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Chapter 10: Another One Down...
- with thanks to SkyHawk7x
April 21, 199_
Well, diary, I'm in it again.
We're sitting on the sands of a western beach in Africa, somewhere just south of Port Mons. Over the nearby lagoon (with its lurking evil, how well I know), the Lola Montez churns south against the sun-flared dusk, its decks akimbo with cheerful lights. Around us are stacked the provisions of our trip.
“Why are you writing in that diary?” Adara, the defacto leader of our group following Petunia Goldwaith's devourment by a clockwork python, asks. She looks magnificent in her jodhpurs and half-open blouse, her black curls fluttering in the offshore breeze. “You've got to tell us what happened.”
“Worried about journalistic competition?” Teak Merrywell shoots from her place atop one of the boxes, simply outfitted in coveralls, her copper hair shadowing her oval face. She's rubbing her wrists, having only recently been freed from the playful imprisonments of the Goldwaith maids. With a bitter laugh, she adds, “You know, she was able to jot that bloody book and me at the same time, back when I was mummied-up in canvas. She's got skillful fingers, this girl has!” Crow-like laughter.
“Let her write,” Chespeake opts. Still playing the part of our slave for the benefit of our bearers, she has been outfitted with a tiger-skin bikini. Her thumbs have been corded behind her back, her toes cinched together, her minimalist bondage forcing her to sit very quietly on her rumbled blankets. Still, her very breath causes her scantly-shielded bosom to lift in the most interesting (and distracting) manner. “What's important is what happened to Kate.”
Beyond her, our three female bearers, Jumbe (a tall ebony goddess), Mosi (a rotund Kewpie doll radiating a sensuous heat) and Pili (all knees and elbows, her eyes hidden beneath moon-shimmered glasses) all go about camp business.
Yes, about Kate.
I rub my own rope-reddened wrists, Kate's marks overlaying her aunt's earlier ones. Giving my pencil a quick sharpening with my Prussian pocket knife while clearing my throat, I begin, recording as I tell the tale.
Everyone knew the plan – we needed two trips to ferry the party from the Montez to the beach in Jumbe's canoe. Given that women are never ready on time and most of our party was of that gender, the provisions were transported first, with Kate and myself left to guard them.
I stood on that alien beach, sand warm on my toes, my habit blowing around me, watching the canoe slide back to the distant liner. Suddenly I lifted into the air! “Kate,” I shouted, knowing from where this magic came. “Set me down! We've no time for your games!”
“We've time to find out what really happened to my auntie.” She watched me slowly rotate as if I were cooking on a spit, her purple hair floating in the breeze. “Petunia was too clever to be taken by some windup toy. And why didn't it take you? Why just her?”
I tried to explain the unexplainable. But Kate would believe none of it.
“Looks like I'm just going to have to strip and tie you again,” she mocked, batting away my flailing hands and removing my priestess robes. “We'll have us a girl-to-girl talk, with me questioning and you blubbering.”
Without any way to steady myself, I was quickly done up. Using coils of rope from our provisions, Kate wrenched my arms behind my back, looping them up with decisive wrenches. Next to go were my feet, coiled up cross-ankled. And then, because Kate was a cruel captor, she looped a last rope from wrist to ankle, lugging me into floating total hogtie. She tugged this line so far back that my fingers were brushing my heels, my back arched, my smallish breasts thrust forward, my twat projecting indecently. It was very embarrassing, raising a blush to my cheeks. But she was not finished with me. I felt another link join my wrist-ankle link, a nice tight knot. This line she anchored to a mango tree root. I was like a little pink airship, tethered up tight.
“Comfy?” she asked, leering over me with a smile that had no pleasantry behind it. Her fingers were running along my flank in a most suggestive manner. “Let's restore your true weight. With a little switch.”
I gasped as the world changed.
The 'switch' was that my weight was now going up. I would have fallen into the vault of sky overhead if not for my creaking tether rope. From my perspective, the Earth was the roof of some endless space, and I has hanging from it in a hogtie, my ropes tight, my limbs straining. Kate walked around me like some ceiling-walking purple bat, chuckling at my moans, running a finger along my outthrust belly. Even with the stress, I found myself giggling at the touch.
“Please... no...”
“What happened to Auntie? Won't talk? Well, since you seem to be ticklish, let's explore that.” Smiling, she ducked somewhere 'above' me, behind my back.
And then it started. She began to play her cruel, cruel fingers along the sweeping forms of my exposed, thrusting feet. I swiveled and pedaled in desperation but her questing fingers just followed my motions. And she was good at it. She knew just where to touch me, how to stroke and swirl and nag and harass. I shook my head and swayed in my bonds, my arched ribs heaving.
How many London girls and Salisbury milkmaids had she magicked into ropes and tickled? She knew just how to do it, Kate did, her fingertips swirling into my flushed insteps, dancing across my toes, sweeping around my sensitive heals. I was howling by then, howling even though my shoulders and hips where straining from my reversed weight. Desperate tears fell into the sky. I prayed the mangrove root would pull free, that I would plummet into the stratosphere, anything to escape this cruel haptic sensation.
Finally, finally it stopped. With tingling feet, I hung my head skyward, my ruddy hair wet and dangling. Sweat fell upwards. Then Kate was leaning on me, arms crossed over my panting belly, smiling at my distress.
“You'd think a priestess who got finger-raped every few nights by her fellow sisters would be better at this than you,” she drolled as she dragged an exploring nail-tip along the baselines of my breasts. I trembled at her touch. “You'd think you'd be stoic. But I've molested farm girls who've resisted me better.” The finger worried one of my erecting nipples. “Then again, they all surrender in the end.
She did things then, things I couldn't stop. She pinched my nipples, rolling them between thumb and finger, working them like fleshy cheroots. She traced the line of my vulva, causing me to moan in an embarrassed flush at her coarse handling. And through it all, as I panted and moaned and gasped, I looked desperately towards the anchored liner, desperately seeking the returning canoe. Like Petunia, Kate was delighting in tormenting me with my own passions, discomforting me until I was screaming everything I knew, truth, speculations, outright lies. Anything to bring a finishing grace to her scarlet massage.
She was leaning on my heaving belly again, smiling down at me through thick purple hair.
“I think you don't know anything, Sister Annie. I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think I'll reflect on what you said while taking a nice swim in this freshwater lagoon. After all, shipboard water is so harsh, and this will feel soothing against my hot flesh. You, of course, can hang here, just in case something else comes to mind.”
And hang there I did, begging and pleading for her to show me tender mercy, watching invertedly as she stripped away her witches robe and slid into the cool, cool waters. Moaning, I slowly rocked in my strange predicament, wondering how long she would keep my in this strenuous captivity.
It was a splash that brought my groggy attention back around. In the middle of the lagoon, Kate was looking very, very surprised.
“There's something...”
A moment later, she was shoved higher out of the water, up to her navel. “It's... It's got me by... my pussy,” she shrieked, and not in a totally-frightened way. A moment later, huge purple rope-like things were bursting up from the water all around her. Tentacles! Tentacles with obscenely puckering suckers, all seeking her flesh like the lips of a thousand lovers.
They slapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides, their long forms trembling as they sucked and sucked. But something in their movement as they locked up wrists and forearms in their ropy embrace brought back a similar familiarity; the snake! This creature that was tentaclling up my captor was as artificial as a clock yet as methodical as a steam-powered dildo.
Kate was thrashing about, shaking her head back and forth yet held fast in her blossom of spray. I could image her long body as locked up below the surface as above, her thighs and shins and ankles looped in these rubbery bonds. But across her belly, I could see the tip of one tentacle whose supporting trunk held Kate aloft. From her eyes, I could see that one of its suckers must be placed across her sex, its lips and hers locked in a perverse kiss that drove the poor witch mad.
Another long arm hove in, its suckers smacking like a chorus of lusty nymphomaniacs, hungering for captive flesh. With particular care, it slapped across her breasts. She gave a strange squealing intake at that, a hoarse inrush as slobbering, puckering lips locked over her nippled summits and worked to firmly seat themselves. Head back, she screamed and twisted in her elastic, hickifying bonds. Over her caterwauling, the sucking smack of lips finding purchase against wet flesh was clearly audible.
It was too much for me. Rocking belly-down to the sky, I found myself climaxing at the erotic nature of Kate's debasement. Usually I require tactile accompaniment to visual stimuli but this was simply too much. Aroused by Kate's earlier manipulations, expertly roped and erotically imperiled, I simply couldn't help myself. And I could tell that in the midst of her struggles, gripped by this fist of looping elastic windings, Kate herself was nearing her own climax.
As if having awaited just this moment, a final tentacle rose up, a pouting sucker pulsing and puckering as it was moved towards the struggling girl's face. With cross-species deviance, it planted itself fully over her mouth, forming a thick gag that locked across her cheeks tighter than any tape. I could only imagine the sensation as these full rubbery lips bussed her with roguish intensity.
I was afraid Kate wouldn't be able to breathe beneath the cup of this fleshy appendage but she seemed fine. Her eyes went a bit out of focus but she appeared okay. However, I was just winding down from my orgasm when I realized I was settling into the sand like a day-old party balloon. Now I was just a flustered hog-tied damsel, laying in the sand...
=< O >=
Adara interrupts at this point, her long legs crossed. She points out that while captive in the Pit, she was forced to write erotica (by forced, she was debased at the desk she was strapped to, held in perpetual arousal as she churned out pornography). Her output was read by other women, to other women, orgasms springing up all along this perverse production line.
Further, she recounts that often the Pit would loop them up in belted leather harnesses, allowing writers, readers and listeners to socialize in a demented literary club. Often members of the literal captive audience would gain further insight (and appreciation) of certain ribald passages, while writers would get a better handle on what their fans lusted for.
Adara points out that the reader assigned to her, a diplomat named Olivia Hammersmith, had been caught while trespassing into the Pit. The witch that had been in her party had her powers incapacitated by the ingestion of Goldwaith Elixir. It seemed that whatever this cruel compound did to the female brain, it also inhibited the ability to do magic.
And then realization hits me. My eyes widen.
While Kate had writhed, her flesh assaulted by a hundred questing lips, her pussy being pumped, her nipples being puckered, her sexual energies rising about her like a thunderhead, that last tentacle had cupped over her mouth. And through this artificial contact, she'd been force-fed Goldwaith Elixir like a baby receiving its bottle. Directly it worked against her brain, magnifying every slobbering lip-sucking contact tenfold, rising her to the point of screaming sexual insanity. And yet her ability to fall into a raging torrent of orgasms was removed. She hung at the razor-edge of sexual bliss, unable to tip across to exhausted completion. And as she turned into a captive zombie of her own unresolved cravings, her magic faded and I settled into the sands.
Adara nods. Humbled by what I'd learned, I find myself feeling sorry for the girl who'd suspended me in a tight hogtie and had advantaged herself with my body.
And so...
=< O >=
There is not much more to tell. That same tentacle that pumped elixir also could pump air. I watched as the aroused purple-haired woman, her girlish body locked up in harsh pseudopodal bindings, was slowly pulled beneath the waves. A line of bubbles slowly crossed the pool as the artificial octopus and its tentacle-wrapped bundle of helpless frustration moved to a subsurface cave, a freshwater vent. I could only image being borne underground through a wombish grotto, every limb pinioned, a sucking kiss plying every sensitive inch of flesh, every arousal magnified, every climax nullified.
Poor Kate.
Still, if only I'd gone into the pool first. Even now, I'd be clenched in that obscene embrace...
The camp settles down around its fire. The three bearer girls sit apart, chatting low. Adara and Teak discuss tomorrow's marching order. I look over to see Chespeake regarding me, carefully reclined in her minimal yet inhospitable digit-bindings.
“You know,” she says, her eyes reflecting the flash of the flames, “I wouldn't mind a little cuddle company.”
Looking at this tethered goddess, I find the end of the orgasm that Kate had first lain within me. My nipples perk, my pussy heats.
I am going to fetch a blanket, then carefully, so as not to jar her bound thumbs and toes, slip beneath it with her. After the events of the previous twenty-four hours, I need a comforting snuggle.
Goodnight, diary.
12.03.11
story continues in Gai-Shift - Out of Africa Chapter 11: Dangling Like Fruit
o0o