Contents
Cover
About the Book
Also by Adriana Arden
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Copyright
About the Book
The Shiller Company’s secret slavegirl business is ruthlessly exploited by its archrival Harvey Rochester when he has an entire truckload of their beautiful and highly trained slave girls abducted. The girls will be forced to work in his own cruel slave houses and also serve as hostages guaranteeing Shiller’s will replace them with a fresh batch when they are exhausted.
Vanessa Buckingham of the Girlflesh News, has suffered at Rochester’s hands before and knows this state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue. She is further motivated by the fact that her slave lover Kashika will be in the next batch of girls to be handed over to Rochester.
Rochester must be stopped for good, his slave business destroyed and the captive girls rescued. But how can his elaborate security precautions be bypassed? To succeed Vanessa must risk all and enter a secret world of depravity and erotic punishment.
Also by Adriana Arden
ALICE IN CHAINS
THE OBEDIENT ALICE
ABANDONED ALICE
CAPTIVES OF CHEYNER CLOSE
THE GIRLFLESH INSTITUTE
THE GIRLFLESH CASTLE
THE GIRLFLESH CAPTIVES
One
‘FIRST I’M GOING to strip you naked, then I’m going to screw your head off!’ the machine promised as it rolled towards Vanessa Buckingham with a whine of electric motors. She retreated into a corner, feeling a thrill of fear as it loomed over her.
It stood over two metres tall and ran on a tank-like twin-tracked base unit. Out of this rose a column supporting a transverse chest and shoulder unit, from the ends of which extended a pair of jointed arms with clamps for hands. Its voice issued from a speaker grille in the middle of the chest. Atop the shoulders was an extendible neck supporting a head fitted with auditory receivers and a pair of large glowing red binocular eyes.
Just above the junction between its tracked base and main body was a large ball socket. Extending forward from this on a hydraulic ram was a shining phallus as long as Vanessa’s forearm with a screw thread spiralling about it. As the machine moved, this shaft whirred and pulsed in and out while LEDS set into its tip and sides flashed. Stencilled onto the machine’s base panel was the name: ROBOSCREW.
A mechanical hand reached out and caught the arm of the old jacket Vanessa wore. Desperately she tore at its metal arm but could not break its hold. With a twist and a wrench and a popping of buttons she shrugged off the jacket, leaving the remains in its grasp. With her skirts and ponytail of fluffy dark hair flying she dashed away round the zigzag walls of cardboard cartons and packing cases that turned the warehouse floor into a virtual maze.
A robot hell-bent on ravishment and equipped with a huge screw-shaped cock was chasing her. It was the stuff of fantasy and nightmare … except that it was very real.
A sound system was pumping out a medley of background music to accompany her desperate flight. Eerie tinkling breathless pauses were followed by sudden bursts of gunshot percussion and racing strings. Vanessa thought she recognised some of the film scores from which they had been lifted. The lighting scheme complemented the music. Dim washes of red and blue picked out the shadows of the high roof and distant walls, contrasting with dramatic pools of stark white light cast by banks of focused spotlights.
It was an appropriate setting for a helpless heroine to be pursued by a malevolent inhuman enemy. The thought of the fate that awaited her if she was caught made her stomach knot, even as the crotch of her panties began to dampen. Her chest was heaving and her loose blouse was already sticking to her back with sweat. As she ran she wiped a hand across her bright hazel eyes to clear the stinging perspiration.
She rounded a corner and almost collided with another of her robotic stalkers.
It was a squat glossy red machine with a shell-like body no higher than her waist, carried by six legs with two large pincer arms facing forward. Smaller crablike feeding mandibles flanked a mouth from which another corkscrew phallus protruded. Across its rounded back was written: CUNNY CRAB.
‘Those tits could do with a little nip!’ it hissed, its stalked eyes flashing, its mandibles writhing lasciviously and its claws snapping as it lunged at her.
Vanessa sprang aside but she was a fraction too slow. One of its rubber-lined pincers locked about a fold of her faded skirt while the other made a grab for her leg. Vanessa tried to pull away and there was a ripping of cloth as her skirt was torn from her, leaving her with only her flimsy white panties between waist and sock tops. Gasping for breath she staggered back and ducked behind the nearest stack of crates. With a whir and click of many feet Cunny Crab waddled after her. She was faster in a sprint but it would not get tired until its batteries ran down.
She ran on through the maze, her trainers slapping over the hard floor, straining her ears for the whine of electric motors above the rise and fall of the background music. Then a metal door set in the warehouse wall loomed ahead of her out of a wash of cool blue gloom. Vanessa rattled the door handle and banged on it with her fist, but it was locked. Of course, it would not be as simple as that. Her fear cranked up another notch. She was trapped.
She looked about her. Could she climb up the crates and evade her pursuers that way? Most of the spotlights were focused on the floor. Maybe she could hide out of sight of their camera eyes. She saw a tall stack of cartons with a stepped end. If she could get on top of that she would be safe as she was sure none of her pursuers could climb. But would the boxes be strong enough to support her weight?
She clambered gingerly up onto the first carton. The top sagged but there still seemed to be some packing material inside it to give it additional strength and it held. Emboldened she reached out for the next one.
Vanessa heard the hum of motors and squeal of rubber wheels above the thud of drumbeats a second too late.
There was a phut of compressed air and something struck her back. With a crackle, a numbing jolt of electricity coursed through her, scrambling her thoughts and sending her muscles into spasm. She fell over backwards, twitching helplessly, to sprawl limply across the top of the lowest carton. As she lay there she felt a shameful hot wetness flowing though her panties across her thighs and along her bum crack. She’d wet herself.
Pussy Dog rolled up, reeling back into its mouth as it did so the small electrode-studded globe that formed the tip of its long electric tongue lash. ‘No you don’t, bitch,’ it growled triumphantly. ‘This dog’s going to have you!’
It had an angular dog-like head with red eyes and large sharply pointed ears. This was mounted on a cylindrical body supported by four short slightly bowed legs with independently powered rubber wheels for feet. From under its belly pulsed and whirred another huge screw phallus. Its name stencilled across its side was accompanied by an image of a girl’s upturned and bare backside with dripping pudenda.
But though Pussy Dog had her temporarily at its mercy, it could only just reach her as she lay on the top of the packing case. Its screw cock whirred in frustration.
Snapping its jaws, it tried to get a grip to drag her down to the floor. Its hard rubber teeth closed on her out-flung arm and with a whine of wheel motors it began to tug backwards.
But life was returning to Vanessa’s limbs as the numbing effects of the shock faded. With a wrench, a popping of buttons and rip of fabric she rolled off the other side of the carton minus her blouse, revealing the white metal collar that enclosed her neck. She tumbled to the floor, leaving the shredded remains in Pussy Dog’s frustrated jaws, and staggered away rubber-legged, clad only in her trainers, socks, bra and sodden panties with the shadow of her pubic delta showing through them.
But she could hear the other machines closing in on her now. There was no escape. To one side of her Roboscrew swung into view round a pile of boxes, baleful red eyes blazing. Click, click, click, Cunny Crab’s claws sounded ever closer, while a mechanical howl from behind told her that Pussy Dog was still on her trail.
Vanessa stumbled on, aware that they were driving her before them like a wild animal, backing her into a corner of the warehouse.
Then there was nowhere else to run. The corner was devoid of cover. Her robotic pursuers emerged from the shadows. She tried to make a dash to one side along a wall to get round them but Roboscrew twisted at the last moment and caught her right wrist in its left clamp-like hand. She kicked its metal sides and tore at the clamp, but the rubber lining made it impossible to slide her hand free and she could not force the halves apart. It caught her other wrist and pulled her arms wide, lifting her off her feet.
She hung with her back to the robot, her smooth stomach palpitating and breasts heaving. Its screw cock flashed and whirred and extended in a mechanical parody of tumescence until the tip touched her bottom, probing the tight wet fabric of her panties. Vanessa gave a shriek of alarm and kicked and squirmed in mid-air. The phallus swung about, trying to find its target, grazing off her buttocks. But while her legs were free and she could twist about it could not penetrate her.
‘Keep still, slut!’ it commanded.
‘No way, bolthead!’ Vanessa retorted with desperate bravado.
She heard a snarl of frustration from Roboscrew’s speaker. Holding her aloft like a trophy, it carried her back to the others.
Pussy Dog and Cunny Crab both made a lunge for her, their metal sides grinding against each other with a screech and whine of motors.
‘Hey, I want a piece of that bitch’s ass!’ Pussy Dog barked.
‘Wait your turn, Fido,’ hissed Cunny Crab. ‘We’ve got to peel her first and you haven’t the tools for it.’ It focused its eyestalks on Roboscrew. ‘If I help strip and hold her, tin man, we share her, agreed?’
‘Agreed, just get on with it,’ Roboscrew snapped impatiently, his phallus twitching and bobbing.
Cunny Crab reared up on its front feet and reached out a pincer towards Vanessa as she fluttered and squirmed in Roboscrew’s implacable grip. The claw closed about her cleavage, scraping her skin as it pinched the tiny strap between her bra cups, and then tugged. Vanessa was jerked forward as the elastic fabric stretched, cutting her shoulders and squeezing her breasts, and then snapped. The two halves of her bra fluttered aside to hang about her shoulders while her pale softly rounded breasts bounced free, their sharply defined red-brown nipples standing up stiffly.
The robot crustacean lowered its claw to Vanessa’s panties. The tips pinched the swell of her pubes through the wet fabric, making her squeal in pain. She stopped kicking her legs and held still except for a shiver of fear she could not quell. In a macabre chorus the three robots laughed at her distress. They were metal and rampantly male and she was just feeble female flesh. They had all the power. She was their toy now.
The Crab ripped the side bands of her panties in half and the sodden scrap of fabric fell to the floor, exposing a close-cropped delta of dark hair trimmed back from her well-rounded pubic lips that were gaping hungrily. A pair of small golden rings were threaded though the sides of her impudently pouting inner labia. Cunny Crab’s eyestalks moved in for a closer look at Vanessa’s sex.
‘That is a nice hot slot,’ it hissed, probing it with the tip of one claw and making Vanessa whimper. ‘And her clit’s standing up nicely. Is that pee or your juices? Are you a hot metal slut girl?’
‘Please … don’t hurt me,’ Vanessa whimpered.
‘Her arse is pretty good as well,’ Roboscrew commented from behind Vanessa’s trembling body. She felt the tip of its cock probing her bare bottom cheeks.
‘Get on with it, you two,’ Pussy Dog growled.
Cunny Crab raised a pincer and clamped it about Vanessa’s right breast, squeezing until her tender flesh ballooned between the halves of its claw and began to go purple. Vanessa yelped and snivelled in pain.
‘Are you going to be a good girl?’
‘Yes!’ she sobbed, her stomach churning.
‘Do you beg for a big crabby screw?’ it asked, its mandibles snapping.
‘Yes … yes!’
The Crab freed her breast, now indented with the serrations of its claws, and clasped Vanessa’s dangling ankles. It pulled them wide and then lifted its body. Its mandibles spread as its screw cock extended. Pulsating madly, the screw tip slid between her wet labia. At the same time she felt the tip of Roboscrew’s cock sliding between her bottom cheeks, probing for the mouth of her greased anus. Her eyes bulged and she gave a choking gasp as they both penetrated her.
The soft spiral flanges of the twirling vibrating rubber cocks tickled and flexed sensuously within her, curving upwards even as the shafts plunged deeper until half their lengths were sheathed inside her and they plugged both her passages to the limit, driven by the force of hydraulic rams that her poor orifices were too weak to resist. Her belly swelled and bottom bulged as they filled her front and rear, drilling and pulsing and churning. It felt as though they were going to meet inside her, separated by such a thin membrane. She shrieked in pain, shame and delight as she rode the flashing sex screws.
Grunts and gasps were coming from the robots’ speakers as they screwed her, almost as though they were living things. They were grinding her between their metal bodies as they ravished her mercilessly, impaled upon their mechanical parodies of manhood. Then hot oil was pumping and spurting up inside her as they came, filling every nook and spraying back out of her front and rear, running down her thighs and dripping to the floor. With a wail her own orgasm ripped though her and her juices joined the flow.
Roboscrew and Cunny Crab sagged. Their clamps and claws relaxed, dropping Vanessa’s limp sweat-streaked body to the floor. She fell onto her face, her arms stiff, twitching and trembling. Oil shone on her pubes and bottom and began to form a puddle as it continued to leak from her. Her anus still gaped wide. Her groin was so stretched and pummelled that she could not close her legs. But her ordeal was not over yet.
With a desperate growl Pussy Dog drove up between her splayed legs. Its front wheels rode over the backs of her thighs until they were level with her chest, then the front legs closed together, pressing the rubber tyres against her sides and clamping her firmly. At the same time the Dog’s back legs spread, holding her thighs wide. It lowered and twisted its head and clamped its jaws on her hair, holding her in place. Then its body settled down on top of her, pressing her flat, its pulsating screw cock probing for her dribbling anus.
Her ability to resist had been shattered and it went in easily. Grunting and growling the robot began to sodomise her, rocking back and forth on its legs, grinding her breasts into the concrete as its cock twirled and drilled her insides out. Under its weight she snivelled and sobbed, knowing she was spent and bruised and utterly unable to respond to this third invasion of her body. And then something very perverse gathered inside her and the aches and bruises became a pleasure bomb that went off in her brain and she came again, mingling her discharge with the hot oil pumping into her. Then she slumped to the ground utterly exhausted.
The background music cut out. Fluorescent tubes flickered on, banishing the artful shadows and bathing the test area in cold white light. From the observation gallery spontaneous applause broke out.
‘Well, um, what did you think of our robotic trio, Vanessa?’
It was an hour later. Vanessa was drinking tea in the office of Derek Shepherd, the manager of Robotikine, a subsidiary of the Shiller group of companies.
Shepherd was a thin, prematurely greying and slightly hunch-backed man of indeterminate age who blinked out at life through large glasses. He was awkwardly polite and clearly uncomfortable in her presence. This might have been due in part to the fact that as a Shiller company slave Vanessa was naked and lapping her tea up from a bowl on the floor in front of him.
Even after a shower and a thorough douching both front and rear, Vanessa still felt a happy ache within from her robotic screwing. She was also sore and unnaturally slippery and was aware of lingering traces of the sunflower oil the robots had pumped into her as simulated ejaculate. Not that any of this worried her. A Shiller girl should always be well lubricated.
VANESSA 19 WHITE was inscribed on her collar. A leash running from it was hooked over the arm of Shepherd’s chair. Her borrowed trainers had been replaced with white open-toed sandals and her hat had been restored to her. It was a white fedora with a black silk band, into which was tucked a card on which was printed the word: PRESS. In the last few months it had become her trademark in the strange secret world of corporate slavery. It was the hat worn by Vanessa Buckingham, the only slave reporter working on the Girlflesh News: the unique house magazine for Shiller slavegirls.
Vanessa looked up from her bowl in response to Shepherd’s question. ‘I thought it was amazing, Master. The chase and stripping was a great build-up. I really enjoyed it.’
‘Did the limiting circuits work properly?’ he asked with sudden concern. ‘The claw pressure was never too high when they took hold of you? We don’t want our machines to inflict any injury.’
‘I feel sore and there may be a few bruises, but it’s nothing, Master. I expect to feel firmly secured and helpless when I’m screwed and I was. That’s what chain girls like.’
‘Yes, you really do, don’t you,’ Shepherd said in mild wonder.
At that moment Vanessa was aware of the gulf between them. Not simply between man and woman but free man and natural masochistic slave. Even people familiar with slavegirls sometimes had trouble accepting the fact of their needs and desires. Not so long ago she would have found it impossible to believe as well.
‘I assume from what I heard, Master, that the operators enjoyed themselves as well. Is the virtual penile feedback system that good? Did they really feel as though they had their cocks up inside me?’
‘Oh yes, it was all very successful,’ Shepherd said proudly. ‘That and the ease of control mean that almost anyone can use an avatar robot with five minutes’ practice. Of course the test area is just a mock-up. If it was offered as an experience to paying clients the set dressing would be refined.’
‘Well, I’ll be able to write a great article on it for GN, Master. I think plenty of girls, private slaves as well, would love to try it. And I’m sure their owners will enjoy giving them a good robo-screwing.’
Shepherd grinned uncertainly. ‘I suppose ultimately that’s what it’s all about. But I hope you’ll mention our other work as well. We’ve got some special projects under development and we’re testing a lot of them this week, as we’ve got Peach Chain at our disposal.’
‘I’m sure they’re excited to be your guinea pigs, Master.’
‘Oh yes. Of course some of our female staff volunteered to try out the devices first, but we can’t use them at full strength or, um, go all the way … if you know what I mean.’
How ironic that this slightly shy and modest man should end up designing machines to capture and screw slavegirls, Vanessa thought. How he got here would be a story in itself. Aloud she said helpfully: ‘Which is why you need proper slavish, bondage-loving masochists to experiment with, Master.’
Shepherd blushed slightly. ‘Uh … exactly.’
‘Please don’t be embarrassed on my part, Master. I know what I am and love being it. Now I’m here for the day so please show me more …’
A little self-consciously, Shepherd led her round the facility. Vanessa trailed after him on the end of her leash with her camera slung round her neck and notepad in hand.
‘Have a look at this,’ Shepherd said, opening a door onto a small viewing room. ‘It’s still in the prototype stage and it’s not interactive but it is, well, amusing. Probably for private use or small gatherings, perhaps on a stage. I think they’re about ready to run another test …’
Through a large pane of one-way glass they could see a plain white room with rubber matting floor. A second one-way window, looking from this side like a mirror, was set in an adjacent wall. A pretty naked blonde girl in an orange collar was standing in one corner. Her wrists were cuffed behind her and she had a ball gag in her mouth. Above this her bright eyes were darting round expectantly. The lips of her sex were smooth and looked recently shaven. Through a speaker beside the window Vanessa could hear the slight sound of her shuffling feet and rapid excited breathing. In the corner opposite her was a large metal box.
The operating light on a video camera set high up in the corner of the room blinked on and it turned and zoomed in on the girl. A man’s voice came through a speaker mounted beside it. ‘Screwsnake prototype “C” test 31 commencing. Natalie 7 Peach as test subject. Activating units now …’
The lid of the box flipped open. Natalie’s eyes widened and she pressed herself back against the wall. Multicoloured snakes were squirming out of the box.
They were over half a metre long with thick bodies sheathed in a shimmering metallised plastic skin. Each had a code number marked on its back.
A dozen multicoloured screwsnakes had poured out of the box by now. They spread out and raised their heads, moving them from side to side as though scanning their surroundings. Their snouts were blunt and bullet-like, with a ring of metal studs about their necks, and quite plain except for two tiny black eyes and a small central hole out of which a tongue flickered.
‘They’re guided by simple movement sensors and smell,’ Shepherd explained. ‘They have olfactory sensor chips that can be programmed to recognise human body scent from some metres away. Closer to, this can be refined to distinguish the difference between the scent of a vagina and an anus.’
The snakes had stopped weaving about and flicking their tongues. They put their heads down and began moving towards Natalie, who by now was looking quite nervous with her nipples trembling distinctly as she edged along the wall. The snakes undulated along in a slightly stiff, jerky manner, enough to show they were not living things, but they were still surprisingly fast.
‘They’re programmed to enter either orifice,’ Shepherd continued. ‘These are simple shapes that they can recognise by contrast and orientation. That’s why she’s shaven to ease identification. She’s gagged so they don’t enter her mouth by mistake.’
And it also makes it much more exciting, Vanessa thought, watching the girl’s teeth clenching on the ball that filled her mouth.
‘When they’ve penetrated the right target they will deliver a series of small electric shocks and then disengage.’
Natalie was shuffling along the wall but the snakes were turning to follow her and fanning out. She reached a corner and found she was hemmed in. As they got closer they raised their heads and flicked out their tongues, focusing on Natalie’s naked groin. In a panic Natalie began to kick out at them. Her foot connected with the head of an emerald green specimen, only for her to jerk it back with a muffled yelp and hop about in pain. Her face screwed up and tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes.
‘They also activate their shock system to protect themselves,’ Shepherd added dryly.
Vanessa was surreptitiously squeezing her thighs together as her stomach fluttered and slippery warmth seeped through her labia. She was watching a pretty young woman being subjected to a freakish sexual torment and loving every moment. In any other circumstance it would have been a horrifying and cruel spectacle. But no girl wore a Shiller collar who was not ready to enjoy humiliation, pain and pleasure as one.
As Natalie had been distracted a red snake had coiled about her left ankle. She stood on one leg to try to shake it off, but it was coiled too tightly. Now a blue one attached itself to her right ankle.
‘As you can see, they are programmed to coil round any suitable object and climb to reach their goal,’ Shepherd said.
Natalie tried to rub her calves together to scrape the screwsnakes off, but they must have shocked her again in response to the pressure for she shrieked and shuffled her legs wide. Now she was trapped leaning back against the wall, her eyes bulging as she looked down in horror to see the snakes climbing up over her slim knees and about the smooth swell of her thighs towards the fleshy pouting slot of her sex.
Vanessa felt her loins churning in delight.
Now the red snake was nuzzling at the mouth of Natalie’s vulva, pulsating and surging forward. The blue was probing deeper between her thighs and curving upward into her bottom cleft. The red parted the fleshy curtains of Natalie’s labia. The blue jabbed upward.
Natalie threw back her head and wailed as they entered her, their bodies whipping from side to side as they forced their way into her front and rear passages. In seconds half their lengths seemed to have vanished up inside her, with their wriggling tails protruding grotesquely from between her legs.
Then her hips jerked, her bottom slapped against the wall, her teeth clenched and her eyes rolled up.
Half a dozen times Natalie convulsed in this manner as the robot snakes writhed and wriggled inside her. Her face was a picture of sensuous distress with her eyelids fluttering masochistic delight and tears dripping down onto her heaving breasts to mingle with the saliva drooling from about her gag. Then her head dropped and she slid down the wall as her legs folded under her, splaying her thighs wide, helplessly opening up her body to the robotic invaders.
The red and blue snakes slithered out of her, their bodies now shiny with her juices. The others surged forward in a twining mass, fighting to get inside her.
Natalie’s anus could only take one at a time but her vagina was elastic enough for two. They wriggled and writhed, mindlessly obedient to their instructions, fighting to screw, pumping their sensuous bodies into her until her stomach bulged, making Vanessa wonder how far they had penetrated. They churned about so much they beat Natalie’s juices to a froth that bubbled from her pouting, abused and swollen red-lipped lovemouth. Below her sex her well-stretched and jolting anus hung open like a tunnel, quivering with helpless spasms. She flinched and twitched and heaved making her breasts bob and jiggle. Then she groaned and jerked her hips, adding her own orgasmic convulsions to the shocks that wracked her body.
Only when the last snake pulled out did she slowly topple over onto her side, dribbling from both ends, half-sensible and utterly drained.
‘Test 31 satisfactory,’ said the voice. ‘Deactivating all units. Uh … maybe somebody should get Natalie a glass of water … or something?’
I’ve just seen a girl gang-banged by robot snakes, Vanessa thought. It had been one of the freakiest things she had ever witnessed. Was this the sort of thing men in white coats inevitably got up to when you gave them a gaggle of slavegirls to play with? Yet the slickness down her thighs could not be denied. It had turned her on, and that was all that mattered.
She realised Shepherd was looking at her expectantly.
‘I think they’d be a great icebreaker at parties,’ she said.
‘Now, where next?’ Shepherd wondered as they left the viewing room. He checked his watch. ‘Ah, yes, you must see the robot jockeys we’ve been trying out. They should have cleared the test area for a race by now.’
Ready for anything, Vanessa trotted obediently after him as he led her back to the control room that opened onto the old converted warehouse adjacent to the research centre that was used for larger-scale trials. Her recent robot sex partners had been put aside and covered by sheets and new equipment was being set up.
The curtains that had closed off the operator booths were now drawn back and the devices inside them had been changed. The 3D imaging goggles were on their hooks ready for use, but instead of sensor boots and gloves for robot limbs there were now what looked like saddles hung with stirrups mounted on an array of small hydraulic pistons.
Where the saddle pommels would have been were the soft rubber folds and wires of simulators that would link their users’ cocks with the passages of their selected mounts via radio links. Why men would want to couple with rubber vaginas, however realistic, when they had a baker’s dozen of real and very willing pussies to hand seemed ludicrous but, as Vanessa had learned over recent months, there was so much more to sex than reproduction and the direct exchange of bodily fluids. This was all part of the wonderful game of domination and submission and often nature took a back seat.
Looking out into the warehouse she saw that the maze of old cartons she had been chased around earlier had been rearranged to form the perimeter of an oval running track, with the spotlights adjusted to illuminate it.
‘The jockey system we’ve developed is more compact than the larger robots,’ Shepherd was explaining, ‘so they could be used individually in a secluded garden or paddock, for instance, but I think competitive races would be more entertaining. Of course if it was run in a dedicated facility there’d be stands and proper rails and that sort of thing.’
The course was ready and four Peach girls were being turned into ponies. They were harnessed up with standard ponygirl bridles and bits, but with short reins that ran though their cheek rings and down to clips clamped about their nipples as a convenient means of control. At the sight, Vanessa’s own nipples pricked up in sympathy.
On their feet they wore calf-length boots with ankle and instep braces that forced them to point their toes. These then tapered and curved around under the foot to form horseshoes.
‘Ah, yes, their running boots,’ Shepherd said, following her gaze. ‘Carbon fibre blades to give a bit more bounce to their step.’
The technicians brought out what looked like half-sized mannequins. These were dressed in riding silks, complete with caps and whips, and mounted on oddly shaped saddles that the technicians strapped to the girls’ backs.
The girls carried the dummies as though they were giving piggy-back rides to children. The saddles were fat crescents sitting just above their hips, held in place by a broad waist belt, with the scallop following the curve of their backs. The side ‘horns’ of each saddle curved upwards and then over and out again, forming curving padded handles that hooked into the crooks of the girls’ arms, pulling them backwards and causing them to push out their breasts. There was enough of a gap between their arms and their sides for the jockeys’ legs to slide through. Cuffs on the sides of the waist belts held their wrists secure.
The girls were made to bend over and Vanessa realised in one respect the dummies were not true scaled-down versions of the real thing. Dangling from between the jockeys’ legs under the saddle were pink rubber penises as long as those on the rapist robots. But where they had rigid cores, these were as flexible as hosepipes, except for the last fifteen centimetres of the head end which were plugged into the Peach girls’ anuses and locked in place by flared flanges.
Shepherd chuckled. ‘Yes, we had to employ a bit of lateral thinking to adjust reality to suit practical requirements. We wanted to simulate the sensation of riding and coupling with a ponygirl simultaneously. Unless she goes about on all fours, which will limit her speed, the rear passage is the obvious choice. The jockey is the controller’s avatar but he must sit high up on the girl’s back to see over her shoulders and yet not be too large for her to carry. But then the only way to couple with her would be to extend the torso and have the jockey clasping his legs round her hips, which would be absurd and interfere with her stride. So we have extended only that portion of the jockey needed to penetrate her. It will feed back the sensations of hip roll and internal muscular contraction while she runs and stimulate her in return with her controller’s, ah, responses.’
‘So the simulators in the control booths are set to recreate the girls’ rectums, Master,’ Vanessa said. ‘Which the riders feel as though they’re plugged into, even though it would be impossible actually to ride the girls piggy-back and sodomise at the same time.’
‘It seems to work. The human mind is remarkably adaptable.’
She could not disagree with that. She was living proof.
The harnessed Peach girls beamed as Vanessa looked them over and she smiled back, still thrilled at the knowledge that she had become something of a celebrity amongst Shiller slavegirls. She did not write about slavery from an outsider’s viewpoint, she did everything they did. Which meant …
‘I’d like to be a runner as well, please, Master,’ she asked, interrupting Shepherd. ‘So I can write about the system from the ponygirls’ viewpoint.’
‘Are you sure you’re not too … uh … tired?’
‘Perfectly, Master.’
‘Well … then we’ll find you a jockey. I think we have a spare set.’
‘Will you ride me, Master?’
Shepherd blinked owlishly and for a moment Vanessa felt that strange sense of power only a confident submissive without inhibitions could know. Today he could have her any time he wanted, but this suggestion disconcerted him. How had he ended up here inhabiting what must be a nerdish fantasy?
‘Well … if you would like me to.’
‘Then afterwards we could compare notes from both sides, as it were,’ she said warmly. ‘I’d know exactly what we were talking about. It would make my article much more accurate.’
‘Er … well, of course. I’d be delighted.’
They brought out another set of harness, robot jockey, boots and saddle. As the bridle and harness were strapped onto her, Vanessa felt the familiar thrill inside her growing. It was the dark joy of being a slavegirl; it was the confinement of her movements, the loss of self-control, the anticipation of pain and humiliation and the absolute surrender to a higher power.
The boots felt strange but they were far more stable than high heels. The jockey and saddle were surprisingly light. With an expression of intense concentration set on his plastic face, her jockey hunched forward and peered over her shoulder, his booted feet hanging over her hips, her reins clasped in one small hand and his whip in the other. The end of his outrageous cock plugged snugly into her rear. A year ago she had shied away from anal intercourse. Now it felt good to have a filled rectum.
Their human virtual riders, including a self-conscious Shepherd, retreated to the control booths and drew the curtains before donning the feedback goggles and plugging themselves into the rectal simulators. When men were engaged in virtual sex they rarely wanted an audience, whereas she and the other chain girls were permitted no privacy at all. It was so unfair, she thought with a delighted shiver.
She and the other Peach girls trotted out onto the improvised course where a couple of technicians held the starting tape ready.
She felt her jockey suddenly come to life. Its eyes glowed red and it tugged on her reins, pulling on her nipples. The slug of plastic inside her rear pulsed and grew harder. Shepherd’s cock was now virtually up her arse. It was a weird sensation but fun. She gave an answering squeeze of acknowledgement, hoping he would feel it. Her jockey’s whip came down and flicked across the upper curve of her right buttock. She was under his control.
The five human ponies beneath their robotic riders lined up before the tape, their eyes bright and their breasts trembling in anticipation. The lights played over the smooth swells of their strong thighs and firm buttocks and telltale sparkles of excitement on their pussy clefts. Today we really are hot to trot, Vanessa thought, with a barely suppressed giggle.
The sound system cut in with bugles and some old-fashioned hunting theme, redolent of galloping hooves and flying turf. Vanessa imagined the place with a proper stand and rails and people taking bets and cheering their favourite ponygirls on. Sweating but triumphant they would be paraded in the winner’s enclosure and patted and rubbed down and a rosette would be pinned to their breasts …
The tape sprang up and their riders’ whips came down on their bottoms and they were off.
They pounded round the track in a wonderful display of straining, jiggling flesh, their shoes clattering and clopping over the concrete floor and their robot jockeys bouncing in their saddles, beating their flanks with their little whips and jerking on their nipples to steer them. With their arms bound to their sides the girls could not counterbalance the roll of their hips in the normal way, so it was accentuated, leading to a corresponding heavy sway and toss of their breasts. Our tits need halters, Vanessa thought, but it felt good.
The mirror version of Shepherd’s cock inside her was getting harder, urging her on as much as the whip. In his booth she knew he was buggering her replica anus. God, this was freaky but so much fun, Vanessa thought as she blinked the sweat from her eyes. The sheer joy of hard exercise combined with sex and bondage. What would she do if she came while she was running? Could she stay upright? She was going to find out in another lap.
A slave reporter’s life was always challenging.
Vanessa was still aching happily from her exertions when she got back to her small Richmond flat that evening. The only detail making life less than perfect at that moment was that her lover and fellow slavegirl Kashika was away from London with her chain on company business and would not be back for another couple of weeks. It was a price you paid being a slavegirl and more than outweighed by the compensations.
She showered and ate, then went to bed, but not to sleep.
She took a remote control and a rabbit vibrator from the bedside drawer. Naked, she lay back on the covers and pointed the remote at the flatscreen television that hung on the wall opposite the foot of her bed.
Once, a year ago, when her life had been ordinary and by comparison terribly dull, there had been nothing on the wall there. Then a mirror had been installed with a hidden camera in its frame that her controllers employed to watch her in bed. Now there was a television with additional features.
A still image appeared of the head and shoulders of a girl with an almond-shaped face. She was a rare and striking blend of Scandinavian and Indian parentage, and her mane of mellow golden hair contrasted with her coffee-tinted skin. About her neck she wore a red metal collar inscribed: KASHIKA 5 CHERRY.
A second full-length image appeared showing Kashika standing naked and smiling. She had finely shaped neat breasts with dark nipples, a trim waist with a deep navel and a vulval cleft capped with curls the same colour as her hair.
A third image flashed up. This showed Kashika chained naked and spreadeagled to the very bed Vanessa was lying on. A fourth showed her bottom with spank marks, a fifth with the very same rabbit vibrator lodged deep in her vagina …
While the slideshow of love and submission flicked before her eyes, Vanessa happily masturbated herself to sleep.
Two
AN ALARM WAS beeping and lights were flashing.
Vanessa jerked awake. She’d been dreaming that she and Kashika had both been racing as girl ponies. They’d just won the Grand National and the Queen had been about to pin rosettes on their breasts …
The bedroom screen was flashing an urgent red and sounding the alarm. She fumbled for the bedside light switch. The glowing numerals of her clock radio showed it was twenty past five.
She found the remote and pointed it at the screen. An image appeared of a slender woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, with a strong straight nose and a narrow intelligent unlined face. Her bright blue eyes were keen and commanding.
‘Sorry to wake you, Vanessa, but this is urgent,’ the woman said. Her diction was precise but shaded by an unidentifiable accent.
Vanessa scrambled onto her knees facing the screen with her thighs spread submissively wide and hands folded behind her back. She bowed her head respectfully. ‘Yes, Director Shiller.’
‘Early this morning one of our trucks was hijacked and Canary Chain was kidnapped. We believe Harvey Rochester was responsible, so there is a possibility that you may also be a target. I have sent a security detail to your flat. Meanwhile be alert for any intrusion. You will stay with them until I contact you again. That is all for now.’
The screen blanked.
Vanessa blinked stupidly, still not fully awake. She knew Julie 5 Canary well. Oh God, she hoped she was all right. But if Rochester had her …
Sir Harvey Rochester was Shiller’s bitterest enemy. In addition to his media empire he also ran a secret sex-slave business, but unlike Shiller he did not employ only natural willing submissives. Once, before she knew the truth about him or her own nature, Rochester had used Vanessa, then a reporter on one of his newspapers, in an attempt to expose Shiller’s secrets for his own gain. He had also more recently tried to force Vanessa to work for him by threatening Kashika. Then he had employed another agent in a plot to bring down Shiller’s Scottish operation in Glen Lothy, which Vanessa had managed to foil. The memories of Rochester’s brutal behaviour were still fresh in her mind …
Vanessa threw on a robe and went round switching on lights and checking the door was securely locked. Rochester’s men had broken into her flat once before and though it was much more secure now, she did not want to risk repeating the experience.
The doorbell rang, making her jump. She checked at the spyhole and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Josh Willfield and Harry Parks, security men from Shiller that she knew well. She let them in, reassured by their large solid presence.
‘Everything all right, Miss Buckingham?’ Josh asked with anxious formality.
‘Yes, Master,’ Vanessa said.
The pair secured the door and checked around the flat. Then they relaxed a little.