Irontown 1: Student Maids Read online

  ‘I know, before we use their bums we’ve got to spank them to make them open up properly,’ Green said. ‘It’s what they expect.’

  ‘But we didn’t bring a cane,’ Pink pointed out.

  They found some dead twigs under the trees that they could bundle up into workable birch lashes. They pulled girls up onto their knees with their faces on the ground and bottoms raised and took turns moving between them and swiping the lashes across the posterior of their choice. They chuckled as they made them frantically bob and weave about. The twigs not only scored their shivering buttocks but their vulvas as they pouted from between their thighs, still leaking fluid from their first usage.

  The moans of the girls and the scarlet blush spreading across their bottoms filled the boys with sadistic delight and renewed vigour. Their cocks, bobbing freely in front of their trousers, grew hard once more. Throwing their lashes aside they plunged into the welcoming hot tightness of their mounts

  Mel found herself sighing with relief as Green’s shaft slid up inside her rectum and she clenched on it gratefully. Better a cock up her rear than a stinging scratchy birch lashing any day, though the pain had its uses and now a little sodomy was what she needed to… ahhhh… she came at last.

  When they were done and finally spent, the boys sagged across their mounts while they recovered.

  ‘These three are well stuffed,’ Green declared, lightly slapping Mel’s bottom as she curled up limply under him dribbling about her gag. ‘They’ve been bloody good rides.’

  The other two murmured agreement, gazing down appreciatively at the sweaty bodies under them. Reluctantly they withdrew their by now soft penises from their clenching anal rings, trailing sticky threads after them. Kneeling over the girls’ heads they wiped their shafts clean on their hair and then tucked their members away.

  Pink glanced over the girls’ half eaten lunches. ‘Maybe we should let them get back to feeding.’

  ‘Or,’ Green said with a grin, surveying the contents of the open lunchboxes and the girls’ still upturned haunches, ‘let’s leave them properly stuffed, sort of something to remember us by.’

  ‘Talking about remembering, don’t forget the tokens,’ said Pink.

  ‘I know the rule,’ Green said. ‘They can have both at the same time.’

  He took three slave tokens from his pocket and pushed one each into Mel, Cam and Bolt’s still wet and distended vaginas. ‘That is for your trouble,’ he said slowly and formally.

  Then the boys forced unpeeled bananas into their slots, pushing the tokens all the way up them until only the stalks showed between their lips. The girls groaned as their sore passages were so roughly plugged.

  ‘Who eats gherkins?’ Pink said, holding one up in disgust.

  ‘Nobody,’ Green agreed, ‘but we can do something else with them.’

  Green pried apart Mel’s buttocks and forced the gherkin into her anus until the end vanished inside her and her sphincter closed about it. The others laughed, then did the same to Cam and Bolt.

  Finally the boys stood up, dusting off their trousers and smiling down on the huddled, well-used and abused bodies of their prey whose orifices were bulging unnaturally with their parting gifts. The cowed girls looked back up at them tearfully with fear and pleading in their eyes and Mel saw the boys swell with the warm glow of satisfaction of a job well done.

  ‘Um, have you got a cuff key to undo them?’ Yellow asked.

  ‘Oh bloody heck, no!’ Green exclaimed. ‘Never mind, they’ll manage somehow. They’re used to being bound up.’ He patted Mel on the head. ‘You were all nice and hot and juicy,’ he said by way of praise.

  The other boys did the same and then they strode off through the trees whistling jauntily.

  Mel, Bolt and Cam lay still for a few minutes recovering their strength. Then they squirmed about awkwardly until they could use their cuffed hands to pull each other’s gags out.

  After what they had just been through ordinary women would have been in shock, having hysterics or screaming for the police about now, Mel thought. However if this day had proved anything it was that they were no longer ordinary women. They had been multiply violated but they were Gryndstone girls and they had different priorities.

  ‘A banana, a gherkin and a big coin!’ Cam said bitterly. ‘Oww! The little b… beasts! And why shove a token up us anyway?’

  ‘A sort of tip, I suppose,’ said Mel. ‘Compensation for our “trouble” he said. Maybe every slave that gets an unauthorised screwing on Sundays in the park gets them. Tradition probably.’

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Cam asked plaintively. ‘We can’t get our cuffs undone without a key.’

  ‘We pack up best we can and then find the teachers. We don’t want to leave a mess behind.’

  ‘It was such a lovely spot,’ said Cam regretfully.

  ‘It still is,’ said Mel.

  ‘It’s just the people you meet that lowers the tone,’ said Bolt.

  Mel looked at her expecting some tirade about what had been done to them to follow, but that was it. Bolt had actually made a little joke about their ordeal.

  ‘Well,’ Mel chuckled, ‘boys will be boys…’

  They squatted down amongst the trees and managed to expel the remains of the bananas and gherkins, but the big tokens remained lodged high up inside them beyond the play of their internal muscles.

  ‘We’ll need our hands free to get these out,’ said Mel.

  With mouths and cuffed hands they managed to gather up their possessions. Then, walking in slight waddles to favour their sore orifices and ever sorer welted bottoms, they set out back towards the cross. Bolt slogged along beside them, seeming to be accepting everything with untypical stoicism. By the time they reached the masters sprawled about on the grass not far from the cross their inner thighs were wet with the oozing remains of the boys spent sperm.

  ‘Excuse us, Headmaster,’ Mel said plaintively. ‘We’ve had a little trouble. Could you uncuff us please?’

  They had to explain how it happened and Bradawl questioned them closely. Not if they had suffered, of course. ‘Did they enjoy using you? Did you give satisfaction?’

  ‘We think so, Headmaster. They said we were good rides.’

  ‘And they properly compensated you.’

  ‘Yes, Headmaster.’

  ‘Then you performed as Gryndstone girls should. Well done indeed. Now clean yourselves up…’

  They cooled their bottoms and washed their pussies clean in the pans under the cross beneath Rowland’s stern gaze. With a lot of jiggling and probing they managed to recover the gyntokens.

  ‘I suppose you could say we made a profit on the day,’ Mel observed.

  Back at school that evening Mel, Cam and Bolt had to tell the story several times to their fellow pupils who listened in rapt attention. Many had been on training days in town but none had yet faced an unplanned real-life situation. Their audience ohhed and ahed as the gory details were recounted, envied the fact that they had already earned themselves slave tokens and sympathised with their thrashed bottoms. But not a single one suggested that what the boys had done to them had been wrong. It was simply the Shackleswell way of life.

  ‘You did great,’ said Wire. ‘We’ll make Gryndstone girls out of you yet.’

  That night as Cam lay curled up in Mel’s arms she said: ‘I was so frightened while they were having us. It wasn’t like a lesson in school and it felt dangerous. They might have done anything to us. Yet at the same time it was a sort of thrill. Then afterwards when the Headmaster said we’d done well I felt proud.’

  ‘Did you come when the boys were having you? I think that’s important.’

  ‘Oh, I did and it felt good.’ Cam sighed. ‘But it was actually wrong, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, at least it would be more or less anywhere else outside Shackleswell.’

  ‘So then why did I come? How can I enjoy something like that? What’s this place doing to us?’

  Unexp
ectedly Mel felt Bolt suddenly cuddling up to them, adding her blanket and body heat to theirs. It was the first time she had shown any inclination to sleep together like other girls did. Her body felt nice but this sudden turnabout was disturbing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mel asked nervously as she felt Bolt’s arms slide round her.

  ‘Being a proper sharing chain-sister, of course. That’s what you wanted, right?’

  ‘Um, well, yes.’

  ‘You want to know what this place is doing to us?’ Bolt said to Cam, a razor edge entering he voice. ‘Well, it thinks it’s grinding us down into little identical model slave girls, that’s what. They’re also so sure it works they think we’ll all end up brainwashed like Chain and Spindle and won’t have the guts to escape. But they’re not getting me. You two want to graduate? Well after what I’ve seen today so do I. From now on we’re going to be the hottest, most submissive trigyn in Gryndstone and we’re going to graduate in record time. Then, when we’re out of here and I get my first day off, I’m not going to any park, I’m just gone!’

  Chapter Ten

  The next day all the teachers clearly knew about the incident in the park. Mel, Cam and Bolt were made to relate the event in detail both in D&SK and SI as a practical demonstration of their training being tested in the real world. They were praised for behaving suitably submissively, giving satisfaction to their impromptu masters and acting sensibly afterwards. From being a problem trio they were suddenly the trigyn to emulate. Perhaps it was this incident that explained why the following day Mel, Bolt and Cam saw on the timetable that they were to report the Headmaster for their first work experience day.

  They knelt before Bradawl in Classroom 1 for their briefing. Bolt was all wide-eyed interest as she appeared to hang on his every word. Secretly Mel found this new attitude almost as disturbing as Bolt’s previous show of insolence, which at least had been genuine. It made life easier only as long as she was not found out. Mel just hoped Bradawl would take it at face value.

  ‘After your fine behaviour in the park I think you’re ready for the next phase of your education,’ Bradawl said. ‘There will two tests designed to introduce you to serving in close proximity to the general public. One will be in a utilitarian capacity and the other offering a pleasure service, and they will take place at Central Station. This will also enable you to become familiar with our underground system. Not only is it the means by which you will most often travel to your assigned duties after you graduate but it employs many gynatons directly in its service operations.

  ‘I’ll escort you today but next time you will be expected to find your own way there, report to a supervisor and then travel back at the end of the day. That’s the usual gynaton way in Shackleswell.’

  A town where slaves were expected to take themselves unescorted to and from their labours, Mel thought incredulously. At first glance it seemed crazy, yet it would be a saving on supervisor man-hours. However as a consequence it meant giving gynatons a degree of responsibility. She thought of Chain and Spindle in the park seeming so at ease and confident. Could you have empowered slaves or, bearing in mind the enclosed nature of the underground, was it merely an illusion of freedom?

  Bradawl put them into a coffle, cuffed and gagged them, then led them across the playground and down the stairs to Gryndstone Halt.

  Mel had been too distracted the other day to notice there was a map of Shackleswell’s underground network posted up in the school station. It would have answered some of her questions. Now while they were waiting for their train Bradawl made them study it and the timetable beside it. If she didn’t know any better she would have taken it for any normal underground network.

  There were six main colour-coded lines with interchanges marked where they crossed and several shorter local lines. The circle that they were on formed a continuous loop about the city, while the others snaked in from the suburbs across the city and back out again. All these passed through Shackleswell Central.

  ‘Station officials may check your collar numbers and pass fobs but serving gynatons always travel free so you will never need tickets,’ he told them. ‘You may use the whole network but note those red bars on the map marking interchange points to uncontrolled public areas where you might encounter outsiders. They are always clearly signed. You do not pass these points unless you are properly clothed. Suitable off-duty dress will be provided after you graduate.’

  Mel saw Bolt prick up her ears.

  Their girl-train arrived. It was not the passenger special that had taken them to the park but a regular goods service with a single seated passenger carriage, two low wagons with cartons on wheeled pallets and a truck for kneeling impaled slave girls.

  Did slave girls count as goods or passengers, Mel wondered.

  Mel, Bolt and Cam clambered into the truck and impaled themselves beside the half-dozen other girls already on board, while Bradawl sat up front. The train pulled smoothly away again.

  They changed to the Northern Line at Gin Street Junction, which Mel now saw was a larger station than Gryndstone Halt and fully manned. Goods trolleys loaded with packages in transport were lined up along the platform, there was a station office and low wooden hutch-like structures arrayed along the length of the platform.

  When a train pulled up, naked slave girls emerged from the hutches like rabbits. Long chains were fastened to their collars that looped up to a framework of channels suspended from the roof, like those in the school washroom, confining them to the platform area. They wore small peaked caps and solid but highly polished black working shoes, which contrasted strangely with their nudity. They scuttled about loading and unloading the goods trolleys under the watchful eyes of male porters.

  A flight of stairs and a short tunnel took them to the Northern line, where they caught another train. This was more crowded than the previous one with two carriages of seated passengers.

  As they sped through the tunnels Mel squirmed on the fresh phallus thrust up inside her, feeling the exciting vibration of the train. How many other girls before her had ridden on this same prong of rubber?

  After three more stops the train emerged into some much larger, lofty and brightly lit structure, which seemed to be a hive of activity by comparison with the stations they had previously passed through. Rolling wheels, snaking carriages and snatched views of pumping girlish limbs flashed by. As they slowed down Mel saw a sign reading: SHACKLESWELL CENTRAL.

  The station was roofed by a series of interlocking domes supported by heavy columns. What looked like daylight was reflected down through large bull’s-eye like skylights set in the apex of each dome. By their light Mel saw lines emerging from an arc of tunnel mouths that fed into the station where they merged, branched and passed over each other in maze of points and diamond crossings. Low footbridges crossed the tracks and there were forests of coloured signals with semaphore arms, miniature versions of the ones real railways used, signal boxes, sheds and workshops. It was a complex large enough to serve an entire city and emphasised the scale and durability of Shackleswell’s secret world.

  Their train pulled up at a platform and immediately more slavegirl porters began unloading the trolleys, swaying breasts bobbing and ringed nipples sparkling.

  To one side was what looked like a goods yard handling larger items of freight, some of which was being stacked in sheds and under awnings. Opposite this was the passenger terminus where people strode calmly on and off the trains without sparing their imprisoned human engines or naked porters a second glance. But then several of the passengers were also leading naked girls after them like dogs. This was just everyday life.

  As Bradawl took charge of them again Mel gazed at the slave girls labouring about her. There were teams of them working across a dozen platforms, pushing and pulling goods about. There must have been forty or fifty of them visible in a single glance about the station. The parade of naked bottoms, swaying breasts and exposed pudenda was irresistible to the eye. They were all shaven, ringe
d, collared, cuffed and stamped as Mel and her companions. None appeared any younger than her or older than about thirty. They were of all colours and builds and from what she could see were at least outwardly fit and healthy. Their nudity as such was not the most surprising thing, however, Mel had got used to that by now. It was the sheer numbers of them combined with the workaday setting and their accessories that made it so bizarre.

  Though otherwise naked, they were all wearing the tiny porter hats, thick gloves and heavy boots. The first impression was that they were there to accentuate their nudity in a kinky way, like a contrived photo-shoot in some glossy garage glamour calendar. Then she saw how they were sweating as they heaved crates and pushed the trolleys and cartons around. This was serious work involving heavy objects some with sharp edges so perhaps their minimal protective clothing was justified. At least they were being protected, or was it simply common sense pragmatism? This was true hard labour, genuine slavery, and the reality that lay beyond Gryndstone schoolgirl life. It jarred with the mental accommodations Mel had been making to rationalise Shackleswell’s philosophy and for a few seconds she looked about her with a critical eye.

  However well-protected the girls were, they were indisputably true slaves. No glamour calendar Mel could have imagined would have contrived the means by which their movements were controlled and limited to their particular working areas. In a way they too were confined to rails but much more intimately than their sisters at Gin Street Junction. It was, Mel realized with a shiver, the sort of thing their MI lessons were preparing them for.

  There were narrow recessed channels set into the platforms shaped into tracks and loops that ran between them and the sheds and workshops. Each slavegirl porter had a telescopic rod lodged up her anus with a short chain linking its upper end to a single padlock that was looped through her labial piercings. The base of the rod ended in a greased ball that ran smoothly through the recessed channel but was obviously too big to pull out past the narrower gap formed by the channel lips. These rods slid along just behind the girls’ heels, expanding and contracting about some internal spring to accommodate their movements as they bent and stretched to load boxes. They hardly seemed aware of them as they went about their tasks, crossing junctions and turning round loops, but they confined their activities solely to the routes permitted to them and nowhere else.