by Daniel Six
“Another patron arrives to the boutique,” he boomed down as nonchalantly as possible, concentrating closely.
A very tall, charismatic gent walked into the boutique, immaculately garbed in a conservative black suit. The women turned to face this next client, offering themselves alertly to service. The Merkin anxiously thumbed his script to the next page.
“I’m shopping for my lady,” the customer announced. “It is to be a surprise. As she cannot try things on personally, I would prefer the boutique to provide a model for this purpose. My lover is a voluptuous woman, I should mention, and as tall as myself.”
The man carefully assessed the women of the boutique, arresting on Manassa’s great, skirted hips. His gaze rose to levelly regard her lovely features. Nothing further emerged from him and the Merkin held his breath, ready to insert a timely imperative.
“Her. She will suffice,” he finally uttered, and the scene moved forward.
“You got it,” Manassa assented, turning to survey the shop’s merchandise. “She might like a pair of gloves,” the big beauty mused, plucking about a display of limp rubber hands. “We just had fun with those. Does she spank you before bed?”
Manassa beamed as the audience noisily guffawed, flung her hair back engagingly and donned a pair of gloves in black, specially thick ones that could deliver a painful smarting to the buttocks. The Merkin cringed. The stage was operating on an almost random basis suddenly.
“A good spanking with these will finish the day nicely, I imagine. A gift you can both enjoy,” she promised and mimed swatting him. The man backpedaled in alarm. The scene’s calculatedly masculine premise wobbled from this unlikely exchange.
“Yeah, we’ll run with the gloves,” Manassa decided, arms pumping exaggeratedly as she jogged after him. The crowd noisily cheered her on. “Anything else?”
“I would like to get her a rubber brassiere and a matching set of rubber stockings,” the man hastily requested, trying to realign what was happening to the script.
Manassa glanced around, quickly recalled where these items resided. “Sure thing, guy. Right over here!” She stepped to the appropriate displays, ran a palm along a colorful sweep of stylish rubber halters.
“Any color in particular?”
“The pink and white will do nicely,” he decided.
Manassa grabbed the largest brassiere in this palette, dangled it before the customer. He was instantly transfixed by its enormous cups. She found a matching set of equally outsized rubber stockings for her legs and threw them over an arm.
“That all?”
“Yes. Please model them for me now,” her customer requested. The Merkin relaxed as she nodded without reservation. It was all going to happen as planned.
“She’ll obviously want panties too,” Manassa added as an afterthought, plucking a color-coordinated pair on her way to the mock dressing rooms. The Merkin frowned, trying to gauge this deviation from the script. He almost intervened with a narrative correction, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable way to deprive her of the article, which was probably too small—he hadn’t specified panties large enough for her when itemizing the contents of the shop to the Manager.
Manassa stepped into the changing room, her whole demeanor fancifully relaxing to suggest she believed herself perfectly alone. She stretched, tossed the rubber lingerie on a low bench to one side. Without looking beyond the tiny “walls” of the space she removed her heels, then with no complication of modesty plucked at the shoulders of her rubber-trimmed lingerie dress, lifted it off her waist with a dramatic sweep, folded it in midair and set it aside as the theater fell silent.
Her brassiere and panties were a soft pink hue, stuffed with firm volumes of smooth flesh that cast deep shadows down her belly and thighs. Her legs were enormously feminine.
She reached for a bra strap and her breasts popped free, offering themselves to direct observation, and the Merkin reached under his script and rubbed his penis helplessly. Her nipples were as large as cherries. She bent and slipped her panties down, stepped out of them to present her utterly naked form without any apparent concern for those watching, despite the Merkin’s deviously exaggerated context of observation.
Even from here he could see the nude perfection of her womanhood, the feature of her beauty that so captivated her admirers. It was as boldly formed as the rest of her—a luscious labial valley with a pert clitoral prominence, utterly free of hair.
She turned to the rubber lingerie, presenting her backside to him, twin globes kissing along a perfect arc, and the Merkin simply stared at her mighty legs on his stage with a sense of personal fulfillment he had never before experienced. Manassa slipped the pink rubber brassiere on, then shrugged into the matching panties with a fitful, muscular effort. They were too small and her thighs flexed sensually wide as she forcefully yanked them into place.
The audience had absorbed the euphoria of beholding her perfectly formed body, were whispering expectantly now, aware they were in the presence of an unpredictable, potentially uncontainable personality.
She emerged from the dressing room to regard the employees of the store, who commented in sincerely amazed tones on the fit of her lingerie, touching her shyly.
“Look at those curves!”
“You coming to the party later?”
“You seeing anyone, sweetie?”
“The employee presents herself to the customer,” the Merkin boomed down to the stage before the scene collapsed into undirected carousal again.
Manassa sauntered over to the client, who stared open-mouthed at her approach.
“What do you think?” She twirled for him.
“Beautiful…” he whispered. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Manassa pointed to the small rubber tags protruding from her lingerie at the nipples and crotch. “Plus there’s these. Discipline is easy!”
She pinched one between thumb and forefinger and pulled it. The material of the brassiere stretched, and when she released the tag her nipple was snapped to a keen agony.
“Oh!” she started, cheeks darkening in arousal.
The other women crowded close to test this effect, punishing her playfully as she danced from the stimulation.
“Let me try…”
“Look how she bounces!”
Manassa encouraged her customer to experiment. “Go ahead. Do the twat if you like.”
He reached hesitantly for her crotch, found the tag and slowly pulled it back. The crowd fell utterly quiet as her womanhood became the cynosure of all attention.
He released the tag and the rubber panties snapped down hard on the bulge of her vulva. Manassa shouted and for a split instant the muscles of her legs were clearly defined as she jumped painfully from the stimulation.
“Ow!” she exulted.
Her customer smiled widely.
“Can I try?” an employee demanded.
“No, let me!” someone else clamored, and the Merkin interceded once more as the scene devolved to a chaotic lechery of vulval provocation.
“The client evaluates the lingerie!”
Manassa took this as an invitation to exert her skill as a saleswoman. “See! Everyone likes it. A soothing nipple tweak or pussy snap is just a twitch away, right on target and guaranteed to stimulate. If you woman’s too talkative or demanding her mood can be changed with the flick of a wrist. You’ll want her in rubber things all the time!”
The Merkin listened in amazement, just one of the crowd now, fascinated by her lively commitment to the situation.
“Very good,” said the customer. Then he delivered the crucial line. “I think I’ll try a textured rubber, too. You will also need to model this. In reaction, of course.” He proceeded to unzip his pants, quickly rolled a large blue rubber onto his erection.
“Sure. Just lemme…” Manassa tried to peel the tight rubber panties from her flesh, but they stuck, inadvertently armoring her against his desire.
Other employees tried to remove them, enthusi
astically but ineffectively yanking away as her hips flexed and shimmied in presumed cooperation with the effort. But the Merkin quickly realized the plummeting aesthetic of the proceedings would ruin the scene long before the customer’s penis got into her.
“I’ll do it!” a blond associate offered, throwing herself on the padded test bench. The client didn’t know what to do. His gaze shifted between Manassa’s defiantly rubber-girded hips and the invitingly spread legs and delicate panties of the other employee.
“The customer proceeds with the other woman,” the Merkin conceded in defeat, closing his eyes for a moment. His penis was an inconsolably rigid presence under the script.
“Raise your legs and spread them wide,” Manassa instructed, drawing her male patron closer to the blond. “Go ahead and take her underpants away,” Manassa suggested. “Those won’t be a problem.” The crowd laughed and the man reached in, pinched her lingerie at either side and slid the garment off to leave the moist bulge of her pubis bare, garlanded by soft blond hair.
“What a beautiful vagina,” Manassa murmured. “Now let’s get into it, shall we?” Stepping behind the client, she goaded him forward, guiding his sheathed cock to the blond’s cleft. The woman gasped as her cunt opened precipitously, and the Merkin could tell the ridged texture of the rubber quite pleasantly stimulated her. That was not a problem. He watched closely now. There was still some meaning left in the scene.
Some time ago the Merkin had ordered his secret liaisons to the Gnomon’s organization to arrange for a totally new rubber design he had developed. The first samples had recently returned, and the man onstage was going to test this innovation in front of them all.
While many women preferred a textured rubber for the dramatic improvement in pleasure it rendered, the stimulation available to the man was reduced almost to nothing even if the texture was also formed on the interior of the sheath because it inevitably adhered to the skin of the penis without slipping enough to generate any sensation. This issue made rubbers unpopular from the perspective of most men, but the Merkin had potentially discovered a way around the problem.
His new design had a big, soft bubble formed inside the tip. As the wearer’s penis bounced off the rear of a vagina or throat or rectum the bubble compressed, allowing the rubber to slip sensuously back along the cock, until the stroke was reversed, at which point it expanded to draw the sheath back. The open end of the rubber had a narrowed lip to ensure it clung to the base of the penis there. The Merkin expected the net effect of this improvement was a textured massage for both parties involved.
Manassa’s customer quickly sensed where the sweet spot of conjunction occurred, and was soon happily cramming the blond employee as the women gathered closely about, whispering in admiration at his technique.
“Hit her nice and hard,” Manassa advised, and her client bore down manfully to pummel her vagina with a soothing, textured penetration.
“Oh, sock it to her big guy” another thespian moaned.
“That cock is gonna blow,” someone speculated, watching the delicate massage of the rubber on his manhood as the invisibly bubble-buffered tip rhythmically bounced off the inner limit of penetration. The Merkin could tell he was going to climax imminently, and the woman with him.
Manassa reached down to her own crotch and pulled the snapper tag hard. Her features compressed for an instant as pain sensuously traveled her body, tightening every curve. Her client groaned and another woman snapped Manassa’s left breast.
“That’s it,” the giant woman encouraged. She agonized her womanhood again, remarking the effect with a little shout. The crowd was hooting unreservedly now, totally drawn into the drama.
The Merkin masturbated with rigid little strokes under his play script, desperate to get off like everyone else. The blond wailed, legs flung to a taut breadth to receive the man’s fierce penetration. Orgasm touched her, distantly at first, welling up to overcome her completely as her friends cheered.
“Aiieeee!” she screamed, feet dancing, and the client forced her down hard, pummeling her twat as his own pleasure neared and peaked. They rocked back and forth spastically, two bodies with one goal.
Manassa was indulging her womanhood with one zesty snap after another, hoarsely goading them to completion. “Get her till she’s all fucked out! Do it!” The client groaned as he ejaculated into the rubber, sharing an interval of pure, snatch-smacking bliss with the crazed blond pinned under him.
He decelerated to a gentle stroke, heaving magnificently as the crowd breathlessly looked on, and the theater fell quiet once again. “I’ll take everything you’ve got in my size,” he cheerfully announced.
“Hear that? He wants it all!” Manassa shouted as slender arms circled her and adoring fingers found her flesh. A shop hand seductively snapped her nipple to celebrate.
“With this successful solicitation, orientation is complete,” the Merkin hurriedly declared.
He signaled to close the scene and the Stage Manager’s crew swarmed the deck.
The female auditioners were led away, chatting gaily about the experience. The Merkin watched Manassa depart from view.
“Heads onstage! Merkin’s cloud coming down!” the Manager cried. Hemp lines wove through pulley blocks and his narrator’s seat began to descend.
He had been outmaneuvered, either by chance or guile, but the night wasn’t over and he was more desperate than ever to touch and taste Manassa’s singular womanhood…
The Merkin took a short route back to the laundry using a sleeve unknown to the general population of the Tent. There were many of these scattered about, and he was careful to maintain their secrecy as they were invaluable when it was necessary to conduct himself without being observed, and difficult to contrive in the first place.
This one was hidden at the bottom of a sprawling mound of colorful shirts, the kind of thing that had been popular a little while ago when he had been taken with the effect of athletic wear on women. He had gone through an entire phase of worshipful appreciation for limber backs and arms, for a while excluding his attention from almost any other feminine allure. There was something about a nicely toned set of shoulders from behind, always imagined to be complicitly falling forward…
He crawled into the shirt pile, using a two-armed method of traversation that was comically imitative of a breaststroke, efficiently executed so as to disturb the shape of the pile as little as possible. His fingers found the perimeter of the sleeve, which was covered with a heavy rug to prevent the mass of clothing on top from plugging it up. Slipping in, he tumbled down into the laundry not too far from where his bed had been relocated. Emerging from behind a floor-to-ceiling bundle of geometrically printed towels, he navigated a sinuously routed pathway through a compact neighborhood of men’s trousers.
It was depressing to acknowledge how little of the laundry was relevant to the fashion of the moment, but he could take solace in the fact that his personal wardrobe was the most up-to-date assemblage of clothing in the whole Tent. A dox of wide hanging racks were stationed near the sink in which his bed floated, and he was quickly among them, searching for the most intimidating formalwear that could be assembled for his imminent activities in the flower garden. He could barely control his excitement.
By now Manassa had been taken from the theater and given over to his gardener waiting many levels higher in the Tent. She had been instructed to place the big woman in the largest garden available, surrounded by every flower currently resident in the calyx dormitory—something like senix slippers. Her exquisite body would look all the more impressive amongst a full field of smaller women, in much the same way that it might have looked out of place with just a few flowers around. Besides, he wanted to enjoy at leisure the journey of finding her in the garden, didn’t want the process abbreviated for any reason.
He decided on his clothing; an ultramodern suit cut from a light, medallion-patterned black and magenta linen. It was perfectly tailored to his physique, moved with an almost
liquid facility. He had trouble choosing a tie as usual, but settled on a thick pink obelisk inscribed with fine, bubbly threadwork and secured by an iridescent orb. A flesh-colored broadcloth shirt with keen red piping and matching socks and underclothes completed the ensemble. His shoes were gleaming black forms tapering to a narrow prow. He hung the various articles inside a garment bag, slung it over his shoulder and sprinted for the most convenient sleeve bearing up to the higher levels.
In spite of this haste, it was some time before he reached the top of the Tent. Scrambling out of a sleeve hidden at one side of the dormitory, he jogged around to the lone entrance to the garden, passed the capped and suited doorman without even acknowledging his nod as the curtained arch was obligingly swept wide by the huge man.
His gardener was not there to greet him, which was something of a relief as he still needed a little time to prepare. He padded down a lavishly carpeted hallway to the garden’s bathing room and activated the flow gnome. Water gurgled from its lips into a big metal tub. Soaping himself briskly, he considered the great pleasure awaiting him—those perfect lips, that marvelous rondure... the center of everyone’s lust in his theater, soon to be humbly presented as a flower for his exclusive investigation. When he was done he punched the flow gnome’s nipple and water ceased its long ascent from the laundry, where its posterior tube drew it through the intervening levels.
Finishing his ablutions, the Merkin dressed himself carefully, whistling inaudibly. He regarded himself in the huge oval mirror next to the tub, pleased with his reflection—and his opinion was the only one that mattered in this circumstance as the carefully bound flowers had no ability to see.
It was time. By now the slippers should have been assembled, and he didn’t want to keep them waiting as their upside-down posture and complicated presentation made timeliness a priority. They had to be fresh.
He ventured to the cherry vale, his largest retreat, and stepped into a wide bowl of plush red carpet dwelling under the pink emanation of a fashionably suited glow gnome hung up and off to the right. He closed his eyes for a moment, lovingly inhaled the perfumed odor of the place. Sighing in quiet exhilaration, he stepped forward to stroll among the women, peripherally aware of their upturned legs, some bent, others pointed self-consciously straight, all done up in colorful stockings.