Mel, Cam and Bolt were all incredibly sore the next day, both inside and out, which made lessons even harder. The schoolmasters must have known what had happened but made no mention of it and somehow they survived without incurring further punishment. Bolt at least seemed to have been temporarily subdued by the wrath of her peers, which almost made their suffering worthwhile.
Despite the washroom incident Mel and Cam found the other girls friendly enough. They did not seem to hold any personal grudges against them once the point had been made. Clearly they sympathised with their problems with Bolt. Perhaps their suffering had had served its purpose because Bolt was now largely ignoring everybody else and they ignored her, except when lessons forced them into intimate contact.
Mel was worried that Bolt would lose control again, but she participated in the lessons just enthusiastically enough to avoid further punishment from the teachers and further warnings from the pupils while making it clear the contempt in which she held the masters and other girls for cooperating with “the enemy”, as she regarded their masters. However Mel could not imagine her being allowed to graduate as a star pupil, which meant neither could she or Cam. It seemed that Bolt was now, after open insubordination had proven too painful, determined to make her point by trying to wear down the patience of their masters in the stubborn belief that they would actually give up on her. Mel was sure they would not be tricked so easily.
With the problem of Bolt at least temporarily under control the most surprising thing for Mel was how quickly life in Gryndstone became routine, just as Wire said it would. The staff behaved as though lessons in sexual submission, blind obedience and mechanical violation were perfectly normal and natural, and isolated from the rest of the world as the girls were it was easy to get drawn into that illusion. In a strange way it made it all tolerable. It was just what you did at school.
Daily they were made to perform acts that only a short while ago Mel would have called obscene, degrading and were undeniably often painful. Yet they were treated matter-of-factly as part of ordinary school lessons and were certainly easier to master than quadratic equations. All they had to do was surrender their pride and dignity and let their instincts take over. It helped that there were others to share their pain and frustration, reinforcing the bond of a chain sisterhood between them. They could complain to each other afterward how stretched their rectums felt after being impaled by a particularly large dildo or how sore their nipples were from tugging their rings on machine hooks. It was both mundane and unreal.
Of course it was not always a rubber or metal phallus. At least once a day one of the teachers had intercourse with them. They had to accept that a man with a stiff cock jutting out in front of him had every right to push it into whatever orifice he chose and it was their duty to satisfy him. With by now well-exercised passages they could accommodate the size easily enough, but it was the mental attitude that was a challenge. It was no use going cold and behaving mechanically. That was punished. They had to learn to feel passion and believe it was vital they drained every cock put inside them. It had its advantages. Even synthetic passion made them lubricate copiously and so made penetration more comfortable. After a while it became hard to tell the difference between that and genuine arousal. For gynatons, Mel suspected, that was a normal state of mind.
This led to the matter of orgasms. Mel could not decide whether they were compensations or curses. She was soon having three or four a day during lessons and growing in intensity, which was treated within the walls of Gryndstone as perfectly normal. After all, as was made clear to them, that was just how healthy gynatons were expected to respond to restraint and sexual stimulation, whether it be with a real penis or a rubber one. On the positive side at least for a few seconds they blotted every other care from her mind. Even Bolt had them, though she made it clear as soon as possible afterward that she resented the experience. Other girls seemed to accept them and even boast about them. If you felt no guilt, then why not? Mel had not quite reached that stage yet.
Mel was unsure whether the increase in her sex drive was due to their perverted training, or being constantly naked amongst other naked girls with her nipples and vulva continually stimulated by their piercing rings. That at least would be understandable. It was more worrying to think it might also be in her nature.
The easiest transition Mel made was accepting lesbianism as an integral part of everyday life at Gryndstone. That it involved perverse and intimate sex with strangers had been the hardest adjustment, but once she got to know the girls it became less shameful and even at times fun. There was her own personal sense of guilt and disloyalty to overcome but she simply had no choice and knew that weighing herself down with more emotional baggage would be stupid.
Girls had always accepted such intimacy more readily than men and most of them seemed to cope. It was just something they did in class. Of course many of them did it out of lessons as well. They needed some safety valve in their enclosed world and this was the most natural one, though not yet for Mel. At night she and Cam continued to sleep in each other’s arms but they had not made love, possibly because by then they were simply too exhausted.
Her strange new lifestyle was at odds with the messages from home that brought her back to reality and the dark guilt she felt.
Her parents kept asking her to admit what a terrible thing she had done.
The trouble was she could not do that either. She could not take back what had happened and part of her did not want to, despite the anguish it had caused those she loved. Maddy just wanted to be close to her again.
‘I understand why it’s not a good idea for you to come back home but can we meet somewhere else? ’ she asked plaintively.
How could Mel explain she was a chained sex-slave in training and her masters probably would not allow family visits? She managed to construct a plausible excuse.
‘If dad found out we were meeting secretly you know what he’d think. Let’s just be patient and keep going the way we are. Don’t worry, I’m eating regularly and getting plenty of exercise…’
Perhaps it was easier to face perverted life in Gryndstone than contemplate trying to put her personal life back together in the “real” world. She was physically safer than she would have been living in some rundown part of London, as long as you accepted living as a sex slave as “safer. ”Was that why her heart was not in trying to escape? If she had been given a chance then instinct would have driven her to make the attempt, but she did not have the urge to try to search for a way out like Bolt, who was always looking for some weakness in school security. She supposed being trained as a sex slave was a good excuse for not getting about so much, but did it mask an unpalatable truth? If she waited long enough, would she ever be able to muster the will to escape? Was life in Gryndstone taking her over?
They saw fresh batches of frightened girls come into the school and they were not the new girls any more. They mastered the routine. In a week life seemed almost tolerable. Mel began to wonder if as Wire had said, for some girls there who had endured tougher lives than she had, perhaps slavery in Shackleswell did not seem such a bad option. They had been enslaved and yet they were the focus of so much attention they felt in a strange way important. Except of course that it was morally obscene and completely wrong, as Mel had to keep reminding herself.
There were more confessions in school assembly. Mel could not imagine Bolt putting herself through that. Would Cam do it? What would she herself have to confess? No, she could not do that.
Trigyns also graduated. They were called up to the front by Bradawl, their school ties were removed and small medallions were hung on their collars in their place. They kissed all the teachers’ cocks and thanked them. The girls seemed excited to be going as though they had just won golden tickets to wonderful jobs. At break Bradawl led them through the playground, hugging and kissing the other girls on the way. Then they went through the door of Miss Trunnion’s office and that was the last they saw of them.
Then came Mel’s second Sunday at Gryndstone.
Sundays were rest days after morning exercise and assembly where sore passages could recover from relentless penetration. The first Sunday had been wet and Mel and the other girls had spent most of the day lounging about the rec room watching films. This Sunday, however, dawned bright and clear.
Sunday assembly was more like a church service and Miss Trunnion joined the Masters on the stage. As the girls knelt impaled on their mats Bradawl read out an excerpt from W. S. Rowland’s private research notes, such as details of how he had learned to control a particular girl he was experimenting on through inducing multiple orgasms. It was treated as if it was an uplifting passage from the Bible. Perhaps to Gryndstone girls that was what it was intended to be. It was certainly the rulebook of their life.
This second Sunday Bradawl said: ‘As it’s such a fine day we shall have a school outing to Rowland Park. ’
The assembled girls greeted this news with great excitement, suggesting many had been on such trips before. Mel felt a thrill herself. For the first time they would be getting out of school.
Packed lunches were handed out in small light backpacks together with rolled foam rubber ground sheets that they could string across their shoulders. A couple of girls were also laden with bags of inflatable balls, Frisbees and a rounders set. The masters then went round cuffing the girls’ hands behind them and then hooking red ball gags strung on elastic cords onto the side rings of their collars.
‘There will be no eating or talking while you are on the train,’ Bradawl said. ‘In the park you will be in your school uniform in public so you will behave as befits Gryndstone girls. ’
Mel exchanged bemused glance with Cam and even Bolt did not try to disguise her puzzlement. She had imagined he had meant some sort of private park. How publicly could they possibly be displayed in what passed for Gryndstone uniforms? Also what train was he talking about?
While they were being kitted out, Bradawl, Hawk and Puncheon removed their robes and replaced their mortarboards with straw boaters. They also closed up their tailored trouser flaps, concealing their genitals. After days of staring at their members in varied states of arousal it was almost a shock not to find them there.
Led by the three teachers and with Miss Trunnion wearing a summer frock, in attendance, the girls were marched down the playground in their coffles and through a green door at the other end of the terrace from the office entrance. Mel recalled seeing coffles of girls being escorted through the doors on a few occasions but she had never asked what lay inside.
Within was a plain square brick room with small barred windows. In the middle was the housing, winding wheels and gates for a goods elevator that vanished into the depths. A wooden platform running on rails up the shaft served as the lift itself. The walls of the room were lined with four chimneybreasts with large open hearths but no grates. Mel could feel a draft blowing through them.
Round the central well, enclosed by mesh panels, wound a square spiral of wooden stairs. They clattered down these flights of stairs for several turns until they came to the bottom. Here the stairs opened onto what looked like a small underground station lit by electric laps. It was set on a side loop off a straight mainline, as though it was a halt to allow fast through trains to bypass slower stopping trains. There was a sign on the wall that read: GRYNDSTONE HALT. Mounted on the far wall of the main track was another sign:CIRCLE LINE
It seemed Gryndstone had its own underground train station.
As they were led closer to the platform edge Mel saw the rails running through the station were of a very narrow gauge. After the loop rejoined the main line at sets of points at either end of the station it vanished into the mouths of tunnels too low to stand upright in and far too small to take regular underground trains. There was no sign of electric power rails, yet all the brickwork looked soot free and the air was fresh. What sort of trains could run along such lines?
Bradawl consulted his watch. ‘It should be along very shortly,’ he announced.
As if on cue there came the sound of wheels rattling along the track, slowing as they got closer. A low-slung train pulled off the main line onto the platform loop and the driver drew it to a smooth halt.
It was pulling five low, lightweight, open carriages. Four had simple metal lattice frame sides and reminded Mel of cattle trucks while the fifth, just behind the engine, had solid sides and was fitted with three rows of comfortable double seats. The four trucks were floored with sponge rubber matting and had each had two rows of six phalluses rising vertically up from the floor, rather like the ones they squatted on in assembly. The frame sides were also hung with chains and fastening rings. In the last carriage a guard with peaked cap, flag and whistle, rode on a small fold-down seat. There was no problem guessing which carriages they would be travelling in.
However it was not the carriages that riveted Mel’s attention, it was the driving engine. It was not electrically powered.
Two naked girls with strong thighs and firm buttocks lay side by side and face down imprisoned within a cylindrical metal frame reminiscent of the boiler section of an old-fashioned steam engine, which rested on four rail wheels, the front pair smaller than the rear. Their arms were stretched out in front of them and cuffed to the frame that carried buffers and lamps. Padded trays to which they were firmly strapped supported their chests and stomachs. Their legs were cuffed to sets of bicycle-like pedals and gears that were connected to the rear set of larger drive wheels.
Behind them sat the driver in an open cab above the rear drive wheels so that he could look over the top of the front section containing the two girls. He had some simple controls in front of him that connected to the wheel, gears and his living pistons in ways Mel could not make out, but the upturned buttocks of the two girls were bright pink.
Suddenly the photo on the school wall made sense and the scope of Shackleswell’s secret world made a quantum leap in scale and audacity in Mel’s mind. These people actually had a miniature railway line under their city with slave-girl powered engines carrying more slave girls as goods. Of course Wire could probably have told her about it, but obviously Mel had never asked. Why should she? It was staggering.
The guard assisted the teachers in loading almost forty naked girls onto his train as if he did it every day, which obviously he did. They simply squatted down impaling themselves in tight double rows in the cattle wagons and their coffle chains were clipped to the sides. Then the teachers took their seats up front.
The guard blew his whistle and waved his flag and the train began to move off, slowly at first but picking up speed steadily. It clicked over the points and rejoined the main line. Could two girls pull so much weight? Evidently they could with the help of gears and level rails. They plunged into the tunnel, which was illuminated at intervals by electric lamps, and sped along in almost perfect silence with only the occasional rattle of couplings and steady burr of metal wheels on rail.
Mel’s training in MI began to assert itself. She could feel the slight vibration of the wheels and the click of joints and points transmitted up inside her by her phallus. This was what it felt like to be connected to a real moving machine. It was insidiously arousing.
Twisting her head round Mel saw the tunnel walls speeding past her were of painted brick, not prefabricated concrete sections. They were clean and well maintained but looked old. When had they been built? Had the girl engines been designed to fit through them, or had they been made to take their unique engines? Had Rowland himself planned the system?
After a few minutes the train emerged from the tunnel to pass through another station. The sign over the platform read: THE MILLHOUSE. Here a shorter girl-powered train was standing in the siding with slave girls supervised by an overseer unloading trolleys of boxes and cartons off flat wagons. A goods train?
Soon the tunnel widened to accommodate a second line running in parallel to theirs. Another girl-powered train went past in the opposite direction. This one carried no goods but drew three passenger carriages. Mel saw the sweating faces of the girls powering the train and the rings of their dangling breasts threaded through by a horizontal rod linking them to the frame of the engine. She also glimpsed the ordinary carefree faces of their passengers as they sped by. To them it seemed riding on a train pulled by slave girls was just normal everyday life.
They passed through a larger station called: GIN STREET JUNCTION, which seemed to be an interchange with another line. Old names like that suggested the network had been around for some time. How big was it? This was a Sunday and it seemed quite busy. Presumably it would be even more so through the week. They were running on the “circle line” so how many more lines were there? No reason why they did not serve the whole City.
The train begin to slow. It clicked over some points and pulled up at a station called: ROWLAND PARK, which boasted two loops of platform track. Another girl-train was already standing at the station disembarking a dozen people, including a party of three middle-aged couples leading a naked slave girl with a large picnic hamper strapped to her back. Was this what Bradawl had meant by being in public? The couples looked the gaggle of naked schoolgirls over with unabashed interest and Mel felt a sudden shy blush coming on. They were the first strangers to see them for nearly two weeks.
The coffles of girls were disembarked and climbed a spiral of stone stairs back up to ground level. They emerged from a low square building into warm bright sunshine. About them were rolling lawns, stands of trees, fountains, benches, statues and flowerbeds crisscrossed by loops and sweeps of gravel paths. There were people out walking or jogging and some had already laid out rugs and picnic cloths on the grass. Amongst the clothed bodies were flashes of bare flesh and the glint of cuffs and collars.
Mel shivered, acutely aware of being naked and exposed in the open before strange eyes. Suddenly the school playground seemed a very cosy place.
As he led the school party along one of the broader pathways Bradawl explained: ‘Rowland Park is only open to gynaton-using Shackleswell citizens. As you can see many bring their own girls here for exercise. ’They passed a group of slave girls throwing a beach ball about apparently unsupervised. ‘The park has a secure perimeter so gynatons can be allowed to run free within its bounds. ’
Mel saw Bolt staring at the girls with sudden interest.
‘Many sporting and cultural events involving gynatons are also held here,’ Bradawl continued, pointing to a bandstand nestling between the trees and what looked like a small open-air theatre. ‘In many ways it is the true social and cultural hub of the city. It was intended as the prototype of similar parks Rowland hoped would be founded in towns across the country as others took up his eminently logical theory of gynaetics. Alas, this was not to be. ’
Mel tried to imagine the whole country run on Rowland’s principles and felt dizzy at the thought. It was crazy and yet, just suppose enough influential Victorians had taken his ideas up. They had been known believe some pretty weird things. Might this scene have become normal countrywide?
‘This is the centre of the park and where we shall all meet again this afternoon,’ Bradawl said.
They had reached a spot where half a dozen paths met at a circle of gravel that surrounded a substantial monument. It was like a six-sided market cross with a small clock tower on its roof and drinking fountains mounted on the inside of the pillars. Raised on a plinth under the middle of the cross was a bronze statue of W. S. Rowland depicted seated on another of his girl-powered machines. It resembled an old-fashioned penny-farthing bike except that the huge front wheel had been expanded sideways to form an oblate cage in which a naked girl was running round hunched over like a hamster.
As they got closer Mel saw the drinking fountains were of course fitted with phallic spouts. Below them were low wide bronze pans shaped a little like water-lily leaves with another fountain playing across them, the function of which Mel could not at first work out. Then she saw a slave girl run into the cross, squat down over one of the pans and pee gratefully and copiously. The small fountain playing over it washed her groin as she relieved herself. When she was done she unconcernedly shook the drips off her pubes and scampered away again.
They were alfresco pee pans that gynatons had to use like dogs, Mel realised. How very natural that they should relieve themselves under the gaze of Rowland’s cold bronze eyes. No doubt that was how he would have wanted it.
The Gryndstone girls were ungagged and uncuffed. Bradawl pointed to the clock tower. ‘Listen for the chimes through the day. You will all be back here by four o’clock,’ he told them. ‘In the meantime enjoy the park and have fun…’
The girls chattered excitedly as they broke up into smaller groups. Some took play items from the sports bag. In a few minutes they had spread out along the paths and between the trees.
Mel and Cam looked about them, momentarily at a loss. Suddenly they had hours of virtual freedom on their hands and did not know what to do with them. Nearly two weeks of rigid routine and confinement in the school grounds made it hard to plan for roaming about at will. Yet the teachers were no longer paying them any attention and were carrying the hamper off across the grass in search of a picnic spot. It seemed they really were free to go where they wished, as long as it was within the park. Hesitantly Cam picked a Frisbee out of the bag. ‘Maybe we can play with this? ’ she asked.
Bolt, however, had a determined look on her face. She set off briskly along one of the broader pathways. Mel and Cam exchanged worried glances and hurried after her.
‘You’re not going to do anything silly, are you? ’ Cam asked.
‘I’m just going to look around,’ Bolt replied noncommittally. ‘No harm in that, is there? ’
‘Would this looking round have anything to do with trying to find places where you could climb a wall or slip out through a gate? ’ Mel asked.
‘Bradawl said we should have fun. This is what gives me fun. You don’t have to come. ’
‘You don’t really think you’ll just be able to walk out of here, do you? ’ Cam asked. ‘The Headmaster said it had a secure perimeter. ’
‘Then there’s no harm in me looking, is there? ’ Bolt countered.
After a few minutes becoming used to seeing so many strangers around them, Mel decided it was curiously liberating walking around naked in such surroundings on warm day. Of course people looked at them as they passed, which was natural and even a little exciting, because as naked schoolgirls went they were pretty hot. However nobody was stopping them going where they wished. They were enjoying a kind of freedom.
Cam seemed to have the same feelings. ‘This is actually quite nice. ’ She glanced at Bolt’s set expression. ‘Please don’t spoil it. ’
They came to a junction with another path. Crossing in front of them was something that stopped them short.
An elderly man was seated in a lightweight wire-mesh chair slung between two wire-spoked wheels a metre across. Slender shafts curved up from their axel to hitch onto the harness of the ponygirl pulling him along.
The harness bound her naked body tightly, with straps about her waist and crossing between her breasts. A narrower strap ran down into her bare pussy cleft where it was threaded through her labial rings, passed between her thighs and emerged from the cleavage of her taut buttocks. Above this a fake ponytail jutted out from the base of her spine. Her arms were bent at the elbows by linked cuffs between her wrists and upper arms while her hands were balled up inside fake rubber hooves, making it look as though she was pawing the air. Similar hooves enclosed her toes and the balls of her feet, which ankle braces forced her to run upon. A web of bridle straps, rings and buckles enclosed her face and blinkers shielded her eyes. A bobbing white plume was fastened to the strap that went across her forehead. Her hair, which was long and silvery, had been pulled through a ring in her bridle and hung down the supple curve of her back. The ends of reins were clipped to her nipple rings and passed up through rings extending from the sides of her collar, where they ran down over her shoulders to her driver’s right hand. In his left he held a long carriage whip. Her bottom showed the pink stripes of its cuts,
They watched her trot away along the path in silence. Then Bolt said: ‘You want to know why I’m trying to escape. That’s why. Do you want to end up like that? ’
Mel could think of no reply. The pony girl had looked achingly beautiful in her way but of course it had to be wrong. It was somehow more blatant than the girl-powered trains. They at least were practical in their way. The pony girl was being driven about primarily for show, to be displayed as a man’s possession. Perhaps there was a self-indulgent side to Shackleswell life at odds with Rowland’s logical mechanistic system of slavery. It went to show how little they really knew about the city.
They reached the edge of the park. Behind a screen of trees they saw a high brick boundary wall stretching away to the left and right. Close to was a gateway through which a steady stream of visitors was filing into the park. Mel, Bolt and Cam moved closer. There was a double set of large solid offset gates that meant you could not see directly in or out. The people entering had to then pass through turnstiles under the watchful gaze of men in blue uniforms who were presumably park wardens.
In such circumstances security was very simple. Free people wore clothes and did not have part names stamped on their foreheads or collars round their necks or cuffs on their wrists. Slave girls tended to stand out in a crowd.
‘I don’t think we can just walk out of here,’ Cam said.
‘And those walls look pretty high,’ Mel observed.
They watched the flow of visitors for several minutes while Bolt scowled at the vigilant wardens. Then a couple of young woman amongst the incoming stream caught Mel’s eye. They were identically dressed in grey thigh-length belted raincoats, ankle boots, scarves around their necks and headbands across their foreheads holding back their hair. They carried a picnic bag between them. As they passed through the turnstiles they showed something hung about their necks to the warden who nodded and waved them on.
The two women walked a little way from the gate then stopped not far from the watching girls and put down their bag. Unbelting their coats they stripped them off gratefully. Underneath they were naked. They had rings through their nipples and bare labia, which were stamped with part names. Cuffs on their wrists had charm chains threaded through their securing rings. They pulled off their headbands, exposing the print of part names and unwound their scarves revealing slave collars. Casually slinging their coats over their shoulders they took up their bag again and carried on through the trees.
Mel, Cam and Bolt gaped at them and then each other in astonishment. Had they just seen apparently free people turn themselves into slave girls?
United in confusion they followed the women through the trees until they found them laying out rugs on a grassy slope. By now they had pulled off their boots revealing cuffed ankles.
Mel felt absurdly nervous but she had to know what was going on. ‘Excuse me, but are you really gynatons? ’
The pair smiled up at them in good-natured amusement. The names on their foreheads were CHAIN 041 and SPINDLE 220. At least part stamps made introductions simple.
‘Well don’t we look like gynatons? ’ said Chain. ‘Just like you’re obviously Gryndstone girls. ’
‘Does Mr Hawk still teach PE? ’ Spindle asked.
‘Er… yes,’ said Cam.
‘Has he had you yet? He’s huge! ’
Bolt was not going to be sidetracked. ‘You look like slaves now, but you came in dressed like ordinary people. ’
‘Well we don’t walk the streets bare-assed,’ Chain said. ‘There are sometimes visitors in the town who wouldn’t understand. ’
‘Actually it’s a pain because wearing clothes isn’t very comfortable after a few years of going round stripped,’ Spindle confided.
‘But today’s our day off and the weather was good we thought we’d come here. ’
‘You have days off! ’ Bolt exclaimed in disbelief.
The pair looked surprised. ‘Of course,’ Spindle said. ‘Every gynaton needs time for rest and recreation. We wouldn’t work very efficiently otherwise. ’
‘So you’re just allowed to walk out? ’ Bolt said, still sounding suspicious.
Chain lifted what looked a small medallion that was clipped to the front of her collar. It had the current date and a code number stamped on it. ‘We have to carry day passes from our master, of course, but as long as we have these we can go where we like. ’
‘We’re going to see a film later,’ Spindle added.
‘How are you going to get in to see a film? ’ Bolt asked. ‘Don’t tell me you get pocket money as well? ’
‘Well, we have gyntokens,’ Chain said, dipping her hand into the pocket of her coat lying beside her and bringing out a couple of what looked like bronze coins the size of commemorative crowns. ‘These are as good as money for us. Every business in Shackleswell accepts them. ’
‘And if you want more you can always offer a screw,’ Spindle added with a grin.
A true slave economy, Mel thought.
‘But why don’t you just run away? ’ Bolt asked.
The pair looked bemused. ‘Where would we want to run to? ’
An hour later Mel, Cam and Bolt were lying on their groundsheets in a small sunlit hollow in a corner of the park backed by a stand of trees eating their packed lunches. It was nice to laze in the warm sun and simply do nothing, Mel thought. Gynatons did need their R&R.
It was a novelty in itself to eat food with their hands and not suck it through a phallic-shaped feeding tube, although they could not help noticing there was a certain phallic theme to their meal. Each lunch bag contained fruit juices in tubular foil packs, large cooked vegetarian sausages, bridge rolls, gherkins and a banana. There was also a tub of creamy dip with large thick carrots.
Bolt sprawled on her stomach eating mechanically, still deep in thought following their conversation with Chain and Spindle that had revealed that slave life in Shackleswell was far more complicated than they had imagined. At least it had diverted her from trying to find some weak spot in the park perimeter, for which Mel was grateful. Cam and Mel lay on their backs with their dip pots nestled between their breasts crunching carrots.
‘Do you think this is all part of our conditioning? ’ Cam said unexpectedly, as she licked the cream off her carrot suggestively.
Mel turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean? ’
‘Giving us days off like this, allowing us a bit of freedom in a nice park, a little luxury like the rec room. Is it all designed to make being turned into a slave just bearable so we accept it and don’t make trouble? ’
Mel shrugged. ‘It might be. Or it might simply be a sensible way of keeping slaves happy and healthy. Both possibly. Same thing in the end. ’
‘But do they really care for us? Can you have humanitarian slave owners?
‘Maybe you can in Shackleswell. If you believe their reasoning that we really are sort of inferior animals who need looking after for our own good. By those standards they probably think they are being kind to us. ’
‘Chain and Spindle seemed pretty happy. ’
‘They did,’ Mel admitted.
‘Brainwashed,’ Bolt said bluntly.
‘I think it has to be more than that,’ Mel said. ‘This town, this whole way of life, couldn’t have lasted so long without finding some sort of balance that keeps the girls genuinely contented, that gives them some something back for what they’ve given up. ’
Cam nodded and then frowned. ‘But… is it right? ’
Mel did not have a chance to answer because just then a drawling male voice said loudly: ‘Well, what do we have here? A trigyn of pretty Gryndstone schoolgirls having a picnic all on their own in the woods? ’
Caught by surprise, Mel, Cam and Bolt rolled over onto their knees, spilling their food onto the grass.
Three young men in coloured shirts with rolled-up sleeves, white flannel trousers and straw boaters were looking down at them. Instinctively the girls lowered their heads to the grass and raised their bottoms submissively as they had been taught in D&SK.
‘Good afternoon, Masters,’ they said meekly.
The young men, actually hardly more than boys Mel realised and certainly no older than they were themselves, walked round them and looking into their upturned bottoms. Mel saw the bulges in the front of their trousers, which had tailored flaps like their teachers’, growing by the second. She felt her stomach knot in anticipation while her pussy clenched. She knew what was coming.
‘Lazing around stuffing themselves, I see,’ said the one in the lime green shirt, grinning hugely.
‘I’m not sure if that’s allowed,’ said his companion in pink mischievously.
‘Aren’t we the ones meant to stuff their kind? ’ said Yellow, making a feeble joke as he tried to sound assured.
They’re beginners like us, Mel thought.
‘Do you think you’ve got something to stuff them with? ’ Green wondered.
‘Oh, I’ve got something good,’ said Pink, pushing his hips forward.
‘They’ve got to let us do this, right? ’ Yellow asked anxiously.
‘They’ve got to do whatever we tell them,’ said Green. ‘They’ve got to obey free men. That’s what they teach them at school. ’
‘But they don’t belong to us…’
‘If they belong to the school they belong to everybody. They’ve got no day pass fobs so they’re not protected. ’He looked down at the girls sternly. ‘Put your arms behind your backs,’ he commanded.
Mel, Cam and Bolt obeyed. It was true. They were Gryndstone schoolgirls. They were there to serve and obey.
‘See. Now we have some fun…’
The boys clipped their wrist cuffs together. Pulling the girls’ heads up by their hair they took up the red ball gags that had been dangling almost unnoticed on their collars all morning and pushed them into their mouths. Then they threw the girls down on their backs on their mats.
‘Spread those legs wider, gyns,’ Green said, kicking at their feet.
Automatically Mel, Cam and Bolt presented themselves as they had been taught at school, spreading their thighs wide and flat and bending their knees so they exposed their groins to the maximum. Their smooth ringed mounds stood out proudly between the big tendons of their thighs with their ringed clefts already beginning to part wide as they pulsed with newly stirred arousal.
‘Oh… wow,’ Yellow said.
The boys hesitated, licking their lips at the sight, suddenly seeming less assured than they had at first. Their manner was awkward and a little old-fashioned. Was that the style in Shackleswell? For all their outward show they were not experienced. How many girls had they had in their power like this before, Mel wondered.
However base animal instinct ensured they would not falter now. They pulled the flaps of their trousers wide, freeing slim, stiff young cocks that seemed to spring to attention. Then they practically threw themselves down on their captives, thrusting their straining penises wildly about, sliding their shafts through the girls’ slots before finding the mouths of their vaginas.
Pink mounted Bolt while Green slid into Cam. Yellow shirt grasped Mel’s hips and rammed his cock into her passage without any concern for her comfort. She expected nothing less.
After hardly more than a minute of frantic pounding into the girls’ groins that set their breasts jiggling, the boys spilt their seed inside them in lusty spurts. Then one by one they sagged over their captives’ sweaty bodies, panting and exultant, and lay still.
Mel squirmed under Yellow-shirt’s weight as he lay with his head pillowed on her breasts, still squeezing on his softening cock with her sheath. She found her overriding emotion was not disgust but frustration. He’d come too quickly for her. She was turning into a real slut.
Gradually the boys stirred on their living flesh mattresses and looked at each other with sheepish triumph.
‘That was incredible! ’ Yellow admitted. ‘It was like… like she was sucking it out of me with her pussy. What about yours? ’ he asked Green.
‘She was really hot and wet inside. ’He turned to Pink who was lying on top of Bolt. ‘What about yours? ’
‘Yeah, hot too, and look at the size of her nipples. ’He tugged casually on Bolt’s rings that were standing out on the swollen peaks of her breasts. Bolt’s eyes bulged and she snivelled in pain.
Grinning hugely the boys realised they had the most perfect playthings at their mercy. They spent a minute slapping and squeezed the girls’ breasts in delight, flicking and twisting their nipple rings and watching the girls’ faces contort as they whimpered in pain.
‘Don’t they make funny noises? ’ Yellow said.
‘Swap you for her next time? ’ Green suggested to Pink.
‘Ughh! I’m not going in her hole now you’ve used it,’ Oink said with a shudder.
‘They’ve got other holes, you know,’ Green pointed out. ‘For a start they can suck us clean…’
The boys grinned at each other in renewed delight.
They swapped over girls and knelt across the chests of their new mounts so they could pull out their gags and push their sticky penises into their mouths for cleaning. Mel had Pink’s shaft in hers and she tasted Bolt’s juices on it as she sucked it clean. Just treat it like a feeding phallus, Mel thought.
Under their ministrations the boys’ cocks swiftly revived and stiffened again as only young cocks could. In a few minutes they were grasping the girls by the hair and grinding their faces into their groins as they thrust clumsily into their throats.
‘I’m going to…. come in her mouth…’ Yellow gasped as he
‘She’ll swallow it down,’ Oink groaned. ‘They like the taste…’
The boys spouted again, nearly choking the girls in the process, but obediently they swallowed it down. It was instinctive. Sperm must not be wasted.
When the boys had recovered they climbed off their chests and pushed the gags back into the girls’ mouths. Their cocks lolled semi-hard and shiny.
‘That was… amazing,’ Yellow panted. ‘They just lap it up. ’
‘Can you do it once more? ’ Green panted. ‘Then that’d mean we’ve done the set. ’
‘You mean up their bottom holes? ’ said Pink. ‘I don’t know. ’
‘Are they clean up there? ’ Yellow asked.
‘Of course,’ Green assured him. ‘They’re flushed out and greased several times a day. It’s what their bum holes are made for. ’
‘But they’re smaller than their pussy holes. Won’t it hurt them? ’
‘What does that matter? ’
Nothing, Mel thought.
They rolled the girls over onto their stomachs to survey their final goals. They handled them almost as though they were inanimate objects. They were not remotely interested in their feelings. All they were to them were pleasurable mute female bodies conveniently at their disposal.
Curiously they pulled their bottom cheeks wide to study the tightly puckered anuses deep in their buttock valleys. Sensitised by their anal training, their glistening orifices clenched and pouted at the boys under the stimulation from their curious fingering, much to their amusement.
‘I know, before we use their bums we’ve got to spank them to make them open up properly,’ Green said. ‘It’s what they expect. ’
‘But we didn’t bring a cane,’ Pink pointed out.
They found some dead twigs under the trees that they could bundle up into workable birch lashes. They pulled girls up onto their knees with their faces on the ground and bottoms raised and took turns moving between them and swiping the lashes across the posterior of their choice. They chuckled as they made them frantically bob and weave about. The twigs not only scored their shivering buttocks but their vulvas as they pouted from between their thighs, still leaking fluid from their first usage.
The moans of the girls and the scarlet blush spreading across their bottoms filled the boys with sadistic delight and renewed vigour. Their cocks, bobbing freely in front of their trousers, grew hard once more. Throwing their lashes aside they plunged into the welcoming hot tightness of their mounts
Mel found herself sighing with relief as Green’s shaft slid up inside her rectum and she clenched on it gratefully. Better a cock up her rear than a stinging scratchy birch lashing any day, though the pain had its uses and now a little sodomy was what she needed to… ahhhh… she came at last.
When they were done and finally spent, the boys sagged across their mounts while they recovered.
‘These three are well stuffed,’ Green declared, lightly slapping Mel’s bottom as she curled up limply under him dribbling about her gag. ‘They’ve been bloody good rides. ’
The other two murmured agreement, gazing down appreciatively at the sweaty bodies under them. Reluctantly they withdrew their by now soft penises from their clenching anal rings, trailing sticky threads after them. Kneeling over the girls’ heads they wiped their shafts clean on their hair and then tucked their members away.
Pink glanced over the girls’ half eaten lunches. ‘Maybe we should let them get back to feeding. ’
‘Or,’ Green said with a grin, surveying the contents of the open lunchboxes and the girls’ still upturned haunches, ‘let’s leave them properly stuffed, sort of something to remember us by. ’
‘Talking about remembering, don’t forget the tokens,’ said Pink.
‘I know the rule,’ Green said. ‘They can have both at the same time. ’
He took three slave tokens from his pocket and pushed one each into Mel, Cam and Bolt’s still wet and distended vaginas. ‘That is for your trouble,’ he said slowly and formally.
Then the boys forced unpeeled bananas into their slots, pushing the tokens all the way up them until only the stalks showed between their lips. The girls groaned as their sore passages were so roughly plugged.
‘Who eats gherkins? ’ Pink said, holding one up in disgust.
‘Nobody,’ Green agreed, ‘but we can do something else with them. ’
Green pried apart Mel’s buttocks and forced the gherkin into her anus until the end vanished inside her and her sphincter closed about it. The others laughed, then did the same to Cam and Bolt.
Finally the boys stood up, dusting off their trousers and smiling down on the huddled, well-used and abused bodies of their prey whose orifices were bulging unnaturally with their parting gifts. The cowed girls looked back up at them tearfully with fear and pleading in their eyes and Mel saw the boys swell with the warm glow of satisfaction of a job well done.
‘Um, have you got a cuff key to undo them? ’ Yellow asked.
‘Oh bloody heck, no! ’ Green exclaimed. ‘Never mind, they’ll manage somehow. They’re used to being bound up. ’He patted Mel on the head. ‘You were all nice and hot and juicy,’ he said by way of praise.
The other boys did the same and then they strode off through the trees whistling jauntily.
Mel, Bolt and Cam lay still for a few minutes recovering their strength. Then they squirmed about awkwardly until they could use their cuffed hands to pull each other’s gags out.
After what they had just been through ordinary women would have been in shock, having hysterics or screaming for the police about now, Mel thought. However if this day had proved anything it was that they were no longer ordinary women. They had been multiply violated but they were Gryndstone girls and they had different priorities.
‘A banana, a gherkin and a big coin! ’ Cam said bitterly. ‘Oww! The little b… beasts! And why shove a token up us anyway? ’
‘A sort of tip, I suppose,’ said Mel. ‘Compensation for our “trouble” he said. Maybe every slave that gets an unauthorised screwing on Sundays in the park gets them. Tradition probably. ’
‘What are we going to do now? ’ Cam asked plaintively. ‘We can’t get our cuffs undone without a key. ’
‘We pack up best we can and then find the teachers. We don’t want to leave a mess behind. ’
‘It was such a lovely spot,’ said Cam regretfully.
‘It still is,’ said Mel.
‘It’s just the people you meet that lowers the tone,’ said Bolt.
Mel looked at her expecting some tirade about what had been done to them to follow, but that was it. Bolt had actually made a little joke about their ordeal.
‘Well,’ Mel chuckled, ‘boys will be boys…’
They squatted down amongst the trees and managed to expel the remains of the bananas and gherkins, but the big tokens remained lodged high up inside them beyond the play of their internal muscles.
‘We’ll need our hands free to get these out,’ said Mel.
With mouths and cuffed hands they managed to gather up their possessions. Then, walking in slight waddles to favour their sore orifices and ever sorer welted bottoms, they set out back towards the cross. Bolt slogged along beside them, seeming to be accepting everything with untypical stoicism. By the time they reached the masters sprawled about on the grass not far from the cross their inner thighs were wet with the oozing remains of the boys spent sperm.
‘Excuse us, Headmaster,’ Mel said plaintively. ‘We’ve had a little trouble. Could you uncuff us please? ’
They had to explain how it happened and Bradawl questioned them closely. Not if they had suffered, of course. ‘Did they enjoy using you? Did you give satisfaction? ’
‘We think so, Headmaster. They said we were good rides. ’
‘And they properly compensated you. ’
‘Yes, Headmaster. ’
‘Then you performed as Gryndstone girls should. Well done indeed. Now clean yourselves up…’
They cooled their bottoms and washed their pussies clean in the pans under the cross beneath Rowland’s stern gaze. With a lot of jiggling and probing they managed to recover the gyntokens.
‘I suppose you could say we made a profit on the day,’ Mel observed.
Back at school that evening Mel, Cam and Bolt had to tell the story several times to their fellow pupils who listened in rapt attention. Many had been on training days in town but none had yet faced an unplanned real-life situation. Their audience ohhed and ahed as the gory details were recounted, envied the fact that they had already earned themselves slave tokens and sympathised with their thrashed bottoms. But not a single one suggested that what the boys had done to them had been wrong. It was simply the Shackleswell way of life.
‘You did great,’ said Wire. ‘We’ll make Gryndstone girls out of you yet. ’
That night as Cam lay curled up in Mel’s arms she said: ‘I was so frightened while they were having us. It wasn’t like a lesson in school and it felt dangerous. They might have done anything to us. Yet at the same time it was a sort of thrill. Then afterwards when the Headmaster said we’d done well I felt proud. ’
‘Did you come when the boys were having you? I think that’s important. ’
‘Oh, I did and it felt good. ’Cam sighed. ‘But it was actually wrong, wasn’t it? ’
‘Yes, at least it would be more or less anywhere else outside Shackleswell. ’
‘So then why did I come? How can I enjoy something like that? What’s this place doing to us? ’
Unexpectedly Mel felt Bolt suddenly cuddling up to them, adding her blanket and body heat to theirs. It was the first time she had shown any inclination to sleep together like other girls did. Her body felt nice but this sudden turnabout was disturbing.
‘What are you doing? ’ Mel asked nervously as she felt Bolt’s arms slide round her.
‘Being a proper sharing chain-sister, of course. That’s what you wanted, right? ’
‘Um, well, yes. ’
‘You want to know what this place is doing to us? ’ Bolt said to Cam, a razor edge entering he voice. ‘Well, it thinks it’s grinding us down into little identical model slave girls, that’s what. They’re also so sure it works they think we’ll all end up brainwashed like Chain and Spindle and won’t have the guts to escape. But they’re not getting me. You two want to graduate? Well after what I’ve seen today so do I. From now on we’re going to be the hottest, most submissive trigyn in Gryndstone and we’re going to graduate in record time. Then, when we’re out of here and I get my first day off, I’m not going to any park, I’m just gone! ’