Uniform Doll

by Penny Birch

  ‘You wouldn’t dare, not even you!’

  ‘Want to try me?’

  ‘No, Sam . . . I’m sorry. Where are you taking me, then?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ she answered.

  She had me puzzled. After getting Zoe and her friends into Sugar Babe’s she could have been on a roll. Zoe would have been up for it, quite likely her friends, and I’d have helped. Sam could have ended up with three girls to take back to her flat, maybe four, as I wasn’t sure how many friends Zoe had been with. Just the thought of it should have been irresistible – I mean, she could have had us bent over in a line, bare bottomed, hands tied behind our backs, or anything. I was amazed she’d turned down the chance.

  Not only that, but we were getting out of Soho. We crossed Oxford Street, moving on into the quieter roads beyond, with only a few late workers about and clusters of drinkers outside the pubs. I began to feel more conspicuous, with fewer people around who were cool about the way we were dressed. People had started to laugh, the women sniggering, the men cracking coarse comments. I started to wonder if Sam had some really appalling humiliation planned for me, perhaps sending me on as a stripper in some sleazy bar, or even carrying out her threat to whip me in public. She walked on, indifferent to other people, angling through the streets until she came into a cobbled alley, where she stopped.

  ‘What’s here?’ I asked, wondering, and hoping, that one of the rear basements of the buildings beside us would prove to be some leather dyke drinking dive.

  ‘This,’ she said, patting the boot of the old blue BMW she was sitting against, even as its door opened.

  Naomi got out, grinning at me. She had something in her hand, and it took me a moment to realise what it was, a sack. An instant later Sam had wrenched my coat down, exposing my bare boobs to the street. I squealed in shock but shut up as Naomi pushed a ball gag into my mouth, Sam quickly fastening it tight behind my neck. My coat was pulled off, panic rising up as I found myself showing just about everything. I struggled, trying to make them stop before someone came. They didn’t care. Sam caught my arms, twisting them hard behind my back, to clip my lead catch onto one D-ring, then the other.

  Then it was the sack, tugged down over my head, right down. Naomi tripped me, and I went down hard on my bum, my breath knocked out through my nose. Sam caught hold of my legs, Naomi holding the sack wide, and they were stuffed up into it. For one awful moment my bum was stuck out to the street, with nothing but the tiny thong of my panties to cover me. Sam slapped it, laughing, and I heard the click of the car boot as the neck of the sack was pulled tight around my feet.

  I was lifted, and dumped in the boot, hard. The sack was lashed off around my ankles, tight, to leave me trussed up, like a chicken, with my legs up to my chest and my arms behind my back, utterly helpless. I tried to mumble through the gag, babbling questions. They ignored me, slamming the boot to turn partial darkness into absolute black. I lay panting, in shock, wondering what was in store for me.

  ‘Neat,’ Sam commented, her voice faint but clear enough. ‘I said no one would see us if we did it here.’

  ‘Good place,’ Naomi agreed. ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Go to Sugar Babe’s,’ Sam replied. ‘Dumplings just introduced me to the sweetest little thing, real kitten. Seventeen but licks cunt, her friends too. Big Angie and I are going to see if we can’t share a couple. Join us, there’s enough to go around.’

  ‘I will if I can. Better go, then.’

  I heard them kiss, and the click of Sam’s boots on the cobbles. The car door opened, slammed, and the engine started. I lay trembling, wild thoughts running through my head, of being made a permanent slave. I’d be chained up in a cellar somewhere, and abused by Sam and her friends, or sold to some horrible man, maybe like the one who’d replied to my ad, to be kept in a cell and fed on spunk. Silly, maybe, but not so silly when you’re tied up in the boot of a car with a ball gag in your mouth and no way of even talking to anybody.

  Naomi drove slowly through the London traffic, turning repeatedly, until I had no idea where we were or even how far we’d gone. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t speak, I could barely move, and I could hear only the rumble of engines and occasional voices. It was too much. Soon I was near panic, the tears welling in my eyes as I tried to fight down the urge to struggle. It nearly got me, and I was wriggling stupidly in the sack and panting hard through my nose, before I managed to calm down, telling myself that it was just a game, that they wouldn’t really hurt me, that I’d taken what they liked to dish out before, and that I could do it again.

  I was sure it was true, but a nasty little voice in the back of my head kept telling me otherwise, and it wouldn’t go away. Sam thought nothing of ruining my clothes. They stripped me with men looking on. They’d pushed my head down a toilet and made me lick bum, again with a mixed audience. That had been in a club. This was going to be private.

  All that ran through my head, telling myself I’d be okay, and wondering if I really would, round and round. So many times I’d fantasised about being in the same situation, or one like it, bound helpless at the mercy of some really cruel girl gang. Now I was, and I didn’t know if I was excited or terrified, whether I wanted to burst into frightened tears or masturbate myself dizzy.

  Not that I could masturbate anyway, with my body strapped up the way it was. I couldn’t even move inside the sack, because it was tied around my ankles. My bum was pushed out against it, so that the coarse material was pulled tight over my pussy-lips, with just the flimsy panties to protect me. My boobs were against it too, scraping on my nipples every time I moved, to keep them in a state of furious, agonising erection. It was turning me on, but it hurt too, and that wasn’t all. My bladder was beginning to feel tight.

  That was really going to be the last straw, if I wet myself. It was going to happen too, if Naomi didn’t stop soon, and then when she opened the boot she’d find me lying in a pool of pee. It couldn’t happen, it really couldn’t. My corset would be ruined, my boots too, never mind the way they’d laugh at me and the awful shame of peeing in my panties. It would look awful, and I could just see the wet bum shape I’d make against the sack when I’d done it.

  I hung on, telling myself that it couldn’t be far, that wherever I was going had to be in London. I hoped it was anyway, because otherwise it didn’t bear thinking about. I did anyway, imagining myself delivered to some lonely house in the country, or a Parisian brothel, to be made into a pony-girl, or used as a speciality for perverts into rubbing themselves off between girls’ boobs.

  It had to be wrong. Naomi had said she might make it back to Sugar Babe’s before closing time, which gave her . . . six hours odd, enough to get to Birmingham and back, and would leave me in pissy panties for certain, maybe worse. That really was too much, imagining her undoing the sack to find me with a disgusting lumpy bulge in the back of my panties, and the tears began to squeeze from my eyes.

  We took a bump, unexpectedly, and it nearly did happen. My bladder stabbed with pain as I forced myself not to let go, and again as we took another bump. I shut my eyes, starting to blubber as I realised I was going to have to let go, and then we were slowing, turning, and the car had come to a halt. I was panting with relief, immediately, breathing hard through my nose, in pain, but sure I could hold on. Naomi would be sweet and let me do it before subjecting me to whatever they had planned – even if it was just on the ground with my knickers held aside, she had to.

  I heard the car door again, and Naomi’s footsteps. The boot came open, and immediately I was mumbling through the gag, trying to push it up with my tongue and speak at the same time.

  ‘You what? You’ve peed your panties?’ she asked. ‘You’re going to? Not in my car, you don’t, girl!’

  She bent, grunting as she lifted me, and catching my hip on the boot. I gulped in pain, and so nearly let go, but held on, my toes wiggling in desperation and my tummy muscles clenching and unclenching.

  ‘Hold it in, Jade,�
�� Naomi instructed. ‘Don’t your dare piss down me!’

  I tried to speak, to tell her to put me down, to undo the sack, to just let me squat for a moment.

  ‘Shh!’ she urged. ‘You’ll spoil the surprise! Hold it, and I’ll put you over a drain.’

  I tried to thank her, muttering gratefully through the gag, over and over, keeping my muscles tight, the pain growing, but now sure I could make it. She put me down, on something, the bonnet of the car, I think. I heard a metallic groan, a clang. I was lifted again, a little way, and put down, with the welcome shape of a metal drain grid pressed to my thighs. Naomi’s fingers went to the ropes around my ankles and the sack, pulling at them, only to let go, with me still tied.

  She had stepped back, away from me. I felt a new pang of fear and frustration, scared she’d been teasing me and was going to leave me to wet on the floor. I tried to speak again, pleading, but stopped in surprise as my ankles started to lift. My legs went up, with me wriggling in confusion, lifted, my shoulders and head dragging along the ground, then clear. I was hanging, upside down, by my bound ankles, on the end of a rope, pulled higher, and higher still. I started to panic, wriggling in my bag, thrashing my body from side to side.

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down, Jade,’ Naomi chided. ‘We’re just having a bit of fun with you, that’s all. There’s no need to get in a state.’

  It was easy for her to say. She wasn’t hung upside down in a bag, about to piss herself. It calmed me down though, a little, enough to stop struggling anyway.

  ‘Done,’ she said. ‘See you later, Dumplings.’

  She gave my bottom a smack and a moment later I heard the same metallic noise as before. Then there was nothing, just darkness and my fear, building very quickly back towards panic.

  A bell rang. I heard footsteps, voices, too faint to make out, more footsteps. Someone was coming, and I was so grateful. I didn’t care what they did to me, just so long as I had company, anything other than hanging upside down in the darkness, alone, with my ankles burning and my bladder a hard ball of pain in my belly. Again there was silence.

  I hung, listening, fighting down my pain and desperation, biting my lip. The car’s engine sounded, starting with a cough, then fading. Naomi had left, maybe with whoever else was there with her. Blood was going to my head, making me dizzy and faint. Much longer, and I’d pass out. The panic started again, worse, my teeth chattering, my mouth coming open and shut in little spasms, my bladder twitching, the first drops of pee spurting into my panties as the tears burst from my eyes . . .

  A door opened, close to me, and shut. I heard footsteps, different, the sharp click of high heels on stone. It was a woman, and the relief that flooded through me at that pushed everything else to the side. I hung still, waiting. She spoke.

  ‘A present? How sweet. And wrapped too.’

  I recognised the voice immediately. It was AJ, the woman who’d made me show my smacked bottom to a crowded bar, the woman who’d made me lick her anus in public. New feelings started, fear, but very different from before, focussed, on my body. I mumbled out a plea to untie me.

  ‘It talks,’ she said. ‘A girl, I hope. Just what I wanted. Now, where’s that knife?’

  I heard clicks, a metallic grating. She took hold of the sack. Bright light appeared, and a knife blade, cutting at the rough material. I stayed still, trying to calm my shivering, the blade inches from my boots, then from my bare skin as she cut round. The slash widened, showing more light as my body slowly uncurled, as if I was a butterfly squeezing out of a chrysalis. The sack fell away, to leaving me hanging, head down, my face a few inches above a concrete floor and the grate of a drain. Above me a bare light bulb glared into my eyes, showing the concrete floor, a workbench, bits of motorbike, greasy cloths, a garage. AJ stood over me, the knife in her hand, in boots, knickers and bra, all black leather.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Dumplings!’ she said. ‘And in such a state. There’s no need to cry, little one; your make-up will run.’

  Again I tried to speak, to tell her how urgent I was, to beg to be let down. She smiled down at me, pretending to cock her ear so that she could hear my desperate mutterings.

  ‘Let you down? But sure I’ll let you down. Soon enough.’

  She stepped away, ignoring my choking pleas, my frantic wriggling. My belly was twitching, the corset crushing my flesh, and suddenly I just couldn’t hold it any more. My bladder gave, my panties flooded, soaking, until they could hold no more, and pee began to bubble out of the front. AJ laughed, her eyes glittering in pleasure to see my wetting. I couldn’t stop it, or my tears, which were running down from my eyes as my pee bubbled up through my panties, to run down over my belly and between the cheeks of my bum.

  It was spurting through the material of my panties, little jets bursting out in time to my frantic breathing. It was in my bumhole, soaking the back of my knickers, running down my crease and into my corset. From the front my knickers were running with it, the stream parting across the low bulge of my belly, to drip down, onto my overturned boobs and into my face.

  AJ watched as I urinated over myself, her face set in a truly demented glee. Still it came, rising out of my panty crotch in a little fountain, to run down, front and back. My knickers were sodden, my corset ruined, my boobs wet, with drips hanging from my upside down nipples. Some had even gone in my mouth, around the gag, up my nose too, and my hair was hanging in a slowly expanding puddle, half blocking the drain as my piddle dripped off me.

  At last it stopped. Or it stopped coming out anyway. My body was soaked, the soggy panties clinging to my flesh, my belly and boobs dripping, my hair utterly soiled. As for my face, my make-up had run, with tears and trickles of pee, and I knew I would look a real state. The pain was gone, though, and amid the chaos of shame and dizziness and misery in my head was a relief so strong. I’d given in. I’d surrendered, piddling myself, and it was impossible not to feel better.

  ‘Pretty,’ AJ said. ‘Do you have any more?’

  I shook my head frantically.

  ‘Pity,’ she went on. ‘Still, I could make you drink a little water, say a gallon, and watch the show again in an hour or so.’

  Again I shook my head, harder, sending a spray of pee droplets out around myself in a halo.

  ‘No?’ she queried. ‘Perhaps not. After all, what would I do while I waited? How about an enema, then? Into your panties. Now that would be messy.’

  She laughed, because I was thrashing crazily on the hook, pleading with my eyes and struggling to get the words out through my gag.

  ‘What if I touched you up while I did it?’ she said, her hand reaching out to squeeze the soggy material over my pussy and the plump mound beneath.

  My muscles twitched, my pussy responding despite myself. Her finger pressed into the groove between my sex-lips, rubbed. I twitched again. She tugged my panty crotch aside, her finger moving to the wet mush of my pussy, and up into my vagina. For a moment she fingered me, stopped, pulled it out with a wet sound, and squatted down. The finger went to my nose. I smelt my pussy, my pee too, and saw the glistening wet on her skin. She smiled, and casually wiped it in my face.

  She rose. My soggy knickers were twitched up to my thighs and knotted off, tight, to hang dripping down onto my flesh. She stepped away, walking to the workbench, her long legs elegant, her pace unhurried, her slim bottom moving in the leather knickers, taunting me with her freedom. At the bench she reached up to a shelf, taking down a grease gun. She came back, holding it, here eyes fixed on mine. I was shaking, my head swimming and light.

  Her fingers came down, pushing in between my bottom-cheeks, parting them, until my anus was showing. She flicked at the little hole, splashing away the pee which had collected in it. The nozzle touched me, the hard metal pushed against my sensitive flesh. Cold grease squirted out, up my bumhole, filling the dimple, coiled on top. She let go, withdrawing the nozzle. My cheeks closed, the grease squashing out between them, leaving my hole lubricated and ready.

&nb
sp; Again AJ went to the bench. She took a tube, an old fuel line, cutting each end. Three quick paces took her back to me. Once more my bum-cheeks came apart. Up went the tube, into my greasy anus, slid deep. She nodded, thoughtfully, and left the garage.

  My head was swimming, the blood singing in my ears. I could feel it, all of it, the cool air on my bare skin, the pee still dripping from my body, the tube up my bum. It didn’t matter. It seemed distant, unimportant. I was going to faint, I was sure of it, at any moment.

  AJ came back, almost skipping, grinning like a schoolgirl. There was a bottle in her hand, transparent plastic, showing water and bubbles within. She stopped, legs wide, looking down into my face as she took the tube, put the bottle to it, forcing the nozzle into the end. She licked her lips, grinning maniacally, and squeezed the bottle.

  I felt it spurt cold in my rectum, bubbling into me, air and water. She turned the bottle up, squeezing harder. More went up. I felt myself start to bloat, my belly swelling, uncomfortable, pressing to my tight corset. Her mouth was open in sheer joy, her eyes on my face, my sex, and back. Again she squeezed, the last of the water gurgle into my bottom.

  She dropped the bottle, snatching at my panties to pull the knot loose, settling them over my bum and pussy, cold and wet. Her hands went to my sex, one pulling my panty crotch aside, the other tugging the tube from my anus. As it popped out an awful, frantic desperation hit, me, my anus clenching to keep the fluid in. I was wriggling, struggling on my hook, my muscles jerking and twitching, my head back, her boots faint though a film of red.

  Her fingers found my pussy, dabbing, full on my clitty. I felt my vagina close and heard her laughter. A finger went up my pussy, a second. The feel on my clitty changed, her firm tongue tip applied right to the bud. I was going to come, I couldn’t stop it, or anything else. She had me, my body totally beyond my control. My sex was going into spasm, my back arching, my bumhole opening. My enema erupted into my panties, and I was coming, writhing and thrashing on my hook. My boobs were slapping together, pee spraying everywhere, hot dirty water running down my bum-crease and up my pussy, bubbling in the hole, spurting out as I contracted again, my brain ready to burst . . .