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!
His legs felt cramped, and he had to pause in place to straighten them out. He braced his arms against her thighs, keeping her legs elevated, and leaned into his chore. Another inch entered, and another.
The Eggers had been correct about Oubliette being bottomless. Six inches deep, and he hadn't met resistance yet. Seven.
Finally his loins met hers, pubic bone grinding against pubic bone, and the mirrors were useless. That was the trouble with mirrors, as with pictures—a complete entry showed nothing! Cartoons always showed the cock half-cocked, with only a couple inches submerged, so that it was quite clear that fornication was occurring, but who in real life ever stopped there? (Except for the dolt who climaxed at that stage; he could think of one of those, alas.) If he wanted a picture, maybe some kind of X-ray photography, that showed a solid penis.... no, the X-rays would pass through the penis too; it just didn't seem feasible. Only Superman had X-ray vision that showed things X-rays did not, because Superman was a fantasy. Sex, unless carefully posed, was inherently private, for purely physical reasons. Unfortunately.
Meanwhile he had a situation here. Oubliette had absorbed all his eight inches without complaint! What good was it to double his phallic size, if he still couldn't touch bottom? Also, his first performance, truncated as it had been, slowed this one down considerably. He wasn't close to coming.
Then her interior muscles began to operate. She squeezed his organ, kneaded it, milked it, without laying a hand on it. Prior had never experienced the like! Peristaltic ripples traveled up and down her slick canal. Pressure, suction, pressure, suction, squeeze and draw and stroke—and before he knew it he was spewing his essence with an imperative abandon he had never experienced before. It did not seem to be dulled because it was the second; rather it seemed to reach farther into the roots of him, extracting pleasure from hitherto untapped springs.
She let him subside inside her, and that was another kind of bliss. "Yes, I'd say the operation was a success. No doubt your technique will improve with practice."
Prior didn't answer. He had thought he had done a bang-up job, but evidently he operated in a lesser league. Oubliette must have been screwed by experts.
"Now," she said briskly, "for the next exercise—"
"You're joking! I never came twice that soon in my life before. The orange has been squeezed dry."
But she had little patience with excuses. "This one is special. It's prehensile."
"Come again?"
"You will, you will. And this time I will too, and we can call it a
"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!
His legs felt cramped, and he had to pause in place to straighten them out. He braced his arms against her thighs, keeping her legs elevated, and leaned into his chore. Another inch entered, and another.
The Eggers had been correct about Oubliette being bottomless. Six inches deep, and he hadn't met resistance yet. Seven.
Finally his loins met hers, pubic bone grinding against pubic bone, and the mirrors were useless. That was the trouble with mirrors, as with pictures—a complete entry showed nothing! Cartoons always showed the cock half-cocked, with only a couple inches submerged, so that it was quite clear that fornication was occurring, but who in real life ever stopped there? (Except for the dolt who climaxed at that stage; he could think of one of those, alas.) If he wanted a picture, maybe some kind of X-ray photography, that showed a solid penis.... no, the X-rays would pass through the penis too; it just didn't seem feasible. Only Superman had X-ray vision that showed things X-rays did not, because Superman was a fantasy. Sex, unless carefully posed, was inherently private, for purely physical reasons. Unfortunately.
Meanwhile he had a situation here. Oubliette had absorbed all his eight inches without complaint! What good was it to double his phallic size, if he still couldn't touch bottom? Also, his first performance, truncated as it had been, slowed this one down considerably. He wasn't close to coming.
Then her interior muscles began to operate. She squeezed his organ, kneaded it, milked it, without laying a hand on it. Prior had never experienced the like! Peristaltic ripples traveled up and down her slick canal. Pressure, suction, pressure, suction, squeeze and draw and stroke—and before he knew it he was spewing his essence with an imperative abandon he had never experienced before. It did not seem to be dulled because it was the second; rather it seemed to reach farther into the roots of him, extracting pleasure from hitherto untapped springs.
She let him subside inside her, and that was another kind of bliss. "Yes, I'd say the operation was a success. No doubt your technique will improve with practice."
Prior didn't answer. He had thought he had done a bang-up job, but evidently he operated in a lesser league. Oubliette must have been screwed by experts.
"Now," she said briskly, "for the next exercise—"
"You're joking! I never came twice that soon in my life before. The orange has been squeezed dry."
But she had little patience with excuses. "This one is special. It's prehensile."
"Come again?"
"You will, you will. And this time I will too, and we can call it a
Similar Books
