by Daniel Six
He couldn’t immediately identify Manassa’s giant limbs, a fact for which he was glad, as this would have reduced the elaborately casual nature of the experience in some way. He strolled from one flower to another, delicately tasting the air, brushing the soft musculature of their limbs amongst the skirted pedals, affecting a simple, meandering visitation of nature. Several of the women were boisterously waving and kicking their legs, but there were usually a few slippers in a garden of this size who couldn’t govern themselves decorously.
He wanted to find Manassa purely by longing and instinct, thought it would be an auspicious indication of their mutual suitability, and ignored all immediate stimulation to keep his awareness in a very general state. He wandered through the garden in this detached state till an annoyance conspired to break his reverie. One of the flowers was thrashing about so indecorously the Merkin could no longer ignore her. Abandoning all ritual affectation, he plainly surveyed the garden, simply looking for Manassa. Perhaps his top-down view from above the stage had deceived him, but there was no one present who seemed to possess her scale and curvature.
The Merkin stepped quickly from flower to flower, peeling skirts down to inspect the women’s legs. Many of the slippers were obviously too small to be the woman he sought, and the half-dox of them who might have been Manassa were already familiar to him. He had picked them individually, after all.
In irritation he strode over to the kicking flower at the edge of the field, intending to bind her legs tight, marking her for removal from the dormitory. She would never serve him this way again.
He grabbed her legs, which were oddly angular in definition, not at all the sort of anatomy he favored. She was strong—the Merkin was aggressively rebuffed the first time he tried to lash them tight. On the second attempt one of her stockings rolled up to reveal a hairy limb.
The Merkin recoiled in loathing, eyes round, utterly discombobulated for a moment.
“What?” he stuttered. For the first time in memory the Merkin’s flowers distinctly heard his voice. Their legs went still.
Recovering himself, he reached down and snatched at the bow-tied knot securing the crisscrossed arrangement of laces that bound the flower’s body into its fabric envelope stem from the midsection down. A deep voice issued from within.
“Unh! Let me out!”
A moment later the doorman toppled forth.
Working
“Where have you been?” Emma exclaimed. She glared at Ione, arms crossed.
“I’m sorry. Really, I am. I should have come back sooner. I know. But it takes forever to cross the whole City.”
“It’s been three days!” Mark hissed, staring balefully at Ione till she blushed.
“I know…”
“You’re an asshole for scaring us like that,” Emma grated. “Do you know how worried we were?”
“I really am sorry. Did we set an exact time to rendezvous?”
“You were supposed to meet us at the Club after your interview,” Dean reminded her. “What happened?”
They were gathered in his salon once again, which Emma had restlessly rearranged to a more intimate configuration, mostly to displace her mounting fear through her companion’s lengthening absence.
“There’s a lot to tell,” said Ione, plunking herself down on the longest sofa segment. “Where’s Manassa?” she wondered, looking around.
“She got a job at a clothing boutique,” said Emma. “We’re supposed to meet her down there in a little bit, actually.”
“That might be good timing for me. The trip to the Gnomon’s Tower from here takes you through almost every territory of the City, and I really need a better wardrobe. Those mannermen don’t fuck around. I saw three different “inspections” on my way back, and the last time they had this poor woman standing naked in the middle of a crowded street while they decided how to garb her ‘correctly.’ Which evidently couldn’t be done, because they hauled her away in the end.”
Emma met her dark look, nodded faintly in understanding. She agreed that the mannermen were almost certainly connected to the force that had raided the women of the Lap—the men that had accosted Ione in the passage to the surface had been formally suited. Their atrocious campaign of acquisition would never be forgotten, or forgiven…
Mark landed on the couch facing Emma. “Gimme one, will ya?” he called over to Dean, who was procuring drinks from the bar. The drummer arrived a moment later to refresh everyone, and Emma took a long swig of peach stillwater juice.
“I miss this, have to admit,” Ione sighed between two long draughts, visibly cheered.
Dean sat down next to Mark, kicked his long legs up onto the low table between them, absently twirling a drumstick in one hand. “Yeah, the Gnomon’s got no supply,” he gibed.
“True,” Ione admitted. “But that might be my only complaint about his organization. Well, besides the distance from you guys,” she hastily amended.
“It’s obvious how much that concerns you,” Emma grimaced.
“It does. Anyway, I’m sure you found things to keep your mouth busy,” Ione bantered. “Er, your mind that is.”
“My mouth is usually busy. It’s cussing you out right now, asshat. And you can mind your manners when referring to my intelligence,” she sputtered.
“C’mon Emz,” Ione cajoled. “Save your spit for the Dowser’s Club. I’m sure he doesn’t like it dry-swallowed.”
“It’s a hard ‘job’ alright,” Emma conceded. “But unlike you I can handle his demands without blowing my friends off.”
“Which is saying something,” Ione allowed. “His twanker’s as big as your head nowadays. As long as you keep giving it, that is.”
They giggled at this, finally. Ione kissed Emma and they snuggled together on the couch, hand in hand.
“So obviously you got hired,” Mark prompted.
“Yep. Pretty high in the Gnomonclature,” Ione boasted.
Emma listened while her partner proceeded to fill them in on her adventures in the Tower. As she regaled them with rapt illustrations of the Gnomon’s genius and efficiency Emma became progressively more concerned by the velocity of her new life, which seemed to have little place for friends or recreation.
“So you basically worked the whole time?”
Ione shook her head. “Mostly. But this is the best part; I got a cool apartment. Spent some time setting it up and decorating already, getting ready for you to come join me.” She grinned expectantly. “No more burdening Dean with our needs,” she promised.
The blond drummer looked a little crestfallen, and Emma sought a diplomatic angle for their own news.
“Uh… well, that’s the thing. Me and Dean are looking at a larger apartment now that we have status from the Club.”
“Oh.”
Dean was preparing to gloat about its spectacular location high on the Dowser’s hill, and the lavish accommodations and features it offered, but Emma warned him to silence with a look. Ione would see it as a threat, and he had yet to face his first challenge from another drummer anyway, which could potentially finish his tenure with the Dowser and their new status with it.
“It’s a pretty decent pad,” she breezed. “But right now I’m more interested in your digs at the Tower.”
“Yeah,” Ione enthused, glossing over Emma’s accomplishment, which had required considerable energy and patience. Her mouth was by now quite familiar with her employer’s giant endowment of cockflesh, and the hard-drinking ways required by her socialite role as well.
“You’ve got real privacy it sounds like,” Mark ventured.
Emma met Ione’s glance and nodded subtly in answer to the unvoiced concern. They needed to get Mark established in the Gnomon’s Tower as soon as it could be feasibly arranged. He had been of inestimable help in securing status for Dean and herself at the Club, but the cost to his own psychological welfare had been considerable. On another level, Emma was sure the other woman appreciated the social esteem his matchless charisma
would command in the Gnomon’s organization.
“Yeah,” Ione belatedly responded. “You’d love it there.”
“But at the moment we’re required elsewhere,” Dean reminded them, draining the last of his stillwater. Emma could tell he was a little intimidated and resentful of their enthusiasm for the Gnomon’s domain. She worked for his rival now herself and wondered if she might someday feel the same antipathy for the other judge.
Emma rose and stretched. “Let’s go see what Manassa’s been up to.”
“Should be interesting,” Mark commented, padding to the bar for road refreshments. He slung a trix of bottles into a pinstriped and padded green duffel bag. “She has this crazy story about what it took to get hired.”
They stepped out into the parking lot with a wave to the doorman. Emma found herself cheered by the sun’s full effect. The swirl of cloud at the center of the City was gathered compactly over the forest, offering none of its customary diffusion. The City breathed a heady report of its denizens’ myriad activities up the hill, and the bucket clanged from its higher vantage on the next elevation, coloring everything that transpired for a long while after with a subliminal hum. Emma had learned that its daytime excursions down the well supplied other clubs with stillwater.
They sauntered over to Dean’s huge convertible and Ione didn’t seem to notice the drummer’s quizzical glance when she took the driver’s seat. But a moment after she belatedly turned to address them over the partition.
“Oh. Hey, you care if I drive?” Emma was installed next to Dean on one of the long, plushly upholstered couches.
“Naw,” Dean grinned. “I’d rather fool around with Emz.” He tickled her about the tits till she giggled bashfully.
Ione stared at them for a moment, and Emma knew she was evaluating how close they had become in her absence. Neither woman was ordinarily jealous about affairs with the alternate sex, but the political situation within their little group was increasingly subject to the influence of the Gnomon and Dowser, huge forces acting from afar to magnify complications of personal loyalty.
“Cool,” Ione shrugged dismissively. They proceeded to outfit themselves for their destination. Emma got herself into a gay yellow dress that matched her hair as Dean and Mark donned slacks and long-sleeved dress shirts. When Ione was conservatively garbed in a pleated blue skirt and blouse she turned to activate the go gnome. “No chance of rain at the moment. Want the top down?”
“Definitely,” Mark decided, and at Dean’s bottle-raised salute she pumped the hydraulic arm to bring sun and fresh air intimately in their midst.
The convertible jumped minutely as Ione settled her feet on the pedals, then she wheeled them nimbly out of the parking lot and out into traffic with as much skill as Dean had demonstrated. Emma allowed herself to relax into their little adventure. She was looking forward to acquiring a personal wardrobe and some jewelry to go with it.
The convertible took them around the hill and down to the dense city streets as she jacked around with Mark and Dean in back, drinking steadily and japing at anything conspicuous out on the pavement. They were the object of just as much attention, but Emma was by now totally accustomed to the way necks swiveled in their vicinity.
“Lookit that slipper,” Dean guffawed as they passed a stocky brunette with an enormous bosom. “They’re bigger than Manassa’s!”
The woman in question noticed them as they passed and grinned flirtatiously at Mark.
“Think she likes you,” Dean cajoled. “Wanna invite her?” Mark demurred with a chuckle and Dean followed with a more sober question.
“You got the hots for someone else? Manassa maybe? Just wondering…”
This was something Emma and Ione had discussed many times since the two were first introduced in the subterranean world. It seemed like a totally natural possibility, but Mark was strangely wary around the big woman for reasons he had never explained. Ione was of the opinion he found her genuinely threatening in some way, and in time Emma had come to agree though Manassa had never given any of them reason for such alarm that she could remember.
“Well?” Dean goaded. “We’re goin’ to see her now.”
“Shut up and swill your still, drumass,” Mark irately advised, passing a new bottle from the bag to this end.
Ione tittered from the front, flirted with another driver long enough to steal his priority in a merge lane and stomped on the pedals as a six-lane highway opened up before them. The gnome delivered a correspondingly aggressive quantity of torque to the cranks and the convertible slammed forward.
“Whoohoo!” Emma sang, loving the effect. She threw her head back into Dean’s armpit and downed half a bottle of raspberry stillwater to guarantee a buzz before they arrived.
“Hey, let’s stop at that music store,” Dean suggested, pointing to a building shaped like a drum. Its parking lot was jammed and Ione shook her head after a quick glance. “Maybe on the way back.”
“How about that toy place?” Emma cajoled as a huge display window cluttered with fetish gear slid by. A greeter in skimpy green panties waved to them from the sidewalk, ostentatiously jiggling a pair of glittering nipple clamps. Emma had never seen the design but liked the perky dance of their hooped geometry on the other woman’s broad bust.
“Let’s just get where we need to go,” Ione dissented, absorbed by the challenges of traffic. “And I can do without the backseat driving.”
“Sounds like exactly what you need, slipperlips,” Mark smirked. Emma giggled in agreement.
“She’s due for a loosening,” Dean licentiously opined.
“Shut up,” Ione ordered. Emma could tell she was trying not to laugh.
The sun moved appreciably overhead before they neared the metropolitan core. They were all in a loose mood by then. In the distance a giant pyramidal building constructed from some reddish material rose over the surrounding neighborhoods, was shortly hidden from view by the dense vapor rising from the forest.
“We’re here,” Ione announced as they exited onto a wide, shop-lined promenade circling the trees. There were countless well-dressed people in sight, and many primly suited mannermen in attendance watching them. They pulled up next to a boutique immediately adjacent to a pond large enough to disappear around the curvature of the park. Paddleboats idled about the water and the brick-paved pathway wandering along the perimeter of the woods was thickly trafficked by pedestrians, mostly for pleasure Emma guessed, noting their leisurely progress.
She stepped out to confront a long facade of colorful archways, within which racks of clothing of every description waited for their attention. The shop itself rose to three levels and was ornamented in a naturalistic theme; stenciled leaves and flowers livened its walls, and the trim was a scrollwork of sinuously organic flares and tapers.
“Hey!” Manassa belted from off to the right, garbed in the livery of her employers; a frilly red and pink dress that couldn’t quite contain the voluptuous bulges of the woman inhabiting it.
“Hi, sweetheart!” Emma fondly greeted her giant friend as she skipped over, planted a sloppy kiss on her rosy cheek before modesty could check the impulse. The others expressed their pleasure more conservatively, but Emma felt their happiness at the restoration of their little society.
Manassa looked them over with a newly developed authority for matters of fashion. “We’ve got work to do,” she laughed. “C’mon!” She dragged them into the racks, exhorting each to try anything that appealed. “You can’t go wrong with anything in this section. Find some casual stuff you think will fit. Later we’ll look for styles that push the standard a little.”
Emma stole a glance to Ione, shrugged as they shared a grin, and happily complied. Mark and Dean had absorbed themselves in the various possibilities of denim, and Emma watched them fool around, backslapping and sleeve-plucking amidst a swirl of wide-eyed female patrons. Several recognized Dean from the Club and all were interested in Mark.
“Whatcha think?” Ione inquired, w
aving a loose-cut ultramarine blouse patterned with sensual shapes in a lighter hue. Fine white threadwork wandered the shoulders.
“Smart,” Emma decided, throwing a flirtatious lime skirt over one arm. “Grab the bigger one too. Don’t know which will fit you.”
They accumulated potential habiliments till Manassa manifested out of nowhere behind Emma, and she found herself playfully encircled by the huge woman, braced between her massive thighs. The frilly pink on red dress folded aromatically about her. Unseen by Ione she reached back and pinched Manassa’s pubis, provoking a sharp giggle.
“C’mon!” the big woman ordered, leading Emma toward the dressing rooms by one hand. Ione followed them, signaling Dean and Mark to join their company.
Manassa lead them to an available stall and they filed in. The walls were lined with mirrors and a low bench ran along one side, suitable for their clothes, new and old. It was just big enough for the five of them to occupy, and they were soon shedding their attire.
“Why are you stripping?” Emma laughingly demanded of Manassa.
“Just so we all feel comfortable,” she grinned.
“Is that store policy?” Ione archly inquired, vaguely aroused by the notion Emma decided.
“For us it is!” Dean ardently declared as Manassa’s giant curves spilled into view.
They began the sensuous task of dressing again, and Manassa took this process firmly in hand, turning Emma with soft authority to face a huge mirror as her hands came up under her breasts, settled them with a fast tweak, and slipped a soft bra over her quickly ripening nipples. Clasping it in back, she snapped it playfully then brought up a set of panties under her dancing feet, eased them into place, running her fingers down the seams to center the garment comfortably about her vagina.