Chapter 5: Packages
Petunia Goldwaith slowly awoke from pleasant dreams of bridled pleasures. She didn't open her eyes to meet the day, not yet. First, she stirred her arms and legs, somewhat disappointed to not find them tautly tied to the four posts of her huge soft bed. Sometimes the maids got frisky, a delightful distraction to start the day with.
But, sadly, no.
She rolled onto her side, sighing sweetly, thinking of yesterday and the strange crate that had arrived. Attached on it was a note from Kate, her darling niece (with the strange purple hair) who'd gone to the country for some form of advanced technical training. She was a gifted child (whose gift seem to entail strange powers of levitation, which had sparked Petunia's recent interest in the occult). Now, after a few months away, had come this wobble-screwed crate with its strange note.
Auntie, enclosed in this crate you will find a curious thing. The more you play with it, the more curious it becomes. I thought you might enjoy it. Love and kisses; Kate
The crate itself was an enigma, its locks welded shut but its screws about to fall out. Petunia, as mechanically-orientated as she was sexually-active, fetched a screwdriver and completed backing out the screws, breaking the crate open.
The crate's inside was the typical personnel transport arrangement, a shelflike stack of stocks that pinioned the squatting transportee by the neck/wrists, the waist/knees, and the ankles. At the sight of its cargo, Petunia had made an "Ohhhhh" of adoring approval.
The girl inside was cute as a button and naked as a jaybird. Her brown hair hung lank with sweat, her eyes blinked at the light. She smiled, flexed her fingers, wiggled her toes, and politely asked, "May I have a glass of water, please, Ma'am?"
Petunia had freed her from her stocks, gotten her a glass of water and a robe, then sent her off to the shower and kitchen to refresh herself. While the girl was away, she frowned at the letter, attempting to decode her troublesome niece's meaning.
"My name is Megan, Ma'am," the girl had said from doorway a short time later. She stood at polite attention, lost in a robe far too big for her, her wet hair neatly combed, her smile honest.
"And how did you end up in that box?" Petunia asked as she opened a drawer and began sorting though coils of ropes. Yes, some nice thick cords for this sweet little girl...
"Oh, Katie and the others, they jumped me. They wanted to go to the fair and I wouldn't let them because they hadn't applied themselves to their lessons. The next thing I knew, I was stripped and in that box. I'm ever so thankful you let me go."
Petunia smiled at the irony as she turned, coils of ropes in her hands. "Now, Megan, I'll need to make you secure while I figure what we are to do with you. Clearly my niece wishes you away for a bit, and I simply must respect the desires of family, mustn't I? Don't fret. I'll tie you up nice and sweet, and you can lay about for a few days."
Megan smiled sadly. "Ma'am, there is something I should tell you..."
"Don't make me gag those sweet little lips," Petunia chided with mock sternness. "Not yet, anyway. Now, be a dear and turn around."
Megan sighed and did as instructed. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation as each thick rope looped around her delicate wrists and slender torso. Petunia's bindings were a pure delight, snug and tender and filled with sensuous possibilities. She would be in heated ecstasy by now, if not for her curse...
Petunia had bidden her to sit on her bed and was just cording up her cute little ankles when her torso ropes sloughed off like a looper's effort (a looper was a woman who worried so much about hurting her captive, she tied too loose and the ropes all but fell away). Blushing in mortification, Petunia scowled up. "I cannot understand how that happened. I am ever so careful with my knots."
"If I might explain..."
"No explanation required. Please roll onto your belly, dear."
This was followed by a rather severe hogtie, knots authorativly placed, their loose ends tucked away from prying fingers. Yet scarcely had Petunia stood to slap her hands in dusting-off satisfaction when Megan's legs dropped down to the bed, her other ropes falling away like the rigging of a demasted frigate. Petunia frowned yet said nothing, crossing over to her special drawer where the thinnest rope was kept. She then proceeded to bind Megan up with great care, taking advantage of every anchor point her young body offered. The gentle swell of the elbows, the knob of the ankles, the concavity behind the knees, around all of these she sank her slim cords into, double and triple knotting each endpoint. She stood, brushing a ribbon of blonde hair from her eyes, watching. Mesmerized, she witnessed the knots unraveling as if worked by invisible fingers, the meticulous coils dropping away, one by one. Megan rolled onto her hip, smiling sadly.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm a witch, and that's my magic power. Also my curse. I cannot be bound. The ropes just fall away."
Petunia nodded, then rang the bell for the maids. They entered, five saucy little things in black with white lacings, giggling and girlish.
"This young lady," explained Petunia, "must be bound up most securely for the night. You may position her on the floor near my bed. All of my rope is available for your use." Smiling hard, she added, "Should she gain her freedom by tomorrow morning, I'll have Miss Anna warm all of your sit-upons."
The girls curtsied their understanding, then crossed to the rope-laden drawers and cupboards. Their mischievous fingers fetched out ropes and lines, cords and tethers, lanyards and lariats. And then, giggling between themselves, they swept around little Megan.
They coaxed her out of her robe (in case she was concealing some clever tool). Megan blushed at appearing naked before so many glimmering eyes and attempted to cover the more private parts with a casual hand, but these same hands were firmly grasped and pulled away. Slender fingers fell over her shoulders, coaxing her to her knees, then face down to the floor. Her attendants knelt about her, their short skirts riding up to expose strong legs and ripe bottoms. Whispering among themselves, they began to apply their bindings. Megan, face down amid this gathering heat, closed her eyes and focused on the wondrous sensations. Her wrists were bound fast behind her back, then bound again with ever-thicker ropes. Then her fingers were tied with cord, thumb-to-thumb, the others bound into flippers. Her feet were lifted and trussed neatly up, from crotch to toes, knotted and knotted and knotted yet again. No cute bow tied off her big toes, the duty fell to a cruel double knot.
While her mobility was being corded and trussed, so were her girlish charms and pinkish flesh. Ropes dove between her cheeks, tensing them into ruddy globes. Likewise her pert breasts were used to prevent any slippage. Clever cords pinched her nipples and bisected her moistened Venus lips, causing her to gasp in shuddering delight. And still the clever fingers danced. Lady Goldwaith's maids had thousands of hours of bondage (and hundreds of late night tie-up games) between them. They would not have found employment at Willie Hall had they not been so skillful and enthusiastic. And all this experience manifested itself in the physical restraint of the little brunette as she was literally buried in rope, cocooned in cordage.
When her body was totally trussed, they turned to her senses. Her ears were stopped with plugs and bandaged. Her eyes padded and wrapped away. Her mouth was packed full of cloth, then wrapped as well. Once her head was mummified, they followed it up with tight windings of rope, knotting them carefully.
Megan was now little more than a spool of mismatched ropes and cords. The only evidence of the girl within were the pink flashes of her heels and buttocks. But the maids were not done yet, oh no. Fetching candles, they dribbled wax on every knot, sealing them away. The entire process took some ninety minutes, and in the end, Megan had vanished into some sultry coiled womb.
Petunia looked down at the rope-webbed thing at her feet and felt a little sorry at the excess. Still, she had appearances to maintain; one couldn't have guests dashing about unbound. After dismissing the maids, she changed to her nightie. Stooping to tenderly kiss her encased prisoner atop her mummified head, she settled into bed, confident in her dominion over the poor country witch.
With her thoughts to the present morning, Petunia stretched in her bed, yawned, pulled herself up. It would take a while to untie the poor girl, who would likely need a laydown after such a night. Then she realized what she was seeing.
Megan, back in her robe, sat in a comfortable chair nearby. The yards and yards of ropes that had been used on her lay neatly coiled and organized.
"Once I was freed," she confessed with disarming honesty, "I thought I should tidy up. Your maids were ever so clever. It took hours for my magic to work me free."
Petunia sank back onto the bed, nodding, her mind whirling along several paths at once. "Yes, they are," she replied distractedly. Then everything clicked. Nodding to herself, she crossed to a card keyboard, pulled a stack from a holder slot, and flipped through it, nodding to herself. She removed several of the front cards, those with "Miss Anna" hand-written across their faces. Then she fed a few blank cards into the input tray and started typing. Megan watched her attentively, being ever so quiet as was proper.
Petunia eyed her once or twice as she typed. Then, on the third card, she looked up.
"So, my dear. If I might ask, how much to you weigh? And how tall are you?"
Megan was only too happy to fulfill such requests to the best of her abilities.
= < O > =
Sakujna swayed in her sari in the empty tube car as it rattled through the subterranean night, wondering what she was doing in this cold gray city.
She missed her mother and sisters back in Jodhpur. She'd missed the maidens' games amongst the high grass around their village. She missed the communal manni stable, with mounts always at the ready. Her life had been so pleasant, just sunshine and sexuality. But she'd taken employment in Miss Karen's house, whom she respected with an honesty earned though long hours in tight punishment ropes. So when Miss Karen had returned to London, she'd followed her like a dog on a leash. But she missed her home.
The railcar squealed to a stop, holding at a red signal. Sakujna sighed and leaned back, closing her dark doe-eyes, her sandaled feet primly together, her bindi mark flashing in the gas light. Would she ever get home this night?
A rattling scrape startled her and she fluttered open her dark eyes. She looked to see a great serpent edging into the car through a door that should have remained closed but had oddly granted it entry. With her breath catching in her throat, she looked closer. This thing was not a snake at all but some sort of tubelike affair of hooped canvas, a yard wide. A single glowing scanner-eye perched on its upper snout. The thing turned and seemed to notice her.
Sakujna shifted, her concerns mounting.
Suddenly there came a howl of wind. Instantly Sakujnas' sandals were sucked away, clattering across the floor to vanish into the great maw. Her sari flapped about her like an untrimmed sail, and with a start, she realized that the great wind was making her slip along the bench. The thing was like some great vacuum cleaner.
She managed to grip a grab-pole just as the suction increased. Clinging to it, she felt her sari pull away, top and bottom, vanishing into the dark circle. Her brown body flapped like a flag in the high wind. Even in this horrible danger, she blushed at being in only her bra and panties (French-cut, her tiny concession towards continental fashion). And then those, too, tore away. With the loss of her hairpins, her black hair cracked along her back. The vacuum was now such that her ears ached. Finally, in hopelessness, she let go. Following her clothing, she vanished into the circular opening, Alice down the rabbit hole.
There was a long moment of rushing darkness as she bumped along the tube's twists. Then, suddenly, her pace picked up as she entered a large clear tube, wide enough that she could swirl and spin as she was borne along. Occasional gyrations would cast her legs wide apart, or arch her spine in the most suggestive manner, or cause her dusky breasts to sway. And the wind itself tore across her nipples and whistled through her crotch, jangling her emotions. It was understandable she was frightened, yet she was also finding excitement in the sexual buffeting.
Offering further excitement were the scenes she flashed past. Women strapped on bunks. Women hanging from their heels, being lowered into holes. Women in track-mounted stocks, rolling down a long wall of evil white feathers. It was as if she were passing through the collective fantasies of every mechanized form of ravishment ever envisioned. And over this she swirled and rolled in her clear pipe, her nakedness visible to every one of the captives. More than once she noticed sets of eyes widen in interest over blunt leather gags, tracking her spiraling nudity.
Occasionally she would be held in bubble chambers where the winds swirled, contained, endlessly tumbling. It was as if she was being queued, as if in the line at the bank, delayed until she could be processed.
Then, suddenly, the pipe ended and she fell like a drip out of a faucet, dropping feet first. She was caught neatly by a canvas bag, a windsock affair with its open end upturned. With her arms down at her sides, her hips and shoulders jammed into the bag, making it flex downward on its support lines. This downward force snapped tight the lacings across its surface, as one would draw tight the laces of a boot. Still bobbing, the hanging sack began to move forward, its supporting cords fastened to some sort of overhead track affair.
Sakujna shook the hair out of her eyes and took greater notice of her surroundings. The sack had been constructed so her little brown feet were poking out the bottom. Through holes specifically placed, her buttocks, her vagina and her breasts were also exposed. She tried to struggle yet was as helpless as a worm in its cocoon.
Ahead of her, she noticed a line of women similarly bagged, slowly moving forward. Behind her, with a shrill cry, another woman was mailbagged into a sack.
She thought back to her comparison to the bank queue. They were being processed. They were some sort of raw product for a vast machine she could not imagine.
Sakujna quite missed what happened to the woman in front of her, still distracted by the off-putting feeling of hanging like sexual meat with her most tender places exposed. Suddenly she advanced, finding herself amidst an array of probe arms. Strange rubber caps with trailing wires were popped onto her forehead and on the sides of her neck. She could only watch, mesmerized, as the arms moved in, their pinchers extending inevitably towards the private places ordinarily reserved for her mistress.
They began to touch her, brushing caresses, gnawing pinches, doing the things Miss Karen did to her those nights she was fitfully bound in the white woman's suite. Familiar sensations flooded her in the midst of this unfamiliar setting. Sakujna moaned, her dark eyes screwing shut. Such sensations, Sakujna knew, were the reason she'd followed Miss Karen to London. It was important to her, critically important, that she be basely used as a sexual plaything.
Below her pink-bottomed feet, feathers whirled. She hated to be tickled. Her sisters had always done such to her, and she'd hated it then. She demanded that Miss Karen not do it but sometimes a gag would stifle such demands. Unable to shift or defend herself, she frantically peddled her feet.
Helpless, she squealed and panted and cried and shouted as the machines worked her over. Tipping her head back in disturbed denial, she noticed that the wires from her cups ran to a machine that rattled like a typewriter, entering data into a series of punch cards.
It's categorizing me, she realized. It's recording my passions and preferences. But why...?
She decided that she didn't care since the investigations where heating her up. Her pussy smoldered from the mechanical probings, the tender strokes and prodding intrusions. A paddle cracked across her ass and she yipped, not sure if she enjoyed it or not. Overhead, the data recorder noted her response and entered its observations.
Then, right when she was boiling over, right before she could lean her head back into the pillow of her flowing black hair and scream in gratitude, the molesting arms retracted and she was carried onwards. She cried out in frustration, cursing back at the machines who'd toyed her to her brink, her lusts denied, her passions unspent. Behind her, another woman rocked in her sacking as the extenders began to work her over. Sakujna felt jealous at this.
They were carried towards a passageway whose floor was lined with wide holes. As she bobbed over the first, Sakujna looked down past her milling toes into its tin-sheathed, bottomless interior. Something was written around the edge of this curious pit. She shook tangled hair out of her eyes and peered closer.
"Feet: Sensitive / Breasts: Sensitive / Pain: Favorable / Orgasm quotient: High"
The sack of the woman immediately ahead of her was opened, its lacing whipped away, and the poor captive fell into her hole, her cries echoing away. As Sakujna passed over it, she could faintly hear the girl still sliding.
More holes drifted past with derivations of the various ratings. Sakujna realized that they were being sorted based on their tastes and desires. She could only wonder which hole would be hers. Where would she be deposited? And what would happen to her then?
She felt her passions swell within her gap-thrust breasts as she imagined the things she would love to happen. What would the hole assigned to her bring her? Having had a taste of automated ravishment, she found herself hungering for more. What would it be like to be strapped up and belted down as these inhuman devices picked over her, touching her in that magical way only Miss Karen knew? What would it be like to face every waking hour in bondage, her sex open to these sinister mechanisms?
In those last few days in Jodhpur, before she'd departed for London, her sisters had tricked her onto a sandy river spit of sand. There, they'd pegged her shamefully naked and lustfully opened, then played with her (in teams) over the next three days. What a glorious send off that had been, the wrench and shudder before their pinches and licks, to know that soon as she pushed out an orgasm, her clever sisters would start working on the next. Would this captivity be anything like that?
She prayed to her gods it would be.
But what if, she realized with an iciness that had nothing to do with her sweaty confinement, the machines existed to torment her? What if they'd learned of her fear of feet tickling? What if she ended up strapped down, gagged, mute and helpless? What would she do when feather-bearing mechanisms hove over her taunt soles? How long before she went mad from the niggling torment of the feather's tip?
Oh, please, not that.
She pulled herself from her lusts and fears to realize she was alone. Where there had been frightened captured women, now there was nothing save empty carry-sacks. All the others had dropped. There were only a few holes left, holes, Sakujna realized, for the specialized and the depraved. Was that true of her? She'd always considered herself rather normal and had always done her best to pleasure Miss Karen. Why had she been sorted out in this manner?
Ahead was the end of the line. A final hole remained. Was this her destiny? She stopped, gently rocking. Down past her clenched toes, she saw the single-word inscription.
"Indian"
Before she would question the meaning of this differentiation, the laces zipped away and she was dumped from her sack, sliding down a seemingly endless slide, carried towards a fate she could simply not imagine.
11.12.09
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 6: The Mission
o0o