The Magic Fart

by Piers Anthony

  gether with the man you most despised, and watching the action.” She nodded. “The ancient Romans had some similar entertainments.

  On the other hand there’s the analogy of The Magic Flute.” “The what?” “It’s a literary reference. Naturally you wouldn’t know.” She was punish

  ing him with her contempt. “I’m an ignorant guy,” he agreed, accepting it. “It is an opera by Mozart, dating from 1791. The Queen of the Night gives a magic flute to a young prince so that he can rescue her daughter from the palace of an evil high priest who has abducted her.”

  “I’m the prince,” he agreed, laughing weakly. “You’re the kidnapped daughter.” He shook his head ruefully. “Some prince!” “But you were the one with access to the magic fart.” “The Spire,” he agreed. “But this can’t be an old opera.” “That depends on the whim of whoever set this up. There does seem to

  be a certain devious logic.” Chance woke and began to fuss. “I guess I’d better give him back to

  you,” Prior said. “He’s been great.” He held the baby out. “He’s hungry,” she agreed, taking Chance and putting him to her breast. “How does it work out, in the opera?” “The prince goes to the castle of the high priest, protected from danger by the music of the flute, and discovers to his surprise that the man is not evil, but merely protecting the girl. The prince gets to know the girl, and likes her a lot, and she him. So the prince undergoes the ordeal of the search for truth. This prevents him from speaking to the girl, who thinks he doesn’t love her.” “So much for the parallel.” “Parallels can be figurative as well as literal. We met each other anony

  mously, here in Fartingale, so had our misunderstandings.” “Like my thinking you could love me,” he said. “I confess to being severely stressed with respect to that. I was coming

  to like you, before I discovered your identity.” “That’s the opposite of the opera.” “Opposites are parallels too. Here is what I am faced with: you are the father of my son. I don’t love you but I do love Chance. I want what is best for him. So I am obliged to consider you seriously.” “This is hell for you.” “Yes. I am trying to fathom who hates me enough to do this to me.” Prior spread his hands. “I really am sorry. I do like you a lot, love you even. I’ll do anything to make it right, if I can. I just don’t know what that is. So—whatever you decide.” “Thank you,” she said tightly. “First I want to escape this awful culture

  and return home. Thereafter I’ll decide.” “Fair enough,” he agreed. “But maybe you’d better let me use the magic

  fart.” “No. I think urine is our best bet, and I’m the one to do it. Now that my

  hood is gone, I’m essentially anonymous. That will help.” “Except for Chance,” he said. “They’ll be alert for a woman with a baby.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Oh! I forgot about that. You’re right.” “Maybe I can use the magic fart after all. I can made a little cloud that conceals the baby, making him invisible, if I’m carry him. Then we’ll look like an average young couple.” “That might work. We’ll have to act like it, kissing and such.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be,” she snapped. “It’s a necessary act.” “Not for me.” She paused. “You really thought of me during our separation?” “Yes. You’re such a smart, beautiful, motivated person—all the things I’m not. Now I understand why you took my penis. It was for the benefit of mankind.”

  “Don’t praise me for that! I let the ends justify the means. My sister told me that, and now I realize it’s true. I did wrong you.” “We were pretty mean to each other.” “We were indeed.” What was getting to her was that she found herself softening toward him. They had offsetting wrongs, and with that cancellation, what was left was an ignorant but decent guy, and her need for legitimacy. She didn’t want her son to be a bastard.

  “Let me see what I can do,” he said as Chance finished nursing. He took the baby back, and there was the squeak of a narrow fart. A trail of vapor floated up from his posterior and clung to his upper section, surrounding Chance. And Chance disappeared. “But can he breathe?” she asked, alarmed. “Sure. Take a breath and see.” She put her face to the cloud and inhaled. The mist was faintly sweet, like dilute perfume, and made her feel satisfied and sleepy, but not out of breath. It was a rather special magic. She put her hand in and found Chance, nestling peacefully.

  “I have to acknowledge that the Spire is apt,” she said. “This will do. Very well, let me see whether I’m fit to pee, as it were.” She found a rock as the light brightened, sat on, it leaned back, and let fly a long jet of urine. “Measure that.” Prior paced it off, from her feet to the wet landing spot. “About six feet.”

  “I doubt that’s good enough. These folk are competitive pissers. But with practice and a full bladder I’ll improve. Let’s go find a clothing shop.” She was privately amazed to hear herself talking like this, but this did seem the best way to travel anonymously. “We’d better tank up,” Prior said. “Agreed.” Prior lay on the ground by the steam and sucked in water, man style, while she scoped handfuls up to sip, woman style. They both drank until their stomachs were full. This was uncomfortable, but she, at least, needed the ammunition.

  They walked across the terrain, following the stream upstream. Water was usually a good place to find human habitation. After an hour they came to a small settlement. A sign identified it as Piss Creek. Good; a urination contest should be quite in order. Her bladder was already filling.

  She took Chance back and nursed him, then returned him to Prior. Not having to carry his weight made her walking easier.

  “Here’s our situation,” she told Prior. “We were out walking and lost our clothes in the stream; they just disappeared into the ground. We were part of a tourist tour, and missed our transport. We need to get some clothing.” “They won’t just give it to us.” “Correct. So we’ll piss for it.” They came to the central privy, always a social center. It was posted with ads: MULTI-COLORED TURDS, GUARANTEED. EMPOWER YOUR FARTS: FLOWERY SMELLS, GREATER VOLUME, MELODIOUS SOUND, IMPROVED VELOCITY. MASTER THE POWER OF PISS: THE FAMILY THAT PEES TOGETHER, SEES TOGETHER. While she read the notices, Prior spoke to a likely man, telling the story Tantamount had suggested. “Nothing’s free,” the man said sourly. “Where’s your money?” “Lost that too. We’ll have to piss for it.” The man nodded. “We’re always up for a good pissing, here in Piss Creek.

  Folk who piss together, have bliss together. What stakes?” “Clothing for each of us, versus a fast fuck with my wife, who will be the

  contestant.” The man looked at Tantamount, seeing her shape. “My wife’s got spares,

  and my son needs a good fuck.” “She’s not going up against a man,” Prior said quickly. “Naturally not,” the man agreed, though evidently he had had it in mind.

  “My daughter will take her on.” It was playing out pretty much the way Tantamount had planned; her research in the Tower now stood her in good stead. Soon the villagers gathered for the spot show; pretty women were more fun to watch urinating than men.

  The man’s wife showed off a good used farthingale dress that looked as if it would fit, and a pair of pantaloons. The son and daughter come out. “First pissing,” the man announced. “For the dress.” Oops—they wanted to contest separately for the items, instead of mak

  ing it a package deal. They were stuck for two contests. The daughter, who was a halfway comely teen girl, removed her dress, sat on the pissing stool and let fly with a good stream that cut off abruptly. The spectators applauded. Trust the villagers to know how to do it well. It was necessary to have a sufficient amount to maintain a steady flow, however briefly, and the girl had done that.

  Tantamount took the stool, held her breath, compressed her bladder, and forced out a powerful stream. It splashed just beyond the girl’s effort. The villagers applauded again.

  “You won it,” the man said, handing Prior the farthingale. Now for the pants.”

  The daughter let fly with another jet, the same distance as the
first. But Tantamount, her pressure diminished, fell short. She had expended too much urine the first time, her inexperience costing her. “Well, now,” the son said, stepping forward, his member stiffening. “Hey, we didn’t say public,” Tantamount protested. She knew she was

  stuck for the fuck, but there were limits. There was a sigh of regret among the villagers. But they went along, allowing Tantamount to take the young man into the closed privy. She put her hands on the seat, presenting her bottom. “Hey I want it from the front,” the boy protested. “You can’t feel my breasts from the front,” she pointed out. “This way

  you can reach around me.” “Say yeah,” he agreed. Without further argument he stepped up behind her, put his stiff penis to her cleft, reached around to grab her breasts, and rammed home. He jetted on the first thrust, being young.

  That was it. One advantage of doing it with a teen boy was that it was fast. He was out in a moment, and she grabbed some toilet paper and wiped herself dry.

  But they still needed the pantaloons, and she had little urine left; she had let too much flow in the contests. “Let me consult privately with my husband,” she said as they returned to the plaza.

  The villagers smiled. Women paid off their bets, but often preferred to have follow-ups with their own men, to erase the feel of foreign intrusion. Prior joined her in the privy. “Give me Chance,” she said. “Oh.” He obliged. She nursed the baby as she talked. “I need more

  urine.” “That will take time.” “No. I want it now, so we can win the pants and be on our way. You have

  it.” “I’m no good at power pissing.” “I need you to give it to me.” “I don’t understand.” “Put your penis to my urethra and urinate with sufficient force to trans

  fer it to my bladder.” He stared. “You can’t be serious!” “You do want clothing?” “Yes, but—” “We don’t have time to debate this.” She took his penis and lifted it as

  she sat on the potty hole. “Do it.” “I don’t think it’s possible.” “I’m a doctor, remember? This would be much easier with a catheter, but we don’t have one, so will simply have to make do. Hold it tight to the mark and urinate, hard.” “I can’t. I’ve got a hard-on.” True; his penis had swelled with her manipulation, and that blocked off the avenue. He had recovered from the vampire depletion. “Very well, abate your lust,” she snapped, and directed his stiff member into her vagina. She clenched on it, then used her hand to draw his bottom forward so that he entered her without delay. In a moment he caught the fever and thrust on his own, and in another moment his orgasm sent his semen surging into her. Good; that was out of the way.

  She drew out his softening penis and set it against her urethra, but the fit wasn’t tight. “Hold Chance,” she said.

  He took the baby back and stood there, his diminishing penis at her cleft. She used both hands to hold it there, actually forcing the lubricated tip part way into her urethra. “Urinate. Now.” Still he hesitated, his reactions not cooperating. “Piss!” she snapped, slapping his bottom. That jolted him into action. The urine started. It squirted wastefully out around the edges. She mashed the rounded head against her vulva lips and pressed the tip farther in. It was a messy connection but the leakage stopped. She tried to relax her own channel, so as not to oppose the reverse flow. Still it balked, the pressure equalized. Then she got smart, and tried to urinate herself. That opened the channel with the pressure higher on his side. Gradually, the urine coursed down through his tube and up hers, and made its way to her bladder. She felt it slowly filling. The sensation was weird but not unpleasant. She was thankful that as a woman she had a short urethra, facilitating the transfer. “Good,” she said. “Keep the pressure on. Squeeze it all out, into me.” He did, and the flow strengthened, now that the channels had been opened. There was a lot of it, because he had not urinated recently. She felt her belly distending uncomfortably, but this was exactly what she wanted. “It’s like spurting,” he grunted. “Only with piss.” “You are sending your substance into me,” she agreed. “There’s a paral

  lel. Keep it coming.” He bore down, forcing it out. “This is weird. I’d be coming now, if I

  hadn’t just come.” “Lean down so I can kiss you.” He did, carefully so as not to press on the baby. She kissed him ardently, surprising herself. “I like it when you come through for me,” she told him. She felt his penis twitch in response; indeed he would have gotten an erection if she hadn’t just taken his edge off. This was a whole lot like sex. They would have to try it some time just for fun. Would it be possible to reverse it again, and have her urinate into him? Suppose they tried it when he had a full erection? This was an aspect of male sexuality she had never had occasion to explore. She was interested as a scientist, and perhaps as a woman too.

  Finally he ran out; he could pump no more. She released his penis as she clenched her urethra closed. Urine spattered out and on them both. She cleaned them up, quickly. “Now we go out and conquer,” she said. “Keep Chance concealed.”

  “Oh,” he said evidently bemused. “I never did that before, exactly.” He issued a small fart that rendered the baby invisible again. “Obviously.” She took his arm and urged him outside. “We consulted,” Prior said, gesturing at his limpening penis. The villag

  ers nodded understandingly. “He recharged me,” Tantamount said. “Now I’m really ready to piss.” The daughter let fly a third time, having rationed herself to keep pres

  sure up. Then Tantamount jetted, readily outdistancing her. The villagers applauded again. “He really did recharge you,” the man

  said, handing over the pantaloons. “He’s more of a man than he looks,” she agreed. “Now we’d like some

  food to travel on.” “We’ve got food,” the man said. “But my son’s fucked out. You really

  took care of him. Will you take me on?” “Yes, if your wife agrees.” “I want to see her piss again,” the woman said. So it was agreed. The daughter pissed once more, making the same mark a fourth time. Then Tantamount did, matching her third mark. This time the applause was considerable; the villagers were impressed, because her volume was much greater than the daughter’s had been. Only the man looked disappointed; he had wanted that fuck.

  “Come with me,” the wife said, leading Tantamount into her hut. She made an efficient bundle of assorted fruits and breads. “A good fuck can satisfy a man, but I never saw it help a woman to piss better. I’ll trade you for your secret.” “What do you offer?” “Information of likely interest to you.” “Give it.” “You are being watched, your actions recorded. My guess is you’re a

  Tower Maiden.” “Damn!” Tantamount swore. “I thought we’d slipped that noose.” “There’s no escape, just new settings, as they wring the last bit of entertainment from you. Ordinary folk aren’t in on it, but I was a Tower Maiden in my youth, and I learned how it was. They let you think you’re free, and a selected paying clientele gets to watch. So they know what happened in the privy; I don’t.” “I took his urine,” Tantamount said, and explained the process. The woman whistled. “That’s a new one! I’ll tell my daughter, but I don’t

  think she’ll go for it unless there’s a really big prize on the line.” “I thought our prize was anonymity,” Tantamount said. “I’d like to make another deal, to explain to the others what we talked about,” the woman said. “Not the pissing secret.” She lifted a small bottle of wine, as if pondering whether to add it to the bundle. “That fuck for your husband,” Tantamount said immediately. The women smiled. “That will do. You’re a lovely woman. He’s a good

  man; he deserves an occasional nice piece.” “You’re a very understanding wife.” “The Tower experience broadens one’s perspective.” She put the wine

  into the bundle. “It certainly does,” Tantamount agreed fervently. In this land, sex was an

  open commodity. “I’ll make your man glad.” They returned to the public privy. “Honey,” Tantamount said to Prior. “I made another deal. For a bottle of wine
.” She opened the bundle to show it.

  “What deal?” Prior demanded, playing the part of the possessive part ner. “That fuck for her husband.” “The hell!” Prior exclaimed as the husband’s face lighted. “Taste the wine.” She opened the bottle and proffered it to him. “Agree,”

  she murmured. He tasted the wine. “Damn, that’s good. Okay, but make it quick.” Tantamount took the husband into the privy. “How would you like me?” “How’d you do it with my son?” “I bent over,” she said, demonstrating. “So he could fondle my breasts at

  the same time.” “I don’t want to step in his tracks. Give it to me front face.” “Hold me close,” she said, stepping into him as he doffed his pantaloons. She lifted one leg high so he could guide his penis in, then clung tightly, wrapping both legs around his body as he stood. He put his hands on her bottom, squeezing her buttocks as he held her up.

  “Hoo!” he gasped, loving it. He thrust, lifting her body, then relaxed and thrust again. The play wasn’t great, because she was supported in large part by his pole within her, but it was enough. Soon he was pressuring out his fluid. “God’s fart!” he swore blissfully.

  She knew he had had his best climax in years. She kissed him as he faded. “Your wife bought it. She said you deserve it.” “I’ll thank her every day!” She dropped her feet to the floor and disengaged. She cleaned up again,

  but let him drip. “Go show your neighbors,” she said. They went out, and the man showed off his spent penis, advertising his enormous satisfaction, while Tantamount assumed an air of innocence. The villagers applauded again, understanding everything, and the men (plus a few women) looked appropriately jealous. They would remember this visit a long time.

  Soon Prior, Tantamount, and Chance were on their way, walking the path that led to the next village. “Something I wondered about,” she said. “What made my hood fade out?” “It must have had a time limit.” “I don’t think so. It seems we’re still under observation.” “We’re what?” he asked, startled. “The wife was a Tower Maiden in her youth. A lot of the local women were, considering there’s a new one every week. She told me, and I believe her.” “So we’re still monkeys in a cage.” “We still are. We’ll have to keep performing, assuming they don’t know