What Dreams May Come... (Closed)

[st_fornicate]

Tommy O'Ryan had a secret. Something he could tell no one. Ever. It scared the hell out of him, but no matter how much he tried to suppress it, it still reared its ugly head.

Sometimes... just sometimes... he could read people's minds.

It had started just a couple years ago. He had been at school, and thought he heard someone talking behind him. He turned around to reply, and the girl had given him the weirdest look. "How did you know what I was thinking?" He'd stammered out a made-up excuse and hurried off.

It took a while to figure it all out. But generally, it only happened if he was within five to ten feet of someone for more than half an hour or so. He eventually figured out, through meditation, how to turn it off, or at least quiet the thoughts he was privy to, but it took a great deal of willpower.

It took an even greater amount of willpower to not abuse his newfound powers. He had a hunch that he could make a ton of money playing poker, but his fear of being found out was so great he never dared.

And now he was off to college. The eighteen year old geek had gotten lucky, and had himself a single dorm room, so there was no roommate to read the mind of. He just planned to sit as far away from other people as possible in classes and try to keep to himself. It was hard to be friends with anyone when you knew all their secret thoughts.

It was his first night at college; he had set his things up in his room, and logged on to his computer to grind some games of Magic Online. He loved the game, and playing it online was the only way he could play fair. Sitting across from someone, in person, for a full match gave him access to too much hidden information.

Suddenly, though, came a fresh onslaught of thoughts. Female. He closed his eyes and tried to block it all out, to no avail. He tried his meditation exercises, but found himself drawn into her mind...

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Irene was an old-fashioned girl. That's how other people described her. 'Old fashioned'. It was about half-accurate. Her hair style was outdated (if flattering), and her ideas about sexuality were ripped from the 1950s, but she had a kind of coolness about her nevertheless. It was the reserved cool of contempt, witty and catty, which made people either "not want to get close" - or want to get very close indeed, sharing a bed if possible.

Unfortunately for this latter group, Irene Stella was not known to associate "by those terms", as she said. She had a large group of female friends, and several "pussy-whipped" male friends who purportedly did her homework for her in exchange for little more than sitting in the same room with her for a while without catching any insults from her viper's tongue. She did go to the bar - if mostly to watch other people get drunk, and smile knowingly as they went to pieces. She was certainly a fan of male attention, if only to reject it.

And when Tommy unwittingly sank into her conscious mind, she was thinking about a "friend" of hers. A friend called Stacy Castles, who had recently lost a lot of street cred when a rumor emerged that she had shared a bed with two guys at once. Irene was thinking about this with the usual helping of superior contempt.

What a silly slut. Who stays over at a house-party when there are only guys left over? And if they do, who expects their reputation to remain unshattered afterwards? The miserable part is, she probably didn't even do anything. That's not Stacy anyway. She's all gooey-eyed over Tommy's buddy Owen. Man, those two spend way too much time together to be completely straight. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy O'Ryan - sometimes I think you aren't even tryin'! Hmm. Don't quit your day job, Irene, you aren't a born song-writer.

And it's not my fault Stacy's reputation fell apart. She was kind of asking for it. Makes you wonder if she even cares what people think of her. All I did was tell a few people about how Kevin and Michael seemed exceptionally pleased the next morning. And that was true! And that Stacy was all blushy when she left the house - which was also true, I saw her when I was going up to the library. Well, so put two-and-two together. Well, let other people do the math for themselves. I'm not responsible for the conclusions other people draw. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy O'Ryan - sometimes I think you aren't even tryin'! God, that guy's a --

Suddenly, the thought-process cut out. Perhaps she stepped further away, or perhaps fallen asleep. In any case, the stream-of-consciousness had temporarily ceased. Leaving Tommy to whatever he might make of it.

 

[st_fornicate]

Irene!

Irene Stella! Tommy shook his head. Tommy's a what? Where did she go? Fuck!

This "gift" was truly a curse. Did she really think he was gay? Just because he wasn't one of her fawning, desperate, spineless admirers?

Irene was definitely an interesting young woman. There was certainly something about her that Tommy was undoubtedly attracted to; her physical attributes (which were quite impressive) notwithstanding, she was clearly quite intelligent and her convictions, if perhaps outdated, were admirable in a world where everyone seemed to always just follow the crowd. In the short time he had known her, he could tell she was a force to be reckoned with.

She lived in the dorm room right next to his. And as much as he was attracted to her, he knew he did not want to get that deep into her mind. But... he found himself intrigued. He couldn't help but reach out... search for her, on the other side of the thin wall... And find her...

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Ask and ye shall receive.

No sooner had Tommy reached his mind out again, then he found himself firmly nestled in the rustling stream of Irene's consciousness:

-- and if I tell George that I'm free Saturday, then I'm sure he'll be willing to write that paper. Jesus that class is easy-breezy, but who can be bothered? I mean seriously, ten pages? I don't even feel bad about getting him to do it. And if he thinks I'm going to put out for a paper, then he's asking to get used. And hey, Saturdays have a habit of filling up fast! I'm a popular girl, and George is...well, less popular. Anyway, I think he writes them for fun. Probably just goes home, drinks diet cokes and writes papers for pretty girls.

Bedtime? Piano time?
Piano time.

The next passage became somewhat fuzzier, more sporadic, as though Irene's attention was split. Which it no doubt was, between playing music and thinking about her social life.

-- Password update? Password update? Again? Are you freaking kidding me? How many times do I have to change this freaking thing? I! Just! Want! Sheet! Music! Okay, new password. User name S-T-E-L-L-A-I-R-E-N-E. Password. Something original. Something zingy. Or...yeah, just like before but add one more. P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D-7. Hey, it's clever. I bet nobody would try that. Not that anybody would know to want to try.

Oh man, if most people had any idea what was on that sky drive they would go nut-bar. Well, that's the pleasure of privacy. And our server is meant to be ironclad. Here's hoping, ha! Hmm, maybe I'll add to it this weekend. Nothing planned. Hmm.

Whatever was so compelling about her college computer account, it faded into the background as she began to play more vigorously on her 'piano', which was presumably a keyboard. Tommy began to hear some of it through the wall, but only if he strained would he discern that she was a more than adequate player. She played Chopin's Nocturnes, with a sensitive, soulful approach. Pausing frequently. Breaking the 'rules' of technique. But somehow making it all lovely.

 

[st_fornicate]

Tommy's mind boggled at the flood of information. Irene seemed like such a goody-goody... Tommy found it hard to believe she would turn in other people's work as her own. Poor George. The guy was nuts about Irene, and she was just using him for her own amusement.

And what the hell was in her Skydrive? He could go in right now and find out.

He shook his head; he couldn't, he shouldn't, he wouldn't. Even as he sat at his computer and navigated to the school's sign-in page. He stared at the screen for a minute, as he heard the faint sound of Irene's keyboard next door; it was interesting to hear her focused thoughts as she played. Less actual thoughts, and more the feelings the playing elicited in her, the pure focus of perfection, and the joy of whimsy as she made the piece her own. Tommy was certainly no expert on classical music, unless it was Led Zeppelin or the Allman Brothers, but he could tell she was a highly proficient player.

He closed the browser window. He wanted to know Irene's secrets, but he already knew too many. He lay down on his bed and tried meditating, but failed to shut out even his own thoughts. Curiosity got the better of him.

He sat back down at his computer. Pulled open the browser again. Stared at the screen.

She'll never know if I just go in and look around... What's the harm in that?

First though, he reached out to her again. He found her quite easily this time. He concentrated, delving deeper into her consciousness; with a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and found he could see through hers...

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Song referenced in post:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bag1gUxuU0g

As a little time had now passed, it seemed that Irene's mind had already wandered elsewhere. Seeing through her eyes, Tommy would realize that he was no longer in the mind of someone playing the piano, but rather a woman who was bathing.

Of course, it was not exactly a porn film in terms of directing and choice of angles. When one baths, one is not exactly thinking of how best to show off. Instead, Irene was spending most of her time looking at her legs, or up at the ceiling. This made for a rather confused ride, and almost like Tommy was being teased. One moment he would see a flash of her tits poking out from underneath a layer of bubbles, the next he would see white-washed ceilings and a gigantic light fixture hanging from the ceiling.

Breasts.
Light.
Breasts.
Light.

It was enough to drive a man mad. And the bubble-bath had the secondary effect, of veiling most of her body, most of the time. Indeed, it was often only her knees, which were slightly bent in the smallish tub, and the peaks of her breasts that showed through the filmy, soapy, frothy liquid.

It seemed at first that she might have been saying something, as her arms were sweeping somewhat dramatically about in the tub for someone who was merely bathing. It seemed that her thoughts came along with the vision, for he registered song lyrics in lieu of an ordinary thought process: clearly she was focused on singing.

-- and take a walk on the wild side
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
You like your girls insane
Choose your last words
This is the last time
Cause you and I, we were born to die

Lost but now I am found
I can see but once I was blind

And indeed, her movements were coordinated with the beat of the song, judging from how the lyrics were unpacked. She seemed to be thinking of the music video, as an image occasionally burned through the words, flashing over her sight as her eyes closed and imagination took over: her own, beautiful body sitting on a throne, with two tigers flanking her, lying down by her sides. It was a surreal image, but clearly meant something to her.

Then her eyes would open, and she began to slowly shave her legs to the song, the blade sliding gracefully over each smooth leg, trailing through the slightly oily residue of the water.

Before long, the water was draining, and Irene was brushing bubbles off of her tall, utterly naked body, flicking them from her hips as the water slurped down the drain, and at last she looked over at a long mirror that was perched in the corner of the room and Tommy was seeing her in her full glory, hair folded down around her ears, rivulets of water rolling down her toned form.

And, as she was clearly playing around pretending now to be flirting with a guy, she started teasing the mirror, still standing in the bath at a fixed distance. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, and at one point even pretended to drop something, bending over to pick it up. All of these movements languorous, slow, deliberate. Of course, she was practicing for when she was closed. Nude, the performance had the appearance of a slightly blocky strip-tease, her eyes flicking over at the mirror from time to time as if to ask an unseen audience: is this okay? And then her gaze hardening as if to say: you know you love this.

It seemed that Irene was self-conscious underneath it all, and that her armor was just that - a deliberate iron designed to protect what was soft within.

 

[st_fornicate]

Tommy blinked, and broke himself away from Irene's mind. The images he had seen, the thoughts he had understood... He knew his "gift" was in essence a violation of a person's privacy, utterly, completely.

He realized his cock was rock hard in his shorts. He would need relief, and soon. He wondered then, just what the extent of his talent was. He could hear her thoughts in his head, see through her mind's eye... Could he influence her thoughts with his own?

He was scared to try. It was one thing to peek inside, like a voyeur; it was another thing entirely to impose his own thoughts on her unexpecting mind.

He thought back to her files on the server. What was it she was hiding in there? He looked at the screen. It would be so easy... He'd already intruded in her mindspace; surely, sooner rather than later she would reveal to him what was there... Why wait?

He entered her username.

He entered her password.

He hit enter.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

There were several folders in Irene's account of personal documents. One was an ongoing journal, which would take a substantial amount of time even to skim. It seemed to go back several years, longer than she had been in college, suggesting she had uploaded a pre-existing digital copy at the time of transferring in. There was a folder of image files. And there were a number of video files seemingly recorded from Skype using some kind of third-party software.

Each of these was interesting.

The video folder seemed to be a short series of conversations that Irene had had with men on Skype. In this videos, only parts were left over, as though they had been edited down. What was left followed a format. Irene was chatting in a sultry, leading way. She was suggesting that she was camera-shy, although she was leaning into the camera a lot and generally seemed rather photogenic and charismatic. The guy in each case seemed somewhat nervous at first, but Irene seemed to be trying to manipulate them into something else entirely.

In general, it seemed that she was trying to bring out their dominant sides. She would act shy, apologize a lot, mention things about having "weird" sexual interests - but the guys would never really seem to have the balls to follow up on it. The conversations were somewhat circular and repetitive even in their paired-down form.

Suddenly, about halfway through each, Irene would change her manner entirely. She would seem to snap to attention, an angry look coming over her, and suddenly begin to grow bossy herself! Her voice would go up, and she would begin to berate the men in a sexually-charged manner. Eventually, she would order them to take off their clothes or masturbate on camera. In some cases, the videos ended there - as though they had logged off or gotten scared. But in several cases, the men obeyed!

One had to admit, Irene had charisma, and although the paradox of having been a kitten a moment ago and a queen bitch the next was strange, she acted out both roles so capably that one felt tempted, in watching the videos, to obey her! Both sides of the video were retained, so that Irene's fierce eyes and cherry lips were smoldering in one corner, while some poor John Doe dropped his shorts in the main window!

Naturally, filling the role, Irene would insult the size of the men's genitals, order them about how exactly to touch themselves - and if they were particularly pliant, would order them to do stranger things, such as barking like a dog, slapping their dick against the webcam, or even punching themselves in the stomach.

In some cases, this went on for quite some time.

The pictures were rather different. They were, broadly speaking, erotic art. Many were drawings or pictures that Irene had designed, which usually depicted strange-looking monsters and devil-like creatures, torturing and having sex with innocent-looking virgins. In some cases, the devils looked rather like Irene. Many of the virgin characters looked like students that Tommy actually knew around campus!

There were also some photographs. One seemed to be a picture of a naked couple, taken through a window. Another showed a man and a woman kissing in a park, behind a tree. Neither of them seemed to be aware of the camera, in either case. They were two separate couples.

The last cluster of photographs depicted Irene herself, posing in different ways. She had either used an accomplice or, more likely given her character, used auto-timers on the camera to accomplish these. They depicted her in various sexual positions, sometimes on her knees looking up in a sultry way at the camera. Others were more bondage-themed, such as one with her handcuffed to a radiator wearing only a pair of black panties. The final, and most radical of them showed her on her bed, spread-eagle with ankles and wrists bound by scarves to the posts of the bed. She was wearing a blindfold which would otherwise make it hard to identify her (if the previous image had not just shown her body), and a some kind of plastic device was placed against her pussy.

Each of these was neatly labelled. To be fair, they were not only smut. In most cases, they had a good deal of artistic power. Most were black-and-white, emphasizing a clever interplay of shades - dark lines around her eyes as she gazed at the camera, or her (presumably lipstick-red) lips seeming almost black in another.

Of course, for someone like Tommy it might have been art, but was, at the very least, a treasure trove.

 

[st_fornicate]

Tommy could hardly believe the things he found in Irene's Skydrive, but there they were. The videos there betrayed a two-faced woman, at once meek and then domineering and cruel. Tommy wasn't sure if he should feel pity for the men she toyed with, or anger at her for how she treated them. Clearly, the men found something about it enjoyable, as they maintained the skype connection...

The pictures he found were certainly erotic, and he found himself with quite the erection throughout his perusal of her archives. All the while, her thoughts lingered on in his mind. Even without actively seeking her, he felt her presence nearby, and now it would take a good deal of concentration on his part to shut her out completely.

She had put herself to bed, and to Tommy, a person's sleeping state was often a roller coaster ride. There was the sweet lull of deep sleep, as their thoughts slowed and brewed, but it never lasted; REM sleep would soon take over, with its flurry of spastic connections and firing neurons, the processing of a billion thoughts over the course of a day. It was a jumbled puzzle, like scanning through a million radio stations at once in his head.

He was able to pause, and process, and then he found it.

She was dreaming.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

And not only dreaming, but midway through a complex dream.

It seemed to be a college classroom, very crowded and confused, and not helped by an unusual arrangement of desks and chairs. They were placed in strange jumbled orders, with short lines of three or four followed by large empty spaces, some students sitting in isolation while others faced each other with adjacent desks. A number of people wearing uniforms were passing out forms and paperwork, seemingly at random, with no obvious rhyme or reason to the process. There was no teacher in sight, but one person did stand out - Stacy, the girl who Irene had caused problems for by spreading rumors that she had been to bed with two guys at once, after a house-party.

Stacy was standing in the middle of the room, with her arms over her head. They were tied to the ceiling by a long rope, and she stood somewhat limply dangling from this, head hanging low. Students would occasionally throw balls of paper at her, or other assorted objects like pencils or erasers. She was shirtless and braless, but wearing a long, conservative dress that reached to the ground. In real life Stacy was a busty girl, but here her breasts were quite small. Some students were laughing at her, but most simply paid no attention, throwing objects more out of habit or tradition than real interest.

Irene herself was in the dream, but not a 'main actor'. She was in a desk that was sitting next to another, although the one partnered with her was empty. In fact, the only empty desk in the room, perhaps suggesting it was meant to be Stacy's. She was staring at Stacy as she dangled in the room's center. Irene was dressed in attractive if conservative clothes, a turtleneck and jeans. Now and then she would sharpen an already-sharp pencil without averting her gaze from the dangling woman, letting the shavings tumble onto the desk.

Several of the young men in the room were gazing at Irene with looks of reverence and clear sexual interest, but she paid them no attention. Sometimes a young woman would go to one of these star-struck men and begin to complain and whine that the boy should pay attention to them not Irene, in a hysterical and somewhat bizarre way. Their reactions seemed like caricatures of real human beings. Eventually they would break down into tears, and the boy (sometimes aided by a friend or two) would laugh at the girl and shove her away, returning to their silent worship of Irene.

There was a clock in the room, but its hands were not moving ordinarily. Now and then the second hand would move. But time otherwise seemed to be moving at a normal pace.

 

[st_fornicate]

Tommy took a bit of time to soak the dream in. He saw the students, the chaotic classroom, but mostly he focused on Irene and Stacy. In her dream space, Irene was clearly in complete and utter control, and Stacy's humiliation at her hands seemed to be something she was proud of!

Tommy recognized many of the faces in the dream as other students he either knew or had seen around. The hysterical, desperate girls and the adoring boys... All of it fed into Irene's superiority complex.

He was getting too comfortable in Irene's mind. Much more so than he was really comfortable with, but he found himself drawn in; a testament to her force of will. He realized then that many of these boys were the same boys who were often doing Irene's homework for her, in their sad, futile attempts to get her in bed.

It took little effort to scan Irene's memories, and confirm that suspicion. As he looked around the room, he noticed that he himself was absent. He wondered for a moment if he could insert himself in the dream in any way...

And then he was there, walking into the room!

He was no longer a voyeur. He was in her dream.

It boggled his mind for a minute, but his next thought was to wonder what else he could do. He looked to poor Stacy, strung up in the center of the room, an object of ridicule and scorn. He looked back to Irene, sitting there in her desk, all nonchalant.

What if their positions were reversed, he wondered...

And then they were.

 

[HandcuffHeather]

Irene was standing in the middle of the room, with her arms over her head. They were tied to the ceiling by a long rope, and she stood somewhat limply dangling from this, head hanging low. Students would occasionally throw balls of paper at her, or other assorted objects like pencils or erasers. She was shirtless and braless, but wearing a long, conservative dress that reached to the ground. In real life Irene was a busty girl, but here her breasts were quite small. Some students were laughing at her, but most simply paid no attention, throwing objects more out of habit or tradition than real interest.

Wait, what?

Irene shook her head, and unlike Stacy, did not simply remain dangling in the room's center without acting. Instead, she straightened her neck, and began to jerk against the bonds that held her to the ceiling, and left her body vulnerable and uncovered. "No, shit, what the hell...no..." she muttered in irritation, before fully registering how many people in the class were looking at her with scorn and derision. Her breasts were reduced in size, though still reasonably attractive, and they were awfully, utterly exposed. They also made good targets for the random pieces of debris, which bounced off of her nipples and against her bare midriff.

Her long, sensuous body, with its almost feline length and agility, was stretched as on some medieval rack, which highlighted her long, sexy waist and neck. She was trying to flail about so that her elbows could bend down and cover her tits, but to avail. Instead, this merely made her more of a sight, which drew more attention, as her movement made the rope creak and occasionally left her tapping into surrounding desks and chairs.

Still, nobody approached her. She simply dangled there, abandoned and miserable, only the object of occasional acts of dismissive target practice. Pathetically, Irene tried to turn away from the staring eyes, only to turn a half-circle and find another cluster of guys looking at her with occasionally lustful, but always scornful and mocking eyes. She felt herself blush, at first in her face and then down part of her neck, but seemed unable to close her eyes no matter how humiliating it became. In the clutches of dream-logic, one never thinks to close one's eyes.

Worse, Irene could feel that she was wearing no panties. Her skirt felt like it was made of heavy fabric, and therefore unlikely to just fall down given the tight waist, or be seen through, but it would be hideously easy for someone to expose her if they desired.

Still, her legs were intact. If anybody came near her, she would give them a kick to remember...even if she could only see in one direction at a time.

 

[st_fornicate]

Tommy gazed at Irene with the same dismissive derision as the others, though perhaps with a bit of a malignant spark about him. His newfound power was intoxicating: not only could he read her thoughts, now he could influence them!

Tommy crumpled up a sheet of paper and tossed it at Irene, hitting her in the back of the head with it. He watched her hanging there for quite a while before he decided what to do with her next.

Carefully, he crafted the next part of her dream. One of the boys stood up, glaring at Irene from across the room. "How'd you do on that paper I wrote for you Irene?" he asked, before throwing an eraser at her. The throw was harder this time, smacking her left tit.

"Yeah Irene," said another boy, and then another, more and more of them standing up. "How'd you do on that paper Irene?"

More objects launched at her, as the boys circled around her now, like hungry sharks.

And then the girls too. "You think I'm a slut, Irene?" Stacy demanded, coming up behind her and grabbing her long dress, and viciously yanking it down her legs, leaving her completely exposed to the classroom.

The boys hooted and hollered, circling her faster now. Some of the more brazen amongst them reached out in passing to grab at her tits and ass while she flailed about.

"Maybe we should tell the world what you do on skype you slut," Stacy scowled at her.

"Or maybe show them your pictures!" And suddenly a projector overhead whirred to life, and the lights cut out, and her sexy, private photos were being flashed on a screen at the front of the room for everyone to see...

 

[HandcuffHeather]

They were circling around her like sharks smelling blood. When Stacy approached her, Irene jerked away madly, skipping around in a half-circle before ending up right where she had begun, only to have Stacy pull her skirt down to the ground. More than anything else, Irene felt horrified that her pussy was now on full display to any passing student. Some took advantage of the free view, as hands began to pinch and slap at her ass; others giving little tweaks to her nipples or sides as she flailed about. "Fuck - stop it - leave me alone!" moaned Irene miserably, feeling her body utterly on display, like something in a porn film, with anyone who wanted to have a look enjoying the sights, and the soft touches of her body.

Normally so cool and suave, Irene began to grow angry, cussing at the people around her, even trying to kick them occasionally when they came close and she had an angle. It was damn difficult, as they approached from all angles, and dipped in just long enough to swipe at her body with a greedy hand. One guy, aiming for her bottom, swiped across her pubic hair and her cunt as she tried to twist away from him, and she yelled "fuck!" again, only to receive a chorus of laughs in response. The guy dodged away, his movements like the hopping, skipping jumps of a schoolboy, and cackled something about how she was "as wet as a fountain!", showing off his hand and the purported moisture that he had discovered between her legs.

Her anger rose to a peak when Stacy began to talk about the Skype pictures. "That's none of your business!" she barked at them furiously, eyes flashing fire at all of them in turn. The lights darkened, and Irene wriggled about in the darkness, trying to fend off her abusers even with the lights off - with even less success than before. Some of the touches were more prolonged now, and one hand stroked all the way up her leg to her upper thigh before she could jerk away. Still, little pellets of eraser and paper flicked off of her naked body, little stings like the flicking of a tiny whip.

The pictures cycled through her collection. Irene handcuffed to a radiator, looking up as if at the man who had cuffed her there, a pouting look on her face that seemed to beg for the affections that a man usually provides to a kneeling woman. And then on her bed, tied and spread wide, her body even more on display because she was so clearly aroused by the sexual situation - it was not just nudity, but willing and active kink.

"Turn it off," Irene begged, her gaze drawn despite herself towards the pictures. She was growing tired, her defensive measures beginning to slow to a crawl. No longer did she kick out at the people touching her, but now only jerked away slightly when they came too close to her - now truly wet - slit. With the lights off, she had grown into an odd kind of security, as though her arousal could grow without being observed. Her nipples were now throbbing. All this teasing without any actual satisfaction was beginning to drive her body wild, and she was embarrassed to find herself getting horny. "Please turn it off...let me go," she murmured miserably, the caresses beginning to shoot a tone of uncertainty into her voice.

 

[st_fornicate]

Tommy watched this all unfold with a morbid curiosity. He wondered how much of Irene's consciousness was truly involved in this experience, and how much of it was just her neurons firing off. From the looks of it, the desperation plain as day on her face, he could tell he was tapping into a deep, dark part of her.

He wanted to shine a light on the situation. He conjured up a glaring spotlight now, and shown it on her, bathing her in harsh, bright light.

The boys in the room all started pointing and laughing at her, cruelly. Insults were being loudly whispered around her: "whore... Slut... Bitch... Cunt..."

And then came the first sharp sting of pain. One of them had his leather belt in hand, and slapped it loudly across her ass. The boys and girls laughed harshly as she yowled in pain, and the boys suddenly descended upon her, a dozen pairs of hands groping at her, squeezing her tits and ass, fingers probing her dripping pussy...

And then she was being pulled down from her overhead bindings, only to be dragged over to her desk and thrown roughly across it, bent over now. Two boys in front of her grabbed her wrists and held her in place, and she noticed for the first time they had their dicks standing out of their pants, obscenely turgid, hard and veiny.

Another slap of the belt across her ass, followed with insults and laughing, jeering from the watching, gathering, growing crowd.

The belt came down again, and again, raising red strips of welt across her cheeks.

And then Tommy realized that it was he, himself, who was wielding the thick strip of leather...

 

[HandcuffHeather]

"You're - ah! - sick - you bastards - ah!"

Irene cried out whenever the strap landed on her smooth buttocks, laying its red trails across her pale skin. From where she was stretched over the desk, Irene could not register who was actually striking her. It could have been Tommy, and it could have been the president himself for all she knew. All she knew was that it was a strong hand that wielded the strap, as each new blow sent her jerking and shuddering in spasms of sudden pain. Worse was the vulnerability of her splayed-out position, and the way she felt her slit glistening with excitement, a perfect picture of arousal and engagement in the sexual ritual taking place.

When she hit the table, she felt her breasts crushed down against the desk-top itself, and for a second all she saw was the floor. But when her wrists were suddenly gripped, her head jerked up to reprimand those who were restraining her and she realized that there were several bulging cocks bobbing near her head. She was paralyzed, both by physical restraint and by shock - not knowing how to respond to a situation that was so quickly falling apart around her. "Get...get those back in your pants, you perverts," she cried out, twisting her face away from them in a show of disgust.

In the meantime, she struggled to kick herself free, or kick out against the person abusing her poor ass, wriggling and squirming as her legs flashed out spasmodically. Before long they were snagged as well, and she was completely exposed, an object for the amusement of whoever might swagger by looking to get his jollies. Her long back was utterly uncovered, naked and cool in the classroom atmosphere. Not to speak of her three virgin orifices, that practically begged to be used. She felt fingers snake into her, and moaned - surely only in hatred and resistance.

 

[st_fornicate]

Before Tommy knew it, he was fingering her tight little pussy with one hand, the other roaming her exposed body and squeezing at her tender asscheeks. He was not gentle with her.

"You're the pervert," he grunted at her, two fingers jamming deep into her dripping slit, again and again. "Those pictures and videos are proof of how filthy you are," he said. God but what was he doing? Raping this girl in her dream-her nightmare?

Yes. She toyed with men, played with them, teased them, used them for her own amusement.

It was her turn to be used.

"Feed it to her," Tommy directed, and one of the cocks standing grossly before her face was jammed into her mouth. Tommy had his cock out too, and only stopped fingering her to push his throbbing member inside her hot juicy cunt!