Chapter 2: Josie & the Foot Tease
Executive Officer Petra, big and blonde and buff, had no problem dealing with little Van. Entering the small airship stateroom with the protesting engineer thrown over her shoulder, she spun her easily around and tossed her to the narrow bed.
“Captain Hoffsteder said to show me to my room,” Van protested as she bounced like a quarter on the tightly tucked bedding. “Not to manhandle me like a sack of grain!”
“She said to make you secure for flight,” Petra said, a grim smile parting her Easter Island face. “I make you secure, just like cargo.” As if selecting a coat for a walk, she pulled coils of crisp white rope from a locker, measuring it out for Van's slender limbs.
“You wouldn't dare,” Van sputtered. “I'm Lady Goldwaith's representative, personally responsible for that crate I brought aboard!”
“I love little bourgeois girls like you,” Petra chortled as she pushed Van down on the bunk and tossed coils of rope around her narrow shoulders as neatly as a mooring line around a capstan. “They are always so wiggly. Petra fix you up good.”
Any rebuttal the button-nosed engineer might have offered was carried away on an exhale as the ropes tightened like a constrictor's coils around her limber body. Her arms were locked to her sides, the bonds creaking as Petra leaned into her knots. In this, the XO was like a living version of Van's Find-n-Bind machine, all-powerful and unstoppable, dispensing rib-creaking bondage regardless of its victim's desires. Van could only watch in pouting dismay as her arms, from shoulders to wrists, were lock-knotted to her sides. More ropes anchored her neatly to the bed itself, pinning down her heaving torso with tidy cross-lacings. From an engineer's standpoint, she could only admire the orderly ropework even though it crushed her belly and breasts and provoked agitation with every breath she took.
“Now, Petra make you comfortable.”
“Oh, there's no need for that,” Van burbled as her boots were removed, provoking the concerns every bound prisoner feels where their feet are made vulnerable. Having been bound up by Petunia on countless occasions, she knew what liberties barefoot bondage afforded.
If Petra was moved by the milky-white feet wiggling before her she gave no sign, lashing up Van's long legs and locking them down to the cot. Once she'd finished, she stood. “There. You done up now. Petra has other duties to attend to. Someone will look in on you shortly.” A final pause in the hatchway. “Petra not gag you. But Petra suggests little babushka not cry out. Might draw... attention to your predicament.”
Van swallowed as the door clanked shut. Her little lips tightened like a virgin's mons on her wedding night.
Shortly after this, the engines roared and Van's bunk tipped her head-down (as if she were locked to some tormentor's rack). The Unbound Pleasure was climbing away from Cnotta on Gaggen, turning towards London in the late-afternoon sky.
Van lay silently for some time, thinking about the strange creature her autobinding machine had captured, the thing bound up in its shipping crate in the airship's hold. She'd heard of strange things being sighted in the forests that were slowly returning to Gai-shifted England. Rumors of fairies and pixies and the like.
The hatch swung open and a crewmember entered, a short woman with a blonde pageboy, pert nose, girlish eyes, her over-endowed body stressing on her rubberized airship suit. Van tried not to stare at the heavy breasts that seemingly fought each other to burst from her low-zipped cleavage. If she'd still had her manni-rod, it would have been thrusting like a torpedo against Petra's bindings.
“Hello,” the jolly girl greeted, plopping with a bounce on the foot of the bed. “I'm airshipwoman Josie. Captain Zana told me to sit with you and make sure you're okay.” She cocked her head, her short blond hair slipping around her high black collar. “You okay?”
Van swallowed, nodding. Her breasts were so big. You just wanted to give them a squeeze!
“Oh good. I didn't want to hook you up to a barf-harness-”
A what? Van blinked.
“-so let's see. How can we amuse ourselves?” Van pushed back into her cot as randy eyes ranged up and down her trussed, helpless body. With her gleaming black suit, it was like being leered at by a liquorish gummy bear. “I know,” Josie told her, her grin as bright as sunshine. “Let's pretend this is a sleepover. I'll paint your toenails!”
“No. Don't. That's stupid girly stuff!” Van protested. At least her bindings allowed her to thrash her head in denial.
“Oh, but you have such cute feet. It will look darling.” From a utility pocket, the errant airshipwoman pulled out a bottle of scarlet nail paint. In later years when Van considered the humiliating (yet, admittedly, erotic) event, she wondered if Petra and Josie had arranged this treatment beforehand. It just seemed so pat, the removal of her boots and the handy bottle of paint.
Josie's hands were warm as she cradled Van's struggling feet, her fingers caressing, brushing. Van flinched and gasped at her touch, trying not to laugh and possible provoke full-fledged tickling. Tenderly, the top-heavy leather-clad girl grasped each foot, bending the trembling toes forward for access. Blushing hotly, Van could only watch as the tiny brush applied cherry-red paint to the nails of each fearful tootsie. She hated being treated in such a feminine fashion, simply hated it. If she had her way, if the roles were reversed, if Josie was bound flat to the cot and Van, once again, sported a cock, she'd show the girl. There would be no tender girl-to-girl eroticism. There would be headboard cracking, rope-straining ramming, so hard it would knock Josie's orbish breasts from the tight confines of her ship suit.
Occasionally the girl would lean forward, gently blowing across her scarlet efforts, drying them. Van, her blush deep enough to be purple, her eyes tearing, could only endure the playful humiliation. At the end of tightly roped wrists her fists balled. To be lashed down while this indignancy was inflicted on her was embarrassing. And worse was her unexpected reaction. Josie's gentle touch, her pouting lips as she bestowed a foot-centric blow-job was churning the young girl's passion. Against her better judgment, she was becoming quite aroused.
“There, how's that look?” Josie pushed the feet up so Van could see. She moaned at the sight of her girlish toes. On Petunia, such an effect was sensual. On her, it was like a little girl playing dress-up. With her tomboy ways, Van would not allow herself to recognize her own feminine beauty.
Then, as if the Unbound Pleasure had passed through some erotic radiation, a strange, inexplicable sense of passion boiled captive's and captor's blood alike. The two exchanged glances, their gasps coming as one.
“Goodness,” Josie said, “I'm having a flash.”
Van shuddered herself, recognizing this unaccountable sensation. It had swept over her once before, when she'd played with that thing in the box.
“Your feet...” Josie cooed, her warm palms cupping Van's insteps, cradling, caressing. “So cute...”
“Please let me go,” Van begged, shivering at the heated palms that pressed against her sensitive soles. “I'll do anything for you if you...”
But Josie wasn't listening. The well-rounded glove-leather girl leaned forward, her generous mouth opening to accept the helpless toes before her.
“Oh no! Don't do that! No!”
“Mmmmm,” Josie admitted as she happily sucked, changing toes with a wet pop. “Mmmmm!”
“Please stop. Please” Van could only roll her head in her pillow, shivering at the freakish sensations assailing her. It was like being eaten alive, a sensation not directly erotic, a confusion of dominance and submission. Van imagined she were walking barefoot across a field of squishy mushrooms. Earthworms wiggled between her toes. Her soles sank into sucking mud. With grinding teeth and screwed eyes, she quivered in Petra's cruel ropes, moaning for it to stop yet hoping it wouldn't.
What if I cum? She whimpered in confusion. Will she lick and suck my feet even more? I... I hope I do, and that she does!
Josie licked and smacked away, headless to little Van's blushing struggles. Every so often a finger would rub down the bound girl's instep, forcing a giggle from the shivering tool-user. Josie smiled around her mouthful as Van reacted to her tender teasing.
The kinky play was taking its toll on the bed-bound girl. Josie would press the spit-slick feet into her own ponderous breasts, moaning with rapture as the clenching toes accidentally found a straining nipple. Her groans were throaty as she enjoyed the earthy taste of Van's flesh, the warm press of Van's feet across her leather-locked topworks. And Van, whose tastes centered on the mechanics of manni-erection, found herself fantasizing of once again having a stiff penis, of forcing it into Josie's cleavage, the leather bodice creaking in time to her thrusts. Under Petra's ropes, Van's muffin was beginning to steam. Seeming miles away, Josie captured the pair of wigging big toes in her expressive mouth, happily sucking...
“Mmmm! Mmmm! MMMM!,” sucked Josie.
“Ohh. No. Nooo!” gasped Van.
“Creak-creak-creak,” noted the cot.
“Airshipwoman Josie,” came a voice from the doorway, “You'll ruin your dinner.”
Josie and Van exchanged distracted blinks and looked doorward simultaneously. Petra, raw and flushed, hung in the doorway.
“I don't know what came over me,” the big-breasted toe-sucker managed.
“It came over everyone. Half the crew is assaulting the other half. Petra have work to do. The captain wants to see your little hors d'oeuvres in the galley. Untie her and make her presentable.” The door closed with a thump.
“Well,” Josie said, brushing herself off and standing (abet unsteadily). Licking her lips, she shook her short blonde hair, cleaning her mind of lust like an etchasketch. “Must get you ready. The captain awaits. Still, these boots of yours – brutish. Can't have that.”
“No!” Van blurted but it was too late. Josie had chucked them out of porthole.
“I'll find you something suitable.”
Left alone in the stateroom, Van sighed in her tight bindings. Looking down her lanky body, she wiggled her red-tipped toes. Luckily they'd dried hard before Josie had succumb to her sucking fit. Actually, thinking of the voluminous Petunia, she rather liked how they looked. She'd die before admitting such a thing. After all, she was a mechanic, not a flutey-flute girl.
Josie swept back in. “Here, these will do. Carol said you could borrow them. Well, she's hogtied in her stateroom and gagged with a rubber ball and tape, but I'm sure its okay.
“Oh, no,” Van groaned. “Not those!”
In Josie's hands hung a set of high-heel sandals, strappy, archy, designed to set the wearer on her own pair of stilettoed pillars. That the ankle straps had attachments for small silver locks was not lost on the engineer.
“Here, let's just slide them on you.”
“No. Oooh. Ow. Oh, that's much too tight!”
Josie finished forcing Van's feet into strappy rack-tensioned pedal-bondage. Her arched feet trembled as they settled against the narrow arch-plates, her toes strapped in like dominated little piggies. “Nonsense. Look how they force your lines and point your toes.”
Van groaned, barely managing to wiggle her abused digits. Her feet were as bound up as she was.
“Now, let's get you off that bed and on your way to dinner with Captain Zana!”
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20.01.13
story continues in Gai-Shift - Peregrine 3: Hisstle the Catwoman
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