No, this could not be happening to her!
But apparently it could in this place, drenched in a history of sex and flesh and iron and grease and implacable domination.
The treadmill spun underneath Jane’s flying feet as the terrible plugs impaled in her did their work. She was dribbling out of her pussy and drooling down her cheeks. She dare not stop… she could not stop. But she had to get away from all those eyes and the humiliation piling up on her shoulders. There was only one way…
With a sob she felt the orgasm tear up through her and burst in her brain. She would have fallen on her face if the rod strapped to her back had not been there. As it was she doubled over and jerked on her nipple chains while her bottom swung up and smacked painfully against the spiked board.
And yet for a brief timeless moment she did not care. She had escaped not from her straps and cuffs but from herself…
***
When Adam brought Jane back to Tannery Lane that afternoon, Bolt and Cam could not understand why she had not enjoyed her trip to the Museum. While Adam return to his journalistic work, Jane put ice packs on her sore pussy, breasts and bottom, while she related to them how Adam had punished her. She had nobody else to talk to and at least it distracted them and her from thoughts of yesterday’s enforced lovemaking. However they were not very sympathetic.
‘That’s nothing. You should have seen the beatings I got before I learned to behave,’ Bolt said.
‘Don’t stop loving machines just because one’s been used to punish you,’ Cam said. ‘It’s not their fault, you know.’
‘But why did he have to be so cruel… and in public?’ Jane asked.
‘He has to make sure you’ll obey him,’ Cam said. ‘That’s part of his responsibility to the town as your master. We all have to know our place. Didn’t you feel better for it afterwards?’
Jane thought of her explosive orgasm on the treadmill. ‘Well, I felt different.’ she admitted.
***
That night as Adam led her into the master bedroom, he said cheerfully: ‘We got a lot of useful reference images at the museum today. I think we’ll go again tomorrow. There are more devices I want to try you out on. That’s the best way of getting to know what it really feels like to be an Irontown slave. Then you can put those feelings into your mural.’
Jane whimpered. ‘Please don’t make me, Master. I can’t go there again.’
‘But you have to understand our heritage.’
‘But it’s not my heritage, Master. I hate those machines! I hate that museum!’
‘That’s practically blasphemy in Irontown,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘But you’ll go if I say so.’
Jane hung her head meekly. ‘I know, Master.’
Adam considered for a moment. ‘Tell you what, if you’re very good tomorrow I’ll put you in just three more devices from the museum collection, then we’ll look for references elsewhere. But if you’re bad I’ll put you in the breast mangle again.’
Jane felt a pathetic rush of gratitude towards him, even though she knew it was only the lesser of two evils. ‘I’ll be good, Master, I promise.’
Oh God, she was a naked 35-year-old woman promising a youth of 18 that she would be obedient!
‘Then you can start right now…’ Adam said.
The master bed revealed more of its hidden mechanisms.
The upper cross bar of its headboard frame extended outward on hinged expanding struts until it hung above the middle of the bed. Adam clipped Jane’s collar and wrist cuffs to it as if it was a yoke bar and made her sit astride him, straddling his hips while impaled upon his stiff young cock. He clipped short chains to her nipples and tugged on them to encourage her to twist and grind her hips over him and ream herself out until he spurted his hot seed deep up inside her.
The master bed rattled and shook as Jane gasped and clenched her sheath tight about Adam’s hard penis. She realized that she was the prisoner of yet another perverse machine. Well the bed was a creation of Irontown. Should she put an image of this in her mural as well?
Chapter Seven
The next day Jane was good: practically the perfect slave.
She trotted obediently after Adam to the station with the wireless chain dildos plugged inside her, and allowed him to strip and pussy leash her once they were underground and trailed after him meekly as he led back up into the terrible museum. She found that by focusing just on him she was not quite so aware of other people’s eyes upon her. She had learned a lesson from yesterday: the more slavishly obedient she was the less she drew attention to herself. She still felt sick at the thought of the breast mangle only being a few aisles away from her, but she managed not to let it overwhelm her. And nothing else could be as bad as that, she told herself.
‘Now, what shall I put you in first?’ Adam wondered.
***
It was a recreation of an old girl-powered grinding mill: one of the earliest and simplest devices in the museum, which was used when Shackleswell was still growing. Of course the same task had been performed with the use of wind or water power for centuries, but it seemed an Irontowner never missed a chance to use captive female muscle and sweat to operate a device, and, according to a plaque next to the machine, a small mill had worked by these means until late into the nineteenth century powered by prison labour.
Jane was harnessed along with three other demonstration slaves connected to a ring of wooden poles radiating out from a big millstone on its grinding table.
Heavy straps were bound across her chest, crossing between her breasts and linked to a broad belt buckled tight about her waist, with rings set in its straps level with her shoulder blades that hooked onto the end of the millstone pole. The women walked around a well worn path in the heavy boards surrounding the millstone and grain was ground into flour.
In some places an overseer would have had to stand over them with a whip to ensure they kept on working, but being Irontown this process had been mechanised.
There was a large spinning Watt Governor geared to the millstone shaft which raised or lowered a second set of lighter polls that radiated out between the main poles to which they were tethered. These poles were connected to light chains fastened to their nipples. As long as the polls were kept level with their chests this was bearable, but if the rotation of the millstone slowed down then they fell and began tugging painfully on their nipples to encourage them to speed up.
In the methodical Irontown way there was a counter next to the governor device which kept track of the number of turns they made, clicking each time and turning the tumblers of a numbered dial over.
Jane tried to lose herself in the mechanical hypnotic process of stumping round and round in a circle, distracted only by the rolling buttocks of the slave fastened to the pole ahead of her. At least nobody was beating her and if she kept her head down then none of the onlookers could look her in the face and she would be spared a little humiliation. It was not as bad as the treadmill. She was just another demonstration slave re-enacting a piece of history…
She knew about the stick but was not aware of carrot until the counter reached a 100. There was a click and the grindstone locked in place. Then sprung rods popped up out of the boards on which she had been walking. Each had a dildo on its end. Eagerly the girls shuffled forward and mounted them, sighing as they began to pleasure themselves. It was the slavish version of a tea break…
Jane shook her head, pulling herself out of her strange reverie and looked round at Adam, who had been photographing the grindstone and her.
He nodded his head. Swallowing she straddled the remaining unoccupied dildo and pumped herself up and down on it, screwing up her eyes as she did so. The dildo had a little finger of rubber curling up from it that slid through her cleft and efficiently massaged her clitoris. Soon it was wet with her juices. Was this a reward or punishment or both? She was no longer sure.
***
‘The designer was inspired by the 1926 classic silent science-fict
ion film Metropolis,’ the museum guide explained as he showed Adam the next device he had chosen to try Jane on. ‘He used it to train girls to respond to sequences of the visual and audible control signals and electric shocks so that their actions could be synchronised and precisely controlled when serving on assembly lines…’
It was a massive clock-like dial over head high, marked with a conventional array of numbers, but with an outer rim ringed by a dozen light bulbs. It had two heavy iron hands of equal length, at the moment pointing to the ten and the two. Jutting horizontally out of the middle of the hollow concentric shafts on which hands were mounted was a telescopic post with double dildos on its end angled upwards. Also jutting up from its shaft was a pair of stiffened wires rising in a “V” with electric cables coiled about them and spring clips on their ends. Set in the clock face just below the number 12 were a pair of bells with their own light bulbs over them.
‘I want my slave to experience as much of the history of Irontown as possible,’ Adam said. ‘She’s new to Shackleswell.
The guide noted the characters stamped on Jane’s forehead. ‘BRUSH 01? I’ve never seen one of them before. But I’ve seen her face somewhere recently…’
‘She is something special,’ Adam confided as Jane blushed, and then added with barely concealed pride: ‘You can read all about her in my feature coming out in the next edition of the Observer…’
‘Well, let’s give her a proper taste of Irontown then,’ the man said amiably.
Jane’s stomach had knotted up again at the sight of the sinister device, but she knew she had no choice. Meekly she allowed Adam and the guide to position her upon it. She straddled the projecting horizontal shaft and felt the dildos slide up inside her passageways. The fatter more mushroom-shaped rear dildo had electric context studs on it while the larger forward one which slid up her vagina was heavily ribbed. Small spring hooks were mounted on the sides of the shaft which fastened onto her labial rings and pulled her vulva open and ensured she could not possibly pull herself off the dildos
They freed her hands from behind her back and stretch them up and out in front of her so she could grasp the handles welded to the big clock hands. Spring clips snapped about her wrist rings, holding them in place. They pulled her legs apart and clipped chains bolted to the base of the device to her ankle cuffs. This left her facing the clock face with her body a couple of feet from it.
The guide moved to a control pedestal beside the device on which were mounted some old-fashioned Bakelite knobs and switches. ‘It’s very simple; she just has to move the dial hands to point to whatever bulbs light up. She’ll get a shock in her left nipple for the left arm and in her right for the right if she’s too slow to match them. When a left or right bell lights up and rings she is must count the chimes and then must move the appropriate clock hand to the number it indicates before she gets shocked again. Whenever the whole dial lights up she must pump the shaft in as hard as she can to make the bells ring twelve times. If she doesn’t pump hard enough she’ll get both nipples shocked and shocks up her rear which gets more intense each time she fails.’
Jane looked at the device she was so intimate fastened to in horror. That didn’t sound simple from her point of view.
‘Please start her off,’ Adam said, holding the camera ready.
The guide twisted a knob and threw a switch.
The light over number nine flashed. Jane twisted her arm round to swing the clock hand round to it. But she was slow getting it lined up and got a painful jolt through her left nipple. Then the bulb over number one lit up and she swung the left hand around to it. But holding the other hand in place made it awkward and she got a warning stab of pain in her right nipple. She gritted teeth and told herself to try harder…
Soon she was twisting herself about on the impaling central shaft left and right as she matched hand positions to flashing lights. Then bells began to ring and flash and she had to count the chimes and find the appropriate numbers. Then the lights and bells began to alternate. This frantic motion had its inevitable effect and soon her pussy was dripping and clenching desperately on the dildo which she was churning within herself. The lower numbers were the hardest to reach of course and she had to twist her body painfully round to get the hands down to the six.
As she worked the intervals between the lights flashing or a bell ringing and the warning jolts in her nipples grew shorter. By then she was being driven by fear of pain and was sweating as she counted chimes or scanned the dial for the next bulb to flash. She wasn’t thinking she was just responding. This was a terrible way to be conditioned but horribly effective, she realized. She imagined the light and bells fitted to some other machine and girls instinctively responding to them.
And then the whole ring of lights lit up and she felt a warning stab of pain lance through her rectum. Desperately she began to work her hips, driving the central shaft inwards against the resistance of some hidden spring, feeling the twin dildos stretching her vaginal sheath and anal sphincter. The big ribbed vaginal dildo grated past her sex lips. The first thrust produced no response and she got another stab up her backside while both her nipples were pricked with electric needles. She thrust harder and the bells rang once. Straining she thrust forward again and again...
She could feel her juices, already stimulated by the churning her pussy had received, running down her thighs and feel the excitement boiling her loins. She knew it was all cruel and oppressive and frighteningly calculating and yet she could not help her response. Pain was being played against her natural sexual desire. It was her only distraction: her body’s way of finding some way of blotting out the terrible awareness of what she was doing.
She climaxed before she reached her eighth thrust.
As she sagged dizzy, drained and impaled upon the clock she heard the guide say to Adam: ‘They usually cum about then. Some girls come back again and try to make it to 12, but none of them do...’
***
The last device as had to try was very different.
Adam took her out into a closed courtyard where there was a small race track laid out in concrete, weaving its way between small trees and bushes planted in raised beds, with a clearly deliberate pattern of humps and ribs cast into its surface. Beside the track were a couple of three wheeled bikes powered by naked slave girls.
They had bicycle-like handlebars with twist grip controls and bike-like saddles but these were mounted over light tubular metal frames containing the bodies of the girls which were stretched out beneath them and strapped firmly in place. The bikes had two wheels at the front and a single drive wheel at back with pedals connected directly to its axle to which the girl’s feet were strapped. The girls’ arms reached straight down from their shoulders and clasped the shaft connecting the front wheels which were steered by coupling rods linked to the handlebars by gears and twin steering rods that passed down on either side of the girls’ necks where their heads protruded between them. The girls’ breasts which dangled freely beneath them were bound about their roots by metal bands which were connected by gear cables to the bikes’ twist grip handles. Footrests for the riders extended down from the main frame. The bike like saddles rested just over the girls’ naked buttocks. Jane had assumed they would be for men to ride but to her surprise they had large dildos screwed to them which it jutted up vertically.
‘These are used for slave bike races and to teach slave girls what it feels like to control other girls,’ Adam explained, leading her across to the bikes. ‘And of course there are slave owning women who enjoy the sensation of riding them while impaled…’
Jane gaze down at the pretty blonde woman contained so perfectly and yet helplessly within the frame of the bike before her. She saw there was a rod curving down from beneath the saddle which penetrated her anus and another rod rising up from the frame that she straddled bearing a dildo that passed up into her vagina. She was doubly impaled! She could not ride another woman like that! But she feared Adam’s anger even m
ore.
Meekly she allowed him to un-cuff her wrists and then she clambered onto the bike and settled down, feeling the dildo slide up her by now aching vagina. She rested her feet on the foot rests. It was a little like being astride a motorbike, but there were snaphooks attached to both the handles and footrests which he fastened to the rings of her cuffs, securing her in place. Her freedom was very limited.
‘You steer as normal and the break handles work the front and rear wheels in the usual way,’ he told her. ‘The right-hand twist grip is the accelerator and the left works the gears as marked. Twisting the accelerator pinches her breasts — the bands cuffed about them are spiked in the insides — and she knows she’s got to pedal faster.’ He patted the bike girl’s head where it protruded from between the steering columns of the handlebar. ‘Don’t worry; she’s used to being used like this. It gives her a chance to show how strong she is.’
Jane had noted the girls’ muscular looking buttocks, thighs and calves but it did not make her feel any better.
Adam moved to the other bike, unscrewed the dildo mounted on its saddle and sat astride it.
‘I’m going to follow you round to make sure you don’t slack. If you don’t go as fast as you can then it’s the breast mangle for you, do you understand?
Jane nodded fearfully. Gingerly she turned the accelerator handle and felt the girl begin to pedal beneath her. She steered the bike onto the track. Adam followed on behind her. He must have a nice view of her bare buttocks straddling the saddle and the equally bare and anally impaled buttocks of her living engine as they pumped away under her, she thought. She turned the accelerator further and the girl speeded up. And then they hit the first of the bumps.
The jolt was transmitted up through the bike frame into the dildo on which she was impaled, making her gasp. Then the bike passed over a grid of fine ribs cast into the concrete and the vibrations set the dildo almost buzzing within her. And then she realized that this would be as much an ordeal for her as for her living engine. It was impossible from a woman to ride a bike like this without getting aroused. That was the Irontown way…
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