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 18—Graduation
“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 penises 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 tri-part 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 th
is 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 19—Message
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 post-operative let-down—remember that a cunette is defined as a trench within a trench, for drainage. There are other things in life."
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