The world did not sleep that night.
No one could.
The sky was alive, convulsing in birth. The moon's cunt split wider, glowing rivers of gold spilling from her folds, birthing stars in wet screams of light. Each newborn streaked across the heavens, trailing fire like squirts of molten seed. Some clung above, pulsing wetly in their new places among constellations, but others—too heavy with his warmth—fell.
They plunged toward the earth.
The first struck the Milk Sea, exploding in a tidal orgasm that drenched entire continents. A wall of glowing seed rose miles high, swallowing fleets, drowning empires, leaving only screams and moans as the wave rushed inland.
The second slammed into the Desert of Ash. Sand turned to glass, dunes melted into rivers of molten gold that slithered like cocks across the barren land. Women who once starved in the wastes now clawed at themselves, pussies gushing in surrender to the sudden flood of warmth that drenched their cracked lips.
