He guided it into the crevice. It fit comfortably, but nothing happened. Oh. He thrust, withdrew, and thrust again, until he managed to produce a jet of semen. That softened the hole, and it melted. It continued to dissolve as he cleaned off his spent member and put it away.
Soon there was a door-sized opening in the vault. He climbed through. As he did, the vault collapsed; it had been defeated, so had no further reason to exist.
There it was: a device shaped like a foot-long horn, upright, with white fluid jetting from its tip. The force of the jet was sufficient to send it up several feet, where it caught on what remained of the upper story. There was just room to wriggle up to where he could put a hand on the shaft. Prior did so. His fingers circled it. “Spire, desist.” he said. Nothing changed. The off-white jet continued with unabated force. He tried to pull it off its mounting. It wouldn’t budge. This was an unexpected problem. The Spire had obeyed him after he defeated the demons of the Cherry Tree and took it. Why wasn’t it doing so now? Did it not recognize him? “Spire, I am Prior Gross. Desist the jet and come with me.” There was no effect. He realized that he was not communicating in the manner it understood. The Spire spoke only in gouts that entered the body of the one it addressed. He would have to do what he hated, and get a mouthful of smegma.
He nerved himself, then shoved his hand over the apex, blunting the power of the jet, put his mouth over it, and removed his hand.
The gout rammed into his mouth and down his throat, inflating him, it seemed, all the way to his anus. Yet it was a delightful infusion, for the Spire was the essence of potency.
I AM THE SPIRE, CREATED BY EGG, THE ELDEST GOD OF THE GALAXY.
Precisely. I am Prior Gross, who captured you at Mount Icecream a year ago.
Another inspiring gout distended him. I REMEMBER.
Prior removed his mouth from the tip, and it did not resume jetting. He cleared his throat with some effort, swallowing some smegma and spitting out the rest.
“I need your service again.” Then he put his tongue back on the tip.
This time the gout was smaller, a mere token. The Spire was evidently interested.
YOU MUST EARN IT.
“But I conquered you. You belong to me now.”
CORRECTION, MORTAL MAN. I AM THE TOOL OF EGG. YOU MERELY OBTAINED MY SERVICE FOR A SET PERIOD, NOW EXPIRED.
So it was like that. He would have to deal with the Spire on its own terms.
“How can I obtain your service for the next month?”
For that should suffice, whatever the outcome of his quest.
I CRAVE A BIT OF MORTAL EXPERIENCE.
“But you generated all the mortals of the galaxy, or at least their ancestors.”
AND ALL THE MATTER TOO. BUT THAT WAS SOME TIME AGO.
“About twelve billion years,” Prior agreed. “I can see how it might have gotten dull in the interim.”
MORTALS HAVE FLEETING EXISTENCES, BUT THEY COPULATE FREQUENTLY. I WANT SOME OF THAT. I LACK A MORTAL BODY. LEND ME YOURS.
It occurred to Prior that they could establish some overlapping interest.
“You mean I should screw you onto my socket and have at some women.”
COPULATE WITH SOME FEMALES, AMONG OTHERS.
Uh-oh. “Only females,” Prior said. “I won’t fuck males.”
AGREED. I WILL ASSIST YOU AS REQUIRED FOR THE DURATION OF OUR ASSOCIATION. YOU WILL INSERT ME INTO ANY AVAILABLE FEMALES.
Prior caught another problem. “But you are endlessly potent. You’ll want to spend the whole time, day and night, fucking women, and I won’t be able to get on with my quest. There has to be some limit.”
HALF TIME.
“So I must chase women during virtually all my waking hours? That won’t work either. How about one hour a day?”
AGREED.
That surprised him. “What’s the catch?”
ONE HOUR CUMULATIVE. IT CAN BE SPREAD OUT ACROSS THE DAY, A FEW MINUTES AT A TIME, FOR DIFFERENT FEMALES.
That did make a difference, but seemed fair. “However, women don’t come to me a dime a dozen. In fact the only good fuck I’ve had in the past month was with a succubus. I won’t be able to provide you with any except whores.”
PROSTITUTES WILL DO, BUT ARE NOT SUFFICIENT IN THEMSELVES. MERELY TOUCH ME TO THE LIVING SURFACE OF A FEMALE AND I WILL RENDER HER CONDUCIVE.
“I suppose I could hold you in my hand for that.”
NO. KEEP ME SCREWED ON FOR ACTION. I WANT TO EMBRACE THEM IN MORTAL FASHION AND FEEL THE LIVING FEELINGS.
“But that would make it too obvious. I’d get arrested for indecent exposure.”
I WILL PROVIDE THE ILLUSION OF COVERAGE. TOUCH FLESH AND PROCEED.
Prior remained dubious. “Well, I can try. But don’t blame me if it doesn’t work. Women can be very touchy—no pun—about public contacts. They don’t like getting groped.”
THEY WILL LIKE THIS, the Spire gouted confidently. DEAL?
“Deal,” Prior agreed, because he did need the Spire. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
PUT ME ON.
Prior opened his trousers and unscrewed his keyhole penis. This was the legacy of his association with Tantamount; her sister Oubliette had fitted him with the socket and set him up with the alternative equipment. He shook it out and put it in his member pocket. He had a number of artificial penises to go with his natural one, of different sizes and types, all of them with nerves so that they provided full sensation. He would hardly need them, now that he had the potent tool of the Eldest God of the Galaxy.
Then he lifted the Spire, which now came loose readily, and brought it to his crotch. It had a screw-on base that matched his socket, by no coincidence, because he had carried it that way before. He screwed it on. It projected rigidly a foot in front of him. “You need to shrink.”
DONE.
This time the gout nudged into Prior’s urethra just enough to convey its message. The long horn diminished and became flexible so that it would fit inside the trousers. He would use it for normal urination, but when the time for fornication came, it would provide its own potency. His flesh had grown around the socket, so that when a penis was attached, the connection was not apparent; any member he wore seemed to be his own. Not that he got a chance to show any of them off to women often, other than the succubus.
Now he had to make his way out of the pile, which was already settling down somewhat with the cessation of the Spire’s output. As he crawled, the Spire made a small gout of query.
WHAT IS THIS QUEST FOR WHICH YOU NEED MY ASSISTANCE?
“My ideal woman has been abducted to Fartingale. I need to rescue her. Do you know anything about that land?”
EVERYTHING. FARTS ARE THEIR UNIT OF CURRENCY. YOU WILL NEED TO PUT ME IN YOUR RECTUM ON OCCASION SO I CAN GENERATE WIND WITHOUT AROUSING SUSPICION.
“Up my ass!” Prior said, not pleased. But if this was the way of Fartingale, he was stuck for it. “They fart a lot there?”
YES. STATUS IS JUDGED BY PROFICIENCY. YOU WERE WISE TO ENLIST MY AID. I WILL MAKE YOU THE BLOWHARD CHAMPION.
“I just want to rescue my woman.”
THAT, TOO, the Spire agreed, emitting a small sample fart that startled Prior. But of course the Spire could emit anything, literally, in any quantity. THIS WILL BE A NICE CHALLENGE EVEN FOR MY POWERS, CONSIDERING THE NEED FOR SUBTLETY.
Oh, great! Subtle farting. By the time Prior wedged his way out of the mound, he had a much better idea of the challenge ahead.
Chapter 4—Prize
Next morning she showered, donned the only outfit available, nursed Chance, and considered breakfast. There was oatmeal, milk, eggs, juice, and fruit in the refrigerator. No dog-poop sausage or cowflop pie. Relieved, she ate well. The magic hood remained around her head, completely obscuring her features and hair. There was an additional oddity: when she wore it loose, as it was now, her hair was well beyond waist length. Yet none of it showed. She had rinsed it in the shower, and dried it with a towel; there was no doubt of its continued existence. And it was there, brushing past her bottom. But it was invisible. Many women could be identified largely by their tresses, and so could she; her captor had made sure this was ineffective.