But neither was holding down the point. This was a farting contest, and Veil was more than curious to see how it proceeded. She knew there had to be some other move.
There was. Kinky, having pinned her opponent, wrestled around to get her posterior into place for an effective discharge. But Normal slid out from under, clasped her from behind, and rode her as she struggled to her feet.
After a moment, Normal dropped off and the two women faced each other again. “What happened there?” Veil asked.
“The prospective fart hold was broken,” the announcer replied. “They wound up in a neutral position, from which neither could prevail. There’s a fifteen minute time limit; if neither wins within that time, both lose. So there’s no point in maintaining a bad position; they break and start over.”
That made sense. Now came the second grappling. This time Normal made a sudden leap, caught the top of the cage, and swing her legs across to clamp on Kinky’s head. That would put her anus directly into position. But Kinky countered by ducking down, and Normal missed the hold.
Kinky whirled and grabbed her from behind as she dropped down, swing ing her around and lowering her to the floor. This time she had a better hold, and got her knees on Normal’s arms so that her own arms could fend off Normal’s attempt to bring her feet up for another head clamp. She slid forward, getting her bottom over Normal’s face. Her anus dropped down close. It fluttered.
And Normal jerked her head up and plastered her mouth against that opening hole. She blew. Hard. Air pumped into the rectum, inflating it, diluting the fart gas. “Nice ploy!” the announcer said enthusiastically. “Perfect timing.” Veil had to agree. But to put one’s mouth tightly against another person’s anus—that was dedication of a sort she herself would muster only with the greatest difficulty.
Kinky held her position, and in a moment Normal’s lungs gave out and she had to let her head drop back to the floor. Now Kinky blew out her voluminously augmented fart, bathing Normal’s face, and jumped off. The referee began the count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Normal rolled to her feet and stood unsteadily. She had been stunned by the diluted gas, but not sufficiently to knock her out for the full count. Kinky did not go after her immediately, because she had expended her gas and needed time to regenerate. That gave Normal time to recover fully. “Why didn’t she hold her opponent down?” Veil asked. “The requirement is that the fart alone must knock the other out,” the announcer explained. “The count doesn’t start until there is no body contact. That’s why there are no fists or hard throws; they might contribute to the knockout, disqualifying it. This is a fart off, nothing else.” “But there is a time limit,” Veil said. “Yes, so they will go at it again soon. But now one has depleted her gas,
while the other maintains hers. The advantage has shifted.” So it seemed. Normal stalked Kinky, looking for a takedown and hold. Then Kinky moved rapidly, catching her by arm and leg and pushing her to the floor. She dropped on Normal’s belly so hard that the air whooshed out of her mouth.
“Trying to squeeze out her fart,” the announcer explained. “It didn’t work; she kept her sphincter tight.”
Another interesting ploy. There was obviously some sophistication in these contests.
Kinky continued to hold Normal down, as she extended one arm and put her hand on the woman’s crotch. She tried to get her finger into Normal’s anus, to force it open so that it released its gas, but Normal locked her legs tightly together, preventing the other from achieving the necessary leverage. Meanwhile her own hands were moving around somewhat ineffectively.
Kinky gave it up and started to get up—and found herself entangled. Normal had knotted the end of her hair to Kinky’s hair, and their two heads were linked together. Now Normal lifted one leg, passed her foot the other side of the hair connection, and brought it down again. Kinky’s head was yanked down toward Normal’s belly. Normal put her two hands onto the head and pushed it down into her crotch—just as she let fly with her fart. Kinky was caught. She tried to hold her breath, but Normal tickled her
ribs and she had to inhale to scream. She got a lungful and passed out. Normal quickly untied the hair and got to her feet. The referee counted
off ten seconds. She had won the fart off. Veil concluded that she didn’t want to be this woman’s plaything either.
Chapter 9—Trail
Prior set out along the Eeg trail in the morning. Oubliette had outfitted him with a knapsack and supplies, taking a solicitous interest in his welfare. He wondered why. She was a nice person, true, and she wanted to safeguard the Spire, but he knew she had little interest in him apart from that. There was something else. She had gotten an excellent sexual workout from the Spire, but even that did not quite account for her friendly attention. What else was she after? He trusted her; she would not do anything contrary to his welfare. But there was something. WHAT A WOMAN, the Spire gouted. “But what is on her mind?” I REGRET I AM NOT A MIND READER. I CAN PICK UP YOUR THOUGHTS BECAUSE YOU ARE ATTACHED TO ME, BUT I COULD NOT PENETRATE HER UNVOICED THOUGHTS. JUST ASPECTS OF HER MOOD. I AGREE THERE IS SOMETHING. NOT BAD, NO ILL WILL, JUST CURIOUS. THERE IS SOMETHING SHE WANTS ALMOST AS MUCH AS POSSESSION OF ME, THAT PERHAPS YOU CAN FACILITATE. THAT IS THE LIMIT OF MY UNDERSTANDING. “Well, I hope I can facilitate it, and make her happy.” They came to the first statue. This was a lovely nude woman, her arms spread invitingly, her lips puckered for a kiss. He had seen that expression before; it meant she was expecting him. “You know how to relate to the statues?” he asked the Spire. OF COURSE. THEY ARE THE BASTARD OFFSPRING OF THE DEMONS OF THE FORMER CHERRY TREE, RENDERED INTO IMMOBILITY AND PLACED IN ASSORTED PARKS.
“Yes, of course. I mean, according to Oubliette I need their help in finding the way to Fartingale. That means—”
CERTAINLY. THAT MEANS ANIMATING THEM, WHICH CAN BE DONE ONLY SEXUALLY. LEAVE IT TO ME. I WILL ANIMATE THEM AS NEVER BEFORE.
“Good enough.” Prior unlimbered the cosmic dildo and let it project from the front of his trousers. He stepped into the lady statue. He kissed her stone cold lips, and they warmed slightly. Then the Spire found the place and slid into her hard cleft, which in
stantly softened. It penetrated her melting vagina and gouted, once. Suddenly she was fully warm and animate. “Oh, you marvelous man!”
she exclaimed, kissing him fervently. “You have made a woman of me.” “It’s the Spire,” he said, knowing that the magic phallus had indeed done a job beyond the ability of any mortal man. When he had made out with her before, it had been a rather slow, difficult process, and she had spoken only one word before returning to stone.
“I know that, silly. I meant that you brought him to me. No one ever did that before. However can I reward you?” She hugged him closely, pressing her statuesque breasts against him. “Just tell me the way to Fartingale.” She made a stony moue. “Stay here with me, and I’ll give you much
better sex than those smelly sluts.” “I have to go there to rescue my ideal woman.” “I could be your ideal woman, if you just keep My Lord Spire close.” She
guided one of his hands down to stroke her firm bare bottom. She wanted to argue? “I’m sure you could, but I fear my destiny is there.” She pouted. “Oh, very well. I have put the path right. Go your way. But
when you return—” “You get another gout.” “Exactly.” She kissed him again, ardently. It was almost possible to believe that she could indeed be suitable for him. Motivation was so important in a woman.
Then he drew the Spire out, and she reverted rapidly to stone. But there was a hint of rapture on her face; some of the Spire’s gout remained in her crevice.
The trail did not seem to have changed, but Prior took it on faith. The next statue was a man, as he remembered, but he thought might be a different one. The other had wanted anal intercourse, which was not Prior’s taste when it was his own anus in question.
I WILL DO IT, the Spire gouted. Prior unlimbered the phallus of the Eldest God an
d approached the statue. He put the tip of the Spire to the statue’s rear crevice. It found the place and nudged in, issuing a gout. The statue came to life. “I recognize that gout!” he said. “The Spire!” “We’re going to Fartingale.” “On your way,” the man agreed. The Spire withdrew, and the man became stone. His smile remained fixed as
he reverted; his stone cold colon retained the hot gout. The next statue was a female goat. Prior was sure it had been a sheep before, so the path really was changing. He stood behind the doe and inserted the Spire. In a moment the gout brought her to life.
“The Spire is the best buck fuck in the universe,” she remarked, her interior squeezing it.
Prior was startled. He hadn’t expected her to speak fully human. But of course she was really a demoness. “We’re going to—” “Yes, of course. It is there for you.” They moved on, encountering increasingly different statues; there was now no question that the path was changing. The original trail had led to the Eggers; this one led, he hoped, to Fartingale. And the Spire, with its eternal potency and conducive effect, was indeed making progress much easier.
Then they came to the mermaid. She was a stone statue with her tail immersed in a stone pool. How were they to get at her business end? KISS HER. He did, and her face softened and warmed. Then the Spire made a dropsized gout onto the water—and it clarified, becoming transparent in a widening circle. Soon the mermaid was floating in real water. She remained stone, however.
Prior doffed his trousers and climbed into the pool. He found the place under water just below the beginning of her scaled tail and infiltrated the tip of the Spire into it. It forged slowly into the softening channel there until it reached minimum operative depth, then gouted.
The mermaid’s tail flexed, and the member was suddenly forging twice as far into her. Her arms closed around Prior. Her lovely full breasts heaved. “More,” she murmured.
The Spire gouted again. The mermaid kissed Prior. “Oh, it’s been so long,” she said. “Hardly anyone uses this trail these days. And you—you’ve got the Spire, you lucky man.” “We’re going to Fartingale.” “Where?” “It’s a magic land where farts are common.” “How uncouth.” She used her comb to straighten out his hair. “Whyever
would a wonderful man like you want to go to a dreary place like that?” Prior realized she was stalling, to make the Spire stay longer. But her breasts were very sleek and soft, her hands caressing his face and neck, and her hidden groin was stroking the embedded member. It was easy to allow this dialogue to continue. “I have to rescue my ideal woman.”
She frowned. “Don’t you realize that’s a miscue? What can she offer you that I can’t?” “Legs?” “Oh, who cares about legs! Nothing matches a great piece of tail.” She squeezed the Spire again, evocatively. “Well, I’m really not a great swimmer.” “I could help you there. Suck on my breasts.” “Excuse me?” She caught his head in her hands and bore it down to her left breast, just
above the water line, setting his mouth against the nipple. “Breathe.” He tried it, dubiously. Highly oxygenated air come into his mouth and lungs. He drew on it harder, and the breath of life flowed into him. This was wonderful!
She cradled his head with her arms. “All this can be yours, you nice mortal man. You can sleep in my loving embrace at the bottom of the sea, safe and warm and in perpetual erotic delight. What more could you ask?”
It was rather tempting. But he knew that the moment the Spire with drew, she would become stone again. It simply wasn’t feasible.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “That I have a heart of stone. But if you can get your friend the Spire to give me larger gouts where I can keep them for a while, such as in my other aperture, I can last a day or so between refuelings, and be everything to you.” Is that true? he asked the Spire.
YES, it gouted, providing the mermaid with another thrill. BUT YOU WOULD
STILL BE LIMITED TO THE SEA. “But you’d be with me!” she protested. He removed his mouth from her rich nipple. “And I couldn’t breathe
underwater unless nursing from you.” To his surprise, she nodded. “It wouldn’t work, unless you transformed
into a merman. Of course that would happen if you nursed long enough.” Her fresh air would transform him to half a fish? “Uh, thanks all the
same, no.” She didn’t fuss; she had expected his demurral. “But it’s been great. If you should ever change your mind, I’ll be here.” She caught his head and kissed him again.
At that point the Spire withdrew, and her lips hardened. NO DEMON CAN GIVE YOU TRUE HAPPINESS, it gouted.
It was surely true. But Prior felt almost guilty about leaving the expres sive mermaid.
They moved on, interacting with assorted statues. Then they came to a centaur filly. She was a problem, because her human fore section was well removed from her equine hind section. He wasn’t sure a gout in the rear would bring her to life all the way to the front. How could he talk with her?
IT IS FEASIBLE, the Spire assured him. IT WILL REQUIRE A FAIR INFUSION, BUT YOU WILL BE ABLE TO ANIMATE HER FACE.
“If you say so,” Prior agreed doubtfully. He approached the centaur’s posterior.
It was too high for him to reach. He had to scout for some separate stones to pile behind the statue. He stood on them, and was able to get there. He fed the Spire under her tail and into her huge vaginal orifice.
A small gout softened the stone, allowing further entry. A second gout animated the interior, and finally the Spire penetrated to its full length. Prior stood there, his crotch up against the statue.
Now the Spire started gouting in earnest. It sent surges in, filling the chamber. There seemed to be plenty of room for more. The furry flank softened and warmed. Color came to the hide, coursing from the tail on up toward the front.
The centaur bent. The frozen human section was carried around to the left. With each gout it moved farther, until the torso formed a huge U. The stone forelegs, breasts, and face came around to face Prior. But the eyes remained blank.
Oh. He leaned to the side and into her and managed to reach her face with his mouth. His groin remained attached to hers, so the position was awkward, but feasible. He kissed her lips at a slightly skew angle.
They warmed. “Thank you, Prior,” she said. “It is kind of you to ani mate me, however briefly.” “You know my name!” he exclaimed. She laughed, her huge breasts bouncing. “The Spire told me, with his gouts. They can be very communicative. The news reached my brain before you freshened my face.”
That seemed to make sense, in this context. “Then you know that we— ”
“Yes, of course, and I have already fixed the path. Your next statue will be there. I do appreciate this visit.” “Uh, sure, welcome.” He was at a lost for useful words. She smiled and kissed him again. “You are so pleasantly naïve. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to form before the Spire withdraws, so I will be a presentable statue.”
“That’s fine,” he said lamely. These statues had a lot more personality than he had anticipated, this time around.
She got straight, the Spire sent one more gout and withdrew. She smiled, then slowly congealed.
At last they came to a huge statue of a naked man sitting on a toilet, leaning forward in deep concentration. His right elbow rested on his right knee, his hand supporting his forehead. It was clear that he had some truly weighty matter on his noble mind. THAT’S THE STINKER, the spire gouted. HE GUARDS THE ACCESS TO FARTINGALE. YOU MUST PUT ME IN YOUR RECTUM NOW. Somehow this did not appeal to Prior. He didn’t mind using the Spire to fill other rectums, but he preferred to keep his own clear. “I’ll just walk past without activating him.”
YOU’LL BE SORRY. But the Spire did not try to stop him. Prior started to circle the statue. There was a sound like a cosmic section of cloth ripping, and a truly appalling stench wafted out from the toilet. Prior caught one whiff, gagged, and fell to the ground, retching.
After a while the poten
t gas dissipated, and he was able to recover enough to climb back on his feet. “I got the message.” He dropped his pants, unscrewed the Spire, screwed a six inch circumcised member on, then gingerly poked the tip of the Spire into his anus.
NOT THAT WAY, IDIOT, it gouted, jetting a jot of goo on the resistive
pucker. I MUST POINT OUTWARD.
Oh. Of course. He reversed the implement. But now he had another problem: its substantial base was far too wide to pass the sphincter. But then the Spire shrank to much smaller size, and he was able to slide it in. Once there, he felt it expanding again, shaping itself to his rectum so that it was firmly anchored, with the tip just shy of the anus. It was oddly comfortable. NOW I WILL SALUTE THE STINKER. Prior bent over so that his posterior faced the statue. The Spire emitted a whistling peal of gas that formed a small cloud and drifted up to puff into the statue’s face.
The effect was immediate. The face came to life. “The Spire!” the Stinker said. “What an honor.” NOW TALK TO HIM. Prior pulled up his pants, turned around, and spoke. “Uh, hello. I’m
Prior Gross. I need to go to Fartingale to rescue my ideal woman.” “And the Spire farts for you,” the Stinker said. “Of course you may pass.” He eyed Prior. “But waste no time in getting appropriate clothing. The natives don’t much like strangers unless they come bearing gold, sex slaves, or superlative farts.” “Thank you. I will do my best.” The statue solidified. Prior walked by it. This time it let him pass. He had made it to Fartingale.
Chapter 10—Interviews
It was the fourth day of her confinement, and Veil was not optimistic about her fate. She was unable to tell whether the fourth qualifying candidate, a man of middle age, was intellectual, as the contest did not test that quality.
But perhaps she could find out. She would interview the first four quali fiers, and discover whether any of them were remotely acceptable. She hoped for one she would be able to tolerate, as a fall-back choice in case the three qualifiers to come turned out to be even worse.
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