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 four
Chapter 6: from Manni to Maiden
Van trembled for a number of reasons.
Firstly, he was standing in a stolen maids uniform, wigged and lipsticked and costumed by Cindy (his enthusiastic lover who had played tie-me-tie-you games with him over their long, wet night). His high heels pinched, his nylon-packed bra chafed and his panties gripped his nuts like a groping farm girl. It was uncomfortable in a sexy cross-dressing way.
Then there was the line of Goldwaith household maids he stood shoulder to padded-shoulder with. They were voluptuous girls, their amazing figures barely contained in their skimpy servant clothing, who shared a common desire (namely to tie up someone, manni or woman, and drag them to their beds and to the limits of sexual endurance). They were very much like cats – they liked string and they liked cruel play.
There was also the commanding woman at the head of the review line, Chief Officer Constance Drummand, tightly wrapped in her bobby skirt and blouse, her short red hair almost as red as her angry eyes. Once again she demanded to see Lady Anna, the domestic head-servant who'd summoned the police. She wouldn't be seeing Anna anytime soon – no one would. For Lady Anna had been grabbed up by the household MI devices and dragged into some tight crawlspace where the machines diligently worked her over, pinching her thrusting nipples, pluming her abused clit, probing and paddling her as if she simply existed to stimulate, her gagged moans unheard, her shuddering orgasms unshared. Van knew this because he'd altered the punch cards which had resulted in Lady Anna's trip to the mini-pit. It was a thing Van was not proud of, but he would have rather liked to have watched. Yet he tried not to think about it.
Not because of decency or respect, mind you, but for the constricting pain it caused. And hour before, Cindy had helped him dress when the summoning bell had peeled. Like a forceful older sister, she'd slid his nylons up his legs, forced on his pumps, rucked up his underthings and buttoned up his tight clothing. But the one thing she'd applied with relish was the cock-ribbon which bound up his meat lest his circumstances become apparent. Giggling, she'd creatively cross-looped him up as if she were wrapping up a nice Solstice present, drawing it close, snugging it up, leering over it. Van could only grimace at the ceiling to keep the swelling down. The dance of her fingers was maddening. He'd turned purple when, at her effort's completion, she'd kissed its head with her ruby lips.
So here he was, flinching at Drummand's demands for information about the sighted manni. Gaining no answers, she called over her shoulder: “Officer Samantha!”
“Coming, Chief. Just getting our girls on perimeter.”
A police woman entered, but where Drummand was all scowls and business, this one looked more suitable to silks and satins and gasped “Oh my, but it's soooo big!”. Officer Samantha was blonde and chipper and slender, her mischievous blue eyes running down the twin rows of worried maids like hands along a bound lover's flank. “So, what's with this lot, then?”
Constance, fists on hips, glared down the line. “Nobody's talking. We can't find the complainant, this Anna-person. Nobody knows anything.”
“You want me to question one?” Samantha asked, cheeks flushing.
“Please pursue the investigation.”
“Oh goody,” Samantha said, pulling a metal thing that looked like a folded music stand from a bag on her belt. “Which one?”
“Any one,” Constance said, her arms crossed, her green eyes hard. “Indulge yourself.”
Samantha strolled behind Van's line of maids, her tall boot-heels clicking. Van, standing between Cindy and Colette, didn't dare turn to watch. But he could see the eyes of the maids opposite, and how they tracked Samantha as she idled along their line, reviewing the trim bottoms and clenched ankles of the ranked girls. In time with her heels came the click-click of the device being slowly unfolded.
The heels stopped just behind Van. Sweat trickled under his wig.
CLICK CLICK. A shackle-like sound. CLICK!
“Mon Dieu!”
At Van's right side, Colette gasped as her wrists, then ankles, acquired slender shining cuffs. Behind her, Samantha kicked out the braces from the base of a telescoping pole that ran between the Frenchgirl's cheeks, thighs and calves. Then, taking hold of a small lever, she cranked the struggling girl into the air, tilting her back. As she went back, the clever device spread her arms and legs like a butterfly. Her head, without support, lulled back, forcing her breasts to jut. At her side, Van tried not to meet the struggling girl's desperate eyes.
“Oh, non! Non!”
“Now, doll,” Samantha cooed as she slipped off the poor girl's apron, unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra and flipped up her skirt. “Be a good girl and tell me what you know. Now, what about this manni? Come on, tell me.”
To aid the poor girl in her story, Samantha's long fingers twirled around the rising breasts, teasing nipples and tormenting ribs, swirling between nyloned thighs to flick tacky lips. Colette struggled and twisted, the frame beneath her humming beneath the loading. But she couldn't get away, couldn't shield herself, and Samantha was content to continue her silky abuse.
“I know nuzing about mannis! Nuzzing! All night I was tied opp in a closet!”
“Was it a manni that tied you?” Samantha purred? “Did he tie you up and promise that he'd come back to thrust his meat into you? Did he leave his sauce inside you? Let's find out...”
“No! Do not touch me zer! Oh! Ohhhhh!”
Van was conscious of Cindy at his side, Cindy who knew about his gender first hand, having been raped by him (and having raped him) all night while Colette lay bound in the wardrobe. Of course she wanted to keep his secret, but her poor friend was being sexually tortured (as orgasm-denial is torture) before her eyes. Colette's lusty moans pulled at their heart-stings (and his cock-ribbon). Cindy licked her lips, took a breath, clamped her jaw. Van felt sweat trickled down his back.
Now Samantha was standing between the outthurst, horizontal legs, her hips hissing against nylon. Her hands were buried in Colette's crotch, her fingers slick and glistening. “Come on, my pretty little girl, talk to me... Talk to me...”
Colette, head dangling, wept, “I cannoz! I know nuzzing about mannis! Nuzzing! Oh, please.... please....”
Suddenly the door banged open. There stood Lady Petunia Goldwaith, her short yet shapely body nattily dressed in her high-end London clothing, a small bag under her arm, her green eyes wide with surprise.
“Goodness, what's all this? Connie, is that you? Whatever are you doing to my poor girl? I must admit it looks fascinating.”
“Petunia!” Constance said in a whirl, her red hair fanning out from her spin. “What are you...? Where were....? What?”
“Me? Oh, I was on the morning train, same as you, I gather.” As she chatted, she removed her satin gloves, handing them to a servant who'd magically appeared at her side. “Baroness Manchester dropped me off at Victoria Station last night – belted up in a shipping box, I might add. And this was after she'd rung me silly with that improved inflatable of hers. I had to sit all buckled up in that tight dark box on my canned buttocks and aching holes, the witch. Lucky the stationmistress recognized my muffled moans and released me. And at least the Baroness had forwarded my clothing in an accompanying parcel. Took a while to get dressed and walk home. Oh, and are those leggy police-girls surrounding my house yours?” A giggle as she crossed her wrists before her in hopefulness. “Are we to be arrested?”
“What of your other servants, the ones who went with you to London?” Maid Martha blurted from the line, concern making her forget her place. “Where's my roommate?”
“Oh, I lost her to Lady Randall in a hand of whist. Don't worry, dear, its only for a month. I'm sure she'll find Lady Randall's tastes... Oriental.”
Martha moaned, if only in frustrations for the sexual treats that everyone else besides her seemed to get.
“What do you know about a wild manni running about your grounds?” Constance demanded, trying to regain the conversation's momentum.
“A wild manni?” Petunia placed a finger to her ruby lips, considering the concept. “I would rather like to have one. I've never had the chance to break a feral one. It would be delicious to try.” She blinked her long lashes once, mentally bid farewell to her corrupt fantasies, then called out: “Stablemistress, are we missing any of our stable mannis?”
“No, Ma'am.”
“You sure none of them were oiled too well and slipped their harnesses?”
“No Ma'am. Counted noses, or something like noses, this morning. All present in their belts.”
Lady Goldwaith took a step down the line, Constance turning her head to watch. “And Lady Anna, where is she?”
“Nobody knows, Ma'am,” Cindy blurted. “She's vanished.”
“Lady Anna has been forcing men and women into strict bondage for decades. If there was a man running loose around the grounds, I'm sure she'd have him bundled up in short order and even shorter ropes. Perhaps she's got the poor boy trussed up in some secluded spot.” A glance to Constance. “Have you considered that?”
Constance frowned, not happy to have Petunia meddle about in police business. “Can you prove that to be true?”
“Only circumcisionally,” Petunia giggled. Stepping over to look down at her jack-knifed French maid who still moaned on her flimsy rack, she noted, “Besides Anna, who else saw this manni.”
“He tried to butt-jack me,” Martha blushed.
“Really? Did you actually see his weapon? Did he run it under your nose, or take you by the head and force your jaw open, to thrust himself into you like a living gag? Or did he wrench your legs apart and pile-drive into you, slamming and slamming you until your hips creaked and your eyes watered in the pure pleasure of your usury?”
“No,” Martha sniffed. “He... he took me from behind. Sort of...”
“So you never actually saw it?” At her admitting head-shake, Petunia turned to teeth-grinding Constance and smiled sweetly. Then she looked at her cross-trussed hip-elevated sparrow. To Samantha she asked, “Did she tell you anything yet?”
“Not yet. I only just started on her.”
“You should have tried this.”
Petunia did something with her finger, some sort of drawing pull between the girl's stress-trembling thighs, something that lifted her as if Kate's witchy magic had sent her ceilingward. The rod suspending her shivered, its bolts rattling. The finger-spun girl rose up against her restrains, her voice quailing upwards.
“Mon Dieu! Oh Mon Dieu! Oooohhh! Ohhhh! I cannot... cannot... IEEEEEE! Please, please, no more! I confess! Last week I napped for an hour when I should have been cleaning. And two weeks ago, when I found Cindy tied up and blindfolded in the scullery, I was zee one who harried her with zee cucumber. And I have had impure thoughts, many many of them. Oh god, I am, 'ou you say, zoo wet!” With that, she crumpled into heaving sobs, draped on her stand like a dying starfish.
Petunia licked her finger like a little girl, turning to smile at Constance. “I don't think you have any proof.... Hello. Who's this?”
Van flinched. Her Ladyship was looking dead at him.
“She said she was a new girl,” Martha opted. “That Lady Anna knew about it...”
Before Van could move, Samantha seized Van's arms and wrenched them back. Van struggled but in her relentless grip, it was like he was shackled to a wall. “Stand back,” Constance said, shoving past Petunia. “I'll fondle... handle this.”
Trapped, Van could only watch as Constance's fingers closed on his maid's costume, elbows coming up for the cross-ways wrench that would bare his male charms for all to see.
=< O >=
Everything has a lifespan. Huge oaks, standing mountains, mayflies, everything in the cosmos comes into existence and collapses into dust. Even the universe itself, for all its sprawling majesty, dies as a singularity.
Even magic.
Between Van's pigeon-toed pumps, a strand of body-heated ribbon fell to the ground.
=< O >=
The maid's outfit parted like a half-shell, revealing Van's modest (yet girlish) breasts, her flat tummy, and her wispy slit. No blood-throbbing cock. Not even a pickle.
Constance stared, disbelieving. Everything had led to this moment, the perfect collar (or cock-ring, which she'd had at the ready). Stunned, she reached up and pulled away Van's skewed wig.
“Van!” Petunia blurted with a little girl's delight at a particularly clever magic trick. “I've heard of cross-dressing, but never upstairs playing as downstairs! How novel! Did it work? Did those rude girls baste you with vinegar and practice vulgar acts upon your body?”
“I.... yes, yes, that's it indeed. I wished to see how the other half lived and worked so that maybe... I could build automatrons to help them with their chores. The less work they have to do, the longer we can keep them tied up.”
“What do we do with the perp, chief?” Samantha asked, still in possession of Van's elbows (which, truthfully, she pulled a little tighter to make the poor girl's breasts jut).
“Lady Goldwaith,” Constance gnashed, rounding on the buxom blonde. “How am I going to explain to my superiors that I brought the flying squad way out into the countryside and have nothing to show for it?”
“Well, if I might offer a suggestion,” Petunia smiled with her ever-present sparkle.
=< O >=
It was so nice to be home, Petunia thought as she strolled the servant hall, listening to the sound of industry as the flying squad took charge. She paused at the door to Martha's room. Two policegirls were dealing with the mousy brunette. They'd already reduced the poor protesting girl to panties and bra and were now lashing her up nice and secure. Ropes underthurst her breasts and pinched her thighs together. Her fingers flailed against the small of her naked back and her toes wiggled, but she wasn't going anywhere. To complete her predicament, the two cruel, too cruel officers linked a line from her clenched ankles to the bedpost. The poor girl, deprived and captured, would be left on her little bed until someone came along and freed her. Unlike the other girls, such as Cindy and Colette down the hall, she had no partner to be bound to. The other girls could cuddle and nuzzle each other in their shared bondage but not poor lonely Martha. She'd face the long cold night alone in her ropes. Petunia stepped back as the two officers departed, closing the door on the poor girl who cast a final desperate glance to her mistress before being locked in.
From other rooms came the sounds of hissing ropes, moaning girls, laughing policewomen.
Petunia shook her head and ascended the stairs for the main estate. To mollify Constance, she'd suggested that it would look better if the constable could report that she'd “secured” the premises. And so it was being done. It would take every coil of rope they had but soon every girl in the place would be done up. Once Drummand's girls were gone, Petunia would putter around her vast estate, ignoring the moans emitting from every door. Perhaps around midnight she'd let one or two girls go, so they could work out who got freed and who didn't. Or maybe she'd just fall asleep in the huge library chair, a book of erotica open on her lap.
She climbed the stairs to the bedroom wing. Grinning in anticipation, she turned one doorknob and peeked in. With her grin widening to a predatory smile, she stepped inside.
Van, little Van, lay bound upon her bed, left there after Constance and Samantha, in full view of the staff, had trussed her up, the first to be lashed up. Wiggling and arguing hadn't worked against the hardened policewomen; Van had been stripped of her tattered maid's costume and tied hand and foot with a vengeance. Ropes crossed her belly and chest, locking up her legs which had then been pinched back into a cruel spine-arching hogtie. The poor girl lay along her belly, shoulders hooked back, her cloth gag noose-knotted with rope and haussered back to her pinkening wrists. It was unclear what had happened in the estate in Petunia's absence, but somehow Van had been involved with it, so Constance and Samantha felt she should suffer the punishment. Petunia agreed; not in any code-of-law sense, but just because Van looked so adorable done up like that.
“Really, Van," Petunia sighed, “your manni-ish girly-ness is charming. It sets you apart. Clever engineers are rare, but not that rare. Clever engineers in such a naughty, petite, devilishly cute, mop-headed, button-nosed, freckle-cheeked package are exceedingly rare.” She took a step forward and reached around Van's rope-clenched torso, locating and cupping her hot breasts. “And I must confess,” she purred, “when I see you bent over in your skintight riding pants with your head and shoulders buried in one of my machines-” She gently caressed her protege's erect nipples. “-I find the sight most entertaining.”
Van shivered in her bonds. “You stare at my bum?” she asked into her spit-soaking gag, allured at the idea of being a sex object.
“We all stare at your bum, you little flirt,” Petunia chuckled, understanding the muffled words perfectly. “I imagine after this little... stunt, your reputation as the Goldwaith Laboratory's cute little manni-girl will skyrocket.”
Van was finding it difficult to concentrate on her mentor's words. Petunia's fingers, on the other hand, had her full attention. "Please," she murfed, shuddering again, tugging on her wrist bonds.
Who knows where this might have gone had not the door suddenly burst open. There stood Constance, her eyes flashing like bolomuskets, her wine-colored hair puffed out like a hunting cat's. Behind her, Samantha tottered in full blush, clearly aroused by the many women she'd roped up this day.
“My report will read 'the entire house was secured',” Constance breathed as she slipped into the room, one booted foot at a time, her slender fingers loaded with ropes. “That means everyone. Even you, your Ladyship.”
Fortunately, the cruel gag-rope that locked Van's head back helped her to witness what took place next. Petunia was stripped and bound by the eager deputies of the law, lashed up with so many ropes that she was virtually mummified. Every cruel trick that the policewomen knew about bondage was employed; crotch knots, toe-ties, nipple-loops, reverse prayer, hog-tie and neck-to-knees. In the end, the Royal Scientist was little more than a quaking bundle on the floor, a short distance off but a million miles away given Van's own bindings. The poor mechanic could only twist and pull, seeking some freedom she'd overlooked. But the policewomen had known their business. Van wasn't going anywhere and neither was Petunia.
“That's the lot of them, chief,” Samantha husked, pinching her own nipples whenever chance allowed. “Should we... rough a few of them up?”
“No,” Constance allowed with unaccustomed whimsy, toeing the desperately mewing bundle at her feet. “We've got to catch the last train down to London. Get the girls together.” A last cruel smile. “Sleep tight, your Ladyship.”
“Mfffffph,” the cocoon that was Petunia managed. “...mmmmmmmm...” she added with a shudder in reaction to Constance's playful cruelty. Then the door closed and Van and Petunia were alone.
Petunia, in her web of ropes, came down off the first of her queued climaxes. The ropes were so tight around her – outside of her vulva, she couldn't move a muscle. She was enjoying her cruel captivity and hoping Van was too. But she hoped that Miss Anna, her head domestic, would come out of hiding and release them soon. Not too soon, but... eventually.
=< O >=
The only thing Anna was coming out of was her sanity. Locked up in steel coils, hanging face down and horizontal in a tight, she could only dangle like meat on a spit as the machines came up with new way to torment. Already she'd come so many times she'd lost track. And her generous nipples, ever-hard, throbbed from the pinching abuse they'd endured.
Was it day or night? Her hooded eyes couldn't tell, and the rest of her senses were occupied.
Something clicked around her big toes, pushing her feet forward. Then she heard the whir of brushes and the whiff of air displaced by tickle-bristles over her trembling soles. “No,” she glugged into the leather-locked ball that filled her mouth. “No, please.... No...”
The bristles throbbed against her flesh, back and forth, nearly masking the muffled sobs of laughter.
Anna would not be rescuing anyone soon.
=< O >=
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Tameran asked as she hunched in the shrubs under an estate window.
“Silence,” Otka hissed, all but lost in the gloom in her dark scarfs and skirt. “The police are gone. The rest of the household must have somehow gone. It is now night and not a single light is lit. Perhaps the manni we seek is tied up somewhere inside. We can find him and carry him off for... our purposes. And needs.” Otka fingered a nipple, perhaps in luck.
Tameran's face took on a practical air. “If nobody is there to disturb us, can we look around, perhaps find something to pinch.”
“I'm sure there are some hot items we can put our hands onto,” Otka agreed as she hooked a long bare leg over the sill and eased into the dark house...
The end
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28.11.12