Irontown 1: Student Maids (6 page)

‘Fuc — awww!’

As she had started to shape the word contacts into the front of the collar protruding through the rubber lining had stung her throat with a short sharp electric shock, causing her larynx clench up and stifling the rest of the expletive.

‘There’s a sensor and language chip built into your collar linked to a power cell and capacitor,’ Bradawl explained as she blinked back tears. ‘It’s now programmed to recognise the words on the list as you pronounce them and give you a warning. Before we had to use whips and tongue clamps but after a few weeks in your collar you won’t even think about using those words ever again. Shackleswell girls don’t foul their mouths with bad language. We have better uses for them.’

Even though she rarely swore, Mel felt the completeness of their control over her had gone up another step. From now on, even when she was able to use her mouth her words would be censored.

Bradawl had a length of chain in his hand and clipped it to the collar ring. He undid her straps and gave her new leash a tug. ‘Get up, 157.’

She had no choice but to obey. Choice had been taken from her. Awkwardly Mel climbed down from the couch. She was frightened to bring her thighs together for fear of disturbing the padlock rings, which felt enormous and unnatural as they hung in the throbbing sockets pierced through her flesh. What they would have felt like without the protective sheaths and anaesthetic she could not imagine. As she moved they clinked together faintly. Her nipples pulsed about their own rings that swung with the motion of her breasts. They were standing up harder than she had ever known, almost as though they were proud to display them. Her body was such a traitor to her.

‘Head up, feet apart and hands behind your neck, 157,’ Bradawl ordered.

Mel obeyed. Bradawl circled round her toying with her new rings and stroking the letters and numbers stamped on her body. What must she look like in her neat white socks and school shoes? She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and shivered with every touch, acutely aware of the ring locks hanging free from her pudenda, tugging on her sex lips, the cold weight on her nipples, the absurd tie hanging between her breasts and the hard heavy ring about her neck.

‘I think you’ll be a credit to the school,’ he declared.

He cuffed her wrists behind her back, popped the gag ball back in her mouth and led her out into the office where he hooked her leash up beside Cam’s. Cam flashed Mel a shy glance of commiseration. Bolt jerked against her chain and swayed threateningly.

Bradawl eyed Bolt thoughtfully. ‘Miss Trunnion, perhaps you would assist me with preparing our last pupil.’

‘Certainly, Headmaster,’ Miss Trunnion said.

Bolt was in the Preparation Room for nearly half an hour. Through the door Mel and Cam heard many muffled grunts, squeals of pain and Bradawl’s voice snapping out commands to Miss Trunnion. Clearly Bolt was not cooperating. During the last ten minutes they were also distracted by a rising swell of excited voices from outside the pebbled windows. It reminded Mel of the sounds of a school playground. Well, that was logical enough, but who was out there and what were they doing?

When Bradawl finally emerged leading Bolt on her leash, he was robed and wearing his mortarboard once more. She was fighting back tears and trying to look hard and defiant. However like Mel and Cam she was now shaven, stamped, ringed and cuffed, with a Gryndstone tie hanging between her breasts and schoolgirl socks and shoes on. Following on behind her Miss Trunnion looked flushed and gazed at Bolt in open disapproval.

‘At least you look like a Gryndstone girl now,’ Bradawl was saying to Bolt. ‘The rest will come in time. The school is a machine and it will mould and plane and grind you down until you are fit to serve.’

Mel shuddered.

‘Now I’m going to link you three together in what’s called a coffle,’ he said.

With short lengths of chain Bradawl linked the front of Cam’s collar and the back of Mel’s, then he strung a length from the front of her collar to the back of Bolt’s. However, instead of clipping the last leash length to the front of Bolt’s collar he stooped and clipped the snaplink through her new pussy rings.

‘If you had been better behaved this would have been clipped to your collar,’ he told her.

Bolt growled and kicked out. But his firm hold on the chain brought her up short with a yelp as her brown labial lips were yanked into peaks by their shiny rings.

Bradawl pulled out his cane. ‘Do you want to know what a thrashing on a freshly ringed vulva feels like?’ he asked her.

Briefly Bolt’s anger subsided to a simmering resentment. Bradawl freed Mel and Cam from their ceiling chains and took up the leash fastened to Bolt’s pussy rings. He looked them over. ‘Now you’re fit to meet your fellow pupils,’ he declared.

Chapter Four

Bradawl led Mel, Bolt and Cam blinking through the green door and into the summer sunlight. The chatter of voices swelled and enveloped them.

The back walls of the mews terrace formed the bottom end of a high-walled playground of black asphalt, marked out with various games courts in different coloured chalk lines. The green door was one of three that from this side looked as if they might have been converted from old stables or storehouses. At the top of the playground was the back of the school building Mel had seen from the road. It had a couple of wings embracing the top end of the playground.

The source of the excited voices was also now explained.

In the playground a few dozen naked, collared, tied and ringed girls, watched over by more black-robed, cane-carrying and cock-flashing teachers were spread out about a court. They were cheering on two teams of six female players, equally naked, who were passing a yellow inflatable ring between them in an effort to throw it over large angled phalluses that took the place of the hoops on netball posts at each end. However, the girls were not using their hands to pass and throw the hoop because they were cuffed behind their backs. The roots of half metre long inflatable phalluses of red or blue plastic had been plugged into their vaginas in some way and secured in place with their labial rings. They jutted at an angle up from their loins where they bobbed and swayed as they moved. They were stabilised to a degree by elastic cords connecting the middle of the shafts to the girls’ nipple rings.

As they scampered about trying to pass or intercept the ring, breasts and phalluses sometimes bounced in rhythm and sometimes in opposition, jerking on their nipples. With the hoop hanging on her phallus one girl attempted to score. She spread her legs, bent over and then straightened up quickly, flipping the ring off the end of the phallus and sending it over the heads of the defending players. Her breasts were stretching out into points and then snapped back into heaving globes as the tension on the cords was released.

Both players and spectators seemed oblivious to the perversity of their situation and were participating with all the excitement and involvement of a normal team game, heedless of the exposure of their naked bodies. Mel’s eyes passed across the assortment of multi-tinted flesh on display, much of it sheened with sweat. Almost all were girls of about her age. They held hands, had their arms about each other or were even cupping their partners’ bottoms. Mel found herself gaping at vari-coloured and different sized nipples, bare pouting clefts, jiggling buttocks and even the dark flashes of anal mouths as players bent over. It was literally a school for enslaved girls. It was so sick and yet she could not help staring. She squirmed awkwardly and rubbed her thighs together.

Bradawl tugged on the chain clipped to Bolt’s labial rings and with a yelp she followed after him, dragging Mel and Cam along in her wake with their newly ringed breasts jiggling as they stumbled to catch up.

As Bradawl led them along the side of the playground Mel cringed in sudden acute embarrassment. She was naked outdoors in a place that recalled childhood bad dreams of shameful exposure before her friends. Now she was being doubly humiliated for real, far beyond her worst nightmares. However, the spectators and players did not give them a second glance.

‘You’ll get plenty of exercise in one form or another while you’re with us,’ Bradawl remarked. ‘You have to be fit to be a cog in Shackleswell.
Mens sana in corpore sano:
A healthy mind in a healthy body.’

Mel blinked incredulously. They called this healthy?

She saw one of the masters, whose cock had risen into erection, come up behind one of the girl spectators, take her by the collar, bend her forward and enter her without ceremony from behind. Had he gone up her rear? It had been so quick Mel was not sure. The girl braced herself against his thrusts with her hands on her knees while both continued to watch the game. The girls about her hardly glanced round as she was sodomized.

Bradawl led them up to the rear entrance of the school. Above it was what had to be a coat of arms. On a shield of blue was an embossed image highlighted in gold. It showed a naked woman chained spread-eagled within the ring formed by a huge cogwheel. On a scroll beneath it was a motto in Latin: “
Ferrum quod viscus iunctus
.”

‘That’s the motto of Shackleswell,’ Bradawl said. ‘It represents the union of body and machine. It means: “Iron and flesh joined.”’

Mel’s ringed nipples throbbed in sympathy.

Bradawl led them inside and along a high echoing institutional corridor to a door marked:
Classroom 1.
Within was a lofty room with pebble-glass windows. A couple of large store cupboards rested against the walls. There was a large teacher’s desk, bare except for a laptop. Facing the desk were a row of three chairs of odd design. On the wall behind it was a large interactive whiteboard.

Bradawl began unhooking them from their coffle and sitting them on the chairs. When she saw the fittings Bolt shied away and received another couple of warning flicks from Bradawl’s cane.

The chairs were of heavy plywood and tubular metal. They had wooden backrests and armrests but only half a seat. A triangular section had been cut out of the front of each. In the middle of the small padded ledge at the back to support their buttocks rose black rubber dildos with bulbous heads and slender tapering necks. The girls groaned as they were made to sit on them, driving them up into their rectums with little pops as their anal rings swallowed them up, closing with disturbing relief about their narrower roots. Bolt snivelled as she sat down and Mel wondered how much it hurt to sit on her sore bottom with her anus was plugged. Cam was trembling as her own weight forced the dildo up inside her while Mel felt sick as she was impaled on her chair. There seemed to be no end to the ingenuity of these people when it came to restraining and humiliating young women.

Snap hooks on the chair arms and legs clicked into their cuffs. Once they were seated, additional broad black rubber straps went across their necks, waists and thighs, holding the girls firmly in place. The sponge ball gags were replaced by heavier rubber bits, the ends of which were hooked to elastic cords fastened to the backs of the chairs. The tension not only held them firmly in their mouths but also pulled the girls’ heads straight if they tried to twist them to one side.

Extending in loops from the backrest of each chair over their shoulders was a pair of crocodile clips on coiled electric wires. These were clipped to their nipple rings. Mel shivered at the threat they carried. How could they do this to them? Yet why were her nipples still hard? She looked slyly sideways and saw Cam’s were also standing up and Bolt’s were even bigger, her areolae bulging into domes about her nipple heads. Was it impossible to get them down once they had been ringed?

As the front legs of the chairs were set wider than the back this reduced the seats to little more than angled wooden padded ledges that only supported their thighs if they splayed them wide. This left the pouting swell of their vulvas exposed and vulnerable. This was accentuated by the short elastic cords bolted under the side ledges, the ends of which Hawk hooked to their labial rings, pulling their sex lips wide and exposing their tender inner valleys. Below their stretched and gaping pussies was a frame that supported a plastic bucket. From under the rear of the seat was a bracket on which was mounted a slender vibrator pointing vertically upward at the open mouths of their sexes.

By then Mel would have denied anything could further deepen her sense of shameful exposure and despair, but she was wrong. Small LED lights came on about the cutaway rim of the seat illuminating her groin. Forcing her head down she saw there was a tiny camera lens set in the front of seat staring up into her peeled-wide vulva.

When they were secured Bradawl took up his position behind the desk so that their gaping sexes were facing him and they could see his naked cock. He touched a key on the laptop and the screen behind him came to life. It was split into three sections, each one showing a close-up of one of their pussies as seen through the mini-cameras on their chairs. The rings piercing them were as big as dinner plates and the numbers and letters stamped on their mounds stood out like shop signs. The tiny apertures of their urethras were clearly visible while the crinkled mouths of their vaginas looked as though they could climb through them. The fleshy hoods of their clitorises were big enough to wear and looked suspiciously swollen. Below the swell of their vulvas they could see their anal mouths clenched about the bases of the plugs that impaled them. At the bottom of the screens were the heads of the vibrators.