seem larger. While their physical dimensions are just as absurdly massive as the golden statues counterparts, her own just seem more... substantial. Her whole being seems more weighty than the gold. It is as if she is more real, more real than reality itself. Next to her, existence is insubstantial, a ghost or an afterthought. She  simply seems to matter more than anything else. It is as if a spotlight is on Heather, taking away light and importance even from the sun. Without her, the brightest day seems dark.

 

In a voice of rain on sand she says, "I thirst, cows."

 

The three before her seem like sacrificial animals, their tits heavy with milk and lust. Black tentacles suddenly blacken the bright room like ink stains on white paper. They radiate from the Goddess’ glowing form, framing her radiant perfection. Each one of the shadow-stuff pseudopods end in a hungry mouth. There is a lensing effect as the room itself fades into blackness. Everything but the Goddess and the three are removed by the void that fills this place. Impossibly, the Goddess becomes even brighter in this augmented reality, standing before her followers, hard and ready. 

 

Three ten foot demon cocks, each drooling too much precum. Three times the normal amount gushes from her. As you witness the spectacle the tentacles' mouths cup over each of the followers engorged nipples. The feeling is clearly indescribable. All of their nipples stimulated to an extent unimaginable. The mouths on the tentacles have a hundred tongues, all working on each individual nipple, sucking it dry. The Goddess’ own mouth smirks brightly, too wide, too toothy.

 

Even as the tits run dry, the pseudopod mouths don't stop; they take everything each have, and try for more. When the milk bags do go dry, the tentacles start to worm their way into the breasts. They're moving inside, violating nipples, looking for every last drop of sucker within the mammary glands, taking even what cannot be given. As this is happening each of the slutty followers are being drawn nearer and nearer to the Goddess’ glowing form. Lust is coming off of her in waves. Her sexual need is a physical thing, buffeting bodies, breaking minds. Her divine emotional aura worming its way into each soul the same way her tentacles are worming into her followers body.  She is not just violating their nipples anymore, but every hole as they draw closer to her throbbing lust filled being. 

 

The followers overflowing with the inky pseudopods before the Goddess even touches them. Her black tentacles are everywhere within them. Every nerve simulated and rubbed raw, their minds broken, their souls crushed, and their mouths being pried open from the inside. In this black void, you cannot tell if she is getting closer to them, or them to her. But, regardless, each fat lip is inextricably pulled to the tip of Heather’s gushing fat futa fucksticks. Her cum cannons so large and hard as they throb with Heather’s black blood. Veiny meat monoliths that have broken a billion bitches.

 

Over her two foot wide bitchbreakers their lips go. Down her veiny shafts their bodies are stretched. There is so much of Heather and not enough whores. Their obscenely sexual bodies become obscene cock-sleeves. Her black tentacles guide the process from the inside. The broken babes feel each surge of her leaden blood in the shafts of her monstrous cum cannons. Each pulsating vein moving deeper and deeper. Jaws broken and bodies drained. Her aura filling them with joy, knowing this is the best fuck anyone could hope for in a thousand lifetimes. They are being destroyed for Heather’s pleasure, burned to ash on the pyre of her joy. This fills them to overflowing as just her precum does the same. As Heather’s gargantuan tips hit bottom, she doesn’t stop. Those used-up harlots realize she will be fitting all ten feet of her raging futa meat monsters into their skin-sleeves, even if they tear like a petite sock over an elephant's foot. Yet, Heather’s will prevents them from ripping, and once she is inside them fully, the fucking REALLY starts.

 

Each whorish worshiper  is already overflowing with precum, from both ends.  Heather’s  precum has raped all their eggs already, impossibly, just from oral. Now, she is thrusting even harder and primal, as a voice is whispered from nowhere in each ear. “My precum has already bread all your eggs. Yet, it was just to give those weak sperm a chance. My REAL cum will rip my pre-sperms DNA apart and insert itself. If the pre-sperm are strong enough to hang on, they are worthy. Otherwise my real sperm will destroy them and breed your eggs again, correctly. Survival of the fittest. My sperm will fight each other inside you to make sure only the strongest demigods are created.”

 

The slavish sluts bodies are ruined as Heather thrusts over and over. Her six ton wrecking balls breaking their chins with each inhumanly hard piston push. Heather’s two foot wide, ten foot long futa cum cannon is like having a tree trunk shoved down their throats. And, still, her tentacles are omnipresent inside and around them while her godly aura cracks their minds and eats away at their souls. They are broken in every imaginable way on every level, and -yet- cannot help but feel the love and joy for Heather, as she feels. 

 

She is a beacon of light and ecstasy as she rails into them like a tank through a paper bag. Harder and harder, faster and faster, until, finally, her double set of olympian nuts deflate. The base of her triple cock doubles in girth as her load is pushed into it. The whores’ jaws are obliterated by this surge. But her divine load is so heavy and so thick not even her stupendous balls can make it move quickly down her long unyielding shaft. The pressure within that futa cock could crack the planet, but it cannot make the solid mass of spunk move more than an inch a second down her one hundred and twenty inch shafts. Thus, it will be almost two minutes of this before her true orgasm begins.

 

But, after those two minutes pass that heavy mass makes it to the end. The Goddess of Excess cums.

 

And cums, and cums, and cums. Triple her normal load from triple her cocks. The wanton sluts are already overflowing with precum when two hundred gallons a minute flood out of each of her three fattened futa phalluses. 

 

Along the way, Heather’s godly sperm have been fighting and killing one another, so only the strongest survive the trip to the tip. Her sperm rushed into the brutalized bodies of the bitches, breeding everything. Their already fertilized eggs are raped again. Their DNA is ripped out and replaced by stronger sperm. Their improbable beautiful children will be one-half to two-thirds Heather’s divine DNA as part of the followers’ own DNA is ripped away in the frenzy. The sperm that fertilizes or re-fertilizes all of her followers eggs are the strongest of Heather’s uncountable many, super-sperm. And, the perfectly pretty children they create will be impossibly powerful. All eggs are bred, the dead sperm will provide nutrients for these hyper children, since the sluts bodies could not possibly feed so many. Each slave will have hundreds of Heather’s divine brood, too stuffed full to do anything except be breeding sows.

 

Long minutes pass, everyone’s mind has already been broken by Heather’s hyper-pheromones, but in this moment of climax Heather’s aura is exploding with pleasure perfected. It's so hot it burns; brains cooking in it, sautéed in dopamine and oxytocin. Divine love fills all to busting as bodies overfill and flow with divine flawless spunk. 

 

For minutes on end this experience is an impossible upwelling of physical and religious rapture. Nerves on fire, minds and souls burned to ash as the flood of sperm quenches the world. Nothing else can be like this, all are made whole even as they break. Made insane as they experience perfect clarity. You understand the truth of the world is to have everything given to Heather. Everything is made to serve her so she can feel like this forever, and if she feels like this forever, so will everything. To give her all is to make all pleasure. Her joy is reality's joy. Her love for herself everything's love. 

 

All understand and are at peace, but then that peace is taken. This is not that unending rapturous moment, but a brief flash in of what could be. As bodies and minds are washed away, the moment ends. And, all one can think about is how awful it is. You must find that moment again. You must serve the Goddess of Excess again, and you must make everything serve her. For, only then will the moment not end. Only when everything works for the Goddess' pleasure will that pleasure last forever.

***

You open your eyes, filled with bloody tears and look into Dimi’s black eyes, also filled with bloody tears. She must have experienced the shadow of that past sensation as well.

 

“That was the last day of court.” Dimi says sadly. “The mistress never came back. She had long ago lost the reason for it.”

 

You stand with Dimi and look at the broken throne and delapaled room, all that is left of Heather’s Courtroom. 

 

Part 5: Cosmic Kitchens

 

Dimi leads you out of this room. “That’s the same story all throughout the Household. I will take you to the kitchen, where she used to eat every day. But… well, maybe you should see for yourself.”

 

Dimi leads you down one long forgotten hallway to the next. But, as she does, the hallways become better used, you even start bumping into other servants as you follow Dimi. Until, finally, you come upon another colossal room and are led in. You smelt this place long before you saw it; a scent that made your mouth water. 

 

The planetary room is an impossibly large kitchen with a continent sized table in the center. The preposterous size of this cosmically large room was simply beyond description. And, the massive double reinforced table the size of a country in its center was clearly created for one, and only one, being to eat at.  There was a single high back mahogany chair crafted for a giant hundreds of feet tall. Food to feed a world  was already spread out on that improbably massive centerpiece, and more was coming. A literal sea of pots and ovens bigger than buildings ringed that center table. There was an uncountable army of sex slaves working to continue to fill the overfilled celestial buffet with edibles to make the most jaded, pampered prince weak with their extravagance. 

 

Each of the labering slaves had the body type that’s become ubiquitous in your understanding of the Household’s labor force: huge tits, tiny waist, huge ass. Yet, within that uniformity, there is infinite variety. You see hair of all colors and skin tones of every shade in the moving hoard of overly erotic cooks and grossly carnal waitresses. Within that seething lewd mass of thralls, other themes also emerge. While there is no uniform color for hair, almost all of them have long flowing locks. A small few are short haired or even bald. But, the average is longer than their waspish waists, meaning many are practically tripping over their manes as they work. Most are wearing nothing more than leather straps that bind their body in ways to emphasize their ludicrous curves, and make it harder for them to move. Still, move they all do. While many are in bonded leather, some are in flowing silk dresses, and many wear slut outfits from every era. 

 

But, all are working to the common goal of filling that continent sized table with more sumptuous food. Their oversexualized bodies seem ill suited to the task, tailored only to ignite the mind with lewd thoughts or labor as sex workers in an upscale brothal. You’re drooling now from more than just the overpowering smell of the feast. A luscious blonde babe in a two-piece string bikini and knockers bigger than her head almost knocks you over in her frantic rush to get what looks like half a tyrannosaurus’s thigh to one of the many pulleys set around the table.   

 

The hundreds of straining, sweaty nymphets that work those pulleys seem too weak for the herculean task of moving the ludicrous amount of food to the top of the hundred foot table. Not that anyone here seems up to any task besides laying on their back while being fucked, but what they lack in physical brawn they make up for in enthusiasm. All these sex workers work as if their life depends on getting that next dish to the already overstuffed table top. 

 

You watch in stunned silence as the already heaped up table hundreds of feet above the floor fills with a pile of steaming food thousands of feet tall itself. There seems to be no end to the amount as more and more is frantically dumped on the table, which -despite its mass- is starting to buckle. There is no guessing what magical material the counter is made of, as it sags more and more. Yet the pile grows higher still, even as the tables bottom starts to reach the floor. When it's just about to touch that polished surface, and the heep of food is about to reach the ceiling miles above your head, the first blast of Heather’s approaching presence sweeps across the scene.

 

This is no longer a dream, and you are no longer a ghost. The first real scent of Heather’s goddess pheromones knocks you to your feet. The wanton whores fair no better, but they seem to all know what is required. They fall to whatever surface they find themselves on. As that WALL of musk crashes over them, they assume the position: humongous tits down, vast asses up. 

 

You try your best to emulate them, but even with Heather still who-knows-how many rooms away, the first brush of her approach sends you, and everyone else, into orgasmic bliss. The countless thralls are inthralled as their gushing gashes wobble in the air between their too large butts. They are biting their hands or using their hair as a gag, as they try to hold in their moans and screams. 

 

You’re about to let out a cry of ecstasy yourself, but the blonde bimbo you bumped into earlier beats you to it.  As you watch in horror, the blue bikini-clad slut gives into the sensations that the first whiff of the Goddess of Excess, and spontaneously bursts into flames. Screaming in agonized ecstasy, the huge titted harlot howls as her nerves burn in sexual sensations. Her emerald eyes stare at a hellish heaven as her body is literally consumed by fires of passion.

 

You fear you’re about to suffer the same ignominious fate as the second wave of pheromones wash over you,  but in that moment Dimi takes your hand and holds your head. This seems to give you enough willpower to ward off the mind breaking effect of Heather’s approach. Many of the countless hoards aren't as lucky as bodies burn around you. Yet, they seem well trained as most survive that first onslaught of Heather’s relentless approach. 

 

The second effect of Heather’s implacable advance is the wave of viscous precum that precedes her. It is a tide that covers the floor, more and more of the sticky stuff makes it almost impossible to move. In your prostrate positions, you and Dimi have to keep from drowning in it as the flood inches upward. The untold gallons it would take to cover a planet sized floor boggles the mind. So excessive, more sperm then there are living cells on Earth, and it's just Heather’s pre. The odiferous, thick fluid is non-Newtonian. Thus, the aggressive gametes climb up legs ahead of the rising liquid's surface level. You realize, even with their fat asses in the air, all here will be bred by that rising pre before Heather even makes it to the room. The incredibly viscous liquid creeps up your leg as a living tide, and flows into every crevice ahead of the rising flood. 

 

While this is happening, the musk in the air, already a solid thing, becomes an almost unbreathable miasma. The lust filled fog saturates your lungs and enters your bloodstream. Like a potent stimulus, everything is felt more vividly as those biochemicals supercharges your nerves. You bite down hard on Dimi’s hand to stop from moaning in ecstasy as the precum violates your most sensitive parts and the love drug in the air permeates your overcharged nerves. You must scream, to run, to riot, but instead are glued to the spot forcing down your cries.  In the middle of this muted frenzy, you feel Heather’s aura start to stroke your essence as her footfalls can be heard.

 

Her emotions are insidious as they crawl across your soul. You feel her thoughts as if they’re your own. Heather understands she is the center of the universe; her pleasure is paramount. That all others are worthless. You are worthless. Your only purpose is to give your mind, body, and soul for an extra second of pleasure to Heather’s continual orgasm that is her glorious existence. And, as she draws close, you can share in that exalted existence. These thoughts start as whispers, but soon become shouts within your mind. You feel like you’re screaming at yourself. Why aren’t you doing everything you can to pleasure Heather? Why aren’t you burning yourself to ash to follow one of her stray whims? Yet, you also know what you’re currently doing, prostrating yourself in her rising precum, is what she wants of you at this moment. Fleeting and flighty as her mood might be, at this moment you are to remain as silent and motionless as you can. But, all here can’t help to cry out a little as they squirm in the constant climax of Heather’s nearing presence.

 

Then, with the ground shaking from her heavy footfalls, the Goddess of Excess enters the room.  If her smothering musk didn’t help shield your eyes, the sight and blinding light of her overwhelming divine aura would have stopped your overtaxed heart. 

 

Hundreds of feet tall, she dominates the space completely. Her body is heavy with all the souls she just ingested. Her grey eyes still tinged with the blackness of the void from draining so many, so quickly. Her crotch contains uncountable prehensile futa phalluses, each so large and thick redwoods would feel intimidated. The precum flood is originating from this girthy tentacle mass, being pumped out from her four massive boulder-shaming testicals. Each one of those menacing spheres is so dense as to have its own gravity. You can feel their pull from across the vast room, and can see sluts near the door gravitating into them, to be absorbed and added to the mass like four black holes of cum.  Those weighty wrecking balls cannot stop a steady stream of precum, uncountable gallons, to just flow and flow from the end of her snaking meat missiles. Heather is hedonism made manifest; the literal personification of earthly pleasures. Lust made real; greed that walks; sex brought into being. She stands in that doorway just long enough for you to realize that those gold statues of her with their ruby hair are nothing compared to the real thing. Her skin is electric; Her hair like blood flowing from a fresh wound. And, her hypnotic, massive cocks… Those undulating cum cannons are desire made true and expanded to ridiculous proportions. More divine blood flows in their veins then does the whole human race. Looking at them, you realize you are worthless.  Her cum cannons have meaning, you do not. You would give your whole being just to let her use you once. You would burn your soul up in the pyre of her divine want and sacrosanct need. Anything she asks of you, you will give. The only thing that CAN matter is Heather. Her blazing divine aura etches this fact onto each of the assembled souls.

 

Then, this mountainous monument to herself moves. She is so huge, so massive, but she swaggers into the room. Even the smallest movement of her body would cause the strongest of wills to melt, and she is swinging and gyrating now. Every part of her swaying to ignite the already lust-drugged minds arrayed below her.  Her wide hips and ass that could be measured in miles are so achingly perfect; her breasts overlarge spheres of feminine joy. And, her quad wrecking balls are cuming forever, filling the world and every hole with her perfected sperm.  

 

Her cock-tenticals violate everything in the room as she enters. They are ubiquitous the moment she appeared at the doorway. Your body is penetrated by one of the smaller ones, only a foot wide. Divine maturity in that fat futa phallus opens your tiny hole, stretching you like a too small condom over a dick as big as you are. Her aura of elation and musk of lust causes your sensitive body to become completely over-stimulated as your hole is opened for the outrageous penetration. Divine pleasure rips your brain apart with joy at the Goddess’ splendor. Everything about Heather is fundamentally overwhelming and dominating. No part of you isn’t overpowered by her heavenly need. Instead of killing you as they should, their mere touch makes you orgasm uncontrollably. These waves of pleasure cascade through you like electric shocks as your body is unlocked.  

 

Your body is stretched by the meat missile like a rubber. Your hips break, but the musk and aura makes you feel nothing but perfect joy. The massive tip  is eased inside. The precum is like a torrent of sticky sludge, and you can feel it already swelling the inside of your body. You feel your mind being burned away in pleasure no mortal could hope to understand. This comically large cock is fully inside your tragically small innards.

 

You see others around you as they too become filling cumballons and stretched cocksleeves. Their raw nerves stimulated in the same way as the three in the throne room. This effect should kill you and them, but your bodies seem to defy physics to please the mistress’s whims. Impossibly the omnipresent thrashing goddess members  fill all more than their own organs and blood. The Goddess of Excess becoming more you than you, physically, mentally and spiritually. Heather’s mere presence unconsciously rapes everything: minds, souls, and bodies.

 

As this total violation is occurring, each step of her flawless bare feet kill hundreds. The assembled whores still do not move from their prone positions as Heather’s street wide extremities crush them. The shockwave from her heft knocking thousands about with each divine footfall. She moved across the room, and you’re sure you’ll die. But, her foot misses you as she makes her way to the chair. The gravity from her balls almost suck you in as she passes, but the foot wide futa phallus in you keeps you on the ground. If Heather hadn’t been raping you so hard, your mass would have been added to the four black hole testicles as they passed over head.

 

Heather makes it to her high back chair and places her perfect ass onto the seat, resting her black hole balls before her. The chair must be magical to withstand Heather’s body, but it still groans and shudders. She reclines, the comically large chair small next to her spendler. As she sets herself, the undulating schlongs whip back to Heather. They wrap their monstrous lengths and vast girths around each other, brading into themselves. Until, finally, the uncountable become the one. A single futa dick, hundreds of feet long and thicker than a city block.  A literal super-skyscraper of a cock.  Lending back, Heather opens her superlative lips and says in a voice of love burnt to smoldering cinders: “Feed me and lick my balls!”

 

The words destroyed wills as they ripple from her flawless mouth. They, and the withdrawing of the raping pseudopods, cause the whole moaning collective of stationary whores to spring into action.  Those on the ground must wade through the impossibly sticky, and still rising, deluge of precum. Some are lost, pulled down by the hyper-aggressive sperm swimming within. Regardless of the added difficulty, all but Heather labor to do exactly as she just ordered. You find yourself attempting to help, even if all you truly desire is to masturbate to Heather’s glory. Somehow you find yourself  holding a plate and rushing to a pulley.

 

In the midst of this unholy bedlam, great wings spread from the back of Dimi’s sexual body, and she takes to the air. While you will be working on the first part of the Goddess’ demand, it looks like Dimi will be attempting the second. She heads for those celestial spheres. 

 

Heather looks out at the madhouse with her cold grey eyes. Within her aura you see she feels she has already overly contributed to helping. Just by speaking her orders she has done too much to help those that toil below. Her servants shouldn’t even need to be told, they should just understand what she desires. Yet, within her aura all can read that her needs aren’t terribly complex. Her earlier articulation really does encompass most of them. The only addition would be to attend to her singular, towering futa monolith as you would to her quad cum factories. 

 

Her gestalt futa heavy artillery gushs pre everywhere, the tide on the floor inexorably rising. Then, her grand head tilts back and her too toothy maw is opened waiting for food, or slaves, to be poured into it. Her balls are four huge spheres begging to be touched and massaged. Her blinding aura is a fountain of want and need. She needs you to please her, to fuck her, to feed her. She sees no need to further articulate her demands. She doesn't want you to ask permission; she simply wants you to ACT.  Cater to her every carnal whim without direction. And, that is what happens.

 

Down her gaping maw the assembled food is simply poured. The feast that had taken an age to assemble disappears quickly down that empty chasm. It is poured so fast and furious that slaves also fall into it. Their souls are sucked into the black lightning that flashes around the Goddess’ inscrutable eyes. Often a stray bolt of those cracking void bolts hits a striving slut, draining them of essence. As the number of worshipers and the miles-high pile of sumptuous food disappears down into Heather’s voluminous body, the Goddess of Excess becomes more. 

 

The immoderate amount of nourishment and sex slaves being poured into the mistress was blinding fast, but her enhanced senses allowed her to experience the sensation of each taste, just as her flawless nerves picked up on each tiny caress of her colossal mega-cock. The hearty meal enhances her already superlatively enormous body. The nectarous, oversized meal does not add an ounce of fat to her perfection. She just becomes more sexy and more immense in size and strength. Even her musk and aura become heightened and further pervasive as she grows in stature from the influx. She swells, especially her tits, ass, and balls. You know she doesn’t even really need to eat to fuel her flawless body, or could have drawn nourishment out of the very air. But, then, what would be the point of servants? A goddess needs worshipers, and mortals would have no purpose if not for the one she gives; they should be thanking her. The mistress’s presence balloons as the feast flows down into the black hole of joy that is Heather. Her planetary package swells larger and larger as her cyclopean cycloptic composition cock cloys.  Billions of sex slaves drive themselves to death on that tower to earthly pleasure. Only the beating of Heather’s blackened heart could move the towering rod of adamantium that is her prodigious phallus.

 

Yet,

She Who Thirsts could not be slaked. The Dark Queen of Pleasure’s lust could not be sated. The Goddess of Excess’s hunger is not the hunger of a mortal. She does not eat for sustenance in the normal sense; her sucker comes from excess. It is not the physicality of the food she ingests, but it is the ACT of gluttony she needs. She needs to eat TOO MUCH, yet nothing is too much for the Manifestation of Excess itself. Her followers and thralls must work to a hopeless end. 

 

As Heather’s prefluid fills the impossibly large room, her submissive servants understand her true load will destroy. Undaunted from that doomed knowledge, the army of slavish sluts work and work. Breathing in her ever increasing pheromones as your soul burns in the brightening light of her aura, you need to help the futanari Goddess cum. Her aura tells you this with greater clarity than if she demanded it with words. Nothing will be left but Heather. Yet, the Goddess needs MORE MORE MORE...

 

None of you are worthy. The inferno of her dreadful need does nothing but mount with the passing of your efforts. It is almost as if your exertions only stoke the fire of her burning lust and hunger. She is Excess, uncontrolled and unrefined. She needs sustenance no mortal can give, yet her outpourings spur you to try. Even as you feel as she feels: that you are worthless in the face of her greatness. Paradoxically, that same emotion forces you to TRY to be worthy, locked in this death knell dance. It has the sense of ritual to it, as if this has played out many times before. The sense of weight and meaning of the act itself. Of the god that thirsts for sacrifice, but who's bloodlust cannot be sated no matter the enormity of that sacrifice. The ungrateful Goddess works her servants to death. But, there is joy in that, as if failure is success. Even within the hopeless inevitably there is a sense of meaning. So, you try to do what you know you cannot. You try to please the unpleasable.

 

Then the monstrous Goddess of Superabundance roars. Heather screams with want so intense, so primal, it is of the universe itself. The appetite of a black hole, the ejaculating power of a quasar. The hunger that was born from the beginning of all things, and will be its end. The alpha and the omega of lust. As that sound that is more than sound fills the impossible space, so does Heather. She moves with a speed that burns the air even as her power fries your minds. With one unreasonably gigantic hand, she grabs sex slaves and spreads them open on her futa fuckstick which scraps the sky. One after another she fills them to bursting with a moment of her precum’s unending flow. 

 

Her other irrationally enormous hand is shoving things into her mouth. She drinks a boiling pot of soup the size of a sea in a blink while still shoveling meat, alive as well as prepared, passed her perfect lips. One handed, she breaks bitch after bitch on her bitchbreaker. With her other she consumes the contents of this planet sized kitchen, strip-mining it. Like the man that butchered the goose that laid the golden egg, she plows through all that was here for her alone anyway. Destroying those that tried to feed and please her by feeding and pleasing herself with them. 

 

As she devours or deflowers all those who served her, the death cry that is the inferno of Heather’s pleasure reaches the tipping point. Her four balls move into their position as the portal to an extra dimension of pure godly seed is opened. Her black hole balls turn into raging quasars, pumping the full contents of a dimension down her fat building-breaking cock.  A literal ocean’s worth of almost solid cum is released as only an opening salvo down her empyrean spire.  A volume of fluid so massive and thick that even her overpowering body is forced apart by its passing. Her futa meat missile increases to double its blockwide girth. That unreasonable load is forced with unreasonable force up hundreds of feet of divine, gestalt dick. The pressure inside that godly cum shaft is more intense than a supernova. 

 

Meanwhile, Heather’s pleasure is magically addictive, and miraculously infectious. Every mortal brain here starts to bake in the joy of the Avatar of Exuberance. Dopamine and oxytocin drown the senses until only love for this heinous act remains. Your rational brain wants to flee, knowing that amount of godly hyper-sperm will suffocate and devour all. But the emotion of her climatic joy overrides any other thoughts. Her desire is made true by her power, and shoved into your brains as her cum will be shoved into your bodies. Your overridden brain knows all Heather does is right and correct, and none could have the will to disagree. The lesser SHOULD be broken, and Heather SHOULD be the one to do it.  This Divine Clarity fills each mind.

 

Heather’s godly emotional aura is a blinding nova of unstoppable pleasure. All passion she feels is radiating out of her as searing heat and scorching light. Total primal ecstasy burns into every mind here. Her aura bakes the brains and sizzles the souls around her as her colonnaded fuck cannon gets ready to fire. That squirming, spermed mass inexorably moves down her monolithic length. After almost an hour of this pre-climax, the first volley of that endless dimension of pure goddess sperm finally makes it to the gargantuan tip of Heather’s mega-cock.  

 

Her weaponized futanari ordnance explodes as her aura busts your soul. Her power is a supernova of adoration, brighter than the sun and blinding to mortal eyes. She is a celestial fire of ecstasy, burning everything with exaltation of herself and bliss unbounded. She is uncontrolled elation and rapture made real. Your soul is swept away in this outpouring, to be replaced with true understanding of how important this moment is. The Goddess of Excess’s orgasm is divinity itself; it IS purpose; it IS meaning. Everything in existence MUST do everything in its power to create this perfect moment for HER.

 

Her power forces you ALL to feel as she feels in this moment of annihilating joy. The emotions explode out of that godly mind as cum explodes out of her divine cock. All of your bodies are rocked with sensations impossible to understand as your minds crumble and break. There was no escape from the overwhelming pleasure that assaults every fiber of your being. Your thoughts shattered in this moment of perfect religious arousal. Every synapse asphyxiated with love chemicals, burning them down with thoughts of Heather’s perfection. You will not TRULY feel what she feels, only what leaks from her, but those drops are still MUCH more than your little mortal minds are meant to handle. Your conciseness melts in the strength of that pleasure. You know nothing but how important this moment is. This is why you exist, this is your purpose, to create this sensation for Heather. This is Truth, and you feel it in your oversupplied soul. You are weeping blood as your brain cooks in joy.

 

While this inferno of emotion rages, the planet wide room is filled with more spunk as the cum sea level surges. Her true jizz is even more viscous than her prespunk, basically a solid, thicker than honey. You can SEE the godly sperm in her white cables. They are big, fat, and voracious. Each gamete soulful perfection. This flow of deific spunk and religious ecstasy does not stop, does not slow.  The writhing sluts are eaten by goddess sperm or drowned in the deluge of goddess cream. All others still alive burn in the fires of Heather’s lust, experiencing true sexual ecstasy from the goddess of ecstasy as their souls overflow and their eyes bleed with joy. 

 

Somehow, you know not how, Dimi protects you. You both cower before Heather as finally her endless orgasm starts to subside.  Though, even Dimi’s ageless eyes bleed with the pleasure of Heather’s climatic climax. The room is full of Heather’s fluids, Yet, none of it sticks to the Goddess. She is still a pillar of perfection, not a ruby red hair out of place. No blood or spunk can stick to her, forever clean and unblemished. Her futanari mega-monolith goes to its semi-hard state and falls back into a mass of squirming tree-thick prehensile phalluses as her climax stops. Then, she looks around the decimated room with her sparking grey eyes as if bored. 

 

The giant Goddess says in a booming voice of burning souls and unanswerable desire: “A barley palatable appetizer, Dimi. You promised me a festival worthy of myself. That did for a start. I hope you’re planning on building something more... substantial.”

 

Dimi raises her head and smiles a mischievous smile, “Do not worry, my mistress, that was indeed the opening act. Now is time for a palate cleanser before the real banquet, my mistress.”

 

To your horror Dimi points to you and says, “I have brought to you a morsel, mistress. A soul seeped in memories of the past, and sauteed in your orgasmic elation. It should serve as an intermission, my mistress.”

 

The last thing you see is the Goddess shrugging at the suggestion as your soul is absorbed into her grey eyes by bolts of total darkness.


 

 

Appendix or Epilog: Life after Death

 

You float in the void of death.

 

Time is an illusion in this empty place, and all you have here is what you brought with you. Your thoughts of your life, what you did and what you failed to do. When there is no time or space, all you have is time to reflect and space to gain perspective. You float forever remembering every success and disappointment.

 

After you gain some measure of enlightenment, you are greeted by the mistress of this place, the Goddess of Death.

 

The slight Maiden of Endings is wearing a simple see through white robe. The little goddess is floating in the void along with you, having always been there. She anticipates your questions about what has happened and what will happen. In a voice that is the tinkling of grave bells, she says simply:

 

“Do you believe Justice is real?”

 

You blink. Unsure if the question is rhetorical. She continues, “Ask yourself this question if you truly design to understand the Realm of Ideals. Justice is an idea that all mortals seem to understand implicitly. Thus, ‘Justice’ is the ideal starting point for this foray into the Realm of Ideals. All mortals know intrinsically when something is ‘just’ or when something is ‘unjust.’ I know as well, for I was once mortal. Granted, there are deep unresolvable differences in that implicit understanding. Yet, when speaking in broad strokes, we all do know the truth of Justice. In our imperfection, we can still generally understand what is Just, within the same context and perspective. We cannot often explain how we came to this knowledge or even truly define ‘Justice.’ But, we all have this inborn understanding. In our self interest, greed, and weakness we often lie to one another as to our understanding. It is the right of mortals to even lie to themselves. But, in moments of true honesty, we know Justice. We understand it.”

 

She pauses, as if in thought, and then continues, “Yet…. Is Justice real?”

 

“Please don’t think I mean this question in some hypothetical or rhetorical way. I mean it earnestly and literally. Does Justice exist, in a real and true sense? Plato believed it did. Plato believed the ideas and objects we experience were simply shadows of a deeper reality. He would tell you -admittedly, better than I can- the true reason we all understand Justice is because true Justice is truly real. He would explain each of our individual insights are imperfect reflections of that true form of Justice. Thus, in order for something to have the label of “Justice” it must share important qualities of the perfect form of Justice. He would explain the fact we have a similar understanding of this supposedly abstract idea is PROOF there exists the perfect form of Justice.”

 

She declares, “I tell you, Plato’s Theory of Perfect Forms is correct. Ideals exist in an ideal form. Moreover, the original sin of storytelling, The Pathetic Fallacy, is also correct in this instance.  Not only does the perfect version of Justice exist, but this perfect form is like us, sentient. Justice can think, want, and  feel as we mortals do. This perfected and personified Justice, this Aspect, would be -by any definition- a god, would it not? Ironically, in the Greek sense of the word ‘god.’”

 

She pauses again, before continuing with her pontificating, “Yet.... If this is true for Justice, must not it also be true for ALL ideas?  Doesn’t our sense of  Justice DEMAND what is true for one ideal must be true for all ideals? In this realization we can certainly see why Plato’s contemporaries were pantheists. Why they believed in gods and monsters. For, if perfect Justice is real, then so too is perfect Injustice. Pain, Joy, Lust, Love, Greed, Hate, Good, Evil, all are real. All exist. Each a god unto itself. Each perfected ideal reflected as an imperfect idea into the minds of mortals. Each of us have those shattered, broken pieces of divine perfection refracting within our hearts. Gods and Monsters, Aspects, waging war. Mortals are their battlefield.” 

 

“That is who Heather is. She is an idea, the idea of Excess. Yet, as she gets closer to being a better personification of that ideal, she loses herself. A mortal is more than one idea. Less pure, but more stable. An ideal idea isn’t a person. Heather is anthropomorphic only because she is less pure as a Goddess then she was at the beginning as a Law. Now, she is becoming that Law again, devolving as she strives for greater heights of Excess. But, an Aspect of Excess is still needed. When she does finally expire, another will have to rise to take her place, as I rose to take the last God of Death’s place. But, who will that new Goddess of Excess be if not HeatherT?”

 

“Who indeed?”

 

-fin

 

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