‘We all passed!’ Amber declared. ‘Miss Kyle said she was very proud of us.’
‘But are you feeling all right?’ Vanessa asked anxiously, trying not to look directly at Kashika yet desperate for reassurance. She received a chorus of replies mingled with rueful grins:
‘Yes, but I could hardly walk afterwards.’
‘You’d never believe how that much oral makes your jaw ache.’
‘I think I’ve got a sandpapered cunt, but OK otherwise.’
‘My bum-hole feels like it’s one big bruise.’
When they had quietened down, Amber asked tentatively: ‘Can we ask you to take a message to Miss Kyle? Something isn’t quite right.’
At last, Vanessa thought. Despite what they’ve just said it’s becoming too much for them. They’re rebelling. Aloud she said: ‘Of course. What do you want me to tell her?’
‘Well, it’s not fair Yvonne has that counter wheel handle stuffed up her arse when she’s as sore as we are. We were wondering if we could take turns being rear girl …’
Miss Kyle beamed in satisfaction when Vanessa relayed the Chain’s request.
‘That’s just what I was hoping they’d do.’
‘What have you done to them to make them want to share the pain, Miss Kyle?’ Vanessa demanded.
‘It’s what they’ve done to themselves. It’s called chain love, Vanessa.’
The next couple of days passed as uneventfully as was possible inside the Shiller building. The Cherry Chain girls swiftly recovered and were returned to a full programme of demanding and degrading training, in the perversity of which they seemed to revel. Zara kept Vanessa busy recording their activities in between writing worthy but bland articles about the doings of Shillers’ numerous subsidiaries for Datumline magazine. It was all becoming frighteningly routine, and occasionally Vanessa forgot she was working in an office naked and slave-chained. At nights in her flat she masturbated under her bedclothes and thought about Kashika.
Then one morning Vanessa walked out of the lift into the fifth-floor lobby and saw Kashika on display in front of her.
It was as though she had become part of a living sculpture. She was encased in a double interlocking spiral of gleaming tubular metal that rose from a black marble plinth. A bright metal strap circled her head, holding a ball-gag in her mouth. Her arms were raised and secured with matching metal cuffs to the apex of the spiral above her head. The inside curves of the spiral bristled with metal spikes that seemed to menace Kashika with their points. Her legs were spread and cuffed to the base of the spiral arms. A tongue of ribbed metal curved up from the plinth between her legs, as though licking at the exposed pouch of her sex. It was wet with her juices.
Beside her was a notice:
I AM ONE OF THE PRIZES IN THE
CHERRY CHAIN RAFFLE.
PLAY WITH ME AT HOME FOR A NIGHT!
PROCEEDS TO THE CHARITIES ALLIANCE.
BUY YOUR TICKETS NOW!
Kashika was facing the lift doors and grinned around her gag when she saw Vanessa. She worked her hips back and forth suggestively over the arch of the metal tongue lapping at her pussy, as though offering herself. Vanessa goggled at her stupidly for a moment, drinking in her perfect figure, gave a nervous smile and half-wave, then hurried past her to Zara’s office.
Had somebody specially chosen to put Kashika on display on her floor? It might be a joke of Miss Kyle’s. But was it meant to tease or subvert her?
‘One girl’s been put on display on each floor,’ Zara explained when Vanessa reported to her. ‘You’d better take a picture of each girl in case we want it as a background to coverage of the draw itself.’
‘Why not a run a competition?’ Vanessa said. ‘Choose the best piece of modern art to include a living slave-girl!’
She was being sarcastic but Zara seemed to take her seriously.
‘That’s an idea. Get several shots of each girl and we’ll run a gallery of them.’
So Vanessa had to go from floor to floor taking pictures of each Cherry girl. She soon realised they had been put out in chain order, with Amber on show in the first-floor lobby and Yvonne in the twelfth. It was just chance than put Kashika on floor five … she hoped.
The girls were displayed in varied and degradingly ingenious ways.
Amber had been bound like a mummy in strips of clear plastic and was suspended from a gibbet-like frame. Charlotte was hung on the wall inside a large gilded picture frame, to which she was tied in a squatting position with thighs splayed wide by dozens of cords. Fiona had been set on her hands and knees on a waist-high plinth, held in place by a dozen adjustable clamps, whose metal jaws closed about her legs, arms and neck, squeezed her breasts, and even reached into her mouth and held her tongue in check. Holly was suspended like a puppet by heavy chains that also looped between her legs, diving into the furrow of her vulva. Lisa had been tightly wrapped in chicken wire, so that her nipples squeezed through its lattice, and laid on her back on a long narrow black table like an offering. Madelyn stood contorted within a series of asymmetric horizontal bars that forced her bottom out, her stomach forwards and pinched her breasts between them. Olivia was bound tightly to a polished wooden ‘X’ cross by numerous loops of white rope in contrast to her dark skin. Rachel had been tied to what looked like a large cartwheel mounted flat on the floor, so that the hub pressing into the small of her back lifted her hips invitingly. Tina was trapped upright and spread-eagled between two wire lattices strung within a large metal hoop, the tension on the wires digging into her skin and squeezing her breasts between them. Victoria stood imprisoned and rigidly erect within what looked like a free-standing wooden shelving unit, formed in two halves with scallops cut out for her neck, chest, waist and wrists, knees and ankles. Finally Yvonne lay on her back, weighed down by concentric rings of heavy black chain, across a large white plastic dome.
The girls were gagged but none were blindfolded and all could be freely handled by anyone who cared to do so. They were living artworks; there to be enjoyed as much for the tactile pleasure they gave as their visual appeal. They responded to the strokes, pinches, prods and fondles with helpless squirming, muffled grunts and whines and bright excited eyes.
Vanessa found the sight of them displayed so publicly both erotic and disturbing. She wondered who had designed the settings. Some thought had evidently gone into them. Did Shiller include among its subsidiaries some firm of perverted sculptors? She had a sudden crazy vision of the imprisoned girls being put on display in the Tate Modern and having art critics arguing whether they were art or pornography. Both or neither? She was not sure any more.
When she delivered the pictures to Zara she could not help speak out.
‘Do they have to be shown off like this, Mistress Editor?’ she asked.
‘Now they’ve gained confidence they like being shown off to people. The attention makes them feel important. Being on display excites them.’
‘But raffling them off as though they were prizes in some show! It’s sick!’
‘I heard from Denise that you suggested they be put in individual cells for breaking-in. Being taken home is far more secluded than that. It’s wonderful experience for the girls to serve one or two people in an intimate domestic setting for hours on end. Afterwards they’ll swap stories about how they were treated with their Chain sisters. They’ll enjoy it!’
‘How would you know, Mistress Editor?’ Vanessa retorted sharply.
Zara looked at her in thoughtfully for a long moment, then picked up her phone and dialled. ‘Hallo Jude … You know that girl spy I told you about … Yes, the one with the lively tongue. Well, I’m bringing her home tonight to play with, so get the toy box out.’ She rang off and gave Vanessa a wicked smile. ‘Now you’ll find out what the Cherry girls will be feeling … and maybe one or two other things as well.’
Zara took Vanessa home in the boot of her car. For the first time in over two weeks she left the Shiller building without being locked into her sp
ywear. But there was absolutely no chance of escape.
Vanessa lay on her side on a blanket, curled up in a ball with her wrists cuffed to her ankles, which were in turn secured by heavy cuffs linked by a short rigid bar. An additional chain ran from the bar up between her thighs to her collar, preventing her from straightening out. Bungee cords ran from her collar and cuffs to eyelets set in the floor, holding her firmly in the middle of the boot space. A blindfold covered her eyes and a broad gag-strap with an integral pear-shaped rubber plug filled her mouth. She could neither call out nor move enough to bang on the side of the car in the faint hope some passer-by would hear her. She was totally helpless, her stomach churning at the thought of what Zara had planned for her.
Eventually Vanessa felt the car turn into a short drive and enter what she took to be a garage. The engine was switched off and she heard the whine of a powered door. The boot was opened, she felt Zara unfasten the bungee cords and then her collar chain. Her wrists were freed from her ankles and she was seated upright. Zara pulled the blindfold off, leaving Vanessa blinking in the white strip light that illuminated a garage lined down one side with tidy shelves.
Zara took a fistful of Vanessa’s hair and twisted it hard. ‘While you’re in our house you won’t speak a word, because play-bitches don’t talk! You’ve had enough to say for yourself so far, now it’s time to listen and learn like a proper reporter. Understand?’
Vanessa nodded and whimpered.
Removing her ankle hobble, Zara led Vanessa through a side door into a well-fitted kitchen. A woman who had been seated at the kitchen table got up as they entered.
‘I’m home, Jude,’ Zara said cheerfully.
Jude was an attractive, fortyish blonde with a shining creamy smooth skin. She was shorter and plumper than Zara, with prominent breasts. She came forwards and kissed Zara on the lips with uninhibited affection, then looked Vanessa up and down.
‘So this is Vanessa. You’re right, she is pretty. Let’s have a proper look at her …’
Leading Vanessa by her cuffed hands, she bent her backwards over the kitchen table. With her free hand she squeezed and pinched Vanessa’s breasts and tested the firmness of her stomach. A casual slap on the inner thigh made Vanessa spread her legs wider so that Jude could examine her pubes. She stroked Vanessa’s soft curls, flicked the swelling nub of her clit, making her yelp behind her gag, and probed the mouth of her vagina.
‘Already juicing, that’s good,’ Jude said, withdrawing her wet and sticky fingers. She smelt the exudation. ‘Nice …’ she offered her hand for Zara to sniff.
‘I know,’ Zara agreed. ‘She’s a natural slut at heart, but she won’t let herself admit it.’
Jude grinned. ‘Then we’ll have to see what we can do to change that.’
Jude flipped Vanessa over on to her front so that she could view her bottom, cupping and kneading the pliant hemispheres, then pulling them apart to examine the rose of her anus.
‘You didn’t have her washed and greased?’
‘I thought we could do that.’
Jude grinned. ‘That’ll be fun.’ Suddenly she slapped Vanessa’s bottom sharply three times in quick succession, making her soft flesh jump, leaving her handprint emblazoned across both buttocks and bringing tears to her eyes. She bent her head close to Vanessa’s ear. ‘Tonight you belong to us. You’re our slave-slut and we’ll do what we like with you. Nothing else matters but your absolute obedience and our pleasure, understand?’
Vanessa nodded, trembling both in fear and in shameful excitement.
‘Right, let’s get some paws on you and then you can start acting like the bitch you are …
Vanessa was on her knees and elbows in a corner of the kitchen, her rear facing Zara and Jude as they sat and drank coffee at the kitchen table.
They had removed her gag but she was too cowed to think about making a sound out of turn. They had put tight, fingerless rubber mittens on her hands similar to those she had seen the Cherry girls wearing. Their supper was still cooking; meanwhile Vanessa was eating a simple diced slave-meal out of an old metal dog bowl. In a similar bowl beside it was a dessert of chopped fruit and cream. It was going to be messy to eat, but she knew she had to finish every last bit.
Her bottom still burned and her eyes were still misted with tears. She was once again being sucked into that frightening paradox of disgust and arousal. She had been denied the use of her hands and her voice, and was being made to eat like an animal. It was shameful degradation. So why was she feeling so excited? Her pussy was wet and swollen and she knew in her current posture she was showing it off to her mistresses like a bitch in heat.
When she had licked her bowls clean, she turned to the two women, bowed her head and made a diffident whimper.
‘Looks like she’s finished,’ Zara said. ‘Time for a shower before we eat …’
Hands now cuffed behind her, they sat Vanessa on the toilet and made her pee and void her bowels. With an enema gun like Miss Kyle had used they flushed her out and left her rectum lined with grease. Then they stripped off and pulled her into the shower stall with them.
In a tight press of bare flesh they soaped Vanessa and each other, rubbing their slippery bodies against hers. Jude’s large pink breasts swayed and wobbled, her red nipples standing out like organ stops. They pushed Vanessa on to her knees, fingers locked into her wet hair, and ground her face into the streaming clefts of their vaginas. Jude had gold rings set in her labia and clitoral hood like Zara. Vanessa licked about and between them with increasing desperation as the women twisted her round to share her favours, trapping her head between their thighs and hungry sexes as they embraced and kissed each other passionately.
First Zara then Jude came in her face, rubbing her nose deep into their slippery slots. Clasping handfuls of her hair, they used it to wipe themselves clean and then let her slide discarded to the floor of the shower where the spray washed their juices from her.
Dried and robed, Jude and Zara sat on the living-room sofa eating their dinner off trays while they watched TV. They rested their feet on Vanessa.
She was their footstool now, doubled over with her face almost touching the carpet. Her elbows were drawn backwards and held tight to her sides by a rope that passed between them and around the backs of her knees. Her ankles were tied together and held pressed up against her bottom by loops of rope going over the tops of her thighs. Another rope ran from her ankles under her body between her clenched thighs to her collar ring, pulling her head down and bowing her back. Two short lengths of rope linked her collar ring to her wrist cuffs, pulling her lower arms forwards and adding tension to the bond between her elbows and knees.
They had turned her into a piece of furniture, using the bow of her smooth back to rest their heels. She was utterly helpless and degraded. So why was a dribble of clear fluid trickling from her vagina between her thighs and on to the carpet?
Jude slid her foot out of its slipper and probed the oozing slit of Vanessa’s pouting pudenda. Vanessa shivered and groaned with frustrated need.
‘I think this little hotpot’ll soon be coming to the boil,’ she observed.
The posts at the foot of Zara and Jude’s big brass-framed double bed telescoped upwards until they stood two metres high. They had handy rings on them to which slave cuff chains could be clipped.
Vanessa was splayed wide between the tall posts. Jude knelt on the bed in front of her while Zara stood on the floor behind. Both women were as naked as Vanessa. Each held short scolding paddles that they had taken from a large box stowed under the bed. This was the ‘toy box’ Zara had told Jude to prepare. The smack of rubber on flesh filled the room as they methodically beat Vanessa front and rear, creating a rosy glow on her skin from the back of her knees to the upper slopes of her breasts. They had put a rubber bit in her mouth for her to bite on so that she could moan and yelp and whimper and squeal freely, which she did. Drool ran down her cheeks and on to her breasts as Jude happily smacked them from si
de to side, setting them bouncing and quivering. From behind, Zara’s paddle not only drove shivers through her bottom flesh, but curled up between Vanessa’s spread thighs to slap against her pouting mound.
Under this onslaught Vanessa jerked and writhed, straining at her bonds, her eyes running with tears and bulging as the harder blows fell. But she knew there was no escape or release until her mistresses permitted. She would do anything they wanted. She was ready to please, she wanted to please and she needed to please!
When the last blow had fallen and her body was throbbing and tingling and alive to the slightest touch, they freed her arms. She fell forwards across the bed, trembling and sobbing. From the toy box they produced a broad belt that they buckled round her waist, chained to garter-like straps going round her upper thighs. They clipped her wrist cuffs to the straps. Another strap was buckled just above her elbows, linking them across her back and pinioning her arms to her sides.
Jude and Zara took out a bundle of thick bungee cords and strung them between the four bedposts and the rings set in the sides of Vanessa’s belt. The tension countered most of her weight, lifting her middle off the bed. Next the toy box supplied them with a pair of double-headed black dildos curiously shaped in a broken ‘V’. One arm was moulded like a huge penis, while the other was half its length and ended in a fat bulb. They pushed the shorter ends into their vaginas, leaving the fake erections bobbing rampantly before them.
Zara raised Vanessa and parted her legs so that Jude could slide underneath her, then lowered her on to Jude’s dildo. Her breasts pressed into Jude’s full glossy globes, hard nipples indenting soft flesh, as the rod of rubber filled her shamefully eager vagina. The tension of the elastic cords meant she did not bear down on Jude with her full weight.
Vanessa felt Zara pull her legs further apart and then mount her from behind. She bit on her gag-bar, whimpering as her anus was stretched wide and the length of the shaft slid into her, filling her rectum until it was painfully tight. Then she was doubly plugged and fit to burst, sobbing with desperate need.
The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) Page 16