The Girlflesh Castle

by Adriana Arden

  He fumbled for the gap in the curtain and staggered unsteadily out of the cubicle.

  Julie wiped her lips and turned to grin at Vanessa. A slight sheen of sweat glistened between her breasts. ‘I’m not allowed to lick you out unless a guest orders me, but I wanted to know what you tasted like,’ she said.

  Shiller-trained girls are wonderful, Vanessa thought happily, and I’m so proud to be one of them.

  Two

  VANESSA WATCHED AS Julie 5 neatly gathered up and packed away the contents of the freezing pack. Then she took down a device that had been clipped to the wall next to the bedside basin. It resembled a garden hose spray gun but with a transparent plastic cup fitted about the barrel from which extended a flexible rubber nozzle with interchangeable tips. Instead of a single hose it trailed behind it a bundle of three of different colours, all of which connected to sockets in the wall. Vanessa had a device like it in her bathroom at home, as every company girl should.

  Julie inserted the tube into Vanessa’s vagina until the cup pressed firmly against her skin and pulled the trigger. A douche of warm water flushed her passage clean of sperm and spent juices, flowing back into the cup where it was sucked away down a vacuum tube. Julie changed the tube tip and slid it into Vanessa’s anus, which she flushed out in the same way. Then she pumped a plunger with her thumb, sending a spurt of lubricating jelly up into her rectum. A Shiller girl’s rear passage was always kept clean, fresh and greased. The next client might require the use of it.

  Filling the basin with warm water, Julie sponged Vanessa down, towelled her dry and combed her hair where it spilled out from under her bandages. Vanessa luxuriated under her careful attention, feeling deliciously pampered.

  Julie operated the bed controls. The upper halves of the side-rails to which her wrists were cuffed now rotated, dragging her arms up level with her raised legs and lifting her bottom clear of the bed. As she hung there Julie changed the sheets under her for fresh ones, then lowered her down again until she was reclining with her arms by her sides, upper body slightly raised and legs spread to the sides of the bed.

  The last thing she did was to peel back the plaster over Vanessa’s mouth. She fed her some water and then bent over, the nipples of her still bared breasts brushing Vanessa’s own, and kissed her passionately, to which Vanessa responded in kind.

  When their lips finally separated Julie said: ‘Sorry, I just had to do that.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Vanessa said with a smile.

  ‘I know you’ve got a special girl of your own in Cherry Chain and I’m not trying to get between you.’

  Vanessa frowned. ‘With a single kiss – even if it was seriously hot? I know Kashika does a lot more than just kiss her chain sisters, let alone what she does when she’s serving clients. She won’t expect me to be any different when I’m working. As company slaves we’ve performed just about every sex-act imaginable with masters, mistresses and each other. How can we have any body jealousy left in us?’

  Julie looked troubled. ‘I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Your own colour sisters are like a family and the rest is just earning a living being our natural horny slavish selves. That’s not the same as having a personal one-to-one thing with another girl. That’s private and I’m not trying to go there.’

  Only a Shiller-trained slave could bother about such things, Vanessa thought. That’s what comes of having such an ethically minded company Director. Aloud she said: ‘I know what you mean. But don’t let it worry you. I’ll tell Kashika how nice you’ve been to me and she’ll understand.’

  Julie brightened. ‘Thanks. I had to do it in case I don’t get another chance.’ She lowered her eyes shyly. ‘I mean you are white collar and GN’s famous slave reporter.’

  ‘I’m just a Shiller girl serving as ordered,’ Vanessa protested.

  Julie briefly put a finger over her lips to silence her. ‘No, you’re something more than that, I can tell. And now I can say I kissed you and it was great. Will you put that in your article?’

  ‘I’ll say you were my ministering angel,’ Vanessa promised.

  ‘We swap over with Sapphire Chain in four days so they get their chance to play nurses. Will you still be here? You could look after me while I’m cuffed to a bed.’

  ‘Sorry, my Mistress Editor wants me home before then. But when you get back to B3 and Kashika is free as well, maybe we can get together.’

  Julie grinned hugely. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ She glanced at the fob watch pinned to her uniform. ‘But I can’t pretend the doctor might be coming back any longer. I’ve got to put you on show again …’

  She replaced the plaster, refastened her uniform and then pulled the curtains back from around the bed revealing the rest of the mock medical ward.

  It was a large long room situated on the first floor of the clinic. Its mirrored and blind-hung windows dimmed the outside daylight.

  The bed curtains ran on the inside of floor-to-ceiling glass partitions, accessed via close-fitting sliding doors, that enclosed each bed in its own cubicle. The curtains provided visual privacy and the glass aural isolation when clients were using the girls. Once the clients had finished with them the curtains were of course drawn back since chain girls neither expected nor received any concessions to modesty.

  The partition glass was perfectly clear and Vanessa could see that currently five of the other beds were curtained indicating clients were within. A couple of the remaining beds were empty, suggesting their occupants had been taken to examination rooms or the surgery. Naked Sapphire Chain girls wearing blue collars occupied the rest of the beds, all restrained, gagged and bandaged in one way or another. More yellow-collared Canary girls dressed as nurses bustled about between them.

  Julie gathered up the soiled sheets and freezing pack gear, smiled once more at Vanessa, slid back the door of the cubicle and left her for whoever next cared to indulge their fantasy.

  As she waited Vanessa tried to take in all that was going on around her, starting to compose her article in her head. Clearly she was not going to be allowed much time to take proper notes and conduct formal interviews so she had to remember it all. She could always research background facts and figures and take a few photos before she left. Perhaps working with impressions gathered on the job was the best way in any case. It was how a chain girl would experience serving in the clinic and chain girls were her primary readership …

  The bizarre perversity of what she did suddenly struck her, as it had on occasions during the past few months, with the force almost of a physical blow. She wrote for Girlflesh News, the secret in-house magazine of the Shiller company who literally dealt in girlflesh as they might any other goods or services, seeking out, training, organising and supplying willing submissives to stock places such as this clinic. She was fairly certain it was the only magazine in the world written primarily for slave girls to read. At first, when she had been in denial of her own secret nature, the very concept of it had sickened her. But then she got to know FG Shiller, the remarkable Director of the company that bore her name and the inspiration behind its secret business of ethical slave trading in the twenty-first century. Shiller in turn had helped Vanessa on a journey of self-discovery and coming to terms with her own nature. Now she was prouder than she cared to admit at being GN’s only true slave reporter and paradoxically felt freer in chains than she ever had as a supposedly modern, equal and emancipated woman. In fact freedom was very important to her. She had learned that everybody should have the right to be free … including the freedom, when they so chose, not to be.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a Sapphire girl being brought back into the ward by a couple of nurses.

  The clinic’s ‘patients’ were naturally not allowed the freedom of walking where they chose or the dignity of a simple wheelchair when they had to be moved to another room for specialist attention. To reinforce their sense of absolute dependence they were taken out and returned to their beds while bei
ng secured at all times. So they were transported in devices she heard the nurses refer to as ‘Alves frames’.

  These were open rectangles of heavy-gauge tubular metal large enough to fit over a girl lying with her hands by her sides. The inner rims of the frames were fitted with an array of rubber straps for securing purposes. The frames were set on swivel-wheeled bases by way of a pivoting ‘L’ shaped post connected to one side of the frame by a horizontal rotating mount. This allowed the frame to be adjusted from flat to upright so it could be slid over a bed, balanced by its cantilevered wheels. A gas piston in the mounting post then raised and lowered the frame as required.

  Vanessa thought the name entirely appropriate. The frames’ function was to restrain, contain and display them, just like the clinic did.

  The girl was being wheeled along upright in her frame, held there by a web of straps from neck to ankles. Her eyes were red with tears that had streaked her cheeks and run over her gag bandage, while her breasts, jutting out from between her straps, were blotched, the nipples swollen and encircled by scarlet and purple rings. On her face was that strange look of triumphal exhaustion that Vanessa had seen on other slave girls, and on occasions in reflections of her own face. It told of a submissive nature being tested to the limits and having found ultimate pleasure in the depths of her suffering.

  The nurses positioned her frame by one of the empty beds, flipped the frame and the girl imprisoned within backwards until she lay flat, slid her over the bed and lowered her onto the sheets. They freed her straps one by one from the frame and re-cuffed her to the sides of the bed. As her legs were spread Vanessa saw the cleft of her vagina was also red and swollen. She wondered what ‘treatment’ she had undergone. Perhaps she would find out for herself first-hand.

  Vanessa’s thoughts were interrupted when a middle-aged woman dressed in a dark blue sister’s uniform entered her cubicle and drew the curtains. She was carrying a bedpan with a towel draped across it. If she’d been a member of the clinic staff she would not have bothered to draw the curtains to save Vanessa’s blushes, but if she wanted to keep this private it meant she was probably a client. There was no reason why they all had to dress as doctors.

  Playing safe, Vanessa dropped back into the character of an unwilling patient and began pulling at her cuffs, letting her eyes go wide in apprehension and making pleading noises behind her gag. I’m a helpless prisoner in some mad sex-clinic, she thought, embracing the fantasy with secret delight. Please let me go …

  ‘None of that, girl,’ the ‘Sister’ said briskly. I’ve just come to put you on the pan. Mustn’t get constipated or risk wetting the bed …’

  She operated the bed controls. The lower section of the side-railing to which her ankles were cuffed contracted, pulling her feet back along the bed and forcing her knees to bend upward even as her thighs spread wider. Then the upper section pivoted, lifting her arms up into the air and pulling her into an enforced squatting position. The sister caught hold of a pinch of Vanessa’s pubic hair and tugged, forcing her to raise her hips so she could slide the bedpan under her bottom.

  ‘Now you do your business for me, girl. I want to see plenty of pee and poo come out of you.’ She looked Vanessa’s stretched body up and down and licked her lips as her gaze lingered on her pussy and the exposed pucker of her anus beneath it. ‘I’ve got to check you’re staying healthy …’

  Vanessa squirmed awkwardly, letting the induced shame fill her mind. How degrading to perform such an intimate act in these circumstances before a stranger. She shook her head and whimpered.

  The sister slapped the insides of Vanessa’s thighs. ‘I said I want to see you piss and shit! Now!’

  Vanessa hung her head and obeyed, voiding her bowels into the pan. The sister watched in undisguised fascination as her sphincters opened and the wastes spurted and plopped from her. When Vanessa had squeezed out the last drop and gobbet she said: ‘Well done. You see, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And I can tell you’re a perfectly healthy girl.’

  With meticulous care she wiped Vanessa’s orifices clean with toilet paper, lingering a little as her fingers trailed through her cleft. Then she covered the pan, drew back the curtains and left.

  Is that it, Vanessa wondered?

  Seeing Vanessa suspended squatting over her bed, one of the Canary nurses came in and used the douche gun to wash her out internally and re-grease her. Then she gave her some water and returned her to her normal reclining position ready for the next client. As she was being tended to Vanessa saw the sister, carrying a freshly washed bedpan, methodically making her way round every girl in the ward.

  Just how weird had that been? A little degradation and a few light smacks with a dash of coprophilia thrown in for good measure. Presumably that satisfied the woman’s fantasy, even if it hadn’t done anything for Vanessa apart from deliver a small degree of pleasurable humiliation. In fact the woman’s evident obsession with excreta had been a little spooky. But then a list of her own pleasures would earn Vanessa a pretty high rating on the ’philia fetish scale herself, and a lot of people would think what she enjoyed was unusual if not downright sick by ‘normal’ standards.

  How strange that a man who gave her a lashing and then screwed her because it gave him pleasure should give her such a high, whereas this woman, who had only slapped her lightly and then merely watched as she relieved herself, did not. Would she have enjoyed it more if the woman had treated her more harshly and stimulated her first? Perhaps it was not what she did so much as what she didn’t do.

  Vanessa decided what mattered ultimately was she had responded in a way that had apparently pleased the client, albeit a weird one. That was all that should concern a Shiller girl when serving another. She might mention the incident in her article as a test of her own tolerance and understanding and a warning to her readers to look for satisfaction even in unexpected ways. Part of the pleasure in being a willing slave was surrendering to the desires of others, whatever they might be. Masochistic, erotomaniac, exhibitionistic bondage fetishists should be the last people to pass judgement.

  It really was true that it took all sorts, Vanessa thought philosophically. And in here I’m at the mercy of every one of them …

  A doctor came into her cubicle wearing a facemask. Another shy client, Vanessa wondered, or one simply keen to remain anonymous even from the other guests?

  Without saying a word he drew the curtains and then operated the bed controls. The headrest under her pillow folded flat, laying Vanessa down. Then the points where Vanessa’s wrists were cuffed to the top halves of the bedrails extended, dragging her arms along the bed and over her head, pulling her taut. The left-hand set of side-rails then slid across the bed even as the right-hand set swung upwards in an arc over them, carried on arms that rotated about pivot joints set in the bed’s foot and head frames. In a few seconds they had swapped places. The effect was to roll Vanessa over onto her front. He pulled the pillow out from under her face, pushed stiff fingers into her vaginal passage and lifted, jacking her bottom up, and slid the pillow in under her hips.

  She’d been squirming about as he positioned her but now he smacked her raised bottom sharply.

  ‘Hold still, slut!’ She froze. ‘I want to test the tightness of your anus,’ he continued brusquely. ‘Whatever I do you stay as tight as you can, understood?’

  Vanessa nodded. What a good thing she’d had the ice treatment earlier. Had the ‘doctors’ been conferring?

  The doctor pulled down his trousers, clambered onto the bed and rammed the head of his cock into her bottom cleft and into the ring of muscle guarding the way to her rectum. Vanessa clenched her buttocks, resisting as she’d been ordered while he pounded away like a battering ram. She’d have such bruises! He wanted the pleasure of forcing his way in … which, thanks to the grease around her hole, he was doing. She could not keep him out … not that she wanted to … ahhh!

  With a muffled squeal she was broached, his rod forcing its way inside her. Then
he began violently to sodomise her.

  He was big and hard, his thrusts making the bed shake and forcing grunts of pain out of her as he bore down. Her passage distended painfully with each thrust, testing its elasticity and resilience, and his weight flattened her breasts into the mattress and left her gasping for breath. She was being used without any regard for her comfort. But it was the kind of discomfort and intimate pain she had come to crave and it mingled with the pleasure of being filled by a living cock. That its owner was utterly anonymous only added to the thrill. Seepage from her pussy began to make a wet patch on the sheet under her hips. If only he didn’t finish too quickly.

  She just made it, jerking her hips and squeezing desperately, milking his cock as it sprayed hot sperm deep into her rectum. Oh, yes, that was good …

  He collapsed over her, pressing her deeper into the mattress, and for a minute he lay still. Then he said softly in her ear: ‘Did I say you could cum? You moved your hips when I told you to hold still. That wasn’t part of the treatment. You’ll have to be punished for that …’ He levered himself up, pulling his cock from her rear with a slight pop and climbed off the bed.

  Vanessa tensed, her stomach knotting, fearful of what he might do, feeling guilty for having disobeyed the letter of his instructions even as she suspected he would have found some fault in her anyway. He was just looking for any excuse to punish her.

  She twisted her head round to see he’d taken a small slim plastic case from his pocket. He flipped it open to reveal the coloured ends of a dozen hypodermic needles, without tubes and plungers. Vanessa whimpered, buried her head in the sheets and screwed up her eyes.

  Slowly and carefully he sank each needle into the soft smooth fleshy swell of her buttocks, forming a ring in the centre of both her trembling hemispheres. He did not push them in very deep, perhaps a centimetre or so, but how they stung! She could feel the free ends of the ones already stuck in her bobbing slightly as she flinched from the next insertion. Vanessa clenched her teeth, wishing she had a bit or ball-gag in her mouth to bite on. They were such comforts at times like this. If only this part had come first. Pain and then sex or pain with sex, yes, that fired her up, but pain after without any stimulation was the hardest to take.