by Daniel Six
He entered his employee and she accepted his competently engorged cockhead without complaint, shifting a little to settle her anus comfortably about it.
“Begin,” he said.
The woman blinked submissively, forced to regard her superior face to face. Ione wondered whether decorum allowed her to close her eyes, but the man’s fixed expression seemed to suggest otherwise.
The pedals were connected by a geared transmission to a heavy flywheel behind her, which began to ponderously revolve as she cranked. Ione could estimate its mass through the stressed definition of her muscular legs, struggling to impart angular momentum. She could see why the boss was taking a more active role in this test—whatever his uninflected demeanor said, the osculating grip of his employee’s limber little butthole had to feel exquisite on any cockflesh fortunate enough to be trapped in its embrace.
“Accelerate.”
She did so, revving the stately bulk of the flywheel behind her till it was reluctantly spinning at enough speed to induce a sensual shudder in the chassis of the machine. Ione watched her superior impose on the woman a little further, assaying the muscular gyre of her anus with an intrinsically calibrated instrument. She maintained this level of effort for a little, rendering a steady effect to his pecker with which to analyze the hidden exertions of her body.
“We will now concentrate the phenomenon.”
His hand moved then, and the transmission clunked, reconfigured to a different ratio. His employee had to pedal harder now, but the velocity of the flywheel increased significantly in return. She bore down energetically, building speed again till it fanned her hair with a tender current. Her rectum—the end site of complex anatomical forces developed to a precise specification—plied his manhood with a tightly constrained elliptical kiss, and he withdrew a little to get its most sensitive tract in the optimal zone of effect.
The employee was breathing hard now, shapely limbs kicking athwart her superior’s wide shoulders. His eyes never left her own, compelling a psychological engagement she might otherwise have denied. Ione elbowed furtively among the assemblage of glow gnomes stationed around them to view the affair from different angles, trying to prioritize her various impressions of the Gnomon’s regime—awe, confusion, arousal and alarm—wondering which might ultimately be revealed as the most shrewd.
“Address yourself to a new level of difficulty,” the boss required.
The shifter moved again, and the transmission clanged to its steepest ratio. Ione saw the brunette slow, unable to maintain her developed velocity. She hissed, bore down on her left leg, then the right, throwing her whole body into the exercise as her superior calmly estimated the result on his cock, now decorated by a lewd trickle of pussy excitation.
The woman recovered her speed by degrees, and the flywheel sped to a new, shuddering kineticism. Her eyes were locked on the boss with a clenched certainty of purpose, lips parted to emit a regular blast of warm air on his chest. Her thighs were dripping sweat, knees veering elliptically to and fro, and the penis between her cheeks was incrementally slipping farther inside her body, experiencing the flexuous compaction of her rectum at various depths. Ione heard something helpless issue from the employee, a whispered, slipperish gibber.
“Its connection good so lasts and make…”
Her superior ignored this, sternly exercised her for as long as she could sustain the experiment until her rectum slurped noisily, verifying his orgasm.
The supervisor casually shifted the transmission back down to the lowest ratio, allowing the brunette to gracefully decelerate, and the machine finally whirred to a halt.
“This analysis is finished. We will need additional measurements to complete the calibration, however. You may report here tomorrow for another session on the apparatus.”
The employee did not seem displeased by this.
The group dispersed and Ione turned to the woman who had greeted her, standing near a workbench littered with variations on the leash they had tested.
“Does everyone here, uh… personally ‘calibrate’ the toys?”
“No, of course not,” she answered, to Ione’s relief. “Only those who want to understand the actual application of their work.”
Ione blinked, realizing it would be ridiculous by that philosophy to devise or refine sex toys without being directly involved in their testing. She wondered how and when this tacit requirement would intersect her own ambition.
The woman motioned her to another quarter of the lab, where a prototype toy dwelt near a profusion of similar adaptations. “This is the project I am presently assigned to. It’s called a knocker.”
“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 w
rithed 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… eeeyeeeeeaaaahhhhhhh…” 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.
Ione stared across the City, contemplating the traffic and clothing changes required to join her friends at the Club, decided she would drive back the following morning. Manassa didn’t know when her own affairs were destined to conclude that evening either and had told them not to expect her any time specifically. Emma would worry, and so would Mark, but Ione planned to return before they were awake and could explain everything then. There was much to tell.
Right now all she wanted was to indulge herself with a long shower, maybe masturbate for a while. Sometimes it helped her think…