Irontown 1: Student Maids (11 page)

Larger breasted girls had no advantage. They were expected to flatten their breasts against the asphalt, digging their rings into their flesh.

When they were sweating and glowing from their exertions they pranced back into the school through the outer door of the dining hall. They found their assigned feeding cocks, mounted their activating wheels and began to suck and grind. Though their arms were not cuffed they did not touch the spouts or wheels. Breakfast was egg and bacon on toast. Again it was very traditional English fare. Was that in keeping with the perverted hyper-Victorian values of the town, Mel wondered? It was an effort to suck out the lumpier bits through the phallic spouts but it still tasted good. A strange scent filled the air, mingling breakfast aromas with fresh sweat and the scent of over three-dozen young girls’ pussies being gently aroused.

As they ate Mel realised the girls about her were engaging in quick whispered conversations in between mouthfuls. The presiding teachers must have been able to hear them but did nothing to stop it so it.

When they had finished eating they were marched into the washroom. Their collars were clipped to the overhead chains and they queued into a warm, close-packed fleshy line for the toilets. Though they all had their hands free Mel saw that the other girls still operated the controls by hooking their nipple rings onto the hooks of the actuator arm.

When it was their turn Mel found she was much less reluctant to squat down than the previous day. It was oddly easier with company and after being loosened up by their exercise they were very ready to empty themselves. Following the other girls’ lead they presented their rears over the bars for inspection by the teacher sitting in the swivel chair monitoring the bathroom, but he only fingered their bottoms quickly and patted them on their way.

Even louder chatter and gossip flowed about them at the showers and basins and again the teacher did not seem to mind. Since they could easily have been ordered to be silent or gagged, obviously it was considered sensible to allow them this small freedom. Alone in the press of nubile and freshly scrubbed flesh, Cam, Mel and Bolt, still unsure of themselves, were silent.

Mel saw an Asian girl, apparently urged on by others around her, nervously step across to the teacher and say something of apparent importance to him. He nodded and she ran back to the others who hugged and kissed her. What was that about? What were the rules here?

Her confusion must have been clear on her face because as the three of them were brushing their teeth, a slim honey-blonde girl labelled WIRE 142, who was on the end of a chain of girls beside them, leaned across and said: ‘Don’t worry, I felt lost my first day here. You won’t believe it now, but it does get easier.’

Bolt glowered at her suspiciously. Mel said quickly: ‘Thanks.’

When they were all cleaned up, their arms were cuffed behind them and they were marched along the main corridor.

Mel had been too confused to take in the photographs and paintings that hung on the walls yesterday, but now they caught her eye. There were colour photos, older black and white images, sepia tones and oil paintings that clearly covered many decades. However, where a normal school might have pictures of former headmasters, group sittings of pupils in their sets and images of special school events, Gryndstone had such things as a black and white photo showing a pair of girls strapped into the open frame of a mechanism resembling a small train engine. There was a man in old-fashioned railway driver’s overalls standing on a platform beside them and the girls were smiling out of the front of the engine at the camera. The caption read:
Gryndstone cogs: Contrate 214 and Piston 129 drawing the circle line train, 1958
.

What was that about?

There were other captions by the images that Mel glanced at as she passed. By a painting of a man with a moustache and a high stiff collar it said:
G. Tamper, Headmaster 1905 to 1921.
In the portrait a naked and chained girl was shown kneeling at his feet kissing his erection. He held the end of her leash in one hand and a cane in the other.

They entered what must have been the school’s combined assembly and sports hall. It had a low stage at one end on which sat a row of chairs and a lectern. Hanging on the wall behind them was a large yellowing banner showing a pair of chained kneeling girls bearing on their shoulders a metal-framed panel on which was inscribed a paragraph written in flowing copperplate lettering large enough to read from the back of the hall. Various climbing frames, ropes and beams that ran out along channels in the ceiling were folded back against the walls. The floor of the hall had been laid out with small kneeling mats in groups of three. In the middle of each mat was set an upright dildo on a weighted base.

As the coffles of girls filed in they went to a set of mats and knelt down on them, impaling themselves on the dildos, then sat back on their heels, looking up at the stage where a couple of masters were already seated. One group of mats at the font of the hall was left unoccupied. A master led Mel, Bolt and Cam past these and to one side where their rear collar rings were clipped to the ends of long chains running up to a channel in the ceiling. The master remained standing beside them. Mel suddenly felt exposed and singled out and almost wished she were kneeling impaled with the rest.

Other masters took their place on the stage and then Bradawl entered. He took his place at the lectern and smiled benevolently down at them.

‘Good morning, girls.’

‘Good morning, Headmaster,’ they all said.

‘We shall begin with our school pledge.’

The girls recited the words on the banner. As they did so they began to rock their hips back and forth, gently working the dildos about inside them:

“We promise we shall be sound and

Hard-working cogs in the city machine.

We are strong, greased and fit for purpose.

We offer our orifices to whatever use

Or service our master’s desire.

May iron and flesh unite within us.”

Mel shivered. It was as if they were chanting a school song or assembly hymn. But then despite its perverse details, the setting, the gowns, canes and overawing attitude all combined to make her feel like it was her first day at a new school. Was that the idea? To make them feel as helpless as children again?

The recitation ended and Bradawl spoke again. ‘Now, we have three new students to welcome. Please bring them out, Mr Hawk…’

Hawk turned to a rotary handle set on a box on the wall and began to crank it. The ceiling chains began to slide out along their channel, dragging the three of them along until they stood in the middle of the room facing the rest of the school.

‘From the back left, welcome them in the proper Gryndstone manner.’

A chain of three girls at the back of the hall rose from their mats and walked up to Cam, Mel and Bolt. Smiling, one after another they kissed them on the lips, their ringed nipples and, going down on one knee, their pubic clefts. They walked back to their places as another group came up to take their place. Bolt flinched away as they kissed her, Cam looked confused while Mel felt a surge of unexpected warmth. The girls who kissed her were smiling and friendly. Wire 142 was amongst them and added a little wink as she kissed Mel. She had a momentary sense of the appeal of this strange distorted world and the dark fascination of being part of something bigger than she had ever imagined. It might be sick but at least these girls had a purpose set out for them whereas right now she had nothing.

When the whole school had welcomed them, Bradawl said: ‘Very good. Put them in their places, please Mr Hawk…’

Mel, Bolt and Cam were freed from the chains and taken to the spare mats at the front where they gingerly lowered themselves onto the dildos. Mel saw the mats were also stamped with their part names. At least they were not the focus of attention any more.

‘We also have a confession to witness this morning,’ Bradawl continued.

There was an excited stir in the hall. Mel saw the girls looking round them, all the while jigging a little faster on their dildos.

‘Mr Stapler, please bring Spool 113 forward.’

A master standing at the back of the hall detached the Asian girl Mel had seen in the washroom from her chain-sisters and led her forward. Meanwhile Hawk had run back the chains that had secured Mel and was now wheeling out a new device that had been folded up against the wall.

It was a rectangular wooden platform with two side posts a little over head-high mounted on each end. Each post had chains trailing from its inner face and a large glass tube running up its front, at the top of which was a domed bell. Sets of graduation marks were painted on posts beside the tubes. Resting inside the bottom of each tube was a short thick round-ended bar of metal fitted with ring washers. In the middle of the platform was the jacket of an upright iron pump with a short section of greased piston showing capped by a rubber dildo handle. Rubber pipes with brass fittings ran from the base of the pump to the bases of the glass tubes. There was an odd detail of the device Mel could not make sense of. Hanging in rows on the posts beside a second set of lighter chains were half a dozen metal latticework domes of assorted sizes.

Spool was positioned on the platform straddling the pump, so that the dildo handle slid up her vagina. Short rubber cords bolted to the upper rim of the pump jacket were clipped to her labial rings, holding her impaled. Her arms were pulled out sideways and her cuffs were hooked to the upper set of chains connected to the posts, leaving some slack on them. Her feet were spread and the lowest set of post chains were secured to her ankle cuffs.

Mel found it impossible not to stare at Spool as she was secured. Her skin was olive with the upstanding ringed nipples on her rounded breasts a few shades darker. She had a mane of jet-black fluffy hair tied back in a big ponytail. Her hips were slim and her thighs girlishly rounded. Her eyes were dark and bright and her oriental nose was neatly snubbed. Her shaven and ringed cleft was round-lipped and pouting. She looked nervous, excited and proud at the same time, almost glowing with a sense of inner resolve.

Now the masters selected a pair of the mesh domes that had puzzled Mel and fitted them over Spool’s breasts, kneading and squeezing her pliant flesh until it were confined within cages of mesh like bizarre bra cups. Spool whimpered as her breasts were imprisoned and Mel winced as she saw that each junction of the lattice held a stubby metal spike pointing inwards. There were holes at the top of each dome through which her nipples were pulled by their rings. Slender integral curved bolts were slid across the tops of the domes and through the rings, securing them in place and preventing the cages from slipping off, even if the studs would have permitted it. Constrained and moulded by their cages, Spool’s breasts now stood out with impossible pertness from her chest. The ends of the post chains were then clipped to her protruding nipple rings and her breasts were totally imprisoned, looking as though they were leashed to the frame. Flesh and iron merged, Mel thought darkly.

When she was secured, Hawk and Stapler took up positions in front and behind Spool with their canes ready.

‘What do you have to confess, Spool 113?’ Bradawl asked.

‘That… I’ve been a bad girl, Headmaster,’ she said, in a small but clear voice. ‘I was lost, I gave up on myself, but now I’m found. I was a disappointment to my parents. I was disrespectful. I did not try hard enough at school or work. I did not listen to good advice. I got into bad company. I drank and used drugs. I was wasting my life. I’ve been a bad girl… please, Masters, punish me!’

‘Do so,’ Bradawl commanded.

Hawk and Stapler swung at Spool from front and rear, laying their canes across her smooth, rounded buttocks, caged breasts and stomach. Her delicate olive skin shivered as the canes cut into it, leaving long thin stripes behind. Spool writhed, jerked and gasped, making little yipping sounds as her eyes filled with tears. Some strokes caught the undersides of her breasts where her flesh bulged through the cage lattice, leaving stripes across their heavy swells even as they drove the internal spikes into her flesh. The blows caused her imprisoned globes to tremble and bounce unnaturally, rattling their chains. Spool was twisting and bucking within the frame, sobbing in pain but making no attempt to evade the strokes. The motion was churning the handle of the pump inside her and Mel could see the wetness on her thighs. As the cracks of cane on flesh rang out through the hall the rest of the girls rode their phalluses with increasing vigour. Their eyes were sparkling and Mel could hear a murmur of: ‘Go on… do it, do it!’

How could they encourage the punishment of one of their own? Yet she found she was also jerking her own hips up and down as she squeezed on her dildo. It was impossible to remain still in the circumstances and she could not ignore the thing inside her. Now it began to feel as though she was sucking on a comforter, like a baby’s dummy, and in turn it was growing warm and slick with her juices.

After a dozen strokes each the masters rested their arms. Spool’s cane-striped body swayed in its chains, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. Tear splashes showed on her glossy bound breasts. Then she lifted her chin.

‘But now I’m Spool 113,’ she said clearly. ‘I’m named after a useful thing: a reel for winding yarn, cord, wire or filmstrips. I’ve got a purpose… a function in life. I can give pleasure. My body has power. I’m strong…’