Irontown 3

by Adriana Arden

  Jane still felt a simmering resentment at the way Adam and Goldsmith had treated her. She had been cynically used as bait for a bunch of male chauvinist sadists. But then she decided that perhaps throwing herself into her work was the best thing she could do to distract herself from what had happened. In fact she had no other choice.

  Adam had ordered her to produce a design and so she had done so. Perhaps it was a lingering after-effect of her attempted conditioning by Ironsmith and the rest, but disobedience was for the moment unthinkable. So she had studied her reference photographs and sorted through her own observations of Irontown life and had come up with something that was at least plausible. To her surprise the Mayor had approved it immediately and so the work was scheduled.

  All the materials she had requested had been delivered to the exhibition space, and for the duration of the work Cam and Bolt who would act as her assistants.

  The end of the room dividing it from the main corridor had been the caged off with panels of industrial mesh fencing, shutting them inside. A portaloo had also been installed in one corner of the room and meals would be delivered to them so they did not need to leave the chamber for any reason. Adam would collect them at the end of each day and deliver them the next morning for five days every week until the job was done.

  Jane had never painted a picture naked before and far less under the gaze of dozens of passing strangers who were free to watch them through the dividing partition, although the mural wall itself was shielded from their gaze by another closer mesh screen so that they could not see any details of the picture before it was unveiled. And there were many more than seemed likely to be casual passers-by after Adam’s latest article had been published relating her part in the IRES’s downfall. Now she was a double celebrity and she felt their eyes upon her both curious and fascinated. Cam and Bolt were of course perfectly at ease working like this, and indeed they appeared excited at the prospect, but on the first day it took Jane a tremendous effort to ignore the onlookers and explain to the girls how they were going to assist her…

  ‘I did a bit of house painting once but that’s all,’ Bolt said apologetically.

  ‘We’re not artists but we’ll do our best,’ Cam promised.

  ‘You don’t have to be great artists to help me in a job like this,’ Jane told them. ‘First I’m going to use a digital projector to project a line drawing of my design onto the wall so that it scales up exactly from the original and then you can help me by pencilling parts of it in. Then we’ll use best quality house paint to actually render it, which should last for decades on a well-prepared and sound wall like this. We’ll begin with filling it in with simple blocks of colour which I’ll mix according to the tones and hues I’ve worked out in my colour layout. Then I’ll show you where to paint it on, a bit like doing a painting-by-numbers picture. In fact a lot of great masters of the past used assistants like this to help with the under-painting and the preparation of large projects and then they finished them off by adding fine details and individual touches. That way they got jobs done in half the time it would have taken if they’d worked alone…’

  And this way I’ll get this job done and be free in half the time as well, she thought to herself.

  Cam and Bolt picked up the thick sepia-tinted artists pencils she had provided and stood ready to begin with huge smiles on their faces.

  ***

  For a month they worked together on the mural. Cam and Bolt did everything Jane asked of them. They had no significant artistic talent but they were diligent and patient and very good at keeping within the lines. They even learned to blend graduations of colour within each block which Jane could then refine into the finished detailed forms. Work progressed happily and rapidly, which she had to admit brought its own satisfaction.

  Gradually the painful memories of her ordeal faded. Was painting naked a valid coping therapy, she wondered? Perhaps the weekends also helped when they lived like a strange family in Tannery Lane, or went to the park or even (dressed in slave clothes) to the cinema where they saw films on general release just like anybody else in the country, which however felt more and more as if they were from another world.

  At night, naturally, Jane slept chained to the master bed after serving Adam in whatever way he desired, while Cam and Bolt slept chained together in their bed. Sometimes for Adam’s entertainment he made the women couple, recalling to Jane that intimate moment in the park between which had been so suddenly interrupted by the Ironmaster and his friends. At such times Jane did not hesitate to obey Adam’s commands even if it was to plunge her tongue into Cam or Bolt’s slippery pussy clefts for his amusement, thereby at least sparing herself an unnecessary spanking or paddling, and accepted whatever pleasure as it came. She was not a natural lesbian and never would be, but it was impossible not respond to Cam and Bolt’s totally guilt free, enthusiastic and sensual presence… and the orgasms when they came were undeniable.

  Of course progress on the mural also brought the day when her contract would be fulfilled ever closer. Then she would be free… but free to do what? After the way Irontown had treated her could she simply walk away from it and pretend it had never happened? Her life would never be the same again. She felt an urge to take revenge on the whole town.

  ***

  Finally that day came when Jane and Bolt and Cam stepped back from the wall and the girls looked at her expectantly and Jane nodded slowly and said: ‘I think it’s finished…’

  And the girls laughed and hugged and kissed her and briefly she was carried away with a sense of relief and satisfaction. Then she remembered what was yet to come…

  ***

  Three days later was the great unveiling.

  A few hundred people seem to have gathered in the Town Hall exhibition room around the mural wall, which was draped in a long curtain.

  Goldsmith was there, of course and Bradawl, temporarily holding Bolt and Cam’s leashes, and even Mark and Edwina Plowright and Charles Vice. Adam stood beside the Mayor holding Jane’s leash. She was wearing high heels and her hair was freshly styled, but she was naked, collared, ringed and gagged as normal for Irontown. Her cheeks burned as hundreds of eyes stared at her naked body, and yet when they asked about the work that went into creating the painting it was to Adam who replied confidently. He did explain it well but Jane still felt resentful.

  She had done all work, with Bolt and Cam’s help, but he seemed to be getting all the congratulations. Was that because he was still officially her master? Was she still just his tool? Not that she wanted to talk to anybody as she was even if she had not been gagged, and she probably would have blushed herself to death in the attempt, but it would have been nice to have her efforts acknowledged properly. But in this town she was still just a slave.

  Well not after tonight…

  Finally came the moment when Goldsmith stood by the cords that would drop the curtain and said: ‘And now I present to you a celebration of Irontown life as interpreted by Jane Frobisher…’

  Jane stomach flipped. He pulled the cords and the curtain dropped. There was a brief pause and then hearty applause and a salvo of camera flashes.

  Across the top of the painting was the old industrial skyline of Shackleswell, with a field of machines before it linked by a red brick road winding from top left to bottom right growing closer as it did so. At one point the path was crossed by a railway line on which a girl train was running. On either side of it were machines and devices, some from the museum, where naked flesh and iron were united, pumping and grinding, including two small figures of Cam and Bolt gardening which had delighted them, down to an image of Jane herself painting naked but kneeling and facing away from the viewer in the bottom corner. She was not going to pretend that she had not been here and suffered with the rest! She had included many women’s faces contorted with effort and in some cases pain. It did in a way celebrate naked slave labour with the sweat and struggle that had gone into building the town, because to have painted anything e
lse would have denied them their worth. Whether it was justified or not she would let its viewers decide as they chose.

  Judging by the applause it seemed that they approved.

  Adam slapped her bottom and, blushing furiously, Jane bowed in acknowledgement. Then she saw Cam and Bolt beaming in delight and looking very proud of themselves and that almost made it all seem worthwhile.

  ***

  Afterwards, when the crowd had finally dispersed, Goldsmith congratulated Jane personally.

  ‘It is a fine piece of work which I’m sure will be admired for years to come and well worth your fee,’ he declared. ‘Oh, yes, I have it here already…’ He held up a cheque in a plastic envelope. She could not take it of course, so he folded it up and pushed it up between her naked sex lips into her vagina as if it was a purse, while she whimpered and bit on her gag ball. But how else did a slave expect to be paid? She was aware of her labia growing shamefully hot and slippery about the cheque.

  Adam removed her gag so that she could respond. ‘T… thank you, Sir,’ she choked out, blushing once more.

  ‘Now that you’ve been paid, our agreement is concluded, at least on my part. If you go with Mr Bradawl and Mr Vice, they will remove your collar, cuffs and rings, erase your part number stamps and return your clothes,’ Goldsmith told her.

  ‘And then, Sir?’ Jane asked doubtfully, still not quite able to believe it was over.

  ‘And then you can do whatever you wish according to your conscience, Ms Frobisher. Judge us fairly, both the good and the bad. Then you must make your choice and live with it. That is the burden of freedom…’

  ***

  The next morning Jane awoke in the master bedroom of Number 14 Old Tannery Lane with a start, feeling as if something was terribly wrong. No, not wrong just different.

  She was sleeping on her own and no longer chained to the bed and cuffed and collared. Adam sperm was not drying on her sex lips because he had slept in his own home last night. She was no longer his slave. She was free! It felt very strange…

  Jane turned over to reach for the glass of water on the bedside table and saw the rack with all its sinister straps, canes and phallic devices still resting beside the bed where Adam had left it. And the bed itself, of course, despite its luxurious comfort, still contained all its hidden restraints and other contraptions. She shuddered at the memory even she felt her nipples stirring and pussy wetting by reflex. When would they be taken away?

  She got up and went through to the bathroom, feeling odd doing so unaccompanied, and used the toilet. The slave washing seat was still connected up. She examined her naked body in the mirror. There were pale ghosts on her forehead, belly and buttocks where the ink stamps had been but no other sign of them. There were also bands of lighter skin about her neck, wrists and ankles where she had worn her collar and cuffs. They would soon fade, she told herself. Pliant and unobtrusive pink plastic keepers now resided in the holes which had been pierced through her nipples and labia where her rings had hung. She realized that her nipples felt lighter, although they were also soft for the first time in weeks. In fact she felt lighter overall because she was not carrying the weight of a metal collar and cuffs, she reminded herself. The iron was no longer in her. Not in her body, at least. The memory of it in her mind was something else…

  She had just returned to the bedroom when to her surprise the door opened and Cam and Bolt came in carrying a breakfast tray. They had been so quiet that she did not know they were still in the house.

  ‘I thought you’d gone with Adam,’ Jane said.

  ‘Adam isn’t our Master anymore, Mistress,’ Cam said setting the tray down. ‘That arrangement ended last night along with yours. We’re in between assignments now and we hoped we could stay here for a few days. We’ll work for our keep of course.’

  ‘If it’s agreeable to you, Mistress,’ Bolt said earnestly. ‘You are renting this house after all.’

  ‘Of course you can stay here… But I’m not your “Mistress”!’

  ‘You could be our mistress if you wanted to… Mistress,’ Bolt said with a grin. ‘We’d be sort of like a free trial offer. Try us on approval.’

  Jane frowned. ‘Did the Mayor put you up to this?’

  ‘No, Mistress,’ Cam said. ‘We just like being with you.’

  ‘And we were helpful painting the mural, weren’t we Mistress?’ Bolt said. ‘If you wanted to employ us as your assistants and slaves we could help you again and keep house and…’ she ran her fingers suggestively through her smooth ringed sex mouth ‘…do anything else you wanted.’

  Despite herself Jane had to ask: ‘Employ you as slaves? I thought slaves were just…well… kept.’

  ‘You’ve never learned how things really work here, have you Mistress?’ Bolt said with amiable contempt. ‘It’s not exactly like wages but people who keep slaves in Irontown have to pay a tax to own slaves to a central fund, like that National Insurance thing you have, so that they are supported when they retire.’

  ‘Did you think Shackleswell was so uncivilised that it abandoned its slaves when they got too old to serve, Mistress?’ Cam asked.

  Jane sat down on the bed and held her head in her hands. ‘I don’t know what I think anymore,’ she admitted.

  ‘After the unveiling last night they’ll be lots of offers from people wanting you to paint pictures for them,’ Cam pointed out helpfully. ‘You could find work here for years I should think.’

  ‘And we’d help you with it,’ Bolt said eagerly. ‘I mean we could keep house and be your models if you wanted… or anything.’

  ‘And if you had to work outside Shackleswell we could go with you as well,’ Cam said. ‘We don’t like wearing clothes that much but we can if we have to.’

  She thought of the pictures of her standing naked, chained and collared next her mural that would be appearing in next week’s Shackleswell Observer. Was that any way to find new clients? Perhaps it was in Irontown. Well they said there was no such thing as bad publicity…

  Suddenly Bolt and Cam both went down on their knees in front of Jane and rested their heads on her bare thighs like faithful dogs.

  ‘Please don’t tell anybody outside about what Shackleswell is really like, Mistress,’ Cam begged her.

  ‘I mean if all this ended what would we do?’ Bolt said. ‘We like being what we are… being like this…’

  Gingerly Jane stroked their heads. ‘I can see you do… but it’s still wrong for people to treat women as their sex slaves.’

  ‘Have you tried it, Mistress?’ Cam asked.

  ‘Tried what?’

  ‘Being a proper mistress and using slaves,’ Bolt said. ‘Ordering us about… making us to please you… Go, give it a go…’

  Jane bit her lip and looked their eager expectant faces and a felt a stirring within her which was the other face of the dark fear that had dogged her since her IRES ordeal. Dare she do it? What was she frightened of?

  Bolt and Cam clambered onto the bed and put their heads down and lifted their bottoms up invitingly side by side so that she looked into their smooth in-rolling bottom clefts and the clean greased dimples of their anuses and the deep, wet, double-ringed slots of their pouting pussy mounds. All hers for the taking…

  She felt a tingle in her loins and her nipples stood up hard.

  ‘Go on, Mistress, play with us…’ Cam said.

  Feeling oddly detached, Jane turned to the rack by the bed and unhooked a double ended black rubber dildo, which Adam had made the girls use on her more than once. It was pierced by a sprung metal pin halfway along its length which projected on either side and was intended to lock into the labia of a slave girl. Feeling her heart pounding she spread her legs and slid one end up into her and then squeezed the sprung pains together and let them expand into her sex lips, forcing out the soft plastic keepers. Then she selected a spanking paddle and slapped it experimentally across her own palm. It stung.

  She clambered onto the bed behind Cam and Bolt and wondrousl
y stroked their soft trembling raised bottoms, feeling the hot heat radiating from their engorged and eager vulvas. Then she raised the spanking paddle and began to beat them soundly. It was amazing to watch the ripples in their flesh of their buttocks as force of her blows spread into their bodies. The girls yelped and whimpered but kept their bottoms high as perfect targets.

  With a surge of delight she felt her own pussy clenching on the half the dildo inside and dripping about it. She dropped the paddle and took hold of Bolt’s hips and rammed the jutting shaft into her pussy, making her brown sex lips bulge. After a few thrusts she pulled it out, now wet with Bolt’s juices, and shifted sideways and did the same to Cam. Underneath her the two girls sighed and groaned in delight. She moved back and forth between them, thrusting the dildo into their clinging pussies and feeling its other half surged inside her, tugging on her pinned labia. She was practically riding their lovely, willing bodies. So this was what it felt like. Now she understood…

  And then her loins burst, driving all other concerns from her mind as perfect bliss enveloped her, and she collapsed on top of them, breathing heavily, with her fists clenched possessively in their hair.

  After a long interval Jane said softly: ‘I’ve got to make a call to the Mayor… and Adam. Then I must find out about how to pay this slave tax thing…’

  ***

  Adam began the interview by asking: ‘So, Jane, you’ve decided to stay in Shackleswell for a while.’

  ‘Yes Adam, I think I’ll be… uhhh… basing myself here for some time. I’ve got a lot of local commissions… ohhh… and I still got the work to finish around the district… ahhh… that I planned before I came here.’

  ‘So I can take it that you like living in Shackleswell?’

  ‘Very much… uhhh… it had its ups and downs at first… as you know… but now I want to make a proper home here… ahhh!’

  ‘And paint more slave scenes instead of industrial landscapes?’