Irontown 1: Student Maids Page 19
Mini spotlights illuminated the rack and lit up Cam’s chained and splayed body. With her legs pulled up and back tilted her parted vagina and anus was perfectly presented for penetration. Against the dark walls she seemed to glow. Cam’s eyes met Mel’s and she smiled around her gag. Ever since her confession she had seemed almost serene and now on top of that she looked incredibly screwable.
With Cam secured they moved along to the middle cubicle where Mel was chained to an identical rack in the same way. She felt her stomach flip as they pulled her legs wide, exposing her bare ringed pussy for all to see. Mel resisted just enough for them to work against her muscles. There was a guilty schoolgirl thrill in feeling she was being forced. They secured her and closed the door and Mel was alone.
Mel’s thoughts drifted. She felt nervous anticipation but no real fear. Weeks of Gryndstone training had reduced what was to come almost to routine. In principle this was not so different from serving in the station, although the soundproofing was better so she could not hear Cam and Bolt or their customers. It was of course right at the other end of the social and comfort scale and at least this time she would not go short of cock and orgasms.
God, did she actually just think that?
Well she was strung out with her pussy chained wide facing the door a procession of strangers was going to walk through and she knew she looked bloody hot so of course they’d want her, which meant she’d also get off. It was natural.
Natural but wrong. She should not be gagging for it as well, that was crazy.
So why was her pussy already oozing with her cream?
Well that was just self-preservation and reflex, it didn’t mean that what was being done to her, Cam, Bolt and all the other girls was not morally wrong.
Not in this city though. What about Chain and Spindle in the park? They seemed content, even happy.
So what, surely she wanted to escape from here and get back home?
Well yes… but back home to what?
Her first client was a large bored looking man who hung up his jacket, loosed his flies and jabbed his cock into her mechanically, hardly looking her in the eye. She found the backboard was sprung so his thrusts started her rocking back and forth, setting her breasts jiggling and tugging against their chains. There was a certain thrill in being used so casually, but the best thing was that he was obviously in no hurry to come so she was able to work up to her own climax. She rocked the rack as she orgasmed, almost sucking the sperm out of him. At least it wiped the bored look off his face. He pulled out of her, looking surprised and rather proud.
Harold slipped in a minute after he had left and carefully flushed Mel out and wiped her down, finishing by giving her a sip of water. She smiled her thanks, feeling almost as though she was being pampered. Harold would be wiping the bare pussies of naked bound slave girls all day. It was a hard job, Mel thought, but somebody had to do it.
The next man took up the spanking paddle and without preliminaries swiped it across her exposed groin and buttocks with crisp cracks. He swatted the open mouth of her sex, tormenting the hard nub of her clitoris. Her juices splattered across her belly and inner thighs and stained the paddle. He reached between her legs to beat her breasts, deliberately slapping them from side to side so they were jerked back by their nipple chains.
He did not put the paddle down until her eyes were bulging and wet with tears and she was writhing and straining at her chains, shamefully desperate to please him. Then he took her up her rear with almost brutal force, stretching her anus with his thrusts. He grasped hold of the loops of her nipple chains and used them like reins, hauling himself against her with them even as he drew out her trembling breasts into fat pink cones. He was delighting in her moans and yelps and her face screwed up in pain and the dribble round her gag dripping onto her breasts and Gryndstone tie.
You bastard! Mel screamed at him inside her head and then she came explosively and almost fainted with pleasure. Was she becoming a pain junkie, she thought as she hung limply in her rack? What would it be like to be owned by a man like him and used that way day after day?
After her abuser left Harold had to use his ice packs on her sore flesh and looked concerned and sympathetic. Mel decided he was actually a lot handsomer and nobler than she had at first thought.
Mel had her first couple. They were in their fifties, perhaps, with greying hair but otherwise appearing to be in good shape. Without a word she bent over in front of Mel and rolled up her skirt, presenting her bare bottom to her husband. A metal band ran up from between her buttocks. Another chastity belt. He unlocked it and pulled it open. Mel saw a pair of rubber phalluses pulling out of her anus and vagina. He took down the spanking paddle but he did not use it on Mel. As she slowly and skilfully tongued Mel he screwed his wife from behind, pausing only to swipe her bottom with the paddle. They were in no hurry and knew exactly what they were doing.
She was so submissive and skilled Mel recalled Bradawl’s talk on their first day when he had said that after the end of their service gynatons made good wives. Was that still true? Was the woman tonguing her out an ex-slave or was female submission simply the norm in male-dominated Shackleswell?
Whatever the truth they all came together and it felt good.
A lone woman in a two-piece business suit came in. She was slim and dark with bright intelligent eyes. She looked Mel up and down hungrily and nodded to herself.
She stood between Mel’s spread legs, cupped and squeezed her breasts, then pulled out Mel’s gag and kissed her passionately. When she pulled away she put a finger over Mel’s lips to command silence. She went round to the back of the rack and worked a catch and the backboard flipped down flat. Groover had not told Mel it did that. It eased the ache in her hips.
The woman hitched up her skirt, clambered onto the now flat rack top and straddled Mel’s head. Mel found her face nuzzling into a hot, sweet, scented peach of a vulva that sucked and slurped over her. At the same time she felt lips kissing her pussy. She tongued and lapped and sucked her pulsing lovemouth as passionately as she could. After the woman left Harold had to wipe spent juices from Mel’s face and hair.
Mel was visited by another couple who were younger than the first pair. They stood in front of Mel and he pointed at the floor imperiously. His companion immediately knelt down. He freed his cock and screwed Mel while, with her face almost touching Mel’s thigh, she watched her husband’s cock intently as it pumped in and out of her vagina. After he had spent himself inside Mel he withdrew quickly and she pressed her lips against Mel’s gaping sex and methodically sucked and licked up his sperm as it dribbled out of her.
When she was done she sat back on her heels, licking her lips and smiling up at him hopefully.
‘All right, you can have the dress,’ he said.
Finally they reached the end of the day. Mel heard Mr Groove’s voice saying distantly: ‘The store is closing now…’
Shortly afterwards Harold came into Mel’s cubicle, looking red-faced and slightly furtive. Quickly he opened up his trousers and freed a slim semi-hard shaft that was still glistening with juices. As he positioned himself before Mel she smelt Cam’s scent. He was going round screwing them before they were shipped off back to school. She clenched about his cock as he pumped desperately away inside her and did her best to make it as pleasurable as possible.
Presumably in Shackleswell this counted as one of the perks of the job.
‘Hi, Maddy. I’ve been helping out with customer care in very high-class department store whose name I really can’t mention. Just say that there is nothing they won’t do to keep their customers happy…’
Maddy replied: ‘It sounds like you’re having such an interesting time! I should have run away, not you. Why can’t I see you? I really don’t think Dad will care now. I think he’s pretending it never happened. We’ve been punished enough. I mean we are adults and we can make our own choices. And it’s been nearly three months…’
Mel blinked. She’d b
een in Shackleswell nearly three months?
Chapter Thirteen
The Shackleswell Commercial Fellowship Society was hosting a dinner, celebrating fraternal links with other, very select, businesses around the country. It was held in a private suite in the city’s smart new conference centre. Shortly speeches would be given, good food would be consumed and no doubt deals would be done. Before that of course fiddly little finger-food snacks were chewed and drinks were drunk standing up, which had to be served first...
A dozen naked Gryndstone girls were circulating the room serving the drinks and snacks in their own unique way. Locals would point them out to their guests and say proudly: ‘That’s how we train delinquent girls in this town.’
As a consequence several company bosses would no doubt see the benefits of moving their operations closer to Shackleswell. Gryndstone girls earned their keep in many ways.
Mel was carrying round glasses of champagne on a tray before her. Naturally she was not carrying it with her hands, which were cuffed behind her back. Like all the girls a little silver waitress cap on her head matched the silver bridle gag clamping her mouth shut. A crescent-moon tray was slung against her chest under her breasts, with the horns curving round the sides towards her armpits. It was held in place by a strap going round her back, a chain running up between her breasts to her collar, clips on the tray front hooked to her nipple rings and two light bracing rods supporting its front edge that ran up from her labia rings to which they were padlocked. She did not carry the tray so much as wear it. Loaded with gasses it was quite heavy and pulled on her nipples and labia, but then by now she expected nothing less.
Her breasts, which rested on the tray like pale pink jellies, had sponsors’ advertising temporarily stencilled on them, as did her bottom. Many guests, when taking glasses from her tray, could not resist stroking and patting them, making her shiver. But then that was what they were there for.
She saw Cam through the crowd circulating with a tray of snacks. It was slung about her by similar means to Mel’s tray, except that as its content was lighter it did not need the bracing rods. Instead her vulva was put to good use holding a metal cone hooked to her labial rings, which contained folded paper napkins.
Bolt carried a cylindrical wire basket slung between breasts. The top end was hooked to her collar ring and the sides were fastened to her breasts by adjustable metal hoops, causing them to bulge into attractive if painful brown fleshy balloons.
The basket held an inverted bottle of red wine, the weight of which was an incentive for her to plead mutely with guests to try the delights of red wine served at slavegirl body heat.
A transparent tube from the bottle was coiled about her waist and then down between her legs, guided by a projecting ring plugged into her anus, to enter a smaller reservoir bottle that filled her vaginal passage. Its spout protruded from between her sex lips and was held in place by hooks linked to her labial rings. The nozzle was fitted with a dispensing valve worked by a light vertical rod running back up across her stomach where it connected to a lever mounted on a horizontal bar clipped to her nipple rings. To get a drink a guest held his cup between Bolt’s legs and worked the valve, twisting her nipples in the process, so that red wine at blood heat flowed from her pussy.
When the guests finally went in for their dinner the Gryndstone girls were stripped of their serving trays and arranged along the side of the reception room bent over a long railing. This had been set out to display their schoolgirl bottoms to the guests when they departed. Large multi-coloured plastic film letters were stuck on their buttocks, spelling out: A GIFT FROM SHACKLESWELL. Bunches of helium balloons were plugged into their anuses that bobbed and swayed above them. Silver foil cornucopias of wrapped sweets had been forced up their vaginas until they bulged, inviting dipping into their hot depths to retrieve them. It was a goodbye gift that guaranteed guests would leave in a good mood.
Mel had rested across the railing with her pussy bulging with treats and balloon hanging up out of her bottom for a good ten minutes before she realised she was accepting all this as perfectly natural. They were being submerged by the certainties and self-assurance of Shackleswell society. It was a methodical preparation for living a productive life after school as a working gynaton. Her future was being mapped out for her and she seemed helpless to do anything about it. Time was running out.
‘Hi, Maddy. I’ve been doing some bar work, which is really tiring. All those loaded trays can really strain you if you’re not carrying them properly. Maybe it has been long enough. I promise we’ll meet sometime soon, but first I’ve got to get up the courage to move on…’
That night in bed Bolt asked Mel again: ‘Come on, when are you going to confess? I don’t want to go around being a living wine bottle any longer.’
Mel gulped. ‘You go next. You’re braver than me. No contest.’
‘All right, I will. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll show you how it’s done.’
‘It’s not as easy as you think,’ Cam warned her.
Bolt stood chained between the posts of the confession machine with her head up. Her breasts squeezed painfully into the spiked cages stood out from her chest while her big ringed nipples pushed out of the cage crowns. There was a sheen of sweat on her brown skin, making her look in some strange exotic way polished.
From where Mel was riding her phallus Bolt looked proud and defiant. She’s really going to do this, she thought.
‘I’ve been stupid and I’ve done some dumb things,’ Bolt said confidently. ‘I was lost but now I’m found, right? I’ve got into some trouble in the past but now… now I’ve…’
She faltered, looking at all the expectant faces and biting her lip. Mel tensed. What was wrong?
Suddenly Bolt almost shouted: ‘You want the truth? I never had a real family, right? I was in and out of foster homes. I was shi… shi… rubbish at school and got kicked out. There was this fire… On the streets I did drugs and I got arrested. A black girl screwing up just like you see on TV. I couldn’t even be original! Then some do-gooder came along and told me about this Shackleswell project and I thought it was a soft option to jail. Never imagined it could be like this but that’s me. I messed up again, right? Go on beat me for it! Yeah, I deserve it! Please…’
‘Do it,’ said Bradawl.
Bolt writhed under the blows, but she did not make a sound. When they finished she said: ‘It’s different now. That me’s gone down the toilet. Call me Bolt. That holds things together. That’s useful thing, right. I’ve got it together and I’m strong!’
Bolt squatted down on the dildo handle and pumped with frantic energy, not caring about the spiked cages dragging on her breasts, driving the striker bars up the glass tubes in great leaps. She rang the bells in a time that would probably never be beaten.
Later in the playground Bolt acknowledged the hugs and congratulations of the other girls with uncharacteristically muted pleasure.
‘It all just came out’ she admitted shamefaced to Cam and Mel. ‘I couldn’t fu…ing stop it!’
Mel kissed Bolt’s sore breasts again and stroked her hair. ‘Nobody’s holding it against you. They understand. It was genuine, that’s what counts. They recognize that because we’re all flawed here.’
‘But you know what I did, what I am?’
‘You mean a pain in the behind? Mel grinned. ‘We already knew that. No, seriously you were really amazingly brave. I don’t think I could have admitted all that. I’m sorry for you.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Bolt said firmly. ‘I don’t want pity, right? Just be lucky you haven’t got all that baggage.’
Mel said nothing.
‘But you do feel better now,’ Cam suggested,
Bolt sighed. ‘I suppose it was good to let it out. Yes, you were right, satisfied? Now let’s graduate and get out of this fu… this damned place! It’s all getting too bloody honest!’
The car showroom salesman was well into his sales pitch to his potential customer.
‘Now this is a Shackleswell Eco Special 3GP,’ he said smoothly, ‘incorporating the latest in lightweight design and styling with traditional Rowland gyneatic engineering principles.’
The car was a compact three-door silver rear-engine teardrop. Its interior was simply fitted out with two light bucket seats. There was a manual gear stick, small steering wheel and a dashboard with very simple displays.
‘It’s an ideal about-town model and of course virtually silent and entirely emission free,’ the salesman continued.
‘How fast will it go?’ the customer, a small neat man with large glasses.
‘Mileage and top speed depend on your individual GP units. You can install your own or we can supply specially worked high-endurance units from our stock. Matching units come at a small extra charge. These are just demonstration models…’
He lifted the reach hatchback to expose the luggage tray over the engine and then raised that to open up the engine compartment itself. Within were the bowed backs of Cam, Mel and Bolt who were hunched over with their heads facing forward and their shoulder’s touching. In front of their faces were the louvered openings of branching plastic ducting.
‘Air ducted from the side vents to keep them cool,’ the salesman explained. ‘For servicing or changing units the engine frame easily disengages from the drive linkage and slides out like this…’ He twisted a couple of handles and pulled. The light tubular frame the girls were mounted on slid smoothly out of the car. When their heads were clear of the compartment, bracing struts dropped down to support the end of the frame. In the base of the now virtually empty engine compartment were couplings to various control rods, a gearbox, a battery and dynamo.