‘Still want to come?’ Rona asked.
‘Oh, yes … please!’ Vanessa gasped.
‘Well too bad. We’ve had our fun and we’re off home now.’
‘Maybe we’ll just leave you like this for the night?’
‘No!’ Vanessa pleaded.
‘Perhaps the locker guard down in B3 would oblige her, if she asks him nicely?’ Rona wondered aloud.
‘That’s a good idea …’
‘No … please, just free my hands,’ Vanessa begged. ‘I’ve … I’ve got work to take home to do for Zara …’
‘No problem …’
Rona went over to Vanessa’s desk. ‘Hey, look at the pussy stain she’s left on her chair,’ she said. Vanessa screwed up her eyes in shame.
She brought the data CD back and tucked it under Vanessa’s belt. ‘Shall we send her down to B3 like this, just to show him what a hot slut she really is?’
‘Good idea!’
‘Oh God, don’t do that – umphhh.’
Rona had clamped her hand over Vanessa’s mouth. ‘She makes too much noise.’
‘Can’t have that,’ her friend agreed.
‘Bring over that tape dispenser …’
They closed Vanessa’s mouth with criss-cross strips of clear tape, until the lower half of her face was covered and she could only make muffled squeaks and throaty gurgles.
‘Mustn’t have this slipping out,’ Pru said, giving a twang to the end of the ruler protruding from between Vanessa’s flushed pubic lips. Vanessa’s nostrils flared as she snuffled with pain.
‘She was asking for tissues …’
They stuffed wadded tissues into her vagina on either side of the ruler, making her pubic pouch bulge. Vanessa struggled feebly, grunting and gurgling and rolling her eyes.
‘You don’t want to drip all the way down, do you, girl?’
‘I think we ought to tape it in place, just to be sure.’
‘Yes, just to be sure …’
They wrapped strips of tape about the ruler and then out across her lower stomach and inner thighs, until her pubic curls were covered.
‘Might be a bit painful coming off, still, that can’t be helped.’
‘I don’t think she’ll mind.’
They pulled Vanessa to her feet, and, holding an arm apiece, walked her down the corridor towards the lift. She stumbled along between them with her legs splayed, every step making the sticky tape crackle, pulling on her taped pubic hair and twisting the ruler inside her. Pushing her into the lift, the women pressed the button for level B3 and stood quickly back, waving to Vanessa as the door closed.
‘Have fun!’
‘We’ll be thinking of you.’
Blinking the tears from her eyes, Vanessa leant back against the side of the lift as it descended, her legs splayed wide, the tormenting ruler jutting out grotesquely from between her thighs. She was half crazy with sexual frustration, mad at herself for utter stupidity, but above all deeply ashamed.
A truth she would not have believed just two days earlier was being driven home to her once again. What was even worse than enduring forced sex, was being roused almost to the point of orgasm, and then left cruelly unsatisfied. Was that some unsuspected sluttish side to her nature manifesting itself again, or was it all down to her unreal situation and bizarre treatment? She desperately hoped it was the latter, but she was no longer sure. All she knew was she had to find relief.
The lift stopped at Level B3 and she stumbled out. Uncaring what she looked like or who saw her, she half ran, half waddled across to the row of low slave-gates leading to the locker room. She shrieked as she bent over, the tape tearing hair from her pubes, and crawled through the wire-mesh tunnel into the lobby.
Mr Jarvis was still on duty. He chuckled as he saw her emerge and shuffle awkwardly over on her knees to his table.
‘Oh, it’s Vanessa. Wondered when you’d turn up. But not looking quite so smart as you did this morning. Not going to complain about your chains again, are you?’
Vanessa shook her head and made pleading sounds as she thrust her hips forwards, wiggling the impaling ruler.
‘I see. Looks like you want something taken off you, right?’
Vanessa nodded desperately.
‘Well you’d better follow me …’
She shuffled after him into the locker room.
A couple of girls were just finishing putting on street clothes. One was tying a scarf about her collar. They looked with curious interest but no great surprise at Vanessa’s predicament. Briefly Vanessa wondered where they could possibly be going, but another yank at her pubic curls drove the matter from her mind.
‘Hurry along, now, girls,’ Jarvis said.
‘Yes, Mr Jarvis,’ they chorused. Quickly they gathered up their bags and left the room.
Jarvis had Vanessa straddle a bench and then lie back, leaving her feet resting on the floor on either side and opening her taped groin to his gaze. He straddled the bench facing her and began picking at the tape around her inner thighs, carefully peeling it back. His touch was unexpectedly delicate, and Vanessa began to relax.
‘You see, there are two ways to do this,’ he said. ‘Just go gently or else –’
‘Ahhheee!’ Vanessa shrieked in pain through her tape-gag, arching her back, tears springing to her eyes.
Jarvis had yanked the ruler out of her and taken the tape with it in one go. It felt as if every hair had just been torn out by its roots. She sobbed and snuffled. Her pubes felt seared and raw.
He held up the ruler and its clinging collar of tape, to which adhered a fuzz of dark curling hair.
‘But I don’t have time for the gentle way. Don’t worry girl, no harm done.’
He pulled the tissue wadding from her gaping hole. It was sodden with her juices. He smelt it and smiled. ‘Got excited earlier, did you?’
Trying to catch her breath, her eyes filmed with tears, Vanessa nodded miserably.
‘Nothing to be ashamed of …’ He slid his finger inside her. ‘Just checking to see you’re not scratched. Silly thing to put up you. There are much better ways of plugging a hot little hole like yours …’
The need she had been denied flowed back into Vanessa as though he had turned on a tap. The pain in her groin became an exciting tingle, mingling with the liquid heat in her loins.
‘Oh … still excited, are you?’ he remarked with a smile.
Of course he was going to have her. She was gagged and bound and utterly helpless. It was perfectly natural. She nodded.
He stroked her crudely taped mouth, tracing the line of her jaw. She held absolutely still.
He was an overweight older man and a virtual stranger and she was not remotely attracted to him. But at that moment she wanted him inside her more than anything in the world.
She lifted her hips, shamelessly, offering herself to him.
He stood up and unzipped his flies, exposing a thick hard erection.
Kneeling over her, his weight pressing down hard, he mounted and entered her in one swift action without foreplay, because there was no need. She could not have been more ready.
Vanessa squirmed under him, accepting every hard, careless thrust, sucking on him with her vagina until the pent-up need exploded inside her.
And in that glorious, disgusting moment, she felt the last shred of her dignity being stripped from her. She had learnt what it meant to be a slave to the needs of her own body and, in turn, to those who could control those needs. They were the true masters of girlflesh.
Seven
THE NEXT MORNING, Vanessa knelt meekly on the floor in Zara’s office while her editor read her article on Cherry Chain’s initiation.
If Zara had noticed the lingering red blotches on Vanessa’s bottom she didn’t say so. Nor had she made any comment on the fact that overnight Vanessa had severely trimmed and cropped her pubic hair.
As Vanessa waited, she found herself marvelling that she had been in any state to write the article at all …
She had left the building the previous evening with a burning bottom, half her pubic hair torn out and Jarvis’s sperm still oozing out of her vagina around her phallic controller. Apart from memories of Zara’s humiliating treatment and the disturbing emotions of the initiation ceremony filling her mind, she was still dazed by the strength of her locker-room orgasm, which was either a triumph of her determination to find pleasure in adversity or else a shameful insight into her darker nature.
And then Shiller’s voice came over the monitor earphones.
‘I know you’ve had an eventful day, Puppet,’ she said. ‘You must be overwhelmed by new and strange sensations. I wanted to see how you were coping …’
Shiller continued to talk in the same understanding tone while calmly guiding Vanessa through the evening traffic, even advising her when to make a detour round a bad jam. Perhaps she was too exhausted to maintain her instinctive animosity, but in ten minutes she had almost forgotten Shiller was responsible for her current misery. It was more like having a sympathetic older friend travelling with her.
Back in her flat, Shiller suggested she change out of her control gear as soon as possible, easing her through its removal and the switch to her house collar, so that it did not seem half as awkward or embarrassing as it had the previous night.
‘You need to run a deep bath filled with something foamy and relaxing,’ Shiller suggested. Vanessa did so, washing away both female juices and semen, and letting the aches and soreness drain out of her. She almost forgot she was under continuous observation as she did so.
Shiller offered advice about tidying her ravaged pubic hair, and, when Vanessa was dressed again in nightwear of vest and shorts, spoke knowledgeably about recipes while she made herself supper. It was only when Vanessa at last sat down to work on her article that Shiller withdrew her virtual presence.
‘This is your story, not mine,’ she said firmly. ‘You must report what you saw and how others responded to events. That in no way impinges on your integrity or implies you agree with what occurred. Remember that your readership does not feel as you do about our girlflesh business, but otherwise be honest.’
It was impossible for Vanessa not to be judgemental, but she did her best to give an impartial account of what she had experienced. Flicking through the file of her photographs in an effort to recapture the strange atmosphere of the ceremony, she found herself lingering on the images of the watching slave-girls openly masturbating. What was going on in their minds? Was it a perverted show of kinship with the newly enslaved Cherry Chain girls, or simple unrestrained hedonism? A bit of both, perhaps?
She enlarged the image, zooming in on the girls’ hands busy in the wet clefts of their sexes and sometimes those of their neighbours. How was it possible to lack inhibition to such a degree? Was it the result of indoctrination, or a belief in total freedom within their controlled lives? How much of an alteration to normal behaviour did it take? She had to admit she had been caught up in the same erotic high the ceremony had generated, but that had been a response to the animal scent of arousal the girls were putting out. If they hadn’t been there she would certainly not have reacted the same way. For God’s sake, it was a celebration of enslavement.
She flicked on through the file.
By chance she had caught Kashika, the striking blonde Indian girl, exactly at the moment the third blow of her ceremonial caning landed. Vanessa studied the expression on her face, looking for answers. Pain and joy were there, but also, she imagined, a suggestion that she had in some sense ‘arrived’, that this was where she had to be. Was she really a natural-born slave? What else could make her voluntarily endure such pain? Her large dark eyes were clearly filling with tears, and it was obvious the blows were not playful smacks, because her neat brown-nippled breasts were blurred with motion as they bounced in response …
Vanessa froze, horrified to discover her hand had slipped under the waistband of her shorts and her fingers were sliding through the warm slippery wetness of her cleft. Blushing and angry, she jerked her hand away, wondering if anybody had seen her through the sitting-room mirror camera. But no comment came. Perhaps nobody was watching at that moment.
Surreptitiously she wiped her fingers on her shorts and flicked to another picture.
Shiller had delivered one last message when Vanessa was in bed and about to go to sleep. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and the anal cable lock was plugged in, but at least her ankles were free and she had not been forced to perform any more sex acts.
‘I won’t speak to you again while you are with us, unless it is absolutely necessary. I do have a large and complex company to run, and even you, Vanessa, must come second to that. Besides, if I give you too much personal attention, you may think I am trying to influence you. Probably you will believe that anyway by tomorrow.
‘But accept one truth from me which may help you understand things that seem hard to accept. While you are in our care, you are never alone …’
Vanessa drifted off wondering how one might interpret that remark. She slept very deeply.
The ‘PE teacher’ voice was back as Monitor the next morning, putting her through the same exercise routine. He complimented her on her newly cropped pubes. ‘That’s better, Puppet. Clean and close. More hygienic. Shows off the line of your cleft better …’
Her nerves resurfaced as she entered the Shiller offices and descended to level B3. But it was not as bad as she had imagined.
As she kissed Jarvis’s boots, she feared knowing leers and mockery, but he had simply patted her head, taken control of her from Monitor, and led her though to the locker room.
After putting her chains on he kept her bent over while he examined her trimmed pubes, but after a playful pinch and tickle he let her go on her way. To her surprise she found she felt no animosity towards him. He had used her for his own pleasure without spite or malice, and at the time she had needed, so very desperately, the relief he provided. He didn’t seem to think any less of her. If anything, as he checked the packed lunch she had remembered to bring this time, he was more amiable. Any shame was all her own.
In the office, she saw Rona and Pru smirking at her, clearly looking for some show of embarrassment. She wondered how many of their friends they’d told about the fun they had with her. She couldn’t hide her loss of pubic curls or the blush on her bottom, so she simply ignored them. She’d show them she could take it. Just because she was a virtual slave, didn’t mean she was weak … which was, now she came to think of it, an odd concept.
Zara finished reading her article.
‘There are a couple of redundant phrases we can drop, and I think we should inset this picture here instead of that one, but otherwise it’s … not bad.’ She sounded almost regretful at not having found more faults in Vanessa’s work. ‘You’ve captured the erotic intensity of the ceremony, but haven’t let your own feelings colour your writing.’
‘I just reported the responses of the people around me, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa replied, relieved she had passed her first hurdle. ‘I didn’t think you’d want a personal comment piece.’
Zara smiled. ‘Not right now. Perhaps that’s something you might write when you’ve got to know us better.’
‘I don’t think you’d like what I’d have to say, Mistress Editor.’
‘As long as it’s honest. But as I said, we’ll give it a little time. You can start your follow-up articles about Cherry Chain’s progress this afternoon. I’ve arranged with their trainers to allow you access to the yard. But you must report to them first and not get in the way.
‘Meanwhile, try writing a few fillers for the next edition of Datumline. I’ve had a pile of titbits and minor personal interest stuff sitting around here for weeks …’ she handed Vanessa a bulging file. ‘Pick out the best ten. Fifty words min, three hundred max.’
‘Yes, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa said, taking the file.
It was routine and rather boring work. The sort of thing junior reporters usually g
ot stuck doing. But it made it easier to forget being naked in a corner of an office full of potentially unfriendly faces. She suspected that while she was seen to be working hard on a job for Zara she was less likely to be bothered. It also confirmed the scope of Shiller interests that her previous research had revealed.
Shillers controlled companies, large and small, all the way from the manufacture of abrasive materials to, for some inexplicable reason, a chain of yoga schools. There was even a ‘zed’ – a small city zoo – but that was run as charity, so perhaps it didn’t count.
How many of those subsidiaries knew what was going on under their central offices? More than a few, perhaps. Shiller herself had said that the spywear Vanessa wore had come from one of their research departments. How many outwardly respectable companies supplied the needs of the girlflesh trade? Somebody had fitted out level B3. Who made the special colour-coded collars the girls wore or those freaky horse-head masks for the pony-girls? Nobody could believe they were all being sold to bondage enthusiasts over the internet. When she blew the whistle on this lot, a whole house of cards would come tumbling down.
By the end of the morning she’d written short pieces about the minor triumphs and occasional humorous misfortunes of Shiller workers from all over the country, and found herself actually looking forward to going down to B3 to see how the Cherry Chain girls were doing. Well of course, she told herself, that was because they were in essence the true story she was after. The scoop of the year.
Recalling Zara’s trip to the toilets yesterday, Vanessa sneaked a visit before submitting her filler pieces. Though she could simply order her to submit to her wishes, clearly Zara enjoyed finding excuses for having Vanessa to herself. In her turn Vanessa was going to do her best to see she gave her none.
Zara skimmed the items. ‘Yes, that’ll do.’ She filed the copy and smiled broadly. ‘Now, do you need to go to the loo?’
‘I’ve just been, Mistress Editor.’
‘What about some lunch?’
‘I remembered to bring sandwiches today, Mistress Editor.’
She planned to eat quietly at her desk. While she was forced to walk around naked, she wanted as far as possible to avoid meeting anybody outside the magazine office and level B3.
The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) Page 11
