Katrina's Taming

KATRINA'S TAMING (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 22 – Ring Wrong

I had been sold. It came as a total surprise to me to learn it, but I had been sold and bought.

The first I learned of it was about a month after witnessing the deflowering of the sixteen-year-old Contessa Zarina on my first wedding anniversary: the first anniversary of my marriage to Belinda. Ever since that night I never saw Belinda, my husband-girl, without the exquisite long-blonde-haired angelic contessa in close attendance. Indeed, most times, Zarina, completely naked, had close clinging arms around Belinda, mouth ever ready for a kiss, in sexy surrender of her total love worship and adoration.

Now among the many slave-like duties I had to perform in the sixteen and eighteen-hour days I was made to work, was to be on standby in Belinda's bedroom. Thereby I was, fully intentionally, mentally tortured by watching and listening to the girl to whom I was married, taking the innocent Zarina to squealing orgasms. Sometimes these would number as many as a dozen or more in one night; and still the horny incredibly sexy contessa would make it known that she wanted yet more. She was completely insatiable and so girl that Belinda found her irresistible and would take her to a cum over and over and over again.

All the while of course, I continued to be locked in all my chastity and celibacy ensuring belts brassiere and rubber clothing, including my de-sexing and dehumanising head to foot rubber shroud. For me, as I had concluded and indeed as I had been told, never ever again would there be another pleasurable experience and certainly never ever again any love, let alone any love-making.

Then the contessa had disappeared for twenty-four hours. And then there suddenly appeared about the place a clone of myself. A clone of myself, complete with the dreadful black rubber shroud. It was Contessa Zarina. I just knew it was Contessa Zarina.

The little angel must have had her stupendously erotically magical head-to-ankles blonde hair cut from her, and her head shaved so that she was, like me, now completely bald beneath her shroud. For that horrible catastrophe to befall that lovely girl-woman, and for such a highly sexed and supremely erogenously endowed and sexually driven beauty to be wearing forever the chastity imprisonment, was the equivalent of putting her in hell on earth.

My husband-girl had clearly had this done to her. Belinda had clearly had this done to Zarina. Quite clearly too, the poor little recent-virgin had almost certainly been infibulated of cunt and of mouth as I had. For this to have been done to me, a nearly thirty-year-old grown woman was dreadful enough. For this poor little girl, so sweet and innocent and constantly lovingly sensual and sexy, to be deprived of all love and sex for the rest of her days, was truly severely savage in the extreme.

I even heard talk, that I dearly hoped for Zarina's sake was not true, that Belinda had made Zarina sew herself up. She had made Zarina sew her own cunt lips closed forever. That is what I had overheard and that is what I fear was absolutely true.

You might think that since Zarina had bewitched and stolen Belinda, my husband-girl, from me, and secured, at least hitherto, all the attentions I might consider should rightfully have been mine as Belinda's wife, that I would be pleased that the contessa was condemned to suffer the deprivatory hell I had by now endured for over a year. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I felt distress for the poor girl. After all, I knew at first hand the terrible fate she was suffering and to suffer forever like me.

Twenty-four hours after I had become aware of Zarina's entry into enforced nunnification, I was sent for by my girl-husband, who merely told me that she had sold me.

It was, of course, entirely within Belinda's right to sell her wife: to sell me. It was, of course, entirely within Belinda's right not to have to inform me to whom I had been sold and on what terms. Accordingly, Belinda told me nothing of my fate, merely remarking that, as I had probably realised, she no longer had any use for me, as Zarina had been obliged to take over all of my duties. She was therefore, she said, cashing me in as an asset before I was, as she put it: "past my sell-by date".

To be dismissed so peremptorily, was very deeply hurtful to me. Whilst it was never my choice to become Belinda's wife I had sacrificed all of my life and love since our wedding day to the absolute fulfilment of my vow to honour and obey her. And this was my reward. I had been sold. I had become someone else's chattel. I did not even know if Belinda had sold me to a man or another girl, and I had no right to ask.

As my sale divorced us, I was ordered by Belinda to leave my wedding ring behind when I left. From my delivery under the contract of sale Belinda had signed, I would cease to be Belinda's wife. I would no longer be Belinda's property. I would be someone else's property, albeit that I would not be the wife of whoever had bought me unless they chose to seal me to them through undergoing a wedding ceremony.

Of course, it would not be necessary for my new owner to get married to me. This was the 2020s. Under the laws Russia had adopted, as in England, my first marriage had made me into property. From that marriage onward I could be bought and sold as property. My wedding-day vow of obedience equated to a surrender of all my human rights to my husband. By the law I had wed under, the word "wife" effectively had the same meaning as the word "slave", save that the latter word was never used to define wifely status, as it was considered grossly ill-mannered to do so.

I don't recall how I got wind that I was being sent to England. The day I was to leave dawned the same as any other day. The same as on any other day, I was equipped with my chastity fixings and covered in my head-to-feet rubber shroud, complete with the drinking tube for me to draw up my urine as my only means of keeping hydrated, and the rubber knickers in which I must satisfy any need I had to defecate.

Thus garbed, I was driven out to the airport by Belinda's lovely daughter, Norna, who was under Belinda's direction to put me on my flight. At the airport, I was by no means the only nunnified girl. At the airport, for the first time, I became aware of the extreme contrast between the girls whose husband-girls had, for whatever reason, decided that they should be nunnified like I was, and girls whose husband-girls still allowed them freedom.

Many of the free wives wore their hair as long as it would grow. This was the latest fashion. They also, many of them, wiggled around in seven-inch stilettos and micro-mini skirts or dresses. To the eyes of this girl: to my eyes, eyes that had seen so little of feminine beauty, because I had disciplined myself over the year of my marriage not to look at other girls, I was suddenly entered into a fantasy toyshop. The free wives, most of them obviously braless, wiggled and jiggled sexily around in such complete and utter contrast with my imprisoned shrouded hell.

I noticed too, how all free non-nunnified girls wore wedding rings, which some girls wore on their right hands. I had been away from the speedily changing world for a year now. I saw that every girl wore a ring on one of her hands, on the wedding-ring finger or its right hand equivalent.

To wear the wedding ring on the left hand, as per long established tradition, was apparently now purely indicative of a girl married to another girl. Girls married to men, wore their matrimonial symbol on their right hands.

Norna took me and put me standing with a group of some ten other nunnified girls, who were to take the same flight as I. She then left me, as per her orders to return to Belinda once she had "deposited the goods", me that is, at the airport.

I felt dreadfully nervous waiting to go to my future and not knowing what that future held in store for me. Even though I had experienced by now many extremely stressfully demanding times, I was contemplating the worst that could happen.

With my mouth sewn up I could not talk. I could listen and listen only. My hearing seemed to have become more highly attuned since my lips had been sewn closed. I supposed that this was because when I had been able to speak I had been empowered to ask for any point misheard or thought to have been misheard to be repeated. I had no such lazy-minded luxury now that I could no longer make any words with my mouth, and must thus concentrate properly when I was addressed.

Then a vision of loveliness appeared. A wonderful negress, with gentle brown eyes and very shy demeanour stood before all we nunnified girls. She wore uniform. A blouse and skirt of the colours required by "Top-Flight Airlines". Even though her light-blue top and jacket, dark-blue mini-skirt, and black stockings were not of the colours best suited to her flawless soft smooth brown complexion, this young girl, she was perhaps twenty-two, looked absolutely adorable.

In part, this stunning beauty's apparent shyness came from her inexperience in what to her was a recently new job. In part it came from the fact that none of her passengers' eyes were visible to her through the slits in their nunnifying rubber shrouds. And, in part, it was from her genuine loving and gentle personality.

"Hi. I'm Melissa, and I will be your in-flight attendant on our journey to London England", Melissa announced through the feedback screeching from her holding the microphone too close to her delectable lips.

Even as she spoke these few American accented words, I watched her unprofessionally easing her aching right foot from one of her seven-inch-heeled stiletto mules, perhaps momentarily forgetting that we could see her even if she could not see us.

Melissa than asked us to nod, if we could not speak, as she read out in her melodic voice the passenger names on the list attached to her clipboard. I still nodded to her calling of: "Mrs Belinda *****", my divorce being so fresh that my name had not been reverted.

To look at his girl was a pleasure. To look at his girl was an honour. To look at his girl was to be reminded that there was still such beauty in life and the world, and that the most beautiful thing in life and the world is girl.

How I longed for the freedom Melissa had. How I longed to be able to display my womanly charms for the delight of the world once more as she could and did so wonderfully. I wanted so much to tell her how gorgeous she was. She could even have had me if she had wanted me. I would so dearly have loved her to have my body, for Melissa to make love to me. But what use was I to her? I had no mouth, I had no cunt; they were both sewn up. I was totally encased in chastity belt and bra, and these were covered in strategically placed warding-off spikes to keep me sexless, loveless, frustrated, and celibate. I was obliged to drink my own urine: my rubber knickers were filled with my shit. This was my life now. This was the hell in which I dwelt.

I was a nearly thirty-year-old woman whose perfectly natural desire for love and sex had been denied her completely and utterly for the past year, and would continue to be completely denied her for evermore. This was my life now. This was the hell in which I dwelt.

The only pleasure I had now was from my eyes. My only sexual organs were my eyes. I could look. I could admire. I could enjoy, even if that enjoyment was pain and frustration to my heart and mind. It was all I had and I was going to ease my eyes by enjoying looking at Melissa as often and for as long as I could during the flight.

…………….

Once on the plane I had another chance to ogle the divine Melissa as she stood before us all miming to the pre-recorded safety and escape procedure advice that she gave on every flight every day several times per day, flashing the wedding ring on her lovely right hand. She looked a mixture of bored nervousness. I longed to hold her and reassure her. She was clearly put out of countenance because she could not see our eyes or faces in our nunnifying gowns.

I really and truly wanted this girl to at least notice me. I was a girl starved of the love of her fellow girls for over a year. Free from the oppressive slavery I had endured as Belinda's slave, my mind had taken an extreme view of the liberty I had. I had swung mentally from one side of the pendulum, complete slavery and submission, to the other side, and imagined I had total freedom once more. My taming was unravelling, unrealised by me.

I had fixed on what I was going to do to stand out to Melissa from the crowd of black rubber shrouded nunnified girls she faced. I had fixed on what I was going to do to stand out the instant after I had seen the shy black beauty at the airport.

On the plane, as soon as the light ordering we remain in our seat belts went out, I began to make my move to the bathroom to carry out my plan.

In the bathroom it was not easy. I wanted to roll down and take off my arm-long rubber gloves. To take either one of them off first, when I was wearing the pair of them, was not at all easy, but I managed it after some five minutes of struggle, and wiggled back to my seat with both of my lovely arms bare.

I wore no ring. On left hand nor right hand I wore no ring. I was free. Melissa would see that I was free. I was not really free but Melissa would not know I had been sold by my husband-girl. Melissa would see that I had no wedding ring on either of my hands, and would think I was not married to girl or man. In my distorted imagination, she would then therefore come and talk to me and get to know me and I would have my hands free to hold her hand and, joy of joys, maybe caress her, and joy of joy of joy of joys maybe get to feel her.

I was, though I did not know it, suffering a sort of sexual fever brought on by my complete and utter deprivation. It was a fever born from latent lust. It was a fever that would never have caused me to ask myself why a beautiful girl like Melissa, with a ring on her right hand to show she was already married to a man, would want an ugly bundle shrouded in rubber to come anywhere near her. The very thought, had Melissa thought it, must have caused her to shudder with mental and physical horror: but in my fevered sexually aroused mentally disordered and distorted state I had no thought or realisation of this.

The truth dawned fifteen minutes later when Melissa happened by me and saw my bare arms and hands. I will never forget the look of horror on her face and the way she panicked and almost ran to fetch a senior hostess to double-witness what she, Melissa, could hardly believe she had seen.

"Calm down Melissa. I'll get the pilotess to radio ahead," her boss had ordered.

Beneath my shroud, tears ran down my face, as the look of horror I had engendered from Melissa, the delightful Afro-Caribbean hostess princess, played over and over in the studio at the forefront of my memory and mind. I was condemned. I had for one wild moment forgotten, but I was now brutally reminded that I was condemned to be forever and ever a girl denied love, completely hidden and forbidden beneath my cruel shroud.

What had I been imagining? Why would a girl like Melissa want a freak like me? Why had a tortured myself by letting myself imagine for even one split second that my lack of a wedding ring would persuade this maiden made in heaven to look at me?

Even though, for some reason, Melissa's senior seemed to be a frequent visitor to check on me, and even though she never once spoke to me when she paid her oft-times visits, as if checking on me, I spent the remaining hours of the flight to London from Moscow in deep lonely misery.

……………

I was in for another shock when I reached the airport. Among all the other nunnified girls I stood out from my still having my hands and arms bare. Even so, I had no idea why it was that, having been pointed out by Melissa and her boss, I was immediately pounced upon by GirlControl officers.

" 'Fraid yer'll 'av to come with us luv" a strong and fit blonde GirlControl girl ordered.

With my mouth sewn closed I could not ask her why, but she sensed from my body language that, although I was not resisting her authority, or that of her pretty redhead companion, I had no understanding of what I could possible have done wrong.

Immediately in answer to my unspoken question, this girl simply said: "No ring luv".

On the plane I had thought it impossible that my misery could be further compounded. The truth of the untruth of that thought had come home to me with those words: "No ring luv".

I must have committed some offence. I had no idea what the offence could be, but "No ring luv" had been sufficient to see me taken in charge by two attractive GirlControl officers, aged perhaps twenty or so, and I was being driven to the London Airport GirlControl station, watching my fellow passengers board the bus that would take them to their futures of comparative joy and peace. Even the other nunnified girls were free just now compared with me, as I rode the short journey to the GirlControl station-house at a more distant terminal on the airfield.

Once in the station-house I stood in fear of the unknown as the sergeant-girl in charge berated the fellow sergeant-girl who had just gone off shift-duty before her, and was consequently well out of earshot from the jocular abuse pretended to be for her hearing had she been around.

"Fucking Maggie! Times I've told her to put the fucking chastity-gear-universal-master-key on the fucking hook it fucking belongs on! I'll swing for that fucking idle bitch, I swear I will! 'Ow are we goin' to strip this'n off for the judge, if we can't find the fuckin' master-key?"

"……….Bloody 'ell! 'Ere it is!" the sergeant continued, having made a discovery on her desk, right next to her right hand.

"I'm still goin' to 'ave it out with that fucking cow Maggie when I see 'er next though, you mark my words. Hooks is for keys and a hook is where this key goes. It's clearly labelled. Even that bloody useless sow ought to be able to put it back where it goes when she's used it, and she knows it's kept in the combination-lock key-safe at all times; or should be! I've saved 'er skin more than once making sure it don't get stolen."

……"Down to business, anyway" the sergeant nodded toward where I stood, " 'as this'n got anyone meeting 'er 'ere at the airport?" she asked, in good humour, her tirade having been more for comic effect than an expression of genuine feeling.

"Dunno sarge." She don't talk much what with her mouth being sewn up I expect", the blonde patrol girl answered, with a tone expectant of applause for a comic answer well delivered in her own, and not only her own, estimation.

"Well Mandy, why don't you give 'er a pad and a pen and bloody well ask 'er to write it down?" the friendly sergeant answered in mock exasperation.

The blonde turned to her redheaded companion as an audience for her next answer, and won a snort of barely suppressed mirth as she retorted: "I will sarge, if you 'aven't lost yer pen!"

"Use yer own bloody pen!" the sergeant-girl laughed in appreciation of being mocked in good humour by her junior.

Oh what it must be like to have such friendly relations in your day-to-day work and oh how lonely I had been this year and more gone as I had suffered being worked like a slave for Belinda and by Belinda.

Through giving me a pen it was soon established that I knew that I had been bought, did not know by whom, and did not know for certain whether I was to be collected at the airport, let alone who was to collect me.

Despite this, the sergeant concluded it was absolutely assured that someone would be looking for me, and dispatched Mandy to go and seek them out, and have them report to the airport court, to which I was bound to be sent, for being found literally bare-handed, as a girl clearly over school age without a wedding ring.

"Come on then Rebecca" the sergeant commanded the redhead GirlControl trooper, in her non-too demanding tone of affable friendliness, "Whilst Mandy's on the look out for the new owner, let's you and me get this'n stripped and hosed down eh".

" 'Ope you realise that under that cape she'll be sewn up. I mean, not just 'er mouth an' that. I think it's bloody cruel what they do when the nunnify them. Bloody cruel!" the sergeant gently opined to her new recruit colleague.

"Can you imagine 'avin a ring around yer clit, so bloody tight, that it 'urts like fuck if you even dare to think about summat that turns yer on? You can't even think about a pretty girl without the pain of it gripping you. Bloody cruel: that's what it is: bloody cruel."

"And to be completely forbidden any sort of sex for ever and ever, just how bloody cruel can yer get? The sergeant asked, intending her question to be rhetorical.

"I don't know" came Rebecca's sweet toned answer. "I think what they do to these girls is rather beautiful. They are put in a state of grace. We should honour them for their sacrifice".

"You were always an odd 'un Becks. Glad I ain't got education if that's what it does for yer" the sergeant girl joked.

The sergeant and Rebecca had been gently guiding me to a spot in the corner of an ante-room off to the side of the main GirlControl station office: an ante-room where there was a slight slope to the floor leading to a drain

I was made to stand with my back to the corner where the drain was, and I braced myself as the two young women took hold of the hem of my nunnifying robe in order to whisk it off me.

It was done in a second and I stood naked but for my chastity belt and bra, the rubber knickers in which I was forced to defecate, my branks, and the tube that led up to my sewn-up mouth.

"Oh my god!" cried Rebecca as I was revealed snow-white from lack of sun over the past year, my hair just beginning to show stubble on my shaven head, my deep-brown frightened eyes flickering side to side in fear of the unknown, and the fright of my first complete exposure before other girls, other than the cruel Belinda, in over a year of savage nunnification.

"I did warn you Becks" the sergeant consoled. "It's always a shock when you see your first'un."

"No sarge!", Rebecca answered "It's not like that. She's beautiful. Isn't she beautiful? Don't you think she's beautiful?"

I hung my head in shame and joy, so hoping this lovely girl meant what she was saying and not just saying it to torment me.

"Well, she ain't no use to you, you silly mare. She ain't allowed other girls to touch 'er. So you can bloody well forget it and concentrate on yer job. Get 'er bra off. And watch it when you cut those knickers off. We'll need to 'ose 'em out with water or she'll stink, the poor luv", the sergeant instructed: but even she seemed to have a tone of voice expressive of some pity for my suffering.

The sergeant trusted Rebecca with the universal-key that would unlock all my chastity gear and, with a sharp knife to cut my rubber knickers off. With the hose, the knife, and the key, I was, bit by bit, stripped bare and hosed clean.

"Oh just look at 'er cunt sewn-up like that! Can yer imagine 'ow much that must 'urt?!" the sergeant orally winced to Rebecca.

"I don't know: I think it is rather beautiful that she is sewn-up completely like that" Rebecca replied.

"Don't be bloody stupid Becks: 'ow would yer like it done to you?"

"If my lover wanted me sewn-up, I would willingly sew myself closed for her" Rebecca answered.

…….."God, you really are weird Becks………" the sergeant girl gently mocked.

I was thoroughly hosed down by the girls, and welcomed the cleanliness and freshness that I felt as a result.

"Now then: just take 'er next door and make 'er put 'er tits on the scanner", the sergeant ordered.

I broke out in an instant sweat and began praying in my head that this would not reveal what I knew it almost certainly was going to do.

"Take 'er next door and put 'er tits on the scanner. Let's see if her nipple prints is on file", the sergeant ordered.

Rebecca pointed me to the room in which I had first been brought in custody. I looked around wildly, hoping her order did not mean what I really knew it meant, and then slowly wiggled my beautiful body, my breasts proud and bare and proudly pertly prominent before me as I, all femininity, all girl, all obedient, all tame, graced my lovely way to where I was being ordered to take myself.

I was then stood before what to all appearances was a flat-bed photocopier with no cover over its glass.

"Bend over so yer tits are pressed 'ard on the glass luv. I promise it won't urt, and I alus tell the truth luv", the sergeant soothed me.

I knew that were I to try and resist or were I to show the slightest sign of reluctance, they would whip me till I obeyed and would anyway consequently know I had something to hide. I therefore lowered my soft firm protuberant beauties so that my huge pink nipples and their massive areoles were firmly pressed flat on the cool glass of the machine. The sergeant pressed a button: there was a flash such as from a camera: instantly a red light flickered, and suddenly a tiny tinny klaxon sounded.

"Oh my god, she's on record!" the sergeant exclaimed, "They've got 'er nipple prints on file at 'ead office!".

I had stood myself up straight again as I also watched, along with my two guardians, a printout from the "Counted Under Not to be Tolerated" records, or "CUNT computer", as it was known in police and criminal circles, emerging slowly from the nipple scanner.

" 'Er name's 'Katrina ******' " said the sergeant reading the printout. "She was spiked over a year back for shoplifting, poor kid. We'll 'av to tell the magistrate about this. Still, she pleaded only 'guilty' and the court accepted it, so she's only on C.U.N.T. records for a year."

"Bloody odd that. 'Er year should 'ave bin up by now! Still I ain't arguing wiv records again, not after last time. Bloody computers. You'd think it'd be programmed proper an that!" the GirlControl sergeant ruminated aloud.

"Better get 'er in the balls-and-chain for the court" she then instructed.

I had already spotted two massive, two-foot-diameter, steel balls with a one-inch chain between them: balls-and-chains that had seen much use and were rusted from age but were clearly still strong and in full working order: whatever their function was.

Rebecca momentarily took my pretty hand in her own lovely white-skinned soft fingers to lead me to the balls-and-chain.

"Don't touch 'er Becks! For gord's sake don't touch 'er, it ain't bloody allowed ever!" the sergeant almost screamed in her panic.

Nonetheless and no matter how briefly, I had experienced the gentle touch of this lovely redhead and I felt the first momentary sexual arousal at the pleasure of its innocence paying me honour as a beautiful woman, the beautiful woman that Rebecca had declared me to be in her eyes when she had first seen me out of my all-enveloping-robe.

I looked at Rebecca with eyes that were meant to convey the thanks for her gentleness that my mouth, sewn-up tight-closed as it was, could not speak.

"You stupid bitch Becks: you mustn't ever to nuffinck what will get 'er the slightest bit aroused! She ain't allowed it never ever!" the sergeant snapped out, clearly in a panic.

"Sorry sarge", Rebecca responded with transparent sincerity.

"So you bloody well should be, you stupid mare" the sergeant retorted in a now-relaxing-a-little-more tone seeing clearly that Rebecca had taken her hand away.

I graced slowly womanly-bottom-swayingly over to the two two-foot-diameter solid-steel spheres and obeyed the unspoken instruction, clear from a quick examination of the balls, to insert my pretty feet deep deep down into the individual recess in the top of each sphere, so that I was tiptoed in them, and the sergeant could pass straps, anchored one side of the holes in which each foot was inserted, over my Achilles' heels to buckle the balls irremovably to my feet.

Now, for the first time in a whole year, I stood with my long legs lusciously tiptoed erect, and shaped by that erectness to the superlative perfection that can only be achieved, by the beautiful legs of a beautiful girl, combining their supreme functionality with their even more extreme girl-contoured smooth curvature, divine shapeliness and erotically compelling eye captivating orgasmic wonder.

"Oh god what gorgeous legs she's got! Rebecca exclaimed, forgetting herself in the instant at the sight of my wonderful girlshapely lower limbs.

"Make 'er walk to the court and use a whip on 'er if you 'av to!" the sergeant ordered.

……………..

I had struggled to walk in the massive feet-balls, huge in size, and huge in weight, lifting them with my powerful beautiful legs insofar as I could with the mere one-inch hobble-chain that separated them. I had struggled to walk, and had thus been made to super-wiggle as my girlness had been supremely magnified by my feet being so imprisoned, and my legs so tautly shapily tensioned and stretched to tip-of-tiptoe, were made so erotic to the compelled eye, and my bottom, dimpled by my erectness, had wiggled and waggled wildly as enticing as a girl's bottom could ever be and more beyond, as I had struggled to walk in the massive feet-balls.

I now stood before the woman judge. I was bathed in a sheen of perspiration that made my wonderful body glow.

"Katrina ******?" the magistrate called, and was pointed to where I stood with my head bowed.

"Ah yes" said the judge, running an appreciative eye over me. "My word, you are a considerable beauty!" she exclaimed to herself.

"I see from her record that she has had her clitoris ringed. And I can see with my own eyes that she has had her mouth sewn-up and her cunt fully infibulated. That must mean that she has been married and nunnified, so where is her wedding ring?"

"That is just it my lady", the sergeant of GirlControl explained, "She was in public with 'er nun's gloves peeled off and wearin' no weddin' ring".

"That is intolerable" the girl judge noted.

"I'm afraid m'lady, that we've also found that we 'ave her nipple prints on record" the sergeant continued, proffering the printout of my criminal record toward the judge.

A sexy naked redhead, with her feet balletically erect in heelless ballet booties wiggled over to the sergeant. This girl was the clerkess of the court. Taking the printout, she wiggled on tiptoe to the judge and curtsied deeply, lowering her gorgeously auburn crowned head to her chest, and waited to be bid to rise, as she instantly was, so that she could, still with head bowed to chest, offer the judge my printed C.U.N.T. computer record with her extended delectably double-jointed elbowed bare slim arm.

Despite my predicament, I found my eyes feasting on the full slim-bodied wonder of the girlness of this girl, this clerkess, this divinely sexy young woman employed for her decorativeness as well as her high intelligence and her full and deep legal education and training, to grace the court with her beauty and, when called upon, to deliver her wisdom, as a sort of human computer and store of knowledge of all the many detailed intricacies of the girl-laws.

The judge showed this girl my record, and I watched as she whispered to the judge the advice she had from her store of knowledge of precedent.

"I thank, as ever, our indispensable clerkess-of-court for her wisdom and advice, as well as for her transparent loveliness this day." The judge began.

In acknowledgement, the clerkess, curtsied full long legged low and blushed.

The judge continued: "Katrina ******, you have been a very silly girl. Clearly, nobody would have known you were not wearing a ring if you had kept your gloves on, as no doubt your former owner intended you too."

"You were carried away by passion no doubt. You should have learned the lesson from your nunnification. You were nunnified because you no longer had any right to passion and desire. You have had two of your love orifices sewn closed and your third love-hole heavily protected to cure you of, and prevent you from ever again experiencing physical love. Yet, even after what I am informed has been but only one year of nunnification, wearing the honoured shroud of a de-sexed girl, you clearly have not learned your lesson."

"A girl who has been nunnified has no right: no right whatsoever to passion and desire. She has her clitoris tight ringed, and her mouth and her sex sewn-up in sacrifice, and as demonstration of her surrender to a life without sex forever. She may be beautiful but she hides her beauty from the world beneath the all-enveloping shroud so that her loveliness cannot betray her and make her stray from the path of a totally passionless, and completely sexless life."

"She may not have volunteered to be sewn-up and wear the shroud. But if her superiors have decreed that she be infibulated and wear the cloak of the forever-virgin, she must forget and forego her sexulity as that, and no less than that, is what true obedience then decrees."

"I see from your updated record that you, Katrina, were married. You took an oath to obey your husband-girl. Your husband-girl decided, as is of course her right, to have your clit-ringed and your slit sewn-up forever."

"You have disobeyed your husband-girl Katrina; and you have dishonoured the shroud!"

"It will be for your new owners to decide whether you will be returned to the shroud. My only duty is to punish you for not wearing a wedding ring. As you are fully aware, here and now in the 2020s, all girls of your class and of age eighteen or over, have by law to be married or else be an owned slave. In either circumstance they must always, also by law, wear a ring on one or other of their wedding-ring fingers at all times."

"However, I am told by our lovely clerk that, if only in the sense that your existing criminal record does not have to influence sentence, failure of a girl to wear a ring is considered a minor offence."

"Is there anyone to pay bail and buy her out of punishment?" the judge suddenly asked the GirlControl sergeant as if she, the judge, had forgotten to enquire till now.

"Not that we have found so far ma'am", the sergeant answered.

"Very well then." the judge concluded, turning once more to look at me. "As it is your first offence of being openly ringless in public, I am content to sentence you, on the basis of established precedent. In accordance with that precedent therefore, I hereby sentence you to twenty-four hours hard labour ………"

"……..Next case please………"

………………

"What do you think you are looking at bitch?!"

The girl who addressed me thus was dressed in a white robe like a Roman toga. She was herself black: a negress of beauty surpassing even that of Melissa, the stewardess on the plane that had flown me to London. She had in her left hand a white parasol with which she protected herself from the heat of the sun that I was obliged to stand in naked. In her right hand, with its looped handle around her wrist, she held a two-foot long strap whip with which she had just threatened to thrash me around my naked thighs.

"What do you think you are looking at bitch?!" she barked again, knowing that with my mouth sewn up I could never ever answer her.

The sun burned down on my naked body, a body that had not seen the sun for twelve long months. A body I had not been allowed to oil against the beating sun, a body being beaten by the sun searing down upon it on an unusually hot outer-London spring day.

"What do you think you are looking at bitch?!" she shouted again.

I had been looking at her beauty. I had been admiring her breasts. I had been marvelling at the trim slimness of her waist and the flatness of her belly. I had been looking at her legs. The dress she wore was tied in such a way at her waist, that the whole of her right leg was bare: so I had been looking at her right leg.

"What do you think you are looking at bitch?!"

THWACK! Her whip cracked next to my left thigh and I flinched and shrieked with fear and then hung my head to show I had surrendered to her superior power and her magnificently cruel beauty.

"Welcome to the workhouse you shite slag" she sneered. "I am your personal overseer. I am here to work you. I am being paid to work you. And you are going to work like you have never worked before, bitch. And let's be clear about it, you will do exactly as you are told. I hope you understand that as well as my little Betsy understands it. Little Betsy loves kissing girls. You've just nearly had one of Betsy's kisses on your leg, slag, and believe me the next one won't be just a warning!"

I was no longer wore the huge two-foot-diameter feet balls. I stood sweltering before this black beauty; she cooled under her sheltering white parasol, steepled big-toe-toe-tip-high in front-heeled punishment-booties. Heelless, at the rear, steel-soled booties, they lifted me to permanent balletic en-pointe, respite from which could only be gained by resting the front-heels to ground, the only way to walk in which was in constant balletic-tiptoe.

As a consequence, my legs were once more stretched to the supreme extreme that displayed their superb beauty at its utmost, and I had been aware that my overseer had been staring at my legs as much, if not more than I had been compelled by her beauty to admire her exquisitely wonderful dark-brown body.

I wore steepling punishment booties. I also wore chains. I was a prisoner. I was a prisoner in chains. I was a girl in chains, and my ankles were chained to one-another with a six-inch heavy hobble-chain running between strong leather anklets.

My wrists, which were behind my back, wore a slimmer version of the leather anklets: leather wristlets, between which was a one-foot length of chain no less heavy than that which tied my ankles just six-inches apart.

Around the mountainous glory of my huge firm breasts I wore two steel hoops: hoops that were at each of the bases of my lovely breasts, linked together by one link of heavy chain in my cleavage, and then held to me by chains that ran from each side of the hoops around my back, and each top of each hoop over my shoulders, like bra-straps to fasten to the chain that ran around my back. Furthermore, another heavy chain ran from each of the bases of these breast hoops again around my back to secure the hoops firmly to my chest.

Around my neck I wore a leather collar with a huge strong steel ring at the back, from which a further equally heavy chain dangled down through between my shoulder-blades to attach at their mid-point to my wrist chains, and continue down to attach finally to the midpoint of the six-inch hobble chain that tied my ankles together.

Around each of my dainty ankles, where I already wore the six-inch hobble chain, I also wore two-foot long heavy chains attached at the rear of my anklets so that two two-foot-diameter solid-steel feet-balls of the size I had hitherto been made to stand in, were now trailing behind me, chained to my ankles: I wore a ball-and-chain on each ankle.

I wore a ball-and-chain on each ankle. I was so heavily chained in heavy links that I could not possibly escape. I wore a huge heavy ball-and-chain on each ankle!

Around my waist I wore the same huge heavy chain pulled very tight around my egg-timer slimness, and a further chain ran from the front of my waist chain under my crutch, whereafter it went through the valley of my bottom hemispheres to end by being padlocked to the rear of my waist chain at the small of my back.

I also wore a look that told of my agony because of the pain from my breasts. I was in pain because of what had been done to my nipples. In my wonderful pink nipples, with their massive pink areoles, I wore nipple-propellers.

I wore nipple-propellers. I had screamed and screamed helplessly in my chains, nearly tearing open my savagely sewn-closed mouth lips, as the nipple-propellers had been fitted to me. They were steel about one-eighth inch thick, and comprised a single blade "propeller" one-inch wide and six-inches long. For all the world they looked like the propellers on a child's toy aeroplane. Indeed, with them fitted, I looked, for all the world too, as if I were an obscene twin-propellered aircraft.

To fit them to me, my gorgeous breasts had been individually encaged in metal frames, each comprised of six equidistant bars, curved so as to form the shape of an individual brassiere cup cage two sizes too small for my huge breasts. My glorious breasts were then squeeze-forced into these, one cage over each beauty. The far ends of these bars were already curved so as to be fitted behind, and thus secured by, the steel rings around the bases of my breasts, thereby completing a purposely too-small bra-cup for me to wear.

But before the hooked ends of the six bars could be engaged behind the hoops, I had had to be cruelly tortured. Where the six bars met at what would be the equivalent of the peak in the cone of a bra cup, the propellers were fitted. They were fitted in such a way as they could be spun freely, being already attached to an axle that went through the equivalent of the peak in the cone of a bra cup. But it was that axle that was, as intended, giving me agony.

And oh how I had screamed and screamed and screamed as my nipple-propellers had been forcibly fitted to me, for the axles at the end of which the propellers were fitted, formed ten-inch-long knurl-shanked needles, and I had had these unmercifully slowly pushed through the milk-holes of my gorgeous nipples. All ten cruel rough-sided inches of each of those needles had been forced into my milk-holes, so that I had ten-inches of cold merciless needle through the milk-holes of my exquisite nipples, and ten-inches of brutally painful steel needle had pierced the insides of my lovely breasts crushingly compressed in the cups of the cages over them. And on the end of each of the ten-inches of brutally painful steel needle that had pierced the insides of my lovely breasts, were the "propellers", my nipple-propellers.

"You got tit propellers because you tried to seduce a girl on an aeroplane you fucking shite", my overseer yelled. "The punishment has to fit the crime, bitch. I asked for the nipple propellers to be fitted to you my very own self. I insisted on the nipple propellers slag. You want to know why cunt? Why, is because you tried to seduce my sister you fucking dirty bitch. The girl on the plane: the stewardess, that was Melissa my kid sister, and you tried to seduce her you fucking whore!! You're going to suffer whore. You're going to fucking suffer you slag, and I'm going to enjoy every second of it for what you tried to do, you whore!!"

I was horrified to think that something so innocent, so natural, and so beautiful as the attraction of one pretty girl for another could lead to the torture that I was enduring at the hands of this girl, who quite clearly hated me for what she had been told by her own sister: a complete distortion of what I had tried to do.

"You're going to do some forestry you fuck. I hope your good with trees cunt because Betsy and I don't like no slacking by bitches", my overseer sneered sarcastically.

"Move bitch" she barked and cracked her strap-whip at her side.

Her order for me to move was as easy for her to give, as it was difficult for me to obey. I fought to put one delicious leg forward and found myself having to lean forward such was the effort needed for my leg to drag the two-foot-diameter-huge steel ball to which that leg was anchored by chain.

"Get moving you filthy slag!" my overseer snapped.

I found myself now stopping and starting. I would stand on one tiptoed leg anchored to ground and use the other to pull the massive weight of the ball attached to its ankle forward, before taking a step with that thus freed leg.

"Walk properly you dirty slut!" my cruel overseer commanded shouting in my ear. "They did the right thing when they sewed your filthy cunt up. Nobody should be allowed to breed from fucking slags like you, you filthy cow!" she crowed in a loud whisper in my right ear.

Perspiration ran down my lovely face as I fought to drag myself along in the balls-and-chains I wore at my ankles, wiggling in the six-inch hobble

"Get moving you dirty shite whore!"

As she cursed me snarling in my ear, I momentarily felt and blessed the shade from the parasol my overseer had to keep her out of the blazing sun that seared down on my totally naked white body: a body that had not seen any sun in over a year enforcedly spent under a nunnifying shroud. I felt the cool contrast of the shadow of the parasol as the vicious negress leant over to torment me, and then the unrelenting power of the sun as she moved back having delivered another cruel taunt.

"Shift your fucking arse you useless cunt!"

With the power of my girlmuscular legs I fought to drag the huge balls behind my ankles along a path in an open edge-of-forest public amenity, where I could see pretty young mothers, pushing babies in perambulators on a distant path. Two other lovely young girls, in jeans filled by their very smacakable bottoms and firmly-well-filled tee-shirts, were exercising a dog nearer to me, throwing it a stick which in bounded after, even whilst the stick was still spinning in the air, with such abandoned puppyish freedom as made the girls double-up with joyous giggles.

On its return, the puppy-dog played with the girls, teenage schoolgirl delights, pretending to offer them the stick back, and then running away and twirling round and round when they tried to grasp it. The perfect angels giggled the more and cuddled and kissed the adorable dog when at last it let them have the stick back, before they threw the stick again.

All this sweet normality was taking place clearly in my view. And I was clearly in the view of these delightful sixteen-year-olds as I dragged the huge balls chained to my ankles behind me, and the chains in which I was so heavily helplessly bound, clinked and chinked as my tortured body girled along on its superbly shapely and strong long tiptoe-tensioned legs.

But to their eyes I was just the familiar sight of yet another girl-prisoner from the workhouse, being punished, for what, they did not know or care, but no doubt thoroughly as she deserved. And my near-naked body with its cunt and its mouth sewn-up closed, bound in the cruel chains, and being driven along by an overseer with a vicious whip to use on me if I dared to slack, did not seem to cause them to turn even half-an-eye my way.

"Move it you filthy whore!" my overseer spat out as she cracked her whip to remind me that she had ample means to cause me more pain.

Then the ball, the huge steel ball I had chained to my right leg got caught behind a rock in the rough ground I was slowly traversing in my tip-of-tip-of-tiptoeing punishment booties, and I nearly stumbled and tumbled.

"Stupid filthy slag! Get it sorted whore! Get your fucking arse moving you filthy useless bitch! Get it sorted or I'll fucking whip you, you filthy slag!!" my overseer shouted savagely.

We were near the girls who must have heard every word of my mistress' curses. But all the girls did was, briefly, to refrain from throwing the stick for their dog and look on as I recovered my course.

As I finally dragged my brutally chained body along past them, the girls' dog sat and looked at me, its head tilted querulously sideways its ears twitching momentarily, as my heavy chains chinked and chanked, and I sweated by in my imprisoning inescapable bondage.

"Good morning overseer" one of the pretty girls politely greeted my mistress as my mistress followed me with her parasol and strap-whip.

"A very hot day isn't it?", this same delightful girl ventured politely and shyly.

"Good morning young ladies" my overseer responded "It is very hot for the time of year and they say it will get hotter. I do hope your morning has not been spoiled by the whore…. sorry….I mean by your having to see the naughty girl in front."

"No: not at all. I am sure she must have been very naughty indeed, and Sybil and I agree with the government that there is too much naughtiness with girls these days. So please make sure you punish her very much, so she will never ever be naughty again" the innocent lovely schoolgirl angel replied.

"Thank you ma'am. I will do my best to completely fulfil my orders", my overseer responded respectfully.

I had dragged my huge-ball-and-chain bound body some little way ahead, obeying my instruction to walk where I was told to walk, and my overseer had to catch me up, leaving the girls and their dog behind.

"You fucking filthy cunt! Get your fucking legs moving slag or I'll fucking whip your fucking arse till it fucking bleeds you filthy whore!" she tiraded me as I struggled along. Then she turned around in shock….

"Please miss?" it was Sybil, one of the two pretty sixteen-year-olds. She had trotted up on her pretty feet unseen and unheard to where I sweated and pulled my savagely chained body, struggling to walk as I had been ordered, to walk along in the searing heat of the rapidly rising sun beating blazingly down on my nakedness, as I enforcedly tiptoe-bootied enticingly wiggled along on the rough edge-of-forest ground in my balls-and-chains.

"Please miss: can Mandy and I help you punish the naughty girl? We're both Girl-Scouts and have done our training and earned tassels for our skill with whips. I've got the gold: Mandy only has the silver, but she's better than me really, I was just lucky because our Girl-Scout mistress wanted to kiss me and, though I know it's not very nice, I let her….." she gabbled, all girlish sweet innocence encapsulated.

We walked along at my slow pace. My eyes opened and closed in my distress. But even so, I could see from her face, that my overseer did not welcome this proposal. However, she knew better than to annoy schoolgirls who were clearly daughters from the ruling classes……..

……."Of course you may", my overseer replied; though something in the tone of her voice still said that she did not really want the interference.

"Thank you miss. We'll run 'Mister', our doggy, home, and join you as soon as we are able; and thank you again miss!" she called as she wiggled her pretty little blue-jeaned bottom, trotting to join her friend to take the dog to some nearby houses where they all lived.

"Bring your strap-whips!" my overseer called after her, "Strap-whips for both of you: two strap-whips …!

"Yes miss!" the lovely angel called back in acknowledgement of the belated instruction.

As soon as she had gone, my overseer took the intervention she had not really welcomed out on me: "Don't you even dream for one spilt second that I'm going to let you off lightly just because those little tarts want to come and play at prison wardens, you fucking whore!" she spat.

"You're going to fucking get it, slag! You're going to suffer bitch! You'll wish you'd never been born the stupid lazy cunt you are!" Get moving you dirty shite whore!!"

The huge strain of dragging the massive balls-and-chains attached to both of my ankles was rapidly depleting my girl-strength and, in the relentless heat of the sun, my thirst was beginning to exhaust me, as I continued to struggle on tip-of-tiptoe in my pirouette-punishment booties and in the heavily brutal chains to wherever I was being driven by my wardeness, tortured not least by the two ten-inch long knurled needles that were piercing my lovely breasts through my nipple milk-holes.

"Don't you dare try to slack and slow on me you filthy slag! Get those fucking legs moving or Betsy'll flog them for you, you filthy whore!" she screamed. "You're a fucking useless tart: a whore: a cunt: a slag: you're a fucking filthy useless idle bitch!!" she shouted in my ears as I wiggled along chained in my helpless agony.

I was nearing exhaustion merely from struggling to walk in my chains as I closed my eyes momentarily in the horror of what I was enduring, only to open them again and see two perfect angels.

"I hope you don't mind us wearing our Girl-Scout bikinis" Sybil coaxed my cruel overseer. "We have used sun screen of course. Sybil and I got completely undressed and put sunscreen all over each other's bodies to be sure we are protected. So we are safe in our little bikis and I hope you don't mind us wearing them."

She smiled so winsomely that even my mistress melted to her innocent charm. But I caught a sight of the blush on the face of the perfect Sybil, and wondered what she had discovered as she was either being stroked or had been stroking her friend Mandy to cover her with the sun-cream.

My overseer responded, with obvious relish of the bodies of these exquisite worldly innocent angel schoolgirls, "Of course not miss. You both look very pretty in them".

Sybil blushed and lowered her head. As with Mandy, her fellow Girl-Scout, she wore a white cotton bikini, its top, heavily heavenly filled by her very firm virgin schoolgirl's breasts, its panties fulsomely filled by her very firm very pert virgin schoolgirl's bottom. On her feet she wore heelless balletic shoes that tiptoed her on very pretty, slim and shapely legs. On her head she wore a wide brimmed white cotton hat to protect her perfect complexion from the sun, but somehow I could not take my eyes of the soft golden down that sparkled in the sunbeams on her delectable forearms, so slim so shapely, so adorably lovely, and then the freckles on her innocent angelic face, a face completely without makeup and all the more heavenly for it.

I blinked the perspiration from my eyes as I continued to haul the heavy solid steel balls chained to my ankles, obediently continuing to walk as directed, and the angels danced on their sexy tiptoeing shoes before me, to giggle and point at me in my heavily chained nakedness and obscene nipple-propellers, my flesh being burned red by the unrelenting sun from which, unlike these angels in their wisdom, and my overseer with her parasol, I had no barrier shield or relief.

And I noted that each pretty schoolgirl wore her whipping-skill award tassel on her bikini, where her ripe virgin-hard pointy pink nipple would be behind it. One wore a gold tassel in the form of a mini cat o' nine tails, the other silver, and both tassels dangled from their respective left bikini bra cups. And I looked at their superbly filled-out bikini panties and saw that Mandy's were all white, denoting that she was a completely intact virgin, whilst Sybil's had an almost invisible little red heart centrally, just above her mound of Venus, to confirm that, although otherwise completely virgo intacta, she had been given her first kiss. The kiss from her Girl-Scout mistress had won her this denoting award: and the little red heart was a confirmatory mark she must have on all her panties - all of her panties being otherwise white, in confirmation of her total virginity, the total virginity required for all under eighteen-year-old girls in the 2020s.

I continued to struggle on deeply humiliated before these Girl-Scout angels: girls nearly half my age.

"What has the naughty girl done miss?" Mandy enquired, her cultured and educated politeness clearly evident in her sweet voice.

"She's been married, but has dared to appear in public without a wedding ring on her finger miss", my chief torturer answered.

The two girls instantly looked at each other with genuine horror on their pretty faces: "Oh, that is so gross. She is such an ingrate!!" Sybil announced in genuine sincerity, "Is she, I mean, was she, a … you know… did she… did she… did she….. did she hang about on street corners…. you know?"

"You mean is she a prostitute? Well, not that I know of miss" my overseer replied. "I understand she was happily married to a very rich and influential husband-girl, who required her to be nunnified, as is a husband-girl's right of course. But she was an ungrateful wife, so her husband-girl divorced her and sold her."

The girls listened innocently aghast as I continued to struggle along in my tiptoed tortured painful humiliation.

"And what is more, on the flight back over to England, she tried to attract an air hostess…….."

The two girls gasped with horror.

"Oh that is so, so wicked!!" Sybil exclaimed.

"Yes", Mandy responded, "I've already had my between-leg-lips and my nipple-holes sewn-up, in readiness for my future nunnification, and so that I will remain honoured as a completely intact virgin for evermore! And I won't never ever behave like that: it is so gross!!"

The superbly slim but equally superbly shapely innocent schoolgirl angels trotted tiptoed on their supremely svelte slim legs before me, until, at long last, I had wiggled along to my overseer's command to where we had come to a small tree uprooted and lying on the ground, having been blown over by strong winds during the previous month.

"Useless whore!" a pretty voice, that of Mandy, cursed me as she then blushed deep-pink divinely at having let her perfect lips pout such strong words.

"What is the naughty girl to do miss?" Mandy enquired of my overseer.

"This tree is of no more use, so the prisoner is to haul it back to the workhouse where she will chop it up for firewood to store for our winter stove", my torturer-in-chief announced.

I stood still teetering on my tiptoes in my punishment booties, swaying with my tiredness from the effort of walking in my chains, a distance of no more than half-a-mile from the girl-prison workhouse. My eyes opened and closed in the heat and I listened to the buzz of the flies before they settled on my girl-sweat bathed body to lick my salt. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

As I stood still relieved by the shade of other trees from the searing heat of the sun on my naked flesh, already burned red with the sun's searing its sweet softness, my torturer was unfastening a padlock that held the chain that went from my belly up between the demi-spheres of my divine deep dimpled derriere to the chain around my superbly hourglass-slim waist at my back.

A strong leather strap had been fixed around the fallen-over tree, and a chain attached to the strap lay on the floor of the wood for the moment.

I was turned now, so that I could see the arrangement on the end of the chain attached to the fallen tree. I was purposely made to see that, at the end of the chain to which I had no doubt I was going to be attached, there was a large round ring with a one-foot-long one-inch diameter shaft running from it. It looked for all the world like a huge door key.

"If you want to help girls, use your whips on the bitch's legs to drive her, so as to make her pull on the tree with all her strength", my overseer advised – she dare not try to order around these daughters of the upper classes.

The two delightful slim-legged leggy angels willingly and enthusiastically took hold of their two-foot long strap-whips, eager to put into practice on my bare body, what they had learned to earn their whipping skill tassels.

My overseer, guided me to turn my back to the tree and the chain attached to it, the "key" at the end of which the lovely negress, who had chief charge of me, had held in her hand in readiness for something.

The innocent schoolgirl angel white bikinied virgin Girl-Scouts, eyed my nipple propellers as they watched my tormentress, and I felt what was going to be done to me. I felt the long rod of the "key" at the end of the tree-tied chain being rested in the entrance to my anus.

And I was bent forward at my waist, and the one-foot-long rod was being slowly but inexorably pushed up my divine bum, tearing my soft inner skin as it pushed aside my pulsing sphincter which tried so hard to eject this raping intruder of my intimacy as it slid its one-inch-diameter cold solid steel unyielding hardness up and up and up and up me, as I howled as best I could with my mouth sewn shut at its delicious lips as it was. And I shook my head and I shed my tears with the horrible pain; until the shaft was all the way up my lovely arse and the chain that ran between my legs could be put through the round hoop of the "key" and the chain that ran between my legs could then be padlocked, tight-pulled tight, and padlocked to my waist chain at the back of me, to hold the cruel dildo hard up and permanently up my gorgeous bottom.

"Now you filthy whore, you're going to pull with all your fucking power to drag this tree back to the girl-prison, no matter what it takes to make you, you fucking slag!"

I could not beg with my mouth so I begged with my eyes for the mercy that I knew was not going to be shown me, as I watched the two schoolgirls take off their bikini brassieres to bare their divine firm titties, the better to keep themselves cool as they helped with my torture. And I saw Sybil's pert strawberry nipples, so virgin hard kissable and lickable, and little Mandy's nipples so cruelly plugged up and closed and completely covered with gold nipple-protectors inserted irremovably through a piercing of her nipple to preserve her complete virginity: to de-sensitise her nipples so that she would never be able to feel any joy from their being touched stroked licked or sucked.

And I was ordered to pull on the tree to pull it back to the prison. This was to be the beginning of the hard labour to which I had been sentenced……..

"Pull you fucking whore!! PULL!!"

And I obeyed the order I was given, I was as good as my command and pulled on the chain that ran to my bum, with all the strength of my superb tiptoe-toe-stretched sexually compellingly orgasmic legs. And the dildo in my bottom was pulled out of me and then shot back hard into my bumhole as I could pull no more and relaxed.

"PULL you fucking slag!! Do as you are fucking well told you filthy whore!!"

I began to pull again: I know not from whence I got the strength, but I began to pull again and the dildo was eased millimetres out of my bum as I bent forward stretching and pulling with all my might on the tree that had no intention of ever being moved and would never ever yield to my puny tortured girl-strength, and the dildo raped my bum, from its being pulled out as I pulled on the tree-tied chain and as it then shot back up my bumhole, fucking my bum as I tried to pull whilst being endlessly cursed and sworn at by the beautiful negress overseer.

"You useless fucking whore!! PULL you fucking slag!!" she swore.

And the lovely schoolgirls began to whip my naked thighs. With no gentleness to match their angelic beauty they flogged my gorgeous thighs with all the might of their lovely gold –downed arms and I yelped with the pain of their cruel lashes, and so they whipped me harder still to make be yelp louder with the pain they were enjoying giving this beautiful full-grown very sexual very very sexy woman: me.

"You useless fucking whore!! PULL you fucking slag!!", they giggle-shouted in soprano chorus, blushing deep pink with the effort of whipping me with the full force they could muster with their exquisite slim arms and the embarrassment of enjoying using naughty language for the first time in their young lives.

And then they watched as I fought to pull the tree in my savage bondage and my overseer prepared to whip my nipple-propellers to drive me to greater effort.

And my overseer's whip slashed hard down on the nipple-propeller on my right breast, and oh god the pain the dreadful dreadful unbearable pain, as the propeller blade was struck by her whip and it was driven around through 360 degrees spinning the needle driven through my milk-duct ten-inches deep into my poor titty to whisk around inside my lovely titty tearing my inner-titty flesh with its knurled shank, and burning my inner titty with the friction of its whisking around inside my tenderest of tender soft and sensitive beautiful breast flesh. I screamed with the horrendous pain only to have my overseer whip my left nipple-propeller harder still so that it too tore my inside breast flesh so that my breast was torn by the rotating needle to my absolute agony of howling pain. And the two schoolgirls held me as my nipple propellers were whipped turn and turn about to torture me and punish me for being so naughty as not to wear a ring on my finger when out in public, against the requirements of the girl-laws And I screamed and howled and hollered with the pain as the nipple-propellers were now being whipped around alternately so that they tore my soft girl innards such that blood was tickling down from my tortured seared and brutalised breasts. My gorgeous breasts were seared and torn inside as the needles within me ripped my soft girlflesh and I screamed and screamed and screamed with my mind-blown agony.

And now strange and year-since alien and all but forgotten feelings began to make my nipples, pierced and tortured by the brutal propellers being whipped around as they were, pulse and erect themselves, and moisture of the girlmost secretion variety was beginning to dampen the inner lining of my sewn up cunt and, despite the tight eternity-ring that was permanently and immovably wrapped cruelly around it, my clitoris began to throb. And I began to shake my head side-to-side and close my eyes, eyes that were rolling skywards behind my eyelids, as I began to feel pleasure that I had been forbidden and forgone for over a year of deprivation and degradation and enforced total denial of my girlness.

"You totally useless filthy fucking slag PULL!! PULL you dirty whore!!" my mistress and both the pretty girls swore at me and cursed me to drive me to pull on the tree through the dildo up my sore raw anus, and the beautiful negress began to whip my naked sun-reddened bare skinned thighs once more as I bent over at my waist to pull tip-of-tiptoe leg stretched obediently as I was ordered.

And she whipped me and whipped me and whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and I leapt involuntarily with every cruel lash on my lovely girl-soft skin as she flogged my beautiful thighs to make me pull on the tree. Helplessly and hopelessly, even as she thrashed my bare thighs with all the strength she could muster, I could do nothing to get the tree to move even one scintilla of a millimetre.

"PULL you bloody useless dirty filthy whore, PULL!!" I was commanded by the contralto negress, echoed by the soprano schoolgirl virgin angels, as the contralto negress flogged my bare thighs as hard and as often as she could.

And I pulled with all my girlmight. And the pain from my eternity-ringed swollen clitoris seared me as the juice from my sexual arousal seeped from my sewn-up girl-lips. Lips sewn closed a year since to forbid me heaven, were wet, as my cunt was whetted and keened, as my nipples were peaked so hard they hurt. And I was moaning not only with the pain of being unrelentingly brutally flogged and having my anus raped as I pulled on the chain up my bum till I could pull with my lovely powerful girl-legs no more, and the dildo would shoot back up my bumhole, and I would be whipped and whipped on my thighs till I pulled again, and as the heavy pain from my nipple-propellers now being whipped around and around and around my the gorgeous slim slinky-legged schoolgirls to torture and drive and arouse me more.

"Whip her nipple-propellers round girls: give the whore pain so she'll get the fucking message that she is to pull this tree no matter what it takes to drive the slag to do it." my mistress commanded as she continued to whip my thighs.

And the angel schoolgirl virgins with their pert firm lollipop breasts and the one with strawberry pink nipples and their long slim shapely tiptoed girl-muscular legs, and their perfect pert firm smackable little bottoms and their freckled innocent angel's faces, little schoolgirls almost half my age, innocent Girl-Scout intact virgins, flogged my nipple-propellers around and around and around torturing my lovely breasts unrelentingly, and unmercifully hard. And they thrashed my nipple-propellers helplessly around as they reached near orgasm with the joy of paining my wonderful full-gown-woman's body. And then they whipped my nipple-propellers around and around and around so that they tore the insides of my tortured titties unmercifully endlessly tirelessly cruelly brutally. And my mistress whipped me and whipped me on my thighs, my gorgeous girlthighs as the dildo raped my anus raw. And my clitoris was so swollen by a year without sexual relief, and by the tightness of the eternity ring that bit its base, that it squeezed itself out between the stitches that sewed my girl-lips together. And the stitches rubbed the skin of my clitoris sore and raw as it squeezed through a gap only its erect stiffness could force in my infibulating cunt stitches. And the pain of this aroused me even more. And my clitoris, shining with my sopping girl-juice pulsed as it dripped my honey to the ground at my feet and I was coming!! I was beside myself, out of my head and out of my mind. I was coming!! After a year without sex and sexual pleasure: a year without relief of my natural pent-up girlness I was coming!! And I was all girl as they whipped my nipple-propellers, viciously and violently torturing my breasts. And I was coming!! And my thighs were being constantly brutally whipped. And I was coming!! And my anus was being unrelentingly fucked by the dildo. And I was coming!! And I was coming!! And I was coming!! And I was coming!! And I was coming!! And I came with an inhuman scream, the sub-human banshee screech of a girl who had enforcedly endured a whole year denied her sexuality and her supremely driven need for sexual relief. The inhuman banshee scream of a girl whose pent-up deprivation of her girl-sexualness was being relieved after so very very long: the animalistic screech of a girl who had been forbidden and denied orgasm for over a year. The wanton whore-cry war-cry of a girl who had been forbidden and denied her girlness for twelve solid lonely frustrating pent-up months of brutally savage and cruelly enforced celibacy. And my stupendously explosively massive orgasm was so powerful it overwhelmed me, and I fainted and slumped to my knees on the ground. And I knelt over a pool of my girl-juice, still dripping my cunt-nectar, as my clitoris throbbed and pulsed exposed to the open air where it had forced itself between my stitches and as my mistress continued to whip my unconscious reflex-jerking beautiful naked legs: this for my failure to wear a ring on my hand when in public: this for my being a naughty girl.