“Uh, sure,” he agreed, uncertain why she was orienting so firmly on this aspect. Why should she care whether he won his ideal woman? To make sure he didn’t decide he wanted Oubliette herself? But she knew he knew she was hopelessly out of his reach.
“You seem doubtful of my motive,” she said. “Perhaps this will clarify it: you are the one who carries the Spire. If you don’t bring him back to me, I won’t have him.”
That did make sense. “I won’t need it, once I have my ideal woman.”
“Exactly. I want you to win her.” She gave him a last luxurious embrace and kiss, then stepped out of the shower. She had to find him new clothes, because his were sopping. Fortunately she had a fair supply, perhaps from male clients. “Maybe you should be anonymous, too,” she said. “You have grown a mustache, which changes your face; that’s good. Maybe some gray tint to your sideburns will make you look older.”
“Why should I be anonymous?”
“Because it could be a trap. Maybe someone there knows you have the Spire, and wants to take him from you. You must not give them that chance.”
That did make sense. He let her tint his hair, and cut it so that it changed the apparent shape of his face. By this time it was late.
“I shouldn’t ask, I know it,” she said. “But the Spire is just so—so—”
He opened his new trousers and drew it out. She embraced him standing, feeding the Spire up under her skirt and into her pantyless cleft. It remained not fully erect, having been softened by her considerable prior attentions, but it stiffened as it encountered her flesh, and in a moment sent a nice gout up into her. She thrilled once more to its offering. Then she kissed Prior again and showed him to his room for the night.
Tomorrow he would set out on the statue path. That was bound to be its own challenge.
Chapter 8—Farting off
Veil had seen more than she cared to of the ways of Fartingale, but realized that she had to learn more. The better she understood the contestants, the better equipped she would be to deal with them. So she would have to watch more of them coming up.
She got Chance squared away, then watched that day’s contests. This time there were female challengers. The first one advanced on the male demon awaiting her. Both were naked, according to the competition rules. She was full breasted, actually more than full; her breasts sagged somewhat, borne down by their own masses, but were surely quite appealing to the male eye. She embraced him, pressing those big breasts against his chest. “You’re such a virile hunk of a man,” she said, farting enthusiastically. “I want to have a piece of you.”
The demon’s penis twitched as he let an answering fart; she had pushed a male button. But it did not become erect.
“Lie down here,” she said, taking him by the hand. He obeyed, lying on his back. She kneeled beside him, her long black hair falling to cover him like a blanket, and stroked her hands across his chest and belly. “Oh, yes,” she said. “You have a great big cock. I want to get it in my cunt.”
Veil did not like the gutter terminology, but evidently it didn’t bother the demon. His member swelled to half mast. Many men did like to hear women talk dirty.
“And handsome too,” she continued, stroking his face. She kissed him on the mouth, lingeringly, her hair forming a tent across his face. The penis grew another notch. Yes, he was indeed programmed to respond to certain key stimuli.
The woman stroked his belly again, this time descending to his member. She lifted it in her fingers, admiring it, then put her mouth to it. She licked its tip, circled the glans with her tongue, and took it into her mouth. She sucked competently on it, and it swelled farther. “Your virility has got me all worked up,” she said. “Fuck me, before I die of deprivation.” She lay on the bed beside him, lifting and spreading her legs invitingly.
The demon obliged. He got on her and inserted his penis an inch. “Oh, what a great pecker!” she said. “It just makes my pussy so hot. I’ve never had a better one in me. Give me some more, you manly man.”
These were the correct words. The demon drove in another inch. Veil was impressed, not with the woman’s too-obvious ploys, but with the precision of the control of the demon. He was doing exactly what the manual required for a given stimulus, not more, not less. He was now in about halfway, his member half visible.
“Oh, you’re teasing me with that monster,” the woman said. “Don’t make me suffer longer! Shove your big lusty cock all the way into my hot wet cunt!”
The demon obliged. The woman moaned in simulated passion and wrapped her legs around him. “Fuck me harder!” she begged. “Pull it out, shove it in! Fuck me into my biggest orgasm. Jet your cum right into my eager crack!”
Again the demon obliged, thrusting repeatedly while she expressed continuing delight at his prowess. Veil nodded; the average man would do that, enjoying the experience even if he knew she was faking. The average man hardly cared whether the woman got any satisfaction out of the interaction, just as long as she was comely and willing. Or even if she wasn’t willing. The mere availability of a vagina sufficed to put him into action.
The demon climaxed, pulling his penis out at the last moment so the spectators could see it jet. The woman had made him come within the time limit, and had qualified.
Except that there was another woman on the scene. She had long fair hair. That seemed to be a thing with the women of this culture: hair that was at least a yard long, worn loose. Veil realized that her own four foot long hair might have been an element in her desirability as a potential sex slave. Except that her captor had arranged to conceal it. That was an oddity; couldn’t he have masked only her face?
Now the new woman approached the demon. “Normal sex is so boring,” she said, farting sweetly. “I’ll show you some kinky fun.”
The demon merely looked at her. If she failed to make him climax on time, he would surely have some kinky fun with her. After seeing what the demoness had done to the losing male, Veil didn’t care to guess what the demon would do to a helpless woman. So she found herself hoping that the woman would win through, despite her misgiving over the presence of any women in this contest. What would a woman want with another woman for a sex slave? She had to be an aggressive lesbian that other lesbians couldn’t tolerate. Veil did not want to be the plaything of a brute man, but she was more averse to being the plaything of a twisted woman.
“Try some of this,” the woman said, taking the demon’s two hands. She planted them on her breasts, beneath her flowing tresses. “Squeeze them.” He did. His penis thickened a notch; men did like to handle breasts. “And this,” she said, taking his right hand and putting it to her mouth. She sucked on his thumb. His penis grew a bit more.
Now that was interesting, Veil thought. The thumb was an analogy of the penis; figuratively this was penis into vagina. The fact that it made him respond indicated that the demons were programmed for figurative as well as literal.
“And this,” the woman said as she lay on the bed and lifted her legs. She brought his hand in to her genital region and slid his damp thumb into her vagina. “How’s that feel, big man?” she asked as she worked it back and forth. She hardly needed to inquire; his penis had risen to half mast. The analogy was now only half analogy, as her vagina was the real thing. But where was she leading?
“Now let’s get serious,” the woman said. “Lie there.” Obligingly, he lay on his back on the bed. She put her right thumb in her own mouth and worked it around. Then she put it to his anus, stroking it with saliva. “Loosen up that pucker, big man.” He did, letting a fart swish out. She pushed her thumb into his rectum.