Place for It Ep. 04

Episode IV

As they walked down the wide marble steps the short tails, which had held the massive knob inside her, dangled caressingly and tickled the sensitive insides of her thighs. The images of the past few days flooded her mind. The intensity of the welcoming shower, the mystery of the blonde in the black room, the misty memory of the steam room, the netted twins and the strap, the harness, being led to the Stone, the Cleansing, the Filling, the Tattoo, being raised aloft and hearing the throbbing orgy below her feet and the stream of touching as the crowd passed through the door.

She felt the blood rushing from her head and she stumbled on the steps. As the EurAsian caught her, Doralea's shoulder pressed into the firm, yielding breast. The tall woman led her down the stairs to the lobby and laid her gently on the cold hard stone floor.

Doralea felt power flowing into her from the smooth stone floor as it slowly warmed beneath her. It seemed to soften as she relaxed.

The two women left her there and moved quietly to the shadows along one wall. The tall EurAsian was dressed in a short skirt, wrapped around her waist and held by a large sunburst pin.

Though Doralea could not make out the words, she could hear the shorter woman giving the EurAsian orders. She turned her head and watched the short, strong legs, nearly covered by the caftan, move quickly across the lobby and disappear around a corner under the sweeping staircase.

A hand was lain on her belly and she was turned face-upward to those beautiful tea-green eyes. They smiled and leaned down and those split-peach lips pressed a light kiss to her own, then pulled back.

"We still wish you to be silent. Do you understand?" that strong voice still caressing. She smiled, "Nod."

Doralea nodded.

"Good. When you speak, you are to call me Magya. Are you ready to stand again, Lovely?"

Doralea nodded.

"Then rise, and follow me."

The powerful, long hands gripped hers and, pulling her up, helped her to stand.

She felt refreshed as the tall redhead led her by her hand through a door and into a narrow passageway lined with doors.

They stopped before one marked "A 712" and opened it. Magya pushed Doralea into a small changing room, stepped in and pulled the door shut.

The room was so small that the two were inevitably touching at several points.

"You are going to undress me, Doralea.

First, remove the skirt -- just undo the pin."

Doralea turned to face the redhead, each set of tits dragging deliciously against the other. She looked down past the pressed breasts and reached to loose the golden sunburst. As soon as the pin was unclasped, the light cloth fluttered to the floor and the tall woman was completely naked.

Magya extended golden arms over Doralea's head and pressed them against the wall. Her breasts slid up to rest against the sides of Doralea's neck, embracing it.

"The boots, my beauty, are under the seat."

Doralea heard the implied command and knelt, flesh rubbing flesh all the way down. The small cubicle did not allow for much free movement and she relished the constantly shifting points of contact.

Once on the floor, the sexy scents of the EurAsian's cunt and sweat and the lingering traces of the recent orgy filled Doralea's nostrils and ignited new fires in her brain.

She reached under the bench to pull out the boots, pressing her shoulder hard into the standing woman's thighs. She guided one beautiful foot into the long boot and began to tighten the lace. The red-veiled cunt filled Doralea's vision as she knelt with Magya's legs between her own. She pulled the laces tight as she moved up the calves. At the knees, the uppers no longer closed fully, and the laces pressed into the firm flesh of the thigh. The boot stopped where the top of the thigh began to taper back to the cunt. She pulled the laces tight and tied a small bow.

Her own juices were flowing again as she leaned down to get the other boot and repeated the process, guiding the slender foot into the black leather and tightening the lace up to the knee and watching it cut into the taut quad as she pulled it tight across the thigh and tied the bow.

Magya leaned over, tits grazing Doralea's hair.

Gripping her shoulders, the tall EurAsian lifted her to her feet. Her tits rubbed first over the black laces, chuttering delightfully. One nipple dragged through the tangled red bush, then across the rippled belly. Her tits were pulled down and mashed against the long muscular body until she was, again, standing. The redhead's marvelous orbs were supported and lifted by her own tits, which pressed against the woman's ribs.

The EurAsian turned and leaned over, deliberately stiff kneed, the hollowed side of her ass thrusting against Doralea's belly. Doralea felt the woman's heavy tits against her knee and reached one hand to trace the ridges of her pelvis. Magya rose, holding a leather panel with loops along the sides. She opened it and passed it behind her, all the while pressing against Doralea with her breasts and rubbing her belly and her coarse-haired mound against hers.

She pulled the thick leather around her hips.

"Pull the bottom loop through the bottom hole, my pet."

Doralea noticed that one side of the very short skirt was lined with grommets, the other with short loops of leather. Pulling the loop through the grommet tightened the leather around the beautiful hips of the EurAsian.

"Now, pull the next one through the hole then through the loop. That's it - good - and again."

Doralea threaded each of the six loops, tightening the thick leather skirt against the redhead's cunt.

As Doralea finished the last of the loops, Magya pulled a lighter leather upper to the fore.

"Thread the thong through that top loop. Yes, all the way."

Doralea's knuckles pressed caressingly into the taller woman's belly and the heady scents of her cunt thickened the air.

"Now, lace the vest up, Lovely."

The thong laced across the redhead's rippled belly as Doralea worked her way up from the hips, over the navel and up to the ribcage. The opening got wider as the marvelous tits of the tall woman resisted the tightening thong.

"Pull it, my pet, pull it tight. Tighter. Tighter, yes. Yes."

Magya breathily encouraged her to flatten the fleshy masses against her ribs. As the leather compressed the redhead's breasts, the gaps between the side panels and the tight thongs allowed hints of their firmness to thrust out.

"Now, tie it. Tie it tight."

Doralea fashioned a bow knot with the ends of the thong. The EurAsian placed a palm behind Doralea's head and pulled her up to a long, mashing kiss.

Then she led the way out of the cubicle, through the lobby and into the corridor down which the short, square woman had disappeared earlier.

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Doralea followed Magya into a dining hall, tables set in a series of wide arcs facing a raised area along one wall. She was led to the center table in the front row and seated on a wide padded bench with a short, roll-padded back.

As soon as she sat down a young man with a bush of tightly curled cinnamon hair stood before her. The EurAsian sat beside her, and a woman with black ringlets and spit curls came and stood beside the man. The two standing across the table were both wearing loose, light-weight, nearly sheer muslin shirts, open down the front and with long, cuffed sleeves. The shirts were caught up and bloused at the waist by a narrow belt of the same material and hung freely to mid-thigh. The two knelt down and disappeared under the table.

Doralea's knees were pushed apart and the curly head moved toward her cunt. She was already over-stimulated and over-tender and she pushed the head away. The man rested his head gently against her inner knee.

She turned to watch the beautiful woman beside her as Magya was pleasured by the girl between her legs. The tall redhead lounged back against the cushion, her arms behind her head, her tits forcing up wonderfully against the tight leather, and bulging between the tight laces.

Doralea watched the powerful beauty increase in loveliness as she was slowly lifted towards climax. A shudder, slow and deep, passed through the long body. Then another. Then wave after wave as she surrendered to the orgasm, her arms reaching far over her head, her hands clutching the air.

Doralea reached to tentatively caress the near breast through the black leather. Magya slowly opened her fluttering eyelids and turned slowly to smile at Doralea. Her long-fingered hand closed over Doralea's and pressed it into the firmly yielding flesh. Doralea could feel the heart pounding strong and slow. Their eyes were locked together and much passed between them.

Servers in sheer body stockings accented with solid metallic patches in various designs and placement brought plates, bowls and tankards.

The meal was served and eaten while the room filled with others. The sociable ease of the event contrasted sharply for Doralea with the sexually charged atmosphere and the various erotic costumes.

Many were, like herself, nude. Most of the diners, particularly the front row, had someone between their legs.

Many kisses were exchanged and caresses shared.

Occasionally, a particularly passionate couple, or trio would allow their ardor to overwhelm them right there at the table. Others would get up and make their way to some more private tryst.

But, for the most part, the evening grew ever more highly charged.

The dessert was finally served: vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup for Doralea, raspberry sorbet for Magya.

The music, which had been playing softly under all this, got louder. The lights over the amphitheater of tables dimmed, while those over the raised area -- a stage -- brightened.

Pairs of dancers streamed onto the light-bathed stage.

The men were dressed in thin black leather jackets, open at the front and cut at the waist. Their cocks were visible through and probably enhanced by the tight black pegged pants. The women wore cloths hung on the bias from a pin at one shoulder and pinned at the opposite hip.

Every movement they made threatened to expose a breast, or a butt, or a cunt. Doralea watched as they formed two lines and started to do a promenade dance, like a cake-walk, the stroll, the lock -- each was individual, each a challenge to the next.

The music changed to a Latin-style rhythm and the dancers started a samba-mambo-jive with lots of spinning, bending and lifting - like ice-dancers, like Ubo Ubo. Every move was charged with sexual innuendo and blatant eroticism. The dancers whirled and spun and charged, sometimes in unison and sometimes all going different directions. Sometimes solos played before a chorus. Finally, the dancers gyred down to an end and filed off the stage to the appreciative applause of the audience seated at the tables.

The air was heavy with sex.

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Then the stage was cleared and an odd group of musicians entered, dressed in various combinations of strips of hide, bits of fur, feathers and paint. The look was ritual-primitive: an eclectic mix from cultures on several continents and islands. The same was true of their instruments: a digeridoo, a jaw-bow, a saw, temple blocks, beaded gourds, a brass vessel with rods, a large box with wide metal tabs like a giant mbira.

First the Dij laid down its weird dream-time drone. The lights in the room faded slowly to black and Doralea felt herself being drawn into a trance as the other instruments added their voices to the slow rhythmic pulse. Seven naked youths carried in bowls of fire, the firelight illuminating them from the waist up. They set them on tripods in a wide arc. Doralea watched in fascination as the flames flickeringly illuminated their young penises, crowned with newly sprouted hair.

The music suddenly opened a hole, which sucked Doralea in: the saw, bowed and skreeing high above the dij; a very slow, deep tang off the giant mbira; beads rolling on the gourd like surf-washed sand.

A very large, muscular black woman entered, her hair a dense Afro trimmed just off her ears. Her midnight skin was set off by a white marquisette front thrusting up between her naked breasts. A white band girdled her hips. Draping points front and back shielded her groin and ass. She strode to center stage, crossed her ebony arms across her huge jet tits and stood, legs comfortably apart.

The music changed to a denser, more anxiety inducing, set of pulses, different signatures drifting in and out of phase.

Four men carried in a giant covered silver serving tray and set it before the commanding figure of the black woman. The tray stood on legs lifting it to the level of the knees of the giantess. Two of them knelt on one knee beside it and the other two lifted the huge shining cover to reveal the figure of a crouching girl, apparently formed of some sort of white dumpling dough. The black woman took two silver vases from holders on the lid and poured a raspberry colored syrup on the neck of the figure. The giantess bent down and lapped at the fluid with a startlingly pink tongue. A shudder rippled through the figure as the black woman rose, bright red juice dripping thickly from her dark lips to fall off her jaw.

"You may eat!"

The figure's eyes snapped open and Doralea realized that this was a living girl as the dough-covered body bolted from the tray. The four men dashed in quick pursuit.

One caught her by her shoulder-length hair, yanking her off her feet. Another of the four held her head between his hands, leaned over and with an amazingly long tongue, licked off the dough from one side of her face and then the other, leaving her oriental cheeks and eyes exposed in a helmet of white. Her black hair also was revealed through the dough pulled away by the man grasping her hair. She struggled as the four grabbed her, lifted her, and carried her, struggling vainly, back to the tray.

The black woman was again standing, arms crossed, with a silver vase in each hand. The men, while still holding her firmly, allowed the dough-covered Oriental to again crouch on the silver platform. The black woman poured the red syrup again, tracing the up-curved spine.

As the syrup began to flow down the trembling sides, she spoke again, "Eat."

The four men crouched over the huddled form and began tearing off chunks of white with both hands, stuffing them into their eager mouths. They leant over and began chewing and lapping at the cowering woman. Doralea watched their upturned buttocks flex and shift as their dark balls swayed between their thighs.

The object of their oral assault quit acting the fearful victim and relished the four mouths exposing the entire surface of her small, lithe body. She writhed on the silver, easing their access to every mound and crevice. She was quickly cleaned and rose, naked and shining with saliva, from the midst of the crouched mass of men.

They caressed her thighs as she snaked her own hands slowly over her hips, rising to her belly, to her small tight breasts and eventually over her head, reaching ever higher. Her small, slender body was thrown into contrast by the massive power of the muscular black woman who reached around the Oriental to cup her breasts, completely covering the small teacups with her huge hands.

The men retired into the shadows and returned with a scarlet obi, which they bound around her narrow waist. She folded her legs beneath her ass to sit on the silver tray, her face framed by the huge black woman's hips.

The music changed again, to a set of jazzy riffs, or ragas, or whatever musical term would describe that free-floating bits of melody over a solid pumping bottom.

The men left the two women and disappeared into the shadows. Doralea noticed that the young dicks, standing by the fire-bowls, were in various stages of erection -- from just beginning to rise, heavily engorged; to raging upward, and curving toward the navel.

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Two twin men, so black they were really purple, carried in a huge fetish of smooth black plastic. They were dressed in heavy breechcloths of white cotton wrapped around their waists, threaded between their legs, knotted and hanging, front and back. They set the statue on the stage in front of Doralea and stepped back.

The severe lens-shaped face could have inspired Picasso. It was cut deep with parallel gouges on the cheeks. The eyes were white cowrie shells and the mouth a hard slit. The large pendulant earlobes were pierced through, reminding Doralea of ewer handles. The breasts were huge and heavy, thrust-out nipples inviting sucking. The vulva was exposed and protrudent between wide-spread thighs, knees high, feet a firm and stable base.

Doralea was fascinated and her eyes caressed the hard dark surface. Suddenly, from behind her, two Australian Aborigines lept over her shoulders, clicking sticks. They hit the floor dancing and leaping and the two purple-black men joined them, hands clapping chests and thighs, and feet slapping the floor. The four danced around this black plastic idol in a leaping, wild, sexual come-on: their spines twisting like snakes, their hips thrusting lewdly.

Doralea mashed the curly-haired stranger against her cunt, gripping the hair tightly with her right hand while clutching Magya's hand with her left. Again she was having trouble breathing and the wild, weird music kept her adrift in a dream-world.

The four men now circled the fetish. They all reached up and touched the torso, then turned and slapped the floor, then each circled a quarter of the way around and touched the torso again. They circled thus several times then, suddenly grabbing the idol, they ripped the torso apart, revealing a red-painted body with small, cone-shaped tits. This figure now joined the dance, the harsh face mask weaving among the dancers. Arms still covered to the shoulders by black plastic, as were the legs to where they met the crotch. The feet were encased in absurdly high heels, like something from Michael Salem, meeting the ground as points the size of quarters.

This figure pegged around with a weird, awkward grace, still being touched, caressed and fondled by the four dark men, but now moving: thrusting out the scarlet rump in offering, arching back to expose the tiny tits to dancing black hands.

Suddenly the men produced long thin silver blades from their loin cloths.

The Abos each grabbed a handle-like ear and the purple-blacks each grabbed a knee. The dancing fetish was held, her thighs horizontal and straight out to the sides, her toes pointed into the floor, her spine vertical. Her arms mirrored her legs -- straight to the side from the shoulder, forearms vertical. A silver dirk-point touched her throat and one the nape of her neck. The two on the floor directed their blades, one to her cunt and one her ass. She was frozen and they were moving very slowly. The music sawed over the same few notes again and again, in a slow, deliberate crescendo.

Tension mounted as everyone in the room held their breath.

The black in the front slowly sought her cunt, as the one behind entered the valley between her cheeks. A gasp filled the room as both thrust quickly in to the hilt.

Then a collective sigh as it was realized that they had stabbed between her thighs, touching, but beneath her crotch. Again, they wove their shining silver magic, drawing and holding all eyes. Doralea was frozen between desire and horror and her tension built.

Then the music flared and in a flash all four blades moved at once and the red skin flew away like a balloon popping, exposing a startling white.

The body had not been painted red, but covered with a thin latex, now exploded away by the deftly flicking blades.

The sudden release of tension hammered Doralea's belly with surprise. She realized how tightly she was gripping Magya and released her hand. The EurAsian brushed a stray hair away from Doralea's cheek and leaned in to kiss her. Doralea returned the gentle kiss and felt the tongue lapping at her cunt, earnestly eager to please. She inched her ass forward on the bench and, relaxing, returned her attention to the show.