Chapter 8: High Mistress of Ecuador
"I didn't think you'd be up this early," Captain Zana Hoffsteder noted, adjusting her small glasses. "And what ever have you done to Lady Goldwaith? It's a look that certainly works for her."
Constance Drummand knew she, herself, looked shopworn. Even crisply attired in the black leather skirt, white blouse, and boots of the London Police Force, the weariness shown through. After all, it had only been five short hours ago when Zana finally unbuckled her from the cabin bulkhead, allowing her to crumple to the decking in a post-orgasmic funk. She didn't even remember Petra carrying her to her cabin.
"Lady Petunia's safety is my chief concern," she replied hoarsely. "I've got to do everything I can to keep her safe. I don't want her wandering off." She gave the Lady's lead an illustrating flick.
Petunia Goldwaith was fetchingly attired in a long purple dress with a daring slit that showed off her shapely booted legs. Her arms had been collected into a tight monoglove behind her back, the strapping looping about her shoulders, chest and tummy. She smiled, giggling at Zana's complement, turning this way and that as if modeling.
"Well, keep a good grip on her lead," Zana told the policewoman. "She's got to explain our mission to the High Mistress of Ecuador today. Here's a map of the countryside outside Quito; have the Mistress circle the location of those lost tribes we wish to study."
Constance blinked. Even though she'd had her fill (pun intended) of Zana the night before, with her whirling, demanding fingers, whispering breath, and pouting smile, she'd expected the airship captain to accompany them on their visit to royalty. She made to question it, but Zana cut her off, gesturing to the five naked women sitting bound along the back wall of the bridge. They looked like chickens ready for chopping.
"Its quite impossible to come with you. Our transatlantic flight wore out the five girls on the extraction machines. Lady Petunia foresaw this; these five engineers who managed them will take their place. So we've got to get them all hooked in and calibrated. Until they come on line, Unbound Pleasure has no propulsion. My airship is my primary concern."
"You could put me on it," Petunia purred. "I'm pretty experienced with the equipment. Put Connie on, too. That would be so much fun!". She fell silent as Constance placed a finger on a ball gag hanging from her belt, the meaning clear.
"Anyway, your guide is here," Zana noted, glancing out the forward window. "She's at the foot of the tower. You might as well get started."
Constance grunted. She'd never been to Ecuador and was nervous at the thought. She took it out on Petunia, yanking sharply at the leash, pulling her over the gangway. On the ride down in the mooring mast elevator, Petunia pouted prettily. Constance kept one hand settled on the bright red ball gag, glaring at her charge to give her an excuse.
"Welcome to Ecuador," the slender native greeted them as they stepped clear. "I am Alina, and I shall see you to the High Mistress."
Constance felt her heart quicken. Alina was a beautiful lass, slender and compact, her skin the color of a perfect cup of coffee, her eyes black pools over a sweet little nose. Thick black hair spilled over her shoulders. She was fetchingly clothed in a white blouse and skirt, her trim feet shod with woven sandals whose straps wove a sexual cross-pattern up her shins to just below her knees. Constance eyed the tight bindings and thought it was a good start. If only she could get this little number bound up in her flat in London.
Alina led them from the airship park, walking like a fawn over the grass, her smile a hint of tenderness. Constance followed, with Petunia bobbing on her lead like a child's balloon. The constable noticed that Petunia was openly leering at their guide, no doubt sharing the same thoughts as she.
The entered a street much like London's, filled with women going to and from their various endeavors. Occasional men hurried past, eyes down, passes clutched in their hands.
"What funny lampposts," Petunia noted as they passed onto a stately boulevard that ran towards the distant palace. "No two are alike. Is there some function to their strange shapes?"
Alina smiled. "They are made for a specific purpose. You see, every woman who owns a ganado, or as you say, manni, must place him out for all women to use one day a month. It is considered an act of communal charity. Any passerby may avail herself to this service."
A moment later they saw the concept in action. A poor manni had been bound to a lamppost whose extension braced his arms and legs apart. A woman farmer, a donkey in tow, eyed him from beneath the low brim of her straw hat. A moment later, she'd made her decision, hitching the donkey to a nearby bench. Then, without a glance to the crowds flowing past, she raised her course skirt and shinnied up the man's pinioned torso, only to slide back a wee bit, bringing a look of angelic bliss to her dusky features.
Petunia and Constance were the only ones in the crowded street who took notice of the event. The women who passed ignored the slow rape taking place, their voices carrying over the manni's helpless moans.
"In the idea of cultural understanding...," Petunia began.
"No," Constance told her, taking a firmer grip on her lead. "We've got crown business to attend to." At that, she towed her along. Petunia lagged on her leash, craning back to watch the public display of arousal as long as she could.
They proceeded along the boulevard, passing more lampposts, some occupied, some empty. Constance grew aware of the variety of poles, some with metal bracing butt plugs, some with centering holes, some with hinged cage-like enclosures. She found the concept of donated manflesh interested, but supposed it wouldn't work in her native London. The weather, of course.
They were crossing a square when a low building caught Constance's attention. It had a number of small openings around its walls, and several of these had odd-shaped black balls protruding from them. It was only when she looked closer that she realized they were heads. Living heads! Living heads of women, face up, the sunlight bright upon their white gags!
Alina noticed her attention and detoured to the odd building. "This is an idea put forth by an early High Mistress, and has been in place for decades now. Our women are a hot-blooded race, and often require satisfaction. The public good is served."
Confused, Constance was unable to take her eyes away from a nearby activity. Two women had helped a third to remove her pullover dress. While one of the women carefully hung the dress on a brass hook mounted to the building's wall, the other strapped the now-naked damsel on a horizontal plank. Once the last strap had been snugged home, the gag was slipped between willing lips. At this point, the two women gave their pinioned companion friendly kisses on her gagged lips, then shoved the plank into the building, so that only her head remained. The trapped woman looked into the tropical sky, her brown eyes soft and expectant.
"This structure is one of our city's many passion hostels. Within its walls are teams of professionals. They know how to touch and caress a captive body, toying out a nice fulfilling orgasm. It is the belief of our High Mistresses that a satisfied people are a happy people."
The eyes of the women who'd been slid into place suddenly flashed open. She began to moan into her gag, rolling her strapped shoulders back and forth to some unseen stimulus. Constance watched the proceedings, her nipples hard, her breath coming quick. What would it be like to lie strapped and helpless while unseen yet experienced hands toyed and tormented one's body?
"We have some time," Alina mentioned. "If you would like, I could strap you into place." Dark eyes glimmered at Constance. "It really would be no trouble."
Constance felt the area between her legs grow as steamy as a hot house. Going against every excited instinct, she shook her head. "No... no, not now. We can't... Our mission."
Alina's warm hand settled on her arm, with just a hint of pressure. Her voice was husky. "We have time."
"No," croaked Constance. "No, not now. Perhaps later." It was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling.
"Well, I would certainly like a go," Petunia burbled. A moment later, Constance shoved the ball gag home, buckling it fast amid the spill of blonde locks.
"That's enough out of you, Lady Goldwaith," she muttered. "Alina, we really need to see the High Mistress now." Their guide bowed sad acceptance and led the way. Constance followed, towing the murfing Petunia, watching out of the corner of her eye as some passers-by pulled a lethargic woman from her slot, unbuckled her and helped her to dress. The woman could barely walk. Trying to distract herself, Constance wondered if these public molestation houses lowered the crime rates any. Were women arrested here like they were in London? Or was justice served in this way?
Her musings kept her distracted from her throbbing pussy.
Near the temple loomed a tall pyramid, build in proud remembrance to Alina's foremothers. At first Constance thought it was little more than a public monument. Then she realized it was actually a working facility.
Two woman, their slender forms clothed in bright robes, slowly ascended the steep stone stairs. Across their shoulders was a pole, and from this pole hung a naked manni, his eyes desperately rolling above his wide ceremonial gag. The high sun shimmered on his oiled torso. At the summit of the structure, a number of robed women watched the ascent.
Alina noticed Constance's distraction.
"Oh, yes, our central pyramid. Since the Gai-Shift, we have developed our new pantheon of goddesses, each with a duty towards her people. To honor them, we sacrifice to them, the fruits of a manni."
"Blood?" croaked the police officer.
"Another fluid," smiled Alina prettily. "The ganado will be bound fast to the ceremonial alter and then the high priestesses will being work on him. Beneath the hot sun, the city spread out all around them, they will toy and tease the manflesh before them until the ganado is nearly insane. Only then, when he is at maximum distress, will they conclude the sacrifice. So intense is it that the ganado who has been randomly selected for the honor is not placed on the lampposts for three months."
"Just for men," Constance asked, trying to sound disinterested. Alina's dark eyes studied her, her full lips hinting at a knowing smile.
"Occasionally women are honored thus. I have received such an honor, bestowed for my labors for the High Mistress."
"You... You were sacrificed?"
Alina smiled at the memory. "I did not know it at the time. I only knew it when I awoke to find my night-clothing being stripped away by the priestesses, my hand and feet bound by course hemp. Wadding soaked in some sexually-enhancing drug was forced into my mouth, sealed in by the gag. And then they oiled me, their knowing hands following the curves of my body. Not one inch was overlooked."
"Once I had been oiled, they slipped the pole into place and carried me with honor through the streets. I could only sway, a prisoner in their tender care, as I was borne along. Women stood aside, watching me on my journey to the pyramid, their eyes hungry for such a reward."
"And then the long assent, my bearers whispering to me as we climbed, revealing the things the priestesses were going to do to me, and which I would be powerless to prevent. And then they were all around me, tying me wide and open against the sun-warmed altar beneath the endless pale sky. I could only look from one to the other, seeking mercy where there was none, watching helplessly as they passed the ceremonial dildos and teasers through their ranks. And then it began." For a moment, Alina's eyes were filled with emotions. She blinked away a tear. "Forgive me, but I do not recall what followed. My mind was taken by the rapture."
Constance remembered to breath. Behind her, Petunia moaned, standing in a form of knock-kneed bliss, eyes dreamy over the apple-like ball gag.
"We are now at the palace," Alina noted, regaining her composure. "Come."
"Just about," Constance thought, remembering the airship captain's jape.
Long halls followed, with burnished lanky women strolling in deep conversations. From time to time, palace courtiers hurried past, a manni suspended on a pole between them, being borne to some urgent appointment. And then, finally, the throne room.
The High Mistress of Ecuador lounged on a golden throne whose high backing contained fearsome Incan, Mayan, and Aztec images. She was a tall woman, her long limbs gracefully proportioned, her unblemished skin a perfect shade of bronze. Her face was narrow, her lips sensuous, and her eyes a striking shade of green. Like Alina, her hair was thick and flowing.
"The visitors from England," she smiled, sizing them up. "And what is this bound woman in purple? A gift?"
Constance had only started her bow when she realized that Petunia's ball gag was still in place. At her side, Petunia had placed one round-toed boot before the other, bowing with stunning grace, given her straps and impediments. Constance reached behind the scientist's head and removed the gag as quickly as she could. While Petunia licked her lips, Constance explained the situation as quickly as she could, explaining the woman's passions and hot-blooded nature. The High Mistress nodded sagely at the information.
"High Mistress of Ecuador," the scientist said with a friendly yet officious tone, "I am Lady Petunia Goldwaith, and I come on a mission of knowledge. We wish to see if the isolated tribes of your interior were blessed with the Gai-Shift, as was the rest of the civilized world. Knowing this would allow us to better understand the extent of the shift, and how, if need-be, to maintain it."
The woman on the throne nodded. "I see. We understand your needs, and would be very interested in your findings. There are several tribes that have limited, if any, contact with our peoples. Any one of them would suit." At that, Constance handed up the map Captain Zana had provided. A courtier studied it, then began circling locations. While she did this, the High Mistress noted, "We must warn you that these peoples are very dangerous. We are not sure who rules; men or women. All we know is that trading expeditions sometimes disappear into these regions and never come back. You have been warned."
Constance nodded her thanks, but noticed that the courtier tucked the map into Petunia's pocket, having not returned it to her. Strange. The High Mistress waited, studying Petunia with a warm smile.
"You are so beautiful, my daughter. How I would like to taste you for myself, but alas, such would not fall within the realms of international protocol. Still, your keeper said you were hot-blooded. Did you, by chance, experience one of the passion hostels as you came here?"
Petunia giggled. "No, silly old Connie wouldn't let us see what it was like." A pout. "I did so wish to experience one."
The monarch nodded. "Alina, please take this fair flower to the best hostel in the city and insert her. When she has been serviced, return her to her airship. This one," a nod to Constance, "will stay in our custody for the night. She has displeased us with her treatment of this golden flower and should be punished."
Before Constance could defend herself, countless hands gripped her arms and torso. A wide female hand slapped over her mouth, cutting off all protest. The queen watched with regal satisfaction before asking, aside, to her chief courtier, "That American abolitionist, is she still our prisoner?" A nod. "Very well; see that this woman with hair the color of roses and a heart as cold as a cinder shares her cell. Return her to her airship tomorrow morning."
Constance protested into the hand that muted her, trying to explain that she wanted nothing more than to please and pleasure Lady Goldwaith; the opportunity had just not presented itself. But it was all for naught. A moment later, she was lifted from the floor by coils of strong brown arms. She saw Alina take Petunia's lead and heard Petunia say something about letting Captain Zana know that Constance would be slightly detained. And then she was being carried down long dark corridors by her lithe bearers, their burbling enthusiasms conveying the fate in store for her. Unseen, coppery fingertips pinched one of her nipples. She grunted in frustration into a captor's clamping palm.
05.03.09
story continues in Gai-Shift 9: Chespeake
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