Chapter 6: Miss Anna
Lady Petunia filled their glasses with a splash of bourbon, the endless sky visible through the stateroom window at her back. Constance sat in a small fold-down stool, while Captain Zana leaned against the desk, her long rubber-clad legs crossed before her. Once all the glasses were filled, she began her tale.
= O =
I was a quiet girl, very sweet and demure (Hoffsteder and Drummand exchanged glances at this). My childhood was very happy; good friends, Mother's estate to race around on, a phalanx of maids to watch me, and my many science experiments. Mother was never there, of course, as she spent much of her time down in London, at play or plays-I'm not sure which. Still, I was happy enough. That is, until Miss Anna came.
I remember the day well. I had always been interested in women's biology, specifically how it related to the Gai-shift. How had we changed? What was different now? And so I spent my days looking into this, working out a secret elixir made of common household beverages to play off this new biological state and increase women's orgasms. I was careful to record my findings in a notebook in proper scientific methodology. Even in my youth, I was intent in the various fields of science.
That day, I was sitting in my room at my desk. Gina, one of the estate's many maids, was today's helper. I'd ordered the other maids to bind her to the center beam of my room, her upper body a webbing of rope, her knees corded high and wide apart. She sat on her buttocks on the hard floor, her black skirt rumpled around her hips. She was mewing through her gag with the usual desperate discomfort. In the course of my studies, I was quite used to such disturbances.
I'd given her the latest batch of my elixir this morning, pinching her most cruelly to make her drink it. Now, after three hours of captivity, she was showing all the usual signs. Elevated respiration and heart rate. Hardening of the nipples. Moistening of the vagina. She was, to but it bluntly, as hot as a tin roof in summer. This had been the easy part. What was frustrating (equally as much for myself as for poor Gina) was that while this formula permitted great excitement among women, it seemed in inhibit their final climax. They would dangle just short for hours (I'd kept various time charts to this, utilizing a number of different test subjects). And so Gina hung in her secure bindings, wheezing over her tight gag, the ropes creaking as she struggled. But, as in all prior attempts, no concluding orgasm occurred.
"All right, Gina, let's go to the next step." At this, she began to shake her head in desperate negation. I could understand her point-long term molestation without successful conclusion was stressful indeed, but this was science!
I turned to the Mechanical Intelligence device in the corner of the room, one of many Mother had ordered installed a few years ago. It was a standard housekeeper's assistant, its long folding arms able to make beds, move furniture and dust shelves. I'd become quite a wiz at punch-carding and had come up with my own program. After all, working those ticklers and dildos over the long hours caused my arms to cramp. Why not utilize mechanical assistance?
I was standing there, watching Gina groan as the machine deployed its various devices and began thrusting them into her, my eyes to my stopwatch, when this stranger entered. She was a tall willowy woman in her late forties, her face hardened around eyes like black gemstones. I had no idea who she was, but she most certainly did not factor into my attentions. Before me, Gina thrust her pelvis into the thick spinning tickler, desperately seeking her liberating climax.
"I am Miss Anna. Your mother has employed me as your governess," the newcomer informed me directly. Her snake-like glare fell on the struggling Gina. "What is the meaning of such liberties with your servants?" I told her it was a scientific experiment, and she should not interrupt.
This deepened her frown. She clapped her hands, and instantly two maids entered.
"Restrain Miss Goldwaith. Bind her to a chair in the corner." A hard smile. "Without her clothing."
And so the two maids, no doubt enjoying revenge for my earlier experiments upon their tender bodies, bound me as tightly as they could. My flesh bulged at the cutting cords. They'd pulled my arms well back and spread my legs to increase my embarrassed discomfort. Then I was left to while away the long cold hours. Gina, still bound to her pole, moaned in checked frustration, whimpering for the MI to be reactivated, to somehow work her burning body through its dilemma.
And that's how it was from then on. Most days, Miss Anna would order me bound fast in one demeaning pose or another, as an aid to posture, character, or whatever. My notebook, with all its careful data, lay on the table.
Not that she didn't notice it. One day I was bound spread-eagled to my bed, which would have been comfortable had Miss Anna not propped every pillow she could find beneath my spine, arching my back most severely. I could only moan into my gag as she moved about the room, studying my many little things with her cold remote eyes. Then she noticed my notebook. Painfully arched, I could only watch as she reviewed my careful tests.
"Playing at science," she sniffed. "You are no better than those silly mannis, back when they ruled the world. And according your notes, all you could manage was to agitate a female with no satisfactory conclusion. Of what possible good is this?"
I could, of course, offer no explanation, gagged as I was. Still, she carried off my book with her, and returned with it a short time later. My eyes widened. In one hand was my notebook. In her other was a baby bottle full of what looked to be my own formula!
She settled on the bed, her bony hip next to me. A hard cold hand reached behind my neck, working the gag. "And now, my girl, let us see how you like a literal taste of your own medicine."
I whined, trying to keep my mouth shut, but she pinched me in cruel ways, causing me to cry out. And that was all it took. The nipple was rammed between my lips. Slowly, my stomach filled with the sweet liquid.
She replaced the gag and left me alone in my room.
I lay still, hoping that nothing would happen, that she'd mixed it wrong. But she hadn't. Over time, my excitement mounted. I thrust my steaming pussy into the air, grinding against imaginary mannis, my nipples hard enough to pop balloons. I pulled at my ropes, looked at my desperate form in the long mirror, and grew more and more agitated. Nothing would douse my internal fires. Lucky Gina-at least she'd had the MI to thrust things into her. I was isolated, lost, unable to even touch myself. I found myself weeping in agitation. Please, please, someone do me...
Miss Anna came in from time to time, smiling at me as I whimpered for release. I would do anything she wanted, so long as that cold hand fell into my lap, to caress away the hungers of my body. She would just smile her tight little smile, commenting on what a nasty wet girl I was. She dabbed at my pussy with an old rag, making me squeal in frustration. This she tossed into the fire. I was not so far gone to miss the bright flash of blue flame that marked its total brilliant destruction. So intent had I been on my test subject's welfare, I had completely failed to examine their extracts! And silly Miss Anna stood with her back to the glow, ignorant of one of the most important scientific finds of the century.
Not that I could pursue it, of course. Bound wide open and crazed by my body's runaway reactions, I could only grunt piggishly though my gag, pleading for mercy that was, like myself, not coming.
I could hardly think by the time the maids came up in late afternoon to release me. Smiling knowingly at my withering lunacy, they cut away my bonds and backed out the door, giggling. I paid them no heed-I was busy thrusting myself on the bedpost while jamming a hairbrush handle up my ass. I was so hungry and yet I could not sate that craving. It burned on and on.
Finally the orgasm came. I lay on my hard floor, a wet broom handle in my hand, panting. My pussy and anus ached from hours of self-inflicted penetrations. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.
I was awoken the next morning as the hands of devilishly-grinning maids took hold of me. Hanging in their grip, shaking my head, I looked to where Anna stood. Behind her, Gina sorted through coils of ropes. On a nearby table was that accursed baby bottle!
"Your formula has merit, if only as a tool of discipline," Anna declared, gesturing to Gina to advance. "It will allow you to spend the day reflecting on your womanhood."
They forced me to sit on the floor, giggling among themselves as their mistress was brought low before them. I suppose they'd come to resent their role in my scientific experiments and were overjoyed to see the tables turned. In this, they used far more rope than was needed, binding my arms behind me and my legs crossed before me. A loop of rope between neck and ankles forced me forward, a humiliating bow. And then Gina's hand appeared before me, thrusting the bottle between my lips. To force me to drink it, the girls tickled my ribs, causing me to gulp down the sweet, thick fluid.
Once more I felt my passions rise as I sat hunched in my solitude. My pussy seemed to throb like some living thing. Desperate sweat formed on my brow. I moaned to the maids who occasionally paused in the hall to witness my endless torment. I begged over my gag with desperate eyes. If only those slender fingers would whirl over my breasts or cup my wet pouting lips with warm tenderness. I'd even settle for them to activate the MI, so that I would be kneaded and worked like bread in an automated bakery. Anything was better than this motionless pre-orgasmic state.
Once more, they released me in the early evening. Anna watched, smirking coldly as I desperately hammered myself with whatever I could grab. "You are coming along nicely," she told me. "Another month or so of this and you will be a proper lady."
Another month or so of this and I'd be a wreck. But that didn't stop her. Day followed maddening day, the hours burning with the frustration of denial. I hung in various bondages, my emotions flying before the effects of the formula, my eyes crying bitter tears, my pussy secreting gallons of juice. The maids went from laughing at my withering helplessness to something akin to pity. Not a day passed when one of them did not sneak into my room, to clap one hand over my lips to ensure my silence while the other forced orgasms of mercy from my throbbing body.
And I changed as well. In my desperate attempt to win the maid's favor (and their cooling molestations) I lost my standoffish edge. A new Petunia Goldwaith was born, one that was carefree and cheerful and playful. Those German mistress-scientists speak of conditioning, and I suppose that is exactly what this was. Countless hours of pulsing frustration and countless acts of tender mercy changed me. I learned that a woman's orgasm is a wonderful thing, and we are blessed to have them.
Of course, I never did forget that fiery burst when Anna had thrown that rag into the fire. I began to experiment with my own juices at night after I'd been released. The potential combustive power of my body's extract was amazing. I knew I had to examine it further, but that meant removing my cruel governess from the equation. An idea came to mind. A very fitting idea.
Every night, following my desperate self-gratification, I would spend a weary hour or so typing out a new set of punch cards. The weeks of fever-pitch excitement had illuminated a new method of programming, a trick of recursion and reinforcement. In my near breakdown state, I'd realized a break-through. Eventually I was ready.
Anna came into my room the next day, rope-bearing maids flanking her. "Time to tuck you into a nice ball, Dear," she chuckled dryly. "Time to give you your daily lesson in patience." She took a menacing step forward.
Right into the kill-zone.
The MI, reprogrammed by me, swept into action. Its main grapple snapped around her thin waist, lofting her into the air. Meanwhile, the secondary hands worked at her clothing, pulling away boots, dress, and corset.
The machine was doing as I'd instructed. A glowing optical pickup scanned a very pornographic picture of a bound woman I'd found in my Mother's drawer. Its programming was to duplicate it, with Miss Anna as the subject.
Oh, how she cried and shouted, but it did her no good. The ropes she'd dropped were picked up and looped around her flailing hands and feet. More snugged around her tight belly and outlined her breasts. A knotted cord was pulled between her legs, pressing up against her maidenhood. When it was completed, the MI lowered her to the floor, a tightly trussed bundle.
I stepped across her lashed form, looking over the shocked maids. "Looks like a change of management, girls. Any objections?" They exchanged glances, then shook their heads in unison. I gestured to Gina. "The bottle, please. I've got to feed the baby." With it, I knelt over my struggling ex-tormentor, smiling sweetly. "You just relax, you sweet old thing, and let your passions take charge." She opened her mouth to shout and into it I thrust the bottle, forcing her to drink its frustrating draught. After she'd sucked it all down, I jammed a wad of her discarded nylons between her lips, binding it into place with its companion.
I dismissed the maids (I could hear them hovering in the hall, peeking through the keyhole) and returned to my desk. It took some time to arrange my notes and ready myself for the recontinuation of my studies. At least now I had a nice solid supply of test extract.
Anna's desperate grunting brought my attention up. She looked so cute, pink and roped as she was, a desperate bundle of growing sexual frustration. I just had to cross over to her, to kneel at her side and thumb a nipple. She shrieked into the gag at my touch.
"Now you just lay still, Peacock. Little Petunia is going to see you right. You have no worries now. Every day will be filled with pleasure." I cocked a cruel little smile. "Unreachable pleasure." I twirled a finger into her, just to make her blink and squirm, and causing someone to issue an echoing gasp on the other side of the door. Wonderful! I was looking forward to my new studies.
Of course, before we began, I took care that we would not switch roles again. The card deck I copied and placed in the reader boxes of all the estate's MIs. Now Anna would spend her day being passed back and forth from MI to MI, being bound and re-bound, all while my formula perculated within her.
And so her new life began. She was bound in many different ways each day, forced into cruel depravity by unsympathetic MIs. Often the maids would carry her off and play with her. When Mother returned from London, exhausted from her 'plays', Miss Anna would be 'out'. This meant, of course, that she would be lying heavily roped and gagged in the coal cellar, the MIs standing sentinel over her. Mother never looked too deeply into this-she was so tired those days.
Mostly, though, I ignored the various captivities the machines were inflicting upon my governess. I now had more than enough extract for my careful tests. Some of the maids, hesitantly at first, and then with greater boldness, volunteered for a day spent forwarding science. Many a day I'd come down and find one of their number bound tight and firm in a chair, my elixir already coursing through their ever-excited organs. Of course, I never asked if they were volunteers, or simply volunteered. Either way, science was served.
Every so often, I would drink deep my elixir and visit the maid's wing. In their cotton night dresses, they were all too happy to admit me, to bind me up with ribbons and robe belts and work their magic upon me. My studies (and sexuality) intensified. I was coming to realize that the extract, which I had labeled 'Orgasium', was proving to be quite powerful. By cutting it with boiler water, I could increase the efficiency of recombination engines by hundreds of percent.
It's funny, but my original prestige was not derived from Orgasium, but from my programming. A woman friend of my mother's happened to be visiting and one of the machines, more liberal than the others in target identification, mistook her for Anna and ambushed the poor woman as she changed in her bedroom. She was quickly stripped and bound into a nice hogtie. Even worse, some of my dildo driver cards had been left in the slot, so the machine proceeded to sodomize her with a penis-shaped plug over the course of the long night. I was mortified when she was finally discovered, and begged forgiveness while I helped the maids to untie her.
"Never mind that," she gasped, pushing a fatigued fall of hair from her eyes. "How ever did you program your house MI's to do that?"
I showed her and she wrote a contract with me that very day. Yes, I helped co-author that first sexual MI instruction set, the one that caused "Tuesday of the Empty Lanes." Aye, that was the day that the card sets were released. Harrods sold out in an hour. By noon, half the female population of London was bound up in their lofts, bedrooms, and cellars, savoring their captivities. Those that could not get card sets rioted in anger and the police swept in to restore order, nearly running out of rope in the process. By nightfall, the streets were empty. In every house, women grunted into their gags, moaning in the pleasure of extended bondage.
Eventually I went to Oxford, my admission paved with my MI programming efforts and Orgasium. In the summer, I was invited to a small London college to pursue my specialized research. It was located in the old district. Yes, Officer Drummand. Right across the street from your station.
I found the girls to be working on follow-up research to my programming cards. Their basement boiler room always contained some poor girl hanging in the clamps and shackles of their specially-constructed MI. Every night, moans and cries of pain and lust drifted up the heating pipes, frustrating the girls in the dormitory to no end. This had a detrimental effect on the students-every morning we had to search for girls who'd gone missing, pulling them out of cupboards and from under beds, and waste time untying them. I, myself, was occasionally pulled from slumber when desperate female hands clamped over my mouth and eyes, and ropes snared my limbs. How frustrating it is to be carried off to some dim corner, mute, blind, and helpless, and to be tickled and stroked until you'll lick anything in trade for a little return satisfaction. This was a research facility, for goodness sakes, not a harem.
Not that I minded, of course.
So various teams began working on various tasks in rough conjunction. I led the extraction effort for Orgasium, attempting to find ways to extract it in the most efficient manner. Other girls worked in the MI efforts, looking for ways to automate female manipulation. To Officer Drummand, I must note that your commander was sweet enough to allow us to break into the wall of your station-house basement to gain more space, and to couple our calculating engine to yours. Of course, we ran on a seven-slot reader, and yours was six, and that seemed to cause all manner of strange feedback in the programming loops which haven't been fully understood at this point. Needless to say, we quickly came up with a series of device circuits of various difficulties. I must say, the staff quite enjoyed themselves that summer. When those involved were not making experimental circuits of the subterranean machinery, police officers were arresting students, and students were ambushing the police. Quite a 'town vs. gown', that turned out to be.
You seemed surprised, Officer Drummand. Yes, of course. This experimental effort beneath your precinct house is what you call 'The Pit'. What is its purpose? You know, nobody seems to know at this point. Either someone is running the effort from behind the scenes, or the MI has warped-either way, new devices and torments are appearing all the time. I have been told that women have been carried off on frames or overhead gantries, to find themselves in exotic chambers dug out of old tube lines, sewers, or forgotten cellars. And here, strange and knowing abuses are conducted on them. Some of the poor women disappear for weeks.
No, I do not know what goes on in the Pit. Someday, I suppose, it will have to be mapped, explored, and understood.
Still, I should like to experience fully. Wouldn't you, Constance? And you, Zana?
Now you're blushing!
17.02.09
story continues in Gai-Shift 7: Pollywogs
o0o