Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One

by Daniel Six

  Dean’s bandstand was mobbed, but when she considered the scale of the Club it was obvious he was still far exceeded in popularity by the other drummers and their socialite allies. If he wanted to stay here he had to win the night, not just survive. And if he didn’t stay she would feel awkward and isolated working without him. Where was Ione?

  A rival socialite with a huge clique smiled at Emma as chance brought them awkwardly close for the third time.

  “Hey slipperlips! Where’s your crowd hiding?” she taunted.

  “Up your snooch! No room left out here!” Emma bawled in potvalient irritation, prompting a spate of laughter.

  “I dunno… Was just in there with the dick thing this afternoon. Didn’t run into anyone else,” her enemy’s handsomest admirer boozily testified, inadvertently injuring her status.

  Emma laughed uproariously with everyone else in earshot and tossed down another drink, trying to imagine the other woman in her own circumstances. She had experienced things City slippers couldn’t begin to fathom. Who the fuck were these socialites anyway?

  Locked between her thighs, Dean’s strong-shouldered pal was showing her off, making the most of their association as he lurched around with Emma raised high. She was molested by a swirling coterie of patrons easily three times bigger than the clique following Sara, who no longer acknowledged her overtures. Emma didn’t care.

  People were beginning to dance, compelled by a steady flow of stillwater and the proximity of so much naked flesh. Dean was throwing down righteous solos, but his confidence was obviously part of the act; his territory of the Club remained far less populated.

  Emma felt for him. He had been nothing but kind to her, after all. And, she abruptly remembered, she had left him with a hardon and a promise. How far was she willing to go? She sighted a spin-the-grin machine deep within another socialite’s crowd, decided to make a tactical advance on her territory.

  Emma slapped the adoring fellow beneath her. “Take me to that spinner over there!”

  “She’s gonna spin!” her closest admirers announced in a ragged cheer, news that was quickly disseminated.

  Emma was conveyed into enemy space, trailing loyal members of her clique who were up for a confrontation. The invaded socialite screamed something unpleasant-sounding, but Emma ignored her. As they neared the spin apparatus five men already seated there began to whoop with glee.

  “That blond with the juicy jugs is coming over!”

  “I don’t believe it…”

  “Get your dicks ready!”

  She was delivered to a cylindrical platform with five inward-facing seats that surrounded a rotating platter covered in soft green carpet. Emma jumped to the center and waved to her rival’s crowd all about, blowing symbolic kisses. With a cynical salute to the other socialite she dropped to her knees, faced ambitious erections with an impudent smile. She had already fathomed the nature of the game from watching other women play and settled herself squarely on the carpet, planting her hands to either side.

  “Spin the grin!” she wailed, goading the participants to action.

  There was a huge noise from the crowd and the men seated around her drummed their feet on the platter. Each was trying to spin Emma to face his erection, but the etiquette of the game allowed only momentary contact with the turntable. The net effect was a woozily shifting orientation that expressed the aggregated opinion of the men. It was a fast, fun version of the peckermen’s lair.

  The men reached some kind of equilibrium and their feet hammered to a halt. Emma was facing a good-sized cock, likely chosen because the client sporting it was obviously intimidated by her allure. It was noticeably less turgid than its competitors.

  Emma smiled for him alone and launched her face into his lap without delay, sucking up his penis with an easy motion to pleasantly stuff her head. She heard him groan, saw his legs tense helplessly. His cock straightened so quickly in her it felt like a muscle flexing, and Emma closed her eyes and slowly drew back, letting him watch his manhood emerge in this newly fortified state. She pulled off completely and extended her tongue for everyone’s arousal, busy with a surf-like undulation. Diving back on the dick, she commenced to fellate her rival’s follower with deep-ranging strokes that matched the Club rhythm.

  “Lookit her go!”

  “She’s chuggin’ like a slipper!”

  The noise rose about Emma as her skill and energy were asserted to address the pleasure-seeking intent of the men. She could tell her subject was about to blow, and evidently his competitors could as well, for their feet began to drum on the turntable. She was whisked around and about, blond hair flung at sudden changes in velocity to tickle their knees as they scrutinized one another for evidence of diffidence or infatuation that signaled a safer choice.

  The platter trembled to a halt in front of another customer and Emma lunged on his twanker, determined to raise her own excitation with a nice hard interval of cocksucking. She could hear the screeching insults of the jilted socialite nearby, but oral skills clearly trumped verbal ones at the Dowser’s Club.

  Her present subject was a cool enough customer to prolong her service, and the others let him have it till his steadily intensifying greed for Emma’s mouth sex triggered the gestalt alarm and they started hammering the platter again.

  “Yeah! Go deep on that dick, bitch!” her rival shouted as she fell on the next man chosen. Emma almost laughed, slowed to avoid gagging, then retaliated by ostentatiously shoving his suckrod down her throat, slurping hungrily around the testicles. Her cooz was drooling hot syrup down her thighs, but neither she nor the contestants could ease her frustration per the Dowser’s decree. Emma would have happily betrayed that rule, but had belatedly come to realize that it was impossible for a socialite to be alone in the Club; there were people watching all the time, and what she initially dismissed as a vague and unenforceable policy turned out to be essentially inviolable. When she left the Club later she would be ferociously aroused, and as she sucked down another customer Emma understood that this unspoken frustration was a fundamental aspect of her allure and began to wonder what kind of game the Dowser was playing with them all. He was too far away for her to see his eyes, but she thought he had noticed her mount the spinner.

  “Gimme the grin!” one of the players shouted as the platter spun into motion again, and the others began shouting their own demands.

  Her jaw flexed wide around another swollen pecker head. Emma sensed the man stuffed in her now was about to spew and worked him mercilessly, neck gyring with manic elasticity to linearize the travel of her mouth. Feet hammered the turntable just before he came, spinning her to another client. Emma felt the stillwater and the structure of the game constrict her awareness, reducing her world to a swiveling puzzle of penises. Desperate to keep her in play, the men skillfully denied each other, drawing more patrons close to watch. The drummers were passing their own authority around, delivering progressively more athletic performances over the gnome-amplified bassline emanating from the well.

  “Juice me! Fuckin’ juice me!” a client roared, desperate to win.

  “Nut this thing!”

  “Don’t you leave me hanging!”

  The lighting deepened to a mean, green pulse as she exerted herself to a ferocious, lippy assault on the cocks, using every trick she knew to impress them; isolating the dickhead, chugging with her throat, rushing and dragging the rhythm, testicle slurping… plying each manhood with an ever more personal attention. If a client loved speed and pressure Emma would remember it. If he was susceptible to symbolic acts of devotion like shaft kissing she worked that into the experience. She let the warm trickle of nectar from her cooz sloppily decorate her thighs, knowing it drove them crazy to see her helpless arousal.

  “There she is!” someone called from the crowd.

  Emma was hard on the case of a thick pecker, breasts flinging joyfully up and down when she felt its penultimate turgescence, signaling imminent climax.

  “Emma!”r />
  She hazily looked up to see Ione regarding her in amazement as she took a spectacular face-shot from chin to hairline. Emma managed to limit the injury by catching the next blasted emission between the lips with a frantic lunge. Her hands swept up to secure the urgently pumping cock, hastily guiding it back into her mouth.

  “Hooommm!” she choked and swallowed, squirt after salty squirt, left him with a spellbound look on his face as the game ended. The losers nursed raging boners and hurled furious lamentations into the air, desperate for another chance with her.

  Many of her rival’s customers had shifted their interest to Emma now; her bold performance at spin-the-grin annexed a sizable group to her clique as the other socialite glowered. Ione, Mark and Manassa joined her at the center of this packed aggregation of admirers.

  “Where have you been?” Emma hoarsely demanded, looking closer. Ione seemed strangely energized for someone who had spent the day looking for work.

  “We got drunk,” Mark blurted unapologetically, and Emma could see that all three of her friends were as compromised as herself. They pushed their way back toward Dean’s platform, followed by a crowd of new friends.

  “Let’s celebrate, then!” Emma encouraged. “Dean needs all the help we can give him!”

  “What kind?” Manassa wondered, grinning at her sticky lips.

  “Dancing!” Ione decided.

  “Yeah,” Emma seconded, realizing she had actually been less reluctant to knee down for fellatio, though she was quite skilled on her feet, too. And with the others here…

  They claimed a place on the dance floor near Dean’s bandstand and started grooving with each other as a cloud of jiving onlookers waited for social cues. The gnomes were beaming swift green rays across a fog of sweet-scented vapor, baffling all visibility.

  “Bucket’s dry!” the crowd reported as the Dowser struck the empty metal pail with his oar again. The tone this unleashed reached from a subsonic vault, blew out from the bar in a flood of wavering fundamentals endowed with a new tempo. The drummers synchronized with it again and tore into a frenzied new dispute in three-measure phrases.

  “This is crazy!” Ione shouted, expressing a kind of approval, and Emma stepped to her lover and kissed the taller woman. Ione was drunk enough to go with the moment, and they were soon dancing skin-on-skin, driving Emma’s clique wild. Mark and Manassa were similarly beset by adoring women and men, hopelessly enthralled by their size and beauty. The sight of Manassa’s bare vagina by the strobing emanation of the gnomes put a wondrous expression on many faces, and Mark was so loosened up now he was making out with women at random.

  They were all spellbound by the skill of the drummers, whose elaborations to the bassline and its intrinsic meter constantly regauged the groove, guaranteeing an experience never to be repeated. As control passed around them each performed more characteristically, elevating their identities to vainglorious prominence within the Club. Dean soloed with a berserker fury that shook his kit, drove the throw gnomes crouching at his feet to a distorted, tongue-hung amplification of the wildest cadenzas the night produced. Throngs of dancers crowded his platform, awed by his skill and gleaming good looks.

  Emma drained someone’s drink, careless of the contents, felt herself flush, almost stumbled, then smiled wide, lofted on a wavefront of pure bliss.

  “Bucket’s up!” the crowd shouted, and stillwater incongruously flowed—a river from a forgotten time, recovered to comprehension gulp by swallow; as pure shots, and countless concoctions of juices and flavors mixed with it. Emma felt the lopsided histories of her own identity guided to a fantastic symmetry.

  “I love you, Ione!” she screamed, reunited with feelings long suppressed by danger and duty.

  “I love you too,” she replied, kissing her deeply. They were locked to the syncopation of the drummers now, joined to each other—too close for too long. Emma saw a doorman push through the crowd toward them. She had already seen many patrons ejected for intimacy and withdrew a little, frustrated by the system.

  She had to admit the men were just as desperate, though. They had no choice but to try their luck at spin-the-grin if they wanted satisfaction. Most of the machines were filled with guys trying to get lucky with their own women, willing to accept the probability that she would catch another man’s spray and he would go home with an erection. Whatever happened, the Dowser extracted all the unclaimed joy to the advantage of his Club.

  The crowd whooped in jubilation as Manassa let a cute server with long black hair suck a nipple, and Emma felt a surge of envy, suddenly mad to see someone come. Ione was grinning meaninglessly, up for anything.

  She reached out and pinched Emma’s nipple clamps, hard.

  “Cunt!” she sputtered as the others laughed. Emma felt eyes everywhere center on her chest. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Dean told,” Mark grinned. “Heard they can take a bit to pop,” he added, just to psyche her out.

  “What’s gonna happen?” said a blowzy redhead dancing with them.

  “I’m gonna suck a dick, that’s what!” Emma retorted, deciding to assert herself as a socialite. Dancers surged after her as she mounted an intimate three-seater occupied by cheering clients. Her friends stood around the platform clapping rhythmically to the beat as she knelt.

  “Which one of you fuckers wants to blow in my head?” Emma belted, dropping to her knees.

  Feet hammered and her mouth was swung this way and that to present her first cock. She threw herself on it but the left clamp bit and she jumped, sending her tits on a sweeping orbit that flashed the glittering little toys to seductive effect.

  “Nice!” her client enthused, reaching in to reset it, and from there the pronks served to enliven their game, popping merrily on her swollen nipples at unpredictable intervals.

  One of the men finally managed to climax and the crowd lustily cheered as she slurped jizz. Ione shrieked with laughter. “Do another one!” she railed.

  Mark vaulted onto the machine and took a place, legs open. “Get with this dick, blondie!”

  Women everywhere pressed closer to watch the best-looking man in the Club get his knob slobbered. Emma serviced him with the others, tits smarting from their enthusiastic use of her jewelry.

  “That’s it, slip!” Mark raged, grinning down at her, unable to hide his affection despite the impersonal context of the game. Her right clamp bit and she pranced jaggedly.

  “Fuck!” she spat, was spun to another cock.

  “Go Emz, go!” Ione belted and drained a flute of red-tinted stillwater in a gulp as hands groped her indiscriminately.

  Emma got with Mark twice again, but another man inevitably capitulated first, leaving her friend’s rampant erection intact for every woman in view to fantasize about.

  “Hey! It’s that slipper Dean brought to witness his latest humiliation!” a socialite jeered from the boundary of her clique. “Bitch can suck a dick like no one’s biz! She’s real proud of it!”

  Emma blithely addressed her. “Yeah, well you know what they say if you’re good at fellatio…”

  “What?”

  “Eventually it goes to your head!” she tittered. People from both cliques roared at her insouciance.

  Manassa slapped Emma’s ass. “Go on, give her a hand!” More laughter followed and the other socialite departed with a bitter sneer.

  As they caroused a cute little server gave into her lust and threw herself on Manassa, wrapping her arms possessively about the bigger woman’s flared hips to deliriously kiss her cleft, tongue fluttering deep into smooth lips.

  They were all impressed by the speed and severity of the response. Manassa dropped to one knee, hauled the woman over a bulging thigh, presenting her bottom to the crowd.

  “Give her a hand!” Emma blustered to a ragged shout of approval from all around.

  Manassa proceeded to deliver a dox of smarting blows to the server’s clenched posterior, exciting her to a frenzied kicking as the Clubgoers roared. De
an soloed over most of the performance, synchronizing whipcrack hits on the snare and high-hat every time her hand fell to the woman’s wriggling ass. When she was finally let off the knee there was no further presumption from her, but Emma saw all the signs of a permanent infatuation. A doorman patrolling the crowd nodded in respect for the way it had been handled, left them alone.

  More dancers were crowding onto Dean’s territory of the floor to partake in the increasingly notorious affairs of Emma’s clique. The Dowser had been steadily reassigning servers to her as she stole clients from other socialites, and he sent one around with his compliments and a tray of deep green shots Emma immediately recognized.

  “To faraway places,” she tearfully pronounced, suddenly overcome with regret for the women they had lost, and their home that once was. The others raised their glasses, and amidst a swirling current of revelers Emma drank with her real friends; three people with a secret past, harboring a sadness that could never be communicated. She held the ache as long as she could bear, let it go with a long exhalation, dazedly surveying the confusion. It was too bad, she thought. The gals of the Lap would have loved this place.

  Dean chopped his way through a hyperkinetic solo that impressed even the most jaded patrons and Emma saw Mark surreptitiously drive a finger into Ione’s twat from behind, prompting a trebly shriek. The drummers thundered on toward the next empty bucket and their collective renewal in the Dowser’s bounty as the gnomes beamed down a medley of green hues through a roiling fog.

  “Let’s dance!” Manassa shouted, the last thing Emma remembered for a long while.

  Later, when most of the crowd had left the Club, Emma was behind the bar. The moon was far advanced toward dawn, lurking through doors open only for staff and their closest friends. Ione, Mark and Manassa were celebrating with Dean at his bandstand.