By SubstituteWriter
someassembly1964a@gmail.com
Copyright 2026 by SubstituteWriter, all rights reserved
[1,036 words]
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This
story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced
nudity,
spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for
the
purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be
attempted
in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not
of legal age in your community to read or
view
such material, please leave now.
Secret Girls Club Part 23
(Dove receives a beating from a mysterious group the day before school started. She begins to plan her revegence.)
The day before I began my junior year in high school I got beaten up by
a gang of girls wearing black leotards, black gloves and black masks
which covered their heads with the exception of eyes, nose and lips. I
still don’t know the exact number of assailants. The attack reminded me
of what Christa’s friends did to me my freshman year. It was most
certainly planned, though I would have recognized anyone from Christa’s
group. This was different.
I was walking alone in the city
park, drinking in the wonderful sights and sounds of the Bush Tail
Trail that led to a small lake. I had just rounded a corner when I was
confronted by a pair of black-clad fighters. They stood in my way,
their hands on their hips.
“You have got to be kidding me!” I spoke. “Is this some kind of joke?”
As they approached me and I prepared myself for battle, I felt all
kinds of hands grabbing me from behind. I was effectively turned into a
human punching bag, each of my moveable limbs tightly held. The two
ringleaders (at least that’s how I considered them) took turns landing
blows on my face.
I guess I should be grateful that their
hands were padded, as though they wore a pair of kitchen mitts on each
hand. I wasn’t in the mood to be gracious, however, as I felt stinging
blows that led to a bloody nose, a black eye and several other scraps
on my face. I wanted desperately to fall to my knees but was held up by
the other girls, some of whom decided to take advantage of exposed
ribs, stomach and other sensitive areas.
Finally, I received a
vicious kick to the stomach that forced all the air out of me and left
me grasping for relief on the ground. The group proceeded to rip off
all my clothes, including socks and shoes, as I tried to ball up into
the fetal position.
I heard stakes pounding into the ground,
on the trail, and then felt hands drag me into a spread-eagle position
and tied off. Then there were the sounds of phones snapping off what
seemed like hundreds of photos. Then they left as quietly as they had
come.
I hurt too much to feel the shame of my situation,
though that shame would rush through me many times over in the
following days. My eyes were so swollen I could barely open them. I
felt blood trickling down my face and onto the ground. I still had
trouble breathing minutes later, when I discovered the final
humiliation: a rose had been inserted into my exposed vagina so that
only the bud was exposed. Getting that out would be a thorny
experience.
I needed almost a half-hour to recover enough to
begin escaping my bondage. No one encountered me on the trail while I
was naked. I thought that it was nearly impossible on a nice day like
this. I finally worked myself free, bearing the aches of thorns rubbing
against the canals of vagina as I slowly pulled the rose free.
It had been an hour since the attack and I was barely dressed in
clothing that was tied together out of scraps. My shoes and socks were
gone, so I had to navigate the trail barefoot. I felt pain everywhere
in my body as I stumbled along to the parking lot.
I noted the sign at the trailhead, reading it was closed for the day. Well, that’s one answer.
When I got back to my car, I saw my keys on the radio antenna. My phone
and wallet were on the passenger side of the front seat. I gathered
myself enough to climb behind the wheel. I picked up the phone and saw
the photograph; sent from a phone number I did not recognize. When I
called the number, it had already been disconnected.
I stared at the picture of myself, bloodied and messed up, and started crying, feeling sorry for myself.
I made it home and went straight to my room, hiding out the rest of the
day. After a hot shower and getting myself cleaned up as best as
possible, I sat at my desk and began thinking about what had happened
and why. Was it a warning? Some kind of threat?
I skipped the
first few days of class, giving the excuse of recovering from surgery.
My head cleared up enough to start planning revenge, if I ever found
out who was involved in the attack.
I received pictures nearly
every hour, all to numbers that were hidden or disconnected. It was
supposed to either upset me or make me feel bad about myself, or that’s
the way I thought about it. I used it for motivation. I wondered who
may have access to the photos, but they may as well have been
photoshopped or designed by AI. This was personal.
When I
started school again, only my eyes showed much scaring and I told
people I was in a car accident. It seemed as though no one I knew had
seen the pictures or even knew about the incident. That was odd. No one
could keep such a secret for long.
When the first official
fight club weekend arrived, I felt nervous enough to cancel my
scheduled fights and stayed home. This worried Christa, who knew me
better than anyone. She checked up on me and I finally had to let it go
and tell her what happened.
She was genuinely shocked and had
heard nothing about it, even among her friends. Christa said she’d keep
the secret and not make any inquiries. She’d just keep her ears open.
It was ridiculous to let myself be intimidated by the incident and the
resulting taunting of the pictures. I had to jump back in the ring and
get this over with No one was going to force me out of what I enjoyed
doing on the weekends: wrestling and stripping girls naked.
End of Part 23