Chapter 13: Journey Home
The airship Unbound Pleasure, its nose and belly fire-scared, pushed its way against dawn headwinds as it left the jungled Andes for the capital city of Quito. Most of the crew, exhausted from the long night of activity leading up to the snatch-and-grab that had freed the mission's scientist, her bodyguard, and the ship's captain, had been secured in their bunks. The airship, running under a light crew, made its way west.
By late afternoon, everyone was up and about. Captain Zana Hoffsteder was again on her bridge, looking out through the hastily-repaired windows, happy to be in her sky again. Lady Petunia Goldwaith groused in the back of the bridge; she would have rather been poking about the cabins looking for strapped-in crewmates to play with. Unfortunately, Chief Officer Constance Drummand had had enough of her high jinks and was keeping a close eye on her. Her Ladyship had been promised the monoglove (and perhaps a ball gag) if she didn't behave.
A short time later, the dinner bell rang. All girls who could be released from duty (and the ropes, rugs, and sailcloth) assembled in the mess room. There were high spirits given the mission's success. Hoffsteder toasted the queen, Petunia flirted with everyone, and Constance received a discrete pinch on the ass by the stocky Petra. The crewmembers around them were boisterous, looking forward to a short leave when they moored later this evening.
The high point of the meal was desert. Cook entered, leading two women who carried a huge serving tray (one in which she, herself, had been bound only yesterday). The pan was placed in the middle of the table, and the ship's company gasped in delighted surprise.
Bert51, the gift Queen Lilla had intended for the natives, lay naked and trussed within the pan. He'd been placed on his back, his hands cunningly tied behind him, his legs bound back, coils tightly cinching his thighs. A bright ball gag cut off any desperate pleas he might have voiced. His body shimmered from a coating of caramel sauce.
"I thought," said Cook, blushing in meekness at public speaking, "that we all deserved a treat. But the one who deserved the biggest treat was our manni Bert51, who personally saved the captain and the others. Dig in ladies."
The women were delighted, all too happy to lick away the sweetness that coated the hapless manni. Trapped in his bonds, he could only grunt and quiver as twenty female tongues took their time with him, enjoying him over good coffee and good conversation. In the end, he came three times, and each time the women cheered and began licking anew. By the time Cook and her helpers carried the manni back to the galley, he was in a near-coma state. Given the crew's enthusiasm, clean-up was rather easy; Cook and her helpers managed to lick up the few spots missed in short order. And surprisingly, Bert51 had one final orgasm left. Who would have thought?
They moored without fanfare that night. In the morning, they were pleasantly surprised to find that Alina, their bronzed leggy guide from their earlier trip, had heard of the airship's damage and talked her queen into dispatching repair crews to the field. The Ecuadorian women swarmed over the damaged sections of the vessel, replacing canvas and glass with such attention that it was nearly impossible to pick out which parts had been damaged.
Meanwhile, Goldwaith, Drummand, and Hoffsteder all traveled to the palace, where the scientist gave her detailed report to the High Mistress, outlining the jungle tribe and their customs. Such information was invaluable to the ruler, who needed to know just what was going on in the inaccessible interior of her country. When they had finished, Constance waved them off, remaining with the High Mistress for a short, private audience. She spoke passionately and at length, and the High Mistress came to see her point and placed the appropriate orders. Two high priestesses were summoned and ordered to prepare for a short journey to the interior. They left within the hour.
Petunia and Zana stepped from the palace, both of them smiling into the warm afternoon sun. "It's too bad Alina isn't here," the scientist pouted. "She's ever so much fun."
"I heard that she's administering to the repair efforts. She provided us with an invaluable service. I wasn't looking forward to crossing the Atlantic in a damaged airship."
"Still, we have time." Petunia made a show of considering something. "I know, lets you and I go see those Passion Hostels. You haven't been yet." At Zana's reluctance, she took her hand and towed her through the streets. "Come on, Scardycat!"
Zana mused that she must be crazy when they finally arrived. She eyed the wall of moaning women, their heads jutting from the walls, their bodies undergoing trained and methodical molestation. Petunia tried to get her to go first but Zana, not trusting her, refused. The curvy scientist stuck out her tongue at the airship captain's hesitation, then stopped a trio of comely South American ladies, gesturing to a strap-festooned shelf.
While they did not actually speak the language, Petunia's gestures made her desires clear. The girls smiled as they watched her strip down without hesitation in public. Wiggling into position, she beamed as strong tanned hands pulled each buckle tight. In the end, they gagged her as was proper, then rolled her into the wall. Petunia smiled into her gag, nodded to Zana, and then a plank. The three ladies grinned like cats and moved closer, their intent clear. The slender brunette would either strip and submit, or she would be stripped and strapped.
Muttering to herself, all the while trying to hide her blush, she pulled off her clothing. The sun fell warmly across her naked back, and Petunia smiled up at her trim nakedness. While one of the women dutifully hung her clothing from a nearby hook, another rolled out the strapping board. Zana's mouth tasted like chalk and again, she wondered what she was doing.
The plank was smooth and cold against her back as she settled into place. She looked into the bright sky she loved as the hands of strangers pulled each strap into place. When the last buckle had been seated, she found herself pinned to the sliding panel, her arms at her sides, her legs down and slightly spread. A moment of panic came to her, and she thought about desperately pleading for release. Perhaps the older women sensed this, for she was quick to press a cloth gag into the airship captain's mouth, cutting off all objection. Chattering warmly amongst themselves, the trio carefully rolled her body into the dark hole like bread into an oven. Each of them gave the captain a warm kiss on her gag, then strolled off, their work done. Zana watched them go and sighed. How did she let herself get talked into these things? That Petunia!
And so she lay there, fretting while the women of Quito passed by without a second glance. At her side, Petunia began to moan in satisfied pleasure as unseen hands pinched her swelling nipples and teased her hungry twat. Zana noted how angelic she looked, giggling in her giddy passion, her head rolling atop creamy shoulders.
And then came the first touch; Zana jumped, then began to call out to be released. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to do it. But those inside the structure could not hear her, and those passing by didn't care. Warm loving hands traced the curve of her breasts, the slender thumbs brushing her nipples. She blinked at the touch, her body trembling in anticipation. The hands continued to work her, skillfully misusing her. She threw her narrow shoulders against the straps, trying to break free. If only... If only...
And then her body relaxed. Her airship was safe. Her crew was safe. Her mission was almost over. There was nothing she could do. The day was sunny, the air warm. Unseen hands traced her long legs; fingers manipulated her toes. Meanwhile, the faintest suggestion of tracing came from her twat as if someone were considering exactly how to best molest her. And so Captain Zana Hoffsteder of the airship Unbound Pleasure, strapped to a board in a busy downtown street, her body being coaxed by the skillful caresses of pleasure priestesses, allowed herself to relax. At her side, Petunia came down from her own orgasm, watching with tenderness as Zana climbed towards her own.
Eventually passers-by noticed they were done and released them. They somehow managed to make it back to the ship, though Petunia sampled two lamp-posted mannis on the way, and Zana broke down and had one herself. They arrived at the airship in good spirits.
The following morning, Alina of the court of the High Mistress awoke, stretching away the drowsiness. Then, as customary, she padded across her attractive apartment, yawning like sleepy angel. She stepped out on the balcony to take in the morning, the warm breeze rippling her short cotton shift and long midnight hair.
The mooring mast was empty. The Unbound Pleasure had sailed.
She felt a little sad at this; with all the efforts to see to her repairs, she'd not gotten a chance to see that cute golden Petunia again. She'd always entertained the thought of getting the scientist alone for an evening. There was that drawer full of orderly coils of ropes. In her mind's eye, she could see herself tricking, coaxing, or begging the shapely Goldwaith into nice, snug bonds. Petunia would be there, upon the low bed, while Alina sat on long folded legs and carefully added knot after knot until her Ladyship was the perfect guest. And then, Mistress above, how wonderful it would be to slowly work her way down through the layers of her clothing, removing each article, feeling it, sniffing it, and then setting it carefully aside. And all too soon, Petunia would lay before her in exposed golden glory. Alina could only smile at the possible outcomes at that point.
There came a slight scrape from her door. The lanky girl looked to it, frowning. Curious, she crossed the room and opened it.
A body lay trussed and gagged upon her doorstep, a collection of tight ropes, wiggling fingers, and soft pleas. Alina knelt, rolling the victim over to get a better look and gasped in happy surprise. It was a manni, the one the airship had brought to be a gift to the inland queen, the one they called Bert51. He'd been bound up nice and tight, the perfect gift. But why?
Noticing his toe-tag, she carefully took it up and read it.
"To a good home. Complements of the captain and crew of HMA Unbound Pleasure."
Smiling like a sunrise, Alina took hold of the bound manni by the rope linking wrists and ankles and pulled him inside her apartment. Her mind swirled at the home decor possibilities of such a gift. But first, she'd have to try him out.
Concerned by her absence over the next few days, the High Mistress almost dispatched a runner to find out what happened to her trusted court official. Alina finally returned to her post some three days later, a happy hazy air about her.
About the time that Alina was offering apologies to the High Mistress, and Bert51 was looking forward to a long day sitting bound in a chair before a sunlit window, two court priestess, towing a donkey, climbed a long winding trail that twisted eastward into the Andes. For hours they led the beast, stopping every now and then to rest. Finally, as the sun grew long behind them, they arrived at the high end of the upland path.
Nodding to one another, they pulled down the rolled bundle from the beast's back, unrolling it casually with their feet. Chespeake, harshly bound from head to foot, lay blinking in the fading sunlight. The black abolitionist grunted a question but the two women ignored her, picking her up like a sack and thrusting her against a tree. Leather cordage was pulled around her, tying her to the trunk. The two priestesses continued, pulling her bonds light by bracing their feet against the bark and hauling until Chespeake groaned at the tension. When they were through, she could hardly move a muscle.
"Worry not, dark woman of the north," one of them told her, coping a last feel (on the long journey, they'd taken turns on her at every campsite). "There is a game trail nearby. You will be found soon. You wished to be a slave? Soon your wishes will be answered. Fairwell."
With that, they turned and departed. Chespeake muffed after them. They couldn't be leaving her bound here. What if nobody found her? And what did they mean about her being a slave? Of course that was what she wanted, but she'd given up on it ever happening.
An hour later, a slight stiring from the jungle around her brought her head up. Her body was numb with pain, her breasts jutting in compression. Blinking, she realized that three native women were slipping from the shadowy brush, their dark eyes glittering as they looked over her helpless charms. One of them placed a portage pole at her feet, then produced a knife. Chespeake groaned as the ropes were cut clear, her body throbbing in relief. Finally, she tumbled onto the grass, hardly feeling as her hands and feet were bound before her and the pole slipped in. Then she was lifted and borne off, flying to her new home and the life she'd always dreamed of.
As Chespeake was being carried through the dusk by evilly grinning native girls, the Unbound Pleasure, well out in the dark Atlantic, rumbled homeward. Dinner had been enjoyable, with discussions about the Japanese Crisis (her Majesty's ambassador had been taken prisoner by an amorous Empress, who refused to release her). Afterwards, the women had retired to their cabins.
The night, Petunia was crudely awakened when a gag was thrust into her mouth and bound fast. Two masked, dark figures pinned her down. In the moonlight, she saw the flicker of rope and felt it bite around her wrists and ankles. She murphed in concern but her attackers ignored her, whispering back and forth as they made her knots fast.
The two then looped their arms around her torso and legs and lifted her from her bunk. She felt so exposed in her silk nightie. The ropes were so tight and the gag so thick; there could be no escape. And then she found herself being carried through the dark airship to the bridge. Oddly, no one was on duty. The controls were unwomaned.
Her two captors set her on her feet next to the ladder that led upwards. She felt a harness slip around under her breasts. A pulley hook was clipped in place and pulled tight, making her breasts jut upwards, lifting them right out of her nightie. One of her kidnappers chuckled low and fondled an exposed nipple. Petunia gasped in surprise.
"Okay, reel her up," commanded a dark-suited figure.
And up she went, lifted into the envelope, her two kidnappers swarming up the ladder after her. Once inside the envelope, they unbelted her and carried her back into the ship, towards the extraction device.
Without hesitation, they bore her past the spot where a woman dangled between machines that probed her, primed her, and pumped out the valuable orgasium extract. And there was the ready room, where a girl lay upon a dais, watching the events that tore orgasms out of the girl before her, and would soon tear them out of her pussy, as well. The sleeping boxes, with their resting nymphs. And then, finally, the cleanup station. Here, Petunia's eyes widened in shock.
Tela, the small Indonesian girl who'd been part of the extraction process before switching over to a monitor position, stood next to the German woman who'd followed her through her cycles. At their feet lay a small brunette girl, the ropes binding her almost unnecessarily given her disorientation. She lay on the decking as if drugged.
And then Petunia knew what was in store for her. She struggled and cried out, if only for form's sake, but between Tela, the German, and the two ninja-clad kidnappers, she was easily hung from the track by leather cuffs. While she hung like a steer about to be barbequed, her night dress was removed, leaving her in pink nakedness before her assailants. Finally, the gag was pulled clear.
"Why? Why are you doing this?"
The two white slavers smiled to one another as they pulled away their hoods.
"You've been nothing but trouble the entire trip," Constance told her, fluffing out her scarlet hair which had matted down under the hood. At her side, Zana clipped her spectacles back in place on her narrow nose. "We figured you needed to be on the receiving end for a few days."
In grim mockery, a waste removal plug began humming up from the floor, angling towards the scientist's helpless anus. She glanced to it, worry flashing in her green eyes.
"If you wish to punish me, couldn't Zana just keep me strapped to her wall? I'd be ever so quiet and good. With the pump gag in place, you wouldn't hear a peep. You could keep me for days."
Zana smiled. "Its tempting, to be sure. But Constance and I agreed; you should spend a few days having all the sex you can stand, if only to get it out of your system."
"Besides," Tela noted from where she knelt on the deck, checking the bonds of the girl who's place Petunia now held, "it's a long flight home, and we wanted to have our own distraction. The monitor team can share Betty, here, and be more than satisfied."
"But your wall," Petunia whined. "I'd be ever so good."
"Sorry, your Ladyship, but I've already got someone else in mind for it." She slipped an arm around Constance, who smiled bravely, her mind whirling at the endeavor she'd agreed to. "Since your body will be occupied here, your bodyguard will need something else to do. A little interrogation training would be a great addition to her skill set."
With that, the two black-clad women strolled off to their games of endurance below. Tela and the Germanic woman lifted their bound plaything from the deck and carried her back to the engineer's quarters. Hanging alone in her bonds, Petunia called out after one party, then another. "Please. Oh, don't leave me on this machine, alone. It's such a bother, orgasming all day. No, come back. Don't... don't..."
With a whine, a penis-like feeder tube slowly swung down, a droplet of her elixir gleaming from its head. And below, the oiled head of the extraction plug pressed against her sphincter, easing in. Petunia gasped a final gasp, and then the feeder tube shoved between her teeth. The first of the thick sweet elixir dribbled onto her tongue. She moaned as the pumping began, fists clinched, toes curled. And then they relaxed. She was home again.
The End
Special thanks to Feline, without whose editing this story would be little more that a strange travelog. Cot evry errer, ideed!
19.04.09