" The Bridge Club" by TAFFY0101

[esercito sconfitto]

THE BRIDGE CLUB

by TAFFY0101

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PART 1

It was a perfect summer evening, a late summer at that. The highway was silent, its surface warm from the days heat, the yellow partition lines new and freshly painted. The highway way lined by a wire picket fence that demarcated the fields with their lush green crops.
The sun, after a day of burning bright was low on the skyline. It was a perfect time to sit on a porch and enjoy cool lemonade, or a glass of ice cold beer and maybe smoke your favourite pipe or a cigarette. Alas, there was no home or building in sight.
The country road continued in a straight line, not even a trace of a breeze disturbed the red dirt accumulated on the verges. No grass or bush tossed to and fro, the land was getting dark, the shadows becoming more evident by the hour. Soon there would be complete darkness and the crickets would commence their song.
The journey continues and to the right of the road lays a dirt track. The track is a junction, possibly leading to a farm; the gap in the wire fence was large enough for a heavy vehicle. In fact, there were recent large tyre tracks imprinted into the dirt. Whatever had recently come this way was a heavy vehicle indeed. The land was darker still, the sun sinking faster.
Along the dirt road the journey takes us away from the deserted country highway. Soon, up just ahead lies a wood, to the left of the dirt road. It was not a large wood by far, yet it was thick and lush with green vegetation. Large trees with a thick canopy obscured from above what lay underneath. It is hard to see now, the light being so dark.
Further along the dirt road the heavy vehicle tracks seemed to turn off the road and into the wood. The crushed foliage was compressed into two distinct lines that formed a trail into the darkened wood. As our journey progresses into the mini forest, following the artificial trail, the gloom becomes darker. Darker and darker until the trail is seen no more, until finally one becomes lost in the all engulfing darkness.
That is, until one can see two red lights, up ahead, not too far away. Enough light so that the traveller can orientate his or her direction once more. The twin red lights acting as a beacon for the lost and wary.
Closer the lights become, closer and closer the traveller approaches. Closer we approach; the red lights can be identified as red tail light. Yes, tail lights of a yellow bus, the licence plate becomes recognisable. The metal structure so artificial in the natural surroundings.
The heavy vehicle that had caused the tracks had been a yellow bus. There were no lights discernable inside, the rear windows were black caverns, revealing nothing of the inside. The bus’s engine had been switched off, yet there was noise, loud noise from the invisible front.
The traveller could hear human voices, female voices, sounds of laughter, and echoes of a celebration of some kind. There was whooping and hollering, muted by the thick canopy of branches overhead.
Who was making these gay sounds, a party of merry makers, maybe enjoying a late summer picnic in the country side? Maybe it was some college folk enjoying a late drink, having a party in woods? Maybe ecstatic naturalist out for a late ramble?
Our journey continues down the side of the bus, which proudly displays the logo ‘Fairfield College, Home of the Wolverines...Go wolverines’. So a college bus it is. The traveller carefully steers themselves along the sides of the yellow bus.
The traveller rests at the forward part of the bus, a bright glow emanates brazenly, its front lights had obviously been left on to illuminate the scene to its front.
The traveller expects to be greeted by the folk before them, ‘Hello stranger, join the party.....No need to be out in the dark by yourself’. Not in this case though.
The yellow college bus had been driven into the woods and had stopped at a clearing. A clearing surrounded by sturdy old trees.
Our traveller is fictional, there is no one there to view the scene displayed by the headlights.
If someone had been there to view the panorama before them, their mouths would have dropped in shocked surprise, maybe they would have stifled the urge to shout.
Instead our fictional traveller would backed away, very quietly and slowly indeed. They would have crept back in silence to the dirt road, carefully trying to avoid making noise. They would have had no wish to disturb those women in the woods.
From there they would have run, faster and faster along the dirt road, their heartbeats pounding as they sprinted, always heading for the highway. The highway were they would have desperately hoped for help.
Help for themselves and those poor, unfortunate girls.
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Part 2

The Fairfield College bus had originally belonged to a convoy of two. The football team or the guys had been in one. The other one, the bus now camouflaged by the woods had belonged to the girls, the girls being the college cheerleaders.
Up to the present, it had been a fine trip so far for Mrs Horvath and her girls, a bright sunny day out, via the countryside of course, to the city football stadium.
After all, she was proud of her students, Fairfield was one of those rich and expensive colleges, where the rich and idle sent their equally rich and idle sons and daughters.
Unfortunately, for its occupants, the bus had broken down, although briefly. The driver, a middle aged man was a dab hand at mechanics and had cleared the blocked fuel line in thirty minutes flat. The jocks in the bus in front, meanwhile, had not even slowed down.
The principle, aka Mrs Horvath was furious. When she caught up with coach she would tear him a new asshole.
Her girls and the female gym teacher, Ms Blomberg, had been so patient and well behaved during the temporary transportation crisis, in her short red dress she glowed with pride.
Mrs Horvath was nearly fifty yet she looked forty, she was a fine looking blonde woman, a sense of the protective matriarch was about her, she felt very protective of her brood, especially in this day and age.
How cute they looked in their smart uniforms, so ladylike and demure. Mrs Horvath sighed and wished that it was the time of ‘Tara’, Scarlett O Hara and Rhett Butler, she was a woman born out of her time.
The girls, all young and youthful, looked so fresh and vibrant. The uniform was a long sleeved, one piece affair, tight, showing off all the feminine curves of their breasts and lithe, fit bodies. The uniform skirt was pleated with blue and white stripes.
The torso flaunted a blue lightening flash on a white background, the V neck collar displaying smooth, well curved throats and well developed cleavages. There was no visible evidence of the identical, issued white sports bras that were worn underneath.
The cheerleader’s well formed; long legs were encased in dark brown, almost opaque shiny pantyhose, worn underneath the pale blue issued Sports, high cut Lycra panties. Just below the knees there were the regulation long socks, brilliant white with blue trimming, topped off with pristine white sports shoes.
Up above, over their cute ponytailed heads, were their personal carryalls containing their normal clothes. Under their seats were the blue and whit pom poms.
Mrs Horvath was conservative in her dress, as her sensible coffee brown pantyhose projected and was very, very conservative in tastes regarding what should be worn underneath, tradition was her motto.
Her concession to being daring was her choice in the short sleeved red dress that was above her knees; even her husband rarely saw what she wore underneath her outer clothing these days.
Her choice was due to the fact that they would meet the City Mayor later tonight. After all, she was fifty, not eighty; one must dress like a butterfly to catch a man, especially one of power.
She blushed at her inner thoughts, ‘My, My...she was not even wearing a slip tonight’.
All was fine until they had stopped to help a person in need or what she thought was one. The woman laying in the road, her friend flagging them down.
The bus had stopped sharply, the girls slightly thrown forward as it braked. The driver had exited and she had followed.
There must have been an accident she thought, not even asking the common sense question as to why the two ladies in peril were wearing bright orange jumpsuits.
Before Mrs Horvath or the driver new anything was amiss, a handgun had been thrust into their faces, a crowd of shouting, abusive women, all brightly attired in orange had emerged from an unseen culvert. The nasty, foul mouthed women had pushed them back onto the bus and demanded they drive on; a gun pointed at the drivers head.
The scared cheerleaders screamed at first, panicked as the bus filled with the rough looking orange clad females. Some of the doe eyed girls were cuffed into silence, the intent stares given by the violent attackers made them look down at the floor, nervous of their fate.
Some of the girls became rather more anxious as they noted the lecherous stares that these uncouth women gave them. It was like they were being stripped by their eyes, the girls fidgeted in uncomfortable silence as their now uncertain journey continued.
The silence in the bus was dreadful for the girls; Mrs Horvath’s pleas of what was happening went unanswered. When the bus was directed off the highway and up a dirt road the answer was not long in coming.



PART THREE

The wooded clearing, lit by the harsh white glare of the sodium headlights, was a hive of activity. An activity that was not altogether ****ian, in fact it was damn right pagan.
Mrs Horvath’s girls were now very inappropriately dressed for this time of night. They looked a far cry from the well attired young ladies they had been just a short time before.
All ten girls, 18 to 20 years old were in the process of struggling, attempting to shout out in outrage, some pleading for help, some trying to raise their arms or stand up on their strong muscled legs.
This simple act, they were unable to perform. Why? Because they had all been bound and gagged. Some were like rabbits caught in a cars headlights, frozen stiff with terror.
The girls squirmed on their knees, some lay prone or horizontal, some were tied together. The wooded clearing was a ménage of writhing, squirming, protesting young female flesh.
The girls pulled at the orange fabric that tightly held their soft, female limbs in place. Shoulders arched, elbows jutted out, back and fore, if a girl’s was laid out on the leafy ground then, shapely legs moved up and down, their ankles bound.
The ex-cheerleaders found the feeling of being tied up and gagged, uncomfortable, the sensation being unnatural. So even though they knew that they could not release themselves, their normal instinct was to try anyway.
After the bus had been driven into the secluded woods as far as it would go, the girl’s had been ordered off. The uniformed girls had stood there, faced by their kidnappers; the assault when it came had been fast and brutal.
The clearing was full of gagged moaning ‘MMMUUUUMMMPPPPFFF’, ‘MMMMmmmm’ or ‘UUURRRmmhhhpppfff’ a crescendo of forced young muted female voices. Only the hidden, nearby nocturnal wildlife could observe in unexplained fascination.
The girls pretty faces were all tarnished with fear, their complexion, unusually red. The carefully applied makeup was smeared and mascara had run down gag obstructed cheeks. Pure white, expensively paid for teeth, bit down hard on the tight orange cleave gags forced into their mouths.
Although being tied up by a group of desperate violent woman was bad enough, what humiliated them most was that the brutal psycho’s had stolen their uniforms; it had not even ended there.
One of the young girls, just 19 was Jesse Carlisle. In horror and trepidation she had watched Mrs Horvath protest when they had been ordered to strip.
Mrs Horvath had gallantly confronted the woman who she had supposed was the leader of these criminals. By now the busload of girls had assumed that these violent, cruel looking women were escaped convicts. Especially when they had noted the words ‘Ravenswood Correctional Facility’ stencilled on the back of their jumpsuits.
The result, Mrs Horvath now lay on her front; face down in the leaves, unconscious, naked, bound and gagged. Her principle was motionless, hogtied and cleave gagged by a torn up orange prison jumpsuit.
Jesse watched the hard looking woman who had punched Mrs Horvath out with one blow. After that, they all hurriedly began to strip.
Some of the girls who seemed more hesitant in doing so were helped by eager hands. The wood was full of female protests as the pulling of zippers and the snapping of bra fasteners echoed around the once silent clearing.
Most young yelps of protest were met by a quick slap or foul mouthed rebuke ‘Fcucking, Get em off, Sweet cheeks’, the result being the removal of uniform, bra, panties, socks and pantyhose by the wearer herself.
Jesse watched the violent leader of the bushwhackers slip on Mrs Horvath’s brassiere. A pale cream, full support bra, half the cup a lattice work of lace, the other a full cream polyester fabric, a little cute bow adorned the centre piece.
The straps were slipped over the nasty looking females shoulder and thereafter the sturdy torso band was fastened securely.


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Jesse watched in terror, her young eyes moist with anxiety, as the female adjusted the straps of the stolen bra, which had minutes ago just adorned the poor Mrs Horvath’s bosom.
The bound Jesse noted that it did not even fit the woman properly; the cups seemed deflated, unfilled. Why take her bra and everything else for that matter, it was so indecent, so disgusting and unhygienic to boot, flashed through Jesse’s confused and stressed young mind.
The assailant was already wearing the principles complementary high cut support panties; well Mrs Horvath was putting on a little weight lately, too many cookies with her tea in her study, Jesse supposed.
The angry looking female also wore the knocked out teachers, shiny, coffee coloured full support pantyhose. The large white panties underneath were now a very pale beige colour, a nylon seam ran up from the lady convicts groin in the centre, right up to the elasticised waist band.
God, thought Jesse, she had left poor Mrs Horvath with nothing on at all. The evil woman was now picking up poor Mrs Horvath’s low cut red dress with the short sleeves. Jesse remembered how she and her friends had sneered at their principles expense at her choice of dress for this day; the girls thinking she was too old for such fashion.
But nobody had wished her to be stripped of it by a stranger’s hand. The thief was already wearing the principles red ankle strapped, brown heeled shoes, a new pair by the looks of them.
The woman seemed a little hesitant in dressing up in Mrs Horvath’s lacy, traditional underwear and hoes, the hoes she had to work out twice, if they were inside out or not, before slipping them on, as if she had not put on real women’s clothing for a long time.
Jesse looked around at her friends, she had come off lucky. She had been left wearing her white, full support sports bra and pale blue Lycra sport panties, underneath she still wore her uniform’s dark brown shiny pantyhose, only her long white socks and sport shoes had been taken. Jeez, compared to her classmates and friends she might as well be fully clothed.
Her colleagues were all tied up and gagged like her, except all of them had had their white full cup bra’s taken. The sports bras looked the same actually, designed to be invisible under the uniforms and at the same time still providing wonderful support as the team jumped around athletically, as their trained routines required.
Some, not all of the girls had either taken off by themselves or had removed by pawing hands the pale blue uniform panties, thereby being just left with their individual sheer to waist, shiny, almost opaque brown pantyhose.
The once fully attired cheerleaders were thereby reduced to having their womanhood virtually exposed to every passing eye, friend or foe.
The girls well shaped backsides and perfectly manicured pubic regions were only obscured by the veneer of sheer, soft nylon fabric that in reality held nothing from the imagination or scrutiny.
Under this beige gossamer layer the feminine bulge of various unadorned tummies curved, a little flesh being held in check by an elastic brown waistband, a naval just visible, one or two pierced by gold or silver.
A shudder went through Jesse’s gagged and tied body and it was not due to the change in temperature either.
Her underwear clad body was balanced on her nylon sheathed knees, her hands tied tightly behind her back.
Thank god she was so small, her body was a size 8, and her breasts were an ‘A’ cup. Those gorillas who had assaulted them would never fit into her uniform and underwear.
Jesse watched as the large black woman, who had roughly tied her up, attempting to squeeze into her dainty uniform dress, which zippered at the rear.
The convict was struggling to get the blue and white uniform up over her thick fat thighs, she was even still clothed in her cheap white prison panties and vest, and to Jesse it looked like man’s underwear, something her grandfather had worn.
‘Good luck’, thought Jesse ‘I hope it strangles you’, she turned in the other direction and began to sob at the sight that met her young, innocent eyes.


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There was Margo Fontaine, tied naked to a tree, standing up, with her arms above her pretty head, held by orange fabric that secured her dainty wrists to a stout branch above. Her long, bare luscious legs tied at her ankles, her naked knees slightly bent.
Margo was a *****, thought Jesse, a real ball breaker in College, every guys dream, great ass and big tits, but even she did not deserve what was happening to her right now.
Margo’s mom, also blonde, was some kind of hot shot lawyer from the south, always away and never visited her daughter at the private college, but wealthy by all accounts and very, very powerful. But her mother’s riches and power could not help her daughter now.
A female rough had stolen all her clothes. Margo had been seized upon by a blonde convict; she had not even been given the chance to undress by herself. As if the blonde criminal had decided back on the bus who’s uniform and underwear she had desired most.
Jesse stole glances at Margo’s attacker, not wanting to bring on the wrath of the convict if caught staring. Surprisingly, the woman did not look that bad in Margo’s clothes.
The uniform fitted well, all the convict’s curves were extenuated by the tight fabric, and there was a slight indentation on her back, evidence of the equally stolen supportive sports bra underneath.
Her brown pantyhosed legs were highlighted by the white knee length socks, also a sneak glimpse of a blue pantied ass, as the convict went about her deviant business.
The blonde imposter even had her own hair in the style of a ponytail; just like all of them had. Her purloined white sports completing the effect
The malicious b.tch had been dressed up in the girl’s clothes and underwear in record time, as if she could not wait to get them on. Her blonde attackers face was blank, expressionless; the woman had been so intense with her objective of stripping, gagging and the tying up process of Margo, oblivious to anything and all around her.
To the thankful Jesse, glad that she had not been the object of interest, the false cheerleader could have passed as one of them. Except for one point, the imposter just looked too old, 25 Jesse guessed. But only other young women would pick up on this tiny observation. The disguise would work on that b.tch, thought Jesse.
Other men she new liked this sort of thing, getting their partners to dress up in the privacy of the bedroom. She had worn the uniform once for Pete; it was more of a joke for her, by his flushed look though not Pete.
Much later on, once she had caught her boyfriend, Pete, looking at some Uniform stealing sight on the net, cheerleaders and nurse’s, Jesse thought them to be as the notebook was rapidly shut.
Well she had been pissed and thought nothing more of it, except now it was happening for real; at her own and her friend’s expense, the price being their feminine dignity. It was a nightmare.
The newly dressed convict was caressing her just newly acquired pantyhose up against the leg and thigh of their previous owner. The blonde convict’s strong leg was gently moving up and down Margo’s naked lower limb. That was not all either, it shocked Jesse to the core.
The woman was kissing Margo’s, finely shaped neck, leaving hickies in her wake. The blonde convict’s unpainted lips hungrily sucked on the soft skin of Margo’s perfect form, the woman’s eyes starring all the time into the gagged girls closed eyes.
The brutish woman was also roughly squeezing Margot’s, ‘C’ cup left breast, her fingers pulling and needling the pert brown nipple. The blonde woman’s rough calloused hand held Margo’s tit fully, pushing the soft, pliable flesh up and down in a slow motion, relishing the thought that the bra that had supported it now adorned her own body.
The convict’s other hand was equally engaged. The abrasive hand, which had not seen nail polish in years, gently slid over the girl’s bare stomach, down, down and then around to caress and sometimes squeeze the cheek of her juicy, naked peach shaped and perfect ass.
Through this entire trauma the unfortunate Margo had her eyes tightly shut; tears were still flowing through the closed made up eye lids. Her only sign of protest at being touched was a muted ‘MMMmmmmmm’, her teeth gritting against the orange knot jammed tightly in her mouth, her long blonde hair trapped underneath the gags tie off.
Jesse saw the criminal lesbian convict slide her hand up to Margo’s face, then reach for the ex-cheerleaders diamond ear stud and begin removing the expensive item if jewellery. During all this time, the woman still did not look up as her mouth intensely kissed the perfectly formed soft neck of her victim.
The Gagged and bound, underwear clad Jesse lowered her ponytailed blonde head, her sports bra clad breasts heaving up and down as she sobbed, over and over again. The girl’s gagged mouth, preventing normal speech, but stifled words sounded like ‘Please go away....what did we do to you...what did we do.....’

PART FOUR

One member of the gagged and bound troupe was quite calm, too calm in fact to the outside independent observer. The female in question seemed rather less inclined to struggle, her muted voice a little too low, yet her eyes were searching furiously.
The bound female in question was a rather unusual choice in character study. Ms Blomberg should have been the girl’s guardian, someone they could have turned to for guidance and assistance in situations such as this.
Surely their tough, disciplined gym teacher would protect their honour and decorum. Yet when they had been ordered to strip, she had done nothing. Even when Mrs Horvath had stepped up to the role and had been savagely knocked down for her troubles, still there had been nothing, not even a curse had passed through her thin, unadorned lips.
Ms Blomberg, Ms Bella Blomberg, the college’s female gym coach and cheerleader team trainer. Why? Because Bella Blomberg had a secret, a dark secret at that, one that involved her girls privately and was ever so intimate indeed.
Like her charges, Bella had been divested of her clothing. A blue and white college tracksuit, complete with the usual logo, she had watched as one of these prison pukes had stolen it.
Likewise her white T shirt and off white, unadorned soft cup brassiere had also been purloined. Her large breasts were now unsupported, therefore the 33 year old gym teacher was left wearing only her unmatched navy blue bikini panties, again plain in design. Bella did not favour fancy, frilly underwear, unless it was on the body of another.
Her breasts were subject to the laws of gravity, large pale and bulbous with large brown nipples. Her breasts were natural and therefore did not point straight ahead or refuse to move regardless of what position the body was in, even if unsupported. Bella’s breasts were unlike some of the young bosom’s that were now on display in the clearing.
Her stomach was flat, her naval small, and the bikini panties were looking very feminine and somehow vulnerable. Curiously, her legs were tightly clamped shut, unlike her girl’s who where desperately pulling at their bonds, leaving much to be viewed that normal decency would never allow.
Bella’s hands and feet were similarly tied with torn prison uniforms, her mouth cleave gagged like the rest. Her face was pretty, but her beauty appeared to be more masculine than the soft petite girls of the college and the conservative maturity of the still unconscious Horvath.
Bella’s chestnut brown hair was cut short, almost boyish at the nape of her neck and this added to the effect. It was as if she had been in the military, in which she had.
Her chiselled, firm jaw was in stark contrast to her bright blue eyes and small nose. Her ears were small and dainty, wearing only small cheap studs on her equally small lobes.
Her left check was faintly scarred, a keepsake from a past military accident. It had put off some men, but Bella did not care anyway, she never had really.
Her gait was that of a male, she was female in appearance but radiated the presence of a male. A female who liked other pleasures, pleasures normally associated with other men’s desires.
When they had been bushwhacked by this scum she could have put up one hell of a fight. When ordered to strip she could have busted up a few of them, this she was sure of. But Bella had no intention of resisting. She had wanted to strip and likewise she wanted her girls to divest themselves of their clothing also.
At the moment, the semi naked Bella had her eyes closed. She felt that she was in heaven. She enjoyed the feeling that the tight bonds gave her, the tight restriction on her limbs, the fact that she was helpless. She felt no terror like the others, just anticipation. The tight gag in her mouth worked both ways for her.
The gag did not prevent Bella from shouting out in protest, like her girls, but kept her grunts of ecstasy to herself, she could not help herself crying out in satisfaction. Her bellows of joy, sounded like outrage to anyone else, but to her they were bellows of joy.
At first Bella was a little disappointed. None of the cons seemed to be interested in her. No one had squeezed her tits, insulted or taunted her or felt her up in any way. But she did get satisfaction through another medium. Her fantasies about her girls were being played out in front of her in real life.

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Bella had been tied to 18 year old Angela ‘Angie’ Stafford. Little old Angie’s folks were big money people from Boston. They would not be too pleaded at what had happened to their cute, hair styled in a black bob, little princess.
Bella and Angie had been tied back to back, a cut piece of tow rope held them together. The rope dug tightly into their bare flesh and under both of the females respective bosoms.
Bella was quite still, legs tightly together; Angie was struggling against the bonds that held her. More alarmingly for Angie, who was attempting to twist her cleave gagged head around to face her gym teacher, what was happening behind her.
Angie was at a loss of why her teachers hands was down the back of her panties and pantyhose clad ass. Was her gym teacher trying to undo the tight knot that held her wrists in place?
If so she was well off the mark. Angie was sure that her teacher was groping her backside, the bound hands digging and rummaging deep into her already violated underwear and hosiery, fingers poking into the crack of her ass, fingers pinching her bottom.
Bella took all this in, hence her eyes were closed. She gushed with excitement, her heart beating fast, her body trembling as her fingers searched underneath the soft, smooth undergarments.
Bella, in her enforced darkness, felt the soft touch of Angie’s naked skin on her fingertips, a skin barely touched by others, an intimate place reserved for others.
Her legs tightened even closer as her searching fingertips stroked the partition of her ass cheeks.
Bella could hear the girls gagged and confused questions as her fingers searched further and further into her private territory.
She could feel her now bra less shoulders push against her own as Angie attempted to turn around, her head bent back, trying to find out what her teachers hands were doing down below.
Bella ached in side, trying to put off the eruption that was bound to happen soon.
Bella opened her eyes, trying to think of something else, something neutral like Horvath. Bella had taken no joy in seeing Horvath stripped and tied. In fact she was glad that the dumb C..t was gagged to shut her up.
She was desperate to hide her desires. Desires that would end her lucrative profession if they were ever discovered by her unknowing patrons.
Her knees and thighs were pushed closer together still, her muscles strained at the effort, her senses heightened, even the grass underneath her excited crotch tickled and encouraged the spasm that was soon to come.
Bella could not stand the darkness anymore, she had to see it all. The sight before Bella made her gagged mouth groan in mental agony, ‘OOOOHHHHhhhhrrrhhhggggg’, instead left her gagged mouth.
The sight made her longings more acute not less. A sight that had nearly been her fall from grace three months ago. A sight that she had secretly craved and had reproduced in her mind and in reality also. Now in was 100% real.
Lying on her side, just before Bella’s bound sport clad feet was her dream come true.
The young female subject of Bella’s lesbian lust was a rather disgruntled, red faced Katarina Charalambous, the Greek exchange student. Bella’s intense stare drifted for a moment.
In the artificial lamp light of the bus, Bella could see the twisting back of the doe eyed Carlisle girl.
Bella saw the bound hands, the blonde ponytail giving a dance of its own. Bella’s mouth bit the gag inside her mouth as she stared, wishing the memory to remain this clear and fresh forever. She wished she had a camcorder right now.
Bella Blomberg, the repressed lesbian, took note of the brilliant white shoulder straps that came over the blonde girl’s shoulders, forming a V pattern on her back, the racerback design she thought.
The bra straps linked themselves to the heavy torso band, all tight and snug. Simple yet alluring, as much as the girls tight, waist high blue panties with not a trace of the dark brown pantyhose waistband to be seen. She was a neat dresser thought Bells.
Bella felt a shudder through her lower body and groin, a tingling all over. ‘Not now’ she thought, ‘Not yet.....hold on to it’, yet she still felt moist between her legs.
Bella’s gaze wandered closer to her bound feet, she had to look now, the climax could not be put off any longer.
In the foreground of the struggling bound Jesse was her object of desire. Bella’s bound fingers and hands, in pure relax gripped the nearest object, in this case the equally bound Angie’s ass.


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The girl yelped through her gag. Unsuccessfully trying to edge herself away from her gym teacher. She tried valiantly though, even if the tow rope prevented large movement between them.
With the gym teachers hands stuck down the rear of her pants it was awkward to say the least, the result being the stretching of the reverse of the panties and the hoes underneath, the blue satin and nylon being pliable, hence her bare ass becoming visible.
The reaction by Bella was caused by Katarina; her smooth light brown body was on perfect display.
The nakedness of her perfect 18 year old body was like a piece of classical art. Like all her group she had been tied with the orange scraps of prison jumpsuits, hands behind her back, ankles tied off, her black nail polished naked toes were wriggling back and fore.
Her long legs, which rose up to a perfect wine glass figure, the rounded thighs and rounded womanly backside, her waist that curved inwards, her waist line was left with a red indentation were her tight pantyhose had once been and naturally the trimmed pubic hair creating a mouth watering little V shape.
Her soft concave stomach with a small naval, rose up to her chest and because she was on her side facing Bella, her natural 34 C breasts tilted ever so slightly towards the dirt and leaf strewn ground. Her nipples a darker brown and small, the flesh unblemished.
Under her arms on her upper body were similar indentation marks on her soft light brown skin, more evidence that her underwear no longer hid the intimate parts of her own body.
Her slim neck, adorned with a gold chain and orthodox crucifix led up to a beautiful Mediterranean face.
Katarina Charalambous face was distorted due to the tightness of the orange cleave gag that had been jammed into her small, full red painted lipped mouth.
Her perfect teeth were bared as they bit down on the gag, her tongue pushed back inside her delicate mouth, a mouth that normally appreciated soft full kisses. A mouth that broke hearts when it smiled, a mouth that was stern and pouty when it did not get what it wanted.
And right now Katarina’s mouth did not appreciate having strips of dirty prison uniform stuffed into it.
Katarina’s lovely head was unsupported, therefore it bobbed up and down, her graceful, smooth neck straining see what would happen to herself.
Her dark feline eyes, were clouded with fear, the black mascara, heavy in the style of a typical trendy young Greek woman, made the shadow around them more intense and attractive, ‘Fcuking A’ to that thought Bella, as soon as she first saw them.
Her long, rich black hair flowed towards the ground, a convict thug who had stolen all her clothing had also removed her hair clip which had previously held her ponytail in place.
Bella took in the luscious sight of the struggling stripped, bound and gagged Katarina. Miss Charlambous was the daughter of a Greek shipping magnate, no surprise there. The rich young heiress had been sent to Fairfield to experience a new culture, to broaden her experience in life.
Well she was certainly experiencing a new culture at this present moment in time, the culture of a gang of desperate, violent women, who had nothing to lose in life.
Bella saw the Greek girl was crying, not loudly in great sobs or a heaving chest, just wetness around the eyes, she was more ashamed at her public nakedness at anything else.
Bella saw a complete difference to the normally, cold and arrogant rich little Pr.ck that arrived at her class and cheerleader training. Always strutting around in her designer cute outfits, indifferent to discipline, like most of her kindred. Looking down on Bella as course and uncultured.
That was it really; the old fool Horvath lived in a time warp. The principle thought that her little darlings lived in another age, all prim and proper, escorted at parties by young gentlemen of a similar background.


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Bella new different from all the locker room chit chat, all the late night parties, the alcohol and drugs, the boyfriends and the sex rating of certain male individuals.
But the pretty bound and gagged Katarina had nearly been her nemesis. Bella, over a prolonged period of time, had started helping herself from the girl’s various gym lockers.
This was courtesy of the spare set of keys she had had made when the college gym had been refurnished. At first it was the odd bra or a pair of panties, taken while the owner was on the court, sweating it out on a training programme or playing ball.
Sometimes the gym teacher would select a pair of pantyhose, retire to her office, lock the door, strip off and put them on, over a fleeced pair of panties. After sensually stroking herself in them, she would masturbate and later discreetly discard them in the trash while on her way home.
But like all people with a fetish, the hunger becomes famine, the urge for more greater. Her collection of stolen female underwear was by now accumulating, in fact it was more than her own.
Occasionally, just for the thrill of maybe getting caught, she would give it a week or two and then wear a stolen bra to a lesson and with her sweat shirt off walk past the previous owner. Not once had the girl in question noticed that it was her lost garment.
But with Katarina Charalambous she had gone too far. Bella remembered when the girl had arrived. A more than average beauty, European and exotic and always dressed to an expensive standard.
More and more Bella had fantasised about waylaying the girl, stealing her clothes and tying her up, leaving her in one of the lockers. Assuming her identity and joining her social group unnoticed. To be the female that she had never been allowed to be.
The fact that Bella and Katarina looked nothing like each other did not make the fantasy any less desirable. In fact Bella had even purchased an expensive black, shoulder length wig in the same style as the real hair of Katarina.
The fact that the Greek Madam from Athens had an attitude from hell made it all the more attractive. Bella, when in the privacy of her home practiced walking like Katarina and mimicked what to Bella’s ear’s was the Greek girl’s voice. Why? Because Bella had a plan.
One afternoon at the college the girls had arrived for a training session. Bella’s heart was in her throat as she noted Katarina as she walked into the locker room. But to the outside world she was the usual, stern Ms Blomberg.
The Greek bombshell confidently strode in, her knee length high heeled black calf skin boots click clacked on the tiled floor.
She wore a very short full length little dress, her legs encased in black sheer, what where obviously pantyhose, worn underneath. Dark sunglasses hid those wonderfully made up eyes and those red full lips were just stunning.
Katarina’s flowing black main, together with her stunning outfit just oozed sexiness. Bella could not wait anymore, today was to be her day.
With forced calm she ordered the girls to be ready for class in 10 minutes and left them all to change.
Thirty minutes into the training programme, Bella left them all on the court. A senior girl, Amanda Davies, took over with the routine. Bella claiming she had a problem to sort out in the office.
Bella did not go to her office, she went into the locker room instead. There, with her spare key she opened Katarina’s locker and with trembling hands she stole all the girl’s underwear, pantyhose, dress and boots. She then placed her booty in a black plastic trash bag.
Outside the gym she placed the bag near a large industrial waste disposal dumpster, ready for collection later. Bella then returned to her lesson, heart racing, waiting for the lesson and her day to end.
Bella was in her office as she heard the explosion of Hellenic cursing and loud shouting. Upon reaching the scene, crowded by the other girls, she noted that Katarina was beside herself in rage. Her dark eyes rolling in anger, shouting and accusing everyone of the theft of her expensive clothes.
Bella had not expected such a reaction; the others had not exploded in hot rage when they had discovered a missing item.
Katarina had eventually calmed down, Bella all the time reassuring her that the principle would be informed and that the thief would be found and punished.
The pissed off Greek honey walked away, still wearing her tight and revealing cheerleader uniform, swearing as she left.
Bella could not wait to get home, bag in hand. When she did, she ran straight to her bedroom.
Once inside, the door closed, a low light only from the bedside table, she stripped off. All weekend she spent in that room.


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She dressed up in Katarina’s stolen clothes, also wearing the similar styled black wig. She was delighted with the girl’s panties which were black French style cut briefs. These delicate panties had the highest cut leg openings of all panty styles.
The lace trimmed openings hit the highest point on her hip and were positioned more to the front of the garment than a standard high cut panty. The waistband sat at her natural waistline. The black silk was soft, smooth and they were Katarina’s.
Bella selected the black push up bra, a fine satin design, with lacy, flower trimmed cups. Katarina was adequately endowed in the breast department, but Bella new her vanity, the girl wanted to look larger in her tight choice of tops and dress’s.
Bella fed her arms through the straps, placed the stolen cups under her own breasts and reached behind her back for the bra’s rear fastener.
The bra was structured so that the breasts are lifted and placed closer together to enhance the cleavage and like so for Bella.
The bra was also under wired, to provide a more rigid support to the bust. But more importantly the bra had belonged to Katarina.
Next in line on Bella’s list, now clad in black bra and panties, were the girl’s pantyhose. Bella; a more muscled female, squeezed herself into the black undergarment, careful not to run them.
Women wear pantyhose for a variety of reasons, but mainly to have their legs look smoother and sexier. The darker the pantyhose, thought Bella, then slimmer looking the legs. And boy, the girl’s legs had looked so cool.
It was certainly the case of the pantyhose donor and so why not her. Bella smoothed out the sheer nylon over her waist and legs, adjusting the tight black waistband over her manly hips.
The black nylon had a touch of spandex helping with Bella’s form fitting. It had too, her legs and hips were different from the girl she stolen them from.
Bella was in ecstasy at the almost transparent look, the French lacy high panties underneath; the almost weightless consistency was delightful. To think that only two hours before this stunning underwear had been on the body of another. A female she could never be.
The control top of the pantyhose was fairly flimsy but the leg felt positively luxurious. They were a great pair, she concluded, neither strangling nor loose.
To think that that stuck up b.tch only earlier that day had selected them from the panty draw of her room, slipping them on in the privacy of her dressing room, likewise the bra and panties, Now Bella was doing the same. More importantly they had belonged to Katarina.
Dressed in the black, panties and hose of Katarina, Bella selected the black, short, sleeve less dress. She inspected the label, French of course. She stepped into it and squeezed it on. The fit was snug but it did work for her.
She smoothed down the dress and finally managed to zipper it up. Her breasts looked great underneath, the purloined push up bra beneath worked wonders for her cleavage, maybe she would purchase one of her own. More importantly, it belonged to Katarina.
The calf skin black boots were the final touch. She sat down on the edge of her bed, very conscious of the bra tightening around her chest, the dress riding up her panty and pantyhose clad ass. She purposely spread her legs in front of the very, very large wall mounted mirror.
Bella was very satisfied as she spied the stolen panties under the dark pantyhose, a very darker shade of black as the dress was too short to hide her modesty.
Once her now black sheathed legs were slid into the high heeled boots she stood and inspected herself.
In her eyes, with her natural looking wig on, stood a picture perfect copy of Katarina Charalambous, only in her mind it must be remembered,
Bella spent the next 48 hours playing out her fantasy. She tied herself up, a white cleave gag tied around her mouth. She lightly wrapped her robe ties around her wrists and ankles, to give the effect of being tied up.
Bella went at it all weekend long. There were combinations of her faking being bound and gagged to a chair, on her bed where she could look up at the specially installed ceiling mirrors.


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She saw herself gyrating on her bed in mock bondage, the cleave gag was hiding her lower face, hiding the different facial features, making the visage even better for her.
She wore the clothing also in a mishmash way. Sometimes she was tied in just the bra and panties, bra, panties and hoes, or fully clothed or sometimes with just the dress removed.
Bella focused on her own image above her, yet in her mind it was Katarina. Bella’s hands caressed the silk and spandex material between her legs, feeling the softness and tightness experienced by their previous owner. The black bra that had held someone else’s cute tits.
She came furiously when she caught the image of herself with pantyhose, the faded French style briefs beneath, bra and boots. All the time not seeing herself, but the girl who had once worn the underwear, boots and dress.
All the time pretending to be a kidnapped Katarina, bound and gagged, in need of help. Before she knew it, it was Sunday and therefore time for work.
By the time she had finished with them the underwear and dress was in a sorry state to say the least. The pantyhose had runs in them, and all needed a good laundry cycle. The room had a musty smell about it after all this time.
Luckily for her, her sixth sense told her to dump all her ill gotten gains, which she did on her way to the college. Katarina’s reaction to the theft had made her be safe.
Upon arrival she had been greeted by the principal and two uniformed cops. It had taken a while to convince them that she had had nothing to do with the theft. A subsequent search of her home had finally satisfied them all, although there had been some raised eyebrows at the discovery of the mirrored bedroom.
All had been convinced except Katarina herself, who had been extra cold to the gym teacher since. Whispering to her friends behind her back. Bella had not pushed the point, convinced that Katarina new that she had worn her intimate apparel and dress. Maybe that was why, had they shared something in dressing?
Bella’s eyes refocused. She was back in the woods, tied and gagged for real this time. There in front of her was the very real image of her gagged obsession, naked, bound and likewise gagged and also very, very vulnerable.
If only she was not tied up she could have her. Bella remembered those black lacy French panties, the girl’s pantyhose and bra; she remembered the feel of them on her body. She looked at the girl’s pretty gagged mouth, those eyes, my god, those eyes, which were staring at her intently and full of anger.
Bella was unaware that she was gyrating and grunting through her gag. Poor Angie who was also tied to her was being lifted backwards with every surge, her bra less breasts bouncing up and down in the process.
Angie was screaming through her gag, not because of being pulled back and fore but because her gym teacher had gripped both cheeks of her ass and was digging her nails into her soft flesh, unknown to her crazily turned on teacher they were drawing blood.
Katarina looked on in disgust and anger. She knew it had to that lesbian b.tch who had stolen her underwear, boots and dress. The dyke was always looking at her, thinking that she had not been seen, always looking at her legs and tits in training, listening to their small talk.
And here she was getting off at the sight of her unclothed and tied up. Katarina would have her killed one day; Papa would see to that she mused. But for Katarina worse was to come.
Bella’s was in mid thrust of her groin, oblivious to anything and everyone around her. The poor gagged behind being pulled like a rag doll. All she saw was the gagged and naked figure of Katarina and the feel of her clothes on her own skin.
Suddenly she screamed in exultation through her gag. Her body stiff and unmoving, her legs locked out, her weight held by her equally locked raised arms, her hands still embedded in Angie’s now ripped pantyhose and panties. Her body shuddered, her eyes rolled and then she collapsed.
Bella’s heartbeat returned to normal, her rapidly heaving chest stopped rising and falling so fast. Her naked breasts were glistening with sweat from her effort. She opened her eyes.
Her obsession was staring back at her in disgust and horror, still, no longer struggling in her bonds just looking at her.


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Bella then realised how quite the wooded clearing had become. The gagged and tied girl behind her was whimpering in muted pain, her head dropped down to her chest.
The other tied up and stripped girl’s, the ones who could see at least where likewise starring at her in gagged horror, eyes wide.
Bella looked towards the convicts who had stopped in the middle of dressing up in the purloined underwear and uniforms. One laughed out loud and broke the silence ‘Holy ****......a licker, a ******* licker....join the club girl’.
Even the fully disguised female who was still abusing poor Margo looked up from kissing a large white soft breast ‘let her go ......unity sister....let it out’ and returned to her pleasure, a whimper coming from the gagged Margo’s mouth.
The leader, dressed as Mrs Horvath walked over to Bella, stepping over the still figure of Katarina. The leader hunched down on her now tan nyloned knees. Her knees were level with Bella’s face, whereby she could see Mrs Horvath’s panties between the convict’s legs, a darker white, the lacy white panties now beige, due to the pantyline of the hoes.
The woman, although hard was still attractive, she looked to one side, considered something and looked straight at Bella’s face.
‘Do you want her that badly’, and indicated to the naked girl at her feet. Bella paused, her eyes looking for any sign of a cruel trap. There seemed to be none, ‘Well....’ asked the woman in the ill fitting red dress.
Bella thought fast, her secret was out anyways, she nodded. The woman wearing Mrs Horvath’s underwear spoke again ‘If I let you free, you become one of us....you understand that......, the woman flicked her nipple, ‘Do you understand....and that you obey my orders...clear’.
Bella nodded, ignoring the pain, warming up to the idea that she could have Katarina, she kept on nodding.
Katarina began to struggle again, seeing what was coming, ‘MMMMMuuuurrrgggghhh’, ‘NNNNNrrrggghhh’, over and over again she wailed through her gagged mouth.
The woman in stolen, tan pantyhose ignored the commotion behind her ‘Okay she’s yours....then you join the sisters’.
The woman pulled out Bella’s cleaving gag, which thereafter sucked in lungfuls of fresh air. Bella wet her dry lips, looking past the woman who had cut the tow rope holding her to the mute Angie, intent now on her defenceless objective.
Her lust crazed mind had crossed the pale. All those long years of pent up sexual depravation and denial came forth all at once, twenty years of living a lie were about to be exhausted on the gagged and bound girl before her.
The convict leader reached behind Bella and likewise cut the bonds holding her limbs in place. She backed off and the blue panty clad Bella rose to her feet. The woman looked away as she noted the large wet stain between her legs.
The poor bruised Angie, her remaining underwear in tatters, fell back onto the ground, lying on her bare back with her eyes closed. Her gag wet in the middle from all the saliva accumulated.
Her blue panties limp around her waist, with their band broken. The pantyhose also hanging loose, displaying a milky white naval.
The leader looked on in silence, unmoved by the scene that was going to be played out before her. The girl’s who could view all held their breath in terror.
The naked Greek beauty was now writhing in terror, her legs trying to kick away her assailant. Her bound feet were useless, her delicate hands tied tightly behind her back, her gagged muffled screams did not make much noise. Her perfect light brown breasts swayed with the exertion.
Finally the leader relented as the semi naked, butch gym teacher was near her victim, ‘Stop....’, the Ex teacher looked up, her face a mask of confusion and lust ’But...’, her voice stammered.
The gagged and bound naked girl below looked up hopefully and momentarily stopped thrashing around.


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‘Take her into the darkness...I don’t want to see your sh.t’, at those words the beautiful Katarina went into a paroxysm of thrashing and bellowing as Bella picked up her bound ankles and began dragging the naked and gagged protesting girl into the darkness, outside the cone of artificial light.
The other bound and gagged cheerleaders, as if on cue, all began to struggle and moan in unison. All except Margo who had by now given up on reality and had put her mind in a far away safe place. The naked Mrs Horvath had still not woken up.
The poor naked Katarina was been dragged on her naked back, the ground scratching her delicate pampered skin, her head was shaking back and fore vigorously, trying to dislodge her tight gag.
Bella had her back to them all, the long slim legs gripped in both hands. Like some modern day cave woman, with her pale body and stained blue bikini panties, she dragged her prize towards the darkened tree line.
As the dragged off Katarina disappeared into the dark, a last gagged desperate scream reached them all, prisoner and captor alike, as the darkness engulfed them both.
Yet, still the catcalls and laughter by the convicts continued. The convicts language was of a filthy nature, all learnt at the hard school of life.
So, unlike the pampered, soft young females on the floor below them, the convicts had nothing but contempt for the majority of people, law and order. To them, the gagged and bound cheerleaders were nothing but playthings.
Yet even though the girls thrashed about and moaned in terror at the anticipated mass sexual rampage that must ensue soon, none came.
The writhing, stripped, gagged and restrained girls did not know that of course, they just squirmed in terror, calling on anyone they could think of to set them free from this torment. The girl’s would be traumatized by the turn of events for a long time to come.
The good looking convict leader in the conservative, yet too loose female clothing, pulled up her stolen pantyhose that kept slipping off her waist and yelled ‘Okay...finish dressing....we move out soon......and Trixie....’, the woman feeling between the naked and abused Margo’s legs looked up at the mention of her name ‘Give her a break....and get focused’.
The woman Trixie shrugged her shoulders ‘Okay King’; she abruptly left the well molested, naked, bound and gagged Margo who collapsed into unconsciousness, her head fell on her large hickie marked chest. Her weight transferred to the tied wrists above her as her naked body slumped in nervous exhaustion.