They resumed the climb when the storm abated—and got caught in an avalanche of chocolate chip. The chips were like darts, then like stilettos, and at the height of it like fine swords, for the weather here did not honor dessert-bowl conventions. Black got gashed on the arm by a fragment weighing several pounds, and his cherry-colored blood stained his sleeve, but he wouldn't quit.
"To get cut by chocolate!" he grunted in disgust. "It's enough to make a fellow believe in white!" Then he looked about nervously, worried that the candy lightning might strike him down for his blasphemy.
"Probably there was an admixture of vanilla in it," Prior suggested as Klo did some makeshift bandaging. "That's what made it nasty. It was hybrid."
"Say, yeah," Black agreed. "Pure black chocolate would never slice me. You, maybe, but never me. Always trouble when you mix races."
"Can't trust halfbreeds," Prior agreed. No, it wasn't at all difficult to get along with the big militant, once he knew how!
They made it. Prior was dead tired, but it occurred to him that he might be better off tackling the four remaining Cherry Tree branches individually instead of in concert. He was not one of those men who could spurt twice in five minutes (except perhaps in extraordinary cases, such as the time with Oubliette) and certainly not four times consecutively, despite the fine array of weapons available. But if he could space each demon a day or so apart, and make careful preparation....
"I dunno," Black said in answer to Prior's query. "My magic ain't all that strong. I'm pretty much a layman, there. I might get the second branch here, but it could reach out of the pentagram some. And I know I couldn't handle the magic of the third branch, even with my amulet. You're strictly on your own there."
He considered a moment. "But with a dingus like that twelve incher, you can do it. Man, I almost came myself when I saw that thing start pumping!"
Every time Prior thought it was time to give up, he got unwelcome support for his quest. "Well, I'll give it a try," he said, more bravely than he felt.
Black set the stage and chanted his chant:
FII FOO FUM FEE, I SMELL A BRANCH OF THE CHERRY TREE!
BE IT DEAD OR BE IT GREEN, I'LL GIRDLE IT TO JACK MY PEEN!
And the branch was there, its leaves green, its cherry bright.
Prior decided to stick with a winner. He had Monster attached and erect. He took a breath and jumped into the arena, grabbing for foliage where he judged an arm would materialize, and thrusting the phallus toward the anticipated rectum. He wanted to do this rapidly, before the demon had a proper chance to fight. That might spell the difference!
He found himself with a handful of leaves, his penis nudging rough bark.
Um. "So you won't convert, eh? Well, I can still core your cherry!" he cried. He picked up the candle and brought it near, hoping that he hadn't been tricked into assaulting a genuine non-demonic tree-limb.
Then the metamorphosis occurred, but quietly.
A woman formed from the wood. She was a dusky nude knock-out—bold of breast, massive of thigh, classic of feature. She wore a necklace of little shriveled sticks, oddly incongruous against her physical beauty. "You wouldn't club an innocent maiden, would you, handsome?" she purred.
Black exploded with derisive mirth at the sideline. "Innocent! My uncle's cunt!"
Prior was taken aback momentarily, until he realized exactly what she'd said. Then he doubled his effort. "This is precisely the kind of clubbing an innocent maiden needs!"
He supposed that she would fight him, but she merely spread her comely legs with resignation. She had a remarkably neat genital region, not a hair out of place. Prior's member throbbed with something more than a sense of duty. "I'm really not in the mood at the moment," she said.
Prior was not to be put off by such conventional excuses. "You don't have to be, sister." He got down on her, on guard against a sneak attack.
"Not tonight; I have a headache."
"This is a sure cure for headaches," Prior said, orienting on her cleft.
"Yeah," Black called from the sideline. "Trade a headache for a pain in the ass!"
"But your organ is too large for me," she demurred.
"I'll just bet!" Prior hastened to ram Monster home before the demoness could strike, either physically or verbally. He gripped his phallus in both hands and aimed for the lush target—but the member found no purchase. Somehow it slid past the aperture and smashed harmlessly against her firm cushiony and exciting but nevertheless irrelevant buttock.
He peered between those statuesque thighs, parting the labia with his fingers, and discovered that she had spoken truth. Her inner cleft—her cunette—was ludicrously narrow, and her virginal vagina was no larger than the diameter of a knitting needle. There simply was no sufficient avenue for his tremendous penis, knock as it might at the portal.
"Now that you have tried and failed," she murmured with that same gentle purr, "I shall claim your formidable member as my memento of the occasion, my trophy." She gestured to her necklace that was now almost under his nose.
Prior suddenly realized that these were not little twisted twigs, but severed, dehydrated penises. There were about fifty of them strung together, some circumcised, some not. All had been hacked off at the base, and a few even had shrunken testicles dangling like beads on their strings.
His erection evanesced. What a bitch!
She lifted one delicate hand, and the nails on her slender fingers snapped out like the claws of a cat, as sharp as razor blades. "What a fine specimen this will make!"
Prior put his hand involuntarily to his crotch. His penis could be replaced, but he suspected that once she cut it he would have lost the battle, by the demonic terms of this quest Regardless, he could bleed to death if she cut it beyond the socket-valve, for the plugged-in member kept that open.
"That won't help you," she said in a dulcet tone. "You entered the pentagram; you made a romantic overture to me, despite my demurrals. You may not depart until our delightful business together has been consummated." She reached for his shrinking penis, light glinting from those double-edged talons.
Prior lurched to his feet, but stumbled immediately. Vines encircled his ankles, holding him prisoner. Her feet had reverted to vegetative status—clinging, thorny strands. He kicked and struggled, but succeeded only in lacerating his ankles, while she hoisted her fabulous bosom and lovely head and reached her sleek, dagger-tipped arm toward his wilting crotch. She was in no hurry; she knew she had him.
"Here, you whitepekkered shitslinger!" Black called.
Prior looked up at this friendly hailing and saw the Negro throwing something at him. He caught it automatically.
It was the Pipecleaner model attachment.
"Thanks, Brother!" Prior called gratefully. And to the fair demoness: "Cutie, hold your trophy-cutter. I have not yet begun to fuck."
Swiftly he twisted off Monster and threw it aside. It was not completely flaccid and some blood squirted, but that couldn't be helped. He twisted on Pipecleaner and willed it instantly erect. The wide-open sight of her manicured cleft assisted this endeavor nicely.
The sultry demoness viewed the change and blanched. "That's not fair!" she wailed. "You changed weapons in the middle of the tourney!"
"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart," he replied. "If this isn't love, it must be war. Now serve up your sweet little cherry, 'cause I'm aiming to make the pie."
She struggled, but she was built for sex-appeal rather than combat—as all the finest women were—and her own vine-feet held her delicious posterior captive. Prior caught her wrists to nullify the knife-nails and pressed down on her voluptuous form. Her shape was truly immortal! As his moderately hairy chest crushed flat her surging female breasts, his thin long penis probed her twisting, twitching cleft. Now his practice with Oubliette stood him in good stead; he knew how to zero in no-handed on a pinpoint target.