Irontown 3

by Adriana Arden

  ‘You can go faster than that!’ Adam called out from behind.

  With a sob Jane moved up a gear and twisted the accelerator hard over. Her living engine responded smoothly, her strong thighs pumping even faster. But with greater speed the impact of every bump and rib was magnified, setting the dildo trembling and pumping within her ever hotter and wetter cleft. Jane whimpered as she struggled to concentrate on her steering and keep the bike on the track.

  ‘Faster!’ Adam shouted.

  Jane moved to the highest gear and wailed and bit on her gag ball as the bike seemed to come alive between her legs. But then it was a living thing, or at least a fusion between a living thing and a machine. And she was riding it: in charge of it… it’s master…

  Round and round the track they went. She saw the faces of visitors looking out through the ring of enclosing windows at them. What a spectacle she must make: a naked woman riding another naked woman. She hoped they understood that she was only doing this only because Adam was making her.

  Of course they probably didn’t care. Here this was normal. They liked watching naked women and machines working in harmony and right now she could hardly be any closer to the girl between her legs…

  The orgasm caught Jane by surprise and she almost crashed into a tree as she swerved off the track and came to a skidding halt, doubled up in her saddle as she jerked and ground her hips in helpless desire and desperate release. Some of her ejected juices overflowed the saddle and dripped onto the naked sweaty haunches of her living engine, who beneath her was working her hips about on the double dildos that impaled her. Was that her reward for enduring such degradation?

  Adam pulled his bike up beside hers and reached across and patted her sweaty bottom. ‘Now you’re getting the idea,’ he said.

  She’d had a taste of using another girl’s muscle power for her pleasure and for a brief moment it had felt frighteningly exciting.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day at breakfast Adam opened up the latest edition of the Shackleswell Observer and showed Jane the double page spread which was dramatically headed: IRES Park Plot Foiled.

  The article contained a fairly accurate description of her night time abduction and how Adam had found her in the castigorium and had taken to the mayor. It quoted Goldsmith assuring readers that Jane was now under Adam’s strict supervision and posed no threat to the security of Irontown. Details of her commission to paint the Town Hall mural were also given and the confident assertion was made that once she had experienced the benefits and advantages of Irontown life she would preserve its secret after she left.

  But Jane’s attention was inevitably riveted on the photograph taken in the Town Hall showing her kneeling naked between Goldsmith and Adam. Of course she had nothing against artistic depictions of female bodies, but not hers with a slave collar locked about her neck! She felt sick even as her cheeks burned at the thought of people all over the town looking at that picture right now. It was almost worse than the people who had seen her in the flesh. She’d even been named in print as slave girl BRUSH 01.

  When Cam and Bolt saw the article, however, they read it through with admiration and excitement.

  ‘You’ve got yourself in the paper!’ Bolt said.

  ‘Your real celebrity now,’ Cam exclaimed. ‘We’ve never had a famous slave artist working here before!’

  ‘Next time can you get them to mention us?’ Bold said hopefully.

  All right, Jane told herself, so everybody was reassured. Now she could go back to being an anonymous slave girl quietly doing her research for Goldsmith’s mural and then she would be out of here…

  ***

  The next morning Adam showed her a letter addressed to her bearing a Shackleswell post mark. Soon after she had come to stay she had discovered that Shackleswell had a very efficient postal service. Now she suspected that had a lot to do with letters and packages distributed swiftly around the town via the underground slave railway. Perhaps it was because letters were more traditional but also because they were more secure and private than email and phone calls.

  This letter was from a Charles Vice of Vice and Sons, bespoke restraint manufacturers since 1873, according to the elegant headed notepaper. It invited her, accompanied by Adam of course, to visit their shop at her convenience and examine its extensive range of restraints, some of them based on traditional designs, which Mr Vice thought she might find of interest.

  It was all very formal and polite but nevertheless Jane read the letter with growing horror. ‘This is all to do with that newspaper article isn’t it, Master? But how did it get here? It didn’t say where I was staying.’

  ‘You didn’t make any secret of where you were staying when you came here. Not many outsiders live in the residential areas of Shackleswell so you were easy to find. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure nobody calls on you without an appointment.’

  ‘I don’t want anybody calling on me with or without an appointment, Master! I can’t meet people like this, not now they know who I am!’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Adam reminded her. ‘Meanwhile this looks interesting. A visit to their shop could be part of your researches. Vice and Sons are an old established company. Irontown would not be where it is today without proper restraints for its working girls…’

  ‘But why do they want me?’

  ‘They see an opportunity for publicity, I suppose. They can tell their customers that Brush 01, Irontown’s own slave artist, uses their products.’

  Jane realized that meant restraints. She looked at her set of cuffs. ‘Did they make these, Master?’

  ‘No, those are a very common make: sound enough but not high-quality. The IRES people didn’t waste much money on you. But I’m sure Vice’s would like you to wear something with their name on when you’re next photographed with the Mayor, possibly in front of the finished mural. I’ll give Mr Vice a call and maybe we can go round there this afternoon.’

  A horrifying surreal vision of Adam leading her round the shop naked by the rings passing through her sex lips while she tried to make polite conversation filled her mind.

  ‘But I can’t talk to people like this, Master! Not like it’s ordinary and normal. Well it might be to you but not to me. It was all I could to talk to Mayor Goldsmith. I can’t…’

  ‘Don’t worry; I’ll do most of the talking for you. I think they just want to get a mention of their shop in my next article for the Observer… and perhaps have your picture on the wall as a celebrity visitor…’

  That was only slightly better. ‘At least can you fasten my leash to my collar and not my pussy rings, Master,’ she pleaded.

  Adam considered. ‘What about your nipple rings?’

  ‘No, please Master!’

  Adam relented. ‘All right, but only if you promise to be obedient and polite.’

  ‘I will, Master,’ Jane promised meekly, realising that once again she had agreed to the lesser of two evils.

  ***

  Externally Vice and Sons looked like an old fashioned high-quality ironmongers.

  Their rear salesroom, where only native Irontowner’s were admitted, was however a different matter. It was hung with every kind of the strap, chain, cuff, collar, chastity belt, breast cup, face muzzle, spreader rod and restraining yoke imaginable. The walls were stacked so high with shelves of storage boxes that reaching them would normally require a sliding ladder, except that this was Irontown…

  There was a naked slave girl suspended face down from the high ceiling. Her torso was bound with a black leather harness of broad straps crossing between her breasts and about her waist with finer straps passing between her thighs, making her shaven sex mound bulge, and back up about the folds of her buttocks. At the back of her harness belt a heavy swivel mount was locked into a metal channel bolted to the ceiling which formed a close loop about the walls of the room. The girl could propel herself around by bending her knees and pushing her feet, which were bound with soft rubber strappin
g for grip against the ceiling and supported by bungee cords stretched from the back of her harness and hooked to her ankle rings. The swivel mount allowed her to twist about to reach the shelves and bend to hand them down or put them back.

  But the girl did not move unless she was controlled by a shop assistant.

  A light rod dangled from a large ring hooked through her pierced labia with a handle on its end. The assistant took hold of it and twisted her about in the desired direction and guided her along the track to fetch whatever item was required from the shelves. Every tug and twist stretched her delicate sex lips, but even so a line of moisture was visible between them. Jane imagined she could smell her excitement.

  A light chain branching at its upper end was hooked to her nipple rings so that it also dangled beneath her. The assistant tugged on it when she had to bend to pick up or hand down some item, stretching her nipples and pale breasts in the process. Small whimpers sounded behind her gagged lips. Yet there was a bright alertness in her eyes and a desperate eagerness to respond to every tug and jerk immediately as she scrambled about the ceiling performing her strange task.

  Jane shuddered at the sight of her and the sinister contents of the shop, thankful that she was still dressed in a slave coat, although Adam’s leash was clipped to her collar and her wrists were cuffed behind her. Unfortunately she could feel her nipples stirring and hardening beneath its fabric. It was just not possible to keep them down in a place like this which only made her more conscious of the rings piercing them. But she had promised to be good…

  Adam of course seemed to find it all fascinating and shook hands warmly with Mr Vice, a solid respectable looking man who looked more like a traditional bank manager than a purveyor of slave restraints.

  Mr Vice looked Jane over with frank interest when Adam introduced her, making her cheeks burn, and said: ‘It’s a great pleasure to meet such a renowned industrial artist, Ms Frobisher, although I’m sure you would rather it was not under such circumstances. The actions of the IRES were of course completely reprehensible. A guest in our town should not be subjected to such treatment.’

  Adam pulled her tongue ball clamp out so she could respond meekly: ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘I hope your time with us will convince you that Irontown’s traditions are worthy of preservation.’

  ‘I’m certainly giving it a lot of thought, Sir,’ Jane said noncommittally, keeping her eyes lowered.

  ‘Will you be writing more articles for the paper about Miss Frobisher’s stay with us, Adam?’ Vice asked Adam.

  ‘Every week, Mr Vice,’ Adam said. ‘And of course I’ll be sure to mention your kind invitation for us to visit your splendid shop…’

  Mr Vice smiled benignly. ‘That’s very kind of you. And in return I wonder if you would accept this gift on Ms Frobisher’s behalf?’

  He produced a presentation case with the shop logo on its front which contained a new collar and cuff set. The metal gleamed brilliantly.

  ‘Our finest set: fully lined and titanium reinforced,’ Vice explained, ‘which means they are lighter but twice as strong as standard collars and cuffs. The locks are individual and un-forcible.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Vice,’ Adam said effusively. ‘Shall we put them on her right now and see how they fit?’

  Jane felt a surge of sick despair. Oh no…

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Strip off, Brush...’ Adam commanded, undoing her wrist cuffs.

  In a few minutes Jane was staring at her naked reflection in a full-length mirror almost dazzled by the shop lights glinting off the new polished bands of metal that encircled her neck, wrists and ankles. They were horrible of course, and yet they did fit more comfortably and feel slightly lighter than the old set. Apparently quality did count, even with slave restraints. She saw Adam looking at her meaningfully and said humbly to Vice: ‘Thank you, Sir. They are… quite striking. I feel… totally helpless.’

  Vice seemed to take that as a compliment. ‘A lovely figure deserves only the best restraints. Flesh and metal make the most perfect combination.’

  Jane bit her lip and said nothing.

  ‘Why don’t you take a picture of Brush to put on your wall, Mr Vice?’ Adam suggested.

  Vice hesitated, as if still slightly uncertain about Jane’s status as a quasi slave celebrity. ‘If that would be acceptable to Ms Frobisher?’

  Jane saw the warning looking Adam’s eyes and said meekly: ‘I’d be… honoured to have my picture on your wall, Sir.’

  ‘Excellent. And perhaps you’d like a complimentary matching chain leash to go with her new collar?

  ‘I think that would make a perfect set,’ Adam said.

  * * *

  Back in Tannery Lane that evening, Bold and Cam admired Jane’s new collar and cuff set.

  ‘That’s lovely quality,’ Cam said, stroking the gleaming metal.

  ‘Make’s ours look really shabby,’ Bolt observed.

  ‘Believe me I’m not trying to show off,’ Jane assured them. ‘I’d happily swap them with yours, or better still none at all, any time.’

  ‘But the stronger your collar and cuffs are the more it means your Master values you,’ Cam told her

  ‘Well the Master got these for free in exchange for using my face and name on some shop advertising, so I don’t know what that says about how much he values me.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ Cam assured her. ‘He’s young and you’re his first slave. You’ll always be important to him.’

  ***

  The next day Jane received another letter. This was from a Mark Plowright who wanted to commission her to paint a portrait of his wife.

  ‘People do know that I’m not really a portrait painter, Master,’ Jane asked Adam.

  ‘I made it clear exactly what you did in the article and I’m sure everybody has seen your work,’ Adam said.

  ‘Anyway, Master, I can’t accept a commission until I’ve completed the town hall mural,’ Jane said. ‘And then…’ she stopped herself saying what she actually planned to do next and finished it instead with a guarded: ‘…I won’t be staying here a minute longer than I have to.’

  Adam grinned. ‘We’ll see. Meanwhile I’m sure any commission Mr Plowright has in mind will have also have some connection with our heritage. Even if you don’t accept it will be useful research. I’ll arrange an appointment. It’ll give you a chance to see what domestic life is like in Irontown…’

  ***

  Plowright’s address turned out to be a large Victorian mansion house standing in its own large walled gardens off a quiet wealthy-looking tree-lined avenue. Tall wrought-iron gates guarded a sweep of gravel drive which led up to an imposing front door sheltered under a large porch roof.

  ‘He’s obviously pretty rich so be on your best behaviour,’ Adam warned Jane as he led her up to the front door.

  The bell was answered by a semi-naked slave maid who presented the ideal of flesh and metal combined.

  Her head was encased in bridle of polished metal straps with rods extended inward from its cheek rings to hold a silver gag ball in her mouth that kept her lips parted in a pouting inviting “O”. A small shiny box with pushbuttons and a speaker grille set into it was hung from her polished metal collar. She wore a French maid-style bib and tiny apron made out of shiny metal rings interlinked like very loose chainmail through which her red prominent ringed nipples poked and the flesh of her flat stomach and naked shaven and ringed groin showed clearly. Chains linked her wrist cuffs to side rings set in the metal belt of her apron, which was secured by a large shiny padlock in the small of her back. A short hobble chain joined her ankle cuffs. To prevent it dragging on the floor it was supported at its mid point by another chain that passed up between her legs and plugged into her anus. Her feet were fitted into polished metal high heeled shoes.

  She made such a striking image that Jane felt for a guilty moment pleased that her own new set of cuffs and collar were equally well polished.


  ‘Adam Tamper and Brush 01 to see Mr Plowright by invitation,’ Adam said.

  The maid bobbed her head and pressed a button on the box hanging from her collar. A synthesised female voice said: ‘Please come in, Master.’

  She wasn’t even allowed to use her own voice, Jane thought in dismay.

  The maid ushered them in and closed the door. Then she looked enquiringly at Jane and then Adam and then a row of coat hooks by the door.

  ‘Of course, I can’t take you to see Mr Plowright like this,’ Adam said. He had Jane strip off and he removed her wireless chain plug unit but left her tongue clamped. He cuffed her hands behind her back and then took out her shiny new chain leash and clipped to her collar.

  The metal-clad slave maid led the way across a large lofty wooden panelled hall. Jane saw that her bare buttock cheeks that rolled before them were rosy as if from a recent spanking. She had the part name SCREW 361 stamped above them.

  Screw opened the door onto a reception room and indicated Adam should be seated and pressed a button on her collar speaker again: ‘Please make yourself comfortable while I fetch the Master.’ Then she withdrew.

  But Jane’s eyes were riveted on the pictures hung on walls. They were almost all of naked women contained within machines that looked as if they might have come from Rowland’s Museum. Some looked like early model underground railway living engines or variations on girl powered bikes. Then there was a small crane next to a stretch of water with a canal boat being unloaded with naked slave girls fastened within the frame of the crane turning crank handles and swivelling it about on its mount. By the style and patina it was clearly quite old.

  ‘It looks like he’s a collector,’ Adam said, examining the pictures with her. ‘You could paint a picture like that for him, couldn’t you?’