The private study chamber Gristle had commandeered was thick with the scent of old leather, ozone, and the faint, musky tang of her own ever-present arousal—a smell like hot metal and sweet, female sweat that coated the back of the throat. It was a stark contrast to the sterile lecture hall. Here, scrolls of anatomical diagrams were pinned haphazardly next to explicit tapestries depicting legendary Doms in the throes of "World-Breaker Fuckings," their monstrous cocks buried to the hilt in the screaming, ecstatic orifices of their pridemates.
Link stood before a large, wheeled blackboard, his slender frame looking even more fragile next to the complex diagrams he'd meticulously drawn in colored chalk. He tapped a diagram showing a complex, branching tree of power. Kest was already sighing, using her combat knife to clean under her nails with pointed disinterest.
"The foundation of all Futanari power," Link began, his voice tight with nervousness but striving for academic precision, "is the Mana State Cultivation System. All mana progresses through four fundamental states: Solid, Liquid, Gas, and finally, Plasma. Mastery of one state is required before you can even attempt to transition to the next."
Milky's pen was already moving. "Instructor, could you elaborate on the nature of these states?"
"Of course," Link said, relieved to have an engaged student. "The Solid State is the foundation—dense, stable energy that anchors power in the physical world. The Liquid State is adaptive, representing flow and transformation. The Gas State is expansive, allowing for environmental control and subtlety. And the Plasma State..." he hesitated, "...is the realm of cosmic mastery, of creation and destruction. It is, for most, purely theoretical."
Kest snorted softly, not looking up from her knife.
"Within each state," Link pressed on, ignoring her, "there are three grades of purity: Raw, Refined, and Pure. A cultivator must master all three grades within a state before attempting the breakthrough to the next. For our purposes, we must begin with the Solid State."
"So, there are three grades of Solid Mana?" Milky asked, her brow furrowed in concentration. "How do they relate to the five phases of the Emergent Spireling Stage mentioned in the Testament of the Rod? The Filament, the Sprout..."
Link's eyes lit up behind his spectacles. This was his area of expertise. "An excellent question! The physical cultivation of the phallus is inextricably linked to the alchemical refinement of mana. They are two sides of the same coin. The five phases of phallic growth are the physical crucible through which the three grades of Solid Mana are mastered."
He turned back to the board, tapping the base of his diagram. "It begins with Raw Solid (Solid-1), also known as the Gristle Seed. This is nascent, gritty mana, the absolute bedrock of power. A Dom in the Filament Stage, with nothing but a sensitive nub, learns to produce this through the friction of the 'Pleasure Pricking' method."
He moved his chalk up. "Through the more invasive 'Seed-Planting' method, the Dom, now in her Sprout Stage, uses the pressure and friction within her pridemate's body to compress that raw grit into Refined Solid (Solid-2), or the Stone Nugget. These are the first true, stable concentrations of power."
Kest finally looked up, a bored, almost cruel smirk on her lips. "So, a lot of fucking to make shiny rocks. Got it."
Link's face flushed a deep crimson. "It is... a great deal more complex than that! The final stages—the Shaft, Column, and Monolith—are dedicated to mastering the production and brutal, forceful injection of Pure Solid (Solid-3), the Heartstone Core! Only after achieving a Full-Stage Pure Solid mana state can a cultivator even begin to contemplate the 'Liquefaction Crucible' trial and the transition to the Liquid State—"
The heavy oak door slammed open, making Link jump and drop his chalk. Instructor Gristle filled the doorway, a smirk playing on her lips. The massive, semi-hard bulge of her cock strained against her trousers, a living, breathing refutation of Link's sterile lecture. The scent of cheap liquor and raw, dominant cunt rolled off her in waves, a filthy perfume that made the air thick and hard to breathe.
"Charts?" Gristle's voice was a low, amused growl that vibrated in Link's bones. "You're trying to teach them the Arbor Vitae with fucking charts? No wonder Kest looks like she's about to die of boredom."
She strode into the room, contemptuously kicking aside a stack of approved academic texts. From a satchel, she produced a heavy, dark object—not a book, but a series of obsidian shards bound in worn leather, the archaic script carved into their surface pulsing with a faint, predatory energy. She slammed it onto the central table. "You want to build a codex that matters? You don't use the sanitized curriculum. You use the real thing. This," she said, tapping the obsidian, "is a copy of the Testament of the Rod. The words of a Dom who knew power wasn't a theory. It was a weapon forged in the screaming holes of her subordinates."
She turned her predatory gaze on Milky and Kest. "Forget the 'Liquefaction Crucible.' That's the end of the story. Before a Dom's balls even drop, before she can even produce the most basic of Raw Liquid Mana, she has to master her cock. She has to forge it from a pathetic nub into a monolith. That's the Emergent Spireling Stage. And the Testament lays it out perfectly."
Gristle's eyes locked onto Link, who was trying to subtly edge away from the blackboard, his face a mask of mortified horror. "But theory is useless without practice. Isn't that right, Linette?"
Before Link could protest, Gristle's hand shot out, her grip like iron on his arm. She dragged him to the center of the room, his feet stumbling.
"The Testament teaches that the first stage is the Filament," Gristle announced, her voice dripping with cruel amusement as she spun Link around and bent him over a sturdy oak table. "A pathetic, twitching nub. But even then, the hunger exists. The first cultivation method," she shoved Link's face down against the cool wood, forcing his ass high into the air, "is 'Pleasure Pricking.' It's how a young Dom learns to command a response with nothing but a twitching little nub and a terrified fuck-toy."
His academic robes bunched around his waist, exposing his pale, trembling backside and the tight, puckered rosebud of his anus. His small, useless cock was already painfully hard, leaking a thin, sweet precum that beaded on his thighs like terrified tears.
"Observe," Gristle commanded. She unfastened her trousers, and her cock sprang free with an audible, meaty thwump. It wasn't fully hard, but it was still a monstrous thing—thick as Link's thigh, its semi-tumescent flesh pulsing with a life of its own. Dark, ropey veins stood out against the skin, and the head, already swollen to a deep, angry purple, glistened with a thick, syrupy precum that smelled of musk and ozone.
Milky's pen was a blur, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Pleasure Pricking, she wrote, her own cunt clenching with a sympathetic throb. The physical act of forcing nascent mana to bind to flesh. The creation of Raw Solid mana: The Gristle Seed.
Gristle positioned herself behind the trembling Fem. She didn't thrust. Instead, she lowered the massive, wet head of her cock until it rested against Link's tightly clenched hole. The heat from it was immense, a searing brand of pure dominance that made his skin prickle.
"Pleasure Pricking," she murmured, her voice a low rumble against Link's ear. "It's not about penetration. It's about the promise of it. The terror. The agonizing, exquisite tease." She began to move, just the very tip of her cock pressing, nudging, pricking at the sensitive ring of his anus. She traced the delicate folds of his pucker with the slick, hot flesh of her glans, smearing her precum over his resisting muscle. Each tiny movement sent a jolt of pure, agonizing pleasure-pain through Link's body. He let out a choked sob, his hips instinctively trying to squirm away, but Gristle's hand clamped down on his back, holding him fast.
"Next," Gristle continued, her voice clinical and cold, "is the Sprout stage. The cock grows, becomes a proper tool. This is where you learn 'Seed-Planting.'" To demonstrate, she pressed the blunt, wet head of her cock just a fraction of an inch inside Link's anus.
Link screamed, a high, thin sound of pure, unadulterated sensation. His body went rigid, his back arching as the immense, blunt pressure threatened to split him in two. He could feel his tight ring of muscle being brutally forced open, the sensation so intense it was like a lightning strike to his spine.
Kest leaned forward, a bitter, knowing smirk on her lips. Seed-Planting. She remembered Damask doing this to her for weeks on end, forcing his still-developing cock into her, the gentle but insistent friction conditioning her hole for utter submission while he injected his gritty, nascent mana deep inside her. It was how a Dom bound a pridemate's soul to the memory of their violation, making them ache for the cock that first broke them.
"This," Gristle grunted, holding Link in that state of partial violation, grinding her hips just enough to make him whimper, "is how you begin to forge true power. The pressure and friction inside the hole forces the Dom's body to compress the raw 'Gristle Seed' into something denser, more potent."
Refined Solid, Milky scribbled, her mind racing, her own nipples hard as pebbles beneath her uniform. The Stone Nugget. It's not just alchemy; it's biomechanics. The pridemate's body is the forge. Their pain is the catalyst.
Gristle pulled back slightly, then explained the next stages, her voice a filthy lecture. "After the Sprout comes the Shaft. Your cock is a weapon now. You train it with 'Pillar Training'—prolonged, brutal fucking sessions designed to break your pridemates and temper your steel. Then, the Column, where you learn 'Breaching the Walls,' forcing your monstrous cock into them for hours, tearing them open, conditioning yourself for sustained, immense pressure." With each description, she punctuated her words by slamming her thick, semi-hard cock against Link's trembling, glistening cheeks, the wet, meaty slaps echoing in the chamber. Link sobbed, his mind dissolving into a white-hot haze of pure, physical sensation. He was no longer Archivist Valorian; he was just a hole, a tight, desperate thing being claimed, his ass cheeks stinging and red.
"He's lost," Gristle grunted, a satisfied smirk on her face as Link's hips began to buck unconsciously, a desperate, mindless rhythm seeking more of the violation. "His mind is gone. All that's left is the need. This is how you forge a bond. This is how you turn a thinking creature into a willing cocksleeve."
"And finally," Gristle roared, her voice reaching a crescendo as she grabbed Link's hips, her grip like a vice, "the Monolith! The pinnacle of physical development. The cultivation method? 'World-Breaker Fuckings.' You use your monstrous size to tear and reshape bodies simultaneously, to inflict mind-shattering pleasure and body-breaking violation, pushing the limits of reality with every thrust!" She simulated a single, brutal thrust that lifted his entire body off the table, his spine arching violently as a strangled cry tore from his throat.
Kest watched, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her face. This wasn't just a technique; it was a memory. She had been on the receiving end of every single one of these stages, feeling Damask's own burgeoning power break her down and remake her into the weapon she was today. The Testament wasn't history; it was a combat manual written in sweat, cum, and the exquisite agony of submission.
Gristle pulled back abruptly, her cock sliding free with a wet, obscene sound like a plunger being pulled from thick mud. Link collapsed onto the table, boneless and sobbing, his face buried in his arms, his ass trembling and glistening, a thin trickle of mixed precum and tears running down his thigh. He had been utterly, completely undone, and the spicy, musky scent of his profound, terrified arousal filled the air, a smell of ozone and surrendered flesh.
"That," Gristle said, tucking her still-leaking cock back into her trousers, "is how power progression begins. That is what your codex needs to explain. Not with charts. With carnage."