Chapter 9: Chespeake
Lady Petunia Goldwaith smiled into the cloth gag that had been lovingly forced between her pearl-like teeth. She was laying on her back on a smooth plank, belts holding her amply-curved body fast. She'd been slid like a drawer into the wall of the passion hostel. From a hook at her side hung her purple dress, her boots, her corset, and the monoglove Constance had forced on her that morning. And now Constance was detained in the palace of the High Mistress of Equator, while she was waiting with expectation for... well, for whatever would happen next.
She cranned her head to look around. None of the women on the busy street seemed to take any particular notice of her, any more than they noticed any of the other coppery beauties, strapped to similar boards and rolled into similar slots, by various friends and well-wishing passers-by.
Alina, her guide, sat drinking chocolate in a nearby outdoor café, her long crossed legs exposed so nicely by her white dresses' slit. Her dark Andean eyes glimmered as she watched Goldwaith with warm fascination.
There came the slightest of touches, an unseen hand on her thigh, and the hint of a hushed conversation behind the curtaining wall. Petunia realized that the professional molesters within had evidently just noticed her blonde pubic hair and pale skin, so exposed before their wondering eyes and fingertips. A pause while they discussed this interesting development. And then fingers, warm and knowing, began to work along her flanks, tracing the straps, the curve of her hips, and the swirl of her nipples. She hummed in delight into her gag, catching Alina's knowing smile. Wonderful. Woooonderful!
Her last conscious thought was a wish that Connie was being treated as nicely.
Officer Constance Drummand hung from her chains in a dank palace dungeon. She had been stripped naked by her giggling attendants and thrust into her shackles. Her wrists had been manacled above her head. Worse, other bands had been locked just above her knees, lifting them high. And so she sat on the cold stone floor on her cold hard butt, her legs spread wide, her arms locked overhead, helpless.
She looked around the large, empty expanse. Columns fell through the darkness, with occasional flickering torches thrusting from them like branches from trees. The far end of the vast room was lost to view.
And then she realized something was moving in the darkness.
A woman drifted up, a woman whose wrists and ankles were loosely linked in tinkling chains. She was black, the ebony body beneath the rags long and hard, her face broad, sensual, and knowing. Green eyes glittered in the torchlight as she looked down, with a mocking little smile, at the new arrival.
"And just who might you be, my pretty little redhead?"
Constance blinked at the American accent. Then she remembered the captive American Abolitionist the High Mistress had mentioned. Putting on her best official face, she replied, "Chief Officer Constance Drummand, of her Majesty's Metropolitan Police."
The woman nodded at the gruff reply. "And you can call me Chespeake. And it looks like I'm in charge, my little friend."
"We're both prisoners," Constance noted, uncomfortable in looking up at the standing woman. Chespeake smiled at the other's observation, and with a slow motion, brought her foot up to trail through Constance's open and exposed sex. The officer winced at the sexual familiarity of the contact. The dark woman smirked at her visible discomfort. With trained motions, she kneaded and pressured the other's flesh in the most disturbing manner.
"The way you are chained, and the way I am chained, I'd clearly say I have the upper hand." A smile, and then a slight pressure of toes trailing across soft and sensitive skin. "Or foot, if you'd prefer."
"You're... you're an American," Constance trembled, trying to distract her tormentor. "An abolitionist, so the High Mistress claimed. Is that true? And if so, how did you end up here?"
Chespeake folded her long limbs, settling within the officer's outthrust legs. "Of course its true. I'm a slave who is also an abolitionist."
"I didn't think America had slaves."
"Some. That war those mannis' fought about it was a century ago. Now it's coming back. And I'm one of them."
"How did you get to be a slave," Constance asked, a little uncomfortable with how the closely the lanky Chespeake was sitting to her.
"I signed my first slavery papers years ago, consigning myself to a woman of means in Washington. Her name was Anne, and she was a delicate brown-haired woman who enjoyed keeping me. I was placed into maid's clothing, with shackles similar to these. During the day, I would clean her house to perfection. In the evening, I would carry drink trays in her frequent parties. And at night, she would buckle me into her bed, to use as a bed warmer." Chespeake's broad lips broke into a sad smile. "And a tongue-warmer, as well. Its amazing either of us could function the next day, given the gymnastics that woman was capable of.
"Some days, through, she would play like she was disappointed in me. Those days, I would remain bound tightly to a chair, or down on the cold basement floor. Anne would prolong the final punishment, either pacing about (so I could hear) or lecturing me in the sternest manner. Her punishment was always bracing. And well-rewarding.
"But then things changed. She started taking me out with her some days. And at night, the belts were often not used. She hardly ever tied me up, and when she did, she left the ropes loose. It was then I realized that she'd fallen in love with me; I was no longer her slave, but her companion."
"How nice," Constance replied empathetically, visualizing the caring, loving Anne.
"I hated it," Chespeake spat. "I was her slave. She had no right to not tie me. So I ran away. I think that infuriated her, because she put out an arrest warrant. I was later recaptured in Iowa by a farm family. A stern mother and her three bookish grown-up daughters. The mother threatened to turn me in if I didn't become their slave. I was only too happy to submit".
"And so I took up farming. Long days of honest work. In the evenings, they would come up with interesting rope harnesses that would permit me to do limited house cleaning with some rather interesting chaffing. They would sit around, the mother pretending to knit, the daughters pretending to read, while I moved about, ropes creaking as I did my tasks".
"Eventually she decided that I could provide an educational service to her daughters, who were quiet and bookish because of their isolated environment. The mother took to binding me up in one of their beds each night. With brisk, no-nonsense motions, she would wrap me in rope from head to foot, stretched diagonally across the bed, anchored to the opposite bedposts. Later, the daughter-for-the-night would come in, her eyes flickering with interest in the light of the hand-held candle. She would settle into the corner of the bed, her feet drawn up so fetchingly in her nightshirt, and look at my long, bound, naked form. At first, I might spend the entire night bound like a sausage before her, with her watching me for long hours. But as time passed, they began to loose their lonely ways. They would enter, as reserved as always, but quickly they would slip down next to me, hugging my roped, helpless body. Have you any idea what that's like, to lay there like some sort of offering while a young, hungry maiden learns to gnaw at your tits, finger your twat, and tickle your feet? Lord, there were nights when I screamed into my gag at the ceiling, praying for deliverance as their industrious little fingers played over me. And as if I had anything left, in the morning their mother would have me while unbinding me, playing with my flesh as each rope dropped away, lapping away with her tongue like a kitten in cream."
Constance thought back to her night with Zana, with her cosmopolitan tastes and distant molestations. One night had been heavenly hell. What would that be like, night after night?
She hoped Chespeake didn't notice how hard her nipples were growing.
"But then things started to fall apart," Chespeake continued. "The daughters grew greedy for me. Each day, one of them would ambush me, bind me up in a cruel, knowing fashion and drag me off through the dust. I'd find myself pegged to the ground among the rows of corn, or hogtied in the hayloft, or hanging suspended in the well. And every time there would be a quiet little daughter attending me, her touches demanding, her hunger insatiable. I'd try to talk reason to them, but as always, I was gagged. And so knots would creak, tongues would wiggle, and orgasm would follow orgasm".
"The mother took to blaiming me, either tying me up in for punishment or burning my sexual drives out by repeated servicing, if only to deny me to her daughters. This just made them try harder, pushing me and punishing me when I couldn't satisfy them. The farm began to suffer."
"Then one night after my chores, the mother tied me up nice and tight. However, instead of putting me into one of her daughter's beds (or her own closet, as was lately becoming the norm), she tossed me over the back of a mule and transported me across the fields. The farthest part of their property bordered the railroad tracks, and she dumped me onto the ground next to these. She drove a stake into the ground and looped my ankle lead to it. Then she knelt next to me, looking sternly down at me, the moonlight turning her hair to silver".
" 'Chespeake, you've done us well with your service, but now my daughters are growing too fond of you. That's why I'm staking you out here like a goat; tomorrow a work train is coming by and I'm wagering their crew will see you as the gift you are and carry you away. But before you go, there's one thing I'd like you to do for me.' And damned if she didn't rustle up her skirt and settled down over me, forcing me to service her with my tongue one last time. Afterwards, I remember how wet my face was with her juices and my tears as we kissed, just before the gag went in. I couldn't tell her that I was her slave, and she couldn't do this to me." Chespeake's eyes grew hard. "But she did."
Constance tried not to think of what Chespeake's words were doing to her. Could her heart beat any faster?
The work-train showed up at dawn (Chespeake related), a rusty steam engine with a string of sway-back cars. It squealed to a halt, its crew dismounting. The abandoned ex-slave found herself looking up at them with silent wonderment.
They were Chinese, descendants of the coolies who had laid the transcontinental railroad. They looked down at her, a ring of doll-like faces, sweet and innocent beneath their conical straw hats, their tiny frames clothed in traditional robes and tall sandals. They giggled down at her, a gaggle of curious, young femininity. A moment later, the work-train boss, an elderly Chinese lady as hard as the spikes her crew drove into ties, stepped out. In quick mandarin, she ordered the ankle rope cut and Chespeake brought aboard. A moment later, the train was gone, the tracks near the fields empty. From the distant farmhouse came the sound of weeping.
Chespeake found herself in her element again. She was quickly fitted out with some ankle chains and put on the crew. Every day, they replaced worn rails and cut weeds. It was hard work, but satisfying. At night, she was brought aboard the train, curious in that it was shabby on the outside, a Chinese palace on the inside. It was like being in a long narrow version of the Imperial palace.
When the whistle blew quitting time, the flock of giggling girls would descend on her, lifting her bodily and bearing her inside. The uniqueness of her black skin held the others in thrall, and they quite enjoyed bathing and grooming her. Once she was dried, she would be bound up with strips of sheer silk, so sensual against her tingling skin. Then, while she watched in gagged attention from a mound of pillows in the corner, the girls would play mahjong for her company. Every night was a variation of the same story; the losers would good-naturedly bear her to the winner's sleeping alcove. She would be placed on the soft coverlets, still bound, still helpless, as many sets of almond eyes looked her over one last time. Then the winner, lithe and tanned, strong and winsome, would climb into the alcove with her and draw closed the curtains. "Me glad me win," the girl would confess. "Me so horny tonight. You put out my fires." And then small, strong hands would force Chespeake back, and the girl would descend over her.
"Until one night," the American growled.
She woke in the darkness. At the far end of the bed, two of the girls were just finishing up lashing the mahjong victor in tight silk bindings. Her recent lover looked to her in sad longing, tears welling up in her dark eastern eyes. Then, sparing only enough time to remove the tiny silver butterfly clips and withdraw the obscenely-carved butt-ram from her, they carried her from the alcove. In silence, she was lowered to the floor of the car and instantly rolled up in a thick oriental rug. Moments later, the two girls, the captive anchored under their strong arms, dismounted the train.
From her tiny cylindrical viewpoint, Chespeake made out that the train was stopped in San Francisco. Urban scenery scrolled past, eventually replaced with that of dockyards and ships. Haggling ensued. Chespeake realized that the defectors were planning on escaping back to their Chinese homeland, carrying her off into eternal bondage!
A moment later; shouting! Thankfully, the thick rug prevented serious injury as she was dropped. More noises, dropping to silence. And then she was unrolled.
The other work-train girls stood around, dark eyes glimmering in the starlight. At their feet huddled her two kidnappers, now bound, fearful of the revenge that would soon be visited upon them. And before them all stood the forewoman, her eyes flashing in anger. With her clay pipe, she gestured to her two lieutenants to lift Chespeake up and bear her along.
"You bad for my girls," she said, puffing her pipe. "They fine with occasional manni or with each other. But you cause great disruption in my house. I will not have this. You no longer our slave. You free now."
"I bellowed into my gag," Chespeake recounted, leaning against Constance's uplifted thigh. "They couldn't get rid of me like this. But again, I was released from slavery. But that dragon-lady made sure I wouldn't bother her crew again. I was placed on a ship leaving port that very morning. But not to China. No, to Equator".
"And so I ended up here. I had a lot of time to think on the trip down. When I got to Quito, I decided to become an abolitionist. I started speaking from street corners, calling out for what I believed."
"And that was what," Constance asked, "An end of slavery across the globe?"
Chespeake looked at the hanging girl, then burst into gales of laughter. "Don't you get it, gal," she finally managed. "I don't want slavery abolished! I want it expanded! I want protection for slaves so they can stay slaves. I want their legal non-rights protected. I want an end to this pretence of slavery, and to reinstate the institution to those who wish it, in the fullest legally-binding way."
Constance shook her head in wonderment. "I just don't understand this. Then why did the High Mistress lock you up?"
"She decided I was a threat to the status quo and now I'm down here, suffering my torments."
"Torments? But you look clean. Well fed. How are you being tormented?"
In answer, a long dark finger tracked Constance's shackled thigh, slowly and winsomely. Dark eyes met her own, hungry eyes with an inner fire. "You have what I want. You are totally bound up in steel, shackled open, a toy for whoever wishes to abase you," The finger that had traced dropped to Constance's sex. It languidly wiggled there like a mischievous worm. The police officer moaned, trying not to show the passions that were pounding through her. "Every day, I wear these flimsy chains, while some woman is sent down here, to be placed in the bondage and situation I hunger for. If I could change places with you, I would gladly. I want to do nothing more than serve, and yet the High Mistress makes me dominant. The witch."
The black abolitionist sighed sadly, looking at the wide-opened captive with resignation. "So I suppose we might as well get started. There is little else to occupy the long hours."
"Wait, what do you mean," Constance burbled in alarm as the dark woman slipped down between her raised thighs. "You don't need to do this. You can defy the wishes of the High Mistress. Oh. Don't. I mean, don't give in. In. In. Oh. Stop. Please...."
The faint sound of lapping, accompanied by the ghostly moans of blunted passion, echoed off the cold walls.
23.03.09
story continues in Gai-Shift 10: Captain Zana Hoffsteder
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