To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Continued from part 3
Chapter 4: Escape to a New Life
- With thanks to Brushslut
[AP WIRE - LONDON] BRITISH AIRSHIP THWARTS SLAVERS IN MID-ATLANTIC, RESCUES FAMED ABOLITIONIST.
THE HOME OFFICE REPORTED THE INTERCEPTION OF A VENEZUELAN SLAVE SHIP BOUND FOR THE UNITED STATES BY THE AIRSHIP 'UNBOUND PLEASURE'. THE AIRSHIP WAS ON A ROUTINE ATLANTIC PATROL WHEN IT ENCOUNTERED THE 'EXCITE VALDEZ'. A CLOSE PASS REVEALED UNCLOTHED WOMEN CRUELLY SHACKLED IN VARIOUS CONTORTED POSITIONS OF DISTRESS WITHIN ITS HOLD, PROVOKING THE INTERDICTION. WHILE THE UNITED STATES LEGALLY RECOGNIZES SOME FORMS OF SLAVERY, ENGLAND DOES NOT.
AMONG THE RELEASED WAS A WOMAN OF COLOR NAMED CHESPEAKE WHO GAINED NOTORIETY AS AN ABOLITIONIST BEFORE VANISHING INTO THE ECUADORIAN JUNGLES ON AN ILL-FATED ROYAL MISSION THREE YEARS AGO. MISS CHESPEAKE WAS KNOWN FOR HER STRONG STANCE AGAINST SLAVE RIGHTS AND RELEASE PROGRAMS, MAINTAINING A POSITION THAT SLAVERY SHOULD BE ABSOLUTE. BEFORE BECOMING A SLAVE TO ANNE FRANKLE OF WASHINGTON, DC, SHE ATTENDED BOSTON UNIVERSITY, EARNING A MASTERS IN LANGUAGES, CENTERING ON THE AMAHAGGER DIALECT OF CENTRAL AFRICA.
SEE PAGES 5-12 FOR PHOTOS ILLUSTRATING CAPTAIN HOFFSTEDER AND CREW BINDING, SECURING AND INTERROGATING SLAVER PRISONERS.
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Li-Jack hunched in pain in the dark corner of the hotel basement.
His genitals throbbed from the cruel crush of their encompassing cage his sister had fitted him with. Normally it was roomy enough but when he was excited (as he was now) it became two sizes too small. Probably three sizes, given the display that was taking place before him.
The laundry machine was going full bore, sequentially processing the hotel guests, soaping them, rinsing them, scrubbing them and abusing them. One by one, they'd been wrapped up in sheets, hung by their heels and winched out into the moonlit yard. All that had been bad enough for him and his painful involuntary reaction, but their French guest, the mademoiselle who'd tormented him so cruelly over the long afternoon with touch and duster was getting her comeuppance in spades. Stripped, forced into a fleshy little ball of trembling pink flesh by firm mechanical hands, her head shoved between her upthrust knees, her paddled and scrubbed buttocks as red as a orangutang's, the machines were even now placing the bristled washboard against her bowed feet. She began screaming against this ill-usage, her bunched shoulders heaving, her body trembling within the stern metallic grips. But it was as ironclad as fate; she was going to be tickled and tickled well. Li-Jack knew. After all, he'd programmed it this way.
Even while he'd designed and produced this automated laundry, he'd considered that someday, someday, some glorious day, he might tip his sister and aunt into its thrashing processes. He thought of all the grand ladies who'd ordered him bound and delivered to their lustful beds, picturing them being fed through the suds, the soap and the saturation. And now he'd gotten his wish. Auntie had gone through already, accepting her fate and apparently enjoying its diverse sensations. His sister had fought it every step of the way; how wondrous it had been to finally witness her being humiliated, as he had been over those countless times he'd been sold to guests. And the ladies, all those fine guests, each of them stripped, paddled, soaped and stretched. The image of their torments had strained his encaged shaft to the breaking point.
But the Frenchwoman, Barbette, she was the one who almost crippled him. Even now the machines were sweeping her back and forth across the bristled board. Her taunt feet hissed with tormenting friction, her soles trembling, her big toes pinking in the casual grip of the machine. From the dark cavity of her compression, her weeping screams, hysterical (yet passionately lusty) sounded, echoing off the damp walls. The tang of her lust hung in the air. Her black hair ribbioned out in frayed madness. Li-Jack moaned at the spectacle, doubling over.
He only wished that it was he, himself, who was tickling her. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin burning against his fingertips and he played across her struggling soles. He wanted to hear her beg (as he'd begged her) to stop. He wanted to force promises and break her indomitable will. She was a woman who was truly beautiful when dominant, and doubly so when used.
If she'd not already forced an eruption from him earlier that day, he'd have clearly lost it now. As it was, it was a near thing. He could only look down at his purpling shaft, hoping it would all end before he was permanently damaged. And finally it did. He sunk to his knees in exhaustion as she was wrenched like an old towel, her shapely hips twisted back and forth like a showgirl's. Finally, with all sorts of noise, she was passed through the rollers. Beyond came the wisp of bedsheets being tightly and firmly pulled around flesh and lingerie, the muffled groan of a woman throbbing at her limits, the ratchet of the clotheslines, silence.
Still, he'd liked her. Of all the woman who'd used him, he'd enjoyed their time together, even though he'd been bound and gagged on her bed. Unlike all the other women who used him without mercy, she pleasured them both as she toyed him towards shared yet separate climaxes. And she'd done him first. In his cage. Not often had that happened. He thought of her laughing eyes and broad sensuous smile and felt a sense of loss.
But still, there was nothing he could do for her (or to her). He had to get moving.
Stealing out into the now-still laundry room, he crossed to the cage. He'd watched closely as his sister had been raised by an ankle from the enclosure and methodically stripped of her nightshirt. And there it was, right on the ground, the golden key the machines had removed when they'd stripped her. As it was not clothing, the MI's had simply dropped it. With a click, the confining cage sprang open and he moaned at the expansiveness nature of his release. It felt so nice to finally have it off. With a disdainful flick, he tossed the iron thing into the corner, cinched up his loose pants and ascended the stairs.
The lobby was as quiet as the sleeping city outside. As such, he almost missed the last guest. She was a skinny strawberried thing, her body girlish, her eyes green and wide. She'd been stripped of clothing and dignity and locked into the hanging lobby cage, a hanging sign pronouncing her crime: 'Spilled tea on the tablecloth'. Li-June ran a tight establishment and guests were not excluded from her wrath. It must have been quite a spill for his sister to have left the girl hanging in her iron-ringed bondage the entire night. Over the tongue-curb plate, eyes tracked his every move, imploring him to unlatch the catches of her cruel confinement.
It really wasn't anything to him, this suffering of hers. After all, earlier she'd looked over the menu that detailed his roped options, smiling dreamily his direction, her mind clearly smoldering in smutty possibilities. And now the worm had turned and she, herself, was humiliatingly locked tight. Well, either caged tightly in the lobby or hanging suspended in sheets, it made no difference to him.
Or did it?
Suppose some late hotel-seeker or patrolwoman came inside? What if she told them of the hysterical (and ruttish) screaming from the basement, of the manni slipping out in the dead of night. He could be located, captured and returned to the vengeful Li-June. He couldn't afford to have this woman found. There was only one thing to do.
Smiling in reassurance to the distressed sunshine girl, he gently took hold of her cage. She moaned in relief, thinking she was going to finally, finally be released from this erect discomfort. Still smiling, he carefully swung the cage on its lever arm over to the corner where a hatchway lurked. He kicked the cover aside, revealing a dark shaft scented with the clean smell of soap. Into this shaft went towels, napkins and tablecloths, to be fed into the hotel laundry. Efficient and convenient, and very practical for getting rid of tattle-tales.
She looked past her toes and mesh flooring towards the yawning unknown, instantly suspecting that some strenuous, ungodly fate awaited her. She shook her head, tossing her golden curls, moaning to him to not sacrifice her. Li-Jack made calming noises, then kicked the cage's floor release lever. Like a bomb from a bomb bay, the hapless young girl plummeted through, screaming into the darkness. Li-Jack hunched down and listened carefully.
Over her startled cries, he could hear the machines start up. Then came a startled shriek and a splash. Water swirled and paddles cracked. Then sounded the splash of a shapely young body being plucked out of the wash water, lifted, positioned. Still smiling, he slid the hatch closed, cutting off the pok-pok-pok noises that denoted the soap-thrust cycle. He would have liked to watch Little Miss Sunshine get her most-thorough cleansing but the hour was late. He had to get to Oakland. Crossing the silent lobby, he stepped through the front door and into the street, casting a final look back to the Hotel California, once his home yet no longer. He was free, free of his sister, her cage, his old life of ropes and randy lady-guests.
The trip across the sleeping port city took a number of hours. There were perils, of course. Once he hid behind a park bush as a patrolwoman strolled past, a line of bound and linked women following in her wake. Like London, it took little for an average citizen to be ensnared by the legal system. No doubt the prisoners were facing stiff questioning involving clips and feathers and ice cubes and such. The SFPD was known for both their investigative creativity and their attention to detail.
On another street, he found a shapely brunette, her hair a thick mane around her narrow face, her voluptuous body naked but for the straining ropes pinioning her to a lamppost, her mouth stopped up with a thick, thorough gag. At once, Li-Jack was aware of the lack of his cage; his boner tented out his loose slacks yet without the cramping pain. He wondered, as he slipped past the desperately-mewing woman, how she'd gotten there. Had some lover of hers decided to put her out in the most literal sense, leaving her for whoever came upon her? Or had she, perhaps in loneliness or boredom, ordered her own maids to perform this cruelty? Who could say why she'd found herself bound and exhibited so cruelly. All Li-Jack could do was keep moving, ignoring the pleading eyes that followed him as he vanished into the misty darkness.
One had to take a ferry to cross from San Francisco to Oakland, thus Li-Jack loitered in the shadows, waiting to the just-arrived vessel to unload. Passenger traffic at this time of night was light, but there was a great deal of freight, specifically slaves. Even in this female-dominated world, woman could occasionally find themselves in bondage to others.
In this case, the slaves where being lifted and carried between pairs of slender Chinese girls, their lips pursed and silent, their eyes slitted and unreadable, their dresses of jade and aqua delineating their strong, slender forms. In their grips, all ethnicites of captive girls, pouting limber Negresses, demure Mexican senoritas, even a few confused white girls, hung between their strong grips, cabled up in tight hemp. The Chinese moved them to waiting wagons where they were carefully arrayed like pink cord wood. No doubt they were bound for the Haight-Ashbury slavepens, to be bid on by bored highborn ladies, flanked by giggling maids who looked forward to the inclusion of someone on the household food chain lower than themselves.
Once the last poor girl was transferred, the carts creaked off with their moaning contents. Still, Li-Jack waited until the ferry was just casting off to leap aboard and settle behind the usual everpresent coils of rope, as prevalent on commercial vessels as it was in the closets of cruel domineering women. The press of white coils against his flesh made Li-Jack think of his sister, Li-June, who had tied him up so tightly over the years. He wondered how she fared, no doubt still hanging in the back garden with all the other ladies in their cocoons of white. He wished he could sit on the grass before her suspended form, mocking her and rocking her, savoring the flash of her mixed green/blue eyes.
The first glimmer of dawn found him slipping though the back streets of Oakland, dodging the parties of tipsy sailorettes and longshorewomen. If one of these randy, leggy parties found him, he'd no doubt be stripped and trussed in quick order, transported to some hideaway where he could be kept as a living sexual toy, to service his captors over and over. He would effectively disappear, as completely as those women had in London recently, vanishing below ground into the hell of absolute erotic usury. Just as dogs occasionally went missing in districts of Chinese restaurants, so mannis went missing in the rougher districts.
But the gods smiled on him and eventually he arrived at his destination, a small train order station / freight house located on the south side of Oakland's rail terminal. Swallowing, he slipped through the door and into the light to find two railroadwomen lounging amid the crates, mailbags and leather personnel transport-bundles. At sight of him, they dropped their idle conversation and grinned like wolves.
“Well, look what we got here. A little manni, all alone in the dark. And here you were, Doris, saying how you had to work on your telegraph skill. What say we strip this little manni down to his skin, tie him nice and tight to the table, then finger him up good and hard? Then, when he's nice and erect, you could practice your Morris code with him. Just tap his rod against his belly, a nice quick touch. I'm sure with him as motivation, you'd be able to rap out lengthy detailed messages in no time at all.”
In silent reply, Li-Jack flicked out his letter, the one he'd gotten in the mail the day prior. The women read it, their faces falling.
“Looks like he's spoken for, and I don't want to tangle with those gals who've claimed him – they're a tough lot. Either way, he's cutting it close – they'll be here in 20 minutes.” With little lust, she ordered, “Okay, manni, strip. Doris, fetch the ropes. We gotta do him up right.”
It was strange to be tied up by someone not his sister or aunt. These two Caucasian girls were rough, no-nonsense types. Unlike the looping, almost artistic bindings his relations forced him into, theirs was a more practical bondage. Instead of single ropes and patterns of knots, they tied him up like some sort of cargo. Standing, he let his eyes close, feeling their strong tugs and inartistic knots as they trussed hands behind his back, his feet together. Then Doris leaned in to hold him upright while her counterpart lashed up his knees, his chest, his belly with thick bands of ropes. Of course, Doris wasn't about to let such an opportunity pass without passion. She looped her arms over his shoulders from behind, pressing her full breasts against his naked back, nibbling an ear, toying with his nipples. And when the other girl stood, she noticed his extending shaft and thumbed it in speculation, almost as if considering keeping him. Caught between these two strong, randy women, it was all Li-Jack could do to not disgrace himself with an accidental discharge. Such a reaction might just set these women off.
But no, eventually he was fully tied and teetering. With that, the two women looped their arms around him and lifted him from the floor, carrying him out into the cool dawn. At the edge of the platform stood a brace much like a hangman's gallows. From this, they looped a special line around his ankles, leaving him dangling in the daybreak. But Doris couldn't help herself, copping a feel the moment her comrade's back was turned, honking his ass like a motorcar horn. Then they were gone, and Li-Jack was left to rock upside down, totally trussed and strung up, head pounding, ropes so tight he could barely breath.
He wondered about his sister and Auntie, and even the French women and sunshine girl. It was unlikely they'd been discovered yet. He wondered how they felt, three hours inverted. It was no longer sexual to them now, simply a tiring ordeal. Still, he'd love to see his sister's purpling face right now, to stand at her side, to reach up and play a finger along the sweeping curves of her upthrust feet. And why not, given the number of times she done exactly that to him. But no, there was nothing for him to do now save dangle in the dawn.
Distantly, a train whistle echoed. Li-Jack's heart skipped.
Then, far down the tracks, a light shimmered along the rails. Growing nearer ever second, a black steam engine approached in a gathering rush. Hanging from the mail pickup hook, there was nothing he could do.
Suddenly he felt a great uncertainty. He remembered the good times with his sister, when she tied him up with sweet firmness, her over-done ropes a statement of ownership. He remembered the honest care for his welfare she gave him when she entered the kitchen and found him in a chair, held in place by Auntie's knots. He remembered her hard yet tinkling laugh when she'd tickle him, pushing aside her hair as she savored his anguish. And then there were the times when guests used him up completely, Li-June was there to loop a warm arm over his trembling shoulders, to guide him downstairs, to gently bathe him, to wrap him up in soft covers and put him to bed.
Suddenly he wanted to return to his sister and the known comforts of his former life. He wanted to lower her from the clothesline, unroll her on the wet grass, and bow as she vented her honest anger upon him, tying him up tighter than he'd ever been tied, locking him into the cupboard longer than he'd ever been kept. But the return would be worth it. He wanted his old life back, but the two railroadwomen had tied him too tight. His hands remained pinioned beneath bands of rough rope, he torso knotted up like sausages. He called out to them, begging to be plucked down and released but now the train was close, its noise overcoming all others.
There came a great wrench and suddenly it was as if he were flying, the ground blurring past. Occasionally he would bump into the rough wood sides of the battered baggage car that had hooked him. Then, mercifully, the door rumbled open and he was pulled inside and placed heavily on his feet.
It was as if he'd falling into some ancient Chinese court.
The inside of the ratty baggage care was festooned with marble, carved paneling and silk hangings. Bright pillows lay in heaps to all sides. And scattered on these pillows, garbed in pajamas of colorful silk, were a dozen Chinese girls, all looking up at him with eyes of flashing delight.
Suddenly a firm hand turned him. He found himself being studied by a older woman cast from Auntie's domineering mold. The elder puffed her pipe, her hard eyes looking over Li-Jack's rope-tensioned torso.
“You Li-Jack,” she stated. “You at pick up point, as agreed. That good. You join my work crew now. You be fitted with golden chains. By day, you fix our track-laying machines, make them better. By night, you keep girls happy.”
Li-Jack could only nod. It wasn't really a deal so much as it was a declaration of ownership. But it was what he wanted.
“Boss-lady,” one of the girls dared ask, bowing deeply, her round face blushing with her own boldness. “May we welcome our new companion to our company? May we hug him in happiness, massage away his hurts, and get to know him... personally?”
The older woman pretended to consider the request, then gave a hard nod. In a delighted rush, the silk-clad girls swarmed over the dangling young man, carrying him off to the corner to where their soft silken scarves, their stimulating oils and their exotic toys were.
The maintenance section leader turned her back on the delighted cooing and manly moans. The girls needed a toy to make them happy, to pass about and use as a stake for mahjong. They needed a pillow-slave like this. The last one they'd had, that leggy black girl... Chespeake? Yes. That had not worked out so well. But this felt right. She could tell the girls would be happy with their new plaything.
And that meant a great deal to her, making her girls happy.
The end, with thanks to Brushslut for the wonderful idea!
09.10.10