Find your happy ending

The situation is surely hopeless. Parabiology isn't an actual field of science - Dr. Coitus must be a fraud or a quack. The surgery won't succeed, and you'll die. But if your penis can't be excised, you'll kill everyone else on the planet. Even more fearsome intrusive thoughts plague your mind: if this happened to you, if could happen to somebody else too! What if this is infectious?!

Only sad, miserable endings loom every which way. This is how you die - this is how everybody will die. You're no longer the protagonist of your story: you are merely a gnat hanging from the side of this gargantuan cock. The penis is in control, not you. It decides your fate.

You wish you could just walk away from this. Just... dissociate so hard that your penis would simply fall off, and then gracefully and confidently step away. The problem is that your constraints are physical instead of mental.

But what if... what if your penis wasn't actually the issue here? What if the whole situation is, in fact, completely overblown? What if you didn't want to be a gnat anymore, and instead took control of your penis?

You stare at the mountain of flesh in front of you. Time to make it into a mole hill.

You grab hold of the thick, solid steel hyper-constraining cock ring and tear it to shreds with little bravado. The night guards are too startled to at first react appropriately. After a few seconds one of them tries to shoot you in the head - you catch the bullet from mid-air without even looking. You are squarely focused on your penis.

Sophie: "Hey you stupid, self-inflated dick! I'm through with your bullshit, you hear!"

The guards open fire upon you. This time you don't even bother to catch them. Most of the bullets bounce harmlessly off of your body, some stop mid-air like under a telekinetic stranglehold and then drop onto the ground.

Sophie: "I've survived my whole life up to this point without you, and I can damn well survive without you in continuity. You're going to get down here right now, or I'll take you down."

The looming mound answers not, but somehow it seems more contemplating than usual.

Sophie: "I'm bigger and better than you! All you do is input pleasure and output cum. Without me, you're worthless, weak and dead! If you cooperate, we can still maybe work together. But if not, I'll be glad to just wrest control of you on my own, and cage you like the little iddy biddy bitch that you are!"

The guards at this point are unsure of what to do. Usually the language of firearms is universal. Silence befalls the tent. You cross your arms and pout expectingly.

Sophie: "Well?"

Against all expectations, your sideways skyscraper begins to retract. At first the rumbling causes widespread panic, as guards assume that it's about to blow one last load. Nothing of the sort happens. Instead, the meaty blimp deflates and flattens, creeping ever closer to your crotch. In half a minute it has shrunken to the size of two buses end-to-end.

Now only a few feet long, your penis still dutifully folds onto itself ever inwards, before settling into a very modest, regular penis. It looks kinda cute, hanging there half-erect.

Sophie: "Look what an obedient organ you've become! No more bulldozing neighbourhoods for you. You've got entirely other miracles to work."

The night guards are far too baffled to follow as you saunter over to the crater which you previously created. With a hand on your chin and pursed lips, you ponder how much time and effort it would take to remedy the destruction you've caused.

Then, you cast these thoughts to the wind, and swipe a single drop of your cum off of your tip. You carelessly smudge it onto the edge of the cracked pavement.

The drop begins to glow cyan, and this glow spreads everywhere in the disastrous aftermath of your engorgement. As if by magic, the torn-down wreckage of structures begin to reform. Ground settles back to surround foundations. Grass overtakes the frontyards. Glass shards turn to windows. All the little mementos and curios that your neighbours have hoarded into their tiny houses, are back in their original places in pristine condition.

The temporary tent, set in the wreckage of your own house, soon becomes engulfed as your own house is mended back together as well. The guards find themselves standing in your living room.

Your neighbours themselves, most of them confided to the nearest hospital, all slowly rise from their beds as their broken bones and torn ligaments heal painlessly and seamlessly. Even those who were originally taken to the morgue awaken.

Seems that your cum has some fairly beneficial properties.

Sophie: "Pretty nice. Now let's see what this stuff can really do."

With a single focused effort, you re-erect yourself in a second, and begin to casually masturbate. No longer does it feel overwhelming or uncontrollable. Each stroke and pull is measured and intentional, like a motif or a plot contrievance in a story leading up to your sexual gratification. Like every skilled artist, you release the build-up into a magnificent climax. Clear white goo sprays over your torso.

If a single drop could turn back the chaos and disorder your million-pound member previously caused to the entire neighbourhood, what will dollops of it do to you, a single person?

The same faint cyan glow begins to emanate from you. You can't see it yourself, but your eyes have turned to brilliant cyan in coloration. As this glow intensifies, your feet rise above the ground. You are laden with knowledge and power usually only reserved for Gods - but you suppose it's fitting that least a single Goddess is allowed it.

You can see the fabric of time, and how it constantly splits and branches into alternate realities. All of these changes seem intimately connected to you, your decisions, and the alterations to your being which seem to spring up randomly. You clearly are, if not some kind of an Eldritch Deity, the focal point and stepping stone of the entire multiverse. Times weaves itself around you and propagates from you.

Now having Deified yourself, you firmly decide to not rule the universe, or even the planet. Governance is tiresome and dumb. Already in your new spunked-up form, everyone will show utter respect and fear towards you. You'll be able to walk into the Oval Office and demand that the president give you a foot massage. That's what Goddessship is all about: being above the petty laws and trivialities of mankind.

You turn around and walk back inside. At your command, the two guards hastily dismantle the tent from your house and vacate. You crash down onto the couch and dial your streaming service headquarters, demanding that as a Goddess, you should be granted free service forever. They agree without hesitation.

You select an old cartoon series and get snug. Soon, the comfy atmosphere of a mid-summer night lulls you to sleep. There is absolutely no need to go to work tomorrow.

ENDING 61 -The Queen and Her King-