Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (51 page)

The weepers peaked, gnashing her viciously,
began to accelerate the other way again. But they were developing
an asymmetry of effect that was distracting, and Emma realized
their diverging rhythm would be a potentially awful complication.
She pushed this threat from her mind to make all possible space for
the Dowser’s rod and forced her jaw energetically on his manhood,
jamming it tight.

Her tongue was wriggling against his penis in
the minimal space available as she bounced on him again and again,
lips disconcertingly distant from the base. She could feel pressure
building deep within his body and prepared herself to cope with the
result.

The weeper on her left nipple tightened
mercilessly, spun to an agonizing stop, but Emma hardened her will
to the exigencies of the moment, stuffed him to stalling in her
comically widened grimace. The other weeper whirled to a halt a
little after, mercilessly clamping her right nipple, and the
untimely second installment of hurt almost broke her discipline.
She slobbered mindlessly as it reversed direction, following its
twin back to a relieving leniency.

Emma sucked a sloppy accumulation of saliva
from the Dowser’s erection and hammered it back in, fist swinging
down in support. She stamped madly in elaboration of the technique,
back arched, heaving on his penis as she fought the dreamy
distortion of stillwater, the stretched complaint of her throat,
the hard floor under her knees, got into him with a maniacal
desire, muttering and spitting on his flesh.

The weepers spun grandly back toward agony,
twisting the filaments and pincers until she was keening from their
calculated distress. They attacked together and she ragefully
shouted the cock out of her jaw.

“
Hah!”

It slid back in on the next stamping and
saluting lunge and she gulped it, sucking madly as the weepers took
their turn on her knotted teats, a maddeningly unanticipatable
campaign of torment that continued till the Dowser’s cock went
utterly stiff, ready with her drink.

Her head shivered as if it had been slapped.
A blast of semen issued into her mouth, sluiced down her throat to
quench a secret feminine void, then rose like a warm tide on a trio
of gargled expulsions, filling her to the lip. She gagged
helplessly, allowed the surplus to geyser in ticklish streams about
her knees. The weepers bit in fast succession, twisting her big
berries a final time as the Dowser finished with her flesh.

It was over.

She leaned against his penis, took strength
from it, let his masculinity support her as sour ejaculate wandered
down her neck.

His hand eased her head off his member. Emma
stared up at him, eyes running with tears, sprung lips pinkly
disclosing where he had been.

“
Well? How close are we to a
pleasant conclusion?” he inquired in his characteristically earnest
but dispassionate tone.

Emma eased her jaw shut, swallowed painfully,
licking salty spunk from her lips. “Pretty fuckin’ far,” she
spluttered.

“
I see…”

“
Why do you need
me
to do this?” she
demanded.

The Dowser stared down judiciously. “You’re
the first employee who has been honest about the inefficacy of the
concoction. So you’re the only one I would trust to tell me
otherwise.”

Outside they were mobbed by late-night
revelers, mostly people from Emma’s clique.

“
We need to get going,” said
Ione. “Mark’s acting skulky. We gotta get him out of here.” Emma
could tell she was exhausted.

She chewed her lip, rhythmically massaged
tortured nipples. “Alright. Get the car and I’ll take care of
things here.”

Dean sauntered over as casually as he could
when Ione departed.

“
What’s up, Emz?”

“
Hey, you big
drummy.”

“
So… the Dowser say
anything?”

Emma measured him, wondering how much he knew
about the concoction, and many other things.

“
You’re in. We both
are.”

“
I got it!” He couldn’t
contain his jubilation. There was a rousing cheer for the affable
musician, and Mark slapped him heartily.

“
Dean the
machine!”

They made plans to meet everyone at the
Dowser’s Club on the following night. Dean would be performing
there for at least a few days, as by convention he couldn’t be
challenged for his place until a half-dox of nights had come and
gone.

When they were back at his apartment he
promptly dragged himself to bed in anticipation of his labors the
next day, too tired to claim the pleasure she had promised or offer
any in reciprocation.

Emma sighed and followed Ione down the hall.
“Hey, sweetie. The Club left me in a pretty desperate condition.
You mind rubbing one out with me?”

“
Emz, I’m exhausted,” she
demurred.

“
What the fuck?” she grated.
“You can’t spare the time for a quick frig?”

Ione yawned. “It’s never that quick,” she
complained and disappeared into the bathroom. Emma stared after her
in dull rage, loathing her selfishness.

She moodily chatted with Manassa, who
congratulated her on becoming a socialite, though Emma guessed she
was hazy as to what this meant. The big woman shared a little
victory of her own; she had been conditionally hired at a clothing
boutique and would be returning there in the morning for her first
working experience. Emma tried to flirt with her but Manassa yawned
without noticing, headed off for the spare shower. Her absent kiss
in parting did nothing to reduce the incredible sexual tension Emma
had acquired from a hard night of dick-sucking and drinking.

Back in the salon Mark was holding his head,
muscular arms partially obscuring a stubborn erection. Emma
fretted, guessing he was already well down the path of skulk
reversion.

“
Mark?” He didn’t
respond.

She slid suggestively over to him.

“
Yeah?” he
grunted.

“
How ya doin’?”

He stared at her, eyes flat.

“
Mark, I gotta get off.
Please. Just a quick toss…”

He was silent for an eerily overlong term,
then took Emma into his arms, kissing her aggressively. Her nipples
caught his interest, grotesquely swollen from abuse.

“
Were the weepers as bad as
they say?”

So he knew about that. They probably all did,
then. “Yes,” she admitted, rubbing herself in painful
retrospection.

Mark flicked her right nipple
calculatedly.

“
Asshole!”

“
Hmmm… guess so. Thing is,
it would be a crime to waste all that preparation,” he slurred,
tickling her tips. “So we’ll take a good climax and make it great.”
He rummaged around among drinks and drumsticks on the low table to
produce something small and glittering; a toy.

He pushed her back, clambering between her
legs, knees driven deep into the cushions. Emma regarded his
threatening demeanor with caution but didn’t resist, knowing that
his frustration would inevitably find some route into the act.

“
You’re going to wear a
squint while you get fucked,” he declared.

He pointed to her breasts. “Which hurts
more?”

She told him the truth before thinking and he
settled a compact round shape on the belly of her left tit,
securely balanced on a circular rim. At its center was a
tooth-lined maw through which he unceremoniously yanked her nipple.
This gnashing aperture was geared to a little rotating swingarm,
and Emma stared in blurry fascination at the glinting metal
apparition on her chest till she felt Mark’s erection pushing at
her vulva.

He entered her without much consideration,
but Emma didn’t care. As he accelerated Emma’s body began to jog on
the soft couch cushions, hurling her breasts back and forth in a
lazy counter-rhythm. The squint was touched into motion by this—its
swingarm began to whirl with a faint pinging sound. Emma felt the
little maw tighten about her nipple in response.

As Mark pumped into her the swingarm wound
faster and the teeth bit deep into her knotted tip till her eyes
leaked and her lip trembled from the effort of withstanding it.

“
Does it hurt?” he
hissed.

With a loud ‘tink’ the squint abruptly
released, and her breath escaped at the sudden retreat of its awful
bite. Mark grinned unpleasantly and slammed into her more
forcefully yet, filling the salon with a reverberating slap of
sweating flesh. Emma’s teeth chattered as the toy slowly squinted
again.

“
Oh fuck… like
that…”

Mark thrust faster, launching the couch
slightly with each penetration, and the swingarm built speed in
turn, winding with malevolent precision around her jogging boob as
they rocked back and forth.

“
Harder!” she cried, and he
obliged with a sneer, bearing down.

The squint was operating at top velocity now,
rasping nastily as its maw inexorably tightened on her nipple,
binding her pleasure to its selfish schedule. It bit and relented,
proceeded to screw tight again, and she felt climax beckon through
a coalescing haze of pain.

“
Fuckkkkk, thassssiiitttt,”
she whimpered as joy welled at her twat, tyrannically moderated by
the agonization of her tit. The squint slowly chewed to conclusion,
her master now, and she climaxed so hard at its clinking imperative
that the night’s accumulation of torment and frustration was
justified over a dox of pulsing moments saturated by pure
ecstasy.

“
There you go, slipperlips,”
Mark grated as a shrill ululation spiraled from her aching
throat.

“
Ohyesohyesohyessss!
” she babbled,
unmade by the pleasure. It lasted and lasted…

The squint finally pinged again, abruptly
releasing her nipple, and she fell silent, utterly satisfied.

“
Thanks,” she finally
gasped, flush with loving sentiments.

She tried to kiss Mark, but he brusquely
disengaged from her, stumbled off to the spare bed without a
glance.

The Gnomon

Ione woke to the customary ruckus of Dean’s
apartment building the following morning; an irritating echo of the
Dowser’s Club and its drunken excesses. Dean would be able to
acquire a much more glamorous residence on the Dowser’s hill with
his new status, but Ione knew this would take time and would
probably result in an even louder environment for his guests
anyway.

Emma had evidently been granted employment as
well, but Ione had no idea what to make of her socialite role,
which ranged in dignity from strutting about as a celebrity of the
Club to sedulously blowing its customers. She had certainly been
given a vigorous workout on her knees in return for whatever status
was promised, and would be expected back later with Dean for more
of the same. They were sleeping now to be rested for it, probably
wouldn’t rise till noon.

Ione was most curious about Emma’s final
encounter with the Dowser. They had only been in the City a few
days, and the fact that her lover was already consorting with one
of its demiurgic figures did not reconcile with her fine-tuned
estimation of social probabilities as a doyenne. Emma’s
rhabdomantic interactions with the Dowser’s flesh were comical
enough to dispel any sense of rivalry with the giant man, but there
was something vaguely foreboding about this “concoction” he was
developing…

Mark was still passed out and Ione briefly
considered the idea of tying him up and strapping out a fast
orgasm, which he desperately needed. It would be tricky without
Emma’s help, but she thought she could probably manage to secure
him before he fully woke. The possibility of being heard or
witnessed in action was too great a risk though; Mark’s image would
be irreparably compromised if anyone knew the secret of his
sexuality. She had gotten off with his help three times the
previous day as they prowled about the City together in Dean’s
convertible, but Ione decided against taking him with her now. He
didn’t need any more unfulfilled stimulation.

It was time to act on her accumulated
experience in the City, time for a different kind of maneuvering.
Every additional person in her company would neutralize a degree of
freedom available to herself alone.

She stepped out of the apartment into its
adjoining lot and walked to Dean’s long green convertible, nodding
unsuggestively to a couple of his friends as they fumbled for some
pretext to flirt.

Ione had brought clothes for the various
requirements of the City, including a conservative blue dress that
would satisfy even the most stringent expectations of the
mannermen. She used the privacy of the rear seating to change,
witnessed only by the blue-eyed gnome lounging there, glad she was
not obliged to effect this increasingly self-conscious transition
in public.

Seating herself up front she pumped the
hydraulic mechanism that actuated the roof, watched its articulated
steel shell fold into the far rear of the vehicle. The horror of
the desert had given way to her endless dim memories of the
subterranean world and she wanted to be in the open air today.

She punched the go gnome’s left nipple and
reversed out of the parking space with a nuanced effort at the
pedals, rounded onto the hill’s spiraling avenue to competently
merge with a bustling flow of traffic going down.

“
Hey beautiful!” called a
short guy from another convertible as she squeezed past him onto a
faster lane. She was by now used to the gawking attention of other
drivers and uncynically utilized any hesitation or deference shown
to quicken her way, confident of her insulation from any sudden
reprisal.