This is a story. It never happened and never will. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

Sara's Rape Therapy, Alone

letters from Sara (mostly) by Sara

all else by Georgie Porgie

17 March 2017

(B+/g10 pedo nude bond tort humil spank rape)

Little Nicole's Last Sealed Letter to Sara

BR&T date: written Monday, 25 March 1996

Hi Sara

This will be the last sealed envelope I send to you this way. Mommy has boys do her a favor by taking my letters over to your house and bringing back anything you wrote for me. I don't trust those boys. They're not very nice in lots of ways. I think they might open some of them.

I found a better way we can leave messages. I already left one for you to get, too. When I went to the Vitiman D Enhancer thing, I got undressed like always to not get in trouble in case the nurse came in to see why I was taking so long to get started. Then I climbed up on one of the two filing cabinets by the big mirror. I jumped one foot over to the other cabinet so I could stretch up to reach the shelf above the mirror. Then I left an envelope for you on the shelf. When you go for your Vitiman D thingie with the lights and all that at the nurses office you should get undressed like always just in case. Then climb up by the mirror with your feet on the filing cabinets and stretch up to the shelf and find the envelope I left for you. No one will know about it until you get it.

I know it would be easier to stand on them with the filing cabinets closer together but don't move them! Some one might notice!

I'll check for any messages you leave for me every time I go there. Then those mean boys won't get a chance to read any of them. Also no one will know we leave the messages. We won't even have to seal them any more. No one uses that shelf for anything except the two dirty cardboard boxes that are always sitting on the ends of it. I don't know why they're even there.

I wrote you some happy news in the message I left for you at school. I know it will make you happy unless maybe you already know by the time you get the other message.

Your friend

Little Nicole's First Unsealed Letter to Sara

BR&T date: written Monday, 25 March 1996

Hi Sara!

I am going to leave this envelope for you in a new way. If you're reading this duh of course you are then it worked.

I felt so awful when you had to start going to rape therapy with me at the consoler. I mean it was nice that I had someone to go with instead of having to go there alone. It was good that only half the boys spanked me on the way there because half of them spanked you instead. But I mean I didn't want you to have to go too and I didn't want you to have to get spanked on the way and I felt awful about that. I hope you know what I mean.

Thats why I'm happy and sad about this news. It's good news for you, and that makes me happy. I heard Mommy talking to your Daddy about it. You don't have to go to rape therapy with me every week. I still have to go every tuesday after school, but you will only go with me half the time, every other tuesday. The other times I have to go there alone like I did before you started. Starting tomorrow. It will be terrible being there alone again, and that's bad, but I'm glad for you that you won't have to go there as often. I know you'll be delighted to hear this news. Maybe your father already told you but I wanted to tell you too so you get the wonderful news one way or another.

So happy for you!


PS Mommy just told me that I get to wear my old Brownie uniform on the way to the consoler next time, plus a few other things the consoler sent. That has to be better than what we wore last time!

PSS the neighbor across the street is looking in my window with binocalers again never mind all the cars driving by that can see in but Mommy still won't put the curtains back up in my bedroom. She says I need a wider view or something like that. Maybe she said I should be viewed wider. I don't remember. But no curtains and that's that.

PSSS And she just moved all my clothes, dresses and everything, to the laundry room. She said it would be easier for her if I got undressed there by the washer and dressed there in the morning and didn't take any clothes to my bedroom any more. And that's that!

BR&T date: Monday, 25 March 1996
(before Sara gets the previous letter)

"Sara," her father called, shutting off the tv he'd been watching when she entered the house. "Come here a minute. I have some good news and bad news for you. It's about your therapy."

Sara's face lit up in anticipation. "I don't have to go any more?" she asked. She felt hopeful, but tried to remember not to sound hopeful. If he thought she didn't want to go, not only would she get spanked, but her friend, little Nicole, might get in trouble, too.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Sara. The bad news is, you won't be going to therapy with the other girl every tuesday."

Sara smiled with relief, but didn't say anything.

"You'll only go with her every other tuesday," he said. "Also, I won't be taking time off work to get you ready on tuesdays anymore. On days when you get to go, you'll have to get home from school, shower and change, and go the nine blocks to your friend's place where her mother will get you both ready. Just go to her house after school, not tomorrow but next week, so you two can go there together. Then you'll get to walk the last four blocks with her like you've done three times already."

Sara didn't think 'get to' was quite the way she would put it, but at least she was getting out of half of them. Then she remembered that was supposed to be the bad news. She wondered what the good news was. Maybe they were moving to Siberia?

"But to make up for it," he continued, "you'll go to therapy by yourself every thursday. Starting this week. Your friend can't go with you on thursday afternoons, since she's been invited to something else. She gets to go play at a farm all afternoon every thursday, or something. I didn't get the details. Therapy sessions on thursdays will be just for you, the counselor said."

Sara couldn't quite suppress a groan.

"I'm sorry you'll miss going with your friend on tuesdays. I know how much fun you say you have, but you're ten years old, you can deal with a little disappointment. Besides, since she won't be around for you to go visit on thursdays anyway, this gives you something else to do that's just as fun. You do want to go, right?" he asked directly.

Sara squirmed. If she told him the truth, that she hated the counselor in every possible way, and never wanted to go back, she would just get spanked. First by her father, then even worse by the counselor. And she would still have to go, and probably get Nicole spanked, too. "Yes," she forced out.

"Yes, you want to go to therapy? Alone, starting thursday?" her father pressed. He waited.

"Yes," Sara squeaked. She saw her father tapping his fingers on a wooden paddle that he'd started keeping handy in the tv room. "Yes, I want to go to therapy alone, starting thursday." She knew that what she'd said meant 'yes, I want dozens of men to rape me for hours on thursday.' And she knew that any protest would just make it worse. Her father would never believe her.

"You'll be happy to know I won't cut your allowance to pay for the therapy." He waited. "You're welcome," he said very pointedly. He waited some more.

"Thank you." She stared at his fingers, still drumming on the paddle. "Thank you for letting me go to therapy alone." Sara bit her lip. 'Thank you for letting dozens of men rape me,' she thought. Fingers tapped. "And thank you for not cutting my allowance to pay for it." At least that, she could say honestly.

He finally took his hand off the paddle. "One little problem, though, is that I can't take time off of work every thursday, to get you ready, and your friend's mother can't do it either. But I'll solve that, somehow. If I remember the letter, it said I can get someone else to get you ready. I'll look into it."

BR&T date: Wednesday, 27 March 1996
(Sara still hasn't picked up little Nicole's unsealed letter)

"Sara!" her father called as he entered the house from the attached garage. "Sara?" he called upstairs to her room. She stepped out of her bedroom and looked over the railing. He smiled and told her, "I've made arrangements for tomorrow, so I won't have to take time off work. There's a boy who lives two houses down from us who has agreed to get you ready in whatever outfit the counselor sends for you to wear each time. He's in high school, but he used to go to Bunnytail. I've agreed to pay him five dollars for his trouble. That money, by the way, will come out of your allowance, it's only fair."

"But Daddy!" Sara protested. "That's not fair! And I don't need anyone to get me ready!"

"I said it was fair. And yes, you do. If you argue, I'll spank you and cut your allowance even more. Clear?"

Sara indicated her sullen surrender by returning to her bedroom.

A minute later, he entered her bedroom without knocking. "The package with your outfit for tomorrow got delivered to me at work. Here it is. It'll be delivered here from now on. Tomorrow, and every thursday, get home from school and take a quick shower and change clothes, then take the package and the money, here's the money to pay him, over to that boy, I don't know his name, two houses down, at the house with the fancy brass door knocker. He should be expecting you, but if he doesn't answer the door, try the garage."

Mentioning the garage made him smile, but Sara didn't ask why, and soon forgot about it.

"He'll take care of getting you ready, then you'll have half an hour to get to the counselor. After you're ready, take Little Street all the way north to O Avenue then turn left, instead of going to your friend's house on L Street like you'll do on tuesdays. It's thirteen blocks, so don't dawdle on the way. I've told him that if you're late, he can deal with it any way he wants. That applies to that boy, and the counselor."

Then he gave her a few swats for saying taking it out of her allowance wasn't fair.

Sara indicated her sullen surrender by glaring at the package until her father left the room. In fact, she kept glaring at it for a long time, wondering what the long wooden rods taped to the outside of the box were for.

He'd made the deal half an hour earlier, stopping at the boy's house, two houses away, before going home.

The teenage boy who lived there told Sara's father that he was willing to 'do the job' of getting Sara ready to go to 'rape therapy' every thursday, no problem. He said he was willing to do the job even if he had friends over to play when Sara brought over the package the counselor had sent her that week. It was likely he would, he admitted, and he hoped that wouldn't be a problem. He assured Sara's father that no matter how complicated the directions were, he knew that he and his friends could figure it out, and get Sara ready for her walk to the counselor and give her an appropriate send-off before she started.

The man's nod and handshake meant there wouldn't be any problem no matter how many friends he had over. And his wink meant there'd be no problem no matter what they did, either, as long as he didn't hear about it. After he'd borrowed the drill, they'd had an understanding that pleased them both. The twenty dollars he gave the boy, and the five Sara would have to give him thursday, just made it better. In actual fact, the boy would have been willing to pay to do it, but he would never need to.

BR&T date: Thursday, 28 March 1996

The boy called a few of his best friends and told them what he'd be doing, and told them "Don't come over unless you're willing to wait, or watch, or even help if needed." As he fully expected, they all arrived early, every one of them willing to help even if it wasn't needed.

Sara got home from school, took a quick shower, and changed into slightly more casual clothes (not that she had anything but pretty dresses and shoes and socks and panties to wear). Just in case, she added an extra item she usually didn't wear, then she reluctantly picked up the package the so-called counselor had sent. From the weight, as well as the size, it obviously had more in it than a single leather collar, so Sara hoped she'd get to wear a lot more than just a collar and panties (and those around her ankles) on the way there. Two long thick wooden rods taped to the outside of the box didn't look very promising, though.

She walked two houses down, to the door of the boy who lived there. She'd been told that his father was friends with her father's boss, the owner of the lumber mill, from way back, so she had to be very polite to the boy, and definitely not do anything to make him mad, or his father could make trouble for her father. She nervously knocked.

Six teenage boys came to the door. Sara backed away as they surged out at her. "Let's have the package," one of them demanded, holding out his hand. "And my money," he added. He clearly didn't need to ask her name, nor did he bother to introduce himself.

Sara gave him the five dollars her father had agreed to pay him for his time getting her ready, and handed over the package. Seeing the boys around her, and remembering what 'getting her ready' had meant the last three times, she meekly asked, "Can we please get me ready alone?"

"Maybe," he said. "Do you want to come into my bedroom alone with me?" he asked. His friends chuckled. Sara just nodded. He took her hand and led her to his bedroom. His friends followed, but stayed out when he closed the door. He opened the package and began reading the instructions. "Number one. Have her turn to face down the street she'll be walking. Well, so much for that. We're going out to the street like it says, ya little streetwalker."

When she protested, he forced her with him (and his friends) out to the sidewalk to put on the things she was supposed to wear. First, she had to turn to face down the street she would be walking, like the directions already said.

"Two. Take her dress off," he read. "That's ambiguous whether it means 'have her take her dress off' or 'take her dress off of her' so I'll leave it up to you whether you want to take your dress off yourself or want me to take it off of you."

"I don't want to take off my dress at all," Sara pleaded.

"Fine." He grabbed her and twisted her arm up behind her back and started pulling her dress up.

"I'll do it! I'll do it" she screamed. He let go and stepped back. Sara fearfully took her dress off, out on the street with all of his friends around her, watching her.

"Take the slip off, too," he said, annoyed. "Even though the directions didn't mention a slip, obviously it meant to take it off with your dress. Unless you want me take it off you."

So much for the extra item doing her any good. Sara took off her slip, and stood covering her titties with her hands.

"Three. Take her panties off," he read. "Again it's ambiguous," he said, "so I'll leave it up to you whether you do it or I do, but it's going to be one or the other. Oh, and it means all the way off, that part is very clear, no matter who does it."

"I will, if she won't!" one of his friends volunteered. "Any of us would," another boy pointed out. "Or we could all take her panties off of her, together!" another laughed.

Meekly, Sara bent down and pushed her panties down to her ankles and stepped out. All of the boys watched, but at least kept their hands off of her. At first, she covered her titties and pussy, but she moved a hand behind her when the boys behind her smirked about seeing through her legs when she was bent over.

(spiked collar) "Step four is complicated, but the pictures help," he said, reading the instructions. He took a thick pink leather collar from the package, holding it carefully to avoid pricking his fingers on the short sharp points on the inside. He turned it so the two metal rings and the buckle would be on the back of Sara's neck, then he buckled it on.

"Ohhww! AAhhhwww!!" Sara screamed, as the boy pulled the collar much tighter than her father had the previous times. The tacks on the inside stabbed her neck all around. "AAhwww! Not that tight! Please!" she cried. She would have reached up to try to relieve the pain, but needed both of her hands elsewhere, to hide her nakedness as much as she could.

The boy didn't even reply, let alone loosen it, let alone take it off to see why it hurt her, as her father had. "Step five..." he read. "Hmm, this one is even weirder." He took one of the wooden rods off the package and slid it through the two rings on the back of her collar, centering it to extend equally to the left and right. He removed two more pink leather straps with buckles but just one ring, and slid the rings onto each end of the rod so the straps hung loosely from the rod. He pulled Sara's right arm up, away from her pussy, pulled it out straight, and wrapped the cuff around her wrist. "Hold your arm up yourself, or it'll twist the collar," he warned her.

Sara quickly shifted her other hand over to cover her pussy, then winced and squealed as the boy tightened the wrist cuff down onto her wrist. She felt sharp tacks inside that one, also, poking into her wrist as the boy buckled it. She found his warning correct, as trying to lower her arm made all the tacks in her collar hurt. "Awwwwwhh," she whimpered, as he raised her left arm up to the other end of the rod. He buckled the wrist cuff on her, just as tightly as the first. At least Sara could let her arms hang from the rod without twisting the collar, though doing so would make half of the tacks in the wrist cuffs hurt worse. "Aaaww awww awww, it hurts," she whined.

"Oh, I see," he murmured, but he meant the directions he'd been studying. He stretched her left arm out as straight as he could, pulled the ring on the wrist cuff toward the end, and pushed a wooden plug into a hole in the rod so that the ring couldn't slide past it back toward her head. She had to hold up both of her arms again. He did the same on her right, with a second wooden plug from the box.

Neither ring could slide in along the rod, thus keeping both of Sara's arms stretched wide. The rings couldn't slide out to the end of the rod, either, so they held her arms securely attached to the rod, the rod to the collar, and the collar to her neck. Her arms balanced by virtue of them both being stretched equally, to her limit, so they wouldn't twist her collar, but it no longer mattered. If she pulled either arm, even slightly, it would hurt both of her wrists and her neck from the merciless tacks.

And if all of that wasn't bad enough to make her cry, she was naked except for her shoes and socks, standing out on the sidewalk, surrounded by half a dozen boys, and couldn't get a hand anywhere near anything she wanted covered. All she could do was bend a leg to try to keep her pussy hidden from boys on her left, or her right, but not both.

"You guys can help put these on," the boy with the package said, taking several small padlocks out. "As far as I can tell, they go through a hole and a buckle on a leather strap, or through a hole in the rod and the buckle on the collar, locked so the straps can't be unbuckled and the rod can't be turned or slid. At least, not without the key."

"There's no key, for any of them," a boy noted, looking through the package. "Maybe her father has the key to unlock her when she gets home," another guessed, as he locked a padlock onto her right wrist cuff. "Or maybe she's supposed to go to school like this tomorrow!" another boy grinned, fondly remembering his years at Bunnytail. Another just smiled while locking her left wrist cuff.

Sara imagined going to school that way, naked but for her socks and shoes, unable to lower her arms, unable to hide anything, unable to even do anything. She hoped not, but after weeks at that school, she wouldn't be surprised if she did have to go that way.

"One more rod, two more of these, and two more locks," the boy announced. He dropped two more pink spiked leather cuffs on the ground by Sara's feet. "But first, it says 'take her shoes and socks off' just like before. You going to do it, or will I?" One of the other boys pointed at himself then emphatically at the rest of them. "You going to do it, or will we?" the boy corrected.

She'd be completely naked, then, except for the cuffs, but she knew that wouldn't bother him at all, so she tried what she thought might persuade him. "But I have to walk thirteen blocks!" Sara wailed. "I can't be barefoot!" Seeing his unyeilding stance, and not wanting half a dozen boys to grab her to strip off everything she had left, Sara pushed off her shoes, then her socks, and stood crying.

"One of them on each ankle. Go for it," he generously allowed. Two of his friends happily knelt and wrapped a leather strap around each of her ankles, pulling them tight and buckling them on, enjoying Sara's little whimpers of increased discomfort (to put it mildly) from the tacks that the final ankle cuffs naturally had.

Meanwhile, he'd given two locks to another two boys, who were just as eager to lock them on so the last cuffs couldn't be removed without a key no one had.

"Spread her legs apart," the boy read from the instructions.

"With pleasure!" several boys shouted in unison. "Awww, she's doing it herself again," one lamented, disappointed to miss out on doing it to her, but not about seeing her pussy open wide to show off her clitty and all of her inner secrets.

Sara stood with her legs apart while the boy slid the second rod through the rings on the backs of the ankle cuffs. He forced her legs a little wider, sliding the rings outward on the rod, until two more padlocks could fit into holes in the rod and the rings on the ankle cuffs, thereby keeping her legs spread wide, as well as keeping her from spreading her legs even wider to slip the rings off the rod.

The boy pulled an envelope from the package. The outside of the envelope said to take out the card, hold it up and show her, and have her memorise it, but parents weren't to read it, just show it to her. "Hey, we aren't parents, so we can read it," a friend declared.

"You're right," the boy said. He read the card and passed it among his friends, then he showed it to Sara. She'd seen one like it, before, but the wording on this one was more concise and to the point.

If anyone asks where you're going,
tell them you're going to get raped.
If you don't, you'll really regret it.

"The last thing, it says, is to 'Give her some encouragement and send her off.' I know just the thing. Two of you take her arms." Standing behind her, he asked her "Can you turn your head?"

She tried, very briefly, and stopped. "No," Sara answered. "The collar hurts too much when I try to turn."

"Thought so. Here's some encouragement to get going." WWHHACKK!

Sara shrieked from the sudden sharp smack on her bare ass. He spanked her hard with his belt again, making her scream louder. And again. And yet again, as she kept screaming. The two boys holding the rod kept her from moving her arms, turning, running, crouching, or ducking. Two others in front of her grinned as they watched. She figured the other boy behind her had the same grin. She squirmed in their grip, desperately, but uselessly. "YYyaaaawww!" she bawled as the belt struck again.

"Where are you going?" a boy teased, knowing that she had to answer. Sara murmured something. "Louder!" he demanded. "Where are you going?" another boy asked insistently.

"I'm going to get raped," she wailed, crying and whimpering.

"That wasn't loud enough," the boy behind her, with the belt, scolded. "Speak up, or I'll have to give you even more encouragement."

"I'm going to get raped!" Sara yelled, loud enough for all the boys to hear her clearly.

"Keep saying that all the way there, just that loud too, so no one has to ask you where you're going! Now get going!" he barked. He smacked her hard with his belt one more time, to 'send her off' like the directions said.

Sara began to 'walk' down the sidewalk, swinging her feet to 'walk' with her legs spread wide, more of a stagger than a walk. Every swing of her legs, she called out "I'm going to get raped!" She couldn't see whether he was behind her or not. When she stopped saying it, she found out he was, by getting another terrible hard swat on her sore ass. "OOHhwww!" she wailed. "I'm going to get raped! I'm going to get raped!"

Crying harder, she kept staggering down the block. "I'm going to get raped, I'm going to get raped, I'm going to get raped," she repeated constantly as she walked. At the end of the cul-de-sac she lived on, where she had to cross the avenue to continue down Little Street, she stopped saying it, sure he hadn't followed her that far.

WHAACCCKK! a belt smacked her hard. "YyaaaAHhww!" she screamed.

"Can you turn your head?" he asked her smugly.

"No," she cried.

"Can you see who's behind you?" he asked.

"Nooo," she wailed.

"I told you to keep saying it all the way there. I could be following you, I could be right behind you, so you better keep saying it! Nice and loud, too!"

Sobbing, Sara crossed the street, calling out "I'm going to get raped! I'm going to get raped! I'm going to get raped!" She kept calling it out for half an hour as she stagger-walked thirteen blocks down the street, naked and bound up completely helpless, dreading another smack of the belt if she ever stopped. Numerous people passed by her, saw her staggering down the street naked, arms and legs spread, and heard her tell them where she was going. Some were boys from Bunnytail, some not from Bunnytail, some amused men, even a few small girls on tricycles who stared in wonder and fear at another girl bawling as she walked naked down the street. She told them all that she was going to get raped.

For all she knew, that boy was right behind her all the way. If not him, then any number of his friends could be following her, and be ready to spank her if she stopped saying it. "I'm going to get raped!" she called again as she stepped off the corner to cross yet another street. A couple of boys on the other side smirked as they watched her cross toward them. A driver on the opposite street waited longer than traffic laws required of him.

Besides, all the way there, she knew she was going to get raped, for two hours, as soon as she got there.

When Sara got there, just as she knew would happen, the 'counselor' had dozens of men there to rape her for two hours, openly making a video to share with anyone else who wanted to watch her get raped. They left the pink spiked straps and rods just as they were, raped her without removing them or even loosening them, and sent her walking home with them the same way.

Just before sending her back, they gave her new instructions about what to say if anyone asked.

All the way back home, boys on the street ran up to her and teased her "What did you get, Sara?"

She had to answer them "I got raped" every time. Dozens of times, over and over, while 'walking' down the street bawling, naked, and helpless, whenever anyone asked her what she got, she had to tell him that she had just been raped. After the first dozen smirks and laughs, she stopped expecting any sympathy, and after two dozen she stopped even hoping, but that didn't mean she was allowed to stop answering them.

"Was it fun?" a boy teased, and others took up the chant for the rest of the way home.

Sara cried out the answer she'd been told to give to anyone other than her father. "Yes, raping me was fun. Raping me is always fun." In thirteen blocks, at least sixty boys must have heard her say it, and they all had lots of friends to tell.

"Where do you live?" some of them asked slyly, but the rest already knew.

She hoped her father had the key to the padlocks. She wondered what she'd do if he didn't.

Sara's First Unsealed Letter to Little Nicole

BR&T date: written Friday, 29 March 1996,
about Thursday, 28 March 1996.

Hi Nicole,

That is a really hard shelf to get to, but I guess it is worth it if it means our letters won't be read by anyone. I am glad that that is a mirror and not a window, or people on the other side would get a good look at my pussy as I was climbing up there, I guess if it was a window people on the other side would get a good look at us naked standing there.

Yes it is true that I only have to go to therapy every other week with you, but Daddy told me he had some "good news" for me, and that is that every Thursday I have to go to therapy by myself, so now every other week I have to go to therapy twice a week.

As bad as the therapy is, that isn't even the worst part, Wednesday night Daddy told me that I would have to make sure to come straight home from school, shower and then go to a neighbor boy a couple doors down so he can get me ready for therapy, and he isn't a nice boy at all. I told Daddy that I didn't need him to get me ready, but Daddy swatted my bottom a couple of times and told me he would paddle me if I continued to be difficult. Daddy hardly ever spanked me before we moved here, but now he seems to threaten me, or paddle me all the time now, claiming that I have become a real handful since the move, but I can't tell him what is going on in this town, or he will paddle me for making up stories.

So Thursday I came home from school and showered and put on one of my play dresses and a pair of yellow socks and my yellow panties that have bunnies on them, and if I had to take off my dress, or someone took it off me, I had on a slip under it. I took the $5 Daddy left me to give to That Boy, to get me ready for my therapy. The thing that really sucks about Daddy paying him to be so mean to me, is that to make up for the extra expense of this, Daddy cut my allowance by $5, so it's like I am paying That Boy to be mean to me myself, not Daddy. I tried to tell Daddy it was unfair but he swatted me for that and threatened to not only reduce my allowance by more, but paddle me again. Well I picked up the package and the $5 and went to his house to get ready, and he had his friends over to watch me get ready.

I begged him to let me get ready in private, so he took me to his room and then read the instructions, which said I should get ready on the street, he twisted my arm behind my back and marched me out to the street.

There he made me take off my dress and my panties and I was standing there almost naked, and besides his friends standing right there, people were watching me from their houses. I tried to cover my chest and pussy as best as I could, but some of them said they saw my pussy from behind when I was taking my panties off so I covered my behind instead. Then he put the collar on me, you know the one, the pink one with the spikes on it, on the inside, but he put it on tighter than Daddy did, and didn't loosen it when I complained.

He then grabbed my one hand, the one covering my pussy, and put a leather cuff on it, also with spikes on the inside. I moved my other hand to cover my pussy, but I don't know why I bothered, I knew he would grab that hand next, and he did, then he attached a pole to my collar and attached my wrists to the pole, so everyone could see me naked, except for my shoes and socks, which I was made to kick off too.

After I was naked, then cuffs were put on my ankles and they were attached to a pole so my legs were held wide apart and so were my arms, and he locked all the cuffs and my collar with locks that they didn't have a key for, I was praying Daddy did, or I didn't know what would I would do.

Standing there naked and exposed like that I thought that before I moved here I was mortified when someone, especially a boy, saw my panties, but now I would happily run around outside wearing just my panties. If they would even let me.

After that, they read what I had to say to anyone who asked where I was going then made me tell them, "I am going to get raped." I didn't say it loud enough, so I was spanked with a belt until I did, then they continued to spank me telling me I should say that all the way to my therapy session so no one would have to ask me. I walked to the end of the block calling, "I am going to get raped" until I stopped, thinking he was gone, but That Boy was still behind me and spanked me again telling me I had to say it all the way there. So I did, not daring to stop, since I couldn't see if he, or one of his friends, was behind me.

I made it to my therapy session and I was raped for two hours, with them filming the entire thing, while I was still wearing what I walked over to his house wearing.

On the way home I had to tell everyone "I got raped," and that, "Yes it was fun, it is always fun to rape me" every time they asked me. I don't know how many boys heard me say that it's fun to rape me, while I walked naked past them with my arms and legs tied out wide, but a lot of them started following me to find out where I lived, so maybe they are all going to rape me sometime too, and I don't even know who they are or when they will.

When I got home Daddy had the key, but he made me take it to That Boy with a note and more money, and have him take the collar and stuff off me since he put it on me. The note said the boy could take all the time he wanted. He sent me down to his cellar and then he called his friends, more than the ones who were there when he put the things on me but they were there too.

I'll tell you about that later, if I can stand to remember it, if you can stand to read it. I know I can't tell anyone else.

When I finally got home for real, after midnight, going home from That Boy's house with nothing on at all, Daddy was still awake to let me in, I could see through the window he was watching something on the tv. He didn't even ask why it took That Boy six hours to take the collar and stuff off of me. He asked me if the therapy was fun, and I had to tell him it was, or they would do even worse things if they found out I didn't say that to him. He said he was happy that I was getting along so well with my sessions and may see if I could use more sessions, I hope he doesn't, I don't know if I could take any more therapy.

I hope you had fun at the farm, Daddy mentioned you were going there on Thursdays.

Take Care

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