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Chapter 4: Caught in the Trap
Petunia's knees had been drawn up before her, allowing her to watch with petulant resignation as Constance knotted them together.
Sighing, she rolled her shoulders, an action which caused the ropes incasing her exposed body to creak. Sitting propped against the baseboard of Constance's bedroom, wrists captured behind her back, every limb pinned, she was a naked Venus, tight cords taking the role of a fluttering silken wrap.
"Connie, this is silly," she huffed. "Why tie me if you aren't going to take advantage of me."
"You're bait," Officer Drummand told her sharply, while internally thankful the scientist's perfume had finally worn off. Two hours ago she might easily have romped about in Petunia's maidenhood, taking charge, advantage, and pleasure from her friend. The trip to her flat had been tense; she hadn't considered the risks of taking a bound Petunia onto a tight tube car with that damned hyper-perfume wafting about the place. As it turned out, her fellow citizens had behaved but it had been a close thing. There had been moans, a climaxing gasp or two, and someone had been quite liberal in groping Constance's ass in the tight confines. But now she was home with Petunia safely stripped and roped, ready for whoever (or whatever) the night might bring.
"You're just being catty," her cuvatious blonde friend pouted. "I don't know what that angel is or where she comes from, but it's not from my lab. I don't know how ever you could think such a thing."
"There was that strange aerocraft crate that ended up missing, the one that had been shipped to your facility. And then there are all the women who are being bundled and bobbled by this menace; as with yourself, all of them lived or worked within this district."
"And you think one of my girls took that mysterious crate? I told you already; ask mean ol' Zana Hoffsteder about it. She's the one who lost it."
"I questioned her at length. It took about 5 gallons of various forced enemas, but she told me her side and I believe her."
Petunia's eyes sparkled. "Oh, you really did that to her? What did she do? Did she struggle? Did you do anything else? Did you spank her?"
"That's enough out of you," Constance told her, ramming a gag between her captive's pearly teeth and knotting it fast. Petunia murfed with the disappointment of a frustrated victim. Her red-headed captor left her to her ropes and frustrations. With deliberation, she opened her wide gable windows, admitting the soft evening breeze. The western sky was minted in gold, causing the dome of St. Paulines, as well as the airships tethered to the Tower Bridge masts, to shimmer in brilliance.
Crossing her strong yet slender arms, she looked out at the fading day. "Where are you," she thought, squinting into the sun. "Who are you, my little bondage angel? Will you take the bait I have laid out? Will you come for me tonight?"
It all depended on one of the laboratory girls being the angel. Perhaps she would come because Constance was getting too close in her investigation. Or that in her bedroom would be both a sleeping girl as well as the already-bound and highly-desirous Petunia Goldwaith. Or maybe even that the angel was looking for targets and Constance would be an interesting challenge. Either way, her copper instinct told her that this would be the best way to flush out her quarry.
Ignoring Petunia's openly admiring gaze, she stripped off her clothing and settled into bed. As the sky outside shifted from copper to indigo, she flipped through magazines, looking at the newest Parisian fashions. So many belts this year. It would take a girl an evening just to get ready to go out.
She did her best to ignore her whimpering captive. There was still the faintest hint of perfume and Petunia bound was, indeed, Petunia desired. There she sat, her full lips parted by her gag, her pink flesh locked within coils of ropes. Constance could feel her pussy pulsing with desire. It would be so easy to slip over to her little friend. Just a moment to remove the gag and force her muffin into that delightful face. But no, she was on stake-out. She had to stay sharp. Then again, if the angel didn't come, perhaps she would reward Petunia for her participation in the investigation...
Eventually she clicked off her light and settled beneath her covers, rolling to face away from the alluring Petunia, but also so she could watch the dark window in the small pocket mirror she'd placed on the bedside table. She tried not to think of the fetchingly bound girl whose sleepy moans and creaking cordage echoed in the still room. She tried not to feel the last effects of the elixir which gave her heartbeat the tiniest of flutters. She concentrated to keep her hands out of her crotch and off her own tits. She could not afford to be distracted.
Her internal discord was what saved Chief Officer Constance Drummand. Even then, locked in struggle with her internal demons, she almost missed the slight scrape from her windowsill. At the faint disturbance, she focused her green eyes on the small mirror.
A woman knelt like a wild beast on the lip of the window, great wings slowly pulsing over her like feathery banners. Shamming sleep, Constance focused on the wings. They looked so natural and moved so graceful. Yet every time they moved, there came the slightest hum of clockwork.
The angel smiled a virtuous smile at the sleeping form before her, her eyes sliding over to take in the bound Petunia, still propped against the wall and snoring slightly. Long blonde hair swirled around the intruder's face. Then, her slender hand reached into a sack at her side, pulling something out. Constance squinted at her little mirror. A bottle. A spray bottle. The nozzle swung in her direction and there came tiny puffs of exhaust. As quietly as possible, Constance drew a deep breath. On the tail end of it, she caught the fantest hint of a familure taste/smell. A moment later, all her sexual organs swung into high gear.
She tried her best to remain still while her mind whirled. Of course! Now it made sense! Petunia and all the other victims had commented on the paralyzing wave of lust that had rolled over them just before the attack, a lust that convinced them to offer their hands up to the angel's rope. The angel was using Petunia's elixir to captivate her victims!
Constance felt her nipples swell as unbidden memories of bondage and submission swept through her. Once again she was strapped to Zana's wall. Once again she was roped tightly to a stake in a native hut. Her heart skipped. She had no doubt that any woman sleeping in defenseless innocence who inhaled these fumes would awake in an agitated yet compliant state, ready to do anything suggested. Had she gotten a full dose, she might have submitted herself.
She looked to the mirror, and realized that the clockwork-winged, aphrodisiac-spraying angel was looking at her with open curiosity as if waiting for something. Constance realized this was her cue. Allowing herself to method act, drawing on how she'd felt when Chespeake had fingered and licked her helpless body back in that Ecuadorian dungeon, she let out a low moan and rolled over, stirring her legs, looking as defenseless as possible. When she judged the time was right, she cracked open her eyes, allowing herself to look upon the winged woman directly for the first time.
"Roll onto your back," the creature whispered. "Put your hands behind you."
Constance did her best to look confused, muddled, and passionate all at once (pretend you're Petunia, she thought). With a whimper, she rolled over onto her trim belly, her long arms slipping obediently up behind her. Yet hidden from the angel's view, her eyes locked on the bed-side mirror.
The angel gracefully leapt across the room, her wings propelling her to alight on the bed frame. From the darkness, Petunia whimpered in her sleep, the fumes of the elixir haunting her bound-fast dreams. White ropes glimmered in the angel's slim hands like quicksilver and for a moment, Constance almost allowed the coils to close around her wrists. What would it be like to be bound helplessly fast by an angel, to be toyed and teased until every organ ached and every limb throbbed, until she could climax no more. What an experience that would be. She came so close to submitting...
When the winged figure leaned in, her training took over. Her foot lashed out, catching the figure in her belly. There was a pained and surprised exhale as the intruder backflipped over the railing to crash on the floor. Constance twisted about, tossing her sheets aside, rolling from the bed.
Mighty wings thundered and the slender form rose up, hovering in the high-ceilinged room, angry eyes flashing, a snarl cutting her angelic face. Constance made a grab, her fingers tearing away part of the silken cloth that garbed the winged woman. It fluttered clear.
"Fool," the woman spat. She brought her wings forward and down as if clapping her hands. Two walls of feathers closed around Constance, rippling along her ribs, across her nipples, around her flanks, along the line of her neck. Having been sexually deprived this long day and having inhaled some of the airborne aphrodisiac, the police officer's flesh was hyper-sensitive. Screaming with laugher, she twisted away. The angel dove in, clapping her wings again. Constance rolled away across the floor, her eyes streaming tears, her lungs quaking with disabling mirth. She gathered herself while the angel swooped neatly about the room, looking for another opening.
On her next pass, Constance tried to reach her. Again the woman lifted out of range, slashing with her wings. Constance crashed against the wall, her ribs shuddering, hemorrhaging with hilarity at the overwhelming sensations. She knew that if this kept up, she'd quickly be reduced to a shuddering ball on the floor. And then the angel would land, the ropes would wrap around her, and she would cease to exist. She had one more chance.
The angelic woman laughed in victory, banking around once again, her wings knocking books from the shelves. Petunia, now awake, looked up like a helpless pink mouse as the winged shadow passed overhead. "This time, you're mine," the woman cried out.
Constance had but a second to act. At precisely the right moment, she leapt forward, her feet coming down onto her bed. The springs gave a confirming "Yoing!" as she shot upwards. She wrapped her arms around the slender torso, a hand brushing the hidden pink straps, the other ringing against the small box from which the wings extended. She held on tightly as the two of them, far too heavy for the wings to support, crashed into the floor. Feathers beat at her. Someone bit her arm. She reached up, glimpsed hair, and locked fingers into place. A moment later she was rolling free. The clockwork angel fluttered down on the far end of the room, quickly adjusting dislodged straps.
Constance looked into her hand. In her fingers was a blond wig.
Sybil glared, the counter-wound mechanism clicking as her wings beat. "So, now you know," she spat.
"I already suspected. So now I confirmed. Amazing how round glasses make a face look one way and hair style and coloration another. That, coupled with dim lighting and your your victims being mudded by over-stimulation and nobody could place you as the angel, not even Petunia. Nice game. Now give up. Save yourself a tussle and a trussing."
"I can still take you," the black-haired mannish woman replied. "I can still win." But her confidence was wavering. With her exertions, Constance was working the drug out of her system, returning to fighting-fit. Sybil had let the momentum of combat drain away. Both women knew it.
Constance was nearest the window-Sybil would have to get past her to escape. She looked left and right. The bound Petunia was out of reach. There was nothing she could use as a weapon. Screaming, she commanded her wings to beat, rose into the air, brushing the cobwebs from the ceiling and rocking the lamp, then dove forward. Constance leapt to meet her.
There came a whine of gears behind Constance and something slammed into her back. For a moment, the officer wondered if there were two angels and she'd been crossfired. Then leather-clad mechanical fingers closed around her, pinning her arms to her sides.
Her Mechanical Intelligence! It was still on! She'd quite forgotten its dictate to randomly attack her so as to keep her combat abilities in top form. And now, of all times, it had sprung into action, its massive claw capturing her firmly it its flywheel grip.
She tried to scream, partially in rage, partially to bring any form of help, but the machine was too quick. A leather concavity slapped over her lower face, trapping her mouth in its relentless grip. She felt small gears ratchet the muffle-band snug. Her arms pressed into her sides, locked in its soft yet unyielding fingers. Her toes left the floor as it lifted her into the air. In desperation, she tried a final kick at her opponent but the machine's auxiliary arms snapped out, capturing her strong legs. With unbending firmness, her legs were pulled up against her chest, knees tucked under her chin. In seconds, she'd become a small ball of pink flesh in the grip of this steam-venting hand.
Sybil stood back, laughing cruelly at the sight of the dominant Constance now gripped in humiliation. Stepping over to the machine's control box, she clicked the hold toggle, then flipped open the card deck reader. With practiced ease, she thumbed through the cards, easily reading their punch-hole coding.
"Oh Constance, Constance, such an old program. How long since you upgraded? Five years? No wonder you're such a spinster. Well, you'll be happy to know that I'm just the right person for the job. You see, I worked with Lady Petunia for years on developing those MI routines. I pretty much passed on life and love, anything to forward Goldwaith Laboratories. I even camouflaged myself with those fake glasses and unflattering dresses, just to keep the other girls uninterested. Anything to advance my Ladyship's work." She looked over her shoulder to the bound Petunia, her voice turning hard. "And after all those years, when the big chance to study MIs-the Pit expedition-comes up, who does her Ladyship chose? Rani! She's just a newcomer. She can't even untie herself most times. And yet she gets to go and I stay home, correlating data and charting other women's orgasms!"
She pulled out a couple of cards and started to type angrily on the side keyboard, programming on the fly.
"So I'll make your machine a little better, Officer Constance. It won't just punish you and stop. It will keep punishing you until the steam pressure drops and it automatically shuts down. What will that be, about three hours or so?" Unsympathetic fingers rammed the cards back into the feeder. Sybil crossed back to the windowsill to fetch something. Meanwhile, the arm came slowly back to life, swinging Constance around. On the floor-mount, a huge plug, glistening with fresh cream, began to spin up. Wigging her toes in agitation, Constance realized that this was her least-favorite punishment, the ass-rammer!
She looked up from the spinning indignity just as Sybil stepped up. The spray bottle hissed like a cobra, coating the struggling officer with the agitating elixir. Constance closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath but her foe had coated her liberally. When she did breath, her lungs filled with the heady aroma. Instantly the bands felt tighter. She felt her heart ramp up as her pussy tremble. She moaned to Sybil, desperately trying to cut a deal, willing to get her out of the country if the winged women would simply pleasure her with her fingertip. She longed to stretch out, to take Sybil in one hand, Petunia in the other, and force them to her tits like piglets. The machine cogs whined as Constance shuddered in its grip, trying to break free and run amok.
But Sybil just smiled a lazy smile of triumph at the pinioned officer. She reached up a hand, a hand Constance saw as radiantly beautiful in sexual possibilities, and ran her fingertips lightly along the officer's naked shoulder. Constance warbled into her gag, her eyes closed, luxuriating beneath the slow stroke, shivering in helpless delight. The fingers trailed up along her neck, so slowly, the tips leaving individual trails in the moist elixir-dew. When the fingers lifted free, the prisoner moaned in deep-felt agony, her pussy trembling, her over-sensitive nipples pressed into her own warm thighs. Locked as she was, all of her sexual delights were contained. Only her anus was exposed to the room's heady air. She felt a tear of frustration trickle down cheek, mixing with the sprayed chemicals and the sweat of her desperation. Watching it all, Sybil sniffed her elixir-damp fingertips, her pupils growing darker as the drug slowly affected her as well. Those same fingers she slipped into her own crotch, giving herself a pleasurable massage, openly doing what Constance could only fantasize about.
And then the arm lowered. Constance caught one last glimpse of the spinning monstrosity through her milling toes as she was lowered over it. She'd rather take it in the twat, or even the mouth, but her ass would do. Anything to bank this fire that was roaring in her!
The tip touched her anus, slowly parting its flesh back. She lustily exhaled into her gag, eagerly ready to be ramrodded. But then the arm stopped, then raised again. The erotic sensation dropped away. Constance cried in muted rage. Sybil had altered the program to deny her even the most base pleasures!
She looked up to see her own image. Sybil waved from the side of the mirror she'd carefully positioned to allow her captive to witness her own frustration. Like a parrot, Constance was mesmerized by her likeness. Before her was a woman encased in bands of steel and leather, her arms down her sides, her legs forced up before her, her ass hanging like overripe fruit. Her sharp nose looked even sharper against the leather-gag's darkness, and her desperate eyes seemed so wide and sorrowful. The sight of herself turned her on, amplifying her passions like speaker feedback, making it worse and worse. She watched as she was lowered once again towards the spinning head. This time, as the time before and all the times to follow, it gave her only the slightest taste of sodomy before raising her up again. Tears pattered about the whirling plug.
Her mind began playing images from her past. Chespeake's tongue tickling her ear. Alina looked down at her with sisterly love as she was carried on the portage pole. The writhing bodies packed against her own as she was lowered into the Pacific Ocean. Tears of frustration flowed down her cheeks. She howled into her gag, seeking a relief that would never come. Even Sybil's ruthless smirk fanned her flames.
As if that was not bad enough, Constance had a grandstand seat for what happened next. Sybil crossed to where Petunia lay on the floor, helplessly bound up in Constance's own ropes. The scientist's nipples were hard and her breasts rising in agitation, for the air of the room was hazy with the elixir. Even Sybil was panting, her eyes burning as she looked down at her former employer. Like a manni erection, her wings slowly spread and she plucked a feather from each one. Petunia whined into her gag in fearful lust as Sybil slowly settled over her, wings folding to wrap the lovers. All that was visible were Petunia's shapely legs, bound up so neatly in ropes.
From her throne of frustration, Constance could only see the quake of the clockwork wings and the wiggling of Petunia's toes. A cry would occasionally cut through the murky air of the room. Sometimes it was the gagged and delighted Petunia. Sometimes it was the vengeful and lustful Sybil. And sometimes it was the frustrated Constance, raised clear from the satisfaction of degradation. She could hardly breath in her banding, what with her heart racing and she skin tingling. Pinned as she was, she could only endure as the lovers squirmed as the shaft spun in frustrating proximity.
=< O >=
She realized, following a long eternity, that she was now free. She lay in the center of her room, face down, her cream-spattered yet unpenetrated ass jutting into the air. Behind her, the massive MI claw lay opened and dead on the floor, the last of its steam whispering from its joints. As Sybil had told her, the device had run down.
A look over her shoulder; sunlight streaming through the open window. She looked groggily around the room; Sybil was gone. In the corner, Petunia lay like a discarded doll, her hair a mess, her skin pink with irritation, her ropes ever tight. A few random feathers lay across the unconscious girl, souvenirs of the great passion.
There was not a moment to lose.
Constance staggered to her feet and stumbled quickly to Petunia. Stepping over her, she yanked open a drawer. Moving with desperate efficiency, she oiled up her biggest clockwork vibrator, yanking its key around and around, adding tension to its spring. Then she clipped a pair of clothpins to her throbbing nipples. Her blood, still swirling with elixir, began to smolder in her veins. Falling back onto her bed, she thrust the vibrator into her like a sword into a scabbard, working herself with desperate frustration. Between teeth-chattering climaxes, she rewound her toy with frantic haste, setting herself up for the next eruption. Finally the last of her passion was spent. She felt like herself again. A weary, beaten, drained, mulched, and filleted version of herself, but herself.
After cleaning up as best she could, she tossed on a uniform. Then she deposited Petunia into her bed, untying the woman. Clearly a trace of the elixir remained as Constance found herself wondering if maybe she should just leave the wrist and ankle ropes in place. But in the end, she freed her friend, covering her battered, rope-marked body with a crumpled sheet. She kissed the faintly-smiling lips and then departed.
=< O >=
At midday, the Chief Officer staggered into the Central London Precinct House, more dead than alive. The sleepless and frustrating hours were taking their toll on her. She stumbled to her office, a concerned Samantha following her, burbling questions.
Flopping into her seat, she looked at her second-in-command. "It was Sybil, from Goldwaith Laboratories. She was the angel."
The top-heavy blonde Routing Officer gasped in surprise. "You figured it out? That's great, ma'am! We'll go to the lab with an arrest warrant this minute!"
Constance shook her head, her red bangs flopping back and forth. "Won't do any good. I was already at the lab. She came and went this morning. And when she went, she took that Indian scientist, Rani, with her. Looks like we can add kidnapping to her crimes."
"Then we'll catch her at home."
"Went there," Constance yawned. "It's platform 3 in Piccadilly Station. False address."
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Then... she could be anywhere."
"Do we still have Captain Hoffsteder in a maiden downstairs? Good, get her out, give her back her clothing, and bring her up here. It will be a full moon tonight and we have a lot to do."
19.06.09
story continues in Gai-Shift - Angel 5: Trials & Punishments
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