by Daniel Six
“You had an interesting night…” the Dowser commented to Emma as he mixed drinks for the lingering afterparty. The night had ended on an uncertain note; Dean had done very well, amassing a sizable following with her help, but no one would know until tomorrow if he had won a place at the Club. The head Doorman would either deny him at the entrance, or admit him and refuse another drummer instead.
Emma was barely able to stand without wobbling.
“It was crazy,” she confessed, shaking her head in astonishment at the Club’s culture. “Dean’s really hoping he did okay…”
“And you?”
Emma tried to think around her exhaustion and sexual tension. “I dunno.”
“Did you have a chance to think about my proposition?” the Dowser prompted.
“What? The concoction thing?”
“Yes,” he replied, faintly amused by her flippancy.
Emma closed her eyes for a moment, let a bewildering mix of ambitions fight for priority in her mind.
“You really think you can turn jizz into jam just by drinking something?”
“I believe so. In time.”
Emma realized the Dowser would only supply the substance to someone who worked for him. If she agreed to this then Dean was in. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.” She owed the drummer a blowjob as it was, so it would all work out kind of neatly.
The Dowser poured a dense white drink into a shot glass and placed it on the counter. Emma stared suspiciously, wondering at its taste. If it was awful enough then semen might acquire a relatively benign savor by comparison. She reached for the concoction, brought it high, smelled and tasted it.
“Hey… it’s sweet,” she grinned and drained the shot. “I like it!” Returning the glass to the counter she swirled the aftertaste, licking her lips with a coy awareness of their looming postprandial obligation. “So how long does it take to kick in? And how long does it last?”
“Briefly in either case,” the Dowser replied. “The effect must be evaluated quickly.”
Emma turned to survey Dean’s activities. He was surrounded by his crew, looked more triumphant than turned on at the moment. They had to get back to the apartment first—it would look ridiculous trying to blow him in the middle of his exit. “Well, I better get moving fast.”
“Indeed. I have observed that a very kinetic effort is required to effect my culmination.”
“Um, what do you mean?”
The Dowser stared at her. Emma’s gaze slowly fell to his groin, where the answer hung in silent expectation.
“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped.
She was about to withdraw, tell the giant man she didn’t want to participate, but the lure of fast status—enough to save them all from any further uncertainly and distress—complicated the choice, forced her to hesitate.
“I can quit the experiment whenever?”
The Dowser nodded. “You would not be the first.”
Emma glanced over to her friends at Dean’s bandstand, boisterously recapitulating the night’s triumphant moments as they packed drums and cymbals into padded cases. She had no idea what would happen if things didn’t work out here. Ione was drunk now, but in the morning she would loathe the ceaseless mayhem of the hills all the more. And Dean would be practicing nonstop now that he would have to defend his new position.
She nodded, face hot. “Okay.”
The Dowser gestured to her nipple clamps. “Please remove those. They will not be sufficiently stimulating.”
The huge man obtained another set from a cabinet under the counter, then leaned down and fixed them to her nipples; gleaming teardrops depending from fine metal filaments. She stifled a grimace from their weight, massaged her downswept breasts to mitigate the effect.
“Lower yourself.”
Emma looked around, verified that none of her friends were watching and let herself down, positioning her knees wide on warm tile, sticky with various spilt drinks. She was totally hidden by the counter from the rest of the Club she realized with some relief.
Emma stared at the Dowser’s cock, silently marveling at its shape and heft. No woman, no matter how ambitious, could possibly take it down the throat, so that was out. The head was so large in fact she knew it would be the principal object of her stimulation.
The Dowser leaned down and grasped the teardrop-shaped weights hung from her nipples, spun them nimbly.
“These are weepers,” he helpfully explained. The metal filament that connected them to the nipple clamps began to tighten a pincer in response, biting gently at her nipples.
“You may begin.”
The Dowser’s penis lofted expectantly before her.
Emma placed her hands behind her back, a requirement of formally rendered fellatio. If he invited her to touch him that was different; some men liked to watch a woman masturbate their spit-drenched genitals. But that would look vaguely ridiculous here anyway—the Dowser’s mighty prong would require something like a body massage.
She opened her mouth as wide as she could and fit it around the head of his cock, just trying to get involved. It was less forgiving than she would have expected, hard flesh for a hard man. The spinning teardrops were screwing the clamps tight on her nipples, a punishment worsening by the moment.
Emma let her tongue slide from her mouth, trying to shim it under the belly of the Dowser’s prick. With a grunt she forced herself to pack it, getting perhaps a third of his length in before it plugged her. She blinked around comically sufflated cheeks, guessing this was all that was destined to go down.
The weepers slowed, stalled at the zenith of agony, and began to spin the other way, bite slowly relenting. They were awful, but Emma decided she could withstand them. It took novel methods of nipple torture to keep the hurt fresh.
She withdrew, then patiently stuffed her mouth to an excavated ache once again, edging about on her knees for position. With a final adjustment of angle, she proceeded to supply a halting, jaw-wedged suck. The weepers spun past their nominal orientation, began to gnaw at her tits again and she tried to ignore their effect, slurping as artfully as possible given the fist-size anatomy cramping her mouth.
After a trix of taut accommodations her throat clogged to immobility; he was too big to go in further, but too much suction had developed behind the head to overcome without grabbing the base for leverage. With no way to perform fellatio, Emma experimentally jacked her whole body around to induce a little motion. She felt the head squish in and out, but she swayed dangerously from the gambit, too buzzed to keep her balance. Her nipples reported a crisis of agony as the weepers were yanked about.
Her left hand stole forward, breaking the submissive posture of her service, and with an unthinking acceleration of the gesture she brought it down in a kind of martial salute. The resulting correction hauled her face hard onto the Dowser’s cock, which actually slid a little farther into her throat. Emma was completely gagged.
She heard a quiet grunt, knew the Dowser had been engaged by this extraordinary effort of excitation. Her arm whipped back and she managed to unplug his erection with the added momentum, then her fist flew down with another ramming assault by her head.
The weepers peaked, gnashing her viciously, began to accelerate the other way again. But they were developing an asymmetry of effect that was distracting, and Emma realized their diverging rhythm would be a potentially awful complication. She pushed this threat from her mind to make all possible space for the Dowser’s rod and forced her jaw energetically on his manhood, jamming it tight.
Her tongue was wriggling against his penis in the minimal space available as she bounced on him again and again, lips disconcertingly distant from the base. She could feel pressure building deep within his body and prepared herself to cope with the result.
The weeper on her left nipple tightened mercilessly, spun to an agonizing stop, but Emma hardened her will to the exigencies of the moment, stuffed him to stalling in her comically widened grimace. The other weeper whirled to a halt a
little after, mercilessly clamping her right nipple, and the untimely second installment of hurt almost broke her discipline. She slobbered mindlessly as it reversed direction, following its twin back to a relieving leniency.
Emma sucked a sloppy accumulation of saliva from the Dowser’s erection and hammered it back in, fist swinging down in support. She stamped madly in elaboration of the technique, back arched, heaving on his penis as she fought the dreamy distortion of stillwater, the stretched complaint of her throat, the hard floor under her knees, got into him with a maniacal desire, muttering and spitting on his flesh.
The weepers spun grandly back toward agony, twisting the filaments and pincers until she was keening from their calculated distress. They attacked together and she ragefully shouted the cock out of her jaw.
“Hah!”
It slid back in on the next stamping and saluting lunge and she gulped it, sucking madly as the weepers took their turn on her knotted teats, a maddeningly unanticipatable campaign of torment that continued till the Dowser’s cock went utterly stiff, ready with her drink.
Her head shivered as if it had been slapped. A blast of semen issued into her mouth, sluiced down her throat to quench a secret feminine void, then rose like a warm tide on a trio of gargled expulsions, filling her to the lip. She gagged helplessly, allowed the surplus to geyser in ticklish streams about her knees. The weepers bit in fast succession, twisting her big berries a final time as the Dowser finished with her flesh.
It was over.
She leaned against his penis, took strength from it, let his masculinity support her as sour ejaculate wandered down her neck.
His hand eased her head off his member. Emma stared up at him, eyes running with tears, sprung lips pinkly disclosing where he had been.
“Well? How close are we to a pleasant conclusion?” he inquired in his characteristically earnest but dispassionate tone.
Emma eased her jaw shut, swallowed painfully, licking salty spunk from her lips. “Pretty fuckin’ far,” she spluttered.
“I see…”
“Why do you need me to do this?” she demanded.
The Dowser stared down judiciously. “You’re the first employee who has been honest about the inefficacy of the concoction. So you’re the only one I would trust to tell me otherwise.”
Outside they were mobbed by late-night revelers, mostly people from Emma’s clique.
“We need to get going,” said Ione. “Mark’s acting skulky. We gotta get him out of here.” Emma could tell she was exhausted.
She chewed her lip, rhythmically massaged tortured nipples. “Alright. Get the car and I’ll take care of things here.”
Dean sauntered over as casually as he could when Ione departed.
“What’s up, Emz?”
“Hey, you big drummy.”
“So… the Dowser say anything?”
Emma measured him, wondering how much he knew about the concoction, and many other things.
“You’re in. We both are.”
“I got it!” He couldn’t contain his jubilation. There was a rousing cheer for the affable musician, and Mark slapped him heartily.
“Dean the machine!”
They made plans to meet everyone at the Dowser’s Club on the following night. Dean would be performing there for at least a few days, as by convention he couldn’t be challenged for his place until a half-dox of nights had come and gone.
When they were back at his apartment he promptly dragged himself to bed in anticipation of his labors the next day, too tired to claim the pleasure she had promised or offer any in reciprocation.
Emma sighed and followed Ione down the hall. “Hey, sweetie. The Club left me in a pretty desperate condition. You mind rubbing one out with me?”
“Emz, I’m exhausted,” she demurred.
“What the fuck?” she grated. “You can’t spare the time for a quick frig?”
Ione yawned. “It’s never that quick,” she complained and disappeared into the bathroom. Emma stared after her in dull rage, loathing her selfishness.
She moodily chatted with Manassa, who congratulated her on becoming a socialite, though Emma guessed she was hazy as to what this meant. The big woman shared a little victory of her own; she had been conditionally hired at a clothing boutique and would be returning there in the morning for her first working experience. Emma tried to flirt with her but Manassa yawned without noticing, headed off for the spare shower. Her absent kiss in parting did nothing to reduce the incredible sexual tension Emma had acquired from a hard night of dick-sucking and drinking.
Back in the salon Mark was holding his head, muscular arms partially obscuring a stubborn erection. Emma fretted, guessing he was already well down the path of skulk reversion.
“Mark?” He didn’t respond.
She slid suggestively over to him.
“Yeah?” he grunted.
“How ya doin’?”
He stared at her, eyes flat.
“Mark, I gotta get off. Please. Just a quick toss…”
He was silent for an eerily overlong term, then took Emma into his arms, kissing her aggressively. Her nipples caught his interest, grotesquely swollen from abuse.
“Were the weepers as bad as they say?”
So he knew about that. They probably all did, then. “Yes,” she admitted, rubbing herself in painful retrospection.
Mark flicked her right nipple calculatedly.
“Asshole!”
“Hmmm… guess so. Thing is, it would be a crime to waste all that preparation,” he slurred, tickling her tips. “So we’ll take a good climax and make it great.” He rummaged around among drinks and drumsticks on the low table to produce something small and glittering; a toy.
He pushed her back, clambering between her legs, knees driven deep into the cushions. Emma regarded his threatening demeanor with caution but didn’t resist, knowing that his frustration would inevitably find some route into the act.
“You’re going to wear a squint while you get fucked,” he declared.
He pointed to her breasts. “Which hurts more?”
She told him the truth before thinking and he settled a compact round shape on the belly of her left tit, securely balanced on a circular rim. At its center was a tooth-lined maw through which he unceremoniously yanked her nipple. This gnashing aperture was geared to a little rotating swingarm, and Emma stared in blurry fascination at the glinting metal apparition on her chest till she felt Mark’s erection pushing at her vulva.
He entered her without much consideration, but Emma didn’t care. As he accelerated Emma’s body began to jog on the soft couch cushions, hurling her breasts back and forth in a lazy counter-rhythm. The squint was touched into motion by this—its swingarm began to whirl with a faint pinging sound. Emma felt the little maw tighten about her nipple in response.
As Mark pumped into her the swingarm wound faster and the teeth bit deep into her knotted tip till her eyes leaked and her lip trembled from the effort of withstanding it.
“Does it hurt?” he hissed.
With a loud ‘tink’ the squint abruptly released, and her breath escaped at the sudden retreat of its awful bite. Mark grinned unpleasantly and slammed into her more forcefully yet, filling the salon with a reverberating slap of sweating flesh. Emma’s teeth chattered as the toy slowly squinted again.
“Oh fuck… like that…”
Mark thrust faster, launching the couch slightly with each penetration, and the swingarm built speed in turn, winding with malevolent precision around her jogging boob as they rocked back and forth.
“Harder!” she cried, and he obliged with a sneer, bearing down.
The squint was operating at top velocity now, rasping nastily as its maw inexorably tightened on her nipple, binding her pleasure to its selfish schedule. It bit and relented, proceeded to screw tight again, and she felt climax beckon through a coalescing haze of pain.
“Fuckkkkk, thassssiiitttt,” she whimpered as joy welled at her twat, tyrann
ically moderated by the agonization of her tit. The squint slowly chewed to conclusion, her master now, and she climaxed so hard at its clinking imperative that the night’s accumulation of torment and frustration was justified over a dox of pulsing moments saturated by pure ecstasy.
“There you go, slipperlips,” Mark grated as a shrill ululation spiraled from her aching throat.
“Ohyesohyesohyessss!” she babbled, unmade by the pleasure. It lasted and lasted…
The squint finally pinged again, abruptly releasing her nipple, and she fell silent, utterly satisfied.
“Thanks,” she finally gasped, flush with loving sentiments.
She tried to kiss Mark, but he brusquely disengaged from her, stumbled off to the spare bed without a glance.
The Gnomon
Ione woke to the customary ruckus of Dean’s apartment building the following morning; an irritating echo of the Dowser’s Club and its drunken excesses. Dean would be able to acquire a much more glamorous residence on the Dowser’s hill with his new status, but Ione knew this would take time and would probably result in an even louder environment for his guests anyway.
Emma had evidently been granted employment as well, but Ione had no idea what to make of her socialite role, which ranged in dignity from strutting about as a celebrity of the Club to sedulously blowing its customers. She had certainly been given a vigorous workout on her knees in return for whatever status was promised, and would be expected back later with Dean for more of the same. They were sleeping now to be rested for it, probably wouldn’t rise till noon.
Ione was most curious about Emma’s final encounter with the Dowser. They had only been in the City a few days, and the fact that her lover was already consorting with one of its demiurgic figures did not reconcile with her fine-tuned estimation of social probabilities as a doyenne. Emma’s rhabdomantic interactions with the Dowser’s flesh were comical enough to dispel any sense of rivalry with the giant man, but there was something vaguely foreboding about this “concoction” he was developing…
Mark was still passed out and Ione briefly considered the idea of tying him up and strapping out a fast orgasm, which he desperately needed. It would be tricky without Emma’s help, but she thought she could probably manage to secure him before he fully woke. The possibility of being heard or witnessed in action was too great a risk though; Mark’s image would be irreparably compromised if anyone knew the secret of his sexuality. She had gotten off with his help three times the previous day as they prowled about the City together in Dean’s convertible, but Ione decided against taking him with her now. He didn’t need any more unfulfilled stimulation.