Irontown 1: Student Maids Page 13

  This led to the matter of orgasms. Mel could not decide whether they were compensations or curses. She was soon having three or four a day during lessons and growing in intensity, which was treated within the walls of Gryndstone as perfectly normal. After all, as was made clear to them, that was just how healthy gynatons were expected to respond to restraint and sexual stimulation, whether it be with a real penis or a rubber one. On the positive side at least for a few seconds they blotted every other care from her mind. Even Bolt had them, though she made it clear as soon as possible afterward that she resented the experience. Other girls seemed to accept them and even boast about them. If you felt no guilt, then why not? Mel had not quite reached that stage yet.

  Mel was unsure whether the increase in her sex drive was due to their perverted training, or being constantly naked amongst other naked girls with her nipples and vulva continually stimulated by their piercing rings. That at least would be understandable. It was more worrying to think it might also be in her nature.

  The easiest transition Mel made was accepting lesbianism as an integral part of everyday life at Gryndstone. That it involved perverse and intimate sex with strangers had been the hardest adjustment, but once she got to know the girls it became less shameful and even at times fun. There was her own personal sense of guilt and disloyalty to overcome but she simply had no choice and knew that weighing herself down with more emotional baggage would be stupid.

  Girls had always accepted such intimacy more readily than men and most of them seemed to cope. It was just something they did in class. Of course many of them did it out of lessons as well. They needed some safety valve in their enclosed world and this was the most natural one, though not yet for Mel. At night she and Cam continued to sleep in each other’s arms but they had not made love, possibly because by then they were simply too exhausted.

  Her strange new lifestyle was at odds with the messages from home that brought her back to reality and the dark guilt she felt.

  Her parents kept asking her to admit what a terrible thing she had done.

  The trouble was she could not do that either. She could not take back what had happened and part of her did not want to, despite the anguish it had caused those she loved. Maddy just wanted to be close to her again.

  ‘I understand why it’s not a good idea for you to come back home but can we meet somewhere else?’ she asked plaintively.

  How could Mel explain she was a chained sex-slave in training and her masters probably would not allow family visits? She managed to construct a plausible excuse.

  ‘If dad found out we were meeting secretly you know what he’d think. Let’s just be patient and keep going the way we are. Don’t worry, I’m eating regularly and getting plenty of exercise…’

  Perhaps it was easier to face perverted life in Gryndstone than contemplate trying to put her personal life back together in the “real” world. She was physically safer than she would have been living in some rundown part of London, as long as you accepted living as a sex slave as “safer.” Was that why her heart was not in trying to escape? If she had been given a chance then instinct would have driven her to make the attempt, but she did not have the urge to try to search for a way out like Bolt, who was always looking for some weakness in school security. She supposed being trained as a sex slave was a good excuse for not getting about so much, but did it mask an unpalatable truth? If she waited long enough, would she ever be able to muster the will to escape? Was life in Gryndstone taking her over?

  They saw fresh batches of frightened girls come into the school and they were not the new girls any more. They mastered the routine. In a week life seemed almost tolerable. Mel began to wonder if as Wire had said, for some girls there who had endured tougher lives than she had, perhaps slavery in Shackleswell did not seem such a bad option. They had been enslaved and yet they were the focus of so much attention they felt in a strange way important. Except of course that it was morally obscene and completely wrong, as Mel had to keep reminding herself.

  There were more confessions in school assembly. Mel could not imagine Bolt putting herself through that. Would Cam do it? What would she herself have to confess? No, she could not do that.

  Trigyns also graduated. They were called up to the front by Bradawl, their school ties were removed and small medallions were hung on their collars in their place. They kissed all the teachers’ cocks and thanked them. The girls seemed excited to be going as though they had just won golden tickets to wonderful jobs. At break Bradawl led them through the playground, hugging and kissing the other girls on the way. Then they went through the door of Miss Trunnion’s office and that was the last they saw of them.

  Then came Mel’s second Sunday at Gryndstone.

  Sundays were rest days after morning exercise and assembly where sore passages could recover from relentless penetration. The first Sunday had been wet and Mel and the other girls had spent most of the day lounging about the rec room watching films. This Sunday, however, dawned bright and clear.

  Sunday assembly was more like a church service and Miss Trunnion joined the Masters on the stage. As the girls knelt impaled on their mats Bradawl read out an excerpt from W.S.Rowland’s private research notes, such as details of how he had learned to control a particular girl he was experimenting on through inducing multiple orgasms. It was treated as if it was an uplifting passage from the Bible. Perhaps to Gryndstone girls that was what it was intended to be. It was certainly the rulebook of their life.

  This second Sunday Bradawl said: ‘As it’s such a fine day we shall have a school outing to Rowland Park.’

  The assembled girls greeted this news with great excitement, suggesting many had been on such trips before. Mel felt a thrill herself. For the first time they would be getting out of school.

  Packed lunches were handed out in small light backpacks together with rolled foam rubber ground sheets that they could string across their shoulders. A couple of girls were also laden with bags of inflatable balls, Frisbees and a rounders set. The masters then went round cuffing the girls’ hands behind them and then hooking red ball gags strung on elastic cords onto the side rings of their collars.

  ‘There will be no eating or talking while you are on the train,’ Bradawl said. ‘In the park you will be in your school uniform in public so you will behave as befits Gryndstone girls.’

  Mel exchanged bemused glance with Cam and even Bolt did not try to disguise her puzzlement. She had imagined he had meant some sort of private park. How publicly could they possibly be displayed in what passed for Gryndstone uniforms? Also what train was he talking about?

  While they were being kitted out, Bradawl, Hawk and Puncheon removed their robes and replaced their mortarboards with straw boaters. They also closed up their tailored trouser flaps, concealing their genitals. After days of staring at their members in varied states of arousal it was almost a shock not to find them there.

  Led by the three teachers and with Miss Trunnion wearing a summer frock, in attendance, the girls were marched down the playground in their coffles and through a green door at the other end of the terrace from the office entrance. Mel recalled seeing coffles of girls being escorted through the doors on a few occasions but she had never asked what lay inside.

  Within was a plain square brick room with small barred windows. In the middle was the housing, winding wheels and gates for a goods elevator that vanished into the depths. A wooden platform running on rails up the shaft served as the lift itself. The walls of the room were lined with four chimneybreasts with large open hearths but no grates. Mel could feel a draft blowing through them.

  Round the central well, enclosed by mesh panels, wound a square spiral of wooden stairs. They clattered down these flights of stairs for several turns until they came to the bottom. Here the stairs opened onto what looked like a small underground station lit by electric laps. It was set on a side loop off a straight mainline, as though it was a halt to allow fast through trains to bypass slower stopp
ing trains. There was a sign on the wall that read: GRYNDSTONE HALT. Mounted on the far wall of the main track was another sign: CIRCLE LINE

  It seemed Gryndstone had its own underground train station.

  As they were led closer to the platform edge Mel saw the rails running through the station were of a very narrow gauge. After the loop rejoined the main line at sets of points at either end of the station it vanished into the mouths of tunnels too low to stand upright in and far too small to take regular underground trains. There was no sign of electric power rails, yet all the brickwork looked soot free and the air was fresh. What sort of trains could run along such lines?

  Bradawl consulted his watch. ‘It should be along very shortly,’ he announced.

  As if on cue there came the sound of wheels rattling along the track, slowing as they got closer. A low-slung train pulled off the main line onto the platform loop and the driver drew it to a smooth halt.

  It was pulling five low, lightweight, open carriages. Four had simple metal lattice frame sides and reminded Mel of cattle trucks while the fifth, just behind the engine, had solid sides and was fitted with three rows of comfortable double seats. The four trucks were floored with sponge rubber matting and had each had two rows of six phalluses rising vertically up from the floor, rather like the ones they squatted on in assembly. The frame sides were also hung with chains and fastening rings. In the last carriage a guard with peaked cap, flag and whistle, rode on a small fold-down seat. There was no problem guessing which carriages they would be travelling in.

  However it was not the carriages that riveted Mel’s attention, it was the driving engine. It was not electrically powered.

  Two naked girls with strong thighs and firm buttocks lay side by side and face down imprisoned within a cylindrical metal frame reminiscent of the boiler section of an old-fashioned steam engine, which rested on four rail wheels, the front pair smaller than the rear. Their arms were stretched out in front of them and cuffed to the frame that carried buffers and lamps. Padded trays to which they were firmly strapped supported their chests and stomachs. Their legs were cuffed to sets of bicycle-like pedals and gears that were connected to the rear set of larger drive wheels.

  Behind them sat the driver in an open cab above the rear drive wheels so that he could look over the top of the front section containing the two girls. He had some simple controls in front of him that connected to the wheel, gears and his living pistons in ways Mel could not make out, but the upturned buttocks of the two girls were bright pink.

  Suddenly the photo on the school wall made sense and the scope of Shackleswell’s secret world made a quantum leap in scale and audacity in Mel’s mind. These people actually had a miniature railway line under their city with slave-girl powered engines carrying more slave girls as goods. Of course Wire could probably have told her about it, but obviously Mel had never asked. Why should she? It was staggering.

  The guard assisted the teachers in loading almost forty naked girls onto his train as if he did it every day, which obviously he did. They simply squatted down impaling themselves in tight double rows in the cattle wagons and their coffle chains were clipped to the sides. Then the teachers took their seats up front.

  The guard blew his whistle and waved his flag and the train began to move off, slowly at first but picking up speed steadily. It clicked over the points and rejoined the main line. Could two girls pull so much weight? Evidently they could with the help of gears and level rails. They plunged into the tunnel, which was illuminated at intervals by electric lamps, and sped along in almost perfect silence with only the occasional rattle of couplings and steady burr of metal wheels on rail.

  Mel’s training in MI began to assert itself. She could feel the slight vibration of the wheels and the click of joints and points transmitted up inside her by her phallus. This was what it felt like to be connected to a real moving machine. It was insidiously arousing.

  Twisting her head round Mel saw the tunnel walls speeding past her were of painted brick, not prefabricated concrete sections. They were clean and well maintained but looked old. When had they been built? Had the girl engines been designed to fit through them, or had they been made to take their unique engines? Had Rowland himself planned the system?

  After a few minutes the train emerged from the tunnel to pass through another station. The sign over the platform read: THE MILLHOUSE. Here a shorter girl-powered train was standing in the siding with slave girls supervised by an overseer unloading trolleys of boxes and cartons off flat wagons. A goods train?

  Soon the tunnel widened to accommodate a second line running in parallel to theirs. Another girl-powered train went past in the opposite direction. This one carried no goods but drew three passenger carriages. Mel saw the sweating faces of the girls powering the train and the rings of their dangling breasts threaded through by a horizontal rod linking them to the frame of the engine. She also glimpsed the ordinary carefree faces of their passengers as they sped by. To them it seemed riding on a train pulled by slave girls was just normal everyday life.

  They passed through a larger station called: GIN STREET JUNCTION, which seemed to be an interchange with another line. Old names like that suggested the network had been around for some time. How big was it? This was a Sunday and it seemed quite busy. Presumably it would be even more so through the week. They were running on the “circle line” so how many more lines were there? No reason why they did not serve the whole City.

  The train begin to slow. It clicked over some points and pulled up at a station called: ROWLAND PARK, which boasted two loops of platform track. Another girl-train was already standing at the station disembarking a dozen people, including a party of three middle-aged couples leading a naked slave girl with a large picnic hamper strapped to her back. Was this what Bradawl had meant by being in public? The couples looked the gaggle of naked schoolgirls over with unabashed interest and Mel felt a sudden shy blush coming on. They were the first strangers to see them for nearly two weeks.

  The coffles of girls were disembarked and climbed a spiral of stone stairs back up to ground level. They emerged from a low square building into warm bright sunshine. About them were rolling lawns, stands of trees, fountains, benches, statues and flowerbeds crisscrossed by loops and sweeps of gravel paths. There were people out walking or jogging and some had already laid out rugs and picnic cloths on the grass. Amongst the clothed bodies were flashes of bare flesh and the glint of cuffs and collars.

  Mel shivered, acutely aware of being naked and exposed in the open before strange eyes. Suddenly the school playground seemed a very cosy place.

  As he led the school party along one of the broader pathways Bradawl explained: ‘Rowland Park is only open to gynaton-using Shackleswell citizens. As you can see many bring their own girls here for exercise.’ They passed a group of slave girls throwing a beach ball about apparently unsupervised. ‘The park has a secure perimeter so gynatons can be allowed to run free within its bounds.’

  Mel saw Bolt staring at the girls with sudden interest.

  ‘Many sporting and cultural events involving gynatons are also held here,’ Bradawl continued, pointing to a bandstand nestling between the trees and what looked like a small open-air theatre. ‘In many ways it is the true social and cultural hub of the city. It was intended as the prototype of similar parks Rowland hoped would be founded in towns across the country as others took up his eminently logical theory of gynaetics. Alas, this was not to be.’

  Mel tried to imagine the whole country run on Rowland’s principles and felt dizzy at the thought. It was crazy and yet, just suppose enough influential Victorians had taken his ideas up. They had been known believe some pretty weird things. Might this scene have become normal countrywide?

  ‘This is the centre of the park and where we shall all meet again this afternoon,’ Bradawl said.

  They had reached a spot where half a dozen paths met at a circle of gravel that surrounded a substantial monument. It was like a six-si
ded market cross with a small clock tower on its roof and drinking fountains mounted on the inside of the pillars. Raised on a plinth under the middle of the cross was a bronze statue of W.S.Rowland depicted seated on another of his girl-powered machines. It resembled an old-fashioned penny-farthing bike except that the huge front wheel had been expanded sideways to form an oblate cage in which a naked girl was running round hunched over like a hamster.

  As they got closer Mel saw the drinking fountains were of course fitted with phallic spouts. Below them were low wide bronze pans shaped a little like water-lily leaves with another fountain playing across them, the function of which Mel could not at first work out. Then she saw a slave girl run into the cross, squat down over one of the pans and pee gratefully and copiously. The small fountain playing over it washed her groin as she relieved herself. When she was done she unconcernedly shook the drips off her pubes and scampered away again.

  They were alfresco pee pans that gynatons had to use like dogs, Mel realised. How very natural that they should relieve themselves under the gaze of Rowland’s cold bronze eyes. No doubt that was how he would have wanted it.

  The Gryndstone girls were ungagged and uncuffed. Bradawl pointed to the clock tower. ‘Listen for the chimes through the day. You will all be back here by four o’clock,’ he told them. ‘In the meantime enjoy the park and have fun…’

  The girls chattered excitedly as they broke up into smaller groups. Some took play items from the sports bag. In a few minutes they had spread out along the paths and between the trees.

  Mel and Cam looked about them, momentarily at a loss. Suddenly they had hours of virtual freedom on their hands and did not know what to do with them. Nearly two weeks of rigid routine and confinement in the school grounds made it hard to plan for roaming about at will. Yet the teachers were no longer paying them any attention and were carrying the hamper off across the grass in search of a picnic spot. It seemed they really were free to go where they wished, as long as it was within the park. Hesitantly Cam picked a Frisbee out of the bag. ‘Maybe we can play with this?’ she asked.