Subject:      Porterville_High_1.0 (mmff blackmail teen) (1/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610311927.OAA10494@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories

Author's Note:

This is a very long story.  I will try to post all the parts within the
next two days.

Comments welcome.

Enjoy,

Wiley06

        Jim Parker leaned against the end of his mop as he watched Miss
Sara Ellsworth walk away from him down the empty halls of Portervill 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
tauntness 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 celebrity 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, he had
thought he had seen everything, but he was wrong.  What he had found out
about Miss Sara Ellsworth surprised him, and if she was planning 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 hellbent 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 willing
pussy.  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 throught the small grimy door
window into the room, for the fifteen 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 cunt.
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 closely,
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 paroxism of ecstacy; 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 sophmore, 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 an 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 resiliancy
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 thinness of prepubescence, and continuing down onto
perfectly formed knees and calves.  She was a picture of emerging
womanhood, but for all that, she was a smart-assed bitch.
        No one liked her much, but her father was wealthy and she was
large 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 layed 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 classroom, attaching a wide
angle lens to one and placing it behind one of the vents on the upper
corner of the classroom.  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 stockings 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 American 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 answered, "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 lung.  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, letting 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 newly struggling 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, avoiding her thrashing 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 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 nausous 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 wrong with her.
        A half hour later she was at home in the shower, trying to wipe
the shame and humiliation of her rape away from her.  She was crying
again, and hated herself for it; if only she could get back at that
fucking bitch Ms. Ellsworth.


Subject:      Porterville_High_1.1 (mmff blackmail teen) (2/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312330.SAA15487@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories



        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 Porterville 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 translucent white, with kinky sandy blond
hair falling to mid shoulder.  A sharp, thin nose divided her face in
two, strangly 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 quarterback 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
weightlifters.  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 pm, 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.  Presently he exitted, slurpie in hand,
and turned the corner into the darkeness 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 instigation 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 thinking 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 surprised, 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 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 something 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 slugged 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 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 between 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 cops'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,
unreachable 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 something 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 maneater, 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 darkroom 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 boyfriend, 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 a
childish scrawl on the front of the envelope, and with a grown sense of
foreboding she opened the envelope.
        She looked inside and pulled out the set of pictures 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
occassionally.  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 record 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 steathily 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 bookbag 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 passanger 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 horrible.  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 unlocked 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 terrified 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 embarressment.
        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 exhausted, and a
little flushed from the exertion of posing--as well as a little
excited--not knowing what to do.

 
Subject:      Porterville_High_1.2 (mmff blackmail teen) (3/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312228.RAA14072@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories



        Ms. Sara Ellsworth was in a great mood.  After shoving Maria out
the door, she had had the best fucking 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 clitorus.  As the actors came on the
screen, she experienced the second of many orgasms which she was to
experience that evening.
        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.  Picking 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 pm 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
twisting 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 bedroom, mulling things over.
        The more and more she thought about it, the more she hoped it was
a man, or some dyke.  She was confident 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 axe 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 trepidation.  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 continued
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 interupted.
        "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 something 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 a thick 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 clitorus as she rubbed
it against him.
        He felt her mouth turn hungry against his, her tongue darting
past his into his mouth, her hips grinding against him.  He fenced
tongues for a minute and then 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, feeling 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, ripping 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 wieght 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 sending 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 contol of her body.
        She was going wild beneath him, her voice kining 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
milking 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 everything 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.

 

Subject:      Porterville_High_1.3 (mmff blackmail teen) (4/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610311927.OAA10474@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        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 anybodies suspicions, and he certainly
didn't want to inconvenience Amy, yet.  He had planned their afterschool
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 acquantences than friends, figured
it was due to her recent breakup with the hunk of the school, and just
gossiped knowingly 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
something 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 incriminating
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 lucking at her flushed face and
glaring light blue eyes, her posture one of defience.  Well, he thought
to himself, here's the first obstacle to overcome.
        "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 keeping 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
powerfully, 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 confrontation 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 chicked, greasy and still warm; mashed potatoes with gravy
still steaming in a thermos; a small, homemade 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 refusing, 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 potatoes 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 the 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 towlet 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, inquisitive 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 advantage of a momentary weakness
of hers.  She was determined 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 offbalance 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; tommorrow the hard, mean,
disciplinariean Achilles.  Carrot and stick, carrot and stick he thought
as he went to sleep.

 

Subject:      Porterville_High_1.4 (mmff blackmail teen) (5/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610311927.OAA10455@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        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 need to do is 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
sinched at the waist, and that Achilles found so distasteful.  Worst of
all, though, was that he had forbidden her to wear pants.  He found
it amusing that she seemed to search him out and, while at a
comfortable 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 sophmore 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 tommorrow, you'll be under arrest."
        She had stood there listening to him, anger and fear warring
within her as he spoke.  She began shivering 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 sleeveless 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 humiliation.  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 nodded, her hair
falling to the ground on either side of her face.  He thought her 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 conscousness 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 remembered:
"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 jerking 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 anything 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.


Subject:      Porterville_High_1.5 (mmff blackmail teen) (6/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312014.PAA11477@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        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 service him.
        She kept cursing as she read; she was to be his goddamn slave!
She trembled in rage as she stepped into the shower.  Tommorrow 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 blackmail 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 said.
        "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 occurance 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, forgetting 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 gaurd, 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 fucktoy.  She'll do whatever you ask."
        Sara started when she heard herself refered 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 circled 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 supressed, 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.  Unbuttoning and 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 guy right now, but she couldn't--damn Jim.
        She had always hated giving head, but had learned how to well,
since when she was in high school, all her older boyfriends had demanded
it.  In college, she had rarely done so, 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 distaste as she gripped his
cock in one small hand and lowered her head until her lips touched it.
        Achilles was in heaven.  He had never felt anything 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 disassociated from his body,
the pleasure wa so intense.
        She worked the head and top his 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 deepthroating hurt,
and with this monster prick it would 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 cockhead--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,
feeling 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 throught.  Finally, though, he
relaxed, moaning softly, and she pulled back her head, popping his dick
out of her throat as is started to soften.  She gave it one last suck and
then sat back on her heels and looked at Jim.
        "Now what," she said, 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 pretty 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 following.
        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
modicom 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 understand?"
        "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, floating 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 screamed 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
whipping 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, feeling 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, stretching, pain
lancing into her guts as the head popped through into her ass.
        "Aaaaahhhhhggggg!" she cried, arching her back, her hands
scrabbling against the tabletop.  She collapsed, 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 terrible 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 subsiding.  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 darkeness
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, relishing the sensations assaulting his
body, and the knowledge that that he had broken the cunt.  He kept
himself 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.
        Amy lay collapsed on the table, her mind a dreamlike 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 having only
seem to add to her final pleasure.  Now she was exhausted, limp across
the table, yet strangly on edge.  Sex, of any type, usually relaxed her,
but she was tense, jumpy, her body shaking as if from an adrenaline and
endorphine 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 nausa
at the thought, but, at this point, she had no will.  She opened her
mouth and took his flacid dick in, the coppery taste of blood and the
foul taste of her own bowels coming off on her tongue.  Obediently she
licked his testicals clean of her liquids after sucking his prick clean,
and then stood and 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 tonight."
        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 murmered, it felt
so good, massaging her vagina, pressing softly against her cervix.  She
sat of 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 recieve 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 enjoying 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 leasurely 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 tactics, 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 sensations 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 before 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 tommorrow 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.


Subject:      Porterville_High_1.6 (mmff blackmail teen) (7/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312014.PAA11403@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        Jim and Achilles returned the next day, Friday, to Sara's house.
This time she made sure she was prepared, with two steak dinners ready
and $500 cash sitting next to each plate.  She wore only and apron and
made sure to say "master" and "thank you" at the right times, and spoke
only when spoken to.  It was, she thought, singularly humiliating, but
she didn't think she could take two days in a row of punishments,
punishments which she both dreaded and desired.  Jim and Achilles, for
their parts, didn't seem inclined to push things.  They did tie her
wrists together behind her back and cinch her elbows together, which was
painful at first and then just uncomfortable, and they did make her
squirm across the floor and lick their feet, but otherwise they seemed
content to just fuck her.  They used all three of her holes again, and
left her fully satisfied.
        She was, she was afraid, beginning to get into it.  She had kept
her three studs, as instructed, but found sex with them to pale in
comparison to Jim's torturous games.  She found herself getting excited
thinking about the next degredation he was going to inflict on her,
rubbing herself to orgasm thinking of him.  Maybe she liked it so much,
she thought, because it was a new experience to her; before, she had
always been the one in charge, always the one whose sexual appetites
overwhelmed, and sometimes scared, her parters.  Here, Jim was in
control, and Jim didn't give a shit about her sexual appetites--to him,
she was a piece of meat to fuck when _he_ wanted to fuck it, and that
excited her.  He used her desires to humiliate her, to rub her face in
her sluttish behaviour; he laughed at her and beat her and bound her
desires to him.  It was no longer a question of blackmail, although she
still hoped to get that tape back, just in case; now she was a willing
slave, willing to give him whatever he wanted.
        Achilles, for his part, found his experiences with Sara
exhilarating, and it gave him ideas about what to do with Amy Sanders.
That evening he climbed in through her window and left his "requests" for
the following week.  They were rather simple:  on Monday at 4:00 they
were to meet in her room, and Wednesday and Thursday they were to meet in
the orange grove at 4:15.  Monday, Achilles figured, was the time for the
open hand, the previous closed hand having been her humiliating spanking.
He wondered, though, how long it was going to take before he could get
down her pants:  he was losing patience.
        Jim was satisfied.  Sara was turning into a good little slave.
Her actions that Friday convinced him that it was time to really start
her training, and to that end he signed her up for every night the
following week, leaving him the weekend free to prepare.  He was glad he
had told Achilles:  that boy had a certain something.  You could have
knocked him over with a feather, though, when Achilles told him about
Amy.  He wasn't so amazed at what she had done, but that Achilles had
been so quick to take advantage of it; his estimation of the boy rose
with each passing day.
        Amy was the one person of the four who was anything but enjoying
herself.  She had passed from a state of hatred toward Achilles toward a
state of dread.  That Friday at school she had been withdrawn, and
quailed inside every time she thought Achilles seemed to be around.  She
constantly thought about turning herself in, and once or twice even
decided to do so, but then she discovered her dread of jail outweighed
her dread of Achilles.  Once, in a flash of insight which made her fear
for herself, she realized what her dread meant:  that she had resigned
herself to Achilles' blackmail; she would no longer fight him.
        While Ms. Ellsworth spent the weekend catching up on her
schoolwork, and Amy spent hers in a state of acute depression, rarely
moving from her bed, Jim and Achilles went shopping.  The went across the
state line and hit a number of pornographic video and book stores.  They
also stopped by a couple leather stores and found one place which
specialized in bondage equipment.  They managed to spend most of the
$1000 they had extorted from Sara; the rest they spent at a hardware
store, picking up the necessary hardware to put all the new ideas they
had formed into practice.
        Monday rolled around the the schoolday passed pretty much as
usual.  After school, Achilles met Amy in her room.
        "Hello Amy.  How you doing today?" he asked, looking carefully at
her, noticing the large bags under her eyes and the listless way she
carried herself.
        "I'm okay," she replied without much conviction, sitting down on
her bed opposite him, yet not looking at him.  "What do you want today?"
        "Amy, I'm really sorry about this."  He got no response.  "You
know I've always liked you," he kept at it, waiting for a response, "and,
well, I was kind of mad the way you always ignored me, like you thought
you were better than I was."  He made sure to stutter and look away,
peeking at her from the corner of his eyes.  He was not disappointed to
see her raise her head and look at him now.  "When I got those photos,
I...well...I kind of wanted to punish you for how you treated me, you
see?"  He looked pleadingly into her eyes.  She was looking at him, but
he couldn't see anything in those eyes accept a mute despair.  Well, he
thought to himself as he continued, I sure hope this works.  "I feel
really bad now, especially since I've got a girlfriend now."  He noticed
her start a little--good.  "I thought maybe I should give back the photos
and everything"--she was interested now:  life and hope had come back
into her eyes--"but, well, I don't know.  I still want to get to know
you, without all this stuff between us, and I'm afraid if I give you the
photos, you'll just ditch me."  He looked up at her, trying to twist his
face into his most doleful expression.
        Amy didn't react through much of this speech, her mind was too
dulled by despair.  When he mentioned that he had a girlfriend, though,
she perked up:  she hadn't known, and was he saying that this might
change things?  Now what?  That he was going to give her those photos?
Oh please, please.  No.  What was he saying now--that he wanted to be
friends with her?  That he wanted to put all this behind them?  Of course
she would ditch him if she could!  She didn't hate him, but seeing him
would remind her of the time in her past when she had been completely and
utterly humiliated.  So close to freedom!  She forced herself to reach
over to him and take his hands in her own.
        "Achilles," she said softly, looking him earnestly in the eyes, "I'm
sorry for making you angry.  I'm sorry all this had to happen between
us.  I can be your friend.  Let's talk.  Tell me about yourself, tell me
about your new girl.  I want to listen."  She sounded convincing to her
ears, she hoped she sounded convincing to his; oh, how she hoped she
sounded convincing to him.
        Achilles smiled to himself:  hook, line and sinker.
"O...o...okay."  He started out talking about his photography, about how
all his life he wanted to capture life, to capture beauty.  He shily hinted
that he had secretly taken pictures of her, so full of life and beauty.
He talked about how he saw each photo, how he could live or relive each
picture in his mind over and over again; how intoxicating and wonderous
it was.  He led into his new girlfriend (a complete fabrication), and how
she too liked photography.  He had met her weeks ago, and he hinted that
they had just become intimate, sexually.  He then rhapsodized about how
wonderful _it_ was, leaving it unspoken; how it was the sharing of two
souls, how it was a union of minds.  He spoke of how _it_ felt, so good,
like she had told him, like "taking and elevator up and up, faster and
faster, until it burst through the roof of the building and then hung
there, floating in the sky, finally coming gently to rest."  He told her
what was special was that she had felt this, that he had made her feel
this.  That was what he loved the most:  her pleasure in him.  He petered
out about then, inwardly amused that she had listened so raptly to his
every word, and then asked, awkwardly, if she had ever felt anything like
that.
        Amy at first listened to him because she had to if she wished to
get those photos back, but then she truly began to hear him, and was
amazed.  He had been such a sleazeball the previous week, and yet here he
was, spilling his soul to her, and it wasn't banal and uninteresting--it
was, well, she admitted to herself, deep.  She was flattered by an
oblique reference to her, and listened, enthralled, as he talked about
sex with his girlfriend.  He made it all sound so wonderful, important
and wonderful:  the sharing, the feelings, the pleasure, the tending to
each other's needs.  The way he described it made her want to feel what
he felt, to be on that elevator as it burst through the roof.  When he
paused she was lost in daydreams, and she blushed a little when he heard
him ask if she had ever felt that way.
        She paused for a minute before answering, thinking of her past
sexual experiences.  She had lost her virginity when she was a freshman
to a senior jock, her first boyfriend.  She remembered it had been
extremely painful, but that she had been happy that he had enjoyed it so
much.  Of course, he had dumped her shortly thereafter, and she had been
quite broken up about it.  Since then she had only had sex with her last
ex, and although it hadn't been painful, it had been nothing special--in
out repeat if necessary was what she remembered about it.  It had been,
she reflected, disillusioning.
        "No," she answered him, "I've never felt that way before."
        He commisserated, shaking his head and wishing that she could
have the same feelings he had.  He glanced at his watch and jumped up
suddenly, "I've got to go.  We're having company tonight."  He gave her a
quick peck on the forehead and ran to the window.
        "The pictures..." she stuttered out before he was gone.
        He paused for a moment as if considering, then said, "I don't
know, Amy, I don't know.  Give me some time to think about it?"  With
that, he smiled and slid down the tree, running back in the direction of
his house.
        Amy lay back on her bed and wondered.  She was confused:  was
Achilles a psychopathic dweeb or was he really a sweet guy?  She didn't
understand him, couldn't make him out.  He had been such an ass to her,
setting out to humiliate her whenever he could, but today he had been so
different, a sweet, shy guy who had fallen in love with some girl.  Would
he return those photos to her, she wondered?  Was this all some bizarre
plot to fuck with her mind?  She doubted it--he had been so sincere.
Well, Wednesday would tell.
        Achilles was on top of the world:  she was hooked!  Wednesday he
would continue to talk to her, but he would talk more explicitly about
his sexual experiences, even if they were mere fabrication.  He might
even hint that his girlfriend was bisexual.  He could go into more detail
Thursday, and then, next week, he would produce her, Ms. Sara Ellsworth,
playing the part of the love of his life.  He didn't think it would be
long after that that he would be porking Amy, sweet Amy.  The photos, now
he would keep those--insecurity would be his excuse, and one he thought
she would buy.  Everything was working out as planned, and tonight was
another night with Sara.
        Jim and Achilles showed up at Sara's with two duffle bags full of
goodies, and after dinner, Jim announced that it was time for her
cunt-slave training to begin.  He began by cuffing her arms behind her back
and cinching her elbows together, and then tying her down face up on the
table, so that her calves were tied to the legs of the table, spreading
them wide and bending them at the knee.  He gagged her with a large ball
gag and then began binding her breasts while Achilles ran a vibrator
gently against her pussy lips.  When the tops of her breasts looked like
enormous red grapes about to burst, and her nipples were hugely engorged
with blood, he began flicking them, earning cries of pain from her,
mingled with moans of pleasure caused by Achilles' skillful manipulation
of her clitorus.  Jim moved to teeth and clothespins on her nipples, and
then used rose stems and finally needles.  Achilles was by now slowly,
teasingly running the vibrator in and out of her sopping cunt,
occasionally working it under her body and pushing it through her anus.
        They worked her like this for close to 45 minutes, her cunt
yearning for orgasmic release and her tits near bursting with
overwhelming pain, a pain which blended with the pleasure in her pussy to
drive her crazy with desire.  Finally Jim mounted her, holding his body
above hers while jackhammering his cock into her cunt.  She could feel
her tits and body throbbing with pleasure as her orgasm approached, when,
just before she came, Achilles cut through the bondage on her breasts,
releasing them.  She screamed through her gag as she orgasmed, blood
flowing swiftly back into her aching tits, blinding her with pain as she
bucked through her orgasm, the pain in her breasts adding a delicious
spice to her come.
        They untied her from the table and carried her, her arms still
bound and her mouth still filled with the gag, into the bathroom.  There
they gave her an enima, one that burned like hot chili oil in the eyes,
burned so that she sat moaning and squirming on the toilet seat and tried
to shit her guts out while two strong pairs of hands held her down.  They
dragged her to the shower and sprayed off her crack, giving her some
relief from the horrible burning in her ass and guts, but not enough; she
was in mortal agony.  Laughing at her plight they dragged her back into
the living room where they threw her over the back of the couch, her ass
sticking high in the air.  Achilles coated his cock with ointment of some
kind and then forced it into her agonized, twitching anal passage.  The
ointment cooled off her insides, making the sensations assaulting her ass
barely manageable.  Then, as Achilles began brutally fucking her ass and
Jim grabbed her hair, slapped her face, and pinched her still sensitive
breasts, she became consumed by a wild, animal passion.  She came three
times before Achilles spewed into her, each orgasm eclipsing the other,
each orgasm painfully intense, centered in her burning ass.
        Finally they dragged her back to the table and bound her
stringently on her back, her shins and knees bound flat on the table near
her chest, her pussy and ass exposed in the air, her head hanging back
off the table.  One of them slid his cock slowly down her throat, his
balls nestled against her nose, and began fucking her mouth, while the
other pinched and slapped and squeezed her nether regions.  Her clit was
pinched by strong fingers, nails cutting into her tender flesh, until she
screamed through the cock in her throat.  Her labia was pinched and
pulled painfully, and her ass slapped and poked and tugged.  Every few
minutes they would switch places, and each time the one at her groin
would rub it gently for half a minute, sending pleasure racing through
her body only to be turned to pain as he switched tactics, assaulting her
tender flesh with fingers and nails and palms.  This went on for about a
half of an hour before they came down her throat.  They still hadn't let
her come, and she began to beg them, plead with them, to fuck her.  Jim
only smiled and grabbed her clit between his thumb and forefinger, while
Achilles did the same with her nipples.  Then they both squeezed, hard,
harder, making her scream in agony, arching her back as she felt pain as
she had never felt it before.  Right before it became unbearable, right
before she thought she was going to pass out, she came, screaming the
whole time, and she came harder than she thought possible, seemingly
forever.  It only stopped a long while after they let go of her, and then
they untied her and left her lying there, with a note from Jim beside her.
        Later that night, before she dropped off to sleep, she realized
what they had done:  not one ounce of pleasure had she received without
accompanying pain.  Every orgasm was accompanied by a delicious agony,
turning the natural reactions of her body topsy-turvy.  She shuddered as
she realized their plan for her:  they were turning her into a
pain-slut.  Pain slut was the last thing she though before she drifted off.


Subject:      Porterville_High_1.7 (mmff blackmail teen) (8/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312014.PAA11457@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        That Monday evening, all thoughts of Achilles were driven from
Amy's mind when her father came home and told her that he had arrested her
ex-boyfriend and two of his friends.  They had, he told her, gotten into
a fight in a bar, and her ex had shot someone dead with his father's
rifle.  Oh god, she thought, please don't let them find out about the
store robbery.  Her father, though, was telling her that the police
thought the boys might be connected with the store robbery, but they
couldn't prove anything, yet.  Amy didn't fall asleep until late that
night, worry eating up her stomach.
        The next morning the news was all over the school, and when
Achilles heard it, he was at first worried for Amy, but then he became
ecstatic.  This was the final nail in the coffin for her; he knew exactly
what to do now.
        Maria heard the news and didn't care.  Since her rape she had
been withdrawn and even more anti-social than usual.  She was surprised,
then, when Jim approached her at lunch and asked her to follow him.  She
didn't know Jim well, but she knew his reputation, so didn't hesitate to join
him.  If he chose to speak to her, she could learn something.  She
shivered, though, and almost balked, when he took her down to the same
room in which she was raped.  She entered anyway and was surprised to see
two chairs set up before a tv and vcr.
        "Sit, sit," he motioned, and turned on the tv screen and started
the vcr.
        "Oh Jesus," she whispered softly as she recognized herself on the
tape, herself walking into this very room and being grabbed by Ms.
Ellsworth's three bully boys.  She was frozen with shock, and she stared,
transfixed, at the screen while Jim spoke to her in the background.
        "I thought you might like to see this, Maria," he said, watching
her closely.  "With this tape you can put that bitch away for good.  You
know that.  But I don't think that's good enough for her," he emphasized,
leaning closer to the girl, "I don't think she deserves to get off easy
with just going to jail.  I want to see her punished, in pain, screaming
for mercy.  Maria?"
        Maria tore her eyes from the video of her rape and turned her
head slowly toward his.  Her large brown eyes bore into his as she spoke,
her voice loaded with passion.  "Anything, anything you want.  Just give
me the cunt."
        Jim let a smile grow over his face as he stared back at her
impassioned face.  Sara, he thought, was going to be in for a big surprise.
Before she left, he gave her a duffle bag full of bondage and
sadomasochistic books and magazines, all, he said, to give her ideas on
how best to torture Ms. Sara Ellsworth.  One last thing he gave her
before she left:  a new outfit she was to wear when she came down to the
boiler room on Friday afternoon, where her teacher would be waiting for her.
        That afternoon, instead of heading home, Sara went down to the
boiler room to await Jim and Achilles.  She didn't have to wait long, and
wasn't at all surprised at what they did to her.  There was a lot more
bondage and a lot more pain than pleasure than the previous evening, but it
didn't matter, because already she was having trouble telling the
difference.  They whipped her, pinched her, slapped her, and fucked her
repeatedly for over three hours, then let her go home to collapse
exhausted on the couch.  She was out another five hundred dollars, but,
she thought as she lay there, her body still buzzing from pain and
pleasure, it was worth it.  She almost couldn't wait for the rest of the
week, all down in the boiler room.
        Wednesday was a school day like any other, and Amy started to
relax when she realized the boom had not yet fallen, and from what her
father said, probably wouldn't fall.  Her mind started to drift back to
Achilles and what he had told her about himself and about his sexual
experiences, and she obliquely questioned her girlfriends about their
experiences.  She didn't get any satisfactory answers, and almost looked
forward to meeting him in the orchard that afternoon.
        Four fifteen rolled around and she stood in the orange grove
waiting for Achilles.  He showed up a few minutes later carrying a duffle
bag, looking, she thought, morose.
        "Sit down," he said, following suit and putting on his most
depressed face.  He had rehearsed the following words over and over in
his head all night; he hoped he wouldn't blow it.  "You know, Amy, I've been
thinking a lot about the robbery.  I've been feeling really guilty about
not telling anybody about it--I mean, a man was killed.  No, don't
interupt.  Then, when I heard about those guys getting arrested for
another murder, it was like a great weight was lifted from my shoulders.
You know?"
        "I...I understand, Achilles, and..."
        "Wait.  I haven't finished.  I felt better because they weren't
getting away with what they did--they were going to be punished now, and
they deserved to be punished.  Then I thought about you, Amy.  You did
this horrible thing, Amy, and you got away scot free!"
        "Achilles..." she wheedled.
        "No!  It's true.  Nothing bad has happened to you.  Sure I
spanked you and took some money from you, but what is that compared to a
man's life?  So I was thinking, you know, maybe you should tell everyone
what you had done, or else I could maybe send in the photos.  You know?"
With that he looked up at her with his best sad eyes.
        Oh my God! she thought.  He couldn't!  He simply couldn't!  She
was in misery:  to worry about the doom of jail and then to escape, only
to be told that doom still awaits--it was too awful.  She stared at him
with horror, her mind working frantically to get her out of this.  He
didn't _want_ to do this; he felt he had to.  She could use that.  She
could.  He also wanted her--she knew that.  Even with his girlfriend, he
wanted her.  But he wanted her punished too; she knew he wouldn't be
detered from that.  How then?  How to escape this trap?  Suddenly an idea
hit her:  it was awful, but it was her only way out.
        Slowly she got up onto her knees and leaned forward onto her
fingertips until her face was only a foot away from his.  "I...I don't
_want_ to go to jail Achilles," she said softly, "but you're right, I did
screw up, and I shouldn't get away with it, but you don't have to turn me
in."  He was looking at her now, curiosity replacing the sadness in his
eyes.  "I have," she swallowed, "I have a better idea, Achilles.
You...you punish me.  Please," she cried as she saw the look of surprise
in his face, "please, do it for me.  I don't want to go to jail!"
        Achilles did his best to look surprised when she said the words
he oh so much wanted to hear.  Oh yes, oh yes he would punish her, but he
said, standing and looking confused and embarrassed, "I don't know Amy.
I don't know.  Let me think about it.  Let me think.  Come down here at
six and I'll tell you.  I have to think."  With that, he half stumbled
half ran off, leaving her with an agony of waiting.
        He practically ran all the way home, he was so elated.  She was
his!  Finally she was his!  He practically jumped with joy at the
thought.  Sure, he was going to have to miss his fucking Sara tonight,
but he would be punishing his dream girl, Amy Sanders.  He already had
some good ideas.
        Amy stood in the orange grove for a few more minutes, fretting
worriedly.  God she hoped he took her up on her offer, but she was
apprehensive too.  Too have him punish her....  She knew if he decided to
he would humiliate her and degrade her like he had when he had spanked
her.  She wandered back to her house disconsoletly, thinking in her mind
anything he could do to her would be better than jail, no matter how
humiliating.  She started thinking, too, of what he had said:  was it
true that she should be punished?  She had left a man to die, and then
told no one who had done it--wasn't that deserving of punishment?  Didn't
she deserve whatever Achilles was going (how she hoped he would decide
so) to her?  It wasn't only the robbery, either.  How about how she
treated her friends, like they were there for her, like they weren't even
human?  And how about how she thought about everyone else, thought
herself above them, smarter and more attractive than them?  She was going
somewhere, she was a winner, they were all losers.  Wasn't she only now
getting her just desserts?  She didn't like thinking all these
things--she wasn't naturally introspective--but she couldn't stop
herself; the tension of the past week had made her wonder about herself
and her place in the world.  She shuddered at the thoughts she couldn't
push out of her head as she lay on her bed awaiting Achilles' decision.
        Six o'clock rolled around and found them both standing among the
orange trees in the waning light of the day.  He had accepted her
proposition and was now telling her to remove the flower pattern summer
dress she was wearing, which so complimented her figure.  She obeyed
meekly; she had known something like this was coming, and had made her
decision:  she would do whatever he asked.
        Achilles watched with growing excitement as she stepped out of
her dress and handed it to him.  He stared at her lithe body for a
moment, letting his eyes travel over her jutting breasts, encased in a
push-up bra, her smooth white skin firm across her stomach and hips, a
few curling pubic hairs peeking out from her white panties, and her
perfect, long legs with shapely calves and thighs.  He sighed and gently
placed the dress near the duffle bag he had brought and took out several
of the things he had brought.
        Standing in just her bra and her panties, Amy hung her head,
feeling the cool breeze of the evening caress her body and knowing, just
knowing, that Achilles wanted to do the same.  She shivered, then.
        "Amy," Achilles spoke, "I found some things down in the basement
which I thought I would use."  He reached across to her and handed her a
studded leather collar, padded on the inside, with four metal loops
ninety degrees from each other on the outside.  "Put it on."
        She glanced up at him, but couldn't look; she was too ashamed.
With her left hand she lifted her kinky sandy blond hair away from her
neck and hooked the collar around her neck, clasping it shut in front.
It was so demeaning, she thought, so demeaning to be standing her like
this with this collar around my neck.  Like a dog; like some animal.
        "Here, put this on," he said, handing her a small padlock.
        She obeyed mechanically, feeling awful, feeling like she knew she
should be feeling for what she had done.
        "Now put this in," he continued, handing her a somewhat
wedgeshaped piece of pink plastic which fit in her palm, with two
supple leather straps connected to the larger end by metal rivits.
        She gazed at it for a minute then looked at him, confused.  What
was this thing? she wondered.  Her light blue eyes widened in surprise
and she blushed as she saw him motion toward his mouth and say, "You
don't deserve to speak, do you?"
        She shook her head and looked down again, opening her mouth and
sliding the plastic in.  It was cool and tasteless, but it stretched her
jaw wide, the thin end fitting snuggly against her back molars while the
rest made sure to fill her mouth.  Thankfully it left her tongue enough
room so that she could swallow, even if it was pressed down against the
bottom of her mouth.  The whole thing didn't fit in her mouth, so her
lips were bunched up uncomfortably around the end.  She reached around
and cinched the leather straps together at the top of her neck, her hands
running up against the collar she was wearing.  A wave of mental anguish
washed over he then, but she pushed it back resolutely; it was no more
than she deserved.
        Achilles watched her put the gag in, imagining it was his cock.
He watched as she worked her jaw wider and wider to accomidate the gag,
and then jiggle it around so it was its most comfortable.  He liked the
way it made her face look:  it softened the harsh angles of her face and
distended her lips obscenely, the leather straps pulling the sides of her
mouth into hollows, accenting her anguished eyes.
        Amy stood there, her feet rooted to the ground, her body shaking
with humiliation, as he slowly walked a circle around her.  She knew his
eyes were exploring her near naked body, knew he was appraising her even
as she stood there in shame.
        He went back to the bag and pulled out a riding crop and slid it
through his hand before looking over at his prize.  Her eyes were wide
with surprise as he approached her, and she jerked back her head as he
ran the crop gently against her cheek.
        "None of that now," he said, smiling at her as he began gently
stroking her face with the crop.
        "AAAAAHHHHH...UUUUUUUUHHHHH" she grunted through her gag, scared
now as she felt the crop run gently across her cheek, her forehead, down
her neck.  She couldn't stop her body from shaking; the crop was like a
little charge of electicity wherever it touched, leaving a tingling trail
down her neck, her arms, the top of her breasts, her stomach, the tops of
the thighs and around to the back of her thighs.  Now to her buttocks,
the small of her back, between her shoulder blades.  She was still
shivering when the crop lifted, and she almost jumped when she felt his
hand lay on her shoulder.
        He watched the reactions of her body as he gently caressed it
with the crop.  She was shaking, scared, terrified and nervous,
adrenaline coursing through her blood.  She was on edge, standing on the
tip of a needle, ready to fall whichever way he pushed.  He smiled as she
jumped at his touch, and whispered into her ears, "Down, down on your
hands and knees."
        She jerkily obeyed him, her whole body tight, her gut churning
with nervousness.  She had gotten herself into this, she thought.  It had
been her decision.  The dirt, leaves and twigs felt rough under her hands
and knees, and her breasts felt pendulous as they hung down beneath her,
barely within her bra now.  She closed her eyes; it couldn't get any
worse.  Then she felt his hands at her neck and something click shut, and
she looked up to see him holding a leash.
        "You're now my bitch," he said, and she didn't even mind, she was
so numb--numb and tense, strange her mind told her.  "I need to give you
a name....  How about Princess?  Do you like Princess?"
        She nodded dully, accepting her fate.
        "Let's go for a walk, come on Princess, let's go for a walk."
        He felt a surge of power as he shuffled along with Amy crawling
by his side, looking down at her back and gazing longingly at the side of
her breast as it swung freely within her bra cup.  He could make her take
off her bra, he knew.  Could probably even fuck her right now, but she
wouldn't be into it, wouldn't like it, and he didn't want a motionless
piece of ass.  He wanted her to give herself to him willingly, to beg him
to take her, to own her.  This was just the first step.
        Amy shuffled along beside him, feeling degraded, lower than a
dog.  It was awful:  her knees and hands hurt from the clods of dirt and
twigs digging into her skin, and she told herself she should get up and
tell Achilles she wasn't taking any more of this.  Punishment was
punishment, but this was too much.  But whenever she thought this, her
mind went back to that night in the truck, the gunshots and her panic and
a man lying dead in the store, and she remembered they way she had
looked upon Achilles and others at her school, as not human, as below
her, and she didn't stand up and tell him off; she continued crawling on
the ground like the dog she was--it was only right and fitting.
        He led her around like that for ten minutes, tugging at the leash
whenever he turned.  He brought her back to their original meeting place
and said, "Stay!"  He then walked ten yards away and took off his shoes
and socks and sat down on the ground, his feet in front of him.
        "Down on your belly, Princess," he called out.  He was going to
love this part.
        At the sound of his voice Amy looked up at him sitting on the
ground in the distance.  She groaned a little as she lay down on her
stomach, thankful that her weight was no longer on her knees and hands.
        "Now crawl to me on your belly, my little bitch," she heard him
call out and she groaned inwardly.  Hadn't he punished her enough yet?
But no, he hadn't, and she knew it.  She began squirming across the
ground, using her thighs and upper arms to drag herself across the dirt.
She felt the dirt roll and scrape against the flesh of the thighs, her
stomach, and her breasts.  As she made her way slowly toward Achilles,
she felt her bra pull down off her breasts, exposing the nipples to the
harsh earth beneath her.  She didn't stop, though, even though she
whimpered in pain and humiliation through her gag at the earth tearing at
her tender breasts.  It hurt and was humiliating crawling across the
ground like this, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.
        It seemed an eternity before she reached him and looked up to
stare into his bare feet.  Her breasts, stomach and thighs, as well as
her upper arms, were hyper sensitive, tenderized by the pebbles and dirt
clods and twigs and leaves which rolled and pressed against her body as
she squirmed across the ground.  She was finished now, thank god, and
rested her cheek against the ground, grateful for the cool earth against
her face.
        "Good Princess, good," she heard him say.  "Now back up on your
hands and knees and take out your gag."  Thank you thank you, she
thought, looking at him gratefully as she uncinched the ties behind her
neck and gently removed the gag, her jaws feeling strange as they closed
for the first time in a half hour.  She massaged her jaws for a minute
and looked at him and was going to speak, but he put his finger to his
lips and quieted her.
        "Now Princess, give me the gag.  Good dog.  No, don't adjust your bra,
I like it so I can see your nipples.  That's right.  Hmm...I think I'll let
you lick my feet now, Princess," and he smiled.
        She looked at him, shocked now.  She had been so relieved to be
allowed to take out the gag that she hadn't even realized that he could
now see her breasts.  She wasn't surprised when he had demanded that she
leave them exposed, but lick his feet?  That was grose, disgusting.  She
shivered and half shook her head; she wouldn't do this.
        He leaned forward and spoke to her, his voice hard:  "Aren't you
forgetting something, Amy?  _You_ were the one who decided you needed to
be punished; _you_ were the one who chose me to do it.  You _will_ let me
do it.  Do you understand?"
        She quailed inwardly at the tone in his voice:  it was hard,
commanding.  Her face took on a scared, confused expression; she had
chosen this as better than jail; she deserved this, she did, she really
really did.  Without a word she got back down on her hands and dragged
her tongue across the bottom of his foot, tasting the stale sweat of his
shoe and the musty dampness of the earth.  She kept at it, running her
tongue between his toes and around his ankles and against his arch.
        Achilles was in heaven, his legs numb with ecstacy.  The feeling
of her tongue around his toes was sensational, and the view of her
breasts, dangling now against the ground, was too much.  He let her lick
his feet for almost thirty minutes before he couldn't take it any
longer.  He stood up quickly, panting with the effort of denying himself
her body, and rummaged around in the bag before taking out a bottle of
water, which he handed to her after telling her to get up.  He had to
take out his pent up sexual energy somehow, and looking down at the
riding crop still in his hand, figured he knew just how.
        Amy eagerly sucked down the water he gave her, gratefully washing
the taste of his feet off her tongue.  She looked at him, wondering what
he was going to do next, dreading it, when she saw him gazing strangely
at the riding crop in his hand.  He looked up at her, meeting her light
blue eyes with his, and said, "Up against the tree."
        She hesitated, then obeyed him, her back against the tree and her
breasts standing proudly before her, still partly supported by the bra
rolled up underneath them, her legs apart for balance.
        "Have you been a bad girl, Princess?" he asked, running the crop
gently across her nipples, making them swell with blood and sending her
heart racing and her breath come quicker.
        "Yes."
        "Yes what?"
        "Yes, I've been a bad girl."  He kept brushing the crop against
her now ultra-sensitive nipples, engorged with blood, making her shake
with forbidden pleasure.  It felt _so_ good she thought; she never knew
her breasts could feel so good.  All the little indentations from the
dirt, all the pain from squirming over the ground seemed to be absorbed
into the incredible pleasure engulfing her breasts.  She couldn't let him
see, couldn't let him know what he was doing to her.  It was bad enough
as it was, but how humiliating if he discovered how she was reacting.
        "Close your eyes," he commanded, taking away the crop.  She
closed her eyes, trembling from the reaction of her body to its caresses,
trying to bring herself under control.
        Suddenly she heard a whistling sound and a thin *thwack* and pain
exloded across her right nipple and she screamed, her eyes popping open
and her hands going up to protect herself, her knees bending and her body
twisting away from him.  Her breast was on fire with pain as great as the
pleasure it had just felt--it felt like it was burning, and blood pounded
painfully across the red slash on her breast and nipple, increasing the
agony.
        He just stood there, the crop in his hand, as if he had done
nothing.  She was scared and in pain.  The way he looked at her, like she
was just an animal, an animal to be punished for doing something bad.
"Bad girls have to be punished," he said.  "Present your other breast for
punishment."
        She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but his tone, his
stance, his attitude of complete assurance, of command, forced her to
obey.  Besides, her mind told her, it's what you deserve.  You felt
pleasure in your punishment, its only right you feel pain now.  She
straightened back up against the tree and brought her hands down.  She
closed her eyes; she knew what to expect.
        Achilles looked at her, impressed.  He wasn't sure if she would
accept another stroke of the crop, and her poise surprised him.  He took
a moment to gaze at her breasts before he struck, noticing how they were
a little larger than Sara's, and more conical, but just as firm, if not
firmer.  The nipples on both were still hard, even the one with a red
mark through it and across the breast.  He brought his arm back and
slashed the crop against her other breast, making sure to hit the nipple,
and listened to her as she choked back a cry.
        Pain flashed through her again, but she was determined not to cry
out, and strangled back the cry which sought to escape her lips.  She was
gasping now, leaning back against the tree, her mind totally concentrated
on the pain in her breasts.  Slowly she rubbed them, gritting her teeth
as she massaged the burning pain into a dull, throbbing ache concentrated
in her still hard nipples.  She looked up at Achilles, pleading with her
eyes for him to be finished, for him to let her go.  He only stared
mercilessly back at her and told her to turn around and hug the tree tight.
        "Hug it!  Tighter.  Now hug it with your knees.  You're not close
enough to it.  That's better, much better."
        She was gripping the tree as if she were going to shimmy up it,
her arms two thirds of the way around the trunk.  Her torso was smashed
against the rough bark, which further tormented her nipples and breasts,
and scraped her stomach as she flexed her muscles to keep close to the
tree.  Her inner thighs were also scratched up by the bark of the tree,
and her skin prickled at tiny splinters and edges in the bark.  For the
first time she saw how she must look, with her cheek pressed up against
the trunk:  she looked as if she were trying to fuck the tree.  With that
thought, her face turned crimson and she became conscious of her mound
pressing through her panties against the hard wood.  It was so obscene
what she was doing, with her breasts free and throbbing.  What was he
doing to her.
        She cried out in pain and jerked her hips into the tree as he
brought the crop against her covered ass.  She moaned at the senstations
sparking from her groin as it ground itself against the rough bark of the
tree.  Again he struck her ass, causing her hips to jerk convulsively
forward, sending more sparks of pleasure coursing up from her vagina.
She didn't know, didn't understand, what was happening to her.  Her ass
was on flame with the pain of his whipping, but the blinding flashes of
pleasure blasting from her vagina each time her hips jerked against the
tree were like nothing she had ever felt before.  As he kept striking he,
the pain and pleasure both built up, spreading first to her breasts as
she squirmed against the tree, scraping them violently against the rough
bark.  The tree became a brutal lover as he brought the crop against her
ass again and again, scraping roughly against her inner thighs and leg,
bruising her mound and tearing at her breasts and stomach.  It was all
too much for her, she was swirling in a fog of incredible sensations.
She no longer felt the crop against her ass, she only felt the rough bark
against her body as she ground mindlessly against it, sparks going off
before her eyes as sensations she had never felt before assaulted her
whole body.  More sparks and a blinding white flash lit up her vision as
she body tensed and she screamed at the breaking tension which poured
wave after wave of fire through every nerve in her body.  She bucked and
shook and spasmed against the tree, engulfed in a world of her own
pleasure, before she slowly slid down to the ground and lay, limbs
akimbo, half conscious, on the ground.
        Achilles watched her growing orgasm with satisfaction and lust,
and felt victory as she came violently against the tree.  She was his
now.  He wasn't going to fuck her now--it was too soon.  Let her think
about how she had reacted, how she had come for the first time in her
life in this orange grove, how he had made her shake violently in
orgasm.  Silently he handed her her dress and said, "I want to see you
tomorrow in my room at 4:00.  Don't be late," before walking off to the
school, hoping he wasn't to late to catch the last bit of Sara's
torture.  He needed a good fuck right about now.


Subject:      Porterville_High_1.8 (mmff blackmail teen) (9/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312014.PAA11435@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories



        Amy lay on the ground panting for breath, her mind slowly
regaining control over her body.  She felt drained; she stood up on
wobbly knees and, leaning back agianst the tree, put on her dress.  It
was all she could do to make her body obey her commands; she pushed the
thoughts of what she had done, what Achilles had seen her do, to the back
of her mind:  she couldn't deal with it right now.  She stood there for
some time while her wits and her equilibrium came back to her, and then
began walking home, her mind purposefully numb.
        As she walked, the cool evening air brushed gently against her,
cooling her sweating body and forcing her mind to the damp spot between
her legs.  She stumbled and closed her eyes tight, a moan escaping her
lips; she couldn't have done that, she just couldn't have!  She stopped,
her mind working furiously:  for the first time in her life she had had
an orgasm--okay.  It had been fireworks and earthshaking and bombs
bursting; she could accept that, that was okay, but how and where her
body had finally brought her that pleasure she couldn't accept, and her
mind turned in shame from it.
        She started walking again, faster and faster until she was almost
running.  She had been stripped, collared, and gagged.  She had been
oggled, leashed, and forced to lick someone's feet.  Finally, she had
been beaten like a horse while she straddled a tree.  How could that have
turned her on?!  How?!  She knew, though, deep down she knew as she ran
home as fast as her legs could take her, that it had.  She knew that her
lust had grown with each degrading act she was forced to perform, knew
that her punishment, only right and fitting, had released something
inside her, some vestige of control or desire for control, and freed a
part of her that wanted, that lusted, to be degraded and humiliated and
most importantly, controlled.  She choked back tears as she ran up to
her room and threw herself on her bed; it was too much, too much all at
once.
        Achilles hustled down to the boiler room, using the keys Jim had
given him, and was disappointed to find no one there.  Oh well, he
thought, there was always tomorrow.
        Thursday Jim noticed that Amy didn't show up to class, but Maria
was back to her normal biting self, meaner than ever if that was
possible.  The day before she had even stopped by and made several
requests for certain items, the better to torture her teacher with.  He
thought about Amy and Achilles again, and thought that that boy didn't
look like much, but he certainly had a certain something.  Sara was
coming along real well too:  she got off on everything he did to her, no
matter how painful and humiliating.  He was hoping Achilles could get Amy
to fall in line soon, since he would love to tear off a piece of that
cunt too.  Amy and Sara and Maria all together:  those were the stuff of
dreams.
        Amy knew better than to play sick with Achilles, even if it
worked with her parents.  She didn't know what he had planned, but she
dreaded it with a passion, and at the same time some bizarre quirk in
her, some small part in her mind, anticipated it, wanted it.  She was
everything bad, this small part of her self told her:  she was a
murderess, a bigot, swollen with pride; not only that, but also a slut, a
horny cunt who came whenever some man beat her.  It was only a small part
of her mind which told her these things, but it got louder and louder as
she approached Achilles' house.
        She arrived and was met at the door by Achilles, who immediately
led her up to his room and locked the door.  He kept her standing as he
sat down on his bed and looked her over; she shuddered under his gaze,
remembering the last time he had seen her.
        "That was quite a show you put on yesterday," his voice startled
her so that she jumped a little.  He frowned, "That's bad.  I'm supposed
to punish you, not bring you off."  She blushed at his remarks, her pale
skin turning a dark crimson as shame washed through her.  She remained
silent.
        "Well, we can't have you enjoying your punishment, can we?  Can
we!" he shouted.
        "N...n...no," she stuttered, her head down, her arms straight and
crossed before her.
        He leaned back, "So tell me, what part of your punishment did you
enjoy?"
        She looked at him for the first time since she had arrived, anger
and desperation suffusing her body, "None!" she shouted, "I hated it all;
it was horrible, just horrible," she finished, her emotion subsiding to
an almost pleading desire for belief.
        Achilles smiled mockingly, "Well, for someone who hated every
moment of what happened to her, you gave a good impression of fucking a
tree to orgasm."  Then he noticed that she was crying silently, standing
before him dressed in a summer dress and looking so much like a little
girl.  Standing, he went over to her and reached under her chin, lifting
her face up until he was looking directly into her eyes.
        "You did hate it, didn't you," he said softly.
        "Y...yes," was whispered.
        "But you came too; I know you did."
        "Yes."
        "You hated coming; you hated feeling like that.  I'm right,
aren't I?"
        "Yes."
        "Why?"  A simple question.
        Sobbing silently now, she broke away from him and sat down hard
onto the floor.  "I'm so bad," she choked out.  "I...I deserved
everything you did to me.  It felt so good.  It's evil.  Horrible.
I...I'm no good...for anything...like a whore.  I don't wanna be who I
am."  She started sobbing for real now, her face buried in her hands.
        Achilles watched her for a moment, pity warring with elation in
his mind.  He was surprised at how quickly she had broken, but then again
he had been surprised that she had orgasmed the other day.  Now was the
time to build her back up, to build her back up into the person he wanted
her to be.  Careful, he thought to himself, careful or the old
personality will reassert itself.  I must incorporate that personality,
he thought, must allow it free reign somewhere.  Thinking furiously, he
knelt down beside her and held her, soothing her the same way he would a
small child, cooing to her "my little princess" over and over again.
        When her sobbing had abated somewhat he lifted her chin again
until he looking into her big, beautiful blue eyes, glistening with
tears, and spoke to her in short, comforting sentences, telling her she
didn't have to be bad, telling her he could help her, that he loved her
and wanted what was best for her.  The problem, he suggested, watching
carefully for her reactions, was that she had no structure in her life;
he could change that.  She would have to trust him.  He would take
everything bad about her, her pride, her lust, her fear, and wall it away
from her, keep her safe from it.  Only he would have to see her like
that, and he would control her then, if she only let him.  He could
handle it; only trust him.  Trust him.
        He talked for over an hour like that to her, calm and
reassuring.  He was right, she knew:  she couldn't trust herself
anymore; she could trust him, though:  he loved her.  To be like she was,
calm, confident, sure of herself--how she wished she could be like that
again.  She could, he was telling her.  She could be her old self,
without all that had corrupted her, made her filth.  She was two
different people, she understood, Amy Sanders--the good, strong, woman
who was going to college and was going to be a success--and someone else,
someone who associated with murders and covered up her crimes and was
swollen with pride and arrogance and was a slut who couldn't control her
own body.  She understood what he was saying:  to the outside world she
could be Amy Sanders, but to him she would release the dark side of
herself so that it couldn't get out and contaminate her, and he would
punish that dark side of her.  Yes, she wanted that; she did, she really
really did.
        "Do it," she said, "help me."
        Hearing the magic words, Achilles stood up and walked in front of
his bed and said, "Stand up.  You understand what you have to do, Amy?  I
will be like your confessor:  everything bad that you do or think I will
punish, every twinge of lust I will expiate, but you must bring them all
to me.  You must not hide them away like you did before or they will
destroy you like they almost did before.  Do you understand?"
        "Yes," she said, relief at this release of her burden
invigorating her, and she felt a surge of happiness for the first time in
days.
        "Okay then, in order to do this correctly, we have to make some
rules, yes?"
        "Yes."
        "You have to obey everything I tell you to do without question.
Understand?"
        "Yes."
        "And when you're with me your name will be Princess.  Tell me
your name."
        "Princess."
        "You will call me master at all times.  Now, what is your name."
        "Princess, master."
        "That's enough for now; let's begin."
        "Yes master."
        His cock was already as hard as a rock as he walked slowly around
her like a disapproving drill seargent.  Amy Sanders was finally and
truly his!  All his to do whatever he wanted to, and he knew what he was
going to do to her today--thank god his parents were out of the house
until seven tonight.
        Amy's heart fluttered as Achilles walked around her, looking her
up and down.  She felt freed in some bizarre way; now she didn't have to
be in control.  Later she would be, but now all she had to do was
whatever Achilles, her master, told her too.  It was liberating, because
she no longer had to be afraid of what she would do--her master would
take care of it.  It would all come out, she knew, her uncontrollable id
which so recently had taken over her life, would come out to be punished
and mastered, and then to retreat so that she could live a normal life
until she needed her master to tame it again, to tame her, to tame
Princess.  He would let Princess out and keep her away from her, Amy
Sanders.  No, she thought, I am Princess, and she felt a tingling in her
groin at the thought, and she squeezed her thighs together.  I'm bad, she
thought, I'm bad and need to be punished.  Punish me, master, punish
Princess she thought.
        He came back around until his face was inches from her, and he
barked out, "Strip."  Her gaze locked by his, she did what he commanded,
baring her young, firm, nubile body to him.  He stepped back and looked
at her, at her strong nose dominating her face, her kinky blond hair
falling past her shoulders, her firm, perky breasts with their perfectly
porportioned nipples, her slender waist and almost skinny but perfectly
formed legs, her blond curling pubic hairs and her dull, thin lips.  All
his, he thought, feeling his cock throb in his pants.
        "I saw you fuck that tree yesterday, Princess, you slut," he
growled out.  "I've never seen anyone fuck a tree before.  Did you like
it Princess?  Did you like fucking that tree."
        "Yes master."
        "You know what that make you, don't you cunt?  It makes you a
fucking worthless slut!"
        "Yes master," she said with her chin trembling.
        "Say it!"
        "I'm a fucking worthless slut, master."
        "Spread your legs, Princess."
        She obeyed him, feeling dirty and slutty and worthless, spreading
her legs until she was standing with her feet three feet apart.  It made
her feel exposed, standing naked before him with her legs spread like
this, but that excited her, excited Princess.  Amy Sanders would never do
this, she thought, Amy is such a good girl.  She trembled inside with
pleasure.  She felt his hands, her master's hands, against her shoulders
as he gripped them firmly, sending an electric thrill through her body.
She felt her vaginal--her cunt--lips begin to swell and moisture begin to
form between her legs.  He was making Princess hot, staring into her eyes
and holding her by the shoulders and she almost whimpered in desire as
she stood there.  She was so bad.
        She felt his hands jerk her toward him an instant before blinding
pain flashed through her groin as his knee jerked viscously into her
cunt.  She doubled over, all feelings of sexual excitement fleeing, and
dropped her hands to protect her throbbing sex.
        Still holding onto her shoulders, she heard her master say, "You
deserved that, didn't you, you dirty cunt?"
        "Y...yes master," she whined, pain taking her breath away.  And
she knew that she did deserve it.  All dirty sluts deserved to be treated
like the pieces of meat they were, and they shouldn't forget it.
        His hands forced her to her knees and she landed with a thump,
her groin still in agony over his unexpected blow.  "My little Princess
wanted to be fucked, just like the slut she is, but I don't think you
deserve to be fucked, do you slut?"
        "No master."  The pain was finally abating somewhat, although her
whole groin throbbed as if bruised.  She groaned as she straightened up
onto her knees and saw that her master was removing his clothes.  She
watched in fascination as he undressed:  he didn't look like much, she
thought, until he removed his underwear, when she saw the largest cock
she had ever seen.
        Achilles smiled when he saw her eyes widen at the sight of his
penis.  "Do you want to touch my cock, Princess?"
        She was fascinated by it; Amy Sanders had never seen a penis that
size:  it was at least two inches longer and an inch thicker than any
penis Amy had seen.  Princess licked her lips--poor Amy, she wasn't going
to get any of her master's cock.  "Yes master," she said, not taking her
eyes off his cock, "Princess wants to touch your cock."
        "Does Princess want to suck my cock?"
        She was taken aback for a second; it was so large, and she had
never done it before--at least Amy hadn't.  But Amy wasn't a filthy whore
like Princess was, and Princess found herself salivating at the chance to
put that enormous cock in her mouth.  "Yes master," she hissed, "let me
suck your cock."
        "Crawl over here and beg," he said sitting down onto the edge of
the bed.
        She crawled over between his legs, her breasts swinging heavily
beneath her, her groin throbbing now more with excitement than pain.
"Please master, let me suck your beautiful cock.  I want it so bad.
Princess is a worthless dirty slut and wants her master's cock in her
mouth.  Please master, let me suck your cock."
        His wildest fantasies had come true:  here was Amy Sanders, on
her hands and knees, naked, and begging to blow him.  He grabbed her head
and forced it against his cock, sighing in pleasure as she wrapped her
lips around his dick and began to suck him.
        He felt so large in her mouth, she thought as she sucked his cock
into the warm, wet confines of her oral cavity--salty, too.  It felt
good, too, to be on her knees with her master's cock in her mouth; a slut
like her should have a cock in her mouth at all times.  As she sucked,
gripping the shaft, she thought of it in her cunt, reaming her out,
stretching her wide, and she felt a thin trail of moisture drip down the
inside of her thigh.  She squeezed her thighs together, pleasure
beginning to consume her body, and thought of even fouler pleasures:
what if he put his cock in her ass?  A slut like her, like Princess,
would love a big cock in her ass.  She gasped out around the prick in her
mouth as a small orgasm blossumed in her cunt.  Amy Sanders would never
get fucked in the ass.
        Achilles sat back and enjoyed every minute of the blow job he was
getting from his dream girl.  He moaned as she sucked her cheeks in to
massage his dick as she bobbed her head up and down while running her
hand along his shaft and down to his balls.  Her tongue scraped along the
bottom of his cock, the tip occasionally teasing her vein just under the
circumcised head.  He would have to teach her to deep throat, he thought
as he felt the pressure begin to build up in his balls, but for now she's
doing fine.  It was even better that she was getting into it so much; he
could have sworn she had had an orgasm just a minute ago.
        She felt his cock begin to expand and his hands grip the back of
her head, forcing more of his dick into her mouth.  He was going to come,
Princess thought, he was going to shoot his come into her mouth--she
trembled in pleasure, sucking harder and running her fingers under his
balls to press hard against the soft flesh there.
        Achilles bellowed as he felt her fingers press against the soft
skin between his anus and his balls, and he shot wad after wad of come
into her willing, sucking mouth, gasping in pleasure as she continued to
work his sensitive knob.
        Princess felt his come splatter against her throat and she
swallowed greedily, sucking down each blast of his come and luxuriating
in the feel if it sliding slickly down her throat.  She was such a slut,
such a whore, she thought, to be doing this, and felt another small
orgasm shake her as she squeezed her thighs together once more.  She kept
sucking on his cock until he became flacid and pushed her head away.  She
looked up at him expectantly:  she was a good slut, wasn't she?
        Achilles looked in amazement down at the doglike expectancy on
Amy's face as she gazed up at him, her mouth slightly open in what was
unmistakably excitement.  He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams with
her.  "You've been a good bitch, you have," he said, patting her on the
head.  "You deserve a reward.  Get up on the bed."
        She eagerly obeyed and laid on her side watching him as he went
over to his closet and took down a large box, rummaged through it, and
pulled out a large dildo--it was even larger than his cock, she saw,
amazed.  It must have been twelve inches long and two thick, she thought,
growing excited at the mere thought of taking that up her twat.
        "Here you go, Princess, play with this while I take some
pictures."  She grabbed it eagerly as it landed on the bed and rolled
onto her back, spreading her legs and running the enormous dildo against
her swollen labia, moaning and gasping in pleasure as she teased herself
to further arousal.
        Achilles pulled out his camera and began taking pictures--he
didn't want to forget this, his first night with Amy Sanders.  Besides,
she was so sexy like that, in the throws of passion.
        Princess could hear the sound of her master's camera as she
spread her labia with one hand and eased the monster dildo in with the
other, but it just excited her more; she was going to be on film; he
could show any of his friends how nasty and sluttish she was.  Yes, she
thought as she slid the dildo into her gaping cunt until it bumped
against her cervix, leaving a full three inches outside her snatch.  She
moved her free hand and began playing with her clit as she slowly worked
the dildo around in her cunt, pleasure assaulting every nerve in her
body.  She began to writhe and moan as the sensations built, puntuated
each time she slammed the dildo hard against her cervix, sending pleasure
cascading up her spine.  She could feel a tremendous orgasm build within
her guts, and she mashed down on her clitorus, trying to bring it now,
now--so close.
        Rough hands grabbed the dildo from her and ripped it from her
cunt and knocked her other hand away from her clitorus.  Her body
jacknifed up in unfulfilled lust and she screamed "NOOOO!!!" trying to
bring her hands back to her clitorus, trying to achieve the most
incredible orgasm she had ever had which was just a touch away.  A sharp
slap shocked her out of her sexual frenzy as her head was knocked back
onto the bed and to one side, stunning her and sending her orgasm
fleeing.  She moaned in sexual torment, wanting, needing, any release
now.  Another slap knocked her completely back to her senses--god, she
was so hot, needed it so badly, but now she was looking into the eyes of
her angry master, partially obscured by her kinky blond hair which had
flown wildly about her head.
        "What did you say to me cunt?" he growled angrily, leaning over
her and holding her down on the bed by her shoulders.
        "P...please...master..."
        "What did you say to me?"  He made his voice even angrier.
        "...no...master."
        "YOU DON'T EVER SPEAK BACK TO ME AGAIN, YOU STUPID CUNT!" he
screamed, jerking her off the bed by her head and dragging her to the
foot of it.
        "Please master, please," she begged, scared now as he threw her
onto her knees so that she was bent over the end of the bed, her ass in
the air.  He placed one hand against her neck, forcing her head into the
mattress, and grabbed a large paddle with the other.
        WHACK!  She screamed as he brought the paddle down as hard as he
could against the back of he thighs.
        WHACK!  She screamed again as the paddle struck her ass cheeks
with tremendous force.
        WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  Again and again he
brought the paddle down against her ass and her thighs until they were a
deep red from the beating and she was sobbing into the mattress.  He
released her for a minute and returned, spreading her asscheeks, bringing
a loud sob from her throat.
        She was miserable; her ass and thighs were a mass of fiery, throbbing
pain.  She should never had talked back to her master, but she had been
so close, so close and he had taken it away from her.  She still felt,
even after the beating, and aching emptiness in her cunt, a yearning for
an orgasm.  What was he doing?  She felt a coolness around her anus as he
smeared grease over her sphincter.  He was going to fuck her in the ass!
The thought drove some of the pain away.  He beat her and then he was
going to shove his fat cock up her ass--it was so perverse, so dirty, so
nasty, she felt her cunt twitch and the pain in her ass and thighs burn
hotter.
        She felt the head of his cock press against her anus as his
fingers roughly dug into her throbbing asscheeks.  It felt like she was
taking the biggest shit of her life, but it didn't hurt thanks to the
copious amount of grease he had used.  She felt it slide slowly in, every
single inch, filling up her guts until she thought she was going to
explode.  It felt so strange having a cock up her ass, so filling.
        Achilles grunted as he popped his cock through her tiny brown
sphincter, watching intently as he slid it slowly into her guts.  Damn
she had a tight ass, he thought, as he bottomed out, his hips pressing
against her spread ass cheeks.  He leaned over her until he could whisper
in her ear, and began whispering that she loved having a cock in her ass,
what a slut, what a whore, that she was no better than a piece of fucking
meat to take his cock wherever he wanted to put it, that she was a
worthless slut to get off on this, and more.  He slowly pulled his hips
back until only the head of his cock was still in her ass, and then
pounded forward.
        The things he was whispering to her, oh god, she thought, sliding
her hand down to her clitorus and mashing it between her fingers; it was
so hot, so good.  Her mouth opened into an O of surprise and pleasure as
she felt his cock slowly slide out from her ass, feeling like it was
dragging her guts with it.  It felt so strangly good.  She imagined Amy
getting used like she was, and that excited her more:  goody-two-shoes
Amy getting beaten and fucked like some piece of meat--she grunted in
passion.
        Achilles slammed his cock in and out of Amy's tiny asshole,
reveling in the sensations assaulting his penis.  It was so tight and
clinging, and he was still turned on from his paddling of her.  God, he
thought, Amy Sanders, letting me pound her ass then letting me fuck her
up the bum, and loving every minute of it.  He felt, deep in his groin,
the beginning tingle of what he knew was going to be a tremendous orgasm.
        Princess was practically out of her mind now.  The twin
pleasures, so different, from his cock in her ass and her fingers on her
clit were driving her wild.  She grunted in time with his viscous thrusts
and drool spilled from her gaping mouth.  Her whole body felt like it was
on fire; even her breasts which were being rubbed achingly back and forth
against the bed as her body jerked to her master's thrusts.  She had
begun trembling she didn't know when, the pleasure so overwhelming, but
she drove her fingers harder against her clit, knowing that with a
little more, just a little more, she could go even higher.
        It started in her ass as her master drove his tool deep into her
guts.  It felt as if a cool wave of pleasure washed over her body,
causing her to jerk convulsively and jam her nails hard into her clit,
sending shooting sparks of pleasure flashing through her overworked
nerves.  She felt these two pleasures build into a crescendo, becoming
more and more intense, making her body rigid in anticipation, then
sending it into wildly jerking spasms as the most incredible orgasm
literally burst through her ass and groin, sending her wailing and
thrashing under her master.
        Achilles felt her ass spasm around his cock and felt the pressure
in his own groin reach a breaking point:  any minute now, he thought,
moaning at the intense pleasure.  He grabbed onto her hair as he felt her
body begin to jerk beneath him, and groaned as her ass began sucking at
his cock.  He held on for dear life, hands tight around her skull, cock
buried to its limit in her ass, as her body became a bucking bronco
beneath him and her as a sucking, grasping, greedy oriface, trying to
devour him.  His yell matched hers as his cock spat out its come deep
into her bowels, filling her with his seed.  He held on, overwhelmed with
pleasure as her ass kept squeezing and milking his cock while her body
trembled and jerked beneath him.
        He lay on top of her for a full minute until her trembling
subsided and he could work up enough energy to move.  Slowly he pushed
himself off of her and winced as his sensitive cock popped from her ass.
"Okay, Princess, get dressed and go home.  I want to see you in the
orange grove tomorrow, though.  Don't disappoint me."  With that, he
staggered into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face.
        Princess lay there, her senses reeling from her orgasm, and
listened to what her master said.  No, she thought dizzily, she wouldn't
disappoint him.  She got up and quickly dressed, giggling as she left her
master's house:  wouldn't Amy be pissed when she found that she'd have to
clean up after her.  All that yummy come leaking out of her asshole right
now and running down the back of her thighs--poor little Amy.  She giggle
again as she thought about it.


Subject:      Porterville_High_1.9 (mmff blackmail teen) (10/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610312247.RAA14592@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        Amy was pissed off when she got home:  that bitch Princess hadn't
even bothered to clean herself off before she came home.  Now she would
have to clean the cum from her asshole and wipe it away from her thighs;
the taste in her mouth was nasty, too.  Still, she thought, it was better
than before, with Princess threatening to take over her life at any
moment and destroy her.  Now Princess would only come out when Achilles
told her to; she was disgusted at the things Princess allowed Achilles to
do to her--how could she like that?--but better her than me, she
thought.  She washed up, feeling good for the first time in weeks; the
old Amy Sanders, the winner, was back.
        Friday rolled around, and Maria couldn't concentrate on
anything.  She had spent the last few days reading various bondage books
and magazines and watching bondage videos, trying to learn the best way
to torture her bitch of a teacher, Ms. Sara Ellsworth.  She had
formulated a plan which, she thought, would give her the most
satisfaction and her teacher the most pain.  All she could do, all day,
was imagine what it would be like, punishing Ms. Ellsworth until she
screamed.
        Jim spent part of the day down in the boiler room of the school
preparing things for Maria and Sara.  It took a while to get everything
in place, but he wanted everything to be perfect.  He had told Maria that
Sara was all hers to use today, neither he nor Achilles would interfere.
Still, he thought, if what Achilles had told him this morning was true,
he wouldn't have to go without pussy while he watched Sara get hers.  He
smiled as he thought about it and rubbed his cock through his jeans; if
Achilles had really managed to turn Amy into a piece of fuck meat he was
prepared to be impressed.  Besides, he had always wanted to ream out that
cold bitch of a teenager.
        Princess met Achilles in the orange grove after school as he
commanded her to, wearing a short skirt and blouse, and was surprised
when he led her immediately back toward the school from the rear.  She
was even more surprised when he led her down into the bowels of the
school, using a keyring of keys to let him past several locked doors.
Nothing, though, prepared her for what she saw when Achilles led her into
the boiler room, dodging overhead pipes until they made it into a clear
area.  Before her eyes, she saw one of her teachers, Ms. Ellsworth,
standing naked, spread-eagled with her arms chained to overhead pipes and
her legs chained to eye-hooks screwed into the concrete floor.  Two
cameras, one facing her from the front from an angle, and the other from
the back at the same angle, stood on tripods focussed on her and the
janitor, a big black man, who was running his hands all over her nude body.
        Sara's eyes widened in surprise as she saw, who was it, Amy, Amy
Sanders, follow Achilles into the boiler room.  Oh God, she thought, not
another one, but she also grew more excited.  She had known that today
was not going to be the standard torture and fuck day, since she had been
tied there for at least half of an hour and Jim still hadn't fucked her,
hadn't even hurt her.  All he did was run his hands gently over her body
and rub his own prick through his pants, driving her wild with desire.
She could barely move, though, chained as she was.  Another girl,
though--she had never had another girl; the thought turned her on as she
watched Amy stare at her in surprise.  Such a beautiful young woman, Sara
thought, thinking of what Jim might have planned for her, for them, and
growing more and more excited.
        Princess gasped and looked at Achilles, who seemed completely
unperturbed.  "I've brought you here," he said placidly, "for two
reasons.  First, to show you what will happen to you if you ever disobey
me.  Second, since Jim and I may or may not be using Sara today and her
punishment is sure to turn us on, you're here for both of us to use.  Do
you understand?"
        "Yes master," she said, and she did understand.  Her master was
going to share his little slut Princess with his big black friend:  she
trembled inside as she thought of it.  To watch that woman's
debasement--she admired her trim, firm body with its luscious
curves--while being used by someone she didn't even know:  she shuddered
in excitement, feeling her cunt grow moist and tingly.
        "Why don't you go and beg Jim to give him a blowjob?  I'll go and
get the show started."  With that, he headed toward a remote, hidden
corner of the room.
        Princess licked her lips and, placing her hands behind her back,
walked nervously over to Jim:  he was huge, intimidating, the way he
grinned down at her while he absently tweaked Sara's breast.  She moved
really close to him, feeling arousal rise in her sluttish body at the
nearness of such a man, and looked up into his dark face.  "Please master
Jim, please let me suck your big, hard cock.  Please fill my mouth with
your hot come; let me taste every inch of your prick.  Please," she
whined one final time.
        Looking down at this young white cunt begging to blow him, Jim
was amazed:  Achilles had done quite a job on her.  "Well, little girl,"
he said, "take off all your clothes and kneel in front of that table over
there," motioning to the side where he had set up a table for him and
Achilles to watch the action.  He smiled as she quickly disrobed and
kneeled before the table.  Giving Sara's tit one last slap, he slowly
undressed and then headed over to see how well Achilles' bitch could suck
dick.
        Sara couldn't believe her ears:  they may or may not fuck her?!
What was going on?  They bring in this slut--she couldn't believe how Amy
was acting--and say they were only going to watch?  Watch what?  What was
going to happen to her?  She wanted to ask, but was afraid, afraid of
being hit and afraid of the answer.  For the first time since she had
given into her passion for pain and degredation, she began to feel
apprehension.
        Maria sat in the corner of the boiler room, fear, nervousness,
and anticipation struggling within the pit of her stomach.  She had
put on her costume fifteen minutes ago and put all her torture devices in
a small leather bag; now she was waiting, wondering whether she had the
courage to go through with this.  If she could just have the bitch
alone, or even if she could just hurt the bitch normally, but Jim had
insisted she do it his way, with certain liberties allowed her.  She
realized that Jim and the partner he had talked about would probably
want to fuck her:  could she go through with this?  Then she thought about
what Ms. Sara Ellsworth had done to her:  she had had her raped by three
boys.  It had shattered her life; she could not forgive that.  It was
payback time, she thought, and a rightous anger filled her:  what she
was going to do to that fucking cunt....  Anything was worth that, anything.
        She was startled when Achilles stuck his head around the edge of
a large boiler and told her it was time before dashing off to take his
place in this little drama.  She breathed in deeply and stood up on the
three inch spike heels she was wearing, picked up her bag in one hand
and a three foot, very flexible, reed switch in the other, and walked
toward the center of the room.
        The first thing she noticed when she stepped into sight of Sara,
Achilles, and Jim, was the brightness of the room.  Periphrilly she saw
Achilles standing naked behind one of two cameras set up in the room,
pointing it at her, and she saw Jim, sitting on a low table to her right
with his hand on the back of a naked blond girl's head getting a
blowjob.  These sights, though, were mere distractions to her; in the
middle of the space, standing tied spread-eagled, was Ms. Sara Ellsworth,
a look of shock and terror on her face as she saw and recognized Maria.
An expression of pure hate twisted Maria's features as she squared her
shoulders, set down her bag, and strolled meaningfully over to face her
teacher.
        Jim was sitting enjoying a pretty good blowjob from Achilles'
slut, thinking that what she lacked in experience she sure made up for in
enthusiasm, when he caught sight of Maria as she strode out of the
shadows toward Sara.  She was a vision of a bondage goddess, Jim thought,
eyeing her with deep appreciation and lust.  Her legs were encased up to
mid thigh in high-heeled leather boots, making them seem even shapelier
and longer than they already were and focusing attention on pair of
small, leather panties with barely covered her patch of pubic hair.  Her
upper thighs and firm stomach were creamy olive in color up to her belly
button before the rest of her waist was cinched firmly in by a black
bodice which lifted and squeezed her overfull breasts together and up,
revealing the tops of her mounds almost down to her nipples.  Her face
was the only thing which jarred with the image of a leather goddess in
his mind:  it was young, a fifteen year old's face thickly done up in
harsh makeup.  Dark red lipstick brought out the fullness of her mouth
and lips; a base smoothed her already smooth skin; heavy black eyeliner
and eyelash thickener made her dark eyes darker.  Jim watched as she
moved with the sureness of a tiger ready to pounce, feeling his balls
contract and approach orgasm at the very sight of her.
        Sara was stunned.  Maria, Maria would kill her, she thought.  She
was terrified of Maria; Maria had reason to hate her, to hurt her.  She
glanced wildly over at Jim, who only smiled cruelly, and then at
Achilles, who was hidden behind a camera.  Oh god, she thought, don't let
this happen, as she tried to cower away from the girl she had had raped
and broke out in a sweat.
        Maria saw the fear in Sara's eyes and a feeling of absolute power
welded to joy flowed through her.  All hers, she thought, this bitch was
all hers.
        "Please," Sara wimpered softly, begging for Maria not to do what
she knew Maria was going to do.
        "SHUT UP!" Maria yelled viscously, bringing the switch down
blazingly fast and hard against the outside of Sara's left breast.  Sara
bit her lip and cried out inwardly, barely suppressing a shout of pain as
agony ripped through her.
        "SHUT UP!" Maria yelled again, a fury overtaking her as the pent
up tension of her wait, and her hatred of this woman broke forth,
spilling over into a rapid series of blows across Sara's tits with the
switch.
        <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> <WHACK> went the switch as it
landed again and again against Sara's breasts.  She clenched her teeth as
pain coursed through her, each blow feeling like it was tearing a piece
of flesh from her breast.  She finally screamed when Maria struck her
across the nipple, pain exploding across her chest and darkening her mind
as she trembled and shook against her bonds.  "AAAAHHHHHHGGGGG!" she
cried, "Please stop!  Stop!  AAAAAAAAAAA!" as the beating seemed to go on
forever.  Finally Maria stopped, panting in released rage, and Sara hung
limply against her arms for a moment, the burning pain in her breasts
seeming to spread across her entire torso.  She moaned as it reached her
groin and she felt herself grow moist:  even this?  she thought to
herself, trying to regain her footing.
        Princess was happily sucking on Jim's large black cock, not as
large as her master's, she thought pridefully, thinking about how debased
she was.  It excited her to think that here she was, an upper middle
class white girl was on her knees servicing a big black stud like
Jim--and he was a janitor!  Her master knew what he was doing when he
brought her here; she needed to be treated like this, like some common
whore.  She heard the clacking of heels on concrete and wanted to turn
her head, but Jim's hand was in her hair and his cock was in her mouth so
she couldn't look.  Still, she felt Jim's excitement and clenched her
thighs together, feeling her juices begin to drip sluggishly down her
inner thighs, with the thought that soon he would fill her mouth with
come.  She started when she heard shouting and the viscous whacking sound
of flesh being struck followed by screams of pain, but turned her attention
more eagerly toward teasing the come from the cock in her mouth, for she
felt his cock begin to expand slightly in her mouth and his hand tighten
on the back of her head.  Suddenly he groaned and large wads of his come
splattered against the back of her mouth, and she swallowed eagerly,
luxuriating in the feel of his come sliding slickly down her throat.  She
squeezed her legs together and felt the small bloom of an orgasm rush
through her body; it was so good, so good to be doing this, to be treated
like this.
        Maria panted with exertion as Sara struggled to regain her feet.
She lowered the switch and, turning, put it on the ground next to her
leather bag.  Opening the bag, she pulled out a two foot long gleaming
stainless steel needle, sharp on both ends, which she held in the palms
of both hands as she showed it to Sara.  She felt incredible:  adrenaline
was coursing through her body, giving her an incredible rush and exciting
her beyond belief.  She never would have thought that hurting another
person would give her such pleasure, but hurting Sara Ellsworth certainly
did.
        "Do you know what I'm going to do with this, Sara?" she asked
silkily, holding the long needle before her eyes.
        Sara could imagine a thousand things Maria might do, so she
begged, pleaded, "Please, please don't hurt me anymore," all the while
feeling the pain in her breasts turn into an erotic throbbing which made
her cunt run even more freely with its juices.  She was scared and in
pain at the same time, and it was, she admitted in the back of her head,
and incredible turn on; but she didn't want any more pain, certainly not
the type of pain she knew Maria had in store for her.
        She grimaced and gasped in pain as Maria gripped her left nipple
between her fingernails and pulled it away from her body, stretching it
into a small, dark red cone.  She felt her blood pound through her
abused nipple and screamed "NOOOO!  NOOOO!  OH GOD NOOOO!  DON'T!
PLEASE!" as she saw Maria bring the tip of the long needle against the
outside of her breast.  Her screams turned into shrieks of pure agony as
Maria slowly pressed the needle into her distended nipple, piercing the
flesh as she inexorably drove the needle into her teachers nipple.
        "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" Sara screamed
as she felt the needle tear through the tender flesh of her nipple and,
dragging the ripped flesh around its punture with it, tear out the other
side, completely piercing the small red bud topping her breast.  She
quivered and shook and tried to pull her breast away from this torture,
but Maria held her tight between her fingernails, drawing even more blood
from the very tip of her nipple as they dug painfully into the nib of
Sara's nipple.  The agony was excrutiating, narrowing her consciousness
down to that one small, tortured point on her body as she screamed her
throat raw.  Finally the pain abated somewhat, dulling to a sharp
throbbing which drew ragged cried from her throat at each beat of her
pounding heart.
        Maria released her teacher's nipple and looked with pleasure upon
her accomplishment:  the needle neatly pierced Sara's nipple, two thin
streams of blood running down either side of her breast to join at its
base before drying just before reaching her naval.  The very tip of the
nipple, where she had gripped it between her fingernails, was suitably
bruised and swollen, with blood and fluid oozing out through the torn
flesh.  She reveled in the small cries of pain her teacher made, and
looked up into her eyes, smiling as she saw the agony and dismay etched
deeply on Sara's face.
        "I'm not done yet," she said cruelly, still holding the needle
with her fingers, earning a look of complete terror from Ms. Ellsworth.
        Achilles was excited beyond belief as he watched Maria
sadistically pierce her teacher's nipple and heard the screams of inhuman
agony torn from her throat; he was getting it all on tape, too, which
made it even better.  He eagerly made his way over to were both Jim and
Princess, Jim still sitting on the table and his cock slowly beginning to
resusitate and Princess still kneeling on the ground beside Jim's leg,
were both entranced with the theater going on in front of them.  He
quickly grabbed Princess by the hair and commanded her to stand up and
grab her ankles, whereupon he grabbed her hips and quickly thrust into
her sopping cunt, sighing at the feel of the soft folds of skin engulfing
his prick.
        Princess was once again denied the sight of the woman's torture,
but the cock in her cunt assuaged that disappointment.  The scene before
her had been so horrible, so twistedly erotic, that it had driven her to
another orgasm before her master had demanded use of her cunt.  She heard
the woman's screams resume and knew that the girl was driving the spike
through her other nipple, the sounds of the woman's sexual agony bringing
her even closer to orgasm as her master's cock pounded her furiously from
behind, almost knocking her over with each thrust, only holding her up
with the firm grip his hands had on her hips.
        Maria stepped back and viewed her handiwork, her cunt moist and
slick from her exertions.  Both Sara's nipples were pierced through with
the single, long needle, the weight of which dragged both her breasts
down slightly.  Two thin trails of blood, coming from each of her
nipples, had dried against her skin just before reaching her belly
button.  The bitch herself was quivering in pain as she tried to maintain
her balance, low moans of agony coming from her throat each time her
shaking body made her breasts swing even a little bit.
        Turning back to her bag, Maria pulled out a thin cord and tied it
tight to the center of the needle, between Sara's breasts, and,
feeding out line, walked about ten feet away draped the other end of the
cord over a pipe about head high.  Slowly she pulled the cord tight,
earning a long, drawn out moan from her teacher, until the bitch's
breasts were distended into fleshy cones, the point of piercing of each
nipple beginning to bleed again under the tension of the rope.  Maria
pulled it a little tighter then quickly tied it off.
        "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," Sara moaned as she felt her breasts
stretched into fleshy cones of meat; it felt like her nipples were going
to be ripped off by the pressure.  The agony of the torture of her
breasts had spread throughout her body, which was tense and sweating with
strain, making her cunt burn with need.  She couldn't help it; the worse
the pain became, the more her pussy demanded released, and now it was
burning with a need more torturous than the piercing of her nipples, her
juice slicking the insides of her thighs and dripping off from the sides
of her knees to form a small puddle on the ground between her legs.
        "Please, please touch me," she begged as Maria returned carrying
a curious black box with a dial connected to three long wires ending in
small clamps.
        "Oh, the whore wants to come?" Maria spat sarcastically, turning
to her audience.  "Do you think this cunt deserves that pleasure?  Well I
don't."  It was better than she imagined; she had thought she only wanted
to torture the bitch, but making her beg for sex while she inflicted
torture after torture upon her was even better.  She felt a thrill of
excitement as she clipped one of the clamps to the end of the needle
through Sara's nipples and another clamp through the other end.  The
third clamp she held up before the bitch's eyes and smiled before
kneeling down right in front of her gaping, dripping pussy.  Placing her
fingers just on the outside of the front of her snatch, Maria pulled her
labia apart, exposing Sara's clit, glistening with lubrication.  She
quickly snapped the clip onto her teacher's clit and received a
satisfactory shuddering in response.
        Oh god, Sara thought as the clamp closed tightly over her clit,
sending more shooting pain through her body, it had almost brought her
off.  A little more and she would have come:  how she needed to come!
She hung her head and strained against her chains, trying to bring
herself off, but it was no use.  She looked up and saw Maria standing
before her holding four stick pins, having set the black box down on the
ground in front of her.  She saw her tormentor kneel down and suddenly
turn the dial on the box, and she immediately felt its results.  It felt
like a thousand tiny mules were kicking her nipples, breasts, clit, and
cunt as the electricity flowed into her body.  It thrummed through her
sex and breasts, slowly increasing as Maria turned the dial.  Her whole
body tensed to the pounding of the current and the throbbing of her blood
in her ears.  She closed her eyes as the current transformed all the pain
in her body, turning it an agonizingly hightened sensation coursing
across her nerves.
        She screamed as a sharp, tearing pain hit her breast, looking to
see Maria driving one of her pins down into the flesh of her breast.
Again the pain in her breast as Maria drove another pin into her; and
again with her other breast.  Now her vision was fading into and out of
black as the sensations engulfing her body overwhelmed her:  they were
not pain and they were not pleasure, just an unbearable screaming of
tortured nerves.  Her whole body shook under the barrage of electricity,
her legs and stomach tense.  The fourth pin entered her breast near the
nipple, and she screamed, not hearing her own voice, as she finally lost
control of her bladder, her warm urine splattering on the floor and
sprinkling her feet, ankles, and calves.  Far awy, she felt hands on her
shoulders--she was floating in an agony of sensation--and she felt a deep
thumping at her pelvis as Maria kneed her in the groin.  <Thump> <Thump>
<Thump> the knee pounded her sex, and she shrieked like a lost soul as a
hot, blistering wind swept through her tormented body, originating from
her cunt and coursing across the raw nerves of her body, sending her
thrashing against her bonds in an orgasm of pain.  She shrieked and
shrieked, completely engulfed by this unbearable sensation which was both
agony and ecstacy, before darkness clouded her vision and she fell
heavily against her bonds, hanging from her arms in oblivion.

 
Subject:      Porterville_High_1.10 (mmff blackmail teen) (11/11)
From:         wiley06 <wiley06@nym.alias.net>
Date:         1996/10/31
Message-Id:   <199610311927.OAA10432@anon.lcs.mit.edu>
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Mail-To-News-Contact: admin@nym.alias.net
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories


        Princess watchedon her hands and knees with Jim's fat cock
reaming out her asshole as Sara shrieked in what was either incredible
agony or incredible ecstacy and collapsed into unconsciousness.  She felt
the cock in her ass throb and fill her bowels with warm seed, setting off
a shuddering orgasm of her own.  This whole afternoon had been so
obscene, she thought, and looked up again to see the girl, Maria, rub
herself through her leather panties.  She came again as she superimposed
the image of Amy over the woman hanging in chains before this wanton
teenager.  It was all too good to be true, too sexy, to erotic, to
pleasurable.
        She relaxed on the ground as she watched Jim and her master take
down the cunt Sara, while Maria arranged a set of pillows on the floor
and, before laying down, roman style, on them, removed her panties,
sliding them over her long leather boots.  The two men called her over
and handed her two towels and a bucket, telling her to clean up Sara and
the mess she had made, and to remove all the metal from her body.
        She was her master's slave, and obeyed eagerly, awed by the
damage done to the woman's tits.  Where each pin had penitrated was a
deep, dark, blue-black bruise, and her nipples, even after being cleaned
with an alchohol solution, looked mangled:  she guessed they would take
at least a month to heal, if they healed at all.  Once she finished
cleaning up the floor, her master told her to roll Sara onto her stomach
and tie her elbows and wrists together behind her back.  She felt a
thrill of pleasure as she tightened the leather straps around the woman's
arms and wrists, feeling a surge of pleasure at this domination of
another cunt like her.  She hoped her master would allow her to play with
this bitch; she really wanted to.
        Maria gasped in pleasure as Jim expertly caressed her vagina with
his fingers, his other hand popping one of her large breasts from her
bodice and teasing the nipple.  It had all been such a turn on, seeing
Sara take punishment like that, and she felt on the verge of orgasm.
        "What do you want to do to her now?" Jim asked Maria, looking
down at the luscious, young piece of fuck-meat gasping and groaning under
his fingers.  She was good, he thought, hot and good, and how he wanted
to fuck her brains out.  Not now, though; there would be time enough for
that later.
        "I wha...wha...want," she gasped out, beginning to loose herself
in pleasure, "I don't know what I want."
        "Why don't you have her eat out your beautiful pussy," he
suggested, working his fingers faster on her clit and breast.
        Make the cunt eat me, Maria thought, gasping under Jim's
attentions.  "Yessss," she hissed, feeling her body tense in orgasm as
blinding flashes struck her vision as she came for the first time in her
life.  She shuddered convulsively, pleasure flashing through her cunt and
breasts and legs, and then collapsed.  "Yes," she said lazily, "wake the
bitch up so she can suck me off."
        Jim grinned as he watched Maria orgasm, and then got up to help
with the resusitation of their sex toy.  A few smelling salts and she
came right around, moaning and groaning as she did so.
        Sara slowly came out of the darkness engulfing her, slowly came
back to the throbbing agony in her breasts and ache in her shoulders and
back, and the nagging, irritating itch in her clitorus.  She was
exhausted and spent, hoping that they would ask no more of her, but
realizing that they had more in store for her by the tight binding of her
arms behind her back.
        "Crawl on your belly, bitch," she heard Maria command, "crawl on
your belly to my pussy and pleasure me with your tongue."  She looked up
toward the girl and saw that the dirty blonde, Amy, was sucking on
Maria's breasts, licking and suckling them lovingly with attention and
care.  Achilles and Jim were standing to either side of the girl's legs,
both sporting large erections.
        She groaned in dismay but guessed that she couldn't refuse, so
she turned her body until her head faced Maria and began pushing herself
forward with her legs, her legs spread like a frog and her sore breasts
scraping painfully over the rough concrete of the floor.  She grimaced
and gasped as she felt the scabs on her nipples tear open, and rough pain
lance through her breasts.  She didn't stop, though, even when she felt
the skin on her hips scrape off, or the skin on her shoulders tear and
begin to ooze blood.  It seemed like eternity, but finally her head was
between the teenager's legs and her face barely and inch from her snatch.
        Maria felt her excitement growing again as she watched her
teacher struggle across the floor, knowing that it was causing her
incredible pain.  The little blond cunt sucking her breasts felt
wonderful, too, and she wished she could keep both of them, Sara and the
blond, for herself, but she knew she would always have to share them with
Jim and Achilles.  She lay back in ecstacy as her teacher's tongue sent
sparks of sexual energy charging up and down her spine while the blond
spread pleasure through her nipples and breasts with her mouth.  Only one
thing needed to be added, she thought, to make this perfect:  "Achilles,
fuck the bitch up the ass."
        The strong sent of Maria's sex excited her, even in her agony of
scratches and bruises, and she began licking the girls cunt with a deep,
masochistic pleasure.  When she heard Maria's command to Achilles to fuck
her up the ass, she almost came in anticipation.  One more person, she
thought, Maria was going to be just one more person to hurt and humiliate
her sexually, and she loved it.
        Achilles didn't waste any time, quickly lining his throbbing cock
up with Sara's asshole and shoving it in.  Soon he worked up to a steady
fucking motion which sent a wave of pressure building in his loins.
        Jim watched, fascinated, as the four of them locked in a sexual
passion, Princess sucking avidly on Maria's breasts, Sara lapping eagerly
at her cunt, while Achilles stroked his hard member in and out of Sara's
ass.  He went over to both camera's and made sure they both had good
angles of this action, especially when the mass of connected human flesh
began to quake and shudder in orgasmic release.
        They still weren't done with Ms. Sara Ellsworth that afternoon
though.  Maria commanded Sara to lie on her back with her ankles on
either side of her head while Amy squatted over her head, holding down
her ankles.  Then, while Achilles slowly fucked Sara's gaping twat, and
Maria, on her knees, sank her cunt back onto Jim's hard tool, feeling how
good a man's penis could be inside her, she told Amy to pee into the
teachers mouth.
        Following that, the men were worn out, so Maria did some whipping
and then commanded Sara to lick Princess's asshole.  There followed
another hour of girl play, with Maria commanding, Princess demanding, and
Sara submissive and exhausted.  The two men watched and made sure the
camera's caught everything.
        That was just the beginning for Sara and Maria.  Maria was
allowed to have her teacher alone three times a week, determined every
Friday, and the other days she could share with Jim, Achilles, and, if
Achilles decided, Princess.  The times together with Jim and Achilles,
for she did not miss a day to further torment Sara or to satisfy her now
raging sexual appetite, she found fully satisfactory, for not only were
the two men excellent sexually, they had quite an imagination when it
came to abusing and humiliating her teacher.  An added perk was that
when the blond, Princess, was present, she had the equivalent of a
cunt-slave she could order around, as well as one more instrument to
torture her hated teacher.
        When alone with Sara, Maria came up with ingenious devices to
degrade her.  Her favorite was once a week, she would put a leather hood
on her teacher, with only two small holes for her nostrils and a large
hole for her mouth, and, with her wrists tied behind her back, took her
out to an abandoned shack near the orange groves.  There she would invite
a group of boys from the high school, who would pay her $50 for the
invitation, to come and use the cunt any way they wished.  With twenty or
so boys every time, Sara got fucked in every hole at least fifteen times
each, with Maria watching and enjoying every minute of it.
        Sara, for her part, enjoyed everything done to her, even though
she soon had to quit her job because she seemed to always be worn out
from the sexual activities Maria, Jim, and Achilles put her through.  She
had become what she had secretly wanted to become all her life, a pure
fucking machine, taking pleasure whenever it was offered.  This time of
use and degradation was the happiest time of her life.
        Amy continued to do well in school, although it was remarked that
she became even colder and more intellectual with each passing day.  She
did not care:  soon she would be away in college and then on to a
successful career, thanks in part to Achilles.  She did worry what she
would do with Princess when she left him, but figured she probably
wouldn't have any trouble finding a man to take care of that slut
wherever she went, knowing men.
        Princess, for her part, loved her master and the way he treated
her.  The inclusion of Jim, Sara, and Maria into their little world
merely excited her more, since she felt like nothing more than a
commodity to be used and then discarded, which was, she though, exactly
what a dirty cunt like her was.  She dreaded being taken away from these
people by Amy, but figured, correctly, that Amy would have to find her
another master wherever she went, of she, Princess, would make things
very hard on Amy Sanders.
        Achilles' schoolwork suffered a bit from all the sexual escapades
he was embarking on, but he really didn't care.  He had three hot cunts
ready at almost any time to take his cock:  one who worshipped him,
another to whom he could do anything, and a third one, young, lush, and
lovely, who was just learning how to fuck.
        Jim, never satisfied with even a very good thing, plotted on how
to include yet another girl, preferably a freshman, into his little
scene.  Now that he had had a taste of really young cunt in Maria and
Amy, he wanted to keep his supply steady.  He moved in with Sara, and
figured he could keep her indefinately, and if he ever got tired of her,
he could just pass her around to his friends.  All in all, everything was
going well.

THE END

