TESTED BY LOThAR

CHAPTER 1

AWAKENINGS

Written by: Charles E. Campbell

(With this story, it is my intent to begin exceptionally slow, trying to create a sense of the situations, background, and circumstances leading to a young woman’s willful slavery and ownership. It is written in three chapters, building slowly at first, and then rapidly escalating as her ultimate life long goal is finally achieved.)

   Butterflies in the stomach? Butterflies? Talk about a God damned understatement. I’d like to know what fucking moron coined that ridiculous phrase? Butterflies? Hell, my whole stomach felt more like an entire herd of stampeding horny, rabid water buffaloes on crack was bouncing around in there. Cramps, nausea, dry mouth, diarrhea, rapid pulse..........you name it, I’ve fucking got it in spades, for Christ’s sake. No way could this can ever be equated with graceful, light and dainty butterflies flittering about aimlessly. No fucking way in hell!

   What, you might ask, could possibly be the cause of such anxiety, trepidation, nervousness, and malaise? “THE TEST,” that’s what. “THE TEST.” At least that’s what m’LORD calls it. “THE TEST.” Today is going to be my final test. The culmination of many much smaller tests that I have endured, and passed, over the last two and a half years! ( And don’t think that just because the other ones were smaller that they were easy, either. They weren’t! ) If I pass this one, to HIS exacting and rigid standards, then I will be permitted to become HIS slave. No more concerns, except to serve HIM. No more decisions for me to make ever again. HE would do that. No more needs. HE would decide what they were and see to them. If I pass this test, I will be elevated to the status of sex slave to a man I have not yet even met! For the remainder of my days, I will serve HIM, please HIM, obey HIM. No limits, or restrictions, or safe words. I will be placing my entire being in HIS hands, and it will be HE who decides my fate.

   I’m sure that you’re asking yourself how I got here. How I arrived at this crucial point in my life. How did a twenty year old girl, barely out of her teen years reach this point of no return. (I know I’d be asking that if I was the one reading this). Well, the short answer is, I got here in a very roundabout fashion, that’s for sure! My journey, however, has been a long one, and it stretches back over many years. (Most of my life, if truth be told, and that’s what I’m aiming to tell. The truth, all of it, and nothing less. m’LORD requires that I do this as a part of “THE TEST”).

   I can date the starting point of my journey back to the age of about five or six, actually. I was the youngest of four, and the only girl. I was the brunt , the focal point, of much teasing and bullying from my older brothers and their friends as well. My mother had died in childbirth with me, so I was raised in an entirely male household. My father worked as a heavy equipment operator for a large construction company. They built highways, bridge overpasses, those sorts of things.

   Dad was great, and he worked very hard, but he had no clue at all about raising a girl. Dresses? Mary Janes? Ankle socks? Dolls? Not in our home. The boys all dressed like Dad. Flannel shirts and jeans in the winter, white t shirts and cut off worn out jeans the rest of the year. I wore their hand-me-downs, so i looked like them, and with my blond hair cropped short by Dad to save money, I looked like a boy until my body started to fill out in the eighth grade.

   We lived together on a small farm, ten acres, about six miles from the town, so it wasn’t too often that we got together with other kids to play. We made do, however, playing hide and seek, tag, cowboys and Indians, and other childhood games. We’d go ice skating on a nearby pond in the winter, and swimming and fishing there in the summer. Bobby, Jake, Tommy, and me, skinny dipping. Naked. Never gave as much as a thought to it back then. None of us did. Never was a sexual thing. They never touched me or did anything else to me. Just the way we grew up. I was quite accustomed to the sight of the male penis.

   I did have a favorite game, though, the one I loved the best, (the one I can trace my “needs” back to), and that was cowboys and Indians. I was usually the farmer’s daughter, or the settler’s daughter on a wagon train. When the Indians would attack, I was always captured, kidnaped, bound. All three of my elder brothers were quite proficient and imaginative with their techniques at binding me. Sometimes I would be tied to a tree. Other times my hands would be tied together with a rope, the end of which they would toss over a tree limb, so they could pull me up on the tips of my toes. Sometimes I would be staked out, spread eagle, on the ground, with my wrists and ankles lashed to stakes driven into the dirt.

   Again, I must make this clear to you, none of this was ever sexual. I was always fully clothed, as were my brothers. They might have their shirts off if it was a hot day, but other than that, we were all dressed. Sure, they would manhandle me during my “abductions” and when they would tie me up, but that was just part of making our role play seem more authentic. They never touched me where boys and girls are different. Yet, somehow, for some reason, unbeknownst to me back then, I always got strange and strong sensations when we played these games, whenever they would abduct me, and especially whenever they would tie me up. Odd sensations, tinglings between my legs. My face would flush. I would feel hot all over. My breath would get short and quick. Back then I just chalked it off to playing these games. Looking back now, however, I know of course, that I was really turned on by the helplessness of being totally at the mercy of the whims of others. These tinglings gradually, over the years, came to rule me. Drive me. Control my every thought.

   Bobby was the first one of us to stop playing. Right after he got his driver’s license. He and Dad fixed up an old car for him to use. Now we were a threesome. Bobby graduated high school and went right into the Marines, and Jake inherited the old junker. This left just Tommy and me. It wasn’t the same now, but Tommy was creative, and came up with some “variations” on our make believe play.

   I was thirteen now, and Tommy was seventeen. One afternoon, the summer before eighth grade, Tommy announced that I should be an Indian girl this time. A Princess daughter of the Tribal Chief. He would be a white captive of the tribe. We had never switched roles before, so I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do, and I         told him so.

   “I’ve been doing some reading in some history books about what really happened in those days,” Tommy told me. “First off, the Indians never let their prisoners keep their clothes.”

   “Really,” I asked, stunned. “You’re making this up,” I accused him.

   “No, he shot back emphatically. “It’s true. They didn’t. Also,” he added quickly. “Young Indian girls were always naked from the waist up.”

   “No they weren’t,” I countered, thinking he was teasing me.

   “Yes they were.”

   “Prove it,” I challenged him.

   Tommy showed me a book he had gotten from the library on Indian Tribes in the United States, and almost all of the drawings depicted the Indian girls topless, their small dark skinned breasts free and proud looking on their slim taut bodies.

   “Well,” I said, staring at the pictures, “I guess you’re right.’

   “I told you so, Sandy. So, do you want to play?”

   “Sure.”

   “Let’s go over to the pond,” he suggested. “Nobody will bother us over there.”

   Tommy grabbed some lengths of rope from the shed and we walked over to the pond, finding it deserted as usual.

   Without saying a word, Tommy stripped off his clothes, while I pulled my t shirt over my head. I hadn’t started wearing a bra yet, even though my breasts had developed well past the tiny bud stage. Nothing seemed strange or amiss. We had been swimming naked at the pond countless  times, so this still seemed normal to me.

   “Stake me out on the ground here,” Tommy said, as he laid down on his back. “In the sun.”

   I took some stout stakes that we had used before and using a heavy rock, I pounded them into the ground near his out stretched wrists and ankles. I wasn’t very good with the knots, though, because Tommy was able to slip them off very quickly, almost as soon as I would tie one. 

   “Let me show you how to do it,” he said, impatiently, after breaking free for the third time.

   He got up, and just as I was lying down where he had been, he stopped me, “Wait a minute, Sandy, you hafta be naked, remember?”

   “Oh yeah. Okay. I forgot,” I said. I stood up and undid my cut-offs. I slipped them and my white cotton briefs down around my ankles before stepping out of them and kicking them aside. Hair had just started to sprout that summer across my smooth mound.

   I laid down on the ground and stretched out my arms and legs towards the four stakes I had put in the ground. Tommy started with my wrists, securing them very tightly, before moving down to my ankles.

   He stood up to inspect his handiwork. “Now let me see you try and get out of that,” he dared me with a sinister smile.

   I pulled against the ropes to no avail. All that it seemed to do was make the knots get even tighter, making them chafe  against my skin. “I can’t get out, Tommy,” I assured him. “Show me how you did these knots and let me try it again on you.”

   “Not this time, Sandy,” he said, as he started to get dressed in front of me. “I never had any intension of playing the captured white man. I just wanted you to be the Indian native, naked. The way you should be.”

   “Wha........what?” I started to cry, suddenly very frightened.

   “The Indians would have left you like this for days, maybe even until you died. I’ll come back for you in a few hours or so. If you can get out of the ropes and escape, go ahead. Otherwise...........”  He scooped up my clothes and turned to leave, then, over his shoulder, he added, “Hope no one happens by and finds you like this! They’d be able to do anything they wanted with you.”

   “Tommy, please,” I begged him, shaking in fear. “Please don’t leave me here. Not like this. I’m scared.”

   “No way. You’re my prisoner, Sis, just like we’ve always played before. It’s just more authentic and realistic this way!”

   He left me. Alone. Naked. Arms pulled wide, legs open, in the brutal July sun. I pulled and struggled as hard as I could, but I couldn’t get free. It was then that I noticed something. The harder I pulled against the ropes, the more intense the sensations in my groin became. I stopped pulling at the stakes as the reality swept over me,.........I like this!”

   The more I thought about the possibility of someone coming along and finding me helpless like this, the more I thought about being discovered, the more helpless I felt. The more the sun beat down on me, burning me, drenching me in my sweat, the more turned on I became. Suddenly, I was overcome with a strong desire to touch myself between my legs. I had never felt that urge before, but it was strong and very clear, and quite undeniable. The need and urgency were unquestionable, but with my hands bound as they were, I was incapable of doing anything about it. The frustration was overwhelming. I kept trying to get a hand free, to scratch this new itch that welled up deep inside of me, but Tommy had been far too good with his knots for that.

   Time passed by quickly for me. What seemed like mere minutes had passed since Tommy had walked away and left me alone, when a shadow fell across my sun burned face. I opened my eyes to see my brother standing above me.                                                        

   “I thought so,” he smirked, his face an evil smile unlike any I had seen before. He looked down at my dusty sweat covered form. “You like this!”

   “I do not,” I protested, mortified that he somehow knew.

   “Oh yes you do. I can tell. Your pussy is dripping wet. There’s even a big ‘ole wet spot on the dirt between your legs. If you don’t like this so much, then I’d like you to tell me where’d that come from, huh?”

   “I.......I had to pee,” I said quickly, jumping at the first excuse that popped into my addled mind.

   “No you didn’t. You’re hot! You like being tied up. I always expected as much. Jake and Bobby did too. But this proves it. Wait till I tell them!”

   I screamed at him, denying it. Saying he was wrong, to untie me. Let me go. But all the while I knew he was right. I was pulling at the ropes frantically. But he was only half right. I not only liked it, I loved it!

   We played that game together a few more times, just the two of us. No more pretense about role playing anymore, though. Just Tommy tying me up, naked, and leaving me for hours at a time. He took me to the pond on a cold rainy afternoon that fall, and then once in December during a heavy snow storm, the harsh environment adding to my helplessness. I had long stopped my false protests. I enjoyed it. He knew it. I knew it. No more pretending. Tommy was just enabling me to learn more about my true self.                                                                

   It all stopped that January. Dad was killed in a construction accident. Jake had followed Bobby into the Marines, and Tommy joined the Army. Alone now, I was sent to live with my grandmother on my Mother’s side.

   An elderly widow, Grandma Jo had raised three daughters, one of whom I knew. My father and that side of the family could not be described as close. Mom was the youngest of the family, just as I had been.

   Grandma lived in a modest old ranch house with a detached two car garage, located in rural northwestern Connecticut. One side of the garage was where she parked her car. The other side was the workshop that my grandfather used. It had been set up well, as he was a more than competent handyman and tinkerer.

   Dad had left my siblings and me pretty well off, as he had had the foresight to take out a life insurance policy with a million dollar accidental death clause attached to it. Each of us received a quarter of a million dollars when the estate was settled. Bobby, Jake, and Tommy had each sent Grandma Jo $30,000 to help her with my care and up bringing. She had been living on a small pension and Social Security, so the addition of a teenage girl into her life was a big financial burden.

   I have to say, right away, in all due fairness, that Grandma Jo tried her best to make me feel welcome in her home. She helped me unpack my belongings when I arrived, and helped me fold and put my clothes in the closet of my bedroom. She even told me that this was the same room my Mother had grown up in.

   “What kind of clothes are these,” she asked me as she opened my suitcase?

   “They’re my clothes,”I snapped at her defensively, slamming my beaten up suitcase shut, narrowly missing catching her frail hand in it. Not sure of what she meant.

   “But these are all boy’s clothes,” she explained patiently, lifting the top of the suitcase again, patiently.  “Don’t you have any girl’s clothes?”

   “No,” I replied quietly, suddenly feeling very ashamed. “Th.....this is all I have.”

   Grandma Jo put her arm around me, comforting me, sensing my discomfort, as she said, “Well don’t you worry about it, Sandy. Once we get you all settled in here we’ll see that we get you some nice new clothes to wear!”

   She got me enrolled in the local junior high school, but she let me stay home the rest of that first week to give me more time to get used to my new, and permanent situation, before adding the challenge of a strange school and strange new kids. I basically just stayed in my room, alternating between sleeping and crying, venturing out just for meals. I felt so alone. So abandoned. Grandma hugged me a lot that week, and even though I understood how much she was trying to help me, comfort me, it really didn’t do any good at all.

   Friday afternoon, I heard a car pull into the driveway and come to a stop. I peeked through the curtains and saw a young woman getting out of the fancy looking red car. I was only able to catch a quick glimpse of her as she walked to the front door, but she was dressed really well, and she looked absolutely beautiful.

   I heard the doorbell ring, and heard Grandma Jo call out, “Come on in, Kendra, I’m in the kitchen.”

    “Hi Grandma Jo,” the woman said. I couldn’t hear any more of their conversation, as I had my bedroom door shut tight.

   About five minutes passed, and then there was a knock at my door, followed by, “Can I come in, Sandy?” It was Grandma Jo.

   I didn’t answer, and she didn’t wait for a reply, slowly turning the door handle and pushing it open enough to stick her head in through the crack. “Honey, there’s someone here I want you to meet. She’s your cousin. Her Mom and your Mom were sisters. Come on out here now and meet her.”

   “I don’t want to,” I said defiantly.

   “Sure you do,” she countered, as she walked over to my bed and took my hand. “She’s come a long way to meet you. The least you can do it be polite.”

   “Hi Sandy. I’m your cousin Kendra,” the woman said as we entered the small living room.

   “Hi,” I returned, eyeing her. She was beautiful! Long auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her face was done up like some model’s in a fashion magazine, with ruby red lipstick and eye shadow to highlight her sky blue eyes. She had a great figure and liked to show it off as well. She was wearing a very tight and very short spaghetti strap top that showed off her flat belly and left her pierced belly button exposed. She was wearing very tight designer blue jeans that looked like they had been spray painted on her long shapely legs and butt. Pointed high heels adorned her small feet.

   She grabbed me in a tight bear hug and said, “Welcome home, Sandy.”

   I didn’t reply, nor did I return the hug.

   “Kendra came to take you out shopping for new clothes, Sandy,” Grandma Jo announced excitedly. “As you can tell,” she smiled at Kendra, “She has a great eye for fashion!”

   I looked at my new found cousin again, and my head sank down. “I can’t l....look like her,” I protested. “I’m...........I’m ugly. Sh.........she’s.....beau.......beautiful.”

   “Your not ugly at all, Sandy,” Kendra jumped in, hugging me again. “You’re very pretty. We just need to show you how to bring our your best qualities is all. Besides, it’ll be fun getting to know each other. C’mon, what do you say?”

   “Huh?”

   “I’m taking you shopping! New Clothes, shoes, make-up......The works!”

   “I don’t want to,”I told her, but only half-heartedly.

   “Of course you do. C’mon.....I’ll even let you pick out where we got to eat!”

   She never gave me a chance to resound to that last sentence. Kendra bussed Grandma Jo on the cheek in a whirlwind and said, “We’ll be back before eleven.” Then she grabbed her coat and over sized black leather shoulder bag and tossed my coat to me, saying, “Let’s go, honey, The mall’s a-waiting!”

   I didn’t speak at all during the drive to the mall, but it didn’t seem to bother Kendra much, as she spoke more than enough for the both of us. I don’t remember most of what she was talking about, but I do recall, quite clearly, one of the things she brought up. She was talking about her Aunt, my Mother.

   “I remember your Mom,” she said, not taking her eyes from the road. “We used to get together a lot with your Mom and Dad and your brothers when I was little.

   “You know,” she continued, this time glancing over at me to see if I was listening to her,” This whole thing isn’t easy on Grandma Jo either. Your Mom’s death was really hard on her. She lost Grandpa the same year. And you look a lot like your Mom did when she was young. I remember seeing pictures of her as a kid on Grandma’s old piano. This is really tough for her, and I know its tough for you too, but try and cut her some slack. She’s really trying her best to make you feel at home now with her. She loves you.”

   I don’t remember what she said after that, I was crying too hard. Kendra had hit a nerve and a floodgate of emotion poured out through it. She let me cry it out the rest of the trip to the mall until she parked her car. Then she leaned over, handed me some tissues, and gave me a big hug. “We’re all here for you Sandy. You have to know that, and you have to let us help you get through this.”

   I cried some more, but held onto her very tight until I was cried out. Then Kendra pulled back and said, C’mon, let’s have some fun! We’ll start at the underwear shop,” she declared as we got out of the car and headed across the parking lot. “We’ll work from the ground up.”  

   The store was called “Fanzy Pantz”, and there were no other customers in it when we walked in. “Hi Franny,” Kendra called out to the girl, behind the counter.

  “Hey, Kendra,” she called back, looking up from some magazine. “How are you?”

   “Great, thanks. Hey, this is my cousin, Sandy. We’re here to get her started with a whole new wardrobe.”

   “Great, what do you need?”

   “What size are you,” Kendra asked me?

    “I....I don’t know”, I said, embarrassed.

   “You don’t,” Kendra asked? Then quickly catching herself, and putting her arm around me she added, “That’s okay.”

   “We’ll need you to get her measurements, Franny, before we start.”

   “Okay, Kendra. Why don’t you two go into the third dressing room, there’s more ‘room’ back there. (She put an odd inflection of the word room). “I’m waiting for Carol to get back from her dinner break, she’s due any minute, then I’ll come and help you two.”

   “Great, thanks,” Kendra said, taking my hand and leading me to the back of the store.

   “We just got a new line of co-ordinates in I think you’d be interested in,” Franny called out.

   “Ooh, that’s sounds like fun,” Kendra responded, turning to face the salesgirl. “I’d love to see them. You know me!”

   We walked into the dressing room and Kendra closed the door, saying, “Get undressed Sandy, and Franny will take some measurements to see what size you are.”

   Kendra immediately began to disrobe herself. In a fluid motion, her small tank top was over head and on lying on a wooden bench. She wore a skimpy pink lace demi-bra, the kind that pushed her breasts up high and out. I stood agog as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her smooth tanned long legs. She stepped out of them and stood up straight, showing her body to me. The underwear was the same pink as the bra, and was hardly more that a small triangular patch of material hardly hiding her mound. She placed her hands on her hips and said, “I lived in a sorority house  for four years, Sweetie, girls of all shapes and sizes everywhere. Believe me, I’ve seen it all. Now get undressed!”

   I undid the buttons on my worn flannel shirt and handed it to her, revealing a white cotton men’s tank top I wore underneath. Kendra’s eyes bore into me as she waited. The jeans were next, generic men’s jeans.

   I stood there, in my tank top and a pair of men’s white cotton briefs looking at Kendra. We were a study in contrasts.

   Franny opened the door at that moment, “I’ve got my tape measure and some things for you to try on Kendra,” she said. “Carol’s back to watch the shop, so we have as much time as we need,” she winked at Kendra.

   “Sounds great,” Kendra said, reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra.  Her breasts spilled from the dainty fabric, and I saw that she had jewelry in her nipples. I was stunned!

   “Ooh, are these new,” Franny asked, fingering the barbell with the chain looping under Kendra’s nipple. She tugged on the delicate chain a little and said, “I like them a lot. But I want you to check out the ones I’ve got, though!”

   Franny yanked her top off and tossed it to the floor. She was wearing no bra. Her nipples were encased in  cone shaped cages Each nipple had a barbell pierced through it, and the nipples had been pulled way up into the metal cages, so that the barbells held the nipples stretched out taut!

   “Oh my God, Franny,” Kendra said, astounded. “I adore them, they’re amazing! When did you get them?”

   “I got them a few weeks ago. I really love them but they’re really hard to get used to. I can still only wear them for a few hours a day before they hurt too much and I have to take them off.”

   I was struck dumb by my cousin and her friend. I had never seen any female breasts except my own before, and to see them with jewelry in them was too much.

   “Check this out,” Kendra said, turning her back to us, revealing a tattoo across the small of her back. She stepped out of her all but non-existent panties, stood up and turned back to face us, naked.  Her dark brown pubic hair was nothing more than a half inch wide vertical strip beginning at the top of her cleft, and extending about three inches up. She was smooth everywhere else. “Like it?”

   Franny bent over and felt the skin of Kendra’s mound. I was floored by her boldness.

   “Wow, and that’s after how many laser treatments?”

   “I’ve had it done three times now, once every two weeks. It really doesn’t grow back, Franny. No more stubble, errant or ingrown hairs. Nothing. When I get tired of this landing strip, I’ll probably have it all done and be bald for life!”

   They hugged each other for a moment, and then Kendra said, “Why don’t you get Sandy’s measurements while I try on these neat things you brought in.”

   “Okay,” Franny said, breaking the embrace. Then to me, “Let’s lose that shirt and pants, Sandy. I need to get good measurements so I’ll know what to bring in for you to try on.”

   I was so out of it fm all I had seen, that I robotically complied, removing my t shirt and briefs, even going so far as to take off my sneakers and socks.

   “You’d better practice what you preach, Kendra,” Franny said, looking at my pubic hair. (By then, it had completely covered my mound, spreading out high and wide. I never knew about shaving my legs, so they were also covered in hair, ankles to hips.

   “We just met, Franny. I’ll take care of her. Just get some measurements, and write them down, okay, please,  it’ll save us time at the other stores we have to hit tonight.”

   “Okay.”

   Franny ran her tape measure around me quickly, calling out, “She’s a 33B, waist 22, hips 26. I’ve got a lot of outfits that’ll be cute on you, Sandy,” she said. “What colors do you like?”        

   “I ...I don’t know,” I replied, still not over all I had just seen. “R....red’s my favorite one, I guess.”

   “Okay, I’ll be back in a jif, you wait here with Kendra.” Franny pulled her top back on and disappeared. I turned to watch my cousin trying on bras and panties. Each one sexier and more revealing than the last.

   “Isn’t this fun?” Kendra asked. She was facing me in an incredibly sexy matching purple and blue bra and panties, all lacy, minuscule, and exposing much of her fabulous body. “What do you think of this set? I love it,” she confessed, before I had a chance to answer her rhetorical question.

   Franny returned a few minutes later with many sets of bras, panties, things, teddies, camisoles; some in matching sets, and some as separates.

   Franny and Kendra gave me their undivided attention as I tried each and every one of the items on. I picked a few things I liked, and Kendra selected many more items to the ones we would take.

   Before she got dressed again, Kendra and Franny kissed, long and hard, mouths open, hands roaming each other’s bodies.

   At the check out counter, Franny rang it all up, including a few things Kendra picked up for herself. I was astounded when I saw the register total at $447. Sensing my shock, Kendra said, “Don’t you worry about the money. It’s all taken care of.”

   She grabbed a shopping bag and I grabbed one, and we were off. A boutique was next on her agenda for jeans, tops, skirts, sweats, shoes, sneakers, and boots. Everything I tried on fit like Kendra’s clothes, tightly sculpting my body, revealing what was beneath. Three pairs of sweat pants, in lavender, pink, and white, had the word “WET” embroidered across the butt. “These are hot,” Kendra declared as I modeled them, naked underneath. The bill in that one store was over $1200, and we had to make a trip to the car to stow all the clothes before going back into the mall for some food.

   We ate dinner at a Chinese place at the food court. “So what do you think, Sandy?” Kendra asked. “Having fun?”

   “Yes, thank you, I really am.”

   “I was just thinking,” she mused, “Do you have a computer, because I know Grandma Jo doesn’t have one, and you’ll really need one for school work and keeping in touch with people with emails and tweets.”

    “No. I don’t. We didn’t have one at home, but I’m pretty sure Bobby and Jake each have one.” I fell silent for a minute. “C...can I ask you something?” I half whispered.

   “Sure,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “No secrets between us, cousin.”

   “Are you.............” The silence was deafening.

    “Lesbian?” she finished the question for me, not seeming the least bit put off by the question.

   My head dropped in embarrassment.

    “No. I’m not strictly lesbian. I’m bi-sexual. That’s the best of both worlds. I like woman and men, equally.”

   I didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then I asked, “Did it hurt to get the........the jewelry in....in  your...........”

   “Nipples?”

   “Y...yes.”

   “Yes. It hurt. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t, but the tattoo hurt much more. The nipple piercing is quick, like having your ears done. A little sting, then it’s over. The belly button hurt too, and took a while to heal.”

   I didn’t say anything.

   “If you’re thinking about doing it, Sandy, you’re too young. You need to wait until you’re older. We could get your ears done while we’re here. That would be fine. Your belly button too, if you want. But nothing in your nipples or down below, okay?”

   It took a minute to sink in. “You mean I can get my ears and belly button pierced? Tonight?”

   “Sure. There’s lot’s of places here at the mall that do it, although Franny would be the one I’d suggest, as she does lot’s of them. We could select some starter pieces and go back and let her do you, if you want.”

   I felt that special tingle starting to build up between my legs as I thought about getting pierced, and said, “Could we? Please?”

    “Sure, it’s easy. But first I think we need to get you a computer for home. I’ll text Franny and tell her our plans so she can expect us later.

    After we finished eating, Kendra took me to a few more stores to get cosmetics, jewelry, a computer, and to select some starter jewelry for my ears and belly button. That done,  we ran back to “Fanzy Panz” and got there just before it closed.

   “Looks like we made it just in time, Franny,” Kendra said

   “I’m just closing up, Kendra, I got your text, but wasn’t sure what you meant, what do you need?”

 

   “Sandy wants to get her ears and naval pierced, and I don’t want to take a chance with some of those kids in the mall kiosks doing it.”

   “It’s closing time, Kendra,” she paused for a few seconds, and then with a conspiratorial looking smile she added, “So what’s it worth to you?”

   Kendra smiled back at her, knowingly, “Well, what, exactly,  do you have in mind, Franny? A little tit for tat, so to speak? One hand washes the other?”

   “I’ll pierce her ears and belly button in exchange for a nice long tongue lashing from you, ........

while Sandy watches us!”

   “It’s okay with me,” Kendra agreed quickly. “Is that okay with you too, Sandy?”

   “I....I guess so,” I replied, not too sure about what was going on, but I could feel wetness building in my groin, so I didn’t object.

   “One other thing, though,” she added quickly, before letting us in under the roll down gate, “I want you both to be naked the whole time!”

    “It’s a deal, but I then want something else in return as well ,” Kendra countered quickly..

   “What’s that?”

       

   “You have to trim up Sandy’s bush first, nice and neat, and shape it up as well. Also, I want you to show her how to properly shave her pits and legs! Then I’ll see to all your needs, Baby, nice and slowly, just the way you like it. ”

   “You got it, Sweetie,” Franny readily agreed.  “C’mon in and go in the back and get yourselves comfortable. I’ll just kill the lights out here so we don’t have to worry about any of those dorky mall rent-a-cops looking in on us while we all have a little fun.”

   Kendra and I headed back to the same dressing room as before and took all our clothes off. This time there was no hesitation or shame on my part. My crotch was actually on fire, with the same strong sensations I used to feel many months ago when Tommy used to tie me up naked.

   Franny joined as, bringing a reclining chair with her. “Get in the chair and spread your legs, Cutie Pie,” she said to me, as she started getting undressed as well.

   Franny knelt between my wide spread legs, and using a comb and scissors first, she trimmed my entire pubic bush very short. Then, very deftly, with a razor, she sculpted  the shortened hair into a heart shape.

   “You’re loving this attention, aren’t you honey?,” Franny laughed.

   “Wh....what do you mean,” I stammered, my face going flush.

   “You’re soaking wet down here! Smells nice and ripe too.”

   “Hey,” Kendra butted in. “She’s only thirteen.  Just trim that bush up and then pierce her belly button and ears. I’ll see to your needs, Franny”

   “Okay, okay. Just making an observation is all.  Don’t shoot the messenger....”

   Franny finished up with my pubic hair and then stood up. “ I’ll teach you how to shave your pits first, then your legs.”

    She lathered me up and instructed me how to use the razor, which direction to go, keeping it clean. She did one of my pits and then she watched while I did the other. We did the same thing with my legs, she doing one, and instructing while I did the other. “If you do this every few days it’s a lot easier than when it gets too long,” she told me. “ Now,  We’ll pierce your ears first. You have some starter studs?”

   “Right here,” Kendra said, handing a small paper bag to her.

   Franny cleaned the studs and my ear lobes with alcohol and then pierced them. It really didn’t hurt at all. Quick burning sensation, and then nothing. Franny set the studs and handed me a mirror to have a look. A smile broke out across my face, the first in a long time.

    The belly button piercing hurt more, quite a lot, but I loved how it looked, and couldn’t wait to get different jewelry for when it was all healed up.

   I got up from the chair and was replaced by Franny, who willingly opened her legs wide to Kendra. True to her word, Kendra knelt between the smooth legs, rubbing them gently from calf to hip, and lowered her head into Franny’s pussy. I had never seen this before, and somehow, instinctively, my hand found my own pussy and began rubbing.

   I was transfixed and yet at the same time, I was lost in the sweet warm tingling feelings deep inside me as my fingers pinched and caressed my clit. I came, for the first time in my young life, I came, and cried out as I did, which caused Kendra to stop what she was doing at look up. I also broke Franny’s reverie as she opened her eyes to see what was happening. I was instantly ashamed, but the two of them just smiled knowingly, and went back to what they were doing, as if I didn’t exist. Within a matter of two minutes, my hand was back in my own sweet moisture, and I was doing myself again.

   Franny was moaning and writing to Kendra’s skilled talents with her tongue, while she flicked the pulled on the nipple cages herself.

  I came three more times before Kendra finally brought Franny off.

   On the way home to Grandma Jo’s, Kendra said, “So, Sandy, did you have a good time at the mall?”

  

   I smiled and said, “The best time of my life. I hope we get to do it again sometime really really soon! Thank you so much!” I leaned over and kissed Kendra on the cheek.

   When I started school that Monday, I was a completely different person than I had been back home. I wore the tightest white cotton top, with a lacy black push up bra underneath, and a pair of form fitting black sweats with that “Wet” logo across my backside. I’m not sure what first impressions I made with all the teachers kids, but I’m sure they formed them quickly.

  

    

  

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

TESTED BY LOThAR

Chapter 2 - EXPERIENCINGS

By: Charles E. Campbell

   About a month after moving in with Grandma Jo, she became confident that I was suitably acclimated to my new home. It was about this time that she began to resume some of her old activities and routines from before I arrived, which included twice weekly Bingo nights. Tuesdays was the fire house, and Thursdays was the Legion Hall. A strict, disciplined, and superstitious player, she always sat in the same seat, always played eight cards per game, always brought along her own tikis charms for luck, and always wore the same green scarf around her neck She never drove, the same friend always picked her up, 6:15 on the dot, and brought her back home again a little past 10:30.

   I looked forward to these two evenings alone each week. I had made exactly zero friends at school, fitting in like the proverbial square peg in the round hole. It mattered little to me, though, as the computer Kendra had insisted on getting for me had opened up an entire world of new dimensions that set my crotch on fire and brought on waves of intense tinglings deep inside of me!  One misplaced keystroke a week after I got it had brought me into a world I never knew existed, with women tied up, bound in chains and shakles, hogtied, trussed, whipped, flogged, exhibited, and generally pictured in situations that fueled my own fantasies 24/7. That first night, I stealthily stayed up past 2:00AM studying the stills and videos I had discovered. A few months shy of 14, one might presuppose I would be mortified, frightened, or disgusted, when in reality the direct opposite was true, I was elated, excited, and extremely jealous of the women I had found. I wanted it to be me that was forced to be naked, tied up, whipped, and tortured, and filmed! For all to see!

  I had found the site on a Saturday afternoon while doing homework, (I got very little homework done after that!), so I had a little more than three days for my mind to dream up scenarios, plans, and rules for my subsequent visits on the evenings when I would be alone..I came  up with very simple ideas in the beginning, easy and basic, but growing ever more elaborate, strict, harsh, and demanding as the weeks and months went by.

    The first Tuesday after I located the website, I anxiously anticipated Grandma Jo’s departure for Bingo, and the four whole hours it would provide for me to explore the site and what it was unlocking deep within me. Something inside me told me that I had to earn the privilege of visiting the site, and that certain rules would be placed upon me. The first rule I instituted for myself was that I had to be naked the whole time whenever I did this. The entire time. No shoes even. The second rule was that I had to leave the lights on in the house. Grandma Jo had a thing for leaving all the lights on whenever she went out, and I adopted that as rule #2.

   After about two weeks into my web surfing activities, visiting countless sites, I got the idea to try and act out some of the scenarios I was finding on the various sites. After Grandma Jo had left, I took off my clothes and headed for the basement to see what sorts of things I might find to make my “Special Nights,” as I now called them, more special. I was somewhat disappointed in that the only things I could find down there was some clothesline and clothes pins. I headed back to my room and clipped some clothes pins on my nipples and pussy lips before trying to tie my hands together. My knot tying skills had not improved at all over time.

   I was sitting in a swivel chair at my desk, feet up on either side of the computer monitor, tied hands burrowed deep in my pussy watching a women hanging from her wrists as she was being whipped by two men at the same time, one in front, one from behind. Her screams and the angry red welts on her body told mer this was real, not staged, and it had my pussy soaked and the tinglings at full tilt. Suddenly, Grandpa’s garage workshop popped into my head. I pressed pause on the keyboard, and headed for the kitchen door. It’s about twenty feet from the kitchen door to the side door of the garage. I was about to get dressed when I remembered my primary rule about nudity. I started to shake a little, but I felt the tinglings deep inside which was more and more becoming my guiding force, leading me, directing me, pushing me, making decisions for me. Taking a long deep calming breath, I opened the kitchen door and walked, I did not run or even jog, to the garage door, and went in. Immediately my eyes beheld a treasure trove of possibilities. Overhead beams for suspension, tools, hardware, lengths of chain, sawhorses, all sorts of things I had been looking at on the websites now lay at my disposal. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know where to begin. I touched myself and exploded in a mind numbing orgasm, the most intense I had ever experienced. The strange thing is, it did almost nothing to quell the tinglings. And, on top of that, I felt a strong urge to punish myself for cumming so quickly. So I instituted a third rule right there at that moment: if ever I cum before a pre-ordained time, I must punish myself harshly and quickly to atone for my pleasing myself and to remind me that my own pleasure is secondary to my suffering.

   Looking around the workshop, I saw a plastic cabinet with lots of small drawers mounted to the wall near the work bench. Each drawer was labeled with it’s contents. I walked over to it and opened the drawer which read “Carpet Tacks.” Pulling open the drawer, I saw hundreds of sharp black tacks inside. Spilling them on the top of the bench, I knew what I had to do. Folding my hands behind my back, I leaned over and pressed my breasts into the tacks. It hurt! It hurt so bad! But I did not stand up. Rather, I steeled myself and leaned harder onto the bench and began to rub my chest around on the filthy surface and tacks. Tears fell from my eyes, but I didn’t stop until I looked and saw blood on the bench top. Standing up slowly, dozens of tacks remained imbedded in the soft, bloody, tender skin, I felt proud of myself for having endured my punishment. The tinglings were even stronger. With one hand, I rubbed the tacks that were in my breasts, and with the other, I brought myself off again.

   I straightened up the workshop and went back to the house to take a shower. My breasts were covered in red marks from the tacks and they were sore to the touch, but I was in heaven. Cloud nine. Happier and more contented than I had ever been before. Dressed in my pajamas, I sat down and started typing up a list of items I wanted to search for, along with some things I would need to make in Grandpa’s shop.  I started a second list of things I had seen women forced to endure in the pictures and videos on the bdsm sites that I wanted to try myself. I also decided to begin to visit websites that dealt with knot tying. It was important that I develop that as a primary skill. A third list was for safety, how to get out of whatever situations I placed myself in. I decided that I would expand these three lists during the evenings when Grandma was home, and I would explore the things on the lists when she was out.

   The list of things I wanted to try grew very quickly, as virtually every time I visited a bdsm site, I saw something new and exciting. My skills at knot tying went from non-existent to proficient to expert as I practiced every night, learning all sorts of knots and their applications.

   I can’t remember each and every “Special Night,” of course, but there were many of them that stand out in my memory. Many of the things I tried were total failures at first, but improved and evolved over time as I adapted and modified what I had on hand to fit my needs. The saw horse wooden pony is a case in point. Having stumbled on one on the net, I immediately knew I had to ride one, and Grandpa’s well worn sawhorses seemed the perfect vehicle.

   The first chance I had to try them left me utterly disappointed. They were far too short, forcing me to have to bend my knees to lower myself on them, and even when I did, it wasn’t hardly uncomfortable, let alone painful. More searching on the net, combined with a little experimentation over a few days,  however, and I had made a first class torture device for myself.

   Addressing the problem of the height was easy, I just set the sawhorse higher up on some old planks. This forced me to stand on tip toe whenever  I was astride the beam. Making the beam less comfortable was harder, but solvable. Using a rust covered block plane, I had found in a tool box, I methodically shaped the flat top of the beam into a sharp “V.” This new shape would cause the wedge to get well up inside my slit, while at the same time concentrating more of my weight on that sensitive area.

   Finding a way to make me lower myself from my tip toes down onto the sharp edge took a bit more thinking, but after a few days I conquered that problem as well. I nailed a short length of some 2 X 2 to a board which I could slide under the saw horse. Then, with my block plane, I honed the edge on that as well. My bare feet wouldn’t be able to take standing on that for very long, which would force me to lower my pussy onto the unforgiving wooden pony.

   The first time I tried it out with all these modification, I was extremely excited, but I was only able to ride it for a few moments before the intense pain overwhelmed me and I pushed myself up off it with my hands. Disappointed with myself, I resolved to try it again, only this time with my hands bound behind my back. I employed a slip knot that does release, but at the same time, it is hard to get it to come apart, especially when it’s behind my back and I can’t see what I’m doing.

   Standing on my tip toes, hands tightly tied behind me, fear began to grip me. My feet hurt, and I was quaking, muscles aching, as I fought to prevent being split open on the wooden pony. When I could stand it no more, my knees buckled and I dropped onto the beam. I yelped in pain as the full weight of my body rested on that sharpened edge that was now deep inside me. Instinctively, my feet started feeling for the board I had stood on before, but the tinglings took command of my self preservation senses and  not only wouldn’t allow me to stand back on it, I actually made myself kick at the board, knocking it far out of reach, leaving me on the pony, legs flailing, unable to find purchase.

   The pain was unbearable, far worse than I had ever experienced, or could have imagined it would be. I was crying freely, whimpering, and yet somehow, I began to concentrate on the tinglings deep within me and I relaxed a bit, focusing on my pain and suffering, and how proud I felt at offering myself like this. I don’t know if it was an endorphin rush, but I steeled myself, gritting my teeth, and I sentenced myself to remain where I was for ten whole minutes, as punishment for taking so long to offer myself like this.  There was an old clock in the shop, long broken, something I mentally added to my list, so i slowly counted down the seconds. About two minutes into it, I was consumed by an orgasm. I sentenced myself to the tacks on the workbench as penance for the grievous offense of cumming without permission.

   I actually came two more times before undoing the knots and gently extracting myself from the pony. There was blood on the sharpened edge of the pony when I got off and was standing on the cold concrete floor.

   One of my favorite nights was the first time I was able to hang myself by my wrists. It wasn’t all that difficult to plan out, the hardest part was deciding on a foolproof way of safely extracting myself from the suspension. My knot tying skills would be put to the test this time I knew.

   I had located some heavy duty screw hooks in one of the workbench drawers. I measured how far apart my outstretched arms were from wrist to wrist, and using a step ladder, I screwed the hooks into one of the overhead joists in the garage, about eight feet off the floor. I set a third,  smaller hook, in the joist right in the middle of the other two. Using two lengths of rope, I bound first my ankles together, and then I tied my legs together just above my knees. (I had to undo the ropes when it dawned on me that I couldn’t climb the step ladder like that!).

   I climbed up the ladder a few steps and retied my ankles and knees. Next I fashioned a knot with a loop in it for my left wrist. I did the same for my right wrist, but for this one, there was a release pull, which I first looped through the middle hook, so the release would dangle in front of my mouth. Lastly, I slipped the rope loop tied to my left wrist over the metal hook and followed suit with the right wrist. Making one last check of the release rope, I started wiggling the ladder until it fell down and I was left hanging by my wide spread wrists, my feet about three feet from the floor.

   The pressure in my shoulders, arm pits and wrists seemed to increase by the second as my entire body weight was suspended by the rough ropes cutting into my wrists. I looked up at my hands and saw that they had gone from pink to dark red very quickly as the circulation was cut off to my hands. My eyes fixated on the release rope dangling a few inches in front of my mouth. All I needed to do was lean forward a bit, grab the rope between my teeth and pull, and my right hand would be free. It was at that moment that I realized that the tinglings didn’t come. I had no sensations in my pussy at all. I was in pain, bound, and yet something was wrong. I tried squirming, crying, but nothing worked. Dejected, I grabbed the rope between my teeth and undid the slip knot. I reached up and pulled myself up a bit on the joist so I could slip the rope on my left wrist off the hook, and jump to the floor.

   I glanced at the clock I had stashed in the garage and knew I had to straighten up soon before Grandma Jo would be home. It was while I was squaring everything away that it hit me. I instantly knew why the tinglings didn’t come. Thinking back to playing with Tommy, it was the helplessness that was missing. Surrendering myself was part of it, (even though it was as easy part for me). Pain was part of it as well, but helplessness was integral. The release rope was too easy. Too convenient. In the back of my mind I knew I wasn’t helpless. The next time, I vowed, I would make it so escape was possible, but would have to be difficult, maybe even painful. I would need to earn my escape, or risk detection.

    Looking back now, I know this realization was a major step in my escalation to getting where I am today. The next time I hung. myself from the joist I used no slip knots, no release rope. I had to pull myself up on my chaffed and bruised wrists and lift the rope off the hook. It was excruciating, and arduous, taking many failed attempts before I was successful, but the tinglings were more overpowering than ever before, and I actually came multiple times as I pulled with my arms trying to free myself and escape.

   About fifteen months after moving in with Grandma Jo, my breasts had swelled to their current dimensions, 38C. (I had made many trips back to “Fancy Panz,” both alone by cab, with Grandma Jo, and with Kendra a few times as well, as I rapidly outgrew my bras). My waist was still a very narrow 22 inches, and my hips hadn’t flared past 26 inches, (they never did fill out. A great “pre-pubescent little girl” look, but bad for birthing). My breasts had become quite the object of stares and behind the back rude comments at school, and so, through my tinglings, I felt it high time I paid attention to them as well. After all, didn’t they deserve it, poking out like they did, drawing eyes to them all the time? They needed to be frequently punished.

   I found a pair of Grandpa’s heavy clamps, the old fashioned wooden ones with two twist handles for keeping even pressure when using them for furniture building.  Using “C” clamps, I clamped them to the workbench, and inserted my breasts. Alternating between twisting the front handle and back, left breast and right, I crushed my breasts between the massive jaws. The tinglings came, but not intense. I knew I needed to do more, offer more, to keep the tinglings happy, satisfied with my sacrifices to them.

   I undid the clamps, (the painful rush of blood re-circulating into the tender flesh always hurt far more than the act of squeezing them in the clamps). Heading back to the bouse, naked of course, I found some doubled sided tape, which I then applied to the jaws of the clamps. I swept up some ancient debris in the shop and picked out odd bits of wire, clumps of solder, small pieces of broken glass, rough chips of wood, small pebbles, nuts, and other coarse materials, which I dropped onto the sticky tape. Now, both the top and bottom jaws of the clamps were covered in tingling inducing bits.

   As I began to place my breasts in the open jaws, the tinglings came on with a surge deep within me. Penance was being served. I was dutifully offering myself up to my demons, and they were pleased,  satisfied with my acts of contrition. I started the sequence of tightening the clamps, alternating and could immediately feel the glass, stone, metal, and wood cutting into my soft tender skin. I watched with a sense of detached fascination as my breasts went from pale milky white to pink, then red and on to purple. Veins pushed up angrily to the skin, nipples and areolas forced forward as the clamps slowly crushed my orbs in their relentless jaws.

    With no touching of my pussy, I started to shake in a mind blowing cum. I tried to hold it in check, but the tinglings were too much for me. I made a mental note to punish myself for this severe infraction of my rules, as I twisted the handles even more. When I couldn’t turn them any further, I was crying freely from the pain in my crushed chest, but I promised myself out loud, (something I now did all the time on my “Special Nights,” talk to myself out loud), that I would remain clamped like this for a full twenty minutes.

   When the sentence was served, and I undid the clamps, I looked down at my now mangled breasts. Pieces of metal, glass and wood were deeply imbedded in them, blood streaming from multiple stab wounds and lacerations. I had to use tweezers to get most of the glass and metal out. The wounds took a long time to heal, and some of them turned into pink scars dotted across the fair white skin. I look at them today as I did back then, as a source of tremendous pride.  The tinglings were duly impressed with my level of self sacrifice.

   In May of 9th grade, a new girl started showing up at the school bus stop. She was about my age, Hispanic, short, and morbidly obese. Her black hair was stringy and oily, her clothes a size or two too small and worn, (hand me downs, I knew them all too well), and her English was cloaked in a thick accent. Her name was Carmelita. She sat alone on the bus, as I still did, and no one talked to her or even approached her. ( We had that in common).

   About the third day, after getting off the bus, she dropped her book bag. I bent down to get it for her, and introduced myself to her, “”I’m Sandy,” I said, handing her the bag.

   “Gracias, Sandy,” she said, the caught herself, “Thank you, Sandy. I’m Carmelita.”

   She had a meek low pitched voice.

   “Where are you from,” I asked, as we walked down the street.

   “We just moved here from San Juan, that’s in Puerto Rico,” she added.

   “Oh, well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I said. “What grade are you in?”

   “9th grade,” she said, “But I have, what do you say, extra help with the reading because my English it’s not so good yet.

   “Which grade are you in?” she asked.

   “9th.”

   We had reached Grandma Jo’s house by then, so we said good bye and I watched as she went on down the street to the three family house at the end of the block. Then I headed inside to get my homework done before trolling the porn sites on my computer.

   Within a week, we were sitting together on the bus. I could hear the comments about the “slut and the wetback” from the rear of the bus. Didn’t bother me in the slightest, though, I had learned from the net by then that I was a slut, a pain slut, and I was immensely proud of it, beaming with pride whenever a classmate would say it. I only wished they had the guts to say it to my face, out loud, not behind my back or under their breath. I wanted, actually, I needed to hear it.

   Summer came, and school let out. I hung out with Carmelita a few days a week. We were a study in contrasts, the two of us. I stood 5' 7", while she topped off at 4' 10". Me thin as a rail, except for my chest, while she looked like the dough boy, with fat arms, thighs that rubbed from knee to crotch when she walked, and stomach rolls that made her breasts unidentifiable.

   There were similarities which did bring us together, however.  Carmelita was sent here to live with her aunt, her mother’s sister, when both her parents ended up in jail on drug charges back in Puerto Rico. Her aunt wasn’t financially able to handle the burden of a teenage addition to her single parent household, what with her two small children and non-existent spouse. So she too was really alone in a new place, living with strangers, and not accepted at school.

   One Tuesday, I remember it clearly, over supper I was mentally going through my list of things I wanted to do after Grandma Jo left for bingo, when I got the tinglings thinking about inviting Carmelta over after Grandma Jo left for her bingo. The more I thought about it, the more overpowering and intense the tinglings became. I knew I had no choice, I had to obey, and do it.

   Deciding to make it somewhat above board, I asked Grandma Jo if I could invite Carmelita over to watch some movies and maybe spend the night. She readily agreed, as I had never had anyone over to the house since moving in. I called Carmelita right away and asked if she would like to come over for movies and a sleep over, and even added that it would be a “Special Night.” Her aunt agreed, also happy she had made a friend in the neighborhood. I told her to stop by at 7:00. I wanted time to prepare myself.

   Grandma Jo left at 6:15 as usual, and I set about getting ready for my visitor. I showered, washed my hair, shaved my pits, legs, pussy, ( I had given up on Franny’s heart shape coif months before, preferring the totally bald look), and ass hole. I went out to the work shop to gather together the things I would need to carry out my plans. The tinglings were quickly building in anticipation of Carmelita’s arrival. I was consumed by their directions.

   About ten minutes after 7:00, I heard the front doorbell ring. Taking a deep breath, I walked to the door and opened it, acting like nothing was amiss. Carmelita’s mouth dropped open, and she stammered, “I’m so sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you said 7:00. I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

   I reached out and took the back pack she had with her, and smiled, saying, “I am ready, Carmelita. I am ready.”

   “B....but you’re not dressed, Sandy. I can go home and come back after you get dressed.”

   “I’m never dressed in the house,” I explained quickly. “I have a steadfast rule that whenever my Grandma Jo isn’t home, I have to be naked. I like it that way. I’m even naked when she is home, but I stay in my room then.”

   I turned my back on her and said, “C’mon in, I’m gonna take your things up to my room.”

   When I got back downstairs, Carmelita had barely made it into the living room. She stared at my exposed body and said, “Don’t you feel funny being naked?”

   “Nope. Not at all. In fact, if I could have my way, I would never wear clothes. I want to be naked all the time. Everywhere. It’s how I’m supposed to be.”

    She was still very uneasy about the situation. “C’mon, Carmelita. We’re both girls. You don’t have to feel funny.” I decided right then that if I was ever going to be able to include her in my list of things to do, that I would have to go slower.

   We settled down, watched a movie, ate some popcorn, and relaxed in my room. Every so often, out of the corner of my eye, I would catch her looking at my nude body. I didn’t show her the workshop. I didn’t show her any websites. I didn’t talk to her about any of it either. I decided to wait and see if I could get her to come back the next week for another sleep over, rationalizing that if she did, then it meant she was somewhat accepting of my nudity, and she might, therefore, be open to helping me explore some of the things on my list.

   I was correct in my assessment. The following Tuesday, I invited her to sleep over on Thursday night, and without any hesitations, she accepted, right away. “I won’t be wearing clothes, Carmelita,” I added, reminding her, testing her.

   The phone was silent for a few seconds, and then she said, “I know. That’s okay. I don’t mind, Sandy. That’s what you like.”

   I didn’t spring anything on her that week, or even the following week. She seemed less and less concerned with my nudity each time she visited. We would just watch a movie, chat about our favorite television shows, and movies, things like that.

   When she accepted an invitation for the fourth sleep over was when I decided it was now time to involve her in my secret life. There wasn’t really any question about how to broach the subject, as I had been plotting and planning it for a few weeks by then. The Tuesday evening before the sleep over, I pushed myself a bit harder than usual, (I was generously rewarded by the tinglings for my efforts, however, cumming many times, which made it all the more worthwhile.

   I used the old wood clamps with the glass and metal still stuck to the jaws and crushed my breasts between them. Then I hung myself by my wrists from the hooks in the joists, no slip knots or releases. I had to pull myself up off the hooks to escape. I challenged myself to hang for thirty minutes.

 

    It was so hard to carry out. The tinglings helped me prevail. Tiny streams of blood trailed down my stomach and legs from my wounded breasts. I could even feel it dripping to the floor from my right foot. But when it was through, and I was finished, my breasts were battered and bruised, covered in cuts and angry red puncture wounds, which would not disappear before Thursday night. Carmelita would not be able to avoid seeing them, and I would be forced  to explain myself to her. To out myself, expose to her that I was a pain slut.

   Thursday evening came, Grandma Jo left for bingo, and I showered, shaved and got ready, the tinglings already driving me crazy. I looked myself over in the mirror, studying the many cuts and red marks covering my still sore breasts. I smiled at the reflection, pleased with myself, with what I saw, with what I was about to do. I promised myself right then, in the mirror, out loud, that if I was successful, I would reward myself with multiple cums tonight, in front of Carmelita.  But, if it was a failure, if I chased Carmelita away, then I would be forced to punish myself very severely, even permanently marking myself in some not yet determined fashion. That mark serving the purpose of forever reminding me of my abject failure.

   The doorbell rang a few minutes before 7:00, which I interpreted as indicative of her eagerness to come over, be with me, even in my nakedness. The front door was open, just the screen door was closed. I waved to her from the living room just my hand visible, and called out, “C’mon in, Carmelita. I’m in my room.”

   “Okay,” she said. I heard the screen door close.

   I heard the screen door close, as I waited nervously, seated on my bed, my palms sweaty. My heart racing.

   Carmelita came into my room with a big smile across her face, which instantly vanished when her eyes beheld the condition of my breasts. “Jesus e Maria,” she exclaimed, “Wh.....what happened, Sandy? Did you get in an accident? Are you alright?”

   She didn’t come any closer to me, however fear gripping her, keeping her immobile in my doorway, eyes wide.

   “No, Carmelita. I wasn’t in an accident. I..........” I trailed off, suddenly realizing it was a huge mistake to have done this. What in God’s name was I thinking? She’s going to run right out and tell her Aunt, who would then in turn tell my Grandmother.

    “What happened,” she pressed me, making my mind focus a little, slowly coming into my tiny room.        

   She set her backpack down on the floor, and sat next to me on my bed. She took my hand and held it in both of hers. “Tell me what happened. We’re friends, you can tell me. That’s what friends are for, Sandy.”

   “Okay,” I whispered, my stomach doing flip flops.  “I didn’t have an.......an.... ac....accident,” I stuttered. “I..........I .......I did this to myself.”

   “Wh.....what?” she said, squeezing my hand in hers, obviously startled, dumbfounded, confused.  “What do you mean?”

    “It’s not easy to explain. I’ve.....I’ve never told anyone, before. No one. I sometimes get these urges, these tinglings I call them, deep down inside of me, I’ve had them for years, an......and I, I..............the only way I,....I  c....can s.......satisfy them.....is.. t........d.......do ....... things to myself.”

   She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she didn’t understand what I was trying to say to her.

   “Let me show you,” I said. Getting up off the bed. I hit a few keys on my computer and brought up a bdsm video I had all ready cued up. It was not the most intense one I have, for sure, but it wasn’t a mild vanilla faked one either, no California crap. This was German.  It was real. The women was tied with her arms stretched out between two poles set firmly in the ground. It was a bright sunny day and she was outdoors.  She was naked, and her skin indicated that she had been left in the broiling sun for quite some length of time. After a few minutes, a man appeared next to her. He fondled her all over, roughly, slapping her face, ass, and breasts repeatedly, and quite hard. Then he used a cane on her, concentrating on her thighs, belly and breasts. Her screams were real, the welts and cuts on her sunburned skin were real. The blood was real.

   We watched for about ten minutes, Carmelita never taking her eyes away from the screen the entire time.

   When it was over, she got up and stood right in front of me, looking up into my eyes, she said, “You like this? These things they do on the film? You like this things,” her accent had suddenly gotten thicker.

   “Yes, yes I do, I answered her softly, my head down.

   “And you do some of these things to yourself?”

   “Yes.”

   She didn’t answer, she looked at my face, and then lowered her eyes to my battered breasts, studying them.

    “I’d like.......I’d..............can, can I sh....show you,” I asked?

   “You want me to watch you?”

   “Yes. I need you to see me, to...............”

   “To what?”

    “To.......to help me do things.....that I can’t do alone.”

   She looked at me again, and then gave me a hug. “I am your friend, and I will do what it is that you ask. Show me.”

   I took her hand and lead her out the kitchen door to the garage.

   “Aren’t you going to put on some clothes,” she asked, as we stepped out and headed across the sparse grass to the workshop door.

   “No, I always do this naked. I have a set of rules that I make myself follow, and one of them is that I remain naked the whole time that Grandma Jo is out, no matter what. No clothes.”

   “What other rules do you have?” she asked, just as we reached the door.

   I stopped and turned to face her, and said, “The lights have to stay on in the house, and....and I set a time when I allow myself to cum. If I cum before that time, I.....I.......I have to punish myself.”

   I opened the door and we walked in.

   I showed her the wooden pony, explaining how it works it’s devilish agony. I showed her the clamps I had used to mark my breasts. I showed her the hooks in the beams where I have hung myself by my wrists. She looked at these things, and listened to my explanations, never asking a question or passing a judgement.

   We had both lapsed into silence. I was standing near the pony, my hands folded in front of my bald pussy, watching Carmelita. She picked up one of the wood clamps, felt it’s weight, tried the screw handles to see how they worked, felt the rough glass and metal I had stuck in it’s wide wooden jaws.

   She set it on the workbench, and then she approached the pony. She ran her hand across the sharp edge I had planed into the top. She looked at me, and said nothing.

   I could feel beads of sweat beginning to trickle down from under my arms as she stared at my exposed  naked body,  my bruised and cut breasts rising and falling as I fought to control my rapid heart beat with deeper slower breaths. My hands were folded in front of my pussy.

   “Why do you cover yourself, puta,” she said, in a stern voice? “That little pussy should be on display. That’s what you want isn’t it? You want for people to know what a whore you are. What a slut you are. Put your hands behind your head!”

   Shocked, without thinking, I did as she said, and watched in horror as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, lined it up, and took two quick pictures of me from the front.

   “Wh....what are you doing,” I asked, suddenly mortified, and once again trying to cover my now seemingly ridiculous nudity.

   “I’m taking pictures of my bitch, why? What does it have to do with you, eh? If I want some pictures of you, I’ll take them. You have some sort of prollem ( her accent was more crude and guttural now) with that, puta?”

   My mind was racing with thousands of different scenarios of what she could do with the pictures, but at the same time, the tinglings were really overwhelming me. My pussy was soaked. Steeling myself, I stood up straight and tall, legs apart, put my hands behind my head, and looked right into her camera.

   “Ah, that’s more like eet,” she mocked me, snapping a few more pictures. “The leetle tramp likes to pose for the camera. Theese is good, because we will be taking lots of pictures of you, movies too. You and I can watch you being a whore slut anytime we want.”

   Having collected enough pictures, Carmelita told me to follow her back to the house. In the kitchen, she picked up the phone and ordered a pizza for delivery. She told me it would arrive in twenty-five minutes and that I would be paying for it. She also told me that I would be the one to answer the door when it arrived. She laughed at me when she saw the fear that registered on my face at that revelation.  “You tol’ me you wanted me to help you with these things you do, didn’t you?”

   “Y....yes,” I replied softly.

   “And I tol’ you I would. I wan’ to see what you do, I wan’ to watch you. Then later we’ll plan the  things that you wan’ me to do.”

   “Now, go get the money for the pizza, and I want you to get as much of it as you can in singles.”

   While we waited for the delivery boy, Carmelita made me pull up another bdsm video on my computer. While we watched it, she had me playing with myself with both hands, and wiping my juices on my face and chest. She told me that since I act like a whore, I should smell like one as well.

   The pizza boy was prompt.  Before she sent me to the door, she admonished me, “Take your time, don’ rush. Count out the money for heem. Give heem a good show, puta!”

   I had never been so afraid before. I had fears of being caught, found out, but this time I was confronting it, intentionally exposing myself to an absolute stranger, or even worse, maybe someone from school!

   When I opened the door, the boy was looking at the receipt, and he said, “That’s $16.” When he raised his head and saw me, his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open.

   Acting like there was nothing at all amiss, I said, “Okay, here,” and I started to count out the money, “One....two....three......,” placing each bill in his hand one at a time. When I reached sixteen, I counted out four more dollars, and said, “This is for you, thank you.”

   “Y....yeah. S....ure,” he stuttered as I closed the door and left him there.

   The rest of the night I showed Carmelita a lot of different videos, and we talked about things I wanted to try. She made me cum many times, always with my legs wide apart and my open pussy facing her, so she could see both my face and my sex as I did it for her. She said that next week we would begin, and that she would have some ideas for me to try as well, but that they would always be surprises, she wasn’t going to tell me in advance what she had planned.

   (I wish I could remember all of our the times we spent together, but I can’t, and it’s really not important. I do remember a few of the most memorable times, the ones that really stand out in my memory, and those are the ones I will tell you about.)

   One of the first evenings Carmelita and I spent together in the garage really pushed my limits. She made me make some modifications to my wooden pon  before we began. I screwed eye bolts into two of the legs on the saw horse on opposite sides of each other, high, about six inches from the top. Using a staple gun, she had me wrap a full sheet of coarse sandpaper around the bar so it covered the top and the sides of the 2x4. She told me to move the pony under one of the roof joists.

   Modifications complete, I mounted the pony, the rough sandpaper instantly chaffing the soft tender skin on my upper thighs and sex. Using a rope, Carmelita bound my hands behind my back, and tied short lengths to my ankles, which she tied to the new eye bolts.  She next tossed the rope which bound my hands over the joist and pulled up, raising my arms high behind me, forcing me up on tip toes to keep my balance,  and making me put more body weight on my pussy, and the sand paper. Then she took the rope on my right ankle and tied it to the eye bolt in the leg of the pony. She repeated this with my left leg.

   When she was finished, I was riding the pony, with most of my body weight concentrated on my pussy and the sandpaper. The tinglings outweighed the pain and discomfort, and I came.

   “I thought you had a rule about cumming, puta bitch,” she sneered watching me come down from the high. “We will have to punish you for that, won’t we?”

   “Y....yes,” I answered her, still trembling from the intensity deep within me. “I must be punished. I cannot cum unless you tell me to me cum for you.”

   “We will see to that later. First I want to make sure you have a nice ‘leetle’ ride on your pony.”

   She started slowly, tickling my upturned feet, making me twist and turn and grind the fragile skin between my labia into the sand paper. She would tickle one foot, pause for a bit, and then move to the other, When she began to tire of this game, she knelt behind the horse and tickled both feet at the same time. My pussy was stinging from the searing pain of the sand paper, the tinglings had not subsided at all, in fact they had grown even stronger, and I came again, crying out loud.

   She stopped my torment and waited until I had gained some control over my rampant breathing. “That’s twice the slut has pleasured herself without permission”, she said sternly. I was too weak to answer. “I am going to leave you here for a while alone,” she said. “When I come back we will decide how best to punish you for being such a whore.”

    She left me, walking out of the garage and closing the door behind her. I don’t remember how long I was alone, I was facing away from the clock. It seemed an eternity, what with the cramping in my arms and back from the precarious position I was in, and the constant chaffing from the sand paper. I do remember that when she returned, she had cooked up a demonic punishment for me. She had espied a pair of small “C” clamps on the work bench, and she clamped one on to each of my nipples, very tightly. Then she tied a long piece of string to each one and tossed the strings over the joist. A few tugs on the strings brought my breasts up and away from my chest. Satisfied the clamps were tight enough, she tied the strings to the vise on the bench.

   “Now it is time for your punishment, puta,” she hissed at me. She picked up a staple gun from the bench and stood in front of me, letting me see the tool, before pressing it against my breast and squeezing the trigger, driving a steel staple into my chest. I yelped in pain. The tinglings roaring now. “I’ll bet you like that, slut. How many would you like, eh? How many?”

   She waited for me to answer. “Fi....five?”

   “You came twice, pig, two times. So.........I think two times five is fair. Five in each of your ‘leetle’ titties.”

   The pain was powerful, but what followed next sent me over the top. When she had finished shooting five staples into each of my breasts she said, “Now it is time for my pig whore to cum for me, and I’m going to be nice and help her.”

   She knelt along side the sawhorse and reached over to my crotch, taking hold of one of my lower lips between her fingers. “You’re going to love this, puta,” she laughed, just as a stabbing pain registered in my addled brain. She stapled my labia to the wooden pony! After having done the same on the other side she said, “Now take your nice ‘leetle’ pony for a ride and cum for me like the slut you are!”

   I started rocking and swaying on the 2x4, grinding my abraded sex into the sand paper, the tinglings overriding any sense of self preservation. I came multiple times, Carmelita’s verbal abuse spurring me on, the tinglings driving me to new heights.

   Another night spent with Carmelita introduced me to something I had never experienced before. She arrived at my door as usual, only this time she had a white plastic kitchen trash bag in her hand. I couldn’t see the contents, and she wasn’t about to tell me what it was, but she was excited by what she had brought with her, and my anticipation grew quickly when she said, “I think this will be a night you’ll long remember, puta!”

   In the garage, she tied my hands together and had me stand on a old milk crate. She lobbed the rope over the joist and pulled on it until my arms were way up over my head, then she tied the rope off to the workbench. Unceremoniously she kicked the crate out from underneath me, letting me fall and hang by my arms. Nothing new here, I thought, suspension had long one of my favorite pastimes. She proceeded to tie a length of rope to each of my ankles, and then tie off those ropes pulling my legs wide apart, a variation neither of us had thought of before.

   “I have a ‘leetle” surprise for you, slut,” she said, smiling at me. “Do you know what nettles are?”

   “No,” I replied, the tinglings already building in sweet anticipation of some new experience.

   “Then I will show you,” she said.

   I watched as she picked up a pair of heavy leacher work gloves from the bench and put them on. Reaching into her plastic kitchen bag, she pulled out branch from some bush. Very green leaves all over the branch.

   “Lovely, isn’t it?”

   “Yes.”

   “Lovely to look at, but not so nice to touch.” She waved it slowly in front of me, studying my face for some recognition or fear of what was about to take place. Seeing none, she touched the leaves to the inside of my leg, at the knee, and slowly dragged it up my leg to my pussy before pulling it away. Burning fire instantly trailed behind the leaves, and looking down, I saw that the inside of my leg was covered in a multitude of raised pink bumps. It was a strange mixture of itching, pain, fiery hot and ice all at the same time.

   Carmelita watched my face for some reaction, unsure about whether or not to proceed. I gave her a little nod and she dragged the branch up the inside of my other leg. My moans didn’t dissuade her from her task, and she started to rhythmically flog my breasts with the leaves. She didn’t do it hard, there was no need. The slightest contact of the leaves against the skin brought almost instantaneous pain and welts.

   She didn’t stopped until my entire body from my elbows to my ankles, front and back, was bright pink and covered in raised bumps. I was twitching in my bondage, but it was the tinglings making me twitch as much as the nettles.

   “I’m hungry,” she declared. “I’m going to get something to eat. I might watch a little tv as well.” Before leaving me, she tore off a few of the nettle leaves, and shoved them inside my pussy. I came in a torrent, violently squirting copious amounts of fluid for the first time in my life, screaming as the waves of release rippled through me.

   One evening, when Carmelita wasn’t at my house, I stumbled on an add for a place called “The Backroom.”  Curiosity getting the better of me, I clicked on the picture, and was rewarded with an on line catalogue of fetish wear and page after page of BDSM equipment. They had harnesses, gags, chastity devices, (male and female), hoods, blindfolds, whips, canes floggers .......anything you could possibly imagine and more.

   I was lured in by a set of wrist and ankle cuffs that bragged of being “Perfect for suspension”, “able to withstand weights in excess of 275 pounds.” They were black leather, about three inches wide, and 3/8" thick with a steel hasp bolted into them. The inside was coarse, not padded in soft lamb’s wool like some of the styles they had. These were not for posing and picture taking, these were the real deal. The genuine item, and I absolutely had to have them. But how? How could I get them delivered without Grandma Jo finding out?

   While trying to figure out a way around my problem, I was reading the order form, and in the address box, it mentioned a P.O Box. Problem solved. I printed the order form, and the next morning, I walked down the street to a small pack and ship store that also rented postal boxes, and rented one. Next was a visit to the Post Office for a money order, and my order was off. Ten days later my package arrived.

   The quality of the cuffs was amazing, (I still have them to this day. One of my fondest possessions. Well oiled and properly maintained). I was so happy with the craftsmanship, that I immediately ordered a slew of other items, including steel alligator jaw nipple clamps, various size butt plugs, (I was intent on remaining a vaginal virgin), some canes, paddles and whips, and a beautiful black cowhide corset. I spent over four hundred dollars on that second order!

   My time spent with Carmelita took off in a whole new direction with all the authentic accouterments I had collected. Her favorite was the alligator clamps. In fact, she made me order several more pairs of them, all of them the adjustable ones, where the jaw tension could be set from mild to severe. On the severe setting, they always broke the skin no matter where they were placed on me,  in multiple pinpricks, drawing blood. My nipples, labia and clit were her favorite targets for the clamps. Sometimes, she would attach them on the rim of my anus, with one jaw of the clamp inside the fragile hole. That was the most difficult to endure, and she knew it, often making me keep it on for hours.

   One of my personnel favorites was the cowhide corset. I loved the way it would constrict my waist and make my breasts seem to pop out of my chest. Carmelita would lace it up on me very tightly, making the simple act of breathing difficult.

   Towards the end of the summer, Carmelita’s aunt threw a big party for her large extended family, and I was invited. As she had been doing all summer, she slept over at my house the Thursday night before the party, which was taking place that Saturday afternoon. After our session in the garage, while we were in bed, not yet asleep, I asked her, “What should I wear to your party?”

   “A light sun dress would be good, Sandy. Eet’s supposed to be very hot this weekend.”

   “I don’t have one, but I could pick one up tomorrow.”

   “Make eet a loose fitting one, in red if you can, Sandy,” she paused for a few moments, then she continued with an authoritarian tone in her voice, “I expect that you will be naked under your dress, puta. No bra or panties.”

   “Y.....yes. Okay, Ma’am,” (I had taken to addressing her with the title Ma’am a few weeks earlier whenever we were engaged in the garage).

   “I also expect for you to have your theeckest plug up your dirty ass, and a pair of our special clamps on your preety leetle neeples too.”

   “As you wish, Ma’am.” The tinglings were starting up again, and my pussy was soaked.

   “And make yourself up to look really nice. Lipstick, eyeliner, perfume, blush. I want my leetle whore to look preety for my family.”

    “Yes, Ma’am.”

   “Are you wet, puta?”

   “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Leetle slut. Cum for me!”

   She turned on the bedside light, and watched as spread my legs apart and I fingered myself to release, three times!

   Friday I took the bus to the mall and found a short bright red and white billowy sun dress. The shoulder straps were very thin, and the hem broke about six inches above my knees. The material was dense enough to not be actually see through, but light enough to expose the fact that I was bare underneath it.

   I was expected at the party around three in the afternoon, so I began my preparations at two. A long hot shower, full body shave from my arm pits to my feet, copious amounts of body lotion, combing out my hair, and applying make-up. I chose a dark pink lipstick with a lip liner a few shades darker. I applied perfume to the area between my breasts, the small of my back, the insides of my elbows, and the backs of my knees. I did this three times, allowing the perfume to dry completely before the next application.

   Greasing up my thickest butt plug, I slowly eased it inside me, concentrating on relaxing as the pressure from the stretching increased. I had no fear about it falling out, it’s shape made that an impossibility. I played with my nipples, pinching and pulling on them to get them nice and firm before putting on the alligator clamps.  Ever so slowly, I eased the clamps closed, my tinglings becoming more intense as the sharp teeth bore into the tender nubs. I felt my pussy getting wet.

   Before donning my dress, I checked myself out in the full length mirror mounted on the back of my bedroom door. I could see moisture starting to run from my pussy down the inside of my thigh. “Carmelita is right,” I thought. “I really am a puta.”

   Pulling the dress over my head, I said goodbye to Grandma Jo and walked up the street to Carmelita’s house.

   The street was lined with cars, and there were lots of people walking towards the house. Her yard was decorated with balloons, and the sweet smells and delicious aromas of barbeque filled the air. I scanned the throng, but didn’t see Carmelita anywhere. Her Aunt spotted me and called out, “Carmelita’s up in her room, Sandy. She said you should go right up.”

   “Thanks, Mrs. Ramirez,” I called back, waving.

   The front door of the house was open and I walked right in. The living room was a sea of humanity, with lots of older people sitting on the furniture. I headed straight for the stairs and the small back bedroom I had been in many times before.

   The door was closed, so I knocked softly. “It’s me, Carmelita. Sandy.”

   “Come in,” she called through the door.

   I opened it and walked in, expecting to see her getting dressed. Instead, I was greeted by the sight of Carmelita and four other girls, all older then me, seventeen or eighteen at least, sitting on her bed, at her desk, and leaning on the windowsill. As I stepped into the room, I was startled when the door suddenly shut. A fifth girl had been standing behind it, hidden to me, as I entered. Once it was shut, she locked it and stood in front of it, guarding it, arms akimbo, staring at me.

    No one spoke, all eyes were glued on me. I was frightened for a second, and then I felt the distinct and ever familiar beginnings of the tinglings ruminating from deep inside.

   “So, this is your Gringa puta, eh, Carmelita?” one of them said. I looked at her when she spoke. She was stunning, sitting there in the middle of Carmelita’s bed. A rich dark tone to her skin, beautiful flawless complexion, striking sharp facial features,  silky smooth shining raven black hair cascading over her bare shoulders. Enormous gold hoop earrings, at least three inches in diameter hung from her ear lobes, and she wore gold rings on every finger of both hands. She stood up on high heeled sandals, her very tight very short shorts revealing perfect legs. Her scoop neck tank top was stretched to it’s limit over her massive breasts and exposed tremendous cleavage spilling from the top. She stood before me, “So this little fulana does whatever you want, Carmelita? Is that what you tell me?”

   “Si, Rosa. She is my bitch. She will do anything I tell her, except her pussy, that is off limits. She wants to stay a virgin there. But anything else, she will do for me.”

   “Prove it to me then. Show me what she will do for you.”

   Rosa sat back on Carmelita’s bed and awaited that she had obviously been promised. My tinglings were out of control, I was so wet in anticipation that I thought I could smell myself. I feared I might cum just standing there in front of them all.

   “Have you prepared yourself they way I instructed you, puta,” Carmelita asked me?

    “Yes, Ma’am. Just as you wished.”

    “Then please be so kind as to tell my cousins what I told you to do.”

    “As you wish, Ma’am,” I replied, looking down at the floor, averting their stares.

   “I showered, shaved myself everywhere, made up my face, applied perfume, put the alligator clamps on my nipples, and put my thickest butt plug up my ass, and I bought this sun dress, as you requested of me, Ma’am.”

   “Then you should show them. Take off your dress, puta, bitch.” Carmelita ordered me. “Show my friends what a leetle peeg slut you are for me.”

   I was instantly overcome with a sense of shame and embarrassment. I had reached a crossroads, a point of no return. If I did as Carmelita demanded, there would be no turning back. I would be outed. My eyes searched out Carmelita’s for some sign if reassurance. Some indication of support for this self defining leap of faith I was being told to make. Her eyes met mine, and she read my face. A slight smile, that only I recognized, an all but imperceptible nod, and a quick wink told me she understood. That she knew what was running through my head, and that it was alright. That what I was about to do, I had to do.

   “Yes, Ma’am,” I answered. I could feel the wetness dribbling down the insides of both legs now. In a few second, all these strange girls would know what a whore slut I really was. Instead of just my brother and Carmelita knowing my secret, five other girls would know as well. Steeling myself as best as I could, I reached down and gathered up the hem of the sun dress in both hands, and in one fluid motion, I lifted it up and over my head and tossed it to the floor like a useless rag, exposing my nudity to them all.

   As I stood before the six fully clothed girls who were staring at me, open, exposed, nothing hidden or covered, arms at my sides, I became suddenly aware that a great burden had been lifted from me, like a heavy yoke taken from my shoulders. It was the same feeling I got the first time Tommy had staked me out in the sun naked and left me alone. It was the same feeling I had when I first discovered bondage sites on the internet, and learned that I wasn’t alone with my tinglings. It was the same feeling I got the first time I exposed my naked form to, Carmelita. And it all stemmed from having obeyed a directive from someone else. Submission. Complete and total submission to another of what I truly am.

   After their initial shock, the girls all began conversing in animated Spanish, making me feel all the more isolated, objectified, and exposed. Hands touched me, fondled me, fiddled with the nipple clamps, spread my cheeks and felt the base of my butt plug, pinched me. I stood still, awaiting another order from Carmelita.

  It was Rosa who finally addressed me. “You really are a little Gringa whore, aren’t you?”

   “Yes Ma’am,” I answered her proudly, shoulders back, breasts thrust forward, head held high. “I am a whore.”

   “Let me see those clamps you have on your titties.”

   I looked at Carmelita, and she said, “Obey my cousins as you would me, esclava puta. Do as you are told.”

   “Yes, Ma’am.” I took two steps and stood in front of Rosa, who was still sitting on the bed.

    “You are so white, bitch,” she said as she felt both of my breasts.  “I think we should whip your little titties and make them pink. What do you say to that, eh?” She squeezed both breasts  to punctuate her threat.

   “If it would please you to whip my breasts, then I  offer them to you.”

   Rosa looked me in the eyes as she opened up one of the clamps on my nipples. The surge of blood running into the dark red bud caused me to moan. She held it open for a few seconds, and then let it snap shut. I yelped in pain as the sharp teeth cut into me, falling to one knee and crying.

   “What kind of esclava are you, eh? You can’t take a little pain?”

   Through tears in my eyes I looked at my nipple and saw blood trickling down from the fresh puncture wounds. The tinglings were too much to bear, and I came, without even touching myself.

   “She came,” Rosa exclaimed. “The puta bitch came!”

   I stood up, took a breath, and bent over, presenting both breasts to her. “Please do that again, Ma’am. Please, I beg you. I will try not to disappoint you again.”

   “You’re bleeding, bitch, and you want more?”

   “Yes. Please. Please, I beg you. Do it again, only this time, please do both clamps at once.”

    I looked Rosa in the eyes and felt, rather than saw, her grasp hold of both clamps and slowly open them both, easing the pressure. She grinned wickedly at me as she held them open, feigning releasing them several times before finally snapping them shut on my battered nipples.

   I yelped again, and staggered a step back, but just as quickly I caught myself and stepped back in front of Rosa, bent over, so she could see what she had done. I looked her straight in the eye, mustering all the courage and defiance I could, but I was keenly aware of warm liquid trickling done my breasts. The tinglings were too much, and again I came.

   Rosa then proceeded to slap my breasts, hard, left, right, left, right, never taking her eyes from mine. A war of wills. The other cousins gathered round and watched as my chest meat jiggled and bounced obscenely with each assault. They were all making comments in Spanish, so I had no idea what they were saying.

   “Play with your filthy pussy for me, puta,” Carmelita ordered. “Cum for me, but don’t stop when you do. Keep playing with yourself.”

   “Ugh, yes, Ma’am,” I grunted as Rosa slapped me even harder.

   The instant my finger found my clit, I exploded. Rosa laughed and spit in my face, “Gringa puta. Dirty pig.”

   The other cousins started slapping my breasts too, and I came again, the tinglings so intense I thought I might pass out. I kept diddling myself, cumming over and over, until, weak-kneed, I fell forward into Rosa’s lap.

   Carmelita grabbed the hair at the back of my head and pulled my head up to meet her face. She kissed me long and hard, her tongue almost making me gag it probed so deeply. (I had never kissed a boy before, let alone another girl). “I have an idea, Rosa,” she said, excitedly. “Don’t let her go yet, I’ll be right back.”

   Rosa shoved me to the floor and put her bare foot in my face, “Lick my foot, esclava Gringa. Lick the foot of your Queen!”

   I started licking her foot, the soles first, then between the toes, sucking them into my mouth one by one, when the door opened up, “Let’s use these,” Carmelita announced.

   I didn’t dare look, but judging by the laughing and the excited Spanish comments, everyone agreed that what Carmelita had brought with her would be a great idea.

   “Kneel before me, slut,” Rosa barked, kicking me to the floor.

   I pushed myself up on me knees and folded my arms behind my back, presenting myself to her like I had seen on the real BDSM sites.

   On the bed, next to her leg, were four wooden kitchen spoons and two spatulas, one plastic, the other metal. Rosa watched my face grow in recognition as their intended use registered in my head.

   “You will beg each of us to whip your white slut titties, puta. You will plead with us to hit you as hard we can five times each. You will tell us why you need to be punished.”

   The tinglings came back, hard and strong, and I shuddered as another orgasm ripped through my body.        

   “Your slave slut really loves this attention, Carmelita. She wants us to really hurt her, doesn’t she?”

   “She cums at just the thought of being whipped., Rosa. She really is filthy a Gringa puta esclava. Let’s all mark her so she carries memories of this day for a long time, eh?”

   All the girls chimed in, excited at the prospect of beating me.

   “Well, puta,” Rosa said, reaching over to remove the alligator clamps and spitting in my face once again, “Beg us to beat you.”

   “Please, I beg you. Beat me. Mark me. Make me feel your pain. I b.....(I came again),         beg you. Make my ugly slut titties covered in bruises. I have to be punished for all the pleasure you have given me. I don’t deserve pleasure, only abuse, pain and humiliation. Please.....”

   “Angela, you’re the youngest, you go first,” Rosa said. Then to me, “Face her, slut. Hands behind your head. Present those slut tits to her.”

   “Yes, Ma’am,” I said, turning to face Angela.

   I watched her pick up one of the wooden spoons.

   “Do you want to be gagged, puta,” Carmelita asked me before Angela began.

   “N....no. Thank you, Ma’am. I need to learn to control myself.”

   “Hit her, Angela,” Rosa ordered.

   I looked up at Angela and saw the fear which was now in her eyes. “Please, Angela. Please hit me. Make it hurt.”

   She raised the spoon and brought it down on my right breast. It hurt, a lot, but I knew she didn’t hit me as hard as she could.

   “Don’t hold back, Angela, please, I beg you.  Punish me. Try and break the spoon on my filthy tits.”

   The next four strokes came in fast and hard, and I fell to the floor at Angela’s feet. I leaned over in a daze of pain, and kissed her foot, while I said, “Thank you, Angela. Thank you for punishing this worthless slut.”

    I endured the beatings from the other five girls as well. When it was over, my breasts were swollen and covered in dark red and purple welts. Blood from where the clamps had been was running down my stomach. I bent forward and kissed Rosa’s feet again. “Thank you for punishing this worthless slut whore.”

   She grabbed my hair and pulled me forward to her face. “I have some good news for you, cunt. When everyone else goes back home to Puerto Rico, I’ll be staying in New York for college. Carmelita tells me you two like to spend special nights together every week. I just want you to know that I will be joining you sometimes. How does that sound to you, fulana?”

   “It would be an honor if you would join us, Ma’am. I hope I will be able to please you.”

   “Count on it.”

   “Let’s get back to the party, girls. This Gringa can clean herself up.”

   “Oh, and puta, from now on when you see me, you will address me as Princess Rosa, do you understand?”

   “Yes, Princess Rosa. Thank you, Princess Rosa.”

   They left me there, alone, naked, battered, bruised, and bleeding in Carmelita’s bedroom. I was totally spent. Exhausted. Physically and mentally. Using facial tissue, I dabbed at my bleeding nipples until the blood stopped flowing. I pulled the plug out of my ass and wrapped it in some tissues along with the two alligator clamps. Pulling my dress over my head, I opened the door and headed down the stairs. Feigning an illness, I left the party and went right home to bed, where I napped for three hours, achy, stiff and sore, and at the same time, proud, happy and content. Just before falling asleep to the thought of Princess Rosa joining Carmelita and me, the tinglings rose in quick response to the fulfillment that could entail.

   

  

   

                          

   

  

  

  

  

   

  

  

                                                  

TESTED BY LOThAR

Chapter 3

TESTINGS

By. Charles E. Campbell

(I had originally stated at the outset of this story that my intentions were to start slow, and gradually build this tale up, culminating it with three chapters. I have gotten too engrossed in it, and see that it is, in fact, impossible to do Sandy and justice if I limit it to three chapters. So I will take a bit more time with it, and strive to complete it in four, or possibly five chapters.)

   It was the summer after my junior year of high school, seventeen, and now a full blown slut whore. Princess Rosa had honored my sole condition of remaining a vaginal virgin, but she had taken every liberty with what wasn’t covered by that insignificant restriction. ( And believe me, that left a lot of territory for her to cover! ). Arguing that a true whore must be well versed in oral techniques and skills, she had taught me how to satisfy a woman with my mouth. I learned how to make a woman cum in less than a minute, and I learned how to prolong the pleasures almost indefinitely. Satisfaction of the recipient being my only concern. Furthermore, where Princess Rosa took tremendous pride in her appearance and hygiene, ( her pussy could only be described as fragrant),  Carmelita had no sense of personal cleanliness at all. Her pussy was foul and sour smelling, and the folds of her pussy harbored lingering stale urine. ( My tinglings, however, made these adverse conditions all the more appealing to me, as I was debased further by the oral worship I gave her ).She trained me as a piss whore as well, learning not only to swallow every drop of the sacred golden elixir, but to savor the taste and smell, ( and the stronger and more concentrated, the better. The key word here was golden, not watered down yellow, like what is found on most websites ). She taught me to except all manner of foreign objects in my ass: candles, ( lit of course ) , pencils, glass bottles, apples, oranges, and even grapefruits. I was taught that a good slut is a clean slut, so I regularly used enemas to keep myself clean.

   Princess Rosa had also insisted that I install a webcam in my room, which was to be on and broadcasting whenever I was in there. My naked image streaming live, world-wide for any and all to see. The only time it was not to be on was when Carmelita was in the room with me. But it didn’t really matter very much, as I had purchased a camera so she could film anything and  everything that went on in the bedroom and the garage.

   It was Carmelita who had stumbled upon the website. I was on my knees between her fat legs ministering to her hair covered pussy, so I didn’t see it until she after she had explored the entire site.

   “Here’s a different one, puta,” she announced. “Make me cum and then you may see it with me.”

   I started sucking and nibbling harder, and brought her off in under fifteen seconds. I remained as I was, however, and cleaned her of her fluids. I continued doing that until she said, “You may stop, slut.” ( Rosa’s training of me required that I never stop doing anything until I was instructed to do so by a superior, which was everyone and anyone really ).

   I stood up, my face still quite wet with Carmelita’s juices, and glancing at the computer monitor I saw an elaborate opening page for a website called “SLAVES OF THE REALM.” It had been printed in huge gothic letters with a myriad of whips, shackles, handcuffs, and kneeling naked woman scattered around the screen. I knelt next to the chair Carmelita was seated in, (Princess Rosa had trained me to accept that being on my knees was where I belonged). Carmelita entered the site and we were confronted with a wide range of options: Videos for purchase, with free trailers to wet your curiosity , links to other sites, contact information, bios on the individual “Slaves of the Realm,” educational information on such things as different methods of bondage, rope vs steel, lifestyle slavery as compared to people who dabble in D/s, techniques for the proper use of the single tail whip, and so forth.

   We first looked at the trailers, initially thinking they would be the typical staged California fake videos. We were both proven wrong, however, as the very first trailer we viewed showed a naked female slave hanging upside down from a spreader bar, her ankles held wide apart, as another naked female was whipping her pussy with a cat. The lacerations on the insides of her thighs, her belly, mound and labia were real. The blood was real. Her screaming protests and pleading were real. We both watched, mesmerized, silent, throughout the duration of the five minute trailer.

   “You liked that, puta?” she asked me.

   “Yes, Ma’am. It was amazing.”

   “I knew you liked it, slut, do you know how I knew?”

   “No. Ma’am.”

    “I can smell your feelthy cunt when you get excited like this. Do you need to cum, puta bitch?”

   “Yes, please, Ma’am. May I?”

   “Not yet. I think you need to be punished for making me have to smell your feelthy tramp hole, bitch. Get the traps and bring them to me.”

   “Yes, Ma’am,” I replied as I crawled on all fours to a container I keep stashed under my bed. Inside are two rat traps, the spring loaded type. Placing them between my teeth, I crawled back to Carmelita and knelt facing her, the traps still in my mouth. She took one and held it open, waiting for me to present my breast to it. She let the trap snap shut, causing me to grunt and flinch in pain. She did the same to my other breast and then allowed me to cum for her.

   Over the next few days I became consumed by the site, visiting it exclusively, repeatedly watching the trailers, even ordering some of the videos until, at long last, I finally worked up the nerve to actually contact them.

   “Dear Sir, or Madam,” my email began, “I have visited your website countless times, exploring it throughly, and have found it to be the most authentic and realistic one that I have ever encountered. I am a life style submissive with an urgent need to give myself over freely and completely to the desires, whims, and needs of another. I beg you to please help me reach my goal. Sincerely, Slave Sandy”

   I re-read the message only once to proofread it, then clicking the send button before I could chicken out.

   I checked my email inbox several times a day with the same anticipation a young child awaits his or her birthday, or Santa Claus’ annual arrival. Each day, my heart and spirits sank, as there was no reply. One day became two, two became four, four became a week....I confided what I had done with Carmelita, showing her the message I had sent.

   “It’s probably just a corporation for the movies, something from one of those eastern European countries,” she rationalized. “They just made it all up to look like it’s about real people.”

   She tried to comfort me, but I was really down about it. I had such high hopes. My fantasies and tinglings had been in overdrive ever since we first started visiting the site.

   Then, almost one full month later, to the day, alone in my bedroom, I opened my email and found a message:

   “I find it highly repugnant and presumptuous that you would assume the title of “slave.” Who is it that gave you that status, for it is not something to be assumed or given, or taken, lightly. Do you have any idea at all about what you are asking? I cannot stress this enough, THIS IS NOT A GAME! In The Realm there are no posers, no actors. There is no fakery, no tricks. What you see is what we are, for real!

  

   “ I have enclosed, as a PDF, a form for you. Read it, throughly. If you choose to respond, then you are to fill it out completely, honestly, succinctly. No questions may be left unanswered. Blank spaces demand instant termination. Any lies, falsehoods, half-truths, embellishments also bring termination, and loss of further contact privileges. If I do not receive the completed form within 48 hours from the time on this email, any reply will then be deleted, and no further contact will be permitted.

LOThAR”

   I read and re-read the message many times, my tinglings out of control. It was then that I glanced at the time the email was sent, and realized that almost twenty-four hours had already passed since it was sent. It looked at my clock and saw it was already 1:15AM. I opened the PDF file to look at the form.

   It wasn’t lengthy, a bit over two pages is all. The first page was generic information, typical stuff for job applications and the like, easy and fast: Name, Gender, Age, D.O.B., Country, (and state if US), Height, Weight, Hair Color and Length, Eye Color, Distinguishing Marks, (scars, moles, tattoos, piercings, brands), Education, General Health,......

   The second page, however, was far more involved and personal, and rapidly escalating and probing questions: Is your pubis bald, shaped, or hairy, What size are your breasts, waist, hips, What sexual experiences have you had; Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, any bi-sexual experiences, Inter-racial experiences,  Lesbian experiences, How often do you play with yourself, Have you ever had sex in public, Have you ever exposed yourself in public, Have you ever been exhibited in front of others, Have you ever been whipped, if so with what, Have you ever whipped another person, if so with what, Have you experienced bondage, if so, was it forced or willing, Do you now, or have you ever produced milk, Have you had or given a golden shower, red shower, brown shower.......

   The last part of the form stated, “You will submit five photographs with this application form. The first is to be a shot of your face alone. The second is to be a full frontal nude of you. The third full nude from the rear, and the fourth is to be a close-up of your sex, with your legs spread wide. The final picture is to be of your choosing.”

   And that was it. No explanations about content of the final picture, no hints or suggestions, nothing. This would take some time, and I didn’t have much of that left. It was almost 2:30 by the time I had the form all filled out, and I was tired, and spent, (the tinglings had made me play with myself the entire time I did the form, and i came five times!). I sent a quick text to Carmelita saying I needed her to get back to me ASAP as I needed her help right away. Then, I went to bed, although, exhausted as I was,  sleep didn’t come for some time.

   I awoke at 8:30, it was a Sunday, and found a text from Carmelita saying she was off to church and would be home by 12:00. I sent one back to her asking her to call me when she got home. Then I hit the shower and shaved myself throughly, wanting everything just right for the pictures Carmelita would be taking of me.

   Luck was with me, as Grandma Jo told me she wanted to go visit with a friend of hers that afternoon in another town, so having the time to set up and pose for the required photos would be easier. Carmelita arrived at 12:30 to fine me naked and waiting for her in the garage workshop. I explained to her what I needed and why. She was genuinely excited for me.

   We began with her taking a few shots of just my face, get the easy one out of the way first, I figured. Next up,  I handed her a flogger and stood before her, legs spread, arms behind my head, and asked her to color me, front and back chest to thighs. Time was of the essence, so she didn’t hold back, and there were no light warm up strokes either. Strong, hard, full arm swing lashes rained across my body. I focused on the upcoming pictures, on The Realm, and on my overpowering tinglings.

   Five minutes later she stopped. I was throughly striped, pink and red welts crisscrossed my white skin. Holding that same position, Carmelita took several shots of me front and back.

   That part accomplished, I climbed up on the work bench and laid down on my back, spreading my legs wide, and pulling my pussy open with my fingers. Carmelita got the camera in nice and tight for the required close-ups.

   The freestyle pic was all that remained to be done, but this one, I knew,  would take a bit of time for us to stage.  Carmelita tied my hands behind me after I mounted my wooden pony and got my pussy lips settled on either side of the sandpaper. ( I had stapled a new sheet of very coarse paper to the crossbeam, and had made sure it was large enough to be seen in the picture). My new ring gag and head harness was next. Fashioned from thick black cowhide, and chrome plated buckles, once it was strapped in place, there was no escape from it. The rubber coated ring was very large, and brought cramps to my jaw mere minutes after it was set in place, stretching my mouth open as wide as it could possibly open.

   She placed the sharp teeth alligator clips on my nipples, and hung a sixteen ounce fishing weight from each one. Then tugging on one of my labia, pulling it down along the sandpaper, she took a heavy carpenter’s hammer and drove a sixteen penny nail into the tender flesh, nailing my nether lip to the sandpaper and wooden pony. She repeated the procedure with the other lip as well. (I came twice, each time the nail was driven through the skin. I was rubbing my clit on the sandpaper all the time she was nailing me to the pony).

   All that remained before taking the pictures was for Carmelita to tie a rope to my wrists and pull my arms up high from one of the rafters, forcing me to lean forward, and placing more of my  weight on my sex. The tinglings were overpowering and I came again. She took the camera and shot several pictures, trying to time it so she captured me drooling through the ring gag.

   Carmelita helped me out of my bondage and off the horse, and we quickly made a beeline to my room, where we selected the five photos we thought were best, downloaded them into the computer, and sent the pictures and my application off, with a bit over thirty minutes to spare before the deadline expired. I spent the next twenty minutes orally satisfying Carmelita by way of thanking her for all her help that day.

   To say I started checking my email many times a day would be an understatement, but just like my first contact with The Realm, this one went unanswered for a few weeks, three to be exact. I was nervous, disappointed, worried, and an amalgam of other things. My visits to bdsm webpages wouldn’t bring on my tinglings. My sessions with Carmelita only produced weak tinglings.

   Then, as I said, three weeks later to the day, I received an email. With great trepidation I opened it. It was short and concise. “You have been accepted as an apprentice slave, a slut in training, (sLit), to The Realm. In order to maintain your status as an apprentice you are to do the following things: #1. Cease wearing any underwear of any kind, panties, bras, camisoles, etc. You must always be naked underneath your outer garments to help make you focus on your constant  availability as a sex slave. #2. You are to continue keeping your body free of hair, everywhere but under your arms. You are to allow that to grow in completely. #3. You will maintain your status as a vaginal virgin, your cunt is off limits to all, but your mouth and asshole are to be utilized and trained. #4. You will maintain an accurate journal of your daily activities, including when, where, and how often you masturbate, when you have your period, when and what websites you visit and for how long, and what slave activities you have, including with whom. (Which brings this question, how did you get your pictures taken? Was someone there helping you? If so, was the person male or female?).  This journal will be submitted to me weekly, by 10:30PM every Thursday. #5. You will provide me with your cell phone number so I may contact you whenever I feel the need. #6. Whenever you dress, or change your clothing, you must be naked. If you go to the gym, you will strip completely before getting into workout clothes, etc. #8. You must visit My website twice daily, logging in with the user name “sLit 14", password 1414 #6. In all correspondences with Me, you will refer to yourself only as sLit 14, which indicates that you are a “slut to LOThAr in training”, nothing more.

   “There will be numerous tests you will have to endure, and pass, as you serve your time in apprenticeship. Failure to perform a test, or failure to pass a test will result in immediate and irrevocable expulsion from the apprenticeship. Some tests will be filmed and submitted to Me. Others you will be watched, unbeknownst to you, while you perform them. The length of time you will serve in this capacity is not for you to know. Your sole purpose is to serve, to give yourself over to me, unquestioning, accepting, trusting. LOThAR”

   I read the message again, my hand pinching and squeezing my clit, cumming over and over again. Quickly, I pulled up THE SLAVES OF THE REALM website and logged on as instructed. I was instantly taken to a page I had never before seen, (and I had explored everything the site had to offer many, many times before, or so I thought). I immediately found a banner for correspondence, and clicked on that first, wanting to answer the questions posed to me before doing anything else. I wrote that the pictures I had sent were taken by a friend of mine, a female, and that she does a lot of Bdsm and D/s activities with me. I included my cell phone number and  I added how grateful I was to be accepted as an apprentice and that I would strive with all my body and soul to prove myself worthy.

   A few days later I received a text message on my cell phone: “ sLit 14, i am sLave 6. The responsibility of the initial stages of your apprenticeship has been passed to me. As soon as you receive this message, take a picture of your underarm and send it to me.”

   I was in the grocery store with Grandma Jo when the message arrived, so making the excuse that i needed to use the women’s room, I beat a quick path to the filthy lone stall generic male/female toilet, pulled my t-shirt over my head, lifted my left arm and shot a picture of the stubble that was itching me so much. I sent it off right away, got dressed, and rejoined Grandma Jo, the tinglings causing my juices to flow down the insides of my legs, since there were no cotton panties to help stem the flood.

    That evening, after logging onto the site, there was a message for me from sLave 6 which read: “After reading through your application form, it has been noted that your experiences in ministrations to men are not only poor, they are non-existent, ( I was to find out later that this gap in my background almost cost me my apprenticeship initially), therefore, you are to find a male who you will be training through, preferably near your own age, as our archaic laws regarding the age of consent could be troublesome. You will suck his cock while your friend films it. Send the film to me. You have one week to do this. sLave 6"

    I told Carmelita about the orders I had received, and she said she would find someone. Two days later, on the bus from school, she said, “I have the perfect boy for you, puta.”

   “Who is it,” I asked her?

   “His name is Terrell, he’s in a couple of my classes. He’s seventeen, like us, but he’s been lef’ back a coupla years, so he’s only a freshman. You wan’ to meet heem?”

   “Yes, please.”

   I’ll take care of it for you, puta.”

   The next day, I was sitting in the cafeteria at lunch, alone as usual, (Carmelita and I had different lunch periods), when I got a text: “Where are you sLit 14? sLave 6"

   Keeping my cell phone under the table, as their usage was forbidden during school hours, I texted back where I was.

   A quick reply read, “Go to the girls room. Enter a stall, and wait.”

   I told the lunch monitor I needed to go to the girls room and took off to lock myself in a stall.

   I wasn’t in the stall three minutes when the next message came: “You are to approach whoever comes into the girls room next, and ask them to take a picture of you with your cell phone. Use any excuse you wish. You are to be naked in the picture, hands behind your head. Send it to me at once.”

   The tinglings came on in an instant as the implications of the directive hit me. I was just about to touch myself when I heard voices, and the door to the girls room burst open. There were three voices, young sounding,  probably Freshmen, all taking in an animated fast pace. I opened the stall, startling them, and said, “I wonder if you guys could help me out. Do you know how to take a picture with a cell phone?”

   They all said they did.

   “My boy friend is in the Army, and he’s stationed in Oklahoma,” I lied quickly, “And he’s really lonely. I want to send him a picture of me. Could one of you take one for me?”

    “I’ll do it,” the cutest one with short cropped hair answered, extending her hand to take my phone.

   “Great, thanks,” I said, as I pulled my t shirt over my head, exposing my bra-less chest. As they stood, mouths agape, I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down to my ankles and stepped out of them.

   No one moved, until I added, “I told you he was really lonely, didn’t I? He needs something to remember me by!”

   One of the girls giggled nervously, and the others acted like they understood. The girl with the camera snapped three quick shots, and I quickly got dressed, saying, “Pick one of the pictures, and send it to this number.” I recited sLave 6's number to her. My task done, I thanked them, took my phone and headed back to the cafeteria.

   That afternoon on the bus, Carmelita informed me that she had arranged for me to meet Terrell the next morning before school, outside the front entrance. She said he’d approach me, because she had already shown him a few pictures of me, (thinking of which ones they could be started up the tinglings).

   That night I logged onto the website, and found a message for me from sLave 6, it read: “You failed to follow my directions. The picture was to have your hands behind your head. This infraction earns your five demerits. When you reach twenty, you will receive an appropriate punishment. Do not forget to include everything that happened today in your journal. sLave 6"

   The next morning when Carmelita and I got off the bus, we walked to the main entrance, where we saw a group of five or six black kids, both boys and girls, milling about. I felt cramps build in my stomach when I realized that Terrell was undoubtedly in the group. As we approached the kids, Carmelita called out, “Hey Terrell, this is her.”

   All the heads turned in our direction, and a tall thin boy with earrings in both ears stepped in front of the others, eyeing me and sizing me up. I stopped walking a few steps in front of him, and all his friends circled around me, (Carmelita, it seemed had disappeared completely).

   “You be the bitch dat wants ta suck my cock,” Terrell asked me, half asking, half grandstanding for his friends.

   I felt my face flush, as they all waited for my response. I averted my eyes, looking at the ground, as tears began to trickle down my cheeks. I had never in my life felt so embarrassed, so completely humiliated, (little did I know then what the future held for me in that regard!). But the tinglings washed through me and I was on the brink of cumming. Summoning all my inner strength, I stammered, “Y......es,” and I came. I actually came from saying it.  It was like some kind of cathartic release from some Victorian bonds that had held me back. I looked up straight into Terrell’s eyes. “Yes,” I repeated, louder, with conviction, “ I need to suck your cock, if you will let me.”

   There were three boys in their group and they all started laughing hysterically, while the two girls who were there looked at me in disgust and said, “You want a piece of this skinny assed white bitch Terrell? What’s she got that my booty ain’t got, uh, Niggah?”

   “I ain’t never had no white meat before, Shakira, and ‘sides, she goin’ ta pay me twenty dollahs if’s I let her suck me off, ain’t that right ‘ho?”

   “Yes,” I said, unaware that Carmelita had told him I would pay to suck his cock.

   “Awright then, Terrell,” the girl acquiesced, “but I wanna be there watching this bitch do you.”

   “No problem, ‘Kira,” he agreed, happy to be able to show off. All the boys had stopped laughing by now, duly impressed that a white girl was going to pay their friend to give him head.

   “When you wanna do it, ‘ho,” he asked me?

   “Saturday?”

   He nodded and said, “You meets me in town by the video store. Y’all knows where that is, bitch?”

   “Yes,” I said. “I know where that is. What time?”

   “ ‘Levin. ‘Levin,” Then he laughed and added, “You be drinkin’ up some early lunch, ho. I hope you bein’ hungry!”

   His group erupted in laughter at his joke, and they dispersed, with comments about what a whore I was, and how he was going to make me choke.

   Carmelita reappeared, (she had been there the whole time, standing behind me where I couldn’t see her). “I’ll film it for you, puta,” she offered

   Between that morning and Saturday morning, I watched a lot of porn about blow jobs, gagging, facials, deep throat, cum swallowing, and any others that would help me to understand what I had to do. It didn’t impress me really. None of it looked particularly difficult. It certainly had to be much easier than riding my wooden pony for an hour, or taking fifty lashes with a cat across my breasts.

   Saturday morning came. I dressed in a short tight t chest, showing my flat belly and my lack of a bra, with a pair of skin tight blue jeans and met Carmelita at 10:30 at her house, where I called a taxi to come pick us up and take us into town. We were in front of the video store at five of eleven, but there was no sign of Terrell. We looked up and down the street, but he was nowhere to be seen. By 11:15 I was about to give up, when Carmelita spotted him sauntering our way with Shakira in tow.

 

   “Is my little ‘ho ready for a good throat fuckin’,” he joked as he got closer?

   A passerby overheard him and glared at us, clearly miffed at his language.

   “Yes,” I said proudly. “Where are we going to go?”

   “Yo, yo, bitch. Cool out a bit. I know you wants this big black dick ‘n all, but y’all kin wait a little bit longer for it. It’s gonna be worf it. Y’all gots my twenty dollahs, ‘ho?”

   I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a folded twenty dollar bill, which I handed to Terrell.

   He looked at it, and said, “Let’s get down with it, bitch. Follow me.”

   He shoved the twenty into his pocket, draped his arm across Shakira’s and started walking down the street. Carmelita and I trailing a few steps behind him. We rounded a corner and passed a few more store fronts before Terrell’s head spun around, looking to see who was watching. Then he abruptly ducked into a narrow alley way next to a restaurant. We followed him down the alley to the back of the restaurant, he turned right and walked between two beat up foul smelling dumpsters which couldn’t be seen from the street.

   “In here, bitch, “ he called to me.

   I slid in past him so my back was against a concrete wall. There wasn’t a lot of space between the two steel dumpsters, but there was just about enough for the four of us to all see what was about to happen.

   I knelt down as Terrell dropped his baggy pants, he wore an oversized pair of boxers underneath, and Carmelita began filming.

   His dick was like nothing I could have imagined. I had, of course, seen my brothers’ penises years ago, but this one was much, much longer, at least five inches long as it hung limp and lifeless from the matted black curls at it’s base. And it was a dark chocolate brown too, with a huge dark purple head. Grabbing it between my thumb and first two fingers, I picked it up and brought it to my mouth. 

   In my mouth it felt like nothing I had ever felt before. Strange combinations of velvety soft and smooth and tender skin, lined with thick ropes of rippled veins greeted my lips and tongue. (I don’t remember a lot of the details of my first encounter in oral worship, LOThAR’s term for giving head, but I do remember how the term “slippery as an eel” came into mind as the soft flesh slid around inside my mouth and how I concentrated on licking on the soft pliable cock as best as I could).

   I licked and sucked and swirled my tongue all around it, but it seemed to have a life all of it’s own as it popped out of my mouth several times before I finally grabbed it near the base and kept it in my mouth. I was amazed at how it began to awaken, as if from a deep sleep. It came to life in my mouth, growing in length and girth as it became harder and harder, like it was trying to bury itself in the deepest recesses of my throat.

   Terrell placed his hands on the back of my head and pulled my face into his pubic hair, causing his cock to push well past my gag reflex. I jerked my head back, retching, and bumped my head hard against the concrete wall. I threw up on my t shirt. Shakira laughed, “Fuckin’ ‘ho can’t even swallow dick, ‘Rell, wan’ me to show her how?”

   “Nah,” he said, “She’s just gots ta get used to real dick.” He drove his cock down my throat again, and I cracked my head against the wall once more trying to pull back out of sheer reflex. He didn’t back off. Instead he kept my head pinned against the rough concrete and fucked my face like I had seen done in porn videos. I retched over and over again as his cock sought out the back of my throat. Until finally, he came, filling my mouth with the warm salty male cocktail for the first time. I coughed and tried to spit out the terrible tasting sperm as he kept twitching, pulsing and shooting in my mouth, but with my head against the wall and his crotch in my face, I had no escape. I ending up swallowing the cum and the bile I had puked up. He didn’t pull his dick from my mouth until he was finished.

   As he zipped up his pants, Terrell said, “Now you all kin say you had dark meat, ‘ho. Once you had black, ya never go back.” With that, Terrell stuck his hand down the back of Shakira’s shorts and they strode away, up the alley.

   Carmelita sent the video to sLave 6 for me, but I didn’t get any response from her about it. In fact, I didn’t hear anything else, that is, until the end of the month, when I logged on, and I found a notice directing me to open my “Monthly sLit Performance Review.”

   The review was generally positive, stating how I had followed all my directions on time and fully, (with the exception of the five demeirts I had enured).  It further stated that I would be kept on for the second month. Then, under areas needing improvement it said, “sLit 14 requires much training in Male worship. Her skills are minimal to non-existent, her technique is poor, and her overall performance is lackluster. Great attention needs to be paid in this area, or her status as a sLit will have to be terminated.” LOThAR

   I got a text message as I was preparing to go to bed, it was from sLave 6. “Have you read your monthly review, sLit 14?”

   “Yes,” I texted back.

   “We have much work, and little time. I will post the accepted Male worship info for you. When you log in, read it, commit it to memory. Text me back when you have done this.”

   “Ok.”

   The next evening, when I logged on, there was a tutorial on Male worship. I read it over three times. There were five basic requirements for Male worship, as stipulated by LOThAR, and they were: #1. A sLave must always be naked in the presence of a Penis. It is your Lord and Master. #2. You are never allowed to touch a Penis with your hands unless otherwise directed to. #3 Your eyes should be open and fixated on the face of the Male as you worship, as this allows you to concentrate on His pleasure solely. #4. You are never to pull away from a Penis for any reason, unless you are directed to do so. #5.You must always swallow the seed you are given. It is sacred, and you should experience pride at being a receptacle for it. (No wonder I was in trouble. I hadn’t obeyed any of those rules!).

   I sent off a text to sLave 6 and re-read the tutorial two more times.

   The next directive I received from her stated that I was to make arrangements to suck Terrell again, while being filmed of course, so I could prove that I had read the tutorial and was following it’s directions.. Carmelita arranged it for me, and the next Saturday Carmelita and I met Terrell behind the restaurant again, only this time he didn’t bring Shakira with him. Instead, he brought four of his friends with him, charging each one of them $10 for a blow job from me! Now I truly was a whore! Pimped out for the financial gains of Terrell! Kneeling naked between two reeking, fetid, rotten garbage filled dumpsters, flies buzzing all around me, I sucked off all five of them, swallowing all the cum they had, even trying to suck more out as theirs cocks went soft. Over the next few months, he was bringing in between $50 and $70 per week through me, including the $20 I still had to pay him for arranging it. But my monthly reviews continued to improve as well, until my status was ungraded from probationary sLit ( a slut in training to LOThAR) to sLit, (a sLave in training to LOThAR). Termination was now less of a possibility for me, and I was elated.        

   A few weeks later I got a text from sLave 6 which read: “You are to select a public place, the mall, a park, a street, etc., where you will walk naked, head to toe, for a duration of at least ten minutes. You will be alone, you are to tell no one, and bring no one with you when you do this. When you have selected the location, text me and give me the date you will do this test, (give me a week’s notice), as I will be there watching you accomplish this task. sLave 6. PS, I am very pleased with the progress you have made with Male worship!”

   The tinglings began in earnest. Naked in public! sLave 6 watching me! Where could I do this? What would happen if I was arrested? What if someone saw me and told Grandma Jo? My mind was in a jumble as these questions swirled in my head, while at the same time, my finger was rubbing my clit frantically and bringing myself off with one cum after another.

   The first thing I did was to go on line and look up sites dealing with flashing, public nudity, exhibitionism, and the like, figuring this might give me some help in choosing a place to complete this test. I found stills and videos of people in the woods, in malls, on public streets, in large stores, parks, near railroad tracks, on overpasses above highways, in short, everywhere. The one common denominator was that they were surrounded by a virtual phalanx of still photographers, videographers, and people who helped get them in and out of their clothes and away from the area quickly when they were done. This would be of no use to me, as sLave 6's directive said I was to do this alone. My biggest fear was being arrested, and what that would mean for Grandma Jo. Lots of those locations had either security and or a police presence.

   A few nights later, lying in bed, I remembered reading about a bicycle/walking path that had been constructed not too far away from me in eastern New York State along a long abandoned railroad right of way that had never been used. Stretching over twenty miles and running due north and south, it meandered along rivers and streams on the western side of the Connecticut Berkshires. It was a viable option I thought, so a few days later, I hopped on my bicycle, (I didn’t have my driver’s license at that point), and rode the fifteen miles over to New York State in search of the pathway.

   It was clearly marked where it crossed a state highway, so I turned south and began pedaling on it. I  glanced at my watch to note the time, as I wanted to get some idea of how often I encountered fellow bicyclists or walkers. I rode south for five minutes, then turned and retraced my steps, and only met three other people on bikes and two who were walkers. I saw no police, or any other authority figures, and decided it was perfect.

   Upon returning home, I texted sLave 6 and told her I had selected a place. I told her where it was, and that I would do it on the Saturday of the next week coming. I told her where I would be entering the pathway, which direction I would walk, and the time. She didn’t text me back until almost eight hours later. (something that was highly unusual, but I didn’t connect it with anything at the time, although I have since learned that LOThAR, and sLave 6 never do anything unusual. There is always a reason. A purpose. And it is never so innocent or mundane as a scheduling conflict), sLave 6 said the direction I would walk and the location were acceptable, but that the date and time were not. I was instructed to do it the Saturday afternoon after the one I had proposed and that I was to begin exactly at 1:30PM. More instructions would follow. (I just assumed the date I had picked wouldn’t work for her, and then the tinglings sent me into a fantasy world of imagining her fulfilling her duties as a sLave to the Realm, clouding my thinking, obscuring it really, and I masturbated over it, many times). In the meantime, I was to continue my practice in Male worship with Terrell, and additionally,  I was to ask him to bring some females along as well, stating that Female worship was a skill almost as important as Male worship. (I did as I was told, even though Terrell doubled his finder’s fee that he received from me from the original $20 to $40, earning him almost $100 on each of the next two Saturdays behind the restaurant). The boys were easy. They’d cum in my mouth, I’d swallow it, clean them, and do the next one in line. The girls, though, were cruel, making harsh humiliating comments about what I was, mocking me, taunting me. They really got my tinglings going, and I would play with myself as I serviced them, cumming, as I made them cum.

    As promised, I received a text from sLave 6 the morning of my scheduled naked walk that contained further instructions which had to be strictly adhered to. I was to enter the pathway, wearing a t shirt, the shortest shorts I owned, and sneakers, at precisely 1:30 and walk south approximately 100 yards. There I would see someone handing out free bottles of water. I was to obey everything that person told me to do. I was also instructed to bathe and shave fully, excepting of course under my arms, (which by then was a thick copse of long black hair which poked from under my armpits even when my arms were at my sides). I did all of my pre-walk preparations, told Grandma Jo I was going for a bike ride, and was pedaling my bicycle towards New York State by 12:00, figuring on leaving myself some time to find the path, find a place to secure my bike, and scope out where I would be taking this test.

   As I neared Amenia, N. Y., I was surprised by the number of cars parked along both sides of the two lane state road leading into the tiny little hamlet. A large banner was tied between two poles spanning the road proclaiming today as a Mother Daughter Cancer Awareness Walk-a-Thon. There were women everywhere! Young, old, pre-teens, infants, every age, color,  shape, and size. Everywhere! I wasn’t sure how many, but I counted over fifty just as I pedaled past the trail entrance and headed towards some small shops.

   It was almost 1:00 when I locked my bike to a bike rack near the post office and walked slowly back to the trail, passing lots of mothers and daughters who had completed the walk, talking excitedly together. A seemingly steady of stream of walkers kept exiting the trail as I watched. I was really frightened. How could I possibly do this without being caught, or arrested even? I looked all around and spotted a table that had been set up by a local high school cheerleading group to sell snacks, bottled water, and home baked goods. I bought a water and two cookies and walked slowly around watching for police. A glance at my watch said it was not 1:20. Ten minutes to go. The tinglings were starting to come on strong now. My pussy was getting wet. I saw a small damp spot starting to spread on the front of my shorts. I wanted to touch it so badly. My stomach was churning as well, and so I sipped some of the water to try to calm myself. 1:23. I walked past the trail entrance again, and saw women walking towards me as far up the trail as I could see. They were all walking north, no one was walking south. 1:25. No one seemed to notice me, I guessed that I looked like someone waiting for a friend. Women kept passing by me, the tinglings were as strong as they had ever been. 1:28. Two more minutes. My palms were wet, I felt sweat in the small of my back. My pussy was soaked, I felt wetness down the inside of my thighs. 1:29. I looked all around, 360 degrees. I felt totally removed from the situation. 1:30. Like an automaton, I started to walk south on the trail, into the steady tide of women and girls walking north. I didn’t think about it, I looked at no one, weaving left and right to dodge the people and strollers.

   About a minute into my walk, I spotted a table off to the right side of the trail. As I neared the table, I could see that it was manned by a woman who was handing out free bottles of water. It was hard to guess her age: short black hair streaked with gray, no make-up on her face, dressed in the same pink shirt as all of the walkers were wearing, sunglasses effectively hiding her eyes. She was seated at a chair, talking on a cell phone, with an empty chair next to her. Could this be sLave 6, I thought to myself as I approached the table?

   She looked over and saw me as I neared her. Before I could speak, she motioned for me to sit next to her behind the table. She didn’t stop her phone conversation, “No, I haven’t seen him yet. Yes, I’ll tell you when I do.” There was a pause as the other person spoke. “Good, let me know if another one goes by you. We’ll get ready here.” The woman closed her cell phone and handed a bottle of water up for a walker to take. Without looking at me, she said, “When I tell you to, you will stand up and strip. You may leave your sneakers on, but you’ll leave your clothes here with me. Start walking up the path in the same direction, against traffic. You are to speak to no one, stop for no one. Don’t try to cover your nakedness, and make sure you walk.... slowly. When you reach the next water table, you will receive further instructions. Obey them instantly. Any questions?”

   “Ar....are you sLave 6,” I stammered, as I watched the people passing by us?  

   “Insolent little slut, aren’t you,” she hissed, but still looking straight ahead. Then she picked up the phone, hit a speed dial number and said, “I see him now. He’s coming up to us now.”

   A sheriff’s deputy pedaled by us on a bicycle. She held up a bottle of water, he saw it and stopped.

   “Thank’s,” he said, taking a long drink.

   “Big turn out,” she said to him.

   “Sure is,” he agreed. “And there’s still a lot more people coming up behind me, and we only have two people covering it!”

   “Have there been any problems,” she queried?

   “Nothing to write home about. A sprained ankle, a few fatigued.....that’s all. These things usually go smooth. Nothing major. Anyway, thanks for the water, I have to get going.”

   “You’re welcome,” she said, “Bye.”

   As soon as the deputy was out of our sight down the path she said, “It’s time. Take off your clothes and go!”

   I guess I must have hesitated for a second, because she barked at me, “Do it now, cunt!”

   I stood immediately, and without thinking, pulled my t shirt over my head and tossed it on the table. Then I grabbed my shorts at the waist band and pulled them down my legs and stepped out of them, handing them over to her as well. “Get going,” she said, “And remember, you’re being watched, so do what you were told.”

   I started walking, and instantly, people started getting out of my way, giving me a wide berth as I strolled up the center of the asphalt walkway. Most of the women looked at me, quickened their pace, and kept going. There were many who made remarks: a young girl, maybe six, said to her mother, “Why is she naked, Mommy?”  An older woman, in her fifties, said,” What are you doing young lady?” Another said, “What’s the matter with you?” Once asked, “Are you alright, is something wrong?” A few said, “Call 911.”

   As ordered, I walked boldly up the path, eyes straight ahead, arms swinging naturally at my sides, my breasts swaying with my gait. The tinglings were in overdrive, wetness flowed from my pussy.. There was a broad smile on my face. I felt proud! Strong. Empowered. Proud to proclaim to the world through my nudity that I was a slut. It made me feel free!

   It seemed like mere seconds, and I saw the second water table. A different woman was manning this one. Younger, long blond hair, pale white skin. Same pink t shirt, though. She saw me a motioned quickly that I was to come sit next to her. “Get behind me and put these on,” she said, handing me a pink t shirt and shorts. She seemed very  anxious, looking up the trail. “Be quick, he’s coming.”

   I pulled the t shirt over my head and yanked the shorts up. “Sit next to me, put these on,” she said, handing me a large pair of sunglasses. “Grab some water and pass it out.”

   I began handing water out to walkers, and not two minutes later, another deputy sheriff rode up on a bicycle. “We got a report of some woman walking the path naked,” he said, looking both ways through the people. “Did you see her?”

   “No, Officer,” the blonde replied. “She didn’t come by here. I mean, I’m sure I would have noticed something like that!”

   “That’s for sure,” he agreed. “Must have been a prank call, or maybe some kids playing games. Thanks.” He peddled away in the direction I had just come from.

   The blonde punched a number on her cell phone, “He left. All’s good here, although we should move her in case someone comes back and recognizes her.” A pause, listening. “Okay. We’re going now.” She closed the phone. “Let’s get going. Come with me.”

   We walked together against the traffic, back to weaving and dodging the walkers again. (Being naked does have some advantages!).

   We left the path when we reached a point where the path crossed a road. Following the road, we walked a few hundred yards until we came to an inconspicious looking mini-van. It had essence of soccer mom all about it. The blonde pulled open the slider and climbed in. I followed her, and she closed the door.

   The dark haired woman was behind the wheel, another woman I hadn’t seen before sat in the passenger seat, and the blonde and I were on the middle bench seat, and then two other women I didn’t recognize were seated in the back.  The driver started the car and we left. No one spoke for a few minutes, and then the passenger swivelled in her Captain’s Chair to face me. “Take off your clothes, sLit14,” she said to me.

   I pulled off the pink t shirt and slipped the shorts down my legs.

   “Sneakers as well.”

   I took them off and sat there naked, surrounded by six women I did not know.

   “I am sLave 6, and I understand you have been inquiring about me,” the woman in the Captain’s chair said.

   She was not at all what I had imagined her to be. Milky white, pasty skin, shoulder length fine blonde hair without a trace of yellow in it, blood red lipstick and matching nail polish. Even with the large sunglasses that covered her eyes I could see that she had no eyebrows. She was wearing the same pink logo t shirt as everyone else, with a pleated plaid skirt and leather thong sandals with straps that twisted and wrapped crisscrossing up her shapely calves which were tied just below her knees. I could see  that her toenails matched her fingernails. She took off her sunglasses and squinted in the light, but not before I caught a glimpse of the tell-tale pink eyes of a true albino.

   “I want you to spread your legs nice and wide and expose your cunt to me,” she said.

    I squatted on the seat and put my feet up on either side of me spreading my knees far apart.

   “Now pleasure yourself while you tell us all how your little naked walk today made you feel. What was going through your mind?”

   My hand went to my pussy, but I stopped it, asking, “May I be allowed to cum, Ma’am?”

   “Good. I was wondering if you would think to ask permission. Yes, you may cum. Keep toying your hole, don’t stop. Keep doing it.”

   “Yes, Ma’am.”

   The instant my fingers found my swollen clit, the tinglings caused me to explode, violently, and for the first time, I squirted. Wetness shot from me as I buried my fingers deep inside my pussy.

   When the waves of pleasure slackened off, I began to recount my feelings and thoughts about being exposed naked in public. I don’t remember how long I spoke, but I do remember cumming multiple times, so many times, in fact, that the driver remarked on it.

   “Now you may worship me,” sLave 6 said, after I was done talking. I got on my knees, and using the skills I had honed with Rosa and Carmelita, I slowly pleasured her. She kept her hands on the back of my head as I made her cum three times.

   Sated, she said, “We will drop you off where you began your walk. When you get home, check your email, it will contain our review of your test today, as well as instructions for completing your next test. Your six month review is rapidly approaching. If you can pass that, I will answer any and all of your questions. Do you understand?”

    “Yes, Ma’am,” I said.

   As the van was pulling over to let me out in Amenia, sLave 6 said, “Put your clothes on, but put these on first.” She handed me a shopping bag. “You are to keep these on until it is time for you to shower this evening.”

   “Yes, Ma’am.

   I reached in the bag and pulled out a push up bra, one size too small for me, and a large pair of well worn soiled white cotton women’s briefs. I must have looked confused, as she added, “I want you to put on underwear, you’ll know why momentarily.”

   I nodded, and whispered, “Thank you, Ma’am.

   The bra was studded with dozens of red enamel painted round dots which completely covered the cups. As I started to place the cups over my breasts, I saw that, in fact, they weren’t decorative dots at all, they were thumb tacks which had been pressed through the fabric with the points facing inward. Gathering my strength, I put the bra on, and was rewarded my many pricks of the tacks. “Fasten it for her, sLit 7,” sLave 6 said. “The tightest it goes.”

    The woman seated behind me reached over the seat and pulled the bra tight against my chest, driving the tacks deeper into my tender skin. Then she tugged even more to set the clasp at the tightest setting.

   I pulled on the huge white briefs and was about to pull on my shorts as well  when sLave 6 said, “Hold on a minute.”

   The woman next to me put on a pair of latex gloves and reached into a plastic bag, pulling out some  kind of green leafy plant I didn’t recognize. With one hand, she pulled the elastic band on the briefs, and with the other, she stuffed the plant into my panties. Immediately fire, pain, and itching consumed my crotch.

   “Nettles,” sLave 6 said, in answer to my unspoken question.

   I got dressed and made the agonizing return ride home on my bike: my crotch ablaze, my tits screaming, the pedaling motion rubbing my clit against the tip of the bicycle seat, with the tinglings driving me. I was in heaven.

  

  

  

  

  

 

 

 

   

TESTED BY LOThAR

By: Charles E. Campbell

CHAPTER 4

STRIVINGS

    The email message I received from sLave 6 was crystal clear, very concise, and quite terse, (along with containing an ominous hint of threatening for good measure). “You are to plan, prepare, and execute a test of your own design. It must incorporate several of the lessons you have learned to date. It is to be videoed and I must receive it within three weeks, in order that it may be included into your six month review. You will not contact me for any purpose until after I have received the video. Remember to keep your log up to date.”

    I began planning my next test right away, trying to think of creative ways of showing off the knowledge I had gotten so far in my training. I knew I would need to enlist the aid of Carmelita for sure, and maybe Princess Rosa as well. Opening a document file on my computer, I began to compile a list of things I might want to include in the test, the actual things I would need to get together, and where we would shoot it.

   A few days passed. I was sitting at my desk trying to work out the specifics of what I wanted to have in the video, things that would have to be done in advance, arrangements that would have to be made, and the like. I got an email from my brother Tommy, saying that he was going on leave from the service and that he wanted to come by Grandma Jo’s to see me, and get me started with some driving lessons. He was coming in two weeks! Now, instead of having the twenty days I had planned on for the test, I was down to just twelve!

   This little “glitch” changed everything I had planned so far, and forced me to have to completely rethink my test from the ground up. The test date would have to be pushed up by a whole week, which eliminated Princess Rosa’s participation, as she wouldn’t be available that soon. This then meant that I would have to rely on the involvement of Terrell and some of his friends, something I wasn’t too keen about. It also meant that I would have to shoot it at my house, and in the garage, and that meant that it had to be done on one of Grandma Jo’s bingo nights, in the window of time her absence would allow, adding even further constraints to my plans.

   Carmelita was a tremendous help to me, ( I never could have pulled it together in such a short time frame if it had not been for her willingness to take over a lot of the organization.) She handled all of the arrangements with Terrell and his friends, two boys and two girls, (one of them was his girlfriend, Shakira). She booked transportation for them the night of the test, a cab to my house and a return cab when it was over, (the cab fares, including the tip, ran me fifty dollars, and on top of that, Terrell wanted to be paid one hundred dollars just for himself, and twenty-five dollars each for his four friends. Two hundred and fifty dollars in all! But I was stuck. I had no choice. Time was the enemy here, and it was certainly working against me. (I’m sure Carmelita cued him in on that as well!)

   The evening of the test, Grandma Jo left for bingo right on schedule, and the cab with Terrell and his friends arrived ten minutes after that. (Carmelita had come over before Grandma Jo had left, as she was often want to do). We spent about fifteen minutes talking over what everyone was going to do, including what I expected to have happen, and what would definitely not happen, (vaginal penetration), and what they would be allowed to improvise on their own. There was a story line involved in the test, no scripted dialogue, but a theme that was tying it together. At the beginning, Terrell’s friends would wait in the garage for a signal to come to the house, (Carmelita would flash the kitchen lights).

   Carmelita started shooting the camera, and the test started, with me, naked of course, on my knees, my face buried in Terrell’s crotch, eagerly sucking his thick black cock. My hands were behind me, pulling my ass cheeks wide apart. A large mirror has propped up against a chair facing my ass, giving Terrell a clear unobstructed view of my open ass and sex. My thickest butt plug was imbedded to the hilt in my ass, the base of it all that remained in sight. Eight fat inches of it filled deeply into my bowels. Adding to the discomfort of my position, I was kneeling on a length of 1/2 inch dowel rod, making my knees throb. (Shakira added that little touch of misery to the scenario. Something her Aunt used to make her and her sisters do whenever she thought they needed discipline). A knock at the door, and Terrell calls out, “Yo. C’mon in.”

   The front door opens, and in walks two young black couples, greeted by the sight of my spread open backside. “Yo, ‘Rell. What it is,” one of the boys asks, all their eyes are focused on my sex.

   “Yo, Tinka. I just be usin’ my bitch. She tried ta stiff me las’ night wiff somma her johns. She needs some re-educatin’. Y’all wants ta help me wiff her?”

  “Sho, ‘Rell. Be glad to.”

   Terrell leans forward from the chair and grabs my hair at the back of my head, and in one quick motion, he yanks me off his cock and tosses me to the floor, flat on my back. The angry raised and swollen red marks that traverse my breasts, belly, and thighs bearing testament to the recent whipped I had received, as well as proclaiming to his friends his hold over me.

   Terrell stands up, buckling his loose fitting low riding jeans and says, “We all gonna have us some fun wiff my ‘ho, then we gonna hurt her, so she ‘members not to try ‘n rip me off evah agin!”

   He hands each of his friends rattan canes. “C’mon bitch,” he says to me, kicking me in the ribs, “Let’s go play!”

   I crawl on my hands and knees across the floor, four canes swishing through the air, cutting my back and ass as I crawl past the four. I wait patiently at the kitchen door until someone deems to open it for me. The canes still whistling, finding their marks. Finally, the door is open, and I crawl, naked, across the grass to the garage, and my fate.

   Once we are all inside the garage, Terrell cinches leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles. Tying a length of stout rope to the wrist cuffs, he then tosses the end of it over one of the ceiling joists, and with the help of his two male friends, they pull on the rope, hoisting me up, until I hang suspended by my wrists, my feet more than a foot off the ground. (The tinglings by now are so intense, that I cum when my feet leave the floor, an embarrassing  fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by Shakira).

   “Yo ‘Rell,” she says, “Dis cunt gits off on this shit, don’ she?”

   “Whatchu mean, baby doll?”

   “She be cummin’ when you ties her up.”

   Terrell just smiles, and replies, “She do like it rough.”

   Next on the agenda, Terrell ties a short piece of rope to a concrete cinder block and has his buddies hold the block up while he ties it to each of my ankle cuffs. Secured, he says to them, “Drop it.”

  They drop the block, which falls and stops suddenly. It doesn’t hit the ground. Instead, it hangs from my feet, dangling and adding pressure to every joint, muscle, and sinew from my cuffed wrists down the entire length of my tautly stretched body. A moan escapes from my mouth from the strain. The five of them gather around me, canes at the ready, and watch my torment.

   Shakira approaches me first, and taking a stick of bright red lipstick from her shoulder bag, she proceeds to write the word “WHORE” on my stomach, and CUNT” on my bald mound, smearing the lipstick into my sweaty skin. Putting the lipstick back in her bag, she glares into my eyes and says, “I’m gonna beat you, ‘ho. I’m gonna beats you bad.” She looks at her friends, and they all nod in agreement. Then she adds, “But firs’, you’s gots ta beg me to beat you.”

   My addled brain doesn’t immediately process what she said. Impatient, she slaps my face hard and fast, left cheek, right cheek, and yells, “You listenin’,ta me bitch? You wants me ta beat ‘chu, you gots ta beg me!”

   “Please,” I begin, my eyes focusing on the group, their canes swishing aimlessly at their sides. (Out of the corner of my eye I can  see Carmelita’s camera pointed straight at my face). “Please, I need you all to whip me. Please. I deserve to be punished. I’ll do anything you want. I promise. Just, .......just whip me. Please!”

   The two boys giggle, but Shakira doesn’t crack a smile. “I’ll be rememberin’ what you promised, ‘ho.”  

   The first lash came from Shakira. It was hard and fast, and it landed right across my stomach, bringing a loud grunt from me on impact. The others, somewhat sheepishly at first, followed her lead and began caning me. Instantly I was overcome with the sensory overload of five canes beating me simultaneously from my armpits to my knees. Front, back and sides. Every inch of skin was a fair target. In a very short time I felt like I was having an out of body experience, like I was observing it all from some nearby, and yet, still, a somehow removed location. A witness. Not a participant. Hanging there by my wrists, unable to see some of the blows as they struck, able to see others, the pain from each lash registering and then quickly blurring, blending, mixing together in my foggy brain. The intensity and severity of it all seemed to diminish, until I almost didn’t even feel any of it at all. The tinglings overwhelming me, cumming multiple times.

   I felt like I was floating somewhere. (Later I would learn that, for the first time, I had achieved “sub-space.” A mind state brought on by the endorphin overload and the mental state I was in).

   When at last they stop, (I have no idea at all as to how long the beating lasted), I am hanging limp, turning slowly from the rope, twitching and shaking uncontrollably. Terrell pulls a knife from his pocket and cuts the rope just above my wrists. I fall to the floor in a heap. Terrell orders me to satisfy my attackers and thank each one properly. I lick the asses and pussies of the two girls, (Shakira has her period), making them cum. Then I suck off the three boys as well, making sure to swallow every drop of cum I am given. I collapse on the floor as they walk out, leaving me alone and naked.

   Carmelita and I send off the video to sLave 6 even before I take a shower and put antiseptic on some of the welts where the skin was broken.

   Tommy spent half of his leave with Grandma Jo and me, teaching me how to drive. (This time with Tommy didn’t just curtail my garage activities, it halted them completely, as he and I were never apart. Just before he left, Tommy took me to a local car dealership and helped me pick out a car. He wanted to get me something big, (read safe), reliable, and not too expensive. He found a twelve year old Chevy station wagon. Full size. Four doors, bench seating for six, plus two more in the far back facing rear, power everything, good tires, no rust........In short, a great car for a beginner. Not exactly a poster child for some EPA environmental politically correct campaign on fuel efficiency, but safe and dependable nonetheless. I got my license about three months after Tommy had gone back overseas, so I was able to drive to school for my Senior year, taking Carmelita with me each day.

   My six month review was very good. Excellent actually. It said that I had made noticeable progress in male worship and in exhibiting a willingness to accept directives and withstand pain and humiliation. I was being allowed to continue into my second six month training period. I received an email from sLave 6 congratulating me on my accomplishment and telling me how proud she was of the progress I had made. At the end of the email she wrote, “Go to a sporting goods store and purchase some fish hooks, various sizes, monofilament line, and four pounds of two ounce fishing weights.”

   There was an old gas station on the edge of town, down by the river, and they sold bait and fishing tackle, so I went there. My short tee shirt was cropped off, (by me), just below my bra-less breasts, exposing the undersides of my orbs to any and all. The bare midriff coupled with the extremely short cut-offs kept the old man behind the counter mesmerized as I looked for the items sLave 6 required. The lecherous old guy kept telling me everything was on the bottom shelf, making me bend over and exposing my naked ass . I decided to give him a freebie, bending over, spreading my legs apart with my back to him, so he could see my panty-less bald pussy for himself. (He remained pretty quiet after that!).

   I sent a text to sLave 6 telling her I had acquired everything she wanted. The next day I got a text in reply telling me to get Carmelita, and her camera. I was to log onto the REALM site, and there I would receive my instructions.

   I called up Carmelita right away, and after Grandma Jo headed out for bingo, we logged onto the site to read my instructions:

   “You are to follow these instructions to the letter. Your grade will primarily be based upon how well you adhere to the directives I give you. This training session is about obedience first, pain and humiliation tolerance building is secondary. We need to measure your willingness to obey to orders given you. Start the video documentation before you begin. (Carmelita started the camera rolling).

   #1. You are to contact Terrell and his girlfriend, as they are to be involved in this session as well. Pay them whatever they require. Yes, we all know you have been paying him to pimp you out, you little whore. (My tinglings kicked in at this point!). You will arrange to pick them both up and drive them to your house yourself for this test. You are to wear the skimpiest top you own when you do this.

   #2.  All contact with me ceases after this. Everything will be handled by me, through Carmelita, so send me her email address right away. If she accomplishes all of her tasks as instructed, she will be rewarded with a free life-time access to the REALM site and all it’s videos. You will not hear from me again, nor should you attempt to contact me again, until after this test has been completed and graded. Carmelita will tell you nothing about this test, and you will not ask her anything about it as well. She will report to me if you do.

   #3.  This test is to be accomplished within one week from today.

   Carmelita was excited by the idea of her participating more in my next test, as well as the prospect of her highly motivational reward at it’s end. She sent off her email address to sLave 6 right away. We selected the following Tuesday, five days hence, for the test. Carmelita volunteered to contact Terrell and set it up as to time and place where I would pick him and Shakira up for the test.

   (This next part I was not privy to, as sLave 6 had said. I only learned about it later, as Carmelita, being my friend saved all of her emails from sLave 6 so I could read them after everything was through.)

   Carmelita received an email from sLave 6 the next day:

   “Thank you for agreeing to help out with sLut 14's next test. There are, however, a few rules that you will be required to abide by, strictly and confidentially. If you don’t, sLut 14 could possibly lose her status, and have to start her training at the beginning, without your participation ever again.

   You are strictly forbidden to tell sLut 14 anything that will occur. If she even asks you anything about the test, you are to write down the date and time she broke this rule, as well as what she asked you. You are to make contact with me daily about any infractions she has. The purpose of this test is mainly designed to measure sLut 14's levels of obedience and willingness to comply with orders. At this point, all she knows is that she is to arrange to meet Terrell and Shakira and bring them to her house for the test. I will send you more information as the test date approaches.

Please feel free to contact me at any time should you have any questions or concerns.  sLave 6"

   The morning of the test I received an email from sLave 6 which read:

   “Here are your instructions to prepare for this next test:

   #1.   You are to cut four twelve inch lengths of your fishing line and securely tie one pound of weights to the end of each one, (8 on each piece of line). Place them all in a box and leave it on the workbench in your garage. (This task proved to be much harder than it initially seemed. The fishing line was stiff, not easy to work with, and tying knots in the line to hold the weights proved challenging, as the one pound weight easily pulled the knots right out. Finally, after some experimentation, I found a knot that held, and secured the weights to the four strands of line.)

   #2.  Prepare yourself properly: Bathe, Shave, Enema, liberal applications of make-up and perfume. You are to look like a cheap hooker.”

   (Since I had no knowledge of what was to occur,  I will explain the test as it happened.)

   At 5:00PM, I hit the bathroom for an enema and shower to start my prep. I paid careful attention to shaving myself everywhere from my neck down, except of course my thick bushy armpits. I applied a potent perfume under my arms, between my breasts, in the small of my back, behind my knees, and on my lower belly, just above my mound. Then I began the make up: mascara, eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, blush, and bright red lipstick. I used more perfume, three applications in fact, while doing my face. Carmelita came over while I was getting dressed. I had a short spaghetti strap tank top and short shorts with thong panties laid out on my bed, along with a pair of low heeled sandals.

   I told Grandma Jo that Carmelita and I were going to the mall for printer paper and ink for the computer and wished her luck at her bingo game. A quick peck on the cheek and we were out the door. (Grandma Jo never questioned or made judgements about how I dressed. I guess after how I looked when I first came to live with her, she felt that my newfound attention to my appearance was a good sign, and since cousin Kendra dresses very provocatively too, she probably thought it was pretty much normal for all young girls to look like me.)

   We got into my car and I was buckling my seatbelt when Carmelita said to me, “Leave your top on, but I want you to take off your shorts, panties and sandals and give them all to me, right now, puta!”

   Startled, I turned to look at her, and saw that she had her video camera up and running, registering the look of bewildered disbelief on my face. The test had already begun! Right here in my driveway, the test was under way!

  Looking back towards the house to see if we were being watched, I swallowed once, arched my back, and lifted my butt up from the seat. I slipped my shorts and panties off together in one motion. I handed them to Carmelita, looking into the camera lens as I did it, then I bent down and undid my sandals, pulling them off, and handing them over to her as well. She stuffed my clothes into her enormous canvas tote bag that she always carries with her everywhere she goes.

   “Let’s go and meet your friends, Gringa,” she said. “We have great plans for you tonight!”

   I could feel the wetness building in my exposed pussy as the tinglings erupted from deep within me.

   I started the car and backed out of the driveway to go and meet Terrell and Shakira. Carmelita’s ominous threat driving the tinglings in my belly as my mind stated fantasizing over what was in store for me. I knew there would be a big wet stain on the car seat very soon. The anticipation of the events ahead making me heady. I found that concentrating on my driving was very hard.

   Terrell and his girlfriend were standing on the street corner right where they had said they would be. I pulled the big station wagon over in front of them and Carmelita hopped out of the front seat, camera still running, and got in the back. Shakira slid across the wide seat and sat next to me, as Terrell got in behind her and closed the door. It took Shakira all of about three seconds to realize I was naked below the waist. “This fuckin’ ‘ho be naked, ‘Rell,” she announced loudly, looking at my mound. “Whatdafuck?”

   Terrell leaned over and saw my condition, and said, “So what. She jus’ ready for us ta play wit her, that’s all.”

   “You stupid or sumpin’,” She asked him? “We be driving aroun’s wiff some naked white bitch, we get caught we be goin’ ta jail, ‘Rell. She fuckin’ not crazy, ‘Rell, she fucked up. She be a sick mo’fo. Man, I ain’t doin’ this shit no mo’.”

   “C’mon, Shak’” he pleaded with her. “It’s okay. I wouldn’ git chu inta no kinda trouble.”

   Then he turned in his seat and said to Carnelita, “We wants mo’ money, bitch, or we gits out the car right here.”

   “No problem, Terrell. How much do you want,” Carmelita asked him, calm, almost like she had expected this all along.

   “We gits a hunnerd each. A hunnerd now, up front, fo’ we gits to the bitch’s house and fucks her over.”

   “Puta, drive to the ATM and take out the money, or you’ll fail this test.,” Carmelita said to me.

   “Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, putting the Chevy in drive and puling from the curb.

   “Two hundred dollars, I thought to myself. Two hundred dollars!”

   I took the money out of the ATM and handed it to Carmelita, who gave Terrell and Shakira $100 each. “There, see? All taken care of Terrell,” she said to him.

   “You better now, baby,” he asked his girlfriend? “When we be finished wiff dis ‘ho, I’ll take’s you out ta dinner.”

   “I still not likin’ this shit, ‘Rell. She’s fucked up. Crazy bad fucked up. We gots ta be careful ‘roun’ her. You know what I be sayin’?”

   I was driving toward my house, when Carmelita said, “Pull over here, puta.”

   I pulled between two parked cars as ordered.

   “Turn off the car,” she said.

   I did as told.

   “I want you to go into the flower shop and buy 1 dozen  long stemmed red roses, puta.” She handed me some cash.

   I was about to get out of the car, when it dawned on me I had no pants or shoes on. I turned to say something, and she said, “Take off your top and hand it to me before you go. A cheap whore like you needs to get used to being naked in front of strangers.”

   I paused a second, my mind foggy. The danger ahead making my tinglings take over my mind.

   “What are you waiting for, bitch,” Shakira said. “ This is what you be wantin’ all along. You dig this sick shit. Take off your shirt and do what you’re told.”

   I took off my top and Shakira grabbed it from me.

   The flower shop was on the opposite side of the street, three store fronts down from where I was parked. I looked to see what traffic was coming from behind and in front, took a deep breath, (yes, I actually did take a deep breath! My heart was racing a mile a minute, and the tinglings had me on the edge of cumming!), took hold of the door handle and got out.

   “No running,” Shakira called through the open window. “Let the world see what a good little ‘ho you is.”

   I walked across the hot pavement of the street, my feet burning with each step, aiming for the narrow space between two parked cars to offer some concealment. (I didn’t see that Carmelita was following right behind me, camera recording all). Stepping out on the sidewalk, I walked purposefully towards the flower shop, no pedestrians facing me, a few well back behind me. I opened the shop door and the tinkling of a bell drew the immediate attention of the girl working the counter.

   She was younger than me, maybe thirteen, fourteen tops. Her jaw dropped when see saw my condition. (Carmelita slipped in behind me before the door closed. I still wasn’t aware she was there). Walking to the well worn counter, I said, “I’d like a dozen long stemmed roses. Red please.”

   The girl kept starring at me, red faced, obviously in shock, not moving. “I...........I’m s....sorry,” she stammered. “Wh.....what did you s........say?”

   “A dozen long stemmed roses, please. Red.”

   She turned hurriedly and went to the refrigerator to pick out the flowers. I looked back over my shoulder  towards the front windows to see if anyone was watching. (That was when I first saw Carmelita). I faced the counter again,  watching the girl select the roses, when I heard the bell tinkle on the door, signaling the arrival of another customer. Instinctively I turned to the sound, as was confronted by my high school English teacher from the past year, Mrs. Arden, a fifty plus year old widow. ( Still very attractive, in a matronly way. Slight build, small breasts, narrow waist, long dark hair with natural streaks of gray rolled into a tight bun on the back of her head, wearing a light blue dress with a slit up the side that ended a good two inches above her knees, showing long, smooth, shapely calves, and the hint of toned strong legs.)

   “Sandy?” she said, stunned at the sight of my nakedness.

   The tinglings gave me a quick cum. I was found out! Now Grandma Jo would find out! Shaking suddenly as the orgasm whipped through me, all I could say was, “M......Mrs..........Mrs. Arden............I...........I”

   She spotted Carmelita with the camera filming me, smiled and said, “Playing a  little prank, are we Sandy?”

   I lowered my eyes, averting hers, “Yes, ma’am. A......a dare actually.” (Not a lie really, just not the entire truth either.)

   “I see,” she smiled, taking a few steps closer to me.  I looked up and saw she was standing right in front of me,  looking me over, from my breasts, nipples rock hard and jutting out,  to my bald pussy. She seemed to be drinking it all in, a twinkle in her eye. “You’re really quite lovely,” she said, brushing my upper arm with her hand. Goose bumps erupted on my body as the sensation of her dedicate hand lit me up inside. The tinglings causing me to pant slightly. “Well don’t let me stop you. You’re really a beautiful sight for sore eyes like this. I certainly don’t mind looking at you.” She leaned in a whispered in my ear, “I’ve often wondered what you looked like underneath your clothes, you little minx! And I am certainly not the slightest bit disappointed.”

   I felt my face flush with embarrassment at my ex-teacher’s revelation.

   The florist came back with the roses, and said, “That’s $48.57, with the tax, please.”

   I started to hand her the bills that were wadded up in my hand, when Mrs. Arden said, “Let me get that for you. Call it a ‘thank you’ for this little treat.”

   “Thank you, Mrs. Arden,” I replied, “But you shouldn’t do that,  it’s not necessary.”

   “I insist,” she countered, placing her credit card on the counter.

   As the girl began processing the card, Mrs. Arden turned to me and asked, “Are these a gift for your Grandmother, Sandy?”

   “No,” I answered her, then realizing I had no clue why Carmelita made me come in here to get them.

   “I made her buy them,” Carmelita explained, coming closer, zooming in on my face, as she added, “This leetle whore is going to be whipped with them ‘til she bleeds!”

   I know my face registered the shock of that knowledge. Mrs. Arden, however, seemed nonplused. “Is she now,” she grinned with a sinister look in her eye. “That’s something I would certainly love to see!”

   No one spoke, until Carmelita prodded me, “Sandy? .........sLut 14. What do you say to this nice lady?”

   “I.......I...........I would be proud to have you witness my whipping, Mrs. Arden,” I stammered, my head drooping down, mortified.

   “And?” Carmelita continued, prodding me, pushing me even further.

   “And.........” my mind rushing, trying to think what I was expected to say, ............, “and...........and if it would please y......you,........ you may wh..........whip me..........whip m......me as well,........if y.....you would like to.”

   “I’d like that very much, you little fucking tramp,” she hissed. My tinglings making my head swoon. My pussy was soaking wet, gushing juices down the insides of my thighs.

   “We’ll be in that big Chevy station wagon across the street,” Carmelita told her, as the florist handed Mrs. Arden her receipt. “We’ll wait for you, and you can follow us to Sandy’s.”

   “That would be fine, thank you. I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

   “Let’s go, puta,” Carmelita said. “We have a busy evening planned for you.”

   A few passers by on the sidewalk stopped dead in their tracks as I exited the florist, roses in hand, and crossed the street, (standing tall, almost strutting, feeling most defiant and proud now of my public nudity), to my car, where Terrell and Shakira were waiting. We remained parked at the curb for about ten minutes until Mrs. Arden came out of the shop, carrying what looked to be a bunch of flowers wrapped in paper. I saw her look around until she spotted my car, and then she headed for hers. She followed us to Grandma Jo’s, to participate in my next test.

   Once we all got into the driveway, Carmelita said, “To the garage, puta. It ‘eez time for your next test!”

   I crawled from the car, across the gravel driveway to the side door of the garage. Terrell opened it up for me, and I crawled in, followed by Shakira, Mrs. Arden, Terrell, and lastly, Carmelita filming all the way.

   “We will begin by flogging her,” Carmelita said, “With the roses. You will each be given four of them. You may use them singly, or in a bundle, that decision is your. She may be whipped on any part of her body that pleases you. The only rule is that you must not stop whipping her until your roses are splintered and broken and are of no further use. Any questions?”

   Terrell and Shakira were silent, having participated in my tests before, they knew what my limits were.. Mrs. Arden, however, spoke up; “Will the slave be restrained during her whipping,” she asked?

   “Yes. For this portion of the test she will be restrained. She will hang by her wrists from a cross. She is to be crucified,” Carmelita replied. “I will need all of you to help me to crucify the slave.”

   Fear gripped my stomach, cramps struck my bowels, as the images we all have seen of that most barbarous of Roman tortures filled my head. The tinglings were rampant now, and a loud moan escaped as I came from the mere thought of the suffering,  the pain, and the indignity of crucifixion I was about to be tested with.

   “The fucking slut, came, ‘Rell. I tol’ you she be a fucking sick bitch. We gonna crucify the mutha fucker bitch ‘ho, and she be gittin’ off on it! Dis be some sick ass shit, bro.”

   Terrell was given the task of tying lengths of thick coarse rope to my wrists. He had me kneel before him as he wrapped it around many times, pulling the rope tight, cutting into my wrists as he knotted the rope. Shakira and Mrs. Arden found a five foot length of 2x6, drilled a few holes in the center of it, and then nailed it to one of the lolly columns that supports the garage roof, about six feet off the ground.

   Their tasks completed, Shakira and Mrs. Arden both spit in my face, and Terrell pulled out his cock, and ordered  me to open my mouth to him. He throat fucked me for a few minutes, making me gag and puke on my breasts as his stout cock pushed deep down my throat. But he didn’t cum. Then he pissed in my mouth, stopping frequently, waiting,  and making me swallow the warm acrid liquid.

   “Play with yourself, slut,” Mrs. Arden ordered. “Make yourself cum for us. Tell us why a whore like you deserves to be crucified for LOThAR.” ( It didn’t even register with me then as to why Mrs. Arden would even know of LOThAR, why she’d mention HIS name).

    My fingers found my sopping wet slit and started burrowing in, rubbing, pinching, and tugging on my swollen clit. “Please crucify this unworthy whore slut,” I pleaded. “She deserves the pain and humiliation of being tortured for the REALM. It is all I have to offer up. Please....please... accept......acce.........” I came, shuddering, and fell over, twitching on the floor.

   

   Terrell and Mrs. Arden grabbed me under my arms and I was then made to stand on a couple of old milk crates while they secured my wrists to the ends of the 2x6, and my ankles to the lolly column.

   They stepped back to admire their handicraft. “Ready, puta,” Carmelita asked me?

   “Yes,” I closed my eyes. “Crucify me for LOThAR, I offer myself to HIM, ” I yelled. “Crucify me for the REALM!”

   I didn’t see who it was that kicked the milk crates out from under me, but the drop, and sudden stop brought a loud scream from deep within me. The strain on my wrists and shoulders was like nothing I had ever before felt. Even the simple act of breathing seemed somehow more difficult now. I could feel warmth on my arms and looked up to see that the coarse rope was chaffing and cutting my wrists so that they were both bleeding, the blood running down my arms to my exposed hairy armpits. I also felt warmth between my legs, and realized, mortified, that I had pissed myself in front of my four tormentors.

   Terrell, Shakira, and Mrs. Arden took up positions in front of me, roses in their hands, looking at me, drinking in the spectacle of my naked crucified body, picking out the parts of me they would torment and torture with the thorny stems.

   Mrs. Arden turned to Shakira and said, “Please be a dear and help me out of my dress.”

   Shakira looked at the woman, stunned, but stepped behind her and lowered the zipper down her back. Mrs. Arden slid the dress off her shoulders and it crumpled to the ground at her feet, exposing a black leather bra, open at the tips, exposing her gold ringed nipples. She also wore a black leather corset, and nothing else. Her bald pussy sporting many rings in her labia and a very thick one through her clit hood. She stepped up to my cross and said, “I am a servant of LOThAR, sLut 14, and you will obey me as you would HIM, is that understood?”

   “Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, my eyes wide at the sight of my English teacher’s outfit.

   “I am to be addressed as Mistress K, whore.”

   “Yes, Mistress K.”

   “Terrell, bring me that box on the bench with the fish hooks and weights,” she ordered, not taking her eyes from mine.

   He retrieved the box and held it out for her. She picked up one of the hooks with the line and weights attached to it. “These are going in your pretty little nipples, cunt.”

   “Yes, Mistress K. If it would please you.”

  “It would please me as a matter of fact. It would please me greatly to run these into you!

   “Shakira, hand me a set of pliers.”

   “Yes, Ma’am,” she said, making a quick search of the workbench for them. Having found them, she went to hand them to Mistress K, when she was stopped, “Grab her right nipple with the pliers and pull her tit with it.”

   “I’d like that,” she answered smiling.

   I couldn’t bring myself to watch, but I felt the grooved teeth of the pliers on my nipple, and then a sharp pinching sensation as Shakira squeezed the handles together.

   “Ooh,” I yelped.

   “Grab the handle tighter Shakira. And pull her tit up with the pliers.”

   Obediently, she did as she was told, stretching my tit away from my chest, elongating my nipple.

   I felt Mistress K’s soft hands caress my taut nipple, and then I felt the sharp point of the barb pricking the underside of my nipple. There was a pause, and then I screamed as she pushed the fish hook through the base of my nipple and out through the top. It didn’t slide right through easily, I must add. I had the sensation that it was tearing it’s way through my flesh. There was a lot of pressure and she needed to exert a lot of force to pierce me. (I have since learned that the skin and underlying flesh is quite elastic, and while a slice from a razor blade, or even a piece of paper can cut the skin quite easily, puncturing it is another matter all together.)

   I looked down and saw the hook hanging from deep in my tit, a small drop of blood surrounding the cold steel.

   Mistress K didn’t stop to admire her handiwork, she just told Shakira to put the pliers on my left nipple and she pierced that one the same way. The weight hanging from the hooks was an odd sensation. Not painful really, but very uncomfortable, as my breasts were being pulled down by the weight.

   My labia were next. Mistress K. Had Shakira grab a generous portion of the thick outer lip with the pliers, and she sank the fish hook deep into the flesh. It hurt. It hurt a lot, but the nipples hurt far more.

   Pierced in four places now, weights causing my nether lips to extend far from my pussy, everyone stood back to look at me, while Carmelita came in close with the camera to get some detailed footage. Mistress K licked a finger on her right hand and started massaging my clit, bringing me off instantly, my body awash in the mind blowing sensations of pain and pleasure. She kept rubbing, the tinglings out of control, and I kept cumming, and screaming, hanging, sagging really, on the cross by my wrists. I think I might have passed out at that moment, because I really have no recollection at all as to how long it lasted. I do know, however,  that when I became conscious of my surroundings again, Shakira was whipping my thighs with the roses, ripping at my legs, imbedding the thorns in them as she lashed repeatedly.

   Terrell followed her, whipping my belly in the same fashion, cruelly, viciously, until his roses were broken and destroyed. Next up was Mistress K., who concentrated on my breasts. She, however, took her time, unlike my first two tormentors, who whipped me with a fury that lasted less than a minute each. She paced herself, and her strokes as well, making me wait, and anticipate each lash, and burning pain, as well as the effects the thorny stems had on my pierced and weighted orbs.

   When at long last, Mistress K’s roses were trashed, I looked down at my body to see the spectacle of what they had unleashed. Blood streams ran from my breasts, stomach, and thighs, with numerous thorns protruding from my battered flesh, way too many to count. There was caked and dried blood on my nipples where the fish hooks pierced them. (I couldn’t move my head forward enough to look at my pussy).

   Carmelita was still filming me, as Terrell put the milk crates under my feet so I could be taken down from the cross. Once on the ground, on my hands and knees, Mistress K ordered me to lick Shakira’s pussy until she came, and then she had Terrell fuck my asshole, as I held my butt cheeks wide apart with my hands to make his penetration of my rear hole easier for him. When I had serviced her as well, Mistress K, noticing the time, said she would drive Terrell and Shakira back to town, and that I was to get cleaned up and take care of my wounds myself. “Oh, and by the way,” she added as they left Carmelita and I in the garage, “How you choose to remove those hooks is up to you. You can pull them out, or push them out. Your option. But, however you decide to remove them, Carmelita is to record it.”

   The three of the them were gone. I used a razor blade to cut the fishing line and weights from the hooks, and then picked the thorns from my breasts, belly and thighs, while I thought about my quandary in removing the hooks. The eyes were far larger than the holes in my pussy lips and nipples, but the barbs were designed to be inserted in one direction, and not be pulled back out the same way they went in. I decided to let my tinglings decide for me. Pulling one of the hooks in my labia up to where the eye was near the hole, as Carmelita zoomed in for a close-up, I watched as the skin stretched thin, trying to accommodate the large metal eye. My tinglings were moderate in intensity. I pulled the hook back the other way, and immediately saw that the sharp barb would not line up with the hole. Right away I saw that in order for the hook to be taken out that way, the barb would tear a wider path through the tender skin. The tinglings surged, and I knew there could be only one way for me to do this.

   Taking a firm grasp on the eye of the fish hook, I slowly started to pull on it, watching as my hairless nether lip started to stretch and the point of the barb pricked the skin. I kept pulling, slowly, in order that I might prolong the pain, and the barb began to rip through the skin as the hook started to follow it through the new hole. By the time the hook was out, there was quite a lot of blood, (I feared it might need to be stitched!), and I came.

   I did the same thing with the other labia, before moving to the hooks in my nipples, which were rock hard, and jutting out from my bruised and torn tits. Grasping one hook with my left hand and the other with my right, barbed end first, I slowly pulled both hooks out at the same time.  My breasts were lifted straight out from my chest before the barbs began to tear into my nipples. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I whimpered and cried at the searing pain. Blood was running down my stomach and settling in my lap. All the while, Carmelita kept the camera focused on the fish hooks, with occasional pans to my tortured tear stained face.  The mascara streaked down my cheeks. (The tinglings were beyond description now, and I was shaking in what seemed to be a continuous state of cumming as I willingly abused my own chest so savagely).

   When my ordeal was completed, I went straight to the shower to clean up and dress my wounds, before Grandma Jo got home,  while Carmelita downloaded the video and sent it off to the Realm. I slept in panties that night, with a sanitary pad against my crotch to prevent any blood from getting on the sheets. I also had band-aids on my nipples for the same purpose. Carmelita got an email from sLave 6 the next day commending her for her role in my last test, and providing her with the access code for her free lifetime access to the website. I was informed a few days later that I had, in fact, done well on this latest test, and that when I went back to school in two weeks, I was to check in with Mrs. Arden, Mistress K, first thing in the morning, everyday for any instructions. (My Senior year promised to be an arduous one!)

  

                                                  

  

  

  

  

 

  

  

  

  

TESTED BY LOThAR

Chapter 5

CHANGINGS

By: Charles E. Campbell

   Labor day came and passed and suddenly I was back in school. Senior year! Last one! Having a car now I no longer had to deal with riding the insipid school bus. Every morning I swung by Carmelita’s house and picked her up. sLave  6 had pretty much given Carm free reign over me. Anything she wanted, any order or any directive, was to be obeyed as if it was coming from LOThAR Himself. No questions, no hesitations. She had a direct link to sLave 6 and was charged with promptly reporting any infractions I might have incurred.

   Some mornings, Carmelita would have me service her orally in the school parking lot before we went off to class. Other mornings she might make me drive to school with my top unbuttoned, or even off. Whatever her whim on that morning, that’s what I did. But every morning, with no exceptions, she made sure to check me to see that I was clean shaven, and wore nothing under my required outfits of very shorts skirts or tight tops. These daily inspections never failed to incite my tinglings.

   I was also directed by sLave 6 to report to Mrs. Arden every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon after school had let out. I was under strict orders to obey her  completely as well. Nothing she wanted from me was forbidden or questionable. Some afternoons Carmelita would accompany me to Mrs. Arden’s room, and sometimes she would just take the bus home by herself. (It seemed that the afternoons when Mrs. Arden would keep me for the longest periods were the ones when Carmelita would go home on the bus. She somehow always knew beforehand.)

   The tears in my nipples and labia from the fish hooks had healed up quite well. Only slightly white scars remained at the sites, and even then you had to look pretty closely in order to see them.

   One afternoon, I was alone with Mrs. Arden in her classroom. She had me barefoot,  standing on tip toes, hands clasped behind my head, facing the wall, my skirt rolled up into my waistband, exposing my recently whipped backside to her as she graded papers. When she was through, she walked up behind me. I felt her cool hand gliding over the raised welts on my naked rear, feeling the ribbed lines she had so recently brought out with a rattan cane.

   “I want you to come over to my house Friday night, whore,” she said, her finger sliding down my crack until it stopped at on the tightly puckered ring of my anus.

   “Yes, Mistress K. Oomph...... Oooooooh. A.....as you wish,” I replied, losing my breath for a moment, as her finger began to probe the tight hole. Her long finger nails had been intentionally filed into sharp points and they cut the fragile skin as she drove two fingers deep inside me.

   “Be there by 6:30. You’ll be allowed to go home by 10:30. Dress as you are now.”

   “Yes Mistress K.”

   “Now, come, I want you to satisfy me, my little whore.”

   Mrs. Arden waited while I got down and was well hidden from view underneath her desk. Then she sat down in her chair and opened her legs for me. Totally concealed as I was by the desk, I brought her to several orgasms before she sent me away.

   Friday night, 5:55PM, I was standing on the wooden porch attached to the front of the modest cape on Ryder St. I rang the bell and waited for a response. Just as I was about to ring the bell a second time, I heard the dead bolt being twisted, and the door opened up, revealing Mrs. Arden. She had obviously just gotten out of the shower, and was wrapped in a luxuriantly thick and soft oversized dark purple towel, which wrapped around her, covering her from her armpits to mid thigh. She had another matching towel encasing her hair. Barefoot, water dripping down her legs creating a small puddle at her delicate feet, she said, “You look lovely this evening, slave. Please do come in my dear.”

   “Thank you, Mistress K,” I replied as I entered her house. I heard her close the door and relock the deadbolt.

   “Follow me,” she said, heading for a back bedroom.

   I followed her upstairs and into the bedroom. “You’ll have to be naked for the evening. Please get undressed and hang your clothes neatly in that closet,” she said, sitting down on the single bed facing me, watching.

   “Yes, Mistress K.”  I pulled my tight tank top over my head and then slid out of my shorts. I hung them on hangers on the rod in the close as instructed.

   “Shoes as well, slut,” she sneered when I didn’t immediately remove them as well. “Naked is an absolute.”

   “Sorry, Mistress.” I stepped out of my flip flops, placed them on the closet floor, and stood before her, naked head to toe.

   “Turn around and bend over. Show me both of your little your holes, slave.”

   “As you wish, Mistress K,” I answered politely as I pivoted on the balls of my feet to face away from her. Bending over, I instinctively spread my legs far apart and then pulled my butt cheeks open for her, without waiting to be told.

   “Such a complacent little slut slave, aren’t you?”

   “Yes, Mistress.”

   Her fingers explored my pussy first, sliding up inside me effortlessly as my juices had already started flowing freely. The tinglings building fast. “No errant hairs that I can see. Very nice.”

   Using my wetness as a lubricant, she explored deeply into my tight ass as well with her wickedly sharp nails. She had two fingers buried to the hilt in each hole and fucked me slowly and rhythmically. Listening to my moans. Sensing my rapidly approaching orgasm. Then, abruptly stopping. Denying me. Teasing and tantalizing me. Right on the brink, yet........

   Her fingers pulled out of me. I knew what she expected. Turning and kneeling at her feet, sucking her fingers clean, tasting my own ass and pussy co mingled.

   “I have some friends coming over this evening for a round of bridge”, she announced as my tongue licked her fingers, cleaning them throughly. “They will not be doing anything to you, but you will be naked as long as they are here. Your responsibilities will include bringing in refreshments, retrieving any cards that drop on the floor, answering the telephone.....

   “There’s a small suitcase in the closet, be a good little slave and fetch it for me.”

   I started to walk to the closet when she said, “The word fetch is a word reserved for  dogs, cunt. When you are told to fetch something, I expect you should be on all fours, like a common animal.”

   “Yes, Mistress,” I said, getting down on the carpeted floor and crawling to the closet.

   Opening the closet door was easy. Pulling out the small suitcase was not a challenging task either. But when I picked it up with one and hand and began crawling back to her on my knees and the other hand, she stopped me, saying in a condescending tone, “Is that how a dog retrieves something for her Mistress, cunt?”

       

   “No,” I replied instinctively, but at the same time having no clue at all about what she meant.

   “Such a poorly trained little bitch, aren’t you? Don’t you know anything? You use your mouth to retrieve things, just like any other puppy would.”

   Taking hold of the handle with my teeth, I had to arch my back and raise my head up as high as I could in order to lift the suitcase from the floor and begin to crawl back to her.

   I set the suitcase at Mistress K’s feet, and she said “turn away from me and kneel.”

   I obeyed, and waited. She pulled out the tie back in my hair and brushed my hair for a few minutes before gathering it up in a high ponytail near the top of my head. The next thing I knew, my face was covered by an extremely soft black leather mask, which she proceeded to pull down, covering over my entire head, even under my chin towards my throat. It took her a few minutes to get the tightly fitting hood in position, as she had to constantly check to see that the eye slits and the two tiny nostril holes stayed aligned in position. Once she had it in place, she laced it up from the back, lifting my pont tail as she did, so that it stuck out from high on the back of my head. She pulled back on the leather laces as tightly as she could, molding the leather to fit the contours of my face.

   I could see, but only ever so slightly, out the less than adequate eye slits, but at least breathing through the holes was surprisingly fine. Speech, however, was totally out of the question, as the eye slits and nostril holes were the sole openings in the hood, and the shape of the hood pulled my jaw closed tight. All in all, it was really quite perfect for it’s intended purpose. It was warm, but not uncomfortable, and the smell of the rich supple leather was intoxicating to me. Calming. Reassuring even.

   Mistress K sat down and admired me, running her hands up the insides of my thighs. ( I quickly spread my legs apart for Her without being told.) She checked my level of arousal, inserting two fingers into my pussy, “My, we are excited, aren’t we,” she said. (It was difficult to hear her through the hood, as there were no holes for my ears. The tinglings were causing me to squirm.) All I could do was nod and mumble, my jaw held tightly closed by the hood.. She kept on talking as she pulled a tight pair of matching black kidskin opera gloves onto my hands and up my arms. I concentrated on listening to Her as She continued,  “Your only concerns tonight are the needs of my bridge guests. As I stated earlier, there will be nothing expected from you this evening excepting for the usual services a maid might provide. If you perform well enough, and meet my expectations, I have been instructed to presentto you a gift  from LOThAR HIMSELF, which He has empowered me to present to you on HIS behalf.

  “I’m going to get dressed now. If the doorbell rings, you are to answer it, and admit my guests. Hang up any outer garments they might have, and escort them to my living room. If they ask for refreshments, get them. You will find a list of things I want you to tend to in the kitchen. It’s on the counter, next to the coffee pot. You will also find everything you’ll need laid out on the counter. When your services aren’t required, I want you to lie on the coffee table, on your back, holding your ankles with your hands, legs spread, facing the guests. Open yourself to them.” She patted my pussy, and wiped my wetness on the hood, right underneath as well as in the nostril holes for me to smell.

   I nodded to indicate my understanding of her wishes, and waited for her to leave the room before I went back downstairs to await her guests. I’m not sure how long I waited alone, but the doorbell rang before Mistress K came back downstairs. I opened the door and stood back, allowing a couple to come in. He was an older man, tall and in good shape, gold rimless glasses, with a thick head of almost pure white hair, and a matching well trimmed white goatee. He wore a yellow button collar long sleeve shirt, pressed khakis, and penny loafers. She, on the other hand was much shorter, chunky build, short salt and pepper hair, tortoise shell glasses, no make-up at all, a flowery peasant dress hiding her completely,  all reds, pinks and yellows, and sandals. Her jaw dropped when she saw me, but with a twinkle in his eyes he just said, “Kaye said she had a big surprise for us this evening, Miriam, I guess she wasn’t kidding now!”

   The two of them just stood and stared at my nakedness, before I indicated with my hand that they should follow me into the living room.

   Upon entering the room they immediately took their seats on opposite sides of the card table. Miriam’s eyes kept coming back to me. The man picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle them purposefully. The doorbell rang again and I went to answer it just as Mistress K. came into the room. “Miriam, Jonathan, it’s good to see you. Ready for a little game of bridge,” I heard her say as I was leaving the room.

   I opened the front door and was shocked to see Ms. Farmer, my PE teacher standing at the door. A knot quickly formed in my stomach. Fearful she might recognize me.

   “My, what a lovely surprise,” she smiled, taking in my body. She reached out and cupped my right breast as she entered the vestibule. “Very nice,” she commented, smiling, kneading the orb lightly and pinching my erect nipple with her nails.

  I always hated her. A real fucking Dyke bitch! Everyone knew she was a Lezzie. Spiked bleached crew cut “hairdo”, broad shoulders, overly defined arms and legs, no tits at all, with a wide flat ass. Sort of a poster child against steroid abuse. Always loved to be in the locker room whenever we girls would change for gym class. Secretly spying on all of us, while pretending to write the attendance on her clipboard. “Thank God for the mask!” I thought to myself as she left me to close the door. I’d die if she recognized me.

   When I got back to the living room, Farmer had just greeted Miriam and Jonathan, and she and Mistress K. were partaking of a little sucking face. Mouths wide open, tongues exploring each other’s mouths, Framer’s hand was massaging Mistress K’s breast through her top. Miriam and Jonathan paid the display no mind whatsoever. It must have been the norm for them, I thought to myself. Miriam said, “Jonathan and I would like some tea, Dear,” she said turning to me, smiling demurely, trying her best to act nonchalant about my nakedness.  I nodded assent and went to the kitchen.

   Everything I might need was carefully laid out on the wide pale mauve formica counter top as Mistress had said. The big percolator had finished brewing coffee, a tea kettle was on the stove, a small tray of various bakery cookies sat waiting, covered in a transparent food wrap. Another larger tray was set up with four cups and saucers, a cup holding a variety of sweeteners, an empty creamer, and some spoons. A note in Mistress K’s hand told me that the cream was in the refrigerator.

   I put the burner on under the tea kettle and put tea bags into two of the cups. When the water was hot, I poured it into the cups and carried the tray out to the guests. I was sent back to the kitchen right away to get coffee for Mistress K. and Ms. Farmer. I was then told to stand in the corner of the room, facing away until I was needed again.

   Pretty much that was how I spent the evening. Refills of tea and coffee, serving the cookies, laying on the table with my pussy and ass open to be viewed. I wasn’t able to get my head into a position that would allow me to see who was watching me the most, but I knew it was probably Farmer, although it might have been Miriam as well. (Jonathan kept admonishing her for her bad playing during the game, accusing her of not concentrating, and seeming to be distracted). I felt my wetness leaking out of me all night long. I even thought I could smell myself in the still air of the room. My tinglings were pretty much in check all night, but they were an ever present reminder of what I was doing.

     The bridge game ended about 10:00. Miriam and Jonathan left together, but Ms. Farmer hung around with Mistress K., eyeing me greedily. “She’s quite lovely, Kaye,” she remarked, her hand cupping my butt, squeezing it lightly. “She helped us win several hands tonight.”

   “Funny,” Mistress K. remarked, “Jonathan wasn’t the least bit taken aback by her, in fact he didn’t seem to care one way or the other having a naked girl present, hardly paid her any mind, but Miriam, boy, she seemed completely off her game. Sort of like the 800 pound gorilla in the room that no one wants to admit is there.”

   “She was pretty bent about your little surprise,” Farmer agreed. “ Worked out well all around, I’d say. I know I enjoyed all of the enticing sights and smells,” she grinned. Two fingers from Farmer’s hand had slid down my rear crack and were massaging both of my openings at the same time, teasing me. Her eyes bore into mine, studying my reaction to her probing fingers as she explored me, watching my response.

    “They could smell me,” I thought to myself, the tinglings rushing in instantly, overwhelming me, causing me to moan slightly, something Ms. Farmer picked up on immediately, broadening her smile at my response. I felt my ever present wetness start to dribble down the inside of my thighs.

   “I’ll share her with you, Louise,” Mistress offered, pinching my nipple. “But not this evening. Soon though, I promise.”

   Farmer’s smile evaporated, and looking at Mistress she said, “Alright, Kaye. But believe me, I’m going to hold you to that promise. And it better be sooner rather than later! I want a run at this little filly.”

   “Of course, of course. Within the week, Louise. You have my word. I’ll even send her over to your apartment for a  night and you may have your way with her for as long as you wish.”

   I shuddered noticeably when she said that, a fact that Farmer also picked up on, as her smile quickly returned to her face.

  “It’s a deal,” Farmer readily agreed, pulling her hand away. “I’ll call you tomorrow evening and we’ll work out a date.” She brought her hand up and cupped my jaw, pulling my head forward to her face as she said, “We’ll have a lot of fun together, little one. Or at least I will,” she laughed. “You can count on it!”

   Farmer kissed and hugged Mistress K., have me a firm pat on my ass, whispered in my ear, “See you soon, cunt,” and then she left, leaving me alone with Mistress.

   (True to her word, Mistress K. sent me to Farmer’s apartment the following Friday night, in fact she drove me there herself and picked me up at the appointed hour. Farmer was given no restrictions in her usage of me, with just one exception,  that my hood was to remain on my head all evening. My identity was to remain hidden. To insure that this stipulation was honored, Mistress had encased my head in a different hood for my visit with her friend. This hood covered my head, face, and chin, and was held in place with small keyed locks on my throat, the nape of my neck, and on my forehead. Eye slits, nostril holes, and a zipper closure for my mouth were the only gaps in the soft deep chocolate brown leather).

    She undid the laces on the hood, freeing me from it’s warm, almost comforting, reassuring  hold, and had me follow her up to the bathroom. “Take a shower,” she said. “When you’re finished, the towels are under the sink. Make sure that you wash your chest particularly well.”

   “Yes Mistress,” I answered, as she walked out. Fairly confused by her request, thinking my strong odors had  never seemed to bother her before.

   I was toweling off when she returned, carrying a small beige plastic tray, the contents of which I did not see. “Sit on the sink, slut. Put you back to the mirror, facing me.”

   I obeyed, hopping up on the cool marble surface.

   I watched, silently, as Mistress K. pulled on a pair of sterile latex gloves. Then she took a thick cotton swab and pouring some liquid from a pint size plastic bottle onto the swab, she proceeded to paint my nipples and areolas with copious amounts of the dark yellowish red liquid.

   She took her time, spending a few minutes painting each breast with the cold solution. Satisfied, she took a small pen in her hand, bent over and studied my left breast for a few moments, before putting ink dots on either side of my nipple, at the base, and on either side of my areola, right where the skin pigmentation changes from dark brown to pale white. She repeated the studying and marking on my other breast.

   Taking a clamp in her hand, she lined it up on my nipple, so that the holes in the ends of the jaws of the clamp aligned perfectly with the dots she had put on my right nipple. Squeezing the handles locked the clamp in place, (it hurt no more than regular nipple clamps). Eyeing again to be certain it was where she wanted it to be, she took a thick piercing needle and a cork and placed them on either side of the erect nub, with the point of the needle right on her mark, and the cork on the opposite side to provide some resistance.

   She provided me no warning. There was a slight burning sensation, I flinched slightly, but that was my only reaction, (other than the mounting tinglings), and the needle was through. Mistress placed a barbell in the new hole and tightened the end cap. My left nipple received a matching barbell.

   Mistress used a larger clamp on my areola, squeezing it very tightly, crushing it, which hurt quite a lot. That needle burned far more than the other two, because she went very slowly all the way through my breast behind the areola, watching my face contort from the pain. She placed a thick ring in that hole before giving equal treatment to my other one. 

   Removing the clamp, she took off her latex gloves and said, “Take a look in the mirror and tell me what you think of LOThAR’s gift, slut.”

   I got off the counter top and turned to look at my reflection in the well lit mirror. Barbells pierced my nipples and thick rings were imbedded deep in my breasts. “The.....they’re b.....beautiful, Mistress. Thank you!” ( I was overjoyed, brimming with pride at how my breasts looked, and that LOThAR had given me this precious gift).

   “I took the liberty of typing up instructions on aftercare for your piercings, slave. Follow them meticulously. We don’t want you to get an infection.

   “Now, get dressed, and go home. I will expect you and Carmelita in my classroom after school Monday, and don’t be late!”

   “I won’t, Mistress K. I promise. Thank you!”

   She didn’t see me out, instead, she retired to her room and shut the door.

   When I got home, I went straight to the bathroom, took off my clothes and looked in the mirror admiring the new steel rings LOThAR had given me. I was smiling proudly at my reflection, oblivious to anything else, when suddenly Kendra’s face popped around the door jamb. “Whoa, Sandy,” she exclaimed, startled at the spectacle when she saw me, “What are you doing?”

   She stared at my nakedness in the glaringly harsh lights of the well lit bathroom, waiting for a response from me.

   “K.....Kendra,” I stammered, grabbing a bath towel for cover, completely shocked at seeing her, and totally at a loss for words.

   Before I could utter some feebly lame explanation, Franny’s head popped up behind my cousin’s, and after seeing what the commotion was about, she grinned broadly and said, “Sweet!”

   “Not now, Franny,” Kendra barked sternly, shoving her out of the door way. Then to me, she said, “We’ll talk about all this later, put on a robe and come to the living room. We need to talk!” She slammed the door of the bathroom and I heard the heels of here boots on the hallway floor as she left.

   I ducked into my room and grabbed my bathrobe. Tying it tightly, I went to join my cousin, trembling in fear as I went.

   Kendra and Franny were seated next to each other on the small couch, (much closer than one would accept for normal I realized in retrospect). I took a seat in Grandma Jo’s well worn recliner, careful to pull the robe shut as I sat down.

   “I don’t know how to tell you this, Sandy,” Kendra began, obviously very uncomfortable about something.  Franny draped her arm across the top of Kendra’s shoulders and snuggled her head against Kendra’s. “Grandma Jo’s had a stroke. She’s in the hospital.”

    “Wh.....what,” I blurted out, no longer fixated on what had just happened. “Is she okay?”

   “They don’t know yet, Sandy. It’s touch and go I guess.”

   I was crying now, sobs wracked my body. Kendra got up and sat in the recliner next to me, hugging me tightly as we both wept freely.

   It took a while before we both calmed down enough to talk more.

   “Grandma Jo made me promise to her a few months ago that if anything ever happened to her while you were still here with her that I would move in, and be your guardian. She didn’t want you to be uprooted  again, and looking for a place to live.”

   I started crying again, overwhelmed, unable to process it all. Kendra was holding me tightly, and rubbing my back as she did. The robe was gradually working loose, falling opening up across my shoulders and chest. I felt a slight tugging sensation behind me, as Kendra had taken hold of the collar of the robe, and was slowly pulling it back and down, exposing me breasts and stomach. One of her hands made a slow, gradual slide sensuously across my rib cage from my back, and cupped my breast, fiddling with my new piercings.

  “I don’t remember these,” she whispered in my ear.

   “I.....I just got them,” I replied, no longer concerned. Completely at ease in her warm caress.

   Kendra kissed my ear, then my neck, slowly kissing her way to my tits. I was in heaven, a blissful fog enveloping me, soothing me, comforting me, the tinglings heating up, as I succumbed to her ministrations. Through the haze, I half saw Franny getting up from the couch and getting undressed. She approached us and knelt next to the chair. Taking hold of my right hand, she guided it to her breast. I pinched the rings in her nipples, tugging on them, as she leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, her tongue delving deep into the back of my willing, wide open mouth.

   It wasn’t long before the three of us were naked and entangled on the floor in a twisting writhing mass of exploring mouths and fingers. When at long last we were all sated, myself having enjoyed multiple cums, Kendra stood up, her legs apart, fists balled and resting on her shapely hips, and looked down at me, (Franny had gotten up and stood alongside her). 

    “Seems to me my little country bumpkin cousin has emerged from her backwoods chrysalis and spread her sexual wings, Franny,” Kendra said, looking at me.

   “She’s come a long way, Hon,” Franny agreed, as she ran her hand around Kendra’s waist, hugging her close kissing Kendra’s neck

   “There’s going to be some new rules around here, Cous’,” Kendra announced. “As I am sure you can tell, Franny is my lover, and I share everything with her. Do you understand?”

  “Y...yes, Kendra,” I answered quietly.

   “I’m not so sure that you do.

   “Grandma Jo won’t be coming home for a long time, so I’m in charge from now on. What I say goes.”

   “Yes, Kendra,” I said.

   “Good. What I say goes, and since Franny is my partner, what she says goes as well. You will do whatever we tell you to do. No questions asked. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Kendra.” My tinglings were rushing through me as the implications of her directives became clear.

   “There will be some new rules around the house. All the cooking and cleaning chores from now on are yours. That will include the food shopping as well. You will be naked whenever you are in the house, no matter what. If we order in a pizza, you will go to the door naked. If there is a delivery, or some service man comes in, you will be naked.

   “If you are able to keep up with your chores as well as school, then you may stay at school. If your duties at home are unsatisfactory, you will drop out of school.”

    My tinglings came on with such a rush that I quaked and came several times as she recited her litany of rules to me: I was to address Kendra as Mistress and Franny as M’Lady, I was not allowed to use chairs, or my bed, my place being the floor. No more walking on two feet while in the house either, ( this was Franny’s rule), I would have to crawl on hands and knees, standing only when absolutely necessary, like when I was doing laundry, ironing, cooking, etc. I was to keep myself clean, inside and out, and made up garishly, like the whore I was becoming. This meant heavy eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, blush, and lipstick, as well as keeping myself virtually bathed in cheap perfumes. All of my personal toileting was to be taken care of outdoors. First thing in the morning, I was to dig a litter box for myself behind the garage. No more tampons for me either. I would be allowed pads when ever I was dressed, but when naked in the house, I was to allow my menses to flow freely as an outward sign of my femininity. I was not allowed to speak unless directed to do so. This directive included use of the phone. The only exception was when I was in school,  if a teacher asked me a question. But that was all. I was not to speak to anyone anymore. Kendra wanted me to spend more time thinking about my condition.

   Kendra told me to kneel and then she gave me an opportunity to speak. I said, “Thank you Mistress and M’Lady for taking me as your slut slave. I will strive to meet all of your expectations. But please, if I may, I must explain something to you.”

   “And pray tell me what that might be, slave,” Kendra asked?

   “I must tell you of ...........my sit............uation, Mistress.”  I struggled trying to find the right words.

   I proceeded to tell them about LOThAR, Carmelita, Mrs. Arden, and my testings. I told them of my self bondage and torture, of everything I had in the garage. Of my own rules about my nudity at home. Everything.

   They both sat back quietly and listened intently as I related all of the things I had been doing. Kendra’s hand was idly fiddling around in Franny’s crotch. When I had finished, Kendra said, “I would like to meet this Mrs. Arden and talk with her about you. I’ll write her a little note for you to deliver to her on Monday.

   “Now, slave, put fresh sheets on the bed for M’Lady and me, we wish to go to bed. You may bring our bags in from the car, and then you may sleep on the floor at the foot of our bed, just in case we have need of you during the night.”

   “Yes, Mistress.”

   Monday afternoon, after my last class, I went to Mrs. Arden’s room with Carmelita. She was acting very pissed that I wouldn’t speak with her, but I had no way to explain, so I suffered her verbal abuse and threats as we walked the hallways together.

   I gave Mrs. Arden the note from Kendra. She read it while I knelt under her desk, between her open legs, satisfying her.

   “Kendra sounds like someone I’d very much like to meet,” she bemused. “I like her new rules for you as well. Especially the outdoor litter box.”

   As I continued to service her, she wrote a reply to Kendra. I never learned what either of the notes contained, but Mrs. Arden was at our house Friday night for dinner and an amusing evening of entertainment centered around me!