She was flattering him; dialogue was cheap.
“I was not always thus,” he said expansively. “For most of my existence I had no asshole at all.”
“Is that possible?” she asked, evincing girlish wonder.
“We golems craft our own bodies, to a considerable extent. But once they are set, they are difficult to modify. Second Branch made her cunt too small, and was stuck with it. I forgot to include an asshole. That didn’t matter, as I didn’t eat, so had nothing to shit. In fact it was an advantage—until that turd Prior Gross showed up.”
“Prior Gross,” she echoed dutifully. “You have a history with him?”
“He raided the Cherry Tree to steal the Spire, the Cosmic Dildo. We defended it from such mortal molestation, but he cheated.”
“Cheated? How can that be?”
“The rule of combat, there, was fuck or be fucked. I was about to fuck him in the ass, but first I thought I’d bite off his stupid phallus. I put my face there—and he fucked me in the nose.”
“The nose!”
“The left nostril. He rammed it up there and shot off his wad before I could even sneeze. All because I had no asshole. What a humiliation!”
“I can imagine,” Tantamount said, suppressing laughter.
“So when I reconstituted this time, in Fartingale, I fixed that omission. I reamed out an ass like no other hole, and backed it up with a gut that could generate a virtual hurricane. And lo, I could fly!”
He swooped around dizzyingly, carrying her and Chance along.
“Magic gas,” she said. “How brilliant.”
“You trying to false-flatter me, mortal piece of ass?”
She gambled on the truth.
“Yes.”
“I like it. Sure, I know you’d rather see me farted to oblivion, but you’re one appealing cunt and I’m satisfied with your game. So keep on playing it and we’ll get along.”
In due course he brought her back to her chamber in the castle.
“Now am I going to have to torture you to make your boyfriend fight?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I will play the game.”
“Okay. Give me another fast fuck.”
She bent over, holding Chance, and he rammed into her vagina again, overflowing it with cream. It was less uncomfortable this time; either she was getting adapted, or he was less forceful. Then he disappeared, leaving her to clean up and forage for food.
But true to his word, in half an hour he was back. Wordlessly she bared her bottom and bent over, accepting his fornication. This continued through the night, but she was able to sleep between times. Certainly it was better than being tortured.
In the morning she fixed herself breakfast, pausing to take the demon’s equine member in again, washed, nursed Chance, and accepted another wash of semen from the demon. It had become a familiar routine she worked around, and not difficult considering that that was all he demanded.
By noon she had been breached ten more times; the demon was indefatigable on his schedule. Other than that he was tolerant and even generous; she had whatever she requested for herself and Chance. It really was no worse than it would have been with the hyper-sexed human contestant.
“You’re a good sport,” the demon told her at noon as his foaming member slid out of her overflowing vagina. “No evasion, no fussing, and you pretend you like me. You are also quite pretty for a mortal.”
“Thank you,” she said as she nursed Chance, who was on a roughly similar schedule.
He touched her with his hand, and suddenly they were outside the castle, facing Prior.
“Are you going to fight me, man thing, or do I have to ram the guts out of your woman?” The demon swung his telescoping member around toward Tantamount, who obligingly flinched.
“I’ll fight,” Prior said grimly. They stepped into the pentagram and grappled. The demon was bigger and stronger, and in a moment he had Prior down and pinned. He oriented his rear on Prior’s face and let out a blast that practically vaporized the man’s head. Tantamount screamed.
But when the smog cleared, Prior was still lying there, unscathed. He stuck out his tongue at the demon.
Bewildered, the demon turned around, brought his ugly visage close to Prior’s head, and peered into his face. “How come you’re still breathing, man thing?”
“Because that isn’t really my face,” Prior’s voice came from the vicinity of his crotch.
“Huh?”
“It’s my posterior. I let out an illusion fart to change my seeming orientation. You farted at my ass, idiot.”
“Oh, no!” The demon jerked back, but too late; Prior’s fart caught him in the mouth and nose and he breathed it all in before he got clear. He vanished.
Tantamount ran gladly to hug Prior. But a dusky, sultry, shapely greenish demoness appeared between them.
“Tomorrow at noon,” she told Prior.
Then Tantamount found herself in the suite of the Fourth Branch, facing a tigress.
Chapter 25— Fourth Branch
Prior stared at the castle that was now just two branches high. On the new ground level was a chamber whose walls were transparent, like those of the Maid-in-Tower tower, and inside was Tantamount facing a tigress.
The animal advanced on her, snarling. Tantamount retreated, backed into the bed, and fell on it as the tiger pounced. She held Chance protectively to her bosom and tried to kick the animal away with her legs. But the tiger wedged its head between them and gaped its jaws to take a huge bite of her crotch. Then, as Tantamount screamed, the tiger’s tongue came out instead and slurpingly licked her vulva.
The tiger’s head turned toward Prior and nodded as the walls turned opaque. He knew what it meant: the Fourth Branch was a shape changer, and was toying with Tantamount so that Prior could see. If he did not show up for the fight tomorrow, that crotch bite could readily become real.
“I’ll be there, never fear,” he said, and turned away. He had defeated the demoness before by getting a good hold on her and hanging on while she madly shifted shapes. He had gotten his penis into her slit, but then she had turned frigidly cold, cooling his necessary ardor. He had prevailed only by a trick: he had faked an orgasm and pissed into her, pretending it was semen. Obviously that wouldn’t work again, despite his recent practice pissing into another woman.
“So how am I going to take her this time?” he asked the Spire as he walked to the local inn where he had farted for room and board.
IMMUNITY, the Spire gouted, and explained. It seemed feasible.
The innkeeper met him at the door. “No more contests,” he said. “You’ve proved you can fart anyone else under the table. Give me something I can use, you goldbricker.”
That gave Prior an idea. “I’ll give you a real gold brick,” he said. “Put out your hands.”
He turned around and dropped his pantaloons.
“You’re going to shit in my hands?” the innkeeper demanded, outraged.
“I’m going to shit a gold brick,” Prior said. “If you don’t want it, someone else surely will.”
He oriented his bottom. Spire, do your stuff. The Spire did. From it, seemingly from Prior’s anus, issued a golden colored mass. It was a moderate turd—of solid solidifying gold.
“Will that do?” he inquired as he covered his ass.
The innkeeper stared at the mass in his hands. He could tell by its heft that it really was gold.
“Oh, yes, for the next month!” He hurried away.
Prior ate and rested well. In the morning he repaired to the castle ahead of time. Tantamount came out to meet him, dressed in a slinky gown rather than the standard farthingale. He much preferred it, and not just because it showed her figure off to advantage.