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Chapter 1: Orders
Doctor Livy Stone frowned from her seat aboard the steam omnibus, her tidy black dress cocked from her crossed leg, her severe boot bobbing in agitation. Her narrow face scowled as she considered the interview of the past hour and the jeopardy it had placed her in.
She'd been contently appraising gems in her workshop when the palace summons had arrived, borne by two female beefeaters (a title gained for their playfully peckish preference for trussed mannis). Shortly afterwards, the Roman-nosed, gray-haired woman had found herself thrust before Queen Lilla, ruler of England.
The monarch had been leaning against a ornate oaken table, her orange hair frizzy, her eyes gleaming hotly. Only when Livy approached did she see the contents of the table. Not maps of foreign places nor dispatches from stealthy spies (all customary devices of traditional dramatic openers). No, it was simply the King (ceremonial only). He'd been stripped bare and strapped wide, permitting the queen to toy an overlong peacock feather across his exposed nipples and genitalia, beaming at the wavering grunts and helpless, hopeless thrusts her toying provoked.
"This could well have been you," Lilla noted, swirling the trembling tip across the crowned head (literally). The king grunted, thrusting, attempting to sooth his jangling passions with a mighty climax but his queen moved her feather down along his sensitive inner thigh, frustrating his offensive. He warbled into his gag, eyes screwed shut.
"This well should have been you," she said again, not sparing the gemologist so much as a glance. "You botched your assignment to Africa. You were captured and dragged another team into bondage as well. Lady Petunia's niece is still missing." She tipped her head and considered tormenting her Royal Partner around his puckering bunghole. He did so much hate that. "We do hope you were most thoroughly molested in the subtropics."
"I was forced into captive climaxing for weeks," Stone noted coolly. "It was only when we'd been stripped of every ounce of passion that we were released."
The feather strayed along the trembling left leg, swirling its way towards the manni's exposed foot. Sweat beaded on his forehead; he knew her tormenting tastes.
"We have another mission for you, an easy mission, one that you should be able to speedily accomplish." Her silk-ballooned elbow drew back, bringing the feather into cruel alignment. Beyond her the King arched in his bonds, yodeling against his silken gag. "If you fail Us again, We shall have you stripped and invertedly hung, and all sorts of fluids will be slowly enemaed into you. We shall watch delightedly from a comfortable chair as a vacuum pump is employed to ready you for your ever-following bag. You shall become a living water clock, panting out the minutes, moaning out the hours." The feather paused, the King collapsing. "Do We make Ourselves clear?"
"Most clear, your Majesty," Stone said, her long black dress swirling around her bow. Livy trembled in agitation at the thought of the promised punishment, and perhaps not in fear. Her dear friend Petunia had playfully done similar things to her over long weekends at her estate. It had been disturbingly pleasant.
It was odd that she'd thought of her Ladyship, for the Queen mentioned the Royal Scientist with her very next breath. The mission centered on the poutful blonde noblewoman.
=< O >=
The omnibus was chugging off as Livy Stone rapped smartly on the door of Willie Hall, one of Knightsbridge's most opulent (and infamous) addresses. A maid answered promptly, feather duster in hand, her lacy blank uniform little more than an afterthought. At sight of the visitor, the maid curtsied. The wiry older woman was a frequent guest of her mistress, especially since that trip to Africa. The young servant had even untied the gemologist twice on morning's following long sessions after her mistress had departed for her laboratory. One time had required the poor maid to fetch a ladder so as to reach the hoist from which Stone had dangled in blushed disarray.
"I wish to see Lady Goldwaith," Doctor Stone said primly.
"I am sorry. Madam is entertaining Baroness Manchester and has left orders not to be disturbed."
"Baroness Manchester is perfectly capable of lulling in whatever tight bondage Lady Petunia has roped her into. This is crown business. Show me to your mistress's dressing chamber and bring her to me. The dressing rod is still there, is it not?"
"Yes, Madam, my mistress employs it quite often. Please come this way."
Lady Petunia Goldwaith's dressing chamber was more extensive then most houses. From its center, Livy Stone slowly looked over its many mirrors, its hanging collections of fashions (everything from light evening apparel to leathery aids-to-posture), its ranks of pumps and sandals, its array of beplumbed hats. In the center hung the dressing rod, its wrist straps open and ready. Livy nodded in approving remembrance, recalling the time she'd dangled in the device, arms locked overhead, absolutely naked and absentmindedly forgotten by her hostess. And how the maids had found her. And what they had done to her with their feather dusters and clothespins.
The maids of Willie Hall enjoyed liberties not shared by servants elsewhere.
Liberties had certainly been taken on her upthrust, helpless body.
If that clockwork dildo had not run down when it had...
"Now Justine, I have no time for your foolishness," came Petunia's chipper voice. "It's not nice for me to leave the Baroness rolled in a parlor rug."
"I am sorry, my Lady. I have been commanded to bring you hence."
The maid entered the room firmly gripping a lead, towing an agitated Petunia Goldwaith. The Royal Scientist was informally garbed in white panties and bra, displaying her short yet curvy form to casual review. Crazed blonde hair tumbled over creamy shoulders. Fuzzy mules shod her tiny feet. Her green eyes came up and noticed the watching Doctor Stone.
"Oh, hello Livy." Raising her bound wrists, she asked, "Is this your idea? I'm sure you'd like vengeance for something I may have done to you - forgive me if I don't recall specifically what since I've done so much to you. But let's put it off for later, shall we? Right now, I've got the Baroness wrapped up in a rug. We were playing parlor games and suddenly she surprised me with that manni-rod pump device of hers. I think she planned to assault me with it. Of course I needed to see to my protection - she's rolled up on her belly, her manni-rod pumped up to bulging beneath her, literally fit to burst. I figure a little more gentle rocking will agitate her so greatly she'll agree to anything. And really, what's more twat to lick...?"
In response, Livy nodded to the dressing bar. With confident domination, the maid unleashed her mistress's hands and promptly locked them in the spreader bar. A quick yank of the nearby rope hauled the blonde noblewoman's arms over her head.
Livy Stone allowed herself a moment to review her friend's plight. With her arms hauled up, her amble breasts thrust invitingly out and her hips trembled. Overhead her fingers milled, quite unable to reach the buckles locking down her wrists. On tiptoe, she'd lost one of her slippers.
"Oh well, you have me," Petunia pouted. "There is nothing for me to do. All is lost. Do your worst." She nodded to nearby dresser. "You'll find a nice collection of toys in the third drawer down-"
But Livy had stepped up and clapped an uncaring hand over her friend's full lips. "Petunia, be silent. I've got to get you dressed and made ready. The queen has commanded that a painting of your likeness is to be produced and hung in the National Gallery.
"Mpphf?"
"Yes. And it will be painted by none other than Cordefriseur."
"Mordmemff? Mmmmm."
Lady Goldwaith had much to be excited about by this news. Cordefriseur was one of the greatest portrait painters in existence. An exile from France, having escaped the growing revolutions sweeping his adapted country, he was one of the few mannis who's skills permitted something close to second-class citizenship. Now, it seemed, Lady Goldwaith's long service to the crown would be rewarded with this singular honor.
This was no honor, however, in the lurid scene which followed. Petunia could only dangle as her wry maid and exacting friend slowly undressed her. Willingly, she stepped out of her warm panties as the pair pulled them slowly down her hips and thighs. Her breasts popped from her freed brasserie, nipples hard. The noblewoman's head was back, her cheeks flushed, as the two methodically stripped her into dangling nudity.
Then came the powdering, so soft and carefully applied. Petunia could only moan as her friend and servant gently caressed the talcum into her body, softening her for what was to come.
Her only allowance for undergarments was the panty belt that was seated over her hips, beribboned clip-straps trailing across her peachy buttocks and eager hips. Demurely she raised one foot, then the other, allowing shear nylons to be rolled over her pointed toes, up her flaring shins, across dimpled knees and healthy thighs. The tops of these nylons were clipped to the garter straps, her pouting pussy in no way shielded. Overhead, her fingers roiled like a lazy cat's claws. She quite enjoyed the forced attention.
"This one." A green dress with a daring cut dangled in Livy's hands. "She'll look scrumptious in it."
"But Livy," Petunia pouted. "The last time I wore that dress you forcefully removed it."
Once the dress, little more than a minute nod to modesty, had been slipped over the helpless woman's torso, the maid set to shodding her mistress. From a nearby rack she selected stern shoes, daring shoes, shoes more for punishing display than comfort to their wearer. With the satisfaction of payback, the little maid forced Petunia's feet into the cruelly arched sandals. Her toes were locked beneath tiny toe-straps, almost as if they'd been bound there. Around her ankles buckled straps as tight and heartless as restraints. When she was done, her mistress was forcefully hobbled in footgear which would set her literally on tip-toe, all the while showing off her straining feet to best effect. Tenderly, the maid patted the tops of the trembling blushing feet.
While this was taking place, Livy had taken her friend's chin in her stern finger, forcing her pert lips into a pouting pucker. Brilliant red lipstick was painted over trembling lips. Next came mascara, just a trace to highlight Petunia's noble features. Then the two women, gemologist and chambermaid, took a step back to examine their charge.
Petunia Goldwaith was the stuff of fantasies. The green dress was less there than there, her ample breasts swelling against its bosom breakwater, seemingly rolling at near-spillage. Her hips flared, her pouting sex hinted at by its thin cloth shielding. She blinked her eyes and moaned through cherry lips, frustrated that she was a object of vision and not a toy of manipulation.
A dildo would be nice about now, she thought.
"Bring your most comfortable transportation box," Stone ordered, her eyes flashing critically as if seeking any imperfection amid the sexual glory. "We must take her to Cordefriseur's garret. Even now he is mixing his paints."
"Mostly fleshtones I suspect," the maid observed as she licked her lips, her eyes locked on her mistress's generous body.
"Don't I get a say in this?" Petunia asked. Then the travel ballgag was slipped into place, she was locked in her padded box, a conveyance was summoned, and they were away...
To be concluded...
26.11.11
story continues in Gai-Shift - Portrait Chapter 2: Captured on Canvas
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