Dare Me (new 4/25)

[Mariax]

You are certainly applying the heat, pressure and time formula to the reader as well! The wait for the next chapter is going to be brutal!

Great work as always! This story keeps getting better and better!

Darn it, I was going to wait and see how it went over, but now I may go ahead and post the next part.

My hero! Please keep posting! I'm addicted to this story.

[neverdoubted]

Dare Me - Chapter 10 - History Buff (Part 2)

I heard the sounds of a slave coming before I saw her. The distinct clinking of chains on metal clattered in from the other room and accompanied her slow progress. When she finally arrived, I saw what had delayed her. Her ankles were fettered with metallic rings connected by a short chain. The rings looked unnecessarily thick, as thick as a roll of life savers candy, only much heavier.

The chain between them only allowed her to take short, shuffling steps. Some strange metal contraption stuck out several inches behind each foot just above the heel. It was attached to the back of her ankle ring and looked to be hinged open.

She had similar rings around her wrists, only these were not attached to each other and allowed her arms to swing freely. They had an extra bar running through to keep her hands from slipping free. Each wrist ring had rudimentary latching mechanisms in front and back. The latches looked positively medieval. Wait, scratch that. They looked positively ancient. The mechanism, I learned, latched automatically onto a loop on contact, but could easily be unlatched with practice by pushing a pin to the side and swiveling it open again.

In addition to the rings on her hands and feet, she had a fifth around her neck. This ring was even thicker and large enough to fit over her head. It rested heavily on her shoulders. When I saw the loops evenly spaced around, I finally realized where I had seen them before. Mr. Beski's garden was full of terracotta flowerpots which were quite heavy and not typically hung. But he had special rigging; chains that came down to metal rings which were sturdy enough to hold up any size pot. He had repurposed those rings, removing most of the chains, to make Lucy's slave costume.

Around her waist ran one last ring. This was the largest, at least as thick as a "C" battery, and looked ominously heavy. It too had loops evenly spaced around it, and from a few of the loops dangled a handful of residual chain links. It looked like it had barely fit over her hip bones but gotten stuck at her hips. It was a perfect circle and looked to be balanced there precariously, with gaps sticking out both in front of and behind her.

While those six iron rings were the most unexpected component, there was more to her costume. As a tailor, he couldn't leave out the cloth. Although, the total amount of cloth was quite meager. She probably would have wished for more. But slave girls rarely got much say in the matter. A small amount of white fabric draped from the ring around her waist. It hung across her front in a fan shape, like a bunting decoration but was folded around itself in a seemingly impossible manner to make beautiful scallops. At each hip, it was gathered up to a point. Another matching fan covered her behind. Each fan was all one single strip of fabric folded in the ancient Roman tradition which an elder in Mr. Beski's village had taught him when he was younger.

Enough of her hips were showing to make it obvious that she wasn't wearing her panties. And part of the underside curves of her bottom were visible if you looked at just the right angle. But technically, her most private areas were covered. Around her chest wrapped a simple narrow strip of white fabric like a miniature tube top. It wasn't even big enough to make any pleats or folds like the skirt had and simply came to a tie in back. But it was made of a thick enough material that, other than the general shape, you couldn't really see much detail of her boobs.

Strangely, the only pieces that appeared to serve no purpose were two more strips of fabric running from her wrist rings down to the ring on her waist. These strips were slightly longer than her arms. When she put her hands at her side, they would swoop down each leg almost to her knees which counted as perhaps a bit more coverage. But when she raised her arms, they came up with her and hung uselessly in the air between her wrists and her hips.

She didn't look anything like the slaves I had seen in my library books, but who was I to question someone with actual Roman ancestry? From the look on her face, I could tell the most important ingredient was there. She was showing a lot of skin, more than she would be comfortable letting her classmates see, especially since she didn’t have her bra or panties on underneath. I could work with this.

As usual, Mr. Beski had come through and hit a home run. With a few final adjustments here and there, and instructions about how to use the things behind her feet, he released the costume to us. We had two days to perfect her presentation before Friday. She had been working on her delivery already, but now that I had seen her costume, I had additional ideas to incorporate.

It had been only a week since she accepted the dare. Without any pressure yet, her diamond factory hadn't really shown any signs of life. But if it were me, a whole week without touching myself would have been torture. She had been practicing on her own, but with only a couple days left before the contest, I decided it was time to start increasing the pressure. Back home, I told her to put on her costume and come practice with me filling in as the audience.

She agreed and went to go dress while I waited in the living room. She had transcribed the outline into note cards as allowed but needed them less and less and thought she was almost able to do the whole thing without them. That was good because her hands wouldn't be much use once she got started. She shuffled in and asked a question before we began.

"Don't you think I could at least wear panties?" She asked. "I read that Romans wore tunics under their togas. If I wore white ones, they wouldn't look that out of place."

I had her turn around and assessed the situation. From directly behind it really wasn’t bad at all. The fan of the "skirt" covered her entire butt. Her hips could be seen from the side, but panties wouldn’t have helped with that anyway. And sure, it was way too short for the school dress code and barely reached her legs in front and in back. But I had already taken care of that with Mr. Clark. It was only from the side that you could really see more than you were supposed to. I thought it was cute that she was so worried about flashing too much of her bottom to the class.

I wasn't swayed by her arguments and told her she was overreacting. I doubted ancient Romans would waste a good tunic on a slave. And she couldn't afford to have points deducted for something so unnecessary as panties. I also reminded her that she had already messed up the start of her presentation and told her to go out, fix her hands properly, and treat this like a real dress rehearsal.

Her hands were supposed to start out latched to her neck ring. When she came back in, she had done it correctly. She began her speech as if she were standing in front of her class.

"I am a Roman slave girl or 'ancilla'. I was brought to Rome as a baby when my family was captured by soldiers. We have served my master, or 'magister' ever since but I dream of returning home one day, wherever that is."

"I tried to run away so many times, but I was caught and branded a 'fugitivus'. That's why I have to wear these shackles on my feet. As an added punishment, I have to wear this 'pedites cavea' whenever I'm around my master."

To demonstrate, she rose up on her tippy toes then reached up with her left big toe to lower the hinge on the heavy metal contraption. It swung down and enclosed her right heel like a cage. One bar looped under the arch of her foot while another ran straight down the center of her heel to intersect it. Both bars were positioned directly beneath potentially painful nerve tracks. She did the same with her other foot. With her heels now encased in iron, she stood on the balls of her feet and continued her speech.

"Punishing a slave with imprisonment is considered counterproductive because they can no longer work or earn their keep. The pedites cavea enables me to continue to perform tasks for my master while still serving my punishment. Once the pedites cavea are in place, they can only be raised by hand." She demonstrated by balancing on one foot and trying and failing to lift the cage with her other foot.

"Mikey, can I take these off?" Lucy said, breaking character. "They really do hurt my feet every time I tip back for more than a second." She was tiptoeing back and forth where she stood trying to keep the weight off her arches. Her rippling leg and calf muscles flexed alternately to keep her upright. Fortunately, they were strong and capable from all her recent jogging.

"No, Goosey," I admonished her, "You have to keep them on. If you can’t even get through this in practice, how will you be able to do it at school when it counts? Come on. The sooner you get back to it, the faster you'll be finished." If it was this hard for her while standing on carpet, I could only imagine what it would feel like on the hard linoleum at school. But I kept that thought to myself. She took a deep breath, then started spouting out the next part of her speech in breakneck speed. I made her go back and do it again, at a slower pace.

"More recently, I was given a second punishment, 'manualis placidus'. I got angry and struck my master. So now, my hands must remain secured at all times. I can reach the latch and remove this punishment myself if I need to. But I have to make sure my master never catches me without my hands secured at my neck-yes?"

I had interrupted her by raising my hand. Students were allowed to ask follow-up questions and you were judged by your ability to show ancillary knowledge of the subject. She needed to practice that as well. I had given her some practice questions that I hoped might be asked along with responses written to be as embarrassing as possible.

"Why did you strike your master, if you knew you would be punished?"

She blushed but gave the answer I had prepared. "He came in while I was bathing and offered to help wash me. But I didn't want him to and struck him. I apologized and offered to let him wash me, but it was too late."

"Without the use of my hands, I was no longer useful for household slave duties, like cleaning and cooking. so, I was used as a courier, to deliver messages to other patrician's houses. They like to use slaves who can't read or write because they are worried about spies reading the messages."

"But yesterday, I was caught eavesdropping on a private conversation. So, I'm not allowed to be a courier anymore. Today, I start my new job as 'asinus sarcina servus', or pack mule slave."

Spaced around her neck ring, at even intervals, were more loops. Her wrists had been latched to separate loops so that her hands sat uselessly on each side of her face. Her forearms were parallel to each other with about a six inch gap between them. Some of the white fabric covering her breasts peeked through the gap.

She was now supposed to demonstrate the pack mule punishment position with her hands affixed behind her only useful for pulling a supply cart through the city like a beast of burden. With some maneuvering, she was able to reach the latch on her wrist cuffs. Then, without thinking, she moved her hands behind her and engaged the latch onto two different waist loops with satisfying little clunks.

Suddenly, she looked down and realized she should have checked her top before latching her hands behind her. The little white strip of her top had ridden up and was now sitting uselessly above her naked breasts. In a panic, she fought against her bonds, trying desperately to release her hands and fix her top, but it was a futile effort. Unlike the neck ring, her hands were spaced too far apart, and faced outward in preparation for grasping the pull bar of a cart. She had no way to reach the latches and was dependent on someone else to free her hands.

"Mikeeeee, help!" she begged.

I frowned. She had now broken character twice. That would never do in the real contest. She had to practice remaining a roman slave girl no matter what happened if she had any chance of winning this thing. She was so distraught thinking about the sight she would make for her classmates if this happened during the real thing, that she couldn’t continue. So, I promised I would help if she made it through the next couple paragraphs.

Her eyes rolled up at the ceiling and she began anxiously reciting, but at a faster speech cadence than she was supposed to. Her arms were at an awkward angle slightly behind her and at her waist facing backwards. It caused her elbows to stick out like chicken wings and her little round breasts were thrust forward.

Unhappy with her speed, I suddenly stood up and approached her. She paused her presentation and looked at me wild-eyed like a bunny rabbit caught in a trap with a predator bearing down. She wanted to flee but fettered as she was with her heels encased in iron, her escape attempt would be a futile effort. She pulled at her wrist shackles again and again as if this time they would miraculously free her hands. Each time, her little boobies jiggled adorably from the struggle.

She started to back away from me in a little shuffle, but in two strides I was upon her. I came behind her and reached my hands around her chest. Now she really had nowhere to flee. She sucked in her breath as my hands cupped the bottom of her naked breasts. She had grown a perfect handful. As I spoke, I squeezed them with gentle pulses.

"You're talking so fast I can barely understand you." I admonished. She had reached the longest and most boring part of her presentation. The meat and potatoes section where you had to recite a bunch of facts to show you had studied the material. But it was critical to getting a high score that she be able to communicate it clearly.

I told her, for this portion, she would have to pause between every sentence and count to three. And to stop watching the ceiling. She needed to plan to make eye contact with everyone in the crowd during this section at least once to keep them engaged. Then I told her to remember to check her costume for any needed adjustments before latching her hands.

Nearing the end of my instructions, I gently slid my fingers up her chest to reach for the fabric. She gasped when I grazed her nipples. They were as hard a diamonds. That was a very good sign that the pressure from the dare was producing a good amount of heat inside her body. When I gave each one a firm pinch, she threw her head back in a whimper and her legs nearly buckled.

I pulled the fabric back down to cover her breasts then returned to my seat and told her to restart the section. I was amused to see two stiff little points clearly poking through the fabric on the tips of her breasts.

She complied, restarting the passage. The three second pause between each sentence worked very well to slow her down and made it feel more like a professional presentation instead of a novice student rushing through the material. She still made several mistakes and forgot portions and I made her start over certain paragraphs. Like I said, the subject matter over this part was pretty dry. But as she spoke, something much more interesting drew my attention.

The ring around her waist had started out evenly balanced front to back. But once her hands were attached to the back, the balance shifted. The added weight of her wrist cuffs caused her waist ring to start tilting. I watch in rapt attention as the front of her scalloped skirt slowly rose inch by inch revealing the very tops of her legs. As the weight continued to sag her arms down behind her, the skirt rose like a curtain until the bottom of her glistening pussy lips peeked into view.

"Ahem, Lucy" I interrupted her, "you might want to..." I nodded toward her skirt, and she looked down in fright. Blushing profusely, she lifted her elbows back into an angular position, the only way to lower the skirt back over her private area.

She tried to hold her arms there and continue, but within a couple more sentences, the weight on her wrists had sagged them back down again. There was just no good way to support her hands in that position. By the end of that section, her trembling arm muscles had lost their battle and hung straight down behind her, and the skirt had tilted high enough to expose most of her pussy to the audience. When she finished her presentation, she looked down at the status of her skirt and slumped her shoulders in defeat. That caused her curtain to rise the rest of the way up so that even the cutest part of her pussy, the bulging cleft at the top, was exposed.

She begged me again to let her at least wear panties. I told her "no" and said she should spend her energy practicing her presentation more. I was sure she could hold her hands up long enough and get through it if she knew the material better and didn't keep messing up. But the three second pause between sentences was a permanent addition. So, she better go practice with that in place.

She spent the rest of the evening and all the next day committing her note cards to memory and ensuring she could get all the way through it smoothly and without error. That night, Thursday, was her last chance to practice before presenting the next day.

She stood before me again in the living room and went through her now well-honed routine. More than once I noticed a strange habit of hers forming. Whenever I stopped to make a suggestion or change something, she would absently rub the iron bar at her neck as she listened. I had to repeat myself more than once as if the iron restraints were whispering sweet nothings to her and drowning me out.

When the time came to switch positions, she remembered to check for wardrobe malfunctions before locking her hands behind her. She also kept an even pace through the meat and potatoes portion without messing up. Her poor little arms were trembling by the end of it, but she just managed to get through it with her pussy still barely covered.

Everything looked to be on track. But unfortunately for her, I had spent that day brainstorming a few last-minute tweaks of my own. For one, the books from the library said slaves were considered property and didn't even have agency over their own bodies. They weren't allowed to reproduce without permission from their masters. I had a new card all about that for her to memorize and add to her presentation.

Second, something looked off about her appearance. Her skin was just so pure and smooth all over. She didn't have a single mark or callus anywhere on her body. I told her she had to remove her bubblegum pink nail polish, but I couldn't do anything about her tender, smooth feet. I could, however, add other markings to her body which would help distinguish her as a slave. I even dreamt up some backstories to go with them!

I handed her a sharpie and told her to make ten tick marks on her abdomen. They had to be exactly like the marks she had drawn on herself to represent the ten failed masturbation attempts. Only this time she would say they were tattoos placed there by her master to mark the number of failed escape attempts she had made.

Then I made her turn around. On the back of her left leg, at the very top where it started to curve into her bottom I wrote and filled in three block letters. The back story was that after so many failed escapes, she was permanently branded with this tattoo. The letters were "S" and "E" to indicate she was a 'servitus effugium' or slave who had been caught trying to escape. Next to the letters was the Roman numeral for ten to show she had failed at least ten times.

On the back of her right leg, I added three more block letters to indicate her new role in society as an 'asinus sarcina servus' or pack mule slave. Since the markings were in permanent marker, I figured they wouldn't rub off before her presentation, but I planned to bring the marker in case she needed a touch-up. I handed her another card with the backstory for her markings. They wouldn’t be part of her presentation unless someone asked about them, but she had to memorize the responses I had written just in case.

I should mention my plans for the presentation the next day. Friday was the day of heavy hitters. All the best presenters and their elaborate costumes would be there. But Mr. Clark had given Lucy one of the last timeslots. He must have had big expectations for her.

Since mom had to work, I was granted something called a hardship. That meant I was allowed to check out of my school for the last couple periods, and ride over to her school in time to help with the costume and watch her present to the class. That worked out because then I could keep the costume at home and bring it with me at the last minute so Mr. Clark wouldn't be able to see ahead of time and veto the whole thing.

At least, that had been my plan. But when Friday afternoon rolled around, things kind of went sideways and poor little Lucy paid dearly for it.

[Darky]

Wow, such a detailed story. Great research. Love the story! Cannot wait for the next part(s)

[perseus]

I agree with Darky! The creativity of this chapter has been incredible! Mikey has come up with a great dare here!
I really would like to see how sideways this darr goes for Lucy.

I really really hope you keep this story going beyond this chapter, it has been thoroughly enjoyable!

[Frank89]

If the position of all those rings, chains and strips will have relevance in the next chapter -- which I assume they will -- I wouldn't mind some visual aid.

[neverdoubted]

If the position of all those rings, chains and strips will have relevance in the next chapter -- which I assume they will -- I wouldn't mind some visual aid.

It only exists in my head. Someday soon, we'll be able to feed a story like this to an AI and it will generate illustrations for every scene. But until then, you'll just have to use your imagination.

[Mariax]

These cliffhangers are killing me! I can't wait to read how the presentation goes.

[neverdoubted]

These cliffhangers are killing me! I can't wait to read how the presentation goes.

Will probably post it later today, if there's enough interest.

[jimmythehand]

Will probably post it later today, if there's enough interest.

You must know by now: there is plenty of interest.

[neverdoubted]

Dare Me - Chapter 10 - History Buff (Part 3)

That afternoon, after checking myself out from school, I rode my bike home and emptied my backpack of its contents. I intended to load Lucy's costume inside in order to bring it to her school. I couldn't believe how heavy it was! Even the smaller rings were at least 15 pounds of solid iron. It really brought the situation home to me how difficult life must have been for a real ancient Roman slave. Poor Lucy had to haul more than her body weight around when she was wearing it! But right now, poor Mikey had to haul it to school in his backpack!

I got all six rings packed, one for each ankle and wrist, one for her neck, and one to go around her waist, complete with all the fabric pieces and started out again on my bike. I crashed and dropped the bike coming down the driveway when all that weight suddenly shifted. But I did manage to keep myself unharmed. After that, I was more careful to keep the bike from falling. But I wasn't making very good time. I feared, if I didn't pick up the pace, I wasn't going to make it to her school in time.

The most direct path to the school was up the greenway and I was dreading that long uphill climb. Before that, I had a relatively easy downhill ride to the creek bridge. Becoming more comfortable with the weight distribution, I dared to pick up speed. That's when disaster struck.

Suddenly, one of the shoulder straps gave way under the immense weight. My backpack dropped by a foot where it caught my back tire. The fast-spinning rubber yanked so hard, my other shoulder strap came loose, and my cheap backpack was ripped in half in a flash. Pieces of Lucy's costume dropped all around me in a cacophony of noise.

I skidded to a stop and went to collect the pieces. Of course, the solid iron rings were undamaged. Nothing could hurt them. But one of the fans of her skirt had been dragged along the pavement. It was streaked with dirt and grit but still in good shape. The other fan was completely tangled up in my tire.

I cursed out loud, but then decided standing there cursing my bad luck wasn't helping. I still had a job to do. Lucy was counting on me. My backpack was totally destroyed. It would have required two hands just to carry it, and I needed two hands to carry her costume. There was no way I could ride my bike up the greenway and carry the costume at the same time. So, with no other choice, I left my bike on the sidewalk, gathered up what I could, and took off running.

I felt pitifully out of shape, huffing and puffing up the greenway. I had to stop frequently to catch my breath. My muscles were burning by the time I began the arduous climb up the final big hill. As I neared the top, I heard the heartbreaking sound of a school bell ringing. I crested the hill just in time to see children start pouring out the doors of the school. I had missed it!

I trudged down the other side of the hill and went against the throng of children heading home for the day. I headed inside intending to apologize to Mr. Clark. Maybe I could ask him to delay final voting until Monday and give her another chance to present since her stupid brother had screwed everything up. When I turned down the History and Social Sciences hallway, I saw Mr. Clark and Lucy standing outside his classroom door. I started to apologize, but Mr. Clark stopped me short. He was willing to make an exception since some of the other presentations had run late. Most of the kids had gone home but the members of the history club were lingering to hear the winner get declared. He would allow Lucy to present to them, at least. But we had to make it quick.

He’d set aside designated rooms in his hallway for kids to get dressed with the help of a guardian. I accompanied Lucy inside one. While she stripped her clothes off, I told her what happened on my journey to cause the delay. She looked a bundle of nerves and didn’t hear a word I said. I calmly assured her she could do this. Just stick to the script she had practiced.

While I laid out the pieces of her costume, she went over to a small mirror to check on her hair one last time. She had made a laurel wreath with tiny white flowers and pulled her hair up in the most amazing style, with just a few teasing curls hanging down. She looked spectacular, more like a Roman goddess than a simple slave girl. I had to pause and take in the sight. I couldn't believe my sister was standing naked in one of her school's classrooms with her crush teacher so nearby.

Just then there came a knock. It was Mr. Clark telling us to hurry up. As usual, she had spent too much time on her hair and was running late. She ran over and picked up the biggest piece of her costume, the waist ring, and frowned at me when she saw the damaged cloth. One of the fans was completely ruined with only tattered remains pathetically clinging to the ring.

"Sorry, Lucy. I couldn't help it. Like I said, my backpack kind of exploded. But look, the one in front is still good. Besides, it was too clean for a slave anyway. This looks more authentic."

Hesitantly, she slipped it over her head and down to her waist with the one remaining fan covering her front. Then she turned around and asked my opinion. Her entire bottom was bare, only adorned with a few tattered scraps of cloth along the top. If I told her honestly how exposed she was, she would never go through with it. So, I lied and told her it wasn't bad at all.

Wanting to prolong attaching the foot fetters as long as possible, she next put on her wrist rings. She was relieved to find at least the fabric connecting them to her waist had survived the bike mishap intact and showed no real damage. Then she looked around the remaining pieces and suddenly looked up at me in terror. It took me a second to realize what had caused her dismay. There were no other pieces of cloth. I must have accidentally left her tube top at the site of the bike wreck.

"Mikey! No! Please!" She begged and pleaded realizing my offered solution would be for her to do her presentation without her top.

With a twinkle in my eye, I walked her to the mirror. Then I lowered the neck ring over her head and attached her hands to it. I showed her how, in this first slave position, the fabric did technically cover her front. The only marginally embarrassing part that showed through was a narrow gap of naked Lucy skin down the middle where her cleavage would someday be. Problem solved, sort of. Really, it just meant her eventual exposure would come a little later when she had to move to her second punishment position. At least this would buy her time to get used to it, a more gradual exposure instead of all at once.

She looked like she was about to cry, so I calmly reassured her that she was overthinking it. It was only Mr. Clark and a couple of kids from the history club. How bad could it really be? And I would be right there to support her as well. Then, before she could protest further, I handed her the foot fetters and said I was going to go get a seat in the classroom. The choice was hers. But if she wasn't there in the next 2 minutes, she would officially fail her dare. Her eyes fluttered at that threat. She had come this far. Might as well finish it.

I walked decidedly away from her and toward the door to indicate the time for discussion was over. When I got there, I turned and looked back. She was looking into the mirror and absently fingering the ring around her neck. "Two minutes", I called out, motioning to the big wall clock, then I pulled the door closed behind me. Mr. Clark's classroom was about 30 feet down the hall. I was not prepared for the scene that awaited me when I opened his door.

The history club consisted of seven kids, all boys. Three were dressed in regular school clothes. I guess they figured they had no chance of winning and had changed back after their presentation. The other four were still wearing their Roman costumes.

They looked like extras on a Hollywood movie set. One boy in particular, was completely kitted out as a Roman Legionnaire. He had real sandals with straps running up his legs. His armor was a leather encased tunic with a bronze belt and red cape. His helmet had that giant plume thingy that looked like a mohawk. He even had what looked like a real gladius sword and huge rectangle shield with a hand painted design on the front. He definitely looked like the kid to beat and would be Lucy's main competition.

But as it turns out, her audience was not just made up of those kids. There were also three men huddled at the back of the room whom I guessed were dads who had come to help with their kids' costumes. One was fiddling with a camcorder on a tripod he must have used to record his son. The students had arranged the first couple rows of desks into a semicircle to make a presentation area.

Mr. Clark smiled at me when I arrived, and I gave him a thumbs up. I didn't really fit into either group of people, so I headed to the far side of the classroom and picked a solo spot about halfway back where I would be able to see her but could also watch the audience react. I tried to stand casually even though my heart was pounding. If I was this nervous, I could only imagine what Lucy was feeling right now.

Right on schedule, about two minutes later, I heard a clanking sound coming down the hall. It got louder and louder until a little slave girl appeared at the doorway. Everyone turned their attention then froze as she shuffled over to the presentation area with short halting steps only as big as her fetters allowed.

Once her rattling chains settled, the room got so quiet you could hear a pin drop. No, you could hear a flea imagining a pin dropping onto the world's softest pillow. I realized I hadn't been breathing then looked around and saw no one else had been breathing either. She had managed to take everyone's breath away.

She stood frozen for many long seconds and stared at the ground, a red blush blooming on her cheeks. For the seven boys in her class, it was a dream come true. Their dream girl for the past six years was now standing in front of them bound hand and foot and baring parts of her body that they had only ever fantasized about.

Her front torso, from her neck to her waist, was the most covered, blocked by arms and strips of cloth. But her arms were pulled together tightly over her chest, bowing and emphasizing her bare back. Even that pure, unbroken stretch of creamy white skin over her skinny ribs was a place they had never seen on a girl before. But it was far from the only thing to look at. Her bottom half was only covered by the briefest fan of cloth over her private area.

She stood flat footed initially, giving them a great view of her strong, curvaceous legs from her bare feet all the way up. Her bare hips, just starting to develop their curve, stuck out both sides of the tiny cloth indicating that she wasn't even wearing panties. The boys on either end of the semicircle could confirm that fact. They had a much better view of her plump bottom which was helping hold up the metal ring around her waist but had no covering at all.

I noticed that every single boy had his eyes bulging and his mouth hanging open. But then I looked over at the dads and had to smile because they, too were gaping at the sight of Lucy. After several long seconds of silence, she looked up at me in utter fright. I made a circular motion with my hand to indicate that she should get on with it. Finally, she managed to swallow and then licked her luscious lips and began. Her small, shaky voice cracked with nerves, but she leaned on the practiced lines and gradually got stronger as she went.

"I...I..."

"I am a Roman slave girl...or 'ancilla'. I was brought to Rome as a baby when my family was captured. We have served my master, or 'magister' ever since but I dream of returning home one day, wherever that is-"

The dad at the back of the room who had been about to put his camcorder equipment away suddenly changed his mind and hit the record button, peering into the viewfinder to make sure it was properly zoomed and in focus. I had added a section here about slaves having no rights or privileges, including the fact that slaves weren't even allowed to reproduce without permission from their master. I could tell it bothered her to be talking about such an intimate subject in front of her classmates.

Next came the part about the foot cage, she looked over at me pleadingly as if I might let her skip that part. But I just stared back expectantly. Only I got to choose if and when she deviated from the prepared script.

While she described her 'pedites cavea' punishment, she got up on the balls of her feet and reluctantly pulled the cages down, knowing she would have to give the rest of the presentation like that. She winced the first time she faltered and dropped down even a little bit onto the hard bar beneath her arch. But I knew her legs were strong enough to hold her up for the duration if sufficiently motivated.

Then she added, "Many people mistakenly assume the phrase 'don't get caught flat-footed' is a figurative expression. But it's actually a reference to this ancient practice of 'pedites cavea', literally keeping slaves on their toes so they are never caught flat-footed while performing their duties."

But alas, her time as a house slave had been short because she then moved on to explain her second punishment, the manualis placidus, or peaceful hands. She had received this punishment for striking her master. She fumbled slightly over this part and glanced in my direction, probably expecting me to interrupt with my embarrassing follow-up question. She had practiced having to answer why she was given that punishment. To recite the response that her master had tried to come in and help give her a bath. When I didn't ask her this time and kept my mouth shut, it kind of threw her for a loop, but she recovered, and I didn't feel her minor verbal stumble was worth a point deduction.

All in all, I was proud of her steady, even pace. She wasn't rushing and hadn't forgotten a single line yet. But the hardest part, the meat and potatoes section, was yet to come.

The boys had evolved from a look of initial shock to one of sheer enjoyment. They stared at every inch of her body, especially the parts they didn't normally get to see on a girl, hardly daring to blink in case they missed a single second of her riveting presentation. They began squirming in their seats and I caught several surreptitiously attempting to adjust their own uncomfortable erections without being caught. But I caught them because I had attempted the exact same maneuver myself many times in class when a cute girl walked by, and my imagination got carried away with me.

But Lucy was not imaginary. She was very real, and their eyes devoured her spectacular body which fed the flames of their desires. Just then I noticed her voice rising slightly in obvious distress. This was the moment I had been waiting for.

"But...yesterday, I was caught eavesdropping on a private conversation. So, I'm not allowed to be a courier anymore. Today, I start my new job as 'asinus sarcina servus', or pack mule slave."

The whole room perked up in excited anticipation when they heard the click of her wrist latches releasing. She saw every eye fixed upon her and couldn't stop her own eyes from squeezing shut in response. She couldn't bear to watch the boys’ reaction to this new, greater humiliation. She took a deep breath, gathering the will necessary to expose even more of her young body to their gaze. She looked so cute perched up on her toes with her eyes closed tightly and a blush on her cheeks.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Then, slowly, inch by inch, she started to lower her hands. First it was her neck, slender and elegant, coming into view. When she passed her collarbone, it became apparent to everyone in the room that the cloth that had formally adorned her front was going to come down along with her hands. Several of the boys sucked in their breath as if suddenly catching on to what she was about to show them.

She kept her hands together on purpose to postpone exposing her little breasts to them as long as possible. But when she reached her pointy little nipples, she ran out of ways to delay and dropped her hands the rest of the way to her side. Gasps exploded from the semicircle of boys as their cutest classmate’s naked breasts were revealed to them. I even heard a couple of stifled coughs come from the back of the room.

Mr. Clark's eyes bulged, and he looked over at me accusingly. But I managed to remain aloof. I just met his gaze with a calm, questioning expression as if to say "I don't understand? We already met and discussed this. You approved it all, remember?" He folded his arms but did nothing to stop the show. That's when I knew the plan had worked. I think if she had walked out topless flashing her boobs at the outset, he would have shut it down, but the gradual exposure was working in our favor. As always, my trump card remained in the textbook. If I had to, I could point to that picture and tell him we were only following his guidelines.

I turned my attention back to Lucy. Her greatest challenge was coming up. She had to demonstrate the asinus sarcina servus punishment and deliver the rest of her speech without messing up, or she risked flashing a lot more than just her boobies.

Normally this point was her cue to check for wardrobe malfunctions and adjust her top before proceeding. She looked down at her chest, but the only thing she saw were her little, slightly upturned nipples sitting proudly on her chest; a humiliating reminder that she was not wearing her top. There was nothing down there for her to adjust! No way to keep her classmates from learning every contour, shape, location, and color of her perfect little newly forming boobs. Her rock hard, bubblegum pink nipples pointed lewdly and obscenely at them in their own form of greeting.

With her face burning, she gave up on covering her chest and took a deep breath. She held it for a few seconds to prepare for the arduous task ahead. I had warned her repeatedly that she must not talk too fast over the next part of her speech, no matter how much she wanted to rush through it. She had been given clear instructions to pause for three seconds to give each sentence a chance to resonate with the judges.

Releasing her breath, she moved her hands behind her and latched them into their assigned spots on her waist ring with an ominous "kachunk". The clock was now ticking. She plunged into this portion of her speech confidently, having practiced it many times until she could recite it perfectly. It was critical to preserve what dwindling modesty she still possessed that she not stumble over a single word. She spoke quickly but paused as commanded and I could see her counting silently to herself between each sentence before plunging on to the next.

Honestly, it didn't matter what she was saying. No one was paying attention to that. They were all studying her naked chest with those little, impossibly hard nipples thrusted forward for inspection. Even the dads started to shuffle and squirm, and I noticed a few adjustments being made back there.

When the tick marks on her abdomen had been revealed, I caught Mr. Clark's eyes widen and he looked over at his classroom window in confusion. The style of her "tattoo" was exactly like what had been drawn on his window one night about a month earlier. The vandal had never been caught and the case remained an unsolved mystery. He looked like he was trying to decide if Lucy was somehow involved.

As for Lucy, she had more pressing problems. After a couple of paragraphs, I could see her little arms starting to tremble. Locked to the back of the ring around her waist at an awkward angle, she had no leverage. Her only recourse was to hope her little arms were up to the task of holding the weight of her rings. She had to draw from some deep reserves of strength to keep the bar around her waist from tilting. She was clearly struggling with it, but I guess the prospect of letting her skirt rise and flashing her most intimate parts to these hungry boys was sufficient motivation to keep it up.

Everything was going so well for her, considering the nearly disastrous wardrobe complications. I almost hated to do what I did next. But I knew I would never forgive myself if I let the opportunity pass. Her eyes bulged out in terror when, in the middle of her next sentence, she saw me casually raise my hand to ask a question. Any deviation from the practiced script - any delay - could spell disaster for her precarious skirt situation. But with her rapidly weakening arms bound behind her, and her ankles chained together, there was no escape. Her only choice was to plow ahead.

"Yes?" she asked, her piercing blue eyes staring angry darts in my direction. Everyone snapped out of their daze at once, like each one was suddenly remembering there were other people in the room besides himself and Lucy.

I innocently asked, "Um, earlier you said that slaves weren't allowed to reproduce without permission and were even fitted with devices to keep them from doing so. What kind of devices did you mean?"

Up to this point, she had been very lucky. Usually, students had to field at least a handful of follow-up questions during their presentation to test their knowledge. I think her appearance had shocked the students into silence and they had forgotten they were even allowed to ask things. My question had come from one of the cards I had made her practice, so I knew the answer she was about to give. The only twist was my timing of it. I had never asked it in the later portion of her speech because it didn't really belong here. But now she would have to delay finishing her meat and potatoes section to answer this all while hoping her poor little arms cold hold up. As an added bonus, the answer was both quite long and quite embarrassing.

"In the case of a verna, or male slave, a chastity device or 'cavea castitatis' was invented to eliminate the ability to feel pleasure or engage in intercourse. This was a metal cage welded over the genitals and bent down to make erections painful and to prevent sexual stimulation or release. As a result, verna were often associated with pent up sexual desire. They were known to be prolifically fertile partners once the cavea castitatis was allowed to be removed."

"Female slaves who had reached the age of fertility, and were caught flirting, teasing or considered too much of a temptation for others, were fitted with an 'anulus castitatis', or chastity ring. This small ring was attached via piercing. It looped around her labia to preserve her virginity and prevent impregnation. While the ring was effective at keeping her from opening enough to perform copulation with a male partner, it did nothing to prevent sexual stimulation or arousal. So other reminders of her body's role as property was often added. The anulus was-"

She faltered as her poor arm muscles started to fail. When she resumed talking, her voice was up half an octave and much more strained. More people started to notice her skimpy skirt inching higher as she spoke. Soon all focus was concentrated on the upward journey of that cloth.

"The anulus was frequently set with precious gemstones which would glitter in the light to represent simulated arousal. Studs or pointy spikes were sometimes added around the outside of the ring as well so the ancilla would feel pain if she tried to close her legs when she sat down. This would effectively force her to keep her legs spread at all times to advertise the dichotomy of her body's untapped yet unattainable sexual capability."

As the curtain slowly rose on Lucy's main attraction, the gap between her creamy white thighs grew wider. By the time she finished her answer, the lowest part of her puffy little mound was peeking out, glistening a greeting to the crowd. Her arms fell in almost a straight line behind her now, her trembling biceps no match for the heavy iron rings weighing them down.

This final humiliation was too much for the poor, blonde slave girl. The last vestige of modesty she had been desperately clinging to had now been stripped away. There was no longer any mystery about her body that these seven boys, and four men, didn't know.

Forced up on her toes, her pelvis was slightly tilted, preventing her from retracting her pussy mound from sight. And with her arms latched uselessly behind her, she was literally thrusting her naked sex organs out for their enjoyment. The blush on her face spread down onto her neck and chest and overcome by the moment, she closed her eyes and stifled a single little sob. From the fascinated looks on their faces and the hands clinging to their own crotches, I think her naked display turned more than a couple of those boys into men that day.

Even knowing everyone would get to stare at her bald pussy lips and mostly naked body for the rest of the presentation, she somehow managed to rally. That girl was so strong. But when she opened her moist eyes to continue, she was surprised to see of one of her classmates now had his hand raised. I guess my question had broken the ice and now more wanted in on the action. Blinking a few times to clear her watery eyes, she nodded in his direction and waited for the question.

"Um...do you have an anulus castitatis?" he was looking directly at her pussy as he asked it. All the other boys leaned forward and strained to see if they could detect a metal ring pierced through her labia. Perhaps up a bit higher? If her skirt rose up a bit more, they would be able to tell for sure...

"WHAT?! NO!!!" Lucy insisted as shock and embarrassment registered on her face at such an intimate and personal question. Defensively, she tensed her shoulders and somehow summoned the strength to lift her arms up so that the skirt could once again block her naked pussy from their intense gaze. She did not approve of everyone thinking about, much less asking about, what was going on between her legs. But apparently for the boys, there was nothing else in the world they would rather discuss. Another boy piped up without even raising his hand.

"But you said every female slave who had reached the age of fertility and was considered a temptation for others... What age are you? Have you reached fertility yet?"

Her face burned with utter humiliation. The boy had a good point. Every bit of her young, developing body was screaming both "temptation" and "fertility". How could she deny it? But still she refused to answer that most personal question. Her muscles started to fail again, but with her shoulders still tensed into a shrug, she kept the skirt in an untenable position and just managed to keep her pussy covered for a little while longer. She looked over at me, her eyes begging for help. But unexpectedly, she was rescued by Mr. Clark this time.

"Remember class," he piped up in his teacher voice, "while follow-up questions are allowed, there are rules to follow. Questions about the presenter's costume design are allowed, but you may not ask a question about a response given to another question. You may not ask too complex or multi-part questions. Also, you can only speak if you raise your hand and are acknowledged by the presenter. Everyone had to abide by these rules when you were presenting. So please grant Lucy the same courtesy. Lucy, please proceed."

She breathed a sigh of relief at hearing his words. She had come dangerously close to being forced to discuss and explain her puberty situation with these boys. Having dodged that bullet, and the question of whether her pussy was pierced or not emphatically answered in the negative, she was eager to move on.

But she only made it a few sentences before another boy raised his hand. The dam had broken. He was doing it correctly this time, and since it would have been rude to ignore him, after finishing her thought, she reluctantly nodded at him. This question met all the rule requirements laid out by Mr. Clark. It was about her costume.

"What are those?" the boy asked, pointing to the black markings which looked so out of place on her pure white skin.

Lucy's shoulders slumped in defeat bringing her bald pussy once again into view. We had practiced this question. I hadn't bothered to bring it up myself because I knew someone else would eventually ask about her "tattoos". Standing there and explaining them, while embarrassing, would have been tolerable. But there was a specific requirement I had added to this answer. She had to turn around when talking about the markings on her legs. That was the cause for her dismay. With a defeated sigh, she began her practiced response.

"These markings in front are tattoos given to me by my master. Whenever I tried to escape, I was caught and given another mark so everyone could see how many times I had failed." She turned her waist side to side, as if to make sure everyone got a good look at them. But the boys all had their attention focused other places on her body.

"After a while I was no longer considered trustworthy and was given additional restrictions reserved for someone known as a ''servitus effugium', or slave who was caught trying to escape. That's why my feet are chained to each other. So, I can't run away."

She glanced over at me nervously at this point, but I just smiled back knowing what was about to happen. Up to this point, her bottom, while mostly uncovered, had been facing the wall away from everyone. Now, with shuffling steps, she turned in place 180 degrees so that her entire naked bottom was pointing at the class. Her strong, plump cheeks flexed up and down as she continued to balance precariously back and forth on the balls of her feet. But that wasn't the point of turning around. She had to talk about the rest of her markings.

She waived her still bound left hand to draw attention to that side. "On this side, I was given an 'SE' tattoo, for 'servitus effugium', along with the number ten showing that I had been caught at least ten times. The roman numeral for ten is 'X'. That way, anyone who sees me walking around the city in chains pulling a cart like a donkey will know why I was given that punishment."

"These letters," she now waived attention over to her right leg, "are to advertise to everyone my new job as 'asinus sarcina servus' or pack mule slave."

She paused here for a moment, letting everyone get a good look at the two bold block tattoos sitting just below her naked bottom at the very top of each leg: "SEX" on one and "ASS" on the other. Then she turned back around.

I think the blatant display of her perfect, sexy ass shocked the boys into silence. For Lucy, it was the first time any boy in her school had ever seen her bare bottom...wait, no. It was the second time. The last time had been when she went on a naked sleepwalk in front of Billy Benson. But that had been over a year ago. Her bottom had grown substantially sexier since then.

Mercifully, there were no further questions after that. She was able to complete the rest of her presentation without interruption. When she finished, everyone stood up and applauded. She eyed the door like a marathon runner eyeing the finish line, thinking her ordeal had reached its end. But she forgot about the prize ceremony. That's when I realized the dads were also there to be the panel of judges. They huddled together with Mr. Clark at the back of the room to discuss and figure up the point totals while the history club boys, to Lucy’s great dismay, got up from their desks and approached her.

They came up under the pretenses of getting a closer look at her costume, but she knew the real reason for their interest. Somehow, they had the hottest girl in their school standing in front of them bound hand and foot as a naked slave girl. She was stuck there in one place, with her hands bound behind her and her naked breasts permanently thrust out. Her arms were completely spent and hung straight down behind her causing the juicy gap between her legs to reveal even more. A sheen of moisture coated her nude pussy lips and even the insides of her thighs were slick with it. Her poor little nipples looked painfully hard.

Even her once strong legs were starting to tremble, showing the strain of standing up on her toes for this long. She would let her legs relax for brief moments, then wince at the pain signals coming from the arches of her feet. Not allowed to be flat-footed, she would force her legs to lift her back into a properly perched position.

They milled all around her taking in the sight of her mostly naked display from every angle. She smiled politely when the legionnaire showed her that his costume, too, came with a tattoo. He had the letters "SPQR" on his bicep which he said showed his loyalty to the Roman Empire. But he said he liked her SEX and ASS ones better.

Finally, the huddle broke, and, to Lucy's further dismay, Mr. Clark approached holding a camera. He declared that the contest had ended in a tie. Lucy and the legionnaire would be co-champions and a decision on how to split the prize would come at a later date. Then, keeping with his annual tradition, he asked the club to gather around for a group photo to add to his wall.

Lucy wasn't in the club, but I guess it would have been rude to leave one of the winners out of the picture. So, they all gathered around her. No one offered to unbind her hands. So, she just stood there with in the very middle of the group, her most intimate parts laid bare for all to see, and tried match their enthusiastic smiles with one of her own as the shutters clicked away.

Next, he wanted to take some pictures of just the two co-champions. The legionnaire got his sword and shield and struck a noble pose while the nearly naked slave girl stood there and flashed more than just her smile for the camera. It was like he had captured her in his most recent war campaign and was on the way back to Rome with his slave prize bound and humiliated in her defeat.

Mr. Clark even got a picture of both the winners' tattoos. The legionnaire got down on his knees so his tattoo would be the same height as hers. Lucy really didn’t want to pose for this one. But the legionnaire took control of the situation. He grabbed her hips, and she couldn't stop him from turning her around so her naked and flexing bottom faced the lens. He pulled up his sleeve and flexed his bicep for the camera, letting his hand rest on her opposite butt cheek. He smiled at his good fortune for the camera, while Lucy, facing the other way, could only stand there and listen to the camera flashes capturing her perfectly framed and perfectly formed ass.

The boys were instructed to put the desks back in two rows then go change. That meant Lucy was finally dismissed and started to shuffle back toward her changing room. I intended to accompany her but paused when I heard an argument coming from outside in the hall. I guess the legionnaire’s dad, who was kind of a jerk, didn't think it was fair that his son had to share the prize with Lucy. He felt the judges had given her too many points.

While they argued, I saw an opportunity. With the classroom temporarily deserted, I rushed over and switched out the tape in the camcorder, with another one sitting nearby. Then I slipped it into my shorts. It was the tape of Lucy's performance and I felt I deserved to have it over some random other kid's family.

I caught up to Lucy in the hallway. And when I say 'caught' I mean it. I literally had to catch her just as she started to fall. Her legs were spent, and she was really struggling to walk. I held her upright as she shuffled the last few steps into the changing room. She stepped inside with a jittery sigh and beamed up at me.

"Did I do it?" she asked with a hopeful smile, "Is my dare over now, Mikey?"

I nodded in affirmation as I mercifully freed her hands and bent down to uncage her heels.

"D...does that mean...I can touch myself?" she asked anxiously.

"Heh, yeah," I chuckled.

"Right now?"

What?! Of all the things she could be worried about in this moment! Her little diamond factory must have been working overtime while she fulfilled her dare. She must have really been desperate to want to do it right then and there! Not really convinced she was serious about playing with herself right then; I offered a teasing response.

"Sure Lucy, your dare is complete, and you can touch yourself right now. But I'm pretty wiped out. So, I'm only giving you ten seconds, then we need to get going. You can finish at home." I had meant it as a playful joke. A reference to her last dare when she could only play with herself for ten seconds at a time during her jogging breaks. So, imagine my surprise when, in all earnestness, Lucy's right hand shot between her legs right in front of me. She sank to her knees, then the floor with her legs splayed, and let out the loudest, sexiest moan I had ever heard.

Her moan of arousal continued unabated for the full ten seconds. Her whole body jerked as her fingers vibrated intensely within the needy folds of her loins. And to my utter astonishment, she made the biggest, brightest diamond imaginable right in front of me. I feared the noise would give her away and send someone running to check on her. But I couldn't possibly make her stop.

Fortunately, no one came running, and when her ten seconds was up, she stopped on her own. Her whole being seemed to droop with exhausted relief. Denied for so long, her pent-up orgasm had finally taken the edge off. But don't think for a moment that her factory was fully satiated yet. She was still obviously buzzing with need. She stood back up on wobbly legs and breathlessly announced she needed to get home as soon as possible. I knew why. But before I dismissed her, I grabbed the sharpie and drew a happy face on her abdomen right next to the ten other tick marks of failure. She had earned it!

She rapidly dressed in her school clothes and left in a hurry, leaving me behind to pick everything up. She even got to ride her bike while I had to walk the whole way home carrying the heavy pieces of her costume. Who was the pack mule now? When I got home, I went upstairs and heard the familiar sounds of Lucy making a whole heap of diamonds in her room as she relived every humiliating second of her presentation in her mind.

I didn't intend to disturb her but was just trying to set her costume outside her door. But I couldn't prevent the rings from making a loud clanking sound when they dropped to the floor. When she heard it, she came and opened her door. She stood there, unabashedly naked. She still had her laurel wreath on, but her hair was quite disheveled by now. It was actually kind of sexy looking to me, but maybe my opinion was influenced by her aroused, naked body. She was holding a marker in her hand and drawn all over her abdomen and belly were more happy faces than I could count. She ran out and gave me a huge hug then retreated back to her room for the rest of the night.

Everything seemed right with the world, and I considered my role in this dare a huge success. But the scene that awaited me the next morning should have given me pause. In hindsight, it was a warning sign of things to come.

Even though it was Saturday, Mom had been called in to work - again. When I woke up, I decided to tease Lucy one last time by telling her about the video tape I had stolen. Maybe ask if she wanted to watch it with me. But when I approached her door, I heard a rhythmic clanking sound coming from within. I knocked and the clanking stopped.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"It's me," I called back.

"Oh, come in Mikey!" she answered brightly.

I entered to find Lucy wearing her slave costume. Well, most of it anyway. She had removed every scrap of cloth and was only wearing the six iron rings. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror. Her hands were latched to her waist ring, but oddly, one in front and one in back.

"Look, Mikey, I created a new punishment position!" She said proudly. "This one is for really naughty slaves. They aren't allowed cloth anymore and can only use their hands to cover up all over town. See?"

She demonstrated by lowering her left hand to "cover" her backside. It didn't cover anything of note. Similarly, she reached down with her right hand to "cover" her pussy. But really, only her three middle fingers were even able to reach it. Her middle finger extended down her pelvis and was swallowed perfectly by the upper cleft of her pussy. Her two other middle fingers settled in on each side. She started rubbing her smooth lips contentedly, sighing when her fingers extended to the further point her bonds would allow, then shivering every time they raked back up. Each time she shivered, her nipples jiggled back and forth in a hypnotic erotic display.

Suddenly, I felt an urgent need of my own building as I watched the naked slave girl slowly pleasuring herself. I needed to excuse myself and attend to it right now!

"Um, Lucy?" I interrupted, "I was just letting you know; I stole the tape of your performance. Would you like to watch it with me?"

"Sure!" she exclaimed, then blushed and added meekly "Only, can you help me? I'm kind of stuck."

At the time, I didn't think anything of it. I just helped unlatch her hands then announced I was going to take a quick shower and would meet her in the living room after. As I was leaving the room, I saw her walk over to her desk. Then she got out a marker and drew three more happy faces on her already crowded stomach.