Classmates' Revenge

Chapter Two-3

And everything turned topsy-turvy! His motherly smotherer and fervent servicer became as unforgiving as valkyries! Before he could steady his head he was pitilessly seized. From out of the ether (yet again) the third of these apparitions dropped into solidity atop him. The next Ed knew he was gagging on his own underclothes. Nude and helpless, he was restrained hand and foot. Class badass Tara Sinclair sat forked over his midriff, alight with vicious mischief.

Julie Meade moved around to one side to confront him properly while clique-leader Carrie climbed aboard the bed to take the other. He was defenseless amidst what he perhaps belatedly realized were three strong and fit grown women – adults who’d recently been kids that he had improperly attempted to influence.

Ed’s next belated realization was that entry into heaven entailed submitting to divine judgment – and perhaps (holy damn) even punishment. The spike-studded, ring-connected strips crisscrossing Tara’s hot little body and lifting her saucy t**s flaunted exactly the kind of chic bondage-and-domination freaks favored. Then there were those quintessential power boots…

Forget about nirvana. What kind of damnation had his habitual villainy earned bad Ed? Triumphant judgment beamed tripartite from above upon the subjugated one. Trapping Tara began rubbing his n*****s. Subduing Julie smoothed back his sweaty mat. Interrogator Carrie spoke for the prosecution.

“You toyed with our immature affections, yes?” Ed could not but nod.

“You abused your authority in an attempt to cozen coitus. You groomed us, as well as dozens or even hundreds of other, more impressionable adolescents.”

Squirming inside and out, Ed acknowledged that this too was true.

“You’re a Machiavellian, power-abusing pig, a serial exploiter of the vulnerable. Not only that, you’re both a tease and a slut as it suits your fundamentally unromantic purpose.”

One last shamefaced nod completed his confession. Unhesitatingly Carrie passed sentence.

Town princess, omnipotent hostess or just-embodied goddess, Mistress Mesoamerica reached back to squeeze his testes in emphasis again even as Tara’s tit-rubbing turned into pinching and twisting.

“For all the women of this town – for all wronged women ever – I decree that you make repayment for these felonies. You have offended femininity sexually. Now you will recompense its representatives. That means you must submit to whatever arouses the three of us no matter how painful or degrading. To demonstrate the sincerity of your repentance you will endure our most pitiless abuse without any complaint. Do we have your agreement, subject?”

Now it was Julie reaching behind Tara’s butt. She seized the limply chagrined snake and began to flog it awake even as Carrie squeezed harder and Tara grinned, pinched, pulled and twisted. Sincere or not, Ed could only nod more urgently.

“Wonderful!”

Carrie gave him that dazzling smile. Julie bent to apply her mouth. Tara meanwhile let go of his n*****s. Instead she was uncapping a silver tube. A quick twist and rich red lipstick extruded – just the way his d**k was doing.

“Just so none of us forgets.”

Using that glaring scarlet she wrote the word ‘flirt’ across one side of his chest and ‘tease’ on the other. While Ed flushed flagrantly red himself she grabbed him by the hair and held his face immobile. To the listing of his sins she added two more. Though he wouldn’t actually see the words for hours, Tara printed ‘pig’ on his cheek and ‘slut’ in bold strokes across his brow.

The others clapped and cheered, clinked and tossed back drinks.

Gray eyes gleaming evilly, Tara pulled his hair harder and kissed the tape covering his lips. Then she slapped his unmarked cheek hard and climbed off his belly and the bed both. Ed’s stars cleared just in time to see her accepting her own shot and then choosing a riding crop from the huge trunk of implements that had just as magically manifested itself. Then Julie abandoned the erection she’d somehow slurped out of him (right away the snake slumped) and Carrie gave him a last warning squeeze before releasing his depleted testes.

“All right b***h. It’s punishment time. Roll over. Get up on your hands and knees like the unregenerate dog you also are.”

Ed couldn’t help hesitating.

So far he’d only passively accepted this disaster. The step to actively participating in it was a big one. Before his agreed obedience could become automatic, Carrie reached out with something that looked like a wand-style fireplace lighter.

Tip to tip this kissed the shrunken snake. An electrical discharge sparked in the darkness. Agony savaged his most sensitive nexus, making Ed squeal and buck without any dignity.

Reality could no longer be denied. He flopped his body over and scrambled up onto all fours – or at least a clumsy tripod. Additional shocks hitting his ass and feet harried him to the center of the bed. There Julie halted him by seizing that silk leash again.

She passed this under and out between his legs. Without warning she yanked it hard, pulling his bound hands from beneath him.

From kneeling like a mutt Ed abruptly found himself kowtowed in the manner of a penitent oriental. His ass was still upraised. But his gagged face smacked against packed feathers and was then pressed deep into satin. Nor would he soon escape his aping of the subservient worshipper. With most of his weight on his face and his arms drawn down between his knees, Julie tied that sash to his ankle shackles. Try to rise up now! Laughing, Carrie smacked his ass with her hand.

The rest of her raiment had vanished, and even from his wretched perspective Ed groaned at the cynosure of her exposure. Oh her lines were so lithe, her swells so stupendous! After the way she’d conquered his monster he would always be vulnerable to her allure. Now that divine visitation taunted him with the unattainable – and something worse.

Drawing attention to itself while contrasting the perfection it decorated was a fading intaglio of angry welts. Twisting to look at Julie (who’d finally shed her veiling as well), Ed saw that she was even more extensively marked. These deified sadists enjoyed infliction so much that they suffered it for each other! Or they had until he’d stumbled into the picture…

For the first time Ed wondered uneasily how long these goddesses intended to keep him.

From plotting to stay forever he was already envisioning escape – and this before more than a single slap and spank! Christ, what kind of cowardice was that? And of course there was no escape, at least until he was untied. Hateful and humiliating as it might be, for the price of that once-in-a-lifetime smothering-and-sucking Ed supposed he’d have to put up with this perhaps well-deserved night of feminine revenge. He certainly couldn’t call for a cop. His phone was in his pants and being exposed this way could cost him his job. Oh well.

Though arousal had deserted him in his predicament, Ed had to admit even intimidating Tara looked extremely attractive upon return. Her nudity unblemished by wounds and accentuated by harness and boots, she produced an identical riding crop and passed the original to Julie. Armed thus these two knelt on either side of his proffered bottom. Carrie eased in right up next to him. That shock-wand still threatened.

“Here we go, naughty. Time for the professor to learn his lesson.” She actually bent to kiss his burning cheek. Maybe she’d read his resolve. “Take it bravely, my admiring subject. Perform the heroics of which you spoke. Make me admire you in return and you’ll be divinely rewarded.”

With no more ceremony than that, Ed’s challenge entered its next (if still nascent) stage.

***

This wasn’t Chicago. This was way better.

Once he’d incriminated himself there’d be no going back for this dream guy. He’d be just as Julie had prophesied: un-gelded yet unquestioningly compliant. They were just way too potent for poor Mr. Marsh. It was obvious. Even without extortion he’d soon succumb to emotional bondage far more effective than any physical restraint. Before he could be so molded though he needed to be broken in. Tara’s excitement at the opportunity expressed itself as unreserved zeal.

With Julie duplicating her enthusiasm opposite she began to viciously whip their new b***h. Whether using the crop’s popper to redden or its stiff shaft to stripe she whaled away, blessedly unworried about imprudent damage. Just as exuberant and far more powerful, left-handed Julie tossed her blonde banner and laughed aloud as she thrashed their new mount’s hindquarters.

“Yeah baby! Payback day is underway! Hold still, b***h!”

Marsh was already squirming and bleating. Carrie zapped his asshole, enforcing Julie’s order. When he subsided, Tara used her popper to heft and bounce his vulnerable balls.

“Move around too much and we might strike these. Puke and strangle on it and we’ll have to take it out on you in the afterlife.”

A shiver passed though their subject. Humbled in defeat, he nodded acknowledgment. Docile as a lamb then he endured the worst beating any of them had ever delivered – in triplicate. It really was admirable. That guy in Chicago would have run home crying to his fiancé. Penitent Ed choked on screams, whimpered and wept endlessly and sloppily spewed mucus. And yet he never resisted or more than minimally shifted position.

Deep into the night they beat and dominated him. With two of them wielding implements while the third served as enforcer, occasional comforter and always vigilant safety monitor, they rotated through roles sequentially rather than randomly. Following the crops they employed cat o’ nine tails, latticing his back, legs, shoulders and flanks with so many scorings it was difficult to find unblemished skin at the end. Drizzling this with molten candle wax afterward, they turned their living whip-art into a Jackson Pollack abstract. Each of them dripping a different pigment, the scalding splatters with which they coated the canvas of his mutilated carcass gave excellent additional dimension to the terms ‘impressionism’ and ‘action painting’.

Naturally the soles of the sinner’s feet received their due attention too. These they tickled with feathers, rolled with rowels and bastinadoed with bamboo and rattan. Finally, when it was obvious the b***h was at his weakest and most delirious (yet still capable of cognitive and physical function), Tara took charge of eliciting the blackmail material.

What they had on him already should be enough. But he could still come to his senses or attempt to claim entrapment. Tara sent Carrie to wardrobe and dug out an old sorority paddle for Julie. They knocked back a couple shots. Then she ripped the tape from their subject’s face. Meekly he awaited her permission before messily expelling the soggy wad of his underwear.

“There, there,” Tara cooed, in patently counterfeit commiseration.

Marsh was gasping and slobbering worse than when Julie had almost asphyxiated him. Of course his posture had a lot to do with that. He’d been bound kowtowed for over three hours. Tara shoved him, toppling him onto his side.

“Roll over, Fido. Play dead.” Debilitated as he was the mutt needed no electrical encouragement this time. With a sob of effort he complied, his knees drawn up and flopped wide by the bonds that still hobbled all four of his paws.

Tara grabbed up the shirt he’d shed. Wiping all the slaver, sweat and snot from his face, she saw that the scarlet letters labeling him had smeared into illegibility. After helping him blow his nose she wiped these away as well before reapplying them. By that time Carrie had reappeared.

Deeply bloodshot eyes popped wide.

Tits had slipped into her old cheerleader’s uniform – part of it anyway. She still had the saddle shoes and tassels. But there were clearly no panties under the miniskirt, nor blouse or bra under the thin, badly outgrown sweater she was literally bursting out of. With bouncy bows of lurid pink ribbon tying all that glamorous hair into childish pigtails, wearing peppermint lipstick, huge spots of rouge and popping a wad of bubblegum, she looked so impossibly hot and scandalously bad at the same time that Tara wanted to f**k her herself – but only after tying her to a stool in the corner all afternoon, forcing her to perform sobbing-and-gagging oral for hours more and then caning her tenderest recesses until she bled. Still for Marsh this must be far too affecting: either his own secret obsession in the flesh or absolute anathema. For the first time he struggled with his bonds. Yet rather than shock him Tara merely gloated.