The Magic Fart Read online

  to it. In moments his buttocks shined. “Enough,” Veil said. “I believe I am ready to hear about my own situa

  tion here.” The picture faded. “You are in a contest. You are the Prize Maiden of

  the Week.” “Apart from the evident fact that I’m hardly a maiden, because I’m nursing my baby, what is this contest? I absolutely refuse to urinate or defecate before gawking men.” “Assuming you have a choice.” It sounded worse the second time. “What contest?” “Each week a comely anonymous maiden is confined to the glass tower, the prize for the victorious contestant. She will be his or her sex slave for the following year.” “His or her?” “We are an equal opportunity society. If a woman wants a woman, she is

  welcome to compete.” “And if the maiden declines to indulge in this—this sex slavery?” “Few do. Most regard it as an honor. A significant portion of our roster is filled by local volunteers. If one gets pregnant, she has a claim of marriage on the man.” “And those few who don’t consider it an honor?” “They learn pretense, unless the man prefers unwillingness.” Legalized rape, again. They could drug her, or simply threaten her baby. She would cooperate, or else. “And you say I am this week’s prize maiden?” She hoped she had somehow misheard. “Correct. You are on display, and the first contestant has been selected.” “Already!” “It started yesterday. Do you wish to see the man?” “No!” But she knew it didn’t matter. The mystery was clarifying. Each week they went out somewhere and persuaded or abducted a comely woman, and she was the current one. It seemed odd that they would take one with a baby, as most men preferred, as it had been put, maidens. Maybe it represented variety. Probably some were giggly teens, while others were mature women such as herself. She was 33, but had kept herself in shape with diet and exercise. Perhaps that had been her undoing. “There will be seven final contestants?” “In a manner. Each will be a day’s winner. You will choose one of them. That is why you might prefer to watch them contest; it may offer clues to their nature.”

  “I must choose one, to became a sex slave for,” she said. “I am not allowed to turn them all down?”

  “You are allowed, but then you go instead to the ogre.” A picture ap peared of a huge hairy apelike creature rattling his cage and fondling his enormous genital member. “You will be put into his cage. If you survive the year, you will be released.”

  She would choose one of the contestants. “Suppose I choose one, then discover I can’t endure it?”

  “You will be assigned to the runner up, and your year will begin again. If you have a problem with him, you will start a year with the third. If you should happen to run through them all, you will finish with the ogre.”

  It would be best to choose well the first time. They had their system pretty well worked out; maidens were not expected to balk. “You said I am on display?”

  “In this manner.” A new picture appeared. This one was of a standing woman, naked, her flesh translucent. As the camera approached, it became apparent that this was a glassy statue, with the innards visible. There were bones in the limbs and organs in the torso. And in the center, in the looping intestinal tract, was a suite of rooms. And a woman with a baby. Herself.

  Appalled, she watched herself of the prior day, nursing her baby, dress ing in transparent clothing, exploring the chambers, eating, hurrying to the transparent toilet. She saw her own bottom from below, and heard her amplified breaking of wind. She had no secrets from the public, other than her face. She was the prize maiden, on display for every man who might be interested, and evidently some were. Nobody cared about her background; she was comely and available, perforce. She would be completely amenable to whatever sexual inclinations the man of her choice had. She would also openly piss and shit and fart at his command, for this was the land of open natural functions. For a full year. Or else. If this wasn’t hell, it was a reasonable facsimile.

  Chapter 5—Now

  Prior walked away from Mount Smegma, wanting a shower. It might be his own formula, but it stank. He’d have to launder his clothes, and maybe his car too. There was a woman standing at a bus stop. HER the Spire gouted. “But she’s forty if she’s a day,” Prior protested. “And getting stout. You can do better.” The truth was he wanted to clean up before getting into any complications. SHE’S CLOSE. “No, she’ll have to wait. My stench would drive her away.”

  NOW. And the Spire gouted something into him that robbed him of his

  volition. He had to do it, on his own or as a zombie. “Okay,” he muttered, and his volition returned. “But she’s going to flee,

  I tell you.” He strode toward the woman. She winded him and turned to stare disapprovingly. He nerved himself and spoke. “I—” he said, fighting his inclination to flee himself. “I want to— to have sex with you.” “Never, you stench that walks like an ape. Stay away from me.” “She doesn’t want to—” Prior murmured.

  NOW. The Spire was expanding to its full length, projecting from his

  clothing. Prior stepped toward her. The woman, alarmed, stepped back. “I’ll call

  the police!” He reached for her. She turned and ran, but was hobbled by her high

  heels. He lunged and caught her from behind. “Unhand me, you filthy pervert!” she cried. Prior hauled up her skirt and jammed the erect Spire against her thigh. She froze for an instant, then melted. “Quickly, please.” She hoisted her

  skirt up the rest of the way and labored to get her panties down. He was still behind her. It didn’t matter. The Spire quested across her thigh, up into her stout posterior, and found her crevice. It nudged to her suddenly eager vagina. She leaned forward and shoved back as it did so, facilitating the connection. In a moment it was buried half its length, which was all any normal woman could accommodate. But she was still pushing, trying womanfully to take it all in. The Spire had a marvelously conducive facility.

  Prior had full sensation. The woman’s bottom was solid, but the anatomy was all there, and he felt the vagina closing around the Spire as if it were his own flesh. He also felt the Spire changing shape, shortening and thickening, so as to be able to fit all of itself into the woman. She was a bit loose, but the added thickness made her become tight. The tip nudged her cervix, massaging it; sensation was so specific that it was like a map of the interior.

  “More! More!” she gasped, still shoving back as ably as she could man age in this standing position. Then she spied a telephone pole, grabbed on to it, and used it as a brace. “More!”

  Prior was now into it himself, experientially speaking, and did his best to oblige. He reached around her, caught the pole, and hauled his crotch hard into her. Now, suitably anchored, the Spire did its business. It sent Prior a gutwrenching orgasm and gouted so forcefully that the woman was lifted partway into the air. But she jammed against the pole and brought herself down to take it all in again. Only to be met by another gout, that not only lifted her, but squeezed seminal fluid out around the tight connection.

  “Ooo!” she groaned, going into her own orgasm. Her vagina clenched spasmodically, squeezing out more fluid. But as it relaxed, the third gout come, distending it yet again.

  This was too much. She rose right off the Spire and came down on her feet, the pale jelly pouring out. She had been heaved clear of the member. She scrambled to get back on it, her crotch dripping. There was a honk. The bus was coming! “Oh, dear!” the woman said. They hastily covered up. The Spire disappeared into Prior’s pants, and the woman jerked up her panties and jerked down her skirt. Gunk was still drooling from her, pooling in the panties, but she didn’t seem to notice. By the time the bus stopped, she was looking prim.

  “We must meet again, soon,” she whispered to Prior as she stepped into the bus. Then, to the front passengers who were staring, not quite sure of what they had seen: “I had a fainting spell. The kind gentleman managed to catch me and hold me upright. I’m all right now.” She paid the toll and took a seat. Prior almost thought he heard a squish as she did so; the Spire had reall
y filled her up.

  SHE WON’T TELL, the Spire gouted. SHE LIKED IT TOO WELL. I MADE SURE OF THAT.

  It had nevertheless been a close call, Prior thought as the bus pulled away. The Spire could have gotten him into real trouble. Prior turned to go to his car, but the Spire made him pause. WHAT IS

  THAT? Apparently it could see through his eyes. He looked. “It’s a hospital. For sick or injured people. Nothing of inter

  est there.” WE’LL SEE. Oh, no! The Spire wanted to explore. “I really don’t recommend it.” NOW. So Prior walked toward the hospital. A businesslike nurse pushing a gurney intercepted him at the side entrance. “You can’t come in here. Go to the front.”

  Prior stepped close to her. “It’s my hand,” he said. “Feel.” He caught her hand and drew it down to his crotch.

  “What are you trying to do?” she demanded outraged. Then her hand touched the Spire. “Come on in,” she said, drawing him in through the door. The cosmic dildo really did have the magic touch. “I was just going to look around,” Prior said. “Lie down on this,” she said, pushing him onto the gurney. “They’ll

  think you’re a patient.” “But I’m not—” She got him flat on his back, then climbed onto him, hitching up her

  uniform skirt. “Don’t talk,” she said. “Just do it. Fast.” “But—” She stifled him with a fierce kiss, meanwhile squirming around to get her crotch against his. The Spire sprang up, a prehensile instrument, sliding between her legs and into her rear. It wedged past her underwear and into her cleft. “That’s it,” she said. “Put it right in deep. What a divine implement!”

  The Spire obliged. It tunneled into her hole, and she held her place, making sure it had good lodging. The Spire had just spouted in another woman, but it was inexhaustible; it could do this, literally, indefinitely. And Prior had all its feeling. This vagina was tighter than the other, and firm throughout. This time the Spire had the wit to be smaller, so that it required no reshaping to bury itself to the hilt.

  “Now! Now!” the nurse exclaimed, wriggling urgently, her effort to oblige the potent horn causing the gurney to start rolling down the hall.

  Prior responded with a heave. He couldn’t help it; the Spire was working him up to another orgasm.

  “Yes! Yes!” the nurse said as the Spire commenced pumping. She con tracted her bottom around it, getting all the feel of it she possibly could.

  The Spire gouted. Prior felt the bolus pass through the penile length and pressure into the chamber like thick goo from a grease gun. “What’s going on?” a male voice demanded. “Emergency mouth to mouth resuscitation,” the nurse gasped, and pressed her mouth back on Prior’s mouth.

  “Uh, okay,” the orderly said as the gurney rolled on past him. Fortu nately the nurse’s skirt was down behind, concealing the real action.

  Meanwhile the Spire continued gouting, sending pulse after pulse into the hole. Prior felt each one as if it were his own, and perhaps he was contributing a driblet of semen, because he was certainly in the throes of an extended climax.

  “Oh, I’m filled, I’m filled!” the nurse gasped in ecstasy. “What an erup tion!” She was hardly exaggerating; the Spire must have shoved a pint of viscous elixir into her. It was squeezing out and soaking his crotch. He knew what she was feeling, because it had a warm rapture throughout, making his skin tingle with delight. The effect would be magnified inside her distended vagina.

  The gurney came up against a swinging door and barged through. “Oh, God, we drifted into the morgue!” the nurse whispered. “Play dead!”

  “Hey!” a man protested, appearing form a recess. “What are you do ing?”

  “Just delivering a fresh cadaver, doctor,” the nurse said. She scrambled off Prior, drawing the front of her skirt down. “All yours.”

  “It stinks,” the doctor said. “What did it die of, suffocation in Limburger cheese?”

  The nurse forced a laugh. “Something like that.” She shoved the gurney into a curtained alcove and drew the curtain across, hiding Prior for the nonce. “Do you have a moment? Let’s take a break.”

  “From that stench? You got it.” Doctor and nurse departed; Prior heard the door swing closed behind them. Women, he realized, were naturals at covering up.

  He got hastily off the gurney, ready to make his escape in the time and privacy the nurse had made for him. Of course she was covering her own ass, so to speak; she wanted him to get out so she wouldn’t have to explain anything. He was glad to oblige.

  He didn’t want to follow the route they had taken, lest he encounter them again, so he went the other way, though a door into another chamber. This one was cold, with several curtained niches. In each niche was a corpse. He didn’t want to stay here long!

  He was about to open the next door, but heard footsteps beyond it. He dodged back into the nearest niche and jerked the curtain across. He would hide, and resume his escape when the other person passed on by.

  But the other did not go on. He—the tread sounded male—paused out side the closed niche. “What’s up, doctor?” he inquired. Yes, the voice was male. The closed curtain must signal that someone was there. “Just inspecting a new cadaver, doctor,” Prior replied.

  “Good idea.” The doctor went to the next niche. “Might as well get a notion what we’re in for, next dissection class. This one looks good; how about yours?”

  Prior looked at the corpse. It was a naked young woman lying supine in death, rather pretty, like a princess in a century-long trance. “Good enough,” Prior said. NOW. Prior froze for an instant. The Spire wanted to have sex with the ca

  daver? “No!” he protested. “What’s that?” the doctor inquired. “Uh, nothing really,” Prior said. “It’s just that this is a young woman. It

  seems a shame to cut her up.” “I know what you mean. But all the cadavers are here for the demonstra

  tion lab. If we don’t carve them, someone else will.”

  NOW, the Spire repeated, and sent back a small dose that forced Prior to climb onto the woman. He tried to fight it, but could not; the Spire had control. Prior set himself full length over the corpse and the Spire angled down, seeking her genital region. “You okay there?” the doctor inquired. “Need any help?” “No, not at all,” Prior said quickly as his willful penis lodged in the cold

  cleft and heated it. “Just—just a moment of nausea. It will pass.” “Occupational hazard,” the doctor agreed. The tip of the member found the frozen aperture and squirted out a jet of hot fluid, thawing it. Then it wedged into the crevice, melting its way inside. Prior realized that the Spire was going to complete the act regardless of the complications this could make for its human host. He had to cover whatever sounds there might be, and keep the doctor distracted until it was done and he could escape.

  So he talked. His mind scrambled madly for something to say that might divert a doctor. He remembered a joke. With luck the doctor wouldn’t have heard it before. “Reminds me of a story,” he said. “I don’t know whether it’s true. The Dean of Doctors called in a handsome young doctor who was new to the hospital. ‘Smith,’ he said, ‘I have a special mission for you, if you are amenable.’ ‘Of course, sir,” Dr. Smith agreed, because he was as eager as the next for a promotion.” “Aren’t we all,” the adjacent doctor agreed. The Spire was a good inch into the frigid woman, and such was its power of persuasion that she seemed to be thawing throughout. Prior could almost swear he felt a faint pulsing in her tight channel. But he had to focus on his story, because it would be utter disaster to be discovered doing what he was doing. He hoped the phallic horn finished before the story did. “‘As you know, we have a strict health policy here,’ the Dean said. ‘Every member of our staff must pass an annual physical. But some are resistive. It is notorious that doctors often take worse care of themselves than they do of their patients. I don’t want disharmony, so rather than force the issue, I am resorting to a slight subterfuge. Do you know Dr. Jones?’ ‘The luscious lady internist?’ Smith asked. ‘
I mean, the comely young doctor? We have a nodding acquaintance.’ ‘I am concerned that she has not performed her breast self examination regularly,’ the Dean said. ‘It is a matter I hesitate to broach to her directly, lest she assume I have some illicit motive.’ ‘Understandable,’ Smith said, glad to agree.”

  “You wouldn’t be referring to Miss Johnson, the sexy plastic surgeon, by any chance?” the doctor asked.

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Prior said piously. “‘I want you to ask Miss Jones out,’ the Dean said. ‘Funds will be made available for a really nice dinner date. Dine her, wine her, and cap the evening with an intimate liaison. In the course of that, give her breasts a thorough checking for untoward lumps or any other indication of incipient cancer. With luck, she will never catch on to your underlying motive.’ ‘She’ll think it’s my way of lovemaking!’ Smith said, understanding. ‘What a novel idea! Of course I’ll do it, for the good of the hospital.’ ‘Very good,’ the Dean agreed. ‘Report to me the morning after. I shall be most pleased if you accomplish this chore circumspectly.’ ‘I will do my best, in every respect,’ Smith agreed, visions or rapid promotion alternating with visions of the lovely Miss Jones in bed.”

  “I wonder if that would work with Miss Johnson?” the doctor mused. “As far as I know, no staffer has bedded her yet. It seems a real waste.”

  Now the Spire had forged all the way into the frigid channel, and was buried to the hilt. It began working up for the first gout. Prior had to admit that the shapely cadaver seemed receptive. Her breasts were quivering. That was probably just the effect of the throbbing in her vagina, radiating out through her stiff torso, but he wondered. The Spire had phenomenal magical abilities.

  But he had to keep talking. “A few days passed. Then Dr. Smith reported to the dean’s office. ‘You will be happy to know that there is absolutely no evidence of breast cancer in Doctor Jones,’ he reported. ‘I am gratified to hear that,’ the Dean said. ‘You have done excellent work, Smith, and I will remember.’ ‘You’re welcome,” Smith said. ‘In fact it was a pleasure.’ He paused. ‘But I must say, she has a weird way of making love. It was fun, but a surprise.’ ‘We must learn to put up with oddities in the performance of our necessary duties,’ the Dean said.”