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Hey all, here’s yet another new story! This is my first attempt to write something vaguely British (Though not with proper spelling or colour, obviously.)

If you’re curious about other things I’m working on, please get in touch with me via my contacts information page here.

And please, if you leave comments, don’t feel the need to hide behind anonymity. I know my work isn’t for everybody, but I have a proven track record of taking all criticism with grace and kindness, all being anonymous does is deprive me of the chance to learn from my mistakes and come to understand what might please you better. Enjoy!

–Veronica Divine


Dear Diary

(Before we begin, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I was complicit in every word you are about to read. There are times when I may embellish to suggest I’m powerless at times when I’m really not (because what can I say, it makes for a more scandalous read, doesn’t it?) and with the exception of me hitting my own head on a bed at one point I was fully in charge of my faculties and choices. I could have said ‘no’ to anything that happened. I could have walked away. I chose not to, because as depraved and dark as these experiences were at times, they were exciting, and, being the pervert I’m slowly discovering myself to be, I wanted them. Now, with that disclaimer to make anything that might seem like dubious consent clear as enthusiastic consent, let’s proceed, shall we?)

Dear Diary Again,

This has been the best 18th birthday party a girl could have.

I got a new car, American, a beautiful little Red Camaro, new sunglasses, a pair of diamond earrings, and a new custom-made bra, since I outgrew the largest K-cup one I had. It’s a good thing my mum and pop are so successful or we’d never be able to afford to keep my boobs up. It’s quite comfortable. I tried it on along with the earrings before my bath tonight. They go great with my ginger-tinted black hair and pale crystal eyes. There I go again, expositing my own features to my own fucking Diary. No wonder the maid thinks I’m an egoist.

But damnit, Diary, what can I say? I look good.

Ugh, now I’m going to have a go at myself in the shower. I don’t know what’s with me lately, but I just can’t seem to take sex off my brain.

I keep trying to push it to the back of my mind, but there it is again. Last night I dreamed I was getting worked over by “The

Ordinary Boys”, only they were making *me* sing. Is it normal for a virgin to have such elaborate sex dreams?

I’ll write to you again, dearest darling most adorable diary, when I get to my new home at Cobham Hall. Out on my own, away from my parents for the first time. I think it’s going to be a ton of fun!


My spirits sang as I walked across the campus towards the south Tudor wing of Cobham Hall. The campus was beautiful, the air was crisp and cool (which had the unfortunate side effect of making my fat nipples poke through my tee-shirt a bit) and I was about to meet my dorm-mates. There were to be three of them, one second year and two older girls. In addition to the tee-shirt I had easy moving clothes… shorts, a thong, my birthday bra, and sensible ugly shoes.

My spirits dropped however when I finally opened the door to the room. The first thing I took in was the size of the place. The room was far smaller than any place I’d ever lived by myself, and here I was, about to be grouped with three others in it. The second problem was the STATE of the place. There were clothes everywhere, left-over food wrappers, and other nasty nick-nacks. Lastly, there were my roommates themselves. All three of their eyes popped out, fixing on my chest like everyone always does at first. We all just stood in silence a moment taking each other in.

“Ahhhhh, so you’re the new filth.” Said the tallest of the three, a slim Red-head with short hair. She was curvy, but nowhere near as curvy as me, with some nicely defined muscles. Her green eyes traveled up and down my form in a way usually only done by men. In one hand, she held a bright red apple that she was lazily tossing up and down. That was a little intimidating, but I was far more frightened by the long black riding crop she held in her other. I sincerely hoped she was about to go saddle up.

The next girl was petite in all dimensions save one. Despite her being short and slight and somewhat flat-chested, her ass curved out like a pear, high and rounded. She was wearing thick-rimmed black glasses that matched her jet-black long hair, currently done up in a bun. “No no, Denise, call her by her proper name. Clearly she’s called Titty-McBrabuster Wobblemelons.” She taunted.

“No. Filth is Filth.” Said the third girl, a blonde with astonishing gold eyes, her smile was malicious as well and I could only swallow as she moved around behind me to lock the door with an audible CLICK.

“What’s going on?” I asked, setting down my purse. I wished I had stuff, but my valet wouldn’t be bringing it for a few hours at least.

“Ohhhh nothing, love… we’re just all Antep Escort Bayan going to be good friends here is all.” The blonde caressed my cheek. “I’m Sylvia.” She said, abruptly giving my bum a friendly spank.

“Yes we are.” Said the Brunette. “I’m Matilda. I’m your age, but ahead of my class so I’ve already been here a year.

“You just have to learn some rules first.” Ginger Denise said, standing right in front of me, her impressive breasts nearly touching my more impressive ones.

“What rules?” I asked, swallowing hard, intimidated by her confidence and proximity.

“Rule number 1.” She said, whipping her hand out and grabbing my Tee-shirt, TEARING it open from the collar down. She whistled at the sight of my bra, roughly spinning me to let Matilda unhook it and Sylvia pull the cups from my tits. I had never been stripped so fast!

“Bloooooody hell, she’s a fucking L-CUP!” Sylvia hooted, staring at my label. Denise scowled, turning me back around.

“Rule number ONE!” Denise Growled. I opened my mouth to ask why she was being so mean and she silenced me with a swat of the riding crop across my thigh. “RULE NUMBER ONE!” She roared. “I am TOP BITCH around here. That means my boobs are the biggest!”

I blinked in astonishment, “Well you can hardly do anything about my–” She interrupted me by giving my right breast a meaty slap with her hand, the huge chest-melon wobbling all over. I opened mouth again only to be reward by her smacking the other one.

“Ladies? Confiscate her tits. She’s lost boob-having privileges for the week.” Denise barked it out like an order and Sylvia and Matilda set on me, roughly gripping me as they spun and pushed me around between them.

I was disoriented, so t took me a moment to realize they had a thick roll of some black material, they were binding it around my torso. The stuff seemed to grip to itself and they pressed in hard. Soon I was bound up, bosom painfully smooshed flat. Sylvia slipped a new shirt over my head, spinning me now to face the mirror. I looked flat-chested…and kind of fat.

Denise stepped up to me again, tangling a hand in my hair and bringing my face down into her now only bra-clad breasts, grinding me into her cleavage. She slowly ground me in to the softness. “That’s right bitch. Bigger than yours now. Hey girls! I think she likes it!” She cackled, jiggling her torso to batter my head around. She wasn’t entirely wrong… I was in a little pain and utterly humiliated, but something about the sheer lewdness of what was happening to me made my pussy tingle.

Finally Denise cast me off, and I tripped a bit on a lower bunk, sitting down hard.

“Rule number TWO!” Denise barked, reaching under the mattress of the bunk above me. She produced something absurd I could only stare at. “If you’re gonna hang with us, you have to be able to fucking handle a real man!” She leveled the object for my face and slowly yet forcefully crammed it against my lips. “Open up, bitch!”

My life at home was sheltered. I knew what I was looking at was a reasonable simulacrum of, well, a male organ. But of the few of those I’d seen in life, THIS one was huge, easily a full 8 inches long and as thick as a broom handle. Now the thick head of this…this dildo, was being bludgeoned against my lips. Seeing now choice in the situation I parted my full lips and dropped my jaw, only hoping that this psychopath wasn’t going to kill me.

I’m not sure if she was or not. She stuck it in, just the first few inches at first, letting it sort of rest on my lower lip. “SUCK!” She commanded as she wiggled it around, viciously challenging every angle of my mouth. It made the strangest noise as I sucked, a sort of slurpy rhythm broken up by the way she wrenched it around. That weird little demon that lives inside me seemed to like this noise, and my face turned bright red as my sex went from merely tingly to wet. I hoped the moisture wasn’t showing through my shorts. I was sure if this madwoman realized I was aroused there would only be more exotic punishments in store for me.

My reverie was interrupted by her thrusting it in deep, an audible gagging noise filling the room. I brought my arms up…I could have pushed her away or slapped the thing out of my hand, but some part of my wanted to prove myself. Instead I did a curious thing; locking eyes defiantly with her I reached up and gently caressed the large testicles at the base of the fake dick. She looked in shock, not sure what to make of that. Then I crammed forward, letting the big thing enter my throat.

That was a mistake. I gagged hard, choked, and nearly puked, whipping my head back to allow freedom and air, accidentally smacking my head on the top bunk with a resounding *CRACK* I was out like a light.



Dear Diary,

My dreams have been odd lately. They’re all…dirty. In my dreams, people are always taking their clothes off, licking each other, groping… everything is always glistening wet. Bodies are sweating. It’s raining.

I don’t understand it. I’m a good girl! I swear to you diary, I never used to spend so much time thinking of all this stuff, now it’s always on my mind, even when I’m asleep.

After I hit my head, I woke up in a strange room, with beds and pillows all over. Then a door opened and *I* walked in. I was dressed in a strange red outfit, leather I think, and bright red. A tiny top held up my huge tits from the bottom, the tops of my areolas peaking above the rims of the cups, and beneath I wore only a black thong with fire painted on the crotch. I also had horns…tiny ones, and might have seen a tail swishing around back there.

“What is this? Who are you?”

“I’m you.” She said. “The real you. I’m the little Demoness you have lurking inside. The one that knows what it wants and is going to start going for it real soon.”

“And what is it I want, huh?”

“You know the answer to that. And you shall have it. And don’t worry…we’re going to get revenge on those bitches you’re bunked with too.”

She sashayed over to me, lifted one of my tits in her palm and let it drop with a bounce. The second I felt the tug, I snapped awake.


The tug I felt was the pressure of my poor bound up boobs. You just can’t conceal as much sheer bosom tonnage as I have without causing some fairly serious discomfort. I blinked and looked around. I seemed to be in some sort of gymnasium, large and desolate… but this one was filled with people in varying states of chaos. There were maybe 50 of us, all around the same age, all looking confused and scared. Half were women, half, oddly enough for a female boarding school, were men. One gender was indeterminate because they were so thoroughly wrapped up in duct tape, nothing about them could be determined, apart from their obvious wriggling discomfort.

It became clear to me that I was the only one who had been unconscious, and one of the few unbound at the hands or ankles. I stood and walked around, looking for a way out. The doors, alas, were chained shut, and when I caught my reflection I was humiliated to see various words drawn on my face in makeup. “Slut.” “Filth” “Bitch.” “Whore.” Then there was the crudely drawn outline of a penis on my forehead. My face flushed crimson.

Suddenly, as though planned in ceremony, two locked doors to the male and female locker rooms burst open, and in strutted an older boy and an older girl I had never seen. The male, a tall, handsome, athletic looking brunette with one of those awful “Faux-hawk” hairstyles swaggered an extra step forward, speaking to us all in a booming churlish drawl.

“Good afternoon, Filth. Welcome to the last part of your initiation. My name is Nigel, and I represent the contingent of boys from the Rochester Golf Club down the road. I have bad news, ladies…if you look around you; these are the only boys you’re going to be allowed to fraternize with during your time here at Cobham Hall. If I do so say so myself, I’ve never seen a sadder, punier bunch of little bitchboys in my whole life. And I’ve seen a lot of filth.”

Then the girl stepped forward. She was blonde, slender, tall, blue-eyed, with a cruel smirk that seemed to be perpetually engraved on her face. “Well-put Nigel. I don’t think the boys are in luck either. Look at these bitches! I don’t think a one of them has a brain in her head or a boob in her bra. Your fellows will be lucky if these sad things can figure out which bits of them the dick is supposed to go in. Shall we?”

“Allison, we shall.” He responded, and the two of them wandered amongst us. Each had part of a deck of playing cards, and as they passed, they handed (or in duct-taped boy-or-girl’s case, stuck) a card to each of us “Filth” as we had apparently become known. As they did so, other older boys and girls began to march in. It was a much larger group than the assembled Filth, which was not surprising since it comprised every 19, 20, and 21-year old between the two institutions. Three years against one. So this was how hazing worked.

Now I saw my roommates again, Denise as usual at the head of them, the three surrounding me yet again. I began to wonder if their three bodies leering over me would be how I would always remember the trio.

“SMITH!” Shouted Nigel. Three boys pulled a scared looking ginger forward, taking from him the card he’d been assigned earlier, the 9 of spades. “THIS ONE!” Allison called in response, indicating a mousy young girl with a 9 of clubs. The six boys and girls who were in charge of each of them marched their respective victims together, into the locker rooms.

The Gym was silent for maybe 15 minutes. Then the door swung open, the nameless girl sheepishly walking back into the room. She was red from head to toe, humiliated clearly, and walked in mincing little steps. The three girls with her did not attempt to stop her as she fled the gym. The boy, Smith, never emerged. I found this part the most frightening.

I waited. And waited. And waited. The ritual continued and girl after girl fled the gym. Some were quiet. Some sullen and ash faced. A few left bawling in tears. One left completely wet, her perky nipples showing through her soaked blouse. My roommates made small talk, discussing the weather, or pointing out things they thought about the different Filth. The three made a pact that after things were done here; they were going to sneak into town to go get some unlady-like drinks at one of the pubs a few miles away. Hours and hours later I was the last present.

“Haddon.” Nigel intoned, not bothering to shout to the much emptier gymnasium. He simply pointed at me, then at the one who bore my card, a short, nervous looking little man with large glasses and a stupid looking necktie.

Denise, Sylvia and Matilda grabbed my shoulders and back, leading me into the locker room. The awkward looking boy was chucked in as well.

“You’re lucky, Filth.” Said Denise. “We’ve decided to go easy on you since we already put you in your place pretty well back in the room.”

“You’re not getting off so lucky.” Nigel said to the still un-named boy. “We’re gonna let you off light here, maybe even let you have a little fun. But later tonight we’re gonna beat the shit outta you. Sleep with one eye open, bitch-boy.” Nigel backed it up with a crack of his Knuckles. I could tell this guy was an asshole already, but that just threw it into overdrive.

“Now then.” One of the other boys added. “Let’s introduce you, then.” He cleared his throat. “Frances Haddon, this is Jack Lassater. Jack, Frankie.” One of the boys slapped him on the back of the head, just to be a bastard.

Now Denise stepped closer to use. “Your mission is simple, Jack. We just want you to cut Frankie’s shirt open.” She produced a pair of scissors. “We don’t want you to hurt her, now.”

His voice cracked. “Uh, okay. Um. Sorry Frankie.”

I scowled. If he were a real man couldn’t he say no? Take his lumps? Then I noticed one of Nigel’s fellow classmates folding his arms. He made Nigel look as weak as Nigel made Jack look! The damned things were like a pair of prizewinning hogs growing right from his shoulders, heavy and thick. One punch from one of those would probably shatter poor little Jack’s brain-pan. I was instantly flooded with sympathy. The girls had been rough on me, sure, demeaning even, but there was no need for such direct violence, such a contemptuous display. I resigned myself to hold still, let him cut my shirt, and maybe even give him a little show. I thought of it as giving a dying man his final pleasure.

He was nervous, his hands trembled, and I was more than a little worried he would slip and stick me somewhere sensitive. He slowly, carefully moved his hands, breath shaky as more and more of my shirt split. When he reached the level of the binding, he paused, slipping the scissors cold against my skin to delicately sunder the nagahide that bound me. Here he had to have the patience of a locksmith, sloooowwwwly cutting the binding and shirt away, leaning in close to make absolutely sure he was not cutting skin, yet still making progress.

He only had to be about 75% of the way done for the explosion to happen. So much titflesh compressed into such a small place was more than a match for the stitches of cloth he was still working on, and my boobs launched out! The colossal pair wrapped right around his head, totally swallowing his head into my cleavage, the shreds of my shirt fell to the floor, and the scissors were launched from his grip with such force that they stabbed into the wall. The boys in the room gasped and stared appreciatively. Sylvia and Matilda giggled. Denise’s eyes flashed down to her own rack and back to mine, a look of jealousy plain on her face. A little part of me was even proud as absurd as the situation was.

Pride turned to horror when the cameras came out. All three of the girls has been hiding them at the ready until this moment and now there were flashes and clicks everywhere, shot after shot my exposed tits with a boy sandwiched between them, shot after shot of him pulling back sheepishly, hair tousled, shot after shot of me blushing redder and redder, my humiliation growing by the moment. Finally they had enough it seemed and the boys walked out. Denise came close, shoving Jack’s head back into my boobs one last time as she spoke to me.

“We own you now filth. Step out of line one millimeter and these pictures become screensavers, posters, and postcards that get mailed to your parents. Got it?” She asked. I shook my head in overwhelmed terror. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Because this is how you’re supposed to treat filth. Because I don’t like you. Most of all though, dear, filth, because it’s fun.” She shot back. Then with a single playful tweak of one of my thimble-sized nipples she strode from the room, the other girls in tow.

Jack and I stood there a long moment, basking in what had just happened, our shared humiliation hanging thick in the air like the fog on a moor. But shame was slowly replaced by anger. That Demoness who lived inside me was *not* pleased to see me laid low like this, and she was already contemplating revenge. My brain flicked through idea after idea, no quite knowing the best form for vengeance to take.

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