Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (63 page)

She took him all the way into her throat,
immediately stabilized by his rigidity, and the man lost no time in
instituting a hectic oral intercourse. His competitors proceeded to
sock her behind the ears, desperately trying to dislodge her. She
assiduously swished the dick that had gotten in, slurping the skin
taught, brought the client to the brink of climax over a fast quix
of deep penetrations.

“
She’s gonna finish him!”
one of his competitors raged.

“
Hit her together!” the
other roared. “We’ll shake her free!”

They managed to do exactly that with a
coordinated, spin-inducing angular attack that dislodged her mouth
from the tenanting member.

They cheered as she whirled about, unclaimed
once again. Emma could hear the noise of many customers crowded
close now, thought she detected Manassa’s gleeful contralto among
them. Her crotch was desperate for stimulation and she was
poignantly aware of the cuffs trapping her hands from delivering a
potentially breathtaking pleasure.

Penis flesh swatter her right cheek
rhythmically as she spun, then she was entered by a truly
intimidating cock. Emma gagged on the first ingress then recovered
to deliver a quix of slippery conjunctions. It was displaced by the
lusty blows of the other customers without culmination, and Emma
let them war with each other in this genteel way till one of them
finally clotted her tongue with spunk. She gulped this down, let
him stay in her throat till he was fully satisfied with the result,
then shut her mouth to further service.

“
She’s done,” one of the
losers complained, and the cabinet was raised by protocol. Emma was
instantly overwhelmed by a rousing cheer from the crowd gathered
about her hitch. The air was jumping with supersaturated green rays
from the glow gnomes overhead, and a dense moisture roiled the
dance floor. Dean’s following almost rivaled the Drummer’s crowd,
and both were much larger than the man challenging them.

Mark was staring down at her, clapping in
appreciation, pecker wet from Emma’s service. Manassa was laughing
and shaking her head, and Emma resolved to do another term in a
hitch before the night was over. She drained a glass of stillwater
mint and saluted the Dowser.

Later, when she was sucking his immense cock
in obligation to their experimental “concoction,” Emma remembered
the story she had been told about his past.

The Dowser was the supreme power in the City
because he was its founder.

In ancient days, before anything but sand
occupied the desert, the Dowser walked the dunes. He was not the
only creature to do so, but of all the men loosed to find their
fate on its endless desolation he was the mightiest of stature, the
most deeply endowed with the will to endure its arid heat. There
was virtually no water, and it created instant rivalries and
hierarchies anywhere it was discovered.

The Dowser’s incomparable physicality saw him
through one conflict after another; none could match his phenomenal
strength or skill at wrestling. And one by one the sand claimed his
enemies till there was no one left to oppose him but the limitless
prison of the desert itself.

One moonless night, at the utter limit of his
will, he faced this adversary at last.

Toppled by thirst he stared up to the night
sky in unblinking calm, breath slowed to the faintest flow. His
mind was empty of its timeless rage, of wariness or regret even.
Free of these obfuscations his body finally discovered an unguessed
sense; a faint tingling on his skin. Desire.

With a monumental effort he rose. His great
manhood was roused to rigidly pointing turgescence from the
electric prickling and he followed it without thought, trod
aimlessly where it directed till flaccidity mysteriously returned.
When he realized his arousal occurred only over certain paths in
the sand it came to him for the first time that something flowed
beneath.

He traveled a tendril of this sensual
yearning along a sinuous route till it joined a stronger current,
then a stronger one yet. He could feel the thrill of electricity
passing through him unseen, from charged vapor massed high in the
sky down to hidden subterranean streams.

Deploying his last energy, he followed his
erection to a mighty current. And far in the distance where it
invisibly proceeded a flicker of lightening lead up from the sand
to meet an answering bolt from the sky.

He found a massive valley there, where green
things grew and drink could be found. And once he had recovered the
Dowser made a well, inventing the concept of volume by the measured
installments of water he produced from it, a reflexively
comprehended language of cost and value. He was not alone for long,
and a bigger well was dug, and another, then a huge one at the
summit of the highest hill, tapping an ever-condensing lake and a
timeless eddy of stillwater within. The City was the eventual
result of his civilizing distributions.

And now he was master of all he surveyed,
Emma concluded as the giant man’s penis flooded her mouth with
sticky semen. She drank everything that was produced then slowly
disengaged from his flesh.

“
Well?” the Dowser inquired.
“Did the concoction help?”

Emma licked her lips, wincing from the
gargled humiliation of his manly fluid. She wanted to respond with
an acrid complaint as usual, but paused. Was it just a little less
bitter?

And so the days and nights came and went,
split between Ione’s apartment in the Gnomon’s Tower and the more
glamorous place Emma shared with Dean high on the Dowser’s hill.
Mark stayed with either as convenient, helping them with their
professional lives. Manassa had a humble little place of her own
near the park. They spent much time driving at first, then less as
they were drawn farther into the disparate cultures of the City.
Ione hated the noise and unpredictability of the hills and Emma
found the Gnomon’s technical culture tedious and
indecipherable.

They fought about it and made up and fought
some more. The others tried not to take sides, awkwardly adjusted
to their moods. Longer intervals apart began to render them strange
to each other when they did make time to be together.

They were in Manassa’s little pink loft one
night when everything unraveled. Ione and Emma had agreed to meet
there as it dwelt halfway between their apartments. Dean and Mark
were present. It had been many days since they were all together in
one place.

Outside the metropolis ground its way through
another hot evening, a society of limitless size devoted to an
oddly compact set of priorities; sex, status and stillwater. Their
own group was motivated by just the last of these at the
moment.

“
Let’s go to that new place
on the other side of fruit hill,” Emma insisted for the third
time.

“
I thought we were going to
stay in tonight,” Ione sullenly countered.

“
Well, if we’re not going to
do anything then what’s the point in even getting
together?”

“
Escaping all of…
that
,” Ione gestured out
the window.

Emma dully regarded the taller woman. “And
what are you expecting to find here?”

“
I don’t know Emma. Loyalty,
maybe. You still fooling around with Chaycee?”

“
Let’s not start
that
again,” Dean sighed.
“Flirting is part of the job.”

“
At least she’s alive,” Emma
spat. “Unlike your stupid gnome.” Ione turned away in
shock.

Mark took a huge draught of stillwater and
moodily surveyed the humble neighborhood outside the front window,
fanning himself with his free hand. “We could at least go somewhere
with a blow gnome to cool the place,” he muttered. Manassa didn’t
have the status for such things.

“
I’m leaving,” said Ione.
The words were so quietly delivered no one could mistake their
aching resolve.

“
Fine,” Emma shrugged.
“Guess I’ll see you whenever…” She got up to depart herself but
halted as a strange sound blighted the ambience of the little
salon.

Manassa was crying.

“
What’s wrong, love?” Emma
crooned, instantly at her side. Ione blinked in astonishment,
stepped over to put a solicitous hand on her shoulder. Mark and
Dean shared an unhappy glance and crowded close.

“
I miss the Lap,” the big
woman sobbed. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

The others stared in dismay.

“
If
you’re
having doubts about your
identity, then I must be completely lost,” Emma humbly submitted.
The slow circulation of hunted glances that ensued confirmed she
spoke for them all.

Ione sat down on the shaggy red couch that
occupied an entire wall, put her head in her hands. The aggregate
murmur of the metropolis suffused the room, a thrilling voice that
had become menacingly repetitive, no longer differentiable night to
night. Or moment by moment, even.

“
We’re
nothing
here,” Mark grated. “For all
our status, we’re lost in a sea of people with the same opinions,
the same ambitions, the same dull reason for everything they do,
the same the same the same…”

“
I’m exhausted,” Dean numbly
disclosed. “Starting to feel like a fixture at the Club. Some kind
of animated bar stool,” he winced.

“
They keep sending me up to
this weird theater for ‘training,’” Manassa snuffled. “This strange
voice tells us what to do and no matter how I feel about it we
always seem to obey. And sometimes, with all these people staring
down, clued into something I can’t understand, I feel like maybe I
don’t know what’s real. That I’m slowly going crazy…”

The City filled their silence once again.

“
We have unique
personalities,” Ione quietly declared, looking calmly around the
group. “I believe that. What we don’t have is a
collective
identity. And without it
we’ll always be helpless here.”

“
We need some way to
solidify our group image,” Mark realized. “We lost it
somehow.”

“
Maybe not by chance…” Ione
darkly remarked.

“
Well, what can we do?” Dean
implored.

Manassa sat up straight. A cheerful light had
returned to her eyes. “I know!”

“
What?” Emma encouraged, one
arm lovingly circled about the big woman.

“
Let’s have a
party!”

The Party

“
We totally should!” Emma
blurted, warming instantly to the idea.

“
There’s a perfect place in
the Tower,” Ione enthused. “A whole floor we could
reserve.”

Emma snorted. “A party at the Gnomon’s place?
Swell. We can stare at the same drink all night and calculate how
fast our status is evaporating, or something equally scientific. Me
and Dean already have a big following at the Club. We should do it
there.”

“
But they won’t let
my
friends in,” Ione
complained.

“
Exactly,” Emma relished.
“The cool people will love it though. We could start telling them
tonight.”

“
We’d have to have the party
tomorrow then,” Ione sardonically contemplated. “Your crowd can’t
remember anything past a day.”

“
Well if that’s true maybe
we
could
do it at
the Tower,” Emma retorted. “Seeing as the memory wouldn’t burden
anyone for long.”

“
Okay,” Mark hastily
interceded. “Let’s just slow down and consider this less
emotionally. Or maybe not at all.”

“
Yeah. There
are
some tough logistical
issues,” Ione phlegmatically conceded. “Those big dick-sucking
machines Emma loves won’t fit in my convertible. Have to drag’em
around on casters or something.”

The room fell quiet, then the little blond
burst out laughing at the image. “Okay. That was pretty good.” The
mood lightened.

Dean went to Manassa’s
little bar and got himself a fresh drink, still chuckling. “If
we’re gonna do this, we should do it big. Get
everyone
we know.”

Mark nodded. “I agree. But if it has any
connection to the judges they’ll win all the status that results,
one way or another.”

“
It needs a theme,” Dean
mused. “Great parties usually have a theme.”

“
Well, what would be novel
to people from the Tower
and
the Club?” Mark wondered.

“
I have an idea,” Manassa
hesitantly returned.

“
Spill it,” said Emma,
symbolically tipping her bottle to the other woman.

“
Well, on the far side of
the park—near that maze of streets with all the soap and cream
shops—there’s an abandoned garment warehouse.”

Ione nodded. “I’ve seen it. The big grey
thing right next to the forest.” She grinned. “Now that would
be–

–
a totally fucked up place
to stage a party,” Emma breathed. They regarded each other in
burgeoning excitement.

“
And the theme…” Dean
began.

“
It’ll be a dress-up party!”
Manassa exclaimed. “Everyone will show up in the most amazing
clothes–

–
and take’em off later so
they can fuck each other silly!” Emma bubbled.