Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (60 page)

“
We’re here,” Ione announced
as they exited onto a wide, shop-lined promenade circling the
trees. There were countless well-dressed people in sight, and many
primly suited mannermen in attendance watching them. They pulled up
next to a boutique immediately adjacent to a pond large enough to
disappear around the curvature of the park. Paddleboats idled about
the water and the brick-paved pathway wandering along the perimeter
of the woods was thickly trafficked by pedestrians, mostly for
pleasure Emma guessed, noting their leisurely progress.

She stepped out to confront a long facade of
colorful archways, within which racks of clothing of every
description waited for their attention. The shop itself rose to
three levels and was ornamented in a naturalistic theme; stenciled
leaves and flowers livened its walls, and the trim was a scrollwork
of sinuously organic flares and tapers.

“
Hey!” Manassa belted from
off to the right, garbed in the livery of her employers; a frilly
red and pink dress that couldn’t quite contain the voluptuous
bulges of the woman inhabiting it.

“
Hi, sweetheart!” Emma
fondly greeted her giant friend as she skipped over, planted a
sloppy kiss on her rosy cheek before modesty could check the
impulse. The others expressed their pleasure more conservatively,
but Emma felt their happiness at the restoration of their little
society.

Manassa looked them over with a newly
developed authority for matters of fashion. “We’ve got work to do,”
she laughed. “C’mon!” She dragged them into the racks, exhorting
each to try anything that appealed. “You can’t go wrong with
anything in this section. Find some casual stuff you think will
fit. Later we’ll look for styles that push the standard a
little.”

Emma stole a glance to Ione, shrugged as they
shared a grin, and happily complied. Mark and Dean had absorbed
themselves in the various possibilities of denim, and Emma watched
them fool around, backslapping and sleeve-plucking amidst a swirl
of wide-eyed female patrons. Several recognized Dean from the Club
and all were interested in Mark.

“
Whatcha think?” Ione
inquired, waving a loose-cut ultramarine blouse patterned with
sensual shapes in a lighter hue. Fine white threadwork wandered the
shoulders.

“
Smart,” Emma decided,
throwing a flirtatious lime skirt over one arm. “Grab the bigger
one too. Don’t know which will fit you.”

They accumulated potential habiliments till
Manassa manifested out of nowhere behind Emma, and she found
herself playfully encircled by the huge woman, braced between her
massive thighs. The frilly pink on red dress folded aromatically
about her. Unseen by Ione she reached back and pinched Manassa’s
pubis, provoking a sharp giggle.

“
C’mon!” the big woman
ordered, leading Emma toward the dressing rooms by one hand. Ione
followed them, signaling Dean and Mark to join their
company.

Manassa lead them to an available stall and
they filed in. The walls were lined with mirrors and a low bench
ran along one side, suitable for their clothes, new and old. It was
just big enough for the five of them to occupy, and they were soon
shedding their attire.

“
Why are you stripping?”
Emma laughingly demanded of Manassa.

“
Just so we all feel
comfortable,” she grinned.

“
Is that store policy?” Ione
archly inquired, vaguely aroused by the notion Emma
decided.

“
For us it is!” Dean
ardently declared as Manassa’s giant curves spilled into
view.

They began the sensuous task of dressing
again, and Manassa took this process firmly in hand, turning Emma
with soft authority to face a huge mirror as her hands came up
under her breasts, settled them with a fast tweak, and slipped a
soft bra over her quickly ripening nipples. Clasping it in back,
she snapped it playfully then brought up a set of panties under her
dancing feet, eased them into place, running her fingers down the
seams to center the garment comfortably about her vagina.

“
That’s the hottest thing
I’ve seen in a long time,” Dean throatily commented to
Mark.

“
I could watch women dress
each other all day,” the other man declared. Emma saw that both
were forming erections.

Ione watched Manassa garb her with mingled
heat and humor, Emma thought. The context of the boutique made the
big woman’s role seem totally natural. Nonetheless, Emma was
astonished when Manassa moved behind her lover and clothed her with
the same lingering flirtation of fingers and thighs, and when she
stood them next to each other, they looked so sweetly composed in
their matching lingerie that Emma felt a sharp excitation at her
crotch, wondered if she was moist enough to stain the panties. She
giggled when she saw that Ione had already done just this, realized
her companion hadn’t climaxed for days.

Dean came up behind Emma, hands all over the
skeined anatomy of her flesh.

“
Like my lingerie?” she
sleazily inquired.

“
I do. And I’m going to
enjoy the variations too,” he promised, nodding to the pile waiting
for evaluation. He massaged her nimbly cupped breasts, pinching the
nipples to dimpled visibility, then moved a hand down to her
crotch. A moment later he rubbed his slippery thumb and forefingers
under her nose. “But first I think the situation with your clammy
drawers needs to be addressed.”

“
Un
dressed actually,” Mark boozily corrected and swigged their
last bottle of stillwater. “Then we can get
deep
into the ‘situation’ as it
were.” He reached over to Ione’s fleet physique, yanked her panties
down with a presumptive smirk.

She grinned, looked back to admire her own
posterior. “Anytime,” she challenged. The group fell silent for a
moment.

Then lingerie was spontaneously discarded.
Fingers and lips met erogenous targets, knees met carpet and bodies
twisted about to oblige some subliminal consensus as to the ideal
use of space. Dean wound up lying on the floor and Emma settled on
top of him.

“
Hey,” said Manassa. “I got
something for that.” Searching through an assortment of jewelry
gathered for their consideration, she produced a figurine of a nude
slipper straddling an unseen lover, hanging by her raised and
widespread hands from adjustable chains tipped with nipple
clamps.

“
What’s that?” Mark demanded
as he pulled Ione down onto him.

“
It’s a ladylay,” said
Manassa, finding its twin in the accessory pile. She fastened the
devices on the other women to hang pendulously from their breasts.
The metal statuette weighted her glinting chains to a sensual
catenary sweep between Emma’s stiffened tips.

Ione gingerly massaged the aureole of a
firmly clamped nipple. “Some kind of rhythm toy?”

Manassa nodded. “She’ll delay your lay. Try
it!” she grinned.

Emma grasped Dean’s erection with one hand
and fed it into her vulva, slowly relaxing her thighs till it was
fully accommodated. He sighed minutely, lips narrowing to a
blissful line, and Emma carefully set herself in motion, fucking
the blond musician with a measured lunge.

The toy functioned to control her velocity,
gliding back and forth over her lover with hypnotic regularity, its
buxom, glinting form artfully reprising the posture and progress of
the woman who bore it.

Emma heard Ione sigh as Mark’s erection put a
wide smile on her labia. She glanced over to witness their first,
halting effort at intercourse. Ione quickly discovered the correct
tempo and her ornament traveled elegantly.

Emma planted her hands farther forward and
stared hazily down at her own.

“
Don’t stop,” Dean
whispered, gaze fixed on the toy. “Just don’t stop.”

“
Good,” Manassa encouraged,
leaning closer to watch.

Emma closed her eyes. She could feel the
swing of the figurine through her nipples, deftly guiding her
through an ancient, tidal dance.

“
Yesss
…” Dean quietly suspired, captivated by her punctiliously
phrased sexuality. She felt his long frame tense in anticipation,
knew from experience he would surrender to climax soon. Too soon.
Emma wanted to meet him there.

“
Let’s slow him down,”
Manassa softly counseled, crouching next to them now. She felt the
clamps flutter as her friend adjusted the chains. “Try that.” On
resuming the act Emma gauged the longer arc of the ladylay and
conformed to its protracted cycle, loosing a scandalously lax
groove on Dean’s manhood.

The drummer groaned worshipfully at this new,
stymieing pace and Emma felt his straining limbs shimmy in
negotiation with the achingly slow copulation she supplied. His
penis was immobilized by lust, rigidly angled to receive the
forbearant caress of her vulva as it wandered up the shaft,
returned just as slowly to kiss the testicles. Emma let her own
pleasure anchor to this ponderous frequency, gather in modest,
measured increments as the lady permitted.

There was a clink as Manassa
hitched Ione’s pendant a little higher on its chains, setting the
tall woman to a faster period of penetration. “Yeah, slip…” Mark
grunted in dreamy satisfaction. “Get that thing
exercised
.” Emma could tell he was in
the sphincter now from the higher pitch of her
noisemaking.

But the audible rapidity of their congress
only emphasized the tortuously prolonged schedule of her own. Emma
hissed in blind frustration, almost betrayed the pace, then fully
submitted to the suppressive propriety of the lady’s constant,
nipple-censuring commandment to delay culmination, though she
desperately wanted it now. Bliss built at her crotch, needing just
a little more speed to overflow…

Ione called gently next to her, an
inarticulate plea that aroused Emma so deeply her vaginal muscles
reflexively contracted, gripping Dean with an avaricious
stringency.

“
Fuck me Emz…” he breathed
from somewhere far away, her mutual prisoner to the woman swinging
serenely between them. Then they were finally free, redeemed by a
conquering ecstasy…

The pleasure spiraled out from her clitoris
to bathe her in shivery installments of gratification that lasted
and lasted as she helplessly obliged the lady’s uncompromising
meter, rendering the most potent climax she had experienced with
the drummer.

Emma finally collapsed onto him, breathing
evenly. The rounded little woman was trapped between their flesh
now, stilled by the fulfillment of her role, and Emma knew they
would be leaving the store with it. Manassa finally rose and Emma
shakily followed her up. Ione wore a blank expression that signaled
a deep satisfaction of appetites but Mark was carefully screening
his unsated erection from Dean.

Emma reached for the lingerie pile again,
lofted a lacy red brassiere. “So can I actually try on some new
clothes, or am I gonna get stripped again?” she challenged.

“
Can’t say,” Dean breezed
noncommittally, eyeing its bloated cups. “Put it on and we’ll
see…”

That night Ione brought them to the Gnomon’s
Tower. It was a long trip—her second that day—and she was quite
tired of being in the car, but her exasperation with the time lost
to the journey was offset to some extent by the strange tale of an
“orientation” in front of a huge crowd Manassa related along the
way. She had even pointed out the giant, pyramidal garment
warehouse called the “tent” where it had supposedly taken place,
though Ione had to agree that for all its size it still didn’t seem
capacious enough to house the wonders she described. Manassa had
escaped the same way she had entered, using some kind of bizarre
hydraulic transport tube. She had to wait for it sometimes as the
breathable fluid that flooded the tunnel could flow in either
direction.

Ione digested this fabulous narrative without
skepticism, knowing by now that the other woman’s larger-than-life
personality overlay a strict, almost simpleminded adherence to
fact. The most troubling detail was her insistence that no one on
the upper floors of the building had any knowledge of the City at
all. Ione knew of at least one group of people that would be
ignorant in just this way; the women of the Lap. If they were kept
in the “tent” then she would soon be making war on the place, no
matter the risk. And risk was practically guaranteed. Manassa had
mentioned the place was thick with mannermen.

Ione mused on the wider shape of their
situation as the others drank and chattered in back. The duffel bag
was sitting open in the rectangular space between the convertible’s
plush, sidelining couches, and they were hunched over it, bottles
in hand, plotting their social conquest of the City. Save for Mark
they were now well-placed individually. But they had no collective
authority.

“
I could paddle the bucket!”
Mark recklessly declared in response to something Emma said about
the impossibility of supplanting the Dowser.

“
You probably could,” Dean
agreed, endorsing Mark’s position as he usually did now. “Lots of
employees have taken it down the well and rowed around the lake
condensing there, but no one has ever found the stillwater
pocket.”

Ione thoughtfully considered their manly
friendship as she wove her way deeper into the Gnomon’s territory.
In the subterranean world it took three skulks using a crude,
almost subconscious majority rule to establish a group will, but
the civilizing influence of the metropolis changed the situation by
formalizing the concept of individual equality. Yet everyone
ultimately owed allegiance to one of the two judges, who were
proxies for all personal ambition.