Chapter 5: Ra'idah's Delight
Whatever chance her students had had, they'd lost it.
That first day, they hadn't quite gotten the courage to jump their new schoolmistress. They'd been about to, so close, ropes in hand, eyes flashing with intent. But she'd whirled on them with her high boots and long tight skirt, her dark eyes flashing with wicked promise. Then she'd thrust her pointer at the ringleader and sizzle-quizzed her. When she'd failed (as the schoolmistress had known she would) a flicking pointer gestured to the corner stool, the dunce seat.
“I can't even trust you not to fall off your stool,” she'd declared as she'd pulled her own harsh ropes from her desk. With angry motions she'd trussed her errant student to the stool, her arms lashed to her sides, her feet cocked under, everything roped into place in tight order. A wide white gag silenced her mewing pleas and frustrated grunts. The class had watched in fearful rapture as their leader was turned into a virtual Greek statue, armless, silent, erotic. She could only sit poised in her ropes, her breasts thrusting, her torso clamped tight, her eyes wide and tearing. Quite a sight.
Then, with her pointer poised behind her own buttocks like a swagger stick, the schoolmistress had gone on with her lesson.
Since then she'd organized things well. She'd enlisted the class bullies, east-end girls with cruel leers who'd been raised by closet-locking mothers, control-happy sisters and tight-knotting aunts. At the schoolmistress's direction they had cut out the troublemakers like American cowgirls pulling steers from a herd, roping them up, storing them somewhere dark and quiet, giving them a little 'time out'. It was not uncommon in the school to occasionally find a ball-tied girl, her short skirt rucked around her peachy bottom, lashed and linked and laboring in gagged, blindfolded isolation.
But the schoolmistress was thinking farther. The headmistress, a wiry gray-haired matron possessing the fossilized remains of lush beauty, would be captured at the start of the next school holiday. Stripped to her French underthings, bound to her desk like a laboratory experiment, she would be a delightful subject for the schoolmistress to toy with over the quiet between-term days. In the end, she'd control this woman, and through her, the school.
The side benefit was that she'd possess a new slave, one with forty years of sexual experience that could plumbed and savored. A dog collar beneath her high neck lacings would remind her that she was owned.
It had taken months, but everything was running along the plans lain down by...
“Kate.”
Kate blinked, totally wrapped up in the Sultha game. She set her cards down on the table, stood (her body on display in silken harem trousers and ribbon-wide top) and started over to Malik as demurely as a dog returning to its shepherd, thoughts still on the game.
Only then did she realize he was holding the speaking tube that contacted him with Ra'idah's tower room. That she'd called down an order for a trollopy treat. That the other girls were rising from their pillowed seats around the vast gameboard, bell-like laughter on their lips, harsh ropes in their smooth hands.
The months she'd been here had been pleasant enough. Her days had long and lazy, occupied with Sultha or slap-and-tickle games. Her nights were peaceful, either spent in Carin's arms or (when bound with silk scarves) tucked face-first between her hot thighs. And some nights, in the ranks of a giggling strike team, they'd rope up the poor eunuch and abuse him like an abased monkey, laughing as his shaft purpled against its silver cage.
The only negative was her ever-present cravings, with climaxes as difficult and they were explosive.
But she'd never been selected for the Arabic witch who existed on the tower's peak. Until now.
“Come now, little dove,” Carin said, moving closer with a loving smile and wide arms. “Everyone gets a turn. You'll find it amusing.”
“Either way, you're fit to be tied,” Miriam observed, her black-white hair a match for her black desires and white rope. “Like it or not, you're going to be trussed like a little piglet and teleported up.”
Kate whirled, her purple hair flashing about like a wildly-swung dirk. Suddenly her filmy trousers felt too revealing, her tiny top too small. She didn't want to be bound tight and offered to the mysterious coffee-hued woman who held this harem in thraldom.
“No, please...!”
She tried to levitate the girls ceilingward but, as always and since being brought here, her magic wouldn't come. A moment later eager hands clamped on her arms and shoulders and she was dragged down to the pillows.
There was nothing she could do, not pinned under so many women. She tried to roll but got nowhere. Her arms were pulled behind her back. She felt Carin's touch and ropes – strange that she knew the woman well enough to recognize her rope-style, two loops criss-crossed laterally around the wrists. And Miriam, who always tied ankles as if it were her specialty, attended to Kate's. She could feel the woman's breath over her heels as the woman leaned close to make sure of her knots. For some reason, Miriam loved tied ankles – her own female underlings often went hobbled through the night.
As the for other ropes, they were more stagecraft than anything else, lashings over, under and betwixt her breasts, her knees, her elbows, a rope and knot for everything that could be tied. Amusements were simple in the harem and the girls did love applying bondage.
The hot hand over her lips was replaced by a cool scarf. She grunted into her gag, testing her muteness. Then the girls were rising, stepping back. Kate rolled on her side and glared up, wild and bound, her modest breasts heaving, her ropes straining, her purple hair chaotic.
“Clear,” Malik called into the speaking tube.
Kate screamed against the gag. “Mew mitches...!”
SHIFT
And then she was in a sunny space, warm with cross-breeze, the air unsweetened by incense. She blinked, rolled in her ropes, looked around.
It was still the same domed room, airy and bright, its bar-less windows looking out over endless sands. Small screens broke parts of the room off into discrete quarters: bathrooms, sleeping chambers, storage areas. The roof had a canvas covering which was currently shifted back to expose the bright blue sky. And on a nearby pile of pillows, serene and erect and commanding, sat Ra'idah, mistress and master of the oasis harem.
Her trim body seem sculpted out of smooth dark wood, her face narrow, her nose hooked like a cruel blade. Her golden eyes glimmered like coins against her dark flesh. Her clothing, trousers and top, were cut from the finest purple fabric, as soft and rich as a Knightsbridge prostitute. Jewelry tinkled from her slender neck, ankles and wrists, and tucked into her navel, a red ruby shimmered.
She smiled at the trussed captive, a cruel interplay of amusement and cruelty. Behind her gag, Kate felt her mouth turn as dry as the desert outside. In trepidation she watched the women rise like an unhooded falcon, her slippers hissing over the cool ties, closing to kneel, to study Kate's hard-bound ankles. Kate started as cool hands slipped beneath her heels to lift her bare feet for inspection.
“Miriam's handwork, I'd wager,” the Arab purred, a long brown finger tracking the snow white cords, playing about the knot. “Why she loves to hobble her girls thus, I know not. It denies access to their juicy bits.” Golden eyes regarded Kate who discreetly tugged at her bound wrists, silently cursing Carin's skill. “As they say, it takes all sorts of make a Gai-Shift world, no?”
She repositioned Kate's bared feet across her knees, her fingers settling on the clinching knot as if she were unwrapping a present. A finger brushed her sole, making her tremble. She hoped she was not about to be mercilessly tickled. But no, the dusky dominate merely untied her ankles. Kate had hopes that perhaps she was to be released (her passions, though forgotten, were still very much there, and she found herself dreaming of rolling about the pillows with this coffee-colored wench, free to engage in the limitless byplay of lesbian intercourse). Sadly the slender desert raven only patted the top of her freed feet. “Rise, sister.”
Kate teetered as she was pulled to her feet, still gagged, still trussed like a bobbin of thread, poised on legs welded from the knees upwards. Ra'idah matter-of-factly used the former ankle rope as a leash, looping it loosely around Kate's neck, locking it in place with a bold knot. Kate tried to ignore the informal way the rope played between her breasts.
“Come, little one. I wish to show you around.”
Kate tottered as best she could, trying to keep up with her svelte owner, trying not to focus on the mesmerizing sway of her pert buttocks.
Laid out before a wide opening to a fearsome drop was a colorful carpet, the one which had rolled Kate up and flown her here. Her captor noticed her attention and smiled a sharp smile.
“Yes, my power is teleportation – of other people. For my own transportation I rely on this flying carpet. I know an encampment of dervishes far out in the wastes, crazed women touched by magic who spin through their devotions. They can easily be convinced to dance about my rug, recharging it for use.” She smiled smuttily. “They always recharge my rug.”
Even in tight bondage on the end of a beautiful Arabic girl's tether, Kate found herself pondering this. It made sense in a way. Megan had Woody II, which gave her access to power beyond her own, powers, even, to overcome her own curse. The broom was charged by the Pit through a living dynamo of magically-inclined damsels whose dangling revolutions topped its tank. Like the broom, the rug carried its own charge, independent of Ra'idah's power. Kate would have considered this further save for a petulant leash-tug.
Behind each of the screens were new and fearsome things, things that make Kate's heart jump in fear they were for her, yet her passions sank when it turned out they were not. Of particular interest was a set of shackles, a primary loop and two auxiliaries. Kate assumed this was for linking one's neck to one's wrists. However, Ra'idah cheerfully explained that this was for neck and ankles, further noting how Miriam had once spend a day in hunched contortion. The thought of the fearsomely dignified Italian doubled over was more than Kate could comprehend, though her nipples perked at the thought of the access gained.
More interesting horrors awaited, designed by women for women. Kate reflected (as Ra'idah breathlessly outlined the uses and abuses of each device) on how things had changed. When men ruled the Earth, captivity and domination was blunt and crude. With women, subtlety had been introduced. Woman knew how to design slow torments, ones that would pleasure both captive and captor alike, ones that would use the subject's cravings to break their will. Just looking at these things was agitating Kate. Had she not have been gagged, she might have begged to be affixed and used.
And then she got her wish.
Behind one screen was a cruel device that could only be described as a set of yawning ribs propped on their own tailbone, mounted to a multi-levered platform. Kate's lead twanged as she planted her feet, her eyes wide.
“Ah, you like this, do you?” Ra'idah purred demurely over her bared shoulder. “I just got this toy from England. I had it engineered by Goldwaith Laboratories. One of their young engineers, a Miss Vanessa, actually got it to work. You are English, no? Perhaps you would like to try it?”
Kate shook her head, not daring to suppose she would enjoy the ominous device.
“Come, let us see how you like it.”
“Mffph! Mumum!”
But Ra'idah was insistent, tugging the rope, turning Kate bodily by her shoulders and thrusting her amid the grim ribbing. The moment her back made contact with it, these hooked metal shafts swung inward, clamping her tightly to the vertical surface. She felt herself settling into its smooth concavity, realizing that whoever this clever Vanessa person was, she'd assumed that whoever was placed on this machine would be bound; there was a neat slot for her back-bound arms to slip into.
“As I recall from the manual, I do this...”
A spin of a wheel – Kate hummed in surprise as her bare feet lifted from the cool floor as her backing went horizontal and she was slowly repositioned on her back, her body locked down beneath ropes and metallic arms, the sky so blue beyond the overhead aperture, her wiggling toes so far away.
“...and then this...”
Lever arms swung up like mousetraps being set. One section pushed against the upper end of her soles – two clicks signified catch-rings clamping around her big toes – before pushing further, tensing her feet back. A similar one swung up over her upper body, its twin rings snugging into place around her nipples and then ratcheting snugly shut. Kate was still gasping from this handling when another bar, as cupped as a lovers hand, slipped under her chin and tipped her head back. And there she lay, bound and beam-locked down, her toes wiggling in their rings, her nipples swelling in theirs. With her head back, she couldn't look at her Arabic tormentor.
“Oh, and there is this.”
Another lever went down. More metal arms swung up, whipsaw thin. One settled against her souls in gentle mockery of bastinado. More nudged her ribs. One rotated around on a long arm and pressed into her twat – how she blinked at that. Another lay across her forehead.
“Are you comfy?”
Kate hung in breathless silence.
“Now I'm supposed to do this.” There came the ratchet of a foot peddle, Ra'idah's slippered foot pumping up some hidden clockspring, clicka-clicka-click. Beneath her back, Kate felt the tension build within the machine. A trickle of sweat wandered down her cheek. Her eyes misted in distress.
Clicka-clicka-click.
It wasn't only the machine where tension was building. Kate could barely breathe. The slightest movement reminded her of her ring-locked titties. Her head swam in passion, her blood thick with it. She didn't know what was happening but her pussy trembled at the possibilities.
Clicka-clicka-
Silence. The spring was fully wound.
“Are you ready, my dove?”
Kate managed a shallow breath.
“Let me get this out. It will just get in the way.” The gag was removed. Kate didn't speak, fearing her voice would crack with fear.
Distantly, she sensed a small brown hand closing on a lever.
Her eyes closed.
The clockspring triggered directly against the machine's structure, setting every rod, shaft, bolt and plate to buzzing vibration. Every surface took on a tuning fork's blur.
Trapped in its hard multi-contact embrace, Kate could only scream. The plate against her soft feet, the ones laying against her ribs, they threw an incomprehensible sensation of a thousand tickling fingers across the length of her nerves. Countering this, the rings pinning her nippies and the plate snugging her snatch acted like a huge vibrator. Every band pinning her sent its own confusing signals of tickle and molestation, driving the poor girl into shrieks of desperate hysterics.
She couldn't do anything, bound and pinned as she was. She couldn't shift, shield herself, beg, plead, promise. Her lungs gasped air and blew it out, gasped and blew. Her vulva glistened from its agitation. Her body faced a derivation of the fight/flight conflict, one of chortle/climax
Ra'idah stood over her, clapping her little hands and skipping in delight. It was so fun to set a slave off so totally. The cries were so honestly desperate. It appealed to her desert-raider sadistic streak.
Kate threw herself at her clamping bonds, more trapped and more tormented than she'd ever been. Megan, even with Woody's help, had never come close to this. Her feet writhed within the toe clamps, unable to escape the singing plate snug against her instep. Her tits bulged in hard excitement against their confining rings. Her pussy was as hot as a railroad flare. She screamed and screamed and screamed.
But the worst was yet to come, for she was yet to cum and the machine was winding down. The abuse had agitated a massive climax deep within her she could not trigger. On the verge of insanity, she had to climax! She'd die if she didn't!
And then, with the last of its clockspring strength, a final arm swung up over her head. She had just enough time to look up through tear-washed eyes to see a metal shape drive down towards her laugh-gaping, climax-inhaling mouth. Whatever this thing was, it ratcheted open, forcing her mouth wide, wider, even wider. She grunted as her jaw creaked, tipping her head back. A moment later a final ring snapped around the root of her tongue, forcing it to wiggle in the air like a perverse party favor.
The machine stilled. The good vibrations had stopped. Sweaty, teary, panting, Kate could only lay in her wreckage, her mouth agape, the tongue flickering. An orgasm simmered just within her body, cooking her emotions, leaving her in panting frustration. She would do anything – anything! - to bring it about.
“So you enjoyed it?” Ra'idah laughed, leaning over the sexually simmering girl. “Now it is time you paid me back for this privilege. Just a little favor...”
Literally tongue-tied, Kate could only grunt like a beast. Ra'idah swung something up from the machine's flank, something round and dark with a hole brilliantly exposed against the ceiling sun aperture, something that clicked down in place over her head.
A saddle...
She felt her tongue slide through the leathery slot specifically placed for it. In darkness, she could only pant. Then came the silky touch as Ra'idah's inner thighs slipped down into the seat, taking her mount, settling in. Kate, desperate and driven, began to lance her tongue upwards, desperate to bore out the girl positioned over her, driven by sexual madness. The barbaric usage was turning her on – she could feel her loins wildfireing towards combustion. Grunting, panting, thrusting, she threw her all into Ra'idah's vulva. To serve her mistress's needs served her own.
In her saddle, Ra'idah patted the purple hair and leaned back, her upturned face serene in the brilliant sun.
Within minutes, the two girls, captive and captor, hummed in delighted harmony.
Kate never felt herself being released, being teleported, of being recovered by the faithful Carin and opportunistic Miriam. She didn't sense them surveying her orgasm-racked body and arriving at a shared conclusion that Kate was spent, mind and body. She hardly felt it as they rolled her up in a soft rug, binding her lips and eyes in silk to provide them a little privacy. After carrying the bundled Kate to Carin's alcove and setting her aside, the two women their loving horizontal tango, the rug-wrapped girl far from their lust-washed thoughts.
Rolled and abandoned, Kate slowly recovered. It was wombishly warm in her confinement, soft and snug, the air sweet with incense. Remarkably, tired and tapped as she was, Kate found her own loins stirring at the faint sounds of Miriam's coarse instructions and Carin's moaning acceptance. She'd just been racked and raped to exhaustion yet the base cravings were back.
And then it came to her, in her little snug rug, how it all worked. She suddenly saw Ra'idah's domain as exposed as she'd herself had been on that molestation-station. And now that she understood it, her vengeful mind could fall to scheming.
After all, it would take her own sex-nagging thoughts off the nearby groans of grinding women...
05.04.12
story continues in Gai-Shift - Oasis Chapter 6: Kate's Plan
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