Vesta - Painworld (14 page)

‘Good,' Paul muttered, tight-lipped. ‘Because I meant what I said. Female contact only, otherwise I'll take a sledge hammer to VESTA when I get back out of here, quick learner or not!'

 

The net dropped silently as Lianne stepped out through the barn door, ensnaring her before she had a chance to react, and jerking back into the air again, taking her with it in a helpless, tangled ball, which swung slowly to and fro a few feet clear of the ground.

‘Bugger it!' she hissed, half under her breath, for she had started to think she might have a bit of fun trying to evade the virtual captors who were doubtless waiting for her somewhere in here, and she had fallen at the first hurdle. Struggling to ease her cramped position she peered out through the close mesh, scanning the distant line of trees for any sign of movement.

Somewhere overhead a bird chirruped away merrily, but apart from the steady progress of a few fleecy clouds across an otherwise unbroken blue sky, there was nothing. Lianne sighed and hoped she would not have too long to wait...

 

Ellen's arrival inside VESTA was slightly more dramatic than Lianne's had been. She materialised inside a small clearing in what appeared to be dense woodland, and a quick look down at herself, combined with the distant but closing sound of baying hounds, immediately told her what she was in for.

Her entire body was now clad in some sort of synthetic catsuit, ‘cat' being a very appropriate word in this case, for it was spotted and coloured to resemble the skin of a leopard, complete with claw extensions on her fingers. Her feet were clad in awkward boots, high heeled within, but outwardly shaped to resemble large paws, and it took her several seconds to achieve a proper balance in them.

About her waist a narrow leather belt had been cinched tightly, so that her figure resembled the traditional hourglass so beloved of Victorian fashion devotees and late twentieth century fetishists. And there were stout rings set into it, obviously placed in readiness for some sort of restraining straps or chains. Similar though smaller straps had been locked about her wrists and ankles, again with sturdy rings included and, when she felt about her neck, using the back of her hand for fear of damaging herself with the awesome claws, she felt that a similarly equipped collar circled it also.

Her head and face was covered in a tight fitting hood, to which there appeared to be attached ears, though it was difficult to tell with her sense of touch so badly hampered. There were openings for her nostrils, though the front of the mask protruded to form a very catlike contour, but her mouth was covered, holding in place some sort of soft gag, through which all attempts at coherent speech emerged as a cross between a purr and a growl.

‘Pussy cat, pussy cat,' she thought, smiling to herself. She turned her head and saw the long tail extending behind her, the pressure within her rectum leaving her in no doubt as to how it was attached. And when she peered down her front, past breasts which seemed a whole lot bigger than those she normally expected to see there, a flash of pale skin revealed that her sex had been left exposed.

So, she thought, now we know what the hunters are after, as if there was ever any doubt. She turned, looking around the clearing, ears alert in an effort to work out from which direction the pursuit was coming. Satisfied, she nodded to herself, weighed up the alternative routes leading off into the trees, made a rapid decision and began padding awkwardly for cover.

 

‘Fairytale One, this is Fairytale Two, do you copy?' The metallic voice burst from the overhead speaker and, not taking his eyes from the screen, Koenig leaned forward and depressed the transmission key on the tabletop microphone alongside it.

‘Fairytale Two, I copy you,' he intoned. ‘Have you an ETA yet?'

‘Touchdown in approximately ten minutes, Fairytale Two.' This time it was Naylor's voice, easily distinguishable, despite the distorting effect of the UHF radio link. ‘Everything ready for us down there?'

‘Everything proceeding according to plan,' Koenig confirmed. ‘You are to land on the large lawn at the rear of the house as agreed, and approach the door at the eastern end of the building. He'll be watching you, Fairytale One, and he almost certainly has some sort of magnifying equipment, so I trust you have seen to things with your passenger?'

‘Affirmative,' Naylor returned. ‘She looks totally delightful, I assure you. Everything is prepared to deal with our host. How's he doing?'

‘He appears to be simply monitoring a random programming sequence. VESTA is working on several scenarios at the same time, some of them apparently intended to overlap at some stage. I have not interfered, but my key programme is ready to drop in the moment you give the word.'

‘Roger, Fairytale Two,' Naylor came back, and now Koenig could detect the excitement in his voice. ‘We have visual on the target area now. Just circling around to be sure. Keep your eyes glued to that system and hit the alarm at the first sign of anything. I'm leaving this channel open.'

 

The minutes continued to tick away, but still there was no sign of whoever was supposed to have set the net snare for her, and Lianne was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. A couple of times she tried to squirm around and reach up to where the net was gathered at the bottom of the rope from which it swung. But she soon gave up any hope of freeing it, for the running slipknot was held tight by her own weight and could not be loosened again until she was lowered back to the ground.

‘Sod it, Marlon!' she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘I know I said things happened too quickly before, but this is ridiculous. I'm beginning to think you've forgotten me.'

She turned to survey the tree line again, and this time she was rewarded by the sight of two figures emerging from the dense undergrowth...

 

Seated in the back of the circling helicopter, Clarissa was close to shedding tears of frustration. Her short spell as Christina's prisoner had taught her what it was to feel truly helpless, but even the ordeal impaled upon the cruel display perch seemed unimportant compared to her present situation.

Her captors clearly intended to trick Marlon, there was no doubt whatsoever of that, for Christina had already made it clear to Clarissa that she had other plans for her other than handing her over to her half brother. Yet there was no way she could warn him, nor any way that he could see she was even gagged, so cunningly had the task been carried out.

Removing the harness and pony hood, Christina had forced a hard plastic device into Clarissa's mouth, a curved shield, shaped like the skin of an orange segment, which fitted neatly between her teeth and the inside of her mouth, held in place by four tiny screw clamps that now held tightly to her back teeth.

From the inside centre of the shield a tongue-shaped piece projected inwards, forcing her own tongue down and preventing speech, while from the outside, as Christina took great pleasure in showing her in a mirror, her lips were held apart slightly and the outer surface of the plastic was contoured and coloured to reveal what appeared to be a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, the overall image that of a welcoming smile.

Her hoof boots had been replaced - only temporarily, Christina had assured her - by knee length boots with slightly less exaggerated heels, while a full length leather coat, drawn tightly about her waist, hid the fact that she still wore her dappled pony skin underneath. Cunningly concealed cuffs held her hands uselessly inside the pockets of this coat, so she was powerless to do anything to remove the curious heavy pendant that had been hung about her neck, an adornment which although decorative, Clarissa suspected had other more sinister purposes.

 

The room had, indeed, proved to be part of a hotel, and downstairs the bar area was well patronised by a colourful selection of fellow guests. Poised on the high stilettos, a small bag slung from his shoulder, Pauline swayed into the room, avoided the eyes in those heads that immediately turned, and minced up to the bar, perching on a bar stool that emptied itself as if by magic.

‘Martini,' she said, smiling at the barman, who was making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was undressing her with his eyes. ‘Make it a large one.' She turned away and surveyed the length of the bar counter.

Most of the patrons at the bar itself were male. But a little way along a raven-haired beauty, clad in a skirt as daringly brief as Pauline's own, sat brooding over a half empty glass of wine, her talon-like red fingernails drumming an erratic and lazy tattoo on the polished surface. Pauline felt sudden urges that were at once familiar and unfamiliar and, as her left hand made to move the small bag to hide her obvious excitement, she suddenly remembered there was currently nothing in her panties to cause any such embarrassment.

‘Can you hear me, Marlon?' she said, under her breath, but there was no reply. Slowly, a smile began to spread across Pauline's new features, for as she studied the other woman closer, she realised she was Hazel O'Dee, who had spent the past few years playing the wicked Madame B's sidekick Dolores in the Della strip, and who was, Pauline knew, a confirmed lesbian.

This could be fun, the former artist thought, taking a five-pound note from her bag and passing it across in exchange for the tall glass the barman placed before her.

‘Keep the change,' she said aloud, flashing him a wide smile and then, picking up her drink, she slipped elegantly from her perch and began making her way along the bar.

‘Too easy,' the first hunter said, thrusting a booted foot against Lianne's balled-up body as it hung trapped in the net, setting her swinging gently to and fro. His companion, whose dark hair was cropped closely to his skull, leaned on his curious spear gun and grinned.

‘They always are at first,' he said. ‘But it's surprising how quickly they learn, once they get their new skins.' He dropped the bulky sack he was carrying and nodded an unspoken instruction.

The fair-haired man had already set his own gun aside and reached up with a wicked knife, sawing away at the rope just above the point where it had tightened the mouth of the net.

‘The skin she's wearing is okay by me,' he leered. ‘And she looks to have a pretty good filling for it.'

Lianne sighed. ‘Hey, don't mind me guys,' she said. ‘Just talk about me like I'm not here, eh?'

‘Oh, you're here all right,' the blond hunter laughed. ‘Though pretty soon you're going to wish you weren't.'

‘Naturally,' Lianne retorted, stifling an urge to giggle. ‘And I suppose you just happen to have a whip in that sack, right?' she went on. ‘And of course you're going to string me up, possibly to one of those trees over there, and whip this rubber catsuit off my defenceless body, yes?'

‘We've got a mouthy bitch here, by the sound of it,' the blond man said, sourly, redoubling his efforts to sever the rope. ‘And this bloody knife has no edge to it, Greg. Here, pass me yours.'

Close-crop reached down and withdrew a blade from its sheath at his belt. It looked far less imposing than the one his partner was struggling with, but it evidently had a much keener edge, for with two swift strokes it parted the rope and Lianne was deposited in a bruised and ungainly heap on the hard packed earth.

‘Get the net off her, Marcus,' the one called Greg instructed, taking back his knife and turning to the sack. ‘And watch she doesn't try anything clever. The bitch seems to fancy herself.'

Marcus certainly was not taking any chances, for he kept a firm grip on the back of Lianne's neck, his powerful fist knotted painfully into her hair, using his free hand to drag the net clear of her with unhurried deliberation.

‘She won't be so damned feisty once she's been through the genetic accelerator,' he said, and laughed as he saw the flicker of confusion cross Lianne's face. ‘Let her sound off all she wants... while she still can,' he added, and this time his companion joined in with a loud guffaw.

 

After a surprisingly short time, Ellen found that the high heeled ‘paws' into which her feet had been placed did not offer as much a handicap to fairly swift movement as she had initially anticipated. She settled into a curious lope whenever the trees gave way to brief, grassy open spaces, slowing again to negotiate the gradually thickening carpet of undergrowth that lay between the trunks beneath the green canopy overhead.

In the distance the baying hounds seemed closer now, but not worryingly so as yet, and she wondered if the hunt would be protracted deliberately, presumably for her own benefit, unless one of the others was even now part of whatever virtual party was pursuing her. After what she guessed to be the better part of half an hour she stopped, crouching between two dense bushes, and attempted to take stock of her situation again.

The fearsome claws made any attempt to remove even a part of her outfit impossible, always supposing that it would come off, here in this curious, electronically generated world. But at least they did offer her some form of defence, though she shied away from the thought of raking these wicked talons into even a virtual animal. She grimaced and wondered if the computerised pack of hounds would extend such considerations to her in turn, and somehow doubted they would.