Irontown 1: Student Maids (26 page)

When the guests finally went in for their dinner the Gryndstone girls were stripped of their serving trays and arranged along the side of the reception room bent over a long railing. This had been set out to display their schoolgirl bottoms to the guests when they departed. Large multi-coloured plastic film letters were stuck on their buttocks, spelling out: A GIFT FROM SHACKLESWELL. Bunches of helium balloons were plugged into their anuses that bobbed and swayed above them. Silver foil cornucopias of wrapped sweets had been forced up their vaginas until they bulged, inviting dipping into their hot depths to retrieve them. It was a goodbye gift that guaranteed guests would leave in a good mood.

Mel had rested across the railing with her pussy bulging with treats and balloon hanging up out of her bottom for a good ten minutes before she realised she was accepting all this as perfectly natural. They were being submerged by the certainties and self-assurance of Shackleswell society. It was a methodical preparation for living a productive life after school as a working gynaton. Her future was being mapped out for her and she seemed helpless to do anything about it. Time was running out.

‘Hi, Maddy. I’ve been doing some bar work, which is really tiring. All those loaded trays can really strain you if you’re not carrying them properly. Maybe it has been long enough. I promise we’ll meet sometime soon, but first I’ve got to get up the courage to move on…’

That night in bed Bolt asked Mel again: ‘Come on, when are you going to confess? I don’t want to go around being a living wine bottle any longer.’

Mel gulped. ‘You go next. You’re braver than me. No contest.’

‘All right, I will. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll show you how it’s done.’

‘It’s not as easy as you think,’ Cam warned her.

Bolt stood chained between the posts of the confession machine with her head up. Her breasts squeezed painfully into the spiked cages stood out from her chest while her big ringed nipples pushed out of the cage crowns. There was a sheen of sweat on her brown skin, making her look in some strange exotic way polished.

From where Mel was riding her phallus Bolt looked proud and defiant. She’s really going to do this, she thought.

‘I’ve been stupid and I’ve done some dumb things,’ Bolt said confidently. ‘I was lost but now I’m found, right? I’ve got into some trouble in the past but now… now I’ve…’

She faltered, looking at all the expectant faces and biting her lip. Mel tensed. What was wrong?

Suddenly Bolt almost shouted: ‘You want the truth? I never had a real family, right? I was in and out of foster homes. I was shi… shi… rubbish at school and got kicked out. There was this fire… On the streets I did drugs and I got arrested. A black girl screwing up just like you see on TV. I couldn’t even be original! Then some do-gooder came along and told me about this Shackleswell project and I thought it was a soft option to jail. Never imagined it could be like this but that’s me. I messed up again, right? Go on beat me for it! Yeah, I deserve it! Please…’

‘Do it,’ said Bradawl.

Bolt writhed under the blows, but she did not make a sound. When they finished she said: ‘It’s different now. That me’s gone down the toilet. Call me Bolt. That holds things together. That’s useful thing, right. I’ve got it together and I’m strong!’

Bolt squatted down on the dildo handle and pumped with frantic energy, not caring about the spiked cages dragging on her breasts, driving the striker bars up the glass tubes in great leaps. She rang the bells in a time that would probably never be beaten.

Later in the playground Bolt acknowledged the hugs and congratulations of the other girls with uncharacteristically muted pleasure.

‘It all just came out’ she admitted shamefaced to Cam and Mel. ‘I couldn’t fu…ing stop it!’

Mel kissed Bolt’s sore breasts again and stroked her hair. ‘Nobody’s holding it against you. They understand. It was genuine, that’s what counts. They recognize that because we’re all flawed here.’

‘But you know what I did, what I am?’

‘You mean a pain in the behind? Mel grinned. ‘We already knew that. No, seriously you were really amazingly brave. I don’t think I could have admitted all that. I’m sorry for you.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ Bolt said firmly. ‘I don’t want pity, right? Just be lucky you haven’t got all that baggage.’

Mel said nothing.

‘But you do feel better now,’ Cam suggested,

Bolt sighed. ‘I suppose it was good to let it out. Yes, you were right, satisfied? Now let’s graduate and get out of this fu… this damned place! It’s all getting too bloody honest!’

The car showroom salesman was well into his sales pitch to his potential customer.

‘Now this is a Shackleswell Eco Special 3GP,’ he said smoothly, ‘incorporating the latest in lightweight design and styling with traditional Rowland gyneatic engineering principles.’

The car was a compact three-door silver rear-engine teardrop. Its interior was simply fitted out with two light bucket seats. There was a manual gear stick, small steering wheel and a dashboard with very simple displays.

‘It’s an ideal about-town model and of course virtually silent and entirely emission free,’ the salesman continued.

‘How fast will it go?’ the customer, a small neat man with large glasses.

‘Mileage and top speed depend on your individual GP units. You can install your own or we can supply specially worked high-endurance units from our stock. Matching units come at a small extra charge. These are just demonstration models…’

He lifted the reach hatchback to expose the luggage tray over the engine and then raised that to open up the engine compartment itself. Within were the bowed backs of Cam, Mel and Bolt who were hunched over with their heads facing forward and their shoulder’s touching. In front of their faces were the louvered openings of branching plastic ducting.

‘Air ducted from the side vents to keep them cool,’ the salesman explained. ‘For servicing or changing units the engine frame easily disengages from the drive linkage and slides out like this…’ He twisted a couple of handles and pulled. The light tubular frame the girls were mounted on slid smoothly out of the car. When their heads were clear of the compartment, bracing struts dropped down to support the end of the frame. In the base of the now virtually empty engine compartment were couplings to various control rods, a gearbox, a battery and dynamo.

The girls were strapped in postures like racing bikers, with their wrists chained to a single long bar in front of them and their feet cuffed to pedals that linked to gear chains. Tubes from plastic water bottles were slipped into the sides of their rubber ring-gagged mouths. Instead of saddles their stomachs rested on contoured pads strapped about their waists. This left their vulvas and bottom clefts exposed.

The salesman patted their rumps. ‘They’re also at a convenient height for giving relief if you temporarily remove their fittings,’ he pointed out.

Insulated wires were plugged into their anuses and looped over to run into slots in the mounting frames.

‘What are they?’ the customer asked.

‘Thermometers to monitor their temperature,’ the salesman explained, tweaking the wires. ‘The displays are on the dashboard. We wouldn’t want them overheating.’

Rods with rubber pronged balls on their tips jutted up into their vulvas, which were held wide by coil springs hooked to their labial rings.

‘Feedback rods from the gearbox,’ the salesman said, fingering their sticky clefts. ‘A steady rate of revs is most rewarding for them because it resonates in the rods. As you can see they’re eager to be off. Virtually self-oiling. Sometimes you can get an orgasm every couple of miles.’

Under their groins were hung cupped funnels connected to a single large plastic waste bottle part filled with yellow fluid.

‘Integral urine collection,’ said the salesman. ‘That way you can happily leave them in the car all day without them embarrassing you.’

Their dangling breasts were held steady by tensioning rods hooked to their nipple rings. Sliding up these rods were tubes controlled by spinning governors. On the tube ends resting just under their breasts were flat rubber rings studded with stubby metal pins.

‘The accelerator unit,’ the salesman explained. ‘Pushing on the pedal raises the pads. They feel the pins in their breasts and pedal faster. This makes the governors speed up in turn and lowers them again.’

The customer took this all in with great interest. ‘Can I take it for a test drive?’

‘Of course, Sir,’ said the salesman, sliding the living engine back into its compartment and closing the hatch again.

With only a soft purr of gears, the Eco Special 3GP rolled out of the showroom and onto the street. Inside the engine compartment, scented with a mixture of oil and female juices, Mel, Bolt and Cam pedalled harder to force the accelerator pins back out of their tender breast flesh.

They had been reduced to living engine components, Mel thought. Unlike a girl train they could not even see where they were going. It was inhuman slave labour! She had to get away from this perverted town! Then they reached a steady speed, the pronged balls begin to buzz in their clefts and Mel felt another orgasm coming on.

It was that evening, with her muscles still stiff from her exertions in the showroom, that Mel discovered Maddy had not replied to her last mail. So far she had responded to everyone within an hour at the most. Concerned, Mel asked Bradawl if there were any delays on the system.

‘It’s working perfectly,’ he assured her. ‘The relay only takes seconds and we never deliberately hold back any messages either in or out.’

Of course there might be a perfectly normal explanation. Just in case she sent a mail to her parents. They had little to say over recent weeks but they should respond to this simple request. ‘Can you please get Maddy to call me?’

Mel waited in the classroom until Bradawl relayed the reply. It was from her father and was short and terse: ‘Maddy has gone away.’

Gone away where, Mel thought in despair? But even then she would call her. What was Maddy doing? Had she run out of patience with her parents or was she giving up on her? Now Mel became acutely aware of her isolation and confinement. Shut away in the school what could she do? This place was taking over her mind and sapping her will. She would have to get out of here. Whether she would have the nerve to try to escape or even just use a public phone she did not know, but it was a start.

That meant first she would have to confess.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning it took all Mel’s courage to step up to Mr Emery, who was washroom monitor, and say: ‘Please Master, would you tell the Headmaster I wish to confess?’

He just nodded his head. ‘I’ll tell him, girl.’

Other girls who had heard hugged and kissed her. Cam looked happy while Bolt gave a thumb’s up.

In assembly Mel felt sick and dizzy when her name was called out by Bradawl. Being chained to the confession machine seemed unreal and she hardly noticed the spikes of the breast cages digging into her soft flesh. All she was aware of was the sea of expectant faces staring at her.

But her secret was safe, she told herself over and over. She had defied the truth rack and Judge Gouge to keep it. Nobody in Shackleswell knew. She would just say she had a stupid family argument and ran away. She meant to go to London but ended up here…

‘What do you have to confess, Spring 157?’ Bradawl asked.

‘I… I’ve been a bad girl. I had a stupid argument with my family and ran away and…’

She faltered. The truth wanted to come out. It was getting in the way of her life. There was only so long she could keep this bottled up inside her. If Shackleswell had taught her anything it was that all shame had its limits.

‘No, it wasn’t a stupid argument. I have a stepsister called Maddy…. that’s short for Madelyn. We’ve lived together since we were young. We were the same age more or less and we even look quite alike. Strangers thought we were real twins. As we got older we used to compare how we were growing… standing together naked in front of a mirror. And then one day we just… kissed… and touched and… Yes, we had sex! I screwed her and it was fantastic! And we did it again… and then our parents caught us. They’re quite religious and they couldn’t accept it. It was terrible. And that’s why I ran away and ended up here!’

The girls were all gaping at her open-mouthed but it was said and done.

‘I’m not sorry for loving Maddy that way, only for the hurt it caused. Please beat me!’

The pain of the cane lashes felt so sweet, blotting out her guilt, but they stopped far too soon. She had been hiding behind the pain and degradation she had suffered, but now she was naked in every sense of the word. The truth was out and she had bared her soul. What else could she say next? What was she sure of?

‘I was lost but now I’m Spring 157,’ Mel gasped. ‘A spring is something elastic that can return to its normal shape after being bent, compressed or stretched. It can be used to reduce vibration, concussion, as a power source or actuator. It’s a useful thing so I’m useful. I’m strong…’

Mel began to squat down on the pump impaled within in her. The chains tugged on her nipples and twisted the spiked cages into her breasts but she did not care. She had admitted the worst thing she had ever done. She was dribbling round the pump handle as it rammed into her then dragged on her pussy rings but nothing else could hurt her so deeply again. She could hear the girls urging her on as they pumped their own phalluses and that felt wonderful. They didn’t hate her for what she had done! Here nothing was hidden…