Chapter 2: Miss Anna
On anyone else, a lime-green teddy would look silly. But on Lady Petunia Goldwaith, Royal Scientist, it was heavenly.
It could have been the curves created by the geometry of her tidy tummy, generous breasts and shapely hips that suggested the green hills of England. Or the way her spill of golden hair swept over her creamy shoulders like golden clouds brushing lush summits. It could have been how her rounded buttocks shifted atop her desk chair, an erotic chiaroscuro spanning the gambit of steamy emerald to sultry jade.
But, really, it was how she carried herself. She was beautiful and knew it. She was not vain about it; her beauty was a thing she generously shared.
Even in something as silly as a lime-green teddy.
Thus clothed, she sat at her bedroom desk, her correspondence spread before her, a mule slipper bobbing, a pen poised between her full ruby lips. She had so many things to arrange.
Oh, she was still upset about Rani, of course. Her little Indian assistance - her little chocolate bunny - had vanished with her team into the Pit almost two months ago, never to return. It was quite possible that, even as Petunia considered this thought, Rani was locked up in total restriction, her limbs pinioned back, her cries muffled while mechanized hands swarmed over her, manipulating her most tender and erotic of zones. Just the thought of her little princess in such torment brought a mistiness to Petunia, not to her eyes but another place, for Petunia was Petunia, after all.
Still, she did mean to save her little protégée and solve the mystery of the Pit. Because Petunia was Petunia, after all.
Oh, she'd been all caught up in her worried funk over the girl. Totally out of character, of course, but then she'd been so certain of Rani. Upset, she'd been unable to think. But then her maids had tied her down across her bed, the cruel dears. Then Miss Anna had come to tend her. For days, her stern matron had consoled her and tickled her, stroked her and heated her. The overstimulation had shaken Petunia out of her depression (as only consecutive multi-orgasms can). And with that, she'd returned to her old self, ready to take on the Pit and get her Rani back.
Which was jolly good, except for the fact that Miss Anna still held her prisoner and gave no sign that she was ready to let her go.
Fortunately, she'd been tied fairly liberally the second evening, hands behind, ankles together, a comforting overnight position. Her pussy had been smoldering from her matron's skilled touch, a methodical demand that had gone on and on. But now that she was alone, Petunia could work her release. Oh, nothing as simple as worming out of her knots - this was the world of Gai-Shift and knots never slipped. No, in her bedside drawer, Petunia kept a memento of an early success. And she needed it now, more than ever.
And so, perched on the edge of her bed, her wrists corded so fetchingly behind her back, her ankles trim and trussed, she twisted her slender waist just so, her straining fingers easing the drawer open and fetching out the small set of punch cards contained within. Clutching them carefully, she then hopped (she was good at bound hopping - her circle of female friends gave her plenty of practice) over to the MI card reader. Once the cards were fed in, she returned to her bed, happy to wait until Miss Anna returned to Petunia's bedroom for a midnight snack. As soon as she entered, the red-orb eye of the mechanical interface identified her, locked on, initiated. Following the instructions Petunia had written a decade ago to capture her, the large grasping claws snatched up the surprised mature woman, stripped her with mechanized disinterest and hogtied her with robotic perfection. From her bed, Petunia could only smile down at her mute, struggling tormenter. Then she settled down to sleep, comforted by the snug protection of her ropes and the reassuring moans of her matron.
The next morning, the maids had arrived to find them both still trussed. As expected, they knew which side of their bread was buttered and released Petunia.
And this is how Petunia came to be sitting so prettily at her desk, working through her correspondence, the rope-marks slowly fading.
Still, she did owe Miss Anna a great deal for cheering her up. With a sweet smile, Petunia decided to pay off a little more of this debt. Crossing to an oversized wardrobe, she opened it to admit the midday sun.
There hung her matron, still trussed, still Petunia's captive.
The maids had been ever so helpful in the arrangement. Miss Anna's upper body was now a tight bundle of ropes which pinched her flesh and frictioned her relentlessly. Her body was quite firm for a woman of her age, and hence she showed off her ropes quite well in Petunia's eye. Her arms were locked behind her, her shoulders trussed back, her arms pinioned together, forcing her firm breasts forward. Her lower face was sealed up with medical wrappings, tight enough to make her cheeks bulge. Ropes from beneath her armpits suspended her in her wardrobe prison but she was unable to kick out, given that her legs were most thoroughly trussed wide apart.
A "Do Not Disturb" sign hung from her, its cord looped snuggly around her extended nipples.
So cute.
Petunia smiled warmly in greeting, fetching up a small bottle with an eyedropper cap from the just inside the door. At sight of it, Miss Anna began shaking her head, her eyes pleading. But Petunia just clipped onto her chin with one hand, dripping elixir into the gag with the other. This was the compound that had made her famous, the one that would make woman both horny and unable to climax, a very disturbing combination. Now that it was soaking in, Anna's head-shaking became more desperate. She shook in her hanging bondage like a fly in a web, desperately thrusting her hips forward.
"There, there," Petunia cooed, running a clever finger along the sopping-wet pussy suspended before her. "Another few hours and maybe we'll see about finding you some pleasure."
Anna howled into her gag. Pleasure was right there, right at the tip of Petunia's finger. But no, the little blonde raised her hand and folded her digit away, grinning wickedly. Then she closed the doors, sealing away the older woman into the purgatory of frustration.
Petunia returned to her desk, careful to wipe away the wetness of her finger for the product of elixir-excited women, Orgasium, was quite explosive. This done, she took pen in hand and, ignoring the desperate thumps from the wardrobe, began to write.
Dear Queen Lilla; I must ask a Royal Favor. If you could fulfill the following summons and pardons, I would be willing to do anything my Majesty commanded. Well, I would be willing to do anything, anyway, but I still need the favor...
= < O > =
The clerk's eyes cracked open. Instead of the tidy little ceiling of her boarding house room, she found herself viewing an aged brick vault. Then she remembered she was in the Pit. She'd been here eight days now.
Amazing that mind-blowing molestation could become routine, but there you were. She was strapped down with soft kid-leather straps to a comfortable cushion, stark naked. Eight other women were similarly strapped down, their beds arranged in a half-ring. In its center hung a young girl like a follower of Sparticus. She'd been last night's floorshow. The ring of ladies, buckled down and gagged, could only watch as the machines had done things to her, dark things, sinister things, wondrous things. How she'd twisted in frustrated lust at their programmed touch. And how the watchers had heated up at the spectacle.
Their dreams in the sleep that followed had been so erotic. As planned.
The clerk knew, from methodical clerkish calculation, that in two more sessions it would be her turn. In something like twelve hours she would find herself hanging in those straps as machines dusted her exterior and whirled her interior, driving her towards near-madness. And around her, nine strapped-down ladies would watch wide-eyed over their wide gags, rapt with her rape.
Finger-like manipulators swung over her, jamming a small tube into the feeder hole of her broad leather gag. Simultaneously from beneath her, two small paddles deployed, pushing her cheeks apart, a tube neatly inserting into her. Even though she knew it was coming, she still flinched at the goosing. She could only moan as a liquid glop, laced with Goldwaith Elixir, was forced into her mouth. From the other end, warm water jetted in, sucking away her wastes in a most disturbing manner. Around her, the other prone women stirred in discomfort, similarly used. It was part of the morning routine.
When they were finished, when all the hoses had been retracted, did the room's central claw come down to free each girl and lift them over to a nearby conveyor belt where they were made fast. The clerk could only watch in dreamy fascination, her body already beginning to react to its chemically induced carnal urges. If she could only get free... she'd rape every one of these women. She couldn't help it. It was that damned formula.
She mused at how it had come to this. She'd been late leaving the office, and halfway to her boarding house she'd broken a heel. Sitting on the curb of a small park, she'd looked at her damaged footwear and wondered how ever she'd get home without getting pinched by the bobbies (because any woman swaying along like she was would attract their judicious attention). So there she'd sat, boot up in her lap, frowning at it, when something had clicked around her other ankle. She looked down to see a shackle-like clamp locked around her limb, extending from the drain beneath her. A moment later, it gave a gentle tug. Overbalanced, she fell forward and was quickly pulled in, into the darkness, into the clutches of the machines.
If anything, she thought as her blood heated, it was a nice break from her job.
She broke from her recollections to the present as the claw descended over her. Its padded fingers clicked around her in two unbreakable bands, one around her waist and the other just under her breasts. Only then did the straps withdrawal and she found herself lifted into cool air.
She didn't waste time with struggling and kicking like a newbie. Rather, she used her temporary freedom to mill her arms and cycle her legs, working out the stiffness, a heavenly respite. Then she saw the conveyor coming up to meet her, its belts wide and receptive. The claw placed her on her back with all the care of a grocer setting down an egg. It pinned her while secondary manipulators drew the belts snuggly around her, forcing her arms to her sides and her feet together, locking her in place with buckles not designed for human manipulation. Only then did the claw release, lifting over to pick up another pink cargo. Meanwhile, the belt carried her feet-first into a small tunnel, stopping. Craning upwards, she could see another woman being placed down, the buckles drawing her into a tight tube, her hips and breasts just visible around her feet. The clerk sighed as she viewed her fellow captive from this angle, wishing from freedom and a single feather. How nice that would be...
Three more times did they advance forward into the darkness, once as each following woman was made fast. The clerk found herself stirring at the thought of all this captive woman-flesh. That her own body was part of this tight collective made it all the more delicious.
And then they were rolling, trundling down a narrow tunnel, the breeze warm against her belted flanks. It hit her then as it always did at this time, that she was going to be molested, teased, and then raped. The clerk's fists balled and she thrust against her belts, if only for the feedback of the thing. She could feel herself getting hotter and hotter as she was borne helplessly along.
Then came the stop-starts again. The rings! She shifted against the conveyor. This part always made her a little crazy.
A jerk, a jerk, a jerk, and then it was her turn. In a small room deep underground, alien machinery hung over her. Something very much like twin gun barrels pointed down at her helplessly strapped body. The two projections lowered, seating over her nipples. Then came the disturbing clack as two tiny brass rings clicked snuggly around her nipple's bases. She hissed into her gag at the erotic orneriness of it.
She could already feel them adjusting to her as she rolled along. Made of a strange metal compound, the small rings would expand and contract from the pressure and heat of her encompassed nipples. In this, they were always just a bit tight, maintaining a gentle pressure that ramped up her passions. It was as if two bronze hands were squeezing her titties, gently, just right. She moaned into her gag, rolling her head to the belt's sway. Her rings flashed beneath the access lighting.
From down the tunnel, women began to squeal. She felt sweat prickle her compressed armpits. Here it came. She jacked up her head and strained her vision over the tops of her milling toes. Even though it was hopeless, she tugged against her alien bonds.
In the dimness of the shaft, she saw them. Loop after loop, arched over the rumbling belts, rings of positioned feathers. Women already passing through the teasing gauntlet were howling into their gags, sobbing, warbling, baying in tormented madness. She saw the feathers rushing to meet her, bowed back her feet as if that would help. But nothing would help. The first dozen tips drew across her fear-taunt soles, trailing down her long legs, flaring over her hips and diving into her pussy. She was already screaming into her gag, her head back, shaking in mad negation as the feathers continued upwards, along her ribs (Stop! Stop!), over her breasts (No! Nooooo!), along the line of her neck (Gaaaahh! Ahhhh!), sweeping along her chin line, touching her ears, flickering over her scalp. It was as if a half-dozen molesters were touching her, all with devious intent. She panted like a bellows, her nerves afire. And through the tears, she saw the next hoop, another following, then another. Feathers patted across her heels. Feathers dragged her muffin-juice over her quaking belly. Feathers ravened her ring-pinched nipples. Feathers assaulted her from ever direction possible. She was granted no respite, slowly passing along the feather-ringed gullet as if she'd been swallowed by some huge demon.
The narrow passage echoed with the sounds of tormented women, the muffling of their cries and squeals overcome by the close acoustics. If anything, the sounds of torment made the clerk even more horny, more ticklish. The air reverberated with the sounds of distress, the clatter of the belts, the sizzle of the feathertips.
Finally, several hundred yards along, they cleared the last of the feathers. The clerk shook her head in weariness. The prior abuse existed only to break up whatever resistance she might have found overnight. She might have been withable to withstand what was coming, perhaps her willpower would have granted her some sort of fortification against the coming assault. But the feathers had stripped that from her. Weak, bleary-eyed, gasping, she had been plowed open like a virgin field, her furrows ripe for what was to come.
It was an abandoned tube station, a long expanse of cylindrical emptiness. The belt ran along the former line. On the platforms to each side, like some sort of automated factory, stood clusters of robotic limbs. When the belt stopped, each wide-eyed woman found herself situated next to her own collection of automated attendants. At an unheard signal, the fearsome devices deployed over them like the unfolding legs of a great spider. Even though the clerk had been through it time and time again, her breath still caught in her throat. Nipple-flickers eased down, centering on her shimmering rings. Stroke-digits touched along her quivering ribs. A spin-pad of feathers positioned against her tender soles. And over her hips hung vibrators, dildoes, fondlers, air-jets, teasers, and lastly, the huge suck-pump that would carry away her essence.
As always, the clerk noticed the extraction tube. Wherever, she wondered, did all that Orgasium go? She, herself, must have thrust out a gallon of the stuff already.
Distantly, she could hear engines begin to turn over. Overhead, the powerbelts began to whisper through their guides. Gears began to turn. Slowly the machines around her spun up, their evil MI programming coming into play.
The clerk screwed shut her eyes, her fists in little balls, as the first wave of sexual stimulation broke over her. Every touch point, every g-spot, every erotic zone lit up as the tireless machines worked over her, ignoring her desperate squirmings and tear-washed eyes.
An hour later, the pumps started, granting their sexual release, extracting what the women no longer needed. A devil's bargain, true, but one they were only too ecstatic to make...
18.11.09
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 3: Adara Burke
o0o