Irontown 1: Student Maids

by Adriana Arden

  The source of the excited voices was also now explained.

  In the playground a few dozen naked, collared, tied and ringed girls, watched over by more black-robed, cane-carrying and cock-flashing teachers were spread out about a court. They were cheering on two teams of six female players, equally naked, who were passing a yellow inflatable ring between them in an effort to throw it over large angled phalluses that took the place of the hoops on netball posts at each end. However, the girls were not using their hands to pass and throw the hoop because they were cuffed behind their backs. The roots of half metre long inflatable phalluses of red or blue plastic had been plugged into their vaginas in some way and secured in place with their labial rings. They jutted at an angle up from their loins where they bobbed and swayed as they moved. They were stabilised to a degree by elastic cords connecting the middle of the shafts to the girls’ nipple rings.

  As they scampered about trying to pass or intercept the ring, breasts and phalluses sometimes bounced in rhythm and sometimes in opposition, jerking on their nipples. With the hoop hanging on her phallus one girl attempted to score. She spread her legs, bent over and then straightened up quickly, flipping the ring off the end of the phallus and sending it over the heads of the defending players. Her breasts were stretching out into points and then snapped back into heaving globes as the tension on the cords was released.

  Both players and spectators seemed oblivious to the perversity of their situation and were participating with all the excitement and involvement of a normal team game, heedless of the exposure of their naked bodies. Mel’s eyes passed across the assortment of multi-tinted flesh on display, much of it sheened with sweat. Almost all were girls of about her age. They held hands, had their arms about each other or were even cupping their partners’ bottoms. Mel found herself gaping at vari-coloured and different sized nipples, bare pouting clefts, jiggling buttocks and even the dark flashes of anal mouths as players bent over. It was literally a school for enslaved girls. It was so sick and yet she could not help staring. She squirmed awkwardly and rubbed her thighs together.

  Bradawl tugged on the chain clipped to Bolt’s labial rings and with a yelp she followed after him, dragging Mel and Cam along in her wake with their newly ringed breasts jiggling as they stumbled to catch up.

  As Bradawl led them along the side of the playground Mel cringed in sudden acute embarrassment. She was naked outdoors in a place that recalled childhood bad dreams of shameful exposure before her friends. Now she was being doubly humiliated for real, far beyond her worst nightmares. However, the spectators and players did not give them a second glance.

  ‘You’ll get plenty of exercise in one form or another while you’re with us,’ Bradawl remarked. ‘You have to be fit to be a cog in Shackleswell. Mens sana in corpore sano: A healthy mind in a healthy body.’

  Mel blinked incredulously. They called this healthy?

  She saw one of the masters, whose cock had risen into erection, come up behind one of the girl spectators, take her by the collar, bend her forward and enter her without ceremony from behind. Had he gone up her rear? It had been so quick Mel was not sure. The girl braced herself against his thrusts with her hands on her knees while both continued to watch the game. The girls about her hardly glanced round as she was sodomized.

  Bradawl led them up to the rear entrance of the school. Above it was what had to be a coat of arms. On a shield of blue was an embossed image highlighted in gold. It showed a naked woman chained spread-eagled within the ring formed by a huge cogwheel. On a scroll beneath it was a motto in Latin: “Ferrum quod viscus iunctus.”

  ‘That’s the motto of Shackleswell,’ Bradawl said. ‘It represents the union of body and machine. It means: “Iron and flesh joined.”’

  Mel’s ringed nipples throbbed in sympathy.

  Bradawl led them inside and along a high echoing institutional corridor to a door marked: Classroom 1. Within was a lofty room with pebble-glass windows. A couple of large store cupboards rested against the walls. There was a large teacher’s desk, bare except for a laptop. Facing the desk were a row of three chairs of odd design. On the wall behind it was a large interactive whiteboard.

  Bradawl began unhooking them from their coffle and sitting them on the chairs. When she saw the fittings Bolt shied away and received another couple of warning flicks from Bradawl’s cane.

  The chairs were of heavy plywood and tubular metal. They had wooden backrests and armrests but only half a seat. A triangular section had been cut out of the front of each. In the middle of the small padded ledge at the back to support their buttocks rose black rubber dildos with bulbous heads and slender tapering necks. The girls groaned as they were made to sit on them, driving them up into their rectums with little pops as their anal rings swallowed them up, closing with disturbing relief about their narrower roots. Bolt snivelled as she sat down and Mel wondered how much it hurt to sit on her sore bottom with her anus was plugged. Cam was trembling as her own weight forced the dildo up inside her while Mel felt sick as she was impaled on her chair. There seemed to be no end to the ingenuity of these people when it came to restraining and humiliating young women.

  Snap hooks on the chair arms and legs clicked into their cuffs. Once they were seated, additional broad black rubber straps went across their necks, waists and thighs, holding the girls firmly in place. The sponge ball gags were replaced by heavier rubber bits, the ends of which were hooked to elastic cords fastened to the backs of the chairs. The tension not only held them firmly in their mouths but also pulled the girls’ heads straight if they tried to twist them to one side.

  Extending in loops from the backrest of each chair over their shoulders was a pair of crocodile clips on coiled electric wires. These were clipped to their nipple rings. Mel shivered at the threat they carried. How could they do this to them? Yet why were her nipples still hard? She looked slyly sideways and saw Cam’s were also standing up and Bolt’s were even bigger, her areolae bulging into domes about her nipple heads. Was it impossible to get them down once they had been ringed?

  As the front legs of the chairs were set wider than the back this reduced the seats to little more than angled wooden padded ledges that only supported their thighs if they splayed them wide. This left the pouting swell of their vulvas exposed and vulnerable. This was accentuated by the short elastic cords bolted under the side ledges, the ends of which Hawk hooked to their labial rings, pulling their sex lips wide and exposing their tender inner valleys. Below their stretched and gaping pussies was a frame that supported a plastic bucket. From under the rear of the seat was a bracket on which was mounted a slender vibrator pointing vertically upward at the open mouths of their sexes.

  By then Mel would have denied anything could further deepen her sense of shameful exposure and despair, but she was wrong. Small LED lights came on about the cutaway rim of the seat illuminating her groin. Forcing her head down she saw there was a tiny camera lens set in the front of seat staring up into her peeled-wide vulva.

  When they were secured Bradawl took up his position behind the desk so that their gaping sexes were facing him and they could see his naked cock. He touched a key on the laptop and the screen behind him came to life. It was split into three sections, each one showing a close-up of one of their pussies as seen through the mini-cameras on their chairs. The rings piercing them were as big as dinner plates and the numbers and letters stamped on their mounds stood out like shop signs. The tiny apertures of their urethras were clearly visible while the crinkled mouths of their vaginas looked as though they could climb through them. The fleshy hoods of their clitorises were big enough to wear and looked suspiciously swollen. Below the swell of their vulvas they could see their anal mouths clenched about the bases of the plugs that impaled them. At the bottom of the screens were the heads of the vibrators.

  They snivelled and groaned, squirming in their bonds in shame as they instinctively tried to close their legs. None of them had ever seen their most intimate par
ts displayed like this before, like fleshy orchid flowers. Mel felt an additional blush of shame as she found her eyes lingering on the sexes of the other two. Bolt’s dark cleft was a little longer, she noticed, while Cam’s pouted a little more.

  Bradawl spoke. ‘Gryndstone is Shackleswell’s school for lost girls, for that is what you are at the moment: lost, worthless, rubbish.’ He indicated the images of their genitals on the screen. ‘Right now those are the most interesting and useful parts of you. They can be used to give pleasure, as storage devices, anchoring sockets and, by the careful application of stimulation, a means by which you can be controlled. At Gryndstone we will teach you to use them and the rest of your bodies properly and productively. You will not graduate until you are all fit to live up to the new names you now bear and take your places as components of the greatest machine there is: Shackleswell itself!

  ‘I shall supervise your schooling and help teach you how to become fully functional girlcogs. The three of you will train, study, eat and sleep together as a unit. You will learn proper manners and deportment, how to work together efficiently, to give pleasure and above all…’ he glared at Bolt, ‘… you will learn how to obey without question. When you leave Gryndstone you shall be fit to serve in any capacity in Shackleswell.

  ‘Each of you has come here by different means and for different reasons. Those reasons you may wish to keep to yourselves for now, as do most of our girls, because they often involve personal hurt or shame, but there will come a time when you will have to face them.’

  The three of them were still for a moment. We all have secrets, Mel thought.

  ‘The means, however, are more general,’ Bradawl continued smoothly. ‘Through agents countrywide we run the Shackleswell Project, which is a re-education and rehabilitation programme for young female offenders. Some think it is a soft alternative to prison and assume we are bunch of naïve do-gooders. As you can see this is not the case.’

  Mel saw Bolt stiffen in her chair.

  ‘A variation of this programme is also offered for those who have had problems and setbacks in their lives and who are looking for a fresh start. Of course they also are destined for Gryndstone.’

  Now Cam turned her head aside.

  ‘Then there are those who are simply escaping from something without any clear destination. We have an understanding with certain commercial drivers to look out for runaways who fit our criteria and bring them here.’

  Mel sagged. That was how it happened. The lorry driver had seemed so sympathetic she had mentioned she had family problems and admitted she was heading for London with no plans. It had not been chance the local police were waiting to arrest her on a trumped-up charge. She had been so naïve…

  ‘You may be wondering how long we can hold you here. The answer is as long as we wish and you require. We will make arrangements for you to send messages to friends or families assuring them you are well, so no alarm will be raised. We also have countrywide contacts in influential positions who support our work and record of success turning wild girls into respectable citizens. Local authorities are glad to save themselves the time, money and aggravation involved in caring for troublesome girls. As long as certain paperwork is correctly filed they’ll happily forget they exist. So you see nobody is going to rescue you from Shackleswell. Perhaps you don’t deserve to be rescued.

  ‘You are all in your varied ways victims of cowardice and failure to face your problems or try to improve your circumstances. Many other girls of your age have suffered as you have and they do not all end up where you are now. Your worst crime is that you’ve given up on yourselves! We’re the only people left to care about you because we see you as a valuable resource going to waste. Therefore, since you have forfeited your right to self-determination, we have assumed it for you. We have the means to mould you into better, more useful, civilized, beings, both mentally and physically. Some girls come to us who have been abusing their bodies with junk food, drugs, drink and tobacco. All that stops here. You, like they, will live healthy lives and put your bodies to a better use. You will learn how to become the well-oiled cogs of society and not grit in its bearings. We shall give you a sense of purpose and pride in yourselves. Your training will be hard but the method is proven. We’ve had plenty of opportunity to refine it. Shackleswell has been taking in and correcting wayward girls for over a hundred and fifty years. You might say our town was built on the bodies of young women...’

  Bradawl tapped his laptop and the image on the screen changed to show a stark black and white photograph of a stern-faced man with mutton-chop side-whiskers and a stiff white collar.

  ‘This is William Samuel Rowland: 1819 to 1884,’ Bradawl said. ‘He was a Victorian inventor and freethinker who built much of Shackleswell and its industry so successfully that for a short time during the mid-Nineteenth Century…’ he paused and quickly touched a key on his laptop.

  Mel’s body arched against its straps as shocks stabbed through her nipples like hot needles, turning them into beacons of pain that radiated electric fire through her breasts. She bit down on the bar of rubber filling her mouth as a shameful wail of pain was forced out of her. Her hands clenched, driving her nails into her palms, and her creamy breasts shivered violently. On either side of her Bolt and Cam were suffering the same agonies. She heard a hissing sound. Cam was peeing into her bucket. The pain ceased abruptly and Mel sagged in her bonds, blinking tears from her eyes while her nipples throbbed and tingled. Saliva and teardrops ran down her chin and dripped onto the upper slopes of her heaving breasts.

  ‘You may have found history lectures boring in the past, Bolt 184,’ Bradawl said severely, ‘but you will pay attention to this one and not look away again. As I have already made clear, disobedience, inattention or poor performance from any one of you brings down punishment upon you all. Do you understand?’

  They all nodded miserably, although Bolt did so only with an effort.

  Bradawl resumed his lecture with their eyes now glued to the screen. ‘As I was saying, during the Nineteenth Century Shackleswell rivalled Sheffield in the production of industrial machine parts, for which it won the nickname “Irontown”…’

  The images on the screen changed to show stages in the growth of Shackleswell with factories springing up, and houses and roads spreading out from its centre. As they flashed before them Bradawl touched another key on his laptop and Mel felt the vibrator head rising up in its mount and begin to slide through her gaping sex, stroking her clitoris as it pulsed and buzzed softly. From the squirms the other two were making it seems they were feeling the same thing. What sort of game was this?

  ‘Rowland embodied both radical thinking and conservative and, by modern standards, highly chauvinistic ideals,’ Bradawl said. ‘In common with most Victorians he believed men were inherently superior to women. It was how he applied such beliefs to his business plans that made him unique. He was concerned about the number of men had been killed fighting in foreign wars and feared what would happen to his remaining workers if another war depleted their numbers further. He needed a stable workforce he could rely on.

  ‘He also hated to see any resource go to waste, such as potential workers being unproductively locked in jail for minor crimes. These he blamed partly on poor social conditions but mostly on an excess of drink and frustrated sexual desire. If the intake of one could be diminished and the other more easily satisfied, he reasoned, this would lead to a stable society and a contented and more productive workforce. Pub opening hours in what was virtually his own town could be controlled and prostitutes could always be hired, however, he hated the squalid nature of the profession. He believed sexual activity could be regulated and controlled by more orderly and rational methods.

  ‘Rowland began a series of experiments that would solve all his problems. He demonstrated that on the small scale and over relatively short distances, the human body was a very flexible, efficient and non-polluting power source when coupled with suitable mechanical systems.
He also discovered that though they were physically weaker than men, females were easier to train to function in this way, as long as they were properly prepared mentally and physically. Rowland did not approve of corsets, believing they damaged female health and decided their figures, strength and endurance could be improved and maintained by proper exercise and a healthy diet. Any clothing might catch in machines so it was removed. For the same reason the hair on their heads was kept short or tied back while their pubic hair was completely removed. A naked body could be more easily assessed for its health, simplified punishment if it was required and also helped keep women in a proper mental state of submission and obedience.

  ‘Gradually he developed a system of manufacturing and distribution based upon girl-powered and operated machines. He called these girls: “gynaetomatons” or “gynatons” for short, meaning a woman who performed actions mechanically and precisely as required. They could be used to power many different devices…’

  A new picture appeared showing Rowland seated in a light cane chair that rode upon a box frame with a single tiller-controlled wire-spoked steering wheel at the front and two larger drive wheels at the back. Sandwiched between the upper and lower faces of the frame were two naked women. They lay side by side on their backs with their heads facing forward and were held in place by heavy buckled straps about their necks, waists and arms. The framework was just deep enough to contain them except for their crooked knees that rose up through slots in the frame behind the driver’s seat. Their feet were strapped to pedals connected to the axle of the rear wheels. Their breasts protruded through smaller padded slots in the frame on either side of Rowland’s feet.

  Mel felt the vibrator purr a little more strongly against her by now wet slot. Despite her fear and confusion she felt her clitoris pulsing in response. Stifled groans from the other girls suggested they were experiencing the same sensations, but they kept their eyes fixed on the screen.