Stripped to the Core 5D 11/30
Re: Stripped to the Core 5C 11/25
Sorry but the AI thing is still not working for me. AI can make rapid jumps in dynamic and continuity and that is what we are seeing here. Your non AI writing is great OP
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Fixitman8267
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Re: Stripped to the Core 5C 11/25
Slavery can be either voluntary or involuntary. Voluntary slavery can be either Indentured Servitude or full slavery. Involuntary slavery can be either full slavery, judicial slavery, or indentured slavery. Full slavery is for a lifetime while judicial and indentured have fixed time periods.
Considering how the story is going, I would think she could be forced or coerced into it. Kind of like Emma's choice of "do it or be expelled". There isn't any justification for Clair's sudden appearance as a slave. So, she wrote something on Emma's chest and made up with her best friend. What does that have to do with Clair becoming Emma's slave? At this point in the story, Clair's appearance as Emma's slave needs a backstory. Maybe a simply short where Emma asks, and Clair explains.
My next question: Will Clair move in with Emma or will she only be a slave at school? How will being a slave affect her education? How long will she be a slave? As long as Emma is part of the art project? Or for a shorter period?
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Danielle
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Chapter 5D: Bound in Silence
I was completely helpless, stripped of movement and choice. The straps dug into my skin, pinning me to the cold, unyielding contraption. My limbs were stretched unnaturally, bound tight as if to remind me that resistance was not just futile—it was forbidden. Every muscle in my body ached, screaming for relief, yet the cruel design allowed none. My breath came in shallow, trembling gasps, each one weighted with the crushing awareness of my vulnerability. The air around me felt heavy, and oppressive, like the silence before a storm.
My thoughts raced, a cacophony of confusion and disbelief. Only hours ago, I had confronted Claire in the hallway—a girl trembling with raw emotion, her pain as evident as the tears she had barely concealed. I remembered the weight of her sorrow as though she had carved it onto my chest in letters wrapped around my breasts. But now? She knelt before me, calm and poised, her composure chilling. It was as if she had shed her humanity in favor of this unrecognizable submission.
Why? The question echoed in my mind, unanswered and unrelenting. How had Claire become this? And worse—how had I been dragged into this nightmare? It was as if everything that happened wasn’t by chance of confronting Claire if that is her name and the story she told me earlier was real.
The sharp, deliberate click of Ms. Amberley’s heels shattered the suffocating silence. Each step reverberated through the room, a cruel reminder of her authority. My chest tightened at the sound, my body instinctively tensing despite my restraints. She moved with the precision of a predator, her gaze sweeping over the room as if she owned every inch of it—and everyone in it.
My eyes darted between Claire, still kneeling like a statue of obedience, and Ms. Amberley, who exuded a suffocating aura of control. The polished floor reflected her every movement, amplifying the meticulous choreography of power and dominance. Her presence demanded attention, and no one dared look away.
Behind me, the frame of the device pressed against my back—an amalgamation of wood, steel, and cruelty. The coarse fibers of the ropes scraped against my skin, a constant, stinging reminder of my confinement. The restraints didn’t just hold me in place; they stripped away my sense of self. Suspended and exposed, I was no longer a person. I was a thing, a piece of this grotesque game I couldn’t escape.
At the center of the room sat Keera, perched on a throne-like structure of leather and steel. She was regal, her posture commanding, her confidence unshakable. Around her, her slaves moved with a precision that sent chills down my spine. They were silent and efficient, their hands tightening straps and adjusting bindings with practiced ease that suggested this was routine. Keera didn’t even look at them; she didn’t need to. Her mere presence dictated their movements.
“Excellent form, Keera,” Ms. Amberley said, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. “Your control is immaculate. As expected.”
Keera smirked, the corner of her lips curling in satisfaction. She thrived in this world, a twisted reality where dominance was currency, and submission was a virtue. Her confidence radiated like a beacon, casting the rest of us in shadow. This wasn’t a game to her. It was her domain.
“Place your first assigned slave into position,” Ms. Amberley commanded, her tone cool and unyielding.
Keera moved with an almost casual ease, her gaze settling on a girl at her feet. At Keera’s words, she shifted into position, her movements smooth and deliberate. There was no hesitation, no resistance. The others—worked quickly to bind her into a tight harness of ropes. Her arms and legs were folded neatly into a seated squat, her face pressed against Keera’s legs.
The sight turned my stomach. The meticulous way they worked, the rehearsed efficiency of it all—it was too much. My chest tightened, nausea clawing its way up my throat. How could anyone accept this? How could anyone become this? Yet as I watched, I realized they weren’t just participants; they were extensions of Keera’s will, bound to her in ways I couldn’t begin to understand.
“Now,” Ms. Amberley said, her voice sharper this time, her gaze cutting to me like a knife, “command your slave into position.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap. My breath faltered, and my heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. My gaze snapped to Claire. She got up as others began strapping her so her face was now touching my vulva—which felt unnatural. Her posture was steady, her hands resting on my thighs as her body betrayed no emotion. Something I couldn’t name. Was it acceptance? Resignation? Or something more insidious—a quiet defiance buried under layers of calm?
“I…” The word barely escaped my lips, my voice trembling under the weight of expectation. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My mind raced in every direction, searching for an escape, a way to undo what had already been set in motion. But there was none.
Ms. Amberley’s heels clicked against the floor, drawing closer. Her shadow fell over me, her presence suffocating. “Do not hesitate, Emma,” she said, her tone icy. “This is not a request. It is an expectation.”
Her words froze the air in my lungs. My gaze flickered down to Claire again, who I felt pressing her tongue into me. That sent stillness mocked my paralysis, amplifying my chaos. I couldn’t make sense of her expression—it was unreadable, yet haunting. This wasn’t the girl I had comforted in the hallway. This was someone—or something—else.
“You chose her,” Ms. Amberley continued, her voice softer now but no less cutting. “When you comforted her in the hallway, you claimed her. Take control. Prove it.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine, a cruel echo that refused to fade. I stared down at Claire, frozen as the room seemed to close in around me. The walls pressed inward, the silence deafening.
And then I realized: I was just as a slave to this sick world as Claire and the rest of us on that stage under the ultimate control of Ms. Amberley’s crazy art project and control.
Looking over at the other two contractions that I learned held Ellen, a junior, and Jenna, a sophomore, strapped with another face pressed between their legs. Ms. Amberley commanded most of whom I believe are all nothing but naked slaves to move the other three contractions to the theater lobby to get it ready for the class to arrive for the assembly. I then watched the other three contractions move off the stage along with most of the other naked individuals from the handful that were still present.
Once the stage was empty, Ms. Amberley turned her attention to me. “Emma, command your slave to dig deep inside those folds and push that tension out.” I was frozen at that thought as I felt her tongue explode sending shockwaves down my spine. Then as if time stopped when I closed my eyes and reopened them, standing before me was that harsh no-nonsense teacher who had been pushing me into this unforgiving world that I never asked for was now completely in the nude, and everything inside me exploded.
The room blurred, and my senses overwhelmed. Ms. Amberley’s command echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, demanding compliance. My muscles tensed against the restraints, my breath shallow as I struggled to ground myself amidst the chaos. Claire’s touch—calm, precise, yet alien—was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. My thoughts spun out of control, tangling into knots of fear, shame, and defiance.
I forced my gaze up to Ms. Amberley, standing bare before me, her posture a portrait of confidence and control. Her eyes locked onto mine, piercing and unwavering. Her expression wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind, either. It was detached, as if she were watching a scene unfold in a play, her role merely to direct the cast. Her nudity didn’t seem to faze her; in fact, it was as if she wielded it as another tool of her power.
“You resist,” she said, her voice soft but sharp as glass. “Good. Resistance shapes strength. But too much, and it will break you. This moment, Emma is not about you bending to me. It is about finding who you are beneath what you think you should be.”
Her words sent a cold ripple through me. Beneath what I think I should be? What did that even mean? I wasn’t here to find myself. I was here because I had been dragged into this nightmare against my will. But as I stared back at her, I couldn’t ignore the strange flicker of something beneath her composed exterior. Was it an expectation? Curiosity? Or something darker?
I glanced down at Claire. Her face was pressed close to me, her breathing steady, her body still. There was no defiance in her posture, no visible resistance. But there was something in her eyes—a quiet, unspoken understanding that both unsettled and intrigued me. She wasn’t just submitting; she was enduring. For what reason, I couldn’t fathom.
“I didn’t choose this,” I said, my voice trembling yet firm enough to slice through the silence.
Ms. Amberley tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile. “You didn’t choose the situation, no. But you chose her.” Her gaze flickered to Claire. “When you reached out to her when you comforted her in the hallway, you stepped into a role. You took responsibility. And now you are here, facing the weight of that choice.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I wanted to deny it, to scream that I didn’t ask for any of this. But deep down, I knew she was right. I had seen Claire’s pain and her vulnerability, and I had chosen to care. I had thought I was helping her, protecting her. Instead, I had been pulled into this twisted reality where care was a weapon and connection a chain.
My thoughts snapped back to the present as I felt Claire shift slightly against me. Her touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it grounded me in the moment. My breathing steadied, and I forced myself to meet Ms. Amberley’s gaze again.
“You may feel powerless now,” Ms. Amberley continued, her tone even. “But power is a fluid thing, Emma. It is not always about control. Sometimes, it is about understanding the role you play and the strength you can wield within it.”
Her words lingered, a haunting refrain that refused to leave me. I didn’t know what she wanted from me—what this whole charade was meant to prove. But I realized something at that moment: I wasn’t going to let her break me. Not like this.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the oppressive room, the watchful gazes, the suffocating expectations. Instead, I focused on my breathing, slow and steady, and the faint hum of my heartbeat. If I was trapped in this, I wouldn’t give Ms. Amberley the satisfaction of breaking me down.
When I opened my eyes, I met Claire’s gaze. Her expression was still unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a question, perhaps, or a silent plea. I didn’t know what she needed from me, but at that moment, I made a promise to myself: I would find a way out of this. For her, for me, for everyone caught in this sick game.
Ms. Amberley’s voice broke through the silence again, sharp and commanding. “Good, Emma.” I felt the contraction that was holding me from moving to the front of the stage next to the podium when I saw the school principal, several vice principals, several other officials, and some clothed students that I recognized from the school student council along with others setting up chairs for everyone at showed up to the stage.
My thoughts raced, a cacophony of confusion and disbelief. Only hours ago, I had confronted Claire in the hallway—a girl trembling with raw emotion, her pain as evident as the tears she had barely concealed. I remembered the weight of her sorrow as though she had carved it onto my chest in letters wrapped around my breasts. But now? She knelt before me, calm and poised, her composure chilling. It was as if she had shed her humanity in favor of this unrecognizable submission.
Why? The question echoed in my mind, unanswered and unrelenting. How had Claire become this? And worse—how had I been dragged into this nightmare? It was as if everything that happened wasn’t by chance of confronting Claire if that is her name and the story she told me earlier was real.
The sharp, deliberate click of Ms. Amberley’s heels shattered the suffocating silence. Each step reverberated through the room, a cruel reminder of her authority. My chest tightened at the sound, my body instinctively tensing despite my restraints. She moved with the precision of a predator, her gaze sweeping over the room as if she owned every inch of it—and everyone in it.
My eyes darted between Claire, still kneeling like a statue of obedience, and Ms. Amberley, who exuded a suffocating aura of control. The polished floor reflected her every movement, amplifying the meticulous choreography of power and dominance. Her presence demanded attention, and no one dared look away.
Behind me, the frame of the device pressed against my back—an amalgamation of wood, steel, and cruelty. The coarse fibers of the ropes scraped against my skin, a constant, stinging reminder of my confinement. The restraints didn’t just hold me in place; they stripped away my sense of self. Suspended and exposed, I was no longer a person. I was a thing, a piece of this grotesque game I couldn’t escape.
At the center of the room sat Keera, perched on a throne-like structure of leather and steel. She was regal, her posture commanding, her confidence unshakable. Around her, her slaves moved with a precision that sent chills down my spine. They were silent and efficient, their hands tightening straps and adjusting bindings with practiced ease that suggested this was routine. Keera didn’t even look at them; she didn’t need to. Her mere presence dictated their movements.
“Excellent form, Keera,” Ms. Amberley said, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. “Your control is immaculate. As expected.”
Keera smirked, the corner of her lips curling in satisfaction. She thrived in this world, a twisted reality where dominance was currency, and submission was a virtue. Her confidence radiated like a beacon, casting the rest of us in shadow. This wasn’t a game to her. It was her domain.
“Place your first assigned slave into position,” Ms. Amberley commanded, her tone cool and unyielding.
Keera moved with an almost casual ease, her gaze settling on a girl at her feet. At Keera’s words, she shifted into position, her movements smooth and deliberate. There was no hesitation, no resistance. The others—worked quickly to bind her into a tight harness of ropes. Her arms and legs were folded neatly into a seated squat, her face pressed against Keera’s legs.
The sight turned my stomach. The meticulous way they worked, the rehearsed efficiency of it all—it was too much. My chest tightened, nausea clawing its way up my throat. How could anyone accept this? How could anyone become this? Yet as I watched, I realized they weren’t just participants; they were extensions of Keera’s will, bound to her in ways I couldn’t begin to understand.
“Now,” Ms. Amberley said, her voice sharper this time, her gaze cutting to me like a knife, “command your slave into position.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap. My breath faltered, and my heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. My gaze snapped to Claire. She got up as others began strapping her so her face was now touching my vulva—which felt unnatural. Her posture was steady, her hands resting on my thighs as her body betrayed no emotion. Something I couldn’t name. Was it acceptance? Resignation? Or something more insidious—a quiet defiance buried under layers of calm?
“I…” The word barely escaped my lips, my voice trembling under the weight of expectation. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My mind raced in every direction, searching for an escape, a way to undo what had already been set in motion. But there was none.
Ms. Amberley’s heels clicked against the floor, drawing closer. Her shadow fell over me, her presence suffocating. “Do not hesitate, Emma,” she said, her tone icy. “This is not a request. It is an expectation.”
Her words froze the air in my lungs. My gaze flickered down to Claire again, who I felt pressing her tongue into me. That sent stillness mocked my paralysis, amplifying my chaos. I couldn’t make sense of her expression—it was unreadable, yet haunting. This wasn’t the girl I had comforted in the hallway. This was someone—or something—else.
“You chose her,” Ms. Amberley continued, her voice softer now but no less cutting. “When you comforted her in the hallway, you claimed her. Take control. Prove it.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine, a cruel echo that refused to fade. I stared down at Claire, frozen as the room seemed to close in around me. The walls pressed inward, the silence deafening.
And then I realized: I was just as a slave to this sick world as Claire and the rest of us on that stage under the ultimate control of Ms. Amberley’s crazy art project and control.
Looking over at the other two contractions that I learned held Ellen, a junior, and Jenna, a sophomore, strapped with another face pressed between their legs. Ms. Amberley commanded most of whom I believe are all nothing but naked slaves to move the other three contractions to the theater lobby to get it ready for the class to arrive for the assembly. I then watched the other three contractions move off the stage along with most of the other naked individuals from the handful that were still present.
Once the stage was empty, Ms. Amberley turned her attention to me. “Emma, command your slave to dig deep inside those folds and push that tension out.” I was frozen at that thought as I felt her tongue explode sending shockwaves down my spine. Then as if time stopped when I closed my eyes and reopened them, standing before me was that harsh no-nonsense teacher who had been pushing me into this unforgiving world that I never asked for was now completely in the nude, and everything inside me exploded.
The room blurred, and my senses overwhelmed. Ms. Amberley’s command echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, demanding compliance. My muscles tensed against the restraints, my breath shallow as I struggled to ground myself amidst the chaos. Claire’s touch—calm, precise, yet alien—was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. My thoughts spun out of control, tangling into knots of fear, shame, and defiance.
I forced my gaze up to Ms. Amberley, standing bare before me, her posture a portrait of confidence and control. Her eyes locked onto mine, piercing and unwavering. Her expression wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind, either. It was detached, as if she were watching a scene unfold in a play, her role merely to direct the cast. Her nudity didn’t seem to faze her; in fact, it was as if she wielded it as another tool of her power.
“You resist,” she said, her voice soft but sharp as glass. “Good. Resistance shapes strength. But too much, and it will break you. This moment, Emma is not about you bending to me. It is about finding who you are beneath what you think you should be.”
Her words sent a cold ripple through me. Beneath what I think I should be? What did that even mean? I wasn’t here to find myself. I was here because I had been dragged into this nightmare against my will. But as I stared back at her, I couldn’t ignore the strange flicker of something beneath her composed exterior. Was it an expectation? Curiosity? Or something darker?
I glanced down at Claire. Her face was pressed close to me, her breathing steady, her body still. There was no defiance in her posture, no visible resistance. But there was something in her eyes—a quiet, unspoken understanding that both unsettled and intrigued me. She wasn’t just submitting; she was enduring. For what reason, I couldn’t fathom.
“I didn’t choose this,” I said, my voice trembling yet firm enough to slice through the silence.
Ms. Amberley tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile. “You didn’t choose the situation, no. But you chose her.” Her gaze flickered to Claire. “When you reached out to her when you comforted her in the hallway, you stepped into a role. You took responsibility. And now you are here, facing the weight of that choice.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I wanted to deny it, to scream that I didn’t ask for any of this. But deep down, I knew she was right. I had seen Claire’s pain and her vulnerability, and I had chosen to care. I had thought I was helping her, protecting her. Instead, I had been pulled into this twisted reality where care was a weapon and connection a chain.
My thoughts snapped back to the present as I felt Claire shift slightly against me. Her touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it grounded me in the moment. My breathing steadied, and I forced myself to meet Ms. Amberley’s gaze again.
“You may feel powerless now,” Ms. Amberley continued, her tone even. “But power is a fluid thing, Emma. It is not always about control. Sometimes, it is about understanding the role you play and the strength you can wield within it.”
Her words lingered, a haunting refrain that refused to leave me. I didn’t know what she wanted from me—what this whole charade was meant to prove. But I realized something at that moment: I wasn’t going to let her break me. Not like this.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the oppressive room, the watchful gazes, the suffocating expectations. Instead, I focused on my breathing, slow and steady, and the faint hum of my heartbeat. If I was trapped in this, I wouldn’t give Ms. Amberley the satisfaction of breaking me down.
When I opened my eyes, I met Claire’s gaze. Her expression was still unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a question, perhaps, or a silent plea. I didn’t know what she needed from me, but at that moment, I made a promise to myself: I would find a way out of this. For her, for me, for everyone caught in this sick game.
Ms. Amberley’s voice broke through the silence again, sharp and commanding. “Good, Emma.” I felt the contraction that was holding me from moving to the front of the stage next to the podium when I saw the school principal, several vice principals, several other officials, and some clothed students that I recognized from the school student council along with others setting up chairs for everyone at showed up to the stage.
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barelin
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Re: Stripped to the Core 5D 11/30
'Entrapment'Ms. Amberley tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile. “You didn’t choose the situation, no. But you chose her.” Her gaze flickered to Claire. “When you reached out to her when you comforted her in the hallway, you stepped into a role. You took responsibility. And now you are here, facing the weight of that choice.”
Looking forward to next chapter
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computerphoto
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Re: Stripped to the Core 5D 11/30
I still can't wait for the next chapter to see what else happens at the seventh-period demonstration aka the assembly, this story is taking a lot of turns and will be interesting where it goes next.
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