She Begins

Now, how did she want to do this..? That was the question which filled her mind as she looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Lyra closed her eyes, her heart was pounding. Thundering in her chest. She'd never done this before. Oh, she'd touched herself plenty of times. Masturbated in her room when no one was around. But she'd never done something as elaborate as this. Her teeth chewed nervously at her lower lip. Was she really going to go through with it?

Yes.

Lyra reached for the power she felt deep inside of herself. Like a pool of blackness in her soul. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was like a sense of coolness that she could reach for at any point. She touched it, and felt it flow upwards, then outwards. It spilled into the world around her. Below her feet, her shadow lengthened, becoming darker and more solid.

This was the power that her father had given her. But compared to him, her mastery of it was frankly pathetic. He had used it to fight, to make his name as an arch-villain, one of the most feared names in the underworld in the days before his turn to the side of law. He could use it to fight, to shield himself, to form weapons or armour. He could restrain a charging rhino, and she'd seen him often enough playing with their pet tiger (Long story) to know that he could use it both casually and effortlessly.

She didn't have the same power. She wasn't as strong or as fast. Her constricts were weaker, and took longer to form. Her father had always said that it was simply because she wasn't as practiced as he was, but Lyra wondered about that. Everyone knew that powers could mutate through the generations. Maybe hers was just not as strong as his.

Either way, that didn't matter at the moment. Her power might not have been strong enough to halt a getaway car in its tracks, or hold a rhino, but it could certainly restrain a teenage girl. The shadow below her grew deeper and darker, extending probing tendrils upwards through the warm hazy air. She saw them in the mirror, rising up behind her. Slender and dark. She flexed her fingers, balled them into fists and then crossed them behind her back. The tendrils moved towards her wrists, wrapping around them and locking them together. She breathed deeply. The living shadow was cold to the touch. Slender but strong for its size. She pulled against it, grunting with the effort but it didn't budge in inch. Her hands were now trapped behind her back. She looked at herself in the mirror again. Somehow, she looked totally different now.

Time to make the decision. How did she want to play this? Had she been targeted because someone on the street realised who she was? Maybe she'd been kidnapped at random? Someone was training her to make her into a sex ****? Perhaps it was a punishment for something she'd done... had she pissed off someone important and now they wanted to humiliate her in front of the world?

Yes! That was it! She felt the charge running through her at the thought, her face blushing red. She'd helped the wrong person, or made the wrong enemy. Either way, she'd been brought in by police. The police were obviously totally corrupt in this fantasy she was building. She was going to stand trial for whatever she had done, but before that could happen, she had to be prepared for it. Her fate would be decided by a jury, and the judge wanted to bias them as much as possible. So she - the judge was clearly a cruel female with a lust for power - had taken the officers she knew she could trust, and was going to work to make Lyra as broken as possible.

She looked at herself in the mirror again, but this time imagined that she was being flanked by cruel looking officers in uniforms. Her hands were bound not by her own power, but by metal cuffs that bit into her wrists. She was in an interrogation room. They were going to humiliate and **** her until she agreed to plead guilty or else they ran out of time.

How did you start with that? Well, obviously, prisoners wouldn't be allowed to wear clothes. She imagined being told this as she was dragged in, realising what it meant would make her heart pound. More tendrils emerged from her shadow, moving towards the bag she'd left on the floor. There were scissors there. She'd prepared for this. Her clothes were old and hardly fit her anyway. Lyra's body trembled as she felt the cold metal of the scissors press against her skin. She shook her head, but imagined the grinning men and women around her. Eager for her to be stripped bear.

Snip!

The scissors moved, biting through the fabric of her top and skirt. Contrary to the porn she'd watched, this didn't immediately make them fall off. It took several more cuts before her tattered skirt and shirt hit the ground. Now she was wearing only her bra and panties. There was a dark, wet spot between her legs. The officers would see that and comment. They'd laugh and joke. She would shake her head, refuse to admit that she was enjoying this but they would stroke it, rubbing their hands against her sex and make her head spin.

Lyra grit her teeth. The tendrils of living darkness rubbing the other side of her panties, the pressure made her womanhood clench. Her pussy ached, the feeling rose through her body like a heat. F-fuck, why did it feel so good?

Before she could think about it anymore, she plunged forward. The scissors snipped again, and this time her panties and her bra fell away. Lyra gasped, even though she knew it was coming. Feeling herself revealed in this manner made her shift from foot to foot. One of the living tendrils slapped her chest, striking the side of her breasts with enough **** to make it jiggle and conjure a short burst of pain which stole away her breath. She gasped, and then looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was pale, her breasts though small were now aroused. Her nipples were solid and hard, the mistreatment of the officer turned her on though she would never admit it to them. She was breathing heavily now. Her hands were locked behind her back. She wanted to touch herself so badly, but she wasn't allowed to do that. Not unless she confessed.

Another tendril slapped her ass, making her body bounce. She grit her teeth, still refusing to confess. Well, the officers had ways around that so they did. She was led away from the mirror, ropes were tied around her erect nipples and they were used to guide her where the officers wanted her to go. The shame and humiliation burned at her. Before long, she'd been taken towards the bath. There, she was **** to her knees, the steam poured out and enveloped her. Made her skin tingle. Her body felt hot. Her pulse was rushing through her veins. The tendrils around her arms tightened, made her all aware of her own captivity. She figured something was wrong. The guards weren't happy.

Her pussy was too hairy. She didn't shave it. That wouldn't do at all. Everyone was going to see every inch of her during the trial. Again, the tendrils groped towards the bag, coming away with instruments set aside for this very purpose. Shaving cream, a razor. A pair of scissors. She was told to spread her legs, and she glared up defiantly. Someone else slapped her chest, the sound tore a moan from her throat. Dark tendrils wove around her legs, pulling them apart. She resisted, but they were too strong and inch by inch, she was **** to reveal her sex.

Lyra's vulva was rounded, her lower lips engorged. She was wet and aroused, and everyone knew it. A flash of shame filled her as the scissors set to work. They cut away the long hairs of her bush, pairing them back to stubble which covered her mound itself. She blushed. This was the first time she had done anything like this. Then, the more intimate part was started. A bowl was filled with warm water and placed between her legs. The steam wafted upwards, relaxing her skin. A mirror was placed there as well, so she could easily see what she was doing. Then, shaving cream was pressed against her mound. It felt cold and tingly, and spreading it across her womanhood made her toes twitch. The tendrils stroked her pussy, spreading the cream across her vulva. Then came the razor. Lyra's breath caught in her throat now, and she allowed the fantasy to fade just a bit. She didn't want to hurt herself here, so she was very careful. The head of the razor brushed against her womanhood, following the curve of her body and slicing away at the stubble between her legs. The motion was slow and deliberate. Before long, she was biting her lower lip to keep from moaning. Her legs were still being **** apart, and she imagined that everyone was watching now.

It took an agonising amount of time for her to finish shaving. She'd never done it before, so she had to be careful. Gently, the razor swept back and forth, until at last her pussy was bare of any hair, as smooth as the day she had been born. It felt extremely strange, like she had been exposed. She was used to the feeling of having stubble between her legs. Now there was nothing.

The bath was waiting. The water warm and welcoming. She plunged into it, her arms were still bound. She imagined that she was being **** to bathe, to clean herself for what would come later. This was an elaborate fantasy. One she'd been building for quite some time now. Just to remain her of her place, her captors took metal clamps from the bag and placed them on her nipples. The iron teeth pinched her cruelly, made her moan in the back of her throat. The weight tugged her breasts downwards, and she couldn't escape the feeling of helplessness.

Once she was fully clean, she staggered out of the bath. Water dripped from her naked body, cascading towards the ground below. She was dried roughly, her captors taking the chance to rub her pussy and breasts with the towel. The bit of the nipple clamps made her gasp and moan.

Then she had a choice to make. Did she want to stay in the bathroom and finish up here? or take her game to the rest of the house? Her parents were out all day, so there was no risk of discovery.

What did she want to do?