Irontown 1: Student Maids (10 page)

For the first time Mel was able to handle the rings that she now wore pierced through her labia and nipples. The contrast between their hardness and her pliant flesh was striking, especially the mound of her depilated pubes, which was silky-soft. The piercings were still tender but she supposed it was amazing they did not hurt more, though she was acutely aware of their presence. She fingered her hard nipples, resisting the instinctive urge to try to pull the rings out. It would be stupid to damage herself further. For the moment she would simply have to accept they were there. Some people had similar things fitted as jewellery, of course, though they did it voluntarily. She tried to clean round them as delicately as she could.

The rounded inner faces of her collar and cuffs and the small degree to which she could slide them up or down meant she could soap and wash the skin under them.

She supposed this would also allow her to dry properly as well. At least she could keep clean. But that also meant there might be no reason to remove them for months, or even years.

She saw Cam rubbing at the part number stamped on her bare pubes, but the writing did not fade. Under cover of soaping herself, Mel rubbed her own pubes, forehead and upper slopes of her buttocks, but there was no trace of running ink. They were there until they faded naturally, except they would not be allowed to. They were as permanent as their masters cared to make them.

When they had showered they moved to the towels and basins. As she brushed her teeth she looked at herself in the mirror above the basin. It was not the Melanie Paget she knew but a naked girl with haunted eyes, a number on her forehead, a collar about her neck and slave rings in her nipples. She found towels and toothbrushes were already labelled with their part numbers. For a moment she wondered at the speed things had been arranged, then she understood. Whatever girl had turned up next would have been given that part name number by the judge and had it stamped on her. It was just a convenient label to identify her body and no more personal than her collar itself. Any girl might have taken her place as the latest part in the Shackleswell machine and be standing here looking at herself. She was simply a girlcog with a body to be maintained in good working order and a bottom to be used whenever a master wished.

Bradawl led them through to the other wing of the school.

‘This is your recreation area,’ he said. ‘You are permitted to use it on rest days, after lessons and before bedtime.

The recreation room was surprising, unexpectedly colourful and well equipped. It was the same height as the other rooms in the school but within it had been divided into three horizontal levels accessed by short flights of metal frame stairs and entered via low doors framed by wired glass panels. The upper two floors were formed of a square lattice of wooden joists infilled with more heavy sheets of wired glass, so you could look right up through them from ground to ceiling. All levels were furnished with colourful pillows and beanbags. The lower level was lined with shelves of books and magazines, the middle one had a large flat screen television and a rack of DVD’s and the upper was fitted out with several games consoles. Bizarrely in a corner was a rack stacked with colourful double-ended dildos, plastic chains, sets of oversized toy handcuffs, soft rubber spanking paddles and gags. Would pupils really want to play with such things? Presumably they did.

It took Mel a few moments to realise that although there was enough headroom in each level to sit upright there was not enough to stand erect. To use it a girl would have to crawl in submissively on her hands and knees and essentially stay that way. Even when they were relaxing they would be reminded what they were.

Beyond the recreation room was the dormitory.

As Bradawl locked them into their bed cage, he said: ‘You will have an early night tonight, as you will find you will need the extra rest. Tomorrow you will have an opportunity to socialize with the other girls. The three of you will sleep together as you do everything else while you’re training. You will keep your cage neat and tidy at all times. The waste bucket is for peeing only. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at school assembly…’

He hung their coffle chains on a hook by their cage and left, locking the dormitory door behind him.

They looked round their cage. The one thing that intruded into it was the spout of the water bottle hanging on the outer bars. It was yet another phallic black rubber spout dispenser. Even while they slept it would be there as a reminder of who their masters were. Bolt turned away from it and hunched miserably up in a corner. Mel and Cam did the same.

Alone with their thoughts and with no distractions, all the numerous wrenching shocks, humiliations, pain and violations of the day that had been held at bay until now caught up with them. First Cam, then Mel and finally Bolt began to sob and cry softly to themselves, rocking back and forth as all the heartache, fear and shame poured forth along with their tears.

An unknown time later Mel finally took a deep breath, groped for a tissue from the dispenser, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. They must get a lot of crying girls, she supposed. It seemed they had thought of everything. She was still desperately frightened and sick with worry, yet the tears had done their job and dulled her pain. She even felt a curious flash of pride that she was not feeling even worse after everything that she had endured, though she was not sure why. Maybe she was tougher than she thought.

After a little while Cam also took a tissue and tried to clean herself up, followed by Bolt. They looked at each other uncertainly through red-rimmed eyes. For the first time in hours they were free to speak but none seemed willing. They might as well still have been gagged, Mel thought. Was it out of shame for the humiliating intimacy they had been forced to share? Except none of what had been done to them was their fault. They must remember that. Somebody also had to break the ice.

‘Look, let’s forget these stupid labels we’ve got stamped on us,’ Mel said, forcing a rueful smile. ‘I’m Mel. What are your real names and where do you come from?’

‘What do you want to know, for?’ Bolt asked suspiciously.

‘I’m just trying to be friendly,’ Mel said, taken aback. ‘We’ve got to make the best of things. If we start with our names and where we come from…’

‘Just fuc — aww… shut up about me!’ Bolt said, wincing and clutching at her collar as it punished her for attempting to swear. ‘I’ll worry about me, right! It’s none of your fuc — ughh… business! You don’t need to know my name ‘cos I’m getting out of here tomorrow! These pervy shi— ahhhs… aren’t going to turn me into any fuc — ee… ing machine, right?’

‘Yes, sorry,’ Mel said, ‘it’s just that we’re all stuck in here and we’ve got to get along…’

‘So you can stick your tongues up my cun… ahhhh… again?’

Mel flinched in the face of the black girl’s burning anger and reckless disregard for her own comfort. Didn’t she ever ease off? ‘The Headmaster made us do that. We didn’t have any choice. None of us do.’

‘Yes you do, you can shut the fu… fu… up about it! Just leave me alone!’ Bolt threw her sodden tissue down, turned away and wrapped her arms about her head.

Recalling Bradawl’s warning, Mel picked up the tissue and put it in the wastebasket. There was no need to invite further punishment.

For the first time Cam spoke up. ‘She’s right,’ she said in small weary voice. ‘Maybe it’s easier not to talk about personal things. If my family ever found out what I did today they’d…’ she trailed off, took in a deep shuddering breath and wiped her eyes again. ‘So, maybe you should just call me Cam…’ she looked down at her shaven pubes, twisting her head to read the number upside-down ‘… Cam 031.’ She frowned. ‘I know what a spring is and what a bolt is but not what a “cam” is.’

‘Sorry, me neither,’ Mel admitted.

‘Well whatever it is, it’s not me, so this must be happening to somebody else.’ She bit her lip. ‘Or maybe it’s all some sick nightmare. Maybe it’ll go away.’

‘I wish it was to but I think it’s real,’ Mel said. ‘I could never imagine anything like this.’

‘Neither could I.’

‘Will you two fu… effing shut up!’ Bolt said.

They did. Neither of them had the energy or desire to fight with Bolt, so instead they pulled their blankets, also marked with their part numbers, about them and lay down.

Perhaps there was some advantage in having part names, Mel thought. Apart from making introductions simple those words and numbers stamped upon their flesh gave them something to hide behind. They were unreal identities to which all the terrible things were happening while allowing their real selves to hide away inside. Beneath their immediate physical shame lurked the deeper shame of what had brought them here. Bolt obviously had problems in her past and Cam seemed quietly despairing. Perhaps they were all frightened of exposing their secrets. Yes, it would be a hundred times easier for Mel to bare her body to strangers than her soul and all the guilt that weighed it down.

Mel must have dozed because an unknown time later she heard the patter of shoes and clink of chains and the rest of the school were marched into the dormitory, presumably coming through from the recreation room. They saw a few girls pass the front of their cage, accompanied by the robed forms of masters with their cocks and balls on intimidating display. With clanks and jingles the girls were locked away and the masters departed.

A soft buzz of conversation broke out from the cells. Girls were calling out to others in different cells by their part names: sprocket, bobbin, flange, spindle, pin and many others. Mel was not sure what they all meant and some sounded old-fashioned. Were they names Rowland had first thought up to give to his slave girl workers?

The ceiling lights, which must have been set on a timer, dimmed and faded. Gradually the chatter died away as the girls settled down, but the dormitory did not fall totally silent. From the darkness came the unmistakable sighs, grunts and soft gasps of lovemaking.

‘I suppose it would be warmer if we shared our blankets and sort of cuddled up together,’ Cam said suggested in a small voice.

‘I’m no lesbian!’ Bolt growled. ‘You two keep away from me.’

They rolled up tighter alone in their blankets. It would have been warmer to huddle together, Mel thought, but that was clearly not an option if they wanted any chance of rest. She fingered her cuffs, collar and rings, trying to get used to their strangeness. Her nipples were still hard and her pussy was, well, moist. How could she sleep with all these things in and around her? How could she sleep after what had been done to her and not knowing what new perversions tomorrow might bring? How could she sleep after the terrible thing she herself had done?

Finally, however, exhaustion overcame her fears and sleep she did.

Chapter Six

They were roused the next morning by the sound of a cane being run across the bars of their cage.

‘Rise and shine, cogs,’ a black robed teacher was calling out loudly. Mel saw his thick penis swaying as he strode past their cage and shuddered.

They pulled on their socks, shoes and ties and then waited to be taken out of their cages in groups of three. Long coffle chains were clipped onto their collars as they emerged from their cages crawling on their hands and knees.

‘Stand straight and hands behind necks!’ the command came and they obeyed.

‘Now, keeping those knees high, march!’

They high-stepped through the outer door of the dormitory and into the playground. There was still a chill in the morning air that crinkled their nipples, but they soon warmed up. As they circled the playground in a multi-coloured parade of flesh, prancing like show-ponies, four teachers stood at the inside corners of their circuit urging them on with flicks of their canes across their bobbing bottoms or bouncing nipple-ringed breasts. At first Mel, Bolt and Cam found it hard to keep in step and kept jerking each other with their collar chains. Warning swipes from canes forced them to find a common rhythm.

With their hands clasped behind their necks, the swing of their hips and roll of their bottoms was exaggerated. This in turn caused their breasts, already lifted higher by their raised arms, to sway, jiggle and toss with greater force. The playground was filled with the slap of their shoes, the panting for breath, the swish and crack of cane on flesh and, delicately accompanying it all, the faint chiming of forty or so pairs of labial rings clinking together.

When they were warmed up they were arranged in rows and made to do star-jumps and then touch their toes with legs spread. Linked together each move had to be done in time with those of their chain mates. The teachers passed behind them as they dipped down, flicking their bottoms with canes to encourage greater effort or stroking and patting the hindquarters of those doing well. She actually heard a few words of praise being given out. Of course the teachers were happy. The further the girls bent over the more they exposed themselves to them. She could see right up the groin of the girl in front of her as she bent down, thrusting her taut buttocks into the air. The dark crinkled starburst of her anus seemed to wink at her as she ducked down while the cleft peach of her ringed vulva spread its lips invitingly…

Mel shuddered. What was this place doing to her?

They finished with ten press-ups each. With slave girls the rule was their nipples must touch the ground each time to count. The teachers walked amongst them as they strained to lift themselves saying: ‘I want to see those nips touching, not just your rings.’