To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Chapter 1: Megan's Bull Round Up
The young woman pushed west across the high English hills, the wind caressing her brown bobbed hair. She seemed under-dressed for pushing though the high heather in her blue jumper and sensible shoes. However, the brambles appeared to offer no resistance, somehow untwining and untangling as she approached and springing back after her passage.
She paused at ridge-summit, leaning against her wooden staff, shading her soft eyes, looking over the next valley. Now where was that bull?
Megan and her fellow witches were spread pretty thin these days, what with Kate lost somewhere in Africa (she'd offered Lady Goldwaith to help search for her but her Ladyship simply noted to “let my niece have her little fun” (coupled with a counter-offer for Megan to come up to London for a few days (Megan felt a little thrill at this – Lady Petunia now knew Megan's secret, how elixir would nullify her unbinding curse. The thought of what might happen once the infamously amorous noblewoman got Megan's limbs roped and her senses dosed set her heart to fluttering. But there was so much to do...
Megan paused to allow the author to close all his parenthesis - “)))” before scanning for the bull that had strayed from milkmaid Elsa's care. The poor girl would end up in the tickle-stocks again if the livestock wasn't located – she was always finding herself locked on the bench, her broad feet poised for any passing woman to dally a finger across. And while Megan always enjoyed tormenting poor Elsa, she was still nice enough to do what was right and help the scatterbrained girl.
Suddenly she spotted the wandering beast, quite near. Laughing in her pursuit, she ran down the smooth slope, her skirt flying from her coltish legs, her rope satchel bouncing off her tidy little butt. The fugitive manni half-turned, spotted her, and shambled off as quickly as his cuff-and-chain hobbles would allow.
Megan was closing, a coil of rope already in one hand, her staff – Woody II – raised and ready. But the manni was almost in the thick western forest – if he got into its close confines she might lose him. Yet at the last second the fellow stopped, fearfully looking into the silent tree stand, for some reason reluctant to enter. This was all Megan needed to close within range – she tossed the rope into the air, brought Woody up, cast her spell. While her own power (or curse) was the ability to untie, untangle, and unfasten anything, the Pit-charged staff yielded her additional powers. Rather than falling, the ropes raced across the separating space, snapping around the startled manni, boxing up his hands behind his back, locking his arms to his sides, tracing up his tummy, banding his knees. Startled, the fellow tumbled over into the moss. Megan smiled – it was exactly how she'd have tied the poor brute up if she'd done it herself and in a way she had – her spell had followed her bondage tastes.
She stepped up to the groaning, prone captive, smiling in friendly fashion. Kneeling next to him, she pulled a cloth gag from her satchel, patted him gently on the shoulder and said, “Now open wide.” Reluctantly, the manni did so, murfing as she tied the gag home, giving it a nice tidy knot behind his head. Then she rolled him over, treating herself with a long look down the length of his roped, naked body.
Her prisoner realized the situation he was in, that of being run down and bound up by this lithe girl, and reacted accordingly. Mesmerized, Megan watched his manni magic, how his own staff grew and hardened. “Goodness,” she observed in a tight voice. How wonderful the thing looked, how perfect it would suit her needs and fit her body. She would like to do nothing more than to lay atop a sunny hill with this bound man, to look out over the world and feel the sun play across her now-exposed flesh. Then she'd turn to him, playfully tugging each rope as if checking to make sure all was ship-shape (but really, just to make him aware of how roped he really was). Then, perhaps, she'd lay on the grass next to him, cupping a hand to his ear, whispering the most dirty fantasies, cocking an eye to eye his cock, forcing him to swell ever harder. And when she had him at the point of boiling she'd slip over him, feeling his hot shaft grinding home, every friction rippling along her nerves. And then, goodness, and then...
But she couldn't. If she rolled in the clover with this manni, she'd be guilty of livestock ruffling, a serious crime. Witch or no witch, she'd find herself locked up in the village stocks, her small feet poised for the attention of passersby. And there were plenty who would delight in tormenting the village witch, if only for the chance of retribution.
Goodness, if Elsa got a chance at her, the vengeance the milkmaid would bestow...
So, no, she couldn't risk it. With a pretty little sigh, she took a final cord and looped around his root, snugging it up. The manni hissed into his gag – he'd been expecting something being done to him, he'd seen the flames in her eyes, but not this. With nimble fingers she placed the knot atop his shaft, locking in both his errection and discomfort while giving her a way to lead him, as well as to check her own temptations.
“Up, Concord, up,” she said, flicking his rope and making his eyes cross. With that, she trotted back towards Sheepish, the man with his magicked ropes and livestock hobble following docilely behind the demure, friendly young woman.
“Oh, thank goddess you found him,” Elsa remarked as the little witch emerged from the twilight, roped male in tow. She was a limber young woman with flowing brown locks and mirthful blue eyes. Long, strong limbs emerged from her peasant blouse and coarse knee-length skirt. “He's been out for two days now and needs to be milked before he goes feral. Bring him into the milking station.”
The manni grunted at this and tried to plant his feet, but a sharp tug on his line crumbled his obstinence.
Megan found a perch on a hay bale and watched as the lusty milkmaid harnessed up her charge. Usually she'd have relied on barn tackle such as monogloves and armbags to keep her bulls compliant but Megan's ropes were so true and tidy she just left them in place and locked the straps around his trembling form. With gradual pulls to the pulley-chains, she lifted the poor manni up as easily as a puppeteer would her puppet, raising him to an easily accessible, face-down horizontal. With a bare foot, she slid a steel bucket in place, her skirt fanning out to reveal tanned legs and she settled onto her stool. Her trained hands settled on the dangling manroot and began to ply it, working it to stiffness. A moan curled from the manni's thick gag. Megan found herself fascinated at the process.
“Why do you milk them anyway?” she asked, her tongue oddly thick in her mouth. “Why not, you know...?”
“Screw them? Dairy rules. These brutes are producers, and this is a working diary.” Her strong fingers squeezed and stroked, turning the extended external organ into a red rod of pulsing power. The manni's protests were non-stop now, grunts and muffled barks. Neither woman gave him any mind. Elsa cracked a smile and tossed a brown curl clear of her forehead, her hands occupied. “Of course, I always break that rule and end up in the stocks. I love the stocks; it's such scary fun.” She increased her tempo. “I wish they'd pad the bench though.”
“It's supposed to be punishment, Elsa.” Megan found herself unable to look away from the strong hands that manipulated and coerced the dangling, stiffening meat.
“Just because it's punishment doesn't mean it has to be unpleasant.”
Megan found her head swimming. The manni's moans reverberated in her head. The standing veins along his pulsing member thudded in time to her own racing heart. It went on and on. Megan couldn't figure this out, given that Elsa might work thirty 'head' of livestock in a day, many of them repeat milkers; why was this taking so long? Megan thought she might scream.
Then she realized that Elsa might be punishing this wayward manni, holding him in suspended agony over his silver pail, working him up then fingerlocking him down. The poor fellow's fingers were straining in Megan's tight bonds, his cords and straps creaking as he fought against the stimulations that were tearing his sexuality apart. He was drooling though his soaked gag now, his rod as hard as a crowbar. Megan buried her hands into her lap and tried to think of other things.
“What... what does the dairy do with all this...?” Megan found herself blushing, unable to say the word.
“Product?” Elsa smiled, cranking hard now, the suspended flush quivering before her. Playfully, she licked the sweaty flank, causing shivers anew. “We ship it out for use in various products. Glues. Acrylics. Puddings.”
“What?”
“Just joking on the last one,” Elsa smirked. “No, we do put these fellows to work. That's why we keep them hobbled, so they won't run away. I guess they don't like forced ejaculation.”
“Mffffph! MFFFFPHHH!”
Megan shook her swimming head. “Yes... about that. This fellow might have gotten away but he wouldn't go into the forest. Wonder why that was.”
“Forests are different places since the shift. Now that the population is dropping down, the thick woods are recovering. And trees aren't the only thing coming back. Woops – he almost squirted there. Just caught him.”
“NNNNNOPH!”
“What... do you... mean?”
“Other things are coming back. The little people. Sprites. Dryads. Forest spirits.”
“Preposterous,” huffed the witch.
“Scoff if you will. I'm telling you that things have been seen. Small figures by day. Lights by night.” Elsa clamped both hands around the meat before her, gripping hard, waiting, waiting. “There is even a druid living just inside the periphery.”
“A druid?”
“Yes, a lithe earth-goddess. It's said she has magical powers.”
“We'll see about that. How does one find this... little green trollop?”
At that moment, the bucket roared like a tin roof in a deluge. Elsa flicked the curls from her blue eyes and directed the flow. She continued stroking, forcing involuntary bucking surges until the manni was tapped out. When the commotion had subsided, she tipped back her head and looked across the motionless strap-locked buttocks.
“You'll find her just inside the western woods. There is an old rail line than runs just past her place. Follow it in and you can't miss it. But I wouldn't go there; the forest is...”
“Impassible?” Megan smiled in reservation, rising.
“Inadvisable,” Elsa corrected.
“You coming?” Megan paused at the barn door, figuring she'd walk with Elsa, at least back to the girl's dormitory.
“This fellow will be. He's got more to go.”
“Muf? MFFF? MMMMMM!”
“See you later then,” Megan said, flicking a wave back as she left.
“I hope so,” Elsa replied, more to herself. “Well, let's see to you then.”
“MNNNOOOOOO!”
=< O >=
Dawn shown down on Salisbury station. Engines chuffed. Travelers stood in gay attire, their leashed manni pets murmuring in their hoods. Three Indian maidens lay on a baggage cart, rolled in thick rugs, gagged with colorful scarves, bound (literally) for a domestic labor pool. The stationmistress consulted with the signalwoman concerning a special down-train of French tourists for the London Pit. It was a comfortable moment of urban balance.
Nobody noticed the slender girl who slipped from a hay wagon she'd arrived on. After brushing straw from her blue dress and placing the staff with its kerchiefed bundle over her shoulder, she slipped across the platform. Once trackside, she carefully placed the toes of her sandals on the clearance line, looking up and down the tracks. Then, carefully, she stepped down onto a sleeper, crossed the tracks, and followed a rusty set of rails that arched away to the west towards the dark line of the distant forest.
12.08.11
story continues in Gai-Shift - Green Chapter 2: Chlorophene the Druid
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