Anthony, Piers - Pornucopia

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Pornucopia by Piers Anthony
Piers Anthony
Pornucopia
CONTENTS
Part I: Smegma Part II: Prosthesis Part III: Cherry Tree Part IV: Dildo
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Part I: Smegma
Chapter One
The early afternoon sun beat down, warming his bathing trunks, heating his crotch. The restless tide
retreated slowly, as though the ocean water were evaporating, and the shock of the breaking waves was
muted—crash, splash, like the breaking of a vigorous orgasm against a taut diaphragm. Prior Gross
reclined on the burning sand, squirming until it shaped to his feet, palms and buttocks. He kept his
knees elevated in an awkward effort to conceal the unprovoked erection that had been trapped at half
mast beneath the unyielding cloth.
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There was really no reason for it, but the tumescence refused to subside. Girl-watching here was fair-to-
poor. Prior's field of vision embraced grandmothers and children with scarce nubility between, and that
critically flawed by obesity, sag and blemish. He was disappointed and bored—yet his member
strained valiantly against the fabric, pushing it out throb by throb, and no matter how covertly he
shifted about it only aspired higher. It felt as though the glans had been caught in the crotch-netting
and was too stupid to realize that it could never clear the hurdle without first slacking down a little.
A fat-bellied sun-skinned executive type ambled by, glancing at Prior. Had the busybody seen? Prior's
trunks bowed out marginally farther while he fought to keep a flush from his face. He could not stand
up, of course, and the proximity of a hawkeyed matron prevented him from unhooking the obstruction
by hand. He suffered a mental picture of the matron lumbering across the sand to the nearest lifeguard,
screaming about the indecent act that man was performing, while a crowd gathered around to look and
police sirens drew nigh. No, he couldn't lay a finger on his crotch!
His eyes wandered desperately about the beach, as though he could prevent others from watching him
by watching them first. But nobody was paying him any attention, yet. He saw two toddlers playing
near the water's margin, using a toy shovel and fingers to shape a crumbly sand castle. The little boy
was burying his legs at the same time, scooping gouts from the wet castle wall to his sister's
frustration.
Full-blown, the solution came to Prior. He could bury his legs in sand, right up past the crotch! It
might seem to be a childish game, but it was not entirely out of place for any age. That would hide the
pulsing bulge until the situation abated. Maybe by then it would be late enough to find some action in
town, to reduce his member to a lower level of chronic readiness and spare him further
embarrassments.
Prior began sweeping sand in over his feet, piling it up under his lifted knees. The surface grains were
hot, but those below were cool, and the sensation on his thighs goaded his penis to even more
strenuous effort. It took a lot of sand to cover him, and he quickly encountered rougher gravel below.
The job promised to be tedious, particularly since there were numerous sharp shell fragments
embedded in the solidly-packed understratum. This was not child's-play after all! He would have
slashed fingers if he didn't watch it. He tensed his jaw muscles and kept working, using the task as a
mental distraction.
A shadow crossed him with a sudden soft coolness. Prior looked up to spy a phenomenal pair of legs
slanting into an opaque knee-length skirt. Above that the blazing sun made vision difficult, but the
silhouette was strikingly feminine.
Prior's member had been showing signs of retirement, but now it tugged frantically at its anchor. There
was hardly any chance the woman could overlook it.
"Building a castle?" she inquired, her voice low and sultry.
"Um," he agreed, edging his knees together. The laboriously mounded sand collapsed defiantly,
uncovering the castle's main tower further.
"Let me see," she said, squatting before him and prying his knees gently apart with her cool hands.
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The cloth covering his crotch rose up eagerly to stand inspection. Prior could see between her
handsome, well-fleshed thighs now, inside the skirt that had slid over her knees. That firm and rounded
vista was obscured only at the deepest cleft by an annoying wash of shadow.
"You don't have enough sand," she pointed out. He still couldn't make out her face because of the sun,
but his eyes had adjusted enough to penetrate the shadow beneath her skirt. He saw now that her
posterior was innocent of panties or other defense. Open to the breeze.
"Give me time," he said, scratching feebly for more sand. Time? Sand? He could see something else he
wanted! If only this weren't happening in mid-afternoon on a public beach.
"I'll bury you," she said suggestively, and a muscle rippled inside one thigh. What legs she had! She
began hauling in sand from a wider semicircle, those thighs flexing as her balance shifted, and piling
the sand about his trunks. "Lie down." She patted sand about his crotch.
Lie down? It was about to launch toward the moon!
Oh—she meant him. Prior lay back, feeling the tension between his legs increase to the point of pain.
She spilled cool sand entirely over him, patting it solicitously in key places. "You don't lie very well,"
she murmured. "What's your name?"
On that score he could accommodate her. "Prior Gross."
She laughed, her bosom bouncing. She had an excellent upper torso; the lower distraction had
prevented him from noticing it before. "For Priapus, god of sex! You are a find! No wonder I was
drawn to you. I thought it was only your condition."
What did she mean by that? That she sniffed out men with erections? "How did you know? Uh, about
my name." He tried to make it sound bantering, but he was curious too. She had traced his name
correctly. Most people knew almost nothing of mythology, and she hardly seemed the scholarly type.
"I'm a succubus," she said matter-of-factly. "We all worship Priapus."
Prior forced a laugh of his own, though it jogged the knot in his trunks and caused the packed sand
there to crack as though a miniature earthquake had passed. "A succubus! A female demon?"
"Who visits sleeping men and harvests their seed," she said. "It's all quite straightforward. When I have
a good load, I transform into an incubus and go in search of female companionship. If I find a sleeping
girl soon enough, I can even get her pregnant—and the man I had first is the biological father. That can
lead to some interesting situations, in this age of blood typing and semen analysis."
"Artificial insemination with a vengeance!" Prior said, not believing any of it but intrigued by her
pose. She was obviously on the make, and he would be well satisfied to get made. "So that's why some
men claimed they've been framed even when blood tests and such give them the lie. They've fornicated
by proxy!"
She had a fair mound of sand around him now. "I can see you don't really believe me, so I'll
demonstrate. I'll knock up a girl by you, right here on the beach, right now." She moved forward to sit
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on his crotch, spreading her dark skirt out over the mound. Prior's member, stimulated by this
suggestive pressure, was almost ready to spurt spontaneously.
"You do that," he said. What a line, and by a woman, yet! And she was structured like a center-fold.
She could have her will of any man she wanted, just by showing him what she had shown Prior.
Which was suspicious. Prior was no bronzed beach bum. He generally had to pay for what he
wanted—and a dish like this was way out of his price range.
"You have to be asleep," she said, touching his eyelids. "That's the law."
"What law?" He had half-expected her to demand a hundred and fifty dollars in advance.
"The demonic law. Succubi only visit sleeping men. That's our nature."
"Why are you here, then?" he demanded. Her fidgeting was really working him up. She certainly knew
that part of her trade! Did she want his eyes closed so he couldn't see her take his wallet? No chance;
his wallet was locked safely in his car.
She didn't answer right away. She put a hand inside her own waistband and worked it down under her
skirt until her fingers touched him. She began to scrape the sand from between her legs. A neat
maneuver, and somehow everything looked ordinary from outside. No one could see what her hidden
hand was doing. "Things get dull in daylight."
Now her hand was finished, and he felt her touch on his tight trunks, stroking the zipper fly. He had
thought he was at the peak of excitation, but this elevated it another level.
"So you thought you'd drum up a little after-hours business," he said. "But I'm not asleep." Why was he
arguing? If she deserted him now, he might never abate his erection! Priapism, it was called: the
perpetual rigidity. He understood that could get very uncomfortable.
"That's what I said. But if you'll just close your eyes and breathe evenly, it'll be the same. No one will
know."
What the hell, he thought. They had made no agreement. She would have tough luck collecting her
money after the performance. He closed his eyes.
"That's good." Her hidden hand worked down the zipper, opening his fly with expertise, sliding the
webbing across. His penis sprang out, hurting again as the kink was finally released, but wasting no
time about swelling to its full proportion.
Prior cracked open an eye apprehensively, but all was concealed beneath her skirt, which now seemed
voluminous. Quite a piece of apparel, that could not stretch past her knees at one time, and covered
everything at another time. But of course a succubus was magic, and her skirt would be magic too. It
looked as though he remained buried in sand, with the girl innocently straddling the ridge: a game
people played. Some game!
"Closed," she reminded him gently, her fingers massaging his member, squeezing it for the final bit of
growth. "Never can tell when the supervisor's watching."
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Some supervisor! Was it an invisible satyr, calibrating indexes of performance on an abacus? But Prior
obliged. Actually, there was nothing to see; even her full breasts were chaste from this angle.
There was something to feel, though. Deprived of sight, his awareness magnified the inputs of touch.
Her muscular thighs shifted, her cushiony buttocks adjusted—and warm damp flesh contacted his
angled shaft. That living cleft he had glimpsed as she squatted was coming to embrace his own flesh!
But the angle was wrong. Those slick vagina lips were squeezing the sidewise length rather than
absorbing the business end. He was on the verge of squirting into space—or at least into her skirt—and
he couldn't use his hand to correct the contact!
But her fingers were there, lifting his pulsing rod, cupping the glans. The angle changed, the head
brushed up against the lubricated channel and nudged delightedly into the hot cavity.
"When are you going to have your erection?" she inquired, piqued. "Don't you like women?"
The organ sank into the hole, or more correctly rose into it. Prior felt the lubricated closure pass the
knob and encompass the shaft. Her flesh tightened about his own, rhythmically. "That's it!" he gasped.
"But that's hardly four inches! I like at least six, and can take eight. Nine in an emergency."
"Three point nine seven inches!" he whispered. "Erect."
"You mean all those emanations I picked up, all that worry about your hard-on showing, like a tower
standing out for miles around... four inches?"
"I have an ambitious imagination," he admitted.
"Ambitious! That's fraud!" she said crossly. "Here I thought I'd get my bore properly reamed...." She
manipulated her buttocks to bring him in further. "I assumed that anyone named after Priapus—"
"That was my old man's wishful thinking." He had been through this before. "But my dong ended up
just like his. Potent, but small."
She sighed, clenching him internally. "Well, too late to cry over spilt milk—not that I ever do spill any.
Let's have it."
As she spoke, the muscles of her vulva contracted with singular authority, milking him compellingly.
His orgasm ripped through his body like a fire through dry timbers. He climaxed at once, his hips
thrusting up convulsively as his juice let fly. If he had done that in air, he could have knocked a seagull
out of the sky!
The fire burned out as quickly as it had spread, leaving him breathlessly limp and warm. "Well, at least
you had a fair quantity," she observed as he shuddered to a halt. "Good things sometimes do come in
small packages." Her vagina still clasped him tightly, squeezing out the dregs and holding them as his
spent penis slowly shrank. "Good to the last drop. But you really should wash your miniature more
often."
"It itches when I wash it," he protested, embarrassed. Then "How can you tell?"
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"Sex is my business, you know. I can taste and measure everything that enters that vestibule. Your
seed is potent enough, but your tool is small and uncircumcised, and frankly it's pretty cheesy too."
"Smegma is a natural secretion," he said. But he was chagrined. It did collect when he wasn't careful,
and he hadn't been careful the past few days. Maybe that was the cause of his erection. Had he known
what would happen on the beach....
His diminished penis finally slurped out of her vagina, which sealed up after the exodus as tightly as
any anus after evacuation. She had not been fooling about salvaging the seed!
Chapter Two
"Which girl do you want to have it?" she asked seriously as she lifted off him.
For a moment his organ was open to the sky. Prior sat up hurriedly, packed in his apparatus together
with an inadvertent handful of sand, and zipped up his fly. "Have what?"
"Your donation. I have to do it within half an hour, usually, or too many sperm cells die and it can't
take. I don't have refrigeration capacity the way my northern cousins do. Of course their whole bodies
are icy cold, which makes collection difficult except in the case of the most determined dreaming
sinners, the kind who would shoot off into icebergs if they had the right sized holes in them. And her
period has to be right, too. The supervisor's very finicky about such details."
"You mean you're serious about this succubus-incubus bit? It's not just a come-on?"
"Of course it's a come-on. You came; I got on," she said, making a moue. Her lips were very
expressive; she probably knew how to use them in her profession, too. "Hurry up. Make a choice.
Someone sleeping, of course."
He tried to call her bluff. "Don't you have to—to convert? To incubus?"
"Just watch me carefully. I can't be too obvious, obviously. People would stare, and we aren't supposed
to attract attention to ourselves. Not in a business connection, anyway. A demon can get herself
burned, that way. Are you going to choose?"
Prior looked about. Time had passed, and either some of the girlchildren had blossomed into nubility
or the beach fauna had benefited from some turnover. But in his present sated state he found this
interesting primarily in an intellectual way. He had no particular urge to impregnate any of the
pregnable. In fact, the notion was a trifle disgusting.
Not that it would come to that. Succubi were creatures of folklore. This doll had had her fun and spun
him a fairytale while he, no fairy, had spun into her tail, and now he would play the game out until she
broke, and maybe she never would remember what she had intended to charge him for the occasion.
"Her," he said, gesturing to the adjacent matron, now blissfully snoring as the sun cooked her flesh.
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"She's too old. And ineligible. Hysterectomy. I can tell from here."
"She should be eager for it, then. And I want to see how you do it." And see what she did, and if she
did, too.
"But the supervisor—"
"Your, ah, load isn't legitimate anyway, because I wasn't really asleep. So you might as well ditch it
before you get in trouble for carrying contraband."
She looked angry, then shrugged. "All right, skeptic. You lie down on your side facing her and pretend
to close your eyes, so no one knows you're watching. I'll set it up so you can see, but no one else can."
Prior nodded. Despite his cynicism, life stirred slightly in his loin again. He had called her bluff and
she wasn't backing down; what sort of show would she put on now?
She walked away as he lay down. With each step she took she seemed to change. Her lovely broad
hips became narrow, her hair shorter, her chest flatter. She paused to adjust her dress—and it was a
pair of culottes or even Bermuda shorts, as much out of place on this beach as her skirt had been, but
still unremarkable. Lots of people wore inappropriate clothing at the beach, and some walked the
shoreline in full dress clothing.
Were there incubi among them, unsuspected? By the time she reached the supine matron, she was
male. Prior had trouble believing this, but his eyes were quite positive about it.
The incubus kneeled beside the woman as though asking her a question. No one on the beach paid
attention except Prior. The incubus then moved over casually until he was astride the woman, and still
no one noticed and she did not wake. He must have put a small sleep-spell on her; no doubt incubi (and
succubi, of course) had dependable ways to keep their subjects passive (except sexually) for the
operation. Assuming such magical creatures really existed. Assuming that this was one such. Prior was
still alert for some deception, though his disbelief was somewhat shaken. If what he had seen was a
trick, it was one hell of an illusion!
Then the incubus brought out a tiny knife—or maybe it was merely a sharp fingernail—and sliced
away a portion of her bathing suit, exposing the pudendum. He placed his body so that only Prior
could see what was happening. Still, it could be an act, a farce, and the sleight-of-hand could not
proceed much farther.
In due course the incubus opened his own apparel and brought out a massive phallic instrument. This
was no trick; Prior saw it come erect while the incubus kept hands off. Had he not watched the creature
every moment and been certain that no substitution had been made, Prior would not have believed this.
Now he was convinced: the hungry female genitals that had sucked in his protoplasm were now
aggressive male genitals eager to spew it forth again!
The incubus lowered this boom and brought it to bear on the fatty crevice between the matron's legs. It
looked far too big to fit, but slowly he eased it in, pushing, stroking, sliding, jogging. The woman
moaned, stirred—but the incubus touched her eyelids with one hand and she did not awaken. In fact,
she was smiling. Prior wondered what dreams she might be having, half as phenomenal as the reality!
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The tremendous penis hove to like a slow diesel into a tunnel, burying half its column in the tight
aperture, then three quarters. Hoo!, Prior thought—that female would be sore tomorrow!
After that he couldn't see the detail because the incubus's thing blocked the view. But the motions of
the merging bodies suggested that the rest of the shaft was finding or making its lodging. The woman's
heavy torso shook with the impact of full penetration, and she writhed with something resembling
ecstasy. Her knees came up and spread farther apart; her hands groped for the point of contact. She had
probably never had so much meat inside her at one time before.
Ejaculation! The incubus plunged, withdrew, plunged again. The woman groaned aloud as the piston
retreated, then she made a muffled scream as the spasm distended her. Prior was sure this orgasm
dwarfed her previous experience—if, indeed, she had experienced orgasm before. That kind usually
thought pleasure in sex was unpatriotic.
Meanwhile, beach activity continued. No one wondered what the strange man was doing to the
sleeping woman; or maybe they just didn't care. Two girls walked by, glanced across, saw, and went
on; it was none of their business. Prior realized that almost anything could happen on a public beach,
including screaming rape, and nobody would react.
He glanced down at his own trunks, wherein his scant four inches throbbed with second wind.
Certainly he was not one to bring a woman to life like that. There was no way four inches could match
eight, except perhaps in endurance.
The incubus let it soak for a moment while an elderly couple walked by, then drew out the gross
member. The fit was still so tight that Prior could see flesh stretching. Then the organ snapped out with
a pop! that caused a passing child to glance curiously, hoping for bubble-gum. No such luck. The
incubus stood up, shook off his flaccid extremity, fed it back into the shorts, and ambled away.
The matron remained as she was—legs spread wide, suit slit open at the crack, hands touching the
greased labia. No one noticed except the child, who didn't care. And Prior, who had mixed emotions.
By the time the incubus reached Prior, he was female again. "The bitch had gonorrhea!" the succubus
exclaimed, outraged. "Do you want to do it again?"
Prior's renovated erection abruptly died. This creature, by her own admission, was now teeming with
activated venereal disease!
"I need another load, since that one was wasted on an ineligible receiver," she said. "You're handiest,
since you put me up to it, though it's bound to be anemic so soon after my last collection. Now I don't
mind how I get it—cunt, mouth, hand or whatever—or which form I take it in—male, female,
neuter—"
"You mean you can get it as an incubus, too?" Prior was repelled and fascinated, the one feeding the
force of the other. "And you have a neuter state?"
"Oh yes. Oral collection is invariably effective, and of course there's anal. Some men prefer
neuters—they're like undeveloped young girls or castrates. Tastes vary. Sometimes we have to bugger
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the donor to get him to put out. I can show you—"
"I guess I'll donate in the normal fashion," Prior said quickly. He wasn't anxious to have that eight-inch
member stirring up his twitching colon. He was dead set against buggery, anyway.
"I could suck you off," she said helpfully. "That little marvel of yours makes it easy."
"You'll take it in the pussy or not at all!" he informed her defensively. He didn't normally use lowbrow
terms like that, but her condescending attitude was getting to him. "And not here. Come to my car."
She made another moue and followed him over the sand and across the weedy fringe to the parking lot.
His dime had run out and there was a ticket on his windshield. He had tarried on the beach longer than
originally intended. This ticket was particularly embarrassing, because he was professionally
connected to the parking industry and this would look very bad on on his record. Like a dentist having
a rotten tooth, or a grocery manager confusing the price of beans with that of caviar—though the latter
was not hard to do these days, with the prices rising so fast that beans now went for caviar prices.
"Shit!" he said, employing the basest expletive he knew, wondering if the succubus would be shocked.
"We supernaturals don't have to eat," she said equably, "so we seldom have to defecate. But if that sort
of thing stimulates you—"
"I meant the meter. It stuck a ticket on my car. That's a dollar fine."
"Oh, I can fix that. We fuck up machines all the time. Let me get my ass on it, here—"
"I'll pay the fine!" he cried as she hoisted her skirt and lifted one shapely leg. There were whistles from
a neighboring car. "Leave it alone!"
She shrugged. "It's your dough."
"Just get in the car, why don't you!" Prior was anxious to get away before more of a crowd collected.
He drove her to a private park, certain by this time that he didn't want her at his apartment. She
climbed onto the back seat, got on hands and knees, let her breasts dangle low, bared her bottom, and
he mounted her from behind and jetted somewhat feebly into her upraised aperture. She was still a
luscious hunk of distaff flesh, but he had seen what he had seen, there on the beach, and knew what he
knew, and it shook him up quite apart from the VD threat.
Luscious hunk? As his shrinking penis sucked loose, he realized that she had assumed the neuter form:
breastless, narrow-hipped, hairless. He felt like a pederast. He didn't like pederasty. "Now you're done;
get out," he said shortly.
Chapter Three
After he was rid of her he drove home and took a long morose shower, scrubbing his limp penis
thoroughly. Then he dried under the air-blast and spilled wine-scented shaving lotion on it from glans
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to scrotum, hoping the alcohol would burn off any remaining contamination. It stung like hell, but it
didn't ease his mind much.
He dialed the number of the city VD clinic and asked for a printout on gonorrhea. He read it
completely. This didn't ease his mind, either.
He had to take three happy-pills to get to sleep. And he dreamed... not happily.
He dreamed that five days had passed and the tip of his penis became inflamed. It was red and tender,
at first causing irregular erections, then actual pain. When he urinated there was such intense smarting
that he could not tolerate more than a few drops at a time—but there seemed to be gallons in his
bladder, and they had to pour out. Then pus choked the conduit, popping out in grisly lumps when the
frothing urine finally blasted its way through. The agony was hellish. There was brown blood in it
now.
The pus lasted for three months, causing him to stand at the toilet for half an hour at a time without
performing, then soiling his pants when he walked away with bursting bladder. He wet his bed at
night, hardly noticing because of the other agony, and his constantly soaked buttocks and scrotum
began to feel raw, too. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't work because of the viper's nest of pain
in his groin. Then the inflammation began to spread.
It covered his bladder and his kidneys and his rectum, making every facet of elimination a continual
torture. It invaded his prostate, his testes, his epididymis, rendering him sterile several times over, the
hard way. Then it advanced to his mouth, interfering with eating, and his bones and joints, giving him
arthritis. It infiltrated the lining of his body cavity and the valves of his heart. It poisoned his blood. It
infected his eyes, making him painfully blind. Finally it penetrated to the membranes lining his spinal
cord and the brain itself, and he knew he felt the onset of paralysis and insanity.
About then he woke up in sweat so copious he could not be certain it wasn't urine, and remembered
that gonorrhea was not the worst of the venereal diseases.
It was Monday, the beginning of his four-day working week. Prior was a parking lot surveyor—the
reason he had been so put out about being ticketed himself. He used a laser theodolite to resurvey
parking lots and make sure their dimensions were within tolerance. Unscrupulous operators—and that
meant all of them—tried to shave the size of individual spaces and the access lanes, and could get ugly
when called to account. The worse the offense, the uglier they got. Some threatened him, not realizing
that one of the spare lenses he carried was in fact a laser pistol. Some offered him money, not realizing
that his theodolite was irrevocably bugged; they were soon out of business, and he was permitted to
keep the money as a gratuity for his cooperation. He liked getting bribed, except when they used
counterfeit bills. Others sent attractive young sexy parking attendants to reason with him in some
remarkably convenient bedroom-like office—not realizing that his penis was less than four inches
long, erect, and he was sensitive about exposing it before strangers. As his bastard boss well knew; that
was why Prior had been hired over more qualified applicants for the position. Some liabilities tended
to make men honest...
All week, as he measured and noted and punched out deficiency reports and accepted bribes and
fended off solicitous sex-pots, his mind was on his penis. It probably required the deficiency report,
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PornucopiabyPiersAnthonyPiersAnthonyPornucopiaCONTENTSPartI:SmegmaPartII:ProsthesisPartIII:CherryTreePartIV:DildoChapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：120 页 大小：335.58KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-14

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