Chapter 4: Bound for Pleasure
Airshipwoman Josie leaned against a bridge console, shifted her ponderous leather-harnessed breasts and sighed. At least she could look across the crowded bridge to where Van stood, so darling in those sky-high sandals still locked on her feet. She mused about how the fetish footwear exaggerated the curves of Van's trim legs, forcing her feet and toes into cruel restriction. Delicious.
Currently the Unbound Pleasure was dead in the air, drifting in the wake of a storm front, nestled like an erect penis between banks of vulva-like clouds. This meant that the Captain and crew couldn't rely on ground references or sun-sightings to determine their location. Further, Captain Hoffsteder refused to valve gas and descend, not until they knew where they were. Once they started down they would be committed. Best guess put them somewhere over Southern England but that was only, after all, a best guess.
Their mysterious stowaway, the catlike Hisstle, was still on the loose, still capturing and carrying off crew. She'd already taken Cook, the two climatrixes and several crew members. Nobody knew where in the huge airship envelope the victims been carried off to but occasional bursts of empathetic lust signified that she was molesting each in turn. This put Hoffsteder's remaining crew on-edge - sexual edge. The agitated airship women were about to climb into each other's suits at this point. Given the tight quarters and burning passions, the Captain had ordered the bridge windows opened to vent heat and musk from the assembly.
Josie sighed again, thinking how much she'd like to get Van tied back down, to unlock those kinky sandals with her hidden key and whiplash her soles with fingers and tongue. The little blonde engineer had quivered so erotically when Josie had tongue-basted her earlier. Yummy!
But now the Captain was pontificating to the remaining crew - find the trespasser, blah blah blah, stay in groups, yack yack yack. She and Petra both clutched the ship's two bolomuskets, weapons able to snare limbs at fifty yards. Josie wished she could get her hands on one of those carbines. She'd love to pot Van with it, to get that vivacious moppet lashed up again. Come to think about it, there were a lot of girls she'd like to capture with it. Any girl, actually.
Hoffsteder lowered her head, glasses flashing in the bridge lighting, dark curls tumbling down her rubberized shoulders. “Okay, so everyone's got their groups. Stay tight, stay alert. Josie and Van, you keep watch on the bridge. Anything happens, hit the alarm button. You see another airship, signal-lamp a distress call to them. But I don't want them to take us in tow, not until we bag this Hisstle creature. Any questions? Okay, let's go!”
Petra followed her blunt bolomusket's muzzle up the ladder, followed by her partner and the other teams. Eventually it was just Josie and Van on the bridge of the silent airship. Josie looked towards the tomboy toolmistress whose blonde hair stirred in the slight breeze from the open window at her back.
“You know,” Josie forwarded, “We could...”
“No.”
Josie pouted. “You're no fun. It's not even slap-n-tickle because I don't like slap. You're like that girl in my hometown, a lanky girl with strawberry hair and bony feet...”
“How could you tell they were bony?”
“Trust me, fetishers know these things. Not that it put me off – they were kinda cute that way. Anyway, she'd never say a word to me, never return a smile or a good morning or anything. But secretly she wanted me!”
Van crossed her arms she smirked. “Right. Anyone who rejects you actually lusts for you. Sure. And how did you determine this?”
“She tried to come down my chimney one night with loops of ropes over her shoulders, a bottle of chloroform in her pocket and a ballgag in her belt.”
“Oh.”
“She got stuck though, just like a cork in a bottle. I woke up and there were those wonderful bony feet wiggling in my fireplace. She'd been barefoot of course, for traction, but that hadn't helped her. She was stuck fast.”
“So what did you do?”
“Do? What do you think I did? First I gave her a little tug, to see if she was really, truly stuck – she was. Then I checked to see if I could hear her cries through the heavy mortar – I couldn't. She was mine, all ten toes of her.
“I fetched up some rope my governess had used on me the other day to make me sit still and lashed up her ankles, lickity-split, anchoring them down to the iron dog grate. I even tied her toes and locked them down too, leaving her hardly able to move at all. Her feet looked so adorably pathetic done up like that, straining and wiggling yet trussed up tight. So first things first – got a bucket of soapy water and a brush and cleaned her right up.”
Van winced at the thought. She knew what the over-endowed Josie was like. She'd been bound flat and helpless before her earlier this day, had felt the suction of her lips around her toes, the flicker of her tongue across her soles, the luscious flush of degradation. She could only imagine what it would be like, helplessly plugged in a chute, arms locked against her sides, her modest breasts pressed against the brickwork, her tender nipples burnished by the mortar. Her cries would echo back at her as if shouted into her face by a mocking mistress. And then, from below, the tentative brush as Josie's hands ran along her bare, vulnerable feet.
She'd shiver in her brickwork bondage, giggling through clenched teeth as the fingers stroked her soles in welcome. Then the gentleness would end as harsh rope snapped around her ankles, locking them hard. In the darkness, her eyes would widen as cord snugged around her toes, locking her feet up. Then would come the anchoring sensation as ropes racked her downwards, her feet lugged into toe-pointing tension. She could only wait in whimpering anticipation as warm water was sponged over her dirty skin. And that might being to relax her bowstringed nerves, the suds bubbling up between her tensioned toes, until that first excruciating sweep of the ruthless brush, an electrifying agony of ruthless tickle-torture...
Josie's eyes were off-focus, lips cruel, memories putting a saucy flush to her cheeks. “I kept her there for the whole day, tickling her, licking her, stroking her, fondling her. Her feet were like little doves I'd captured and could play with. Occasionally I'd take naps, knowing she'd still be where I left her, ready for our next session. And always, there were her helpless feet waiting for me. I could her her faintly weeping as I had my way with her, engaging whatever smutty desire I choose. I licked her feet. I rubbed them with my crotch – what a climax that ignited. I even pasted them up and down with butter – oh, she hated that. Finally, of course, I had to tell my governess. How she frowned when she saw those limp, trussed feet dangling in the fireplace. The fire brigade was summoned, there was a double-scandal, quite the row. Shortly after that I ran away to the sky, as you might say, joining the airship service.” She smiled in thought, pushing back a ribbon of blonde hair that tickled her ear. “Now I'm married to the fleet. And I've got a pair of feet in every port.”
“But what do you...?” Van started to say, rudely interrupted as rope looped around her trim body, wrenching her arms to her sides and her back to the upright window frame. She looked down at her straining torso, her welded forearms and rope-crushed breasts. She opened her mouth but a final thick rope swirled around it, a gag of bristly hemp sealing her cries, locking her head back. Bound like a witch to a stake, she could only squirm as something slipped down the outside of the gondola, moving spiderlike over the fearsome drop.
“Mfff! MFFF!” she screamed at Josie but the girl simply gawked. Clearly she was mesmerized by the sight of her upright, tied-tight companion, the twisting shoulders, the wiggling hips, the stomping of her high, high sandals.
Josie found herself moving forward, mesmerized by the trussed tomboy, not quite understanding how it happened. So taken was she by Van's corded torso she didn't catch the significance of the slight scratch on the open window frame behind her, the fact that Van's wide blue eyes were not looking at her, no, past her. And then a silky brush against her back, a hand across her mouth, and then her startled eyes could only watch as coils of ropes seemingly twirled around her body.
With her generous breasts, Josie was no stranger to kidnap. She'd been trussed up and nipple-groped by more horny women than she could count. Thus she was familiar with the sensation of losing control of her body, of feeling the ropes compress around her, drawing her arms in, pinching her flesh. Every time it happened it was as exciting as the first. And now, it seemed, she was being taken once again. Thus, she shuttered her eyes in resignation, obediently opening her mouth for the panty gag that followed. As cloth wrapped her cheeks and chin, she wondered who's panties stuffed her gob. One of the cat-girl's earlier victims no doubt, her underwear recycled for muting upcoming captures. Josie, her eyes still closed, sighed into her gag as the ropes tightened even more about her, crimping her body in its latex sheathing, cinching her into a wiggling, helpless tube of flesh and passion.
The last knot hissed home. Josie swayed on her rope-locked feet, held erect by the silky presence at her back. Then she felt an arm, both arms, snake around the sides of her body. Strong fingers settled on twin risings straining her tight shipsuit – her nipples were hard and excited now. Then the fingers pinched, rolling her, kneading her, making her whimper in agitation. But this was more than a simple woman-woman molestation. Against her back Hisstle's own nipples jutted, peaking at her own interests. And washing over Josie was a empathetic lust, the creature's bio-feedback loop. It was like being hand-jobbed in a mirror, writhing from both the sensations and also her image. But these were not simple erotic reflections, these were harmonically vibrating directly across her sexual nerves, a burning passion that bypassed flesh and blood, resonating directly on the sexual centers of her brain. She moaned at the agony of the overblown stimulation, feeling her crotch steam like a broken boiler.
Cracking open a teary eye, she realized Van was also affected, wiggling against her own coarse ropes, watching Josie's debasement and experiencing it through Hisstle's strange broadcasting power. The little girl's eyes were pleading to be a part of the event. She tried to shake her head in agitation but Hisstle's rope gag held her firm. All she could do is thrust herself against her scratchy bonds, seeking whatever sensation she could from her own discomfort.
And then Hisstle was slipping around in front of Josie, kneeling, and Josie felt herself topple over the strong womanly back. It was like laying on a soft warm bed; Hisstle's fur was heavenly. Josie found herself snuggling as the cat-girl rose up, lifting Josie's boots from the decking. She didn't care that she was being carried off. She didn't care that she was to be ravaged. All she cared about was that her ropes were tight, that she couldn't get away, that she was Hisstle's prisoner. Her only option was to endure the delights that would be inflicted on her.
Hisstle turned to go, Josie draped over her shoulder. Her captive heard a final hiss to Van: “I'lll be back for you....” And then they were passing through the window, picking across the airship's cool gondola, up the connecting girderwork, then out across the convex hull. Josie felt no fear. With her eyes closed she could not see the yawning sky all around her. She nestled against her captor's silky back, savoring the cut of her ropes and her helplessness. They'd just reached an access panel – Josie heard it open – when a warbling alarm sounded from below. In her mind, Josie could picture what had happened, how Van, shaking off Hisstle's coital radiations, had raised a strong leg and brought its sandal-heel down on the nearby alarm button. No doubt the crew was scrambling down to the bridge to save her. Josie smirked into her jaw-straining panty-gag, chiding her tool-user friend as a fool. All she'd had to do was wait five minutes and Hisstle would have been back for her. Then she, too, would have been carried off for ovarian misuse. Silly little Van!
And now they were within the airship's skin, gliding down dark gantryways between organ-like gasbags, worming like sperm through places the crew rarely went. Bobbing on Hisstle's strong shoulder, her pussy smacking its lips in anticipation, her round breasts grinding against silky flesh, Josie moaned in contentment. She was ready for whatever might come, including herself.
Eventually they entered a large silky space between the gasbags, the canvas backlit pink by the subdued lighting. It was as if, Josie reflected, she'd been thrust into a giant woman's vulva, the soft surroundings, the dim illumination, the fishy smell of excitement. Hisstle gently lay her down on some sacking and began binding her upper body tight to an angled beam. Josie, groggy with anticipation, looked over her shoulder and felt herself grow (if it were possible) even more excited.
Hisstle's lair contained all her victims, still bound for their turns sating the feline's seemingly bottomless hunger. There were women bound along the airship's girder ribs, their bodies locked fast with ropes, their clothing disheveled or even crudely ripped away. There were women sprawled on the decking amid coils of ropes, their limbs trembling in trussed weariness, their hair as frazzled as their nerves. There were even women slowly swaying from their heels like erotic pendulums in the center of the room, panting in heat. All of them watched as Josie was tied fast to her girder. When Hisstle took hold of Josie's front and rippled its leather in twain, spilling out her generous breasts for all to see, they moaned collectively. Josie trembled as her body was deflowered by so many desperate eyes.
Then she realized that, unlike every slumber party, bawdy-house shindig or orgy she'd ever been to, there was no concern amongst the rope-traced playthings that they might not get their share. Here, no matter who Hisstle churned, every second of teeth-grinding, hip-thrusting lust would be distributed (through her empathy) to all. When one girl was fondled, they all gasped as one.
But Josie's breath still came quicker when Hisstle remained before her, running her oh-so-soft hands along her ponderous breasts, her slitted eyes burning with cross-species lust. Josie tried to bring her hands up in involuntary defense but they were still lashed behind her. She couldn't move an inch – she could only accept anything and everything Hisstle might do to her.
Soft fingers began to play across her body, touching, stroking, tracing. Josie trembled at the touch, moaning, drawing a chorus from the other prisoners. She felt her crotch rope shifting as Hisstle dug deeper, the cat-girl's tongue lapping at her living cream. Josie fought her ropes, not for freedom but to give her assailant access, to resolve the straining hunger that burned in her crotch. But Hisstle took her time, working her gently, playing her sadistically. In the end Josie was weeping, as were the others. As one they shuddered and shivered as the long-delayed climax racked through their collective body.
Josie's last clear thought was that she was hoping Van was enjoying her broadcast debasement as much as she was.
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03.02.13
story continues in Gai-Shift - Peregrine 5: Petra's humiliation
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