by Daniel Six
As three sets of hands played with her nether flesh Ione reached for another toy, a little phallic insert. “This is a tattle,” she said. “It pops in and out from anal contractions. Lemme try it on her.” Mark withdrew the screw to Emma’s disappointment and Ione slipped the tattle in her sphincter.
She unlocked the clutch plate and swiveled her lover to a horizontal disposition, head and hindquarters at the same level, positioned for use at either end. The tattle winked from the bulging valley of her ass.
“You can both get into her now,” she encouraged the men.
her as he banged hard into her vagina without foreplay.
Dean moved forward and fed his erection into Emma’s mouth as Mark slipped his own deep into her vagina. Ione watched in stillwater-abetted arousal as they proceeded to fuck Emma fore and aft. A macho rivalry colored their occupation as Dean pushed hard into her jaw, felt an answering response from Mark through her body, lunged back into her throat more forcefully.
“Mmmss hmm mmms hmm,” she hummed in rhythmic articulation of their warring lusts.
Manassa drew her blond tresses back helpfully and Ione adjusted the angle of the clutch a little. Mark and Dean were ramming her in perfectly synchronized alternation, rocking the sturdy frame of the machine with their muscular copulation.
“Spin her,” Manassa suggested after a little, and the men withdrew, flung her around so she was staring up and reinserted themselves. Emma’s clitoris was now easily accessible and Ione rubbed it with slow affection.
“Mmmmmmmmssssss…” Emma groaned, and Manassa took her nipples to hand, kneaded them fondly. Dean and Mark were cramming her briskly, and Ione could see the latter was getting deep into her upturned throat, watched the blurred impression of his cock as it traveled her esophagus.
The tattle popped with a merry, metallic sound as Emma’s sphincter bunched in pre-climactic bliss.
“Let’s spin her again,” Ione suggested before she reached fulfillment, and her lover was returned to her original posture. The men were quickly exerting themselves in a brutal competition to own her body, submitting to a rare and delicate kinetic synergy in the process.
The tattle pinged again.
“You’ve got her fluttering,” Ione encouraged, one hand on Emma’s quaking ass.
The smaller woman managed to moan agreement around a mouthful of penis, and Ione watched the tattle pop in an out again as her anus spasmed helplessly.
“Harder!” Manassa goaded the men.
“Oh fuck…” Dean whispered, eyes drawing shut.
The tattle popped three time in a fast succession and he climaxed in her, unable to withstand its advertisement of her bliss any longer. They came together in a clutch-rattling display of passion.
“Mmmmsss…” Emma sputtered when his penis withdrew. “Now that’s how your slipper likes to get fucked,” she declared in a faint voice.
“I won!” Dean exhaustedly gloated to Mark.
They got Emma out of the clutch and retired to the couches, dazed by the events of their busy day.
After a little Dean began to drowse and Emma poked him awake. “Wake up, sleepy. You still have to drive back.”
“Yeah…” he groaned. “I really have to practice for tomorrow. You slippers have been an almost constant distraction since we met.” He smiled to indicate the easy deal that had been to make.
“Don’t worry. We’ll all be back in time for your first challenge,” Emma promised.
“Good. I’ll need all the help I can get,” Dean impressed on them. He turned to Ione. “I noticed the Metrognome wasn’t in the convertible.”
“Oh. Yeah,” she chuckled. “They accidentally brought it up with my things when I moved in. You need it?”
“Well… no. You need it?”
Ione locked eyes with him for a moment. “No. Of course not.”
Dean shrugged, turning to leave. “Screw it. I’ll get it next time. Don’t really wanna lug it to the car right now.” He kissed Emma and Ione escorted him down the elevator to the underground parking deck.
“See ya, Dean.”
“Later, cutie,” he tiredly grinned.
He drove off in his big green convertible. Ione suffered a sentimental twinge as it departed from view but was anticipating a new car for her own the following day.
When she got back to the apartment Manassa was soundly asleep on the couch, but Mark was restlessly fighting an erection. He beckoned Emma and Ione into the bedroom and quietly closed the door. Ione noticed that he had brought a pair of heavy fabric whips with him.
“I’ve got a request,” he self-consciously solicited.
Ione guessed that he was referring to a remedy for the ongoing problem of his fulfillment. Emma’s brow raised at this intrigue.
“Anything,” offered the little blond. “What is it?”
“Something I saw a couple of women do that I kinda wanted to try. Sex trick called a ‘pecker bit.’”
Ione nodded encouragingly, knowing their debt to him was so great now as to render anything he might ask reasonable. She was drunk anyway she realized, and happy for some intimate interaction with the two people she was most comfortable with.
Mark clambered over to the middle of the bed, knees planted wide, penis erectly projected. He gestured for the two of them to approach, positioned them to either side such that they faced each other across his manhood.
“Now you’re going to be spanked. And while it happens you’re going to stifle the noise onto the cock clamped in your teeth.” He eased Ione’s lips onto his erection so that it passed through her jaw like a bit; in one side and out the other. It crossed Emma’s mouth the same way from the opposite direction. Ione was stationed at the base of his manhood, Emma closer to the tip. “Put your hands behind your backs,” he ordered and they quickly complied.
“As you are punished you will vent your pain onto the bit as necessary to preserve the decorum of the act,” he instructed. Ione met Emma’s slantwise gaze in anticipation. The formality of his words excited a feminine resonance in her that hadn’t been aroused in a long time, and she settled her lips tightly around the base of his penis, felt warm testicles against her left cheek, ready to dispense a big ejaculation she hoped.
Without warning the fabric strap came down hard on her crotch, painfully cupping her labial bulge. Ione gasped, backing off the bit, but instantly got herself back onto it, clamping her lips determinedly around his penis. Another blow landed, tagging her clitoris hard enough to induce an oppressive humiliation in Ione.
“Unnh!” Emma grunted, breathing fitfully as she noisily appeased him with her tongue, washing the underside of his penis with thick, fluttering strokes. Ione bit down in agony as Mark strapped her crotch with a heartless, domineering assumption of compliance.
“Nnaaahh!” she gritted.
Ione was overcome with excitement as she felt Mark’s angry musculature buck in her mouth with each pain-dissipating flexion of her jaw. She could feel the elliptical authority of his censure, returning to him through the narrow aperture of her own submissive instinct, wondered through an exquisite haze of drunken agony if it might serve to fulfill him.
Emma’s thighs spasmed in little jerking motions open and close as she gripped his penis with all possible concentration to withstand the smacking hurt at her pubis. Ione’s arms lay tensely along her back, forcing her weight on Mark’s uplifting member. The impact of his strap on her vulva, the resulting pain inflicted on the penis longwise in her mouth, and the intimacy of Emma’s tear-stained face so close to her altogether brought climax tantalizingly near, and she lingered there without reaching it as Mark spanked out a foot-dancing, tongue-thrashing orgasm for her partner.
“Ohh vugg oh vugg ohhhvuggggg,” Emma bawled around the huge phallus crossing her jaw, biting heedlessly in torture-coerced ecstasy as the strap caught her again and again on the twat.
They finally fell still and Ione carefully detached from the pecker bit. Its turgidity was unabated; there had
been no climax for Mark. Or herself.
Ione awoke later, deep in the night. The others were fast asleep, and she lay silently for a while, listening to the orderly sounds of the Gnomon’s Tower about her.
She reached down, began to quietly masturbate but stopped after a little. It wasn’t the same anymore, alone like this…
She rose carefully and walked out into the salon. Manassa was sprawled on her stomach, half off the couch where she had fallen asleep. Ione didn’t feel awkward about her exclusion from the bedroom; her bed barely fit two people. It was crowded with Mark and Emma in it.
She stepped into her studio, closed the door quietly behind her, opened it again out of a paranoid conviction that someone had awoken, watched and listened carefully for a term, then shut it again. She pushed her work chair up against it.
The Metrognome was standing in the corner, facing the wall in what abruptly struck her as an obvious posture of guilt. She stepped over to it and wrestled the creature face up onto her padded test bench. Listening carefully one last time for potential intruders on her privacy, she thumbed its left nipple, quickly cycled through its modes to engage its erection. The other nipple took it in small increments from a docile wag to a thrilling shiver, the only gnome she had encountered with this functionality. She already knew the frequency that excited her most effectively.
Straddling its body, she eased the penis into her, playing with its depth and pressure, fingers rounding her clitoris on a slow, unexpectant orbit as her arousal strengthened. She slipped the vibrating cock out and rubbed it dreamily across her clitoris, held the tip down hard there as bliss mounted.
A silent supplication escaped her lips as she thrust it slowly into her rectum, pushing deep inside. Then it came out again to rub her all over the lips. Climax circled, nearer than she had ever summoned it through self-stimulation, and Ione forced the buzzing head against her stiffened little knot with a eudemonic resolve to navigate the remaining distance. An impossible journey, but effortlessly pleasant…
Emma made the Dowser’s Club the following evening, arriving just before sunset in Ione’s gorgeous dark blue convertible, obtained that afternoon from the production lot on the fifth level of the Gnomon’s Tower. They brought it down on the elevator amidst a knot of admiring employees and drove it straight out the building to the far side of the metropolis.
Emma was obliged to support Dean that night, which she planned to do by any means possible. The others had the same motivation but were also anxious to disport themselves as people of higher status. Much had changed over the last few days. She made sure the head Doorman let them skip to the head of the line, which was an exhilarating boon to their pride as the squat, redheaded sentry who controlled all access to the Club was not known for such friendliness. He liked Emma but was generally considered something of a dick, which she found a little amusing since his name was Dike. From within she watched her friends smugly pass by ordinary people trapped in a wide, winding procession that put huge pressure on the arched front doorway, operationally referred to as “the mouth.” When they were inside she got her friends choice seats by the dance floor, where they made perhaps the most charismatic group in the Club.
The night was well underway when the drummers, operating under deep green glow gnomes, began to develop the rhythms that would catalyze the crowd to dance. The floor was already populated by small groups and more were joining them all the time.
Emma signaled to her favorite server, a thin redheaded slipper named Chaycee that took immaculate concern for her clients. She flirted with Emma constantly, which was great for business. She doubted it would be a problem with Ione, who was not likely to be threatened by someone of her intellect and social standing.
“The bar is mixing up a fantastic stillwater mint tonight,” she advertised.
“A real strong formulation, I expect,” Ione smirked.
“Yep.”
“Gimme one then,” said Mark, and the others were quick to follow.
“It looks like Dean has a pretty good following at this point,” Ione observed.
“What can we do to help him?” Mark asked. He was in good spirits, having woken up in bondage that morning to face the fabric whips he had just used on Emma and Ione. They had taken their time with him.
“Just be your crazy selves,” Emma advised. “He has a tough set ahead of him. The guy who is challenging for a spot tonight is really good, and the other man in the rotation is the Drummer, the finest musician in the City. It ain’t gonna be him looking for a job tomorrow.”
Emma lingered with them for a little longer, making sure everyone in sight connected her with their charisma and stature. The influence they commanded worked both ways, after all. The drinks arrive and they toasted Dean’s success.
“Time to get busy,” Emma declared, and fluttered off into her clique to service their social and carnal appetites.
The bucket was soon empty and the crowd muttered expectantly. The Dowser unlimbered the giant oar from its ceremonial perch above the bar and raised it high. The Club went almost silent for a moment, then he slammed the metal pail with a tremendous blow. The sound issued from the well in a great concussive wave, an almost palpable force that shivered Emma’s hair, momentarily blurred her vision. A great cry rose from the crowd and the Dowser vaulted to the edge of the bucket as it began to descend. Emma wondered what secret he possessed that allowed him to find stillwater where no one else could.
Returning her attention to duty, she noticed that the spin-the-grin apparatus she had become accustomed to, even fond of, had been replaced by a new set of toys. The Dowser periodically changed features of the Club to maintain its preeminence as the most lavish entertainment available. Tonight pecker hitching was the attraction.
Scattered throughout the Club were cylindrical, waist-high cabinets with three fist-size holes positioned near the top. Emma watched another socialite kneel to be secured inside one of them, hands locked at her sides to ensure no secret gratification took place as a doorman watched to make sure it was done correctly. Her folded legs were aligned almost vertically, sunk in a molded rubber form to ensure the thinnest possible profile of her body. The form spun on smooth bearings. The contesting men lowered the hitch cover about her, erections hardening for the contest.
One of Emma’s clients noticed her speculative glance at the device and called raucously over to her. “You gonna hitch for us, beautiful?”
She flashed a lecherous smile. “What, does someone need head around here?”
A dox of men leaped to their feet. “I do!” “Me!” “I’m hard!”
Emma let herself be led over to the nearest unoccupied machine and the men raised its cabinet ceremoniously high. She settled her folded legs knee-first into its deep cavities of soft rubber and one of them locked the cuffs on her wrists with a flourish.
“Drink up!” Ione facetiously enjoined.
Emma smiled gaily to her friends, caught Mark’s narrow leer of interest, saw him push to his feet just as the hitch cabinet lowered to close off her view. This was part of its appeal; once you were inside no one knew who occupied the device, and there was no way to tell from within who was calling for service, either.
Emma licked her lips, getting ready. Her body was rotating slowly to the left, an uncontrollable movement that yielded a dizzy impression of the Club as the holes wandered by. Then the cocks pushed in.
An erection loomed through the closest aperture and she opened her mouth as it came to probe at her lips, let it in a little bit, sucking on the head as the drummers swerved into a funky ostinato. With a pecker in her mouth she had the leverage to control her spin and promptly stalled it by sucking hard on the client’s dick. He proceeded to fuck her face.
Another penis shot through to jog her head from the left, tentatively punching around her jaw, and she felt a third assault under her right ear, oiling up her neck with a little pre-ejaculation. She continued to favor the client in her mouth, giving him a decent interval of plea
sure, imagining his cagey smile before the unserved others. But their needy penises were pushing in at her, jostling her this way and that with their restive need for attention.
Emma relaxed her suction on the first penis and was sloppily spun about by the jacking intrusions of the men.
“She’s loose!” one of them hissed.
Cocks swatted her cheeks, shoving her head from all directions as the men sought to intuit her orientation solely from phallic feedback. The stiffest erections had a mechanical advantage where this was concerned, and a big patron’s pole gauged her passage twice then launched nimbly into her lips the third time around.
She took him all the way into her throat, immediately stabilized by his rigidity, and the man lost no time in instituting a hectic oral intercourse. His competitors proceeded to sock her behind the ears, desperately trying to dislodge her. She assiduously swished the dick that had gotten in, slurping the skin taught, brought the client to the brink of climax over a fast quix of deep penetrations.
“She’s gonna finish him!” one of his competitors raged.
“Hit her together!” the other roared. “We’ll shake her free!”
They managed to do exactly that with a coordinated, spin-inducing angular attack that dislodged her mouth from the tenanting member.
They cheered as she whirled about, unclaimed once again. Emma could hear the noise of many customers crowded close now, thought she detected Manassa’s gleeful contralto among them. Her crotch was desperate for stimulation and she was poignantly aware of the cuffs trapping her hands from delivering a potentially breathtaking pleasure.
Penis flesh swatter her right cheek rhythmically as she spun, then she was entered by a truly intimidating cock. Emma gagged on the first ingress then recovered to deliver a quix of slippery conjunctions. It was displaced by the lusty blows of the other customers without culmination, and Emma let them war with each other in this genteel way till one of them finally clotted her tongue with spunk. She gulped this down, let him stay in her throat till he was fully satisfied with the result, then shut her mouth to further service.