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Results 1 to 4 of 4
  1. #1

    The Women of Washington DC Pt. 3 - Claire (M/F)

    Part 1 (Vanessa) can be read here
    Part 2 (Tessa) can be read here

    Warning! This story is insane and contains themes that go beyond normal fetish material. This story contains material that is shocking, offensive, and triggering to literally everyone. Nobody should read this story. Ever. This warning isn't a joke.

    It was only a week ago that Claire had everything taken away from her. Her property, her possessions, her money, and her liberty. They even took the clothes right off her back, but not right away. First they just took her shoes and socks and then shackled her for a train ride from hell. She wasn’t used to having dirty feet. She missed that stylish pair of size 8 running shoes and her turquoise socks that had been so callously confiscated.

    It was a sight to see. A leggy blonde with curly hair, a fair complexion, and a radiant smile nobody would ever see again, shackled like a common criminal on a train ride first to prison, then to slavery. Her toenails were painted sparkling white, but the dirt from the train station just made them gray like her future and grim like her thoughts. And for what? Because she didn’t pay for her Master’s degree quickly enough. This was the new America.

    Claire wasn’t delinquent on her student loan debts, but most of the women weren’t. The government didn’t care, the money needed to be made back in order to avoid economic depression. Even if the young ladies could pay in full, it was too late. The new law called for zero leniency and a life sentence.

    Claire studied criminal justice and child psychology at the University of Massachusetts, and after college she got the perfect job. She ran a school outreach program for the Washington DC police and other police departments in the DC metropolitan area. She was also a sworn officer, but her main task was reaching out to children and even caring for troubled youths. She wasn’t a bad person, she wasn’t lazy or entitled. She was a good, loving girl. She was smart, she even spoke a second language. Now she is just a slave, a tool, and a sex toy.

    It was an awkward and shocking experience to live through her male colleagues arresting her, stripping her naked, and grabbing her plump butt and C cup breasts. It was even more demeaning when she was locked naked in a cell with real criminals, who were immediately informed that she was a cop. What was worse was when her former colleagues offered no sympathy to their fellow officer and allowed the worst of criminals to go to town on her, fingering her asshole and pussy and playing with her boobs. It was a part of her conditioning, her breaking in, for her life as a slave to whoever bought her.

    Before being sold off on the auction block the prison guards had shaved Claire’s head. Every inch of her curly, blonde hair fell on the floor as she wept in front of all the other prisoners. While it definitely made her feel less human and helped to break her spirit further, that wasn’t the reason the prison had this policy. You see, stripping a woman naked, violating her, and chaining her up like a dog only takes away their liberty, but shaving off a woman’s hair robs her of her personality and serves to rape her spirit like no amount of BDSM could ever do.

    Claire had been sold off to a corporate plantation in Alabama. Like all new Millennial slaves, she was brought before the plantation doctor for a physical, including a pap smear. You’d think this wouldn’t be so bad, but the doctor was a handsy, heartless man. She had assumed it would be a regular physical, but she was wrong. It was more of a present for the doctor. The guards handcuffed Claire’s hands and feet to their respective sides of the exam table and left the room.

    “Why am I chained down, this isn’t how you do a physical!” Claire moaned, her intimidation showing in her voice.

    “Oh, you Millennials, you all think you know better than everyone else,” he said condescendingly. “Now, let’s start with the hernia check.”

    He began to gently squeeze her smooth, soft stomach with both hands, slowly kneading her flesh and stimulating each sensitive nerve ending. Claire could barely contain her laughter and began to giggle and squirm. This went on for about a minute before she realized he wasn’t going to stop.

    “This is too muh-ha-ha-ch,” she was able to muster through her giggles. She shook the table, cackling out a healthy belly laugh.

    “Hmm,” said the evil doctor as he prodded her slim yet curvy hips. Claire continued to squirm and buck, but it was no use, she couldn’t escape the tickling. “Deeper examination is required,” he said. He then produced a q-tip from his pocket, stuck it right in her belly button, and began swabbing in slow, torturous circles.

    “NO-HO HO HO,” Claire yelled, starting to gasp for air. There were other slave women chained outside waiting for their examinations. Her screams sent shivers down their spine. Some turned a ghastly pale upon hearing Claire’s yelps. They knew something awful awaited them.

    The doctor continued to wriggle his q-tip in her belly button for a few minutes before taking it out, flipping it over to the other end, and sticking it right back in. Claire shrieked, took a deep breath, and began to let out pained laughter. It felt like some kind of creature was crawling around in her stomach, stimulating every nerve in the worst way. She tried to squirm, but she was too weak from all the laughing and the lack of air.

    “Alright, she’s ready,” the doctor called to the guards.

    “Come on, Yankee bitch, git movin’,” one of the guards said as they redid her chains and escorted her across the plantation compound. The walk felt like an eternity for her, and it was very embarrassing for her to be seen naked by all these other slaves and overseers. The way some of them looked at her made her feel like a piece of meat sent off to the grill.

    The final destination of this walk was what looked to be a barn of some sort. Claire jumped as they slammed the door behind them.

    “Now git on them knees,” the other guard said, kicking her in the leg. Claire complied and knelt before these two burly, smelly, Southern brutes who hated anyone who wasn’t a hick. “Now, open yer purty mouth,” he said, pulling out a pair of pliers.

    “Mmmm-mmm,” Claire said, shutting her mouth tight. She knew they were about to pull out her teeth, and that scared her.

    “All y’all got special punishments, yers is to lose them teeth, now open up you Northern whore,” the guard said, grabbing her face. He tried to shove the pliers in her mouth, but it was no use, she kept her jaw clinched tight. Claire had acquiesced to her role in servitude until this point, but to have her teeth pulled straight from her mouth without any pain killers wasn’t something she would ever do. She imagined how painful it would feel to have her whole teeth, roots and all, ripped from her face. She trembled at the thought of not being able to eat or of getting a painful infection in her mouth. She thought it was the epitome of torture and cruelty, but these men were about to prove her wrong.

    “Ah bet she’d open fer Tom Brady,” one of the guards joked. They looked down at her for a moment before dragging her over to a large, rectangular bale of hay. Although she was a tall girl, the bale was long enough for her legs.

    “You see, we git special priv-i-le-ges ‘round here, and so we git blowjobs when we want em, all we need is nice, soft mouth that won’t bite us,” said one of the guards as he tightened the chains on her hands behind her back. The other guard tightened the chains on her size 8 feet and held them steady with his strong arms so she couldn’t fight him off. He was then handed a drill with a brush attachment. He revved it a few times before the bristles sunk their ticklish lashes into Claire’s soles.

    Claire let out a high pitched squeal that she was sure could be heard across the plantation. She could feel every single bristle on the brush rapidly stroking her soles and the balls of her feet. This was worse than the belly tickling.

    The second guard stood over her with his pliers. He’d move them towards her face when she laughed, but she kept her teeth clenched.

    She wanted to laugh like she never laughed before, but instead all she could do was let out pained giggles and chuckles through a closed mouth. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t focus, all she could do was feel the brush against her feet. She hated to be tickled and was beginning to get weak enough to break down into tears, but she wasn’t going to do that. Then the drills stopped.

    “I got her toes,” said one of the guards, grabbing Claire’s toes and pulling them back firmly. His colleague then began to sink his nails into her outer arches and the sides of her feet. The guards knew that there was no substitute for skin-to-skin tickling, and fingers can torture the sweet spots the way a tool just cannot.

    Claire let out a heavy laugh, prompting the guard to grab his pliers and run right for her mouth, grabbing her jaw before she could close it. As she felt the cold steel of the pliers against her lips, she jumped and bucked like crazy. She was a strong girl and was luckily able to shake her head free before he could get any of her teeth. She was also able to push the one at her feet onto the floor.

    “God fucking damn it, you done it this time bitch!” the guard on the floor yelled as he sprung to his feet and brushed himself off. “Git the dang whip,” he told his partner.

    Before Claire knew it, she was suspended upside down from the barn ceiling. Before she felt like a piece of meat, now she was one. As she dangled there upside down, naked, and vulnerable, she couldn’t help but wonder if death was preferable to this type of slavery.

    “Since you don’t want us to take out them pretty teeth, we’ll stop trying,” the guard said brandishing what was not a whip at all, but rather a wooden cane. Claire grew sick as she studied its features. It was a yard long and at least half an inch thick. It looked aerodynamic and it made a swooshing sound as he gently swung it around. “Now, don’t bother countin’ darlin’,” the guard said.

    Claire let out a blood-curdling scream as the cane made first contact with the bare flesh of her C cup breasts. The skin wasn’t broken but it sure felt like it. He continued to work his way up her body tortuously. He laid heavy strokes on every inch from her boobs to her thighs. Every second she would either hear the swoosh of the weapon or the snap of it hitting her flesh. He then worked his way back down again to her tits, eventually breaking open her skin along the way. First she turned pink, then she turned red. She felt like she was on fire.

    Then he swung her around to get her backside. The air stung her wounds as she was moved, then she felt the cane on her ass not once, not twice, but five times. First she only felt the dreadful impact, then she felt the stinging, the burning, the imprint on her flesh. Then he worked his way up and down her back, tediously peeling little bits of flesh from her sensual body. Claire’s nightmare screams continued, and the other slaves told frightening rumors of the sounds for years to come. She had been left ungagged on purpose.

    Then the other guard had a turn, but he used a cat of nine tails instead of a cane. Each lash hit multiple wounds as the whip bit every inch of her already tortured skin. She began to bleed worse as her skin continued to change color and even shape. She cried like she had never cried before, like all of the worst experiences and pains a human could suffer were happening to her all at once, and in a way they actually were. The whipping went on for what seemed to be hours. It was daylight when they began to whip her, now it was getting dark.

    “Alright, now let’s stop the bleeding,” said one of the men as he took out a blowtorch from his toolbox. Claire’s heart beat faster as the barn air stung her open wounds and her tormentors slowly approached her with the next round of torture. Step by step, she grew increasingly sick. She shook uncontrollably and wanted to puke, but she hadn’t eaten in a few days so all she could do was dry heave. Then she felt it.

    “AAAAHHHH!” she screamed again through her sore throat. The heat from the flame sunk its fangs into the opened wounds on her once smooth, flat stomach which now looked like it had been through a shredder. She tried to squirm, but the damage from the whips only made it hurt worse to move and even to breathe.

    The flame wasn’t touching her or close enough to burn her, but the heat was unbearable. Any hair she had left melted away and any pink or red skin only grew darker. She lost control of her instinct to squirm and tried to get away from the roasting flame, but it hurt to move so much that she only cried out louder. The heat made its way to her butt, causing more painful spasms and even more painful screams. She began to cough up blood, or so it appeared. She felt like a burned turkey on Thanksgiving, and much like being in an oven, she couldn’t breathe. Eventually she passed out.

    When Claire awoke, she was alone. The lights had been dimmed and the doors shut tight. She was secured to the floor, face-down, and spread eagle. She wanted to call for help, but knew none would come. Then she heard something moving around alongside of her. A bead of sweat ran down her face, she was afraid of what her captors would do next. She tried frantically to break free, but it hurt too much to move. Then the rustling of whoever or whatever got a little louder. She became more and more afraid. Then she heard the sound of hoofs.

    “Baaa,” the creature bleated gently. Claire was able to turn her head just enough to get sight of what looked to be a goat. She felt relieved to know it was just a stupid farm animal. Then she felt its cold nose sniffing up and down her naked body. She thought being treated like a literal piece of meat was degrading and hurtful enough, but the goat soon proved her wrong.

    “This goat can’t possibly hurt me worse than the whip,” she thought as he sniffed her naked body, stinging her opened wounds. Then she felt it. She felt a hard, hairy erection penetrate her pussy. She screamed into the night and tried to shake the animal off, but it was no use. The goat pumped in and out rapidly, causing Claire’s butt and thighs to quake. The pain from the pounding grew more intense with each stroke, and she began to bleed.

    “I want to die now,” she thought as the goat continued to pound and nail her vagina. She screamed louder as it hurt more and more, but a goat doesn’t care. Then she felt the warm, gooey ooze of its semen explode all over her insides. “I want to die,” she thought again as she felt the animal dismount her and his cum slowly flowing out of her body and onto the floor. This was the lowest point in her captivity, and definitely the lowest point in her life. She was a successful, honest, moral girl from New England. Now she was chained nude to the floor, lying in a puddle of blood and semen, and she had just been whipped endlessly then raped by a nasty goat.

    Morning didn’t come easy for the battered and sullied Claire. The guards barged in and looked emotionlessly at their victim. She could barely look up at them. One of the men grinned a haughty grin as he knelt down next to her.

    “I got somethin’ fer you, whore,” he said. Claire’s fear renewed, knowing death wouldn’t come fast. Then she felt a sting in her forearm. It was a needle. She had just been injected with a drug of some sort, possibly heroin.

    The guards took their time unchaining her and helping her to her feet. She could barely stand, but was starting to feel less pain as the drug kicked in.

    “Put this on,” the guards said, handing her an empty sack like they use for large quantities of flour or potatoes. They then reshackled her and took her outside and put her to work.

    She felt like a beast of burden, a diseased sub-human, and a miserable wretch. She worked for hours that day in the fields under the hot Alabama sun, digging holes, removing rocks, and hoeing the fields in her potato sack, her bare feet sullied by the mud. She was a slave now, she was an animal, she was a bitch, whore, ****, and whatever else they called her. All the while the back of her mind was tormented by the desire for more of that drug.

    At the end of the day she was in a great deal of pain. The potato sack had caressed her wounds in the worst of ways, as did the sweat that ran all over her body. She was tired, very tired, from days of not sleeping. She was hungry. The mosquitoes that bit her caused her to itch and to sting, and blowtorch had cause a lasting pain worse than five sunburns. On top of this, her fair Boston skin couldn’t handle the Southern heat. Eventually she was lead into a private room on the plantation.

    “You want more?” the guard asked, producing another needle.

    “Y-yes, p-please master,” she begged.

    “Alright, but there’s a price,” he said, pulling out his pliers again.

    Claire gulped loudly, and slowly opened up her mouth. All of her teeth were removed, and then she got her dose of heroin. From then on, she sucked dicks on command. Her mouth must have been enjoyed by the worst of men from all across the state. Eventually she grew numb to this, desiring only her drug and nothing more, which her guards were happy to supply her with.

  2. #2
    Join Date
    Jul 2005
    Very nice, though very harsh.

    I guess i wasn't expecting this extreme level of body horror from you, not that i'm complaining.

    I'm curious to see where you keep going with this.

    I'm also curious if we're getting any female lers at any point.

  3. #3
    Unfortunately I think this will be the last installment of the series. I have other ideas I want to focus on and I'm running out of ideas for the DC series. I thought about female ticklers, but figured it just wouldn't fit.

    I think I originally wrote this to try and come to terms with the bad stuff I went through while living in DC, and I think it is time for me to compose myself and stop looking back, bitter though I am.

    And I'm glad I shocked you.

  4. #4
    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Your stories are so intense. More horrible acts to people than tickling

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