Chapter 16: Sakujna
Never had Megan known such frustration.
It made her horny to look down her naked, slender body, recessed within its leather dais. It made her horny to tug against the clamps that locked her wrists and ankles so far apart. It made her horny to consider how exposed she was, and how anyone at all finding her thus could do anything they wished to her.
It made her horny when she looked to her side and saw Olivia writhing in a similar display, the stately diplomat brutally disgraced by such base usage. It made her horny to think what further usage might occur.
Looking beyond Olivia, it made her horny to see White Orchid Kiyoko struggling with her own cravings, likewise locked in open display, the pelt of her pussy glistening with first visible signs of her distress.
It made her horny to think of the demi-goddess who'd placed them in such bondage: Rani, Overlady of the Pit, with her swaying, sultry body immodestly clothed in rich silks and her six arms swaying through their erotic motions. Just the thought of those dark bedroom eyes shimmering down at her made her horny.
The situation, the rank musk, the sweaty bodies, their dire predicament, the very fate of England, all that made little Megan the witch horny. And at the root of it all, the Goldwaith elixir made her very, very, very horny.
The elixir. It burned in the veins of all three woman, bestowing base craving on them they'd hardly imagined. Yet it also demanded that they be serviced, rubbed and tongued, manipulated and molested. Only through such prolonged attentions would they pass the chemical out of their bodies, in the form of orgasium. But without the help of a caressing touch, without a sisterly fondle or corrupting pinch, they simply could not obtain relief. They could only lay in wide-open splendor, three helpless womanly flowers steaming their passions into the cool air of the dark chamber.
Even that made Megan horny.
She groaned. Her groan made Olivia groan in response. Kiyoko, ever silent, bit down on any admitting vocalizations, the effort beading sweat on her forehead. Megan and Olivia both saw their comrade's erotic struggles, and it made them horny. And that shared reaction made them hornier still.
"I can't stand it," the little witch warbled, tears trickling down her flushed, trembling cheeks.
"Be quiet," Olivia snapped, Megan's despair fueling some deeply buried fetish in the diplomat's psyche. "If I could only get off this dais, you silly little girl, I'd fix you good. I'd shove a thick gag between those innocent lips. Then I'd stick clothespins on those little standing nipples of yours. Then I'd stand over you and laugh and you twisted in delicious discomfort. And then I'd get a chairleg and a pound of butter and I'd..."
"Stop," Megan squealed, "You're making me horny! Stop! Stop!"
Kiyoko listened to the pleading young girl and felt her own hips thrust in sexual-automatic motion.
And so it went on, the three girls burning in their sexual fevers while, in her opulent apartment a short distance off, Rani slept in her warm pile of svelte puppet-girls, her cruel lips smiling as she dreamed of trussed, tormented maidens.
Megan couldn't tell if she was awake or asleep, alive or dead, perceiving or dreaming. Down near her foot, a set of slender brown fingers gripped the edge of her dais, as twitchy and hesitant as a rabbit's ears. Then feathers rose, followed by a young Indian woman's round face.
"Sakujna," Megan gasped, her lust-muddled brain somehow recognizing Rani's handmaiden. "Do me do me do me do..."
"Shush," the girl hissed back, running both hands along Megan's ankle clamp. Even the slighted brushing contact brought a great thrill to the pinioned witch. The dark girl frowned, not finding any catch in the binding. "Bad luck. Your manacles are controlled by the MIs. I cannot free you."
"You don't need to free me," Megan blurted. "Just punish me. I've been such a bad little girl..."
"I'm the leader here," hoarsely declared Olivia. "And that girl is my responsibility. It is I who should be punished. Find a whip and wield it across my thighs, my belly, my breasts..."
"Silence," the fearful Indian maiden sizzled. "Or I shall gag you both!"
The two women moaned at the thought.
"I love my Rani," Sakujna explained. "I love what she does to me, and to the other girls. She is the living embodiment of the Karma Sutra, but with lots more ropes and dildoes. But I do not wish my mother to be fed into her machines, nor my sisters." A moment of consideration. "Well, perhaps Sai. I should like to see her spanked, right on her tight little bottom." She shook her head. "Regardless, I cannot permit my mistress to rule the world. I must free you. But how to get the clamps open?"
"It's a matter of leverage," Megan burbled. "Just climb up onto this dais, with your thighs to either side of my head. Then lean forward and see if you can get a better grip on my wrist-clamps. Don't worry at all about sitting on my face. I won't mind..."
"Megan," choked Olivia, "Has anyone told you how much you need to be tied up and made safe? Like a tight hogtie with a big red ball? Stuffed in a closet and aged like wine, until your pussy has had a chance to breath? I'd love to place the lip of your maidenly cup to my lips and sip..."
"Stop it," Megan pleaded. "I can't cum and it's making me crazy. This elixir is driving me mad!"
"That's it," Sakujna exclaimed. "There is but one way to free you, if what that dark Sybil-woman said is true when I tormented her for my mistress." With that, she reached a slender arm up, pulling the longest, stiffest feather from her hairbun. With a sisterly smile, she answered the question on Megan's moist lips with a firm hand-gag.
"Now," the Indian girl declared, "let us get that elixir out of you."
Megan could only watch over the firmly cupped hand as the feathertip drifted inches above her prone body, moving this way and that like a searching falcon riding its thermals. Then, demurely trailing its tip, it traced the shallow valley between Megan's subtle breasts, teasing this way and that. Sakujna's own pulse telegraphed into a tremor that caused Megan's breath to hiss over the clamping brown hand. Her eyes widened as the tip then touched one passion-hardened nipple, then the other, a parody of knighthood. Megan moaned at that, a moan that rose and fell like a pendant in a lazy breeze.
The feathertip embarked on a thorough exploration of the flesh of the young woman's torso, flicking this way, teasing that. It peeked into her armpits, quicksilver torment. It tracked a delicate rib, indescribably erotic. Megan blinked back desperate tears and looked up at Sakujna's lovely, calm face as the little handmaiden concentrated on her erotic task.
At her side, Olivia began to openly pant, watching Megan suffer her exquisite good fortune. She begged and pleaded, wrenching at her pinning clamps. And beyond, poor Kiyoko, silently stoic, watched the foreplay with slitted eyes awash in desperate tears.
Megan did not see this, of course, She could hardly see anything with her own eyes wet and often screwing shut as another indescribable rapture shimmered across her skin. She tried to scream at her molester to go faster, go harder, to just kill her, anything to end the gradual emotional buildup that was rising inside her like a volcano's pressuring magma. But Sakujna ignored her with imperial disdain, doing what she'd trained herself to do, to focus on the flesh and its trembling hints, to ignore the screams, pleas, and wails of her victims. In a way, it was an innocent little game to her, one she enjoyed excelling at.
Megan's back arched clear of her dais now, her sweat-soaked skin popping from the concavity with a wet sucking noise. Every muscle shuddered, her toes curled, her hands balled, she trembled like an overdrawn bow. Her breath sizzled from her nostrils and over Sakujna's hand like air sizzling from a kiln vent. Her lungs labored. Her heart pounded. And down between her sweaty thighs, a mighty orgasm began to stir, slowly breaking clear of its binding elixir like some deep-sea creature rising towards the world above, a fearsome leviathan. It would kill her, simply kill her, when it broached.
Flick, flick went the feather, swirling around a nipple, tap-dancing down her ribbing. Its end beaded with salty sweat which Sakujna flicked away with a disinterested gesture.
Megan's hips were now high, her back bent like a strained book cover, her hands and feet purpling from the tight clamps biting into her flesh. Her eyes were screwed shut; even a crowbar would not have pried those trembling lids apart. Deep within her throat a growling rose, inhuman, insentient, beastal, crazed. There was a long moment where she quivered, erect, taunt, explosive. Sakujna's dark eyes and cupping hand took her measure. And then...
...the long shaft of the feather dropped down into the cut of Megan's sex, drawing slowly back like a bow rasping across a violin's tight string, rippling like a saw blade cutting through overwet timber.
Megan arched like some erotically cast statue as the terrible feather grated back, two long feet of sweat-soaked bristles, a curling plume of absolute and indescribable rapture.
And then she screamed.
Sakujna dropped the feather and slapped her freed hand across the other, muffling Megan's wail. Even so, it filled the chamber with its sexual resonance, rolling over the other two captives, its released passions torturing them more than any glowing iron rod or barbed whiphead could have. Megan screamed and screamed as orgasms detonated inside her steaming twat, one after the other, with the fury of a battery of guns discharging. On and on it went and finally, like a puppet with strings cut, she slowly collapsed into the receptive indentation, her body soaked with sweat, her hair a wet mop, her sobs racking her small flushed frame.
Sakujna stood up and ripped away a piece of her ornate sari, dabbing away the explosive juices that slicked the throbbing mons before her. Her only regret was that it could not be added to the lake outside. So much wasted. Still, she smiled at her own feeling of accomplishment. She'd played the cute little girl like a concert musician, every nerve a perfect touch of string, every cry a perfect note. And now little Megan was clean.
"Time to rise, little one," Sakujna told the girl lying before her, her hand stroking the cooling cheek. "Time to face a goddess."
Megan arched her back once again, this time like a schoolgirl waking. She yawned then closed her eyes. A moment later the four clamps snapped open.
Sakujna was at her side, helping Megan to stand. Her legs were like rubber, wobbly and uncertain. She swayed and took a step or two, the Indian girl supporting her. With every breath, her head cleared.
Then Megan tipped her head back and began looking about the high reaches of the great room, seemingly searching for something beyond its walls. Her head swung this way and that. And suddenly she stopped, and smiled.
At that moment, the great doors crashed open and a wave of fairy-flighted puppet-girls sailed in, their saris rippling, their wires humming, their eyes flashing with hunters' anticipations. Behind them came Rani, the silken shawl that tossed quickly over her shoulders doing nothing to hide the charms of her dynamic nudity.
"So it was you who triggered my alarms when she opened her bindings," the demi-goddess declared of Megan. "I have been too kind with you, my dear. I shall see you trussed end-to-end and dipped head-first into a vat of elixir. Then my puppets will blow-dry you - in the most literal and physical fashion. And then they will play with you, using their devious skills to keep you keening on the edge of orgasm for days. In the end, you will beg for release. And once it is finally granted, we shall repeat your lessons again, over and over, until your entire world is reduced to the flaming patch between your legs."
The Indian's stern eyes looked beyond Megan. "And Sakujna, how naughty you have been, helping this girl when she was not to be helped. I am aware of the harem's custom of passing sweets and rubies as currency, an informal payment to settle whatever debts occur between my lovely girls. You shall be passed to them, stripped and trussed. You shall become a new denomination of currency, one that shall be traded from girl to girl, used for pleasure and amusement before being bartered for better things. Imagine, passed hand to hand, tickle to tickle, fondle to fondle, until you no longer see yourself as a girl but simply property. Misused and worn property."
Megan drew herself up, her smile weary. "I don't think so. I don't think you'll have the power to demand anything."
Rani tipped her beautiful head back and laughed, her six hands rippling. "You are too innocent to bluff. You have no idea where the programming card that binds Pitinna's processes is."
"I don't need to see it, any more than I need to see the clog in the drain, the mechanism of the lock, the knots behind my back. I simply undo it."
"Of course you do, you silly little girl," Rani sneered.
A short distance away, a single card popped from an ornate slot and fluttered to the floor like the last leaf off a huge and wicked oak.
"Enough of this. Take her," Rani commanded, sweeping all six hands forward. At the call, the puppet women leapt into the air in spanning arcs, sailing with ballerinic grace. In their hands fluttered silken scarves, perfect for binding up impetuous young ladies. Regardless of Megan's rumored powers, they would wrap her into a living bundle of silk, wiggling and helpless and theirs.
Then, suddenly, two of the girls collided, not hard. It was more of an accidental embrace. Their arms, wrist-strapped to their guidelines, looped around each other and locked into a firm embrace. The legs of one of them snapped around the other, locking across shapely buttocks. They squealed in confusion as their lush bodies rubbed against each other, a complete distraction.
It was not an isolated occurrence. All around Megan, more puppets were fouling one another, their lines wrapping girls tightly together. Some found themselves face to face. Others back to back. A few lucky souls were locked into the sixty-nine position, their gasping faces pressed into thinly shielded pussies. And even girls in these latter pairings, the ones who sought to honestly serve their mistress, found themselves frustrated by the tonguing distractions of their less-disciplined partners.
In mere moments, the airspace around Megan had turned into a fetisher's dream-fantasy with exotic and scantily-clad women tied tightly to each other, hanging in humiliating helplessness, rocking, struggling, and to an ever-increasing extent, moaning.
"A simple malfunction," Rani stated, striding forward, her six arms going wide. "I shall tie you myself, little Megan. Every part of your body will burn from tight cording, just as your veins will burn with elixir. And I shall settle you upon the elegant rugs of my bedchamber, so you can lick my feet with your lying little tongue!"
Megan was nearly within reach when suddenly Rani's support boom shuddered to a stop. A moment later, one of her artificial arms snaked across her trim belly, locking its firm grip on a living wrist. The counterpart arm then crossed over as well, grasping the other wrist. To Megan, it was as if some Indian assailant had slipped up behind Rani and hugged her in such a way to pin her arms fast to her sides.
The husky Indian began to issue shrill and somewhat desperate protests. With a blithe gesture, one of her robotic hands slipped upwards to clamp over her lips, stifling her outburst. She tried to shake her head in fury but the brown fingers, seemingly identical to her own, held her fast and mute.
Then the boom tipped back, rising her tiny feet clear of the floor, thrusting her pelvis forward, allowing her legs to dangle. Rani milled her pinned hands, thrust her bosom against the cross-locked arms, yodeled her anger into the cupping hand. Her feet peddled briefly but this put stress on her arched back so she ceased. For a moment, there was no sound in the room save for her furious panting over her own gagging hand.
And then the last artificial arm, well under Pitinna's re-established control, reached forward and casually removed her silky top, then hooked her gauzy pantaloons, allowing them to slip down her bronzed legs, to fall to the floor.
The hand knew Rani's passions and pressure points. It had assisted her in countless molestations, and on nights when she wished to be alone, it had gently masturbated her to sleep. So the hand knew everything about her. And this same hand, now tracked by her fear-widened eyes, began to work across her belly, swirling patterns felt only by her. The ex-goddess screwed shut her eyes as the finger touched her every sensitive spot, forcing her passions to rise with nagging insistence. Rani moaned but with her brown arms pinioned and her tiny toes clear of the floor, there was nothing she could do. The slender fingers tickled their way along her flanks, flicking her nipples with a bold thumb, tracking her stress-exaggerated hips.
Rani was now struggling so desperately that the boom osculated with a gentle rocking, which did nothing to deter the wicked hand from working its unwelcome magic across her goose-pimpling flesh. Like desert creatures returning to twin oasis's, the fingers rediscovered her dark-brown, passion-hardened nipples, gently pinching and pulsing them until Rani was nearly mad with lust. And then, only then, did the knowing hand drift lower, slipping into the moistening patch between her thighs, the index finger slipping deep within its former mistress, slowly working its jointed form over the sex-soaked flesh of her pearl.
Rani's hips began to thrust, making the boom bounce, her gasps coming in quick tempo. Then her legs stood straight out, toes pointing, and faintly through the gagging fingers, her yipping exclamations could be heard. Thus, passion came to the one-time-goddess, passion delivered by her former captive, a sentient machine with databases filled in the methods of bliss.
Perhaps Rani had expected this to be all, a singular humiliation of an orgasm for all to see. But Pitinna had machine-like patience coupled with feminine vengeance. The hand slowly stroked her, gentle now, but clearly it was massaging her until she could be coaxed towards the second of many punishing climaxes.
Megan turned to look back. Olivia and Kiyoko lay on their daises like pink starfish, their eyes liquid but their pussies dry, thanks to the restraining chemistries of the elixir. She couldn't free them, not yet. They would have to be... treated.
To this end, she slipped over to stand over Olivia, directing Sakujna to the orchid. The valiant Indian handmaiden pulled forth two feathers and clambered up to kneel over the Oriental's slender belly. Knowing what was coming (likely herself), Kiyoko tipped her head back and pressed her modest beasts forward, waiting for the feathertips to fall.
Megan stood at Olivia's side, smiling at the woman made desperate by both elixir and Rani's public woman-handling. Tears spilled from her gray eyes, desperate tears.
"Please.... Save me, Megan. Save me..."
Megan placed an open hand gently across the nearest breast, feeling its hard nipple press into her palm. Her other hand draped between the thrusting thighs, nestling over the puffy flesh and tender lips.
"Just lay still, Ms. Hammersmith," Megan said sweetly, "and I'll have you all climaxy real quick." A thoughtful smile. "Well, eventually..."
Olivia moaned from the bottom of her soul as Megan's sex-slickened fingers worked their tender mercies upon her.
22.03.10
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 17: There and back again
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