Irontown 1: Student Maids Read online

  ‘Gyndog fountains,’ he said happily. ‘I once got a dozen of you in a row doing that. Amazing height you reached. Strong inner muscles, I suppose. Nearly squeezed the life out of my cock afterwards!’

  At lunchtime a slave housemaid brought a tray of food down to the summerhouse and Cog helped Grandfather Fillister eat it. Soon afterwards he was snoring.

  ‘He’ll sleep for a few hours now,’ Cog confided in a soft voice. ‘You can get some rest now’

  She fed them some grapes and chocolates and then Mel, Cam and Bolt sprawled on the grass in the sun, grinning at each other round their fake tongues. It had been a weird day but this was not so bad, Mel thought. It was disconcerting to be used as pure playthings. She’d rather have some real work to do. That felt natural. Did she really mean that?

  She must have dozed because she was jerked awake by sharp words.

  ‘Give me that! He’s asleep and he’ll never know and nor will my parents.’

  The daughter of the house was standing over Cog, pulling the remote control box from her hands. She now dressed in a long loose summer dress and white sandals.

  ‘Please, Mistress… Miss Samantha, they’re old Mr Fillister’s toys,’ Cog said.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

  Samantha Fillister wrenched Cog’s arms behind her and cuffed her wrists together. As Cog protested she took an apple from the fruit bowl and rammed it into her mouth, jamming it between her teeth. Then she shortened Cog’s leash chain, pulling her over to the doorpost.

  ‘Now you don’t make a sound until I come back,’ she warned her.

  Using the control box Samantha steered Mel, Bolt and Cam away from the Summerhouse and down towards the lake. They had no choice but to shuffle along as fast as they could with their breasts swaying and jiggling. The twitches that drove their limbs were accompanied with brief stabs of the punishment setting that lanced through then nipples and pussies, making them yelp and stumble. Mel saw Bolt and Cam both looked fearful but there was nothing they could do.

  There was a dense thicket of rhododendron bushes near the shore. Samantha drove them into this, pushing aside the low branches. At the heart of the thicket there was an open patch of ground floored by bare stamped earth. On it was spread an old rug. She’s been planning this, Mel thought.

  Samantha grinned down at the girls in triumph. ‘You really are pretty gyndogs,’ she said. ‘You’re wasted on Grandfather. Are you going to be good?’ Her finger hovered over the pain button. They nodded quickly. ‘Now let’s play my game…’

  She rolled her dress up to her waist. She was naked underneath. Her buttocks were nicely rounded and a sparse triangle of russet curls capped her neatly cleft mound. She laid on her back on the rug, bent her knees and spread her legs, exposing her groin to them. She worked the control box until Bolt was straddled over her with her head above Samantha’s groin and her pubes over Samantha’s head. Mel knelt with her face pressed into Bolt’s pussy while at the end of the line Cam’s face was nuzzling into Mel’s pubes.

  ‘Now you will all use your tongues on the pussy you have in front of you. If I don’t think your trying hard enough you’ll get a shock. When I press move the one at the front goes round to the back and you all move up one space. I want to feel all your tongues in me again and again and watch you pleasuring each other until I come. Then I’ll think of a new game. Begin…’

  Bolt dipped her head and thrust her extended tongue deep into Samantha’s sex, even as Mel felt Cam slide her tongue into her. As Mel twisted her head to lap at Bolt’s pussy she saw Samantha looking up in hungry fascination at the desperate cunnilingus taking just above her head.

  So they shuffled around Samantha, alternately pleasuring her and themselves for her amusement. Quick stabs of electric pain that she inflicted on them with delighted laughter punished any slackness. Soon their nipples and labia were tingling, driving on their mounting arousal. They could not help this. By now it was quite instinctive. As the scent of flowing female juices filled the tiny glade one by one they came, dripping their discharge onto Samantha’s face which she wiped up and licked in wonder.

  At last Samantha bucked her own hips, grinding her pussy into Cam’s face. Then she sank back, breathing heavily and rubbing her fingers through her wet slot.

  ‘Oh… that was nice! You do have good tongues on you. I wish you belonged to me. Think of the fun could have. Now, next you’re going to –’

  ‘Miss Samantha!’ came Cleaver’s voice calling out the distance. ‘Listen to me wherever you are. I have to return those gyndogs to your Grandfather. They’re his toys, not yours. Your parents will be back soon and your father won’t be happy if he hears you took them...’

  Panic replaced dreamy delight on Samantha’s face. Hurriedly she pulled her dress back down and scrambled to her feet, peering anxiously through the foliage. They heard Cleaver calling out again, but his voice was fainter. Samantha flipped the joysticks on the control box, setting the girls’ legs shuffling into motion.

  ‘Back to the summerhouse, quickly!’

  She sent them plunging through the bushes careless of scratches. They burst out into the open facing the wrong direction. In a panic Samantha stabbed at the controls, but instead of steering them along the path she sent them shuffling wildly down the grassy bank towards the edge of the lake.

  ‘No, no stop!’ she screeched.

  But they could not stop. They were prisoners of reflex and the commands flowing through their dog suits. Over the bank they went and splashed into the green water. It was only shallow but they could not stand up and the weight of their cuffs and collars was pulling them under. The contacts in their costumes began to short out, making them jerk uncontrollably. Bubbles swirled past Mel’s head. She was drowning….

  Then a strong hand caught her by the collar and hauled her out of the lake to flop coughing and spluttering on the bank beside Cam and Bolt’s dripping forms. She blinked the water from her eyes to see Cleaver wade back up onto the bank and stand glaring sternly at a trembling Samantha.

  ‘Your Father’s not going to like this, Miss.’

  It was an hour later back at the Summerhouse.

  Mel, Bolt and Cam knelt to one side in a coffle, stripped of their now useless gyndog costumes. Samantha stood miserably before her father and mother. Upon their return Cleaver reported the incident and now Cog was explaining how Samantha had taken restrained her and taken the girls away. Fortunately she had managed to reach the table phone with her foot, chew through her apple gag and call Cleaver’s stable phone.

  ‘Is this true?’ her father asked Samantha.

  ‘Yes, Father, but I only wanted to borrow them…’

  ‘Be quiet! I’ve heard enough.’

  Samantha bowed her head.

  ‘She broke them.’ Old Mr Fillister protested once again. ‘They were my toys and she broke them.’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ his son said gently, ‘and now she’s going to be punished.’

  Old Mr Fillister suddenly brightened. ‘Oh… rosy bum time, is it?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Samantha stifled a sob of fear.

  ‘She was only playing with them, George,’ her mother said. ‘It was naughty but perfectly natural. If Cleaver hadn’t panicked her no harm would have been done.’

  ‘No, Mary,’ her husband said. ‘She disobeyed me and proved she was not fit to be in control of these girls. That’s harm enough. You’re always excusing her mistakes and because of that I’ve been too soft on her. Well, now she’s going to get the punishment she deserves… and I think you’ll share it with her.’

  Samantha gasped while Mary Fillister went pale. ‘No, George, you can’t… not right now… I mean…’ she stressed the next words: ‘I’m still dressed for going out!’

  ‘I know and it’s your own fault. This is my right and duty. Now lift your skirts and bend over the rail, both of you!’

  Miserably, mother and daughter turned and hitched up their skirts. Saman
tha’s bottom Mel had already seen. Her mother’s backside was of a similar build with slightly fleshier pale buttocks, but there was a thin metal strap running up from between her buttocks that joined a broader strap about her waist. A chastity belt?

  They bent over the veranda balustrade, grasping the outside of the posts to brace themselves and presenting their bare bottoms to the rest of the company. George Fillister took out a key, inserted it in the slim lock in the small of his wife’s back that joined the straps and pulled the belt off.

  ‘Perhaps I should get one of these for Samantha to keep her under control as well,’ he mused. Samantha whimpered.

  Now Mary Fillister’s pubic mound, covered in thicker ruddy curls than her daughter’s, also pouted unwilling out at them from between shivering thighs.

  Mel felt embarrassment at witnessing this private family shame but she could not look away.

  ‘Mr Cleaver, please strap them down properly,’ George said.

  Cleaver bound the women’s wrists to the posts and put more straps across their backs and about their ankles, pulling their legs apart.

  From the rack George selected a lash and a spanking paddle, which he gave to Cleaver. ‘If you would attend to my daughter. I want to see her rear burn and turn scarlet and I want to hear her scream.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Fillister,’ Cleaver said calmly, as though being asked to beat the naked bottom of his employer’s daughter was nothing out of the ordinary. But then this was Shackleswell, Mel reminded herself.

  The men took up positions of either side of the bound women and began to beat them. The pair of soft pale bottoms, so similar in form, shivered and jumped under the lash of thong and paddle, with ripples running across their hips and thighs. Anuses clenched at each blow and then gaped pitifully. The sweet crack of rubber on flesh filed the air.

  Their pouting vulvas did not escape the punishment. As the blows compressed their buttock flesh they snacked into their tender nethermouths, stinging those most sensitive lips. In addition both George and Cleaver aimed a few strokes up into the women’s groins, giving them a taste of the full force of a blow.

  Mary Fillister controlled herself better, snivelling and moaning and clenching her teeth but not saying a word. Samantha however sobbed, screamed and begged for forgiveness at the top of her voice, promising to be a perfect daughter from now on if her father would only spare her this humiliation. In her extremis and clenched up with pain she even farted shamefully in between her pleadings. He took no notice, letting her bottom turn from pink to the blazing scarlet he had specified while tanning his wife’s posterior to match.

  Finally Samantha could control herself no longer. With a dreadful moan of the deepest shame a stream of pee burst from between her sore labia and hissed backwards hot and steaming, splashing across the wooden decking. As the dying drips of her impromptu fountain fell from her cleft she sagged across the balustrade in a dead faint.

  Grandfather Fillister enthusiastically applauded her degrading display. ‘Hah! That’s the way we used to keep the girls in line in the old days!’

  Back at school that evening, Mel, Cam and Bolt related their brief glimpse in to the lives of the spoilt, rich and over privileged to their fascinated fellow pupils.

  Mel sent a mail to Maddy. ‘Helped look after a rich old man today. He lives in a big house with fantastic grounds, including a lake. I even had time for a quick dip. He was nice but a bit dotty so I did my best to cheer him up. You could tell the family were in a bit of a mess and the daughter was a real handful. We’re not the only people with problems so there’s still hope...’

  Maddy replied: ‘Swims in lakes! I’ve been doing office cleaning which is so boring. It sounds like you’ve having more fun that I am…’

  Was she having fun?

  Later in bed the three of them talked it over.

  ‘Gryndstone seems almost normal by comparison to all that,’ Cam said.

  Unexpectedly Bolt took some cheer from this revelation that the elite of local society were actually just as screwed up as their own families. ‘They’re no better than we are, except they’ve got the keys.’

  ‘It shows that Shackleswell’s a complicated place,’ Mel agreed. ‘But then what do you expect after a hundred and fifty years? Bits of it are still following on Rowland’s practical ideals and others have got a bit, well, decadent.’

  ‘Yeah, but which bit will we end up in?’ Cam wondered. ‘Maybe some of each won’t be too bad, as long as our masters respect us for what we are. That’s so important.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Cam swayed between the confession platform’s tethering posts, looking out at the assembled pupils. Mel’s stomach knotted at the sight of her, so exposed, yet brave and beautiful.

  ‘My family wanted me to stay in the family business and eventually marry one of my own people, but I knew better and didn’t listen,’ Cam said. ‘I wanted to show them I could make it on my own. It went terribly wrong. Then somebody told me I could make money dancing in strip clubs, but it was horrible. Eventually I hit a club owner when he tried it on once too often and ran away, but I was too ashamed to go back home. I was on streets when a man from Shackleswell found me. Please punish me, I deserve it…’

  The canes fell across her front and back.

  ‘You were wonderful,’ Mel said afterwards, hugging Cam while trying to avoid her sore breasts. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Better,’ Cam said. ‘Like a weight’s lifted off my shoulders. It’s frightening but so good to say it out loud like that.’ She clutched their hands. ‘You must do it as soon as you can. It’s the only way. Then you can get on with your life.’

  ‘As a slave? I don’t think so,’ Bolt interjected.

  ‘It’s better than having no life at all,’ Cam insisted.

  ‘After what you said about dancing in strip clubs being bad?’

  ‘Somehow this is different,’ Cam insisted. ‘There’s no guilt, we know the rules and we’d have friends. Anyway, will you?’ she asked Mel.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mel said evasively. ‘I’ve got to get my story right first.’

  ‘It’s got to be the truth or it won’t count,’ Cam said.

  ‘It will be, most of it,’ Mel promised.

  She felt the pressure on her was rising. Their ever more frequent work experience trips into town were becoming welcome diversion from school routine and thoughts of her confession. That was like facing a final exam you could only pass by cheating.

  Two days later Bradawl announced that they were to serve for a day in Spalling and Sons, the largest department store in the city. Again this was a prestigious assignment. Only the best people shopped there.

  A Spalling’s delivery van called for them bright and early and they were loaded inside. Mel hoped this second taste of exclusivity they were being treated to worked out better than the last one.

  They were unloaded at Spalling’s goods depot at the back of the imposing six-story mass of the store. From there they were led along winding back corridors to meet Mr Groover, head of customer care. He was a balding man in his fifties who actually wore a black tailcoat. He looked too superior to soil his hands with slave girls but he subjected them to a close examination, studying their faces, feeling their breasts and having them bend over his desk so he could probe up between their legs.

  ‘You’ll do,’ he said at last, wiping his hands on a tissue. ‘Plenty of physical variety which is good. We’re always happy to help Gryndstone, of course, but we have our standards, you know. Only the best for Spalling’s customers.’

  Groover led them along to the back of the ladies fashion department, where he indicated a heavy door.

  ‘Through there is the changing area exclusively for our gold key customers. While their wives are being fitted many gentlemen like to pass the time more pleasurably than by reading magazines. It’s a mutually agreeable arrangement.’

  Mel thought it sounded both old fashioned and perverse at the same time, like a lot of things in Shackl
eswell.

  Mr Groover added delicately: ‘Sometimes both partners come through or even occasionally ladies on their own. I trust you will have no trouble pleasing them?’

  They shook their heads. Pleasing females was not a problem.

  Groover introduced them to Harold, a desperately eager to please young man whose neck was too thin for his immaculate company collar and tie. He carried a bucket of sponges, clothes, douche tubes, a pee funnel and a grease gun and had the job of feeding and watering them and cleaning them up between customer visits.

  They took them to the relief rooms. These were three small carefully lit cubicles with heavy padded doors and royal blue walls (the company logo colour) containing principally a bidet, a hand basin and a rape rack. This was a low bench the size of a kitchen table with an angled backboard resting on it with its lower edge so close to the front as to leave only a shelf-width between them. This ledge and the backboard were covered in deep blue vinyl padding to match the walls. The legs of the device extended upward to form sturdy head-high side posts linked by crossbars. It was of course amply fitted out with chains and straps together with a lightweight spanking paddle hung on a side post.

  ‘Our customers may of course beat you in moderation,’ Groover explained. ‘The paddle is very light and will not do any serious damage. Harold has ice packs to reduce any excessive blush they might leave on you. When you are not in use a spyhole is open in the doors so our customers may select their preferred girl.’

  Mel watched Cam being secured.

  Groover and Harold sat her on the narrow padded ledge and laid her back against the rest. Groover pulled her legs out wide and up until her ankles were level with her shoulders, then he secured her ankle cuffs to chains hanging from the rack’s front posts. Straps strung across from the rear posts were looped round the backs of her knees, holding them slightly bent and keeping her thighs from turning inwards. Her arms were pulled up and wide and her cuffs were clipped to chains bolted to the top corners of the backboard. There were lighter chains hanging on the sides of the board that Groover looped across and clipped to Cam’s nipple rings. A second pair of chains fixed lower down on the sides of the board were strung across under the backs of her raised thighs and hooked to her labial rings, pulling her glistening lovemouth wide open in invitation. Finally Cam’s red collar ball gag was replaced by one of Spalling blue. Their bondage was being colour co-ordinated.