Chapter 4: Miriam's Whinery
The new schoolteacher stood before her class, trying not to totter in her high laced boots and sheath-sheer dress, her hair a black blossom around her apple-like face.
She knew they were plotting.
Twenty young girls, all a week into legality, whispering, passing notes and even ropes. On her desk, in lieu of an apple, sat a red ballgag. She'd thought she'd seen a bondage sack in the cloak room when she'd entered.
The girls' blushes were getting bolder. She wondered if she dared turn to the chalkboard and put her back to them. They could jump her at any second.
What would the dean think if she ended her first day bagged up in the closet, tightly bound and perhaps cunningly tormented with paperclips, her class escaped?
Perhaps she should bend one or two over the spanking rail and brighten their trembling behinds. Would that establish control? Or provoke the mutiny?
Truth be told, she'd love a go at that saucy brunette's bottom...
“Carin,” called the eunuch Malik. He stood against the game room's far wall with a speaking tube held to an ear. His eyes rolled meaningfully at the ceiling, towards the tower-top lair of their mistress.
Kate looked up from her Sultha cards, blinking away the make-believe world of her schoolteacher character, confused.
From her own pile of pillows, Carin tossed her cards face down on the table. Her avatar, a housewife who'd come to London for soap and somehow found herself strapped up to an asylum's tickling rack had just managed to escape. True, a random piece, a dust-bin lady, had been tempted to smuggle the foot-tingling innocent out in her wheeled dustbin. And true, she was bound up nice and snug inside, being carried to heavens-knew-where. But at least she wouldn't be tickled as she had at the asylum. Well, maybe not too badly.
Around the game table, other players were rising, smiling wickedly. One Asian girl plucked coils of ropes from a hat rack and tossed them to the others. It was quite a sight – a dozen women garbed in revealing Persian clothing, their eager hands slowly uncoiling ropes, leering as they advanced. And Carin, the blonde Dutchwoman with the pleasant round face, could only back away, smiling, repeating, “No... please... oh please....” Of course there would be no begging off what was coming, no mercy. Mistress Ra'idah, from high in her tower, had ordered her eunuch Malik to prepare a woman. Malik had selected based on criteria known only to him. And now Carin faced tight bondage and ill-use, and there was nothing she could do and nowhere she could run.
She fell back into a mound of pillows, trying to ward off the tightening ring of harem women, but it was more in helpless play than anything else. “Catch her arms!” “That's it – hold her.” “Flip her over.” “Now khirls, are we not friends? Please... don't...”
By now Kate had drifted up, mesmerized by the collective roping of this single girl by this platoon of pantalooned pussycats. Three women corded her long arms up, elbows, shoulders, forearms, wrists. Another four bound up her legs, trussing them like long lengths of cordwood. Miriam, the sultry Italian witch with the black/white hair, was just finishing up with her ankles, pulling the last knot hard, patting the rounded heels. Other girls coaxed a gag into the poor girl's mouth, turning her pleas into muffled grunts. More rope went around her, highlighting her hourglass shape and delineating her generous buttocks.
Kate found herself rocking, biting a knuckle, restraining herself from crying out to be bound like that too. She couldn't understand why she was so horny, why the low-grade anticipation of the Sultha game should translate into full blown arousal. She wanted nothing more than to drag the trussed Dutchwoman back to their sleeping cell, toss her into the pillows and slam her until climaxes flew in telegraphic staccato. Or to lay at her side as the ropes tightened her own body up in a maddened ball, a dozen hands working to cord her all the more (and to pinch and goose her on the side).
Anything would be better than watching.
Finally the girls were done. They backed away from the girl they'd cruelly packaged, dusting off their hands, brushing back dislodged hair, trying to get their excited breathing under control, giggling between themselves. Miriam nodded to Malik, still at his tube.
“Clear,” he reported.
SHIFT
Where Carin had been was a cooling indentation in the pillows, the trace of wetness in the center.
Chattering, the girls went back to their game. Kate signaled she was done for the day – whatever her class would do to her they would do.
She wandered aimlessly through the confines of the harem, wondering what their Arabic captor was doing to her well-roped friend. Just the thought of what wet sausage-packing torments her bedmate was undergoing was enough to make Kate blush in hot envy. Thrice she found herself in her sleeping alcove, fingering herself to no conclusion, making her nipples and twat raw from desperate frictioning. Finally in the late afternoon, fantasizing desperately of Megan stripped and balltied and looking imploringly over a trembling pink shoulder, she managed to squeeze out a long shuddering climax. In fear of calling in her rope-happy harem-mates with throaty cries, she gnawed a pillow as her hips pumped. After this, she fell – or swooned – into a deep sleep.
She awoke late in the night. Carin had not returned.
Kate crossed to the bath area, quietly washing herself clean of her passions, careful to not attract nocturnal opportunists. Once she'd tipped her clothing though a slot, she picked another set off the shelf, a green set of panties with a silky halter that was less there than not. Slipping those over her trim body, shifting them about to make them as comfortable as possible, she stepped out into the main chamber.
And stood, for she had no idea what to do next.
Around her came sounds as natural as the ocean, the sounds of women sleeping and women moaning into tight gags. From the farthest, darkest corner of the room, Malik lay where he'd been abandoned, spread-eagled and back-jacked atop a mound of pillows, the wicked toys the women had used on him scattered about his sweaty, trembling body. His chastity cage glimmering in the moonlight, its captive element thrusting against the bars, painfully checked.
She considered releasing his ropes, reconsidered, decided not to. The frustrated agony suited him.
At the oasis beyond a broad barred window, robed tribal daughters washed the harem's laundry in an outgoing stream. They talked sensuously and low, their words lost but their meaning clear in their husky voices and bold eyes. Some of the costumes were too far gone, the juices of the former wearer too stubborn to come out. These they burned. The small campfire appear to approve this diet, its high flames flashing in crazed hues of orange and green.
“Pining for your girlfriend?”
Kate blinked sideways. Miriam, the tall, hard Italian witch with long black hair on one side of her part, white on the other, stood next to her like a vamping lamppost. Kate glanced about, worried that Miriam's sycophants might be about to jump her, to truss her, to drag her off into the powerful woman's lair, but no, they were alone.
“Carin,” she admitted, “has not returned.”
A knowing smile. “Regardless her small size, Ra'idah has an appetite as vast and varied as the sea. One day, it might be kisses. That night, it's flick-whips. The following day its a sleep-sack designed for sexual fermentation. The girls never knows what to expect other that it will be exceptional.” A low chuckle. “As no doubt you will soon learn.” A finger slipped out, to trace Kate's trembling jaw. “My, you are a pretty girl. Purple hair suits you.”
“Don't,” Kate protested, turning her head slightly but not totally.
“I would have loved to have found you back when I lived in a villa near Serrento. I would have arranged to have you plucked up should you have visited there, to be spirited to my haven.”
Kate said nothing. She closed her eyes. The firm finger slowly followed her rounded chin.
“The local girls have an amusing way of producing wine. They weave mesh-nets from old vines, just like a Chinese finger-trap but larger. Into it your little naked body is passed. Then they place their bare feet on your shoulders, gaining the leverage needed to pull the draw-cords up, to snug their web so tightly around your body. It's amusing, quite so, to see how your body shapes and thrusts when so contained, your breasts jutting, your buttocks bulging like hot-crossed buns – you look like a little pink quilt. They will mesh up three or four girls, locking them in straining confines. A line is hooked between your shoulders and you are all lifted into the air like a collection of interesting Solstice decorations. There you dangle from huge wooden cog-wheels, the village girls looking up at you with sultry interest and ribald comments. You'll shiver at their base suggestions, or try to, but the hemp lacings are so tight around you that you can barely breath. All this is made worse by the distressed nude women wrapped up around you, their sweaty skin bunping yours with every oscillation.
“Looking down, you watch in concern as a huge tub of grapes is placed below your milling feet. Then a lever is thrown and the cogs begin a slow transversal, moving you around, raising you up and down. You cannot stop it as your bare feet mash into the cool grapes, the pulp squishing up between your toes. Its quite sensuous, this pedal-pestle action. Like a sexual carousel, your nude bodies rise and fall, round and around, your purpling feet drooling mush. It's a degrading use of a captive, and all the more delicious because of this. And so is the wine that the curious process produces. Experts agree that the wines of Serrento carry the pungent flavor absorbed from the feet of its captives, a faint suggestion of salt, a subtle flavoring of desperation. And around and around you will go, through the night as the coarse villages carouse around your vat, playing their simple games of 'rope me merry' and 'find the chickpea'.
“Eventually, when the grapes have been trod into a slurry, will you be lowered. Then the true dismay begins for they must clean your feet with soapy water and stiff brushes, an effort that can take hours. Yes, how uncomfortable it is to be pinioned beneath plump farmgirl flesh, your shins locked up by some strongly scissoring legs, heated flesh pressing you down, your senses filled with exhaled wine and pussy-puckering excitement. Unable to move, you must endure the sweeping kiss of the terrible brush as the stains are slowly worked from your flesh. For hours the hills ring with the laughter of girls being so attended too. Quite a happy time of the year, so merry.”
Kate shuddered, her blood roaring in her ears, trying to push out her passion like a hen would an egg, blushing in frustration. She was wild with desperation but the reaction wouldn't come. Miriam granted a thin smile, reached down and carefully pinched a nipple. Kate gasped, nearly falling backwards.
“Would you like to come to my villa some day, little Kate?” the hard-faced woman asked, her fingers lightly rolling the captive nipple. “Would you like to make some wine for me? Would you like to see just how depraved village rustics can be when they've got a well-wrapped plaything?”
“I... I... Oh, Annie's Goddess, I...”
SHIFT
Carin lay in a heap before them, stripped of the last bit of her flimsy costume, her limbs scarlet with ropy crosshatchings. Her blonde hair fell tangled across her wide, dreamy face.
Miriam opened her fingers, allowing Kate to come down off her heels, to blink past her raging passions at the sight of her foggy friend.
“Carin... You're... you're...”
“I am zooo horny,” the Dutchwoman agreed.
“Ra'idah favored orgasm-denial tonight, it appears,” Miriam noted.
“Are you alright?”
“Zoooo horny.”
“But we've got to get you to...”
Kate suddenly found her arms grasped from behind, pulled back with firm insistence. “Oh,” she involuntarily blurted as her shoulders were drawn back in tension, her palm-sized breasts thrusting.
“Find some rope, Carin,” Miriam instructed.
“Don't mind if I do,” the recently released plaything agreed, stumbling about, thrusting her hands under pillows. Her hand came up triumphantly with cord moonlit white. “By jingo, here's some!”
Kate made little mewing protests as the two women positioned themselves to her rear. She screwed up her eyes, passions rising, as she felt the ropes slip across her hands and around her wrists. Unlike Megan's bonds which employed long ropes that wrapped around and around the wrists, forming a snug cocoon to hold her just where the senior witch wished, Carin's ties were more direct. A simple cross-tie, two loops each way to absorb any slack, a tie that only bit if she struggled. Pushed forward on her tip-toes, her legs straining, her breasts dangling, her arms jacked up and hands lost to her, Kate could only moan as those ever-present passions re-ignited. She didn't care what Carin did to her, or that Miriam might watch. She just wanted it done.
The older Italian's fingers looped into her purple hair, wrenching her upright. A hand clamped over her lips, Miriam's hand, firm in its muffling. Another long arm looped around her, pinning her to Miriam's hard torso as if the woman was a living stake to be bound against. In her peripheral vision, Carin leered.
“Oh, let's khet Katie to my sleeping chamber. I've got a number of... issues... I need her for.”
“I'll pin her,” Miriam suggested hotly in Kate's ear, “You pump her.”
Kate tried to struggle but between Carin's ropes and Miriam's grasp, she wasn't going anywhere. Even so, it wasn't fully against her wishes as she was forced across the tile floor towards the waiting alcove and the sexual adventures that would soon occur within.
Soon all that remained in the empty central chamber was a pathetic eunuch pinioned across his pile of pillows, her limbs straining, his manhood hard against his cage, painfully aroused by the scene he'd been forced to witness. He gnawed the silken gag eager female hands had thrust between his teeth, half-crazed by checked madness. These women were driving him mad...
23.03.12
story continues in Gai-Shift - Oasis Chapter 5: Ra'idah's Delight
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