Chapter 2: Carin the Flower Vitch
Somehow Kate sensed that this teleport had dropped her down inside the base of the tall-tower. Before she recovered a voice shrilled out, “Oh look, a newbie!”
Instantly soft hands, feminine hands, countless in number yet firm in grip, pinned her down against a pillowy surfaces. There was a confused blur of flesh, all colors of skintones in various states of undress. A hand clamped over her mouth, more hands cupped her eyes, her limbs were pulled wide apart and someone giggled throatily in her ear.
“Mmmfffp! MMMMF!”
And now this legion of hands took her, molesting, conjolling, pinching, prodding, exploring. Moments ago, while rolled up in a flying carpet, she'd been desperate for such attention. Now it was washing over her with a will and passion.
How could women know to do such things? Her nipples were grasped like the handles of delicate teacups. Her thighs were stroked. Her feet were gently yet insistently tickled. She cried into the gagging palm, shaking her head as tongues licked and toes traced. The elixir was sizzling in her blood, living acid. Even with the weight of several naked bodies draped over her, her hips rose, her muted cries becoming steam-whistle shrieks. It was what she wanted – what she needed – yet its coming intensity filled her with trembling fear. Would she even survive this event?
And then she was bucking, her unseen assistants still pink-slapping her belly and groping her ass as she climaxed with an intensity greater than the African diamond-pit machines had ever managed. It ground out of her like a thing wetly processed, this titanic eruption, while in her minds images of Megan and Petunia and Livy and others, so many others, flashed. For an instant she was mentally tied up with every loop of rope that had ever bound her, all simultaneously, while every woman who'd ever tormented her had a go at her. She screamed and screamed, arched and thrust, until near-darkness overtook her.
A sensation of being carried. A cool enclosure, comforting. Pillows soft against her back. Someone ran a damp rag along her body, soaking up the tears, sweat and juices she'd all but squirted out amid her passions.
A blonde girl, her face as oval and knowing as a gathering moon, her simple grace at odds with the silken halter and tiny oriental panties. Kate lay watching her own body being slowly and methodically bathed.
“You have khorgious hair, such a vonderful purple,” the girl told her, her words lyrically accented.
Kate looked around. They were inside a small round room, its curtain-bordered entry looking out into a common space. Women drifted past in forms of splendid undress. Sun from wide windows cast gridded columns through the faint haze in incense. A lute played in the background.
“Where...? Where am I?”
“You are the guest of Ra'idah of the Oasis.” The girl set the damp rag aside, placing her hands neatly into her lap. “This is her harem. You are now her slave.”
Kate started to stir, ignoring the cool hand that pinned her shoulder. “Ra'idah, eh? The bint on the flying carpet, eh? Well, I'll show her the dangers of enslaving a witch!”
The blonde woman smiled sadly. “She, too, is a vitch.”
“Well, perhaps a magical battle then. I've fought witches before.” (True, she had against Megan, and other than that first time she'd jumped Megan with the entire covent and posted her to London locked in a strongbox she'd always been defeated, bound, stripped, and used with consistent regularity).
“Nobody else has defeated her. And ve are all vitches.”
“What?” Kate rolled on her side, looking out at the dozens of women who chatted in small groups and lazily sunned beneath barred windows. She noticed the poise of the magically gifted, the confidence that radiated even when forced to wear skimpy silken slips. And the hair. While most of the women sported natural hues, there were headfuls of green and blue, all colors of the rainbow.
“But why would this... Ra'idah capture only witches?”
“It's a dominance thing, we suppose. Some vomen equate power vith the number of men and vomen day hold in bondage. For Ra'idah, she holds vitches.”
“This many witches... they should be able to blow the roof off this tower.”
“Our powers have been stolen. None know how.”
Kate frowned at this but remained silent.
“Forgive me but ve have not been introduced. I am Carin. I am Dutch.”
“Kate. English.”
“Very khood. Ve be sisters in bondage.” A hand proffered. Against her distrusting nature, Kate found herself taking the cool hand in hers, shaking.
“She bunking with you?”
Standing in the door was a swarthy manni, grimly scalp-shaven, his body garbed in purple trousers and a scarlet vest, a fez cocked on his head. Kate found herself staring. Mannis were scarce in this world, usually kept bound under beds by possessive women, sometimes traded on the open market.
“Malik, this is Kate. She vill be sharing this alcove vith me.”
“It matters not to me! Give her the lowdown, show her the ropes!” He flung skimpy finery into Kate's naked lap, beady eyes menacing. “Put these on! Or else!”
“Malik!” Carin shot back, rising. “Behave.” At her words the burly man flinched into a submissive bow. The Dutchwoman shook her head, looking aside to Kate. “He is our eunuch. And a troublesome von at dat.”
“A eunuch? You mean his...? They've been cut off?” Kate blanched at the waste.
“Malik? Show her.”
The big man sighed, then opened his loose trousers. Kate found an odd hunger rise at the sight of the man's unaltered tackle. Yet it was locked in a cruel golden cage, a tiny key-lock at its tip. The fit was... snug.
“Ve play vit Malik in the evenings sometimes. Pin him down, perhaps tie him up. Toy his body vit feathers. Makes him excited. Poor fellow – all he can do is moan as he swells in his bars. And he's got a very trained tongue – ve should know, we trained it – vitch makes him a very useful pet. Anyvay, go ahead and put on these kharments. It will be better than being nakedly, eh?”
Reluctantly Kate agreed, slowly pulling the silken clothing over her body. There was little enough of it, a purple bikini top and thongish bottom, both trailing silk, both indecent. If anything, they added a mystery of sultry sexuality to her trim form. They raised her breasts to perky attention and make her small butt project in saucy availability. She turned to examine her trim torso in a small wall mirror, surprised by the exotic purple-haired nymph it reflected. Malik indicated her comeliness by grunting, stooping, then slowly backing out of the room with eyes tightly shut.
“So vat is your magic power, Kate?”
“Levitation.” She tried to float a bowl of cherries and failed. “Yours?”
“I have, how you say, 'flower-power'.”
At Kate's confused look Carin explained further. “You see, in my native Netherlands, I am quite the village vitch. I am able to make tulips grow big and bright and bold. Colorful, yes. Pleasing, yes, but also very very good for export. The bulbs were most valued. All the women in village like me. I am often provided with the village manni bound up in tight hemp vit a bow adorning his dangle, placed on my doorstep for my use. And I use him lots.”
Kate nodded her head in part to hide her blush. While she'd been climaxed by many women (mostly by Megan, mostly involuntarily), she'd never had a manni. She heard they were messy and rough and strange. And delightful. Too bad Malik was caged. Someday, perhaps, she'd get her chance at a boyo. Meanwhile Carin continued her story, her rosy smile easy, her eyes on something far away.
“I also found out I can do other things with flowers. One night I am sitting in the flower fields under the moon, thinking of things – such as how I'd like another tied manni in my bed – and I noticed Gerta, one of the village girls, drifting through the high flowers. My eyes pop at second look – she is quite the naked little hussy. Clearly she is a nudest-enthusiast. ”
“I am thinking I would like to have her, very very much. Still, my rope is back at cottage and not dried fully from last use. Vat to do? I khet idea. Throw out arms, feel power flow through me, feel moonrays falling over me, feel robe and hair stream behind me. And I feel flowers, all of them. Concentrate. Cast.”
“I hear Gretta cry out. Look to see her struggling. Tulips have grown higher, have wrapped around her wrists and ankles, pulling her down. She toppled back amid the soft flowerbeds. Curious, I valk over to see. ”
“She is spread-eagle, the moon painting her flesh milk-white. She pulls one arm, the other, straining and straining but the flowers have gripped her wide and well. They pull her limbs so tight her little pussy yawns. She would be crying out except for one huge flower clamped over her mouth, jamming its leathery pistil between her teeth, gagging her. I stand nearby, my calm eyes meeting her glaring ones. Oh, she is so mad but the vorst is yet to come.”
“More flower heads move in, touching her body, petals puckering like whore-painted lips, nipping, sucking, agitating. She's moaning at this, the eyes over the gag-flower loosing hostility and focus. She is being kissed all over her body, her ribs, her hips, her arms, her toes. It is driving her krazy. But then three flowers, three devious flowers, lock onto her most tender spots, spots you can certainly guess. Counting the one fixed across her lips, four primary assailants. And they start juicing her, pumping her simultaneously. I see her fall into their rhythm, her hips pumping to their time, her shoulders cocking to their beat. Her muffled moans hold the flower's tempo. Yet still the remainder of the bed kisses her, ignoring the greater assault for their own individual desires. She has all but vanished beneath this bed of frenzied foliage, her milling hands and feet and her mute cries from her lost chastity the only indications of her presence. I turn and leaf her for the night, knowing that with the dawn she vill be released.”
Carin laughed huskily, her blonde hair swirling thick around her high cheekbones.
“The event must have been most satisfactory for her; I'm sure she babbled to her mother and sisters. For you see, in the nights following more village woman drifted into the fields in total nakidity, hoping for flowery assaults. From my windmill home I could see them loitering about in the darkness, hoping to be potted by plants. And so I agreed to their vimsies, throwing broad spells that set the fields writhing beneath the waning moon. I'd lay in my bed and listen to the muffled cries as they were all lashed up in vine-supple stems, pulled as tightly to the warm soil as a manni to a brothel bed, stretched until their limbs creaked, and vonce they were made so very helpless, smacking lips would service their bodies. Locked down and helpless beneath the warm night sky, they would be plant-raped over and over until their teary eyes filled with the rising sun and they were finally released so they could stagger back home.”
“Sounds... wonderful,” Kate managed without squeaking.
“It vas. If anything, having all this rapine taking place around me make me quite hot. Village mayor knows this and makes sure I have new bound maiden or manni on doorstep every night, along with complementary basket of creams and toys. Yes, we happy little place, happy vitch, happy village, happy flowers.”
She sighed.
“All climaxes end, as they say. Eventually summer came and the tulips lost their blooms. As they faded, so did my powers, as always. The plants were allowed to fully drop away and zen the village girls dug up the bulbs, to export or replant as appropriate. And zat is ven trouble came for me.”
“Trouble?”
“Yes. One night I am sleeping in my bed, sad and alone with no bound friend to teach new tricks to, and suddenly I was not so alone. Hands grabbed me. I was dragged from my bed, borne on a dozen shoulders out into the night. There my nightie was ripped away and, oddly, very very high heels were buckled onto my milling feet. At first I did not see the reason for this – vhy the footwear? Then they very rudely bound me to a wooden post. Zey didn't even have the courtesy to bind me with soft cotton ropes; they used rough hemp, punishment-type rope. I vas pulled against the stake, my arms bound eagerly behind me, ropes coiling around me in endless loops. My shoulders were captured and lashed back, jutting my breasts. Knotted ropes locked up my pussy. And zen I found the reason for the high shoes. Bound tightly erect, all my weight forced down into my tippy-toes, very painful.”
“And zer stood the mayor backed by a ring in townswomen, her broad face smiling under her buckled hat. In her hand were two clothespins.”
“ 'We're going to be very strict with you this night, Carin. You are to be punished and banished.' ”
“I cried out, asking what I had done. Well, also I cried out because she was seating those terrible clips – snip snap – on my little buds. I could only look down at my aching titties, teetering in those painfully small yet high shoes, the village ladies ringing me, their faces eager in the torchlight.”
“And zen she showed me what zey vere upset about. In her hands, plant bulbs. But not tulip bulbs that could be exported for high values. Something strange. Something foreign.”
“ 'You know what zese are, vitch? We dug these up from the fields you magicked. They aren't tulip bulbs. These are bulbs that have shown up in other places. England has seen them in their dark forests. They make huge plants, plants that sent their tendrils out to trap women, to drag zem into their juicy maws, to masticate and masturbate zem until zey cannot see straight. Zen, so it is rumored, little fairy people emerge, ones that sneak into cottages at night and bind innocent maidens to their beds and use butterchurns on them.' ”
“Zey left me zere,” Carin continued, “Locked in zier ropes, teetering on those high heels, my tits throbbing, my pussy weeping around the cruel knots. Through the night women would sneak up to lick me, kiss me, stroke me and torment me, using me as their little sex puppet. Some even flicked my clothespins with saucy smiles. How cruelly zey turned on me. By the next morning I couldn't feel my feet, my nipples were on fire and I'd been made to cum about twenty times. They cut me down, trussed me up most completely and put me in a box and shipped me to a convent in North Africa. There I would serve penance for ruining their crop. But I hadn't been there a week when suddenly I was popped out my ropes and into this silken finery, to serve Mistress Ra'idah however she wished.”
“Are you mad at them,” Kate asked. “The villagers who turned on you?”
Carin's smile was reserved. “Not at all. Bygones be bygones and all that. If I ever get back to my homeland I shall focus on making our flowers grow tall and big and strong. They will be like no tulips anywhere.” And then she paused, looking up at Kate through a spill of golden hair. “Of course, then will come the night when the flowers rise from their fields, their new vines slithering down the village streets, rattling the door latches, tapping against the windows, exploring the chimneys, slipping in through the drain pipes. And the villagers, trapped in their barred houses in their nighties and slips, will look in horror as these living ropes reach for them. Each of them, sisters and mothers, even manni-slaves, will be vine-wrapped in tension-tight wrappings, little pigs in blankets, you know? And then they will be dragged through the streets, the entire population bound and helpless, towards the huge gaping tulip heads hungering for them. And into these mouths they will be swallowed, to be churned and used and manipulated until every ounce of lust has been excised from their bodies. After days, perhaps weeks, they will be released but where their village stood will now stand a forest. I, Carin, will no longer be a vitch but a druid, one who will lure damsels into my green glades, to ravish them to the point of swoon and beyond.”
She gave a friendly laugh, not noticing Kate's reservations. “But for now I like it here fine. Its comfortable and Ra'idah is most amusing, rather like a big sister. A big cruel sister.”
Kate cleared her throat. “Um, Carin, I'd like to ask you a favor. Since tonight is my first night here and I'm not used to it, could I tie you up? I'd feel ever so much better in control of the situation. And I promise I'll be gentle...”
Carin grinned playfully. “Is that all? Of course. It will be fun. In fact, its pretty late in the day; why not start now?” She crossed her eager hands before her, an image of willing submission. “Go ahead, silly, tie me!”
Kate picked out some rope from a nearby alcove. “Okay, perhaps if you lay on your side...”
That night Kate curled in a nest of plush cushions. At her side, Carin happily snoozed in her ropy cocoon, her blissful face masked beneath a thick gag and blindfold. Beyond the curtains came the subtle stir of sleeping women and the whine of a distant vibrator. A deep moan indicated Malik was once again lashed up the women he managed, left to his own devices and trying not to think of the girls' laughing cruelty lest compression damage his caged crank.
I've got to get out of here, Kate thought. Don't I?
01.03.12
story continues in Gai-Shift - Oasis Chapter 3: Guests of Ra'idah
o0o