The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (12 page)

‘Maybe you’ll accept the truth after you’ve followed the new chain through training. It’ll be very exciting.’

Vanessa could think of other descriptions, but did not bother to voice them aloud. Zara knew by now how she felt. And if she really was allowed free access to the new girls, it would enable her to gather more evidence about how Shillers managed to recruit them and whatever deceptions they used.

‘I’m sure it will, Mistress Editor.’

When they had both finished eating, Zara wiped Vanessa’s mouth for her with a tissue, then asked: ‘Do you need the loo?’

Vanessa realised she hadn’t gone since she left her flat. Suddenly her bladder felt very full. ‘Yes, Mistress Editor.

‘Me too. I’ll show you where it is …’

Leaving Vanessa’s wrists cuffed behind her back, Zara produced a red-leather leash and clipped it to her collar so quickly and naturally that they were walking out of the door before Vanessa realised what was happening.

She was being led on a lead like a dog!

She lowered her eyes to Zara’s twinkling heels once more. It was perverted and degrading and, what was worse, her nipples were standing up.

With Vanessa in tow Zara bustled into the toilets, which were clean and spacious, and selected a generously sized empty booth. She bolted the door behind them, lifted the lid of the bowl and sat Vanessa down, her hands still cuffed behind her.

‘You go first.’

Vanessa blushed and clenched her thighs together.

Zara clicked her tongue. ‘You should know better than to hide yourself by now. Slave-girls have no privacy. I want to see you make a pretty fountain for me.’

She reached down and pulled Vanessa’s knees wide, then slipped a finger into her exposed furrow, teasing the hood of her clitoris. The sudden stimulation caught Vanessa by surprise and she lost control. Her pee hissed into the toilet bowl, to the accompaniment of Zara’s light laughter.

‘See, it’s not so hard to please. All you’ve got to do is let go …’

When she was empty, Zara carefully wiped Vanessa clean with moisturising toilet tissue that was soft and cool. She dug deep into Vanessa’s cleft with each stroke, trailing her stiff fingers slowly through her hot, intimate depths.

Vanessa groaned, willing herself not to feel anything, but nevertheless aroused by Zara’s touch. Then Zara kissed her hard and masterfully, grasping a handful of her hair and tilting her head back. To her shame Vanessa melted helplessly under its intensity, opening her mouth and letting Zara’s tongue play with hers.

When their lips finally parted, Vanessa knew she had lost whatever slight control she had over her situation. She was Zara’s plaything now.

Zara pulled Vanessa off the toilet, turned her round and pushed her down on to her knees facing the loo. She lifted the toilet seat, passed the end of Vanessa’s leash under it, drew it to one side, then dropped the seat again. The seat rests trapped the leash between them while still allowing it to slide freely over the rim of the bowl.

Lifting her skirt, Zara sat on the toilet, slipping her left hand through the loop of the leash as she did so. She wore no knickers. She opened her legs to Vanessa, exposing a full-lipped pubic mound framed by close-cropped dark curls. She slid her fingers into her vulva and spread her lips, revealing glistening pink depths and the dark tunnel mouth of her vagina. Two small thick gold rings pierced the soft folds of her inner labia, while a third framed the hood of her swelling clitoris.

Zara tugged on the leash running under the toilet seat, pulling Vanessa’s face into her open groin. Helpless, Vanessa kissed and licked the hot, spicy-scented folds of slippery flesh, tonguing out the secret passage they guarded. Zara grasped a handful of Vanessa’s hair, pressing her face harder into her hungry maw.

A spasm shook Zara, making her jerk her hips and sigh with delight while Vanessa’s face was drenched in a spray of sweet exudation. Shamelessly, Vanessa tried to lick up every drop.

Suddenly hot pee spurted from Zara’s tiny urethral mouth and over Vanessa’s face, washing the orgasmic juices away and trickling into the toilet bowl. Held by her leash she could not pull back, and had to endure the golden shower.

‘I said I wanted to go as well,’ Zara reminded her with delighted laughter. ‘Now you know how we treat girlflesh. I think you’re going to make a perfect slave-reporter.’

Six

WHEN ZARA APPEARED
at Vanessa’s desk later that afternoon she had Miss Kyle by her side. After what had occurred in the toilets, Vanessa tried not to look her editor in the eye. She could not forgive Zara for using her like that. She’d even denied Vanessa her own release after arousing her, which felt desperately, if perversely, unfair. But, though she hated to admit it, she knew she’d been completely dominated by Zara. Now, to her shame, she could not muster the courage to respond. Yet there was evidently no mutual embarrassment. To Zara she was just a slave, to be used to satisfy her own pleasure.

‘Miss Kyle will go down with you to B3 and show you where the new chain ceremony will take place,’ she said. ‘If it’s not over before five-thirty, you can write it up at home and show me in the morning, understand?’

‘Yes, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa said meekly.

‘Are you ready?’ Miss Kyle asked, as Zara went back to her office.

There were a couple of cameras, a digital recorder and an e-notepad on Vanessa’s desk. It seemed that stories for the
Girlflesh News
were normally photographed and written by the same reporter. Vanessa had been checking over the equipment Zara had provided.

‘Yes, Miss Kyle,’ she said, hastily slinging a camera round her neck and gathering up her notepad. The recorder had a belt hook that she found fitted her slave-belt.

On the way down in the lift, Vanessa thought she’d better stop feeling sorry for herself and behave like a proper reporter – starting with some background details. She’d rather ask almost anybody else, but she had no choice.

‘Do you mind, Miss Kyle, telling me how all these new girls are brought here?’ She had visions of vehicles full of slave-girls like the one under which she had sneaked in. ‘I mean they must come from all over the place. Doesn’t anybody miss them?’

‘They bring themselves by train and taxi, of course,’ Miss Kyle said. ‘And nobody misses them because it’s all been arranged months ago.’

‘They … really come here voluntarily?’

Miss Kyle sounded impatient. ‘That’s one of the facts we’ve been trying to make you believe since yesterday morning, girl. But I suppose you’re going to have to find it out for yourself the hard way …’

Level B3 was bustling when they emerged from the lift. Slave-girls were scurrying about in excitement, mingling with oddly (or even minimally) dressed trainers. Vanessa saw the black man who had driven the pony-girl carriage stride by.

‘If you want to learn a few facts, we call this the High Street,’ Miss Kyle said, leading the way along the broad central corridor that ran the length of level B3. They passed the block where Vanessa had changed that morning and the turning to the cell mews. ‘The shopping corridor is called the Mall, of course.’

There were doors and windows on either side opening on to who knew what strange things. It
might
only have a floor area the size of a large underground car park, but Vanessa realised there was still so much she did not know about the place.

They reached the very end block on the right and turned through a double gateway. It was the space Vanessa had looked in on through a viewing window the previous day that Shiller had said was a training area for new recruits. Now it was ringed about with a host of what Vanessa had to think of as off-duty slave-girls, their jewels sparkling and coloured ribbons fluttering. She’d never seen so much totally naked flesh of every hue paraded in one space before. There must have been eighty or ninety of them. It could almost be a crowd gathering for a talent show in a naturist camp – except for the coloured collars they all wore. Still, at least they made her feel a little less self-conscious of her own nudity.

Four slave-masters, three men and a woman, were assembled on a small podium. One man wore only boots and a posing pouch, the second training shorts and singlet, the last black-leather trousers and a harness top. The woman was a blonde dressed in thigh-length black boots and a matching black pvc bikini. They all wore belts from which hung an assortment of whips, crops and electric goads. Beside the masters, a small table had been laid out with a stack of red slave-collars and a cane. In front of the podium a dozen small rubber kneeling mats had been set out in a short arc.

Miss Kyle led Vanessa round the fringe of the crowd until they were just to one side of the podium.

‘You should see everything from here,’ she said. ‘I’ll be busy with the new girls from now on. I assume you can find your own way back to the office after it’s over.’

‘Yes, Miss Kyle.’

‘Then you’re on your own. What you make of all this is up to you.’

She turned and left to take her own place on the small stage.

I know exactly what to make of it, Vanessa thought as she watched her go.

She didn’t want to witness whatever perverted spectacle they planned, but she had no choice. She might as well cover it as though she was a proper reporter for Zara’s sick little magazine. The evidence would speak for itself later.

Vanessa snapped off several pictures to capture the atmosphere and then began jotting notes. But how could she describe such a bizarre scene? Concentrate on getting the bare … no, the basic facts and gut impressions down first, and put them into context later.

There was a stir among the slave-girls and Vanessa saw Shiller, still wearing the same conservative suit, come in through a side gate and make her way to the podium. Although smaller and slighter than anybody else around her, somehow it was obvious who was in charge. Shiller moved to the front of the podium as though to speak. Vanessa hung her notepad on her belt and held up her recorder to catch her words. More damning evidence, hopefully.

‘We are here today to welcome twelve more special young women who wish to join our company. Bring in the new recruits!’

To waves of enthusiastic applause, twelve naked women were ushered in through a side gate by the black pony-girl driver and marched over to the arc of mats. Their hands were bound behind their backs but they wore no collars. They were blonde, brunette and redhead, large-and small-breasted, pale-skinned, olive and coffee-dark. But all were pretty, blushing,
nervous
and excited. They knelt down on the mats facing the podium.

Vanessa fumbled with the camera, trying to take pictures of the new girls and record what was said. She tried hooking the recorder on to her collar ring and it rested on her sternum.

The pony-girl driver joined the others on the podium. Shiller smiled benevolently down at the new girls, before addressing the crowd.

‘Many years ago I saw there was a need that was being shamefully served, partly due to long-established prejudice, and partly due to so-called enlightened modern morals. Many people sought sexual services of a nature beyond what society considered normal and reasonable, which were being satisfied often by cruel and criminal means. This led to the degradation of body and spirit of those who had unwillingly to fulfil those desires.

‘Surely, I thought, this can be done both more efficiently and fairly, without the innocent and desperate suffering? Human beings are infinitely variable. Why not seek out those who enjoyed giving themselves for the pleasure of others, free them of guilt about their natures and so satisfy that demand for sexual submissives and masochists in a safe and profitable manner?’

Shiller looked at the twelve new girls.

‘So I began the programme of psychological testing and evaluation that has brought you here today. Now you are ready to submit yourself to strict discipline, eager to experience sex in all its permutations and willing to suffer for the pleasure of others. You are special, never forget that. In the outside world these tendencies might make your lives difficult, since they are seen by some as aberrations. But down here it is the norm.’ She opened her arms to encompass the
watching
slave-girls. ‘These girls have all undergone the training process you are about to embark upon, and have graduated to the sisterhood of the chain. They are now, as you will be soon, proud to be slaves!’

There was a burst of spontaneous applause. The kneeling girls were smiling wondrously and some looked close to shedding tears of joy. For a moment even Vanessa felt uplifted by the wave of emotion. Hell, she thought, Shiller’s almost got me believing in it.

The Director continued. ‘Soon you will put on the collars that will bind you to the service of this company. They are the badges declaring your special natures. All Shiller girls wear them proudly. Our working unit is a group of twelve girls or “chain”. Chains come in six basic colour bands: red, blue, green, yellow, orange, and pink and purple, with additional divisions within each band, so that no two working chains will ever have the same name. They serve not only as means of identification but as a bond between you.

‘As part of a chain you will live and work together more intimately than you have with any other human beings, forming a companionship and trust that will stay with you for the rest of your lives. You new girls will join the red collar band as “Cherry Chain”. While you work for us you will be identified by your Christian name, your number in the chain chosen alphabetically, and your chain name.

‘Shiller girls are very proud of their own chains, and there’s some friendly rivalry between them, as you will discover. But ultimately every girl here, whatever the colour of the collar she wears, is your sister in slavery. She will have undergone the same training and submitted herself to serving the same purpose. That is a bond stronger than any link of steel.’

There were nods and sighs of understanding from the assembly. Vanessa became aware of a growing closeness in the training compound. Underneath the fleshy warmth of so many bare bodies and the mingling of their perfumes, was a uniquely female scent of mounting excitement and anticipation. Nipples of all hues and sizes were visibly rising and spreading.