The following fictional story is being reposted by Mr Double.  If you are the author of this story and would like to receive proper recognition (an Author's Page at my website at: http://pw1.netcom.com/~mrdouble/main/stories.html), please contact me at mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.








Jim Parker leaned against the end of his mop as he watched Miss Sara
Ellsworth walk away from him down the empty halls of Portervill High
School.  She was one fine piece of ass, and she knew it, always wearing
clothes that were just one step away from provocative.  Today she had worn
three inch black pumps which matched a pleated black skirt which came down
just above her knees, revealing the firm suppleness of her ivory skin, and
when she turned suddenly, flying up to reveal the muscular tauntness of her
thighs.  A white, and tight, low cut t-shirt, revealing perfect handfuls of
breasts thrusting against the fabric and a firm, flat stomach, was kept
from being too provocative by a long sleeved, black suit jacket, with a
little bow in the back cinching in the waist.  Her dark brown hair was cut
short, and was parted in the middle, curling slightly inward just above her
shoulders, framing her perfect face, with its large, green eyes, small
nose, generous mouth and lips, and just a sprinkling of freckles.  At
twenty four years of age, she was the youngest teacher at Porterville, and
the biggest flirt.  Jim Parker knew a lot more about Sara Ellsworth than
that, just as he knew a lot more about everybody and everything than that,
having been the school janitor for over ten years.  He was an imposing 6'3
and close to 280 lbs, dwarfing Sara's own tall 5'7".  He also happened to
be the only Afro-American in the school, Porterville being a rich white
suburb of several thousands.  So being, he was a bit of a celebrity among
the students, most foolish kids, he thought, and so gathered information
from them.  In his thirty five years of life and his twelve years, he had
thought he had seen everything, but he was wrong.  What he had found out
about Miss Sara Ellsworth surprised him, and if she was planning to do what
he thought she was planning to do, well, there was going to be some big fun
for old Jim boy right soon. 
He had known Sara Ellsworth was wealthy, having inherited a large, in the
tens of millions, fortune from her father--that much he had learned from
the papers the school kept on all public employees.  What he didn't know
was why the hell she was teaching: she didn't need the money and she
certainly didn't strike him as hellbent to impart the wisdom of the
ancients to the younger generation.  She seemed to be more inclined to
tease all the male teachers, and all the boys in her class, into raging
hard-ons, and then laugh inwardly at their arousal.  It had been purely by
accident that, while doing a walkthrough of the abandoned underground
classrooms, now blocked off to everyone (he thought) except him, he had
discovered her real reason for teaching English at a high school.  It was
an old abandoned classroom, dark, dusty, and empty except for a single desk
near the back of the room.  A single light bulb burned in the middle of the
ceiling, throwing faint illumination through the room.  Miss Ellsworth was
sitting naked on the edge of the table, her lithe arms and legs wrapped
around Sid, a third string offensive lineman, clutching at him convulsively
as he pounded his cock into her willing pussy.  She was crying out in a
husky voice, "Fuck me...oh god Sid...harder...fuck me
harder...uhg...uhg...that's it...you're beautiful...uhg...fuck...." And Sid
did, no finesse there, just a steady, brutal poling, sending Sara gasping
and panting with lust.  Paul and Dave, two more rejects from the football
team, were waiting their turn, dicks in hand, eager expressions twisted by
lust on their face.  Jim had looked on in amazement, peering throught the
small grimy door window into the room, for the fifteen minutes it took the
three strapping young men to cycle through her twice each.  Each time one
of them came inside her, she gripped him forcefully against her body for a
moment, before pushing them away and beckoning another to put it in her
cunt.  From what he could tell, with all the begging and grunting and
calling out and whimpering Miss Ellsworth had done, she must have come at
least ten times. 
He had shaken his head as he walked quietly away from that scene, and he
remembered thinking now he knew why she was here: to get a constant supply
of young, hard dick.  He wouldn't mind having a piece of that cunt
himself.  Over the next few weeks, he had watched her closely, and
discovered that Sid, Paul and Dave were the only boys she kept in her
stable, but that she gave them quite a workout, usually taking at least two
of them twice a day.  He had even managed to secretly take several pictures
of her in the act: one showing her on her back, covered by Dave, her legs
wrapped around his back, her hands clutching his ass, her face over his
shoulder in a paroxism of ecstacy; another showing her on her hands and
knees, her round mounds of tit flesh hanging beneath her, her back arched,
shoving her ass back and up, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her
mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, Sid grabbing her hips in his hands
and thrusting his cock into her gaping pussy.  He had thought about
approaching her with the pictures and demanding a piece for himself or
else, but then realized she would lose nothing.  All the boys were overage,
and although she might get fired, she really didn't need the job.  Besides,
she would probably call the police and get him on blackmail.  He needed
something better than that, something which would really hurt her, and he
thought he would have it in just one short day. 
There were certain places in the basement of the school where, by the
strange confluence of vents and their acoustic properties made it possible
to hear the conversations carried on in supposed privacy above.  It was
while listening in to one of the rare conversations between Sara and her
boys that he had found what he was looking for: a way to get her just where
he wanted her, impaled on his dick. 
There was a girl in the school, only a sophmore, who, everyone agreed, was
too smart for her own good.  Her name was Maria Gonzales, and you could
tell she was going to be a looker.  Now, at 15 years, she was at that
awkward stage between the gawky slimness of a girl and the buxom fullness
of a woman.  Her straight, long dark hair was pulled back from a beautiful,
slightly sexy face, with large dark eyes and an smooth olive complexion,
turning red at her overfull lips stuck in a constant pout.  Her shoulders
were narrow but gave out onto large, full breasts, promising to be truly
enormous when she matured fully, with large, dark nipples straining through
all her clothes, and firm with the resiliancy of youth.  From there her
body became boyish, with a narrow waist giving onto narrow hips but full
buttocks.  Her thighs were promisingly full and firm, losing the thinness
of prepubescence, and continuing down onto perfectly formed knees and
calves.  She was a picture of emerging womanhood, but for all that, she was
a smart-assed bitch.  No one liked her much, but her father was wealthy and
she was large for her age at 5'6".  She also had a wicked tongue, cutting
down anyone who crossed her.  She had a special feud going with Miss
Ellsworth for some reason, and had, just a few days ago, called her a
"splay-legged bitch in heat" in front of an entire class.  This, Jim
thought, must have been the last straw, sending Sara over the edge. 
Keeping her boys after school, she had layed out a plan to teach "that
little bitch Maria" a lesson: Sara would lure the girl down to the old
underground room where they usually met on the pretext of looking up her
files; her boys would be lying in wait, and they would, simply, rape her. 
Jim thought about warning Maria, and agonized over the decision for a few
minutes.  He finally decided that if he told her, he wouldn't be able to
get at Sara, and besides, Maria Gonzales was quite the little bitch, and he
didn't really give a shit about her.  So decided, he borrowed a couple of
handicams from the media classroom, attaching a wide angle lens to one and
placing it behind one of the vents on the upper corner of the classroom. 
The other he kept for himself, planning to be there himself to make sure he
got good shots of everything.  The next afternoon, peering down into the
abandoned classroom from above the ceiling, having slid a ceiling tiling
aside so he could aim his camera down at the action below, he didn't see
everything leading up to the rape, but he found out about it later.  That
day, Miss Ellsworth, wearing white stockings with a white mini and a white
jacket, requested that Maria Gonzales meet her after school to discuss
certain matters pertaining to her schoolwork.  Maria met her in her
classroom at 3:30. 
Standing upon Maria's arrival, Miss Ellsworth said, "You will have to
excuse me, Maria, but before I speak to you I wish to see your academic
records.  They are down in the basement.  If you would please follow me?"
Rolling her dark eyes in her expressive Latin American face, Maria muttered
"Great" and followed Sara down into the basement.  After following her
teacher, that slut, down two flights of stairs and through a locked door
which looked unused for decades, Maria began to wonder exactly where they
were going.  "Hey," she said, "where are we going?" Ms.  Ellsworth looked
over her shoulder and answered, "The files are down in the basement. 
Instead of walking all the way across campus, we're taking a shortcut
through the old classrooms.  Okay?" "Yah yah..." Maria said disgruntledly,
not liking the dimly lit hallways and the dust kicked up from the floor. 
Shortly, Ms.  Ellsworth turned and opened a side door; looks like a
classroom door thought Maria as she stepped through the doorway, followed
closely by Sara. 
"Wha...?" Maria said, turning around in surprise as she saw she was in an
old classroom, and was met by a fist in the belly, doubling her over and
driving the air in a whoosh out of her lung.  She staggered back, her
large, dark eyes widening in amazement as two burly young men grabbed her
arms and forced her down on her knees.  "Wha..what's going on?" she managed
to stutter out to Ms.  Ellsworth.  Sara stood in front of her, Sid by her
side, and laughed cruelly, "I'm going to teach you a lesson bitch!  You'll
learn it's not smart to insult your betters." She strutted over to the held
girl and began to unbutton her blouse. 
"Wha?!" Maria cried out, "No!  Stop!" She began struggling, trying to
stand, twisting her body between the two men holding her arms, sending her
hair whipping in a fury about her head.  "You bitch!  You fucking
bastards!  Aaaahhggg!  Sons of a bitch!  Let me goooo!" she cursed and
wailed. 
Ms.  Ellsworth just smiled and finished unbuttoning Maria's blouse,
revealing a strong white bra and her firm, flat stomach.  Grabbing her
hair, Sara pulled Maria's hair back, bringing a hiss of pain between her
clenched teeth.  "You pushed me too far, you little cunt," Ms.  Ellsworth
whispered to her as she reached around and unclasped her bra, "and now
you're going to pay."
"Fuck you," Maria responded.  Ms.  Ellsworth just laughed and pushed
Maria's bra up around her neck, letting Maria's two large, beautifully
round breasts burst free, her large nipples broad across her tits. 
"O.K. boys, now get those shorts off the cunt," Sara said, standing up and
stepping back. 
"I'll get you for this," Maria spit venomously, glaring in hatred at her
teacher. 
Paul and Dave, holding her arms, lifted her newly struggling body to its
feet, and Sid quickly grabbed her legs and lifted her off the floor.  They
dropped her heavily onto her back, a cry of pain escaping her full lips. 
Sid quickly grabbed her shorts and pulled them over her hips and down her
shapely long legs, avoiding her thrashing legs.  Maria was silent now, only
the efforts of her struggle escaping her lips to fill the room.  Her
panties were quickly pulled off her body, and Paul brought Maria's arms
over her head and pinned them there.  Dave moved around and grabbed one of
her legs.  Sid and Dave then pulled Maria's legs apart, exposing the folds
of the pussy to view.  Looking down on the action through the lens of a
camera, Jim felt his cock begin to swell.  Maria might be young, he though,
but she sure had a hell of a body.  She was squirming on the ground now,
her legs spread by strong hands and her chest pushed up by her arms being
pulled above her head.  The firmness of youth revealed itself in her
jiggling breasts and lean body, and her thrashings revealed strong muscles
beneath creamy brown skin.  Jim felt admiration grow in him for Maria, who
refused to beg or cry out in face of imminent rape.  Instead, she screwed
up her pretty face into a mask of hatred, her large, dark eyes flashing,
her full lips pulled back from her teeth, revealing gritted teeth.  Sara
knelt between the girl's legs and said, "We can't have you boys dry fuck
this cute little pussy here, can we?" and brought her hand down over
Maria's mound.  Maria's face turned red from shame as she felt her
teacher's hand expertly manipulate her genitals, prodding her inner flesh
and rubbing her clit softly back and forth.  After a few minutes she felt a
cold, clammy dampness spread through her loins, and turned her face away
from Ms.  Ellsworth's as she said, "Ah...There we go.  Paul, why don't you
go first."
Paul quickly switched positions with Ms.  Ellsworth and dropped his pants. 
He eagerly put his hard dick against the girl's tender opening and jammed
himself forward, landing heavily onto Maria's breasts.  Maria grunted in
pain as Paul jammed his cock into her cunt, gritted her teeth and cursed
them all in her mind.  She felt nausous as Paul began spiking his cock into
her, his panting breath hot on her neck.  Fuckers, fuckers, bastards, I'll
fucking kill them all, ran through her mind, choking down the bile rising
in her throat as Paul jerked his hips forward and shot his come deep inside
her belly.  He was quickly replaced by Sid, and then Dave.  Jim, from his
perch overhead, saw tears leak from the corner of her eyes.  He frowned to
himself, thinking that maybe he shouldn't have let this happen after all. 
Well, at the very least, he would let the girl have a piece of little Ms. 
Sara Ellsworth when the time came.  He smiled as he thought of what Maria
would do to her when she got the chance; it would be amusing.  By this time
they had finished with Maria, and, shoving her clothes into her hands, they
pushed her out into the hallway.  As the door shut on her, Sara said,
"Okay, now it's my turn, and sat on the edge of the desk and pulled up her
skirt around her waist, revealing that she wore no panties, and that her
labia were swollen and glistening with lust.  Maria staggered down the
dusty hallway, all her bravado gone.  Sobs rose deep from her chest and
tears streaked her face.  The sticky come of her rapists squished between
her legs and matted on her thighs.  Still crying she collapsed on the
stairway and pulled on her underwear and shorts, feeling her clothes become
soggy with their sperm.  She clipped back on her bra and buttoned her
blouse, wondering what she could do.  She couldn't tell her mother: she
wouldn't believe her.  Her mother already thought she was a whore because
she wore shorts to school, and thought her large breasts were just an
invitation to licsentousness.  Her father wouldn't care: he would think she
was lying too, because it would be easier for him.  The police would just
tell her mother, and that, she decided, would be just awful.  She wiped her
face and pulled herself together; she was going to have to make it home
without anyone seeing anything wrong with her. 
A half hour later she was at home in the shower, trying to wipe the shame
and humiliation of her rape away from her.  She was crying again, and hated
herself for it; if only she could get back at that fucking bitch Ms. 
Ellsworth. 
Achilles Brown did, in no way, live up to his name.  At 17 years of age, he
was a scrawny 5'7 and had a face that was plain in the extreme.  Only his
mop of brownish red hair distinguished him in any way, and that, usually
negatively.  As a junior at Porterville High, he had no friends, and was
considered creepy by the general population of the school.  He was not very
bright, but neither was he stupid.  His one redeeming quality was that he
could not understand why people were cruel in any way. 
Perhaps it is untrue that he had no friends; Jim, the school janitor,
seemed to have taken him under his wing.  And his life was not empty, for
he had two great passions: photography and Amy Sanders.  He carried around
a camera everywhere, even to school, and took pictures of everyone and
everything.  This, of course, helped to lower his popularity even more, and
he had been beaten up several times, narrowly protecting his beloved camera
from damage. 
His other passion, Amy Sanders, was, as Jim was fond on telling him, way
out of his league.  She was a junior also, but she was in the "in" crowd. 
In fact, she was the most popular girl in the history of the school, and
got to do pretty much whatever she wanted.  She had an unusual beauty: her
skin was a translucent white, with kinky sandy blond hair falling to mid
shoulder.  A sharp, thin nose divided her face in two, strangly accenting
piercing blue eyes.  Her mouth was small with thin, dull pink lips, adding
a strange attraction to her face.  Her body was slender, and medium sized
breasts were accented by a perfect posture.  The rest of her figure was
boyish, with a narrow waist and hips and just barely thin legs.  She
walked, head up, shoulders back, like she owned the world, and maybe she
did.  Her father was the county sheriff, and her boyfriend was the
quarterback of the football team.  She was getting straight A's in all her
classes and her teachers loved her.  She was way, way out of his league. 
Achilles had, when he had accumulated enough courage, tried to talk to her
a few times, but received the ice cold shoulder, as well as the dangerous
attention of her boyfriend and his crowd of supermacho weightlifters.  Jim
called her alternately the perfect little white girl and the ice queen, and
her crowd the meathead brigade.  It didn't matter: his two passions
remained photography and Amy Sanders, and since he couldn't have one, he
threw himself even more into the other.  It was a saturday evening, around
9:30 pm, and the moon was full.  Achilles had been out with his camera,
experimenting with different speeds of film in the darkness.  He was
presently standing in the local seven-eleven sucking on a slurpy and
watching the video game scroll through the high scores.  Presently he
exitted, slurpie in hand, and turned the corner into the darkeness of the
building.  Suddenly he heard a car screech to a stop in front of the store,
and turned and peered around the corner of the store, careful not to be
seen.  He saw his passion, Amy Sanders, sitting at the wheel of her
boyfriend's truck, looking a little jumpy as her boyfriend and two of his
friends loped easily into the store.  Achilles quickly pulled out his
camera--any picture of Amy was a good picture--and, steadying himself,
began to take pictures of her. 
Amy, sitting behind the wheel, was hyped up.  The speed, she thought as she
waited, the speed makes you fly.  Since she had taken the drug, everything
had a crystal clarity to it, and time seemed stretched, as if she were
squeezing more living into life.  It was the first time she had taken the
drug, at the instigation of her boyfriend, and she wasn't sure she liked
it: it made her nervous and jumpy.  Like, what was taking those guys so
long? 
Achilles started at a loud bang, and cursed under his breath at the ruined
shot he had just clicked off.  He put himself back into his picture taking,
and slowly shock registered in his mind.  <Click> <Click> Her boyfriend
halfway to his truck, gun and paper bag in hand, with his two friends
trailing him.  <Click> Again.  <Click> <Click> The door to his truck being
wrenched open, a look of panic on Amy's face as she reaches over to help
open the door, while his two friends jump into the back of his truck. 
<Click> <Click> <Click> <Click> Amy, small white hands gripping the wheel,
driving off at full speed.  <Click>
Jesus Jesus Jesus Amy thought, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sound
of the gunshot, what the hell?  Then she was leaning over to open the
passenger door as her boyfriend came scrambling through the door.  Oh my
God he has a gun, ran through her mind, and then the truck was shaking as
the three of them piled into the truck and she was pressing her foot on the
accelerator, her hands clenched around the steering wheel as she sped away
from the scene of the crime.  Achilles slowly lowered his camera as he
watched the back of the pickup speed away.  He couldn't believe it, he
couldn't. He turned and ran, as fast as he could, through the empty town of
Porterville, only stopping when he reached his home.  He fled into his
darkroom and began immediately to extract his photos, his heart still
pounding from his mad dash and the realization that he had caught a crime
on film.  The next day he searched the local paper for news of the crime,
but failed to find anything.  He spent most of that sunday looking at the
pictures he had taken, staring for long periods of time at Amy's strained,
beautiful face. 
Monday morning at school he heard all about it: guy at 7-11
shot...robbery...got away with $200...dead...police don't know.... He went
through most of the day in a daze.  They had killed the clerk!  What should
he do?  He would have gone directly to the police, but it was _AMY_, Amy
was involved.  Whenever he saw her he stared intensely in her direction,
trying to see what was happening in her mind.  Amy had panicked all day
Sunday.  She had gotten in a big fight with her boyfriend and dumped him:
he was dead weight now.  He had pleaded with her, threatened her, begged
her not to tell what had happened, as if she would.  If her father found
out she was even present he would kill her.  At the very least he would
make sure she went to jail; he would show no mercy.  That she was his
daughter would only make it harder on her.  No, she couldn't tell anyone,
but she didn't want that loser hanging around her anymore; she didn't want
to associate with criminals. 
Her first day back at school was torture for her, but, she felt sure, no
one could tell.  She kept thinking that everyone knew who had killed that
clerk, and who had driven that car.  It was silly, she knew, but she
couldn't shake it, and read insinuations into every conversation anyone had
with her.  What unnerved her most, though, was when she had caught that
creepy Achilles staring at her; if anyone was to find out about what
happened last saturday, it was him, always sneaking around taking pictures
of everyone.  She shuddered at the thought he might know, but he couldn't.
No one had been there. 
When Jim heard about the shooting, he was surprised, but didn't think too
much about it: he was too busy with his own plans.  He had mailed a copy of
the tapes to Ms.  Ellsworth's home, mansion is more like it he thought,
with a letter stating she was to leave her front door unlocked on this
coming Wednesday at 9:00.  He smiled as he thought about the reaming he was
going to give that bitch.  His mind wandered in pleasant fantasy for a
while when he started thinking about Achilles.  A nice kid, Achilles, but
stuck on that uppity bitch Amy Sanders.  A little idea came into his mind:
Achilles needed something to take his mind off that little cunt, and a cunt
like Sara Ellsworth would certainly do the trick.  He smiled to himself. 
Achilles went through that monday in an agony of indecision: should he or
shouldn't turn them in?  He still hadn't made up his mind by the time the
last school bell rang, and he was surprised when Jim approached and asked
him to meet him down in his unofficial office, the boiler room, in a few
minutes. 
The boiler room was situated in the bowls of the school, and only Jim had
the keys.  It was a private, spacious room of concrete and pipes, kept warm
by the excess heat from the boilers.  When Achilles arrived, he was
surprised to see a television and vcr set up on a wheeled cart against one
of the walls. 
"Come 'ere and sit down," Jim said, motioning him to a seat in front of the
tv.  "I've got a little something to show you." With that he hit the play
button on the vcr and sat down. 
"What are you up to here, Jim," Achilles wondered aloud.  "Just wait, and
you'll find out."
The screen flickered and moving pictures appeared, without sound.  It was
obviously an overhead view, and Achilles had trouble making out who was in
the room.  There were three guys he didn't know, and he watched in growing
amazement as Ms.  Ellsworth followed Maria into this dingy little room.  He
turned to Jim with wondering eyes, blurting "What the?!" when he saw Maria
turn around and stagger backward as Ms.  Ellsworth slugged her in the gut. 
"Just watch, Achilles," Jim nodded toward the tv, "it gets better."
"Jesus," Achilles whispered under his breath as he saw Maria forced down on
her knees by two of the boys.  He watched in growing horror and fascination
as they held her down and stripped her.  He didn't know Maria personally,
and, although thought she was somewhat attractive, she was nothing compared
to Amy.  Nevertheless, he found himself becoming aroused as he watched the
teacher reach between Maria's legs and begin playing with her pussy.  He
couldn't take his eyes off Maria's body, her large tits, her smooth olive
skin, her firm legs stretched apart, her whole body struggling against her
captors.  It was quite a sight, and he was disgusted and turned on by it. 
Revulsion and excitement strove within him as he watched one of the boys
climb on top of her and begin humping furiously.  He was torn between
wanting to take his place and the agony and humiliation clearly etched on
Maria's face.  His eyes were glued to the set through Maria's triple rape,
and then Jim hit stop.  "Jesus Jim, what's all this about?  And where'd you
get it?" "Where I got it isn't important.  What I plan to do with it is."
He smiled, flashing large ivory teeth in a black face.  "You see, my
friend, Ms.  Ellsworth will do anything, and I mean anything, to keep this
tape here out of the cops's hands.  You get it? 
Achilles got it all right.  Ms.  Ellsworth, she was hot hot hot, and now
she was going to be doing whatever Jim wanted her to do.  He didn't have to
think about what Jim would want, not with a hot piece of tail like Ms. 
Ellsworth.  And Jim was obviously letting him on a piece, literally, of the
action.  His dick grew hard just at the thought.  Then another thought
intruded: he had pictures!  Pictures of Amy Sanders as an accomplice to a
crime!  If he played his cards right, he could have her.  She would do
whatever he wanted.  His mind boggled--Amy, beautiful, unreachable Amy, was
suddenly very reachable. 
Jim watched Achilles' face closely, noticing first the surprise, then the
realization of what this could mean to him, and then something else, like
wonder or expectation mixed. 
"So you want in kid?"
"When," Achilles stuttered. 
"Well, I've set up a meet at the cunt's house this Wednesday at 9. I figure
we present our demands then." Jim put an obscene slur into the word
"demands". 
"Jim, Jim, that's great, b..b..but I've got something important to do
Wednesday...."
Suddenly Jim grabbed him by the shirt, "You aren't going to tell anyone
about this, are you?" he growled. 
"N..No Jim.  I've just got things to do." He looked, a little frightened,
into Jim's eyes, "But the next time you meet her, I do want to be there.  I
want to fuck her, Jim, I really do.  Maybe I can tell you about this later,
if it works out.  Okay Jim."
Jim let him go, "Sure kid, I'll get in touch." he looked over at Achilles,
"you're a virgin, ain'tcha?"
Achilles nodded, turning red. 
Jim laughed, "Well, don't worry, she may be a maneater, but Jim'll be there
to watch over you.  See ya later."
Strange kid, he thought, giving up a piece of ass like Sara Ellsworth, even
for just one night.... He hoped he hadn't made a mistake.  He shrugged to
himself and put it out of his mind; Wednesday was just two days away. 
Walking home, Achilles thought about his luck.  Jim had literally handed
him the hot Ms.  Ellsworth, and he himself was going to get Amy Sanders,
his passion.  Once home, he went immediately to his darkroom and whipped up
several more sets of the pictures of the robbery and murder.  Putting one
set in an envelope, he waited, running his hand up and down his penis as he
thought about Amy under his thumb, Amy doing whatever he asked her too; and
Ms.  Ellsworth, he couldn't forget about her, with her brown hair and sexy
body, he wondered how it would be with an older woman.  That night he
scrawled Amy across the front of the envelope and took it over to her
house.  He knew her house like the back of his hand, having watched it,
photographed it, and dreamed of it and the beauty it held for years.  On
the side of Amy's room, outside her window on the second story, an old oak
tree grew, spreading its branches right against the window.  It was a safe
area, so Amy thought nothing of leaving her window open.  In the past
Achilles had blessed that oak tree, as he sat on its branches late at night
and watched her sleeping form through her window.  Tonight he climbed the
tree with a purpose, and stole quietly into her room, stopping only a
moment to gaze longingly at Amy as she slept peacefully in her bed.  He
placed the envelope on her dresser and exited the way he came, excitement
and expectation overwhelming racing through his blood. 
Tuesday morning Amy awoke, her mind settled over that horrible 7-11
business.  She had dumped her boyfriend, had told him off, and found out
that the police had no idea who did it.  Still lying in bed, she stretched
her lithe young body, giving a start as she saw a plain white envelope
sitting on her dresser.  That hadn't been there last night.  Maybe her
mother or father put it there when she was still sleeping; but that
couldn't be it, since she locked her door every night.  With growing
trepidation she stepped out of bed, her firm breasts pushing out her
sleeping tee, which fell down around her upper thighs, revealing the smooth
creamy skin of her thighs and her calves, her muscles sliding silkily under
her skin as she walked to her dresser.  Her name was a childish scrawl on
the front of the envelope, and with a grown sense of foreboding she opened
the envelope. 
She looked inside and pulled out the set of pictures which were the
envelope's only contents.  Fear and panic gripped her as she looked at the
photos--they were pictures of the robbery.  She staggered back to her bed
and sat down heavily, her mind numb.  She was caught; she was going to
jail.  It was awful; she hadn't known what they were going to do.  Steeped
in her misery she sat there for she didn't know how long, and then she
began to think.  The person who had given her these photos had given them
to her for a reason: they weren't going to give her to the police, she
hoped.  It was blackmail, she was sure of it, and she thought she knew who
was responsible: that sneaky little bastard Achilles.  She grew angry: how
dare he try to blackmail her, that puny shithead.  She would tear him
apart, that son of a bitch.  Revenge fantasies running through her mind,
she slowly came to realize that she couldn't do anything; she was
helpless.  If she tried anything, he would simply hand the photos over to
the police, and then she would really be in trouble.  No sympathy, no mercy
is what she would get.  Mechanically she began to dress.  If it was really
Achilles, she wondered what he would want.  She knew he liked her, and boys
were such idiots when it came to that.  Maybe she could convince him to
give her the photos if she was nice to him--if only he weren't such a
toad.  She went to school more unhappy than she had been in a long time. 
Achilles was ecstatic, although he strove hard to hide it, and pointedly
avoided Amy all day, even though he saw her looking toward him
occassionally.  Today, he thought, Tuesday afternoon, he would take the
first step toward possessing, toward owning, Amy Sanders.  He ditched his
last class and made it home in record time.  He dropped off his stuff and
picked up an enlarged photo of the robbery, which he rolled up and put
under one arm.  He then walked eagerly over to Amy's house and climbed up
the dependable old oak, climbing steathily in through the window and
sitting down behind the half-closed door.  Amy came straight home after
school.  She had been wondering when the boom was going to fall all day,
and was wracked with worry.  She relaxed a little as she walked into her
room and threw her bookbag onto her bed.  She spun around when she heard
the door close behind her, and let out a startled cry at the sight of
another person in her room.  "Wha...?" she let out before realizing who it
was.  Achilles, and he was holding an enlarged photo of the robbery,
showing her reaching across the truck to open the passanger door while her
boyfriend, holding a pistol, was running toward the truck.  She narrowed
her eyes and compressed her lips, "What do you _want_?" she hissed. 
Achilles put his finger to his lips for quiet as he locked her door and
walked over to her stereo and turned it on to a comfortable listening
level, keeping an eye on Amy where she stood, shaking in frustrated rage
and fear.  Finished, he turned, thoroughly enjoying himself, and sat down
in a chair, adjusting his camera so it was hanging against his chest. 
"What I want, Amy," he said, "is...manifold."
"You're a little son of a bitch," she said with feeling, glaring at him. 
"Now now Amy, you really don't want to upset me." He waited to see if this
got any reaction, but when all it got was a more vigorous compression of
her lips, he continued.  "You realize that you are in a difficult position,
yes?"
She nodded, still glaring. 
"So you accept that you will have to accede to certain...demands I may make
upon your person?" he said, tilting his head slightly to one side.  She
nodded again, wanting to rip his heart out, yet knowing that she was
helpless to do anything. 
"Okay, then, let's get started," he said, standing up, "give me fifty
dollars."
Amy started.  Fifty dollars?  Was that all he wanted?  She could afford
fifty dollars every couple of days.  She hoped that that was all he
wanted.  Still shaking, she went over to her dresser and removed $50 from
the top drawer and handed it to him, glaring at him in hatred as he slowly
counted it out and put it in his pocket, the big grin on his face
infuriating her further. 
"Now..." he continued...
Now!  she thought.  Now!  Oh God.  This was horrible.  Her stomach gave a
wrench as she listened to him silently. 
"Now I'm going to set certain rules for you to follow.  Don't worry, they
won't be difficult at all.  Just do what I ask and I won't hand over the
photos to the police."
Rules.  She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet, then sat down on the
edge of the bed.  It was getting worse.  Maybe she should tell her father
about everything, then she would be free of this.  But she was afraid,
afraid of her father, afraid of jail.  She would see what he wanted and
then decide.  She listened to him as he continued.  "First, no pants.  I
don't want to see you wearing pants or shorts to school.  Only skirts and
dresses.  Got it?" He watched her until she nodded resignedly.  "Second, I
want you to leave your bedroom window unlocked at all times.  Okay?" She
nodded again.  "That's it for the rules for now."
She looked up hopefully.  Was that all?  What was he doing now, looking in
her closet?  "Wha...what are you doing?" she stammered out.  "Looking for
something appropriate," he replied.  "Appropriate?"
"Ah, here we go," he said, pulling out a black sleeveless mini-dress with a
scoop neckline, "put this on."
"What?  Why?" she blurted out, confused and terrified of what he might ask
her to do. 
"Come on," he urged, a bit of anger coming into his voice, "I want some
pictures of you.  Why the hell do you think I brought my camera?  Oh, and
don't worry, I won't peek while you're changing." Handing the dress to the
stunned girl, he turned around and faced the door, not giving her time to
argue.  He knew he was going to have to take things slowly and carefully
with her: she was like a 10 lb.  fish on a 4 lb.  line--she was hooked, but
if you didn't give her room to run, room to wear down her resistance, then
she would get away.  He knew that if he pushed her too far too fast, she
would turn herself, and him, in; he didn't want that, he wanted her, and
figured if he took things slowly enough, he could have her, body and soul. 
Amy stared stupidly at the dress he had given her, shocked.  Of course he
wanted pictures, her mind told her, he was one of those freakiod perverts. 
She didn't want to do it, but she liked the alternative worse, so she
quickly stripped down to her underwear and put on the dress, smoothing it
down so it reached just above mid-thigh and adjusting the shoulders so that
her cleavage was not too obvious, since she had had to remove her bra--it
just wouldn't go with this dress.  When she finished, she muttered, "Okay,
I'm done." Achilles turned around and let out a long sigh at the sight of
her: the dress was form fitting, the black a beautiful contrast against her
translucent white skin.  It hugged the gentle curves of her body, the top
of her breasts two creamy white mounds above the neckline, her thin waist
and flat stomach giving way to slightly wider hips.  Her thighs and legs
were twin pillars of shapely ivory against the black of her dress. 
Beautiful, he thought, and took a picture of her standing there awkwardly,
flushed with embarressment. 
Standing there barefooted, wearing a skimpy dress in front of this pervert,
Amy blushed furiously.  She saw the lust in his eyes before he covered them
with his camera and took a picture.  She wondered what he wanted now. 
"Okay," he said, "time for some poses."
Poses?  she groaned inwardly, but decided not to argue.  So far it wasn't
too bad, although she felt humiliated.  She began following his orders as
he snapped out a string of directions, moving around and taking pictures
the whole time. 
"Okay, hands together over your head...stretch...arch your back...up on
your toes...good...good...now bend at the waist...keep your back
arched!...head up...look at me...lick your lips...good...legs apart
now...stay bent over...good...now stand up straight, legs together...hands
behind your head...bend your legs at the knees...now twist your body and
push out your chest...good...good...pout...good...now kneel down...rest on
your calves...that's right...legs apart...further...good...hands behind
your back...good...arch your back...head up...pout...wet your
lips...good..." Posing, the camera trained exclusively on her, Amy began to
think that it wasn't so bad.  In fact, she thought, it might be fun, like
being a model, and a little bit exciting, if it were someone else behind
the camera, someone besides that worm Achilles.  She sighed to herself and
tried to imagine it: Luke Perry, or maybe her math teacher--he was hot. 
"Now pull up that chair...sit on the edge...cross your legs...good...throw
your hair back...toss your head...sit up straight!...good...now scoot back
on the chair and spread your legs to either side of it...grip the front end
with your hands...show off the cleavage...look at the camera!...good...turn
the chair around...straddle it...good...rest your arms on the back...tilt
your head to one side...pout...good...now on your hands and knees...arch
your back and toss your head back...good...now head down...hang it
down...keep that back straight...good...good.  Okay, good, that's enough
for now.  I've used up three roles of film."
Amy quickly stood up and watched as Achilles put his camera down and smiled
at her.  "Now remember," he said, "follow the rules and you'll do okay. 
See you later." With that, he climbed out the window, down the tree, and
headed home, leaving Amy emotionally exhausted, and a little flushed from
the exertion of posing--as well as a little excited--not knowing what to
do. 
Ms.  Sara Ellsworth was in a great mood.  After shoving Maria out the door,
she had had the best fucking since that time when she was 14 years old, and
she had teased seven of her brother's 18 year old friends into "raping"
her.  There was something about watching that haughty little bitch take
cock that made her horny as all get out.  She had even worn out her three
studs.  She lamented the fact that they weren't very good lovers, but they
made up in quantity what they lacked in quality, and, besides, she had
picked them because they were safe: not very bright, glad to get sex, and
willing to let her be in charge.  She was standing in front of a full
length mirror in her home, her skin a delicate pink from the shower she had
just taken.  Looking at her naked form she smiled: she looked good.  With
her dancer's body and round, firm, if not large, breasts, she knew she was
a catch.  She sighed and thought about calling one of her boys over for the
evening, but decided against it; they were all pretty tired when she had
left them.  Still, she didn't have to go without.  She went over to her
dresser and pulled out her favorite vibrator.  She turned it on, slid it in
until her labia closed over the ends, and then put on a G-String to hold it
in place.  She sighed as she felt the familiar, pleasant buzzing inside her
vagina, and clenched her legs together, orgasming as the image of Maria's
tortured face flashed through her mind.  She knew she was a nympho, but she
figured since she liked it so much, it wasn't a problem.  Walking naked,
except for the G-String, through her house, she went into her video room
and picked out H.O.M. video #16 and put it into her vcr.  She sat down on a
couch opposite her tv and started the tape, her hand wandering down to her
clitorus.  As the actors came on the screen, she experienced the second of
many orgasms which she was to experience that evening. 
Saturday she invited all three of her boys over, and they stayed until late
that night pleasuring her.  She went to sleep satisfied but reluctant to
have the evening end, since she would have to do some schoolwork for
Monday. 
Sunday came, and she rolled out of bed, put on her robe, and wandered out
to get her sunday paper.  Picking it up, she noticed a large brown envelope
next to the paper.  Frowning with a sense of foreboding, she picked it up
along with her paper and, walking inside and shutting the door behind her,
dropped both the envelope and the paper on her coffee table.  She started
her coffee and sat down, picking up the envelope but loathe to open it. 
Finally she ripped it open and dumped out the contents: a vhs video tape
and a folded piece of paper.  She unfolded the piece of paper and read,
"This Wednesday at 8:00 pm be alone in your home, and leave the door
unlocked." It was unsigned.  What the hell?  she thought.  This was
insane! 
Now both curious and fearful, she picked up the tape and headed to her
video room.  She sucked in her breath and muttered shit as the tape began
playing.  She watched it through to the end, every minute twisting another
knife into her gut.  It was a tape of what she had done to Maria.  With
this tape she could be put in jail for a long time.  She was no innocent;
she knew blackmail when she saw it.  She sighed and shook her head as she
rewound the tape and began watching it again.  She wondered who had sent
the tape and what he or she wanted.  Well, she would find out Wednesday,
and there was nothing she could do about it now, except hope that whoever
had the tape wouldn't turn her in.  Monday rolled around and Sara Ellsworth
was more subdued than usual, wearing conservative clothes and refraining
from flirting with anyone.  Teaching her class, she thanked god that Maria
had decided not to show up today, and otherwise kept her eye out to see if
anyone acted out of character.  She didn't notice that anyone, not even her
fellow teachers, were acting any different than normal.  She was so nervous
that she didn't even call upon any of her boys to service her, and she
retired to her large house and sat in her bedroom, mulling things over. 
The more and more she thought about it, the more she hoped it was a man, or
some dyke.  She was confident that anyone attracted to women would be
attracted to her: it had always been that way.  She could give them a
little taste of what she could do, and, she was sure, after a while they
wouldn't be able to do without her--then she would be in control, as
always.  She hoped. 
Tuesday she was much more herself, and even called on Sid and Paul to
service her.  Since the axe had not yet fallen, she was pretty sure it
wasn't going to; and she was sure that she could handle any blackmailer to
her satisfaction. 
Wednesday her day was filled with worry and trepidation.  It passed quickly
and she found herself waiting expectantly and fearfully for someone to walk
through her front door. 
Jim Parker had purposely avoided Ms.  Ellsworth for three days, but now he
was going to cash in.  He parked three blocks away and walked through the
darkness to her house, imagining skewering that hot white meat on his dark
pole.  He approached the front door and continued through, stepping into a
large entry room with a couch and several chairs.  He saw Sara sitting on
the couch, her legs folded under her.  She was wearing a simple summer
dress which complimented her slim figure and firm legs.  Her face was
framed by her short brown hair and her large green eyes flashed when they
saw him. 
"So it's you," she said, standing up and facing him, "our snooping
janitor."
"Yep," Jim said, "now why don't we go somewhere where we can talk
business."
Glaring at him, she motioned him to follow her into her living room, where
she sat down on a cushioned chair and motioned him over to the couch. 
Things might not go as well as she planned, she thought, seeing in Jim a
tough customer.  Still, he was a man, and men could be led around by their
dicks. 
Jim sat down on the couch and looked over his prize; boy but he was going
to enjoy himself. 
"What do you want, Mr.  Parker," she said sharply.  "Well, Sara," he
drawled, "I don't want just one thing, I want several things...."
"Go on," she interupted. 
"Well," he continued, "I think right now I'd like $200 cash." He watched,
amused, as she stood up stiffly and went down the hall to a back room.  She
returned with two $100 bills and handed them to him, saying, "Is that all?"
"Noooo," he dragged out the word as he put the money into his pocket, "I
think that now I want you to take off your clothes." Sara gave a little
start.  She had expected something like this, in fact had been counting on
it, but was taken aback by his bluntness.  Without saying a word, she began
stripping in a workmanlike fashion, a frown making her pretty face look
severe. 
When she was standing before him naked he said, "Now put your arms over
your head and turn around, slowly." He was thoroughly enjoying himself
now.  He had this cunt right where he wanted her and he was going to take
advantage of it.  For now he would just give her some good fucking--she'd
probably even enjoy it--and save the rough stuff for later; but the rough
stuff would come, for he just didn't want to fuck her, he wanted to break
her, to make her his very own white slave.  "Lay on your back and start
diddling yourself, Sara, and make it good," he commanded, smiling. 
Sara didn't like this, she didn't like it at all.  She liked to be in
control, but here she was at the mercy of this black son of a bitch.  She
hoped he at least knew how to fuck so she could salvage something out of
this.  If he didn't, she would just have to pretend--she knew she could
make it so that he wouldn't be willing to give her up.  Then maybe she
could get that tape from him and then she'd tell him what she really
thought of him. 
Well, there was nothing she could do about it now, so she laid down on the
hardwood floor and spread her legs.  "Like this?" she asked, running her
fingers gently across her labia and rubbing her clit with her other hand. 
"Ya ya, that's good," Jim said.  Boy that cunt sure had a lot of practice
rubbing herself, he could tell.  Watching her, he began to strip.  He could
see her watching him, and noticed that the bitch had started getting into
it.  Well, she was going to get it, all right, he thought as he pulled off
his underwear, releasing a thick 8' hard-on.  He smiled as he saw her eyes
widen at the sight of his cock, "A little bit better than those pansies
you've been fuckin', huh bitch?" he laughed and knelt between her legs,
knocking her hands away roughly grabbing her mound, jamming two fingers up
her twat.  She gasped as she felt his fingers force their way into her. 
She was glad she lubricated up so easily, so it didn't hurt.  She hated
this, hated being told what to do and called a bitch by a man she didn't
choose, but she knew she was going to enjoy it--she couldn't help herself,
she was already turned on.  She just hoped he knew how to use that monster
cock of his. 
He pulled his fingers out, satisfied he wasn't going to get a dry ride, and
fell heavily on top of her, smiling directly into her face.  He pressed his
cock against her now slick labia and pressed his lips against hers, kissing
her roughly, loving the feel of her firm body under his.  She opened her
mouth for his kiss and eagerly accepted his tongue.  The heat of his mouth
spread through her body, and his cock rubbing up and down her labia sent
tingles up and down her spine.  He knew how to kiss, that was for sure, and
she began grinding her hips against his, feeling pleasure shoot out from
her clitorus as she rubbed it against him. 
He felt her mouth turn hungry against his, her tongue darting past his into
his mouth, her hips grinding against him.  He fenced tongues for a minute
and then slowly slid his cock into her, hearing her gasp at the
penetration.  Keeping his lips locked on hers, he began to slowly pound his
cock in and out of her, feeling her pussy tight and warm around his shaft. 
Oh god that was good, she thought as his cock slid into her.  She lay there
for a minute, gasping out her pleasure into his mouth as he began slowly
pounding her with his cock.  She came almost immediately, and, ripping her
mouth away from his, cried out.  She quickly kicked her legs up and wrapped
them around the small of his back, and began rocking under him. 
He felt her cunt spasm around his cock as she came, and bore down when she
ripped her face from his and cried out, wrapping her legs around him.  _HE_
was fucking her, not the other way around.  He had to admit, though, she
was one good fuck; no wonder those kids didn't last longer than a minute or
two.  He bore down, using the full wieght of his body to drive his cock
into her, achieving a brutal rhythm with her rocking, shaking body. 
Oh god he could fuck, she thought, her nails sending furrows across his
back as she came again, now grunting in time with his thrusts.  "Uh, Uh,
Uh, Uh, Aaahhhggg!" she went as she came again, beginning to lose contol of
her body. 
She was going wild beneath him, her voice kining as she achieved orgasm
after orgasm, her nails digging into his back, her thighs trying to crush
his waist, her cunt spasming around his cock, squeezing and milking it
until the pressure in his balls boiled over, sending streams of cum into
her sucking pussy. 
He lay on top of her for a minute, feeling his cock soften within her.  She
had stopped bucking shortly after he came, and was now lying exhausted
beneath him.  He had waited a long time for this, and she was everything he
had dreamed of and more. 
Rolling off of her, he picked up her dress and wiped off his dick with it. 
She stared lazily up at him and then rolled onto her elbow and watched him
as he dressed. 
"Is that it, big boy?" she taunted, running her free hand lewdly over her
body. 
"For tonight," he grunted.  "Oh, and by the way," he said, pulling out a
folded sheet of paper from his pocket, "here are some ground rules you had
better follow." With that he left, leaving her frowning at the folded piece
of paper lying in front of her.  Achilles Brown spent all night Tuesday
developing the photos he had taken of Amy Sanders.  Beautiful, hot, oh so
great he thought as he pulled each one out of solution.  The black dress
had been a good choice for her--it contrasted nicely with her pale skin. 
She was more beautiful, sexier, than he had imagined; he only hoped he
could make this blackmail scheme work: he wanted her, bad. 
Amy went to sleep that night, her window open as commanded, dreading his
return that evening.  Thankfully she was not awoken in the middle of the
night with more demands, and she woke up confused and disoriented.  She
still didn't know what that snooping rat wanted.  She didn't have that much
money, and although she would be willing to part with all of it, Achilles
didn't seem to really want it.  She suspected him of having designs on her
body--she was slightly revolted by the thought--given that he had taken
somewhat revealing pictures of her and his decree that she wear no pants,
only skirts and dresses.  If that was his goal, she thought, he could
forget it; she would turn herself in before she submitted to his advances. 
He must know that, she thought, and that is what confused her.  What was
his game?  Better not to think about it now; just wait and watch and see if
she could somehow get out from under his thumb. 
Wednesday at school, Achilles decided a policy of avoidance was best; he
didn't want to raise anybodies suspicions, and he certainly didn't want to
inconvenience Amy, yet.  He had planned their afterschool activities last
night, and all day they occupied his thoughts.  He had big plans for Amy,
big plans.  He ran them through his mind time and time again, hoping that
he could pull them off.  He was glad that Jim had offered him use of Ms. 
Ellsworth, Sara to him now he smiled, since he would certainly have to use
her to relieve himself, so he wouldn't force things with Amy. 
The next day at school, Amy was glad Achilles seemed to be avoiding her. 
Wearing an ankle length skirt and a bulky sweater, she was distracted the
entire day, trying to puzzle out Achilles and his motivations.  Her
friends, though more acquantences than friends, figured it was due to her
recent breakup with the hunk of the school, and just gossiped knowingly
about her state of mind. 
Achilles skipped his last period class again that day, and prepared his
planned reception of Amy deep in the orange groves.  It was nothing
particularly bad, he thought to himself, but it was quite a mindfuck.  He
needed to keep her off balance, confused, in order to really turn her to
him, and this was just the first part of the plan.  Amy returned home right
after school and found, as expected, Achilles waiting for her in her room. 
She wasn't happy to see him, and made that quite clear, pointedly ignoring
him until he spoke and held something out to her. 
"Here, I thought you might like to see some of these." She looked down and
took a thick pad of prints from his hand, her eyes widening as she saw
herself, dressed sexily in her black sheer dress, holding myriad poses
before the camera.  Like out of some fashion magazine, she thought,
flipping through them, blushing a little at the more provocative poses. 
She caught herself as she saw him looking at her with a little smile on his
face, and resumed her previous cold manner.  He didn't seem to mind: his
smile broadened as he watched her put the photos in the top drawer of her
dresser. 
He had hoped she would react positively to the pictures, and by the
expression on her face, he figured she was.  He watched as she caught him
smiling at her, and turned the ice on.  He didn't mind; it was time to
start anyway. 
"Amy, join me outside.  I've arranged a little picnic for us among the
orange groves." He said it in his most relaxed tone; he didn't want to risk
her refusing to go with him.  It was a simple request, but he knew if he
got her hackles up, even the fear of jail wouldn't make her do what he
wanted her to. 
A picnic!  She glared at him.  She didn't want to go on a picnic with him,
didn't want to even be with him.  What was he up to?  What did he want?  It
was all so bizarre, like a waking nightmare.  Still, it shouldn't be too
bad, and he still had those incriminating photos. 
"I'll be out in 5 minutes," she responded sharply.  Achilles just smiled
and climbed out the window and waited for her at the base of the old oak
tree.  She arrived shortly thereafter, flipping her kinky, sandy blonde
hair out of her eyes, and Achilles began to lead her toward the orange
groves. 
Halfway there, walking across little used streets and old fields, he said,
"You know, Amy, I really don't want to inconvenience you too much..."
"Inconvenience me!" she blurted out.  You stupid bastard, she thought,
"What do you think you're doing?  You come into my life, holding something
I didn't even know about over my head, and demand money, and pictures, and
now a picnic!  What else do you have in store in your twisted little mind!"
she ended, practically shouting at him.  Achilles was a little bit taken
aback by this outburst, but just a little.  They had stopped and he stood
lucking at her flushed face and glaring light blue eyes, her posture one of
defience.  Well, he thought to himself, here's the first obstacle to
overcome.  "Did you really think you could get away with murder, Amy?" he
said slowly and strongly, seeing her defiance crumble as her face took on a
look of aghast horror. 
"I...I...didn't..." she stammered. 
"Shut up!" he said forcefully, making her take a step back and killing the
denials on her tongue.  She looked down at her feet in consternation and
confusion.  "Now, Amy, you did something bad, something which you should be
in jail for right now.  _I_ am the one keeping you from jail, _I_ am the
one protecting you.  In return all I ask is a little of your time.  Isn't
that better than being in jail?  Isn't it?" he demanded.  "Y...yes," she
stammered, looking into his eyes.  He nodded, satisfied, and turned, saying
in a calm voice, "Now, where were we?...oh yes...."
Amy walked along after him as he told her how he was going to arrange their
future meetings (an envelope on her dresser each Friday detailing plans for
the following week), all her anger gone.  She was stunned: murder?  Was she
a murderer?  No, she wasn't, she had only been driving the car...god it was
so awful, the way he had turned on her.  She had always thought of him as a
worm, a loser, but he had met her anger powerfully, shattering it with his
accusation.  She knew he was right, in a way.  She was involved in a
murder, she was responsible to some degree.  Being with him certainly
wasn't as bad as being in jail, and if that was the only price she had to
pay for her actions, she should be happy.  The calm that had come over him
during the confrontation had left him, and he was shaking from the
reaction.  He tried to hide it, keeping his arms against his side and
increasing his pace, hoping Amy wouldn't see.  She was still following him,
so he had won.  He felt exultation as the shakes began to wear off: her
first resistance had been crushed.  From this point on, he thought, she
would not challenge him again about him forcing her to spend time with
him.  He smile broke out on his face as he strode into the orange grove,
Amy trailing obediently behind him.  "Help me lay this out," he said as the
reached the spot he had chosen for the picnic, at the base of a tree among
the even rows of them.  Together they laid out the clothe and took the food
from the basket: fried chicked, greasy and still warm; mashed potatoes with
gravy still steaming in a thermos; a small, homemade chocolate cake, moist
and covered thickly with gooey chocolate frosting; and finally a bottle of
wine, its cork already pulled. 
Unpacking the food, Amy noticed something strange.  "Where's all the
utensils and glasses and stuff?" she asked. 
"Damn," Achilles cursed, looking up at her from where he was kneeling, "I
forgot them.  Well, we'll just have to make the best of it." So saying, he
motioned her to sit down beside him, not touching, but very close
nonetheless, and handed her a drumstick.  She took it daintily, not wanting
to get her hands too greasy and was surprised when he grabbed it away from
her, saying, "No no, that won't do.  I can't let you get your hands all
dirty.  Let me." With that, he held the drumstick up against her lips. 
At first she drew her head back, confused.  What was he doing?  She could
feed herself fine, even without utensils.  Then it hit her, and she groaned
inwardly: he wanted to hand feed her everything, like she was some small
child.  She thought for a moment about refusing, but something in the back
of her mind was telling her that she deserved this, that through this
humiliation she could somehow atone for what she had done.  She didn't like
these thoughts, didn't believe them, but for now they overcame her
resistance. 
Carefully, she moved forward toward the drumstick just before her lips, and
opened her mouth.  She felt the warm, greasy skin of the meat against her
lips, and she opened her mouth wider, sliding her lips over the drumstick
until her teeth found purchase in the meat.  She bit down, feeling grease
come off around her mouth, and pulled her head back, chewing.  Achilles
watched her closely as her lips closed over the meat.  He felt his penis
swell as he watched her--luckily he had worn loose pants--and he imagined
her mouth closing over his cock.  He kept the drumstick near her mouth
until she had finished it, making sure her mouth became smeared with
grease.  He felt a rush of power as she looked at him with her pale blue
eyes, chewing the last bite, her mouth glistening with chicken grease.  He
had planned this, to humiliate her by forcing her to eat from his hands,
and it had worked.  Confident now, he poured a generous amount of gravy
over the mashed potatoes.  "Aren't you going to eat?" she asked, licking
some of the grease from her lips.  She knew what she must look like, and
was blushing furiously.  This was one of the most embarrassing things that
had ever happened to her. 
"I'm not hungry," he answered, scooping up some potatoes and gravy on his
fingers and presenting them to her. 
She knew what he wanted and was committed; she lowered her head and used
her lips to bring the potatoes into her mouth, where she quickly swallowed
them.  They felt warm against her lips and face, and she glanced up at him
when all that was left was the potatoes covering his fingers.  He nodded
and smiled at her and she took three of his fingers into her mouth, sucking
the food from them.  She ran her tongue between them to make sure she got
everything, and then the sucked off the last finger. 
As he felt her suck his fingers into the warm cavity of her mouth, what
felt like and electric jolt traveled from his fingers to his groin.  He
almost moaned at the sensation of her tongue between his fingers, and
couldn't take his eyes off her lips as it sucked in his finger, cleaning it
of food.  It was wild; he had never felt anything like it before. 
She pulled her head away when she had finished, and turned to him as he
reached for a bottle of wine.  She watched as he poured a little into the
cup of his hand and offer it to her.  There was something so degrading
about her situation, about being fed like this, that brought panic welling
up in her gut.  She fought it down as she slurped the wine from his hand,
and looked at him again.  What was he doing to her?  It was like some
sensuous dream, with him silently feeding her, her lips and mouth tingling
from the slick feel of food and the salty taste of his skin.  She moved to
drink again from his hand two more times, each time feeling something
warring within her.  Some basic instinct told her to run, to escape from
this, but her mind told her to stay, forced her to remain seated beside
him, eating from his hand.  It was terrible, both sensual and terrifying. 
Achilles fed her the rest of the food, reveling in the sensations her mouth
brought to his hands, the power this simple act of feeding conveyed to
him.  His penis throbbed in his pants as he watched her chew the last of
the chicken her face greasy and smeared with mashed potatoes and chocolate
cream.  He reached over with a towlet and wiped her face clean; she did not
resist, and he wallowed in it, in her sitting docilely there, letting her
control her, dominate her.  Time for the next step, he thought, wiping off
her chin. 
"Tell me about yourself," he said, sitting back and opposite her.  She
looked at him for a minute, a frown crinkling her brow, "What?" she asked
softly. 
"About your plans: what college you're going to, what you want to be, your
politics, that type of stuff."
She didn't understand; she was pretty numb from the feeding, and shook her
head to clear her senses.  What was this all about?  He wanted to know
about her?  She didn't know what to do, but what could she do but go along
with it, just like she had gone along with his other demands.  She almost
felt like crying; she had no control left.  She began to answer, softly,
hesitatingly, but was soon drawn out by his questions, by his gentle,
inquisitive desire to know.  She couldn't look at him--she was still too
humiliated by the feeding--but she began to talk about herself, where she
wanted to go to college, what she wanted to be; what teachers she liked,
what subjects interested her; who she liked, who she didn't and why.  She
talked for about forty five minutes, prompted throughout by him, always
seeming to know what to ask to keep a thread alive, before he said, "Let me
walk you home." That night, back in her room, Amy pondered over what had
happened.  She thought she had gotten over her part in the crime, but some
part of her, some deep hidden recess, must still feel guilt.  How else
could she explain her reaction to Achilles' accusation?  She was amazed and
ashamed that she had let him hand feed her like some infant, and disgusted
that she had actually taken his fingers into her mouth.  And then to tell
him all about herself!  It was too horrible.  She wasn't really in her
right mind--he had taken advantage of a momentary weakness of hers.  She
was determined it wouldn't happen again.  At least she had gained one thing
from that afternoon: she had some idea of what he wanted.  He, she decided,
wanted her to like him. 
Achilles spent that evening looking at the pictures he had taken of Amy,
tantalizing himself with the thought of his final conquest.  He knew he had
caught her offbalance today, bless his luck, and knew what to expect now. 
There would be a backlash--she would stand up to him, assert herself. 
Well, he thought, he knew how to handle it when it came: today the kind,
gentle, understanding Achilles; tommorrow the hard, mean, disciplinariean
Achilles.  Carrot and stick, carrot and stick he thought as he went to
sleep. 
Thursday at noon, Achilles Brown, eating his lunch, was quite pleased with
himself.  He had talked to Jim and had arranged to be picked up at 7:40
near his house.  From there, they were going to pay a visit to Ms.  Sara
Ellsworth.  Achilles had been, and still was, a little nervous about it,
since it would be his first time with a woman, but Jim assured him that he
would take care of everything--all he need to do is lay back and enjoy.  He
certainly needed some relief, since his games with Amy were exciting him so
much he was having trouble holding back.  If he did or said something
wrong, he knew he would lose her.  His "date" with Sara was not the only
reason for his smugness.  Like he had guessed, Amy Sanders had chosen today
to test him: she had worn pants.  They were those loose, oversized, dirty
pants which were sinched at the waist, and that Achilles found so
distasteful.  Worst of all, though, was that he had forbidden her to wear
pants.  He found it amusing that she seemed to search him out and, while at
a comfortable distance talking to some friends, parade her defiance in
front of him.  The one time he had bothered to meet her eyes he had only
frowned and shaken his head sadly.  Well, he thought to himself, he had
planned for this, and knew exactly what he was going to do.  He would be
finished by five at the latest, which would give him plenty of time to
prepare for Sara Ellsworth.  He savored the sound of her name in his mind:
Ms.  Sara Ellsworth. 
Amy Sanders had decided that she had had enough.  The Wednesday picnic had
been humiliating enough; she wasn't going to put up with Achilles' bullying
anymore, even if he did have those pictures of her.  He would never use
them, she thought, he wanted to play his little games with her too much. 
Well, she wasn't going to have it any longer; she would put up with some
things to keep him quiet, but she wanted some say in the matter.  No more
of this do as I say crap.  Still, she was nervous; she wasn't sure what he
_would_ do when he saw that she had decided to ignore his demands and had
worn pants.  She tried to catch his eye all day at school, but the one time
she did all he did was look glum and shake his head sadly, which just
infuriated her more.  Deciding he couldn't skip his last period class
again, he had to run over to Amy's house as fast as he could to make sure
he was there before she was.  He was glad she had left the window to her
room open, since it made things easier for him.  He climbed into her room
and rummaged through her closet, picking out her sophmore cheerleading
outfit (she had quit, obviously figuring been there done that) and laying
it on the bed, large colored panties and all.  He then sat down on her bed
and waited for her to come home. 
Amy went straight home after class, wanting to confront Achilles as soon as
possible.  She figured that she would find him in her room: she wasn't
disappointed.  She strode purposefully into her room, dropped her bag on
the floor, swung the door shut, and faced him from across the room. 
"Get out," she said assertively. 
"I don't think you want to do that." He spoke softly, menacingly.  "I said,
get out," her voice raising. 
"What's the matter, honey," a voice drifted up from downstairs.  "Nothing
mother," Amy called, turning back to Achilles, who she found standing. 
"Before I go, you should listen," he said, looking her in the eyes,
stopping her before she could speak.  "At 5:30 my father comes home from
work.  He walks into the kitchen, swings his coat over the back of a chair,
puts his briefcase on the kitchen table, then picks up the mail my mother
and I leave on that table.  He immediately takes that mail and walks the
four blocks to the mail drop--he calls it unwinding--and then returns." He
paused.  "Right now, sitting on my kitchen table, are the photos of you I
have, in an envelope, stamped and addressed to the police.  If I leave now,
I don't think I'll go home 'till at least 7:00, and by this time tommorrow,
you'll be under arrest." She had stood there listening to him, anger and
fear warring within her as he spoke.  She began shivering as despair began
to banish both as the stark reality of her plight became clear to her:
either do as he wished, or go to prison. 
He watched her carefully as he finished his speech: "Now, if you do exactly
what I say, I'll make sure to be home before five, and you won't have to
worry about a thing.  Do you understand?"
She stood there for a moment as he finished; she wanted to cry.  She nodded
jerkily, and saw him motion to her old cheerleading outfit on the bed. 
"Put that on.  And don't worry, I won't watch."
Not speaking, she picked up the uniform and went to the corner of her room
where she began to undress. 
Turning around and grabbing a low chair, he sat down facing the bed, his
back toward her.  He let out a sigh of relief that his gambit worked: he
had let her run and then pulled her back in.  He figured that she thought
he would never mail those photos in, and based her defiance on that.  He
guessed that once he made it abundantly clear that she could either obey
him or have the police solve a murder, she would break.  She had, and he
felt a surge of emotion at his success.  The next part he was going to
enjoy immensely. 
Amy finished dressing and turned around and faced Achilles, who was sitting
down with his back toward her.  She walked over, despairing at what he had
in store for her, and stood between him and the bed.  Achilles looked at
her standing before him: her firm, shapely legs almost completely revealed
by the little mini; her breasts straining against the sleeveless tee which
was now a little to small for her; her hair cascading around her graceful
neck, white as alabaster.  He stared at her for a moment, taking in her
stunning beauty, and then commanded her to turn on her stereo, and to turn
it up rather loudly.  "Now stand to my right, facing me," he told her when
she had turned on the stereo.  "Kneel down."
Her head was now on the same level his was, and he looked hard into her
pale blue eyes which seemed to stare through him.  "You've been a bad girl,
haven't you Amy?"
He saw her lips move in a silent yes, but no sound came out.  "I said,
you've been a bad girl.  Isn't that true?" he said louder.  Again her lips
moved, and this time he heard a quiet "yes" come from them. 
"Lean over my legs.  More.  Put your hands flat on the floor on the other
side of me.  Over more.  Good.  Stop now."
As she climbed over his legs, she knew what he was going to do.  She
started crying silently, tears leaking from her eyes.  She remembered her
boyfriend from freshman year--he was a big guy--telling her one day that
when he got together with a couple of his friends to beat on someone, it
wasn't the physical damage they did that was worst--it was the
humiliation.  The guy couldn't stop them: he was powerless, and just had to
take it.  That was the bad part, the helplessness, the impotence, knowing
there was nothing you could do.  She felt just like that: helpless,
defeated. 
His penis was rock hard as he positioned her over his thighs.  Her breasts
were hanging over the chair to his left, her lower chest/upper stomach
pressed against his left thigh.  She was balancing herself atop him with
her hands and the balls of her feet.  Her back was tilted down to his left,
and he placed his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her there.  She
was bent at the waist, her upper thighs pressing against his right thigh,
thrusting her ass out and up.  With his right hand he pushed up her
cheerleading skirt until it bunched at her waist, revealing the twin bulges
of her ass through her red underwear.  "I'm going to spank you now," he
said, rubbing his right hand over her ass, "and you're going to thank me
after each swat.  Do you understand?"
He looked down at her head and smiled as she nodded, her hair falling to
the ground on either side of her face.  He thought her heard a sob, but
didn't really care: she shouldn't have challenged him.  Laying across his
lap in this obscene position, her ass thrust high into the air, she began
sobbing quietly.  It was all too awful.  Despair crowded in on her
conscousness as she felt him carefully pull her underwear around her upper
thighs, and a cool draft ran over her exposed asscheeks.  He cried out
"One!" and a loud <SLAP> rung in her ears, coincidental with a stinging
pain in her left ass cheek which caused her to gasp through her sobs. 
Horrified at what was happening to her, her mind froze as he rubbed his
hand firmly over where he had slapped, and then called out "One!" again,
and then <SLAP>. 
He was about to burst through his jeans while he edged her underwear down
over her ass, leaving it encircling her upper thighs.  Looking at her twin
ass cheeks, so smooth and white, firm and luscious, he couldn't resist
running his hand over their silky flesh.  Hearing her sobbing, he called
out "One!" and brought his hand down hard on her left ass cheek, stinging
his hand as well as earning a gasp from Amy.  He rubbed her ass for a
moment, waiting for her to thank him, and then called out "One!" again and
slapped her other cheek.  For a moment Amy was confused, and then
remembered: "Th...Thank...you" she sobbed out, loud enough to be heard over
the music.  "Two!" <SLAP>
"Thank you."
"Three!" <SLAP>
"Thank you."
By the tenth strike, her ass was a burning mass of pain and her chest
heaved in great sobs of pain and humiliation.  He was striking her hard,
her body jerking in his lap each time his hand came down across her ass. 
The worst part, though, was the way he rubbed his hand all over her ass
between each blow, spreading a painful warmth throughout her ass.  He
watched as his hand turned her ass a dull red, beautiful against the creamy
whiteness of the back of her thighs.  He especially loved the way each blow
sent her asscheeks quivering, the firm flesh having given way before his
hand.  His right hand was killing him, smarting from the blows he had
landed.  Five more, he thought, to make fifteen, then he would stop.  He
wanted so badly to just throw her over the bed and fuck her--he quivered in
desire at the thought--but he resisted the urge; he couldn't afford to
spook her.  He could get away with a spanking, but if he tried anything
more now, she was sure to freak out on him.  Oh well, he thought, this is
good enough for now, rubbing his hand over her ass once again. 
She heard him call out "Fifteen!" and felt the familiar pain of another
blow on her ass.  "Thank you," she replied automatically through her sobs,
her whole body tense and on edge, awaiting more punishment.  She jerked on
his lap when she felt him pull her underwear gently over her throbbing ass,
and kept her head down--she couldn't look at him--as he helped her to her
knees and then onto her bed.  She collapsed on it and curled up into a
fetal position, still sobbing out her pain and humiliation.  Several hours
later she fell asleep in the same position, tears still coursing down her
face. 
Sara Ellsworth frowned as she looked over at the sheet of paper Jim had
left for her on her couch.  Things, she thought, weren't looking good. 
Sure he'd been a great fuck, better than she'd had in a long time, but she
obviously wasn't going to be able to use her "assets" to get him under her
thumb.  Maybe in time, she thought, but until then she would have to put up
with his crap.  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, especially if he could fuck
like that. 
She stood up, the sweat drying from her body and Jim's come leaking out of
her pussy, and, picking up Jim's paper, walked to the bathroom to clean
up.  On the way she cursed aloud as she read what Jim had written.  She was
to speak only when spoken to in his presence.  She was to refer to him and
anyone he chose as master or mistress--she didn't like that at all, seeing
his intentions all too clearly.  She was to thank him after anything he did
to her.  She was not to wear underwear.  She was never to wear pants, only
tight shorts, skirts, and dresses.  Every evening that he set aside for
them, she was to have dinner prepared for him as well as $500 cash for
him.  Every Friday evening from six on would be for him, and that evening
he would give her a list of dates and times the following week she was to
service him.  She kept cursing as she read; she was to be his goddamn
slave!  She trembled in rage as she stepped into the shower.  Tommorrow and
Friday he would return; she thought about killing him, but didn't think she
could get away with it.  If he pushed her too far, though.... Maybe, she
thought, she could use this letter to blackmail him?  But then they would
just both go to jail, and she certainly didn't want that.  She stamped her
foot in frustration and almost slipped in the shower.  Goddamn that
bastard. 
Jim picked him up that evening right on time. 
"You ready for a good fuck kid," Jim said. 
"I'm ready," Achilles answered, thinking of the spanking he had given Amy
earlier, her ass thrust before him, at the mercy of his hand.  "Let's go
then!" And they drove off toward Ms.  Sara Ellsworth's home.  Hoping to
speed the night along, Sara decided to wait for Jim in the living room,
naked.  She was quite comfortable doing so, nudity being a usual occurance
with her, and watched tv while she waited.  She heard the front door open
and, looking at the clock, thought right on time.  She stood up, one knee
still resting on the couch, and smirked as Jim walked into the living room,
her hands on her hips.  "Hello, Sara," he said, smiling as he moved close
to her, his eyes devouring her naked form. 
In return she eyed him.  She hoped all he wanted tonight was another fuck,
but somehow she doubted it.  She certainly wasn't going to give him the
satisfaction of being put out, though.  "What the fuck," she cried out,
using her arms to cover her privates and stepping back as she saw some high
school punk step into the room. 
"Now now, Sara." Jim, hulking over her, reached around her head and grabbed
the back of her neck in one huge hand, forcing her to stand next to him so
that Achilles could get a good look, "I've just invited a friend of mine. 
You see, he needed a piece of ass, and since you were available..."
"You fucking bastard!" she yelled, cut short by a stinging slap across the
face, sending her short brown hair flying about her head.  She glared up at
him with large, pretty eyes, and saw his face turn hard.  "Enough of that,
you cunt," he growled, shaking her.  "You're already in enough trouble as
it is, forgetting the rules." Turning to Achilles, he said "Come here kid."
Achilles watched this interplay with a certain trepidation.  His cock was
threatening to burst out of his pants, and the sight of Ms. 
Ellsworth--Sara--her lithe, clean body, her round, smooth breasts, her
strong thighs and legs, her narrow waist and flat stomach, her sweet,
doll-like face, all sent pangs of lust through him.  Her violent reaction,
though, caught him off gaurd, and he was glad Jim was there.  He walked
over to Sara, not able to remove his eyes from her body, and heard Jim
introducing them. 
"Sara, this is Achilles, he is going to be one of your masters tonight. 
Achilles, this is your new fucktoy.  She'll do whatever you ask." Sara
started when she heard herself refered to as fucktoy.  She had always used
others like that; she had always been in charge.  She wanted to turn on Jim
and scratch his eyes out, to hurt him, but one enormous hand still lay on
the back of her neck.  She shivered slightly as she realized his strength:
there was nothing she could do.  So she stood there, slight tingles running
up and down her body as Achilles ran his hands over her flesh, pinching and
poking and caressing her while Jim watched and leered. 
Running his fingers over her body set his body tingling from head to toe. 
She didn't move as he circled her nipples with his finger, then gently
rolled them between his thumb and forefinger.  He ran his hands down her
sides, feeling the curve of her body, and down her legs, feeling their
strength and firmness.  He ran his fingers through her pubic hair and felt
a damp warmth radiating from between her legs.  Finally, he grabbed both
her nippled between his fingers and, looking directly into her eyes, began
slowly squeezing.  He saw defiance in her eyes, and then pain supressed,
and finally, as he brutally smashed her nipples, she gasped out in pain,
her eyes falling away from his.  "Stop," she gasped, "please...please...let
go." Her hands were on his wrists, knuckles white with their grip, her
breasts distended out into cones from her chest as she tried to bend away
from the pain.  "Please...master...stop!" she finally cried, and sagged in
relief when he released his grip. 
Panting with exertion, her nipples sore and tingling as she tried to
massage the pain away, she heard Jim say, "She's learning." Fucker, she
thought, but didn't dare look up at him.  She watched sullenly as Jim sat
down in her armchair and Achilles leaned back against the couch, his legs
stretched out to their fullest. 
"Okay, Sara, my little cunt," Jim said, "give the boy a blowjob.  And you
better do some deep throating or you'll be in more trouble than you already
are."
Glaring at Jim, she knelt down between Achilles' legs and reached for his
pants.  Unbuttoning and unzipping them, she quickly pulled them down his
legs, not bothering to look at him.  As she looked up and reached for his
underwear, she started in surprise: his cock was huge!  It looked obscene
on his body, a 9", massively thick pole sticking out from his scrawny
form.  She couldn't help it: when that cock popped free and flopped in
front of her face she began to get excited.  She imagined it in her cunt,
driving her to wild orgasm after wild orgasm.  She wanted to fuck this guy
right now, but she couldn't--damn Jim.  She had always hated giving head,
but had learned how to well, since when she was in high school, all her
older boyfriends had demanded it.  In college, she had rarely done so, and
had quickly dropped those guys who had insisted.  By now it was more of a
control issue than anything else, which is why she grimaced with distaste
as she gripped his cock in one small hand and lowered her head until her
lips touched it.  Achilles was in heaven.  He had never felt anything like
this before.  Her warm mouth engulfed the head of his cock and sent shivers
of pleasure down his body.  Her tongue was a little animal darting and
massaging his prick.  She bobbed her head up and down his cock, fondling
his balls with her hand, making him moan at the delicious sensations
assaulting him.  Watching her, her lips stretched around his cock, her hair
falling across her face, he felt almost disassociated from his body, the
pleasure wa so intense. 
She worked the head and top his his shaft for a minute, rubbing his inner
thighs and fondling his balls, tasting his pre-cum salty and sour upon her
tongue.  She was hoping he would come: her jaws were already aching from
taking his huge cock, and deepthroating hurt, and with this monster prick
it would hurt more than usual.  She realized it wasn't going to happen, and
scooted closer to him, positioning herself so she could ram his cock down
her throat in one clean motion.  She placed his cock as close to her throat
as possible without gagging; Now!  she said to herself, and darted her head
down hard.  She almost gagged as she felt her throat stretch painfully
around his cockhead--it felt like her throat was tearing.  She sighed
gratefully through her nose as his cock popped into her throat, and she
slid her head down until her nose was nesting in his pubic hair.  Her
throat and jaws ached, but the sharp pain of entry was gone, and it
wouldn't be long now. 
Achilles cried out when he felt his cock surge down Sara's throat.  It was
incredible, almost painful, and a brief dizziness assaulted him.  He
gripped her head in his hands and held her face against his groin.  Slowly
he began humping her throat in short jabs, feeling each sensation as a
burst of raw pleasure from his penis.  He felt her hands on his, and let
her move his hands to his thighs.  Releasing them, she began playing with
his balls again, pressing and rubbing underneath them every now and then,
sending chills up and down his spine. 
She began working in earnest now, bobbing her head up and down the length
of his cock rhythmically, using her tongue to scrape along the underside of
his penis.  Her throat ached as she tried to tease his testicles to orgasm,
hoping to end this quickly, but he didn't seem to be losing it yet.  Her
cunt was wet, she knew, as it always was when in the presence of men, which
was some relief.  She only hoped they would deign to take care of her needs
after she was finished servicing theirs.  He couldn't help himself as he
moved his hands against the sides of her face, feeling her cheeks as they
slid back and forth on his cock.  She had been working him for almost five
minutes now, and his whole groin felt like it was going to burst with
sensation.  It was almost painful, what he was feeling, but he didn't want
it to stop.  Suddenly the intensity increased, and he grabbed her head and
slammed his hips into her face, yelling aaaaahhhhhhgggg as he felt his dick
jerk painfully in her throat, spitting his come down into her stomach.  It
felt like it lasted forever, him holding her face against his pelvis, his
spunk flowing down her throught.  Finally, though, he relaxed, moaning
softly, and she pulled back her head, popping his dick out of her throat as
is started to soften.  She gave it one last suck and then sat back on her
heels and looked at Jim. 
"Now what," she said, licking her lips to clean them of her saliva. 
Watching his bitch suck dick he could tell she knew what she was doing. 
The kid had a monster dong, but she handled it pretty good.  He could also
tell that she hated doing it, which just increased his pleasure as he
watched.  Still, she was going to have to pay for breaking the rules.  It
should be fun, for him at least. 
"Well, cunt, you just broke rule #1 for the fourth time tonight, and rule
#2 for the third time.  And I don't see my dinner or my money.  You also
forgot to thank Achilles there for letting you swallow his come." He smiled
wickedly and stood up.  "So, you have to be punished.  Follow me." With
that he walked into her dining room, looking back to make sure she was
following. 
That son of a bitch she thought as she stood up, glancing down at the still
stunned form of Achilles.  She had played master/servant games when she was
young, but they had always been games, where she had some modicom of
control.  This was no game: she _was_ his slave.  She followed him,
remembering to say "Yes master" as she walked into her dining room. 
"Better.  Now bend over the table there.  Spread your legs; wider.  Good. 
Grab the far end, and don't let go." Jim smiled as he looked down at her
back and her ass.  She was bent over the dining room table, her hips
pressing against the edge, her legs wide apart, her hands gripping the far
edge, and twin firm hills of her ass thrust toward him.  He slowly slid off
his belt, a thick leather strap, and doubled it up.  "You're going to get a
taste of leather, bitch, on your backside.  I want you to keep count, and
after each stroke, say 'thank you master'.  Do you understand?"
"Yes master."
"Good," he said, as he pulled back his arm and prepared to lay into her. 
He didn't use all his strength, but most of it, as he brought the belt
down.  A loud retort, as from a gun, echoed through the room and an
explosive "ug!" escaped from the schoolteacher as the belt landed.  "One,"
she choked out.  "Thank you master."
As the belt landed again, her hips jerked forward, smashing her mound
against the edge of the table and sending a sharp flash of pain through her
ass.  "Ug!" she gasped out again, her hands tightening on the edge of the
table; she was determined not to cry out, but fuck it hurt like a son of a
bitch. 
"Two.  Thank you master."
God, he loved the way the belt left red welts across her ass and the back
of her thighs.  He wanted her to scream though, and she had so far remained
reasonably silent through eight blows.  He glanced up as he saw Achilles
wander in, and then raised his arm for another blow.  Achilles lay still
after Sara had finished, floating in a world of pleasure.  When he had
come, he had almost blacked out, little motes of light drifting before his
eyes.  Now a feeling of utmost relaxation had overcome him, and he reveled
in it.  He was slowly brought out of this state by the sounds coming from
the other room: a sharp slapping/banging sound followed by a muffled "Thank
you master." He had to get up and check this out.  Walking into the dining
room, he saw his schoolteacher bent over the table, her legs spread and the
ass and the back of her thighs reddened by the blows of the belt Jim held
in his hand.  As he watched, Jim brought the belt down again, striking her
hard across her ass. 
She couldn't take anymore; oh god it hurt so much.  Her whole ass burned
with a fiery pain, and she screamed as she felt the belt land again,
driving unbearable pain through her body.  "Nine," she sobbed out, her
breathing coming hard.  "Thank you master." <WHACK>
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhgggggg!  T...t...ten.  ...Thank you master." Having gotten
her howling, Jim was satisfied for the moment.  He began rubbing his hands
all over her ass, earning gasps of pain from her as he mauled her bruised,
tender flesh. 
She was so glad he stopped.  She didn't know if she could stand even one
more blow.  She gasped out in pain as he began to roughly massage her
ass--it was so sensitive every touch hurt.  He continued massaging her ass,
and the pain slowly left her, turning into a spreading warmth across her
backside.  She moaned in pleasure and thrust back her hips as he slid a
finger into her dripping snatch.  "I think this slut enjoyed it, didn't you
cunt?"
It was true; she was hot now.  The whipping hadn't excited her, but his
hands, massaging the pain into a warm pleasure, turning agony into lust,
had.  Right now she wanted a cock, and ground her hips forward against the
table, feeling an orgasm building as she mashed her clit against the edge
of the table. 
"Yes master," she whimpered out, engrossed in her own pleasure.  Suddenly
he removed his hands and grabbed the belt again, whipping her quickly and
viciously. 
<WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> She howled as the first
blow landed on her ass, pain shooting through her, met by the pleasure from
her clit as she jerked it forward hard against the edge of the table. 
Before the next blow could land, she came, hard, an incredible mix of
sensations overwhelming her, making her body buck along the table as she
felt indescribable sensations flood her body.  The blows kept coming,
striking her ass and legs, sending her orgasm higher and higher, leaving
her screaming and twisting on the table.  It was too much; she had never
had an orgasm like this before.  It was so intense, so overpowering, so
uncontrollable.  He had stopped whipping her and his hands were gripping
her ass, his cock rubbing against her still spasming vagina.  With a single
thrust he plunged in, and she felt another orgasm pile upon her raw nerves,
cramping her guts and sending more waves of pleasure through her entire
body.  Her toes and fingers curled and her whole body tensed and jerked as
he thrust several times into her.  He then pulled out and waited, watching
as her body slowly quieted down, finally stopped, collapsed against the
table.  Achilles watched Sara orgasm, amazed at the force of her
convulsions.  He imagined Amy stretched over the table, his cock skewering
her after a whipping, making her come again and again.  His cock was once
again painfully erect as he watched Jim pull out and stand behind the
flopping schoolteacher, his cock glistening with her juices.  Jim knew he
had the cunt when he watched her come.  Fucking cunt, he thought as he
strapped her again and again, bruising her jerking body with his belt.  He
wanted to fuck her ass, to show her real pain and make her love it, wanted
to shove it up until it came out her throat.  He needed some lube though,
so thrust himself into her sopping cunt, reveling in his power over her as
he felt her come again, her pussy spasming around his pole.  He gave her a
few good jabs then pulled out and waited for her orgasms to die down: he
wanted her to feel every inch of his cock as it stretched her rectum to its
breaking point.  Sara lay across the table, exhausted, her body still
tingling from her orgasms.  Then she felt large hands grab her ass cheeks
and she moaned softly, feeling Jim's cock pressing against her anus.  She
couldn't think straight, was confused and disoriented by the powerful
orgasms which had coursed through her body.  She managed to moan out a
"Noooooo..." as she felt his enormous cock push insistently at her small
nether opening.  She could feel her anus stretching, stretching, pain
lancing into her guts as the head popped through into her ass. 
"Aaaaahhhhhggggg!" she cried, arching her back, her hands scrabbling
against the tabletop.  She collapsed, panting and moaning in pain, her head
bouncing once from the hard surface of the table.  After the intensity of
the orgasms, the intensity of this terrible pain seemed doubled, tripled. 
Her mind couldn't grasp anything except the pain, the horrible pain in her
ass. 
Jim grimaced as he stabbed his cock through her anus into her guts.  She
was so damn tight it hurt, but just that one scream made it worth it.  He
thrust forward again, managing to sink half his dick between her tender
asscheeks. 
Sara felt something tear, and an ugly warmth spread through her ass.  She
was moaning now, her mind blinking on and off like a strobe light as wave
after wave of agony sent her to oblivion and pulled her back again. 
One final vicious thrust and he was all the way in, his hips setting her
asscheeks quivering.  What a tight bitch, he thought, his mind reveling in
the power he had over this cunt.  He slid his cock back out and noticed the
sheen of blood on it.  All the better, he thought, more lube, as he thrust
brutally back into her ass.  Sara lay there and moaned as he pulled his
cock back, feeling like it was dragging her insides with it.  Her anus was
still an agony of pain, but it was subsiding.  She was fully conscious now,
and through her exhaustion and pain she cursed that bastard.  He couldn't
just fuck her; he had to have her ass.  She clenched her teeth around the
sounds of pain coming from her mouth and tried to grip the smooth surface
of the table near her head.  Motherfucker, she thought each time he thrust
forward, bringing a grunt of pain through her clenched teeth.  He started
working up into a rhythm, feeling the delicious sensations of her gripping
ass spread through his loins.  This was the way to fuck, he thought, with
some white cunt at your mercy, loving every abuse he could heap on her. 
Thinking he would love to see her come with his cock in her ass, he grabbed
her hips and lifted her off her feet, driving her hips and her mound hard
into the table with another thrust.  Lifted off her feet, she felt her clit
slam into the table, sending an incredible sensation of pain and pleasure
through her.  The room dimmed and she cried out.  Again, and another wave
of darkeness passed over her, mixing the sensations in her ass and clit
into one unbearable strain.  Again and she began to quiver and shake on the
table, her voice rising into a kining wail.  She didn't know what was
happening to her, the brief, powerful flashes of pleasure and pain from her
clit absorbing the now bizarre pain and pleasure in her ass to send her
into a daze of overwhelming sensation.  Again and again and again he drove
is cock into her ass and her clit against the table.  Again and again and
her body began to flop uncontrollably on the table, in the grip of the most
powerful orgasm in her life, every nerve on fire with near unbearable
pleasure as she came and came. 
Jim grunted as he pounded his cock into her ass.  He couldn't hold out for
much longer: his balls were aching and his whole lower body tingling with
intense pleasure.  When the cunt began flopping and screaming on the end of
his cock, her ass muscles spasming around his dick, he came, shooting wad
after wad of come deep into her bowl.  He groaned as he shot into her,
relishing the sensations assaulting his body, and the knowledge that that
he had broken the cunt.  He kept himself inside her, softening slowly, for
long minutes, watching her thrashings as her orgasms refused to release her
from their intensity.  Slowly though she came down, her body draped over
the table, covered with sweat, exhausted.  He slapped her on the ass and
pulled out.  He wasn't finished with her yet: Achilles still had to lose
his virginity.  Amy lay collapsed on the table, her mind a dreamlike haze. 
She had never been wracked like that by two orgasms in her entire life, and
she had had many orgasms.  They were incredible, the pain having only seem
to add to her final pleasure.  Now she was exhausted, limp across the
table, yet strangly on edge.  Sex, of any type, usually relaxed her, but
she was tense, jumpy, her body shaking as if from an adrenaline and
endorphine high.  She didn't resist as she was pulled off the table to land
on her knees, and was turned around by the shoulders until she was looking
right at Jim's prick, slicked with blood and slime.  The smell coming from
his package brought her to her senses, the smell of blood and shit.  He
grabbed her hair and growled at her, "Clean it up good, whore, and don't
forget my balls." She felt a slight nausa at the thought, but, at this
point, she had no will.  She opened her mouth and took his flacid dick in,
the coppery taste of blood and the foul taste of her own bowels coming off
on her tongue.  Obediently she licked his testicals clean of her liquids
after sucking his prick clean, and then stood and looked up, still dazed,
into his smiling face.  "What do we say now, cunt?"
"Thank you, master," she whispered through full, swollen lips.  "What did
you say?  I didn't hear that."
"Thank you master," she said hoarsely, finally regaining some balance. 
Achilles had watched Ms.  Ellsworth's second orgasm with amazement: she
actually liked to be fucked up the ass.  Stroking his cock, he wondered if
Amy would like it too.  He knew he would try it with her, whether she liked
it or not, but he was hoping she would.  He thought the idea of having her
lick her own shit off Jim's cock was an especially good touch. 
"Achilles," Jim commanded, "lie down on the floor." Achilles hurried to
obey, removing his shirt and getting comfortable on the carpeted floor. 
Jim turned to Sara, whom he was still holding by the arm, and said, "Climb
on, cunt, and give him your best fucking, and maybe I won't hurt you
anymore tonight."
Sara looked down at Achilles, holding his monster prick sticking obscenely
straight up from his body, and stepped over to him.  She was worn out,
tired, but, she realized, startled, she _wanted_ another fuck.  Not the
brutal pounding Jim had given her, but a nice, relaxing fuck to calm her,
to ease the ache in her ass and relax her nerves.  She straddled him and
looked down into his excited, apprehensive face and lowered herself slowly
onto his penis.  "Oh god," she murmered, it felt so good, massaging her
vagina, pressing softly against her cervix.  She sat of him for a moment,
clenching and unclenching her vaginal muscles, hearing him gasp for a
moment.  Then she leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth, running
her tongue over his lips, feeling him start and then open his mouth to
recieve her. 
Achilles moaned as she lowered herself onto him.  Jesus, he thought,
pleasure radiating from his groin across his body, this is so _good_.  He
gasped when he felt her muscles massaging his cock, thoroughly enjoying the
sensations assaulting him.  He watched her as she sat astride him, her
lithe body covered in sweat, her legs split over his body, her breasts
standing full and firm from her body, her head back and her eyes closed as
she worked his cock with her pussy.  He watched as she opened her green
eyes and looked down at him, her face a mask of weary contentment,
beautiful, perfect, framed by beautiful brown hair.  She bent over, and he
felt a little jolt through his body as her breasts came against his chest,
and then mashed against them as she brought her mouth against his.  He
started, as if touched by a live wire, for that's what it felt like, when
she kissed him, running her tongue across his lips.  He moaned again and
opened his mouth, his pleasure centers doubling at his crotch and his mouth
as she pressed her lips hard against his and explored his mouth with her
tongue. 
So good, so good she kept thinking as she swirled her hips around, feeling
his cock slide around inside her grasping sheath, her mouth locked to his,
sending pleasure bolting through her body.  She teased him, and herself,
for a few minutes, enjoying the leasurely pace of this fucking, grateful to
hear his moans and gasps meet hers.  For long minutes she had worked him,
and he had lain passive beneath her, his passion and pleasure slowly
building within him.  Suddenly she changed tactics, lifting her hips until
his cock was almost pulled from her pussy and then slowly impaling herself
again.  He moaned into her mouth at this change, intense sensations
assaulting his cock and building, slowly but surely, in his groin.  He
wrapped his arms around her slender body and pulled her head hard against
his, sending his tongue for the first time into her mouth.  His whole body
felt full to bursting with sensation; it was incredible, like when she had
given him head, but more, much more, intense. 
When he grabbed her in his arms and began to jerk his hips against her, she
picked up the pace.  She could feel an orgasm building in her, from deep in
her stomach, and she wanted it, wanted it so badly.  She began humping
faster, releasing his mouth and burying her head in his shoulder.  She felt
it close...close...she sucked hard on his neck...NOW!  and she cried out as
she came, soft pleasure washing her body clean of her previous orgasms,
feeling his cock jerk inside her and spill its seed, relaxing her, bringing
her down from her high.  So good, she thought, so good. 
Achilles was close.  He knew that by the darkness which was clouding his
vision, the darkness which told of the most intense sensations he had ever
felt, the most intense pleasure.  It almost hurt as he felt it build,
quicker now, in his groin and penis.  He gasped as she released his mouth
and breathed hot air onto his neck, sending chills of pleasure down his
body.  He could feel her supple strength above him as she worked toward her
own orgasm, exciting him even more: she was going to pop, and it was his
cock which was causing it!  Suddenly her warm mouth was against his neck,
sucking, sending flashes and sparks across his vision as he burst, his cock
jerking inside her as it filled her with his come.  She was quivering an
top of him as he came, and then they both relaxed, collapsing into each
other as they came down from their orgasms. 
Jim had demanded that she give him a blow job before they left, but
Achilles was worn out.  He sat on the couch, thinking that this had been
the greatest night of his life, and anticipating many similar nights, with
her and with Amy.  When they left, Achilles told Jim he wanted to be there
tommorrow too, and Jim teased him about his experiences.  It was good to
have your very own sex slave, Achilles thought.  Sara, after they had left,
showered and then collapsed in bed, her body exhausted but her mind a swirl
of confusion.  She didn't understand, she couldn't explain, her reactions
that night.  She had always enjoyed sex, with pretty much anybody, but she
had never had orgasms like she had had tonight.  It scared her a little
that she had responded so willingly to Jim's cruelty, and it shamed her a
little that he seemed to know that she would get off on it.  She
remembered, in high school, when one of the teachers she had seduced had
introduced her to "the scene", as he called it.  It was a group of people
playing sadomasochistic games, and she had willingly submitted.  She had
liked the sex, but the games hadn't done it for her: they were all so
structured, and, besides, she could always just tell them to stop.  With
Jim, it wasn't a game: she truly was his sex slave now.  She hadn't wanted
to be blackmailed into fucking him, but had figured that she might be able
to gain some control of him through his cock; it had still been a game. 
Not anymore.  She was his and whoever he decided to give her too.  What
worried her most, though, was she was beginning to think that she didn't
mind. 
Jim and Achilles returned the next day, Friday, to Sara's house.  This time
she made sure she was prepared, with two steak dinners ready and $500 cash
sitting next to each plate.  She wore only and apron and made sure to say
"master" and "thank you" at the right times, and spoke only when spoken
to.  It was, she thought, singularly humiliating, but she didn't think she
could take two days in a row of punishments, punishments which she both
dreaded and desired.  Jim and Achilles, for their parts, didn't seem
inclined to push things.  They did tie her wrists together behind her back
and cinch her elbows together, which was painful at first and then just
uncomfortable, and they did make her squirm across the floor and lick their
feet, but otherwise they seemed content to just fuck her.  They used all
three of her holes again, and left her fully satisfied. 
She was, she was afraid, beginning to get into it.  She had kept her three
studs, as instructed, but found sex with them to pale in comparison to
Jim's torturous games.  She found herself getting excited thinking about
the next degredation he was going to inflict on her, rubbing herself to
orgasm thinking of him.  Maybe she liked it so much, she thought, because
it was a new experience to her; before, she had always been the one in
charge, always the one whose sexual appetites overwhelmed, and sometimes
scared, her parters.  Here, Jim was in control, and Jim didn't give a shit
about her sexual appetites--to him, she was a piece of meat to fuck when
_he_ wanted to fuck it, and that excited her.  He used her desires to
humiliate her, to rub her face in her sluttish behaviour; he laughed at her
and beat her and bound her desires to him.  It was no longer a question of
blackmail, although she still hoped to get that tape back, just in case;
now she was a willing slave, willing to give him whatever he wanted. 
Achilles, for his part, found his experiences with Sara exhilarating, and
it gave him ideas about what to do with Amy Sanders.  That evening he
climbed in through her window and left his "requests" for the following
week.  They were rather simple: on Monday at 4:00 they were to meet in her
room, and Wednesday and Thursday they were to meet in the orange grove at
4:15.  Monday, Achilles figured, was the time for the open hand, the
previous closed hand having been her humiliating spanking.  He wondered,
though, how long it was going to take before he could get down her pants:
he was losing patience. 
Jim was satisfied.  Sara was turning into a good little slave.  Her actions
that Friday convinced him that it was time to really start her training,
and to that end he signed her up for every night the following week,
leaving him the weekend free to prepare.  He was glad he had told Achilles:
that boy had a certain something.  You could have knocked him over with a
feather, though, when Achilles told him about Amy.  He wasn't so amazed at
what she had done, but that Achilles had been so quick to take advantage of
it; his estimation of the boy rose with each passing day. 
Amy was the one person of the four who was anything but enjoying herself. 
She had passed from a state of hatred toward Achilles toward a state of
dread.  That Friday at school she had been withdrawn, and quailed inside
every time she thought Achilles seemed to be around.  She constantly
thought about turning herself in, and once or twice even decided to do so,
but then she discovered her dread of jail outweighed her dread of
Achilles.  Once, in a flash of insight which made her fear for herself, she
realized what her dread meant: that she had resigned herself to Achilles'
blackmail; she would no longer fight him.  While Ms.  Ellsworth spent the
weekend catching up on her schoolwork, and Amy spent hers in a state of
acute depression, rarely moving from her bed, Jim and Achilles went
shopping.  The went across the state line and hit a number of pornographic
video and book stores.  They also stopped by a couple leather stores and
found one place which specialized in bondage equipment.  They managed to
spend most of the $1000 they had extorted from Sara; the rest they spent at
a hardware store, picking up the necessary hardware to put all the new
ideas they had formed into practice. 
Monday rolled around the the schoolday passed pretty much as usual.  After
school, Achilles met Amy in her room.  "Hello Amy.  How you doing today?"
he asked, looking carefully at her, noticing the large bags under her eyes
and the listless way she carried herself. 
"I'm okay," she replied without much conviction, sitting down on her bed
opposite him, yet not looking at him.  "What do you want today?" "Amy, I'm
really sorry about this." He got no response.  "You know I've always liked
you," he kept at it, waiting for a response, "and, well, I was kind of mad
the way you always ignored me, like you thought you were better than I
was." He made sure to stutter and look away, peeking at her from the corner
of his eyes.  He was not disappointed to see her raise her head and look at
him now.  "When I got those photos, I...well...I kind of wanted to punish
you for how you treated me, you see?" He looked pleadingly into her eyes. 
She was looking at him, but he couldn't see anything in those eyes accept a
mute despair.  Well, he thought to himself as he continued, I sure hope
this works.  "I feel really bad now, especially since I've got a girlfriend
now." He noticed her start a little--good.  "I thought maybe I should give
back the photos and everything"--she was interested now: life and hope had
come back into her eyes--"but, well, I don't know.  I still want to get to
know you, without all this stuff between us, and I'm afraid if I give you
the photos, you'll just ditch me." He looked up at her, trying to twist his
face into his most doleful expression. 
Amy didn't react through much of this speech, her mind was too dulled by
despair.  When he mentioned that he had a girlfriend, though, she perked
up: she hadn't known, and was he saying that this might change things?  Now
what?  That he was going to give her those photos?  Oh please, please. 
No.  What was he saying now--that he wanted to be friends with her?  That
he wanted to put all this behind them?  Of course she would ditch him if
she could!  She didn't hate him, but seeing him would remind her of the
time in her past when she had been completely and utterly humiliated.  So
close to freedom!  She forced herself to reach over to him and take his
hands in her own. 
"Achilles," she said softly, looking him earnestly in the eyes, "I'm sorry
for making you angry.  I'm sorry all this had to happen between us.  I can
be your friend.  Let's talk.  Tell me about yourself, tell me about your
new girl.  I want to listen." She sounded convincing to her ears, she hoped
she sounded convincing to his; oh, how she hoped she sounded convincing to
him. 
Achilles smiled to himself: hook, line and sinker.  "O...o...okay." He
started out talking about his photography, about how all his life he wanted
to capture life, to capture beauty.  He shily hinted that he had secretly
taken pictures of her, so full of life and beauty.  He talked about how he
saw each photo, how he could live or relive each picture in his mind over
and over again; how intoxicating and wonderous it was.  He led into his new
girlfriend (a complete fabrication), and how she too liked photography.  He
had met her weeks ago, and he hinted that they had just become intimate,
sexually.  He then rhapsodized about how wonderful _it_ was, leaving it
unspoken; how it was the sharing of two souls, how it was a union of
minds.  He spoke of how _it_ felt, so good, like she had told him, like
"taking and elevator up and up, faster and faster, until it burst through
the roof of the building and then hung there, floating in the sky, finally
coming gently to rest." He told her what was special was that she had felt
this, that he had made her feel this.  That was what he loved the most: her
pleasure in him.  He petered out about then, inwardly amused that she had
listened so raptly to his every word, and then asked, awkwardly, if she had
ever felt anything like that. 
Amy at first listened to him because she had to if she wished to get those
photos back, but then she truly began to hear him, and was amazed.  He had
been such a sleazeball the previous week, and yet here he was, spilling his
soul to her, and it wasn't banal and uninteresting--it was, well, she
admitted to herself, deep.  She was flattered by an oblique reference to
her, and listened, enthralled, as he talked about sex with his girlfriend. 
He made it all sound so wonderful, important and wonderful: the sharing,
the feelings, the pleasure, the tending to each other's needs.  The way he
described it made her want to feel what he felt, to be on that elevator as
it burst through the roof.  When he paused she was lost in daydreams, and
she blushed a little when he heard him ask if she had ever felt that way. 
She paused for a minute before answering, thinking of her past sexual
experiences.  She had lost her virginity when she was a freshman to a
senior jock, her first boyfriend.  She remembered it had been extremely
painful, but that she had been happy that he had enjoyed it so much.  Of
course, he had dumped her shortly thereafter, and she had been quite broken
up about it.  Since then she had only had sex with her last ex, and
although it hadn't been painful, it had been nothing special--in out repeat
if necessary was what she remembered about it.  It had been, she reflected,
disillusioning. 
"No," she answered him, "I've never felt that way before." He
commisserated, shaking his head and wishing that she could have the same
feelings he had.  He glanced at his watch and jumped up suddenly, "I've got
to go.  We're having company tonight." He gave her a quick peck on the
forehead and ran to the window. 
"The pictures..." she stuttered out before he was gone.  He paused for a
moment as if considering, then said, "I don't know, Amy, I don't know. 
Give me some time to think about it?" With that, he smiled and slid down
the tree, running back in the direction of his house. 
Amy lay back on her bed and wondered.  She was confused: was Achilles a
psychopathic dweeb or was he really a sweet guy?  She didn't understand
him, couldn't make him out.  He had been such an ass to her, setting out to
humiliate her whenever he could, but today he had been so different, a
sweet, shy guy who had fallen in love with some girl.  Would he return
those photos to her, she wondered?  Was this all some bizarre plot to fuck
with her mind?  She doubted it--he had been so sincere.  Well, Wednesday
would tell. 
Achilles was on top of the world: she was hooked!  Wednesday he would
continue to talk to her, but he would talk more explicitly about his sexual
experiences, even if they were mere fabrication.  He might even hint that
his girlfriend was bisexual.  He could go into more detail Thursday, and
then, next week, he would produce her, Ms.  Sara Ellsworth, playing the
part of the love of his life.  He didn't think it would be long after that
that he would be porking Amy, sweet Amy.  The photos, now he would keep
those--insecurity would be his excuse, and one he thought she would buy. 
Everything was working out as planned, and tonight was another night with
Sara. 
Jim and Achilles showed up at Sara's with two duffle bags full of goodies,
and after dinner, Jim announced that it was time for her cunt-slave
training to begin.  He began by cuffing her arms behind her back and
cinching her elbows together, and then tying her down face up on the table,
so that her calves were tied to the legs of the table, spreading them wide
and bending them at the knee.  He gagged her with a large ball gag and then
began binding her breasts while Achilles ran a vibrator gently against her
pussy lips.  When the tops of her breasts looked like enormous red grapes
about to burst, and her nipples were hugely engorged with blood, he began
flicking them, earning cries of pain from her, mingled with moans of
pleasure caused by Achilles' skillful manipulation of her clitorus.  Jim
moved to teeth and clothespins on her nipples, and then used rose stems and
finally needles.  Achilles was by now slowly, teasingly running the
vibrator in and out of her sopping cunt, occasionally working it under her
body and pushing it through her anus.  They worked her like this for close
to 45 minutes, her cunt yearning for orgasmic release and her tits near
bursting with overwhelming pain, a pain which blended with the pleasure in
her pussy to drive her crazy with desire.  Finally Jim mounted her, holding
his body above hers while jackhammering his cock into her cunt.  She could
feel her tits and body throbbing with pleasure as her orgasm approached,
when, just before she came, Achilles cut through the bondage on her
breasts, releasing them.  She screamed through her gag as she orgasmed,
blood flowing swiftly back into her aching tits, blinding her with pain as
she bucked through her orgasm, the pain in her breasts adding a delicious
spice to her come. 
They untied her from the table and carried her, her arms still bound and
her mouth still filled with the gag, into the bathroom.  There they gave
her an enima, one that burned like hot chili oil in the eyes, burned so
that she sat moaning and squirming on the toilet seat and tried to shit her
guts out while two strong pairs of hands held her down.  They dragged her
to the shower and sprayed off her crack, giving her some relief from the
horrible burning in her ass and guts, but not enough; she was in mortal
agony.  Laughing at her plight they dragged her back into the living room
where they threw her over the back of the couch, her ass sticking high in
the air.  Achilles coated his cock with ointment of some kind and then
forced it into her agonized, twitching anal passage.  The ointment cooled
off her insides, making the sensations assaulting her ass barely
manageable.  Then, as Achilles began brutally fucking her ass and Jim
grabbed her hair, slapped her face, and pinched her still sensitive
breasts, she became consumed by a wild, animal passion.  She came three
times before Achilles spewed into her, each orgasm eclipsing the other,
each orgasm painfully intense, centered in her burning ass.  Finally they
dragged her back to the table and bound her stringently on her back, her
shins and knees bound flat on the table near her chest, her pussy and ass
exposed in the air, her head hanging back off the table.  One of them slid
his cock slowly down her throat, his balls nestled against her nose, and
began fucking her mouth, while the other pinched and slapped and squeezed
her nether regions.  Her clit was pinched by strong fingers, nails cutting
into her tender flesh, until she screamed through the cock in her throat. 
Her labia was pinched and pulled painfully, and her ass slapped and poked
and tugged.  Every few minutes they would switch places, and each time the
one at her groin would rub it gently for half a minute, sending pleasure
racing through her body only to be turned to pain as he switched tactics,
assaulting her tender flesh with fingers and nails and palms.  This went on
for about a half of an hour before they came down her throat.  They still
hadn't let her come, and she began to beg them, plead with them, to fuck
her.  Jim only smiled and grabbed her clit between his thumb and
forefinger, while Achilles did the same with her nipples.  Then they both
squeezed, hard, harder, making her scream in agony, arching her back as she
felt pain as she had never felt it before.  Right before it became
unbearable, right before she thought she was going to pass out, she came,
screaming the whole time, and she came harder than she thought possible,
seemingly forever.  It only stopped a long while after they let go of her,
and then they untied her and left her lying there, with a note from Jim
beside her.  Later that night, before she dropped off to sleep, she
realized what they had done: not one ounce of pleasure had she received
without accompanying pain.  Every orgasm was accompanied by a delicious
agony, turning the natural reactions of her body topsy-turvy.  She
shuddered as she realized their plan for her: they were turning her into a
pain-slut.  Pain slut was the last thing she though before she drifted
off.  That Monday evening, all thoughts of Achilles were driven from Amy's
mind when her father came home and told her that he had arrested her
ex-boyfriend and two of his friends.  They had, he told her, gotten into a
fight in a bar, and her ex had shot someone dead with his father's rifle. 
Oh god, she thought, please don't let them find out about the store
robbery.  Her father, though, was telling her that the police thought the
boys might be connected with the store robbery, but they couldn't prove
anything, yet.  Amy didn't fall asleep until late that night, worry eating
up her stomach. 
The next morning the news was all over the school, and when Achilles heard
it, he was at first worried for Amy, but then he became ecstatic.  This was
the final nail in the coffin for her; he knew exactly what to do now. 
Maria heard the news and didn't care.  Since her rape she had been
withdrawn and even more anti-social than usual.  She was surprised, then,
when Jim approached her at lunch and asked her to follow him.  She didn't
know Jim well, but she knew his reputation, so didn't hesitate to join
him.  If he chose to speak to her, she could learn something.  She
shivered, though, and almost balked, when he took her down to the same room
in which she was raped.  She entered anyway and was surprised to see two
chairs set up before a tv and vcr. 
"Sit, sit," he motioned, and turned on the tv screen and started the vcr. 
"Oh Jesus," she whispered softly as she recognized herself on the tape,
herself walking into this very room and being grabbed by Ms.  Ellsworth's
three bully boys.  She was frozen with shock, and she stared, transfixed,
at the screen while Jim spoke to her in the background.  "I thought you
might like to see this, Maria," he said, watching her closely.  "With this
tape you can put that bitch away for good.  You know that.  But I don't
think that's good enough for her," he emphasized, leaning closer to the
girl, "I don't think she deserves to get off easy with just going to jail. 
I want to see her punished, in pain, screaming for mercy.  Maria?"
Maria tore her eyes from the video of her rape and turned her head slowly
toward his.  Her large brown eyes bore into his as she spoke, her voice
loaded with passion.  "Anything, anything you want.  Just give me the
cunt."
Jim let a smile grow over his face as he stared back at her impassioned
face.  Sara, he thought, was going to be in for a big surprise.  Before she
left, he gave her a duffle bag full of bondage and sadomasochistic books
and magazines, all, he said, to give her ideas on how best to torture Ms. 
Sara Ellsworth.  One last thing he gave her before she left: a new outfit
she was to wear when she came down to the boiler room on Friday afternoon,
where her teacher would be waiting for her.  That afternoon, instead of
heading home, Sara went down to the boiler room to await Jim and Achilles. 
She didn't have to wait long, and wasn't at all surprised at what they did
to her.  There was a lot more bondage and a lot more pain than pleasure
than the previous evening, but it didn't matter, because already she was
having trouble telling the difference.  They whipped her, pinched her,
slapped her, and fucked her repeatedly for over three hours, then let her
go home to collapse exhausted on the couch.  She was out another five
hundred dollars, but, she thought as she lay there, her body still buzzing
from pain and pleasure, it was worth it.  She almost couldn't wait for the
rest of the week, all down in the boiler room. 
Wednesday was a school day like any other, and Amy started to relax when
she realized the boom had not yet fallen, and from what her father said,
probably wouldn't fall.  Her mind started to drift back to Achilles and
what he had told her about himself and about his sexual experiences, and
she obliquely questioned her girlfriends about their experiences.  She
didn't get any satisfactory answers, and almost looked forward to meeting
him in the orchard that afternoon.  Four fifteen rolled around and she
stood in the orange grove waiting for Achilles.  He showed up a few minutes
later carrying a duffle bag, looking, she thought, morose. 
"Sit down," he said, following suit and putting on his most depressed
face.  He had rehearsed the following words over and over in his head all
night; he hoped he wouldn't blow it.  "You know, Amy, I've been thinking a
lot about the robbery.  I've been feeling really guilty about not telling
anybody about it--I mean, a man was killed.  No, don't interupt.  Then,
when I heard about those guys getting arrested for another murder, it was
like a great weight was lifted from my shoulders.  You know?"
"I...I understand, Achilles, and..."
"Wait.  I haven't finished.  I felt better because they weren't getting
away with what they did--they were going to be punished now, and they
deserved to be punished.  Then I thought about you, Amy.  You did this
horrible thing, Amy, and you got away scot free!" "Achilles..." she
wheedled. 
"No!  It's true.  Nothing bad has happened to you.  Sure I spanked you and
took some money from you, but what is that compared to a man's life?  So I
was thinking, you know, maybe you should tell everyone what you had done,
or else I could maybe send in the photos.  You know?" With that he looked
up at her with his best sad eyes.  Oh my God!  she thought.  He couldn't!
He simply couldn't! She was in misery: to worry about the doom of jail and
then to escape, only to be told that doom still awaits--it was too awful. 
She stared at him with horror, her mind working frantically to get her out
of this.  He didn't _want_ to do this; he felt he had to.  She could use
that.  She could.  He also wanted her--she knew that.  Even with his
girlfriend, he wanted her.  But he wanted her punished too; she knew he
wouldn't be detered from that.  How then?  How to escape this trap? 
Suddenly an idea hit her: it was awful, but it was her only way out. 
Slowly she got up onto her knees and leaned forward onto her fingertips
until her face was only a foot away from his.  "I...I don't _want_ to go to
jail Achilles," she said softly, "but you're right, I did screw up, and I
shouldn't get away with it, but you don't have to turn me in." He was
looking at her now, curiosity replacing the sadness in his eyes.  "I have,"
she swallowed, "I have a better idea, Achilles.  You...you punish me. 
Please," she cried as she saw the look of surprise in his face, "please, do
it for me.  I don't want to go to jail!" Achilles did his best to look
surprised when she said the words he oh so much wanted to hear.  Oh yes, oh
yes he would punish her, but he said, standing and looking confused and
embarrassed, "I don't know Amy.  I don't know.  Let me think about it.  Let
me think.  Come down here at six and I'll tell you.  I have to think." With
that, he half stumbled half ran off, leaving her with an agony of waiting. 
He practically ran all the way home, he was so elated.  She was his! 
Finally she was his!  He practically jumped with joy at the thought.  Sure,
he was going to have to miss his fucking Sara tonight, but he would be
punishing his dream girl, Amy Sanders.  He already had some good ideas. 
Amy stood in the orange grove for a few more minutes, fretting worriedly. 
God she hoped he took her up on her offer, but she was apprehensive too. 
Too have him punish her.... She knew if he decided to he would humiliate
her and degrade her like he had when he had spanked her.  She wandered back
to her house disconsoletly, thinking in her mind anything he could do to
her would be better than jail, no matter how humiliating.  She started
thinking, too, of what he had said: was it true that she should be
punished?  She had left a man to die, and then told no one who had done
it--wasn't that deserving of punishment?  Didn't she deserve whatever
Achilles was going (how she hoped he would decide so) to her?  It wasn't
only the robbery, either.  How about how she treated her friends, like they
were there for her, like they weren't even human?  And how about how she
thought about everyone else, thought herself above them, smarter and more
attractive than them?  She was going somewhere, she was a winner, they were
all losers.  Wasn't she only now getting her just desserts?  She didn't
like thinking all these things--she wasn't naturally introspective--but she
couldn't stop herself; the tension of the past week had made her wonder
about herself and her place in the world.  She shuddered at the thoughts
she couldn't push out of her head as she lay on her bed awaiting Achilles'
decision.  Six o'clock rolled around and found them both standing among the
orange trees in the waning light of the day.  He had accepted her
proposition and was now telling her to remove the flower pattern summer
dress she was wearing, which so complimented her figure.  She obeyed
meekly; she had known something like this was coming, and had made her
decision: she would do whatever he asked. 
Achilles watched with growing excitement as she stepped out of her dress
and handed it to him.  He stared at her lithe body for a moment, letting
his eyes travel over her jutting breasts, encased in a push-up bra, her
smooth white skin firm across her stomach and hips, a few curling pubic
hairs peeking out from her white panties, and her perfect, long legs with
shapely calves and thighs.  He sighed and gently placed the dress near the
duffle bag he had brought and took out several of the things he had
brought. 
Standing in just her bra and her panties, Amy hung her head, feeling the
cool breeze of the evening caress her body and knowing, just knowing, that
Achilles wanted to do the same.  She shivered, then.  "Amy," Achilles
spoke, "I found some things down in the basement which I thought I would
use." He reached across to her and handed her a studded leather collar,
padded on the inside, with four metal loops ninety degrees from each other
on the outside.  "Put it on." She glanced up at him, but couldn't look; she
was too ashamed.  With her left hand she lifted her kinky sandy blond hair
away from her neck and hooked the collar around her neck, clasping it shut
in front.  It was so demeaning, she thought, so demeaning to be standing
her like this with this collar around my neck.  Like a dog; like some
animal.  "Here, put this on," he said, handing her a small padlock.  She
obeyed mechanically, feeling awful, feeling like she knew she should be
feeling for what she had done. 
"Now put this in," he continued, handing her a somewhat wedgeshaped piece
of pink plastic which fit in her palm, with two supple leather straps
connected to the larger end by metal rivits.  She gazed at it for a minute
then looked at him, confused.  What was this thing?  she wondered.  Her
light blue eyes widened in surprise and she blushed as she saw him motion
toward his mouth and say, "You don't deserve to speak, do you?"
She shook her head and looked down again, opening her mouth and sliding the
plastic in.  It was cool and tasteless, but it stretched her jaw wide, the
thin end fitting snuggly against her back molars while the rest made sure
to fill her mouth.  Thankfully it left her tongue enough room so that she
could swallow, even if it was pressed down against the bottom of her
mouth.  The whole thing didn't fit in her mouth, so her lips were bunched
up uncomfortably around the end.  She reached around and cinched the
leather straps together at the top of her neck, her hands running up
against the collar she was wearing.  A wave of mental anguish washed over
he then, but she pushed it back resolutely; it was no more than she
deserved. 
Achilles watched her put the gag in, imagining it was his cock.  He watched
as she worked her jaw wider and wider to accomidate the gag, and then
jiggle it around so it was its most comfortable.  He liked the way it made
her face look: it softened the harsh angles of her face and distended her
lips obscenely, the leather straps pulling the sides of her mouth into
hollows, accenting her anguished eyes.  Amy stood there, her feet rooted to
the ground, her body shaking with humiliation, as he slowly walked a circle
around her.  She knew his eyes were exploring her near naked body, knew he
was appraising her even as she stood there in shame. 
He went back to the bag and pulled out a riding crop and slid it through
his hand before looking over at his prize.  Her eyes were wide with
surprise as he approached her, and she jerked back her head as he ran the
crop gently against her cheek. 
"None of that now," he said, smiling at her as he began gently stroking her
face with the crop. 
"AAAAAHHHHH...UUUUUUUUHHHHH" she grunted through her gag, scared now as she
felt the crop run gently across her cheek, her forehead, down her neck. 
She couldn't stop her body from shaking; the crop was like a little charge
of electicity wherever it touched, leaving a tingling trail down her neck,
her arms, the top of her breasts, her stomach, the tops of the thighs and
around to the back of her thighs.  Now to her buttocks, the small of her
back, between her shoulder blades.  She was still shivering when the crop
lifted, and she almost jumped when she felt his hand lay on her shoulder. 
He watched the reactions of her body as he gently caressed it with the
crop.  She was shaking, scared, terrified and nervous, adrenaline coursing
through her blood.  She was on edge, standing on the tip of a needle, ready
to fall whichever way he pushed.  He smiled as she jumped at his touch, and
whispered into her ears, "Down, down on your hands and knees."
She jerkily obeyed him, her whole body tight, her gut churning with
nervousness.  She had gotten herself into this, she thought.  It had been
her decision.  The dirt, leaves and twigs felt rough under her hands and
knees, and her breasts felt pendulous as they hung down beneath her, barely
within her bra now.  She closed her eyes; it couldn't get any worse.  Then
she felt his hands at her neck and something click shut, and she looked up
to see him holding a leash. 
"You're now my bitch," he said, and she didn't even mind, she was so
numb--numb and tense, strange her mind told her.  "I need to give you a
name.... How about Princess?  Do you like Princess?" She nodded dully,
accepting her fate. 
"Let's go for a walk, come on Princess, let's go for a walk." He felt a
surge of power as he shuffled along with Amy crawling by his side, looking
down at her back and gazing longingly at the side of her breast as it swung
freely within her bra cup.  He could make her take off her bra, he knew. 
Could probably even fuck her right now, but she wouldn't be into it,
wouldn't like it, and he didn't want a motionless piece of ass.  He wanted
her to give herself to him willingly, to beg him to take her, to own her. 
This was just the first step.  Amy shuffled along beside him, feeling
degraded, lower than a dog.  It was awful: her knees and hands hurt from
the clods of dirt and twigs digging into her skin, and she told herself she
should get up and tell Achilles she wasn't taking any more of this. 
Punishment was punishment, but this was too much.  But whenever she thought
this, her mind went back to that night in the truck, the gunshots and her
panic and a man lying dead in the store, and she remembered they way she
had looked upon Achilles and others at her school, as not human, as below
her, and she didn't stand up and tell him off; she continued crawling on
the ground like the dog she was--it was only right and fitting.  He led her
around like that for ten minutes, tugging at the leash whenever he turned. 
He brought her back to their original meeting place and said, "Stay!" He
then walked ten yards away and took off his shoes and socks and sat down on
the ground, his feet in front of him.  "Down on your belly, Princess," he
called out.  He was going to love this part. 
At the sound of his voice Amy looked up at him sitting on the ground in the
distance.  She groaned a little as she lay down on her stomach, thankful
that her weight was no longer on her knees and hands.  "Now crawl to me on
your belly, my little bitch," she heard him call out and she groaned
inwardly.  Hadn't he punished her enough yet?  But no, he hadn't, and she
knew it.  She began squirming across the ground, using her thighs and upper
arms to drag herself across the dirt.  She felt the dirt roll and scrape
against the flesh of the thighs, her stomach, and her breasts.  As she made
her way slowly toward Achilles, she felt her bra pull down off her breasts,
exposing the nipples to the harsh earth beneath her.  She didn't stop,
though, even though she whimpered in pain and humiliation through her gag
at the earth tearing at her tender breasts.  It hurt and was humiliating
crawling across the ground like this, and she felt tears well up in her
eyes.  It seemed an eternity before she reached him and looked up to stare
into his bare feet.  Her breasts, stomach and thighs, as well as her upper
arms, were hyper sensitive, tenderized by the pebbles and dirt clods and
twigs and leaves which rolled and pressed against her body as she squirmed
across the ground.  She was finished now, thank god, and rested her cheek
against the ground, grateful for the cool earth against her face. 
"Good Princess, good," she heard him say.  "Now back up on your hands and
knees and take out your gag." Thank you thank you, she thought, looking at
him gratefully as she uncinched the ties behind her neck and gently removed
the gag, her jaws feeling strange as they closed for the first time in a
half hour.  She massaged her jaws for a minute and looked at him and was
going to speak, but he put his finger to his lips and quieted her. 
"Now Princess, give me the gag.  Good dog.  No, don't adjust your bra, I
like it so I can see your nipples.  That's right.  Hmm...I think I'll let
you lick my feet now, Princess," and he smiled. 
She looked at him, shocked now.  She had been so relieved to be allowed to
take out the gag that she hadn't even realized that he could now see her
breasts.  She wasn't surprised when he had demanded that she leave them
exposed, but lick his feet?  That was grose, disgusting.  She shivered and
half shook her head; she wouldn't do this.  He leaned forward and spoke to
her, his voice hard: "Aren't you forgetting something, Amy?  _You_ were the
one who decided you needed to be punished; _you_ were the one who chose me
to do it.  You _will_ let me do it.  Do you understand?"
She quailed inwardly at the tone in his voice: it was hard, commanding. 
Her face took on a scared, confused expression; she had chosen this as
better than jail; she deserved this, she did, she really really did. 
Without a word she got back down on her hands and dragged her tongue across
the bottom of his foot, tasting the stale sweat of his shoe and the musty
dampness of the earth.  She kept at it, running her tongue between his toes
and around his ankles and against his arch.  Achilles was in heaven, his
legs numb with ecstacy.  The feeling of her tongue around his toes was
sensational, and the view of her breasts, dangling now against the ground,
was too much.  He let her lick his feet for almost thirty minutes before he
couldn't take it any longer.  He stood up quickly, panting with the effort
of denying himself her body, and rummaged around in the bag before taking
out a bottle of water, which he handed to her after telling her to get up. 
He had to take out his pent up sexual energy somehow, and looking down at
the riding crop still in his hand, figured he knew just how.  Amy eagerly
sucked down the water he gave her, gratefully washing the taste of his feet
off her tongue.  She looked at him, wondering what he was going to do next,
dreading it, when she saw him gazing strangely at the riding crop in his
hand.  He looked up at her, meeting her light blue eyes with his, and said,
"Up against the tree." She hesitated, then obeyed him, her back against the
tree and her breasts standing proudly before her, still partly supported by
the bra rolled up underneath them, her legs apart for balance.  "Have you
been a bad girl, Princess?" he asked, running the crop gently across her
nipples, making them swell with blood and sending her heart racing and her
breath come quicker. 
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I've been a bad girl." He kept brushing the crop against her now
ultra-sensitive nipples, engorged with blood, making her shake with
forbidden pleasure.  It felt _so_ good she thought; she never knew her
breasts could feel so good.  All the little indentations from the dirt, all
the pain from squirming over the ground seemed to be absorbed into the
incredible pleasure engulfing her breasts.  She couldn't let him see,
couldn't let him know what he was doing to her.  It was bad enough as it
was, but how humiliating if he discovered how she was reacting.  "Close
your eyes," he commanded, taking away the crop.  She closed her eyes,
trembling from the reaction of her body to its caresses, trying to bring
herself under control. 
Suddenly she heard a whistling sound and a thin *thwack* and pain exloded
across her right nipple and she screamed, her eyes popping open and her
hands going up to protect herself, her knees bending and her body twisting
away from him.  Her breast was on fire with pain as great as the pleasure
it had just felt--it felt like it was burning, and blood pounded painfully
across the red slash on her breast and nipple, increasing the agony. 
He just stood there, the crop in his hand, as if he had done nothing.  She
was scared and in pain.  The way he looked at her, like she was just an
animal, an animal to be punished for doing something bad.  "Bad girls have
to be punished," he said.  "Present your other breast for punishment."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but his tone, his stance, his
attitude of complete assurance, of command, forced her to obey.  Besides,
her mind told her, it's what you deserve.  You felt pleasure in your
punishment, its only right you feel pain now.  She straightened back up
against the tree and brought her hands down.  She closed her eyes; she knew
what to expect. 
Achilles looked at her, impressed.  He wasn't sure if she would accept
another stroke of the crop, and her poise surprised him.  He took a moment
to gaze at her breasts before he struck, noticing how they were a little
larger than Sara's, and more conical, but just as firm, if not firmer.  The
nipples on both were still hard, even the one with a red mark through it
and across the breast.  He brought his arm back and slashed the crop
against her other breast, making sure to hit the nipple, and listened to
her as she choked back a cry. 
Pain flashed through her again, but she was determined not to cry out, and
strangled back the cry which sought to escape her lips.  She was gasping
now, leaning back against the tree, her mind totally concentrated on the
pain in her breasts.  Slowly she rubbed them, gritting her teeth as she
massaged the burning pain into a dull, throbbing ache concentrated in her
still hard nipples.  She looked up at Achilles, pleading with her eyes for
him to be finished, for him to let her go.  He only stared mercilessly back
at her and told her to turn around and hug the tree tight.  "Hug it! 
Tighter.  Now hug it with your knees.  You're not close enough to it. 
That's better, much better."
She was gripping the tree as if she were going to shimmy up it, her arms
two thirds of the way around the trunk.  Her torso was smashed against the
rough bark, which further tormented her nipples and breasts, and scraped
her stomach as she flexed her muscles to keep close to the tree.  Her inner
thighs were also scratched up by the bark of the tree, and her skin
prickled at tiny splinters and edges in the bark.  For the first time she
saw how she must look, with her cheek pressed up against the trunk: she
looked as if she were trying to fuck the tree.  With that thought, her face
turned crimson and she became conscious of her mound pressing through her
panties against the hard wood.  It was so obscene what she was doing, with
her breasts free and throbbing.  What was he doing to her. 
She cried out in pain and jerked her hips into the tree as he brought the
crop against her covered ass.  She moaned at the senstations sparking from
her groin as it ground itself against the rough bark of the tree.  Again he
struck her ass, causing her hips to jerk convulsively forward, sending more
sparks of pleasure coursing up from her vagina.  She didn't know, didn't
understand, what was happening to her.  Her ass was on flame with the pain
of his whipping, but the blinding flashes of pleasure blasting from her
vagina each time her hips jerked against the tree were like nothing she had
ever felt before.  As he kept striking he, the pain and pleasure both built
up, spreading first to her breasts as she squirmed against the tree,
scraping them violently against the rough bark.  The tree became a brutal
lover as he brought the crop against her ass again and again, scraping
roughly against her inner thighs and leg, bruising her mound and tearing at
her breasts and stomach.  It was all too much for her, she was swirling in
a fog of incredible sensations.  She no longer felt the crop against her
ass, she only felt the rough bark against her body as she ground mindlessly
against it, sparks going off before her eyes as sensations she had never
felt before assaulted her whole body.  More sparks and a blinding white
flash lit up her vision as she body tensed and she screamed at the breaking
tension which poured wave after wave of fire through every nerve in her
body.  She bucked and shook and spasmed against the tree, engulfed in a
world of her own pleasure, before she slowly slid down to the ground and
lay, limbs akimbo, half conscious, on the ground. 
Achilles watched her growing orgasm with satisfaction and lust, and felt
victory as she came violently against the tree.  She was his now.  He
wasn't going to fuck her now--it was too soon.  Let her think about how she
had reacted, how she had come for the first time in her life in this orange
grove, how he had made her shake violently in orgasm.  Silently he handed
her her dress and said, "I want to see you tomorrow in my room at 4:00. 
Don't be late," before walking off to the school, hoping he wasn't to late
to catch the last bit of Sara's torture.  He needed a good fuck right about
now. 

Amy lay on the ground panting for breath, her mind slowly regaining control
over her body.  She felt drained; she stood up on wobbly knees and, leaning
back agianst the tree, put on her dress.  It was all she could do to make
her body obey her commands; she pushed the thoughts of what she had done,
what Achilles had seen her do, to the back of her mind: she couldn't deal
with it right now.  She stood there for some time while her wits and her
equilibrium came back to her, and then began walking home, her mind
purposefully numb.  As she walked, the cool evening air brushed gently
against her, cooling her sweating body and forcing her mind to the damp
spot between her legs.  She stumbled and closed her eyes tight, a moan
escaping her lips; she couldn't have done that, she just couldn't have! 
She stopped, her mind working furiously: for the first time in her life she
had had an orgasm--okay.  It had been fireworks and earthshaking and bombs
bursting; she could accept that, that was okay, but how and where her body
had finally brought her that pleasure she couldn't accept, and her mind
turned in shame from it. 
She started walking again, faster and faster until she was almost running. 
She had been stripped, collared, and gagged.  She had been oggled, leashed,
and forced to lick someone's feet.  Finally, she had been beaten like a
horse while she straddled a tree.  How could that have turned her on?! 
How?!  She knew, though, deep down she knew as she ran home as fast as her
legs could take her, that it had.  She knew that her lust had grown with
each degrading act she was forced to perform, knew that her punishment,
only right and fitting, had released something inside her, some vestige of
control or desire for control, and freed a part of her that wanted, that
lusted, to be degraded and humiliated and most importantly, controlled. 
She choked back tears as she ran up to her room and threw herself on her
bed; it was too much, too much all at once. 
Achilles hustled down to the boiler room, using the keys Jim had given him,
and was disappointed to find no one there.  Oh well, he thought, there was
always tomorrow. 
Thursday Jim noticed that Amy didn't show up to class, but Maria was back
to her normal biting self, meaner than ever if that was possible.  The day
before she had even stopped by and made several requests for certain items,
the better to torture her teacher with.  He thought about Amy and Achilles
again, and thought that that boy didn't look like much, but he certainly
had a certain something.  Sara was coming along real well too: she got off
on everything he did to her, no matter how painful and humiliating.  He was
hoping Achilles could get Amy to fall in line soon, since he would love to
tear off a piece of that cunt too.  Amy and Sara and Maria all together:
those were the stuff of dreams. 
Amy knew better than to play sick with Achilles, even if it worked with her
parents.  She didn't know what he had planned, but she dreaded it with a
passion, and at the same time some bizarre quirk in her, some small part in
her mind, anticipated it, wanted it.  She was everything bad, this small
part of her self told her: she was a murderess, a bigot, swollen with
pride; not only that, but also a slut, a horny cunt who came whenever some
man beat her.  It was only a small part of her mind which told her these
things, but it got louder and louder as she approached Achilles' house. 
She arrived and was met at the door by Achilles, who immediately led her up
to his room and locked the door.  He kept her standing as he sat down on
his bed and looked her over; she shuddered under his gaze, remembering the
last time he had seen her. 
"That was quite a show you put on yesterday," his voice startled her so
that she jumped a little.  He frowned, "That's bad.  I'm supposed to punish
you, not bring you off." She blushed at his remarks, her pale skin turning
a dark crimson as shame washed through her.  She remained silent. 
"Well, we can't have you enjoying your punishment, can we?  Can we!" he
shouted. 
"N...n...no," she stuttered, her head down, her arms straight and crossed
before her. 
He leaned back, "So tell me, what part of your punishment did you enjoy?"
She looked at him for the first time since she had arrived, anger and
desperation suffusing her body, "None!" she shouted, "I hated it all; it
was horrible, just horrible," she finished, her emotion subsiding to an
almost pleading desire for belief. 
Achilles smiled mockingly, "Well, for someone who hated every moment of
what happened to her, you gave a good impression of fucking a tree to
orgasm." Then he noticed that she was crying silently, standing before him
dressed in a summer dress and looking so much like a little girl. 
Standing, he went over to her and reached under her chin, lifting her face
up until he was looking directly into her eyes.  "You did hate it, didn't
you," he said softly. 
"Y...yes," was whispered. 
"But you came too; I know you did."
"Yes."
"You hated coming; you hated feeling like that.  I'm right, aren't I?"
"Yes."
"Why?" A simple question. 
Sobbing silently now, she broke away from him and sat down hard onto the
floor.  "I'm so bad," she choked out.  "I...I deserved everything you did
to me.  It felt so good.  It's evil.  Horrible.  I...I'm no good...for
anything...like a whore.  I don't wanna be who I am." She started sobbing
for real now, her face buried in her hands.  Achilles watched her for a
moment, pity warring with elation in his mind.  He was surprised at how
quickly she had broken, but then again he had been surprised that she had
orgasmed the other day.  Now was the time to build her back up, to build
her back up into the person he wanted her to be.  Careful, he thought to
himself, careful or the old personality will reassert itself.  I must
incorporate that personality, he thought, must allow it free reign
somewhere.  Thinking furiously, he knelt down beside her and held her,
soothing her the same way he would a small child, cooing to her "my little
princess" over and over again.  When her sobbing had abated somewhat he
lifted her chin again until he looking into her big, beautiful blue eyes,
glistening with tears, and spoke to her in short, comforting sentences,
telling her she didn't have to be bad, telling her he could help her, that
he loved her and wanted what was best for her.  The problem, he suggested,
watching carefully for her reactions, was that she had no structure in her
life; he could change that.  She would have to trust him.  He would take
everything bad about her, her pride, her lust, her fear, and wall it away
from her, keep her safe from it.  Only he would have to see her like that,
and he would control her then, if she only let him.  He could handle it;
only trust him.  Trust him. 
He talked for over an hour like that to her, calm and reassuring.  He was
right, she knew: she couldn't trust herself anymore; she could trust him,
though: he loved her.  To be like she was, calm, confident, sure of
herself--how she wished she could be like that again.  She could, he was
telling her.  She could be her old self, without all that had corrupted
her, made her filth.  She was two different people, she understood, Amy
Sanders--the good, strong, woman who was going to college and was going to
be a success--and someone else, someone who associated with murders and
covered up her crimes and was swollen with pride and arrogance and was a
slut who couldn't control her own body.  She understood what he was saying:
to the outside world she could be Amy Sanders, but to him she would release
the dark side of herself so that it couldn't get out and contaminate her,
and he would punish that dark side of her.  Yes, she wanted that; she did,
she really really did. 
"Do it," she said, "help me."
Hearing the magic words, Achilles stood up and walked in front of his bed
and said, "Stand up.  You understand what you have to do, Amy?  I will be
like your confessor: everything bad that you do or think I will punish,
every twinge of lust I will expiate, but you must bring them all to me. 
You must not hide them away like you did before or they will destroy you
like they almost did before.  Do you understand?" "Yes," she said, relief
at this release of her burden invigorating her, and she felt a surge of
happiness for the first time in days. 
"Okay then, in order to do this correctly, we have to make some rules,
yes?"
"Yes."
"You have to obey everything I tell you to do without question. 
Understand?"
"Yes."
"And when you're with me your name will be Princess.  Tell me your name."
"Princess."
"You will call me master at all times.  Now, what is your name." "Princess,
master."
"That's enough for now; let's begin."
"Yes master."
His cock was already as hard as a rock as he walked slowly around her like
a disapproving drill seargent.  Amy Sanders was finally and truly his!  All
his to do whatever he wanted to, and he knew what he was going to do to her
today--thank god his parents were out of the house until seven tonight. 
Amy's heart fluttered as Achilles walked around her, looking her up and
down.  She felt freed in some bizarre way; now she didn't have to be in
control.  Later she would be, but now all she had to do was whatever
Achilles, her master, told her too.  It was liberating, because she no
longer had to be afraid of what she would do--her master would take care of
it.  It would all come out, she knew, her uncontrollable id which so
recently had taken over her life, would come out to be punished and
mastered, and then to retreat so that she could live a normal life until
she needed her master to tame it again, to tame her, to tame Princess.  He
would let Princess out and keep her away from her, Amy Sanders.  No, she
thought, I am Princess, and she felt a tingling in her groin at the
thought, and she squeezed her thighs together.  I'm bad, she thought, I'm
bad and need to be punished.  Punish me, master, punish Princess she
thought. 
He came back around until his face was inches from her, and he barked out,
"Strip." Her gaze locked by his, she did what he commanded, baring her
young, firm, nubile body to him.  He stepped back and looked at her, at her
strong nose dominating her face, her kinky blond hair falling past her
shoulders, her firm, perky breasts with their perfectly porportioned
nipples, her slender waist and almost skinny but perfectly formed legs, her
blond curling pubic hairs and her dull, thin lips.  All his, he thought,
feeling his cock throb in his pants.  "I saw you fuck that tree yesterday,
Princess, you slut," he growled out.  "I've never seen anyone fuck a tree
before.  Did you like it Princess?  Did you like fucking that tree."
"Yes master."
"You know what that make you, don't you cunt?  It makes you a fucking
worthless slut!"
"Yes master," she said with her chin trembling. 
"Say it!"
"I'm a fucking worthless slut, master."
"Spread your legs, Princess."
She obeyed him, feeling dirty and slutty and worthless, spreading her legs
until she was standing with her feet three feet apart.  It made her feel
exposed, standing naked before him with her legs spread like this, but that
excited her, excited Princess.  Amy Sanders would never do this, she
thought, Amy is such a good girl.  She trembled inside with pleasure.  She
felt his hands, her master's hands, against her shoulders as he gripped
them firmly, sending an electric thrill through her body.  She felt her
vaginal--her cunt--lips begin to swell and moisture begin to form between
her legs.  He was making Princess hot, staring into her eyes and holding
her by the shoulders and she almost whimpered in desire as she stood
there.  She was so bad. 
She felt his hands jerk her toward him an instant before blinding pain
flashed through her groin as his knee jerked viscously into her cunt.  She
doubled over, all feelings of sexual excitement fleeing, and dropped her
hands to protect her throbbing sex. 
Still holding onto her shoulders, she heard her master say, "You deserved
that, didn't you, you dirty cunt?"
"Y...yes master," she whined, pain taking her breath away.  And she knew
that she did deserve it.  All dirty sluts deserved to be treated like the
pieces of meat they were, and they shouldn't forget it.  His hands forced
her to her knees and she landed with a thump, her groin still in agony over
his unexpected blow.  "My little Princess wanted to be fucked, just like
the slut she is, but I don't think you deserve to be fucked, do you slut?"
"No master." The pain was finally abating somewhat, although her whole
groin throbbed as if bruised.  She groaned as she straightened up onto her
knees and saw that her master was removing his clothes.  She watched in
fascination as he undressed: he didn't look like much, she thought, until
he removed his underwear, when she saw the largest cock she had ever seen. 
Achilles smiled when he saw her eyes widen at the sight of his penis.  "Do
you want to touch my cock, Princess?"
She was fascinated by it; Amy Sanders had never seen a penis that size: it
was at least two inches longer and an inch thicker than any penis Amy had
seen.  Princess licked her lips--poor Amy, she wasn't going to get any of
her master's cock.  "Yes master," she said, not taking her eyes off his
cock, "Princess wants to touch your cock." "Does Princess want to suck my
cock?"
She was taken aback for a second; it was so large, and she had never done
it before--at least Amy hadn't. But Amy wasn't a filthy whore like Princess
was, and Princess found herself salivating at the chance to put that
enormous cock in her mouth.  "Yes master," she hissed, "let me suck your
cock."
"Crawl over here and beg," he said sitting down onto the edge of the bed. 
She crawled over between his legs, her breasts swinging heavily beneath
her, her groin throbbing now more with excitement than pain.  "Please
master, let me suck your beautiful cock.  I want it so bad.  Princess is a
worthless dirty slut and wants her master's cock in her mouth.  Please
master, let me suck your cock."
His wildest fantasies had come true: here was Amy Sanders, on her hands and
knees, naked, and begging to blow him.  He grabbed her head and forced it
against his cock, sighing in pleasure as she wrapped her lips around his
dick and began to suck him. 
He felt so large in her mouth, she thought as she sucked his cock into the
warm, wet confines of her oral cavity--salty, too.  It felt good, too, to
be on her knees with her master's cock in her mouth; a slut like her should
have a cock in her mouth at all times.  As she sucked, gripping the shaft,
she thought of it in her cunt, reaming her out, stretching her wide, and
she felt a thin trail of moisture drip down the inside of her thigh.  She
squeezed her thighs together, pleasure beginning to consume her body, and
thought of even fouler pleasures: what if he put his cock in her ass?  A
slut like her, like Princess, would love a big cock in her ass.  She gasped
out around the prick in her mouth as a small orgasm blossumed in her cunt. 
Amy Sanders would never get fucked in the ass. 
Achilles sat back and enjoyed every minute of the blow job he was getting
from his dream girl.  He moaned as she sucked her cheeks in to massage his
dick as she bobbed her head up and down while running her hand along his
shaft and down to his balls.  Her tongue scraped along the bottom of his
cock, the tip occasionally teasing her vein just under the circumcised
head.  He would have to teach her to deep throat, he thought as he felt the
pressure begin to build up in his balls, but for now she's doing fine.  It
was even better that she was getting into it so much; he could have sworn
she had had an orgasm just a minute ago.  She felt his cock begin to expand
and his hands grip the back of her head, forcing more of his dick into her
mouth.  He was going to come, Princess thought, he was going to shoot his
come into her mouth--she trembled in pleasure, sucking harder and running
her fingers under his balls to press hard against the soft flesh there. 
Achilles bellowed as he felt her fingers press against the soft skin
between his anus and his balls, and he shot wad after wad of come into her
willing, sucking mouth, gasping in pleasure as she continued to work his
sensitive knob. 
Princess felt his come splatter against her throat and she swallowed
greedily, sucking down each blast of his come and luxuriating in the feel
if it sliding slickly down her throat.  She was such a slut, such a whore,
she thought, to be doing this, and felt another small orgasm shake her as
she squeezed her thighs together once more.  She kept sucking on his cock
until he became flacid and pushed her head away.  She looked up at him
expectantly: she was a good slut, wasn't she?  Achilles looked in amazement
down at the doglike expectancy on Amy's face as she gazed up at him, her
mouth slightly open in what was unmistakably excitement.  He had succeeded
beyond his wildest dreams with her.  "You've been a good bitch, you have,"
he said, patting her on the head.  "You deserve a reward.  Get up on the
bed."
She eagerly obeyed and laid on her side watching him as he went over to his
closet and took down a large box, rummaged through it, and pulled out a
large dildo--it was even larger than his cock, she saw, amazed.  It must
have been twelve inches long and two thick, she thought, growing excited at
the mere thought of taking that up her twat.  "Here you go, Princess, play
with this while I take some pictures." She grabbed it eagerly as it landed
on the bed and rolled onto her back, spreading her legs and running the
enormous dildo against her swollen labia, moaning and gasping in pleasure
as she teased herself to further arousal. 
Achilles pulled out his camera and began taking pictures--he didn't want to
forget this, his first night with Amy Sanders.  Besides, she was so sexy
like that, in the throws of passion.  Princess could hear the sound of her
master's camera as she spread her labia with one hand and eased the monster
dildo in with the other, but it just excited her more; she was going to be
on film; he could show any of his friends how nasty and sluttish she was. 
Yes, she thought as she slid the dildo into her gaping cunt until it bumped
against her cervix, leaving a full three inches outside her snatch.  She
moved her free hand and began playing with her clit as she slowly worked
the dildo around in her cunt, pleasure assaulting every nerve in her body. 
She began to writhe and moan as the sensations built, puntuated each time
she slammed the dildo hard against her cervix, sending pleasure cascading
up her spine.  She could feel a tremendous orgasm build within her guts,
and she mashed down on her clitorus, trying to bring it now, now--so
close. 
Rough hands grabbed the dildo from her and ripped it from her cunt and
knocked her other hand away from her clitorus.  Her body jacknifed up in
unfulfilled lust and she screamed "NOOOO!!!" trying to bring her hands back
to her clitorus, trying to achieve the most incredible orgasm she had ever
had which was just a touch away.  A sharp slap shocked her out of her
sexual frenzy as her head was knocked back onto the bed and to one side,
stunning her and sending her orgasm fleeing.  She moaned in sexual torment,
wanting, needing, any release now.  Another slap knocked her completely
back to her senses--god, she was so hot, needed it so badly, but now she
was looking into the eyes of her angry master, partially obscured by her
kinky blond hair which had flown wildly about her head. 
"What did you say to me cunt?" he growled angrily, leaning over her and
holding her down on the bed by her shoulders.  "P...please...master..."
"What did you say to me?" He made his voice even angrier. 
"...no...master."
"YOU DON'T EVER SPEAK BACK TO ME AGAIN, YOU STUPID CUNT!" he screamed,
jerking her off the bed by her head and dragging her to the foot of it. 
"Please master, please," she begged, scared now as he threw her onto her
knees so that she was bent over the end of the bed, her ass in the air.  He
placed one hand against her neck, forcing her head into the mattress, and
grabbed a large paddle with the other.  WHACK!  She screamed as he brought
the paddle down as hard as he could against the back of he thighs. 
WHACK!  She screamed again as the paddle struck her ass cheeks with
tremendous force. 
WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  Again and again he brought the
paddle down against her ass and her thighs until they were a deep red from
the beating and she was sobbing into the mattress.  He released her for a
minute and returned, spreading her asscheeks, bringing a loud sob from her
throat. 
She was miserable; her ass and thighs were a mass of fiery, throbbing
pain.  She should never had talked back to her master, but she had been so
close, so close and he had taken it away from her.  She still felt, even
after the beating, and aching emptiness in her cunt, a yearning for an
orgasm.  What was he doing?  She felt a coolness around her anus as he
smeared grease over her sphincter.  He was going to fuck her in the ass! 
The thought drove some of the pain away.  He beat her and then he was going
to shove his fat cock up her ass--it was so perverse, so dirty, so nasty,
she felt her cunt twitch and the pain in her ass and thighs burn hotter. 
She felt the head of his cock press against her anus as his fingers roughly
dug into her throbbing asscheeks.  It felt like she was taking the biggest
shit of her life, but it didn't hurt thanks to the copious amount of grease
he had used.  She felt it slide slowly in, every single inch, filling up
her guts until she thought she was going to explode.  It felt so strange
having a cock up her ass, so filling.  Achilles grunted as he popped his
cock through her tiny brown sphincter, watching intently as he slid it
slowly into her guts.  Damn she had a tight ass, he thought, as he bottomed
out, his hips pressing against her spread ass cheeks.  He leaned over her
until he could whisper in her ear, and began whispering that she loved
having a cock in her ass, what a slut, what a whore, that she was no better
than a piece of fucking meat to take his cock wherever he wanted to put it,
that she was a worthless slut to get off on this, and more.  He slowly
pulled his hips back until only the head of his cock was still in her ass,
and then pounded forward. 
The things he was whispering to her, oh god, she thought, sliding her hand
down to her clitorus and mashing it between her fingers; it was so hot, so
good.  Her mouth opened into an O of surprise and pleasure as she felt his
cock slowly slide out from her ass, feeling like it was dragging her guts
with it.  It felt so strangly good.  She imagined Amy getting used like she
was, and that excited her more: goody-two-shoes Amy getting beaten and
fucked like some piece of meat--she grunted in passion. 
Achilles slammed his cock in and out of Amy's tiny asshole, reveling in the
sensations assaulting his penis.  It was so tight and clinging, and he was
still turned on from his paddling of her.  God, he thought, Amy Sanders,
letting me pound her ass then letting me fuck her up the bum, and loving
every minute of it.  He felt, deep in his groin, the beginning tingle of
what he knew was going to be a tremendous orgasm.  Princess was practically
out of her mind now.  The twin pleasures, so different, from his cock in
her ass and her fingers on her clit were driving her wild.  She grunted in
time with his viscous thrusts and drool spilled from her gaping mouth.  Her
whole body felt like it was on fire; even her breasts which were being
rubbed achingly back and forth against the bed as her body jerked to her
master's thrusts.  She had begun trembling she didn't know when, the
pleasure so overwhelming, but she drove her fingers harder against her
clit, knowing that with a little more, just a little more, she could go
even higher.  It started in her ass as her master drove his tool deep into
her guts.  It felt as if a cool wave of pleasure washed over her body,
causing her to jerk convulsively and jam her nails hard into her clit,
sending shooting sparks of pleasure flashing through her overworked
nerves.  She felt these two pleasures build into a crescendo, becoming more
and more intense, making her body rigid in anticipation, then sending it
into wildly jerking spasms as the most incredible orgasm literally burst
through her ass and groin, sending her wailing and thrashing under her
master. 
Achilles felt her ass spasm around his cock and felt the pressure in his
own groin reach a breaking point: any minute now, he thought, moaning at
the intense pleasure.  He grabbed onto her hair as he felt her body begin
to jerk beneath him, and groaned as her ass began sucking at his cock.  He
held on for dear life, hands tight around her skull, cock buried to its
limit in her ass, as her body became a bucking bronco beneath him and her
as a sucking, grasping, greedy oriface, trying to devour him.  His yell
matched hers as his cock spat out its come deep into her bowels, filling
her with his seed.  He held on, overwhelmed with pleasure as her ass kept
squeezing and milking his cock while her body trembled and jerked beneath
him. 
He lay on top of her for a full minute until her trembling subsided and he
could work up enough energy to move.  Slowly he pushed himself off of her
and winced as his sensitive cock popped from her ass.  "Okay, Princess, get
dressed and go home.  I want to see you in the orange grove tomorrow,
though.  Don't disappoint me." With that, he staggered into the bathroom
and splashed some water on his face.  Princess lay there, her senses
reeling from her orgasm, and listened to what her master said.  No, she
thought dizzily, she wouldn't disappoint him.  She got up and quickly
dressed, giggling as she left her master's house: wouldn't Amy be pissed
when she found that she'd have to clean up after her.  All that yummy come
leaking out of her asshole right now and running down the back of her
thighs--poor little Amy.  She giggle again as she thought about it. 
Amy was pissed off when she got home: that bitch Princess hadn't even
bothered to clean herself off before she came home.  Now she would have to
clean the cum from her asshole and wipe it away from her thighs; the taste
in her mouth was nasty, too.  Still, she thought, it was better than
before, with Princess threatening to take over her life at any moment and
destroy her.  Now Princess would only come out when Achilles told her to;
she was disgusted at the things Princess allowed Achilles to do to her--how
could she like that?--but better her than me, she thought.  She washed up,
feeling good for the first time in weeks; the old Amy Sanders, the winner,
was back. 
Friday rolled around, and Maria couldn't concentrate on anything.  She had
spent the last few days reading various bondage books and magazines and
watching bondage videos, trying to learn the best way to torture her bitch
of a teacher, Ms.  Sara Ellsworth.  She had formulated a plan which, she
thought, would give her the most satisfaction and her teacher the most
pain.  All she could do, all day, was imagine what it would be like,
punishing Ms.  Ellsworth until she screamed. 
Jim spent part of the day down in the boiler room of the school preparing
things for Maria and Sara.  It took a while to get everything in place, but
he wanted everything to be perfect.  He had told Maria that Sara was all
hers to use today, neither he nor Achilles would interfere.  Still, he
thought, if what Achilles had told him this morning was true, he wouldn't
have to go without pussy while he watched Sara get hers.  He smiled as he
thought about it and rubbed his cock through his jeans; if Achilles had
really managed to turn Amy into a piece of fuck meat he was prepared to be
impressed.  Besides, he had always wanted to ream out that cold bitch of a
teenager. 
Princess met Achilles in the orange grove after school as he commanded her
to, wearing a short skirt and blouse, and was surprised when he led her
immediately back toward the school from the rear.  She was even more
surprised when he led her down into the bowels of the school, using a
keyring of keys to let him past several locked doors.  Nothing, though,
prepared her for what she saw when Achilles led her into the boiler room,
dodging overhead pipes until they made it into a clear area.  Before her
eyes, she saw one of her teachers, Ms.  Ellsworth, standing naked,
spread-eagled with her arms chained to overhead pipes and her legs chained
to eye-hooks screwed into the concrete floor.  Two cameras, one facing her
from the front from an angle, and the other from the back at the same
angle, stood on tripods focussed on her and the janitor, a big black man,
who was running his hands all over her nude body.  Sara's eyes widened in
surprise as she saw, who was it, Amy, Amy Sanders, follow Achilles into the
boiler room.  Oh God, she thought, not another one, but she also grew more
excited.  She had known that today was not going to be the standard torture
and fuck day, since she had been tied there for at least half of an hour
and Jim still hadn't fucked her, hadn't even hurt her.  All he did was run
his hands gently over her body and rub his own prick through his pants,
driving her wild with desire.  She could barely move, though, chained as
she was.  Another girl, though--she had never had another girl; the thought
turned her on as she watched Amy stare at her in surprise.  Such a
beautiful young woman, Sara thought, thinking of what Jim might have
planned for her, for them, and growing more and more excited. 
Princess gasped and looked at Achilles, who seemed completely unperturbed. 
"I've brought you here," he said placidly, "for two reasons.  First, to
show you what will happen to you if you ever disobey me.  Second, since Jim
and I may or may not be using Sara today and her punishment is sure to turn
us on, you're here for both of us to use.  Do you understand?"
"Yes master," she said, and she did understand.  Her master was going to
share his little slut Princess with his big black friend: she trembled
inside as she thought of it.  To watch that woman's debasement--she admired
her trim, firm body with its luscious curves--while being used by someone
she didn't even know: she shuddered in excitement, feeling her cunt grow
moist and tingly.  "Why don't you go and beg Jim to give him a blowjob? 
I'll go and get the show started." With that, he headed toward a remote,
hidden corner of the room. 
Princess licked her lips and, placing her hands behind her back, walked
nervously over to Jim: he was huge, intimidating, the way he grinned down
at her while he absently tweaked Sara's breast.  She moved really close to
him, feeling arousal rise in her sluttish body at the nearness of such a
man, and looked up into his dark face.  "Please master Jim, please let me
suck your big, hard cock.  Please fill my mouth with your hot come; let me
taste every inch of your prick.  Please," she whined one final time. 
Looking down at this young white cunt begging to blow him, Jim was amazed:
Achilles had done quite a job on her.  "Well, little girl," he said, "take
off all your clothes and kneel in front of that table over there,"
motioning to the side where he had set up a table for him and Achilles to
watch the action.  He smiled as she quickly disrobed and kneeled before the
table.  Giving Sara's tit one last slap, he slowly undressed and then
headed over to see how well Achilles' bitch could suck dick. 
Sara couldn't believe her ears: they may or may not fuck her?!  What was
going on?  They bring in this slut--she couldn't believe how Amy was
acting--and say they were only going to watch?  Watch what?  What was going
to happen to her?  She wanted to ask, but was afraid, afraid of being hit
and afraid of the answer.  For the first time since she had given into her
passion for pain and degredation, she began to feel apprehension. 
Maria sat in the corner of the boiler room, fear, nervousness, and
anticipation struggling within the pit of her stomach.  She had put on her
costume fifteen minutes ago and put all her torture devices in a small
leather bag; now she was waiting, wondering whether she had the courage to
go through with this.  If she could just have the bitch alone, or even if
she could just hurt the bitch normally, but Jim had insisted she do it his
way, with certain liberties allowed her.  She realized that Jim and the
partner he had talked about would probably want to fuck her: could she go
through with this?  Then she thought about what Ms.  Sara Ellsworth had
done to her: she had had her raped by three boys.  It had shattered her
life; she could not forgive that.  It was payback time, she thought, and a
rightous anger filled her: what she was going to do to that fucking
cunt.... Anything was worth that, anything.  She was startled when Achilles
stuck his head around the edge of a large boiler and told her it was time
before dashing off to take his place in this little drama.  She breathed in
deeply and stood up on the three inch spike heels she was wearing, picked
up her bag in one hand and a three foot, very flexible, reed switch in the
other, and walked toward the center of the room. 
The first thing she noticed when she stepped into sight of Sara, Achilles,
and Jim, was the brightness of the room.  Periphrilly she saw Achilles
standing naked behind one of two cameras set up in the room, pointing it at
her, and she saw Jim, sitting on a low table to her right with his hand on
the back of a naked blond girl's head getting a blowjob.  These sights,
though, were mere distractions to her; in the middle of the space, standing
tied spread-eagled, was Ms.  Sara Ellsworth, a look of shock and terror on
her face as she saw and recognized Maria.  An expression of pure hate
twisted Maria's features as she squared her shoulders, set down her bag,
and strolled meaningfully over to face her teacher. 
Jim was sitting enjoying a pretty good blowjob from Achilles' slut,
thinking that what she lacked in experience she sure made up for in
enthusiasm, when he caught sight of Maria as she strode out of the shadows
toward Sara.  She was a vision of a bondage goddess, Jim thought, eyeing
her with deep appreciation and lust.  Her legs were encased up to mid thigh
in high-heeled leather boots, making them seem even shapelier and longer
than they already were and focusing attention on pair of small, leather
panties with barely covered her patch of pubic hair.  Her upper thighs and
firm stomach were creamy olive in color up to her belly button before the
rest of her waist was cinched firmly in by a black bodice which lifted and
squeezed her overfull breasts together and up, revealing the tops of her
mounds almost down to her nipples.  Her face was the only thing which
jarred with the image of a leather goddess in his mind: it was young, a
fifteen year old's face thickly done up in harsh makeup.  Dark red lipstick
brought out the fullness of her mouth and lips; a base smoothed her already
smooth skin; heavy black eyeliner and eyelash thickener made her dark eyes
darker.  Jim watched as she moved with the sureness of a tiger ready to
pounce, feeling his balls contract and approach orgasm at the very sight of
her.  Sara was stunned.  Maria, Maria would kill her, she thought.  She was
terrified of Maria; Maria had reason to hate her, to hurt her.  She glanced
wildly over at Jim, who only smiled cruelly, and then at Achilles, who was
hidden behind a camera.  Oh god, she thought, don't let this happen, as she
tried to cower away from the girl she had had raped and broke out in a
sweat. 
Maria saw the fear in Sara's eyes and a feeling of absolute power welded to
joy flowed through her.  All hers, she thought, this bitch was all hers. 
"Please," Sara wimpered softly, begging for Maria not to do what she knew
Maria was going to do. 
"SHUT UP!" Maria yelled viscously, bringing the switch down blazingly fast
and hard against the outside of Sara's left breast.  Sara bit her lip and
cried out inwardly, barely suppressing a shout of pain as agony ripped
through her. 
"SHUT UP!" Maria yelled again, a fury overtaking her as the pent up tension
of her wait, and her hatred of this woman broke forth, spilling over into a
rapid series of blows across Sara's tits with the switch. 
<WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> went the switch as it landed again
and again against Sara's breasts.  She clenched her teeth as pain coursed
through her, each blow feeling like it was tearing a piece of flesh from
her breast.  She finally screamed when Maria struck her across the nipple,
pain exploding across her chest and darkening her mind as she trembled and
shook against her bonds.  "AAAAHHHHHHGGGGG!" she cried, "Please stop! 
Stop!  AAAAAAAAAAA!" as the beating seemed to go on forever.  Finally Maria
stopped, panting in released rage, and Sara hung limply against her arms
for a moment, the burning pain in her breasts seeming to spread across her
entire torso.  She moaned as it reached her groin and she felt herself grow
moist: even this?  she thought to herself, trying to regain her footing. 
Princess was happily sucking on Jim's large black cock, not as large as her
master's, she thought pridefully, thinking about how debased she was.  It
excited her to think that here she was, an upper middle class white girl
was on her knees servicing a big black stud like Jim--and he was a
janitor!  Her master knew what he was doing when he brought her here; she
needed to be treated like this, like some common whore.  She heard the
clacking of heels on concrete and wanted to turn her head, but Jim's hand
was in her hair and his cock was in her mouth so she couldn't look.  Still,
she felt Jim's excitement and clenched her thighs together, feeling her
juices begin to drip sluggishly down her inner thighs, with the thought
that soon he would fill her mouth with come.  She started when she heard
shouting and the viscous whacking sound of flesh being struck followed by
screams of pain, but turned her attention more eagerly toward teasing the
come from the cock in her mouth, for she felt his cock begin to expand
slightly in her mouth and his hand tighten on the back of her head. 
Suddenly he groaned and large wads of his come splattered against the back
of her mouth, and she swallowed eagerly, luxuriating in the feel of his
come sliding slickly down her throat.  She squeezed her legs together and
felt the small bloom of an orgasm rush through her body; it was so good, so
good to be doing this, to be treated like this. 
Maria panted with exertion as Sara struggled to regain her feet.  She
lowered the switch and, turning, put it on the ground next to her leather
bag.  Opening the bag, she pulled out a two foot long gleaming stainless
steel needle, sharp on both ends, which she held in the palms of both hands
as she showed it to Sara.  She felt incredible: adrenaline was coursing
through her body, giving her an incredible rush and exciting her beyond
belief.  She never would have thought that hurting another person would
give her such pleasure, but hurting Sara Ellsworth certainly did. 
"Do you know what I'm going to do with this, Sara?" she asked silkily,
holding the long needle before her eyes.  Sara could imagine a thousand
things Maria might do, so she begged, pleaded, "Please, please don't hurt
me anymore," all the while feeling the pain in her breasts turn into an
erotic throbbing which made her cunt run even more freely with its juices. 
She was scared and in pain at the same time, and it was, she admitted in
the back of her head, and incredible turn on; but she didn't want any more
pain, certainly not the type of pain she knew Maria had in store for her. 
She grimaced and gasped in pain as Maria gripped her left nipple between
her fingernails and pulled it away from her body, stretching it into a
small, dark red cone.  She felt her blood pound through her abused nipple
and screamed "NOOOO!  NOOOO!  OH GOD NOOOO!  DON'T! PLEASE!" as she saw
Maria bring the tip of the long needle against the outside of her breast. 
Her screams turned into shrieks of pure agony as Maria slowly pressed the
needle into her distended nipple, piercing the flesh as she inexorably
drove the needle into her teachers nipple.  "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! 
AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" Sara screamed as she felt the needle tear
through the tender flesh of her nipple and, dragging the ripped flesh
around its punture with it, tear out the other side, completely piercing
the small red bud topping her breast.  She quivered and shook and tried to
pull her breast away from this torture, but Maria held her tight between
her fingernails, drawing even more blood from the very tip of her nipple as
they dug painfully into the nib of Sara's nipple.  The agony was
excrutiating, narrowing her consciousness down to that one small, tortured
point on her body as she screamed her throat raw.  Finally the pain abated
somewhat, dulling to a sharp throbbing which drew ragged cried from her
throat at each beat of her pounding heart. 
Maria released her teacher's nipple and looked with pleasure upon her
accomplishment: the needle neatly pierced Sara's nipple, two thin streams
of blood running down either side of her breast to join at its base before
drying just before reaching her naval.  The very tip of the nipple, where
she had gripped it between her fingernails, was suitably bruised and
swollen, with blood and fluid oozing out through the torn flesh.  She
reveled in the small cries of pain her teacher made, and looked up into her
eyes, smiling as she saw the agony and dismay etched deeply on Sara's
face. 
"I'm not done yet," she said cruelly, still holding the needle with her
fingers, earning a look of complete terror from Ms.  Ellsworth.  Achilles
was excited beyond belief as he watched Maria sadistically pierce her
teacher's nipple and heard the screams of inhuman agony torn from her
throat; he was getting it all on tape, too, which made it even better.  He
eagerly made his way over to were both Jim and Princess, Jim still sitting
on the table and his cock slowly beginning to resusitate and Princess still
kneeling on the ground beside Jim's leg, were both entranced with the
theater going on in front of them.  He quickly grabbed Princess by the hair
and commanded her to stand up and grab her ankles, whereupon he grabbed her
hips and quickly thrust into her sopping cunt, sighing at the feel of the
soft folds of skin engulfing his prick. 
Princess was once again denied the sight of the woman's torture, but the
cock in her cunt assuaged that disappointment.  The scene before her had
been so horrible, so twistedly erotic, that it had driven her to another
orgasm before her master had demanded use of her cunt.  She heard the
woman's screams resume and knew that the girl was driving the spike through
her other nipple, the sounds of the woman's sexual agony bringing her even
closer to orgasm as her master's cock pounded her furiously from behind,
almost knocking her over with each thrust, only holding her up with the
firm grip his hands had on her hips. 
Maria stepped back and viewed her handiwork, her cunt moist and slick from
her exertions.  Both Sara's nipples were pierced through with the single,
long needle, the weight of which dragged both her breasts down slightly. 
Two thin trails of blood, coming from each of her nipples, had dried
against her skin just before reaching her belly button.  The bitch herself
was quivering in pain as she tried to maintain her balance, low moans of
agony coming from her throat each time her shaking body made her breasts
swing even a little bit.  Turning back to her bag, Maria pulled out a thin
cord and tied it tight to the center of the needle, between Sara's breasts,
and, feeding out line, walked about ten feet away draped the other end of
the cord over a pipe about head high.  Slowly she pulled the cord tight,
earning a long, drawn out moan from her teacher, until the bitch's breasts
were distended into fleshy cones, the point of piercing of each nipple
beginning to bleed again under the tension of the rope.  Maria pulled it a
little tighter then quickly tied it off.  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," Sara
moaned as she felt her breasts stretched into fleshy cones of meat; it felt
like her nipples were going to be ripped off by the pressure.  The agony of
the torture of her breasts had spread throughout her body, which was tense
and sweating with strain, making her cunt burn with need.  She couldn't
help it; the worse the pain became, the more her pussy demanded released,
and now it was burning with a need more torturous than the piercing of her
nipples, her juice slicking the insides of her thighs and dripping off from
the sides of her knees to form a small puddle on the ground between her
legs.  "Please, please touch me," she begged as Maria returned carrying a
curious black box with a dial connected to three long wires ending in small
clamps. 
"Oh, the whore wants to come?" Maria spat sarcastically, turning to her
audience.  "Do you think this cunt deserves that pleasure?  Well I don't."
It was better than she imagined; she had thought she only wanted to torture
the bitch, but making her beg for sex while she inflicted torture after
torture upon her was even better.  She felt a thrill of excitement as she
clipped one of the clamps to the end of the needle through Sara's nipples
and another clamp through the other end.  The third clamp she held up
before the bitch's eyes and smiled before kneeling down right in front of
her gaping, dripping pussy.  Placing her fingers just on the outside of the
front of her snatch, Maria pulled her labia apart, exposing Sara's clit,
glistening with lubrication.  She quickly snapped the clip onto her
teacher's clit and received a satisfactory shuddering in response. 
Oh god, Sara thought as the clamp closed tightly over her clit, sending
more shooting pain through her body, it had almost brought her off.  A
little more and she would have come: how she needed to come!  She hung her
head and strained against her chains, trying to bring herself off, but it
was no use.  She looked up and saw Maria standing before her holding four
stick pins, having set the black box down on the ground in front of her. 
She saw her tormentor kneel down and suddenly turn the dial on the box, and
she immediately felt its results.  It felt like a thousand tiny mules were
kicking her nipples, breasts, clit, and cunt as the electricity flowed into
her body.  It thrummed through her sex and breasts, slowly increasing as
Maria turned the dial.  Her whole body tensed to the pounding of the
current and the throbbing of her blood in her ears.  She closed her eyes as
the current transformed all the pain in her body, turning it an agonizingly
hightened sensation coursing across her nerves. 
She screamed as a sharp, tearing pain hit her breast, looking to see Maria
driving one of her pins down into the flesh of her breast.  Again the pain
in her breast as Maria drove another pin into her; and again with her other
breast.  Now her vision was fading into and out of black as the sensations
engulfing her body overwhelmed her: they were not pain and they were not
pleasure, just an unbearable screaming of tortured nerves.  Her whole body
shook under the barrage of electricity, her legs and stomach tense.  The
fourth pin entered her breast near the nipple, and she screamed, not
hearing her own voice, as she finally lost control of her bladder, her warm
urine splattering on the floor and sprinkling her feet, ankles, and
calves.  Far awy, she felt hands on her shoulders--she was floating in an
agony of sensation--and she felt a deep thumping at her pelvis as Maria
kneed her in the groin.  <Thump> <Thump> <Thump> the knee pounded her sex,
and she shrieked like a lost soul as a hot, blistering wind swept through
her tormented body, originating from her cunt and coursing across the raw
nerves of her body, sending her thrashing against her bonds in an orgasm of
pain.  She shrieked and shrieked, completely engulfed by this unbearable
sensation which was both agony and ecstacy, before darkness clouded her
vision and she fell heavily against her bonds, hanging from her arms in
oblivion.  Princess watchedon her hands and knees with Jim's fat cock
reaming out her asshole as Sara shrieked in what was either incredible
agony or incredible ecstacy and collapsed into unconsciousness.  She felt
the cock in her ass throb and fill her bowels with warm seed, setting off a
shuddering orgasm of her own.  This whole afternoon had been so obscene,
she thought, and looked up again to see the girl, Maria, rub herself
through her leather panties.  She came again as she superimposed the image
of Amy over the woman hanging in chains before this wanton teenager.  It
was all too good to be true, too sexy, to erotic, to pleasurable. 
She relaxed on the ground as she watched Jim and her master take down the
cunt Sara, while Maria arranged a set of pillows on the floor and, before
laying down, roman style, on them, removed her panties, sliding them over
her long leather boots.  The two men called her over and handed her two
towels and a bucket, telling her to clean up Sara and the mess she had
made, and to remove all the metal from her body.  She was her master's
slave, and obeyed eagerly, awed by the damage done to the woman's tits. 
Where each pin had penitrated was a deep, dark, blue-black bruise, and her
nipples, even after being cleaned with an alchohol solution, looked
mangled: she guessed they would take at least a month to heal, if they
healed at all.  Once she finished cleaning up the floor, her master told
her to roll Sara onto her stomach and tie her elbows and wrists together
behind her back.  She felt a thrill of pleasure as she tightened the
leather straps around the woman's arms and wrists, feeling a surge of
pleasure at this domination of another cunt like her.  She hoped her master
would allow her to play with this bitch; she really wanted to. 
Maria gasped in pleasure as Jim expertly caressed her vagina with his
fingers, his other hand popping one of her large breasts from her bodice
and teasing the nipple.  It had all been such a turn on, seeing Sara take
punishment like that, and she felt on the verge of orgasm.  "What do you
want to do to her now?" Jim asked Maria, looking down at the luscious,
young piece of fuck-meat gasping and groaning under his fingers.  She was
good, he thought, hot and good, and how he wanted to fuck her brains out. 
Not now, though; there would be time enough for that later. 
"I wha...wha...want," she gasped out, beginning to loose herself in
pleasure, "I don't know what I want."
"Why don't you have her eat out your beautiful pussy," he suggested,
working his fingers faster on her clit and breast.  Make the cunt eat me,
Maria thought, gasping under Jim's attentions.  "Yessss," she hissed,
feeling her body tense in orgasm as blinding flashes struck her vision as
she came for the first time in her life.  She shuddered convulsively,
pleasure flashing through her cunt and breasts and legs, and then
collapsed.  "Yes," she said lazily, "wake the bitch up so she can suck me
off."
Jim grinned as he watched Maria orgasm, and then got up to help with the
resusitation of their sex toy.  A few smelling salts and she came right
around, moaning and groaning as she did so.  Sara slowly came out of the
darkness engulfing her, slowly came back to the throbbing agony in her
breasts and ache in her shoulders and back, and the nagging, irritating
itch in her clitorus.  She was exhausted and spent, hoping that they would
ask no more of her, but realizing that they had more in store for her by
the tight binding of her arms behind her back. 
"Crawl on your belly, bitch," she heard Maria command, "crawl on your belly
to my pussy and pleasure me with your tongue." She looked up toward the
girl and saw that the dirty blonde, Amy, was sucking on Maria's breasts,
licking and suckling them lovingly with attention and care.  Achilles and
Jim were standing to either side of the girl's legs, both sporting large
erections. 
She groaned in dismay but guessed that she couldn't refuse, so she turned
her body until her head faced Maria and began pushing herself forward with
her legs, her legs spread like a frog and her sore breasts scraping
painfully over the rough concrete of the floor.  She grimaced and gasped as
she felt the scabs on her nipples tear open, and rough pain lance through
her breasts.  She didn't stop, though, even when she felt the skin on her
hips scrape off, or the skin on her shoulders tear and begin to ooze
blood.  It seemed like eternity, but finally her head was between the
teenager's legs and her face barely and inch from her snatch.  Maria felt
her excitement growing again as she watched her teacher struggle across the
floor, knowing that it was causing her incredible pain.  The little blond
cunt sucking her breasts felt wonderful, too, and she wished she could keep
both of them, Sara and the blond, for herself, but she knew she would
always have to share them with Jim and Achilles.  She lay back in ecstacy
as her teacher's tongue sent sparks of sexual energy charging up and down
her spine while the blond spread pleasure through her nipples and breasts
with her mouth.  Only one thing needed to be added, she thought, to make
this perfect: "Achilles, fuck the bitch up the ass."
The strong sent of Maria's sex excited her, even in her agony of scratches
and bruises, and she began licking the girls cunt with a deep, masochistic
pleasure.  When she heard Maria's command to Achilles to fuck her up the
ass, she almost came in anticipation.  One more person, she thought, Maria
was going to be just one more person to hurt and humiliate her sexually,
and she loved it. 
Achilles didn't waste any time, quickly lining his throbbing cock up with
Sara's asshole and shoving it in.  Soon he worked up to a steady fucking
motion which sent a wave of pressure building in his loins.  Jim watched,
fascinated, as the four of them locked in a sexual passion, Princess
sucking avidly on Maria's breasts, Sara lapping eagerly at her cunt, while
Achilles stroked his hard member in and out of Sara's ass.  He went over to
both camera's and made sure they both had good angles of this action,
especially when the mass of connected human flesh began to quake and
shudder in orgasmic release. 
They still weren't done with Ms.  Sara Ellsworth that afternoon though. 
Maria commanded Sara to lie on her back with her ankles on either side of
her head while Amy squatted over her head, holding down her ankles.  Then,
while Achilles slowly fucked Sara's gaping twat, and Maria, on her knees,
sank her cunt back onto Jim's hard tool, feeling how good a man's penis
could be inside her, she told Amy to pee into the teachers mouth. 
Following that, the men were worn out, so Maria did some whipping and then
commanded Sara to lick Princess's asshole.  There followed another hour of
girl play, with Maria commanding, Princess demanding, and Sara submissive
and exhausted.  The two men watched and made sure the camera's caught
everything. 
That was just the beginning for Sara and Maria.  Maria was allowed to have
her teacher alone three times a week, determined every Friday, and the
other days she could share with Jim, Achilles, and, if Achilles decided,
Princess.  The times together with Jim and Achilles, for she did not miss a
day to further torment Sara or to satisfy her now raging sexual appetite,
she found fully satisfactory, for not only were the two men excellent
sexually, they had quite an imagination when it came to abusing and
humiliating her teacher.  An added perk was that when the blond, Princess,
was present, she had the equivalent of a cunt-slave she could order around,
as well as one more instrument to torture her hated teacher. 
When alone with Sara, Maria came up with ingenious devices to degrade her. 
Her favorite was once a week, she would put a leather hood on her teacher,
with only two small holes for her nostrils and a large hole for her mouth,
and, with her wrists tied behind her back, took her out to an abandoned
shack near the orange groves.  There she would invite a group of boys from
the high school, who would pay her $50 for the invitation, to come and use
the cunt any way they wished.  With twenty or so boys every time, Sara got
fucked in every hole at least fifteen times each, with Maria watching and
enjoying every minute of it.  Sara, for her part, enjoyed everything done
to her, even though she soon had to quit her job because she seemed to
always be worn out from the sexual activities Maria, Jim, and Achilles put
her through.  She had become what she had secretly wanted to become all her
life, a pure fucking machine, taking pleasure whenever it was offered. 
This time of use and degradation was the happiest time of her life.  Amy
continued to do well in school, although it was remarked that she became
even colder and more intellectual with each passing day.  She did not care:
soon she would be away in college and then on to a successful career,
thanks in part to Achilles.  She did worry what she would do with Princess
when she left him, but figured she probably wouldn't have any trouble
finding a man to take care of that slut wherever she went, knowing men. 
Princess, for her part, loved her master and the way he treated her.  The
inclusion of Jim, Sara, and Maria into their little world merely excited
her more, since she felt like nothing more than a commodity to be used and
then discarded, which was, she though, exactly what a dirty cunt like her
was.  She dreaded being taken away from these people by Amy, but figured,
correctly, that Amy would have to find her another master wherever she
went, of she, Princess, would make things very hard on Amy Sanders. 
Achilles' schoolwork suffered a bit from all the sexual escapades he was
embarking on, but he really didn't care.  He had three hot cunts ready at
almost any time to take his cock: one who worshipped him, another to whom
he could do anything, and a third one, young, lush, and lovely, who was
just learning how to fuck. 
Jim, never satisfied with even a very good thing, plotted on how to include
yet another girl, preferably a freshman, into his little scene.  Now that
he had had a taste of really young cunt in Maria and Amy, he wanted to keep
his supply steady.  He moved in with Sara, and figured he could keep her
indefinately, and if he ever got tired of her, he could just pass her
around to his friends.  All in all, everything was going well. 

THE END

--


Double for Nothing!!  Tricks for Free!!!

http://pw1.netcom.com/~mrdouble/main/stories.html

Be There.....