The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (20 page)

‘No, Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa said

‘You’re not tempted at all? You don’t wonder what it would be like to use them?’

‘Of course not!’

Miss Kyle suddenly reached out, grabbing a fistful of Vanessa’s hair in one hand and cupping her pubes with the other.

‘Liar! You’re hot and wet. You’re a slut at heart, just as I said the day we met. This turns you on.’ She
thrust
stiff fingers up Vanessa’s moist vagina. ‘Admit it!’

Vanessa gasped. ‘All right … I’m aroused! But it’s wrong!’

‘No it’s not, you stupid bitch! They want this …’

There was a growing murmur of voices from outside the tent. The first of the office staff were beginning to arrive.

‘Find out for yourself, then you might believe me …’

She pulled Vanessa’s arms behind her and clipped her cuffs to the back of her belt. Pushing her forwards she propelled her into one of the compartments and sat her down in the swivel chair.

Kashika’s upper body was spread out before Vanessa, seeming to burst out of the canvas screen. Her arms pulled back and behind her accentuated her neat, perfectly ripe breasts as they hung from her taut ribcage. Her brown nipples stood out in hard cones ready to be pinched and sucked and played with. Blindly she seemed to stare out at Vanessa, her lips slightly parted. The ring-gag dangled from her neck, there for any man to push between her teeth and force her mouth wide for his cock.

Still holding Vanessa by the hair, Miss Kyle tilted back the chair. Pinching Vanessa’s left nipple between finger and thumbnail, she hissed in her ear: ‘Open your legs or else!’

Trembling, Vanessa pulled her legs up and back, hooking her knees over the arms of the chair, exposing her pubic mound and shamefully glistening cleft. Looking down between her breasts she was horrified to see her clitoris swelling up from the gaping valley of her already engorged labia. Miss Kyle pushed the chair forwards, ramming Vanessa’s pubes into Kashika’s face. Immediately, the Cherry
Chain
slave-girl began to nuzzle and lick her way deep into the sheath of wet, perfumed flesh.

Vanessa groaned and shuddered, unable to resist her touch. Kashika’s tongue was like a darting snake, slithering into every fold, teasing her clitoris into painful hardness. She had never felt such a powerful response to another girl. Her juices streamed from her, wetting her bottom and glistening on Kashika’s dark skin. Kashika gasped as somebody on the other side of the canvas divide started using her from behind, but she continued dutifully licking Vanessa out.

Too soon it was over. Vanessa arched her back in orgasmic spasm as she came, grinding her vulva into the face of the girl she now knew, in that stark moment of perfect release, she adored utterly and completely.

Ten

VANESSA HAD NEVER
known such guilt as she felt the day after Cherry Chain’s breaking-in. Though it was wrong, she could not forget Kashika’s tonguing and the power of the orgasm it had ignited. She had to face the fact that she was becoming dangerously obsessed with Kashika, and that it was distorting her judgement. She must escape before she was swallowed up in this twisted world of slavery and submission and no longer knew right from wrong. And, if possible, get Kashika out as well. But how?

Zara apparently sensed nothing of her inner anguish and sent her down to B3 to record the Chain’s reactions to their marathon sex-session. Vanessa went with dragging feet. How could she possibly face Kashika after what had happened? Just because she did not know Vanessa had been her first user did not diminish her own sense of shame. Yet at the same time that part of her unhindered by conscience longed to see her.

She found Cherry Chain had been excused any sexual training to allow them to recover and were out on to the exercise track to do laps. Making her way to the perimeter she soon saw them coming into view.

They were not running because coffle chains linked their collars and they had wooden yokes bound across their shoulders. As they appeared she saw they
were
gazing about them at the vistas of the secret level, which they had hardly seen since their initiation. Catching sight of Vanessa they smiled and called out to her, and she fell into step beside them.

Their arms were held outstretched by the yokes, strapped to them at the wrists and elbows. Chains ran down from the yoke and crossed their chests, dividing and lifting their breasts. Pairs of lighter chains clamped to their nipples ran forwards to snap on to a link midway along the chain joining their collars. If the heavier chain grew tight it would deliver a warning tug, encouraging them to keep in step and not lag behind.

They had been arranged according to their Chain number, so Amber was in the lead. As she had no girl in front, her nipple chains ran back over her shoulders to link with the coffle chain at the point where they joined with those of Charlotte.

Trailing last in line by number order, Yvonne had been fitted with a lap counter wheel that clicked away the distance the Chain had travelled. The upward-curving handle of the wheel was plugged into her rear. Vanessa noticed their pubes and bottoms were blotched and sore and glistened with salve. They looked tired but undeniably content.

‘We all passed!’ Amber declared. ‘Miss Kyle said she was very proud of us.’

‘But are you feeling all right?’ Vanessa asked anxiously, trying not to look directly at Kashika yet desperate for reassurance. She received a chorus of replies mingled with rueful grins:

‘Yes, but I could hardly walk afterwards.’

‘You’d never believe how that much oral makes your jaw ache.’

‘I think I’ve got a sandpapered cunt, but OK otherwise.’

‘My bum-hole feels like it’s one big bruise.’

When they had quietened down, Amber asked tentatively: ‘Can we ask you to take a message to Miss Kyle? Something isn’t quite right.’

At last, Vanessa thought. Despite what they’ve just said it’s becoming too much for them. They’re rebelling. Aloud she said: ‘Of course. What do you want me to tell her?’

‘Well, it’s not fair Yvonne has that counter wheel handle stuffed up her arse when she’s as sore as we are. We were wondering if we could take turns being rear girl …’

Miss Kyle beamed in satisfaction when Vanessa relayed the Chain’s request.

‘That’s just what I was hoping they’d do.’

‘What have you done to them to make them want to share the pain, Miss Kyle?’ Vanessa demanded.

‘It’s what they’ve done to themselves. It’s called chain love, Vanessa.’

The next couple of days passed as uneventfully as was possible inside the Shiller building. The Cherry Chain girls swiftly recovered and were returned to a full programme of demanding and degrading training, in the perversity of which they seemed to revel. Zara kept Vanessa busy recording their activities in between writing worthy but bland articles about the doings of Shillers’ numerous subsidiaries for
Datumline
magazine. It was all becoming frighteningly routine, and occasionally Vanessa forgot she was working in an office naked and slave-chained. At nights in her flat she masturbated under her bedclothes and thought about Kashika.

Then one morning Vanessa walked out of the lift into the fifth-floor lobby and saw Kashika on display in front of her.

It was as though she had become part of a living sculpture. She was encased in a double interlocking spiral of gleaming tubular metal that rose from a black marble plinth. A bright metal strap circled her head, holding a ball-gag in her mouth. Her arms were raised and secured with matching metal cuffs to the apex of the spiral above her head. The inside curves of the spiral bristled with metal spikes that seemed to menace Kashika with their points. Her legs were spread and cuffed to the base of the spiral arms. A tongue of ribbed metal curved up from the plinth between her legs, as though licking at the exposed pouch of her sex. It was wet with her juices.

Beside her was a notice:

I AM ONE OF THE PRIZES IN THE
CHERRY CHAIN RAFFLE.
PLAY WITH ME AT HOME FOR A NIGHT!
PROCEEDS TO THE CHARITIES ALLIANCE.
BUY YOUR TICKETS NOW!

Kashika was facing the lift doors and grinned around her gag when she saw Vanessa. She worked her hips back and forth suggestively over the arch of the metal tongue lapping at her pussy, as though offering herself. Vanessa goggled at her stupidly for a moment, drinking in her perfect figure, gave a nervous smile and half-wave, then hurried past her to Zara’s office.

Had somebody specially chosen to put Kashika on display on her floor? It might be a joke of Miss Kyle’s. But was it meant to tease or subvert her?

‘One girl’s been put on display on each floor,’ Zara explained when Vanessa reported to her. ‘You’d better take a picture of each girl in case we want it as a background to coverage of the draw itself.’

‘Why not a run a competition?’ Vanessa said. ‘Choose the best piece of modern art to include a living slave-girl!’

She was being sarcastic but Zara seemed to take her seriously.

‘That’s an idea. Get several shots of each girl and we’ll run a gallery of them.’

So Vanessa had to go from floor to floor taking pictures of each Cherry girl. She soon realised they had been put out in chain order, with Amber on show in the first-floor lobby and Yvonne in the twelfth. It was just chance than put Kashika on floor five … she hoped.

The girls were displayed in varied and degradingly ingenious ways.

Amber had been bound like a mummy in strips of clear plastic and was suspended from a gibbet-like frame. Charlotte was hung on the wall inside a large gilded picture frame, to which she was tied in a squatting position with thighs splayed wide by dozens of cords. Fiona had been set on her hands and knees on a waist-high plinth, held in place by a dozen adjustable clamps, whose metal jaws closed about her legs, arms and neck, squeezed her breasts, and even reached into her mouth and held her tongue in check. Holly was suspended like a puppet by heavy chains that also looped between her legs, diving into the furrow of her vulva. Lisa had been tightly wrapped in chicken wire, so that her nipples squeezed through its lattice, and laid on her back on a long narrow black table like an offering. Madelyn stood contorted within a series of asymmetric horizontal bars that forced her bottom out, her stomach forwards and pinched her breasts between them. Olivia was bound tightly to a polished wooden ‘X’ cross by numerous
loops
of white rope in contrast to her dark skin. Rachel had been tied to what looked like a large cartwheel mounted flat on the floor, so that the hub pressing into the small of her back lifted her hips invitingly. Tina was trapped upright and spread-eagled between two wire lattices strung within a large metal hoop, the tension on the wires digging into her skin and squeezing her breasts between them. Victoria stood imprisoned and rigidly erect within what looked like a free-standing wooden shelving unit, formed in two halves with scallops cut out for her neck, chest, waist and wrists, knees and ankles. Finally Yvonne lay on her back, weighed down by concentric rings of heavy black chain, across a large white plastic dome.

The girls were gagged but none were blindfolded and all could be freely handled by anyone who cared to do so. They were living artworks; there to be enjoyed as much for the tactile pleasure they gave as their visual appeal. They responded to the strokes, pinches, prods and fondles with helpless squirming, muffled grunts and whines and bright excited eyes.

Vanessa found the sight of them displayed so publicly both erotic and disturbing. She wondered who had designed the settings. Some thought had evidently gone into them. Did Shiller include among its subsidiaries some firm of perverted sculptors? She had a sudden crazy vision of the imprisoned girls being put on display in the Tate Modern and having art critics arguing whether they were art or pornography. Both or neither? She was not sure any more.

When she delivered the pictures to Zara she could not help speak out.

‘Do they have to be shown off like this, Mistress Editor?’ she asked.

‘Now they’ve gained confidence they like being shown off to people. The attention makes them feel important. Being on display excites them.’

‘But raffling them off as though they were prizes in some show! It’s sick!’

‘I heard from Denise that you suggested they be put in individual cells for breaking-in. Being taken home is far more secluded than that. It’s wonderful experience for the girls to serve one or two people in an intimate domestic setting for hours on end. Afterwards they’ll swap stories about how they were treated with their Chain sisters. They’ll enjoy it!’

‘How would you know, Mistress Editor?’ Vanessa retorted sharply.

Zara looked at her in thoughtfully for a long moment, then picked up her phone and dialled. ‘Hallo Jude … You know that girl spy I told you about … Yes, the one with the lively tongue. Well, I’m bringing her home tonight to play with, so get the toy box out.’ She rang off and gave Vanessa a wicked smile. ‘Now you’ll find out what the Cherry girls will be feeling … and maybe one or two other things as well.’

Zara took Vanessa home in the boot of her car. For the first time in over two weeks she left the Shiller building without being locked into her spywear. But there was absolutely no chance of escape.

Vanessa lay on her side on a blanket, curled up in a ball with her wrists cuffed to her ankles, which were in turn secured by heavy cuffs linked by a short rigid bar. An additional chain ran from the bar up between her thighs to her collar, preventing her from straightening out. Bungee cords ran from her collar and cuffs to eyelets set in the floor, holding her firmly in the middle of the boot space. A blindfold covered
her
eyes and a broad gag-strap with an integral pear-shaped rubber plug filled her mouth. She could neither call out nor move enough to bang on the side of the car in the faint hope some passer-by would hear her. She was totally helpless, her stomach churning at the thought of what Zara had planned for her.

Eventually Vanessa felt the car turn into a short drive and enter what she took to be a garage. The engine was switched off and she heard the whine of a powered door. The boot was opened, she felt Zara unfasten the bungee cords and then her collar chain. Her wrists were freed from her ankles and she was seated upright. Zara pulled the blindfold off, leaving Vanessa blinking in the white strip light that illuminated a garage lined down one side with tidy shelves.