To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Chapter 1: Kate out of the Frying Pan...
The digital clocks of our world cannot run backwards. Constructed of circuit boards and powered by electricity, they only go forward.
The intricate pocket watches of the Gai-Shift dimension, where women are pawns of each other's bonds and men are amusing property, can technically move backwards. By pulling the fob out, the hands of the clock can be spun in true-counterclockwise fashion.
Events of fiction can likewise move backwards in time, so let us chronologically backslide to a point some months back, where...
Kate hung in lurid dreams, unable to move. Her elixir-laced dreams brought forth fantasies that would make a sailor swoon. She looked down her naked bed-bound torso to where Megan, sans jumper, undergarments and even hair-band, reclined adorably against the footboard, a long feather twirling in her mischievous fingers. “This time,” she chirped, “I want to tickle your feet for more than thirty minutes without you cumming. If you fail, you messy girl, I shall be most cross with you.”
Dream images shifted and suddenly Kate was in the blood-warm waters of an African lagoon, rubbery tentacles tightening around her like slobbering serpentine tongues. Against her tits and snatch, hungry suckers agitated her to madness. With her arms lashed down, she couldn't move as more and more tentacles snugged around her, their puckers raising a legion of hickeys across her youthful flesh. And there on shore, hanging in a magically-inverted suspended hogtie, Sister Annie watched with rapture, witnessing Kate being molested into insensibility as she was slowly drawn beneath the lapping waves...
Then a sensation, a real sensation. A moment later her hood was drawn free. Blinking, she realized she was still in Africa, still held by natives and forced to romance diamonds. Literally.
The bespectacled native, twiggy and gawky, smiled down at her in knowing foreshadowing. Long fingers played with Kate's purple hair, always a fascination for the simple tribal women. Not that this fascination would lead to advantage. Kate was going to be used hard, just as she had for every day she'd been held captive.
Held captive. Not so much 'held' as gripped, cinched, or clutched. She was done up hard, harder than Megan had ever tied her, tighter than she'd ever been bound. Her young body was locked in a belt-laden leather corset, one that pinioned her arms behind her back. Cunning straps laced with agitating frills ran through her purple-pubiced muffin. Her breasts were captured in leathery cups, her nipples thrust into pinch-caps. Once the dark machines of this nightmarish prison took over, her leather sheathing would be tightened and shifted, causing her no end of shuddering, sweaty discomfort.
This would occur once she'd been feed Goldwaith-elixir-laced soup. With her body alive in sexual fire yet unable to climax, she'd be thrust onto diamond stands, her hot juices carbon-aligning the stones to absolute perfection.
Even before breakfast, she knew her blood contained some residue of elixir. The natives knew enough about witches to know their powers were nullified when so dosed. She could only hang in her restraints, her lusts burning low, unable to throw her levitation powers about and teach these dusky girls a lesson.
She didn't have to really look to see who was at her side; with their corsets mounted to back-brace mounts, she sat on her padded bench in the same spot she'd been for days. To her left hung Mosi, a rotund black girl who'd been forced into the processor line after allowing Teak Merrywell to escape. Listening to her grunt and gasp as she was pumped over a shaft was eroticism in itself. If the drugs in her blood didn't restrict climaxes, Kate would have popped her cork in short order at the fleshy girl's wetly frantic distresses. But, no, hours would pass in eye-tearing, blood-pulsing passion, her pussy flaming in endless hunger while her dark-skinned companion warbled in guttural vocalization against her banding-gag.
If that wasn't enough to flash-fire her sexual pilot light, having Lady Petunia Goldwaith strapped up to her right was even worse. Even though Petunia was family (Kate's aunt, to be exact) it didn't make any difference. Petunia was renown for her seemingly endless sexual endurance. When she bucked on her stand, sluicing her juices over diamond after diamond, it was as if she were a living machine. On and on she'd go, her dreamy smile evident beneath her metallic gag, her body reeking of agitation. Even after the entire line flagged like limp flowers, Petunia would still be pistoning on yet another diamond, rocking her brace as if to gain another fraction of an inch of play. She was the definition of insatiable.
“Ah, Kate,” Petunia smiled, her golden hair flowing around her maidenly cheeks, “I trust you slept well?”
Kate pouted. “I was tormented by erotic dreams, buckled tight, unable to move an inch.”
“Ah, good. There is nothing better for a young girl than enforced sexual denial. It builds character and aids the circulation.”
“Auntie, don't you ever tire of...” Suddenly she fell silent, her eyes widening, alarmed.
“Darling, you aren't climaxing prematurely, are you,” Petunia asked in concern.
“No, its just that I... I... It's like something is pulling at me... I...”
SHIFT
From three thousand feet up, the African wildness lay displayed like a vast dun blanket. Diminutive herds moved across its face in ant-like progressions. Somehow the captive witch had been teleported high into the sky. She opened her mouth to scream, the cry before the fall.
Something cracked around her like a schooner luffing, as abrasive as a cat's tongue. Already behind by one phenomenon, she was powerless to resist the heavy blue fabric snapping around her, tightening up from all sides, driving her arms to her flanks and her feet together. Air rushed out her nostrils as the wrappings clenched up her ribs – she would have exhaled from her mouth but this same cloth had somehow snapped around her lower face as well, cinching up from all quarters, turning the purple-haired witch into a floating tube of distraction.
So there she hung three thousand feet up, rolled snug, toes peeping out one end, gagged head out the other, as tightly wrapped (and sticky) as toffee. But at least she wasn't falling.
The carpet (for she could see it now out of the corners of her eyes, blue and exotically patterned) busied itself with tucking her in, making every bit of her secure. She could feel her bare toes wiggling in the breeze. She grunted. She tried to shift. Bad idea.
The inside of the carpet was abrasively rough, so much so that Kate wondered if some group of Arabic rug weavers had not intended this. “Let us consider,” one stately, green-eyed matron might have said, “Our rug, my sisters, may be used to roll up a naked maidens. Let us make it as uncomfortable as possible to distress whatever poor girl it is employed to hold. The faster her will crumbles, the quicker she can enthusiastically service her master.”
Kate grunted at her unknown tormentors, shifting and then blushing at the sensation it triggered. Her nipples were fiery flashpoints of breath-checking agitation. Deeper down her muffin yowled as coarse fibers tangled her fine purple hair. She tried not to move. It was only when she stilled that she realized that a slight weight was pressing against her side. Quite unable to turn her head in the confines of the tensed carpet, she rolled her eyes to the limit to her sockets.
The entire rug had not been used to wrap her – its forward tongue jutted into space. Upon this reclined a slight girl as darkly exotic as souk coffee. She had a slender face with a narrow yet bowed nose, and eyes so light-brown they appeared golden. Her body, languidly braced against her rug-wrapped captive, was adorned in silks and jewels, more of the latter than the former. Her hourglass midriff was exposed, a ruby slotted into her navel. Her midnight hair was collected by golden ornaments into a whip-long braid.
With elixir still lingering in her system, Kate found herself heating in her rolled confines, her nipples jutting in the most counter-productive fashion. She moaned at the sensation, trying not the think of the Arabian beauty lazing against her tubed torso.
A melodious command and the carpet began picking up speed, turning north-east against the rising sun, ascending. Her purple-clad captor tipped her head back, her thick braid crackling, the wind revealing even more of her tight, tempting charms. Kate closed her eyes, trying to keep herself calm, but the double assault of her captor's exotic beauty and her molesting confines proved too much. She did her best to will a balming climax out, trying so very hard, imagining all the things Megan had done to her, remembering the sucking embrace of tentacles, panting and pushing until she thought she would pass out. But still no relief. Inwardly she cursed Petunia's formula which prevented magic and orgasms while exacerbating carnal hungers.
Her temper frayed. She screamed in frustration at her inability to cum, wrenching and bucking and achieving nothing. Her passion was a hot kidney stone she could not expel. She pointed her toes into the slipstream, grunting, wiggling. Then her head fell, her nostrils fluttering in frustration.
The imperial Arabic girl glanced back, smiled pityingly, patted her head. Kate grumbled behind her ever-tight gag.
Occasionally the dull erotic distractions would leave her enough sense to take note of her position. They were still soaring north-east, still high and fast. Below the jungle was falling away, replaced by the white dunes of the Sahara. Where was she being taken? What would be done to her?
She hoped whatever was done was horrible. She didn't know how much longer she could endure this itch that could not be scratched.
It was just after noon when the carpet began slowing, descending. Still wrapped in the living carpet, her flesh tingling, her eyes tearing, Kate found herself looking down (what else could she do, her body bundled as it was?). Amid all this white sandy nothingness the splash of green instantly caught her attention. It was an oasis, its thick palms cool emerald. Jutting from their midst like a pink erection stood a high tower with a single open bay located in the shadow of its capping dome. The carpet eased into its cool enclosure.
Inside was opulence. Hanging silk tapestries. Thick rugs. Throw pillows perfect for idling, bowls of fruit and date wine within easy reach. And discreetly, dangling behind curtains and leering from beneath pillows, glimmered golden chains and hungry shackles.
The rug now floated just above the floor. With a languid motion the girl slid off, her bare feet touching lightly down on the cool tiles. She turned and looked to Kate, her golden eyes gleaming against her dark skin like coins in chocolate. Slowly she smiled, a smile of crotch ropes and pinched nipples, of lonely muffled moans in the moonlight. Kate looking into that predatory smile and felt her drugged crotch dampen her skin-tight wrappings.
Her dusky owner let her daring gaze loiter for a little longer than was proper. And then, with motions as smooth and slow as oil, gestured. Kate trembled and then...
SHIFT
20.02.12
story continues in Gai-Shift - Oasis Chapter 2: Carin the Flower Vitch
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