To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Chapter 19: Pili to the rescue
- with thanks to SkyHawk7x
Thirty-three days beyond the season of rains
I am Pili. I am in love.
I have grown to love Sister. I have read her diary about the adoration she grants the captives of her goddess. I have read of the long nights of nuzzling happiness she shares with them. I find myself craving her touch, her knots, her imprisonment. Slavery to Mosi is as rough and demanding as diamond processing. Slavery to Sister would be soft, caring, comforting bondage. I would give anything to join her convent. But I do not know how that can ever be.
I cannot sleep; my cravings for Sister heat my loins. Eventually I give up and go downstairs early, to prepare them for their next session. Jumbe will not be down yet. It will give me more time to look at my leather-locked darling, her body trembling at the knowledge of the drugged, demanding hell it will soon put through.
At the foot of the stairs I pause to gaze across the captives. Poised via steel booms to the wall, they all sit on their padded bench, their heads hood-locked, their torsos sheathed in buckle-taunt leather. Their legs sprawl untidily before them, loosely cuffed.
I work my way down their line, removing their hoods, tipping them upright. Doctor Stone, haggard from her long captivity. Petunia, so blonde and glamorous, always waking to her base usage with a sparkle in her eye. Kate, purple-haired and angry, still protesting this thing we do to her. And Mosi, my friend, mute in the face of her reversal, her eyes showing her realization of another session riding the stands. Then Chespeake, greeting me in our Amahagger tongue – she seems to accept her captivity with a willing fortitude, flexing her dark legs wide in preparation for the shaft that will soon pierce her. Next, Adara, blurry, frumpy, grumpy, unenthused by the idea of being drugged and sexually processed once again.
And last...
“How are you this day, Sister?”
Sister blinks vision into her unhooded eyes, her ruddy hair sweaty and crazed, her narrow nose so elegant. She rolls in her bondage, leather creaking, settling herself in. “I am fine, thank you.”
“I've... I've been writing in your book. Continuing your story. Even now, I write our words. See?”
“You are doing well. Goddess bless you.”
Suddenly there comes a creak. I look around and see Kate wobbling in her bundle, shaking like a bone in a dog's mouth. She is alarmed. I stand. Could this be magic...?
=< O >=
Facts- Kate's known skill: Levisomething. Power to float objects - like wood in water, but in air! Cannot float self. Elixir makes power fade. Jumbe and below-god demanded she be kept under influence. More questions – she was dosed. If magic didn't work, and she can only float other things, HOW DID SHE VANISH?
=< O >=
Sitting on floor, considering what just happened. Diary open to one side, using to keep notes.
Under my locking arm, Petunia's perfect feet wiggle. I place the pencil-tip against her instep and draw it back. In her sheath of leather, she strains, laughter launching at the ceiling. The automated belts assume she is trying to escape and cinch tighter which forces her ample breasts into greater projection. I look over my shoulder, up her long legs, to where her perfect twat shifts between her dynamic thighs. It is difficult to resist turning, leaning in and tonging.
“Please,” the blonde noblewoman guffaws “At least hee-hee-have the dee-hee-hee-ency to ask me a ho-ho-hee question!”
I lower my pencil. Yes, as enjoyable as tickling the beautiful blonde is, I've gotten all the information I can from her. And still the fact remains. One moment Kate was there. The next, she shuddered and was gone. Now her sheath yawns open, vacant.
What could have happened to her?
Reluctantly I lower Petunia's feet. She tips her head dreamily and sighs, almost inviting a second assault on her soles.
“What will I tell Jumbe?” I ask more to myself. “How can I explain it?”
“Soon you'll be joining us,” Adara smirks from her place in the line. I look up in confusion. The dark girl nods into my consternation. “Jumbe laced up your friend when Teak got away. No questions about who was responsible. The only thing she's interested in is ramming flawed diamonds into snatches.” A sweet smile. “It's really not so bad. You'll love it.”
Mosi, watching my eyes dart to the empty harness, guesses my concerns from my worried expression. In the tongue of the Amahagger, she consoles: “Come join us, little Pili. Oh, it will drive you crazy at first, but its the good sort of crazy. Hanging in this leathery grip, legs cocked back, there is nothing I can do as I am forced onto each glassy knob, over and over. And with my passions flaring and my pussy burning, and these women grunting rhythmically at my sides, it is bliss. A frustrating bliss, just out of reach, but bliss all the same. And finally when the woman-flood comes, it is all-consuming. I just shudder and shudder in my tight confines, unable to stop and not wanting to, either. But after watching you smugly place my diamonds, it would pleasure me to see you at my side, so together we might suffer these cruel violations together. Just having you there, screaming in denied ecstasy, will help me find mine all the quicker. Join me.”
What they say is true. I know this truth. Jumbe will see the empty sheath. Jumbe will see me standing there, doe-like, skinny. She will pull the lever that will lock me up. She will cuff my ankles as she has cuffed the ankles of countless others. She will force the woman-stew into me. She will place the diamond. And then she will drop me onto the waiting rock, over and over until my women-juice perfects it.
I know she will.
What will I do?
Now I know.
Still writing, I cross over to where Sister hangs in her unforgiving black sheath. Tenderly I kneel before her, collecting her narrow feet in my hands, kissing them. Down the length of her helpless, locked-up body, she watches in confusion. Then I stand, flipping back the emergency release on the front of her sheath. A moment later she slides out of her confinement, sprawling across the floor like a deboned fish.
“What....?”
I kneel. I lean forward. “I am Pili. I serve the Goddess.”
“The... the Goddess?”
“Astarte. I wish to join your order.”
She looks at me, stunned.
Adara shifts forward, her own leather creaking. “Wait, what? You're letting her go? You want her to tie you up every night and do what these machines do?”
“It is not anything like what these machines do,” I reply, smiling at dear Sister.
“But where will you go? How will you escape?”
“Escape is simple – I know the safe paths. As for where we will go...” I look to Sister, who slowly stands. “...Port Mons. There is an old religious building there, one from the old days. It's a warehouse now. It would be easy to acquire...” here I smile, the words coming quicker, “...with a diamond or two.”
I take Sister's hand. “Come. Let us join to service the Goddess.”
Sister blinks her wide rolley eyes. “But what of the others?”
“Yeah, what of the others?” Adara contends, shifting her shoulders in her skin-tight sacking.
“Do we really need them?”
“They are my friends.”
“Yeah, see?” Adara thrusts her hips as if desperately seeking an escape. It hasn't worked through the long days of her processing – why should it make a difference now?
“Look,” she continues, “I need to get out of here. I need to write about this place for my newspaper. Think of all the explorers, even tourists, who will come. That, alone, will keep the diamond factory running.” Her eyes turned wicked. “And, as they come off the ship, they might seek accommodations in town, perhaps seeking shelter on this foreign shore at a friendly chapel. A nun with some gumption and a lot of rope might convince such travelers to stay for a few days, to serve the Goddess. Eh? Eh?”
Sister smiled her mousy little smile. “I think she makes good points. And while this... mini-Pit... is more an automation than a sentience, I'm sure Pitinna in London will approve of our plans. It could keep her from trying to capture us again.”
“Right, right,” Adara agrees, nodding as enthusiastically as her strapping will allow.
It is Sister's wish. I reach forward and toggle the release. A moment later, Adara slides free, her torso red from the tight bondage she has lain in over her long lusty days.
“Who else should we take?” Annie asks. “Chespeake?”
Chespeake grants us an honest smile, considering the option as if she were ordering tea in a bistro rather than the continuance of grueling automated sexual dominance.
“I'm really conflicted,” she admits. “Being dominated by both a machine and an African noblewoman really means I'm going to stay locked up as their tool, used in the most inhuman manner. No chance of freedom. I rather like that. But still, I know this time must someday end, that my last climax will cum, that I will be of no further use to them. And with that, I'll be returned to the world of weak mistresses.” Her eyes lock on the scrawny pink nun. “Sister Annie, can you guarantee that if I join your order, I will be kept in servitude, a slave without any chance of freedom?”
Annie's face grew serious. “Chespeake, if you become a member of the Convent of Astarte, you will forever remain an acolyte, the lowest of our order, a scullery maid by day, a sexual sacrifice by night.”
“Then I accept.”
I touch the release. As she slides from her sheathing, Sister crosses her arms and looks to Adara and myself. “Tie this slave up.”
And so we do. From hooks on the wall, Adara and I fetch ropes, looping up the groggy Chespeake's hands before her, her legs together. From my robes I tear a strip of cloth, gagging her harshly. She endures her bondage with sad (yet deep) reverence, ending up a curled ball of naked submissiveness in the corner. I place a long pole next to her – we will use it to carry her out.
But still, when I'd gagged her, I'd seen her tiny smile.
We move down the line. Mosi looks up with a sweet smile. “You'll let me go, no?”
“You stay here,” I state in Amahagger, then English, spoken and written. “You stay here and make many diamonds.”
“Oh, please, Pili, cannot I come with you and your friends? I'll be ever so quiet. You can even keep me bound and gagged, languishing in the corner, a toy for your every use. I'll not complain. You can even give me to your companions. Especially the one with the curly dark hair. Hoo, she can keep me bound to her bed for as long as she likes...”
“You stay here” I repeat. “And I'll gag you with scratchy rope if you do not desist.”
Mosi falls into sulky silence. We move on. Petunia looks up with a sunny smile. “My turn!”
“Petunia,” Livy Stone chides from her nearby sheath. “Are you sure of this?”
“But Livy, my love, don't you want to escape and return home, to sleep in – or be bound to – a nice soft bed?”
“Petunia, since university, we've made plans to get together, to suffer together, shoulder to shoulder, to savor erotic delights in close conjunctions. Remember the plans for the Belgium spa? The Paris bordello? All these plans, to be taken and roped and stripped and used, side by side. Unlike our time as roomies, such joint domination wouldn't leave anyone holding the rope, having to bear the burden of carrying the session. We could enjoy each other's company, while others enjoy us.”
“Yes, but...”
“Always, our responsibilities got in the way. Always, something comes up. But now here we are, strapped up shoulder to shoulder, getting serviced three times a day, titanic orgasms ripping though us. And in between, we even are given time to chat. And finally we are where we wished to be and you want to leave.”
“Your point is taken,” Petunia smiles. She turns to Annie and Adara. “It looks like we're on holiday, love. We'll last as long as we can, at which point they'll send us home.”
Annie bows to their wishes, then gestures to Kate's empty leather. “What of your niece? Aren't you concerned about where she might have gone?”
“Oh, someone's got her,” Petunia shrugs (as best she can in her tight jacketing). “She'll suffer her bondage and work it out. I have faith in her.”
And so it was time to go. I locate robes for Sister and Adara, give each of then a handful of diamonds for their troubles (and repeated vaginic compressions). Then Adara fetches the pole and threads it through Chespeake's looped limbs. As Sister is now our Mother Superior, at least to me, it will fall on me to help Adara lift our chocolate captive's pole upon our shoulders and carry her to into her new life as maid and slave to our convent.
Chespeake shakes her head so fetchingly as we take hold of her pole, little no-no motions, false, dishonest. I will have to use both hands on the pole. Set diary down-
=< O >=
How foolish of me! How stupid! So entranced was I with the sway of our leggy captive upon her harsh pole, the tension running the length of her long suspended limbs, her grunt of erotic discomfort into her harsh gag, I absolutely forgot the diary. Sister noticed as we stepped from the below-room. Bowing shame-faced, I set my end of Chespeake down and slipped though my secret passage back downstairs.
There was the dairy, within easy reach.
And there was Jumbe, furiously scanning the row of sheaths, four of which hung open. Mosi looked shamefully away. Petunia grinned in amusement. Stone watched with imperial disinterest.
“Where are the others?” Jumbe shouts. “Where have they gone? How did they get away? And where is that wicked Pili? Did she have something to do with this?”
I should run. Squatting in my darkness, the magic of the diary overcomes me and I find myself furiously recording the scene.
“If only I had that skinny girl,” Jumbe rages on, “I'd throw her into the straps, truss her up myself! Then I would feed her woman-stew until her pussy was fit to burst! Oh, how she would struggle in her little leather womb! She deserves punishment – long have I known this. And I would attend to this, between cycles while the other girls lay hooded, blind and mute. I would give her an extra dose of woman-soup, pitching her into unresolvable excitement, Between her legs, I would dance a long, nimble feather, a teasing, tear-raising frustration. And when she was as hot as a campfire, her blood churning like a muddy river, I'd remove my robe and climb up on top of her, hooking my legs over her shoulders, allowing her to devour my sex with the greatest of enthusiasm. Yes, I would punish her like she'd never been punished before!”
I can hardly write, my imagination afire with the thought of this elegantly perfect woman misusing me in every corrupt debauchery she could devise. Yet seemingly she didn't know Mosi, her other follower, all that well, for Mosi had punished me in ways equal to or worse. Like that time I'd been kept bound and toe-tied over a long day of tickling. Or the time Mosi had taken two captive mannis and playfully pressed them against me, front and back, pinning me on their dual spits, then tied the three of us tightly together. Or when I was spread-eagled, and she leered over me with stiff elephant grooming brushes.
Between fantasies and memories, I find writing difficult.
Meanwhile, Jumbe screeches, “How am I to make my quota?”
We found out just how the below-god intended she honor this commitment when, without warning, claw-like arms spring down from the ceiling. One grips Jumbe's wrists, lifting her into the air, the stress on her body forcing its shapely curves to exaggerate. The other strips away her long dress, leaving her body fully displayed to my dry-mouthed witnessing. She twists under this usage, screeching like a banshee, her anger making her all the more sexy. And then, as easily as one might handle a kitten, the arms swept her wrists behind her, just in time for Kate's empty sheath to snatch forward and claim her.
Even looped up in leather, she still twists and strains as the straps seated around her, drawing in her tummy, lifting her breasts, locking up her sex. As casually as a can of beans being placed on a shelf, the boom retracts, drawing her into the line between Mosi and Petunia. She is still feebly fighting as her legs are cuffed up. Then, as synchronized as flowers meeting the dawn, all of the cuff-lines retracted, drawing in the legs of Livy, Petunia, Jumbe and Mosi. Over their mouths, the gag-bandings click shut.
I watch in mesmerized interest as these same claws produce a large syringe. Drawing off a generous pull of hot woman-soup, the nozzle is jammed through a small hole in the metallic gags, force-feeding the damsels. I could see the drugs grip their womanly passions, causing them to stir in their skin-tight confines. With mechanical precision, it places the diamond stands beneath their trembling loins.
I pause to consider what that this might mean – I suspected the room was so equipped. Girls taken in the outside were always waiting for us, strapped and ready. But it could feed them too. I hadn't known that.
Then why had Jumbe, Mosi and I been employed?
Perhaps there was a manual purpose to this. While automation was efficient, I could see how having a living, breathing, leering attendant might produce even greater outputs. Yes, a machine could tie me, but whenever Mosi did so, there was the brush of her warm flesh, the swell of her nipples, the scent of her musk. There was the knowledge that everything she did to me came from the depths of her cravings. And, likely, that was the reason we'd been commissioned, to agitate our guests to even greater efforts. To add a certain 'woman's touch'.
The second question: Why hadn't the below-god stepped in while we'd worked our escape? It could have grabbed me the moment I'd moved to free Sister.
Perhaps, I consider as I slowly climb the stairs, a chorus of moans rising over the throb of the lever-arms, the girls I'd freed had been nearly used up, that removing them and escorting them to Port Mons served the below-god's purpose.
But why had Teak been allowed to free herself and steal diamonds while still fresh?
I ponder this as I leave this place for the last time. Perhaps the below-god is limited in its thinking, unable to react quickly to changing circumstances.
These things, I cannot say.
I rejoin the others where I left them. Sister smiles at me, her eyes shimmering with thoughts of what she might do to my body once our convent is established. Adara has that far-away look, that of a writer choosing words to describe a line of grunting, rocking women being thrust with inhuman dispassion over cold, hard diamonds. And Chespeake lays curled like a dark kitten, knowing that this day she will hang from her binding pole until her limbs ache and her muscles cramp. It is the life she wishes, and it is the life we will force on her.
And thus we slip the pole through her eager bound limbs, and together Adara and I lift, forcing a grunt from our hanging slave. And following Sister's bony (yet sexy) butt, we prepare to move into the jungle.
Must put diary away...
12.08.11
story continues in Gai-Shift - Out of Africa Chapter 20: Serving Astarte
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