‘Every hour on the hour it will give your tits and pussy one minute’s good hard thrashing,’ the pain torch man told her and then he chuckled, ‘unless of course you’re pleasuring somebody instead. Wag the phallus about to show you’re interested and maybe you’ll be spared a thrashing. If you’re not found earlier, at six o’clock this evening the bolts will be pulled back and you’ll be free, although a lot sorer inside and out I’ve no doubt. And then you’ll be Goldsmith’s problem…’
Then the men walked off into the night and vanished.
For a few minutes Jane lay shivering on the wooden grating, too dazed to make sense of any of it. She kept hoping it was a bad dream and that she would wake up any moment. But it was all too real and she was horribly aware of her exposed groin facing out of the open door of the strange compartment and the empty park beyond, distant sounds of owls hooting, occasional muted traffic sounds from beyond the park walls, her utter helplessness and the ticking of the clock above her head. Now everything was dark about her she noticed it had a luminous dial. It showed a quarter to three.
Then all of the deepest terror that she had been suppressing throughout her ordeal seemed to well up within her and she began to cry softly. With nobody to see her it was the only luxury she had left.
She was still crying when the clock struck three. One of the pendulum weights began to drop and gears whirred. As it did so rods twisted and the worm screws set in the sides of the bands enclosing her breasts turned with them, tightening and closing about her flesh until her breasts were squeezed and bunched upwards like pale pink balloons. At the same moment the powered spindles attached to the rubber straps across her thighs were wound tight, pulling on the clamps about her outer labia and stretching her sex mouth painfully wide to expose its tender glossy pink interior.
Small wheels emerged from slots in the frame on which she was spread. There was a pair on either side of her chest level with her breasts and one angled up between her legs. Broad pliant rubber thongs trailed from the wheel rims. More gears whirred and the wheels began to spin, turning the thongs into flailing lashes.
Jane screamed about her plugged mouth as they beat down on her bulging and uplifted breasts and the naked cleft of her pussy with its exposed and gaping interior at the head of which her clitoris throbbed. The multiple smack of rubber on flesh merged into a single rasping patter that echoed out into the night.
The pain was shocking, intense and intimate. Her shivering, wobbling breast globes burned and her nipples, filled with blood so they looked like cherries on top of the pink blancmanges, strained on top of them, being beaten down again and again. Between her legs her clitoris swelled as if not knowing what else to do under the onslaught of such intense stimulation. The rubber lash thongs began to splatter as she felt a surge of lubricating juices flowing out between her shivering lips.
How could she endure a minute of this?
Then at 55 seconds an orgasm tore through Jane with such force that it blotted everything out of her mind for what felt like a blissful eternity.
When she became aware of her surroundings again all was silent except for the relentless ticking of the clock. The wheels had stopped their terrible lashing and withdrawn, the bands about her breasts had loosened and the straps pulling her sex lips wide had relaxed. Her chest was rising and falling raggedly and her breasts and pussy were blazing scarlet hot and simmering. The tingling mound of her vulva and the insides of her thighs were splattered with the drying the juices of her orgasm.
Jane was still wondering how she could possibly have responded like that to such cruelty when exhaustion finally claimed her and she slipped into brief exhausted sleep.
Chapter Two
Jane was woken at four o’clock with the sky growing lighter when the clock chimed and the gears whirred once more, and then at five when the sun had just risen and then at six when it was already burning the dew off the grass. And each time the ingenious but terrible device gave her another beating, bunching up her breasts and peeling open her sex lips before the whirling thongs did their terrible best. She did not orgasm again but each time she felt sticky wetness seeping from between her sore lips and her nipples stood up hard from the hot domes of her breasts. Pain, exposure and fear had filled her with a twisted and perverse arousal, which only added to her distress.
Perhaps that was also part of the punishment.
As the light grew brighter she saw there were words inscribed like a frieze around the inside of the castigorium just beneath its dome and visible above the top of her compartment walls. It read: FLESH MUST YIELD TO IRON. KNOW YOUR PLACE. OBEDIENCE IS A VIRTUE.
And then at seven the park opened.
***
Jane heard the voices first. Then through her sore and crusted eyes she saw people moving about through the trees beyond the castigorium. First there were men in blue park keeper’s uniforms and then ordinary people. Any moment now one of them would come close enough to see her, she thought. Instinct and common sense still insisted that she prepare herself for her discovery and looks of astonishment at her humiliating predicament. But this never came. Instead she saw the bare flesh…
A respectably dressed couple were leading a naked woman behind them as if they might have dog on a leash and collar. A man was riding a bike, except that there was a naked woman somehow imprisoned within its frame and it was her bare pumping legs that were turning its wheels. A woman threw a ball and a naked girl on all fours bounded after it with the chains bound about her body jingling as she picked it up in her teeth and returned it to her mistress. A pair of naked women in cuffs and collars and dressed only in sun hats and flip-flops sauntered past arm in arm, innocently laughing about something. And all of them seemed to have letters and numbers stamped on their foreheads, stomachs and buttocks…
Gradually Jane’s mind adjusted to the impossible reality that everything she had experienced so far was trying to make her accept. That was why the masked men had treated her as they did and the castigorium existed and why the park was closed to non-residents. They kept women as slaves in Shackleswell and this was where they exercised and punished them…
A little after eight and then again at nine o’clock, naked collared and leashed slave girls were brought into the castigorium and placed in the spare compartments around the pillar from her. As far as Jane could tell they were secured exactly as she had been and the same terrible mechanism was set to punish and expose them. She wondered what they had done wrong. They were left alone and the clocks began to tic. Shortly afterward she heard the sound of gears and weights moving and gasps and groans from the girls as they were also beaten. People passing by paused to look in at them, nodding in approval.
A little later Jane received her first visitor.
He was a portly middle-aged man unfortunately dressed in a flowery shirt and shorts. He walked about the inside of the castigorium examining the girls on display and then entered Jane’s compartment with a big grin on his face, closing the doors behind him. It was still possible to see in through the lattice work panels but they gave a degree of privacy. All apparently that he required…
He glanced at the chalkboard with its lying message. ‘So you’ve broken the rules,’ he said. ‘Well we can’t have that, can we? Where would Irontown be if slaves forgot their place?’
He bent over Jane and slapped her cheeks hard and then pinched and twisted her swollen nipples.
‘How did these escape being ringed? Or have they healed up?
She whimpered and gurgled at him about her gag, trying to say that it was all lies and that she was no slave, but of course it was no use.
He turned a control on the clock to interrupt its punishment mechanism, unscrewed the dildo from its mouth plug base, and then pulled open his flies and lay down on top of her. There was a foot rail across the bottom of the grille and he pressed against this for leverage to penetrate her. His big belly squashed against hers, his weight driving the breath from his body, and then his cock found he
He slapped cheek angrily. ‘Don’t lie there like a dead fish: squeeze, girl, squeeze! Weren’t you taught anything about pleasing men?’
And sobbing Jane squeezed on him as he pumped inside her and grunted and half crushed her until with a shudder he spurted his sperm up into her aching pussy.
When he was done he cleaned himself up and then wiped her out carefully with the wipes and towels so thoughtfully provided and then put them all neatly in the wastepaper bin. He replaced her mouth dildo, turned the punishment mechanism back on and then left her with the doors of her compartment invitingly open once more, now revealing her aching red-lipped sex still seeping lubrication to anybody who cared to look.
***
The second man to make use of her helpless body came prepared with an expanding spanking paddle in his pocket. He turned off the punishment mechanism, opened his flies to free his straining erection and then beat her methodically and until her tears were flowing. By the time he was ready to mount her she was desperate to please him, nodding frantically and wagging the grotesque dildo jutting out from between her stretched lips and begging with her eyes, gazing longingly on his bobbing cock and hating herself even as she lifted her hips in invitation as far as the belt across her waist allowed.
Already she was learning how to trade pain for shame and sex.
When he was done with her he also meticulously cleaned her up and then reset the clock mechanism. While she was resting, Jane heard groans and smacks coming from the compartments of her unfortunate companions in humiliation, and knew she was not alone in her suffering. It gave her little comfort.
***
The third person to use her was outwardly a slim, respectable fortyish woman in a light summer dress. But evidently she was as used to handling slave girls as the men had been.
She hitched up her skirt to reveal she was wearing no knickers and reversed herself and straddled the tilted frame and sat down on Jane’s head and ground her naked sex into Jane’s face while the red dildo slid up into her vagina. While she rocked up and down on it she clasped Jane’s hoop-bound breasts in her hands and pinched and squeezed and twisted them until Jane sobbed and choked for breath as she bobbed her head frantically to pleasure her, with her nose buried in the scented cleft of her buttocks.
The woman reached down with one hand and rubbed her fingers through Jane’s sore wet, clamped, sex lips and across her hard clitoris. A woman had never touched her like that before and Jane felt a surge of revulsion. Yet as the woman climaxed and gasped as sprayed her juices over Jane’s face, Jane felt a brief illicit thrill as a reciprocal orgasmic surge flared in her loins.
What was happening to her?
***
Jane’s fourth visitor was a much younger man.
He was a small, skinny pale youth, perhaps just eighteen, with floppy dark hair and large glasses, wearing faded jeans and a shabby anorak with badges pinned to its lapels and carrying a notebook. She first noticed him just before her clock struck eleven standing outside the castigorium staring intently at a naked slave girl being led along a nearby path by her master. She had small silver bells pierced through her nipples and naked labia. Jutting out from the cleft of her buttocks was a curving sprung arm like a tail from which hung another bell
As she passed by the youth appeared to write something down his notebook. Then he came into the castigorium and walked around the compartments, which were unoccupied by visitors at that moment, peering in at the naked young women confined in them and making more notes. Jane twisted her head round to watch him through the intervening grilles. What was he doing?
He came into her compartment and peered down at the name and number stamped on her forehead and above her naked sex and stamped on the tag dangling from her collar and jotted them down.
And then Jane understood. It was absurd but totally logical in the circumstances: he was a slave spotter.
Her clock was about to strike the hour and she would get another thrashing… unless he had her. Oh God, what a choice! But then what pride did she have left? Wretchedly she bobbed her mouth phallus invitingly.
He came in and interrupted the clock mechanism just as it struck, making her sigh with relief. Then he stroked her trembling breasts and slid a finger up into her aching pussy slot, making her shiver. He grinned hugely with wide fascinated eyes, but he also seemed totally at ease with handling her helpless body, even though she was almost twice his age. Was this simply part of everyday life to him?
‘I don’t see so many older women in here,’ he said. ‘Usually they’re too sensible to make mistakes. What happened to you?’
As he spoke she saw a bulge growing in front of his trousers. Oh God, she really was going to be screwed by this boy! But then why wouldn’t he take advantage of her when it seemed to be the normal thing to do in this perverse place. At least she had been spared a thrashing.
Then she saw him pause and frown, and then flip back through his notebook as if checking on some earlier entry. His frown deepened as he examined her tag and then looked at the characters stamped on her forehead and stomach more closely.
‘That’s not right…’ he said.
Quickly he closed the compartment doors. Then he took a wet wipe from the dispenser and rubbed the lettering vigorously. The wipe came away dark with ink.
‘That’s not regulation slave ink,’ he declared. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially: ‘And you’re not NAIL 107 because I spotted her just last month and she had dark hair and was much younger.’
Jane shook her head, hope beginning to grow within her.
He unscrewed the dildo shaft from its socket in her mouth gag so he could examine her features without its distraction, peering into her eyes, reading her fear and confusion. ‘I know you. I’ve seen your picture somewhere recently. You’re not a slave. Who are you?’
She whimpered and moaned back at him.
Cautiously he pulled the phallic plug out of her mouth.
‘I’m Jane Frobisher the visiting artist,’ Jane sobbed in relief, the words tumbling out of her. ‘Last night I was taken from my house by masked men and brought here and I’ve been electrocuted and screwed and beaten… and please, please let me go… gluumphh!’
He had pushed the gag firmly back into her mouth, stifling her words.
‘I’m sorry, Jane, but I can’t do that,’ he said.
Jane felt her brief hopes melting away. How could he treat her like this?
Now he was staring at her intently; clearly excited but also deeply thoughtful. Then he looked about him to check no one was listening and said softly: ‘I suppose you find all this very strange, being an outsider…’
An “outsider”? Was that what she was here? And “strange” was a gross understatement of how she felt, but she nodded vigorously to both suggestions.
‘I’m Adam Sander,’ he said. ‘I’ve never talked to outsider woman before.’
Jane squirmed and made throaty noises, indicating she would like to talk back to him.
‘If I take your gag out you must be quiet and polite and not get emotional, do you understand? If any other people hear you and realize what you are it might start a panic.’
She did not understand why but she nodded again.
‘And call me “Sir”. That’s important. Do you understand?’
Just like the masked men had demanded. But she nodded anyway. Anything so she could speak again.
He took her gag out.
‘Thank you… Sir,’ she said meekly. It felt absurd to call a boy half her age “Sir” but she was no position to argue. So far he was the only person who had shown her any sympathy since this nightmare began.
‘Who were these people who brought you here?’ Adam asked.
‘I don’t know, Sir. They wore masks… but they said they were from the IRES, whatever that is. They marked me and put the collar and cuffs on me… and they said I’d be Mayor Goldsmith’s problem when I was found… ‘
That seemed to explain everything to Adam. ‘Ohh… them. I get it now. Yes, this is the kind of thing they’d do.’
‘Now please, Sir, can you let me go?’ Jane begged. ‘Or call the police… or something?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Adam said. ‘That’s what they want…’ He scowled and looked about him through the lattice screen and the open arches of the building out into the park. ‘We have to do this carefully. You’ll understand later but for now you just do what I tell you.’ He pushed her gag back in again. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can…’
Adam opened the doors of her compartment and left the castigorium.
Jane squirmed helplessly in shame and fresh confusion. If he knew she was an outsider and didn’t belong here, why couldn’t he just let her go?
***
Jane had entertained two more men in her little castigorium compartment and endured another mechanical thrashing before Adam returned over an hour later. By that time she thought he’d forgotten about her and was feeling sick with fresh despair while her body throbbed and ached with pain and dark lurking arousal. Her exposure and helplessness terrified and revolted her and she felt soiled and sickened by the cocks of the men who had used her, but she could not deny the strange stimulation that it also kindled within her.
The sight of Adam slipping in through the compartment doors and closing them quietly behind him brought her a strange surge of relief and hope.
It was evident he had been busy in the intervening period. He was no longer wearing his anorak and was now dressed in a white shirt with rolled sleeves and black trousers, which made him look a little older. He carried a large reusable shopping bag.
He sat on the side of the frame and removed her gag and said quietly: ‘Now I’m going to take you out of here without attracting any attention. I’ve brought everything we need. I’m going to make it look like you’re my slave out for a walk with me in the park.’
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