Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (55 page)

“
What does it do?” Ione
inquired, examining one.

“
It clamps onto the penis at
the base. As the man performs vaginal penetration on a subject, the
pendulating plug hinged from it rhythmically stimulates her
sphincter.”

Ione turned it over, considering the
possibilities. “Did you invent this?”

“
No. The Gnomon designed it.
It is here for bench testing.”

She slapped a few glow gnomes to activation,
flooding a low, padded bunk with a blue-tinted illumination. “You
can watch,” she casually invited, almost flirting Ione thought,
then turned to greet a hunky lab assistant unabashedly flaunting a
thick penis.

Ione stared in interest as the woman dropped
to her knees, quickly induced his erection with a dox of functional
strokes. She fit her partner with the working prototype of the
knocker, carefully positioned its spring-clamped form at the base
of his erection, then oiled the gleaming knocker plug. It swung
freely at her touch.

Reclining face-up on the bench the woman
spread her legs to an appropriate width and beckoned her fellow
employee down for the conventional form of coitus.

“
Alright,” she nodded.
“Proceed.”

The man slid his penis into her delicately
pursed vulva with a perfunctory lunge, seeming neither gentle nor
aggressive to Ione, who was long used to Mark’s avid excavation of
all things vaginal. Reaching a mutually accepted depth, the
assistant reversed almost to withdrawal and entered again.

The knocker plug descended from the base of
his cock, hinged back and forth like a heavy testicle, and with his
careful acceleration of their intercourse it approached the
delicate cavity of her sphincter, tapped it gently at the driven
limit of one moderate stroke, slapping more forcefully with each
succeeding penetration.

Ione leaned closer, helplessly fascinated by
the display, found herself at a vantage that revealed a
problem.

“
I think you–

The woman halted the act, met her glance.
“Yes?”

“
It needs to swing a bit
lower to hit you right.”

The woman nodded. “Please make the
adjustment. It is difficult for us to calibrate the toy in this
posture.”

Ione swept the room with a glance, wondering
who might be auditing their activities. Absently sliding a glow
gnome out of the way she dropped to the elevation of their coupled
anatomy, slipped one hand under the man’s scrotum to rotate a
spacing bolt, lengthening the swing radius of the plug.

“
Try that.”

The woman nodded appreciatively, gaze
lingering on Ione for an overlong moment before resuming the
exercise.

“
Again.”

Her brawny, knocker-hung lab partner thrust
again, quickly redeveloping intensity and depth. The weighty little
plug kissed her asshole, provoking a reflexive pucker, began to
drub her there with increasing insistence till she irised tight in
anticipation of each freshly delivered impact.

“
Yes, that’s better,” she
gasped.

Ione gauged the effect with unblinking
interest, titillated by the delicate smacking sound of the knocker
as it incrementally loosened the woman’s sphincter, seducing her
with a painful, perfectly syncopated counterpoint to their
intercourse. The flawless periodicity of its attack regulated them
both, but Ione watched her muscular lover negotiate an increasingly
pronounced acceleration into each vaginal stroke, clouting her
helpless little breach with the plug till it writhed spastically
from the beating.

“
The hardest effort now, do
for it,” the woman ordered in a jangled grammar, arms locked around
her associate’s heaving back.

Ione knew that her own vaginal moistures,
accumulating unseen through the earlier laboratory exercises, had
finally emerged to limn the outer lips of her vulva. She sat on the
edge of the lurching bench, peered as scientifically as possible
onto the fucking couple, strangely aware of the hierarchy operating
between them all: the Gnomon’s canny toy foremost, then the woman’s
priority to refine it, followed by the assistant’s authority to use
it, and finally Ione’s independent but coercive observation of
their affair.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the shadowy
gulf of the woman’s pulsing butthole as the knocker lustily clapped
away, rendering a wet, well-punctuated sound. She almost activated
a glow-gnome gazing close at the bench, but decided at the last
instant her associates would be distracted by the sudden change in
illumination.

“
Full utilization!” the
woman cried, voice fringed with a lurking hysteria.

Her partner planted his muscled limbs wide
and crammed her twat, delivering blow after blow to her fearfully
puckered asshole, breaking its will in tiny, aching increments.
Ione saw it dilate for an instant and the woman squeaked as the
knocker plug charged into unguarded flesh.

“
Aha!”

She managed to noose herself tight before it
struck again, but her dreamy expression told Ione there would soon
be further lapses. The man castigated her swollen little wreath
with a flurry of shuddering blows, then she surrendered, anus
gaping wide to receive the flesh-slapping penetration of the
plug.

Ione saw her body go rigid, a systemic
compensation for the helpless flexing of her gap, then she was
climaxing, joyfully negotiating a doubled penetration as the toy
rammed through her exhausted sphincter deep into the rectum.

“
Eeaahh… eeeaaaahhhh…
eee
yeeeeeaaaahhhhhhh
…” she incoherently warbled.

The man slowed only when it was clear her
slavishly receptive anatomy had been totally serviced, and Ione
shakily helped them disengage. Kneeling, she removed the knocker
from the lab assistant’s unspent erection.

“
Let me see that,” his dazed
lover requested. “I want to make some changes before I quit for the
night.”

Ione surrendered the toy, appreciating her
urgency. The metal and plastic materials of its construction could
only be cut, bent or otherwise unsuperficially altered through one
interval of consciousness; dream would render its form immutable
after that, leaving another fixed prototype to clutter her
desk.

Too roused to want any further insight into
the activities of the toy design group for the moment, she took her
leave as soon as etiquette allowed, strode back to the elevator
harboring a decidedly unscientific impression of its business.

As the platform rose she saw
one of the gnomes turn to speak with the female employee. Her
deferential reaction instantly completed an insight; the Gnomon had
been present all along, camouflaged by the blue emanation of one of
his own creations! Ione had failed to anticipate that the man’s
form was
precisely
reproduced by the handsome gnomes, which she had cynically
figured to be idealized in appearance, reflecting the vanity of a
judge. His natural skin tone was visible for only a moment before
she lost her sightline.

Now Ione knew that no artifice was necessary
where his representation was concerned, and the ubiquity of the
blue-tinted creatures promoted his image everywhere. It was a
shrewdly circular gesture; gnomes had fantastic functions, were
endowed with a strength and speed no man could rival, and by his
correspondence to them the Gnomon commanded their mystique in
turn.

Ione rode the elevator with countless other
employees, engaged for the rest of the afternoon by a series of
administrative appointments. She had little trouble finding
individual floors, even though they could only be recognized by
distinctive physical features visible from the atrium, or by their
proximity to unique levels like the lobby, the mid-Tower commissary
stocked with delicious fruit and vegetable juices, or the Gnomon’s
master laboratory at the top—the ‘style.’ Her fluid faculty for
memorization served her well, and Ione was soon adept at getting
where she needed to be.

She was given an orientation with a half-sen
of newly hired people, a kind of history lesson.

The Gnomon, it was explained, reigned supreme
in the City because he was its founder.

Lost on the desert, stalled by thirst after
many days of wandering, he lay staring up at a moonless sky,
silently defying the imminent desertion of his last vitality. His
time was nearly gone.

Aroused by a faint, humid breeze, his penis
came erect for a final, bitter declaration of masculinity, lofting
to perpendicularity on the benighted plain of his abdomen. Sleep
beckoned, almost claimed him time and again, but somehow his
manhood endured. As the end arrived his vision narrowed to
encompass nothing else.

Then in the darkness he perceived a shadow;
the slanting silhouette of his erection, blackening his belly for
an instant. Then again. He summoned the energy to raise his aching
head, turned to find the source.

Far away on the sand he witnessed an
aeromantic flicker of lightning.

Stirred by the numinous oracularity of his
own flesh, he found the will to move a last time, stood and stepped
forth, followed a straight line toward this final, fulgurant
declaration of life. Just before collapsing he discovered a vast
valley in the sand, invisible till he had reached its lip. Water
pooled within. And fruit grew there.

Later, when he had recovered from the
journey, the Gnomon constructed a small tower, establishing time by
its shadow. A few people wandered in from the desert to join him
and were civilized by the inherent comprehensibility of the concept
and its intrinsic language of cause and effect. He erected a larger
tower and more people arrived to populate it, lured by the mounting
order and purpose of his regime. Yet another tower followed, and
another, and a city eventually resulted to fulfill the instauration
of a great society one lonely leader preserved through the weight
of time.

Ione imagined the Gnomon alone on the endless
plains of sand, silently regarding a dark sky. And she remembered
the horror of her own journey through the desert’s crushing
uniformity. It was a trial they shared now. A bond between
them.

As evening darkened over the City she was
granted what might have taken far longer to achieve by other means;
status.

Ione found the apartment assigned to her on a
high level of the Tower, identifiable from the elevator atrium by
its distinctive periwinkle hedgerow, and exited with a light step
to feel soft grass under her feet. Neatly edged sidewalks wandered
the whole level, diverting among contoured flower gardens. A sweet,
sourceless redolence drifted aimlessly about to effect a calculated
yet beguiling expansion of space. The ceiling was invisible behind
the glinting orbs of glow gnomes staring down on soft pools of
radiance. It was respectably quiet, but all the usual cues of good
society were on the air; glasses clinking, couples murmuring as
they strolled in idyllic unhaste, the sound of the elevator as it
periodically passed their level, a hydraulic burble trailing noisy
conversations. The grass sprawled all the way to the windowed
perimeter of the floor, where floor-to-ceiling glass offered a
panoramic view of the City, ameliorating the claustrophobic
compression of a totally sealed environment.

Lit from the base by cheery gnomes, the
residence halls were metal and glass lozenges that promised
comfortable living within. Ione found her building, locally
identified by a plum tree rearing before it. She nodded to the
doorman on duty. He smiled politely and let her in the foyer,
closing and blocking anyone else from disturbing her privacy,
including several infatuated acquaintances of the day who had
offered to help “settle her in.”

The apartment assigned to her was an
efficiently conceived assemblage of rooms dressed in a patterned
carpet of mute azure. There was a big salon and bedroom, a bathroom
and bar, and a generously dimensioned work studio. The shower and
bed were modest appointments, but Ione judged that it was in all
nearly as luxurious as Dean’s residence.

A half-dox of gnomes occupied her attention
for a while as she learned how to light the place, run water, send
hot and cool air blowing from their lips. One creature of unknown
purpose was standing in the bedroom next to some clothes and
personal effects the administration had automatically arranged to
bring up from the convertible. It was the Metrognome, as it turned
out. She chuckled, wondering if Dean would notice its absence,
whimsically thumbed its nipples so it blinked and waved and snapped
its fingers, then summoned its erection for her titillation, set it
shivering at a sultry frequency.

Ione lay on the bed, sighed deeply, let
herself absorb the pleasant ambience of the apartment for a little.
The exterior windows offered a spectacular view of the City, and
she realized with some pleasure that her level exceeded the
altitude of any other building. She could see all the way to the
Dowser’s Club beyond the dense mist rearing up from the forest
between.

It was time to meet Emma and Mark there
again, and she absently wondered how they were faring. She knew
Emma would like her new apartment and planned to bring her over as
soon as possible. Ione wished they were together now. She missed
Mark too, hoped he was feeling okay. They would finally have the
privacy required to deal with his needs here.

The bucket and the dance clubs and the
general cacophony of the hills were totally inaudible in the
Gnomon’s domain. The sounds of the Tower itself were muted to a
faint presence within her quarters. She hadn’t opened any interior
windows yet. All she heard in the bedroom actually was the soothing
vibration of the Metrognome’s genitalia.