The Chronicles of Grailcock
Book 1: A Trinity Is Just a Fancy Name for a Threesome
In the beginning... well. It was quite a mess really.
And before you get confused, we're not talking about
that
beginning. You know the one with the void, light, waters, earth, a stern omniscient voice booming "Let there be stuff!" and
poof,
there was stuff.
No, that's a different story altogether.
This is just the beginning of our story... And this one is based on facts. Facts! Facts, Facts!
Facts are what matter, after all... and we've got 'em!
But, while we have them, there are many who don't. And thus theological schools remain divided to this day on what, precisely, caused the mess. There are some dour scholars in well ironed white shirts, who believe it was the residue of a former reality... the grime left by the prior tenants who were supposed to leave the apartment "broom clean," but apparently didn't have a broom. Or sponge, for that matter.
Others, much smarter and more attractive, know the facts. And those are us. Me. And soon to be you!
The mess was the result of a divine passion. And you might consider it a passion as in a play, for it was divine, and there was playing. Oh certainly, there was playing. Let's see... there was nipple play, and cum play, and ball play, and ass play, and... Well. You get the idea.
Or maybe you don't... and that's our present task! To get you the Facts!
At the risk of narrative flow, we can say that indeed the passion that resulted in the sticky mess was God's cumshot. And that flood they talk about? It wasn't rain, sweetheart--it was rope after rope of holy ejaculate. God's own spillage, dripping from the firmament like He'd used the Milky Way as a sock. For a very long time.
What matters--what we
do
know--is that before he was called the Grail Bearer, the Conduit of Cum, or (as one bard was later banned for singing)
Cummy McCumster
, our redeemer and unknowing guide in the ways of all things slick and sacred was simply:
Sir Cedric of Thistlecock.
Knight. Virgin. Chronically wobbly in both mind and body. And ultimately, our redeemer.
To understand Sir Cedric, we best understand the Trinity... or Threesome, depending on whether you swing Orthodox or Reform.
And the story of the Trinity, indeed, starts at the beginning. (See above.)
Back before saints and sinners.
Before kings and cocks.
Before even
foreplay.
Back to when God surveyed his creation, alone in the heavens save for some adolescent angels, and enthusiastic cherubim.
And God, it must be said, was pleased.
He had created light.
He had created time.
He had even, on a rather inspired Tuesday afternoon, built a power-point pitching the idea of something called "foreplay."
Yet, for all His omnipotence, something itched. Tugged.
A void low in his belly
.
A wriggling ache under the skin of the cosmos.
In his dreams all he saw was a giggling little hole.
He puzzled over the lingering image of that little laughing hole, until one Sunday as he was sitting by the ocean (Resting. Per his own orders) idly swirling the tides with his finger as he daydreamed. He saw his hand pinch a wave and up from its foam he drew her in all her divinity.
Cowper
.
She was not like the other angels and cherubs. She was not like the creatures of Earth (or any other planet).
Where angels stood stiff and shining--bronzed torsos, wings taut with purpose--Cowper twerked.
Where archangels thundered hosannas, Cowper giggled and moaned- legs spread beneath warm waterfalls.
Where others praised, Cowper pleased.
She was light and chaos and perpetual slick. A celestial brat with cum on her chin even before anyone had ever ejaculated.
God had made her from ocean waves and mischief, dipped her in star light, and whispered secrets into the folds of her lips. And not the ones she whistled with. Unless the wind blew just right.
And God--omniscient though He was--fell.
Head over balls.
He watched Cowper roll in the surf, slippery, her nipples tight with cosmic curiosity, heralding the promise of something divine, and His cock swelled... and dripped.
They had a good thing, He and Cowper.
Long, slow afternoons spent wrestling in fields of silk nebulae.
Nights tangled in moaning galaxies, stroking each other to the tempo of birthing stars.
An intimacy so complete, so utterly dripping, that even the cherubim developed tics from averting their eyes too hard.
They danced. They teased. They tasted.
And Cowper's hunger--for touch, for oral, for penetration--grew with each passing eon.
Her need for cock was bottomless. When he was not in her, splitting her in two, God would turn to see her plunging herself with anything she could find.
She longed for thickness. For stretch.
And God, being God, heard this need even before she spoke it.
And He ached to give her everything.
So, He gave her stars to ride. Planets to grind... Nebulae that pulsed between her thighs like a celestial sybian.
Cowper moaned through the galaxies, squirted into the depths of space, and came in a voice that made stars boil like someone just flushed the commode.
Still, she wanted more. He could see it, and he would give her anything. But what did she need that he had not already given?
Then, one evening, in a silken pocket of space between constellations, she curled up in His lap--sweaty, shimmering, flushed with starlight, nursing on his dripping crown--and whimpered:
"Goddy... make me somethin' I can
hold.
Somethin'
huge.
Somethin' that makes my fwofwo sob."
God, already leaking light from His fingertips, stared down at her wrecked little smile.
And in that moment, He knew...
God rose slowly, fairy spit and pre dripping from the tip of his onion shaped crown. ("You know, we really need a name for this stuff" he thought to himself... Hmmmm)
A low, wet anticipation curled through every corner of creation.
And God reached down- and stroked himself
He wrapped his hands around his shaft and balls, hot as the sacred furnace of His own heart (which was the hottest heat there was at that time... the fires of Hell not igniting for eons and eons, yet) fingers glowing with unbearable heat, and he drew it forth
.
What emerged from the light pulsed, veined in living flame.
And as it cooled in the palms of His hands, it began to take shape.
Not a scepter.
Not a sword.
Not a staff.
Another cock. The first clone (Don't let anyone tell you it was a sheep-- they had to get the idea from somewhere!)
Thick. Majestic. Writhing with the tension of an unknown purpose.
It was a cock unlike any other-- The Grailcock!
Made not just to fuck, but to share the glory of God
The crown was swollen, plush, dripping. (We really do need a name for this stuff! God thought to himself, smearing it over the cock's purple head)
Veins pulsed across the shaft like lines on a map, glowing softly in divine pink and gold.
God wrapped both his hands around it--just barely.
He whimpered.
He throbbed.
He raised the new cock to his own lips and breathed into it, a string of... of... that stuff trailing from his lips.
He looked down at Cowper.
And Cowper... Well, Cowper was already on her knees, pupils blown wide, drool on her chin, tits pressed between her hands in supplication. (Which is why we still clasp our hands in prayer to this day, as a matter of fact. Remember that next time you're on your knees in church!)
She didn't blink or breathe. She crawled, tongue hanging from her mouth
Her voice was a ragged, gleeful whimper.
"...is that f'me, Goddy? Y'made that f'my fwofwo?"
God nodded.
The Grailcock pulsed.
Cowper
screamed and danced.
And without waiting, without asking, she lunged.
Her fingers landed first--curling around the shaft like it was, well... like God's cock.
The Grailcock swelled in her grip. A puls rolled from base to crown, and Cowper's spine hummed like a struck harp.
"'S so warm," she moaned, nuzzling the underside like a kitten trying to suckle. "It's buzzin', Goddy--it's
talkin' to me.
"
And it was.
Not in words, but in a perverse hyperactive morse code as fast as a spinning pulsar
She licked the tip.
Slow.
Flat-tongued.
A full drag from bottom to slit--smearing pre that still
had no name
across her lips and cheeks like warpaint.
She whimpered.
Then again.
Faster this time. Sloppier. Mouth working, yet still empty.
She kissed the crown, open mouthed, tongue out as if expecting it to kiss her back. (There have been, by the way, several scholarly works published examining whether the grailcock did in fact kiss her back at that moment. Preeminent among them, "When Divinity Moaned" by Sister Cumbeline, later founder of the Sisterhood Of Moist Moaning.) Her cheeks hollowing as spit foamed at the corners of her mouth.
"F-fuck, Goddy--it's
s'big,
" she gasped, gagging slightly as the tip slipped past her lips. "It's
big
all the way 'round--it ain't got no skinny bits!"
Scholarly aside: While the precise length of the Grailcock remains a topic of spirited debate among (mostly insecure) theologians, most sources place it somewhere around fourteen "Divine Inches." This, however, should not be confused with earthly inches, which lack elasticity, sentience, and the capacity for temporal harmonics. Divine Inches operate on a fluid scale--expanding under worship and often bending local time. Historical comparisons include: a royal scepter, an unusually self-assured traffic cone, and the tail of Jörmungandr, Loki's "World Serpent"--if he were harder and more interested in procreation than stuffing his own maw, which--frankly--feels like a missed opportunity.
God, glowing and leaking and visibly struggling not to blow right then, just groaned.
"Take your time, my little cum fairy," He said, voice thick and radiant. "Or don't. You can fuck that rod for all eternity."
Her lips, flared around the slit, slippery pre rising like a fondue fountain, shinny, bubbling, too hot to touch... but not to swallow. "Goddy, this slick, it's sooo nice and slippery!" She moaned and scooped it to her mouth, "Ohhh! And soooo yummies! Can I have it? I want it fo' eva and eva!"
"That's IT!" Cried God inside his head! "It will be Cowper's fluid! Brilliant!"
The ridge bordering the Grailcock's head shone, radiating a nurturing light as she tried to take it fully into her mouth. ("It's like the light of a sun during an eclipse..." thought God in a surprisingly poetic moment. "That's it! We'll call it the Coronal Ridge!")
Then, in a fury of impatience, Cowper stuck her fingers between her lips and stretched her mouth to get that ridge-- the coronal ridge, to pop in. Andy it did, her eyes telling the tale.
Two inches in.
Three.
Then her throat began to swallow on its own, reflexively.
Her eyes
crossed.
Each inch brought another tiny cumming. And there were a lot of inches yet to go...
A delicate fairy squirt drizzled down her thighs and dripped from her toes.
"Cahn ft t'all," she choked, throat working, drool streaming down her chin. "Cahnt--gruapph grak, slurrrp!
God didn't move.
He watched.
Reverent and dripping.
One hand on his chin, the other slowly stroking Himself in sync with her sucks and gags.
The Grailcock pulsed again-- a little cruelly this time.
Cowper squealed and
forced it deeper.
Until her lips kissed its hairless base.
Until her throat twitched in helpless, full-body surrender.
Until the cherubim peeking through their fingers all fainted from the blood running to their surprisingly large penises.
Cowper slid back with a
shhlorp
