The Cuckold and the Multiversal Woman
Rogardelte and Crementhy were a husband and wife with a love for excitement, always craving a new enticing experience that would introduce them to the most delectable sensations and thoughts that would physically and intellectually stimulate them unlike any others.
Rogardelte was content with being a hybridization of perpetually-elderly man and chicken, small and brittle in appearance but versatile in his abilities. He was an artist who used his fleshy beak to paint pointillist paintings depicting the most orgiastic scenes fathomable, including those portraying a world in which war was replaced with a kind of genetic fusion of sex organs and body parts, as humans melted in massive piles while leaving their stiff metal weapons behind in contrastingly separatist heaps. He painted Roman battles in which Julius Caesar himself was but a crown atop a mass of melded Romans whose skin and hair formed a mountainous pile of sheer ecstasy, their spears and shields left to corrode on the stone beneath them. He had envisioned the same situation involving Napoleon and his people who had merely become conquerors of each other’s flesh, and even Jesus Christ at the Last Supper sharing his body on a symbiotic and deeply sensory level with those of his apostles, including a mid-orgasmic Judas who seemed to have forgotten any mission of betrayal as he climaxed open-mouthed for preserved eternity.
One could believe that when looking at these paintings, Rogardelte had an immaculate imagination and a spiritually transcendent instrument of a beak, but the origins of his works were rooted in tangent actualities. These paintings were not fictitious reimaginings but rather interpretations of what his wife Crementhy had seen with her own ten eyes as an interdimensional traveler and multiversal wonder.
Crementhy had the unique ability to visit other parallel worlds that one might perceive as crude or perverse imitations of ours, but the truth was that the inhabitants of those worlds could easily say the same about our comparably pallid existence. Crementhy had found that there were infinite potential realities, ten of which she perceived as the most extreme variations of ours and her original. She believed that each of the ten black volleyball eyes — which she believed she was blessed with on her five-foot-wide monolithic face — represented one of these worlds she had located on her etheric journeys. She entered these worlds through a layer of velvety sensual indigo vapor she called the Love Tether, which smelled of volcanic ash with a touch of rosemary.
She revealed to Rogardelte this ability of hers soon after their pseudo-marriage, and had attempted to lead him to the world she had appropriately labeled the “Cuckold Chasm,” which consisted of continually-aging chicken-men much like Rogardelte, all of whom cluck-clucked away in cheerful aroused encouragement while perched on ritualistic chicken coop-like shelves, flapping their feathery wings as their wormlike wives made love to other oxman-like partners and spontaneously bore their superior offspring within minutes in a pit of viscous emerald gel — all in one expansive explosion of orgiastic pleasure. The cuckolds’ cheers during the couplings were said to encourage stronger spermatozoa to cling to the appropriate egg, subsequently creating more viable and stronger offspring.
Unfortunately, Rogardelte was unable to visit this realm or any others as he was incapable of riding the vaporous Love Tether to any of these innumerable worlds, worlds that Crementhy had been able to explore since her childhood in Y-northeastern Ukrania. Rogardelte, being from the cornfields of Iowabraska, was used to grazing and observing mundanity in its few minuscule variations, including the death of the harvest come winter-descent and the uprising of the vicious Crumnipotents, whose greedy pincer-feelers castrated the Iowabraskan cuckolds who didn’t take the necessary precautions, converting them into joyless eunuchs as the Crumnipotents transferred the genitals’ senses into their own appendages in an attempt to hoard orgasms, their primary energy source. Unfortunately, both of Rogardelte’s parents had been deprived of their congenitalia courtesy of the waves of Crumnipotents scouring the scorched cornfields one particularly brutal winterfall for which no Iowabraskan was really prepared. Life was sad and tragic for the poor confused cucks, and Rogardelte knew this first righthand.
But when Rogardelte’s 94-zelxith birthday approached on the fiery wings of a singed pheasant, which orgasmed and emitted one ultimate stream of evergreen semen as it fell before Rogardelte in its calling, Crementhy decided to make it the birthday of his half-lifetime by introducing him to the very world of the cuckolds that he could normally merely dream and pointillist-paint about. Crementhy discovered that she had the ability to use another vessel to act as a medium that would help mitigate Rogardelte’s inability to traverse the Love Tether. The “vessel” that Crementhy sought would need to be spongy yet firm in its anatomy, preferably something capable of absorbing the pure hot and moist energy that the Love Tether produced to help merge the two universes she explored, momentarily in a mating of their own. Roaming the streets the day of her partner’s celebration, with Rogardelte unaware of her plans, Crementhy came upon the ideal specimen on the other end of the bus toward the front, sitting with its pincers firmly clamped down on the pole beside it, its long spongy body pulsing with every breath it took and released as it glowed phosphorous. In truth, it looked much like the Crumnipotents that Rogardelte had described from his childhood, and she imagined its ominous crotch-seeking behavior in the desolate crops of Iowabraska. A part of her hoped that if this beautiful creature were indeed a Crumnipotent, she could somehow transform it and give it a new representation for her beloved Rogardelte.
With the reluctance of a lusty locust understanding that this mating could be its very last of the season, Crementhy approached the unassuming being at the end of the bus and sat beside him.
“I am saying hello to you,” she introduced. “For I am Crementhy.”
The creature turned, its orange vintage-lightbulb-like eyes glowing wiry and wary. “It is most definitely a pleasure to meet you, Crementhy, for I am Gregorlik.”
Crementhy revealed her plan and Gregorlik’s prospective role in her plot, in which the appealing insectoid prospect agreed to take part. Gregorlik followed her home, missing his stops—at which the urbanized Crumnipotent would normally divide into two via instantaneous multicellular mitosis and attempt to have both halves of himself conquer each area by castrating unsuspecting merchants—as he looked forward to the tryst that would cap his evening off from work along with the new experience of being the “Tether Medium,” whatever that experience really entailed.
Thrust onto the bed in all its nudeness, Gregorlik began to moisten its mandibles as it frothed a liquid resembling magmatic smegma from its soft ribs. Its breathing quickened in excitement as Crementhy lowered onto the Crumnipotent and began sucking its mandibles, placing her five hands on its chest and rubbing sensuously into the magmatic torsal lubricant. It wasn’t until Crementhy’s proboscis of a bile-green tongue began descending its esophageal passage that Gregorlik noticed the silhouette of Rogardelte sitting in the corner of the bedroom, his eyes a luminescent yellow as they stared and he suddenly emitted a few “cuck cuck cuck”s as a wordless greeting.
“Hi, ooo muth ee oh-ar-el-ee,” Gregorlik attempted to say around Crementhy’s lengthy oral tube. “Aa-ee irth-ay.”
“Multibirthday,” Rogardelte corrected. “My 94-zelxith, which means 23.5 birthdays on four different planes, ever-expanding and reaching into the multiverse. As my love Crementhy here can attest, though she’s quite busy at the moment, as you can feel.”
Unbeknownst to Gregorlik, their foreplay had made the Love Tether accessible to all three of them as Gregorlik’s sponge-like torso soaked the Tether’s energy to bring it to the same as the universe around them and the insectoid was flooded with the essence of pure euphoria akin to the polar opposite of acute radiation poisoning. As Crementhy reeled in her proboscis, the velvety carpet of the Love Tether rolled out to greet Rogardelte. However, the only way Rogardelte would be able to travel via the Tether into the world of the cucks would be to crawl within the medium herself, his dear Crementhy. The path to this world lie not simply beyond her but through her.
Sitting back against the bed’s headboard, Crementhy opened her legs and the sweet musk of the Tether drifted smokily up to the space between those two grey-brown stalks on which she walked, revealing a moist flower welcoming Rogardelte like a mother that missed him. “Come back,” it seemed to call as he stood up and began to crawl on the bed, over the now-incapacitated Gregorlik who was solely an energy neutralizer at this point, comatized by its ecstasy. It was Rogardelte’s own kind of merciful revenge against the Crumnipotents that had so viciously stripped his family of their livelihood. It gave Rogardelte great pleasure to the point of pre-orgasmic spewing to think that this insect wouldn’t see the world or experience the pleasure he was about to as he made his way toward his sedating wife.
Rogardelte sat at the entrance between Crementhy’s thighs, which dripped navy-blue droplets of universe-traversing fungi and bacteria.
“Enter, my cucky,” Crementhy purred, her flower opening wider as the three folds of flesh around it retracted and creaked with aching lust. “Your world awaits.”
And so Rogardelte began crawling, head-first like a reverse newborn into the womb of timelessness and placelessness. Upon entering the tunnel in a way he never had, he smelled that sweetness of the Tether greeting him as it carried him to the glowing amber end. Through the membrane he passed, covered in orange jelly that tasted of raw pine. In the world, he was, of the cuckolds. He heard their cluck-clucks as sets of old feathered arms pulled him in and he, for the first time in his entire multilife, felt at home. The world and home opened their arms to him and he embraced their slickness, wet and amniotic as he was brought to the room where It happened.
He witnessed couples mating, their respective cuckolds sitting in a semicircle around the stage where the dominating males worked at reproducing, the cucks in their own dissociative heaven as they choked the smaller chickens between their legs, which spat their own impotent spunk in high-pitched clucks of their own. The women moaned and moaned, eyeballs turned into ivory tusks of clitoral hubris, some visibly pregnant but still accepting entry as they couldn’t help but give in to the pleasure that the alphas over them gave in undulating waves.
Instinct took hold of Rogardelte’s actions as he crawled to the empty space in the semicircle of jerking cucks and he sat in that rightful place, a throne atop a slick surface of emerald gel used to catch and incubate the byproducts of this ritual.
“How long does this last?” Rogardelte asked the cuck to his right as he took in the pescatarian stench of sex.
The frail birdman turned with the speed of a time-annulled sloth to face him and replied, “However long it demands.”
Rogardelte looked on toward the mass of vivacious orgy participants as they folded together and smiled, grabbing his own member as he began stroking and watching. As he scanned the bodies all wet and sleek, nipples erect and spewing sputum and tongues reaching into various back and neck holes and fiscuses or other similar appendages probing various hagli and other orifices and sounds of pleasure audibly mating in aural orgasms of their own, he saw a familiar face of ten black eyes all scalene-triangular with pleasure, and the name “Crementhy” dripped forth in literal maroon from his miniature chicken below as he stroke-stroked and cluck-clucked in unison with the other cucks.
He watched in sheer lust his woman being ravished by a beast of an oxman, her head rippling with each thrust between the two, and he knew there was nowhere else he belonged. He would never leave this realm of the “Cuckold Chasm,” nor would his magical multiversal wife, as she became married to these men and this universe, severing the Love Tether for good.
