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.
"Touche!" 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 handfulls 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 pearl 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 IV: Dildo
Chapter Thirty
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."