Irontown 1: Student Maids (23 page)

Cleaver lined the girls up before him and then spoke earnestly. ‘You’re going to be Old Mr Fillister’s toys for the day while the family are out. Only he’s not what he was. He’s getting a bit vague but he does like to have Gryndstone girls around him. They always make him happy. He used to be a school governor years ago. Just be patient and humour him and he’ll be fine.’

It sounded to Mel as though their temporary master to be was going senile. This was not a reassuring prospect.

‘Old Mr Fillister also likes dogs,’ Cleaver added. ‘So that’s what you’ll be today: pretty bitch-dogs to keep him amused.’ He indicated some wooden steps resting against one end of the table. ‘So up you get, bitches…’

As commanded they knelt or lay on their backs with legs in the air on the table while Cleaver dressed them in the tight rubber garments, which had been dusted with talc to slide over their skin. It was strange to feel fabric enclosing their bodies after weeks of almost total nudity even if it did not cover their most sensitive parts. There were thigh-length boots with wires extending from their inside top rims that clipped to their labial rings. There were shoulder-length gloves and tight basques that nipped in their waists, cupped and pushed up their breasts without covering them and braced their backs. Wires from the tops of the basques were clipped to their nipple rings. Cleaver pulled matching bridles over their heads that had fake dog ears stuck on their sides. Straps went across the bridge of their noses, under their chins and across their mouths, where instead of a bit they supported stiff rubber coated wires that hooked into the side of their cheeks and supported the ring bases of soft pink rubber tongues that slipped over the ends of their own tongues and lolled out of their mouths.

The final touch was curving hollow rubber dog tails. These were mounted perpendicularly on one end of “U” shaped rubber-coated spring clips. The other end was slid up into their rectums and pinched through their flesh against the end with the tail on which now rose from the base of their spines. There were also springs inside the tails and the slightest movement of their hips set them bobbing. Finally every element of their costumes was linked together by a web of tight straps, pressing into their flesh.

Mel knew there was more to the costumes than met the eye. The boots had integral coil spring braces along the sides of their knees holding them bent at forty-five degrees and allowing only a small amount of flexibility. She could feel pins on the inside of the boot toecaps, warning them against standing upright. Their gloves ended in padded fingerless mittens and were braced by more hidden springs at the elbows. There were odd thickenings in tops of the gloves and boots, suggesting devices hidden inside them, and all, straps included, were studded inside with metal contacts.

When they were all dressed as pseudo-dogs, Cleaver ordered them to clamber down off the table, which they did awkwardly, edging down the steps. Lining them up on all fours with tails wagging he took up a radio control unit fitted with tiny joysticks and selector buttons matching the colours of their costumes.

‘This stimulates your major muscle groups and controls you individually or all together. Just respond as feels natural…’ He touched a control.

Their legs and arms twitched by themselves and Mel found herself shuffling forward side by side with Bolt and Cam. It was eerily like invisible strings were jerking her about and she whimpered and dribbled about her fake tongue while Bolt and Cam rolled their eyes fearfully. Her instinct was to fight it yet she knew that would be futile. It was only a subtler form of bondage and there was only one proper response for a gynaton: total surrender.

For a few minutes Cleaver sent them shuffling round the room to get use to the system. The tiny jolts of current that stimulated their muscles did not hurt much and it became easier as they let their reflexes take over. They learned fast, but then they had no choice. Soon they wheeling about, stopping and backing up, nuzzling into each other’s bottoms and even cocking their legs against the walls. A jolt to the base of their tongues was a signal to bark. There was even a sequence of muscular twitches that prompted them to sit up on their haunches, pull their arms up under their breasts with paws handing limp and beg. They did not have to be told to whimper and roll their eyes as well. They still had their school ties on which made them look even stranger, but they were so far into fantasyland by now that hardly mattered. It was utterly degrading so of course Mel felt her pussy growing hot and slippery.

Cleaver lined them up in front of him again. ‘Just keep thinking like bitches and you’ll do fine. But if you’re slow to obey or disobedient…’ he touched another button.

Their nipple and labial rings became hammers in their flesh, sending a searing jolt of hard current through their bodies. They howled round their fake tongues as they convulsed and rolled up into balls of pain.

Then it was gone, leaving them trembling and shaking. Warning twitches sent them struggling tearfully back up onto all fours.

‘So will you be good?’ Cleaver asked.

They nodded and wagged their tails pathetically.

He steered them out of the stables and then along a path that led around the side of the house through a gate and onto a terrace. Here a breakfast table was laid out under an awning. Seated at it were a smart fortyish couple and a girl of about Mel’s age with auburn hair who was dressed in riding boots and jodhpurs.

They were being waited on, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, by what Mel supposed you had to call a gynaton maid.

She wore a tiny frilly cap perched on the top of her head. Her mouth was occupied by a red ring gag that held her lips open in a perpetual mute “O” of surprise and readiness for oral penetration. She wore a French maid-style bib and tiny apron, except they were made of soft clear plastic that hid nothing of her naked body. Light silver chains linked her wrist cuffs to side rings set in the belt of her apron, which was padlocked in the small of her back. A short hobble chain joined her ankle cuffs, forcing her to take tiny steps on her high heels.

Cleaver brought Mel, Bolt and Cam up to the table and then had them sit up and beg.

‘The Gryndstone girls, sir,’ Cleaver reported.

The man and woman looked them over with reserved approval while the young girl exclaimed: ‘They’re pretty!’

‘They’ll do,’ the man conceded. He frowned down at them. ‘Now, we’re going to be out for much of the day and my father needs his amusement, otherwise he worries. You be good bitches for him, understand?’

They nodded and panted and wagged their tails.

‘Oh, can’t I play with them?’ the girl said petulantly.

‘They’re for Grandfather,’ the woman reminded her. ‘Anyway I thought you were going out riding with Tessa for the day?’

‘She’s getting boring. Why can’t I play with them? Grandfather’s only going to fall asleep and he won’t remember afterwards anyway.’

‘Don’t talk about him like that, dear,’ her mother chided gently.

‘Well it’s true!’

‘Don’t talk back to your mother!’ her father snapped.

There was something in his tone that made the girl drop her eyes and murmur meekly: ‘Sorry, Father.’

‘All right,’ the man said to Cleaver, ‘take them down to the summerhouse.’

The summerhouse lay beyond the terrace wall and a little way down the low rise the house occupied. It was an airy structure with a veranda, a shingle roof and lapped wood walls looking out across the trees and gardens to a lake. Inside, facing the open double doors, a distinguished white-haired old man sat in a reclining chair with a blanket wrapped round his legs. On a large cushion beside him knelt a pretty blonde maid without a gag. She was holding a book from which she had been reading aloud. She was tethered by a long chain to the doorpost, beside which was also a slave drinking fountain and pee pan. More tethering rings and chains hung round the walls together with a small rack of lashes. By the chair was a table with a phone, a tray of ice soft drinks, fruit and sweet bowls, a pile of books and some medicine bottles. To one side was a large flatscreen television and sound system.

The maid, who had the part stamp: Cog 107, bowed her head to Cleaver.

The old man looked up vaguely and then his eyes fastened on Mel and the others. ‘Oh, I say, what pretty gyndogs. And they’re Gryndstone girls! I used to have a lot to do with the school you know.’

‘Yes, Mr Fillister,’ said Cleaver. ‘Your son sent them down for you to try out.’ He handed him the control box.

‘Oh, that was good of him. Where is he?’

‘He’ll be down to see you later, Mr Fillister.’

The old man was stroking the control box. ‘I used to have lots of fun with these when they first came out. You can make them do tricks…’

He began playing with the joysticks. Mel, Cam and Bolt jerked into life and began shuffling round the room barking and wagging their tails. The old man chortled with delight. Cleaver nodded to Cog and quietly slipped away.

Grandfather Fillister played with them for most of the morning. He managed to steer them head to tail so they tongued each other out. Then he had them fetching sticks and balls thrown by Cog. When they brought them back and sat up in begging postures by his chair he happily stoked and patted them, toying with their breasts. Mel had to steel herself not to flinch at the touch of his wrinkled hands as he pawed her over, yet she also felt sorry for him and did not begrudge any pleasure she could give. She supposed his infatuation with gynatons was natural if he had grown up with them, as several generations in Shackleswell must have done. He was simply reliving happy memories.

With spanking paddle in hand Fillister managed to swipe it across their upturned bottoms as they presented them to him. Half the time he hit their tails, making them whip and slap violently from side to side while churning the spring clip ends inside their rectums. The blows that did land on their buttocks hardly hurt and raised only a light blush, but they yelped and wiggled in a show of pain that seemed to please him.

His greatest delight, however, was seeing them pee, for which they had to make many trips to drinking fountain. He had them cocking legs and peeing against the veranda post and nearby trees, and then lying on their backs on the grass with their legs spread peeing into the air so the streams crossed in glittering arcs.

‘Gyndog fountains,’ he said happily. ‘I once got a dozen of you in a row doing that. Amazing height you reached. Strong inner muscles, I suppose. Nearly squeezed the life out of my cock afterwards!’

At lunchtime a slave housemaid brought a tray of food down to the summerhouse and Cog helped Grandfather Fillister eat it. Soon afterwards he was snoring.

‘He’ll sleep for a few hours now,’ Cog confided in a soft voice. ‘You can get some rest now’

She fed them some grapes and chocolates and then Mel, Cam and Bolt sprawled on the grass in the sun, grinning at each other round their fake tongues. It had been a weird day but this was not so bad, Mel thought. It was disconcerting to be used as pure playthings. She’d rather have some real work to do. That felt natural. Did she really mean that?

She must have dozed because she was jerked awake by sharp words.

‘Give me that! He’s asleep and he’ll never know and nor will my parents.’

The daughter of the house was standing over Cog, pulling the remote control box from her hands. She now dressed in a long loose summer dress and white sandals.

‘Please, Mistress… Miss Samantha, they’re old Mr Fillister’s toys,’ Cog said.

‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

Samantha Fillister wrenched Cog’s arms behind her and cuffed her wrists together. As Cog protested she took an apple from the fruit bowl and rammed it into her mouth, jamming it between her teeth. Then she shortened Cog’s leash chain, pulling her over to the doorpost.

‘Now you don’t make a sound until I come back,’ she warned her.

Using the control box Samantha steered Mel, Bolt and Cam away from the Summerhouse and down towards the lake. They had no choice but to shuffle along as fast as they could with their breasts swaying and jiggling. The twitches that drove their limbs were accompanied with brief stabs of the punishment setting that lanced through then nipples and pussies, making them yelp and stumble. Mel saw Bolt and Cam both looked fearful but there was nothing they could do.

There was a dense thicket of rhododendron bushes near the shore. Samantha drove them into this, pushing aside the low branches. At the heart of the thicket there was an open patch of ground floored by bare stamped earth. On it was spread an old rug. She’s been planning this, Mel thought.

Samantha grinned down at the girls in triumph. ‘You really are pretty gyndogs,’ she said. ‘You’re wasted on Grandfather. Are you going to be good?’ Her finger hovered over the pain button. They nodded quickly. ‘Now let’s play my game…’

She rolled her dress up to her waist. She was naked underneath. Her buttocks were nicely rounded and a sparse triangle of russet curls capped her neatly cleft mound. She laid on her back on the rug, bent her knees and spread her legs, exposing her groin to them. She worked the control box until Bolt was straddled over her with her head above Samantha’s groin and her pubes over Samantha’s head. Mel knelt with her face pressed into Bolt’s pussy while at the end of the line Cam’s face was nuzzling into Mel’s pubes.