The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (5 page)

Bending over Vanessa’s spread thighs she drew out four lengths of elastic cord fastened to the underside of the rack frame. On their free ends were small, spring-toothed metal clamps. Teasing out Vanessa’s inner labia from where they lay between her thicker love-lips, she pinched them between the spring jaws. Vanessa whimpered as, one by one, four sets of metal teeth bit into her tender flesh-lips.

Miss Kyle stepped aside so that Vanessa could admire her handiwork in the mirror. Vanessa choked and whimpered in utter dismay. The upper pair of cords crossed over her hips and ran along the fold between the mound of her delta and her thighs. The lower pair came up over the curves of her taut buttocks. Between them the tension of the cords stretched the delicate flesh petals so that her vulva was spread wide open like an orchid in bloom,
exposing
the naked hood of her clitoris, the tiny pit of her urethra and the dark crinkled mouth of her vaginal passage. Anybody could look in on her and see every last intimate detail, as though she was laid out for some perverted gynaecological examination.

Vanessa felt hot tears of shame and despair pricking her eyes. How could they do this to her?

‘Feeling sorry for yourself, are you, girl?’ Miss Kyle asked. ‘Well it’s your own fault. The Director offered to explain but you wouldn’t listen. Now you live with the consequences …’

And she walked out, voluptuous buttocks rolling beneath her sheer body-stocking, locking the door behind her and leaving Vanessa alone.

For a while Vanessa gave in to fear and self-pity and cried softly, all the time stomach-churningly aware of the shadowy figures peering in at her from behind her reflection. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined she could feel so completely humiliated, exposed and helpless. All that sustained her was the promise of rescue. She prayed that Enwright would not wait a minute longer than agreed in alerting the police when she did not call, though the thought of being discovered as she was right now was almost too much to contemplate.

But what if rescue never came? Suppose Shiller simply denied all knowledge of her? Could Enwright prove she even entered the building? And even if a search were made would they find this secret dungeon? Shiller was bound to take extra precautions after her break-in. And who would dream anybody could be concealing an entire basement level? They might keep her down here for months.

She shrank away from that terrifying possibility. No, surely they would not want the unwelcome
attention
her disappearance would cause. On the other hand, they dare not release her. Obviously they would wipe her camera so that no hard evidence remained, but she still knew too much. Was that why they had not been more brutal with her? The pinpricks and cane stripes on her breasts would quickly fade, and the padded cuffs and straps would leave no lasting marks. Perhaps this outrageous humiliation was meant to confuse her, to break her will, even make her seem a little crazy. Without hard proof her story would seem too incredible to be believed. Yes, it made sense.

She had to resist the throbbing ache in her cruelly stretched tendons that were fast becoming ropes of fire. They dare not keep her here too long. She screwed up her eyes and tried to pretend there was nobody on the other side of the mirror. All she had to do was keep a clear head and wait …

In less than half an hour Vanessa was sweating and squirming in torment.

It was not due to the pain of her bondage or the shame of her exposure, but something utterly mundane yet also insidiously uncomfortable.

She desperately needed to pee.

The two mugs of water she’d been given had joined the half thermos of coffee she’d nervously downed in the early hours while waiting for the target lorry. Bound as she was, she could not even clench her thighs together to help hold it in. But if she relieved herself now it would be in full view of whoever was watching. Except for the intervening glass, it would literally be in their faces.

As the minutes passed, her misery plumbed hitherto unimagined depths. The tension from her splayed thighs and clamped labia working against the internal
pressure
from her bladder was teasing her clitoris. Being on display in such a blatantly inviting posture, she was becoming acutely aware of that sensitive and now totally exposed organ.

Helplessly, perversely, she could feel her clit rising and hardening in sympathy with her already engorged and erect nipples.

She sobbed in despair, her cheeks burning with renewed shame. Miss Kyle had planned this torment. Who needed a cane when you had a full bladder working for you? But how could she react like this, unless there had been some sort of aphrodisiac in the water? Had they drugged her, or was she deceiving herself? Her body might simply be instinctively responding to stimulation. It didn’t mean she was really enjoying it. That was not possible.

Whatever the cause, she could not stand such torment much longer. Anything was better than this.

Did she really mean that? Could she swallow her pride and accept the shame of begging to serve, just as Miss Kyle had promised she would? Perhaps she could pretend to co-operate, to be broken, to have gone a little crazy. Perhaps …

It was too late.

With a muffled groan of despair, a stream of pee hissed from her peeled-back pudenda and splashed over the mirror.

A wave of wonderful, degrading, joyous relief flooded through her as she disgraced herself so completely; knowing people were watching every drop issue from her and that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. For a few dizzy seconds, almost like a miniature orgasm, she was filled with the wild paradoxical freedom of total surrender to the inevitable, of not needing to care, only having to respond as instinct dictated.

As the last spurts became a trickle that ran down into the tunnel of her gaping vagina and the crack of her anus, the strangely thrilling glow faded. Vanessa burst into tears as humiliation once more took hold and wrapped her in misery.

When Vanessa opened her bleary eyes again, Miss Kyle was in the cell looking down at her.

‘When I remove your gag you’d better have something worthwhile to tell me,’ she said. ‘Insults will be punished and pleas for release will be ignored, understand?’

Vanessa nodded as far as the strap across her neck allowed. She understood only too well.

Miss Kyle pulled the ball-gag out from between Vanessa’s aching jaws, gave her a sip of water and then waited expectantly.

‘Please don’t make me do that again, Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa said in a rush, hating the servile tremble in her voice. ‘I’ll do anything you want, I …’ she gulped, but could not help adding: ‘… I beg you.’

Miss Kyle smiled coolly. ‘Haven’t you enjoyed being on display?’

‘No, Miss Kyle.’

‘Why not?’

How could she ask, Vanessa wondered dimly? But aloud she said: ‘It’s … frightening … humiliating. Knowing all those people are looking at me.’

‘A little humiliation won’t kill you. Is it so hard to take?’

‘For me it is, Miss Kyle.’

‘Not because being on the rack for an hour and a half hurts if you aren’t used to it?’

Why hadn’t she mentioned the physical pain first, Vanessa wondered? The shock of her unwilling arousal had put it out of her mind. ‘That as well,
Miss
Kyle,’ she said quickly. But it’s being so … so open that’s worse.’

‘Didn’t any of it excite you, even for a few seconds?’

She knows, Vanessa thought with horror. That shameful moment when she lost all control in public and it had felt so disgustingly good. That was what had really scared her the most. And the fear that it might happen again …

‘No, Miss Kyle. Please … put me somewhere else.’

Miss Kyle looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose I could chain you up in the corner over there. You understand we’ve got to keep you secure until we decide what to do with you, and this is the best place. You’re the uninvited guest. We can’t make exceptions.’

‘Use as many chains as you want, Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa said, amazed and revolted by her own words. ‘I won’t give you any trouble. But please … close the curtains.’

‘The problem is, the rules say the only time the curtains are closed is when a girl is entertaining. Of course, when she’s fulfilled her quota, she might be taken off display and given a nice soft mat to rest on while she recovers.’

‘What … quota, Miss Kyle?’

‘How many screws a girl gives, or whatever other pleasure her user requires. That’s what they’re here for, after all. As you’re new to this I’ll let you off the rack for just three: me and Josh and Harry. They’re the guards whose shins you gave a good kicking.’

Vanessa gaped at her incredulously. ‘You … you can’t mean that! No way! You perverted bitch, you … ahhh … awww … nnugh!

Miss Kyle had swung her cane three times across Vanessa’s constrained and exposed breasts in quick succession, their springy wire cups making them wobble and bounce wildly. The first blow struck their
soft
bulging undercurves while the second, slicing downwards, smacked into their concave upper slopes. The last dipping swish clipped both her erect nipples with agonising precision. Scarlet welts blazed on her captive globes.

The caning had reduced Vanessa’s tirade to sobs and moans. Before she could recover, Miss Kyle grasped her hair and twisted her head round so that they were eye to eye.

‘What did I say about insults, you stupid girl?’

‘Tha … that they’d be punished, M … Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa choked out wretchedly, blinking back her tears.

‘Will I ever have to remind you again?’

‘N … No, Miss Kyle. Sorry, Miss Kyle.’

‘Who’s in charge here?’

‘You are, Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa gasped. For the first time she felt the truth of this simple statement deep inside her. Miss Kyle was in charge and she was her helpless prisoner.

‘That’s better,’ said Miss Kyle. ‘Now pay attention, girl. You might even learn something useful. I could have you right now if I wanted and you could do nothing to stop me, true?’

‘Y … yes, Miss Kyle.’

‘I could give you to half the men in this building to play with, true?’

Vanessa shivered at the thought of it. ‘Yes, Miss Kyle.’

‘But instead I’m giving you a choice. You either go back on display as you were … or you beg to serve Josh, Harry and me.’

Vanessa cringed. ‘Please, Miss Kyle … I couldn’t do that!’

Miss Kyle shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised what you can do if you really want, girl, but it’s your decision. Stay like you are until the Director decides what to
do
with you. After another three or four hours maybe you’ll be ready to co-operate. Of course, your editor might come storming in here with the police and rescue you before then … but I wouldn’t bet on it.’

Miss Kyle pulled the ball-gag back over Vanessa’s head. ‘Open!’

‘No … please don’t,’ Vanessa protested.

‘Well?’ Miss Kyle asked.

Vanessa felt detached, her heart thudding, everything fading into the background except Miss Kyle’s expectant, or was it contemptuous, face? Didn’t she think Vanessa had the courage to make the choice? She expected her just to lie there and be humiliated. Well she’d show her …

‘I … I beg to serve.’

There, it was said. She had crossed some great divide and a strange new land lay before her.

‘Let me hear it properly, girl.’

‘I beg to serve you, Miss Kyle …’

‘Just me?’

‘And … Josh and Harry –’

‘That’s Mr Willfield and Mr Parks to you, girl.’

‘– and Mr Willfield and Mr Parks.’

‘How will you serve us?’

The words came more easily now she was committed. ‘By giving you pleasure … with my body.’

‘Do you promise to do your best to please us?’

Why not? She could do anything. ‘I promise, Miss Kyle.’

Miss Kyle smiled. ‘Then as you’re going to have visitors we’d better clean this place up.’ She opened the cell-room door, briefly reached outside, and drew back her hand. It held a chain leash fastened to the plain white collar of a slave-girl.

She was a neat slip of a thing who could barely have been eighteen, with small, high breasts, slim hips
and
a shaven pubis. In hands manacled by a short length of chain, she was carrying a mop, bucket and cloth. A slightly longer chain ran between her ankle cuffs, hobbling her feet. Her head was completely enclosed in a tight-fitting black rubber hood, with only a small triangle cut out for her nostrils at the front and a slot at the back through which a ponytail of blonde hair bobbed jauntily.

‘Sandra will clean up your mess, then she’ll attend while you’re serving,’ Miss Kyle explained.

The girl must have been waiting all the time, Vanessa realised. Had Miss Kyle been so sure what choice she’d make?

Miss Kyle rolled the rack back a little way from the window and Sandra set to work mopping Vanessa’s pee off the rubber floor tiles. Somehow she knew exactly where to clean. How many times had she done this before, Vanessa wondered?

While she worked, Miss Kyle took out the enema gun, detached its nozzle and used the water jets to flush Vanessa out and wash the urine from her pubes. A blast of warm air dried her curls. Miss Kyle ran her fingers through them.

‘You’ve got a nice thick fluffy bush, girl.’

Automatically Vanessa found herself saying: ‘Thank you, Miss Kyle.’

Sandra finished wiping down the window. ‘Put your things in the corner and fetch a mat,’ Miss Kyle ordered.

The slave-girl placed the mop and bucket neatly in a corner and, by touch from the equipment shelves, selected a small foam rubber mat, which she placed on the floor by the rack. Miss Kyle clipped the free end of her leash to the rack frame.

‘Sit,’ she commanded, and Sandra gracefully settled herself cross-legged on the mat, resting her
chained
hands neatly in her lap and looking the model of perfect subservience.

Miss Kyle ignored her, turning her full attention to Vanessa. Her sensuous mouth shaped into a hungry smile and her eyes grew large with lust.

She took off her belt, unzipped her boots and peeled down her body stocking. Vanessa had never seen anybody look so at ease with their own body. Even naked she radiated masterful self-assurance.