The Hive of Asgard

Watusi licked Golden's neck as she reached around to grab his Midgard Serpent in both hands. She slid her Nubian palms up and down that yearning shaft, which rivaled Gungir, the very spear of Odin himself, in length, girth and hypnotic grandeur.

She flicked her black tongue in out of Golden's ear, reclaiming his light with her darkness, as she grabbed his Gungir tightly with both hands and slid them up and down its prodigious length.

A slim half-girl flopped her way across the reception floor, like a hapless, wounded, and maltreated dolphin trying to performing an inane trick for the rapt-eyed kiddies at SeaWorld. "Hi, I'm Kayoko's cousin Shifka, the siren of the sea, the first mermaid and mother of all the fish in the ocean in Scandinavian mythology," she told Golden.

"But of course you are," Golden said dryly, channeling his inner James Bond. However, he fell silent as Sifka took his mammoth reindeer meatballs into her gasping mouth, as her gills frantically searched for oxygen. The mother of all mermaids soon found the river of manna that was flowing from Freya Lokisdotter's momentarily neglected left gazonga. Freya's milk soon poured down to Sifka's grasping mouth and flowed through her gills. The mouth of the suddenly-perked-up mother of all fish began to open and close on Golden's balls, even as Watusi gave his Gungir some two-fisted love (to borrow a phrase from the late, but not forgotten, singer Phoebe Snow). Watusi's sizable arm muscles contracted around Golden's ribcage, almost threatening to crush it as she continued to pump his Gungir with complete abandon. Golden felt trapped and powerless, pretty much as he had when the Wallowing Hogs' 450-pound defensive end, Big Daddy 'Grizzly' Einhorn gave him a congenial bear hug after sacking him in last year's Homecoming game, diving the wind out of Golden's body for at least two hours. Under today's wimpy, mollycoddling medical standards, Golden had not been allowed to take another snap until the game against the Raging Rhinoceroses a couple of weeks later. In Golden's mind, college football had turned into goddamn day care center for sissies. Same thing for the pros. Hell, Golden had had his bell rung over 14 times in junior high ball alone, without any after effects at all, unless you count his inability to grasp the elementary principles of Diffeomorphic Transformations. And even that had been cleared up though some delightful sexual gymnastics with the erotic and seemingly multiracial and multicultural tutor Kayoko Lokisdottir.

He fondly remembered how Kyle 'Tree' Younger, his elementary school parent-coach, had taught him to take a helmet-to-helmet spearing like a man, without suffering any negative effects, at least none that he could remember.

Speaking of helmets, Cousin Watusi began to rub the strong ebony fingers of her left hand over the helmet of Golden's pulsating Gungir, lubricating it with its own precum, and driving the Screaming Beavers' field general into a sexual frenzy. At the same time, she continued to squeeze his shaft in the vise of her right hand, which she pumped rhythmically while Shifka, our resident mermaid and mother of all fishes, gulped his balls with her desperately-sucking oxygen-starved mouth. In the end, this foreplay proved too much for our flaxen-haired hero, and Golden shot his seed clear across the room with the force and volume of high-pressure fire hose.

Immediately, the other members of Kayoko's extended family rushed forward to lick Golden's elixir off the oaken wall. Several fistfights broke out, reminding Golden of the families who celebrated the birth of the Lord of Peace, by coldcocking one another and dislocating one another's principal joints in the toy departments of Meijer's and Walmart on Black Friday.

"Ok girls, you've had your fun," Shifka said. "Now it's my turn. Step aside. I am going to fuck the living daylights out of him."

Golden considered the plausibility of this promised feat with some skepticism, as the mermaid was all fish from the waist down, devoid of any visible apertures. Plus, there was the greater problem that mermaids do not exist. Also, if they do, they must suffer though wicked constipation, overstretched and bursting bladders, acid reflux and physically-enforced celibacy.

He suddenly felt the warmth of Freya's liquid manna as it coursed throughout his body and brain, showing him hidden, uncharted streams of reality that he had never suspected existed. Was he hallucinating or was there actually a mermaid before him, her blond hair floating as if in water, ready to fuck him despite the topological impossibility of such an act?

"No offense ma'am, but you are missing some crucial orifices. I don't rightly see you we could pull such an act off," Golden told the fish matriarch. "Hell, how do you manage your basic excretion needs? I would hate to see your Ex-lax and Cialis bills!"

"There are many things you cannot see if you refuse to look at them, my blond pseudo-marauder," Shifka said, brushing back a lock of Golden's hair. "Behold the power of my roe!"

With that, Shifka spread her eggs upon the pseudo-water of the air, egesting them in a fractal cloud of mucus that was the most beautiful thing that Golden had ever seen. Its fragrance was otherworldly and he was drawn to it by a compelling force that he could not conceivably resist.

His throbbing Gungir grew to an unprecedented length. He felt as though an invisible hand was pumping it at maximum velocity, and he sprayed his hot seed all over the beauty of Shifka's delightful roe. It was the greatest pleasure he had ever known.

"Cigarette?" Shifka asked him.

Golden searched his naked chest for a lighter. "No, thanks, I'm cool," he told his demi-piscatorial lover.

"You know what they say, Viking, once you've gone fish, it's your only dish."

"That so?"

"But what about me?" Shifka whined. "I've still never been fucked ape-style by a human, not to mention bonobo-style. Word's out that they are the horniest and most polymorphous perverse of the great apes, and, like Frank Booth in Blue Velvet, will fuck anything that moves."

"You've got that right," Golden said. "But I don't see any bonobos around here."

"Honey, I'm looking right at one. You are a member of the great ape family, aren't you? I know you've got the equipment. I'm looking right at it. So hello, hey Joe, want to give it a go? Gitchi gitchi ya ya da da. Gitchi, gitchi ya ya..."

"I surely would like to ride you, ma'am. I reckon I owe you one. But I still don't see how to hump a mermaid."

Shifka lay down on the floor. "You ever heard of the mermaid mambo, warrior?'

Golden shook his head. "How about the Neptune choo-choo?"

Ditto.

"The Ali shuffle? The bathyspheric boogaloo? The seaweed shimmy?" Golden shook his head.

"Well, climb on top of me and you will master all of these steps and more," the siren of the waters said, beckoning Golden to lie upon the proffered bed of her body.

Golden did just that. He grabbed Shifka's hands, interlacing her fingers with his and spreading the mermaid's arms as his naked body and throbbing johnson approached touchdown on the delightfully undulating abdomen and upper tail of his mermaid goddess, inventor of the hula and all forms of belly-dancing. He placed his mouth over hers to blow much-needed oxygen into her gasping lungs. She held on to him for dear life and began to writhe beneath him.

Her cornsilk hair began to float again, as if she were back in her primal element once more. Golden too could feel the sea surrounding them. He felt joy at her resurrection. She reached out with her arms and enfolded Golden in the waves of her belly and the waves of the sea. No longer was he lying in a perverted ashram on the peak of an Adirondack mountain. He felt a oneness with all things, unseparated from the Ocean of Being that Shifka's body was revealing to him. Shakira had it right all along. Hips don't lie. Neither do fins.

The waves of her body were with one with tides and swells of the virtual ocean that surrounded them, the ocean that gave them life, the ocean that sustained their being, before its waves broke upon the cruel rocks of the shore, where they were all cast into rebirth.

Golden's body began to flow over, around, and through the illusory body of his mermaid Beatrice, revealer of worlds upon worlds and souls brushing souls, until they were ripped from their Divine Union and hurled into the far reaches of space and time toward a distant rendezvous within the mouth of the Eater of all Things, only to be reborn in each other's arms once again.

Golden's being was inside the mermaid's body in every sense, despite the absence of the requisite orifices, which offered only a grasp at reality rather than becoming one with it. This must be the All Mind that Kayoko had told him about.

As their bodies achieved higher and higher rates of vibration and interpenetration, Golden exploded within his beloved demifish and they held each other tightly as they reentered the cold world that had spawned them.

THE HARDEST-WORKING MAN IN VALHALLA

As he floated upon the false virtual ocean, Golden heard a chant breaking out: " Afi, Afi, Afi.."

He looked at the large doors separating the mistletoe-laden erotic emporium from the more sedate living quarters of the acolytes. These portals burst open, and a group of cowled figures ushered in a man who seemed barely able to walk, much like somebody's Lord, whose name escaped him, carrying his cross to his own crucifixion, or maybe even the great Rocky Balboa himself, as he appeared just after the end of the fifteenth round in Rocky LXXV.

Again the chant resumed: "Afi, Afi, Afi.."

The Afikomen collapsed onto the floor, much like James Brown, the Hardest-Working Man In Show Business, at the false end of one of his concerts with the Famous Flames. They Flames always threw a golden robe over the collapsed Godfather of Soul, who seemed to recover instantly from his near death experience as rushed back to the microphone at great speed.

Similarly, one of the cowled figures threw a golden robe over the shoulders of the Avikomen, and the chant began again: "Afi, Afi, Afi..."

The Afikomen stood and threw off the robe to reveal a spinal-column-sized boner.

The chant then became more rhythmic, more like chugging of a choo-choo train: "Afikomen, Afikomen, Afikomen..."

The Afikomen then entered the MMA cage, which strangely was a hexagon rather then the traditional octagon. He climbed up the chain fence, and pointed directly at Golden, and said, channeling either Muhammad Ali or Apollo Creed, "I want you, Odinsson. You ain't nothin' but a pussy, a Screaming Beaver. You want the truth. This here's the truth," he said pointing at his engorged member, which well might constitute a credible start on the space elevator first proposed in 1895 by Russian scientist Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and later championed by Arthur C. Clark and others. He cupped his balls and said, "You can't handle the truth. You ain't ready for this jelly."

If only it were jelly, Golden could surely handle it. However it was a good two feet of solid man meat, and Golden figured that no matter which orifice the Afikomen selected, the business end of his schwantz was going to be exiting his body either through Golden's skull and brains or, less appealingly, through his large colon.

The naked women (was there any other kind?) of the Black Lotus rushed forward to grab Golden Arm's golden arms. In no time they slapped cuffs on him and marched him to altar hastily being set up inside the hexagon. "Careful with my wrists," he told them, "if you want the Screaming Beavers to have any chance of winning the Ugli Fruit Bowl this year."

Heedless of his words, they bent him over the two-by-four that served as the main body of the altar. His virgin Aryan ass was now exposed for all and sundry to see. They spread his legs and chained his ankles to rings conveniently provided at each end of another two-by-four. His legs were now widely spread and his ass raised, to provide easy access for a certain Afikomen he could name if only he knew what his name was.

Meanwhile, the Afikomen's mouth began to salivate at the prospect of driving his two-foot pike right up Golden's wazoo and out his mouth, even though said mouth was not directly involved in the upcoming festivities.

Two buxom redheads entered the hexagon, and Golden felt a wetness on his ass and crack as they began painting a bulls-eye around Wastewater's star QB's anus.

The Afikomen rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Olly olly oxen free," he called out. "ready or not, here I cum."

Through Golden's partial emergence in the Black Lotus All-Mind, he became aware of a technical loophole. "In accordance with Vulcan Law, I demand the right to name my own champion."

"I think you are confusing the Vulcan state of Pon Farr with a human assfucking," the Afikomen said.

An excited murmuring filled the air. "Yeah," one voice said. "It would really be cool to have a little MMA to go along with a good cornholing."

"Yeah, Yeah," the throng exclaimed, many of them raising pitchforks and torches that they seemed to have plucked out of thin air.

The Afikomen sneered at Golden. "Is there any one of you willing to serve as the champion for this vile, pathetic creature?"

A lone figure stepped into the circle of light surrounding the hexagon: Kayoko. "I will serve as his champion," she stated, her slim body drawing laughs and catcalls from the assembled multitude.

The Afikomen chuckled. "And how would you accomplish this, you pathetic little girl?"

"I will serve as his Straw," she said.

The crowd became silent. To serve as the Straw for the Afikomen was the greatest sacrifice a Black Lotus acolyte could make.

"Oh, you foolish little girl. My mighty scepter will tear you apart," the Afikomen snickered, looking down at his two-footer, as if to make sure it was still there.

"What scepter?" Kayoko asked. "Oh, you mean that little thing. It's hardly noticeable."

The Afikomen stood in rage. "OK, you little cunt, I am going to enjoy breaking your pathetic little body into pieces. Assume the position, and I will send you back into the foul void from which you came."

They brought out a few more two-by-fours, and quickly bound Kayoko in the same posture as Golden, save that they left her hands free. Of course, to ensure that the Afikomen's seed be injected into Golden's alimentary canal, Kayoko carefully placed her mouth over Golden's virgin anus. The paint guys then drew a target around Kayoko's anus. She would have preferred that the Afikomen batter his way into her cooz, which was easily wide enough for two-lane and even three-lane traffic. However, she knew that entrance led only up to her womb. While she was sure that Afikomen could rupture enough organs to gain entrance to her higher alimentary canal, this would be a very inelegant approach to Afikomen husbandry. That's why she had opted for the direct approach.

The chanting built up again: "Afikomen, Afikomen, Afikomen...:

The holder of this prestigious title gave his two-footer a couple of strokes to bring it to maximum length. Satisfied with the result, he cried out, "I will break you, you presumptuous little wench."

He took off from a three-point stance and ran straight at her, just like an Olympic javelin chucker. He buried himself in her quivering flesh to a depth of 14 inches.

So far so good, Kayoko thought. I can handle this.

Then, the Afikomen drew back, switched tunnels, and shoved about a foot's worth of his hot meat into her delicate nether hole. His tool throbbing with hot desperation, he hauled off and rammed it a good foot and a half into Kayoko's hopelessly bound flesh. No one had ever been this deep before, and Kayoko was beginning to doubt that she would be able to fulfill her duties as Golden's Straw.

Then Kayoko remembered her training in Tibetan Tantric Wiccan sadomasochism. Just as the lama was able to reverse time to ingest turds through reversing peristaltic contractions and then ralph up a perfect hot Christmas dinner, she herself could manipulate space and time in order to reduce the length of the Afikomen's shlong. Specifically, she could speed up the oscillations of his two-footer within her multipurpose digestive tract. She knew that she needed to crank up its speed to 94% of the speed of light and its length would be reduced to a mere eight inches, because of the Lorentz contraction of special relativity. Of course, the walls of her cooz might get a little cock-burned at that speed, but that was a small price to pay for Golden's life (not to mention her own).

Then just like his idol James Brown, the Afikomen broke into a cold sweat, he was a sex machine, and he had a brand new bag. Gonna pop it soon. He grabbed Kayoko's shoulders as he pounded his way in and out of her tortured rectum. He grabbed onto her hair and pulled her head straight up as he brutalized her body.

Kayoko reached under him, and grabbed ahold of Golden's cojones as the Afikomen continued to pound her into submission. She wanted to soothe Golden through the dark event to come. She placed her mouth over his cornhole, as she could feel the Afikomen breaking her apart.

The Afikomen could feel his fire rising. He grabbed onto the sacrifice's amazing tits, crushing them in his massive mitts as his lava surged within him. Suddenly, the dam burst and he came in Kayoko's ass like a high pressure fire hose. Kayoko's contractile skills brought the Afikomen's spume up into her colon, through her stomach, up her esophagus and into her mouth. It burned as she spewed it into Golden's colon, grabbing the faux Viking's balls tightly in her sexual frenzy. She continued to pump his shaft hard and was rewarded by an explosion of hot jizz that soon adorned the far wall like a Jackson Pollack masterpiece.

Golden now carried the seed of the Afikomen within him. Against all odds, they had succeeded and lived to tell the tale.

Kayoko's digestive tract had a lot more tricks up its metaphorical (and literal) sleeve than reverse peristalsis. She quickly formed the anal dentata, a nether mouth with razor sharp teeth (much like the vagina dentate, which she also sported, in case the situation got particularly dicey). Her razor sharp fangs waited like a moray eel for its entranced prey to enter its mouth, its prey being the Afikomen's presumptuous cock. In this case, no waiting was required, and her rearmost fangs chomped down hard on the Afikomen's proferred cheroot.

The Afikomen sprang back and pushed himself away from Kayoko's ass. He looked down at his ruined crotch and exclaimed, "I can't believe it, I can't believe it. Where's my scepter? Where's my masterpiece? Oh, lordy, sweet lordy, what has become of me, thy faithful servant? Why hast thou forsaken me?"

"Oh my god, omigod, omigod," the assembled crowd sang when the Afikomen turned to them, revealing the full extent of his injury. He collapsed on the floor of the hexagon. His body spun, shooting his blood in all directions, much like a kid's party balloon writhing on the floor with the air rushing out of its nozzle.

"What's we gonna do? What's we gonna do?" the multitude of onlookers asked in unison.

With his last dying breath, the Afikomen turned to his subjects and said, "Do not fear, my children. Ah have always depended on the kindness of strangers."

Just then, Kayoko broke wind with a 100 mile-an-hour breeze, shooting the Afikomen's sacred, albeit detached, member out of her anus out onto the middle of the hexagon's canvas floor. It had detumesced somewhat, but seemed to take heart from crowd's concern and miraculously quickly grew back to its normal two-foot length (all this without the benefit of a circulatory system to pump blood into the Afikomen's severed schlong).