Date: Mon, 21 Jun 2010 08:44:23 +0100
From: Zero Minus Zero <zerominuszerominuszero@gmail.com>
Subject: Jess the bully's waxing and water bottle

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.