Slaves of Irontown Read online

  Title Page

  SLAVES OF IRONTOWN

  EROTIC DOMINATION AND SUBMISSION

  By

  Adriana Arden

  Publisher Information

  Silver Moon books are an imprint of Barrington Hall Publishing which is part of Barrington Hall Ltd.

  Digital edition converted and

  Distributed in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright Adriana Arden

  This edition published 2010

  The right of Adriana Arden to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyright and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events depicted are entirely fictitious; any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely coincidental

  THIS IS FICTION. IN REAL LIFE ALWAYS PRACTISE SAFE SEX

  NEW AUTHORS ARE WELCOME

  Please send submissions to;

  The Editor, Silver Moon Books

  Suite 7,

  Mayden House,

  Long Bennington Business Park

  Newark NG23 5DJ

  Chapter One

  ‘Now take everything off,’ Constable Colter told Melanie Paget briskly: ‘clothes, boots, watch, jewellery, the lot. ’

  ‘We’ve got to have some full-length photos of you undressed for your criminal record,’ Constable Mattock explained.

  The three of them were standing in a small brightly lit room within Shackleswell Central police station. In front of Mel was a digital camera mounted on a tripod, while the wall behind her was marked with a big “X” of lines and circles like a target that incorporated a graduated height scale. The other furnishings comprised a metal locker, a small table on which rested a desktop printer, a couple of hard chairs and a large flat screen TV on a hinged frame folded back against one wall.

  Mel was scared and miserable enough having just had her fingerprints taken without being confronted by this totally unexpected additional humiliation casually linked with the phrase: “criminal record. ”She gulped as fresh concern creased her pretty face, hoping she had misunderstood. ‘You want to take pictures of me… naked? ’

  ‘That’s way we process offenders like you in Shackleswell, girl,’ said Colter, who was sandy-haired and of beefy build. ‘Every physical detail gets recorded now so there’s no chance of mistaken identity later. Those are the rules and you’ve got to obey them. ’

  ‘If you don’t like it you shouldn’t have done anything to yourself arrested, should you? ’ Mattock, who was taller and darker, pointed out.

  ‘But it was only for vagrancy,’ Mel protested, thinking even as she spoke that it sounded such an old fashioned charge. ‘I didn’t know it was wrong. I was just looking round the town. I’m not a real criminal. ’

  ‘You were letting your own life go to waste,’ Mattock said scathingly. ‘That’s criminal enough as far as we’re concerned. ’

  ‘We take that sort of thing seriously in Shackleswell,’ Colter added. ‘This is a clean, efficient town. All waste gets collected up and properly recycled. ’

  ‘And it’s all got to be recorded in the process,’ said Mattock, tapping the camera meaningfully. ‘Every detail. ’

  Mel felt sick and confused. Were they talking about picking litter off the street or people like her? Whatever it was it seemed they still expected her to strip-off, which she could not possibly do in front of two strange men even if they were in uniform. ‘Can’t you get a woman officer in to take the pictures? ’ she pleaded.

  ‘There aren’t any available,’ said Mattock impatiently. ‘Now hurry up. This isn’t the time or place to come over all shy. You haven’t got anything we haven’t seen before. You’re not the first foolish girl we’ve handled, you know, and you certainly won’t be the last, so let’s be having those clothes off. ’

  Mel chewed her lip nervously. They kept calling her “girl” as though she was a child when she was actually nineteen, and now they wanted to photograph her naked. This was not the way they did things in TV police series.

  But then what did she know? After the terrible mistakes she had so recently made how could she trust her own judgement any more. Perhaps there were new procedures in place because of the threat of terrorism or differences between police forces. She felt the return of the brooding misery her arrest had briefly displaced. Did it matter? She had made her choices and this was where they had brought her. Any further shame she suffered was her fault. Perhaps after all she deserved it…

  Taking a deep breath Mel shrugged off her anorak then stooped to untie her boots. As she handed over each item the officers examined it and then put it in a plastic bag. Why were they bagging it up? It was hardly evidence. Would they give her some sort of prison clothes to wear instead? Blushing furiously she had to take another deep breath and screw up her eyes before stripping off her bra and panties, leaving her naked and trembling in front of them with her thighs squeezed together and hands clasped across her breasts and pubes.

  The policemen looked up from examining her underwear with mild seen-it-all-before interest.

  ‘Stand with your back against the chart, hands by your sides and look straight ahead,’ said Colter. ‘And don’t cover yourself up again.’

  Mel shuffled backwards. There was a step up onto a kind of low podium built against the chart wall. She climbed onto it and slowly lowered her hands, exposing herself totally to their gaze.

  Her face was heart-shaped with rounded cheeks, a neat softly cleft chin, a well-shaped mouth, pale eyebrows, intense dark blue eyes and a firm, straight nose slightly turned up at the end. Her hair was an urchin-cut pale blonde mop. Milky breasts, caped by light pink areolae with darker nipple crowns, stood out prominently from her chest, despite being a shade on the heavy side for her height. She had a tight waist, feminine but not over-full hips and strong, girlishly shapely legs. Her buttocks were well rounded and a light fuzz of honey coloured curls covered her pubic cleft.

  They took pictures of her from the front, both sides and rear. Then they had her clasp her hands behind her neck and took another set. She was uncomfortably aware that this posture lifted her breasts higher, as if she was showing them off, and that her nipples were swelling and hardening. That was too much. How could she respond like that in such circumstances?

  ‘Back right against the wall and spread your arms and legs along the cross lines,’ Colter commanded and miserably Mel obeyed.

  There were sharp clicks as spring-loaded clamps snapped out of slots in the wall panels and closed about her wrists and ankles. Mel gave a yelp of alarm and tried to pull away but the clamps were rubber-lined and she could not slip out of them.

  ‘Hold still,’ Mattock said, snapping off another picture as if nothing strange had happened.

  Mel twisted and squirmed helplessly, tasting the rising swell of fear in her mouth. Maybe they did need nude photos for criminal records but this was going too far. She fought to keep her voice steady. ‘Please let me go… I want to put my clothes on now. ’

  ‘You don’t need them anymore,’ said Colter briskly. ‘You stay as nature intended. That’s how girls like you go up before a judge in Shackleswell. ’

  ‘What? No, I…umphh! ’

  Colter had pushed a sponge rubber ball into Mel’s mouth. It expanded behind her teeth, pressing her tongue down and stifling her words. ‘And no more talking without permission,’ he added. ‘We’ve got to get you ready for your hearing…’

  He pressed what looked like a light switch. The wall behind Mel split ope
n along the lines of the cross and then slid and folded aside. The podium rolled away from under her feet but the clamps held her from falling as her toes wiggled clear of the ground. She twisted her head round. There was a much larger room behind her, but she could not make out any details because of the thing she was fastened to.

  It was an upright black rectangular cast-iron frame taller than she was set in a base with a raised rim, rather like a large tray, the front section of which had been slotted under the podium. The inside of the frame was decorated with complicated metal scrollwork fittings. The clamps about her wrists and ankles extended forward from the scrollwork corners on short sliding arms. The frame was vertical and the clamps had been opened wide and pushed into slots in the thin chart wall, their black rubber inner linings merging with the black marking on the wall.

  ‘This is the Frame of Truth,’ Colter said proudly. ‘The basic design’s over a century old but it’s had some modern servomechanisms added. The most important thing you’ve got to remember is that it’s a machine, and in Shackleswell girls serve machines. ’

  He and Mattock moved to the sides of the frame and cranked some handles. The arms holding the clamps retracted, pulling Mel with it until she hung spread-eagled within the frame. She twisted her head round wildly, moaning behind her gag. A little over midway up the frame were a pair of inward facing horizontal arms bearing upright wheel hubs fitted with eight black rubber paddle blades. Lower down were two lengths of cane on sprung mounts that held them horizontally across the inside of the frame. An inverted “Y” shaped arm jutting down from the middle of the frame top opposed a rod with a fluted bulbous cap rising at an angle up from the base of the device midway between its side posts. In front of it was a stouter rod ending in a fork mount like the front wheel of a bike. It was partly enclosed by a semicircle of clear plastic mudguard but instead of a wheel between the forks there was just a hub trailing a limp spray of rubber strips.

  Mattock and Colter turned large wing nuts hidden in the scrollwork. These screwed the clamps outwards pulling Mel’s arms and legs tight and wide as though she was frozen in the act of performing a star-jump. The pouting swell of her sex felt frighteningly exposed. Mel strained and squirmed but the clamps were unyielding and she fluttered within the frame like a butterfly trapped in a spider web.

  The policemen adjusted the arms on which the pairs of paddle wheels were mounted. She could see they were powered by drive chains running through their hollow supporting arms connected to cogs on their hubs. Alternating blades were set at slight angles to the centreline of rotation so they would sweep through a wider target area. The wheels were positioned beside and a little below her breasts so that she felt the flats of the blades pressed against the undersides of her breasts. The canes were laid across the swell of her rump, one for each buttock, and then cocked back against their springs.

  The “Y” arm pointing down from the top of the frame was a brace that clamped about the sides of her head. Rubber cups were screwed inwards to press against her temples, holding her head so she could not turn it aside. A curving strip of rubber, like a section cut from a ring, dangled from the ends of the head-brace arms on a pair of coil springs. Colter pulled out her ball gag and pushed the strip edgewise into her mouth where it was held there by the tension of the springs.

  ‘You’ll need that if the judge thinks you’re not being truthful,’ Colter said. ‘We don’t want you to bite through your tongue or crack a tooth, do we? ’

  Mel found she could not spit out the strip but it was thin enough to allow her to speak around. ‘You…you don’t have to punish me, just please let me go,’ she begged pitifully as she fought back tears. ‘I’m sorry if I broke any of your laws… I’ll never come back again, I promise! ’

  ‘But we don’t want you to go,’ said Colter.

  ‘This isn’t about punishing you,’ Mattock said, ‘this is about saving you. ’

  They positioned the tip of the vertical rod against the crinkled mouth of her anus. It had a phallic black rubber head glistening with oil or grease. Mattock twisted it round and it screwed upward, forcing its way through her anal sphincter, parting it wide, and up into her rectum.

  Mel gasped as it unnaturally penetrated her rear passage from outside to in. She had never had anything like it inside her before. Her cheeks were burning at the strange sensation. It felt frighteningly like it was going up her spine and would split her open! Yet at the same time the perverse stimulation was causing a warm wetness to seep through the folds of her sex and she could feel her clitoris swelling as if it was being pushed up from within. The policemen would see it rising. Mel screwed up her eyes in shame, wishing the earth would swallow her up. How could her body mock her like this?

  The phallus stopped its advance, leaving her plugged tightly. Frantically she squeezed on the intruder with her anal ring in a vain attempt to force it back out.

  Colter swung the front forked rod with its outer guard and lash thongs in towards the apex of her thighs, drawing out the thongs to ensure they would strike the mound of her exposed pudenda when they were spun and extended. When he was satisfied he locked it in place and then patted her sex. Instinctively Mel tried to pull away from his touch but the rod up her rear held her hips in place.

  The policemen stepped back to admire their handiwork. Mel was shivering in fear and disbelief and tears were slowly running down her cheeks.

  ‘Now that’s how a girl should look going up before a judge,’ said Mattock in satisfaction. ‘Properly humbled with her arse stuffed and tits trembling. ’

  ‘Which is the way we like ‘em in Shackleswell,’ Colter agreed.

  Mattock swung the TV screen out from the wall so that it hung just above the camera they had been using earlier. ‘Now the judge will be able to see you and you’ll be able to see him,’ he said. ‘He should be ready to hear your case shortly. ’

  ‘He can control all the functions of the frame remotely,’ Colter told Mel. ‘He’ll use it to get the truth out of you. If you’re smart you won’t fight it…’

  The big screen came to life. ‘There, I said we wouldn’t keep you waiting long,’ said Mattock.

  An image appeared of a greying, stern-faced man, dressed in imposing red robes and judicial wig. He was seated at a desk on which was visible the back of an open laptop.

  ‘It’s Judge Gouge,’ Colter said to Mel. ‘Don’t speak until you’re given permission, call him “Sir” and answer every question truthfully. That’s very important…’ He stepped forward into camera shot. ‘This is Melanie Paget, My Lord,’ he said formally. ‘She was arrested earlier this morning in the town square by Constable Mattock and myself on a charge of vagrancy. Our report should be on your screen…’

  ‘Yes, I have it here…’ The judge consulted the laptop for a minute then looked up at Mel with a penetrating gaze that seemed to reach right through the screen. ‘I see that you have refused to give any further details about yourself, girl. How did you come to be in Shackleswell without any means of support or an address that can be used to confirm your identity? ’

  His manner was perfectly measured and reasonable, as though it was just another day in court and she was an ordinary prisoner. Maybe it was normal for him to interrogate naked bound girls with rods up their backsides but how could she possibly be expected to reply sensibly in such circumstances?

  ‘P… please… you can’t do this to me…it’s not right… ahhh! ’

  The judge had pressed a control on his laptop. The cocked canes poised behind Mel’s bottom slashed across her buttocks with an audible hiss and crack of cane on flesh. She felt the impact of the blows ripple through her followed by stinging heat as if her bottom was on fire. She had never been caned before. Held fast by the rod up her rear she could not even ride the strokes. As her buttocks contracted she actually clenched it tighter inside her. Something about the perverse combination of pa
in, internal pressure and exposure made her pussy tingle and pulse. Mel sobbed in confusion and disbelief as hot tears burned in the corners of her eyes.

  Anger and resentment, which had been numbed by the speed of events, now flickered within her. How dare they treat her like this! It was obscene, cruel and illegal. She heard a whir of some motor hidden in the fame base followed by clicks as the canes were re-cocked and struggled to contain herself. All her indignation and outrage counted for nothing against the raw power they had over her.

  ‘That was a warning,’ Gouge said sternly. ‘Now you will answer my question fully and clearly and when you do you will be properly respectful. ’

  Mel sniffed and blinked away her tears. Although she was spread-eagled naked and impaled before him it seemed she had to pretend to be civil. It was madness! With an effort she said meekly: ‘I live… lived in Shrewsbury, Sir. It doesn’t matter exactly where because I’ve left home. ’

  ‘And you have no other residence? ’

  ‘No, Sir. ’

  ‘You’re not in further education? ’

  ‘No yet, Sir. I was hitching to London. I thought I could get some work. A lorry driver said he could drop me here and I’d have better chances. I’d hardly ever heard of Shackleswell but it looked like a nice clean town. I was only here about ten minutes when these policemen stopped me and asked me who I was and where I’d come from. Because I didn’t want to give my home address and didn’t have any other address to give or much money they said I was a vagrant and that was against the law and they arrested me. ’

  ‘It is against the law in Shackleswell,’ the judge confirmed. ‘Here everybody has a productive occupation of some kind. We don’t let any asset go to waste. Why did you leave home? ’