Pounded In The Butt By The Sentient Physical Manifestation Of My Subscription-Based Creative Platform

Ben is an artist with something to say, and after bringing his unique expressions to the weekend craft market, he’s ready to make his first sale. Ben’s medium is wholly unique, taking reality threads from various timelines and weaving them to create a luminescent, hovering orb of parallel worlds.

The art is breathtaking, but it quickly becomes apparent Ben’s in for a difficult time. His artwork cannot be bought, sold, or even moved.

Fortunately, Ben soon discovers Gaytreon, a physically manifested subscription-based creative platform. He’s intrigued by this model of artistic support, but when the layers of Ben’s own reality begin to strip away he finds himself even more fascinated by the erotic turn this story is taking.

This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on gay living creative platform action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, cream pies and Gaytreon love.

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POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY THE SENTIENT PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY SUBSCRIPTION-BASED CREATIVE PLATFORM

By Chuck Tingle

Creating your own timelines is one of the easiest things a person can do, but crafting these realities into something coherent and beautiful is another story. These webs of intangible realities are constantly emanating from our bodies, cascading off us with every decision as we navigate the path of life.

The problem is that you can only truly know the singular path you’re on.

Even though we’re all constantly producing these new timelines, the vast majority of folks aren’t even aware of it. And why would they be? After all, other realities are largely inconsequential to this one. They’re fascinating to think about, dreaming of all the things that could’ve been, but interacting with these parallel worlds is difficult, if not impossible.

Consider this: by simply reading the first two paragraphs of a short story, you’ve manifested nearly infinite realities into existence. It might seem like a lot, I know, but when you walk through the process step by step it all starts to make sense.

Every word you read creates an image or feeling in your mind, coloring your thoughts in a very specific way. It’s a delicate and intricate dance that can hardly be quantified, but it’s there. Not only is every word going to affect your mood, but the speed and cadence that you mentally indulge in these flavors will change, as well. The author is calling most of the shots in this exchange, but the reader is making creative choices of their own whether they know it or not.

These tiny choices will start to affect your mood or disposition later in the day. Maybe your interpretation of a word slows your footsteps by half a second as you get up to grab a glass of chocolate milk, or maybe you’re a little faster after falling into the rhythm and flow of a longer sentence with a repetitive ending that seems to go on and on and on and on forever.

At this point the change doesn’t have to be huge, but every time it effects something else these alterations grow. That half second later to the chocolate milk causes you to arrive everywherea little later, this effect rolling through your life until it really matters when you miss pressing a button at the crosswalk and find yourself waiting through another whole cycle. Now you’re a full minute behind the other timeline, causing you to show up late to a dinner reservation a week later. This prompts a new restaurant choice, and this place becomes your new favorite diner. Eventually, you start dating a stegosaurus waiter there, and the two of you have children. Your daughter grows up to be the president.

We are constantly creating these beautiful timelines that go unnoticed. It’s a shame we hardly ever take a moment to appreciate them.

This is the purpose of my artwork.

I arrive at the craft market early, setting up my booth well before the other vendors have even considered rolling out of bed this morning. I’ll need the extra time if I’m going to create something truly special. Today needs to be perfect if I want to support myself as an artist.

I pause, gazing out across the empty parking lot as these words resonate through my mind.

Support myself as an artist, I think, allowing a moment of fantasy as I imagine what that might actually feel like. The concept is so magical and thrilling, but I can’t let it overwhelm me entirely. I know the idea of self-sustaining my existence through nothing but my creative output is a very difficult goal to attain, but I’m here to take my best shot.

Once my booth is set up I sit down in the folding chair I packed and gaze out into the space before me. By now the rest of the venders have arrived, constructing little stalls of their own, but I stare right through them. Instead of this reality, I focus on the ones next door, concentrating on the timeline layers that typically go unnoticed.

This is my craft, catching sight of these strange meta layers of existence as they bubble to the surface and pinning them into this reality with nothing more than my own thoughts. The how of this equation is still something I’m not exactly sure of, but I find the more I try to understand this phenomenon, the more difficult it is to perform. Gathering other timelines is an abstract creative form, and maybe it works better that way.

I have a few theories, of course. Part of me thinks reality is much more mailable than we give it credit for. We spend our lives so deeply focused on this layer of existence to the point that we don’t even consider our sway over other timelines. Maybe my ability to weave timelines is something that we all possess, but most folks never stop to give it a try.

In the space before me a tiny, swirling pocket of energy is beginning to form, growing larger and larger the longer I focus on it. The more I concentrate on my work, the easier it becomes to snag various timeline threads and pull them together in a beautiful, aesthetically pleasing pattern.

When creating these woven timelines my main focus is picking realities that fit together well, the same way a florist might diligently select certain colors when crafting a bouquet.

In my current creation I’ve decided to push this comparison to the limits. I’m focused on timelines that bring beautiful flowers to this particular location.

There’s a layer of reality where birds evolved as the dominant lifeform instead of primates, and they’ve allowed beautiful, tropical vegetation to grow across the surface of the planet while the birds themselves keep to the trees. There’s another timeline where this particular parking lot was left unkept for decades as glorious, colorful flora has started to pop up through cracks in the pavement. There’s even a reality where the craft market is happening, but all humanoids in this world are much closer to resembling walking, sentient trees.

I gather all these realities as a floating, swirling mass of energy grows bigger and bigger. I’ve completely lost track of time at this point, deeply focused on my work.

Around me, customers have started to gather. The crowd gazes in absolute wonder as I construct my art, their eyes transfixed on the hovering woven space.

When I finally finish building, the gathering crowd erupts in a spontaneous fit of applause.

“That was amazing,” someone calls out. “I want one!”

“Sure!” I reply. “I’m here to sell my artwork!”

When it becomes apparent there’s only one timeline construction for purchase at the moment people begin to wander away, recognizing it will likely go for a hefty price. A handful of customers stay, however, ready to make an offer on my intriguing art piece.

I’m trying to focus but after all that timeline weaving I’m exhausted. It takes a lot out of me.

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars,” someone steps up to offer.

“Five hundred and twenty dollars,” another customer counters.

The first one considers this a moment, glancing back and forth between me and the swirling glow of floral timelines. “Five-fifty,” they finally reply.

The whole process is overwhelming to say the least, but I’m thankful to learn that all the effort I put into creating this important piece is worth something to them. It’s quite touching to know that other people care enough about my art to actually pay for it.

Suddenly, another patron steps forward, a unicorn in a grey suit who sports dark sunglasses over his eyes. “One thousand dollars.”

The two arguing customers stop in their tracks, glancing over and shaking their heads as they accept this bidding war is officially over. They wander away, promising they’ll return whenever my next piece is available.

“Whoa, thank you so much,” I gush to the highest bidder. “I’m blown away.”

“Well, it’s a very beautiful piece,” the unicorn continues. He opens up his wallet and pulls out the cash, preparing to hand the thousand dollars over. “I’m assuming you do delivery?”

I reach for the money then abruptly stop in my tracks, considering my answer.

“I’m… not sure,” I stammer. “This is the first piece I’ve ever sold.”

“Well, once I buy it from you, how are we going to get it to my house?” the unicorn continues.

I walk over to the swirling ball of energy, gazing into these cascading timelines as a wave of frustration and disappointment washes over me. I have a powerful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“I never really thought about it,” I admit. “I’ve woven timelines before, but this is my first sale.”

The unicorn stares at me blankly, then narrows his eyes. “So, are you just… not gonna sell it to me?”

“I don’t know how,” I blurt, panic seeping into my bloodstream.

Finally, the unicorn just shrugs and walks away.

I’m abruptly struck by a terrible realization. No matter how incredible my artwork is, or how much time I spend developing a business strategy around it, I’m still never going to make it. While some things lend themselves to the process of being bought and sold, reality bending structures are not one of those things. Once a piece is created, I’ve got no idea how to actually deliver it to a customer.

I take a deep breath and let it out, allowing these thoughts to wash over me in a devastating, nauseating wave. I’m trying to remain positive, but it’s tough to keep an upbeat attitude when your big plans crash and burn right before takeoff.

Sitting and watching the woven timeline flicker and spark before me, I only allow this devastation to take hold for one, singular minute. During that time, I feel everything, but when the time is up I shift gears completely.

I have a new plan.

While I might not have the ability or ingenuity to sell these strange balls of energy, I do have access to infinite layers of reality. Maybe there are artists on another timeline that can help me out.

With that in mind, I move to the side and begin crafting my second work of art. I grasp at the various layers of existence floating by, pulling these strings of time and wrapping them around each other in a beautiful web. Instead of flower-based parallel worlds, I hunt for instances of other artists who’ve found financial support in unique ways.

I see an ice cream sculptor who decided to charge by the temperature instead of the amount. I catch glimpse of a shark author who swims in specific formations, spelling out messages of gothic poetry at various events.

The timeline that really catches my eye, however, is the one featuring a man in a Tae Kwon Do gi and sporting a pink bag over his face. Dark glasses cover his eyes, and the words love is real are scrawled across his forehead in dark marker.

I’m gazing at this strange and unexpected character when, suddenly, our eyes meet.

“Oh,” I blurt, unaccustomed to being noticed like this. “Sorry about that.”

“What the heck!” the man in the mask retorts. “You just gazin’ in on other timelines? What if you caught me drinkin’ a milk bag in the closet?”

“I… don’t know,” I stammer. “I didn’t think that far ahead. I’m looking for help.”

The strange man’s entire demeanor immediately changes. “Oh, well why the heck didn’t you say so? I’m world’s greatest author Chuck Tingle,” he informs me. “What’s your name, bud?”

“Ben,” I reply. “I’m looking for other artists who make creative things that are difficult to sell.”

“Well, all tingler’s are best-selling books,” Chuck informs me. “So I guess it’s not that difficult when you’ve got all hits as the world’s greatest author.”

“Oh,” I reply, a little defeated.

“What the heck are you working with over there?” Chuck continues.

“I’m pulling together various timeline threads and weaving them into a collage,” I explain. “It’s like a bouquet of realities. That’s part of why I was looking in on your timeline.”

Chuck nods along, listening intently. “I can see why that would be difficult to sell,” the mysterious author replies. “Can’t really move your creation anywhere once you’ve made it, huh?”

I shake my head.

Chuck Tingle considers this for a moment. “You ever thought about starting a dang Gaytreon? I just started one and it’s going pretty dang good. It’s a good way for buckaroos to support you even if your art is not easily turned into dang money to buy your house and spaghetti and chocolate milk.”

“I mean, I’m mostly worried about the house,” I admit. “What’s Gaytreon? Is it on this timeline?”

“You’ll see, bud!” Chuck calls out, waving as he disappears back into the swirling ball of alternate realities.

It takes a moment for me to center myself, sitting back in a state of wonder and confusion. When I finally glance up, however, I’m in for another shock.

The sentient physical manifestation of Gaytreon is hovering before me, manifesting himself as a handsome, circular disk that features a lowercase g logo and a smiling face as the centerpiece.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “So Gaytreon is around on this timeline.”

“I sure am,” the handsome floating disk offers. “Although, technically, I’m the physical manifestation of all subscription-based creative platforms. This just seemed like the easiest way to represent me.”

“Are you here to help me start a subscription-based creative platform?” I question.

The hovering physical manifestation hesitates. “Uh… kinda,” he replies. “Before we get started on that, however, I think we should discuss a little timeline philosophy.”

“I just weave them together,” I admit. “I don’t really give it much thought.”

“Exactly,” the sentient manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform offers. He floats closer, lowering his voice a bit as through we’re sharing some important secret with one another. “Most people think of their reality as the original one, while every other reality is the alternate timeline. The thing is, there is no original reality.”

I nod along, listening intently.

“You seem to think your job is to develop a space for yourself on a subscription-based creative platform, but you’re already doing that,” Gaytreon explains. “You are part of a story that Chuck is writing about joining one of these services.”

“Wait, what?” I stammer.

The physically manifested concept nods. “Yeah, you’re not really the one peeking in on other timelines. Other timelines are peaking in on you.”

I consider this a moment, then shrug. “I guess turnabout is fair play,” I offer. “Makes me less worried about all this supporting myself through the arts business.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Gaytreon offers.

“So what’s the point?” I continue. “What are we really doing here?”

“We’re in an erotica novel,” the physically manifested concept explains. “We’re about two thousand and five hundred words in, give or take, so now’s about the time we should start banging.”

I can’t help but laugh as I hear this. I figured my reaction to this cataclysmic shift in reality would hit me much worse, but to be honest, this all sounds kind of nice. Sex is supposed to be fun, after all.

“Sounds great,” I offer in return. “Whatever I can do to help.”

The two of us kiss passionately, coming together in an eruption of erotic energy. I’m so wrapped up in the moment that I don’t even notice Gaytreon pushing me back in this loving barrage of kisses.

The next thing I know, we’ve slipped into one of the woven timeline tears, the world around us shifting and melting like taffy.

“Oh my god!” I blurt, stumbling through the wormhole.

“This’ll make for a better cover,” the sentient concept explains.

The next thing I know we’re standing on a vacant rooftop, a beautiful neon cityscape extending behind us on this dark evening. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

“Much better,” the physical manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform offers, leaning in and kissing me once again.

I give into the moment completely, accepting my place as a small part of the larger cosmic picture. Making my way across the circle’s flat form, I gradually begin to lower myself before him. I slowly drop to my knees, gazing up with lustful, cock-hungry eyes and watching as his rod begins to grow.

The sentient manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform is absolutely enormous, and I take a moment to simply marvel at his incredible size.

“You like what you see?” Gayteron questions.

I nod, then reach out and take his cock in my hands. I begin to stroke the physical manifestation off, our eyes locked as the pleasure flowing through him begins to simmer. Gaytreon pumps his hips back against me, rocking in time with the movements of my tightly wrapped fingers.

I quickly get a sense of what he enjoys, taking note of the intricacies of our erotic pulse together. It’s not long before the two of us fall into perfect sync, and when I transition from hand to mouth this pace remains exactly the same.

Opening wide, I slip the living creative platform between my lips, bobbing my head up and down across his enormous length. With my other hand I reach out and cradle his hanging balls, providing him with two distinct sources of pleasure.

As the carnal sensations continue to build our pace grows, moving faster and faster as I slam my face down onto his gigantic rod. Eventually, the speed is simply too much to maintain and I pull back with a frantic gasp, struggling to collect myself.

Spit dangling from my lips, I take a moment to prepare for another approach. I open wide and swallow Gaytreon’s rod yet again, only this time I don’t pull back. Instead of bobbing across his enormous length I allow the physical manifestation to slide deeper and deeper within me, plunging well past the expected limits of my gag reflex. The next thing I know my face is pressed up hard against the flat surface of Gaytreon’s body, his cock fully consumed.

I remain like this for as long as I possibly can, allowing the creative platform to savor his position within my neck as I fully submit myself to him. We hold like this for as long as I can possibly manage, then I finally pull away with another frantic gasp.

This time I don’t need a moment to collect myself. I’m riding the wave of this erotic journey, fully committed to the story at hand.

I begin to tear away my clothing, stripping down and tossing this fabric to the side as I crawl away from Gaytreon. Once my body has been fully exposed to the night air I turn around and pop my ass out toward him, reaching back and giving myself a playful slap as I display the goods.

“Damn,” is all the creative platform can say, his eyes transfixed on my glorious rump. “I’d love a subscription to that ass.”

“What are you waiting for then?” I retort. “It’s easy to sign up.”

“Yeah?” Gaytreon continues. “Where do you want me to put my information?”

The handsome physical manifestation floats up behind me, aligning his enormous rod with the puckered tightness of my back door. He teases me for a moment, testing the rim of my anal seal and then pulling back at the last second.

I gaze back at him over my shoulder, a mischievous look in my eye. “You can shove it up my tight ass,” I snarl.

Gayteron doesn’t need to be told twice. The handsome sentient manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform thrusts forward and impales me with his giant cock.

A startled gasp escapes my throat as the physical manifestation enters me, not entirely prepared for his incredible size. My fingers dig into the ground, bracing myself against the weight of this muscular, circular manifestation.

“Oh fuck,” I groan, my eyes rolling back into my head as my ass is stretched to the absolute limits.

I feel like I’m about to be torn in half, aware of Gaytreon’s enormous size but not entirely prepared to accommodate him anally. Fortunately, the sentient creative platform is happy to take his time with me, a patient lover who holds tight within. For the first minute or so Gaytreon refuses to move, simply allowing my body to relax around the girth of his swollen member.

Soon enough, the discomfort within me begins to slip away, disappearing into the ether and replaced by a pleasant warmth at the pit of my stomach. As Gaytreon and I begin to rock this warmth blossoms, flowing out across my arms and legs and spilling through me in potent waves of sensation.

It’s not long before the two of us fall back into sync with one another, our bodies grinding and rocking as the pleasure moves between us. The warmth within me begins to grow and change, becoming a powerful ache and causing my body to tremble with erotic anticipation.

“Just like that, just like that,” I repeat over and over again, the words spilling out of my mouth in and ever escalating cadence until I find myself crying out at the top of my lungs. “Just like that! Just like that!”

We’ve found a rhythmic pulse now, Gaytreon hammering into my butthole with profound confidence as the two of us stare out at the glorious cityscape below. It’s true, this is going to make for a great cover, but it’s also turning out to be an incredible story.

I reach down between my legs and grab ahold of my hanging cock, beating myself off in time with the physical manifestation’s anal slams. These two distinct sources of pleasure begin to swirl within me, spilling through my veins and adding to the already powerful sense of bliss that hums across my frame. It’s not long before the first hints of a powerful orgasm begin to rear their head, looming larger and larger until finally exploding in a powerful crashing wave.

“Oh my fucking god!” I cry out, my voice echoing out through the darkness. “I’m cumming so fucking hard!”

Hot jizz erupts from the head of my shaft, splattering out across the ground below me and painting it with a beautiful pattern of pearly white. All the while the physical manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform keeps the pace, carrying me all the way through until I’m fully spent.

Seconds later Gaytreon pushes deep into my ass and holds tight, unleashing a spectacular torrent of spunk into my butt. I can feel him filling me up with pump after pump of this milky load until, eventually, the seed comes cascading out from my tightly pulled anal rim.

The cum runs down the back of my legs in long white streaks, gushing forth when the sentient physical manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform pulls out.

The two of us collapse into a pile together, holding each other close.

We sit in silence for a moment, taking in the night skyline as we bask in each other’s presence. After all the stress of the day, I feel strangely at peace, as though my place in this crazy, unexpected story finally makes perfect sense.

“I think this is gonna work out nicely,” I offer.

The sentient manifestation of my subscription-based creative platform turns to me and offers a sweet kiss, the two of us somehow pulling even closer.

Suddenly, a faint digital dingfills the air. I pull back, a confused expression plastered across my face. “What was that?” I question.

Gaytreon laughs. “Your first subscriber,” he explains. “I guess this story did the trick, they’re already joining to support your art.”

“Wait really?” I gush. “That’s incredible.”

“Well, you might be creating something that’s hard to pin down,” Gaytreon explains, “but you’re doing it with love in your heart. At the end of the day, that’s gonna build an audience.”

Another ding fills the night air, then another, and another.

The two of us lean back and relax as the digital chimes continue to sound, watching as the first hints of sunrise begin to wash across the skyline before us.