‘Scotland?’
‘Yes, to the island house,’ Naylor said. ‘A completely separate site and a completely separate entity. Then the VESTA here can continue to run in something near to its original intention, but the new VESTA can be our demonstration model for even more worthwhile clients.’
‘Ah, you mean the military!’ Koenig’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, I wondered whether you had recognised VESTA’s potential in that direction. With just a few minor alterations...’
‘I know,’ Naylor chuckled, finally turning back from the view. ‘And you, my little Bavarian friend, are just the man to make them. How soon can you start work?’
‘That depends upon the woman,’ Koenig said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘If she persists in keeping VESTA as her personal plaything, my downtime for analysis and copying will be somewhat restricted. On the other hand, if I could have five days clear...?’
‘Do you want to be the one to tell Christina she’s going to have to take five days off from her fun and games?’ Naylor exclaimed in mock horror. ‘No, me neither. So I’m afraid you’ll have to work around her. Even Christina needs to sleep sometimes.’
‘A very interesting female,’ Koenig nodded, his eyes losing focus as he mused on the possibilities, but Naylor was quick to interrupt his daydreaming.
‘Forget it,’ he warned. ‘She’s far more than you could ever hope to handle. Her tastes are even more extreme than my worst fantasies.’
‘So I have already seen,’ Koenig said. ‘Very extreme indeed and, if I might say so, most wasteful. Tell me, why should she want to have the pretty blonde girl looking more like a horse than a woman?’
‘Ah well, that’s a long story,’ Naylor said, grinning. ‘Our Christina is a little bit miffed over her. It all happened a while ago, but it’s the reason why Christina has that limp. Our little blonde fluff-head caught Madame Sin with her guard down, smashed her shin and legged it out of here with her boyfriend. He’s the one now finding out what it’s really like to be a woman in a cruel world, by the way, and I wouldn’t put it past our blonde she-wolf to even let him find out for real. I certainly wouldn’t want to offer odds on him staying in physical contact with his balls for too much longer.’
Pain and pleasure.
That was what Dolores had promised poor Susie and now, after the interlude of pleasure was to come the pain, for she had still, somehow, managed to hold back from actually begging for Grant and Devon to actually penetrate her. In truth, she truly would have, but by the time she had been ready to surrender she was past uttering the words in any intelligible form.
Instead she had writhed beneath the frame as their skilled hands went about their work, reducing her to a moaning shambles of abandoned gratification, the evidence of their success running down her thighs in mute testimony to her abject surrender.
At last they stepped away, but it was several minutes before Susie’s senses returned to anything vaguely approaching normality. When they did she saw the three of them were already making preparations for the next stage in her subjugation, the two men selecting items under Dolores’ watchful eyes.
It didn’t take them long and very soon they came back to Susie, stooping to release her ankle bonds, though for the moment leaving her wrists secure, high above her head. Through misty eyes she stared down at the boots they presented to her feet, calf length creations in vivid crimson leather, tight laced and with heels that Susie recognised only too well, for they featured prominently in the scenarios she had created in another world, as another person.
The heels looked impossible. Indeed, Susie knew they would prove to be so for all but the best trained dancers, for they forced the wearer’s foot into such an extreme position that she could stand in them only on the tops of her toes. And although the heels themselves would lend a little stability, all of the weight would bear down upon those tortured digits and the strain upon the calf muscles would be unbearable after even a few seconds.
However, as the duo tightened the boots onto her, Susie was amazed to find that she was actually able to stand in them. True her balance was aided by the fact that much of her weight was being taken on her wrists and arms, but to her surprise, neither toes nor leg muscles seemed to be complaining overly.
Dimly, she understood.
VESTA.
Here in this virtual painworld, whilst everything looked, sounded, smelled, felt so real, things were possible that would never have been so in the outside world, things that no sane person would have considered even trying.
So, when they finally released her wrists and guided her out from beneath the whipping frame, it came as no surprise at all to Susie that she found herself mincing into the centre of the floor like a bizarre ballerina, the huge heels and elongated feet making her legs look impossibly long. Instinctively she spread her arms sideways to help with her balance as she moved, but her captors had other ideas about this.
Grasping her wrists they bent her arms across her back and, as they held them there, Dolores took up a curious leather pouch, with which she sheathed Susie’s upper limbs to the level of her shoulders. Thin straps, passing over those shoulders, were buckled tightly, preventing the pouch from sliding down again and, when the three stood back, although there were no manacles about either wrist or arm, they were held as immovably as if in a vice.
‘Collar her,’ Dolores said. Grant bent and retrieved the necessary device, a broad leather strap, beset with spiky studs and buckling at the back of the neck, the front widening out so as to force Susie’s chin high and rising to a stiff point of leather that pressed into the soft flesh beneath it. She was left standing, face tilted towards the ceiling, only able to see in front of her through lowering her eyes.
‘Now we’ll give you some exercise,’ the dominatrix said. ‘I think we’ll all enjoy seeing those tits bounce about for a while, but maybe we should be able to hear them, too. Devon, bell her please.’
A minute or so later it was done; two circular golden clips, serrated teeth gleaming from their inner circumferences, had been locked firmly around Susie’s nipples, small golden bells hung from little hooks on their undersides. Now every slightest movement was transmitted, via her oversized breasts, to these distended teats and their ornaments, sending a mocking tinkling sound about the chamber.
‘And now to the dance,’ Dolores declared. The two men took up heavy tawses and positioned themselves to either side of Susie’s exposed posterior. ‘Around the room, around the obstacles, around and around we go.’
As Dolores finished speaking the room was suddenly filled with the sound of deeply pulsating music, vaguely familiar, yet at the same time alien, the persistent beat set to urge even the most reluctant dancer onto the floor. Except that this reluctant dancer was to be urged in another, even more insistent fashion.
In time to the bass the tawses rose and fell, landing in turn across Susie’s buttocks with resounding cracks, forcing her to jump forward in most ungainly fashion, almost toppling despite her artificially enhanced ability to balance in the ballerina boots, so that once moving, her best chance of remaining upright was to continue forward, prancing on tiptoe in a degrading way, the two bells seeming to mock her predicament with every step.
Susie howled her pain and frustration into the darkened vaults overhead, but there was nothing else she could do except dance to their vicious tune, round and around, pursued by the two naked men, black leather flailing after her until everything became a blur of exploding red and violet lights. As if from afar, she heard Dolores’ taunting voice.
‘You know what you want, Susie dear... know what you need... only to ask... beg them, slut, beg them... you know how to stop it... know what you want...’
‘Ye-e-essss!’ Susie screamed. ‘Yes! Stop it, please! Yes!’
‘And what do you want?’
The pain was becoming unreal now. Nothing around her seemed t
o hold any substance. Light turned to darkness, darkness into brilliant dancing lasers, mists of all hues rose up to engulf her. Susie was past caring about anything, save the burning need...
‘I... want...’ Yet still she hesitated. The straps rose and fell again and she blundered on into a crazed half world, hearing the voice that was her own.
‘I... want them... to... to... take me!’
Everything became still and silent and the picture cleared. Before her the two men stood, arms folded across muscular chests. Behind them Dolores’ face, smiling and triumphant. It was she who spoke first.
‘Both of them, Susie?’
Susie tried to nod, but the wickedly pointed collar precluded such a movement. Instead, she was forced to voice her reply.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself rasp. ‘Both of them.’
‘And at the same time, I think,’ Dolores grinned. ‘Grant!’
The figure of Grant loomed tall before her, taller than Susie still, despite the extra inches lent her by the extreme height of her heels. She eyed him mistily, eyes downcast and riveted upon the thrusting shaft that reared up before him, automatically moving her feet just a little further apart. But ignoring her thrusting sex he moved behind her, pressed gently against her pouched arms, supporting her firmly, the tip of his organ resting against the cleft in her buttocks.
She felt now its massive dimensions and, for a brief moment that part of her, deep within that was not Susie, threatened to rebel. But the burning lust fuelled by the heat from her beaten buttocks, thrust rebellion aside and she felt herself relaxing back against him.
‘Devon.’ The second man moved forward, confronting their helpless and now willing victim face to face, his own erection resting against her lower stomach, his huge hands reaching to grasp her hips. Then between them they lifted her from the floor, pointed toes flailing against thin air, manoeuvring, positioning her, so that two weapons pressed against the gates of their respective targets.
‘Oh god!’ The words came out without volition as they lowered her, impaling her upon their twin manhoods until she was filled to the hilt and Susie, slut creation of the bizarre painworld, whore beyond salvation, was swept aside by a tumultuous orgasm even before they began their slow, rhythmic pistoning.
‘I thought you were going to keep this Clarissa outside VESTA,’ Naylor said, looking puzzled.
Christina, resplendent in a gold bodysuit, gave him a half smile.
‘That’s the general notion,’ she agreed, ‘but something she said gave me an idea. She wants to fight me.’
‘Fight you?’ Christina nodded.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Actually, I admire her spirit in a way, but I intend knocking it out of her.’
‘Then why not just take her down to the basement and do it for real?’ Naylor suggested. ‘Why bother hooking up to a machine?’
Christina threw him a withering look. ‘Because,’ she said, ‘I could end up killing the silly bitch. I’d certainly cause her a lot more damage than I intend for the moment, and she’d be no good to me laid up in her sickbed.
‘Besides,’ she added, ‘it’d be no contest out here. I can give her five or six inches and seventy pounds, not to mention a few years of intensive training. That wouldn’t stop her trying, at least, which is why I said I admire her spirit. But afterwards she’d always have plenty of excuses.’
‘And it would be different inside VESTA?’
‘You obviously need to try out our new toy first hand,’ Christina said, a note of exasperation creeping into her tone. ‘Of course it would be different - as different as I choose. I can let our little Clarissa have back some of the physical disadvantages by having my virtual self nearer her size, and tap into VESTA’s inexhaustible creative banks to devise some sort of handicapping system which will make the thing a bit more of an even contest.
‘And there’s another benefit,’ she went on. ‘When I beat her - and I surely will, no matter how much natural advantage I forfeit - I can beat her really thoroughly, far more thoroughly than she could stand out here. In that way, even though she can recover at the flick of a switch, or the press of a button, the memory of that thrashing will remain with her forever and I’ll bend her to my will so much more easily.’
‘I don’t understand why you’re bothering,’ Naylor said, leaning back in his seat and picking at his teeth. ‘Why not just go for one of your usual routines? We could have an isolation tank put in here within a few days. Forty-eight hours as a floating rubber dolly sorts out most of them.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ Christina retorted, turning towards the door. ‘Things like the tank work, yes, but they’re too impersonal. Anyway,’ she added, turning to look back over her shoulder, ‘I get the feeling even the tank might not work on this one. There’s something almost spooky about her - and I thought I’d met just about all types, till now.’
If Lianne had entertained any hopes of being released from the cart, they were quickly dashed. Having proved his complete mastery over her and also, if it had been needed, proved to Lianne how much a slave she was to her own deep desires, he simply proceeded to climb back into the driver’s seat, flick her rump with his long whip and continue trotting her around the oval track for another two circuits, whistling tunelessly to himself as they went.
For some reason his apparent detachment and lack of concern or interest was far worse for Lianne than anything the youth had inflicted upon her so far. Being thrashed so she virtually raped herself on the shaft phallus had been humiliating enough, but at least he had shown involvement with her, had had a purpose in his actions. Now, it seemed, he had returned her to the status of unthinking beast, exercising her as a groom might exercise any four-legged equine charge, and yet still the insistent up and down motion of the dildo was threatening to throw all the wrong switches again.
Desperately Lianne fought to push her mind beyond that, to think of things other than the fact that she was being treated as nothing more than a beast, and concentrate on other matters. Ellen had told her that she was a natural submissive and Lianne had not thought to disagree with her, for there had been too many illustrated proofs of that, but this was something else again and she was grimly determined to hold some sort of charge over her rawest emotions.
Ellen.
Lianne wondered how she was faring right now. Probably coping better than she was, for Ellen had a steel core that very few people appreciated until the chips were down. She also had a sense of humour that was warped worse than a barn door in a rainstorm, and very little ever seemed to throw her. Lianne wondered if her friend was yet aware of what was happening outside; realised that they were all prisoners and that the game had become serious.
This thought reminded her again and for several minutes she trotted on blindly, the track just a vague outline through the mist of her tears, seeming to symbolise the fate that Christina had promised her; a captive at the mercy of the merest whims of a sadistic monster. And that was before James Naylor was taken into consideration.
The blonde sadistic Dane was bad enough, but Naylor, in his own way, was potentially worse. Christina was brutal, violent and a bully, using her sheer physical size to terrify her victims, but with Naylor there was something else, something deeper, more psychological and far far more sinister.
Lianne tried not to think about Naylor, turning her thoughts instead to Paul and trying to imagine what he might be doing now. Of course she knew exactly what he was doing: he was out there, lying in his own pod dressed in that damned rubber maid’s uniform, hooked up to VESTA, the same as they all were in reality.
Except that this wasn’t reality.
Just the only reality they had right now...
...And possibly the only reality left to any of them if Naylor and Christina had their way, and that was a reality too grim to contemplate. Shaking her head again, Lianne whinnied plaintively and
trotted on, ignoring the regular cuts of William’s driving whip.
Two attendants awaited Melissa within the small chamber in which she made her entry into VESTA. She came round laying flat on a narrow raised palette, the hard surface pressing against her naked body like so many cold fingers. For several seconds she made no attempt to rise, allowing her eyes to do the work, wondering if her half brother’s marvel of science had perhaps failed to operate, for everything seemed so real about her, if she ignored the bizarre costumes of the two lurking females.
Those costumes, however, had not been designed not to be taken notice of, and the same could be said of their wearers. The pair were tall, olive-skinned, their dark hair cut into matching styles that immediately triggered memories of Cleopatra, and their slim height was emphasised further by the high heels of the brown, thigh length boots that sheathed their legs.
Above the tops of these boots only a slim band of brown flesh was visible beneath the hem of the matching brief pleated leather skirts. Then, further above the bare midriffs, skeletal halter tops, strapped assemblages supporting but not covering their breasts, studded leather chokers circling the slim necks and hawkishly beautiful visages with piercing green eyes.
Carefully, Clarissa eased herself into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the plinth, resting her feet lightly on the tiled floor beneath. To her surprise she did not feel nauseous or shaky. But then her mind quickly seized on the reason, for this awakening was not like coming out of an anaesthetic at all, there being no chemical agents involved, simply a transfer of brain awareness via VESTA’s probes and sensors, the brief sense of unconsciousness being nothing more than a necessity of the transition.
‘Yer dress sense is a bit old fashioned and predictable.’ Clarissa’s Australian twang sounded echoey around the bare walls, but it was as if neither attendant had heard her. However, as she made to stand up they swayed forward in unison. Immediately Clarissa tensed, hands coming up before her in the defensive posture she had learned so many years ago in her self defence classes at college.
Vesta - Painworld Page 16
