The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (18 page)

‘Although you’ll be taught how to satisfy the needs of men and women equally well, over eight out of ten of your users will be men,’ Miss Kyle told Cherry Chain, as if delivering a lecture. ‘Over the past few days you’ve got used to having dildos inside you. Today you’ll move on to the real thing …’

The girls had been divided into two sections and secured to a pair of wheeled frames resembling lengths of low fencing. The rows of girls faced each other, so that they could learn from watching their sisters’ responses. With hands cuffed behind them, they were bent forwards over the fence rails and held in place with straps about their waists, so that their breasts and heads hung over one side, while their bottoms projected over the other. Their legs were spread, pulled inwards and tied to the lower bar of the frame, increasing the outthrust and exposure of their rears. Miss Scott, wheeling round a mobile douche machine, was giving the last of them an enema, leaving pink-rimmed and freshly oiled anuses in her wake.

Winston, Tyler and McGarry stood to one side of the group. All three were totally naked. Each was stroking a rampant erection. Vanessa swallowed at the sight of them and hid behind her camera, ashamed of her own shameful response to such a blatant display of masculinity. The girls wriggled in their bonds, fearful yet eager, as their eyes flickered between the man and Miss Kyle.

‘You must get use to the feel of cockflesh inside you,’ Miss Kyle continued, ‘no matter what orifice it
enters
. Each has its own special appeal to the man using you. Your bum-holes are hotter and tighter, your cunts juicier, your mouths more mobile. You’ll do your best to please with each one. The only difference to you is that when your mouths are being used, you can taste where that cock has been previously. This sometimes troubles girls so that they do not perform properly. You will learn not to let it bother you. It doesn’t matter if you can taste your own juices or those of another girl on the cock, or if it’s just been up your rear or one of your sisters. That’s why we’ve flushed you out so thoroughly, and why you will never be sent on any assignment without being completely clean inside and out. You must learn how to give pleasure without guilt or hesitation. That’s what this exercise is designed to teach you.’

The men moved forwards and took up position. Winston stood between the rows of girls in front of Amber, who goggled at his thick erection. Tyler stood at the other end on the outside of the same row, his cock pressed up against Lisa’s already wet cleft. McGarry had the other row to himself, his rod nuzzling Yvonne’s bottom cheeks. Vanessa smelt the girls’ anticipation filling the air.

‘The exercise will continue until the men are satisfied,’ Miss Kyle said. ‘Whether you come once, twice or not at all during the time is for the moment unimportant, as long as you continue to please. Any unsatisfied desire must be contained until you are allowed to couple with your chain sisters later. They will always be there for you. But for now, it’s men you must please …’

The trainers rammed their cocks into their chosen fleshy holes. Three or four quick thrusts in each and then they moved on down the line. They had thirty-six orifices to fill between them so they did not
waste
any time. Cheeks briefly filled with hard penis meat, labia spread and bottoms bulged. The girls were used impersonally, almost brutally, their dangling breasts swaying as the men pumped into them from front and rear.

Cocks that had been up bottoms were now in mouths, saliva was mingling within vaginas and girlish lubrication was oiling anuses. Eyes misted with tears as they squirmed in the bonds. Were they straining to escape or to please? Vanessa could not tell.

The rotating penetration continued until the men were all drained and their cocks hung flaccid. The girls’ labia and anal rings were reddened with use, and sperm, saliva and vaginal juices splattered the floor beneath them. Some looked at their masters hollow-eyes with need, silently begging for more. But they knew they would have to wait for their release. Was that the cruellest part of it?

The following day Vanessa saw the girls at their most peaceful.

Zara had kept her late finishing an article for
Datumline
, which she had found unexpectedly heavy going. On an impulse she dropped in on the training yard before going to the locker room. It was very quiet and the yard sky-lighting had already been dimmed in advance of that in the rest of the level.

Miss Kyle, padding around clearing up the equipment, put her finger to her lips and whispered: ‘They’re already asleep. You can look at them if you want, but be quiet. They worked very hard today and deserve the rest …’

Cherry Chain were housed in a hutch-like structure in one corner of the yard, its wood and wire-mesh frame covered by external roller blinds. Edging a
blind
aside, Vanessa could see the interior illuminated by a dim red nightlight.

The girls lay on a bed of straw huddled in pairs face-to-face and sleeping in each other’s arms. Short chains, holding them close, linked their collars. Kashika was entwined with a dark-haired girl Vanessa recognised as Victoria. Their breasts were flattened together in soft pancakes, bellies almost touching, pubic hair mingling. She saw a gleam of metal between Kashika’s buttocks and realised the pairs were also linked by anal locks, similar to the one she wore at night. The air in the hutch was warm with their body heat …

‘Pretty, isn’t she?’ Miss Kyle whispered, peering through the blinds beside Vanessa and following the direction of her gaze.

Embarrassed, Vanessa quickly lowered the blind and stepped back from the hutch. ‘Why do you make them sleep like that, Miss Kyle?’ she asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

‘To teach them to love and trust each other, of course. We change the pairing every night. Once they’ve got used to this arrangement we’ll put them in the kennels for a night on their own.’

‘Isn’t that cruel, Miss Kyle?’ Vanessa said quickly, before she realised that by implication this arrangement of chained flesh in the hutch before her was in some way kinder.

Miss Kyle shrugged. ‘They know they have to suffer to become Shiller girls. They must get used to being treated as proper bitches occasionally. But the isolation also makes them value each other’s company more. They’ll learn chain love. There’s nothing like it. That’s worth a little suffering.’

Nine

VANESSA KNELT SUBMISSIVELY
before Zara in her office.

‘Right,’ Zara said. ‘Denise says you can start your interviews with Cherry Chain tomorrow. I’ll leave the angle you take up to you, but I suggest one thing. If you want them to be forthcoming and open, don’t tell them the real reason you’re here. You may not believe it, but they aren’t looking for rescue by a crusading investigative reporter.’

‘I’ve already talked to some of the other girls, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa admitted. ‘I just said I was here on trial.’

Zara chuckled drily. ‘Whereas in fact it’s us who are on trial. Why did the Director ever make that bargain with you? Still, she knows people better than anybody, so I suppose it’ll work out for the best. All right, that’s all …’

She lifted her dress, exposing her knickerless crotch. It was a new rule Zara had invented to be applied whenever Vanessa entered or left her office. Vanessa dutifully shuffled forwards and kissed Zara’s moist, fragrant love-lips in their soft nest of hair.

‘Thank you, Mistress Editor …’

Back at her desk Vanessa found herself experiencing a little illicit thrill of anticipation. She knew it was
ridiculous
, but she was getting excited at the thought of talking to Kashika. God, it was like having a juvenile crush rewarded. So the girl was strikingly pretty, but still she should be over such things by now. Get a grip on reality, she told herself. This is not a game.

Her emotions flipped, suddenly filling her with a sense of acute embarrassment and inadequacy. How could she possibly talk to Kashika, to any of the Cherry Chain girls, after having seen them so completely degraded? Did she even have the confidence to conduct a proper interview naked and slave-chained as she was? Most of these raw girl-slaves were younger than her, if only by a few years. They’d expect some show of self-assurance. She didn’t even have the strange sense of inner composure the other slave-girls possessed.

She needed a prop, a distraction, something to boost her confidence. Then it came to her. Yes, that was it. There was a shop she knew that stayed open late. Tomorrow she’d be ready to do her job.

As Vanessa knelt before her the next morning, Zara raised a quizzical eyebrow at the new white fedora perched on her head. Tucked into its black silk band was a folded card marked ‘PRESS’.

‘Well let’s hold the front page,’ she drawled. ‘Who do you think you are: Hildy Johnson?’

Obviously she had recognised the allusion to the classic film comedy drama about journalists. ‘It doesn’t hide anything, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa said defensively.

Mr Jarvis had thought it was very fetching when he checked her in that morning. After examining the hat he had her walk up and down a few times to show it off, and she had found herself unexpectedly rolling
her
hips and flicking the hat brim provocatively. It was true that sometimes a part-dressed girl can look sexier than one totally nude.

The fedora was a gesture of independence. It was true that it concealed nothing, but it drew attention away from her exposed body, at the same time accentuating her nakedness by contrast. She had made a statement and it was emboldening. She was showing off and not hiding any more. If she had to be a slave reporter then it would be with style.

‘Wear it if you like,’ Zara said, to Vanessa’s relief. ‘You can interview Cherry Chain after lunch. But finish that chemistry piece for
Datumline
first.’

‘Yes, Mistress Editor.’

Zara lifted her skirt. Vanessa briefly took of her hat to bestow her ritual kiss.

Zara patted her bared head. ‘Perhaps you can be my girl Friday …’

Yes, she did watch old movies.

Miss Kyle smiled archly at the fedora when Vanessa entered the training yard, but said only: ‘They’re still eating, but they’ve got a rest period coming up. I’ve told them about the interviews and shown them a copy of
Girlflesh News
and they’re really excited about it.’ She added with what sounded like genuine concern. ‘They’re still learning to be confident with what they are so don’t do anything to disappoint them!’

‘I won’t, Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa promised.

Miss Kyle considered the hat again. ‘Find it empowering, do you? Makes you feel more confident?’

She understood! ‘Yes, Miss Kyle,’ Vanessa admitted.

‘It suits you.’

The chain were arranged in a ring on their hands and knees, heads facing inwards, showing off their pretty bare bottoms and pudenda clefts pouting out from between their thighs. They ate out of metal bowls. Their wrists were not cuffed but their hands were encased in fingerless rubber mittens, so that they rested the weight of their upper bodies on their elbows and ate with their faces buried in the bowls, as Vanessa had been made to do by Zara in the restaurant. Was that even more a mark of a slave-pet than enforced nudity or collaring, she wondered? To be made to eat like an animal …

As she got closer she saw their bowls were neatly numbered and inscribed with their names and chain number. They really were being treated like animals, or at least, like pampered pets.

When the girls had literally licked their plates clean, they turned to their neighbours and licked each other’s faces as well. Then they were led over to a corner of the yard where some mats had been laid out. A long chain fastened to a wall-mounted ring was passed through their collars. Then the trainers withdrew, leaving Vanessa smiling down at a ring of bright, expectant faces.

Perhaps the hat helped, for she sounded more confident than she felt as she said: ‘Hallo, my name’s Vanessa. I’m the slave reporter for the
Girlflesh News
.’ God, I’ve actually said it out loud, she thought.

Some smiled back uncertainly, while others submissively lowered their heads, clearly unsure, despite her slave chains, if she was their equal or not. Kashika was one of them. Quickly Vanessa sat down cross-legged on the mat facing the half-circle of naked girls.

‘It’s all right, I’m a slave as well,’ she said, trying to reassure them while not choking in disgust at her
words
. ‘My editor’s given me the job of covering your progress. Now, so far I’ve learnt your names and watched you train –’

‘Have you been taking pictures of us?’ Victoria interjected hesitantly, eyeing the camera slung round Vanessa’s neck.

‘Um, yes, but I promise nobody else will see them until –’

‘Will they be published in
Girlflesh News
?’ Olivia asked.

‘Yes, some of them, but I’ll try not to show …’

Vanessa trailed off as a dozen pairs of nipples perked up and hardened before her eyes. Their faces displayed not shame at the idea but excitement. What had they done to these girls? She recovered and pressed on, trying to treat it as an ordinary interview despite the unreal circumstances.

‘I want to find out what it feels like to live down here for a month, how you’re being treated, what you think of your trainers, and so on. If you don’t mind I’d like to record your answers.’ The girls nodded and she switched on her recorder.

‘To begin with, there’s one big question I think any ordinary person would want to ask all of you. In this day and age, in any day and age, for that matter, why would anybody choose to be a slave?’ She couldn’t leave such a question hanging there, so she added: ‘I mean, the careers adviser never suggested taking a course in it when I was at school.’

That set them laughing and giggling.

‘I knew one teacher who’d have been happy to talk to me about that sort of thing,’ Charlotte said with a huge grin.

The others chuckled knowingly. Vanessa asked anxiously: ‘You weren’t abused? He never made you do anything …’

‘No. He never touched me. But I knew he’d like to. It was sort of exciting thinking about it even though he was a creep.’