Chapter 13: Rani's Palace
As their railcart rolled over the wide ocean of women's passion, with her limbs snuggly secured within the wrappings of crisp white sheets, Kiyoko considered the revelations Olivia had passed to her. How they were being transported into their adversary's stronghold, tasked with defeating a living goddess, the prospect of domination and subservience the reward for failure.
The oriental scarf-warrior considered her situation as she was borne along, the breeze drying her long black hair. That she was being carried into captivity raised an old memory. She found herself thinking back to her past, of the time her sensei, a gray-haired yet rock-bodied elder woman, had bested her in training combat (yet again). Sometimes she'd simply release Kiyoko with a terse, "Again". Sometimes Kiyoko would spend an hour, an afternoon, or the entire night bound in elegant punishment. But this time was different. This time, a peasant woman with an ox-cart entered their compound. The simple girl had stood and watched with interest as the older warrior woman had completed Kiyoko's trussing, coils and coils of scratchy rope delineating her breasts, knotting through her pleasure-place, capturing thighs and ankles, elbows and torso in a methodical web of domination. Given Kiyoko's habitual silence, a wide silk gag had been unneeded yet firmly applied. If anything, her wizened sensei was a perfectionist.
Then, the peasant and the teacher had picked up the defeated Kiyoko and tossed her into the itchy hay in the back of the cart. Soon after, they were trundling through rice fields where laboring women glanced towards the bundled prisoner with calm interest.
Eventually they arrived at an opulent estate. At first, Kiyoko thought it belonged to a noblewoman or princess. But then she saw the powdered faces, the mincing steps: geishas. The living dolls looked over the bundled captive, their usually-expressionless faces betraying hidden desires. To their head-woman, her sensei tossed a bag of gold.
"As we agreed, she is now ready to learn the ways of pleasure and gratification. Show her your arts, grant her your experiences. Give Kiyoko tools to enhance her orchid training. I shall return for her in the month."
"We shall keep her tied," the head geisha bowed. "We shall keep her pleasured. And she, in turn..." the midnight eyes flashed "...will keep us so very amused."
What occurred to her then was like what had occurred to her over the last two days within the obscene bulb of that artificial plant. Pleasure, she'd been instructed, if drawn out and delayed could be a very great torture.
She blinked herself to the present as they rattled through the opening in the side of the great ornate structure in the center of the lake. Kiyoko felt the clasps pinning her sheeting time-release. As the cart stopped, she wormed backwards off the cart, landing with perfect balance on her feet. With careful swaying undulations, she coaxed her wrappings to spool away, eventually releasing her. Freed, she ramped up her senses to combat levels. Whereas any other woman, beholding Olivia's and Megan's bare feet so neatly bundled, might have engaged in a little harmless tickling, Kiyoko hauled each off the cart and unraveled them, all business.
In no time, the three were free. An assessment of their inventory showed they had nothing; all three were naked. Megan's girlish figured contrasted nicely to Olivia's graceful maturity and Kiyoko's catlike form. Yet they had no food, no gear, and none of Kiyoko's scarf-weapons. Thinking quickly, the oriental girl ripped up the sheet used to bundle her into long strips. To the ends of some of them, she attached the clamps that had so recently held them in place, creating crude replacement throwing bands. These she draped over her shoulders, ready for instant use.
Then she gestured for them to follow. She slipped from the laundry reception room, easing into a wide column-lined hall opulent with Indian decorations. Bead-curtained doors masked storerooms containing everything needed to keep Goddess Rani's Taj Mahal temple running.
Kiyoko hissed low and sank into the shadows of a column, having spotted a figure moving towards them. Olivia and Megan hunched close, their naked bodies making heated contact. But any distraction this might have caused was forgotten at the sight of the strange woman who swept unknowingly past.
She was Indian, part of the army of servant/slaves Rani had plucked from the streets and tube-platforms above. Whatever clothing she'd had then was long gone; now the doe-like graceful woman was in traditional garb, her sari swirling, her midriff bare. Her hair was collected back into a thick braid, and jewellery tinkled in opulent display across her dusky flesh.
But it was not the girl's beauty that arrested their attention but her inhuman grace. She did not walk, not as they walked, but floated, drifting along with fairy-like poise, her pointing toes making the tiniest contact with the cool tiles. At first Kiyoko thought it must be magic, for magic did exist as Megan had proven to her. But then her slitted jet eyes figured it out. How demeaningly elegant.
The girl was nothing more than a living puppet. From padded bandings around her wrist, her waist and ankles, lines ran up to a series of tracks overhead with the MI machines her puppeteers. Seemingly the girl could control her actions to some limited degree, walking where she wished, floating ghostlike along the corridors. But Kiyoko had no doubt if the MI's wished her to be somewhere, she would be carried there without resistance or delay.
For a while it was unsafe to move as more and more Indian girls floated past, each bearing serving trays. Some of them contained food and wine, some ropes and gags. Jars of cream, buckets of ice, toys and treats, whips and feathers, all were fetched as required, returned when depleted.
Once the traffic had dropped away, Kiyoko led them forward again. Before them lay a vast room but luckily its walls where latticework, permitting servants a shadowy avenue along its periphery. Into this dark side passage Kiyoko slipped, Megan and Olivia nervously trailing.
With the central room's light checkboarding their naked bodies through the latticework, the three found a reasonable fallback hiding place (a cupboard containing cruelly belted catsuits). Only then did Kiyoko and the others ease forward to see what the great room contained. Her dark eyes widened, unprepared for the Goddess Rani's version of heaven. To one side, Olivia groaned low in her throat. Megan peeped once, like a chick.
It was a room of beauty, with wide expanses of marble floor and columns, made comforting by soft wide rugs and thick colorful pillows. Here and there sat small collections of Indian puppet-maidens, garbed in colorfully fetching native dresses, exchanging whispered gossip with flashing eyes.
Yet not all was idle chitchat. Three dark lasses, loosely guided by their overhead wires, came into the room with a bound Caucasian girl under their bejangled arms. Other than a corset, a thick wrapping of ropes, and an expression of fear, the girl wore nothing. The three settled in a nearby spill of pillows centered around what, at first, looked like a hookah. The poor woman pleaded from her bed of soft laps, questions interspaced by pleas. One of the Indians beamed down on her, cooing to her as if she was a child while unhooking the nearest waterpipe hose. The nozzle was gently forced between her lips, a brown hand cupping firmly over it to hold it fixed. The poor girl struggled against the ropes and arms that held her fast. But gradually her struggles changed. Kiyoko, watching closely, realized that she was now thrusting her hips and breasts upwards, not to get free, but for attention. Clearly, some form of elixir had been piped into the prisoner, turning her into a creature of static sexual frustration.
How this poor woman (and others like her across the room) had come to such attentions was impossible to discern. Perhaps they were known distantly to Rani, women who had troubled her somehow in the past who had been flagged in the Pit's databases. Perhaps they were woman she secretly lusted for. Regardless, what the three did to the captive with their relentless fingers and flickering tongues was lust boarding on abuse. Impartial ropes held her in place, preventing her from shifting away from the fingertips dancing across her soles, the tongue probing her ears, the gentle kisses grazing across her belly. And while she lay amid that forest of tawny limbs and thinly-veiled beauty, she could only writhe as the elixir denied her the conclusion her body demanded. This her captors knew, and they used her sweating body as their playground, jollying her in accordance to their every depraved whim.
Kiyoko had no idea how long the three hunched behind the lattice, watching the methodical reduction of the poor woman's sexual psyche. She was now openly weeping, her cries wavering out like an old air raid siren. Girls sitting nearby looked over and smiled, their knowing eyes flashing, enjoying the erotic display. Those with their own captives redoubled their efforts, the goal not based on their charge's pleasure, but her madness.
And then, finally, the girl broke. Her hips began thrusting upwards against the arms and ropes that pinioned her, screaming against the chemical fire burning in her veins. One of the girls pinning her struggling body smiled as she reached for a different nozzle, one with a wide spongy head. With tenderness, it was pressed between her steaming thighs, pushing into a place she had mistakenly and until recently believed to be private and hers. Kiyoko nodded as the pipe pulsed under suction, drawing off the orgasium. No doubt her extracted fluids were trailing out of a drainage pipe a short distance off, adding their tiny fraction to the great sum of the lake of white.
"The same fate awaits us," Olivia noted low in Japanese. "should we fail." Kiyoko nodded, then began moving again, working her way around the great room. Rani was not here. They had to find her.
They found a set of servant stairs, narrow and twisting, allowing them to climb to the upper level of the great palace. Eventually they came out into a wide hall, a huge set of doors at the far end, doors suitable for a goddess. They were making their way towards them with quickening hearts when Megan gestured into a side room. "Look here!"
The room was square, its interior lit by high windows. Its only contents was a massive rack of beams braced with heavy side-struts. Collections of hoses and cables coiled in from every direction like curious worms. Only when they moved closer, only when Kiyoko's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, did she realize the rack was occupied.
Sybil hung spread-eagle, her trim limbs strapped wide and tight. Belts captured her wrists and ankles, knees and elbows, pinning her tautly open. Smaller belts even locked down her thumbs and big toes.
Her face was all but lost amid the buckles of an intense harness-gag, her eyes shielded by a wide leather blindfold. A small hose pushed though the cheery red ball that strained between her lips like an apple in a roasted pig, trickling nutrients and elixir, maintaining her sorry, sensuous existence.
Her ears were cupped beneath huge headsets. Over the silence, the watching women could faintly hear a lyrical Hindi-spiced voice reading pornography, injecting it directly into the consciousness of the helplessly strapped captive.
Sybil's reaction was obvious. Within suction-pumped cups, her nipples jutted. Between her legs, hoses throbbed and convulsed. Sweat tricked down her belly, dampening the numerous tummy straps that held her tightly in place. Even fixed fast, her body seemed to roll in its bonds, seeking relief and comfort from the sensations forced upon it.
Pinkly naked Megan tucked fearfully behind Olivia, who spoke quietly, in Japanese, to Kiyoko.
"I saw this thing in the tabloids. It's a duplicate of the experimental rack Sybil, as the Knightsbridge angel, built in her hideout. She'd kidnapped Rani and put her on it. Now it looks like Rani is returning the favor. She's rebuilt this cruel thing and forced Sybil onto it."
Kiyoko nodded silently. Who could have imagined such machines existed. The white orchid knew that if her sensei had possessed such a thing, Kiyoko would have found herself strapped into its cruel fixations, hoses throbbing in her orifices, the whispered lusts of a trained geisha filling her ears, her passions a swirling maelstrom.
"We should rescue her," Megan squeaked.
"Leave her," Olivia noted. "Perhaps later we shall release her. But for now, she's earned this fate. She should have considered that Rani was a clever, headstrong young woman, and that any molestations she inflicted upon her would be retuned with great interest."
Megan frowned up at the trembling ex-companion, her face flushed. Yes, Sybil had tricked the party just as Kate had tricked her. But Megan couldn't see herself getting even with the poor purple-haired girl, locking her into such a fearsome device, to devil her through long, depraved hours. Well, it would be fun maybe to strap her in and laugh up at her. But she wouldn't put on those scary breast-caps. Or stick that big pulsing hose into her private place. Well, she might try them a bit, just so she could see how Kate reacted. But she wouldn't gag her. Unless she got too noisy. Then, okay, maybe she'd pop the gag in to keep things manageable. And the blindfold would have to go on first, since it couldn't lay over top the harness. But no, she wouldn't leave her there for long. Not too long.
But she would look so cute done up like that...
Olivia brought her back from her girlish musings. "We've got to go."
They worked their way along the hall, ducking behind pillars as occasional serving girls floated past. Then, as they closed on the ominous doors, a strange noise was heard. A groan, a masculine groan, caught the attention of the trio as the whiff of cheese would three cute pink mice. As quietly as they could, they peeked through the bead curtain into the room from which the strange noise had issued.
This room was wide and cheery, every bit as festooned with pillows and rugs as the great room downstairs. The cushions seemed to be grouped in collections here and there, and on those heaps...
Mannis! Even Kiyoko blushed at that. Mannis were so precious, a commodity sought, a luxury only occasionally indulged in. And here were a dozen of them, stripped and anchored to the floor with golden chains and neckbands. Some of them were carefully being teased by attendant Indian lasses, clever girls with clever feathers who toyed and tormented the helpless men until they were fit to burst, meeting their pleas and groans with tinkling giggles. Evidently it was simple sport to them, keeping these brutes at fever-pitch readiness, perhaps for casual use by the goddess.
This was verified by the attentions being paid one poor fellow. Four half-robed lotus-like women pinned the manni down, one on each straining limb. Another pillowed his head on her thighs, her hand clamped over his mouth, her motherly instructions falling over him, to be good, and strong, and long, lest he incur the goddess's wraith. Meanwhile, two other handmaidens applied glistening oils to his body, slicking him up, reading him for his divine service.
Other girls drifted (literally, like fairies, on their puppet wires) to light in a loose circle about the activity, to watch as the poor manni twisted helplessly in the tight grip of his cruel mistresses. His shaft was rock hard at the attention, and Megan found herself staring at it, hungrily remembering Woody and the things it had done to her. What would it be like to experience something like... that! She would certainly be curious to try.
Olivia, likewise, was silent, considering how Rani could have captured a few mannis in her quest for womanhood to burn in her sexual furnaces. And while the woman demigoddess clearly enjoyed the suffering company of woman (one only had to look at poor Sybil to see that), she also enjoyed the luxury of the lesser sex. And clearly, she had her own corral, with randy livestock at the ready.
It was Kiyoko that tapped her shoulder (Megan seemed to be in a trance) and gestured that they had to move on. They slipped away, moving quickly down the hall to the great doors, yet found them firmly sealed against them. A quick search showed no other way in. It was Olivia who realized that they only had to wait behind a pillar. Soon, as she'd figured, four lithe girls floated down the corridor, their silken saris billowing like gossamer wings, the cruelly scarf-tied manni grasped in the coilings of their arms, his flesh gleaming with oil. At sight of the door, he moaned, his fleshy keel growing ever harder. Evidently he'd been consumed by Rani's ravishments before. He knew, and was anticipating, what was to cum.
The doors automatically swung open to admit the bearers. The three trespassers waited until the moment they started to close before slipping in. Megan's button nose wrinkled at the smell of oiled, excited manhood. Her interests were most aroused.
Even though they expected great decorations, rich furnishings, splendid surroundings, the huge room simply staggered them in its glory. They had simply not recovered when a lyrical voice came to them.
"Ah, there you are," Rani drolled from her cushion-piled dais.
The three adventurers stared in silent shock at her altered form...
21.02.10
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 14: Goddess of the Pit
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