WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2009 by The Technician [email protected].

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *

The juryman sat without making any comment. Another jurywoman stood. “For your third story, Evelyn, tell us of an experience in your teenage years where you inflicted pain and humiliation on someone who had attempted to humiliate you.

Evelyn gave a short laugh and began, “That would be Joyce Murphy.”

Joyce Murphy was supposedly a friend of mine, but she was always jealous of my beauty and my wardrobe. A lot of the other girls were. Our school had a very important fall dance that was the showplace for beauty and fashion. It wasn’t a date kind of dance, but more like an old- fashioned “coming out cotilion” where all the girls made a grand entrance. If you were going with anyone, you had to meet them there.

Joyce came up with a plan to humiliate me in front of my friends and the whole school. She found out from the dress shop which dress I had purchased and secretly ordered an identical dress which she gave to one of the white trash girls in our school. She told her she was “giving back” and always gave a dress to one girl each year. Unfortunately for her plans, one of our cleaning ladies was this girl’s aunt and not only mentioned it to me, but showed me a picture of her niece in her fall dress.

It would have been totally humiliating if I had shown up at the dance in the same dress that a white trash slut was wearing, so the first thing I did was buy a new dress. Actually, the first thing that I did was to have a long conversation with the owner of the dress shop. I told her that I would use all the my daddy’s power to ruin her if she didn’t take my dress back and replace it with one that no one else had ever seen. I also told her that she had to help me turn the tables on Joyce. She didn’t want to, but after a little more persuasion and a little bit of cash, she agreed.

What she did was to alter the seams on Joyce’s dress so that it was effectively like a stripper’s tear away. All it would take would be to start a tear at the left shoulder and the whole dress would come apart. That was part one of my plan.

Part two was to have a special robe made that looked just like the robes used by the basketball team. The important difference was that the cloth was impregnated with a special slow acting drug and dusted with powdered nettles. The drug would kick in when there was an adrenalin dump, like from fear or pain. The nettle dust was everywhere on the inside of the robe except near the edges where someone else might handle it.

Part three was to enlist my “Friends of Evelyn.” There are always some girls who want to hang around you if you are rich or if you are beautiful or if you are popular. Since I was all three, I had quite a few groupies to choose from for my plan.

I arrived early at the dance. Usually I came “fashionably late,” but I had to be there before Joyce arrived and set everything up. When Joyce finally arrived, I loved the look of shock in her eyes when she saw that I was not wearing the dress she expected me to wear. She stayed away from me, which is what I expected. In fact, I used that to slowly maneuver her into a dark area at the edge of the stage. I would move toward her and she would move back. I felt like a sheep dog herding sheep… to slaughter. While she was carefully watching me, one of my groupie girls walked along side her and slipped on the floor and started to fall. Of course, she clutched at Joyce and somehow pulled very hard on the left sleeve of Joyce’s dress.

That was the tear point. As soon as the sleeve ripped, everything began to fall apart. Within moment’s Joyce was standing there in just her high heels and thong panties. Another of my groupie girls ran to the locker room and “grabbed a robe” so Joyce could cover herself.

I ran over to Joyce to express my horror at what had occurred and ask if there was anything I could do. Then I said, “Let’s get into the hallway before someone sees you. We can call your parents.” She probably didn’t want to be anywhere near me, but the shock of suddenly standing naked in front of the whole school had overwhelmed her.

We had just about reached the door when the effects of the nettle dust kicked in. Joyce began to squirm in pain and pull at the robe. As we reached the darkened hallway, Joyce opened the robe, dropped it to the ground, and began to dance and whimper from the effects of the nettles.

“You think that hurts, bitch,” I said to her. You haven’t felt anything yet. “Girls!”

With that the hallway lights came on and my whole crew of groupie girls came swarming out of the doorways. They had cloth whips in their gloved hands – gloved because the cloth was the same drug impregnated cloth with nettle dust that the robe was made out of. The girls began to swing their whips. The cloth was almost silent, but each strike brought howls of pain. The pain caused the drugs to kick in and Joyce began to sway on her feet. The girls continued until she was down on the floor curled up in a ball.

A voice from one of the doorways said, “Got it.” It was all on video. After making sure that the recorder was off, I walked up to Joyce and put a bottle to her lips. “Here, drink this, it will make you feel better,” I said as I poured the mixture of whiskey and grain alcohol into her mouth. Within minutes she was totally passed out. She wouldn’t remember anything when she came to. We shut off the lights and I waited for an hour before I called her parents to tell them that Joyce had evidently been drinking and gotten into some bad drugs.

They picked her up and hustled her out to their car, thanking me profusely. They said they didn’t want any police involvement and would have their private doctor look at her. The doctor would assume exactly what I had told her parents. In the morning she would hurt like hell and not know why. She would only remember what happened before she put on the robe. She would also remember that I wasn’t wearing the dress she thought she would humiliate me with.

I thought I would help her understand so I had the video edited so that no one’s face showed except Joyce’s and sent it to her with a nice unsigned card which read, “I know, you know, and if you say anything to anyone, everyone will know.” I still have that video. Maybe someday I will post it on YouTube.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
END CHAPTER SEVEN OF FIFTEEN
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =