And then she saw a familiar looking man and woman leading a slave and for a moment she thought it was the Plowrights with Screw 361. A second glance revealed that it was not them, but the spell had been broken.
Cam saw her face suddenly fall and asked: ‘What’s wrong?’
Jane sighed. She hadn’t told them what had happened at the Plowrights. Now it felt like a memory she had to unburden.
‘Look, I didn’t say before but yesterday, when I went to that man’s house, the one who wanted me to paint a picture for him, he had me make love to his wife! While she was strapped upside-down to this wheel thing and he was beating her bottom and the Master was beating mine. I mean it was full oral sex with his wife and a strange woman he’d invited round to paint her in this thing! And the way he treated her… it made me feel sick. And that couple over there reminded me of them…’
Bolt and Cam looked dismayed, but not for the reasons Jane might imagine.
‘Ohhh… we’ve been hoping we’d be the first full on,’ Cam said in disappointment.
‘Yeah, we know you didn’t enjoy the dildo screwing and tonguing the Master had us give you, so we’ve wanted to do it properly with you for days,’ Bolt said. ‘Kind of show you how good it can be…’
Jane gaped at her. She still could not get her mind around Irontown slave thinking! ‘What?’ she said stupidly.
‘But if the master let you have another woman then there’s no reason we can’t now,’ Cam said brightly.
‘Yeah, let’s find somewhere quiet…’ Bolt said eagerly. ‘Come on.’
They began to drag her along with them heading for some trees.
‘No!’ Jane cried.
They looked at her in bemusement. ‘Why not? What does it matter now? Don’t you like us?’
How could she possibly answer that honestly? They had in their way been very kind to her, but this…
As she stood there paralysed by indecision, Cam asked: ‘It’s very simple: did you cum with this other woman?’
‘Well… yes…’ Jane admitted, blushing with again the memory.
Bolt and Cam each took a firm hold of her. ‘Then you can come with us…’ they said.
There were little sheltered grassy glades amongst the trees. Bolt and Cam threw down the picnic blankets they had brought and then pushed Jane down onto them. She felt their hot eager bodies pressing against her as they both kissed her passionately and she realized that her own nipples were hard and her sex mouth was growing hot slippery.
‘Somebody will see us…’ she said feebly.
‘So what?’ Bolt said. We’re just three slave girls having a fuck together… they can watch if they like… but they won’t stop us…’
‘That’s freedom,’ Cam added.
Their warmth and determination and intimate scent overwhelmed her. She struggled to breathe as one set of passionate lips and then the other were pressed to her mouth and eager tongues twirled about her own. They were kissing and nibbling at her hard ringed nipples and then working their way down to her groin, pulling her legs wide, meeting hardly any resistance. Cam’s tongue slid up into her hot gash and teased her clitoris while Bolt’s spicy brown pussy was pressed into her face. And helplessly Jane slid her tongue into it…
This was freedom…
The three of them rolled over together, tangling themselves up in their chains.
It was incredible…
And then came a rush of footsteps across the grass and a dark hood was rammed over Jane’s head even as strong hands grabbed hold of her. She heard Cam and Bolt’s cries of alarm suddenly being stifled.
Then somebody hissed in her ear: ‘So here we are back in the park again, Ms Frobisher.’
It was the voice of the IRES pain torch man.
Chapter Nine
Jane felt a thick elastic rope being bound about her head over the hood and hooked together behind her neck, digging it into her mouth and spreading her jaws, bunching up the fabric under it and stifling her cry of fear and anger. Her arms were twisted up behind her back and her cuffs were clipped together. She heard muffled gasps and whimpers from Bolt and Cam as they were also subdued. Then came two heavy sharp snicks and the chains linking her collar to theirs were severed. Her wildly kicking legs were contained and her feet were pulled together and her ankles were cuffed. Then a heavy elastic cord was hooked to the front of her collar. She was doubled up as it was dragged down between her breasts and across her stomach and through her groin and the gash of her sex lips, still wet with arousal, to hook onto her ankle cuffs. A second cord was hooked to the back of her collar and bound over her arms and folded thighs and about her shins and then back up to her collar again, its tension holding her doubled-up in a tight quivering ball.
She felt herself lifted bodily off the ground and dumped into the bin of a deep metal wheelbarrow already half-filled with leaves and grass cuttings. A sack was thrown over her and more cuttings were tipped over it. Then she was quickly wheeled away, bumping across the rough grass between the trees.
Dizzy with shock and sick with fear, Jane hardly had time to come to terms with what was happening before her strange ride ended. She was unceremoniously dumped out of the wheelbarrow onto the ground, picked up again and dropped into a crate barely big enough to contain her and from the feel of it lined with blankets. Its lid, also padded with blankets, was shut and latched and then there came the muffled slam of a vehicle door. The vehicle, whatever it was, started up. She had a sense of it passing slowly through a set of double park gates and then accelerating as it was moved out into the traffic of the town centre.
She moaned and strained against the elastic cords holding her bundled up but they absorbed her efforts and left her just as helpless as before. The air began to grow close and stuffy about her and she lay still, her heart pounding. She could do nothing but wait…
After five minutes and taking several turns the vehicle she was in pulled up again.
Still in her crate she was taken out of it and transferred to another vehicle which drove off again. They were taking no chances of being followed, she thought. But even after swapping cars the police could track her. As soon as they knew she was missing they would check CCTV recordings and follow her progress from the Park… Except that she recalled Adam saying that they did not need CCTV in Shackleswell because it was such a law-abiding place…
After perhaps half an hour of slow zigzagging progress about the town the new vehicle slowed right down, made a careful turn and came to a halt. The engine was turned off and she heard what might have been a garage door being closed behind it.
Her crate was lifted out of the car and opened up. She took in a great shuddering breath through her hood about her gag-plugged lips as the air within it had been getting frighteningly hot and close. The elastic cords holding her tightly doubled up were unhooked and she was unbent and thrown over a man’s shoulder. She squirmed in fear only to receive a hard warning slap on her bare bottom.
‘Hold still unless you want me to drop you!’ came the voice of the pain torch man.
Limp but shivering with fear, she was carried through a doorway, along the passage and through another door and then down a steep flight of stairs. Was she being taken into a cellar?
The pain torch man sat her down on what felt like a flat ring of cold iron about the size of a lavatory seat, so that her groin and lower buttocks and inner thighs hung over empty space. He pushed her back against a pair of vertical bars and clipped her cuffed wrist to them. She felt the trailing hem of her hood lifted at the back so that a short chain could be hooked of the rear ring of her collar, keeping her upright.
Without warning sprung metal jaws closed about her ringed nipples. There was a spark and crackle and a horrifying jolt of pain coursed through her breasts making her shriek a bite on her gag.
‘You remember that, don’t you?’ The pain torch man said. ‘Well unless you want another jolt at twice the power, you’ll hold still while I secure you, understand?’
Terrified, mute and blind, Jane nodded.
He unclipped her ankles and splayed her legs wide, twisting them out at the hips until they were spread as far as they could go with her knees hanging over the edge of the iron ring on which she sat. She felt more vertical iron bars being slotted down into the ring on either side of her thighs, holding them in place. Then her dangling lower legs were bent up under her as far as they would go and chains dangling from the underside of the ring were clipped to her ankle cuffs.
She felt and heard more bars being slotted into the ring about her and then more clanks of metal from above transmitted through the ring on which she sat as metal was joined to metal. Three more chains were clipped to the rings of collar, so that she was secured front, back and sides. Without disturbing the electric jaws clamped about them, chains were hooked through her nipple rings so that they pulled her breasts forward and apart, stretching them painfully out from her chest. Then she felt fingers on her labia rings, clipping chains to them and stretching them apart to expose her inner lips and the cleft of her vagina.
There was a whir of an electric motor above her and she felt herself together with the base ring and bars about her being lifted a short distance in to the air where she hung swaying slightly. There was a pause and she heard soft rustles of fabric. Then the cord bound about her head between her teeth came away and her hood was pulled off.
Jane blinked about her at a windowless space lined with what looked like sheets of black plastic. She suspended inside what was now a small cylindrical cage with a domed top just a little taller than she was, to the sides of which her collar, wrists and nipples were chained. Her breasts were stretched out before her into diverging shivering pink cones of flesh by chains attached to the cage bars in front of her. Looking below and between them she could see that her legs jutted out sideways between the cage bars and were secured under it so that her feet hung on either side of a low narrow bench with a padded top that passed beneath the cage. The naked mound of her sex gaped between her splayed thighs with her ringed labia stretched forward and outward between them by light chains linking them to the lower ends of the bars that formed the cage walls in front of her. She was utterly helpless and confined and yet also totally exposed from all sides and beneath.
Standing before her was the pain torch man dressed very different him from the last time she had seen. Now he was wearing a black leather execution style hood which draped across his shoulders and a pair of high black boots and between them nothing else, except for a broad leather belt from which hung a set of keys and a spanking paddle. He had wiry middle-aged body with greying chest and pubic hair, from under which rose a stiff penis. Helplessly Jane’s eyes fixed upon it and then shied away as she felt sick.
He held the pain torch control unit up for her to see with its cables still clipped to her nipples, which were throbbing in their bite.
‘This room is soundproofed so you can scream all you like now, Brush 01,’ he told her. ‘In fact I invite you to...’
He pressed the button on the pain torch again and Jane screeched as another double shock hammered through her clamped and stretched nipples. She jerked and bounced within the cage, making her chains rattle as it swayed.
‘Ah, yes… there is something most satisfying in hearing an attractive slave scream,’ he said with feeling. ‘But when you’re not screaming you will call me “Sir” or “Ironmaster”. That is my title as founder and chairman of the Irontown Rules Enforcement Society, which by now I assume you’ll have had explained to you. Do you understand?’
Trembling, blinking back her tears, Jane said meekly: ‘Yes, Sir.’
She wanted to shout and curse at him for what he had done to her now for a second time, but she knew that would be futile. She was absolutely helpless and he could do anything he wanted to her. Instead she struggled to keep her instincts in check and asked in the same meek tones: ‘What have you done with Cam and Bolt, the slaves I was chained to, Sir?’
‘Oh, we left them tied to a tree in the Park. They’ll have been found and freed by now. They don’t trouble us. They are proper Irontown slaves who know their place.’ She thought she saw his eyes flash through the slits in his hood. ‘But you do not!’ He reached through the bars and fingered her shiny collar, making her shiver afresh. ‘Still, at least they put you in a proper Vice collar and cuff set. No chance of you getting out of them.’
Again Jane asked meekly: ‘Why are you doing this Sir? You know I’m no threat to Shackleswell while I’m being kept here like a slave.’
Angrily he retorted: ‘Because the Mayor must have lost his mind making that bargain with you that they reported in the paper! Imagine risking the fate of our way of life on your goodwill and understanding. Is he such an admirer of your work? He actually expected you to be converted to our ways through pleading and a commission to paint a mural! You’re being indulged as an outsider celebrity, yet you are just an outsider female who’s contributing nothing to the town. He can’t even give you a proper part name. “Brush” is not a part but a tool, like a user family. But you can never be one of us…’ He reached through the bars and squeezed her stretched breasts. Then he ran his hand down to her open cleft and rubbed it and slid his finger inside her. She whimpered and tried to pull her legs together but the bars prevented it. He brought his hand away wet with her juices. ‘I watched you coupling with your sister slaves in the Park. Were you doing it of your own free will?’
When Jane hesitated he sent another surge of current through her nipples.
‘Awwww! Yes… yes… because I wanted to!’ she gasped, trying to make it sound defiant, although she was still far from sure exactly how to define what she had been doing with Bolt and Cam or why.
‘That’s disgusting! A slave of barely two weeks standing should not be allowed such freedom. This Adam Tapper who has been caring for you is as indulgent and weak willed as Mayor Goldsmith. You should be still be on a treadmill for four hours a day to get toughened up, in between being taught how to scrub and polish properly and open your legs on command to please your master!’
Jane gritted her teeth, taking a risk by saying politely: ‘I think you are a chauvinist and misogynist, Sir.’
But instead of getting angry he suddenly laughed. ‘Not at all. I love women… in their proper places as decreed by tradition and scientifically established function as servants and pleasure givers to men. And they need to be taught this through firm handling and strict discipline. Unmarried and ill-discipline women must be treated as parts, not tools, and be reshaped as necessary: the equivalent of being forged, hammered, milled and drilled. Since Goldsmith seems to have forgotten this, we decided it was our duty to intervene once again. We will see to it that you learn your proper place as an obedient Irontown slave so that Goldsmith will not dare let you leave. In that way we will demonstrate that we are better guardians of Rowland’s legacy than he is.’
The prospect was so terrifying that Jane felt her fragile self-control crumbling.
‘No… please don’t, Sir. I promise I won’t tell anybody outside Shackleswell about how you live here.’
‘No, you won’t! Because we you will make sure of it. We are going to teach you total subservience to iron and discipline until you cannot survive without it. You’re going to be passed between the senior members of the society so that they can each have a day with you to break you in using devices designed to teach you to serve and give pleasure as nature intended. And it shall begin with my screwing cage…’
He hung the pain torch controller on the bars of the cage and then picked up a hand control unit wired to the bench beneath her, from which a cable snaked up the plastic-covered wall and across to the electric winch in the ceiling from which the cage hung. The wire rope was wound in and the cage rose higher until her groin hung at his eye level.
The Ironmaster unhitched his spanking panel and Jane now saw its black rubber blade had metal studs embedded in it. He swung the paddle up under the cage into her buttock ch
eeks and the naked ringed cleft of her sex lips as they bulged through the empty middle of the cage base ring. The studs bit into her soft flesh and sparked and crackled. They were electrified!
Jane shrieked and jerked up and down frantically in her cage, rattling her chains and making it bounce and sway about. But of course she was totally unable to escape the rain of blows that the Ironmaster delivered to her poor exposed bottom and pussy mouth. The short chains connected to her collar ring held her in the middle of the cage and lifting herself upwards as far as her twisted and straining thighs could manage only stretched her chained nipples and labia which tried to drag her back down. She could not sustain such a position for more than a few seconds and she collapsed again only to be paddled even harder.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ the Ironmaster asked her.
‘Yes… yes, Sir, please stop please…’ Jane begged pitifully, tears now running down her cheeks to fall onto her stretched breasts.
‘Will you beg me to dildo you instead?’
‘Yes… yes, Sir… please dildo me!’ she sobbed, ready to agree to anything.
He stopped his paddling, leaving her bottom smarting and burning, and lowered the cage until it rested on the bench beneath her.
Peering down through misty eyes Jane looked through the middle of the cage base ring and saw that there was a slot in the bench top and some mechanism beneath it. The ironmaster pressed a button on the controller and it began to hum and something emerged up out of it.
‘No… not that!’ Jane cried.
It was a dildo shaped like a huge gleaming screw as thick as a baseball bat which was rotating as it rose.
It drilled into the maw of her sore gaping chained pussy, forcing the mouth of her front passage wide and driving up into her vagina. For a moment she feared the thing was solid metal but then she felt it was silvered rubber. But that was still quite painful enough. It began to pump and twist and buzz and churn within her, setting her buttocks shivering and her lower belly bulging. It was as bad as anything she had encountered in the museum, and yet she could not help responding to it. To her utter shame she felt her clitoris standing out hard at the crest of the shiny pink open valley of her vulva. Helpless as she was it was all she could do. Despite herself she began to groan and squirm her hips about.
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