The Magic Fart (23 page)

These demons were not nice folk. “Because,” the demon said with relish, “I just might encourage her with

some fucking heat.” “Heat?” Prior asked blankly. “Like so: a small demonstration.” The demon hauled the woman in to him, forced her legs up, and inserted his thick member into her flinching vagina.

“Raping me won’t accomplish anything,” Tantamount said scornfully. “I’ve already been raped by a pig. You’re just another pig.”

“Give it a moment, honey,” the demon said, shoving the full nine inches in with an obviously satisfying effort. Tantamount winced but did not protest.

Then she began to look uncomfortable. Then she struggled to free her self, but the demon held firm. “Oh, it’s hot!” she cried.

“You don’t say.” The demon faced Prior. “I can heat my member to red hot,” he said conversationally. “That makes no difference to you, since I can’t fuck with you. But it just may make a difference to her. I think we’re about a hundred and twenty degrees now.”

Tantamount screamed in pain. Prior realized that he hadn’t thought this through well enough: Tantamount wasn’t just a way to bring him to the demons, she was a way to make him do their will. “Or higher,” the demon said. “I’ll just cook her innards until you see the

light, diarrhea-snot. Take your time; this is fun.” Tantamount screamed again, in obvious agony. It was too much. “I’ll do it,” Prior said. The demon cupped an ear. “Eh? Did you say something?” Tantamount’s mouth stretched in a rictus of torment. “I challenge you!” Prior yelled. The demon nodded, and allowed Tantamount to scramble off his steaming member. “I’ll just have to roast this pig another time,” he said, as she collapsed into a huddled mass. “Your appointment with me is tomorrow at noon, at Castle Demon. Be late if you wish; your gal here is a nice hot fuck.” Prior knew he would not be late.

Chapter 20—Tease

Tantamount huddled pitifully. It was true she was hurting, and had been made to scream, but not completely true. She had realized that the demon intended to make her scream, and that he had the capacity to do so, so she had obliged sooner rather than later. Thus she had avoided suffering actual heat damage to her vaginal tract, though even so the pain had been awful. There was no question: she was in the monster’s power. She was the lever to make Prior do what he didn’t want to do: risk his life by fighting the demons a second time.

She didn’t want him to do it. But she knew he would, as long as she was hostage to his performance. She wished she had just kept quiet about her decision to marry him; then the demons wouldn’t have pounced. She had really brought this horror on herself.

But all was not yet lost. If she could escape the demon, Prior wouldn’t have to do battle. She would simply have to use her feminine cunning.

“This is your room, bitch ass,” the demon said. “Make yourself com fortable. You will be my mistress, once I abolish your boyfriend, so keep your hole tender.”

She didn’t argue, knowing it was useless. It was surely true: if Prior died, she would remain indefinitely in the demon’s power, and what else would he want from her other than sex? Every act of copulation would be a further reminder of his victory over his enemy. She understood that demons liked possessing human lovers; it was a mark of status, since few humans agreed to such liaisons willingly. Not when the demons were the ones holding the power.

She surveyed the room. There was a fancy double bed in the center, a basin and large chamber pot in the corner, and what appeared to be plenty of closet space. There was also a table with an assortment of fruits, breads, pastries, and drinks. And even a television set in another corner, next to a crib. This had evidently been set up for her occupation, awaiting her acquisition.

“It will do,” she said. “It had better, sweet cunt.” The demon faded out. She went to the table and sampled the food. She had to eat, so as to have milk for Chance. She sipped a glass of blue lemonade; it was surprisingly tasty. But almost immediately her stomach went to gas; this was fart food. It seemed the demons liked farts too. Or maybe it was simply another aggravation they were inflicting on her.

She ate, nursed Chance, and turned on the TV set. It offered the usual fare: news features, weather, and feculent fiction. She might as well have been back in the Tower.

She put Chance down to sleep, and used the pot. No need to store urine now; she would have no need of it. She was almost sorry to let go of the last of the fluid Prior had provided her. He had adapted well enough to the necessity, a point in his favor.

She washed up and went to bed. She blew out the lamp. She needed her rest.

Two hours later she woke, went to the crib, picked Chance up, and nursed him in the darkness. Then, carrying him, she made her silent way to the chamber door. There was a faint glow to the walls, enabling her to see her dim way. She explored the hall and adjacent chambers, searching for she knew not what.

She found it: a small rolled carpet. This was a magic castle, in a land where magic was common, at least for those who could afford it. She spread the carpet on the floor, sat cross-legged on it, and whispered “Lift.”

It rose from the floor. Sure enough, it was a magic carpet. She had hardly dared hope, but had had to seek any possible avenue of escape.

“Down,” she said, and it descended to the floor. She rolled it up again and carried it to her room. She opened the big window wide, then spread the carpet and got on it again, holding Chance. “Up and out, carefully,” she said.

The carpet obligingly rose and floated slowly out the window. The starry night was above and around. She was free! But this was only the beginning; she needed to get well away from here, so the demon would not locate her and fetch her back.

She pondered briefly. “Nude-on-Toilet,” she said, identifying the village Prior had passed through. It was near the path leading away from Fartingale. If she got there, the demon might never find her. Prior was bound to pass that way when he left, so she could intercept him.

The carpet accelerated smoothly, climbing and flying through the dark ness. She saw the lights of a nearby village, and the dark outlines of trees. Glorious!

The flight became dull; the village was several hours distant. She slept sitting up, as the carpet was not large enough for her to stretch out comfortably. She woke as it descended toward a village. She saw a statue of a bare

woman sitting on a potty: this was Nude-on-Toilet! “The house of Smellie,” she said, hoping the carpet was knowledgeable enough to know it. Evidently it did; it landed before one of the huts in the village.

“Wait here,” she told the carpet as she got off, knowing she would need it again. Just to be sure it stayed, she lifted a corner and kissed the cloth. “I like you.” The carpet made a shiver of pleasure. It would stay. She held Chance and knocked on the door. After a moderate delay, a hooded figure opened it. “Yes?” “I—am a friend of—of Micro. I believe you know him.” “Oh, yes! Come in.” Tantamount entered. The woman’s comprehensive hood reminded her of her own recent masking. Then she remembered: Smellie was recovering from magic facial surgery. “Micro helped you.” “Yes!” “May I see?” The woman drew back the hood. Her face was beautiful. “It’s still heal

ing,” she said uncertainly. “It’s a success. You are lovely.” “Really?” “Really. You are now a beautiful woman.” “I’m so relieved.” Then Smellie got practical. “Who are you, and why are

you here?” “I was the Maiden in the Tower. Micro rescued me.” “Oh, yes, he wanted to do that. He said you were his ideal woman.” “So I turned out to be. But then the demons pounced, and are using the threat of harming me to make him fight them, so they can kill him. I must escape. Will you help me?” “How can I help you?” “By hiding me until he realizes they have no hold on him. Then he’ll go home, and will surely pass this way.” It sounded simplistic as she said it, but it was all she could do. Prior would surely look for her, and the demons would track him as he did, so she had to be excruciatingly careful.

Smellie nodded. “I will do what I can. But it is too soon for me to ply my trade. My face is not yet healed; it hurts when anything touches it. I can’t even kiss a man.”

“As it happens, I can. Bring your men here, and promise them rapture in darkness. I will deliver that.” Thus would she earn her keep: anonymously whoring. This misadventure in Fartingale had certainly changed her circumstance. They discussed it, and concluded it was feasible. Then Tantamount set Chance down on the bed, and something weird happened. The blanket rose up and wrapped itself around him.

Startled, Tantamount reached to take her baby back, but the blanket constricted, making Chance cry. “Forget it, bitch,” the blanket said. “I will crush your brat to death.” “The demon!” she exclaimed in horror. “The First Branch,” the blanket agreed. “Now it is time to go home. We wouldn’t want to disappoint your idiot man, would we? He expects to do battle with me at noon.” “My escape—it was just a tease,” Tantamount said. “It was a demonstration, whore girl. You can’t escape as long as I have your brat. Do you concede that, or shall I throttle him now?” The blanket tightened around Chance’s throat. “I concede it!” she cried. “I’m so sorry,” Smellie said. “And you, fart face, will not speak of this.” “Never,” the woman agreed, cowed. What else could she do? The de

mon could throttle her too. “Now sit on me,” the blanket said, shifting to the magic carpet form.

“We have a way to go.” Meekly, Tantamount picked up Chance and sat cross-legged on the carpet. It lifted and plowed into the wall—and through it without resistance, giving her a momentary scare. A demon trick. It sailed up into the brightening sky. Something goosed her. “Oh!” “Sit still, slut slot. I’m giving you a ride; I’m going to soak my pecker

comfortably on the way. Do you have a problem with that?” Tantamount realized how readily the demon could drop Chance off, to

fall and be smashed on the ground far below. “No problem.” The center of the carpet rose up, forming the demon’s phallus, and poked into her reluctant vagina. “Like that cute story you told the impotent jerk, even the sheets wanting to get into her,” the demon said. “You’ll be riding my motherfucking horn for the next hour, young mother. Relax and enjoy it, cuddle cunt, while you feed your brat. Fuck and suck, ha-ha.” Each syllable of the laugh drove the cloth phallus farther in.

She couldn’t relax, as the demon knew, but refused to give him the satis faction of protesting. She was stuck for his teasing.

Chapter 21—First Branch

Prior spent a restless night, hating what he had brought on Tantamount. He was the reason she had been abducted and made a Tower Maiden; he was the reason she was now being tortured. It really, truly, was all his fault. But he loved her. He would do what he had to do. He had no trouble finding his way to Castle Demon. It was not far off,

and everyone knew where it was, and avoided it. The castle itself was like a giant tree: a cherry tree, with five massive branches. That was the code name of the demons who had been assigned to guard the Spire; he had defeated them and taken the Spire, and thus earned their enmity. Could he beat them again? What choice did he have? He couldn’t let Tantamount remain in their vile hands. He had no doubt they were forcing her into sex already; any threat to her baby—
his
baby—would be enough. Just as any threat to her was enough to force him to challenge. They had planned this trap most cunningly.

“Okay, I’m here,” he called. “First Branch, I challenge you to a farting off.”

The demon appeared. “To the death,” said. “You have to say that, or I can’t kill you.” “There’s a choice?” “Of course. Most contests are merely to unconsciousness.” “And that won’t do?” “Put it this way: your girlfriend needs impaling. She will get it in an hour,

if you don’t arrange to prevent it.” “You’re raping Tantamount,” Prior said flatly. He knew the demon was

trying to rattle him. “That, too. She has a most conducive hole, and I expect to be reaming it

for some time, as I did this morning. But this is more specific.” Prior didn’t want to ask, but had to. “How so?” “I’m so glad you asked. Are you a student of history?” “Not much.” “I’m thinking of the Assyrians. They won many battles, and liked to impale their enemies on tall stakes. The point of the stake was set into the victim’s asshole; then the stake was erected and set in the ground with the man on top. His own weight slowly drove the stake deeper into his rectum and his guts, until at last he expired. Admirable folk, the Assyrians; I can’t think why others didn’t like them.”

Prior did not like the direction this was taking. “What has this to do with Tantamount?” “Behold.” The demon gestured. A stout wood stake appeared, sharpened to a point above. Suspended over it was Tantamount, holding the baby in a sling. Her arms were extended up over her head, her wrists tied by a thick loop of rope. The rope passed over a pulley and descended to a big old fashioned clock that had the current time: noon. The loop was wound around a wheel that was evidently on the same axle as the minute hand of the clock; in an hour it would rotate a full turn, releasing about a foot of rope. She hung there unmoving, though her eyes showed she was conscious.

“Now let’s complete the setting,” the demon said. He went to the stake, reached up, caught the woman’s legs, and pulled them down around the stake. The rope gave, allowing this. “Now let’s see your pretty little pucker, sweetie.” He parted her legs and guided her hanging body so that the point of the stake just touched her cleft. He drew her body down a little more, so that the point nudged into her vagina. “I see you know better than to kick or struggle, dearie,” he said. “Because that will merely cause the rope to slip faster, dropping you onto the stake. Absolute stillness is best; then only the passage of time brings your descent. Nevertheless, it could become uncomfortable after half an hour, and worse after an hour, as the penetration moves from half a foot to a full foot. At some point your lovely wet cunt will run out; then the prick will deepen it in its own pointed fashion.” He turned to Prior. “Have I made the situation clear, smegma brains? Within the hour one of us is bound to win, and that person will rescue the woman, with luck before she suffers significant harm. If the contest should extend beyond an hour, that can not be guaranteed. But you are welcome to take your time if you want to.”