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From: corn53@aol.com (Corn53)
Subject: (Corn53) Jemma: Caught Shoplifting (MM/f, young, bond) pt 1 of 4
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Warning: you must be at least 18 to read this somewhat erotic story
about a young girl who is tricked into participating in a strange
contest. Parts fo this story are TRUE and should not be read by
those persons offended by erotic content.
**************************************************************************
*****************
JEMMA - CAUGHT SHOPLIFTING (Part 1 of 4)
“Here you are, Jemma,” said the librarian at the reserve desk,
“The others will be on the University Consortium truck this
afternoon.”
“Jemma?” said a grad student as I turned. She had stopped at
the mention of my name but the man she was with kept walking for two
more paces, then stopped to wait. I could tell she was a probably a
grad student by her poise and confidence. “Knew a Jemma once.
Beautiful name. Never did see her face. Years ago. If it’s you,
you’ve certainly developed,” boldly seeing thru my see-thru blouse.
“Most intimate five minutes of my life.” and turning back to her
friend they hurried away - books, folders, laptop in a carrying case.
Her step lively.
“Wait!” I thought.
“We need to talk!” the shout not passing my lips.
Memories unearthed - buried for so long. I have to write this.
No choice, really. I wonder if the grad student with the gleaming
green eyes and short, dark hair is the one. It’s driving me crazy.
Here’s my story. You’ll understand why I can’t sign it.
JEMMA - CAUGHT SHOPLIFTING Part 1
My name is Jemma. I didn’t think I would ever share this story
with anyone, but it’s been on my mind for almost five years, and I
have to tell somebody. I even hope you think I’m making it all up.
I really wanted that blouse bad. It was $70.00 though, and I only
had twenty. I knew Mom wouldn’t give me the additional money since
things were tight at home and my grades had been pretty bad lately.
She was always telling me I should stop thinking about clothes and
think more about school. She also kept telling me my skirts were too
short.
My passion was clothes! And yes, like Mom said, my skirts were
too short. I couldn’t bend without exposing my panties, which was OK
with me, since my second passion was teasing boys. Boys of all ages.
I teased the boys in our Junior High School and the teachers. I
teased strangers at the mall, especially older men. It seemed like
older men were really turned on by my ninety pound, diminutive frame
and boyish figure. My blond hair was frizzy and my pig tails bounced
when I walked
- my swinging walk, almost a skip. If anything my hair and clothes
made me look like an eleven year old MTV addict. Usually I even
accentuated my long, skinny legs by wearing lacy ankle socks and black
pumps. If I knew a man was watching me, I bent over to look at
something - anything - without fail.
It may have been the short skirt which was my undoing. I was so
used to guys watching me as I traversed the mall, I didn’t notice the
middle age man who had been following me. I decided that the only way
I was going to get the blouse was to “trade it.” I took it into the
changing room and “exchanged” blouses. You could almost see my
A-cup bra through the sheer, clingy material, so I couldn't leave my
other blouse on underneath it, and my old one was too tight to put
over the new one. My blouse was also too short to conceal anything,
including my tummy. I just abandoned it.
No problem getting out of the store.
No problem getting out of the mall. Great!
Got to the locker area just outside the side entrance to retrieve
my school books and head for the bus stop - when a huge hand gripped
my shoulder.
“Stop right there, young lady!” his hand was hurting my
shoulder. “You’re under arrest for stealing this blouse. You’d
better come with me.”
“Wait, please, You can’t arrest me. I’m only 14. I’ll pay
for it.”
“I don’t care if you’re six. You stole this blouse which is a
felony! You’re going to be missing school for the next 90 days in a
reformatory.” I still hadn’t seen his face. His big, firm hand
held me still. I couldn’t call out or make a fuss because I was
still hoping to talk my way out of this. We were now walking into the
parking area.
“You’ve got to come with me to the Police Van! It’s an
undercover van. Now get in and hold out your arms.” he walked me
about forty yards to a dark blue panel van, with no windows. The door
opened as we got there and another man in a suit got out and asked,
“Is this the culprit, Bill?”
“Yes, this is the one. Put the cuffs on her.” answered Bill,
lifting me into the van.
They pushed me into the single seat and handcuffed my wrists to
it. My feet didn’t touch the floor.
“But I’m sorry.” I cried out,beginning to sob.
They pushed me all the way back into the big overstuffed chair. I
noticed my skirt was clear up to my waist, exposing my ruffled panties
almost completely. The panties were ruffled on the front and very
loose, so they could flap over and expose my pussy completely. I
decided not to struggle or they would see my newly bald pussy. That
would really be embarrassing. Traci talked me into shaving my tiny
bush just a week ago.
“What time are your parents expecting you home, Young Lady?”
asked Bill, who seemed to be the leader.
“I’m supposed to be home by six, unless I go to Traci’s house
and if I decide to go to her house then I have to call and leave a
message for Mom and then I won’t have to be home until tomorrow
around noon so we can go to my Aunt’s house.” I answered in one
breath.
“Maybe we can work something out about this blouse. If you
cooperate with us, we may be able to get you off the hook because
you’re so young.” said the other guy.
“Give Joe the blouse so he can return it. While he is doing
that, call you house and leave a message that you’ll be at Traci’s.
Then call Traci and tell her you can’t make it. As I said, if you
cooperate we can get you off the hook and your parents and friends
won’t have to find out you’ve been arrested.”
“I’ll do whatever you say, officer.” squeaking, and on the
verge of tears.
“Just don’t tell my Mom! Give me the phone.”
“We need to return the blouse first. What is your name?”
“Jemma.” with a big breath. Things were looking up.
When Bill unlocked one of the handcuffs, I began unbuttoning the
blouse. “But what about my other one?” I asked.
“The store is holding it for evidence. When Joe returns the
stolen blouse, and pays for it in full, the store owner agreed to let
you off the hook. Joe was checking on the cell phone while I brought
you over here.”
I finished unbuttoning the blouse and took it off my free side.
Bill then handcuffed that wrist and unlocked the other one. I tried
to reach down to pull my skirt down and Bill must have thought I was
trying to escape because he grabbed my hand so fast.
“Don’t try to get away, Jemma. You’re still in a lot of
trouble. Here make those phone calls.” as he handed me the cell
phone.
“Yes sir.” I took the phone and made the two calls. Before he
handcuffed my wrist back to the arm of the big seat, he said, “Here,
drink this soda so you’ll feel better.”
Joe said, “ Now we need the eighty dollars for the blouse,
Jemma, so they won’t press charges.” He was looking through my
little purse.
“But I don’t have eighty dollars!” and I started crying, and
thinking, “I thought is was only seventy dollars.”
“We’d better cuff her feet, Sir. She might try to get away.”
After cuffing my feet to the front edge of the chair, which pulled my
knees wide apart, he added, “and don’t forget the gag in case she
starts screaming.” They also blindfolded me.
Now here is where the story really starts...
Picture all 90 pounds of me - arms and legs cuffed to the chair,
blindfolded, gagged, scared - my dress up over the top of my loose
fitting, ruffled panties - and no blouse. I was glad for my
“training bra” as my big sister called it, size 30 A, with sheer
cups and narrow pink ribbons around the edges, tied in a little bow in
the center. You could see my dime-size, pink nipples right through
it.
“We are going to a special convention tonight, Jemma, and you’re
going to be one of the guests of honor. If you continue to cooperate,
you won’t get in any further trouble. OK?” asked Bill “And, if
you cooperate, they will drop the felony charges.” Joe left to take
the blouse back.
“Yefffff, srrrrr” I tried to tell him I would cooperate through
my gag.
Joe came back and closed the van door. I had no idea where the
police were taking me or what the convention might be. I was worried
and curious. I knew Traci would keep my secret, because I bailed her
out with her parents lots of times.
Would you like some more soda?” Bill asked me kindly as he took
off the gag.
I replied, “Sure, Bill. That would be great. May I call You
Bill?”
“Of course, Jemma. Here’s another soda for you.” I drank all
of it, trying to keep the gag off longer. About half an hour later, I
finished it. We were still driving.
“This sure is pretty.” Bill said touching the sides of my bra
under my armpits with both hands. "I can see your tan lines around the
edge of it. Cute."
“Thanks. My sister says I really don’t need one, but it makes
me feel grown up.” I heard Joe chuckle in the front seat. I was
getting a little self conscious with them seeing my underwear like
this, but Bill seemed to think I looked real grown up.
“And these are such pretty panties. They don’t look like a
little girls at all.” his fingers now playing with the ruffles on
the front. When he pulled the ruffles forward, I was worried he would
see my bald pussy, but he didn’t comment on it. I was starting to
like Bill. He began rubbing my bra in the front. His light touch
made my breasts tingle - you know, so the little bump in the middle
sticks out through the material. He started squeezing them softly and
said, “Oh yes, you’re getting to be such a big girl.”
“We need to make sure you’re completely clean, Jemma, so I’m
going to help you remove your clothes now. OK?” Bill asked. I
recognized his voice, very calm now.
We drove about half an hour and then Bill began helping me get
ready while Joe drove. Without removing the gag or the blindfold, he
unfastened one arm at a time and helped me get out of my bra. He
unfastened both legs to pull off my panties while I held my hips up.
When he refastened my legs, he put my feet up on the edge of the seat
so that my knees were almost up to my chest. Then he put a rope
around each knee, pulling them out over the edge of the chair arms and
tied them - spread apart.
"Your tan lines are so cute, Jenna. It almost looks like you're
wearing a white bra and panties, your skin is so white. Look at this,
Joe. Isn't she cute?" I saw some flashes of light through my
blindfold.
"Beautiful." Joe said, "Her nipples are such a light pink you can
hardly see them."
Bill put the gag back on and said it wouldn’t be much further.
I heard them talking in the front seat but couldn’t tell what they
were saying. I could tell by the sound of their voices that they
checked on me often. Looking back and sounding happy about something.
I’m going to wash you off a little bit with a warm washcloth now,
Jemma. Bill was now kneeling in front of my chair and began rubbing
me all over with a perfumy, warm, wet washcloth which he got out of
some kind of cooler. “We won’t have to shave you. You beat us to
it.” and patted my pussy gently.
“Yeffff, srrrrr,” I tried to say. He took off my gag and I
repeated, “Yes, Sir, I’ll do whatever you tell me. Is this like a
game?”
“We’re taking you to a special contest. If we win we will buy
you the new blouse you want and give you back all your clothes. The
contest is to see which team can bring back the cutest, most
cooperative girl.” he began. “There may be some judges touching you
here” as he tickled the area around my pussy, “but nobody will hurt
you.”
“When we get to the contest hall, we will put a canvas bag over
your head, even though you’re very pretty. The bag will have the
name of our team on it and we want to be real proud of you.”
“I will do what ever you tell me, Sir.” but finding it hard to
follow his explanation because of the fingers lightly tickling my
pussy. It was getting wet fast, even though I was wondering if they
were now going to rape me or something.
“One of the rules of the contest is that nobody will see your
face, so nobody could possibly recognize you in any of the pictures or
videos. And don’t worry about your virginity, either. (How did he
know that?) Nobody is allowed to put anything bigger than a finger
into any of your openings, so don’t worry about a thing.” and now
his big rough fingers were stroking over my pussy and fanny.
“ANY Openings?” What did he mean by that?
“We’ll be there pretty soon. Want another soft drink?”
“OK” I said even though I wasn’t thirsty. He said we would
would be there pretty soon and I really had to pee. But drinking the
soda was something I could do blindfolded.
**************************************************************************
*********************
JEMMA - THE CONTEST Part 2
We pulled up on a gravel drive and stopped. I heard men’s voices
all around. Car doors opening and closing. Still blindfolded, I was
worried someone would look in the front windows of the van and see me
naked! There I was.... can you picture me? - handcuffed to the arms
of the stuffed seat, and tied with knees spread wide and my bottom
scooted down almost to my feet, which were also cuffed to the arms of
the big, swivel chair.
The the van door opened! I blushed and struggled. I heard
several men making comments about “What a wet one you’ve got,
Charlie” “All right! Joe, looks like you’re in the ‘ten
youngest’ again this year.” “I didn’t know they got that wet that
young!” “Have you been ticklin’ her already, Charlie? You know
that’s against the rules!”
“Charlie?” People were calling him Charlie. He lied about his
name! Maybe they weren’t even policemen!
I felt like they were all looking at me. I was glad for the
blindfold. Just as I was thinking about that, someone slipped a
cloth bag over my head, and someone else reached under the bag and
removed my blindfold. I could breathe fine. My chair was moving!
Shoes crunching on gravel. Even though the van was parked and the
engine was off, I felt the chair being lifted up and hauled out of the
van. There were even more voices around me now as the change in sound
hit me. We were in a big hall of some kind. It sounded like a
hundred or more people milling around discussing me and other girls.
Since there were no female voices in the crowd, I figured the
other girls must be tied up like me. After I was carried in and
placed on the floor, no - not the floor -the sound of their voices
told me I must be about table height.
About then a dozen hands started feeling me all over - no pinching
or anything like that, and no poking, just rubbing, stroking and
patting me all over. My nervous perspiration made the perfumy lotion
smell stronger. I’ll never forget my feelings - naked, tied
“open,” the smell of that lotion, the wetness between my legs,
feeling the eyes of the unseen judges staring at me.
"Such firm little tits." someone commented. My tits are about the
size and shape of large hard boiled and almost as white. 'Very
pointy' would be an accurate description.
The cuffs and ropes were taken off and those dozen or so pairs
of hands lifted me lightly to standing position. New leather cuffs
were put on my wrists, stretched high over my head. I could now walk
around. The cuffs must have been on a rope which went over a pipe or
something near the ceiling. I couldn’t pull my hands down, but I
could walk. It reminded me of our dog, leashed to his tether wire.
Anyway, lots of other hands were patting me - back and front. When
they stood me up I remembered how bad I needed to go to the bathroom,
I mean really bad.
A loudspeaker clicked on. The crowded room became silent. One
second a high pitched squeak, and then a deep voice boomed, “Welcome
to the WET CHERRY CONTEST, gentlemen. Tonight we have two dozen
beautiful young girls, age 13 to 19, who we are going to judge in ten
categories. You each have your judging forms. We’ll start in just a
moment, but let me review some of the rules...” while he talked a few
hands lightly touched me on my fanny and chest... “and anyone who
disobeys these rules will be escorted out and not allowed back for
next year’s contest.” and he went on to explain the rules which
Bill (or Charlie) already told me about. “No insertions except
fingers, tongues, or vibrators. No cum must ever touch them...” and
other strange rules reverberated in my excited mind. I was as
curious as I was nervous.
But, boy I had to pee!
“There are ten areas around the hall. Each contestant will be
carried or led to each of the areas. For review those areas are: The
Anal Swing, The Disco Stage, The Toilet, The Spreading Table, The
Vibrator Table, the Girl-Identify- Other-Girl Stage, the Tickle &
Giggle Couch ...” and he kept going on... about the other areas,
piquing my curiosity even more...but one “contest area” really
appealed to me right now!
I said aloud, but in a soft voice, “I need to get to the toilet
area, and pretty quick. I have to peepee!” Several of the judges
patted me on my bottom and encouraged me to hold on a few more
minutes. They seemed to chuckle as I stood there squirming around,
squeezing and scissoring my legs together.
Several men led me to some steps. I climbed up three steps and
they said to squat down over the bucket with my name on it. I was
evidently on a raised, round stage or sturdy table with men all around
it. They advised me to squat down till I felt the toilet seat.
I squatted, still blindfolded, but aided by many helpful hands
onto some kind of port-a-John, like when we go camping. My hands were
once again rope-cuffed slightly forward, over my head. My feet were
spread apart. They cuffed my ankles keeping my legs wide apart. I
couldn’t get my knees together, because of the “seat” device
between my legs.
“Go.” said several of the men. I couldn’t go in public like
that. "Time to peepee now, Jemma." The men were chuckling and
waiting... knowing I would go sooner or later. I was wiggling and
squirming only supported on the inside of my thighs almost near my
knees, bottom in mid-air. “The men will all see me pee!” I was
thinking to myself, trying to hold back. The area around my “stage”
got quiet as I continued to squirm and hold it back. They were
whispering encouragement. “It’s OK, Jemma.” Everyone knew my name.
"Her little fanny hole is just as pink as her nipples." "So pink you
can hardly see it." Their voices told me their heads were within a
foot or two of me and that my bottom was at their shoulder height.
Drip, drip. It got completely quiet around me.
Drip, drip, drip. Oh no, I was starting to pee right in front of
all those men with my knees wide apart - totally exposed front and
back, suspended.
Hard to hold back. Squirming while tied “open.”
“Is the camera on, Dave?” someone asked quietly.
“They’ve been on.” someone else answered - still whispering.
Drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip - faster now. I could see flashes
through the loose knit material. And then...
*****************************************************
next: JEMMA - THE PHOTO SESSION Part 3
(Author's note: please send any comments/suggestions/personal
experiences to me at corn53@aol.com. Parts of all of my stories are
true. Some are copmosites of memories which readers have shared with
me. Thank you for your help with this "literary research." - Corn53)
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