To understand the Gai Shift & to review the characters in this story, check out this useful guide: Gai-Shift Encyclopedia of Knowledge
Continued from Part Two
Chapter 3: Anna Oblonsky
"Introducing First Officer Petra," the courtier bellowed, "of the airship Unbound Pleasure!"
Petra paused in the high doorway to the Oblonsky estate ballroom, the eyes of the room upon her. Hundreds of women stared, some garbed in fine ribbons and fabrics, others done up in them. Music wafted overhead, but it was laced with whispered gossip.
This was the woman Anna Oblonsky wanted. It is she!
She blushed at her own helplessness before such attention, not realizing how beautiful it made her. She was garbed in purple velvet, a voluminous dress that stopped short of her ankles, revealing scrubbed feet intentionally left bare, a visual comment regarding her commoner blood. Her arms had been captured in a matching arm bag, locked up behind her back. A wide padded swath, a remplissage boucher laced with fine gold patterning, neatly swathed her lower face, giving her cheeks a delightful bulge.
Oddly, it was the Cossacks who had made her beautiful. Following their morning of barbaric foreplay, they'd bound her tight to a milk stool and saw to her makeup and hair (such a ludicrous image, scruffy Mongol girls cooing and combing). The dress, with all its fine bindings, they'd forced onto her. Then they'd brought her to the Oblonsky estate in a sealed carriage with all the care they would a shipment of eggs. The end result was now on display, her hair falling in golden rivets, prettily framing her thrusting neck and setting off her sapphire eyes. Her dress sweeping and beautiful even with her stocking feet. She made fifty catty enemies in that single moment.
A thrust to her back, Velika's final assistance. Petra frowned around her wadding, then glided as gracefully as she could down into the sweeping crowd, trying to blend in.
Around her strolled women in all manner of luxurious ornamentations. Some of them had expensive mannis on their arms, slender fellows kittled out like nutcrackers. Others had maids, trim little girls strapped up in all manner of finery, their arms bundled back, their mouths plugged or strapped, their eyes imploring for aid from anyone. For everyone knew that there was nothing like a fine party to churn the sexual energies of all involved. No doubt most of these mannis and maids would find themselves bound to beds, open for business, by early morning.
One woman strolled by, a rope-locked maid bobbing helplessly in her wake whose eyes flashing to Petra. Save me, she silently implored. Save me and I'll do anything you wish. Anything!
As the woman moved off, other women looked after her, whispering behind their fans.
"I can't believe Ganya still uses rope." "Passé. So out of date." "Someone should tie her up and jam her into her closet, to keep her from making such fashion blunders." "Perhaps we should pay her a visit before Lady Nadezhda affair next month." "Oh, let's. And we shall use scratchy hemp, to make our point." "An all night session would fix her." "And certainly, we would have to let that little maid know about it, so she could see to her mistress." "See to her. Giggle. I'm sure she'd love the chance at that..."
Petra padded on, looking at the opulence, feeling a lump in her throat at the thought that Anna was somewhere nearby. Anna...
Another woman moved past, chatting with friends. From a loosely held leash, a cylinder of ribbon-bound burlap followed. From a narrow slit in its cylindrical body, a set of green-gray eyes peered out, silently signaling distress. No doubt the poor Manni within was being abraded to sexual distraction by the heated, frictioning containment. Special strapping looped through his crotch kept the poor wretch in total discomfort.
"Come, Marcus," the woman laughed back, giving the leash a cruel little tug. "My sister Kitty wishes to meet you. I think," a playful little pause, "that she needs to meet you in the most desperate of ways. Perhaps I shall loan you to her..."
Through the high windows, snow was now falling against the night sky. The cold front had arrived. Petra found herself thinking of the Unbound Pleasure, worrying that the airship had flown into the storm and was in peril. Deep down, she knew she'd drilled the crew to crack status (in terms of proficiency, not sexual preference). They knew what to do to keep the airship safe.
To take her mind off such disturbing thoughts, she thought about other practical matters, logistics and allocations. With such a snow coming down, no doubt all the carriage drivers were having to take their wheeled vehicles all the way home through the bone-chilling night, returning with sleds to transport their mistresses when the ball finally broke up. This would put them into a cranky mood. Sipping hot tea while the team was being switched to sleds, no doubt many of them would show their displeasure by lashing out (and lashing up) off-duty maids. After all, nothing warmed a soul like knowing a fetching little chambermaid was heating one's bed at home. Petra had no doubt that even now, in countless carriage houses across the land, pretty young women were being stripped of their clothing and tied fast with stable rope and harness gear, tumbled into bed and forced to wait for the return of the drivers. It was how things worked in this cruel land.
One woman stood in a ring of onlookers, her chest thrust forward, a huge diamond in an ornate necklace glimmering like live fire. Others stood in hungry awe, ogling the hard rock, their minds consumed with jealousy.
"Oh, this is more pure than an ordinary diamond. This is a carbon-aligned diamond from Africa. It's not cut in any way - it's naturally formed in perfect clarity and shape. They are beastly hard to get. For this one, I had to tickle Princess Josette's feet all night to get the combination of her wall-safe. In the end, it was her own maid who suggested the Princess's weakness for 'vulva tickling'. Truthfully, I couldn't resist keeping her in agitation until noon - she looked so pinkly disheveled in her distress. After than, I dashed to the Gare de l'Est train station, worried all the way that she'd get loose and sent her staff to fetch me back - in ropes, no doubt. I suppose I can't go back to Paris anytime soon..."
Petra moved off, wondering how many more times the beautiful stone would change hands, and how many hands would be bound to get it. In a way, such thefts were a game amongst the nobles.
She sighed over her gag, looking out the window at the building snowdrifts, her mind whirling back through the years. She remembered a younger version of herself weeping as she staggered along a dirt road in the early evening, the cheeks of her buttocks burning from abuse, the cheeks of her face burning from shame. Anna had only just let her go. She'd been kept tied in the Oblonsky stables most of the afternoon, the hemp rope so tight across her budding breasts, her neck tethered like an animal or manni to a floor-mounted ringbolt. Her breath was ragged over the coarse cloth gag. Anna had stood over her kneeling form in cool contempt, her delicate hands flexing a riding crop.
"I ask you again to service me with your tongue. It is a simple request and I am sure you will enjoy it. No doubt I taste like Indian sugar."
Pridefully, Petra had shook her head: no.
Inwardly, she would have loved to lay with Anna in the hay, to dip her head between the petite brunette's legs, to lick, nibble and bite until Anna's noble composure was lost, until she was panting and begging like any molested peasant girl. Truthfully, if Anna had suggested a whipping to Petra on some flimsily pretext or trumped up crime, Petra would have knelt and accepted her bounds with eager willingness.
But Anna had done nothing of the sort. A summoning whistle to the brutish stable hands. Laughing taunts, firm grips, tight ropes. And now Petra knelt in face down, butt high bondage, Anna standing over her.
"I suppose you will have to be punished," Anna decided, the toe of her shoe easing Petra's skirt up and over her back, revealing her peach-like buttocks.
"Moh! Moh! Meeve me malome!"
Crack!
"MFF!"
Crack!
"MFF!!"
And so it went, all afternoon, with Anna taking occasional breaks to rest her arm. When she wasn't setting Petra's ass on fire, she was coaxing her into messy, humiliating climaxes, playing the head of the switch along her thighs, down the curve of her glowing cheeks, into the crack between them, deep down where her passions smoldered like wet compost. And in the end, Petra had found herself deep between Anna's sweet soft thighs, her gag-free tongue licking, tears running down her cheeks.
Then Anna had left and one of the stable women took pity on her and cut her loose. And so now Petra staggered home, towards her empty cottage.
Her mother Catherine had died a few years back in a tragic accident, when a pulley had slipped and a large manni had fallen on her. Petra was alone in the world.
Why couldn't Anna share? Why couldn't Anna ask? Why did Anna always have to take? Petra found herself hating the Oblonsky's of the world, hating the privileged class who kept their servants bound and belted in sexual humiliation. Someday, she thought, the underclasses would throw off their chains and rise, binding up their mistresses, putting them into the same stressful employments they'd once suffered. How wonderful it would be to see cruel Anna Oblonsky bound up in tattered undergarments, looking sheepishly over a rounded shoulder, her buttocks exposed and ready for a more intimate form of class warfare. Petra found her breath coming faster with revolutionary fever, her nipples hardening, her pussy dampening in patriotic passion.
And then she came across the airship site.
The huge ship was lashed down, looking for all the world like Gulliver's huge penis staked down by the Lilliputians. Beneath it, a ring of woman sat before a small fire, roasting weenie-dogs. They looked up to find her looking over them, her tear-wet eyes shimmering in the amber glow.
They lured her into the ring, offered her a hot dog, companionship, a shoulder to cry on. Then one of them had mentioned, "We do need a cabin girl. Someone strong, who can take tight knots. Someone who doesn't mind working hard, being worked hard, ready to pull a line or knot one if needed."
"I can do," Petra declared. "I can do gladly."
"Get the rope, Cheryl. Looks like we got a new hand. Well, two hands, both which need to be tied..."
And so it had been. Over the next fifteen years, Petra had proven herself on ship after ship, eventually finding herself serving literally under Captain Zana Hoffsteder. As executive officer, discipline fell under her duties and she was more than happy to bind up underlings. Seldom were the nights Petra did not have a sweet young thing bound to her bunk, pinned fast by shipshape ropings, gagged tight with sail cloth, stripped down for action. With some gentle coaxing (with an oiled belaying pin), it didn't take her very long to reduce an able-bodied shipmate into a mewing bundle of feminine desire.
If Petra could look beyond history and hurt, she would quite likely find that she loved Anna, with her imperial stance and dark, sultry demeanor. But two things stood before a good loving relationship; both women were domineering. And both were from opposite sides of the cart-track; Anna's nobility against Petra's common blood. These combined kept Petra in a constant state of revolutionary resistance, paying lip service while, deep down, she'd rather service Anna's lips. And while she would never admit this love, not before any amount of pinching, tickling, or sexual deprivation, she had returned to her homeland, a homeland with all the charm of an empty tabletop, so see something again.
"Petra," someone said in the present. As fearfully yet obediently as a mouse before a cobra, she turned.
Anna stood there, backed by a ring of whispering, watching noblewomen. Anna, her hair black and curled in wavelike sweeps around her pleasantly oval face, her body a soft collection of curves and possibilities, her black dress little more than a curtain masking an erotic review. Anna, with opera gloves gracing her clever hands, with a single carbon-aligned diamond dangling from her perfect throat, with lips pursed in a petulant pout. Anna, the lover Petra hated.
With grace, Anna strolled across the space dividing them, her hips swaying slightly, her eyes dancing in amusement. Petra took a step back, her bagged arms and naked shoulders pushing up against the snow-cold window glass. And then those soft gloved arms were folding around her and Anna was peering into her eyes, smelling like bath oils with a hint of bathtub sex. Petra found herself trembling in her advisory's arms.
"Why, darling, how long has it been? You left me that day after paying such wonderful attentions to my needs and I never saw you again. Leaving was so wicked. I must keep you close, keep you tight, so you never stray again."
With that, she planted an overfamiliar kiss on the soft gag-swath. Petra felt its burn through the cloth and packing, felt it quiver down her spine, felt her pussy simmer with excitement. She was doomed.
"Listen, the orchestra is playing one of my favorite waltzes. Come, pet, let us dance."
Anna took a tight hold of the strap sewn into the back of her arm bag, placed there by the clever seamstresses of France for just this reason. Then, reluctantly, Petra was drawn onto the swirling dance floor, the tiles cool against her bare feet, Anna burning in their close contact. The room seemed to spin around them. Petra made no concession to their dance; she was simply pulled through the motions by Anna who led with firm dominance. Petra found herself spun, found herself gliding through a sea of laughing, joyful women, all of whom had partners of either sex bound and gagged and forced to partake, a musically choreographed sexual assault. Petra saw breasts fondled, balls groped, buttocks clawed, kisses forced. But Anna left her unmolested, simply content to hold her close, to spin through the swirling crowds, to grip her back strap and guide her through her paces.
One woman paced Anna for a while, a tall woman in a gold dress, her partner a young Indian female cleverly dressed in a child's sailor suit. Black strapping pinned her arms to her sides, a bright red ballgag plugging words that had no bearing on what was to come. Once she dipped her partner, a low dip, spine to knee, arching them in trembling discomfort. Looking down into the helpless captive's eyes, she told her something, something between them, something totally shocking and disturbing, something concerning her plans for later. Then she pulled her partner to her feet, a swirl. "As soon as this dance is over, Sarama, we're leaving. I can't keep my hands off your body another minute..."
And then the pair, dominant and captive, swirled away.
"I am so glad you are here," Anna confessed, the world behind her a blur. "It took ever so long to track you down. I had to give our secret service a number of peasant girls, a half-dozen, I believe, just for information. Finally I found out how your little airship would be passing over my estate on its way to England from Japan. I guessed you might try to slip back to your home village - you were always such a nostalgic, simple girl, all wrapped up in how the world should be and what your place in it was. But we know where your place is, don't we, my love?" A tender smile. Their thighs brushed. "Or at least, your tongue's place, no?"
Dance after dance they joined until Petra grew dizzy, until her head spun from the exertion, the breath-taking gag, the proximity of the sizzling soft Anna. They danced and danced until Petra's legs ached, her tears flowed, her pussy burned.
And then she found herself motionless, still, standing at Anna's side. Cold air gusted over her feet. A line of women were bidding Anna farewell, kissing her lightly, propositioning her quietly, moving out to their waiting sleighs where they were tightly tucked beneath thick blankets by horny and impatient carriage drivers and swept off into the night. And suddenly the two were alone in the vast hall, alone but for a set of maids who waited close at hand.
Only then did Anna give her another kiss, one that burned through her gag and set her soul on fire. She felt desperate tears shimmer in her eyes, tears at her body's betrayal, of her yearning need and failing willpower. Her fists clinched impotently in her arm bag. She was powerless to resist what was to come.
Eventually Anna pulled away, her own breath coming in quick bursts. She shook a strand of black hair out of her eyes. To her maids, she called, "Make Petra comfortable... in my bedroom. Nice and tight and snug, the way I like. And have some of the riding crops brought in from the stables. Place them before the fire so they will be warm."
With that, she moved off, a gliding goddess. After ten paces she turned to look back, openly eyeing Petra's satin-jacketed bottom. "Never mind that last request. I'll warm up the crops myself..."
14.05.10
story continues in Gai-Shift - Snowbound Chapter 4: Anna's Toy
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