Pornucopia

by Piers Anthony

  He made it without trouble. “Back already?” Oubliette inquired. She didn't seem crowded or busy—but who was he to question her? Maybe she had simply felt he needed the kind of education provided by the Eggers.

  “I brought you an egg. Eeg."

  “An eeg!” she gasped. “Prior—you didn't steal it?"

  “I'm no thief. More'n I can say for some people,” he said, thinking of Tantamount and his bygone penis. “Clucker and Plymouth Rock sent it to you as a gift. It's pipping."

  “Oh!” Hastily she brought a nest. “Lay it before it hatches! You're too young and innocent to die like that."

  What shook him was the fact that she was perfectly serious. Prior squatted over the box and strained, not really caring that she was watching. She'd seen his crotch before—hell, she'd operated on it.

  The eeg, funneled well up his large intestine, refused to come down on demand. Oubliette poked her finger well up his tract but couldn't reach it, though the act did start a throb in him that would have been a hard-on in other circumstances.

  “We can't wait,” she said, alarmed, and he believed her. She brought a tube and inserted it into his rectum, driving it deep. He wondered whether this was what a woman felt like during intercourse, as the male member probed her vestibule. Then the warm bubbly water gushed into his colon, bloating him, and he wondered again. The sensation wasn't half bad, actually. She must have put something into the enema-rinse to relax his innards.

  She brought a metal potty and aimed him at it. “Push it all out,” she said urgently. “I'll catch the eeg."

  Prior strained. A jet of pale brown water shot out, splashing against her fingers. She had her hand right there, caging his anus, to make sure the eeg didn't slip by her and shatter in the pot.

  Prior pushed and pushed, and the water squirted down endlessly, filling the pot and splashing Oubliette's hand, arm, bosom and face, but the eeg didn't come. Finally he trickled to a halt, unsuccessfully drained.

  Well, not entirely unsuccessfully, he noted as he examined the container. There were several mangled chunks of fecal matter that had evidently been caught and sifted through her fingers along with the fluid. The smell was about normal for the situation.

  “It's too far back,” she said. “We have to get it out quickly. I may have to operate."

  Prior looked at her brown-stained hands and arms. He didn't like the sound of that. “It's up here somewhere,” he said, touching his abdomen.

  “Let me see.” She threw back his shirt and probed his belly, feeling for the solid egg. “Yes, here it is! Maybe I can work it down."

  She pressed and pulled at his gut, squeezing at the object within it. Prior contented himself with studying her flexing cleavage as her arms worked. If he had a penis, she'd be almost in position to suck it now, he thought wryly.

  “I have it down some, but not enough,” she said. “Maybe I could reach it with forceps—"

  “Another enema might carry it down, now,” he suggested quickly. He certainly could do without hard metal forceps wrenching around within the tender folds of his intestine.

  “Well—perhaps a thorough one,” she decided. “But if this doesn't do it—"

  “It will do it!” he said prayerfully.

  She fetched a longer, larger tube and about twice as much water as before. “Lie back—I want this all in there without leakage."

  Prior lay on his back, knees lifted, while she screwed him again with the spurting tube. This water was cool, and it pumped in interminably, chilling him from the inside out. This time he didn't just feel bloated, he was bloated; he could see the bulge of his abdomen, and knew that his insides were being shoved around by the ruthless torrent of water. As the bodies of succubus and satyr had been distended by their exchanged bolus of ejaculate. Just so long as none of his piping sprung a leak.

  It became urgent that he squirt it out again, but she used her knees to press his buttocks together and seal off the leakage around the outside of the hose. She kept pouring in more water, holding the feeder-tube as high in the air as she could to increase the pressure. It felt as though there were three gallons inside him already, yet still it came, distending every conduit available within his torso. Now it was more than bloat; it was agony.

  “Close it up!” she said at last, hauling out the hose and ramming his legs tightly together. His sphincter barely cooperated; the dike was about to burst. “I'm going to maneuver the eeg down while the water lends support."

  Prior struggled and sweated and finally managed to constrict his protesting anus so that only a trickle of fluid emerged, though his whole urge was to let fly. He had never labored so hard at anything in his life before; the cold liquid seemed like a solid battering ram as it hammered at that puckered portal with every breath he took. Part of the urgency was sexual—except that now the desire to fuck was as nothing compared to the plain need to shit!

  Oubliette probed his gut again, kneading his belly, and Prior almost blasted a liquid round from his rectum. She worked the eeg around and down; he could feel its sloshy progress as the hydraulic pressure translated directly to his anus.

  “It'll come now!” he gasped. “It'll come. Let me at that pot before I explode!"

  Slimy fluid was already dribbling down his legs as he got into position. “Ready?” he panted.

  “Ready,” she said, squatting behind him and cupping both hands under his tense nether orifice.

  He let fly. Water blasted against her hands and sprayed across the room in a steady torrent. It was like letting the air out of a balloon: he deflated visibly as he pressed that column of water out. He imagined that there was a phallus attached to his anus, and this was the world's champion ejaculation, coming and coming ... and he felt a genuine orgasm coming on.

  The pot filled and overflowed, but still he jetted. Then the flow diminished, hesitated; his imaginary penis grew climactically hard, and—

  In a spurt of yellow juice and a transcendent orgasm he laid it: a sparkling, rapidly-pipping ovoid. Oubliette caught it with a little shriek of delight and held it gingerly. “Whew!” she sighed rapturously as the fury of Prior's anal climax abated.

  There was more water to shit, but the impelling need to evacuate was gone. He slacked off like a spent thunderstorm and stood up, shaking his dripping legs. He looked at her.

  Oubliette was spattered from eyelash to toenail with pale brown or yellow dye. Her clothing was dripping, and a marble-sized turd was lodged in the cleavage of her hair-halter. She stank of shit, but she was oblivious to that. She held the eeg-egg close, cooing at it while fecal fluid dripped from her pert nose and made her lush breasts glisten.

  It seemed she appreciated the gift of the Eggers.

  But they had labored prematurely, however effectively. It was a good ten hours before the eeg hatched, and by that time Prior was back under the knife.

  Chapter 15—Eeg

  He woke. This time he found solidity at his crotch. Not a penis—a base structure, part flesh and part plastic. The region around it hurt, of course, but he took this as a sign that the nerves were still functioning. Nerves that could bring as much pleasure as pain, when the occasion presented. To this ugly sub-structure would attach the penis proper—and he hoped fervently that it would perform as specified. It had, he thought with a half-bitter internal smile, been a real pain in the ass to get this far.

  “One more procedure will do it,” Oubliette announced briskly, looking amazingly clean and chaste and smelling the same. She was a marvel! One would think shit had never come within a mile of her person. “Come see my little eeg.”

  She already had a special enclosure for it. The eeg/egg had indeed hatched, and in the warm nursery toddled the eegling. It looked a little like a griffin and a little like a goblin, but more like a walking phallus with priapism: a perpetual erection.

  “I don't see any mouth under that beak,” Prior remarked. “How does it eat?"

  “It's demonic,” she explained. “It doesn't eat."


  “Well then, how's it going to grow? I mean—"

  “That's a hell-lamp,” she said, gesturing to what looked like a complex sun-lamp. “The radiation gives it all the energy it needs. Demons are creatures of hellfire, pretty much."

  “I guess so.” He shook his head dubiously. “What does it do, when it grows up?” He was glad the thing hadn't hatched in his colon, for it had snaggle-teeth (despite the absence of a mouth) and wickedly hooked beak and saber claws and spiked tail and barbed wings. Not to consider its supremely massive (proportionately) phallus.

  “It fornicates,” she said.

  Ask a silly question...

  The next operation was minor. In fact it was not an operation at all, but a series of intricate tests. Oubliette connected his stub to a computer input and manipulated dials and settings and made what he presumed were significant readings. Sometimes he felt twinges in his crotch, sometimes irritation, and finally a testicle-bursting smash of erotic convulsion.

  “Tests out well,” she announced as he stopped thrusting. “We'll give it another day to set, then we'll run it through some practice exercises."

  Prior was getting tired of surgery and testing. “When do I get my penis?"

  She merely smiled obliquely and went to attend to her next client. He had to satisfy himself with watching the eegling sporting in its enclosure. Oubliette had given the thing a bit of Swiss cheese, and instead of eating it the eegling rammed its comparatively monstrous member into the holes and sawed away with indefatigable vigor. It never ejaculated, but of course it was only a couple of days old. Prior imagined that there would be copious ejaculate by the time it attained its full growth—and if it became man-sized, its phallus would be about two feet long. But he didn't see what there was about the ugly little demon that was worth over a thousand dollars for shipping charges alone.

  Chapter 16—Practice

  The practical exercises, when they came, were well worth the wait. Oubliette opened a sealed package and lifted out a limber three-inch artificial penis. Three short stiff prongs emerged from its base. She aligned it and plugged it into his genital socket. “You lock it on this way,” she said, giving it a twist and snap. “Reverse the motion to remove it. You'll get the hang of it with practice."

  “I don't feel anything,” Prior complained, eyeing the dangle. Had he gone through all this, just to wind up with a member even smaller than his original?

  “This unit is factory fresh. It hasn't been activated. Here.” She ran her finger under its glans.

  There was a pop! and sensation coursed into his groin. The organ quivered.

  “Now to test it,” she said matter-of-factly.

  She began to manipulate the organ by hand, paying special attention to its sensitive tip. Prior felt the stimulus, but the member remained flaccid. She put her lips to the glans. Still no physical reaction, though the sensation was enough to make cooked macaroni stand stiff.

  “Something's wrong,” she said, brow furrowing attractively. She wrenched the organ about, giving Prior a shock of agony. Then the lock released and the penis came loose.

  Oubliette inspected it closely. “No wonder! The artery profunda penis is blocked. You couldn't pump any blood into the erectile tissue. Darned sloppy quality control at the penis plant these days."

  “You mean the thing can't get stiff?” he asked, disappointed.

  “It will stiffen after I adjust it, or I'll have its head,” she said confidently. She reamed it with an instrument resembling a pipe cleaner. “Remember, when you change members ordinarily, do it in the flaccid state. Otherwise you'll lose blood, and it could be messy and embarrassing."

  “The valve cutoff doesn't work?"

  “No trouble there. But in the erect state the member is engorged with your blood. If you remove it before that fluid reenters your body—"

  “Oh.” He saw the problem. “Why would anyone want to remove an erect penis?"

  “Sometimes there are emergencies. Or a client changes his mind during a performance."

  “Hm.” The possibilities were intriguing.

  She reconnected the reamed member, locked it, and resumed stimulation. This time it swelled magnificently in her hand. At full elevation it had doubled its limp state: six inches long and perfectly formed.

  Prior stared at it, bemused. He had never had a strapping lout like that between his legs before. It was like winning a sexual sweepstakes.

  “Well, the proof of the pudenda,” Oubliette murmured approvingly. She dropped her skirt.

  Yes, indeed! Prior was suddenly so excited that he skipped the amenities. He bent her back over the work table and thrust his capacious member at her sweet cleft. It bounced off harmlessly. “Oops-forgot to allow for those two extra inches,” he said, not particularly displeased. It reminded him of those bygone ads about the extra long cigarette and all the attendant disadvantages. Cigarettes, of course, were phallic representations; that was why so many people got hooked on sucking them, and liked them long and strong. Two extra inches were well worth some inconvenience.

  Oubliette just smiled tolerantly. Obviously she had been through this sort of fumbling before.

  Prior oriented more carefully and found the slot. As his big handsome glans nudged into her shaven slit he felt the pulsing warmth of her. He worked the tip of the member inside, finding the channel moist and slick, savoring every aspect. He was going to do big things with this big cock! He was really going to go to town! This clever female doctor was going to get a proper workout!

  And as he forced the sensitive first inch into her luxurious and educated vagina—he came.

  “Damn!” he wailed, but it was too late. The pump had started, and it would not desist until the entire cow had been milked, the pipe cleared. His angle was wrong, so that he could not penetrate more than that inch while the cream spurted. What an opportunity wasted!

  “Slight over-sensitivity there,” Oubliette commented professionally, applying absorbent tissue as the member dropped away. “I'll detune it for you."

  “No-no, I like it that way!” he protested despite his chagrin. “I'll get used to it. I always shoot off early when I haven't had a—when I haven't done this for a while."

  “As you wish,” she said with a suggestion of medical disapproval. “This unit seems to be fully functional, in other respects, and the foundation seems adequate. But we should try a reasonable selection."

  She twisted the flaccid member so that it snapped off. Some blood dripped from its base, giving him a shock until he realized that even a detumescent organ would have some stuffing in it, particularly after use. At least the automatic seal on the base structure was functioning; nothing leaked from his body. There was evidently some very nice technology involved.

  Oubliette washed off the unit at the tap, shook it dry, wrapped it in gauze and replaced it in its box. “These should be cleaned regularly, of course,” she said. “And boiled in a salt solution once a week if used regularly. The prosthetic is never quite as convenient as nature's original."

  That was an inconvenience he would gladly accept. Despite the prematurity of his ejaculation, the experience had been memorable. Six inches erect! It was like a wrestling championship, a bowling award, a grand prize in anything—and look whom he had wrestled with, look what he had bowled over!

  She opened another box. “Now this is one of our most popular numbers,” she murmured in sales-clerk tones as she broke the seal. She hauled forth a four-inch dangle and attached it. “Try it erect."

  “But I just—I mean, twice in a row? I never—"

  She removed her hair-halter and showed her fine bosom unadorned.

  Prior's new penis climbed invisible stairs. At the upper deck it stood: a proud eight inches, slender but strong. He looked down at it amazed and fundamentally gratified. This doubled his best natural erection. He felt lightheaded; could all the blood have gone into the member, lowering his blood pressure elsewhere? A trifling inconvenience!

  “Sometimes a substituti
on of units restores potency quite promptly,” Oubliette remarked casually.

  “I think your breasts had more to do with it."

  “Oh? They're prosthetic, of course."

  “Prosthetic!” His erection wavered and threatened to collapse.

  “My little joke,” she said quickly. “I grew these naturally. See for yourself."

  He saw for himself, with hands and eyes. His hard-on became mighty indeed.

  “But it really shouldn't make any difference,” she said with medical detachment. “Your prosthetic penis is as serviceable and esthetic as the natural one, and prosthetic breasts would be the same. I have a professional friend, Bovinia, who specializes in such procedure."

  “Women want larger breasts?” he inquired, intrigued.

  “Many do. But her main business is replacing injured mammaries—ones that have been beaten or bitten beyond repair—"

  “Beaten or bitten! What sadist would do a thing like that?"

  “Not necessarily sadism. Merely overly enthusiastic love-play. And some are lost through cancer, even today. Then of course she has a fair trade in the gay community."

  “Men? Men with breasts?” Suddenly he remembered the last statue on the route to the Egglayers.

  “Certainly. Bovinia and I exchange referrals. When a couple wants to change over, I take care of the penis for her, and Bovinia handles the mammaries for him."

  “And they actually work?"

  “Well the ejaculate isn't potent and the breasts can't be used for actual nursing, but apart from that—"

  “Yeah” he said, dazed. If the other doctor's breasts were as good as Oubliette's penises, no client should have a complaint.

  Yet it didn't seem the same. His prosthetic member was big and handsome and potent, but it wasn't him.

  “We might be more comfortable on the bed,” she hinted.

  They were. A cubicle adjacent to the laboratory had a firm bunk offset by large wall-mounted mirrors. It was ideal.

  Prior spread her out on her back and lifted her long lithe legs so that her cleft parted. He kneeled appropriately and wrestled his member down to nuzzle the dark opening. This time the angle was correct, and the curved head pressed between the pink lips and slid inside without obstruction. He watched in the mirror as the long shaft disappeared: two inches, three, four. Probably his own previous ejaculation provided the lubrication, for this was almost too easy.