Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One Read online

  He entered her with carefully moderated force, slowly filling her crotch, and the glider rode up the seam of her vulva to reach her clitoris. She exhaled dramatically at the sensation of its weighted length bearing down on her womanhood, licking her libidinous bead like a wagging tongue. He gently withdrew to the same effect, began to stroke her with considerate but insistent force.

  “Emma, you have an amazing twat,” he sighed, enjoying himself.

  She was soon reduced to a panting self-absorption as the glider slid across her vulva on a cadence derived from the movement of his whole body, artfully complementing the manly lunge of his girthy prick. She received this pleasure as if being fucked and licked by two lovers in perfect consonance, an experience never quite possible any other way. Her breasts rounded about her immediate view, yanked to flattening when he shoved more forcefully. The light dimmed seductively as a dense cloud passed by.

  Ione shifted about on the blanket so she could draw Emma’s head up into her lap. Whispering romantically, she combed her blond hair aside with elegantly tapered fingers that soon advanced to her lolling breasts, trapping the buttoned nipples.

  With a sigh Emma opened herself up all the way, legs sprung wide, vulva pulsing from the rapturous touch of the glider tongue as it pounced back and forth on her snatch. Her clitoris wiggled under the sensually upcurved toy as Mark rigorously exercised her vagina, developing the pleasure to a new plateau.

  “Oh don’t stop, skulk… get it just like that,” Emma whimpered.

  “Let’s take her through,” Ione decided, dragging harder on Emma’s nipple clamps. Manassa was watching the action closely now and Emma realized the big woman was masturbating, felt the peripheral seduction of her womanhood, its taste still faintly lingering on her tongue.

  “Grip,” Mark ordered. Emma gathered the delicate muscles of her vagina to oblige him.

  “Good,” he confirmed. “Keep it cinched.”

  The glider licked away at her pubis, layering the blissful, penis-crammed ache inside her with a fluttering kiss at her clit; a muscular but delicate program that was tending to a joyous conclusion. His vigor jounced Ione, who responded by penalizing her nipples, plucking them mercilessly.

  “You may climax,” she finally informed Emma, and Mark sent the glider dancing on her pud with a jaunty clitoromania. Emma whimpered brokenly, a sound that intensified to a warbling din as the others pinned her thrashing body between them, finishing her with a coordinated effort.

  “Thank you thank oh fuck, fuck I yes…”

  “That’s it little slipper…” Mark coaxed, punching her pocket with brutal insistence to deliver a fierce, gender-affirming climax.

  “Ahh yesss,” she wept as the glider lustily advanced and retreated before her, wanting its dance to last forever… “I love you I love you love you love…”

  She sighed in emptied contentment as Mark decelerated from his macho occupation of her crotch, breathing noisily under the muttering notice of distant thunder. He eased his penis out of her at last and they were all silent for a little.

  But the business of his prick was still unfinished, and he turned grimly to Ione before long.

  “Turn over.”

  She smiled uncertainly but complied.

  “Put your hands behind your back.” She did as instructed and Mark grabbed her crossed wrists, pinning them in place.

  “What’s happening?”

  “You’re going to be spanked. You’ve needed it for a long time.” Ione looked anxiously over her shoulder but didn’t try to resist.

  Emma stared down at her lover. Ione had a beautiful backside; pertly muscular with a nice, deep divide, and Emma got her tongue into it every chance she got. But she was not psychologically empowered by their relationship to deliver spankings or engage in other formally dominant behavior. The hulking man on top of her now clearly felt otherwise.

  Mark’s free hand rose, was momentarily framed by a moody cloudscape, then swung with almost invisible velocity to clap Ione’s clenched and mounded stack.

  “Oh!”

  She wriggled in his grip, but Mark was hopelessly stronger and Ione quickly desisted. Emma guessed she was barely comfortable being manhandles in front of Manassa—she wouldn’t want to be seen struggling.

  Mark swatted her again, more forcefully this time, and Ione cried out in humiliation, pressed her face into the blanket to stifle any subsequent outbursts.

  There were many. Emma watched as Mark effected a violently sensual reduction of pride, freeing her for a brief but priceless interval from the burden of authority. The spanking was measured in rhythm but unrestrained in force, left no question as to the real situation between them. Her punishing filled the air with a patient, percussive cracking trailed by shrill cascades of lamentation, sounds conjured over and over till she was weeping helplessly. Emma was awed by the intensity of her unmaking, realized Ione would never have allowed it in the Lap. She felt a slow envy develop from the awareness that she couldn’t offer this dark pleasure to her companion.

  “I am done,” Mark finally decreed, releasing her. Ione didn’t try to move, lay shuddering on the blanket. Her madly aggravated posterior clenched and relaxed, helplessly reliving the abuse.

  “Turn over.”

  The tall woman slowly complied, eyes locked on the horizon.

  Mark poised the glider at her timidly offered labia and leaned over to whisper gentle words as the other women stared from either side.

  “You know what?”

  “Yes?” Ione whispered.

  Mark slid his erection into her anus, deep enough to firmly establish his authority before she could summon an objection. “Everyone knows you like it in the ass. Don’t you?”

  “Yes! I do!” she gasped in fierce affirmation.

  Emma caressed her tremulously shifting midriff, slipped a hand up to encircle a firm breast. Manassa stared down onto the action, eyes narrowed libidinously as Mark’s penis oppressed the deep gather of Ione’s derriere.

  “We’ll take it nice and slow,” he explained, getting himself as far as possible into her body. “Your smarting ass flesh will provoke a nice, tight grip, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, cringing as he tested this theory.

  Mark began to sensuously copulate with her. Emma watched the glider play on the trim seam of her vulva, stroking her with a sinuous elegance, its tongue rearing slightly at the limit of each invasion to flatter her clitoris with an irresistible kiss. The sensation of being ass-raided and twat-fancied quickly loosened her will, dispelling any fearful reluctance. Ione closed her eyes, breath coming in abbreviated intervals as Emma gently drew at her nipples, coaxing her with an ominously restrained touch. Mark drove to a steadily more kinetic tempo, widening her with each occupation till the glider rode far over her clit, bearing down with a lecherous grandeur. Manassa was rubbing herself unselfconsciously now.

  “Get her!” Emma whispered, twisting a delicate nipple to sweet pain.

  “Fuck you!” Ione whispered in humiliated delight.

  Mark assiduously pummeled her rectum as the glider licked on, suborning her to its addictive stimulation.

  “Oh, fuck you…” Ione whimpered again, eyes fluttering. She recklessly cinched her sphincter, almost stalling Mark, but was unprepared for the intense wave of pleasure that resulted. He grunted at this defiance, reaming unsympathetically.

  “Swallow it up,” Emma taunted. “Go on…”

  Mark pinned her at the anus, scrotum smacking her tailbone with each frenzied investiture, and Emma twisted her nipples to the limit of tolerance, witnessed her lover’s submission to the glider and its hunky employer as it buffeted her womanhood to a climax she mindlessly documented with shrieked expletives.

  “Oh fuck, fuck you all! Fuck you fuck you fuck you, yessss…”

  Mark beat the orgasm out of her long body, slowed to a stop when she was finally exhausted. For a moment they were all silent.

  “Thank you,” Ione concluded, a polite repri
sal of her recent vulgarities.

  Tired from the athletic activities of the day, they fell asleep, napping together on the blanket…

  Mark woke to a chest-shuddering peal of thunder to find Emma and Ione standing over him with soft rubber whips. Emma reached down to fit the jack on his penis again, its weight aiming the shaft up to the sky.

  As the first warm droplets fell they proceeded to drub his erection, lashing it relentlessly till he dragged desperately at his wrists and ankles, bound to thick roots by short lines Emma had stowed in a secret pocket of the bag. Thunder erupted again, issuing balefully along the horizon in torn and croaking increments.

  Mark’s skin glistened in the shower as they mercilessly whipped his dick; high-flung, bitterly accelerated blows that set his body writhing. And when he couldn’t take it anymore he roared, a deafening proclamation of identity, channeling the fury of the storm to pulse hot jizz into their midst; an uncanny, skyward precipitation that sensually spattered them both.

  As the rain abated Ione stared onto a twilit world. The prismatic wash of a vividly inscribed rainbow arced from the forest to some destination at the edge of the desert, and it was so beautiful to gaze upon her lover wept silently at the sight. The grass was littered with its own tears, each a swooning microcosm of some unseen destiny enclosing them all. The air was weighted by a perfect, lukewarm humidity that clung like clothing, thickened in the distance to cloak the Laplands in an ethereal fabric. Ione sighed, reconciled to the perfection of the moment but sensible to the fractured destiny proceeding from its tenuous temporality. Her thoughts drifted on strange tides of symmetry and reconciliation, wandering toward a revelation that lurked just beyond comprehension…

  “It’s getting darker,” Mark finally whispered. “We should get back.”

  They rose without discussion, stretching gingerly, absently shook hair to a drier consistency as they packed up.

  Ione took the lead and they descended the bluff, set off around the lake back to the forest, any lingering fatigue countered by the intimidating prospect of night near at hand.

  The forest collected thickly about them, its tenebrous, wind-tossed canopy piquing their shoulders with chaotic little showers from time to time. As the setting sun dragged a rumpled blanket of red and purple tones to the horizon they found the wide thicket of flowers camouflaging the tunnel down, marked by their now sodden lily bouquets.

  “That’s that, I guess,” Ione decided, drawing a final, rich breath of Lapland air. She regretfully clambered into the tunnel and the others followed.

  But they had not gone far when she halted abruptly.

  “Stop!” she hissed. “Listen!” From below could be heard a grimly echoing mutter that bespoke many skulks.

  “What are they doing?” Emma whispered hysterically, and Ione fought back a hateful screech, unable to believe that the beauty of the evening had come to ruin.

  “This isn’t happening,” Mark numbly intoned.

  “They’re close,” Manassa warned.

  “We can’t confront a group that size,” Ione murmured in despair.

  “Are they all over the Lap then?” Emma croaked.

  “Must be,” Mark leadenly decided.

  “Pass on… line to the gnomes… move them along…” The vague exchanges rising up to them sharpened into comprehensibility.

  “Quiet!” Ione waved her companions to silence, newly alarmed by what were clearly intelligent exchanges between the skulks. They were men, she realized.

  “I heard something!” a voice called from below. Ione could hear them feeling about for purchase, climbing fast now.

  “Oh, no…” Emma moaned.

  “The women?” Manassa whispered. “Are they prisoners?”

  “Yes. Probably. It doesn’t matter,” Ione choked. “We have to get out now.”

  She stared hopelessly up to the others, waiting for either Mark or Manassa to betray her, whichever had compromised the Lap before they left. She couldn’t physically oppose either of them under the best of circumstances, had no chance at all in the narrow passage enclosing her.

  But Emma was scrambling back up the tunnel, Manassa fast on her heels. “Move!” Mark imperiously ordered, breaking Ione’s paralysis. She blinked away acrid tears and swung up behind him.

  In her fearful haste and fatigue she slipped.

  “Fuck!”

  The noise instantly alerted the men below, and their vanguard scrambled up to meet her as she crashed through the fibrous shell of the passage, shrieking from a sequence of brutal connections with its twisting contours. The sound and sweaty redolence of men enveloped her.

  “Help!” she screamed as the foremost of the raiders grabbed her ankle, hauled her violently down.

  The tunnel was abruptly filled with a din of voices from both directions, and Ione kicked with her free foot, lost purchase with one hand and was dragged into captivity.

  “Ione!” Emma wailed from overhead, a heartbreaking communication of loss and despair. They would likely never see each other again once separated. Ione sobbed, ready for the end.

  “They got her!” Manassa screamed in fury.

  There was a savage utterance from above and Mark plummeted to her position in a barely controlled fall. Bracing his knees to either side, he threw one hand down to grasp her by the hair, and with a stupendous display of strength hauled both Ione and the man clutching her straight up.

  “Pass her down!” voices roared from below, and her assailant sought to comply.

  But with the painful leverage Mark supplied Ione was able to kick at him brutally and after three madly cranked blows to the face he detached with a howl. Mark lifted her past his own position, shoved her ass from below into Manassa’s waiting embrace, and they clambered up in a frenzied ambition to outpace the marauders.

  The men instantly regrouped. “Get them!”

  Their foremost climbers hauled themselves up at great speed, reaching to within a bodylength of Mark’s position.

  “Fuck you skulks!” Ione cried, clawing her way back to the surface. “Faster, Mark!”

  The light saved them.

  As they reached the vicinity of the exit the lingering glow of sunset was too much for their pursuers, who had no time to adjust from the long ascent through the night-blind tunnel. They fell back before the twilit radiance pooling down from the Laplands, shielding their eyes as Ione emerged from the passage with the others to sprint back toward the concealment of the woods.

  They lingered briefly in the densest regions of the forest, sometimes hiding in its lofty bowers, too wary of the men to risk the tunnel to the underworld. It was always guarded by at least a trix of their number and patrols came and went from there regularly, usually in groups of a six or dox.

  “There’s nothing to return to now but enslavement,” Ione numbly decided on the third day. “We either stay in the Laplands indefinitely, or…” She turned solemnly to face outward.

  “What?” Mark prompted.

  “We take to the desert.”

  “What’s out there?” Manassa questioned, gazing across an unvarying horizon of hot sand.

  “Maybe nothing if luck should fail us. But somewhere—though I don’t know in which direction—there is a city,” Ione said. “The women will be taken there, and it’s the only choice left to us now.” She saw Emma close her eyes, overburdened by the weight of their shameful incompetence. Mark squeezed her hand.

  “We could hide in the forest for a long time. How will it be safer in the city?” Manassa inquired.

  “Because of its size,” said Ione. “There are so many people there our presence might go unnoticed. And…” She tried to frame an elusive thought. “We may be protected by certain features of their culture.”

  They might still have lingered in the Laplands debating the options, but a random patrol of men almost discovered their camp, and Ione knew in time they would inevitably be found.

  “We should go,” she hopelessly concluded. “I thought they might leave
in time, but there are even more of those suited brutes up here now searching for us. Four or five sex of them, at least. There might even be a sen of people prowling for us at this point, and that’s a lot of guys relative to the space available. We have to try to escape, anyway.” The others numbly assented.

  “Rest up,” she ordered. “We’ll leave tonight, when it’s dark. We’d be impossible to miss out on the desert by day, and the heat would flatten us regardless.”

  When the moon hove above the trees they fearfully ventured forth, treading warm sand by its slanting grey ambience. For a long time Ione watched behind them, concerned for pursuit. Their tracks stretched clearly back to the Laplands, a stitched silhouette that always led to themselves, inscribed on a terrain that might never have known a drop of precipitation. The benighted verdancy of the forest dwindled, finally lapsed from sight.

  Four nights came and went as they paced the desert by moonlight, which alternated with the hammering heat of day in equal installments. They were abjectly thirsty, having consumed the freshly picked Lapland fruit they stuffed in the adventure bag over the first few marches. It required the sexth part of one’s mass in liquid consumption to feel sated from one sunrise to the next, and perhaps a sixth of that amount to subsist for a day. But without anything at all to drink they wouldn’t last more than a half-dox of days before succumbing to dream.

  Their footsteps ran ever straight to the horizon behind them, were never again encountered—sole evidence of meaningful progress across a featureless terrain. In the face of the desert’s blatant threat to their welfare Ione had stopped checking for pursuit.

  They were shambling along under a full moon on the fifth night when Manassa suddenly stopped.

  “Wasth thath oaphher therrr…” she muttered, then made a heroic effort to moisten her throat.

  “Loog,” she pointed. Far off to one side was an omphalotic mote on the sand; a compact, tangled outline. Not the Laplands, but not any kind of city either…