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From Top to Bottom - part three :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 3
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From Top to Bottom - part two :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 0
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From Top to Bottom :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 0
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Tracey's severe restraint order :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 2 6
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 40 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 2 4
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 39 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 3 3
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Tracey the unwilling celebrity - 2 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 4 2
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Tracey the unwilling celebrity - 1 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 5 1
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 38 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 5
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 37 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 1
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 36 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 3 1
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Tracey's demotion - part 6 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 3 1
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 35 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 0
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Tracey's demotion - part 5 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 2 0
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Bitch gets hers - chapter 34 :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 1 2
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Tracey's demotion - part four :iconworthlessfem:worthlessfem 2 0

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Sandy and Her Sisters: A Tale of Six Titties (And Three Cunts!)

Sandy and her two sisters smiled happily as they got off the plane at what they imagined was going to be the island
paradise of Tortura. The true significance of the island's name was not grasped by them at all.

Sandy, the middle sister, was 5ft 8in, quite a big girl, but certainly not overweight for her height and build. She
had blonde hair and blue eyes, and a lovely smile which was the envy of both her sisters. A very confident and
friendly woman, Sandy was determined that the three girls would thoroughly enjoy themselves. She was 21 years old
and slightly protective towards the youngest of the brood, and mildly irritated by the bossy ways of her elder
sister.

Jane, the eldest of the three, was 5ft 11in, and built like the strong, athletic type she was. Her hobbies were
working out in the gym with weights and practising judo. She had black hair and dark brown eyes, so dark that at
times they seemed almost to be as black as the jet of her tresses. Jane was arrogant and moody, and always
determined to get her own way in everything. She just loved bossing other people around, and even on holiday she
didn't intend to stop. Jane was rarely seen to smile, and when it was the reason was usually because she had managed
to put one over on someone else. Usually some poor man at the office where she worked.

Rosemary, the youngest sister, was just 18 years old. She was only 5ft 5in, and tended to run to fat slightly. She
had gorgeous auburn hair and green eyes, and was not at all like the usual idea of a redhead. She was shy and
sensitive, and no one ever saw Rosemary lose her temper with anyone!

Trouble began almost at once, when the girls waited in vain for their luggage to appear on the carousel. After
everyone else's bags and cases had come off and been taken away, theirs were still missing.

"This is a disgrace!" Jane shouted. "I want to see the airport manager at once! A tin pot island like this - and you
can't even manage to get us here without losing our bags! Where are they, you clown?"

If she had known the true answer to that question even Jane might well have kept quiet and controlled her temper.
But she had no idea that this pleasure trip which she had booked over the Internet was anything other than above
board.

The man at the information counter looked at her in complete disbelief. No one ever talked to him that way - no one.

"All right, ladies," he said finally, "let's get this matter sorted out right away. Come into my office."

Only Sandy notice him pressing a button beneath the desk. Although she did think it was strange, she just assumed
that he was alerting the manager.

It was not until they had all arrived in the manager's office that they even began to suspect that something was
wrong. As usual, it was Sandy who saw, out of the corner of her eye, four burly-looking security guards entering.

"What's going on?" she began, but the man from the information desk cut her off sharply.

"You'll find out soon enough," he told her, with a grim smile. "Take them away for questioning."

One of the guards then made the mistake of laying a firm armgrip on Jane, and she made the even bigger one of
dumping him flat on his back. Furious, he staggered to his feet and drew his gun.

"Come on, girls," said Sandy, realising that things were getting out of hand. "We don't want any trouble now, do we?
I'm sure it will all be sorted out straight away. Let's go with these gentlemen quietly."

Jane scowled but even she was not disposed to argue with a man pointing a gun at her. He jabbed it firmly in the
small of her back as they walked off towards the interrogation room.

Their troubles soon got worse as not only the man from the information desk but the manager and the head of airport
security joined the four guards. Even Jane was nervous about taking on so many of them, especially when at least one
of them was packing a rod.

It was the chief of security, a man of 6ft 4in and built like a brick shithouse, who turned to the girls and began
the questioning.

"Names?" he said simply.

"I'm Jane Francis, and these are my two sisters Sandra and Rosemary. We've lost our luggage and then one of these
guards grabbed me by the arm and I suppose I overreacted a bit."

A rapid exchange in Spanish followed, which none of the girls understood. The chief then nodded briefly before
turning back to the three sisters once more.

"Your passports," he said simply.

The girls handed them over and he looked closely at all three before handing them over to the airport manager.

"The Senor will look after these for the time being,"he said quietly. "You must all come with me to the police
station."

"What are we being charged with?" Jane asked quickly. "And I want to put a call through to the British Consul."

"As for you, Senorita Francis, you are charged with assaulting an officer of the Tortura police. All three of you
are however charged with smuggling drugs."

The colour drained out of Jane's face at that. Rosemary looked completely stunned and very frightened, while even
the normally cheerful and optimistic Sandy felt her heart sinking. Although she knew that the charge was absurd, she
was beginning to wonder how much "due process" she and her sisters could hope to expect in a Torturan court.

Jane, as usual, was the first to react with verbal defiance.

"That's bullshit, and you know it! If there's any drugs, you bastards planted them yourselves!"

The chief of police gave an oh-so-reasonable smile and shook his head with the slightest of movements.

"Now why should we wish to do that, Senorita Francis? What reason would we have to frighten away tourists from our
little island?"

"How the fuck should I know? All I know is, none of us take any drugs, so why would we smuggle them in here? Do you
think we're completely brain dead?"

But the chief was growing tired of the constant verbal duelling between Jane and himself. And English was not his
first language anyway, so he turned wearily to the guards and gestured towards them.

"Put the putanas in handcuffs," he said, again in Spanish, so that none of the girls could understand what he was
saying. "And you can treat the big girl as if she was resisting arrest. She's already down for assault and drug-
smuggling, so we might as well stick another charge on the bitch. Cuff their hands behind their backs, and put
shackles on their legs. Then we'll load the garbage up on the police van and take them off to the station for
questioning."

Rosemary made not the slightest protest as the guards approached her. She did react a little when they cuffed her
hands behind her back, but it was more a whimper than a protest. Sandy scowled but held out her hands in readiness,
while Jane decided that, gun or no gun, the guards were not mad enough to shoot a British tourist in cold blood.

For once she was right, but killing her was the last thing on their mind at the moment. They just wanted to hurt
her, and, with her sisters both already cuffed, she could expect no help from that quarter. In spite of the
hopelessness of the situation, she determined to go down fighting.

It took them fifteen minutes to subdue her, and they enjoyed almost every minute of it. The four of them surrounded
her, drawing their batons as they approached closer. It was the work of a moment for the one behind her to disable
her with a brutal baton blow to the kidneys, while from the front another guard gave her a completely unexpected
whack to her unprotected cunt. The left-sided guard gave her a tremendous blow to her left tit, while the right-
sided guard hit a hammer blow to her waist.

Under the pressure of this combined assault, Jane buckled and fell. But the guards were not going to let her get
away with things so easily. Taking rapid advantage of her temporary helplessness, they slipped the cuffs over her
wrists and then began taking turns with her, using the "record player" torture. She was thrown rapidly from one
guard to the next, each in turn beating her with his fists, his baton or kicking her with his feet. Even Jane, who
had been in some rough scraps in her time, found it all too much and begged between her tears for mercy. Naturally
she got none!

In spite of the beating she was taking, because the guards were clever enough to direct it all to the body, not to
the face, a casual visitor would not have noticed that she had been severely roughed up. Therein lay an additionally
beautiful aspect of the hiding she was getting - it would heal quickly enough if properly treated and even these
interfering international observers would be unable to find any evidence of torture.

But Sandy could contain herself no more as she gazed on the plight of her foolishly brave sister.

"Stop it, you monsters!" she cried out.

The leader of the four guards turned to her and grinned.

"What's up, bitch, you want some of what your sister's getting?"

With that, he and a woman assistant who had strolled in during Jane's vicious beating to see what all the fun was
about simply slipped a plastic bag over Sandy's face. A now thoroughly terrified Sandy began to lose heart at last.

Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I'll squeeze this fucking bag so tight you won't be able to breathe - much less speak!

They had broken Sandy at last now, before the interrogation proper had even begun. Rosemary had given up almost from
the first moment. Only a bruised and battered Jane still cried out in her heart for vengeance. But it was not going
to be easy for her to get out of this situation. She would have to start trying to think her way out of trouble
instead of shouting and throwing her weight about. For the first time in a long while, Jane decided to plan the
three girls' escape.

Meanwhile things went from bad to worse for Jane herself. Already cuffed, she found herself dragged towards a metal
crate that seemed to appear as if by magic from an adjacent storeroom. Things got even worse when the guards forced
her roughly inside and closed the door tightly shut. As if that wasn't bad enough, they enclosed her neck tightly
between two wooden poles, preventing her from making the slightest movement. Jane gritted her teeth and waited for
her chance. There was bound to be a chance to escape, after all.

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3)

After she'd been made to wash her hair in piss and face ceam and wash her body with a mixture of piss and disinfectant, Caroline waited anxiously for her next 'instructions.' They were not long in coming.

Jim began by forcing her to continue humiliating herself.

'You fucking stink, don't you, Caroline?'

'Yes, sir,' she answered quietly.

'And whose fault is it that you stink, cunt?'

'It's... it's my fault that I stink, sir.'

'Nobody else is to blame? It's all YOUR fault that you fucking stink?'

'Y... yes, sir. No one else is to blame. It's entirely my fault that I ... that I... fucking stink, sir.'

'Glad to hear you admit it,' JIm laughed. 'But are you sorry that you're making us gentlemen put up with a cunt that fucking stinks as bad as you do?'

Caroline's voice trembled even more as she forced herself to say the hateful words.

'Yes, sir, I'm very sorry that I'm making you gentlemen put up with - put up with a - with a - with a cunt --- that --- that fucking stinks as bad as I do, sir.'

'Good,' Jim laughed. 'So as well as being a fat fucking slag you're also a dirty stinking cunt. Is that right, Caroline?'

She braced herself mentally, knowing that at the moment things, though extremely unpleasant for her, had not slipped out of control.

'Yes, sir,' she made herself answer. 'I'm afraid I'm a fat fucking slag and a dirty stinking fucking cunt, sir.'

'Well, at least you admit it, slutface. Now as it happens I think fat fucking slags and dirty stinking fucking cunts deserve to be punished. Don't you agree, twat?'

Now Caroline was becoming extremely scared. She was terrified of saying the 'wrong' thing but also petrified at the thought of what type of 'punishment' Jim might give her.

'Yes, sir, I do agree with you, sir. But exactly what kind of - punishment - do you think is - appropriate, sir?'

'Let's go downstairs and I'll decide. I need more space to work in.'

Jim led her and the rest of his gang down to the large living room. They sat down on the armchairs and sofa while of course making Caroline continue to stand.

Jim went into his 'toolbox' and brought out a number of items. He turned to Caroline and gave her another order.

'Bend over the chair,' he commanded, pointing to one of the vacant armchairs. 'No, not like that, you stupid fucking cunt! Drape yourself over the arm of the fucking chair, retard!'

'Sorry, sir,' Caroline answered instantly.

'Right,' said Jim, once she was in place. 'Now I'm just going to move your hands out of harm's way.'

With that he grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms up to her neck level before snapping handcuffs on them. The cuffs were held in place with a dog collar that he quickly fastened round her neck. Then he picked up a ball gag and stuffed it into her mouth before buckling it tightly behind her head.

'Right, cunt,' Jim told her. 'I think you need a good hard caning on that fat lazy arse of yours. Let's see, there's twelve of us here. Six of the best from all of us adds up to seventy-two strokes. Do you think that's fair, Caroline? Feel free to tell me if you want us to stop!'

Gagged as she was, Caroline of course could not possibly answer his mocking 'question.'

They took it in turns, Jim first of course, to cane her fat arse. Even through her gag Caroline moaned in pain and her arse was scorched with red marks and bruises and stripes. They all admired their handiwork and then Jim finally pulled her up from the chair.

'OK, cunt,' he said. 'That was the first of many lessons to come. Now some of our younger members haven't had a chance to fuck a woman yet so you are going to be the one to show them how it's done. Got that?'

Caroline's eyes opened wide with fear as she realised she was about to be gang-raped.

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From Top to Bottom - part two
2)

The 23-year old picked the locks on the front door and then they were inside. Jim signalled to them to be quiet and move as carefully as possible.

'Why?' asked one of them.

'Because I said so,' Jim told him scornfully. 'The odds are the bitch is fast asleep and we want to surprise her when we go into her bedroom and arrest her. So shut the fuck up and do what you're told!'

Caroline was drowsier than usual as she'd had a bottle of wine the night before. So had her two daughters so all three of them were drunk but at the moment the intruders didn't know the girls were also on the premises.

They crept up the stairs and went to the door of the largest bedroom.

'This must be hers,' Jim whispered. 'Right, follow me. And I'll say when we can start shouting!'

They opened the door and saw the fat 48-year old woman sleeping peacefully in her large bed under her designer quilt. Jim moved right up to the bed and heard her snoring away. He smiled in anticipation of the rude awakening she was about to have!

'Up, cunt!' he shouted in her ear, pulling the duvet cover off the bed.

A bleary-eyed Caroline moved drowsily and he grabbed her by the hair to wake her properly.

'What the...? Who are you? And what are you doing here?'

Jim smiled.

'Don't remember me, do you, bitch? You fired me a month ago. Well, things have changed since then. Haven't you heard the news? The People's Revolutionary Council is running the country now. And I'm the commander of the local brigade of the People's Revolutionary Army. So get the fuck up out of that bed, bitch!'

Caroline stared at him in a mixture of defiance, fear and surprise.

'Oh,' she said after a moment's closer scrutiny. 'Jim Collins.'

'At your service, Caroline,' he laughed. 'Now as it happens the brigade has strict instructions on belalf of the People's Revolutionary Council to repossess this place, all its contents, all your money, jewellery, stocks and shares, cars, and any other assets you have. They've as of now forfeited to the people. And you, Caroline fucking McLeod, are under arrest and unless you co-operate things could get VERY nasty.'

Caroline slowly emerged into consciousness. She was very aware that her two young daughters were also in the house and if she possibly could she wanted to protect them at least.

'So what exactly do you want?'

'For starters, do what I fucking tell you! Move that fat arse of yours out of bed and stand in the middle of the room!'

Caroline flushed but reluctantly did as she was told. She was wearing a nightdress of pure satin and Jim looked at it with obvious interest.

'Now take that nightdress off,' he commanded.

'But...'

He slapped her hard across the face, three times.

'Do what you're fucking told, you stuck-up cunt! Your days are finished now and we're the ones on top! So when I give you an order, twat, you fucking JUMP to it!'

Caroline's cheeks stang from the blows but she realised things could get a lot worse. Reluctantly she took off her large satin nightdress and put it on the bed.

'Right, cunt,' Jim said, 'from now on you call everyone of us sir. Got that?'

'Yes, sir,' she answered quickly.

'Good. Now to begin with we're going to play a game of truth or dare but with a difference. We decide if what you tell us is the truth or not. So let's start off. Are you a fat fucking slag?'

Caroline blushed at that question but realised that she could only give one possible answer to it in the circumstances.

'Yes, sir, I am a fat fucking slag, sir.'

'And do you think fat fucking slags deserve to be punished?'

'Yes, sir,' she answered in a trembling voice. 'Fat fucking slags deserve to be punished, sir.'

A thought struck him suddenly.

'Since you've just woken up, do you need to piss?'

Caroline blushed at the question.

'Yes, sir.'

'So are you going to ask me nicely if you can have a piss?'

She choked back her mortification and rising anger and fear and forced herself to do as he asked.

'Please, sir, would you mind allowing me to ... to have a piss, please, sir?'

'I suppose I might let you do that. Where do you keep your buckets?'

She gazed at him in surprise.

'I'm sorry, sir, I assumed you'd allow me to use the loo, sir.'

Jim laughed at that.

'Hear that, lads? She wants to go to the fucking loo! Well, twatface, the toilet is too good for a stuck-up twat like you so you can do it in a fucking bucket. So where do you keep your buckets?'

'There's one in the kitchen, sir, and one in the upstairs bathroom, and one in the utility room, sir.'

'Well, let's get the one in the bathroom seeing as how it's nearest.'

He grabbed Caroline by her wrists and pushed her along the corridor to the bathroom, Once inside he made her pick up a bucket and bring it back into the bedroom.

'There you go,' he laughed. 'Here's a bucket for you to piss in, twatface. Go ahead!'

'But... I mean,,, here? In front of... all of you?'

'Too fucking right, retard!' Jim grinned. 'Now are you gonna piss in the bucket or are you gonna try holding it forever till you can't control it any more and piss on the carpet?'

Feeling utterly humiliated, Caroline squatted over the bucket and forced herself to piss lengthily into it. As the first waking piss it was fuller in volume than usual and the lads thoroughly enjoyed watching the wealthy businesswoman being forced to humiliate herself in front of them in this way.

When she'd finished Jim turned to her and deepened her humiliation.

'Ain't you gonna thank me for letting you piss in the bucket, bitch?'

Gritting her teeth mentally, Caroline forced herself to give him the answer he wanted.

'Thank you for letting me piss in the bucket, sir.'

'Good,' he laughed. 'Now for the next truth or dare. Did you enjoy pissing in the bucket in front of the gentlemen?'

Caroline wanted to scowl and shout at him but she knew that would only make things worse. At the moment Jim Collins was holding back and when she looked at his accomplices she realised he was the best hope of things not going totally disastrously for her.

'Yes, thank you, sir,' she forced herself to answer.

'Did you enjoy it very much, Caroline?'

She drew in her breath sharply but forced herself to say the hateful words that humiliated herself.

'Yes, thank you, sir. I enjoyed it very much.'

'Did you fucking LOVE pissing in the bucket in front of the gentlemen?'

Caroline was on the point of exploding but at the last minute a degree of common sense prevailed.

'Yes, thank you, sir. I fucking LOVED pissing in the bucket in front of the gentlemen.'

'So glad to hear it!' Jim laughed. 'Well, maybe the rest of us need a piss too. I'll go first.'

So Jim pissed in the bucket and then, one by one, all twelve of the company followed suit. The bucket stank of piss and was half full with the stinking liquid.

'Right, let's take you into the bathroom now. Follow me, cunt! And bring the bucket with you when you go in there!'

'Yes, sir,' Caroline said reluctantly, wondering what on earth he was planning for her next.

In the bathroom Jim looked around to see what might be useful as a humiliation tool. He saw a large jar of face cream and picked it up. Putting it down, he picked up a bottle of disinfectant and then put that down too.

'Right,' he said, making up his mind. 'We're going to wash your slutty hair, Caroline.'

Caroline gazed at him in astonishment. She couldn't imagine what he had in mind. Then to her horror she saw him pick up the bucket that she'd just pissed in.

'Rinse your hair in piss first,' Jim told her. 'Don't use all of it - about a third. Then I'll decide what shampoo to wash your hair with.'

Caroline stared at him in disbelief and horror.

'That's disgusting!' she said angrily. 'You can't make me do that!'

'Can't I, cunt?' Jim laughed. 'Well, if you'd rather I made you drink it...'

She stared at him angrily.

'This is inhuman,' she said. 'You've got no right to do this to me.'

'Your choice, Caroline. Drink or wash your hair.'

Caroline knew that resistance was hopeless and at least her two girls were still soundly asleep so it was just possible she might be able to save them.

'Very well,' she said. 'I'll wash my hair in the disgusting stuff.'

At that point Jim slapped her face.

'What did I tell you about calling me sir, cunt? And don't you fucking DARE suggest that ANYTHING I tell you to do is in any way disgusting! Are you going to apologise to me, twatface?'

Caroline winced from the pain of the slap and knew she had to submit to the ordeal.

'I'm very sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said what I did and I shouldn't have refused to do what you told me, sir.'

'No, you fucking shouldn't, cunt! And in future every time I give you an order you'll not only obey it without question or complaint but you'll thank me for giving you that order. Got it, cuntface?'

'Yes, thank you, sir,' a crushed Caroline replied. 'Thank you for ordering me to wash my hair in piss, sir.'

'That's better,' Jim smiled. 'Now bend over the bath while I pour the piss over your hair.'

Caroline felt about a third of the piss being poured over her hair. It stank and made her hair feel awful but she knew that she had to go along with it to try and protect her daughters. The piss got into her eyes and stang and some of it ran down her face but she knew better than to protest.

'Thank you for rinsing my hair in piss, sir,' she managed to force herself to say.

Jim then unscrewed the jar of face cream and handed it to her.

'Do you know what this is, cunt?'

'Face cream, sir.'

'Yes, it is. Now you're going to rub this well into your slutty hair, aren't you, Caroline?'

Caroline blanched at the prospect but hastily agreed.

'Yes, of course, sir. Thank you for ordering me to rub face cream into my slutty hair, sir.'

She rubbed away till her hair was coated with the slimy stuff which mingled with the piss to create a disgusting coating for her hair. Jim laughed when he saw the handiwork.

'Time to rinse your hair again,' he said. 'Would you like me to rinse it with piss?'

'Yes, please, sir,' Caroline forced herself to say. 'Please rinse my slutty hair with piss, sir.'

Another third of the piss was then emptied over her hair. It didn't exactly dislodge the face cream but mingled with it to create a slimey goo.

'Thank you, sir,' Caroline forced herself to say. 'Thank you for rinsing my slutty hair with piss.'

'Good,' Jim smiled. 'Now then, just a minute and I'll give you your next instructions.'

He unscrewed the disinfectant and poured it into the bucket with the remaining third of piss. Handing her the bucket, he made her stand before him while he gave her his next order.

'Wash your fat slag's body with this liquid, Caroline.'

'Yes, sir,' she said meekly. 'Thank you, sir.'

She soon discovered that washing her body in a mixture of piss and disinfectant stang like hell and stank like hell but of course she could do absolutely nothing about it. Jim laughed as he saw - and smelt - the result.

'Good,' he said finally. 'What do you say, cunt?'

'Thank you for making me rinse my fat slag's body with piss and - disinfectant, I think, sir.'

'That's better!' Jim laughed. 'We'll soon have you a properly respectful and well-trained cunt in no time!'

Caroline could only grimace and wonder how much worse her ordeal was about to become!

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Prologue:

Nobody expected the revolution. It was sudden, brutal and took everyone by surprise.

After four days of bloody fighting tghe Establishment forces had been completely defeated. Their leaders were either dead or in prison, apart from thos lucky ones who had managed to escape abroad.

The new government called itself the People's Revolutionary Council. It set about confiscating the wealth, property and assets of the aristocracy, the rich and the privileged elite.

They were stripped of everything. Their homes, their cars, their property, everything they owned was taken from them. It came as a complete culture shock to those people used ot living in the lap of luxury and being able to indulge their every whim that suddenly they found themselves at the mercy of their new masters - the working classes and even the underclass.

Here is a typical story of what happened to the formerly wealthy and privileged under the new regime.

1)

Caroline McLeod was 48 years old.  In her younger days she had been beautiful and her looks had helped her find a rich husband. Walter McLeod had built up a successful business that employed nearly 500 workers. Caroline had two daughters by Walter, Emma and Sarah.

Her husband Walter had died in a plane crash some years earlier and Caroline had brought up her two daughters alone. Well, not exactly on her own. She had nannies, au pairs and other people doing the actual hafrd work while she concentrated on maximising the profits of her late husband's business.

Her two daughters were aged 24 and 22 at the time of the revolution. Both had been thoroughly spoilt all their lives and regarded ordinary people with total contempt. Like their mother, they had big tits and pronounced rear ends and yet were also strangely beautiful.

Caroline enjoyed treating her workers like shit and put almost all of them on zero hours contracts. She delighted in humiliating and threatening them and every one of her workers hated and feared her.

Caroline lived in a large house in Surrey and had bought Emma and Sarah a luxury flat in Chelsea where they both lived. All of them drove top of the range cars and lived lives of luxury and complete self-indulgence.

It was eight days after the revolution had finally triumphed that they came for Caroline McLeod. As luck would have it they came for her on a Sunday morning when her two daughters had stayed over for the weekend.

A gang of a dozen armed men filed out of a lorry at 4 a.m. All were wielding various kinds of weapons and also carried various items of equipment.

Parking outside the large house, the group made its way towards the entrance. They might have been called a motley crew by some, all but three of them being teenagers. Of the dozen who stood in the driveway, the leader was aged 30, another man 25 and a third 23. The rest were aged between 13 and 18 years old.

The leader turned to the 25-year old.

'Can you disable the burglar alarm or shall we just break in, Sparks?'

Sparks laughed.

'Piece of piss! Ain't no alarm system been made I can't fuck over! Gimme ten minutes tops.'

So Sparks made his way down the pathway and searched out the alarm system before, slowly and carefully, disabling it.

'Told you!' he grinned. 'What now?'

'Now,' said the leader, 'we go get the fucking bitch. We'll make the cunt pay for the way she's treated her workers down the years. It's long overdue that stuck-up bitch to get a taste of people's justice!'

'We gonna loot the place?' an eager 13-year old boy asked.

'No, you dozy twat, we ain't gonna LOOT the fucking place. We're gonna - expropriate - the house and confiscate whatever's inside it in the name of the People's Revolutionary Army. It ain't looting, Mickey; it's repossessing what's rightfully ours.'

'Oh, OK, Jim. Gotcha! Well, I'm up for a spot of repossessing!'

Another thought struck him then.

'When we go in - I mean - what can we do to the bitch exactly? Can we - I mean - well, you know, fuck her? Hurt her?'

Jim laughed.

'Yeah, a virgin like you would ask a question like that, Mickey. If you want to rape the cunt, feel free. As for hurting her - well, we can certainly rough her up a bit. But any serious torture will have to be done once the bitch is safely under lock and key at the re-education centre. Come on, let's go. It's time to give her high and mightiness Caroline fucking McLeod her come-uppance!'

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Tracey’s Severe Restraint Order

 Tracey Smith had just got out of the bath and was about to go to bed when a loud and persistent knocking at her front door forced her to respond. She knew immediately it must be trouble. Only the police knock like that, she thought wearily.

Grabbing a dressing-gown she went downstairs and opened the door. In the porch light at the front of her house she saw clearly two tall and stern-looking police officers in full uniform. One was carrying a baton in his right hand and what looked like an official notice in his left. The other was a policewoman who pointed a taser menacingly in Tracey’s direction.

The male officer was well over 6 feet tall and the woman was 5ft 9. They towered over the 5ft 2 Tracey who looked at them nervously.

‘Can I help you, please, officers?’ she said meekly.

‘You are Tracey Smith,’ the male cop said.

‘Yes, I am. What seems to be the problem?’

He looked at her with a twisted smile on his face.

‘You are,’ he said quietly.

At those words Tracey got extremely nervous. She couldn’t think of anything in particular she might have done to bring herself to the attention of the police but these days you never knew. There were stories of women being arrested for no reason at all and of them being subjected to all kinds of horrific abuse.

‘Sorry, officers, I don’t understand. What is it you think I’ve done wrong?’

The policewoman spoke at that point.

‘Your former boyfriend John Chambers has taken you to court. He’s obtained a restraining order against you.’

Tracey stared at her in shock and disbelief. Yes, she remembered breaking up with John – or, more accurately, him dumping her – but she’d thought that was the end of it. OK, she was still working for his father’s company but they hadn’t spoken to or seen each other for a month now. Why would he want to take out a restraining order against her?

‘Mr Chambers has been talking about you with his father,’ the woman cop continued. ‘They’ve both decided that you’re too much of a loose cannon to be left to your own devices. So they went to court and made an application for a restraining order against you. With immediate effect.’

Tracey gasped in horror. Why would John and his father do something like this to her? And what exactly did the woman mean by a ‘restraining order?’

The policewoman smiled again as she continued.

‘You may or may not know but with the recent legal reforms there are now three types of restraining order that a court may impose. Tracey Smith, you have been sentenced to the most severe type of restraining order.’

Tracey stared at her in disbelief and wondered for a moment if she could close the door and try to get away. As if reading her mind, the policewoman pushed it firmly open and the two cops came right inside the hall.

 ‘Resisting arrest,’ she smiled. ‘We’ll have to subdue this uppity cunt.’

 The policeman gave Tracey a hard whack with his baton in her midriff. She doubled up in pain and the policewoman quickly stripped her dressing-gown away from her. Tracey now stood before them completely naked.

 'What a fat fucking slag!’ the policewoman laughed. ‘I’ll taser her tits to slow her down!’

 Tracey did a whirling Dervish dance as the taser dart landed on her tits. She slumped to the floor and the two cops laughed at her predicament.

Quickly they cuffed her wrists behind her and the two cops looked at each other enquiringly. The man nodded and the woman cop bent down and opened a large toolbox she was carrying when they knocked at Tracey’s door. She took out a bunch of fetters from the bag. The manacles were almost completely escape-proof with a rigid metal cuff at each end. As the dazed Tracey slowly awoke each cuff was fastened tightly around her ankles with an audible ‘click’ as they snapped shut. The male cop looked at the naked and helpless Tracey with interest.

‘By the time her restraining order ends there won’t be any sign of anything that happened to her before we put her in full severe restraints. Let’s have some fun!’

With the now naked Tracey unable to resist, the two cops began working her over systematically. They slapped her face, punched her tits and belly and kicked her up the cunt.

That was just for starters! The male cop then pushed Tracey against the wall, smashing her face into it and squashing her large tits as he did so, before, to Tracey’s horror, unzipping his trousers and raping her large arse. Her screams only made the two cops laugh and when he was finished at last he turned Tracey round and stared straight in her face.

‘Clean my prick up, whore!’ he commanded. ‘And don’t even think about trying to bite me. The way you are, you can’t do anything to stop us giving you some real fucking punishment. So just suck away, bitch. Clean me up. And make sure you clean off all your shit from my prick too or I’ll punish you good and hard.’

Tracey, sobbing by now, did as she was commanded. She was too terrified of the two police officers to even think of resistance.

When he was satisfied he put his prick away, zipped up his trousers and laughed. Turning to the woman cop, he pointed to Tracey.

‘You want to play with titface here?

‘Why not?’

The policewoman took off her skirt and knickers and pulled Tracey towards her.

‘Lick my cunt! And I expect you to give me an orgasm or you’ll be punished!’

Tracey somehow forced herself to lick the policewoman’s cunt in spite of her distaste. She was so traumatized that she didn’t dare to do anything else.

‘OK, bitch, not too bad a job,’ the woman cop said. ‘Right, now we’ll put you into the next part of your severe restraints!’

She reached down into her back and picked up a device that she held behind her back with one hand. Then she moved towards Tracey and pinched her nose hard with the other hand. Gasping, she opened her mouth and the woman pulled on her tongue and forced it out.

As soon as her tongue was out far enough she produced the object with her other hand and clamped it tightly on Tracey’s tongue. She spluttered and squealed with the pain as she found her tongue viciously clamped with a mouse trap.

Before she had any chance to try and push it out the woman picked up Tracey’s knickers. For a moment she blushed as she’d worn the same pair for the last three days. Smiling, she pinched Tracey’s nose and forced her to open her mouth before stuffing them inside. Tracey tried to push out the intruder but the presence of the dirty knickers soon became the least of her worries!

The policewoman then turned to the bag she’d brought into the house with her. She pulled out a large piece of cloth from the bag. It was knotted into a ball that was made up of several other pieces of cotton material. The cotton pieces had been folded tightly before being fastened together by a further strip of cloth that was tightened around the whole cloth bundle. From this cotton ball, two strips hung down from each end.

 ‘This,’ the woman smiled as she gazed into Tracey’s face, ‘is going right up that loud-mouthed, stupid fucking gob of yours, cunt!’

 The unwelcome intruder was forced brutally into Tracey’s mouth. She tried to resist in spite of her manacled state but the woman easily overpowered her. She pushed the cloth wad tightly inside her mouth with her thumbs before knotting the strip tightly behind Tracey’s head.

 Tracey gulped furiously as the cloth gag lodged itself in her mouth. Then the policewoman returned to her back to take out another large piece of cloth. It was much thicker than the cloth ball had been and there was an obvious and quite large knot in the centre of it. She placed the knot in the centre of the cloth and tied both ends of the second layer of cloth tightly behind the unfortunate Tracey’s head once more. The tight pressure of the knot forced the cotton ball deep inside Tracey’s mouth and forced her lips to be pushed further apart in an extreme cleave gag.

Tracey was unable even to gasp but she stared in horrified disbelief when the policewoman went back to her bag and brought out a large gag with a metal strap and padlock. It was in the form of a penis and Tracey could see no way such a large item could possibly fit into her mouth.

 ‘This, you lucky fucking cunt,’ the woman laughed, ‘is – as even a retarded bimbo like you can probably guess, is a prick gag. It’s going right inside that stupid fucking gob of yours, twat!’

 The policewoman then fastened the penis gag over the layers of cloth already fitted to Tracey’s mouth before the strap behind her head was drawn into place and tightened severely. She pulled on the strap to make it sink deeper into the cloth packing Tracey’s mouth and laughed as she saw her victim’s cheeks being slowly forced apart. The cloth padding sank further into her cheeks and mouth and the penis gag was forced all the way inside her mouth. Even though the cloth pressed against the sides of her mouth the feeling of the penis gag inside was uncomfortable as hell. The woman then tightened the strap behind Tracey’s head to the last notch before fitting a padlock on an eye at the back to secure it completely.

 She then returned to the bag and picked up an item before deciding against it.

 ‘Maybe later,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Let’s try something else first.’

 She picked up a metal belt, cruelly studded with sharp spikes and approached Tracey once more. All the unfortunate girl could do was flinch but of course the policewoman was all smiles.

 ‘This, cunt,’ she told her, ‘is a waist cincher. Just the thing to help a fat slag like you develop a better figure!’

 She picked up the belt and wrapped it around Tracey’s waist. Cinching it as tightly as possible, she buckled the belt before clicking into place a padlock that hung from the buckle. Tracey was in pain both from the tight constriction of the belt and the pain of the sharp spikes digging into the soft flesh of her waist.

 Worse was to come as the policewoman picked up two large metal cylinders which she opened and then approached Tracey with a big grin on her face.

 ‘It’s time those fat floppy tits of yours got some attention, bitch!’ she laughed.

 Tracey could say or do nothing as the woman picked up the first cylinder and fitted it over the luckless girl’s left tit. She adjusted the setting slightly to make it go right over her breasts and then snapped it shut. There was a padlock on an eye attached to the cylinder which she cruelly locked as an additional restraint. The cylinder, like the waist cincher, was also fitted with sharp metal spikes that dug into Tracey’s soft but ample tit flesh. The process was repeated with her right tit and the pain was excruciating.

 Even this didn’t seem to be enough for the policewoman. She picked up a two piece set of metal bars and separated them. Then she put the top one on top of Tracey’s tit flesh before repeating the process with the second. She then joined the two together with two metal spokes pointing downwards from each of the top boards before tightening the wing nuts at the side to their maximum possible tension. Tracey’s tits felt as if they were clamped in a vice and as with the waist cincher and the cylindrical tit press, this horizontal tit press was fitted with sharp spikes that dug painfully into her large tits.

 Then she horrified the already traumatised Tracey by going over to her nipples and sucking each in turn until they stood out proud from the rest of her tits.

 ‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘That ought to be far enough out.’

 She then took two small metal rings out of the bag and fitted one on each of Tracey’s nipples. As with the other devices, she tightened them to the maximum point of tension and, as with them, the rings were fitted with sharp metal studs to dig into the flesh of her nipples.

 Laughing at her handiwork, she pulled out two more small devices from her bag.

 ‘These, slutface, are nipple clamps. They are such lovely devices as you’ll find out.’

 She proceeded to place the clamps on Tracey’s nipples, making her wince even more.

 ‘The fun thing is, the more you pull on them, the harder they squeeze. That’s why there’s a metal cord attached to them – so you can pull!’

 Tracey felt the pain surge through her as the policewoman pulled hard on the cord, increasing the pain in her nipples to an almost intolerable degree.

 ‘Did you enjoy that, Tracey?’ she asked cruelly. ‘Well, I know I fucking well did!’

 Then it was time for more ‘severe restraint’ to be applied to Tracey’s mouth and face. Tracey didn’t think it was possible for her mouth to be more restrained than it already was but the woman clearly had other ideas.

 Pulling out a large roll of duct tape from her bag, she wound a strip over the penis gag which still protruded obscenely from Tracey’s mouth. Then she followed up with a second, a third, a fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and finally tenth strip, each one carefully fitted in place and then smoothed out to achieve maximum coverage with no buckling. This was followed by a thin but powerful length of rope which again was wound across Tracey’s mouth and behind her head till it covered the whole area. A second and then third length of rope was wound across the first and tied tightly in place. The rope cut into Tracey’s mouth slightly but of course the woman felt not the slightest sympathy for her victim’s pain and discomfort.

 Still she wasn’t finished, not by a long way. Bending down to the bag again, she retrieved a metal collar. Smiling, she fastened it around Tracey’s neck and tightened it to the maximum tension before snapping it shut with yet another padlock to keep it in place. Like the other metal restraints, it was fitted with sharp spikes that dug painfully into the soft flesh of Tracey’s neck.

 The policewoman then turned her attention to Tracey’s waist cincher, taking out a long pole with the top part fitted with two sharp ends in the shape of a fork. The bottom part was clipped into an eye on the waist cincher and the top part, with the two fork-shaped protrusions on it, was pushed up into the soft flesh of Tracey’s neck.

 She then took out long pieces of copper wire and wound them carefully around Tracey’s naked body, four times until the fork-shaped device was well and truly pressing against her flesh and the wires were cutting into her from her neck down to her waist.

 She smiled into Tracey’s face before reaching down into her bag once more.

 ‘Time to pay some attention to your cunt and arse now, I think.’

 Tracey winced as she expected yet more unendurable pain to be coming her way. Sure enough, she was dead right. The woman picked up a metal clamp and, to Tracey’s horror, told her just what she was doing to do with it.

 ‘This, cuntface, is a clit clamp. Yes, you guessed right, bimbo; I’m going to fix it firmly to your clit.’

 The pain was excruciating as the woman attached the clamp firmly to Tracey’s clit. She could hardly bear the feeling of the intruder and wondered how much more she could take before the two demons who had invaded her house were satisfied.

 ‘Now for some more fun with your cunt and arse,’ the woman smiled.

 Once more she reached into her bag and produced a length of barbed wire with a hook at each end. Putting on some strong metal gloves, she clipped one end to the waist cincher at front and the other to the back part. The effect was to make the whole of Tracey’s body from her waist to her back, and especially her arse and cunt, feel agonisingly painful. Pulling the barbed wire as tight as she could with her metal gloves, the woman then fitted padlocks to the hooks.

 Far from satisfied, the woman then returned to her bag for more ‘severe restraint devices.’ Tracey’s eyes widened as the policewoman picked up two big dildos. She could guess by now exactly what the woman was going to do with them.

 The first dildo was pushed up Tracey’s cunt. At first it wouldn’t go in all the way – being a twelve-inch metal dildo – so the woman picked up a metal hammer and began to bang hard until it finally went all the way in. The pain and discomfort was bad enough but, as with the other devices, it was made worse by the dildo being studded with sharp metal spikes. Satisfied that it was firmly embedded up Tracey’s cunt, the woman locked it in place with a padlock which she then snapped shut.  

Laughing at Tracey’s pain, discomfort and humiliation, the woman returned to her bag and took out another 12-inch metal dildo. Like the first, it was too big so she picked up the hammer and once again banged hard till the whole length went right up poor Tracey’s arse. As with the dildo up her cunt, the one up her arse was also studded with sharp metal spikes. Once again the woman locked it in place with a padlock that she snapped tightly shut.

Though Tracey was in too much pain and terror to notice it, the penis gag in her mouth and the two dildos up her arse and cunt each had an opening at the entrance. She would find out their purpose later. Much later.

In the meantime the woman returned her attention to Tracey’s face. She pulled out a canvas strap from her bag with a number of pads attached to it. It was quite thick and the policewoman began by placing the large pad at the bottom underneath Tracey’s chin, securing her already tightly gagged mouth still further. She tightened and tightened the strap till she was satisfied before finally locking it with a metal buckle with a padlock attached. This too was snapped shut and the new gag sat over the duct tape which was on top of the penis gag which was on top of the cleave gag and its soft cotton.

Still Tracey’s ordeal was not over. The woman picked up another item from her bag and fastened it around Tracey’s face from her chin to the top of her head and round to the back. The muzzle gag further reinforced Tracey’s discomfort and she was beginning to wonder how much worse things were going to get for her.

She was soon to find out!

The policewoman then went back to her bag and pulled out a new item. She began by unzipping the back and placing the lower part on Tracey’s shoulders. The front part came to just under Tracey’s nose. She then closed the two halves and zipped them together as tightly as possible. It was of course a mouth corset and the effect was more humiliating than painful, at least when compared with the other pain Tracey was suffering.

The two police officers then had a brief conference before they returned their attention to the luckless Tracey. The man pulled on her fettered legs and yanked them behind her back to about half way up. Then the policewoman fitted a metal bar to a hole in the centre of the spreader bar and connected it through another hole in Tracey’s waist cincher and, finally, up to another hole in her neck collar.

Tracey was in hell and could only guess what further torments the two coppers had in store for her. The woman reached into the bag again and pulled out two more metal clamps. These she fitted around Tracey’s knees and once again they were studded with sharp spikes and not only clipped into place but further secured with a padlock on each clamp.

As with the other devices, the knee-clamps had holes in each one and Tracey soon discovered the purpose of the apertures. The woman returned to her bag and produced two metal poles, tapered to a sharp point and with a base unit that was first inserted into each of the knee holes and then screwed into place before being further secured with a padlock. The spiked top end of each pole was then pushed up directly underneath Tracey’s already suffering tits. Just below the spike were two flanges which were connected to the tit press and screwed into place before being padlocked. The pain from the metal points digging into her tits was excruciating.

‘Now for some more fun,’ the woman laughed.

She reached into her bag and produced a box full of Bulldog clips. One by one she fitted them to Tracey’s naked body, beginning with her abused tits. Soon every inch of tit flesh was completely covered in Bulldog clips. She then fixed them to Tracey’s armpits, the soft flesh of her belly, her arse cheeks, her arms and legs and her earlobes. 

Then the woman turned her attention to Tracey’s arms. With her wrists already handcuffed behind her back, you might have thought she was already more than well enough restrained but the copper had other ideas. The woman rummaged in the bag and pulled out a single sleeve armbinder. She forced Tracey’s arms inside the device before zipping it tightly and buckling two extra straps, one at the bottom of her arms and one at her elbows. From the strap at her elbows two extra straps criss-crossed Tracey’s shoulders, reaching up to her neck and shoulders. The woman of course tightened the straps to their maximum degree of tension.

Then she pulled on the single eyehook at the end of the armbinder and yanked Tracey’s arms high up to about halfway up her back. Fastening a length of chain on the eye, she connected it to another hole in the centre of Tracey’s neck collar. The male cop took one end of the chain and pulled it up as high as possible while the woman pulled the other end downwards. When the chain had been drawn to its maximum possible tightness, so that Tracey’s legs and arms were both being pulled agonisingly upwards in their strict bondage, she fitted a padlock in place and snapped it shut.

‘Now I think your fingers and toes deserve some attention,’ the policewoman said.

As Tracey lay in helpless agony, the woman went back to the bag and produced a number of chopsticks. Carefully fitting each one between Tracey’s fingers and toes, she then went back to the bag and wrapped them tightly in place with copper wire, four times in all, before further securing the wire bindings with a padlock which, as before, she snapped shut. Compared with some of the pain Tracey was feeling in other parts of her body, it was bad but nowhere near as excruciating as the agony she felt in her tits and cunt and clit and arsehole.

‘Now for your legs,’ the policewoman announced.

She reached into her bag again and produced another long single sleeve device. Forcing Tracey’s legs into it and pulled it up to her waist before running the criss-cross straps from it across the already bound and compressed back and front of her victim. She cinched the straps tightly and buckled them in place over Tracey’s legs. The other end she quickly fastened with another long strap to an eyehole at Tracey’s toes. Buckling the device tight, once again she added a padlock and snapped it shut.

 The next stage in Tracey’s ‘severe restraint order’ was for her bound legs to be hoisted up to the middle of her back and joined by a connecting chain to the strap binding her upper body before, once again, snapping the whole shut with a padlock. It was incredibly uncomfortable for her but of course the two cops loved every minute of her ordeal!

Then she returned her attention to Tracey’s tits. This time she just passed a round leather strap around them, studded with sharp metal spikes of course to dig into her tit flesh. Pulling it hard into place, she buckled it and then padlocked it.

‘Now let’s deal with that ugly fucking mug of yours, bimbo,’ she said cruelly.

Returning to her bag of horrors, she produced more lengths of copper wire which she proceeded to wind across Tracey’s face in a criss-cross pattern till every part of her face was now covered by the metal bondage. Poor Tracey couldn’t move, speak or do anything much except suffer the excruciating torments she was being put through. All she could do was hear and see and soon even that was about to come to an abrupt end!

Then it was the turn of Tracey’s eyes to get the treatment. The policewoman began by using her fingers to close her eyes shut before forcing two sections of soft cotton wool over her eyes. She quickly secured them in place with tape that wound all the way behind Tracey’s head. Then she produced a roll of lint which she cut to shape before securing it over her eyes and winding it all the way around Tracey’s head before securing that too with tape.

She took out two eye patches from her bag which she fastened over each of Tracey’s eyes. They two were fastened in place with tape winding all the way around her head. Then she took out a thick rubber strap from her bag. It was a blindfold and the woman wound it all the way around Tracey’s head before buckling the strap tightly behind her head, as usual adding a padlock to the restraints for good measure.

The policewoman turned to her bag once more and produced two small plugs. She pushed them into Tracey’s ears, finally cutting off all sound of the outside world. There was a small keyhole at the end of each plug which she locked and then, as Tracey had now come to expect, fastened a padlock to a hook at the end of the hole. She found herself locked into a world of silence as well as darkness.

Then it was the turn of Tracey’s nose to get the treatment. The policewoman returned to her bag and pulled out two metal hooks which she cruelly fitted inside Tracey’s nostrils. Of course the hooks were on a chain which was cruelly attached to the Bulldog clips fastened to her ears. The pain was remarkable for such a small area of the body.

Still the monstrous policewoman hadn’t finished with her victim. She pulled a rubber hood out of the bag and pulled it all the way over Tracey’s head. Now all the other stuff covering her face just looked like a gynormous bulge sticking out. The woman adjusted the hood, zipped it tight and then snapped it shut, as usual, padlocking it in place.

Then a second, thicker hood was place over the first. Once it had been forced over the first hood she strapped it in place. It made the contours of Tracey’s hooded face look less noticeable as the second hood smoothed out most of the bulges left by the first one. It two was zipped up, clamped into place and padlocked.

A third and still thicker hood followed. This one completely smoothed out the remaining bulges and squeezed Tracey’s head and face in its unpleasant embrace. Once more the straps were made tight, buckled behind her head and padlocked into place.

Then the policewoman took out a leather helmet from her bag. It was black and thick and would need a bit of manoeuvring to get completely in place over Tracey’s head. The helmet was fitted, not for Tracey’s comfort of course, but to keep the massive amount of gagging material that had been used on her firmly and smoothly in place.

She managed after a few minutes to get the hood all the way over Tracey’s head. When she had finished pulling it down she laced the hood tightly, making sure it was at its maximum tensile strength before she fastened the leather straps at the back of the hood. Once more she padlocked them in place. Tracey’s head was virtually immobile now.

Now it was time for the piece de resistance. The policewoman took out a leather straightjacket. Slowly she and her male colleague forced Tracey’s bound and helpless form inside the jacket. They took quite a while to force it over her bound arms and body but eventually managed it.

Once it was in place the woman ruthlessly tightened the straps behind the jacket. She began at the top and worked down systematically, giving each strap several powerful tugs to make sure they were fastened to the maximum possible degree of tightness. Another series of straps ran down from the bottom of the hood to just above Tracey’s abused cunt.

Still she hadn’t finished. At the back of the jacket were two sets of hooks running down from just below Tracey’s tits to just above her arse. She returned to her bag and tied the thick leather laces through the hooks and pulled them tight. The effect was as if Tracey was wearing a severe corset around her waist.

Then the policeman knelt on Tracey’s back and pulled hard. Tracey could hardly breathe as more and more pressure was put on the jacket. The laces were threadled carefully through the eyehooks and pulled hard. Eventually both sides of the jacket were completely synchronised. The laces were tied tightly and then a leather patch at the back of the jacket was smoothed down. It now covered up every trace of the straps and she zipped the patch firmly into place. Then she fitted a padlock to an eye on the end of the patch and snapped it shut.

‘Now for the boring bit,’ the policewoman said cruelly. ‘This is where we have to provide for your physical needs during the period of your severe restraint order.’

The penis gag in Tracey’s mouth had an opening, which of course she had neither noticed nor understood its purpose. She was now to find out! A funnel with a tapering tube was now put into the aperture and, although she could not hear the words the policewoman said, she still mocked her helpless victim.

‘This, cunt, is how you will be fed while your severe restraint order is in place. Food and drink will be passed through this tunnel and through the prick gag into your stupid fucking gob. It means your court-appointed enforcer won’t have to waste time by ungagging you when you have to be fed.’

She then turned her attention to the dildo firmly stuck up Tracey’s arse. Fitting another funnel to its end, emptying out into a larger bowl, she told Tracey what its purpose was.

‘This is how you will shit while you’re undergoing severe restraint. You won’t have to waste your enforcer’s time by removing it while you shit.’

Repeating the same process with the dildo up Tracey’s cunt, she fitted another funnel to its end which also emptied into a bowl. Once more she (pointlessly, in view of her inability to hear) told Tracey that she could piss through it without disturbing her ‘enforcer.’

Then the doorbell rang. The two police officers opened it and there stood John Chambers.

‘Ah, Mr Chambers,’ the policewoman smiled. ‘Tracey Smith has been issued with her severe restraint order by the court and we have carried out their instructions today. The bitch is all yours now – the order lasts for a year before it’s reviewed by the court. Of course it can be renewed then.’

‘Is there a time lapse on how many times the order can be renewed?’

‘No, not under the new legal reforms. You can keep renewing the order as many times as you like. Severe restraint orders can be renewed indefinitely. You can keep her like this for the rest of her life if you like.’

 The woman handed John Chambers the paperwork. Smiling at him, she took her farewells.

‘You are now officially the court-appointed enforcer for Tracey Smith for the next year. I very much hope you’ll want to apply for a renewal of the severe restraint order at the end of that period, Mr Chambers.’

 John Chambers looked at Tracey and laughed once the two coppers had left. He walked across to her and, even though she couldn’t hear a word he said, mocked her cruelly.

‘Well, Tracey,’ he grinned. ‘I’m going to have so much fun with you. And I think it’s virtually certainly I will apply for a renewal of your severe restraint order. Indefinitely, in fact.’

What women say when they claim they’ve been “raped” is that they didn’t “consent” to have sex with the man they claim “raped” them. Apart from the fact that most “rape” claims are false and the woman is deliberately lying about the true facts of the case, there’s also the fact that in her mind there’s often a great deal of confusion about both what happened and what she actually wanted.

Consent is always one of the key issues when the crime of rape occurs. There are obviously other situations where it's relevant - perhaps most clearly in the questions of assisted suicide, abortion, mental illness and substance abuse. Maybe surprisingly, even consensual sexual activity can still attract the attention of the law.

With consent there are three key words that qualify it. If you take the view (as, for instance, some extreme feminists do, and are trying to have their ideas enshrined in US law right now - I'll dig out chapter and verse to prove I'm not just making it up!) that only if the woman gives the most unambiguously explicit (preferably written) consent to being fucked is acceptable as proof OF consent, you're going to face a LOT of problems.

For starters, if this requirement for explicit and unequivocal consent has to be in place for any act to be lawful, by definition every abortion must be illegal since the foetus clearly didn't give his or her explicit CONSENT to a termination.

On the other hand, if explicit consent HAS been given, assisted suicide CANNOT be a crime. That would make ALL abortions illegal and ALL assisted suicides legal!

Now let's look at the second kind of consent, "tacit" or "implicit" consent. LOADS of bloke (I speak from personal experience on this one LOL!) believe that when a girl invites them in for a coffee she's offering sex. Sometimes she is; sometimes she isn't; and sometimes she hasn't made up her mind which it is. It’s basically arguable that she OUGHT to have made up her mind what she wants BEFORE she asks the bloke in and that if she DID get raped in those sort of sets of circumstances it’s all HER fault for giving mixed messages and not making her mind up! My advice to girls is pretty simple – if you DON’T want him to fuck you then DON’T ask him in. Otherwise you’ve only got yourself to blame if he DOES rape you!

And of course most blokes think that buying a girl a meal or even a few drinks entitles them to sex. If the girl thinks it DOESN’T then the only sensible thing she can do is to turn down his offer of a meal or a drink. Otherwise – knowing how the bloke’s mind works – in HIS eyes the girl has already said YES. Once again, it’s entirely HER fault if he rapes her when she says NO.

The third tricky area of consent is the word "informed." Giving an INFORMED consent, to sex or anything else, means that you KN0W and fully ACCEPT and take RESPONSIBILITY for the consequences of your actions.

This applies particularly to minors, but also to many areas where the question of consent is blurred. How "informed" is the consent of a drunk girl, someonw high on drugs, a mentally ill person or a mental deficient? Or what if the person has been hypnotised to obey every command? How can the trance subject be said to have given or refused "consent" in any MEANINGFUL way?

Let’s take a good look at the idea of consent and how it applies to sexual encounters. How often do we specifically say to one another that we want to fuck? OK, sure, quite often we do put it as specifically as that, but certainly NOT all the time, or even most of the time.

So what happens in the grey areas? What about a girl who’s drunk, a bit of a show-off and likes to tease men? How capable is she of giving her consent in the first case? Or is the very fact that she DID get drunk a clear proof that she DID want to be fucked and WAS consenting to sex? And how far is she giving an implicit consent in the second? If she goes and starts flashing her tits and cunt and arse or even if she just goes and talks all dirty or shows a bit of cleavage or generally dresses like some dirty fucking slut then it’s OBVIOUS that she IS up for it and obviously she DID want to be fucked.

In BOTH those cases, I reckon, the girl DID want it and it’s obviously HER fault if she gets raped because she WAS asking for it. In the second case, to be honest, if she DIDN’T want it and she was only carrying on like a fucking prick-teaser then her behaviour is WORSE and I honestly think SHE deserves to be punished for it. Prick-teasing is a horrible way of bullying blokes and the girl should certainly be punished for doing something as disgusting as that. Equally, the bloke’s done NOTHING wrong if he “rapes” her in circumstances like that.

I'm now going to talk about some very tricky areas. For twelve years I've been stuck in a waste of self-hatred and shame because I ORGASMED when I was being raped. I was drunk at the time, I’d been talking dirty, acting like a prick-teaser and come on strong to the bloke. He took me back to his place and “raped” me. The bloke told me at the time that the fact that I HAD orgasmed when he “raped” me meant that REALLY I HAD wanted to be raped and it was MY Fault. In other words, I HAD consented to being “raped” because if I hadn’t then I wouldn’t have come.

The mouth can lie; the mind can lie; but the body doesn’t lie. I CAME when I was “raped” and it was the BEST fucking sex I’ve ever had! It’s OBVIOUS that I MUST Have wanted it and that my orgasm WAS a clear and unambiguous act of consent. I must have WANTED to be raped and I most definitely DESERVED to be raped for being such a fucking prick-teasing bitch!

I’ve always realised that my orgasm means that I MUST have CONSENTED to the “rape” and so it WASN’T really rape.

And, of course, there's the question of what you might call spontaneity. Often hubby and I will be cuddling up in bed, or he'll massage my back or something like that, and suddenly he wants to fuck me. If he starts trying and I don't really feel like it but he persists and I give in to him I wouldn't call it rape but then I wouldn't quite call it consent either. Equally there are times when I'm up for it and he isn't but I get him going. Again, that's not rape IM(O but you couldn’t really say it was explicit consent either. It's that grey area in between.

Then again, though MOST of the time we have loving, caring, tender sex, ever since my rape I've always had the need (not all the time, but some of the time) for rough, even brutal and degrading, sex. 

I fucking LOVE it but my hubby hates it and doesn't enjoy it at all but because he loves me he gives in to me about 30% of the time. Am I forcing HIM to have non-consensual sex? I dunno.

Basically, to sum up, unless it's "stranger rape" it always turns out that the girl actually DID consent to the sex in one way or another. That means it's HER fault she got "raped" and the bloke who she accuses of being a "rapist" has done nothing wrong!

Anyway, just a few of my own thoughts on the question. I'm sure the good  readers of my blog will have plenty of their own!


deviantID

worthlessfem
worthlessfem
United Kingdom

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darkstalker1 Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the :llama: :happybounce:
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SoloGeek Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the watch! :squee:
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Thanks for watching
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pieclown Featured By Owner May 19, 2017  Professional Artist
Thank you for the watch.
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tinaslut Featured By Owner May 13, 2017
Thanks for the llama - here is one for you. It's been a while since last time and I hope everything is fine with you.
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AshBond Featured By Owner May 1, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the watch. Reciprocated :)
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BandMachArt Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks so much for the watch!
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Darshag Featured By Owner Apr 24, 2017
Thank you very much for watching :)
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markblloyd Featured By Owner Apr 24, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
(Oh, and the watch!)
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markblloyd Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for faving the prison uniform design.

Mature Content

STGA-IG-001 - Captivegirl's Prison Uniform Design by stga


I really need to do a few more of these. It's a surprisingly popular work (especially since I really designed it for a person who lives the life of a captive).

Do you think it's appropriate for female convicts?  This is actually meant to be fairly mild.
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