The Magic Fart (16 page)

‘This may seem inopportune,’ Al said. ‘But there’s something about you. Would it be too much to ask if—’ This was the test. What did she have to lose? ‘Welcome, both of you.’ Suddenly she was on the bed with them, and Al was kissing her mouth and fondling her breasts while Bo was squeezing her buttocks and tonguing her cleft. Then Al’s rigid penis was in her mouth while Bo’s was plunging her vagina. They tried to be gentle, but were overcome by passion. They jetted almost simultaneously.

Desiree swallowed the coursing fluid, and rocked with the force of the eruptions. Her question had been answered: she had potent sex appeal.

The boys were embarrassed as they subsided. ‘We’ve never been like this before,’ Al said. ‘I don’t know what got into us.’

‘I do,’ Desiree said, satisfied. Innate caution caused her to avoid the truth. ‘You just never saw me nude before.’

‘We thought you were, well, plain,’ Bo said. ‘No offense. This was amaz ing.’ ‘Just my luck to get caught in the rain. I’d better go home now.’ ‘Of course,’ Al said. ‘But now that we know the real you, we’d like to—’ ‘How about formal dates with each of you, on alternate nights?’ They agreed. Soon she was on her way home, in borrowed dry clothing, carrying her wet things. She was well pleased with her supposed curse. Now she had two nice boyfriends.

But as she settled down to sleep in the evening, it occurred to her that it could be awkward at her job, where there were four men for every woman. Could she turn off the sex appeal? Would baggy clothing mask it? Or would she be stuck trying to fend off married men, including her boss?

Well, she would worry about that in the morning. She drew he sheet over her and dropped off to sleep.

She woke in alarm. There was a man in bed with her! Or something. He was trying to rape her.

She turned on the light. She stared. The sheet was squeezing her breasts, and part of it had somehow gotten wadded around her hairbrush, and the wrapped handle was pushing into her cleft. She realized with horror that she had so much sex appeal that the very things of her bedroom wanted to have sex with her. It was indeed a curse; how could she sleep if she couldn’t trust even the sheets to leave her alone?

Veil paused in her narration. The man’s penis had swelled in her hand with each recounted sexual episode, and was now fully hard. She sat up and mounted him, setting his member at her cleft.

The man looked at her, remembering where he was. And his penis shrank. Sex became impossible. “Damn!” he said, blowing out a foul stench. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. You were potent only when you forgot you

were with a woman.” “True. But you got farther than any other woman has. You could tell me

other stories, and perhaps in time it would become possible.” “Perhaps,” she agreed. But she was afraid it was a lost cause. The next man was a callow youth with a dirty neck. How clean would he be where it didn’t show? “I got two friends,” he said, farting politely. “We do everything together. We swore never to let a woman break us up. So we figure to do it together. One for the mouth, one for the cunt, one for the asshole, blasting off together if we can. Between times you can scrub the floor, cook the mush, wash the sheets—you know, what women do. You understand?”

“Perfectly,” she said. She had described two young men having simulta neous sex with one woman; this trio planned to go it one better, stretching all her orifices at once with their unclean instruments. She’d be better off with the impotent man.

One day remained, with one more man to qualify. She hoped he turned out to be a better prospect.

Chapter 13—Tower

Prior woke with one hand on Smellie’s breast. He wasn’t sure whether it was accident, or he had been feeling her in his sleep, or she had placed it there. It didn’t matter; it was nice. He rolled over, kissed the breast, and then her mouth. “It’s been great,” he said. “The greatest,” she agreed. “You’ve done so much for me.” “But do you want the last thing?” “Yes. I have decided.” “You will be blind for a few hours, and you’ll have to keep your face

bandaged for days.” “I’m ready. Do it now.” She put two breathing straws in her nostrils and

lay with her eyes closed. He straddled her on hands and knees, his rear aimed at her head. The Spire issued an almost liquid fart that settled across her face and around the straws. That was all; Prior, prompted by the Spire, moved away.

Her face was melting. It looked like a wad of taffy with two straws poking out. It was awful.

LEAVE HER,
the Spire gouted.
SHE WILL BE UNCONSCIOUS FOR SEVERAL HOURS, THEN HER FEATURES WILL FIRM ENOUGH SO SHE CAN REMOVE THE STRAWS. ALL WILL BE WELL; SHE KNOWS WHAT TO DO. IN TIME SHE WILL BE BEAUTIFUL.

Prior hoped so. He dressed, ate, and quietly departed. At least this abated any sticky farewell scene.

He made his way to the fart balloon. It was being filled by several men with so much intestinal gas the hiss of it was continuous.

A woman arrived. There was a provocative flirt to her hips as she walked; that, more than her pretty face, identified her. She was the winner of the seduction contest, who had made a penis spurt without touching it.

“Ah, the fart champion,” she said, recognizing him. “We are to be travel mates. May the farts be with you.” She let out a ladylike fart. “We are?” he asked, surprised, as the Spire loosed a courteous response

fart. “Travel mates?” “I have kin in Maid-in-Tower Village, so I’m taking advantage of the

transport there. I’m sure you won’t mind.” Prior wasn’t eager for such a distraction. “I, uh—” “I promise to entertain you on high,” she said, taking a little dance-like step that compelled his attention. “I am Seducia, mistress of masters.” She farted again, with more authority, and removed her jacket so as to bare her breasts.

Nevertheless, he was determined to resist her blandishments, because he wanted to be at full potency for the Tower contest on the following day. It was bad enough to have to tangle with demons, without doing so depleted. “I am Micro, master of not much,” he responded, and the Spire issued a social fart that smelled of honeysuckle.

Soon the balloon was full of gas. They boarded and it was cut loose. It floated into the sky.

“But how does it steer?” Prior asked, alarmed, for there was no visible mechanism.

“The wind takes it, silly,” Seducia said, laughing. “The trip is timed for the correct direction.” She farted humorously.

“Live and learn,” Prior said, and the Spire let fly with a two note tweedle fart.

“Oh, you are good,” Seducia said admiringly. “As we saw yesterday. You came from nowhere, but you farted in masterly fashion.” She glanced sidelong at him. “Shall we proceed?” “Uh—” She shook her midsection, causing her short skirt to flounce up, flashing her bare bottom as her breasts bounced jigglesomely. “I don’t really know a man until I have had him in me,” she said. “But it’s more sporting if I make him spurt untouched.”

“I saw, yesterday,” Prior agreed, not wanting to admit that she had al ready roused his erection.

“But you have to bare your member,” she said. “For fair play. I don’t like working blind.”

“I’d really rather see the sights,” Prior said desperately, looking out from the basket to the landscape drifting by below.

“I’m trying to show them to you,” she said reprovingly, with another evocative flip of her bottom. “Are you gay?” “No. I just—have a challenge coming up.” “You’re competing for the Maiden in the Tower!” she exclaimed. “Uh, yes.” “Why? With your superior farts, you can win any woman you want. Me, even, for today. Why risk your health fighting the guardian demons? A fellow can get his ass reamed for keeps that way.” “I—I just need to do it,” he said lamely. “Now you have intrigued my feminine curiosity. First I’ll make you spurt untouched, then I’ll weasel out your secret. It’s a double challenge. But we’ll have to establish the rules of the game. Both naked, of course.”

“I don’t want a game,” Prior protested. “I just want to get where I’m going.” “You’re not from Fartingale, are you,” she said. “I’m from another country,” he agreed. “I followed the statues to get

here.” She nodded. “So you surely have motivation. I understand those stat

ues can be demanding.” “Yes.” He saw a cluster of houses surrounded by fields. Maybe he

could change the subject. “What’s that village?” “Take off your clothes and I’ll tell you.” He kept his eyes off her. “You’re really determined, aren’t you.” “Yes. It’s a challenge.” And she would keep after him until she got her way. He doffed his

clothes and stood with his moderately rigid erection. “This is the village of Shit-for-Brains,” she said. “You’re kidding!” “By no means. All the villages of Fartingale have descriptive names.

Didn’t you notice Nude-on-Toilet, with its coed privy seats?” “Uh, yes. I guess I didn’t think about it.” “You seemed to adapt pretty well to the local scene, quick-sticking Smellie

when I did my act. How come you picked her to shit beside?” She had seen that? “She’s honest.” That set her back for a moment. “Good point. You’re smarter than I thought. Most men can’t see far past a girl’s face and figure. Smellie deserves better than she’s had.” “She’ll have better in future.” “That’s nice. But now you’re with me.” “I didn’t choose to be. I’m just trying to travel.” “And I’m your travel mate.” She glanced again at the village. “Shit-forBrains specializes in quality manure that grows plants that are said to clarify the mind. There’s not a huge market for that, compared to farting stimulants, but it does well enough.” “That explains the pile of turds in the center.” “Yes, that’s their statue. It has a carefully cultivated odor.” Just then a whiff of it came. “What a stench!” “The stenchiest,” she agreed. “The villagers believe it makes them smart.” Suddenly Prior felt an urgent need to defecate. “Is there a—a potty on

board?” Seducia laughed. “Of course not. Just do it over the side. The smell is conducive, by no coincidence. It is considered good luck if you can score directly on the statue.” “You’re fooling.” “Hardly. Hold me while I drop one.” She got up on the rail, and he held her arms while she poked her bare bottom out and squeezed out a ladylike turd. Her position was such that he had the best possible view of her dangling breasts and flexed thighs, which were not far above his standing penis. “Now I’ll hold you,” she said. He didn’t argue; he was about to let loose regardless. He got his balance, buttressed by her lock on his shoulders, and spewed out a string of loose turds, powered by considerable gas. They sailed gracefully down toward the ground, but missed the statue; the craft had already passed it. There was no urine; his hard erection prevented that. “Uh, thanks,” he said as he finished.

“Welcome. Folk who poop together, whoop together. We have now shared shit.” She blew out a short fart as punctuation as she drew her remarkable breasts away from his face.

And that, in this culture, was romantic. He was coming to appreciate it. After all, how realistic was it to think that women had neither gas nor feces? This culture celebrated every part and function, without illusion or hypocrisy.

The balloon moved on across field, river, and forest. “That’s the Rootin Tootin River,” Seducia said. “One sip of that bubbly water and you’re ready to inflate a dirigible. And the Feculent Forest, of which it has been justly said you haven’t truly known feces until you’ve trodden there.” The river was brownish, and the forest from this height looked like mold on manure.

Beyond the forest was another village, featuring a giant yellow fountain. “And that is?” “Look at me and I’ll tell you.” She was playing her game. He looked at her, and she did her dance while she talked. Any faint notion his penis might have had about subsiding was banished. “That is Piss-on-It, where they hold regular pissing contests.” “I thought those could be done anywhere.” “They can, and are, just like the farting parties. But for championship pissing, Piss-on-It is the place. They have divisions for distance, volume, color, and I’m not sure what else, and prizes galore. There’s a story that once a thatch hut caught on fire, and there was no water near to put it out, but their champion pisser unlimbered his hose and pissed so powerfully that he put it out alone.” “Didn’t it stink up the premises?” “The whole village stinks of piss, so they never noticed.”

The balloon drifted on by another village. This one had a huge statue of a woman lying with bare legs spread wide. There seemed to be activity in the vicinity of her crotch. “And that is—?” “Look at me.” He looked. She intensified her dance, moving close to him but never quite touching. Such was her allure that his penis got overstressed and jetted its load into the air.

Seducia smiled, flush with victory, as she caught the flying fluid in her cupped hands and spread it on her thighs like lotion. “That is Fuck-It, where they raise and train the fucking demons for export.”

“Copulating demons?” he asked nervously as his penis dribbled the last of its content and descended, untouched. He had encountered some of those demons in his day.

“They are very popular. Plain women buy the males and use them as indefatigable lovers. Men buy the females and share them with their friends. They are programmed for a set number of fucks before they have to be returned for refurbishing. Maid-in-Tower uses them as challenges for the contestants; didn’t you know?”

The Spire had mentioned it, but it had slipped his mind. “I’ll have to seduce a demoness to get into the tower.”

“Correction: you’ll have to make her climax. If you do it wrong, she’ll run her tongue up your ass and pump your prostate until it’s prostrate. So you don’t want to have your orgasm first; she’ll make you sorry. I’m really doing you a favor by harvesting your jism now.” That was one way of putting it. “Uh, thanks.” “Their main office is in the statue’s cunt,” she continued, looking down at the village. “You can see the people going in and out. Every evening they haul up a huge hard-on shaped battering ram and give the goddess a good fucking. It is thought that bad luck will fall on the village if they don’t satisfy her. You can hear the whomping for miles around.”