The Reluctant Stripper

by Lady Alice McCloud

  ‘Please, Georgette, at least not on my bed!’ Thrift pleaded, speaking between pressed lips and even then thinking to lie. ‘I have to sleep in it later!’

  ‘Yes, stupid,’ Georgette replied. ‘That’s part of your punishment, sleeping in a pissy bed. I know you’re going to enjoy having it done to you, you little slut. Now, open your mouth like a good girl, or it’s going to get a lot, lot worse, and there are three of us.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Thrift grumbled, ‘but you’re rotten pigs, all of you!’

  She had turned her head as she spoke, and left her mouth open, gaping wide beneath Georgette’s open cunt. The others girls clustered close, giggling and whispering in excitement to watch Georgette urinate in Thrift’s mouth. It came, a little trickle running down between Georgette’s sex lips as her belly tensed, then a gush. Thrift’s mouth filled with hot, reeking urine in an instant, far more than she could possibly cope with. It began to bubble out at the sides, running down her face to wet the bed clothes beneath her. She began to choke and was forced to swallow, gulping down one mouthful of urine and then a second before the laughing Georgette moved a little, to direct the spray of her piss full in Thrift’s face. Some went up her nose, more in her eyes, and she was forced to turn her head away once more, gagging and spluttering on Georgette’s piss, which was still coming, filling Thrift’s ear and soaking her hair.

  ‘I needed that,’ Georgette sighed as the stream of her pee finally began to subside. ‘I’ve been saving it up for her for hours. Now you can lick me, Chastity, and if you do it well, and rub your cunt while you’re at it I might let you off having the others piss on you too.’

  A chorus of disappointment answered her, but she ignored her friends, moving forward a little to press her quim to Thrift’s cheek.

  ‘Lick me,’ she ordered.

  Thrift had already given in, and swallowed what was in her mouth before twisting her head back and pressing her mouth to Georgette’s cunt. She began to lick, trying not to look too eager for all that the state of her own sex made it blatantly obvious that she was turned on, her juice running so strongly it had begun to trickle down between her cheeks and wet her anus. Zara noticed and giggled, then gave Narcisse’s bottom a little slap. The black girl responded with a sulky look, but had soon reached out to stroke Georgette’s breasts and hair to help her on her way. Zara also joined in, kissing Georgette mouth to mouth and stroking her bottom.

  It didn’t take long. Georgette was soon moaning and rubbing her cunt on Thrift’s mouth, her arms around Zara and Narcisse as they supported her. For a moment she moved forward, just far enough to spread her neat little bottom cheeks across Thrift’s mouth. Thrift knew what she was supposed to do and found herself unable to resist, puckering her lips to kiss Georgette’s anus before starting to lick cunt once more. A moment later and Georgette had come, full in Thrift’s face, gasping and moaning in her ecstasy with her cunt in tight contraction and little squirts of milky urine erupting from her pee hole over Thrift’s cheeks and up her nose.

  Thrift was left panting for breath and dizzy with lack of air. Her face was a mess, plastered with urine and snot and Georgette’s juices, while her body was hot and prickling with sweat. She needed to come, desperate for attention to her cunt, but she stayed still as Georgette dismounted, still with just enough pride left to want to make Georgette lose her bet even when it was Zara who would get her bottom smacked.

  ‘She’s good,’ Georgette declared. ‘Experienced too, if I’m any judge. Just how many girls’ cunts have you licked, Udders? And why are you being stubborn? Go on, rub your cunt. We can all see how juicy you are.’

  Thrift felt a stab of shame despite her arousal, but stayed silent.

  ‘Zara,’ Georgette ordered, ‘your turn.’

  Zara reached out, to touch one of Thrift’s breasts, rubbing an already erect nipple between forefinger and thumb, then climbed on the bed, to throw her leg across Thrift’s head, bottom to face.

  ‘Have fun,’ Georgette said and Thrift’s light was cut out as Zara settled her bottom in place.

  Thrift stuck her tongue out to lap at the wrinkled star of Zara’s anus. It felt good, increasing her need to play with herself, but still she held back, her fingers twitching where they lay on the bed clothes. Her sheets were wet, making her think of how Georgette was determined to have her sleep in a pissed-in bed, driving her humiliation and arousal higher still. Her hand moved to her belly, her fingers clutching at her soft, sweat slick flesh, still resisting, only to break as hot piddle erupted in her face as Zara let herself go.

  With her tongue still up Zara’s bottom the pee was splashing out all over Thrift’s neck and breasts, splashing her belly too as she began to masturbate in it. Georgette gave a cry of triumph, Narcisse a little, angry gasp, but Thrift no longer cared. Her tongue was deep up Zara’s bottom, she was tied and naked and being pissed on, and that was all that mattered. In just seconds she came, a hard, sharp orgasm, still with hot piss running down her neck and over her breasts. More pee was running backwards too, between Zara’s bottom cheeks, to soil Thrift’s face. Her mouth was filling with piss as she licked urgently at Zara’s pouted anus, trying to get her tongue as far up as possible as wave after wave of pleasure ran through her, but even as her shudders began to fade she kept her hand between her thighs.

  ‘Slut!’ Narcisse said. ‘You must do me too then!’

  ‘I haven’t finished,’ Zara responded. ‘Lick it, Chastity, lick my cunt, and then you get to do Narcisse.’

  Zara moved a little, smothering Thrift in wet, hot cunt flesh as the other girls pushed in, each determined to get her pleasure. Narcisse was cruel, taking her revenge for her spanking in advance as she bit and twisted at Thrift’s nipples before mounting up in her turn when Zara had come, her firm black bottom spread wide to have her anus licked before her cunt. Like the others she pissed on Thrift and made her drink it, but up on her knees so that she and the others could watch as the hot yellow liquid bubbled in her victim’s open mouth and ran out from the sides. All three of her tormentors were laughing as they watched Thrift gulp down Narcisse’s piddle, and as the bushy black cunt was pushed into her face again she had begun to masturbate once more.

  The moment Narcisse was done both Georgette and Zara climbed back onto the bed, laughing as they mounted Thrift’s body once more. She did her best to respond, licking cunts and bumholes, happily swallowing more of Georgette’s urine when it was done in her mouth, her body hot and sore and soiled, the bed a mess of piss soaked sheets and blankets, her senses swamped with the taste of girl. Narcisse even wriggled herself in against Thrift’s belly, to urinate in her gaping cunt and set the other girls laughing as her piddle bubbled and squirted from the open pink hole.

  Each of them came a second time, one by one, against Thrift’s mouth, riding her in turn while she licked, until her tongue was aching and her lips sore and red. They took their pleasure with each other too, while they waited their turn, using fingers and mouths to caress and probe, but all of them concentrating on the helpless, piss soaked, wriggling Thrift. All the while she was playing with her cunt, bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm until at last she could stand it no more and even then finding herself obliged to finished Georgette off one last time before the three girls finally let her be.

  ‘There,’ Georgette sighed, ‘and I bet that kept your mind off your punishment?’

  Thrift nodded weakly and relaxed back onto her sodden bedclothes as they began to work on her bonds. Soon she was free, and she immediately scampered into the bathroom to wash, followed by Georgette’s voice, half mocking, half sympathetic.

  ‘While you’re in there, use the pot, if you don’t want to mess yourself on the clysopomp. Hurry up though, we took a bit longer than I’d expected.’

  Thrift took Georgette’s advice, squatting down on the pot to clear her bowels before washing herself a second time.
She felt oddly light headed, as if she wasn’t quite there, making it hard to concentrate as she dried, to think of what was about to happen or to concentrate on what she needed to do.

  Out in the dormitory Narcisse was being spanked across Georgette’s knee, her bare black bottom lifted and spread to show off the pink slit of her cunt and the dark star of her anus. Thrift watched for a moment, enjoying the view and the sharp little cries Narcisse was making as Georgette’s hand smacked down across her cheeks, then pulled her dress on over her head, not bothering with her underwear as she knew it would be coming off again within minutes.

  ‘We’ll be down to watch,’ Georgette promised, ‘now run along.’

  Thrift ran, the smacks and cries of the spanking receding as she hurried down the stairs. She could hear the audience as she reached the corridor, a low, excited hum that set her belly tight and her fingers shaking. Somewhere among them would be Godfrey Quigley, no doubt puzzled by her absence, but there was no time to seek him out, while it was certainly too late to introduce him to Mimi Caze in any event. Possibly the two had already spoken. Possibly her entire scheme was already ruined, but there was nothing to be done. The clock outside M’selle Laroche’s office showed that she had just minutes to go, but she arrived backstage to find Coco alone, sitting on an upturned packing case, wearing a glum expression but no clothes whatsoever.

  ‘Strip off,’ Coco advised immediately. ‘It’s easier that way, believe me, less messy.’

  Thrift nodded, lifting the hem of her dress to show that she was nude beneath. As Coco spoke she had jerked a thumb to where thick curtains hid them from the stage. Thrift moved closer and peered through a gap. People were already beginning to fill the seats, men and women talking together in low voices with many an expectant glance towards the stage, where stood a large frame not wholly unlike the horrible guillotine the French used to execute the worst of their criminals.

  After an instant of raw terror Thrift realised that the awful thing was not in fact a guillotine, although so similar that it might have been adapted from one, but the clysopomp. There was no blade, but the superstructure was hung with chains, each securely fastened to black iron eyes held fast by bolts driven clean through the wood. Smaller brass hooks supported two bulging rubber bags, and from each bag depended a long, transparent hose tipped with a nozzle and tap affair the purpose of which was all too obvious.

  The lower part of the structure was no less ominous. The bench where the condemned would lie was padded, showing what struck Thrift as a curious, even bizarre, concern for their comfort, and also fringed with heavy leather straps, more chains and lengths of rope, far more than could possibly be needed to hold even the strongest of men in place, let alone a young girl. Sturdy legs supported the bench, and they, like the leather, were stained with some dark fluid. To one side a complicated device had been bolted to the frame, made of brass and with so many long rubber tubes protruding from the central bulb that it might have been modelled on an octopus. A bucket of water stood to one side, perfectly ordinary and yet no less sinister than the horrible machine the purpose of which she now realised was not only to give girls enemas but to ensure their complete exposure and humiliation at the same time.

  ‘It’s a clysopomp,’ Coco remarked as Thrift stepped back from the curtain.

  ‘I know,’ Thrift said, shuddering. ‘How will they put us on it?’

  ‘It’s best not to know,’ Coco assured her. ‘It would only make the apprehension worse, but there is a way to beat them.’

  ‘There is?’ Thrift asked.

  Coco had stood up, and came to embrace Thrift, who responded gratefully, keen for any affection that might be offered. For a moment they clung tight, neither speaking, before Coco tilted her head up to kiss Thrift on the lips, once, then again. Thrift was surprised to find her friend’s sharp little tongue probing at her mouth, but gave in, allowing her lips to part and sharing a long, open mouthed kiss. It was Coco who broke away, but she kept her arms around Thrift’s waist as she spoke again, each hand resting on one bottom cheek.

  ‘You like it when we piss on you. Try and enjoy this too.’

  Thrift managed a weak nod, fully aware of what Coco was saying but not sure if she could, especially not with several hundred men and women enjoying her shame and discomfort. Yet it was going to happen anyway, whether she liked it or not. The hum of noise from the theatre had begun to pick up in volume as Thrift started to undress. She was biting her lip as she stripped off her clothes, while her stomach was churning and her bladder felt weak. It occurred to her that another trip to the convenient facilities would be an extremely good idea, after all the piddle she had drunk, but at that moment M’selle Laroche spoke from directly behind her.

  ‘You are both here then, as I knew you would be. That is just as well, too, as had you not been I would have found myself obliged to use other girls in your places, innocent girls. We have almost a full house, so it wouldn’t do to disappoint the audience. Now then, your little excursion was your idea, was it not, Chastity?’

  ‘Yes, M’selle,’ Thrift admitted.

  ‘Then you are on the bench. Coco, you are on the tower.’

  Thrift responded with a single, miserable nod. Coco merely hung her head. M’selle Laroche reached out to grasp the girls’ hands, leading them out from the wings. The theatre was now full, hundreds of faces showing as pale ovals beyond the bright lights that illuminated the stage and the machine at its centre, also Mimi Caze, who stood with her arms folded across her chest and her face set in a cruel smirk. She wore only a black rubber corset, stockings and gloves, skin tight to her beautiful body, while in one hand she carried a vicious little whip.

  An excited buzz ran through the audience at the appearance of the two girls. Thrift found herself staring, every detail of her surroundings suddenly pin sharp, and yet her feelings oddly numb save for the churning in her stomach. She stepped forward, moving mechanically as she was led to the bench of the clysopomp. As she mounted it Mimi’s whip flicked out, landing a sharp, stinging cut across Thrift’s bottom to make her jump and release a fart. Somebody in the audience laughed.

  Blushing and shaking, Thrift climbed onto the bench in a crawling position, and moved forward to lay her head into the half-moon shaped slot designed to take the victim’s neck, only to receive another cut from Mimi’s whip, this time delivered under her belly.

  ‘The other way up, stupid,’ Mimi ordered.

  Puzzled, Thrift turned over, to lie herself down on the padded bench with the back of her neck in the slot. The superstructure of the clysopomp now rose high above her, and it was all too easy to imagine the guillotine blade hidden where the top showed faint in the shadows. She shut her eyes, struggling to control the shaking of her body and biting her lip against the growing pressure in her bladder. Her ankles were seized, her legs pushed up, forced her to spread herself as if waiting for a lover to mount her, with her cunt open and the tuck of her cheeks rolled up to expose her anus. Leather cuffs were attached to her ankles, others to her wrists, a thick strap placed across her belly, fixing her tightly in position. At a sound near her head she opened her eyes once more to find Mimi grinning down at her.

  ‘This is the lunette,’ Mimi whispered as she pushed a double layered structure with another half-moon cut out down across Thrift’s neck. ‘It holds your head in place when it gets chopped off.’

  The last two words were spoken in harsh, clipped tones, evoking a sharp pang of terror in Thrift and setting her eyes searching the shadows above her for fear that there really was a blade. Mimi saw and laughed, then reached out to pinch Thrift’s cheek as she spoke again.

  ‘Don’t worry, little one. We’re not going to chop your silly head off, but we do need to keep you firmly in place, as you’ll see.’

  She laughed again, then turned her attention to fixing the lunette into place, pushing home a bolt to ensure that it cou
ld not be lifted. Thrift was now completely trapped, spread out helpless on the bench of the clysopomp, her breasts thrust high, her thighs spread, her head fixed in position so securely that she could barely twist it to the side. Unable to see what Mimi and M’selle Laroche were doing, she could only lie still as further straps and chains were attached to her body, securing her arms and legs and torso. A gasp escaped her throat as a well lubricated finger was pushed in unexpectedly up her bottom hole, but she quickly realised who had invaded her as Mimi spoke once more.

  ‘She’s quite loose, and clean.’

  ‘A gauge three then,’ M’selle Laroche responded, her face just visible to Thrift as she went to the octopus like device at the side of the clysopomp.

  ‘Try a four,’ Mimi suggested. ‘I think she’ll take it.’

  M’selle Laroche nodded, frowning as she selected one rubber tube tipped with a nozzle that looked quite big enough to fill a girl’s gaping mouth, never mind her anus. Thrift began to protest, but thought better of it, knowing that so show fear and distress would only amuse and excite her audience all the more, while her tormentors were hardly going to take any notice of her preferences anyway.

  Instead she lay back, her eyes closed once more, forcing herself to relax as Mimi slipped a second finger in, then a third, to stretch Thrift’s anus wide open. Despite herself it felt nice, and she was unable to hold back her moans as yet another finger was inserted and finally the full bulk of Mimi’s fist.

  ‘Very loose. She must get sodomised regularly, and she’s been spanked,’ Mimi remarked, her entire hand now in Thrift’s rectum. ‘There, that should have her ready.’

  Thrift gasped as Mimi’s fist was pulled from her bottom hole, which stayed open, wet and gaping, but only for a moment. The nozzle was put in place, once more stretching her anus, wider still, the little ring opening around the cold brass plug until she was panting and clutching at her straps in reaction. Even with it right up, her hole was left straining wide on the neck designed to keep it up her. She found herself fighting the urge to try and push the thing back out, which she knew would have disastrous consequences, although no worse than what was going to happen to her anyway. New straps were attached to her thighs and around her waist, fixing the enema nozzle in place up Thrift’s bottom.