Vesta - Painworld (13 page)

‘Try stopping me,' he growled.

 

Hot and exhausted, the sight of the stable outbuilding coming back into view sent an overwhelming wave of relief washing over Clarissa. Every sinew in her tortured body ached from the effort of trotting in the weighted boots and dragging Christina's weight behind her in the pony cart, but if she had expected to be allowed time to recover from her ordeal, she was rapidly disillusioned.

Unhitching her from between the shafts, the big woman removed the driving reins from Clarissa's bridle and replaced them with a short chain leash, which she clipped to the stiff collar, dragging the stumbling girl into a room she had not seen before and which, as she looked around it with staring eyes, she immediately wished she was not seeing now, for the racks of chains, whips, canes and paddles and the various frames and stands which covered the floor space did not need words to explain.

‘Knees!' Christina barked. Numbly, Clarissa sank down, too tired and frightened to even think of not obeying instantly. Deftly, Christina passed the leash over her left shoulder and wound it about Clarissa's ankles, preventing her from rising again, and strode across to the nearest wall rack, from which she selected a vicious looking braided whip. She flicked it through the air experimentally, producing a loud crack, and the bound girl flinched.

‘Right, pony girl,' Christina drawled, moving up to stand astride, with her silk-covered crotch only inches from her face. ‘Let's see how much you've learned in your short time here.' Her free hand moved down, cupping her sex suggestively. ‘And let's see if that tongue really is worth keeping. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

Clarissa nodded.

‘Excellent. Now, make no mistake, pony girl, I'd be quite happy to whip the hide off you and this little beauty could do that, even with that rubber covering you, though it would be a shame to ruin such craftsmanship, so I'd probably strip you first anyway.

‘However, I could just be lenient with you, depending upon how you perform. Understand?' Again, Clarissa nodded, bells jangling to the movement. ‘Good. Now, let's see, shall we?'

Christina reached up under the skirt-like hem of her leather bodice, fingers seeking the zip, which hissed downwards in a single whispered movement. In the gap that appeared between the white silk, Clarissa saw a thick bush of pale pubic hair and, as Christina eased the fabric down over her hips, below it appeared a vivid crimson gash, lips already parted in anticipation of what was to come.

‘Damn!' Christina cursed and stepped back. For a second or so Clarissa was afraid she had done something to arouse the older woman's ire, but then she saw it was simply a case of her being unable to get the leggings far enough down without trapping her thighs too closely together for what she intended. However, the dilemma did not last long.

Boots clattered across the stone floor, landing untidily against the wall, and then Christina was stepping free of the restrictive garment, tossing it to join her discarded footwear and turning back to her hapless captive. She stepped closer, reached out to unclip and remove Clarissa's bit, and then seized the bridle straps where the blinkers were attached. She glared down at Clarissa's upturned face, a malevolent expression on her own features.

‘Now,' she leered, ‘let's try that tongue for size. C'mon, pony slut, get it in good and deep.' Clarissa swallowed hard, pursing together lips that had suddenly become dry, and closed her eyes, making no effort to resist as her tormentor slowly drew her mouth towards its gaping target, offering her tongue to the moist yaw, her nostrils filled with the acrid-sweet scent of her mistress's desire.

 

‘Nearly time,' Lianne said quietly, looking across at the bedside clock. She smoothed the sleeves of her black latex catsuit, wriggling her fingers within the attached gloves, making sure the rubber fitted without wrinkling and rippling, as far as was possible. On the end of the bed heavy rubber ankle boots awaited her, boots with almost cripplingly high heels and locking ankle straps, boots she would once have found impossible to believe existed, let alone able to walk in.

By the dressing table Paul was still dressed as Pauline, a surprisingly convincing image from someone who was so undoubtedly masculine beneath the frivolous latex maid's uniform. For the first trial run he had worn rubber also, but that time it had been a male version of the suit that Lianne now wore beneath the tightly cinched corset. Lianne had not commented on the change and she knew none of the others would, for they were all used to seeing Paul in his various female costumes.

‘You still worried?' he asked, making final adjustments to the curly blonde wig. Lianne pulled a face.

‘Nah,' she muttered. ‘Not really. I've had time to think about it and I guess I was being silly, that's all.' She flexed her shoulders, the light dancing off the highly polished surface of her suit. ‘No, I'm just going to relax and enjoy it this time,' she went on. ‘If all Marlon's little improvements work half as well as he claims they will, this could be a very interesting few hours.'

‘Well, he's added a whole load of my original script concepts,' Paul told her. ‘I dug out four cases of floppy discs and gave them to him, so VESTA now knows all about Della and Mary Lou, though quite how Marlon does all this is beyond me.'

‘Me too,' Lianne admitted. ‘But what the hell, let's go get ourselves screwed, eh?'

 

‘About an hour now,' Jurgen Koenig said. He was holding a glass of brandy in one hand and a short cigar in the other, and appeared relaxed and confident as he watched the screen. Naylor had half expected to see pictures there, but instead it was just the usual meaningless jumble of figures and symbols, none of which meant a thing to him.

‘What's happening down there at the moment?' he asked. Koenig took a sip from his glass before answering.

‘Vincent is hooking them all up to the central unit,' he explained. ‘Each participant is fitted into a sort of capsule, or pod, where they are strapped down to prevent unnecessary body movement during the event. Various probes and sensors are attached to them at strategic points, although the most important connection is via the helmets Vincent has designed.

‘Those helmets are quite something, my dear bean,' he continued. ‘They had a team of four technicians engaged in their manufacture, though apparently none of them was ever told quite what the nature of the final product would be, and each of them has to be worth at least twenty thousand pounds, maybe more.

‘They permit electronic stimulation of all relevant parts of the brain, recreating every sensation that would normally be initially received via nerve endings in places such as fingers, lips, breasts and so on. However, our friend has also incorporated more direct stimulation of certain areas for additional intensification. All very thorough.'

‘Very,' Naylor concurred. ‘So, very shortly all of them except Vincent will be “under”, as it were, inside this VESTA world?'

‘Correct,' Koenig replied. ‘All except Vincent himself, of course. At that point I shall be able to assume some sort of control from here, although really only by way of a monitoring brief, to ensure he does not try anything clever while you are all on your way down there. You have tested the radio link?'

‘Several times,' Naylor confirmed. ‘And there are backup sets in the chopper, just in case.'

‘How long do you estimate it will take you to reach them?'

‘About an hour and a half. The four of us will then establish complete control, while the chopper returns for you, Marika, and a couple more personnel. By the time you arrive the backup team should have arrived by road and the perimeter will be secured. They left over an hour ago.'

‘Then I suggest you should be on your way also,' Koenig said. ‘There is no need to wait longer. I can radio you when all is ready to move in.'

‘Yes, you're right,' Naylor agreed, checking his watch. ‘I'd better go down and see whether Christina has prepared the beautiful Clarissa for travelling. She's a bit reluctant to interrupt her training, but this has to look good, otherwise friend Marlon won't let us inside the building. Unless he throws the switches, it's no good. Storming it would take hours, and meantime he'd bring the others out of VESTA, so it would be a waste of time and effort anyway. Therefore his dear sister has to look as though she's in reasonably presentable condition when we arrive. The sight of her trotting up to the house in full pony harness would hardly do much to win his confidence.'

 

This time the emergence into the virtual world was a much smoother experience. Lianne lay still for several seconds, listening, sensing, and then slowly opened her eyes. Above her she could see a high timbered ceiling, traversed by heavy beams. And when she turned her head she saw stone walls that reminded her of the way in which the outhouse buildings were constructed. She flexed her arms and moved her legs, surprised to find she was not restrained, and then sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bench on which she had been laying.

She looked down at herself and saw she was still dressed as she had been when she'd entered her pod and, for a moment or two, wondered whether she really was back in the virtual world, or whether there had been a last minute change of plan. But on reflection she realised there was nothing particularly familiar about this building, and also that the colours seemed slightly sharp, something she had previously noted as a feature of Marlon and his machine's imaginary environment.

Lianne lowered her feet onto the stone flags and stood up, taking a few paces towards the far end of the barn, where a wide door stood slightly ajar. The sound of her heels echoed convincingly enough and, remembering, she paused, taking a deep breath through her nostrils.

Rubber! The scent of her own suit, plus a strange damp odour of newly mown grass. She smiled to herself. So Marlon really had managed to overcome that one! It was quite incredible. She looked around again, expecting to see at least some sort of indication of what was to come, even if it were just a rack of whips, but the interior of the barn was, with the exception of the wooden bench, totally bare.

‘Hello?' she called out tentatively, but only a slight echo of her own voice came back to her. Yes, she thought, this was definitely much more realistic. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen as though it was real life. Whether it lay outside beyond the door, or whether it would come looking for her, Lianne had no idea.

Probably outside, she thought, though she guessed that if she stayed here long enough ‘someone' would come looking for her eventually. She wondered how patient VESTA was programmed to be and, heels clacking, she started towards the door.

 

Paul Dean could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes, much less that produced by his fingers when he probed beneath the hem of the short skirt and inside the elasticated leg of his panties.

‘Bloody hell!' he breathed. ‘It can't be - this is impossible.'

Anything's possible with VESTA
.

He recognised Marlon's voice, but there was no sign of him anywhere within the room, which appeared to be a fairly unremarkable bedroom of the type generally found in cheap hotels and motels throughout the world.

‘Marlon?' Paul blinked. ‘Where are you?'

Out here, where I've always been. I'm hooked up to an active link, so I can see and hear everything that's going on with all of you. I could materialise a body for myself, but there's not much point. My job is to monitor and evaluate
.

‘Bully for you!' Paul retorted and gave a start, for he had not realised initially how feminine his voice now sounded. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?' He made a gesture with his hands that took in the very feminine looking body that now appeared to be his, from the bubbly blonde hair, the large breasts that were fighting a winning battle with the purple silk blouse, to the long fishnet clad legs that appeared from beneath the scandalously short hem of the black leather skirt.

Don't you like it?
Marlon sounded genuinely surprised.
I thought... well, given some of your preferred outfits I've seen you in, well, I just thought you'd like to experience being inside a female body itself, rather than just dressing the role
.

‘Well, you could have warned me!' Paul protested. ‘In any case, the fact I prefer dressing as a female at times doesn't mean...'

Oh, I see. Silly of me. I'm afraid I'm not terribly good on some of these things. Hang on a bit and I'll get it put right
.

‘Uh... no, hang on for a bit.' Paul turned around to the dressing table mirror. ‘Listen, don't get this wrong, but maybe it would be kind of interesting,' he admitted. ‘Just one thing, though.'

Whatever you say
.

‘Make sure I don't end up getting screwed by some hairy-arsed gorilla. I'm not into sex with men, right?'

Right
. A short pause.
Yes, I see... yes, I see I've been guilty of some stupid assumptions, but don't worry. VESTA is light years ahead of me on these things now. She really is a quick learner, you know
.