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Chapter 4: A Tricky Witch
- with thanks to SkyHawk7x
April 14, 199_
“The point of a chastity belt,” Adara tells me as we stroll to Lola Montez's promenade deck, the Kentish coast a white highlight starboard-aft, “is to deny orgasms. Chesapeake was as skanky as a Irish bog when I finally pealed her belt off.”
“Astarte works in mysterious ways,” I reply (verbally and into the pages of my diary, simultaneously), glowing in my own good spirits the day after literally riding roughshod over our dusky translator's helplessly bound-up torso. “I can't help it if she came on her own accord. You might as well let her go. After all, we're well into the Channel now.”
“She stays tied up,” the journalist replied. “I've made her secure yet comfortable. She prefers playing the prisoner so it works out best for everyone. Anyway, I want her nice and tight and submissive when we reach Port Mons and have to negotiate for bearers. I think it would be better, from a bargaining point of view, if these African totties see a girl of their hue, speaking their lingo, tied hand and foot in total subjugation. That way everyone understands the hierarchy.”
“I could stop in and see her a little later,” I offer. “Amuse her. Provide a distraction...”
“She's locked in. I've got the key.”
Darn.
We stroll a little further, taking in the air and enjoying the sunshine. When Adara isn't scowling over provisions, schedules and deadlines, she can be quite attractive. The sea wind holds her dress back, showing off her shapely form, firm breasts and sweeping hips to good effect. Her black Welsh locks flicker across her sea-green eyes and wind-flushed cheeks, turning her into quite the doll. If anything, she makes me, with my stick-like form, my narrow face and bony nose (the entire package so starkly set off in my priestess's habit and coif) pale by comparison.
Still, it's her wild beauty we're recording into my diary here, not mine. Memo to myself: Perhaps she would like to do a story on our temple when we get back. Could show her how Astarte is truly serviced. Things to do: Organize ropes. Borrow heavy chair from Barbara next door. Get one of those big thick leather gags. Perhaps a tickler or two. One 'do not disturb' sign.
Suddenly she stops short. I follow Adara's eyes to nearby deck chairs where two women lounge. One of them is in easy middle-age, her thick petticoats in no way shielding her amazing curves and shapeliness from easy ogle. Beneath her saucily-tipped bonnet, thick ringlets of gold spill across her devilishly angelic face.
At her side, glowering in the way of young adults forced into the company of their elders, sits a girl hardly out of her teens. Her clothing is unimportant. Her sulky demeanor is unimportant. It is her hair that is striking: a bright metallic purple, a hue beyond dyes, naturally unnatural.
“Lady Petunia Goldwaith,” Adara greets with a businesslike air. Even sheltered as my life has been, who hasn't heard of this woman of science? The inventor of MI sexual programming (and, indirectly, the Pit?). The creator of the elixir that blocks women's orgasms yet focuses their desperate vaginic secretions into a highly inflammable additive. And the leader of a doomed expedition into the Andes some years ago.
“Darling,” the hourglassed blonde greets in sincere, overwhelmling cheerfulness that would pry a smile from a corpse, “Congratulation on your publication of erotic stories. Very masterful. And masterbatative. I enjoyed them most thoroughly. And let me introduce my niece Kate. She's from down towards Salisbury.”
“Oh, I'm from Salisbury,” I chirp. Everyone looks at me. I blush. “Um. Sister Annie Coldburne. Temple of Astarte.” I curtsy, looking something like an umbrella being deployed.
Lady Goldwaith smiles like a locomotive headlamp. “Ah yes, those interesting little sisters with their delightful customs. Your Mother Superior has invited me down on numerous occasions, presumably to engage in a science vs. religion debate.” She smiles. “Though I would suspect it was really to strip me naked, tie me up, and sacrifice my passions in some very wet, very public ceremony. After all, your order views the Goldwaith Elixir as an abomination.”
She's right. We do. Anything that denies orgasms works against the will of the Goddess. And if she were to be sacrificed on the alter to Astarte, to be abased by sacred dildos, teasers and strap-ons, I would be in the front pew. Watching her struggle as she was climaxed through a day-long festival would be... inspirational.
“I find it strange,” Adara prys, “that you are on our vessel. Are you journeying to the Far East?”
“Oh, no, Darling. We disembark at Port Mons. Like you, we seek Doctor Stone.”
I can see the unflappable Adara Burke is flapped by this. “You can't be serious. This is no traipse across Hyde Park. This is darkest Africa. We are a full expedition, well equipped, well thought out. You should not risk such a venture.”
“Oh, you silly. I'm an old campaigner and come fully equipped. I led that little jaunt into Equador and it was a capital success.”
“A success? You all ended up bound tightly to stakes, facing years of sexual service to a female tribe of known deviants!”
“I'd call that a success. Still, we escaped and achieved all our goals. Just as we will achieve our current goals. Besides full provisioning, I've got my own personal witch along.” She gestures to Kate who flinches at the attention.
“That's not good enough,” Burke puffs.
“It is good enough that Doctor Stone is my personal friend?”
For a long time, the only sound is the pulsing throb of the Montez's great paddlewheels. Petunia breaks her own silence.
“She was my roommate in college. We had problems at first, Livy's cold nature contrasting against my sunny demeanor. A few days of enforced closet meditation, some very complete massages, some personal comfortings and she came around. After that, we were ever the best of friends. I remember that time we pooled our money and rented a manni over the Christmas break. Smuggled him into our empty dorm wing inside a rug. Poor fellow; we got our money's work – among other things – out of him. It became an amusing game – one of us would tie him up in the most convoluted manner and the other would try to figure out how to couple with him. She even winched him up into the dining hall chandelier New Years Eve – I had the dickens of a time finding a ladder, a pound of butter and a fox-hunting saddle at such a late hour...”
Kate, blushing beneath her purple bangs, ahems.
“Yes, forgive me for doddling on,” the Royal Scientist begs. “Look, we are both seeking the same things; the source of these curious carbon-aligned diamonds and our missing doctor. We should pool our resources, team up and sally in together.”
“I get publication rights to all stories,” Adara said after a long microsecond of consideration.
“I'm glad we shall be sisters of adventure,” Petunia peculated. “Suffering hardships is so much more enjoyable with others about. Kate, Auntie's new friend and I have much to discuss. Why don't you and the good sister go for a little walk.”
Kate looks absolutely thrilled by this, what with her cold face and slumped shoulders. Together we stroll slowly along the deck.
“So you're a witch,” I inquire. She shrugs. I'm fine with that; I'm good at coaxing reluctant girls. “From Salisbury, I understand? We've got an acolyte from your area, a former witch. Johnston, I think her name is. Older lady, stern but receptive, once you work on her for a bit. Warms right up. Do you know her?”
“I think Megan did.” I'm not sure what this means but I let it go. I'm going on with my proselytizing pitch; I know it so well I can update my diary while I'm prattling. I tell her how little it takes to gain Astarte's blessings; all she would need to do is lie back and let me 'service' her like some barbarian queen. I detail my training at length, and touch upon some of the places I'll touch upon. I tell her it's easy as falling off a log (but to keep her from falling off logs and out of bed, I'll have to 'secure' her). Bound cozy and manipulated knowingly, she'll lay in supine comfort, enjoying the soothing nature of the guided bliss that will sweep over her, gift of the Goddess. Beneath my experienced touch, I'll work up her climax like an artist works clay. She'll purr at the orgasm I'll create, grateful at first. And maybe at second and third. But then she'll find the ropes and gag keep our session from ending, that she's trapped like a fly in my web, and that it's going on and on. I'll keep pulling climaxes out of her like oil from a well, endlessly on until her purple hair lays tangled across her sweaty brow, until her gag is soaked from her screaming climaxes, until her mind shuts down from the sensation.
Again my conflict. Will I service the temple's wishes and finger her until her joy-hole dries up and she's cross-eyed over from enumerable consummations she's grunted out? Or will I simply cuddle her over the long hours, playing with her in that way Mother Superior hated, coaxing one long, lingeringly smooth reaction out of her.
This I ponder as we stroll. What am I to do to her? The drill bit or the hand turn? What shall I do to this pretty purple lass?
I'm not sure if I'll win her, she seems so unresponsive. But suddenly she's perked up, looking at me with witchy eyes.
“All right,” she agrees. “Take me to your state room. I'm curious to hear more about your order.”
I chuckle to myself. Of all her senses, hearing will have little to do with what will come, or cum, next.
We pass Chesapeake's door and I think of the leggy brown lass bound so helplessly inside. I do wish Adara would reconsider. It seems like such a waste of womanflesh. And what would a dozen orgasms hurt? Still, I'll have my hands full with my little broom-rider, I suspect.
Now we're in my stateroom and -
=< O >=
This'll punish her Not only did i read her diary now I'm gonna write in it too Serves her right The things she was going to do to me.
Soon as we walked in i used my power and levitated Sister Annie right up into the air Its my specialty floating things. And floating females too Once they have nothing to hold its easy to tie them right up Used the ropes she'd planned for me on her HA Now shes laying on her bunk wrapped like a present just the way auntie does to me every time I visit No clothing for the little sister though She looks better pink and naked
I'm writing this down so she can always read it and blush forever Shes bundled right up arms at her side little nipples peeping over the taunt coilings Her face is pretty much wrapped eyes and mouth swathed bony nose jutting out so cute Her legs i cocked back and thigh-tied
Shes shaking her head No No No but Yes shes going to have to suffer What better way for a priestess of astarte to suffer than to tie her and let her grind-box sit idle Oh she suspects this and is thrusting her hips up but im not going to give her the satisfaction
Going now Auntie promised me a tour of the engine room extractors I'm puckered just thinking about those harnessed girls
As for my nun here I just tell her i'm leaving have fun Gave her nipple a tweak just to be mean
Stew in your juice you religious kook
Goodbye
=< O >=
Bloody marvelous! Four stars!
=< O >=
April 14, 199_ (closing entry)
It's Annie again. I'm sitting scrunched into the corner of my bunk in my nightie, my knees raised protectively in front of me, my diary propped up. Every so often, I stop writing to rub at the rope marks that trace my exposed arms like zebra striping.
I'm not sure what happened. I was walking into the room, thinking of the things I was going to do to Kate, and suddenly I'm floating in air, unable to get bearings or leverage. Kate's standing off to the side, giving me cruel little pushes to set me spinning, laughing a cruel laugh. Then she walked over to my dresser and sorted out some rope. I had no defense against what she did then; she could move me as she wished. My clothing was yanked clear and tossed away. Then ropes lashed about my body like snakes, tight and unshiftable. I could hardly breathe, she tied my arms so tight to my sides. Then came the gag and blindfold, raising my disorientation to a new level. And my legs, she cocked back and tied wide open. Once this was done, I felt her tow me over to my bunk, just as the tugs had towed the Montez downriver the day before. I dropped onto my bed as if settling on a cloud.
How frustrating after that; laying bound and blindfolded, the air cool across my trembling sex, listening to the flip of pages as she read through my diary. I grunted in protest at the sound of pencil scratching – how dare she write in it! Violation! Worse was the way she'd pinch my nipples, a mixture of pain and arousal. I grunted like a pig, begging for her to finish what she started, but she only laughed and left me tied and steaming in solitary. Beastly child!
Then the strangest thing. A short time later, I heard the latch open and some unknown person enter. Again, the flip of the diary, a low-throated husky chuckle.
And then...
I felt the bed shift as someone climbed in with me, clambering slowly in between my legs and trembling twat, their breath hot across the unroped sections of my chest. Then the snail-like sensation of a hot little tongue playing across my titties, spooling around my ear, lapping at my nose. I tried to shake my assailant free but whoever it was, they simply held me down and tasted their way up and down my helpless sweaty body.
That tongue, that horrible, horrible tongue, then wiggled its way into the Goddess's Temple, my womanly place, my clit. I grunted sharply at this trespass, cocking my shoulders back and my chin up. Yes, Astarte would be pleased, but I wasn't sure if I was. Whoever this unseen thief was, she robbed me of my composure and dignity. In and out plunged that clever tongue, flexing its way in the most devilish fashion. And when I was just on the verge of eruption, when the lights flashed before my blindfolded eyes, she stopped. I screamed into my damning gag in frustration.
Goddess!
With that, the wiry body slowly crawled its away back up my form, settling across my chest, the compression tightening the ropes across my flushed nipples. I could sense sexual heat radiating against my chin, followed a second later by gripping fingers. My assailant leaned in close, and in a low womanly voice, said, “Silence. Use that bloody tongue to good effect or I'll slap you silly. Capisce?”
With a flick, the gag was pulled away and a hot juicy vagina shoved into my face. It was as if I was drowning in her essence – I licked and lapped, panting like a sinking sailor. Overhead, as distant as cloudtops, I heard a woman moan in deep, hip-grinding satisfaction. Her thighs clamped around me as she shuddered, my face enveloped in wet heat. Her throbbing orgasm was like an earthquake. I sensed her hanging over me, panting. A hand ruffled my hair – good job!
The gag was jammed back in, sealing in the coppery taste of her essence.
She slid back down my body and then, in tender mercy, did to me what I'd done to her. Hot as I was, horny as I was, it took hardly any time to find my own hip-shuddering climax, the ropes holding me fast as passions shot through me. I bucked and twisted, pinioned by ropes and firm hands. Over us, I could sense the benevolent image of the Goddess smiling down at her bound, stripped and sweat-soaked servant.
A crew member found me while delivering laundry and I'm left to believe (by her thoughtful pause) that she considered having her way with me while I lay in turned-turtled helplessness. I know that I should have shifted my hips and moaned as invitingly as I could, for every orgasm pleases Astarte, but I simply didn't have it in me. Mercifully she untied me, permitting me my freedom. I found my diary and read both entries, Kate's and the cryptic note my secret rapist left.
With every nautical mile the sails and steam of Lola Montez force out, with the addition of Lady Goldwaith and her niece to our party, with the saliva of my phantom molester still wet upon my muffin, we move ever further into uncertainty...
15.11.10
story continues in Gai-Shift - Out of Africa Chapter 5: The Stowaway
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