SCHOOL PROJECT

BY HERMAN 

She couldn't feel her knees at the moment, pressed hard
onto the surface of the table. They were numb, tired of the
constant strain. She actually wished they still hurt. It would
have made it a little easier for her to maintain her position if
she were more aware of all her body parts. Mentally she was
pretty damned aware of her body, if not so much physically. And
she was getting plenty of distress signals from other nerve
endings. Why did they bother, sending her those "move me, stretch
me, relieve me!" messages, didn't they understand how pointless
it was? And how relatively unimportant it was, compared with what
was coming? She tugged again lightly, carefully on her wrists,
imprisoned together in those snug leather bands padlocked
together, resting against the small of her back. As if she hadn't
tried a hundred times to free them, over these hours.

She stopped moving suddenly as her tense right thigh muscle
threatened to cramp again; tried to clear her mind and relax the
muscle until the tension eased slightly, knowing it would come
back again. She closed her eyes and sighed in frustration, the
tears flowing again. It took an effort not to moan - she knew not
to make any unnecessary noises, knew what they would lead to. And
she couldn't let herself cry, knowing her nose might plug up and
deny entrance to the air that couldn't make it through her
gag-filled mouth. The threat of suffocation was one of the least
of her worries. Might even be a blessing; she'd have to think
that over. Her naked body shivered despite the warmth of the
room, despite the beads of sweat trickling down her thighs, her
sides, flowing up her back. She couldn't see much in the dim
light, but she knew what she looked like, thanks to that little
Polaroid shot her captor had helpfully shown her, then laid on
the table right in front of her eyes, where she'd see it again
when the room brightened. She hadn't wanted to look at it, but
her eyes had been drawn to it as if she were regarding a
life-threatening wound.

She saw herself balanced on her widely spread knees and the side
of her face only on the tabletop, her butt thrust up in the air,
her ankles crossed and held together by wide leather cuffs
similar to the ones holding her wrists behind her, a short chain
running from the ankle cuffs to the back of the chain fastened
tightly around her waist, holding her heels nearly at her
buttocks. Most of the chains, especially the important ones,
hidden from that particular camera view, shot from behind her.
For the hundredth time she eased her weight carefully onto her
forehead and then down onto the other side of her face, the
change in position giving something of a relief. She didn't like
doing it - every time she moved like that she felt the danger of
sliding forward, unsure she could stop herself or push herself
back in time. How long? What time was it? As much as her body
ached and demanded freedom, she was afraid of time passing,
afraid of the approach of daybreak and what it would bring. What
time was it now? 3 am? Somewhere around there, probably.

Why? Why me? She knew there was no answer to that. 'Shit happens'
had always been her motto in her young life so far. But to have
this happen, and all a mistake. A terrible mistake. The tears
started up again. She couldn't bear that thought. She felt, in
her exhaustion, sleep starting to creep up on her, fought it
away. How she could be sleepy, scared as she was, she didn't
know, but she definitely didn't want it. It would make the time
pass faster, which she wanted to avoid - and then only if she
ever woke up from it, which she knew was unlikely. She rolled her
weight onto her forehead again, ready to try the other side again
for a few minutes. As she shifted she felt the chain tighten
slightly around her neck and sucked in her breath in near panic -
careful, just wriggle back a little, push off with your forehead
to shift your weight back, let your head slide back just a couple
of inches - there, that's it. She concentrated on breathing
evenly as her heart pounded. The chain was slack again, more or
less. Enough, anyway.

So many chains. She could feel them but couldn't move her head
enough to see them. She tried to picture them again, visualize
exactly how they were holding her, still convinced she might
somehow figure a way out of them. Were they really inescapable,
or did it just seem that way? Couldn't there be some way out she
hadn't thought of? Let's see: there were, to begin with, the
tight circles of chain hugging each lower thigh just above the
bend of her knee. Padlocked to each was a chain running to the
back corners of the table, behind her, and fastened to each table
leg, holding her knees apart. She not only couldn't close her
knees up, she couldn't move them forward either, and certainly
didn't want to move them backward. Couldn't move her knees at
all, really, unless she wanted to spread them wider, and she
thought she'd pass on that.

That wasn't really the problem though. Not as much as the other
two chains attached to those same circles of linked metal around
her thighs. Each of these ran along the tabletop, under her tummy
that hovered at least a foot off the table, between her breasts
that just brushed the table's surface, until they ran through a
small metal ring, circled her neck, and ended padlocked to that
same ring. A simple metal choke collar, enforcing her present
posture of a tall tripod on the table. She couldn't get her head
and shoulders any farther from her knees than they were, not if
she wanted to keep breathing. To prevent her rocking back on her
knees to kneel upright, another pair of choke collars ran from
her neck to the front of the table where they were attached by
padlocks to each of the table legs. And one final choker ran
along her back to her cuffed wrists. A short chain then ran from
her wrists to the circle of chain around her waist. She could let
her hands rest there in the small of her back, but try to reach
anything with them? Nothing doing.

She couldn't reach that silly little balloon, for example. The
one bobbing at the end of a rod about a foot long, the first
three inches or so of it buried in her rectum. She couldn't expel
the rod: a thin chain ran through a tiny hole in it, where her
anus gripped the rod; the chain ran through her crotch, attached
to the front and back of the chain around her waist with
padlocks. She could feel the rod inside her constantly, but the
pain wasn't that important, as long as she didn't make noise. Not
important in comparison with the fast approaching humiliation it
represented. The damned balloon had a happy face on it! How could
anybody keep from laughing at her, no matter how sympathetic they
wanted to try to be? The sound echoed in her ears as if it had
already happened.

Or would they be hit with helpless giggles when they saw the gag?
Not tape, not cloth, not a ball. Everything had to add something
to her shame, of course, but thinking about it drove her to
another weak, careful attempt to wriggle her wrists free of the
leather cuffs, as fruitless as all the previous tries. Where had
he found this thing? A penis gag, extremely realistic, down to
the huge balls at the far end. It filled her mouth completely,
squashed her tongue down. Its wrinkled rubbery firmness was just
like the texture she imagined a real penis to have - she'd never
had one in her mouth, but she felt she knew now what it would be
like. It was one more unremovable adornment: at the point where
it entered her mouth, a chain passed through a hole in it and
circled her head, a padlock behind her head closing the loop, the
gag held firmly in place. Like the rod in her rectum, it wasn't
really a problem now as long as she kept quiet, but it was
another humiliating thing she couldn't get rid of. They're going
to find me this way! God, please let there be some way out. She
imagined her schoolfriends, all snug in their beds dead to the
world at this hour. Or were they still partying? Did they ever
actually go to bed?

She could make out familiar shapes in the small room, the few
lights burning near the building throwing a dim illumination
through the room's one window. At some point the window would
begin to brighten, the room graying, then filling with colors of
daylight. She'd know then there were just a couple of hours left.
Not wanting to, she played last night's events back in her head.
Could she have done anything differently? She wasn't sure. Who
knows, maybe he'd got in during the daytime and waited, watching
to see if she'd come. She'd only needed to pick up an answer key
for her mother, who was a schoolteacher in the same complex she
was in. She was only going to be in the building a few minutes.
Her mother had been grading papers at home, and realized she'd
left a grading key to one set of papers in her classroom. She'd
always thought her determination to get things done was a virtue;
if only she'd been a born procrastinator, she'd be safe at home
now. No use thinking that, he'd only have waited for some other
night anyway. Worst of it all was that she didn't tell her mother
about getting the answer key for her. It looked like a nice idea
to surprise her with that, showing her what a good daughter she
was. For all she knew, her mother could be thinking she was
already in bed for hours.

The boy had been quiet in the hallway. The first hint of his
presence had been the squeak of her classroom door opening. She'd
thought it was a teacher at first; by the time she could see his
face, he was already waggling the gun at her, telling her not to
talk if she preferred her skin without holes. He walked further
into the room, carrying a gym bag, while her heart worked
overtime for no extra pay. Waving the gun, he said, "Let's go
into that workroom." A door in the back of the classroom led to
the small room that was a private domain, full of books, mostly
unread (who had time with everything else?), science project
materials, some in boxes, some strewn on the countertop also
littered with spare computer parts - computers didn't last long,
most kids were hard on the equipment. A big work table in the
middle, about six feet by three, taking up half the available
floor space. As he drew closer in the workroom, she could see he
wasn't a figure to strike fear into anyone - not without the gun,
anyway. A smallish, thin kid of about 16, her own age, wearing
thick glasses. Even without the triteness of a pocket protector
he still had "nerd" written all over him.

He'd squeezed past her, keeping the gun trained on her, and swept
the contents of the table onto the floor, changing her stream of
whispered "Please don't hurt me"s to a shouted, "Oh don't!" A
science project from earlier in the month hit the floor with a
clatter. "Sit on the table and take off your clothes. All of
them." She'd been hoping, somehow, he just wanted money - the
thought nearly made her giggle in retrospect: what idiot who
wanted money would mug a young girl for it? But the certainty he
was going to rape her, a fear her mind had throttled in an
attempt to get her through the first few minutes of this, came
back full force. The feeling of wanting to scream was hard to
fight against, but she knew that, even in the unlikely event
there was anybody to hear her, they couldn't possibly be close
enough to help her in time. She'd only be getting them shot in
return for their Good Samaritan act. It was even harder picturing
him as a rapist than as a mugger. She had a mental image of what
she'd expect a rapist to look like, and there was almost no
overlap between that image and this small, slightly
scared-looking geek in front of her. She studied him closely,
trying to keep her mind off the fact she was stripping naked in
front of a stranger. He didn't look like a violent type, and
before unhooking her bra she needed to convince herself it was
futile to try to jump him. Watching his hand on the gun convinced
her: it trembled slightly, but never for a moment pointed away
from her. Her own fingers shook more than his as she reluctantly
forced herself to release the bra snaps and let the straps down
her arms.

She froze up for a moment before going the final step; she saw
his jaw set as he pushed the gun closer, and she hurried to pull
her panties down and off. Thinking back now, she wished he had
raped her. She thought that was something she could get over. As
she sat naked on the table, shivering despite the room's warmth,
he reached into the gym bag, bringing out her first hint that the
ordeal was going in a different direction: four leather bands,
which he ordered her to strap onto her wrists and ankles. Each
had D-shaped metal rings at various places around their
circumference, and they fastened like watchbands, except for the
metal loop that protruded through the leather once they were
buckled. He gave her four padlocks to put through the loops. She
thought about just pretending to lock them, but he was watching
too closely. He brought out that awful gag next, and a smile
began to twitch the corners of his lips as he watched her fill
her mouth with it, under his orders, and pull the chain tight so
that the ends of it met behind her head, held there by the
padlock he pulled out of the bag. It had made a clinking sound
that told her there were lots more things still in that bag. He
pulled out two more padlocks. "Lock your ankles together with
one, and then your wrists behind your back with the other."

She let him drop the padlocks into her hands, and stared at them,
immobilized by indecision and fear. She had felt she could handle
it up to now, could live with the prospect of being raped - as
long as there was some possibility she could fight back. The
instant she closed the lock holding the handcuffs together, she
knew her chances of escape, already slim enough, would be
altogether gone. She sat unmoving, staring at the locks in her
hand, until she heard the click of the gun's hammer being pulled
back. Blinking back blinding tears and moaning, she reached down
without looking and thrust one of the padlocks between the rings
protruding from the ankle cuffs. Closing her eyes and sending up
a silent prayer, "Please let this get over with soon, please
don't let it hurt too much," she fumbled with the other lock,
trying to get it through the loops on her wrist cuffs, finally
opening her eyes and twisting her body to get her wrists in view
so she could see what she was doing, at last she got the padlock
closed, a brief feeling of success at accomplishing a difficult
job immediately washed away by an overwhelming knowledge that she
was altogether, totally sunk.

He started pulling chains and more padlocks out of the bag, made
her squirm onto her stomach on the table and started arranging
her in her present position. She nearly hyperventilated as he
fastened the choke chains, helplessly hmmmmmming in protest as he
explained how immobile she needed to be to stay alive. Then he
backed off, inspecting his work. She could see his body shaking
as a triumphant grin spread across his face. If she had been
terrified before, it was just a warm-up to what came next.
Nothing she'd been imagining had prepared her for it. "You don't
remember me, do you?" She stared at him, searching for something
familiar, anything, not wanting to anger him. "Think back." She
mumbled helplessly against the degrading gag, trying to say he
must be confused, there was some mistake.

"Think about it, Karin Straley." Oh God! He thought she was
Shelly Straley's daughter! Shelly was another schoolteacher and
had a daughter too. They did look a little bit alike – Karin was
older, but take two years off her... Oh God, he wanted to do this
to HER! She nearly choked herself, trying to free herself, trying
to speak around the gag, spit it out, tell him she wasn't Karin,
dammit, her name was Laura Burton and she'd never met him in her
life. She had to be able to talk to him. He was doing this to her
because he thought she was somebody else! Who was this guy? He
must barely know Karin if he couldn't pick her out of a faculty
line-up; why would he want to do this to her? She watched him
squinting at her out of those thick glasses. The guy could barely
see! "My Dad was in the military, and we just moved into town
that April. I hated all the moving around, always being the new
kid. They put me in your mother's science class. "She told me the
whole class had science projects due Friday - this was Tuesday.
She told me I didn't have to do it, I could be excused,
but...God, I wanted so much to fit in. To be part of the class,
part of the school, to really impress the teacher... that was the
biggest part of it, Karin. I wanted to impress you. "I did that
damned science project. I bet you'll remember it now, Karin
Straley. 'Building a Better Mouse Trap.' I thought that'd be
really funny, THE generic science project. It was that cage on
little wheels, noise-activated. It would hear a mouse squeaking a
steer towards it. It would get close to the mouse, the mouse
would smell the cheese - then the sound-sensors on the inside
would slam the cage closed when the mouse entered. I always loved
those sound-activated switches – you could do magical things with
them. I really think that's going to be the wave of the future.
You remember it now, don't you?"

She had given up trying to talk, to wriggle free: it was
hopeless. She debated between truthfully shaking her head or
nodding agreement with him, decided agreeing was the safer
course, for now. Maybe after his speech was over he'd take the
gag out. Was he still going to rape her? She was less sure about
it now. "I brought it in on Friday. I was so excited I just about
peed my pants when I came into the room with it and put it with
everybody else's. I couldn't wait for the chance to show how it
worked, to hear all the congratulations. Well, I got my chance.
And your mother got this real serious look on your face. She
asked me to step out in the hallway. She told me the rule was
every science project had to be done by the student alone, they
were real strict about that. I kept telling her I did do it
myself, nobody helped me. She never believed me, and neither did
you. Your mother said she might be willing to give me a C on it,
but I couldn't enter it in the Science Fair. You just have no
idea what that did to me, Karin. Military kids are always unsure
of themselves, you know. Always new, always outsiders. Shit, the
depressions, the shrinks. They wanted to put me away for awhile.
Dad wouldn't hear of it. He..." He broke off, apparently
realizing he was rambling.

He fixed his myopic gaze on her. "I had a hard enough time
believing in myself before that, but you... I could just never
get myself to try that hard again. Knowing I wouldn't be
accepted. Wouldn't be believed. My dad got transferred again by
the next Fall. Another school, another adjustment. I was a
miserable bust at the new school - all the new schools. God, she
thought, if I could just get this gag out! He's got to figure out
I'm the wrong person. Everybody's got to blame somebody for their
problems, and he picked her out. She didn't do anything to him...
and I never met the guy before! This can't be happening! She
started struggling to get loose again, mmmmmming frantically into
the gag, praying he'd take it out and let her get this all
straightened out. "I'm going home now. And this," he waved the
gun, "It isn't for you, really. It's for me. You might live
through tonight, but I won't. It really does me good to see you
squirming there. It means a lot... You see, Miss Straley, you're
my science project for this year. I'll never find out what
everybody thinks of it, but that doesn't matter, really. I just
want you to know one thing, Karin." He bent towards her and said
slowly, "I did it all myself. It took a long time, planning and
building, but I played by the rules. Do you believe me?" She
didn't have to guess what answer would save her life this time.
She nodded, miserably, her head rubbing against the top of the
table.

"It's not all assembled quite yet, there's a couple more pieces.
And stop all that noise. I want you to be quiet as a mouse now. I
mean it." He pointed the gun again. "I don't want to hear another
sound out of you until I've left the building. Not a peep." In
case somebody was around, she guessed. She was pretty sure nobody
was. I don't understand what he means, she thought. Is he going
to let me go or not? What does he mean about me being his science
project? He reached into the bag again, but not for keys. Her
eyes widened as he pulled out a rod with a balloon at the end. He
drew his fingers across his lips. "Absolutely not a sound, from
now on." His voice got quieter as he spoke, sinking to a whisper
at the end. He seemed to flip a switch on end of the rod, and she
almost screamed as she felt him tapping the area between her
buttocks. He glared once more, gesturing one more time with the
gun. Her heart raced. Oh God, what now?

Her whole body tensed as he pushed the rod slowly into her
rectum. She closed her eyes and drew rapid breaths through her
nose as he fiddled with the chain that would hold it in place,
drawing it tight through her crotch, securing the two ends to the
chain around her waist. He pulled one last thing out of the bag.
She had a quick sight of a small silvery egg-shape, before it was
out of sight behind her. She nearly screamed again as she felt
his fingers parting her labia, but she held off, not only because
of the danger but because of the pointlessness of objecting. The
silver egg slid into her vagina. If she hadn't been fighting
gravity she could have let it drop out later, but with her butt
up in the air like that it was hopeless. That was when he took
the Polaroid shot. He laid it on the table in front of her, bent
down and whispered softly, "Just wanted you to know what you look
like." Standing there while she looked at her image in horror, he
reached down and slipped a finger into her mouth. She felt,
rather than heard, a tiny click. He straightened, breathed a sigh
of relief, and picked up the gun and the gym bag. He spent a
moment gathering all her clothes and putting them in the bag,
leaving her nothing in the room to cover herself with. With a
tight smile and a little wave, he turned out the light, backed
out of the workroom and closed the door softly.

He's gone, he's gone, oh God he's gone. I'll wait ten minutes,
he's got to be out of the building, then I'll start screaming for
all I'm worth. She waited, every slight sound in the empty
building making her twitch. After she felt ten minutes had to be
up, she counted to a hundred just to be safe. Then - well, it
couldn't be called screaming, exactly, it was a little too
muffled for that - she put all her energy into a loud hmmmmmm,
pulling with all her strength against the wrist cuffs, careful
not to pull them down her back and risk choking. Immediately her
body convulsed unexpectedly, and in the aftershock she could feel
a wild humming between her legs - a vibrator! That egg in her
vagina was shaking, pulsating, taking her breath away. She had
used vibrators before, but this one was like a wild beast, beyond
her control, sending waves radiating through her body that awoke
a raging, pure erotic need, an intense arousal that went beyond
anything she'd experienced.

And the penis gag in her mouth, it was wriggling now, as if it,
too, had come alive, and she could taste - oh God no! - a sticky
liquid coming out of the head, near the back of her throat.
Semen? Something a lot like it, anyway, and she desperately
swallowed as well as she could, not easy with the gag filling her
mouth, to keep from choking on it. The sudden convulsion came
again, and she identified it this time: it was coming from her
buttocks, her rectum - that rod must be generating electric
shocks! In near panic she tried everything she could to get
loose, feeling the chain closing around her throat as she slid
too far forward, her loudest scream yet trying to tear its way
out of her throat. The vibrator inside her was continuing to send
out waves of excitement, and her hips moved on their own. She
felt like she did when she masturbated, getting closer, closer...
She was conscious of sucking eagerly on the penis gag, swallowing
semen, her lips slipping back and forth on the shaft, the gag
itself somehow mechanized under its 'skin', obscenely undulating,
so alive! She felt she was going to come at any moment... No!
Please don't let me come, if I lose control I know these chains
are going to choke me. The shock in her rectum convulsed her body
again, just as she was managing to back up a little and loosen
the choker. How had this started, he wasn't even here, it's like
magic... Magic, yes! The sound! It started when I made noise.
It's all - yes, he'd told me - sound activated. I've got to be
quiet. With every ounce of concentration she made herself stop
moaning, not knowing whether it would help. Would the things turn
off? She waited an ageless time, probably two minutes. The rectal
shocks were the hardest to ignore, she nearly screamed each time
her body jerked, the intervals about 15 seconds. The vaginal
vibration was continuous, and she couldn't stop her hips from
moving, feeling herself drawing closer to orgasm, while the gag
still undulated and seeped fluids, forcing her to continue her
sucking motions as she swallowed. But finally... the electric rod
seemed to miss a turn, it should have zapped me by now, shouldn't
it? The vibrator stopped about ten seconds later, and shortly
after that, the penis.

Oh God. She carefully wriggled her head and shoulders a few
inches back, finally taking the tension out of the collar. She
concentrated on getting breath back into her lungs, quickly and
above all, quietly. She felt completely spent: sweat bathed her
body, beads of it rolling down every slanted surface. Her hips
still felt twitchy from the stimulation, but without the
continued internal vibration she was no longer approaching
orgasm. I think if those things get started again, I'll be dead.
I've got to get out of here before morning! I can't still be here
when the other kids get here! She gasped involuntarily at the
thought, then froze, not knowing immediately whether she had made
enough noise to start up all the machinery again. She held her
breath for several seconds, waiting for the first shock, but felt
nothing. I've got to get out, but I can't get free of the chains,
can't even put any strength into the effort or I'll choke myself,
can't call out for help or I'll orgasm myself to death. She could
only identify one hope: somehow, during the night, someone might
come into the building, come close to her hallway. She'd have to
make a lot of noise to be heard through the closed workroom door,
with the door to the classroom probably closed too, and if it was
a false alarm, or the person couldn't hear her, then she was in
BIG trouble. But she couldn't think of anything else. She guessed
it might be 11 p.m. now, based on the time she'd arrived. It was
possible one of the teachers might show up, for the same reason
she had. Please, let somebody come! Just one person, she could
stand it if only one person saw her, an adult, someone who would
help her get free and stay quiet about it. A woman, please... she
thought that would be better, not one of the boys or men.

She began the process of simply getting through. It must have
been about a couple of hours later, she thought - 1 a.m.? She
heard a far, far distant sound: the muffled slam of a door. Her
body tensed. She wished she could tell where it was; she might be
able to figure out whose classroom it was. Was somebody walking
this way? She suddenly thought: what if it's him? Coming back.
Would he come back to watch her torment? Watch her quiver, come,
choke? He could be coming back just to get her to make a noise,
watch what happened when she did. But if it was somebody who
could save her, and she just let them go... Her brain seemed to
be overheating with indecision: make noise or not? Either choice
could save her or backfire. Which will it be? She knew she could
never, ever forgive herself missing a chance to get free. She had
to do it. But not unless she had just a little more evidence she
might be heard. She stopped breathing, tried to quiet her
pounding heart, listening for the slightest sound.

There! Was that a footstep? To her hypertense mind, it sounded
like one. Here goes. She put everything she had into a
brainbusting HMMMMMMMMMMM. Before she could gather her breath for
another try, she felt the shock, her whole body responding with a
giant twitch. The vibrating egg started radiating heat and cold
in waves from deep inside her, the gag started its obscene dance
in her mouth, oozing fluids she tried quickly to swallow. As
before her hips started a rhythmic tensing, her buttocks
clenching, and she could feel her excitement rise. She sucked
madly on the gag, her lips making the surface slick, her teeth
biting it, her tongue underneath caressing it, moaning as she
swallowed the spurting liquid at the back of her throat. She
could feel her orgasm approaching fast, an onrushing freight
train. She remembered the whole point was to make noise, to be
heard, but she knew her breathy grunts of sexual arousal probably
weren't going to do the job. Her entire body jerked with each
shock from the rod, and she felt she couldn't get enough air in
her lungs fast enough - and she felt herself sliding slowly
forward along the table, the chain drawing tighter around her
throat. STOP! I've got to stop this now. Quiet NOW! Another
shock. Just don't make a sound. Don't moan, try not to rock, hold
your hips still NOW! She concentrated all her efforts into
wriggling back again, letting the chain loosen, trying to slow
her gyrating hips, just be quiet, totally quiet. Knowing it could
be life or death, she suffered three more shocks in silence, and
then, mercifully, one after another, the gadgets stopped. She
drew great lungfuls of air, her heart trying to pound its way out
of her chest, savoring the feeling of quiet in her vagina, the
penis gag subsiding, the wonderful absence of zaps in her rectum.

A cloud of gloom descended as her heartbeat and respiration wound
down to normal. She knew what would happen in about seven hours.
She knew the night would pass slowly, but the longer it took the
better she liked it. All she could do now was try to find a way
to get - no, 'comfortable' was out of the question, but at least
she wanted to minimize the strain and the ache of tightening
muscles, of joints bearing weight they weren't meant to. She
tried to let fifteen minutes or so go by before working on
turning her face the other way, shifting her weight from one
shoulder to the other. The difficulty at first was that the table
had been getting so slick with her sweat - her knees kept wanting
to slide outward, her face and shoulder forward. She strained to
stiffen her body, wriggling back to a safe position periodically.
Gradually the surface of the table started drying, giving her a
little more friction to work with.

After a couple of hours she was beginning to find it almost
impossible to keep her eyes open. She didn't realize her
consciousness had started to slip away until the closing collar
suddenly forced its way into her awareness. With a start that she
recognized to her horror as sudden awakening - she'd been so
afraid of falling asleep - she gave an involuntary squeak and
started working on pulling back. The gag came to life in her
mouth, and she tensed waiting for the shock. But apparently the
squeak had been too soft, only the gag had 'heard' it. With
disgust she swallowed the semen - she wasn't sure it was that,
but she assumed it was, couldn't help thinking of it that way -
wondering how much of the stuff there was. It was a long shaft,
and the balls at the far end were probably full of the stuff for
all she knew. More than enough of it to last the night, at the
rate she was going. The shaft shimmied in waves moving from the
far end to the front, obviously designed for realistic effect
while pumping. By itself it didn't have that arousing effect it
had when it worked in concert with the vaginal vibrator, but she
couldn't help moving her lips in sucking motions along the shaft;
she had to do that to swallow. Within a few minutes, in the
absence of further noises, it subsided.

She tried to think how she could keep awake. The room was not
only warm but also muggy by now, she had been awake for - what,
21 hours, the last five or so under continuous emotional tension
and physical strain. She strained her ears for footsteps, doors
opening or closing, any sounds at all. The dead silence enfolded
her - as if she needed another clue to her body that she ought to
be sleeping now. There weren't even any traffic noises now. She
thought she could make out, barely, the whirr of the electric
clock on the other side of the wall, in the classroom. Time,
everything was about time now. She jerked again, aware for the
second time of coming out of sleep. At least she hadn't slid
forward this time, but she wasn't going to count on her luck
holding indefinitely. She discovered, trying to wriggle her
fingers, that they were asleep - lucky fingers - and spent
several minutes moving her wrists around, trying to get
circulation back, eventually succeeding. She tried to fix on
objects in the room, dim outlines in the darkness, tried to
remind herself of the story of each, when she had used it, what
she was doing then, giving herself a small mental shake every
time she sensed the blankness coming on.

... A pain gripping her neck. She felt breathless, tried to gasp
air into her lungs, couldn't. Disoriented, she couldn't quite
grasp the situation. Asleep! I did it, I went completely out.
God, back up, back up! She waggled her buttocks quickly from side
to side, pushing hard against the surface of the table with the
side of her face, trying to shift her weight back towards her
knees. Come on, come on! Finally she found the right leverage and
felt her head sliding back along the table, the chain still
gripping her throat tightly but starting to loosen. She finally
sucked in a great lungful of air, and the weight of all the fears
of the night fell on her. Mental alarms jangled telling her not
to cry, to pull herself together, but nothing could stop the sob
tearing its way out of her throat. An instant later the great
full-body twitch from a rectal shock ran through her, and from
deep inside her she felt the little silver egg going nuts, its
vibrations penetrating every part of her body, but mostly there,
right there, invading that private space and making her so aware
of herself, her nakedness, her wanting to touch herself, put her
finger inside herself. The gag had started its own obscene
exploration of her mouth, and she swallowed and sucked, swallowed
and sucked, as the rod shocked her again. Her hips shifted,
wriggled, slowly at first but gradually faster, and the voice in
her mind telling her to stop moaning seemed so far away, so
faint. Her wrists writhed in frustration in their cuffs, so close
to her crotch where she wanted them to rub herself, explore
herself... even that thought started dying out, all higher level
brain functions shutting down in a gush of pure feeling. Almost
there, almost there...

A convulsion swept through her that had nothing to do with the
rod in her rectum, an orgasm more powerful than any she had
experienced, waves of heat crashing outward from between her legs
setting every set of muscles in battle against each other, as a
series of muffled cries escaped from the back of her throat that
would have brought any number of people from adjoining hallways
if there had been anybody there. She nearly choked on the semen
still flowing out of the gag, and desperately started swallowing,
but the explosion inside her went on: her thighs quivering with
tension, her back arching, her body straightening at the hips,
and the chain quickly closing around her throat again, somehow
intensifying the orgasm still further as she tried to suck in air
and failed, feeling still another shock from her rectum.

Slowly the spasms began to play themselves out, the energy
coursing through her body diminishing, letting go its hold on
her. A buzzing in her ears wasn't coming from the vibrator: she
knew she was close to fainting from lack of air, that she'd never
wake up if she did. She desperately repeated her efforts from a
few minutes earlier, the chain loosening again as she slid her
head back on the now very slick surface. She had to swallow the
semen that had collected before she could drag in a long, deep
lungful to keep herself conscious. More exhausted than she had
ever been, she stared blankly at the counter to her left, her
mind with barely enough remaining presence to tell her to be
quiet at all costs, don't moan, don't cry, don't make the tiniest
sound, ignore the humming inside, the maddening periodic shocks.
She lay quietly, sucking on the gag until it fell quiet, and the
rod and vibrator shut themselves down.

Her mind felt vague, fuzzy. She had been staring at the back
cover of an old textbook for several minutes before it sank in
that she could read it. There were shapes all around her that had
been invisible to her all through the night, now easily picked
out in shades of gray in the dim light from the window. The sun
was coming up! Her heart suddenly raced, as she drew ragged deep
breaths through her nose. No, oh no, oh please God no, the night
has gone by and it's daylight and it's going to happen. It must
be about six o'clock: she had two hours left. Wait! Be methodical
this time! I've got to try everything, there has to be a way. She
started with her wrists, trying every combination of twists and
turns she could come up with. Break the padlock? It was probably
one of those they shot with a gun on TV and it stayed locked, but
it was worth a try. There were four her fingers could reach – the
ones holding each cuff buckle, the one between the cuffs, and the
one holding the chain to the cuffs that ran to her neck. She felt
the hopeless knowledge that jerking as hard as she could was out
of the question, it was one of the many ways of choking herself.
Pulling her hands up her back was no better: that pulled on the
chain that circled her waist, increasing the tension in the one
that ran through her crotch, wiggling the rod in her rectum, and
it hurt like hell. How long must he have planned this, thinking
of everything - even her full strength probably couldn't get her
free of the chains, but she had no way to use her full strength
anyway. She could only tug tentatively, feebly, on any of her
restraints without hurting or endangering herself uselessly. She
tried as well as she could, though, positioning her hands
carefully on her back and jerking quickly outward, a safe enough
move but not effective.

Ankles? Wriggle them, get one free. Each knee: tensing her thigh
muscles trying to pull it towards her, jerking as forcefully as
she dared. With every failed effort she felt herself closer to
crying, wanting to scream and barely able to stop herself. Moving
more randomly now, less methodical, angrily, grunting with effort
- and the gag started shimmying again, shooting its little pulses
of semen into the back of her throat. Disgusted, nearly exploding
in anger and shame, she sucked hopelessly. The room had been
brightening continually during her efforts, colors filling the
forms of familiar objects. She could easily see the Polaroid, and
she looked intensely at it, praying it could show her something
her addled brain had overlooked, while thinking, this is exactly
how they'll see me.

The gag stopped again, starved for noise for the time being. She
continued looking at the Polaroid, suddenly realizing the still
picture didn't do justice to the situation. It didn't show the
gyrations she would be unable to stop going through if - when -
the mechanical curses that owned her body started doing their
tricks again. She closed her eyes, almost unable to breathe,
waves of nausea washing over her. (God, if she threw up now - no,
don't think about it.)

The need to pee was starting to build up! It hadn't been a
problem so far, but the body's going to keep up its standard
practices no matter how much trouble they'll cause. The idea of
peeing in her present position was just unthinkable to her. How
long before I get out of this? Think past the horror now and just
concentrate on getting free. Nobody could free her just by being
there: everything was locked, with no key. They'd need tools
somebody would have to go get - GOD! Somehow every pathway her
thoughts went down uncovered something still worse about her
situation. She wanted to come up with things that hadn't occurred
to her, but useful things, come on! But the students, the kids,
that was the main thing. Dozens of junior high kids, and more
from outside as the word spread, were going to see. See what this
picture showed. Live, in the flesh. So to speak.

She felt the tension starting to flow out of her body. At the
same time the feeling of exhaustion seemed to recede, an
excitement of purpose taking its place. This could work! I'll
make it work. I've got to be absolutely quiet, and it can work.
Behind the excitement lay a thought she couldn't quite seem to
identify. It lay just out of her mental reach, as if her mind
were as immobilized as her body. She could only perceive the
barest outlines of the thought, enough to know that it consisted
of something she was overlooking - but what?? Her excitement
built higher: she knew some part of her mind was trying
desperately to tell her something. It had to be a means of
getting free - what else could be that important? She knew from
experience she should try to relax and let it come: that had
often worked, though it wasn't foolproof. Settle down, she told
herself. It's going to be a long day, but you'll be out of here
at the end of it with just minor humiliation. Just wait it out,
and if the missing thought comes, fine, it'll be over sooner, and
if not... the vagrant thought seemed to draw closer to the
surface at this point, screaming incoherently at her as if it
were gagged itself. She forced herself to stop reaching for it
again.

Thinking about staying here through the entire day led her to
realize how hungry she was - she'd been awake all night and now
had missed breakfast. And thirsty... if she could just have a
glass of water somehow. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the
feeling of just how helpless she was, to have no means of meeting
such basic human needs. She could get through till dinnertime
without food, but she just had to drink something. Though,
really, she wasn't as thirsty as she felt she ought to be: she'd
lost so much fluid during the night, she really should be in an
agony of thirst, it seemed to her... no, not that! The SEMEN? Was
that what was keeping her hydrated? It didn't seem she had had
that much. It really wouldn't take a lot, though, would it? She
sighted cross-eyed down the shaft. It had long since become
obvious that the 'balls' were full of the stuff, and probably a
lot of the shaft too: there seemed to be room for at least a pint
of the liquid, if it filled the available space. Surely more than
enough to last the rest of the time she was here. But to drink it
voluntarily? She fought with her revulsion, knowing that as the
day went on she had to drink something. She knew the problem was
getting the gag started without setting off the other gadgets.
She'd done it before: a soft enough sound in her mouth would do
it, but she wasn't sure how much margin for error she had: a
sound too soft wouldn't be enough, but too loud... well, she'd
nearly died the last time she'd gotten the vibrator inside her
going.

The time to experiment with it was now, not after the room beyond
the door filled with kids. Her heart started thundering again: it
had definitely been working hard tonight, she'd have to remember
to do something nice for it later. Tentatively, shaking with
anxiety, she made a soft little sighing sound. No response, so
she tried one a little louder. Her body twitched as an
over-sensitive nerve near her anus fired for no reason - it was
probably as scared as she was. She waited for her breathing to
get back near normal, knowing she'd have to try one just a little
louder still, positive now she was approaching the threshold of
response of either the rod or the vibrator, if not both - it
didn't matter, she knew as soon as one went off she'd set off the
other. She started the sigh, held it back for a moment feeling
she was shaking too badly to control it, knowing if this one
didn't work she'd never be able to make herself try a louder one.
She closed her eyes finally and tried the one last sigh.

The gag jumped in her mouth, and the ends of her lips curled
upward at the edges with satisfaction. She had to swallow quickly
then, and after so much practice instantly fell into the rhythm
of sucking and swallowing. Especially since she was doing it
voluntarily, and it was in fact the one single thing in the world
she had any control over at all, it felt very calming, as if she
was a baby nursing at her mother's breast. Even though the
sucking wasn't producing the flow of fluid, and was a byproduct
of the efforts she had to go through to swallow, it still felt as
if she were making it happen. She sucked for several minutes, the
sticky, syrupy, weird tasting liquid taking the edge off her
thirst, while the gag did its obscene gyrating dance in her
mouth, until the absence of further sounds finally shut it down.
For just those few minutes she was able to forget the coming
hours.

It was fully light now, and there was a glare from just below the
windowsill that told her the sun would be directly on her in
another ten minutes or so. With the room fully illuminated and
the blinds pulled up, she realized for the first time how lucky
she was to be on the second floor: nobody passing by could look
in. The tension that had abated started to build up again: the
first arrival of cars in the parking lot below brought home to
her how close the moment she was dreading was. Like the patter of
rain building up from a sprinkle to a steady beat, she became
aware of sounds inside the building: doors opening, faint
footsteps, distant snatches of conversation. She pictured the
teachers opening up their rooms, putting their briefcases next to
their desks, and suddenly was overcome by the bizarrely guilty
thought that she hadn't gotten all her lesson done for the day.
There was still a part of her mind not yet understanding that, no
matter how this came out, she definitely wasn't going to be in
any class today. The sun showed a sliver of itself over the
windowsill now. It had been light for about an hour; it had to be
about 7. An hour left.

She felt the warmth on her thigh as the sunlight hit it. With a
sinking feeling she realized that at around 8, the time of
greatest danger of discovery, the room would be brightly lit and
she, in particular, would be spotlighted in dazzling light. The
chill from this image competed with the growing warmth as the sun
picked out and highlighted a gradually larger area of her bare
skin. The boisterous, laughing, mostly higher-pitched voices of
students began to build up now the same way the faculty sounds
had. That elusive thought that had stayed tauntingly at the edge
of her mind came back in full force. It had to be trying to tell
her a way out of this. She reached desperately for the thought,
but it shied away again, maddeningly. She knew she had to stop
trying to get it, needed to get her mind on something else. That
was easy enough: the forefront of her mind was occupied with
those student voices, now, ratcheting up a tension in her that
she knew would approach an explosion soon. If I can just make it
through first period, she thought, I'll feel like I'll be okay.
Two hours from now, less, it'll be over. I'll tell myself I can
relax then. If I can get through one period there's no reason I
can't get through all of them.

She felt a sudden chill at the thought that the voices might turn
on the machinery. She could try to control the sounds she was
making, but had no control over anybody else's. She stiffened as
a particularly rowdy laugh came to her through the window. She
waited for the pain, but nothing came. It must not be loud
enough, she thought in relief. The outside sounds - her brain
probably magnified them because she knew how far away they were,
but it had actually taken some pretty loud noises, right there in
the room, to turn on the sound-sensitive switches. Even sounds in
the room sometimes weren't enough: a medium hummm she made with
her voice turned on the gag, because it was right there in her
mouth, but hadn't been enough to wake up the other monsters. Even
voices from the classroom, beyond the closed door to the
workroom, might not do it. She hoped. She prayed. e That other
thought was back again. She knew her plan to wait out the day
wasn't foolproof, and that part of her that knew how to get free
seemed to clamor louder for her attention when her thoughts
turned in that direction. What was it? What was she missing? If
she could just get free she could avoid the tension, the dangers,
of waiting here all through the long hours worrying about
discovery. If she could only find out what it was. Her eyes
darted around the room for the thousandth time, at first avoiding
the Polaroid but then examining it with the same intensity. The
answer could be there. She quailed again as she looked at it, so
conscious of what anybody would see when they came in here. If
that person was a custodian, nearly alone in the building after
the school day was over, the number of people who would ever see
her like this would be at a minimum. But an entire classroom full
of adolescents? With hundreds more in classrooms all up and down
the hallway? God, God, God, please no. If I know how to get out
of this, please let me figure out what it is.

She started to shiver when the building doors were opened to the
kids, at 7:30. She could hear the lockers banging, kids talking
in the hallway: the moment she dreaded was getting so close now,
after such a long night. Once more she tried to get free, feebly
twisting her wrists in the cuffs, trying to move her knees in any
direction, feeling close to crying again. She moaned slightly as
she heard the classroom door open, and the gag started up again,
scaring her. She sucked on it as it did its familiar wriggling,
conscious how shocked the students would be to know what she was
doing just on the other side of that closed door. She had
alternated facing different directions all through the night, and
now went through the strain of switching one more time, pressing
the side of her head hard onto the table's surface, letting her
weight rest on her forehead for a moment while rolling it, gently
easing down onto the other side of her face, now looking toward
the room's door. She wanted to know the instant somebody opened
it. She hadn't turned while the gag was going before, and while
she was turning the semen flowed towards her mouth, but had
nowhere to go, with her lips making a tight seal around the
shaft. She ended up with an extra-large gob of it to swallow once
she was done. The sticky slickness of it coated her lips, now,
disgusting her, not feeling like saliva. She knew it must be
glistening visibly, and felt a little stream of it succeed in
escaping her mouth and flow slowly down the side of her cheek. A
few more students now came in; conversations were starting.

She closed her eyes and repeated the thought that was becoming
her mantra: they won't come in, I'll be fine here. As she did it
that nagging feeling came back once more. The gag had turned off
again.

Another fifteen minutes and she could relax, really. Once the
teacher was here and the class got going everything would be
under control. It had to be getting close now. The classroom
seemed full. Her concerns about the noise level appeared
answered: there wasn't a much noisier place than a junior high
classroom just before a class starts, but the closed door muffled
it reasonably well: at least it brought it down below the
threshold of the switches. The tension that had been building up
began to recede once more. Must be very close now, she thought.
It's probably not more than a minute or two till the bell (she
stiffened) SHIT, oh my God, that's it that's what my brain's been
trying to tell me. Oh my God, it wasn't anything about getting
free it was trying to remind me ABOUT THE BELL...

**BRRRRRRRRINGGGGGGGGGGG**

Instantly everything came alive inside her: she gasped as she
felt the first shock galvanizing every muscle in her body outward
from her rectum, the whirring mania of the little silver egg
generating its frenzies between her legs, the gag doing its
orgasm dance in her mouth. The self-preservation center in her
brain sent out furious messages to hold on, stay quiet, don't
make a sound PLEASE. She listened in horror as an earsplitting
moan came out of her muffled throat. Her insides turned to water
as the door opened, and the faces of Kevin Battey and Sheila
Wood, from the seats nearest the back, were framed in the
doorway.

That instant seemed to freeze, every detail burned into her
memory: the consciousness of being naked, balanced on the tripod
of her knees and head with bare backside up in the air, with that
ridiculous balloon flying from it, her buttocks clenching, her
hips moving, her thighs tightening in rhythm, her mouth giving an
active blowjob to a disconnected penis... Sheila's hands raised
to her mouth, Kevin with his jaw dropping open.

Time started back up, at last, though in slow motion. A wave of
heat started from her face and spread to her whole body. Her mind
battled with the tumult of excitement and shame as she heard
Sheila saying "Oh... my... God!" She heard the sound of desks
being bumped and chairs overturning, and a rush of feet. More
faces appeared in the doorway, expressing various degrees of
shock and, in many cases, youthful hormones starting up. The ones
with the best view started giggling, trying to stifle it but
succeeding only partially.

"How could..." / "Stop pushing, lemme see..." / "Look, look at
her mouth..." / "Ewww, gross..." / "Laura Burton, you okay..." /
"Oh right, she sure looks okay, doesn't she asshole?"... From the
back, frantic cries of "What is it? What's going on?"

Her long night was over. A long, LONG morning was just beginning.