Piers Anthony - Pornucopia

Black groaned and stirred. "Did you trim her wick, whiteshit?"

So he was alive! "I have it in, but the juice is congealing. Do you have any more advice?"

Black coughed unhealthily. "My old man—curse his black hide—always said...." He trailed off.

"What did he say?" Prior demanded. His whole front was getting chilled; he might as well have been having intercourse with a bank of snow! "Don't faint now, you bastard nigger!"

"Flattery... nowhere...."

"Listen, Black, I'm not flattering you! My cock is an icicle! Tell me what you know!"

"If you can't eat it, and you can't...." The voice became an indecipherable mumble.

"What? What?" Prior shouted desperately. Not only was his member going numb, it seemed to be frozen in place in her ice-solid body. To withdraw now might well be to rip it off himself!

"...can't fuck it...."

"I know I can't fuck it!" Prior cried. "That's my problem! Tell me , you deballed wonder!"

"PISS ON IT!" Black screamed furiously. And died.

There went his last hope! Black's eleventh-hour help had pulled him through before, but there was no chance of that now. "Piss on it!" Prior echoed with mixed sorrow and rage. Why had he driven Black into such anger as the man lay dying? His thoughtlessness had cost them both their penises and their lives!

Piss on it....

Inspiration! Would it work?

He resumed pumping, pretending that there was still fire in his phallus. "I'm getting near the climax, you demonic cherry whore," he told her. "You're a corpse, but you can't cool my organ. Not deep down to the source of semen. It's sort of fun, fucking frigidity; a novelty, sets me off. You can't shrink me before I spurt. Feel that hot burble starting?"

"No," she said uncertainly.

He jogged his dead member, hoping it was more rigid than it seemed, and not because of getting frozen. "What an orgasm! It's raging in my gut! I can't hold it back any longer, much as I enjoy playing with you! You're quite a lay, know that?"

"You're quite a bluffer, know that?"

"Ooooh!" he cried, twisting his face in simulated rapture. "Ah, crocodile-cunt, I've never had one like this! Aaaaah!" And he panted and tensed his whole cold body as though torn by the spasm.

She changed into a giant, slimy, wriggling worm. But his member was wedged in the thing's cloaca, and he continued his act. "I'm coming! I'm coming! Swing low, sweet chariot! Feel that hot liquid!"

And he compressed his belly and urinated forcefully into her quivering vagina as she changed back into a woman.

"A-a-a-a-ah!" she screamed in climactic agony. She began to dissolve into chilly vapor.

Suddenly her misty eyes opened. "You unmitigated fucker!" she snarled, metamorphosing into the tiger. Her hole clenched airily. "That's not ejaculate!"

Prior just waited, letting his bladder drain into her, warming his cold penis during its passage. It felt almost as good as a real climax.

"That's PISS!" the crocodile bellowed.

But it was too late. She could not pull her wafting flesh together again. Slowly, reluctantly, angrily, and with multiple changes of form, she faded into brown, urine-saturated mist. His last drops spattered on the pink ice.

This time he really had won—by cheating.

He buried Black in the cherry-flavored terrain, and found some chocolate snow for a shroud. "You gave good advice, you ebony racist," he said by way of benediction. "I'll take care of the cop-fucking matter for you, if I ever get back to Earth. Keep cool."

Black kept cool. He was frozen stiff.

Four branches of the Cherry Tree had been severed—each one worse than the last. Surely the worst was yet to come. But now he had to go on. He would vanquish the final demon, or die in the fucking attempt.

He arrived at last at the bottom of the cavern system, in the very heart of Mt. Icecream. Here he found a fountain: liquid ice cream spurting up from a tiny nozzle, shooting high up through a gap in the pinnacle, and fanning far above into perpetual snow. As he watched, the color changed from yellow to green: vanilla to pistachio.

"PISStachio," he murmured. "How appropriate."

Mt. Icecream, it seemed, was a cold but active volcano—and this nozzle was the apparent source of it all. It must have taken centuries for the mountain itself to form.

But what lay below the nozzle? Surely all that ice cream came from somewhere! Was the core of the planet made of it, and was this the only hole in the crust for it to squirt out? That seemed ridiculous on numerous grounds. But at the moment he found no better explanation for what he witnessed here.

He stepped close to that ever-jetting phallus, feeling the convective wind at his back, and probed at the base. There might be a pipe leading in, a conduit for pressured ice cream—

Heavy footfalls sounded behind him. Prior whirled to face the last branch of the Cherry Tree.

It stood about seven feet tall. It looked a little like a griffin and a little like a goblin, but mostly like a walking phallus with priapism. It had snaggle-tusks that projected from the place its mouth should have been but wasn't, and a wickedly hooked beak without nostril-holes, and saber-claws, and a spiked tail and barbed wings. Its upthrusting animal ears were metallic, with serrated saw-blade edges but no apertures into the head. Its grotesque eyes were mere patches of light-sensitive skin. Its penis was just about two feet long from bell to balls, and proportionately massive. And it was absolutely rigid.

"An eeg!" Prior cried, recognizing the form. "An adult eeg!"

The creature made no answer. How could it, without a mouth? How could it really see him or hear him or smell him, with those sealed-over organs of perception? Now Prior saw that it had no apertures of any kind, especially not a rectum. Just that atomic cannon of a penis.

Prior still wore Normal, and the respite he had gained by urinating into the last branch allowed him to bring it to attention with reasonable dispatch despite the lingering chill. He knew he could ejaculate, once he found appropriate lodging. But this demon was invulnerable, for it was completely without orifices. In all the galaxy there was no finer single-purpose fucking machine!

The eeg charged on stubby goblin-legs, its phallus swaying heavily as though about to unbalance the entire body. The demon's eye-patches glowed cherry red, and so did the tip of its penis. What internal fires did this leakage presage?

Prior tried to run, but his feet skidded on the ice and he sprawled ignominiously. The eeg came to stand over him, huge chicken-feet on either side of his body, that volcanic member looming. The intrusion of that timber would surely split a human body wide open! But there was no ready escape. The cold of the cavern floor gripped his naked body; was that why he shivered so?

The demon lowered the boom. That hinged instrument was as thick and solid as Prior's thigh! It banged brutally against his buttock, a solid wooden club.

Prior realized that he was in luck—of a sort. A penis that size couldn't possibly penetrate his anus, mouth, or any other bodily aperture!

The eeg reached down with spindly arms and hauled Prior up with astonishing strength. It carried him to a region of massed stalagmites: giant spokes of cherry ice rising erotically out of the floor. It jammed him between two of them, headfirst, and shoved him down, so that his torso was pinned where the columns came together at the base.

Oh-oh! Now he was thoroughly anchored. That huge penis just might get into him, if driven with enough force while he was tied down. After all, the Assyrians used to drive wooden stakes up the rectums of their captives and mount them along the highways! And the eeg was bracing against a fortuitously placed third stalagmite, orienting itself so that its entire strength could shove the cannon into the recalcitrant hole. The eeg must have done this many times before; trust it to know its infernal business!