Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One (68 page)

Emma saw Manassa help another woman up to a
swing bar—there were three—then hand out strokers to the crowd.
These arm-long corrugated wands were employed on the swinger as she
traveled back and forth, limber legs widened to perfect linearity.
Her beautiful pink labia took the caress of the implements on the
swing forward. Her rounded ass took their spanked abuse on the
journey back.

The woman’s face was flushed in
self-conscious rapture and after a sex of heady trips back and
forth her steadily lengthening advance across the crowd and the
organized file of strokers between her legs delivered a ululating,
leg-swiveling orgasm. At its completion she dropped exhaustedly to
the arms of her admirers, who kissed her sated flesh in
celebration. Another woman was raised.

Mark found Emma and leaned close to her ear.
“The walkers saw a mannerman approach the door!”

Her brow rose in alarm. “And?” They had
expected this to happen sooner or later, but didn’t know what might
result.

“
The doorman didn’t let him
in, of course, and the guy just stood there for a while then walked
away into the forest.”

“
Huh. You tell
Ione?”

“
Yeah. She didn’t know what
to make of it either but figured we’re okay since he never came
back.”

“
Well… let’s forget it,
then,” she decided.

There was a piercing whistle from the
vestibule and Emma grinned. “You’re up, Marky. Do us proud!”

He smiled maliciously. “No problem. I’ll have
your slipper hopping the rod in no time!” He hurried off toward the
entrance.

Ione came bustling over with Manassa. “Did
Myrna arrive?”

“
Yep,” Emma acknowledged as
a gorgeous blond strutted from the vestibule, flat smile expressing
a bored superiority. “Stupid bitch is gonna leave with a different
look,” Emma swore.

They watched as Mark intercepted the woman,
following a carefully scripted introduction. He offered to lead her
upstairs to discard her clothing as she was on a very exclusive
list of personages that were exempt from the rules. Emma hooted
when she fell for the ruse, disappeared with him up the stairs.

“
This should be
interesting,” Manassa sniggered.

On the third level Mark was leading Myrna
into a carefully secluded chamber that had been constructed
directly over the crowd, and Emma stared up expectantly to a wide
lens mounted at its base. Ione squeezed her hand, gaze inclined to
the same spot.

In the process of planning the party they had
recovered a little of their old political calculation as doyennes
of the Lap. Myrna was the top socialite in the City, a woman whose
charisma, wit and social savvy had suppressed Emma’s position at
the Dowser’s Club from the start, eventually developing to a
bitter, mutual loathing.

But she and Ione had figured out a way to
stage a power play on her—on several women in fact, including
another ranking socialite and the head of the gnome applications
group, who vexed Ione for some political reason. All three had been
told that people of their status would be anticipated later in the
evening. That time had come.

“
Here we go!” Manassa
shouted as the giant lens above them blinked on, showering them
with a hard white light. There was an immediate reaction from the
crowd, which looked up in curiosity at the “eyeballer,” as the
apparatus was facetiously designated—a side project of Ione’s she
had yet to present to the toy design group.

Emma signaled to Dean, who tapered his
current groove to a dreamy ostinato. Upstairs Emma knew Mark was
showing Myrna a clear plastic statue molded roughly in his likeness
that lay prone on a sensually dressed bed. Seducing her by his
unrivaled charisma, he would lead her to its staunchly upraised
penis, kissing her all the while, their passion rising…

Would it happen? Ione was squeezing her hand
in exhilaration, just as anxious to see how the gamble played
out.

Yes! The white glare of the gnome-lit lens
was tinged with pink at the center, a tentative coloration, then as
they watched the pussy-shaded blot swooped out to suffuse the whole
lens, bathing the audience in the intimate hue of Myrna’s
vagina.

“
It’s beautiful,” Manassa
breathed, and Emma had to agree.

The pink emanation was recalled to the middle
of the lens as Myrna withdrew to the tip of the transparent cock,
then it flared out again, faster this time. The eyeballer didn’t
present much definition of her internal flesh, but communicated her
color and rhythm with incredible fidelity. The effect was intensely
erotic, warming the crowd to a new level of intimacy. Dean had
matched Myrna’s self-penetrative tempo, and the Emma stared raptly
at the plunging pink flood on the lens.

She found herself on the floor between Ione
and Manassa, staring up in lusty adoration at the quickening
exhibition of their enemy’s most intimate zone—a sight she herself
had never witnessed—as their fingers mutually explored their
own.

The pink blink sped to a rapid pulsing, then
a stuttering, shuddering frenzy of vaginal excitation.

“
Ohhhhh… Emma wailed as Ione
rubbed her to a quaking climax under the humiliating broadcast of
Myrna’s elaborate diminishment.

The twat hopping slowed. The pink blot made
one last journey from center to edge, hovered there for a delicate
moment, then shrank and was gone. Dean concluded the presentation
with a shimmer of cymbals, then kicked into a funky polyrhythm. A
little later Mark emerged with Myrna on the floor.

“
Hey,” Emma nodded
casually.

“
Nice party,” Myrna breezed,
effortlessly communicating a vast disdain.

“
Thanks,” said Emma. They
made cynical smalltalk till Mark escorted Ione’s rival up the
stairs.

“
Hey, check this out,” she
casually invited Myrna as the lens blinked on again.

The other woman stared up with the rest of
the crowd at a different but equally delicate shade of pink. Her
mouth gaped open and her cheeks darkened precipitously. Dean
matched the new, more businesslike groove of Ione’s rival and Emma
stood quietly next to Myrna amidst the revelers. She could almost
feel the status flow from the other woman to herself, knew when
they returned to the Dowser’s Club she would be taking her place as
its top socialite. Everyone would know about Myrna’s shaming, and
the sensationally erotic means by which it had been
accomplished.

A little later Emma ventured out of the
atrium with Mark, Manassa and Ione to see the action on the three
levels surrounding it. The first floor was set up with chain-hung
laundry shelves that had been decorated as sex beds. They watched
one of Manassa’s work friends get it in the cunt from a big guy
Mark knew. The man’s energy swung the bed violently back and forth,
adding an epic lilt to on otherwise familiar groove.

On the next level an area had been set up as
a game court. A crotch-height sphere projecting from a thick metal
rod was struck by women swinging rubber mallets to impart a
shuddering vibration. The gleaming orb had known the kiss of many
well-lubricated labias already, and the players fought viciously to
position themselves for more.

“
Get in there!” Emma
encouraged a few of the more timid players fretting at the
sidelines. Bodies were frantically compressed about the shivering
sphere, joined in a single sexual endeavor that made climax
possible, and they watched a tall blond hold her position on it
long enough to score an intense climax before withdrawing from the
court in exhaustion.

Manassa had handed out titty twisters;
ostentatious nipple tassels that induced a bitter pinching as they
whirled, and they could be seen here and there on women who had
drunk enough to lose their bras. Emma saw most the crowd was nude
but for underwear now, and half of their guests were totally
naked.

Stirred by the unrestrained libidinousness of
the event, Ione pressed Emma to the wall and kissed her
aggressively, overwhelmed by the grand entertainment they had
wrought.

“
I love you, Emz,” she
whispered.

“
I love you too,
smooches…”

“
Our status will be much
higher after this.”

“
Let’s get a place together.
I don’t care where it is.”

“
With a big soft bed I can
fuck you on at night.”

“
You can fuck me right
now…”

“
I’m going to. Let’s find a
good place to do it.”

They turned together to regard the party from
the second floor balcony. The warehouse guests were engaged in
countless forms of sexuality, using japes and gliders and knockers,
jacks, cleats, cinches, legs, fenders, splays, fingers, headers,
trills, vibes, rubberneckers, trammels, hummers, scytales, stamens,
screws and flams and nipple clamps of every description, even a
clutch they had brought in with a load of bigger things on a truck…
Here and there she saw games of auction and twat-or-knot and who
knew what else…

Emma still couldn’t believe she had risked
the whole enterprise by antagonizing the mannermen.

Dean had explained later what had transpired
following her abduction. He and Mark were beside themselves with
fear and rage, and might have raced straight after her. But Ione
had kept her head, reasoning that they would be heard far away
trying to approach from behind the mannermen, who could easily
avoid them or even set traps. A horizontally strung cord would do
the trick.

She had quickly devised a plan that
capitalized on two things in their favor; the speed of the
gnomecycles and the probability that the literal-minded mannermen
would strike a direct path through the forest toward its center. So
they sped around the perimeter of the park till they were distant
from the point of entry the mannermen had used, then struck inward
for the middle, getting themselves ahead of Emma’s captors in time
to prepare an ambush. She knew luck was a big factor in their
success, but the courage required testified to her companion’s
great love, and the loyalty of their friends too.

They ascended to the third floor with Mark
and Manassa, where the inventive spirit that dominated below gave
way to simple fucking. Aromatic blankets were spread all over the
floor and bodies were clinched on them, recklessly striving for
bliss. Emma passed under the building’s solitary skylight, saw the
full moon sharply resolved through its thick glass.

Ione watched the lovemakers, keenly conscious
of their separation into couples and singles. The mechanics of
their various social conjugations seemed stilted; there were few
couples engaged with other couples. Ione understood why—jealousy
and improper sexual interest inevitably ruined the goodwill that
brought them together. Even she and Emma could not “swing” with
other couples without fear of conflict. Cooperation and competition
quickly became confused, then magnified to love and hate, their
ultimate manifestations.

Her time in the City had rendered her far
more aware of the problem, and she had gradually become convinced
there was a solution. This led her to consider social-sexual
interactions in symbolic terms, which proceeded to contemplations
of identity, and eventually the most elemental concept of all;
boundary.

She knew the problems of social sexuality
could be reconciled by a deeper understanding of numbers, which
were placeholders for identity. There was a simple combinatorial
scheme that could change everything, lurking just beyond
conception…

But there was time for that later.

The crowd below was in a frenzy from the
cumulative effect of stillwater and sex and danger, a sound that
was surging up the levels in a deafening wave. The music had
stopped. Dean was taking a break, probably to let some thirsty
slipper suck him off on the swinging bandstand.

Over by the balcony a short fellow who was
still fully dressed watched a trio of women making love under the
blue glow of a gnome. Ione saw tattles peeping from their buttocks,
heard one clinking to the characteristic rhythm of climax, a unique
muscular signature.

She padded over to the man, who looked to be
the only clothed and sober guest remaining. His features were
shadowed by an elegant hat.

“
C’mon! Drink up!” she
cheerfully invited, gesturing to the untouched glass in his
hand.

The Gnomon turned to her. “Perhaps another
time.” He gestured to the balcony. “There’s trouble, Ione.”

She backpedaled, staring at him in shock,
belatedly turned to look down in the atrium. An inarticulate wail
escaped her lips and the others rushed to her side. Emma screamed
and dropped her drink.

Below them the guests were being attacked by
mannermen. Not just a few that had pushed their way through the
vestibule, but many dox of them manifesting all at once. Some of
the bigger guests were fighting back, but the mannermen were expert
grapplers and could overwhelm an opponent by numbers in the rare
situation where it was necessary. They left a hysterical trail of
naked revelers bound at the ankles and wrists behind them and were
forcing their way onto the second level already. Their suits were
sopping wet.

Ione saw Dean ascend to view on the
gnome-powered lift, shouting as he raced around the balcony to
them.

“
We have to get
out!”

“
How?” Mark shouted,
whirling about. They were trapped.

Ione closed her eyes, momentarily excluding
the horror of their situation.

“
They’re almost here!”
Manassa warned. “They’re coming up the stairs!”