The cells attracted almost as much attention from the slaves promenading along the mews as the sweets and jewellery. But the girls peering in showed no sign of outrage at what was being done. Instead they pointed and laughed or winced in good-natured sympathy at the suffering of their sisters.
The clothed office workers were also inspecting the captives in their cells. Vanessa saw a pair of slave-girls lower their eyes and move aside deferentially for a balding man in a blue shirt. He entered a cell containing a young woman secured in a set of stocks and pulled the curtains. The pair of girls outside grinned knowingly to each other.
What was going on?
Vanessa reached the far end of the mews, where it was crossed by another alleyway. The junction was decorated with more of the large potted shrubs, some the size of small trees. Among them was a pot with a slave-girl planted in it.
She was buried up to her ankles in the stone chippings that filled the pot. A large, forked dry branch, stripped of its bark and polished smooth, had been sunk into the pot behind her, and it was to this she had been bound with lengths of artificial ivy, her arms outstretched along the spreading limbs. Black rubber straps held circular pads over her eyes and a ball-gag in her mouth. Her skin was pale and freckled and a cap of close-cropped auburn hair covered her head.
‘Go over to her, Puppet,’ Shiller commanded.
Vanessa realised with a shiver that the Director could see everything she was looking at through her camera earrings. Reluctantly, she stepped up to the grotesquely bound girl.
Her breasts were full, smooth and pale, capped by large brown nipples. A fluffy russet pubic bush blossomed from between her thighs. She wore a pale-purple collar, from which hung a metal tag with the inscription ‘Bethany 5 Lavender’ stamped on it.
‘Touch her,’ Shiller commanded. ‘Cup and squeeze her breasts.’
‘What?’ Vanessa said. ‘No way – ahhh!’ A needle of pain had stabbed through her nipples, making her wince. The red-haired girl raised her head curiously as she heard her gasp.
‘Obey me, Puppet!’
Vanessa gritted her teeth. ‘Haven’t you degraded her enough without making me hurt her any more – eeek!’
Her vagina throbbed with fire.
‘You will obey and you will also respond to commands as instructed,’ Shiller said ominously.
Blinking back her tears, Vanessa replied miserably: ‘I obey … Monitor.’
She cupped the girl’s breasts in her hands and gave them a token squeeze. They were warm, perfectly pliant and heavy.
The girl sighed behind her gag and strained at her bonds, lifting her chest to press her breasts harder into Vanessa’s palms.
Shiller said: ‘You see, Puppet, Bethany wants to be touched. She knows she is there to be enjoyed, to be stared at, to be stroked and fondled. She is offering herself up for your pleasure …’
‘I hate doing this, Monitor!’ Vanessa hissed.
‘Why? Is she unpleasant to touch?’
‘No, but …’
‘Look at her nipples swelling. She’s responding to you, asking for more. Do you insult her by denying her gift?’
It took an effort to shape her response in measured words and not the expletives she wanted to use. ‘What you’re doing to her is wrong, Monitor!’
‘How do you know? Have you asked Bethany? Have you yet asked any slave here what she feels about her situation? Did any of the girls you have just passed look unhappy?’
‘They … they don’t have any choice, Monitor. You’ve forced them to behave that way.’
‘Perhaps we’ve just given them the opportunity to behave as they wish.’
‘I’ll never believe that, Monitor!’
‘We shall see, Puppet. Now kiss Bethany’s nipples and thank her for the pleasure she has given you.’
‘This hasn’t given me any pleasure – owww!’ Her anal plug stabbed her rectum with electric fire.
‘The monitor system incorporates basic biometric feedback,’ Shiller said tersely. ‘Your nipples are erect and your vagina is lubricating. Do not lie to me or insult Bethany!’
Blushing with shame and anger, Vanessa took a deep breath, bent forwards and kissed Bethany’s tumescent nubs of flesh, each as hard as India rubber.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Bethany lowered her head and sank back against the branch, looking perfectly relaxed in her bonds once more.
‘Continue on your way, Puppet,’
Vanessa walked on. She noticed another of the one-way mirror windows was set in the wall on her left.
‘You may look through the observation window if you wish,’ Shiller said.
Vanessa went up to the window. On the other side was an enclosed yard, larger than the stables, and laid out with a variety of posts, racks and frames, all of which were hung about with cuffs and chains. But even more disturbing were the dozen dog kennels arrayed along one wall. The entrance to each was large enough to admit a person crawling on all-fours, and was closed by a sturdy barred gate.
‘This is the training area for new recruits,’ Shiller explained.
Vanessa could not keep the contempt from her voice. ‘Is that what you call them, Monitor?’
‘That is what they are, Puppet. Perhaps you will have a chance to judge for yourself quite soon. Now continue on …’
The alley opened out near the top end of the running track the pony-girl carriage had used.
‘Begin jogging,’ Shiller commanded. ‘I want to check the connections are secure …’
Vanessa set off around the track.
More shrub-filled pots and planters lined each side of the track, many curving over her head and virtually hiding the false concrete sky, so that it was almost like jogging through a leafy tunnel. Observation windows and the mouths of other alleys peeped out from between them. Every effort had clearly been made to create a pleasant environment in this secret subterranean slave camp. She realised bitterly that the building plans she had studied had only shown what any normal inspection would reveal. Somehow this whole level had been left off them. How much had it cost? Whatever it was, she reminded herself, it would ultimately be the girls themselves who paid.
It felt good to move, working out the lingering aches from her time on the rack. However, the motion made her even more conscious of the phalluses filling her passages and the contacts ringing her nipples. It was a relentless stimulation centred on the most intimate parts of her body and, despite herself, she was responding to it. But how could she become aroused in such circumstances?
Had Miss Kyle been right? Was she really a slut for such treatment?
Rounding the lower bend, Vanessa noticed that she did not have the track all to herself. A dozen slave-girls, all wearing orange collars, were shuffling along as they carried a heavy timber pole between them. Vanessa’s steps faltered as she saw just how they bore the burden.
The pole was divided into three sections linked by sturdy two-way hinge joints to accommodate bends. There were four girls to each section, all straddling the pole so that it hung between the soft curves of their inner thighs. Ring-bolts were screwed into its upper side, one in front and one behind each girl. Chains ran from these to her wrists, which were cuffed behind her, and up between her sweat-beaded breasts to the front ring of her collar. Between the ring-bolts, where the girl’s thighs straddled the pole, two close-spaced, thick black rubber dildos jutted up at convergent angles and penetrated her front and rear.
Despite their impalement, the girls walked perfectly in step and somehow appeared graceful, even as they rounded the banked curve of the track. But however carefully they moved, the heavy pole swayed beneath them, transmitting the motion through the dildos. The rubber prongs twisted and churned within their bulging fleshy sheaths. The girls’ thighs were wet with lubrication, their swollen pubic lips flushed, the pole beneath stained dark from this steady rain of female juices.
With a start, Vanessa realised she had been running through the trail
their arousal left on the track behind them. The scent of it filled her nostrils. Suddenly her own phalluses didn’t seem so intrusive after all.
The girls’ teeth were clamped about rubber bits. Drool ran from the sides of their mouths and off their chins to trickle and drip on to their swaying breasts. The expressions on their faces appeared both far away and determined. They hardly seemed aware of Vanessa as she jogged past them, lost in some other world of exertion and enforced arousal.
‘Why are you punishing them like this, Monitor?’ she asked.
‘This isn’t punishment,’ Shiller said. ‘This is part of Peach chain’s regular training programme.’
‘What can this possibly train them for?’
‘Apart from the obvious benefits and satisfaction of intense physical exertion, it reinforces their identity as a team sharing in the performance of an arduous, if stimulating, task. Experiencing pleasure and suffering together without inhibition reinforces the bond. They are more sensual, responsive beings for it.’
‘You mean they’re better slaves, Monitor. They’re doing this because you’ve driven them until their spirit’s broken.’
‘Really? And exactly who is driving them right now?’
‘So you’re saying they’re doing this because they enjoy it, Monitor? If it’s all voluntary, why do they need the collars and chains?’
‘Collars and chains can be donned voluntarily also, Puppet. You have so much to learn …’
* * *
Shiller made Vanessa jog another half-dozen laps before she was satisfied the control and monitoring devices were functioning perfectly. Then she was recalled to the cell where Shiller and Miss Kyle were waiting.
‘Kneel before the Director,’ Miss Kyle commanded, pointing to the rubber mat Sandra had used, which had been placed in front of Shiller’s chair.
To Vanessa’s relief, Shiller put the laptop control unit aside and looked down at her intently. ‘Are you an honest reporter?’ she asked.
Vanessa was caught off-guard. ‘What?’
‘It’s a simple enough question. Do you do your job fairly and without prejudice or distortion of the truth?’
Eyeing Miss Kyle’s cane warily, Vanessa replied: ‘I try my best, Director.’
Shiller smiled. ‘That is all any of us can do. And I accept that you are both honest and honourable. You notice that I have not attempted to bribe you. I’m very wealthy. I could offer you a large sum of money to forget what you have seen here.’
‘I don’t take bribes,’ Vanessa said flatly.
‘Good. I would have nothing further to do with you had it been otherwise. So we are left with honesty and integrity. You are no doubt feeling both upset and confused about what you have experienced so far, true?’
‘Yes, Director,’ Vanessa admitted.
‘And I tell you there is much more to learn, which may shock and surprise you even further. Now, is that an ideal state of mind in which to write an honest and accurate report?’
‘Then I’d record my feelings as they occurred to me at the time, Director, and put them into context later,’ Vanessa said.
Shiller smiled. “‘Context”, yes, that’s a good word. Without knowing the proper context for your observations you cannot be certain they are accurate. I know you have already passed what you believe is the only possible judgement on us, but I suggest that it is based upon misunderstanding and incomplete research. As the honest reporter you claim to be, you should put aside this superficial assessment and search for the deeper truth.’
‘If you’re trying to kid me what I’ve seen isn’t industrial-scale slavery, you’re wasting your time, Director,’ Vanessa replied coldly.
‘Of course it is industrial slavery,’ Shiller said, ‘but of an ethical and non-coercive nature.’
‘With pension schemes and private health care, I suppose?’ Vanessa said contemptuously.
‘Exactly so,’ Shiller agreed. ‘Our girls are a most valuable resource, so naturally we take great care of them.’
‘You sell them to people for sex, Director!’
‘We rent out their services to carefully vetted clients.’
‘It’s forced prostitution.’
‘Not if the girls are willing, and no girl ever puts on a Shiller collar who is not only willing but also eager to serve. Is that so hard to believe? Do you deny there are many women in this country with genuine submissive and masochistic tendencies?’
‘Well … no. A few, maybe, but you’ve got dozens … hundreds of them down here.’
‘Do their numbers alone make any difference? Individuals brought together for a common purpose are still individuals. Or do you deny the reality of their personal needs and desires just because it disconcerts you to see them in a group?’
Vanessa felt confused. Shiller was making everything sound so reasonable. ‘But doing it for money means you’re exploiting them,’ she argued desperately.
‘Why should they not be compensated for employing their special talent to give pleasure? People sell themselves as commodities all the time. Look at the behaviour of sports personalities, media celebrities and those merely famous for being famous. What are they selling but their name, face or body? And do they do this for nothing? There is a demand for girls of a slavish nature, so we supply it discreetly and efficiently. We act as their managers, if you like. We are not a charity, though we support many good causes, so of course we charge an appropriate fee for our service.’
Vanessa shook her head. It couldn’t be like this. It had to be wrong.
Shiller smiled sympathetically down at her. ‘I warned you it wouldn’t be easy to comprehend, did I not? Well, listen to what I have to propose. For the moment say nothing about what you have discovered, and in return I will give you the chance to work here for one month, ostensibly as part of your ongoing investigation. During that time you will be free to talk to the girls and see how our operation is run. Test the facts fully and fairly. When that time is up, submit whatever story you like to your editor … and to Harvey Rochester.’
‘You’d risk all this on me changing my mind about you in one month?’ Vanessa said incredulously. ‘After what you’ve done to me! Why should I believe a word you say – ahhh!’
Miss Kyle had flicked her cane across Vanessa’s stomach.
‘The Director never breaks her word,’ she said angrily. ‘Don’t ever accuse her of lying again!’
‘Thank you, Miss Kyle,’ Shiller said, as Vanessa rubbed her stinging midriff. ‘But she must learn that for herself.’ She turned back to Vanessa. ‘Whatever I have done to you, I have not lied. However, it’s quite natural that, with your mind full of suspicion at this moment, you do not believe I will honour the terms of my offer. Equally, I cannot be sure you would keep any promise not to reveal what you know the moment you get the chance, so I will not ask you to give one. Therefore, to enforce your side of the agreement, you will be subject to control and monitoring at all times outside these walls.’
‘I’d wear this … this “spywear” get-up for a whole month?’ Vanessa asked doubtfully.
‘Only in public, or when in any position to give us away, and with your co-operation that time can be kept to a minimum. Consider, I’m not asking you to betray your employers, merely to have a little patience. What is true today will still be so a month from now … unless you’re frightened you might change your mind.’
‘Nothing’s going to do that!’ Vanessa assured her.
‘Then you have nothing to lose bar some personal discomfort, a degree of embarrassment and a certain measure of privacy. Nothing worse than what you have already suffered at our hands, and judging by your responses that was not entirely disagreeable …’
Miss Kyle grinned as Vanessa blushed shamefully.
‘And think of the sensational story you’ll have to tell,’ Shiller continued. “‘MY MONTH OF HELL AS A PUPPET OF SEX TRADERS!” or perhaps: “SECRETS OF THE UNDERGROUND SLAVE WORLD!” I’m sure you can do better. I’m not asking y
ou to like or trust us, merely to be pragmatic.’ Shiller smiled almost mischievously and spread her arms wide. ‘And you can still console yourself with the hope that despite our precautions you might be able to escape our control before the month is up and bring this whole perverted edifice crashing down on our heads. That’s worth a little inconvenience, isn’t it?’
Vanessa thought furiously. It was a bizarre offer, but she didn’t see she had any choice. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it was better than staying in this cell. Of course she knew they were playing for time, hoping she might have second thoughts about exposing them. They were clever – she’d give them that – certainly not crude thugs and no doubt good at manipulating people. Maybe they’d even convinced themselves what they were doing down here was acceptable. But they couldn’t fool her.
‘All right, I’ll give you your month,’ she said cautiously. ‘What happens next?’
‘First we shall eat. It’s lunchtime and you must be hungry after your morning’s exertions.’
Vanessa suddenly realised she was ravenous. It seemed a lifetime since she had last eaten.
‘Then,’ Shiller continued, ‘we shall rehearse what you will say to your editor …’
Just after five-thirty, dressed once more in her overalls, Vanessa walked out of the main entrance of the Shiller building into the hazy sunlight of a London afternoon. She coughed as the dust and exhaust fumes caught in her throat. The air had been fresher down on level B3.
Taking a firm grip on her toolbox, its camera now wiped of all incriminating evidence, she made her way through the bustle of office workers heading for home. She kept her eyes lowered, acutely aware of the phalluses locked deep inside her, shifting slightly as she walked, and the blush the sensation brought to her cheeks. Of course it was illogical, since nobody would ever guess its cause, or that she was a living puppet controlled by unseen powers. That perverse thought conjured up a guilty twinge of pleasure that she hated to admit to herself was natural.
The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) Page 6
