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Archive name: phs07.txt (mf,blkmale,humil,sex slave)
Authors name: Wiley06
Story title : Portervill High: Sara's Training
Part 7 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: Sara's Training
Part 1.6
By Wiley06
Jim and Achilles returned the next day, Friday,
to Sara's house. This time she made sure she was pre-
pared, 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 degradation 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 over-
whelmed, and sometimes scared, her partners.
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 behavior; he
laughed at her and beat her and bound her desires to
him. It was no longer a question of blackmail, al-
though 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 spank-
ing. 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 some-
thing. 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 any-
thing 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 schoolday passed
pretty much as usual. After school, Achilles met Amy in
her room.
"Hello Amy. How you doing today?" he asked, look-
ing 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 dole-
ful 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 shyly 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 wondrous 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 com-
ing 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 vir-
ginity 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 enjoy-
ed 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 commiserated, 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. Every-
thing 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 bend-
ing 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 clitoris. 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, re-
leasing 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. Laugh-
ing 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 assault-
ing 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 for-
ever. 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.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 8 - Text 8414