Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One Read online

  But one gate was supposedly left open in the event of a total evacuation, marked by a water-borne flavor only the women could detect. In her jumbled recollection of the hegira the other doyennes had known specifically what to search for, but they weren’t here now.

  “Start with this one,” Ione directed. They rowed the bedboat over to a small stream that sluiced through a dense thicket of rock-strewn foliage. As Ione fought the current, Emma reached down and sampled a little water in her palm, questing for something floral or fruity.

  “No… Nothing. It’s totally clean. But now we know we can resupply ourselves, at least.” This would be a significant consideration if they stayed in the area given that the great circular current they traveled was soaped, along with all its dependent waterways.

  Ione nodded impatiently, commenced oaring again.

  The next outflow was pure. And the next, and so on. They were quickly tiring; it took some effort to get into each channel for sampling, and Emma bitched incessantly.

  “Can’t we rest for a little? We’re more than halfway around.”

  “You haven’t found anything?”

  “Huh-uh,” Emma sagged. “And I’m starting to wonder if it matters. The last stream was tainted with soap.”

  Ione was instantly alarmed, forced to question the wisdom of continuing their investigation. If the skulks had found some way to foul the Lap itself then there was no point in getting in; there were enemies waiting for them.

  “Fuck. Oh, fuck it all, Emma. Let’s get out of here,” she despaired. “We’ll figure out what’s next after we sleep.”

  They returned to the camp in silence, hunched low on the mattress, letting the current do the work of bringing them full circle.

  “Hey,” Mark nodded when they were reunited on the flagship. Ione coughed, remembering their excuse for leaving, tried to look sensually sated for a moment before realizing she had no idea how to force the demeanor.

  “Did the scouts report anything?” Emma questioned Manassa.

  She nodded. “There are definitely men around. Annie saw a large group organized in boats.

  “Where?” Ione demanded.

  “Down one of the channels near the farthest upstream lookout.”

  Ione slumped, knowing the massive advantage it would give the men if they approached with the current when they attacked. She slowly turned to Mark, who shrugged, already familiar with her suspicions.

  “Sorry, I don’t know anything about them,” he murmured with a tired apprehension that was either totally sincere or the guile of a supremely natural actor. Ione glanced furtively at Manassa, wondering what she and Mark had talked about in their absence.

  “Send four more women to the upstream lookouts, and make sure they all know the alarm procedure. Then let’s get to sleep,” she ordered, knowing if the trap sprung soon their tired fleet would have no chance at all against well-rested skulks.

  Later, Ione woke from a strange dream, rescued from its monotonous loop by Mark’s hand on her shoulder.

  “What?” she muttered, instantly suspicious.

  He motioned her to silence, leaned close to whisper. “Something you better see.”

  She glanced over to Manassa and Emma, both soundly asleep. It was Ione’s turn on their shared watch, and she wondered when she had dozed off. It was no great concern; there were many other women awake, and everything was quiet. Mark was a shadowy, muscular cipher, squatting silently at the headboard in the faint glow of a red gnome far down the channel. She rose, piqued by amorous notions that were instantly dispelled when she saw his expression better.

  He was staring at a bedboat floating slowly by, a big six-sleeper. This was not alarming in itself; there were many wandering about unclaimed. It yawed slowly as it drifted by.

  “Why is it riding so low?” she mused.

  “That’s what I was wondering.”

  Ione chewed a knuckle, turned to wake Emma and stopped, realizing this would not be possible without rousing Manassa tangled next to her, and likely everyone else nearby. They were exhausted and there was not yet justification for that. She bit her lip in hasty consideration, then realized there wasn’t time to debate options as the boat would soon be out of sight. She could easily shout for help if the situation required it.

  Crawling carefully to the prow to minimize the effect of her departing mass, Ione dexterously slipped over the side of the boat, barely disturbing the water. After a momentary reconciliation with its enveloping warmth, she stroked with silent precision for a point of intersection with the drifting bedboat. Mark caught up with her as she reached it, and their bodies ranged side by side, kicking to stall its movement. Ione waved to a smart slipper named Celestia on watch nearby, signaled for silence; one of the few commands that was reliably acknowledged by the women. A powerful odor wafted to her nostrils. Fighting down a sudden anxiety, she pulled herself up to stare within the vessel.

  Ione blanched at the sight of its cargo, understood instantly that the women were going to be assaulted soon. “You see anyone?”

  Mark shook his head, and she surveyed the current carefully, pulse hammering, then decided it was necessary to investigate further. “C’mon.”

  They clambered aboard, dripping in the warm subterranean humidity, and she reached out to touch the thick cubes of white soap, heavy enough to load the craft down and arouse Mark’s curiosity. The slippers on watch upstream obviously hadn’t noticed anything unusual about it.

  The baleful, sweating potency of the soap brought her to a sudden confrontation with the past—there was enough of it onboard to spoil a large body of water. She was beset with imagery of the cozy riparian dwellings once inhabited by her people; open caverns adorned with every manner of luxury—rugs, tapestries, beds and couches, toys and clothes for fun, and sweet juices to embellish the pure, life-sustaining waters they drank and swam.

  An ache formed inside, a sorrow she had not yet acknowledged, and Ione wrenched her mind back to utility with a savage self-loathing for their present situation. It was the same story all over again.

  And now she was alone with a man that had been a dangerous skulk just before some inexplicable and frankly dubious transformation of identity had taken place. Ione had no idea who to trust, felt an anxious cry welling up, a sound waiting for expression since waking to Manassa’s kiss.

  Mark shook her gently, and she started, realized she’d been muttering randomly, shivering despite the warmth. He put an arm around her and they leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out over a sex of pale soap blocks, arranged as a six of close-packed rows with a six of cubes in each file.

  Then she was sobbing. The anxieties of the migration came spilling out onto Mark’s shoulder, vented the first chance she was away from Emma and Manassa. He held her and they floated thus for a time, lost to the world beyond their silent embrace. He gently cleared his throat when her trembling subsided finally, motioned to a set of oars.

  “We should get back.”

  She looked up to see they had long passed the most distant women on watch. The bedboat was trapped in a shadowy lagoon denting the outer radius of the circular current.

  Her foot slid sideways, hesitated, then touched the edge of a soap cube, pristine version of the eroded banes discovered upstream from their long-lost home, leaking tendrils of spoiled water that reached with silent antipathy for the women she loved, to find them at last—there was no eluding such an enemy—ending life as they had known it. This catastrophe had prompted a singular meeting of the doyennes, the only time she and Emma had seen this small group of governing couples together in one place. Then came the migration and the rest of her mind-twisting history, and her shameful reawakening…

  Soap. Ione was roused to an old fury by its implacable menace, ever reaching from high waters to find the low ones where they fled.

  Mark shifted beside her, uncoupled from her embrace, stood suddenly. He reached down and she watched in bleak astonishment as he muscled a gleaming block over
head, hove it deep into scrub above the waterline where it could do no harm. The effort sent the boat rolling chaotically, and Ione grabbed his waist with a stifled yelp, dragging his mass into her low-planted embrace.

  She found his manhood in abrupt conjunction with her lips, and as they steadied themselves the inadvertent confrontation goaded him to firmness. They were still for a moment, eyes meeting.

  “We really should get back,” Mark whispered uneasily.

  “We’ve come too far. It would be exhausting to fight back upstream. We’ll go all the way around,” Ione decided, and at this pronouncement his penis stiffened decisively. She felt a desire restively biding its time overwhelm her customary control, erupting to actualization.

  Ione closed her eyes, lowered slightly, finding the head of his erection with her lips. She drew it into her mouth as its burgeoning mass lofted to the penetration, easing into her throat to wedge deep inside. She held it like this, tensely resident in her head, backed off to gather a helpful salivation, fingering its rigidly antrorse mass in wonder, plainly anxious for contenting. Her tongue, ordinarily disposed to orders and reprimands, set to licking penis instead, and her shipmate sagged at the effect, provoking a lazy roll in the bedboat.

  Ione laughed, threw herself on him more carelessly, feeding the imbalance with a thirsty, throat-packing ingestion. Abandoning herself to the act, she blew Mark with a hotheaded vigor that thrashed them about the lagoon, constantly forcing him to shift his stance as he fought for balance, fingers knotted tight in her hair to secure a bare stability. Ione hurtled onto him over and over till he bounced in her mouth like a fisted rebuke, to be retorted with equal vehemence. She was humming wantonly, didn’t know it till she heard a raucous emanation from her lips trailing his sudden withdrawal.

  “Lie down,” he grunted.

  She rolled obligingly onto her back and Mark drew her legs wide, eyes narrowed indecipherably. Ione braced for the fulfillment of a hidden craving, could already feel the imposing trunk of his erection wrestling her asshole wide, getting in…

  Her breath fled operatically when he called at the vagina instead, filling her to the belly. Their bodies locked, clinched by the muscular embrace of her thighs.

  “Ahhhhh… fuck,” she exulted, unprepared for this sudden accommodation. He tried to copulate with her, but Ione held him fast, compelled by the imminent consummation of her long-frustrated need, slid one hand down to touch her clitoris—rounding it once, twice… and on the third circuit she commenced to rub out a shaking, shameless climax.

  “Ohhhh yes!” she wept, voice rising to a shrill plateau from the saturated bliss at her crotch. He was holding her now, breathing softly on her shoulder, the weight of his thick body distributed considerately along her form. They lay unmoving as the tranquility of the lagoon returned.

  Ione breathed easily, secretly pleased with their tryst despite the danger. She had been considering potential uses of Mark’s unique charisma since he joined them, knew she could maneuver more confidently now that she had used his sexuality for herself.

  They sat up after a little, reclined against the headboard cabinets and watched the circular current sweep by their hideout. If there were skulks about they didn’t come near, and Ione trusted darkness and discretion to keep it that way. Mark still had an erection, a fact they were both diplomatically ignoring.

  To sidestep this growing awkwardness she inspected the cabinets, empty but for a few odds and ends. Mark reached in to retrieve a small object; a pipe-like instrument the length of a finger. It had a soft rubber clamp valve at its middle, and each end of the toy terminated in a thick bulb with an airway ducted through. One of these was flexible, the other bulb was rigid.

  “What’s this?” he wondered.

  “Heh. It’s a cinch. Sex toy for the butthole.” Mark regarded its gleaming form with some skepticism.

  Ione grinned faintly and spread her legs again, aroused by the premise of the device. “Put it in.”

  Mark surveyed the lagoon for interlopers then bent, settling himself between her thighs once more. Soaping the toy for lubrication, he gently forced its rigid end to the gather of her asshole till it sensuously flexed wide, eased the bulge within to be trapped in her rectum by the puckered vigilance of her sphincter. The rubber bulb protruded a little to nestle between her cheeks.

  “Squeeze it.”

  He did so, pumping a small quantity of air into her rectum.

  “More…”

  He pinched the bulb again and the pressure inside her rose. In short order he had filled Ione’s rectum to an exquisite tension. The pinched rubber valve in the middle of the device was ready to open should her grip falter.

  “Now fuck me again, Mark…”

  He shifted position, mounted her carefully, and their eyes found each other as he eased a little into her vagina. The air pent inside her was a perfectly conforming volume, filling her to the limit, threatening rebellion at any moment.

  “Go on…” she breathed.

  He put his arms around her, fingers gathering again in her long, brown hair as they kissed. His penis slowly withdrew, reentered to seat firmly inside. Her vagina was rendered exquisitely sensitive by the adjoining pressure in her rectum, pent only by her unflinching grip on the cinch valve. Mark commenced a slow rhythm of lovemaking, an indulgent penetration that lifted her gently with each stroke.

  “Mmmmm… harder…”

  He obliged, stretching and massaging the packed burden of her rectum through the thin intervening boundary, challenging her mastery. His tongue met hers for a sensual dalliance; a gesture unveiled as a feint an instant later when his penis slammed to a complete investiture of her twat.

  She lost control for an instant, and the valve relaxed in her sphincter. Air pressured through to engage a vibrating element, and the cinch lavished her asshole with the effect of a fluttering tongue. Ione gasped, viciously puckering to regain control.

  “That was sneaky. You got me,” she whispered, biting his ear. “Now fuck me some more,” she invited. “Try it again…”

  Mark raised himself up on his hands and muscularly addressed her twat, eyes narrowed in pleasure.

  “Harder!” she hissed, teeth bared from the effort of mastering the cinch, the traitorous presence at the heart of the experience, patiently measuring her self-control as she was broadened on Mark’s burly flesh.

  “That’s it…” Ione mumbled, eyes clamped tight.

  Mark lifted her rump off the soap, forced her into a folded posture, nuzzling her clitoris with the base of his shaft on each lunge. She lost control momentarily and the cinch fluttered her knot again, a mad stimulation that taunted her competence… With no way to guess the throttling force needed to stay the valve she was compelled to maintain an unfaltering grip, could feel the sneaky thing trembling with each penetration, waging a slow war on her psychological fortitude. This concentration of will required a humiliating passivity otherwise, and Ione received penis with shy delight.

  “Oh, yesss…”

  Mark bore down, grinding against her clit, feeding her resolve to summon another, potentially harder climax. It was coming…

  “Take it you skulk!” she whispered, tone lilting hysterically as she lost control. “Oh, fuck me…” Her demands echoed faintly around the lagoon, but she no longer cared who heard.

  She felt Mark’s weight shift. The rhythm of intercourse faltered momentarily as his hand materialized at her face, holding something.

  Then a thick rubber cock filled her mouth—another toy from the cabinet. She sucked it in without thinking. Mark paused to tweak its exposed interval and Ione abruptly felt the pinch of an integrated nose clamp. She tried to spit the dick out but the painful tugging between her nostrils that resulted quickly dissuaded her. Accepting this second indignity, she slurped it noisily instead, expiating her need for verbal expression on its inhibiting girth.

  “Mmmfsss… ooo vugg meee arrdd…”

  Mark commenced to plunge her with a masculine prerogat
ive that quickly challenged her grip on the cinch. This scowling raid on her womanhood frayed Ione’s composure till the toy shuddered joyfully again. She waged a colossal effort to stall it, tortured by the self-denial required to hold on just a little longer.

  “Don’t fight it…” Mark throatily advised. “Just let it happen…”

  He crushed her under his weight, ending any pretense of consideration for her delicacy, levered his tyrannizing cock with an authority that left nothing to negotiate.

  “Mmmmmmsssss…”

  The plug in her throat was swimming in drool, yanked her nostrils in a painful, self-induced censure as she sucked it like a slipper. The cinch fluttered again and she screwed her asshole tight. A desperate pleasure rose between her thighs, reaching to every quarter of her groin. Ione held on as long as she could.

  Then she couldn’t take it anymore, gave up trying completely. The valve opened unopposed and the vibrating element induced a sustained shudder of stimulation to her sphincter, elevating her pleasure to a mind-bending yield.

  A rasping wail issued around the cock gag in her throat as Mark fucked her with a finalizing ardency, and Ione moved sympathetically with her lover, let the orgasm claim her for as long as it would, a gloriously protracted joy lasting with the vibration in her ass.

  Her taut rectum slowly collapsed to a comfortable flaccidity.

  The cinch relented in effect and Mark ceased copulating with her. Ione opened her eyes to see him passionately staring back, aroused and unfulfilled. Neither spoke as a soft redolence of sweat-liberated soap wafted about them. Cleansed by release, Ione’s mind whirled with a strange fluidity, estimating their situation with new clarity to belatedly identify a clever but cynical symmetry…