Katrina's Taming

KATRINA'S TAMING (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 25 – A Loan Alone

It was an unpleasant present to receive for my thirtieth birthday. Jackie had been kind and gentle but equally insistent about it. It had to come out some day soon, she had said, she was sorry it had had to be on my birthday of all days, but it had to be said because time was pressing.

And what was the news that spoilt my thirtieth birthday? Only the word that Jackie could no longer afford to keep me and needed me to repay my debt within the month if we were not all to be paupers out on the street: that was all!

Okay, I am being more than a little unfair on Jackie here. She had bought me out of my marriage to Belinda and my cruel nunnification at Belinda's hands. She had also paid for surgery and dentistry to recover me from the horrible infibulation of my slit and my mouth. She had teased me that this had cost her a fortune. In truth it had indeed cost her a great deal of money.

To de-infibulate a girl once she had been sewn-up was totally illegal. A doctor who would break the law was hard to find, and costly when found. A husband-girl could have her wife de-infibulated legally. But I was, of course, no longer married to Belinda and had not remarried. Under the girl-laws of the 2020s, Jackie virtually owned me, but we were not girl and wife.

I was in a state of limbo where the law was concerned. Even so, I had learned, painfully, that it was wise for girls in my situation to carry on the pretence they were in fact married or a court approved slave, by always wearing a ring on one of their wedding-ring fingers.

I was virtually Jackie's slave, even though she had never applied to the courts to get it formalised. My status was often referred to as being that of a common-law wife or common-law slave; but the law did not in fact recognise such a status. I often wondered why Jackie had not gone to court to get me made her slave. Bur I knew it would have been touch and go whether the ruling would have gone in her favour of course.

Had either of my two trials in the girl-courts resulted in my being declared a very naughty girl, and thus given me a life-long criminal record, Jackie's application would have sailed through the court, because I was in such heavy financial debt to her. As it was, I had been declared only a naughty girl by the court for my first offence, having resisted the persuasion torture, and my second offence, not wearing a ring in public, had only been a misdemeanour, for which I had been duly punished.

Perhaps, then, it had been her loving friendship for me that had stopped Jackie taking court proceedings to enslave me formally. I preferred not to think that it might be because Jackie did not gamble, and would have regarded a court case as a risk she was not prepared to take. It was also obvious that whether Jackie owned me as a technicality or fully legally, did not lessen my monetary debt to her by one penny so, on reflection, why should Jackie risk court and thereby increase what she had already expended on me, at the risk of gaining nothing?

Nonetheless, Jackie risked prosecution for not clearing up my status and taking me as her wife or her slave. The state would know that I was living with her. At any time there could have been a check made by GirlControl. If such a check had found me not married or legally bonded as a slave to Jackie or someone in Jackie's household, I could have been taken away and offered up as a wife. If nobody wanted me as a wife, I could then be offered as a slave to the highest bidder. If nobody took me then either, I would have been made a state slave: there was always a shortage of girls to work the coalmines. I was thirty now. Under the girl-laws, all girls had to be either married or enslaved by the time they were twenty, let alone thirty.

In another way, I was glad that there was no court order. Had there been, to prove its existence, I would have had Jackie's name and the reference-number of the court order indelibly tattooed on the top-side of the right cheek of my bottom.

I owed it to Jackie to do something to help her out of yet another of the periodic financial crises her businesses were prone to. The Assembly had decided to have another of its clampdowns on pornography and pornographers: Jackie's general business in a nutshell. This particular round of prudent prudery was, completely cynically, because there was an election upcoming. It was aimed solely at pornography made for girls: Jackie's precise business encapsulated.

The governing party's election manifesto included a diatribe against the evils of female masturbation, and promised draconian penalties would be introduced to stamp it out, if only the governing party were to be re-elected to continue in government.

They could not stamp on pornography produced outside England of course, but they promised that English produced pornography for girls would be abolished within six months of their being re-elected. Jackie was therefore very vulnerable to future criminal action in the courts against her and was busy, once more, looking for ways to take her business overseas: this time she swore, permanently.

My job in the Marital Approval Office (Girl-Girl) brought in an income that was only a pittance. Jackie even referred to it as "lipstick money" as that, she said, after I had paid even a small sum to her for my board and lodging, was all it would buy.

As Jackie explained it, and I am no financial genius, even though I took a first at C******, the answer was a transfer of debt. It needed to be arranged that Jackie got what I owed her repaid. To achieve that, I needed to get a loan from someone else, and thereafter owe that someone else and thus no longer owe Jackie.

Jackie's bank would lend her no more. In the current political climate, with yet another clampdown on the like of Jackie's companies, where based in England, Jackie was not a good investment, as a business or as an individual, for them. Accordingly, I was to get a loan and repay Jackie with that loan, whilst continuing thereafter to repay my monetary debt to the company I got the loan from, rather than Jackie herself. It was a simple debt transference transaction.

Although I am a highly intelligent girl, if university degrees are proof of anything, I am a complete numb and dumb-skull when it comes to money. I would have had no idea where to turn to find out where to get a loan. I would just have spent the money whether I had it or not and tried to lose the repayment demands from the bank thereafter, forever after.

Fortunately, Jackie was really astute. She knew me well enough to know I was hopeless with money and had already located a financial institution for me. It was a finance house that advertised that it was run by girls for girls. It only ever loaned out money to girls.

And, so it was agreed, on my thirtieth birthday of all days, that the next day I would visit the Guaranteed Investment and Reliable Loans Society at their London headquarters, about three miles from Jackie's apartment.

It was a desperate step, but the circumstances were desperate. Of course I telephoned the Guaranteed Investment and Reliable Loans Society, or "GIRLS", as their acronym inevitably had it, and a very sweet sounding teenager, whose voice I seemed half to recognise from somewhere, talked to me about a loan in principle, before inviting me to the GIRLS' south London office for an interview.

…………..

I knew I had a lot of persuading to do and must not fail my dear friend Jackie. After all, this loan was to save Jackie from bankruptcy, and my future fate was so tied up with Jackie's that, if she sank so too did I.

Being a former model, I at least knew how to dress for the occasion. I had always been told that image was very important. "Strike the right note with your appearance and you are a long way toward getting what you want from people" was the message in the magazines I used to read. It was obviously a good idea to try it. The articles must have some truth behind them, probably originating from positive experiences.

I decided to try it, and I decided on dark grey – slate grey sobriety: in fact, just the kind of clothing I wore in my daily job these days. "Sensible shoes" with one-inch heels, dark-grey stockings, with black suspenders, and black lace tanga-panties. A black bra: a girl with a 36D figure must always wear a bra if she does not want to be too provocative. An opaque white blouse buttoned up to the neck and at my wrists. A light grey mini-skirt half down my strong thighs: not too short. And, to finish, a dark grey pinstriped jacket matching the mini-skirt and thus making up a business suit. I brushed-out my light-brown hair, now re-grown such that it reached beyond my shoulder-blades, till in crackled and shone with health and delight.

I felt sexy. I was a young woman in the full bloom of her beauty. I was no longer merely budding; I was a rose in full womanly flower. I was a very beautiful rose, though I say so myself: indeed an English Rose. I was one-hundred-percent girl. My physical and facial attributes had been such that I had been snapped up to be snapped by the camera as a model not a while since. I had looked after my body, and my figure and face could still turn any other girl's head as I walked by, even at a half-mile distance, to exaggerate only a little.

It was a warm June London summer day as I rode on the subway looking to avoid eye contact with the other girls as I felt their eyes following the thousand miles up my beautiful legs, or spotting the evident bulges in my jacket and blouse, and the size of the assets that must be the causes of them.

I was long used to being ogled of course. In my modelling days I could go nowhere without it happening. It was usually accompanied by a whistle of amazement, or a soft wolf whistle when my back was turned. I liked it really: I liked it sometimes. I had certainly had to learn to live with such things: my facial and physical beauty had their price.

I arrived at the Guaranteed Investment and Reliable Loans Society - GIRLS - where my loan had been arranged in principle over the telephone, a good five-minutes before my appointed time, and felt relaxed as I was called over an intercom from a room where I waited with three other pretty girls, alone into an interview room. In the interview room, I sat myself down on a chair before a huge oak desk.

Apart from the desk, I immediately noticed that, curiously, although it was June and thus English-summer-warm outside, the office was really hot because of an open coal-fire blazing brightly in an open hearth. It seemed so strange to have a fire burning on a warm day in the English midsummer.

The room itself was empty, till in walked a very pretty five-foot-five height teenage girl, with kinky-curled blonde hair framing a pale, freckled, overwhelmingly pretty face, and tumbling down to well beyond her buttocks. It was Heatherhoney! It was Heatherhoney, the simply wonderfully sexy and beautiful girl from the train. The girl who had been sitting next to me when I had had the horrible dream about being tortured with barbed wire.

It was Heatherhoney, but it seemed as if she had either forgotten me, or that I had not registered with her sufficiently for her to greet me with more than a professional smile.

She glided into the room from a door behind the desk, with grace to the fore. She wore a red-based chequered shirt, with the sleeves rolled up above her elbows, off her delectably slim golden-downed forearms. It was unbuttoned at the neck and open down to the cleavage of her supremely firm young-girl's breasts. This shirt clung close to her upper body showing her delightful contours. Its "hem" stopped short of covering her midriff, as she had fastened it to her by taking its excess length and tying it in a knot at the base of her ribcage, just above her bare belly and bellybutton.

Around her hips, clinging to her derriere just where her bottom turned into her back, was the "waistband" of a blue-denim micro-micro-miniskirt, which fell short of hiding her pure white panties: dazzlingly white school-issue knickers, which her vulva pouched out very provocatively.

On her feet she wore black leather front-heeled tiptoeing booties, that skyscrapered her slim very shapely and very pretty schoolgirl's legs: her very bare, very lovely legs.

Her gorgeous grey eyes shone compellingly. And, just as I had admired on the train in our shared journey home from ****** to London, her pale face, exceedingly lovely, was blessed with a mouth whose lips were always a little parted as if about to impart a kiss, and which shone from being forever teasingly pleasingly naturally moist.

What caught my eye particularly at this undreamt of further chance to delight in Heatherhoney's loveliness, was that in her bellybutton she wore a sparkling diamond-shaped ruby-red stud, that in fact over-spilled her navel. It was completely sexy middling her supremely slim waist. This was no accidental or frivolous choice of decoration for a beautiful young girl either. It was a formal award from her school for maintaining her absolute chastity. Along with her pure white panties, it confirmed that she was a completely intact and never ever even touched virgin.

I had been studying the girl-laws since my return to England. I needed to: I had been so much in trouble with them that I could not afford to risk another breach. The award represented by the ruby-red bellybutton stud such as Heatherhoney wore, were not strictly under the girl-laws. They were peripheral, but encouraging of behaviour among schoolgirls that the Assembly sought to ensure though carrot and stick. The awards were the carrot: ultimately, the coalmines were the stick.

The Assembly, through the girl-laws, sought for all girls to remain untouched until they married. A girl might be taught to kiss, but then only by a woman with a licence to teach kissing and only then with the consent of the girl's mother. It depended if the mother wanted a dominant daughter: a daughter who would become a husband-girl rather than a wife. This girl was clearly destined to be a wife, and oh how incredibly lucky the girl she would one day marry would be!

Not daring to greet Heatherhoney, because she did not seem to recognise me, I eased my incredible nervousness by starting straight in with my story, and chatted away not really looking for a response from the teenaged angel, as I told her who I was, what I did now, how well known I been when I had been a model, my former expensive lifestyle, its glamour, the people I had needed to keep pace with, the stars I had met, my one-time hope to break into movies, the offer from magazines I had turned down because they would keep insisting on full nudity, my once-upon-a-time fan club and website, my one-time beautiful and famous friends, the hotels, the airports, the calendar I was once to be "Miss December" in, and how that would have meant being photographed in the snow if they could find any with this global warming, the different countries I had been to……. and on and on and on. I was seeking to impress Heatherhoney by talking about the Katrina that had been in the less recent past and, of course, not mentioning that I had been twice in trouble with GirlControl, or that I had recently been married and that my husband-girl had divorced me, and that I owed thousands of dollars to Jackie.….

There was a sudden and long silence as I pulled up in my chatter realising I was not really being listened to.

The silence echoed. It was so in contrast with my rattling prattling that I grew nervous, fearing I had blown the interview with a vengeance. Then the silence was split by a pretty voice from behind me…….

………"Ah, said a delightful soprano voice from over my shoulder, "It's Katrina, the girl from the train" and to my complete and absolute shock and delight, from behind to in front of me glided another stupendously lovely young schoolgirl, dressed identically. It was Heatherhoney, it must be Heatherhoney. But how could it be Heatherhoney, when Heatherhoney had just been listening to me?

I was absolutely completely and utterly as stunned as I was astonished and delighted. There were two of them. I gaped like a fool. I was blown off my feet. I was as ecstatic as I was astounded! I realised that I was in the presence of identical twins!! These girls were beautiful beautiful twins: heavenly twins! For one of these girls to delight the world by her presence in it was surely more than enough. For there to be two perfectly identical versions of the same incredibly sexy and lovely girls was manna from the highest of highest gods.

"We're on our summer vacation" said Heatherhoney, the girl who had just walked in. "This is my kid-sister Angelin. We were born fifteen minutes apart. We're Heatherhoney and Angelin Heavenmade", she smiled with her irresistible constantly moist-lipped mouth.

Could this be true? Had I dreamed of Angelin when asleep on the train next to Heatherhoney? Had I in fact sat next to them both at different times without realising it was not the same girl? How had the name "Angelin" entered my dreams? Were these girls really only fifteen? They looked older.

I must have dreamt Angelin's court declaration she was only just fifteen! I hoped I had. Of course I had, silly fool! The whole thing, court case and barbed wire punishment, had been a dream: a nightmare!

Perhaps I had heard Heatherhoney on her mobile phone to her sister when I had been asleep alongside her on the train. That would be how the name "Angelin" and even the surname "Heavenmade" would, or at least could, have entered my head.

I was jumping to conclusions of course. There was no way of substantiating this. I had reached for the first possible explanation that had entered my head. That explanation might be totally wrong. But I needed an explanation to cling to, and the first one to come to mind would have to suffice to calm my nerves.

Having concluded it, I would assume it to be right, and look for evidence that supported it, and dismiss altogether the possibility that the real explanation could be entirely different. That is the approach of most humans to problems. That was certainly my approach on this occasion. These thoughts, if not the reason for these thoughts, rattled around my brain as my lovely dark-brown eyes worshipped over the wonderful youthful twins, so aptly surnamed, before me.

My mind was thus distracted when Heatherhoney suddenly asked, in an entirely matter-of-fact and unemotional voice: "By the way, who said you could sit?"

Stunned out of my reverie, and a little shocked by the way this young girl, perhaps only half my age, had spoken to me, my innate good manners caused me to stand by reflex. Heatherhoney then took the chair away so I must remain standing.

Then Heatherhoney slinked sexily leggilly back alongside her perfectly identical twin-sister. Two pairs of gorgeous grey eyes now looked at me with what I sensed was pleasure: delight in my beauty. Both then began to talk to me, taking alternate sentences, their two minds seeming to be one.

"Katrina, you are in serious trouble. I hope you have got the money for Jackie, because it has been decided you are too great a risk, and GIRLS is not going to give you a loan."

Heatherhoney and Angelin's moist mouths told me this so sweetly, it was the sweetest deadly poison a girl could be administered. But, to make an understatement, this was by no means the way I had expected the interview to go.

I stood with my mouth agape about to utter a question but unable to form the words, or even one word, I was sunk even before my hopes had begun to blossom. Jackie had not fixed this up in the way I thought she must have. I had assumed the interview I was there for, was just a formality. The loan was in fact surely essentially already arranged by Jackie. The metaphorical door was thus already open without need of any effort on my part to have to open it, let alone unlock it in the first place.

"We need to do some serious talking Katrina", the pretty little angels continued, now standing behind the desk sorting out papers. They were exchanging papers and looking at these papers rather than at me.

"You are not going to get a loan from GIRLS on ordinary terms. You have criminal background. You have been a naughty girl. GirlControl has had you in custody twice. You are not going to get a loan on ordinary terms from us….."

"……..We are in a position to offer you a deal though, provided you have the assets needed and are prepared to hand them over as indemnity", they next said, now looking up and both giving my face a momentary glance.

"If you are prepared to hand over your assets, assuming they are a match for the debt, your debt will be totally repaid", Angelin concluded, looking very seriously, straight at me.

I felt a flood of relief go through me. This is what I had come here wanting and hoping to hear wasn't it? I forgot for the moment, being incompetent as ever in my thinking about money, that I owned no assets that were not already, technically at least, owned by Jackie.

Even without this realisation, my relief was short lived.

"Are you wearing panties?" Heatherhoney suddenly enquired, as if she did not really want to know the answer, but giving a wicked conspiratorial look at her equally delicious sister

My mouth dropped open, but I nodded with a "why are you asking that, and what on earth is it to do with this interview?" look on my face. I could not understand why the question had been asked, but I nodded confirmation as if I were stupefied by the question, because I was.

"Take the panties off, lift the hem of the skirt clear of the full length of your legs, thighs, and bottom." Angelin ordered. "We need to see the legs the thighs and your bum. Come on: jump to it" Heatherhoney snapped.

I stood frozen.

"You want a deal don't you? You were a model once weren't you? Angelin sneered as if she was bored and I was stupid.

Now I realised! Odd as this way of proceeding might be, and even though I had thought my modelling career was long since over, I was being assessed for another photographic assignment. Presumably it would be something I would have to do for free, or rather to cover the loan. Perhaps, since it would need more than one modelling session to cover my debts, a whole new career was dawning.

That would be alright by me, as long as my debt was repaid to Jackie and Jackie thus saved from bankruptcy. I'd be a more experienced model now of course. In fact, I'd even forego my scruples about being photographed without my panties if it would get Jackie, and consequently me, out of debt.

So, after a little more hesitation, I reached under my skirt to grasp my panties: and then I stopped. Why should I do this? Why should I, a thirty-year-old grown woman, undress in this humiliating way in front of these schoolgirls?

Angelin noticed my momentary hesitation.

"You had better do as we tell you, Katrina, or any chance of a deal is off", she announced, saying out loud what Heatherhoney's face showed she too was thinking

Blushingly, I lowered my black lace tanga-briefs all down my stupendous legs, stepped out of them, and handed them to Heatherhoney who snapped, "I don't want them you stupid bitch!"

I dropped my still girl-warm panties on the floor to one side and turning, deep scarlet, slowly lifted the hem of my skirt up and up until it was clear of my legs my bum and my slit. The twin-girls then walked schoolgirl-slim-leggilly around me uttering pleased words:

"Excellent legs…superb thighs…first rate bum, very firm…cunt appears to be in perfect order. Good….very good".

Perspiration was beading on my forehead I was so embarrassed.

"Lower the skirt, off the jacket, undo the blouse, we need to see the tits", Angelin commanded

I was a mass of fumbling nerves. What kind of modelling assignment was this to be? Of course, I had a right to a contract and would engage a lawyer to make sure the deal was really in my favour, financially……..

In my nervous state I struggled helplessly with the few simple buttons of my jacket. These girls had completely thrown me out of confidence and competence.

….… Suddenly Heatherhoney became angry at my nervousness and hesitation. She and Angelin now almost tore the jacket off me. Then, with her impatience very evident, as I was all fingers and thumbs, Heatherhoney took over from me in undoing the buttons of my blouse and pulling it completely off me, buttons pinging in all directions.

My blouse pulled off me so that I stood only in my brassiere above my waist, the heavenly twins stood in front of me with a look of amusement on their lovely faces as I struggled to unhook my brassiere.

I struggled in nerves of surprisingly high pitched state of tension, till finally Heatherhoney and Angelin's impatience was rewarded by their very evident delight, as my incredible 36D breasts flowed from the cups of my bra, swung momentarily and settled for them to feast their wonderful grey eyes upon.

"That will be fine. Superb udders with first-rate nipples", they muttered head down to each other.

They seemed to be thinking out loud; but then I noticed for the first time that they each appeared to have a mini-microphone in the cleavage of their pert firm virgin's breasts.

Next Angelin insisted upon inspecting my teeth lifting my top lip and pulling down my lower, and then making me open my mouth fully. "Yes, yes….excellent, and confirmatory of the written record", I heard her say.

Why this strange inspection? And why had Angelin turned to a mirror on the far wall and stood aside from me as she carried that inspection out?

The knowledge that that was a two-way mirror and that my humiliating strip and interview was being filmed would have totally freaked me out if I had realised it then. As it was, I was already assuming that, for some reason, the girls had some kind of dictation machine they were recording notes into, even if those notes were rude and crude to my way of thinking.

"Stand there: we need to feed your data into the computer", Heatherhoney instructed.

I stood there in my dishevelled state, naked to the waist, my firm bountiful breasts bare, my stockings twisted, my panties thrown on the floor, feeling deeply humiliated as I heard the keys of the computer referred to being tapped by Angelin, with the occasional intervention from Heatherhoney.

Then I quietly gathered my blouse from the floor, and began struggling to re-dress and straighten my clothing. As I did so, I was blushing bright pink to the base of my neck.

"Looks good" said Heatherhoney, as she came away from her twin-sister and casually swept up my tiny black lace tanga-panties from the floor and threw them into the blazing fire, where they instantly flared up and disappeared into wisps of smoke.

I was aghast, and about to say something when Angelin snapped: "What are you looking at!?

My panties, tiny though they were, were something that I was going to feel very vulnerable to be without on my journey home. This must have been some kind of psychological test. Why would my panties have been thrown on the fire to burn? My will was being challenged by these young girls: girls half my age, or very nearly. I was not going to let them get the better of me and, panties or no panties, I determined I would straighten my clothing ready for home.

This was a set-up. I had no doubt this was a set-up and that Jackie had arranged it. She would want the realism. Her porno films were hallmarked by realism. Given the need for realism, she could hardly have forewarned me of this event, or else I might not have reacted as I had. I might have tried to play a part instead of being the real me, and completely ruined the video. The best thing for realism is the real thing. It was a set-up: this was a set-up and Jackie was behind it for sure!

In this realisation I began to relax. It seemed odd that Jackie must be behind this, even though she was currently in trouble for making such videos, but she knew the state of her businesses best. Historically, I was her best friend. I knew Jackie all-too-well. I also knew, and blushed at the thought, of how much Jackie would enjoy seeing me strip at the command of these schoolgirls, and my panties being burnt to humiliate me.

My mind and body were a turn-on for Jackie. She wanted to tame me. To shame me on this way would remind me of my debt to her, and humble me and recall to me that I was destined to be tame-girl. I was being taught a lesson by Jackie. Now that I had recovered from the attentions paid to me by the cruel Belinda, Jackie had returned to reminding me of my place in the world of girls. She wanted me tamed and this was part of my taming. Some day soon she would ask me to marry her. When Jackie had tamed me to her satisfaction we would be married. I was born to marry Jackie. Jackie was the love of my life. I was Jackie's girl and she could do with me what she pleased as long as I could dream that one day I would be in her arms forever.

In the process of re-dressing, as I turned what was happening over and over in my mind, I reached my lovely long bendy-back fingers up to brush my long light-brown hair back over my shoulders. It was surely done. The loan was fixed. All I wanted to know now was whether I had passed the screen test, and what film I was being engaged for, in the revival of a modelling career I had no doubt whatsoever I was about to re-embark upon.

As I lowered my lovely arms, my hair arranged to my satisfaction as best it could be without a mirror, I had an innocent smile on my lovely face; but I looked up only to see that the delectable twins now had three-foot-long strap whips coiled at their superbly hourglass waists. Their whips hung from belts loosely slanted, sexily slanted, across their bare midriffs.

"You will strip naked Katrina, and you will strip now!" Angelin commanded quietly.

I smiled. This was part of the pretence. I would call their bluff. I crossed my arms and smiled at them, challenging their bluff. They were going a little too far now, but I would humour them. I was a grown woman; they were mere slips of girls. I could walk out of that office right there and then. What challenge were two schoolgirls to a grown woman?

I began to straighten my clothing in readiness to walk out.

In a trice, the girls had each grabbed one of my wrists and forced an arm apiece in a hammer lock up my back, bending me forward and making me get down on my knees on the office floor.

"Please! You're hurting me!" I cried out in my shock.

"You don't appear to understand Katrina" Heatherhoney hissed in my ear as she bent over me "You no longer need clothes."

"That's right", mocked Angelin "You no longer need clothes, and if you won't get rid of them yourself, we will strip you.

I fought one of my wrists out of their grip only to find that what I thought was a victory for my grown-woman's strength was only in fact the result of Angelin easing her hold whilst she grasped a pair of girlacles. A familiar series of well-organised clicks and the wrist I thought I had freed was captured by one cuff of the girlacles, and soon joined by the wrist that Heatherhoney had hammered hard and painfully up my back.

It was perhaps a blessing for me that I could not see the looks of pleasure at my pain exchanged between these girls as they twisted my arms with surprising strength for such pretty little early-teenagers.

They raised me to my feet. I was shamed humiliated and imprisoned. Then, as if to emphasise my helplessness, a second pair of girlacles was used to fasten my arms to each other above my elbows. One pair of girlacles would have been plenty strong enough to hold my arms helpless, two could only be psychological: two was to show me that I was defeated.

"Please girls….." I began.

I did not know what I needed to say. I did not know what was going on.

My lovely light-brown hair was scattered across my gorgeous face as I stood bent forward with my arms firmly double-girlacled behind my back. My clothing was in complete disarray once more, and one of my shoes had come off in the struggle.

This shoe, Angelin swiftly swept up and threw on the fire to join the ashes of my skimpy tiny panties. The fire shot up and made spitting noises as blue and yellow flames danced up from the smouldering leather of my shoe.

My jacket and blouse had already been pulled off me when I had been made to strip for examination. I had fitted my bra back on, and managed to put my blouse back on me too, when I was preparing to leave, even though several buttons were missing.

But now, as I watched my jacket joining the still burning shoe on the yellow-hot fire, I listened to the sound of, and felt in parallel, the sleeves of my blouse being torn from my shoulders and off my arms in strips.

Then the front of my now sleeveless blouse was being ripped open at its few remaining buttons, before also being ripped into shreds, and the shreds torn off my body by the insistent girls.

My skirt was then un-belted so that it fell around my ankles.

Heatherhoney was stripping me, Angelin ensuring the fire was not smothered by the abundant new fuel my clothing was providing for it.

As Heatherhoney undid my suspenders and tossed my suspender-belt for Angelin to put on the fire when the fire was ready for more fuel, my stockings began to creep down my glorious thighs.

My brassiere was soon unhitched and pulled off my stupendous breasts.

Heatherhoney then purposely stepped on the heel of my one remaining shoe as she gently pushed me off balance backwards and thereby forced that solitary shoe off my foot.

My stockings were then pulled down my lovely legs and torn from me.

I was naked but for my unfastened brassiere and the stubborn cuffs of my blouse, which had not come away when my sleeves were torn. My cuffs were now pulled so their buttons gave way. A knife was used to cut the shoulder straps of my bra, and I finally stood nude as the day I was born, being ogled by these lovely young girls, who clearly delighted in my full-grown woman's beautiful body and the fact they had me at their entire command.

I stood horrified and frightened and silent as I watched the fire being fed my clothes until the very last stitch of what I had worn, my lovely black lace brassiere, the brassiere I had overfilled so over-fulsomely, was thrown into the flames.

There could be no doubt whatsoever that these girls had thoroughly enjoyed ripping my clothes off, and were even more enjoying watching me watching my clothes being burnt.

I was helplessly and painfully bound at the wrists and above my elbows. I could do as little to ease the pain of this as I could to fight the girls off from stripping me naked. They had me defeated. They had me in their power. I did not know what their purpose was for doing what they were doing, but it was entirely clear I would have to abide, willing or not, by whatever their purpose was. I was the prisoner of these schoolgirls. I was theirs to command: it was for me to obey.

"We know how to beat a girl so it really hurts though it doesn't show" Angelin suddenly warned me, as if to emphasise my defeat.

"If you try to resist in any way, we'll whip you Katrina, so you had best do as you are bid" Heatherhoney hissed threateningly.

"You are a very beautiful woman and we don't want to hurt you, but we will if your resist" Angelin averred.

"You will stand obediently, and let us prepare you", Heatherhoney instructed.

"Please, please!" I begged "What are you going to do to me?"

"We'll pretend we did no hear you ask that question" Angelin sneered.

"You have no right to ask, and no right to know" Heatherhoney confirmed.

In truth I took a delight in having these wonderfully girl girls girlhandle me.

It began with Heatherhoney sweeping my hair up to the back of my head, and applying an elasticated band to bunch it together out of the way of my neck.

"The udders must be left free and unencumbered" Angelin began, "So it has to be the full length arm-binding glove."

And this was how my bondage began. Heatherhoney and Angelin already knew what was to be fitted to me; the announcement was for the DVD that was being secretly recorded of my being forcibly stripped and bound in strange new bondage: the DVD I had suspected was being filmed.

The girls took a bag from behind the desk and from that bag a long black-coloured lace-up arm length, fingertips to armpits, leather, single glove in which to imprison my lovely arms.

I gave no resistance as Heatherhoney unfastened the girlacles at my wrists, and made me put my hands in the glove

Then my upper arms were freed from the second pair of girlacles that had been used to initially restrain me, and I made no attempt to resist my fate at the hands of these pretty angels, whatever that fate was to be, as they wrapped the whole length of my arms held behind me, in the long shiny-leather glove and began to pull its imprisoning laces tighter, and tighter, and tighter.

"What lovely arms and such pretty hands" whispered Heatherhoney.

I now stood with my arms imprisoned painfully tightly. From my shoulder height to my hands held prayer-like behind, me resting on my bountiful bare bottom, I was encased in a tapering single laced-up leather glove, helplessly, hopelessly, held hard.

I was not without stress either. My tightly bound arms were aching unmercifully, and I must needs keep working my fingers to avoid them going numb, or at least to stop experiencing constant pins and needles.

I still had no idea what these girls were doing to me or what they were doing it for. Obviously I knew they were binding me, but there was a purpose to the bondage I was being put in: a purpose a pattern and a meaning, none of which I could decide or decipher.

Angelin now placed two of the strangest looking objects on the floor and the as yet hidden cameras, hidden from me that is, panned in to study my lovely puzzled face as I studied them.

They were clogs. They were clogs: circular clogs: circular, that is, as seen by me looking down. Each clog was of some form of strong hardwood. It had tapering sides. Its sides tapered up such that it had a greater circumference where it stood on the floor, than where its flat top was. In depth these clogs would be a little shorter than three-quarters of my foot.

Around the base circumference of each clog, there ran a tight metal band, that must have been fitted by heating the band till it expanded to be bigger than the base of the clog was round, and then allowing it to shrink tight onto the wood of the clog as it cooled. That was the way they fitted the iron tyres on wooden wagon wheels I recalled. In this case the iron band compacted the sole of the clog presumably to give it longer wear. I say the sole of the clog, as if there was a heel to contrast the sole with, but in fact there was solely a sole on the clogs: they were flat on the floor: flat on the floor that is, other than for the fact that there was a central groove through, to cleave the base: to make the base cloven.

At the top of the clog, on its horizontally flat top, there were some black-leather fittings clearly intended to fasten the wooden clog my foot. I could also see that there was a hole, the width of my foot, within the top of each clog.

Angelin now held me steady by grasping my horribly bound arms, single-gloved behind me, whilst Heatherhoney readied my right foot for its clog. At this I emitted a little girly fart of fear, which the girls ignored.

Heatherhoney now slid my toes in the clog, and I became aware that my toes were not going forwards in the recess made for them in the clog, as they would in even the highest of high-heeled shoes, but being taken more than straight down vertically, even slightly back from vertical, into some kind of soft springy sheath for my big-toe.

Indeed each of my toes were going into individual cushioned sheaths within the clog, as if into a foot glove. I could not understand this. I had, so far, not uttered a word, but now nearly forgot myself, beginning to give voice to the question in my mind, before wondering, were I to speak, what they might do to me, and, concluding that I would surely be punished, catching myself in time.

The toes of my dainty right foot were in the glove-like recess within the clog leaving just my heel out of the clog, and Heatherhoney was tightening the clog's leather upper, which fitted over my heel and buckled around my ankle at the Achilles' tendon, to hold the clog firmly on me. Heatherhoney then busied herself with padlocks to hold the ankle strap and thus my clog irremovably in place on my right foot. Then Angelin held me upright and steady as Heatherhoney eased my left foot into my left clog, strapped it and padlocked it

I uttered a girly gasp as I was lifted by my clogs up to and beyond tiptoe. I rose to my full five-feet-seven height and some four-inches beyond , the four inches of wooden clog still between the tips of the big toes on which I stood within my clogs and the ground beneath the clogs.

As I found myself with the terrible strain of standing on the very tips of my bare toes within those unmerciful clogs, I cried out with the shock, "Oh no, please……..no, please…I…!"

But I was ignored as the eyes of the hidden cameras and the grey beauties of the incredibly sexy schoolgirls who were torturing me, drank in the fantastic shape of my superbly strong legs, forced onto tiptoe in permanent pirouette, my calves muscularly stretched strong, my knees locked back and deep dimpled, my stupendous thighs muscularly panther powerful, my bottom's cheeks side-dimpled deeply concave.

Whistles of amazement at my erotic beauty echoed around the room as the girls' eyes switched from my wonderfully fully stretched legs, to my free swinging and swaying bountiful bare breasts, and back again.

The whistles were not in the script of the video that was being made of my very real torment. What was in the script was my torture, and here I was now standing clogged: a beautiful thirty-year-old girl bound with her arms helpless behind, and now tiptoed, heavenly legs stretched heavenwards by the clogs she had just been forced into.

My lovely face with my deep dark brown eyes was contorted with fear, but then a strange but familiar feeling hit my belly and lower. My erotic bondage was not only sexually exciting to my captors: it was arousing me. I was being made helpless and my enforced surrender to my captors frightened but yet sexually excited me in equal measure.

It was incredibly difficult to stand in this way, on the very tips of my big toes, with my arms tied back at wrist up to and beyond elbow, but I knew that I must, and I wanted now to take my punishment like a girl.

The strain on my legs was from my being unused, by now for some time past, to having them permanently skyscrapered. Now that they were, it felt wonderful. It felt sexy. I felt sexy, very, very, sexy. And my bondage was not over yet.

"Gag", Angelin prompted.

The thought of being gagged horrified me, but I knew from all my previous taming experiences that it was useless to protest. This was undoubtedly a continuation of my taming and I must endure my fate whatever it might be.

Heatherhoney and Angelin duly produced my gag.

What a strange device this was.

As Angelin brought the gag to fit to me, I noticed that it had a single straight round profile steel bar to go in my mouth, and could see that the middle of the round profile steel bar, was of larger diameter and had a rectangular hole in its centre. Furthermore, the enlarged centre section with rectangular hole had semi-circular flanges above and below the hole and running forward from the hole.

I momentarily wondered why this should be. Then it dawned on me. I realised what was to happen. The hole and the flanges were for my tongue. The flanges were for my tongue. I was to have my tongue imprisoned within the gag that was going to go into my mouth whether I willed it or not!

I closed my eyes in horror as this demeaning implement was put in my mouth. I made no resistance as I was forced to open my mouth. I lowered my gorgeous brown eyes submissively as I stuck out my pretty pink tongue as far as I could, and had the rigid half-inch-diameter-ended hard steel bar slid over my poor tongue and to the back of my mouth between my back teeth.

My tongue would not be squeezed, but when this gag was tied hard back in my mouth, I would have my lovely mouth forcibly held permanently agape, and my pretty pink tongue helplessly imprisoned. It was an act of shear cruelty. It was a deliberate act of shear cruelty. It had its horrible purpose. It would ensure I was totally, but totally, unable to talk anymore.

Not to be able to talk would be a cruel blow for any human, particularly a communicative girl such as I. This was indeed a carefully calculated and fully intentional cruelty.

My tongue being satisfactorily through the flanges and gap in the middle of the cruel gag, the hideous gag was fastened at the back of my neck by means of leather straps with eyelets and answering buckle. The end of my tongue flicked helplessly and lewdly within my agape mouth.

Despite my distress at having my tongue imprisoned, I had noticed that the gag extended wide of my mouth clear of my face on either side. My mouth was now forced wide agape with my tongue sticking out obscenely, but the gag went beyond my face cheeks either side and ended in a vertical round hoop at either end. I wondered what purpose these hoops or rings in my gag could serve, or if they were merely decoration.

My psychological make-up being pure girl, my mood next swung one-hundred-and-eighty degrees from my feeling intrigued and very sexy, to my feeling fear and distress, and tears rolled down my lovely face as despair overwhelmed me. What was being done to me was so horrible, so terribly horrible. And yet there was worse to come yet.

Tears from horror and the frustration of knowing that I was already so heavily in bondage that I could make no physical protest to support the oral protest I longed to but did not dare and could not now make, prickled my eyes. What they were doing to me, presumably in Jackie's full knowledge, was totally and utterly humiliating and degrading.

I was a highly intelligent highly educated beautiful sexy grown woman of thirty, being bound by two schoolgirls, girls probably half my age, to torture and humiliate me, and I must take it: I must take my humiliation, my humiliation and my degradation, like a sub-human moron slave. This was my fate. This was what I was reduced to for my failure to be able to pay a debt by any other means than to surrender to being tamed, and to be bound up like this was the latest and, for all I knew, the final fate I must, but must, endure.

I must wear my glove. I must wear my gag. To have cold steel pressing my tongue down as the ultimate insult to my human girlness was so degrading.

And now I was to find out the use, or at least one of the uses, to which the hoops standing proud of the side of my pretty face, the steel hoops at the ends of my mouth gag were to be put to.

Angelin and Heatherhoney had opened the door of the office, the door through which I had entered for my interview, and then clipped a short length of rope to one end-ring of my gag.

Heatherhoney went ahead of us to clear the way, as Angelin grasped the rope attached to my gag, and pulled it gently to make me move to her bidding. I had never before realised the sensitivity of one's mouth to such treatment, and was easily persuaded that my choice was no choice at all and I must go where I was being bid to go by the tug on my gag.

I clumped on the carpeted floor in my steeple-leg clogs as I wiggled girlilly at the end of the rope compelling me to follow.

I had to be guided through the door between office and waiting room, and I was concentrating on that, when I heard the gasps of horror from the three girls still in the waiting room queuing for their turn to be interviewed for a loan.

Aware this might be my last chance to call for rescue, I quickly signalled what I could with my beautiful brown eyes to urge them to call for help for me, but all I saw was three pretty girls looking at me and then at each other and heard one of them say: "They're taking her to a girl-farm!" as my passage was forced clear and I reached the door that would take me into the public street and to my fate, whatever that fate was to be.