The men who had brought out the barrel took hold of her wrist and ankle cuffs and clipped them to the hooks and chains set in the four corners of its base. Then they turned the windlass handles, pulling her tightly down over the barrel until she was stretched taut. Her breasts slid entirely through the gaps in the iron bar mesh and hung down inside the drum, while the flesh of her belly and thighs bulged partway through them. The hook in her cleft was driven hard up into it making it impossible for her to pull herself off it. All this could be seen between her spread legs which exposed the lower curve of her naked cleft, which was already wetting and swelling with nervous excitement, and greased pucker of her anus.
Then one of the men took up position by the crank handle extending from its side, while the other stood by with a bucket and sponge and a large brass douching syringe.
‘What have you to say to us?’ the Ironmaster prompted Jane.
‘Please… Sirs… I beg you all to take pleasure from me as you wish while I suffer…’ Jane choked.
The audience applauded again while their cocks grew even stiffer.
‘Begin…’ the Ironmaster said.
The man standing beside the barrel began to crank the handle. The leather straps within it began to turn, swishing and slapping against the bars of the lower curves of the inside of the barrel. As they turned faster it seemed as if they began to howl and growl as they spun outward and upward and swiped across the upper curves of the barrel, through which Jane’s breasts hung.
She screamed as the fine leather straps smacked against her pendant breasts and exposed belly and the fronts of her thighs. But in doing so they also slapped the protruding end of the metal T-bar, setting it vibrating furiously in its rubber socket and transmitting this vibration through to the hook dug into the top of her cleft. It was if her clitoris was attached to a water barrel sized vibrator motor!
An arc of pain and pleasure seemed to connect her frantically stimulated clitoris with her burning bouncing breasts. Then the Ironmaster stood between her legs and lay forward across her body as bowed over the curve of the barrel and slid his hard shaft up into her vagina. As it filled her it was caressed by the vibrations from her shivering clitoris.
Already stimulated and excited by the vibrations coursing through her body, it only took the Ironmaster half a dozen thrusts to come inside her. He rested for a moment across her, listening to her sobs and moans with satisfaction, and then pulled out of her, trailing his sperm across her thighs. The man with the bucket, syringe and sponge came forward and began to flush her out and wiped her clean. Meanwhile the Ironmaster moved round the barrel to the side where Jane’s head hung low. He took hold of her by her hair and lifted her head and pushed his soiled cock into her mouth and she sucked and licked it clean and choked out a desperate: ‘Thank you… Master…’ between her whimpers of pain.
Even as she did so the next man took his place between her thighs and thrust his hard eager cock up into her meekly waiting rectum.
When the Ironmaster shaft was clean, he pulled it out of her mouth and dried it off on her hair.
It was while the third man was screwing her that Jane came, both from the feel of his penis inside her and the relentless stimulation of her clitoris even though her breasts were still being slapped relentlessly by the spinning straps and felt by now as if they were on fire. Or did that help? Pain and pleasure were meant to be the same thing, weren’t they? Of course they were if her master said they were…
As the orgasm overwhelmed her Jane thought her mind would explode along with her loins. Some of her expelled juices joined the sperm of the man who had ejaculated into her. Before the man with the sponge and bucket could clean it up this mingled mess dribbled over the rim of the pussy hook plate and down into the barrel and onto the spinning straps and added a sticky wetness to their sting, which they beat back into her breasts. The watching men cheered…
***
At some time later, Jane was not sure how long, the man ceased to crank the spanking straps and the barrel fell silent under her. She was unchained and taken off it. By now her breasts were an even rosy red and there was a grid-like pattern of tanned skin across her belly and thighs which burned and simmered. Her anus and vagina ached abominably and her mouth tasted of every flavour of sperm. Had every man in the room really had her, and then used her mouth and hair to clean and dry his cock afterwards? A long forgotten part of her, or so it seemed, insisted that it was awful and disgusting and insulting. But she felt guilty at the thought and told herself that it was perfectly right and proper for a slave girl to be used like this.
However by now she could hardly stand and needed to be held upright before the Ironmaster. He examined her trembling body and squeezed her burning breasts and pinched her aching sex lips and asked: ‘Do you want to face the next test, Brush 01?’
‘Yes Master…’ Jane croaked feebly.
‘Then lay out the track…’ he commanded.
***
The miniature rail track was set out on the floor in the shape of a figure of eight, and was clearly meant to represent Shackleswell’s underground girl railway, but with just one carriage large enough for a man to sit on and one living engine: Jane. But unlike the system of pedals and gears the living underground trains used to propel themselves and their carriages forward, Jane shuffled along with her hands and knees on the outside of the track.
She had a short hollow rod clenched in her mouth threaded through which was a long elastic cord which ran out of each side and down her chest to her nipple rings to which hooks tied into the elastic cord were fastened. From them the cord went down under her belly to her groin and a second set of hooks which were attached to her labial rings. The ends of the cord, emerging from between her thighs, were tied to a separate iron ring which was hooked to the front of the little carriage.
As she shuffled round the endless track, the elastic cords stretched under her, spreading the load she pulled between her mouth, and nipples and sex lips. Being elastic the cord was constantly flexing, stretching her nipples and breasts and pussy lips into impossible distended shapes. With almost every shuffle she whimpered and moaned with pain, and yet she kept on going because this was her only way of showing what a perfect slave she was.
It wasn’t easy of course, which was why she was so grateful that she had encouragement from every man who rode in her carriage. They each carried a rod with a spiked ball in its tip which they jabbed into her bottom as it rolled and strained invitingly before them when she slowed down to encourage her to try harder. When she started her buttocks were still quite unmarked because they had escaped the terrible beating of the lashing barrel. But after a few laps of the track they were sore and bleeding from numerous pricks and stab wounds.
Trickles and drips of blood ran down her thighs and dripped onto the track to join the drips from her pussy which, despite everything it has already endured, was somehow still aroused by this new ordeal…
‘Eeeek!’ she screamed about the rod clenched between her teeth as her passenger had stabbed the spiked ball this time up into the wet cleft of her sex mouth. She had almost collapsed and orgasmed at the same moment. Pain and pleasure were one… Shaking her head she struggled on.
Round and round… Make a complete circuit and halt and a fresh man clambered into her carriage. How many had she given a ride to now? She had lost count. It didn’t matter. She would continue until she dropped. She had to prove that she was a proper Irontown slave. Actually it was getting hard to believe that she had ever been anything else. This was all there was to her life. She was a totally subservient piece of female flesh obeying the orders of her masters’. At last she knew her place…
From somewhere distant she heard a crashing sound and then the shrill blast of whistles. Her carriage tipped over as her passenger half fell out of it, painfully jerking on her coupling cable. She stopped, unsure what to do, blinking about her through tear- crusted eyes and only seeing blurred shapes. There were sudden cries of alarm fr
om the IRES men in the chamber which were then drowned by the approaching rush of heavy booted feet and the bursting in of a door somewhere in the shadows.
An authoritative voice called out loudly: ‘Police! Don’t try to escape. We have the building surrounded…’
There were struggles and scuffles and shouts which were quickly subdued. Then the IRES men were being led out of the chamber, leaving her terrified and confused. What was happening? Where was her master?
Then somebody was unhooking the elastic cords from her nipples and labia and taking the rod from her mouth. A tissue was wiped across her misty eyes and she found herself looking into Adam Tamper’s face. He clipped his shiny Vice chain leash back onto her matching collar.
‘It’s all over now, Brush,’ Adam said. ‘You’re coming back with me now…’
And then the lie she had been living for the past week shattered and melted away and Jane burst into tears and collapsed into Adam’s arms.
***
A couple of hours later Jane lay cocooned in blissful comfort in a private room in Shackleswell Hospital. She had almost forgotten what it felt like not to be bent, twisted, screwed, or lashed by some cruel machine and its even crueller users.
The injuries she had sustained at the hands of the IRES had been professionally treated and she would be kept in overnight for observation and then discharged back into Adam’s care. But being an Irontown institution she lay on her sheets totally naked with her arms and legs slackly chained to the side rails of the bed which had a sign over it that read: Brush 01, property of A. Tamper. A cooling gel pack was clamped over her groin with the very Irontown additions of phallic tubes that extended into her vagina and rectum, soothing her internal bruising. But although her treatment had eased her physical symptoms it did not wipe out the memory of those dreadful machines or her gang bang… or what was even worse, that she had actually begged for it.
Adam and Mayor Goldsmith were with her, looking suitably concerned but also hardly able to conceal their satisfaction. This was going to be another journalistic scoop for Adam while Goldsmith had rid his town of a social problem.
‘There is a locator beacon concealed in your collar, Brush,’ Goldsmith explained. ‘One of Vice and Sons best pieces of work. We were constantly monitoring your movements but were waiting for as many of the society members as possible to gather before we staged our raid.’
Jane said with feeble anger: ‘So it was all a setup. You used me as bait, Sir. You knew they’d make another attempt on me. I bet you two worked all this out the first day Adam brought me to you while you were having lunch together.’
‘That’s more or less correct,’ Goldsmith admitted. ‘Cam and Bolt knew nothing about it and Adam was only doing his civic duty in assisting me, but yes, I used you just as you say. I’m sorry but it was necessary. The IRES had been causing too much unrest to be permitted to continue with their campaign. Really they brought about their own downfall. If they had left you alone in the first place none of this would have happened and you would have left Shackleswell none the wiser. But once you were involved and knew our secret I thought I would take advantage of the situation. Advertising our agreement by way of Adam’s newspaper articles made it likely that as soon as you were somewhere out of his direct control they would try something again. And they did…’
A wave of anger swelled within her together with an uncomfortable degree of self revulsion. ‘They brainwashed me! Then made me believe that I should be a slave and prove it to all of them… they all screwed to me… and made me think it was right… and I… I came even though they were doing all those filthy sadistic things to me… ‘
‘Don’t feel guilty,’ Goldsmith said. ‘You simply adapted to survive, which you have. Women are very good at that.’
‘When Irontown men give them no choice, Sir,’ Jane retorted with as much spirit she could muster.
‘Don’t judge the rest of us by the actions of the IRES. They believed such simplistic mechanistic theories that they imagined they could break-in and convert any woman into a perfect slave in a week with the help of a few machines. Complete nonsense of course and a gross distortion of Rowland’s original principles. You know for yourself how shallow your apparent conversion was. Any woman can be temporarily forced to behave like a slave but she must wish to be one deep down and respect her dominators to embrace it as a permanent way of life.’
His words stirred a dark fear within her which she concealed by asking quickly: ‘What were their real names, Sir: the so-called “Ironmaster” and his friends, I mean?’
‘Does it really matter? They were deluded, self-important men who hid behind masks and let their ambition exceed their ability. I’m sure you’ll be able to read all the details in Adam’s next article.’
‘What will happen to them, Sir?’
‘Oh, they’ll be charged with theft and misuse of course.’
‘“Theft and misuse”?’
‘They took you from Adam and used you without his permission.’
‘Oh, of course…’ That was all she was: property.
Goldsmith smiled. ‘And also with your original abduction as a free woman and plotting to disturb the public peace. I suspect they’ll be heavily fined and put on probation. But worst of all they won’t to be allowed to keep slaves again.’
‘That’s a punishment, Sir?’
‘In Irontown that’s a disgrace. This town was built upon the enlightened confinement, usage and labour of female slaves and we are thankful to them. But if somebody is denied the privilege of keeping them then they are no true Irontowner, but then I already suspected that. You said this “Ironmaster” thought your part name was not appropriate. He should have realized that it was entirely suitable. A “brush” is both a part: a contact in an electric motor, and a tool, but not simply for painting but also for scrubbing and sweeping. And I used you to clean them up!’ Jane groaned and hung her head again while Goldsmith rubbed his hands together as if washing them clean. ‘And now, with that annoyance out of the way, you can return to working on the Town Hall mural.’
Jane goggled at again. ‘You still want me to do that, Sir?’
‘Of course. It was a perfectly genuine commission, and as our agreement stated you won’t be freed until you’ve completed it.’
‘After what I’ve been through you think I’d paint a picture for you celebrating your… your sick society!’ Jane exclaimed aghast. ‘Not after what those IRES people did to me!’
‘Are you going to let that stop you? Irontown was not built upon weak women but strong ones. In the outside world this experience might have caused you debilitating emotional stress, but not here. You might say that is the spirit of Irontown.’
‘No… I can’t…’
‘You will do it, Brush,’ Adam said masterfully. ‘That’s an order!’
‘Yes, Master,’ Jane said automatically, lowering her eyes meekly in almost slavish compliance. There had been iron in his voice that was impossible to resist.
‘Well, now I must leave you to recover, Brush 01,’ Goldsmith said. ‘And thank you once again…’
And he left.
‘There are two people who want to see you…’ Adam told her. He went outside and came back a minute later leading Cam and Bolt in by their leashes. Their faces lit up in delight at the sight of her.
Adam fastened their leashes to the head of the bed. ‘They’ll stay with you tonight so you’ll have company. That’s the best medicine…’
He left the room and immediately Cam and Bolt clambered onto either side of the bed and snuggled down next to Jane, kissing and stroking her all over. Their passion was a delightful distraction. But then the questions began…
‘Oh… do they hurt?’ Cam asked, kissing her bruised nipples. ‘How did it happen?’
‘What happened after they snatched you in the Park?’ Bolt demanded, peeking curiously under her gel pack at her bruised sex lips. She added resentfully: ‘Just when we were having so much fun as well…�
�
In their way they were truly sympathetic and yet also clearly desperately eager to hear every gory detail. They were sorry for her suffering, but it was not shocking, at least not to other slave girls. But telling it again would stir up such terrible memories. On the other hand would it be even worse to keep it bottled up inside her for ever?
‘Do you really want to know?’ she asked.
‘Of course we do!’
So Jane took a deep breath and told them everything.
Chapter Twelve
Ten days later, Jane stood in the town Hall exhibition space together with Cam and Bolt, staring at an intimidating expanse of primed white wall...
Apart from lingering stiffness and aches inside and out, physically she had more or less recovered from her ordeal at the hands of the IRES, but emotionally was something else. Confessing what she had endured to Cam and Bolt had helped, but by any normal standards she was in no fit state to work and should be receiving intensive counselling for the acute and prolonged sexual trauma she had undergone. However this was Irontown where a slave woman, which was what she still was in practice, was expected to recover from such things more rapidly and pragmatically. Nobody was pretending it hadn’t happen and Cam and Bolt had been most sympathetic and understanding, but once she was safe even they assumed that she would get over it in a few days. They accepted that it been a frightening experience and that she had been used roughly, but only as was her function as a part and a tool and in doing so she had performed a valuable service to the town, which should be sufficient compensation. The IRES threat had been neutralised and she was back with her master and them and safe again. They were very happy to give her any pleasure she wished to take her mind off what had gone before and continue their relations from where they had been broken off sp abruptly in the Park. What more did she expect?
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