Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One Page 13

  “Sixthree,” she said next, and Ione called “knot” with her. Emma could tell she would gamble for climax soon; one big win would do it, scheduled to the butthole as it usually worked out—when it did work out. Ione had abandoned twat-or-knot more than a few times on account its painful complications to orgasm.

  Emma thrust hard into her rectum, kissing and licking vigorously up and down her blushing vulva, coaxing a rapidly narrowing excitement by the heated action of her tongue. Ione’s athletic thighs yawned wider. Her head was thrown back now, mouth open wide as she tracked ecstasy through a tricky fog of calculation.

  “Four… knot,” said Emma, trying to sucker her, but her partner was canny enough not to risk punishment for a minimal possibility of climax. She was silent for the call.

  Smack! Emma issued the penalty for non-participation, and Ione cursed under a jagged, indrawn breath. Her body was shaking from the intensity of the game and Emma smiled, knowing she would be expecting a big number.

  “A six,” she said, and “twat.” Ione gambled pointlessly on her knot and lost the round.

  The long phallus of the leg slipped up to be forced all the way into her vagina, rhythmically tensing on each stroke to meet her punitive hand; Smack! Smack! Smack!

  Fingers flattening her weeping mound, Emma thrust faster, working the leg on a hard-minded schedule of exploitation.

  Smack! Smack! Smack!

  Ione’s jaw clenched, mutely signaling the effectiveness of this correction as she was bullied back from climax.

  “Doxfour,” said Emma, and Ione whimpered “knot” with her. Emma smiled and pushed into her rectum on a savage schedule of domination, fucking like a skulk as her tongue delivered an incongruously timid invitation to joy, a lover’s paean to vaginal bliss…

  Ione’s sensitive little nipples were starkly distended, begging to be touched, and Emma reached to one, pinched it hard to prompt the completion of the act. She felt her lover stiffen, desperately reconciling the unrelated rhythms of her lovemaking to a convergent ecstasy.

  “Oh fuck, don’t stop…”

  The count was abandoned to the perfection of the orgasm, and Emma hurtled into her rectum again and again with the hip-driven phallus, effecting the crucial broadening Ione needed for a violently pleasurable release. Her mouth issued slow spirals to the defiant stub of her clitoris, prolonging the ecstasy as the other woman helplessly reconciled her soft licking and charged penetration.

  “Ohhh, Emz!” she warbled, a conquered sound issuing from the vault of self-control, announcement to the Lap that she was a slipper like any, needed discipline and release as they did. Emma lovingly emptied her of pretense or sophistication to finally acknowledge just the elemental gestures of the game they played; lips on twat, cock in knot—happiness.

  The climax tapered and Emma slowed at last, tongue poised moistly over her partner’s exhausted pubis as the leg slid to a halt.

  Ione relaxed by degrees, settling back onto the rumpled, round plain of their giant bed. Soon she lay quietly slumbering. Emma carefully disengaged from her as the merry sounds of the Lap resolved to notice once more.

  After a little she rose and padded out the arched portal at the back of their spacious apartment to the hot pool, roiling boisterously at the moment to humidify the whole region with a fragrant mist. The pool had moods, they had come to observe—it was sometimes completely silent, always at least lukewarm, and it grew hot and frothy on a recurring basis, unlike any other water of the subterranean world. Large enough to accommodate several sex of women at once, it had become their most social zone.

  Beyond the perimeter of fine grass circling the doyenne’s island, colorful bedboats plied the winding avenues of the Lap reservoir, drifting on tranquil currents that endlessly circulated out to lower-lying waters beyond. Many women used bedboats recreationally, nestled under fragrant sheets and blankets with their lovers as they randomly traveled the various territories of the aquifer, all the necessary conveniences near at hand in the headboard cabinets. Some of the vessels had cuffs installed along the perimeter, and submissive slippers were occasionally sent around the neighborhoods, locked down and available to anyone who desired their widespread bodies for discipline or experimentation. When you wanted a mobile party you could overload one of the big six-sleepers to a trix or quax of women—a dox on board and a six or dox more clinging to the sides. And then there was Mark’s victory flotilla, which wound about the cheering Lap avenues bearing the exultant winner of the games they waged for his company…

  The women of their society were now comfortably installed in lavishly decorated cavern apartments lining the mazed waterways; single slippers in convivial boudoirs, established couples in domestic spaces that reflected a shared identity, groups of lovers in various experimental arrangements, and relentlessly noisy dorms occupied by a dox of women or more. A quix of slippers Emma liked to party with had a crazy setup in a half-submerged grotto lit by a purple-eyed gnome. And there were over five sex of rowdy personalities—almost a full sen of women—crammed into one long cave at the periphery of their civilization; a mini-society with its own culture and customs. All in all the Lap had about four sen of residents, give or take. Emma already had many pleasant memories from her time with them, knew the cheerful neighborhoods and waterways of their carefully sequestered home quite intimately.

  “Hey!” said Manassa, floating easily on her back in the hot pool, breasts lolling about, islanded nipples playfully pointing up. Emma strode in to follow the huge woman about, staring between her legs as decorum permitted to enjoy the sight of her fleshy, hairless vulva.

  Manassa splashed her flirtatiously and she grinned at this subtle invitation, wading into the embrace of her giant thighs. The larger woman reached sportively for her, but Emma couldn’t sustain her bulk and was dunked, aborting what might have been an exquisite interaction with her femininity. As usual, she couldn’t tell whether she was being calculatedly stymied or balked by chance alone.

  “Can I put some buoys on you?” she innocuously suggested, wringing her blond tresses. Manassa grinned.

  From a bobbling chest filled with various aquatic toys Emma procured a set of nipple clamps attached to little round floats. Manassa allowed her to position one on each giant tit, smirking at the overelaboration of the procedure, then shook the bounty of her chest away.

  The little floats playfully conditioned her to display her breasts as she splashed about the hot pool, tugging an integrated tooth to bite her nipples when they dropped below the waterline. Manassa laughed in gleeful agony as the toys mischievously worked her darkening tips, rising more and more frequently to exhibit a voluptuously jumping bust. Emma followed her around, masturbating under cover of the water, yearning to connect with the gorgeous, playful doyenne before Ione woke.

  “So… can I ask you something?” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to verify her partner’s continued absence. Manassa raised a brow receptively.

  “Do you… do you ever…” Emma flushed, unable to continue even though she was certain Manassa would think little of the question.

  “Of course I do,” the other woman declared, dunking her tits to engage the buoys again. “Do I what?” she belatedly inquired, wincing from their bite as they wandered about the pool.

  Emma thought of Ione, still asleep in their apartment. Her lover maintained a calculated interest in Manassa, frequently asked about her intimate life. Emma found these lustless inquiries annoying in contrast to her own, wholeheartedly libidinous feelings for the exotic woman. She decided to approach the question indirectly.

  “Did you ever figure out about orgasm? For yourself?”

  Manassa grinned. “I think so.”

  Emma tendered a doubtful expression. “It’s usually pretty obvious when it happens. You would know.”

  Manassa seemed disappointed, mulled this assertion for a brief interval as the buoys nagged her breasts, then rose to inspect her extravagantly swollen berries. “Well how do you know?” she
distractedly questioned.

  Emma was subtly flummoxed. “I just do. I can feel the distinction for one thing. A climax is much stronger than the pleasure that gets you there. And Ione could verify that I have them.”

  “How?”

  “Well, because she knows me…” Emma halted, uncertain of her reasoning.

  “Is it important to be able to convince someone else?” Manassa asked.

  Emma chuckled, but fell silent as she thought about it. “Yes. Actually it is.”

  “Hmmm…”

  They were soon joined by Mark, trailed by a half-dox of slippers who presently had claim on his time.

  “Hey,” Emma smiled.

  “Hi Emz,” he perfunctorily returned, then faced the slippers with a showman’s lively but automatic charm. “Alright, it’s vagina time! Circle up!”

  Plunking themselves down in the vivaciously bubbling hot pool, the women formed a ring about the Lap’s only male citizen. Mark guided himself between the legs of the next woman on the lottery, a petite redhead with hard little breasts and a tireless snatch. His handsome profile was quickly positioned between her thighs.

  He addressed her lust-fattened labia with a personable but unlingering cunnilingus, an expert kissing and licking that was likely the most potent exaltation of feminine sexuality she would ever know despite its resolute delivery. Emma watched them in glazed frustration, cursing Ione’s egalitarian protocol. She had experienced Mark’s oral gratification for herself on just a handful of occasions since they had come to the Lap, a joy that far surpassed what Ione—or any other woman she had gotten it from—could deliver.

  Mark quickened his affection, leading the slipper up to frequencies of pleasure that summoned a snooch-tingling bliss. At just the right moment he rose and lifted the woman onto his erection, bouncing her muscularly. She kicked in helpless jubilation, enraptured by this manly, whole-body jactitation.

  “So what happened with Carina and them?” Emma inquired, seeing that his lips were free for discourse again.

  “Oh. They set up over by that narrow beach where you can barely see. You know the place?”

  “Yeah. Past the sandbars.”

  “She had a new game going, and I played for a while. Kind of a variant on “trick the dick”. It was fun, but that crowd has a real jealousy problem, and after a while I got to wondering if it might spread from their group.”

  “Ione’s been worried about that,” Emma mused, watching as Manassa lofted her giant breasts above the waterline. A circle of women admired the clamps playfully dangling from them. “What’s that stuff you two have been going on about? Structural… difference?”

  “Dissonance. Yeah. Has to do with the cooperative-competitive interleave of the Lap society,” Mark explained, brawny arms rhythmically exercising the slipper on his prick. Emma could tell the woman didn’t understand anything they were talking about, was just happy to have the handsome man’s attention. “We all adhere to a master social policy, right? But within that cooperative scheme there’s a bunch of cliques competing for influence, and within their spheres of cooperation you have games between competitive teams composed of cooperating players…”

  “So?”

  “Well, there’s this funky meta-interaction between the two phenomena that’s never been conscientiously reconciled. Taken to the limit, cooperation and competition are just rational disguises for love and hate after all,” Mark reflected, carefully gauging the redhead’s excitation. He gave her a little more penis on the downstroke and she groaned in appreciation. “You constantly see the slippers scale from reasonable to extreme expressions of both, often without warning. They’re fundamentally dissonant forms of interaction, and their working interface has more than a casual role in how things get along around here.”

  “What do you mean? In practical terms?”

  “Well, there are new couples emerging all the time, generating cooperative energy—love—that needs to be protected from inside each relationship. But the games they play with other couples beget destabilizing interactions between one couple and another, damaging the very boundaries that define them.”

  “Huh.” Emma chewed her lip for a moment, measuring the notion against things she had personally observed. “What fraction of Lap women are involved in committed relationships?”

  “One in four, maybe,” Manassa opined, wading over to them.

  “Is that good?” Emma wondered. “Does it offer long-term stability?”

  “Hard to say,” Mark grunted, distractedly bouncing the redhead as he pondered the situation. “My impression is that almost everyone wants to be in love. But people also want to partake of whatever social-sexual thrills are available. Our society has many such for individuals, but none that are designed to protect couples.”

  Emma could see his point. “You and Ione were talking about setting up some kind of organizational experiment,” she remembered. “Could we find a way to improve things using a different social scheme?”

  “Maybe… Your lover has countless theories about that stuff, and all things sociological for that matter. But my feeling is we would have to invent something really simple. Totally intuitive. There’s no way to express complicated ideas to the women. Not yet, anyway.”

  “It’s getting better though,” Manassa remarked. “I can understand most of them a little bit at least.”

  Emma nodded thoughtfully. “Me, too. And that might become a problem itself, given the things I’ve recently overheard. What will the Lap be like when everyone can eloquently express their feelings?”

  “A lot more emotional and contentious,” Mark speculated. “We should definitely accelerate our conjecture and deliver an alternative social formula before that happens. This is a closed environment—there will be serious trouble if the women stop getting along.”

  “I need a bigger whip as it is,” Manassa observed, reflecting on her role as the Lap’s disciplinarian. She whimsically spanked the slipper bouncing on Mark’s erection and she promptly shrilled, joy peaking.

  “And away we go!” Mark boomed.

  “The pleasure she did, yesss yesssss!” his lover of the moment warbled. Her climax persevered through a six of euphoric cock-hops, and when she was done Mark considerately held her trembling form for a little, still penetrated to the balls.

  The next slipper on the lottery clamored for attention before long, but the redhead wouldn’t voluntarily surrender her turn. She relented only when Manassa sharply ordered her away.

  “Off! Let go of the penis! Someone else is next!” The woman sullenly obliged, splashing away to masturbate in privacy, reliving the encounter.

  Mark was soon between another set of legs, using a splay to isolate her clitoris under his hardworking tongue. This rendition of the popular toy was fashioned as a voluptuous figurine of a woman, bent at the waist to present thick legs into the subject’s vagina, arms reaching up to circle her clitoris, spreading the labia wide.

  More women were arriving at the hot pool, irresistibly drawn to his masculine ambience.

  A half-dox of them over in the shallows had a curvy little slipper trapped in a pinky ring; an encircling barrier of twats flashing intimate colors. She tried to escape—difficult with her hands pent behind—but was repelled again and again by strong thighs and glistening vulvas, too many and too frustrated for her to win past, though her noisy, cootch-slobbering attempts were fun to watch. There was a ragged cheer as they crowded her kneeling form, condensing her world to a blur of predatory cunt lips. One of her captors went for a rubout, attempting to seduce her by a sudden, grinding confrontation with her womanhood, but the encircled slipper skillfully licked her crotch back, motivated by the prospect of a group-induced orgasm if she could withstand the bullying a little longer…

  Two women used cues and trammels on the grass nearby. The cues were handheld grips with sliding extrusions that indicated the intensity of a woman’s pleasure or pain. Squeezing one gently forced a colored lozenge minimally into view, but at f
ull grip it projected boldly, signaling a maximal response. The devices allowed new lovers to quickly learn each other’s desire.

  Trammels were heavy, foam-clad shapes that were used to pin a wrist or ankle down. Where formal bondage wasn’t reasonable or necessary they offered a fast, flexible way to exercise dominance. The arched weights could be conveniently repositioned as needed but were heavy enough to feel authoritatively restrictive. Like cues, they were most useful among women exploring new relationships or sexual techniques.

  Clothing lay strewn about, mostly lingerie. Another means of experimenting with identity and self-expression, these lacy and frilly items were stripped away by slippers with the same sensual deliberation employed to select and occupy them.

  “It’s good! It’s good! Soooo gooooood!” Another slipper finished noisily on Mark’s erection, eyes fluttering as he stared back in real, if exhausted lust.

  Emma knew why—he had been sucked, fucked, toyed, gamed, masturbated and pleaded with by every woman of the Lap without reaching climax once.

  This had become a serious problem.

  Mark spent a good part of his time serving the women sexually, delivering the male experience with unrivaled charisma and generosity. He had proven himself invaluable for this alone, but he was also highly intelligent and could appreciate the delicacy of their political situation, tactically reinforcing the doyenne’s regime as needed. This rendered him a supremely useful ally.

  All in all Emma suspected there would have been less trouble without him, though. There were men ranging about the exterior waters of the Lap that could be safely acquired for pleasure, as had been done in the past. It was tiresome to deal with their security arrangements however, and Emma couldn’t really imagine trading Mark’s beauty and sophistication for a couple of boorish skulks.

  Ione wouldn’t even consider it. She clearly had more trust for Mark than Manassa, and he evened up the dynamic of their group, giving her a rational ally to counter the more whimsical attitudes of the other doyennes. Emma could do without other men in general; it was just the splashing confirmation of hot semen in her mouth she really missed, would never have guessed it played such a potent role in her self-image.