‘Gryndstone seems almost normal by comparison to all that,’ Cam said.
Unexpectedly Bolt took some cheer from this revelation that the elite of local society were actually just as screwed up as their own families. ‘They’re no better than we are, except they’ve got the keys. ’
‘It shows that Shackleswell’s a complicated place,’ Mel agreed. ‘But then what do you expect after a hundred and fifty years? Bits of it are still following on Rowland’s practical ideals and others have got a bit, well, decadent. ’
‘Yeah, but which bit will we end up in? ’ Cam wondered. ‘Maybe some of each won’t be too bad, as long as our masters respect us for what we are. That’s so important. ’
Chapter Twelve
Cam swayed between the confession platform’s tethering posts, looking out at the assembled pupils. Mel’s stomach knotted at the sight of her, so exposed, yet brave and beautiful.
‘My family wanted me to stay in the family business and eventually marry one of my own people, but I knew better and didn’t listen,’ Cam said. ‘I wanted to show them I could make it on my own. It went terribly wrong. Then somebody told me I could make money dancing in strip clubs, but it was horrible. Eventually I hit a club owner when he tried it on once too often and ran away, but I was too ashamed to go back home. I was on streets when a man from Shackleswell found me. Please punish me, I deserve it…’
The canes fell across her front and back.
‘You were wonderful,’ Mel said afterwards, hugging Cam while trying to avoid her sore breasts. ‘How do you feel? ’
‘Better,’ Cam said. ‘Like a weight’s lifted off my shoulders. It’s frightening but so good to say it out loud like that. ’She clutched their hands. ‘You must do it as soon as you can. It’s the only way. Then you can get on with your life. ’
‘As a slave? I don’t think so,’ Bolt interjected.
‘It’s better than having no life at all,’ Cam insisted.
‘After what you said about dancing in strip clubs being bad? ’
‘Somehow this is different,’ Cam insisted. ‘There’s no guilt, we know the rules and we’d have friends. Anyway, will you? ’ she asked Mel.
‘Maybe,’ Mel said evasively. ‘I’ve got to get my story right first. ’
‘It’s got to be the truth or it won’t count,’ Cam said.
‘It will be, most of it,’ Mel promised.
She felt the pressure on her was rising. Their ever more frequent work experience trips into town were becoming welcome diversion from school routine and thoughts of her confession. That was like facing a final exam you could only pass by cheating.
Two days later Bradawl announced that they were to serve for a day in Spalling and Sons, the largest department store in the city. Again this was a prestigious assignment. Only the best people shopped there.
A Spalling’s delivery van called for them bright and early and they were loaded inside. Mel hoped this second taste of exclusivity they were being treated to worked out better than the last one.
They were unloaded at Spalling’s goods depot at the back of the imposing six-story mass of the store. From there they were led along winding back corridors to meet Mr Groover, head of customer care. He was a balding man in his fifties who actually wore a black tailcoat. He looked too superior to soil his hands with slave girls but he subjected them to a close examination, studying their faces, feeling their breasts and having them bend over his desk so he could probe up between their legs.
‘You’ll do,’ he said at last, wiping his hands on a tissue. ‘Plenty of physical variety which is good. We’re always happy to help Gryndstone, of course, but we have our standards, you know. Only the best for Spalling’s customers. ’
Groover led them along to the back of the ladies fashion department, where he indicated a heavy door.
‘Through there is the changing area exclusively for our gold key customers. While their wives are being fitted many gentlemen like to pass the time more pleasurably than by reading magazines. It’s a mutually agreeable arrangement. ’
Mel thought it sounded both old fashioned and perverse at the same time, like a lot of things in Shackleswell.
Mr Groover added delicately:‘Sometimes both partners come through or even occasionally ladies on their own. I trust you will have no trouble pleasing them? ’
They shook their heads. Pleasing females was not a problem.
Groover introduced them to Harold, a desperately eager to please young man whose neck was too thin for his immaculate company collar and tie. He carried a bucket of sponges, clothes, douche tubes, a pee funnel and a grease gun and had the job of feeding and watering them and cleaning them up between customer visits.
They took them to the relief rooms. These were three small carefully lit cubicles with heavy padded doors and royal blue walls (the company logo colour) containing principally a bidet, a hand basin and a rape rack. This was a low bench the size of a kitchen table with an angled backboard resting on it with its lower edge so close to the front as to leave only a shelf-width between them. This ledge and the backboard were covered in deep blue vinyl padding to match the walls. The legs of the device extended upward to form sturdy head-high side posts linked by crossbars. It was of course amply fitted out with chains and straps together with a lightweight spanking paddle hung on a side post.
‘Our customers may of course beat you in moderation,’ Groover explained. ‘The paddle is very light and will not do any serous damage. Harold has ice packs to reduce any excessive blush they might leave on you. When you are not in use a spyhole is open in the doors so our customers may select their preferred girl. ’
Mel watched Cam being secured.
Groover and Harold sat her on the narrow padded ledge and laid her back against the rest. Groover pulled her legs out wide and up until her ankles were level with her shoulders, then he secured her ankle cuffs to chains hanging from the rack’s front posts. Straps strung across from the rear posts were looped round the backs of her knees, holding them slightly bent and keeping her thighs from turning inwards. Her arms were pulled up and wide and her cuffs were clipped to chains bolted to the top corners of the backboard. There were lighter chains hanging on the sides of the board that Groover looped across and clipped to Cam’s nipple rings. A second pair of chains fixed lower down on the sides of the board were strung across under the backs of her raised thighs and hooked to her labial rings, pulling her glistening lovemouth wide open in invitation. Finally Cam’s red collar ball gag was replaced by one of Spalling blue. Their bondage was being colour co-ordinated.
Mini spotlights illuminated the rack and lit up Cam’s chained and splayed body. With her legs pulled up and back tilted her parted vagina and anus was perfectly presented for penetration. Against the dark walls she seemed to glow. Cam’s eyes met Mel’s and she smiled around her gag. Ever since her confession she had seemed almost serene and now on top of that she looked incredibly screwable.
With Cam secured they moved along to the middle cubicle where Mel was chained to an identical rack in the same way. She felt her stomach flip as they pulled her legs wide, exposing her bare ringed pussy for all to see. Mel resisted just enough for them to work against her muscles. There was a guilty schoolgirl thrill in feeling she was being forced. They secured her and closed the door and Mel was alone.
Mel’s thoughts drifted. She felt nervous anticipation but no real fear. Weeks of Gryndstone training had reduced what was to come almost to routine. In principle this was not so different from serving in the station, although the soundproofing was better so she could not hear Cam and Bolt or their customers. It was of course right at the other end of the social and comfort scale and at least this time she would not go short of cock and orgasms.
God, did she actually just think that?
Well she was strung out with her pussy chained wi
de facing the door a procession of strangers was going to walk through and she knew she looked bloody hot so of course they’d want her, which meant she’d also get off. It was natural.
Natural but wrong. She should not be gagging for it as well, that was crazy.
So why was her pussy already oozing with her cream?
Well that was just self-preservation and reflex, it didn’t mean that what was being done to her, Cam, Bolt and all the other girls was not morally wrong.
Not in this city though. What about Chain and Spindle in the park? They seemed content, even happy.
So what, surely she wanted to escape from here and get back home?
Well yes… but back home to what?
Her first client was a large bored looking man who hung up his jacket, loosed his flies and jabbed his cock into her mechanically, hardly looking her in the eye. She found the backboard was sprung so his thrusts started her rocking back and forth, setting her breasts jiggling and tugging against their chains. There was a certain thrill in being used so casually, but the best thing was that he was obviously in no hurry to come so she was able to work up to her own climax. She rocked the rack as she orgasmed, almost sucking the sperm out of him. At least it wiped the bored look off his face. He pulled out of her, looking surprised and rather proud.
Harold slipped in a minute after he had left and carefully flushed Mel out and wiped her down, finishing by giving her a sip of water. She smiled her thanks, feeling almost as though she was being pampered. Harold would be wiping the bare pussies of naked bound slave girls all day. It was a hard job, Mel thought, but somebody had to do it.
The next man took up the spanking paddle and without preliminaries swiped it across her exposed groin and buttocks with crisp cracks. He swatted the open mouth of her sex, tormenting the hard nub of her clitoris. Her juices splattered across her belly and inner thighs and stained the paddle. He reached between her legs to beat her breasts, deliberately slapping them from side to side so they were jerked back by their nipple chains.
He did not put the paddle down until her eyes were bulging and wet with tears and she was writhing and straining at her chains, shamefully desperate to please him. Then he took her up her rear with almost brutal force, stretching her anus with his thrusts. He grasped hold of the loops of her nipple chains and used them like reins, hauling himself against her with them even as he drew out her trembling breasts into fat pink cones. He was delighting in her moans and yelps and her face screwed up in pain and the dribble round her gag dripping onto her breasts and Gryndstone tie.
You bastard! Mel screamed at him inside her head and then she came explosively and almost fainted with pleasure. Was she becoming a pain junkie, she thought as she hung limply in her rack? What would it be like to be owned by a man like him and used that way day after day?
After her abuser left Harold had to use his ice packs on her sore flesh and looked concerned and sympathetic. Mel decided he was actually a lot handsomer and nobler than she had at first thought.
Mel had her first couple. They were in their fifties, perhaps, with greying hair but otherwise appearing to be in good shape. Without a word she bent over in front of Mel and rolled up her skirt, presenting her bare bottom to her husband. A metal band ran up from between her buttocks. Another chastity belt. He unlocked it and pulled it open. Mel saw a pair of rubber phalluses pulling out of her anus and vagina. He took down the spanking paddle but he did not use it on Mel. As she slowly and skilfully tongued Mel he screwed his wife from behind, pausing only to swipe her bottom with the paddle. They were in no hurry and knew exactly what they were doing.
She was so submissive and skilled Mel recalled Bradawl’s talk on their first day when he had said that after the end of their service gynatons made good wives. Was that still true? Was the woman tonguing her out an ex-slave or was female submission simply the norm in male-dominated Shackleswell?
Whatever the truth they all came together and it felt good.
A lone woman in a two-piece business suit came in. She was slim and dark with bright intelligent eyes. She looked Mel up and down hungrily and nodded to herself.
She stood between Mel’s spread legs, cupped and squeezed her breasts, then pulled out Mel’s gag and kissed her passionately. When she pulled away she put a finger over Mel’s lips to command silence. She went round to the back of the rack and worked a catch and the backboard flipped down flat. Groover had not told Mel it did that. It eased the ache in her hips.
The woman hitched up her skirt, clambered onto the now flat rack top and straddled Mel’s head. Mel found her face nuzzling into a hot, sweet, scented peach of a vulva that sucked and slurped over her. At the same time she felt lips kissing her pussy. She tongued and lapped and sucked her pulsing lovemouth as passionately as she could. After the woman left Harold had to wipe spent juices from Mel’s face and hair.
Mel was visited by another couple who were younger than the first pair. They stood in front of Mel and he pointed at the floor imperiously. His companion immediately knelt down. He freed his cock and screwed Mel while, with her face almost touching Mel’s thigh, she watched her husband’s cock intently as it pumped in and out of her vagina. After he had spent himself inside Mel he withdrew quickly and she pressed her lips against Mel’s gaping sex and methodically sucked and licked up his sperm as it dribbled out of her.
When she was done she sat back on her heels, licking her lips and smiling up at him hopefully.
‘All right, you can have the dress,’ he said.
Finally they reached the end of the day. Mel heard Mr Groove’s voice saying distantly:‘The store is closing now…’
Shortly afterwards Harold came into Mel’s cubicle, looking red-faced and slightly furtive. Quickly he opened up his trousers and freed a slim semi-hard shaft that was still glistening with juices. As he positioned himself before Mel she smelt Cam’s scent. He was going round screwing them before they were shipped off back to school. She clenched about his cock as he pumped desperately away inside her and did her best to make it as pleasurable as possible.
Presumably in Shackleswell this counted as one of the perks of the job.
‘Hi, Maddy. I’ve been helping out with customer care in very high-class department store whose name I really can’t mention. Just say that there is nothing they won’t do to keep their customers happy…’
Maddy replied: ‘It sounds like you’re having such an interesting time! I should have run away, not you. Why can’t I see you? I really don’t think Dad will care now. I think he’s pretending it never happened. We’ve been punished enough. I mean we are adults and we can make our own choices. And it’s been nearly three months…’
Mel blinked. She’d been in Shackleswell nearly three months?
Chapter Thirteen
The Shackleswell Commercial Fellowship Society was hosting a dinner, celebrating fraternal links with other, very select, businesses around the country. It was held in a private suite in the city’s smart new conference centre. Shortly speeches would be given, good food would be consumed and no doubt deals would be done. Before that of course fiddly little finger-food snacks were chewed and drinks were drunk standing up, which had to be served first. . .
A dozen naked Gryndstone girls were circulating the room serving the drinks and snacks in their own unique way. Locals would point them out to their guests and say proudly: ‘That’s how we train delinquent girls in this town. ’
As a consequence several company bosses would no doubt see the benefits of moving their operations closer to Shackleswell. Gryndstone girls earned their keep in many ways.
Mel was carrying round glasses of champagne on a tray before her. Naturally she was not carrying it with her hands, which were cuffed behind her back. Like all the girls a little silver waitress cap on her head matched the silver bridle gag clamping her mouth shut. A crescent-moon tray was slung again
st her chest under her breasts, with the horns curving round the sides towards her armpits. It was held in place by a strap going round her back, a chain running up between her breasts to her collar, clips on the tray front hooked to her nipple rings and two light bracing rods supporting its front edge that ran up from her labia rings to which they were padlocked. She did not carry the tray so much as wear it. Loaded with gasses it was quite heavy and pulled on her nipples and labia, but then by now she expected nothing less.
Her breasts, which rested on the tray like pale pink jellies, had sponsors’ advertising temporarily stencilled on them, as did her bottom. Many guests, when taking glasses from her tray, could not resist stroking and patting them, making her shiver. But then that was what they were there for.
She saw Cam through the crowd circulating with a tray of snacks. It was slung about her by similar means to Mel’s tray, except that as its content was lighter it did not need the bracing rods. Instead her vulva was put to good use holding a metal cone hooked to her labial rings, which contained folded paper napkins.
Bolt carried a cylindrical wire basket slung between breasts. The top end was hooked to her collar ring and the sides were fastened to her breasts by adjustable metal hoops, causing them to bulge into attractive if painful brown fleshy balloons.
The basket held an inverted bottle of red wine, the weight of which was an incentive for her to plead mutely with guests to try the delights of red wine served at slavegirl body heat.
A transparent tube from the bottle was coiled about her waist and then down between her legs, guided by a projecting ring plugged into her anus, to enter a smaller reservoir bottle that filled her vaginal passage. Its spout protruded from between her sex lips and was held in place by hooks linked to her labial rings. The nozzle was fitted with a dispensing valve worked by a light vertical rod running back up across her stomach where it connected to a lever mounted on a horizontal bar clipped to her nipple rings. To get a drink a guest held his cup between Bolt’s legs and worked the valve, twisting her nipples in the process, so that red wine at blood heat flowed from her pussy.
Slaves of Irontown Page 19
