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by Simon Grail
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: Sebastian Creed was dead, and five lovely young women who once worked for him but hated his private perverted lifestyle are summoned to his former home to learn of a strange bequest in his will. They will each receive half a million pounds if they consent to play the part of naked slaves for a week, enduring bondage, beatings and sexual humiliations, administered by a computer with the personality of their former employer and its team of formidably equipped robots. If they refuse to participate they risk their future careers. Can they survive the increasingly severe challenges they are forced to perform or are they ingenious enough to escape from their mechanical masters and win their freedom and their reward? A week is a very long time when every day fresh torments are piled upon them from beyond the grave.
eBook Publisher: Fiction4All/FetishWorld,
eBookwise Release Date: April 2012
2 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [193 KB]
Reading time: 123-172 min.
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
Chasten House was a stark, modernist rectangular slab of a building, its white smooth-rendered skin enlivened only by the dark slots of its windows. It was situated deep in rolling green Buckinghamshire countryside in spacious grounds that were protected by high boundary walls. Its main entrance gates were made of sheet steel with security lights and cameras mounted on the piers on either side. Beyond the gates was a gravel drive flanked by closely clipped hedges and trees as geometrically perfect as the house itself. The five young women who climbed out of the luxury private hire-car that had just pulled up by its main entrance looked about them with curious interest and a sense of misgiving. They had never seen Chasten House before, which had been a private residence of their former employer, the billionaire computing systems entrepreneur Sebastian Creed.
And now, aged just forty two, Creed was dead.
An attractive, blonde, thirty-something woman in a charcoal grey two-piece business suit and wire frame glasses was standing on the steps leading up to the big front door under its cantilevered awning. As the passengers descended from the car she stepped forward wearing a professional smile of welcome and shook hands with each of them in turn. Although they had never met her before she appeared to recognise them individually by sight.
'Good Afternoon, Miss Turner... Miss Fairbrass, Miss Rodrigez, Miss Packard ... Miss Whitfield. I'm Elizabeth Chambers from Prendergast and Dowd, Mr Creed's solicitors. I hope you've been getting to know each other a little on the way over.'
Despite their common association the five had only themselves met for the first time that morning at the country hotel where they had been instructed to gather to await their car. The day before had all received the same message: "You have been contacted concerning the execution of the will of Sebastian Creed..." The one fact they had established on the journey here was what they thought of Creed: they had all despised him. Politely, however, they assured Miss Chambers that they were getting on fine.
'Good,' she continued. 'Now if you'd like to follow me. Don't worry about your bags. They'll be taken care of...'
She led them through the big front door into the lofty, white-walled and woodblock-floored entrance hall. One either side of them twin flights of stairs led up to the first floor and a cross landing that linked corridors running down opposite sides of the building. In front of them sliding glass panels opened onto an enclosed courtyard that let light into the interior of the house.
They did not notice that the big front door swung shut by itself behind them. It was hung on triple heavy duty hinges and secured by a keypad lock and large bolts. The windows on either side of it were protected by security bars.
'Do hang up your coats,' said Miss Chambers, indicating the hooks by the stairs. As they did so, she continued: 'I'm sure you're all curious as to why you've been summoned here, so unless any of you are dying for refreshment I'll get straight down to business.'
They were all intensely curious. None asked for a drink.
Miss Chambers led them from the hall through a door on the right with an oddly out of place large green sign stuck to that read: SITTING ROOM. It mirrored the door opening off the left side of the hall which was labelled equally boldly: DINING ROOM.
However it might once have been furnished, the sitting room was now echoingly empty, containing only a row of five basic tubular metal and plastic chairs, facing a large flat screen television mounted in the middle of the end wall. To the left of the screen was a second door labelled in the same curiously institutional fashion: KITCHEN AND UTILITY, with a bold red sign above it reading: NO ENTRY. Beside the screen was a sixth chair with a large cardboard box set beside it. The floor to ceiling windows on the left that looked out onto the inner courtyard were unobstructed except for white vertical blinds, while those smaller windows looking out over the gardens were security barred.
Miss Chambers motioned for the women to be seated while she herself sat on the chair by the screen. She picked up a remote control unit that had been resting on the box.
'The five of you are here because, as you were informed yesterday, you are all named in the will of Sebastian James Creed,' she began. 'No public announcement has yet been made concerning this matter and we are grateful to you for respecting this confidence. As you can imagine, the will of somebody as wealthy as Mr Creed is a complex document, but the section that is of interest to you comes in the bequests. Put simply, it states that, providing certain criteria are fulfilled, upon his death you will each receive the sum of five hundred thousand pounds.'
There was a collective gasp of disbelief from the women. The previous year in quick succession they had all resigned from their positions as his PA's in disgust and he had known how they felt about him. So why was he now leaving them such a sum of money?
'I can see you have many questions you'd like to ask,' said Miss Chambers. 'Perhaps it will be simpler if Mr Creed himself explains...'
She pointed the remote at the big screen. A caption appeared:
Message 1: To be replayed in the presence of Helen Turner, Laura Fairbrass, Maria Rodrigez, Tiffany Packard and Sophie Whitfield
The caption was replaced by an image including very screen they were watching with a man in an electric wheelchair seated in front of it. There was a sharp intake of breath as they recognized their former employer, except he was not the virile, energetic man in his early forties that they remembered. Creed's legs were covered by a blanket and his jacket seemed to hang off him. His hair had receded, his face was grey and drawn and cheeks hollowed. But from darkly shadowed depths his eyes still burned brightly as he looked out of the screen at them.
When he spoke his voice was cracked and thin, but his words were clear.
'So, here you all are my pretty ex-PA's. Come to find out why I put you in my will after you all resigned the way you did, have you? Well, getting through the five of you in less than a year was a record for me. However, you must admit that I never behaved improperly towards any of you. All I ever required was that you do the work you were qualified for in a professional manner. My private lifestyle was another matter, and unfortunately none of you approved of those naughty games I liked to play...'
He steered his chair to his left and the camera panned to follow him. The viewers gasped. A naked woman in a glossy black gimp mask was chained to the wall next to the screen. A two metre diameter circle of eyebolts had been set in the wall and a web of chains had been strung between them. Caught in this like an unwary butterfly was Creed's victim. Her back was pressed to the wall, her thighs were twisted outward and her legs were spread with knees slightly bent. Her bare feet were also turned outwards and held in place by the pressure of chains bound across her insteps. Her arms were bent at the elbows, raised and pulled back hard by chains wrapped about her wrists and across her biceps and forearms. More chains crossed her neck, upper thighs and stomach and formed and "X" between her heavy breasts.
It was evident that she had recently been punished. Red stripes showed across her breasts, stomach and thighs. A few stripes even crossed her deeply cleft and clean shaven pubic mouth.
To add to the shocking image, the captive woman had what appeared to be a wooden skittle with a black rubber shaft fixed to its top end inserted into her vagina, so that it hung between her legs. The skittle trembled as she strained against the pull of its weight to hold it within her. Its shaft glistened with her juices.
From the depths of her heavily stitched mask her tear-filled eyes sparkled. Only they and her nostrils and lips showed, and the latter were parted by a rubber plug with ring cap. A plume of blonde hair hung out of a tight hole in the back of the mask.
The watching women's horrified eyes flicked from the screen to the wall beside it, realizing that the circle of bolts in which the masked captive was imprisoned, which had previously seemed like some minor abstract decorative feature, were still there.
Creed drew a cane from a holster in the side of his chair and swiped it across the helpless body of his captive. She jerked in her chains, twisting and straining as far as they permitted whilst moaning sensuously.
The camera zoomed in on her smooth, pouting vagina, showing milky fluid oozing from between its plump lips about the shaft plugged within it. Disturbed by her caning the skittle shaft appeared to be slipping out of her passage, but by some intense inner contraction she sucked it back up inside her. Creed probed this weeping orifice with a shaking hand then brought his fingertips to his nose, as though to savour the scent. Then he turned to look out of the screen.
'As you can see, despite everything I'm still having fun and so is my pretty sex toy here. And perhaps it's not too late for you to have some as well, my uptight quintet. You all said some hurtful things about my little hobby back then. It didn't matter to you that it was entirely consensual on the part of my toys. And what was worse one of you leaked some details to the media at a very bad time for me, which we'll come to shortly. That was both a betrayal of trust and a sign of ignorance and blind prejudice. I thought that if only you had the courage to give my pastime a trial maybe you would be more understanding. And now, perhaps a bit late in the day for some of us, that time has come.'
There was an uneasy stirring amongst his viewers at that point and mutters of: 'What?' But the recording continued regardless.
'Let me begin by asking a question. Have any of you yet wondered why your current employers allowed you all to take time off to come here at such short notice. No? Well I'm sure you heard about my dispute with Monsanti Intelcorp about their Pixon 2200 chip architecture last year. I accused them of having stolen key elements of it from a prototype we'd been working on. It went to court but I couldn't prove my case and those stories about my private life were circulating by then which didn't help. Cost me a lot of money and Creed Cybersystems quite a few jobs. This occurred after the last of you left my employment, of course, but the key chip design elements I believe Monsanti copied were on file during the period all of you worked for me. Naturally they were encrypted and password protected but you're all better than average computer literates and you all had access to my private office. It's possible that one of you copied them and passed them on to Monsanti...'
Miss Chambers paused the playback. All five women were on their feet shouting at the screen, outraged that Creed should have dared make such a suggestion. 'Ladies, please, calm down!' she said sharply. 'I assure you it is in your best interests to hear the rest of the recording.' Reluctantly they settled down and Miss Chambers resumed the playback.
'I'm sure that right now you're all strenuously denying any involvement in the affair and if you are innocent I unreservedly apologise,' Creed continued. 'However there's enough evidence to cast suspicion on each one of you and that's what's been passed on to your employers. Of course while they don't want to employ potential spies, nor do they want to face an industrial tribunal if they dismiss you unfairly. So they've let you come here so we can discover the truth, one way or another.'
The women shrank back in their chairs, glancing uneasily at their companions. But Creed was chuckling.
'Except that we're doing nothing of the sort! What would the truth matter to a dead man? I've already told you what I wanted from you. This chip business has simply been an excuse to bring you all here together and provide an incentive for you to stay.'
'You see Miss Chambers has instructions to communicate either of two messages to your respective employers. One message exonerates you from suspicion while the other presents strong circumstantial evidence that you're guilty. Which one gets sent depends on how you respond to the offer I'm going to make you, so listen carefully.'
'By now you know that you're each due five hundred thousand when I die. But there's a catch. To be eligible you have to stay in this house and play my kind of games...' he indicated the helpless, gimp-masked woman bound the wall behind him '... for one week. Every day there'll be a new and original challenge for you to endure and overcome. There'll be bondage, sex, spanking, pain, humiliation and shame and I hope many orgasms. You'll get a taste of what you so despised and I'm betting that one or two of you might even find you enjoy it...'
Miss Chambers had to freeze the playback again until the five women stopped screaming indignantly at Creed's image on the screen.
'I'm pretty sure you're saying right now that this is a vile, insulting and perverted offer,' Creed continued. 'You have your pride and you won't do this even for half a million. Well the choice is entirely yours, but consider this before you turn it down. Either you can preserve your pride and dignity and take a chance on your future, or else play a naughty game by my rules and leave with a clean slate. I'll tell you what, for old time's sake I'll give you one other way out. If at any time during the week any of you are smart enough to escape from the house and get outside the grounds, that individual is free and clear. But I warn you, if you're caught, you'll be punished. Right, I think that's all. Over to you, Miss Chambers...'
End of Message 1 flashed up on the screen, leaving the five women staring at it in stunned, disbelieving silence. Miss Chambers turned it off and stood up. 'Mr Creed left very specific instructions as to how you were to be prepared for your challenges, which start today. Unless any of you wish to leave now, knowing the consequences, I shall begin that process.'
'This is... blackmail,' said Laura Fairbrass angrily.
'Not at all,' said Miss Chambers. 'You have simply been informed of the consequences of two different courses of action. The facts are indisputable. Because of the privileged post you held you are all, though not the sole, suspects in the case of the alleged chip design theft. However not all findings of the subsequent investigation have yet been passed on to your employers. Were this done they may decide to review you positions with them, although of course that would be entirely their decision. What you must decide is do you want to take that risk? If you do then you may leave now, although I will first require you to sign a declaration to the effect that you relinquish any claim on Mr Creed's estate and the five hundred thousand due to you. If it helps you to make a choice, remember that your employers, friends and families never need know what occurs in this house for the next week. Well, do you want to go?'
There was an awkward pause while the women made a mental calculation. A big stick was being brandished behind them while a juicy carrot was being dangled invitingly before their noses, but ultimately it came down to a choice between sacrificing their self-respect or their careers. The only redeeming feature was that nobody would ever know. One by one they shook their heads.
'I need you to be very clear,' Miss Chambers said. 'Do you each agree to participate in these challenges for the next week, abiding by the rules Mr Creed has stipulated? There can be no backing out once you are committed.'
One by one, with varying degrees of resignation, they said: 'Yes, I agree.'
'Very well,' said Miss Chambers. 'Mr Creed's first rule is that you are to be kept naked at all times.' As they looked at her in horror she drew out several black bin bags from the box at her side and handed them out. 'You will put everything in there, including phones, shoes, watches and jewellery. They will be returned to you at the end of the week together with your luggage.' She held up her hand to forestall a fresh wave of protest. 'You saw how Mr Creed likes to play with his female toys. You can hardly expect to be treated differently.'
'How can you possibly act for a man like that?' Carmine Rodrigez asked in disgust.
'It's not my place to pass judgement on the morals of others. My firm is simply employed to execute his wishes. You had the choice to refuse to participate but you chose not to exercise it. Now you must accept the consequences.'
'Can't we even keep our phones?' Tiffany Packard asked plaintively.
'No, because you might change you minds about seeing the challenge through to the end and try to call for help,' Miss Chambers said coolly. 'Your respective employers know you will be incommunicado for this period and will handle any personal messages. Officially you are all attending confidential business conferences. Now, your clothes and possessions please...'
Miserably the five women began pulling off their shoes. Outwardly impassive, Miss Chambers watched them strip with interest, assessing the varied contours and tints of bare flesh as it was unwillingly exposed.
Helen Turner was a statuesque Nordic blonde with grey-blue eyes, almost invisible eyebrows and long flowing hair. Her well-proportioned breasts hung proudly, their glossy nipples only a few shades darker than her pale gold flesh. Her waist was trim and her hips wide. A sparse triangle of honey-blonde curls veiled her pubic cleft.
Sophie Whitfield by contrast had long wavy brunette hair and pale cream skin. She had an open, friendly face and dark straight eyebrows. Her most striking feature was her pale firm breasts capped by distinctly tumescent uptilted brown nipples. An unfashionably untrimmed growth of thick, dark curls crowned the apex of her thighs.
Laura Fairbrass had a tumbling mass of black hair, dark arching brows over dark eyes, perfect red lips, a firm slightly retrousse nose and a determined jawline. Her figure was compact with broad shoulders and neat pneumatic breasts with small brown nipples.
Her pubic bush was carefully trimmed back into a tight "V".
Maria Rodrigez was an even pale coffee brown all over. She had a mass of curling black hair, neat conical breasts with scooped upper slopes and jutting, turned-up tips capped by large domed aureoles. Her dark pubic bush was narrow and close shaven.
Tiffany Packard had large round, shy dark eyes, set in a pretty face capped by a bob of short silver-blonde hair. She had neat round breasts, a pertly shaped bottom and a naked pink sex with a pouting tongue of inner lips.
When the five of them were naked, their troubled and uncertain faces flushed with embarrassment, Miss Chambers gathered up the bags of their clothes. Then she pulled some new items from the box and laid them out on the floor.
'Being slaves you will also need to be suitably controlled and restrained,' she said.
They were five sets of metallic yokes, incorporating rubber lined collars and cuffs, with complex-looking motorized joints, pivots and telescopic sections built into the arm sections. Each yoke came with a matching pair of chunky padded ankle cuffs. The collars and cuffs were all split into hinged halves. Welded to their outer curves were several "D" rings, to which fastenings might be attached, and an identification plate stamped with one of their Christian names.
'You will wear these at all times except in your rooms,' Miss Chambers explained. 'The yokes are powered and can be operated remotely to assume different configurations as required.' She indicated an arrangement of tubes, straps and pads hung about the backs of the collars. 'They also include integral adjustable gags. They and the ankle cuffs will be recharged each night while you sleep.'
Tiffany was staring at the devices in horror and shaking her head. 'I don't want to be collared like an animal,' she said.
'Really, and how did you expect a slave to be treated?' Miss Chambers asked. 'That is what you all are for the next week and slaves must be properly controlled and restrained at all times. You gave up your rights to choose when you agreed to this challenge. In fact wearing the yoke is part of the challenge.'
Laura took a deep breath. 'We know what he's trying to do to us,' she said impatiently. 'But putting these things on won't turn us into instant slaves so let's just get this pantomime over with.'
She stepped forward and held up her arms, bent at the elbows, so that her wrists were level with her neck. Miss Chambers fitted the yoke and cuffs with her name stamped on them, snapping the collar and cuffs shut about Laura's neck, wrists and ankles.
'There are locked electronically,' she explained. 'You can only remove them if your guards permit or when you dock them with the recharging units in your bedrooms. Instructions are provided.'
Miss Chambers pulled the gag device over Laura's head from where it had been hanging about the back of the collar and fitted it over Laura's face. Two rubber tubes extended from the sides of the collar to her cheeks where they plugged into large metal rings, a little like the cheek rings of horse bridles. Rubber straps run from these rings up over the bridge of her nose and under her chin, holding the rings in place. Slimmer "U" shaped tubes extended forward from the rings and curved around into the sides of her mouth and back to disks of pliant rubber that nestled between her cheeks and teeth.
'The gags operate pneumatically, inflating different sections of the inner cheek pads as required,' Miss Chambers explained. 'When inactive you will be able to eat, drink and speak virtually normally, but when activated your mouths will either be held open or plugged for silence as required. The use a slave's mouth is put to is not hers to decide.'
Glumly the other women followed Laura's lead and allowed the restraints to be fitted. They ran their tongues about the tubes and pads now filling the corners of their mouths. The tension in the control tubes attached to the back of the collar adjusted as they turned their heads, holding the cheek rings in place.
'You'll get used to them,' Miss Chambers assured them.
'But what can we do with our hands trapped like this?' Helen asked, clenching her fists and twisting her arms which were now confined on either side of her shoulders as though in the act of being raised in a gesture of surrender. The enforced posture threw her chest forward, emphasising her shapely breasts.
'For the next week you won't be using your hands very much,' Miss Chambers said. 'Don't worry, every necessity will be taken care of for you.'
The rubber collar padding spread the load of the yokes evenly so they did not chafe but they were very conscious of the weight of them. It was like having Creed's ghostly hands pressing down on their shoulders. They truly were now yoked to his will for better or worse.
When all the restraints were fitted Miss Chambers stood back to look the yoked women over with a nod of satisfaction. 'As you see they have fastening so you can be attached to various other pieces of equipment as necessary,' she explained. 'They'll also contain transponders that make it easier for your guards to recognize you individually.'
'Recognize us?' Helen exclaimed. 'Who's going to be guarding us?'
Miss Chambers smiled. 'More correctly you should ask "what" is going to be guarding you. As a tribute to the technical abilities of his company, Mr Creed arranged that your stay here will be managed by a Creed LAH 9000 mainframe computer, which has already been installed in the house and controls all its services and functions. I understand LAH stands for Linguistically Augmented Heuristics, which means it has very sophisticated voice recognition and synthesiser systems. But you will simply call it "Master Sebastian." It will operate in conjunction with mobile units called "housebots." I'll introduce you...'
She took the remote control handset from her pocket and pointed it at the Utility Room door. They heard a soft whir of motors as the door swung open and a strange machine rolled into the room.
It stood about man-height and had a rudimentary head, arms and torso formed out of polished metal cylinders, spheres and boxes. Its waist, like its neck, was covered by a ring of accordion pleated rubber and its hips were mounted on a small base carried by four fat rubber tyres. Its hands were metal pincers and its head was a sphere with a pair of glowing red camera lens eyes and a speaker grille for a mouth. On its chest was stencilled: HOUSEBOT 1.
As it came towards them it extended its arms and snapped its pincer hands.
Alarmed and confused, the five naked women backed away from the machine instinctively straining their arms to try to pull their wrists free of their new cuffs. But the rubber linings made it impossible to slip out of them. With a sob Tiffany turned and ran for the door leading to the hall, only to skid to a halt with a yelp of surprise. A second housebot, identical to the first except for the number 2 on its chest, was rolling in through that door. As it advanced towards them it also extended its arms and snapped its pincers, driving Sophie back to join the others. With whimpers of fear they retreated from the mechanical menace until the two machines had herded them like sheep into a corner.
'Remain where you are until instructed to move or you will be punished!' Housebot 1 said, with a surprisingly human and eerily familiar inflection. It raised its right pincer and brought the tips close together. Shiny metal electrodes extended through their rubber lining and there was a flash and crack as a spark jumped between them.
'There are twenty of these units about the house and gardens,' Miss Chambers explained. 'They'll arrange each day's challenges, ensure you're properly fed and watered, and of course act as guards. As you can see they have the means to persuade you to obey. I suggest you do so.'
The huddled women shivered. 'The... that voice,' Helen stammered. 'It sounded like Creed's.'
'Yes, they used Mr Creed's voice as a pattern for Sebastian and the housebots,' Miss Chamber's agreed. 'Do I really need to explain why? No, I thought not.' She pointed her remote at Housebot 1.
'Command received,' it said. 'Confirm autonomous operation.'
'The house is now fully under Master Sebastian's control,' Miss Chambers said. 'It will follow the programme it has been given while adapting to your individual reactions to the challenges you undergo. Its only function is to ensure you comply with Mr Creed's wishes and you cannot argue with it or threaten it. In an emergency you can ask Sebastian to contact me. But I warn you it had better be something genuinely important, otherwise Sebastian has orders to punish the complainant severely.' She gathered up the plastic sacks. 'Now, I'll leave you in their capable hands... well, pincers. This is day one of your challenge. I'll be back here one week from tomorrow with your clothes and luggage. I'll review the records of your stay and then decide what communication shall be made to your employers. Good luck.'
She strode out through the hall door. Actuated by some hidden mechanism the door swung shut behind her and they heard its lock click. A minute later the five girls heard the front door close as well, leaving them alone in the house with their mechanical masters. They tried to stare back at them defiantly but you cannot outstare machines.
A third housebot rolled in through the utility door and gathered up the chairs, stacking them swiftly and neatly and then carrying back out again. It returned a minute later with five black rubber mats that it laid out in a row in front of the wall screen.
The screen came back to life, this time with an image of Creed's head set against a black background. 'Kneel on the mats,' he said.
The housebots rolled aside and pointed with their pincers to the mats. The women hesitated. The robots' pincers sparked menacingly. 'Kneel on the mats or be punished!' Creed repeated more loudly. Confused and frightened the women scurried forward and went down awkwardly onto their knees.
'Press your faces to the ground!'
With their arms yoked they had to spread their thighs wide and thrust their buttocks out to counterbalance their upper bodies as they bent forward to obey, the nipples of their dangling breasts almost brushing the matting. Housebot 1 took up position behind them. Suddenly the screen split to reveal what it saw through its camera eyes: a row of five upturned bottoms of different tints, with dark bottom holes showing in the valley of their buttock clefts and a split peach purse of a pubic mound peeping from between their thighs. They groaned and shuddered in shame at the sight and clenched their buttocks in a futile effort to conceal their most intimate treasures.
Twisting her head on the mat Laura was peering up at the face on the screen and frowning. 'That's not a recording,' she whispered.
The other girls stared. Now they realised it was not the haggard and sickly Creed they had seen earlier but Creed as they remembered him. Or rather a computer animated simulation of his head, with slightly too perfect skin and hair and a subtle stiffness about its features. However the simulation of Creed's voice was synchronized with its lip movements giving an uncanny illusion of reality.
'What is it?' Tiffany hissed nervously.
The head turned its eyes and appeared to look down at her. 'I can hear you, Tiffany Packard,' it said. 'I am Master Sebastian. My speech patterns and vocabulary have been based on that of my maker. I am the face of the Creed LAH 9000, the ruler of this house and your master for this week. And you will address me properly!'
On the screen they saw Housebot 1's eyes zoom in on Tiffany's pretty pale bottom and its pincers stabbed out. Tiffany shrieked as they dug into her soft flesh with twin cracks. She jerked upright but Housebot 2 rolled forward, caught her by the neck with its pincers closing about the back of her yoke, and forced her down again, grinding her face into the mat until she held it there herself. Two pink dots now showed on the fleshy curves of her buttock cheeks.
'You will bow down like this before me whenever I am on this screen!' the computer voice thundered. 'When you are permitted to speak you will address me humbly and correctly. Do you all understand?'
'Yes, Master Sebastian,' they chorused.
'Yes, Master Sebastian!'
'For the next week I am your master. Who am I?'
'You are our master!' they said miserably.
'Remember that!' he said.
While they cowered on the mats a housebot came in wheeling a piece of apparatus that it set up on the middle of the floor behind them. It was an upright, square section tubular metal frame in the shape of an inverted "U", mounted on a low wheeled base. The housebot extended the frame side posts until its crossbar almost touched the ceiling. Halfway up these posts were mounted small electric winch boxes, from which hung wire ropes on the ends of which were tubular screw-threaded metal sleeves from which extended rubber strip loops about fifteen centimetres across. A larger electric winch trailing a thicker wire rope hung from the middle of its crossbar. Attached by a ring to the end of the rope was a horizontal bar with hooks on its end.
'This is day one of your week here and you will now face your first challenge,' Sebastian told them. 'It will be a race in the courtyard. There will be a penalty for the looser. Stand up and go out into the courtyard...'
They scrambled to their feet. A glass door panel slid open and, ushered on by the housebots, they stepped through it.
The courtyard was simply laid out with a few stone benches, shrub planters and a cascade water feature in one corner. Above them were the inner corridor windows of the first floor that overlooked the courtyard and a flight of external stairs that led up to a roof terrace. Five lanes had been marked out in yellow tape on the paving slabs down one side of the courtyard, crossed by red tapes a metre short of the end walls. At each end, between the tapes and the wall, were a row of five large milk-bottle crates. In one row of crates, well-spaced, stood a dozen wooden skittles. Each pin had a ribbed black rubber rod with a bulbous top screwed vertically into its tip. They were disturbingly similar to the one the gimp-masked woman in Creed's recording had been holding.
Sebastian's voice continued to issue from the speakers of the housebots that had accompanied them outside. No doubt he could also see them through their eyes.
'You will transport all of your skittles to the far end of the course, staying within your lane at all times, and fill the empty crate' he told them. 'Dropped skittles must be recovered. As an incentive the last one to finish will be punished.'
'But... please, Master Sebastian, we can't pick them up with our hands cuffed,' Helen protested.
'You are not going to use your hands,' Sebastian said. 'You will use your vaginas.' The girls groaned in horror. 'They will be getting plenty of use over the next week. Think of this as an exercise to loosen them up. Now choose a lane, pick up your first skittle and move to the starting line.'
Miserably the girls took up their positions in front of the ranks of skittles. Awkwardly, spreading their legs wide, they squatted down over the crates and cautiously settled down over a rubber plug, allowing it to slide up inside them. Grasping it with their vaginal muscles and gritting their teeth, they stood up and shuffled splay-legged forward to stand behind the red tape. The skittles hung grotesquely between their legs while they blushed in shame, hardly daring to look at each other.
Housebot 1 stood beside the track with an arm extended out in front of them. The girls tensed. 'Ready, steady... go!' Sebastian said and the arm dropped.
They shuffled forward, straining to hold the shafts inside them. The skittles swung from their fleshy sockets as they moved, banging against their thighs and knees. The girls' eyes bulged as they discovered how disturbing the motion was as the shafts gripped inside them churned about in their passages. Whimpering in dismay they slowed down, spreading their legs even wider and trying to keep the skittles as still as possible.
But this was not permitted. Two of the housebots rolled alongside them, making warning snaps with their pincers. 'Faster, faster!' Sebastian shouted in stereo from their speaker grilles. 'Remember the looser gets punished.'
Humiliated and sobbing with frustration they shuffled crab-legged onward. When they reached the empty crates at far end they squatted down over them and gratefully deposited their burdens. Then they dashed back down the track, the restriction of their yoked arms emphasising the roll of their hips and the heave and bounce of their bare breasts, to pick up another skittle.
By the time they were transporting their sixth skittles they were all sweating from effort of running with them while also carrying the weight of their yokes and the chunky ankle cuffs. But they had found their optimum pace and the best step length to minimise unwanted swinging of their burdens. Laura was beginning to pull ahead of the others, her face set in a mask of grim determination. She was closely followed by Helen and Sophie with Tiffany and Maria bringing up the rear.
But none of them could ignore the stimulation their efforts were inducing in them. They were all healthy young women with normal responses, accentuate by being naked and bound. Their nipples were standing up while their pussies were weeping with love juices. While they were plugged with a skittle phallus it was bottled up within them, but as they ran back to the start with their pussy lips still gaping wide they dripped dark splatters on the paving slabs between the lane tapes, at the same time filling the air with the scent of their unwilling arousal. They could see the trail they were leaving but could a computer, however sophisticated, recognise the signs?
'I detect traces of female vaginal lubricant discharge,' Sebastian said as they panted back and forth. 'I have been programmed to say at this point: See, this can be fun!
The girls sobbed and shook their heads and struggled on.
But as they lubricated more profusely it became more difficult to keep hold of their skittles. They had to stop and squat down half way along the track to push them back up inside them, taking care not to let them fall over. By now their stomachs were cramping with the continuous effort of clenching the skittle prongs inside them. Laura, Sophie and Helen were a skittle ahead of Maria and Tiffany who were now struggling to keep up.
'Come on, make a race of it!' Sebastian said.
Relief filled the hearts of the leading girls as they ran back for their last skittles. Their shame briefly forgotten the three made a final effort as with breasts heaving and plugged pussies bulging they scrambled for the line. Laura dropped her skittle into the crate first while Helen and Sophie tied for second. Lathered with sweat, panting for breath but feeling perversely exultant, they turned back to look at Tiffany and Maria.
Pale cream thighs and rich brown ones were equally shiny with juices as they shuffled along with their eleventh skittles plugged between their legs. Maria was pulling ahead when her shiny skittle slipped from her neatly trimmed pussy mouth and clattered across the paving slabs. She shrieked in frustration and fear as she chased after it, using her toes to set it back upright and hastily squatting back down to plug it back inside her. But by now Tiffany had picked up her last skittle and was shuffling home to the finish.
Maria sank down onto her knees, trembling in dismay and exhaustion.
With sinister synchronicity all the housebots pointed accusingly at her.
'Maria Rodrigez, you are the looser,' Sebastian declared. 'Now you will be punished!'