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.