Gai-Shift - Thermocline Chapter 2: Weapons of Mass Depravity

by Rohana

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© Copyright 2011 - Rohana - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+/f+; latex; bond; rope; gag; tease; torment; machine; insert; bagged; toys; tickle; denial; reluct/cons; X

(story continues from )

Chapter 2: Weapons of Mass Depravity

Her clothing was at odds with her surroundings. The black latex bodysuit which displayed her body's lusty contours contrasted to the heavy Victorian furnishings of the locked, curtained room. The only sound came from her rasping breathing and the tick of an oak-cased clock, counting down the seconds until the promised moment she would be unmercifully ravaged.

There was nothing Captain Zana Hoffsteder could do. She could not stop time. She could not re-zip her suit up, covering her breasts that had been so immodestly exposed to the forthcoming grope. She could do none of these things. Strong ropes lashed her wrists to the high bedposts. Her booted feet were locked together and lashed to the footboard. A thick white gag prevented any desperate cries for assistance.

Behind her nose-clip wireframes, the Captain's sky-blue eyes watched as the clock's hands moved towards the threatened hour. She pulled at her ropes and achieved nothing more than a squeak from her rubberized airship suit. She shook her head, fanning out her wavy jet hair. She moaned against her gag, the roiling agitation absorbed by the room's soundproofing.

She was going to be molested, and molested good.

Down in the dark crotch of her suit, her pussy smoldered like a newborn star in a masking nebula.

She grunted into her gag, raising her hips.

Now. NOW. NOW!

Her heart leapt as the doorknob rattled and the door swung open.

She’s early! Thank the surly bonds of earth!

Though the door stepped a muscular blonde woman, her bangs severed, her stance what had once been termed 'man-like'. The newcomer paused in the doorway, not out of surprise but simply in appreciation. Then she knelt and began untrussing the long rubber-clad legs.

“My Captain, forgive me for interrupting your shore leave. There has been an attack on the Queen's Barge in the Thames River. While her Majesty is safe, an unidentified noblewoman has been kidnapped. We've been ordered to scramble the Unbound Pleasure.” While Zana used her just-freed hand to pull away her gag, Petra looked at the bobbing breasts positioned so handily, the nipples conveying the state of their owner's surging emotions. “I could finish you off quickly if it would help.”

“No time,” Zana sighed, coming to her booted feet, zipping up her front. With her XO tight behind her vinyl-packaged tidy ass, they passed from the room. In the room beyond, Zana's hostess sat rudely bound to a chair, her fine clothing bunched from the cruel ropes, her mouth gagged with her own panties. The woman moaned at the vision of her paying prisoner, slender and sleek, striding out of her apartment and out of her control. She moaned in frustration as she'd been looking forward to what was to come as much as Zana had.

As for Zana, she knew duty called. But it would be nice if, just once, it could be gagged.

=< O >=

“A great crime, and act of piracy, had taken place in our home waters, in the very center of our capital.”

Captain Zana Hoffsteder paced the deck like a black chess queen, looking to each of her crewwomen. But this was not the ship's entire complement; just five.

“Your role will be critical to our success. We've not had time to take aboard professional climatrixes to supply our orgasium. Second Officer Petra has chosen you as our propulsion team, to give it your all. You will be run hard over the next few days as we pursue these pirates but I'm sure you will cum to the call of duty.”

While the speech was stirring, none of the five nude women could cheer. Three were lightly cuffed, muffled and housed in sleep boxes, elixir already coursing through their systems. Another was locked in the observation stage, surrounded by mirrored vision tubes displaying every aspect of the torment about to befall the lead girl. And that woman, a most randy slut in Petra's knowing estimation, lay spread-eagled on the extraction stage, the dildos spinning up, the feathers slipping into position. Over her wide leather gag, fearful eyes tracked the movement of each gentle claw, the flex of each mechanized pincher, She tugged at her wrists, conscious of the strange lingering burn of elixir in her blood, her gathering passions. She lifted her hips, thrusting upwards, coupling with nothing but woman-scented air. She sought the cooling relief of climax, but climax would be two long soul-wrenching hours off.

The fact she knew this made her hotter yet.

“Commence extraction,” Hoffsteder ordered.

Petra threw a level. A low moan rose from the woman locked to her stage as robotic hands began to pinch her rising nipples, her belly resounding from the slap of a leather strap just painful enough to be erotic. She pulled at her bonds, more for the sensation, her hips shifting back and forth, her pussy already carrying a telltale gleam. Feathers began to lick at her heels. Rubberized hands stroked her neck, her ears, her cheeks. Her grunts became more insistent yet the machines paid it no mind. They were content to collect sexual data on her, to work her slow and easy until they could play her like a fiddle and make her squeal. Every ten hours over the days to follow, she would be theirs again.

Back in the observation stage, the buckled-fast woman watched the ravaging of her counterpart, knowing she would be next. Already, her heart was beating ever faster, pushing the elixir it carried further through her system. She simply could not turn away from the live pornographic images before her.

The captain and second officer slid easily down the ladder, departing the airship's envelope for its gondola. Zana tossed open an occasional cabin door to inspect black-sheathed crewwoman, secured as per off-duty regulations. In one-such room an indigo-suited captive lay spread-eagled on her bunk, the tight ropes squeaking around her desperate wrists and ankles, her face masked by a high-altitude hood which had been laced into place. The only bits of her exposed were her desperately blinking eyes and her misted sex, the later accessed through a clever suit flap neatly buttoned back. Over her, another latexed woman sat close, a huge purple dildo in her hand.

“Just testing airwoman Arlene for turbulence stability, Captain.”

“Very good. Carry on, Jenkins.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

“Mfff! MMMmmmmmMmmmm...”

Captain Hoffsteder continued to the bridge. Over her shoulder she noted, “You've done well, Petra. Everything and everyone seems shipshape. Active hands are working, idle hands are bound, as it should be.”

“Thank you, Captain. While I believe all sisters are equals, some are more equal than others. No woman should be a master, all should be masturbated.”

Zana allowed herself a smile. “You and your sexual socialism.”

“Captain on the bridge,” a crewmember shouted.

Beyond the bridge windows lay the Thames Estuary three thousand feet down, the waters as purple in the coming dusk as an inadvertent bruise from an enthusiastic paddling.

“The misguided anti-royalist vessel which attacked the Royal Barge,” Petra noted, “was determined to be some sort of steam-powered undersea craft. That being the case, they will have to vent heat through their snorkel lest it grow hotter than revolutionary zeal amongst the bound and oppressed. We'll search overnight even though I doubt we will spot them. With the dawn, our chances rise.”

“Very good. Now, I'd like to meet with these soldiers who the Queen dumped on us.”

“Yes, my Captain.”

Petra led the sveltely sheathed captain to the aft storage area. As they entered a lanky woman came to attention, her ramrod straight and equally slender torso garbed in a dark blue tunic with gold buttons and rigging. In place of slacks, she wore shorts tight enough to be panties. Beneath her high shako, her blonde hair had been closely cropped yet long bead-braided lengths fell forward her ears. She had a sharp nose and sharper eyes. A gloved hand touched her hat-brim.

“Sergeant Featherthrust of the Marylebone Lancers,” she said in profession introduction, nodding as the airshipwomen introduced themselves. But Captain Hoffsteder's eyes were on the curious rack that stood along the wall behind the rangy sergeant. It consisted of five woman-shaped leather containment sacks, buckled and belted in place. Tubes and wires ran from various hard points (making them even harder, of course). Before each sack lay a full uniform, placed for easy donning. It was only when Zana squinted her bright blue eyes and looked close that she detected the trembling coming from each belt-looped form.

“Ah,” Featherthrust exclaimed, catching the airship captain's curiosity. “My five lancers are within their storage sacks. These sacks are cilia lined, a trickle charge stimulating their captive bodies in every sexual way possible. A feed force-drips elixir onto their tongues. Into their ears are pumped recordings of Adara Burke’s Pit Pornography, a personal experience, read by Olivia Hammersmith.”

Zana nodded. She’d listened to these same recordings. It had turned her flightsuit into a flightsweat. Very… stimulating.

Petra ran a curious finger along a belted quaking form. “And they are lancers because of the weapons they use?”

Featherthrust shook her head. “No, because of the devices currently shoved into their…”

“Why do this?” Zana asked, her breath coming quickly at the sight of five hyperstimulated soldiers. “Why torment your own women?”

“Rest assured, when I pull the release wire which unbuckles all their belts, they will spill onto the deck, sweaty berserkers all. They will instinctively don their uniforms and grab up their bolomuskets. Then they will attack whomever I point to. The subject of their attack will find themselves harshly and totally trussed, stripped, and likely ravaged in short order.” She patted a leather-encased shoulder. “These are the ultimate WMDs, ‘Weapons of Mass Depravity’.” But her bronze eyes looked to Captain Hoffsteder with a concerned cast. “I will only deploy on your orders, Ma’am. But be advised, once these ‘cats of war’ are released, I cannot control them. Only give the deployment order when you are certain.”

Zana nodded. With great power came great opportunity… er, responsibility. She wondered what it would be like, stripped raw-naked, slid into a sack with probes shoved into every orifice. Then the sensation as Featherthrust's strong hands yanked each buckle home, pulling the confining sack every tighter around her sweat-prickled body. Timeless frustration would follow, the whispers of erotica in her ears, the distant buzz of a vibrator, the gentle tickle of electrical charge across her titties. Unable to move, unable to react, her blood hot with elixir, she'd simmer in her juices, mad with lust. She could well image how after being locked in this womb of passion she'd erupt like some mad woman-thing, seaking flesh of any gender to bind, to use, to nibble and nip.

Zana shuddered, tearing her eyes away from the sack-locked women, tearing her thoughts away from her craving lusts. This was not the time for that sort of thing, dammit.

The two airship officers returned to the bridge. Night had fallen now, the Unbound Pleasure throbbing its way out over the channel, pushed on an irregular thrust which increased until reaching over-powered crescendo every two hours, then dropping as a new girl was locked into the extraction stage. The propulsion girls were raw at their task, clearly not trained climatrixes, so their output was irregular.

And so began the long hunt. Hours dragged on the silent bridge. At midnight, there was the quiet shuffle as crew were released from their bunks to go on-duty, their first task to truss up those going off. Petra and Zana took turns watching the moonlit waves for any sign of the submersible’s presence. When sleepiness overtook them, they would retire to the aft quarters, to find a little hardbound crewmember, to toy and agitated her until her desperate tongue would lap anything brought before it. Refreshed, the rejuvenated officers would return to the bridge.

Dawn found them far out over the North Sea. Given the Viking costumes of the invaders, they’d cast out towards Norway. Zana was just thinking of that pretty redhead who’d lapped her alert some hours before. No doubt the little darling would still be agitated, what with that slow-spin clockwork dildo Zana had left her to sexually ingest. Perhaps a quick freshening up was in order…

“Two o’clock low,” Petra noted. “There. See? Not a whale. Steam.”

Zana’s sharp blue eyes noted the tiny telltale plume of hot exhaust (which oddly reminded her of her own now-unresolvable passions – the redhead would have to wait). She relieved the girl at the ship’s wheel, feeling the wondrously powerful thrust of her airship resonate through her latex-sheathed fingertips. Then she flipped the ‘action stations’ alarm which would see those bound in staterooms stowed away, and those who were toying with them attending to their actual jobs. No time for play now. The enemy was in sight.

She pushed the multi-throttles forward, forcing the airship into a shuddering descent, angling around behind the submersible’s plume. Now she could see its fish-like shape, dark against the darker depths. Through the speaker tube she called, “Sergeant Featherthrust, stand by!” But to capture the sub, she had to force it to the surface. But how? How?

Heavy shipsuited breasts pressed into her back, strong fingers on her shoulders.

“I had an idea, my Captain,” Petra breathed into her ear. “Dangerous, dubious, only for the true of heart. I shall undertake it with your blessing.” And then she whispered her plan. Zana began to protest but insistent gloved fingers clamped over her mouth. Only when Petra had her complience did she remove her hand gag.

Zana licked her lips. “You be careful, Second officer Petra. Otherwise I’ll have you laced up in my cabin, spread eagle against the wall, and enact all manner of disciplines against you.”

“You tempt me to failure,” the burly Russian smiled. “But I shall succeed, to accommodations and personal recognitions of my tender zones.” With that the XO dashed from the bridge. Hoffsteder watched the muscular buttocks trapped within the black shipsuit with misgivings. Her plan was madness.

But it was all they had.

With resolve, she piloted the Unbound Pleasure closer to the telltale plume, easing into position…

20.12.11

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