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CLAIRE WANTED IT

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"No, no no! You can't do this!" Claire shrieked, clenching her fists under her chin, her eyes filled with tears of frustration. They just weren't listening, and she couldn't shake their resolve at all. She would have run, if she could. But Yvonne, standing behind her chair, had a tight grip on both shoulders, and was pressing down firmly. At her left side, Jane had her fist doublewrapped good and tight in Claire's long curling brown hair, holding her head back. And in front, standing over her, patiently waiting for this outburst to stop, Sarah held the shiny metal handcuffs, swinging them gently to and fro between pinched fingertips.

"Oh? Yes, we can," Yvonne murmured in Claire's ear.

Sarah nodded confidently. "We can, and we will. Don't try to deceive us, Claire. We know that you want to do this, very badly. We have your boyfriend Gregory's word for it, and we've read your personal journal over very carefully. . ."

Claire's face reddened. With anger, and shame. How dare they!

Sarah smiled thinly at this confirmation, and shrugged. "In your own words. Yes, it was a little shocking. But that gave us a very clear understanding . . ."

Claire wriggled uncomfortably in the seat.

". . . So we know precisely what you have been fantasizing about, what you fear. What you'd like . . . Above all, what you need."

Claire gave a sob. "Oh, no . . . I didn't mean it . . . Please, let me go. This is horrible. I can't stand it," she moaned.

"I think you can, Claire," Jane spoke up, giving an extra little tug on her hair. "You're the kind of girl who wants to give up control . .

. We know about that kind of thing . . . "

"The sort who wants to do something really crazy to prove she's really free, and not a scared little mouse," Yvonne growled, massaging Claire's shoulders with her long, strong fingers. "Right?"

"So, up on your feet, girl," Sarah commanded, with a bright smile.

"Let's get those clothes off, please."

She paused, seeing Claire stiffen. "Claire, I've explained how it's going to be. I don't want any more nonsense from you. You'll either do exactly as you're told, or I'll call in a couple more people, and we'll get what we want done anyway, by force. This is your last chance . . ."

A moment passed, and then with a deep sigh of resignation, Claire nodded weakly, her lower lip trembling.

"Please . . . Don't rush me, I . . . I'm scared," she whispered.

Sarah shrugged. "Yes, I'm sure you are. Superficially. But not in your heart. Deep down, it's still something you've been longing for." She took Claire by the chin, and lifted her face a little, so she could look her straight in the eyes. Claire blinked back tears. Sarah's green eyes transfixed her.

"Listen. It's up to you. This can either be the most humiliating and frightening experience of your entire life, or . . . Whatever you think it'll be. A fantastic liberation."

A long pause. Claire bit her lip, looking from one woman to another, hoping for some kind of sympathy. Some sign of weakness. There was none. Each stared at her, awaiting an answer.

"Okay, up you get," Sarah commanded, less patiently.

Claire rose unsteadily. She was the shortest of them. Sarah, almost six feet tall, and very skinny, was a head or more taller. The woman was in her late thirties, the oldest of the group, and controlled the situation with that ease and authority that came from years of teaching. A natural redhead with a few grey streaks in her frizzy shoulder-length mane. Yvonne was around five eight, black, intense, athletic and muscular from weight training, in her early twenties. Her short hair was cornrowed and beaded.

Jane, nearest to Claire's height at about five four and around twenty years old, was slim, arty, rather quiet, with her black hair cut short in a pageboy style.

All three wore exclusively black clothes: unrevealing leotards with high necklines, dancers' tights, legwarmers, Reeboks, all form-fitting and tight. Claire, in contrast, wore a short pleated tartan skirt in a bright salmon plaid, white stockings, clunky maryjanes, a white silk long sleeved blouse with a ruffled front. It made her look preppy, maybe even more schoolgirlish and vulnerable than she'd intended. At around five two, and weighing little more than 100 lbs, the bookish type, she was in no position to argue.

They were in a small, uncarpeted, white-painted room with no windows, just a couple of glaring overhead spotlights. It was in the basement of her former high school, where the other three taught. The only furniture was the plain wooden chair she'd been sitting in. There was one door, behind her, leading up a long, narrow flight of stairs. And another steel door that led to a neighboring storeroom.

Claire knew -- because Sarah had already told her in a no-nonsense voice a half-hour earlier when they'd led her down here -- that the room was monitored by videocameras, and that yes, they were running.

Her voice hoarse and trembling, Claire asked: "Uh . . . I don't know what . . . What should I . . . I mean, how do you want me to . . ."

"Don't mess about, just strip. Take off everything, and put them all on the chair," Yvonne told her, a little impatiently.

"Yes. People are waiting," Jane added.

Her hands were shaking so badly, it took Claire several attempts to unbutton the front of her blouse, though she was quick to slip it from her shoulders. She started to struggle with the zipper of her skirt, until Sarah intervened: "Leave that. Bra next."

Claire stood barebreasted, self-conscious of the hardening of her nipples in the cool room. The stares of the three women didn't help, either. She couldn't meet their eyes. She felt self-conscious of her small round breasts, which suddenly seemed so huge to her.

"Come on. Don't just stand there. Hurry up," Sarah told her abruptly.

Claire attacked the zip again, and struggled out of her skirt and underslip. On the chair they went. She pulled her tights down to her ankles, stepping out of them and the shoes together. When she stood up straight, Yvonne grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her back. She had been passed the handcuffs, and within seconds they were on, and locked.

"Jane? You get her panties . . ." Sarah instructed.

And without any further ado, Claire's knickers were quickly pulled down. "Big bush," Yvonne said to herself with a chuckle. Jane commented:

"Oh, wow, she's wet!" with a gleeful smile up at Sarah. "Very wet, and quite smelly."

Claire's head was spinning. Naked, her hands clamped behind her.

Yvonne had to hold her up to prevent her falling to her knees. Her face was crimson, realizing how far she had gone, and how powerless she'd become.

Sarah took hold of Claire's huge mane of hair, and twisted her face around until they were nose to nose, with the older woman looking down on her.

"So, tell me. If you're so scared, why are you turned on, hmmm? Is that normal, this dripping pussy?" she accused Claire. "You know, maybe it is, for you. Oh, I think we've got a good one here, girls!" The other two women giggled happily.

"Well, Claire dear," Sarah told her with a smug grin, "if doing this excites you, just wait. You'll be making one helluva mess soon . . ."

Claire could only whimper feebly as the three laughed merrily at her plight.

"Okay, let's get you ready," Sarah continued. "Take her clothes, Yvonne. Bag them up. There's a selection of fresh things next door."

Minus the panties, which Sarah retained to examine and sniff, Claire's clothes were scooped up, and Yvonne left with them, teasing her:

"Get used to being naked, Claire."

Jane wanted to see the soles of Claire's feet, in turn. Then, to feel her armpits, to check her perspiration or how closely she'd shaved, who could tell? Then the small girl commanded her to open her mouth wide, say 'aah,' and put out her tongue. She studied her mouth for a minute, then looked in her ears, her nostrils. Sarah gave a little chuckle at the way Claire reacted with the appropriate foreboding to this preparatory work, with its obvious goal. She smiled broadly as Jane told Claire: "Okay, now bend right over."

She stroked Claire's buttocks, and patted gently. "Mmm, a real spanking butt, that," she teased. Sarah cautioned. "One thing at a time, Jane. She'll submit according to my set of rules, tonight, remember?" Jane gave a non-committal grunt and parted Claire's cheeks to look at her anus and vulva. "Oh, very pretty. I like girls with little pink assholes. I'll have a much closer look later," she said coolly. To a gasp of shocked outrage from Claire, Jane slipped a questing middle finger into her vagina, and wriggled it around. She withdrew it, and held the glistening digit under her nose and sniffed, then with much greater difficulty, probed the inviting anus, drawing a little moan from the passive, but red-faced Claire.

"Tight?" Sarah asked, with a prurient leer. "Oh, very," Jane said, wriggling her finger, and drawing a long moan of shame and despair from Claire. "Virginal, I'm sure. But her cunt isn't, and oh! Does it stink! She fucks, I'm convinced." Sarah agreed: "And she's a masturbator. I can tell from these panties! They're absolutely disgusting! Wet through."

Yvonne was back in the middle of this scene. She'd been gone a minute or two, but now was unsteadily cradling a large trunk. She dumped it in a corner and opened it. Claire could see it was crammed full of chains and ropes and leather straps, and all kinds of other items. Their purpose wasn't wholly clear.

Sarah was still in a reverie over the panties, but gestured to the trunk. "Okay, fit her up, the way we discussed. The max, but leave it so she can shuffle along, okay?"

And without any further discussion, Yvonne and Jane got to work.

"Stand up straight," Jane told Claire, who hadn't dared move. Jane took up a stiff leather collar and fitted it around Claire's long, slender throat.

It was deep enough to stretch from her collarbone to under her chin, holding her head up and making it impossible to turn to the sides. That became even more true when Jane carefully tightened the long run of laces that crisscrossed the front of the collar, making it fit snugly against Claire's neck. Jane gathered Claire's unruly mane into a tight ponytail, high on her head, and quickly banded and clipped it out of the way so it didn't interfere.

Kneeling in front of her, murmuring some comments about her powerful scent, Yvonne forced Claire's legs apart, and attached thick leather straps around her ankles, and above and below her knees, buckling them tightly in place. Claire couldn't see clearly, because of the collar, but she felt Yvonne fitting some kind of thick wooden rod she'd retrieved into swiveling sockets on the insides of the knee straps. A spreader bar, designed to keep her knees about 18" apart. Claire gave a little grunt of surprise. If her thighs were spread like this, she'd not be able to protect herself. And she would leak. She could feel it already. Her eyes widened in concern.

Behind her, Jane had strapped her wrists tightly, making the cuffs superfluous. But they didn't come off. Then, Claire's elbows were pulled together and strapped firmly, forcing her to thrust her chest out immodestly, showing off her breasts, and giving her something new to worry about.

A heavy chain was looped loosely between her ankles, trailing on the floor. A thick belt was pulled waspishly tight around her waist, and the slack of the ankle chain taken up with a trailing cord that hung from the back. Her wrist straps were hooked onto the belt. By the second, she was becoming more and more tightly bound.

Sarah stopped sniffing the panties and smiled warmly. "There.

That's a good start, isn't it? My, you are rather nicely trussed up. Look at those titties!"

Yvonne was caressing one, twisting the hardened nipple. "Nice and firm. And her nips are very hard. What a betrayal, hmmm?"

Sarah looked down, and gave a little snort. "And that pussy's quite nicely on show, too. A woman always looks better with her lips parted, I think. And yours certainly are!"

There was no doubt about that. Claire's labia were open enough to show the inner lips, a study in pink and an angry crimson, and her clitoris, swollen and red, showed clearly. Sarah studied her carefully.

"Though I suspect you'll be experiencing a few problems with dribbling before too long, judging by the state of your panties . . ."

Claire gasped: "Oh, please! Can't you . . . I mean . . . Do I have to stay like this? . . . I mean, I'm kind of . . ."

"Sticky? Sloppy? Cunty?" Sarah laughed. "Yes, you are. But that's just how I want you. With juice piddling down your legs, dripping from your hole. Like snot, drooling all over your pubes. Shows you for what you are, huh?"

Claire shook her head, and moaned: "Oh, Jesus! That's disgusting..."

"No, you're the one that's disgusting," Jane chuckled. "Slut, exhibitionist, lezzie, that's you. Shameless. Now, we've heard enough of your stupid chatter for a while. So, open wide . . ." She pinched Claire's nostrils, forcing her to gasp for air. A rubber coated tubular metal gag, just like a horse's bridle, was pushed between her teeth and hauled back into the mouth. Now, all Claire could say was "ngark ngruff schhlllufff."

Fastening the gag in place at the back of her neck, Jane teased:

"We had thought about giving you one of those ball gags. Very effective, they are. But this has its pluses. Like, you'll never be able to prevent yourself drooling . . .Ha ha . . ."

She was right, Claire was beginning to dribble from the edges of her mouth already. " . . . Which means, you'll have spit and dribble all over your chin and tits. Very undignified, hey?"

"We might give her one of those ring gags later on," Sarah interjected. "The sort that holds her mouth wide open, and enables her to do things with her tongue . . . Ha ha . . . Or allows large objects of the penis variety to tickle her tonsils. She's a cumdrinker, this one."

Claire stood there, trembling. A long silence.

Sarah spoke up. "So, what's next, young lady? You know, don't you?

Come on, you've been writing all these dirty thoughts down in your journal.

Rubbing yourself off, dreaming about it . . ."

Claire stood dejected, silently weeping. They watched without emotion, though Jane was finding it hard not to giggle.

Sarah spoke again. "We're taking you for a walk, aren't we? Because you have a little performance to give . . ."

Claire gave an audible gasp through her gag.

"That's right." Sarah was suddenly rather gleeful, sensing how shocked Claire was going to be. "You know exactly what I mean . . ."

"You're going out that door, and for a stroll through the school corridors. It's a little late, but there'll be quite a few seniors around, who'll be very amused to see you . . . Oh lord, you'll make such a spectacle of yourself, showing your titties and your twat like that. Now, I must admit I've been a bit nasty here . . . Instead of gliding sveltly through the halls, doing the total femininity thing, the sex goddess, arousing everyone, with your anonymity protected with a mask, guarded by your female followers . . . Uh, we're changing the rules. So, you're going just like this, instead. On a leash. Bells on you, lots of nice jingly chain so you draw attention to yourself. Let's put these spring clips on your nipples, while I think of it. . ." Claire twitched as they were attached, and Jane laughed aloud. "Does that hurt? Oh, good!"

Yvonne nudged her, and Sarah chuckled: "Oh, yes. I almost forgot.

You're the very image of the straight little girl, but we need to change that just a bit . . ." She had a Q-Tip dipped in something that smelled like the doctor's office, and a small device, like a pair of silver clippers. " . . . You won't mind looking a little punky, would you?" She grabbed the tip of Claire's tiny upturned nose, and dabbed with the Q-Tip.

Then, with a single expert motion, snapped a large ring of gold wire through the unwitting girl's septum. Claire gave a screech of outrage, shaking her head as she realized what had been done. A couple of splashes of blood fell to the floor. Sarah dabbed at the piercing, and smiled broadly. "Oh, that's very cute. Now we have somewhere to attach your leash . . . Unless you'd prefer it elsewhere, hmmm?"

There was a long tense silence, and Claire shook her head miserably.

Sarah smiled happily. "Time for a walk. You won't be able to do much about it. Yvonne'll be right behind you with a big fat paddle, and a nasty cane. For use, not for show. So, you'll move, as best you can. Yes, it'll be very undignified. Waddle waddle. Squelch squelch. Dribble dribble.

And they'll all know who it is. Oh we'd thought about giving you a blindfold or a mask, but what's the point? We want to dish out some real gross humiliation, Claire."

The victim was shaking, but Sarah was enjoying this too much to stop.

"Yes? And after we've been through each floor of the building, checked the library . . . Generally made sure we've picked up a crowd . . .

Then, ha ha, we'll be going outside . . . Across the parking lot, the sports fields. Only a half-mile or so, so if you move yourself you won't get too cold, maybe. Down to the auditorium. Cos, guess who's playing tonight? Or should I say, playing with herself tonight? Yes, it's you, babe! We've been issuing invitations, and there'll be about, oh I'd guess five or six hundred people there. Mostly female students, but some boyfriends, guests, teachers, you know how word gets around. And how difficult it is to keep male type people away from a good cunt show, ha ha . . ."

"And you're going to give one, Claire. A first class, nothing hidden, maximum exposure, very horny show. We'll walk you round, up and down a few aisles, so people can get a good close look. And smell you, of course. Then, we'll put you in a good spreadeagled position on stage, so it's all on show. As you know, there's a fine audiovisual set-up for concerts and games, so a couple of cameras will be recording it all. And relaying a live close-up of your dripping quim to the big screens in the auditorium. We don't want to deprive the audience of a good close look at your big wet sloppy crack, darling. So, for as long as it takes, you're going to stand there, with your clit and your cunt and your asshole on show, while there are some readings of some particularly gross items from your journal . . . Plus comments from classmates, former boyfriends, confessions, all kinds of revelations. Oh, who could resist that! Talent contest time, eh? Then, we'll free your hands, and put you in some nice position, and you finally get to play with those yummy, tender genitals.

You'll be just bursting to fuck by them. And we'll want a good series of orgasms, my dear. Long, writhing ones. Very passionate, uninhibited, noisy ones. Or you stay there, till you do. Hands first, then you'll be given a big dildo, and we want to see it go way up inside, darling."

Claire shook her head frantically, her face crimson with frustration.

"Yes, Claire," Sarah rejected. "Yes, and you're going to do it, like it or not. I have a very nasty cat 'o' nine tails that'll get applied to your tits and crotch if you defy me. Hard. Understand? I can be as mean as the worst of them, when I want to be . . ."

Yvonne and Jane were forced to hold Claire up as her knees sagged.

Yvonne purred: "I think you ought to show 'em how versatile you are, Claire. How about I give you a nice big, warm enema on stage, and then you show how accommodating your little poop chute can be, too?"

Sarah didn't mind at all. Now, she was happy. "Afterwards? A backstage party for a small, chosen group. Fifty or so. Well, maybe we'll give you that ring gag and see how you give head, shall we? There'll be lots of sticky pussies that might appreciate a good grooming with a willing tongue. Mine for one . . ."

The other two were nodding agreement. "I'm stuck to my tights already," Jane said hotly. "I'm definitely going to sit on your face,"

Yvonne murmured.

Sarah continued: "And maybe then we'll turn you over to some rough guys for a good vigorous gangbang. All in public, by the way, since you've been so helpful about telling us how you'd like it that way . . . We wouldn't want to disappoint an exhibitionist, would we?"

She looked around as though she'd forgotten something. "Ah, hold on. Yvonne? Could you get one of those butt plugs from the trunk lid? Good.

We ought to cork her. No, don't grease it. Dip it in her cunt first. Good.

And, shouldn't we hang some clips on her fanny lips, too? Right, those little ones with the sharp teeth are great."

A leash was hooked to the gold nose ring, and handed to Jane.

"Okay? Let's get moving then. Oh, one last thing, Claire. You can be a brave little girl, or a snivelling coward. Either way, it won't earn you any mercy. It doesn't matter a damn, because either way I'm going to see you stripped of every vestige of dignity. Yes? Total humiliation, sweetie. But there is an afterwards, too. So I'll give you a proper advance warning, shall I? Try to be sporting and cooperative about this: because if you whine too much, behave too much like a spoiled princess, you may trigger some deep-seated resentment, honey. And that might mean you could find yourself back in this room tonight with the chains still on, getting prepared for a very nasty flogging. I quite like to use the whip, my dear.

You could end up looking like a steak ready for the grill, if you provoke me. So remember that. It's up to you . . ."

Yvonne brought the leather paddle down on Claire's left buttock with an echoing slap, producing a strangled yelp from her victim. She lurched forward. "Move, you fucking bitch!" Sarah crowed. "Or you'll really have something to cry about. . ."

Watching the tightly bound girl hobble to the door, Sarah smiled to herself. She only got this lucky once in a while, maybe each three years or so. Oh, there were plenty of girls with submissive streaks, or lesbians so bent on novelty they'd try anything. And her skill at finding them and seducing them had gotten better year by year. Conquests were an almost monthly event. But rarely more than once a year did she find one exhibitionistic enough for this special type of game. And even more rarely, one who craved humiliation this badly. Rosie had been the last . . . Now, she was a grad student at some Eastern science palace. But Sarah still had the glorious film footage, of her masturbating in chains on a black rubber sheet, being slowly coated from head to toe in vaginal juices and semen by Sarah's laughing helpers, until she looked so disgusting no one would touch her. . . Rosie standing, glistening with all that fucksludge, her hair matted and face shining, under bright lights, rubbing herself with one hand and toasting the audience with a huge glass of fresh semen in the other, then greedily drinking it down . . . Well, this one had all the makings of being just as gross and uninhibited.

Sarah chuckled as Claire slowly made her way up the stairs, prodded and encouraged by Jane and Yvonne. Oh, was she in for a surprise! If the whispering campaign had worked according to plan, the school corridors would be swarming with girls and visitors tonight. Claire was going to show herself at every step, and suffer endless ridicule and mocking laughter.

She could expect to be pawed and groped without restraint, not to mention the slaps, pinches and scratches she would receive. And that was all before she went on show at the gym.

And wouldn't she get a surprise there! Everything she'd promised Claire would happen. But first . . . There was no way she could know that her wimpish boyfriend Gregory had been blackmailed into handing himself to her warped colleague Daphne, and stripped in front of her and an audience of teenage girls. Then, like her, marched on a leash to the gym. The nude wimp would have been on stage for a while now, sniffing panties, jerking away at himself, submitting his asshole to rather rude probings with a dildo, and having his backside caned cherry red. Wouldn't Claire be amazed!

And even more amazed when the two of them would be commanded to fuck, publicly, for everyone's amusement. "The Young Lovers' Dream," as Sarah always though of it. And fuck they would . . . So much easier than resisting and suffering . . .Yes, they'd be terribly ashamed of themselves afterwards, but at the time it would be the fulfilment of many nights of fevered pillow talk.

Of course, Claire's self-abuse would make her even wetter and hornier, even more willing to submit to whatever games Sarah and the others felt she needed to experience. They weren't going to run short of ideas.

And turning shy girls into total sluts was their expertise. But in the end, such lewd behavior would have to be properly rewarded. Greg's ass would be sore already, and Claire's backside would have taken a few whacks along the way. But the audience would be most upset if the deviant duo were not compelled to bend over, backsides to the audience, and submit to a good professional thrashing. It was only right.

Claire's journal had contained so many little hints about how she wanted to be spanked by the droopy Greg. Well, her expectations were going to be exceeded. Sarah began to think about Claire's very spankable ass.

She'd want to take the first turn with her. In an educational milieu, a cane was the right response to a bared female ass. But she might not have the delicious little bitch tied for the first dozen strokes or so, no. Let her stand there and endure it, legs apart, gripping her ankles, her skin nice and taut. Maybe even have her voice her thanks after each stroke, and request the next. Sarah visualized the wonderful moment when Claire would falter, fail to ask. Beg for her punishment to stop. Ah, that was the perfect time. When she'd be grabbed and strapped down tightly over a vaulting horse, and left to contemplate her fate while Gregory got his.

Sarah felt herself flush with excitement. Claire was at the top of the stairs, and was struggling just a little. Jane and Yvonne were getting ready to open the door, and take her out into the corridor. Claire's backside had a nice red stripe from Yvonne's earlier swipe with the paddle, and quickly got another. Jane was stroking the girl's buttocks and whispering to her. Nothing reassuring, judging by the body language. Sarah thought: Yes, another two dozen with the cane, then. And on to the tawse, the crop, whatever seems right. We need her ass black and blue . . .

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