Piers Anthony
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Pornucopia
==========

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CONTENTS
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 Part I:    Part II:       Part III:      Part IV:  
 Smegma     Prosthesis     Cherry Tree    Dildo     

 Chapter 1  Chapter 10     Chapter 20     Chapter 30
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 2  Chapter 11     Chapter 21     Chapter 31
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 3  Chapter 12     Chapter 22     Chapter 32
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 4  Chapter 13     Chapter 23     Chapter 33
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 5  Chapter 14     Chapter 24     Chapter 34
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 6  Chapter 15     Chapter 25               
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 7  Chapter 16     Chapter 26               
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 8  Chapter 17     Chapter 27               
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
 Chapter 9  Chapter 18     Chapter 28               
                                                    
                                                    
                                                    
            Chapter 19     Chapter 29               


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Part I: Smegma
==============

Chapter One
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The early afternoon sun beat down, warming his bathing trunks, heating
his crotch. The restless tide retreated slowly, as though the ocean
water were evaporating, and the shock of the breaking waves was
muted--crash, splash, like the breaking of a vigorous orgasm against a
taut diaphragm. Prior Gross reclined on the burning sand, squirming
until it shaped to his feet, palms and buttocks. He kept his knees
elevated in an awkward effort to conceal the unprovoked erection that
had been trapped at half mast beneath the unyielding cloth.

There was really no reason for it, but the tumescence refused to
subside. Girl-watching here was fair-to-poor. Prior's field of vision
embraced grandmothers and children with scarce nubility between, and
that critically flawed by obesity, sag and blemish. He was disappointed
and bored--yet his member strained valiantly against the fabric, pushing
it out throb by throb, and no matter how covertly he shifted about it
only aspired higher. It felt as though the glans had been caught in the
crotch-netting and was too stupid to realize that it could never clear
the hurdle without first slacking down a little.

A fat-bellied sun-skinned executive type ambled by, glancing at Prior.
Had the busybody seen? Prior's trunks bowed out marginally farther while
he fought to keep a flush from his face. He could not stand up, of
course, and the proximity of a hawkeyed matron prevented him from
unhooking the obstruction by hand. He suffered a mental picture of the
matron lumbering across the sand to the nearest lifeguard, screaming
about the indecent act that man was performing, while a crowd gathered
around to look and police sirens drew nigh. No, he couldn't lay a finger
on his crotch!

His eyes wandered desperately about the beach, as though he could
prevent others from watching him by watching them first. But nobody was
paying him any attention, yet. He saw two toddlers playing near the
water's margin, using a toy shovel and fingers to shape a crumbly sand
castle. The little boy was burying his legs at the same time, scooping
gouts from the wet castle wall to his sister's frustration.

Full-blown, the solution came to Prior. He could bury his legs in sand,
right up past the crotch! It might seem to be a childish game, but it
was not entirely out of place for any age. That would hide the pulsing
bulge until the situation abated. Maybe by then it would be late enough
to find some action in town, to reduce his member to a lower level of
chronic readiness and spare him further embarrassments.

Prior began sweeping sand in over his feet, piling it up under his
lifted knees. The surface grains were hot, but those below were cool,
and the sensation on his thighs goaded his penis to even more strenuous
effort. It took a lot of sand to cover him, and he quickly encountered
rougher gravel below. The job promised to be tedious, particularly since
there were numerous sharp shell fragments embedded in the solidly-packed
understratum. This was not child's-play after all! He would have slashed
fingers if he didn't watch it. He tensed his jaw muscles and kept
working, using the task as a mental distraction.

A shadow crossed him with a sudden soft coolness. Prior looked up to spy
a phenomenal pair of legs slanting into an opaque knee-length skirt.
Above that the blazing sun made vision difficult, but the silhouette was
strikingly feminine.

Prior's member had been showing signs of retirement, but now it tugged
frantically at its anchor. There was hardly any chance the woman could
overlook it.

"Building a castle?" she inquired, her voice low and sultry.

"Um," he agreed, edging his knees together. The laboriously mounded sand
collapsed defiantly, uncovering the castle's main tower further.

"Let me see," she said, squatting before him and prying his knees gently
apart with her cool hands.

The cloth covering his crotch rose up eagerly to stand inspection. Prior
could see between her handsome, well-fleshed thighs now, inside the
skirt that had slid over her knees. That firm and rounded vista was
obscured only at the deepest cleft by an annoying wash of shadow.

"You don't have enough sand," she pointed out. He still couldn't make
out her face because of the sun, but his eyes had adjusted enough to
penetrate the shadow beneath her skirt. He saw now that her posterior
was innocent of panties or other defense. Open to the breeze.

"Give me time," he said, scratching feebly for more sand. Time? Sand? He
could see something else he wanted! If only this weren't happening in
mid-afternoon on a public beach.

"I'll bury you," she said suggestively, and a muscle rippled inside one
thigh. What legs she had! She began hauling in sand from a wider
semicircle, those thighs flexing as her balance shifted, and piling the
sand about his trunks. "Lie down." She patted sand about his crotch.

Lie down? It was about to launch toward the moon!

Oh--she meant him. Prior lay back, feeling the tension between his legs
increase to the point of pain. She spilled cool sand entirely over him,
patting it solicitously in key places. "You don't lie very well," she
murmured. "What's your name?"

On that score he could accommodate her. "Prior Gross."

She laughed, her bosom bouncing. She had an excellent upper torso; the
lower distraction had prevented him from noticing it before. "For
Priapus, god of sex! You are a find! No wonder I was drawn to you. I
thought it was only your condition."

What did she mean by that? That she sniffed out men with erections? "How
did you know? Uh, about my name." He tried to make it sound bantering,
but he was curious too. She had traced his name correctly. Most people
knew almost nothing of mythology, and she hardly seemed the scholarly
type.

"I'm a succubus," she said matter-of-factly. "We all worship Priapus."

Prior forced a laugh of his own, though it jogged the knot in his trunks
and caused the packed sand there to crack as though a miniature
earthquake had passed. "A succubus! A female demon?"

"Who visits sleeping men and harvests their seed," she said. "It's all
quite straightforward. When I have a good load, I transform into an
incubus and go in search of female companionship. If I find a sleeping
girl soon enough, I can even get her pregnant--and the man I had first
is the biological father. That can lead to some interesting situations,
in this age of blood typing and semen analysis."

"Artificial insemination with a vengeance!" Prior said, not believing
any of it but intrigued by her pose. She was obviously on the make, and
he would be well satisfied to get made. "So that's why some men claimed
they've been framed even when blood tests and such give them the lie.
They've fornicated by proxy!"

She had a fair mound of sand around him now. "I can see you don't really
believe me, so I'll demonstrate. I'll knock up a girl by you, right here
on the beach, right now." She moved forward to sit on his crotch,
spreading her dark skirt out over the mound. Prior's member, stimulated
by this suggestive pressure, was almost ready to spurt spontaneously.

"You do that," he said. What a line, and by a woman, yet! And she was
structured like a center-fold. She could have her will of any man she
wanted, just by showing him what she had shown Prior.

Which was suspicious. Prior was no bronzed beach bum. He generally had
to pay for what he wanted--and a dish like this was way out of his price
range.

"You have to be asleep," she said, touching his eyelids. "That's the
law."

"What law?" He had half-expected her to demand a hundred and fifty
dollars in advance.

"The demonic law. Succubi only visit sleeping men. That's our nature."

"Why are you here, then?" he demanded. Her fidgeting was really working
him up. She certainly knew that part of her trade! Did she want his eyes
closed so he couldn't see her take his wallet? No chance; his wallet was
locked safely in his car.

She didn't answer right away. She put a hand inside her own waistband
and worked it down under her skirt until her fingers touched him. She
began to scrape the sand from between her legs. A neat maneuver, and
somehow everything looked ordinary from outside. No one could see what
her hidden hand was doing. "Things get dull in daylight."

Now her hand was finished, and he felt her touch on his tight trunks,
stroking the zipper fly. He had thought he was at the peak of
excitation, but this elevated it another level.

"So you thought you'd drum up a little after-hours business," he said.
"But I'm not asleep." Why was he arguing? If she deserted him now, he
might never abate his erection! Priapism, it was called: the perpetual
rigidity. He understood that could get very uncomfortable.

"That's what I said. But if you'll just close your eyes and breathe
evenly, it'll be the same. No one will know."

What the hell, he thought. They had made no agreement. She would have
tough luck collecting her money after the performance. He closed his
eyes.

"That's good." Her hidden hand worked down the zipper, opening his fly
with expertise, sliding the webbing across. His penis sprang out,
hurting again as the kink was finally released, but wasting no time
about swelling to its full proportion.

Prior cracked open an eye apprehensively, but all was concealed beneath
her skirt, which now seemed voluminous. Quite a piece of apparel, that
could not stretch past her knees at one time, and covered everything at
another time. But of course a succubus was magic, and her skirt would be
magic too. It looked as though he remained buried in sand, with the girl
innocently straddling the ridge: a game people played. Some game!

"Closed," she reminded him gently, her fingers massaging his member,
squeezing it for the final bit of growth. "Never can tell when the
supervisor's watching."

Some supervisor! Was it an invisible satyr, calibrating indexes of
performance on an abacus? But Prior obliged. Actually, there was nothing
to see; even her full breasts were chaste from this angle.

There was something to feel, though. Deprived of sight, his awareness
magnified the inputs of touch. Her muscular thighs shifted, her cushiony
buttocks adjusted--and warm damp flesh contacted his angled shaft. That
living cleft he had glimpsed as she squatted was coming to embrace his
own flesh!

But the angle was wrong. Those slick vagina lips were squeezing the
sidewise length rather than absorbing the business end. He was on the
verge of squirting into space--or at least into her skirt--and he
couldn't use his hand to correct the contact!

But her fingers were there, lifting his pulsing rod, cupping the glans.
The angle changed, the head brushed up against the lubricated channel
and nudged delightedly into the hot cavity.

"When are you going to have your erection?" she inquired, piqued. "Don't
you like women?"

The organ sank into the hole, or more correctly rose into it. Prior felt
the lubricated closure pass the knob and encompass the shaft. Her flesh
tightened about his own, rhythmically. "That's it!" he gasped.

"But that's hardly four inches! I like at least six, and can take eight.
Nine in an emergency."

"Three point nine seven inches!" he whispered. "Erect."

"You mean all those emanations I picked up, all that worry about your
hard-on showing, like a tower standing out for miles around... four
inches?"

"I have an ambitious imagination," he admitted.

"Ambitious! That's fraud!" she said crossly. "Here I thought I'd get my
bore properly reamed...." She manipulated her buttocks to bring him in
further. "I assumed that anyone named after Priapus--"

"That was my old man's wishful thinking." He had been through this
before. "But my dong ended up just like his. Potent, but small."

She sighed, clenching him internally. "Well, too late to cry over spilt
milk--not that I ever do spill any. Let's have it."

As she spoke, the muscles of her vulva contracted with singular
authority, milking him compellingly. His orgasm ripped through his body
like a fire through dry timbers. He climaxed at once, his hips thrusting
up convulsively as his juice let fly. If he had done that in air, he
could have knocked a seagull out of the sky!

The fire burned out as quickly as it had spread, leaving him
breathlessly limp and warm. "Well, at least you had a fair quantity,"
she observed as he shuddered to a halt. "Good things sometimes do come
in small packages." Her vagina still clasped him tightly, squeezing out
the dregs and holding them as his spent penis slowly shrank. "Good to
the last drop. But you really should wash your miniature more often."

"It itches when I wash it," he protested, embarrassed. Then "How can you
tell?"

"Sex is my business, you know. I can taste and measure everything that
enters that vestibule. Your seed is potent enough, but your tool is
small and uncircumcised, and frankly it's pretty cheesy too."

"Smegma is a natural secretion," he said. But he was chagrined. It did
collect when he wasn't careful, and he hadn't been careful the past few
days. Maybe that was the cause of his erection. Had he known what would
happen on the beach....

His diminished penis finally slurped out of her vagina, which sealed up
after the exodus as tightly as any anus after evacuation. She had not
been fooling about salvaging the seed!

Chapter Two
-----------

"Which girl do you want to have it?" she asked seriously as she lifted
off him.

For a moment his organ was open to the sky. Prior sat up hurriedly,
packed in his apparatus together with an inadvertent handful of sand,
and zipped up his fly. "Have what?"

"Your donation. I have to do it within half an hour, usually, or too
many sperm cells die and it can't take. I don't have refrigeration
capacity the way my northern cousins do. Of course their whole bodies
are icy cold, which makes collection difficult except in the case of the
most determined dreaming sinners, the kind who would shoot off into
icebergs if they had the right sized holes in them. And her period has
to be right, too. The supervisor's very finicky about such details."

"You mean you're serious about this succubus-incubus bit? It's not just
a come-on?"

"Of course it's a come-on. You came; I got on," she said, making a moue.
Her lips were very expressive; she probably knew how to use them in her
profession, too. "Hurry up. Make a choice. Someone sleeping, of course."

He tried to call her bluff. "Don't you have to--to convert? To incubus?"

"Just watch me carefully. I can't be too obvious, obviously. People
would stare, and we aren't supposed to attract attention to ourselves.
Not in a business connection, anyway. A demon can get herself burned,
that way. Are you going to choose?"

Prior looked about. Time had passed, and either some of the girlchildren
had blossomed into nubility or the beach fauna had benefited from some
turnover. But in his present sated state he found this interesting
primarily in an intellectual way. He had no particular urge to
impregnate any of the pregnable. In fact, the notion was a trifle
disgusting.

Not that it would come to that. Succubi were creatures of folklore. This
doll had had her fun and spun him a fairytale while he, no fairy, had
spun into her tail, and now he would play the game out until she broke,
and maybe she never would remember what she had intended to charge him
for the occasion.

"Her," he said, gesturing to the adjacent matron, now blissfully snoring
as the sun cooked her flesh.

"She's too old. And ineligible. Hysterectomy. I can tell from here."

"She should be eager for it, then. And I want to see how you do it." And
see what she did, and if she did, too.

"But the supervisor--"

"Your, ah, load isn't legitimate anyway, because I wasn't really asleep.
So you might as well ditch it before you get in trouble for carrying
contraband."

She looked angry, then shrugged. "All right, skeptic. You lie down on
your side facing her and pretend to close your eyes, so no one knows
you're watching. I'll set it up so you can see, but no one else can."

Prior nodded. Despite his cynicism, life stirred slightly in his loin
again. He had called her bluff and she wasn't backing down; what sort of
show would she put on now?

She walked away as he lay down. With each step she took she seemed to
change. Her lovely broad hips became narrow, her hair shorter, her chest
flatter. She paused to adjust her dress--and it was a pair of culottes
or even Bermuda shorts, as much out of place on this beach as her skirt
had been, but still unremarkable. Lots of people wore inappropriate
clothing at the beach, and some walked the shoreline in full dress
clothing.

Were there incubi among them, unsuspected? By the time she reached the
supine matron, she was male. Prior had trouble believing this, but his
eyes were quite positive about it.

The incubus kneeled beside the woman as though asking her a question. No
one on the beach paid attention except Prior. The incubus then moved
over casually until he was astride the woman, and still no one noticed
and she did not wake. He must have put a small sleep-spell on her; no
doubt incubi (and succubi, of course) had dependable ways to keep their
subjects passive (except sexually) for the operation. Assuming such
magical creatures really existed. Assuming that this was one such. Prior
was still alert for some deception, though his disbelief was somewhat
shaken. If what he had seen was a trick, it was one hell of an illusion!

Then the incubus brought out a tiny knife--or maybe it was merely a
sharp fingernail--and sliced away a portion of her bathing suit,
exposing the pudendum. He placed his body so that only Prior could see
what was happening. Still, it could be an act, a farce, and the
sleight-of-hand could not proceed much farther.

In due course the incubus opened his own apparel and brought out a
massive phallic instrument. This was no trick; Prior saw it come erect
while the incubus kept hands off. Had he not watched the creature every
moment and been certain that no substitution had been made, Prior would
not have believed this. Now he was convinced: the hungry female genitals
that had sucked in his protoplasm were now aggressive male genitals
eager to spew it forth again!

The incubus lowered this boom and brought it to bear on the fatty
crevice between the matron's legs. It looked far too big to fit, but
slowly he eased it in, pushing, stroking, sliding, jogging. The woman
moaned, stirred--but the incubus touched her eyelids with one hand and
she did not awaken. In fact, she was smiling. Prior wondered what dreams
she might be having, half as phenomenal as the reality!

The tremendous penis hove to like a slow diesel into a tunnel, burying
half its column in the tight aperture, then three quarters. Hoo!, Prior
thought--that female would be sore tomorrow!

After that he couldn't see the detail because the incubus's thing
blocked the view. But the motions of the merging bodies suggested that
the rest of the shaft was finding or making its lodging. The woman's
heavy torso shook with the impact of full penetration, and she writhed
with something resembling ecstasy. Her knees came up and spread farther
apart; her hands groped for the point of contact. She had probably never
had so much meat inside her at one time before.

Ejaculation! The incubus plunged, withdrew, plunged again. The woman
groaned aloud as the piston retreated, then she made a muffled scream as
the spasm distended her. Prior was sure this orgasm dwarfed her previous
experience--if, indeed, she had experienced orgasm before. That kind
usually thought pleasure in sex was unpatriotic.

Meanwhile, beach activity continued. No one wondered what the strange
man was doing to the sleeping woman; or maybe they just didn't care. Two
girls walked by, glanced across, saw, and went on; it was none of their
business. Prior realized that almost anything could happen on a public
beach, including screaming rape, and nobody would react.

He glanced down at his own trunks, wherein his scant four inches
throbbed with second wind. Certainly he was not one to bring a woman to
life like that. There was no way four inches could match eight, except
perhaps in endurance.

The incubus let it soak for a moment while an elderly couple walked by,
then drew out the gross member. The fit was still so tight that Prior
could see flesh stretching. Then the organ snapped out with a pop! that
caused a passing child to glance curiously, hoping for bubble-gum. No
such luck. The incubus stood up, shook off his flaccid extremity, fed it
back into the shorts, and ambled away.

The matron remained as she was--legs spread wide, suit slit open at the
crack, hands touching the greased labia. No one noticed except the
child, who didn't care. And Prior, who had mixed emotions.

By the time the incubus reached Prior, he was female again. "The bitch
had gonorrhea!" the succubus exclaimed, outraged. "Do you want to do it
again?"

Prior's renovated erection abruptly died. This creature, by her own
admission, was now teeming with activated venereal disease!

"I need another load, since that one was wasted on an ineligible
receiver," she said. "You're handiest, since you put me up to it, though
it's bound to be anemic so soon after my last collection. Now I don't
mind how I get it--cunt, mouth, hand or whatever--or which form I take
it in--male, female, neuter--"

"You mean you can get it as an incubus, too?" Prior was repelled and
fascinated, the one feeding the force of the other. "And you have a
neuter state?"

"Oh yes. Oral collection is invariably effective, and of course there's
anal. Some men prefer neuters--they're like undeveloped young girls or
castrates. Tastes vary. Sometimes we have to bugger the donor to get him
to put out. I can show you--"

"I guess I'll donate in the normal fashion," Prior said quickly. He
wasn't anxious to have that eight-inch member stirring up his twitching
colon. He was dead set against buggery, anyway.

"I could suck you off," she said helpfully. "That little marvel of yours
makes it easy."

"You'll take it in the pussy or not at all!" he informed her
defensively. He didn't normally use lowbrow terms like that, but her
condescending attitude was getting to him. "And not here. Come to my
car."

She made another moue and followed him over the sand and across the
weedy fringe to the parking lot. His dime had run out and there was a
ticket on his windshield. He had tarried on the beach longer than
originally intended. This ticket was particularly embarrassing, because
he was professionally connected to the parking industry and this would
look very bad on on his record. Like a dentist having a rotten tooth, or
a grocery manager confusing the price of beans with that of
caviar--though the latter was not hard to do these days, with the prices
rising so fast that beans now went for caviar prices. "Shit!" he said,
employing the basest expletive he knew, wondering if the succubus would
be shocked.

"We supernaturals don't have to eat," she said equably, "so we seldom
have to defecate. But if that sort of thing stimulates you--"

"I meant the meter. It stuck a ticket on my car. That's a dollar fine."

"Oh, I can fix that. We fuck up machines all the time. Let me get my ass
on it, here--"

"I'll pay the fine!" he cried as she hoisted her skirt and lifted one
shapely leg. There were whistles from a neighboring car. "Leave it
alone!"

She shrugged. "It's your dough."

"Just get in the car, why don't you!" Prior was anxious to get away
before more of a crowd collected.

He drove her to a private park, certain by this time that he didn't want
her at his apartment. She climbed onto the back seat, got on hands and
knees, let her breasts dangle low, bared her bottom, and he mounted her
from behind and jetted somewhat feebly into her upraised aperture. She
was still a luscious hunk of distaff flesh, but he had seen what he had
seen, there on the beach, and knew what he knew, and it shook him up
quite apart from the VD threat.

Luscious hunk? As his shrinking penis sucked loose, he realized that she
had assumed the neuter form: breastless, narrow-hipped, hairless. He
felt like a pederast. He didn't like pederasty. "Now you're done; get
out," he said shortly.

Chapter Three
-------------

After he was rid of her he drove home and took a long morose shower,
scrubbing his limp penis thoroughly. Then he dried under the air-blast
and spilled wine-scented shaving lotion on it from glans to scrotum,
hoping the alcohol would burn off any remaining contamination. It stung
like hell, but it didn't ease his mind much.

He dialed the number of the city VD clinic and asked for a printout on
gonorrhea. He read it completely. This didn't ease his mind, either.

He had to take three happy-pills to get to sleep. And he dreamed... not
happily.

He dreamed that five days had passed and the tip of his penis became
inflamed. It was red and tender, at first causing irregular erections,
then actual pain. When he urinated there was such intense smarting that
he could not tolerate more than a few drops at a time--but there seemed
to be gallons in his bladder, and they had to pour out. Then pus choked
the conduit, popping out in grisly lumps when the frothing urine finally
blasted its way through. The agony was hellish. There was brown blood in
it now.

The pus lasted for three months, causing him to stand at the toilet for
half an hour at a time without performing, then soiling his pants when
he walked away with bursting bladder. He wet his bed at night, hardly
noticing because of the other agony, and his constantly soaked buttocks
and scrotum began to feel raw, too. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep,
couldn't work because of the viper's nest of pain in his groin. Then the
inflammation began to spread.

It covered his bladder and his kidneys and his rectum, making every
facet of elimination a continual torture. It invaded his prostate, his
testes, his epididymis, rendering him sterile several times over, the
hard way. Then it advanced to his mouth, interfering with eating, and
his bones and joints, giving him arthritis. It infiltrated the lining of
his body cavity and the valves of his heart. It poisoned his blood. It
infected his eyes, making him painfully blind. Finally it penetrated to
the membranes lining his spinal cord and the brain itself, and he knew
he felt the onset of paralysis and insanity.

About then he woke up in sweat so copious he could not be certain it
wasn't urine, and remembered that gonorrhea was not the worst of the
venereal diseases.

It was Monday, the beginning of his four-day working week. Prior was a
parking lot surveyor--the reason he had been so put out about being
ticketed himself. He used a laser theodolite to resurvey parking lots
and make sure their dimensions were within tolerance. Unscrupulous
operators--and that meant all of them--tried to shave the size of
individual spaces and the access lanes, and could get ugly when called
to account. The worse the offense, the uglier they got. Some threatened
him, not realizing that one of the spare lenses he carried was in fact a
laser pistol. Some offered him money, not realizing that his theodolite
was irrevocably bugged; they were soon out of business, and he was
permitted to keep the money as a gratuity for his cooperation. He liked
getting bribed, except when they used counterfeit bills. Others sent
attractive young sexy parking attendants to reason with him in some
remarkably convenient bedroom-like office--not realizing that his penis
was less than four inches long, erect, and he was sensitive about
exposing it before strangers. As his bastard boss well knew; that was
why Prior had been hired over more qualified applicants for the
position. Some liabilities tended to make men honest...

All week, as he measured and noted and punched out deficiency reports
and accepted bribes and fended off solicitous sex-pots, his mind was on
his penis. It probably required the deficiency report, and no bribe
could add two inches to its length, but it was the only one he had.
Every time he took a leak he watched for pus and fancied he felt the
beginning irritation. And there was irritation--but only because he
washed it six times a day now and the tissues were being bleached. In
the middle of some intricate measurement the little soldier would stand
up, stiff as a metal spike despite its brevity, and he would wonder
whether this were the first gonhorrheal priapism while he tried to
conceal the bulge behind his theodolite.

But nothing happened.

Two weeks later a woman brought her car in to a reserved lot while he
was surveying it. He was angry, because the peripheral emanations from
the atomic motor interfered with his laser. But before he could
formulate some suitably cutting remark, she stepped out. He recognized
her: the matron the incubus had serviced on the beach. The gonorrhea
trap.

Prior said nothing to her, and she never noticed him. Instead he noted
the tag number of her car. When he got home he phoned the registry
department and got her name and residence. Then he located her medical
file. The information was supposedly confidential, but as a state
employee he knew which computer buttons to press.

What he was after, of course, was the truth about her gonorrhea. Had the
succubus been trying to scare him out of sheer perversity? She was,
after all, a demon, and he had dismissed her impolitely. DOES SUBJECT
HAVE VENEREAL DISEASE? he typed into the appropriate line.

NO, the answer came immediately.

Relief and anger fought for supremacy. The succubus had been lying--if
in fact she was a succubus, and not just an idle woman with some
devilish tricks up her skirt--and he had fallen for it. There was his
anger. But he had no risk of contracting gonorrhea. There was his
relief.

But computers were demons in their own fashion, and liked to torpedo
unwary querists with partial truths. The files only provided the
specific information requested. It was always necessary to countercheck.
HAS SUBJECT EVER HAD GONORRHEA?

YES.

Oh-oh. PROVIDE DETAIL ON CASE HISTORY, LAYMAN'S TERMINOLOGY.

It turned out that the woman had had a trial marriage a decade ago (only
a decade? She must be younger than she looked!) and had contracted the
disease then. She had avoided treatment because of the stigma attached,
so the illness had become entrenched. She had thought the hysterectomy
would clean it up, but it hadn't, and she remained a carrier.

This was the bitch the incubus had tackled. Prior had then had a second
contact with the succubus. He had been exposed, all right.

But the most recent note on the case history said simply: SPONTANEOUS
CURE, COMPLETE.

Prior read and reread that note, checking its veracity and date. She had
had VD--but somehow in the last two weeks the disease of a decade had
aborted without treatment. Why? And since she had still had it when he
ran afoul of her, why hadn't he come down with it?

If he hadn't. Maybe his case was taking three weeks to develop the first
overt symptom.

Suddenly he had the courage to go to the VD clinic himself for a
checkup. The notion that he might not have gonorrhea seemed more
compelling reason to go than the notion that he had it--because of that
potential stigma. And other factors.

That got him off on a familiarly unpleasant chain of imagination. He
would walk into the clinic, where a bunch of big, hairy, full-crotched
men would stare at his member and banter their remarks back and forth
while Prior stood in the center like the victim of a keep-away game.
"Hey, Joe--get a load of this! Less'n four inches and clapped!" "That
so? I thought the clap didn't touch anything under the legal limit!"
"Mister, you better cut this sort of thing out--" (brandishing a scalpel
dangerously near his defenseless penis) "It'll stunt your growth!"
"Bring in the mouse you fucked; we'll have to cure it too!" But Prior
knew he was as foolish as the matron in this respect. Clinic people
didn't really make such crude remarks; they only thought them.

He nerved himself and went in. Everything was quiet and private and
clean and deadly serious, to his considerable relief. The clinic tested
him and cleared him promptly. The medical attendant didn't even snicker
at the size of his penis. Prior was not now, nor had he ever been, a
victim of gonorrhea.

So he had lucked out. Ridiculous to have thought himself infected!

But he stayed well dear of the beach.

Chapter Four
------------

Though Prior Gross spent many of his days on the dull job, and his
nights either dreaming of sexual exploits (his penis was always double
length in dreamland) or worrying about their consequences (suppose one
of those dreamland dolls had the syph?), his most persistent remaining
concern was inventing. At home he had a device converted from a
broken-down laser theodolite and a built-up computer-guided atomic-motor
fuel-injection transformer. It was supposed to be a cigarette
dispenser--one that would check the approaching mouth, analyze it for
taste preference and general capacity, insert an appropriate brand, and
light it. When the weed had burned out, the machine would remove the
butt, rinse the orifice with a sweet jet of aseptic mouthwash, and
insert a new cylinder. In such fashion a person would be able to
chain-smoke around the clock without ever being aware of it.

He had been tinkering with the device in spare time for three years, and
mechanically it seemed perfect. He would have had it ready in half the
time, had the Cancer Clinic approved his application for a research
grant. But the execs at Cancer had been very obtuse about the benefits
of the invention. The Heart Clinic had been even worse. One of its execs
had even had to call on the services of the Tranquilizer Clinic, before
Prior completed his presentation. Strange folk, these Clinic officials.
It almost seemed as though they had something against smoking.

Now his device was ready, at least in prototype. But it seemed that
hardly anybody smoked anymore. They preferred to absorb their drugs in
more convenient ways, such as incense spiked with nicotine, caffeine,
speed and pot. Since Prior did not smoke himself--he had a domineering
doctor--he had no way to test the machine in the field.

He had built the better mousetrap after the barn door had robbed Peter
to--well, however it went, he was out of luck. That was the story of his
life.

One night as he pored over his creation, trying to think of a use for
it, the succubus came again. She was every bit as shapely as before, but
this time was garbed in a slitskirt super decolletage evening special
that put her charms into forceful focus. No wonder she got no arguments
from the sleeping men she visited on her collection rounds! But Prior
wanted no part of her--particularly not the part she offered.

"How did you find out where I live?" he demanded.

"I took down your tag number, of course. I knew your address before you
ever got home that night. But this was the first open date I had.
There've been a lot of horny men around here recently, and right now the
demon ranks are spread pretty thin, so--"

"Well, reopen it. I don't--"

"It's open, lover. Just waiting for your entry." She hoisted her skirt
delicately to show him.

Prior gulped, strongly tempted in spite of himself. "I meant the date.
I'm busy."

"You must be. You're hardly horny at all tonight. But at the moment I'm
long on female clients and short on males. Just give me a quick fix for
the gal in polka-dot who lives down the block, and I'll be on my way."
She hauled up her skirt again and draped herself spread-legged on his
bed.

"The girl in polka-dot?" he asked, recognizing the description. "She
takes an incubus?"

"She will tonight." The succubus elevated her knees, causing her cleft
to open wider.

"I haven't washed in a week. I'm cheesy and under four inches erect," he
pointed out. "You like six and can take eight."

"Or even nine, in a bind," she agreed. She sighed, her breasts almost
flowing out of her dress, which was fashioned for support, not
enclosure. "Harvesting you is something of a handicap, but there's
something about your produce. I had a load from an advanced syphilitic
later that night, and the spirochetes all shriveled up and died." She
shook her head, and her chin almost banged a breast, "Just like that,
they expired--but the sperm cells stayed fresh. There's something
unnatural about that."

A succubus talking about the unnatural? Yet despite his aversion to her,
Prior found his curiosity piqued. "How did you know about them dying?"

"I tasted them, of course."

He remembered. Her remarkable demonic vagina could taste and measure.
"So you're VD resistant. What's that to me?" Then: "Say! That's why I
never caught the clap!"

"But I'm not resistant! I pass along whatever I receive, diseases and
all. That's the beauty of it. I have no curative properties. I'm only a
run-of-the-furnace sex demon, after all. So it must have been your
fault. Nothing like that ever happened to me before, and not since."

"My fault!"

"Some residue from you must have acted on the next load, changing it. So
I thought I'd try you again, after the effect wore off, and see if the
same thing happened." She shrugged out of her dress with a maneuver
Prior couldn't follow, and lifted her legs up toward the ceiling. She
had a fine looking aperture, and Prior's penis responded manfully--until
he remembered again what he had seen on the beach. She might not have VD
right now, but the idea of that hole forming into a phallus caused his
own phallus to shrink in dismay.

"Put it right here, lover," she invited, twitching the muscles of her
buttocks so that her vulva winked at him.

Prior knew how persistent she could be. She would keep after him until
she got her crevice properly stuffed. How could he get rid of her
without a scene that would bring the nosey landlord galumphing down the
hall?

His eye fell on the cigarette dispenser. Something clicked snidely in
his mind. The succubus was lying with her head away from him, tilted so
that she could not see him below the general region of his waist.

"Let's have ol Lingam right up Yoni," she murmured, doing a brisk
bicycle-pedaling exercise that was something to behold from this angle.

He picked up the machine and turned it on, holding it low.

"Coming, lover," he said.

He tilted the business end appropriately and set the box against her
half-creased buttocks.

The sensor-filament poked out and tickled her crack. "Oooh, you've been
practicing!" she whispered, wriggling with delight.

The machine hummed. Prior hummed too, to conceal the noise. "You sound
happy," she said. "Glad you changed your mind. Fucking can be fun, you
know."

Then a slender cigar popped out and nudged into her vulva. "You don't
have a full erection, though," she complained. "That's not even a four
inch penetration. Come on, get it hard!"

Obligingly, the machine poked the cigar in farther. "Now you taste like
tobacco! What have you been doing to that little prick?"

The machine lit the projecting end. Smoke curled aromatically up between
her legs. "You're really getting hot now," she said, smiling blissfully.

"You don't know the half of it," he told her. And waited. The cigar
would ordinarily have taken much longer to burn, but its deep placement
brought the lighted end much closer to the nether lips that held it.

"Aren't you going to squeeze me a little?" she asked. "Not that I care,
as long as your meat is fired up like this, but it is an odd technique."

Prior mumbled something reassuring, his eye on the advancing glow. He
began to experience apprehension. How did demons react to hotfoots in
their cracks? By and by she hit the ceiling, almost literally. "Hot
box," Prior remarked as she bounced down. Was that a set of footprints
in the plaster up there?

The cigar shot out of her cleft and threw sparks against the rug as it
bounced and rolled. The succubus took a moment to assess what had
happened, rubbing her crotch vigorously. "You shithead pekkernosed
pimpsucker," she said. Then she worked up to some ugly language.

By the time she got her first impressions out of her demonic spleen, she
had converted to the male form. The incubus advanced on Prior, his
monstrous penis projecting like a cannon. "I'm going to fuck your
asshole right into your gizzard!"

"You can't," Prior said, backing away nervously. She was certainly
overreacting, but the threat put an unholy fear into him. She? He. It
was overreacting. "I'm not asleep, so your supervisor would object."

"It's supe's night off. He's fucking herself blind on sperm whale oil,
so I can do what I want."

So an incubus/succubus could fuck himself! That would have been
intriguing to contemplate, at another time. "Well, you don't have a load
on yet."

"There's some stale stuff left over from last night. What did you think
you were doing, ramming a lighted weed up my cunt?"

Prior eyed the menacing phallus with increasing apprehension. He had
hoped she would go away mad. She was mad, but not going away. He had
miscalculated.

"It's an invention. A--" Here he had a flash of sheer genius. "A tampon
machine!"

"You shrimpcocked idiot! I'm a demon! A supernatural creature. I don't
have periods. I never have the rag on." But the incubus paused. "What
was it doing with a cigar?"

"I ran out of tampons."

The incubus pondered. His ferocious erection drooped slightly. "Oh, all
right. We'll call it a nicotine dildo with a live fuse and forget it.
Just don't do it again. Now let's finish our business."

Prior watched as the massive member shrank into itself and the flat male
breasts swelled. It was a though the substance was being siphoned from
the lower torso to the upper. Finally the penis was a mere button, no
larger than a clitoris. In fact, it was the clitoris. Meanwhile the
scrotum sucked up and became an empty sac, a flap, a wrinkle of skin,
and finally a concavity. Prior was now looking at the lips of the
vagina, and knew that the deep aperture was forming between them.

How convenient! The succubus received the semen in her inverted scrotum.
When she changed into the incubus, it was right there. Probably her
ovaries became his testicles--if the demon had need of either.

Somehow Prior's own genital remained quiescent. He had no slightest urge
to entrust his precious penis to that demonic grinder again, or to let
this spook retail his ejaculate. Not even to the polka-dot girl, who was
a fetching number.

"Come on, come on!" the succubus said impatiently. "And I do mean
'come.' You aren't the only cock of the morn."

"I'm rather busy with my tamponer," he said. "Research and development,
you know." Would the Hygiene Clinic be interested enough to bestow a
grant?

"Well, I'm busy with my researches too," she countered. "I want to know
whether your jism cures VD or not." She backed against the bed and sat
down.

On the now-upright machine.

Water squirted as the after-smoke rinse started. "Mouthwash!" she
screamed indignantly. "It fucked me with mouthwash!"

Prior grabbed her in time to prevent her from smashing the tamponer. She
immediately exerted her sex-appeal on him, trying for a sneak
collection, while he tried to escape.

In this moment of crisis he suffered his second consecutive flash of
genius. "We can test them both out--box and juice--on the slots!"

She considered. "Very well. For now. The night is yet young."

Chapter Five
------------

She dressed, her dress magically flowing to her and enfolding her. He
changed, and they both adjourned to a drugstore for a box of tampons and
thence to the corner coin bordello. Here there were half-stalls in a
row, each with its fleshy display and listed price. The most elegant
cost six tokens; the cheapest was one token.

Prior brought out his credit voucher and bought a dozen tokens. This set
him back, at present exchange rates, about sixty dollars. Not a major
expense, but not chickenfeed either, for one experimental session.

"That won't go far," the succubus remarked.

"Far enough on the one-per slots," he pointed out. "Those are the VD
slurps, after all. From two-tokens up they're inspected, and the fives
and sixes are guaranteed germfree."

"That so? I never patronized a coinery before. Not in my line."

"You might consider it. Those are real whores in the booths, you know,
mostly. Apart from the animals and machines, I mean. Figure it out. In
the first place, it's completely anonymous; nothing but the business end
ever shows. In the second place, it's concentrated action. A girl can
get serviced maybe ten times an hour with normal traffic, ten hours a
day. Even an average three-take ass can make three or four hundred
dollars a shift. That's not bad pay at all."

"What use have I for money?" she asked disdainfully.

"But she gets a load each time, too. You could store up a week's worth,
just like that."

"No go. I have to pass it along as I get it, or it loses its potency.
One shot at a time."

"Maybe you could have two booths. Then when you get one load, you shift
to a male-booth and dole it out at another couple tokens per squirt. You
could go through your whole evening's business in less than an hour. If
you don't want the money, give it to me. I'm natural, not supernatural;
I have to eat to live."

"I'll think about it," she said, intrigued. They walked by the
higher-priced models of the female section. Each booth contained a pair
of buttocks projecting from the wall, the distaff genitalia plainly
visible. About half were occupied: men stood against them, flies open,
organs pumping. The more expensive stands had arm-holes, so that the
customer could reach through and fondle or abuse the breasts and torso
while thrusting, and the six-toke booths were partially transparent when
activated so that the prosperous client could even see what he was
doing.

Prior stopped by the first of the cheapies. The buttocks were
plump--grossly so. The cleft was hardly visible, being buried beneath
overlapping avoirdupois even in this flexed position. There were
pimples, and the crevice was creasy. Perhaps it was only sweat--but
there was a good chance that it was the flow from venereal sores.

Prior reached out gingerly and tried to spread the fleshy masses to
verify this. They resisted. They were surprisingly hard, as though
glazed. A sign lit, above: ONE TOKEN.

He drew out a token and pressed it edgewise between those mounds. There
was a click as it entered the slot set in the anus; the disk vanished,
something gulped, and the buttocks relaxed. Another sign came on. YOU
HAVE THREE MINUTES.

"Well, shove it in!" the succubus said. "A four minute fuck is too long;
you see the sign."

Prior did not want to admit that he still had no erection, and was
unlikely to get one at this stop. This fat ass was repulsive. "But I'm
not sure it's infected! If I shoot my wad and there's no VD to begin
with--"

"I'll check it for you," she said impatiently. She poked a finger into
the cleavage and slid it along the blubbery labia until it entered the
sunken hole.

"Don't play with it!" a muffled voice cried from behind the wall. "Fuck
it! That's what it's there for!" It was the owner of the ponderous
denier.

The succubus ignored this intemperate outburst. She swished her
long-nailed finger inside and brought it out dripping. She touched her
tongue to it. "Neatsfoot oil," she announced.

"What?"

"Neatsfoot oil. Old standby to soften saddles and shoe leather."

"Saddle soap?" Prior gaped but saw she was serious. "It figures. A
one-toke slot gets a lot of rough action. Probably has to be lathered up
right or it hardens and cracks."

"Fuck it, eunuch!" the muffled voice pleaded.

"All in good time, ass," the succubus snapped, slapping a buttock.

"But does it have VD?" Prior demanded.

"No."

"Then we'd better try the tamponer," he said with relief.

"That's right! I forgot."

YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO COMPLETE YOUR BUSINESS, the sign warned.

"What happens if you don't finish in time?" the succubus asked, curious.

"It freezes up, and anything in there is stuck. Then you have to pay
again, or have the fairy janitor pry you loose."

"Clever!" She shoved the box against the buttocks.

The filament came out and performed its exploration. "Stop that!" the
muffled voice cried angrily. "Quit tickling and fuck it, you fuckin'
impotent!"

A cigarette emerged and found loose lodging. "You forgot to stock it
with those tampons you bought!" the succubus exclaimed, smiling. She
evidently found humor in the situation, now that she was not the victim.

VIOLATION, the sign said, and a red flag popped up. The labia and
buttocks closed around the cigarette and stiffened as though instant
rigor mortis had set in. Any dawdling penis would have been in sorry
straits.

"Serves you right, slowpoke!" the muffled voice chortled, thinking it
was a pinioned penis.

Undismayed, the machine lit the cigarette, doused its light, and closed
up shop. "Let's get out of here," Prior said, seeing the weed glow
slowly down toward the oiled flesh. "Does neatsfoot oil burn? There
could be an explosion. The management might not approve."

"Serves her right," the succubus said smugly.

They moved on to the next unoccupied booth. This offering was sunny side
up, the spread thighs disappearing at an angle into the wall above.
Prior found the coinslot and pressed in a token.

"Doesn't it stretch those twats?" the succubus inquired.

"No more than a turd does. The tokens aren't that big, and the mechanism
is self-contained and shaped to the bowel. The same unit injects the
flesh-stiffener and its antidote. A very efficient setup."

"I'd still call it dirty money," she muttered. "The management must have
a ball collecting and counting it."

The vagina came alive. The succubus inserted her finger again and
sampled it. "Jackpot! Syphilis!"

Prior's member acted as though he were turning into a succubus himself.
He didn't like the sound of this. "Are you sure my--that it works on
syph, too?"

"Of course I'm not sure! That's why we're here! If you die of syphilis
I'll be generous enough to admit my theory was wrong."

Prior couldn't debate that reasoning, though somehow he was not
reassured. He brought out his penis, and it tried to elude his grasp and
hide. He hauled it out again, and it dangled like a decapitated snake.
He massaged it, trying to work it into a suitable erection. The organ
inflated only to half-mast, then began to subside.

"Hurry it up!" the succubus said. "Time is money."

"I thought you didn't care about money."

"I don't; you do. Get your midget pekker into the soup!"

But it shriveled like an embarrassed worm until it was largely absent.
The VIOLATION sign came on.

"Oh for pity's sake!" she said. "Here--I'll take care of it. Come on
over to the arcade section."

She led him to the sexview stalls, his fly still open and his little
penis peeping out pitifully. No one noticed. The succubus seemed pretty
knowledgeable for a creature who had never patronized a place like this.

Here, for a token, men and women could assimilate three-dimensional
stereophonic odoriphorous semitactile eroticism.

Each item was rated on a sliding scale: guaranteed to bring a person to
spontaneous climax within a specified period. If it failed to do so, his
token was refunded. Of course he had to submit his genitals to a quick
machine inspection to verify that his gun had not been fired within the
past half hour, and the offer was void if certain suppressant drugs were
employed. Men had been known to try to beat the machine by injecting
Novocain into their erectile tissue to deaden all sensation. (It didn't
work; the climactic stimulus acted on the brain, not the meat.)

Of course it was rumored that a sensitizing drug was injected by the
arcade machine during its check for desensitizing drugs--but hardly
anybody worried about that. An orgasm was an orgasm, after all, and a
sexview orgasm was mighty good regardless.

Prior rammed in his token with more authority than his penis evinced,
and passed inspection. He donned the helmet, settling the binoculars
over his open eyes, the headphones over his ears, the nosecone over his
nose, and the tactile band over his forehead and the back of his neck.
The tape came on and the timer started.

The succubus watched his penis climb rapidly and achieve full turgidity.
It quivered and thrust toward the collection basin, on the verge of
detonation, while Prior's open mouth gasped and drooled. There was
obviously quite a show going on in his head! Fifteen seconds had passed;
five to go. (The price rose exponentially for emissions within twelve
seconds, or for males under thirteen, or for frigid women.)

As the fit came over him, she hoisted her skirt, turned her torso about,
and jammed her thirsty cavity onto the short pole, receiving the full
ejaculation. It was a large one--a dozen jets--showing that he hadn't
been tapped in some time. She smiled with satisfaction as she eased off
the perch.

Prior removed the helmet. "Whew! That was so real it felt real!" Then he
noted her position and remembered what they had come for. "You--did
you--"

"Next time I incubate," she said as she straightened out, "I'm going to
try one of those shows. This one sure lifted your counterweight."

"Incubate?" He was still groggy from the sexview presentation. Whoever
had authored the script for the sequence he had just experienced must
have had a hot jock and a sick mind. It was potent stuff!

"I'm succubating at the moment."

"Oh." Obviously. Apparently she didn't have to change sexes the moment
she got her load on; she could do it at her convenience.

She set off for the slot section, metamorphosing in full stride. Still
dazed, he followed her... him. Incubating, yes.

The incubus took a token and shoved it into the slot they had visited
before. His gesture in doing so was obscene. As the buttocks loosened
and the crack opened he plunged his eight-incher into the hole with a
loud slurp. As he delivered Prior's load, he pinched the buttock with
fingernails that resembled an old-time can-opener.

"Stop that!" screamed the owner's voice. "Go to the pervert department,
you sadist!"

"I have just put my brand on this hair-pie," the incubus said
matter-of-factly, withdrawing his spent tool. Even flaccid, it remained
large. Prior stifled a siege of envy. "Or this harpy; maybe that version
is better. So we'll know whether remission occurs."

Sure enough, a mystic symbol was now evident on the reddened skin. There
would be no problem identifying this exhibit! Meanwhile, he agreed:
hairpie equated nicely with harpy.

"Now I'll just go test out the sexviewer," the incubus said. "Take care
of your box." He handed the tamponer back and walked away.

"You can't use it right after you've spurted--the guarantee's void!"
Prior called. But the incubus was already out of hearing. Well, maybe
he'd succubate, then try the show. Or maybe he had ways to fuck up this
type of machine, too, just as she had been ready to do for the parking
meter at the beach.

Prior's attention was attracted downward by the passing snicker of a ten
year old girl. His spent penis was still hanging out, and the box's
filament was nuzzling it.

He whipped his organ out of the way. He had no hankering to have a
tampon rammed up it. Or a lighted cigarette.

Chapter Six
-----------

Two weeks later the demon was back. Prior had almost succeeded in
putting her/him out of his mind, and he had long since had himself
checked out again at the VD clinic and pronounced clean. (He hadn't
actually had contact with the infected slot, but you couldn't be too
careful about a thing like that.) He had not washed his penis in five
days, and was feeling much more comfortable in the mundane world. He had
perfected his tamponer by eliminating the cigarette-lighting
feature--tampons did not burn evenly anyway--and modifying the filament
and rinse. He expected to make his fortune momentarily.

"It didn't work," the succubus said. "That slot still has the clap."

"She never had the clap," he pointed out. "That means gonorrhea, not
syphilis."

"Details," she muttered. "You jism didn't jizz, regardless. She's as
VD'd as ever."

"So? You were the one who made the claim. I never thought my produce was
premium grade. I'm just glad I never dunked my own tender flesh in that
slot-cesspool."

"There's still something. Maybe you radiate curative rays or something.
Come on--I'm taking your pint-sized pekker to a specialist."

"Pint-sized? That's sixteen ounces--a full pound!"

"Pint it right this way, then," she said, bringing him to the door.

"What the--?" he cried. But she was already hauling him outside and
around to his car. He didn't even have a chance to set down the
tamponer.

"Drive," she said. "I'll tell you where and when."

"I'm being hijacked by a demon," he muttered. But he engaged the atomics
and drove. Any time this creature wasn't interested in sex, something
serious was up.

It was a party. Costumed people drifted in and out of the multiple rooms
sipping glasses of wine, beer, scotch, cucumber juice, urine, and
kerosene, by the smell of it. "They aren't all human," the succubus
warned him privately, "so watch your language. Don't take the names of
any supernatural beings in vain, or step inside any pentagrams or eat
any apples or stroke any lamps. I'll see if I can find Tantamount."

"Tantamount to what?" But she was gone.

Prior drifted among strangers, nibbling a raw horseradish and sipping a
horn of strong mead, alternately perching on top of the turned-off
tamponer, which he didn't want to leave just anywhere. He quickly
discovered that it was not exactly a costume ball. The costumes were
genuine. A toothy vampire was not merely playing when he moved from
woman to woman and deep-kissed each fair throat. The twin punctures
remained above the jugular, though they did not seem to bother the
wearers. A satyr made similar rounds, conducting the tittering victims
to a separate chamber for an instant nuptial. Prior assumed at first
that the vampire and satyr were fakers, but he spied blood welling out
of some of those punctures and watched surreptitiously through an
imperfectly closed door and discovered that the penile act was equally
realistic.

He turned after that to find the vampire at his throat. "Hey!"

"Don't do that!" the creature said, annoyed. "You almost made me hit the
carotid."

"What difference does that make? I don't want my blood sucked!"

"What difference!. The jugular is placid, unoxygenated blood that I can
keep under control. The carotid has fresh arterial blood under pulsing
pressure. When my teeth dip into that, I have to seal it over hard to
stop the spurt, and the toxin is carried into your system before I can
recover it."

"The toxin! What are you talking about?"

"The vampire toxin, naturally. Anyone who absorbs too much of that
becomes a vampire himself. Didn't you know?"

Prior backed away, holding the tamponer up as a defensive shield. "No
thanks!"

"It isn't that I care about your sentiments, you understand. I just
don't like the competition. Too many vamps spoil the blood."

"Just leave me alone!"

The vampire shrugged and zeroed in on another victim. The tamponer was
now a liability. Somewhere along the way he had jammed into the on/off
switch so that the machine was now locked on, its filament looking for
an orifice to analyze. Prior set the unit on a vacant chair where he
could keep an eye on it and fetched himself another drink. This one
looked like rum, tasted like prunejuice, and had a kick like a shot of
morphine. It would do.

"I found Tantamount," the succubus said beside him. "She'll be along in
a minute."

"Who's Tantamount?" he asked again. He was watching a whiskered man
going from woman to woman and snapping their bras. It looked like fun,
especially when he snapped a low-cut bra-less outfit. An excellent way
of testing the firmness of the bosom, not to mention its authenticity.

"The hostess. Tantamount Emdee. I want her to have a look at you."

"MD? She's a doctor?"

"She's a penologist. An internist in penises. Uh, I wouldn't imbibe too
much of that particular brew, if you're not used to it."

"Seems OK to me. In fact I'm beginning to feel real hairy. What is it?"

"Werewolf elixir."

Prior paused to consider this. "Does this mean what I'm afraid it
means?"

"That depends--"

She was interrupted by a scream. The satyr was attacking a stout woman,
right in the center of the crowd. But she hadn't cried out; he had. The
party had reached the stage where all women were willing but not all men
able. She was tittering, enjoying the attention. Prior craned to get a
better view.

The woman had been backed up against a wall and the hooved demon was
having at her. His member was monstrous--a good foot long, about four
inches thick at the base and tapering hornlike to a narrow apex. Prior
imagined that such an instrument should be able to puncture panties
readily and shoehorn its way into the tightest vulva--but he could not
imagine any woman absorbing the whole of it.

Nevertheless, the satyr was the one in trouble. Frustrated by some
obstruction, he had yanked up the woman's dress and underdress and
petticoats and slip, and yanked down her heavy-duty panties, and was
driving vainly at her corset. The thing was stoutly ribbed and
cross-hatched with ivory stays and reinforced with layers of canvas.
Prior fancied that a cross-section of that fabric would resemble the
plies of a top-grade metal-braced nylon racing tire. Stout garters and
straps depended from it, serving no purpose Prior could fathom since
they did not hitch to stockings, but they did effectively wall off the
crotch. No wonder the satyr had been balked! The armor-like undergarment
made a dandy chastity belt.

"Good evening."

Prior turned to find an absolutely beautiful woman adjacent. Her hair
was a lustrous green fading to purple at the extremities. She wore an
intriguing furry halter that offered tantalizing glimpses of the truly
shapely breasts within. Prior studied the halter, fascinated. He was
tempted to perform the bra-snap test, but there was no strap. The halter
seemed to merge into her tresses without any demarcation. In fact--

In fact, her hair was the halter. It looped back from her head, parted
behind, and passed forward under her arms to embrace her luscious bosom.
When she nodded her head, her breasts lifted and quivered invitingly.
Prior was obtaining more erectile action from those living, breathing
mammaries than he had had from anything short of the slot arcade. But
the sex of the slots was fundamentally dirty; this beauty was
fundamentally clean.

Then he remembered the satyr. This was no sight for a lovely lady of
such quality! "Let me take you away from all this," he began.

She smiled benignly. "I am Tantamount." The very consonants of the name
sent charming ripples through her superstructure.

"I am incipient," he said, shifting his posture to relieve sudden and
pre-emptive pressure. "Uh, Prior. Gross Prior--that is, Prior Gross."

She laughed, and her breasts did a rippling dance that nearly climaxed
him involuntarily. "So I understand. Let's have a look at the subject."

"The subject?" Did she mean the satyr's frenzied attempts to get through
that fortress-girdle?

Tantamount knelt before him and opened his straining fly. His penis
sprang out, taut and turgid, before he quite realized what she was
doing. Here in the middle of a formal party, yet! But he didn't know how
to get out of this without calling even more embarrassing attention to
himself. So far, most eyes remained on the Satyrical action,
center-stage, fortunately.

"How large is it when erect?" she inquired, tugging at the foreskin.
"Oops, beg pardon! It is erect, isn't it!"

Prior didn't comment. He was far too conscious of his days without a
bath. The cheese would be strong, if she peeled back that prepuce any
farther. He tried to back away, but he stood against a wall and could
not retreat.

"The question is whether your ejaculate has particular non-reproductive
properties," she said. "I had better take a sample now for laboratory
analysis."

She massaged his throbbing organ. Conversation around them ceased, and
people glanced curiously at what was happening. Prior would have felt
more embarrassed if he had not already seen worse than this, openly
performed here, and if Tantamount's touch were not so professional.
Maybe the werewolf elixir had dulled his inhibitions.

She brought out a bell-necked test-tube and capped his glans with it
just as he spurted. The thick white ejaculate splashed against the
glass, urge after urge, until the container was a quarter full. There
was a smattering of applause. Apparently the audience had expected less
from so small a cock. But it was possible for a small cock to attach to
a large keg.

"Very good," Tantamount said, bending to lick off a laggard smear. The
touch was so exciting to his sensitized glans that he almost urinated in
her mouth. "A quite respectable quantity. Now let's check the smegma."

Prior was too bemused to stop her as she drew back the foreskin to
reveal the whole purple glans. There was a coating of yellow, and the
smell spread out powerfully. He stood helplessly, feeling the heat mount
to his neck and face as the bystanders sniffed the air audibly.

"Excellent," Tantamount said. "I see the succubus told you not to wash
it, so that a suitable specimen deposit could form." Prior was immensely
relieved. It was all right! As his erection inexorably diminished, she
took a plastic slide and scraped off a rich smear of cheese. "I'm so
glad to see an uncircumcised organ," she remarked. "So many today are
mutilated." Several of the men around who had begun to snicker now
looked chastened. Evidently they had been mutilated, and were unable to
manufacture decent samples of cheese.

"I'm convinced that smegma," Tantamount continued blithely, "despite
certain charges against it, serves a necessary function. It is of course
an olfactory stimulant that arouses some women." Indeed it did; most of
the women in the room were breathing deeply and edging closer to Prior.
"And to me the natural, complete organ is a thing of beauty--genuine
masculine appeal. The esthetics are so much more important than the
measurements. The male organ really should not be cut, any more than a
person's tongue or nose should be cut."

"Butchery," Prior agreed. With this encouragement, both ego and penis
were rallying. It was true; he did have an unmutilated member. For the
first time in his life, people were contemplating his diminutive phallus
with respect.

Tantamount held the cheese-encrusted slide in one hand and the test tube
of ejaculate in the other. She stood up without support, lost her
balance, and had to aim her pert derriere at the nearest chair, her
microskirt flouncing out prettily.

Prior cried an incoherent warning, but too late. She came down firmly on
the tamponer.

For a moment she perched on it, her skirt concealing the action. An
indecipherable expression crossed her face, but she did not spill her
samples or make an outcry. There was a click.

Then she stood up carefully and marched sedately from the room with the
undisturbed specimens.

Prior put away his penis and checked the box. The counter indicated one
tampon expended. He peered after Tantamount and shook his head. That was
a woman worth knowing!

Chapter Seven
-------------

Action elsewhere drew his attention again. The satyr had finally gotten
past the barricade and into the nether bifurcation of the corseted
woman. He was servicing her with the abandon of long-denial-now-abated
while the onlookers clapped in unison with the thrusts. Otherwise,
things were routine, considering the company.

"Did you meet Tantamount?" the succubus inquired, coming up beside him.

"I certainly did. She--took specimens."

"Of course. She's a doctor. She's probably in the laboratory right now,
analyzing them. She'll get to the truth of this."

"She's quite a woman."

"That's nothing. You should see her sister, Oubliette."

"I can imagine."

"I doubt that."

The satyr finished with the corset and looked around for new romance.
"Come on, banana-cock," the succubus said as she broke away from Prior.
"You'll never make it with these mortal dames. Their cunts are just
flesh. I'll show you how to fuck so you'll stay fucked!"

The satyr turned to meet her with a snort. "Is that so, suck-buss? You
bisexuals think you know it all! You're just amateurs. Let's see you
absorb this motherfucker!" And he brandished his impressive weapon, tall
and strong despite its recent workout. A satyr was, by definition,
insatiable; his member never lost its potency.

"You call that a motherfucker?" she inquired derisively. "Just call me
'Mom'!"

They went at it standing up, with the spectators gathering into a large
circle. Prior watched amazed as the towerlike penis plunged into the
wide-open cleft--six, eight, ten inches. She had said she could take
nine in a pinch; evidently she had understated the case. "That deep
enough, sister?" the satyr grunted. "I struck bottom two inches ago...."

"I don't know, brother. When are you going to put it in?"

With an outraged snort the satyr rammed home another inch, though the
going was obviously difficult. The base of his member distended her
cleft, seeming almost as thick as a third leg, but she didn't seem to
notice. It had to be an act; she must be hurting inside, her demonic gut
wrenched three inches out of line. Maybe her flesh was more elastic than
mortal tissue.

"Cut out this preliminary diddle and start screwing, Granddad!" she said
bravely.

The satyr battered at the connection, hammering himself in by short hard
blows to his own short-tailed rear. Gradually the remainder of the
ponderous member got inside. They waltzed around the floor, two figures
with but a single crotch, and every spectator marveled at the authority
of the connection.

The satyr started thrusting in a business way, now. Slowly the slick
horn came out an inch, slowly it squeezed in again. Out in, out
in--faster, now, and with a longer stroke. Prior saw the succubus' hips
swell with each full insertion, spread by the mass of that trunklike
base. Fluid dripped to the floor--not semen but lubricant. The tempo
accelerated; the succubus' feet began to leave the floor at the height
of each thrust, and her breasts were shining with sweat where they
bulged out of her costume, their nipples swelling like miniature
penises. "Put it to me, Goaty!" she gasped.

Then he came. He rammed so hard that she rose into the air and stayed
there, hung on his phallus. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips
and hooked her feet together, riding there while he bucked his torso
ferociously. Prior fancied he could see the bulge of the liquid bolus
forming within the satyr, pressuring its way through an aperture that
seemed all too narrow at this stage.

There was a sound like escaping steam. The succubus leaned back and
threw her arms wide, so that she projected from the satyr's torso like a
woman-breasted phallus. His belly appeared to collapse, hers to swell,
as the bolus transferred in a series of grotesque heaves. What an
emission!

Finally she leaned all the way down toward the floor, backward, her
belly distended with the mass of ejaculate, and slurped off his pole.
That incredible member was still hard; it sprang up again as her weight
left it, glistening.

She was changing already, her breasts and hips flattening but her
abdomen still bulging. "Bend over, uncle!" the incubus cried, his own
penis telescoping where the hole had been.

"Here's shit in your eye!" the satyr said, presenting his hairy
posterior.

The incubus wedged his instrument against the tight anus, clasping the
other about the middle to gain leverage. Prior was appalled, but could
not take his eyes from the show. The member would not go in. "Get your
turdhole open, cousin!"

"Get your pisser hard!" the satyr replied. But slowly the orifice
yielded and the eyeless head entered the first inch or two. The audience
applauded.

After that initial breakthrough, the anal sphincter gave up and the rest
of the incubus's well-oiled organ slammed in to its full length and
depth. Properly embedded, the demon started pumping. Again the
piston-strokes made the floor shudder as their velocity increased. Again
the orgasm gathered itself deep in the fundament, shaped itself into a
missile, built up with fire-hydrant force. The bolus tore its way back
into the body of its originator, doubling the diameter of penis and anus
as it charged through. Now the satyr's belly bulged as it filled.
Someone made a sound, half scream and half sigh, transfixed by the sheer
magnitude of this fornication, and Prior could not tell whether it was
satyr, incubus or audience.

One complete round was done. But the contest was not over. Prior
continued to watch with avid horror, though his shorts were sodden with
his own spontaneity.

The incubus began to change without withdrawing. The transformation took
care of that: in a moment the succubus stood with her vagina plastered
against the satyr's anus.

He farted.

"Touche!" the vampire yelled.

Then they commenced the second round. Prior knew this one would be worse
than the last, for the bolus had grown. Someone's tubing was sure to
burst!

Chapter Eight
-------------

Tantamount tapped Prior on the shoulder. "Come with me," she murmured.
She was excited. One look at her heaving, hair-bound bosom was all the
persuasion he required. He had had a couple of emissions recently, but
his suffering penis pointed the way. He could come again--with her.

She brought him to her laboratory, to his disappointment, not to her
bedroom. "The ejaculate is normal," she said, "but the smegma is
extraordinary! I tried the sample on two VD cultures, and it destroyed
them both. Mr. Gross, I believe you have the specific antidote to all
venereal disease!"

"In my cheese?" he asked, astounded.

"Please don't be uncouth. Your smegma is phenomenal, if that tiny sample
is typical. I shall have to set up a foundation to study it, to isolate
the active elements, to make confirmatory analysis, to distribute
worldwide--"

"My cheese?!" he repeated.

"Your smegma. This is a great moment for civilization! My name will be
known wherever venereal disease abounds."

Her animation was contagious. "That's great! And I guess it explains why
the cures were irregular. When I washed my penis--"

"Precisely. No penis should be washed too often, but yours especially
must remain in its natural state. So I'm sure you'll want to cooperate.
The last great barrier to completely satisfactory sexual intercourse
shall come down, thanks to your contribution."

"Sure," he agreed, not certain what she meant. "But I can only produce
so much ch--er, smegma. I can't keep trotting in here to--" Though if,
by any chance, she were part of the deal....

"Oh, I'll analyze it and duplicate the essential ingredients in the lab
and patent the formula," she said confidently. "All I need is a
sufficient initial sample. Half a pound or so should do it."

"Half a pound! That would take me years!"

"Perhaps less time, if you are properly stimulated," she said. "Shall we
begin?" She shrugged out of her microskirt and began to unbind her
marvelous hair.

Prior could hardly believe his fortune. "You mean sexual activity speeds
it up?"

"Not exactly. But what I have in mind should accomplish a similar
objective." Her two fine, vibrant, heaving breasts emerged like
torpedoes from the liquidly swirling green hair. "Sign here, please."

Dazed by the living splendors before him, Prior scribbled his name on
the form she presented. He would have signed a pact with the devil, at
this moment of dazzlement. Presumably doctors had certain formalities to
honor before letting go. Had to do with the doctor-patient relationship,
no doubt. Who was he to quibble? He had never before had access to such
beauty, and her compliments about his unmutilated, world-saving penis
didn't detract significantly from his ardor either. How could he even
have desired the succubus, who was only a demonic facsimile of what was
real in Tantamount?

She cleared retorts and burners and slide specimens off a laboratory
table, found a thin air mattress, inflated it from a pressure cylinder
no bigger than his erect member, and settled it aboard the table. "Lie
down, please," she said.

"Me?"

"You, of course."

He had somehow supposed she would do the lying. Ah, well. He climbed
onto the elevated mattress. It seemed more reasonable when he saw her
gaze concentrate on his midsection. She probably wanted to play with it
first. Anyway, it was impossible to say no to a shape like hers.

Tantamount put her hand on his standing penis and caressed it fondly.
"You are going to make my fortune," she said, and it was almost as
though she were addressing the member instead of the man. "You little
beauty! Trim rather than fleshy, tidy rather than ponderous. Far more
efficient than some of these elephantine slabs of meat some men
display." Her touch sent fabulous ripples of pleasure through him, as
did her words.

"But small," he said modestly, loving it.

"Petite, but no less masculine. Good things often come in small
packages, as this handsome member demonstrates." She circled the head of
it with thumb and forefinger and began a gentle up and down motion. "You
are just perfect, you darling! You are certainly more noteworthy than
the partial members hanging from so many men." Her eyes fixed on it as
though hypnotized.

"Uncircumcised," Prior agreed. He was not inclined to argue.

"Who?" she asked as though startled to find Prior still present. "Oh,
yes, of course." She stroked the penis again, and it practically purred.

After a while she put her face down and lipped the tip. "Oh, I love
you!" she breathed around it. Had Prior not been tapped so recently, he
would have spouted right then. As it was, he felt a slow, delicious
upsurge of pleasure.

"Delightful smegma," Tantamount said, running her tongue caressingly
between glans and foreskin. The warm enjoyment extended down through the
entire shaft and spread outward into his body. The world was tongue and
penis and rapture.

She eased off before an orgasm became unavoidable, and Prior knew that
she was fully aware of his state and had it under control. Doctors had
some impressive talents! Then she climbed onto the table herself and
bestrode him, her resilient rounded breasts hanging near his face, her
parted thighs embracing his hips. But she did not settle her luscious
cleft on his ready member as he anticipated. She leapfrogged gracefully
up over his stomach and chest until her dainty vagina hovered over his
face. It was as appealing as the rest of her. Her labia were cleanly
shaved, and looked as smooth and innocent as the genitals of a
gradeschool girl. Her vulva smelled of disinfectant.

"That device of yours, on the chair," she began sternly.

Uh-oh! "I can explain," he said, speaking almost into the sanitary
crack. He could see her cute clitoris wiggle as his breath brushed it,
and he was most anxious to have no misunderstanding develop at this
point. "I was testing this machine of mine, that--well, it--I just set
it on the chair after the vampire--it's called the tamponer."

"Interesting," she said coolly. "You may retrieve your tampon now."

He saw the small string of the tampon dangling like a firecracker fuse
from her crevice, and was unreasonably jealous to think that it had
penetrated her body before he could. He brought one hand up to grasp the
cord.

She balked him with a twitch of one thigh, the play of muscles shifting
one buttock and making her inner labia slide against each other
momentarily. "No hands."

Oh. Well, it was a fun game. Prior hoisted his head and reached up with
his teeth to clamp on the fuse. His nose nudged her clitoris and it
jumped, and moisture appeared along the entire channel from clit to
vulva. He finally got hold of the string and pulled down. The tampon
slid out smoothly, moist but not bloody. It fell across his chin, a damp
length of pseudo-cotton.

"Consume it," she said firmly. He knew she meant it because her tight
little anus puckered as she spoke.

So this was her revenge for that mishap. If he wanted to get into it
with more than just cotton, he would have to oblige. And he did want
in--desperately. His penis would only stand for so much, before firing a
warning salvo. So he tongued the soggy, half-collapsed cylinder into his
mouth and began to chew. Actually, it had a certain flavor, as though
mentholated.

Tantamount nodded affirmatively, then slid down his torso to lie against
him, her stomach crushing his penis flat against his own belly, her
luxuriant breasts pressing down warmly.

"I have been certain for years that smegma has been calamitously
maligned," she said, her breath tickling his shoulder. "Nature never
produces a secretion aimlessly. Like the tonsils, like the appendix,
every part of the body either has or has had its function, perhaps
before civilization removed us from our divine intimacy with nature."

Prior grunted amenably, his mouth still full of the sodden mass. The
tampon was infernally chewy, and this discussion did not mean much to
him at the moment. Not with his poor penis wedged between his breathing
body and hers, on the very verge of lubricating both tummies with
wriggling sperm.

"The practice of circumcision is an abomination," she continued,
squirming around just enough to keep his member at tortuously rigid
attention despite its confinement. "Truly, it has been defined as 'the
unkindest cut'! It was conceived as a ritual mutilation, from the notion
that the young man must suffer before being admitted to adult society
and status. He had to pay a price in pain and blood, before indulging in
the lascivious joys of fornication. Punishment before the crime! Often
the same was true of the young woman--her clitoris would be amputated at
puberty, in an attempt to ensure that she never received any pleasure
from the reproductive act. In Judeo-Christian times the pagan ritual was
continued with the claim that 'God' had decreed the act, and finally it
was suggested that it was even beneficial to human health."

Prior crammed the cotton into one cheek so that he could speak. "I've
heard that, but--"

She slid up, almost milking his penis by the motion, and jammed a
classic pink nipple into his mouth so that he was silenced again.
"True--circumcised men do have a lower incidence of cancer of the penis.
But by the same token women with their breasts amputated have less
cancer of the breast. You could eliminate cancer of the brain by
amputating the head of every citizen."

"Mmmph!" he agreed as she thrust her breast against his face by way of
emphasis.

"And some claim--falsely--that the wives of uncircumcised men have a
higher incidence of cancer of the cervix, and the smegma produced by the
prepuce has been charged with the crime. The fact is, it is the
frequency and nature of sexual intercourse that affects the
cervix-cancer rate, not the circumcision. But even were the charge true,
amputation of the foreskin would be no more valid a solution than
complete castration would be to prevent unwanted pregnancies. If you
attempt to solve all problems by butchery, it would be reasonable to
abolish all human illness and evil by decimating the species. Genocide
would certainly solve--"

"Okay, okay," Prior muttered around the delightful but slightly
suffocating flesh. "I'm an unmutilated male, remember. I'm on your side,
and I'd like to be inside your--"

"But now I have the key to set the record straight," she continued,
giving him a firm turn at the other breast and pressing down so that it
was all he could do to breathe, let alone talk. "I shall prove that
smegma--and therefore the foreskin that secretes it--has an important
and continuing purpose, quite apart from olfactory stimulation. No
wonder venereal disease is rampant today, when so many males are either
circumcised or unconscionably clean! This will go down in the medical
annals! A specific cure for the malady of our times, virtually unknown
in prehistoric societies before soap and the knife rendered man's innate
defense impotent."

"But how do you know," Prior gasped, almost gagging on her turgid
nipple, "if VD was prehistoric, or wasn't? Maybe lots of men had it and
didn't talk about it. And what about all the other unwashed
uncircumcised men that have--"

She slid back down and planted a smothering kiss on him. Then, putting
her hand over his mouth and stirring up the cotton inside with one
finger, she said: "The twin fetishes of cleanliness and mutilation over
the centuries have eliminated smegma as a viable venereal disease
prevention and made its effective properties irrelevant to survival,
just as modern man's propensity for shaving his face has eliminated the
beard as a survival aid. Any human capability that goes unused too many
generations becomes obviated. Thus it is hardly surprising that few
penises retain their ancient defenses. Yours may be a unique throwback;
that's why it's invaluable."

"It's valuable to me!" he mumbled between her fingers. Doctors had some
very frustrating propensities! When was she ever going to quit talking
and get down to business? He was, oddly, becoming sleepy.

Tantamount jockeyed about until her satiny cleft caressed his
much-discussed foreskin, sending more waves of titillation rippling out.
"And of course we have yet to come to the primary purpose of the prepuce
itself. Sensitivity! The greatest concentration of nerve endings is
there."

Amen! he thought, as those same nerves deluged his brain with
thrust-and-spurt messages. Ready or not, here he came--any moment now.
She was teasing his poor member as it had never been teased before. No
wonder she was called Tantamount!

"That is why so many conservative prudes favor circumcision," she said.
"Their real reason, not their spurious meanderings and maunderings about
health and esthetics and religion and manhood. Imagine proclaiming
official manhood by unmanning the masculine member! Circumcision cuts
down on the sheer, rightful pleasure of the sexual act. It--"

It seemed to him she was beginning to repeat herself. "Speaking of
which--" he gasped, spitting out the masticated tampon as his member
went into its climactic effort despite the strange lassitude of the rest
of his body.

"Oh very well," she snapped crossly. "Have your sinful pleasure. You men
are all alike."

She positioned her crotch above his own and used her hand to angle his
organ in, barely in time. The first spurt smashed into the hot chamber
like water from a sluice opened at flood-stage.

Prior fought to remain awake, but somehow, frustratingly, his
consciousness departed along with his seminal fluid. One impulse, two,
three... it was a countdown to oblivion. "Instead of coming, I went!" he
thought with despair.

And thought no more.

Chapter Nine
------------

He woke in his own apartment, his penis itching furiously. He reached
down automatically to rub it, trying to remember how the past evening
had finished--and found a bandage.

A bandage! Had he come down with VD after all?

He sat up groggily, yanking at the dressing. It came away with a flash
of gruesome pain. For a moment he stared at his crotch
uncomprehendingly.

He did not have VD. The reality was much worse.

His penis was gone--all 3.97 inches erect.

It had been amputated.

Dazed, he sat on the bed. How could such a thing have happened? He still
had his testicles--but what good were they without the delivery system?

He thought back to the party. He had seen the satyr making out with the
succubus. Then Tantamount had summoned him, and--

"Why, that thieving bitch!" he exclaimed, and the effort made his
nonexistent penis hurt again. She hadn't been attracted to him at all,
but to his penis! So she had drugged him somehow and stolen his
masculine member. For the smegma she so worshipped. She had talked so
long before coming to the point in order to distract him and keep him
quiet until the drug put him down; only when she had been assured she
had him, had she allowed him to have her.

But he had taken no drug--not since the werewolf elixir, and that was
not exactly a sleeping potion. He had put nothing in his mouth except
Tantamount's lovely nipples....

No! He had chewed on that tampon!

He saw it now, with an awful, betrayed clarity. She had removed the
tampon after his machine had raped her with it. She must have dosed it
with something, then reinserted it. That was why it had a menthol
flavor. What fiendish female cunning! He had supposed it was a ritual
punishment, but it had been far more sinister.

And the paper he had signed during his bemusement as she bobbled her
fine breasts, her matched and matchless breasts under his nose--that
document was surely a release for his penis. He must have
unwittingly--but legally--donated it to the cause of venereal research.
Brother!

And what was he going to do now? Storm back to Tantamount's house and
cry "Look here, Miss Emdee, I demand my penis back!"? And she would show
him the signed release and that would be that. When someone donated a
kidney for transplant, he could not storm back after the surgery and
demand it back. How could it be otherwise with a penis?

But was he to go through the rest of his life with an effeminate hole
where his meat should be? What would that do to his love-life? He was no
succubus, to convert that hole to an impressive mansized member at will!

Prior dressed and drove to Tantamount's house. He didn't know what he
was going to do, and knew it wouldn't work, but he had to try.

She opened the door promptly. "Why hello there, Mr. Gross! So nice to
see you again."

This set him back. She was absolutely ravishing despite the mundane
dress and conventionally bound hair. Now her tresses were ordinary
brown--had the color been a trick of the night lighting?--and her bosom
was demurely de-emphasized under a laboratory smock, and her fair face
was innocent of any sign of any thought touching on anatomical matters
between the shoulders and the knees. Yet he felt his absent penis
stiffening, hoist by its own imagination, and he could think of nothing
appropriate to say.

"Do come in," she said, as though he were an old friend. And when he was
in: "Are you in pain? Let me check the dressing."

She kneeled before him, opened his fly and ran her slender fingers over
his smarting crotch. "Oh, you removed the bandage. That won't do. This
will heal nicely, but it has to be protected for the first few days. The
operation was a success."

Sure, he thought laconically. The operation was a success, but the penis
died. "I--"

"You were so generous, contributing to science and health this way. Let
me show you."

She took him to a small office where she rebandaged him, leaving a
pipette for urination, then led him back to the laboratory.

His penis was ensconced within a maze of glass tubing. Colored fluids
traveled to its base, and there was the steady hum of a pump. A plaque
set in the base of the display said: DONATED IN THE INTEREST OF THE
WELFARE OF MAN--PRIAPUS GROSS.

Good god! What kind of a monster would he seem if he took it back now?
Yet--

"You see, we have it transplanted into a compatible environment. Other
organs have been kept living and functioning for years in the
laboratory, such as chicken hearts, but this must be the first time it
has been done with a penis. Isn't it a beauty?"

"But it's my--"

"And this way it will produce smegma under controlled conditions. We
shall surely unlock the secret of its chemistry. Venereal disease will
become a hobgoblin of the past. Between this and the Pill, there will be
a new era of sexual freedom." She paused, then added with less
enthusiasm: "For those who really want that sort of thing. To me it is
more of a technological challenge."

Remembering the night past, he appreciated her limited candor. She was
much stronger on clinical sex and lecturing than on actual man-woman
performance with human feeling. She probably would not have played up to
him at all if she had not wanted his penis so badly.

"But what about me?" Prior cried at last. "I need it too. And not just
for the cheese!"

This time she didn't even flinch at his use of the vernacular. "Oh,
didn't I tell you? My sister Oubliette specializes in the practical
aspect. She's a bit liberal for my taste, but quite competent. She will
provide you with a prosthetic free of charge, because of your service to
Science. You will be very well off, by your definitions--her members are
world-famous. In fact," she added with a frown, "you will be able to
perform as never before."

"I perform perfectly well with my own prick, when not drugged!" he
protested.

"Here is her address. She'll be expecting you." Tantamount presented him
with a card.

"But I don't want a fake pe--"

He was already outside again, and the door was closing. She had managed
him as readily as if he were a rebellious child. Perhaps he was,
compared with her cynical subtlety.

But her sister Oubliette was too liberal for her taste.

Well, why not? He could stop over this evening, after work.

Prior looked at the card. The address was about two thousand miles away.

Part II: Prosthesis
===================

Chapter Ten
-----------

Oubliette Emdee was, if anything, even more physically attractive than
her sister. She knew the hair-halter trick, too, and filled her tinted
tresses just as generously. She welcomed him warmly with a delicious
kiss on the mouth. "We'll do the exploratory surgery this afternoon,"
she said cheerfully.

The kiss palled. "Exploratory surgery! All I came for was a fake--"

"After all, we can't very well stick it on with glue," she pointed out,
taking his hand and using it to comb through her hair where it stretched
across her fine cleavage. "We have to match cell types to be sure there
is no problem of tissue rejection, and we have to phase in the nerves
and conduits. Otherwise sensation will be imperfect."

"Sensation!" he exclaimed, in his surprise grabbing hold of her left
nipple and getting a nice dose of sensation himself. "On a prosthesis?"

"Certainly. Ours are very special members. Every aspect must conform
precisely to the original so that no one can tell that the organ is not
genuine. Didn't Tantamount tell you?"

"She's more conservative about such details. I thought it would be, er,
a dead stick. Like a peg-leg or imitation arm. I--uh, does that include
anti-VD smegma?"

"That no, unfortunately. We can't duplicate chemical secretions from the
organ itself. But everything else, yes. And you yourself should not be
able to tell the prosthetic from your original while it is actually in
use."

Prior pondered that. As far back as he could remember, he had been
called "Dinky" or "Pinky" or "No Show" or some such, and he was of
average height. Girls had turned him down, not because the size of his
member bothered them, but because the ridicule associated with it did.
Three point nine-seven inches erect, and less when flaccid--it might as
well have been an albatross tied around his neck. "Does it have to be
identical?"

"It doesn't have to be. But normally--"

"Could it be... larger?"

"It can be elephantine, if that's what you really want. Or minuscule. Or
pretzel-shaped. One man had the measurements of his horse duplicated
for--"

"And will it still work just like the real one?"

"Better than a real one, because stronger and more durable."

This was beginning to sound quite promising. "I'm not sure exactly what
kind I'd like. Do you have samples?"

"Right this way." She removed his hand from her tress-formed decolletage
and shook that breast back into place.

Prior followed her, admiring the flounce of her hips as she walked. His
two-thousand mile journey seemed worth it already! She had a trophy room
full of mounted penises. Long, short, thick, thin, human, animal, erect,
flaccid--every imaginable variant. Prior was frankly amazed. "I can't
choose between them. I'd like to have a big, strong one--but that seems
like being unfaithful to my original."

"That's why most people duplicate their originals," she pointed out.

"But I don't like my original. That is, I like it fine, but it could use
a couple more inches. I've heard of brides running screaming from the
honeymoon suite on their wedding night; with me, she'd be laughing. Or
crying."

"Some women prefer a compact organ."

"They may prefer it, but they don't respect it. Just once, I'd like to
have a woman gasp and cringe when she saw what was coming. Instead of
asking me when I expect to reach puberty. But aside from that, I'd be
most comfortable with my own."

"Hm," she said, considering. "Tantamount informs me that you donated
your original member voluntarily in a splendid act of magnanimity for
the welfare of mankind. I presume that means she drugged you and
snatched it on a technicality."

"You understand her pretty well," he said ruefully.

"Yes. So I'm inclined to do a bit more for you than I ordinarily
undertake. It's a matter of family pride." She considered some more.
"This is more complicated, but I could install a standardized socket.
With that you could alternate members at will. Maintenance would be more
critical, and you'd be in danger of short-circuit if you used it under
water--"

"Short circuit! I want a penis, not a soldering iron!"

"Oh, it's not electrical--though some men do seem to want soldering
irons, for what reason I hesitate to imagine. But neural
connections--you could find yourself with a urine-stimulus in
mid-orgasm, or vice versa. Could be awkward."

"Guess I'll stay away from underwater intercourse, then, unless she's a
whore." But Prior felt a bit uneasy.

Oubliette smiled. "All women are to some extent--"

"You're saying I could plug in a big penis one time, and a small one
next time? And they'd both work? And the doll wouldn't know?"

"I wouldn't recommend using different units on the same girl, if you
really wish to keep the matter private. Women are not completely obtuse
about such matters."

"Uh, yeah," he said, remembering that he was talking to one. "Sounds
worth a try, I guess."

"There will be a wait of several days after the initial operation," she
said as though the issue had never been in doubt. "There may be some
discomfort. You'll need diversion, and erotic play won't be feasible
right at that time. Do you read?"

"Last book I read was Huck Finn, in high school, and I didn't understand
it."

She frowned, and the expression reminded him so much of Tantamount that
he felt nervous again. Then her mouth quirked. "Well, English teachers
don't understand the introductory note on that one, either. Like sex, it
is not supposed to be understood, but to be enjoyed." She made a little
shrug of polite implied apology. "I have other patients, so you can't
stay here the whole time, particularly if you have nothing to occupy
you. I don't think it would be wise for you to go into town, either,
during your convalescence. Sometimes there are complications--bleeding,
spontaneous emissions, that sort of thing."

"I'll just have to suffer through," he said bravely, thinking of a rigid
six-inch member projecting from his trousers in proud display. He
wouldn't mind suffering some that embarrassment! But he felt an ugly
twinge in his crotch. There was many a slip twixt the cock and the
strip!

"Maybe you can visit the Egglayers," she said, He didn't ask what she
meant; it sounded like a chicken outfit.

Chapter Eleven
--------------

Prior went under the knife on schedule. Oubliette laid him out on an
operating table, strapped him down, focused a spotlight on his groin,
and swabbed him off. Then she stripped to her working clothes: sandals
and that hair-halter. Prior developed a splendid nonexistent erection.

"I don't like being encumbered when I operate on a man," she explained.
"The scalpel might slip, and right now I have no assistant to mop up."

He eyed her magnificent torso and agreed that this was a hazard to be
avoided. He wondered why she had no assistant. Was it because a male
helper would be too distracted by the doctor's uniform to take proper
care of the patient, while a female would be too skittish about the
specific anatomy being handled? Or were Oubliette's methods too
proprietary to permit possible competition? Or did she just like to do
things her own way....

She put a mask over his face.

Prior dreamed he was a satyr with a permanent thirteen-inch erection. He
was looking for a woman to spread out for an innocent hour of febrile
fornication, but something was wrong with each candidate. The first was
so fat that he couldn't find the hole; it was lost amidst the folds of
flab. "Fuck it, you eunuch!" she kept screaming. "You have three
minutes! Two minutes! One minute! Thirty seconds! VIOLATION! Serves you
right, slowpoke!" The second was shapely but small; she screamed when
only three inches got inside, and when he rammed in six she split open
like a smashed melon and lay on the bed in two bloody halves. The third
was very good; but when he sank in eight inches there was a loud CLICK
and something started to whir inside her pubic cavity. His member began
to hurt as though being hacked apart, or perhaps being peeled like an
onion, but it penetrated another inch, and another. Then he realized:
she was a pencil-sharpener, and she was grinding his pencil down to the
nub. He tried to pull out, but he was locked in. It was worse than
Korea, Viet Nam, and the following similar wars: the more he strained,
the more he lost.

When he woke, there was indeed pain. He felt as though a curling iron
had been rammed into his gut and left at low heat. For the first time in
his life he regretted being male. Surely this was a hell of a lot of
trouble for a little tube of erectile tissue.

Then Oubliette entered the recovery room, still garbed in her working
clothes, and he decided that it was after all worth it. Oh to have a
member to penetrate that tantalizing cleft! The sooner the better. The
bigger the better.

"I have a heavy schedule," she announced. "Two emergency cases just got
in--a harem Sultan had his organ stepped on by an irate camel, and a
homosexual just discovered that his natural penis is allergic to both
saliva and fecal matter. So--"

"How could a camel step on--"

"Some are more sensitive about bestiality than others," she said. "I
warned him about that last year. Stick to horses, Sulty, I told him, and
female ones, because they're less ornery. But he wouldn't listen. Had to
find out the hard way. Now I'm sending you off to visit the Egglayers
for a few days. When you come back, you'll have healed over and I'll
have matched the tissue cultures and we'll be ready for the next stage."

"Uh, sure," he agreed dubiously.

Chapter Twelve
--------------

So it was that Prior Gross, bearing a plaster cast at his crotch with an
embarrassing spigot for urination, departed for a land he had never
known existed. Behind Oubliette's spacious modern house was a pathway
leading into a tangle of virgin scrub. Along this anemic scenic highway
were unusual objects of art--statues of people, animals, and things. At
the end of it, she had assured him hurriedly as she swabbed a local
anesthetic on the Sultan's mangled meat, were the Egglayers.

"What do I want with a bunch of chickens?" he demanded, disgruntled. But
she only smiled enigmatically and eased a plastic catheter up the
Sultan's urethra. The bloody urine was just beginning to squirt as Prior
got out of there.

He rode on an adapted golf-cart. The trail was too narrow for his car,
and his cast prevented him from walking any distance without severe
chafing, so this awkward compromise was best. He puttered along at ten
miles an hour. It was an electric cart, but still it puttered.

The first statue was a nude woman. She was, of course, statuesque in
outline. Oubliette herself could have been the model: the breasts were
round and full and bursting with the milk of human sex-appeal; the waist
was tiny, and the hips swelled with exactly the right planes and
rondures. The breasts had realistic nipples, the tummy had a navel, and
between the legs there was even a cleft complete with clitoris and
vagina, the last as deep as his finger could probe. He had verified this
purely as a matter of scientific curiosity, of course.

Why should such a finely-wrought piece of art be erected at this
deserted outpost? The trail was virtually unused; grass grew tall
between the weathered concrete sections and flowers peeped from chinks.
Yet this nude was good enough to take to bed, stone though her hole
might be.

Prior shook his head and drove on. The world was full of pieces of art
that should have been pieces of ass.

A mile along he discovered a similar edifice, this one supporting a
male. Handsome, muscular--very much in the classic Greek discus-thrower
mode, except that this one's hand cupped not a discus but his ponderous
turgid penis and full scrotum. Though the member was enviably large, it
was also well-shaped and not disproportionate to the physique of the
statue. It was an embodiment of the ideal in just the fashion the rest
of the man was. And, Prior noted with satisfaction, it was
uncircumcised.

All penises were beautiful, he thought, before the knife practiced its
mutilation and left ugly scar tissue choking an obscenely naked glans
bereft of the body's most sensitive nerve endings. Tantamount had been
right about that. No wonder the penis was now the most concealed part of
the human body! Women's breasts were beautiful, their genitals inviting,
because they represented completely natural secondary and primary sexual
characteristics. But the average person, male or female, averted his/her
eyes in unvoiced disgust at the sight of penis and bag of testicles. Was
this merely a natural aversion to overt disfigurement?

And what about the emotional disfigurement that seemed to follow in the
wake of the physical? How much more readily a man with an ugly penis
projected that ugliness to sex itself! Was it not true that beauty was
in the penis of the beholder?

The next statue was of a sheep--a fine curly specimen good for at least
three bags of wool for master, dame and boy down the lane. The fourth
one was a dog, a tremendous Great Dane sitting on his haunches and
reaching around to lick off his partially-extruded penis. Dogs, Prior
remembered, really did have a bone in their members. How many human
beings wished for the same! Then on along to spy a horse, and an eagle,
and then a griffin. Followed by a combination: man and sheep.

Prior stopped to inspect that one more closely. He had been right the
first time: a male man and a female sheep, and the connection was more
intimate than one normally observed on the farm. The ewe stood upon a
platform so that her woolly posterior came up level with the man's
crotch. He stood behind her, his hardened member half-buried in her
ovine pudendum and still thrusting. She looked tolerant and contented.
Prior remembered that there was a story about interfertility of man and
sheep, a crossbreed between the two.... but he doubted the validity of
that. "Ba-a-a-a!" he commented.

Next was a male dog and a female human in much the same situation. She
was on hands and knees, he mounted behind, tongue hanging out in his
enthusiasm. Her breasts drooped toward the ground, almost tubular in
this position. It was so realistic that it was hard to believe that it
was all stone.

Stone it was, though. Those swinging mammaries were cold and hard to his
touch; the furry flank quite stiff. Even the projecting tongue was dry
and inflexible, and there was absolutely no warmth or give to the
plunging prick.

Then there was a male pony having at a female eagle. At first glance
this seemed a mismatch--but Prior soon saw that the pony had no real
leverage, so that his member could penetrate only as far as the bird
desired. There seemed to be plenty of desire amid the feathers, however.

And a trio: man, woman, griffin. The griffin was in the center,
spreading its huge wings, beak open as if to caw exuberantly. It
appeared to be hermaphroditic, for its leonine penis was entering the
woman who clasped it in front, while the man drove at its womb from
behind. Its long tiger tail curled around the man's buttocks, holding
them steady.

It occurred to Prior that he had not seen a single portrayal of a really
unnatural activity along this trail. Always a normal male conjugated
with a normal female in the normal manner. No homosexual efforts, no
perversions. Of course the species were shuffled--but the acts depicted
by the statues were so obviously right and pleasurable that he could
hardly fault them on a technicality like that. Sex between consenting
adults was perfectly legitimate. Wasn't it?

Then he spied a representation of a man with his baby. The man's penis
was flaccid; but even more remarkable, he had a well-developed bosom,
and the baby was nursing.

Prior stood and stared at that for some time, his groin twinging
nervously. Was this a sculptural joke? He had never heard of a man with
full-blown breasts, except for the chosen castrates who claimed to have
converted to women. Yet every man did have nipples, and before puberty
the chests of boys and girls were pretty much alike, and in some cases
boy-babies dribbled milk from those nipples. So the potential was
there--and if man was not intended by nature to have it, why was he born
with nipples? Only body chemistry in adolescence made the difference.
Why not men with breasts and women with beards?

Could it, in fact, have been this way in the past? Less differentiation
between the sexes? Perhaps at one time every adult human being had had
beard and breasts, and penis and vagina. Maybe only in historic times,
when prudery could be developed, perfected and spread like a vile
disease, had the woman's member been reduced to the clitoris and the
man's hole portioned between anus and urethra. Once man had fought his
way to supremacy on Earth, he had no longer needed to have every part
interchangeable, and so true sexuality had developed. A modern woman
could be considered at least in part a castrated male; a modern man
might be a debreasted female.

Prior shook his head, embarrassed by the turn his speculations had
taken. Next thing, he would be wondering whether there had originally
been any differentiation between man and sheep and horse and bird and
griffin. The statues implied that there had not been; that all could
revel together sexually; that evolution had altered only the forms, not
the sexuality.

Well, maybe so--but what kind of offspring would spring from the merged
loins of man and griffin? The heraldic beast was already a cross between
an eagle and a lion! Even the man-sheep combination was complex enough;
would that be a mashep? Sheepan? Meep? Shan?

He paused. Maybe a succubus, or--

Satyr.

Satyr! Of course! Forepart of a man, hindpart of a goat. Bipedal, but
with horns. No doubt it all made sense, once the big picture was viewed
and grasped.

There was a good deal to learn from such statues. Maybe someday he would
return for the whole course of instruction.

Chapter Thirteen
----------------

At last he arrived at the outpost of the Egglayers. At this point Prior
was ready for anything. But his buildup was only for a letdown.

It was a small conservative cabin. The road looped around it and
stopped. There was nowhere else to go.

He marched up and knocked on the door. After a moment a middle-aged
saggy-gutted balding man yanked it open. "This is the place," the
inhabitant said abruptly, his whiskers quivering like those of some
cartoon character. "I don't recognize you, though. Mighty small gut on
you. You new?"

"I guess so," Prior admitted. "I was told to look for the Egglayers."

The man reassessed him, scratching his ponderous belly. "You ain't an
Egger?"

"I guess not."

"Then whatinhell you doing here?" the man roared.

"I don't exactly know. I'm supposed to stay here for a few days
until..." He trailed off, not wanting to be too specific.

The man let fly a sigh as though breaking wind. "Well, come in anyway.
Maybe we can train you."

Prior entered. The interior was every bit as humble as the exterior had
promised. There were cobwebs in the upper corners and roach droppings in
the lower corners. But he was hungry and tired and his crotch hurt and
he wasn't looking for trouble or for palatial accommodations. He wasn't
much for mystery, either; if the man cared to explain what the Egglayers
were, fine; if not, who cared?

There was bread on the dirty table--a monstrous brown loaf, partially
sliced. Beside it was a frothy bucket of brew. Prior helped himself and
eased into the chair. Almost with the first bite he felt the gases
bubbling in his intestine; this was flatulent stuff! "Who told you about
the Eggers?" the man demanded as though just thinking of it.

"Oubliette Emdee. You see, she--"

"Oubie! Whyinhell didn't you say so?" The man belched resoundingly, and
a faint putrid vapor drifted from his mouth. "Anything that li'l
pekkermender wants is just fine with us!"

"She told me to come here for a while so my preliminary operation can
heal. Because she has other patients, and it gets crowded."

"She's busy, all right. But she's got plenty of space. Must've wanted
you here... sure you didn't come to learn Egging?"

"I don't know anything about--"

"You'll find out!" He laughed with unseemly gusto. "Who's she got under
the knife this time?"

"A sultan had his member damaged by a--"

"That camel-humping African? Haw, haw! He never learns! She must've
warned him fifty times: stay clear of the camels, Sult; one fuck too
many and they fuck you back. Specially the he-camels. But that old
shitter, he--"

"And a homosexual with allergies to saliva and fecal matter."

"A fairy what don't like spit or shit on his horn! Cheese, Oubie really
gets the cases! How's your maypole sliced?"

"I don't understand--"

"You don't see Oubie just 'cause your swinger don't stand, you know."

"Oh. I was deprived of my member, so she--"

The man crammed a slice of black bread into his big mouth. "Hmd y'oos yr
motherfucking coch?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Who sawdoff yr stinkin' horseradish?"

Somehow the question didn't sound much better the second time around.
Maybe it was the mouthful of food that made it sound messier than it
was. "I was rolled," Prior said with simple dignity.

Black crumbs spewed violently out of the man's hairy mouth.
"Prick-rolled? My bellowing asshole! You don't say! Ain't that a
jock-popper!" And he chuckled roundly.

It seemed best to get this mirthful loudmouth onto something more
productive. "Do you know anything about prosthetic members?"

"Dead stick sledders? Never tried it myself, but I hear Oubie's the best
fuckin' cocklock in the business."

"You mean there's no sensation in the prosthetics? She implied--"

"You're farting through your yellow teeth, junior. Sensation? When Oubie
sews 'em on, just pissing can jack up your bug juice."

"Especially underwater, I understand." But Prior took this as a
favorable report. "What do you do here, really?"

"We lay the eggs." He pronounced it with a long e. "Didn't she tell
you?"

"Not in sufficient detail."

The man perked up a hairy ear. "Clucker's comin' now. You just watch."

Sure enough, another magnificently bloat-bellied man barged in. "Well if
it ain't Plymouth Rock!" the newcomer cried. "But who's yer mistress?"

"Oubie's threadin' his clapper to the rucksack," Plymouth explained.
"What's your load, toad?"

"Gimme the nest, pest," Clucker responded.

Plymouth brought out a box filled with straw. It did look like a nest.

Clucker touched his soiled buckle and dropped his filthy trousers and
shorts. He squatted over the nest, his huge meaty buttocks spreading
impressively.

"Watch," Plymouth directed, pressing Prior's face down almost into
contact with the straining brown-streaked rectum. "Now you'll see some
real chickenshit!"

The hairy pink anus bulged. Gas leaked out, as though an old-fashioned
bus were starting, and the aperture fluttered shut. Prior gagged from
the stench, but couldn't get his head away. Then the flesh bowed again.
It turned outward, blue veins showed, and the central cavity deepened.
Something white appeared in the ugly depths.

A white turd? Prior marveled. Did the man have a liver-bile blockage? He
had heard that bile was what made fecal matter possess its normal rich
brown. When the bile duct got constipated, the stuff backed up in the
liver and had to run through the blood, finally making the urine brown
instead.

The pale lump pushed out. It was rounded and smooth, and its surface
glistened. On an oily film it eased out of the heaving bowel. It was
about the size and shape of a hen's egg.

An egg! Something halfway registered in Prior's mind. They did call
themselves egglayers!

The egg dropped into the nest. Plymouth picked it up and studied it
closely. "Good shape, good heft, Clucker. You sure can hold 'em."

"Incubate it," Clucker grunted. "Sometimes the end one gets cold."

Plymouth carried it carefully to a glassed-in nest and set it inside.
Clucker strained over his own receptacle again. As Prior watched,
another egg emerged. This too was incubated. Then a third and a fourth.

Clucker stood up and hitched aloft his trousers.

"You go to all that trouble just to carry a few eggs?" Prior inquired.

"Eegs," Clucker said. "E-E-G."

"They look like plain old chicken eggs to me."

"Takes some chicken to lay an eeg," Clucker said amiably.

"The first time, that is," Plymouth said. "Our layings don't count;
that's just transport."

"I don't understand. Why don't you just carry them in a basket, or a
regular box of a dozen?"

Plymouth burst into laughter, his belly shaking St. Nick fashion.
"Shitfaced inspector'd just love that start, fart!"

"Also, it's cold on the pass," Clucker said. He finished his mug of
brew, burped, hauled the nest around and dropped his pants again.

More slowly now, and with increasing grease, two more eggs passed. Then,
after a labored pause of several minutes, a couple of chunks of
odoriferous fecal matter and a seventh egg.

"You longtongued cuntlicker!" Plymouth exclaimed with admiration. "You
packed an extra!"

"Going to shit for the record one of these trips," Clucker said,
pleased.

"You sure got a voluminous intestine! Five's the best I can manage. I'm
afraid of breakage. What if I took a jumpstep on the pass and they
knocked together?"

"Occupational hazard," Clucker said, wincing. "I thought sure I'd
cracked one, once, but I guess I hadn't, 'cause here I am today."

"But what's the point of it?" Prior demanded. "Cramming eggs into your
ass!"

"Who the fuck is this turd?" Clucker inquired politely.

"Oubie sent him along. Says he got pekker-rolled."

"Oh--another dope who'd lose his cock every time if it wasn't screwed
on! And it wasn't, eh?" He laughed unkindly. "But I s'pose if she speaks
for him, must be hokay." He turned to Prior. "Hokay, you wanna know
what's the fit, shit, I'll tell you. We pick 'em up on Beetlejuice VII
and smuggle 'em past customs and take 'em through the pass. There's a
fence here on Earth who retails 'em for the standard markup or more.
Layers like us make good loot, long's we're careful. I figure to retire
next year, if I don't bust an egg goin' for the record."

"Good money?" This always interested Prior.

"Thirteen seventy-five per eeg viable," Clucker said. "Makes ninety-six
twenty-five this trip, my cut."

"Cut-cut-cut-daCU-U-UT!" Plymouth put in, sounding so perfectly like a
cackling hen that Prior had to laugh. But he remained amazed.

"Almost fourteen dollars for an egg?"

"Thirteen hundred and seventy five dollars, sterling," Clucker said
curtly. "Eegs ain't cheap."

Prior couldn't digest this figure, so he didn't try. "Where'd you say
they came from?"

"Beetlejuice VII. You know, seventh habitable planet of Betelgeuse, the
red giant. Long trip."

"I guess so. Just how far away is it? I thought the stars were several
million miles."

"Several hundred quintillion miles," Clucker corrected him. "Give or
take a decimal."

"Uh, sure." Prior regretted having made the inquiry.

" 'Bout 650 light years," Plymouth said helpfully. "Be 'un 'ell of a
trip if we didn't use the pass."

" 'Ell of a trip," Prior echoed. He still didn't understand what was
going on. "I didn't know we had space travel. From star to star, faster
than light, I mean."

"I told you. We use the pass. Cuts it way down."

"You told me," Prior agreed. Some things he just wasn't fated to grasp.

"Any more due this week?" Clucker inquired. "Rhose Island Red tomorrow.
That's all on the schedule, until the fence comes next week."

"Rhose Island Red, huh? Red's a good fuck. I like her." Until that last
word, Prior had not been certain of the sex of Red.

"Yeah," Plymouth agreed. " 'Cept for the way she slips an extra eeg up
her front hole."

"Whatsamatter with that? If I had a woman-hole, I'd use it too. Cop the
record for sure!"

"Stretches her honeypot all outa shape. Got to wait a good hour 'fore
it's tight. Anything I hate, it's a loose woman. 'How's the hunt, cunt?'
I asks her, and she says 'Take yer pick, prick.' Then she's too loose
for me to get a good lodging. And even after a day or so, she still
ain't exactly in Oubie's league."

Prior perked up. "You Eggers have intercourse with Oubliette?"

"Huh?" Two blank stares.

"You know. Cohabitation."

Plymouth squinted at him suspiciously. "You a Communist?"

"Sex!" Prior yelled. "Did you ever screw her?"

"Whyinhell didn't you say so! Sure we fucked her. Never got to the
bottom of that well, though; deepest dame you ever fingered."

"Course usually she's too busy," Clucker admitted. "So we leave her be
unless she comes out here. Which she does, every month or so. Great
gal!"

"Sometimes she hardly gets by the statues," Plymouth said, inspecting
the last two eegs. "All tuckered and fuckered out, can't screw mor'n
three-four times before she nods off, and once or twice after that."

"She spends time looking at the statues?" Did she find them as
dismayingly fascinating as he had?

"Yeah, and they look at her!" Both men laughed crudely. Prior didn't get
the point of the joke, so he ignored it.

"Hey, Cluck!" Plymouth called suddenly. "Listen here."

"What's the word, turd?"

"I think it's bad luck, fuck."

Cluck joined him at the incubator-nests. "Great flying shit and little
blivets on the halfshell!" he cried. "One of 'em's pippin'!"

"That's night hatching!"

Clucker listened more carefully. "Not yet. The pips are still pretty far
apart. Might be two days 'fore the shell breaks."

"But the fence ain't comin' for five days!"

"Thirteen seventy-five down the shittin' tube!" Clucker moaned. "We sure
can't fence it."

They paced the floor gloomily. "That damned ET!" Clucker exclaimed.
"Looked me up the nose with all three eyeballs and swore on his
kingfeather those eegs were fresh! I'll piss a river down his windpipe!"

"That ET don't have a windpipe," Plymouth reminded him.

"He'll have a couple when I get through with him! It ain't just the
cash. What if it'd hatched up my ass?"

"It's stuff like that, makes me think 'bout retirin' early."

"Early hatch--that's retirin' the hard way!"

They paced some more, in obvious distress. "Say," Plymouth said. "Oubie
always wanted an eeg. You think--?"

"Hey, that's a real birdbrained notion!" From the tone, that was a
compliment. "We owe her a lot. We'll give it to her!"

"Except neither one of us can take the chance of going to her place. If
we got caught in realtime--"

"Fartin' cunts!" Clucker exclaimed, chagrined. "I forgot. She'll have to
come here for it."

"Might not be time. If we miscalculated--"

"Yeah. Can't risk it. Not with her."

Then they both looked at Prior, struck by a common thought. "He's going
back there anyway, and he's mundane," Plymouth said. "No timespace
barrier."

"Sure, I can carry an egg to Oubliette," Prior said agreeably. He was
glad for the pretext to get away from these odd, gutty, lowbrow,
foulmouthed, foulassed, indecipherable men.

"Good enough," Clucker said, visibly relieved. "First thing in the
mornin', we'll load you up and send you back. Be a real nice surprise
for her."

Only as he drifted to sleep in the midst of a surprisingly comfortable
bed of straw did Prior begin to wonder why, if it were so chancy for
Oubliette to carry her eeg back before it hatched, it should be safe for
him to do so. Was it because no one cared if he met calamity?

Chapter Fourteen
----------------

One detail they had neglected to mention. The eeg, in a delicate
condition, had to be maintained at body temperature, kept in darkness,
and insulated against all severe jostles. It could not be transported in
any external basket.

Well, they knew how to handle that. Plymouth Rock held Prior down while
Clucker pried apart his tensed buttocks and greased his rectum with a
horny finger. Then Clucker dipped the eeg in tallow and then in slippery
oil, and applied the narrow end to Prior's pursed sphincter. "Open up,"
he complained. "We got to slide it in without cracking."

"It hurts!" Prior protested, objecting on more than one level to the
violation of his anus. "My operation--"

"Can't be helped. Just think of it as shittin' backwards. This ain't
fairy stuff, now; this is an eeg." He rapped on Prior's lower spine with
a calloused knuckle. Prior jumped--and in the moment his sphincter
loosened, the eeg slurped in.

"Easy as bittin' a balky horse," Clucker said, satisfied.

"Work it around in there so it's comfortable," Plymouth remarked. "You
don't want it down too close to the asshole, case you sit down hard or
pop it out with a fart. Up around the curve of the gut is better."

"Um," Prior said, making swallowing motions with his anal canal. "What
happens if it hatches early?"

"You got a morbid sense of humor," Clucker said, unsmiling. Prior
decided not to pursue that matter farther, since the eeg was already
lodged.

He departed on his puttery golf-cart, feeling the mass of the eeg in his
bowel. What a profession!

The roadside statues remained. He could have sworn that some of them had
changed their positions. If he ever came this way again, he would make
exact notes and discover whether the various scenes of copulation were
in fact in slow-motion progress. But right now the weight he carried and
the ominous warning of the Eggers reduced his inclination to tarry along
the way.

He made it without trouble. "Back already?" Oubliette inquired. She
didn't seem crowded or busy--but who was he to question her? Maybe she
had simply felt he needed the kind of education provided by the Eggers.
"I brought you an egg. Eeg."

"An eeg!" she gasped. "Prior--you didn't steal it?"

"I'm no thief. More'n I can say for some people," he said, thinking of
Tantamount and his bygone penis. "Clucker and Plymouth Rock sent it to
you as a gift. It's pipping."

"Oh!" Hastily she brought a nest. "Lay it before it hatches! You're too
young and innocent to die like that."

What shook him was the fact that she was perfectly serious. Prior
squatted over the box and strained, not really caring that she was
watching. She'd seen his crotch before--hell, she's operated on it!

The eeg, funneled well up his large intestine, refused to come down on
demand. Oubliette poked her finger well up his tract but couldn't reach
it, though the act did start a throb in him that would have been a
hard-on in other circumstances.

"We can't wait," she said, alarmed, and he believed her. She brought a
tube and inserted it into his rectum, driving it deep. He wondered
whether this was what a woman felt like during intercourse, as the male
member probed her vestibule. Then the warm bubbly water gushed into his
colon, bloating him, and he wondered again. The sensation wasn't half
bad, actually. She must have put something into the enema-rinse to relax
his innards. She brought a metal potty and aimed him at it. "Push it all
out," she said urgently. "I'll catch the eeg."

Prior strained. A jet of pale brown water shot out, splashing against
her fingers. She had her hand right there, caging his anus, to make sure
the eeg didn't slip by her and shatter in the pot.

Prior pushed and pushed, and the water squirted down endlessly, filling
the pot and splashing Oubliette's hand, arm, bosom and face, but the eeg
didn't come. Finally he trickled to a halt, unsuccessfully drained.

Well, not entirely unsuccessfully, he noted as he examined the
container. There were several mangled chunks of fecal matter that had
evidently been caught and sifted through her fingers along with the
fluid. The smell was about normal for the situation.

"It's too far back," she said. "We have to get it out quickly. I may
have to operate."

Prior looked at her brown-stained hands and arms. He didn't like the
sound of that. "It's up here somewhere," he said, touching his abdomen.

"Let me see." She threw back his shirt and probed his belly, feeling for
the solid egg. "Yes, here it is! Maybe I can work it down."

She pressed and pulled at his gut, squeezing at the object within it.
Prior contented himself with studying her flexing cleavage as her arms
worked. If he had a penis, she'd be almost in position to suck it now,
he thought wryly.

"I have it down some, but not enough," she said. "Maybe I could reach it
with forceps--"

"Another enema might carry it down, now," he suggested quickly. He
certainly could do without hard metal forceps wrenching around within
the tender folds of his intestine!

"Well--perhaps a thorough one," she decided. "But if this doesn't do
it--"

"It will do it!" he said prayerfully.

She fetched a longer, larger tube and about twice as much water as
before. "Lie back--I want this all in there without leakage."

Prior lay on his back, knees lifted, while she screwed him again with
the spurting tube. This water was cool, and it pumped in interminably,
chilling him from the inside out. This time he didn't just feel bloated,
he was bloated; he could see the bulge of his abdomen, and knew that his
insides were being shoved around by the ruthless torrent of water. As
the bodies of succubus and satyr had been distended by their exchanged
bolus of ejaculate. Just so long as none of his piping sprung a leak!

It became urgent that he squirt it out again, but she used her knees to
press his buttocks together and seal off the leakage around the outside
of the hose. She kept pouring in more water, holding the feeder-tube as
high in the air as she could to increase the pressure. It felt as though
there were three gallons inside him already, yet still it came,
distending every conduit available within his torso. Now it was more
than bloat; it was agony.

"Close it up!" she said at last, hauling out the hose and ramming his
legs tightly together. His sphincter barely cooperated; the dike was
about to burst! "I'm going to maneuver the eeg down while the water
lends support."

Prior struggled and sweated and finally managed to constrict his
protesting anus so that only a trickle of fluid emerged, though his
whole urge was to let fly. He had never labored so hard at anything in
his life before; the cold liquid seemed like a solid battering ram as it
hammered at that puckered portal with every breath he took. Part of the
urgency was sexual--except that now the desire to fuck was as nothing
compared to the plain need to shit!

Oubliette probed his gut again, kneading his belly, and Prior almost
blasted a liquid round from his rectum. She worked the eeg around and
down; he could feel its sloshy progress as the hydraulic pressure
translated directly to his anus.

"It'll come now!" he gasped. "It'll come. Let me at that pot before I
explode!"

Slimy fluid was already dribbling down his legs as he got into position.
"Ready?" he panted.

"Ready," she said, squatting behind him and cupping both hands under his
tense nether orifice.

He let fly. Water blasted against her hands and sprayed across the room
in a steady torrent. It was like letting the air out of a balloon: he
deflated visibly as he pressed that column of water out. He imagined
that there was a phallus attached to his anus, and this was the world's
champion ejaculation, coming and coming... and he felt a genuine orgasm
coming on.

The pot filled and overflowed, but still he jetted. Then the flow
diminished, hesitated; his imaginary penis grew climactically hard,
and--

In a spurt of yellow juice and a transcendent orgasm he laid it: a
sparkling, rapidly-pipping ovoid. Oubliette caught it with a little
shriek of delight and held it gingerly. "Whew!" she sighed rapturously
as the fury of Prior's anal climax abated.

There was more water to shit, but the impelling need to evacuate was
gone. He slacked off like a spent thunderstorm and stood up, shaking his
dripping legs. He looked at her.

Oubliette was spattered from eyelash to toenail with pale brown or
yellow dye. Her clothing was dripping, and a marble-sized turd was
lodged in the cleavage of her hair-halter. She stank of shit, but she
was oblivious to that. She held the eeg-egg close, cooing at it while
fecal fluid dripped from her pert nose and made her lush breasts
glisten.

It seemed she appreciated the gift of the Eggers.

But they had labored prematurely, however effectively. It was a good ten
hours before the eeg hatched, and by that time Prior was back under the
knife.

Chapter Fifteen
---------------

He woke. This time he found solidity at his crotch. Not a penis--a base
structure, part flesh and part plastic. The region around it hurt, of
course, but he took this as a sign that the nerves were still
functioning. Nerves that could bring as much pleasure as pain, when the
occasion presented. To this ugly substructure would attach the penis
proper--and he hoped fervently that it would perform as specified. It
had, he thought with a half-bitter internal smile, been a real pain in
the ass to get this far.

"One more procedure will do it," Oubliette announced briskly, looking
amazingly clean and chaste and smelling the same. She was a marvel! One
would think shit had never come within a mile of her person. "Come see
my little eeg."

She already had a special enclosure for it. The eeg/egg had indeed
hatched, and in the warm nursery toddled the eegling. It looked a little
like a griffin and a little like a goblin, but more like a walking
phallus with priapism: a perpetual erection.

"I don't see any mouth under that beak," Prior remarked. "How does it
eat?"

"It's demonic," she explained. "It doesn't eat."

"Well then, how's it going to grow? I mean--"

"That's a hell-lamp," she said, gesturing to what looked like a complex
sun-lamp. "The radiation gives it all the energy it needs. Demons are
creatures of hellfire, pretty much."

"I guess so." He shook his head dubiously. "What does it do, when it
grows up?" He was glad the thing hadn't hatched in his colon, for it had
snaggle-teeth (despite the absence of a mouth) and wickedly hooked beak
and saber claws and spiked tail and barbed wings. Not to consider its
supremely massive (proportionately) phallus.

"It fornicates," she said.

Ask a silly question....

The next operation was minor. In fact it was not an operation at all,
but a series of intricate tests. Oubliette connected his stub to a
computer input and manipulated dials and settings and made what he
presumed were significant readings. Sometimes he felt twinges in his
crotch, sometimes irritation, and finally a testicle-bursting smash of
erotic convulsion.

"Tests out well," she announced as he stopped thrusting. "We'll give it
another day to set, then we'll run it through some practice exercises."

Prior was getting tired of surgery and testing. "When do I get my
penis?"

She merely smiled obliquely and went to attend to her next client. He
had to satisfy himself with watching the eegling sporting in its
enclosure. Oubliette had given the thing a bit of Swiss cheese, and
instead of eating it the eegling rammed its comparatively monstrous
member into the holes and sawed away with indefatigable vigor. It never
ejaculated, but of course it was only a couple of days old. Prior
imagined that there would be copious ejaculate by the time it attained
its full growth--and if it became man-sized, its phallus would be about
two feet long. But he didn't see what there was about the ugly little
demon that was worth over a thousand dollars for shipping charges alone.

Chapter Sixteen
---------------

The practical exercises, when they came, were well worth the wait.
Oubliette opened a sealed package and lifted out a limber three-inch
artificial penis. Three short stiff prongs emerged from its base. She
aligned it and plugged it into his genital socket. "You lock it on this
way," she said, giving it a twist and snap. "Reverse the motion to
remove it. You'll get the hang of it with practice."

"I don't feel anything," Prior complained, eyeing the dangle. Had he
gone through all this, just to wind up with a member even smaller than
his original?

"This unit is factory fresh. It hasn't been activated. Here." She ran
her finger under its glans.

There was a pop! and sensation coursed into his groin. The organ
quivered.

"Now to test it," she said matter-of-factly.

She began to manipulate the organ by hand, paying special attention to
its sensitive tip. Prior felt the stimulus, but the member remained
flaccid. She put her lips to the glans. Still no physical reaction,
though the sensation was enough to make cooked macaroni stand stiff.

"Something's wrong," she said, brow furrowing attractively. She wrenched
the organ about, giving Prior a shock of agony. Then the lock released
and the penis came loose.

Oubliette inspected it closely. "No wonder! The artery profunda penis is
blocked. You couldn't pump any blood into the erectile tissue. Darned
sloppy quality control at the penis plant these days."

"You mean the thing can't get stiff?" he asked, disappointed.

"It will stiffen after I adjust it, or I'll have its head," she said
confidently. She reamed it with an instrument resembling a pipe cleaner.
"Remember, when you change members ordinarily, do it in the flaccid
state. Otherwise you'll lose blood, and it could be messy and
embarrassing."

"The valve cutoff doesn't work?"

"No trouble there. But in the erect state the member is engorged with
your blood. If you remove it before that fluid reenters your body--"

"Oh." He saw the problem. "Why would anyone want to remove an erect
penis?"

"Sometimes there are emergencies. Or a client changes his mind during a
performance."

"Hm." The possibilities were intriguing.

She reconnected the reamed member, locked it, and resumed stimulation.
This time it swelled magnificently in her hand. At full elevation it had
doubled its limp state: six inches long and perfectly formed.

Prior stared at it, bemused. He had never had a strapping lout like that
between his legs before. It was like winning a sexual sweepstakes.

"Well, the proof of the pudenda," Oubliette murmured approvingly. She
dropped her skirt.

Yes, indeed! Prior was suddenly so excited that he skipped the
amenities. He bent her back over the work table and thrust his capacious
member at her sweet cleft. It bounced off harmlessly. "Oops--forgot to
allow for those two extra inches," he said, not particularly displeased.
It reminded him of those bygone ads about the extra long cigarette and
all the attendant disadvantages. Cigarettes, of course, were phallic
representations; that was why so many people got hooked on sucking them,
and liked them long and strong. Two extra inches were well worth some
inconvenience!

Oubliette just smiled tolerantly. Obviously she had been through this
sort of fumbling before.

Prior oriented more carefully and found the slot. As his big handsome
glans nudged into her shaven slit he felt the pulsing warmth of her. He
worked the tip of the member inside, finding the channel moist and
slick, savoring every aspect. He was going to do big things with this
big cock! He was really going to go to town! This clever female doctor
was going to get a proper workout!

And as he forced the sensitive first inch into her luxurious and
educated vagina--he came.

"Damn!" he wailed, but it was too late. The pump had started, and it
would not desist until the entire cow had been milked, the pipe cleared.
His angle was wrong, so that he could not penetrate more than that inch
while the cream spurted. What an opportunity wasted!

"Slight oversensitivity there," Oubliette commented professionally,
applying absorbent tissue as the member dropped away. "I'll detune it
for you."

"No--no, I like it that way!" he protested despite his chagrin. "I'll
get used to it. I always shoot off early when I haven't had a--when I
haven't done this for a while."

"As you wish," she said with a suggestion of medical disapproval. "This
unit seems to be fully functional, in other respects, and the foundation
seems adequate. But we should try a reasonable selection."

She twisted the flaccid member so that it snapped off. Some blood
dripped from its base, giving him a shock until he realized that even a
detumescent organ would have some stuffing in it, particularly after
use. At least the automatic seal on the base structure was functioning;
nothing leaked from his body. There was evidently some very nice
technology involved.

Oubliette washed off the unit at the tap, shook it dry, wrapped it in
gauze and replaced it in its box. "These should be cleaned regularly, of
course," she said. "And boiled in a salt solution once a week if used
regularly. The prosthetic is never quite as convenient as nature's
original."

That was an inconvenience he would gladly accept. Despite the
prematurity of his ejaculation, the experience had been memorable. Six
inches erect! It was like a wrestling championship, a bowling award, a
grand prize in anything--and look whom he had wrestled with, look what
he had bowled over!

She opened another box. "Now this is one of our most popular numbers,"
she murmured in sales-clerk tones as she broke the seal. She hauled
forth a four-inch dangle and attached it. "Try it erect."

"But I just--I mean, twice in a row? I never--"

She removed her hair-halter and showed her fine bosom unadorned.

Prior's new penis climbed invisible stairs. At the upper deck it stood:
a proud eight inches, slender but strong. He looked down at it, amazed
and fundamentally gratified. This doubled his best natural erection. He
felt lightheaded; could all the blood have gone into the member,
lowering his blood pressure elsewhere? A trifling inconvenience!

"Sometimes a substitution of units restores potency quite promptly,"
Oubliette remarked casually.

"I think your breasts had more to do with it."

"Oh? They're prosthetic, of course."

"Prosthetic!" His erection wavered and threatened to collapse.

"My little joke," she said quickly. "I grew these naturally. See for
yourself."

He saw for himself, with hands and eyes. His hard-on became mighty
indeed.

"But it really shouldn't make any difference," she said with medical
detachment. "Your prosthetic penis is as serviceable and esthetic as the
natural one, and prosthetic breasts would be the same. I have a
professional friend, Bovinia, who specializes in such procedure."

"Women want larger breasts?" he inquired, intrigued.

"Many do. But her main business is replacing injured mammaries--ones
that have been beaten or bitten beyond repair--"

"Beaten or bitten! What sadist would do a thing like that?"

"Not necessarily sadism. Merely overly enthusiastic love-play. And some
are lost through cancer, even today. Then of course she has a fair trade
in the gay community."

"Men? Men with breasts?" Suddenly he remembered the last statue on the
route to the Egglayers.

"Certainly. Bovinia and I exchange referrals. When a couple wants to
change over, I take care of the penis for her, and Bovinia handles the
mammaries for him."

"And they actually work?"

"Well, the ejaculate isn't potent and the breasts can't be used for
actual nursing, but apart from that--"

"Yeah," he said, dazed. If the other doctor's breasts were as good as
Oubliette's penises, no client should have a complaint.

Yet it didn't seem the same. His prosthetic member was big and handsome
and potent, but it wasn't him.

"We might be more comfortable on the bed," she hinted.

They were. A cubicle adjacent to the laboratory had a firm bunk offset
by large wall-mounted mirrors. It was ideal.

Prior spread her out on her back and lifted her long lithe legs so that
her cleft parted. He kneeled appropriately and wrestled his member down
to nuzzle the dark opening. This time the angle was correct, and the
curved head pressed between the pink lips and slid inside without
obstruction. He watched in the mirror as the long shaft disappeared: two
inches, three, four. Probably his own previous ejaculation provided the
lubrication, for this was almost too easy!

His legs felt cramped, and he had to pause in place to straighten them
out. He braced his arms against her thighs, keeping her legs elevated,
and leaned into his chore. Another inch entered, and another.

The Eggers had been correct about Oubliette being bottomless. Six inches
deep, and he hadn't met resistance yet. Seven.

Finally his loins met hers, pubic bone grinding against pubic bone, and
the mirrors were useless. That was the trouble with mirrors, as with
pictures--a complete entry showed nothing! Cartoons always showed the
cock half-cocked, with only a couple inches submerged, so that it was
quite clear that fornication was occurring, but who in real life ever
stopped there? (Except for the dolt who climaxed at that stage; he could
think of one of those, alas.) If he wanted a picture, maybe some kind of
X-ray photography, that showed a solid penis.... no, the X-rays would
pass through the penis too; it just didn't seem feasible. Only Superman
had X-ray vision that showed things X-rays did not, because Superman was
a fantasy. Sex, unless carefully posed, was inherently private, for
purely physical reasons. Unfortunately.

Meanwhile he had a situation here. Oubliette had absorbed all his eight
inches without complaint! What good was it to double his phallic size,
if he still couldn't touch bottom? Also, his first performance,
truncated as it had been, slowed this one down considerably. He wasn't
close to coming.

Then her interior muscles began to operate. She squeezed his organ,
kneaded it, milked it, without laying a hand on it. Prior had never
experienced the like! Peristaltic ripples traveled up and down her slick
canal. Pressure, suction, pressure, suction, squeeze and draw and
stroke--and before he knew it he was spewing his essence with an
imperative abandon he had never experienced before. It did not seem to
be dulled because it was the second; rather it seemed to reach farther
into the roots of him, extracting pleasure from hitherto untapped
springs.

She let him subside inside her, and that was another kind of bliss.
"Yes, I'd say the operation was a success. No doubt your technique will
improve with practice."

Prior didn't answer. He had thought he had done a bang-up job, but
evidently he operated in a lesser league. Oubliette must have been
screwed by experts.

"Now," she said briskly, "for the next exercise--"

"You're joking! I never came twice that soon in my life before. The
orange has been squeezed dry."

But she had little patience with excuses. "This one is special. It's
prehensile."

"Come again?"

"You will, you will. And this time I will too, and we can call it a
night. Wouldn't want to overdo it for your first workout, after all."

"No...." he mumbled agreeably.

She affixed the member. It was S-shaped, about eight inches long even
when flaccid, but no thicker than a pencil. It looked unnatural on him,
and he didn't trust it.

"Let's have an erection," Oubliette said crisply. "This will require a
little practice, but you'll find it is worth it."

"I'm spent," he said regretfully.

"You have not yet begun to spend. Do you think I went to all this
trouble just to have you poop out for the main event? Now let's get this
crate into the air."

Prior tried valiantly, but the crate only twitched and hung its
snakelike head.

"This is insubordination," she said, irritated. "I'll goose it into
action." She brought out a douche-shaped vibrator. "Bottoms up."

She had not been speaking metaphorically. Prior turned around, leaned
over, and presented his posterior to her. She turned on the vibrator and
pressed its horn into his quivering rectum. He was getting goosed by a
professional! For a man who did not like pederasty, he realized his anus
was getting a lot of attention. First the Eggers, then the enemas, and
now this.

But the treatment was effective. His twisted organ jerked. It was as
though the nerves of his colon connected directly to his penis. Maybe
they did, now; how could he know the details of the surgery he had had?
The S-shape began to straighten out, and the pencil-diameter swelled
into fat crayon size.

Oubliette put more pressure on the vibrator. It nudged deeper into his
anus, tugging at the membrane, one inch, two. It dilated the sphincter
muscle and gave it a royal rubdown. It stirred up his bowel, sending a
pleasurable and somewhat urgent warmth outward through his entire
diaphragm. And the phallus expanded.

He felt the vibrator sliding yet further in. It reminded him of the
enema tube, but this was three times as effective for arousal. This must
be what it felt like for the woman, as the man's hard member thrust into
her inch by inch! When his pulsing glans throbbed up against her cervix,
did she feel--

The tip of the vibrator struck something. It added a new dimension of
sensation. It was as though he were already ejaculating--but he wasn't.
A phantom yet pleasant orgasm. "Prostate," she murmured.

Whatever it was, his erection was now complete. Some ten inches of
serpentine penis bobbled under his belly. This one had not doubled in
size; it had a different structure.

She withdrew the vibrator. It felt as though he were defecating, but it
remained a most satisfying experience. His anus closed about the
retreating horn as though to hold it in, but there was no holding it as
it popped out. He straightened up and turned to face her, the organ
waving like a slender tree before him.

"Now you control it by employing particular synapses," she said. "The
muscular structure is built in; there is no direct tendon contact, of
course. But once you get the trick--"

Prior tried, but the long thin phallus merely shuddered into a slight
reminder of its limp S format.

"I think we can prompt control," she said. She brought out a shining
hypodermic with a cruelly long needle.

"Now wait a minute!" Prior cried nervously, backing away.

"It only hurts for the first five minutes," she said reassuringly as she
aimed the needle at his glans. "After that it settles down to a dull
ache. Try not to scream; it might disturb the other patients."

Prior's buttocks spread against the cold wall, halting his retreat.
"Can't we do it some other way?"

"This is fastest." She put her left hand against the wall to stop him
from sliding along it. She reoriented the hypodermic spike in her right.
"Now the first shot goes in the base of the glans, under the foreskin.
Hold still, because the needle has to penetrate almost half an inch to
reach the main nerve, before the spider venom is injected--"

The penis whipped to the side, away from the threatening needle. "Spider
venom!"

"Yes, that's how," she said, taking the needle away. "Some organs
respond more readily to threats than to promises."

Prior was shaking. "You mean you weren't really going to--?"

"Not unless your tool failed to perform," she said a bit smugly.

"What's in that pigsticker?"

"Sterile water. But of course I wouldn't puncture a prosthetic, since it
can't heal."

Prior was still breathing rapidly. This doll was deadly! At her
direction, he learned to wiggle the penis from side to side, to hook the
tip around, and to make an undulating S shape. The motions were clumsy,
but he could see that with more practice he would be able to put this
member through an impressive array of tricks--in or out of a vagina.

"Now let's harness it," she said. She got on her hands and knees on the
bed and presented him with a hole-shaped orifice. This was about the
only position, he knew, where the hole really was a hole--when the
weight of the body was pulling away from it, allowing air to enter and
spread it wide. He wondered whether he could see down to the end of it,
if he had a penlight.

But this was no time to dally. Prior kneeled behind her and formed his
member into a crude corkscrew. He concentrated on her crack and lunged
his penis forward like a striking snake.

He was not as proficient as he thought. The serpent caromed off one
resilient buttock and sprawled ignominiously against her leg. He hoisted
it again, no-hands, and drove for the center crevice. This time it was
on target horizontally but not zeroed in vertically, and it came up
against the puckered clean anus. He shrugged and applied torque; she'd
been into his ass more than once, after all!

But the resistance was too great, and his control too fumbling. The
glans snapped out and skidded down to the waiting vulva, where it sank
in easily.

Prior gave it a ripple and watched the slender length of it tunnel in.
Air escaped as the mass of his entry displaced it from her open vagina.
Down, down he drilled, undulating against the hot walls of her channel.
Three, four, five, six inches. He felt the mouth of her cervix, and
angled the glans to stroke it repeatedly. He wondered whether it would
be possible, with this unique organ, actually to penetrate the uterus
itself. No, probably not--not without damaging the womb. That region was
reserved for sperms and babies and intra-uterine contraceptive devices.

Oubliette sighed, and he knew he was accomplishing something. But he was
determined to plumb the full depth of her this time. In he went, a
greased piston. Around the cervix, beyond it, down into the very nadir
of her cavity. Seven, eight, nine inches!

Then at last he felt it: that cushiony resistance that signified the end
of the alley. He straightened out the python and wriggled in the last
inch, thrashing the head back and forth rapidly. He was going to stir up
her gut the way she had stirred his!

"Oh," she moaned. Her breathing accelerated.

Prior leaned against her cool derriere--so unlike her blazing
interior!--and reached both hands around and under to titillate her
hanging breasts. That was why they were called tits, he thought: for
titillation. These were fine and full, their nipples erect. He took one
in each hand, hefting it as though weighing choice meat, and corkscrewed
simultaneously with his embedded penis. He caught each nipple between
thumb and forefinger and rolled it back and forth while his glans chafed
at the dent in her cervix.

She groaned and struggled and flexed her bottom against him, and her
breath escaped with a slight whistle, but still she did not climax.
Prior, despite his two preceding efforts, was close to making it again.
But he was determined this time to take her with him.

He had an inspiration. He let go one breast and moved his fingers to the
front of her cleft, reaching around her thigh to come at it squarely. He
dipped his forefinger in the lubricant of her two parted inner labia and
rubbed back until his finger struck his own buried shaft, then forward
again to her clitoris. Then he pinched the clitoris and mashed it up and
down several times.

Now at last her buttocks grew hot too. Her back arched, her body
stiffened, and she panted. He hooked the tip of his finger into the
little fold of the clit and squeezed it back into its base while he
shoved Prehensile with all his might.

Oubliette climaxed explosively. He had punched the right button this
time! Her hips bucked back into him, her breasts flopped against each
other and her buttocks tensed convulsively against his loin, squeezing
his organ from its base all the way in. She jerked back and forth,
riding his shaft, pumping herself along so that naked inches showed
momentarily, only to be swallowed up again. Her entire vulva tightened
around him, the labia closing on the base of his member, and inside that
peristalsis wrung him in waves and tidal waves, concentrating much of
his blood and all of his sensation within her.

Prior came. He had to.

It was like spitting into a hurricane. He knew he was spurting, but he
couldn't feel it amid the violence of her motions. Then she screamed and
sighed and shoved back against him so hard it hurt, and her vagina
clamped as though she had turned to metal or stone, and his last throb
pressured out deep inside her with slow, agonizing, hydraulic force.

She collapsed forward on the bed, and he with her, still connected at
breast and hole. Her bottom bunched and became softly rounded, cupped
enticingly under and against his loin, and as she relaxed outwardly and
inwardly his penis slowly softened within that liquid mass of flesh. He
was panting right along with her, and still kneading the breast that was
now flattened against his palm. It was an utterly delicious sensation.

After a time he rolled off her so she could breathe. He thought he had
lost erection entirely and fallen out, but he had forgotten how lengthy
this member remained in the flaccid state. A good four inches of
semi-turgid flesh pulled out of the hot shadow between her nether
mounds.

"You're coming along nicely," she murmured into the pillow. "I think one
day you'll make a skilled lover. Tomorrow we'll try some of the more
advanced exercises."

Chapter Seventeen
-----------------

In the daytime Oubliette had her regular patients--a steady stream of
men with damaged, undernourished, or impotent penises. Prior didn't
inquire into their specific complaints. Obviously they did not have the
privilege of playing the music of their organs for the pleasure of the
doctor. He was a special patient, and he knew when he was well off, and
he intended to stay out of mischief to be sure the situation didn't
change for the worse. But daytime was dull.

He wandered through the library. Idly he took down a volume and riffled
through its pages: Psychopathia Sexualis, by one Krafft-Ebing. Just as
he had suspected: dull as hell. He glanced randomly at the spines of
other volumes: first editions of Chin P'ing Mei, Bah-Numeh, Exeter Book,
Complete Letters of Marcus Argentarius, and so on: all exotic, dated,
obscure references of no conceivable interest to him. Not a good sex
novel in the bunch!

He contemplated the pictures on the wall, but they were oddities of
classical vein--Aubrey Beardsley originals, the erotic art of Pompeii,
and similar. There was some decorative statuary--INDIAN EROTIC
SCULPTURE, the plaque said. He yawned, not inspecting the stuff closely.
Too bad Oubliette's literary and artistic tastes weren't the same as her
medical ones.

For want of anything better to do, he visited the eegling. Its playpen
was under a map of the United States, the nation somehow looking like
underpants stretched across North America with the penis that was
Florida poking out to spray the urine that was Cuba and the Antilles.
Some pale splotches suggested that the eegling had been using the map
for phallic target practice, and now had something in its member to
squirt with. But for the moment the creature ignored the map and eyed
Prior mischievously.

The eegling was larger already, especially its standing member. It
strode up to Prior's side of the pen and jetted a drop of thick fluid at
him. There was a faint whiff of butterscotch.

"Fuck you," Prior told it irritably. "To me you're no better than shit,
and I'm the one who shit you."

Prior drifted back to his room and lay down. His crotch itched, so he
opened a drawer and took out the largest of the attachable units and
plugged it in. He lay on his back and watched it come alive. It took
time to fill, for it had voluminous capacity. It would be disastrous to
remove this one in the erect state: not only would the job be messy, his
body would be deprived of a fair donation of blood!

And that would be an interesting way to donate, he thought as the tube
of prosthetic flesh lengthened and thickened against his belly. Plug in
a transfusion bag instead of a penis, then show stag films. Maybe the
nurses could be nude. Maybe they could give a man a real thankyou for
his donation. Put on a huge prosthetic, ram it into luscious nurse, take
it off immediately after climax so she could pour the blood into her
pot. In five minutes the average man might pump a painless pint out
through his crotch, trying to fill a donation organ. Whoever received
that blood in transfusion might feel horny as hell, too. If a pretty
young woman needed blood, they could set up the input inside her vagina,
and have a mating mechanism on the penis: his erectile blood goes
directly into her body.... Little old lady in tennis shoes waking up and
saying to the male attendant "I think I need a transfusion; gimme a
quick fuck before the doctor gives me my sleeping pill"....

Prompted by his chain of thought, the member stood complete at last:
twelve inches long erect, two inches thick through the massive glans.
Prior could not even circle it with thumb and forefinger. What a
monster!

It was a circumcised model. He didn't like this feature, but was
morbidly fascinated. He licked his finger and ran it over the nude
purple glans. There was sensation, but not as intense as that available
from a foreskinned member. He wondered how men with such mutilated
organs ever managed to ejaculate.

Maybe they just had to try harder.

Curious, he wrapped a section of bedspread around the thing and tugged
it snug. It wasn't exactly the same as a living, pulsing vagina, but it
represented enclosure of a sort. He clasped both hands about it and
pressed down.

Now the gargantuan phallus responded. It throbbed against the confining
cloth like the motor of a powerful car, swelling to even greater
magnitude. He had been wrong about circumcision; it was possible to get
adequate stimulation without the foreskin. He pumped the wrapping a
couple more times, feeling the urgency develop. Ah, where was Oubliette
now!

The door banged open. A grandmotherly woman bounced in and collapsed
upon the easy chair across from the bed. "I'm so glad to find a waiting
room that isn't crowded!" she exclaimed. "All those dirty old men..."

Prior glanced anxiously at his lap. A section of bedspread stood like a
tower before him, a foot high. He couldn't put the thing away without
unwrapping it--even if he cared to remove it erect--and he couldn't
unwrap it in front of this unwanted visitor. The absent-minded or
near-sighted grandmother had somehow mistaken his bedroom for a waiting
room.

"What's in the package?" she inquired sociably. "It almost looks alive."

"Oh, it's the living end," he assured her weakly. "Are you sure you have
the right room?"

"I'm not sure of anything since poor Herbie came down with cancer of the
cock," she said. "He used to be a good fuck, but now he can't even get a
good hard-on. A soft-on, is all. I have to use a banana on my cunt
before I can get to sleep."

Prior stared at her, disbelieving what he had heard. She still looked
every inch the conservative retired housewife. "Herbie has cancer?
That's too bad. Must slow him down."

"Slow him down? Hell," she said crossly. "My grandson can fuck better
than Herbie now, and he's only eleven. I sure hope the doc can patch up
that prick."

"I hope so," Prior agreed. The monster within the bedspread showed no
inclination to lie down.

"What did you say was in that package of yours? Smells familiar."

"Nothing of consequence," he said quickly. "Just a hunk of meat."

"Herbie loves meat," she said. "Makes him potent. Now he won't touch his
regular food. I've become quite a connoisseur. What kind of a cut is
it?"

"Choice."

"Are you sure? You know the state laws are very vague about grades of
meat these days. Butcher will slip in an average cut and charge you for
prime."

"I'm sure this is satisfactory." Prior found himself sweating, but his
member refused to shrink.

"Just the same, I think I'd better have a look at it," she said in the
way grandmothers have with young men. "I wouldn't want you to get
cheated." She stood up and approached, not to be gainsaid.

"I haven't been cheated!"

But she was already pouncing on the package. Prior sighed and let her
unwrap it. It might do this busybody good to get a shock like this.

She peered at the monster, squinting. "You're right," she said after a
pause. "That's choice."

Prior rewrapped the meat, afraid to inquire whether she had recognized
what she had seen.

"I haven't glimpsed such a fine cut of first-class boar pizzle in
years," she said. "It looks almost alive."

Ah, so. "Actually, it's synthetic."

"Oh, no, it's genuine. I assure you, I know my meats."

Prior decided not to argue. Grandmothers could be very certain of
themselves, particularly when they were short of information.

Meanwhile, his erection maintained itself in full splendor, though he
felt no slightest sexual inclination at the moment. There were, he could
now appreciate, certain disadvantages to twelve inches.

"Mrs. Cobblestone," a PA down the hall announced. "Please collect your
dog."

"Oh goody, Herbie's ready!" she exclaimed, getting up again.

"Herbie's a dog?"

"You know how it is. He thinks he's people. Oh, I hope his poor little
cock doesn't hurt too much!" She bustled out.

Prior shrugged. Alone, he unwrapped his meat and contemplated it. Boar
pizzle indeed!

Finally the thing subsided and he removed it. In the future he would be
more careful what penis he wore when and where. His four incher had
never really embarrassed him in public; his concern about untimely
erections had been vastly exaggerated. Now, with the availability of the
ultimate twelve-inch wish-fulfillment, his concern was genuine. He would
not again unlimber that cannon unless he intended to fire it.

He spotted some small lettering on the base as he washed the unit out.
He squinted to read the fine print.

It said: 100% PIGSKIN, Grade A Choice.

Grandma had been right.

Chapter Eighteen
----------------

"Tonight, the advanced exercises," Prior said, smiling with
anticipation.

Oubliette shrugged out of her clothing. "Precisely. I've had a busy day.
Have you ever tried to operate on the penis of a cancerous toy poodle?"

That would be Herbie. "Never had that pleasure."

"Fortunately it was a false alarm; the growth turned out to be benign,
and I was able to save his member by skin grafting. Animals don't do
well on artificial genitals; they don't understand them. But what a
job!"

But surely worth it for Grandma Cobblestone, who would otherwise be
dependent on her eleven year old grandson, or on bananas. To each his
own lifestyle.

She fetched a box. "Now this is the Pipecleaner model. Useful for the
tight vagina. I'm afraid mine won't do for demonstration purposes, not
even with a stiff dose of alum, so you'll have to practice on the anus."
She affixed the unit.

Prior peered down at it. The thing looked like a strand of spaghetti
swishing loosely over his scrotum.

"Erect it," she said, lying prone and spreading her slim smooth legs.
The sight of that perfect behind and the shaped shadows within it did
the job immediately. His spaghetti advanced from cooked limpness to dry
brittleness. It had been well named: it did resemble an old fashioned
pipe-cleaner, one of the narrow furry ones that children delighted to
use for making stick-figure animals.

He climbed on, bracing himself with elbows and knees. He lowered the
member. It brushed across a prettily dimpled buttock but would not
orient properly on the crevice.

"No hands," she cautioned him. "At least, not there. You have to learn
how to maneuver it alone."

Prior grunted and shifted, and finally the thin tip scraped down to the
deepest shadow between the cushiony creases of her derriere. He
pushed--and it slid off below. He tried again, but this time made entry
the easy way, in her vulva. At last he centered on her sealed little
anus and drilled it down. But it was dry, and he penetrated only with
difficulty and pain.

Prior withdrew, moistened the slightly odorous tip and column with
saliva, and finally forced it in a couple of inches. The thing was so
thin he was afraid it would break off. But once he navigated the
sphincter he was all right; the remainder cruised deep into her warm
bowel, and the sensation wasn't bad at all. The exercise wasn't really
so difficult!

"Now try it on a moving target," she said. "Out."

He withdrew it reluctantly, as he had been thinking of jetting soon.
Oubliette began bouncing her generous buttocks about. They rippled and
quivered as though made of gelatin, fascinating him.

"In," she ordered.

He tried, but couldn't get a line on the jiggling pucker. Every time he
got close, it moved, giving him at best a miss and at worst a painful
dent in his slender implement. "But what's the point of this?" he cried,
exasperated.

"Some day you may have to get into a ticklish virgin," she said. "Or it
might be necessary to rape someone. I never want it said that you left
my office unprepared."

What was she training him for--the war between men and women? This was
more like hand-to-hand combat than love play! Certainly he never figured
to drill any of his new members into any unwilling recipients.

Little did he know.

He finally zeroed in on the gyrating target and injected the hypodermic.
But before he could climax, she stopped him again. "You've caught on to
the technique. Now we'll try the triple fork."

"Triple fuck?"

"Triple fork. Once you master that, you're there."

"I'll settle for a good honest penis."

She disengaged, to his regret, and trotted across the room for another
box. He watched her buttocks bunch and crinkle as she went. What he
could do with the twelve-incher now!

The box was huge. Two feet long.... impossible! No penis could be that
size in the flaccid state--not if it expected to find lodging within a
human pelvis. Even a horse would be hurting!

Horse? He remembered the Sultan and his camel. Oh, no! Surely Oubliette
didn't mean to make him attempt that!

The reality was even more amazing. It was not one penis, but three.
Rather, one divided into three. The longest portion was indeed two feet;
the others, couched like testicles at its base, were of normal
proportion. But how could such an unbalanced tripod ever be used?

"This design dates from medieval days," she said, holding it aloft with
a certain pride. "Devils used to employ it during black masses and such,
but now the patent has passed into the common domain. It takes a really
virile man to apply it successfully."

"Three rods?" Prior feared he wasn't man enough even to figure it out.

"Put it on. You'll see."

He put it on. The long shaft had a bone in it, so that it was always
erect and needed no infusion of blood; the other two were flaccid. The
weight of the trio yanked cruelly at his loin, reminding him that his
socket had not yet healed completely.

Oubliette got on her hands and knees again and presented her handsome
posterior. "Stations, men," she said.

Seeing her there, Prior finally realized what this weird divided member
was for. The two small penes lifted as his hot blood filled them.

He came at her as he had the prior night, but with a difference. He had
three members to insert. The long one passed between her legs and curved
by her falling breasts to reach her mouth. The two lesser ones prodded
simultaneously at her vagina and anus. It was tricky getting them
aligned, but with patience and steady nerves he made it.

He concentrated first on the rectum, wetting down that penis and ramming
it home until the sphincter yielded. Once he had that entry, the vaginal
one was easy, though he did have to bend it around by hand so as not to
withdraw the other. It would have been easier had they been in line
instead of side-by-side--but he realized that then other positions
wouldn't be feasible. No sense specializing into non-versatility! And
the mouth-organ was already in place.

Vaginal, anal and oral--simultaneously! Those medieval devils had really
known how to fornicate!

But he wasn't home safe yet. He was receiving sensation from all three
extremities, and it confused him. Oubliette was sucking on the
mouth-organ and clenching her sphincter on the anus-organ and performing
her patented peristalsis on the center pipe organ. It was an organ
symphony! He could have enjoyed any of the three melodies individually,
but in concert they were too much. It was like juggling balls while
walking a tightrope blindfolded--and his balls had been triply depleted
the evening before. He did not know, literally, whether he was coming or
going.

This was, indeed, an advanced exercise.

He tried to coordinate his thrusts, but the mouth-piece went astray
while the anus-entry jammed. He pulled back, and both mouth and vagina
disconnected. The anus clung to its member, compressing the glans. That
one was about ready to fire. But would it be good form to spurt in one
place and not the other two? Was it, in fact, possible? They all
connected to the same fundament, after all.

Prior was sweating.

If the medieval devils had come naturally equipped--assuming that an
unnatural creature could be said to have natural endowments--with such
tripart penises, they must have had a hell of a time fornicating! Maybe
that was what it meant to be damned!

He thought he heard Oubliette chuckling.

Damn it, he was not going to fail this test! She thought he couldn't do
it, that he wasn't man enough to handle a super-phallus like this. Once
a four-incher, always a four-incher, she thought. Well, he would prove
that he was a two-footer!

He juggled the swinging mouthpiece into place again. He angled the
six-inch, thick-bodied member back into her slippery vagina. He plunged
the third, thin cock all the way into her rectum. "Fuck you!" he cried.

"Fuck me!" she echoed, still amused.

Why was she so light-hearted about it? After all, she was concerned too;
she was the one getting the business end. She acted as though she were
only a spectator.

Spectator....

Maybe that was his mistake! He had been concentrating on his own
management, forgetting that sex was a two-person action. He couldn't
have a climax without taking her with him; that would be just half a
copulation. There had to be interaction; she had to come too.

He found that with the proper contortions he could leave the anal
penetrator anchored while he slid the other slowly in and out of her
vulva and held the two-footer in place except for some sidewise
vibration. This served to equalize the stimulation, letting the
sphincter-bound member cool off while the others heated. He was getting
the hang of it.

He commenced a balanced offensive on three fronts: (1) Into her mouth,
where her tongue lapped around the slender instrument, sending two-foot
waves of pleasure back to his loin and, he trusted, into her throat as
well; (2) Into her anus, where the tight sphincter muscle contrasted to
the roomy interior, stirring up her bowel in what ought to be a
provocative manner; (3) Into her luscious vagina, haven of deep delight,
rubbing at the sensitive cervix to make her respond.

He no longer needed his hands for support. He reached around her midriff
on either side and caught her breasts, massaging the nipples until they
sprang out vigorously. He pressed them together around the shaft of the
long member, squeezing it evenly. It was impressive for him, feeling his
thrust through enveloping mammaries, but for her too, for breasts were
made to be caressed.

Oubliette was breathing hard now, responding to the triple onslaught.
She caught the long penis gently with her teeth, nipping it as her
breath caressed its hollow tip. Her buttocks pushed back against his
crotch, absorbing as much of the nether shaft as was physically
possible. And her vagina was quivering with excitement, agitating the
entire length of its companion-piece. Now it was this member that was
incipient.

Prior let go her breasts and moved his hands down to her hips. He held
her bottom tight while he kneaded her inner thighs and buttocks and
accelerated all his tools. He wrestled her entire torso about,
half-lifting it, impaling it on the fork behind while her mouth
struggled to subdue the whiplashing rod ahead. His entire gut seemed to
gather itself for the building effort: prostate, seminal vesicle,
kidneys, bladder and colon interacting to produce a potent liquid lava.
His heart pumped raw serum down through the arteries to mix with the
sperm cells swimming up from the steaming testicles. A boiling pool of
ejaculate formed, swelled, pressed behind the safety-cock--

HOLD! he cried to his system.

In that physical and chemical and emotional pause he planted his two
thumbs against her pulsing clitoris and pressed in, squeezing the little
organ unmercifully.

Oubliette stiffened as though electrocuted.

Then he burst. The valves flung open, the turbulent concoction coursed
out. It rammed into his penis, split into three channels, blasted up
each separate tube. Prior felt it spewing into the dual chambers of her
ass, rising along the passage to her mouth. Urge after urge--and finally
the vanguard spurted over her tongue. Only a few precious drops, after
the split and the enormous length of piping--but it signified success.

That was when she came. Prior was largely finished, but his members
retained tumescence, and he held them in place while she rocked herself
into ecstasy. Both holes clamped about the two short members, milking
them of the last boiling drops, savoring the hard-won serum.

As she subsided, he mashed her clitoris again, working it savagely
between his thumbs.

"No!" she cried around his mouth-organ. But he would not relent. He kept
his waning members jammed in place and continued exercising her button,
wrestling with it and pulling it and twisting it.

She groaned, she cried--and she climaxed again. But still he did not
stop.

Her third consecutive orgasm began to turn the tide on his own cycle.
Slowly his members regained strength, wedged inside her heaving body.

"That's enough!" she screamed as the fifth climax hit her. "No more, no
more!" But he was working up his own second heat now, restimulated by
the violence of her involuntary motions. He was making her respond; he
had a feeling of power, and this turned him on as much as her body and
reactions.

She began to fight him, kicking out her legs and falling flat on the
bed, but he clung like a leech, outside and in. "Bastard!" she gasped as
the seventh climax tore through. "Sadist!" with the eighth. "Eeg demon!"
with the ninth.

But it was not until the eleventh that he came again, and it was slow
and painful and immensely satisfying though only two of his organs
remained lodged.

Only then did he let her drop, his two penises sucking out limply. The
long one was still stiff, since it was naturally rigid, but it was
buried beneath one of her breasts and he was sure the small ejaculation
had not reached its terminus.

He was exhausted. He felt like a spent balloon. But he had put this
filly through her paces. A dozen jumps!

"You pass," she whispered as his dilute sperm drooled across the crevice
of her rear. "You just graduated. With fucking honors."

Prior knew that already.

Chapter Nineteen
----------------

He was whole again, in a manner of speaking, and in a major respect
better than ever. His 3.97 had been replaced by a galaxy of serviceable
instruments that could plumb the depths of any woman. Never again would
anyone look disparagingly at his ready member and inquire politely when
he was planning to have his erection. If it was sheer size they wanted,
he had it; if special effects, he had them. All ready the moment he
plugged in his choice.

Yet he was unsatisfied. He kept thinking of his original miniature. It
had never been much, but at least it had been him. He had had it all his
life; he had screwed his small share of women and his larger share of
token-slots, and he had beaten it when both distaff and tokens were in
short supply. Maybe the little fellow didn't have an impressive track
record--but such experience as he had had, it had brought him. He had
grown accustomed to it.

And it had protected him from venereal disease. What more loyal service
could he ask than that?

The new array was impressive; he couldn't fault it on any reasonable
grounds. Size, shape, sensation--Oubliette had more than done her job.
But dammit, a fuck wasn't real unless the penis was real--and all of
these were artificial. So he was unreasonably dissatisfied.

He still wanted his own flesh back, cheese and all.

"Have a good time," Oubliette told him, kissing him chastely. "I've done
all I can for you." And she had, both as surgeon and as woman. He felt
like a heel for not properly appreciating it, and he couldn't tell her
why. It was time for him to go, and he knew he should do so with
appropriate grace.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"You seem pensive," she remarked.

"Merely the thought of leaving you," he said with fake and ineffective
gallantry. But that was at least half-truth; he did like her in or out
of bed, and was certain he would miss her.

"If there is any problem of adjustment," she murmured discreetly, "and
often there is, emotionally--we call it the postoperative
let-down--remember that a cunette is defined as a trench within a
trench, for drainage. There are other things in life."

"A cunette?" he asked, perplexed. "Sounds like a small--" Then he
visualized a trench within a larger trench, or two sets of labia, and
smiled. "Sure there's more," he agreed. "But it's not the drainage
trench I'm concerned about, it's the drainage pipe."

"Sometimes a walk down the Eeg-trail helps," she said. She gestured
toward the back of the grounds. "The statues are knowledgeable about
both trenches and pipes, and provide excellent advice."

"Uh, sure, thanks," he said, not seeing much point in traipsing by the
erotic stone figures again. Maybe she found solace in such
contemplations (on her way to fuck with the Eggers: ah, jealousy!), but
this could hardly bring back his natural penis. Only her sister
Tantamount could do that--and she would never give up her handy-dandy
little anti-VD smegma producer.

"They do have their price, though," Oubliette said as she left him. She
had, of course, other appointments demanding her attention.

Prior went to his car and drove, knowing that he could not escape the
problem by traveling. He brooded. So he could go back to his regular job
with the parking department, if he hadn't been fired in the interim, and
market the tamponer on the sly. And exercise a different penis every
night. Great life!

Finally, ridiculously, he turned the car about and drove back. He parked
behind Oubliette's residence and took a walk down the path, as she had
recommended.

The beautiful stone nude was still there, though her cold arms now
stretched out as if to embrace a man, and her carven lips were puckered
as for a kiss, and her pelvis pressed forward. If ever a statue were
ready for sexual love, this was the one.

"What the hell," he muttered. "You're worse off than I am; might as well
give you something to think about." He opened his fly and took the
six-incher from its box and attached it. He contemplated the statue's
perfect form and imagined it as a living woman until his member came
erect. Then he stepped into the female embrace.

The stone was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and anyway he was clothed
except for particular areas. He bent his knees and got his member wedged
against the rigid cleft, nudging the deep vagina. He could not force an
entry, of course, for the slit was inflexible and this penis was too
large, but he could touch. He put his arms about her body and pressed
his front against those statuesque breasts. He bent his head and touched
his lips to hers.

The stone became warm. He felt it on his mouth and then in his hands and
finally against his pressing penis. The hard lips seemed to become soft,
as though responding to his kiss. He did not question this; indeed it
was not wholly unexpected, considering the peculiarities of these
statues. They had to be alive, in some obscure manner.

He parted his lips on hers and poked his tongue between. It met her
tongue--warm, moist, animate. As he did this, her torso seemed to flex
under his hands and her vulva softened similarly. His member nudged into
her warming cleft, melting the inner stone as it progressed.

Prior kissed her again, deeply--and the way opened and the rest of his
organ slid into her snug vagina. He thrust, withdrew, thrust, holding
the kiss, clasping the bended torso, leaning against that bosom--and
suddenly fired a liquid salvo into her chamber.

As he disengaged from her, feeling the hardness of the stone already
returning, her lips formed something like the configuration of a spoken
word. Her magnificent breasts heaved gently. "Go," she said succinctly.

That was all.

Prior unplugged his member and knocked the dottle out and zipped up his
fly. "Thank you," he said to the statue. "You are an excellent lay, even
if vertical. I go."

She was cold and rigid again, but there was a half smile on her lips,
half a wink to her eye.

He walked on until he came to the statue of the man. The stone erection
remained, but now the figure was bent as though inserting his member
into a ready orifice.

"So that's the way it is," Prior said. "Well, what must be, must be."

He squatted before the statue, licked his lips, and applied his mouth to
the forward projection. At first lick the stone was cold, as before, but
it soon began to soften. Prior took the large glans in his mouth and
sucked, and the thing became tender. He worked his lips down around the
shaft, and the warmth descended with him. The penis began to throb.

Something cold touched his head. Startled, Prior paused. It was the
statue's hand, unmoving yet pushing his forehead back.

He sighed. "I was afraid of that."

He did not like pederasty, yet he did want his natural penis back, and
Oubliette had warned him that the statues had their price. Maybe,
however, he could fake it, this time. He stood, unsnapped his belt,
dropped his trousers and shorts, bent over, and backed up to the living
extremity.

The stone penis had solidified some in the few seconds it had been
neglected, and the glans was cool and hard as it touched his buttock.
Prior shifted, and the firm organ slid into his crack. Quickly it warmed
again and became slick, as though coated with grease. Yes--this was what
the stone man wanted.

Prior waited a moment, then leaned back against the member. But he kept
his anus puckered tight, instead letting the half-stone member push down
between his clamped-together legs, shoving Prior's scrotum out of the
way. With luck, that would feel like the buggery it was intended to be.
He worked his thigh muscles and jogged a bit in the rod, and in due
course the statue came. It was a jet of icewater, squirting out in front
of him. Better that than hot lava.

He pulled himself off as the stone cooled and hardened. Had he fooled
the statue? He listened to the slowly pursing lips.

"To," said the stone man.

Good enough! "Thank you," Prior said as he donned his trousers.

The sheep-statue was looking toward him expectantly, tail lifted. By
this time Prior had pretty well come to terms with the system, though as
little as a month ago it would have been another matter. He wasted no
time with foolish qualms. He unpacked the slender five-incher (because
it was easier to erect in a hurry) and applied it to the ovine
puddendum.

"Ba-a-a-ack up," he told it.

As before, the aperture softened, and before long he was able to deposit
a moderate seminal offering. The ewe's vagina was, by the feel of it,
very similar inside to a human one, and the experience was not really
objectionable. He could almost appreciate why so many country youths
preferred their animal female friends to the less acquiescent and more
fickle human ones. Bestiality was frowned upon, generally--but this
restriction had no doubt been authored by people who lacked the nerve to
approach an obliging sheep. It was said that one of the venereal
diseases had come to man by way of a sheep: one of the crewmen who
sailed with Columbus, bringing this New World disease back to delight
the Europeans. Prior didn't believe it, but it did make a nice
historical story.

"Mmm-mo-o-o-u-u-u-n-n-nnt!" the sheep bleated as it hardened back into
stone.

"But I just mounted," Prior protested. Then: "Oh--that's your word of
advice. Sorry. Thanks." He petted her on the woolly back.

So it continued. The dog gave him a fine slurpy blow job and barked
"Ice! Ice!" The stallion rammed about nine inches into what it thought
was his anus--Prior was getting good at fooling statues--and pumped out
its lather, neighing "Cream! Cre-e-e-a-am!" "Don't I know it!" Prior
replied, looking at the stuff on the ground. The eagle and the griffin
were more difficult, and he had to pause to recharge before making a
trio out of the statue man-and-sheep duo. Some of the exercises were
rough, but in each case he did what was necessary or faked it, and hoped
his increasingly sore body would recover in a reasonable time.

He understood, now, why Oubliette was so tired after making this journey
to visit the Eggers. He, at least, could change into a fresh penis every
time; she had to stick with her natural equipment. He wondered what
information she needed, to prompt such an excursion every month or so.
Or was it merely her generous nature, bringing physical joy, however
transitory, to her menagerie and to the horny Eggers?

At last he had the complete message:

GO TO MOUNT ICECREAM. CLIMB THE CHERRY TREE.

And directions how to get there, and what else to do.

Prior contemplated his notes, rubbed chapstick on his chapped anatomy,
threw away a bitten penis-unit, washed his mouth out three times with
cold water, and combed the animal refuse out of his hair. Then he walked
the short remaining distance to the cabin of the Eggers.

He knew that a different man would be there, for the Earthside layover
was only a few days for each, but that didn't matter. The Eggers knew
how to travel between the stars, and Prior needed their help.

For the Cherry Tree was on Mt. Icecream, and Mt. Icecream was on a
planet circling a star not even visible from Earth. He had to take the
Eggers' pass.

But at the end of this devious route lay the solution to his problem.
The hazards were fantastic and the concomitant chores tedious, but he
could win his natural penis back.

If he was man enough with the prosthetics.

Part III: The Cherry Tree
=========================

Chapter Twenty
--------------

Six of them began that grim trek toward disaster and disillusion. The
Kid had started it, his adolescent chatter like a match that touched the
right tinder after sputtering futilely for half a lifetime. Miles Long
was his name, and Prior could see the scars on his psyche. The Kid must
have learned to fight at the age of three and how to sneer at four.
Prior, with a scar of his own where it didn't always show, would have
felt more sympathy if the brat wasn't so good at both.

Miles (the Kid) Long had won twelfth prize in an Earthside Snapplepop
contest by making daily collections from every other kid in the ward for
boxtops. He had amassed about twelve hundred entries, and given in
return a hundred and fourteen split lips, seventeen damaged teeth,
forty-eight black eyes and two hundred and ninety-one substantive
threats. When he won, he had opted for the tour: one week at Mt.
Icecream. Naturally he had been bored crazy after the first day. So he
thought he'd gain the fame he craved by climbing to the top, and the old
fool Yale Payton had agreed with him, and the next thing there were five
suckers clamoring for equipment. With Prior Gross the guide.

Prior had lacked the wherewithall to finance a jaunt through the Pass,
so had had to make the best deal he could. Mt. Icecream Resort was
perennially short on mundane personnel, so he'd signed on for a
six-month hitch as caretaker-guide in return for a moderate stipend plus
transportation to and from. He'd started duty three weeks ago--and like
the Kid, he'd been bored stiff (without erection) after about
twenty-four hours.

This was no piece of cake. It was a dish of ice cream.

Snow swirled bleakly ahead of them, the particles swooping up to cling
messily to their nylafur outfits. It had a yellowish cast and
sickly-sweet smell; that meant it was vanilla, or had been before the
wind chipped it into crystals. The sugar tended to coat all warm
surfaces, becoming more and more grimy as time passed. Human beings
carried with them the bacteria of decay and the calories of body-warmth,
and that meant perpetual trouble here. Eventually, with this rampant
tourism, the entire area would be infected, and Mt. Icecream would
become Mt. Rancidsludge, but no one seemed to care. Certainly Prior
didn't. What was a little more pollution in the galaxy, after all? He'd
had his fill, and not just figuratively. He'd had to eat a quart of ice
cream every day, per the Resort policy of demonstrating that the
surroundings were, indeed, good enough to eat. Yech!

He turned his head to check the party. Behind him was Stedman Awk, a
fat, wealthy slob of a man who'd made his fortune in hamburgers (despite
thirteen injunctions over the years against cutting the meat with
chickenneck, fishheads, horsemeat and plain old--very old--stale bread)
and now he wanted to see how the other half functioned. The
dessert-racket half, specifically. And he had caught the adventure fever
from the Kid. He would learn about a lot more than rancid ice cream
before he got home!

Third was the lone female, Chloe Samuels, who claimed to be a specialist
in something or other. It could have been interesting, having a woman
along in a necessarily tight formation like this, but it wasn't. For one
thing, she was dumpy; for another, even a beauty would have been
unapproachable in this cold and grime.

Next was the old man, Yale Payton, followed by the Kid.

At the end was Ambert Black: a huge Negro with too much muscle and an
unpleasant militancy. There might have been trouble between him and the
Kid, but the Kid was just smart enough to know he was outclassed. Black
was no amateur trouble-maker; he was a pro. He had figured to make the
climb on his own, but Resort regulations specified a party of at least
three, one of these being a guide, for any overnight excursion from the
base. Black would have tried it anyway, but knew that the robot
snowsleds would have cut him off. He hated meddling robots even worse
than meddling people.

A motley crew, Prior thought, without a doubt. An old man, a fat man, an
adolescent, a bitter Black and a dumpy doll. All come to see the
fabulous mountain of ice cream--and finding it as motley as themselves.

Prior peered ahead again, but the yellow haze cut visibility and hid the
peak. Just as well; its beauty was ironic.

They reached the Stage One campsite in midafternoon. The days were about
twenty hours long here and the gravity about nine-tenths of a gee, both
of which fouled up visitors in subtle but determined fashion.
Disorientation, irritation, even outright illness--Mt. Icecream was good
for an hour's visit or a six-month tour (but not very good for either),
but a week was too long for patience and too short for metabolism. As
these characters would find out soon.

Prior knew the party wouldn't make it to the top. No party ever did.
Probably this one wouldn't get beyond the Stage Two campsite. The old
man would give out first, then the fat one, then the woman. Prior had
been briefed on such dynamics, and was already an old hand. The Kid
would stick it out longer, trying to prove himself. He would think it
was manhood and courage he was demonstrating, but actually it was
perversity and idiocy. The Negro--now, he was tough. Black wouldn't
quit--but after Stage Three the party would be down to two, Black and
Prior, and that was below the minimum. The robots would converge,
frustrating human ambition in the name of human safety. So it would come
to nothing, as it always did.

Unlike these slobs, Prior had reason to scale the mountain. Somewhere up
there was the Cherry Tree--his lone hope for sexual salvation. Somewhere
beyond Stage Four, reaching for the summit. He had never been to the
top--no one had, as far as he knew--and his present prospects were
bleak. The outside treks were better than the station boredom, at least,
but their approach to the summit was illusory. To really do it he would
need a sturdy and reliable party, and no such was to be formed from
routine tourist ilk. If only a bunch of interstellar marines were to
take their liberty here, or central European mountain climbers... but
instead there were only old, fat, flighty, fighty or female vacationers,
the products of pampered or deprived society.

So here he was, playing out the charade again, letting the paying
customers dream of saccharin glory, and grow tired, and quit, having
shown themselves up for the feebly ambitious slobs they were. He, as
guide, had to pretend that there really was a chance for them to scale
the candy pinnacle despite their drastic limitations.

Stage One was large, built to accommodate the many parties that did make
it this far. To a considerable extent it was an extension of the main
camp; it had electric power and a furnace and half a dozen private
cubicles. Usually one or two couples would take the hike as a pretext to
spend the night alone: "Hey! Know what we did? We made love halfway up
Mt. Icecream! Match that, Jones!" The guide filled in for the rule of
three, and for the price of a generous tip made himself inconspicuous
when that became crowded. Prior had already escorted several of these
liaisons, and knew that the anticipated adulterous pleasures too often
became guilty quarrels, victim in part to the planetary forces of weight
and cycle. Nothing like lack of sleep or a queasy stomach to heighten
discord. Maybe sometime he would get to guide a pair of young women;
that could be worthwhile, if they weren't lesbians.

But there was none of that this time. No coupling--not with Chloe as
unattractive as she was, and no fairies among the men. There wasn't even
much bickering, to his surprise. This ramshackle group actually seemed
to be unified by a common purpose. He was sure it wouldn't last.

Tonight they talked. Chloe--Klo, she insisted on being called--was a
better conversationalist than were most women, perhaps because she was
physically unattractive. She didn't seem to be on the make for a man.
Her hair, in the nightlight, was red--the too-sharp red of dye, but
colorful all the same. She was fast on the uptake, with a snappy
rejoinder for any remark tossed her way. The big Negro, Ambert Black,
seemed to take half a shine to her, and that was funny too, because he
was a true believer in racial purity. Black purity; none of that
lily-white dilution of the stock. And the old man and the Kid continued
to hit it off.

Prior thought about Oubliette and her peristaltic vagina, and daydreamed
of shoving the twelve-incher into that orifice, foot by foot. God! What
was he doing here on this sickenly edible mountain, when the real eating
was back on Earth and between her legs!

"Sure, I know how you feel," the oldster was saying to the Kid. "My
moniker isn't much better. Yale--how many times do you suppose I've been
told to 'lock it up' or 'take it to college'? Actually my name means
'payer'; it's just coincidence there are other things called that. But
every schnook thinks it's so terribly original to--you know."

Yes, the Kid had found a friend in the least likely place, and Prior
knew Miles Long's impetus to climb the mountain had abated. The Kid
thought he wanted to prove himself to all mankind, but one person
sufficed. How many aggressive causes were just that way, sublimations
for ordinary satisfactions denied? Prior revised his estimate: the old
man would drop out first, but the Kid would join him, the fat man making
up the trio.

Now he thought back to Tantamount, twin sister of Oubliette. Too bad she
was scientist first, woman second; she had the body to give a man a real
lift. Had Prior known then what he knew now, he would have thrown her
down on that lab table and cooled his erection in her body before she
even had the chance to get the loaded tampon out, and bugged out of
there forever!

But when he slept, it was of the succubus he dreamed, there at the
beach. She was neither man nor woman, that demon; but when she assumed
the female form she was one hell of a fuck!

He woke as his penis-socket spewed into the blanket. He'd had a wet
dream, but he wasn't even wearing an organ. Depth of ignominy.

Chapter Twenty-One
------------------

Next day was a harder trek. The sun was out and the surface of the ice
cream melted, mucking up their boots and becoming disgustingly slippery.
Fat Stedman took a heavy spill about midday, soaking his bottom in
liquid strawberry, and that was it. Yale and Miles decided to sacrifice
their ambition in order to see him back, generously. Of course there
didn't have to be a trio going back, because the alert robots would zero
in on any lesser group and take it back anyway. But it was Prior's job
not to mention such details. After all, these were paying tourists, and
their pride would be salved by making it back on their own.

Now they were three, and the next dropout would terminate the project.
That would be Klo. Prior could see she was already tired. She had been
tempted to go back, obviously, but probably had realized that she had
waited too long, and now the onus for termination of the excursion would
be on her. For what that was worth.

Ahead of them Mt. Icecream towered in all its sugary splendor: the
pinnacle a mile above the base camp in elevation, many miles on the
slant, and many leagues by foot. Red, green, blue and brown overlaid its
yellow underbase, with black and gray streaks coursing down like lava
from a volcano. The red would be strawberry or cherry, the green
pistachio or lime, the blue blueberry, the brown chocolate, and the
streaks syrups of assorted flavors. All genuine and of excellent
quality, up here where it was uncontaminated by the germs of man. The
substance of Mt. Icecream would have carried a snobbish price tag in any
store on Earth. Very little was exported, however, because the expense
of shipping was greater than that of manufacturing an equivalent grade
locally. A few super-snobs made a point of serving it on special
occasions, but that came under the heading of conspicuous consumption.
Every so often, these past three weeks, Prior had gone out with the
shovel and scooped up some particular flavor on order for Earth
shipment. But this was a standing joke among personnel and tourists
alike: after all, it was only ice cream.

Klo saw him looking, and came up beside him. "It is beautiful, in its
grisly way," she remarked. "What do you think made it?"

"God made it," he said. It was the standard ploy, straight from the
guide manual. The fact was, no one knew who had made it or who
maintained it. It did seem to be beyond coincidence for the flavors and
constituents to match Earthly standards so precisely, yet there was no
possible connection. It was just here, and had to be accepted on that
basis.

Ambert Black came up too, as ornery as ever. "Big benign whiteass God
with a long whiteass beard," he said sarcastically. "Got nothing better
to do than make a mountain of upperclass ice cream. Probably shits it in
His off-moments. Why worry about unimportant little things like war and
poverty and disease?"

"Maybe God's tired," Klo said, unoffended. "Time for a change in
administrations."

Black was silent a moment, uncertain whether she was agreeing with him
or ridiculing him. Prior wasn't sure either, but did appreciate how
neatly she had thrown the big Negro off balance.

"Maybe God ain't just tired," Black said at last. "Maybe He's dead. And
his last Will & Testament was to be buried under an everlasting pile of
ice cream. Maybe it's every man for himself, now."

"Makes sense," she agreed amicably.

Black shut up, still not sure which side she was on. Maybe he felt a
dawning kinship with her--and maybe he was afraid of that, Prior
thought. In many ways, the plain white women of the species had it as
bad as the strong black men.

They continued climbing. As elevation increased, temperature decreased,
despite what people said about warm air rising. The greater labors
required in the steepening ascent kept them all sweating inside their
wrappings, however. Klo was red-faced, and neither from the light of the
waning sun nor from any embarrassment; her breath fogged out in a noisy
bellows-rush. But she wouldn't give up.

They made Stage Two. Even Black admitted his fatigue. He stripped
without ceremony and plunged into the warm shower. He had enormous
muscles, stout haunches, numerous scars, and a massive hanging ebony
penis.

Klo just lay flat for ten minutes, getting her wind, and in that
position she didn't look bad at all. Her stomach slimmed down, her
breasts stood out on her heaving chest, and her facial features
softened. Then she sat up and began peeling off the layers.

Prior was breaking out the staples, for the guide on such parties was
also necessarily the cook and chief handyman. He watched, frankly
curious to see what a dumpy woman looked like in the nude.

"Not as bad as I thought," he said as she got there. "You are
overweight, but there's muscle in your legs where it counts, and your
breasts are even handsome."

He thought she'd blush or get mad--he hardly cared which--but she just
shrugged and got up to find the shower. "Get out, you scorchskinned
phony," she yelled in to Black. "You can't hog the only facility
forever. My turn coming up."

"I'll get out when I'm ready, you whiteassed whore!" the man yelled back
jovially.

Klo pushed through the curtain and stepped into the shower with him.
"Get out when you're ready, then, black woodpecker."

Prior paused again in his preparations. Either he'd have to fetch the
first-aid kit in a hurry, or this acquaintance was ripening faster than
anticipated!

"Say, I must be hard up when long pig starts looking good!" Black
muttered, sounding surprised rather than angry. "Long fat white pig,
yet."

Prior relaxed. There would be no race riot for the nonce. Black had a
weakness for stout women....

The water splashed. "Gimme that soap, Derby," she said, and the curtain
bowed as she wrestled around him for it, not waiting for him to tell her
to get it herself, whiteass.

"Get your boob off my tube!"

"If that's God, he ain't dead," she said.

"I said I was hard up! So it's hard and it's up. What's it to you?"

"Let me feel that." More splashing and curtain-bowing. "You're
half-right. It's fairly hard and up."

"Fairly hard!" Black cried indignantly. "That's pure polished ebony
ivory horn. You couldn't soften that black bastard with a white
sledgehammer!"

"My white socket-wrench could screw it down, though."

Prior's interest in sex had diminished after the workout the statues had
given him, but three weeks in the candy snows had cranked up his scrotum
and put blood-pressure behind his pet-cock, as his last night's
imaginings had demonstrated. This trek had hardly promised an outlet.

Ah, well. It showed that such things were unpredictable. He stripped
efficiently, plugged in Monster, and parted the bustling shower curtain.

They did not notice. Klo was hard at work softening the ebony ivory with
her socket, and Black was plumbing the depths of the long fat white pig
in the vertical position, front face, while the steamy water plunged
down over both.

Prior considered the openings, then retired temporarily from the field.
He was stuck with a twelve-inch erection and no place to cool it. But he
was merely daunted, not defeated. He had had experience with grouped
statues, after all.

He braced himself, then stepped naked out into the blizzard landscape of
Mt. Icecream. The vanilla sleet cut into his skin and frosted his
fingers and toes, but melted instantly from the heated organ. He scooped
up a double handful and rubbed it over his mighty penis, and gradually
the monster diminished into a midget. He dived back into the warmth of
Stage Two.

With cold-stiffened fingers he unplugged the now-empty phallus and set
it aside. He unlimbered a unit he had never had occasion to employ
before: the bifurcate double-lengther. He locked it on and returned to
the shower, forked member perking expectantly.

Chapter Twenty-Two
------------------

The tableau remained. The white had not yet softened the black, but was
making progress.

Prior limbered his two-headed snake and stepped into the shower with the
pair already soaking there. That hot water felt extremely good, now!
They didn't notice him, though it was now quite crowded. Their bodies
were plastered together, chest to breast, merging at face and crotch,
and the hot water coursed down along all available channels. Klo was
stretched and Black humped to accommodate those connections, so that the
one was not dumpy and the other not tall. It was working very nicely,
actually. She stood on tip-toe, and her feet lifted from the floor with
every slow thrust Black made, and her buttocks tensed and quivered
alternately.

"A touching scene," Prior murmured, but neither heard him. "No sense
rushing things, I agree."

He separated his dual projections and used his hands to curve them
around the two-backed beast. First he concentrated on Klo's flexing
posterior, guiding the right fork up into the dark wet cavity between
buttocks and thighs. The preferred location was occupied already, of
course, but the secondary one remained vacant. He didn't object to anal
penetration, when it was not his own anus being penetrated.

He knocked against the tight sphincter. At first it resisted, but then,
no doubt in response to the sensations of the moment, it relaxed, and he
got the head of the snake in. Then that tense-quiver, tense-quiver
rhythm as her toes left the floor helped him, and he worked up a
respectable depth.

Now for the other half. He carried the left fork around to Black's back
haunch and aimed for the secondary (but only) location there. Because he
was already anchored on the right, he had to stretch to make the left.
Fortunately the member had been designed for just such manipulations and
was elastic. The tip reached target, and, after several charges, found
its lodging.

Not a moment too soon! The long pig climaxed violently and the ebony
ivory bastard triggered off in response. Both anuses clenched and puffed
with the jettison rhythm, sending dual shock waves of urgency into
Prior's crotch. He fancied he could feel the ejaculate galloping from
the one body to the other, pressing against each rectal cavity and the
member lodged therein. Prior was experiencing both halves of the orgasm,
and was building for the most solid eruption himself since his
prosthetic graduation!

Black, his organ spent, became aware of his other apertures. "What's
this pig at my face!" he cried, jerking back his head. "What's this shit
up my ass!" he yelled, jumping away.

Prior's left extension stretched like rubber but did not let go. Klo saw
it too, now. "Snake!" she screamed, bolting for the exit. Her anus, too,
was clenched like a trap on Prior's half member.

"Snake!" Black cried, echoing her. He seemed to be twice as shy of
reptiles as she, oddly.

Black scrambled out of the shower, and Klo was pacing him. Both seemed
berserk. Prior followed, perforce. The two halves of his penis remained
hooked in the two sealed sphincters, and he could not detach it from his
own side while it was under such tension.

Black burst out the door and into the snow, dragging his company with
him. Klo skidded alongside him, then caught her footing and raced ahead.
Like two thoroughbreds hauling a harness-cart, the black stallion and
the white mare hauled Prior Gross along on rubbery bands stretching from
crotch to crotch. The vanilla flew to the sides as their bare feet
slipped and kicked.

Then they hit a maple-syrup slick. Black windmilled, caught Klo by the
left breast, and held his position. Prior's soles skidded on the goo.
Now he was a water-ski amateur, his cord hitched to two live boats.

Klo's foot struck an encrustation of crystallized sugar--probably
maple-sugar. She did a split and spun off to the side. Since she was the
only one retaining secure footing, until this point, a splendid crash
was in the making.

Prior's penis-head popped out of her bottom and snapped back stingingly.
With half his forward pull deflected, Prior fell to the other side. Here
there was an outcropping of pistachio that piled up as he plowed
sidewise through it. This tension, combined with the shrinkage sponsored
by the cold, was enough finally to yank out the other glans, and he
rolled to a stop half-buried in green snow.

He was freezing. But before he uncovered himself he twisted off the
bifurcate, shrunken member and threw it away. Not only had his orgasm
been stifled, he had been hauled roughly and painfully from a hot shower
to sub-freezing cold, and he had no one to blame but his penis!

Black trotted back, shivering. He saw the splay of pistachio. He
pounced. "Got it!" he exclaimed, lifting the discarded member. "Fucking
two-headed snake!" He inspected it more closely. He did a doubletake. He
faced Prior, who was just standing up and brushing off the green.
"Where'd you get this, Gross?"

So Black wasn't entirely naive about prosthetics. "Doctor named
Oubliette Emdee, back on Earth." Prior shivered and started back for the
camp. "Want her address?"

Black considered, hefting the member. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. If she makes
these in basic black."

"She doesn't make them, she fits them. But she has quite an assortment."

Black became almost friendly as the three of them crowded back into the
warm room, shaking off ice. "It ain't that I hate you less, you white
cocksucker, but that I hate cops more."

"Nice to know," Prior said neutrally. It was possible to get along with
Black if you didn't argue with him, as Klo had shown.

"Yeah. There's this squad of whiteass cops back home. Cops ain't all
bad--I heard of one once that wasn't, anyway--but these ones--five, six
of 'em--need a proper screwing. Know what I mean?"

"Six at once?" This man had big ambitions!

"Got to be, or they'll scatter. Every night they bust up somebody's crap
game, grab the stakes, and play it out themselves. All them fat asses,
bending over..."

Prior laughed. "I'll write out her address for you!"

Chapter Twenty-Three
--------------------

The third day's hike was stiff, but still Klo didn't break. Now they
mounted massive projections of rocklike sugar crystals that crumbled
treacherously when subjected to the slightest stress or warmth. The
candy grime got into their suits and wouldn't quite melt and wouldn't
quite dry. At the margins of neck, wrist and ankle it became the
consistency of half-chewed taffy (which it was) and pulled and chafed.
In the crotches of thigh and armpit it became the consistency of
luke-warm milk-chocolate, the kind that melts in your hand not in your
mouth (which it was), and sucked and gooked with every motion. In the
hair of the head it became caked butterscotch pudding; in the hair of
the pubes, caked vanilla icing.

"Up farther where it's colder we'll be able to use pitons," Prior said,
for all the dubious comfort that was worth. Anything would be better
than this gooey intermediate zone!

Stage Three was nestled in a chocolate crevasse. The chocolate looked
like bare dirt, just as the distant pistachio looked like living foliage
and the vanilla snow like vanilla snow. But the consistency of this
chocolate was more like wood. The cabin roof was piled with
purple--blueberry or black raspberry flavor, Prior judged.

"After this, the climb gets rough," Prior said as they scraped rancid
rind off their torsos. "This is higher than most parties get, so it's no
shame to turn back."

"I hear no white man's made it all the way up," Black said, with the
accent on "white."

"I hear no man's made it up," Klo said, her accent on "man."

"Not to Stage Five, no," Prior admitted. "No human beings of any color
or sex. The robots built that stage, and a couple of them were lost in
glaciers or something."

"I ain't even going to fuck, tonight," Black said grimly.

"Who asked you to?" Klo demanded. "You attract snakes."

"Save my great black godless strength to put beautiful black Black on
the friggin' white pinnacle," he finished, glowering at Prior. "First
man to make it."

Prior laughed. "If we make it, you can step on the top first. You're the
paying customer. I have other plans."

"Yeah?" Black looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

"I'm going to climb the Cherry Tree." It was safe to talk about it now;
they wouldn't comprehend the reference anyway, or care one way or the
other.

"The Cherry Tree! You mean that's up there? On top of ol' Icecream? I
changed my black mind!"

"You know about it?" Prior asked, surprised.

"I'm a man, ain't I? I got a cock, don't I? But that sure ain't my kind
of cunt. I ain't goin' near it!"

Prior was intrigued. "You'll risk your precious black life to climb a
stupid mountain of ice cream, but you're afraid of a little tree?"

"That tree, yes! I don't mind dying so much, but I'm choosy about how my
ass gets reamed." He rubbed his backside, perhaps remembering what Prior
had done the day before, but decided not to make an issue of it.

It occurred to Prior that the talking statues hadn't told him
everything. "I only want to climb it and get the spire at the top. You
can stand back and watch. If I fall, I'm the only one who gets hurt.
Then the robots will come and carry us all back down. What's so
frightening about that?"

Black shook his head as he stepped into the shower. "You're a whiteassed
pekkernosed candy-coated bugging stooge, but you don't deserve what
you're headed for. I tell you this for your own cornholing good: lay off
the Cherry Tree."

"Why? I need that spire."

"Like elephant turds in your beer you need it! And you can't get near
it."

"I'm curious too," Klo said as Black emerged from the shower. The Negro
hadn't taken long at all this time; apparently he was serious about not
fornicating. "What's so dangerous about a tree--a cherry tree, yet?"

Black ignored her and looked at Prior inscrutably. "They's no fool like
a white fool!" He pondered while he toweled off his robust torso and Klo
got into the spray of hot water. "Hokay. I know a little magic--black
magic, of course--enough to haul down a branch or two. Suppose I bring
one here, so you can see it? Then you'll know."

"You can bring the Cherry Tree here?" Prior was excited.

"A branch of it, paleass. That's enough. You look at it--then you can
quit, and we'll just sashay back down the mountain, and not break any
ill wind about it, okay?"

"Quit?" Prior demanded incredulously. "Because of a look at one fool
branch? You're nuttier than I thought, and that was pretty damn--"

"I'm smart," Black said, taking no offense. He brought out a red crayon
and began marking off a large pentagram. "You got a notion that'll wipe
you out--and not only in this life."

"For someone who doesn't believe in God--" Klo said, poking her head and
one breast out of the spray. Then she saw the pentagram. "Hey! That's
how you summon a demon!"

"Don't bother me, pig. This is tricky."

Prior decided not to bother him either. Black was acting as if he knew
what he was doing.

The Negro completed the diagram, then brought out a package of powder
and a candle.

"Talk of the dark ages!" Klo said, coming out. Prior was ready for his
own shower, but decided to keep his clothing on despite the discomfort
until he had a better notion what this was all about.

"The black ages," Black corrected her automatically. "Now you two stand
back. I've got an amulet to protect me, but your only safeguard is this
diagram. Don't step in it, don't get too close--DON'T DRIP ON IT,
BITCH!" he screamed as Klo did get too close. She stepped back hastily
and wrapped the towel about her.

Black glared at her a moment more, then resumed. "When I light this--"

"Sure," Prior said, amused. Black magic, indeed! He scratched a wrinkle
in his scrotum where some chocolate had lodged itchily.

Black set the candle in the center of the pentagram. It promptly fell
over. "So it's like that, eh," he muttered. He lit a wooden match and
melted the candle's base so that the wax dripped, then set it down
firmly in the puddle. This time it stayed. He used the same match to
light the wick. When the candle flame was steady he popped the lighted
match into his mouth to extinguish it, stood back beyond the rim of the
pentagram, poured some of the powder into his palm, and made a last
check to see that Klo and Prior were well clear.

Black chanted:

FEE FOO FII FANCH, I SMELL THE SAP OF A CHERRY BRANCH!

BE YE GREEN OR BE YE BRASS, I'LL GRIND YOUR WOOD TO WIPE MY ASS!

As he chanted, he threw a pinch of powder into the candle flame, taking
care not to enter the pentagram himself, and there was a bright flash.

As Prior's sight cleared, he saw within the pentagram a mass of foliage.
It was a limb from a tree--and a single bright red cherry showed.

"There it is!" Black grunted, sweating.

"Sure enough," Prior agreed, not knowing what to make of it. It was the
spire he required, not the actual branches of the cherry tree, and their
removal from the tree wouldn't make it any easier to climb.

"Now will you leave Mt. Icecream?" Black asked.

"Because you tore one branch off a cherry tree by magic?" Prior
chuckled, walking toward it. "What kind of a white fool do you take me
for?"

"Stay back, idiot!"

Prior ignored him. He stepped into the pentagram and kicked at the lone
cherry.

His foot never landed. The greenery metamorphosed into a tremendous
demon-shape. A huge gray hand shot out to fasten around Prior's neck.

"So you'll grind my wood to wipe your smelly little pucker, eh?" the
demon boomed, blowing sawdust in Prior's face.

Prior was just beginning to comprehend what Black had tried to warn him
of. He should have realized that this was no ordinary cherry tree. How
could it grow in perpetual snow, otherwise? Now he was in trouble.

"No, no!" he gasped, trying to free his neck from the crushing grip.
"All I wanted was to--"

"To take my cherry!" the demon cried. "Well, let's see you try it,
sucker! My cherry has never been breached by mortal man, but there's
always a first fucking time, right?"

"To get the spire!" Prior finished, beginning to black out.

"To get the spire!" the demon mimicked. "As if you could mount to the
divine dildo without first plucking the cherries off the five guardian
branches of the Tree! Well, I am the least of those branches, and I have
taken the cherries of better mortals than you, fool. I'll wipe your ass,
all right--right out from your puny body!"

"Cherries?" Prior was confused, and the hand choking him did not
facilitate his clarity of mind.

"Well," said the demon conversationally as he squeezed. "Technically
they aren't cherries unless they're ripe and fresh and female, and most
aren't, unfortunately." It gave Prior's neck another painful tweak. "But
you know what I mean. Unfucked."

Prior finally twisted his neck free, leaving some skin and possibly a
vein or two behind, and sucked wind. "No I don't know what you mean. All
I came for--"

The demon put a talon in Prior's collar and ripped the shirt lengthwise.
"All you came for was to grind my wood. Ha ha. Well, grind, mortal,
grind!" It ripped Prior's trousers open, the claw narrowly missing a
testicle. "Shit, mortal--not only are you deficient in wit, charm, and
personal hygiene, you're missing a copulatory organ! Wait till I tell my
siblings about this!"

Prior still didn't quite understand what was going on, but was sure he
didn't like it. He was naked now, and of course the demon had never been
clothed. And the demon had a fat nine-inch phallus stiffened for
business.

Prior tried to pull away and get out of the pentagram, but the demon
tripped him and sent him sprawling. Prior tried to roll, and the demon
kicked him back. It was, in fact, a game of cat and mouse; the demon
couldn't help chuckling every time Prior's chance at escape turned out
to be illusory.

Prior noticed, however, that the cheery cherry demon stayed well clear
of the burning candle. Maybe the thing really was made of wood, and
would go up in smoke--literally--if ignited.

Prior reached for the candle. But the demon, no fool, was too quick for
him. It caught his foot, twisted it, and threw him down prone with the
step-over toe hold. "Hey!" Prior screamed inanely.

"Sorry--business before pleasure," the demon grunted regretfully. "Much
as I'd like to play with you longer--chew your balls, bite your dong,
squeeze the shit out of both ends of you, and all that innocent fun--I
have to inflate you first."

Prior opened his mouth to scream for help, but saw that Black and Klo
were staying well clear of the pentagram. They wouldn't come in after
him. This wasn't betrayal so much as common sense. It was his own fight,
brought about by his own stupidity in blithely entering the forbidden
diagram.

The demon positioned itself, its heavy limbs holding down Prior's own.
It leaned forward and banged woody fists into Prior's thighs. "Get them
open, flabhole--I can't see your cherry." And the trunklike penis rammed
into a tender buttock. Prior felt as though he were being impaled on a
dull stake.

In fact, he finally had the message. He was about to get raped.

"You see, only the unfucked can hope to attain the Spire," the demon
said conversationally as it zeroed in for another shot. "That's the way
it is. So we five branches eliminate threats by fucking everything that
approaches. Beautifully simple, is it not?"

The demon shifted about in order to gain better penile leverage--and in
so doing released the submission hold on Prior's leg. This happened just
as Prior realized the truth about cherries. This coincidental (?)
juxtaposition galvanized him; he jumped and scrambled so suddenly that
the demon was caught offguard.

Prior somersaulted out of the pentagram where the demon could not
follow. "Gee, it was a virgin hole, too," the creature lamented.
"Unsoiled by anything other than shit, water, a few fingers--and an Eeg
egg." It nursed its disappointed phallus. "An only slightly tarnished
cherry."

"Good for you, white turdling!" Black exclaimed. "You won through on
your own. Now I can banish the branch and--"

"Leave it there!" Prior gasped, suddenly determined. The notion of
getting mutilated or killed had been bad enough, but the threat against
his assiduously-defended rectum had made him really angry. He dived for
his supply pack.

"What are you doing?" Klo cried apprehensively. "Don't you know when to
quit? That thing might break out and screw us all!"

Literally, Prior now knew. But this didn't change his mind. He plunged a
hand in and brought out the twelve-incher. He clapped Monster to his
socket and waited while it burgeoned. "I came to climb the Cherry Tree,
and this branch sure needs some climbing."

"Man!" Black said admiringly as the pigskin towered turgidly, vaguely
resembling a football in its full formation.

Prior marched toward the pentagram, phallus clearing the way like a
snowplow. "Now I'm armed, you manfucking woodpecker! Come and get it!"

The demon seemed daunted, for Prior's fighting member was longer by
three inches and leather-tough. But the spell and diagram kept the
supernatural creature there, and this was its fucking business.

Prior stepped into the combat zone again, leading with that massive
genital bludgeon. The demon's nerve broke; it was outgunned. It tried to
run, but bounced off the invisible shield outlined by the pentagram and
fell, its front scorched. Prior strode forward and caught it from
behind, reaching a hand down and under to grasp the hanging testicles
and yank the entire loin back. With his free hand he hauled one of the
large gray arms around, tweaking those demonic balls when he encountered
resistance. Soon he had the demon's hands and feet together, and tied
them in one bundle with the remains of his torn trousers: wrists and
ankles crossed under the clumsy knot.

Now the demon got over its momentary shock and struggled earnestly, but
that delay had been fatal for it. Prior wrestled the folded posterior
into an upright posture and applied the pulsing tip of Monster to the
demon's anus. The sphincter resisted, so Prior stepped back and kicked
it with his snowboot, leaving a smear of caked vanilla across the hole.
The muscle loosened only enough to fire a gaseous stench at him, then
sealed as tightly as before. The demon flesh was tough!

"So it's like that, is it?" Prior muttered as he choked on the fumes. He
picked up the candle and applied the flame to the aperture. "Fart again,
why don't you!"

The demon did, not realizing what was waiting. A blow-torch developed as
the gas hit the fire, and Prior had to reel back before he got singed.
But first he jammed the blazing candle-wick into the open rectum.

The demon howled. Its body distended, blimplike. Flame shot out of its
ears. Then the candle blasted out of its ass and accelerated like a
rocket toward the ceiling, leaving a trail of thick smoke.

Prior launched himself at the rectum again, and drilled in with Monster
before the sphincter could recover. It was like a furnace inside the
demon, but he gritted his teeth and rammed in every inch before he began
bouncing.

"Fee foo fii fanch!" he chanted in time to the beats. "I smell the sap
of a cherry branch!"

"Mercy, you fucking bastard!" the demon cried as the odor of burning
cherry-wood rose from it.

Prior might have let up then, but something about the phrasing of this
appeal annoyed him. "Be ye green or be ye brass, I'll grind your wood to
wipe my ass!"

As he finished the chant, he came, putting out the fire with living
fluid.

The demon emitted a terrible scream as the first jet of semen struck.
Then it dissolved in greasy reddish vapor. Prior was left spurting into
air.

"You did it!" Black cried. "You beat the branch! You roasted its
cherry!"

"Yeah," Prior said, contemplating the spatter on the floor. He knew that
his victory had been largely luck--that and a brief combat rage that now
was gone. He had never reacted that savagely before. Of course no one
had ever tried to sodomize him against his will before, either.

Black was right: the Cherry Tree was dangerous! He wouldn't care to try
battling another demon like that. His quest for his natural penis wasn't
worth such macabre risk of life and limb, not to mention virgin anus.
They would have to go back down the mountain.

"I thought you didn't know the score," Black said as he erased the
pentagram. "But that's the finest fuck I ever saw. By a white cock, I
mean. You screwed that cherry right out of existence! Man, I sure
wouldn't stand in your way now! Let's go on up and smear the whole
spook-ridden Cherry Tree with baby-juice!"

"Amen," Klo said. "I thought you were a eunuch, but now I know you were
just biding your time for a real challenge I want to watch it all."

And what could Prior say?

Chapter Twenty-Four
-------------------

The ascent to Stage Four was the roughest yet. It was not a far piece,
but it was steep and treacherous. Prior had found new clothing at Stage
Three, but it did not fit him well, and chafed in sundry new places.
They used the pitons and ropes to scale a crystalline cliff, then had to
lay low in the colored snow for two hours while a black walnut-flavored
storm whistled over. The ice cream dumped on their heads was bad enough,
but the pelting fragments of nut were like shrapnel, threatening to
gouge out the skin of face and hands wherever it was exposed. In
addition, their leaking body warmth sank them down into an underlayer of
mixed sludge that became jelly-like around them. Prior would gladly have
abolished all ice cream from the universe for all time!

They resumed the climb when the storm abated--and got caught in an
avalanche of chocolate chip. The chips were like darts, then like
stilettos, and at the height of it like fine swords, for the weather
here did not honor dessert-bowl conventions. Black got gashed on the arm
by a fragment weighing several pounds, and his cherry-colored blood
stained his sleeve, but he wouldn't quit.

"To get cut by chocolate!" he grunted in disgust. "It's enough to make a
fellow believe in white!" Then he looked about nervously, worried that
the candy lightning might strike him down for his blasphemy.

"Probably there was an admixture of vanilla in it," Prior suggested as
Klo did some makeshift bandaging. "That's what made it nasty. It was
hybrid."

"Say, yeah," Black agreed. "Pure black chocolate would never slice me.
You, maybe, but never me. Always trouble when you mix races."

"Can't trust halfbreeds," Prior agreed. No, it wasn't at all difficult
to get along with the big militant, once he knew how!

They made it. Prior was dead tired, but it occurred to him that he might
be better off tackling the four remaining Cherry Tree branches
individually instead of in concert. He was not one of those men who
could spurt twice in five minutes (except perhaps in extraordinary
cases, such as the time with Oubliette) and certainly not four times
consecutively, despite the fine array of weapons available. But if he
could space each demon a day or so apart, and make careful
preparation....

"I dunno," Black said in answer to Prior's query. "My magic ain't all
that strong. I'm pretty much a layman, there. I might get the second
branch here, but it could reach out of the pentagram some. And I know I
couldn't handle the magic of the third branch, even with my amulet.
You're strictly on your own there."

He considered a moment. "But with a dingus like that twelve incher, you
can do it. Man, I almost came myself when I saw that thing start
pumping!"

Every time Prior thought it was time to give up, he got unwelcome
support for his quest. "Well, I'll give it a try," he said, more bravely
than he felt.

Black set the stage and chanted his chant:

FII FOO FUM FEE, I SMELL A BRANCH OF THE CHERRY TREE!

BE IT DEAD OR BE IT GREEN, I'LL GIRDLE IT TO JACK MY PEEN!

And the branch was there, its leaves green, its cherry bright.

Prior decided to stick with a winner. He had Monster attached and erect.
He took a breath and jumped into the arena, grabbing for foliage where
he judged an arm would materialize, and thrusting the phallus toward the
anticipated rectum. He wanted to do this rapidly, before the demon had a
proper chance to fight. That might spell the difference!

He found himself with a handful of leaves, his penis nudging rough bark.

Um. "So you won't convert, eh? Well, I can still core your cherry!" he
cried. He picked up the candle and brought it near, hoping that he
hadn't been tricked into assaulting a genuine non-demonic tree-limb.

Then the metamorphosis occurred, but quietly.

A woman formed from the wood. She was a dusky nude knock-out--bold of
breast, massive of thigh, classic of feature. She wore a necklace of
little shriveled sticks, oddly incongruous against her physical beauty.
"You wouldn't club an innocent maiden, would you, handsome?" she purred.

Black exploded with derisive mirth at the sideline. "Innocent! My
uncle's cunt!"

Prior was taken aback momentarily, until he realized exactly what she'd
said. Then he doubled his effort. "This is precisely the kind of
clubbing an innocent maiden needs!"

He supposed that she would fight him, but she merely spread her comely
legs with resignation. She had a remarkably neat genital region, not a
hair out of place. Prior's member throbbed with something more than a
sense of duty. "I'm really not in the mood at the moment," she said.

Prior was not to be put off by such conventional excuses. "You don't
have to be, sister." He got down on her, on guard against a sneak
attack.

"Not tonight; I have a headache."

"This is a sure cure for headaches," Prior said, orienting on her cleft.

"Yeah," Black called from the sideline. "Trade a headache for a pain in
the ass!"

"But your organ is too large for me," she demurred.

"I'll just bet!" Prior hastened to ram Monster home before the demoness
could strike, either physically or verbally. He gripped his phallus in
both hands and aimed for the lush target--but the member found no
purchase. Somehow it slid past the aperture and smashed harmlessly
against her firm cushiony and exciting but nevertheless irrelevant
buttock.

He peered between those statuesque thighs, parting the labia with his
fingers, and discovered that she had spoken truth. Her inner cleft--her
cunette--was ludicrously narrow, and her virginal vagina was no larger
than the diameter of a knitting needle. There simply was no sufficient
avenue for his tremendous penis, knock as it might at the portal.

"Now that you have tried and failed," she murmured with that same gentle
purr, "I shall claim your formidable member as my memento of the
occasion, my trophy." She gestured to her necklace that was now almost
under his nose.

Prior suddenly realized that these were not little twisted twigs, but
severed, dehydrated penises. There were about fifty of them strung
together, some circumcised, some not. All had been hacked off at the
base, and a few even had shrunken testicles dangling like beads on their
strings.

His erection evanesced. What a bitch!

She lifted one delicate hand, and the nails on her slender fingers
snapped out like the claws of a cat, as sharp as razor blades. "What a
fine specimen this will make!"

Prior put his hand involuntarily to his crotch. His penis could be
replaced, but he suspected that once she cut it he would have lost the
battle, by the demonic terms of this quest Regardless, he could bleed to
death if she cut it beyond the socket-valve, for the plugged-in member
kept that open.

"That won't help you," she said in a dulcet tone. "You entered the
pentagram; you made a romantic overture to me, despite my demurrals. You
may not depart until our delightful business together has been
consummated." She reached for his shrinking penis, light glinting from
those double-edged talons.

Prior lurched to his feet, but stumbled immediately. Vines encircled his
ankles, holding him prisoner. Her feet had reverted to vegetative
status--clinging, thorny strands. He kicked and struggled, but succeeded
only in lacerating his ankles, while she hoisted her fabulous bosom and
lovely head and reached her sleek, dagger-tipped arm toward his wilting
crotch. She was in no hurry; she knew she had him.

"Here, you whitepekkered shitslinger!" Black called.

Prior looked up at this friendly hailing and saw the Negro throwing
something at him. He caught it automatically.

It was the Pipecleaner model attachment.

"Thanks, Brother!" Prior called gratefully. And to the fair demoness:
"Cutie, hold your trophy-cutter. I have not yet begun to fuck."

Swiftly he twisted off Monster and threw it aside. It was not completely
flaccid and some blood squirted, but that couldn't be helped. He twisted
on Pipecleaner and willed it instantly erect. The wide-open sight of her
manicured cleft assisted this endeavor nicely.

The sultry demoness viewed the change and blanched. "That's not fair!"
she wailed. "You changed weapons in the middle of the tourney!"

"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart," he replied. "If this isn't
love, it must be war. Now serve up your sweet little cherry, 'cause I'm
aiming to make the pie."

She struggled, but she was built for sex-appeal rather than combat--as
all the finest women were--and her own vine-feet held her delicious
posterior captive. Prior caught her wrists to nullify the knife-nails
and pressed down on her voluptuous form. Her shape was truly immortal!
As his moderately hairy chest crushed flat her surging female breasts,
his thin long penis probed her twisting, twitching cleft. Now his
practice with Oubliette stood him in good stead; he knew how to zero in
no-handed on a pinpoint target.

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough. The channel was still too tight for
the ship. He had range and azimuth, but the Pipecleaner bent painfully
rather than penetrating that constricted orifice. What a minuscule hole,
considering the complete and generous sexuality of the remainder of the
demoness!

But that was the point of it. She wasn't supposed to be readily
breached!

"So you figure you're impregnable," Prior grated as his crotch twinged
again. "Well, I'm still going to impregnate you--or vaporize you in the
attempt!" And wondered if that made sense.

He sat up, holding her at penis-length, and slapped her pretty face a
bit, trying to loosen up that crack. Her head rolled back and forth, but
she was laughing at him. She was demonic, literally! There was only one
place he could really hurt her, and that was between the legs--where he
couldn't penetrate. He couldn't even get his little finger in; he had
tried. It would take a sledgehammer to drive in a pin, he thought
despairingly.

Her feet became feet again, and she kicked them about, making things
more difficult. Her nails were still claws, or maybe modified thorns, so
he couldn't let her hands be free for long. He was getting nowhere. In
time he would wear himself out--and it was a fair guess that she never
would tire!

Still, there were positions and positions. This frontal assault was not
the best for loose entry. Maybe some other configuration....

But he couldn't let go of her. Her hands were too dangerous, her legs
too lively. Her toenails were barbed, too. How could he shift her about
to suit himself under such conditions? Well....

First thing was to distract her. To make her mad, if that were possible.
How short was the temper of a demon? He held her arms spreadeagled and
bent down his face, centering on her marvelous bosom. He took her right
nipple in his mouth, sucked on it until it swelled... and chomped down
hard.

She yelped and bucked and cursed him in Arabic. Good, he thought; she
could feel pain and didn't like it.

He wrestled her flat again and mouthed the other breast, but this time
he didn't bite, though her torso was tense and stressed beneath him. He
let her struggle and swear ineffectively for a while, then gave the
turgid nipple a lingering lick and spat it out.

And made a lightning plunge for the rightie again as she relaxed, and
ground it savagely between his molars.

She nearly bucked him into the ceiling. She was mad, all right.
Fortunately she lacked the necessary cool for such work. She didn't like
being teased.

Prior got to his feet, still holding her wrists. He forced her hands
together and grasped her crossed wrists with the fingers of one hand.
Her breasts flattened against each other and quivered like warm pudding,
but she was too busy screaming obscenities at him to do what she should
have: concentrate on breaking the grip. Even the words weren't very
effective, because they were not in any language he could understand.

So far so good. He had her mad, so that she was not pursuing her best
strategies. Now it got tricky.

Prior clenched his free hand, forming a fist with the knuckles pointed
down. He didn't like doing this, even to a demon, but--He punched her
hard in the belly. Her knees came up as her breath wooshed out, and for
a moment she was unable to cuss him properly. He couldn't really hurt
her supernatural flesh, but while she was distracted by the blow he
caught her left ankle and brought it up to her pinioned hands. Then he
leaned against that leg from the underside while he positioned his groin
and aimed Pipecleaner for the definitive thrust.

Then she caught on to his strategy. But it was too late. Her hands were
caught, one long thigh well flexed, and her little cleft stretched wide
and taut. He placed the tip of his member against the clenching slit and
leaned into it, using her arms for leverage to draw himself in farther.
The action was all his.

This position was like riding a bucking bronco upsidedown, but it was
indeed better for penetration. Her tight vagina was spread to its
widest, and the full weight of his body was hammering at the weakened
portal, and her frantic kicking with the other leg served only to
vibrate the skin of the orifice and work the probing needle in farther.
It was still a very tight squeeze, but persistence was making the entry.

It hurt as he drove on and in, for she was very like the
pencil-sharpener he had dreamed of. But what was pain, when victory was
surging in his loin? Past her straining childlike labia majoris,
pressing in between the slick labia minoris, drilling down into that
puckered well--

She screamed as he distended her miniature vulva and greased the inner
channel with his own preliminary lubricant. She groaned in real agony as
he reached operative depth and began jogging. The fit was so compelling
that a single bounce was sufficient to bring on his climax. And when the
semen sizzled through the constricted conduit and sprayed into her most
jealously guarded vestibule, she puffed into vapor and dissipated with a
despairing sigh. He didn't even have a chance to mouth her tempting
breast again; his teeth closed on cold mist.

Only the necklace of dehydrated penises remained, lying inertly on the
floor.

Now his member was half-limp and stinging from the excessive torsion and
friction as it dribbled on the floor. But he had conquered the second
branch of the nefarious Cherry Tree!

Chapter Twenty-Five
-------------------

The haul to Stage Five was something else. Glassy sheets of sherbet led
up to a bloody strawberry glacier with treacherous mint-filled crevices.
Prior had never been this far before, and he was daunted by the savagery
of the unfamiliar terrain. Twice Klo lost her footing and tumbled into
yawning sugar-crystal pits, nearly yanking both men in after her as the
rope lost its slack. Once Prior himself missed a piton and skidded
toward a noxious rum-raisin cavity, saved only by a lucky grab at a
protruding stratum of frozen fudge.

The worst of it was that the climb was not straightforward. The mountain
curved around and about, and was bulged with impassable boulders of
icemilk and carved into deadly slanting valleys and jagged channels and
shifting cracks and riddled with slippery fossae and ridges and thinly
iced sink-holes. The wind was intermittent and spiced with cinnamon; now
quiescent, now firing missiles of peach or walnut or chocolate at the
weary mountaineers.

Toward noon the maple-flavor snow grew tacky. At first Prior thought it
was the marginal heat of the lime-ringed sun; then he realized it was
worse. They were coming upon a hot-fudge spring.

There was no reasonable way around it. They had inadvertently entered
the canyon formed by the melting snow below the bubbling aperture, and
the walls on either side were too sheer to climb, too fragile to trust.
It would take half a day to descend and remount another icy face--which
might be no better. His map was no good; up here the contours and
flavors of the mountain could change with every storm. He should have
been warned when he saw that fudge stratum--obviously left over from an
earlier flood condition. Now all they could do was plow--or slog--grimly
ahead, and hope that this wouldn't turn out to be as bad as it almost
certainly was.

Of course, if the slope became impassable, then he would have an
excellent excuse to give up his quest. No dishonor in accepting the
inevitable.

Prior's boots sank into the chocolate overlay--first half an inch, then
two inches, then six. He glanced back at Klo and saw she had taken
another spill; her complexion was now a rich Negroid brown. As, perhaps,
was his own. Thus did Mt. Icecream seek to equalize them all!

The mud continued to heat and thin. They squished through a level swamp
of it, with the canyon walls overhanging threateningly some fifty feet
above. They turned a murky corner and found the spring itself.

The chocolate burbled in the center of a pool twenty feet in diameter.
At the fringes assorted objects floated--massed fruit-slices, nuts,
candy, and solidified chocolate. Overhead the flavored icewater sides
arched up into an almost perfect dome. Impossible to scale.

It was warm--seventy or eighty degrees Fahrenheit, here at the dribbling
overflow. It might be boiling in the center. They would have to swim
around the edge--if there was any viable exit above the spring. There
didn't seem to be. The ringwall appeared to have only one aperture--the
exit they had entered.

"I swallowed too much chocolate getting in here," Klo said. "I have to
use the ladies' room."

"You mean you gotta shit," Black said. "So shit, sister. It'll come out
healthy brown. But wait'll I get upcurrent from you."

"He's right," Prior said. "Nothing will show under all this chocolate,
and the stream will carry anything on down the mountain."

She looked dubious, but also in dire need. She began squirming about as
though loosening her clothing under the surface.

Prior consulted with Black. "Do you have any magic to get us out of
this?"

"I'm strictly a summoner," Black said. "Pentagram, chanting, et cetera.
I'm no magician. I can't do anything much here."

"Summon a fireman's ladder, then," Klo murmured, wiping brown out of her
eyes. Prior wondered whether she had finished her nether business or was
still in progress.

"Can't. Has to be a supernatural creature. They're the only ones subject
to supernatural summons. And I wouldn't dare let any of them out of the
pentagram--even if I could make a decent diagram here on this liquid
shit, which I can't. Got your turd put out yet, or do you need help?"

She ignored his last remark. "We could make a pentagram on the surface,
you know. Look--this white stuff is marshmallow. String this out between
the five points--"

Black fished out an object. "Say, there is a lot of shit floating around
here." He squinted, then sniffed. "Shit? This looks just like--"

"I think there's a sidewise eddy," Klo said. "I didn't know it would
float."

Black looked disgusted. He hurled the object far downstream and wiped
his hand off on his sodden shirt. "Livin' breathin' fecal matter shit!"
he exclaimed.

"Healthy brown," she agreed.

Prior was too weary to laugh. At least they knew Klo had finished. "But
the current would break up the pentagram lines," he pointed out. "Then
the demon would escape--and here we are, chocolate covered."

Black scratched his fuzzy head, smearing more chocolate or similar
healthy brown on his scalp. "No--I could keep it tight for the duration
with a small subsidiary spell. But it still wouldn't solve the problem.
How could a demon in the penalty box do anything for us outside?"

"It could drink up the fudge," Klo said.

"Say, you ain't half stupid, for a whiteass sow," Black said admiringly.
"Even if your shit does stink of chocolate. But that still won't get us
out of here--we'd just be at the bottom of the lakebed."

"Reverse it, then. Have the demon fill up the place with fudge, and
we'll float out the top."

"And get carried down the mountain on a waterfall of boiling chocolate?"
Prior demanded. "Too dangerous, and the wrong direction. And if a demon
could do that, he'd use it to harm us outside the pentagram, and I'll
bet that's forbidden by demonic law. Otherwise every demon ever summoned
would circumvent the safeguards and abolish--"

"It ain't that simple, whiteprick," Black said. "Depends on the type of
pentagram. Some summoners do get reamed, but I'm more careful. But
mainly, some demons are brighter than others. Get a dumb one and the
simplest diagram will hold him, depending on his strength. Now a
mephistopheles is so clever it don't even need the pentagram to haul
your ass into hell; it'll talk you there, and--"

"Maybe we need a demon animal, then," Prior suggested. "One we can talk
into--"

"I've got it!" Black cried. "I'll summon a hellephant! Always wanted to
conjure one of those."

Klo looked at him. "An elephant? What good would that do? Anyway, you
said you couldn't summon a natural creature."

"You and him just form up the diagram while I work up the spell," Black
said excitedly. "This'll exhaust my magic, but man, it'll be an
experience!"

Klo shrugged, chocolate dripping from her shoulders. "Let's mark off
five points around the pool here, and work in opposite directions." She
scooped up an armful of floating marshmallow and began spreading a
string of it across the gooey crust. Prior did the same, shaping the
stuff into suitable lengths. He discovered to his surprise that Black's
subsidiary holding spell was already in effect; the lines remained in
place as they were laid down, despite the slow current.

Chapter Twenty-Six
------------------

It took almost an hour to do the job, but they finally finished with a
pentagram twenty feet in diameter, anchored at the corners by icebergs
of thick whipped cream. It swayed with the brown eddies, but did not
disintegrate and always drew back into place.

"Jism spread on shit," Black said, shaking his head with admiring
wonder. "What a pentagram! Should get the award for novelty, even if I
don't have power to bring the beast."

He got out his magic powder and candle. He lit the wick, stuck the
candle in a floating crust of fruitcake, and sent it drifting into the
pentagram. He began to chant:

FII FEE FOO FELL, LET'S GET RELEVANT!

GET THEE TO HELL, FETCH BACK HELLEPHANT!

And he wafted a cloud of powder toward the flame.

As he completed the ritual, a monster materialized. It resembled an
elephant as Mr. Hyde resembled Dr. Jekyll.

"Who in the name of Heaven are you?" the hellephant trumpeted, stomping
angrily in the muddy fudge and almost dousing the floating candle. "I
just cleaned my feet, and look!" It held up a dripping brown extremity.

"All yours," Black said to Prior.

"All mine? But what do I do?" He certainly wasn't going to enter into
any fornication contest with this thing!

"Make a deal to get us out of here. That was the idea, wasn't it?"

"But--"

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Klo exclaimed. "You timid men will never get
anything done." She addressed the hellephant. "We want to get out of
here. Can you help us?"

The hellephant peered down its enormous snout at her. "That depends on
where you want to go, madam."

"To the Cherry Tree. Safely."

"There is no safe conduct there for mortals. The guardian demons
fornicate--if you'll excuse the uncouth expression--any intruder out of
existence."

"We know. We've met a couple. But you can get us to it, whatever else
happens?"

"I could bore you a tunnel to the fringe of the Cherry Orchard, as it is
not far from here. The tunnel itself will be secure. Will that be
satisfactory?"

"See?" Klo said to the men. "Nothing to it." And to the demon again:
"That'll be fine. How soon?"

"The construction will require about fifteen minutes. Usual terms?"

"Don't answer that!" Black warned her.

She ignored him. "What are the usual terms?"

The hellephant made a gesture Prior didn't catch. Klo blushed--and so
did the demon, strangely. "Oh," she said. "Well, I'm not sure--"

"COD, of course," the hellephant said anxiously.

"We don't need no usual terms for no fifteen minute job!" Black yelled.
"Fuck your COD! Make another offer."

But Klo had already come to her decision. "Yes, then. Usual terms. COD."

The hellephant made a motion like a bow. "Very good. Observe."

They observed. The creature faced about, stretched forth its trunk,
harrumphed a few times, and began squirting hot liquid fudge against a
section of the icewall. It was like the jet from a rusty fire hydrant.
Brown fluid splashed away, but soon the heat and force of it ate a hole
in the ice, and the hole grew steadily wider and deeper.

"I could have used that technique on the second branch," Prior murmured
appreciatively. "But when does he suck it up? I never saw him inhale."

"Keep watching," Black said smugly. "The hellephant ain't no genius, but
he's a good, honest craftsman."

The hole broke through the first rim, and the fudge disappeared down it,
draining elsewhere inside that makeshift vagina. But the hellephant
continued to blast it forth, still never taking a breath. Gradually the
level of the pool subsided, revealing more of the elephantine body. The
creature was squatting on the bottom, its hind end lowermost. It wore a
G-string with a tiny patch in front. There was a turbulence around the
base.

Finally the chocolate level dropped below the demon's torso, stranding
the floating candle on a bar of brown ice. There was a horrendous
sucking sound, as of three hundred bathtubs draining simultaneously:
gunk, gunk, GUNK! Now Prior saw what was happening. The hellephant was
sucking fudge into its rectum and spewing it from its trunk! No wonder
the thing never took a breath! But the supply of hot liquid had been
exhausted. There was only a bubbling puddle where the original hot
spring operated, but it would take many days for it to fill the pool
again.

The brown jet sputtered to a halt. The hellephant sucked wind, choked,
then farted bellicosely from both ends, clearing its tubes. Caked
chocolate shot out, the refuse from its filters, and plopped down like
so many bushels of diarrhea. Clouds of chocolate-flavored mist enveloped
demon and people. Prior gagged, knowing where it had come from, but he
still had to inhale the stuff or suffocate directly.

"I believe the connection is complete," the hellephant said politely.
"Do you wish to verify it before making payment?"

"We'll take your word," Klo said. She turned to the two men. "Well, I
guess I won't be seeing you...."

"What do you mean?" Prior asked. "We have to stay together, or the
robots will come and stop our mission."

"The robots'll never get past the hellephant," Black said. "The demon
gets very fussy about interruptions, once it starts."

"Once what starts?"

"She agreed to the usual terms, despite my advice," Black said. "COD."

"Cash on Delivery," Prior agreed. "Sure. I'm not stupid. And I'll pay
her back what it costs."

"You can't," Klo said.

"Not C.O.D., turd," Black explained. "COD. As in cod-piece. He's the
cod, she's the piece. Only more so, in the case of the hellephant. Much
more so."

"Precisely," agreed the demon, removing the eyepatch from its crotch.
Underneath was a tiny penis, proportionately--no more than eight or nine
inches.

"COD--Cunt on Delivery," Klo said. "Everyone knows that." She splashed
into the pentagram, removing her chocolate caked clothing.

"The hellephant only fucks once a century," Black explained. "But he
makes that one count. He prefers human females, because they're
comfortable, they don't have frigid cycles, and they live a fair spell.
Most animals only get hot every so often, and are pretty uptight when
not in heat."

"Yeah, I saw two dogs stuck together once," Prior said. "If that's what
you mean by uptight. So the hellephant's fornication kills them? With a
trunk like that, I'm not surprised."

"Of course not. He doesn't use his trunk for that. The hellephant is
always polite and gentle--that's why most female demons won't touch
him."

"Makes sense," Prior admitted, remembering what bitches the female
demons he had encountered were. But he still wasn't clear on the nature
of the deal Klo had made.

Klo reached the creature and lifted her chocolate arms. The hellephant
curled its trunk carefully around her body and brought her in close. She
scissored open her legs, and the demon's little member pushed up and in,
not stopping until it was completely embedded. There was no panting, no
preliminary byplay; just that matter-of-fact coupling, lubricated by
liquid chocolate.

"Well, let's move on before the pool fills up again and covers our
tunnel," Black said.

"Right now? In a moment that intercourse will be over. He's already all
the way into her."

Black laughed. "It'll be a long moment, whiteass. Why do you think I
tried to warn her off? The hellephant fucks for life--and she could live
to seventy or eighty."

Prior gasped. "You mean--they won't stop? Until she dies of old age?"

"That's what I was hinting at, pale-prick. She'll eat, sleep and shit
right there--and that cock will never pull out." He watched a moment
more, then shrugged, accepting it. "She made the deal. She didn't have
to, so she must have wanted it that way. Actually, I hear it's a mighty
comfortable living, for those who like COD. Cock onto Death, some call
it. A pretty fair burial, too--the hellephant only comes when there's
nothing left worth waiting for, when the fuck is falling apart, maybe
two months after death. Then he creams up a storm and buries the bones
in it. That's what I call a real sendoff--to be buried in your lover's
cream."

"Yes indeed," Prior agreed, shaking his head.

They left the lovers to their stasis as the fudge spring bubbled up
around them, starting the tedious business of refilling the pool.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
--------------------

The fudge had cooled and hardened, leaving an opaque tunnel into the
bowels of the mountain. And bowel was what the brown-caked tube
resembled! Despite the solid ice under the solid chocolate, the air was
reasonably warm here, and by walking swiftly they were able to keep
comfortable without clothing. Prior carried his sodden outfit in a
wadded ball under his arm, hoping to rinse it eventually in some clear
soda stream. Where there was one hot spring, there might be others.

No such luck. The passage debouched into a system of icy caverns. Red
stalactites hung from the vaulted ceiling, and similar stalagmites rose
to meet them, like sets of teeth slowly dosing. Prior broke the tip off
a small one and touched his tongue to it. "Cherry," he said, noting the
concentric rings of ice like the growth-rings of trees. "We're in the
Orchard, all right."

"Well, get your rod hot," Black said, shivering. "Once we meet up with
those three other branches--"

Prior nodded nervously. Fate kept impelling him forward into this
challenge, despite his willingness to slide backward. He had vanquished
the first two guardian demons--but how would he handle three at once?
The moment he reamed one, another would be reaming him. But he had to
make the effort, now that Klo had given her all for the cause. All her
vagina.

The cavern passages led generally down, and fortunately they did not
become killingly cold. Perhaps there were hot springs here, after all,
melting new passages and imbuing the entire system with some warmth. But
Prior didn't like the direction.

"How can we find the Tree, if we don't get to the top?" he demanded,
trying to sound more upset than he felt. He didn't want to be trapped in
here, but if they really couldn't find those malevolent demons--

"Tree's got to be in the orchard, whitepiss. Keep moving." Unfortunately
Black was correct. They traversed a cherry tunnel, stepped into a dull
red chamber, and came up against a demon.

It was large and male, but its penis was stubby. "Who the potash are
you?" it snorted menacingly, evidently disturbed from some private
contemplation, as its erect and throbbing member indicated.

Prior knew he had either to stand up or turn tail--and he was afraid to
present his backside to this demon, knowing what he knew of the
propensities of these creatures. So with the courage of last resort he
said: "I'm Prior Gross--and I've come to climb the Cherry Tree."

The demon frowned down at him, pulling on its penis reflectively. The
organ jogged in and out like a telescope. "Have you any last wish before
I dilate your puckered little ass?" it asked in the tone of a firing
officer beside an execution wall.

"Just let me arm myself." And Prior drew forth the prehensile unit.

The demon charged. Prior had forgotten that there was no pentagram to
hold it back, and of course the infernal creature had no conception of
fair play. The bundle of chocolate-stiffened clothing flew out of his
grasp and he found himself hoisted in the air, his member unattached.
The serpent dangled from his hand uselessly.

"I haven't fucked a mortal into oblivion in years!" the demon cried
zestfully. "But I wish you'd had the common courtesy to be female. Cunt
is so much more lubricious than colon."

"Same to you, cherry branch!" Prior gasped, struggling to reach the
floor and gain some purchase. If he could just gain time to fasten on
his member and whip it up into fighting condition! "Think I like to
dirty my member on supernatural shit?"

"You need have no fear of that with me," the demon said, chuckling. For
a moment it wavered into the cherry-branch format, but its grip on Prior
did not loosen.

"You're overconfident," Prior said, feeling underconfident. "I defeated
the first two branches, you know."

"That so? They were weaklings." And this demon's strength did indeed
seem greater. It threw Prior down flat, put a bark-hard knee in his
back, and limbered up that horsehung penis. It had not been, after all,
completely erect before.

Prior's own member was still in his hand. He brought it down and shoved
it under his hips, scratching for the vital connection. But he was face
down with weight on his torso, and he couldn't get it attached without
more leeway.

The demon poked a woody finger between Prior's buttocks. "Let's see your
touch-hole, runt. If it isn't big enough, I may have to widen it,
ha-ha!"

"Ha-ha!" Prior echoed heavily. He tried to defecate on the demon's hand,
but the position was wrong and nothing came out. Instead the probing
finger got inside and scraped cruelly at the tender mucous membrane.

"I believe it will fit," the demon murmured with satisfaction, "after I
enlarge it a trifle. Scream, please--this is going to hurt."

Prior clenched his sphincter as tightly as possible, as the demon
brought its loin down and began expanding its member. The greasy tip of
it slobbered along Prior's scrotum before centering accurately on his
hole. The demon pushed.

The muscle held. "Fucking position's wrong," the demon said, annoyed,
but not completely dismayed by this challenge. It put bark-rough hands
against Prior's hips and lifted his rear.

At first Prior resisted, stiffening his body. Then he realized that this
was an opportunity for him. He bent in the middle, bringing his knees up
under him while his hand jammed the prehensile member onto its socket
and twisted it into place.

"Excellent," the demon said, breathing on Prior's elevated rectum. "An
extraordinary neo-virginal asshole! You must really have saved it for
me! I like this attitude. It makes it so much easier when you cooperate.
Now we'll just fasten you in place--" It muttered an obscure
pornographic spell, and Prior found himself invisibly clamped where he
was. He could not budge head, arms or legs.

This demon was tough, all right! The others hadn't used magic on him.
But Prior still had control over his sphincter. Probably the spell had
to exclude that, or it would have been frozen closed, and be
impenetrable.

Meanwhile his attached member was swelling rapidly. So the entire
genital region was free, as well as his eyes and mouth. The battle
wasn't over yet!

"Easy does it," the demon said, making itself comfortable behind Prior,
dog-fashion. "First a little choice lubrication--" The ugly face moved
down, and the huge canine tongue slurped over Prior's crack, wetting it
down thoroughly with gooey saliva. "You've been consuming too much
chocolate!" the demon complained.

"So what's wrong with healthy brown chocolate?" Prior demanded,
momentarily gratified. So maybe he had gotten a little fecal matter out,
and the demon had licked it up! Served it right!

"Cherry is better, as I shall shortly demonstrate." The demon chuckled.
"Get that? demon-strate." But it became serious again when Prior did not
laugh at the pun. "So you're still fighting it? Then we'll just brace
against the portal and slide in a bit when it relaxes, so." And that
slimy skinned-wood penis shoved, not hard but very firm and steady.

Prior kept his sphincter clenched, but the muscle was tiring. He
remembered how starfish opened clams by exerting steady pull on the
shells, until the clams could no longer hang on. In time that insistent
pressure would wear him down, and he knew he would have no chance once
the outer defense had been breached.

But Prehensile was finally ready. What luck that he had selected this
particular organ this time! Prior curled it down between his legs, out
of sight of the demon, then under his own hanging testicles, across
behind those of the demon, and up. It looped in a three-quarter circle
back toward the demon's rectal region. He was about to attack from the
rear.

Now came the ticklish part. He had to make a good entry on the first
thrust, before the demon realized what was happening. If that failed he
would not have another chance, because his leverage was weak and his own
rectum was on the verge of yielding.

Get ready... get set... THRUST!

Prehensile lunged forward, a striking snake, aiming blindly but with
pretty good judgment for the supernatural anus. The azimuth and
elevation and orientation were almost perfect; Prior felt the glancing
contact of thorny buttocks, the bald alcove between them, the base of
the crevice. He was driving for a hole-in-one!

Except--

Where was the aperture?

Up and down the veneer-polished crack Prehensile undulated, seeking its
entrance--and there was none. From balls to backbone, the demon's bottom
was sealed.

"Ha-ha!" the creature bellowed. "Thought you'd pull a fast one, eh? Well
get this, dimwit: I saw your friggin' worm, I let you put it on, and I
near busted out laughing. You can't get me with that! Know, oh mortal--I
have no asshole! You can shove and slither all you want--you can tickle
me but you'll never nudge my shit!"

It was all too true. Prior was sunk. The demon had only been playing
with him, letting him think he had a chance.

"That little torment was for fucking my innocent little brother out of
existence," the demon gloated. "Now I'm going to get even for what you
did to my precious little sister, she of the small sweet ripe cherry."

It brought its hulking head around, at the same time cuffing Prior's
frozen body sidewise. Its face was grotesque: tiny near-spaced eyes
whose whites were blood-red (technically, cherry-red), purplish wiry
hair, monstrous flaring nostrils, pointed ears, and a chin whose cleft
surface sported two sprawling hairy warts.

But it was the mouth that horrified Prior. The lips were black and
blotchy, peeling back to expose jagged animal teeth.

"You tried to ram my rectum, touch my twat," the demon said. "Well now
you can fuck my face." It crunched those devastating dentures together
loudly. "See--I'm giving you more chance than you ever gave my
mistress!"

"I thought she was your little sister," Prior said, his eyes following
the thing's clacking jaws. His poor member would have no chance at all
in a beartrap like that. But he could not move even one hand to shove
the mouth away or disconnect Prehensile.

"Same thing. It doesn't count when it's all in the family. Not that I
ever could quite get into her tail, in man-form. In flea-form it was
possible, but then it wasn't much fun."

If he whipped Prehensile aside, Prior thought, those jaws would follow,
playing cat and mouse until there was no further room to retreat. No
doubt that was what the demon wanted. But if he detumesced it, he would
still be disarmed.

The Cherry Branch meant to bite off Prehensile, then sodomize Prior at
leisure while he bled to death. And there was nothing he could do to
prevent it.

"Use your bleached gray matter, whiteface!" Black called from a safe
distance. "Is that the best you can do? I thought you were a real
fucker!" And the big Negro blew his nose disdainfully.

Black wasn't even a fair-weather friend. He had expressed nothing but
contempt for Prior all along. Now he was rubbing it in. Blowing his
ebony nose, while Prior was getting demonically chewed and screwed.

Nose....

The demon's breath was hot upon Prior's scrotum. The huge teeth hovered
near the quivering glans. The mouth came down, smiling evilly. Slowly,
slowly, tantalizingly slowly....

Think... real fucker... nose....

Prior launched Prehensile forward, a rattlesnake. The tip bounced off
the demon's stubby chin, scratched nauseatingly against the hairy warts,
skated over the slimy upper teeth scraping away a channel of smegma-like
plaque deposit, skidded on the cleft of the mottled upper lip....

And plunged at last into the gaping left nostril.

"Oomph!" the demon cried, jerking back.

But Prehensile followed, thrusting deeper, wedging a passage through the
caked snot inside. Three inches, four, five! The force of it slammed the
demon's head back against Prior's raised knees, stopping the retreat.

Six inches, and he was well settled in the sinus cavity, warm and soft
and slick. "Go, go, go, gonads!" Prior grunted.

In and out his faithful penis thrust, heating the membranes by the
friction of its travel while the demon howled and clawed futilely at it.
Then the Cherry Branch got belatedly smart: took a deep breath, pinched
shut its other nostril, closed its big mouth, and prepared to blow its
nose violently. This was a blow-job that would finish Prior--

Suddenly the spasm came, sending its fluid coursing along the winding
hose and into the demon's pressurized sinus.

"HA-CHOOO!" the demon sneezed in agony... and exploded into vapor. At
that moment the spell abated, and Prior's limbs were free.

He had won again... by a nose. Thanks to Black's seeming insults, which
were actually advice couched in a manner the demon would not understand
and counter.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
--------------------

They moved on down the cherry caverns. This time Prior kept himself
prepared: he had Normal, the six-incher, connected and halfway turgid.
That way he was halfway ready for anything. Halfassed, as Black put it.
But he hoped he wouldn't meet the fourth Branch soon, because the
struggle with the third had exhausted him, physically and chemically. He
wasn't certain he could get a full erection, let alone ejaculate!

"Well!"

Prior and Black both jumped. A demoness lay before them, dusky, sultry
and sexy. She was another branch of the Cherry Tree, all right, for her
cherry was bright red and sparkled between her supple, leaf-green-shaded
thighs.

"Sa-ay," Black said appreciatively. "Can anybody play? I wouldn't mind
cornholing that brown beauty myself."

Prior wasn't sure of the legalities, but his limp member cast the
deciding vote. He might get it up for this encounter, for the demoness
was as luscious a piece as he had ever approached--but what if the next
demon arrived on the scene too quickly? Sheer glandular fatigue would do
him in when he faced the last branch! Black knew he was not eligible to
approach the Spire itself--but that was not his purpose. He just wanted
a good fuck, and he knew the risk entailed. "Okay by me," Prior said.

Black needed no further urging. "Now you stay out of it, the way I
stayed out of yours," he cautioned. "I know she's a bitch, and she'll
kill me if she can, but this here motherfuckin' horn will not be
denied." And, indeed, his erection was impressive.

"Right," Prior said, realizing only now that it had not been
indifference or cowardice that prevented Black from coming to his
assistance before, but the man's own code of ethics. Three was a crowd,
when it came to serious combat or fornication! Except for advice from
the sidelines.

Black advanced penis-first on the waiting female, took hold of one arm
and breast, dropped onto her torso and issued a pneumatic sigh. "Just
let me dip my stick in your transmission, black baby," he said.

She shimmered--and Black found himself embracing a crocodile. Great and
green and alligator-hided, with a thrashing tail and elongated snout and
cruel hungry eyes.

Prior, watching, was as dismayed as Black. There, but for the grace of
circumstance and a flaccid member, went he! He had known the demons
could change shape, but this was ridiculous!

Black, whatever his political sentiments, was sexually normal.
Bestiality was hardly in his line, when he considered it degrading to
sample the lubricity of even nonblack human females. Prior saw the ebony
penis losing elevation as it brushed the cold belly-scales of the
reptile. A luscious woman-form was one thing, demon though she might be;
this was something else.

But there was no release from that embrace. The crocodile's immense jaws
whipped around, snapped at Black's face--

But Black had brought up his wrist with the amulet. A blue spark jumped,
singeing the reptile's teeth. "No kissin', cousin!" Black cried. "You
can't hurt me. I got protection!"

"Human bastard!" the crocodile muttered, licking the charred surface of
the tooth. "Think you're pretty mortal smart!" And it changed into a
monstrous crab. "Well I'll just pinch you to see if you're real!"

Two gigantic pincers reached for the man. One went for the throat, and
Black had to fend it off immediately with the amulet.

The other pincer moved simultaneously for his groin, and Black,
distracted by the threat to his neck, didn't catch it in time. It
clamped on the genitalia and wrenched--and suddenly Black was a bleeding
eunuch. He screamed once, horribly, then fainted.

Prior was appalled, sickened, and terrified, but also angry. The
foul-mouthed Negro was his friend in his black-humor fashion. Black had
twice summoned cherry branches for him to tackle individually, and had
once thrown him a penis when he had been caught short. Last time Black
had given him the life-saving hint about the Demon's nose--the facial
aperture without deadly teeth. And Black had gotten them safely here by
summoning the hellephant.

Yes, Black was a friend in deed and sometimes in word. Prior knew he
could not have made it this far without the man's timely assistance.
Black didn't deserve such mutilation and death, when all he had wanted
was a decent dusky fuck.

The crab metamorphosed back into the crocodile, and the crocodile opened
her jaws to take another bite of manflesh. The dripping penis and
scrotum lay on the cold cavern floor, the blood melting into the cherry
ice.

Prior charged.

If he had had time to think it through properly, he would have known he
had no chance, and let the Negro's corpse buy him time to escape. He
would have given up his insanely foolish quest for the Spire. He would
have returned to Earth a sadder but more potent man.

But now rage drove out all fear and all reason. His six-incher was not
even rigid, but he tensed his legs to pounce on the crocodile.

His foot slipped on the severed, peeled-banana penis. A testicle
squirted out from under as Prior fought for balance. He couldn't stop;
he had to fall, so he fell forward.

And landed astride a tigress. Literally.

"Another lover, so soon!" she purred, her predator-muscles orienting on
him. "Well here's some real pussy for you, half-mast!"

She twisted off Black and faced Prior, the deadly sharp claws of all
four feet driving for his gut. But he still had some of the advantage of
surprise; she was not properly braced for his impact, and the floor was
slippery with diluted blood on the ice. He crashed into her bodily and
shoved her sidewise, away from Black.

Instinctively he wrapped his arms about her torso, pulling her tight to
restrict those scraping claws. And then she was an enormous fat hen.
"Squa-awk!" she squawked. "Let's have some cock!"

He tried to wring her small neck, but the clumsy bird became an unclumsy
bird: a giant eagle, its bill stabbing down at his eyeballs.

There was hardly time to react, let alone think. Prior butted his head
against hers, using his hard skull to blunt her sharp beak, and reached
out wildly for Black's body. There was sharp pain in his skull as hair
and skin were gouged, but he found the body. While he fought off the
buffeting eagle's wings one-handed he wrestled with the Negro's body for
that magic amulet. It was set in a bracelet, and if he could get it
off--well, he could take the punishment of claw and beak for a little
while, so long as he got hold of that protection.

Meanwhile his opponent had changed her shape again. A man-sized hairy
spider threw loops of sticky web about him while purple mandibles came
at his face. But he got hold of Black's arm, slid along the wrist,
hooked a finger under the band. As the spider's venom-dripping jaws
opened to damp on his nose, he hauled desperately on amulet and hand,
and brought it between him and the demoness. The spark jumped again.

"Now cut that out!" the spider said, jerking back while its face-fur
smoked. Its six or ten eyes blinked in pain. "I'm just trying to offer
you a little good hair-pie." But already she was a shark, with seemingly
endless teeth.

"There's something fishy about you," Prior grated. He put the amulet
right into that underslung maw and drove it back. He had a weapon
now--but he knew it could not win the battle for him by itself. It had
not been enough for poor Black! He used it to fend her off while he
concentrated desperately on his definitive weapon: his penis. He could
only vanquish her completely by copulating with her--and it had to be
fast, or he was dead, amulet or no.

But it was hard to stiffen his torpid member in the face of these
repeated changes of form! Now the bitch was a bear, now a snake, now a
pig. Each form constituted a new attack by claw, fang or snout, and none
was sexually conducive. And he sorely missed the semen he had so
recently expended on the assless demon. An amulet was no substitute for
ejaculate!

Nevertheless the heat of combat elevated his blood pressure, and his
member gradually came erect. The abrasion it received during the
struggle helped, though there was little sexual appeal in this. As his
penis hardened, the demoness lost strength, for here was the thrusting
phallus she most feared. Her scratches became shallow, and her blows
futile. Finally she collapsed back into human form.

Prior wedged her luscious thighs apart and forced his full-sized meat
into her loosening hole. At least this vagina was ample! He had been
half afraid she wouldn't have one. She screamed and went limp.

He had won again!

Except--

Except that he hadn't come yet. And she hadn't puffed into smoke. That
was suspicious.

She was playing possum, though she had carefully avoided assuming the
possum shape, evidently hoping he'd be satisfied with the seeming
victory. She must have known that he couldn't come quickly, so her loose
vulva was safe for the time being. If he fell for that ruse, who could
guess what deviltry she would come up with once she recovered the
initiative?

Prior rammed into her the full six inches, finding no resistance. It was
such a contrast to the vicelike tightness of the other female; this one
was a cool ocean in her laxity. In fact, he had precious little to
strive against, and his penis was freezing!

That was her trap! She was zero weather inside, and his hot blood was
rapidly chilling. He had to finish the job promptly, or his flesh would
go numb.

He couldn't come. He had to have incentive, stimulation, and friction,
and there was no more of these here than might be had by having
intercourse with a day-old corpse. In fact she even felt corpselike
now--a body in the freezer.

Black groaned and stirred. "Did you trim her wick, whiteshit?"

So he was alive! "I have it in, but the juice is congealing. Do you have
any more advice?"

Black coughed unhealthily. "My old man--curse his black hide--always
said...." He trailed off.

"What did he say?" Prior demanded. His whole front was getting chilled;
he might as well have been having intercourse with a bank of snow!
"Don't faint now, you bastard nigger!"

"Flattery... nowhere...."

"Listen, Black, I'm not flattering you! My cock is an icicle! Tell me
what you know!"

"If you can't eat it, and you can't...." The voice became an
indecipherable mumble.

"What? What?" Prior shouted desperately. Not only was his member going
numb, it seemed to be frozen in place in her ice-solid body. To withdraw
now might well be to rip it off himself!

"...can't fuck it...."

"I know I can't fuck it!" Prior cried. "That's my problem! Tell me, you
deballed wonder!"

"PISS ON IT!" Black screamed furiously. And died.

There went his last hope! Black's eleventh-hour help had pulled him
through before, but there was no chance of that now. "Piss on it!" Prior
echoed with mixed sorrow and rage. Why had he driven Black into such
anger as the man lay dying? His thoughtlessness had cost them both their
penises and their lives!

Piss on it....

Inspiration! Would it work?

He resumed pumping, pretending that there was still fire in his phallus.
"I'm getting near the climax, you demonic cherry whore," he told her.
"You're a corpse, but you can't cool my organ. Not deep down to the
source of semen. It's sort of fun, fucking frigidity; a novelty, sets me
off. You can't shrink me before I spurt. Feel that hot burble starting?"

"No," she said uncertainly.

He jogged his dead member, hoping it was more rigid than it seemed, and
not because of getting frozen. "What an orgasm! It's raging in my gut! I
can't hold it back any longer, much as I enjoy playing with you! You're
quite a lay, know that?"

"You're quite a bluffer, know that?"

"Ooooh!" he cried, twisting his face in simulated rapture. "Ah,
crocodile-cunt, I've never had one like this! Aaaaah!" And he panted and
tensed his whole cold body as though torn by the spasm.

She changed into a giant, slimy, wriggling worm. But his member was
wedged in the thing's cloaca, and he continued his act. "I'm coming! I'm
coming! Swing low, sweet chariot! Feel that hot liquid!"

And he compressed his belly and urinated forcefully into her quivering
vagina as she changed back into a woman.

"A-a-a-a-ah!" she screamed in climactic agony. She began to dissolve
into chilly vapor.

Suddenly her misty eyes opened. "You unmitigated fucker!" she snarled,
metamorphosing into the tiger. Her hole clenched airily. "That's not
ejaculate!"

Prior just waited, letting his bladder drain into her, warming his cold
penis during its passage. It felt almost as good as a real climax.

"That's PISS!" the crocodile bellowed.

But it was too late. She could not pull her wafting flesh together
again. Slowly, reluctantly, angrily, and with multiple changes of form,
she faded into brown, urine-saturated mist. His last drops spattered on
the pink ice.

This time he really had won--by cheating.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
-------------------

He buried Black in the cherry-flavored terrain, and found some chocolate
snow for a shroud. "You gave good advice, you ebony racist," he said by
way of benediction. "I'll take care of the cop-fucking matter for you,
if I ever get back to Earth. Keep cool."

Black kept cool. He was frozen stiff.

Four branches of the Cherry Tree had been severed--each one worse than
the last. Surely the worst was yet to come. But now he had to go on. He
would vanquish the final demon, or die in the fucking attempt.

He arrived at last at the bottom of the cavern system, in the very heart
of Mt. Icecream. Here he found a fountain: liquid ice cream spurting up
from a tiny nozzle, shooting high up through a gap in the pinnacle, and
fanning far above into perpetual snow. As he watched, the color changed
from yellow to green: vanilla to pistachio.

"PISStachio," he murmured. "How appropriate."

Mt. Icecream, it seemed, was a cold but active volcano--and this nozzle
was the apparent source of it all. It must have taken centuries for the
mountain itself to form.

But what lay below the nozzle? Surely all that ice cream came from
somewhere! Was the core of the planet made of it, and was this the only
hole in the crust for it to squirt out? That seemed ridiculous on
numerous grounds. But at the moment he found no better explanation for
what he witnessed here.

He stepped close to that ever-jetting phallus, feeling the convective
wind at his back, and probed at the base. There might be a pipe leading
in, a conduit for pressured ice cream--

Heavy footfalls sounded behind him. Prior whirled to face the last
branch of the Cherry Tree.

It stood about seven feet tall. It looked a little like a griffin and a
little like a goblin, but mostly like a walking phallus with priapism.
It had snaggle-tusks that projected from the place its mouth should have
been but wasn't, and a wickedly hooked beak without nostril-holes, and
saber-claws, and a spiked tail and barbed wings. Its upthrusting animal
ears were metallic, with serrated saw-blade edges but no apertures into
the head. Its grotesque eyes were mere patches of light-sensitive skin.
Its penis was just about two feet long from bell to balls, and
proportionately massive. And it was absolutely rigid.

"An eeg!" Prior cried, recognizing the form. "An adult eeg!"

The creature made no answer. How could it, without a mouth? How could it
really see him or hear him or smell him, with those sealed-over organs
of perception? Now Prior saw that it had no apertures of any kind,
especially not a rectum. Just that atomic cannon of a penis.

Prior still wore Normal, and the respite he had gained by urinating into
the last branch allowed him to bring it to attention with reasonable
dispatch despite the lingering chill. He knew he could ejaculate, once
he found appropriate lodging. But this demon was invulnerable, for it
was completely without orifices. In all the galaxy there was no finer
single-purpose fucking machine!

The eeg charged on stubby goblin-legs, its phallus swaying heavily as
though about to unbalance the entire body. The demon's eye-patches
glowed cherry red, and so did the tip of its penis. What internal fires
did this leakage presage?

Prior tried to run, but his feet skidded on the ice and he sprawled
ignominiously. The eeg came to stand over him, huge chicken-feet on
either side of his body, that volcanic member looming. The intrusion of
that timber would surely split a human body wide open! But there was no
ready escape. The cold of the cavern floor gripped his naked body; was
that why he shivered so?

The demon lowered the boom. That hinged instrument was as thick and
solid as Prior's thigh! It banged brutally against his buttock, a solid
wooden club.

Prior realized that he was in luck--of a sort. A penis that size
couldn't possibly penetrate his anus, mouth, or any other bodily
aperture!

The eeg reached down with spindly arms and hauled Prior up with
astonishing strength. It carried him to a region of massed stalagmites:
giant spokes of cherry ice rising erotically out of the floor. It jammed
him between two of them, headfirst, and shoved him down, so that his
torso was pinned where the columns came together at the base.

Oh-oh! Now he was thoroughly anchored. That huge penis just might get
into him, if driven with enough force while he was tied down. After all,
the Assyrians used to drive wooden stakes up the rectums of their
captives and mount them along the highways! And the eeg was bracing
against a fortuitously placed third stalagmite, orienting itself so that
its entire strength could shove the cannon into the recalcitrant hole.
The eeg must have done this many times before; trust it to know its
infernal business!

The club drove at Prior's posterior, harder and harder. His buttocks
were bruising, his poor little sphincter was hopelessly outclassed.
Neither flesh nor cartilage could withstand the savagery of this
assault. It was like giving birth to a baby, sidewise--except that he
was no mother, this was no baby, and it wasn't going but coming. In more
ways than one.

The icy stalagmites chilled his sides--but his body heat was melting
them in return. Prior realized that he had a chance here to escape. He
waited for another eeg-thrust, then sucked in his breath and shoved back
against those translucent columns with both hands.

It worked! He squirted out of that stockade, a human watermelon seed
goosed by an inhuman battering ram. He crashed into another stalagmite,
bruising a shoulder--but he was loose! He had another chance to escape!

The eeg made a mouthless roar and lumbered after him. Prior dodged
behind the icy column. One advantage he had now: he was more agile. Much
more of his muscle was in his arms and legs, while the greatest mass of
the eeg was in its terrific penis. The creature was inherently
off-balance; it had to lean back just to stand up straight, and it
couldn't accelerate rapidly around corners.

Poor as its eyes and ears seemed, the demon obviously had an excellent
notion where Prior was. Did it use magic to follow him so accurately? In
that case, why hadn't it bound him with an immobility spell, the way the
other branch had?

Prior could guess the answer to that: it must take some intelligence to
master the complexities of magic, and the eeg's brain was only big
enough to master the simplicities of fornication. And pursuit.

Prior scrambled over a mound of solidly frozen cherries, then paused to
watch from hiding. If he wanted to escape this diabolic creature, let
alone overcome it, he'd better find out what powers it had beside
fornication!

First he heard a sniff-sniff, snuff-snuff. Oh? Was its nose perforated
after all? Prior knew what to do in that case!

Then the eeg came into view. Its penis was leaning toward the floor,
cantilevered, the bulging glans almost touching the ice, and the
elephantine slit at the end was sniffing out the trail.

So that was the secret! Versatile member, there!

But if it was smell that gave him away, he was doomed. He could avoid
the eeg for a considerable time, but eventually he would have to rest or
sleep. He was sure the eeg, being basically demonic, never had to do
either. It would never even stop to defecate, with no anus. It would
just keep going indefatigably. In time it would surely catch him, no
matter where he went, now that he had challenged it by entering its
lair.

Prior whipped around another slender stalagmite--no, this one was a
stalactite, hanging from the ceiling--and stumbled as it snapped off in
his hands.

He righted himself and looked at what he held. A spear!

He took the caked shirt he still carried and wrapped it about the basal
end, both to protect his hand from the cold and to prevent the icy
needle from melting. With this he might make his own hole in the eeg,
and ram home there for victory! "Now come and get it," he snarled. "If
you can come after you get it...."

The demon, too stupid to be cautious, approached. The penis lifted,
centering on him as though it were a sword in its own right. And perhaps
it was, or at least a bludgeon. Prior fenced with it.

"Touche!" he yelled, lunging.

The rapier scored--but slid off the penis. He lunged again--and was
deflected again.

"Wouldn't you know it!" he griped. "Invulnerable meat!"

But he made ready for another attack. Maybe a swift stab in the balls--

The eeg-penis burbled. Fluid squirted from its slit, striking the
stalactite-weapon. The ice melted instantly, and the spear broke in
half.

"Oh, no!" Prior cried, dismayed. He needed a metal rapier, and there was
nothing here but ice. He fled, wishing there was a river or something
for him to lose his scent-trail in, or some cubbyhole the eeg couldn't
reach.

Then he remembered the mound of cherries. He veered back to it and used
the stub of his sword to pry loose a handful. He wheeled and pelted the
demon with the red bullets.

Then he noted that some were not shaped quite like cherries. He
inspected one of these more closely--and discovered that it was actually
a frozen testicle.

Well, they were still solid, stinging little missiles. He knew the
strikes annoyed the creature, though they could hardly hurt it. Maybe it
was angry because its trophy-collection was being scattered.

The mighty penis aimed again, swinging grandly around as though mounted
on gimbals. Prior tried to button the slit with a well-aimed
cherry-ball, but his marksmanship wasn't that good. More fluid gooshed
forth, arching beautifully and descending to strike Prior's arm. It was
hot and gooey and repulsive. He jerked away but the gob clung to him. He
slapped at it with his other hand--and it stuck there too, stretching
out between arm and hand in a glistening string, that cooled as it
thinned and hardened as it cooled. It smelled richly of butterscotch.

Good God! This wasn't ejaculate as he knew it--it was taffy!

Prior lurched on. The hardened goo just would not come off without
taking the skin along too. Now his mobility was seriously hampered. What
if the next ejaculation struck his legs? Or his face?

He couldn't escape the eeg and he couldn't fight it. What else remained?

What else but copulation?

He imagined being reamed by that horrendous member, and half a gallon of
boiling taffy being firehosed into his colon, and knew he couldn't
surrender. He'd kill himself first.

In the midst of this noble sentiment, he slipped on a rolling cherry and
went down on his face. This time he hit hard, because his arms were
entangled in solidified taffy jack. Light and darkness tinged with
cherry-red exploded in his eyes, and he knew he was on the verge of
unconsciousness. An unconsciousness he was unlikely to emerge from
before being stuffed with butterscotch.

One thing fixed in his mind: what the hell was a cherry demon doing with
butterscotch in its generative tract? The eeg should at least be
consistent!

The light and the darkness and the bit of red swirled through face and
brain, dancing shadow-shapes of zero depth. White and black stretched
and strove as though at war and shaped themselves into a silhouette, and
the image was of an ebony head with red in the mouth.

"You two-bit, whiteassed, lily-pekkered shit!" the head said.

"Black!" Prior cried. "How good to hear your compliments again! I
thought you were dead!"

"I am dead, you pale-faced mother-sucker! That whore-demon defucked me,
may the Good Lord piss on her."

"The Good Lord didn't get around to it, assuming that He still lives.
But if it makes you feel better, I--"

"Shut your farting face, bleachturd! I'm dead (that's how I know God
ain't)--but you still got heat in your balls. Get up and fuck that
fucker!"

"But the eeg is invulnerable!" Prior bleated.

And woke. The vision of Black was gone, and the eeg was hauling his
torso into position for the final ass-sault.

Well, he had Black's posthumous advice, for what it was worth. All he
had to do was fuck the fucker (to use the big dead Negro's quaint
idiom)--when the eeg had no orifice for the occasion.

Then his mind cleared, helped by a jolt from the demon, and he
understood.

The eeg was dragging him arsey-versey past the geyser of ice cream.
Prior jerked and twisted and managed to fling one booted foot into that
rising column. Instantly his leg was wrenched up, splattering peach ice
cream over them both, and he and the demon were hurled sidewise. The
eeg's grip was broken, the taffy on Prior's arms cracked with the cold,
and he scrambled free again.

He got to his feet and ran. His toes were numb from cold and shock even
through the sturdy leather, and his entire leg was coated with peach
syrup, but it remained serviceable. He lunged for his pack and pawed
through its contents.

The eeg caught up again and resumed hauling, feet-first. It certainly
didn't have much imagination! The demon probably had more intellect in
its scrotum than in its birdlike skull, at that. But Prior had what he
needed: Pipecleaner.

No problem about removing Normal. That member was thoroughly flaccid and
half-frozen again under the ice cream. He twisted it off as the demon
continued dragging, threw it away and applied the spaghetti-limp
substitute, warming it with his two hands. Then he relaxed and
concentrated on concupiscence, while his head bumped along the cherry
ice. Oubliette, now... and her sister Tantamount. There was a female who
really needed some penile edification, and not in the operating room.

He waited for his opportunity while Pipecleaner swelled into raw
macaroni rigidity. Just as the demon got him to the stalagmites, Prior
wrenched around, slender phallus erect and eager. "What do you think of
that, eggshit?" he demanded.

The eeg's monster penis creaked down like a drawbridge and sniffed. Then
the demon began shaking with laughter. Prior's challenging member was no
larger in diameter than the slit in the tip of the eeg's phallus!

And as the eeg quaked with its derisive emotion (it probably hadn't had
a laugh like that in centuries), Prior took careful aim, braced himself,
and thrust. At that slit.

Pipecleaner rammed straight up the giant urethra of the demon.

Prior was fucking the fucker.

The eeg pulled back, amazed; but Prior grabbed handfulls of its
disgusting hairy scrotum and hung on. He continued to drive his knitting
needle up the cannon-bore.

The eeg tried to scream, but it could only make sounds through its
penis, and that was occupied at the moment. Anyway, it hadn't finished
laughing, and it was too stupid to realize that the nature of the joke
had changed.

When Prior achieved operative depth he fired off six stitches, knit
three and pearl three.

Now the eeg's laughter turned to a vast shuddering. Then the massive
penis split open, and the rest of the body separated along that same
line of cleavage, becoming truly bifurcate. Both halves fell to the
floor and dissolved into cherry-wood smoke with a butterscotch mist
topping.

Black's final advice had been good. Prior had defeated the last demon in
fair genital combat, and now the Spire was his to claim.

Part IV: Dildo
==============

Chapter Thirty
--------------

Tantamount was as lovely as ever. "Why hello, Prior," she exclaimed, as
though pleased. "I haven't seen you in months!"

Prior stepped confidently in the door, grasped her by a slender wrist,
and drew her into her own living room. There was a considerable bulge at
his crotch. "I have what you've always wanted, you charming specialist,"
he said, patting his too-evident genital region. "I'll give it to you in
exchange for my natural penis--dear old faithful 3.97 erect."

She adjusted her hairnet halter with a lift of her classic chin. "But
there's nothing I want more than the advancement of science, medicine,
and human achievement," she said piously. "Human enlightenment is more
important than any other mission. The member you so kindly donated is my
essential key to all of these. Once I have collected enough of its
unique secretion--"

Prior brought her to the couch and stood her there, his fly seeming
ready to burst open. He reached under her skirt to check her posterior
equipment. It remained in order: firm, lush buttocks undefended by
anything so gross as panties. He sat down and opened his bulging fly at
last, revealing the tip of something massive and absolutely rigid.

"Prior, whatever are you--?" she protested.

He ignored this and lifted her onto his lap, so that her skirt spread
out and left her cleft open for business at his loin. "Little trick I
picked up on the beach, long time ago," he remarked. "Have you any idea
how long it's been since I had a real live human-type nubile female
woman?"

"Prior, really I don't--" she began. Then the cool, iron-hard horn
nudged into her shapely crevice, and there was something about it that
silenced her.

"You," he said, "have never been fucked like this, baby."

Her brow wrinkled distastefully. "Must you employ such uncouth language?
There is appropriate terminology to cover the situation." But she wasn't
really upset, for that surprising member of his was caressing her nether
regions, promising a fulfillment unlike any she had experienced before,
and the contact sent a warm exotic languor radiating out to suffuse her
entire body. It was as though she were in love, with him or with his
member, and had craved this contact for a thousand years. If deity had a
physical manifestation, this was quite possibly it.

"If you have terminology, use it," Prior said harshly. "Tell me what's
happening. And no fair peeking!"

She was perplexed. It seemed this was a completely one-sided sexual act
from which he received nothing. While she responded to the incredible
magic of his member, he was defensive. He had changed, somehow, and not
only genitally.

The member moved, sending electrical thrills through her. "Describe it!"
he ordered.

She tried. "Your phenomenal penis is stroking my mons pubis," she
murmured. "It hardly seems like a prosthetic! Now it is guiding around
to my left sulcus labiofemoralis--ooh, that tickles! Don't stop! Now it
is crossing my comissura labiorum posterior.... sliding along my right
labium majus pudendi.... my right sulcus nympholabialis.... sulcus
preputiolabialis.... preputum clitordis...."

"You mean it's circling right around your sweating cunt," he said
gruffly, "and coming up onto your little man-in-the-boat. Why the hell
don't you talk English? So let's just jog your pleasure button a bit,
huh?"

She looked at him reproachfully, unable to ascertain the source of his
hostility. "Really, those gutter terms--I don't know what they mean."
Then the horn got centered and her entire genital region illuminated in
response, making her love him anyway. "Massaging my glans
clitoridis...."

"Now we'll move on down to pussy headquarters," he said.

The radiating pleasure and promise became almost more than she could
bear. She tried once more, desperately, to voice her emotion suitably.
"Labium minus pudendi.. ostium orethrae... ostium vaginae...." But she
was losing her powers of concentration, for that surprising member of
his was pushing divinely into her vulva, expanding it, sliding in deeper
with an absolutely masculine assurance. An inch, two inches, three,
four, five, dilating the entire vaginal tract in a way no woman could
ever have experienced before.

"Portio vaginalis cervicis uteri," she breathed, shuddering rapturously.
"Ostium uteri...." Then she lost control entirely. "Oh, you're right,
Prior. I have never been f--fu--forni--"

"FUCKED!" he said helpfully.

"Fucked like this before," she finished contritely, and quivered all the
way into her cavum uteri.

"This," he repeated, "is what you have always desired."

"But science, medicine, human en--" She paused as the pressure of entry
abated marginally. "DON'T STOP, Prior!"

"Don't worry, cutie. I won't turn loose your lovely chaste little ass
until I've made my deal with you. And to do that, I'll have to infuse
some gouts of information, directly into your centers of learning. So
hang on--here comes the first!"

The horn wedged so sublimely inside her gouted.

Chapter Thirty-One
------------------

I AM THE SPIRE, THE PHALLIC HORN OF PLENTY. FROM ME ISSUES THE ETERNAL
SPASM OF PROTOPLASM. I WAS CREATED BY THE ELDEST GOD OF THE
GALAXY--KNOWN COLLOQUIALLY BY HIS INITIALS, EGG--THAT HE MIGHT MORE
READILY SATISFY HIS FOURTEEN THOUSAND MOST PASSIONATE CONCUBINES AND HIS
INNUMERABLE LESS PASSIONATE HETAERAE AND HIS INCIDENTAL COURTESANS
WITHOUT NEGLECTING HIS LAWFUL WIVES. WITH ME EGG BEGAT ON HIS CHOICEST
WIVES ALL THE MORTALS OF THE FIRMAMENT, AND ON HIS CONCUBINES HE BEGAT
THE DEMONS, AND ON THE REMAINDER HE BEGAT THE UNCLASSIFIABLES OF EVERY
TYPE AND DESCRIPTION. HE EMPLOYED A NEW POSITION FOR EACH COPULATION
(FOR EGG WAS EVER ARTISTIC), BEGETTING THE RACES OF MAN BY THE CLOSED,
SQUEEZED, RAISED, PRESSED, HALF-PRESSED, LEANING, ENTWINED, SUSPENDED,
AND WIDE-OPEN POSITIONS; AND THE SPECIES OF ANIMALS BY THE POSITIONS OF
THE MARE, CRAB, COW, DOG, GOAT, DOE, ASS, TIGER, ELEPHANT, WILD BOAR AND
STALLION AND SO ON; AND FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS HE EMPLOYED THE POSITIONS
OF THE NAIL AND BAMBOO CLEFT; AND FOR THE RACES AND SPECIES OF DEMONS HE
EMPLOYED ABNORMAL POSITIONS TOO TEDIOUS TO ENUMERATE OR DESCRIBE IN A
SINGLE GOUT. AND WHEN EVERY FEMALE OF THE COSMOS WAS GRAVID, EGG WAS
MINDED TO REST FOR A TIME. BUT IT WAS INCONVENIENT TO TURN ME ON AND OFF
OR TO SET ME ASIDE SAFELY, FOR ANY CREATURE MIGHT TAKE ME AND ABUSE MY
POTENCY. SO EGG CHANGED MY SETTING TO "ENERGY" AND SET ME IN THE CENTER
OF THE ORIGINAL GALAXY, AND WHILE HE SLEPT I SPEWED OUT MORE ENERGY THAN
THE COSMOS HAD YET KNOWN. BUOYED BY MY OUTPUT, THE EXISTENT SPHERE
EXPANDED. WHEN EGG WOKE, THE GALAXY HAD BECOME A UNIVERSE, AND IT WAS
STILL EXPANDING PHENOMENALLY. "THIS IS ON THE VERY VERGE OF GETTING OUT
OF HAND!" EGG CRIED, WROTH WITH EXCEEDING WRATH. BUT HE WAS NOT YET
INCLINED TO USE ME AGAIN ON HIS MULTIFEROUS FEMALES, SO HE SET ME ON
"MATTER" WHILE HE CONTEMPLATED THE SITUATION. AND WHILE HE PONDERED I
JETTED FORTH HYDROGEN, THE SIMPLEST ORGANIZED FORM OF MATTER, AND IT
FORMED INTO NEBULOUS CLOUDS AND SWIRLS AND SUFFUSED THE UNIVERSE,
PROVIDING NOURISHMENT FOR THE DISPLACED STARS AND OBSCURING VASTY TRACTS
FROM EGG'S IMMEDIATE PERCEPTION. AT LAST HE WIPED THE MUCK OF HYDROGEN
FROM HIS NOBLE BROW AND DECLARED THAT I WAS TOO MUCH TROUBLE, THOUGH I
HAD ONLY DONE MY POTENT DUTY, AND HE SET ME ON "IDLE" AND ABOLISHED ME
TO LIMBO AND ASSIGNED FIVE DEMONIC GUARDS TO PROTECT ME FROM INTRUSION.
AND THERE I REMAINED A PERIOD, FORGOTTEN. I AM THE SPIRE.

Tantamount blinked prettily and looked at Prior. "Suddenly I know all
about the Spire," she said. "But--"

"That was the first gout, delivered as I said straight into your seat of
learning. There is more." Prior lifted her off the dribbling member and
guided her head down to his crotch.

"Prior, I don't generally make love orally--" she began.

But as her mouth opened to speak the words of protest, the tip of his
still-wonderfully-solid projection moved in. "This isn't love--it's
education," he explained. His hand pressed on the back of her head,
forcing it down.

She stiffened as her delicate lips touched the ribbed surface--then
sighed around it and took in more. There was something so angelically
compelling about that contact....

"This is what you have always desired," he repeated firmly.

"Yes!" she exclaimed with her mouth full, and caressed the noxious horn
lovingly with her tongue. "This is divine. It--it tastes of cherry!"

"All I want," Prior said, "is 3.97. Isn't this a fair exchange?" She
wanted to say YES YES YES, but her rational mind fought down the
penis-sponsored urge. "But--" she started.

Then the second gout arrived, and she was far too busy swallowing
information to talk for a while.

Chapter Thirty-Two
------------------

THE FIVE GUARDS WERE GOLEMS, CREATED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS PURPOSE AND
ENDOWED WITH FANATIC LOYALTY TO THEIR MISSION. THUS THEY WERE "EXPRESSLY
ENDOWED GOLEMS" KNOWN IN THE TRADE AS EEG'S. THE CODE NAME FOR THEIR
UNIT WAS "CHERRY TREE," AND THEY ASSUMED THE ASPECT OF COMMENSURATE
APPURTENANCES. THEY HELD ME IN LIMBO AND DEFENDED MY EXILE FROM ALL
INTRUSIONS. PARAGRAPH. (I CAN'T PARAGRAPH IT MYSELF, FOR IT WOULDN'T BE
GOUT-SHAPED.) BUT THE EEGS WERE ESSENTIALLY SEXUAL CREATURES AND MY
EXILE WAS THEIRS TOO. THEY LONGED FOR THE OLD-FASHIONED INFERNAL ORGIES
OR AT LEAST SOME TOKEN SIN. THREE MALES AND TWO FEMALES--AND WHEN THERE
WERE TOO FEW INTRUDERS FOR THEM TO PRACTICE THEIR TALENTS ON, THEY HAD
TO INDULGE EACH OTHER. EVERY CENTURY OR SO ONE OF THE FEMALES WOULD
CONCEIVE. BUT THE ISSUE, BEING CONTRARY TO THE WORD OF THE ELDEST GOD OF
THE GALAXY (NOW ELDEST GOD OF THE UNIVERSE THE GALAXY HAD BECOME,
EXALTED BE HIS INACCURATE ACRONYM!), HAD TO BE CONCEALED. THE OFFSPRING
COULD NOT BE KILLED, FOR THEY WERE DEMONIC AND IMMORTAL AND NOT SUBJECT
TO THE CURSE OF THE CHERRY THAT MADE THEIR ELDERS VULNERABLE TO MORTAL
EJACULATE. AND SO THESE NEWFOUND DEMONS WERE CAST INTO THE SHAPES OF
LIVING CREATURES AND RENDERED IMMOBILE AND PLACED IN SELECTED PARKS AT
THE VARIOUS OUTLETS TO THE PASS (FOR SO EGG'S PRIVATE TRAVEL ROUTE WAS
TERMED) WHERE THE NATIVES TOOK THEM TO BE STATUES. ONLY WHILE IN THE
ACTUAL ACT OF COPULATION WITH LIVING THINGS COULD THESE OUTCASTS GAIN
SOME MEASURE OF THE ANIMATION THEY CRAVED--AND FEW MORTALS CARED TO
INDULGE IN COPULATION WITH SUCH STATUES. THE DEMONS THEREFORE BARGAINED
FOR SUCH ATTENTIONS BY OFFERING TO ANSWER ANY QUESTION AN OBLIGING
MORTAL MIGHT PUT TO THEM. BUT THEY WERE SEVERELY LIMITED IN THE
ARTICULATION OF SUCH DISCOURSE. THIS WAS ANOTHER PENALTY FOR BEING THE
SPAWN OF ADULTEROUS EEGS. ONLY BY THE INFUSION OF LEGITIMATE PROTOPLASM
COULD THEY BE RENDERED FULLY ANIMATE THEMSELVES. I AM THE SPIRE.

The horn withdrew from Tantamount's mouth, and red fluid drooled from
between her sparkling white teeth. "Suddenly I know all about certain
statues," she said, licking the overflow from her red lips. "Those
horrible statues behind my sister's clinic. But--"

"That was the second gout," Prior explained. "There is more." He guided
her into a prone position on the couch, and lifted her skirt out of the
way so that her full, resilient buttocks showed in all their clean white
splendor. He brought a little more of the member into view. It was still
as hard as horn, and though narrow at the tip its girth increased toward
the base. Its aperture was not a slit but a round hole, surprisingly
large for a penis.

"That phallus does not have the most esthetic configuration," she said,
glancing over her shoulder at it. "But every time it touches me I
palpitate, and when it ejaculates I have visions and I feel so good...."

"This is what you have always desired," he said once more.

"But my life work--"

He positioned himself and hauled up her generous posterior so that her
smooth, perfectly molded cleft showed taut. He spread the silky flesh of
her labia, nudging in the horn.

"Yes, yes!" she breathed breathlessly.

"Let's do this right," he said as he inched the horn in. "This is the
position of the Cow, according to the ancient erotic texts of India.
Let's say I'm the bull, and this is the bullhorn. So moo, cow, moo!"

The caress of that horny member unnerved her with its incipient thrills,
but she still had female human pride. "Prior, this is ridiculous! Why
must you spoil--"

He began to withdraw, and the promise abated.

"Moo! Moo!" she cried, alarmed.

The retreat ceased, but the advance did not resume. "But I'm not sure I
want to fuck a cow at the moment. It's too bovine, know what I mean?
Let's make it the position of the Dog. How about it? Would you make a
good female dog?"

"This is disgusting! Absolutely animalistic! I won't--"

He recommended the strategic withdrawal.

"I'm a bitch! I'm a bitch!" she screamed.

"Funny. You don't sound like a bitch.

"Arf! Wuf! Ho-o-owl!"

She was getting the message.

"But maybe the ass is better," he said thoughtfully. "A nice, braying,
donkey-type ass."

She was silent. The horn hesitated inside her, then began to retr--

"I'm a piece of ass!" she cried.

"But I feel more like a wild boar, so--"

"I'm a pig! Oink, oink!"

"Then again, maybe an elephant--"

"Anything you want! Please, Prior--"

"Why," he said curiously, "you sound almost as if you want
something...."

"Enter and ejaculate! Don't torture me!"

He cupped one hand behind an ear. "I'm not certain I comprehend the
terminology."

"Complete the fornication!"

"Eh?"

"Fuck me! FUCK ME!"

"Oh, all right, if you feel that way." He eased the horn on in to jog
the eager cervix. "Here comes the third gout, elephant ass bitch!"

And the third gout came, driving out the remnants of the first gout as
new grease from the greasegun drives out old.

Chapter Thirty-Three
--------------------

AFTER SEVERAL THOUSAND MILLENNIA THE CHERRY TREE EEG DEMONS (SEE GOUT
NO. 2 FOR RATIONALE OF NOMENCLATURE) REALIZED THAT I COULD BE EMPLOYED
FOR THEIR PURPOSE, FOR I COULD PRODUCE THE MORTAL PROTOPLASM THEY
DESIRED AND I HAD NOT ACTUALLY BEEN TURNED OFF. AND SO THEY FORNICATED
WITH ME UPON OCCASION--TWO OR THREE TIMES PER CENTURY--AND FROM EACH
SUCH UNION A LIVING EEGLET WAS CONCEIVED AND BIRTHED AS AN EGG. THESE
EGGS WERE STORED AT THE BORDERS OF LIMBO AND FORGOTTEN. BUT THE STRAIN
OF SUCH POTENCY ON THE DEMONIC SYSTEMS WAS SUCH THAT THEIR GENITAL
SECRETIONS WERE ADVERSELY AFFECTED. THUS THE CHERRY DEMONS DEVELOPED
BUTTERSCOTCH-FLAVORED EJACULATE, MUCH TO THEIR CHAGRIN. PARAGRAPH.
EVENTUALLY A CACHE OF THESE EEG EGGS WAS DISCOVERED BY A SPACEFARING
MORTAL, WHO ASCERTAINED THEIR SINGULAR NATURE AND WHOLESALED THEM ON THE
BLACK MARKET. SOON INFANT EEGS WERE SCATTERED ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE, FOR
REMOVAL FROM LIMBO AND CONTACT WITH MORTAL FLESH STIMULATED THEIR
HATCHING AND GROWTH. NATURALLY THEY PROCEEDED TO WREAK SUCH MISCHIEF AS
THEY MIGHT. THIS WAS ENTIRELY AGAINST DEMONIC PRINCIPLE, FOR IT SIGNALED
THE END OF THE PROPER SEPARATION OF MAGIC AND SCIENCE. BUT THE SMUGGLING
CONTINUED. I AM THE SPIRE.

"And now I know about eeg eggs," Tantamount said. "This is astonishing."

"It's all leading up to the deal we are about to make," Prior said
confidently. "I have what you've always wanted."

"Yes," she said, starting to turn over.

"Not so fast, bitch ass!" He caught inside her thigh, squeezing the fine
firm flesh between thumb and fingers until she winced. Then he stroked
his hand between her lush buttocks, bearing down on her rectum. "Now for
this next number--"

"Prior," she protested, squirming. "What--"

"Now is the month of Maying," he sang, stroking her flinching sphincter
again. "When merry lads are playing, fa-la-la-la-la--"

Tantamount tried to straighten out, but he hooked his other arm around
her voluptuous hips and held her there, rear pointed up. He scooped a
little clear grease from her vagina where it overflowed and rubbed it
generously over her anus. "Each with his bonnie lass," he sang, thumbing
some of the lubricant into the target hole. "A-dancing on her ass,
fa-la-la-la--"

"Surely you don't intend to practice anal intercourse?" she asked,
shocked.

"This isn't practice, innocent baby. I'm thoroughly experienced, thanks
to the tour you started me on."

"But I never indulge in perversive exploits! It isn't--"

"You don't consider it perversive to hack off a man's living, fucking
penis and crucify it in a laboratory?"

"So that's why you're so angry! Prior, how can you bear such a grudge
for such a little--"

"It may be little, but it's mine. 3.97 erect. I want it back."

"But I need it for the advancement of--"

She silenced as the great horn centered on her attractively puckered
rectum and nosed determinedly within. The breadth of it distended her
sphincter and the hollow tip of it probed far into her virgin bowel, a
hypodermic ready to inject. "Who would have suspected it would feel so
good!" she murmured wantonly.

"This horn always feels divine," he said. He hesitated again. "Next time
you feel like stealing a man's--"

"Never again!" she cried.

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my fucking heart!"

He nodded, satisfied. The fourth gout flooded her colon.

Chapter Thirty-Four
-------------------

NOW IT CAME TO PASS THAT EGG LEARNED OF THE EEG EGGS (IT SEEMS ONE WAS
INADVERTENTLY POACHED FOR HIS BREAKFAST) AND REALIZED THAT NOT ONLY WAS
SOMETHING AMISS, HIS ACRONYM HAD BEEN PROFANED. SO HE BANISHED ME TO AN
UNINHABITED WORLD, AND MY GUARDIANS WITH ME, AND DECREED THAT HENCEFORTH
I SHOULD SPOUT ONLY LUDICROUS SUBSTANCE. ABOUT THAT TIME ONE OF THE
BACKWARD PLANETS HAD INVENTED ICE CREAM (A NOXIOUS CONFECTION OF ANIMAL
MAMMARY MILK AND VEGETABLE SUGAR, DEVIOUSLY FLAVORED AND CHILLED TO
SEMI-SOLIDITY), SO HE STARTED ME OFF WITH THAT, MY PENALTY FOR MILLENNIA
OF LOYAL SERVICE. NATURALLY I PRODUCED ONLY THE FINEST GRADE OF EVERY
FLAVOR AND TYPE--BUT THERE WAS NO ONE PRESENT TO CONSUME IT. GRADUALLY A
MOUNTAIN OF IT FORMED ABOVE ME, YET I COULD NOT DESIST WITHOUT A
SPECIFIC DIRECTIVE, AND THE DEMONS WERE NO LONGER EMPOWERED FOR THAT.
ONLY WHEN SOME INTREPID MORTAL CONQUERED THE GUARDIAN EEGS (BY REAMING
THEIR DEMON ASSES) AND PROVIDED A NEW DIRECTIVE COULD I MODIFY MY
OUTPUT. FINALLY SUCH A MAN CAME. I AM THE SPIRE. FUCK YOU,
SISTER--YOU'RE MY MILLIONTH-GENERATION DESCENDANT.

"Prior!" she exclaimed. "You conquered the Spire. The phallic horn of
plenty!"

"It is," he murmured, "up your ass."

"Help! I've been stuffed with ice cream!"

He withdrew the tip of the Spire and watched the yellowish substance
ooze out of her flaccid rectum. "Not exactly. I switched formulae each
time. Standard-potency human ejaculate for the first gout that will make
you a mother in just about nine months--"

"No!" she cried, appalled. "I took Precautions!"

"So did some of those wives and concubines. But the Spire has never had
a failure. It is, you might say, the irresistible force."

She turned over now, stricken. "Gravid! And I'm not even married!"

"The second gout was cherry ice cream, of course," he continued
imperturbably. "Petroleum jelly for the third--"

"WHAT?!"

"Well, I know we'd be needing some lubricant for the fourth, so--"

Tantamount squirted from his grasp, assisted in the maneuver by the
leaking lubricant, and stood on the floor quivering beautifully with
fury. "Of all the--you, you--you MAN, you!"

"But for the fourth gout I have stuffed you with what you have always
most desired. That's why it felt so good."

"But all I have ever desired is science, medicine, and--" she began
plaintively.

"Precisely. And how do you propose to achieve all this?"

"I was setting up my laboratory to perform an exhaustive analysis of
your penile smegma, to ascertain--"

Prior removed the Spire from his crotch where it had been fastened to
his attachment-base, and set it upright in the center of the room. It
was about a foot long, horn-shaped, with a gentle column of steam rising
from its narrow aperture. "All you needed," he said gravely, "was enough
of that unique smegma to spread out for your multiple tests. And 3.97
can't have been producing much, because naturally it doesn't like being
isolated in the lab, fuckless. So you haven't gotten far, have you,
saving mankind from a fate worse than abstinence?"

Her full breasts shook. "But in time--"

"You don't need time. You need smegma. Well, you have it now."

"I--?"

"Shit a little, Emdee. Find out what I put in there, that last gout."

Dazed, she squatted and strained. Her bottom extruded a waxy ribbon of
substance. She caught some of it on her finger, brought it to her face,
frowned and touched her tongue to it. "Smegma! You mean--?"

"Cheese, sister, cheese. My very own formula, proof against all venereal
disease except amputation. All yours now."

"Smegma!" she exclaimed, brightening visibly. "How wonderful! There must
be half a pound of it in me. I must conserve it all!" And she began
straining in earnest.

Prior smiled indulgently. "Don't bother. I am giving you the Spire, set
to that formula. It will produce as much as you need--maybe even more
than enough." He twiddled with the great horn, and it began spouting
more of the waxy stuff. The first sustained gout hit the ceiling and
splashed down all over the living room, and more followed in a steady
stream. It was a yellow fountain.

"Oh!" Tantamount exclaimed, running over and trying to catch it all in
her hands. She was like a child in a candy store. "It's raining smegma!
Oh joy!"

"Courtesy of Egg's cosmic dildo, the source of all potency." Prior
sighed with satisfaction. "Now I'm going over to your lab and I'm taking
back my penis--3.97 erect. It's a fair bargain. Have fun." He waved as
he left.

She had already forgotten him. She was in smegma heaven. The stuff was
pouring on her head, and she was smearing it over her exquisite body as
though it were soap, transfixed by delight. "All I can ever use!" she
cried. "I'll eat it, drink it, sleep in it--"

It took Prior about half an hour to get his precious penis disconnected
from the lab setup and reconnected to his socket, but finally it stood
proud and not too tall at his loin. Now it was just over four inches,
because the socket added to its length, but he remained well satisfied.
A long (or more correctly, short) lost friend had been recovered, and
they were going to have a fucking good time together.

Of course he would keep the alternate members too, since variety was the
spice of sex. And he would have to drop in on Oubliette to obtain a
special fitting, so that he could handle the little errand he owed
Black. A certain bunch of fat crooked policemen were going to get
screwed--simultaneously. Compliments of a late noble man.

As he left the house he saw yellowish material pouring thickly out the
window. It was excess smegma overflowing the confines of Tantamount's
living room.

Prior chuckled. No one but he could turn off the Spire or change its
setting, and he intended to lose himself. So unless the Eldest God of
the Galaxy became aware of the situation and interceded, Tantamount
would have more than enough.

In fact, this was the beginning of the formation of Mt. Smegma.

Copyright  1989 by Piers Anthony

ISBN 0-9623712-0-3

