The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (26 page)

The door opened and the man and his captive came in. The girl’s eye widened in horror as she saw the bench and she began to struggle, but it was quite futile.

He pushed her face down across the bench top, so that her head and breasts hung over one end, then lifted her feet off the floor and bent her legs over until her heels pressed against her bottom. With lengths of the dangling rope he tied her ankles down, the tension also pulling them outwards so that she was forced to keep her thighs spread, and leaving her exposed sex pouch hanging over the other end of the bench.

He took a huge tubular metal hook from the wall. She whimpered as she saw it. Gathering and twisting her long hair into a rope he knotted the end about the hook’s large hanging ring, then pulled her head backwards until he could insert the bulbous tip of the hook into her anus. She gasped, her body bowed by the tension, her eyes bulging in disbelief as she impaled herself.

‘Did you say anything, girl?’ he asked.

She shook her head a fraction.

In the observation corridor, Gold clipped the end of Vanessa’s leash to a wall-ring and moved behind her, cupping and squeezing her breasts. ‘Remember, all she has to do is say “Midnight” and the test ends,’ he said. ‘It’s entirely up to her how much she suffers … if you can call it suffering.’

The man in the cell had attached screw clamps to her nipples and was now hanging weights on them, stretching them out into pink cones, turning her breasts into fleshy stalactites. Her eyes filled with tears and she gritted her teeth.

‘What’s the code word, girl?’ her inquisitor demanded.

She bit her lip but said nothing.

He took down a cane and slashed it across the stretched and unnaturally drawn upper slopes of her breasts, briefly flattening them against the edge of the bench and setting the weights swaying. She sobbed in pain, shaking her head.

Vanessa heard Gold’s zip go down. He pushed her forwards until her breasts pancaked against the mirror glass, her hard nipples in their sensor collars pushing back into her, and kicked her legs apart. She felt the tip of his cock burrowing between her buttocks. He was stiff again so quickly!

The inquisitor walked round the bench until he faced his captive’s soft, exposed inner thighs, engorged sex and plugged anus. Vanessa heard the relayed swish and crack of his cane as he struck her. Gold’s cock found Vanessa’s greased anus and forced its way into her, so her grunt and gasp at his entry mingled with the captive girl’s shrieks of pain.

‘Talk to me, talk to me!’ the inquisitor commanded.

Tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she shook her head.

Gold began to pump up and down the hot tunnel of Vanessa’s rectum.

The inquisitor threw his cane aside, tore open his trousers and rammed his cock up into his captive’s pussy, making the bench jerk and her tortured breasts jiggle. Instead of more pain, Vanessa saw a look of perfect bliss pass across her face. Was it also a look of triumph?

Horrified and fascinated, Vanessa could not turn away from the tormented girl as Gold’s cock pummelling up her arse synchronised with the thrusts of the inquisitor into his victim’s helpless cunt. Any lingering sense of pride or dignity left in Vanessa melted away as her simmering arousal came to the boil and orgasmic release tore through her.

This was submission to a need too powerful to be denied.

This was what Cherry Chain had undergone.

Was it also what she darkly craved for?

Fourteen

VANESSA BROODED OVER
her experience at the Institute for several days.

After the tour, she had watched a selection of videoed interviews with the girls who passed the final test stages. Once they had viewed a video of life in B3 showing other slave-girls at work and were convinced Shiller was making a genuine offer, they had been eager to join their ranks. In some cases tearfully so.

She now accepted that all Shiller’s slave-girls were natural submissives and had not been coerced in any way into slavery. But that still left her with the matter of whether it was right or wrong to exploit and sell their services for money. And always in the background was the memory of her own helpless responses to what she had seen and felt. She had been drawn so deeply into a life of slavery that she was beginning to regard it as normal. Was she still capable of making the proper choice?

Then, late Friday evening just as she was packing up, Zara called her into her office.

‘Cherry Chain are being field-tested tomorrow,’ she announced briskly. ‘They’ve been assigned to provide the amusements for a big house party in Surrey. You’d better get in early to talk to them before
they’re
rested. Then you can go with them and see how they do. Think you can manage that?’

‘Yes, Mistress Editor.’

The Cherry Chain girls were already making circuits of the exercise track when she saw them at eight the next morning.

They had weighted packs strapped to their backs and their glistening breasts bounced prettily as they ran, but they wore none of the usual restraints or stimulations. Instead their hands were constrained by rubber paws and they wore wire-mesh chastity belts, through which the fluff of their pubes peeped. They looked exhausted but their trainers, ranged around the inside of the track, were still driving them on with flicks of carriage whips across their bare bottoms.

‘We haven’t allowed them to touch themselves or each other since they were bedded down early last night,’ Miss Kyle explained, when Vanessa asked her about the preparation process for Cherry Chain’s first assignment. ‘Now we’re tiring them out so that they get six or seven hours’ solid sleep through the day before we ship them out. By the time they’re ready to entertain this evening they won’t have had any sex for over twenty-four hours.’

Vanessa thought of the effect such enforced abstinence would have on a dozen lustful and uninhibited young women. ‘Putting it simply, you want them gagging for it, Miss Kyle.’

Miss Kyle grinned. ‘We want them eager to please, as slave-girls should be.’

‘How do you think they’ll do tonight, Miss Kyle?’

‘I think they’ll be fine. They’re the hottest chain we’ve had for a long time.’

Vanessa smiled and waved to the girls as they jogged past. Kashika, sweat-streaked and bedraggled
but
somehow even more beautiful for all that, flashed her back such a look of joy and yearning that it set butterflies of lust fluttering about her loins.

When the girls were finally allowed off the track, Vanessa watched as they were hosed down and watered, then strapped to the wooden pallets and suspended in the dim calm of the rest chamber. She took one last lingering look at Kashika hanging beside the others, perfectly at ease in her straps and already asleep, then tiptoed out to leave them in peace.

Vanessa fretted the next few hours away making notes for her article. She wanted the girls to be happy following the course their natures clearly intended for them, yet she was still faced with a dilemma. That evening they were going to be set out as sex toys for a lot of, presumably, wealthy people, to play with. Could that be right in any circumstances? On the other hand, if those clients did not employ the services of well-cared-for and naturally slavish Shiller girls, would they find less willing and oppressed alternatives elsewhere? Was it better this way?

To kill time and get some further background for her article, Vanessa took herself down to the B2 loading bay where the assorted vehicles that transported the girls to and from their assignments were housed. She had often seen the vans and lorries with their secret human cargo coming and going, but she had been so absorbed with Cherry Chain and level B3 that she had not investigated further. Was it because she had initially dismissed them from her mind as minor cogs in what she had then thought of as the evil Shiller slave machine? But now she saw they also had their part to play. Perhaps she should suggest to Zara doing a feature on the drivers and staff who actually transported the girls to the clients, presented
them
for use and saw that they gave satisfaction … Oh God, she was at it again!

By chance or design, the lorry assigned to transport Cherry Chain was the very vehicle she had hidden under weeks before. Fortunately its crew, two solid-looking middle-aged men named Graham and Des, and a younger woman called Nina seemed to bear Vanessa no ill will. In fact Nina asked: ‘When are you going to write about all the hours we have to put in shipping the girls back and forwards, doing all the rigging and making sure they’re used properly?’

‘I was just thinking of doing an article about that very thing, Mistress,’ Vanessa was able to reply quite honestly.

They showed her round the back of the lorry. Three of the equipment boxes had already been loaded and were lined up down the middle of the compartment. Along each side were the narrow mesh-walled alcoves she now saw were to hold girls standing upright with their backs facing the sides of the van. They were held in place against padded boards by strips of elasticated webbing, which could be quickly pulled across and secured. These not only supported them for long journeys but gave them even more protection than seat-belts. On hooks above the alcoves were slung two long aluminium ladders to assist with rigging displays.

At the far end of the compartment backing on to the driver’s cab, a section of panelling had been folded back to reveal a compact bank of flat-screen monitors and remote surveillance camera controls. Three swivel chairs were bolted to the floor in front of the display.

‘This is where we keep an eye on the girls while they’re working,’ Des explained. ‘Don’t want anybody going too far with them.

Graham took a tiny video camera out of a metal case holding a dozen more. ‘We put these out when we’re rigging the venue. The clients never know they’re there.’

‘Tonight we’ve got to make doubly sure we see everything,’ Des added. ‘The trainers want a copy of it all to see how well Cherry Chain perform.’

At four o’clock, Cherry Chain were taken down, fed, cleaned and watered. As they knelt before her in the training yard, Miss Kyle gave them some final words of advice and encouragement.

‘You’ve been assigned to provide additional amusement for a large party at Mansley Park in Surrey. You’ll be fully restrained in exposed postures at all times so you won’t have to put on any special display. Just react naturally. Remember that for tonight whoever uses you is your master or mistress and you are their slave. Be that to the best of your ability and be proud to be Shiller girls!’

Gagged to prevent any nervous chatter and to concentrate their minds, and still in chastity belts, they were chained in a coffle, hands cuffed behind them, and marched into the lift. Vanessa followed after them as they were taken up to the lorry and secured in their niches by the webbing cocoons. While Graham got into the cab, Des and Nina, who were riding with them in the back, sat Vanessa down in the spare swivel chair, clipped her wrists behind her, pushed a ball-gag into her mouth and strapped her into place.

The lorry set off.

It was not long before Vanessa began to smell the girls’ excitement and frustration filling the close interior. Blushing, she realised she was also contributing to that intimate perfume. She had been so preoccupied with the looming decision that only now
did
it dawn on her that she had gone without an orgasm even longer than the girls. She squeezed her thighs together and tried not to think about it, but the anticipation was becoming almost tangible. They wanted to get started, to serve, to be used. And, undeniably, so did she.

The journey took a little over an hour. When the lorry pulled up, Des and Nina climbed out presumably to meet the clients who had hired the girls. A few minutes later the engine started up again and the lorry was driven across some bumpy ground, then backed up and halted. The rear doors were flung back and the ramp extended. Vanessa saw they were opposite an arched gateway set in a high wall. A pair of green garden doors stood wide open and through them she glimpsed a rambling orchard of mature apple trees.

The sudden realisation of her helplessness struck her. She was strapped naked to a chair in full view of any stranger who might look into the back of the lorry. But instead of shame she found a thrill of excitement coursing through her at the thought.

Graham, Des and Nina took out the ladders, dragged the equipment cases down the ramp and shut up the lorry again, leaving the girls to their frustration. Vanessa wished she could talk to Kashika, but from where she sat she could not even see her. They would just have to stew in the juices of their mounting need. Her own juices, she could feel, were already making a stain on the chair seat.

A good half-hour passed before Des returned to the lorry and freed Vanessa. ‘Might as well make use of you,’ he said.

‘May I bring my camera, Master?’ Vanessa asked when he had removed her gag. ‘I’d like some pictures of the girls on display for my article.’

‘OK, but remember nothing identifying this place can show in any picture you publish.’

‘Yes, Master.’

He clipped a leash to her collar and a hobble chain to her ankles and then gave her the remote camera case to carry. As he led her out of the back she flashed Kashika, still strapped into her niche, a look of sympathy in passing and she smiled ruefully back over her gag.

Vanessa found the orchard was completely enclosed by the high wall. There was another gate at the far end with the steeply pitched roofs of a large house rising beyond it. The branches of the trees were hung with paper lanterns and the stakes and coloured glass pots of garden flares had been stuck in the grass between the trees.

Nina and Graham were up the ladders hanging the last of twelve conical canopies the size of large garden parasols to the undersides of selected branches. On the grass beneath each parasol, rubberised quilts had been spread out. At the corners of each quilt four stakes had been driven into the ground. Vanessa followed Des about, handing him cameras from the case as he placed them unobtrusively about the orchard, nestling in the forks of branches and angled to cover every spot where a girl would be placed.