In a way Adam was more understanding, even though parts of his explanation, delivered during breakfast, sounded as if he was quoting them from a textbook.
‘You came because that’s how women are made to respond to pain and sexual stimulation. It’s your way of coping. I didn’t expect you to enjoy it straight away. What matters is that you pleased me and I’m your master and that is how it should be. Most outsider women resist at first but you get used to it because that’s what normal is here. Eventually you’ll stop worrying about it because obedience becomes habit and then a comfort. Then you might start to enjoy yourself…’
And so with that horrifying prospect in mind Jane followed Adam out of the front door of Number 14; once more outwardly respectable in her slave coat while her pussy clenched about the plug of the wireless chain inside her.
They descended to the Old Tannery slave railway station again where Adam had her strip completely, except for her boots, before cuffing her hands behind her. He removed the terrible wireless chain plug unit, making her cheeks burn as other passengers looked on, and then secured the clip of the leather pussy leash in its place. He put the leash unit and her clothes in a bag and stowed them in the left luggage rack by the station ticket office.
‘You won’t be going anywhere outsiders can see you until we get back here,’ he said.
And so Jane took the train almost totally naked and pussy leashed. This time they changed at an intermediate station onto the Circle Line which took them around the city until it brought them to a station called MUSEUM HALT, where they got out.
The stairs leading back up above ground took them directly into a glass-panelled lobby in the heart of a lofty building with cast iron pillars and roof vault frames sheltering many aisles of exhibits, through which scattered groups of people could be seen wandering.
‘This is the part of the museum outsiders never see dedicated purely to a collection of Rowland’s girl operated machines,’ Adam explained enthusiastically as he led her out of the lobby. ‘He called the girls that powered them gynaetomatons or gynatons for short, meaning women who performed repetitive actions mechanically and precisely as required...’
Jane only half heard him. She was goggling about her in amazement at the multiplicity of strange devices that confronted her, along with a background hiss, rattle and whir of machinery. It could almost have been any industrial museum in the country, except none that she ever seen had naked women strapped, chained, bolted and impaled on, under and within its exhibits. She had imagined the slave railway had plumbed the depths of such mechanical perversion, but here flesh and iron were joined with even greater cruelty and fiendish inventiveness.
‘Slaves are often sent here to serve as demonstration models and to remind them of the history of Irontown,’ Adam explained.
And according to Bolt and Cam, sometimes they also came on their days off, Jane thought. How could they…
Along with the pulse of machinery were stifled sighs and moans, and mingled with the all-pervading smell of the grease and steam there was the intimate womanly scent of spilled juices. Gears turned and bodies were stretched and bent and pistons thrust up into helpless fleshy passageways. And there were men in sober dark uniforms acting as guides, explaining to interested onlookers how the devices worked and forced women’s bodies to serve their functions.
They came to a raised stand with a roped off square of carpet on it about the size of an average sitting room. In it a naked slave girl stood doubled over at the hips. Her upper body, angled downwards at about 45 degrees, was braced between the undersides of her breasts and the top of her hips by what looked like a riveted brass corset formed out of two halves held together by tight straps. Her outstretched arms, extending down on either side of her head, were linked and braced from midway down her upper arms to her wrists by a matching but slimmer brass sleeve, holding them rigid. A similar matching riveted brass band was bound across her mouth forming a gag.
Her wrists were cuffed to a pair of handles that she grasped tightly which were bolted to the top of what looked like the head of a large manual floor cleaner, also made a riveted brass, whose set of rotating brushes scraped across the carpet as she worked herself back and forward. A corrugated metal hose ran up from the cleaner head between her breasts, where it was supported by a light metal rod spanning between her nipples to which it was fastened by small spring clamps, and then under her stomach and between her thighs, where clips passed through her labial rings held it pressed tight up into her cleft. The end of the hose then curled over and passed into a cloth bag which was supported dangling between her thighs by a short rod and hook jutting out from her anus. As she moved back and forth the bag swayed and smacked against her thighs. Her spread feet were linked by an expanding rod, while a pair of long coil springs linked her ankles to the sides of the cleaner head, so that she could not stand upright.
As she worked her body back and forth her breasts, hanging semi-inverted, bobbed and swayed, tugging on the rod that connected their nipples, and her exposed anus clenched about the hook rod hanging from it
A museum guide standing by the roped area was explaining to a small crowd of onlookers: ‘…and this is one of the first gynaton-powered domestic cleaners. As you can see it incorporated Rowland’s principles of reward for work and effort. The cleaner wheels drive not only rotating brushes but a pump that drives the dust up the hose slung beneath her. As it passes between her legs it transmits the pump vibrations to her clitoris so she is encouraged to work hard and force more dust up through it into the bag. This hangs from a rectal plug and its increasing weight allows her to judge how well she is doing her job…’ He turned to a bucket of dry dust, sand and ash at his feet and he used a scoop to scatter a fresh splash of dirt across the carpet. Almost eagerly the girl shuffled across to it and began pumping away, cleaning it up again. Jane could see the flushed intent expression on her face as she was used as a domestic appliance…
Adam took up her camera which he had slung about his neck and began taking pictures of the girl. ‘You might want to put her into your mural,’ he said.
Suddenly the thought of painting an image of this poor girl on top of the oppressive unreal atmosphere of the museum was too much to bear. She had to get out of here.
Jane tried to pull away from Adam back the way they had come. But he drew her up with a sharp jerk on her leash that stretched her pussy lips and brought her to her knees whimpering in pain.
While a cluster of visitors looked on with disapproving frowns Adam glowered angrily down at her. ‘An Irontown girl never defies her master in public!’ he said, not loudly but with terrible menace. ‘You need a serious lesson in obedience. And this is just the right place for it. This way…’
He dragged her hunched over after him along one aisle and down another until they reached a small display podium that contained a square of polished brass railing size and height of a small table that enclose a frame supporting at the same height as the railing a pair of slender horizontal mangle-like rollers sheathed in black ribbed rubber. Beneath them was an array of vertical wheels with limp long rubber lashes connected to them. A pair of crank handles extended from the sides of the device under the railings. The shorter one was connected to the rubber rollers and the other longer one, via cogs and chains, to the wheels beneath it.
Standing beside the device with her wrists cuffed to this handle and her ankles to the podium was a naked blonde slave girl. A hinged telescopic strut rose up between her legs. Its end was forked with a rubber plug going up into her anus and the other branch supporting a vertical spur-like rubber wheel the size of a saucer which was gouged deep into her sex cleft. She had a kind of metal strap bridle locked over her face so that only her bright eyes showed between its bands. They fixed on Jane with interest.
Holding Jane by a fistful of her hair, Adam pushed her hips against the rails and bent her body forward so that her breasts dangled against the divide between the pair of rollers. With his free hand he t
urned the crank handle connected to them.
Jane screamed as the rollers both turned inwards, their clinging rubber ribs pinching her breasts between them and dragging them downwards until her chest was pressed hard against the tops of the rollers while her breasts bulged out beneath them like a pair of painfully taut pink water balloons. Adam locked the crank handle in place.
‘This is what it feels like to be in the power of a machine,’ he told her.
He unclipped the leash from her pussy rings and stood back. But she did not need the leash to hold her in place now. Squirming only twisted and tugged on her imprisoned breasts. She was trapped helplessly bending over the rail of the device with her bottom thrust out while staring down at the lash wheels set in its base, just beginning to appreciate their purpose.
Adam said to the slave girl: ‘Crank her until she wets herself in pain…’
The girl began to turn her larger crank handle. The wheels set in the base of the device beneath Jane began to spin, throwing the rubber thongs fastened to them upwards and outwards. They swiped across her bulging breasts, smacking into them from top to bottom and side to side, beating her nipple rings into her flesh and then seeming to try to rip them off her teats. Another wheel spun up between her thighs, driving them apart with its flailing lashes which then cracked into the naked mound of her vulva, tearing at her pussy rings, and curled up through her buttock cleft to smack across her out-thrust cheeks. She felt her flesh being smacked and pummelled and smarting with terrible growing heat.
Jane screeched and wailed about her ball-clamped tongue and squirmed frantically, but she could not pull herself free from the terrible breast-clamping rollers. The relentless tearing pain ripped through her and hot tears welled up out of her eyes and fell onto the whirling lashes. Through her tears she was aware that her cries were attracting other visitors who crowded round to gawp at her and take pictures of their own. What a disgusting spectacle she must make!
Beside her the girl was groaning as she cranked the handle, but not in pain. As she worked herself back and forward the sprung rod between her thighs was churning the rubber spur wheel in her cleft which was sucking and dripping upon it even as her lips rippled as the rubber prongs tore through them. Jane could smell her arousal. How could she get pleasure from doing this in public? And then Jane realized that her own ringed nipples were standing up hard and the thongs tearing through her labia were coming away wet…
She recalled the terrible mechanically powered lashes in the castigorium and Adam’s electric whipping and screwing in the park and how she had reacted to them. But that had been mild compared to this…
Swish, rasp, slap, thrash! The girl at the crank was panting and close to orgasm while Jane’s tits and pussy and bottom felt as if they were on fire. There were dozens of eyes staring at her. It was all too much to bear…
A jet of hot pee spurted from her cleft and splattered over the museum floor.
Some of the onlookers laughed and cameras clicked.
The slave girl stopped cranking, sagging across the handle as she clenched her thighs together about the spur wheel which dripped with her juices.
Jane slumped half insensible over the device, breathing raggedly, her breasts still clamped tight, her cheeks blazing red from tears and burning shame.
Adam stepped forward and felt the heat of Jane’s buttocks and the simmering lips of her sex, wet both with unwilling lubrication and her shamefully passed water. Then he reached under her and cupped her burning globes and throbbing nipples. Then he bent over her and put his lips to her ear.
‘You will never ever embarrass me in public again, do you understand?’
Jane sobbed and nodded frantically.
‘I thought you were intelligent, but that was stupid. I know this is new to you, but by now you should have realized that the better you behave the less attention you draw to yourself. If you had more self control you would not have been punished and humiliated like this. Have you learned your lesson or shall I ask the girl to give you another cranking?
Jane shook her head wretchedly.
‘Are you going to be my good and obedient slave from now on?’
She nodded frantically. At this moment she would agree to anything.
‘Now shall we continue gathering references for your painting?’
Jane nodded. Yes… That was all she wanted to do. Take lots of pictures of girls and machines. They belonged together…
Adam re-fastened the leash to her pussy rings and then cranked the roller handle reverse, squeezing her breasts back up and out through them. She whimpered in pain as her sore globes were mangled once again.
Then Adam led her off and she followed with her head bowed shamefully, shuffling quickly forwards so that the leash would not be drawn tight and yank on the rings piercing her now simmering sex lips. Had he beaten and shamed her into subservience as easily as that? She was a free and independent woman! But this was Irontown and she was naked and he had a leash hooked to rings through her labia and right now she was terrified of him and would follow wherever he led…
‘Next you’re going to see how Irontown girls can be useful and productive while getting healthy exercise,’ he told her.
Behind her a hobbled slave girl shuffled into sight carrying a mop and bucket and began cleaning up the mess Jane had made on the floor. She had just wet herself naked and in public in a museum! Was it possible to do anything more shameful?
***
The slave mill was a cast iron frame treadmill with slender spokes over seven feet in diameter mounted on a horizontal axle supported from behind by a heavy iron post bolted to a low solid wooden base. Yard long wooden slats formed the rim of the treadmill like an open drum. Behind it, driven by gears connected to its axel, was a vertical bucket chain connecting a lower water tank to a higher one that stood like a miniature water tower above it, with pipes leading off it to another display area behind a tall iron lattice dividing panel that stood behind the wheel. Projecting in through the hollow hub of the wheel into its interior were three hollow iron rods the thickness of scaffolding poles. One jutted straight out and the others bent left and right through two right angles like embracing arms.
It was a Victorian design but still in perfect working order and free for visitors to use, so Adam had put her inside it.
As Jane stood meekly on the inside of the ring of slats the central axle rod pressed against hollow of her back, held there by a broad belt buckled across her stomach. The first of the two angled rods curved round in front of her chest. It carried a pair of chains which were hooked to her nipple rings and a second set that hooked to her labial rings. Adam had adjusted them so they were taut. The second angled rod went behind Jane so that its end hung just behind her bottom. Fitted to it was a wooden board studded with the tips of metal tacks. From under the base of this board a thinner curved expanding metal rod extended forward between Jane’s legs. Half way along it was an anal plug which was embedded in her rectum. The tip of the rod then curved up into the cleft of her vulva where it branched into a rubber dildo which was buried in her vagina and a small metal clip which was pinched about her clitoris. Small sprung hooks on the sides of dildo base were hooked into her labial rings, keeping it in place.
Beside the wheel was a pedestal with brass control levers on it. Adam stood in front of it.
‘The tether rods are controlled by governors behind the wheel,’ he explained. ‘Keep up a steady pace and your bottom won’t get pricked and your rings won’t get yanked and you’ll be rewarded for carrying water up into the top tank and where it can be used to power other machines. This is not a punishment but exercise combined with teaching you that being useful and productive can also be pleasurable. That’s the most important lesson an Irontown girl can learn…’
Adam worked the controls and the spiked pad behind Jane began to sink towards her bottom, guided by the rod in her rear. As it pricked her already tender bottom she yelped and lunged forward as if to escape it. Of co
urse the central rod and belt held her in place but she still took a stride and then another as the wheel began to turn under her feet, setting the bucket chain in motion and starting to carry water up to the high reservoir tank. As it did so the rod in front of her also twisted, pulling on the chains attached to her nipple and labial rings, stretching her simmering scarlet flesh. She ran faster to ease the tension, speeding up the bucket chain, even though every stride stretched her sore bottom while her heaving, bouncing breasts burned and ached. The rod before her dipped again and the chains hung loose, jingling as she ran. And now the rod supporting the spiked pad also twisted, pulling it away from her flesh, expanding the anal rod shaft as it did so but still keeping the plug within her.
Then she became aware that the tip of the curved shaft between her legs was vibrating, making the dildo plugged inside her vagina and the clip pinched about her clitoris shiver as well. And the faster she ran the more intense it became. She was being pleasured by Victorian vibrator which she was powering herself by running like a hamster inside an iron treadmill!
Feeling a sudden blush of shame and acute embarrassment at what she was doing Jane slowed down only to feel the spiked pad begin to smack against her red rolling buttocks again. With a sob she speeded up and the spiked pad lifted away from her while the dildo and clitoral clip vibrated ever more strongly. Despite everything she had suffered that morning she could feel her lovemouth beginning to respond to the relentless stimulation. Her labia were engorged and growing hot and slippery with her juices.
Adam was taking pictures of her running and sweating and getting more aroused, even as the sweat stung her sore nipples and buttocks and sex lips. There were people passing by stopping to look at her, watching her glossy bouncing breasts and hard nipples from which hung her glittering rings, like those which dangled from the lips of her dripping pussy mouth. She had never felt more aware of her own body and the hot liquid lust growing in her loins.
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