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.