Belonger (An erotic novel): Part One

by Daniel Six

  Accepting its implicit invitation, she stepped before the gnome, spread her feet wide and lay her chest down on the wet grass of the median, cautiously positioning herself to receive its penis from the rear.

  Breathing hard, Ione eased back till the tip of its erection was planted at the fitfully clenched ring of her anus. Closing her eyes, she pushed delicately. Its cock widened her slightly, provoking a rush of sensation she almost automatically encouraged. Forcing harder, she felt the head slip tremulously within.

  “Fuck…” she whispered in mingled fear and arousal, thighs shifting to get the best angle of penetration. She carefully swiveled about the gnome’s erection, using its inflexible length as a tool of her own loosening, clenched the soft grass of the median with rigidly splayed fingers and eased back till her rectum was filled.

  With a sigh she capitulated to a gentle cadence of self-penetration, adding speed and intensity with every thrust till she was being hit like a slipper, grunting rhythmically, anxiously furthering the gnome’s stoic imposition on her dignity.

  Ione copulated with herself in the dim ambience of the test chamber, helplessly abetting a glorious dream of climax despite the certainty of frustration. Her asshole was loosened up now, and she made the gnome fuck her without reservation, self-rectifying her flesh on its unyielding length to an uncompromised linearity within. Its rhythm was perfect—her own.

  She gasped at the cusp of an astonishing realization, then something moved deep inside. The creature was spurting warm water, a six of keen blasts.

  “Ohhhhhh…”

  The room began to rain.

  Ione slowed, panting heavily, thighs running with the gnome’s flooding exudation as her back was sympathetically washed by warm droplets. It finished with a final, depleted spew and promptly lost its erection.

  She disengaged and stood, weaving from the cramped curl of her midsection. The mist had cleared with the precipitation, and she could see the entire chamber by the glow of many gnomes circling her position. The arched doorway opened in the distance and she sprinted over to it.

  “What happened?” the test proctor demanded, regarding her dripping, urgently aroused flesh in confusion as she emerged from the test chamber.

  Ione blinked precipitation from her lashes, not certain how to respond. The sibilance of rain lingered quietly behind her.

  “You’re done,” he realized in disbelief, belatedly checking the atrium to gauge the elapsed time on the elevator sundial.

  Not long after, she was on another floor, seated in an office that somehow managed to seem luxurious despite the utilitarian aesthetic of its furnishings, constructed from smart-looking blue fabric and plastic, sparkling glass and brushed metal gazed on by glow gnomes installed above. Through a broad window employees of the Gnomon pursued various intellectual endeavors, their interactions marked by an obviously mutual respect Ione found hearteningly cooperative after her experiences in the Dowser’s domain.

  Across the steel-billet plane of a neatly organized desk a senior manager regarded her, and Ione smiled blandly, reflexively baffling the strange estimation of his eyes, wondering how many applicants had won through the Gnomon’s challenge to face him. What did it say about her? And how did they test the men?

  “You have demonstrated an extraordinary potential for the work of our organization,” the administrator stated in a formal tone. “As a result, you are eligible for employment in any of its divisions.”

  Ione’s cynical wariness fled as her intellectual horizon leapt word by line into fantasy.

  “These are specifically: Material science, gnome design, gnome applications, hydraulics, technical administration, toy design, security and maintenance, pure research, applied research and general management.”

  She leaned back, dizzily contemplating the possibilities. “Which is considered the most ambitious department?” she inquired, guessing there would be an accelerated channel through the Gnomon’s interests.

  “The gnome applications group includes the design and implementation of automobiles, our most popular product. Its top echelon of personnel have almost unlimited status. Along with gnome design, it is probably the most prestigious calling.”

  Ione could well imagine anything connected with the creatures would command the highest significance here. “The Gnomon personally oversees gnome design, I suppose.” They were fashioned in his image, after all…

  “No.”

  “Gnome applications, then?”

  “No.”

  She was intrigued. “Is he a theoretician or executive or something?”

  “Both, when it comes to it. But he is formally associated with just one, comparatively exclusive group.”

  Ione chewed her lip, cycling through the list in her mind. “There’s really a top-echelon unit devoted to toys?” she skeptically inquired.

  The administrator nodded slowly, guarding something subtle in his expression. “Erotic toys, to be precise. Their master laboratory is called the ‘style’, and it occupies the highest known floor of the Tower.”

  Her fast journey into the hierarchy of the Gnomon’s service halted abruptly after her last interview; she was sent to a mid-level studio to observe one of the junior toy design teams in action. This nominally courteous gesture hid a certain discrimination—Ione realized they were being careful not to waste anyone’s time. Her claim that she was interested in erotic toys didn’t mean a lot without some concept of what was involved in their development.

  After an exhilarating descent with the Flowgnome, she debarked the elevator’s circular platform at a tastefully accented foyer decorated with a huge technical artwork on the wall she had been told to look for. The levels were not named or numbered; their serial arrangement guaranteed that any designation using an inherently ordered language would be scrambled in dream.

  Passing a watchful doorman Ione found herself in an open space surfaced with plush blue carpeting, outfitted with machines and instruments of such elaborate construction she wondered if she had been misdirected. Glow gnomes were standing around everywhere, eyes directed onto various work sites and projects. It was a design laboratory of some kind, she could tell, but it didn’t look very erotic.

  From the company of a trix of quietly collaborating employees a woman with mid-length dark hair and a lean but womanly build stepped toward her.

  “Hi.” She smiled, looking her up and down. They exchanged names.

  “I just took the Gnomon’s challenge and decided to join the erotic toy division. I’m supposed to hang out here for a while,” Ione explained.

  “Good. Welcome. This group is currently developing a new device called a knocker,” she stated. “But our lab is also equipped for biometric evaluation, and we’re doing some of that today.” The woman explained that they were about to measure the capacities and characteristics of a test subject.

  “Erotic toys are quite precise in design and function and we must go to some effort to ensure that our work is accurately gauged for its intended use. Follow me and I’ll show you more.”

  They stepped over to a treadmill assembly, a flexible rubber belt on rollers. A pretty blond with muscular legs waited nearby, and Ione saw her move unabashedly to comply with orders given by a somberly presumptive supervisor.

  “Mount the device. Now spread your legs and bend fully at the waist.”

  The blond presented her rump in this submissive posture and an oiled rubber bulb was carefully forced into her rectum. Something dangled from it; a leash. The man took this to hand and sat on a stool behind the treadmill.

  “Bring her to low inclination,” he requested.

  A lab technician pulled a lever near the front of the machine, cranking the platform to an angle that sent the blond woman rolling gently back. She stepped forward in automatic compensation to maintain her place at the middle interval of the device, lengthening her stride in response to the steady acceleration of the belt under her weight.

  Ione watched the cantilevered bulge of her roun
ded buttocks, their visible tension about the bulb, and the taut leash held with casual mastery by her superior, dispassionately gauging sphincteral competence. The blond’s velocity leveled off for a bit, and she maintained good form, limbs swinging easily, breath regular, knees high, big nipples tracing lazy orbits under a dancing mass of golden hair. When the activity was demonstrably stabilized her boss spoke again.

  “You will now attempt to emancipate yourself from the leash.”

  The blond sped forward, pulling the line taut, and Ione saw the leash plug slip marginally from her backside. But the sudden tension worked an integral pump and the woman grunted. The bulb had widened inside her to thwart its attempted ejection. Its fattened girth was regretfully swallowed again.

  “Raise her inclination.”

  The lab assistant cranked the elevation of the treadmill again and the blond was dragged back by the invisible tether of gravity, almost slid off the end of the machine before initiating a tardy burst of acceleration. Prancing back up the incline with a high-kneed gait, she presented an arresting view of sinuously fluctuating assflesh. Ione was impressed as she quickly established a new equilibrium at this higher speed, moving at considerable velocity now.

  In the periphery another employee aimed an unlit glow gnome onto the action and slapped its nipple. A warm sidelight issued that modeled the runner’s husky anatomy with shadowy crescents about her pouncing breasts and a tantalizingly stark adumbration between the parted fleshes of her briskly tumbling ass.

  The blond employee exhibited a lusty determination to be measured, exerted herself to a bounding lope up the steepened angle of the treadmill, legs sensually hammering the belt, sweat beading flushed cheeks. Ione stared at the flexuous circumscription of her sphincter around its clever charge, a lone locus of balanced forces amidst the zealously locomoting territories of muscle at her back and thighs.

  “Her performance certainly verifies her strenuous preparatory regimen,” someone analytically murmured.

  The woman stamped forward ambitiously, pulling the leash, fighting the natural compression of her posterior in an attempt to liberate the sufflated bulb inside her, but was chastened again by its expansion to a yet larger volume. Her supervisor carefully metered the blond’s effort through by tension on the line till she reluctantly withdrew to the middle of the treadmill again, swallowing the plug in vexation.

  “Bring her to the highest inclination.”

  The employee lowered her head, assiduously pounding the belt as the treadmill reared to a pitilessly steep angle. Ione saw a wagging, side to side rhythm develop as her thighs were called to wider alignment, and the runner hissed in frustration, sphincter knotted helplessly around the fattened rubber bulb.

  She summoned the last of her stamina and vaulted forward on an epic ambition to escape its governance, and Ione found herself emotionally engaged with the full-figured blond for her totally activated athleticism, though by now she suspected she could have done better. Breath whistling raggedly, the employee hurtled up the incline, desperate to loosen the leash, which was carefully tensioned by her superior to goad this very inclination. Ione saw the bulb expand to balk her frantic ascent to freedom, bulging between her cheeks, and the final moments of the exercise played out as a tortured progression of lapses. The woman’s sphincter gaped precipitously around the bulb as her strapping thighs and calves hammered under madly gyring ass cheeks.

  “Nuh… nuh… nnnahhh!” she cried and it slid delicately into view; an oily, fist-sized volume now. Her breasts were sweeping about wide orbits, nipples aroused to thick, sweaty erection and her supervisor was squinting to miss no detail, expertly tensioning the shimmying leash. Ione held her breath as the fattened plug emerged triumphantly from her rectum, barely suppressing a Lap-era reflex to cheer.

  The blond staggered as her energy failed all at once. The machine lowered immediately and she slid off the belt, heaving triumphantly from her heady assault on the treadmill.

  Her supervisor nodded . “You are now certified for design testing on the leash.”

  The employee smiled through a gulping effort of resuscitation. As she walked off Ione considered the elaborately “scientific” stimulation of her flesh that had taken place, guessed the blond’s next exertion would be in a shower with a friend…

  The group moved to another site nearby where a shorter, fair-haired employee waited with barely suppressed anticipation under the obligatory mask of professionalism expected by the Gnomon’s culture.

  She was installed in another large device; a rotating basin with a seat at its center. Her feet were placed into wide-set pedals, exposing her muscularly puckered sphincter to the fore, and her boss produced a flexible dispenser with a nozzle at the end. Inserting its oiled tip into her anus, he squeezed the package to pump small, gleaming metal bearings into her rectum till it was packed to a specified volume.

  “You will now attempt to retain this ballast on the centrifuge.” He seated himself on a stool, sliding up to the raised lip of the platform.

  “Begin.”

  The employee closed her eyes and pedaled. To her amusement Ione saw this had the effect of rotating the whole platform, and the woman was soon giddily whirling about. Ione stepped past a glow gnome to obtain a more intimate view, impressed by the fanciful precision of the experiment.

  As the woman pumped harder, the bearings in her rectum began to challenge her grip, abetted by the steadily escalating centrifugal force. Her hair-whipped features were visible only as a cyclic blur, but Ione couldn’t doubt she was exhilarated by the experience, whatever might be said about its dignity. She watched a bearing peep into view at the employee’s anus before she diligently swallowed it back.

  Her quickening velocity made it steadily more challenging to keep them pent, and Ione saw the woman exert herself with a clenched determination to govern the tiny region of her anatomy under analysis. Her sphincter gaped open to show another glinting betrayer within, and with each rotation the muscle was sensually widened a bit more.

  “No…” she slurred.

  With a shout of dismay the employee yielded her first bearing, which exited to ping noisily against the raised lip of the centrifuge, an intensely significant sound in the understated ambience of the laboratory. The woman muttered unhappily, put everything she had into mastering herself, a control that held for a dox of revolutions.

  Then another bead emerged from her madly whirling form, wriggling forth to irresistibly loosen her knot. A thin wail escaped her lips, slid to a sharp ululation as two more bearings slipped from her treacherously dilating asshole. She clamped it shut with manic determination to oppress a wadded vanguard of bearings ready to quit her flesh, then made an apparently tactical decision to release a limited quantity of them. Her anus quaked, discharging a mass of glittering, oil-spitting ballast to tinkle cacophonously about the centrifuge well.

  “Ha!” she exclaimed, snubbing their exodus.

  Her sphincter muscled shut and she pedaled furiously, granting no further respite to her clamped exit. The group around her had grown to encompass most of the lab employees, and Ione heard their evaluative murmuring when the pinging racket of her previous lapse subsided.

  The woman checked any further expulsions for a brief interval as she approached the maximum velocity likely to develop, and Ione felt the periodic warmth of her chuffing exhalations as she cranked away.

  “Unnnnhh…”

  Her superior leaned in, eyes locked on the altitude of her twirling noose, and Ione was helplessly drawn to the esoteric accuracy of the experience, the humiliatingly personal metric it yielded.

  “I’ve got them! I’ve got them!” the woman unselfconsciously reassured herself, lost in a secret, impossibly hurried reality. Her voice multiplied on whooping, radial echoes as she audaciously promoted her experiment.

  “Yes! I’ve got them! Yes!”

  It all held together for a brief, breathless term, then a bearing peeped, widened her anus with luxurious unhaste, and spat
forth to ring on the metal perimeter of the machine. A moment later another assayed this sensational hegira, then they were coming regularly as she flailed madly on the pedals, all consideration centered on her fatiguing sphincter.

  The noise was deafening, a discordant metallic thrash that simplified to a cheerful, tripleted articulation as the employee held on as long as possible, fighting each freedom-bound bauble, graded by her superior on the final compromise of speed and endurance she made.

  Ione was a little in awe of her unflinching determination, savored the other woman’s struggle, prolonged instant by instant till the inevitable end.

  A last bearing charged her exit, was clutched, kissed and loosed to a noisy result. Then the exercise was over.

  The woman slowly spun down, offered a slack-lipped, exhausted grin to the audience; an ironically appropriate expression Ione decided. The boss informed his employee that she was now certified on the centrifuge, and it struck Ione that this protocol offered a potentially crucial means of calibration in a regime where performance data for toys could not be reliably recorded. No one knew exactly what had been measured as far as she could tell, but they had found a way to gauge relative relationships between flesh and machine.

  “Our final engagement requires a more personal interface,” the supervisor explained for everyone’s benefit. Ione had no idea what this might entail and simply followed the crowd to a huge machine ringed by glow gnomes.

  Another woman was seated there, an intense-looking brunette poised with her feet in wide-spread pedals. But this time her superior positioned himself before her on a sliding seat that put their genitals in close proximity. Ione saw that he had developed an erection, and his deftly oiled penis pointed forth with what seemed to her more than strictly objective interest. He settled his right hand on a shift lever of some kind and eased his member to the cusped indentation of her sphincter.

  “This is the most sensitive apparatus of discovery we presently possess. It is called an analyzer,” he mentioned to Ione.