Katrina's Taming

KATRINA'S TAMING (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 3 – Katrina's Painful Journey

My only practice at walking in my twelve-inch stiletto-front-heeled tiptoe-ended stilt-booties would be as I stepped across my lounge and into my hallway before the outside path to the waiting cab. My first steps were tiny and extremely hesitant. Then I found I could best walk, indeed only walk, with my feet turned slightly out from straight, giving me an exaggerated dimple-bummed strut.

I must of course transfer the weight of my body to the cruel uncertainty of the tiptoe-ended tip of my advanced foot, whilst praying that the tiptoe-toe-end of my anchored bootie would hold from taking my miniscule purchase on the solid ground beneath me away.

If I were not to be ripped into a forward and backward legs splits I must have the infinitesimal contact with solidity of the advanced bootie anchored before I dare lift the rear bootie to advance it in its turn. And so I advanced extremely tentatively: exceedingly slowly, wiggle-rotating my gloriously firm side-dimpled bum hemispheres divinely.

Perspiration on my pretty knitted brow, my lovely dark-brown eyes were cast down at my pirouette-imprisoned feet. My pretty pink tongue was between my lovely mouth lips and lightly between my bright white teeth, and my concentration was fierce for fear of falling, so fierce that my whole body suddenly had every pore ooze sweet girl-sweat, such was my concentration and terror, the horror that I must fall: I must surely fall.

Only by the strength of the muscles in my calves and the sinew in my slender but strong ankles could I keep the toes of my booties pointing the way that I wished to advance and it took all my ferocious concentration to dictate just that.

As I gained confidence, I was able to step a little quicker and look where I was going. As I strut-walked I was forced to sway my bum hemispheres super-enticingly.

I had no choice. My bondage dictated this wonderful sexiness. I heard one of my girl tormentors say, “wow!” as she watched me step so divinely sexily, daintily and femalely, and the undulating wiggle it gave to my oh so smackable bum. I was sex on legs: and what incredibly beautifully shaped legs.

Then I staggered and cried out in fear. As I waved my lovely slim shapely arms aloft to keep my balance I screamed just knowing I was going to fall, terrified in anticipation of my gloriously shapely legs being broken.

Nobody in my entourage moved a muscle as my body swayed back and forth and I cried out for help, until with girl-sweat-beads pouring down my face I found equilibrium once more, and stood rigidly still petrified, begging for mercy.

“You were ordered to walk bitch”. I looked at my tormentors with pleading dark-brown eyes. “You were ordered to walk bitch”, Jackie repeated. Move that pretty little bum of yours, and move it now or you will be whipped.”

One of my escorts uncurled her long black leather whip in readiness. Even more terrified I obediently recommenced my walk. Tears from my fears welled in my eyes. My cunt was wet again. Not this time with girl-juice, but with girl-piss that had almost trickled from my girl-slit in my terror of falling.

I cannot deny it hurt to walk permanently in enforced en pointe. But in my renewed mind, as I regained false confidence in my walking, I was pleased to be pleasing with my femininity and ultimate girlness. What was a little pain compared with being so devastatingly girl?

My fear at going out into the real world, in enforced permanent pirouette in my tiptoe-ended stilt-booties, and stark naked beneath my rough denim micro-mini-dress, had now to be overcome. I was at the threshold of the door of my street-level apartment after a two-minute struggle to even wiggle-walk across a room.

The cab driver, who had obviously been told the cameras were on a fashion shoot, merely asked if I was she, if I was the model. He didn't wait for his answer as I wiggle-walked more into his view he just bellowed to nobody in particular bar the whole world had it been listening calling for all to, as he put it: “Just look at the legs on that!”

I could feel his staring eyes on my swaying, spankable, deep concave dimpled bum hemispheres, as I wiggle-walked bare legged (bare everything if he but knew) past his open mouthed astounded speechless gawp, my face almost purple with my blushes.

The poor man was totally transfixed by my girlness. He went on and on about how unfair it was to poor mankind that a girl should look like I did. And how no man could ever satisfy a creature like me. He was not averse to crudity, and perhaps chosen by Jackie deliberately because she knew he had a loud dirty mouth, and the plus that would be for the theme of her film.

The poor man went on and on in my hearing as I was settling my sexy dimpled bum on the rear seat of his cab, still blushing deep scarlet.

Then he asked for my name, and I heard Jackie answer that I was called Katrina. He looked my way again. I was sitting, cab door still open, showing a vast expanse of bare thigh because my denim micro-micro-mini-dress had unavoidably ridden up, and he kept using my name and telling me I was “a goddess”.

For effect, Jackie half lied to the cabbie that I was a lesbian. It immediately silenced him. Then, after an age thinking, he concluded that of course I must be because only another girl could ever possibly satisfy a goddess like me.

It was not the poor man's intention to humiliate me, but that was the effect. And the intention of Jackie, as my chief torturer, was thereby achieved.

I spent the whole of the drive to the underground station trying not to attract this poor besotted man's eye in his driving mirror. He went very quiet in fact. He was obviously wondering how he could get a closer look at me.

At the station he switched off his engine and immediately turned around. I already had one long en pointe leg out of the cab door and my micro-micro-mini-dress was unintentionally ridden right up showing everything, or rather, that there was nothing under it, right to his face.

The little flash he got given of the tight in-curled girl-lips of my girl-slit stunned him completely. As I wiggle-strut-walked away with my curled-up-whip carrying escorts, I continued to blush with him shouting after me telling the whole world my real name.

His out loud crude musings continued as I wiggled and strutted and swayed into the underground station, accompanied by cameras and crew, still filming my humiliation.

A passing American latched on to what seemed to be going on, and pronounced, since he was witnessing the very opposite of behaviour he expected in England, something akin to: “And I heard you Brits were tight assed”.

That amused Jackie as I continued to wiggle my painful way before her and my other tormentors. “Tight assed, we Brits?” I heard Jackie say in a very bad imitation of an American accent out of his earshot: “Well now honey pie, Katrina's sure is!” she giggled, and all my tormentors laughed at this crude reference to the deep smooth concavity of my bum cheeks caused by my legs being constantly in painfully enforced pirouette.

I would never have dared join the laughter. Nor could I. I was in great pain. The walk to the underground station platform was a long way for me to wiggle en pointe in my stilt-booties. My constant enforced tip-top-toe was now hurting my shins, the front muscles of my thighs and my superbly arched back. I was wanting to stop walking: to rest.

Jackie would have none of that: “Keep going bitch! Of course it hurts. It's supposed to hurt. You stop when we say stop and not before or after, unless you want to be whipped!”.

My pain increased. My right leg was cramping. And the way my body was forced to sway and wiggle excitingly sexually and sexily had another consequence beneath my rough denim micro-mini-dress.

Every step caused my lovely pert firm nude free flowing breasts to sway. That was also deeply enjoyably sexual and sexy for all the onlookers. But for me it was becoming another source of pain as my pretty soft rose-pink nipples constantly rubbed against the inside of the course cloth. They were becoming very sore and were throbbing.

On this hot humid London June Saturday as I wiggle-strutted along, tiptoe-ended stilt bootie ballet-legged en pointe stepping, in public torture and humiliation, the girl-sweat glistened on my exposed body and ran in droplets in my cleavage.

“Let her rest a while, she's in a lot of pain”, said the kind girl among my tormentors.

Without a moment's hesitation, Jackie's voice behind me snapped: “No!”.

At last we were at the train platform.

Passing male commuters stared at me, bumping into each other in their eagerness not to take their eyes off my legs and my bum.

Then two older women, well past their full flower days, talked about me close-by as if I were stone deaf. They referred to the way I was dressed and asked how anyone could be expected to wear booties such as I had on: “No real person could wear them” they opined, despite the evidence before their very eyes. They concluded that I was, “a pretty little thing” and that made me blush deep scarlet once more.

I wiggle-walked another extremely painful ten yards. I was blushing bright crimson. The humiliation of my public display as a human sex toy and the cruel bondage that had made me so incredibly sexual and sexy, and my pain, had got me aroused once more.

My nipples were throbbing and peaking, and between my thighs the lips of my girl-slit were wet with my musk. Jackie knew how it was, even without hearing my sexy little gasp as my girl-juices lavishly lubricated the insides of my girl-centre and my clitoris began to pulse. I was abandoned to my sexiness. I was submissive in submissive heaven and hell.

The torture of wiggle-strut-walking on super tiptoe, my big-toes crushingly loaded with all my 115 pounds, in total uncertainty of any grip on the ground of the tiptoe-ended pirouette stilt-booties, was excruciating now.

My calf muscles were locked, my slender ankle sinews agonisingly painful as they had fought now so long and continuously to stop the tiptoe toe-ends of by torture booties twisting my ankles. I was in agony.

A train pulled in and its doors slid open.

Three young men getting off the train saw me and began falling over each other in their astonishment at my wonderful girlness. Jackie had a chat with them as this train pulled out. It was obvious that the talk was about me, but that I was not to hear what was said. I was ordered onto the next train to pull in.

I tried not to show in my face how much I longed to sit down. The two pretty girls escorting me manoeuvred themselves, either side of me, to one of the two side–on bench seats in the carriage facing-inwards. I sat carefully, so as to ensure my micro-micro-mini-dress' hem did not rise too far, but I was still showing thousands of square miles of wonderful strong girl-sweat-shiny nude thigh.

I thought I could rest. But then I looked up. On the opposite bench was an old man and two of the three young men from the earlier train.

The third young man wanted the old man's seat but the old man wasn't going anywhere whilst he could feast his eyes on my delectably ballet dancered shapely legs. “I'll give you five-hundred cash”, said the boy not on the bench to one of his mates with the seat he sought. “No way, no way, I wanna see this”.

“See what?” I thought.

The train pulled into a station. Passengers came and went.

The girl on my right then leant over and whispered in my ear, “When the train pulls out this time, you give the boys a treat. When it gets moving, you're going to part your lovely legs.” She hissed. “you had better ease forward now, because not only do they want to see enough so they can be sure that you really are a girl, but they've been promised they'll see your pink.” I turned to look at her. “Don't you dare question my orders. You will do it,” she hissed.

The train doors were sliding closed. I eased my lovely bum to the edge of the bench and, deep-blushing-pink of face. I looked hard to my right as if I were taking an interest in where the train was going, whilst, agonisingly slowly parting my nude thighs wider and ever so slowly wider.

I turned my head back forward when I was aware than my outer girl-lips had opened and my inner pink ones were exposed to view. The two boys had their eyes out on storks, attention totally riveted. The old man gawped open-mouthed licking his lips. I hung my head, chin on chest, tears welling at my utter public shame. I was being mentally raped as they gorged their eyes on the moist pink inside my girl-centre.

Our station was next. I was bidden to rise. My legs refreshed by the chance to sit, I was in less pain as I stood en pointe in my cruel tiptoe-ended stilt-booties again, to wiggle-strut my sexy bum out onto the platform.

The cameras continued to take in everything for the public that would eventually buy the DVD and videotapes. Even my crimson-faced pink-inner-lips gynaecological humiliation had been secretly filmed.

Jackie looked me in the eyes for the first time in my taming.

I was aware that we were waiting for a chauffeuse's driven car to take us all to Jackie's mansion where I was to be the centre of attention in the rest of the weekend's entertainment. That much I did know, but what was still to be done to tame me was not revealed.

Surely now I was girl-tamed. I had submitted totally. My tiptoe-ended en pointe pirouette punishment stilt-booties had me imprisoned. Constantly under threat of being toppled by the one-inch-wide tiptoe-ends taking my tenuous ground grip away, with the all but certain consequence that I would break an ankle leg or thigh, I could at least surely not be more controlled.

But my being controlled, indeed imprisoned by my stilt-booties, was not the same as my being girl-tame. Jackie and my tormentors knew that were I released from my punishment booties right there and then, even after all the torture I had suffered in them, the wild-girl element in my still not girl-tamed nature would soon come to the fore once more.

Jackie began to make an announcement to camera as the other camera drank in my wonderful girl-sweat glistening body:

“Despite the pleading in her angel's face, indeed because the pleading in her angel's face tells of her still innate wildness, Katrina must undergo yet more punishment, more restraint, more humiliation. She must have every last atomic sub-particle of wildness completely driven out of her. She must, for her own good, undergo more torture so as to break the last vestige of her will. She has not even begun to be girl-tamed yet. And she is still a million miles from being tame-girl.”

She continued talking, as if in a documentary. Jackie was doing a wind up speech for the end of the first video of my torture:

“The last resort when we meet such wilful resistance is extreme indeed. We share your wish that we should girl-tame Katrina without harming her incredible beauty. But if she does not respond to the next phases we will have to have recourse to the last resort. And in the last resort we will, have no doubt whatsoever, we will strip her totally naked and bullwhip her naked body until her will is broken and she surrenders to become girl-tame and finally tame-girl”.

My cunt was juicing as my humiliation and the emphasis on my helplessness at the hands of my captors was reinforced in my mind by this talk. The camera was very close up on my features as the threat that I would be bullwhipped if need be, registered in my mind for the first time. And I knew that Jackie would have it done to me too.

I gasped a sexy gasp as my clitoris danced pulsing and throbbing in my completely girl-juice wetted girl-centre. The more helpless I felt, the more sexual and aroused I became.

A sleek black car was approaching.

“You will travel on the nearside rear seat of the limousine,” Jackie instructed me. “You will raise the rear hem of your dress as you sit and ensure, absolutely ensure, that there is no clothing between your body and the seat. And, if you leave cunt-juice on the leather, not only will you lick it clean but you'll have your sexy bum whipped!” She continued so as to further humiliate me knowing, as Jackie instinctively did, the high-pitched state of my sexual arousal.

It was now four in the afternoon and, such was the slowness of my imprisoned en pointe wiggle-strut walk, I had been tortured and shamed for a solid two hours. Was there to be no end to my suffering? I knew I would obey totally of course. I so wanted not only to be sexy, but also to be a good girl and be girl-tamed to become tame-girl.

The car pulled up and my door was opened for me.

The cameras moved in to scan the length of my girl-sweat bedewed legs as I lifted the rear hem of my skirt to clear my spankable deep concave dimpled girl-sweat sheened bum hemispheres. The cameras also took in the horrified look on my lovely face as I peered into the car through the opened door to see where and how it was intended I sit.

Jackie's face had the grin of the Cheshire cat when she saw that I had seen the equilateral triangle of cold rough-hewn iron bar that was fixed on the seat of the car, lined up front to back relative to the car seat. I obediently moved into the vehicle as I now knew how I had to sit. I manoeuvred my girl-lips astride this cold unrelenting punishment bar.

My angel-face was watched with unmercifully cruel pleasure as I slowly relaxed my legs and took my hands off the seat so that the whole weight of by body was being taken by my supremely delicate little girl-centre. My outer girl-lips were divided either side of the triangular cunt-lip-divider and I moaned with the pain as my inner girl-lips began taking the full weight of my lovely body.

“It hurts so!” I pleaded.

“Of course it does you stupid bitch” answered Jackie. “You must learn to take your punishment like a girl”.

“You will sit upright there for the journey. If I am not satisfied that you have taken this part of your taming like a girl, I will personally whip your pretty little bum cheeks till they bleed”, she spat.

I sat all the journey through with my full weight on the cunt-lip-divider, and the microphones picked up my cries of pain as the chauffeuse seemed to purposely pick the roughest route so that she could thoroughly enjoy my suffering.

And suffer I did in extremis. I was ordered to sit bolt upright. I had to have my hands on my lap. I must keep my legs together and not take any of my weight on my legs. All of my 115 delectable pounds of weight were thus forcing my most sensitive organ wide open so that the totally unyielding cunt-lip-divider sundered my even more sensitive and girl-soft inner girl-lips.

My delicious bum was nowhere near touching the seat. It was agonising, and my eyes ran with my tears as I cried and sobbed with the unbearable pain as my cunt was bruised scraped and hideously grazed by every turn and bump and every slide of my poor girl-lips up and down the cunt-lip-divider.

My horrible torture was only relieved by the copious girl-juice that I was excreting into my open purse: lubrication that I could not control. It came so freely and in such abandoned abundance because of the pleasure to my mind of being so humiliatingly brutally tortured.

It was 5-o' clock when the car halted at the top of the long driveway to Jackie's home.

I was so relieved when the car stopped. I had been in absolute agony throughout the journey as my cunt was bounced and bumped and slid on the cunt-lip-divider that held my soft super-sensitive pink inner girl-lips asunder.

Only a mile to Jackie's house now and surely my suffering would then be quickly over.

But no: nothing of the sort.

Jackie personally got out of the car as it stood at the top end of her mile-long drive, and opened the door where I sat. “Out bitch” she ordered.

I uttered a cry of excruciating pain and grasped my belly as the circulation shot back into my bruised cunt lips when I took my weight off the cunt-lip-divider.

I cried out in utter agony at the bittersweet end to that phase of my girl-taming. So terrible was the throbbing pain in my sex that I initially did no hear my next order until my pain reluctantly eased.

“Strip”, Jackie was ordering me, “Except for your pirouette punishment stilt-booties, strip naked and right now, bitch”.

I fumbled dazed fingered with the buttons holding the straps on my denim dress. My assembled torturers cheered, as it's front fell to my waist and my wonderful firm pert breasts swung free. I undid the waist belt. Dress and belt slid slowly over my deep dimpled girl-sweat sheeny bum to the floor round my stilt-booties. With great care lest I fall, I stepped out of their encirclement.

Jackie threw my clothing in the car and slammed the door I had exited. I stood before them all, naked: totally stripped nude but for my enforced en pointe pirouette stilt-booties.

Without a further word Jackie and the girls got back into the car. The engine was started and it began to glide away.

“Oh don't leave me like this, please don't leave me like this. Please, please!” I begged all but screaming with fear they would not hear me.

My pleas were worthless. The limousine was picking up speed! I squealed with fear and begging, leaving me standing in the open air all but totally naked and still imprisoned by my punishment booties.

Then no, it stopped and came back to me: Jackie and my other two tormentors got out again.

I tried to smile in apology for my dreadful fear and weakness at being left totally bare but for my stilt-booties in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself.

I also tried to please because I knew I would be punished for calling out. As they walked back to me, I heard Jackie say mockingly: “She shouldn't be stark naked out in the open like this, put something on her.”

I knew that Jackie was already holding something behind her back that a camera was studying. But it was not that that was brought to me next.

The girl that had put my booties on, had three different lengths of white silk rope in her hands and was fashioning a loop in one of them. When it was ready, she passed that loop over my head and arms, leaving my arms free, down so that it was around my waist with its long loose end dangling on the ground at my rear.

Her gentler companion now tied my wrists together in front of me. And then the bondage expert girl put rope around my upper arms just above my bent elbows at the back of me, to pull my upper arms as hard together behind me as they would go given that my wrists were tied at my front.

When she had finished, my bound hands were at my belly I could only just move my arms. At that point she turned to Jackie.

“You finish it” said Jackie, having been offered the chance to do so.

The expert girl finished my binding.

She pulled the white silk rope loop already around my slim waist, tight, and then passed the loose end between the cheeks of my bum hemispheres over my rear girl-hole, and then parted my girl-lips with it. I gasped and moaned as she pulled it as hard as she could up into my front girl-hole before tying it off at my already bound wrists.

Jackie inspected my cruel bondage. “Now our frightened little girl has something to wear” she sneered.

She tugged on the rope dividing my already extremely sore outer and inner girl-lips. I gasped at the pain. Jackie then produced what she had been hiding.

“Not those as well”, begged the gentler girl. “Oh yes” said Jackie, “those as well: definitely those as well”

Hidden from my eyes, she handed to the girl binding me, a pair of nipple clamps. The girl who had bound me so expertly smiled at my fear. The girl who sought some mercy for me, again entered a plea on my behalf.

“I am prepared to show mercy”, said Jackie. “Let Katrina make her choice. Either she wears the nipple clamps for calling out without permission to speak, or she takes ten lashes for it. Which is it to be?”

Without a moments hesitation I chose the clamps, even though I had not yet seen them, deliberately hidden as they had been from my view.

My torturer took great delight now in showing both the camera and me the vicious clamp she was about to fix to my nude left nipple.

She opened it out to show the six razor sharp needle-pointed “teeth”, two within its bottom jaw, and four within its top jaw, and how they protruded through answering holes in the opposite jaw when the clamp's “mouth” was closed. I noticed with fascinated horror that its “mouth” was big enough to be able to bite the whole of my nipple including its areola.

But my terror of what was about to come was completed by my being eyes transfixed by the terrible six-inch needle that formed a central “tongue” protruding five-and-a-half inches beyond the needle-toothed jaws of the clamp itself.

“They call these Piranha clamps,” Jackie announced to the cameras and me with glee hardly hidden beneath her matter-of-fact tone. “Their tongues go into your milk ducts. The teeth in the jaws will then hold the tongues in your teats. I am told it is unbearably painful. But you called out as we drove away. You had no permission to speak”, she concluded icily.

“Arouse her” Jackie ordered.

I could not run away imprisoned as I was by my tiptoe-ended stilt-booties and with my arms tied hard behind my back, my hands tied at my belly.

The kind girl took gentle hold of my left breast and squeezed it while the other girl rubbed my nipple with the flat palm of her hand. I was, perversely, already so sexually aroused from my torture that my nipple was rock hard immediately.

The nasty girl took over entirely now. She teased my nipple with her first and second fingers and thumb, gently tugging it, “milking” me, and getting my nipple to erect itself to full rock hard stiffness, which it readily did.

Then she held the end of my lovely left breast just behind the nipple with her fingers and thumb pressing so that the milk-hole in my pretty pink nipple was opened.

I gritted my teeth knowing that I was about to be searingly slowly pierced. My torturer carefully located the bluntish point of the knurl-shanked six-inch long “tongue” needle into my nipple's milk-hole and began to slowly, slowly, slowly, to push it into my milk duct hole.

I screamed and pleaded and begged for the penetration to stop.

“Oh god, oh god, oh please don't, don't I beg you please don't, oh god it hurts it hurts, oh please oh please stop” I cried. And yet the needle tongue was as yet only one-inch into me. I continued to beg and scream as the needle was pushed into my milk hole until at last the Piranha-clips horrible jaws, as yet unopened, were touching my nipple.

I looked down at my nipple opening with the eyes I had shut tight at the horrible pain of having my milk duct pierced, and saw that the needle tongue was deep within my lovely titty. The camera moved in to show the trickle of bright red blood running out of my tortured tit tip.

I bore five-and-a-half-inches of needle deep inside my left titty already, as the piranha clamp's horribly toothed jaws were opened, the needle tongue given a last violent screamingly painful push to its full six-inches through my tit's milk hole, and the Piranha's jaws slowly closed so that its top and bottom teeth bit right through my nipple, holding the clamp to my nipple and its horrible six-inch needle tongue six full inches deep within my lovely breast.

I squealed and squealed and squealed with the pain.

Tears coursed down my angel-face. I had never endured such pain in my life before. My nipple, indeed my whole left tit filled my mind with pain. And I screamed and begged all the more as the brutal torture was repeated on my right titty and its milk teat hole.

But my titty torture was not over yet. Jackie ordered that the end of my Piranha clamps be fitted with a weight. I was shown this device as it was also being displayed for the camera, and the second camera took in my face's stunned tear-stained expression.

The weight comprised two three-inch chains that would hold it hanging from my tit piercing piranha nipple clamps. Between the chains, there hung a sealed one-inch diameter one-and-a-half foot long plastic tube half full of white coloured water – mock milk.

Jackie gleefully told the future film audience, and me that the six-inch needle “tongues” that had been pushed into the milk holes in my nipples were as hollow as hypodermic syringes used by doctors to inject drugs, and that I was about to be fitted with a milker.

However, as I was “an arid bitch”, there was no point in fitting the mini-churns and tubes to take the milk that would be urged from my nipples through the needle tongues were I lactating.

Both the cameras and I were now shown the milker.

As already described it was a one-inch diameter one-and-a-half foot long straight plastic tube, half full of white coloured water, in mockery of milk I quite rightly assumed. Two metal bands through which the tube ran, and to which the suspending chains were fixed, were adjusted to space the chains at the same gaps as my tortured nipples, and a grub screw in each band tightened to hold the tube from sliding through the bands.

And then a demonstration was given, to show how rapidly the mock milk, the white water half filling the sealed tube, would rush from one end of the tube to the other at the slightest motion, never for one millisecond being still from motion from one end of the tube to the other, given the slightest impetus from movement.

The chains would be clipped through the purpose made holes in my Piranha nipple clamps. And thereafter, as my titties swung naturally, so this weight would swing to and fro pulling my titties down in turn and turn about, and swinging them uncontrollably from side to side as the water within the tube swashed from one end of the tube to the other.

Were I lactating, this pulling and swinging of my breasts would have milked me, through the hollow needle tongues than those that were six-inches deep in my milk ducts. I would have been helplessly constantly “self-milked”.

The weight was fitted and even as I stood and breathed it began to swing from side to side and set my titties into a slow left right, left right, swing in rhythm, with downward pulling of each udder in turn, over which I could have absolutely no control. It was as if my titties had declared their independence of me.

Of course my breasts, naked as they were, would jiggle and swing divinely as I moved were I free of the clamps and the milker. But the milker swung and pulled my breasts purposefully. It enforced a full side-to-side constant uncontrollable titty swing with accompanying pulling down of alternate titties. The swinging pulled on my penetrated and bitten nipples horribly painfully.

As I winced and breathed deeply the swinging increased. I gasped and breathed harder, and my tortured titties swung side to side and were tugged down and sprung back up alternately a little faster and little harder still.

I gasped again and moaned as this torture and the knowledge in my mind that it would be never ending, wet my cunt with my girl-juice, and my titties swung side to side, side to side, up and down, and up and down faster and harder still.

Foolishly I winced with the pain at the pulling on my piranha clamped teats, and the rhythmic swinging of both my breasts side-to-side in unison, and the pulling down of each breast alternately increased yet more.

In my mind I was being milked despite being barren.

They finally drove off now and left me. I was left in the public open air, stark naked, nude, without a stitch of clothing, exposed, savagely cruelly bound, vulnerable, abductable, rapeable, helpless to run or even move at more than the snail-pace that my imprisoning tiptoe-toe-ended pirouette stilt-booties would barely allow me.

I was terrified as I began my girly wiggling sexual sexy strutting pirouetted leggy titty-self-milking shuffle to the house a mile away.

I wiggle-strutted along alone en pointe and frightened at all times that I must surely fall. My arms were tied tight above the elbow behind my back, my hands in front of my belly. If I fell! If I fell I would break my legs as assuredly as I could do absolutely nothing to break my fall.

I was terrified in my lonely exposed totally naked helplessly bound vulnerability.

I wiggle-strutted alone, nude for the whole world to see me. Naked, for them to see my superb legs: nude for anyone to see my lovely breasts, and my enforced side dimpled oh so whipable bum.

Who was behind that next tree?

Was my totally nude bound body being ogled by eighteen-year old schoolgirls enjoying my torture and wishing they could feel me and play with my adult's tits and soft brown curly-hair adorned grownup's girl-slit? Was there a band of drunken men who would knock me over, completely helpless as I was and have their choice of orifices in which to use me?

My poor tormented breasts were now being swung in unison violently as the motion of my walking increased the sloshing of the water in the milker and swung it and my poor titties left and right, left and right, and alternating titties up and down, up and down, “milking me”, as I wiggle-walked terrified agonisingly slowly along the path to Jackie's home.

I wiggled along almost crying tears with my fear, talking to myself to keep up my spirits, forced to, once in every while, stop and rest my pirouetted legs, by standing in my booties using the precarious “front-heels”.

The house seeming to get further away as I must wiggle-ballet-strut walk in my enforced limited step every twist in the path.

And yet one part of my torture was both a failure and a success. If the rope parting my sex was to chafe and hurt me, it was a failure. But if it was to arouse and lubricate me it was outstandingly successful. My torture had made me extremely girl-wet, and the silk rope in my girl-slit was sopping with my girl-juice.

I wiggle-ballet-strutted nude, alone, in frightened en pointe sexy steps in my stilt-booties with the mockingly cruel milker swinging my titties violently from side to side, for fully an hour in the gaze, unseen by me, of the telescopic camera lenses, and the glare of the summer sun, until at last my sweet girl-sweat lathered beautiful body reached Jackie's house, the place where I, girl, would be tortured into girl-girl: girl-tamed, broken of all wilfulness and wildness forever, to become tame-girl.