Once again the man, her ‘surgeon’, went about his work in silence. Squeezing out some petroleum jelly from the tube he rubbed it thickly over her breasts and pubic mound until they glistened. Then he plugged a hose from the machine into the valve on top of a small tube. He pressed the tube against her breast over her right nipple so that its flared mouth fitted snugly. He flipped a switch on the machine and turned a dial. A pump hummed as it began to suck the air out of the tube enclosing her nipple.
Vanessa gave a squeak as her flesh tingled and her nipple bulged upward. The stinging became more intense and the band of flesh about the tube rim felt as though it was being stretched and squeezed. Her swollen nipple was going deep pink and the stinging had become hot and cold needles jabbing into her.
The surgeon turned off the pump, closed the valve on top of the tube and unplugged the hose, leaving the tube stuck on her breast like a tiny lighthouse perched on a mound of rock. Trapped inside, her nipple burned and stung as it slowly went from pink to purple. Vanessa moaned in dismay. The surgeon took up another small tube and repeated the process on her left nipple. It was just as painful. By the time he was done, Vanessa’s eyes were wet with tears and she had two throbbing purple nipples trapped in tubes that swayed and trembled as her chest rose and fell.
Then he moved round to her legs. Vanessa squirmed and gurgled in futile protest. He pulled out and adjusted something from under the table and then turned on the monitor screen. Vanessa twisted her head to one side and saw a close-up view of her vagina, shiny with grease and her own arousal. She was on CCTV. Plugging in a smaller tube to the airline, the surgeon prised open her labia and fitted the tube over the swell of her hooded clitoris and then began to suck the air out. Vanessa bit on her gag and whimpered. On the screen her clitoris, bulging red and wet and flushed with blood was drawn out of its hood and crept slowly up the tube, engorged beyond anything she’d ever known before. Then the surgeon locked the valve and pulled the hose off, leaving the tube with her most sensitive organ bulging within it jutting out from her by now steaming cleft.
Vanessa thought there was no more he could do, but she was wrong. To her horror he selected a much larger, squatter plastic tube the size of a small basin and plugged that into the pump. He fitted the dome over her right breast, wriggling it tight while still leaving it clear of the tube already capping her nipple. Then he turned on the pump. Vanessa sobbed and moaned. Her whole breast felt as though it was being sucked up the dome sides, swelling and stinging and tingling and going pink and then purple before her eyes. The surgeon closed the valve and pulled off the airline, leaving her breast encased like a taxidermy specimen under a glass dome in a museum. Fitting another large tube over her left breast he repeated the process.
Then he took up a shallower dome with a contoured lip and a flask attached to its valve and moved between her legs again. She craned her neck, peering down at him between her stinging, pulsing, vacuum-domed breasts and then turned to the monitor. No!
He fitted the dome over her vulva, its curves following the lines of her delta and cupping its pouting swell and the small tube over her unnaturally swollen clit. The pump began to suck air out of the dome. Vanessa felt her labia sting and become puffy while eerily the air was drawn out of her front passage. The suction began to affect her bladder and she felt the pressure building up on her sphincter, the other side of which was being drained of air through her urethra. Suddenly she could not hold back and her hot pee spurted into the dome, filling it with mist and trickling down the insides as condensation.
The surgeon chuckled at her disgrace. Was this his revenge for peeing on him?
The pump continued drawing out air and her fast-evaporating pee was sucked out of the dome and condensed into the flask beyond the valve, keeping the airline clear. The dome cleared and her vulva bulged further, turning pink and purple and stinging ferociously. She felt the external pressure building on her lower stomach as her vaginal passage pricked and burned and was squeezed tight. He was going to suck her insides out!
The surgeon stopped the pump, closed the valve and unplugged the hose. Vanessa groaned in relief, though the pain had not gone away. He picked up the spanking paddle and stood back, silently watching her sob and squirm as the feeling drained out of her breasts and vulva, fading to a vague sense of compression and spreading numbness.
Fear filled her. How numb could she get? She wailed behind her gag, pleading with her eyes.
Suddenly he stepped forward and began cracking open the valves. Air hissed into the breast tubes and pubic dome. He yanked them off and did the same to the smaller tubes over her clit and nipples.
For a few seconds she felt warmth about her tormented glands and a huge sense of relief. The surgeon parted his coat to expose his erection, moved between her legs and pushed his cockhead under her swollen projecting clit and between her purple labia. As he forced his way up her numbed passage, blood began to flow slowly back into the cold flesh of her breasts and vulva. Drawing back his arm he began to smack the purple mounds of her breasts even as he thrust his cock deeper into her.
Vanessa shrieked as his cock seemed to burn inside her and her cold breasts bounced sluggishly, the imprint of the paddle lingering as darker marks on their surface. Then the returning blood began to surge and with it came pain. She clenched her fists and writhed in her straps as blood throbbed and pins and needles became burning pins and needles as sensation returned with a vengeance.
He was raining blows forehand and back across her breasts and nipples, battering the blood back into them and filling them with burning, pulsing life. Her clit was filling with pain and gross overstimulation. It was swollen and utterly exposed. His pubic bone was grinding against it, crushing it with every thrust. It was impossible to feel more. She was bursting!
She convulsed and came and fainted.
Her breasts and vagina stung all day as she lay strapped to her ward bed, the lingering suction tube marks on her vulva and breasts turning by stages back to pink speckled with purple within still-pale rings. Her clitoris remained unnaturally swollen and prominent, pulsing and throbbing. It was painful when other clients used her. She caught Julie 5 giving her concerned glances as she passed by.
That night in the darkness gnawing doubt assailed her as it had occasionally during these last few months when she slept alone.
Was this all madness? Why did she subject herself to such pain and humiliation from total strangers and put herself at the mercy of sadists on an industrial basis? Was it sick to enjoy it? All right, so she was a masochist and submissive but she didn’t have to broadcast it. She could find a master or mistress to serve and keep it private and lead an outwardly normal life. GN could find a new reporter …
And Kashika? Would she leave Shillers to be with her? She was dedicated to the slave life. And she did admire the Director so …
Damn, fuck and damn …
She was woken from exhausted sleep by a hand being placed over her mouth. It was still dark and silent in the ward. Lips brushing her ear whispered: ‘It’s me, from reception the other day. Call me Red. This is the last chance I’ve got to have you. It’s all right, I’ll do all the work …’
Vanessa felt the bedhead lowered, a gown rustle to the floor and then a warm bare scented body reverse-straddled hers. Even as soft thighs slid past her cheeks she felt breasts flatten onto her stomach and lips brush her pubic bush. A warm bare wet cleft settled over her face and automatically she nuzzled into it and began to lick.
In turn a tongue delved into her sore cleft, kissing her clit tenderly. Red said: ‘You really suffer for your work, don’t you? I so much respect that. In fact all you chain girls amaze me. I could not do what you do. You’re the best …’
Red’s tongue slipped in deeper and Vanessa sighed, filled with sudden contentment.
Perhaps all of it was worthwhile. The company gave her what she could not find alone: a caring family who above all understood what she was.
Vanessa was stil
l feeling on top of the world as she drove home late the next afternoon.
Once more she was respectably dressed with a scarf hiding her collar. Outwardly she was a normal woman but at heart she knew she was and always would be a Shiller slave. The suction marks on her breasts and vulva had faded, leaving only a lingering tingle. No doubt there would be other marks to replace those in due course but she would bear them with pride like her chain sisters. Belonging felt wonderful.
She’d spent the day doing interviews, taking some background pictures to set the scene for her article and along the way managing to pose Julie for a photo while sneaking a goodbye kiss. But her story would be built first and foremost about what she had experienced first-hand. That’s what her readers expected from their own slave reporter.
Her mood had been further lifted when she checked her phone messages before setting off and found one that said simply: WAITING FOR YOU, K. Before Vanessa had left for the clinic Kashika had said she hoped to be allowed time away to welcome her back. And there was no welcome more passionate than that given by her slave girl lover.
Vanessa got caught up in the evening traffic and it was gone half-six when she parked round the back of the slightly shabby nineteen-thirties block of flats in Richmond, on the third floor of which she lived. She climbed the stairs with a spring in her step and latch-keyed herself into the small hallway of her flat.
‘I’m home, lover,’ she said cheerfully as she went through into the sitting room.
Kashika was waiting for her … naked and bound to a chair, a strip of silver tape over her mouth and a look of terror in her lovely eyes. Before Vanessa could react, shadowy figures closed in from either side and grabbed her arms. Some small hard device was jabbed into her side; there was a crackle of electricity, a searing jolt of pain and then blackness.
Three
THE FIRST THING Vanessa saw when she opened her eyes again was Kashika. She felt weak, nauseous and horribly confused and the sight of someone so lovely and reassuring was a balm to her addled senses.
‘Kashika’ meant ‘Shining One’ and she was a rare and striking blend of Scandinavian and Indian. Mellow golden hair contrasted with her coffee-tinted skin, her face was almond-shaped and very beautiful. She had finely shaped neat breasts with dark nipples and a full deep cleft capped with curls the colour of dark honey with golden highlights. Her groin was so well displayed because her thighs were splayed wide and legs crooked, with her feet pulled round the back of the front legs of the dining chair she was sitting in. Silver tape bound her ankles. About her neck was a red metal collar inscribed: KASHIKA 5 CHERRY.
Then Vanessa noticed the fear showing in Kashika’s face and shook her own throbbing head, trying to think clearly. She realised that she had also been stripped down to her collar. She was kneeling unsteadily on the carpet, being supported by somebody grasping a handful of her hair. There was tape over her own mouth and about her wrists, binding them behind her back. Her side stung where she had been zapped and there was a tingling and twitchy tremble in her limbs.
The curtains were drawn and the light was dim, but she could now see two other men, apart from the one who had hold of her. They were dressed alike in black; jeans, zip-jackets, gloves and balaclavas, exposing only their eyes. One had a phone earpiece strapped over his head and was speaking into the microphone:
‘… yeah, we’ve got the second one. No problem …’ He glanced at Vanessa. ‘She’s coming round now. The flat’s secure. The Indian girlfriend, Kashika, was preparing a dinner for two when we took her. No other visitors expected so we can work from here as planned until you’ve got her to play ball. You want us to go on with stage two …? Right, we’ll set things up like you said. Give us ten minutes …’ He motioned to his companions. ‘Get them into the bedroom.’ He picked up a large holdall that had been resting in one corner.
The man who had hold of Vanessa’s hair pulled her to her feet and then bent her forward, forcing her to stumble along with him towards the bedroom. As he did so he looked her over and said: ‘They must have really pissed him off to deserve this. And why’s this one got a collar on as well? “Vanessa nineteen white” it says. What the fuck’s that meant to mean?’
‘We’re not getting paid to ask questions,’ the man with the headphone said tersely.
‘I think they’re a couple of hot dykes who like to play pervy games with each other,’ said the third man, tilting Kashika’s chair back and dragging it after Vanessa. ‘See, they’ve both got the same rings in their cunt lips.’
‘You a pair of lezzies, then?’ the man holding her asked Vanessa rhetorically. ‘Ever had a proper man inside you?’
‘You’ll have one soon enough,’ the third man promised as they dragged the girls through the door into the bedroom.
‘Shut your mouths and do your job,’ the phone-man said.
The realisation penetrated the sick fear and confusion clogging Vanessa’s thoughts that this was no ordinary break-in or robbery. She and Kashika had been deliberately targeted. The men had captured Kashika and then waited for her to return to the flat. They must have been watching for some time to establish their routine and know Kashika would be there to welcome her. But the men didn’t know anything about their collars or what they signified. They were being controlled by whoever was on the other end of the phone. Somebody who wanted something badly enough from them to go to extreme lengths to get it …
Kashika’s chair was set down beside the bed and Vanessa was forced onto her knees beside her. Kashika twisted her head round to look at Vanessa. Her eyes were wide and fearful, but her cheeks bunched as she forced a smile against the resistance of her tape gag. Vanessa smiled back as bravely as she could. Whatever the men intended doing it could not break the bond between them.
Unzipping the holdall, the phone-man took out a laptop that he set on the dressing table, aligning the eye of its inbuilt camera with the bed. The laptop screen came to life. It showed a graphic image of a single unblinking malevolent red eye that seemed to be staring right through them, taking in every detail of their naked bound bodies. Kashika whimpered and turned her head aside while Vanessa forced herself to stare back defiantly. Who would hide behind such an intimidating image?
The phone-man tapped his earpiece and listened for a moment, then said:
‘Strap her to the bed on her back and put the other one on top of her …’
The two other men lifted Vanessa onto the bed. Instinctively she kicked and struggled until one of the men slapped her on both cheeks hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, quelling her feeble show of resistance. From the holdall the phone-man took out a bundle of padded bondage cuffs, some paired and some trailing lengths of rope, and gave them to his companions. They buckled the single cuffs about Vanessa’s ankles and then dragged her legs wide, tying the ropes to the posts at the foot of the bed. Then, flicking open switchblades, they cut the tape from her wrists, replacing it with more cuffs, pulled her arms wide and secured them to the head of the bed.
Vanessa tugged at her bonds but the cuffs were secure. She was helpless in a way she had not known for a long time and desperately frightened. This was not the delicious fear she had known in the clinic at the hands of an approved client but the gut-wrenching fear of unknown terror. She raged at her impotence, but what could she do?
Then Vanessa saw her own reflection, spreadeagled, red-eyed and desperate. It was in a large picture mirror with a natural wood frame that hung on the wall opposite the foot of the bed. The mirror was hung at such an angle out from the wall that anybody in the bed could see herself reflected in it. Yes, there was one slight chance, but for it to work she must play for time any way she could.
They cut Kashika free from the chair, cuffed her wrists behind her and then buckled single cuffs about her upper arms. The trailing ropes were tied between her arms and then up under the back of her collar and down about her wrists, forming a rope handle. Using this Kashika was hauled onto the bed and dropped on top of Vanessa’s spre
adeagled body.
Kashika squirmed desperately as they touched, rubbing her cheek against her lover’s, her deep eyes briefly filled with joy. Despite Vanessa’s fear it felt wonderful to have Kashika’s warm body pressed against hers, her pale breasts flattening against Kashika’s more pointed cones, their pubic bushes mingling, inhaling the scent of her once more. Nothing could take that away from them.
The men were looking down at them and laughing.
‘They look like they’re having fun,’ observed number two.
‘I said they were dykes,’ said three. ‘What about making them fuck each other first?’ he asked the phone-man.
They were getting seriously distracted, Vanessa realised, and like most men would in the circumstances they were starting to let their cocks rule their heads. Could she make use of that? She began squeaking and nodding frantically. Kashika caught on and copied her, adding pleading moans and a suggestive wiggle of her hips. They must have looked both comic and pitiful in their sudden desire to enthral their captors, but it was their only weapon. The men chuckled cruelly once more.
‘See, they want to put on a show for us,’ number two said mockingly.
The phone-man bent over the bed and pushed Kashika to one side so he could look Vanessa square in the face. ‘You want to say something?’ he asked.
She nodded again eagerly, trying to put as much suggestive passion as she could into her eyes and the muffled sounds issuing through her gag. She thought: Come on I’m hot! Why not try me? We can’t escape. You’ve got nothing to lose …
He touched his headphone and listened for a moment, then said into the microphone: ‘Maybe she can give you what you want without … I know what I’m being paid to do but it can’t do any harm to … right …’ He held the tip of his switchblade to her right nipple, which was shamelessly and defiantly erect. ‘You know what’ll happen if you try to scream or do anything stupid?’
The Girlflesh Castle Page 5