The Conversion of Jemima

 

“You look like a sorry piece of work.”

The unexpected words startled Jemima out of her despondent reverie. Jerking her head up she saw Sally regarding her with a not unkind smile.

Jemima scrambled up from the bank on which she’d been sitting. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“You wouldn’t have heard a circus marching past.” Sally noted the red rims around Jemima’s eyes and the slight puffiness of her cheeks. “Arabella been giving you a hard time?”

“No... I mean... yes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I... can’t. She’s just been... firm with me.”

Sally shook her head. “Beats me why you put up with her.”

Jemima bit her lip. “I sometimes wonder myself.”

Sally looked about her thoughtfully. A horse and cart clopped along the lane and passed them by, the driver giving the two girls barely a glance. “Are you still supposed to be following me?”

“Yes, though I don’t think Arabella really expects me to find anything useful. But it keeps me out of her way.”

“You never know,” Sally said. “Let’s go this way.”

They started off along the lane. After a minute Sally asked: “So how did you get mixed up with Arabella’s lot?”

Jemima sighed. “I never meant to. They’re not really my sort. But Arabella likes having girls round her she can show off to, the way she can’t with her older friends. I think she sometimes likes making fools of us, but she’s so forceful it’s impossible ever to say no to her. And she’s from such a good family, my parents think it’s wonderful that we’re friends. If only they knew what she can be like...”

“Scares you, does she?”

Jemima nodded miserably. “Arabella always takes things too far. She’s never satisfied. One day she’ll... well, I’m frightened that somebody may get badly hurt.”

They walked along the road past the gates of Cranborough House. Opposite the arm of woodland that enclosed the school grounds, Sally turned off the road and headed through the trees. Jemima followed her without comment, head down and lost in thought.

A hundred yards in they came to a fallen tree. Sally patted the gnarled trunk. “Let’s sit here,” she said, and Jemima obeyed meekly.

Sally looked Jemima squarely in the face. “How would you like to get your own back on Arabella?” she asked bluntly. “Maybe fix things so she never bothers you again?”

Jemima looked startled. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“But you’d like to?”

Jemima looked about fearfully, as though frightened they might be overheard. “Oh, yes, I’d like to,” she admitted in a hushed voice.

“Thought so. See, there’s some people, a secret society sort of thing, who’d really like Arabella to take a fall. And they think you might be able to help them.”

Jemima’s eyes widened. “Help... b...but how? What can I do?”

“Maybe a fair bit. The first thing they want to know is where Arabella’s keeping the other outsider girl.”

Jemima clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. “How did you know - I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to stand up, but Sally caught her by the wrist.

“So she has got another outsider. Don’t mess me about, I can see it in your face. Well?”

Jemima collapsed, clutching her head in her hands. “Yes,” she groaned. “Arabella made us promise not to tell anyone. I knew it was wrong. Now we’re going to get into terrible trouble “

“No you’re not!” Sally said firmly. “I’m not going to tell on you. Nobody has to know anything... not if somebody was to steal the girl away from Arabella first. All we need to know is where she’s being held.”

Jemima looked at her with hope and fear mingled on her face. After a moment’s agonising indecision she shook her head. “No. I...I can’t tell! I want to... but I’m not brave enough. If Arabella ever found out...”

“But suppose you couldn’t help yourself. Then not even Arabella could blame you. Not that she’d ever need to know. It would be your secret.”

Jemima hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Sally scowled. “There’s a word. It means talking about things just to try them out: a for-instance. High-po-something.”

“Hypothetical?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Let’s talk hypothetical. Let’s say... you was kidnapped!”

Jemima gave a sudden shiver. Sally saw her irises swell hugely. “Yes?” she said in a tiny voice.

“You’re in some quiet spot somewhere just like this and two or three strong men jump out of the bushes and take hold of you. Now there ain’t nothing you could do about that, is there?”

“I’d... scream out.”

“You’d be gagged.”

“I’d struggle.”

“You’d be tied up real tight.”

“What... what would they do to me?”

“Only what was needed. Take you somewhere secret and make you tell them where the outsider girl is. Nothing cruel... well, just a little bit, maybe. Probably try shaming you first. Treat you like a girl in the public pillory.”

Jemima gulped, but her eyes never left Sally’s face. “Would they... take my clothes off?”

“Yep. So’s to make you feel more helpless and so they could get at you better. They’d touch all your secret places and you couldn’t stop them. They’d spank you and keep on and on until you couldn’t take any more and told them what they wanted. You’d have to tell them in the end but nobody could blame you.”

“And... afterwards. Would they just... let me go?”

“Of course. Because they’d know you’d be too ashamed of what happened to tell anyone. And they could always pick you up again and give you more of the same if they wanted to find out anything else about Arabella’s plans. And you couldn’t do anything to stop them.”

“No,” Jemima agreed faintly. “I couldn’t do anything... could I?”

If she saw Sally give a quick signal with her hand, Jemima didn’t show it. If she heard Jackson, Harris and Bickley creeping up behind her she made no sign. Only when the sack was thrown over her head did she begin to struggle. But by then it was far too late.

 

“Jemima Moncrief. You are a prisoner of SCRAW: the Society for Coordinated Revenge on Arabella Westlake.”

Jemima sat in an old chair in the middle of the loft. The sack had been removed but a blindfold covered her eyes. Her hands were tied behind her back and her ankles were bound. Four of the boys stood silently at the ready around her, while Jackson and Sally stood in front of her. Amber knelt on all fours by their side a rope leash about her neck.

Jackson, who had the deepest voice amongst the boys, was carrying out the interrogation, prompted by whispers from Sally. He had managed to add a gravelly menacing undertone which was obviously having the desired effect on Jemima.

“You will tell us all about the outsider girl Arabella is illegally keeping,” he continued.

“I can’t tell you anything!” Jemima said tremulously, her head twisting blindly as she tried to focus on his voice.

“Then we shall have to make you tell us,” Jackson warned her.

“I know,” Jemima said, then added in a curious tone: “I have no choice.”

Sally whispered in Jackson’s ear. “First we’re going to take your clothes off,” he said. “You’ll be naked. We’ll be able to see every bit of you. Do you want that?”

“You’ve... got to do what you have to,” Jemima said with a shiver.

“Strip her!” Jackson ordered.

The other boys lifted Jemima to her feet, undid her bonds and began pulling at her clothes. She fluttered in their grasp like a trapped butterfly, twisting and pulling but never coming close to breaking free. The buttons of her pinafore dress were undone and it dropped about her ankles, exposing white, lace-trimmed panties. She kicked feebly as her shoes were pulled off, leaving behind her white ankle socks.

She began to protest, her voice rising to a shrill: “No! Don’t! Let me go... I can’t tell you anything... Please ughhh!”

A hard rubber ball was forced into her mouth, stretching her lips and exposing her white teeth as they bit into it. Her words were reduced to indistinct moaning, mewing sounds as she tossed her head from side to side, as though trying to shake the ball loose.

Her blouse was pulled off, revealing a popper-fronted bodice. The boys ripped it open, bringing forth a muffled gasp from Jemima as her breasts spilled free. Another tug disposed of her panties and Jemima was stripped naked but for her socks.

The boys reached up to ropes dangling from a beam over Jemima’s head and encircled her wrists in broad leather cuffs. Pulling on the free ends of the ropes which were doubled round the beam, they drew her slender arms up until she was standing on the balls of her feet. Her clenched thighs were parted and her ankles were fastened to the spreader bar they had used earlier on Amber. Jemima twisted in her ropes, whining and gurgling. She was stretched painfully taut, almost all her weight hanging by her wrists, with her squirming toes barely touching the ground.

Only when she was securely displayed before them did they step back to admire their newest captive.

Jemima’s elfin face with its slightly uptilted nose was half-hidden beneath her blindfold and distorted by her ball gag. Her shoulder length light brown hair was in fetching disarray after its sacking. The elongation of her slim body pulled the skin taut over her chest so that her ribs showed white. The same force lifted her small breasts so that they stood out as perfect, slightly rounded cones, shivering with every movement like pink jellies. Each was capped by a neatly rounded pale brown nipple, the crowns of which had little puckers in, like tiny mouths. The flesh of her flat stomach swelled with her rapid breathing, the pit of her belly button was deep and sharply defined. Her buttocks were pale and apple-firm. Her hips still had something of the narrowness of adolescence, tapering to slimly rounded legs and knees that turned inward in a futile attempt to bring them decently together.

Below her tremulous navel was a surprisingly thick and wide fluffy delta of pubic hair that divided about the cleft of her vulva, which seemed almost overlarge in comparison to her slender frame. The crinkled and slightly flushed brown tongue of her inner lips pouted enticingly.

The boys ran their hands over Jemima’s warm, helpless body, squeezing, caressing and gently pinching. Her nipples were rolled, her pubic hair tweaked, fingers tickled her slit. She bucked and twisted at their touch for a few seconds, then gradually went limp, moaning slightly as though surrendering to the inevitable. The boys grinned at each other. One layer of her natural privacy had been breached on the path to her complete subjugation.

Sally whispered in Jackson’s ear.

“You’re a very pretty girl, Jemima,” he said aloud. “We’ll enjoy torturing you. We’ll make you dance in your ropes. A little bit of pain and a little bit of pleasure until you can’t tell which is which and then you’ll tell us everything. Want to say anything now?”

Jemima slowly shook her head.

They smacked her with homemade paddles of leather flaps nailed to lengths of bamboo, making her firm jelly-moulded breasts shiver and her tight bottom clench. Her nipples flushed into hard little cherries that sprang up masochistically for more every time the paddles cut them down. Red stripes radiated out from them across her breasts, matching those across her stomach, thighs and bottom. As Jackson had promised, Jemima danced in her rope bonds like a tormented puppet, wailing and shrieking behind her gag. Then with a shudder she went limp, hanging from her arms with her head lolling, as though lost in an ecstasy of pain.

Jackson flicked Amber’s leash, and she obediently shuffled forward until she was kneeling between Jemima’s widespread legs. Lifting her head she nuzzled into Jemima’s furry nest and planted a kiss on her pouting cunt lips. Jemima jerked in surprise at her touch and tried to twist aside. The boys took hold of her buttocks and thighs and held her still. Amber began to probe deeper into Jemima’s virgin orifice.

“You see,” said Jackson. “We can make this nice or nasty for you.”

Jemima’s stomach was palpitating as her breathing grew more rapid, much to the fascination of the boys who watched its rise and fall from inches away. She stopped pulling back from Amber’s tongue and began to work her hips to and fro.

Jackson jerked on Amber’s leash, pulling her head out from between Jemima’s thighs. There was a glistening film around Amber’s nose and mouth and she was licking her lips. A groan of what might have been frustration came from behind Jemima’s gag.

“That’s enough pleasure,” said Jackson. “Now we want to use some clothes pegs on you...”

They clipped four of them to Jemima’s body: one to each nipple and one to each outer lip of her vagina. Jemima squealed as she felt them bite into her tender flesh, then squealed again when she discovered strings were tied to each peg. The boys arranged themselves round her and began pulling on the ends of the strings.

At first they pulled at random, determining the limits to the elasticity of Jemima’s flesh and seeing how far they could stretch her before the pegs slipped off. Then they amused themselves by stretching her breasts into almost perfect cones, or pulling to each side of her so that her breasts were stretched towards her armpits.

Similar tricks could be played with her nether lips. With two of them pulling the fleshy petals apart at the same time as Jemima let out muffled shrieks of pain, it looked as though her cunt was mouthing her words, which set the boys chuckling.

They added more pegs to her lips and tied the strings around her thighs so that she was stretched out like a flower, revealing the secret glistening pink inner folds of her sex and the tiny dark virgin mouth that led to her interior. Amber was pushed forward again to lap and tease her. Jemima shivered and jerked in her bonds, gurgling incoherently.

“You don’t like Arabella, so why are you helping her?” Jackson demanded.

Jemima shook her head wildly, her body bucking, grinding herself into Amber’s face. Recognising the signs, Sally jerked on Amber’s leash, pulling her away before Jemima came. Jemima hung in her bonds panting miserably - tormented and unfulfilled.

“You asked for it,” Jackson told Jemima ominously.

They tied a rope about the middle of the spreader bar, threw the end over a beam, and hauled on it until Jemima’s ankles had been pulled up level with her wrists. She hung in the air on her back, her cunt mouth stretched by the clothes pegs gaping even wider; open for all to see.

The loft windows were covered with sacking, turning the interior into a gloomy cavern. The boys put brown paper bags with cut-out eye and mouth holes over their heads. They’d have been comic in daylight, but they were menacing in the near darkness. Two of them picked up electric torches and held them ready. Jackson picked up a large glass jar and held it before Jemima’s face. This was the ultimate torment and something Jemima had to see for maximum effect.

They removed her ball gag and pulled off her blindfold.

Jemima blinked, disorientated by her position and the darkness and the pleasures and torments she had already been put through. Macabre faces seemed to float about her. Something hung above her face brilliantly illuminated by torch beams. Her eyes focused.

The jar held a dozen fat glistening earthworms.

She recoiled, trying to turn her head away, but unseen hands forced her to keep looking at the creatures.

“This is your last chance, Jemima,” Jackson warned her.

“No... I can’t...” she gasped through dry stretched lips.

He upended the jar and rammed it quickly down over her right breast, which slid easily into its mouth. Jemima shrieked in disgust as she felt the worms wriggling about on her still smarting skin.

“Tell us everything!”

“No...”

Jackson twisted and pulled the jar off, her breast coming free with a slight pop, and scooped the worms back inside.

“Well, if you won’t cooperate, there’s only one other place for these to go...” He turned to look between her legs.

Jemima’s eyes widened in utter horror. “Oh... no! Please don’t. Ahhhh”

Jackson rammed the jar between her thighs. The rim squashed against the peeled-back flesh of her cunt and the worms tumbled onto the folds and clefts of Jemima’s private grotto and began to investigate its strange contours. The boys’ torches illuminated every detail.

Jemima jerked and bucked wildly and the other boys had to fight to hold her still.

“I’ll bet they tickle,” said Jackson.

Jemima screamed in horror. The worms were spreading out, insinuating themselves into the deeper crevices, coiling about the erect nub of Jemima’s clitoris, hardened by the thrill of her distress.

“How long before one of them finds that little hole and wriggles inside you?” Jackson wondered aloud.

“No!” Jemima gasped. “I’ll tell you everything! Only take them away... please!”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes anything!” Jemima sobbed. “The girl’s called Sue... Sue Drake! She’s in the old playhouse... Ahhh”

Jackson pulled the jar aside and scooped away the worms. Sally’s practised fingers took their place, bringing her in seconds to the brink of pleasure.

Jemima’s breath rose in a series of short gasps, then she shrieked in relief as her orgasm broke. Her stomach pinched in and her buttocks clenched. From out of her gaping cleft her pee pulsed and spurted in a long arc, glittering brilliantly in the torchlight.

The boys laughed and cheered at this ultimate show of surrender.

The fountain diminished to a few drips. Jemima’s gasps of pleasure subsided into wretched sobs of despair. She turned her head aside and screwed up her eyes. “No... not again!” she groaned.

“For God’s sake comfort her,” Amber hissed urgently to the boys.

Sally was already stroking the young girl. “It’s all right, really. Don’t worry.”

The boys clustered round Jemima, uncertainly patting and caressing the flesh they had so recently abused.

“Girls sometimes wet themselves when they start experimenting with sex,” Amber said with every ounce of reassurance she could muster. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“It was... pretty,” Jackson added.

“Yeah, we enjoy watching girls pee,” said Gosset.

“And it was great fun torturing you,” said Harris. “I thought you were really brave to last as long as you did.”

“You looked really nice hanging by your arms all naked,” Bickley said.

“We’d really like to do it all to you again,” Parsons concluded.

Jemima’s tear-streaked eyes fluttered open and she blinked up at the strange masked faces arrayed about her. “Is... is it really all right?”

“You did fine,” Sally told her. “You heard what this lot said. You want more of the same, stick with us.”

Jemima’s eyes widened at the thought.

“But you must swear the oath first,” Jackson said.

They untied Jemima and made her kneel before them. She shivered slightly, excited and frightened, eyeing Amber’s naked and leashed form with fascination.

“Jemima Moncrief,” said Jackson solemnly. “Do you wish to serve the Society for Coordinated Revenge on Arabella Westlake.”

Jemima took a deep breath. “Yes... please.”

“Do you promise never to reveal the meeting place or identity of any member of SCRAW to anybody outside the society?”

“I promise.”

“Do you swear to obey all orders given to you by your masters in SCRAW, and to accept all punishments they may give you?”

Jemima gave a little shudder. “I do.”

“Are you ready to serve your masters?”

“I... am.”

Jackson pointed at Amber, who turned about to present her rear to Jemima. “This girl is our bondslave. Kiss her bottom and stay on your hands and knees while you do it!”

And Jemima obeyed, carefully kissing each cheek of Amber’s upturned bottom.

Jackson pointed at Sally, who hiked up her skirt to expose her pubes.

“Kiss her cunny mouth,” Jackson ordered.

Again Jemima obeyed, exchanging a quick, blushing grin with Sally as she did so.

Fly buttons were popped open and five rods of flesh sprang out like flagpoles.

“Kiss each of our cocks,” Jackson ordered. “And say ‘Master’ each time you do...”

Jemima started at the sight of her first erections. Then her fear turned to curious wonder... and she obeyed.

And when she was finished and knelt demurely before them once more, her pretty face flushed with the thought of what she had done, they took off their masks.

Jemima gave a little gasp when she saw their faces. “Oh, it’s you... masters.”

The boys smiled down at their new compliant slave, thinking of the delights to come.

Then Jemima told them everything about Arabella and Sue.