Chapter 9: Megan's Frustration
Megan couldn't sleep. Her mind whirled with erotic imagery. She'd spent hours laying in her blanket, thinking about what she'd do to Kate when she returned to Sheepish, every knot, every giggled promise, every touch, every playful humiliation. Kate would become her play doll. How fun it would be.
She tried to clear her head, to push the purple-haired girl from her thoughts. But then her eyes would fall on Sybil, laying in Kiyoko's silk bindings, tucked up nice and tidy, so trim in her black underthings. At the sight of her softly trussed party member, a yearning rose within her. She found herself desiring to kneel next to the bound girl, to whisper, "I understand you. I trust you," as she touched her, hesitantly at first, then with a growing boldness, exploring Sybil's dark concavities, bringing comfort to her in a most sympathetic yet knowing manner.
She shook the gathering imagery from her head. If only she could relieve the burning womanly desires that flared within, but she could not. Nobody else in the party had relieved themselves, so she would not show the weakness of succumbing to her own masturbatory touch.
(Sybil, of course, was bound up tight and hence could only lay in her bundled frustrations, sweating through the night. What she didn't know is that when Olivia had nestled next to Kiyoko, strong fingers had snapped across her mouth. Gripped thusly, she couldn't move as a second set of fingers brushed across her nipples, tracing delicately downwards towards her heated mons. She could only shudder as Kiyoko saw to her roiling tensions, working away her sexual frustrations with her orchid's training. Only after Olivia had shuddered through her muffled climax did her Japanese friend, still maintaining her gagging grip, turn her attention upon herself. Olivia could only lay in the dark, feeling her low orgasm echo like distant whalesong. When the tensions of both women were released, they cuddled in each other's arms. Flustered Megan knew nothing of all this.)
Eventually the little witch tossed aside her blanket and sat up, her knee-length cotton shift holding in her body's furnace heat. She was restless and edgy. Falling back on old patterns, ignoring the sad outcomes of a thousand cinemagraphic storylines, she buckled on her sandals and left the party's encampment, going for a walk to clear her head.
The corridors and passageways of the Pit were warmed, even in the depths of night, by the heat of a hundred furnaces and a thousand sweating maidens. She strolled, the warm breeze rippling her slip across her young body. Yet the distant throbbing of the great engines and the ever-present moan of climaxing women played upon her. She was confused and disorientated, no longer sure what she really wanted.
She wished, for the millionth time, to be like any other girl. How easy it was in this world to find one's way into ropeage. She could be stalked, or lured, or arrested, or kidnapped, or simply asked. And once she was tied as snug as a bug (perhaps even rolled in a rug) she would be lovingly used by her captors, unable to resist, able only to enjoy. But, no, her power - her curse - prevented that. Whenever she was tied, no matter how tight, soon would come the sensation of loose ropes, of slipping knots. She would be left, as she had countless times before, smiling sadly at some disappointed kidnapper and explaining how it wasn't their fault, apologizing over and over again.
She found an old storm drain, now pressed into Pit service. It had a low channel, perhaps a foot across, and along the bottom ran a conveyor belt, slowly rolling towards some sexually heinous destination. She settled and watched, and before long, there came a line of hogtied women, each facing forward, their wrists tied back to their ankles, their pale feet so helplessly exposed. They were ungagged and, of course, naked.
Megan sat down to watch the erotic parade pass. "Hello," she greeted. "How are you doing?"
An older woman with wiry limbs and frizzy hair craned a look up. "Oy! There's a slip of a girl up there! And she's untied!"
"Please, love," begged a slightly round girl, second back. "Please untie me. I'm bowed back ever so far. Just one knot. Please."
"Oh, I can't do that," Megan replied, trailing a finger along the older woman's passing feet. The woman beneath her finger shuddered, her laugh hoarse. Megan explained, "The machines would notice that and they'd come after us. No, you all have to stay tied up." Then she laced a mischievous finger along the plump girl's wide soles, releasing a gale of pained laughter.
Two more women passed, with Megan savoring their exact hogties, when suddenly the belt stopped as did the little witch's heart. For a moment she feared discovery. Then, cautiously, she walked forward along her high ledge, back up to the front of the line.
The first woman was now moving off, head down, slowly shaking back and forth. As the plump girl came forward, her shoulders slotted neatly into a tubular metal yoke. As she rolled forward, the yoke moved also, triggering the belt to stop. A second later, a padded head brace rotated down behind her. A moment after that, a second plate, a concavity with a tapered tube, swung down and fitted neatly over her chin and cheeks, the tube presumably slotting into her mouth. High overhead, a piston depressing onto a large tub, forcing a measured portion of its contents down the hose and into her mouth. She blinked and wiggled her fingers and then swallowed. With that, the bars cocked upwards, permitting her to move forward.
One by one, each girl slid forward into the feeding station. Overhead, Megan watched with curious eyes.
The smell coming from the tube and its overhead storage tank was mouth-watering, rather like baking cookie dough. Megan realized that she'd hardly eaten anything; within her slip, her tummy growled. Below her, one by one, the women were fed and moved along, slipping down their narrow trough, feet hogtied upwards like main gallants, sailing like some woman-flesh fleet towards some depraved destination. Megan watched them go. Then she looked down at the tube, so hungry.
What could it hurt?
Since the belt was still moving, she skipped back along her ledge, back thirty feet or so. Then she dropped onto the belt, quickly orientating herself onto her belly, head forward. The side walls were so close. To position herself perfectly, she reached back and caught her bowed ankles, her sandal heels chuffing her buttocks, simulating a hogtie. In her imagination, she pictured Olivia, so stringent, tying her thus. Or perhaps Sybil, cruel, cruel Sybil. She felt her nipples perk against the cool rubber of the belt, and suddenly the shoulder bars were close. She felt them catch against her, felt the triggering click, sensed the gentle nudge of the head brace. Then a shadow swung down and the warm concavity of the feeding shield cupped her lower face, the tube sliding between her teeth like a manni's rod. She almost let go of her ankles, so startling was the experience. Then, suddenly, her mouth was filled to cheek-bulging capacity by a sensuously warm paste. Her tastebuds came alive at the tangy sensation, and without thinking, she swallowed it down. A moment later, the braces swung away and she was rumbling down the belt, clear.
She stood up, swayed from the motion, caught herself, and then scrambled back up onto the ledge. But standing on solid ground, she felt herself sway again. Bracing herself against a wall, she began to make her way back to the camp. But suddenly, her cheeks flushed, her nipples pushed against her cotton shift and her blood pounded. She shook her head, reached up to wipe away the sweat beading across her forehead, accidentally brushed her nipples and nearly fell to the ground. Her legs were like rubber. What has happening to her?
Her sandaled feet shuffled as she staggered along, one hand bracing the wall, the other pinching and stroking her own flesh as if it had a randy mind of its own. She gasped and shuddered at its touch. Once or twice, she nearly collapsed. Then, suddenly, she stopped and gave into her passions, furiously butterchurning herself, seeking solace from a craving she simply couldn't sate. Her finger and knuckles grew wet but still the orgasm wouldn't come. Frustrated sobs racked her. Gasping, she lost her grip and slid to the ground, pinching her rock-hard nipples, pile-driving herself with a cramping finger. And still she could not find release. She tipped back her head like a pain-tormented beast and gasped at the ceiling.
A moment later, strong hands took her up, and she found herself tossed over a slender shoulder. The scent of jasmine. Kiyoko.
"Tear me open," she huskily begged. "Rip this lust out of me!"
She didn't even feel herself dropped to the floor, bathed in chemlight. Nor could she understand Olivia's assessment to the orchid, coming as it did in Japanese.
"She's fed on elixir. Full strength, by the looks of it. Quick, we've got to tie her up before she hurts herself!" Megan purred in gratitude as her pussy-slick hands were hauled behind her, her wrists and elbows captured in soft, wondrous silk. It felt so right!
"The Goldwaith elixir operates on the masochistic region of the brain. Simple masturbation won't get it out of her system. She's got to be tied, and know she's tied. That's it, tie her tight, Kiyoko. She's got to be used to the point of degradation. That's the only way to give her that needed climax!"
Megan pulled at her bound wrists, glorifying in the firm tension banding them so snugly. She felt Kiyoko's dominant fingers lacing loops of scarf around her thighs and ankles. She shook sweaty bangs from her vision and looked floor-level across to Sybil, smiling beatifically into the gagged, arched-eyebrow face of her sister captive.
"Quickly," Olivia said in English, forgetting herself. "We've got to defuse her."
Kiyoko understood her, regardless. Megan watched as her long legs swept over to the prone Sybil. Moving quickly, the Oriental warrior-woman retired the prisoner's legs, jacking them back into a harsh frogtie. Sybil groaned, as did Megan, on fire from watching the bondage taking place. When Kiyoko tore away the other girl's panties, Megan almost swooned. She closed her eyes and moaned in flustered delight, hardly feeling the strong fingers that gripped her bindings and shifted her forward like a sack of grain, cradling her gently within the pink heated valley between Sybil's thighs.
Sybil looked down her, dark eyes wide with shock. She looked up at the two women conducting the emergency orgasmectomy, silently pleading. Olivia reached down and stroked her dark hair. "There, there," she calmed. "Megan needs you right now."
Megan didn't only need her, she craved her. Without urging, she thrust her tongue into the toasty pink slit so alluringly placed before her, savoring Sybil's sweaty taste. The center of her attention tipped her head back, moaning into her gag, shaking her head furiously at the usage. It wasn't that it was unpleasant; Sybil's sin was pride, and she'd not been asked. She tried to struggle clear but Kiyoko's silk coils were absolute. Between her legs, Megan wiggled closer, furiously squirming for every fraction of an inch, because every fraction she won was another fraction deeper her questing tongue could drive.
There came a sharp crack from behind her, one Megan barely felt. Olivia raised her open hand and once more brought it down on her shapely buttocks. Again and again, she struck, turning the pouting flesh-dollops scarlet from abuse. Megan moaned, using each impact to force her tongue deeper into Sybil as if seeking shelter within her vagina.
Kiyoko knelt down next to the struggling dark girl, looking over her with a pacific calm. Then, catching the dark eyes with her own, she reached down as gracefully as a watering stork and took a hardening nipple in her hand, rolling it tenderly between thumb and forefinger. Sybil's back arched at the handling, her face purpling as she screamed into her gag in lust-filled anger. Kiyoko continued to stroke and coax her, forcing the girl the return Megan's attention. Sybil began to buck, with Megan's face still burrowed into her crevice, her sweaty bangs flying.
Megan's world was darkness now. Every sense was filled with Sybil's blast-furnace heat, her pungently sweaty sex, the coppery taste of her. Her ass needled in pain from Olivia's spanking. Kiyoko's scarves felt even tighter than before, as if they were cutting into her flesh like a cheese-slicer. Sybil shook her like a dog on a rat, whipsawing Megan's spine. And inside, a passion greater than anything Megan had ever felt ballooned within her. In another heartbeat, she would explode. She would... she would...
And then she was shuddering, jackknifing so severely that it pushed Sybil back slightly. And that was all it took for Sybil, looking down the length of her cruelly bound torso at the witch jammed head-first into her sex, for her to explode as well, a shuddering climax that rattled her bones within their sockets. For the longest time, the four remained motionless, the two bound girls gasping in soaked co-usage, their mature captors looking silently at each other. Finally Olivia nodded. The crisis had been averted.
They lifted Megan away then, settling her sweaty body tenderly on its bedding, not bothering to untie her yet, just to be on the safe side. Kiyoko cut away her cotton shift and tossed it away as its crotch was now soaked with highly flammable orgasium. While she tended to this, Olivia knelt down next to Sybil and lifted her up to lean against her, working the gag clear. She offered a cup of water, which Sybil greedily drank.
"Thank you for your help," Olivia told her. "She never could have done it without you."
"Did you notice," Sybil asked, voice drunk with spent passion.
"Notice what?"
"Look." She nodded across to Megan. Olivia's gray eyes followed and then widened in surprise. Only now were the little witch's bonds unraveling. She'd remained trussed through the entire hour or so it had taken to work the elixir from her body.
20.01.10
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 10: Sybil's Trap
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