Chapter 3: Guests of Ra'idah
Nudge... Nudge...
Kate awoke to an insistent blunt prodding, fluttered her purple eyelashes, yawned, stretched her arms. Then she saw the domed roof, the cozy rounded room and the thoroughly trussed, muted and blindfolded blonde nuzzling her and remembered where she was.
Ra'idah's harem.
Carin had lain in overnight bondage, roped up by an alarmed Kate (who'd been unnerved by her plots of tulip-trussing revenge against her turncoat village). Yet now, after a full night's sleep, those reservations seemed insignificant. Kate sat up, her trim body as naked as the day she was born, and looked down at her friend. The poor Dutch witch lay face down, hands and feet locked back into a well-knotted hogtie, her torso anchored with endless coils of rope. Her limbs were so trim and strong that Kate found her passions stirring.
What's happening? Normally I'm just a lump in the morning. Carin is... turning me on!
Carin seemingly sensed Kate's appraisal and managed to shoulder-roll herself onto her side, belly and breasts exposed, nipples jutting as if to toss twin dares at the purple-headed girl. She rolled her hips suggestively, thrusting her pelvis as if seeking sexual purchase.
She really wants me, Kate mussed. And do I ever want her!
Almost as if controlled by someone else, the ordinarily insensitive Kate found her hand slipping down to cradle an offered breast, her thumb lazily flicking the hard nipple. At her touch, Carin moaned and arched her spine all the more. Kate found herself drawn to her helpless harem-mate, her hands moving as if possessed by a sex fiend, groping and pinching and fondling. A hand exploring the roped crotch came away tacky. She sniffed it, smiled, and slipped it back into Carin's honeypot for seconds. The captive hummed into her gag, thrusting her pelvis, aiding and abetting.
Kate reclined along her steaming friend, marveling at how horny she'd become. She arranged her nipples to press against the Dutchwoman's, pebble-hard flesh-nuggets agitating the pair with every quickening breath. When their excitement was peaking, Kate slithered both hands down between them, slipping through a silky Gibraltar of sweaty tummies into the steamy Mediterranean ringed by their quivering harbors. With her right hand she located her own smoldering sex, thrust deep, gasping in glorious surprise at the exaggerated pleasure of it. Her other hand favored her friend, eliciting a warble of reaction through the spit-soaked gag. And so Kate worked them both, pumping the two of them, driving them upwards towards the heaven of perfect climaxes. Soon there occurred a thundering explosion like a battery of guns going off as the two came and recame, flesh hot against flesh, sweat mingling. How delightfully scratchy Carin's ropes were against Kate's sensitive skin.
Kate was a long time recovering. Lazily she wondered how she'd managed to top the greeting orgasm the harem had granted her the day before but somehow she'd managed. She flickered open tear-crusted eyes to see the round cloth-banded face of her darling friend in peaceful rest. She gave the nose a loving kiss; the girl grunted in recognition.
Eventually Kate rose up, rolled Carin onto her stomach and fell to working out the tight knots, marveling at how wet and raunchy their grappling had been. Eventually the last knot was gone and the Baltic beauty pulled herself up on an elbow, her hair tangled gold, her flesh gleaming wetly.
“How very nice you are to treat me so. Zank you. Now I should show you about our khilded cage.”
The two discarded yesterday's rumbled silks through a slot in the wall. They then crossed to a steamy tiled bath hall, as round as the interior of an egg, where leggy women reclined in tubs, murmuring to each other in knowing familiarity. Carin, noticing Kate's shyness before strangers, led her to a secluded tub where they bathed each other, the Dutchwoman chatting happily about the sensational bondage from the night before and offering racy recommendations for improvements, ones that set Kate's heart to beating.
After toweling off they fetched two new costumes from a shelf backed by discrete hatchways. Once more the clothing caused Kate's breasts to present themselves like bread on a bakery shelf. She shifted her ordinarily bosom uncomfortably, Carin watching with side-long fascination.
Then breakfast. A sunny alcove before a wide barred window which admitted a lovely breeze, the nearby table piled high with fruits, juices and pastries. The two sat for a time, looking out on the placid oasis a short distance off, ringed by palms and colorful tents. Hawklike tribeswomen, their black robes concealing yet revealing, strode about purposely.
“Our servants,” Carin noted. “Zey stock what we need and wash what we stain. Ra'idah has hired their tribe.”
Kate watched for a while, silently chewing as two tribeswomen towed a pair of buckled, hooded mannis from a tent. With the ease of natural horsewomen, the two vaulted to the backs of the strap-fast males, their leaps exposing the unsheathed pussies within the flourish of their robes. Together they rode off along the palm line, their rounded heels tucked around the hips of their eager mounts.
“They never enter our harem,” Carin mentioned, an eye towards the thoughtful Kate. “Things get passed through holes in the wall. Ra'idah's tower has no doors. When we are needed upstairs, we are teleported.”
“I didn't say anything,” Kate replied, looking away from the horsewomen's wild freedom.
Finished, they glided through the balance of the harem, Carin throwing easy greetings to the heartbreakingly beautiful women lulling on thick pillows. Kate found more than one set of eyes tracking her passage and tucked in closer to her friend. She wasn't sure if she would like being bound up by strangers whose tastes she didn't know.
You'd like it, her inner voice told her. Trust me.
She blinked.
Why am I so horny?
Several of the women clustered around a hookah, sharing the waterpipe nipple and amusing stories. One fleshy oriental blew a smoke ring, then puffed a column of smoke through it, all the while eying Kate.
Kate was still looking back when she almost tripped over a trussed girl laying in total bondage across an opulent rug. The girl, an African with a pug nose and white-magicked hair, groaned and looked up impassionatly to Carin. Kate found herself unable to bring herself to step over the poor trussed lass and detoured around her instead.
“Should we...?”
“What. Untie her?” Carin laughed good-naturedly. “Zomeone decided Tanya should lay in long-suffering punishment. Perhaps a khrudge. Perhaps a game. Perhaps to make her more agreeable to a night of pillowing. Either way, she looks very fetching like that.”
“Sorry,” Kate mouthed back to the imploring, rope-webbed African.
Besides the heavy pungency of the hookahs, the air was also rich with incense. Kate noticed it burning in meshed slots in the walls. While she watched, an Arabic woman attendant on the other side (just visible through the slot) placed a new stick into a waiting bowl, igniting the rod with a match. The scent of rose swirled over Kate. She looked back and studied Tanya again, saw anew the curving contour of hip, flank and breast, compressed in painful trenchworks by the white ropes. The prone girl's buttocks seemed to pout around her cruel lashings. With a mute sigh, the girl lay her head on the carpet, the realization that she would never escape these bonds evident on her expressive face. Kate, her own blood pounding, considered asking Carin if maybe they should carry the poor captive back to their room, to comfort her in her distress. The ropes would have to stay on, of course.
But Carin had other plans, her stride quickening. Already she was gesturing to the two major areas off the base of the tower, large domes of colorful tiling. Kate found herself realizing that the high pink towers with its two ground-level domes looked like... well, a manni's thing. She giggled, had a flash fantasy, then quickly covered her silk-panties with her hands. What had gotten into her?
“The library,” Carin noted, gesturing to a book-laden room filled with women reading erotica (those who had broken the silence sat hooded like hawks, unable to move against their heavy belting). Kate squinted, noting some of Adara Burke's titles laying about. Small world.
“And ze game room.”
Kate stopped, marveling.
A game room might denote a room with many small tables, each with setups for checkers and chess. Or, perhaps a game room might be a little hide-away place below the stairs, filled with orderly ranks of straps, wide rubbery gags and ropes for anchoring reluctant guests. But this game room was nothing like either of these.
A huge table dominated the room, flanked on all sides by mountains of pillows interspaced with hookahs. Sprawled on these pillows like cats lay perhaps two dozen women, a third calmly playing their game, the others watching. And the game... Kate stepped closer, her purple eyebrows rising ever higher.
The vast gameboard was nothing short of magnificent. Carved buildings, roofless to give access to individual rooms, formed a miniature metropolis. Stepping closer, Kate realized that this was a model of a London of sorts. Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, Hyde Park, Harrods, all were there yet cast along Arabic lines. It was as if the craftswomen who'd constructed them had done so from loose verbal descriptions. In the diminutive streets stood tiny figures which several women with plotter sticks maneuvered at the bequest of the reclining gamesters or the results of dice throws.
Nearby was a tray of figurines not in play. Kate picked one up and examined it. A maid, with frilly apron and tidy bonnet, carved along lustful lines. Her pumps where heavy and heeled, her skirt tight, her hips cocked, her face half-turned as if shocked by some proposal. Kate studied it closely, fascinated to the point that her nipples pushed against their thin veil. There were other figures: sleek airship captains, plump ale-house girls, willow-thin ladies of refinement, all carved in erotic exaggeration.
“The game is called Sultha,” Carin observed. “It has no beginning or end. It goes on day after day. Players rise in power or fall to the dominance of others. Like life, I suppose.”
“Do you play?”
“I am playing now. Oh, my primary piece is a suburban woman who'd come into town zeeking washing soap and ended up straightjacketted in ze asylum. The woman in charge has assigned me to a regiment of horrible tickling. I've hope that perhaps a mutiny among ze patients will play out. Othervise my poor lady vill be tickled, day after day, until she goes mad.” Carin considered the board. “Zer is zat random piece, zee dust-bin lady. She has shown interest in me. Perhaps I could tempt her to spirit me out.”
“How many pieces are there?”
“Thousands, I suppose. Most of them are randomly controlled. Maids are placed by agencies. Prostitutes walk the Embankment with ropes in their purses. Mannis are bought and sold. Shopowners compete. I even think there is a Knightsbridge Angel piece out there somewhere. It's quite a game.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It's like chess; a simple set of rules promote innumerable elegant strategies. Come, let's vatch.”
And so they did. Carin sucked at a hookah; Kate tried it but didn't care for it. Below them the miniature world swirled. Watching, Kate began picking up the rules.
On a nearby pillow reclined a middle-aged Italian woman, her column-hard face betrayed by eyes that danced in amusement. Her long hair was parted across her scalp's centerline; one side fell white, the other black.
“Miriam,” Carin noted.
With casual instructions, Miriam noted a simple command which was carried out by the plotters. Pieces where moved.
In her mansion, in the midst of a vibrant gathering, a ladyship figure issued a quiet command to two maids who nodded and scurried off. A turn later one of the guests, a delightfully rounded redheaded lady in a green dress whose low cut showed quite an expanse of bosom, wandered into the conservatory, seeking respite from the party.
“Ma'am, you are not supposed to be here,” spoke a maid who stepped out from a dark corner, her face set with servant's conviction.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I'll just be off then.”
“It's too late for that,” the second maid said, stepping out of the curtains to block the door. The green-dressed guest noticed all too late that the two chambermaids carried ropes in their hands and determined expressions on their faces. “Our mistress's orders, ma'am. Please don't make a fuss.”
She fussed anyway, not that it did any good. The two maids pinned her in their hot grip, standing close, working ropes around her failing hands. After that, it just got easier, more ropes, tighter and tighter, tensioning around her top-heavy torso, turning her into a green toy top. She tried to cry out but a dutiful hand clapped over her lips, soon followed my a generous application of medical tape. Forced into a high-backed chair, she could only watch as the two corded up her legs, ankles and knees and thighs done up nice and tight. The captured woman closed her eyes and grunted but once into her gag, tossing a loose coil of red hair that tormented her forehead.
Once she was trussed up, the two maids stepped back to look down with chirpy happiness to survey their roped, taped and resigned foe.
At the table, Miriam smiled coolly amid hairfalls black and white.
Another player cast forth a card. Miriam frowned, tossed a die. The frown deepened.
“What are you doing?” one maid asked as her companion opened one of the tall windows. “Shhhh!” was the answer. “Come.”
At her insistence, the bound woman was lifted between then and borne, toes dragging, across the conservatory and into a discrete stairwell. The assent was close and fleshy, the tight space filled with big breasts, roped flesh, pinching servile fingers, gagged humming. Eventually the trio topped the fight, entering into a copula of a room, small with two iron beds. Penny-dreadful magazines (filled with lurid pictures of damsels in tight distress), tangled coils of ropes and discarded sexual toys were the only adornment. Together, the maids lowered their bound prisoner onto one of the beds. The girl who'd opened the conservatory window sat next to her and boldly pealed the top of the captive's dress down, granting freedom to her prancing twin orbs. Behind her, the other watched in wide-eyed wonderment.
“But our ladyship instructed us to...”
“We tell our ladyship that her guest slipped out through the window before we could apprehend her. We'll keep her nice and snug here. Our little plaything.” A tentative hand drifted over an exposed nipple and with growing boldness pinched it. The prone woman gasped into her tape.
“Oh my,” the standing maid managed.
Miriam stood, her hair ying-yang around her narrow face. Without comment, with no sound but the hiss of silk, she strode out.
With her own cool smile, Carin slipped down into the still-warm pillows, gesturing to the plotters that she was in play now. Kate remained perched on her pillow-summit, watching events unfold like a curious goddess. A plotter handed the dutch girl her cards. She considered.
The hapless housewife shifted, the leather confinement suit creaking around her, the buckles and lacings easily overcoming her desperate struggles. With bare toe-strapped feet, she managed to roll once across the padded floor. A key hissed into her cell's door. She looked over her black-packaged shoulder, eyes wide over her broad leather gag. Oh no, they were coming to tickle her again...!
23.03.12
story continues in Gai-Shift - Oasis Chapter 4: Miriam's Whinery
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