Jess the Bully's Waxing and Water Bottle
The following anecdotes relate to the awful bullying I once suffered at the hands of the Machiavellian Jessica, at the age of fifteen, while I was at school. It happened a long time ago and all names have been changed to protect the innocent.
After ordering me to strip naked -- which I did -- Jess forced me to lie back on the kitchen table where I could be tied up. She was enthusiastic about getting me into positions where I could be caused major embarrassment, were we to be discovered. So far the worst that had happened was a female employee of the local swimming pool seeing me naked, which had been a little annoying but was hardly the worst that could have happened with Jess around. Plus, the woman who had seen us hadn't even thought anything odd was going on, given that we were in the changing rooms, a place where you might reasonably expect there to be nude girls. But Jess's rudeness had caused her to comment icily on the, er, rather `natural' state of my bikini line and it gave Jess ideas. I was only fifteen, I'd never had a boyfriend: I didn't think that there was anything wrong with leaving my bush to grow as God intended. Jess thought otherwise.
She bound my ankles to the table with string, "to stop you squirming too much when it hurts -- which it will," she added ominously. My hands were tied together, to a radiator, leaving me well and truly trussed.
"We're both fucked if my mum comes home early, or Bella," I told Jess, referring to my older sister but she just shrugged and told me that if she heard the front door unlocking, she would have time to run out of the back door. I might be left alone to explain why I was lying on the kitchen table as naked as the day I was born, but that was my problem, she explained. God, this bitch was precise in her planning.
She lost no time retrieving a packet of wax from her school bag which she generously spread over my mound. "Never even heard of scissors, have you?" she murmured to herself as she spread it around on my thick bush. A bit rich, I thought, it wasn't as if many of us fifteen year olds in our year at school exactly needed to keep themselves in shape, down there. I doubted few were bothered to wax themselves yet -- although I took her point about the scissors. I guess a quick trim wouldn't have been a bad idea. Jess laid the first strip of material on the thick bunch of hair above my pussy lips. I braced myself as she told me something silly about it being "for my own good." She ripped: it was excruciating. I screamed at the top of my lungs. It felt like my skin was on fire: my nerves tinged and tore as if I had a flaming torch held close to my flesh. Jess continued laying strips, oblivious to my screams. Each time she pulled, I yelled and begged her to stop. I had tears streaming down my cheeks as I gyrated on the table, swinging my knees from left to right but unable to stop her from administrating her punishment. I no longer cared if my mum walked in on us, I just wanted it to stop.
"Stop it, please Jess, I'll do anything." She merely peered over the top of her glasses in her superior way and said, "it would look even worse if I stopped now, I might as well finish and get you looking nice." At that point I realised that she lived with a different moral code to normal people: she genuinely believed that she was doing me some kind of sick favour. She yanked the last tufts of hairs out with her last strips and then casually headed over to the sink to get a wet cloth. She returned and dabbed at my private parts, removing the left over wax.
"Isn't that better now? You look lovely."
"Like a little girl, you mean," I moaned through my tears. "Even porn stars leave a little strip of hair behind."
"Well, I prefer it completely hairless like this. Look at it. It's gorgeous now." She lend over and gave my now entirely bald mons a delicate kiss, and then paused as she inhaled deeply, her face right next to my lips. "You smell fucking great," she commented. "Now let's get you untied and say no more about it, shall we?"
Let me tell you more about my bully. One of Jess's favourite tricks was to force me to drink a bottle of water and then make me abstain from using the bathroom for a certain period of time. This often would take place before a lesson, especially if it was a double period, though she sometimes told me she'd "follow me around" and "let me know" when I was relinquished from my duties (in other words, when I was finally allowed to enter the bathroom and relieve myself). These sessions tended to end with her slapping me on the back and telling me to go and take a piss, finally. She would laugh as I wobbled off, trying to stumble to the bathroom while keeping my legs as crossed as I could.
At other times she would follow me into the stall and watch the relief on my face as I finally emptied my full bladder. Once she even told me to leave my knickers on and urinate through the material. That time, she made me peel my drenched underwear off and dump it in the sanitary bin. I then had the rest of the school day to walk around without underwear, with rather sticky private parts (of course, she hadn't allowed me to use toilet paper on myself that time). I was relatively lucky though: I had never yet embarrassed myself in public through her torture. She was just attuned enough to allow me to go at the last possible minute, her real thrill being in torturing me for two hours, rather than the wet climax at the end, which she preferred to be kept private.
However, one day she pushed us both too far. She hadn't bothered me for a couple of weeks -- we had both been quite busy with school work and a play that our year was putting on. So she was far from my mind when I downed the last of a can of coke after lunch and our history teacher dimmed the lights for us all to watch a film about the second world war which she had been promising for months (it was both educational and fun, you see).
Just as we were settling down to the opening credits, a bottle of water appeared on my desk, along with a scrap of paper with written instructions: Drink this. I recognised Jess's handwriting and turned round to my nemesis, who was sat behind. She nodded, her blue eyes shining a little demonically in the dark, with the glare of the television screen reflected in the lens of her glasses.
"What if I don't?" I hissed.
Jess shrugged. "Then you get punished," she whispered, slowly and deliberately so that no one else could hear -- they would never guess the erotic nature of our conversation anyway, why would they? She fixed her eyes on me. "It will be worse." I knew all about Jess' "worse" punishments. My pussy was still almost completely hairless from her forced waxing of me -- and that hadn't even been the result of me directly disobeying her. God knows what weird and wonderful activities Jess had dreamed up for me if I ever deserved a harsh punishment of hers. Her regular bullying was bad enough. And I still hadn't lived down my hairlessness from my older sister, Bella, who had happened to catch sight of it when we had gone swimming a fortnight ago. My excuse that I had been "experimenting with personal beauty regimes" had caused her much bemusement.
I downed the bottle of water. The film rolled and for the first hour not a lot happened. Towards the end, though, I felt my bladder stretch and well like a balloon. I knew the movie had at least another twenty minutes to go though, so began crossing and re-crossing my legs every couple of minutes. This became every minute and then when the pain was really very strong I had to place my hands between my thighs and physically hold my crotch. I turned to Jess for a second and caught her eye. I didn't need to say anything, the desperate look on my face, I knew, was enough. She just shook her head solemnly. I realised that Jess was less interested in watching me embarrass myself in front of the whole class and more concerned about getting me to give up and run to the bathroom -- with or without the teacher's permission -- so that she could finally get the opportunity to extract her `serious punishment' upon me. I couldn't give her the satisfaction.
I turned back and gave the film my full attention, trying to become entranced by it so that I would forget the intense pain in my tummy. It didn't work. I couldn't concentrate. I squirmed and squirmed in my seat and became less subtle with my hands. My right hand was now fully pressing my skirt against my pussy, my fingers practically pushing the material inside my vagina, such as the pressure of my hand against my urethra. It couldn't hold. I felt a few drops spurt into my knickers. It was only a few drops: I was reasonably confident I wasn't about to gush, though I was becoming less sure of this with each passing second. Some more drops came through, then some more. My skirt was still dry but I knew that my underwear was getting quite damp. My bladder screamed. This was unsustainable. I moved my legs, about to stand up so that I could race from the room -- I no longer cared about Jess's punishments -- when I realised that it was almost impossible to move without emptying my bladder there and then.
Just when I was about to give up, the screen went off. "Right, we'll leave it there for now," the teacher announced. "It's home time now, you'd better go." Everyone stood up and slowly traipsed from the room. My agony continued but I sensed that the end was in sight and found a second wind.
"Come on, Charlotte, you'd better go too," Mrs Webb said to me as I struggled to my feet, holding onto the table for support as I tried to keep my legs shut tight. Jess hovered quietly behind me, pretending to pack her bag with non existent books. I shuffled from the room and immediately turned right, away from the crowds. I knew of a little-used bathroom at the other end of the corridor, down some steps, and suspected I would be alone in there, were I just a little lucky. It wasn't far. But as I hopped uncomfortably down the hall I could feel the urine trickling from me. There was no holding it back now, all I could do was to try to slow it a little. As I turned the corner I felt the trickle turn into a steady stream as pee soaked my knickers and tights. I lurched down a small flight of about four or five steps and barged my shoulder against the bathroom door. Had anyone been standing inside, they would have seen a teenage girl limp into the room holding her crotch tightly with both hands, skirt bunched up around her waist, with urine squirting from her wet knickers.
Thankfully, as I had hoped, the room was empty and I threw myself into one of the stalls and landed on the toilet seat. I had no time to pull down my underwear so just relaxed and felt about a litre and a half of streaming piss pour from my pussy, through my tights and into the toilet bowl.
Jess entered the room and smiled: I had not even had time to push the toilet door shut and was hiding nothing. "I see you just about made it," she commented, "although there is quite a stream of suspicious liquid leading from the classroom to here."
"You bitch, that was agonising," I moaned. "And I can't walk around school like this, even my skirt is drenched." I gulped and felt the tears start to well up.
"Oh don't go crying on me. Be glad you took your punishment so well. Most girls would have wet themselves right there in the classroom. I'm impressed with you. Here, let me help."
Jess entered the cubical, knelt and ran her hands up my legs. "Gosh, you got it everywhere," she murmured as she gently pulled at the waist of my knickers. I raised myself from the seat and let her remove my tights and underwear in one go. "And your skirt," she said as I unhooked the clasp and let that, too, fall into the damp pile of clothing on the floor. She awkwardly pushed the door closed behind her, turned round and to my amazement, began to lick my knee.
"Let's get you all clean and nice," she whispered as she ran her tongue up and down the outside of my thigh. Dumbly, I acquiesced and opened my legs for her. She hungrily licked the inside of my thighs and approached my hairless pussy with her nose (a pussy, I should add, that was made hairless by Jess's own forced waxing of my bikini line a couple of weeks previously).
"This is your reward," she breathed and she delved her tongue into my lips and lapped at my vagina like a thirsty dog. I shuddered each time she made contact with my clit, holding onto the toilet seat tightly, with my eyes shut.
I hated the fact that this awful bully was giving me pleasure and yet I was too weak, and too close to orgasm, to allow her to stop. After being in pain for so long and coming so close to being humiliated in front of all my classmates, I had no energy to control her. And as much as I loathed to admit it, there was a part of me that enjoyed Jess's punishments. But I would rather die than tell her so.
Jess brought me to a swift orgasm with some well timed flicks of her tongue around my clitoris as well as up and down my lips. She pulled her head away from between my legs and made eye contact. "That's your reward for holding all that water inside you. I knew you could do it. And I know that you enjoyed that, too. I've got a spare tracksuit in my locker. Let me go and get it and you can wear it home."
She stood, unlocked the door and exited the stall. I saw her freeze and immediately knew that something was wrong. There was a woman standing in the bathroom, staring directly into our cubical. It was Mrs Watson, the deputy head. She was middle aged and widely hated by students for being strict. She looked utterly confused at the sight before her: Jessica Bishop exiting a stall that featured another girl, naked and hairless below the waist, with her clothes in a damp pile on the floor by the toilet. God knows what sounds she may have heard coming from the stall as Jess brought me off just thirty seconds previously.
"Mrs Watson," Jess exclaimed. "I... was just... helping Charlotte."
The old lady raised an eyebrow. "Helping her?"
"Yes. You see..." her voice faltered. "Char had an accident." Watson frowned, confused. "She wet herself," whispered Jess.
Realisation dawned on the woman's face. Her voice turned professional once more. "Oh yes, of course. I'm so sorry, you poor girl." She averted her eyes from me as I slowly gathered up my skirt and tights to hold dumbly in my lap to cover my modesty. "Does she need help?" she whispered to Jess, as if I were disabled, or a five year old child.
"Not at all," smiled Jess, now enjoying her role play in this lie, "I was just about to go and get her fresh clothes."
"Well carry on, then," smiled the teacher and followed Jess from the room as I silently closed the stall door. I half expected Jess to not return and leave me to traipse back home in wet clothes, but she was back within a couple of minutes and passed me tracksuit trousers and a T Shirt under the door. "So you don't look funny in tracksuit bottoms and a school blouse," she explained, and I could tell that she felt a little guilty, as being caught by a teacher was never part of her plan. We walked home, reasonably content, but I couldn't help but wonder exactly how convinced Mrs Watson had been by Jess's explanation, that a fifteen year old would wet herself and then require such intimate help from her friend. I suspected that that wasn't the last I would see of the deputy headmistress, nor the last of Jess' games for me to play, either.