Claire blushed for almost an hour. She had masturbated with Kitten’s knowledge. She had been told to do it by Kitten. Kitten had smelt the wetness of her cunt.

But Kitten made her feel all right about it. It was something that up to now Claire would have considered disgusting, but Kitten made Claire feel like it was normal – intimate, but normal. And in any case Kitten was mostly naked and in no position to judge.

They talked about music and films and TV. Kitten looked at photos from Claire’s trip to Tokyo last year and Claire listened to Kitten talk about performing in her school play.

Finally Kitten left. The two girls hugged at the front door, and Claire found herself genuinely regretful that Kitten had to leave. Claire had other friends, but Kitten was already her closest, just by virtue of the things they had shared.

Afterwards, Claire had dinner with her parents, watched TV and went to bed. In bed she looked at the training device for a long time, and then put on her earbuds and tentatively put the capsule into her twat, where it started buzzing happily.

‘Slut,’ said the tape. ‘Whore lesbian bitch rapetoy slut bimbo slut lesbian.’ And then the pause, and the shock, and, ‘Claire.’

Claire fell asleep surprisingly quickly.

The next morning Claire woke up horny and, remembering the day before, she learned from her mistakes and masturbated herself to a quick orgasm. Her pussy was sopping wet and her fingers slid easily in and out of her snatch and across her clitoris. She moaned quietly as she fingered herself – she’d never been able to stop herself making noise during sexual pleasure, and had always been embarassed about how slutty she sounded when she moaned like that, but it was easy to not care too much when her cunt felt this good.

It was only after she’d cum that she remembered the camera in the corner of the room watching her. Claire was mortified. She’d just fingered herself like a slut on camera. Who had been watching her? Michael? Some nameless security guard? She quickly pulled her bedsheets around her to cover her semi naked body.

Later in the shower she thought of Kitten. Kitten had gotten nude in her room too. The camera would have gotten an excellent view of that beautiful shaved slutbox and of her bare udders. Had Kitten known? Surely she had. If Claire had been given a camera then all the girls at Titcage must have one.

At work she tried to ignore her co-workers. She couldn’t stop thinking that any one of them might somehow have seen the feed from the camera and watched her fingering her twat that morning. She kept her head down and concentrated on her work.

As it turned out, she was her work. The fifth photo to appear on her display was her. In bed. Naked. Masturbating.

Claire squeaked in surprise and turned off her screen. Her face was red. Kitten and Pussy looked at her to see what was wrong. ‘It’s nothing,’ said Claire. She got up hurriedly and went straight to Michael’s office.

‘There’s a picture of me,’ she declared, out of breath, to a surprised Michael.

‘Well, of course there is,’ said Michael. ‘The system isn’t dumb. It gives you all your own ones. You wouldn’t want anyone else seeing them, after all.’

‘But…’ said Claire.

‘Titcage owns an image of you,’ said Michael, ‘and it needs to be classified. It’s not like we’re spying on you. You knew there was a camera and you did… whatever you did anyway. Here, let’s do this one together.’

He spun his computer screen round so they could both see and pressed some buttons. Suddenly the image was there – Claire fingering her nude shaved twat. Claire wanted to run out of the room and die, but she didn’t.

‘You look pretty,’ said Michael, and even in the midst of her humiliation Claire felt a buzz of pleasure at his compliment. Michael passed her the keyboard. ‘Here – could you type a description, please?’

Claire felt like crying. Not just because Michael was looking at a picture of her masturbating but because she felt the words coming to her so easily.

She typed, ‘Slutty brunette teen lies on back on bed, nightie pulled up to show her large whorish fuckbags and her shaved drooling twat. Her legs are spread and she has two fingers of her left hand buried in her sluthole. Her right hand pinches her clitoris.’

She pressed enter and her staff photo appeared. ‘Is this slut Claire Sullivan?’ asked the text. ‘Yes,’ entered Claire.

‘What will you do with this photo?’ asked Claire. She was crying now. She couldn’t help it.

‘Same as all the others,’ said Michael. ‘It will go in the database and if you ever allege rape or are otherwise a lying bitch we will bring it out as character evidence.’ He patted Claire on the head. ‘But don’t worry, Claire. You seem to me like a good girl.’

After leaving Michael’s office Claire went straight to the toilet. She took off her skirt and panties so it would look like she had been pissing and then just sat on the bench and cried for half an hour. No one came in and Claire was grateful.

(To be continued…)