========
Message-ID: <172420Z16051996@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an109288@anon.penet.fi (Kid Dynamite)
Date: Thu, 16 May 1996 17:20:27 UTC
Subject: (*) SS - 8

ss_8.txt

to lean forward, grinding herself onto the beam just where her most
delicate and sensitive spot was.  But she began making some headway,
inching forward.

But the sensation must have been quite powerful, because she began
mewing, most plaintively, with every lurching inch she managed to
push herself forward.  Her agonized mewing, quiet though it was, echoed
hollowly in the old gym.

The scene was just as Allison had described it would be.  It was
depraved beyond all of my expectations.  I was glad I had heeded
Allison's advice, and spread a thin layer of baby oil on the beam,
just a few inches from the spot I had put Sally.

She inched her way onto that section of the beam, onto the sheen of
oil, mewing and groaning pathetically, and her forward progress nearly
ceased.  The oil made the beam very slippery, and it was now doubly
hard for Sally to move.

She seemed to realize this, because she paused, and hung her head,
shaking it, and moaned "Pleeease," very quietly, as she rocked from
side to side.  I knew she was aching for relief.  But then she
redoubled her efforts, rolling forward, hunching onto the beam lewdly,
trying to get some purchase, but only sliding back and forth on her
crotch.  Her mewing was growing more prolonged, and even more
plaintive.  I quietly stepped closer, and put my eye even with plane
of the beam.  From just a few inches away, I watched as my lovely
Lolita strained and ground her pouting mound onto the slippery beam.
It was all the more obscene because Sally's ridiculously small leotard
was pulled completely between her now-swollen lips, and I knew it only
added to the sensations assaulting her.

It was perfect.

    * * *

Every day I was transformed.  From the person I thought I was - Sally
- into someone else.  Someone I hardly even recognized.  For what
seemed like a long time that transformation began when I walked into
the old schoolhouse, and ended when I left and went home.

But gradually, I found myself changed, even when I wasn't with Mr.
Howard.  This was the part that was most frightening.

I ran across the short distance from the behind the parking lot to the
old schoolhouse.  From the outside, there wasn't a trace of what went
on inside.  You couldn't even tell that the building was open.  I
jogged around to the back of the building, the side that faced the
woods, and nearly slipped on a patch of ice.  The air was cold, and a
wind was beginning to pick up.  I paused at the door, and I looked up
at the flat, grey sky, wondering who I was, and what I was doing
here.  I went in, just as the first drops of sleet began falling on
the frozen ground.

Inside, in our classroom, Mr. Howard was waiting for me.

I was about two minutes late, and I knew he was going to punish me for
it.  I could see it on his face.  The realization made me throb with
nervous anticipation.  What punishment would it be today?

Already I was transformed.  I had scarcely walked into the building,
and already I had metamorphosized.  I was thinking about being
punished by Mr. Howard, and it was making that feeling in me pound
like tribal drums.

But the truth was that I had already began my change, before I walked
into the old schoolhouse.  I had woken up changed.

I had woken up from a dream so real, so vivid, that I had to sit still
in bed for a moment, just to convince myself that I was awake.  It was
a haunting, disturbing dream, and it was all about the things I had to
do for Mr. Howard.

I had woken up with that feeling, throbbing in time with my racing
pulse.  In my dream I had been asking for more.  Begging for more.
Pleading to be punished, and melting into ecstasy when Mr. Howard made
me do... ...things.

Now, as I stood before Mr. Howard, I realized that I had been waiting
for this moment the whole day.  I had been thinking about it
constantly.  It had been a buzz in my brain since I opened my eyes,
stumbled out of bed, and taken off my pajamas, only to find them
soaked.  I had been like that all day.  I was like that now.  I knew
that my undies were sticky, and that they would smell so strongly of
me.

I realized that the whole day had passed, and I couldn't recall its
details.  I couldn't remember any of it clearly, except for the need I
felt and had been pretending didn't exist.

He had changed me.  Or, I had changed. Both. And it was happening all
the time, now.

I knew what I was doing, now.  At this moment, I saw that I had a
choice.  I saw it clearly, away from the urge to obey that always
welled up inside me.  I knew that I could walk away, and that I could
free myself from all of this with one phonecall to the cops.  One
brief conversation with another teacher.

I knew that I was the one with the power.  The idea that this was all
in my control suddenly cleared my vision.  I felt so lucid and
balanced, and calm.  I could do whatever I wanted.

But, at that moment, I also felt ashamed.  I blushed, feeling my guilt
wash over me.  I was ashamed because I had a choice, and Because I
wanted it.  Because I was choosing to be wicked.

I had changed.

I knew that my judgment had been bad.  I knew that I had followed
blindly before, and done whatever I was told.  I knew that what was
going on here was so wildly twisted it was unbelievable.

But I wanted it so much.  I needed it.  And at that moment, I was no
longer a naive little girl.  I was strong.  I was me - Sally.  And,
despite myself, I wanted this more than anything.  I wanted it so much
that I was possessed by it.  I knew that I had never felt this way
before, and that I wanted it, all the time.  I wanted this throbbing,
burning, aching feeling every minute.

I had changed, and not just for them.  I burned with shame, knowing
what I was about to do.  Knowing what I was choosing.  I knew how much
I wanted to submit.

Before Mr. Howard could speak, I told him how wet I was.  I told him
about my dream.  I told him how I had been feeling, all day.  Then, I
took off my undies, and handed them to him.  I told him that I had
been especially naughty, and that I wanted him to punish me for it.

When he was done, I asked him to make me be naughtier than ever.

    * * *

More bad news from the bastard accountant had arrived via registered
mail, and it only made my black mood blacker.

A couple of whiskeys later, I was feeling quite a bit better.  I went
to look for Allison.  Allison, not long after we had been married, had
developed an uncanny ability to disappear when she didn't want to be
found.  This had become especially easy for her to do when we had
moved into the Godforsaken Pit we now called home.

I started by looking in all of her usual hiding places, but soon found
myself wandering through the palacial halls of the house, looking for
her, but not much caring whether or not I found her.  I was content to
brood, alone, listening to my footsteps echo loud and hollow in our
empty corridors and rooms.

Then I caught a glimpse of Monique, one of the housestaff, far down at
the other end of the hall, bursting out of a closed in an obvious rush
to go somewhere.  But something about her made me stop, and then slip
quietly to one side, behind a stone column, to watch her.

After launching herself out of the room and into the hall, and then
slamming the door behind her, she nearly collapsed against the far
wall.  She bent over, and her long, curly dark hair hung over her head
like a mane.  Faintly I could make some sounds echoing down the hall
to me.  She was panting.  Or sobbing.  I couldn't tell which.  She
stayed like that for a few moments, and then slowly straightened up.

As she did, I saw that her white blouse was unbuttoned down to her
waist, revealing a modest, but perky pair of tits in a beige bra.  She
started to button herself up, but then saw something on the ground in
front of her.  She stooped down and scooped it up, and I saw that it
was her panties!  What was going on, here?  Had she dropped them?

I was straining to see, and my shoe scraped on the hardwood floor.
Monique started, and her head jerked towards my hiding spot, but I
don't think she could have seen me in the darkness, so far down the
hall.  But she must have been spooked, because she quickly stuffed her
panties into a pocket on her skirt, and clutching her blouse closed
with one hand, she fled down the hall, and quickly turned out of view,
headed towards her quarters, I guess.

"Allison," I thought to myself.  Who else would be responsible?

She must be in that room.

I walked down the hall, and paused in front of the door that Monique
had just bolted from.  I could hear the sound of a television, playing
quite loudly, inside.

I slowly turned the doorknob, and pushed it open.

Inside, I found Allison.  She was watching some sort of video tape.
Porn.  Actually, she was doing more than watching.

It was a study, or a library, of some kind.  God only knows how many
rooms this house had that I had never seen.  This one was decorated
with pictures of hounds, foxes, and hunting scenes.  Dark mahogany and
brass bookshelves lined the walls.  There was only one dim light on in
the library, and its feeble light was lost in the wash of electric
blue phosphorescence from the TV.

Directly opposite me, the source of that glow, a projection-screen TV
was showing some sort of porn.  An older, grey-haired man and a young
woman.  They weren't doing much at the moment, but I could tell it was
porn - there was something about the way they were talking to each
other.

Allison was sitting on a leather couch, with her back to me, watching.
She was naked.

I slowly opened the door even more, watching her to see if she
noticed.  She didn't.  I slipped inside, and eased the door shut
behind me.

Then I saw what my wife was doing.

On a small table in front of her were a bizarre and disturbing
collection of objects.  I couldn't even imagine what half of them were
for.  But the way Allison was using one of them on herself, right in
front of me, left nothing to doubt as to its purpose.

She looked like she was in a trance.  Her eyes were glazed over,
heavy-lidded, and bathed in the blue glow of the screen.  She moved
slowly, languidly, tilting her head back a bit, and as her lips
parted, I caught a barely audible moan escape from them.

I had never seen what Allison did with her "Society" friends.  I had
never wanted to.  And this, apparently, was the sort of thing that
they liked.

I was disgusted.  Repelled.  But I couldn't tear my eyes from Allison.
Her position on the couch was so lewd, and what she was doing was so
shocking that I was rooted to the spot.

She picked up a remote, and pointing it at the monstrous screen,
fast-forwarded the tape.

The scene changed from a classroom to an office of some kind.  The
vantage point was terrible, though, even for the cheap sort of porn
that this looked to be.  The cameraman must have been seven feet tall.

The older man, who looked vaguely familiar to me, led a fresh little
peach of a woman into the office.  She was blindfolded, and wearing a
schoolgirl uniform.  "Hmph,"  I thought to myself with an inner
sarcastic sneer.  "Bringing a little bit of work home, Allison?"

I watched as the man left his blindfolded victim standing alone in the
room, and then he returned, carrying a paper bag.  Out of the bag, he
pulled coil after coil of white rope.  He was talking, quietly, to the
woman.  He was telling her how much she need to be disciplined.  How
much she needed to learn, the hard way, that she was to let him to
anything he wanted to her.  It sounded so cheezy.

Though she was still clothed, he tied the rope around her ankles and
legs, creating cuffs, in effect.  Then, with what seemed to be little
regard for her blindfolded state, he pulled her, by her bonds, over to
a high-backed chair behind the desk.

Allison was totally absorbed in the cheap porn, and in what she was
doing as she watched it.  I was aghast.

As the man began tying his young victim to the chair, and to the desk,
I could see Allison starting to get into it.

I watched her, her body illuminated by the flickering artificial
light, as she did things to herself that I had never even conceived
of.  She was moving more quickly now, keeping pace with the events
unfolding on the video.

The man had trussed up the blonde in position so lewd that she looked
like some sort of contortionist.  Then he began touching her.  At
first it was almost gentle.  It had a strange sort of tenderness.
Amazingly, as the old man touched the poor young blonde, she seemed to
respond, straining and arching in her bonds.  But this seemed to annoy
the man, and he grew more and more mischievous as he touched her.  He
teased and teased her, and was slowly either removing or pushing her
clothing aside as he did.  She was moaning.

Allison seemed to be enjoying the show almost as the twisted old man
and his victim.  As the long-legged blond, bound obscenely on the
screen moaned louder, so did Allison.

Just as the old man seemed to pushing his blonde bombshell's buttons
most effectively, he seemed to grow even more savage.  I watched in
mute shock as he quickly released her from her ropes, but then, just
as nimbly, bound her up again.  This time, the poor young woman looked
truly agonized.  I felt the burning of anger and disgust beginning to
stir in my stomach.  It seemed so unfair.

When the old man had finished tying her up again, even an impossibly
perverted and lewd position, he started in on her again.  This time,
he was saying the most wicked and depraved things to her that I think
I've ever heard.  Worse, he now seemed to be really enjoying the
unlimited access he had to the vulnerable young woman.  He was growing
more frenzied by the moment.  The helpless woman sobbed and moaned,
her body alternately shaking with the strain and thrusting out
obscenely at her assailant.  She was moaning, and begging for it.

I looked down at Allison.  At the new "toy" she was holding.  At what
she was doing with it.  I felt my stomach turn when I saw how much she
was enjoying it all, and I couldn't take it any more.

"You make me sick," I said, watching Allison literally jump up from
the couch.

She screamed something at me, but I didn't even hear her.  I was
already walking out.
 
    * * *

The fall days grew shorter and shorter, and soon it was winter.  As
the days waned on into the darkness of winter, I found myself on a
journey into the depths of desire.

I plunged headlong into that place inside me where I seldom looked.
It was a engulfing catharsis.  I felt reborn.

Sally was more willing than ever.  If anything, as my depravity grew,
she grew more disposed to it.  Now, if Sally didn't walk through the
doors of our private schoolhouse breathless, devoured by her own
desires, it was an occasion out of the ordinary.  She seemed to hunger
to submit to me as much as I longed to debauch and dominate her.

Despite, or perhaps because of her newly acquired and growing
appetites, each new debasement seemed to strike her ever more sharply
with shame, complicity, and humiliation.  And yet, her thirst grew
with each new depth we reached.  As did mine.

There was no end in sight.  Nor was I even capable of looking for one,
so consumed was I.  Ever more bold, more strident, more ravenous, I
feasted on Sally's modesty, her virtue, and her sensibilities.  And
never once did she refuse.

Our games were progressing from a playful prurience to an earnest,
unabashed lust.

In this regard, my relationship with Dean Allison Pierce had changed
dramatically.  She seemed to be enjoying, albeit vicariously, a
fantasy whose perversity nearly matched mine.  It was actually a bit
unnerving how similar her lusts seemed to my own.  Ever since she had
attacked me in my own home, she had begun meeting me there nearly
daily to discuss Sally's "education".

Actually, these discussions had grown more and more physical as time
passed.  It seemed that listening to my accounts of our days'
activities inflamed Allison's libido like a match to aviation fuel.
It seemed the more depraved the lessons I meted out to Sally, the more
Allison found her urges irresistible.

After a life of barrenness.  Of sterile aloneness, devoid of any
physical contact, or of any expression of my virility, long after I
had given up all hope of such, I found myself at an oasis.  I went
from Sally to Allison, and back, day in and day out.

I was feasting, but I hungered for more each day.

Often, I found myself mulling over some turn of phrase, or some hinted
suggestion, or a confessional account of one of of Allison's
fantasies.  I don't think she realized just how obscene she was with
me.  Whenever I would mention these accounts, later, she always seemed
to change the subject.  As if she were denying that she even had them.
But these thoughts would, more often than not, result in a new and
devilishly depraved idea for a lesson with Sally.

I had discovered a meanness.  A meanness in me, when I had believed
that I had none.  A mean streak that was a tool that I used on Sally.
Perhaps meanness is the wrong way to describe it.  Callousness might
be more appropriate.

I'm not sure when I first became aware of it, but gradually I found
myself turning on and off this callousness when it suited me.  And it
suited me with Sally, because she submitted to it.  It drove her to do
things I knew she never had dreamed of.  It allowed me to demand her
to do thing I would never have dreamed of.  I learned to wield it like
a king's scepter.  It was my vessel of power.  Power over Sally.
Power to do the nastiest things I could think of.  Power to make her
do them for me.  Power to make her love to do them.  Power to make her
want me to make her do them.

I discovered other tools, as well.  Sally's blindfold was one.
Restraint was another.  Their effect was helplessness, which seemed to
free her, and which jolted me with the purest of lusts - power over
her.  Her helplessness was one of the drugs that we both became
addicted to.  And the tool I had discovered most recently was
humiliation.  Erotic embarrassment, as it were.  Sexual shame.

It had occurred to me during on of our lessons.  The combination of
embarrassment and arousal were natural.  I knew Sally would hate it,
but be unable to resist it.  It would drive her wild, even as it
humiliated her.  And the mere thought of degrading and debauching
Sally in this way was firing my vivid, perverse imagination
remarkably.  I decided to plan several lessons on it.

Late one winter afternoon, I waited for Sally to arrive for her
lesson.  Because it was now getting dark so early, we had moved our
regular meeting place to one of the few rooms in the old schoolhouse
that had no windows - the old girls' locker room.

When Sally arrived, I began her first lesson directed most carefully
at her humiliation.  "Take off your blouse and bra, Sally."  With
downcast eyes, ever the subservient young woman, she began to comply.
As she did, I took an instant camera out of one of the lockers.  While
she wasn't looking, I snapped a photo of her as she pulled her blouse
over her head.  The flash and whirr of the camera gave it away, and
she quickly pulled her blouse back down to cover herself.

"What is that?" She asked, her face burning red with embarrassment.

It was obvious, of course, but I explained to her that her punishment
required documentation.  Then I told her to do as she had been told,
or she would face the consequences.

I could see Sally's shame.  In her eyes, I saw her struggling with
herself over what she was doing.  The fire in her body, and the force
of my will against her delicate sensibility, and her innocence.  I
felt a rush of lust and power, and snapped, "Strip, Sally!"

She finally continued, but with obvious reluctance.  I could see how
she hated this.  How degraded she felt by it.  I knew she was
wondering what would become of these photos.  I knew the possibilities
were mortifying.  Her horror and shame, should anyone ever see them!

But Sally looked at the tiled floor, and began undressing for me.  I
snapped picture after picture, dropping them on the floor in front of
her, so she could see what she was doing for me.  To increase her
shame. 

When she was bare from the waist up, I tied her hands together behind
her back, and then retrieved my camera.

"Now, Sally, I want you to somehow get your skirt and panties off,
without using your hands."

She looked at me with obvious pain, her cheeks crimson.  I explained




ss_9.txt

that she could use any other part of her body, like her feet, and
anything in the room that would make it easier.

It was the highest caliber of erotic game.  And, in this case, it held
special meaning for Sally, because as she set about following my
instructions, I took photos of her progress.  It was most thrilling
watching the poor young woman contorting, twisting, and rubbing
herself in a nearly hopeless attempt to do my bidding.  She was soon
perspiring with the exertion, and was resorting to more and more
desperate measures to obey.  She finally found that the corner of one
of the sinks in the locker room gave her enough purchase to get her
underwear off.  She never did get her skirt off, though I greatly
enjoyed watching her growing frustration and embarrassment as she
tried.

I finally relented, and took it off for her.  Then I led her, now
naked, by making use of a convenient and sensitive part of her budding
anatomy, to the next part of today's trials.

Between two rows of lockers, Arrayed on the low bench in front of me,
were an astonishing variety of what were called, in polite company,
marital aids.  There was no politeness or restraint about these
devices, however.  Some were exotic.  Others bordered on the strange.
But, they all shared two traits: they were wicked in the extreme, and
they were all quite large.

Sally's face fell slack when she saw them.  I snapped a picture.

I explained that she was first going "try all of these on for size".
She continued to look absolutely stunned, but her face, which was
already flushed with her exertions, grew a shade darker with her
shame.  "And," I announced gleefully, "I'm going to record it all."

Allison, who had been kind enough to furnish me with her collection of
toys, had also given me a harness that would hold them in place on the
bench while Sally endeavored to "try them on".  For the better part of
the afternoon, I watched, enraptured with perverse lust, as Sally did.

She found most of them a great struggle to accommodate.  That was, of
course, by design.  I made things just as awful for her as possible by
taking reams of pictures, and never hesitating to comment on just what
she looked like as she struggled.

She finished the last one with an agonized moan of desire,
frustration, and exhaustion, as our lesson was beginning to draw to a
close.  But, although Sally didn't know it, I had arranged for her to
stay until very late at night.  I intended to push her hard.

I appraised her as she sat, impaled on one of the more monstrous
invaders, straddling the low bench.  She was covered in sweat.  Her
blonde hair was matted with perspiration, and stuck to her neck and
face.  She was panting, and her glistening chest was heaving up and
down with each breath.  She seemed incapable of speaking, and only
sat, catching her wind, exhaling rhythmically with a low, breathy
moan.

Her legs were trembling slightly, no doubt nearly overwhelmed with
hours of effort to hold her lovely, pale body up, and to lower herself
down onto the strange objects, again and again, as she strained to
obey my licentious demand.

The small, enclosed room was filled with Sally's scent.  It was a
heady mix of her sweat, and her sweet, agonized breath.  But most of
all, it smelled of her poor, misused and tormented body.

Most exciting of all, as I had thought, it was driving Sally wild.
Even now I knew she was on the edge of ecstasy.  She had been there
for hours, but I had forbidden her to indulge herself.  Not that she
could have, easily, with her hands bound behind her.  How I was I so
sure of the afternoon's effect on Sally?  I had made her tell me, over
and over, in the most explicit terms.  Sally had found it terribly
humiliating to not only be forced into this behavior, but then to
confess that she liked it.  I had been merciless.  And there was a
stack of pictures to prove it.

But, I wasn't done.  I untied her, and made quick, but rough and
unforgiving use of the shower so handy in the locker room.  When I was
finished, and Sally was dry, and had used the toilet, she seemed quite
reinvigorated.  Which was good, because I had a long night planned for
us.

I began by making her pick a "favorite" toy, and ordering her to wield
it as it was intended, as I watched and photographed her.  She seemed
to take my order like a physical blow.  She sagged, and began sobbing
quietly, asking to go home.

"I can't do this, Mr. Howard, pleease," she entreated me.

I sat down on the bench, and made her stand in front of me, facing
away.  Her ass was perfect.  I squeezed it gently, my fingertips
following the line where her cheek curved down to her thigh.  "Now
bend over, Sally, and spread."

She did.  Even after an ice-cold shower, she was glistening with
juice.  "Now, Sally, beg me to make you do what I just told you to.
Beg me to make you be a naughty girl."

She did, of course, her voice choked with shame and humiliation.

    * * *

"Sally, is something wrong?"  I looked over at her.  She had just
hurried across the parking lot from school, and was in the front
passenger seat, next to me.

"No, Mom, I'm fine," she said, looking out the window.

But something about her didn't seem right.  She was hunched over in
the seat, her arms folded across her lap.  But, there was no telling
what, if anything, was going on.  She just got that way, sometimes.

"Ok," I said, and started on our way home.  The drive wasn't too long,
and I actually enjoyed it sometimes, even at this dreary time of year.

I tried to chat with her, but Sally seemed withdrawn.  Another one of
her moods, I figured.

But then, a few minutes later, I looked over at her again, and
something definitely didn't seem right.  She was leaning over her
knees, her crossed arms holding her abdomen.  Her eyes were closed,
and her lips were pursed in a thin line.  As I looked closer, I saw
that she looked flushed.  She groaned, very quietly, rocking forward a
bit.

"Sally!"  I was a bit alarmed.  "Sally, what's wrong?"

Her eyes flew open, and she straightened up a bit.  "Nothing, Mom, ok?
Nothing's wrong."

I didn't believe it, though.  "I knew we shouldn't have let you stay
out so late last night, even if it was a recital."

She looked at me blankly.

"The recital?" I said, arching my eyebrows at her.  "The one you were
at last night until almost midnight?"  Teenagers!  God, sometimes it
was like we weren't even speaking the same language.

"Oh, yeah - the recital.  It was fine," she murmured.

"Fine?  Well, it might have been, but if you're getting sick, from
staying out so late..."

But I trailed off when I looked over at her again.  She was biting her
lower lip, and hunching over again.  "Ohhh," she groaned, quietly.

"Sally, what is going on?!"  I was getting angry, now.  I hated
playing these stupid guessing games with her.

"Oh." She said again, her eyes fluttering.  Her mouth widened into an
even wider "O", and she put her head on her knees.  "Ohhh, God.
Ooohhhh."

"Sally!!!  Damnit, Sally, answer me!"

We rode on for a few more moments, and then she seemed to shake
herself, and with a that look of scorn and annoyance that only
teenagers can manage, told me, "Nothing, ok!  Nothing is wrong."

"Sally, something is wrong.  People don't act this way normally."

"I'm just - " she shook her head, and straightened up again.  She
wiped a thin line of perspiration from her upper lip, and said, "I
just have some cramps, ok, Mom?"

Well, that made some sense, anyway.  I was already mad, though, and I
didn't really have much sympathy.  "Sally, why didn't you just say
so?"  I silent swore under my breath.  Sometimes Sally just seemed to
enjoy tormenting me like this.  "Take something when we get home, ok?"

We rode the rest of the way home in silence.  Sally seemed better.
Then I remembered that I had some grocery shopping to do.  Instead of
heading home, I turned down the road towards the local strip mall, and
Sally blurted out, "Where are we going?!"

I told her, and she seemed to get very upset.  "Can't we just go home?
Mom, I have lots of homework to do.  Can't you go later?"

But there was no way I was going back out in this foul weather, and I
told her so.

She seemed to get more agitated as we neared the stores.  She was
fidgeting in her seat, sliding down into a slouch, and then
straightening up again, and leaning from one side to the other.

A pang of guilt started tugging at me.  "Sally, are you going to be
ok?"

She didn't look at me.  She seemed very distracted, like she was
concentrating on something.  Her cramps, I guess.  She only nodded at
me.

When I got out of the car, in the grocery store parking lot, Sally
didn't budge.  I didn't even make an issue of it.  Fine, I thought, if
she wants to wait, it's only going to take that much longer.

When I was finally finished, and wheeled my overburdened cart out to
the car, I found the windows totally fogged up.

I opened the door, and leaned in to pop open the trunk latch.  Inside,
Sally looked awful.  She was sweating, and her hair looked all tangled
and wild.  The air in the car was thick.  It smelled of Sally's musky
sweat, like she had been doing aerobics or something inside.  I guess
I startled Sally, because she jerked up.

"Mom!  Mom, hi," she said, quickly sitting up.  She had been nearly
lying down, completely horizontal in the seat.

When we got home, Sally rushed upstairs without so much as speaking.
I was too tired to really care.  I unpacked the groceries, and started
making dinner.  Jack got home, and we sat down to eat.  Sally seemed
really out of it, all through the meal.  At first I could have sworn
she was just being her usual difficult self.  She seemed so
distracted.  A couple of times, Jack or I had to repeat a question to
her more than once.  It was like she wasn't even listening.  She
didn't eat much, either.  She just fidgeted in her chair, staring at
her plate.  As we were finishing up, I noticed that she was straining,
almost shaking in her seat.  Her face was all tense, and her eyes were
screwed shut.  She was nodding her head up and down, up and down, and
her nostrils were flaring.  Like she was really in pain, or something.

"Sally?"  She didn't answer.

A bit louder, I said "Sally?!"  She still didn't acknowledge me.

Jack burst out, "Damnit, Sally, answer your mother!"

Sally's eyes flew open, and she blurted out a strained "Ohhh - ok!
Ok, what?"  But her eyes fluttered closed again, and she seemed to
tremble again.

"Sally, what's wrong, honey?" I asked.

She swallowed, and it seemed like she was collecting herself a bit.
"Nothing, Mom, ok?  Just what I told you before."  She motioned with
her eyes towards Jack.  This was our little code, and I knew she meant
the cramps that she'd complained of earlier.

But this had to be a really bad case, for Sally.  Usually she would
get them for an hour or two, if at all.  I was a little worried.

After I'd cleared up the dishes, I went upstairs, and found her in
bed, hunkered under the covers.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and felt her forehead.  "Sally, are you
ok, really?"  She was perspiring, and her skin felt hot.

She nodded.  "I'm ok Mom, I think.  I just have 'em bad, ok?"

"Are you sure, hon?"

She shrugged beneath the covers.  "Maybe not.  I don't know if I feel
well enough to go to school tomorrow."

Well, that set off the usual fake-illness warning bells in my head,
but I was pretty convinced that there was something going on.  This
was unusual, even for Sally.

"Ok, Sally," I said, patting her hand and giving her a smile.  She was
still my little Sally, after all.

A bit later, Jack and I were downstairs watching TV, and I could have
sworn I heard Sally upstairs.  "Jack, turn down the TV," I told him.

He gave me a dirty look.  "What?" He said.

"Just turn it down."  He did.  But I didn't hear anything more.

That was, until much later at night.  I don't know what time it was,
but I vaguely remember waking up because of some noise, and thinking
that it was Sally.  But I was so groggy I couldn't really figure out
what it was.  It was rising and falling, and I couldn't make it out.
Was she singing?  I put my head back down on the pillow, still
swimming somewhere between asleep and awake, and closed my eyes,
trying to get my thoughts to focus on what noise she was making.  Then
it was morning.

At about 10 o'clock, I was a bit surprised to get a call from Mr.
Howard, Sally's teacher.  He explained that he had heard Sally was
sick, and he offered to bring over her assignments for the day, so she
wouldn't fall behind.  I said, "Fine," and he said he'd be over
shortly.

I went upstairs to let Sally know, and I'm glad I did.  She was
sprawled out on her bed, still asleep.  The sheets were all rumpled
and twisted around her, like she'd been doing somersaults in bed.  As
I stepped into her room, she jerked awake with a start.  "Unhhh-Mom!"
She looked awful.  She was bleary-eyed, and her hair was a tousled
mess.  She seemed to jerk more awake as I walked over to her bed and
sat down.  She quickly pulled up the covers at the end of the bed, and
scrunched down into them.  "Mom," she croaked, half protest, and half
greeting.

"Hi, hon.  Feeling ok?"

She grunted and slipped deeper under the covers.  "I guess.  So-so."

"Was that you up here, last night?"

"Wha?  What do you mean?"

"I thought I heard you up here last night.  Maybe I dreamed it.
Anyway, Sally, Mr. Howard is coming over in a few minutes to drop off
your assignments.  Isn't that nice of him?"

"What?  Mom!"  Her voice was full of reproach.

"What?  I thought you'd be happy you weren't falling behind."
Teenagers.  God, even if she was sick, she was still a pain in the
neck.

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and stood up. "Well, you might want to
wash your face.  He'll be here soon."  I waited for her to move,
thinking she might fall back asleep.

"Mom - "  She gave me the "Oh, pleeease," tone.

"Up and at 'em, Sally.  Come on.  You can't look like a ragamuffin."
She didn't budge, though.

"Sally, I mean it."

"Mom, I'll get up, ok.  I promise.  Just leave me alone."

Fine.  I couldn't help a sigh of resignation.  "He'll be here any
minute," I warned, as I left.

A few minutes later, after a somewhat strained conversation with Mr.
Howard, I led him to Sally's room, and opened the door.  Sally, much
to my relief, had straightened herself up a bit.  She was still in
bed, under the covers, but she propped up on a pile of pillows, and
she'd fixed the sheets and blanket.

"Well," I said, as Mr. Howard set down his bulky briefcase by her bed.
"I'll leave you to it, then.  Let me know if there's anything I can
get you.  I have to make a quick run to the store in a few minutes,
but I'll be back soon."  I blew Sally a kiss, and went back
downstairs.

I did have some things to pick up, so a bit later I found my keys and
purse and got in the car.  As I was pulling out, I thought I saw a
flash of movement from Sally's window, which faced the street from the
second story of the house, but when I looked, there was nothing there.
I shrugged inwardly.  Probably Mr. Howard.

Sometime after noon, when I returned, I called up to them that I was
home, and then went upstairs to see how they were doing.

I came in just as Mr. Howard was slapping his briefcase shut with a
loud snap!

"Ah, Connie.  We were just finishing up," Mr. Howard said with a
smile, clicking the locks on his case.

Sally didn't look too great, though.  She was flushed, and looked like
she was perspiring again.  I wondered if she had a fever.

"Are you ok, honey?" I asked her.

She just nodded.

"Oh, I'm sure Sally's just fine," Mr. Howard said, standing up
stiffly.  As he pushed Sally's reading chair back towards the desk, he
remarked, "It's nothing she can't handle.  Just a little discomfort
for awhile."

He gave me a wry sort of smile.  "And, she's got plenty to do for
tomorrow.  I gave her plenty - to keep her busy."

    * * *

I had promised Bill Howard a certain reward, the day that I first
waylaid him in his house.  I'd dangled myself in front of him like a
lure, and he was hooked.  But what Bill didn't count on was that I was
the angler, too.

I'd promised Bill a certain reward, but only when he'd gotten Sally to
perform for me.  Actually, they both performed, quite delightfully.
Sally's introduction to the activity I'd required was one of the most
raw, powerfully erotic moments I had ever experienced.  I counted
myself lucky to be pulling off the most dangerous, daring episode of
my life, and at the same time, satisfying that burning, aching need I
had always felt.

The horny, foggy old lech and his young, ripe, succulent morsel of a
student performed for me, and I have to confess that watching them
sent me over the edge more times than I could count.  That afternoon,
I knew that my plan was going to succeed.

Of course, I gave Bill his reward, that night.  But I didn't give him
everything.  No, after all, he still had to whip Sally's libido up to
even higher heights for me.  He had to drag her down to new depths of
depravity.  Sally's systematic corruption, the seduction of her sweet
innocence, and the process exaggerating her submissive side were
progressing as I had hoped, but would she do it?  Would she?  I had to
be sure.  First, Bill still had to introduce her to the act itself.

I was confident that my twisted, nearly subliminal suggestions would
make that experience an unforgetable one for all of us.  But then we
had to clinch Sally's submissiveness.  She had to be taught to obey,
and to listen to her body's throbbing urges.  She had to become my
toy.  That was the only way I was going to get her to do it with her
stepfather.  I thought about her firm, young body, and wished I were
training her, not Bill.  She was mine.  I imagined my her servicing me
as I called her new name, and an involuntary shiver of heat ran
through me.

    * * *

Have you ever wanted something so much that it possessed you?  That,
in the face of it, you felt your self disappear, replaced by the thing
that you wanted?  Have you ever wanted something so much that day and
night it consumed your thoughts?

I, Sally Thompson, have.

I don't know when it happened.  I don't know how.  I had nearly
stumbled onto the road that I was on now.  At some point, I remember
realizing what this journey was.  I had decided, then, that I wanted
to make the journey, although it made me burn with guilt to know I was
capable of wanting something so wicked.  But I don't know when I
ceased to be, and the wickedness consumed me.

I never knew I could feel this way.  I had no idea how much I would
like it, or how much I would come to need it.  There was hardly a
moment now when some part of my brain wasn't thinking about it.  It
ran under and over my waking thoughts like a torrent, and I swam in
oceans of it in my dreams.

I never thought I would be capable of doing the things I had.  More
than that, I never thought I'd want to.  The fact was, now I wanted
to, more than ever.  I ached to.  I ached so deeply and totally that
sometimes I thought I would collapse if I didn't get relief.  I ached
from the pores of my skin to the depths of my heart.

I ached so completely sometimes I was sure that people could actually
see it.  That they could see and feel and smell how much I ached for
it.  I wondered if your thoughts could become so strong that they
would project from you like radio waves, and other people could pick
them up.  If that were true, then everyone knew the things I wanted.
I felt a perpetual burning ache, and with it, a dull throb of shame,
guilt, and embarrassment.  And I ached on, in spite of myself.

Just a few months ago, when we had first moved here, I was a stranger
to "that feeling".  It and I had just met, really.  But now I was so
well acquainted with it, I felt strange in its absence, which, thanks
to Mr. Howard, wasn't often.  Now that I had disappeared, entirely
replaced by the things that I ached for, even when I wasn't with Mr.
Howard, I still felt the feeling.  Even when I was alone, the buzz of
those thoughts in my head started that feeling like flicking on a
switch.

That feeling had become like the feeling of my own body.  Like a
second skin.  I didn't think it was physically possible, but an hour
didn't pass when that feeling didn't spring to searing life inside me,
leaving me with an anxious flutter in my stomach.  The images of all
the ways Mr. Howard had made me be naughty, and the thoughts of the