She smiled benignly. "I am Tantamount." The very consonants of the name sent charming ripples through her superstructure.
"I am incipient," he said, shifting his posture to relieve sudden and pre-emptive pressure. "Uh, Prior. Gross Prior—that is, Prior Gross."
She laughed, and her breasts did a rippling dance that nearly climaxed him involuntarily. "So I understand. Let's have a look at the subject."
"The subject?" Did she mean the satyr's frenzied attempts to get through that fortress-girdle?
Tantamount knelt before him and opened his straining fly. His penis sprang out, taut and turgid, before he quite realized what she was doing. Here in the middle of a formal party, yet! But he didn't know how to get out of this without calling even more embarrassing attention to himself. So far, most eyes remained on the Satyrical action, center-stage, fortunately.
"How large is it when erect?" she inquired, tugging at the foreskin. "Oops, beg pardon! It is erect, isn't it!"
Prior didn't comment. He was far too conscious of his days without a bath. The cheese would be strong, if she peeled back that prepuce any farther. He tried to back away, but he stood against a wall and could not retreat.
"The question is whether your ejaculate has particular non-reproductive properties," she said. "I had better take a sample now for laboratory analysis."
She massaged his throbbing organ. Conversation around them ceased, and people glanced curiously at what was happening. Prior would have felt more embarrassed if he had not already seen worse than this, openly performed here, and if Tantamount's touch were not so professional. Maybe the werewolf elixir had dulled his inhibitions.
She brought out a bell-necked test-tube and capped his glans with it just as he spurted. The thick white ejaculate splashed against the glass, urge after urge, until the container was a quarter full. There was a smattering of applause. Apparently the audience had expected less from so small a cock. But it was possible for a small cock to attach to a large keg.
"Very good," Tantamount said, bending to lick off a laggard smear. The touch was so exciting to his sensitized glans that he almost urinated in her mouth. "A quite respectable quantity. Now let's check the smegma."
Prior was too bemused to stop her as she drew back the foreskin to reveal the whole purple glans. There was a coating of yellow, and the smell spread out powerfully. He stood helplessly, feeling the heat mount to his neck and face as the bystanders sniffed the air audibly.
"Excellent," Tantamount said. "I see the succubus told you not to wash it, so that a suitable specimen deposit could form." Prior was immensely relieved. It was all right! As his erection inexorably diminished, she took a plastic slide and scraped off a rich smear of cheese. "I'm so glad to see an uncircumcised organ," she remarked. "So many today are mutilated." Several of the men around who had begun to snicker now looked chastened. Evidently they had been mutilated, and were unable to manufacture decent samples of cheese.
"I'm convinced that smegma," Tantamount continued blithely, "despite certain charges against it, serves a necessary function. It is of course an olfactory stimulant that arouses some women." Indeed it did; most of the women in the room were breathing deeply and edging closer to Prior. "And to me the natural, complete organ is a thing of beauty—genuine masculine appeal. The esthetics are so much more important than the measurements. The male organ really should not be cut, any more than a person's tongue or nose should be cut."
"Butchery," Prior agreed. With this encouragement, both ego and penis were rallying. It was true; he did have an unmutilated member. For the first time in his life, people were contemplating his diminutive phallus with respect.
Tantamount held the cheese-encrusted slide in one hand and the test tube of ejaculate in the other. She stood up without support, lost her balance, and had to aim her pert derriere at the nearest chair, her microskirt flouncing out prettily.
Prior cried an incoherent warning, but too late. She came down firmly on the tamponer.
For a moment she perched on it, her skirt concealing the action. An indecipherable expression crossed her face, but she did not spill her samples or make an outcry. There was a click.
Then she stood up carefully and marched sedately from the room with the undisturbed specimens.
Prior put away his penis and checked the box. The counter indicated one tampon expended. He peered after Tantamount and shook his head. That was a woman worth knowing!
Chapter Seven
Action elsewhere drew his attention again. The satyr had finally gotten past the barricade and into the nether bifurcation of the corseted woman. He was servicing her with the abandon of long-denial-now-abated while the onlookers clapped in unison with the thrusts. Otherwise, things were routine, considering the company.
"Did you meet Tantamount?" the succubus inquired, coming up beside him.
"I certainly did. She—took specimens."
"Of course. She's a doctor. She's probably in the laboratory right now, analyzing them. She'll get to the truth of this."
"She's quite a woman."
"That's nothing. You should see her sister, Oubliette."
"I can imagine."
"I doubt that."
The satyr finished with the corset and looked around for new romance. "Come on, banana-cock," the succubus said as she broke away from Prior. "You'll never make it with these mortal dames. Their cunts are just flesh. I'll show you how to fuck so you'll stay fucked!"
The satyr turned to meet her with a snort. "Is that so, suck-buss? You bisexuals think you know it all! You're just amateurs. Let's see you absorb this motherfucker!" And he brandished his impressive weapon, tall and strong despite its recent workout. A satyr was, by definition, insatiable; his member never lost its potency.
"You call that a motherfucker?" she inquired derisively. "Just call me 'Mom'!"
They went at it standing up, with the spectators gathering into a large circle. Prior watched amazed as the towerlike penis plunged into the wide-open cleft—six, eight, ten inches. She had said she could take nine in a pinch; evidently she had understated the case. "That deep enough, sister?" the satyr grunted. "I struck bottom two inches ago...."
"I don't know, brother. When are you going to put it in?"
With an outraged snort the satyr rammed home another inch, though the going was obviously difficult. The base of his member distended her cleft, seeming almost as thick as a third leg, but she didn't seem to notice. It had to be an act; she must be hurting inside, her demonic gut wrenched three inches out of line. Maybe her flesh was more elastic than mortal tissue.
"Cut out this preliminary diddle and start screwing, Granddad!" she said bravely.
The satyr battered at the connection, hammering himself in by short hard blows to his own short-tailed rear. Gradually the remainder of the ponderous member got inside. They waltzed around the floor, two figures with but a single crotch, and every spectator marveled at the authority of the connection.
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.