Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (26 page)

THE DOWSER: “Well?”

THE MERKIN: “She obviously
desires rectal stimulation—her response to penetration there is
completely natural. Y
ou must continue to
indulge her this way, of course.”

THE GNOMON: “I am happy to hear it.”

THE MERKIN: “And yet…”

The Merkin readies his
penis at her vagina, then smoothly fills this
orifice
, coaxing her piqued sexuality with
a steadily harder copulation till her body is heaving responsively,
hailing a dormant desire. She
cries
out,
cheeks reddening in blissful dismay
as her excitement intensifies, ranging toward climax.

THE DOWSER:
“Well!”

The Merkin slows his effort of coitus and
withdraws again, exposing her blushing genitals to view, twitching
from a thwarted appetite.

THE MERKIN:
“It is a
n inflexibility
of the vagina!” The other men are astonished.

THE
GNOMON
: “Truly? But i
t seems you are right…”

THE DOWSER: “Is there a remedy?”

THE
MERKIN
: “
Indeed.
A schedule of
rigorous
penetration
in
to the quim to complement
your other habit
.
”

The Gnomon
nods
, easing his woman’s
clothing back into place, one hand lingering thoughtfully on her
rump.

THE DOWSER: “Now the night is right!”

NARRATOR:
“But even as one man has learned from the Merkin,
so may another…”

The Dowser
reaches down to his
kneeling woman,
s
trokes her lustrous blond locks in a self-conscious display
of affection, but she l
ooks
away
, jaw tense, knees shifting moodily on
the pavement. The Gnomon smiles faintly.

THE GNOMON: “Perhaps there is a problem here
as well?”

He shares a meaningful glance with the
Merkin, who is absently rubbing his woman, fingers easing round and
round her pantied sexuality to provoke a rich stain of excitement
for their collective enjoyment.

The Dowser looks away from these better
contented men, speaks reluctantly.

THE DOWSER: “Yes… My woman is also
troubled.”

THE GNOMON: “Another diagnosis,
perhaps?”

The Merkin is not beyond persuasion.

THE MERKIN: “Anything to be of service…”

The Dowser is hesitant.

NARRATOR:
“Once more a decision must be made…”

The combined will of the Merkin and the
Gnomon overcomes the Dowser.

THE DOWSER: “As you will, then…”

The Merkin
nods, approaches the Dowser’s woman and places
his hands on
her
shoulders
. He massages her jaw,
fingering
defiantly
clamped
lips, then steps back in slow
appraisal. Bidding her rise to her feet, he positions her face-up
next to his own woman on the grassy blanket of the raised median
and slips her panties off with practiced elegance.
Scrutinizing her spread femininity, he delicately
pinches her clitoris to gauge its sensitivity. Bringing his
erection up to the heat of her crotch, he slides evaluatively into
her vagina, broadening it to an almost-forgotten
duty
.
She
issues a thin,
promiscuous
call,
her first communication in their presence,
knees sweeping wide to present her womanhood at a
more receptive angle
.

THE GNOMON:
“Look!
”

The Merkin strokes into
the Dowser’s woman, a measured but provocative infiltration,
nods
his head
knowingly
.

THE
MERKIN
: “This creature surely adores the
ritual of fellatio to which she has been trained, but here too
I
will
diagnose
inflexibility of the vagina.”

He exerts himself deeply into her, building
to a sturdy pressure, and her eyes flutter shut, cueing an imminent
release. A throaty, melismatic wail issues from her immaculately
painted lips. The Merkin diplomatically arrests his effort, gently
slides his penis free, clutched by her infatuated gulf to its
dripping tip.

THE
GNOMON
: “Well
now! It
is
inflexibility!
”

THE DOWSER: “I see… There is a therapy,
then?”

The Merkin nods gravely.

THE
MERKIN
:
“
S
upplement
her diet of fellatio with
regular vaginal copulation—a rigorous straightening to aggressively
activate the lust there.
”

The other men smile and the mood waxes
cheerful as a warm wind stirs the moonlit tableau, bringing
fragrant humidity.

THE GNOMON: “Into the vagina, then!”

THE DOWSER: “The vagina!”

THE MERKIN: “The lovely vagina!”

Later, the Merkin sat
in
his billowy
narrator’s
seat
up in the loft above the stage
,
watching as Martial ordered his crew off the deck,
finished with their preparations for the night’s auditioning. The
Merkin was trying a different game in his ongoing quest to identify
talent for the eventual performance of his play, which was named
“Beholder” to remark one of the two elemental boundaries from which
identity was constructed, and everything else in turn.

The stage was set as a place of gentlemanly
leisure, furnished with soft rugs and columnar statues suggestive
of strong female legs. A dim radiance filtered down from the gnomes
in the loft, gilding the scene with a suggestive pink light. A
noisy audience of employees was present, ranged about the circular
stage with an expectant air.

“
Heads onstage!” the Manager
called. “Auditioners in!”

T
he
first hopeful
thespians
filed timidly onto the deck
,
well-fleshed women identically bedizened in gorgeous, full-length
red dresses of the softest linen. They
found a row of
hustlers facing
them
; pedal-
driven
phalluses
that
thrust up through wide,
plush
seats.
Like
all things mechanical they were a product of the Gnomon’s
ingenuity, but the Merkin employed them with a perverse
sophistication his rival could not have fathomed.

The Merkin settled the soft bulk of the
script on his lap and smoothed the narrow triangle of whispery hair
at his chin. Voice issuing with hieratic grandeur from the
curtained loft, he proceeded to initiate the audition, using his
singular comprehensibility to establish a context that would be
impossible to convey by other means. As was his custom, he opened
with an impromptu bit of verse.

“
Push and pull

Take her measure

Busy hips

Make happy lips

All trapped full

Of manly pleasure!”

“
To an intimate ritual have
a party of women come to exhibit their charms before men of
discernment. Each takes her place on a hustler, guiding its
masculine part within her body.”

The context of the scene
solidified, capturing those involved to its scheme, knitting the
wayward desires of his auditioners into meaningful collaboration.
C
ompelled by the Merkin’s voice, the women
took their
positions on the machines,
seating themselves such that they were penetrated in the vagina by
the upthrust penises. They arranged their skirts to cloak the
hustlers, hiding any sexual connection to present a circle of
chaste-seeming slippers innocently lounging on hidden
stools.

The gnome glow raining down and the crowd
staring in from every direction clearly intimidated the
auditioners. The Merkin sympathized; acting was the most
challenging of all functional situations—it required a totally
abstract relationship to the world beyond its workplace. An
audience could be anyone, seeking anything, seeing everything
disguised as real, believing all or not at all. This was why it had
so far proven impossible to secure performers who were capable of
conducting themselves naturally on stage, save in simplified
circumstances like the games he waged. But the Merkin remained
hopeful such could be found, and the auditioners below him tonight
held that promise, as always. Before they started to fidget he
moved the scene along to a more strongly defined context.

“
Men arrive for the game,
prepared to evaluate the allure of the women. They council among
themselves to determine by majority which one will entertain them
first.”

Five suited men entered the stage below to
occupy its center space. They surveyed the slippers ranged about,
murmuring to each other till three of them came to an agreement,
selecting a pretty, brown-haired creature with a marvelous
figure.

“
The men present the means
of judgment,”
the Merkin ordered. He
started the turn by flipping his sand-filled glass timer. There was
no way to know if the device consistently delivered the same
interval of time—only the tracked shadow of the sun or moon could
do that with any certainty—but it was the best he could do in the
closed environment of the Tent.

The men faced the selected woman as a group.
With a ritual movement each unzipped his fly to reveal a jointed
tube in which his penis was securely ensconced; a tool for gauging
desire called a flexer. The devices were tightly curled at present
to signal total flaccidity.

“
The chosen woman proceeds
to excite her audience by an aesthetic effort of
self-pleasure.”

The brown-haired slipper shyly lifted her
dress to reveal a nude waist. Her vagina lips were swollen around
the head of a thick pink dildo.

She commenced to pedal the hustler,
cautiously easing its phallus to a point deep in her body where it
plugged delicately. She squirmed on the seat, eyes flattening in
pleasure, carefully cranked the penis around to low withdrawal as
the men confronting her watched intently.

With an uncertain grin she put the hustler
into steady service, and the Merkin’s breath caught at the sight of
her soft belly, stirred to a languid undulation by the pushy pink
dick as she romanced her womanhood with muscular legs. The men were
not unmoved; their flexers twitched as pressure built within,
aroused by their intimate view of this vitalizing
self-indulgence.

Her turn expired and the Merkin reluctantly
called for a new deliberation, yielding another majority decision.
The men stepped to a thinner woman with perfect posture.

“
The next woman attempts to
excite her audience.”
He flipped the timer
and sand tumbled again.

The performer lifted her
dress with a dainty sweep to reveal the lithe spectacle of her
thighs, opened wide for the delights of the hustler cock.
She
began to pedal, filling herself
unhurriedly,
letting
the
motion accelerate to a smooth
reciprocation
.
Her
breasts jogged softly in her bodice, and her eyes were fixed
hopefully on the men judging her allure till her turn
ended.

The Merkin called the next
turn and they engaged a big slipper who unabashedly flung her hem
up to reveal a truly marvelous rump. She proceeded to feed herself
with a hard-working prick, oiled lips collected possessively about
the fat rubber interloper, hips rolling sensually as it hurtled
aggressively to and fro, gleefully packing her twat. Her clitoris
perched just beyond stimulation, a tiny, gleaming finger pointed
yearningly down. She shamelessly
exercised
her
femininity for them as her passion was
graded.

The flexer mounted on one man’s penis pinged
noisily and jumped, straightening incrementally. The woman sighed
in pleasure, knowing she had secured at least one admirer. When her
turn had lapsed the Merkin called for another caucus and she
reluctantly let her dress fall.

He stared in fascination at the next woman
chosen, a truly gifted hustler with a dark blond coiffure who
fucked herself with an almost violent athleticism, thighs flowing
like stormy water, knees flung between wide-fixed points. Her labia
grappled the jumping penis with a syrupy vigilance that stalled his
breath.

“
Here’s some pussy for you,”
she huskily advertised, beckoning them closer with her free
hand.

Her back was swaying, breasts hurled to a
jerky, compensatory recall, every part of her mass accounted for in
the fine functioning of her body. One of the men was so excited by
the display his flexer sprung twice, to the dismay of the other
contestants. The turn ended and she dropped her hem, breathing
hard.

“
I’m next for
it!”

“
I got the want hole you
do!” one happily babbled, barely governed by the structure of the
game.

“
Look at me!
Look!
”