Chapter 7: Evaluation
It was an somber subterranean chamber, its walls rough brickwork, its air hanging in stillness. The far end of the room tapered into a dark hall floored with shadowy holes. At the other, a large pipe jutted out, a set of canvas bags strung beneath it at the ready.
The silence was broken as distant ram-fans spun up, rumbling like a summer storm. A gale built from the downward maw of the pipe.
Shortly after this, articles of clothing began to swirl around a vortex bulge just short of the pipe's end. These clothings, still warm from their previous occupants, were light enough to be routed down a side duct, dropping into a huge bin filled with other clothing, pulled from other hapless victims.
Next came a human shape, pink in nakedness, which bypassed the side shunt and fell from the end of the pipe, dropping neatly into the sack which snapped tightly around it. The dazed woman bobbed for a moment in disorientation. Her hair, usually so refinedly captured, hung in a crazed brown cloud around her flushed face. Her female charms, her loins, breasts, and buttocks, all jutted from clever openings in the canvas like fruit for the plucking. Her feet, sensuous and exposed, thrust expectantly from the bottom.
The supporting lines, hooked to overhead tracks, rolled her forward. A second sack moved into place in time to receive a second woman, one with slitted eyes and midnight hair, snared just as neatly as the first. Following her, a slender girl plunked into the third sack, her cry of "Wheeee!" out of place in the businesslike processing room. And last, a girl with hair as black and short as crow-down, her body boyishly taunt, dropped into the final sack. As they were slowly moved up, the four captured victims craned about in restricted wonderment.
"This is new," Sybil called from her rear bag with professional interest. "We've had no reports of a vacuum tube capture snare."
"It was fun," gushed Megan, still bobbing up and down in her sacking.
"What's this coming up?" Olivia asked, darkly eyeing the robotic arms that stirred as she approached.
"Looks like the same set up I faced when I went in the first time," Sybil noted, leaning her head out to look around her hanging comrades. "We're going to be evaluated."
Sure enough, the arms moved around Olivia's helpless form. Monitor cups were slapped to her skin to the sound of wet kisses. Pinchers lightly gnawed her nipples, judging her swelling reaction to their unwarranted mastication. Vibrating teasers worked about her pouting vaginal lips, probing and prying. Feathers whirled beneath her feet. She gasped, struggling in her tight sacking, winching as paddle blows rained across her fleshy buttocks, pinkening her skin to a delightful hue. Overhead, the card readers clattered.
Behind her, Kiyoko watched the crude handling of her mistress. She tried once to free herself before silently accepting the canvas's tight grip. With dark eyes, she watched Olivia's struggling, fully aware she would be next.
"I'm starting to come loose," Megan noted, slipping downward an inch, the slip-lacings magically opening up. "I think I'll be free in a moment or two."
"Don't!" shouted Sybil. "If you drop free, the machine will sense the empty sack. It will assume a capture failure and sent trussbots. We've got to let it finish its initial sexual inventorying!"
"I can't help it," moaned the little brunette witch. "It's something that always happens!" Small bulges rose around her hips; she was gripping the canvas in her fists, trying to keep from dropping out. Along her sides, the lacing fluttered in limp cross-hatching, as useless as the three-year-old's shoelaces.
Olivia was now through, gasping and shuddering, her gray eyes unfocused. Now Kiyoko hung in the machine's centerpoint, enduring it as it worked her over, her narrowed eyes granting no hint of the provoked lusts swirling within her. Clampers gnawed her dark jutting nipples. Probes thrust into her moist pussy.
"If you drop, we're done before we start," shouted Sybil. Megan concentrated on maintaining her grip on the sacking. Sybil watched helplessly, knowing the young woman would never be able to keep her hold once the machines began to work her over with their mechanical curiosities.
And then Kiyoko was through and Megan was slowly moved into her vacated space, eased into the shadows of the merciless machines.
As the cups smacked against her skin, she focused her fearful eyes on the swaying Japanese warrior and concentrated. A moment later, Kiyoko's lacings sprang open. The lithe orchid dropped freely to the floor, rose up, shaking her head to clear it from her pulsing urges. Beyond, Olivia shouted something in their shared language. An instant later, Kiyoko was at Megan's side, hauling on the laces, forcing the sack tightly closed, re-capturing the young magician. Kiyoko took a second to wrap the lines around her hands, raised a knee against the small captive, and hauled a second time. Now Megan was sealed nice and snug, her breath shallow and fast, her compact breasts jutting towards the coming assault, her toes pointed down. Kiyoko held her grip, silently observing the poor girl's mechanized ravishment, close enough to smell her excited reek, the cords in her hands straining from her involuntary convulsions. The compact girl struggled like a fish on a line, trembling as if fevered, crying sharply as the clips gnawed her tender nubbins, shuddering as the probes slid wetly home. She squealed as feathers beat across her soles. Ever watchful, Kiyoko make sure she stood clear when the paddles barraged across the maidenly peaches. The punchtype rattled. The arms withdrew. Kiyoko released the lines, permitting the well-worn Megan to be lofted clear. Like a flower in autumn, her canvas unfolded limply, dropping her like a dying fairy to the cold ground.
"Olivia," cried Sybil in warning as she was moved forward, the rubber cups sucking against her skin.
A short distance off, the party's leader hovered over a dark hole. She looked up questioningly, not understanding. Then the bag opened and she dropped into the darkness, routed towards a fate beyond imagining and endurance.
Or she would have, had Kiyoko not sprang forth, leaping across the prone Megan like a jungle cat, coming down in an open slide across the smooth flooring, just missing the gaping holes. As the diplomat fell, the orchid caught her arm, arresting her fall. She dangled right on the edge, within an ace of joining her companion's plunge, before hauling her back up.
The two sat next to each other, gasping through their tangled hair, feet dangling into the fearsome pit, recovering. A short distance off, Megan sat up, pushing limp brown bangs from her eyes, her gasps trailing off. Beyond, Sybil hummed in happiness before the machines' attentions, her face beaming at the reunion.
Finally she was moved forward. As she cleared, Megan gestured and her sacking prematurely opened, depositing her on the floor. By then Olivia and Kiyoko had limped up. Even though all the women were shaken, Sybil gestured for Kiyoko to cup her hands to stirrup her up. Placing a small bare foot in the Japanese's grasp, she boosted up, plucking four sets of cards from an overhead track, intercepting them before they could be fed into pneumatic tubes.
"These were our data-sets," she told the others as she dropped back to the floor. "They would have been forwarded to whatever machines were detailed to process us. There would have been a checksum fault if the cards arrived and we hadn't." She waved the four small decks. "Now, as far as the Pit is concerned, we don't exist in body or in data."
"Good thinking," Olivia nodded. "Come, let's recover our clothing and push onward."
"Or downward," Megan weakly grinned. They crossed to the large bin containing its mound of female attire. Once again Kiyoko provided the boost, this time for Olivia who rooted around the top of the stack for their clothing. While they waited, Sybil smiled as she looked over the cards in her hands, leering towards Megan.
"What's so funny?" the little witch asked defensively.
"What it says here. See, I can read 'Punch', the MI language. It's amazing what the machine could deduce from your reactions. It says here you have a thing for lots of ropes and lots of usage. Who would have thought that a sweet girl like you would feel that way?"
"It's not true," Megan frowned in overhasty rebuttal, trying not to think of the total bondage Woody had placed her into, the long nights of absolute trussings, the inability to move as the magic broom slowly drug its bristles through the downy curls of her steaming nest and over the stiff resistance of her trapped titties. And she remembered how her heart had hammered when Petunia's maids had roped her into a stiff cocoon of cord, rope-wrapping every inch of her, their giggles and the touch of their fingers drifting away as each layer of bindings tightened, sealing her further from the world. Just thinking about it all made Megan's cheeks flush and nipples perk, and she half-turned away as if interested in Olivia's retrievals.
"Well then, you wouldn't have enjoyed what the Pit had planned for you," Sybil went on. "You were to inserted into a processing cycle where you would be tied by reelers with spools of rope, completely ensnarling your young body, nice and tight. Then you'd be hung by your heels with some of your Pit-pals in a small mirrored room. Elixir would mist the air around you, exciting you with every labored breath you took. And all you could do would be to hang in tightly-corded discomfort, surrounded by a background of hanging sister-sufferers, your moans a chorus, your images endless."
She flicked to the next card as if it were the next chapter of some sordid pornographic serial.
"It seems that a single arm is used in that place, in that room of reflected penance. Once your excitement reaches fever-pitch, once your blood pulses like heated syrup in your veins, it would begin to handle you one at a time, a nip here, a touch there, languid and unfair and focused. You would be forced to watch, your face ruddy under its inverted pressure and heavy gag, as it worked its way through your sisters. It would ignore you, fondling them with you as a helpless witness. And when it turned on you - ecstasy! But ecstasy before a half-dozen sets of jealously craving eyes. Many times would it come to you, and many times it would leave you in your hanging cravings. And finally you would be permitted your climax, one so intense you would be set to swaying and twisting by your ankle ropes. Some of your sisters would go before you, and you would hate them for their release. Some of them would follow you - how their hungry eyes would burn you as you spun in your lust. And this would be done to you, session after session, until you were so numb the machines would return you to the world above."
Sybil neatly tapped the cards back into a single stack. "That's what it says, anyway."
"That's enough," Olivia chided, dropping from Kiyoko's meshed fingers, tossing clothing to each. She plucked the cards from Sybil's hands and neatly ripped them in two. "Get your clothing on. We've got to get out of here." As they slipped on their clothing and sorted themselves out after their ride through the tempest, Olivia glanced again at the bin of garters, corsets, dresses, hats, and boots.
"You okay?" Sybil asked curtly.
"Yes. It's just that, well, that clothing bin got to me. Think about it. There must be hundreds of sets of clothing there. Each one represents a woman who was plucked from the world above, dragged by claw or sucked by tube to a place such as this, stripped and tied and evaluated. And then she was dropped even lower, into a world we can scarcely comprehend, into a personal heaven patterned specifically off her juiciest fantasies. How many could face their own sexual makeup like that? How many would choose, after careful thought, to sink into their most depraved desires, to be tormented and tapped until they can no longer think, their entire being nothing more than to simply grunt out orgasm after orgasm? It's a little... daunting, when you think of the magnitude of this place, in numbers and intensity."
"I can easily imagine it," Sybil smirked back. "If it hadn't been for this mission, I would have found my way here regardless. You can't imagine what its like. It's... a never-ending jubilation, an orgasm you never top out of, a rapture that goes on and on."
"Just don't let it distract you from our mission," Olivia replied levelly. "We've got a job to do here. Look, there's an access shaft leading down, one with a ladder. Let's descend before any of the wandering capture mechanisms find us."
And so, with restored clothing, they climbed down the ladder, Sybil leading, Kiyoko in close support, then Olivia, and finally Megan.
Megan watched the others descend, then wistfully looked at the hanging sacks and the yawning routing-holes. She thought of what had awaited her far beneath the earth, of the cavern that existed even if she were not now captive in it, of women even now dangling in rows like the captured prey of some great spider. Even as she considered them, they were gazing at each other's roped helplessness with stimulation-wearied eyes, waiting for the single manipulator that would slowly work them towards their sequentially flash-fire orgasms. She sighed and turned to descend.
At that moment the winds howled above, rippling her hair like wind across a grassy field. She looked up to see tube-worker clothing fluttering into the bin. A moment later, a fleshy cherub of a woman, her honey-hair frizzed, dropped into the sack, bobbing up and down like the caught thing she was. Her large breasts jutted from the sack-holes, as did her delightfully rounded buttocks. Through the forward slit, her vulva puckered in restricted compression. Her struggles shook the canvas holding her, rocking her gently. "Oh no! No!" echoed her cries as she realized just how trapped she was. Then her wild blue eyes fell on Megan where she sat half-in, half-out of the access shaft.
"Please, sweetie, can you let me go?" the woman pleaded. Megan looked up and silently shook her head no. "Please, oh please! I've heard rumors about these infernal devices from the other trackwomen, how they tie and torment women who come under their power. Please! I'm just a quiet girl. I don't like all that attention, especially when I can't move, when I don't have any control. I hate to be molested where all I can do is watch. Please, don't let these things have their way with me. I won't be able to stand it. I won't!" And all the while she begged, she was advanced into the waiting arms of the analyzers. Before her, the probe began its slow spin, its rotation marked by the nubs adorning its surface. The pincers extended, their clamps grinning like crocodiles. Behind her, the paddles ratcheted back. Feathers eased upward, just touching quivering fearful flesh.
"Please..." the girl begged, the cups now adorning her sweating flesh. "Please..."
Megan could only watch in knowing fascination, having experienced it herself. She knew what the poor woman was going through, the demanding caresses, the nibbling play. The trackwoman rocked in her bag, her examination continuing on, tears trailing down her cheeks, her cries desperate and confused. Watching from below, Megan's sweaty grip tightened on the ladder rungs. She could watch the interrogation forever...
"Megan," echoed Olivia's call from below, "Are you coming?"
"Just about," the girl gasped, reluctantly seating the access plate home over her head, cutting off her sight of the twisting canvas sack with its weak-fleshed, yearning contents.
Above, a lone woman hung helplessly before her sexual onslaught, her sexual energies flowing like lustful sap, bringing forth a blossom of orgasmic delirium.
05.01.10
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 8: The Wash Room
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