Did slave girls count as goods or passengers, Mel wondered.
Mel, Bolt and Cam clambered into the truck and impaled themselves beside the half-dozen other girls already on board, while Bradawl sat up front. The train pulled smoothly away again.
They changed to the Northern Line at Gin Street Junction, which Mel now saw was a larger station than Gryndstone Halt and fully manned. Goods trolleys loaded with packages in transport were lined up along the platform, there was a station office and low wooden hutch-like structures arrayed along the length of the platform.
When a train pulled up, naked slave girls emerged from the hutches like rabbits. Long chains were fastened to their collars that looped up to a framework of channels suspended from the roof, like those in the school washroom, confining them to the platform area. They wore small peaked caps and solid but highly polished black working shoes, which contrasted strangely with their nudity. They scuttled about loading and unloading the goods trolleys under the watchful eyes of male porters.
A flight of stairs and a short tunnel took them to the Northern line, where they caught another train. This was more crowded than the previous one with two carriages of seated passengers.
As they sped through the tunnels Mel squirmed on the fresh phallus thrust up inside her, feeling the exciting vibration of the train. How many other girls before her had ridden on this same prong of rubber?
After three more stops the train emerged into some much larger, lofty and brightly lit structure, which seemed to be a hive of activity by comparison with the stations they had previously passed through. Rolling wheels, snaking carriages and snatched views of pumping girlish limbs flashed by. As they slowed down Mel saw a sign reading:SHACKLESWELL CENTRAL.
The station was roofed by a series of interlocking domes supported by heavy columns. What looked like daylight was reflected down through large bull’s-eye like skylights set in the apex of each dome. By their light Mel saw lines emerging from an arc of tunnel mouths that fed into the station where they merged, branched and passed over each other in maze of points and diamond crossings. Low footbridges crossed the tracks and there were forests of coloured signals with semaphore arms, miniature versions of the ones real railways used, signal boxes, sheds and workshops. It was a complex large enough to serve an entire city and emphasised the scale and durability of Shackleswell’s secret world.
Their train pulled up at a platform and immediately more slavegirl porters began unloading the trolleys, swaying breasts bobbing and ringed nipples sparkling.
To one side was what looked like a goods yard handling larger items of freight, some of which was being stacked in sheds and under awnings. Opposite this was the passenger terminus where people strode calmly on and off the trains without sparing their imprisoned human engines or naked porters a second glance. But then several of the passengers were also leading naked girls after them like dogs. This was just everyday life.
As Bradawl took charge of them again Mel gazed at the slave girls labouring about her. There were teams of them working across a dozen platforms, pushing and pulling goods about. There must have been forty or fifty of them visible in a single glance about the station. The parade of naked bottoms, swaying breasts and exposed pudenda was irresistible to the eye. They were all shaven, ringed, collared, cuffed and stamped as Mel and her companions. None appeared any younger than her or older than about thirty. They were of all colours and builds and from what she could see were at least outwardly fit and healthy. Their nudity as such was not the most surprising thing, however, Mel had got used to that by now. It was the sheer numbers of them combined with the workaday setting and their accessories that made it so bizarre.
Though otherwise naked, they were all wearing the tiny porter hats, thick gloves and heavy boots. The first impression was that they were there to accentuate their nudity in a kinky way, like a contrived photo-shoot in some glossy garage glamour calendar. Then she saw how they were sweating as they heaved crates and pushed the trolleys and cartons around. This was serious work involving heavy objects some with sharp edges so perhaps their minimal protective clothing was justified. At least they were being protected, or was it simply common sense pragmatism? This was true hard labour, genuine slavery, and the reality that lay beyond Gryndstone schoolgirl life. It jarred with the mental accommodations Mel had been making to rationalise Shackleswell’s philosophy and for a few seconds she looked about her with a critical eye.
However well-protected the girls were, they were indisputably true slaves. No glamour calendar Mel could have imagined would have contrived the means by which their movements were controlled and limited to their particular working areas. In a way they too were confined to rails but much more intimately than their sisters at Gin Street Junction. It was, Mel realized with a shiver, the sort of thing their MI lessons were preparing them for.
There were narrow recessed channels set into the platforms shaped into tracks and loops that ran between them and the sheds and workshops. Each slavegirl porter had a telescopic rod lodged up her anus with a short chain linking its upper end to a single padlock that was looped through her labial piercings. The base of the rod ended in a greased ball that ran smoothly through the recessed channel but was obviously too big to pull out past the narrower gap formed by the channel lips. These rods slid along just behind the girls’ heels, expanding and contracting about some internal spring to accommodate their movements as they bent and stretched to load boxes. They hardly seemed aware of them as they went about their tasks, crossing junctions and turning round loops, but they confined their activities solely to the routes permitted to them and nowhere else.
The rods meant they could be left to work with minimal supervision and work they did. Their faces were shiny from their exertions and the tang of their sweat hung in the otherwise fresh air, together with the spicy scent of female arousal. Hours of physical activity with a plug up their rears and a padlock hanging from their pussies must be stimulating. Was that some compensation or a cruel torment? No, it was just the Shackleswell way.
Suddenly Mel felt overwhelmed by the scale of the place. This had to be wrong. She could not blame Bolt for wanting to escape. Maybe she would go with her if she got up the nerve. However for now none of them had any choice but to play the part of a servile slave girls.
Bradawl led them across the platform bridges to a small office set in one corner of the station signposted: GYNATON SUPERVISOR. Here they were introduced to a Mr Wimble, a comfortable middle-aged man in a dark blue uniform who beamed at them genially as they knelt with thighs submissively spread before his desk.
‘Latest batch for road testing, eh, Mr Bradawl? Nice looking girls. Well, we’re all ready for them. ’
He led the way along the platforms to a waiting area. There was a small coffee shop, a newsagents, some dispensing machines and a door leading to the men’s lavatories. There was a sign on the door saying: Closed for Maintenance. Wimble led them inside. Mel felt sudden absurd thrill of trespassing on forbidden territory. In the lobby between the outer and inner doors were three booths with curtained fronts. Inside each booth was a small rectangular upright cage with a gap in the top of its front face, protected by a curved grille. Mounted on the side of each cage was a box with a coin slot in it. A sign over the booths said simply: £2. 00 ORAL.
Mel felt her stomach begin to knot.
‘Here we are, our stand-up fast service booths,’ Wimble said. ‘All our toilets have them. A lot of men come in here for a little quick relief while they’re waiting for a train. Of course we serve local passengers from the mainline station upstairs as well, so business it usually pretty brisk.
‘Now today you’ll be taking the place of three of our regular girls. You’ll be locked in these cages, which as you can see have a gap large enough to pass your head through. Your duty is to give oral relief to any man who’s paid his money and stands before you. That’s simple enough, but there a
re a couple of things designed to keep you on your toes. Let’s get you inside and you’ll see for yourselves…’
The cages opened at the back so they could clamber in. Their arms were left cuffed behind them but their gags were pulled out. There was a thigh-deep well let into the floor of the cage with a funnel across its centre. They slid their legs down on either side of this so they could stand upright. Mel felt rubber padding under her feet. When the rear doors of the cages were shut they were pressed against the front bars. They ducked their heads through the round padded apertures let into the top front of the cages and found they were now at about groin height. The visor-like grilles hung in front of their faces and they were connected to the coin boxes by short rods.
There were two smaller gaps in the bars below their heads large enough for their breasts to hang through. They were rimed with thick rubber cuffs plugged into hoses than ran down into the floor. Wimble adjusted the cuffs for each of them until their breasts were snugly collared and bulged invitingly. Their school ties he pulled through the bars and hung prominently between them. Then he stood back so each of them could see him through the open fronts of their booths, though they could no longer see each other.
‘When a man stands on the mat in front of you and puts his coins in the slot the grille flips up and stays there until he steps off again. The funnels between your legs are for peeing in and there’s a drinking tube inside the visors. That way you can stay in there all day quite with no trouble. Rest against the bars if you want to take the weight off your feet. ’
Mel supposed it was a better way of getting their heads down to cock level than forcing them to kneel for hours on end, but it would still be hard work.
‘Now there are notices posted about the station advertising you’re here but when a man walks through that door you must sell yourselves. Some men might come in and put their cock straight in your mouth because they know what they want, but the others who only came in for a pee you’ve got to entice and beg to use you. There’s an incentive to have as many customers as you can per hour because the more men you serve the more comfortable you’ll stay.
‘That mat they stand on in front of the cages is a pressure plate connected to a two-way valve and a hydraulic header tank. The longer anybody stands on the plate or the more men that stand on it the more oil is pumped back into the tank. When there’s no pressure the oil slowly flows back the other way into those cuffs about your breasts. They have inner tubes with metal pins on that are slowly pressed out through the outer layers and into your boobies. Actually they’ll help because a little pain on a pretty face excites the customers.
‘Well, that’s about all. Oh, you’ll get no other food while you’re in the cages except sperm, so you make the most of it. Anything you want to add, Mr Bradawl? ’
‘Just try your best and maintain the school name. I’ll be back to collect you at six o’clock tonight. ’
Wimble went along the booths turning a key in the coin boxes. ‘Now the valves are open. I’ll take the sign off the door and you can get ready for your first customers. ’He and Bradawl went out.
Mel imagined she could already feel the collars tightening about her breasts.
She heard Cam moan: ‘How can I beg to suck a man off? It was easier with the boys in the park. They just did what they wanted. But asking for it…’
Mel realised that Cam was not outwardly revolted by the physical fact of what she had to do, she was worried that she would be too embarrassed to beg. Of course they’d been trained how to give proper oral pleasure in Sex Tec and they’d all practiced on Mr Stapler’s cock. Yet what did that say about what Gryndstone was turning them into? Three caged girls in school ties pleading to fellate any man for a modest fee outside a gentlemen’s lavatory. Was that sick prostitution or simple basic slave-economy business? No, it was just everyday life in Shackleswell.
Before Mel could find words of encouragement for Cam, Bolt said:‘Course you can beg. Anyway they’ll love it if you act shy. You’ve got the right sort of face. ’
It was not bad advice. Maybe it was just Bolt playing her part as a supportive chain-sister but it helped.
The door swung open and man strode in.
‘Please master,’ they said, ‘oral for just two pounds…’
Mel did not really see any men for the rest of the day. With a few exceptions they were really just a progression of differently shaped and flavoured penises thrust into her mouth that she had to milk dry. Some said nothing and just put their coin in the slot and pushed their cocks at her mouth like she was simply part of the machine. Even when she got into conversation with others, which was clearly part of the excitement for some, she rarely took in any features.
‘That’s so big, Master! Please be gentle…’
He took her by the hair, pried her jaws wide and pushed the head of his shaft between her lips. ‘You can take it, girl. One big swallow…’
She choked and gasped as he forced it down her.
‘That’s it, right to the hilt. Oh, are your eyes bulging? Do you want to breathe? ’
Mel nodded frantically. He pulled out just enough for her to suck in some air round his shaft. ‘Thank you, master,’ she gasped pitifully.
He plunged into her until her eyes bulged again.
It was verging on cruelty and yet her pussy was dripping into her pee funnel.
A thin, nervous, spotty young man used her, fumbling the coin into the slot and then jabbing his slender cock into her mouth. She felt sorry for him and tried to make it as pleasurable as possible, rolling her eyes helplessly up at him with her best puppy desperate to please gaze. He came in frantic spurts that she licked up with a show of delight.
‘Oh… that’s so nice and sweet and hot, Master,’ she said huskily.
He smiled with pitiful gratitude and then scuttled out. It was probably the highlight of his week.
‘Across the balls and then up the shaft again. . . ’ the plump man who liked to direct her every move commanded. ‘That’s right… now under the foreskin… yes… uhh…Ready to catch it…ahhhh… splendid… yes, gobble it all down like a good girl. ’He patted her head as she licked him clean. ‘You’ve got a fine tongue on you. ’
‘Thank you, Master,’ Mel said indistinctly.
‘Good to see Gryndstone standards have not dropped. I must make a note of your part number. If you’re ever on the market I’d put in a bid for you. ’
‘You’re very kind, Master. ’
How wonderful, Mel thought dizzily, he wants to buy me. Still that was high praise indeed from somebody who was clearly a fellatio connoisseur.
Hour in and hour out, Mel sucked, licked, lapped and tongued everything that was put in her mouth.
When there was a longer gap between customers and the cuffs about her breasts began to prick Mel found she had no shame left.
‘Please let me suck you, Master! I really need a lovely hard cock in my mouth right now. Please, for the sake of my tits. They’re nice, aren’t they but there are pins sticking in them. Please make them go away. I’ll drink it all down, really I will. You can push it right down my throat…’
From the booths on either side of her she heard Bolt and Cam making similar desperate promises. It was a very long day.
When the Headmaster finally came back for them they could hardly speak, their jaws ached, their throats were sore and they were slightly nauseous from swallowing so much sperm. Wimble counted the money in their coinboxes and declared they had done nearly as well as their regular girls, which was highly satisfactory for first timers. Bradawl led them home stiff-legged, exhausted and frustrated. It had been impossible not to get aroused in the presence of so many erections, but there had been no chance to orgasm. At least they were give ice cream for tea as a special treat.
They went to bed that night only able to converse in whispers. T
hey had been both stimulated and drained and yet physically, except for their jaws, they had not been much exercised. In the dim red nightlight they huddled together restlessly, unable to sleep.
‘Well, I suppose it wasn’t so bad after the first twenty cocks,’ Cam croaked and they all chucked.
‘I think today we got a real taste of Shackleswell,’ Mel said.
The others groaned.
Then Bolt said almost shyly: ‘Actually, I brought something from the rec room. I was wondering if you might want to use them, as we’re all a bit wired and didn’t get off at all…’
From under the corner of the mattress she pulled out a pair of double-ended dildos.
‘It’s just an idea,’ she added defensively. ‘It’s the sort of thing the other girls do. If you two don’t want to. . . ’
In the dim light Mel saw Bolt looking anxious. There was no need for her to put on an act for them. She sensed Bolt really wanted this. Maybe playing her new role had given her an excuse to soften up. It must have been tough being a hard bitch and ignoring everybody for so long. Whatever the motive the suggestion was tempting. Despite all the intimacies forced on them in lessons they had never made voluntary love. Suddenly that seemed absurd.
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Cam said. ‘We deserve something just for us after sucking all those cocks. ’She looked at Mel. ‘If you do. ’
‘Oh yes. I don’t know why we haven’t done it before. ’
‘Because I’d have made you feel like pervs,’ Bolt suggested, then added quickly:‘But now that’s changed, right? ’ She took a deep breath and offered them dildos. ‘You do what you want, but I could really do with a good hard screw. ’
‘I think we can manage that,’ Mel said.
They took the dildos and fed the ends up into their wet and hungry sheathes, popping the securing lugs through their pussy rings. Then they embraced Bolt and kissed her on her lips, her swollen ringed nipples and hot pulsing sex. Bolt trembled but let them handle her between them. She was surrendering some of her hard independent pride to admit she wanted this.
Slaves of Irontown Page 16
