Chapter 6: The Mission
The three women waited on the edge of their seats for the briefing to begin. Literally. They'd been stripped and tied neatly to high backed chairs in Willie Hall's ornate wood-paneled dining room, erect in posture but totally lacking in clothing. Olivia Hammersmith, Kyoko and Sybil had been trussed up with yards of ropes, centered and symmetrical in their huge chairs, anchorlines holding them at solid attention. So intense was their bondage that thin cording cinched their thumbs and locked down their toes in orderly rows of piggies. Across their pursed lips were wide leather gags adorned with the Goldwaith coat of arms.
The fourth girl, Megan, lay on the floor, naked save for the ensnarling coils of ropes. The three seated women could not help but notice that every five minutes or so, her bonds would begin to slacken. Immediately, the chrome fingers of two MI claws would swing down from the ceiling and retruss her into another position. Over and over, the poor girl was forced into some new form of tight and total bondage, a Sisyphusian existence of wrenching ropes, straining limbs, and trickling sweat.
Stationed along the back wall stood several maids in short black dresses highlighted with lacy silk. Once they'd trussed the three to their chairs, they'd retired to their stations.
Time passed with little activity save Megan's groans as she was winched into a tight hogtie, the machines reprogrammed to watch her carefully, to retie her the moment she began to slip her bonds.
Into this tightly tense room strolled Lady Petunia Goldwaith, her golden gown's diving neckline showing off her attributes to good effect, her tiny boots whisping against her hemline. She stepped to the head end of the room before her very captive audience, shook back her golden locks from her angelic face and beamed a hundred-candlepower smile.
"Greetings, ladies. I've had you brought here today to serve Her Majesty and England in a desperate mission. It's very dangerous; every team preceding yours has been lost. If you fail, you can look forward to a future of tight ropes, methodical bindings, constant caresses, humiliating servicings, and orgasms that will shake you to your very soul. So its not all bad."
She looked over the four gagged faces as if waiting for questions. Unsurprisingly none came. She continued.
"The Pit. We know that beneath the streets of London a vast network of self-replicating mechanicals have taken root. It originated from research in my own laboratories, the combinations of two projects: Orgasium refining and MI binding programming.
"Orgasium, as you know, is the result an elixir of my own creation, one that delays female orgasms for hours. When a well-deserved climax is finally achieved, a few drops of Orgasium are produced. This solution is very volatile and can be used as a boiler additive to increase steam engine output tenfold. I can personally relate that when under the elixir's influence, when tied down and molested by a clever partner, there is no greater sensation of... craving... in the world. You'd sell your soul for that climax.
"More widely known are our MI, or Mechanical Intelligence, programs. I wrote the first one as a... prank... against my governess, but it proved so successful we refined it with feedback loops and learning capacities. With our programs, household MIs can now bind up their mistresses and keep them secure for as long as instructed. The days of lonely women lying in bed, fantasizing of partners to keep them trussed and treated, are a thing of the past.
"We're not totally sure how the Pit took shape. We were working both projects on our laboratory computers so there might have been some corruption there. We also linked to the computers of the nearby precinct house for additional capacity and had to kludge around some interface issues. After that, we started seeing... strange things. Some of our extraction processing tracks were extended into deeper caverns and nobody could figure who'd ordered it. Girls began to go missing. All this wasn't helped by the courts occasionally feeding some of their defendants directly into the Pit beneath the station house. Now women are being snatched up every day, to be returned a month or so later, sexually tapped out and groggy.
"The team proceeding yours was lead by my dear, dear Rani." At this, Petunia pulled away a sheet draped over an easel, revealing a blown up photo. In it, a delicate Indian girl frowned over her straining shoulder at the viewer, locked in a hogtie. Her naked flesh was crosshatched by orderly loops of ropes, the knots neatly placed, their ends tucked away. A wide white gag pinned her lower face but even mute, her flashing eyes spoke volumes of annoyance. She looked like the sort of woman who would suffer her bonds stoically, all the while plotting her captor's future binding, usage, and endlessly roped humiliation.
From Sybil came a moan of frustrated recognition.
"Rani, shown here in a employee performance review, was selected to lead the last mission because of her level-headed nature. She was the best candidate available." At this, Sybil began to bark into her gag, shaking her head, clearly still annoyed at getting passed over for that leadership slot. Petunia smiled as if receiving a pleasantry rather than muffed profanity. Then she nodded to a nearby maid. The girl slipped over to the struggling Sybil, leaned gracefully over her shoulder and seated two clothespins, one after the other, onto the ex-angel's nipples. In pain and eroticism, Sybil tipped her head back and moaned, her protests derailed. Bound tightly erect, she could only roll her head before the waves of delicious pain.
"As I was saying," Petunia continued, ignoring the swaying heaves of her shuddering ex-employee, "Rani was the best, yet she never came back. Eventually her team was returned to us. She is one of the few the Pit has retained." She looked over her captive audience. "And that brings us to your expedition. You four will be tasked with penetrating the Pit. You have several goals. One: Gather as much intel as you can about the Pit; workings, layout, vulnerabilities. Two: Recover Rani and return her to me for debriefing. Three: Don't get caught and molested to the point of insanity.
"Now, as you are so quietly modest, let me introduce you to one another." She gestured to the oldest woman of the group, a mid-thirties damsel with bunned brown hair and striking gray eyes. "Olivia Hammersmith, diplomat and late Ambassador to Greater Japan. Currently in disgrace due to her role in the 'Japanese Crisis'. She will be the team leader. Also, if the Pit proves to be sentient, upon her freckled shoulders will fall the role of negotiator."
Even suffering clamping flashes of sensuality, Sybil grunted her objections, clearly furious at getting passed over a second time. The maid who'd clamped her smiled and again leaned forward over the chair-bound woman's skinny shoulder, her gloved fingertips lightly tickling the woman's moist pussy. Sybil, still clamped and now receiving a forced yet tender molestation, shook her head angrily. Her cute attendant simply cooed into her ear, whispering sweet promises best left to the reader's darkest fantasies.
"The lady with short spiky hair and discipline issues is a former employee of mine, known as Sybil, a.k.a. the 'Knightsbridge Angel'. Yes, she was the one who flew about London on experimental wings, tying up women, spraying them with my elixir and feathering them into frustrated frenzy. She even used me while I lay bound, toying me with feathers here and here and even here..." Petunia gestured with languid motions to the various points of interest on her shapely body, to the short-breathed edification of the party and the quiet moans of her flustered staff. "She stole from me, molested me into great discomfort, strapped Rani into a horrible masturbation machine that I'm still experimenting with, and was sentenced for her naughtiness to the Pit. She is the only woman I'd think twice about being tied up by. But she trained for a Pit expedition, has personal and carnal knowledge of it, and knows MI punch card programming. She will serve as the party's guide."
It was difficult to determine if Sybil heard her assignment, panting as she was over her wide gag at the deliberate strokes of her attendant maid. The dark woman's only reaction to the news was a sudden long shudder.
"I'll take that as acceptance," Petunia mocked. Then she nodded a dimpled chin to a willowy yet beautiful oriental woman, bound by grace as much as by ropes to the chair next to Olivia. "This delightful eastern treat is Kyoko. Her beauty is deceiving for she is a White Orchid, a warrior trained in the fine arts of combat bondage. She does not speak English but serves as Miss Hammersmith's aide and protector. Her role will be to provide security for your group. I can only suggest that if you wish to become totally tied up in the most humiliating, muscle-straining bondage you can imagine, simply cross paths with her."
With that, she looked down to the poor little brunette who was even now being trussed into a ruthless balltie by her overwatching MIs, her toes fluttering, her eyes half-closed. "And this wonderful little lady is Megan, Chief Witch to the village of Sheepish. She has an extraordinary power that you've likely all noticed. She can use her magic to get herself, or anyone near her, untied. It's quite fascinating to watch; I could do it all day. I had to program my MI's to keep tying her up over and over lest she get free and maybe start dusting or something."
At this point Olivia raised a question, nodding to herself with a finely chiseled chin. Petunia, likely experienced at deciphering the muffled words of gagged guests, nodded.
"That's a very good question, Miss Hammersmith. Yes, Megan could untie you from where she's laying. I gather that she simply doesn't wish to, do you, my dear?" Petunia smiled sweetly into Megan's guilty blush. "I can only agree with her. You three women look splendid in your ropes. If not for the urgency of this mission, I might consider entertaining you further." With that, she threw a heavy sigh, making her bosom rock in hypnotic undulations. "But, no, duty calls - if only I could gag it. Tonight you all shall be carried to your rooms, to be massaged and comforted, equipped and readied. Tomorrow you will enter the Pit. You will allow yourselves to be captured and transported inside. Once there, Megan should be able to magic you free. At that point, you must descend as quickly as possible to the Pit's lower levels since the upper ones are covered with all manner of traps and trussbots. After all, the Pit expects all intrusions to come from above. Likely it has nothing patrolling its deeper reaches, which should permit you safe passage. So that's it, ladies. Reconnoiter the Pit. Recover Rani. Return home. If you win through, I'll see you personally rewarded." Her Ladyship's eyes dilated before her private thoughts. "Personally."
=< O >=
The station-mistress of Bond Street tube station looked up from her tabloid at the sharp rap on her glass. A constable stood before her booth, a sharp-faced redhead with no-nonsense green eyes. In her hand was a Royal Order.
"The women behind me are granted access rights to your track and tunnels. We require you to be discrete about this," she stated brusquely. The station-mistress leaned to one side to see those indicated.
It was a foursome of women. Two of them, one calmly competent, the other skinny and spiky, wore lightweight khakis with sandals. A younger girl in their company was garbed a midnight blue jumper. And behind them, a flower of the Orient, swathed in a flowing white robe. This visage, so unexpected, toggled a tabloid memory in the station-mistress's mind. She swung her hard eyes back to one of the khakis, the brown-haired one with the gray eyes, her pulse quickening in excitement.
"Say, aren't you that diplomat? The one in the crisis? The one who got herself all corded up by that cute strumpet? It must have been so thrilling! I poured over all those pictures of you they printed up. You were tied up ever so tight, with all those ropes placed through your tender womanly places. We're you kept roped all night like that? Did she force herself on you? Did you shudder climaxes in the lonely darkness?" Her throat nearly closed in excitement. "Might you, well, show me what it was like? You could, you know, come by some night and show me those symmetrical pattern ties? I wouldn't object. In fact, you could do with me anything you'd like - it'd only be fair, right? What's the harm?" Her breath was coming faster. "All night, just like what happened to you. So I could understand your experience. In the name of... international studies, right?" Her voice ranged towards desperation. "You could make me as tight as you'd care to. I won't so much as peep."
The constable shook her head. "I said discrete! Samantha, book her - conduct unbecoming a gentlewoman." With that, the booth's door opened and another copper entered, a sunny blonde with a carefree smile. The station-mistress' heart thumped as she saw the rope coming out of the girl's side bag. Numbly, she allowed herself to be turned, to have her hands collected behind her back. Her breath caught as snug ropes fell around her wrists, tightening up just right. She rose on tiptoe, entranced with the sensations wrapping around her.
"You have a right to a gag," the blonde told her melodiously. "You also have a right to an attorney, one who can purposely lose your trial if she'd rather see you punished. All attendees of your trial have a right to see you naked and hung inverted, and to speculate openly to your punishment. Furthermore, the Judge-Mistresses have the right to consider said speculations during your sentencing. And finally, the police maintain a right to tease, tickle, and otherwise molest any and all areas of your body. Do you understand all this?"
The station mistress felt the ropes going around her torso, above and below her large breasts, tightening like amorous constrictors around her flesh, drawing her into a tight singularity of expectant female passion. It had been ever so long since she'd last been arrested. It was frightening in a sexually explosive sort of way. She swayed was the ropes cinched even tighter, forcing the breath from her quickening lungs. The officer behind her leaned in close, her breath so sweet and heated. Down between them, someone's hand groped someone's ass.
"You understand, cupcake?"
She could only nod. A moment later, a ballgag was hauled between her teeth, insuring her silence.
She could only sway in the firm grip of her blonde captor, listening as the redhead insured that the other station workers could keep the tube traffic flowing. Through drooping eyes, she dreamily watched as the mysterious foursome, her beloved diplomat included, edged along the walkway into the southbound tunnel, disappearing into the darkness.
23.12.09
story continues in Gai Shift - Pit 7: Evaluation
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