Disconnections

Disconnections

- a series of stories -

by Eve Adorer

 

Lo Ve Me

Synopsis: Trigger happy?

 

Lo Ve Me

Why such a low cut neckline?

 

She knew. But that did not stop her being self-conscious about being dressed to reveal and appeal.

 

The carriage was half empty. There were plenty of seats. Yet she stood. She stood with her back to the luggage rack next to the girl in a smart pink uniform: the girl she was obviously with. She stood out also. She was outstandingly outstanding and outstanding twice blessedly too.

 

As the train swayed, her bosom, on clear display, divinely divided, diving deep beyond her fawn top’s curved neckline, held sway by not apparently swaying with the rock and roll of the rattling conjunction of wheels with the pitch and yaw of the station’s junction.

 

Although evidently naked under and entirely natural, she seemed rock firm. Although naked under, her nipples’ evident insistence upon testing her top’s material resistance to spatial penetration, also showed her bosom, though deeply perturbing, was apparently unperturbed and undisturbed by the perturbation from the rail-switch points on the station approach’s challenging curves.

 

The attractive blonde conductress, busy with last minute ticket sales, saw her. Try as she might, she could not help but run the angel over, using her eyes as the rule with which to measure the immeasurable measure of the girl’s facial and physical charms.

 

The girl, maybe sixteen, a school-aged dream, was in high heeled shoes. As she sought to counter the train’s rocking motion, by slightly advancing one of her long trained-dancer’s limbs whilst anchoring the other, her slim legs’ lovely curves showed their sensational muscularity.

 

Her sweet swerves showed through the long fawn wool-knit leg-warmers that embraced her to half-mast high half-thigh. And above their elasticated tops, her bare flesh furnaced, furnishing that the hems of skirts, like school these days, seemed to be finishing earlier and earlier.

 

The conductress longed to get to this Eve and look into her dark brown eyes, to there see heaven had its representatives on unworthy earth: and, purely coincidentally, to ponder if the girl had any knickers on under her skirt.

 

Lo Ve Me wore coarse woollen knickers in fact: knickers blessed with the sweet fragrance of her bud with its rose pink inner petals. A bud, though leafed with spring’s blossom, remaining clamped closed, still yet to be ripped into full summer bloom.

 

From the highbrowed oval face with the eyes decided eastern narrowing, the Conductress bet this ethnic-Chinese English beauty, was Vietnamese or Japanese or Korean for her money, and that her full-bodied lips must taste of the purest honey.

 

Was the blonde conductress admiring Lo Ve Me’s buttock sweeping hair? Did she wonder how long it must take to brush such heaven to its glorious sheen? As Lo Ve Me merely moved and yet moved hearts with the merest of motion, did she witness the light being intermittently refracted in its tumbling dream midnight jet-black sensual stream?

 

Lo Ve Me somehow sensed what would happen and longed to escape, but kept her place.

 

Then she and the pretty conductress came face to face.

 

Lo Ve Me’s stunningly seductive oriental eyes were cat-size but only kitten-wise. She looked in innocent appeal at the conductress. Perhaps as a consequence, the conductress forewent the face, and loudly spat at the top of Lo Ve Me’s cleavage in its place: her huge gobbet spattering on Lo Ve Me’s breastbone.

 

Lo Ve Me’s guard laughed cruelly. The little slut had just got what she deserved.

 

Lo Ve Me had been found out. The Girl-Police had had one of their periodic clampdowns. Lo Ve Me had been swept up in the corresponding roundup of suspects at her school. She had been accused and, under interrogation, admitted to masturbating. The full majesty of the law had subsequently crashed down upon her. She was now under sentence and under escort fresh from the law courts.

 

Besides being an immensely erotic pleasure to look her over, close inspection showed that her hands were clasped at her lap, girlackled together by thumb cuffs, her ankles chained with a six-inch hobble, and her ever-moist mouth held succulently agape by a steel gag, that had her tongue brutally bitten in its serrated jaws.

 

Her shoes were prison-issue. The same closer inspection showed she stood not only on tiptoe, but on her cruelly bent big toes alone, as the only way of easing herself above the agony of standing and walking additionally on her other toes: those other toes being curled back so she would crush them as she stood on them. The five rings through which the toes of each of her pretty feet were forced imposed this divinely cruel torture on her.

 

On each foot, she wore a ‘glove’: a stainless-steel glove ending in the toe equivalent of a knuckleduster. Each toe went through the ‘duster’ in its own way. The ring through which the big toes went, formed a tube that persuaded those toes forward. The remaining toes of each foot, and thus both feet, through rings that eased them backwards.

 

The two ‘dusters’ were at the front ends of her stainless-steel high-heeled shoes. But these were high-heeled shoes with a difference.

 

Her toes were clamped through the dusters. Or rather, the steel ‘glove’ that ended in the dusters covering up to halfway up the arch of her foot. The ‘glove’ was then fastened to her foot by a rigid bar up the front of her foot to an articulated steel band tight around her dainty ankle.

 

From the front bottom rear of the dusters, flat soles ran back toward her shoes’ heels: soles she dragged on the ground as if she were wont to walk like a world-weary slattern, for these shoes had heels with a difference too.

 

These shoes had eight-inch long heels. But the heels, instead of coming down to the ground from the rear of the shoe, pointed up from the rear of the flat soles. They rose as two needle sharp pointed spikes that would stab Lo Ve Me’s feet if she dared to put her weight on them. Parallel guides curved up either side of the heels and ran up and through rings soldered to her ankle bands. These guiding rods stopped her shoes’ soles from wandering away from true, and thus kept the brutal heels - literally stilettos - at constant readiness to stab the heels of her bare feet.

 

The heels thus ensured she stood and walked at all times on her savagely bent big toes, trying to avoid the even greater agony of crushing her remaining toes with the full delicious, light but horrendously painful, weight of her delightful body, and even more so to avoid having her feet stabbed by her heels.

 

The conductress’ cruel spittle burst its bubbles in unorchestrated pattern, before the heavy tear of its insult trickled the deep valley of Lo Ve Me’s cleavage toward her belly.

 

“Yea!” said her uniformed guard to the obviously informed conductress. “That’s the way to treat the little whore. She’s a fuckin’ wanker. The filthy little slut’s bin found guilty of masturbating. She deserves everythin’ she gets and is gonna get!”

 

Lo Ve Me hung her lovely head in scarlet blushing shame: a rose to the very heart of the inadequately descriptive name.

 

But her humiliation wasn’t over. At a wink and raised eyebrow from the vengeful conductress, her police guard turned her around, and the pretty conductress took the unspoken invitation to slap Lo Ve Me resoundingly hard on her delicious bottom.

 

“Hey! Come on girls! I got yer open house here!” Lo Ve Me’s guard then called. She had just pulled the back-panel of Lo Ve Me’s knickers into the youngsters buttock cleft, and then hauled the rear of her knickers up so hard, that their gathered crotch entered her divinity and rubbed their roughness in her supreme sensitivity.

 

At the same time as pulling her knickers up into her sex, her strong guard held the rear of Lo Ve Me’s miniskirt aloft above the dove’s bared derriere. And each and every girl as they left the train, slapped her there. As Lo Ve Me cried and sobbed afresh, they pandied her bottom till it glowed red. So hard did they slap her, that her eventual bruises would even show where their wedding rings had bitten her soft complexion.

 

As she re-attached the short chain that tethered Lo Ve Me’s clamped thumbs to her own wrist , Lo Ve Me’s guard now taunted: “See what yer get, yer little slut? If yer’d only kept yer fingers out of it, yer’d still be back at school with all yer pretty friends”.

 

“Come on young ‘un. Yer’ve got some walking to do!” she then commanded as she pulled Lo Ve Me around, and led her to the carriage door to step off the train.

 

As she alighted from the train, poor Lo Ve Me’s lovely eyes showed the tears that teetered at torrent’s tip, for every step was an agony of bent or crushed toes. Every step was the cruel choice of striving to keep her 100-pounds of shear delight, aloft on her cruelly bent big toes, or rest that agony, by crushing her other toes, or relieve that torture by choosing to rest her heels where the razor sharp stilettos would undoubtedly stab her.

 

Her progress was also slowed by the six-inch hobble chain that linked the ankle-bands of her stainless-steel torture shoes, and sought to tame the power of her youthfully slim lower limbs: legs as long as they were seductively shapely as they were strong.

 

As Lo Ve Me moaned out with the pain of walking on her crushed bare toes along the unyielding cold concrete slabs of the train station platform, her guard simply snapped: “Come on girl!! We ain’t got all bleedin’ day!”

 

Lo Ve Me bore the pain of bearing the weight of her shapely young body, only with cries of agony that tore her gagged and tooth-clamped tongue.

 

Her moans caused the commuters to turn and stare at her beauty. Her only comfort came from the crotch of her knickers, which was still pulled up hard into her divine divide. As she walked, the coarse roughness of her knickers’ woollen knit, heated the sensitivity within her split, till her natural lubrication flowed and eased the pain of walking the road on her crushed bruised toes.

 

Had Lo Ve Me longed for comfort from her fellow girls gathered round at the sound of her gagged moans of pain, she found none, but assuredly heard the cries of their disdain.

 

“Serves yer bleedin’ right darlin’. Yer shoulda kept yer fingers out of yer knickers!” came one mezzo cry.

 

Another added: “Yea! Too right! That’s not what god gave you a cunt for!”

 

“Yea!” added a third: “The rest of us girls has had to keep our hands to ourselves!”

 

There was then a pause…

 

….There was then a pause, before a giggling contralto responded to the latter cry with: “Silly bitch! It’s keeping her bleedin’ hands to ‘erself that she’s bein’ friggin’ punished for!” And uproarious mocking laughter, Lo Ve Me in her despair assumed was aimed at her, hurt her above and beyond even the taunts, or the terrible pain from her tortured feet and tongue.

 

Lo Ve Me’s guard sniggered at the insults, and, despite that she had already been pulling her almost faster than the poor girl could walk, seemed to drag Lo Ve Me along even faster still.

 

Lo Ve Me’s guard was making a beeline for the ladies’ washroom further along the station platform. Although being on official duty, she was longing for a cigarette, and needed to get where she could indulge her craving without being seen and prospectively reported to her superiors for a breach of discipline.

 

Lo Ve Me’s moans of pain were nothing to her guard, who cursed her with: “Get a move on yer fuckin’ whore!”

…………………

 

Now the smooth legs of the angel stretched taut by her need to rise above the blades threatening her heels, rose as two shapely sweetly muscular monuments to all that is feminine.

 

Lo Ve Me was standing sky high up on her brutally bent big toes on the unyielding polished black tiles in the vestibule of one of Barnmouth and Clitoria train station’s washrooms.

 

The ‘snick’ of the switchblade knife opening behind her made Lo Ve Me flinch, and ice trickled down her spine. The echoing sharp mechanical sound put the already terrified girl in even higher nervous tension.

 

Dreading to know what it was that her guard was doing behind her, Lo Ve Me’s lovely face shot around to look behind her, her terror widening her tawny eyes, her dark black hair falling a fragrant curtain across one glorious love-lantern.

 

But then her guard casually assured: “I ain’t gonna hurt yer none. I just want yer knicks see. A cop’s pay ain’t that special as an occasional bonus don’t come in handy.”

 

“My so-called superiors don’t mind none. They’re all on the friggin take anyway. All us guards sell the prisoners’ knicks, after they’ve had time to get aroma’d up some. Yer bein’ such a fuckin’ gorgeous doll, and a virgin and all, yer fresh smelling knicks ‘ll get me five-thousand-dollars at least, I shouldn’t wonder….”

 

Her smart clerical-grey pinstripe trouser-suit cut to Parisian perfection, accurately denoting and promoting her position in the working world, a very attractive blue-eyed blonde businessgirl now entered the scene.

 

Lo Ve Me assumed she would head into a washroom cubicle; but instead she stood and watched, thus increasing Lo Ve Me’s excruciating embarrassment.

 

“I want $5k for these here Jemima”, Lo Ve Me’s guard suddenly insisted, dawning the realisation that the businessgirl had arrived by pre-arrangement.

 

The businessgirl’s retort was lovely laughter: lovely despite its sounding practiced and professional. “Come off it Sarah! Even knickers fresh off of a pretty little chick like this one, won’t fetch me a profit if $5k is the price I buy them for. Let’s talk sensible numbers, or else I’ll just get the earlier train down to Barnmouth Central. I hear they’ve got twins down there, both in for one this one’s going to get”.

 

“That there Mbese’s knicks went for $5k is what I heard Jem. I’m takin’ a risk here. I could be drummed out the Girl-Police for much less. So far the old: ‘she must have had them torn off by the crowd’ routine has seen me through. But it’s getting’ harder to explain away. Last time my sergeant said she’d take the price of twelve-dozen new pairs out of my wages. She were only jokin’ of course; but yer see how close I am to getting found out. $5k is more than reasonable…” Lo Ve Me’s guard replied, without sounding at all confident of her powers of persuasion.

 

“Actually Sarah, Mbese’s knickers went for just over $10k. Better get your facts straight, and better you understand the market. Mbese was a negress for starters, and hers was a hanging offence. She’d taken her own virginity?”

 

“This chick is only down for the basic misdemeanour. She must still be intact, else her sentence would be the same as Mbese’s. Mbese got punished for a first-degree offence. This chick will get the same treatment as Mbese, save for one thing: for a second degree verdict, they don’t wind up being hung by their tits.”

 

“Don’t a lovely Chinese doll like this here fetch the same as a negress then?” Lo Ve Me’s guard enquired, having fallen straight into the businessgirl’s trap.

 

The businessgirl knew full well that Lo Ve Me’s knickers, especially if they we well marinated with her scent and flavour, could well fetch as much or more than Mbese’s. Chinese lovelies were more rare in the English populace as a whole than negresses. It was a simple matter of market forces. The girls who bid for knickers on the Key-Way website would always pay that touch more for something exotic like panties worn by this lovely little honey prior to her punishment.

 

“Sure, she’s a stunner, but we aren’t talking $5k let alone ten”, the businessgirl answered, trying, successfully, not to let her sense of impending victory show.

 

“Look. I’ve got five more locations to visit today. $1k cash in hand is my highest offer. And if you don’t cut them off neatly, so as I can sew them back right again, that’ll go down by half”, she added to make her pitch seem final.

 

“That’s a bit harsh Jem. I could raffle them to the crowd for more!”.

 

“Get caught doing that Sarah, and you’ll wish you’d accepted my $1k! Now is it to be $1k, or else I just got to go?”

 

“Fuckin’ hell! Yer know how to fleece us don’t yer Jem?”

 

The crisp notes were held in a fan waved before Lo Ve Me’s guard. With two brisk snips, and a gasp of pleasure from Lo Ve Me as they were tugged out from where they had been tucked up hard within her slice, Lo Ve Me’s knickers were cut off, pulled out of her, whipped off her, and handed to the businessgirl.

 

The businessgirl then opened a transparent plastic box with a sealable lid, and began to put Lo Ve Me’s knickers where her aroma would stay fresh.

 

But, even as she did so, she paused and looked at where Lo Ve Me was standing skyscapered on her long slim legs: standing murderously high on her big toes on the polished black tiles of the washroom floor.

 

The tiles showed everything: Lo Ve Me’s skirt hid nothing. With her knickers gone, the tiles reflected Lo Ve Me’s hidden enticements completely faithfully.

 

“Very nice! Very nice indeed!”, the businessgirl whispered as, while Lo Ve Me’s eyes filled with tears from her utter shame, she ogled the floor’s flawless reflection of Lo Ve Me’s wetted whetted cunt.

…………………

 

The business girl had gone. As Sarah, her guard, enjoyed the cigarette she was sneaking before walking Lo Ve Me further, Lo Ve Me’s head still hung in deep humiliation.

 

Lo Ve Me felt more naked than had she been naked in fact. She knew Sarah’s eyes were staring at the tiled floor, and just how much it reflected of what there was to see up inside her tiny skirt.

 

It therefore came as a surprise and yet no surprise to Lo Ve Me when her guard, cigarette still glowing at the corner of her mouth, came closer to her to look more studiedly at her well-filled close-clinging tee-shirt.

 

Sarah longed to feel Lo Ve Me’s breasts. She knew they were completely bare: that she wore no underwear. Their wonderfully bold fullness embellished her tee-shirt with their sweet soft swellings, topped with the taunting nipples, whose enticements tightened the fabric with twin conical come-hither near-puncturing punctuation points.

 

“My oh my, but aren’t you the pert little lady? Do yer nipples always poke out like that, or are they just pleased to see me?” Sarah cliché-sneered.

 

Lo Ve Me tried hard to shy herself away. But her guard cocked the second finger of her right hand behind its thumb, ‘released the trigger’, and flicked Lo Ve Me’s left nipple’s very evident protrusion through the coarse cotton of her tight top, very hard.

 

In reflex from the pain, Lo Ve Me leapt taller, flinched back, and moaned through her terrible gag.

 

Lo Ve Me could not help but seduce. She longed that she were not so heavily endowed. Of course it was no crime to have a thirty-eight inch chest, nor to have nipples that formed one-third of each breast, nor to have nipples mounting toward half-inch-long central peaks. Lo Ve Me was only a natural full-blooded passionate loving gentle girl. Surely that was no crime either.

 

Lo Ve Me sensed Sarah’s craving to get her hands up her tee-shirt and feel her, and caress her, and maul her, and crush her, and slap her, and pinch her nipples, and haul one of her breasts out and take the nipple in her lips and nibble and bite and suck her like a babe for sexual succour.

 

Her thoughts made Lo Ve Me flinch away, and that made her breasts swing and sway and her nipples scribe seduction along the way, so she hung her head further so as to try and stop her totally natural sexiness seduce in this way.

 

Sarah watched. As she saw Lo Ve Me’s crew of two come to rest with their nipples pointing to heaven anew, her longing only grew. It was more than her job was worth to be caught ravishing this girl. But, as she watched Lo Ve Me’s breasts emotion searing motion, sacrifice of a career of long devotion formed more than a mere passing notion.

 

Aroused as she was by the seductive angel, Sarah sought to sublimate her inflamed desires by being cruel.

 

“Yer’re in no position to be stand-offish with me, yer little slag. For what yer were found guilty of trying to do to yerself, yer can think yerself lucky they didn’t sentence yer to worse than yer’re gonna get anyway for sure.”

 

“Just cos yer school’s head-girl was such a sexy tart that the judge wanted to shag her. And just cos she was believed when she said she was sure yer’d never ever used it… and cripes knows where yer got it from in this day and age; but for just possessing a vibrator, any other girl’d end up being strung up by her clit!” she exaggerated.

 

Thereafter, to punctuate her frustration at not simply being allowed to get her hand up Lo Ve Me’s tee-shirt and thoroughly feel her, and yet to demonstrate her power over the tethered tortured angel even so, Sarah, her smoke completed used the same second finger and thumb combination.

 

This time though, she loaded the means she had used to flick Lo Ve Me’s excitingly inviting nipple-tip, with the stub of her cigarette, and flicked it, unerringly accurately, into a rising parabola, from the apex of which it plunged, still burning, straight down the innocent angel’s cleavage.

 

So unexpected was this, that Lo Ve Me simply watched wide eyed as if the burning stub, flying whilst spinning visibly glowing red, was heading toward someone else.

 

As a result, her last-second breast-swinging reflex flinch was insufficient, and, even though she danced her supremely sexy legs backwards, and thus made her heavy bosom dive float flow and frolic fulsomely handsomely: first in an effort to avoid the salvo, then in dire need to extinguish the pain, her scream as the dying stub burned a brutal brand inside her navel, tore blood from her savagely clamped tongue.

…………………

 

“Come on den yer fuckin’ tart. There’s a lot of girls waiting for yer out dare, and dey ain’t gonna be askin’ for no autographs neither”, Sarah sneered.

 

Lo Ve Me, wishing she were dead, such was her shame, submitted, having no choice, to walking once more on her tortured toes.

 

For a while before her enforced return to her painful journey, she had heard a hum of conversation.

 

As Sarah emerged from the washroom with Lo Ve Me in tow, the first gobbet of spittle spattered in Lo Ve Me’s left eye, and trickled down her lovely face to her lips.

 

“Take that you fucking whore!” a fellow schoolgirl screamed, as, at every opportunity in the Lo Ve Me’s snail’s progress, more women spat on her face into her cleavage and on the exposed upper curves of her firm breasts.

 

Word having got around, hundreds of girls from Barnmouth had gathered, and now followed Lo Ve Me as a moving gauntlet she must ‘run’ but could never complete.

 

“Fucking slag! I don’t pay my fucking taxes so you can go to school to learn how to wank. I hope they fucking sew it up for you, you bleeding whore!”

 

“Too fucking right”, another anonymous girl shouted, “I’d have them pull off their clits if I were making the law!”

 

“Yea” agreed another, “There just too bloody soft on them these days. When I was her age the headmistress used to cane them in their bare cunts aiming for their clits. There was none of this ‘must give them a fair trial’ namby-pamby nonsense back then”

 

“They should make them sleep with their hands tied behind their necks like they did when I was at school”, opined another.

 

By the time of her arrival in Barnmouth’s market square, Lo Ve Me’s face was a pool of dribbling drool, her sleek black hair matted with spittle merging into long drips, and her lovely breasts spattered with spit from the cruel anger of the crowd, come not only to see her punished, but to be a part of her punishment.

 

Then a gentle voice behind her said: “You could do with a wash down, you poor thing”

 

Lo Ve Me did not catch the smirk on Sarah’s face. In her lovely loveable innocence she turned toward the gentle succour of the sweet voice, longing to see the face of the only girl in this, her home town, who had offered her any gentleness.

 

As Lo Ve Me turned with a look longing for mercy in her eyes, the girl with the honey voice, thrust her hips forward obscenely, opened her cunt’s lips with practiced fingers, and pissed on her.

 

The stream of steaming yellow-gold slowly soaked Lo Ve Me’s leg-warmers and dribbled down her en-pointe tortured feet, leaving her standing in a pool of stinking piss.

 

Lo Ve Me cried, and cried all the more as the crowd jeered and cheered-on the girl pissing on her lovely legs.

…………………

 

Outside Moscow Lo Ve Me wiggled sky-high steeple legged on her snowshoes, snug in her sumptuous furs. Her big toes were gripped by clamps that bit and bound them upright to her snowshoes. Sadly unseen, beneath her ankle-length white bearskin coat, her superb legs displayed their calves’ curvaceous muscularity, rising to the backs of her dimpled knees, and beyond, to the dynamite strength of her explosive thighs.

 

Naked under the nurturing warmth, Lo Ve Me’s zephyrs streamed sweet scented vapours from her nostrils, as if from a fiery mare whose hard fought race was long run won. Where free from under her bearskin hat, her black mane twisted and settled and fluttered again flatteringly in the teasing bitter wind.

 

Her dark brown eyes were lowered seductively submissively. Her lips were pink and moist, their moisture redolent of other, musk-scented moist pinkness: that between her heavenly legs.

 

Within her furs her breasts played full freedom’s frolic and her teats’ pinnacle’s conducted the overture to love, as they rubbed on her furs so, so as to have discovered electricity’s static ecstatic threat to arc lightening between her engorged excited nipples.

 

Within her muff her thumbs were girlackled. Watching her buttocks weave apparently wanton waves, her guards followed her willow frame. Beneath her furs Lo Ve Me wore absolutely nought but a tampon through the eye of god’s wedding ring: the mark of her untouched innocent’s inner purity: her hymen. This she chewed with her vagina as she soaked it with her sacrifice: the saintly flow of her moon-cycle mystery taking the capillary course to turn it’s white to sacred crimson.

…………………

 

Outside Istanbul Lo Ve Me was naked as newborn. The sun beat down on her body, burning the savage candy stripes with which the whips had acutely cut her cuteness. Her whippers had taken pride in their work. Matching stripe alongside stripe for spacing, they had flogged her into a mock human zebra.

 

Their savagery had not neglected the breasts. Her teats were split twice open, and her blood traced its tears down under their gently bobbing globes, or dripped to ground from the eyes of her nipples: nipples crying the pain she moaned even as she bled too into her tampon; or, rather, had till just before now.

 

Untying her after her surgically precise one-hour whipping, tied to the post wearing only her tampon, her torturers held the nose of the sobbing angel till she must open her mouth.

 

Then, laughing in mockery of her winces and tears, one guard had seized the tails of her menses soaked tampon, ripped it from her god’s wedding ring, and forced into her mouth, before gagging her to stop her mouth and her sobs. Thus every time she screamed behind her gag, her tongue pressed up to squeeze the saturated tampon, and she now wretched at swallowing her cyclical blood.

 

Her feet bound with barbed wire to force her to tiptoe, she shouldered the rough-hewn trunk: the log on which she would be hauled aloft to crucifixion supported only by her already nailed wrists, to hang in agony for her punishment.

 

Down the insides of her legs, her menstrual flow wept from her unstanched cunt: become an open wound.

…………………

 

In Moscow’s bitter cold and Istanbul’s horrendous heat and in Barnmouth’s sweet summer sun, when the sheep shears denuded Lo Ve Me’s head, the same crowd jeered and cheered.

 

“Don’t look so high and mighty now do you, you fucking whore!?” was the cry as all the midnight tresses that had long so prettily trespassed down Lo Ve Me’s back to her lovely bottom, fell free from one side of her denuded head, flopped to her shoulder, and then rained to the ground.

 

“Give the fucking slut a Mohegan cut wiv her hair standin’ up down der middle of ‘er ‘ead!” cried one tormentor.

 

“No. That’d make her look like a fucking toilet-cleaning brush!” came the echo.

 

“Yea? So?” a sarcastically cruel ill-wisher mocked, and screams of feminine laughter accompanied the matching fall of the hair from the left side of Lo Ve Me’s head.

 

A final run of the sheep-shears down the middle from her forehead backwards, and she was completely bald.

 

The crowd jeered and cheered and pointed and screamed with laughter as Lo Ve Me cried and sobbed hopelessly helplessly: tears streaming from the complete rein over her of humiliation and pain.

…………………

 

Lo Ve Me now watched fascinated as a light was lit on a phallic upright: the light, a gas fuelled flame.

 

But then she felt a tug, and must obey, and was walked into a hutment. There, for the first time in their enforced relationship, Lo Ve Me saw some gentleness in her guard’s eyes.

 

As Sarah removed Lo Ve Me’s gag, she explained: “I hate the bit where they shave them bald like that. It do seem so unnecessary cruel to my way of thinkin’.”

 

“Now I got to strip yer naked darlin’. Have to start wiv the gag, cos I’m afraid they wanna hear yer scream”.

 

“And I also have to tell yer what their gonna do to yer. It’s laid down see. I have to tell yer cos the law ses so. It’s an official part of yer punishment to really fear yer up before it happens, so as yer suffer for sure, before, during, and after”.

 

“Well, first off, we have to smear yer pubes with that paraffin jell in the bottle over there. And yer nipples too of course. Yer see, they’re gonna suspend yer, legs apart, over that phallus with the flame goin’. And the flame will set fire to yer pubes, the paraffin will make sure of that. Then they’ll set yer nipples alight. And, when yer pubes and nipples is all burning slowly, they’ll whip yer to make yer go down on the phallus: cos yer is gonna be fucked by the flame see.”

 

“And when they see the blood trickle out from yer losing yer virginity like, they’ll whip yer till yer get the phallus right up yer cunt. And it will be nearly red hot by then. And the flame and the red hotness will cauterise yer. And they’ll make yer stay with the phallus up yer while it burns like fuckin’ hell. Cos they’ll whip yer if yer try to get off it, until yer go back down on it again.”

 

“Then, when they’re sure yer vagina’s burned numb, they make yer hold yer clit in the flame till it’s cured too.”

 

“After all that, yer won’t be a wanker no more, cos yer won’t be able to feel a friggin’ thing, what with yer vagina bein’ cauterised, yer clit shrivelled up, and yer nips burnt to hell too. Yer’ll spend the rest of yer life as a eunuch-girl.”

 

“They make the best wives do eunuch girls, or so I’m told….” Sarah’s voice drifted into sadness at this point, as if, not so long in her past, she had longed to marry such a girl and suffered a rebuff, and as if the horrendous cruelty she had been terrifying Lo Ve Me with just before, had been in fact about the arrangements for a family picnic.

 

Nonetheless, even while she tortured the schoolgirl by reciting her fate, she had divested Lo Ve Me of her shoes, and stripped her of her leg-warmers tee-shirt and skirt, using her knife where necessary, as Lo Ve Me was still thumb-cuffed.

 

“We’ve got a little while before we chain yer up for yer punishment. I don’t suppose a young girl like you…. what with it bein’ so bad for yer health and all that: but, would yer like a ciggy: it’ll help: it always helps a bit….” Sarah gently enquired.

 

Deeply in need of even this small sign of human gentleness, but not daring to speak because of the terrible tears her gag had gouged in her tongue, Lo Ve Me nodded.

 

So Sarah took two cigarettes from her half-consumed pack, and put both in her lips, so as to draw on them and get them lit for a certainty.

 

Retaining the one, she then gently put the other between Lo Ve Me’s lips.

 

In an instant reflex from the smoke, Lo Ve Me, unused to cigarettes, never having smoked before in her young life, coughed violently.

 

“Hey, don’t do that sweetheart, that their ciggy is no less than a Halboro, the very best on the market”, Sarah tried to joke, in order to lighten Lo Ve Me’s terrible burden.

 

Before she had taken the cigarette in her lovely lips, Lo Ve Me’s whole body had begun to tremble with fear. Now, as the blue-grey smoke entered her, and rose in erotic wisps from her lips: smoke she enhanced the benefit from by breathing it in deeply through her flared nostrils: the tobacco calmed her, even to the degree that she dried her tears.

 

A silence ensued. Both girls were soothed. Tobacco was working its anaesthetising charms.

 

The silence was long and yet so short.

 

Sarah took her cigarette out of her mouth, turned it to look at its glowing business-end, assessed that there was one more draw to drag the last dreg from it, drew that final puff, and then tossed the nub to the ground to grind it with her boot.

 

“Time to start now love”, she gently whispered to Lo Ve Me, as she took the filter tip of Lo Ve Me’s fully consumed cigarette out of Lo Ve Me’s cunt….

 

…………………

 

Lo Ve Me finished this stage. She had been frisking her love lips and fingering her clit with eager, increasingly rapid, increasingly sticky fingers, for over an hour now.

 

Naked as nature and irreplaceably more beautiful, she rose from her bed and admired her fully charged fully aroused body in the full-length mirror of her wardrobe. When her mother and her mother’s wife were away, she secretly masturbated for endless hours, loving to arouse herself by imagining herself submitting to horrendous tortures.

 

Now she lit the readied candle, atop its tall rigid decorative holder, and watched it flicker to all-too definite life.

 

Such was her excitement and fear at this sight though, that she felt a momentary urge to defecate. But then she had determined to do this. A pause and she was ready again.

 

She had earlier readied the leather strap with its tail pulled long through the hasp, thus leaving a loop through which she could only just pass her hand and slim wrist.

 

Turning her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder to be sure she could see her beautiful bottom.

 

Feeling she might be losing determination, she now pinched her nipples as hard as she could and stage whispered: “Yer fuckin’ bitch!”

 

Putting her left hand to the holding of her right shoulder, to keep it from interfering and thus ‘showing her mercy’, she slipped her hand through the loop of the belt and drew it back in readiness.

 

Then her lovely voice hoarsely whispered through gritted teeth in play-act to herself: “We’re gonna fuckin’ whip yer, yer fuckin’ whore, till yer fuckin’ snuff that fuckin’ candle out inside yer fuckin’ cunt….”

 

…….But Lo Ve Me did not even manage to give her lovely bottom one stroke of her makeshift whip, before her bedroom door burst open, and two voluptuous uniformed women, uniformly forced her naked body to the floor, with both her slim arms hammer-locked up her beautifully arched back.

 

As Lo Ve Me was pushed onto and slid along the bedroom floor, her soft breasts were crassly crushed to her chest.

 

Then a voice hissed threateningly into her ear and through her fear: “Girl-Police Morality Patrol. You’re under arrest darlin’! You don’t have to say nothin’, but anythin’ you do say may be repeated in court as evidence against you!”

 

“You’ve been under suspicion for some time. Your mama’s wife told us about you. With her cooperation, we’ve had this bedroom well bugged since weeks ago.”

 

As, hands tied behind her back, she was dragged by her also bound ankles, Lo Ve Me’s long sensitive nipples felt furnace fire friction from their relentless rough rubbing ride over the uncaring bedroom carpet’s cruel caress.

 

“You’ve got yourself caught sticky handed sweetheart!”

 

“You’ve been breaking the law!”

 

“You’ve been masturbating….”