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Chapter 1: Test & Capture
The button-cute, blonde-mopped, tool-festooned girl stood before the harvester-sized machine in the empty hanger and hugged her slender body in glee.
Van adored it when a test run went so well.
The device looked like an old LNER Mallard, bright blue, festooned with chrome and brass. Instead of drivers, it squatted on bogies. And between headlamp and pilot-wheel gaped a metallic maw. Like catfish whiskers, telescoping brass rods, tipped with gloved clutchers, hung to each side. Where a driver's platform would have been perched the gleaming cogs of a computational machine, slowly clicking though its programming cards.
Van raised up on booted tiptoes, hugging herself even more. The trial run of the Find-N-Bind Mark 1 had been a resounding success, better than she could have hoped for.
She could remember how she'd originally negotiated with her sponsor, Lady Petunia Goldwaith, for funding.
“Come now, child. This posture aid will suit you well.”
“Lady Petunia,” Van had puffed, “It's a monoglove. Once you bag my arms back, anything might happen.”
“Not anything so much as everything,” Petunia confessed. She gave the grim black captivity harness a emphasizing shake, its buckles ringing in jolly tinkles. Somehow she pressed even closer to Van, excitement and body heat radiating off her.
“Look,” Van said, sliding back. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“So talk,” Petunia purred, sliding into a space Van had deserted. “The ball gag isn't in yet.”
Van slid back again, fetching up against the sofa's armrest. She was cornered. She had only seconds. She blurted out her last free breath: “In cities, the Met is expert at recovering errant servants, maids and mannis. But in the country, manni's skip out of their hemphouses, maids steal away with milking station livestock and gypsy pickers cunt-lash orchard owners to their ladders, apple-gag them, and run carrying off their daughters.”
“So?” Petunia responded, sorting out the tangled buckles for their coming employment.
“It takes too long to assemble ropes and women for such miscreants. We need an economical way to to run these scoff-knots to ground. A mechanical way. I'll only need 500,000 pounds...”
“Consider the check your pre-ransom. For now, tuck those darling little arms of yours into this sack...”
The evening worked well for Van. Buckled face-down on Petunia's bedroom floor, her legs locked up in coiling straps, her buttocks bulging around its tight beltings, her mouth ball-plugged, her blonde hair wisping over her leather blindfold, she could work out the design particulars. Well, whenever Petunia wasn't feeling up her breasts or sliding a sandaled foot up between her cheeks, nudging her smoldering snatch.
After the device had been built, she needed to test it. The civilized glens of England were too congested for such a run; it needed to be somewhere sparely settled. Foreign. She'd hoped to load it aboard the Lola Montez and transport it to Africa (where Petunia knew some missionaries) or Japan (Olivia Hammersmith had forged tight bonds (all applied to her unwilling limbs) with Empress Nabuki of Greater Japan). She'd even settle for India, especially when thinking of doe-eyed dusky maidens dangling in machine-applied bondage. But, no, Petunia had cut off the money spicket and Van had been forced to transport her machine to Cnotta on Gaggen, Wales, for field testing.
Well, Wales was exotic in a rustic sort of way.
So she'd programmed the first run for a broad loop around Cnotta, swinging wide through the nearby forest, its target elusive or secretive humans. In the Find-N-Bind's mad rush, it had scooped up two village women and a fugitive manni. All had been grabbed, swallowed, stripped and bound up. But in the woods beyond, woods the locals swore to be magical, it had found something... unique. Yet human enough to be treated to the same rough handling and tight binding.
Van shuddered again. As soon as she'd seen the... thing, she'd dumped its bound form into a transport box and cabled Lady Goldwaith for instructions. The response had been quick.
“CAN IT BE TRAINED STOP COLETTE CAPTURED BY PIT STOP NEED NEW MAID END”
Van had rubbed her chin, opting that it was more of a... pet.
“SERIF WINTERWOOD OF BRITISH MUSEUM WISHES TO EXAMINE SLASH ANNOTATE STOP AIRSHIP UNBOUND PLEASURE DISPATCHED TO YOUR LOCATION STOP RETURN WITH CREATURE POSTHASTE END”
The airship was an hour out. Van had to find something to amuse herself. Normally she'd take things apart but the aerodrome on Cnotta on Gaggen had little enough to disassemble. Jumpy as a cat, she drifted over to the transport box sitting in readiness on the tarmac. Curious, she pushed a finger through an airhole. There was a moment's contact with something warm and soft. A creak of capture-tape came as the thing shifted. Van continued to stroke her finger up and down its lean flank, the unseen surface smooth as silk. Her fingertip found a nipple which she gently squeezed. Something deep within the box... purred.
Suddenly a wave of desire swept over the young engineer, something she couldn't explain. It came out of nowhere like a summer storm. She hadn't felt this horny since she'd played bind-and-tickle with Cindy the maid that long night when she'd enjoyed her altered state as a he. She found herself craving companionship, or more correctly, sex.
She couldn't open the box – even in her randy state, she recognized the danger. And the aerodrome was a lonely place; not much chance of any slap-and-tickled before the airship arrived. Then she remembered the other test subject her machine has snared, all but forgotten in the nearby flight office. Smiling impishly, she crossed over to the small building, the locomotive-sized Find-N-Bind following its designer-mistress like a puppydog.
The captives, two women and a man, had been identically bound in thin strips of white tape. A suspension rig, much like a coat hanger, had been forced under their armpits, the hook extending above their heads. After this, their arms had been collected behind their backs and taped-wrapped, elbows to wrists, with more tape looping over their naked shoulders and across their taunt bellies. Their knees and ankles had also been banded up and folded back until their heels brushed their buttocks.
The capture machine had automatically unloaded the hogtied unfortunates at Van's command, reaching through the doorway and hanging them on the horizontal receiving bar, stripped, taped, mute and agitated. They could only buzz in muffled concern, rolling desperate eyes, while Van surveyed them from the door with hand on jaunty hip, her smile sunny, her blue eyes dancing. She snapped her fingers and raised her hand; the hulking capture machine at her back passed her files detailing each capture. It made fascinating reading.
The first woman (a middle-aged blond with a clipped nose and soft brown eyes) had been gardening behind her modest little cottage when the mechanical leviathan had loomed up behind her. She'd raised a hand in alarm, to have it grasped by a gloved mechanical hand. The other had clamped on her shoulder, the two pulling her forward. She cried out as she was dragged through the turned loam, a clog coming off, her clothing soiled. But that wouldn't be a problem as she was lifted and thrust through the forward maw. Inside, a short conveyor belt carried her into the darkened belly where unseen mouse-claw strippers pulled away her clothing.
Following this, she was flipped onto her belly, the suspension rack placed against her back. With a whir of tape dispensers, her arms were looped up behind her. Even when it felt her arms could not be pulled closer together, the machines found a way to coax her into greater tension. She could only grunt into her fresh adhesive gag as the machines taped her body up without mercy. Once she was a nothing more than a folded pink bundle, eyes wide and toes wiggling, the conveyor shuddered again and she was borne back to the rear of the infernal device, where she was hung and left in concerned captivity. From her rocking, she could tell the huge machine was in motion.
Where is it taking me?
The second girl, a raven-haired, slutty-eyed candle-maker's apprentice, was surprised on the high road. Van guessed that she'd bound up a townie partner before stealing out like a randy feline to grind hips through the long nights with a countryside lover. She'd turned to run as the machine bore down on her, grabbing her legs from behind, spilling her into the road. Gripping her ankles wishbone-wide, it had dragged her backwards, fingernails leaving furrows in the dusty road, her peasant dress riding up over her tight bottom. Her fighting, though lusty, did her no good. She was hauled into the forward armature, her body revealed as it was rudely stripped down, the binding tape leaving her frustrated and limb-locked. Still buzzing, her neatly folded body rolled backwards into the storage area where it would be hung with the other woman.
The manni, naked save for a ragged blanket, a fugitive from a dairy or pleasure house, had be stealing vegetables from a garden plot when the big blue machine rushed at him from the sunrise glare. His entire life had been spent as a toy of women, being bound, pleasured, forced to suck, forced to please. He simply had no capacity for flight (or, perhaps, understood its futility). He turned and faced the machine. Its programming (legacy code derived from some of Goldwaith's original decks) handled him as Petunia would have herself. The first gloved hand locked around his penis with just enough pressure to cause him to swell. The second hand pinched his nose with motherly discipline. Locked in both hands, his rod stiffening at the constriction, his head pulled back, he was literally frogmarched forward to his fate. Once inside, he allowed himself to be taped up into a manly bundle, sheepishly returning to the dominance of womankind.
Van reviewed her dangling trio. The burst of horniness that had agitated her own passions had been felt by these three as well. The nipples of the women stood like soldiers on parade and the man's rod, long released from the clutch of the machine, still stood in sex-aching stiffness.
The little tool-user sought to quench her rushing urges, and thus chose the manni. She knew how he operated from her time as a manni herself (back when Sasha's curse had altered her). She could imagine how this fellow felt as he watched her kneel before his dangling torso like a wolf before a defenseless slab of meat. And, following the meat-allegory, his own was thrusting like a strip of sizzling bacon, eager for her consumption. Smiling up at him, she petted his shaft, remembering how it had felt when she'd been bound in Cindy's ropes, how the girl's plump fingers had toyed her to insanity. This knowledge she used, stroking him, puffing him, making him groan in frustration as the agitation went on and on.
His twisting struggles were turning Van on. With one hand, she pushed down her breaches to finger herself while still manipulating him. From time to time she'd switch hands, lubricating his scarlet shaft with her own randy juices. And she wasn't the only excited female in attendance – the two woman captives rocked from their frustrated twistings as they watched Van slowly hand-job the manni. If they'd had the chance and a free hand, they'd have been pinching and fingering themselves. But they were taped up like presents, unable to move, forced to watch Vanessa's slow hand-rape, their passions as hot as their bodies, yet the tape remained sticky and strong.
Van smiled to herself, then leaned forward to grant the fellow a scarlet kiss, her lips riding around his bulging column, teeth scraping over its rim, saliva lubricating it. She could imagine how he felt (Cindy had done it to her when she'd been a he, and he'd adored it). Well, now the shoe was on the other foot, or the lips on the other erection, or whatever. The manni, helpless, pinioned and open to everything Van wished to throw at him, could only shiver in reluctant appreciation. Van thrust deeper and quicker, moaning around the fleshy jawbreaker, eyes closed, humming her own erotic song.
And then he was madly thrusting in automated jerks. Van gripped his hips with sticky fingers, maintaining her oral hold, gulping the hot flow. Her own ass went up as orgasms detonated deep within, private and satisfying. The two women, literally left hanging, moaned in unison at the fornicative fun they were missing.
Finally Van settled back on a curled knee, her hair a mess, her eyes unfocused, wiping her lips with the back of her tacky hand.
“Whew,” she pronounced.
Overhead, engines rumbled as the Unbound Pleasure circled the field.
“Now that we've cum, its time for me to go,” she told the taped-trussed three. She walked out into the sun, zipping up her breaches, waving up at the airship. As it came around, she climbed aboard the Find-N-Bind and issued an instruction for it to shelter in a nearby hanger until she returned. Waving to the aerodrome manager (a mousey lass who'd been too fearful to emerge from her office while the machine had been about), she'd gestured to the ready room containing the captives. Later, perhaps, the manager would free the women and send the man back to his rightful owners. Whatever. This wasn't Van's concern.
Standing by the personnel transfer crate, she waited patently as the massive airship blipped closer...
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20.01.13
story continues in Gai-Shift - Peregrine 2: Josie & the Foot Tease
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