Stripped to the Core 7A 3/11

[reader_xyz]

Agreed, very interested in this story. Please keep writing.

[Fixitman8267]

https://allcmnf.thebeachclub-ii.net/vie ... ist#p11491

https://www.donnylaja.com/tami-smithers-stories
https://allcmnf.thebeachclub-ii.net/vie ... =47&t=2852
https://writingsofleviticus.grometsplaz ... gadoon.htm

Please repost links

https://www.donnylaja.com/tami-smithers-stories This author has his own site and has a sizeable collection. My favorites are "The Unintentional Nudist", the "Blanke Schande College" stories about Hyacinth, "LTJG Mc Nally", and "Five Mailgirls" but only because of a misunderstanding Tami Smithers from 'Unintentional Nudist" is one of the mailgirls.

https://allcmnf.thebeachclub-ii.net/vie ... =30&t=2513 Scroll down to the "The Unintentional Nudist" group

https://writingsofleviticus.grometsplaz ... gadoon.htm Select "Forced Nudity" then select donnylaja or trackjim. Katie wrote a few as well.

I used the 'url' '/url' tags this time. Also, I have 33 stories in MS Word format in my personal archives. In order to maintain intellectual property rights, the docs are unedited, so all mistakes are the author's. PM me your email and I will send the zip file.

Disclaimer: If any of the authors complain I will no longer make this offer. The fact that the original stories are posted on public domain sites for free is the only reason I make the offer. My name is not associated with the story; however, MS Word will have me listed in the info as the author of the "Document". I make no claim to have authored the story itself. Even though the stories could use my editing services.

[Danielle]

Chapter 5B: The Weight of Reflection

The backstage doors slammed shut with a thunderous finality, sealing me off from the judging eyes of the school—a place where my dignity had been stripped away, leaving me defenseless and exposed. The echo of the slamming doors reverberated through the empty auditorium, each sound wave crashing into the hollow pit within me where shards of my soul lay shattered and discarded.

Dragging my bare feet across the cold, unforgiving floor, I followed the others to the front of the stage. My footsteps echoed in the cavernous silence, a cruel backdrop to the muffled memories of the day’s laughter and whispers that now mocked me in my mind. The oppressive quiet pressed down like a suffocating weight, smothering me in despair.

The ink scrawled across my skin felt like a tangible burden—an assault I had not consented to bear. Each word, etched in bold defiance, burned like a brand, cutting deeper than the surface. These marks were my autonomy theft, robbing me of the simplest right: the right to be unseen, untouched, and untouchable.

I wanted to scream, but the sound stayed trapped inside me, suffocated by the storm of emotions churning in my chest. Humiliation, Betrayal, Fury, My mind flailed in search of someone to blame, but none of them bore the weight of my anguish like the stark realization that my parents had orchestrated this nightmare.

The memory of their justifications sliced through me. "This is for your growth," they had said, their calm certainty an icy blade. "It's for your betterment." Their words echoed in my mind, hollow and dripping with betrayal. Each syllable severed another piece of my identity, leaving me raw and exposed.

My body, once my sanctuary, had become a canvas for strangers to deface. Markers had glided over my skin with cold detachment, reducing me to an object devoid of boundaries, dignity, or humanity. They had stripped me of my last semblance of safety—my hair, my shield. Every strand of fuzz on my arms, every vestige of my individuality was taken. Even the intimate hair that had once protected me was ruthlessly removed.

The memory of their laughter as I stood bare before them was seared into my mind. My classmates had been allowed to watch as I was shaved and scrubbed clean of everything that made me feel human. Their taunts and jeers replayed in my mind like a haunting refrain, each one tearing at my fractured sense of self.

But the physical humiliation was just the beginning, the degradation extended into cruel and invasive procedures—harsh and unrelenting—tearing at my most vulnerable parts. The emotional torment that accompanied it was even worse, as I was forced to endure the ridicule of those around me. Their mocking stares, their cruel smiles, their whispered insults—they were wounds deeper than any inflicted on my skin.

Above me, the stage lights blazed, harsh, and unyielding, illuminating every inch of my exposed body. The crude words scrawled across my flesh seemed to glow with a grotesque brilliance, a cruel testament to the violation I had endured. Around me stood the others, upperclassmen marked and stripped like me. They laughed and talked casually as if this spectacle were a normal part of life. Their ease infuriated me.

How could they accept this?

I was the only freshman, the lone first-year student among them, my rawness standing out against their apparent resignation. As I stared at their faces, I wondered if I, too, would one day wear that same mask of indifference. Would I still stand here, years from now, numbed to the cruelty of this place? Or would I escape, whole enough to reclaim what had been stolen from me?

Ms. Amberley's voice pierced the tension, her tone laced with condescension. "Welcome, everyone, to our little show," she said, her eyes glinting with perverse satisfaction. Behind her loomed four wooden structures on wheels, twisted contraptions of rope and harnesses, awaiting their victims, ready to transform us into grotesque exhibits for the school's entertainment.

My stomach turned. I glanced down at the ink on my skin, the words burning like fresh wounds. Some were feigned kindness—empty apologies masquerading as empathy. Others were cruel, sharp-edged taunts that cut to my core. Each scrawled phrase was a violation, a reminder of how strangers had been given license to reduce me to a spectacle.

Then I saw her—the girl from earlier, the one who had poured her pain onto my shoulder, a rare moment of connection amid the chaos. Her handwriting stood out among the chaotic markings on my skin, her words imbued with a quiet pain: the story of a fractured friendship.

Now, she approached the stage, her long hair gone, her body stripped bare. But unlike me, her skin remained untouched by ink. Her vulnerability mirrored mine, though her unmarked flesh offered a small contrast to the chaos etched across my own.

She met my eyes as she stepped closer, her gaze calm yet laden with unspoken emotion. Without thinking, I placed my hand over the words she had written on my chest. The weight of her presence steadied me, grounding me in a moment of fleeting solidarity.

As she drew near, I felt an unexpected surge of kinship. We were both victims of the same brutal system, both reduced to rawness and exposed to others' judgment. At that moment, I realized I wanted to offer her the same fragile hope she had given me in the hallway.

So I reached out, offering her a small, tentative smile. Despite everything—despite the ink, the lights, the cruel contraptions—I felt a spark of defiance ignite within me.

I wasn't ready.

But readiness no longer mattered.

[Fixitman8267]

Excellent chapter. I can see that the moment in the hallway with Clair was as much a turning point for Emma as the meeting of the other canvases. My only question is, why was Clair stripped and shaved? Why was she included in the project?

[Hooked6]

My only question is, why was Clair stripped and shaved? Why was she included in the project?

I certainly can't speak for the author but I suspect the answer may lie in these two sentences:

Her parents justification: "This is for your growth," they had said, their calm certainty an icy blade. "It's for your betterment."

From Emma herself: "They had stripped me of my last semblance of safety—my hair, my shield. Every strand of fuzz on my arms, every vestige of my individuality was taken. Even the intimate hair that had once protected me was ruthlessly removed."

As for me: I believe everything that has been done (including the hair cutting) and all that will be done to her was/is necessary - all in the name of starting with a blank canvass with no emotional baggage or fake protective walls interfering with her growth. Of course I suspect that there is much, much more going on here than just personal growth; some yet unknown plot that has yet to be revealed.

Hooked6

[Danielle]

Another proof version, while making no plot changes.

Chapter 5C: The Marking

The stage lights blazed like a furnace, their merciless glare stripping away every ounce of shadow and secrecy. My skin, marked with jagged ink words, seemed to glow under the harsh illumination. Each word mocked me, branding me with accusations I barely understood, marking me as something unrecognizable.

The air was oppressive, heavy with the mingled stench of sweat, fear, and the metallic tang of inevitability. Around me, the upperclassmen moved with practiced ease, their inked bodies a patchwork of defiance and allegiance to this grotesque tradition. Their laughter echoed through the room, sharp and biting, their camaraderie steeped in cruelty. They had embraced this system and made its savagery their own. The sight twisted my stomach, a knife of revulsion and envy—how could they be so at ease in this horror?

"This is for your growth," my parents had said with maddening calm. Growth The word had clung to me, hollow and mocking, as if it could justify this. My shorn hair, my bare skin, the ink branding me like a vandalized wall—was this transformation? Was this what they wanted me to become? A canvas for their rules, their punishments, their twisted stories?

Each letter etched into my flesh burned—not physically, but in a way that seeped into my core. Every word carved away pieces of me I hadn't agreed to lose. My body trembled, my breaths shallow and unsteady. I was the only freshman in this sea of older students, their inked bodies radiating an authority I didn't understand and wasn't sure I wanted to.

Then I saw her.

She was the girl from the hallway, the one I'd seen crying. I'd tried to offer comfort—futilely—before she'd vanished into the crowd. Now she walked through the room with a quiet resolve, her body bare under the glaring lights. Unlike mine, her skin was pristine, untouched by ink. The sight made her seem defiant, though the slump of her shoulders betrayed something else entirely.

Her gaze met mine, and something indescribable passed between us—a fragile flicker of recognition. My hand drifted to my chest, brushing against the place where she'd written her message earlier. Her words had been different—gentle, almost kind. In this sea of cruelty, they had been an anchor, however fleeting.

She moved closer, her bare shoulder brushing mine as she passed. The touch jolted me, a visceral reminder of how exposed we were. My stomach twisted as I realized I didn’t know her name. That absence cut deeper than the ink on my skin, a reminder of how thoroughly this place sought to erase us.

And then the voice came.

“Claire, kneel before your master as her first slave.”

The words struck like a whip, sharp and merciless. Ms. Amberley stepped forward, her commanding presence slicing through the charged air. She wore flowing black robes that seemed to drink the light, her sharp features and piercing gaze leaving no room for defiance.

Claire moved immediately, her body sinking gracefully to her knees before me. My chest tightened as her skin brushed mine again, her closeness unbearable. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, her face tilted up to meet my gaze.

“I…” The word caught in my throat. “I don’t—”

“Speak,” Ms. Amberley commanded, her voice cold and unrelenting. “Claim what is yours. Place your hand upon her and assert your authority.”

“No,” I blurted, panic rising in my chest. “I don’t want this. I don’t want her to be mine. I—”

“This is not about what you want,” Ms. Amberley snapped her tone like iron. “It is about what you are. And what you are is her master. Accept it.”

Claire’s eyes didn’t waver. They weren’t pleading, but calm Expectant.

“I…” I stammered the word stuck in my throat. “Claire.”

Her name felt foreign, wrong on my tongue. I didn’t deserve to say it.

“I’m not your master,” I said, my voice cracking. “I don’t want to be anyone’s master.”

A faint smile ghosted across her lips, bittersweet and fleeting.

“But I am yours,” she said softly, her voice steady “Even if you don’t want me to be.”

Her words struck me like a physical blow. This wasn’t submission—it was an unflinching truth. She wasn’t asking for permission; she was offering herself, not out of desire, but because the system demanded it.

“Good,” Ms. Amberley said, her voice cutting through the moment. “You’ve taken the first step, Emma, Now the test of endurance.”

My stomach churned as she gestured toward the grotesque devices on the far end of the stage. Harnesses, ropes, and other contraptions stood waiting, each one designed for public humiliation and a grim demonstration of power. I could hear the upperclassmen moving, their laughter sharp and unrelenting as they prepared their slaves—or themselves—to mount the devices.

Keera, the senior, was the first to step forward. Her sharp movements commanded attention and her slaves responded with mechanical precision, guiding her onto the largest contraption. She seemed to revel in the spectacle, her dominance on full display. Ellen and Jenna followed suit, their actions practiced and confident as their subordinates lifted them into position.

My heart pounded as Ms. Amberley turned her gaze back to me, her expression unreadable but charged with expectation. "Emma, you must decide. Will you mount the display yourself, or will your slave take your place?"

Claire’s hand brushed against mine again; steady despite the faint tremor I could feel beneath her skin. Her eyes met mine, wide and searching. She didn’t speak, but the question in her gaze was clear.

The words caught in my throat as my mind raced. If I stepped forward, I’d spare her, but I’d also condemn myself If I chose her… I couldn’t finish thinking the idea was unbearable.

"I…" My voice faltered, the words failing me. "I can’t—"

Ms. Amberley’s voice cut through my hesitation. "There is no room for indecision here, Emma. You’ve been given authority. Now use it."

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. The room seemed to shrink, the oppressive weight of the gaze closing in on me. My legs felt like lead as I turned to Claire, my now slave, who stood waiting, her body trembling but her expression calm.

"Get up," I said softly, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

She obeyed, rising to her feet with a grace that made my heart ache. I searched her face, desperate for some kind of sign—an escape route I hadn’t yet seen. But all I found was quiet resignation.

"I’ll do it," I said finally, the words ripping out of me like a confession.

The room seemed to exhale in chilling silence, a collective murmur of approval rippling through me. Ms. Amberley nodded, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Very well take your place."

Slowly accepting her as my slave, my hands shot out, gripping my wrist as I moved toward the contraption. Her eyes burned with something fierce and unyielding. She didn’t let go as what I now understand are all slaves, their fingers lingering as if to anchor me. Then, slowly my slave kissed my most intimate spots, her hand the curves of my side. I turned away before I could second-guess myself, stepping toward the device with leaden feet.

With eager hands and smiles, they moved quickly, securing me in the harness and ropes with practiced ease. The leather straps bit into my skin, and I flinched as they tightened, locking me in place. The contraption left me exposed, vulnerable, every inch of me on display under the unforgiving lights.

Ms. Amberley’s voice rang out again, cutting through the noise like a blade. "Remember this moment, Emma. This is the price of power. To lead is to sacrifice, to endure, to command through pain and perseverance. Do not forget it as you will be getting more obedient slaves from your class through this year into the next."

Her words dug into me like the ink on my skin, carving themselves into the raw edges of my mind. I closed my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat as the reality of my situation settled over me like a shroud.

This was only the beginning.

[barelin]

That has to be a private military structural school to have that authoritarian control over its students.

[Hooked6]

Interesting chapter. I am entertained, but confused by the radical shift in dynamics. It seems suddenly out of place and unexpected for a high school art project. I am sure all will be explained in future chapters. Might be an interesting ride.

Hooked6

[Fixitman8267]

The slave thing was unexpected. Did Clair volunteer for that or was she forced to do it?
I look forward to seeing what is in store for Emma and Clair.

[Danielle]

The slave thing was unexpected. Did Clair volunteer for that or was she forced to do it?

Look at 'Slave' as unwilling servants with nothing about it would be volunteering.