To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Chapter 11: Dangling Like Fruit
- with thanks to SkyHawk7x
April 22, 199_
Awake rested and sated, my poor black play-slave (i.e. Chespeake) groaning as her bound thumbs and toes are cut loose. Her relief is only temporary – following breakfast, her arms are re-trussed with baggage across her shoulders and back. She must remain our captive if only to maintain discipline over our three bearers.
We move into the dense jungle, Adara and Teak scouting ahead, followed by Jumbe, Pili and Mosi. I follow the generous buttocks of the latter, mesmerized by their sway. I wonder if these simple native girls understand the subtleties of cultured captivation and fantasize what it would be like to be in Mosi's power. Her round, leering face. Her aggressively simple molestation. And with our language barrier, there would be no chance of talking her out of anything.
Watching her puts me in the mood for more dark meat, namely the captive, burdened Chesapeake who bobs behind me on her lead.
Finally, night and camp. The jungle screams around us like a hysterically climaxing woman. I quiver in fear (and other things) against my bound bed-mate. The things we do to maintain discipline.
April 23, 199_
Overcast and calm. Very difficult to move through the dense jungle, even given the hacked path Teak and Adara leave for us. I notice Pili, the little glasses-wearing bearer, fingering a cut vine and looking back at me with something like calculation. This girl has been hired to help us move our gear, nothing more. She should not entertain such thoughts.
Still, I cuddle with trussed Chesapeake every evening. Perhaps I am giving this simple bearer ideas? Must be cautious around her, and not be caught alone in her presence. The jungle is filled with rope-like vines and sticky, tape-like fronds. There are more tools of bondage within simple reach than Lady Goldwaith's Willie Hall. It would not do for either native girl, the thin or thick, to gain advantage over me. I could find myself vine-roped, leaf-gagged, tossed over a lusty shoulder and carried away to some sinister fate.
Tempting, but I have objectives to complete. For our party, the discovery of the source of those carbon-aligned diamonds and the missing Doctor Stone. For our companions Kate and Petunia, their release from whatever mechanized devices hold them. For my temple, the establishment of a convent mission to facilitate another ten thousands shuddering climaxes to Astarte.
April 24, 199_
Midday – Adara stumbles back to our line of march, her clothing gone, her cheeks flush, her eyes burning with mad lust. Her hands are slick from masturbation - she's had a dose of elixir!
“Teak... Teak's gone!” she manages, her hands abasing her own body. We stand numbly, watching the impromptu display.
“Quick, tie her up before she hurts herself,” Chesapeake orders, her own torso roped up and load-laden. I realize she's looking at me.
Drop diary-
=< O >=
All is in control now. I am sitting against a tree, still-naked Adara cradled between my knees, moaning against my shoulder. I've used vines to bind her wrists behind her back and her ankles together. Now I'm toying with her nubs and muffin, coaxing the elixir slowly out of her. This could take hours.
Chesapeake sits across from me, still bound to her load. The three native girls watch my manipulations with hungry eyes.
Adara moves in my arms like a swelling sea. “Poor Teak... oh yes, there, harder...”
I comply. Adara nibbles my earlobe in gratitude.
Elixir is an abomination! I only hope Petunia Goldwaith is suffering its effects this moment. I work over Adara's flushed body with care and competence, pinching jutting nipples, fingering her heat-steamed snatch. But no climaxes rise because of the elixir's nullifying properties. The goddess Astarte is being cheated that which is owed her.
Adara begins to slur out a story, one punctuated with moans, groans, and diary-upsetting hip-thrusts. I work to make her ramblings concise while I simultaneously coax her lush passions. Poor, poor girl.
According to the quivering journalist, she and Teak were scouting out a possible passage between two steep ridges, seeking an easy path through the dense growth. They were just moving forward when suddenly Teak tumbled forward onto mossy loam, her ankles tangled by vines. Adara had laughed, starting forward to help her fallen command, only to fall herself. She looked down her body to find her own ankles tangled up in vines, vines which were visibly tucking into tight order, less an accident, more a bondage. An instant later, confirmation came as they were winched into the air, dangling like fruit.
The artificial nature of these foliages was readily confirmed as more vines lashed in. The two inverted girls found themselves striped quicker then a manni in a stalled elevator. In short order, all of their gear and clothing, even their boots, had been cast into the brush. The vines had repositioned themselves; the girl's legs were now wrenched apart, their flailing hands looped tight and anchored to the forest floor. Heads pounding, they dangled like pink 'Y's in the mottled light. Overhead, monkeys screamed in hysterical amusement.
“Oh, bloody hell,” a red-faced Teak had moaned. Adara followed her gaze to see two vines hoving in, each gripping a plucked fruit the size of a cantaloupe (yet strangely bright blue). Teak's misgivings were quickly confirmed; the fruits were raised in front of their flushed faces, the vines contracted, and moments later the fruit ruptured, showering the girls with sticky, pulpy innards. Adara blinked, her face gummy and rind-spattered. A moment later, everything about the situation took on a lurid erotic notion and she realized, with horror, that the tart interior of the fruit was loaded with Goldwaith elixir! She'd been dosed!
In moments, the effects began to grip Adara. She found the sight of her suspended, breached companion to be most erotic. Every struggle of the dangling girl caused her jut-nippled breasts to sway. Every shift of her hips was an inviting sexual grind. Had Adara had her freedom, she would have climbed the girl like lanyard, burying her face between the invitingly spread thighs, feasting from the steaming buffet. But she, herself, was danging in her own set of pinioning bonds, her own travails triggering Teak to curse a streak more indigo than blue. Neither girl could take advantage of the other, and their struggles gained nothing save breast-heaving excitement. And so they shook and shuddered in drugged desperation.
But not unseen. Gradually small monkeys – living creatures, not clockworks - began to descend towards the upended unfortunates, ignoring the shouts and shoos. Without effort, the lithe jungle denizens slipped down the artificial vines to cling just above their exposed, tender feet.
“Oh no,” Adara gasped. “Oh, shoo you terrible little beast! Shoo! Go away!”
The wicked little fingers began to wiggle and whisk along the raised soles. If anything, the small nimble fingers were far worse than a larger human hand. With cruel dexterity, the creatures delighted in their game of mocking dominance. Inverted, their arms anchored to the ground, the two girls could only tremble in hysterical laughter.
Adara found herself worried, as she shrilled in frustration, that she might die from the ordeal. The suspension already placed great physical pressure on them. Now wicked little hands danced across their soles, along their ankles, across the ranks of toes. They were screaming now, screaming directly at the ground, their bodies arched in suspension, their breasts thrust, their feet windmilling. But it could not stop the mischievous play. The clearing echoed from Adara's phrenetic giggles and Teak's coarse guffaws.
Recall, I must add, that the two were elixired, their sensations magnified. Who among us would wish to experience a fate such as this?
My pencil pauses as I consider it.
It seems these monkeys enjoy tormenting their larger cousins, that they loiter around this trap to play their cruel tricks upon the upended feet presented them. I find myself wondering how many native girls had stumbled into this glade, to be looped up into suspended ebony glory, struggling and fearful. Then appear their little tormentors, who run their tiny fingers along the pink soles, to delight in the sobbing perturbations they cause.
It must have been a lot of victims. From what Adara implied, they were quite skilled at it. Much practice.
I break from my story to work Adara with both hands (I'm writing this afterwards), attempting to distract her from the horror of what she endured, to force the elixir from her body. She writhes in my arms, thrusting into my efforts, attempting to rid herself from this maddening sexual urge that burns like napalm in her veins. Across from us, Chespeake and the three bearers watch my efforts in hushed silence. I come close to forcing a climax from the journalist but it eludes her. She sobs in my arms, then (as it to distract herself), picks up her story, eyes tear-wet, voice trembling.
The monkeys suddenly fled. The two girls hung, gasping as fish suspended on a quay, lusted and languished. Adara was just beginning to wonder about their departure when suddenly she saw several ominous bulbs raise up from a carpeting of fronds nearby. These bulbs, brightly colored in whorish scarlet, floated on their stalks towards the wide-eyed, panting girls. Gradually it became apparent they were focusing on Teak Merrywell, moving towards her with sinister intent. The red petals opened, some exposing phallic pistils, some puckering lips.
“Don't let them take me, Adara. Don't let them bloody take me!”
But Adara, with standing nipples and gleaming twat, could only watch in helplessness. And, she admits, with a certain voyeuristic expectation.
Like snakes, they struck!
The first slapped its wide leaves across her buttocks, its extended pod driving deep. This caused Teak to involuntarily thrust her hips forward, just in time to receive the jutting stab from forward. Taken fore and aft, her eyes flashed open and she bellowed, “Bloody-” and was instantly silenced by the third, which drove its pistil between her teeth, its wide fronds looping around her head, muffling her with its tight embrace. The pucker-mounted bulbs moved in next, locking on her breasts, moving up and down her flanks and inner thighs, planting sultry sucking kisses across her agitated flesh. Teak's body, hooded, plugged, inverted, assaulted, could only thrust about in its hangings. One can only image (with a rush) the sensations that were churning though the racing blood of the poor thief.
Adara, hanging in parallel with the flash-impassioned girl, could only watch in wonder as the foliage-frenzy went on and on. While Teak couldn't react, not conclusively, against the lusts churning her emotions, it was clear the mechanisms assailing her weren't seeking that. They were simply working to confuse her with her own passions, to turn her into a drooling catatonic sex-slave, one they could easily incorporate into some greater, more sinister plan.
Such soon because apparent. When the bulbs finally dropped away, Teak Merrywell was nothing more than a sweat-soaked, doll-limp, hyper-confused object, a pink lulling thing that was lowered towards the center plant nub whose gum-sticky maw was yawning to receive her. Fronds as large as surfboards, as strong and compressing as Sjefke canvas, wrapped up her heel-high form, giving her a final slow compression, confirming its domination over her. Then, slowly, she was compressed like paste from a tube, pressed through the vaginal hole into the subsurface bulb that would now contain her. From there, Adara could only guess. Perhaps she was being further manipulated, tormented in a dark sticky womb. Perhaps chili were tickling her trembling flesh. But eventually the maw gaped open, open wide and say ahh, and she was gone, probably carried through underground transportation systems to further processing.
Now the bulbs were coming for Adara, intent flashing in their non-existent eyes. The limb-wrenched journalist could only watch, leaning back as they surrounded her.
“Avast mooring!” she shouted. And then she was rolling free across the soft mulch, the vines now limp, the bulbs drooping-
=< O >=
Adara, nuzzling beneath my chin, has to be coaxed to explain this. It turns out when she was held prisoner in the Pit, she'd been selected by Pitinna (the true ghost in the machine) to work up a book that would generate top-side interest in the forceful delights the MI's had to offer. Transported to a secret inner sanctum, an artificial garden of true Eden, she'd been supplied pencil and paper and permitted to interview the MS (Mechanical Sentient). It was a tense assignment, the grass tickling along the edges of her feet, the vines swaying ever closer, the great lust-blossoms gaping in hunger for her body. But one of the anecdotes related involved how a certain airship captain, Zana Hoffsteder, had entered the pit seeking a missing crewmate and had recognized her captivating vines from their original use, that of mechanized mooring lines. The poor captain had been looped in even-tightening coils which squeaked across her black rubber airship suit. Pitinna's essence lusting over her plans, the tight long-term bondage, the slow pealing away of the suit, the eager robo-dildos that would surround her now-pink captive like a school of piranha, ready to dive into their multi-orafaced feast. It was then the resourceful Zana had called out the shutdown command, one that left Pitinna danging in disruption, watching in frustration and the rounded black-sheathed buttocks vanished up a ladder and through a womanhole.
Within days, all the older systems had been replaced.
Thus Adara Burke, remembering this distant story, played her only bluff, hoping these African MI's were of the older model, which it turned out they were. Too late for Teak Merrywell, but she was in a better place now (I visualize her fetal-positioned secretion-wrapped form being carried along a conveyor belt to where distant sexual devices warm up in craven anticipation of her arrival). Adara must be considering this, too. She senses my hardening nipples beneath my thin habit and nips one with her pearl-like teeth. Hard to write. Hard to concentrate. She is now ready. Let me deal with her-
=< O >=
An hour later. Adara lays naked yet unbound, slumbering, her last shuddering climax harvested. I carefully wipe my hands clean of all traces of Orgasium, tossing the rag into the fire where it bursts into a blue-white ball of rolling flame (hopefully convincing Jumbe and her girls of my powerful 'magic' (a magic caused by the explosive secretions elixir produces though the female reproductive glands)). We must preserve the natives' awe for us for now our party numbers three, myself, Adara the journalist and Chespeake the pseudo-slave.
Dinner is a glum affair – we actually miss Merrywell's boisterous profanities. The giggling bearers ask permission to tie Chespeake up for the night and we agree, curious (even Adara has recovered enough to watch). What a sight – three black women, creatures of this harsh land, roping up our lanky black translator with long vines. Their bondage is Chinese in a way, her hands boxed behind her, her arms corded up, her entire torso encased in a patterning of bindings that set forth her perfect breasts and trim belly to best effect. Adara and I watch their skillful ropework, mesmerized. My companion ponders how they learned these Oriental styles. As Madagascar was originally settled by Asians, not Africans, perhaps this form of bondage art came at the same time, transported west over countless years and countless struggling maidens, across the African continent.
Then they are done, Chespeake is a sight to behold, vine-roped, cross-corded, looped up and roped-away, less a lustful black woman than an orderly bundle. It seems a shame to disturb her so we leave her as is, settling in for sleep.
As I close this entry, I hope the Goddess will smile on us tomorrow.
19.03.11
story continues in Gai-Shift - Out of Africa Chapter 12: Foul Treachery!
o0o