Vesta - Painworld Read online

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Ellen said, ‘but no machine can reproduce what a true artist can convey. Even Jimmy bloody Naylor had the right feel, arsehole or no arsehole, and Sonia’s a mile better.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Lianne said, turning her attention to Ellen’s other leg. ‘All I know is that if Marlon’s machine can convince me I’m really being strung up and having my lights screwed, it shouldn’t have much trouble turning out a cartoon strip.’

  ‘Very nice indeed,’ James Naylor whistled appreciatively, staring down at the naked form on the bed. ‘I’ve only ever seen her in magazine photographs before, and she always struck me as a scruffy little sort.’

  ‘She wasn’t exactly an advert for Harpers and Queen,’ Christina grunted. ‘The bloody dress she was wearing when Marika brought her in looked as though she’d bought it from the local Oxfam shop, and I doubt whether she even owns a makeup kit.’

  ‘The basic material’s pretty good, though,’ Naylor asserted. Clarissa Beaumont’s deep red mane was spread out about her head, the matching red bush between her thighs seemingly glowing against her pale skin. ‘I think I might enjoy keeping her from getting bored during her little stay with us.’ His lips, visible beneath the leather mask that now covered the top half of his head, twisted into a salacious leer, but Christina ignored this.

  ‘First we need to get her ready for her little screen test,’ she said, levelly. ‘I’ve put a little something together which will show her off to the best advantage, so, if you wouldn’t mind excusing me, I’ve got work to do.’

  Reluctantly, Naylor retreated towards the door, fingers loosening the laces at the back of his mask. It seemed unlikely that Clarissa would regain consciousness for some while yet, but he believed in being cautious. Unfortunately, more especially so since he’d seen the sculptress in the flesh literally, she would have to be released ultimately, though he consoled himself with the thought that, by then, they would at least have access to a virtual Clarissa.

  Left alone with her prisoner, Christina lost no time in getting down to her task. She began with a small pair of sharp scissors, clipping away the little bush of pubic hair and slipping it into a plain white envelope. Then, with practised fingers, she used a small spatula to coat the shorn area with a depilatory cream. Ten minutes later the recumbent girl’s mound was as smooth as a billiard ball. Christina grunted and fingered the tangle of head hair.

  ‘I’ll have that off you, too, before you leave here,’ she promised her unhearing victim. ‘By the time I’m through with you, the world really will think you’re mad; you’ll be babbling like a lunatic and incapable of stringing two coherent sentences together. After that, who knows, we might even get you back again. No one will miss just one more crackpot arty-farty.’

  She reached down and fingered the narrow cleft beneath the freshly shaven area. The labia seemed thin and tightly pressed together, but Christina persisted, prising the lips apart to reveal the dark pink mouth behind them.

  ‘We’ll find plenty to keep this full,’ she whispered. ‘Give me a month and you’ll be able to accommodate a gorilla up there - or my biggest dildo. I reckon you’ll look perfect, squirming on the end of Christina’s largest cock, sweetie.’ With an effort, Christina dragged herself back to the task in hand.

  She unfastened the heavy trunk in the corner of the room and lifted the lid back, standing stooped over for several seconds examining the contents, before deciding upon her first move. When she straightened up again, in her hands she held something that resembled a narrow-waisted corset, from the top of the back of which extended a wide, curved plate. However, unlike the leather and rubber garments that were the norm in this place, this creation had been moulded from a thick, rigid perspex, and was completely transparent.

  ‘Perfect,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Just perfect.’ She stooped again and detached the strange key tool from where it had been taped to the underside of the lid, and then turned to study her intended victim. ‘Just about the ideal size.’ She smiled down at the unconscious Clarissa.

  Christina rapidly released the five catches that ran down either side, separating the two halves of the corset. Then, discarding the front piece temporarily, she eased the other beneath the limp Clarissa, adjusting its position until she was satisfied it was exactly right. The curve of the design, added to the curve of the extension plate, lifted Clarissa’s lower back several inches clear of the hard mattress and left her upper back and head lying at a downward angle, supported by the perspex extension, which ended at the nape of her neck.

  Now, taking the front section, Christina lowered it down, mating it with the first and drawing Clarissa’s ample breasts through the two rigid cut-outs, settling them against the near half cup sections that would hold up the helpless girl’s bust when she finally returned to an upright position. It then required simple strength, of which Christina had plenty, to force the two halves tightly together and compress Clarissa’s waist into the hourglass shape into which the perspex had been sculpted. A few seconds additional work with the key and the corset was locked in place, immovable by its wearer, or anyone else, as Christina held the only key.

  Returning to the trunk, the powerful Dane selected the next pieces to the intricate jigsaw, laying them out on the bed alongside the still motionless Clarissa. She took the hinged collar first, wrapping it around the artist’s neck and clicking it into the locking mechanism at the top of the extension plate. Now, when Clarissa finally did come around and get to her feet, she would be forced to walk with her spine bent cruelly backwards, the sharp raised point at the front of the collar ensuring that she had to keep her chin well elevated as well.

  Two more hinged sections formed rigid gloves, encasing the arms from fingertips to armpit, six more tiny locks holding them to the arms and two larger catches snapping into retaining locks on either side of the back half of the corset. The effect was to hold the arms slightly bent, the elbows pulled back, the strain on the shoulders serving as an ever present reminder to Clarissa, once she regained her senses, that Christina had made her into her helpless slave.

  The boots were truly superb, Christina decided, holding the feet as would a normal - if seven inch heels could be described as normal - pair of high heeled boots. But their bases had been shaped so that sole and heel were as one and shaped to the contours of a horse’s hoof. There was another pair with the outfit, which could be substituted for these at Christina’s discretion, but their rapier thin heels would require practice before Clarissa would be able to balance in them, though at least their rigid construction would prevent any broken ankles. Not that Christina had any great problems with slaves suffering fractures, but only when they were inflicted at her own instigation.

  Next, Christina turned to the makeup box on the small dressing table in the window, applying long false eyelashes over Christina’s own and thickening them with black mascara. Black eyeliner and dark blue eye-shadow followed, as she turned the normally fresh-faced beauty into a parody of a showgirl.

  Deep blusher and vivid carmine lip-gloss emphasised the effect dramatically and, as Christina worked skilfully, the showgirl image became that of an extremely over-the-top whore. When she finally stepped back and scrutinised her efforts, the powerful dominatrix permitted herself a slow smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Your own mother would disown you, looking like that,’ she addressed the uncaring form. ‘Always supposing she even recognised you.’ She leaned forward again and deftly removed the single gold stud from each of Clarissa’s earlobes, tossing them into the makeup box with disdain.

  The skullcap, which Christina took out next, was moulded to fit perfectly over the upper half of the head, with a locking chinstrap to prevent the wearer from dislodging it. At the crown, a clear tube about nine inches long projected straight up. Taking up a brush, Christina propped her subject up in the bedside chair, legs splayed stiffly before her, and began brushing her wild hair up into a
high ponytail.

  Initially fixing it in position with a red band, Christina then twisted it temporarily into a long rope, which she painstakingly fed into the tube, drawing it out the other end and sliding the skullcap helmet carefully onto Clarissa’s head. Locking the chinstrap, she then proceeded to brush the red mane out again, allowing it to cascade down from the top of the tube like a glorious, auburn fountain.

  ‘My, but aren’t we a pretty sight?’ Christina laughed, mockingly. ‘All locked up tightly, but everything on show. Now then, what’s next?’

  Next, in fact, came the earrings, two huge prisms of the same clear perspex, the helmet having been designed so that there was a small opening over the lower half of each ear, allowing easy access for the supporting studs to be threaded through the piercings in Clarissa’s lobes. There were matching pendants for the girl’s nipples, too, but first there was the matter of how to affix them.

  Generally, Christina liked to pierce her slaves’ nipples, male and female alike, but she wanted this crazy Australian bitch to be wide awake when that time came. Now, as a temporary measure, she took out two specially designed clamps, again in the clear perspex; two flat discs with a hole at the centre, each hole lined with wickedly sharp serrations. The two halves could be opened, the nipple teased into the aperture and then snapped shut again, holding the unfortunate teat in its painful bite until Christina chose to use her key again.

  At the bottom edge of each clamp, a tiny hole had been drilled in the perspex and through each of these Christina now threaded the wires that held the pendants. She stepped back and gave each of them an experimental tap, setting them swinging gently to and fro, their weight causing the nipples to distend from side to side as they moved.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Christina breathed. ‘The artist as a work of art. Now then, let’s plug that dear little arse and stretch that other hole like it’s never been stretched before.’

  Five minutes later, the job was done, the greased dildos thrust crudely into their respective orifices and kept there by means of a curved perspex crotch strap that locked to the front and back of the lower edge of the corset, the transparent material permitting an unobstructed view of the two implements and the degree to which they were stretching both openings.

  As she viewed the finished article Christina squeezed her own thighs together, conscious of the growing warmth and of the dampness inside the leather covering her crotch. After they had completed the necessary filming, she promised herself, she was going to enjoy the uninterrupted company of this bizarre little plastic doll she had created. She wondered what the doll herself would make of it.

  She had a pretty shrewd idea!

  ‘Looks like you’ll be making me redundant before long,’ Simon Prescott said, easing his gangling frame into a more comfortable position. Nadia uncrossed her legs, shaking her head.

  ‘No way,’ she assured him. ‘We were - are, sorry - all part of the team that started this and I happen to be a great believer in a little commodity called loyalty. Besides,’ she went on, ‘everyone’s assuming that VESTA will be able to take over everything, and that’s just not so. We’ll still need a photographer and we’ll still need our cast to produce fresh ideas and input. VESTA may be a wizard lady, but even computers can go stale.’

  ‘So how exactly do you see this progressing?’ Simon asked. In his late thirties, he was a few years younger than Nadia, though in truth he looked a lot older. During the years he had worked for her, as photographer, lighting technician, adviser, script consultant and general support worker, a special bond had grown up between them, though it was a bond of a platonic nature only. Nadia scratched her chin, a sure sign that she was still undecided and merely throwing ideas into the ring.

  ‘I thought,’ she began, ‘that for the moment we’d continue with the normal stuff just the way we’ve always done it. After all, if it ain’t broke, don’t mend it. VESTA is completely untried as yet, even if Marlon is confident there won’t be any problems. We can try a few experimental lifts and compare the finished article with the stuff we get via you and Sonia, and see what we all think.

  ‘Meanwhile, once Marlon has VESTA up and running, we can offer trial runs to a few selected contacts and see what they think. I’ve already placed a subtle little piece in one of the VIP websites, just to test the water.

  ‘However, before we do, I think we have to give her a proper field trial. So far Marlon’s used Lianne and Ellen and a few other paid volunteers I’ve recruited for him these past months, but mainly for inputting and only a few output experiences. Apart from that I’ve tried it as a passive subject, but that was just me on my own, with Marlon tweaking the auto-programming wherever he thought it might help.

  ‘What we don’t know - what we can’t know, until he’s got all the other terminals up and running - is how VESTA will perform under multi-participant status. Therefore, I reckon we have to give her a thorough field test, all of us if necessary. That’s you, me, Paul, Lianne and Ellen, Suzy, Carla, Hazel, Gavin and Sonia.

  ‘I make that nine of us, which is a pretty reasonable test, but I could always recruit three or four more, just to push VESTA a bit harder.’

  ‘Well, you’re the boss lady,’ Simon said. ‘Though I’m not sure whether you should include me in all this. Hardly my type of thing. I’m strictly a behind the camera man.’ Nadia smiled, seductively.

  ‘You mean you’d pass up the chance of screwing the delectable Lianne?’ she teased. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at her, so don’t try to pretend otherwise. Or maybe your tastes lay elsewhere?’ she continued. ‘Maybe there’s someone else you’d like to strap down and take advantage of?’

  In an attempt to cover his confusion and embarrassment, Simon Prescott stood up and walked across to the drinks cabinet. Nadia smiled to herself. Simon would be in on the trial run, whether he liked it or not, and it would be interesting to see just how he performed, even if it was only as a cybernetic extension of the real him.

  ‘Plenty of tonic in mine, please Simon,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got some serious thinking to do this afternoon.’

  Clarissa, having been shown her reflection in the huge mirror, felt as though she wanted to curl up into a little ball and die of embarrassment, but the strictures of her outfit made that one of many alternatives now denied her. Precariously, she turned, stiff-legged, to stare at the massive blonde woman.

  ‘What the fucking hell d’you think you’re doing?’ she croaked, her Australian twang far more noticeable than it usually was. ‘Are you some kind of crazy bitch!’

  By way of reply, the giantess seized the curved spine brace and hurled Clarissa across the carpeted floor, to land face down across the width of the bed. The crop appeared in her hand as if by magic, and two stinging cuts landed, one on each unprotected buttock, bringing screams of agony from the helpless girl’s throat.

  ‘Scream all you want, slut,’ the blonde snarled, ‘but don’t ever call me names again, understand? Until we finally decide it’s time for you to go, you’re nothing but a slave, a worthless piece of shit. Slaves don’t speak without permission, or they get more of this.’ To emphasise her intent, she dealt another savage blow across Clarissa’s exposed left shoulder, drawing an agonised shriek from the pathetic, perspex-wrapped figure.

  ‘Now,’ Christina said, casting aside the crop and hauling Clarissa back into a standing position, ‘understand this, too. What happens to you depends upon the actions of that goofy half-brother of yours.’

  ‘Marlon?’ Clarissa tried to focus through her tear-filled eyes and wished she could raise a hand to wipe them clear. ‘What’s Marlon got to do with all this?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Christina assured her. ‘At least, he will have. We want him to work for us and he seems to prefer being somewhere else, which doesn’t suit our plans at all. However, once he’s had a good look at how his darling sister has been treated, I reckon he might jus
t have second thoughts.

  ‘Now, everything that’s happened in this room since you were brought here has been videoed, but now we need to add a few refinements. Then, you’re going to make a phone call to Marlon and tell him just exactly how he can see for himself that we mean business.’

  ‘And if I don’t phone him?’ Clarissa demanded defiantly. Christina gathered up the crop again and held it up to Clarissa’s face.

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’ she purred. ‘Believe me, I don’t ever need much of an excuse to thrash a sexy little behind like yours. By the time I’ve finished with you, my little whore-in-training, you’ll be begging me to let you suck my cunt.’

  ‘Never!’ Clarissa gasped, but the cold fist that was knotting itself into her entrails told her a different story.

  ‘So, is it really that lifelike?’ Paul asked. He was standing in the centre of the bedroom, dressed only in a rubber suspender belt and latex stockings, his limp organ dangling apologetically between his thighs. Lianne, the shapeless rubber helmet still in her hands, turned back from the dressing table and shrugged.

  ‘I thought you’d already tried it out for yourself,’ she said. ‘You had an entire day’s session with Marlon a couple of weeks back, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, but that was just Marlon measuring responses, while I watched a load of our old video footage. I haven’t tried the real thing as yet.’

  ‘Then you’re in for a very interesting experience,’ Lianne assured him. ‘I was totally gobsmacked, I can tell you. To be honest, it’s quite spooky at first. I mean, you know it’s not real, but there’s no way you can tell that. It really, really is like being there.