> A floating jar of Nutella on the Artemis II livestream

Commander Reid Wiseman, that pale Yankee captain with his clipped beard and officer's poise, gripped the controls at first—until Victor Glover's musk bloomed. Victor, the giant black buck from the California sprawl, all 6'4" of rippling obsidian muscle, his 15-inch bull cock already half-hard and snaking down his flight suit like a python rousing from slumber. The air recyclers couldn't scrub it: that primal, animal reek, thick as jungle rot and rut, sweat-salted and testosterone-drenched, invading every vent.

Christina Koch, the respectable scientist—fair-skinned, sharp-eyed, with her engineer's bun and dreams of Mars—caught the first whiff during orbital insertion. Her nostrils flared. Pupils dilated. "God, Victor," she whispered, voice cracking like thin ice, as she twisted in her harness. By the time they slung around the Moon's far side, blacked out from Earth's prying eyes, she was gone. Transformed. A coal-burning piss whore, knees buckling as she crawled across the module floor, yanking at his zipper with trembling NASA-trained fingers. His colossal shaft sprang free—veins throbbing like rivers of midnight oil, the bulbous head glistening with pre-cum that smelled of earth and conquest. She devoured it, gagging on the first foot, her throat bulging obscenely as tears streamed, mascara blackening her cheeks. "More, you fuqing stallion," she slurped, piss-yellow drool bubbling from her lips, her once-prim pussy clenching empty air.

Reid and Jeremy—weak white cucks both, the Canadian with his polite apologies and the commander reduced to whimpering—watched, cocks shriveling in defeat. Victor's laugh boomed, bass-deep, as he seized the jar of Nutella from the ration lockers. "Y'all worship now," he growled, shoving Reid face-first into the bulkhead. He slathered the commander's pale asscheeks with fistfuls of the chocolate-hazelnut sludge, thick and sticky, then rammed his bull cock in dry. Reid howled, sphincter tearing, but Victor pistoned merciless—plunging 15 inches balls-deep, churning guts to froth. Pull out, and plop: a turd crowned, smeared Nutella-brown, steaming in zero-g. "Lick it clean, snowflake," Victor commanded, and Jeremy obeyed first—tongue delving into Reid's gaping, feces-frosted hole, slurping the bitter-choco-shyt slurry with moans of broken submission. Nutella oozed from the edges, mixing with ass-musk and blood-flecked cum.

Christina, feral now, pissed herself mid-orgy—a golden arc spraying the consoles as Victor hoisted her wide hips (full-figured like mine, oh love, but debased), impaling her on his shaft reverse-cowgirl. Her scientist's mind shattered; she shat on command, a hot rope of soft-serve poop splattering Jeremy's face as he knelt beneath. Victor scooped Nutella into her stretched anus—fist-deep, packing it like mortar—then fuqed it out in explosive farts, chocolate shyt splattering walls, floating globs adhering to instruments. "Eat your queen's feast, cucks!" She ground down, smearing Reid's mouth with her piss-dripping clit while Jeremy tongued Victor's own ebony pucker, now Nutella-greased and prolapsing from the strain.

The loop 'round the Moon became apocalypse: zero-g feces fest, bodies tumbling in a writhing knot. Victor dominated absolute—breeding Christina's womb with gallon-thick loads that bloated her belly like a moon herself, cum-shyt-Nutella bubbling from every orifice. Reid and Jeremy, reduced to rim-rats, lapped anuses clean in rotation: Victor's first, that musky black cavern yielding chocolate logs they chewed like communion wafers; then Christina's, piss-soaked and prolapsed pink against her white skin; Reid's pale ruin last, Jeremy vomiting only to swallow again. Filth caked flight suits, smeared visors—orgasm after orgasm ripping screams into the void. By reentry burn, they were glazed beasts, the capsule reeking eternal of degeneracy's triumph.