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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
20
No students had ever been so anxious to get to school each
day as the students this term and Abraham Lincoln High.
EAch day was a treat and a holiday and an adventure. Each
morning there was Mr. Gibbs' class, with Holly as the main attraction.
At lunchtime, there was Gloria's alway arousing show in the
cafeteria. All day long there was usually something interesting
going on in the halls or the classrooms, some exciting divertissement
involving Gloria or Holly or Joanna or maybe Ginny or whoever.
And now, every afternoon, there was Miss Anger's class. And
what a class it was!
I took it very gradually after that first day. The fearful
anticipation on Miss Anger's face each day as she wondered what
I had in store for her was too delicious to lose by opening
the whole box all at once. Day by day, bit by bit, I twisted
the screw tighter. It made each new capitulation, each further
fraction of degradation, that much more delightful for us.
And torturous for our teacher. Who, nonetheless, and not without
much pleading and crying and vituperation, did everything I
demanded. For she had no way out.
So Miss Anger wore the tight dress. Without underwear.
And after that she wore the short miniskirt I asked for. And
the plunging neckline, braless of course.
And then I began making her strip in class.
Not all the way at first. I let her conduct the class
topless. Or bottomless. And all the time Miss Anger knew that
day was rapidly approaching when her class would consist of
a different kind of lesson. Lossons she conducted with her
vagina, and her mouth, and her ass. But I was in no particular
hurry.
And then one Sunday I got a call from Henry. "Your teacher
bird is flying away," he said.
"What?"
"Miss Anger. Looks as if she's moving."
"Shit," I said, and I hung up and found Miss Anger in the
phone book and ran all the way to her house. And damned if
there wasn't a moving van right in front. And four guys carrying
furniture from the house.
"Hold it," I said. "Stop right now. Put it all back."
"What?" one said. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'll show you," I said, and I strode up to the door and
pushed inside and saw Miss Anger standing in the living room.
She saw me and cried out.
"Going someplace?" I said. "Going away, Miss Anger?"
And I slapped her as hard as I could in the face, and then
I slapped her again backhand, and then a third time. Miss Anger
fell to the floor and just lay there, crying and moaning.
"That's who I am," I said to the movers. "Now bring all
that stuff back in. This lady's not going anyplace."
"Oh god," Miss Anger sobbed. "Oh dear god."
"What about our pay?" the guy said.
"Here's your pay," I said, and I poked Miss Anger's body
with my foot.
"No!" Miss Anger cried in horror.
I hooked my toe under the bottom of her skirt and pushed
it up over her curving legs. "Nice, isn't it?" I said. "How
about it? Will she cover your bill?"
"Maybe," the guy said. "If she's good enough."
"Don't worry," I said. And I reached down for Miss Anger's
long yellow hair and pulled on it hard, bringing her to her
feet with a shriek of pain. I forced that beautiful head back
and I spit in her face. "Okay, bitch," I said. "You brought
this on yourself. That was dumb, trying to go away. Now you
pay." I let go her hair. "Okay, guys. All yours. Any way
you want."
"No!" Miss Anger sobbed. "No no no please you can't no
god help me please--"
"Shut up," I said, and hit her again. "Strip," I said.
"Strip for us, Miss Anger. Now."
"Please--" Miss Anger choked. "I can't, I can't, no--"
"Christ," one of the moving guys said. "What a dish!
My prick is so hard I'd like to whip her with it."
"Stubborn twat, isn't she?" the first guy said, his voice
thick.
I could tell these guys thought as I did. "Would you like
to make her do it?" I said.
"Hell, yes!" the guy said.
"Okay," I said, and I took hold of Miss Anger and shoved
her hard in his direction. Miss Anger shrieked as she staggered
into him.
He grabbed her and twisted an arm up behind her, making
her arch her back, and with his other hand he mauled her breasts.
"Come on, baby," he growled. "Do a strip for us or I'll break
your arm."
"Go ahead," another guy said. "Snap it off."
"How about a finger?" I suggested. "Or two or three or
four. One at a time. See how many it takes to get her to do
it. That way she can hurt like hell but still stay conscious."
"Good idea," the guy said. "Hold her hand."
"No!" Miss Anger screamed in terror.
One of them grabbed her hand.
"The left hand," I said. "So she can use the right one
to strip with."
"Right." And he got Miss Anger's left hand and the first
guy took hold of her little finger and grinned at her.
"No," Miss Anger babbled, and her voice shook with fright.
"No don't don't no please no--"
And the guy just grinned harder and pushed her finger back,
back and back until it snapped. Miss Anger howled in agony
and her body twisted and spasmed, but the guy still held her
hand.
"How about it, baby?" he said. "Will you strip for us
now?"
Miss Anger was crying and moaning so hard she couldn't
answer, so the guy took hold of her ring finger and pushed it
back.
"No!!" Miss Anger howled, but too late. Snap! And a piercing
scream.
Still he held her. "Will you do it?" he said.
"Yes!" Miss Anger screamed desperately. "Yes! Yes! No
more! No more god no more! I will!"
"Okay," I said. "Do it."
The man let her go.
And sobbing, moaning, in terrible pain, her left hand hanging
with its twisted fingers by her side, Miss Anger with her right
hand began to unbutton her blouse. Not looking at any of us,
she got it unbuttoned, and with difficulty pulled it off. Crying
with shame and agony, she pushed down her skirt. She had a
good bit of trouble trying to open her bra with one hand, but
nobody helped. The guys whistled as she bared her breasts.
And then she slid off the panties with that good hand and stood
naked in front of us.
"Crawl," I said, and we watched avidly as she crawled like
a wounded animal, favoring her painful hand. And crying all
the time.
And then they spread Miss Anger out on the floor and went
at it.
It went on all day long. All ways. Again and again.
With a few variations involving leather belts and sharp tools
and burning cigarettes. We had to stuff rags in her mouth so
no one would try to investigate all that frantic screaming.
And finally I told them to take the trip Miss Anger had
scheduled across the country, but to take her too, and bring
her back. So they strung her up by her wrists in the back of
the van and took off. Miss Anger dangled naked and screaming
through her gag in pain and horror as they drove away.
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