[NSFW] In the Heat of the Moment

    It is the forty-second millennia. In the grim darkness of this hateful and apocalyptic time, there is only war. The average adult man is a hair’s breadth under four cubits tall, and he weighs fourteen stone. He is not possessed of much body fat, as his build has been wrought from the nutrients his physical form has wrestled away from the protein- and calorie-rich food-product known as corpse-starch.
    These dense, chalky, grey blocks of sustenance are derived from a composite of biological matter, immense tons of once living material dumped into enormous vats of rippling and boiling chemicals that filter out the superfluous components and distill the remainder into a calcified residue at the bottom of the tanks.
    He is half a century old, one of five men born to have survived to see his fifth decade; should he be lucky, he may have his existence on the mortal plane extended up to five centuries by the techno-arcana of rejuvenat treatments.
    The average man has killed before. If he is lucky, he has only killed a few, and only those among his kind. The unlucky man has seen one into the void. He has fought xenos, renegade humans, perhaps even the forces of Chaos. He has lived. He is haunted by these memories. He is consumed by the phantom blood that stains his hands.
    Yet he can, and likely will, kill again.
    The average man pales in comparison to the threats he faces.
    Monsters, composed not of flesh and blood, but of the essence of the worst impulses and deeds of the mortal mind, lurk within the horrible storms of the Immaterium, the realm of thought and iconography, influenced and shaped by the emotions, wants, and desires of psionically-attuned biological life. These things, these ethereal representations of the combined subconscious of all life, are terrible beyond measure.
    Yet even more abhorrent threats to the average man lurk in this accursed galaxy, from the undying Necrons who slumber beneath his feet, their lurking tombs unknown to the surface dwelling populace until far too late, their mastery of the material world so potent that they control the very folds of time and space itself, to the innumerable hive fleets of the Tyranids, their hungry mouths prolific beyond reckoning.
    Yet the average man is not alone.
    Whether he lives five decades or five centuries, this man will likely venerate the Emperor, a powerful gestalt of ten-thousand mages, each soul ancient beyond measure, trapped in the decaying body of a defeated lich-king interred upon a magical throne upon Holy Terra that retains the barest semblance of mortal life, that this mighty Emperor might light the Astronomicon, a beacon of psychic light integral to human travel and communication through the galaxy; should this average man serve his Greatest Liege righteously and loyally, he may even be saved from the perils of the Warp by His embrace, brought into His fold, manifested among His servants of flame and fury.
    The Emperor’s influence is not purely within the Immaterial Warp, either, for in His grand and unknowable wisdom, the Emperor chose to craft twenty legions of super-humans, each legion being born from the Gene-Seed of a hand-crafted father, His so-called Astartes and their Primarchs. Yet even the Emperor is not infallible; despite what His subjects and worshippers may think, the Emperor is but a Man. A powerful, eldritch, and perplexing Man, but a Man nonetheless; His Primarchs were stolen from Him before their births from artificial wombs by the Chaos Gods and scattered amongst the stars.
    The Emperor was not so easily defeated, as He pursued His sons through the galaxy, hunting for them amongst the incalculable number of habitable worlds that Humanity had settled before the Age of Strife that had cast humanity down from the stars. Two among His Primarch sons failed so spectacularly after their recovery that the very memories of their reality, and the records of their Astartes sons, were wiped from the minds of all men, mortal, Astartes, and Primarch alike, by the simply incomprehensible psychic might of the Emperor. Nine more would later betray the Emperor, led by His favored son Horus Lupercal, seduced away from his Father’s light by the powers of Chaos.
    Still, despite all this, the Emperor had a final set of gene-hanced men whom He trusted and loved more so than even His sons; where His Primarchs, and their Astartes sons in turn, were, in many ways, expected to be utterly subservient to Him, to see Him as an unquestionable Father, these other perfect men were His Companions, His Custodes.
    These Custodes were, in many ways, as far from human as one could be without reclassification. Though they were not as numerous as mortal men, nor as renowned as His Astartes, nor as mighty as His Primarchs, they had a simple, single advantage over all three; these Custodes were perfect, hand-crafted to be loyal to Him and Him alone.
    They were not so insignificant as the mortal man, so easily swayed by the influence of Chaos, Heretic, and Xenos alike, nor were they as proud and insular as the Astartes, consumed by their “brotherhood” and allegiance to their Primarchs as to be readily taken out of the hands of the Emperor, and certainly they were not so independent and powerful, yet fatally flawed as the Primarchs, Gods born of Mankind’s essence, beings whose power outstripped their means, and whose conflicts with their “Father” inevitably brought about the collapse of His glorious Imperium.
    These Custodes were a perfectly balanced blade, ten thousand men strong, wielded in their totality by the sole writ of the Emperor Himself. They were a foot taller in their bare forms than the Astartes were in their wargear, who stood at two and one quarter meters in their standard power armor, and were stronger, faster, and smarter still, even without the artificial enhancements of armor, weapons, and cogitators.
    These Custodes were not mass-produced, savage warrior-monks, manufactured by the brutal and often-lethal implantation of slowly corrupting Gene-Seed organ templates into the bodies of pubescent boys; these Custodes were taken from the most excellent of infants, then personally and artisanally gene-hanced by the Emperor Himself, and later His most trusted Custodes.
    These Custodes were not akin to the base stop-gap measure of the Astartes project, nor the soaring egotism of the Primarchs project, because they were not the Emperor’s Soldier Sons, born to fulfill the needs of a desperate and cornered Emperor who had seen the impending calamity of a galaxy-wide Ork WAAAAGH! mere centuries ahead of time.
    No, these Custodes were His successors. They were to be the Emperor’s equals, not in might, but in spirit, His hopeful plan for Humanity’s future, a glimpse into what Mankind could be, if only they would follow His guidance.
    Now, in the grim-darkness of the forty-second millennium after the return of but one of the Emperor’s loyal Primarch sons, the peerless logistician and patrician Roboute Guilliman, in the wake of Guilliman’s lamentations at the fate of his Father’s superb vision, these Custodes serve at once as the guiding hand for the Emperor’s singular recovered Son, as His voice at the table of galactic affairs, and as the shouted fury of His wrath, striking down any who oppose His will.
    Yet the Emperor, wise beyond any mortal’s meter, knew that His successors, His Custodians, could not guide Humanity into its future glory without lovers, without wives, without companions of their own. These women would not only be equals in majesty and poise to His Custodians, they would be possessed of attributes complementary to the gifts He had instilled in His favored creations. So, like the ancient God of Catheric Myth, He crafted Eves for His Adams.
    His Custodians were incredible in physical form, speed, and strength, as well as titans of intellect and leadership. They could quell a rebellion on a powerful Hive World with words alone, but their bite was no less effective than their bark. So the Emperor sought out the preeminent specimens among the rarest of mankind to be the Companions of His Companions.
    He took up all the Pariahs He could find, the one in a billion mortal humans born without a soul, beings repulsive to psyker and standard mortals alike, extensions of his Anathema against Chaos. Among them He found the women who were unsurpassed by any other; the women who, before the end of their second decade, were already larger, stronger, and faster than all their peers, and He gifted them with even more formidable gene-hancing than His Astartes would ever receive.
    These Sisters of Silence, sworn to mute lives of secrecy for their innate understanding of the Emperor’s true form, hidden behind his psychic veil, measured just as tall, tough, and strong as an Astartes, yet they were quicker and cleverer still. Their wargear was exacting, built to the specifications of the Emperor Himself, outstripping the equipment given to His Legionnes Astartes.
    Yet, unlike the Astartes, born of crude bio-chemical enhancements that changed their mortal frames on a merely superficial level, the bodies and genes belonging to the Sisters of Silence and Legio Custodes were truly theirs; just as the DNA of a Custodes was itself modified, so too was the essence of a Soulless Sister. With their innate genetic modifications, all the Emperor had needed to do was start the chain; with his Custodians and Eyrines, they could truly reproduce, birthing true heirs, unlike the children of Astartes, which proved to be the genetic offspring of the men the Space Marine would have been, had he not been augmented.
    But even among the undeniable exceptionalism of the Daughters of the Abyss, taken from only the top one percent of the Pariahs, themselves only composing one-ten-millionth of the population of the tens of millions of Imperial worlds, each bearing an average of ten billion mortals, the Null Maiden upon which one Shield-Captain was gazing was unique. To his divine eyes, she was perfect.
    In the dozen or so milliseconds it took him to visually process Sister-Commander Inna Enatum’s form, she reacted. “Washington,” she signed, her hand intentionally held beside her perfectly-crafted backside, her eyes casting a smoldering gaze over her shoulder, “you are always welcome to do so much more than stare.” She smiled as the Shield-Captain closed the distance between them, moving so swiftly that mere mortals would struggle to even register his change in position before he arrived, let alone actually understand the speed with which he found himself pressed up behind Inna.
    To a normal mortal, the pheromones of a Custodian were imperceptible, yet irresistible; despite the typical mortal being tremendously intimidated by the sheer size and unarguable superiority of the Emperor’s Companions, they still possessed a mortifying je ne sais quoi that made opposing one in his physical vicinity almost impossible.
    To Inna, however, the scent of Washington’s skin, and indeed the very proximity of his form was as seductive as it was comforting to her. This was, of course, how the Emperor had designed his Custodes and his Eyrines; though each Custodian did find physical, emotional, and even sexual companionship among his fellow Custodes, and any woman among the Pale Scourge would readily acquire the same from her comrades, the Emperor had encoded in his gene-craft algorithms certain inexplicably compatible traits that only the right pairing could unlock.
    After ten millennia in the absence of the Emperor’s guidance, the true understanding of these algorithms had been lost to the gene-smiths of the Mechanicus, Custodes, and Eyrines; the cruel truth of the matter was that not every child born to a Successor pairing would find their match without the subtle manipulations of this algorithm by the Emperor’s knowing hand during their pubescence.
    But Washington and Inna were among the lucky few. He was wrapped around her, his right arm pulled across her perfectly sculpted abdomen, laid bare by the scant, translucent silk garments she wore; his left hand was cupping her right breast, a tremendous bosom resembling an impossibly symmetrical teardrop in shape that filled his extraordinary palm entirely, an alluring excess spilling out between his fingers. She had laid her left arm across his, her hand gripping his wrist, with her right arm reaching up, her hand placed against the back of his head and gently pulling him towards her, her eyes beckoning him to kiss her.
    Washington, of course, saw no point in denying his wife’s request. Though they both bowed before the Emperor, and Him alone, he saw her as second only to Him. After a long kiss he pulled away. Inna narrowed her eyes and grinned. “Shield-Captain,” she asked, her voice composed almost entirely of a spiced, honey-sweet, teasing tone, “is something wrong? You seem rather lost in thought, seeing as you appear to be staring vacantly at me.” The Eyrines swore to speak before none but the Emperor, their fellow Sisters, and their Custodes husband, should they find him. Washington revelled in knowing that he was the only man, save for their Emperor, who had the privilege of hearing her speak.
    Washington laughed, his mind-bogglingly deep voice shaking the dishes on the counter. He buried his face in Inna’s neck, kissing her as though it was his last chance, as he always did. His grip on her breast tightened ever so slightly, his thumb rolling back and forth across her silk-covered nipple. Inna sighed softly, gentle ripples of pleasure gliding across her skin. She felt Washington’s extravagant member erecting itself against her lower back and bottom, separated from her bronze flesh only by the nearly mono-molecularly thin silk she wore, and the frankly inadequate loin-cloth struggling to conceal his mighty halberd.
    Her soft grin broke out into an open smile as Washington’s right hand found its way beneath the silk sashes draped across her hips, his index and ring finger pulling her labia aside as his middle-finger began gently flicking across her blushing clitoris.
    Inna exhaled right beside Washington’s ear, a long, deep, moaning sigh that filled the Shield-Captain’s mind with a fog as dense and luxurious as gold, followed by a loving nibble on his ear which finalized the solidification of his power-weapon, its titanic tip reaching past his loin-cloth and covering the crease where her thick, splendidly muscled thigh met her palatial ass in the sticky dampness of his precum.
    Washington continued bathing her neck in kisses and bites as she kissed the side of his face and nibbled on his ear, unable to control the deluge of moans and sighs brought forth from her lush lips by his fingertips circling atop her nipple and clit. She was squeezing his wrist with such force that she was bruising it, his supreme human form struggling to regenerate the damage her superhuman grip was dealing to it.
    For some time, she stayed like this, rubbing her magnificent ass against his lavish cock, feeling the ground beneath their feet quake beneath the fathomless depth of his moans, each one partially absorbed by her perfect posterior, so taut and firm that a boltshell might bounce off it. To Washington, in this moment, there was only her. It was an odd sensation for her, as every other human she encountered was innately disgusted by the void that existed where her soul ought to, save for the other Sisters of Silence and Custodes, who absolutely lacked Washington’s passion for her.
    When she was with him, she felt genuinely wanted, needed, and desired. Her closeness brought him sincere peace, in spite of the terror and unease her presence brought upon most other material beings; when he was salient enough to consider such ironies, they brought him unmeasurable joy. She was his, and he was hers; he was doubtless in this assessment.
    In this moment, though, his mind was far from such philosophical quandaries; she was his entire world, his only requirement. He slowly, painstakingly kissed his way up her neck, covering each micrometer of skin between her collarbone and jaw in his affection as the revolutions of his finger about her clitoris accelerated.
    Her mind began to melt under this assault, but it was not until his lips had reached her jaw and the sound of his voice uttering the simplest of phrases, “I love you,” had infiltrated her ears that she came, and cum she did. Her entire body shook, her breathing became ragged, and her torrential emissions drenched his hand, her thighs, and her silken skirt.
    Due to the alterations the Emperor had made to the genes of the Eyrines, they typically came for almost half an hour, their bodies shivering and putting off irresistible hormonal scents that drove their paired Custodes mad with lust, like a dog smelling a mate in heat. This ecstasy overtook Inna, and her composure collapsed.
    Washington did not completely process her desperate, silently signed pleas, because his own mind was overtaken by her scent and sounds, but the few hand movements he did manage to focus his eyes on were increasingly feral variations on the same desperate, entitled demands for him to inseminate her, a series of commands he was simple unable to disobey.
    After she had stopped cumming, and her monumental ass was no longer pinning Washington to the wall as she grinded against his mind-boggling cock, she collapsed slightly in his arms, struggling to right herself on her shaky, seemingly gelatinous legs.
    Washington, ever the gentleman, lifted her up into his arms, holding her torso upright against his with his left arm as his right arm supported her thighs, her legs crossed on either side of his forearm, her mythical ass seated in his right hand, with his right thumb pressed between her labia, the pad of his digit gently stroking against her clitoral hood and causing Inna to tightly wrap her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder and released heavy, panting sobs of pleasure under his continued stimulation of her sensitive, post-orgasm pussy.
    Ascending the spiralling staircase, constructed of marble and gold and adamantium, Washington pressed his thumb against the entrance to Inna’s supernaturally tight accommodations. She gasped before she bit into his shoulder, breaking the surface of flesh, euphoria stupefying her as he penetrated her, the scent of his skin and the taste of his blood shutting out any higher thought she could have hoped to have.
    When Washington reached the top of the staircase, Inna was almost asleep in his arms. He approached her bed and laid her down upon its gilded sheets, her head resting upon cloud-soft pillows, her lips stained red from his blood. The mortal servants assigned to maintain her room, each accustomed to her off-putting presence, watched in awe as the two near-nude superhumans laid beside one another.
    Washington was spooning her as she sleepily signed something to him. He nodded and slipped off her silk garments, and then his own loincloth, the only thing covering any of his exemplary golden-brown skin. His cock sprung free, flipping up between Inna’s partially spread legs and clapping against her nethers. Inna smiled greedily and closed her thighs, locking his cock in between them, its shaft pressed against her clitoris. Washington was not one to miss a hint, and so he began stroking away, his stupendous measure running nearly its entire length against her.
    The servants watching were overcome with feelings of lust and joy, seeing the two demi-gods entwined so passionately and purely. After some time of verbal praise lavished upon the lovers, an orgy broke out among the thirteen of the mortals, their minds simply overcome with veneration and hope as they shared amongst themselves love, sex, intimacy and companionship.
    Washington and Inna watched this orgy happening, pleasing each other with their outercourse as they did so. Washington leaned in close to Inna, and whispered, his voice too quiet for any mere mortal to hear, “Truly, humanity is beautiful in all its forms,” his declaration ending as he kissed her cheek, jaw, neck, and finally her lips, as she forwent a response to crane her neck back and kiss him instead.
    Inna reached down as Washington pressed his hips fully against hers, a little over a quarter-meter of his cock exposed in front of her thighs. She gripped the upper half of his shaft with her hand, preventing him from pulling back, and signed for him to roll over on his back. Washington obliged, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her over with him. Now laying atop her husband, Inna had exactly what she wanted.
    After a quickly signed order for Washington to neither move, nor touch her, she sat up. Her clit was still pressed against the base of his colossal spear, and she was watching the orgy of human forms play out before her, eight female bodies pressed upon five male bodies, each covered in sweat, cum, and feminine slickness. Gripping Washington’s cock with two hands, stacked one over the other, and sliding her feet under his thighs for leverage, she got to work.
    She slid herself up his cock and slid her hands down, rolling his gorgeous foreskin back as her bottom hand met the top of her pussy; she then slid her clit down his cock as her hands stroked up. She continued this process for some time, gleefully masturbating for the both of them. In defiance of her orders, she felt him sit up, wrapping both arms around her waist and locking his core muscles, effectively becoming a throne upon which she was seated, watching her servants fuck each other senseless. Inna began moving quicker, her hips rolling faster and faster, her hands matching their speed.
    She continued this routine for some time, until after several hours the orgy Inna was pleasing them both to died down, the mortals having exhausted themselves and electing to lay with one another in a restful sleep, each having at least two partners wrapped around them. Inna sighed in frustration, having only came four times during the entire event, and only managing to make Washington cum once, though he did cover her with a fountain of his seed, her hefty breasts, softly defined abs, godly face, lovely arms, and worship-worthy thighs covered in his love.
    She rolled off Washington, landing on her back with her legs spread. Taking the hint, Washington took up position between her thighs, his rock-hard member resting against her brightly blushing labia and marble-carved tummy. The entrance to an Eyrine’s pussy was always unthinkably tight, and needed to be trained over several decades to take the immensely thick members of their Custodian lovers. Inna was no exception.
    Despite having been married for almost a century, and each being well over a millennia old, Inna’s pussy was nearly impenetrable by Washington without extensive foreplay, though not for a lack of trying. Nonetheless, the Custodian pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, and she sighed before biting her wrist as an almost painful rapture shot through her; he had managed to get nearly the entire head of his power-sword inside her, though they both knew it wasn’t going any further.
    Washington gripped his shaft with his left hand, just below the head, his thumb aligned with his cock, and the tip of his thumb touching her clit. He grabbed Inna by the throat with his left hand, causing her to let out a thirsty gasp of shock and elation, a broad smile spreading across her face as she held onto his forearm with both hands. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist as her breathing accelerated, excitement and the slightest bit of fear overwhelming her.
    Having anchored both his lover and his cock, Washington pulled his hips back slightly, letting the taut pressure of his wife’s insides push him out, and causing the head of his member to slide back into his foreskin. He then firmly but slowly thrusted back in, the very tip of his cock once again penetrating the love of his life. Inna gasped and sighed with each inward and outward thrust, moaning with every errant flick of her clit.
    Over the next hour, Washington continued this process, getting nanometers more of his cock inside her with each thrust, until he was able to get the entire head of his cock inside her. Rolling waves of bliss hit him each time her warmth encompassed him, even as slightly as this. He continued thrusting away, attempting to push himself ever further within her, until he felt Inna tense up.
    After a few more minutes of thrusting, his penetration getting tougher and tougher each time as her aroused tightness increased, Inna came. Her breath was fast and heavy, her limbs were overtaken by tremors, her pussy pushed Washington’s cock out, and her lips met his as he descended upon her. He kissed her, his love for her so powerful that he could think of no other response to her orgasms.
    After a third of her orgasm passed, Washington pulled back. Inna was currently digging her fingers into his forearms, unable to let go. Washington watched as her pussy pulsed, getting tighter than ever, then loosening into a wide opening. Each pulse lasted half a second, but that was more than enough time for him.
    Washington again lined his cock up as he had last time, the tip of his head pressed into the entrance of his love’s pussy. He waited for her next contraction to hit its tightest point, then waited just a little bit longer; as she began loosening, he struck, thrusting hard and fast. Inna’s eyes shot wide open, but in her surprise she could utter no noise, save for a soft gasp.
    Washington had slammed half of himself within her, his cock so thoroughly soaked by her squirting and his own voluminous, lusty emissions of precum that it slid right in. He pitched forward, his body overtaken by the sensation of finally penetrating a woman for the first time, his entire cock embraced her pulsing wetness. In response, Inna leg-locked him and wrapped her arms around his chest so tightly that he felt short of breath; before he could say anything, she kissed him.
    This was his final straw. His mind had taken too much, for too long, and his body finally had the opportunity to impregnate her. He couldn’t be stopped, and she’d never want him to. He began pounding her for three-quarters of an hour, always keeping between half and two-thirds of himself inside her, for fear of being squeezed back out. They both let out numerous muffled moans, yelps, and cries of bliss as his member hammered away at her, rearranging her insides.
    They didn’t last, though; after forty-five minutes, she came. He was unable to pull out after she started cumming due to her death grip on his chest and hips, so Washington simply hilted himself and attempted to weather the storm of her pulsating contractions, but he was unsuccessful. Her throbbing tightness proved too much for his endurance, and he, too, came shortly after, shooting rope after rope after rope of perfect, pearlescent cum inside of her; so much so, in fact, that most of it leaked out around the sides of his cock, their penetration apparently not creating as tight of a seal as they thought it would.
    After half an hour of their mutual orgasms, an event so pleasurable that the next day they were still sore in spite of their augmentations, they both promptly fell asleep, his body still atop hers.