Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (50 page)

She had to admit the men were just as
desperate, though. They had no choice but to try their luck at
spin-the-grin if they wanted satisfaction. Most of the machines
were filled with guys trying to get lucky with their own women,
willing to accept the probability that she would catch another
man’s spray and he would go home with an erection. Whatever
happened, the Dowser extracted all the unclaimed joy to the
advantage of his Club.

The crowd whooped in
jubilation as Manassa let a cute server with long black hair suck a
nipple, and Emma felt a surge of envy, suddenly mad to see
someone
come. Ione was
grinning meaninglessly, up for anything.

She reached out and pinched Emma’s nipple
clamps, hard.

“
Cunt!” she sputtered as the
others laughed. Emma felt eyes everywhere center on her chest.
“How’d you know about that?”

“
Dean told,” Mark grinned.
“Heard they can take a bit to pop,” he added, just to psyche her
out.

“
What’s gonna happen?” said
a blowzy redhead dancing with them.

“
I’m gonna suck a dick,
that’s what!” Emma retorted, deciding to assert herself as a
socialite. Dancers surged after her as she mounted an intimate
three-seater occupied by cheering clients. Her friends stood around
the platform clapping rhythmically to the beat as she
knelt.

“
Which one of you fuckers
wants to blow in my head?” Emma belted, dropping to her
knees.

Feet hammered and her mouth was swung this
way and that to present her first cock. She threw herself on it but
the left clamp bit and she jumped, sending her tits on a sweeping
orbit that flashed the glittering little toys to seductive
effect.

“
Nice!” her client enthused,
reaching in to reset it, and from there the pronks served to
enliven their game, popping merrily on her swollen nipples at
unpredictable intervals.

One of the men finally managed to climax and
the crowd lustily cheered as she slurped jizz. Ione shrieked with
laughter. “Do another one!” she railed.

Mark vaulted onto the machine and took a
place, legs open. “Get with this dick, blondie!”

Women everywhere pressed closer to watch the
best-looking man in the Club get his knob slobbered. Emma serviced
him with the others, tits smarting from their enthusiastic use of
her jewelry.

“
That’s it, slip!” Mark
raged, grinning down at her, unable to hide his affection despite
the impersonal context of the game. Her right clamp bit and she
pranced jaggedly.

“
Fuck!” she spat, was spun
to another cock.

“
Go Emz, go!” Ione belted
and drained a flute of red-tinted stillwater in a gulp as hands
groped her indiscriminately.

Emma got with Mark twice again, but another
man inevitably capitulated first, leaving her friend’s rampant
erection intact for every woman in view to fantasize about.

“
Hey! It’s that slipper Dean
brought to witness his latest humiliation!” a socialite jeered from
the boundary of her clique. “Bitch can suck a dick like no one’s
biz! She’s real proud of it!”

Emma blithely addressed her. “Yeah, well you
know what they say if you’re good at fellatio…”

“
What?”

“
Eventually it goes to your
head!” she tittered. People from both cliques roared at her
insouciance.

Manassa slapped Emma’s ass. “Go on, give her
a hand!” More laughter followed and the other socialite departed
with a bitter sneer.

As they caroused a cute little server gave
into her lust and threw herself on Manassa, wrapping her arms
possessively about the bigger woman’s flared hips to deliriously
kiss her cleft, tongue fluttering deep into smooth lips.

They were all impressed by the speed and
severity of the response. Manassa dropped to one knee, hauled the
woman over a bulging thigh, presenting her bottom to the crowd.

“
Give
her
a hand!” Emma blustered to a
ragged shout of approval from all around.

Manassa proceeded to deliver a dox of
smarting blows to the server’s clenched posterior, exciting her to
a frenzied kicking as the Clubgoers roared. Dean soloed over most
of the performance, synchronizing whipcrack hits on the snare and
high-hat every time her hand fell to the woman’s wriggling ass.
When she was finally let off the knee there was no further
presumption from her, but Emma saw all the signs of a permanent
infatuation. A doorman patrolling the crowd nodded in respect for
the way it had been handled, left them alone.

More dancers were crowding onto Dean’s
territory of the floor to partake in the increasingly notorious
affairs of Emma’s clique. The Dowser had been steadily reassigning
servers to her as she stole clients from other socialites, and he
sent one around with his compliments and a tray of deep green shots
Emma immediately recognized.

“
To faraway places,” she
tearfully pronounced, suddenly overcome with regret for the women
they had lost, and their home that once was. The others raised
their glasses, and amidst a swirling current of revelers Emma drank
with her real friends; three people with a secret past, harboring a
sadness that could never be communicated. She held the ache as long
as she could bear, let it go with a long exhalation, dazedly
surveying the confusion. It was too bad, she thought. The gals of
the Lap would have loved this place.

Dean chopped his way through a hyperkinetic
solo that impressed even the most jaded patrons and Emma saw Mark
surreptitiously drive a finger into Ione’s twat from behind,
prompting a trebly shriek. The drummers thundered on toward the
next empty bucket and their collective renewal in the Dowser’s
bounty as the gnomes beamed down a medley of green hues through a
roiling fog.

“
Let’s dance!” Manassa
shouted, the last thing Emma remembered for a long
while.

Later, when most of the crowd had left the
Club, Emma was behind the bar. The moon was far advanced toward
dawn, lurking through doors open only for staff and their closest
friends. Ione, Mark and Manassa were celebrating with Dean at his
bandstand.

“
You had an interesting
night…” the Dowser commented to Emma as he mixed drinks for the
lingering afterparty. The night had ended on an uncertain note;
Dean had done very well, amassing a sizable following with her
help, but no one would know until tomorrow if he had won a place at
the Club. The head Doorman would either deny him at the entrance,
or admit him and refuse another drummer instead.

Emma was barely able to stand without
wobbling.

“
It was crazy,” she
confessed, shaking her head in astonishment at the Club’s culture.
“Dean’s really hoping he did okay…”

“
And you?”

Emma tried to think around her exhaustion and
sexual tension. “I dunno.”

“
Did you have a chance to
think about my proposition?” the Dowser prompted.

“
What? The concoction
thing?”

“
Yes,” he replied, faintly
amused by her flippancy.

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, let a
bewildering mix of ambitions fight for priority in her mind.

“
You really think you can
turn jizz into jam just by drinking something?”

“
I believe so. In
time.”

Emma realized the Dowser would only supply
the substance to someone who worked for him. If she agreed to this
then Dean was in. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.” She owed the drummer a
blowjob as it was, so it would all work out kind of neatly.

The Dowser poured a dense white drink into a
shot glass and placed it on the counter. Emma stared suspiciously,
wondering at its taste. If it was awful enough then semen might
acquire a relatively benign savor by comparison. She reached for
the concoction, brought it high, smelled and tasted it.

“
Hey… it’s sweet,” she
grinned and drained the shot. “I like it!” Returning the glass to
the counter she swirled the aftertaste, licking her lips with a coy
awareness of their looming postprandial obligation. “So how long
does it take to kick in? And how long does it last?”

“
Briefly in either case,”
the Dowser replied. “The effect must be evaluated
quickly.”

Emma turned to survey Dean’s activities. He
was surrounded by his crew, looked more triumphant than turned on
at the moment. They had to get back to the apartment first—it would
look ridiculous trying to blow him in the middle of his exit.
“Well, I better get moving fast.”

“
Indeed. I have observed
that a very kinetic effort is required to effect my
culmination.”

“
Um, what do you
mean?”

The Dowser stared at her. Emma’s gaze slowly
fell to his groin, where the answer hung in silent expectation.

“
Oh.” Her shoulders
drooped.

She was about to withdraw, tell the giant man
she didn’t want to participate, but the lure of fast status—enough
to save them all from any further uncertainly and
distress—complicated the choice, forced her to hesitate.

“
I can quit the experiment
whenever?”

The Dowser nodded. “You would not be the
first.”

Emma glanced over to her friends at Dean’s
bandstand, boisterously recapitulating the night’s triumphant
moments as they packed drums and cymbals into padded cases. She had
no idea what would happen if things didn’t work out here. Ione was
drunk now, but in the morning she would loathe the ceaseless mayhem
of the hills all the more. And Dean would be practicing nonstop now
that he would have to defend his new position.

She nodded, face hot. “Okay.”

The Dowser gestured to her nipple clamps.
“Please remove those. They will not be sufficiently
stimulating.”

The huge man obtained another set from a
cabinet under the counter, then leaned down and fixed them to her
nipples; gleaming teardrops depending from fine metal filaments.
She stifled a grimace from their weight, massaged her downswept
breasts to mitigate the effect.

“
Lower yourself.”

Emma looked around, verified that none of her
friends were watching and let herself down, positioning her knees
wide on warm tile, sticky with various spilt drinks. She was
totally hidden by the counter from the rest of the Club she
realized with some relief.

Emma stared at the Dowser’s cock, silently
marveling at its shape and heft. No woman, no matter how ambitious,
could possibly take it down the throat, so that was out. The head
was so large in fact she knew it would be the principal object of
her stimulation.

The Dowser leaned down and grasped the
teardrop-shaped weights hung from her nipples, spun them
nimbly.

“
These are weepers,” he
helpfully explained. The metal filament that connected them to the
nipple clamps began to tighten a pincer in response, biting gently
at her nipples.

“
You may begin.”

The Dowser’s penis lofted expectantly before
her.

Emma placed her hands behind her back, a
requirement of formally rendered fellatio. If he invited her to
touch him that was different; some men liked to watch a woman
masturbate their spit-drenched genitals. But that would look
vaguely ridiculous here anyway—the Dowser’s mighty prong would
require something like a body massage.

She opened her mouth as wide as she could and
fit it around the head of his cock, just trying to get involved. It
was less forgiving than she would have expected, hard flesh for a
hard man. The spinning teardrops were screwing the clamps tight on
her nipples, a punishment worsening by the moment.

Emma let her tongue slide from her mouth,
trying to shim it under the belly of the Dowser’s prick. With a
grunt she forced herself to pack it, getting perhaps a third of his
length in before it plugged her. She blinked around comically
sufflated cheeks, guessing this was all that was destined to go
down.

The weepers slowed, stalled at the zenith of
agony, and began to spin the other way, bite slowly relenting. They
were awful, but Emma decided she could withstand them. It took
novel methods of nipple torture to keep the hurt fresh.

She withdrew, then patiently stuffed her
mouth to an excavated ache once again, edging about on her knees
for position. With a final adjustment of angle, she proceeded to
supply a halting, jaw-wedged suck. The weepers spun past their
nominal orientation, began to gnaw at her tits again and she tried
to ignore their effect, slurping as artfully as possible given the
fist-size anatomy cramping her mouth.

After a trix of taut accommodations her
throat clogged to immobility; he was too big to go in further, but
too much suction had developed behind the head to overcome without
grabbing the base for leverage. With no way to perform fellatio,
Emma experimentally jacked her whole body around to induce a little
motion. She felt the head squish in and out, but she swayed
dangerously from the gambit, too buzzed to keep her balance. Her
nipples reported a crisis of agony as the weepers were yanked
about.

Her left hand stole forward, breaking the
submissive posture of her service, and with an unthinking
acceleration of the gesture she brought it down in a kind of
martial salute. The resulting correction hauled her face hard onto
the Dowser’s cock, which actually slid a little farther into her
throat. Emma was completely gagged.

She heard a quiet grunt, knew the Dowser had
been engaged by this extraordinary effort of excitation. Her arm
whipped back and she managed to unplug his erection with the added
momentum, then her fist flew down with another ramming assault by
her head.