To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Chapter 3: Let Good Things come to All
Megan set her bicycle against a stump and looked up the long hill towards distant Stonehenge.
The Coven had not come for her this morning.
That had been the plan, right? That they would all send magic remotely to the magic staff placed in the center of this pagan site the night before. That the power of five witches would be increasingly and exponentially stored in its knobby, twisty form. That they would share it. But nobody had come for her.
Had she misunderstood?
With reservations, the slender young girl slowly crossed the grassy field, the breeze playing at her yellow hair-bow. There came a moment when she stood in the shadow of the great rocks, frozen in doubt. Then, with a steadying exhale, she passed through the portal of stone and looked at the central dais.
The staff lay there, glimmering in the sunlight.
She looked across the great fields of grass, wondering where her sister witches had gone.
=< O >=
Tameran hung by her wrists in the swaying shadows, a portion of her weight collected by the ropes desending to her jack-knifed thighs. A thick hawser gag sealed her pleas away. And through her maidenhood extended a knotted line, taunt and sex-slick, tormenting her with every rock of the cart.
Forward, a small panel opened and dark gypsy eyes peered in. Tameran whined in her gag, begging for mercy and freedom. All she got was a husky Czechoslovakian promise before the panel slammed shut.
She let her eyes close. What would her captor do to her when they made camp this evening? The thought make her tormenting line a tiny bit wetter...
=< O >=
Zelda struggled in her heated confines. As if the magiced sheets were not enough, she'd been further rolled in a heavy rug. Now four sets of shoulders, belonging to four randy farmgirls, carried her down a byway towards sexual servitude on a lonely farmstead.
She heard called greetings from all around. They must be in a village! If these people knew her captors, this might be the last village before they vanished into the rural wastelands. She had to draw attention. She tried to bow and kick but the sheets automagically tightened around her like a corset. All she achieved was a steadying arm placed casually over her rug-wrapped, bony ass. She peddled her booted feet a final time in frustrated helplessness, tears beading across her glasses.
The steadying hand gave her bum a gentle squeeze.
What were they going to do to her?
=< O >=
Sasha lay on her back in disheveled splendor, trussed from head to toe in the belly of a whaleboat. A dozen pairs of deck-callused feet pinned her body down, bracing their owners as the oars carried them past the last of the breakers. Some of the feet had found sensitive purchase-points; her breasts, her belly, her cupcake were all footrests. One pair of womanly feet even cradled her head erotically.
She tried to focus on her peril but the pressure of the warm womanly feet distracted her nearly to orgasm. This wasn't the time! If they got her aboard their fashion-runner, she'd be a sexual slave to the entire womanly crew!
A call from nearby. Ahoy! She tugged at her bonds, but if there was one thing sailorgirls knew, it was knots.
=< O >=
Madam Johnston lay on her side in the dim little cell, her firm mature body trussed up neatly, her thighs bound back and open, airing her smoldering sex.
Two nuns stood over her.
"I've worked on her all morning, sister," the older one noted. "She's still giving out trash-orgasms, little poppers of no consequence. Eventually we'll train her to produce huge rolling climaxes to better serve Our Lady Astarte. But for now, we've got to get them all out of her system."
The other nun, young and eager, nodded. "I'll work on her until the dinner hour. Should we let her go then?"
The other nun considered it before shaking her cowl. "No, we'll keep her confined, give her a little broth. Then Sister Marrygold will see to her until the midnight bell."
The newest acolyte groaned into her gag. Another orgasm would kill her. They had to show mercy...
In a way, they did.
=< O >=
Back on the summit of the sacred site, Megan hesitated. Then, tentatively, she reached down and stroked the knobby magical shaft. Even with her limited training, she could feel power crackle along its length.
Another look to the four points of the compass, still witchless. What should she do? She couldn't just leave the staff here.
Finally, with reverence, she carried it down to her bike and rode slowly home. If Madam Johnston, Tameran, Sasha or Zelda showed up, she would yield it to them. They were senior to her, clearly more deserving.
In the days to come, she rode to each of their cottages yet found no trace of the owners. Some of the things in Sasha's loft brought a blush (not of embarrassment, no) to the little witch's dimpled cheeks. And in the Madam's cottage were all those valuable books. In the end, she carried the most precious tomes back to her own little croft. This done, she locked up the four empty households and carried away the keys.
But there was still the matter of the staff.
It stood in the corner of her room, almost glowing with fairy light. She felt like she had to do something with it, but what? Then, finally, in desperate ignorance, she picked it up and stepped out onto the stoop of her little lodge.
The village of Sheepish lay spread out below her, its quiet country ways passing as they always had. Below its thatched roofs, daughters languished in their mother's bonds, learning their knots. Elder girls dragged trussed village mannis into the roadside brush, their cheeks flush with winsome expectations. Woman leaned on the back fences while their washing dried, gossiping about who'd tied who. And out towards the dairy, a trio of milkmaids chattered as they made their way to the barn, pulling on their latex gloves.
Megan looked out over it all and raised the staff.
"Let good things come to all," she commanded from her heart.
Even she, with her limited skills, felt the magical discharge. But what it meant she didn't know. Nothing changed.
Disappointed, she went back inside, tossing the staff into the corner. Kicking off her shoes, she plunked into the center of her four-poster iron bed, depressed. What was she to do now?
Little did she know, all across the village, things were happening.
In cupboards, in hope chests, ropes stirred. Of every ten lines hung in anticipation of everyday use, one worked itself free, slipping snakelike from pegs and drawers. From the mansions of the great ladies to the side-quarters of the simple maids, ropes wiggled off into the grass, a progression that would have thwarted St. Patrick.
This multitude of hemp and cord, twine and line, rustled through the brush, every last loop of it bound for the small witch's hut on the edge of town.
Megan was lying in her bed, feeling lost to the world, her eyes moist with tears. What was she to do? She had a staff she didn't know how to use. She had a curse that meant she couldn't be tied. And her mentors had vanished. She was alone in the world.
A moment later, something jostled her. Her first thought was that her elders had returned. A moment later, sentient loops of rope captured her hands, hauling them neatly into the small of her back, wrist to elbow.
"I was going to give it to you," she pleaded, thinking this was punishment. But it wasn't; no angry witches loomed over her. And then she realized it wasn't punishment at all; she was bound!
She, who couldn't be bound, was! Her wrists were neatly tucked away, the cords hissing as their knots tucked true. She sat up, crossing her coltish legs before her, shifting back and forth. Breathlessly, she waited for the ropes to drop away as they always had. But no, she was bound, nice and snug and sweet, helpless in her own bed. Marvelous! She cast out a shuddering sigh of pure delight.
Then she realized the multitude that surrounded her. Ropes stood erect as if conjured thus by Indian fakirs. It was as if they were all watching her. She felt a little fear, as delightful as spice, and leaned back. With that, they pounced.
Ropes whirred around her chest and tummy, meshing her in the completeness she'd always dreamed of. Her pert breasts were traced, outlined, then cross-crossed, her nipples compressed with breath-shuddering friction. Cord corseted her trim belly, pushing her breath out until her head swam. Her shoulders stood out in sharp relief as cords forced her posture rigid. And then came the rope that whirled around her neck. She yelped in fear but it simply snugged up then dragged her backwards, its far end looping around the headboard bars.
Other ropes had captured her trim ankles, hauling her downward, locking around the far posts. Now she was pinned tautly across the bed, legs wide. Lastly, her trembling knees were captured, hauled to a hip-creaking gape to the lower side frames.
She was nothing but a rope-encrusted "Y" shape, an absolute prisoner, tied down with cruel authority across her own soft bed.
She looked down her immobilized torso, down to where her toes wiggled in lonely isolation. She couldn't move, not at all. She could hardly breath, everything was so tight. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you all."
And then a cloth gag, perfumed and fresh from a lady's drawer, intended for her maid's lips this very night, flew like a bat across the room and swept across her lips, tightening with jaw-creaking pressure. Megan, mute, could only lay back and enjoy it.
And she did. For long hours she lay contentedly trussed on her bed, a lifetime of fetished longing pouring into her desperate soul. This is what she'd wanted. This was what she'd dreamed of. It was as if some ghostly version of herself had done this wicked, wicked thing to her. If she looked up, she could almost see her own image standing over her, smiling down with little-girl cruelness.
She closed her eyes and simmered in her cruel bonds.
It was late afternoon when her sense of magic roused her. She cracked open her bleary eyes.
The staff floated off the end of the bed, in the center of the room, orientated directly on her.
She watched as it floated slowly nearer, the late afternoon sun reflecting on its smooth, knuckled head. It eased between the bars of her footplate, drifting between her roped maiden ankles, guided by some sense between her trembling knees. Straining her head against her neckrope, she watched as it slipped, with all the grandeur of a docking steamship, into the yawning cavern of her black skirt.
All was silent for a moment save for Megan's rasping breath. Then she blinked. "Oh, no... no!" she begged into her clenching gag, her body shuddering within its cocoon of rope. But the slight lifting of her hips and her rabbiting heartbeat belayed her true emotions.
It didn't pound into her, far from it. With gentle grace, the head rotated slowly within her moistening socket, easing in and out, paving its way deeper via her excited secretions. With shuddering breath, she tried to force the issue, shoving downward, but the shaft eased demurely away, playful in its toyings. She groaned, fit to weep. But then, the delightful nudge. It moved against her, within her, inside her, lifting her passions, racing her heartbeat. She simply could not believe it could be so wonderful, to hang in roped security while this wooden rod pushed her into insanity. She would go mad, mad...
She imagined that she was being taken by a rogue manni, one that had slipped into her little hut. Or that Lady Goldwaith, so infamous in appetite, had taken her and was plying her with sinister toys. A hundred fantasies swirled in her mind, magnifying the sensation to the breaking point.
And then her hips bucked, the rope around her neck gently correcting its hold lest she strangle herself in her passions. The bed shuddered as if in an earthquake. Fortunately in this Gai-shift world, all iron-frame beds were built sturdy. Design, after all, anticipated need.
Then she fell silent, still, as if dead. Sort of.
She was given a chance to recover, and then the staff was at her again, probing and prodding her girlish secrets. She didn't think she wanted this second time. She was afraid repetition would spoil it. However, the ropes gave her no choice but to submit. Once more, her girlish gates were pounded open by this sorceress battering ram.
She thought there might have been a third time, but it was really hard to recall it.
When she finally came to at sunset, she found her aching body lying freely on the bed. All of the rope was gone. In fact, it was only when she looked at her rope-marked limbs that she could conclude this wasn't some delirious fantasy she'd dreamed up. She tried to get out of bed and tumbled drunkenly to the floor, giggling hysterically.
Finally she was able to winch herself upright. Staggering slowly about, she found all her purloined rope happily organized and sorted in the closet. Honestly, there was enough yardage there to rope a harem. The talented shaft leaned innocently in the corner, its only role in the rapine denoted by the tacky dampness coating its end.
Megan took a while to regain her composure. She made herself some soup. Then she cleaned the bowl and pan. As an afterthought, she cleaned Woody (as she now through of the staff) as well. Through her hands, she could sense the crackle of magic. For all that had happened, there was still a substantial charge left.
She returned Woody to its corner and flopped upon the bed, regarding it.
Then she took a bit of string (obviously a neutral in the recent bondage battle) and neatly tied up her ankles. Then she watched. Obediently, the knot backed out. So the staff had countered her manipulation magic but had not removed her cursed ability.
Idly, she thought of her wish, to "let good things come to all." She'd certainly gotten a good thing. But how did that help the good women of the village of Sheepish?
29.08.09
story continues in Gai-Shift - Magic 4: All Honeymoons End
o0o