Vesta - Painworld (15 page)

 

Marlon had matters to engage him other than monitoring the progress of the subjects inside VESTA's bizarre world, even though he was aware of the presence of several ‘bug' files that were already altering and adding to his original scenarios, and even to those being created by VESTA herself.

Clearly, Jurgen Koenig had not been content to use the telephone link-up simply to monitor VESTA's operation, nor to render inoperative her system of escape passwords. But neither of these facts came as a surprise to Marlon. Watching out of the small window, peering towards the line of hills in the distance, he grimaced, but there was nothing else he could do, not until he was certain that Clarissa was safely back with him and out of the clutches of these hideous monsters. Up to that point, he knew, he was helpless to intervene, and he was also pretty certain that Naylor and his thugs wouldn't simply hand his half sister back to him anyway, not until they had exacted every iota of tribute available to them.

And, with VESTA opened up to their access, that tribute was almost incalculable.

 

Blissfully unaware of the impending danger, Nadia Muirhead was just beginning to enjoy her latest venture into virtuality, this time as the hunter, rather than the hunted, a stipulation she had made to Marlon very forcibly.

Dressed in a form-fitting leather leotard, thigh boots, gloves and collar, the areas of flesh in between shimmering through the fine mesh of what appeared to be a body stocking, she approached the wall mounted racks and ran a leather-covered hand lovingly over the array of whips, crops and paddles that hung there.

‘Very nice,' she murmured. ‘Just what the customers will love.' She selected one long-handled paddle and swished it through the air experimentally, letting its broad end smack against the stone wall with an ear-splitting crack. Even Nadia was impressed, for the implement's balance and lightweight handle belied the force it was able to generate in her expert hands.

‘Top stuff, Marlon,' she muttered. ‘Or is this some of VESTA's own handiwork?' Not that it mattered, Nadia thought, as long as the finished product was as good as this. She looked down at herself and once again a grin of satisfaction spread across her usually impassive features. Everything so far was not just perfect, but absolutely class; the perfect replication of the ultimate fetish experience - a replication for which certain people would be willing to pay handsomely.

Not that Nadia needed the money, but it was a satisfying thought that she could soon begin to recoup a little on her massive financial investment. She replaced the paddle, took out a wicked-looking crop, and turned back towards the door of the long chamber.

 

Time seemed to be taking on a curiously elasticated quality. The dogs seemed to be little nearer as yet, even though Ellen felt as though she had been trotting through woods and undergrowth for hours. However, judging from the positions of the shadows cast by the trees, it might scarcely have been minutes, for the sun did not seem to have shifted its position in all the time since she'd found herself in the role of hunted cat.

She didn't get it, pausing in the midst of a thick screen of bushes. Okay, so maybe she was over estimating, but it had been more than an hour, so why the bloody delay? Why not just move it up to the final chase stage and have done with it?

Briefly, she wondered if the idea were to exhaust her before bringing the hunt to its climax, but quickly dismissed that theory, for here in VESTA's electronically generated domain there did not seem to be such a thing as fatigue. In the real world, Ellen knew, running, even jogging as she had been, for such a length of time in these extreme boots would have had her panting heavily long before this, her calf and thigh muscles screaming out for oxygen and for any relief from their distorted positions.

She emerged from the bushes, crossed a patch of grassy ground, found a large tree that stood alone and apart from its fellows, and lowered herself to sit with her back against it, eyes darting about the perimeter line of green foliage for any sign of movement.

She let out a long sigh that emerged, via the peculiar device that filled her mouth, as a loud purr, and only the gag itself prevented Ellen from laughing out loud.

 

‘Whatever is this place?' Pauline almost squeaked, as the dark version of Hazel flicked a switch and overhead strips began flickering into life. But she already knew the answer before the bigger woman opened her mouth, the various wooden and metal racks that adorned the end wall and the menacing looking frame that stood in the centre of the floor, picked out by a circle of five spotlights, saying more than any words ever could.

‘Just my playroom,' Hazel said and, before Pauline could react, moved behind her and shoved her roughly inside, slamming the door behind them and barring any line of escape as the lock clicked shut with an ominous finality. For a brief instant the old Paul machismo tried to reassert itself - the old Paul could have easily outfought Hazel, big as she was, but the new Pauline had only to look down at herself to understand the futility of such a course.

At very little over five feet tall without the heels and weighing well under a hundred and twenty pounds, poor little feminine Pauline was like a helpless midget beside the dominant, nearly six foot frame of Hazel O'Dee - or Dolores, as she had introduced herself in the bar, reverting to her in-character name. Idly, Pauline realised that both artists, the villainous Naylor originally and now his brilliantly talented female Welsh replacement, had always drawn Dolores as a brunette, rather than as the blonde she was in real life.

But for now there was no chance to dwell on such little idiosyncrasies. Hazel loomed over her, eyes gleaming.

‘Time for some fun and games, Susie,' she hissed.

Pauline had selected the name out of thin air, not wanting to give any indication as to his real identity, and conscious of the fact that Hazel would know that Lianne always referred to his male-to-female transformation character as Pauline. She held up her hands in a vain attempt to ward off the closing predator.

‘No, listen,' she squeaked, the maddeningly girlish female voice echoing in her head. ‘You don't understand, Hazel. Look, I ought to explain - just give me a minute!'

‘My name is Dolores,' Hazel grated. ‘However, sweetmeat, for the moment you can call me mistress.' Pauline continued to back away, her voice now filled with genuine panic.

‘No, listen, Hazel - I mean Dolores... mistress! Oh shit! Please!'

 

The low building seemed to suddenly appear from nowhere, the dense woods melting away to reveal a small clearing before it. Stumbling along behind the two men, Marcus tugging roughly on the leash that connected to the heavy collar that was now locked about her throat, Lianne was concentrating so fiercely on keeping her footing on the rough ground that she hardly had any time to take in any of the exterior details before they entered by way of a sturdy and businesslike door at one end of the structure.

Lianne's nostrils twitched at the tang of antiseptic that filled the air, and she at last looked around her. Not that there was much to see, for they appeared to be in some sort of foyer, with just a spartan steel-framed desk table and single upright chair behind it as furniture. The white painted walls were bare of any decoration, the only break in their monotonous surface being a second door, apparently leading deeper into whatever place this was.

Marcus turned and began unfastening the leash, but the sturdy cuffs that still held Lianne's wrists close behind her precluded any chance of escaping. Not that any attempt was likely to avail her for long, she guessed, for VESTA was undoubtedly programmed to ensure that she met whatever fate had been ordained for her in this part of the ‘game'.

As the neck chain dropped away the inner door swung open and two females emerged, both wearing what was presumably intended as a parody on a nurse's uniform; a brief ensemble in dark blue and white that had clearly been lifted straight from the pages of a fetish magazine. For not only was the hemline at least a foot higher than any normal hospital would have tolerated, but the entire garment was made of thin, clinging rubber.

The women themselves were tall and willowy, though each boasted a bust that appeared to be defying all natural laws of gravity, even the tight latex unable to flatten out the incredible curves. Despite herself, Lianne smiled - she was beginning to learn more of what made Marlon tick, she thought...

 

Hanging by her wrists, naked, Pauline was afforded a perfect view of her helpless body by the strategically placed mirror on the wall before her, whilst behind her reflection she was able to clearly see ‘Dolores', as the grim-faced mistress prepared for action.

Dressed now in high boots and rubber body stocking, she pulled a half mask over her head, adjusting it so that her eyes peered out through the slanted apertures and tightened the back lacing to draw the soft leather tightly about her upper skull. Satisfied that the hood was held firmly in position, she drew on a pair of heavily studded gauntlets, picked up a coiled whip from the bench and stalked menacingly up behind her victim.

‘Nice big tits,' she purred, reaching around and squeezing Pauline's left orb, weighing it in the palm of her gloved hand. ‘And such big nipples, too.' She pinched the engorged teat and drew it out into a distended shape that brought the breath hissing through Pauline's clenched teeth.

‘Perhaps we should ring them?' she suggested, releasing her grip and moving round in front of the hanging female. ‘Would you like that, Susie?'

‘Please!' Pauline gasped. ‘I'm not Susie, I'm Pauline - you know, Paul!'

‘You don't look like a Paul to me, sweetie pie,' Dolores grinned. ‘Besides, I don't know any Pauls, with or without juicy tits and juicy cunts.' Her right hand slid down Pauline's stomach as she spoke and one leather-sheathed digit probed for the opening they both knew was there.

‘But you must know me!' Pauline wailed. ‘Look, this is all part of the big game, right?' Dolores' eyes narrowed and she stepped back half a pace.

‘Game?' she echoed. ‘Yes, I suppose this is a sort of game, except that there's only one winner in my games.' She let the whip uncoil with a lazy flick of her wrist, and the braided leather slapped across the stone floor with a sound that brought a knot to the pit of Pauline's stomach, for suddenly the hapless ‘girl' understood.

This wasn't Hazel O'Dee at all, just a character that VESTA had created, doubtless using Hazel's fictitious alter ego as the basic model. And this Dolores had none of Hazel's own character traits, just the worst traits of the character she played and a few more thrown in for good measure.

‘Now, let's see where we should begin,' she said, her eyes glittering malignantly. ‘Perhaps just a gentle warming up and then I think I'll pierce and ring you with my ownership tags - tit and clit tags, I think.'

‘Oh god, no!' Pauline thrashed about in her bonds, but with her ankles held fairly wide apart by the cuffs and chains that fastened to the base of the frame, it was a wasted effort. After a few seconds she fell still, hanging breathless, sweat pouring down her face and breasts, glistening under the harsh spotlamps.

‘Please,' she groaned, for the thought of what her torturer was proposing was too terrible to contemplate. Although she had only possessed this female body for what amounted to a few hours, Pauline knew enough to understand that whilst having her nipples pierced and ringed would be bearably painful, the second proposition would bring with it horrendous agony. Dolores, however, seemed more than pleased with the terror her announcement had instilled and appeared to be in no hurry to begin inflicting any physical pain as yet.

‘Perhaps, poppet,' she sneered, pushing her face close to Pauline's, ‘I should let you try to earn a reprieve?'

‘A - a reprieve?' Pauline swallowed and nodded fervently. ‘Yes, anything!' she squeaked.

Dolores nodded. ‘Strange how a girl can suddenly become so anxious to please,' she hissed. She stepped back further, fingers groping at the crotch of her catsuit, pulling at some hitherto unseen fastener, pulling aside the heavy latex, to reveal...

...An indisputably male organ, already swelling up as it was released from the suit's clinging embrace. Pauline's eyes goggled, but the ‘woman' merely chuckled.

‘Surprise, Susie?' she leered, taking her stiffening shaft in her right hand, massaging it between leathered fingers to encourage its further growth. Deliberately, she stalked forward again, casting aside the whip and reaching up with her freed hand for Pauline's manacles.

‘Now, I'm sure you know exactly what I expect of you, sweetie,' she drawled, snapping open the first cuff. ‘I want to see you down on all fours, like a good little bitch doggie, tongue out and panting to show your obedience, savvy?'

Pauline blinked, gulped and nodded, her gaze drawn down to the now massive shaft that was pressing against her stomach.

‘Yes - yes, mistress,' she whispered, horrified to hear the words, yet knowing that anything was preferable to the alternative that this creature had planned for her. If sucking that huge phallus was what it took to keep her delicate clitoris in one pristine piece, then so be it, and a few moments later as the swollen head pushed her full lips wider and wider apart, somehow it did not seem such a terrible ordeal after all...