The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (4 page)

When the carriage had disappeared again round the curve of the track, Vanessa turned back the way she had come. The whole thing was so incredible, so blatant …

Muffled snorts and throaty whinnies were emerging from the open door of the stable, not unlike the sounds made by real horses. Curious, Vanessa peered inside.

The remaining half-dozen pony-girls were tossing their manes and turning their heads and long false ears to one another as they exchanged their odd medley of sounds. Vanessa imagined she could hear slurred words under the animal whines and snuffles. A language of their own forced upon them by their bits and masks, perhaps?

Despite her pity and disgust, Vanessa knew what she had to do. Stepping quietly into the stable, she played her toolbox camera over the pony-girls, recording their blind and helpless condition.

After a minute, one of the women gave what sounded disturbingly like an apologetic neigh, and backed away from the stall door, evidently fighting the resistance of the taut twin tethers clipped to her collar. Vanessa moved closer and peered over the low door. The tethers ran through pulleys to weights suspended on either side of the stall door.

The woman had squatted down over a small, lidless toilet bowl built into the corner of the stall. With her legs splayed wide to brace against the pull of her tethers, she voided her bladder, the stream of urine hissing from between bare pink depilated pubic lips.

When she was done, a jet of water spouted from the bowl in the manner of a bidet, washing her groin clean. She stood up, wiggling her hips to shake the droplets from her pubes, then allowed the tethers to pull her back to her former position, announcing her return to her companions’ strange conversation with a snort.

Vanessa hastily stepped back, lowering her camera, feeling guilty at the intimate scene she had recorded.
A
vague idea of rescuing the women, or at least reassuring them that help was close at hand, passed through her mind. No, she could not risk giving herself away. Yet it was so hard to do nothing.

Suddenly she felt she could not breathe. She stumbled out of the stable and back towards the lift block. It was too much to take in. She had to get out of here.

Then she took hold of herself. No, she had to explore a little further, to get as much damning evidence as she could about the people exploiting these helpless women. Taking a deep breath, she continued on.

In front of the lift once more, she wondered where to go next.

The long, wide central corridor seemed somehow too daunting, so she took the right-hand path past the chalets. Who lived in them, she wondered? The carriage driver, perhaps, and the blond man she had seen herding the girl chain into the lift? And how many others like them? Whoever they were they would surely be made to suffer.

The green track also crossed the end of this corridor. As she heard the carriage approaching again she turned quickly left into a slightly narrower path.

It looked disconcertingly like a quiet mews fronted by a double row of small shops, each having identical large low windows, sheltered by a striped awning, with a single recessed door set beside it. Most of the windows were dark, a few had internal curtains drawn across and three further along were illuminated. Each window, she now saw, had a pair of loudspeakers mounted in its upper corners, with a switch mounted on the lintel between them. Presumably this was so that onlookers could both see and
hear
what went on inside the rooms if they chose. She could make out nothing inside the darkened ‘shops’, as the glass seemed slightly misty. Cautiously she made her way along to the nearest illuminated window and peered inside.

The room was bare except for a single low bed, its foot almost touching the inside of the window. A naked blonde woman was lying spread-eagled upon it, her outstretched arms and legs bound with ropes, so that Vanessa found herself looking up between her parted legs into the open wet gash of her vulva. The woman’s head was raised on a pillow, so that Vanessa saw her pretty face almost full-on. A gag strap covered her mouth, but she was not blindfolded and her bright eyes were wide and expectant as she looked down the valley of her proud breasts, which were capped by bright-red nipples, seemingly gazing directly at Vanessa.

Vanessa flinched back guiltily, ashamed to be caught staring at somebody in such a wretched and humiliating position, and gave an apologetic shrug. But the girl showed no sign she had seen her, and after a moment turned her head to one side and stared at the wall.

Suddenly Vanessa understood the purpose of the bright lights and shading awnings. The poor girl couldn’t see her because the window was made of one-way glass. From the other side it probably looked like a mirror. All she could see was herself, spread out, exposed, waiting helplessly for anybody to come in and make use of her as they wished …

Vanessa shuddered. Who could possibly contrive such degradation?

In the window of the next illuminated room, Vanessa was presented with a well-rounded pair of blushing-red buttocks, criss-crossed with purple weals
and
strap marks. A woman had been bent over a sturdy trestle and her wrists and ankles tied to the base of its frame. Her spread legs exposed plump dark-haired pudenda which swelled ripely beneath the deep cleft of her abused bottom. To add to her misery, a plumb-line weight had been clipped to her inner labia, stretching them into thin taut pink tongues as it hung between her thighs. Beside her was a rack of hooks on which was suspended a selection of crops, whips and tawses.

Even as Vanessa’s stomach churned at the thought of the suffering she must have undergone, she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye a figure approaching from the other end of the alley. Immediately she began examining the stanchion that supported the window awning, taking out an adjustable spanner from her toolkit and checking the tightness of its mounting bolts. Risking a sideways glance, she saw a voluptuous woman, dressed in black thigh boots and a body stocking, carrying an oddly shaped rod or stick. As Vanessa watched, she entered the last illuminated room in the row.

Continuing her show of checking the awnings, Vanessa edged along as quickly as she dared to the window of the room and looked in. A girl with coffee-dark skin was doubled up and suspended from a heavy bar, which dangled from a large ring set in the middle of the ceiling.

From hooks set close to each end of the bar hung chains which connected to heavy rubber and metal cuffs locked about the captive’s ankles, splaying her legs painfully wide so that the tendons behind her slightly bent knees stood out sharply. Her wrists were cuffed to the bar directly above her shoulders, drawing her arms straight upwards either side of her head. Another of the red ball-gags plugged her
mouth
. The weight of her upper body tipped her bottom up and forwards until she was in balance, as though offering up her exposed private parts. Her plump pudenda pouted through a crown of tight, glossy black curls. Under the tension of her spread legs her lips gaped wide, exposing the intimate folds of her inner labia and the mouth of her vagina. Below the fleshy fullness of her vulva was the sooty wellhead of her anus.

The body-stockinged woman was walking round her, stroking and petting her captive, talking as she did so. The girl’s large, soft brown eyes rolled appealingly in their sockets as she strove to follow her. Vanessa pressed the button and the speakers came to life: ‘… so I think we’ll work on making your anus a little more accommodating,’ the woman was saying. ‘You don’t want to disappoint the clients, do you?’

The girl shook her head.

The woman unhooked the chains suspending the girl’s ankles, letting out some slack and allowing her to lower her legs until they were level with the ground. Then she hooked the chains back over hooks at the very ends of the bar. This drew the girl’s legs straight out sideways along the line of the bar, leaving her suspended as though she was performing the splits in mid-air. The big tendons of her groin stood out like cables.

The woman then knelt down and placed the rod-like device she had been carrying beneath the captive girl’s open groin. Vanessa now saw the device had a dinner-plate-sized rubber pad on its base. A glistening black dildo with silver studs running down its sides was mounted on its upper end, while a black box with control buttons and an LED display clamped to its middle section.

The dildo slid up into the girl’s distended anus, driving a squeak of pain from behind her gag. The pad was settled firmly on the floor so that the device was upright and the girl could not possibly dislodge it. The woman worked the buttons on the control box, saying: ‘One jolt every ten seconds should be right …’

A red light flashed on the control box. At the same moment the girl’s eyes bulged, she gave a tiny gasp of pain, her arms tightened and she briefly lifted herself so that a few centimetres of the electric dildo slid out of her anus, before her strength failed and she sank back on to the shaft that was so cruelly impaling her. After a few seconds the light flashed again and she repeated her helpless response.

The woman got to her feet smiling and stroking the girl’s gaping vulva which, Vanessa was horrified to see, was now glistening wetly. ‘Good girl. I expect to see you’ve come at least once by the time I get back …’

Dizzy and confused, overwhelmed by all she had seen, Vanessa suddenly felt her nerve going.

She dared not intervene, yet she could not stay and watch any more. She had enough for her story, enough to show the police and get the place raided. She had to get out now.

Turning away from the degrading spectacle, she made her way back to the lift. She would take no further risks. Her phone wouldn’t work down here, but as soon as she was back above ground she would call Enwright and tell him what she’d found. She would wait here until the police came. She wanted to see the look on those perverts’ faces when they realised it was all over.

Vanessa was actually reaching for the lift call button when its door unexpectedly opened and two large security guards stepped out.

Their automatic smiles and nods turned to mild frowns as they saw a strange face. Vanessa lowered her eyes and tried to slide past them, but one grabbed her shoulder. She swung her toolbox at his head but he blocked the blow and twisted her arm behind her back.

Vanessa kicked and screamed: ‘Let go of me, you bastard!’ But he was too strong for her.

His companion lifted his radio mike to his lips and said urgently: ‘We’ve caught an intruder in level B3. You’d better tell the Director …’

Three

‘SO HARVEY ROCHESTER
put you up to this,’ Shiller said, when Vanessa had finished her account. ‘But he’s taking no active part in your investigations, is that correct?’

‘Yes, Director,’ Vanessa agreed meekly.

‘I think I understand …’ the Director smiled thinly to herself. Though obviously deep in thought, she appeared perfectly calm.

Vanessa had hoped Shiller would look fearful by now, knowing that somebody as powerful as Sir Harvey was supporting her investigations. Telling her story had allowed her to regain some composure. Although still desperately frightened and revolted by what they had done to her, she was once again contemplating Shillers’ utter destruction. But the shameful ache in her ravaged loins and the stinging of her breasts kept her outwardly servile. Sickening as it was, she had no choice but to co-operate … for the moment.

‘And what about your editor, Enwright?’ Shiller asked.

‘Waiting in a car a couple of streets away, Director. We agreed I’d try simply to walk out through the front gate when I was done here. Otherwise, if I had to get out the same way I got in, he’d follow me until he could pick me up.’

‘What will he do if he doesn’t hear from you?’

‘If I don’t call him in by midday, he’ll tell the police what I’m doing and then come looking for me, Director.’

‘I see.’ Shiller consulted her watch. ‘A little over three hours from now. Well, a lot can happen in that time.’ Shiller rose and gathered up Vanessa’s keys and phone. ‘We shall talk again later, Vanessa. Meanwhile, I leave you in Miss Kyle’s capable hands. Miss Kyle, I want her malleable and obedient, you understand?’

‘Perfectly, Director,’ Miss Kyle replied.

Shiller turned to go, then paused, eyes suddenly narrowing in thought. ‘By the way, do you live alone, Vanessa?’

Vanessa answered the seemingly innocent question automatically: ‘Yes, Director.’

‘Do you have a regular boy or girlfriend at the moment?’

‘No, Director.’

‘Good,’ she said, and walked briskly out.

Miss Kyle looked down at Vanessa, her eyes flashing with passion and anger. Vanessa shivered.

‘So, you’re a reporter who loses her nerve and runs away with only half a story,’ Miss Kyle said. ‘And you can’t see the big picture even now. Stupid girl! You think we’re monsters. Then why did we loosen your tongue by giving you the best orgasm you’ve had in years? Don’t deny it! Now you’re going to learn the truth the hard way. The Director thinks you’ve got potential, and she’s always right about people. She wants you “malleable and obedient”, so I’ve got to work on you some more. By the time I’m through you’ll be begging to serve!’

She refilled the mug she had used to revive Vanessa after her forced orgasm and pushed it against
Vanessa’s
lips. ‘Drink!’ she commanded, and Vanessa gulped down the water until the mug was empty.

‘Open!’ she commanded, and Vanessa opened her mouth so that the ball-gag could be reinserted.

‘I’m going to start by putting you on show …’ Miss Kyle swung the rack round on its large castors, pushed it up against the curtains that covered one wall of the cell, and pulled a hanging cord. Vanessa gurgled behind her gag, shaking her head and squirming helplessly in her bonds as the curtains drew back to reveal a reflection of herself.

Her vulva was still engorged, her inner labia glossy, pouting and flushed, her nipples crimson and erect, standing out on her hot, caged breasts. But far worse, just visible behind her image was the ghostly outline of the “mews” with its windows displaying helpless slaves. Now she had joined their shameful ranks. It seemed to Vanessa the ultimate degree of exposure. But then Miss Kyle added a further devilish refinement.