Cautionary Tales by Piers Anthony Page B

fascinated. The way she held the ball inside suggested that she had good tight closure. How would that feel around his penis?
    â€œI am having sex with my toy.”
    â€œYes.” Oh to be such a toy!
    She put her hand down, tensed her belly, and the ball squeezed out. “Now it is your turn.”
    â€œMy turn?” His member was drooling.
    â€œGet on your hands and knees.”
    Bemused, mystified, still tautly erect, he obliged.
    She stood behind him. She put her hand to her slick cleft, wetting it, then put it to his rectum, wetting it in turn. She poked her finger in, lubricating it inside. He was afraid he was about to jet onto the turf. “Now relax,” she said.
    â€œI can’t relax!” he protested.
    â€œWhere it counts.” She pressed the moist ball to his anus.
    Oh. He obeyed, unable to deny her. She worked the ball around and in slowly as his sphincter relaxed. In due course the object passed the constriction and slid further in.
    â€œNow close on it,” she said. “As I did.”
    He clenched his rectum, feeling the ball slide further in. He had never before experienced such penetration, but it excited him ever further.
    â€œIt was in me,” she said. “Now it is in you.”
    â€œIn me,” he agreed, awed.
    â€œStand.”
    He got to his feet, standing in more than one sense.
    She stepped into him, lifting one leg, guiding his turgid member. “Thrust,” she said. She lifted her face to kiss him.
    Nature guided him. He put his arms about her, holding her close, and thrust. He climaxed instantly, explosively. He had never done it with a woman before, but knew that this was a supremely potent effort. He spurted repeatedly, and felt her clenching in her own orgasm, matching him. It pleased him that she was as turned on as he.
    Then somehow they were on the turf, embraced. “Well done, Jack,” she said. “You were an agent of my ball. I have not violated the forms, merely found another application for my sex toy.”
    â€œI’m a sex toy,” he gasped. Somehow it made sense: she had put the ball in herself, then in him, and the ball had sought to enter her again, with him carrying it. So she had not committed adultery. Not exactly.
    â€œNow I need to recover my ball,” she said. “Spit it out.”
    He tried, but the thing was now in him too deeply. It wouldn’t come. His violent orgasm must have shifted it upstream, as it were. “I can’t.”
    â€œThen I must help. Hands and knees.”
    He assumed the position. She stood, pulled the head off one of her clubs, inserted it deeply into her well-lubricated vagina, rotated it, and brought it out dripping. Then she inserted it carefully into his rectum. He feared it would poke him painfully, but it seemed soft, almost flexible. It twisted around, probing deeper.
    â€œThere,” she said, as there was a click.
    â€œThere?” he asked.
    â€œIt found the ball and fastened on it. Now hold steady as I draw it out.”
    He remained in place, while she drew on the shaft. He felt the ball moving. It pushed by the prostate, stirring his penis back into erection despite its recent performance. It came up against the sphincter, then squeezed through and out.
    There was the ball, hanging from a thick cord. How had that gotten in there?
    â€œFlexible shaft,” the Queen explained. “Firm when I want it, limber when I need it.” She shook it, and it snapped firm, then went limp again.
    Well, she was the Queen of Clubs. She could make them do her bidding.
    Jack got back to his feet, his erection resurgent. The Queen noticed. “Poor boy! I worked you up again, didn’t I!”
    â€œYes,” he said, half ashamed.
    â€œThen we had better fix it. I’m no tease. Down again.”
    He got back down on hands and knees, and she worked the ball back into his rectum. It remained attached to the cord; he could feel the drag, and saw