Chapter 5: Engine Room
"So, Constance," asked Lady Petunia Goldwaith over her coffee cup's rim, "Would you like to see our airship's propulsion system?
Chief Officer Constance Drummand looked up from her small plate of eggs. The three women; herself, the scientist and Zana Hoffsteder, the Unbound Pleasure's captain, were sharing a light breakfast in the rear of the bridge. The morning sun shimmered across the waves of the Atlantic Ocean some five thousand feet below.
The request caught Constance by surprise. Goldwaith had been very secretive as the remarkable new power source that allowed them to fly direct across the Atlantic, rather than the base-to-base hedging most airships made. But then again, the scientist had spent the better part of the evening strapped to Hoffsteder's wall, enduring the captain's patent questioning (and impatient torments). Constance had lain in the bunk of her small cabin, thinking about the dark deeds that were being performed on Lady Petunia's shapely form (and achingly wishing she'd been able to watch), when she'd heard that very woman being carried back to her cabin by Petra, the burly Russian XO.
This morning, Petunia seemed her natural bubbly self. Still, the rubber suits the women wore to prevent sparks also hid whatever marks of restrain or torment her skin might bear.
"I think it would be very good for Officer Drummand to see what you have developed," Hoffsteder remarked, her brilliantly blue eyes flashing behind her small clip-on spectacles. "After all, she has been tasked to safeguard your body."
"I'd like her to do that very much," Petunia drolled, her eyes flashing to the red-haired security officer.
"And, besides, I should like to see this thing as well. I still cannot imagine what you described."
"You could question me again," Lady Petunia noted. "I don't think you used that clever egg-beater device nearly as much as you could have..."
"Shall we," Captain Hoffsteder cut in, gesturing to the nearby ladder.
With Lady Petunia leading, the three women climbed a ladder through the roof of the control car, entering the airship's massive cylindrical envelope. The hydrogen which kept them aloft was stored in huge bags that lined the interior of the vast space.
Five engineers in the employ of the scientist watched their ascent, spanners in their slender hands.
"It's all right, girls," Lady Petunia told them with a dismissive wave. "I'm going to show these two nice ladies what keeps us moving forward."
"And what would that be," Constance asked directly, her patience marginal at the best of times.
"Female orgasms," the scientist cast over her rubber-clad shoulder. "Or, to be specific, near-orgasms." Constance stared after her. Captain Zana smiled at the security officer's confusion, having heard the technical details gasped out by a pain-labored Petunia the night before.
"We are ten minutes from transfer," one of the engineers noted.
"Oh goody," Petunia beamed. "That is always so much fun to watch." Giggling, she passed aft through a small canvas divider as Constance and Zana followed.
They walked a short distance down the length of the inner hull, to where another canvas draped across the access way between the gas-cells. As they approached, a sound became more evident, the sobbing, moaning, and baying of a woman in sexual distress. This was overscored by the shrill piping and clicking of numerous unseen machines. Flanking Petunia, Constance and Zana exchanged glances at the caterwauling taking place behind the foreboding screen. Cocking a merry glance back to the others, Petunia pushed through a slit in the canvas.
Two overhead gantry tracks lead into the enclosed space, both running through the opposite canvas wall towards the airship's aft. They came together in a small overhead turntable. Locked in this turntable were four roller-mounts, from which four chains hung. These chains were attached to four thick leather cuffs which held a poor girl suspended.
She had sweeping reddish-brown hair (Constance could tell it was her natural coloring by the simple expedience of the fact that she was also naked as a jaybird). The chains holding her wrists pinned them together overhead. Her ankle cuffs held her legs wide and exposed. Her cries were muted by a swing-arm gag that was clamped across her lips.
She was surrounded by metal arms mounting devices of dubious intent; dildos, anal rams, feathers, pinches, ticklers, wire-brushes and the like. Slowly the turntable rotated her helpless body about, to face the abuse from new quarters in slow succession. A dispenser snapped a set of butterfly clips on her swollen nipples. A feather swept languidly along her flank. A bristled brush swept across her anus. A probe was thrust into her, clicking back and forth at the end of its cog-arm. As if that wasn't bad enough, a claw occasionally selected pornographic photographs from a stack, images of women abusing other women, and held them before her wet, helpless eyes.
Tears of helpless frustration rolled down her cheeks, pattering across her abused upturned breasts. Slowly she rotated, facing various abuses that changed and shifted as the time progressed.
But one thing remained the same. At every rotation awaited a swollen dildo plug that pulsed and throbbed. Constance felt her breath quicken as it rose into position, bringing a helpless head-shake from the pinioned victim. As it pumped, Constance's eyes followed a thin hose which connected it to a bulb-like beaker. A single drop of clear liquid formed, plopping into a small amount of earlier extract.
"This is the device that makes it all possible," Petunia explained, a similar dildo in her rubber-gloved hand, "Its surface is just frictional enough to promote great excitement. It can contain a vacuum, so not only does it pack the female chamber, it absorbs all its juices. This removes any lubrication, so the body creates more to counter its discomfort and the cycle continues. Of course, this is helped by an orgasm-limiting agent we put in her food, which becomes part of the fluid we extract. Once our pull is compete, the drug is absent from her system and she can finally orgasm. A nice little limitation, wouldn't you agree?"
"And how long she remain on this device?" This from Zana, her voice tight as if her rubber suit was one size too small.
"Two hours," Petunia replied. "Then she'll be rejuvenated for her next pull. There are five women in the circuit, giving each eight hours to recover. That gives us the ultimate in juice extraction." She gestured to the half-cup of clear liquid in the nearby beaker. "This trace amount will keep the airship's screws turning for another two hours. Amazing, the power of biological processing. And we have the Gai-Shift to thank for this."
Constance felt her own nipples swell against the suit's rubber. At her side, Zana stirred, also taken in by the spectacle before them. Both women shared a secret wish, to be placed in the queue for this device, and spend their days driven into gales of lust and release. And to have this done while Petunia Goldwaith smiled girlishly at their helplessness.
And then the hanging woman began to buck in earnest. Tears flew into space as she shook her head in frenzied excitement. She was quivering in vibrant stimulation, her abdomen trembling. Her sobs echoed around her gag as the long-delayed orgasm mercifully carried her emotions away. From one of the machines came a ring of a bell. "Transfer," Petunia told them, eyes flickering. "Come, let's go see the rest of the process."
Constance found it hard to tear her eyes away as the devices pulled away and the chains ratcheted upwards, bringing the abused beauty up to hang horizontally beneath the track, arms and legs joined overhead. The turntable moved about, and slowly she was borne from the room. Petunia paced her progress, passing through the next canvas barrier.
Constance found her eyes crossing the chamber to where the processed woman still trundled aft. But at a gasp from Zana at her side, she focused on what was immediately before her.
"The is the pre-extraction station," Petunia purred. "We call it the ready room."
Beneath the closer gantry track was a raised dias of leather. A compact woman of Indonesian descent lay on this broad surface, her chains holding her as spread as a small brown star. A ratcheted gag was clamped over her mouth.
Around her head were an array of shining disks, and Constance realized that these were a series of one-way mirrors that would permit the poor prone girl to observe the extraction beyond the curtain from all angles. She could only lay there, watching the gradual molestation of the woman before her, knowing that in a short time she would hang within that circle of grim devices while some other women watched in horrific anticipation.
But Constance could tell the viewing had an effect on the dusky woman. Her dark-brown nipples were erect and the pelvis hair glimmered in expectation. A moment later, the machines that awaited her presence were cleaned and ready. The dais chain clips released and she was drawn into space, her gag snapping free. She struggled and cried as she was swept through the curtains, lost from view of the three women. There was a moment's pause, and then the devices began to hum as if excited in their own rights, and there came a muffled crooning as the first of the teasing toys brushed expectant flesh.
Immediately following this, a woman swept in from the opposite side, a blonde with long facial features. She saw the leather dais and the awaiting gag, and beyond, the poor Indonesian being probed and pinched. Her eyes lit on Lady Goldwaith.
"Please," she cried in a faint German accent. "Do not force me to endure your devices! I shall lose my mind this time! I can stand this torment no longer!" A moment later, the chains dropped her neatly onto the leather padding and she was drawn spread-eagle. The gag clipped over her jaw and forced her eyes on the dreadful reflected images.
"Of course you can stand it," Petunia smiled, stepping forward to pat her on the head. "You love it. You enthusiastically signed up after preliminary testing." She brushed a kiss on the captive cheek. "Just remember how sweet your orgasm will be."
Constance felt her knees trebling and might have fallen had not Zana grabbed her forearm. "Steady," the captain told her.
"More to see," Petunia bustled, leading them onwards. "Come come!"
"More like cum cum," Zana muttered. Constance could only nod.
They were lead into the next chamber, one with three casket-like boxes, two of which were sealed. The third was opened, its soft inner padding visible. It looked nice and snug. The gantry tracks were split overhead, one over each box. Chains draped to the two sealed boxes, passing through slits in their lids.
"And this is where my girls recharge. They sleep off the effects of their ordeal while the drug takes effect within them. When they are hauled out, they are excited yet checked, perfect for prolonged stimulation." To illustrate her point, she slid aside a viewing panel in the nearest box. Through the smoked glass, Constance could just make out a winsome brunette curled up in womb-like sleep, her cuffed hands held so sweetly before her. On her face was a sated smile, reflecting her pleasant dreams and her body's processing of the orgasm-drug.
Captain Zana noted: "I have lost sight of the redhead we observed being processed. You mentioned that she is being serviced before being put to bed."
"That is true," Petunia confirmed. "This way to see the final component in my processing cycle."
They passed through the last curtain into the final area. Here, the tracks curved through a 180 degree curve. Poised in the curve, the red-haired woman hung wide in her chains. Machines were moving around her. As they watched, an anal/catheter plug was shoved into place. Simultaneously, a feeding tube capped with a penis-like head was pressed between lulling lips. A moment later, the feeder hose began to pulse as nutrients (and the wonder drug) were fed into her. While this took place, arms with sponges dabbed at her cooling flesh, wiping away the sweat of her recent exertions. Other arms, tipped with rubber-gloved fingers, massaged her arms, legs, and back, loosening muscles that had so recently trembled in agitation.
"I have one of these massage-units in my mansion," Petunia noted primly. "It's very relaxing. If anything, I need to leave orders with my maids to physically pull me from it after an hour, lest I spend the entire day in it."
Constance could only nod. She was having a hard time taking it all in.
"So that's it in a nutshell," the bubbly scientist told them. "Once she's serviced, she'll be carried to her casket and settled in for five hours of sleep. Then to the dais, to watch the interesting display. And then, extraction. So, any questions?"
"Are you sure this is safe for the girls," Zana asked. "It seems so... intense."
"During our testing, one of the more nervous girls suffered a breakdown. I, myself, took her place. I went through the processing for ten days, which is something like twenty-five cycles. It was quite moving. I rather enjoyed it."
In her mind, Constance could only imagine Petunias rounded form being pulled from her sleeper box, to plunk down on the dais and witness a prolonged mechanized assault. And then, to be lofted into place amid the machines. How her body must have trembled as the brushing, the stroking, and the thrusting began...
"And you, Officer Drummand. You look deep in thought."
Constance shook her head to clear it of images of Petunia being rammed, pinched, and brushed. "How ever did you develop such an idea?"
Lady Petunia Goldwaith strode through the numerous canvas walls, beaming at the women who hung from restraints in situations of her devising. Over her shoulder, she said, "Let us retire to my cabin. There, we'll share a drink and I'll tell you a little story of my past."
17.02.09
story continues in Gai-Shift 6: Miss Anna
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