Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One Read online

  And who knew what strange game the huge woman next to her was playing? She morosely traced Manassa’s tumbling silhouette, gaze ranging to her hairless delta as the men surrounding them patiently looked on. Sleep claimed her at last.

  Emma prodded her lover and she started.

  “Emma? Emma! What happened? Where… Why are you down here?” Ione mumbled.

  “I hid for as long as I could, but the skulks all left. Then I tried to find this place again and fell in accidentally…”

  “You saw how it happened the first time!” Ione scolded, clambering erect.

  “Well, what did you want me to do?”

  “Call down!”

  Emma started to cry. “I did! As loud as I dared! Why didn’t you answer?”

  “Because…” Ione fell silent.

  “We were sleeping,” Manassa yawned.

  “Oh.” Emma stared about their prison.

  “Peckermen,” Manassa gestured drowsily.

  “Yeah… I can see that.” Emma wondered how much Ione had actually told her about these skulks, minions of a faraway power called the Dowser, whose authority reached apparently anywhere. The hulking man belonged to an impossible, dizzying prehistory she reflexively banished from thought.

  Emma did a quick survey of their alcoves, connected from behind by a common passage, she knew from experience. A few of the peckermen wore random articles of clothing.

  “What will happen now?” Manassa asked.

  “We suck, is what will happen,” said Emma. “If we want to leave, anyway.”

  “Suck?”

  “They play a game as you suck their dicks, try to decide who is closest to orgasm. And that skulk is denied by the others.”

  “So how exactly do we escape?”

  “With enough skill and patience,” Emma continued, “you can get them off and put them out of the game, eventually leaving a single winner to do what he wants with the slippers they trapped.”

  “How will that improve things?” asked Manassa.

  “Well, one of us will get outside at least,” Emma shrugged. “The winner usually takes the woman that finished him for personal service.”

  “But he won’t be anticipating her intelligence or initiative in this case,” Ione mused.

  Manassa shook her head wonderingly. “Why do they do this?”

  Ione stared about the alcoves, spoke hesitantly. “It provides the conditions necessary for them to cooperate, I think.”

  Manassa pondered this, and Emma saw that her customary grin was subdued. They were silent for a while.

  “I guess you were right about men. There’s no question as to their hostility,” the big woman admitted.

  Ione sighed heavily. “Believe me, this is just a harmless shadow of the treachery they have shown us in the past. Peckermen are almost friendly next to some of the skulks we’ve encountered.”

  “Tell me,” Manassa implored. “What do you remember? What have they done?”

  “That’s the problem,” Emma gravely disclosed. Everything about their history is scrambled. Neither of us can make sense of what happened before you woke us.”

  Ione rolled over on her back to regard the ceiling. “They did something to make it that way, I think. To protect themselves against our ability to anticipate them.”

  “How could they do that?” Manassa skeptically inquired.

  Emma frowned. “We’ve been trying to figure that out.” She distractedly dragged her big toe across the sand to etch a wavering circle. “The thing I don’t understand, is why would they bother? They can have all the slippers they want without much trouble, so why go to the effort of confusing a few independent women in such a queer way? It wouldn’t be that hard to just drown the doyennes. They almost did, it looks like. But I have the feeling they need us for something…” She moodily cleaned her foot in the shallow water surrounding their sandy little island, absently blotting her whimsical geometry.

  “In that light it behooves us to ask if our adversaries harbor homogeneous ambitions,” Ione mused. “Do these peckermen have the same goal as the skulks that chased us here?”

  “I doubt it,” Manassa ventured after a little consideration. “They don’t seem to have similar personalities at all.”

  Emma nodded. “I agree. It’s a mistake to assume that all men are enemies. In a way the peckermen saved us; we’re pretty safe down here, from anyone but them at least.”

  “But we do want to escape, right?”

  Ione snorted. “Of course. In time these assholes would reduce us to slippers. Without the sophistications of society we would slowly lose the ability to talk and think—and eventually the capacity to challenge our circumstances. That’s their basic ambition, actually; to turn us into thoughtlessly compliant slaves, with no higher aim than slobbering down the next cheekload of semen. We have to get out before that becomes an accomplished fact.”

  “Well… how do we start?”

  Ione stared at Emma with a grim expression that squarely assigned responsibility for their predicament to her. It didn’t really matter, given that she was probably going to do most of the sucking anyway. It was her sexual expertise.

  Emma stepped cautiously over to one of the exposed penises, not the largest of the group, but nicely dimensioned—a well-tapered mast with a proudly flared head, eagerly extruded from the root-choked facade of its cell.

  “Just pick a dick and get down on your knees and suck at it,” she instructed. “Keep your hands off them—they don’t like that. You’ll have to learn as you go, because we all have to start at the same time.” She lowered to her chosen skulk and there was a rustle of excitement from the rest of the peckermen. Ione muttered something hateful and stumbled over to another erection. With a quizzical look Manassa approached the last one showing, behind Emma and out of view.

  Emma caught the glint of her skulk’s gaze through the cage, eyes narrowed to a leer. He smelled faintly of soap, a delicate fragrance radiating from lust-heated masculinity. She took a deep breath, knowing that once begun there would be no respite until they were exhausted or victorious.

  She made her knees comfortable on fine, watery sand and settled her hands behind to clasp submissively over her flared rump; the classic posture of fellatio. She did not touch a man’s penis with anything but lips and mouth when rendering oral sex unless specifically encouraged.

  Her tongue emerged to perform a licentious, flickering dance, instantly appetizing the skulk. She leaned in and kissed his testicles respectfully, licked daintily up and down the ticklish seam to swab the sac with a slow, circular caress, knowing less was more at first. There would be time for full-immersion nut washing and other sly supplications later on.

  Reluctantly departing his testes, Emma molded her tongue compliantly around the base of his prick and slowly ascended from there with a lavish, lateral swishing, ass wagging subtly in emphasis. Saliva welled in her mouth, dribbled heedlessly onto the skulk’s cock as she worked upward, left it gleaming to the tip, where she performed a fancy, lapping provocation that suggestively spattered her face with twinkling droplets of spittle. She smiled and giggled, blatantly flirting with him, mostly for his partners to witness.

  With a shy look she spread her lips wide then and took his penis modestly into her face, indulging just the head, licking and lathering this fat candy. With a noisy slurp she began to swirl it in leisurely supplication, neck working a hypnotic, indolent spiral—a long-practiced technique most men couldn’t withstand for long, sure to be adored by the peckermen jailing her now. Emma’s skill at fellatio was probably the only reason they had a chance against so many skulks; Ione had some minimal talent for oral sex, but she wasn’t energetic or enthusiastic about it, which was a big factor in a situation like this. Manassa was an unknown factor in things, but Emma doubted anyone totally unfamiliar with fellatio would be drinking cocks to consummation her first time out.

  She drove the skulk a little further into her mouth, jaw flexing sensuously, sucking half-way up
the prick, withdrawing slightly and returning, head downswept to force her tongue along the sensitive underside of his penis, levered to a compliant angle by the pivoting cincture of her lips.

  The skulk exhaled blissfully, knuckles whitening about clenched roots, and Emma lunged on him more forcefully, brought his cock fully into congress with her mouth as her tongue muscularly addressed its desire. She could hear Ione and Manassa applying themselves to the game, but couldn’t guess how they fared.

  She sucked on the skulk with a steadily accelerating syncopation and his excitement soon exceeded self-control. Salty pre-ejaculate dotted her throat and a muttering arose from the unserviced peckermen, factions emerging out of their banter to decide what would happen next.

  “No!“ One pointed to Emma’s skulk.

  “No…” Another querulously gestured to the man Ione was fellating.

  “No!” A third voiced an opinion.

  “No!” two players chorused, pointing to Emma’s skulk.

  “Him!” A peckerman gestured to an unengaged skulk as the new destination.

  “No!” Three pointed inhibitingly to her skulk now.

  “No!” “Him…”

  “No!” “No!” “Him!” “Him!” Soon everyone had an opinion about who was finished and who was next.

  “No!” “Him!” “No!” “No!” “Him!” “Him!” The grotto echoed with their contention as they estimated which of the three men was closest to release. Arms waved around in pairs, gesturing to one occupied man, one free. Their noise finally built to a resounding quorum; a majority of peckermen were pointing to Emma’s man with one hand and the man she would service next with the other. “No! Him!” they boomed in unison.

  She rose, stepped where she was bidden. Ione was busy on a proudly lofted phallus further down, working with hesitant skill, and behind her Manassa knelt before a huge cock, face veiled in shadow.

  “Just suck on it,” Emma hurriedly advised, not sure what was going on but unwilling to stall the game, risking the accumulated tension. “Try to get a rhythm going.”

  She settled before her next subject, taking his stiffly activated member into her mouth, gauged the intensity of his desire and gently brought the doughty head of his penis to the lintel of her throat, let his aching intention season for a moment. She slid off, let just the tip back in her mouth, swirling it round and about, tongue wrapped tight about the shaft, channeling a wave of stimulation to its ventral tract.

  Emma began to lunge, still circling, buttocks flexing in a cooperative rhythm. Her knees sank into watery sand from this indulgently kinetic technique, but her skulk’s excitation built helplessly as a result. She felt an urgent release forming.

  The peckermen caucused noisily again and cancelled his pleasure. Emma rose and moved where they pointed.

  The next man was already collected for an assault on her throat, testes swollen with hot ejaculate, and Emma freed one hand as she sucked, furtively reached through the roots, encircling them with her fingers, trusting the skulk was too preoccupied to oppose this crafty gambit. She gently pulled his scrotum forward, got her fingers wrapped about it, trapping his penis.

  She worked him aggressively then, forcing him to the back of her throat, opening it just a little, sneaking his head beyond for a quick flirtation with the most intimate recess of her body, then let it out again, withdrawing to pucker-lick its rigid length, assaying his readiness for bliss by the faint light available.

  Ione’s service had taken her nearby, and Emma saw from one slanted look that she was not doing well, deeply hated herself at the moment. But the boisterous commotion from Manassa somewhere behind them was even more disturbing. The hoots and hollers of the skulk she attended bore a desperate quality, and Emma was increasingly alarmed at the thought that her companions might actually reduce their chances of escape, pitting her lonely throat against all the peckermen; a hopeless proposition.

  “C’mon Ione, get him off!” she bawled between inhalations of penis, and it almost seemed like she would, but the peckermen, aptly gauging her man’s nearness to ecstasy, called the tall woman to a new skulk, and she stumbled over to his arrogantly poised pillar.

  Emma supplied brisk, dutiful strokes to her man, and before long felt the skulk stiffen, testicles crawling in her palm. She pushed him hard down her throat, getting the head all the way past the cinch. Yanking possessively on his scrotum, she mouth-humped his prick, breasts bulging against moist roots.

  “No!” “Him!”

  As the skulk’s companions shouted for her relocation, Emma gripped his balls harder, holding on, and he howled triumphantly a moment later, blasting hot semen into her head. She swallowed compliantly, gulping the bitter emissions till he was depleted, knowing her generosity would excite the other peckermen, make them anxious to submit, compromising the game. Her skulk sagged and withdrew from the alcove. Emma sprinted over to the next man indicated.

  She let this guy fight her for a while, auditing his muttered responses, the clenched denial dragged from his lips as he sensed her mastery. Hauling hard at his anatomy, she punched him deep into her throat and the head swelled, caught like a fist behind her tightened jaw.

  “Awwwwww…” he groaned as his manhood spat semen repeatedly into her, a joyous capitulation that issued in warm, sticky torrents.

  To her left she saw Manassa bully another skulk into withdrawal, disbelievingly clutching his penis in the darkness of the alcove, awed and excited by the intimidating scale of the woman before him. Ione fellated a skulk to completion at last, a noisy and less than aesthetic performance, but victory nonetheless. She stumbled to the next man due for service and got to her knees.

  The peckermen slowly capitulated to their combined effort till only three remained in their alcoves—the wiliest withholders, expert at the game of mutual estimation on which the whole contest turned.

  Emma was already tired. Fingers knotted in her hair as she spread her lips wide against a peckerman and rocked slowly back and forth on his long, mean-spirited penis. Rolling spit-oiled testicles in her hand, she finally drew everything he had to give, let him finish on her face to goad the remaining men, smiling in weary solicitation as he jizzed about her hairline.

  From Ione’s quarter came the grunting depletion of another player, leaving just one under Manassa’s care, who like every previous recipient of her ministrations was caught between excitation and shock at the sight of her voluptuous form bouncily at service. The lair was quiet now save for their awkward conjugation.

  Emma stepped in Manassa’s direction, put a hand on her shoulder. She stopped and looked up eagerly, no evidence of semen on her lips or face, apparently exempted by overstimulation and intimidation from its tart indignity. There was nothing gloating in her expression however, and Emma guessed she had worked just as hard as Ione or herself, whatever the result.

  “Lemme finish this one?” she suggested, surveying the phallus glistening before them, offered with a glorious, martial resolve. Manassa rose, licking her lips, anticipating her demonstration of skill with an uncynical grin.

  Emma knelt a final time, immersed to the crotch in warm water, not entirely displeased the final challenge of the game required romancing this particular skulk; the pecker angled over her brow had the muscular perfection of a forearm and fist, wide at the base and gently upcurved to a shapely, well-delineated head; a brawny heralder of raptures and reprimands squatting on a bulging scrotum full of oily jizz pressurized by a long delay of expression.

  Emma stared for a moment, sought upward to the man who wielded it, a hulking presence poised in darkness. She could feel the heat of his body wafting on a faint current through the plaited roots dividing them.

  She took the head into her mouth, practically a whole act unto itself, and its burly radius opened her face to a slant-eyed leer, plumping her cheeks into the low periphery of vision. Taking her time, she savored its taste, slurping worshipfully about its tumid bulk, indulging the classic male fantasy of obedient, blond-headed
cocksucking till Ione sighed in consternation. Emma let him further into her mouth with a lubricated inhalation and he plugged squishily at the back of her throat.

  She commenced to employ a baffling stimulation, two deep penetrations and one shallow swirl under the head—an off-gait shuffle he couldn’t easily assimilate.

  The skulk responded well to this solicitation, gave every indication that she tendered the right flavor of pleasure, an excitation that would develop to more arousal and need, and faster sucking, then utter rigidity and release at last. Emma closed her eyes, let the pecker cramming her head become its center, its reckoning, the axis on which she turned. Carefully developing the tension and energy, she proceeded to throw herself on him with a full-bodied pounce, thighs sloshing water, gaming for mastery.

  But after a while Emma sensed the natural peak of the act had come and gone. She slowed, brow furrowing.

  “What’s wrong?” Ione hissed.

  Emma halted at full penetration, preserving the intimacy of the act while surreptitiously giving her neck a respite. It was a personal rule of fellatio never to release the penis beyond a certain point in the act. She stared at the base of the skulk’s cock, the only visible feature in her view. Her mouth was widened to its furthest extent, could not even shape an unhappy reaction, and her mood slid quietly to despair. Did it matter what happened here? What freedom were they returning to, exactly?

  Silence claimed the grotto. Emma could feel Ione’s sour gaze on the back of her head, countering the pressure of the big skulk finger pointing the other way. Manassa shifted slightly. Emma blinked, exhausted, then slowly backed off the penis and took a deep breath.

  “Grab him,” she slurred.

  Ione just stared but Manassa reached forward, one hand shooting into the alcove to apprehend the skulk about his wrist. Hauling a muscular arm through the cage she wrapped her breasts around it, folding his limb back against the roots.