Chapter 15: Invasion Plans
Even naked and clamped down, with no future save grim sexual usage, Olivia Hammersmith had to admit that Rani, her captor, was beautiful.
The sultry demi-goddess leered over her three captives, her even teeth parted in a predatory smile, her dark eyes flashing lustfully. Spills of slender golden chains adorned her silky forehead and criss-crossed her exposed belly. A tapering brown leg jutted dynamically from a slit in her opulent sari. Most striking were the three sets of arms, cockily placed on her hips, making her appear like some sexually cocky female centipede.
Just behind her, Sakujna stood at her mistress's beck and call. Her own native garb was equally fetching. From her tightly-coiled midnight hair, long feathers jutted, ready to be plucked forth and deployed across whatever hapless flesh her mistress desired.
Before them, the three captives lay on the round daises they'd been affixed to, their bodies settled into the leathery recessions, their wide-thrust wrists and ankles clamped by MI-controlled manacles. Olivia, Kiyoko, and Megan were still naked, having lost their clothing to the amorous MS (mechanical sentient) Pitinna. Having attempted to sneak into the palace of the usurperous Rani, they'd been rewarded with capture and humiliating bondage. Megan, the only one who could possibly have defeated these bonds, lay in elixir-sodden lust, her magical powers nullified.
Olivia gathered herself in her bands, her shapely body flexing at the effort, twisting in helplessness before looking up at her captor. "Now that you violated our diplomatic immunity, what are your intentions with us?"
"Violated your diplomatic immunity?" Rani's laugh was as smooth and sharp as fine burgundy. "You snuck into my palace in the company of a white orchid warrior. Had it not been for my... enhancements," she gestured, thrice, with upraised arms, "no doubt I would have been your prisoner. How tightly I'm sure you would have tied me then, had you been successful. How harshly you would have sawn the gag between my lips. Once I was tied into a cruel ball, would you have torn away my dress and halter? Would you have delivered me, naked save for your cruel ropes, to Pitinna? Speak not to me of diplomacy."
"The question still stands. What of us?"
Rani smiled a sunny smile, so out of place with her chilling domination. She reached out a hand - a real one - and lingered it along the diplomat's shuddering flank. Olivia did her best to repress a curling gasp.
"Whatever shall I do with my three new toys? I suppose you all will require places in my growing empire. Megan, our little witch, cannot be trusted. She will have to suffer what is called elixir-depravation. As you personally know, the Goldwaith elixir causes great cravings and, simultaneously, great repressions. Women so treated cannot climax, yet they still feel hungers most depraved. Only bound and agitated can they hope to eventually process it out of their bodies. But if the subject is not molested, they hang in a state of ravenous yearnings for upwards of a day. Quite a discomfort, as you can readily imagine.
"Would you believe that there are actually woman who crave this - I have an entire row of them sweating and trembling in some dark cavern. Megan will join them, of course. A pity, since she is such a sunny presence. But into this dark cave she will go, sealed in a leather bondage-roll, buckled tight and snug. And she will grunt and whine and cry as her body throbs with its irresolvable demands. MIs will be stationed over her, ever watchful. The moment her blood clears and her magic begins to back out the buckles, she will be hauled forth, hosed down and force-fed, then treated with another dose before being re-bundled. Only when she is completely used and totally exhausted will I pardon her. Perhaps I shall return her to the surface, for placement in an asylum. Or, should she prove to be domesticated, perhaps I will have her garbed in a silk sari and included into my harem. She would look so darling floating through the air like a pixie."
"You monster," Olivia grated, secretly annoyed with herself for becoming slightly agitated by Rani's plans.
"You, I have another use for," Rani told Olivia, a palm placed indecently on her thigh. "You have such a nice voice - it would be a shame to waste it with simple grunting and panting. You see, in one dark hole, I have a bank of wonderful female writers, smutty hacks all, who I keep strapped to their desks and routinely molested. The pages they produce are ferried to a group of readers, buckled down to chairs with buzzing agitators affixed to their private areas, quite an inspiration. Voice-funnels are buckled over their lower faces and the fresh erotica is hung before their eyes. And so they read, with their dignified voices and mounting passions. Their words are fed to another group of women, ones who react quite positively to the imagination of such stories. And so they form a closed little group, exciting one another and producing a respectable amount of orgasium between them.
"You, with your fine voice and clipped dictation, shall be a reader. I have a chair standing ready to receive you."
Rani then admitted, "Often I open up the speaking tube in my own sleeping chambers, to listen to the raw stories and shuddering gasps. Cuddled with a half-dozen harem puppets, it is quite a nice way to slide into sleep. But I shall have to keep an ear out for you, dear Olivia. I'm sure your readings will be most stirring." With that, her cruel eyes fell on Kiyoko, lying silently in her recessed leather dais like a pink gem in a black setting.
"For Kiyoko, our orchid, I have special plans. I am working on a gladiatorial arena, where woman will fight and bind each other for the amusement of myself, my harem, and eventually my ranks of lieutenants. From our boxes, we will watch as she trusses up other woman on the sands, leaving them face down in inglorious defeat. Then we shall decide, based of the pluck and effort of the vanquished, their fate. Thumbs up, she will be molested by the victor, then and there, into a grindingly satisfying yet very public orgasm. Thumbs down and she will be dropped down a tube to a place where very unpleasant things will be conducted upon her. No doubt we shall see some spirited contests."
Something bothered Olivia. "Wait, you said your lieutenants. Why would you need others?"
"Because my realm is expanding."
"Expanding? What, you are creating more tunnels and chambers?"
"I will be coming into the light," Rani said with a mistress's confidence, her dusky face radiating a supreme assurance. "I will soon rule all England."
"That will be nice," Megan purred in blurry distraction. Olivia ignored her. "What? What do you mean?"
In answer, Rani settled on the rim of Olivia's dais, her long leg so easily exposed, her upper body casting a shadow over the diplomat. Leaning over the captive, she cupped her cheek in false tenderness.
"England lies before me like a golden-haired lass, her body succulent and shapely, sleeping in unawareness that I have stolen into her bedroom with ropes and scarves. By the time she awakens to the danger, the critical ties will be in place. She will be mine, to toy and tempt as I please."
"You're mad! You could never conquer England!"
"No? I have an entire lake of energy-boosting orgasium. And I have access to great design calculators which can fabricate anything, from snakes to living gardens to... Martian tripods."
"Tripods," Olivia frowned, forgetting the stroking hand and nearby sweep of leg in her confusion.
"A manni writer, before the Great War and the Gai-Shift it brought, imagined an invasion by Mars. Huge fighting machines, tripods, methodically destroyed England. Well, with my design calculators, plans for my own tripods are now underway. Suitable, really, when you think about it. The Martians came to earth in huge cylinders that formed 'pits' on impact. From these, they rose. And from this Pit shall my own tripods rise, to break through the surface and conquer.
"Of course, his tripods had heat rays and black suffocating smoke. Such a manni outlook, death and destruction; why destroy what you can dominate. Still, his Martians did capture people, grabbing them in metal tentacles, dropping them into collection baskets carried on their backs. Mine will do likewise, capturing women by the scores, by the hundreds. They will be brought to secure fields where huge bundling machines sit. Built along the lines of American combine harvesters, women will be fed into it via a rolling belt. Inside, they will be stripped and wrapped in plastic sheeting, head to toe, totally helpless. Then they will be laid in neat little lines upon the ground as their holding camps are constructed around them."
Olivia frowned at the vision. All too easily, she could image great steam-powered and orgasium-boosted tripods nimbly striding amid groups of scattering women, plucking them up. What would it be like for them? Perhaps they would be out for a quiet Sunday stroll. Or standing in their fenced backyard in their panties, hanging wash on the line. Suddenly the shadow of a metal titan falls over them. In an instant, cold tentacles whirl around their bodies, pinning them fast, lifting them above the rooftops and depositing them into the cage. There, this hypothetical woman would meet others, shopkeepers, clerks, farm girls, women from all walks of life. More prisoners would be dropped into their midst. And how they could cuddle in their fright.
Meanwhile, England would fall. Its army, largely ceremonial and geared towards ritualistic combat, mostly snare-setting and trussings, would be easily overrun. Into the basket would go the women redcoats, their shakoes askew, their eyes wide and teary.
Eventually this hypothetical woman would find herself looking down at the field that would be her new home. One by one, her reluctant companions would be plucked from the cage and fed into the portable bundling machine far below. From the far end, women would roll out, shimmering in their tight plastic bondage, laid out in neat rows. Eventually the woman would find herself plucked up, twisting and screaming in the living ropes, deposited on the rumbling belt. Oh, she might try to crab backwards but eventually she would be fed, a living offering, into the maw of the machine.
There, her clothing would be ripped from her sweaty body, every stitch removed, as her former life had been removed. Naked and surrounded by machinery, she would be borne through tighter and tighter enclosures. Whisked along feet first, she would claw the smooth walls as the wrappers begin bundling her feet and legs. Smaller mechanical hands would force her flailing arms down, and the plastic rolls would hum, clamping around her midriff like a tight corset. And still the machines would continue their work, sealing in her breasts, tucking around her straining shoulders, slapping over her lower face, mercifully stopping just beneath her nose. And there she would be, wrapped like beef in a butcher shop, helpless.
Then could come a patch of daylight and she would slip from the machine, caught and placed by a gentle mechanized claw into a neat row with her fellow captives. With wide eyes, she would now gasp the enormity of the national kidnap, with row after row of tightly wrapped women, their muted moans a chorus of woe.
Eventually, a gentle rain might fall, mixing with her tears. Around her, the field would grow muddy and cold, but in their wraps, the women would be warm and protected. Perhaps the erotic nature of the tight bundling, the rain, the mud, the nudity and distress, would work upon her and she would quietly find herself climaxing, a delayed reaction to the stress. No doubt many would react in similar lusty manners as the total nature of their bondage became apparent. So secured, they could only watch as strange machines labored to construct the fences and structures of their new detainment camp around them. When all was in readiness, they would be cut free, hundreds of naked women rising to meet the new day.
Likely there would be chores to keep them busy. And, knowing Rani, rope would always be available. Likely the barracks would see scenes of mass tie-ups and bored woman amused themselves with the struggles of others.
Occasionally the tripods would return, to harvest the trapped women. The camps would be picked clean, the prisoners carried to London to be fed into the Pit's great processors, to be sorted and dropped down tubes to appropriate fates. The ticklish would be tickled, the guilty would be spanked, the humble would be humiliated. And all of them would be pumped for every drop of orgasium their bodies could produce.
"When the nation is secured," Rani continued. "When all England lays bound in inescapable tight rope at my feet, then my true enjoyment shall begin. At my whim, women will be moved from one processing circuit to another, to undergo sexual predicaments of my choosing. And I shall find myself with a great selection of unwilling bed partners, a hundred new women a night, to torment to my pleasure. Perhaps I will suspend them, trussed and helpless, from the Tower Bridge. Perhaps I will spread-eagle a thousand of them in Hyde Park on a sunny day, to stroll amid their sunbathing flesh. Millions of woman bound fast, teased to tears and milked of orgasium, their lives nothing but the bite of the rope, the belt rumbling beneath them, the sucking dildo-extractors. As I said, England sleeps, and too soon, she will waken bound fast in my ropes, her cries stifled, her freedom gone, her body mine."
"You can't..." Olivia protested. "You can't..." And then a brown hand settled over her mouth, silencing her protests. Rani looked down at her with the serenity of certainty. "I will. And once I rule England, all the nations of the world will be next. The tripods will be duplicated, spreading across the lands, capturing millions of free women, placing them into bondage. Beneath the great cities of the world, other Pits will be created. Paris. New York. Berlin..."
"Jodhpur?" asked Sakujna, thinking of her dear mother and kitten-like sisters.
Rani's smile was dreamy. "Of course. Indian girls look so splendid in white ropes, delightfully subservient. And now, I must attend to other matters. Our guests will be sent to their fates soon enough. But first, a little punishment is in order for their unannounced visit. Sakujna, give me your bottle."
The sad little servant girl handed her mistress the bottle, the one, Olivia glumly reflected, containing the elixir which had been used to douse Megan. Rani uncorked it and took the tiniest whiff, sighing as her lust soared and nipples jutted. Into a rag, she poured a very liberal dose. Olivia found herself trying to draw away as the pungent cloth was lowered towards her face.
"No... No..!"
It was cold against her cheeks, muffling. Rani smiled down along the length of her arm. "A little denial will do you some good. An evening laying here with your pussy howling for attention will develop character. Just think how enthusiastic you will be when you are buckled into your reading chair tomorrow, to start your new job."
Already, Olivia could feel her body responding to the fumes, her nipples blossoming like flowers after a drought-breaking shower, her hips thrusting, her heart pounding. Rani smiled warmly at her distress. She gave one of Olivia's eager nipples a flick, her touch sparking a wildfire of cravings through the diplomat's quivering body. She cried out, babbling to Rani, promising up anything if only the dusky goddess would plunge a finger into her twat to grant her relief, to quench the passions flaming though her.
But Rani, ever cruel, just smiled as she stood. Through tear-brimming eyes, Olivia watched as Rani bent over Kiyoko, saw the woman's manacled fist knot and flex as the passions intensified. When Rani did stand clear, there lay Kiyoko, now the personification of grim passion, silently straining against her bounds, struggling as her body rebelled against reason and fell into the insurrection of lust.
With that, Rani stood back and looked over the three writhing, helpless girls.
"Tomorrow you start your new lives," Rani said with a silky chuckle. "But tonight, you remain here. Who knows? Perhaps later I shall return for a midnight snack." And then she and her attendant were gone, leaving the three helpless women to face inner demons, ones who molested yet never resolved.
The air, pungent with desperate musk, echoed their horse, desperate pantings.
13.03.10
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 16: Sakujna
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