The phallus wheel, which had been oscillating at increasing speed, suddenly tilted back, pulling the rubber penis out of her even as it spurted out jets of white fluid that splashed over her vagina and the shield. The woman squirmed in frustration.
‘A synthetic substitute for sperm heated to body temperature,’ Gold said. ‘We try to make it as realistic as possible. In fact this might be a good time …’ He clipped Vanessa’s leash to a ring on the wall by the viewing window, opened the door and slipped into the room.
She watched him pull the phallus wheel aside, part his lab coat, unzip his flies and release a good-sized erection. This he slid through the hole in the shield and into his captive test-subject’s hungry vagina.
Vanessa became aware of the sympathetic wetness of her own pussy oozing round her embedded vaginal probe. What a voyeur she had become! She supposed that this reaction would be registered and relayed with all the other intimate data for Gold to examine at will later. What would he make of her?
Gold pumped away for a minute, then his small body hunched over the shield separating him from the naked woman as he came inside her, while she jerked and strained against her straps. Collecting himself, he pulled out of her and swung the phallus wheel back into place.
He left the room wiping his glasses, his cock still jutting out of his trousers. ‘Most satisfactory …’ he muttered. ‘Now lick me clean, girl …’
Vanessa got down on her knees and obeyed. She could taste his sperm mingling with the nameless woman’s juices.
‘Not all our subjects are as brazen and open as that one,’ Gold said as she lapped away. ‘Some seem to be testing themselves and are surprised by their own needs and capacity for both pleasure and pain. Like our next subject …’
She was dark-haired and olive-skinned, and she was reclining naked in a padded chair. Broad straps crossed over her wrists, neck, chest, waist, thighs and ankles, holding her firmly in place. There was a rubber bit clenched between her teeth. Crocodile clips trailing electric wires were clamped to her large brown nipples and outer labia. Each clip had a small light-bulb mounted on it. Fitted to the armrest of the chair under her right hand was a pad with a large numbered dial.
The bulbs on the crocodile clips suddenly flashed red, the woman’s eyes screwed up, her fists clenched and her body jerked against her straps.
‘Of course we are careful to keep the actual current to safe levels and the clips on her nipples are not inter-connected to prevent heart stimulation,’ Gold said, ‘but it is still quite painful.’
The woman’s agony went on for ten seconds, then the light faded from the bulbs and she sagged limply in her chair. Vanessa could see the sweat on her body. A voice came from a speaker inside the room said: ‘Give your rating, C37!’
With trembling fingers the woman turned the dial under her hand.
Next a buzzing, pulsating vibrator rose up between her spread legs and slid into her vagina, making her stomach bulge. She groaned and rolled up her eyes as it went to work inside her. The lights flashed and her body convulsed with pain once more. After ten seconds the light went out, leaving her panting heavily, the vibrator still buzzing inside her.
‘Give your rating, C37!’ the unseen voice demanded, and again the woman adjusted the dial.
‘Her task is to assess the intensity of each shock on a pain scale,’ Gold said. ‘Typically they rate it as lower when their pussies are occupied, even if it is the same as the preceding shock or higher …’
The next window looked in on a room with a row of cages set out on a waist-high ledge. They were about the size of a typical desk and built of metal angles and flat metal bars riveted into square grid sheets. Three of the cages contained naked, collared girls lying curled up on straw bedding. Their hands were encased in black rubber mitten-paws.
‘This is one of our longer-term experiments,’ Gold explained. ‘We put them in here for two or three days to test reactions to confinement, prolonged lack of privacy, being denied speech by their shock collars and, in short, being treated like animals.’
Vanessa could see where the design for the slave dorms in level B3 had originated.
A skinny young man in a slightly grubby tan workcoat entered the room through a side door. Immediately the girls scrambled on to their knees and pressed their faces up against the sides of the cages as they reached through with their paw-hands. They made faint throaty sounds while plaintively opening and closing their mouths, as though begging to be fed.
The young man just chuckled at their antics and methodically went about refilling the water bottles hanging on the side of each cage and changing the waste-pans under the cage corners. Only when he was done did he dip into his pocket and bring out a handful of sweets.
The girls ground their hips against the cage sides, fluffing up their pubic bushes and squeezing their breasts through the lattice so that they bulged between the bars. Their keeper pinched and squeezed and tickled the fruits of their bodies so eagerly offered. He unwrapped a sweet, rubbed it into the first girl’s pubic cleft framed between the bars, then popped it into her open mouth.
‘As you can see, they soon form a close and affectionate bond with their keeper,’ Gold said. ‘Accepting the discipline of confinement is an essential characteristic for a life-slave.’
Vanessa imagined Kashika in one of those cages, and had a fleeting sense of the power and satisfaction it would give to hold the key to that cage. Or would she rather be in the cage next to her?
They were close to the end of the observation corridor when they looked into a room resembling a prison cell. The door was of solid riveted metal pierced only by a peephole and the walls were bare concrete blocks. The furnishings comprised a bucket in a corner and a low metal-framed bed with a sagging mattress and scrap of blanket. A naked woman with hands cuffed behind her back sprawled on the bed as though in exhausted sleep, her dark hair straggling and tangled.
‘This subject is in a final-stage test,’ Gold said. ‘A little bit of extended role-playing. Supposedly she is a captive spy under interrogation to reveal the code word “Midnight”. When she does so the test ends.’ He checked his watch. ‘The next interrogation session should start very shortly. Each gets increasingly harsher, of course. So far she has been in there for nearly three days. She is certainly proving one of our more masochistic subjects …’
The cell door suddenly banged open and a large unshaven man in military-looking dark-green fatigues strode in. In one hand he held an electric cattle prod that he jabbed into the sleeping woman’s buttock. As she yelped and struggled into wakefulness, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet.
‘Ready to talk now, bitch?’ he growled.
Resolutely she shook her head. Her eyes were shadowed but very bright.
The man grinned evilly, drawing the shaft of the goad up between her legs and through the furrow of her sex. ‘Then you know what I’m going to do to you?’
Trembling, she nodded. Vanessa saw her nipples swell and harden.
The man dragged her out of the cell. Gold led Vanessa along to the next window. It was another bare concrete room with a heavy metal door, this time furnished with a very small but solid bench, with many lengths of rope hanging from heavy rings screwed to its sides. The walls were hung with an array of whips, canes, tongs and other devices whose purpose Vanessa could only guess.
The door opened and the man and his captive came in. The girl’s eye widened in horror as she saw the bench and she began to struggle, but it was quite futile.
He pushed her face down across the bench top, so that her head and breasts hung over one end, then lifted her feet off the floor and bent her legs over until her heels pressed against her bottom. With lengths of the dangling rope he tied her ankles down, the tension also pulling them outwards so that she was forced to keep her thighs spread, and leaving her exposed sex pouch hanging over the other end of the bench.
He took a huge tubular metal hook from the wall. She whimpered as she s
aw it. Gathering and twisting her long hair into a rope he knotted the end about the hook’s large hanging ring, then pulled her head backwards until he could insert the bulbous tip of the hook into her anus. She gasped, her body bowed by the tension, her eyes bulging in disbelief as she impaled herself.
‘Did you say anything, girl?’ he asked.
She shook her head a fraction.
In the observation corridor, Gold clipped the end of Vanessa’s leash to a wall-ring and moved behind her, cupping and squeezing her breasts. ‘Remember, all she has to do is say “Midnight” and the test ends,’ he said. ‘It’s entirely up to her how much she suffers … if you can call it suffering.’
The man in the cell had attached screw clamps to her nipples and was now hanging weights on them, stretching them out into pink cones, turning her breasts into fleshy stalactites. Her eyes filled with tears and she gritted her teeth.
‘What’s the code word, girl?’ her inquisitor demanded.
She bit her lip but said nothing.
He took down a cane and slashed it across the stretched and unnaturally drawn upper slopes of her breasts, briefly flattening them against the edge of the bench and setting the weights swaying. She sobbed in pain, shaking her head.
Vanessa heard Gold’s zip go down. He pushed her forwards until her breasts pancaked against the mirror glass, her hard nipples in their sensor collars pushing back into her, and kicked her legs apart. She felt the tip of his cock burrowing between her buttocks. He was stiff again so quickly!
The inquisitor walked round the bench until he faced his captive’s soft, exposed inner thighs, engorged sex and plugged anus. Vanessa heard the relayed swish and crack of his cane as he struck her. Gold’s cock found Vanessa’s greased anus and forced its way into her, so her grunt and gasp at his entry mingled with the captive girl’s shrieks of pain.
‘Talk to me, talk to me!’ the inquisitor commanded.
Tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she shook her head.
Gold began to pump up and down the hot tunnel of Vanessa’s rectum.
The inquisitor threw his cane aside, tore open his trousers and rammed his cock up into his captive’s pussy, making the bench jerk and her tortured breasts jiggle. Instead of more pain, Vanessa saw a look of perfect bliss pass across her face. Was it also a look of triumph?
Horrified and fascinated, Vanessa could not turn away from the tormented girl as Gold’s cock pummelling up her arse synchronised with the thrusts of the inquisitor into his victim’s helpless cunt. Any lingering sense of pride or dignity left in Vanessa melted away as her simmering arousal came to the boil and orgasmic release tore through her.
This was submission to a need too powerful to be denied.
This was what Cherry Chain had undergone.
Was it also what she darkly craved for?
Fourteen
VANESSA BROODED OVER her experience at the Institute for several days.
After the tour, she had watched a selection of videoed interviews with the girls who passed the final test stages. Once they had viewed a video of life in B3 showing other slave-girls at work and were convinced Shiller was making a genuine offer, they had been eager to join their ranks. In some cases tearfully so.
She now accepted that all Shiller’s slave-girls were natural submissives and had not been coerced in any way into slavery. But that still left her with the matter of whether it was right or wrong to exploit and sell their services for money. And always in the background was the memory of her own helpless responses to what she had seen and felt. She had been drawn so deeply into a life of slavery that she was beginning to regard it as normal. Was she still capable of making the proper choice?
Then, late Friday evening just as she was packing up, Zara called her into her office.
‘Cherry Chain are being field-tested tomorrow,’ she announced briskly. ‘They’ve been assigned to provide the amusements for a big house party in Surrey. You’d better get in early to talk to them before they’re rested. Then you can go with them and see how they do. Think you can manage that?’
‘Yes, Mistress Editor.’
The Cherry Chain girls were already making circuits of the exercise track when she saw them at eight the next morning.
They had weighted packs strapped to their backs and their glistening breasts bounced prettily as they ran, but they wore none of the usual restraints or stimulations. Instead their hands were constrained by rubber paws and they wore wire-mesh chastity belts, through which the fluff of their pubes peeped. They looked exhausted but their trainers, ranged around the inside of the track, were still driving them on with flicks of carriage whips across their bare bottoms.
‘We haven’t allowed them to touch themselves or each other since they were bedded down early last night,’ Miss Kyle explained, when Vanessa asked her about the preparation process for Cherry Chain’s first assignment. ‘Now we’re tiring them out so that they get six or seven hours’ solid sleep through the day before we ship them out. By the time they’re ready to entertain this evening they won’t have had any sex for over twenty-four hours.’
Vanessa thought of the effect such enforced abstinence would have on a dozen lustful and uninhibited young women. ‘Putting it simply, you want them gagging for it, Miss Kyle.’
Miss Kyle grinned. ‘We want them eager to please, as slave-girls should be.’
‘How do you think they’ll do tonight, Miss Kyle?’
‘I think they’ll be fine. They’re the hottest chain we’ve had for a long time.’
Vanessa smiled and waved to the girls as they jogged past. Kashika, sweat-streaked and bedraggled but somehow even more beautiful for all that, flashed her back such a look of joy and yearning that it set butterflies of lust fluttering about her loins.
When the girls were finally allowed off the track, Vanessa watched as they were hosed down and watered, then strapped to the wooden pallets and suspended in the dim calm of the rest chamber. She took one last lingering look at Kashika hanging beside the others, perfectly at ease in her straps and already asleep, then tiptoed out to leave them in peace.
Vanessa fretted the next few hours away making notes for her article. She wanted the girls to be happy following the course their natures clearly intended for them, yet she was still faced with a dilemma. That evening they were going to be set out as sex toys for a lot of, presumably, wealthy people, to play with. Could that be right in any circumstances? On the other hand, if those clients did not employ the services of well-cared-for and naturally slavish Shiller girls, would they find less willing and oppressed alternatives elsewhere? Was it better this way?
To kill time and get some further background for her article, Vanessa took herself down to the B2 loading bay where the assorted vehicles that transported the girls to and from their assignments were housed. She had often seen the vans and lorries with their secret human cargo coming and going, but she had been so absorbed with Cherry Chain and level B3 that she had not investigated further. Was it because she had initially dismissed them from her mind as minor cogs in what she had then thought of as the evil Shiller slave machine? But now she saw they also had their part to play. Perhaps she should suggest to Zara doing a feature on the drivers and staff who actually transported the girls to the clients, presented them for use and saw that they gave satisfaction … Oh God, she was at it again!
By chance or design, the lorry assigned to transport Cherry Chain was the very vehicle she had hidden under weeks before. Fortunately its crew, two solid-looking middle-aged men named Graham and Des, and a younger woman called Nina seemed to bear Vanessa no ill will. In fact Nina asked: ‘When are you going to write about all the hours we have to put in shipping the girls back and forwards, doing all the rigging and making sure they’re used properly?’
‘I was just thinking of doing an article about that very thing, Mistress,’ Vanessa was able to reply quite honestly.
They showed her round the back of the lorry. Three of the equipment boxe
s had already been loaded and were lined up down the middle of the compartment. Along each side were the narrow mesh-walled alcoves she now saw were to hold girls standing upright with their backs facing the sides of the van. They were held in place against padded boards by strips of elasticated webbing, which could be quickly pulled across and secured. These not only supported them for long journeys but gave them even more protection than seat-belts. On hooks above the alcoves were slung two long aluminium ladders to assist with rigging displays.
At the far end of the compartment backing on to the driver’s cab, a section of panelling had been folded back to reveal a compact bank of flat-screen monitors and remote surveillance camera controls. Three swivel chairs were bolted to the floor in front of the display.
‘This is where we keep an eye on the girls while they’re working,’ Des explained. ‘Don’t want anybody going too far with them.
Graham took a tiny video camera out of a metal case holding a dozen more. ‘We put these out when we’re rigging the venue. The clients never know they’re there.’
‘Tonight we’ve got to make doubly sure we see everything,’ Des added. ‘The trainers want a copy of it all to see how well Cherry Chain perform.’
At four o’clock, Cherry Chain were taken down, fed, cleaned and watered. As they knelt before her in the training yard, Miss Kyle gave them some final words of advice and encouragement.
‘You’ve been assigned to provide additional amusement for a large party at Mansley Park in Surrey. You’ll be fully restrained in exposed postures at all times so you won’t have to put on any special display. Just react naturally. Remember that for tonight whoever uses you is your master or mistress and you are their slave. Be that to the best of your ability and be proud to be Shiller girls!’
Gagged to prevent any nervous chatter and to concentrate their minds, and still in chastity belts, they were chained in a coffle, hands cuffed behind them, and marched into the lift. Vanessa followed after them as they were taken up to the lorry and secured in their niches by the webbing cocoons. While Graham got into the cab, Des and Nina, who were riding with them in the back, sat Vanessa down in the spare swivel chair, clipped her wrists behind her, pushed a ball-gag into her mouth and strapped her into place.
The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) Page 20