Lord of the Ring Gag

"Ohmigod, who goes there?" Spirella demanded as she hurried to straighten her mane and apply just a bit of mascara before they met whatever fate was about to befall them.

"Oh, Spirella, I'm frightened," squeaked Marie-Noëlle as she tore apart her rucksack in search of her curry comb.

"Oh, shit," sighed Buttplug, realizing he was going to have to be heroic without the benefit of stuffing his snout with snuff.

But the valiant vacationers proved to be no match for the dozens of short, hairless men wearing long white robes and matching headbands who descended on their clearing. Within minutes, Spirella and Marie-Noëlle found themselves stripped of their pony gear, gagged with large red balls, tightly bound in coils of rough brown hemp, and hung like fresh meat from long sticks carried on the shoulders of the men.

As for Buttplug, the invaders had simply laughed at his synthetic claws and electric-blue fur, but when they discovered he was male, they slapped him on the back, gave him a headband to match theirs, and beckoned for him to march alongside them as they advanced down the path to their village.

Buttplug couldn't understand their language, but as dawn broke over the horizon, he thought he recognized their thin eyes, clever fingers and great love for electronic gadgets.

"The Shibari," he whispered into Spirella's delectable ear as they approached a cluster of strangely-shaped wooden structures surrounded by elegant gardens filled with artfully-arranged stones of pleasing shapes and colors. "A politely barbaric tribe from the far east. I have heard they aren't really dangerous, but they have many rituals and very specific tribulations that they like to practice on their females and, er, esteemed visitors."

Spirella twisted and thrashed excitedly, and not just because of the coarse cords digging geometrically-symmetrical trenches in her limbs.

"Mmm mingggg!" she mumbled urgently through her gag.

"Don't worry, ma petite equestrianette. I snatched your precious cargo, not to mention the rest of your stuff, while the Shibari were busy with your bitchin' bindings. Besides, I don't think these are the chaps you're looking for. Shhhh, best to play nice until we get to wherever we're going."

The captors and their trussed prey entered the largest of the buildings, which was filled with painted screens, rough-hewn furniture, odd-looking scaffolding, and a preponderance of pulleys hanging from the ceiling. Spirella and Marie-Noëlle were freed from their poles, only to be tied again in an extremely elaborate fashion, including multiple windings around their breasts and hair, and hoisted high into the air, their refined orifices exposed for the pleasure and amusement of the men.

The shortest and most portly of the Shibari gestured excitedly at Buttplug and began babbling in his strange tongue at a very rapid pace while his cohorts busied themselves with various tasks, many which seemed to involve large rubber bags festooned with clear plastic hoses.

"He's the leader," Buttplug translated. "He seems to be saying that you are the Shibari's honored guests, and he wants to share his tribe's special form of hospitality with you. Apparently, it involves some kind of…cleansing."

A few moments later, the purpose and intent of the rubber bags became painfully apparent as Spirella and Marie-Noëlle found their most private passages filled to the point of bursting with warm, soapy water.

"Don't worry," Buttplug assured them, trying his very hardest not to enjoy his companions' dire and somewhat disgusting predicament. "It's very healthy and beneficial, or so I've been told."

After being instructed to release the contents of their bountiful bottoms into chipped white pans held beneath them, the Shibari lowered them to the ground and proceeded to take turns tying them up in some of the most fiendishly convoluted positions Buttplug had ever witnessed. Limbs bent backwards at impossible angles, scratchy ropes snaking around and across every inch of their elegant epidermis, dangling from the scaffolding in positions best described as "oblique," Spirella and Marie-Noëlle were treated like beloved dolls in the hands of older brothers.

After many hours of knotty diversions, the men invited Buttplug to join them in another building where their regular women served them bowls of steaming rice and plates piled high with strange delicacies from the sea, as well as copious quantities of a clear liquid which made Buttplug's head feel like he had inhaled a silo of snuff in one snort.

When they finished eating, one of the Shibari produced a wireless microphone and began crooning a popular song about a far-off metropolis so great, its name had to be repeated repeatedly in an off-key but heartfelt manner. Following much applause, the rest of the men clamored for a turn, and Buttplug slinked away unnoticed, his spirits much lightened by the day's unexpected turn of events.

"What took you so long?" shouted Spirella once Buttplug had untied and lowered her.

"Ooooh, why did you hurry?" Marie-Noëlle slurred, a contented smile replacing the gag across her mouth.

"Snap out of it, Marie-Noëlle!" Spirella growled at her semiconscious compadre. "We must effect our escape forthwith! Buttplug, where is our pony gear! And the ring! We must get away from this accursed village as fast as our hooves can carry us!"

"Stop sweating. Like I told you, I stashed everything safely in a tree by the path. And geez, what's your rush? I think Marie-Noëlle wants to, er, hang around a little longer."

"Not funny," Spirella hissed at Buttplug. "How would you like to spend the entire day suspended from the ceiling by your…manhood?"

"Are you sure we can't stay the night?" Marie-Noëlle inquired wistfully. "Or maybe Buttplug should alert them to our escape so the Shibari can capture us again…"

"Get real, Marie-Noëlle! The Shibari are obviously a cruel, cunning and dangerous clan. Their skillful masculine tricks have warped your fragile mind. And you're not helping matters here, Buttplug. Now, let's get properly accessorized and be on our way."

They tiptoed past the building where the sound of a Shibari warrior warbling about his feelings more than compensated for the sound of their bare feet on the well-manicured garden walkways.

"One hell of a hero you are," Spirella said to Buttplug once she had regained her composure, as well as her harness, boots, saddle and much-missed chastity belt. "How could you let the Shibari commit such heinous acts of affliction and encumbrance to Marie-Noëlle and me?"

"Oh sure, like I was going to take on an army of fierce warriors armed only with claws that barely cut paper? And might I mention that I did come back to rescue you as soon as I could?"

"Right, after you were properly fed and watered and tended by giggling geishas."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it sucked so hard for you. Seemed to work okay for Marie-Noëlle, though."

Indeed, Marie-Noëlle was greatly distracted in her reappointment of her accoutrements, arranging her harness both upside down and backwards, and even going so far as to stick one of her hands into a long white boot.

"Shinju…nawa…ryo-tekubi…ushiro takate kote…chokushin fudo ippon…no, please, not the nose hooks…"

"Marie-Noëlle, whatever are you talking about?" Spirella asked as she cinched her stirrup straps and replaced the ring to its secure spot under her saddle. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you got dosed with a bad case of brainwashing from the Shibaris."

"It wasn't just her brain that got washed back there," leered Buttplug.

"Oh, do cram it," Spirella sniffed. "Come, let us continue our trekking without delay."

The ménage a trois stomped onwards for many miles, their stony silence punctuated only by Marie-Noëlle's continued outbursts in the indecipherable tongue of the Shibaris.

"Dojo…uke…kinbaku…sukaranbo…karada…must you bind my tongue as well, sensei?"

"I fear my best friend may have a few eyelets missing in her corset, if you catch my drift," observed Spirella to Buttplug.

"Well, nothing that a mind-shattering orgasm, or two, or ten, won't set to right. Perhaps I could be of some assistance in that department…"

"Hush, crazy cat. What's that shimmering yonder in the distance?"

"Dunno. Looks like a lake or something. Awfully dark for water, though."

As the intrepid voyagers made their way closer, a pungent odor permeated their nostrils.

"Hmmm, smells vaguely familiar," said Spirella. "Sort of like…"

"The Shibari's magic bags!" Marie-Noëlle squealed as her flanks clenched visibly.

"No, not that," Spirella gently reprimanded her clinically-addled associate. "But in the same barn, that's for sure."

"It reminds me of something I once smelled in a hotel room at the annual gathering," said Buttplug. "I was intrigued by the promise of many Furries in cunning catsuits, and when I opened the door, my nose practically blew off my face. Everybody was dressed from head to toe in…"

They arrived at the edge of the lake. Spirella cautiously dipped a hoof into the gently undulating fluid, then quickly retracted it when she realized her beautifully-polished boot had been covered with a shiny black substance that resembled a mirror, only in reverse.

"Ye gods, it's a…" Spirella sputtered.

"Lake of Liquid Latex!" finished Buttplug. "Last one in's a rotten ovary!"

With that, Buttplug dove headfirst into the gleaming water, only to resurface a second later desperately wiping the glossy substance away from his eyes and mouth.

"Whoops, maybe it's best to wade in slowly. Who's next?"

"Me me me!" yelped Marie-Noëlle as she splashed happily into the dark liquid, coating her pristine white leather in slime noir.

"Oh, Marie-Noëlle," admonished Spirella as she tried to grab her errant friend's tail, "you've gone and…uh…uh…help!"

Spirella lost her footing on the bank of the lake and fell sideways into the murky depths.

"Wheeee!" Marie-Noëlle paddled over to her unhappy pal and began splashing latex on the few spots on Spirella's body that weren't covered in black goo.

"Stop that this instant, Marie-Noëlle! You'll ruin the lining on my…ohmigod! The ring! Where did it go?"

Spirella wrenched herself around and desperately searched under her saddle, only to find nothing more than another layer of runny rubber between the leather and her skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Spirella screamed at the top of her lungs.

"At your cervix, darling," Buttplug snarked as he swam lazily past the perturbed ponygirl.

"Help me find the ring, Buttplug! It's got to be around here somewhere!"

"Oh great, like it's going to be real easy to see something that's sunk to the bottom of this particular puddle."

"Well, don't just stand there," Spirella wailed. "Start diving!"

"What, stick my face in this gunk? I might be kinky, but I'm really not into serious sensory deprivation."

"Marie-Noëlle!" Spirella cried as she began wrestling with the laces running up her thighs. "Take off your boots like me and feel around with your toes!"

"Ewww, do you have any idea what might be down there?"

"No, but we're all going to find out right this instant!"

Spirella took a deep breath and plunged downwards into the murk.

"Aw, geez…the things we do for higher species," Buttplug sighed as he followed suit.

Much thrashing and gasping ensued as the two brave aquanauts explored the bottom of the Lake of Liquid Latex while Marie-Noëlle cheered on her friends, secretly luxuriating in the unmentionably greasy sensations against her skin.

Many moments later, Buttplug popped to the surface holding the gag between his teeth, since his claws were much too slippery to gain a secure grasp.

"Got it!" he choked. "Although I feel a bit funny all of a sudden…"

"That's great…oh, no! Buttplug, spit out the ring!" Spirella shouted.

"Wow, this is truly weird," Buttplug gulped. "Here I always figured I was 100 percent hetero, but man, I could really get into a nice, big, juicy, thick, throbbing…"

Spirella stumbled over to Buttplug and yanked the silver circle out of his mouth.

"Hey, watch it, bitch! I swear, you pushy breeders are all the same…thilly thavages, the lot of you. Christ, did I just say what I think I said?"

"Take a deep breath, Buttplug," Spirella counseled from practical experience. "The dire effects of the ring should wear off in a moment or two."

"I like girls, I like girls, I like girls," Buttplug chanted as he sat down on the banks of the Lake of Liquid Latex and began wringing out his tail.

"How will we ever remove this icky coating from our skin, much less our leather apparel?" Spirella wondered aloud.

"Oh, must we bother?" inquired Marie-Noëlle hopefully. "I quite enjoy the effect myself, alternating between great heat and clammy cold. And it shows off our graceful limbs to marvelous effect."

"Oh, behave," Spirella said as she tried to peel off a layer from her forearm. "Rubber is best deployed on the walls of cells for lunatics and readers of hyphenated newsgroups."

"But what if it rains?" Marie-Noëlle pleaded. "What if we want to go surfing? Or snorkeling? Latex is so practical as protection against the elements…"

"Nice try, but as they say around the water trough on a blistering afternoon, enough!"

The two ponygirls bickered for the rest of the day as they methodically removed the residue from their maritime escapades, while Buttplug continued to fret about the aftermath of his taking the ring in his mouth.

"Well, sure, I'm often happy," he muttered to himself, "not to mention spirited, fun-loving, glad, joyful and cheerful on occasion, but I am most definitely not g-g-g…"

They made their camp on the shores of the Lake of Liquid Latex, vowing to press forward at double their current rate to compensate for the day's distractions.

"Given the events of last night, I think we'd better set a watch," Spirella observed as the last embers in their fire lost their golden glow. "Who will go first?"

"What the heck, I can't sleep anyway," replied Buttplug. "You appaloosas vamoose to the land of nod, capiche?"

"What did he just say?" Marie-Noëlle yawned extravagantly, trying hard not to reveal to Spirella that she had not yet removed the leftover black goop from her nether regions.

"Hit the hay, girl," Buttplug translated. "I'll wake one of you up if I need relief."

Of course, Buttplug fell asleep mere minutes after he made this pronouncement, only to awaken several hours later by the noise of great wings flapping overhead.

"Fuck me," Buttplug scowled as he squinted into the darkness. "Sounds like tarns."

Within the space of seconds, he was proven correct as he, Spirella and Marie-Noëlle were quickly subdued by a party of swarthy raiders riding huge taloned birds, and rendered unconscious via a virulent potion administered in a fashion not often recommended for anyone past the age of consent.

When the tormented tourists finally awoke, the ponygirls found themselves in a dark, smoky and smelly room stripped of their rawhide accoutrements, their bodies bound severely in chains, bracelets and heavy leather collars, while Buttplug reclined opulently on a pile of furs.

"They think I'm something called a 'larl,'" he explained as he stretched his limbs and tried not to purr. "And they've never seen a purple one before, so they're being extra careful with me."

"What has happened to us?" Spirella inquired as she shimmied with much futility while Marie-Noëlle adopted the smug look of someone unexpectedly upgraded to first class.

"I have heard rumors about the existence of the legendary Gorcs," Buttplug began explaining, "but Furries always dismissed the stories as fantasy of the lowest order, science friction for knuckle-dragging heathens too dim for Hogwarts."

"As usual, you make no sense," Spirella interrupted. "All I know is that we're being held prisoner in what looks like a dinosaur's rec room, Marie-Noëlle and I are heartlessly constrained while you're lounging around, I've lost the ring, I need to pee wicked bad, and our grand outing will be a total wash if we don't…"

"Surely now," boomed a man who entered the room suddenly, "you do not allow your slaves, stinking, meaningless, lascivious little beasts whose sexuality, shamelessness, needs and helplessness make them worthy of nothing more than excessive whipping, to speak to you thusly?"

The stranger strode into the room with the seething confidence of a dragon facing a knight armed with a bucket of water as Buttplug scrambled upright hastily. Dressed in a tunic and long boots of soft leather, he ignored the shocked stares of Spirella and Marie-Noëlle and addressed Buttplug directly.

"You stand on two feet. Curious. Are you man or larl? The initiates are much confused by your appearance, and seek immediate clarification."

"Uh, let's go with larl for now," Buttplug replied cautiously. "New breed, very top secret. And these two are my trusted, er…what do you call your weirdo horses again?"

"Kaiila, terrifying but beautiful, lofty, stately, fanged and silken, they can cover as much as six hundred pasangs in a single day's riding," the Gorc responded with what he believed to be eloquence. "But my fellow freemen are familiar with the pathetic genus of overdressed quadrupeds which you call 'ponygirl.'"

"Pathetic?" Spirella shrieked. "Overdressed? Hey, look who's talking, Fringeboy."

"Quiet, slave! Man-larl, I must insist that you gag these insolent wenches before my ears convince my hand to plunge my sacramasax, with wine-tempered blade of fine, double-edged steel, carried even at the siege of Argh, so long ago, directly into their hearts."

"Your whatsis? Hey, speaking of gags, we seemed to have misplaced one. A silver circle and some old straps, goes by the name 'ring,' last seen stuffed under the big gal's saddle…"

"Big?" Spirella exclaimed. "Why, I've lost five pounds at least on this trip alone, and my instructor in pointless perpetual motion says I can probably slim down to a size four after a few more…"

"Enough, kajira!" the man bellowed. "Is this what you were looking for?"

He produced a ring gag from beneath his tunic and proceeded to strap it around Spirella's head.

"Uh, yeah, that's the one, I think," Buttplug answered. "Except hers was more decrepit, as I recall. She said it was pretty old and probably very valuable. Definitely cursed, too," he added with a shudder.

"Valuable?" the man scoffed as he reached under his tunic again. "These gags are as common as rennels in the sands of the Southern Plains," he laughed as he produced another one and inserted it into Marie-Noëlle's fairly receptive mouth.

"Uh, yeah, I can see that," Buttplug said warily as he observed the power of the rings taking effect on his former friends. "So how come Spirella and Marie-Noëlle, um, these incoherent, worthless, er, bargain-basement, ah, Swatch dogs and Diet Cokeheads thought it was something important?"

"I can answer that," neighed a feminine voice outside the door.

"Tal, Fanfic," said the man, nodding curtly to the mature ponywoman as she clip-clopped slowly into the room.

"Tal to you, too, Tarl Gruntwig," Fanfic replied, raising a hoof in salute. "I see our latest acquisition expedition was eminently successful."

"Yes, you have done well once again," the man said, nodding at the thoroughly confused captives in the corner. "The willowy one, she is white silk?"

"Alas, I fear that the Shibari opened her during an unplanned encounter en route to Port Kar," Fanfic replied.

"The careless fools!" the man grumbled. "We shall send an army forthwith to smite them for their audacity in defiling the rightful property of Gorcs."

"Aw, the little guys didn't know any better," injected Buttplug. "Besides, she's still a peach. Show 'em your teeth, Marie-Noëlle. And hey, if you don't want her, I'd be happy to take her off…"