Episode XI
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Doralea followed the older woman out of the darkened room and into the blue-lit hall.
The linen drape was gathered with fullness on the cord crossing the woman's back, her black hair loosely bound with a wide leather band laced with a thin thong.
The light changed from blue, coloring the linen to a warm buff. As the loose garment hung, it displayed the curves moving beneath it. The cloth was so thin that, where it touched the woman, it was a second skin, translucent -- where it hung free it draped into classic dramatic folds, reminding Doralea of Greek sculpture -- except it moved, revealing and concealing by turns.
Doralea was entranced, moving quickly along the hall, paying no attention to where they were, what turns they took. She almost ran into her guide when the woman suddenly pulled up short. Doralea was not sure when the light had changed to a rich red.
"You walk in front. I want to watch you."
Doralea hesitated, confused. The woman's sweeping gesture would have spilled her large breasts out of the linen, had they not been cinched so tightly. As it was, the vertical slit in the bodice-front gaped open enticingly, but actually revealed very little in the shadows.
"You walk before. I will guide you, will tell you when to turn."
Doralea stepped past the woman and continued down the hall.
"Turn left"
Doralea could hear the slap of the sandals with each firm, deliberate step. She wondered what the woman was thinking, what she was seeing while she watched her walk.
"Stop."
Doralea waited beside a door labeled on the jamb with a vertical row of Japanese characters.
"Turn around. Face me. "
She turned to see the woman energetic, flushed.
The woman knocked at the door. It was opened by a lovely Japanese woman, fine black hair with bangs cut straight over her eyebrows. Her nearly flat chest was hidden invitingly by the loosely open front of her unsashed kimono The kimono was decorated on the back with a golden dragon embroidered onto the red silk, quilted with a black and olivine bamboo stem-and-leaf pattern.
"I will require two of your long bamboo."
The Japanese woman glanced at Doralea with a faint smile and retreated, leaving the door ajar. From inside the room drifted the smell of a heavy incense, the steady cascades of chimes and the light sound of easy laughter.
The woman returned quickly, stepping out to hand the older woman two staves, each about four millimeters wide and two and a half meters long. With a broad smile, she quickly turned and disappeared into the smokey room, closing the door.
The dark-haired woman took one length of bamboo in each hand, cradled one end in each arm-pit. She laid the staves on the outside of each of Doralea's thighs.
"Walk now, backwards. I will guide you, Doralea. Trust me."
Doralea took a tentative step backwards, turning her head to the side to guide her footfall. The woman smacked the bamboo hard on her thigh.
"I will guide you, Doralea. Trust me."
The sternness in the woman's voice, the sting of the bamboo, the firmness with which the bamboo now pressed her thigh, convinced Doralea.
"Look at me. Into my eyes. It will be easy. Just relax, Doralea. Trust me."
The woman's voice was soothing and Doralea started to walk, stepping gingerly backward. As she stepped, the woman slid the bamboo staff down her leg, guiding the foot to a perfect landing.
Each step became easier as Doralea placed greater confidence in the woman. As she relaxed, her eyes wandered over the woman's form, exquisite in its mature fullness. With each step a smooth, sandal- bound leg parted the frontal slit.
Doralea found herself eagerly seeking the promised flash of the puffy, pink cunt-lips, shrouded by the stiff black hair foresting her mound. Ample breasts strained against the linen, stretching the thin fabric to hug the entire front of the soft mounds, so that the nipples stood out from the areolas, now visible, dark within the pleating.
As Doralea was fascinated by the vision of the woman, no less so was the woman of Doralea's walking backwards, harness-vised breasts swaying, slick pussy-mouth opening and closing with each step.
As she gave way to the trust building in the woman's guidance, Doralea found it easier to walk this way and was, therefore, only mildly surprised at the ease with which she negotiated the steps which rose behind her.
The black-haired woman licked her lust-dried lips as she watched Doralea ascend above her.
They moved down a hall, sumptuous and lit by candles held enwrapped in the tongues of lion's-head sconces.
The woman halted abruptly.
"Stop. Stand."
She handed Doralea the staves, one to each hand.
Doralea held them and watched the woman open the door to a large pantry or dumbwaiter between two of the sconces.
"Turn around."
Doralea obeyed the woman's barked order. She felt the woman reach over her head, but was surprised when the woman suddenly pulled a fat, hard, leather covered rod into her mouth and buckled it tight at the base of her skull -- a large bit-gag.
Doralea could breathe through her nose, but could do little more than feel the leather bit with her tongue. The woman behind her laid a hand on each of Doralea's hips and, stepping around to stand behind her, turned her to face the pantry.
It was a small closet, shallow and narrow; the door was ten to twelve millimeters off the floor.
"Step in, my dear."
As Doralea stepped up into the pantry, the woman assisted her. As soon as she found her footing, the woman clipped each of Doralea's wrists to the sides of the enclosure.
She stepped up and her large, linen covered bosom pressed into Doralea's back, mashing her tits and belly into the smooth back wall of the pantry. The woman attached the ends of the gag into some kind of channels on the sides of the pantry.
Then she stepped out and down.
Doralea could not turn her head, the smooth black cloth-covered walls were all she could see.
She heard a chain riding over a sprocket, and realized, with alarm, that the bit was being slowly, but inexorably, drawn upward and into a small box set high on the wall. Her head was pulled away from her shoulders, her neck stretching to its limit, her spine straightening with the tension and, finally, her heels leaving the floor.
Then the sound, and the movement stopped.
Doralea hung for a time in dark silence, suspended from her mouth, pressed firmly against the back wall of this surprising pantry.
She could see nothing, but felt relief when she heard movement behind her. She assumed it was the dark-haired woman. She awaited the blows, or the caresses.
Instead, the doors of the pantry swing shut and Doralea heard the bolt thrown.
She was sandwiched, tightly now, between the doors and the back wall.
She hung for quite a while in the dark, before noticing that her relaxed spine had been stretched so that her heels were now on the floor.
She heard a scurry of activity in the hall behind her. Suddenly, a draft of air cooled her butt as a small sliding door was opened at her ass-height. The pressure against her cheek-globes was relieved.
She realized that, from the hall, her ass now protruded, completely revealed, isolated - indeed framed - by the opening in the pantry door. Her heart beat loudly in her ears.
The total vulnerability of her position crystallized in her mind. She had told no one of her plans; now, she could not move. She was imprisoned, anonymous and exposed.
She had never before been so helpless.
She had never before been so excited.
Doralea heard movement in the hall.
Muffled conversation made its way through the door panel.
She heard the words, "... beautiful... round... yours... " in a male voice, then, a female, "... never... high... tight... mine OR yours."
They laughed.
She felt a hand gently stroke one cheek, then another hand, larger, more insistent, joined it.
Her ass was stroked, cupped, prodded, massaged.
She felt a long thin finger force itself between her legs. Her ankles were free, but the confines of the closet prevented any great accommodation of the gentle exploration.
Doralea wished she were free to offer herself to the couple, to fulfill the promise, the urging of her desire. Instead, she was forced to resign herself to her position and merely allow them their fondling.
She was sorry when the two left, their footsteps quickly fading down the hall with their laughter.
Doralea stood, still clamped tightly in the darkness.
A roughly bearded face,the stubble stiff and scratching, rasped against her tender ass-flesh. A thick, wet tongue tried to snake its way between her cheeks and find either of her holes. The tongue was not long enough to reach those goals in her position, though Doralea did everything she could to allow it access.
Her pussy was aching now for relief, and her jaw was aching from the wide gag.
Suddenly, she felt the wall move beneath her mashed tits. Her fleshy mounds were pulled to the sides as a twin panel split between them and slid away. Her compressed flesh was pulled wide, then swung free, her tits slapping together before swaying to a heavy stop.
She could make out the dimensions of this opening by the release from contact against her, from her clavicle to the fronts of her thighs. Her tits, belly and cunt were now exposed to anyone on the other side of this wall.
She could, also, more greatly accommodate the man behind her. She pressed back against his prickling chin and his seeking tongue, trying to encourage him to enter her and relieve her pent-up swell of desire.
He did his best.
His short tongue circled her anal ring several times, then lapped at the outer lips of her vagina. His wet thickness could not actually enter her, but the pressure against her burning wetness forced high whimpers of delight around the thick leather gag splitting her jaw.
A hand, covered in a thin, smooth glove, began to mold her tits, as if working clay. The sharp, momentary pain dissipated quickly into her general erotic throbbing.
Doralea tried to press her tits forward into the gloved hand, and still press her crotch backward against the rasping, laving man at her ass.
Another hand, not gloved, joined the one on her tit. It slowly rolled her nipple, tweaking it through a full turn, more, then pulling slowly, very slowly, until the tit was fully elongated, vised at the ribs by the harness and at the nipple by the strong, naked finger.
