Chapter 6: The trap is set...
Captain Zana Hoffsteder walked slowly along the row of staterooms. Tall and proportioned and commanding, her body snugly tucked into her rubberized airship suit, the confusion of her hair over her shoulders matched the confusion her sky-blue, bispeckled eyes.
Her entire crew - other than one useless girl - had been spirited away by her passenger's amorous cat-girl. One by one the crew had been snarled by the creature's ropes, their clothing stripped away, their passions empathetical broadcast for all to savor. The ship, deprived of its womanized fuel source, drifted in clouds, position uncertain.
Suddenly another wave of convulsing lust broke over the beleaguered sky captain, nearly buckling her knees and forcing a gasp. She braced herself against the walls, panties steaming. She hadn't been so continuously aroused since that time she'd accepted Petunia's invite for a weekend in the country. Bound to a billiard table, should could only look down her methodically stripped body to where Petunia, pink and frilly in her nightdress, screwed a dildo on the end of a cue and eyed her corner pocket. A weekend with the amorous Royal Scientist was equal to falling afoul of the dreaded Marylebone Lancers on one of their infamous leaves. She'd only recovered with time and judicious amounts of talcum powder.
The indirect, indecent broadcast finally tapered down as Hisstle, in her secret lair with dozens of bound victims, finished thumbing, nibbling and licking her latest plaything. Zana, blowing a shaky exhale, pulled herself up and continued towards the forward galley, trying to ignore the squelching rub of her tight suit across her agitated nipples.
Two girls sat in the galley. Van, Lady Petunia's technical genius and go-to girl, prettily gnawed a pencil, her blond mop masking her faraway eyes, her tablespace littered with all manner of ship's records and logs. All Zana could figure was that the girl had retreated into her endless figures. Speaking of figures, and in Zana's opinion, Van's own figure had been improved by the sky-high sandals airshipwoman Josie had locked on the girl's pretty feet, a fine substitution for those utilitarian boots. With her slender ankles crossed and one strap-trapped foot bobbing, Van murmured to herself like a madwoman as she poured over the logs.
The other girl, Lucy, child-small and child-fearful, leapt to her feet at the captain's entrance, her airship suit squeaking in agitation. Her lanky blonde hair, uncertain if it was straight or curled, fell in confusion over a coffee eye. She'd been next to useless during the entire crises, rushing back to the dubious safety of the bridge each time one of her comrades had been trapped and trussed by Hisstle. Zana would been unmoved if their marauding minx had carried off this mouse, but no luck.
And so here she was, captain of a lost and disabled airship, with nobody left but a distracted engineer and an atmocadet.
“Lucy.” Her sharp command made the girl jump. “Come with me.”
“But shouldn't I stay...”
“Come.” Zana was already click-clicking out of the galley, trusting that the nerve-bundled girl followed.
She strode into her stateroom and gestured to the far wall. At sight of what awaited her, Lucy worried her hands protectively across her palpitating breasts. “Oh no. Please, don't make me...”
The wall of Hoffsteder's stateroom was blank but for a number of mounted straps, dangling like slumbering boas, their buckles glimmering in cool apprasial.
“Strip,” Zana ordered.
“Oh please, I don't want to go up on the Captain's Wall...”
“Strip or I'll rip your rubber suit right off you.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” Lucy murmured. She turned away from her commander, docily peeling off her rubberwear, exposing a shapely shoulder, a smooth back, her cheeky bottom. She glanced over her shoulder, her hair masking her eye, her cheek burning a blush. Zana took a long eye-full before speaking.
“Over to the wall.”
She kicked a box in place, helping the humiliated blonde step up. Turning the girl and pressing her back against the wall, Zana took hold of a flutter-pulsed wrist, raising it high and buckling it fast. Then she stepped around to do the same to its counterpart. More belts looped around slim elbows. With her wrists locked wide above her head Lucy's tiny breasts rose in shamelessness, counter to her own head-hanging, hair-masking embarrassment.
Stepping before the girl, eye-to-nipple, Zana slipped another heavy band beneath the little boobies, putting enough tension into the strap to force the nervous breath. Another strap across the trim belly, then the legs, first the right, then the left, ankles and knees. This lifted Lucy's clenching toes from the box, affixing her to the wall in a humiliating X of shame. Zana left her lithe captive to settle in her strapping, crossing back to her bedside table to gather a few sleep aids. The brilliantly red ball gag and leather blindfold did allow her to sleep better, especially when buckled onto whatever crewmember lay in overnight bondage within her sheets.
“Oh, please, no,” Lucy whined, eyes wide in fear at the mutificaiton devices. Zana chucked calmingly, taking away the girl's speech and sight with two quick draws of thin strapping. Then she stepped back for a look.
Lucy rolled her little head about, whinnying like a pony at her harnessing. Her breasts with their pink-jeweled nipples rose on her fear-rasping breath. Her vulva seemed to clench in apprehension. Her tiny fists balled, her toes pointed. Zana thought she looked so very fetching.
She didn't know how Hisstle hunted, what drew her to each girl. There was always the possibility that she homed in on randiness like a shark would blood. Goodness knew, with all the sexual radiation washing over the ship, her crew had been ready for an orgasm of mutiny. Considering this, she opened her mother's oaken discipline box, selecting a linked set of nipple clips and a slow-spin clockwork dildo. Perhaps this would help bait the trap. If not, well, Lucy would look adorable with them on.
“My little powder-monkey,” Zana whispered into the girl's shell-like ear, her fingers falling on the helpless titties, “I've a few terrible things to do to you. Just hang in your straps and suffer magnificently.”
Lucy moaned, half-sobbing as invisible fingers rolled each nipple in turn. Then she hissed as Zana carefully added to compressors, cinching them well around the fleshy bases so as not to pinch painfully. The strapped-up girl rolled her head, hazed in the wash of sensation. Kneeling down, Zana found the girl's twat already lubed up in violation anticipation. With some quick twists, she wound up the silvery torpedo to trembling readiness then tipped it forward so its blunt head pressed against the wet fleshy folds.
“Mmmooo! Mmmooo! Ummmgh!”
“Here we go, sweetie.”
The metal shaft slowly slid into the sensitive pocket. Lucy attempted to rise up in her straps as if to avoid its methodical penetration. Zana continued her steady pressure until the device had been fully swallowed. After clipping the low-pressure holding-clamps to the girl's wet lips, she patted a burning thigh as if telling her charge to ready herself, then thumbed the activation switch. Deep within the girl, the unit began to click, its cilia-studded bands moving clockwise and counterclockwise, a torment in ultra-slow time.
Leaving Lucy to warble in flushed bliss, Zana retreated across the stateroom, stepping into her narrow closet, leaving the door cracked open. Her hands lifted up the bolomusket she'd placed there earlier, ratcheting its spring back. With her clip-on glasses shimmering in the narrow opening, she kept watch. Once Hisstle came, as she had to come, it would be over quickly. As soon as the feline interacted with Lucy, she'd drop the blunt muzzle through the opening, pull the trigger. Wound and bound, the feline would tumble to the decking. Zana would step up to her and place a triumphant boot on her body, the hunter's poise. Then she'd recover the climatrixes and the more critical members of the crew, start the engines, gain headway, then nose out of the clouds for a quick look-round. As for Hisstle, she'd be turned over to Petunia Goldwaith and Serif Winterwood, and good luck to her with that.
As she stood in readiness, Zana found herself thinking of what the fallout she might suffer for this incident. The Unbound Pleasure had been on a short hop from Wales to London when the disruption had occurred. To loose control of one's command so completely could not be seen as good. No double she'd be ordered to appear before Fleet. She might even be summoned to the Palace.
Zana trembled in her leathery suit at the thought. If Queen Lilla summoned her, she'd be thrown into the Tower.
She'd heard about what happened in the Tower, of women roped up in the most diabolical bondages imaginable. She'd heard of women bound in spine-bending hogties, their heads nearly touching their heels, with skillful, smirking attendants seeing to their bodies with wicked feathers and jeweled pinchers. Of heels-high suspension and enemas of hot and cold oils. Of tickling stocks, of rocking horses, of lace-up mummysuits. From time to time, Queen Lilla herself, with her cool blue eyes and orange hair, would take her pleasure by observing the disciplines.
Zana had been placed in institutional bondage before, back in the days of the Knightsbridge Angel, when she'd been suspected of cargo tampering. How the hours had dragged when she'd been locked by those enthusiastic (and grope-happy) officers into the iron maiden in the cellar of the precinct house. The punishment there had been the isolation of it, of lying in stiff encasement which pinioned her tight all the way to her toes. A drip feed on either end kept her serviced, but all she could do was look out her narrow slit at the rows of padlocks running down her chest-seam. Worse, the sounds of interrogations, very juicy stuff, drifted down from the air grates, filling the room with giggles of titillations, moans of satisfactions and sighs of heavenly pleasure. Sealed up in lock-solid isolation, Zana could only boil in slow desire.
If she bagged the ravishing creature, if she sailed into London with Hisstle lashed across her airship's bow like some exotic figurehead, she might spare herself many hours of professionally-applied orgasm denial.
All her attention was on the spread-eagled girl placed as bait before her. Thus, she did not see the slip-knotted loop that slowly descended from the overhead vent grate, dangling down like a spider's line just above her head. From the darkness of the shaft, slitted eyes carefully gauged. The noose began to rock, gently opening up. Zana stood in complete unawareness of the danger deploying behind her.
Then, with a neat flick, the loop passed over Zana's leather-slick shoulders, dropping down around her elbows, yanking tight.
“Oh no,” she shouted, her arms drawn fast to her sides, the bolomusket clattering to the deck. “No no!”
She tried to kick and squirm but the rope crushed her limbs. With a hard pull, the loop was drawn up, lifting the lassoed commander up on booted tiptoe. Her balance slowly shifted forward, her head dropped, her hair fell around her face, masking her in defeat. A moment later another loop dropped, this one padded with panty-fabric. It fell around Zana's head, the lacy wadding wrenching into her mouth like a crude horse's bridle. Any thought she might have entertained of screaming for Van to come were muffled as was she by the slipgag. And there she dangled, leather-packed buttocks up, head down, unable to move.
There came a hiss from above as the grating was pulled back, opening the shaft. With ultimate care, Zana was slowly winched up into the darkness like a puppet at the end of its show, powerless to check her assent. For a moment her thick booted feet remained in the closet, kicking in frustration. From above drifted noises of rippling ropes and clinching knots, interspersed by muffled gasps. Then the boots where pulled up and the closet was empty of all save the dropped snare-carbine.
Lucy, unaware of what had happened, groaned into her jaw-packing ball gag, lust-drowsy from the clips and dildo that tormented her. She shook her head slowly, moaning, a luxurious sight of mussed molestation. Blindfolded, she wondered how Captain Hoffsteder was doing. Then she sensed something stirring around her, felt the chains linking her throbbing titties being lifted in examination, felt a gentle touch to the purring dildo. She moaned in gratitude that her ordeal was nearly over, that she would be released. While normally she didn't ask or force partners into her own narrow bunk, tonight she'd make an exception. As soon as she could, she'd figure a way to jump another crewmember and lash them up tight, then drag them to her hungry bed. Both her captivity and the frequent bursts of empathetic juicy-toots had left her uncharacteristically randy.
Maybe that little engineer. She'd look cute, done up from head to foot in tight lashings, stripped of every stitch of clothing. Well, not the kinky shoes. They had to stay on. They were so pretty.
She gasped when Hoffsteder's hand cupped her cheek. In this, she found confusion – it didn't feel like a leather glove at all. More like... fur...
And in the galley of the deserted airship, little Van hunched over her figures, her sandaled toe tapping the floor as she pushed down her final column of numbers, hardly noticing as a wave of fresh hot lust broke over her as another proud woman succumb to insistent transgressions. Her own climax, small and juicy, was as much due to the external stimulation as from her final calculation. She looked it over, smiling dreamily and allowing herself an indulgent nipple-squeeze, then reached for the airship's cross-diagram.
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26.02.13
story continues in Gai-Shift - Peregrine 7: Best laid plans...
o0o