Gai-Shift 3: 'Unbound Pleasure'

by Rohana

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© Copyright 2009 - Rohana - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; F/m; latex; bond; bdsm; toys; cons/reluct; X

(story continues from )

Chapter 3: 'Unbound Pleasure'

Chief Officer Constance Drummand crossed her slender arms and watched the bridge activity as the Unbound Pleasure climbed through 10,000 feet, turning onto yet another new heading. Constance was well out of her normal environment; her slender body sheathed in a rubber airship suit, standing in a gondola reeking of newness, on her way to some lost Ecuadorian tribe. She shook her head in amazement, her short scarlet hair brushing unfelt over her encased shoulders.

Captain Zana Hoffsteder was not one to trust a new airship without familiarization; she had been climbing and diving the zep across the North Sea for several hours, running it hard under all combinations of speed and altitude. Constance watched the slender brunette, her brilliant-blue eyes so icy behind the clip-on spectacles. Her hands rested lightly on the wheel-spokes, the fingers stroking them as Lady Petunia Goldwaith had stroked the strapped, throbbing mannis only hours ago.

The thought of that brought Constance's eyes about. Standing in the rear of the control cab, the lusty blonde sociologist/engineer/bio-technologist stood in her own rubber airship suit, her over-sexed figure so alluring in its tight rubber. If anything, the scientist's breasts seem to call out to Constance, a siren call to fondle and tease them. The police captain shook her head again; she had to keep her thoughts on her job-providing protection for the crown's scientist.

Hoffsteder levelled out of the climb, slender fingers playing up and down the spokes. "She handles well enough. Still, your new engines are... strange. Standard recombination engines run at steady thrust for forty-five minutes or so before boiler injection, reducing the pressure for a short span. Your new engines run at ever-increasing power for two hours, then experience a sharp drop in thrust." She turned to study Lady Petunia with cold blue eyes. "Since I am not allowed up into my own gas envelope to examine these new engines, would you like to tell me about them?"

As ordered by the Queen, the crew of the Sky Groper had been transferred over to the Unbound Pleasure for the transatlantic trial flight, all but the topwomen who normally saw to gas-bag maintenance and engineering. They had been replaced by Lady Goldwaith's handpicked crew, five hard-bitten, no-nonsense women who'd closed off the overhead envelope to any inspection.

"I'll answer your questions soon enough, my Captain," the Royal Scientist smiled contritely. "Luckily for you, I am one to 'kiss and tell'."

Constance found her breath coming quicker at Goldwaith's cupidic stance. Her nipples rose against the rubber flight suit. The situation was making her as horny as a sailor in port. She would have been arrested a dozen times for her obvious flustered state back in London.

Zana, too, seemed disturbed, chewing her tiny lower lip, her brows furrowing her slender face as she looked back at the scientist. Finally she pulled her glance away, calling for her XO. "Petra, see that the off-duty crew is released from bondage. The flight tests are over and they can move about now. Dinner should be served. Navigation!"

A girl at a panel looked up. "Work out best direct course to Quito, Ecuador."

The girl nodded again, selecting the correct cards to feed into the Mechanical Intelligence. Once the cards were fed into the input tray, tiny cogs probed their slots. Moments later, the recommended heading and altitude were presented on a rotating numeric display. The airship dropped to a more comfortable 5,000 feet, bearing out directly across miles of empty ocean, driven across this unimaginable distance in a single leap by the mysterious engines. The captain handed over the bridge to her second in command and departed for her aft stateroom. Constance watched Goldwaith; the blonde leered after the slender captain's departure with obvious lust. A moment later, she left too.

Constance stood at a window, looking down at the cold gray water as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. In the reflection of the glass, she studied this seeming stranger. The rubber suit enhanced her modest figure. Her scarlet hair was a bold strike of color against its blackness, and her narrow face with its bird-like nose seemed severe. She looked like a French Domitrix, the type who paraded their leashed slaves through Parisian parks on Sunday afternoons.

She turned sideways, smiling at her image, studying the narrow hips, the trim breasts, the sharp hard face. What a picture she made, all sleek and slick and dangerous. She imagined inviting pesky Routing Officer Samantha to her flat some evening. It wouldn't be too hard to set up her flat's MI to target the curly-haired moppet who'd copped a fondle while Constance had hung naked in judicial restraints. So there they would be, sipping their tea, when the padded claw reached down and plucked the girl up. Pinned, gagged, helpless, she could only watch in rumpled distress as Constance methodically exchanged her clothing for rope. And Constance knew that it would take a long time, for she would be feeling every inch of Samantha's body as it was exposed. Once her new toy was muffled, bundled, and naked, Constance would slowly change out of her uniform, donning this rubber flight suit. Her dark eyes would flash delightful promises as she toyed with a reed switch, explaining just how bad Samantha had been.

Oh, the things she would do to that girl. She looked into the night and saw nothing, getting more excited with each image in her mind.

Her crotch grew hotter within its sheath of rubber. Her nipples seemed to press against its inner surface like things thrusting for sunlight. With this sort of constant stimulation, it was no wonder most of Hoffsteder's flight crew was bound up at any time. Of course, the suits were only to reduce the chance of a spark. Nothing more.

She stole a glance at the burly Russian XO standing at the helm, looking out into the darkness. Constance knew that all she had to do was give her an opening, perhaps a silly story about concerns of falling out of her bunk, and she'd find herself bound nice and tight in short order. Would Petra see to her, or would she detail other crewmembers, anonymous woman with rubber skins, to tie her down in quivering helplessness? Constance found her breath coming in shaky little bursts at the thought.

But then she considered Petunia Goldwaith. She could remember how delicious that curvy blonde appeared in her rubber suit, and how ready she was to take anyone on. Constance, detailed to the scientist's safety, could easily demand that she personally secure her charge against harm. A little rope, a little more rope, a gag. Couldn't have her overheat in that rubber suit. And one couldn't have her distracted by devious thoughts. No, giving her captive a string of forced orgasms would be serving the crown's interests.

And so Constance turned her back on the flight deck, slipping down the gondola hallway, looking for her ladyship's room. A few doors down, she located it and knocked. No answer. After calling out softly, she opened the door. The tiny cabin was empty, its bed unused, a steamer trunk propped open in a corner, displaying all the lady's delicate corsets. Constance frowned. Where could Petunia be?

Perhaps she'd gone up into the gasbag overhead. She couldn't go up and look herself-Petunia's engineers had the entire envelope locked down. Perhaps Captain Hoffsteder would know. The two had been planning on talking about the new engines.

She walked back to the captain's quarters, located well back in the gondola. Beyond this was the cargo area. She knocked.

A moment, then the door cracked open. Captain Zana, her glasses perched tenuously on her narrow nose, her black hair in some disarray, peeped out into the corridor. Her hand held her bathrobe closed. "Can I help you, Officer Drummand?"

"I'm looking for Lady Petunia. I... wanted to ask her a question or two. Have you seen her?"

Zana seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then she sighed. "Her Ladyship and I were about to discuss the new engines."

"Could I see her?"

Zana paused before offering a fatalistic shrug. "Of course. Why not?"

Constance entered the room and froze. Lady Petunia was no longer in her rubber flightsuit. In fact, she was hardly in her trim teddy. Her breasts bulged against its straining silk, and her crotch seemed ready to burst out at any second.

She had been strapped to the back wall of Zana's cabin, a vertical spread-eagle that left her milling toes clear of the floor. Black straps pinned arms, wrists, thighs, and ankles. A thick belt strapped across her trim stomach, another wedged up beneath her full breasts. A cheery red ball gag plugged her mouth.

Constance turned in confusion to find Zana leaning against the other wall, her bare foot propped against the bulkhead at her back, a long span of naked leg thrusting from the robe's slit. Her black hair spilled over her face, all but hiding the mocking smile.

"This is my airship," Zana said with a husky tone. "As such, I reserve the right to understand how it operates. I could chat with Lady Petunia, but chats can lead to deception, misdirection, or simple fraud. Rather, I had decided to direct specific question to our little engineer, using a bit of duress. Over time, I should have a clear understanding of what drives this vessel."

Constance looked down. On the table at Zana's side was a crafted wooden box, its slotted holders containing all manner of dildos, clockwork vibrators, feathers, clips, clamps, and spreaders. There were devices within that defied the policewoman's imagination.

"It was mother's," Zana explained. "She used it to discipline the maids."

Constance looked back to Petunia. The chirpy scientist was looking at the open box with concern and growing excitement. Constance could understand-to be strapped to a wall in Zana's private quarters while the captain's slender fingers picked through these finely crafted instruments...

"I'd best leave you two to your... technical discussion," Constance stuttered, backing out. Zana watched her departure with a tiny smile. Petunia grunted desperately into her ball gag, but whether if was for rescue or an invitation to stay and watch, Constance couldn't determine.

She closed the door, leaning against it, her breath coming quickly, her tits rock-hard. Through the door, she could faintly hear Zana's "Now, where were we...?"

Constance was so hot, she thought she'd set the airship alight. She considered rushing back to the bridge with her bunk-tumbling story, but what would it gain her? It would be nice to lull in bondage for a bit, to forget all her cares. But Zana's and Petunia's scene had elevated her beyond all that. If she was bound up now, she would simmer in her ropes, slowly going crazy.

She needed some privacy, if only to think (and maybe to masturbate). For some reason, the thought of her cabin did not appeal to her. It was within the captain's domain, and she felt no little jealously for Zana's current fortune. No, she needed somewhere else. Without thinking, she went aft through the final door, into the cargo hold.

The hold was dark yet heated. Beyond its walls, propellers endlessly throbbed. Boxes and crates, supplies for the expedition, lay stacked all around her. She settled on one bench-like box, her blood pounding, her passions alight. Quickly, she slipped open the front of her suit, settling rubberized fingers on her nipple, in preparation for her self-satisfaction. A slight noise stopped her. It was a muffled questioning grunt. From beneath her buttocks.

She looked down at the crate, recognizing it by its Royal Stable seals. Of course. The gift manni.

A slow smile grew across Constance's thin lips.

She cracked the seal, revealing a blanket of straw. She pushed this aside to expose the manni, bound up in a weblike crosshatching of rope, hogtied, hooded, and ball gagged. His flesh was ruddy, irritated by the straw in which he'd spent long confining hours.

Bracing her long legs apart, Constance was just able to haul the helpless manflesh from the crate, to deposit him heavily on the deck. He hardly made a sound, lost in the helplessness of his encasing ropes.

The stable-mistresses had been thorough, their ropework involved and absolute. However, what at first looked to be a very knotty problem turned out to be simple to solve. Key knots would release other knots, which permitted the entire web to be deconstructed in mere minutes. And mere minutes later, Bert51 was groaning in relief on the deck, his hogtie removed. At last he was able to stretch his cramped (but still bound) limbs.

"Hold still," Constance chided, slipping the buckles free and removing his hood. He blinked in the light, looking up at his severely-dressed, red-haired saviour.

Constance saw that this manni was quite the pretty boy. Thick black hair, a squared face, and a cute rounded nose made him quite attractive. Furthermore, he was built well, and his tackle, she was happy to see, truly warranted further inspection. Smiling humorously, she reached behind his head, letting loose the final buckle and plucked the ball gag out. Bert51 worked his jaw, licked his lips, and hoarsely thanked her.

"Oh, where are my manners," Constance chided. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, Milady."

She crossed to the dispenser, filling a small ladle that hung on the nearby wall. He sucked greedily at it. She watched a trickle of spillage run down his irritated chest, tickling over a nipple.

"I'm Bert51, and I thank you for the comfort," he told her as she re-hung the ladle.

"I'm Chief Officer Constance Drummand," she said, kneeling on the deck next to him. "on a special security detail." She looked at him critically, with a tight little smile. "So you were in the Royal Stables. Are you," she paused to look down, "that good?"

"I have been trained," he replied deferentially.

She ran a finger along his flank, tormenting, experimenting. Her eyes flicked in private amusement. "Trained. What sort of training does a riding manni go through?"

"We are not supposed to talk about ourselves. We are unimportant."

"Oh, I don't know about that. A story could be quite interesting." Unconsciously, she leaned in over him, and equally unconsciously, he backed as best he could with his roped wrists and ankles. "I'd love to hear about your life, and how you ended up bundled up in a box of straw 5000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean." She moved forward as she whispered. He crabbed backwards, thumping into the wall.

With his back literally to the wall, he drew his legs up protectively in front of him. "Well, if you really wish to know, I suppose I could tell you."

In Constance's mind was the image of Petunia strapped to Zana's wall, withering before her questions. "Actually," she said, forcing his legs flat to the deck and leaning in close, "I'd prefer it if you didn't willing tell me. I wish to force it out of you."

"But," he replied before a rubber-clad hand slapped over his mouth.

"Too soon," she whispered, muffling him with one hand. The other began to roam his body, a toying fingertip that respected no boundaries. "It's only fun if you try to hold out."

The dark cargo hold was soon filled his muffled manni gasps and wicked female chuckling.

 

05.04.09

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