Part 1

Jim Parker leaned against the end of his mop as he watched Miss Sara Ellsworth walk away from him down the empty halls of Porterville High School. She was one fine piece of ass, and she knew it, always wearing clothes that were just one step away from provocative.

Today she had worn three inch black pumps which matched a pleated black skirt which came down just above her knees, revealing the firm suppleness of her ivory skin, and when she turned suddenly, flying up to reveal the muscular tautness of her thighs. A white, and tight, low cut T-shirt, revealing perfect handfuls of breasts thrusting against the fabric and a firm, flat stomach, was kept from being too provocative by a long sleeved, black suit jacket, with a little bow in the back cinching in the waist.

Her dark brown hair was cut short, and was parted in the middle, curling slightly inward just above her shoulders, framing her perfect face, with its large, green eyes, small nose, generous mouth and lips, and just a sprinkling of freckles. At twenty four years of age, she was the youngest teacher at Porterville, and the biggest flirt.

Jim Parker knew a lot more about Sara Ellsworth than that, just as he knew a lot more about everybody and everything than that, having been the school janitor for over ten years. He was an imposing 6'3 and close to 280 lbs, dwarfing Sara's own tall 5'7". He also happened to be the only Afro-American in the school, Porterville being a rich white suburb of several thousands. So being, he was a bit of a cele- brity among the students, most foolish kids, he thought, and so gathered information from them. In his thirty five years of life and his twelve years, of working there he had thought he had seen everything, but he was wrong. What he had found out about Miss Sara Ellsworth surprised even him, and if she was plan- ning to do what he thought she was planning to do, well, there was going to be some big fun for old Jim boy right soon.

He had known Sara Ellsworth was wealthy, having inherited a large, in the tens of millions, fortune from her father--that much he had learned from the papers the school kept on all public employees. What he didn't know was why the hell she was teaching: she didn't need the money and she certainly didn't strike him as hell-bent to impart the wisdom of the ancients to the younger generation.

She seemed to be more inclined to tease all the male teachers, and all the boys in her class, into raging hard-ons, and then laugh inwardly at their arousal. It had been purely by accident that, while doing a walkthrough of the abandoned underground classrooms, now blocked off to everyone (he thought) except him, he had discovered her real reason for teaching English at a high school.

It was an old abandoned classroom, dark, dusty, and empty except for a single desk near the back of the room. A single light bulb burned in the middle of the ceiling, throwing faint illumination through the room.

Miss Ellsworth was sitting naked on the edge of the table, her lithe arms and legs wrapped around Sid, a third string offensive lineman, clutching at him convulsively as he pounded his cock into her. She was crying out in a husky voice, "Fuck me...oh god Sid... harder...fuck me harder...uhg...uhg...that's it... you're beautiful...uhg...fuck...."

And Sid did, no finesse there, just a steady, brutal poling, sending Sara gasping and panting with lust.

Paul and Dave, two more rejects from the football team, were waiting their turn, dicks in hand, eager expressions twisted by lust on their face.

Jim had looked on in amazement, peering through the small grimy door window into the room, for the thirty minutes it took the three strapping young men to cycle through her twice each. Each time one of them came inside her, she gripped him forcefully against her body for a moment, before pushing them away and beckoning another to put it in her. From what he could tell, with all the begging and grunting and calling out and whimpering Miss Ellsworth had done, she must have come at least ten times.

He had shaken his head as he walked quietly away from that scene, and he remembered thinking now he knew why she was here: to get a constant supply of young, hard dick. He wouldn't mind having a piece of that cunt himself.

Over the next few weeks, he had watched her close- ly, and discovered that Sid, Paul and Dave were the only boys she kept in her stable, but that she gave them quite a workout, usually taking at least two of them twice a day. He had even managed to secretly take several pictures of her in the act: one showing her on her back, covered by Dave, her legs wrapped around his back, her hands clutching his ass, her face over his shoulder in a paroxysm of ecstasy; another showing her on her hands and knees, her round mounds of tit flesh hanging beneath her, her back arched, shoving her ass back and up, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, Sid grabbing her hips in his hands and thrusting his cock into her gaping pussy.

He had thought about approaching her with the pictures and demanding a piece for himself or else, but then realized she would lose nothing. All the boys were overage, and although she might get fired, she really didn't need the job. Besides, she would probably call the police and get him on blackmail. He needed something better than that, something which would really hurt her, and he thought he would have it in just one short day.

There were certain places in the basement of the school where, by the strange confluence of vents and their acoustic properties made it possible to hear the conversations carried on in supposed privacy above. It was while listening in to one of the rare conversations between Sara and her boys that he had found what he was looking for: a way to get her just where he wanted her, impaled on his dick.

There was a girl in the school, only a sophomore, who, everyone agreed, was too smart for her own good. Her name was Maria Gonzales, and you could tell she was going to be a looker.

Now, at 15 years, she was at that awkward stage between the gawky slimness of a girl and the buxom fullness of a woman. Her straight, long dark hair was pulled back from a beautiful, slightly sexy face, with large dark eyes and a smooth olive complexion, turning red at her overfull lips stuck in a constant pout. Her shoulders were narrow but gave out onto large, full breasts, promising to be truly enormous when she matured fully, with large, dark nipples straining through all her clothes, and firm with the resiliency of youth.

From there her body became boyish, with a narrow waist giving onto narrow hips but full buttocks. Her thighs were promisingly full and firm, losing the thin- ness of prepubescent, and continuing down onto per- fectly formed knees and calves. She was a picture of emerging womanhood, but for all that, she was a smart- assed kid.

No one liked her much, but her father was wealthy and she was tall for her age at 5'6". She also had a wicked tongue, cutting down anyone who crossed her. She had a special feud going with Miss Ellsworth for some reason, and had, just a few days ago, called her a "splay-legged bitch in heat" in front of an entire class. This, Jim thought, must have been the last straw, sending Sara over the edge. Keeping her boys after school, she had laid out a plan to teach "that little bitch Maria" a lesson: Sara would lure the girl down to the old underground room where they usually met on the pretext of looking up her files; her boys would be lying in wait, and they would, simply, rape her.

Jim thought about warning Maria, and agonized over the decision for a few minutes. He finally decided that if he told her, he wouldn't be able to get at Sara, and besides, Maria Gonzales was quite the little bitch, and he didn't really give a shit about her. So decided, he borrowed a couple of handicams from the media storeroom, attaching a wide angle lens to one and placing it behind one of the vents on the upper corner of the abandoned class- room. The other he kept for himself, planning to be there himself to make sure he got good shots of everything.

The next afternoon, peering down into the abandoned classroom from above the ceiling, having slid a ceiling tiling aside so he could aim his camera down at the action below, he didn't see everything leading up to the rape, but he found out about it later. That day, Miss Ellsworth, wearing white stock- ings with a white mini and a white jacket, requested that Maria Gonzales meet her after school to discuss certain matters pertaining to her schoolwork. Maria met her in her classroom at 3:30.

Standing upon Maria's arrival, Miss Ellsworth said, "You will have to excuse me, Maria, but before I speak to you I wish to see your academic records. They are down in the basement. If you would please follow me?"

Rolling her dark eyes in her expressive Latin face, Maria muttered "Great" and followed Sara down into the basement. After following her teacher, that slut, down two flights of stairs and through a locked door which looked unused for decades, Maria began to wonder exactly where they were going. "Hey," she said, "where are we going?"

Ms. Ellsworth looked over her shoulder and answer- ed, "The files are down in the basement. Instead of walking all the way across campus, we're taking a shortcut through the old classrooms. Okay?"

"Yah yah..." Maria said disgruntledly, not liking the dimly lit hallways and the dust kicked up from the floor.

Shortly, Ms. Ellsworth turned and opened a side door; looks like a classroom door thought Maria as she stepped through the doorway, followed closely by Sara.

"Wha...?" Maria said, turning around in surprise as she saw she was in an old classroom, and was met by a fist in the belly, doubling her over and driving the air in a whoosh out of her lungs. She staggered back, her large, dark eyes widening in amazement as two burly young men grabbed her arms and forced her down on her knees. "Wha..what's going on?" she managed to stutter out to Ms. Ellsworth.

Sara stood in front of her, Sid by her side, and laughed cruelly, "I'm going to teach you a lesson bitch! You'll learn it's not smart to insult your betters." She strutted over to the held girl and began to unbutton her blouse.

"Wha?!" Maria cried out, "No! Stop!" She began struggling, trying to stand, twisting her body between the two men holding her arms, sending her hair whipping in a fury about her head. "You bitch! You fucking bastards! Aaaahhggg! Sons of a bitch! Let me goooo!" she cursed and wailed.

Ms. Ellsworth just smiled and finished unbuttoning Maria's blouse, revealing a strong white bra and her firm, flat stomach. Grabbing her hair, Sara pulled Maria's hair back, bringing a hiss of pain between her clenched teeth. "You pushed me too far, you little cunt," Ms. Ellsworth whispered to her as she reached around and unclasped her bra, "and now you're going to pay."

"Fuck you," Maria responded. Ms. Ellsworth just laughed and pushed Maria's bra up around her neck, let- ting Maria's two large, beautifully round breasts burst free, her large nipples broad across her tits.

"O.K. boys, now get those shorts off the cunt," Sara said, standing up and stepping back.

"I'll get you for this," Maria spit venomously, glaring in hatred at her teacher.

Paul and Dave, holding her arms, lifted her strug- gling body to its feet, and Sid quickly grabbed her legs and lifted her off the floor. They dropped her heavily onto her back, a cry of pain escaping her full lips. Sid quickly grabbed her shorts and pulled them over her hips and down her shapely long legs.

Maria was silent now, only the efforts of her struggle escaping her lips to fill the room. Her panties were quickly pulled off her body, and Paul brought Maria's arms over her head and pinned them there. Dave moved around and grabbed one of her legs. Sid and Dave then pulled Maria's legs apart, exposing the folds of the pussy to view.

Looking down on the action through the lens of a camera, Jim felt his cock begin to swell. Maria might be young, he though, but she sure had a hell of a body. She was squirming on the ground now, her legs spread by strong hands and her chest pushed up by her arms being pulled above her head. The firmness of youth revealed itself in her jiggling breasts and lean body, and her thrashings revealed strong muscles beneath creamy brown skin. Jim felt admiration grow in him for Maria, who refused to beg or cry out in the face of imminent rape. Instead, she screwed up her pretty face into a mask of hatred, her large, dark eyes flashing, her full lips pulled back from her teeth, revealing gritted teeth.

Sara knelt between the girl's legs and said, "We can't have you boys dry fuck this cute little pussy here, can we?" and brought her hand down over Maria's mound. Maria's face turned red from shame as she felt her teacher's hand expertly manipulate her genitals, prodding her inner flesh and rubbing her clit softly back and forth. After a few minutes she felt a cold, clammy dampness spread through her loins, and turned her face away from Ms. Ellsworth's as she said, "Ah... There we go. Paul, why don't you go first."

Paul quickly switched positions with Ms. Ellsworth and dropped his pants. He eagerly put his hard dick against the girl's tender opening and jammed himself forward, landing heavily onto Maria's breasts. Maria grunted in pain as Paul jammed his cock into her cunt, gritted her teeth and cursed them all in her mind. She felt nauseous as Paul began spiking his cock into her, his panting breath hot on her neck. Fuckers, fuckers, bastards, I'll fucking kill them all, ran through her mind, choking down the bile rising in her throat as Paul jerked his hips forward and shot his come deep inside her belly.

He was quickly replaced by Sid, and then Dave. Jim, from his perch overhead, saw tears leak from the corner of her eyes. He frowned to himself, thinking that maybe he shouldn't have let this happen after all. Well, at the very least, he would let the girl have a piece of little Ms. Sara Ellsworth when the time came. He smiled as he thought of what Maria would do to her when she got the chance; it would be amusing.

By this time they had finished with Maria, and, shoving her clothes into her hands, they pushed her out into the hallway. As the door shut on her, Sara said, "Okay, now it's my turn, and sat on the edge of the desk and pulled up her skirt around her waist, revealing that she wore no panties, and that her labia were swollen and glistening with lust.

Maria staggered down the dusty hallway, all her bravado gone. Sobs rose deep from her chest and tears streaked her face. The sticky come of her rapists squished between her legs and matted on her thighs. Still crying she collapsed on the stairway and pulled on her underwear and shorts, feeling her clothes become soggy with their sperm.

She clipped back on her bra and buttoned her blouse, wondering what she could do. She couldn't tell her mother: she wouldn't believe her. Her mother already thought she was a whore because she wore shorts to school, and thought her large breasts were just an invitation to licentiousness. Her father wouldn't care: he would think she was lying too, because it would be easier for him. The police would just tell her mother, and that, she decided, would be just awful. She wiped her face and pulled herself together; she was going to have to make it home without anyone seeing anything was wrong with her.

A half hour later she was at home in the shower, trying to wash the shame and humiliation of her rape away. She was crying again, and hated herself for it; if only she could get back at that fucking bitch Ms. Ellsworth.

Part 2

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.

Part 3

Ms. Sara Ellsworth was in a great mood. After shoving Maria out the door, she had had the best fuck- ing since that time when she was 14 years old, and she had teased seven of her brother's 18 year old friends into "raping" her. There was something about watching that haughty little bitch take cock that made her horny as all get out. She had even worn out her three studs. She lamented the fact that they weren't very good lovers, but they made up in quantity what they lacked in quality, and, besides, she had picked them because they were safe: not very bright, glad to get sex, and willing to let her be in charge.

She was standing in front of a full length mirror in her home, her skin a delicate pink from the shower she had just taken. Looking at her naked form she smiled: she looked good. With her dancer's body and round, firm, if not large, breasts, she knew she was a catch. She sighed and thought about calling one of her boys over for the evening, but decided against it; they were all pretty tired when she had left them. Still, she didn't have to go without. She went over to her dresser and pulled out her favorite vibrator. She turned it on, slid it in until her labia closed over the ends, and then put on a G-String to hold it in place.

She sighed as she felt the familiar, pleasant buzzing inside her vagina, and clenched her legs together, orgasming as the image of Maria's tortured face flashed through her mind. She knew she was a nympho, but she figured since she liked it so much, it wasn't a problem.

Walking naked, except for the G-String, through her house, she went into her video room and picked out H.O.M. video #16 and put it into her VCR. She sat down on a couch opposite her TV and started the tape, her hand wandering down to her clitoris. As the actors came on the screen, she experienced the second of many orgasms which she was to experience that even- ing.

Saturday she invited all three of her boys over, and they stayed until late that night pleasuring her. She went to sleep satisfied but reluctant to have the evening end, since she would have to do some schoolwork for Monday.

Sunday came, and she rolled out of bed, put on her robe, and wandered out to get her Sunday paper. Pick- ing it up, she noticed a large brown envelope next to the paper. Frowning with a sense of foreboding, she picked it up along with her paper and, walking inside and shutting the door behind her, dropped both the envelope and the paper on her coffee table. She started her coffee and sat down, picking up the envelope but loathe to open it. Finally she ripped it open and dumped out the contents: a VHS video tape and a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the piece of paper and read, "This Wednesday at 8:00 p.m. be alone in your home, and leave the door unlocked." It was unsigned. What the hell? she thought. This was insane!

Now both curious and fearful, she picked up the tape and headed to her video room. She sucked in her breath and muttered shit as the tape began playing. She watched it through to the end, every minute twist- ing another knife into her gut. It was a tape of what she had done to Maria. With this tape she could be put in jail for a long time. She was no innocent; she knew blackmail when she saw it. She sighed and shook her head as she rewound the tape and began watching it again. She wondered who had sent the tape and what he or she wanted. Well, she would find out Wednesday, and there was nothing she could do about it now, except hope that whoever had the tape wouldn't turn her in.

Monday rolled around and Sara Ellsworth was more subdued than usual, wearing conservative clothes and refraining from flirting with anyone. Teaching her class, she thanked god that Maria had decided not to show up today, and otherwise kept her eye out to see if anyone acted out of character. She didn't notice that anyone, not even her fellow teachers, were acting any different than normal. She was so nervous that she didn't even call upon any of her boys to service her, and she retired to her large house and sat in her bed- room, mulling things over.

The more and more she thought about it, the more she hoped it was a man, or some dyke. She was confi- dent that anyone attracted to women would be attracted to her: it had always been that way. She could give them a little taste of what she could do, and, she was sure, after a while they wouldn't be able to do without her -- then she would be in control, as always. She hoped.

Tuesday she was much more herself, and even called on Sid and Paul to service her. Since the ax had not yet fallen, she was pretty sure it wasn't going to; and she was sure that she could handle any blackmailer to her satisfaction.

Wednesday her day was filled with worry and tre- pidation. It passed quickly and she found herself waiting expectantly and fearfully for someone to walk through her front door.

Jim Parker had purposely avoided Ms. Ellsworth for three days, but now he was going to cash in. He parked three blocks away and walked through the darkness to her house, imagining skewering that hot white meat on his dark pole. He approached the front door and con- tinued through, stepping into a large entry room with a couch and several chairs. He saw Sara sitting on the couch, her legs folded under her. She was wearing a simple summer dress which complimented her slim figure and firm legs. Her face was framed by her short brown hair and her large green eyes flashed when they saw him.

"So it's you," she said, standing up and facing him, "our snooping janitor."

"Yep," Jim said, "now why don't we go somewhere where we can talk business."

Glaring at him, she motioned him to follow her into her living room, where she sat down on a cushioned chair and motioned him over to the couch. Things might not go as well as she planned, she thought, seeing in Jim a tough customer. Still, he was a man, and men could be led around by their dicks.

Jim sat down on the couch and looked over his prize; boy but he was going to enjoy himself.

"What do you want, Mr. Parker," she said sharply.

"Well, Sara," he drawled, "I don't want just one thing, I want several things..."

"Go on," she interrupted.

"Well," he continued, "I think right now I'd like $200 cash."

He watched, amused, as she stood up stiffly and went down the hall to a back room. She returned with two $100 bills and handed them to him, saying, "Is that all?"

"Noooo," he dragged out the word as he put the money into his pocket, "I think that now I want you to take off your clothes."

Sara gave a little start. She had expected some- thing like this, in fact had been counting on it, but was taken aback by his bluntness. Without saying a word, she began stripping in a workmanlike fashion, a frown making her pretty face look severe.

When she was standing before him naked he said, "Now put your arms over your head and turn around, slowly." He was thoroughly enjoying himself now. He had this cunt right where he wanted her and he was going to take advantage of it. For now he would just give her some good fucking -- she'd probably even enjoy it -- and save the rough stuff for later; but the rough stuff would come, for he just didn't want to fuck her, he wanted to break her, to make her his very own white slave.

"Lay on your back and start diddling yourself, Sara, and make it good," he commanded, smiling.

Sara didn't like this, she didn't like it at all. She liked to be in control, but here she was at the mercy of this black son of a bitch. She hoped he at least knew how to fuck so she could salvage something out of this. If he didn't, she would just have to pretend -- she knew she could make it so that he wouldn't be willing to give her up. Then maybe she could get that tape from him and then she'd tell him what she really thought of him.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it now, so she laid down on the hardwood floor and spread her legs. "Like this?" she asked, running her fingers gently across her labia and rubbing her clit with her other hand.

"Ya ya, that's good," Jim said. Boy that cunt sure had a lot of practice rubbing herself, he could tell. Watching her, he began to strip. He could see her watching him, and noticed that the bitch had started getting into it. Well, she was going to get it, all right, he thought as he pulled off his underwear, releasing his stiff 8" hard-on.

He smiled as he saw her eyes widen at the sight of his cock, "A little bit better than those pansies you've been fuckin', huh bitch?" he laughed and knelt between her legs, knocking her hands away roughly grabbing her mound, jamming two fingers up her twat.

She gasped as she felt his fingers force their way into her. She was glad she lubricated up so easily, so it didn't hurt. She hated this, hated being told what to do and called a bitch by a man she didn't choose, but she knew she was going to enjoy it -- she couldn't help herself, she was already turned on. She just hoped he knew how to use that monster cock of his.

He pulled his fingers out, satisfied he wasn't going to get a dry ride, and fell heavily on top of her, smiling directly into her face. He pressed his cock against her now slick labia and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her roughly, loving the feel of her firm body under his.

She opened her mouth for his kiss and eagerly accepted his tongue. The heat of his mouth spread through her body, and his cock rubbing up and down her labia sent tingles up and down her spine. He knew how to kiss, that was for sure, and she began grinding her hips against his, feeling pleasure shoot out from her clitoris as she rubbed it against him.

He felt her mouth turn hungry against his, her tongue darting past his into his mouth, her hips grind- ing against him. He fenced tongues for a minute and then he slowly slid his cock into her, hearing her gasp at the penetration. Keeping his lips locked on hers, he began to slowly pound his cock in and out of her, feel- ing her pussy tight and warm around his shaft.

Oh god that was good, she thought as his cock slid into her. She lay there for a minute, gasping out her pleasure into his mouth as he began slowly pounding her with his cock. She came almost immediately, and, rip- ping her mouth away from his, cried out. She quickly kicked her legs up and wrapped them around the small of his back, and began rocking under him.

He felt her cunt spasm around his cock as she came, and bore down when she ripped her face from his and cried out, wrapping her legs around him. _HE_ was fucking her, not the other way around. He had to admit, though, she was one good fuck; no wonder those kids didn't last longer than a minute or two. He bore down, using the full weight of his body to drive his cock into her, achieving a brutal rhythm with her rocking, shaking body.

Oh god he could fuck, she thought, her nails send- ing furrows across his back as she came again, now grunting in time with his thrusts. "Uh, Uh, Uh, Uh, Aaahhhggg!" she went as she came again, beginning to lose control of her body.

She was going wild beneath him, her voice keening as she achieved orgasm after orgasm, her nails digging into his back, her thighs trying to crush his waist, her cunt spasming around his cock, squeezing and milk- ing it until the pressure in his balls boiled over, sending streams of cum into her sucking pussy.

He lay on top of her for a minute, feeling his cock soften within her. She had stopped bucking shortly after he came, and was now lying exhausted beneath him. He had waited a long time for this, and she was every- thing he had dreamed of and more.

Rolling off of her, he picked up her dress and wiped off his dick with it. She stared lazily up at him and then rolled onto her elbow and watched him as he dressed.

"Is that it, big boy?" she taunted, running her free hand lewdly over her body.

"For tonight," he grunted. "Oh, and by the way," he said, pulling out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, "here are some ground rules you had better follow." With that he left, leaving her frowning at the folded piece of paper lying in front of her.

Part 4

Achilles Brown spent all night Tuesday developing the photos he had taken of Amy Sanders. Beautiful, hot, oh so great he thought as he pulled each one out of solution. The black dress had been a good choice for her -- it contrasted nicely with her pale skin. She was more beautiful, sexier, than he had imagined; he only hoped he could make this blackmail scheme work: he wanted her, bad.

Amy went to sleep that night, her window open as commanded, dreading his return that evening. Thankfully she was not awoken in the middle of the night with more demands, and she woke up confused and disoriented. She still didn't know what that snooping rat wanted. She didn't have that much money, and although she would be willing to part with all of it, Achilles didn't seem to really want it. She suspected him of having designs on her body -- she was slightly revolted by the thought -- given that he had taken somewhat revealing pictures of her and his decree that she wear no pants, only skirts and dresses. If that was his goal, she thought, he could forget it; she would turn herself in before she submitted to his advances. He must know that, she thought, and that is what confused her. What was his game? Better not to think about it now; just wait and watch and see if she could somehow get out from under his thumb.

Wednesday at school, Achilles decided a policy of avoidance was best; he didn't want to raise anybody's suspicions, and he certainly didn't want to incon- venience Amy, yet. He had planned their after school activities last night, and all day they occupied his thoughts. He had big plans for Amy, big plans. He ran them through his mind time and time again, hoping that he could pull them off. He was glad that Jim had offered him use of Ms. Ellsworth, Sara to him now he smiled, since he would certainly have to use her to relieve himself, so he wouldn't force things with Amy.

The next day at school, Amy was glad Achilles seemed to be avoiding her. Wearing an ankle length skirt and a bulky sweater, she was distracted the entire day, trying to puzzle out Achilles and his motivations. Her friends, though more acquaintances than friends, figured it was due to her recent breakup with the hunk of the school, and just gossiped knowing- ly about her state of mind.

Achilles skipped his last period class again that day, and prepared his planned reception of Amy deep in the orange groves. It was nothing particularly bad, he thought to himself, but it was quite a mindfuck. He needed to keep her off balance, confused, in order to really turn her to him, and this was just the first part of the plan.

Amy returned home right after school and found, as expected, Achilles waiting for her in her room. She wasn't happy to see him, and made that quite clear, pointedly ignoring him until he spoke and held some- thing out to her.

"Here, I thought you might like to see some of these."

She looked down and took a thick pad of prints from his hand, her eyes widening as she saw herself, dressed sexily in her black sheer dress, holding myriad poses before the camera. Like out of some fashion magazine, she thought, flipping through them, blushing a little at the more provocative poses. She caught herself as she saw him looking at her with a little smile on his face, and resumed her previous cold manner. He didn't seem to mind: his smile broadened as he watched her put the photos in the top drawer of her dresser.

He had hoped she would react positively to the pictures, and by the expression on her face, he figured she was. He watched as she caught him smiling at her, and turned the ice on. He didn't mind; it was time to start anyway.

"Amy, join me outside. I've arranged a little picnic for us among the orange groves." He said it in his most relaxed tone; he didn't want to risk her refusing to go with him. It was a simple request, but he knew if he got her hackles up, even the fear of jail wouldn't make her do what he wanted her to.

A picnic! She glared at him. She didn't want to go on a picnic with him, didn't want to even be with him. What was he up to? What did he want? It was all so bizarre, like a waking nightmare. Still, it shouldn't be too bad, and he still had those incrimi- nating photos.

"I'll be out in 5 minutes," she responded sharply.

Achilles just smiled and climbed out the window and waited for her at the base of the old oak tree. She arrived shortly thereafter, flipping her kinky, sandy blonde hair out of her eyes, and Achilles began to lead her toward the orange groves.

Halfway there, walking across little used streets and old fields, he said, "You know, Amy, I really don't want to inconvenience you too much..."

"Inconvenience me!" she blurted out. You stupid bastard, she thought, "What do you think you're doing? You come into my life, holding something I didn't even know about over my head, and demand money, and pictures, and now a picnic! What else do you have in store in your twisted little mind!" she ended, practically shouting at him.

Achilles was a little bit taken aback by this outburst, but just a little. They had stopped and he stood looking at her flushed face and glaring light blue eyes, her posture one of defiance. Well, he thought to himself, here's the first obstacle to over- come.

"Did you really think you could get away with murder, Amy?" he said slowly and strongly, seeing her defiance crumble as her face took on a look of aghast horror.

"I... I... didn't..." she stammered.

"Shut up!" he said forcefully, making her take a step back and killing the denials on her tongue. She looked down at her feet in consternation and confusion. "Now, Amy, you did something bad, something which you should be in jail for right now. _I_ am the one keep- ing you from jail, _I_ am the one protecting you. In return all I ask is a little of your time. Isn't that better than being in jail? Isn't it?" he demanded.

"Y... yes," she stammered, looking into his eyes.

He nodded, satisfied, and turned, saying in a calm voice, "Now, where were we?... oh yes..."

Amy walked along after him as he told her how he was going to arrange their future meetings (an envelope on her dresser each Friday detailing plans for the following week), all her anger gone. She was stunned: murder? Was she a murderer? No, she wasn't, she had only been driving the car... god it was so awful, the way he had turned on her. She had always thought of him as a worm, a loser, but he had met her anger power- fully, shattering it with his accusation. She knew he was right, in a way. She was involved in a murder, she was responsible to some degree. Being with him certainly wasn't as bad as being in jail, and if that was the only price she had to pay for her actions, she should be happy.

The calm that had come over him during the con- frontation had left him, and he was shaking from the reaction. He tried to hide it, keeping his arms against his side and increasing his pace, hoping Amy wouldn't see. She was still following him, so he had won. He felt exultation as the shakes began to wear off: her first resistance had been crushed. From this point on, he thought, she would not challenge him again about him forcing her to spend time with him. He smile broke out on his face as he strode into the orange grove, Amy trailing obediently behind him.

"Help me lay this out," he said as the reached the spot he had chosen for the picnic, at the base of a tree among the even rows of them. Together they laid out the clothe and took the food from the basket: fried chicken, greasy and still warm; mashed potatoes with gravy still steaming in a thermos; a small, home- made chocolate cake, moist and covered thickly with gooey chocolate frosting; and finally a bottle of wine, its cork already pulled.

Unpacking the food, Amy noticed something strange. "Where's all the utensils and glasses and stuff?" she asked.

"Damn," Achilles cursed, looking up at her from where he was kneeling, "I forgot them. Well, we'll just have to make the best of it." So saying, he motioned her to sit down beside him, not touching, but very close nonetheless, and handed her a drumstick.

She took it daintily, not wanting to get her hands too greasy and was surprised when he grabbed it away from her, saying, "No no, that won't do. I can't let you get your hands all dirty. Let me." With that, he held the drumstick up against her lips.

At first she drew her head back, confused. What was he doing? She could feed herself fine, even without utensils. Then it hit her, and she groaned inwardly: he wanted to hand feed her everything, like she was some small child. She thought for a moment about re- fusing, but something in the back of her mind was telling her that she deserved this, that through this humiliation she could somehow atone for what she had done. She didn't like these thoughts, didn't believe them, but for now they overcame her resistance.

Carefully, she moved forward toward the drumstick just before her lips, and opened her mouth. She felt the warm, greasy skin of the meat against her lips, and she opened her mouth wider, sliding her lips over the drumstick until her teeth found purchase in the meat. She bit down, feeling grease come off around her mouth, and pulled her head back, chewing.

Achilles watched her closely as her lips closed over the meat. He felt his penis swell as he watched her -- luckily he had worn loose pants -- and he imagined her mouth closing over his cock. He kept the drumstick near her mouth until she had finished it, making sure her mouth became smeared with grease. He felt a rush of power as she looked at him with her pale blue eyes, chewing the last bite, her mouth glistening with chicken grease. He had planned this, to humiliate her by forcing her to eat from his hands, and it had worked. Confident now, he poured a generous amount of gravy over the mashed potatoes.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked, licking some of the grease from her lips. She knew what she must look like, and was blushing furiously. This was one of the most embarrassing things that had ever happened to her.

"I'm not hungry," he answered, scooping up some potatoes and gravy on his fingers and presenting them to her.

She knew what he wanted and was committed; she lowered her head and used her lips to bring the po- tatoes into her mouth, where she quickly swallowed them. They felt warm against her lips and face, and she glanced up at him when all that was left was the potatoes covering his fingers. He nodded and smiled at her and she took three of his fingers into her mouth, sucking the food from them. She ran her tongue between them to make sure she got everything, and then she sucked off the last finger.

As he felt her suck his fingers into the warm cavity of her mouth, what felt like and electric jolt traveled from his fingers to his groin. He almost moaned at the sensation of her tongue between his fingers, and couldn't take his eyes off her lips as it sucked in his finger, cleaning it of food. It was wild; he had never felt anything like it before.

She pulled her head away when she had finished, and turned to him as he reached for a bottle of wine. She watched as he poured a little into the cup of his hand and offer it to her. There was something so degrading about her situation, about being fed like this, that brought panic welling up in her gut. She fought it down as she slurped the wine from his hand, and looked at him again. What was he doing to her? It was like some sensuous dream, with him silently feeding her, her lips and mouth tingling from the slick feel of food and the salty taste of his skin. She moved to drink again from his hand two more times, each time feeling something warring within her. Some basic instinct told her to run, to escape from this, but her mind told her to stay, forced her to remain seated beside him, eating from his hand. It was terrible, both sensual and terrifying.

Achilles fed her the rest of the food, reveling in the sensations her mouth brought to his hands, the power this simple act of feeding conveyed to him. His penis throbbed in his pants as he watched her chew the last of the chicken her face greasy and smeared with mashed potatoes and chocolate cream. He reached over with a towlett and wiped her face clean; she did not resist, and he wallowed in it, in her sitting docilely there, letting her control her, dominate her. Time for the next step, he thought, wiping off her chin.

"Tell me about yourself," he said, sitting back and opposite her.

She looked at him for a minute, a frown crinkling her brow, "What?" she asked softly.

"About your plans: what college you're going to, what you want to be, your politics, that type of stuff."

She didn't understand; she was pretty numb from the feeding, and shook her head to clear her senses. What was this all about? He wanted to know about her? She didn't know what to do, but what could she do but go along with it, just like she had gone along with his other demands. She almost felt like crying; she had no control left.

She began to answer, softly, hesitatingly, but was soon drawn out by his questions, by his gentle, inqui- sitive desire to know. She couldn't look at him -- she was still too humiliated by the feeding -- but she began to talk about herself, where she wanted to go to college, what she wanted to be; what teachers she liked, what subjects interested her; who she liked, who she didn't and why. She talked for about forty five minutes prompted throughout by him, always seeming to know what to ask to keep a thread alive, before he said, "Let me walk you home."

That night, back in her room, Amy pondered over what had happened. She thought she had gotten over her part in the crime, but some part of her, some deep hidden recess, must still feel guilt. How else could she explain her reaction to Achilles' accusation? She was amazed and ashamed that she had let him hand feed her like some infant, and disgusted that she had actually taken his fingers into her mouth. And then to tell him all about herself! It was too horrible. She wasn't really in her right mind -- he had taken advan- tage of a momentary weakness of hers. She was deter- mined it wouldn't happen again. At least she had gained one thing from that afternoon: she had some idea of what he wanted. He, she decided, wanted her to like him.

Achilles spent that evening looking at the pictures he had taken of Amy, tantalizing himself with the thought of his final conquest. He knew he had caught her off balance today, bless his luck, and knew what to expect now. There would be a backlash -- she would stand up to him, assert herself. Well, he thought he knew how to handle it when it came: today the kind, gentle, understanding Achilles; tomorrow the hard, mean disciplinarian Achilles. Carrot and stick, carrot and stick he thought as he went to sleep.

Part 5

Thursday at noon, Achilles Brown, eating his lunch, was quite pleased with himself. He had talked to Jim and had arranged to be picked up at 7:40 near his house. From there, they were going to pay a visit to Ms. Sara Ellsworth. Achilles had been, and still was, a little nervous about it, since it would be his first time with a woman, but Jim assured him that he would take care of everything -- all he needed to do was to lay back and enjoy. He certainly needed some relief, since his games with Amy were exciting him so much he was having trouble holding back. If he did or said something wrong, he knew he would lose her.

His "date" with Sara was not the only reason for his smugness. Like he had guessed, Amy Sanders had chosen today to test him: she had worn pants. They were those loose, oversized, dirty pants which were cinched at the waist, and that Achilles found so dis- tasteful. Worst of all, though, was that he had for- bidden her to wear pants. He found it amusing that she seemed to search him out and, while at a comfor- table distance talking to some friends, parade her defiance in front of him. The one time he had bothered to meet her eyes he had only frowned and shaken his head sadly. Well, he thought to himself, he had planned for this, and knew exactly what he was going to do. He would be finished by five at the latest, which would give him plenty of time to prepare for Sara Ellsworth. He savored the sound of her name in his mind: Ms. Sara Ellsworth.

Amy Sanders had decided that she had had enough. The Wednesday picnic had been humiliating enough; she wasn't going to put up with Achilles' bullying anymore, even if he did have those pictures of her. He would never use them, she thought, he wanted to play his little games with her too much. Well, she wasn't going to have it any longer; she would put up with some things to keep him quiet, but she wanted some say in the matter. No more of this do as I say crap. Still, she was nervous; she wasn't sure what he _would_ do when he saw that she had decided to ignore his demands and had worn pants. She tried to catch his eye all day at school, but the one time she did all he did was look glum and shake his head sadly, which just infuriated her more.

Deciding he couldn't skip his last period class again, he had to run over to Amy's house as fast as he could to make sure he was there before she was. He was glad she had left the window to her room open, since it made things easier for him. He climbed into her room and rummaged through her closet, picking out her sophomore cheerleading outfit (she had quit, obviously figuring been there done that) and laying it on the bed, large colored panties and all. He then sat down on her bed and waited for her to come home.

Amy went straight home after class, wanting to confront Achilles as soon as possible. She figured that she would find him in her room: she wasn't disappointed. She strode purposefully into her room, dropped her bag on the floor, swung the door shut, and faced him from across the room.

"Get out," she said assertively.

"I don't think you want to do that." He spoke softly, menacingly.

"I said, get out," her voice raising.

"What's the matter, honey," a voice drifted up from downstairs.

"Nothing mother," Amy called, turning back to Achilles, who she found standing.

"Before I go, you should listen," he said, looking her in the eyes, stopping her before she could speak. "At 5:30 my father comes home from work. He walks into the kitchen, swings his coat over the back of a chair, puts his briefcase on the kitchen table, then picks up the mail my mother and I leave on that table. He immediately takes that mail and walks the four blocks to the mail drop -- he calls it unwinding -- and then returns." He paused. "Right now, sitting on my kitchen table, are the photos of you I have, in an envelope, stamped and addressed to the police. If I leave now, I don't think I'll go home 'till at least 7:00, and by this time tomorrow, you'll be under arrest."

She had stood there listening to him, anger and fear warring within her as he spoke. She began shiver- ing as despair began to banish both as the stark reality of her plight became clear to her: either do as he wished, or go to prison.

He watched her carefully as he finished his speech: "Now, if you do exactly what I say, I'll make sure to be home before five, and you won't have to worry about a thing. Do you understand?"

She stood there for a moment as he finished; she wanted to cry. She nodded jerkily, and saw him motion to her old cheerleading outfit on the bed.

"Put that on. And don't worry, I won't watch."

Not speaking, she picked up the uniform and went to the corner of her room where she began to undress.

Turning around and grabbing a low chair, he sat down facing the bed, his back toward her. He let out a sigh of relief that his gambit worked: he had let her run and then pulled her back in. He figured that she thought he would never mail those photos in, and based her defiance on that. He guessed that once he made it abundantly clear that she could either obey him or have the police solve a murder, she would break. She had, and he felt a surge of emotion at his success. The next part he was going to enjoy immensely.

Amy finished dressing and turned around and faced Achilles, who was sitting down with his back toward her. She walked over, despairing at what he had in store for her, and stood between him and the bed.

Achilles looked at her standing before him: her firm, shapely legs almost completely revealed by the little mini; her breasts straining against the sleeve- less tee which was now a little to small for her; her hair cascading around her graceful neck, white as alabaster. He stared at her for a moment, taking in her stunning beauty, and then commanded her to turn on her stereo, and to turn it up rather loudly.

"Now stand to my right, facing me," he told her when she had turned on the stereo. "Kneel down."

Her head was now on the same level his was, and he looked hard into her pale blue eyes which seemed to stare through him.

"You've been a bad girl, haven't you Amy?"

He saw her lips move in a silent yes, but no sound came out.

"I said, you've been a bad girl. Isn't that true?" he said louder.

Again her lips moved, and this time he heard a quiet "yes" come from them.

"Lean over my legs. More. Put your hands flat on the floor on the other side of me. Over more. Good. Stop now."

As she climbed over his legs, she knew what he was going to do. She started crying silently, tears leaking from her eyes. She remembered her boyfriend from freshman year -- he was a big guy -- telling her one day that when he got together with a couple of his friends to beat on someone, it wasn't the physical damage they did that was worst -- it was the humilia- tion. The guy couldn't stop them: he was powerless, and just had to take it. That was the bad part, the helplessness, the impotence, knowing there was nothing you could do. She felt just like that: helpless, defeated.

His penis was rock hard as he positioned her over his thighs. Her breasts were hanging over the chair to his left, her lower chest/upper stomach pressed against his left thigh. She was balancing herself atop him with her hands and the balls of her feet. Her back was tilted down to his left, and he placed his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her there. She was bent at the waist, her upper thighs pressing against his right thigh, thrusting her ass out and up. With his right hand he pushed up her cheerleading skirt until it bunched at her waist, revealing the twin bulges of her ass through her red underwear.

"I'm going to spank you now," he said, rubbing his right hand over her ass, "and you're going to thank me after each swat. Do you understand?"

He looked down at her head and smiled as she nod- ded, her hair falling to the ground on either side of her face. He thought he heard a sob, but didn't really care: she shouldn't have challenged him.

Laying across his lap in this obscene position, her ass thrust high into the air, she began sobbing quietly. It was all too awful. Despair crowded in on her consciousness as she felt him carefully pull her underwear around her upper thighs, and a cool draft ran over her exposed asscheeks. He cried out "One!" and a loud <SLAP> rung in her ears, coincidental with a stinging pain in her left ass cheek which caused her to gasp through her sobs. Horrified at what was happening to her, her mind froze as he rubbed his hand firmly over where he had slapped, and then called out "One!" again, and then <SLAP>.

He was about to burst through his jeans while he edged her underwear down over her ass, leaving it encircling her upper thighs. Looking at her twin ass cheeks, so smooth and white, firm and luscious, he couldn't resist running his hand over their silky flesh. Hearing her sobbing, he called out "One!" and brought his hand down hard on her left ass cheek, stinging his hand as well as earning a gasp from Amy. He rubbed her ass for a moment, waiting for her to thank him, and then called out "One!" again and slapped her other cheek.

For a moment Amy was confused, and then remem- bered: "Th... Thank... you" she sobbed out, loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Two!" <SLAP>

"Thank you."

"Three!" <SLAP>

"Thank you."

By the tenth strike, her ass was a burning mass of pain and her chest heaved in great sobs of pain and humiliation. He was striking her hard, her body jerk- ing in his lap each time his hand came down across her ass. The worst part, though, was the way he rubbed his hand all over her ass between each blow, spreading a painful warmth throughout her ass.

He watched as his hand turned her ass a dull red, beautiful against the creamy whiteness of the back of her thighs. He especially loved the way each blow sent her asscheeks quivering, the firm flesh having given way before his hand. His right hand was killing him, smarting from the blows he had landed. Five more, he thought, to make fifteen, then he would stop. He wanted so badly to just throw her over the bed and fuck her -- he quivered in desire at the thought -- but he resisted the urge; he couldn't afford to spook her. He could get away with a spanking, but if he tried any- thing more now, she was sure to freak out on him. Oh well, he thought, this is good enough for now, rubbing his hand over her ass once again.

She heard him call out "Fifteen!" and felt the familiar pain of another blow on her ass. "Thank you," she replied automatically through her sobs, her whole body tense and on edge, awaiting more punishment. She jerked on his lap when she felt him pull her underwear gently over her throbbing ass, and kept her head down -- she couldn't look at him -- as he helped her to her knees and then onto her bed. She collapsed on it and curled up into a fetal position, still sobbing out her pain and humiliation.

Several hours later she fell asleep in the same position, tears still coursing down her face.

Part 6

Sara Ellsworth frowned as she looked over at the sheet of paper Jim had left for her on her couch. Things, she thought, weren't looking good. Sure he'd been a great fuck, better than she'd had in a long time, but she obviously wasn't going to be able to use her "assets" to get him under her thumb. Maybe in time, she thought, but until then she would have to put up with his crap. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, especially if he could fuck like that.

She stood up, the sweat drying from her body and Jim's come leaking out of her pussy, and, picking up Jim's paper, walked to the bathroom to clean up. On the way she cursed aloud as she read what Jim had written. She was to speak only when spoken to in his presence. She was to refer to him and anyone he chose as master or mistress -- she didn't like that at all, seeing his intentions all too clearly. She was to thank him after anything he did to her. She was not to wear underwear. She was never to wear pants, only tight shorts, skirts, and dresses. Every evening that he set aside for them, she was to have dinner prepared for him as well as $500 cash for him. Every Friday evening from six on would be for him, and that evening he would give her a list of dates and times the following week she was to ser- vice him.

She kept cursing as she read; she was to be his goddamn slave! She trembled in rage as she stepped into the shower. Tomorrow and Friday he would return; she thought about killing him, but didn't think she could get away with it. If he pushed her too far, though... Maybe, she thought, she could use this letter to black- mail him? But then they would just both go to jail, and she certainly didn't want that. She stamped her foot in frustration and almost slipped in the shower. Goddamn that bastard.

-=*=-

Jim picked him up that evening right on time.

"You ready for a good fuck kid?" Jim asked.

"I'm ready," Achilles answered, thinking of the spanking he had given Amy earlier, her ass thrust before him, at the mercy of his hand.

"Let's go then!" And they drove off toward Ms. Sara Ellsworth's home.

Hoping to speed the night along, Sara decided to wait for Jim in the living room, naked. She was quite comfortable doing so, nudity being a usual occurrence with her, and watched TV while she waited. She heard the front door open and, looking at the clock, thought right on time. She stood up, one knee still resting on the couch, and smirked as Jim walked into the living room, her hands on her hips.

"Hello, Sara," he said, smiling as he moved close to her, his eyes devouring her naked form.

In return she eyed him. She hoped all he wanted tonight was another fuck, but somehow she doubted it. She certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being put out, though.

"What the fuck," she cried out, using her arms to cover her privates and stepping back as she saw some high school punk step into the room.

"Now now, Sara." Jim, hulking over her, reached around her head and grabbed the back of her neck in one huge hand, forcing her to stand next to him so that Achilles could get a good look, "I've just invited a friend of mine. You see, he needed a piece of ass, and since you were available..."

"You fucking bastard!" she yelled, cut short by a stinging slap across the face, sending her short brown hair flying about her head. She glared up at him with large, pretty eyes, and saw his face turn hard.

"Enough of that, you cunt," he growled, shaking her. "You're already in enough trouble as it is, for- getting the rules." Turning to Achilles, he said "Come here kid."

Achilles watched this interplay with a certain trepidation. His cock was threatening to burst out of his pants, and the sight of Ms. Ellsworth -- Sara -- her lithe, clean body, her round, smooth breasts, her strong thighs and legs, her narrow waist and flat stomach, her sweet, doll-like face, all sent pangs of lust through him. Her violent reaction, though, caught him off guard, and he was glad Jim was there. He walked over to Sara, not able to remove his eyes from her body and heard Jim introducing them.

"Sara, this is Achilles, he is going to be one of your masters tonight. Achilles, this is your new fuck- toy. She'll do whatever you ask."

Sara started when she heard herself referred to as fucktoy. She had always used others like that; she had always been in charge. She wanted to turn on Jim and scratch his eyes out, to hurt him, but one enormous hand still lay on the back of her neck. She shivered slightly as she realized his strength: there was nothing she could do. So she stood there, slight tingles running up and down her body as Achilles ran his hands over her flesh, pinching and poking and caressing her while Jim watched and leered.

Running his fingers over her body set his body tingling from head to toe. She didn't move as he cir- cled her nipples with his finger, then gently rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. He ran his hands down her sides, feeling the curve of her body, and down her legs, feeling their strength and firmness. He ran his fingers through her pubic hair and felt a damp warmth radiating from between her legs. Finally, he grabbed both her nippled between his fingers and, looking directly into her eyes, began slowly squeezing. He saw defiance in her eyes, and then pain suppressed, and finally, as he brutally smashed her nipples, she gasped out in pain, her eyes falling away from his.

"Stop," she gasped, "please... please... let go." Her hands were on his wrists, knuckles white with their grip, her breasts distended out into cones from her chest as she tried to bend away from the pain. "Please... master... stop!" she finally cried, and sagged in relief when he released his grip.

Panting with exertion, her nipples sore and tingling as she tried to massage the pain away, she heard Jim say, "She's learning." Fucker, she thought, but didn't dare look up at him. She watched sullenly as Jim sat down in her armchair and Achilles leaned back against the couch, his legs stretched out to their fullest.

"Okay, Sara, my little cunt," Jim said, "give the boy a blowjob. And you better do some deep throating or you'll be in more trouble than you already are."

Glaring at Jim, she knelt down between Achilles' legs and reached for his pants. Unzipping them, she quickly pulled them down his legs, not bothering to look at him. As she looked up and reached for his underwear, she started in surprise: his cock was huge! It looked obscene on his body, a 9", massively thick pole sticking out from his scrawny form. She couldn't help it: when that cock popped free and flopped in front of her face she began to get excited. She imagined it in her cunt, driving her to wild orgasm after wild orgasm. She wanted to fuck this boy right now, but she couldn't -- damn Jim.

She had always hated giving head, but had learned how to it well, since she was in high school, all her older boyfriends had demanded it. In college, she had rarely done it, and had quickly dropped those guys who had insisted. By now it was more of a control issue than anything else, which is why she grimaced with dis- taste as she gripped his cock in one small hand and lowered her head until her lips touched his cock-head.

Achilles was in heaven. He had never felt any- thing like this before. Her warm mouth engulfed the head of his cock and sent shivers of pleasure down his body. Her tongue was a little animal darting and massaging his prick. She bobbed her head up and down his cock, fondling his balls with her hand, making him moan at the delicious sensations assaulting him. Watching her, her lips stretched around his cock, her hair falling across her face, he felt almost disas- sociated from his body, the pleasure was so intense.

She worked the head and top his shaft for a minute, rubbing his inner thighs and fondling his balls, tasting his pre-cum salty and sour upon her tongue. She was hoping he would come: her jaws were already aching from taking his huge cock, and deep- throating hurt, and with this monster prick it hurt more than usual. She realized it wasn't going to happen, and scooted closer to him, positioning herself so she could ram his cock down her throat in one clean motion. She placed his cock as close to her throat as possible without gagging; Now! she said to herself, and darted her head down hard. She almost gagged as she felt her throat stretch painfully around his cock- head -- it felt like her throat was tearing. She sighed gratefully through her nose as his cock popped into her throat, and she slid her head down until her nose was nesting in his pubic hair. Her throat and jaws ached, but the sharp pain of entry was gone, and it wouldn't be long now.

Achilles cried out when he felt his cock surge down Sara's throat. It was incredible, almost painful, and a brief dizziness assaulted him. He gripped her head in his hands and held her face against his groin. Slowly he began humping her throat in short jabs, feel- ing each sensation as a burst of raw pleasure from his penis. He felt her hands on his, and let her move his hands to his thighs. Releasing them, she began playing with his balls again, pressing and rubbing underneath them every now and then, sending chills up and down his spine.

She began working in earnest now, bobbing her head up and down the length of his cock rhythmically, using her tongue to scrape along the underside of his penis. Her throat ached as she tried to tease his testicles to orgasm, hoping to end this quickly, but he didn't seem to be losing it yet. Her cunt was wet, she knew, as it always was when in the presence of men, which was some relief. She only hoped they would deign to take care of her needs after she was finished servicing theirs.

He couldn't help himself as he moved his hands against the sides of her face, feeling her cheeks as they slid back and forth on his cock. She had been working him for almost five minutes now, and his whole groin felt like it was going to burst with sensation. It was almost painful, what he was feeling, but he didn't want it to stop. Suddenly the intensity increased, and he grabbed her head and slammed his hips into her face, yelling aaaaahhhhhhgggg as he felt his dick jerk painfully in her throat, spitting his come down into her stomach.

It felt like it lasted forever, him holding her face against his pelvis, his spunk flowing down her throat. Finally, though, he relaxed, moaning softly, and she pulled back her head, popping his dick out of her mouth as it started to soften. She gave it one last suck and then sat back on her heels and looked at Jim.

"Now what?" she asked, licking her lips to clean them of her saliva.

Watching his bitch suck dick he could tell she knew what she was doing. The kid had a monster dong, but she handled it good. He could also tell that she hated doing it, which just increased his pleasure as he watched. Still, she was going to have to pay for breaking the rules. It should be fun, for him at least.

"Well, cunt, you just broke rule #1 for the fourth time tonight, and rule #2 for the third time. And I don't see my dinner or my money. You also forgot to thank Achilles there for letting you swallow his come." He smiled wickedly and stood up. "So, you have to be punished. Follow me." With that he walked into her dining room, looking back to make sure she was follow- ing.

That son of a bitch she thought as she stood up, glancing down at the still stunned form of Achilles. She had played master/servant games when she was young, but they had always been games, where she had some modicum of control. This was no game: she _was_ his slave. She followed him, remembering to say "Yes master" as she walked into her dining room.

"Better. Now bend over the table there. Spread your legs; wider. Good. Grab the far end, and don't let go." Jim smiled as he looked down at her back and her ass. She was bent over the dining room table, her hips pressing against the edge, her legs wide apart, her hands gripping the far edge, and twin firm hills of her ass thrust toward him. He slowly slid off his belt, a thick leather strap, and doubled it up.

"You're going to get a taste of leather, bitch, on your backside. I want you to keep count, and after each stroke, say 'thank you master'. Do you under- stand?"

"Yes master."

"Good," he said, as he pulled back his arm and prepared to lay into her. He didn't use all his strength, but most of it, as he brought the belt down. A loud retort, as from a gun, echoed through the room and an explosive "ug!" escaped from the schoolteacher as the belt landed.

"One," she choked out. "Thank you master."

As the belt landed again, her hips jerked forward, smashing her mound against the edge of the table and sending a sharp flash of pain through her ass. "Ug!" she gasped out again, her hands tightening on the edge of the table; she was determined not to cry out, but fuck it hurt like a son of a bitch.

"Two. Thank you master."

God, he loved the way the belt left red welts across her ass and the back of her thighs. He wanted her to scream though, and she had so far remained reasonably silent through eight blows. He glanced up as he saw Achilles wander in, and then raised his arm for another blow.

-=*=-

Achilles lay still after Sara had finished, float- ing in a world of pleasure. When he had come, he had almost blacked out, little motes of light drifting before his eyes. Now a feeling of utmost relaxation had overcome him, and he reveled in it. He was slowly brought out of this state by the sounds coming from the other room: a sharp slapping/banging sound followed by a muffled "Thank you master." He had to get up and check this out. Walking into the dining room, he saw his schoolteacher bent over the table, her legs spread and the ass and the back of her thighs reddened by the blows of the belt Jim held in his hand. As he watched, Jim brought the belt down again, striking her hard across her ass.

-=*=-

She couldn't take anymore; oh god it hurt so much. Her whole ass burned with a fiery pain, and she scream- ed as she felt the belt land again, driving unbearable pain through her body.

"Nine," she sobbed out, her breathing coming hard. "Thank you master."

<WHACK>

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhgggggg! T... t... ten. ... Thank you master."

Having gotten her howling, Jim was satisfied for the moment. He began rubbing his hands all over her ass, earning gasps of pain from her as he mauled her bruised, tender flesh.

She was so glad he stopped. She didn't know if she could stand even one more blow. She gasped out in pain as he began to roughly massage her ass -- it was so sensitive every touch hurt. He continued massaging her ass, and the pain slowly left her, turning into a spreading warmth across her backside. She moaned in pleasure and thrust back her hips as he slid a finger into her dripping snatch.

"I think this slut enjoyed it, didn't you cunt?"

It was true; she was hot now. The whipping hadn't excited her, but his hands, massaging the pain into a warm pleasure, turning agony into lust, had. Right now she wanted a cock, and ground her hips forward against the table, feeling an orgasm building as she mashed her clit against the edge of the table.

"Yes master," she whimpered out, engrossed in her own pleasure.

Suddenly he removed his hands and grabbed the belt again, whipping her quickly and viciously.

<WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK>

She howled as the first blow landed on her ass, pain shooting through her, met by the pleasure from her clit as she jerked it forward hard against the edge of the table. Before the next blow could land, she came, hard, an incredible mix of sensations overwhelming her, making her body buck along the table as she felt indescribable sensations flood her body. The blows kept coming, striking her ass and legs, sending her orgasm higher and higher, leaving her screaming and twisting on the table. It was too much; she had never had an orgasm like this before. It was so intense, so overpowering, so uncontrollable. He had stopped whip- ping her and his hands were gripping her ass, his cock rubbing against her still spasming vagina.

With a single thrust he plunged in, and she felt another orgasm pile upon her raw nerves, cramping her guts and sending more waves of pleasure through her entire body. Her toes and fingers curled and her whole body tensed and jerked as he thrust several times into her. He then pulled out and waited, watching as her body slowly quieted down, finally stopped, collapsed against the table.

Achilles watched Sara orgasm, amazed at the force of her convulsions. He imagined Amy stretched over the table, his cock skewering her after a whipping, making her come again and again. His cock was once again painfully erect as he watched Jim pull out and stand behind the flopping schoolteacher, his cock glistening with her juices.

Jim knew he had the cunt when he watched her come. Fucking cunt, he thought as he strapped her again and again, bruising her jerking body with his belt. He wanted to fuck her ass, to show her real pain and make her love it, wanted to shove it up until it came out her throat. He needed some lube though, so thrust himself into her sopping cunt, reveling in his power over her as he felt her come again, her pussy spasming around his pole. He gave her a few good jabs then pulled out and waited for her orgasms to die down: he wanted her to feel every inch of his cock as it stretched her rectum to its breaking point.

Sara lay across the table, exhausted, her body still tingling from her orgasms. Then she felt large hands grab her ass cheeks and she moaned softly, feel- ing Jim's cock pressing against her anus. She couldn't think straight, was confused and disoriented by the powerful orgasms which had coursed through her body. She managed to moan out a "Noooooo..." as she felt his enormous cock push insistently at her small nether opening. She could feel her anus stretching, stretch- ing, pain lancing into her guts as the head popped through into her ass-hole.

"Aaaaahhhhhggggg!" she cried, arching her back, her hands scrabbling against the tabletop. She col- lapsed, panting and moaning in pain, her head bouncing once from the hard surface of the table. After the intensity of the orgasms, the intensity of this ter- rible pain seemed doubled, tripled. Her mind couldn't grasp anything except the pain, the horrible pain in her ass.

Jim grimaced as he stabbed his cock through her anus into her guts. She was so damn tight it hurt, but just that one scream made it worth it. He thrust forward again, managing to sink half his dick between her tender asscheeks.

Sara felt something tear, and an ugly warmth spread through her ass. She was moaning now, her mind blinking on and off like a strobe light as wave after wave of agony sent her to oblivion and pulled her back again.

One final vicious thrust and he was all the way in, his hips setting her asscheeks quivering. What a tight bitch, he thought, his mind reveling in the power he had over this cunt. He slid his cock back out and noticed the sheen of blood on it. All the better, he thought, more lube, as he thrust brutally back into her ass.

Sara lay there and moaned as he pulled his cock back, feeling like it was dragging her insides with it. Her anus was still an agony of pain, but it was sub- siding. She was fully conscious now, and through her exhaustion and pain she cursed that bastard. He couldn't just fuck her; he had to have her ass. She clenched her teeth around the sounds of pain coming from her mouth and tried to grip the smooth surface of the table near her head. Motherfucker, she thought each time he thrust forward, bringing a grunt of pain through her clenched teeth.

He started working up into a rhythm, feeling the delicious sensations of her gripping ass spread through his loins. This was the way to fuck, he thought, with some white cunt at your mercy, loving every abuse he could heap on her. Thinking he would love to see her come with his cock in her ass, he grabbed her hips and lifted her off her feet, driving her hips and her mound hard into the table with another thrust.

Lifted off her feet, she felt her clit slam into the table, sending an incredible sensation of pain and pleasure through her. The room dimmed and she cried out. Again, and another wave of darkness passed over her, mixing the sensations in her ass and clit into one unbearable strain. Again and she began to quiver and shake on the table, her voice rising into a kining wail. She didn't know what was happening to her, the brief, powerful flashes of pleasure and pain from her clit absorbing the now bizarre pain and pleasure in her ass to send her into a daze of overwhelming sensation. Again and again and again he drove is cock into her ass and her clit against the table. Again and again and her body began to flop uncontrollably on the table, in the grip of the most powerful orgasm in her life, every nerve on fire with near unbearable pleasure as she came and came.

Jim grunted as he pounded his cock into her ass. He couldn't hold out for much longer: his balls were aching and his whole lower body tingling with intense pleasure. When the cunt began flopping and screaming on the end of his cock, her ass muscles spasming around his dick, he came, shooting wad after wad of come deep into her bowl. He groaned as he shot into her, relish- ing the sensations assaulting his body, and the know- ledge that that he had broken the cunt. He kept him- self inside her, softening slowly, for long minutes, watching her thrashings as her orgasms refused to release her from their intensity. Slowly though she came down, her body draped over the table, covered with sweat, exhausted. He slapped her on the ass and pulled out. He wasn't finished with her yet: Achilles still had to lose his virginity.

Sara lay collapsed on the table, her mind a dream- like haze. She had never been wracked like that by two orgasms in her entire life, and she had had many orgasms. They were incredible, the pain only seemed to add to her final pleasure. Now she was exhausted, limp across the table, yet strangely on edge. Sex, of any type, usually relaxed her, but she was tense, jumpy, her body shaking as if from an adrenaline and endor- phine high. She didn't resist as she was pulled off the table to land on her knees, and was turned around by the shoulders until she was looking right at Jim's prick, slicked with blood and slime.

The smell coming from his package brought her to her senses, the smell of blood and shit. He grabbed her hair and growled at her, "Clean it up good, whore, and don't forget my balls." She felt a slight nausea at the thought, but, at this point, she had no will. She opened her mouth and took his flaccid dick in, the coppery taste of blood and the foul taste of her own bowels coming off on her tongue. Obediently she licked his testicles clean of her liquids after sucking his prick clean, and then looked up, still dazed, into his smiling face.

"What do we say now, cunt?"

"Thank you, master," she whispered through full, swollen lips.

"What did you say? I didn't hear that."

"Thank you master," she said hoarsely, finally regaining some balance.

Achilles had watched Ms. Ellsworth's second orgasm with amazement: she actually liked to be fucked up the ass. Stroking his cock, he wondered if Amy would like it too. He knew he would try it with her, whether she liked it or not, but he was hoping she would. He thought the idea of having her lick her own shit off Jim's cock was an especially good touch.

"Achilles," Jim commanded, "lie down on the floor."

Achilles hurried to obey, removing his shirt and getting comfortable on the carpeted floor.

Jim turned to Sara, whom he was still holding by the arm, and said, "Climb on, cunt, and give him your best fucking, and maybe I won't hurt you anymore to- night."

Sara looked down at Achilles, holding his monster prick sticking obscenely straight up from his body, and stepped over to him. She was worn out, tired, but, she realized, startled, she _wanted_ another fuck. Not the brutal pounding Jim had given her, but a nice, relaxing fuck to calm her, to ease the ache in her ass and relax her nerves.

She straddled him and looked down into his excited, apprehensive face and lowered herself slowly onto his penis. "Oh god," she murmured, it felt so good, massaging her vagina, pressing softly against her cervix. She sat on him for a moment, clenching and unclenching her vaginal muscles, hearing him gasp for a moment. Then she leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth, running her tongue over his lips, feeling him start and then open his mouth to receive her.

Achilles moaned as she lowered herself onto him. Jesus, he thought, pleasure radiating from his groin across his body, this is so _good_. He gasped when he felt her muscles massaging his cock, thoroughly enjoy- ing the sensations assaulting him. He watched her as she sat astride him, her lithe body covered in sweat, her legs split over his body, her breasts standing full and firm from her body, her head back and her eyes closed as she worked his cock with her pussy. He watched as she opened her green eyes and looked down at him, her face a mask of weary contentment, beautiful perfect, framed by beautiful brown hair. She bent over, and he felt a little jolt through his body as her breasts came against his chest, and then mashed against them as she brought her mouth against his. He started, as if touched by a live wire, for that's what it felt like, when she kissed him, running her tongue across his lips. He moaned again and opened his mouth, his pleasure centers doubling at his crotch and his mouth as she pressed her lips hard against his and explored his mouth with her tongue.

So good, so good she kept thinking as she swirled her hips around, feeling his cock slide around inside her grasping sheath, her mouth locked to his, sending pleasure bolting through her body. She teased him, and herself, for a few minutes, enjoying the leisurely pace of this fucking, grateful to hear his moans and gasps meet hers.

For long minutes she had worked him, and he had lain passive beneath her, his passion and pleasure slowly building within him. Suddenly she changed tac- tics, lifting her hips until his cock was almost pulled from her pussy and then slowly impaling herself again. He moaned into her mouth at this change, intense sensa- tions assaulting his cock and building, slowly but surely, in his groin. He wrapped his arms around her slender body and pulled her head hard against his, sending his tongue for the first time into her mouth. His whole body felt full to bursting with sensation; it was incredible, like when she had given him head, but more, much more, intense.

When he grabbed her in his arms and began to jerk his hips against her, she picked up the pace. She could feel an orgasm building in her, from deep in her stomach, and she wanted it, wanted it so badly. She began humping faster, releasing his mouth and burying her head in his shoulder. She felt it close...close... she sucked hard on his neck... NOW! and she cried out as she came, soft pleasure washing her body clean of her previous orgasms, feeling his cock jerk inside her and spill its seed, relaxing her, bringing her down from her high. So good, she thought, so good.

Achilles was close. He knew that by the darkness which was clouding his vision, the darkness which told of the most intense sensations he had ever felt, the most intense pleasure. It almost hurt as he felt it build, quicker now, in his groin and penis. He gasped as she released his mouth and breathed hot air onto his neck, sending chills of pleasure down his body. He could feel her supple strength above him as she worked toward her own orgasm, exciting him even more: she was going to pop, and it was his cock which was causing it! Suddenly her warm mouth was against his neck, sucking, sending flashes and sparks across his vision as he burst, his cock jerking inside her as it filled her with his come. She was quivering an top of him as he came, and then they both relaxed, collapsing into each other as they came down from their orgasms.

Jim had demanded that she give him a blow job be- fore they left, but Achilles was worn out. He sat on the couch, thinking that this had been the greatest night of his life, and anticipating many similar nights, with her and with Amy. When they left, Achilles told Jim he wanted to be there tomorrow too, and Jim teased him about his experiences. It was good to have your very own sex slave, Achilles thought.

Sara, after they had left, showered and then collapsed in bed, her body exhausted but her mind a swirl of confusion. She didn't understand, she couldn't explain, her reactions that night. She had always enjoyed sex, with pretty much anybody, but she had never had orgasms like she had had tonight. It scared her a little that she had responded so willingly to Jim's cruelty, and it shamed her a little that he seemed to know that she would get off on it. She remembered, in high school, when one of the teachers she had seduced had introduced her to "the scene", as he called it. It was a group of people playing sadomasochistic games, and she had willingly submitted. She had liked the sex, but the games hadn't done it for her: they were all so structured, and, besides, she could always just tell them to stop. With Jim, it wasn't a game: she truly was his sex slave now. She hadn't wanted to be blackmailed into fucking him, but had figured that she might be able to gain some control of him through his cock; it had still been a game. Not anymore. She was his and whoever he decided to give her too. What worried her most, though, was she was beginning to think that she didn't mind.

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