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Suffering Students by V.P. Viddler (torture, inces
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these
things offend you, do not read.
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SUFFERING STUDENTS
by V.P. Viddler
11
After that first time I didn't fuck Gloria again. I was
saving her. And in a way it was too easy, because Gloria was
still hoping against hope to avoid the mass gang bang I had
scheduled for the last day of classes, and so although she couldn't
stand the sight of me and hated having to submit to my lusts,
I knew she wasn't going to resist as strongly as she might want
to, in hopes that that submission might change my mind about
the orgy. So I went on fucking Holly and Joanna, but I kept
my cock away from Gloria.
Not that I forgot about her. In fact, I intensified my
campaign of humiliation and degradation, no longer limiting
it to her daily task in the cafeteria. It got so that any time
Gloria and I happened to meet in the halls or a classroom or
anyplace, Gloria would start to shake, knowing that I was likely
to think up still another way to make her debase herself right
then and there. For instance, one day just for the hell of
it I took a short length of rope and bound one end of it around
each of Gloria's ankles, leaving about a foot of slack. This
left Gloria in difficult circumstances, as she could walk only
with very short steps, and had to be most cautious to avoid
falling. As Gloria walked around school that day with her tiny,
hobbing steps she attracted a lot of attention, particularly
as that restricting walk made her tits jiggle--especially after
I told her to go to the girls' room and take off her bra. Jiggle
jiggle all day long. But that wasn't the worst of it. Gloria
had to go up and down stairs to get to her classes. And there
was just no way to do that with her ankles hobbled--except by
sitting down on the stairs and pushing herself up or down, one
step at a time. A slow and most humiliating process. With
crowds of kids watching each time. Going up was hard and painful,
and going down was still worse, as each time Gloria slid forward
on a step, her skirt slid upward along her fantastic thighs.
Holding on to her books, it was difficult for her to pull it
down, and soon her curvy legs were totally out in the open,
to say nothing of other fascinating parts of her anatomy. When
I told Gloria I was going to cut her panties off so the view
would be still nicer, she couldn't stand it. She cried and
begged so piteously that I told her I would make a bargain with
her. I would allow the panties to stay if Gloria chose, but
I would print: "Property of Jerry Wilson" right on the crotch,
which was usually in plain sight as she made that awful downstairs
journey. Gloria begged again, on her knees, but that was all
she could get. I waited for her choice, and with an agonized
moan she chose the Magic Marker. So all the kids saw who Gloria's
master was. As if there had been any doubt.
On another occasion I was sitting in class, right in back
of Gloria, and as the instructor was boring us all to death
with his abstract analysis of the philosophy of Plato, my eyes
took in the faintly discerible bra straps under Gloria's thin
summer blouse. My fingers twitched to play with them. So I
put my hand through the slats at the back of Gloria's chair,
and began sliding her blouse out of her skirt. Gloria felt
my hands and stiffened, then sat very still. I could imagine
the look on her face. But I knew she couldn't do anything to
stop me. Not a thing. She could only sit and take anything
I wished to do to her.
As I slid a hand in under the bottom of her blouse, Gloria
took a long shaky breath. I figured she was biting her lip,
and I grinned. And then I slid both hands up the blouse, got
hold of the catch of the bra, and slipped it open.
What I was doing did not go unobserved. Guys were looking.
Girls too. And so was the instructor, whose droning voice had
faltered a bit. He was watching with the others. Gloria started
to shake her head, small helpless shakes, as if pleading with
me not to do it, to leave her alone. But I didn't. What I
did was to slide my hands up to her shoulders and pull the bra
straps slowly and teasingly down off them.
By now almost everybody in that room was aware of what
was going down. So to speak. And our instructor was not making
much sense any more, though he still babbled on with his popping
eyes glued to Gloria's front. Obviously I couldn't pull the
bra off with her blouse on, so I got out my pocket knife and
cut through the shoulder straps. I heard Gloria give a low,
tiny moan of despair. And I pulled the brassiere off her breasts
and slid it out of the blouse, dropping it on the floor.
And then, loving it all, I grasped the back of Gloria's
blouse, bunching it in my hand and pulling it tight, pulling
as hard as I could, pressing Gloria back against the chair,
so that the thin, porous material strained tightly, so tightly,
across her front, stretching across her luscious round tits,
modling and outlining them in every curve and plane, and making
the provocative nipples, taut with shame and fright, stand out,
poke out boldly and erotically against that straining fabric.
Nothing could be left to the imagination, and nothing was.
Kids left their chairs to approach and get a closer look. The
instructor gave up his babbling and just stared happily. And
Gloria started to cry. Which naturally only made those mouth-
watering breasts shake and quiver against the taut blouse.
I held on tightly, holding Gloria as she was, helpless to do
anything about her shame. She tried to put her hands up in
front of her tits, but I said "No!" just once, and she put
them down again, sobbing. And then I said if she wanted to
use her hands so much she should use them to unbutton the blouse.
Crying, shaking, choking, she did it.
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