Whipped Salesgirl: X-Rated Punishment Volume One

But, no, there was the evidence, a pair of slightly damp knickers in the hall and a tender rear which caused her to pull on a fresh pair quite slowly and carefully. Not another crazy dream then, but an insane reality fraught with terrible risk; she could easily have been murdered!

But immediately she knew that wasn't really the case, and she also knew where she would be at two o'clock the following morning. Emma worked with an intensity born of immediacy and authenticity; she had now shared the pain of Agnes and the others, though she knew that a few smacks hardly compared with having your back bloodied by a long-thonged whip.

By midday she felt that she had worked so well that she could take a slightly longer lunch break than usual. Regretfully she would not have time for a hairdo or to see the optician with regard to the contact lenses she had just promised herself, but she could at least try to make the best of herself for the man. She passed a clothes shop, and her eyes were drawn to the scarlet mini-skirt in the window; she would have given anything to be able to walk through the town in that lovely little skirt, but knew that her thighs needed to stay hidden; they were definitely not her best asset.

But from ankle to knee her legs were really not all that bad? She hesitated before the exclusive lingerie shop; normally she bought her underwear from chain stores and didn't like showing her body even to her own sex, but her mind was alive to the possibilities of the night ahead; she plucked up courage and marched in. The saleswoman, a lady of middle-age, was full of tact and kindness; she persuaded Emma to be fitted for a bra, explaining that a lot of women determine their bra size as teenagers and then so rarely bother to be refitted. She measured Emma and told her she had long been squeezing herself into unsuitable bras that allowed flesh to spill over the edges, and that she was now a double-F cup size.

Emma's heart sank; fantasies of a flimsy, wispy object which would float away at her lover's skilled touch were replaced by the horrid realisation that more solid undergirding was now required. But the saleswoman returned with a bra which, whilst fitting perfectly and being of necessity underwired and wide-strapped, had delicate see-through floral tracery on the upperparts. From her vantage in the upstairs privacy of the fitting room, Emma could see across the square to the pillory; it currently held a schoolgirl who was yelling in mock protest as her boyfriend tickled her at will whilst other schoolchildren urged them on; Emma felt a hungry ache in her loins.

She glanced at the assistant, who was dangling the wide briefs in one hand and the suspender belt in the other. During the afternoon she read up about the pillory; it would make a good follow-up article to the one about the whipping post. The pillory in itself was not too drastic a punishment, being more an instrument of humiliation than torture, although offenders could be badly injured if the crowd chose to throw stones rather than the usual collection of rotten fruit and vegetables.

She surmised that the pillory would have been a greater humiliation for those ancient generations which set a premium on issues such as shame and honour; nowadays, like the schoolgirl, people would queue up to be the object of dishonourable attention, especially if the event was to be televised. Though perhaps not if, as sometimes used to happen at the pillory, the victim's ears were nailed to the backboard.

Emma spent the evening quietly, and tried to get some sleep before the alarm clock summoned her at half-past one when she rose, showered and put on her new clothes in preparation for the time ahead. The man was waiting at the end of the street and wordlessly took her hand in his. She was trembling by the time they reached the pillory, although the late September night was not unduly cold.

There were three holes set in the wooden frame, a large one for her neck and two smaller ones for her wrists; the man lifted the top part of the frame, Emma took her place and the man fastened the catch at the side. He stood before her, his face still in shadow. And also your enemies. He ran his hands under her new suede skirt, along her wide thighs and gave a sharp downward tug on her briefs but, being unworn and well-elasticated, the briefs contracted and hung bunched around her knees.

Then, without warning, he approached her, removed her glasses and embraced her roughly, his mouth sucking on to hers and his tongue slithering around her own, depriving her of speech. A young couple appeared, silhouetted in the sparse sodium glow of the street light which marked the way to the railway station. His girlfriend thumped him softly for his rudeness but giggled compliantly.

They staggered off into the darkness. Ah, yes, the pillory. I visited the Asian grocer this afternoon and he was most co-operative once I explained that I was on my way to heckle a British National Party march. And he pulled something out of a paper bag and threw it, at point blank range, into Emma's face. It was a rancid tomato; it hit her on the forehead, and festering juice trickled down her face.

A second tomato hit her in the eye, and she opened her mouth to speak. Big mistake; the third tomato hit her smack in the mouth, and she was forced to taste the rottenness; some shot to the back of her mouth and down her throat. And he slid her glasses back on to her dripping face and receded into the shadow, his footsteps echoing to silence. Emma considered her position; it was far from a good one. Her coat, with her purse and house keys inside, sat out of reach behind her. She was beginning to feel the night grow colder; she could shout for help, but was there anyone to answer?

And if they did, what would they do when they saw that she was helpless, her underwear invitingly lowered? She envisioned the cleaners doing their early morning duties and finding her, numb with cold and tomato-spattered, in the light of dawn. Maybe they would just laugh and free her. But maybe they would ring their bosses at the council, which happened to be her employer also. And maybe they would ring the police.

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Or even a tabloid newspaper. It didn't bear thinking about. But after ten or fifteen minutes the man reappeared and stood before her again; he had obviously been watching Emma from a vantage point outside of her limited view. Not only humiliation, but also well-founded fear and utter helplessness. And, of course, a degree of pain if called for, as it is at this moment.

After five minutes of constant and mounting pain, she realised that he was going to continue until she begged for mercy; but as soon as she pleaded with him to stop, he unfastened her, pulled up her briefs and held out her coat in a strangely gentlemanly gesture. And he crushed her to him and forced her lips back against her teeth as his tongue once again explored the whole of her wide wet mouth.

Eventually he pulled back and tilted the hat to shadow his face once again. No point making pretence about coffee or chitchat. She pulled away from him and ran down the street before he could see her tears, the bitterness of rejection churning her stomach as much as the rotten tomato. She threw herself into her house, sobbing.

She examined herself cursorily in the mirror; tonight her livid red buttocks and thighs were mottled with bruises, but she was not aroused; she threw her dirty blouse into the wash, dropped her skirt, stockings and expensive co-ordinated underwear set into a careless pile and sank into bed, where she slept, curled into a ball of misery, until morning. But the world did not stop for unrequited love; indeed, it spurred her to even harder work, cataloguing, copying and writing feverishly until late into the evenings. She twisted and wriggled in vain to find comfort on the hard council chair, but all day her behind throbbed in sympathy with the miscreants about whom she was writing.

She wondered how to contact the man, and whether he would seek to contact her; after all, he knew where she lived and worked and, by contrast, she knew nothing at all about him, not even what he looked like. During the next week she often lay restlessly until the early hours of the morning, and would dress and take a stroll down the street to see if he were watching on the corner; once or twice she ventured as far as the old market square but all lay sunk in quietness and gloom, the instruments of her pain and humiliation lying veiled in the deepest shadow.

She sighed for lost opportunity and got on with her work. There was no question regarding the topic for the next meeting of the local history society; the newspaper articles had aroused a great deal of interest and there was a packed hall to hear Emma's illustrated talk on the old market place, focussing specifically on the pillory and the whipping post. Suddenly Emma felt strong and in control; people had come in droves to hear her speak! She explained how the pillory was raised and angled such that the victim had to face the jeering crowds full on, and that the presence of the pillory was once mandatory at every market square in the land, much as the burger van and the man who sells spare parts for computers are in our own age.

She moved on to the whipping post, and outlined the long list of minor infringements for which a whipping would be prescribed. She explained that in mediaeval society women were by no means exempt and showed the picture of the unfortunate Lantern Moll, her suffering, as originally captured in the woodcut, now immortalised in the OHP acetate she had produced. Suddenly she glimpsed something familiar at the back of the hall, maybe the angle of an elbow or the flecks of profile revealed as another member of the audience turned their head.

It was the man; she was sure of it. As their eyes met he saw the dawning recognition and got up to leave. Furtive exit was now impossible; the man had to decide whether to stay or flee, and do so publicly. He chose to stay, and slowly approached Emma. Tonight he was hatless and in bright light, and Emma was shocked to see the vivid scar which disfigured his face.

That explained a lot, she thought, but he still had to give account for leaving her to shoulder the entire burden of rejection without any explanation. She dragged him up on to the raised platform. If you excuse me a second? But in thirty seconds she reappeared. The old market square was comparatively well-lit in the mid-evening, for the surrounding cafes and wine bars were still open and washed the pillory and whipping post with yellow and orange light.

When all the party were assembled, Emma resumed her lecture. She explained how being pilloried in winter was bad news, as you were likely to get a painful fusillade of turnips and frozen potatoes. But as this was still early October? The crowd began to grow; this could be the last al fresco entertainment of the year until the Salvation Army band came to herald the approach of Christmas.

She had been chosen for her decorativeness. She was stunningly stunning, a beauty among beauties and she had become a trophy for her mistress to show off. Between her inch double-D-cup bosom, and her inch hips, Amanda had a 22 inch waist: Elspeth liked her personal maids to have ten-inch waists, and Amanda was not going to be an exception. Amanda hated the quarter-cup bra that the top of this particular corset swept into.

It was shaming and shy-making for Amanda too, that her two-inch diameter brown-pink areole, with their stiff central teat-peaks, were left completely bare. Sheer-white nylons contrasted with her glorious brown flesh so wonderfully. Her stockings had tops no more than halfway up her magnificent thighs, and these tops were inverted-veed by the pull-upwards of her suspenders, at front running down bare brown thigh, and at rear, impractically super-erotically, over the mountains of her monumentally feminine, daringly bare derriere half-moons.

A white choker around her swan-slim neck next. Oh god those shoes. Of course they were balletic. She had the legs of a goddess, long and yet curved and smooth, and athletic and strong without being at all obviously muscular. In nature she moved with the grace of a Nubian tribesgirl. Amanda had a slow haughty princessly presence, entirely without self-consciousness in the wonderful beauty of her natural gait. Five-feet-ten tall, Amanda was pounds of all-girl pure passion. Long white leather laces were pulled tight to tie them to her dainty feet, and a strap around her super-slim ankles padlocked them permanently for the day.

Amanda always gasped unavoidably sexily whenever the cinch-chain was pulled up between her thighs. Its cruel ministration would taunt and tease her all day. A simple multi-linked chain, it hooked to a steel hoop at the bottom-back of her corset, came down between the domes of her divine derriere, and then up very hard and very high between the lips of her slit, to be padlocked-off at the ring at the bottom-front of her corset. Its purpose was to keep her attentive by causing her constant pain.

It served its purpose unremittingly unmercifully. Today it was to be the one Amanda hated for its shame. This band bore a name in crimson letters: Amanda was sweetly shy, and hated having her inch chest so blatantly exposed. By now too, it was Her bottom swung like a demented pendulum as she walked. Walking the dogs was a twice-per day duty Amanda dreaded. They were little more than grown puppies as yet. Amanda was literally tied to them.

The four already huge Alsatians were so strong, and pulled so. Poor Amanda was made to run lest she be caused to fall, and to run in her two-inch hobble-chain was extremely difficult. The wiggle-trotty-tiptop-of-tiptop-of-tip-of-tip-of big toe running forced on poor Amanda by the pulling dogs, made her inner love-lips chafe on the cinch-chain between her thunder-strong thighs unmercifully painfully.

As Amanda prettily trotted, the question who was taking whom for a walk, was the clearly obvious one someone watching would have asked. Amanda loved the dogs: Mars, Jupy, Moony, and Neppy. She had always adored animals and had wanted, as a child, to be a veterinarian. But Amanda was also all too aware of the reaction of these dogs to her sensual sexiness. She knew the dogs could smell her musk, and that it turned them on. Amanda would gently but firmly brush and push them off when they took too much interest in sniffing her natural odour, but feared they would disobey.

It was so embarrassing to have them try to nuzzle her crutch, and the cold-dampness of their noses on the smooth flesh of the exposed thigh above her stocking tops, always made her leap with surprise. It was a fear that was becoming secondary though. Now they had had Amanda walk them for one-month near, they seemed instinctively aware that Amanda was due on heat. Amanda was in randy-week, the week in which her sexual drives and impelling impulses were at their height of might.

This was so embarrassing, and yet Amanda found herself compelled to look at their cocks. It had the fascination of horror almost, and yet it was so complimentary that her feminine charms could cause such devastating arousal. Amanda hung her head in shame. Amanda was both relieved and dismayed by this second statement. She was relieved because she had thought the young woman, a salesgirl by the look of her, had noticed and was referring to the dogs: Flurried, Amanda hurried to get the dogs back on their leashes, longing to escape the attention she had not sought and yet both did and did not want.

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You look after yourself sweetheart! Amanda had already squatted showing enormous expanse of huge folded thigh of ejaculationary eroticism, and the dogs had gathered round, to smell her slit the more, as Amanda poured water from a jug into their drinking bowls. It makes their breath stink. I want them back on a meat diet right now.

Fish is for cats. Give them some of the stuff delivered yesterday. Her mind was revolted and sickened by the idea, but not a minute before her body had wanted it to continue: Amanda was a brilliantly intelligent nineteen-year-old, with a mind as supremely sharp as her body was extremely beautiful.

Then a newly renewed will came to the fore. Amanda breathed a deep breath, heaving her hugely heavenly chest, as she wiped away the evidence of her tears with her simply gorgeous slim bendy-back fingers. Amanda had no choice but to be a maid. Her mistress had refused to pay her for her failed performance as a waitress at Le Rosbif. Amanda could not now go back to college when the new year began. She could not afford the fee: She was reduced to being a maid and there was nothing, but nothing she could do, but be thankful she had a good mistress, that she got a healthy meal once per day, and a clean bed to sleep in at nights.

Amanda wiggled to the door of the dining room to call to Elspeth in her office: It was no shock to Amanda now. Natalie was in fact little good at pretending, and a smile played on her lovely unkissed mouth. Mary loves my titties! Amanda winced to hear such an unpleasant word on the pretty lips of so young a girl. Do you know that Mary? Amanda closed her eyes and gently bit her lower lip: Her answer was not being listened to. Natalie was pinching her own nipples, and gently rubbing them between her forefingers and thumbs, as she walked around and around Amanda.

She now caressed her perfect little titties with her fingers, the ends of her forefingers flicking her now supremely stiff nipples, like windscreen wipers, with a constant flick-flick-flick-flick rhythm. Natalie then gasped as her slit juices began to flow. Amanda dare not do anything to encourage Natalie, but was wholly holy bowled-over with flattery, that her physical and facial beauty could so command over the schoolgirl that she must needs masturbate.

A sudden access of shame now hit Natalie. Only if you will accept mine first Mary: Natalie was having lessons in fitness and deportment, cooking, sewing, knitting, and gardening, with minimal mathematics and English. Men no longer married: In the brothels the state could ensure that sex was had for the sake of sex, and did not result in excessive childbirth. In fact, Natalie was attending a private school funded by a group of women including her mother: Naturally sexy in her grey school uniform, Natalie was sweet and gentle and chatty.

She still felt guilty for being so rude to Amanda earlier that morning. If their mothers let their daughters dress like this, was it any wonder that gangs of older girls were waylaying such innocents as Natalie and raping them? It had happened only yesterday and Amanda was sure of it. She had had her back to Amanda; but those glorious Titian curls within curls cascading to cover her bottom were surely unmistakable.

But Smithy said not to be so silly cos nobody married a mere maid. Do you think I was right Mary? Do you like her Mary? Amanda then instantly turned and wiggled away on her way back home, her heart thumping fit to escape her beautiful chest.

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Amanda continued to wiggle on tiptoe in her hobble, back to her bounden duty, her majestic head held proudly high, tears running down her adorable face. They have an exceptionally attractive maid: I want you to serve at table, topless: Will that be alright with you Mary? Simon is as well out of it, but Trirene has the brains I need.

Le Rosbif is getting bigger! Her necessary business done, Amanda waited for the last fine droplets of her water to drip from the cruel cinch-chain, before moving to the bidet to spray herself fresh. She then replaced the lid on the carboy, and wiggled back to her mistress. Trirene had just passed Elspeth a very legalistic looking document. Amanda was suffering agonies of embarrassment.

Two undermaids had got her ready for the evening. Gasps of astonishment and applause had greeted her appearance in the dining room in front of Simon and Trirene, who purposely made no acknowledgement whatsoever that they knew Amanda, and had indeed been her lovers. Amanda wore no stockings, indeed she wore little else, but she was not without a corset, and her delectably deliciously delightful waist had been forced down to a truly incredible nine-inches by a savagely tight waspie. With her waspie-corset-enforced nine-inch waist, Amanda out hour-glassed an hourglass with her comely cum-worthy shapeliness.

And there were other chains on Amanda this time. But there were other chains on Amanda this evening too. But there were yet other chains on Amanda this evening too. Amanda wore a control-chain. For the duties she was to perform, this was horrible. The chain between her wrists was only long enough for Amanda to hold up in front of her, one arm at a time. Amanda could only advance one pretty arm so far, before the chain pulled her other arm behind her, and yet she was expected to, and indeed therefore must, carry a tray with fine wine in glasses upon it.

I have a really smooth wine? It has wonderful irony. The most beautiful girls produce the most beautiful wine. I have had Mary store her intimate waters since she joined me. Amanda knew that all eyes were on her stunning loveliness as she progressed so slowly but so majestically Nubianly tribesgirl gracefully. And despite her shyness and incredible embarrassment at being so very naked before her former lovers, and her new mistress, Amanda felt a clear twitch in her clitoris, and felt shamed that her musk was moistening her slit at the thought of the degree to which her wonderful beauty was held in awe, and worshipped such that it must be held captive and bound as it was, as she was, as her beauty was.

And Amanda gave a little fart of girly arousal as she thought of serving these, her adorers, her intimate wine, so that they could savour her and take her within them. Oh this was horrible! I want to watch Mary being punished like you said you were going to do. Amanda had heard every word and every word had gone home with her. Her hands, her lovely hands, trembled as she poured her wine, her very own girl-wine, into the three glasses she had had cooling, and now carefully caringly placed on coasters and on her tray.

Amanda held her loaded tray low, so as to be sure the slow side-to-side flowing sway of her infinitely enormous, statuesquely firm, melonically huge, bold brown areole tipped, mesmerisingly free and unencumberedly swinging and swaying breasts, and their supreme nipples, did not knock into the glasses. Amanda was very dry and thirsty from having, for over an hour, had her mouth forcibly held enticingly wide-open, open wide enough for the biggest of visiting cocks to enjoy her tongue and her throat. The steel frame looked tall as a person. It had a single upright with outstretched arms with leather cuffs at their extremes, and something at chest height presently covered over.

It was mounted on a steel platform of considerable weight, presumably for its stability. And two bottles of what looked distinctly like propane gas, were to either side of it, with pipes, like those of a Bunsen-burner, running straight-up up to where the chest level arrangement was cloaked over. Is my daughter not to have a glass of your wine? And then Amanda gave a supremely extremely gloriously thighy curtsy, before beginning to wiggle back to the counter, with her empty tray, to pour a fourth glass of her glorious golden pee.

Do I make myself clear?! Waitress-maids brought in the first course of the dinner as Elspeth obliged Amanda to stand close to the upright on the platform with the steel frame on it, facing the frame. Amanda could not beg for mercy and she knew not yet what she needed mercy in face of. She then, unceremoniously turned one of the taps to let the gas begin to flow, and lit it at the top of the pipe with a cigarette lighter.

She could not bear her nipples in the Bunsen flames for more than microseconds, and screamed every time as she twitched her body to swing her breasts to pull her nipples away from the fire, and thus had her flesh torn by the spikes inside her spiteful brassiere of pain. She screamed again as her nipples were seared and again as her breasts were then torn by her flinching from one agony to the next, and more blood began to flow from her brutalised bosom.

What had she done to deserve this punishment? Why were her cries now becoming less of pain? Amanda squealed a very girly squeal as she winced and flicked her huge nipples from the flames yet once more. Oh god how could this be? Why was she feeling so girly? Why was she sighing and moaning girlily? Why was she feeling: Another girly-girly squeak of pain and desire in equal measure as Amanda flicked her breasts side-to-side, and thus tore her tits once again. Yet another girly-girly turned-on girly-girly squeak. Yet more searing agony in her nipples followed by the flesh of her tits being yet more torn.

The pretty nymphet Natalie masturbating over her beauty! Amanda gasped and tore her breasts yet once more as she swung them out of the Bunsen flames. Amanda screamed with pain and ripped her breasts yet once more. Amanda screamed as she orgasmed and orgasmed and orgasmed and fainted as she orgasmed from her orgasm from her orgasms, her orgasms echoing louder as her scream of sexual delivery fainted and faded.

And Amanda slumped in her bonds her nipples glowing with flames: Elspeth had identified her. Not to my knowledge. How stupid could a supremely intelligent girl be? Mi Honey had helped her escape. It was then easily taken off. Natalie had had to make her own way home from school that afternoon: Amanda had just kept tiptop-of-tiptoe wiggle-walking, so very pretty, into the city.

Natalie had been very helpful to the Girl-Police. Like her eyes were popping out her head? I think her heart was aching ……. I just knew they were made for each other… I can always tell. She had curly red hair? She was very beautiful. Poor Mi Honey had been condemned to the coalmines. The girl next to Amanda had just defecated, and her faeces had slopped into the trough below the prisoners.

At least the water was fresh. Water, raw bran, bread, and some sickly stew known to have dog-food as its main ingredient, had been her unvaried invariable diet for near twelve-months now: The prisoners were allowed six-hours sleep in every twenty-four. Sitting like this was how they were supposed to sleep. Amanda had never known such unbearable exhaustion. The ball of her ball-and-chain dangled just above the filthy stinking trough into which all the girls pissed and defecated. The barn-like building in which they were held was hellish cold. Amanda was completely naked bar for her chains, and a steel collar around her neck: She had tried to deny that she was a runaway maid.

She was hardly listening and only subliminally hearing what the sergeant was saying. Amanda awoke from her fear momentarily: Cardz on der table like eh? Will yer do dat for us eh luv………..? The cells at the Girl-Police station-house were spotlessly clean and also oh so cool. Floor, walls, even the ceiling were white tiled for ease of cleaning. A washbowl with cold-water faucet was against one wall, a lavatory bowl with push-button-flush on the opposite side. A straight-backed plastic chair, screwed to the floor, allowed a prisoner to sit.

Also screwed to the floor, was a narrow bed, with a pillow, but no pillowcase, and a mattress, but no duvet or blankets, for the prisoners to sleep. There were no windows in either the walls or the door. The sergeant had turned her back as Amanda had undressed, just entered, just inside her cell. All the girls in all the cells were as naked as she was soon to be. Amanda was no exception. The authorities had to ensure the prisoners had no means of doing harm to themselves. Only recently, a little Chinese girl, a maid who had let a personal maid run away from her mistress, had tried to harm herself, knowing she faced a lifetime in the coalmines.

Amanda remained in her nine-inch-waist-enforcing corset waspie, with a very tight cinch-chain between her nether lips. These she had not the means of removing. As Amanda awaited the cutting of her cinch-chain and the padlock that held her corset so very tightly closed, the sergeant tried her hardest not to look at Amanda. Alone, with her bare feet on the cold tiles of the floor, Amanda had no two thoughts about getting on the bed and rubbing her feet back to warmth with lovely long-fingered hands. Cell 10 was likewise checked. In cell 10 a girl roamed.

Was she Gypsy or a Jewess? Imogene, a roaming Romany from a tribe of constantly caravanning completely compelling curvaceous peddlers of beautiful handcraft: Imogene curtained dressed and skirted only by her hair: The captain now stretched her arms aloft and yawned. Then, taking up her cap and squaring it on her head: The screen showed Amanda in her cell squeezing her pillow between her fantastically beautiful thighs, with all the truly amazing strength in her wonderful legs: The sergeant sauntered reluctantly slowly over, and she and the constable watched Amanda, with her beautiful legs wrapped around at the ankles, rolling side to side with the pillow hard up on her slit.

Amanda then abandoned the pillow, throwing it to the floor, and sat on the edge of her bed with her toes, her big toes only, touching the floor with their tips, so that her legs took on their maximum feminine curvature and fascinated even more with their overwhelming shapeliness.

Moments passed with Amanda biting her lovely lower lip as if fighting an overwhelming desire. The sergeant looked on from behind the desk-constable who, in turn, was staring open-mouthed at the glorious Amanda. But we got cells to spare tonight sarge……. The girl next to Amanda defecated again, and her stinking faeces slopped to the trough below. The girl was very frightened. A twenty-year-old Irish colleen with auburn hair close-cropped as was the hair of all prisoners, she, Siabon, turned to Amanda and whispered: The spiked board was mounted to hooks on the wall directly in front of the pale white Irish girl, whose lovely soft translucently-white-fleshed full womanly breasts, and near transparent pink nipples, were thus already pressed to the nails spiking the board, in fakir fulsomeness, with soft skin to be hallowed, hollowed concave.

And yet, as Amanda looked, Amanda felt her own clitoris twitching. Amanda tried to make out she was trying to escape the flying blood of the girl being whipped next to her, but was secretly rubbing her now engorged nipples on the tiled wall she faced, as she also masturbated her painful slit on the peg she rested on, whilst fantasising about the pain Siabon was enduring, as her already copiously bleeding tits had been driven hard onto the nails once again. This was the second time Amanda had witnessed this punishment. The time before she had resisted the overpowering turn-on it had given her, but not this time.

Amanda worked herself on the cold-steel peg. She wriggled her beautiful body as best she could, whilst needing to avoid it being noticed. She clenched her teeth so as not to let out that she was in an advanced state of sexual arousal. And Amanda wanted to lick it: Oh god how had it come to this?! Her fire was dousing. How could she want to lick the blood drawn by the brutal torture of a fellow girl? What had imprisonment with hard labour driven her to?! What kind of inhuman animal were they making her into?! Siabon was unhooked and taken off her peg. It would be the last Amanda saw of her.

The prison hospital would patch her up, minimally, and she would be thrown outside the prison gates to fend for herself. Like most all such dreams it began to fade as Amanda awoke fully. Amanda shyly smiled back. Truth told, in their shared cold total abject misery, both girls really only wanted to cry………… ………………. A scrape of key seeking keyhole in door, and Amanda had leapt to her bed and cuddled fabulous thighs against no less fabulous chest.

But was this light from the corridor of the Girl-Police cellblock? And oh what glory was this vision that glided toward her.

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Was this creature, this wraith, this girl so luminously luscious that she wore her own luminescence in halo? This was some kind of vision. Was this some kind of mirage? This was some kind of miracle. Was this truly an angel? The girl-constables gathered with their sergeant at the survey consoles, and nudged each other as they watched the mutual devastation that the alchemic chemistry of Imogene and Amanda must guarantee, and had instantly delivered with thermonuclearic clarity. As Amanda had stood, the cell door had slammed and the key turned. There had been no words between them: Amanda and Imogene or nor Imogene and Amanda.

One look of face at face and the world stood still. One brush of lips on lips and time stood still. One kiss of mouth on mouth and galaxies tumbled. Tongues mingled with tongues: And still they stood nipples pulsing. And still they kissed. In slits two too, moist musk stilled. Heaven was found to the sound of girls still instilling, still kissing, stills weeping, hands seeking, love making, love coming, love cumming, still caressing, still addressing, legs inter-mingled, lips intra-singled, moisture musking, clits prancing, nipples dancing, no breath, no breath, no time for breath, breathless lips locked, deathless mouths gorging, engaged in love, made for love, making the love of love above all other loves, the love of girl with girl, the love that heaven made girl for, girl for girl for girl for girl for girl for girl……….

And neither Amanda nor Imogene. And neither Imogene nor Amanda. Nor either Imogene or Amanda. Nor either Amanda or Imogene, heard the cheers from the lair of the lovers of lovers to leer at, and peer at loves longing prolonged by girls whose cumming was silent as their still pressed mouths merged forever together, for ever and ever, time without end: Amanda and Imogene and Imogene and Amanda, two heavens too heavenly for leering lessers to leaven. Amanda had been robed in white. A white neck-to-ankles dress naked below she in which, of opacity negligent to the degree of negligee, announcing pronounced nipple in its twice tented-out top front, and rotundity of profundity in the smooth mounds, no panties, breathless pants she sourced, smooth round mounds that rose and fell in rhythmic adoration of undiluted undulation, demanding hallelujah ululation, as sashay swaying, Amanda slowly graced her majesty to humble the judge before whom she must be humble and be humbled.

Amanda must shuffle as she approached her trial, for she bore wore at ankles, one-inch-long chain-hobbled, a heavy iron ball that dragged the ground behind where her bare feet had twice-blessed with their dainty caress. And the sensation of the pink tongue that languorously livened their loveliness by moistening their moistness, anointing them with dew, so shining anew that they wanted you, and you they, to kiss and kiss forever and for never to cease the increase: Amanda quivered and shivered with fear and her profoundly wonderful deep breasts rose and lowered with her deep breaths, as her nipples danced the double-tented big-top of her white dress breathlessly beautifully boundlessly sensationally soundlessly.

Asked the judge from her high seat behind huge high desk: A one-time waitress failed of performance. And the name of this wonderful delight? Elspeth had identified Amanda. Not to my knowledge your worship. The last witness having witnessed, the judge confirmed sentence: Do you wish the prisoner to be given the complimentary whipping? Amanda dreaded the lever. The lever was pulled. The lever pulled, dropped the peg she straddled and Amanda, and her fellow convictesses dropped in one single unison, painfully to the tip-top-of-big-toes in their ballerina-toe-tip-topped prison-booties.

The lever was pulled and a girl was lucky if her pretty toes were not in the filthy sewer trough that stank beneath them all their six-hour nights. Other shouts of similar vein could be heard from the opposite wall-load of pegs having been dropped, as twenty-one other delightful maids made to suffer hard labour for absconding, dropped to dainty tiptoed naked-all-but-booties-ness. Banaia was delightfully pretty. She was adorned by adorable freckles. Her ever-moist mouth was lusciously lustrous.

Too poor to have been able to afford school, she had found the only job she could find. And even this job she would never have been allowed were she not prepared to be spiteful with the whip. Banaia liked her uniform skirt short. Her legs were slim and very pretty. The proud way in which she filled the white blouse she must wear, showed she was braless. It would be another hot day she thought, and so Banaia had a wide-brimmed floppy sun-hat on the head of she, her head, the head of a blue-eyed blonde.

Amanda grasped her chunk of bread and dipped it practicedly into the mug of water she was supposed to drink, but needed to use to soften the crudely baked burnt bun, her breakfast. Banaia examined the chains and neck-rings her charges wore, to ensure none were to be found loose or loosening. But then girls came and went from the gang, and their treatment upset or even stopped the natural cycle of many of them. The girls were not grouped long enough for their menstrual cycles to begin to coincide.

Amanda was among those who made no answer. Amanda was in the last week of her sentence: The state did not want its prisoners looking any less than their best. The public was sold on harsh punishment, but would be repelled if the girls looked ill kempt. Every day, everyday-TV did a documentary somewhere. The public wanted happy prisoners. The existence of happy prisoners was apparently proven by smooth legs. The girls were there to suffer. Suffer they would and did. There were friendships and even love-affairs between them.

Amanda had kept her sweet loveliness aloof, but a number of couples held hands as they prepared to face the day. Holding hands was all they were officially allowed to do. Rain was the most frequent cause of this. The wardens did not have a care if the prisoners spent a day in the rain, but did care if they themselves were to be saturated.

Before we come back, I want all this area scrubbed till even its shine shines. And I expect the shit-trough to be as clean as a hounds tooth. Banaia had already drawn her whip. Amanda took up her white cloth. It was the only clothing the prisoners wore. Siabon and Jazeel would stay naked bar their chains, they were not going out into the world. But for Amanda and the other girls in her troop, there was a mile-long walk to the stone quarry. Amanda began to wrap the cool white cotton cloth around her supremely slim waist, and then took its tails, the tails from the knot presently at her hips, around her back, before drawing the tails up between her superb thighs, to tuck them into the band around her waist, and thus cover her intimate parts.

Amanda curtsied thighilly in confirmation she was indeed menstruating. Amanda slowly undressed from even that lowly and tiny vestment, that last vestige of cladding to mark her as a fellow within the civilised and thus clothed world: The prisoners were lining up. Amanda took the rear. Each girl had picked up the huge iron ball that was chained to the middle of the chain between their slim ankles, so they could carry it as they walked.

Amanda naked as nature formed the rear, as the girls were ordered to walk. Amanda was the only fully naked girl there, and she the more naked felt, even for the absence of the merest covering the cloth around the lower beauty of her companion convictesses formed. Amanda was also marked out by another factor: Every day the walking prisoners left the gate to be among a gaggle of screaming, giggling teasing taunting, deliciously lovely schoolgirls. Monday to Thursday yes: And, as if this were not pleasure-torture enough there was Friday! Nipple-caps were all the rage with young girls in They wore nothing above their hips bar their stick-on or clip-on nipple-covers.

The Australasian zing singer, Kala Zino, had made the rave inevitable when she had appeared at the Newmold Festival in nipple-caps and little else. Now, in honour, and ape, and ache of desire to be wearing the latest daring fashion, throughout Britain, on school dress-down day at least, gorgeous little schoolgirl titties frolicked fully free, as lovely angels skipped and teased each other on their way to and from the school day.

Many of the latest designs of nipple-caps had bells on the ends of their pointed tips: Now, about town, when a girl approached: For a girl such as Amanda, celibate for a year, the near-year of her hard-labour sentence, such sights, and the musical sound of playful schoolgirls on their way to their day, were supreme pain and sublime pleasure.

We can see your bummy! Girlacles temporarily off and cast aside to free her lovely arms for her labours, Amanda lifted her heavy sledgehammer. Her poor pretty hands had long since bled from rawness and soreness, and were now callused and hardened by the callas treatment of the hard-labour she must endure and had endured near full her twelve-month sentence now.

For eight hours she had this day swung the hammer, with her inside thighs anointed with the red of her loosing-streak in her bleed week, as her menstruum seeped from slit between sigh thighs of heaven high. And Amanda knew that Banaia love-hated her, and Banaia had whipped her on and off all through the day, and denied her water, and ordered Amanda to work through the midday break.

And Amanda wanted to beg not to be beaten. But now Amanda was incensed insane and wanted the whip again. And thus so, just so, so long so, year-long since orgasm so, Amanda squatted as her menstrual blood and cum honey dripped to baptise the same, the very same hard rock her hardest strike of hammer twelve hell-long months since begun could not sunder, with the sanctify of her hot soft gentle womanly seeping weeping crimson wonder.

Today, it was apple. Three-months since by now, Girl-Prison Scotland Number , Glasgow, had seen the last of Amanda, she sincerely extremely hoped. Amanda wiggled out of prison, naked but for her heelless tip-top-toe stand-on leg-skyscrapering prison booties, and had an emptied dirty coarse jute sack thrown out onto the rainy pavement immediately after her, before hearing the door built into the steel iron-riveted prison gate, slam shut behind her. The whipping had been terrible. Amanda had been made to witness. All this from the lust Amanda could not help having inspired in Banaia.

Unrequited love Banaia would have had it had. All this, and yet, if only the governess had asked her, Amanda would have forgiven Banaia for flogging her so brutally. The apple was sweet. No gardened Eve could have tempted with such certainty, or serpent or snake-charmer as surely seduced.

Business was momentarily slack. Amanda reached down with lovely slim brown arms and supremely pretty long flawlessly flexible-nimble-fingered hands, and swept up the sack. Naked beautiful negro-brown, and cold on the outskirts of Glasgow, with only her booties and this sack in all the world, the suns rays could not warm her majesty until sunrise still an hour away, and there was a long way for Amanda to wiggle before city supplanted suburb.

Amanda wanted to cry. This was her 20th birthday present. This nakedness, these painful booties, and this sack, were all she had for her twenty-young-years of perfecting the world by her very presence. She giving guiltless golden girl to whirl the world; the world granting dark dank despair to her.

Amanda drew the sweetest softest breath, and fought back her tears, as she stepped with long lovely legs toward the city as the only place she could think of to go now she had been thrown back out into the world alone. Amanda walked so naturally: Such legs and such a bottom: As she merely walked, Amanda convulsed clits and radioed erections by her perfections. Yes…… oh god what am I to do……….? To follow her wake would have been to risk mesmerisation and surrender to her tender grace: She was thirsty, she was hungry, she was hot, she was tired, but she was also proud, and she was not going to beg, she told herself.

At long last Alexandra Parade led into High Street. Amanda wanted to wiggle to the Central Station. She knew not why. She knew not why as she had not money. Nowhere from there could she go by train. She literally had nothing other than what she stood up in, or rather was presently wiggling her sexy-sway-way in.

Among the crowds of shoppers, mid-morning had long since arrived, as Amanda had strived to stride toward the only security she could dream of, the Central Station, which in truth offered no solace bar the balm of a dream she had nurtured as she wiggled along, in defiance of all reality that she was in fact reduced to the streets and must eventually beg for alms if she did not wish to starve. Amanda swayed her natural snake swish way away, with the understandably instantly besotted older woman in her wake. But sugar is sweet and Sugar was sweeter.

Fully forty, fit and fulsomely curved. She looked like a woman half her age, and shocked many a younger woman who tried to date her, when she answered her own rhetorical question: Amanda tried so hard not to look eager, but a rumble in her pretty belly told the truth had been hit upon. Sugar could not help but enjoy the joy of watching Amanda wiggle to the chair, and nearly gasped as Amanda sat, innocently revealing the astounding astonishing absolute epitome of her youthful body, accidentally, in the process.

As she walked over to where Amanda sat, Sugar removed the cellophane wrap covering the contents of the plastic plate she had just taken from her refrigerator, her intended own lunch, and slid the loaded plate before the young black beauty. Feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable from knowing that her lovely body was being ogled by a group of older women at the table above which the notices were fixed to the window at which she stared, Amanda read quickly, and, because of the address being so nearby, found her pained tired eyes repeatedly returning to: Food and shelter provided.

Community Service Licence holders only. Sugar looked at the young woman and just knew she had to help her. Sugar put two pills and a glass of water on the table before the still ravenous Amanda. Amanda took the pills in her pretty fingertips and anointed them with the blessing of her sweet lips and tongue, sipping water to swallow them.

Amanda knew what they were for: As if her obedient swallowing of the pills had been her signature on a contract, Sugar announced to Amanda: The injections had hurt terribly: The horrible injections done, all that was now needed was for Amanda to take two pills per day, and it would begin in five days or so, and continue for as long as she kept taking the pills.

She could be given a nosebag till then. Lots of lovely girls came and went. I had some fucking students again today: Genutha, 38DD and 21, unselfconsciously unashamedly naked as nature, sweet sweat shining from hard work, simply turned on a showerhead and got on with her shower as she casually admired the naked showering shy Amanda. Amanda replied shyly with her full radius radiated beauty eradiated feminine charm.

The girl next to me was rude to our teacher in class behind her back? The teacher said it was me………. They stripped me naked and caned me on my bum, with my bare bum facing in front of the whole school………. And, when the caned me it hurt….. I wanted it to hurt……. I fucking wanted it to hurt! And the judge was a fucking bitch. Three-months hard labour for a bit of teenage naughtiness………….

As Genutha turned off her individual shower, Amanda continued to luxuriate in the first warm shower she had had for a year. Moments later yet, wet Amanda was being gently towelled dry by a serenely sunny smile with effervescent emerald eyes. Amanda kissed the forehead of the still slumbering Genutha alongside her in their bed of eight-lips-two-tongues-kissing, licking, and trickle-wine-sipping, soixante-nerf passion, as she, Amanda, rose to shower for the day.

Sugar had not needed to prod Amanda awake. It was already 5. Amanda sweet lips sucked fresh fruit for her breakfast. Amanda reached with her moist pointed pink tongue and tasted. Nobody could possibly look prettier in yellow than the negress-brown Amanda. For such crimes as speaking out of turn for example, maids were usually sentenced to community service: Elspeth had approached the authorities with a money making proposition.

She would take the prettiest of the girls guilty of misdemeanours and use them to work for payments, from which the girl would get nothing, but the authorities would receive a cut on top of the taxes Elspeth was already obliged to pay: Income Tax from onwards being at ninety cents in the dollar for women, and twenty cents in the dollar for men of course. The only rule the authorities had laid down, was that they would label the misdemeanant girls with a license: Sugar was therefore letting her kind heart take two risks: Amanda was on station at the Central Station Glasgow.

Today, lunch was apple. Amanda stood high like the figurehead on the prow of a wood hulled sailing ship but more upright: She wore a yellow rubber brassiere that held her huge tits very tight and close-huggingly contained, making them somehow look more massive than their actual natural enormity. Tight, very tight and close-huggingly, she wore yellow rubber knickers. Apart from hat, bra, and yellow rubber knickers, Amanda was bare: As a secondary means of holding her delicious mass, Amanda straddled a cunt-saddle, a triangle of steel protruding from the upright, this triangle going between the arch of her powerful thighs, this triangle offering her its apex on which to rest her most sensitive organ: Even though her tight yellow rubber panties intervened, to sit long on this saddle offered Amanda only pain and no solace to her slit.

These pipes were rigid stainless steel as they came up from the upright, but changed to yellow rubber at their bottom ends. Her big toes were fitted through rings padlocking them and her thus tip-top-toe, binding her big toes to the pedals she must work. These big-toe-gripping pedals were each twenty-four inches from the centre of the large cogwheel they drove: The length of the pedal strokes necessitated Amanda being high from the ground to allow for the four-feet between top and bottom of the cycle circle, when one pedal was at the top of the circle and the other at opposite, and her legs must also stretch full forward and back as she cycled the circle.

Her lovely legs would always be at some stage of erotic apogee and perigee to one another. A triangle of steel came forward from the top of the fork in the upright to which Amanda was tied. The bar that formed the cruel triangle saddle of pain for Amanda, as well as bending up to form a chair to hold her straddled in place, also dipped down behind the wheel she was to monocycle, and then ran back to form the connection with the two-wheel two-seat carriage Amanda was being made to pull.

This backwards-leading connecting shaft was hinged halfway along its length so that Amanda could turn corners and take the cart the way she turned. Within her right ear she wore a receiver transmitter through which she could be tracked for location and given spoken orders for her next destination. This was how Amanda must now spend twelve hours per day every day of her sweet young life. Amanda was now the mere motor of a taxi: By , environmental concerns had seen society capture the power of the wind, and the wonder of the waves, and the flow of the waterfall, to drive the dynamos that lit the cities: Now society had framed and harnessed the incredible power of the greatest wonder of nature of all, combining captivating grace and overwhelming sometimes fearsome beauty: Amanda was now four-months into her employment as the erotic motor of a Girl-Cab.

Manika and Marika were eighteen-year-old twin sisters. Amanda waited strapped to her monocycle her lovely legs relaxed the while, whilst her would-be passengers readied themselves, regular customers they, to go to Strathskye university for the week: Whilst waiting, Amanda reached her precious lips and sucked on the left one of the two pipes to refresh herself with the milk she thus drew up. She then drew milk from the right-hand pipe up the tube. She was suckling on her own breasts. Amanda was suckling on her own breasts. Hormonal treatment, painful injections and daily pills, had enabled Amanda to suckle on her own breasts.

She had now been lactating for weeks. She thus carried her own very natural refreshment, combining drink and food: The pipes on which Amanda drew with the sweetest kiss of succulent lips, ran down to the tips of her stretched straining-to-bursting rubber bra, wherein her enormous nipples nestled: Amanda was sucking milk from her own nipples. The ability of a taxi-girl to do this gave her independence and range and enabled her to be worked hours a day if demand demanded. At the other end of matters, Amanda had fought it at first.

She found the very thought completely revolting. It also went contrary to all her childhood training and subsequent adult innate conditioning, but now she peed into her rubber knickers whenever she had to, though she had so far managed to avoid defecating into them. Amanda was a taxi-girl, she was a piece of machinery, there was no time to demount her when she needed to answer a call of nature, and she was not going to be allowed to pollute the environment, and so, if she wanted a pee, she must pee and, if need be, shit into her rubber knickers, till it could be sluiced out at the end of her never-ending working day.

Manika and Marika were twin sisters. The girls were coming. Manika and Marika year-old identical twins: From a wealthy family, their mother being a government minister, Manika and Marika were relaxed in their femininity and assured of their place and rights in the world.

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And, oh god, how sexy they were in their light-blue split-sided micro-micro-mini-skirts, with tight white panties, red woollen elastic-topped stockings half up their ecstatic bare thighs, pirouette tiptoe-topping soft kid red leather balletic shoes, unbuttoned and indeed buttonless light blue long sleeved cardigans, and completely bare breasts: Manika and Marika, Amanda never knew which was which, they were both so gentle and so kind to her.

And she must not look at them. Blonde soft curly hair tumbled to shoulders. Ice-blue eyes shone with love and intelligence. Four rock-firm titties jiggered on their chests, unbidden, unhidden, and uninhibited by their open cardigans. Their soft blonde hair shone bright ripe corn in the morning sun.

Between shapely legs, their maiden purses pouched out their tight white panties, clearly flashed by their pleasingly teasingly super-short skirts. And their four cheeky bum-cheeks were cheekily cheeky, and they just knew it: I do wish I had lips half as lovely. The girls had put a dollar coin in the slot next their seat, and that had registered over the radio with headquarters.

Amanda was thus ready to go. Such a leg-display as must cause an instant explosive orgasm to watch for a microsecond, displayed Amanda, with her power-packed thighs the dynamo of her performance as human motor of the cruel taxi in which she was integrally intimately irremovably incorporated. Amanda must sit her slice on the cunt-saddle, and hurt became pleasing, as teasing with her legs so, she made the carriage go with her leggy leg show.

And, poor girl, with her wrists tied such as to pull on her choker, she must have her eyes raised always front to follow the road and find her route, and so she was deprived of the heaven of watching her own beautiful legs as she pedalled. If she must steer, she must turn her body and hurt her slice on the unrelenting cold apex-of-steel-triangle saddle.

If she must brake, she must slow the cycle of her incredible legs so as to slow the vehicle with slow leg show, or else suffer agonies by trying to stop in an emergency, by holding the pedals stopped; but inevitably having even her strong legs continue to be ripped around, by the wheel now turning her rather than she it: Amanda momentarily reflectively watched the free twins wiggle their way into college, hand-in-pretty-hand……….. Amanda the Girl-Cab motor. Amanda the long-leggy-legged Girl-Cab motor. Amanda had brains, a heart, feelings.

She was more than aware of the humiliation she endured strapped to this machine for the sole purpose of employing her legs purposely erotically as well as, almost coincidentally it sometimes seemed, functionally. Yellow Pretties had grabbed a huge hold on the market as soon as their first machines had appeared on the streets.

Elspeth Zanori, the founding owner of the Le Rosbif restaurant chain, had another super-success on her hands. The mundane journey by rickshaw had all but become a thing of the past. Why endure the boring slow jerky tug of a girl pulling you along in a rickshaw, when you could enjoy the smooth speedy ride, and the wonderful view of luscious legs in emotional motion, from the seat of a Girl-Cab?

Besides, a Girl-Cab carried two side-by-side, and a woman could cuddle, caress, and kiss her girlfriend as they were speeded along. Girl-Cabs were now the fashionable vehicles of choice for couples. Amanda had often been hired for the evening. Pretties were also used long distance. Glasgow to Edinburgh was a favourite. Visiting American girls also loved to tour Edinburgh, and would hire the likes of Amanda to transport them for the day, or even a whole weekend.