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Archive name: phs02.txt (mmmf,ff,rp,v,blkmale)
Authors name: Wiley06
Story title : Portervill High
Part 2 of 11 parts
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© 1998 This work is copyrighted to the author. No
changes may be made to this story, and the author
information must remain intact. This work may be
copied freely for non-profit purposes only.
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Porterville High - A criminal Act
Part 1.1
By Wiley06
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 Porter-
ville 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 trans-
lucent white, with kinky sandy blond hair falling to
mid shoulder. A sharp, thin nose divided her face in
two, strangely 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 quarter-
back 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 weight-lifters. 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 p.m., 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. Pre-
sently he exited, slurpie in hand, and turned the
corner into the darkness 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 insti-
gation 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 think-
ing 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 sur-
prised, 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 he 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 some-
thing 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 slug-
ged 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 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 be-
tween 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 cop'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, un-
reachable 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 some-
thing 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 man-
eater, 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 dark-
room 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 boy-
friend, 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 childishly scrawl on the front
of the envelope, and with a growing sense of foreboding
she opened the envelope.
She looked inside and pulled out the set of pic-
tures 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 occasionally. 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 re-
cord 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 stealthily 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 book-bag 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 passenger 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 hor-
rible. 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 un-
locked 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 ter-
rified 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 embarrassment.
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 ex-
hausted, and a little flushed from the exertion of
posing -- as well as a little excited -- not knowing
what to do.