The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (10 page)

Ahhh!

Another jolt up her rear made her pump the vibrator faster.

She had to pretend she was alone, playing a sex game. She’d put on the cuffs as a joke, to add a bit of excitement. A little bondage fantasy, that’s all it was. Her unseen controllers were imaginary … this was all innocent fun.

Yes, that felt good! What nicer way to unwind after a hard day’s work than a good screwing. This new vibrator was great.

She was making a wet patch on her sheets but that didn’t matter.

A fresh jolt up her rear almost shattered her fantasy, but she rallied quickly.

That was her other new toy, a little electric butt-plug. It didn’t hurt really, not mingled with the knot of pleasure tying itself about her pussy, which was going to burst at any moment …

She bucked wildly, hunching forwards, grunting and whimpering with pleasure, legs straining against her ankle cuffs, frigging herself frantically with the vibrator, trying to drain every last drop from the explosion of raw joy that was tearing through her loins.

‘That was a fine show you put on, Puppet,’ Miss Kyle’s voice said, as though from a great distance.

Vanessa stirred groggily, her fantasy melting away with the last warm waves of the afterglow.

What had she done? How could she have come so intensely?

She felt the ankle cuff cables slacken, allowing her to close her legs and pull up the duvet. The anal plug remained locked inside her. Miserably she turned over, curled up and buried her face in her pillow, sliding her cuffed hands down to cup her sticky, aching vagina.

The bedside light went out by itself. They had wired up her whole flat!

‘The monitor system is going on automatic now,’ Miss Kyle said. ‘If you were thinking of calling to your neighbours it will activate the anal plug, so I suggest you get a good night’s sleep, Puppet. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day …’

Five

‘WAKE UP, PUPPET!’

It was a strange man’s voice. It roused Vanessa from a crazy dream about slave traders under a London office building …

The anal plug gave her a jolt that brought her back to the awful reality. Cool morning light was edging the curtains. She was lying naked on stained sheets, duvet tumbled to the floor, with her wrists and ankles cuffed and a slug of rubber and metal stuck up her backside.

Her new Monitor didn’t give her any time to gather her wits.

‘Put on your house collar … now deflating anal plug … pull it out … ankle cuffs unlocked … get them undone and stowed neatly … wipe the plug clean before you put it away … move yourself, Puppet!’

In a daze she scrambled to obey, gasping out: ‘Yes, Monitor!’ at each command.

The key to her handcuffs was fastened to a chain screwed to the skirting board in the corner of the room, where she could not possibly reach it while secured to her bed.

‘Get that exercise mat out of the wardrobe … into the sitting room … step proudly, chest out, nipples up, don’t slouch!’

Still naked except for her house collar, Vanessa was marched into the sitting room. She dragged the coffee table aside and laid out her exercise mat in plain view of the mirror camera.

‘I see from the records you didn’t have your bowels open last night,’ Monitor said. ‘Can’t have that. Got to keep regular …’

He put her through ten minutes of star jumps, toe-touching, running on the spot, squats and stretches. His relentless driving tone reminded her of a PE teacher she’d once had, except for his language: ‘… get those pretty tits bouncing, Puppet … legs apart, cunt wide, show me what you had for dinner last night!’

Finally, lathered in sweat, she was marched into the bathroom.

‘Sit on the toilet, legs apart, hands clasped behind your neck … permission to relieve yourself … now!’

She had no time to think, only to obey. The pee gushed out of her, followed by the contents of her bowels, loosened by the exercise. A sick thrill coursed through her as she realised he was watching all of this.

‘That’s how I want to see you perform every morning,’ Monitor said approvingly. ‘Wipe clean … good. Now take the flush gun and greaser out of the basin cupboard and plug the adaptor into the shower hose …’

To Vanessa’s dismay, a device similar to the one Miss Kyle had used to wash her out was resting under her hand-basin. At Monitor’s direction she had to plug it in, then squat over the loo again. After flushing out her bowels she pulled the trigger that squirted a measured slug of special grease into her rectum.

‘From now on, you do this without fail whenever you void your bowels,’ Monitor said. ‘A slave-girl
must
keep every orifice clean and ready for use at all times, understand?’

‘Yes, Monitor.’

‘Now into the shower …’

She showered with the curtain back, so that he could see she washed herself thoroughly. ‘Brush harder … use more soap!’ Obediently she used a warm jet from the shower-head to wash out her vagina, followed by an ice-cold douche to tone and tighten. ‘Turn round, bend over, pull back your bum cheeks … is the rim of that hole as clean as it is inside?’

‘Yes, Monitor,’ she said desperately.

‘You don’t want to have a dirty bottom first day in a new job, do you?’

‘No, Monitor,’ she agreed.

Towelled dry, teeth cleaned, but still naked, she was marched into the kitchen and directed to make a breakfast of fresh orange juice, two slices of toast and a small bowl of cereal. She ate sitting very straight, chewing every mouthful thoroughly before swallowing, nervously brushing crumbs from her bare breasts.

Breakfast over, she was returned to her bedroom, where she removed her house collar and put on her control underwear, choker collar and earphone. The pre-greasing helped, but still she strained to force its head through her anal ring.

‘You can do it, Puppet,’ Monitor said encouragingly. ‘Even a tight bum like yours can easily stretch that wide … don’t fight it … relax … tell yourself it belongs in there …’

At last the phallus popped into her, leaving her gasping in relief and for a few seconds feeling she had achieved a minor triumph.

Leaving her house collar recharging, she was directed to put on a blouse and light two-piece suit,
but
no stockings. A new pair of silver toe-post sandals now rested beside her own shoes. She didn’t ask how they had got there. She put them on doubtfully, but they were her size and very comfortable.

Monitor directed her to use minimal make-up. ‘You don’t need it, Puppet.’ She had to agree. The vigorous exercise and her continuing state of embarrassment had put what would pass for a healthy blush on her cheeks.

She gathered up her bag and keys, and stood to attention before the hall mirror so that Monitor could give her a final inspection.

‘Now you look like a proper Shiller girl,’ he said.

Staring at her reflection, Vanessa had to admit she was not the same woman who had left the flat the previous morning. She half expected to look shattered, but instead there was a subtle difference about her. Of course, the brightness of her eyes must be due to incipient tears, and the new tilt of her hips down to the phalluses plugging her front and rear, but perversely she looked more alive and alert than she had for a long time.

She got the shakes as she turned her red VW into the entrance of the Shiller car park.

She had no idea where to go or what would happen to her inside the building. Everything was a sham. How was she even supposed to identify herself?

But Monitor said: ‘They’re expecting you. Drive right in …’

Sure enough, the gate guard raised the barrier and waved her through without hesitation.

Vanessa blushed. Did he know who she was and what she was wearing under her suit?

The guard at the inner gate certainly did. When she pulled up by his kiosk he grinned broadly in at her
through
the open window. ‘Oh, yes, Miss Buckingham, isn’t it?’ He handed her a windshield sticker. ‘Here’s your car pass. I think you know the way.’ He looked her up and down with carnal approval. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing a lot more of you …’

She parked in level B2 and, directed by Monitor, made her way to the lift. A new camera had been installed overlooking the lift doors.

‘One of the new security measures we’ve taken since your visit yesterday,’ Monitor explained.

The doors opened automatically and she stepped inside.

‘The magazine offices are on the fifth floor,’ Monitor said, ‘but first you go down to B3.’

‘The magazine job’s real, Monitor?’

‘The Director said so. She thinks it will give you the best opportunity to see what we’re really like.’

‘Then why have I got to go down to B3 first, Monitor?’

‘To change, of course. Go on …’

Vanessa pressed B2 three times. The lift descended. ‘What have I got to change into, Monitor?’

‘Appropriate dress for indoors, Puppet …’

The doors opened and she stepped out into the secret level. There was no coffle of naked chained slaves waiting for the lift this time, but as Vanessa looked round, she saw a slave-girl tied to a railing post on the veranda of the nearest chalet.

She’d been bound in rope from head to toe like a mummy, so that she was utterly immobile. A strip of cloth covered her eyes and a wad of it filled her mouth, both held in place by more loops of rope binding her head hard against the wooden post. Her arms were drawn back until her elbows almost touched. More ropes crossed her body between and around her breasts, making them unnaturally prominent and cutting into her flesh. Her nipples stood out
in
fat red-brown cones. A length of rope plunged into her vaginal cleft, forcing her outer labia to bulge and separate. It was stained dark with her juices.

How could they treat women like that, Vanessa wondered in despair? There was no way it could be consensual.

A warning jolt from her anal probe forced Vanessa to drag her eyes away from the unfortunate woman. She was directed to the block on the other side of the wide central alley from the cells and mews shops. Set in its end wall was a row of low openings closed by wire-mesh gates.

‘You go in that way,’ Monitor said. ‘On your hands and knees.’

‘Why can’t I use a proper door, Monitor?’

‘These are the doors slaves use,’ he said simply. ‘Inside you will stay on your hands and knees unless told otherwise. Mr Jarvis is expecting you. You will respectfully kiss his boots and announce yourself. He’ll put you into something more suitable …’

Biting her lip, Vanessa got down on her hands and knees and pushed through the gate. Beyond was a short wire-mesh tunnel, carpeted with foam-rubber matting. Pushing through a second mesh gate, she found herself in a lobby with several exits leading off it, both slave-size gates and ordinary doors. A large, red-faced man in a security guard’s uniform was seated at an open, glass-topped desk. Still on her hands and knees, Vanessa shuffled over to him, kissed the polished toes of his boots, and said: ‘I’m … Vanessa Buckingham, Mr Jarvis.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve been expecting you,’ he said, smiling not unkindly down at her through the glass top.

Monitor spoke in Vanessa’s ear and she relayed the message: ‘Monitor says he’s handing me over to you, Mr Jarvis.’

She realised it made her sound like a parcel.

‘I’ve got her, Monitor,’ Jarvis said. He picked up a device like a TV remote and pointed it at Vanessa. Her front phallus tingled a warning.

‘You’ll give me no trouble, will you, girl?’

‘No, Mr Jarvis.’

He took her bag. ‘You won’t need any of this. You’ll get it back this evening. Right, now let’s get you changed. This way.’

He got up and walked through a side door and she shuffled after him through the slave gate beside it. On the other side was a small changing room. Jarvis stopped before one of a row of metal lockers. Disconcertingly Vanessa saw it was already labelled with her name.

‘You’ll keep your street clothes and control kit in here,’ Jarvis said, opening the locker and putting in her bag, then taking out a plain metal collar and belt linked to a set of slave chains. ‘But inside the building you’ll wear these.’

Vanessa gulped. ‘Is that all, Mr Jarvis?’

Jarvis smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, no. I could find a whole lot more chains and straps and tie you over a bench and give you a good hiding for cheeking me. Of course that’s all, girl! Now on your feet and strip. Everything but your sandals.’

Hastily Vanessa obeyed.

Jarvis pressed a button on his controller and the locks of her underwear opened. He made her bend over and clasp her ankles so that he could pull out her anal plug. Keeping her in this position for a moment, he examined the glistening film she had deposited over the plugs and then patted and stroked her bottom appreciatively.

‘If you weren’t due to see the editor, I’d have some fun right now. Never mind. I’ll have these all
laundered
and recharged for you by this evening, so you’ll stay nice and fresh.’ He gave her a smack. ‘Stand straight, hands clasped behind your head!’

Vanessa obeyed and Jarvis locked the collar, belt and cuffs on to her. The chains linking the wrist cuffs to her belt allowed her just enough slack to reach her mouth. Snap hooks dangled from the sides and back of the belt. She realised her silver sandals matched her new restraints and wondered if it had been planned that way.

Jarvis clipped a key-card chain to her collar. ‘This’ll allow you to move between here and the secure zone offices upstairs, but it won’t open any external doors. Your key code is 6969. Think you can remember that?’

‘Yes, Mr Jarvis.’

‘Every day, you report down here on arrival and last thing before you leave, understand?’

‘Yes, Mr Jarvis.’

He put his big hand on her head and pressed her down on to her knees. ‘Somebody’s waiting outside to take you upstairs. Now off you go …’

Steeling herself, Vanessa bent and kissed his boots again. ‘Thank you, Mr Jarvis,’ she whispered.

Outside under the false blue concrete sky she rose gratefully to her feet. Standing by the bound girl on the veranda of the chalet, still dressed in her body stocking, was Miss Kyle. She was idly toying with the captive girl’s taut breasts.