Chapter 5: Petra's humiliation
Executive Officer Petra eased along the spindly walkway, surrounded by massive lung-like canvas gas cells. In her determined hands jutted a loaded and cocked bolomusket. Behind her trailed two leather-bodied airshipwomen, a dour bony-nosed blonde and a petite brunette. Their names weren't important. Nothing was important save getting a clean shot at that the feline intruder who'd now carried off most of the crew.
“That lousy stinking yellow feline. That horrible atrocity-filled vermin. That despicable animal warmonger”, Petra muttered, reflecting that is what happened from allowing forests to grow without state control. If nature had been confined with walls and roads (like a wayward daughter should be confined with ropes and shackles), there wouldn't be an oversexed woman-kitten slinking around in the airship's envelope, picking off crewmembers like a fox in a hen house. As it was, they'd been adrift for two days, carried behind a storm front, lost in its clouds. They had no idea where the winds had carried them.
They came to an intersection of gantries, each gridded path leading off into the gloomy guts of the lighter-then-air craft. Petra thrust her bondage-projectile gun down each path, squinting into the darkness. One shot. Give her one shot. She'd have that slinky kinky kitty wound up tighter than cable on a capstan.
She'd just started to move aft-ward when a shout sounded behind her. The beaked blonde was literally head over heels, her ankles looped up with rope white and tight against her shiny black boots. Her brunette friend leapt in an attempt to grab her hand but just missed. Petra raised her weapon and cursed – the line ran up into a circular rubber-lined access port used to pass hoses gas-transfer hoses through decking. Hisstle was on the high deck above, hidden from view, reeling her latest catch upwards.
“Don't let her take me,” the blonde cried out, her face blushed with inversion, her hands desperately reaching. “I don't want to be roped up tight, to have my suit split open like a pea-pod, to have my tender sexual spots manipulated! It's too strange! Too alien! Too intense! Help! Oh, help!”
Petra shoved the other girl clear, her weapon up with nothing to sight. A tear from the suspended girl patted off her cheek.
By now the victim had been drawn into the puckering rubber-lipped hole, pulled up to her knees. Her eyes flashed. “Oh, she's tying my ankles even tighter, cording up my shins! I can tell from her wrenching knots that she's going to tie me tight. Please, Officer Petra, save me!”
“Be brave,” the stymied XO offered helplessly. “Do not grant your oppressor victory nor orgasm.”
With a wrench, the poor girl was drawn up to her hips like a sausage slowly being sucked between slobbering lips. Her fearful eyes were streaming tears through her eyelashes.
“My knees – she's cinching up my knees! And my thighs! Even through my shipsuit the ropes pinch and crush. And now... oh no! It's a... a... crotch rope! With a knot right up against my... Nooooo!”
Fingers tugged on Petra's strong arm; the little brunette. “Please don't let her take me, Ma'am,” the girl pleaded. “I don't want my muff buffed. Please, tie me up in your closet, tight as you please. I'll do anything you wish, anything at all. I'll be your slave. Just don't let her get me!”
Petra shook her off, scowling upwards. Now the girl had been drawn further upwards, her black sheathed breasts squeezing through the limiting hole, her nipples compressed cruelly. She tried to keep her hands clear but something reached down past her shoulders, catching each arm, pulling them through. Now only her face showed like the hub of some sad little sunflower.
“My arms! My hands! Oh, she's tying me up too tight! Please, ma'am! Please! Don't let her... Oh, my breasts! She's cross-roping them. And her touch. Even now it's giving me shivers! I won't live through her molestation! I won't!”
A flash of white, a blur of fuzzy fingers, and now a gag strained across her terror-dry lips. Only her eyes belayed her discomforts and concerns. She threw a final fear-wild glance to her superior officer, tears streaming, mutely pleading. And then, with a dull pop, she was drawn fully in and the vulva-like opening pouted shut.
“Come on,” Petra commanded. “We might get there in time. The ladder is three cells forward. If we move quickly we can stop the creature before she feasts on our comrade's sexual passions.”
“No, please! I don't want to go up there,” the brunette cried but Petra would have none of it, locking her wrist in an iron grip, dragging her along. They were halfway up the ladder when the lust-wave hit, the empathetic emanation that Hisstle threw off when she licked nipples and thumbed twats.
“Hold on,” Petra cried, locking her hands on the rungs. The girl below her wept, her teary eyes screwed shut, as their balance swayed to the carnal maelstrom that swirled around them. It was all Petra to do to keep from falling from her perch. She frowned at the steaming stain adorning the crotch of her shipsuit. Below her, her dark-haired companion hiccuped as each climax racked her.
“Too late,” the girl wept. “It's raped her already.”
“That was a three-climaxer!” Petra called down. “She's close! Come on!”
“Haven't I come enough?” the girl blubbered through her tears, following Petra's boots up the ladder.
They came onto the high walkway, the gas cells arrayed like huge breasts just below. All manner of piping, struts and canvas shrouds limited visibility. Petra sniffed. A fishy odor. So close. Recklessness overtook her.
“Go that way around,” she told her companion. The girl looked at her with teary eyes, hands clasped together over her breasts, but Petra growled. Fearfully, one tentative step at a time, the girl began to slowly ease down the walkway to the right, passing between suspended mixing bladders. Petra raised her weapon and ran along the left walkway as silently as she could, looping around. With luck, they'd catch Hisstle between them.
She came around the final corner, weapon up. Her eyes flashed open, her teeth grinding with fury.
The little crewmate lay on her belly on the suspended walkway, Hisstle hunched over her. Somehow the cat-girl had managed in the span of seconds to force the girl face down and remove her rubberized boots. Thumbs and toes had been collected behind her back in sharp loops of thin cords. Another cord held a wad of panties in her overstretched lips. The girl's pain-filled eyes were dull with resignation. She knew she was going to be molested soon, groped as she'd never been groped before. In preparation, her nipples her hardening and her juices flowing. She was doomed and accepted it with fatalistic hornyness.
Petra did not. She raised her weapon, cocking its lever back.
Hisstle looked up like a lioness interrupted during its feast. Her white muzzle was sticky with the crotch-juice of the blonde she had hastefully fed on moments ago. Her tail lashed, her sinuous body as poised as a lover on a moonlit windowsill. She hissed triumphantly and leapt sideways out of the line of fire, over the hand railing, sailing out over the gasbags.
Petra tracked, pulled the trigger. The weapon thumped against her shoulder.
BWANG!
The bolos whirled around a vertical walkway support, spinning down into a tangled tightly-looped knot.
“Yebat!” Petra exclaimed, flinging her useless weapon aside, launching forward, kicking off the top of the handrail, sailing out into space after the slender cat. Hisstle landed atop a bulbous gas bag, plunging into it yet not penetrating just as Gai-shifted sperm would an era-enhanced egg. She sank into a deep concavity of canvas. Overhead, Petra bounced on the lip and then slid into the growing hole, arms wide, eyes afire, fingers splayed to catch this troublesome cat-girl. Hisstle saw her coming, leapt over the snatching arms, pushed off with a slender foot against Petra's blonde-banged head, launching upwards. But there was no purchase around the lip, no way to get out. She started to slide back into the deepening depression. At the bottom Petra, now on her feet, roared, “Here, Kitty-kitty-kitty!”
But before Hisstle came within arm's reach, she used the canvas airbag as a trampoline, bounding up over Petra's head. She kicked off on touchdown, arching back to the opposite side. While she couldn't get out of the pit, she could keep hopping from side to side, avoiding the vengeful grip of the airship officer.
Petra knew she could wait. Turning to follow the trajectory of the bouncing bobcat babe, she knew eventually Hisstle would tire and slide down the slippery canvas slope to where the Slav waited. Then it would be all over.
Petra could picture the scene of her triumph, with Hisstle's most thoroughly trussed torso thrown over her shoulder like a sexy sack of grain, her narrow mouth crammed with a gag, even her tail tied fast. How Captain Zana would beam a smile at the restoration of her command, how the climatrixes would be locked down into their molestation-stations, how some of the captive crew might even be freed. She even entertained hopes that Zana would allow her to personally interrogate the strange creature.
Petra found her nipples rising at the thought of this svelte kitty roped over the edge of Petra's stateroom desk, her fuzzy little ass propped up with pillows, her tailed tied back to her straining wrists, her worried alien face cocking a fearful look over a rope-laced shoulder. And how Petra would look through her belongings for the paddle she'd brought with her from Contessa Oblonsky's estate, an oaken oar of a thing with airholes to enhance both speed and pain. And with a soft pat to unblemished cheeks, she'd set her feet apart, draw back her arm, and...
It was in this moment of fantasy distraction that Hisstle struck.
She bounced low and fast off the billowing canvass wall, coming in from behind, landing on the socialist's broad shoulders, her thighs snapping around her head, ankles locked closed. Petra grunted, reach back, yet her flailing fingers could not find purchase on Hisstle's silky fur. Hisstle grunted, tightening her legs even tighter. Below her Petra swayed, trying to lever the shapely legs away. Oddly, even in the midst of the struggle, she found herself turned on by the crotch heat (and trace of wetness) grinding against the back of her head. If only Hisstle had come in from the other side, forcing her tidy twat into Petra's face, locking her up with wiry legs. But this was no time for woulda-shoulda-wishy-wanty. She had to get the cat girl off.
Above, Hisstle surveyed her bucking mount like an exotic cowgirl (or, correctly cowcatgirl?), her hips riding easily as Petra swayed and flailed. She cocked her head, studying. Then, with infinite care, she reached down around Petra's jawline, located the artery, pressed.
Petra's last thought was, inexplicably, an image of a naked Zana Hoffsteder laying in a bed of flowers, whip cream whirled over her pert nipples and yawning snatch, her oval face parted with a whimsical come-here grin, and then there was darkness.
Hisstle hopped off as Petra's unconscious body timbered into the soft embrace of the gas cell wall. The cat girl hunched at her side, turning out her captive's pockets, smiling at the amount of rope the XO had seen fit to bring. Neatly combining them into one long line, weighted with a requisitioned boot, she neatly tossed her line up to snag around a gangway handrail. Then, with Petra ingloriously over her shoulder, she climbed upwards...
Petra recovered in dim lighting. She shook her head to clear it, looked around. With a start she realized that every bit of rubber and leather clothing had been removed. And that her body, strong and butch, had been bound to a leaning cross-intersection of girderwork, spread-eagling her, leaning her back. Wrists, elbows, shoulders, stomach, thighs, knees, ankles, each had their own loop of tight roping. She tried to rock about but found no play. She tried to bellow commands and threats but found her mouth packed with something that felt (and tasted) like someone else's panties.
Around her, at every angle, silent bound girls watched her with hungry anticipation. There was Cook, Josie, even the blonde and brunette who'd come with her. All of them had been tied fast to girders, chairs, even suspended from overhead beams. And every one of them looked over her body with bedroom eyes.
A pair of ears appeared between her outthrust thighs, a mane, then cool feline eyes. Hisstle crouched in the spread of her crotch, savoring the moment as Petra came to grips with what was going to happen. She watched as fists balled, muscles strained, ropes creaked. And when it was clear to all, to Petra and her eager audience of webbed damsels, only then did Hisstle extend her long limber tongue and slowly, oh so slowly, draw it along the trembling lips before her.
The sensations of being victor and victim, dominating and demanding, of being bound and debased, mixed and were projected. The wave of watchful women rocked in their tight bonds, moaning in appreciation as they savored Hisstle's bliss and Petra's humiliation. The airship's girder ribbing actually groaned as the many damsels anchored to it writhed in unison. Petra, shamed at being the center of such sexual attention, blushed beet red which set her off all the more.
With blood pounding in her ears and Hisstle's tongue lashing her twat, she found her passions quickfiring towards climax. She held out a little longer before her passions took control. Screaming in sexual rage into her gag, her balled fists wrenching at her unshiftable bonds, a sloppy wet orgasm was ripped from her. As she lost it, a multitude of gagged lips curled smiles around underwear gags. And then all the women, and the cat, moaned harmonically as one.
Somewhere below, Captain Zana Hoffsteder looked up at the bridge ceiling, shivering as a wave of recognizable lust swept through the five girls left unbound and unmolested. “Oh no,” she managed to exhale, leaning heavily on a console, the body beneath her leather airsuit flushing in heated sweat. “She's got Petra!”
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16.02.13
story continues in Gai-Shift - Peregrine 6: The trap is set...
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