by Daniel Six
“Hey, beautiful!” Emma called to an acquaintance from her apartment complex. They chatted for a moment and she introduced the woman to her friends, then the vestibule opened again and more greetings and presentations ensued.
“Wow,” said a work friend of Manassa’s named Kira they all adored. “This is just…” she shook her head, lacking words to adequately convey her impression of the scene.
Emma gave her a kiss and gestured to the bar. “There’s a kinky pink waitin’ for ya, darling!” she offered, remembering she liked cranberry.
Mark stepped near to backslap a couple of good-time guys he knew from Dean’s old place. His friends were legion, easily rivaling her own in quantity, and were certain to attend. “Well, I guess we’re committed now,” he murmured in excitement to Emma as the atrium floor was rapidly populated by well-dressed guests. Servers were getting drinks into their hands with brisk efficiency though no one had as yet presented enough tokens to one of the roving doormen to lose an article of clothing.
The vestibule opened to admit a clot of new revelers. “So far so good,” Emma decided, impudently squeezing Mark’s ass as she stepped forth to greet a friendly socialite from another club. “Your dress is fantastic!” she exclaimed, was complimented on her own regalia in return.
She was lost in a dizzy procession of incoming guests for a term, and when she turned to regard the dance floor again a dox or trix of men had lost their jackets. Two hard-drinking women had even escaped their dresses. Ione swept up to her.
“It’s a party alright,” she grinned. “Let’s drink.”
Emma kissed her. “About time!” They had agreed to hold off till the event was well established.
Mark strode over trailing a stream of infatuated women. “Look at all this vagina,” he exulted to Emma. “Can we drink yet?”
She laughed. “Yeah. I’ll get us fixed. You track the crack.” She threaded her way over to the bar and requested a handful of drinks. On the way back she stopped to give Dean two shots and a still and mint.
“Time to break out a beat?” he inquired, draining both shots and pocketing the tokens.
“Yep.”
“Cool. Get Mark and his friends to swing me.”
The drum bandstand was hung just off the floor by thick chains suspended from the girders. Mark and a handful of his bigger pals got on one side and pushed it forward as startled guests made way. It pendulated back and they pushed even harder on the return. Emma jumped on the clear margin at the perimeter, one hand gripping a chain for support.
“Hit it!” she screamed as the bandstand whooshed grandly forth again.
Dean abandoned his so far rhythmless stylings to initiate a regular thump on the kick drum. The throw gnomes ranged about his drums amplified the sound to shudder about the warehouse. A cry rose among the drinkers, and many saluted the tall musician. Their noise was returned to them in installments from the gnomes to reverberate woozily about the atrium. There were already several sex of people in attendance.
Mark joined her on the bandstand. He had already lost his jacket. As she watched he purchased freedom from his shirt, baring the rippling musculature of his upper body. Emma threw back a shot, took a peach stillwater from a server and emptied it in one long draught. She palmed her accumulated tokens to a doorman as the bandstand swung by and shrugged out of her dress, exciting a crowd of partiers to cheer her exposure.
“Who wants to fuck?” Mark tipsily boomed into a throw gnome’s ear. Many women offered themselves, but no one was yet naked enough. “Then drink, slippers!” he roared. Dean punctuated this command with a thunderous roll on the toms.
Ione swung onto the bandstand at its apogee, joining them.
“Any word from the walkers?” Emma shouted. They had two people strolling the environs of the warehouse at all times, ready to report any special interest or activity by the mannermen. Ione shook her head to Emma’s relief.
“Weather holding up?” she asked.
“Lotta storm clouds, but we’re okay for now,” her companion replied. The possibility of rain had been their other great concern. Emma knew that it could still happen, but the warehouse was already packed with celebrants who wouldn’t care at this point.
“Cheater!” someone screamed, pointing to a woman running naked. Emma laughed hysterically as the offender was chased down by the doormen and stuffed into an exquisitely frumpy ensemble she would have to drink her way out of. Dean beat out a rousing, raunchy accompaniment to this procedure, which struck Emma as vaguely mannermanlike in character.
She slammed another drink, already soused, took the token and whirled her bra into the crowd. Hands reached in a wave to feel her tits as she hurtled by. She saw Manassa over by the ramp, surrounded by a dense knot of people helping the big woman remove her dress. Emma stared with unabashed longing as her great, red-pantied hips were revealed, then the packed globes of her brassiere, determined to get her lips on the woman’s incomparable flesh that night.
“I did it!” one of Ione’s prettier work friends shrieked, spinning naked about the crowd. She looked very drunk, totally in communion with herself. A cheer went up and Dean accelerated the tempo to emphasize the accomplishment. Emma felt a distinct shift in the crowd’s energy as sex was abruptly established as a feasible proposition. Mark had drunk his way at heroic velocity to near-nakedness, and Emma watched him throw back a shot to claim the last of four tokens needed to shed his boner-oppressing briefs. As he did this the naked woman lurched over to the bandstand and clumsily boarded it with their help.
“I wanna suck it!” she screamed, holding his penis like the handle of a strange machine. Emma remembered her name was Amanda.
“You’ve never had the pleasure?” Emma inquired in surprise. The other woman shook her head. “I’ll help you get started. On your knees!”
Emma got her positioned before Mark, then with one hand on the support chain she stepped forward to straddle Amanda’s head, grinding her pantied crotch on her bent neck. As the crowd shouted encouragement she guided her face to Mark’s erection.
“Now let me do the work at first—you just swallow the penis and learn the rhythm!” Emma shifted her hips forward to ease the woman’s head onto the cock, let her suckle it for a moment, then withdrew. Ione was staring down in amused fascination, missing her own dress now.
Emma took her hand for support and swung Amanda’s face deeper on the penis, letting her feel its heat to the back of her mouth. She worked her hips back and forward again, feeding the woman’s craving for a thick boner in her jaw, letting her own stymied sexuality experience it by this vicarious route.
“That’s it. Let it in deep!” Ione encouraged. Dean had synchronized the beat to their sultry fellatio and Emma slowly sped the tempo of Amanda’s headgiving till she was hip-hammering the other woman against Mark’s studly muscle.
“That’s it, sweetie!” she crooned. “You feel the technique?”
“Mmmmmssssss…” she assented, a soused, slurping hole gathered between Emma’s hardworking thighs.
“Faster!” Ione shouted.
Amanda tried to cope for a little longer, then Emma let her out, laughing indulgently.
“I wanted him to come in me!” she exclaimed, but Emma wagged a finger.
“You have to earn that, sugar lips!”
A trix of their guests had achieved total nudity now, and they were rapidly identifying each other for intimate interactions. Emma jumped off the platform at the limit of its travel and stalked over to one of them, a cute customer from the Dowser’s Club.
“Try the taker!” she encouraged, pointing up. “Grab the swing!”
With the help of a few enthusiastic friends nearby they raised her up to grip a lateral bar hanging from chains overhead. Emma put a taker between her heels; a long, foot-gripped dildo. As they watched from below she maneuvered the head of the toy to her vagina and carefully drew her legs up, knees drawing wide from the maneuver. The dildo slid into her twat as a look of ecstasy softe
ned her features.
“Swing!” Emma shouted, and the woman addressed herself to this additional complication. She was soon gliding lazily overhead, euphorically cramming her vagina with the long penis, thighs flexing in a dreamy, adductive syncopation.
Emma saw Manassa help another woman up to a swing bar—there were three—then hand out strokers to the crowd. These arm-long corrugated wands were employed on the swinger as she traveled back and forth, limber legs widened to perfect linearity. Her beautiful pink labia took the caress of the implements on the swing forward. Her rounded ass took their spanked abuse on the journey back.
The woman’s face was flushed in self-conscious rapture and after a sex of heady trips back and forth her steadily lengthening advance across the crowd and the organized file of strokers between her legs delivered a ululating, leg-swiveling orgasm. At its completion she dropped exhaustedly to the arms of her admirers, who kissed her sated flesh in celebration. Another woman was raised.
Mark found Emma and leaned close to her ear. “The walkers saw a mannerman approach the door!”
Her brow rose in alarm. “And?” They had expected this to happen sooner or later, but didn’t know what might result.
“The doorman didn’t let him in, of course, and the guy just stood there for a while then walked away into the forest.”
“Huh. You tell Ione?”
“Yeah. She didn’t know what to make of it either but figured we’re okay since he never came back.”
“Well… let’s forget it, then,” she decided.
There was a piercing whistle from the vestibule and Emma grinned. “You’re up, Marky. Do us proud!”
He smiled maliciously. “No problem. I’ll have your slipper hopping the rod in no time!” He hurried off toward the entrance.
Ione came bustling over with Manassa. “Did Myrna arrive?”
“Yep,” Emma acknowledged as a gorgeous blond strutted from the vestibule, flat smile expressing a bored superiority. “Stupid bitch is gonna leave with a different look,” Emma swore.
They watched as Mark intercepted the woman, following a carefully scripted introduction. He offered to lead her upstairs to discard her clothing as she was on a very exclusive list of personages that were exempt from the rules. Emma hooted when she fell for the ruse, disappeared with him up the stairs.
“This should be interesting,” Manassa sniggered.
On the third level Mark was leading Myrna into a carefully secluded chamber that had been constructed directly over the crowd, and Emma stared up expectantly to a wide lens mounted at its base. Ione squeezed her hand, gaze inclined to the same spot.
In the process of planning the party they had recovered a little of their old political calculation as doyennes of the Lap. Myrna was the top socialite in the City, a woman whose charisma, wit and social savvy had suppressed Emma’s position at the Dowser’s Club from the start, eventually developing to a bitter, mutual loathing.
But she and Ione had figured out a way to stage a power play on her—on several women in fact, including another ranking socialite and the head of the gnome applications group, who vexed Ione for some political reason. All three had been told that people of their status would be anticipated later in the evening. That time had come.
“Here we go!” Manassa shouted as the giant lens above them blinked on, showering them with a hard white light. There was an immediate reaction from the crowd, which looked up in curiosity at the “eyeballer,” as the apparatus was facetiously designated—a side project of Ione’s she had yet to present to the toy design group.
Emma signaled to Dean, who tapered his current groove to a dreamy ostinato. Upstairs Emma knew Mark was showing Myrna a clear plastic statue molded roughly in his likeness that lay prone on a sensually dressed bed. Seducing her by his unrivaled charisma, he would lead her to its staunchly upraised penis, kissing her all the while, their passion rising…
Would it happen? Ione was squeezing her hand in exhilaration, just as anxious to see how the gamble played out.
Yes! The white glare of the gnome-lit lens was tinged with pink at the center, a tentative coloration, then as they watched the pussy-shaded blot swooped out to suffuse the whole lens, bathing the audience in the intimate hue of Myrna’s vagina.
“It’s beautiful,” Manassa breathed, and Emma had to agree.
The pink emanation was recalled to the middle of the lens as Myrna withdrew to the tip of the transparent cock, then it flared out again, faster this time. The eyeballer didn’t present much definition of her internal flesh, but communicated her color and rhythm with incredible fidelity. The effect was intensely erotic, warming the crowd to a new level of intimacy. Dean had matched Myrna’s self-penetrative tempo, and the Emma stared raptly at the plunging pink flood on the lens.
She found herself on the floor between Ione and Manassa, staring up in lusty adoration at the quickening exhibition of their enemy’s most intimate zone—a sight she herself had never witnessed—as their fingers mutually explored their own.
The pink blink sped to a rapid pulsing, then a stuttering, shuddering frenzy of vaginal excitation.
“Ohhhhh… Emma wailed as Ione rubbed her to a quaking climax under the humiliating broadcast of Myrna’s elaborate diminishment.
The twat hopping slowed. The pink blot made one last journey from center to edge, hovered there for a delicate moment, then shrank and was gone. Dean concluded the presentation with a shimmer of cymbals, then kicked into a funky polyrhythm. A little later Mark emerged with Myrna on the floor.
“Hey,” Emma nodded casually.
“Nice party,” Myrna breezed, effortlessly communicating a vast disdain.
“Thanks,” said Emma. They made cynical smalltalk till Mark escorted Ione’s rival up the stairs.
“Hey, check this out,” she casually invited Myrna as the lens blinked on again.
The other woman stared up with the rest of the crowd at a different but equally delicate shade of pink. Her mouth gaped open and her cheeks darkened precipitously. Dean matched the new, more businesslike groove of Ione’s rival and Emma stood quietly next to Myrna amidst the revelers. She could almost feel the status flow from the other woman to herself, knew when they returned to the Dowser’s Club she would be taking her place as its top socialite. Everyone would know about Myrna’s shaming, and the sensationally erotic means by which it had been accomplished.
A little later Emma ventured out of the atrium with Mark, Manassa and Ione to see the action on the three levels surrounding it. The first floor was set up with chain-hung laundry shelves that had been decorated as sex beds. They watched one of Manassa’s work friends get it in the cunt from a big guy Mark knew. The man’s energy swung the bed violently back and forth, adding an epic lilt to on otherwise familiar groove.
On the next level an area had been set up as a game court. A crotch-height sphere projecting from a thick metal rod was struck by women swinging rubber mallets to impart a shuddering vibration. The gleaming orb had known the kiss of many well-lubricated labias already, and the players fought viciously to position themselves for more.
“Get in there!” Emma encouraged a few of the more timid players fretting at the sidelines. Bodies were frantically compressed about the shivering sphere, joined in a single sexual endeavor that made climax possible, and they watched a tall blond hold her position on it long enough to score an intense climax before withdrawing from the court in exhaustion.
Manassa had handed out titty twisters; ostentatious nipple tassels that induced a bitter pinching as they whirled, and they could be seen here and there on women who had drunk enough to lose their bras. Emma saw most the crowd was nude but for underwear now, and half of their guests were totally naked.
Stirred by the unrestrained libidinousness of the event, Ione pressed Emma to the wall and kissed her aggressively, overwhelmed by the grand entertainment they had wrought.
“I love you, Emz,” she whispered.
“I love you too, smooches…�
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“Our status will be much higher after this.”
“Let’s get a place together. I don’t care where it is.”
“With a big soft bed I can fuck you on at night.”
“You can fuck me right now…”
“I’m going to. Let’s find a good place to do it.”
They turned together to regard the party from the second floor balcony. The warehouse guests were engaged in countless forms of sexuality, using japes and gliders and knockers, jacks, cleats, cinches, legs, fenders, splays, fingers, headers, trills, vibes, rubberneckers, trammels, hummers, scytales, stamens, screws and flams and nipple clamps of every description, even a clutch they had brought in with a load of bigger things on a truck… Here and there she saw games of auction and twat-or-knot and who knew what else…
Emma still couldn’t believe she had risked the whole enterprise by antagonizing the mannermen.
Dean had explained later what had transpired following her abduction. He and Mark were beside themselves with fear and rage, and might have raced straight after her. But Ione had kept her head, reasoning that they would be heard far away trying to approach from behind the mannermen, who could easily avoid them or even set traps. A horizontally strung cord would do the trick.
She had quickly devised a plan that capitalized on two things in their favor; the speed of the gnomecycles and the probability that the literal-minded mannermen would strike a direct path through the forest toward its center. So they sped around the perimeter of the park till they were distant from the point of entry the mannermen had used, then struck inward for the middle, getting themselves ahead of Emma’s captors in time to prepare an ambush. She knew luck was a big factor in their success, but the courage required testified to her companion’s great love, and the loyalty of their friends too.
They ascended to the third floor with Mark and Manassa, where the inventive spirit that dominated below gave way to simple fucking. Aromatic blankets were spread all over the floor and bodies were clinched on them, recklessly striving for bliss. Emma passed under the building’s solitary skylight, saw the full moon sharply resolved through its thick glass.