Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (14 page)

Ione took him on a leisurely
excursion about places she had come to know in her
loneliness,
stirred by the warmth at her
back and
the inadvertent foreplay of
his
manhood as it teased
her flexing rump
.

She almost swallowed water
when he parted
her
buttocks
,
delicately widening
her
anus
, cock lubricated by oily
pre-emissions
, then his head was inside
her; a fat knob lodged in her rectum.
His
fingers gathered at her nipples, establishing a deliberate grip,
and her lips widened in pleasure at the connection, showering
bubbles as her legs flared to a more submissive breadth.
She lunged away in exhilaration as he worked his
way farther into her body, opportunistically claiming a new
interval of flesh from time to time as her buttocks gathered for
another adductive sweep.

Ione devoted herself to the
sensual regime of the breaststroke
when
his
penis
was
fully admitted
, a rigid
guide pointing the way
.
He
tugged
her
nipples with a steadily
developing
assumption
as the muscular undulation of
her rump
sucked at his
erection,
a heated
funnel
of torsion and
pressure…

Her body felt utterly
open,
sublimely submitted, gliding
without plan about the
lake bed. Warm water coursed along the keen protrusion of her
clitoris, swished through the gyring oval of her labia as
her
limbs snapped outward from the locus of
his pinioning
member, hauled back again,
cheeks wrapped tight around his cock to obtain a rubbed rush of
pleasure at her sphincter. He
rode her
until she was out of breath and they surfaced for
a
long inhalation, dove
again
.

His
fingers
signaled a growing urgency,
bidding her to more speed
with a decisive
pressure at the nipples
, and she worked
harder for him,
c
onsuming
her
energies at a careless, then
hectic
rate to
sustain their
frolic
.

Breath expended ever more
rapidly, she
lunged above the
surface
for a gulped
resuscitation
, was borne under
again
by his weight almost
immediately. He
screwed
her breasts to a blissful agony, goading
her, and Ione kicked on with a great effort, pulse hammering,
extremities flung and
recalled
on
ragged
arcs
.
Her buttocks
were aching, motivated by his hungry penis to a frenzied
exercise.

The blue-tinged forms of sluggishly waving
plants slid by as her consciousness narrowed to a single input; the
remorseless ambition of his sexuality lodged deep within her,
reaching and reaching… to finally touch her most private, delicate
zone. Her labia fluttered in the sluicing delta of her thighs as
the pleasure mounted…

Then he was rocking against
her, flooding her with
hot
jizz,
gripping
her
unshakably
as he rode out a
strenuous
climax
.

When she surfaced,
gulping air deliriously,
Ione saw
that he had been
guiding
her to a private
place all along
, manipulating her with
skillful innocence
. A dox of his friends
lounged
in view
,
erections
rearing
to hail her furiously developed arousal.

They rode her for
mastery
over many
dalliances
, jailing her with their weight,
driving her again and again to the limit of
endurance
. She was repeatedly brought to
the verge of climax without consummation, preserving her lust, a
necessary sacrifice to keep their association she knew, but Ione
eventually accepted this denial without regret, even cultivated
it…

They loved their toys, sometimes had new
things to amuse her. She came to rely on slipstick—a waxy substance
employed for comfortable copulation underwater. She could use up a
tube in a single encounter with her friends, loved its finger-like,
oily penetration into her anus as periodically required for a fresh
partner.

It became their custom to fit her with a set
of wags before taking her out, nipple clamps with teeth that were
rhythmically cranked by little hinged sweepers. She would raise her
arms and they would be ceremonially fixed to her by a circle of
lusty skulks to stiffly project from her bosom, twitching
expectantly. Her favorite pair were red, sensuously tapered and
elegantly bejeweled. They required a stiff velocity to work well
but fit her just right. Once she was up to speed they would nag her
tits with an exquisite, rancorous insistency, wagging fitfully in
her peripheral vision as she kneaded one skulk after another to
oily climax in her hindquarters.

Finally, the last time, as she was ridden
hard on a deepwater jaunt, she lost the will between one breath and
the next to deny herself satisfaction, couldn’t resist the savage
craving any longer.

She abandoned swimming before the skulk had
climaxed, masturbating euphorically as they sank together. Her
fingers quickened to a berserk oscillation when darkness solidified
about them, stole over her senses like a dream. Bliss swelled to
imminence, impossibly potent, a pleasure stolen from the bulging
manhood inside her, magnified by a drastically prolonged
anticipation. But the price, she saw, was her identity, almost
vanished with her breath. If she drowned and they revived her they
could present anything as truth, controlling her by context. She
wouldn’t remember anything definite, would have no way to know what
was real. Ione felt the welling exultation of the skulk, prepared
to reap her being.

O
nly
a desperate comprehension as to what was being
done
—
had been done
to many
women
before by these perilous men
—catalyzed
her
will to
escape
. Her sphincter went slack and she slid free,
strok
ing
madly away
as he raged
after her, summoning his allies.

And they might have taken
her. She
escaped her jilted lovers in
fact
only
by the
chance meeting of another lonely soul. A
woman
named
Emma.

Now she was trapped once
more. What would it take to reduce her to
a
state of
slavery
among the peckermen? The
slippers of their
new society
were scattered.
She
was
lost.
Ione
stared at Manassa’s
slumbering form.

And w
ho 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?”

“
T
hey 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 of
f 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.”