Irontown 1: Student Maids Page 8

  After a little while Cam also took a tissue and tried to clean herself up, followed by Bolt. They looked at each other uncertainly through red-rimmed eyes. For the first time in hours they were free to speak but none seemed willing. They might as well still have been gagged, Mel thought. Was it out of shame for the humiliating intimacy they had been forced to share? Except none of what had been done to them was their fault. They must remember that. Somebody also had to break the ice.

  ‘Look, let’s forget these stupid labels we’ve got stamped on us,’ Mel said, forcing a rueful smile. ‘I’m Mel. What are your real names and where do you come from?’

  ‘What do you want to know, for?’ Bolt asked suspiciously.

  ‘I’m just trying to be friendly,’ Mel said, taken aback. ‘We’ve got to make the best of things. If we start with our names and where we come from…’

  ‘Just fuc — aww… shut up about me!’ Bolt said, wincing and clutching at her collar as it punished her for attempting to swear. ‘I’ll worry about me, right! It’s none of your fuc — ughh… business! You don’t need to know my name ‘cos I’m getting out of here tomorrow! These pervy shi— ahhhs… aren’t going to turn me into any fuc — ee… ing machine, right?’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ Mel said, ‘it’s just that we’re all stuck in here and we’ve got to get along…’

  ‘So you can stick your tongues up my cun… ahhhh… again?’

  Mel flinched in the face of the black girl’s burning anger and reckless disregard for her own comfort. Didn’t she ever ease off? ‘The Headmaster made us do that. We didn’t have any choice. None of us do.’

  ‘Yes you do, you can shut the fu… fu… up about it! Just leave me alone!’ Bolt threw her sodden tissue down, turned away and wrapped her arms about her head.

  Recalling Bradawl’s warning, Mel picked up the tissue and put it in the wastebasket. There was no need to invite further punishment.

  For the first time Cam spoke up. ‘She’s right,’ she said in small weary voice. ‘Maybe it’s easier not to talk about personal things. If my family ever found out what I did today they’d…’ she trailed off, took in a deep shuddering breath and wiped her eyes again. ‘So, maybe you should just call me Cam…’ she looked down at her shaven pubes, twisting her head to read the number upside-down ‘… Cam 031.’ She frowned. ‘I know what a spring is and what a bolt is but not what a “cam” is.’

  ‘Sorry, me neither,’ Mel admitted.

  ‘Well whatever it is, it’s not me, so this must be happening to somebody else.’ She bit her lip. ‘Or maybe it’s all some sick nightmare. Maybe it’ll go away.’

  ‘I wish it was to but I think it’s real,’ Mel said. ‘I could never imagine anything like this.’

  ‘Neither could I.’

  ‘Will you two fu… effing shut up!’ Bolt said.

  They did. Neither of them had the energy or desire to fight with Bolt, so instead they pulled their blankets, also marked with their part numbers, about them and lay down.

  Perhaps there was some advantage in having part names, Mel thought. Apart from making introductions simple those words and numbers stamped upon their flesh gave them something to hide behind. They were unreal identities to which all the terrible things were happening while allowing their real selves to hide away inside. Beneath their immediate physical shame lurked the deeper shame of what had brought them here. Bolt obviously had problems in her past and Cam seemed quietly despairing. Perhaps they were all frightened of exposing their secrets. Yes, it would be a hundred times easier for Mel to bare her body to strangers than her soul and all the guilt that weighed it down.

  Mel must have dozed because an unknown time later she heard the patter of shoes and clink of chains and the rest of the school were marched into the dormitory, presumably coming through from the recreation room. They saw a few girls pass the front of their cage, accompanied by the robed forms of masters with their cocks and balls on intimidating display. With clanks and jingles the girls were locked away and the masters departed.

  A soft buzz of conversation broke out from the cells. Girls were calling out to others in different cells by their part names: sprocket, bobbin, flange, spindle, pin and many others. Mel was not sure what they all meant and some sounded old-fashioned. Were they names Rowland had first thought up to give to his slave girl workers?

  The ceiling lights, which must have been set on a timer, dimmed and faded. Gradually the chatter died away as the girls settled down, but the dormitory did not fall totally silent. From the darkness came the unmistakable sighs, grunts and soft gasps of lovemaking.

  ‘I suppose it would be warmer if we shared our blankets and sort of cuddled up together,’ Cam said suggested in a small voice.

  ‘I’m no lesbian!’ Bolt growled. ‘You two keep away from me.’

  They rolled up tighter alone in their blankets. It would have been warmer to huddle together, Mel thought, but that was clearly not an option if they wanted any chance of rest. She fingered her cuffs, collar and rings, trying to get used to their strangeness. Her nipples were still hard and her pussy was, well, moist. How could she sleep with all these things in and around her? How could she sleep after what had been done to her and not knowing what new perversions tomorrow might bring? How could she sleep after the terrible thing she herself had done?

  Finally, however, exhaustion overcame her fears and sleep she did.

  Chapter Six

  They were roused the next morning by the sound of a cane being run across the bars of their cage.

  ‘Rise and shine, cogs,’ a black robed teacher was calling out loudly. Mel saw his thick penis swaying as he strode past their cage and shuddered.

  They pulled on their socks, shoes and ties and then waited to be taken out of their cages in groups of three. Long coffle chains were clipped onto their collars as they emerged from their cages crawling on their hands and knees.

  ‘Stand straight and hands behind necks!’ the command came and they obeyed.

  ‘Now, keeping those knees high, march!’

  They high-stepped through the outer door of the dormitory and into the playground. There was still a chill in the morning air that crinkled their nipples, but they soon warmed up. As they circled the playground in a multi-coloured parade of flesh, prancing like show-ponies, four teachers stood at the inside corners of their circuit urging them on with flicks of their canes across their bobbing bottoms or bouncing nipple-ringed breasts. At first Mel, Bolt and Cam found it hard to keep in step and kept jerking each other with their collar chains. Warning swipes from canes forced them to find a common rhythm.

  With their hands clasped behind their necks, the swing of their hips and roll of their bottoms was exaggerated. This in turn caused their breasts, already lifted higher by their raised arms, to sway, jiggle and toss with greater force. The playground was filled with the slap of their shoes, the panting for breath, the swish and crack of cane on flesh and, delicately accompanying it all, the faint chiming of forty or so pairs of labial rings clinking together.

  When they were warmed up they were arranged in rows and made to do star-jumps and then touch their toes with legs spread. Linked together each move had to be done in time with those of their chain mates. The teachers passed behind them as they dipped down, flicking their bottoms with canes to encourage greater effort or stroking and patting the hindquarters of those doing well. She actually heard a few words of praise being given out. Of course the teachers were happy. The further the girls bent over the more they exposed themselves to them. She could see right up the groin of the girl in front of her as she bent down, thrusting her taut buttocks into the air. The dark crinkled starburst of her anus seemed to wink at her as she ducked down while the cleft peach of her ringed vulva spread its lips invitingly…

  Mel shuddered. What was this place doing to her?

  They finished with ten press-ups each. With slave girls the rule was their nipples must touch the ground each time to count. The teachers walked amongst th
em as they strained to lift themselves saying: ‘I want to see those nips touching, not just your rings.’

  Larger breasted girls had no advantage. They were expected to flatten their breasts against the asphalt, digging their rings into their flesh.

  When they were sweating and glowing from their exertions they pranced back into the school through the outer door of the dining hall. They found their assigned feeding cocks, mounted their activating wheels and began to suck and grind. Though their arms were not cuffed they did not touch the spouts or wheels. Breakfast was egg and bacon on toast. Again it was very traditional English fare. Was that in keeping with the perverted hyper-Victorian values of the town, Mel wondered? It was an effort to suck out the lumpier bits through the phallic spouts but it still tasted good. A strange scent filled the air, mingling breakfast aromas with fresh sweat and the scent of over three-dozen young girls’ pussies being gently aroused.

  As they ate Mel realised the girls about her were engaging in quick whispered conversations in between mouthfuls. The presiding teachers must have been able to hear them but did nothing to stop it so it.

  When they had finished eating they were marched into the washroom. Their collars were clipped to the overhead chains and they queued into a warm, close-packed fleshy line for the toilets. Though they all had their hands free Mel saw that the other girls still operated the controls by hooking their nipple rings onto the hooks of the actuator arm.

  When it was their turn Mel found she was much less reluctant to squat down than the previous day. It was oddly easier with company and after being loosened up by their exercise they were very ready to empty themselves. Following the other girls’ lead they presented their rears over the bars for inspection by the teacher sitting in the swivel chair monitoring the bathroom, but he only fingered their bottoms quickly and patted them on their way.

  Even louder chatter and gossip flowed about them at the showers and basins and again the teacher did not seem to mind. Since they could easily have been ordered to be silent or gagged, obviously it was considered sensible to allow them this small freedom. Alone in the press of nubile and freshly scrubbed flesh, Cam, Mel and Bolt, still unsure of themselves, were silent.

  Mel saw an Asian girl, apparently urged on by others around her, nervously step across to the teacher and say something of apparent importance to him. He nodded and she ran back to the others who hugged and kissed her. What was that about? What were the rules here?

  Her confusion must have been clear on her face because as the three of them were brushing their teeth, a slim honey-blonde girl labelled WIRE 142, who was on the end of a chain of girls beside them, leaned across and said: ‘Don’t worry, I felt lost my first day here. You won’t believe it now, but it does get easier.’

  Bolt glowered at her suspiciously. Mel said quickly: ‘Thanks.’

  When they were all cleaned up, their arms were cuffed behind them and they were marched along the main corridor.

  Mel had been too confused to take in the photographs and paintings that hung on the walls yesterday, but now they caught her eye. There were colour photos, older black and white images, sepia tones and oil paintings that clearly covered many decades. However, where a normal school might have pictures of former headmasters, group sittings of pupils in their sets and images of special school events, Gryndstone had such things as a black and white photo showing a pair of girls strapped into the open frame of a mechanism resembling a small train engine. There was a man in old-fashioned railway driver’s overalls standing on a platform beside them and the girls were smiling out of the front of the engine at the camera. The caption read: Gryndstone cogs: Contrate 214 and Piston 129 drawing the circle line train, 1958.

  What was that about?

  There were other captions by the images that Mel glanced at as she passed. By a painting of a man with a moustache and a high stiff collar it said: G. Tamper, Headmaster 1905 to 1921. In the portrait a naked and chained girl was shown kneeling at his feet kissing his erection. He held the end of her leash in one hand and a cane in the other.

  They entered what must have been the school’s combined assembly and sports hall. It had a low stage at one end on which sat a row of chairs and a lectern. Hanging on the wall behind them was a large yellowing banner showing a pair of chained kneeling girls bearing on their shoulders a metal-framed panel on which was inscribed a paragraph written in flowing copperplate lettering large enough to read from the back of the hall. Various climbing frames, ropes and beams that ran out along channels in the ceiling were folded back against the walls. The floor of the hall had been laid out with small kneeling mats in groups of three. In the middle of each mat was set an upright dildo on a weighted base.

  As the coffles of girls filed in they went to a set of mats and knelt down on them, impaling themselves on the dildos, then sat back on their heels, looking up at the stage where a couple of masters were already seated. One group of mats at the font of the hall was left unoccupied. A master led Mel, Bolt and Cam past these and to one side where their rear collar rings were clipped to the ends of long chains running up to a channel in the ceiling. The master remained standing beside them. Mel suddenly felt exposed and singled out and almost wished she were kneeling impaled with the rest.

  Other masters took their place on the stage and then Bradawl entered. He took his place at the lectern and smiled benevolently down at them.

  ‘Good morning, girls.’

  ‘Good morning, Headmaster,’ they all said.

  ‘We shall begin with our school pledge.’

  The girls recited the words on the banner. As they did so they began to rock their hips back and forth, gently working the dildos about inside them:

  “We promise we shall be sound and

  Hard-working cogs in the city machine.

  We are strong, greased and fit for purpose.

  We offer our orifices to whatever use

  Or service our master’s desire.

  May iron and flesh unite within us.”

  Mel shivered. It was as if they were chanting a school song or assembly hymn. But then despite its perverse details, the setting, the gowns, canes and overawing attitude all combined to make her feel like it was her first day at a new school. Was that the idea? To make them feel as helpless as children again?

  The recitation ended and Bradawl spoke again. ‘Now, we have three new students to welcome. Please bring them out, Mr Hawk…’

  Hawk turned to a rotary handle set on a box on the wall and began to crank it. The ceiling chains began to slide out along their channel, dragging the three of them along until they stood in the middle of the room facing the rest of the school.

  ‘From the back left, welcome them in the proper Gryndstone manner.’

  A chain of three girls at the back of the hall rose from their mats and walked up to Cam, Mel and Bolt. Smiling, one after another they kissed them on the lips, their ringed nipples and, going down on one knee, their pubic clefts. They walked back to their places as another group came up to take their place. Bolt flinched away as they kissed her, Cam looked confused while Mel felt a surge of unexpected warmth. The girls who kissed her were smiling and friendly. Wire 142 was amongst them and added a little wink as she kissed Mel. She had a momentary sense of the appeal of this strange distorted world and the dark fascination of being part of something bigger than she had ever imagined. It might be sick but at least these girls had a purpose set out for them whereas right now she had nothing.

  When the whole school had welcomed them, Bradawl said: ‘Very good. Put them in their places, please Mr Hawk…’

  Mel, Bolt and Cam were freed from the chains and taken to the spare mats at the front where they gingerly lowered themselves onto the dildos. Mel saw the mats were also stamped with their part names. At least they were not the focus of attention any more.

  ‘We also have a confession to witness this morning,’ Bradawl continued.

  There was an excited stir in the hall. Mel saw the girls looki
ng round them, all the while jigging a little faster on their dildos.

  ‘Mr Stapler, please bring Spool 113 forward.’

  A master standing at the back of the hall detached the Asian girl Mel had seen in the washroom from her chain-sisters and led her forward. Meanwhile Hawk had run back the chains that had secured Mel and was now wheeling out a new device that had been folded up against the wall.

  It was a rectangular wooden platform with two side posts a little over head-high mounted on each end. Each post had chains trailing from its inner face and a large glass tube running up its front, at the top of which was a domed bell. Sets of graduation marks were painted on posts beside the tubes. Resting inside the bottom of each tube was a short thick round-ended bar of metal fitted with ring washers. In the middle of the platform was the jacket of an upright iron pump with a short section of greased piston showing capped by a rubber dildo handle. Rubber pipes with brass fittings ran from the base of the pump to the bases of the glass tubes. There was an odd detail of the device Mel could not make sense of. Hanging in rows on the posts beside a second set of lighter chains were half a dozen metal latticework domes of assorted sizes.

  Spool was positioned on the platform straddling the pump, so that the dildo handle slid up her vagina. Short rubber cords bolted to the upper rim of the pump jacket were clipped to her labial rings, holding her impaled. Her arms were pulled out sideways and her cuffs were hooked to the upper set of chains connected to the posts, leaving some slack on them. Her feet were spread and the lowest set of post chains were secured to her ankle cuffs.

  Mel found it impossible not to stare at Spool as she was secured. Her skin was olive with the upstanding ringed nipples on her rounded breasts a few shades darker. She had a mane of jet-black fluffy hair tied back in a big ponytail. Her hips were slim and her thighs girlishly rounded. Her eyes were dark and bright and her oriental nose was neatly snubbed. Her shaven and ringed cleft was round-lipped and pouting. She looked nervous, excited and proud at the same time, almost glowing with a sense of inner resolve.