A story of Arth-Keros.

Felicia and Kyra were in love, and they got away with it for almost a month before they got caught.

Both girls were the daughters of prosperous middle-class merchants, with attractive quarters in the nicer districts of Gormotha, overlooking the wide waters of the Cunt.  Kyra’s father was a jeweller, and she worked the counter in his shop.  Felicia’s father was a lawyer, and he had spared Felicia from any work, instead letting her study a degree in Female Inferiority at the local university, hoping that she would in time produce an eloquent dissertation on the necessity of womanly submission.

Up until the age of 18, both girls had had limited sexual experience.  Kyra had had her inspections for the Female Identification Laws, at which she was made to strip before a male Peace Officer and have her sexual responsiveness measured.  She later confessed to Felicia that she had managed to make her cunt wetten appropriately at the sight of her assessor’s cock by thinking slutty thoughts about kissing other girls.  Her sexual details had been tattooed on her left breast in ink that would fade over the course of the next year, to be renewed at her next inspection.

Felicia, meanwhile, had sweet-talked her father into buying her an off-the-books exemption from the law.  The assessor had taken a generous payment from Felicia’s father, and applied a standard tattoo to Felicia’s tit without undertaking any assessment.

And so both girls had escaped identification as lesbians.

They had first met at Kyra’s father’s store.  Felicia had gone to the store to buy a weighted clitoris ring for her mother’s birthday, possibly set with a small opal.  Upon entering the store, she had bared her tits, as the law demanded, and hung a small metal basket from her breasts by means of nipple clamps.  This left her wearing only her short skirt and shoes – no girl of Gormotha wore panties, after all.  She had approached the sales counter – and stopped, her breath stolen by the blonde beauty who stood there.

Kyra had said nothing, merely stepped around the counter and kissed Felicia on the lips.  It was the practice in many high-end shops for salesgirls to kiss every customer, and Felicia knew she was not the first person, male or female, that Kyra had kissed that day.  And yet as Kyra’s tongue explored Felicia’s, and Kyra’s tits – as naked as Felicia’s own – rubbed against Felicia’s nipples, she could sense that Felicia was as attracted to her as she was in return.

Their kiss was ended with a sudden metal jingling sound at Felicia’s feet, and Felicia’s face suddenly burned scarlet with shame. 

As was the custom for women of Gormotha who were out shopping, Felicia’s money had been stored in her cunt.  As she had kissed Kyra, her pussy had been aroused, and become sopping wet – allowing the metal coins stored within it to slide out, and bounce and scatter on the floor.

A man browsing the jewellery nearby turned, and sneered.  “You’re making a mess, you dumb slut.  How disgusting.”

“I’m so sorry!” said Kyra, as if it had been her fault (although, in a sense, it had been).  She looked at Felicia.  “Please, let me help you with that!”

Both girls were blushing now, as they squatted on the floor, gathering up the dropped coins.  Kyra was faster, and collected most of them, and when they were done, she said, “Let me put those back for you.”

Felicia blushed even redder, and spread her legs, and let Kyra kneel in front of her and attempt to push the coins back into her pussy.  Her fingers on Felicia’s wet twat felt so good, and the invading coins so slutty, it was hard not to moan.

But the coins just kept falling out again.  “You’re too wet,” said Kyra, in an embarrassed voice.  “Don’t move – I’ll clean you up.”

And before Felicia knew what was happening her, Kyra was *licking* her – licking her wet pussy, parting her cunt lips with her tongue, flicking her clitoris.

The male customer turned to watch, and Felicia burned with humiliation.  She had never had the sexual drive of other girls – perhaps because she wasn’t turned on by men – and had never been so publicly wet before.  And this was the first time a tongue had touched her pussy, and it was happening right here in public, with a strange man watching.

Without warning, she orgasmed hard.  She felt herself start to weep with embarrassment.

“It’s okay!” said Kyra, looking up.  “Women are just sluts, after all.  You can’t control your pussy.  You need a man to do that for you!”

“I’m sorry,” said Felicia, which was all she could coherently say.  This was all so confusing and humiliating.

It got worse.  Even though she had cum, she was still too wet to hold the coins.  Kyra tried to push them into her several more times, and finally she had to go behind the counter and get a pussy clip – a thick black spring-loaded device – to painfully clamp Felicia’s cunt lips shut with the coin inside.  It hurt like crazy, and the combination of pain, humiliation, and recent sexual release was making it impossible for Felicia to think straight.

Finally, she had remembered what she had come to the store for.  “I’m after a clitoris ring weight for my mother’s birthday,” she gasped.

“Oh, good idea!” said Kyra.  She leaned to read Felicia’s tit tattoo, as the law demanded.  “Not lactating?” she said, disappointed.  “You know I have to slap you for that.”

Felicia nodded.  She kept forgetting to stimulate her tits daily, and as a result her milk had never come in.  “I’m a worthless dry-tits,” she acknowledged.

Kyra slapped her across the face – lightly, but hard enough to sting. Felicia gasped.  With her cunt this wet, the pain felt good.

Then Kyra helped Felicia pick out a clitoris weight for her mother.  In her lustful haze, Felicia selected one that was far too big – it would hurt her mother greatly, and be visible hanging beneath the hem of her skirts, but Felicia knew father would make her wear it anyway.

Paying for it required unclamping Felicia’s pussy again, and Kyra’s hand exploring her fuckhole to retrieve the necessary coins.  Kyra wiped each one clean against Felicia’s tits before placing it in the store’s cashbox, and then dropped the heavy clitoris weight into the basket hanging from Felicia’s nipples, making Felicia squeak in pain.

“Thank you,” gasped Felicia, and she didn’t just mean for the purchase.  She was saying thank you for the pain, thank you for the clamp on her pussy, thank you for the feeling of Kyra’s tongue on her clitoris, thank you for kissing her and making her wet and humiliating her in front of the anonymous man.

“Any time,” breathed Kyra, her eyes locked on Felicia’s.  “Please come again.”

And Felicia did, as often as she was able, visiting the store to buy the cheapest trifles she could, just so that Kyra would kiss her, and take her money out of her pussy, and have to lick her wet slutty snatch clean again.  She did it often enough that men started to gather to watch the two girls in the shop, and after that Felicia had to stop, because if word got out that they were doing this deliberately, that they were *enjoying* their slutty interaction, there would be trouble.

But their lust was too strong to be denied, and so they arranged to meet late at night under one of the city’s many bridges.  Kyra would bring a blanket, and the two girls would strip nude and feverishly lick each other’s twats.  Kyra also brought clamps from her shop, because Felicia had come to associate weights hanging from her nipples and a clamp on her pussy with the experience of lesbian lust, and agony in her sexual orgasms helped bring her to a powerful orgasm.

Their trysts came to an end one night in humiliating circumstances.  Felicia was just orgasming from Kyra’s tongue, her eyes closed, her mouth open, when she felt something wet splatter over her face and get in her mouth.  Her eyes opened in shock, and she saw a dirty and ill-dressed homeless man standing over her.  He had been masturbating to the girls’ whorish performance, and he had just ejaculated all over Felicia’s face.

“Ugh!  Get away!” screamed Felicia, her horror momentarily leading her to make the mistake of speaking disrespectfully to a man.

“Hee hee!” giggled the man, clearly disturbed.  “Lick it up, sluts.  Lick it up, or I’ll tell the world!”

“Fuck!” swore Felicia.  “No!  Gross!”

Kyra, though, had a different perspective.  “It’s okay, Felicia,” she said, clearly scared.  “I’ll just lick it off you, like the nice man says.”  She looked at the man.  “Is that okay?  I lick it up, and you leave us alone?”

“Go ahead, girl,” said the man, noncommittally.

Kyra moved up Felicia’s nude body and began to tenderly lick the sperm off Felicia’s face.  She stuck her tongue into Felicia’s mouth to catch the sperm there, too, and in a few moments, Felicia was clean.

“Good girls!” cackled the man.  “Now, the other one – clean my cock!”  He held his gnarled penis in his hands and thrust it towards Felicia.

Felicia did the most foolish thing she had ever done in her life.  She raised her hand, and pushed the cock away.

The man staggered back.  “Fucking bitch!” he cried.  “Fucking whore!  I’ll tell your fathers!  I’ll tell the world!”  And he ran away into the night.

Whatever hopes the girls held that the homeless man didn’t know who they were, and didn’t *know* their fathers, were dashed when they returned home, to find their families waiting for them.  Their fathers had already been in contact, and the verdict was clear.

The girls were lesbians.  Felicia had rejected a man.  They would need to be re-educated.

And to that end, both girls were to be sent to the Convent of Lesba, to learn their true place in the world….


If you enjoyed this story, then you’ll love my e-book Girl on Girl – Stories of Lesbian Cruelty, available in PDF/EPUB (link) – and in audiobook, read by the author (link)! Purchases support the creation of new, free content.


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