Pornucopia

by Piers Anthony

  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.

  “Touché!” 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 handfuls 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 purl 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 4: Dildo

  Chapter 30—Fuck

  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 pudenda ... 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 pudenda ... 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 31—Spire

  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.