Place For It Ep 19

Episode XIX

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Magya pulled her closer as they walked quickly through the empty halls.

Doralea was in an area she did not recognize.

All the doors here bore identical plastic tags, dark brown surfaces routed down to expose white underneath: "VR-8", "VR-5", "E-4".

None of it meant anything to Doralea as she sped to keep up with the tall EurAsian's long strides.

Magya could scarcely contain her delight. It bubbled over in spontaneous rippling laughter.

However, she moved too fast to allow for conversation or investigation.

Suddenly the red-head pulled up short at a door labeled "ES-S".

As she unlocked the door, Magya spoke for the first time since they had left the studio, "We're here."

She pushed the door open and stepped up a quarter-meter into the dark room. She flipped on the lights and turned back to look down a Doralea.

Reaching out a hand to help, she said, "Come on in. You're gonna like this."

Doralea stepped up into a room crammed with video and sound control equipment,.

A large microphone stood out from the desk like a serpent erect to strike.

Video monitors covered one entire wall.

Half of the desk-top was devoted to buttons, sliders and switches, all labeled in the same enigmatic way as the doors had been: "ED-SI", "ED-S2", ED-L", etc.

Most of the monitors, labels matching many of the slider labels, showed views of porches, doors and street scenes.

Magya was leaning over the desk, her long, firm fingers dancing quickly over the control deck and making several adjustments.

She straightened and spun a tall-backed chair, offering the seat to Doralea.

"Sit here, lovely. Sit, and watch."

Doralea sat, watching the various monitors.

"Recognize this door?" Magya tapped on a monitor labeled, "ED-SI"

Doralea looked at the porch, the street beyond.

Magya leaned over, her breast pushing against Doralea'z shoulder, her breath in Doralea's ear.

She twiddled a joy stick.

Suddenly, Doralea was startled to realize that she was looking, from the point of view of the camera, at the porch she had stood on, taking the Commitment and applying for entry.

The mingled feelings of embarrassment, excitement, surrender and determination flooded back and her face and neck flushed hotly.

Magya sat in the other chair and watched Doralea's reaction.

The tall woman smiled and reached out to touch her face.

Doralea turned to the red-head and smiled, weakly.

She leaned over to kiss the peach-bow mouth.

Magya returned the kiss, warmly, but briefly, then pulled back, her elbows on the armrests of the chair.

The EurAsian smiled, then looked down to Doralea's lap where she was still absently fondling the smooth, cool leather of the quirt she had lifted from the studio.

Magya reached to take it from her.

"You like this, eh?" She turned the quirt over, examining it, taking its measure.

She touched the hard handle to Doralea's cheek.

The tall woman ran the handle along Doralea's jaw, and down the pulsing line of the veins in her neck.

The stiff handle nuzzled under the neck-line of the loose robe and slowly, deliberately, lifted it off Doralea's trembling shoulder.

Doralea's breath husked heavily as the robe slid over her shoulder and down her upper arm, to stop only when it bunched into a heavy pile in her lap.

The other front panel of the robe still hung from Doralea's left shoulder, straight down, the rolled trim resting along her sternum.

Magya toyed the quirt over Doralea's sole naked tit, pressing into the yielding softness and tapping the nipple.

The fluted handle traced the undercurve of the resilient mound, setting the luscious tit swaying.

Magya directed the quirt lower; Doralea arched her back to offer tall woman access to her belly.

She thrilled as the EurAsian lightly ground the rim of her sensitive navel with the hard, rounded tip.

Magya smiled at Doralea's panting attempt to encourage the exploring leather whiplet.

She traced the tingling skin of her waist and snaked under the pile of the robe.

As the corrugations of the stiff handle chattered along her thigh, it pushed the robe off, to fall away, exposing Doralea's right hip.

Doralea looked down to watch as Magya traced the sensitive tracks beneath the skin stretched over her pelvis, the hard tip of the quirt tracing the edges of the tangled curls between her thighs.

She noticed the tattoo again, nearly forgotten in the recent swarm of events.

She reached down to trace the rose and the thorn-torn gap as Magya toyed among her pussy-hair.

She allowed her leg to fall more fully open to allow the tall woman easier access to the hot congestion of her cunt.

The handle pressed through the convoluted furrows at the entrance to her trough.

"There she is. Get ready." Magya suddenly leapt to her feet and stood behind Doralea, pointing.

Approaching along the street framed in the monitor marked "ED-SI" was a woman in a pine-green dress, a lovely brocade bodice topping a loose, pleated mid-calf skirt.

As she approached past the townhouses and the trees in their iron fences, she glanced nervously along the streets.

She saw nothing, there was nothing to see.

She checked a slip of paper in her hand, then checked the addresses along the street.

"Actually," Magya spoke into Doralea's ear, "We own the whole block. She could come in through any of the doors. But the address she is given is determined by how she hears about us -- who has set her up to be sent here."

Standing behind Doralea, Magya reached round with the quirt to flick at the still-naked nipple with the oiled tip.

Dorala stiffened with excitement.

She watched as the woman discovered the number over the door, just as she had herself not so long before.

As she mounted the steps, Doralea watched her, assessing her.

The woman was about average height, and her chubby cheeks indicated a soft over-sufficiency of flesh.

Her hair was bound back with a babushka, the color of which matched her dress yet still set an odd conflict of style.

The two women in the booth watched as she steeled herself and pressed th brass-ringed button.

Magya pointed out a script on a clipboard, hanging from a hook on a wall.

"Just read that. Press that button and speak into the mic. Clear, calm, easy. Do it, now."

Doralea pressed the button and spoke, "State your business."

Magya patted her on the shoulder still covered by the robe. She gently slid the robe off that shoulder as well, and Doralea sat, naked from the waist, watching the woman on the monitor.

"I have come to seek 'The Commitment'."

Magya pointed to the script, directing Doralea to speak her part

"Do you seek admittance?"

"Yes. I do. I want in."

"Do you understand the requirements? The Commitment?"

"Yes, I do. I attended the lecture and I read the book. I am ready."

Magya was kneading Doralea's neck and shoulders with unsuppressed passion.

"Is she ready? Do you think so, lovely? Were you?"

"I was. Yes. Yes, I was."

"Read the next."

"And you are ready now?"

The plump woman put a hand to her throat.

Many rings, bright with gold and stone decorated her thick fingers.

"Yes, I am. Please, let me in."

"First, you must demonstrate your commitment."

Magya held the quirt in both hands, across Doralea's throat. Doralea was pressed firmly against the back of the chair and into the EurAsian's breast.

She could hear the red-head's thick breath as she reached forward for the button to activate the mic.

"Remove your clothes."

The woman on the street looked startled.

She had not, apparently, expected this.

She glanced up the street.

"I -- I cannot -- not here, I want to be inside. Please."

Doralea remembered her own discomfort at disrobing in a place; exposed on the porch in a public street.

Magya pulled the leather whiplet tight against Doralea's throat and leaned down to hiss in her ear. "Say it now."

"First you must demonstrate your commitment. Remove your clothes. Throw them out to the sidewalk."

Doralea's voice sounded foreign in her own ears, it was so thick with the excitement of anticipation and control.

The jewelry glittered as the plump hand reached up to loose the kerchief.

Magya gasped as an amazing head of thick, luxurious hair fell in a gleaming cascade over the green brocade.

The woman on the street pushed the cloth into a beaded purse slung over one shoulder.

"She's got to toss it. Lose it all. Into the street. Tell 'er." Magya tapped the script.

Doralea pressed the button and spoke, struggling to maintain control while Magya still imprisoned her throat.

"Throw it out to the sidewalk."

"But, I..."

"Throw it out to the sidewalk."

She pulled the cloth from her purse and tossed it, fluttering.

Doralea repeated Magya's instruction.

"And the purse. It all must go."

The supplicant reluctantly lifted the beaded purse from her shoulder and held it before her, studying its beauty sadly.

"It must go."

She tossed it out, it landed in the gutter.

"Remove all your clothes. Everything."

The woman reached behind herself to unbutton the bodice of the dress in the back. She fumbled with the large round buttons, trying to free them from the loops of the frogs.

Magya used the stiff leather to lift Doralea's chin, pressing he head into the high back of the chair.

"Tell her to turn around. I want to see her."

"Turn around. Face the camera."

"The camera?" Suddenly the woman was afraid. "The camera? I don't see a camera. "

"Behind you. And above, yes," as the woman looked directly at the camera, "Yes, there."

The woman stood, arms loose behind her.

"You must remove your clothes. Remove all your clothes."

Without taking her eyes from the camera, the woman resumed her struggle with the buttons.

Magya leaned toward the monitor, her breasts pressed against the side of Doralea's head, who sat, seemingly forgotten by the EurAsian.

The contortions of the woman, reaching behind herself, pulling the dress tight over her full bust excited the tall red-head.

Finally, the buttons were all released and the woman stood, still facing the camera.

Shyly, reluctantly, she slipped the thick brocade off her soft shoulders and began working the sleeves off her arms.

Suddenly she froze.

She became aware of a man standing next to a dark sedan, fingering the lapel of his grey pinstripe suit. Doralea recognized him as Riyoja, and as the same man who had played that role when she had herself stripped on the porch.

Doralea reached for the button, but Magya stopped her. "Wait, let's see what she does. It is important that she be willing to -- let's see."

Magya pointed, as if it were a personal triumph, to the monitor, there the woman on the porch was working the green dress over her wide hips.

After the heavy cloth was worked off her thighs she stepped agilely out and dropped the beautiful dress over the rail.

Straightening, the woman set to work unfastening the heavy under-wire bra.

She was aware, but refused to acknowledge, the same growing audience that had attended Doralea.

The teen toughs, the school-girls, one of whom Doralea now recognized as the maid with the pierced nipples.

She was surprised that she looked so young in the stiffly starched blouse and plaid skirt, knee-socks and pig-tails.

When the bra-catches were finally released, the woman turned to toss the heavy contraption into the street.

Her breasts were huge, soft and heavy. They swayed with each movement, wallowing like cream-filled sacks.

"I can't wait to make those plump melons dance under the water."

Magya was pacing the floor behind Doralea in excited anticipation.

She suddenly knelt beside the chair and began kneading Doralea's tits, almost cruelly.

Big John drove up in the van and stopped, looking with unmasked approval at the woman on the porch.

The woman's arms leapt to cover her massive breasts, then, shyly, slowly, she returned to the task of removing her shoes.

"Tell her to turn. To show him her ass."

Doralea followed Magya's instructions, and ordered the woman to turn her back to the street before continuing to remove her shoes.

The hard black iron of the porch rail cut deep into the soft white flesh at the back of her thighs.

Magya was excited, she stood up and forced her hand into the waistband of her cotton slacks to press her own ass.

"That skin will take a slap, show a handprint for a week. I can't wait to get her under the strap."

With that she unbuttoned the fly of her slacks and, circling her hips with both hands, resumed the auto-massage of her ass.

Doralea looked over to see the dark, red cunt-hair framed by the wide-flopped white fly. She leaned over to kiss the EurAsian's musky lips.

"Look. Look. What's she doing?"

The red-head's lament caused Doralea to snap back to the monitor, the woman on the porch stood, holding one shoe and looking at the small audience gathered on the street.

Doralea saw that Cheryl had arrived, in her tightly tailored business suit.

But, the focus of everyone's attention, the woman standing naked, save for one shoe, panty-hose and thin panties, was frozen.

She had quit moving altogether and stood, one shoe in her hand, looking out off the porch.

"What's she doing?" Something about the tone in Magya's voice told Doralea that she knew.

The woman suddenly burst into a loud sobbing and, the quivering mounds of flesh rippling in concert, she leaned on the rail, steeling herself for her next move.

Doralea looked at Magya, seeking direction.

"Read this."

The tall woman laid the long quirt under a line in the script.

"This is your last chance to change your mind."

"And this." She moved the leather tool to another line.

"If you leave, no one will know you were here."

"But, I want to," the woman sobbed, "I want to."

"Then, proceed. You must remove your clothes and toss them away."

The woman bent to the task again. She tossed the shoes and rolled the panty hose off her heavy thighs, hopping awkwardly, to the delight of Magya, as she pulled the hose off her small-toed feet.

She started to work the white panties off, stretching the waistband over her hips, when suddenly she froze again.

Panting, wracked with sobs, she hurriedly pulled the panties back up over her thighs and ran down the steps.

Grabbing her shoes and dress from the sidewalk and her purse from the gutter, she ran away along the street, trying in vain to cover her huge flopping tits with her hands.

The jeers and laughter from the crowd in the street followed her as her bare feet slapped the pavement.

Magya sat on the arm of Doralea's chair, deflated.

"I really wanted to make that pudding dance."

She slid off the arm and into Doralea's lap, now laughing.

"Ah, well, sometimes you lose 'em. But, sometimes you get one like you.

"I'm not gonna let that little pigeon ruin my day."

She threw her long arms around Doralea's neck and smashed her with a long, deep, breath-denying kiss.

When she finally released her, she jumped off her lap and looked down at her, beaming.

She slapped the quirt smartly against the smooth outer curve of Doralea's left tit, leaving a burning patch of red fading up as the blood rose to meet the assault. The red-head laughed.

"Come on, Lovely. Everything's ready for a shower. Let's go."

She dropped the quirt, grabbed Doralea's wrist and pulled her up out of the seat. The robe stayed draped over the slowly swiveling chair as the two women left the small control room and sprinted down the hall.

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As the two women ran down the hall, Doralea's naked tits jounced and danced, the nipples each tracing delightful infinity-shaped double ovals in the air.

Their mass moved under the skin, rolling over her ribs, hitting the limits of their movement with a heavy resilience, then continuing their bouncing gyres.

Magya's long legs carried her well ahead of Doralea, but the shorter woman caught up when she had to stop to open a door.

Stepping through the door, Doralea recognized the foyer where she stood, weakly swaying in the dark, on her arrival.

She looked through the dark glass to the day outside, and smiled, remembering her trepidatious preparation on that day.

She turned to look at the wall in the light and laughed out-loud, her knees weakening with amusement.

"What?" Magya was delighted to hear the laugh, but had no clue, and wanted to be in on the joke.

"It's a vag- -- the wall -- the mosaic on the wall. It's a big cunt. It's the hair and the mound and this is the -- are the lips. That's great."

She laid her hands on the wall and leaned in, laughing.

"Yes, sister, it is the 'Portal of the Goddess.' Well-modeled, eh? Now, come on. Let's get wet."

She opened the other door and trotted down the hall, watching over her shoulder until she was sure that Doralea was following.

Doralea caught up with her at the end of the short hall as she opened the door that led into shower-room.

Magya sluffed the robe from her golden shoulders and stepped into the white-tiled room.

Doralea shivered with memory and anticipation as she stepped through the door into the large room.

Magya stood by the panel of controls and, as she motioned Doralea to join her, she spun the deluge wheel full around and the room filled with water.

Water streamed off the pair in dancing sheets as Magya demonstrated the various levers, wheels and knobs which controlled force and temperature and which controlled which nozzle or head was active.

Turning the deluge off, Magya, rivulets of water dropping from her heavy red hair, took up a large nozzle and directed a stream to Doralea's belly.

As Doralea straightened up, recovering from the shock, Magya directed the thick stream to her tits.

"I love that. Love the way it looks. The water splashing away, carving into the soft flesh. Look at your tits dance."

Doralea looked down and was fascinated by the sight of her breasts, flattened by the pounding water, moving in their attempt to escape Magya's assault.

Magya continued to direct the stream to maximum effect for her own amusement.

Doralea picked up a nozzle and, finding the appropriate control, turned it on.

A thin powerful jet spurted from the steel tip.

She rotated a ring on the nozzle and the flow spread to a wider pattern, with more volume.

She turned the stream onto the firm, taut breasts of the tall red-head.

The heavy, yielding flesh flattened against the long rib-cage, the dark, thrusting nipples dividing the powerful stream.

They laughed and started chasing each other around the large shower-room, fencing with their liquid swords.

Magya dropped her nozzle and Doralea took advantage to press the assault.

As she used the force of the water to explore the long lines, both hard and soft, of the long, muscular body, she drove the EurAsian to the wall.

Laughing, playful and delighted, Magya turned her back.

The water hitting her high on her back flared in two plumes around her neck, splashing back off the wall in wide fans.

Doralea quided the water down her spine to the large, flat, dimpled triangle between her waist and her buttocks.

The red-head tilted her torso toward the wall, resting on her elbows, and lifted onto her toes.

Doralea twisted the ring on the steel shank and the stream flattened out, wide and horizontal.

Around her waist the jetting water danced in a liquid corona.

The red-head stretched her long legs, lifting the valley between her ass-mounds into the stream.

Doralea, rotated the line of the fan and narrowed it.

She directed the powerful stream to the furrow between the dense, muscular cheeks and Magya started humping up into the jet.

Doralea narrowed the stream and the tall beauty held her bottom still to allow Doralea to explore the effects.