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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please
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Marcie's Special Summer
by Old Bill (address withheld)
***
A pretty young teacher tries modeling and unwillingly
ends up a porn star and a sex slave. (MMF, nc, exh)
***
After turning in her final grades, Marcie Phillips was
feeling pretty good about her first year of teaching as
she straightened up her desk and got ready to leave for
the summer. She stood, looked around the empty
classroom, closed and locked the file cabinet and
turned to face the coach when she heard the door open.
"Hi," she said with a wide smile, feeling just a trace
of apprehension.
"Hi yourself, pretty one," the big man said. "I know
you don't want any of our services, you've told me
enough times, but, if you're not busy this summer, give
this guy a call." He handed her a business card. "He
books girls into modeling jobs for clothing catalogues,
and you've got the body for it, honey. You know,
L.L.Bean, Tommy what's-his-name, Eddie Bauer, no trash,
prime stuff. Pays good and its honest work."
She smiled and took the card, said "thanks" and walked
out to her car, feeling the eyes of several boys and
men on her as usual. Since she was twelve or thirteen,
she had been able to tell when men were staring at her,
undressing her in their minds. The feeling was not
completely unpleasant; in fact it sometimes made her
tits tingle. She tried to walk without hip sway,
without jiggling. Marcie knew she was pretty, felt as
if she had always known that, enough people had told
her. And it was true. She was a wholesome, girl-next-
door, American beauty, a breathing centerfold, a
walking wet-dream with a smile on her fresh-scrubbed
face.
She slid into the leather seat of her old Mustang and
sighed. A whole year and not one decent man, and if she
had tried one, she had tried twenty, all duds, every
damn one of them. Marcie was not aware that her beauty
was part of the problem. She shook her head tossing her
blonde curls in disgust; just a high school boy who
humped like a machine. She had been fucking Phil about
once every two weeks, and it had been generally been
enough, plenty in fact. The young woman shivered
thinking about the size and strength of the youngster's
male member. He was incredible and usually left her
sore but satisfied.
She turned the key, backed out and as she was about to
leave the parking lot saw gawky Phil at the bus stop.
She stopped and waved, and he came trotting over and
hopped in beside her, pulling the seatbelt and smiling.
"Had to make up a test," he explained. "How'd it go?"
Her wonderfully long legs were bare.
Marcie smiled and took a deep breath. "I got hired for
the second year; that's about all they said. My
supervisor had some suggestions."
"You're a good teacher. Don't let 'em bullshit you.
Want a fuck to get you through the summer?" Phil smiled
and hoped.
"Pretty crude, Phil," she said with a grin. "Pretty
crude. Where do you live?"
"Not far from you, right on the way. How about it? I've
got time?"
"I don't," she said. "But thanks." She felt her vagina
tremble and become warm and moist. They rode for a
while in silence, listening to the news and weather on
the radio and then to her choice of music, soft rock.
"Hot date?" Phil asked.
"Something like that, fellow from Masonville, nice
guy."
"Good luck," said Phil. "I can get out over there."
She pulled to the curb and he left with a wave. Marcie
felt proud of herself, having resisted temptation, and
drove to her apartment. She hauled in her stuff,
stripped off her work clothes and jumped in the shower,
trimmed her pubic hair, shaved her legs and then looked
at herself in the mirror on the back of her closet door
as she stood with her slinkiest underpants in her hand.
"Not bad," she said to her image. No fat she could see.
She bounced on her toes a few times and watched her big
breasts jiggle, not a bit of sag.
She had kept her blonde hair trimmed short and it
fluttered nicely about her ears. Her face was smooth
and regular, her eyes icy blue, eyebrows nicely arched,
nose straight and proud, lips full and chin firm. She
stretched her neck, squared her shoulders and thrust
out her high breasts, noting that the sensitive nipples
were just a bit aroused, pointing up and slightly away
from each other, pink and hard, the areoles the size of
poker chips and slightly mounded. Her stomach was firm,
her belly soft, her fuzzy mound fairly prominent and
her vulva's lips just slightly puffy.
She hadn't had any sex for two weeks which was why Phil
had been tempting, hadn't even used one of her toys,
and she was more than ready. She palmed her firm mound
and stroked her pussy two or three times, enjoying the
tingle, eyes closed and a growl in her throat. Her legs
were long and shapely, her thighs perhaps just a bit
too muscular, but her buttocks were, she knew, prime. A
great ass, her brother had crowed the last time she was
home and then he smacked her hard right on it producing
a whip-like crack and the squeal he wanted.
She was five feet-nine inches tall, weighed about 130
most days and measured, the last time she checked, 37-
25-36. She wore a 38C bra and filled it well, bulged
out of the top in fact since her pectorals were so
strong. She stood on tip-toe and turned so she could
see her round ass clench, making deep dimples. Then she
pulled on the Vickie's T-string thong that left her
buttocks completely bare and slipped on a lacy half bra
that lifted despite its plunge between her full
breasts. She took a deep breath and leaned forward
toward the mirror. She smiled. That ought to get him,
she thought, glancing at the clock.
She tried on three dresses before she decided on the
little black dress that hit her about mid calf and was
nearly backless. She tossed her bra aside and pulled on
some high stockings and high-heeled, open-toed and
sling-back shoes. The dress's soft material displayed
her nipples clearly, and she smiled at her image and
took a deep breath, rotating her hips to see the flared
skirt sway. Lipstick was all the makeup she used and
very little of that. She was ready with five minutes to
spare. She was horny and she knew it. One dab of
perfume for the final touch.
Jack Conway was also a teacher, a history teacher now
in his third year at a nearby town's high school. He
was tall, good-looking and very popular with the young
ladies, a first-class stud Marcie had been told. Marcie
had met him at a teachers' meeting, flirted with him
and had gone to one movie with him, but tonight they
were going out to celebrate the end of the school year,
and the lovely young woman fully expected that she
would end up in Jack's bed and under his muscular body
with six or eight inches of manhood inside her.
In fact she did just that. After a ride into the city,
supper at a very upscale place, then a noisy dance
club, and a few kisses they grappled together in his
apartment and wasted no time bounding into his big bed,
his heavy cock rampant, her pussy wet. Jack pawed her
breasts, fingered her vagina and drove his big ram into
her, came on the third stroke into Marcie's fevered
body and flopped back down beside her with a sigh after
he emptied his balls into his safety-tipped condom,
grunting loudly. "Oh, lord," he gasped, "you are really
something."
"Jack," she sniffed, turning toward him, "I need more
than that. Please."
"In the morning, sweetheart, promise, promise," he
said, turning his back to her, his brain filled with
alcohol fumes.
Marcie rolled out of bed as soon as he started snoring,
pulled on her dress, stuffed her panties and stockings
in her purse, went down the stairs and walked to the
main road, caught a bus, ignored the looks, and got
home about two in the morning, angry and unhappy. She
found her long vibrator, checked that the battery was
still working, stripped off her clothes and climbed
into bed, slipped the device into her vagina, adjusted
the clit tickler and turned it on. Then she wept.
In the morning, as she dressed, Marcie noticed the
business card the coach had given her and while she ate
her breakfast punched the number. "Ajax Agents," said a
female voice.
"Mr. Preston, please," said Marcie. The phone clicked
and man's voice answered. "This is Marcie Phillips, I
understand you are an agent for models."
"Uh huh, where'd you get this number?"
Marcie told him that the coach at her school had given
her his card.
"Oh yeah, OK then, can't be too careful these days. You
want to model; we take fifteen percent, guarantee you a
minimum after some tests. You got a portfolio?"
"Minimum?" asked Marcie.
"Varies," said the man, "usually a hundred to two fifty
an hour which means you get at least eight-five. You
got pictures, a set, you know?"
"No, I don't," said the young woman, "Is that a
problem?"
"Small one. Come on in and I'll sign you up and we'll
make some." Marcie got his Baltimore address; the man
said to bring a bathing suit with her, and she checked
that her bikini shave was still okay and poked her
bright yellow suit, the smallest one she owned, in her
big purse and headed for Charm City.
An hour later he walked into the plain office of a
warehouse-type building and smiled at the bimbo behind
the desk, her huge breasts nearly falling out of her
scoop-necked blouse, her chewing gum snapping. She gave
Marcie a clipboard and a form to fill out, and when she
was done, the receptionist looked up, smiled, said, "Go
on in," and went back to what she was doing, chewing
gum and clicking keys. Marcie went in to Sam Preston's
office and found him on the phone. She stood before his
desk and watched him ogle her up and down. Sam felt his
cock throbbing by then. He had ht the fucking jackpot.
When he put down the phone she handed him the
clipboard, and he introduced himself and shook her
hand, waved her to a chair and looked at the paper she
had filled out. "Twenty-two, huh, pretty old for a
first-timer. But you've got good posture. Walk over to
the door and back, one foot in front of the other. OK.
Take off your jacket and walk back. Nice, you got a
good pair a'jugs and a great ass. We'll get some
pictures made. Go on through there." He pointed and got
back on the phone.
Marcie, surprised by his crude langue, hesitated and
then did as she had been told. After all, she decided,
it might be an interesting experience and she had
nothing better to do. She lifted her china and took a
deep breath.
Hot damn, thought Preston, that fucking coach is
something. I haven't seen one this good for years. What
a fucking beauty. He turned his old Rolodex and pulled
down his zipper.
In the next room, which was very warm, Marcie met
George and Mike, photographer and assistant. They put
the young woman on a high stool, took her jacket and
pocketbook, adjusted their very bright lights, tucked
her shirt in tightly, open two buttons and handed her a
bottle of doctored water. Marcie, nervous as well as
warm under the hot lights, drank, and they started
taking pictures and telling her where to look and turn
and raise her chin and George moved around her with his
Hasselblad.
"Loose the shirt," George said after a few minutes,
"give it to Mike."
Marcie blinked, bit her lower lip and unbuttoned her
blouse and shrugged it off, a bit uncomfortable. She
had worn a new bra, one of Vickie's latest, a white
IPEX with a soft pad over her hard nipples. Mike
whistled and offered her the water bottle again. She
blinked and drank, wondering why her pussy was weeping.
"Yes, thought so, what a pair, ay plus," said George,
adjusting a light so it hit the top of the young
woman's golden hair and another to shadow her deep
cleavage. Marcie drank the rest of the water laced with
GHB. A few pictures more, and George had Marcie take
off her bra. She reached behind her without hesitation,
unsnapped the thing and shrugged it off. Mike put it in
her purse and from the small refrigerator where film
was stored handed her a blue plastic square and told
her to ice her nipples.
Marcie blinked and did as she had been asked, her
system now filling with the drug that weakened both her
will and judgment. She could feel her vagina pulsing
with need. Her nipples jutted and she looked down at
them and lifted a breast to lick one. She gave George a
silly smile when he petted her boobs and then hefted
them with both hands.
A few minutes later, after she had twisted, turned and
leaned back and forth for the photographers, George
told her to put on her yellow bikini, and he and Mike
stood and watched her do it, taking a few shots as she
peeled off her shirt and tiny underpants and checking
to make sure the two small TV cameras were properly
aimed.
Marcie tied the top between her aching breasts so that
both the lower and upper halves of her lush mounds were
bared and pulled the bottom tightly to her hipbone so
her pouting lips were clearly defined, what some called
a cameltoe. Then they posed Marcie in her bikini and
took some more pictures and then had her take off her
suit, slowly and piece by piece. By then both men were
fully aroused.
When she was bare and on her knees, pouting up at the
camera, her forehead beaded with sweat, Mike produced
his sizeable cock and fed it to her lips. Marcie
sucked, her mind confused, and ovaled her lips around
his stalk as he held her head, moving slowly in and out
of her mouth until he ejaculated and she swallowed and
gagged. George then had her get on her hands and knees,
took several shots of her dangling globes and while
Mike shot frame after frame, the photographer drove his
blood-heavy prick into her vagina from behind, both
hands on her shoulders, and fucked her hard and fast,
grunting and heaving.
Marcie closed her eyes and enjoyed it, moving her hips
back against his thrusts and wishing she could come.
After George fired several ropes of jism in the young
woman, he got her another bottle of water. Then he
walked her down the hall, still wearing her heels, got
her into the smelly dance-hall costume and pushed her
onto the small, Western barroom set in the far corner
of the shabby studio. Marcie stood, a bit wobbly, drank
the rest of the water in her bottle, and wondered what
was going on. She was wearing a white off-the-shoulder
blouse with its string dangling and a squash-blossom
skirt of purple and red.
Three cameras were rolling when the pair of rough
looking cowboys wearing six-gun, their spurs jangling,
came into the fake room with Marcie, grabbed her,
kissed her, tore off her clothes, pushed her down on
one of the tables and while one man forced his huge
cock into her from behind the other used her mouth,
banging her head rapidly against his hairy belly as he
face fucked her, her blonde hair flying. When they were
done, they knocked her to the floor and the switched
places to rape her again, crying out with pleasure when
they came into the limp female, spraying her lush body
with their spend.
"Enough," said the man behind the cameras since they
accumulated plenty of tape for a 24-minute porn movie.
By then Mr. Preston had made contact with the Emir's
representative in New York and one of the cowboys was
having himself a fine tit fuck on Marcie's chest while
she stroked her own pussy and finally managed to
achieve a painful orgasm, writhing on the dirty floor.
"Yeah," said Preston, "I sent you the pictures didn't
I? You can see she's a beauty, can'cha? Right? OK." He
listened to the man who had bought women from him
previously, mostly whores but a young girl or two as
well. "Yeah, I know, she was seventy-five, but she was
only sixteen, that last one; this one's twenty-two,
full grown. Great jugs." He listened and nodded,
scratching his balls, smiled and said, "OK, OK, we'll
take a hundred thousand for her. You going to pick her
up? Yeah, yeah. OK. Tomorrow morning. Nine, right?
We'll have her ready to go."
While that was going on, all three cameramen had fucked
Marcie missionary style on the studio floor, and the
battered woman had managed, despite her hazy mind, to
climax once again, nearly jolting off the young man
pounding into her, his hands on her firm breasts, her
red nipples jutting out between his grasping fingers.
George had wriggled and pushed to get his cock down her
throat during one of those rapes by bending her head
well back and going in from behind her, her nose
pressing his scrotum.
Marcie wobbled into Mr. Preston's office wearing just
her unbuttoned blouse, and George was right behind her
with her clothes and pocketbook. "She done good," he
said with a smile. "And she's hot and tight and doped
to the gills." Marcie wiped the sticky cum from her
mouth and shook her head, confused. Five men's semen
oozed down her thighs.
"Got a rough cut for me to look at?" the man asked as
Marcie leaned on his desk, her mouth slack and eyes
unfocused, her lovely breasts showing some teeth marks
and scratches. She now had twice the usual dose of GHB
in her system and had no idea where she was or what she
was doing or even what had already been done to her.
Preston stepped behind her, admired her rounded
buttocks, unzipped his pants, held her hips and drove
his thick rod into her dripping pussy.
When it was well lubricated with other men's sperm, her
pulled it out, watched her inner labia stretch, and
shoved it into her pink anus. Marcie lifted her chin
and gasped, "Don't," as he began to fuck her deeply,
grunting and slapping her ass as he enjoyed himself,
lifting the girl off her feet from time to time as he
ass raped her, his other hand on the small of her back.
After he came in her colon, he wiped his cock on her
leg and pulled her over to a chair facing the wall. A
panel slid back to show a wide-screen TV and it filled
with scenes of Marcie's last hour or so, having her
picture taken while stripping for George and Mike and
then the Western scene followed by the cameramen's'
wild series of rapes, and George's cock disappearing
into her mouth and making her neck bulge. Marcie sat
and watched, wondering what she was seeing and who the
pretty blonde girl was. She fingered her battered
pussy.
When the tape was done, Preston got the girl's skirt on
her and took her downtown to his club, installed her in
a private room and rented her out to his friends at a
hundred dollars for fifteen minutes. Sometime after two
in the morning, Preston pushed the girl into the shower
and turned on the water. By then the drugs were
starting to wear off so he gave her some Ecstasy and a
sleeping pill and took her to bed, fucked her sore
vagina fiercely while mauling her battered breasts,
ignored the blood on the sheets and slept while Marcie
whimpered.
In the morning he gave her two tablets of Rohypnol and
made her get dressed after he fucked her as she stood
at the foot of the bed, shaking her head and drooling,
her brain comprehending nothing. Someone had taken her
bra, but she dressed herself carefully, wondering what
was going on, and went with the man back to his office
where a black Cadillac limo waited idling at the curb.
Preston opened the door and pushed Marcie into the back
seat. He was handed a metal suitcase and then the door
slammed closed and the big car roared away.
Inside a man who called himself "Jim" and was in fact
the oldest son of his nation's ambassador to the UN
started undressing Marcie while his stoic bodyguards
watched from the jump seats. When Jim got Marcie
stripped and impaled on his upright cock, he offered
his security men her luscious breasts while the girl
sat on his lap, eyes closed, deeply penetrated from
beneath as the man bounced her on his stiff horn.
The hefty men facing her savaged her tits and produced
a throbbing orgasm in a few minutes which they seemed
to ignore. But Jim noticed when Marcie creamed, pushed
her up and then pulled her back down on his rod so that
penetrated her anus. The young woman shuddered as one
of the security men rubbed her clit with his thumb and
dug two fingers into her pussy.
Stimulated by the drugs she had absorbed, the young
Arab prince and his two guards enjoyed Marcie almost
all the way up the New Jersey turnpike and barely got
her back into her clothes by the time they reached the
legation's brownstone. Then Jim gave her a shot of
tranquilizer in the hip and hauled her in and presented
her to his father, explaining that the girl had been
drugged when he got her in Baltimore. The bearded man
did not seem to notice the slime flowing down Marcie's
legs
For the next month, Marcie was the house whore at the
legation, serving anyone and everyone the envoy chose.
Few days passed that she was not raped three or four
times, often by more than one man at once. "Jim" the
envoy's son took special pride in how many times he
could make her scream for mercy during a single session
after he put electric clips on her nipples. Marcie was
kept on a light dose of Ecstasy for the whole period
and suffered almost continuous chills and often found
herself clenching her jaw when being used sexually. She
ached all over and had trouble sleeping.
On the first of August a new envoy arrived. In being
shown around the building, he encountered Marcie who
was wearing only a t-shirt and some flip-flops at the
time and had just serviced a pair of young translators.
When he asked who she was, he was told she was the
resident slut who provided sexual relief to the staff.
Unbelieving, he had the young woman brought to his
office and began inquiries. Before the end of the day
he knew that she had been purchased from a Baltimore
provider for a hundred thousand U.S. dollars, that she
was being given drugs against her will, and that she
was a public school teacher.
The sheik took action at once. The previous ambassador
for forced to repay the treasury ten times what Marcie
had cost out of his own pocket. His oldest son, who had
known what was going on and had kept the girl drugged,
was castrated by his father in a public ceremony on the
patio behind the embassy. As he left his club one
evening, Sam Preston was blinded with carbolic acid
which disfigured him grossly. And Marcie Phillips was
detoxified and given a week to recover at a very
upscale spa. She was allowed to keep the Dior dresses
and Channel suits purchased for her so she could attend
UN functions and her car was retrieved from Baltimore.
By mid-August Marcie was well enough to return to the
embassy and receive the representative's apologies and
a gold ring and $9,990 in cash. "It is a gift," said
the ambassador. "You need not report it on your income
tax form." Marcie smiled and thanked him, her memories
of the previous six weeks spotty at best but sure her
body and mind had been mistreated.
She drove back home with the top down, wearing one of
her Dior summer dresses and honking back at passing
truck drivers. When she thought about it, she knew she
had been mistreated, but she also knew that she had
been sexually satisfied many times over.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 54