Archive-name: Slaves/stacy.txt
Archive-author: Parker   (c) 1993
Archive-title: Stacy's Senior Year


          WARNING: This story contains blackmail, non-consensual
          sex, D&S, humiliation and all that sort of good stuff
          (although, not in every instalment). This story is not
          politically correct! If you do not enjoy reading about
          this sort of thing, STOP NOW (before it is too late).
          - This is the first part of a ten part series (I hope).
   Feel free to send the story where you will, but use some common sense.


     Neil was the one to notice it: Stacy Richards cheating on an
examination! He nudged his friend Gary and pointed towards the
front of the class.
     "Check it out," he whispered.
     Gary saw, but couldn't believe what he was seeing. Stacy
Richards - the ice-queen cock tease of the senior class at
Greenwood High - was staring intently at a slip of paper hidden
on her desk under the exam. Just then, Mr.Edgar, the teacher,
coughed quietly and shifted position in his seat at the front of
the class. Stacy quickly pushed the cheat-sheet back under the
exam paper and looked up guiltily, her face flushing a pretty
shade of red. If Mr.Edgar had glanced over at her at that moment
he would certainly have known that something was wrong with her. But why
would he be checking out Stacy Richards, who had been
getting straight A grades ever since she had begun attending
Greenwood High four years ago? Instead, he turned his attention
to Neil French and Gary Syms, who were the class trouble-makers:
Neil with his long, greasy hair and semi-stylish ripped clothes
and Gary with his cynical, cutting sense of geek humour. Sure
enough, they were grinning and whispering together at the back of
the classroom rather than writing the exam.
     "French... Syms," he called out, drawing himself laboriously
out of his chair and up to his rather unimpressive full hight,
"Front of the class."
     No longer smiling, the two boys got up and walked slowly
forward, the centre of attention, with everyone in the class
looking up at them from their exams. Neil noticed Stacy smirking
at him with her typical, haughty sneer.
     Bitch, he thought, we'll see who's laughing in a second.
"Mr.Edgar," he blurted as he reached the front of the room,
"We saw..."      He was cut off by Gary elbowing him subtly, but stiffly, in
the side. He drew in a breath to continue speaking, but he was
interrupted by the angry teacher.
     "You two have been nothing but trouble since you started
this class in September," Mr.Edgar announced, his full white
moustache quivering with indignation. "I can no longer allow you
to disrupt this class with your infantile jokes and games,
particularly during exams."
     Neil started to protest, but was again cut off by Mr.Edgar,
who had worked up a full head of steam.
     "You have both failed this examination. You will apologise
to the class for the disruption, and then you will leave." He
glared at the two boys. "Do you understand?"
     Both boys nodded a sullen 'yes'.
     "Any further problems," the teacher finished his
pronouncement of sentence, "And you will be removed from this
class permanently. Perhaps you will be able to make up the course
in summer school."
     Gary didn't react, but Neil looked up in alarm. That was
about the most serious threat a teacher could make, short of
outright expulsion. Bakersville was a beach town in southern
California, and summer was by far the best time of the year,
particularly for the teenagers. Being forced to waste the summer
months inside the stuffy high school while everyone else partied
on the beach was about the worst fate a teenager could suffer.
     Apparently cowed, Neil and Gary turned around and stammered
out an embarrassed apology to the class. A few kids giggled -
Neil noted that Stacy was one of them - but most looked away,
uncomfortable at the humiliation of their fellow students. The
two boys then filed out of classroom and into the hallway.

                              *****

     Stacy shrugged her blonde hair off her shoulder and looked
back down at the examination as the class returned to normal.
Thank god those two geeks were gone, she thought, and tried to
put Neil and Gary from her mind. In her world, there were
"people" and there were "geeks", and Neil and Gary definitely
fell into the latter category. She wouldn't even have known their
names except that Neil had spent the better part of the first
term of the previous year following her about, and had even asked
her out on a date. As if! She had refused in as cruel a manner as
she knew how (which was pretty cruel), and had later asked Pete,
her then boyfriend and captain of the football team, to beat Neil
up, just to warn him off. Pete had dutifully administered the
beating, and Neil had backed off. She had soon afterward broken
up with Pete - he had lost his place on the football team that
spring - and had put the entire episode from her mind.
     Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to the exam. She
frowned down at the test, as if she could intimidate the answers
off the written page. Questions which had been easy for her a
year ago now seemed impossibly hard. Stacy was quite intelligent,
and had always gotten almost perfect marks at school, but lately
the constant burden of socializing - cheerleading, beachparties,
student council etc. - had left her little time for schoolwork.
As a result, she had found herself approaching the first set of
school exams of her senior year completely unprepared. And if she
did poorly or - unthinkable - failed, she would loose her record
of straight As, and would probably fail to be elected Homecoming
Queen, the goal toward which she had been working for the last
few years. Hence, she had decided to make a few crib notes to get
her through the first round of exams. After that, she told
herself, she would get back on track with the schoolwork.
     Looking around to make certain she was unobserved, she
pushed the exam paper upwards to expose the notes she had written
on the cheat-sheet...

                              *****

     Neil smouldered with anger as walked down the hall with
Gary. That had been the perfect chance to get back at that bitch
Stacy, and Gary had blown it for him! Neil's thoughts lingered on
Stacy as he grumbled to himself.
     Stacy was one of those unattainable high school princesses
who enjoyed showing herself off, but didn't put out. With her
shoulder-length blonde hair, perfect face (large green eyes, pert
nose and thick,pouty lips), and athlete's body (she was a member
of both the swim team and the track team), she was easily the
most beautiful girl in Greenwood, and every male student's dream.
     But dream she remained for most. She moved exclusively in
the highest high school social circles, and only went out with
sports stars and the like. Neil had developed a crush on her
earlier the previous year, and it wasn't until she had sent that
football jerk to beat him up that he got over her. The fact was,
she only noticed guys like Neil (and Gary, for that matter) when
they bothered her, and she had to put them off (or "...out of
their misery..." as Neil had once heard her laughingly remark to
one of her friends).
     The two boys left the school by the side entrance and began
to walk across the south parking lot. Finally, Neil could contain
himself no longer.
     "Why'd you shut me up in there?" he complained, "I had that
bitch right where I wanted her. I owe her."
     Gary just smiled at this, making Neil uncomfortable. Where
Neil was loud and obnoxious, Gary was quiet and strange. Despite
the fact that the two had been friends for a number of years,
Gary was still capable of unnerving his larger friend with his
strange smile and even stranger ideas.
     "What's so funny?" Neil asked nervously.
     "You're right," Gary answered quietly, "We do have her where
we want her, but not in the way you mean."
     Neil was puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
     "If you had told on her back in the classroom just now,
Edgar might or might not have believed you. Probably not; you
know he doesn't like us. And if not - if Stacy had managed to
hide her cheating - we would have been kicked out of the class
for good, and been stuck in summer school. And even if he had
caught her, at most she would have failed the exam, if that. The
teachers love her. Then she would set her friends on us."
     "But..." Neil began.
     "You remember Pete."
     Neil could only nod glumly in agreement, recalling the
beating he had suffered last year. Stacy had no shortage of
friends on the football team. "So," he said finally, "You said we
had her where we wanted her."
     "Yes, I did," Gary agreed.
     "How?"
     By now, the two boys had reached Gary's car, a large, black
Pontiac. Gary unlocked the doors before answering.
     "If she's cheating now on a math test," he explained, "she
must be in trouble with her schoowork. She's always gotten top
marks in math."
     "Yeah?" Neil was still confused. "So?"
     "So," Gary continued patiently, "It's a pretty safe bet
she'll cheat again. There's an English test coming up next week,
and I don't think a little cheat-sheet will be of much use to
her. You have to have read the material." He started up the car
and began to pull out of the parking space. Neil thought this
over as Gary manouvered the vehicle out of the school parking lot
and onto the road.
     "So," he asked finally, "What do we do about it?"
     "I'll tell you when we get to Sharon's place," Gary
answered, "We'll need her for what I have in mind."

                              *****

     Sharon was Gary's friend and sometime girlfriend. Neil was
never really sure about their relationship - he knew that they
went out and that they occasionally had sex, but he also knew
that Sharon did the same with at least a couple of other guys.
Gary, however, didn't seem to mind, so Neil had decided to take
things at face value. He had even made something of a pass at
Sharon at a beach party last summer, but had been rebuffed. He
was philosophical about it; Sharon wasn't really his type anyway.
     The girl in question appeared in the doorway, answering
their knock. A year younger than the two boys, Sharon was short
and heavy, with large breasts and curly, brown hair. Any
suggestion of cuteness, however, was quickly dispelled by her
hard face and small, piggy (Neil thought) eyes. If there was any
beauty there, it was definitely in the eye of the beholder. She
was smoking a cigarette as she answered the door.
     After a quick greeting (and an obligatory "hello" to
Sharon's mother - propped up, as usual, in front of the
television), Sharon led the two boys down to her basement
bedroom, locking the door behind her (Sharon's parents were
"progressive", and felt that she needed her privacy). Neil
accepted a cigarette and flopped down into a chair while pulling
a lighter from his jacket pocket. Gary, who didn't smoke, just
leaned up against the dresser. Sharon lay down on the bed and
propped herself up with a pillow.
     "So," she asked, flicking some ash onto the dirty shag
carpet, "What are you guys doing here? I thought you had math
with Edgar until 3:00."
     Neil grimaced. "We did," he answered, "Until he kicked us
out."
     "What?"
     Gary took over the explanation and outlined the sequence of
events that had led to their expulsion from the math class.
Typically, Sharon immediately blamed Stacy.
     "That cunt!" she swore angrily, "Cheating on the test and
getting you guys kicked out. She's really asking for it."
     "Yes, she is," Gary agreed quietly, "And I think I know how
we can give it to her."
     "What do you mean?"
     "We know she's cheating on her exams, right?"
     Neil and Sharon nodded in agreement.
     "I think that it's pretty likely she'll cheat again. I don't
think that she's had to do it before, so she's probably way
behind in her work. The fact that she's cheating - and that we
know she's cheating - gives us a hold on her; a way of
blackmailing her, but we need more."
     Neil thought this over for a few moments. "Like what?" he
asked.
     "First, we need concrete evidence of the cheating. No one is
going to take our word over Stacy's. That's where you come in,
Sharon. Your dad lets you use his video camera and radio -
microphone. We'll use that to trap her."
     "And then what?" Neil was starting to become excited at the
prospect of blackmailing Stacy.
     Gary fell silent for a moment, looking at his two friends.
     "How much," he asked finally, his voice strained and odd,
"How much do you hate her? I mean really. How much do you want to
see her suffer?"
     "Hey man," Neil answered uneasily, "I just want to get back
at her for putting me down last year. I don't want to, like, beat
her up or anything."
     "Well, I would," Sharon spat out. "I hate the bitch. Always
flaunting herself, and prancing about like she owns the whole
fucking school. She deserves whatever she gets. I'll do whatever
you want to help get her."
     Gary looked over a Neil, his eyebrows raised as if to ask
'are you in?'.
     "Aw, fuck it," Neil said finally, "I hate the bitch as much
as anybody. I'm in all the way."
     "Good," Gary nodded, "Cause when we're through with her,
she'll be the biggest slut in the history of Greenwood High."

                              *****

     The English exam was being held the following Monday, only
five days away, so they had to move quickly. The first step was
to get ahold of the exam questions beforehand, a proposition
which might have proved difficult but for the advances in
electronics technology which had culminated in the computer. Exam
papers were commonly written out on school computers and stored
in the school network, which allowed for "maximum flexibility
within the school bureaucracy regarding application of
secretarial assets". Incidentally, it also allowed someone with
the appropriate equipment and skills to break into the system and
download the required information without leaving any traces of
his actions.
     Gary, something of a hacker, had broken into the system a
number of times in the past with his home computer and modem and
was quite familiar with both the security measures and the layout
of information within the network. In the end, it took him all of
about twenty minutes to download the appropriate exam paper. Neil
and Sharon were impressed.
     "Jesus," she muttered, "I wish you'd told me about this
before I failed my fucking history test last year."
     Gary just shook his head. "I don't think this is the kind of
thing you want to do too often. If I go in often enough, they'll
figure out what's going on. I was saving if for a special
occasion." He looked up at his two friends and grinned
maliciously. "And I think this is it."

                              *****

     Frustrated, Stacy slammed the book shut. The exam was coming
up in just a few days, and there was no way she was going to be
ready. She had done her best to catch up on the first two months'
work in a couple of days, but it was almost impossible for her
even to get through the material in time for the test, much less
actually understand it. And there was impossible for her to cheat
on this exam the way she had in math. In that class, she had
gotten away with writing out a number of formulas and
applications on crib notes, but that just wouldn't work for an
English test. There was too much material to read and assimilate,
and without knowing exactly what material the test was going to
focus on, she was forced to try to learn it all in just a few
days: a daunting task at best, and almost certainly doomed to
failure. She was going to blow the test for sure!
     Stacy slumped back in her chair and stared at her pouting
reflection in the desk mirror. It wasn't fair. How could she be
expected to keep up with all of this classwork while at the same
time attend all the student council meetings as well as the swim
club practices each morning. It was impossible. They just
expected too much of her! She felt her large, green eyes brimming
with tears; she wanted to be Homecoming Queen so badly, and
now...
     She was interrupted from her self-pity by the ring of the
phone at her bedside. Sniffling, she got up and crossed the room
to answer it.
     "Hello?" It was Ashley, her friend from school. Careful to
disguise her inner turmoil (Ashley, like all of the other girls
in their particular clique, could smell weakness the way a shark
smells blood; any hint of a problem and it would be all over the
group by the end of the next school day, threatening Stacy's
position), Stacy fell easily into the standard school banter of
gossip, innuendo and casual put-downs of other students. Stacy
was good at this, and Ashley sensed nothing out of place.
     After a while, Neil's name came up, and Stacy happily
recounted the events of yesterday's math test. Ashley had almost
certainly heard about it by now, but the combination of a
first-hand account together with Stacy's particular style of
sarcastic humour made the story well worth hearing for a second
time. The two girls were soon laughing together at what had
happened.
     "Well," Ashley laughed at the end of the story, "It does
sound as if they made absolute assholes of themselves, alright.
And that threat of summer school must have scared the shit out of
them from what I heard."
     "What do you mean?"
     "I heard that Neil has got ahold of some of some of the exam
papers coming up. I guess he wants to bring up his overall  marks
so Edgar can't fail him or something like that."
     Stacy felt her heart jump a beat as her breath caught in her
chest. Neil had copies of future exams? "Where did you hear
that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. Evidently she
had succeeded, as Ashley failed to detect the change of mood.
     "Laura told me," she answered, "I think she heard it from
Sharon, although why she was talking to that cow, I don't know.
You remember Sharon? She was the one..." Ashley started to drone
on about Sharon, who was definitely not a part of their exclusive
clique, but Stacy wasn't listening. Neil had copies of some
upcoming tests.      AND HE WAS IN HER ENGLISH CLASS!
     After a while, Ashley wound down, and Stacy let the
conversation die a natural death. While she was careful not to
mention Neil and the exam papers again, it was never far from her
mind. Finally, the two girls said goodbye and Stacy hung up the
phone.
     Thoughtful, she walked back to her desk and looked the pile
of unread English books. Cheating was a serious matter at
Greenwood (it had taken her a long time to screw up her courage
enough to do it during the math test), but stealing exam papers
was something else altogether. She remembered a guy who had been
caught with a stolen paper about four years ago, when she was in
her first year at the high school. He had not only been expelled,
but the school had prosecuted him for breaking and entering and
theft (they succeeded on the first count, but failed on the
second). It had been all over the papers in Bakersville. She
shuddered at the thought of that happening to her, but what was
the alternative?      Besides, she thought, making up her mind, she wasn't
going
to get caught; she was too smart for that.

                              *****

     It was all too easy!      Stacy had approached him the next day - just
as Gary had
predicted - and, in the guise of sympathizing with him over his
humiliation in Edgar's math class a couple of days ago, she had
sounded him out about the papers for the upcoming exams. As Gary
had instructed him, Neil pretended to be suffering from a bad
cold and sore throat, and lowered his voice to a rasp. Stacy
didn't seem notice; either she didn't care, or couldn't remember
what he normally sounded like. Probably both.
     Enjoying the experience of Stacy being friendly to him
(although aware that Stacy had skilfully manipulated the
circumstances of their "accidental" meeting in such a way as to
locate it in the Study Hall, which was usually deserted), Neil
drew the encounter out, repeatedly side-stepping her indirect
attempts to get him to admit to having the papers.
     Finally, she was forced to ask him directly: did he have
copies of the upcoming exam papers? Seemingly reluctant, Neil
eventually admitted that "yes" he happened to have some copies of
future exam papers, and "yes", in particular, he did have copy of
next week's English exam.      "Why do you want to know?"      Stacy looked
down and flushed. When she looked like that,
Neil was almost willing to feel sorry for her. Almost. All he had
to do to push back any feelings of affection was remember the
bitchy way in she had rejected him last year and then gotten him
beaten up. He knew what she was like.
     "I want a copy of that exam," she admitted finally, "I need
it for this weekend."
     Neil pretended to be shocked. "Stacy, you mean you want a
copy of a stolen exam paper so you can cheat on next Monday's
English test?"
     Stacy swallowed back an angry retort. Couldn't he be a
little more subtle? Idiot! Still, there wasn't much she could do
about it. "Yes," she admitted, "I need it to pass the exam."
     Neil just stared at her, not saying anything.          "I'll pay money,"
she added, "How about $100?"
     Still nothing. She was almost frantic.
     "Please?"
     "Alright," Neil relented, as if making up his mind, "I'll
sell you the stolen exam paper for $100." Stacy almost collapsed
with relief. Everything was going to work out!
     "Will that be all, Stacy, or do you want any more exams? I
can probably get whatever you want."
     Stacy looked up, excited. This would solve all of her
problems with the schoolwork. "That sounds great," she told him
enthusiastically, "I'll buy whatever you can get for the classes
I'm in. $100 a paper."
     "It's a deal." Neil could barely repress a grin of triumph.
They had her! Now, only one more thing... "Meet me tomorrow after
school in the woodworking shop. It should be deserted on Friday
afternoon."
     "Fine," Stacy agreed, "I'll be there." She turned to go.
     "Don't forget the money," he reminded her, but by then she
was gone.

                              *****

     "Remember," Gary repeated for what seemed like the hundredth
time, "keep your back to the wall and face slightly away from the
closet. Make sure that Stacy is always facing you so that we get
a good angle from where Sharon will be filming." Gary and Sharon
had cleared out one of the storage closets in the workshop, and
Sharon was set up inside with her video camera filming through a
knot-hole. Gary was set up with a still camera in the upper
storage area across the room. In order to cover the noise of the
camera, he had turned on the rotation fans which were fastened
from the ceiling; the resulting hum was more than sufficient to
mask any noise he might make.      Satisfied at last that everything was in
order and Neil knew
what to do, Gary climbed the short ladder to the storage area and
concealed himself behind a stack of wood. Neil watched him
disappear from view. After a quick glance to make certain the
closet door was properly closed, he sat back in a chair and
waited for Stacy.
     Stacy arrived ten minutes late, looking a little uncertain,
but determined to carry through. She crossed the room as Neil
watched in appreciation. She was wearing tight jeans and a white
blouse which left her tanned arms bear past the shoulder.
Bakersville was having an unusually long Indian Summer, and her
clothing reflected the fact of this unseasonable warmth. Neil got
hard imagining what lay beneath the blouse. Soon, he told himself
as Stacy approached him, soon he wouldn't have to imagine. He
stood up as she approached.
     "Well," she asked as she got to where he was standing, "Do
you have it?" She was more her usual bitchy self today, now that
she was getting what she wanted.
     Perfect, Neil noted silently. She's standing exactly where
Gary wanted her to stand. "I've got it," he told her in the same
gruff voice he had used the day before, "One stolen English exam
paper for Stacy Richards." He held up the computer printout. "And
my money?"
     Stacy reached into her pocket and pulled out the cash.
Silently, she handed it over to him. Just to make her angry, he
slowly and noisily counted the money, making a production of it.
"It's all there," she said angrily, "You don't have to worry
about that; now or in the future."
     "Fine," he answered, handing over the exam questions, "It's
all yours."
     In a hurry to leave, Stacy snatched the paper and quickly
scanned the contents. As promised, the paper contained the four
questions which would form the basis of next Monday's English
class examination.
     "Thanks," she said shortly, all business, and turned to walk
away.
     "Good luck with the test," he called after her, but she
ignored him and left the room.
     The room fell silent for a few second, and then Gary popped
up from behind the wood. "Looked good from here," he announced,
"I think I got some good shots." He began climbing down the
ladder as Neil walked over to the cupboard where Sharon was
hiding. He opened the door and helped her out from behind the
camera tripod.
     "That was great," she chortled, "I got everything."
     Neil reached into his jacket and pulled out the small
radio-microphone. He handed it over to Sharon who clipped it back
onto the video camera.
     "Well guys," Gary stated, "A little bit of editing, and I
think we have her."
     Neil began to get hard again, just thinking about what that
meant...

                              *****

     They waited almost two weeks before lowering the boom. By
that time, the English exam had come and gone, and Miss Frankel
had read out the marks in class. Stacy had received the highest
mark ever given out in Miss Frankel's English class, a fact
commented upon several times by the impressed teacher. Neil, on
the other hand, had barely passed. When his mark was announced,
Stacy gave him a startled glance, but then quickly looked away.
If he was so stupid that he could barely pass with advance notice
of the questions, that was his problem.      By that time, Gary and Sharon
had suitably edited the video
and audio evidence, and Gary had developed a large number of
prints from his still pictures of the event. Gary still hoped
that the audio tape would be enough on its own (he didn't want
Stacy to realise the extent of the plot against her), but if not,
the additional evidence was very convincing. Everything had
turned out perfect: Stacy's actions and words were crystal clear,
while Neil was unrecognizable. Between his disguised voice and
positioning during the filming, there was no way to prove the
identity of the person from whom Stacy bought the stolen exam
paper. Gary thought that this, along with the fact that Stacy had
done so well and Neil so poorly on the test, should serve to
protect Neil from expulsion if they were forced to use the
evidence. As well, Gary and Sharon were willing to give Neil an
alibi. At best, it would be Stacy's word against their's, and, if
it came to that, Stacy's word would not be worth much by then.
     So, it seemed that everything was in order. All that
remained was to determine the method of delivery...

     The small package arrived in the mail at the Richard
household on the Friday almost two weeks after the English exam.
It was addressed to Stacy. When it was opened, a cassette tape
fell out along with a small piece of note paper. She picked it up
and read it: 'SAT. MORNING: 10:00 AM STEWART PARK FOUNTAIN. It
was written in clumsy block letters.      Puzzled, she took the tape up to
her room, slipped it into
her walkman, put on the head-phones and hit the play button.
Almost at once, her head was filled with the sound of her own
voice:      "I heard you have a copy of next week's English exam. Is
that true?"      "Why do you want to know?" That was Neil! What was going on
here? There was a brief hissing, then the tape continued,
relentlessly. Stacy listened in panicked disbelief.
     "I want a copy of that exam. I need it for this weekend."
     "Stacy, you mean you want a copy of a stolen exam paper so
you can cheat on next Monday's English test."      "Yes. I need it to pass
the exam... I'll pay money. How
about $100? Please?"
     "Alright, I'll sell you the stolen exam paper for $100. Will
that be all, Stacy, or do you want any more exams? I can probably
get whatever you want."
     "That sounds great. I'll buy whatever you can get for the
classes I'm in. $100 a paper."
     "It's a deal. Meet me tomorrow after school in the
woodworking shop. It should be deserted on Friday afternoon...
Don't forget the money."
     The hissing stopped for a second as the tape fell silent,
but before Stacy hit the stop button, it started up again, this
time with a small humming sound in the background. The fans,
Stacy realised, fighting down panic, the fans in the woodworking
shop. Trembling, she listened as the voices began once again:
     "Well," her voice again, "Do you have it?"
     "I've got it. One stolen English exam paper for Stacy
Richards. And my money?"
     There was a brief moment of silence, and they the sound of
paper being crinkled.         "It's all there; you don't have to worry about
that... now
or in the future."
     "Fine, It's all yours."
     "Thanks."
     The voices fell silent, and she heard a door slam: the shop
door slamming when she left the room. The hiss slowly faded as
the recording came to halt.
     Hands trembling, she pulled the ear-phones off her head and
sat still in stunned disbelief. This couldn't be happening to
her! Her eyes brimmed over with tears as she picked up the note
and re-read it. The writing blurred through the tears as she
realised that she had no choice: she would have to go to the
meeting tomorrow and see what he wanted.

--

     Neil checked his watch for the tenth time in as many
minutes: still five minutes to go before the 10:00 meeting with
Stacy. He paced back and forth on the path before the fountain,
pausing only to push back his stringy, brown hair and survey the
surrounding area for any sign of her approach. The park was
empty, however, with the exception of a few joggers and the odd
person out walking their dog. (At least, Neil thought they were
odd; he hated dogs.) The area around the fountain was pretty much
deserted, which made it perfect for the upcoming meeting. If, of
course, that meeting ever took place. Despite Gary's repeated
assurances, Neil was still not certain that Stacy would show up.
He half-expected to see a police car pull into the parking lot or
something like that. Gary, however, had been sure of their plan.
He argued that for someone like Stacy, social standing and
reputation were all; she wouldn't put either at risk by taking
any chances that the evidence of her cheating would get out.
Sharon had agreed with him, but Neil was not so sure; it wasn't
Sharon's or Gary's ass on the line out here in the park. Still,
he thought, it was worth a try, particularly considering the
potential prize at the end of the day! He checked his watch
again: still a few minutes to go. Neil looked up and scanned the
park - if she didn't appear soon...
     There she was: large as life and twice as beautiful! Stacy
was approaching slowly along the jogging path which led into the
park from the beach; she must have parked her car in the beach
parking lot, where it was much less likely to be seen. That made
sense. As far as Neil could tell, she was alone, which eased his
anxiety considerably. Maybe this would work after all. He stopped
pacing and watched as she walked towards him.
     As she drew closer, he saw that her eyes were red and puffy,
as though she had been recently crying, or hadn't slept much.
Maybe both. She looked scared. If anything, though, Neil thought
it made her even more gorgeous. This is really going to work,
Neil thought to himself, his heart picking up speed.
     Finally, she reached the circular path before the fountain
and, after hesitating briefly, she walked up to him.
     "Stacy," he greeted her...

                            *****

     Stacy had indeed spent an almost sleepless night, tossing
and turning in anticipation of what would happen the next
morning. When she finally did get up, she was almost exhausted
with apprehension. All she could think about was what had
happened to the last person who had been caught with a stolen
exam paper. The expulsion from school... the criminal charges...
the public exposure! That was the worst. The thought of the
humiliation made her tremble as she quickly got ready to leave
for her encounter with the person who sent the note. A brief
excuse to her parents at breakfast, and she was out the door and
on her way.
     Stacy was not surprised to see Neil standing at the fountain
as she entered the park. The blonde teenager had quickly realized
last night that the note must have come from him. He was the only
person who knew about her cheating, and he was the only person
who could have taped their meeting. The question was: what did he
want from her to keep quiet about it? The answer, unfortunately, was not
difficult to figure out. She could see the way he watched
her as she approached the fountain. The way his eyes played over
the curves on her body, undressing her. Stacy shuddered. She did
not find him attractive - he was tall and painfully thin, with
long greasy hair and an unpleasant complexion - but had made up
her mind the previous night that she would do anything - almost
anything - to get the tape back, including sleeping with him.
Anything to keep him quiet. She was afraid, however, that this
was exactly what she was going to have to do.
     "Stacy," he greeted her as she approached. He was smirking.
     "I thought it would be you," she spat out, unable to hide
the anger and hatred in her voice. "What do you want?"
     "Why, Stacy," he feigned surprise and hurt, "is that any way
to greet your partner in crime? You seemed happy enough to see me
a couple of weeks ago... when you needed the exam paper." The
tall teenager sat himself down on a bench and patted the space
next to him, gesturing for her to take a seat next to him.      "Fuck you,"
she blurted out. "I want that tape." She
couldn't believe he had the nerve to treat her like this. She
fought down the urge to slap that obnoxious smirk off his ugly
face; there was time for that later.
     Neil just smiled slightly and again patted the place next to
him on the bench. "I don't think that that's a very helpful
attitude," he said mildly. "Why don't you just sit yourself down
right here, and we'll have a little chat about it."      She just stared at
him angrily.      "After all," he continued, "it wouldn't do to be seen
arguing in public. Someone might ask why."
     Torn between anger and fear, Stacy hesitated for a few
moments more, but finally gave in and sat down beside him. She
tensed up as he put his right arm around her shoulder, but didn't
pull away. She hoped no one could see them together; it would be
impossible to explain this to her friends at school.
     "That's better," he said smoothly. "Now we can talk."
     She turned slightly towards him, ignoring the condescending
tone of his voice. Anger had won out over the fear, if only
briefly. "You know what I want, you fucker. You tricked me. I
want that tape back, and I want you to shut your fucking mouth
about the whole thing, you asshole..."      She was stunned into a shocked
silence as he brought his
left hand around and slapped her across the face. It wasn't
particularly hard, but it was surprising and humiliating. She
brought her hand up to her stinging cheek and started to pull
away, but Neil held her close. Tears welled up in her eyes.
     "First thing, Stace," he told her quietly. "Don't swear at
me, or even in my presence. It makes you sound cheap. Do you
understand?"
     Dumbly, she nodded her head as the tears began to flow down
her cheeks. The humiliation at being talked to like this was even
worse than being slapped. What was he doing to her?
     When he saw her nod, he relaxed his hold, but still kept his
arm around her. The cheek he had slapped was starting to turn
red, so he leaned forward and kissed it. Stacy tensed and started
to tremble, but she didn't pull away. "There, there," he said
soothingly, as he brought his hand up to wipe the tears off her
cheeks, "Is that better?"
     Trembling, she nodded.
     "Fine," Neil leaned back on the bench. "Now we can talk. As
you know, I have evidence that could fuck you up at Greenwood. I
don't want to use it like that, but I will if I have to."
     "If you give out that tape," she argued, regaining some
control (but still not pulling away from his encircling arm),
"you'll be expelled too. I'll let everyone know who sold me the
exam. We'd go down together." She had thought of that argument
last night, while tossing and turning in bed.
     Neil just shrugged. "You can try," he answered. "But I don't
know if anyone will believe you. My voice can't be recognised on
the tape and I have friends who will be willing to swear that I
was somewhere else that Friday. Besides, I almost failed the
test; who'll believe I had the questions ahead of time?" He fell
silent for a moment and looked at her. "And even if I do get
expelled, it's no big deal; people expect it of me. It's your
reputation that matters."
     He was right. Stacy began to cry again, and was forced to
suffer the humiliation of Neil again brushing the tears from her
cheeks. "S-so, what do you want, then?" She was defeated. She
would give him what he wanted.
     "You," came the expected answer. "For just one night.
Tomorrow night. I want you to make love with me and act as though
you like it. After, I'll give you the only copy I have of the
tape."
     Stacy began to tremble again as he said this, but she was
not particularly shocked. Here, she was on familiar ground; most
of the boys at school wanted the same thing of her, and she was
used to dealing with their desires. As well, she had expected
something like this, and it could have been a hell of a lot
worse. She didn't find Neil attractive, and almost gagged at the
thought of having sex with him, but she was certainly not a
virgin. And one night wasn't forever. It would be unpleasant, but
it would be over with quickly, and she would never have to talk
to him again. And, once she had the tape...      Stacy was careful, however,
not to let her thoughts show.
No need to let this asshole know that she was not as scared as
she seemed. "And you'll give me the tape?" she asked quietly.
     "Sure."
     "How do I know that you won't keep a copy of it and
blackmail me again?"
     "You don't," came the simple answer. "But I swear on my
mother's grave that I will not use the tape to blackmail you
again." She looked doubtful, but he just shrugged. "That's the
best I can do."
     "Just one night?"        Neil nodded.
     "And it'll be a secret, right? You won't tell anybody?" This
was crucial. If anyone ever found out that she had slept with
Neil French, whatever the reason, she would be ruined at school.
It would be even worse than being caught cheating.
     Once again, Neil nodded. "No one will have to know," he told
her.
     Stacy fell silent for a few moments and then nodded her
agreement. She had stopped trembling and seemed thoughtful. "OK,"
she agreed, finally, "I'll do it. Just one night. And no one
knows."
     "Right." Neil could barely keep himself from laughing out
loud. If only she knew what they had planned for her! "Show up at
my place tomorrow night at 7:00. Can you find it?"
     "I have a student directory," she answered, "I'll find it."
She pulled away to get up and leave, but Neil held her close.
     "Don't I get a goodbye kiss?" he asked her. "To keep me
until tomorrow?"
     Fighting down an urge to vomit, she allowed herself to be
pulled toward him and pressed her lips to his. Her hands hanging
limply at her side, she tried to keep her mouth shut, but his
tongue was insistent, and was soon exploring the inside of her
unwilling mouth. His breath smelled like smoke and she almost
gagged.      "Just one night," she told herself, as he drew the kiss out
until it was more like necking than a single kiss.
     Finally, he released her. Gasping, she staggered to her feet
and hurried off.
     "Until tomorrow then," he called after her.

                           *****

     Sharon squeezed herself into the back of closet, trying as
best she could to make herself comfortable in the pile of
clothing Neil had laid out for her. From where she sat, she had
an unobstructed 3/4 view from the head of Neil's bed. She peered
through the viewfinder of her father's video camera. "Looks
good," she reported to Gary, as he watched from where he sat on
the side of the bed. "As long as the lights stay on, I should
have no trouble with the filming. It's kind of tight in here,
though."
     Gary smirked at her. "You should be getting used to it by
now," he joked. "That cupboard a couple of weeks ago was no
bigger."
     Sharon laughed in agreement. What with the filming in the
Woodwork Shop, and now in Neil's bedroom, she was becoming
something of an expert in this sort of thing. Perhaps, she
reflected, she should look into becoming a private detective.
There must be a lot of money in doing this sort of thing for
divorce cases in the like.      The 17 year-old girl settled back against the
closet wall as
her friend and sometime boyfriend adjusted the tripod and camera
in front of her to give her a little more room. She was looking
forward to the upcoming events, although she still found it hard
to believe that Stacy would show up and go through with it.
Imagine... the Ice Queen agreeing to fuck Neil! (Imagine anyone
agreeing to fuck Neil.) And she was there to get it all on tape!
Between the camera she was running, and the second video camera
set up on the bookshelf beside Neil's bed, they should be able to
catch the whole event for posterity. And after that, Gary had
plans for Stacy that made Sharon wet and shivery just thinking
about them. She hated Stacy, and all of the stuck up cunts like
her at school. The chance to fuck one of them over was
irresistible for her.      "You OK?" Gary broke into her thoughts. The camera
was set
up in front of her, and everything was ready.
     "Gimmie a kiss," she ordered, reaching up. Gary leaned over
and kissed her fully on the mouth, his tongue playing with hers.
She could tell that he was as excited about what was going to
happen as she was, despite his calm manner. Maybe they had time
to...
     "Hey hey," Neil called out jokingly, entering the bedroom.
"This is supposed to be my night. Knock it off." Reluctantly,
Sharon let go of Gary and settled back down into her position in
the closet. Trust Neil to show up at the wrong time. Gary smiled
at her and shrugged his shoulders.      "Later," he whispered.
     Sharon shivered as he partially closed the closet door,
leaving it open just a crack. "Shit," she muttered to herself,
trying to get comfortable. A few moments later, she was wishing
that she had a cigarette.

     Stacy preceded Neil into his bedroom and stood there while
he closed the door behind him. She was wearing blue jeans and a
yellow tee-shirt, and had her blonde hair pulled up into a simple
ponytail.      "Like it?" Neil asked, gesturing vaguely towards the room.
Stacy looked around. It was a small, basement bedroom,
surprisingly bright considering the fact that there was only one,
small window. The light, however, did the room no favours. It
merely exposed the battered '70s-style wood panelling that
covered the walls. That, along with the worn shag carpet gave the
room a slightly sleazy look to it. More or less what Stacy would
have expected. Besides the bed  - a single bed, she noticed -
which sat in the corner of the room next to the closet, the only
furniture in the room was a battered couch and coffee table set
up under the window. The table was covered with comics and
magazines, as were the bookshelves which lines the wall over the
bed.      "Nice," she said sarcastically. "I can see you've done a lot
with it." Before coming, she had decided to be as pliant as she
could be, to go along with everything as quickly as possible, but
now that she was here, she was unable to conceal her contempt and
anger.
     Neil did not react to her sarcasm. "Like a drink?" he asked,
pulling out a bottle from under the coffee table. "Whiskey. I'm
having one."
     The last thing Stacy wanted to do was hang around for a
casual drink, but as long as he was going to have one, she
figured she may as well have a drink as well. It might even make
things a little easier. "Yeah, fine," she answered. "With water."
Gingerly, she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful to avoid
the magazines and - she now saw - cigarette ashes which were
spread out on the cushion. Neil disappeared into the adjoining
bathroom and mixed the drinks. She heard the water running for a
moment, and then he returned with two glasses. He handed one to
her and then raised his drink in salute: "To us," he stated.
     Stacy just stared at him for a moment. Fuck you, she
thought. "To us," she echoed unwillingly, raising her own glass.
After this is over, she told herself, taking a sip of the drink,
I'm going to have to get this asshole taken care of. She knew a
few guys on the football team who...
     "So," Neil interrupted her thoughts, sitting down next to
her on the couch, "did you have a nice weekend?"
     Oh fine, she thought, small talk. Asshole. "Just great," she
answered sarcastically. "How about you?"
     "I've been horny all weekend," he told her, "thinking of
you."
     His directness and unapologetic crudity shook her, reminding
her of her situation, and why she was here. Best to get it over
with as soon as possible. Deliberately, she drained the glass in
one gulp and slammed it down on the coffee table. "Stop fucking
around. Let's get on with it."
     Neil, however, was in no hurry. He took a casual sip of his
drink and smiled at her. "Get on with what?"
     "You know." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "...It."
     "It?"
     "Sex," she blurted out. Just how stupid was he? "That's what
you want, isn't it? That's why I'm here, isn't it?" She flushed
and looked down. He wasn't making this easy on her.
     Neil suddenly reached over and grabbed her face, turning it
towards him so he could look straight into her large green eyes.
"No," he told her. "I don't just want 'sex'." He mimicked the way
she had reluctantly said the word. "I want to fuck you." He made
a point of emphasising the crudity. "We're going to fuck. Ball.
Screw. Get it on." He got up and walked to the bed, pulling his
shirt over his head; the complexion of his back matched that of
his face. "But first," he said, carelessly throwing the shirt
onto the floor beside the bed, "you're going to have to ask."
     "Ask?" Stacy's head swam in disbelief. She felt a little
dizzy, probably from the drink. "Ask?"
     Neil lay down on the bed, put his hands behind his head and
grinned over at her. "You're going to ask me to fuck you," he
told her. "And then, if you ask nicely, I'll do it."
     "You're out of your mind!" Stacy tried to get up from the
couch, but stumbled against the coffee table and sprawled back
onto her ass, knocking over a pile of magazines. "I'm not going
to ask you..."
     "Alright," Neil interrupted her. "Then go." He pointed
towards the door. "But by the end of the school day tomorrow,
that tape will be in Dr. Grossmann's office." (Dr. Grossmann
was the school principal.)
     Stacy lurched back to her feet, carefully this time, her
head spinning. "B-but..."
     "Well?" Neil was relentless. "What's it going to be?"
     Stacy grasped at a straw. "But you said yesterday that I
wasn't supposed to swear around you," she begged. "You said it
made me sound cheap." She was more than a little humiliated at
having to make this argument, but it was all she had. Surely he
wasn't going to force her to...
     "That was in yesterday," he told her, smirking. "Now, I want
you to sound cheap; you are cheap."
     "You bastard!" The tears were starting to flow down her
face. "You bastard."      "It's your choice," he told her. "Take it or leave
it.
Either you ask me real nice to fuck you, or you get the hell out
of here. What's it gonna be?"

     Gary watched intently from his position in the yard outside
the window. From where he sat, peering through a small opening in
the blinds, he could see everything that was happening, but was
unable to hear what was being said. Silently, he cursed himself
for not opening the window a crack, but it was too late for that.
Hopefully, Neil wasn't fucking up. Still, he would hear it all
later from the video tape. He hoped Sharon was ready.
     Inside, it looked as if things were shaping up nicely
despite his worrying. Neil had got Stacy to take the drink which
Gary had specially prepared for her. Beside the alcohol content,
he had mixed in a small amount of a depressant - to lower her
inhibitions  and a stimulant - to keep her awake and heighten her
senses. Between the two drugs, he hoped the mixture would have
the desired effect.      From the look of things inside the bedroom, it was.
Stacy
seemed confused and frightened. She had staggered to her feet and
moved towards the door as Neil had said something to her, but she
didn't leave - as Gary had known (hoped) she wouldn't - and had
turned back around to face Neil on the bed. Gary looked down to
make certain everything was ready with his camera. There should
be some interesting shots coming up...

     Stacy looked over at Neil, lying smug on the bed. She was
paralysed with indecision and disbelief. This couldn't be
happening to her; it couldn't! Her head swam. He couldn't be
expecting her to...
     "One more chance, Stace," he called over to her. "Ask or
leave."
     Stacy turned away from his leering face and leaned against
the bedroom door, trying to gather her thoughts. She was still
dizzy, though, and it was hard to think. Ask or leave... ask or
leave... What could she do?! Eventually, however, she came to the
only decision she could; there was no way she could let him
release that tape.      OK you bastard she thought, drawing a deep,
shuddering
breath, I'll give you what you want and more. She spun around to
face him again.
     "Neil," she asked, her voice quivering slightly, "I... I
want to fuck you." She couldn't believe the sound of those words
coming out of her mouth. Was that really her talking? It didn't
sound like her. She was beginning to feel strangely detached.
     "What was that?" Neil asked, cupping his ear. "I didn't
catch what you said."
     Hands clenched into helpless fists, she repeated the hated
words, a little louder this time: "I want to fuck you. Please let
me fuck you."
     "You don't sound as if you mean it." Neil pretended to be
hurt, drawing the humiliation out a little longer.
     OK, Stacy told herself, trying to remain calm, just give him
what he wants. Do what he wants, get the tape and get out of
here. "Please," she repeated, this time pleading in an
exaggerated manner, "Please let me fuck you. I want to fuck you."
     To her shock and anger, Neil just shrugged his shoulders
dismissively. "I dunno," he answered. "Maybe I don't want to."
     Her heart skipped a beat. Was he planning to release the
tape after all? "Please," she pleaded - this time for real.
"Please let me fuck you. I want to... I really do. I'm sorry I
was mean to you before. Please let me fuck you?" She looked up at
him, imploring.
     Neil seemed to reach a decision. "Let's see what you've
got," he told her. "Take your clothes off. If I like what I see,
maybe I'll let you do it."
     Stacy, now numb from shock and still dizzy from the drink,
reached down and slowly began to take off her tee-shirt. She had
gone so far now, she might as well see things through to the
finish. Her hands shook as she slowly pulled the shirt up over...
     "Not like that," Neil leered at her. "Do it sexy - like a
strip-tease. And ditch the pony tail."
     Swallowing, Stacy complied, pulling the tie from her hair
and shaking it out. With her wavy blonde hair hanging free, she
began to undress in as sexy a manner as she could manage. Trying
to smile in a seductive way, she slid the tee-shirt up over her
head and twirled it into a corner of the room, exposing her bra.
Neil grinned in appreciation. Stacy's tits weren't particularly
large, but they were very firm and well-formed. Next, to his
delight, she began to fondle her breasts through the bra, still
looking at him seductively. After doing this for a few seconds,
she unclipped the bra, and pulled it slowly off. Her breasts
jutted proudly, nipples erect. Stacy felt a moment of shame at
this, but she was careful not to show it. She was too far along
to think of pulling out now. Suggestively, she ran her hands down
her chest, across her naked breasts and along her flat stomach to
the waistband of her jeans. Hesitating only slightly, she undid
the button and allowed the jeans to slide down her long,
athlete's legs to the floor. She wore simple, white panties.
Stacy stepped out of the jeans and towards Neil. Time to get this
over with.
     Neil, however gestured towards the panties and shook his
head. Her theatrically seductive smile wavered a bit at this, but
she took it in stride. After all, how much worse could it get?
Bending over, Stacy slid the panties down her legs, completely
exposing her crotch to his Neil's view. Now naked except for her
socks, she straightened up and looked at him. What now?
     "Ask." Neil mouthed the word at her.
     In as seductive a voice as she could manage, Stacy did as
she was told. "Please," she begged, her voice a throaty whisper,
"Please fuck me. I need it so bad... please fuck me." While she
begged, she ran her hands over her hardened nipples, almost
causing Neil to ejaculate right then and there. Was this Stacy
Richards standing in front of him? "Please," she pleaded. "I want
it now..."
     Unable to wait any longer, Neil swung his legs around onto
the floor and sat up at the side of his bed. "Come here, bitch,"
he growled, his voice hoarse with lust.
     Dizzy from the mixture of drugs she had been served in the
drink and almost numb from shock, Stacy obeyed. She felt
detached, as if her body was acting on automatic while she - the
real Stacy Richards - watched from a distance. Breathing quickly,
she hurried forward, her tits bouncing as she moved. She kneeled
in front of him as he gestured for her to do so.
     "Do you want it?" he asked her gruffly.
     Stacy looked up at him with her large green eyes, puzzled
and unable to think. Want...
     "My cock, Stace. Do you want my cock?"
     Stacy fought back tears. "Oh yes," she breathed. "Please,
let me have your cock."      At his nod, she reached in between his legs and
fumbled with
the zipper. A few seconds later, his cock popped out onto her
grasping fingers. It was already extremely hard, and - Stacy
noted with loathing - glistening wetly. What now?
     "Kiss it," he ordered, answering her unspoken question.
"Give it some tongue."
     Gagging, Stacy moved her face forward, grasped the penis
and, rubbing it gently with her fingers, she began to kiss and
lick it. She had done this a couple of time before with a
previous boyfriend. She didn't like it, but was able to keep her
revulsion under control. This activity carried on for a few
minutes before Neil reached down and began to fondle her tits. To
her embarrassment, they responded immediately, the nipples
regaining their previous hardness. Her own body was betraying
her! Her face went red with shame, but she definitely began to
feel a tingling between her legs.
     "Take it in your mouth," Neil whispered at her a few moments
later, pushing her hair away from her face. His breath was short.
Reluctantly, she did so, sliding her warm, wet mouth over his
now-sticky cock and sucking gently. The salty taste was
unpleasant, but she could stand it as long as he wasn't planning
to come in her mouth. Surely, he wasn't...
     Suddenly, he leaned back and raised his legs. Surprised, she
pulled her mouth off his cock and looked up from where she was
kneeling, her chin glistening with spittle and pre-come. She
quickly saw what he wanted, and co-operated by pulling off his
pants. He was naked underneath, and his cock stuck straight up as
he leaned back on the bed and swung his legs around so he was
again lying lengthwise.      "Climb on," he ordered. Panting, and out of
breath from
giving head, Stacy scrambled onto the bed and straddled his naked
body, her knees propped up on each side of his thighs. Holding
this position, she panted and trembled, waiting for his next
order. It wasn't long in coming.
     He reached forward and played with her breasts for a moment,
but then dropped his hands to her crotch, feeling her cunt lips.
Stacy's hands twitched with the urge to push his hands away, but
they remained at her sides. He smirked at her. "Wet," he
pronounced. "You're really into this." Stacy fought back tears,
and tried to maintain a seductive leer. This wasn't her kneeling
naked over Neil French; it was someone else. Neil relaxed back on
his pillow. "I like them a little wetter, though. Let's see if
you can't make yourself a little more ready."
     Grasping his meaning, Stacy moved her hands back to her
crotch area and began to play with herself. Closing her eyes, she
was almost able to imagine that she was back in her own room, and
none of this was happening. She moaned involuntarily, as Neil
began to play with her breasts, kneading them roughly. Her
fingers were doing their work, though, and her crotch was soon
damp with desire.
     Finally, Neil had seen enough. Pushing her hands away, he
positioned  his cock directly underneath her pussy and looked up
at her expectantly. Stacy leaned forward on her hands, so that
her breasts hung directly downwards, and slowly slid Neil's cock
into her now-wet pussy. It went in easily, despite that fact that
she was very tight. Eventually, his cock was entirely swallowed
as she knelt on top of him.
     "Get moving," he ordered her hoarsely.
     Completely defeated, Stacy began to move up and down, riding
his cock in and out of her pussy. Despite herself, she began to
moan and pant with desire. Neil leaned up and began to bite and
lick her breasts as his hands played over her straining thighs.
Stacy gasped. It was painful, but after a while, the pain seemed
to meld into pleasure, and a warmth radiated out of her pussy to
envelope her entire body. The detached part of her mind wailed in
horror as her body abandoned itself entirely to the experience.      She was
now making soft moaning sounds in time with her
rhythmic self-impalement on Neil's cock. Gradually, her moaning
became louder and louder as the pace increased and she approached
climax. Neil, beneath her, began moving his hips in time with
her, all the while mauling and biting her small, firm tits as
they dangled invitingly in front of his face.
     "Oh... oh... oh... oh..." Her moans got louder and louder
until she was almost screaming. Her eyes were screwed shut and
her mouth hung open, slack with lust. "Oh... oh... OH... OH...
Ahhh..."
     Finally, she came with a loud scream of pleasure, her body
shaking and trembling. That was all for Neil; he could hold back
no longer. Just as her orgasm ended, he thrust forward with his
hips, and pulled her down, crushing her mauled breasts against
his sweaty chest and forcing his tongue into her gasping mouth,
his cock pumping sperm into her warm, damp pussy.      The two teenagers fell
limp, their spent, sweaty bodies
stuck together. A few seconds later, Stacy roused herself with a
groan and pushed herself off her unwanted companion. His prick
slid limply out of her pussy as she clambered off the bed,
leaving a thin trail of sperm along the inside of her thigh.
     Stacy bit back a scream as she caught sight of herself in
the bathroom mirror. Her blonde hair was plastered back from her
sweaty face, leaving fully revealed her wide, frightened eyes and
nostrils which flared as she gasped for breath. Drool glistened
on her cheeks and mouth where Neil had slobbered on her when he
came. Her sleek body was covered by a fine sheen of sweat and her
tits shone red and purple where Neil had mauled and bit them.
Sperm trickled out of her sopping cunt, joining the thin, white
trail laid down on her leg by his cock when she had pulled away.      A thin
wail rose from her throat as she stared at her
reflection. Both the dizziness and the lust which had possessed
her earlier had left as though burnt away by the intensity of her
orgasm, leaving her clear-headed and terrified. How had she let
this happen? Panting and choking, Stacy stumbled into the
bathroom, fell to her knees and threw up violently into the
toilet. Her retching was interrupted by the impact of clothing
being thrown into the bathroom and hitting her back.
     It was Neil. "When you're done in there," he called out to
her heaving rear, "Get dressed and get out." He had pulled his
trousers on and was leaving the bedroom.
     Stacy continued retching for a few moments before climbing
to her feet. Unsteadily, still coughing and gasping, she pulled
her clothes on over her sticky, abused body. Dressed, she left
the bathroom to find Neil sitting on the couch, smoking a
cigarette. He ignored her for a moment and then looked up, as if
surprised that she were still there. "Well? I thought I told you
to leave."
     Stacy looked down. "T-the tape," she mumbled. "You said  -
you p-promised to give it to me."
     Grinning, Neil reached into a pocket and pulled out a
cassette tape. "Fair enough," he agreed, tossing it to her. She
was unprepared, and it bounced off her chest and slid under the
bed. Neil laughed as she got down on her hands and knees to
retrieve it.      The tape securely in her possession, Stacy stood up and
moved towards the door, her only thought to get out of there as
soon as possible.
     "Haven't you forgotten something?"      She turned to face him. "What?"
The anger was back now,
making it easier to deal with his leering face.
     "To say thank you," Neil told her.
     "Fuck you," she muttered and stormed out of the room. Behind
her, Neil laughed.

--

     "We're going to play a game," Gary said, his voice light and
mocking. He had shoved his hands into his pockets, and was
staring off into space. "You can win it; it will have rules and
an object. If you do win, we will give you all copies of the
video tape and pictures. If you lose..."
     Stacy sat in stunned silence. The whole world - her world -
had changed dramatically in the last half hour. Nothing was the
same. That morning, she had woken up an intelligent, free young
woman. No clouds on the horizon; nothing to foreshadow the
impending danger. It had been almost a week since she had been
forced to have sex with Neil, and she was finally beginning to
feel clean again. She had passed all of the recent tests at
school, and was still a part of the most influential, exclusive
group of students at Greenwood. Moreover, Neil seemed to have
kept his mouth shut, both about her cheating on the English test
and the disgusting exercise she had been forced into at his
apartment, and he was now safely relegated back to the periphery
of her privileged existence. Stacy had even shelved her plans for
getting him thrashed by one of her friends on the football team.
The whole incident was receding into the past, and she was
unaffected. Still one of the best and the brightest; one of the
winners.
     Then came the note in her locker. This note was handwritten,
not in block letters like the previous one, as if the need for
disguise no longer existed. It simply ordered her to show up at
Neil's apartment at 1:00 PM the next day: Saturday, exactly a
week after her last visit. Her stomach had gone cold and her hand
trembled as she read the note. Was he going for a repeat
performance? If he was, that little bastard...
      Just then, Ashley and some friends happened by her locker,
and she quickly stuffed the note into her jacket pocket. It was
not the sort of thing she wanted her friends to know about;
particularly Ashley... She greeted them with a smile.

     "The game will last for the rest of the school year." Gary
continued speaking. "If you win before the last day of classes,
July 2, we will return all of the material to you, and never
bother you again."
      Stacy heard Gary's voice speaking the words, but it was as
if he was speaking at her from a long distance away. She
understood him, but didn't feel any connection with what he was
saying. Was he even speaking to her? She knew that what he was
saying was important, but she was unable to focus on his voice.
Her mind continued to drift...

     She had arrived that Saturday afternoon prepared for the
worst, but what had happened turned out to be much more terrible
than what she had expected; than she could have expected.
      Neil wasn't alone when she had arrived. Gary, his creepy
friend, was there with him, as was Sharon, Gary's cow of a
girlfriend. Gary had just looked at her as she entered Neil's
bedroom, his eyes huge and expressionless through the thick,
magnifying lens of his glasses. He was sitting on the couch
beside Sharon, who had giggled obnoxiously when Stacy had entered
the room, and flicked ashes from her cigarette onto the floor.
The ashes sunk into the thick shag carpet and were lost from
sight. The room seemed a lot darker than Stacy remembered it.
     "What's going on? Why are they here?" Stacy turned as if to
leave, but Neil, behind her, had already closed the door. "What
are you doing?" Stacy was beginning to panic. Neil didn't answer;
he just smirked at her as he stood in front of the door.
     "We have something to show you," came a voice from behind
her. It was Gary. "I think you'll find it interesting." He stood
up and pointed to the space on the couch beside his chubby
girlfriend. "Have a seat," he invited.
     "I don't think so," Stacy answered angrily, pulling herself
together a bit. She didn't have to take this. "I'll stand, if you
don't mind." Sarcasm.
      Gary just smiled at her and repeated his gesture. "I think
it would be better if you sat for this," he told her, his voice
mild. "Besides, the couch has the best view of the TV." Stacy
noticed for the first time a TV and video machine set up opposite
the couch; they hadn't been there last week. "We wouldn't want
you to miss anything," Gary continued. Stacy giggled again.
     Overcome by a vague feeling of dread, Stacy was forced to
fight down an impulse to flee; not that it would have done any
good with Neil standing in front of the door. Sharon sat up and
crushed out her half finished cigarette in the ashtray. "C'mon,
babe," she called, patting the seat beside her. "I don't bite."
     Stacy had looked around at the three of them - Neil smirking
by the door, Sharon leaning back on the couch with her arms
stretched out, and Gary looking at her with his queer, empty eyes
- and then began walking slowly towards the couch. She realized
that she had no choice in the matter, and there was no use in
protesting further. A small part of her mind began to understand
what might be on the tape, and started wailing uselessly inside
her head, but she was able to repress this as she sat back on the
couch. 'Don't panic' she told herself.
     Sharon immediately slipped her pudgy arm around Stacy's
shoulder and squeezed. "That's more like it," she laughed. "Just
relax and enjoy the show. You're among friends." Neil chuckled as
he moved away from the door. Stacy tensed - she hated this bitch
-  but did not pull away. Neil flipped off the lights as Gary
moved forward to turn on the TV and start the video.


     "If you lose," Gary continued, "well... I can't really say;
we haven't thought that far ahead. I must say, though, I really
don't expect you to lose; I have every confidence that you will
meet the conditions for winning."
      Somehow, the small part of Stacy's mind which was still
listening to his voice was not much comforted by this expression
of confidence. Her mind continued to drift...

     The tape! That awful tape... They had made her watch the
entire thing through from beginning to end, even though she had
tried to jump up out of the couch before the first thirty seconds
were up. Sharon had kept her seated, her arm surprisingly strong.
Stacy had even tried to keep her eyes shut, but was unable to
tear her gaze away from the scene which played itself out
obscenely on the TV screen in front of her.
     The sound started first, while the screen remained blank.
"Please," came the voice over the TV speaker - HER VOICE!
"Please let me fuck you. I want to fuck you." The picture faded
up, with her - Stacy - clearly visible in the centre of the room,
looking over at some unidentifiable person on the bed. "Please,"
she repeated. "Please let me fuck you. I want to... I really do.
I'm sorry I was mean to you before. Please let me fuck you?"
     It was at this point that Stacy tried to jump up off the
couch, but Sharon had been expecting it, and her encircling arm
held the panicking girl down. Gary moved over as if to help his
girlfriend, but stopped as he saw that no help was needed: Stacy
went limp and relaxed back into the couch, her eyes wide as she
stared at the TV screen.
     She was watching herself slowly strip off her own clothes.
First the tee-shirt... then the bra (Stacy began to cry on the
couch as her TV image fondled and rubbed its breasts; her hand
fluttered up to her face, as if to shield her eyes, but it
dropped back down to her lap when Gary frowned at her)... then
the pants. Finally, she was naked on the screen.
       "Please." The girl on the screen (Stacy could no longer
believe it was herself saying and doing those things; she started
thinking of her image on the screen as someone else) seemed to be
almost panting in lust. "Please fuck me. In need it so bad.
Please fuck me." The naked girl ran her hands over her erect
nipples. "Please... I want it now..."
     "Come here, bitch!" The figure on the bed, only visible in
the corner of the picture, spoke (Stacy knew it was Neil, but her
mind refused to put a name to him - surely what was happening on
the screen had nothing to do with her). The naked girl responded
quickly; breasts bobbing, she ran over and kneeled at the side of
the bed. After remaining in this position for a few moments, the
girl reached for the man's crotch and fumbled with the zipper.
"Oh yes," she breathed. "Please let me have your cock."
     The viewpoint shifted suddenly, to a shot taken above and
behind the man lying on the bed. (A second camera, Stacy
realized; there had been two cameras.) From the new point of
view, the girl's actions between the man's legs could be seen
clearly. First, she handled the cock with her fingers; then she
kissed it, long slow kisses with lots of tongue; finally she
enveloped it completely within her mouth. The girl's head bobbed
up and down and she made loud slobbering sounds as she worked on
the cock, sucking and licking. The man reached down in front of
her and began to play with her nipples, which were plainly very
hard. Finally, he leaned back and pushed her away. She quickly
pulled his jeans off and, after he lay back on the bed, climbed
on top of him, straddling his naked thighs.
     The camera switched back to original point of view, as the
girl began to play with herself while kneeling on the bed. It
zoomed in and panned slowly down her body, from her slack,
lust-glazed face, down across her panting chest and, finally,
down to her pussy, where her fingers worked frantically. She was
visibly wet. Then it slowly pulled back, revealing her entire
body, just as she leaned forward and impaled herself on the man's
stiff cock. Slowly, she moved her hips down until the cock was
stuffed fully into her pussy. Then, moaning slightly, she began
to grind her hips up and down, fucking herself silly as the man
played with her bobbing breasts.
      Once more, the camera zoomed in, and played down her sweaty
body, perfectly capturing each detail on video-tape. The girl's
excitement began to increase as her moans became cries and then
threatened to become screams. The camera pulled back just as she
hit the crest of her orgasm, and held the shot as the man pulled
the girl down to his chest and climaxed himself. The picture
slowly faded on this shot, with the girl collapsed sweatily on
top of the man, panting and gasping for breath.

     "Anyhow," Gary was still speaking, "we won't worry about
that for now. The important thing is to set out the rules of our
little game and get started. The details can be worked out
later." Stacy just stared across the room at the now-dark screen,
in a daze. Gary, who had begun pacing the room during his little
speech, came to a halt beside the TV. He looked down at her. "In
order to win the game," he said mildly, "you are going to have to
fuck fifty different guys at school before the end of the school
year. That's all." Finally, his words began to register on the
stunned teenager. Had he said "fifty guys"? Fuck fifty guys?
     "Nooo," Stacy cried, leaping suddenly off the couch. It was
too much! Sharon grabbed after her, but the pudgy girl was too
slow. In a split second, Stacy was on Gary, swinging wildly with
both hands while swearing and cursing at him. One of her swings
caught him across the face, sending his glasses sailing across
the room. Before Stacy could feel any satisfaction, however, she
was grabbed from behind and pulled away. Neil had run up and
wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her
sides.
      "You bastard! You fucker! You asshole!" Stacy spat and
cried, struggling frantically as Neil dragged her back, but it
was no use. She was thrown back onto the couch, and Sharon once
again held her down. This time, Neil also stood beside the couch,
ready for any further trouble. Stacy brought her hands up to her
face and began to cry.
     Gary walked over and picked up his glasses. After examining
them to make certain they were not damaged, he slipped them back
on his face and looked across at Stacy. "That's fifty-five, now,"
he said mildly.
     Stacy just stared at him with tear filled eyes. "You're
crazy," she sobbed. "I won't do anything like that. I can't...
you can't make me."
     "Let me tell you the alternatives," Gary answered, resuming
his earlier pacing. "If you refuse, we will send copies of that
tape to every guy at school. We will post the still pictures -
you haven't seen them yet, but I can tell you that they are every
bit as revealing as the video - at suitable places around the
school and the town. We will even try to sell them to some
magazines, if we can." Stacy sobbed on the couch as he continued
his litany of threats. "Then, we will release the cassette tapes
of you buying the stolen test papers from Neil. In particular, we
will see that Dr. Grossman will get a copy. I'm sure he will know
what to do with it."
      Stacy knew too: expulsion if she was lucky; criminal
prosecution if she was not.
     "On the other hand," Gary continued inexorably, "if you play
our game, no one will have to know about these tapes and
pictures. There are thirty-two weeks left in school; fifty
fucks... fifty-five, rather, is barely more than three guys every
two weeks. Easy. And no one would have to know; you could do it
as discreetly as you liked." Stacy began to control her sobbing,
and started listening seriously to what Gary was saying. "What's
more, you don't even actually have to fuck every time. As long as
they ejaculate somewhere in your body, we don't care where it is:
cunt, ass, mouth... whatever."
      Stacy sniffled loudly. How could he talk so calmly about
such a terrible...
     "Besides," he continued, "there are other rules. Other rules
which should make it a little easier for you to reach fifty-
five."
     "O-other rules?" Stacy couldn't believe that she was
beginning to consider playing along. Sharon squeezed her
shoulder, as if in some bizarre form of encouragement.
     "Teachers are worth ten," came the answer. "There must be at
least one teacher. Female students are worth three each, and
there must be at least one female student. As well, there must be
at least one student fucked in each grade." Greenwood was a full
high school, and thus held grades eight to twelve. The grade
eights were only thirteen or fourteen years old. "The grade
eight, nine and tens are worth two each."
     Gary finished speaking and looked directly at Stacy, who had
begun to cry again. "Do you understand?" he concluded with a
question. Stacy nodded through her tears, unable to speak. "What
will you do then? Play along, or do we release the tapes and
pictures?"
      The room fell silent, the question hanging in the air. Stacy
was momentarily unable to form an answer. On the one hand, she
would have to do all those awful things, but the alternative...
the alternative was too terrible to contemplate. She would be
ruined in Bakersville, both as a person and as a student. The
only way out was to play along with their little game, and hope
to pull it off without anyone finding out about it. 'Oh god,' she
thought, her heart sinking. 'Fifty-five guys.'
      Mutely, she looked up at Gary and nodded her assent; she
would do it.
          Gary felt a wave of relief flood over him as she nodded her
agreement, but only permitted a small smile to show on his face.
Neil, on the other hand, laughed out loud, as did Sharon as their
tension dissipated. There had always been the chance, however
unlikely, that Stacy would refuse and then go to the police. Now,
however, they had her; she would do as they ordered. This was
going to be an interesting year.
     Gary looked down on her as she sat forlorn on the couch,
staring at the floor. She looked so upset and vulnerable sitting
there. To Gary, she looked far more appealing in tears than she
did when she was in her usual arrogant position at school. All
those bitches needed to be taken down a peg or...
     That gave Gary had an idea. It was time to test their
control over her. As well, there was the small matter of her
slapping his glasses across the room.
      "Before we accept your agreement," he told her, "you should
be punished for attacking me. We will not permit that from you."
     Stacy looked up at him, drawn out of her private misery.
"W-what do you mean?"
      "I think you need a spanking," Gary told her. "Teach you a
lesson."
     Stacy stared in disbelief. "You must be joking." Even after
everything she had just heard, she couldn't believe what he was
saying.
     Gary shook his head. "You say you're going to play along
with our game, but a couple of minutes ago, you attacked me. How
do we know you won't do it again? Why should we believe you? Your
choices are simple: obey us, and take your punishment, or leave
now and let us get on with the business of sending out the tapes.
It'll probably take most of the weekend to make enough copies."
Stacy started crying again - was there no end to her tears? - but
inevitably nodded in submission.
      "Good," Gary told her. "Stand up and pull down your pants."
Trembling, Stacy obeyed, exposing her sleek, muscular legs and
plain white panties. "Now go lie over Sharon's knees. She will
administer the spanking." Stacy flushed red at this order, while
Sharon laughed in delight. For a moment, it looked as if Stacy
would refuse, but eventually she began to move around so she
could lie across Sharon's legs as the younger girl sat on the
couch. She moved slowly, taking small, awkward steps because of
the pants which were bunched around her ankles, but eventually,
she fell to her knees and stretched herself across Sharon's pudgy
legs. Her ass was completely exposed.
     Sharon needed no instructions. She put her left arm across
the small of Stacy's back, and began vigorously spanking the
exposed bottom. Before long, the air was filled with the sound of
Stacy's cries and sobs, punctuated by the regular, merciless
slapping sound of Sharon's hand being brought down hard on the
now red flesh of Stacy's ass.
     Gary tore his eyes away from the scene and looked at Neil,
who was watching the action with his mouth wide open. There was a
conspicuous bulge in his jeans. Well, Gary thought, why not? He
instructed his friend to pull down his pants and take a seat
beside Sharon on the couch. Neil did so, and was quickly in
place. Stacy's face was now on his lap as she lay parallel to the
couch across Sharon's legs. The crying teenager turned her head
and squirmed to avoid Neil's engorged cock as it stood upright
from his lap. Sharon had momentarily stopped spanking and was
looking over with interest.
     Gary reached down, and yanked Stacy's blonde hair, pulling
her tear-stained face upward. "I think you know what you're going
to do, here. We'll be generous and call this number one. Do you
understand?" Stacy squirmed on Sharon's lap, but nodded. "Good
girl. Sharon will keep spanking until Neil comes. When he does
come, you take every drop." He released Stacy's hair, and her
face fell back down onto Neil's lap. Gary gestured towards
Sharon, and she began spanking again.

     Stacy pulled her arms forward, and propped herself up
slightly. She took Neil's cock in her mouth and began to suck and
lick it. It was difficult not to jerk around with the spanking,
but Stacy had a pretty good idea of what would happen to her if
she were to touch Neil's cock with her teeth. Frantically, she
sucked, moaning and gasping as her head slid up and down on
Neil's penis, and Sharon laid into her ass. The pain from the
spanking was getting more intense, but she was quieter now, as
Neil's cock served as an efficient gag.
      Finally, after what seemed like forever, Neil jerked his
hips upward and came, spurting wave after wave of hot, salty
sperm into her mouth. She struggled to swallow it as ordered, her
throat working frantically, but some of it leaked into her
windpipe, causing her to cough. A wad of sperm was sent up into
her nasal passages, and dribbled out of her nose. When she
finally pulled her sweaty face up off of Neil's now flaccid cock,
there was sperm trailing out of her mouth and nose, leaving a
long strand connected to Neil's penis. Her ass was bright red and
shiny where Sharon had been spanking.
      "Smile," Gary called over. Dazed, Stacy moved her head to
the right - pulling the strand of sperm along with her - just as
Gary snapped a picture commemorating the event.

     That was NUMBER ONE.

--

     NUMBER TWO:
     The blue Plymouth Valiant drove steadily through the mostly
deserted night streets of Bakersville, its headlights cutting a
swath through the surrounding darkness. Inside, Barry Packard
could barely believe his luck. He snuck a glance to his right,
trying not to be too obvious about it. Sitting beside him, in the
passenger seat, was - unbelievably - Stacy Richards, easily the
most beautiful girl in school (in Barry's opinion). She sat
quietly, staring straight ahead through the front window as the
car rolled along, her perfect features lit intermittently by the
passing street lights. She had seemed a little quiet and nervous
the entire evening, leading Barry to worry that she was bored or
unhappy with him - Barry was neither confident nor particularly
successful with girls -  but when he had apologised and offered
to take her home, she had insisted that she was having a good
time, and didn't want to go home.
      In fact, it had been her idea that they head down to the
beach. THE BEACH! That was the prime "make-out" spot for the
teenagers of Bakersville. On any given night, there would usually
be at least a handful of cars parked alongside the long dirt road
which traced the coastline to the south of the town. Barry had
never dreamed that one day he would be taking Stacy Richards
there (actually, he had "dreamed" about it several times; he had
just never imagined that it would really happen).
     Barry steered the car off the paved section of the street
and onto the bumpier dirt road which ran alongside the beach. In
reality, Barry had never expected that he would ever go on a date
with Stacy. Her kind was usually reserved for the star of the
football team, or some other equivalent sports hero, and even
then only for the duration of his fame. Barry, on the other hand,
was a second-string lineman, only put into the game when the
result was no longer in doubt. In fact, he really didn't even
like football. He was certainly not particularly ugly or
unpopular, but girls like Stacy were usually so far above his
particular level in the school social strata that he could only
dream of going out with her. It had been a matter of pride with
Barry that he had gathered the nerve to ask her out last summer,
and although she had turned him down at the time, she had been
less cruel about it than she could have been. Still, he had been
more than a little surprised when Stacy had called him up last
week and suggested a Saturday-night date.
     He had even half-expected that it would all turn out to be
some kind of a joke, but when he had arrived at her house to pick
her up, she had indeed been waiting for him, a vision of beauty
in her short skirt and light blouse. She hadn't seemed overly
friendly or talkative, but Barry didn't know enough about her to
know whether or not this was her usual behaviour. Still, the
movie and dinner had gone off OK, and, of course, it had been her
suggestion that they drive down to the beach afterwards. Even as
he drove along the beach road, Barry still couldn't believe it.
His cock bulged pleasurably in his pants as he steered the car
around a bend in the road.
     "How about here?" he asked, trying, but not quite
succeeding, to sound casual. His voice was hoarse and dry. He had
picked a fairly popular spot about half a mile along the road;
there was another car parked a couple of hundred yards away.
     Stacy shook her head, her blonde hair shimmering in the
starlight. "Further along," she said quietly.
      Barry shrugged and drove the car further along the road,
passing through and then leaving behind all of the more popular
and well-used spots. The road was almost deserted, which was
unusual for a Saturday night, but the weather had been turning a
little cold lately. In fact, Barry had seen Stacy shivering a
little earlier while they had been walking out of the restaurant.
He had noted that she was dressed quite lightly for November.
Even this far south, the weather began to cool down by this time
of the year.
     Twenty minutes later, Barry had parked the car in a suitably
secluded spot; there had been no one else on the road for the
last three miles. The night fell briefly silent as the car engine
was shut off, but the sound of the breakers crashing against the
shoreline quickly became apparent as the two teenagers sat for a
few moments in awkward silence. Barry was too nervous to start
anything, and Stacy just sat there, staring out over the dark,
black water.
        Barry could take it no longer. "Well..." He started to say
something, but was interrupted by the feel of Stacy's hand
against his. His throat constricted and his heart skipped a beat
as she slid across the seat and wrapped her arm over his
shoulder. She put her hand on his face and turned it towards her.
She was so beautiful in the starlight!
     "K-kiss me," she whispered, her voice shaking. She sounded
curiously reluctant, almost frightened. Barry, however, didn't
notice and probably wouldn't have cared if he had noticed. This
was a dream come true. He pulled her slim body towards himself on
the car seat and crushed his mouth to hers. After a brief
hesitation, her lips parted, allowing him to slip his tongue into
her waiting mouth. She wasn't kissing him back, though; she
merely accepted his advances passively as she sat beside him on
the car seat.  Barry, sensing her reticence, pulled away,
breaking the kiss.
      "Is something wrong?" he asked, short of breath. Stacy bit
her lower lip before answering. In the light, it looked to Barry
as if she was about to cry, but she just shook her head.
Satisfied, Barry leaned forward again. This time, she
participated, crushing her lips against his and moving her tongue
around in response to his advances. Soon, the two teenagers were
necking vigorously in the front seat of the car as the windows
began to steam up.
     A few moments later, Barry felt Stacy touch his hand and
then guide it slowly to her breasts. He responded by squeezing
and fondling them through the thin fabric of her blouse. Barry
could barely believe what was happening! Daringly, he pulled open
the buttons on her blouse; a couple of buttons broke free and
fell to the seat, but Barry didn't notice. Stacy didn't react. He
slipped his hand in and under her bra, cupping her breast. He
half-expected her to put a halt to it, but she just continued
kissing him. Gaining confidence, he reached around with his other
hand and unclipped the back of the bra. It fell away under her
unbuttoned blouse, leaving her breasts almost fully exposed to
his hands and eyes. Stacy tensed, but did not object or pull
away.
      Instead, she reached down and ran her fingers along the now-
conspicuous bulge in his jeans. Barry gasped; could this really
be happening? He pulled back and looked over at Stacy. Her eyes
were closed and her mouth was slightly open; she seemed to be
breathing hard, but it was difficult for Barry to tell in the
weak starlight. All he could see were her breasts rising and
falling beneath the open blouse. Misgivings aside, he reached
forward and began playing with those breasts, alternately
squeezing them and then tweaking the nipples. Stacy gasped at
this, but did not open her eyes.
     Meanwhile, her hand was at work, sliding open his zipper and
reaching inside. She pushed her hand through the already damp
front of Barry's underwear and slowly worked his penis out into
the open. Once again, Barry was struck with a sense of disbelief
at what was happening. He had never heard of Stacy Richards
acting like this, even when she was going steady with someone.
Even someone popular. Nevertheless, he continued fondling the
offered breasts, content to let Stacy make the next move.
     That move wasn't long in coming. Stacy took a deep breath,
opened her eyes and then leaned back on the seat, away from
Barry. She sat back against the car door and pulled up her skirt,
revealing her legs, pale and white in the starlight.
      "Stacy..." Barry was suddenly unsure of himself; he had only
had sex one time before, and this was largely uncharted territory
for him. "Are you sure you..."
     "Yes," she interrupted him, slipping her panties down her
leg. "I want to... to do it... have sex w-with you." Once again,
her frightened, tentative manner belied the content of her words,
but the content was enough for Barry, who was already near to
coming all over the car seat. He needed no more encouragement!
Awkwardly, he shifted himself around so he lay atop Stacy's
proffered body in the too-small car seat. He began to thrust his
hips forward.
     "J-just a second." Stacy shifted her position, trying to
avoid having her breasts painfully crushed against Barry's chest,
but it was impossible. The car seat was just too small, and Barry
was lying right on top of her. Resigned, she reached down and
grabbed ahold of his penis with her long, cool fingers.
      "Ok... Ok... now." Stacy mumbled instructions as she guided
Barry's stiff cock into her pussy. He was more than co-operative,
and thrust forward vigorously when she instructed, but her pussy
was still quite dry and she had to force every inch of inside her
manually. Finally, it was inside. Stacy moved her hand away and
squirmed around, still trying to get at least comfortable.
Finally, she settled on a position, and put her arms around
Barry's neck.
     After that, it was all over in a few seconds. Barry began
pushing his hips roughly back and forth, grating his cock in and
out of her unprepared pussy. Stacy tried to find a rhythm which
would minimize the pain and discomfort, but was unable to do so.
A thin line of drool slipped from between Barry's lips and
dribbled down onto her chest as he pumped frantically. Gasping
and moaning, she lay there as he suddenly stiffened and than came
inside of her with a loud grunt. Unnoticed by Barry, a tear
welled up out of her eye and slid down the side of her face.
     Finally, he relaxed, spent. As she lay there, crushed
beneath his weight, she could feel his penis shrivelling up
inside her burning pussy as the warm sperm began leaking out and
down the inside of her thigh...

                        *****

     Gary hung up the phone just as Sharon entered his bedroom.
He was sitting in front of his computer which in turn sat on top
of a desk in the far corner of his room. He nodded a indifferent
greeting to her, and immediately began entering information into
some sort of database program as Sharon walked forward. She came
to a halt just behind him, putting her hands onto his shoulders.
     "What'cha up to?" He seemed to be entering some names and
dates into little boxes on the screen (Sharon knew almost nothing
about computers).
     "That was Stacy on the phone," he answered, still working.
"She's fucked two guys since last week. I'm just entering it into
the system."
     System? Sharon leaned in closer to the screen, suddenly
interested. "Numbers two and three! Tell me about it."
     "Number two was Barry Packard." He fiddled with his mouse
and then punched the return button on the computer; a new screen
was called up. This screen held a name, a date and other
information, including a small picture, obviously taken (scanned,
although Sharon didn't know this) from the school yearbook.
"Barry Packard." Gary pointed to that name at the top of the
screen, and slowly read off the information as it appeared.
"Fucked on Saturday, Nov.6; it occurred in the front seat of his
car, which was parked down by the beach. Apparently, he came in
about 20 seconds. Can't blame him, I suppose."
     Sharon laughed. "Number three?"
     Gary pushed another button, and another list of information
appeared. "Grant Hardin." Sharon stifled a giggle at his name as
Grant's digitized picture stared sombrely out of the top
left-hand corner of the computer screen. He had a big nose.
"Fucked on Tuesday, Nov.9 in his bedroom. He also came very
quickly. He called out the name 'Susan' when he came."
           Sharon laughed again. "Seems there's not too many boys
around who can restrain themselves with Stacy Richards. She must
be a good fuck."
     Gary just shrugged. "Maybe. We'll see."
     "Perhaps we'll have to find her some real men," Sharon
suggested. Gary looked intrigued at this suggestion, but didn't
say anything. Sharon moved away sat down on the side of his bed,
pulling out a cigarette. He noticed that she had a small paper
bag with her.
      "What's that?" he asked, as she lit up and took a long,
satisfied drag.
     "Oh, just a little something for Stacy," she smirked. "A
little present to celebrate her success at the game." She reached
into the bag and pulled out...

                           *****

     NUMBER FOUR:
     "You bastard!" Stacy cried. "You fucking bastard!" She lay
on her back on the leather couch in her parent's living room, her
shirt and fingers sticky with sperm. She brushed her hands
against the front of her shirt in a futile effort to wipe herself
clean, but that only seemed to smear the warm, sticky fluid more
evenly down her front. She began to cry, involuntarily bringing a
hand up to her face to cover her eyes. When she took the hand
away, her eyelid and cheek glistened with sperm.
     Toby Hooper, a tall, gangly sixteen year-old, had jumped
back off of her after prematurely ejaculating. His already
freckled face turned bright red with embarrassment as he fumbled
to push his sticky cock back into his pants. "Jesus... I'm
sorry," he apologized, zipping up his jeans. "I d-didn't mean
to..."
     "Just fuck off and get out of here!" Stacy screamed at him.
"Get out!" Tears ran down her face, mixing with the quickly
congealing sperm on her cheeks.
      Toby, his pants now securely fastened, continued to stammer
out incoherent apologies as he picked up his paper-sack and
scurried out of the house. Outside, he jumped onto his bike and
pedalled furiously away.
      Behind him, Stacy continued to cry on the couch, her blonde
hair in disarray and her shirt and face coated with his quickly
drying sperm.
          To Stacy, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity when
Toby had come collecting money that Saturday morning for his
paper route. She considered him to be, like, a total loser at
school (as well as being a grade behind her) and did not find him
the least bit attractive, with his messy red hair and freckles,
but he was a student at Greenwood. From her present, unwelcome
perspective, that was enough. Her parents were away on one of
their weekend "getaways", so Stacy had been all alone in the
house when he came by.
     She had thought that he would prove as easy to seduce as
Barry and Grant had the week before - she was, after all, who she
was - but it had turned out not to be so easy. Toby was going
steady with a girl at school named Tami ("Toby & Tami..." she and
Ashley had enjoyed making fun of them), and the dork seemed
determined to be faithful to her. Either that, or he was just too
stupid and shy to take a hint. Stacy had swallowed her pride and
had come onto him like a bitch in heat - touching his hand;
"accidentally" brushing against him with her breast; making
suggestive comments about being lonely by herself in such a big
house - but he would not react. Finally, she had been forced to
come right out with it and more or less ask him directly to have
sex with her. He had risen to his feet and turned to go,
stammering something about being behind on his paper route, but
Stacy wrapped her strong arms around him and crushed her lips to
his face in a passionate kiss. When she eventually disentangled
her tongue from his, he was breathing hard, and no longer so
anxious to leave.
     She got him safely onto the couch in the living room and,
after some more necking, she had succeeded in extracting his
by-then rigid cock from his pants. By now, she had developed a
technique for getting at a boy's cock quickly, although she still
hated the feel of it. He was now co-operating fully, and had
roughly pulled her pants down to her ankles. She fell back on the
couch and prepared to help guide his cock into to her still
unresponsive pussy, but as he had bent over her, his cock had
twitched and the spurted jism all down the front of her shirt.
There was so much of it! He had been saving up for sixteen years.
She had thrown her hands up to protect herself, but had only
succeeded in getting the warm, sticky fluid all over her fingers.
     Lying there, splattered with warm sperm, Stacy had begun the
shrieking which would drive Toby out of the house.

     By the time her tears had subsided, the sperm had soaked
through her blouse and had dried, sticky and brittle, against her
skin. Her breathing steadied as she tried to come to terms with
what she was becoming... what she was being forced to become.
Shaking, she got to her feet and stumbled to the phone to make
the report she had made twice before.
     Then a shower.

                          *****

     Sharon's surprise present had turned out to be a small,
stainless steel charm bracelet. It was not particularly expensive
or attractive, but was solidly built, the links almost large
enough to qualify as a chain. Almost. But, it was still a charm
bracelet, and as such each link was designed in such a way as to
allow for the attachment of numerous small pieces of jewellery,
usually figurines or symbols: small hearts and the like. Sharon
had not forgotten about that, and happily dumped the contents of
a somewhat larger plastic bag onto the bed. The resulting pile
revealed a large number - an even hundred, Sharon later explained
- of small, steel "F"'s. Ordinarily, such ornaments would be worn
on charm bracelets by girls with names beginning with that
letter, but in Stacy's case the letter would stand for something
else. Gary quickly figures out what that "something else" would
be. By the end of the year, Sharon explained to a laughing Gary,
Stacy's charm bracelet should be displaying fifty-five such
ornaments.
     "Belling the cat," Gary chuckled. "I like it."
     "Not the cat," Sharon disagreed, "the pussy. Belling the
pussy."
      Gary had laughed again and then drew her towards him for an
appreciative kiss.

                              *****

     The actual "belling" had gone very smoothly, Sharon thought.
The next day at school, Neil and Gary had contrived to lead the
"pussy" into the metal-working shop after classes. Before the
frightened Stacy could protest, they had clipped the charm
bracelet onto her left wrist, and then forced her arm onto a
nearby workbench. Sharon had watched from the doorway - serving
as a lookout - as Stacy started to struggle and cry out. Her
struggles subsided, however, when Neil brought the soldering iron
and solder down to her wrist; the slightest movement would have
caused the molten solder to drip onto her exposed arm. Stacy
watched in silent horror as the two boys soldered shut the clip
to the charm bracelet, fastening it permanently to her wrist. She
could still, of course, easily remove it with the proper tools,
but such a removal would certainly leave evidence; evidence
which, Gary quietly explained to Stacy, would lead to the
imposition of further punishment and humiliation. The charm
bracelet would stay on her wrist until the school year was over.
     When Stacy had nodded her understanding, Neil took Sharon's
place at the door, and the pudgy girl moved forward and fastened
the small, steel "F"s to Stacy's newly acquired bracelet.
Silently, she affixed four of them, spreading them evenly along
the bracelet. Stacy looked on in disbelief as understanding
dawned in her face. Immediately, her large, green eyes flooded
with tears, but she didn't offer a protest. She knew there was
nothing that she could say.
     Sharon had smirked at her and moved back when she was
finished affixing the charms. She and Gary had turned to leave
the room, but Neil had stayed behind, moving towards Stacy with
an unmistakable glint in his eyes. Sharon left the room and
walked away, while Gary stayed to stand watch. If she had turned
to look as she left the room, she would have seen Stacy, now on
her knees, reach forward - the charms clinking merrily on her
wrist - and begin to pull down the zipper of Neil's pants.
      Sharon had not needed to look back however. She had a pretty
good idea of what would happen - what was happening as she sat on
the school steps, enjoying a cigarette. She was, however, rudely
jarred from her pleasant thoughts by a door banging shut behind
her, and the sound of someone crying. Turning, Sharon saw Tami
Slaighter, a classmate of hers. Sharon and Tami were not
particularly close friends, but Sharon's curiosity compelled her
to stand up and comfort the girl.
      Bit by bit, the story came out as the sobbing Tami told
Sharon the reason for her tears.

                            *****

     NUMBER FIVE - EIGHT:
     Dennis Baxter, thirteen years old, had had no direct
experience with girls and was certainly a virgin, but he knew sex
when he saw it. He was seeing it now, as he stared through the
partially open doorway which led to the instructor's storeroom in
the section of Greenwood set aside for the grade eight classes.
Every Friday afternoon, the grade eights took Recreation as the
last class of the day. This basically consisted of playing
various games - outside when it was warm enough, and in the gym
when it was not - and was supervised by upper level students for
extra credit.
      Dennis's class was supervised by Stacy Richards, and it was
her that he had gone looking for after arriving late for class;
Dennis had a Doctor's note that needed delivering. When he had
arrived in the gymnasium, his classmates had told him that the
instructor had gone to the storeroom for some equipment. In a
hurry to deliver the note and join his friends, Dennis had
hurried along, hoping to find her.
     Well, he had found her alright, but she was in no position
to receive the (now forgotten) note he held clutched in his
sweaty hand. As he looked through the doorway, he was greeted by
the sight of Stacy Richards on her hands and knees with her skirt
hiked up over her hips, while Tim Myers - himself no older than
Dennis - fucked in and out of her from behind. Tim grunted as he
frantically pistoned his hips back and forth, sliding his cock in
and out of her warm pussy. Stacy, her head down and face
curtained by her free-flowing blonde hair, was also making small
grunting noises as she moved her ass in time with his thrusts,
squirming and wiggling as she did so.
      Dennis's mouth dropped open as he watched. He couldn't
believe what he was seeing! He pushed forward a bit to get a
better view, but accidentally bumped against the doorframe. At
once, Tim stopped moving and looked over at him, his face red
with shock and embarrassment. Stacy looked back over her shoulder
at the thirteen-year old, shaking her face free of her hair.
     "No!" She sounded strange and anxious. "Don't stop." She
wiggled her hips hopefully around his still-sheathed cock.
"Please... keep going," she begged. She crouched back, trying to
impale herself further on his rapidly deflating cock.
     Tim didn't move. "B-but..." Unable to speak, he gestured
towards Dennis, who stood frozen in the doorway. Stacy's head
turned towards him and she peered up at him from beneath the
curtain of hair. At first she looked as shocked and upset as Tim,
but she quickly recovered.
     "Come in, Dennis," she invited, her voice a hoarse whisper.
"J-Join the fun." This last sentence ended with a quiet squeal as
Tim began moving again. Dennis didn't need to be told twice.
Carefully closing the door behind him, the teenager walked slowly
forward, uncertain of what to do next. Stacy gestured at him to
come closer as Tim's thrusts regained their earlier rhythm, if
somewhat lacking in their former urgency. The surprise at being
caught had obviously set him back a bit on the path to orgasm.
     When Dennis was standing in front of her, Stacy reached up
and pulled down the zipper on his pants. She quickly slipped his
penis out and, without another word, began kissing and licking
it. Within minutes, it was as hard as a pole; Stacy engulfed it
with her mouth and began sucking for all she was worth, her lips
sliding up and down in time with Tim's regular thrusts into her
pussy. Plugged at both ends, she gasped and moaned as the two
boys pumped their rigid cocks in and out of her body.
     Eventually, the Tim and Dennis came, more or less at the
same time. Tim pumped his sperm into Stacy's warm, wet pussy from
the rear, while Dennis ejaculated into her mouth and down her
rapidly convulsing throat. She swallowed every drop before the
penis fell loose, making certain that no evidence of her
behaviour would remain on her clothing or face. Behind her, Tim
began to laugh.

                           *****

     Later that same evening, Stacy had phoned Gary and, as
required, gave him the details of her sexual activities. He had
accepted the information as usual, but had some additional news
for her.
     "Sharon talked to Tami today," he told her. "She knows what
happened last Saturday with you and Toby."
     "W-what do you mean? I already told you what h-happened."
Stacy felt sick to her stomach. What had she done wrong? Were
then going to release the pictures after all?
     "Your paperboy 'lover' never came inside of you. According
to Tami, he couldn't restrain himself. Is that what happened?"
     Stacy bit her lip and hesitated. She had not mentioned that
part of her encounter with Toby out of sheer embarrassment.  She
had been somewhat surprised to discover that she still had some
pride left, even after all that had happened - but she couldn't
see how that mattered.
      "Y-yes," she answered, finally. "That's what happened." Fuck
you, she thought.
     "Well then, you know the rules. It doesn't count unless your
partner ejaculates inside of you. Don't you remember?"
     Stacy's vision began to blur with tears. She remembered.
Gary evidently took her silence as agreement, because he
continued speaking. "You broke the rules. Not only does Toby not
count, but you now have an extra ten to do, bringing the total up
to an even sixty-five."
     SIXTY-FIVE!
     "You can't do that," Stacy exclaimed, horrified. He
couldn't...
     "I'm sorry; I didn't catch that." Gary sounded amused. "Did
you just tell me that I 'can't' do something?"
     Stacy bit her lip in an effort to regain control - in an
effort not to tell him what she really thought. Finally, she
mastered her emotions enough to answer him.
      "No. I didn't." Her voice shook. "You can do whatever you
l-like."
     "Right. Well, after fucking the two kiddies today, your
total was up to eight, but it goes back down to seven after we
subtract Toby. That leaves fifty-eight to go, right?"
     He seemed to expect an answer. "Right," she agreed, her
voice trembling. "Fifty-eight." Fifty-eight! Involuntarily, she
looked down at her wrist where the charm bracelet anchored the
four metal "F"s to her wrist. Fifty-eight.
     "We'll get the new 'charms' to you tomorrow. Oh, and one
other thing," Gary continued. "Tami is Sharon's friend, and she
is apparently quite upset about what happened. Sharon wants you
to apologise."
     "Apologise?!?"
     "She's asked Toby and Tami to meet her at the playing field
an hour before school on Monday. She wants you there to apologise
for trying to seduce Toby, and promise never to try it again."
     The line fell silent as Stacy struggled to comprehend to
enormity of the humiliation she was going to be forced to suffer
the following morning.
      "Do you understand?"
     Stacy took a ragged breath and then answered in the
affirmative. "Yes."
      "Good. Well... that's all then. Pleasant dreams." He hung up
the phone.
     Stacy slammed the receiver down, ran across her room and
threw herself down on the bed in pain and anguish. In fury, she
slammed her fists repeatedly into the unresisting mattress and
pillow, causing the charm bracelet - unimpressed by her display
of temper - to jingle quietly as the small, metallic "F"s flashed
silver on her wrist.

--

     NUMBER NINE:
     Randy Marx stared down in disbelief as Stacy Richards sucked
hungrily on his cock as it jutted out of his pants; her mouth
made loud slurping noises as it worked its way up and down. He
was standing in the woods behind Greenwood High, just out of
sight of the main school building. Stacy, now on her knees in
front of him, had met him after class and had asked if he would
go with her into the woods; she wanted to show him something, she
had said. Randy, who like most of the boys at school only knew
Stacy as an object of unattainable beauty, had stammered
something in the affirmative, and the two of them had left the
school together after the final class. As soon as they had gone a
little ways into the forest, just out of sight of the school,
Stacy had turned to him, reached down and begun fondling his
penis through his pants. Randy, frozen with surprise, had just
watched in stunned silence as she sank to her knees in front of
him. The charm bracelet on her wrist jingled quietly as she
fumbled with his zipper.
     "W-what are you doing?" What was she doing?
     "P-please, Randy." She had looked up at him with her big,
green eyes. "I... I want your cock." Her voice was a hoarse
whisper, and she looked like she might cry.
      Randy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared down
at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
     "What?"
     "I w-want your... cock," she repeated haltingly. Her fingers
continued their work while she spoke. His penis was now free of
his pants and hung down in front of Stacy's face.
      "I want to suck your cock." She turned her head back down
and began licking his quickly hardening penis.
     Randy just swallowed and fell silent as Stacy got to work.
He looked around, frightened of getting caught, but there was no
one in sight. His gaze dropped downward, where Stacy was
servicing his cock.  First she licked and kissed it, starting
with the head and then working her soft, warm lips down the
shaft. Then, when it was rigid (no time at all, really), she
slipped her hot mouth over the shiny head and began sucking, all
the while bobbing her head up and down. From where he looked down
on her, Randy could only see her blonde hair sliding back and
forth, but he could hear the slurping and gurgling sounds which
accompanied the movement, and he could feel - oh god, how he
could feel - the inside of her mouth and throat as it quivered
and sucked around his trembling penis.
     Finally, he could take it no more, and began to come.
Instinctively, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled it
tight against his crotch, jamming his cock right down into her
throat as the sperm began to shoot out. Stacy struggled and
choked; her hands fluttered about wildly, pushing against his
legs, but she was unable to break his grip. Stacy's face remained
crushed against his crotch, her mouth and throat stuffed with
cock,  until he finished coming. Eventually, the spurts began to
lessen, and his penis grew soft. Randy relaxed his hold, and she
pushed herself away, gasping and choking up the sperm. Suddenly
embarrassed, Randy did up his pants, turned and ran away into the
woods.
     Behind him, Stacy lay on the ground, still choking up sperm
and gasping for breath.

                          *******

     The Greenwood school cafeteria was its usual noisy chaos,
with students running madly about, trying to fit in as much
eating and socializing before the bell went off to announce the
inevitable beginning of the afternoon classes. The main section
of the cafeteria was filled with rows of connected benches and
tables, where the students ate their lunches. The actual kitchen
and serving area was located along one of the walls; the students
picked up a tray at one end, and ran it along a metal track while
making their selections. The food was paid for at the other end
and a short section of railing led to the main part of the room.
     Karen Williamson stood, tray in hand, looking for a place to
sit. Her options were limited; the sitting areas were essentially
run by the various school cliques, and Karen absolutely did not
belong to any particular group. As a matter of fact, she was
commonly the object of derision of many of these groups. It was
not that she was particularly ugly, although she was a bit on the
heavy side and had something of an acne problem, or that she was
antisocial. Her isolation stemmed from a discussion in one of
last year's Social Studies classes. In a "Current Events" module,
the class had been discussing some recent controversies
concerning homosexual rights. Karen had been arguing in support
of those rights and had, in the heat of the debate, let slip the
fact that she herself was gay. Word had quickly spread, and
before long she was virtually an outcast at Greenwood. She had
quickly learned that if one is going to come out of the closet, a
high-school class is just not the place to do it. Her life had
been hell ever since.
      Desperately lonely, Karen had hoped that things would have
blown over by this, her senior, year, but that hadn't proved to
be the case. In fact, the abuse had even gotten worse. Just last
week, she had found her locker plastered with pictures of naked
women torn from a Penthouse magazine with the words "Dykes
Anonymous" scrawled all over them. As a result of these and
similar events, Karen had largely withdrawn from school social
life, and now spent much of her time alone, often drinking (an
activity which had helped neither her weight nor her acne
problem). In fact, she had been drinking the previous night, and
was now suffering from rather a bad hangover; this probably
explained her lapse in judgment in choosing and sitting down at a
table near the back of the room.
     Even before the table fell ominously silent, she knew that
she had made a mistake. A bad one. She looked up from her tray to
see who she was sitting with. Across from her sat Stacy Richards
and Ashley Peters, easily the two most popular girls in school.
The rest of the now-silent table was filled with students of an
equally exalted social level.
     "Well!" Ashley took the lead, as she always did in making
fun of Karen. "Aren't we lucky. A visit from the school dyke!"
Karen flinched as Ashley's cutting voice drew attention. The
other students at the table were smiling and laughing, knowing
what was coming.
      "What's wrong? No other dykes to eat with... or eat?"
Ashley's voice was getting louder. Students at nearby tables were
now looking over and joining in the laughter. Her face burning,
Karen stumbled to her feet and fled the table, leaving her tray
of food behind.
      "Come back anytime," Ashley called after her. "Feel free to
bring your girlfriend." The entire section the cafeteria was
laughing now, as Karen, now in tears, burst through the exit and
disappeared from view.
     At a table near the door, Gary and Sharon watched her run
out. Silently, they exchanged glances and looked over at Ashley
as she laughed with her friends. Stacy laughed right along with
them.
                           *******

     Tim smirked across the room at Dennis; the class was almost
over. The two thirteen year-old boys had barely been able to
restrain themselves during that afternoon's Recreation Class. Due
to the colder weather, the class was once again taking place
inside the gymnasium, and they had spent the entire period
watching Stacy as she supervised the other students. At this
particular moment, she was demonstrating volleyball techniques to
a group of girls in the corner. She was wearing baggy shorts
which came down to her knees and a loose sweatshirt, but that did
not deter the boys from imagining what was underneath. So far,
she had managed to avoid them, but Tim had plans to deal with
that.
     Finally, the bell rang, signalling the end of class.
      "OK, everybody," Stacy yelled, clapping her hands for
attention. "Into the dressing rooms. That's it for today." While
the rest of the kids ran into the dressing rooms as directed, Tim
and Dennis jogged over to where Stacy was bent over, putting away
equipment. She straightened up as they approached.
     "Yes?" She asked coldly. "What do you want?" She didn't seem
happy to see them.
     Embarrassed, Dennis turned to go, but Tim caught his arm
before he could get away. "That's not very friendly," he stated.
"You were a lot nicer last week." He was smirking again.
     "That was last week," Stacy told him angrily. "Don't expect
it to happen again." She put her hands on her hips and glared at
them. "I don't expect to hear about it again from either of you.
Is that understood?"
     Dennis flushed red and began to mutter an apology, but was
cut off by Tim.
      "OK, you won't hear about it from us, then," he told her.
"You'll be hearing about it from Mr. Tilby, though."
      The thirteen year-old grabbed his friend by the arm and
turned to go.
     "Wait!" Stacy, no longer confident, called after them. Mr.
Tilby was the teacher in charge  of the grade 12 supervisors.
"What do you mean?" She had a sick feeling that she already knew
the answer.
     Tim turned and faced her. "We're going to tell Mr. Tilby
what happened. I bet he'll be interested."
      Stacy felt her face flush with panic; Tilby would get her
expelled for sure!
     "Unless..." Tim's voice was sly.
     "Unless?" Stacy knew what was coming. Unconsciously, she
crossed her wrists in front of her and began fiddling with her
charm bracelet. There were now almost a dozen metal "F"s hanging
from it.
     "Unless you become a lot more friendly," Tim finished off
his sentence. "Like last week."
     Stacy looked at the two of them - Tim looking cocky and sure
of himself and Dennis looking both frightened and hopeful  - and
shuddered. If she gave in, she would become in effect the private
whore of a couple of thirteen year-olds. But what else could she
do?
     "If I agree," she said slowly, fighting back the tears,
"you'll keep quiet about it. No one else will know." Maybe she
could minimize the damage.
     Tim grinned in triumph; they had her!
      "OK. It'll be our little secret." A slow smile began to form
on Dennis's freckled face.
     "And just this once," she bargained. "After that, I don't
hear about it again?"
     Tim began to nod, flushed with success and ready to agree to
anything, but this time it was Dennis who did the interrupting.
"Once a week," he told her. "After class on Fridays." Stacy's
mouth fell open and she shook her head.
      "OK." Dennis shrugged and turned to Tim. "Let's see Tilby."
     He started walking, pulling an astonished Tim behind him.
This time, the two boys actually managed to get a few steps away
before Stacy called them back. Trembling, she agreed to their
demands; there was no way she could let them go to Tilby.
     Ten minutes later, she was stretched out naked on a pile of
stored gym mats, with Dennis pumping his thirteen year-old cock
in and out of her pussy while Tim waited his turn. The two boys
had wanted her naked this time, and she had had no choice but to
slip out of the shorts and sweatshirt. She grunted in time with
Dennis's thrusts and moaned as he mauled her tits, but did not
fight or cry out as he spurted within her.
     She did, however, start crying when Tim crawled on top of
her to take his turn at sticking his cock into her now sopping
pussy.

                            *******

     With the footlights shining bright and hot directly upwards
into her face, the men in the audience - she instinctively knew
that they were men - were visible only as vague outlines; dark
shapes and shadows which seemed to shift and pulse in time with
the thick bass throb of the cheap rock music. She could hear the
quiet rumble of conversation from beyond the lights, but as the
dance began, the shapes fell silent. They almost appeared to lean
forward towards the stage, focusing intensely upon the actions of
the dancer.
     On the precarious, well-lit catwalk, the dancer slid
forward, limbs writhing in time with the music. She wore almost
nothing: a pair of stiletto high-heels, black stockings, a
spangled, gold g-string and a pair of tassled pasties covering
her nipples. And a bright, shiny charm bracelet on one wrist. Her
tits, small and firm, bobbed up and down as she gyrated back and
forth across the small stage.
       The music drew her forward; bit by bit, piece by piece, the
minimal clothing came off until, finally, she stood naked and
exposed before the watchers. The shapeless mass of the audience
was no longer silent, but was instead calling out what seemed to
be a name, over and over again. Dimly, the dancer sensed that she
should be frightened, but she wasn't. Instead, she began to
become more and more excited. Rubbing her breasts with one hand,
she began to pant and moan as the shouting grew louder. The
colored lights above her began to move... rotating wildly...
pulsing on and off. Her pussy was damp and inviting when she
inserted first her middle finger, and then middle three fingers.
     Her excitement grew to the point of orgasm; the name chanted
by the audience became louder and louder... Suddenly, there was a
loud ringing sound, again and again as the lights sped up. She
tried to ignore it, concentrating on the swiftly approaching
orgasm, but it kept ringing and ringing... the hoarse chanting
became clearer until, abruptly, she could make out the name:
     "Stacy!"
      Stacy Richards sat bolt upright in bed, sweaty and
dishevelled. Her mother's voice had shouted out her name from the
bottom of the stairs. "Stacy. Answer your phone."
     The phone beside the bed was ringing. Stacy glanced over at
the bedside clock: almost 10:30 - a bit early to be calling on a
Saturday. She reached over and picked up the phone.
     "Hi Stace." It was Sharon. Of course.
      Stacy fought back an urge to slam down the phone. "What do
you want?" she asked, fighting to contain her anger.
     "Just to tell you that we're going out tonight; girl's night
out." Sharon sounded pleased with herself.
     "What are you talking about?" Stacy fought to clear her head
of the last vestiges of sleep.
     "There's a party at BCN tonight," Sharon explained. "We're
going." BCN stood for Bakersville College North. At the time the
campus was opened, there was a planned second campus to be built
south of the town, but that had never occurred. The one college
was still, however, called "North".
     "I can't do that," Stacy argued, fighting down a sudden
surge of panic. "I'm... uhm... busy tonight."
      "Do I have to make threats?" Sharon asked. "You know what
your options are. Besides, you might enjoy yourself."
     Stacy sighed with resignation. She knew very well that she
would have to agree with whatever Sharon said. If not, she would
be ruined at Greenwood. "OK," she muttered. "I'll be there."
     "Fine." Sharon was matter of fact; she had expected nothing
else. "Come to my place at 7:00. Oh... we'll be out all night;
tell your mother that you'll be spending the night at a friend's
house." The line went dead as Sharon hung up before Stacy could
reply or protest.
     Slowly, Stacy put the receiver down and ran a shaky hand
through her matted hair. Only then did she notice that her body
was covered with a sheen of sweat. The dream! She pushed back the
covers and looked down on her body: her nipples were firm and
erect and her pussy was slightly damp. Could that dream really
have been exciting her? All she remembered was being naked... and
all those men were watching! She placed a finger on her clit and
began to rub, moaning softly. Just the memory of the dream was
exciting! What was happening to her? Despite her confusion, she
continued to masturbate herself, quickly bringing herself to
climax.
     Just as the orgasm died away, the phone rang again. She
picked it up.
     "Hello?" It was Barry Packard. Just what she needed. She had
noticed that he was trying to talk to her at school, but she had
managed to avoid him successfully ever since they had fucked a
couple of weeks ago in the front seat of his car.
     "Hi Stacy," he greeted her. She remained silent.
      "Uhm... I was just wondering if you wanted to... like, you
know... go out tonight, or something."
     "Are you kidding," she laughed. "I wouldn't be caught dead
with a loser like you." All of her frustration and anger at what
had happened to her in the last couple of weeks flowed out of her
heart and down the phone lines.
      "B-but... I thought... what about what happened on..."
     "What happened in your car was a joke," she told him.
"You've got to be the worst fuck I've ever had." It felt a little
strange talking like that, but on the whole, it was good to be on
the giving end of some abuse rather than on the receiving end.
Besides, he was such a loser!
     "B-but..."
     "I don't want to hear about it, and I don't want to see or
hear from you again. Just fuck off!"
      Stacy slammed down the phone. That had felt good! Almost
like her old self. Cheered up, she got out of bed and went into
the bathroom for a shower.

                            *********

     As ordered, Stacy arrived at Sharon's house promptly at 7:00
that evening. Sharon's mother, a large, bleary-eyed woman
answered the door.
     "Is Sharon here?" Stacy asked timidly. The woman smelt of
beer and stale cigarette smoke.
     The woman took a drag from her cigarette and gestured Stacy
inside. Stacy walked into the house.
      "Sharon!" Sharon's mom was yelling down a flight of stairs.
"Your little friend's here." She turned back to Stacy. "Go right
on down. She's in her room."
     Stacy smiled weakly in thanks and walked down the stairs
into the basement.
     "In here." Sharon's voice came from behind a closed door at
one end of a short hall. Stacy pushed the door open and entered
Sharon's bedroom. The pudgy girl was talking on the phone; she
waved at Stacy to come in and sit down.
     "... Yes... I know. At the agreed price. I know... uh huh...
it's just for private use. Nothing else." Stacy sat on the edge
of Sharon's bed, careful not to disturb a pile of dirty clothing.
"No, that's fine. Yeah... as long as they don't mind... OK."
Sharon hung up the phone and turned to Stacy.
     "Well," she said, smirking, "let's have a look at you. Stand
up." Blushing, Stacy stood up. She was wearing a blue skirt which
fell below her knees and a yellow blouse. Her blonde hair was
done up in a tight, little bun at the back of her head. Sharon
shook her head as she looked the older girl over. "Huh," she
grunted. "That's not gonna do." She got up and moved towards the
closet. "Let's try these on." She pulled out a duffel bag and
handed it to Stacy.
     Stacy took one look inside and dropped the bag. "I can't
wear these. Not in public."
      Sharon just smiled and lit a cigarette. "Every time," she rolled her
eyes theatrically. "Every time
we go through this same game. First you say you can't do
something. Then we threaten to release the tape and the pictures.
Then, suddenly, you can do it." She looked over at Stacy. "Is all
that really necessary?"
     Stacy looked down at the duffel bag and began to tremble.
She fought back the tears.
      "Please..." How could they do this to her?
     Sharon wasn't moved.
      "Put these on, you bitch," she ordered, suddenly angry.
"You'll wear them tonight or by Monday night everyone in town
will know what a slut you are."
      The videotape!
     Reluctantly, Stacy reached down and picked up the duffel
bag.

     Ten minutes later, she was changed and ready to go. The
central item of her new apparel was a black, patent leather
skirt, which reached only halfway down her thighs. The tight
skirt was fastened by a zipper on the side. ('For easy access,'
Sharon had commented.) On top, she now wore a bright pink spandex
shirt. The sleeveless blouse hugged her upper body tightly,
making the most of her smallish breasts. On her feet, she wore
black leather, high-heeled boots, which covered her lower legs
right up to her knees. Thin nylon stockings completed the
ensemble. As well, Sharon had combed out her blonde hair, so that
it fell in waves across her now bare shoulders. A little extra
make-up (applied by Sharon) and she looked like "a proper little
whore" (in Sharon's opinion).
      Stacy fought to hold back the tears. She did feel like a
whore in this outfit.

     The two girls drove up to the College in Stacy's car, but
with Sharon at the wheel. When they arrived, the party was
already in full swing, with music blasting raucously out of
partially opened windows. It was located in a large, old house,
which served as rental accommodation for students at BCN. Sharon
parked the car on the street opposite the house and looked over
at Stacy. The older girl sat stiffly, looking straight ahead, her
arms crossed in front of her chest.
     "You're not going to have much fun with that attitude,"
Sharon chided. "You're too tense." Stacy didn't answer. Sharon
sighed theatrically and reached into her large purse.
      "Here," she said, pulling out a small thermos. "Have a
drink. It'll relax you." She poured a small measure of whisky
into the thermos lid and passed it over to Stacy. The older girl
looked doubtful for a moment, sniffing suspiciously at the
liquid, but then shrugged her shoulders and drank it down. What
harm could it do? Almost immediately, she felt the warmth of the
alcohol in her stomach.
     "One more?" Sharon asked. Stacy nodded quickly and held out
the cup for a second drink. Sharon poured, and Stacy once again
downed it. She felt much better already.
     Sharon smiled as she took the cup back and screwed it back
onto the thermos. This was the same stuff that Gary had mixed
that had got Stacy so hot that night at Neil's. With any luck, it
should make things go a lot better tonight, particularly with a
double dose.
     "Let's go."
      Sharon opened the door and got out of the car. Stacy
followed, moving a little slower on the high heels. The drink was
beginning to go to her head a bit, she noticed. She felt a little
unsteady. The two girls walked up the gravel driveway towards the
house. Even from outside, the loud pulsing music made
conversation difficult; the whole building seemed to shake with
it.      Sharon banged loudly on the door. Nothing. She banged again,
harder this time. A few moments later, a young man opened it and
peered drunkenly outward.
       "Yeah?" His eyes quickly skimmed over Sharon, and came to
rest on Stacy's scantily clad body. Stacy shivered, only partly
from the cold as the man slowly looked her up and down. He liked
his lips.
     "Is Jim in?" Sharon was forced to yell over the music. "Tell
him Sharon is here." The man at the door tore his eyes away from
Stacy long enough to acknowledge Sharon's words with a nod, and
then disappeared back into the house.
     Sharon turned to Stacy who was still shivering on the porch.
"Remember," she said urgently. "This is a college party. Don't
start acting like a fucking kid. I have everything under
control."
      Stacy started to ask what she meant by this, but the door
swung open and another man came out. This guy was huge; he looked
like a football player.
     "Sharon," he called out. "Good to see you." His eyes turned,
inevitably, towards Stacy. "And you must be Stacy. Sharon's told
us a lot about you." Stacy knew that this sounded ominous, but
her brain was fogged up from the alcohol, and the drugs Gary had
added to it were starting to have an effect: her senses seemed
heightened, but her consciousness was starting to drift. A small
part of her mind recognized this feeling from that first night at
Neil's house, but she was unable to act on this knowledge. The
large man - Jim? - gestured for them to enter the house. Sharon
pushed Stacy through the door in front of her and then entered
herself.
      Behind them, the door slammed shut.

     Inside, the painfully loud music drowned out any possibility
of conversation. The foyer led to a short stairway which in turn
opened up into the main living room of the house. This room was
packed with sweating, dancing people, almost exclusively students
from BCN. The air was heavy with smoke, tobacco and other types.
     Jim led the way through the crowd, pushing and shoving a
path through the drunken, jostling crowd. Sharon pulled Stacy
along by the arm, following in his wake. Stacy got a lot of
attention from the men in the room, and one guy even reached out
to squeeze her tits as they pressed through the tangle. She
squirmed away, and he was soon lost in the crush. To Stacy's
blurred perceptions, the trip across the crowded room was a
nightmare passage of smoke and noise, with the occasional leering
face thrust out at her through the haze. She was thankful when
they reached the comparative quiet of the kitchen, but this too
was fairly crowded, and Jim continued leading them along. They
passed through the kitchen, down a short hallway and, finally, to
a closed door.
     Jim halted in front of that door and looked back at Sharon.
     "Everything OK?" he asked, glancing at Stacy. Stacy looked
around wildly, beginning to panic. What was happening here?
     Sharon pulled her head down and whispered into her ear.
"These are my friends," she hissed. "Keep them happy. If you're
smart, you'll relax and enjoy it. Fuck up, and..." Sharon looked
up and smiled at Jim.
      "Fine," she told him. "She's all ready. She loves this sort
of thing. She's really hot."
     Stacy started to mumble a protest, but before she could form
the words, Jim had opened the door and Sharon had pushed her into
the room. Jim followed her in, closing the door behind him.
     Left alone in the hall, Sharon leaned against the door and
pulled out a cigarette. She'd give them a few minutes to get
going and then head in herself. She reached down and patted the
bulk of the video camera in her purse. She didn't want to miss
any of the action.

     Stacy's memories of that night in the room consisted almost
entirely of a series of unconnected images and sensations, as if
her conscious mind had shut itself off, acknowledging sensations
only when they became too strong to shut out.
     The room had been full of men, many of them as big as Jim.
There was a large bed in the middle of the room. The men had
cheered as she had stumbled inside, and Stacy had immediately
been picked up and thrown down onto the bed. She tried to
struggle, but it seemed as if her limbs seemed so heavy...
     Jim was first.
      He pulled up the zipper on her skirt and tore it off. While
she had wriggled and tried to squirm away, he had pulled the pink
top up over her breasts, leaving it bunched up under her chin.
Stacy had moaned and cried as he began mauling her tits, but
everything seemed so far away. The next thing she knew, he was
inside her, impossibly big! She groaned as he pumped in and out,
first with pain, but then with something else. Her stretched cunt
began to tingle, and a warm feeling spread out through her
stomach and up into her breasts, causing her nipples to harden
and become ultra-sensitive. She fought the sensations, but it was
a losing battle.
     As he continued to thrust in and out, she slipped her arms
around his neck and crushed her face to his. Momentarily
surprised, he began to kiss back, and their tongues entwined
frantically. A few moments later, she threw back her head and
screamed as she was overtaken by an intense orgasm. The first of
many that night. He came a few seconds later, pumping sperm into
her wet pussy.
     After that first orgasm, everything became a blur...

     ...another man was on top of her now, pumping in and out.
His cock making a squelching sound in her wet pussy. She tried to
kiss him, wanting to feel his tongue on hers, but a second man
slipped his cock into her panting mouth. She fondled her own
breasts with one hand while holding onto the second man's cock as
it slid in and out of her mouth...

     ...the room seemed awfully bright all of a sudden, but
before her mind cold explore this thought, the cock in her mouth
began to spurt jism. Greedily, she sucked at it as fast as she
could, but some sperm spilt out over her face. She was scraping
it up with her fingers and stuffing it into her mouth when a
second cock slid in. She moaned and began to massage it with her
aching tongue...

     ...she was on her hands and knees now, her arms wrapped
around a pair of legs and her mouth wrapped around a thick cock.
Behind her, a man finished coming and pulled out. She whined and
wiggled her bottom, desperate for more cock. She felt man kneel
down behind her, but instead of putting his cock into her pussy,
he thrust it suddenly into her virgin asshole. She squealed and
tried to move away, but a pair of hands in her hair kept her face
firmly impaled on a cock.
      Eventually, however, the pain went away, and a new kind of
warmth spread through her. She came twice before the cock in her
asshole started to spray sperm up her ass...

     ...she lay on her back, her legs spread wide and bent
upwards over her head. A man lay on top of her, pumping
frantically. His mouth was wide open, and a thin line of drool
spilt out and fell onto her face. She opened her mouth to receive
it...

     ...she lay in between two men, impaled upon their cocks. One
man, the one beneath her, had his cock up her pussy, and the one
on top was thrusting in and out of her asshole. The combined
sensations sent her into a flurry of loud orgasms. A third cock
was stuffed into her panting mouth...

     Blackness...
      Stacy jerked suddenly awake as cold water splashed in her
face. She was lying on her back on a warm, sticky mattress.
Sharon stood over her with an empty cup.
      "Rise and shine," she said brightly. "It's time to go."
Sharon left the room and walked into an adjoining bathroom.
     Groaning, Stacy tried to sit up. The sheets stuck to her
back as she pulled herself vertical. Her body was covered with
bruises and scrapes, and her pussy and asshole ached as if they
had been scraped raw. Abruptly, she began to wail as the memories
of the previous hours' activities began to return. Sharon found
her trembling on the bed a few minutes later when she returned
with Stacy's clothes.
     "None of that," she admonished. "I know you had a good time
tonight. Don't start complaining now." She threw the clothing at
Stacy. "Get dressed. We're going."
     Still trembling, Stacy disentangled her battered body from
the sticky sheets. Her entire front was coated with a crust of
dried sperm. Slowly, she pulled the leather skirt on and zipped
it up. The pink shirt was ripped across the stomach, but she just
slipped it over her head and pulled it down. The boots went on
last. Shakily, she straightened up, and was led by Sharon through
the house and out the front door. The living room  was now almost
deserted, inhabited only by a handful of couples sleeping
together on the various couches. The two girls made it unobserved
to Stacy's car. Sharon started the car, and they drove off.

     Stacy finally managed to stop shaking.
      Sharon glanced over at her as she drove. "That's better.
There were only eight of them. Not much for a slut like you."
     Stacy looked over in disbelief. "E-eight?" The charm
bracelet jingled as she brought her hand up to her mouth. She
felt like she was going to be sick.
     "That's right," Sharon answered. "The offensive line of the
BCN Barracudas." The football team.
     Stacy leaned back and closed her eyes. "Eight more down, I
guess," she mumbled.
     Sharon laughed. "Nope. Those ones don't count for our little
game. They weren't students at Greenwood."
     Stacy sat up and looked over, unable to stop the tears
flowing down her face. "T-then why?"
     "I needed the money," Sharon answered simply. "They paid me
fifty bucks each." At this, Stacy began to wail and sob in
earnest. "Don't worry," Sharon comforted, deliberately
misunderstanding. "You'll get some of it. I'll cut you in for ten
percent."

     Stacy's tears had dried by the time the car reached Sharon's
house. Reminding the older girl that she was staying the night,
Sharon led her downstairs to her bedroom.
      "You'll be sleeping on the couch," she announced. Stacy,
exhausted, stumbled over and collapsed onto the small couch.
Chuckling, Sharon walked over and stuffed forty dollars down the
top of Stacy's shirt.
      "There you are," she whispered, running her fingers through
Stacy's sperm-encrusted hair. "There's your ten percent. Good
job."
     Stacy fell asleep crying, curled up on Sharon's couch...

--

     "Cool."
      Neil leaned forward and watched intently as Stacy,
completely naked, was simultaneously fucked by two men: one from
behind as she knelt "doggie style" on all fours with her legs
slightly spread, and one from the front. At first, her face had
been hidden from the camera by her blonde hair, which fell in
waves over her right shoulder, but Sharon had slowly circled the
action and, after a brief shot of the back of some guy's sweaty
ass moving back and forth, began to film from the other side,
where Stacy's features could be seen clearly. Her left hand
clutched the base of the guy's cock as she bobbed her
cum-splattered face up and down. The charm bracelet, festooned
with shiny, silver "F"s, glittered merrily in the light. There
was a brief break in this movement as she pulled her mouth free
and teased the head of the cock with her tongue, but then her
lips re-encircled the penis, and her head resumed the up-down
movement. Her loud moans and grunts could be easily heard above
the rhythmic slurping sounds; she was clearly enjoying herself.
     The camera moved on; it continued panning, sliding steadily
down Stacy's glistening, sweaty body and focusing on her ass as
it wiggled about on the impaling cock like a fish caught on a
hook. Just as the settled on this shot, the guy fucking her from
behind stiffened and came. A few seconds later, he pulled out,
leaving a thin trail of white sperm dribbling down Stacy's leg.
The camera pulled back and then zoomed in on her ass and pussy -
both glistening and wet with cum - and held the shot as another
fellow moved into position and inserted his cock, this time into
her ass rather than the pussy. The soundtrack clearly recorded a
squeal of pleasure from the impaled teenager, as Stacy accepted
the cock and began grinding her ass back and forth on it.
     "Jeez, this is great stuff."
      Neil was more than a little impressed. He hadn't even known
that anything of this nature was going on. Indeed, he had felt a
momentary twinge of anger when Gary had told him what Sharon had
arranged for Stacy - he had felt a bit left out lately, as Gary
and Sharon more and more seemed to be taking charge with Stacy -
but he couldn't remain angry. He was not so stupid that he failed
to realize that this whole arrangement was only possible because
Gary had seen the possibilities that day in English class. If it
had been left to Neil, he would probably have blurted out his
accusations in front of the class, and that would have been the
end of it. Instead, they now had a hold on Stacy that let them
force her to do anything! How could he complain about Gary being
in charge?
     On screen, Stacy was taking advantage of the fact that her
mouth was temporarily empty of cock, and was busily licking
strands of sperm from her fingers. Neil turned to Gary and Sharon
who were sitting together on the couch behind him.
      "She's really into it," he commented enthusiastically. "Did
you use the drugs?"
     "Yeah," Sharon answered. "A double dose this time. As you
can see, it worked like a charm."
      The sound of Stacy's screams from the TV indicated an
impending orgasm.
      "She was really hot."
      The teenagers fell silent and watched as Stacy experienced a
violent orgasm, her fourth since the beginning of the tape.
     "We made four hundred bucks," Sharon continued after Stacy's
screams had died away. "And the football team wants her back
again next weekend."
     "Are you gonna make her go?" Neil turned away from the couch
as he asked the question, his eyes focusing on the screen where
Stacy moaned and fondled her small breasts.
     Behind him, Sharon looked at Gary, leaving the decision to
him.
      "I don't think so," he answered. "At least not right away.
We don't want to burn her out. Let's leave it for something
special. We are selling them this tape though; they're paying
another hundred bucks for it."
     "That's five hundred bucks." Neil tore his attention away
from the screen. "A lot of money." He looked up at Gary.
     "Don't worry," his friend answered, smiling his strange
smile. "You'll get a share. Sharon gave forty dollars to Stacy,
so that leaves $460 to split three ways."
     Neil raised his eyebrows. "Forty dollars to Stacy?"
      "Well," Sharon laughed, "she deserved something. She did all
the work."
     The three friends laughed and went back to watching the
video. It was coming to the end now, and Stacy was being
simultaneously fucked by three guys, one in the ass, one in her
cunt and one in her mouth. She moaned and wriggled as her body
was filled with cock from three different angles. Finally, the
three cocks came, each spurting sperm into its particular orifice
as Stacy orgasmed twice more. The video faded to black as Stacy,
wet and crusty with cum, curled up on the damp, sticky mattress,
still moaning and sucking the sperm from her fingers.
     "That was great!" Neil leaned forward and shut of the
television. "Just like being there."
     "Well, I hope the guys on the football team are happy with
it. They're paying for it." Sharon stopped the video and pushed
the rewind button on the remote. The tape began to whirl
backwards in the video machine.
     Neil got to his feet and began to pace.
      "You know," he said thoughtfully, "we could make a lot more
money out of this if we wanted. I bet there are people who would
pay big bucks for this tape; I mean besides the guys from the
college."
     "Not this tape," Gary answered. "It's just for the guys at
BCN. The last thing we need is the bloody college football team
coming after us. But I have given that some thought."
      Sharon looked over at him, surprised. This was the first
that she had heard of it.
      "What do you mean?"
     "I mean," he told her, "why not make a little money selling
some pictures?"
     "Like the video?" Neil asked.
     "No. I don't think that we can put together a professional
enough product for that. This tape was OK as a souvenir for the
guys at the college, but we have no way of editing it or anything
else. I mean still pictures." He looked over at Sharon. "You're
uncle let you use his studio last year, right?"
     Sharon nodded her agreement, beginning to understand what he
was getting at. Her uncle did portrait photography, and had a
studio near the centre of town. Last year, he had allowed her to
use the studio and darkroom for her photography class project. He
had told her that she could use it any time she wanted.
     "So, with the studio and darkroom..."
     "We can take professional shots!" Neil completed the
sentence. "It's fuckin' perfect."
     "But what about selling them?" Sharon was sceptical. There
was more to this than just taking the pictures.
     "I've been communicating with some photographers over a
BBS," Gary told her.
      Neil looked confused. "BBS?"
     Gary ignored him. "I expect I can get some contacts through
them. Or at least some addresses. I'm sure there are lots of
magazines which would pay good money for pictures of someone like
Stacy."
     "And what do we tell Stacy?" Sharon was still sceptical. "We
told her we'd keep this all a secret if she played along." Sharon
was more curious than concerned. Their promise to Stacy meant
nothing to her.
     "No." Gary smiled."We told her that we wouldn't release the
tapes of her cheating on the English exam and fucking with Neil.
We said nothing about any pictures we might take in the future.
Besides, we won't be selling these pictures to mainstream
magazines. I doubt anyone in town will see them. Including Stacy.
Probably."
     "Well... OK." Sharon was convinced. "I'll set it up with my
uncle for later this week."
     "Fuckin A!" Neil was excited. "I can't wait."

                         *****

     NUMBER FOURTEEN
     Stacy's short skirt was once again bunched up around her
waist. Her sleek legs were spread wide, and wrapped around the
bulky form of Bob Pearson as he pistoned his cock brutally in and
out of her dry pussy. They were in one of the supply rooms at
Greenwood; Stacy's ass was propped up on a narrow shelf and her
back was against the wall as Barry fucked her. In vain, she tried
to re-discover some of the excitement of the previous weekend up
at BCN. Her responses that night had been more than a little
degrading, but at least she had been able to deal with the sex
without this pain; perhaps even get a little enjoyment out of it.
     No matter how hard she tried, however, she was unable to
feel anything other than the intense pain of the ordeal, as
Barry's large cock sawed in and out of her raw pussy.
      'Please,' she thought wearily as he panted and grunted his
lust, 'please come!'
     Just let it be over.

                           *****

     As instructed, Stacy showed up at the photography studio at
8:00 PM two nights later. The mid-December weather was unusually
cold, and she was wearing a heavy denim jacket over her jeans and
sweater. She was, however, carrying a duffel bag which contained
some clothing of a less practical nature. Sharon had ordered
Stacy to bring along various items of apparel, such as underwear,
stockings, short skirts and, in particular, a couple of swimsuits
from last year's swim team. Stacy had been apprehensive, but she
was now pretty much past the stage of arguing or pleading. It
never did any good. All that mattered was that she reach number
sixty-five before the end of the year. She had managed number
fifteen earlier that day (her pussy still ached); only fifty more
to go! At her wrist, the rapidly filling charm bracelet attested
to her "success".
     The studio itself was basically a large, high-ceilinged
single room with a cloth backdrop against the rear wall. The
backdrop was a neutral white, designed to take on the hue of
whatever colored light was being directed at it. There was a long
metal bar on the ceiling which held a number of different lights
set there for this purpose. The floor in front of the backdrop
was covered by a dark mat. In front of this mat was another bank
of lights, not colored, and a camera. At the back of the room was
a wooden door with a red light hanging above it; a small sign
identified it as the darkroom.
      "Stacy."
      Gary walked up to her as she stood by the door, put his arm
over her shoulder, and directed her into the room. Stacy
shuddered slightly at his touch, but allowed herself to be led.
Sharon, standing behind the camera, looked over and smirked.
There was a belch from the back of the room; Stacy looked over
and saw Neil, sitting back against the wall with his feet propped
up on a small table and a beer in his hand. He grinned over at
her and raised the beer can in mock greeting. Behind her, the
door to the studio clicked shut.
     Sharon made a small adjustment to the camera, and then
walked over to where Gary had begun emptying out the contents of
Stacy's duffel bag onto the floor.
      "Let's see what we've got," she muttered, sorting through
the clothes. Stacy watched, numb and frightened, as Sharon and
Gary sorted through the various items of apparel, rejecting some
and laughing at others.
     "Don't forget this stuff." Neil had left his seat and was
approaching with another bag, the contents of which he dumped
onto the floor beside Stacy's clothes. It contained a number of
leather and rubber outfits, including, Stacy noted queasily, the
outfit she had worn up at BCN last weekend. She swallowed,
fighting to keep her features impassive; she had resolved not to
let them see her cry again.
     Finally, they were done. Gary looked up at her.
      "You know what's going on?" He gestured towards the camera.
     Stacy nodded reluctantly.
      "Yes," she answered. It hadn't been difficult to figure out.
She had cried in her bedroom when Gary had ordered her to show up
at the photography studio with the clothing, but she wasn't going
to cry now. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.
      Gary grinned. "Then let's get started." He turned to his
girlfriend. "Sharon?"
     "Yeah, OK," Sharon nodded, "but let's give her a drink
first. It's going to be hot under those lights."
     Stacy looked up. Huh?
     Sharon picked up an open can of coke from a nearby table and
handed it to her. "Drink up," she instructed. "We don't want you
fainting on the set. We've got lots of stuff to get through
tonight."
     Confused, Stacy did as ordered; she drank the coke and
handing the empty can back to the impatiently waiting Sharon.
      The other girl nodded and took the bottle.
     "OK," she announced, "I think we'll start with..."

     Stacy spent the next few hours in front of the lights,
running through countless degrading poses in dozens of different
outfits. Humiliatingly, they started her out with some of her own
clothes which she had brought: mini-skirt, blouse and high heels.
     "Look at the camera."
     The colored lights placed her in front of a soft, yellow
backdrop. As instructed, Stacy looked at the camera.
     "Lean forward... legs apart."
      She bent down and spread her legs, causing the skirt to ride
up. Her blonde hair, combed out straight, hung down over her left
shoulder, framing her breasts for the camera. Behind the bank of
lights, her three tormentors were only shadowed silhouettes.
Stacy was reminded of her dreams of stripping in front of such
lights.
       "Open the blouse... now cup your breasts and look sexy. Keep
looking up; we want to see your face."
     Her hands trembled as they undid the buttons. She had known
it would come to this, but it was still so hard; particularly in
front of the camera. She cupped her small breasts in her hands,
involuntarily teasing her own nipples. They hardened immediately.
Would they notice?
     "That's it. Nice nipples. Now, lick your lips..."
     Stacy wetted her lips and did her best to look sexy and
inviting. Her nipples stayed hard.
     "Bend over a bit more... let's see some more leg..."

     Then they dressed her in one of her old swimsuits, now at
least one size too small:
     "That's right... other way, now..."
     Stacy stood, side on to the camera. They had soaked the suit
before dressing her in it, and it clung tenaciously to every
curve. Worse, the cold water caused her nipples to become hard
again, and it was plainly visible through the thin swimsuit.
     "Shoulders back... good, that pushes out your tits... play
with the nipples, make them nice and hard... there you go..."
     Stacy flushed red.
      "OK... now run your hand through your hair... look like you
need a good fuck..."
     Stacy did as ordered. She slid her fingers through her
blonde hair, shaking it out at the back as she did so. She was
beginning to feel a queer sort of arousal in the pit of her
stomach. She fought to hide it, but it was difficult to do while
trying to look sexy.

     Then came the outfit she had worn for the party at BCN. It
quickly became apparent to Stacy that they had not cleaned it
since that night; it stank of dried sweat and sperm.
      This time, Sharon put on some music, and had Stacy dance a
slow striptease. Neil called encouragement as Stacy slowly
divested herself of first the cum-encrusted shirt, and then the
tight leather skirt.
      And, just like in her dream, she became more and more
aroused...

     A short break to re-load the camera while Stacy stood,
panting slightly, in front of the lights. She was naked from the
previous stripping, save only for the leather, high-heeled boots.
Neil came over and played with her sweaty tits until it was time
for a new outfit.
      Stacy fought hard not to respond...

     Finally, it was over.
      Stacy stood, drained and sweaty in the last outfit she had
modelled, a tight, pink rubber dress which left bare as much as
it concealed. It was cut low on her neckline, leaving her chest
bare down to the upper curve of her tits (at one point in the
session, she had been ordered to pop her tits out of the dress,
but they were re-covered now). The dress also left her arms
exposed up to the shoulder, and only covered her upper thighs
down to just below her crotch. Her legs were clearly displayed,
taut and sleek in the black pumps. Sharon had done her hair up
  in a tight bun, giving her a severe, sexy look.
     Neil slipped behind her, reached around and began playing
with her breasts through the thin rubber as Gary and Sharon
clicked off the lights and began storing the film. Involuntarily, Stacy
moaned, but didn't pull away. Her nipples hardened and a
trickle of sweat dribbled down between her breasts as they
strained against the latex. Neil began kissing her neck.
     Gary looked over and smiled. Stacy's eyes were closed and
her mouth slightly parted as she leaned back to accept Neil's
attentions. Her body was clearly beginning to respond. This
seemed like a good time to bring up...
     "Oh, Stacy." Stacy opened up her eyes and stiffened,
remembering where she was.
      "I heard that Barry Packard asked you out last a little
while ago and you refused. Is that true?"
      Stacy bit her lip apprehensively, but nodded. She recognized
the tone of voice Gary was using; something bad was going to
happen. Behind her, Neil reached down with one hand and began
massaging her pussy through the latex dress. The other hand
continued to fondle her tits. Subconsciously, she began to squirm
back against him.
     "Well," Gary continued, "from now on, there'll no more of
that. If one of your 'lovers' wants a re-match, you agree to it."
     "What?!" Stacy tried to move forward, but Neil held her
tight. "What are you talking about?" Neil popped one of her
breasts out from the dress and began teasing the nipple. Stacy
tried to ignore it.
      "That wasn't a rule."
     "It's a new rule," Sharon told her, grinning. "From now on,
once a guy's fucked you, you can't say 'no' to him until you've
finished all sixty-five."
     Stacy's features began to quiver. She had resolved not to
cry, but this was too much. A tear trickled down her cheek as she
considered the implications of what was being said.
     "B-but... there'll be no end of it. I'll have to do it all
the time." Her mind, now cloudy with lust, struggled to find
objections.
      "When am I supposed to study or do other things? There are
exams coming up!"
     Sharon laughed outright at that. Stacy had just been told
that she had to agree to fuck almost any guy that asked, and she
was complaining about not being able to study for exams!
     "Don't worry about the exams," Gary told her. "We'll get you
the test papers ahead of time. Hell, we'll even do it for free
this time." The three of them laughed as Stacy began to cry in
earnest.
     "Besides," Gary continued, "it's not all bad news. We've
decided to let you earn some pocket money while you're doing it."
     "What?"
     "From now on, you charge five bucks for a repeat fuck."
     Stacy looked at him in horror.
     "The first one's free, but repeat service costs five bucks."
He looked over at Neil. "Except," he continued, "for Neil, of
course. He gets it for free."
     If possible, Stacy's sobs became louder. No matter how bad
things became, they always managed to make them a little worse.
Or a lot worse!
     Gary and Sharon continued packing up as Neil slipped his
hand under the short dress and began to play with her pussy
directly. Stacy shuddered and then relaxed back into his chest,
defeated. There was no use resisting it. She began to pant as
Neil pushed his middle finger into her now-moist cunt.
     When Gary and Sharon finally left the room, she was sitting
on top of Neil's erection, riding it up and down, the pink dress
bunched up around her waist.

                            *******

     Stacy was slumped forward on the desk. Her head was cradled
sideways in her arms, spilling blonde hair in waves out over the
wooden desktop. Outside the closed office door, the grade eight
students she was supposed to be supervising were yelling and
running about, her usually well-structured Recreation course
having dissolved into chaos in her absence.
      She didn't care. She was too tired to care. She hadn't even
changed into her usual gym outfit for the class, instead just
stumbling around the gymnasium in her green tweed dress, barely
getting the class started before retreating to the office. She
just didn't care anymore.
     Last night she had attended Ashley's Christmas party and, in
the course of the evening, had managed to have sex with four
different guys: two blowjobs and two fucks. Actually, it had been
five guys, but one of them had turned out not to be a student at
Greenwood, and Stacy no longer counted the non-students. That
brought her total up to twenty: twenty different guys, and twenty
shiny "F"s on her imprisoned wrist. Only forty-five more to go.
Only! Her pussy ached at the thought.
     As was happening so often these days, Stacy found herself
fighting back the urge to cry. How had she fallen into this trap?
How had such a little thing as cheating on a math test led her
into the kind of life she was now leading? Looking back, she
could see how Gary - it must have been Gary; Neil wasn't anywhere
near smart or subtle enough to plan this sort of thing - had
slowly escalated the incidents of blackmail and humiliation until
all her options had disappeared. Even now, if it had just been
the original session at Neil's, she might be tempted to rebel -
perhaps even turn to the police - but Gary had since then taken
it even further. Now, there were the pictures taken at the
photography studio and the awful video-tape of that night at BCN,
where Sharon had turned her into a whore! Sharon had shown the
tape to her the day after the photo session. How could anyone
believe her story after seeing her enjoying herself so much? She
could barely believe it herself. What had happened to her? Sex
was usually so degrading and painful; why had it felt so good?
Still, whatever the reason, there was no way out; no one would
believe her now.
     So, she took the path of least resistance, and did what they
wanted.
     It had been three days since the session at the photography
studio, and she was unable to get it out of her mind. It was not
just the fact that the pictures had been taken. That was terrible
enough, and she was thoroughly frightened about what would be
done with the resulting photographs. Gary had told her that they
were just for "personal use" (whatever that meant), but how could
she trust him? It was not just the fact that she could no longer
refuse to have sex with the guys she had already fucked; that was
bad, but she thought she could control matters so that very few
of them invited her out again. As long as it was kept quiet, it
shouldn't be too much of a problem. It was not even the sex with
Neil; he had fucked her a number of times already, and it was
getting to be almost routine.
           What frightened her about the session in the studio was the
way she had responded to the situation, and, later, to Neil. By
the time he had pushed up her dress and forced her to impale
herself upon his rigid cock, she had been so excited that she had
experienced an orgasm within seconds of penetration. In the
fucking that followed, she had cum twice more, moaning and
squirming like some kind of slut-bitch on Neil's cock.
     As was the case with the session at BCN, she was not sure
how she felt about this. On one hand, she was being forced to do
horribly degrading things and it was as if her own body was
betraying her by allowing her to respond sexually. What kind of
girl - what kind of a slut - would enjoy the kind of obscene
activity which had occurred at BCN? On the other hand, it looked
very much like she had very little choice in the matter. She was
trapped, and would have to fuck countless guys in the next few
months. Given that this was going to happen anyway, wouldn't it
be better to get at least some enjoyment out of it? If nothing
else, she could do without the constant pain of her pussy being
rubbed raw as a result of her being dry at the wrong time.
     What she needed was some way to control the excitement. Some
way to allow her to do what she had to do with a minimum of pain,
but which would allow her to control herself so that her
surrender would not be complete. Some way to...
     Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
She glanced at her watch and saw that it was after 3:15; class
was over. She patted down her green tweed dress and shook her
blonde hair, unconsciously adjusting her appearance. That must
be...
     It was. The door swung open to reveal a grinning Tim,
followed closely by Dennis. Stacy groaned, but gestured for them
to enter the office for their weekly session.
      There must be some better way to deal with this!

                         *******

     Ashley Peters stood, giggling, in a cluster of friends in a
doorway near the water fountain. The girls were pulling a nasty
practical joke, and were waiting for the victim to arrive. Even
among this group, basically the most popular (ie. beautiful)
girls at Greenwood, Ashley stood out as something special. She
was taller than any of the other girls, but still well-rounded in
all of the important places, particularly her breasts. Indeed,
the only other girl at school that was in her league was Stacy
Richards, but while Stacy was small and perfectly proportioned,
Ashley was big-boned and extremely well endowed, particularly for
an eighteen year-old. Where Stacy had a finely chiselled face and
high cheek bones, Ashley's face was wide and generous, with
thick, pouty lips and wide brown eyes. Where Stacy had shoulder
length blonde hair, Ashley was a brunette, with a thick,
reddish-brown mane of hair that fell halfway down her back. In
short, Stacy's was a hard, athletic beauty, while Ashley was
softer and more luxurious: equally beautiful, but in an entirely
different manner.
     The two girls were, of course, rivals, but only in a
relaxed, friendly way. There was simply no need for them to
compete, for boys or otherwise. The only real point of contention
was the title of Homecoming Queen, and Ashley had - more or less
- conceded it to Stacy the previous year. Stacy's school
activities, from cheerleading to the track and swim team to
supervising the grade eight "Rec" class, made her almost certain
to take the title instead of Ashley, whose list of school
activities was somewhat shorter (or, in truth, non-existent).
Life was too short, she figured. So, the two girls ruled over
their little clique in a co-operative fashion, acknowledging the
other's attributes without conceding superiority.
     Ashley noticed Stacy coming out of a doorway at the other
end of the hall, followed by a couple of grade eight jerks. She
looked a little dishevelled, but Ashley put it down to the
activity of the "Rec" class.
     "Stacy," Ashley called after her, eager to have her share in
the joke, but Stacy didn't seem to hear, and moved down the hall
away from the group. The two boys followed close behind. Ashley
narrowed her eyes as she watched her friend turn a corner and
disappear from view. Stacy had been acting a little strange
lately. She wondered if...
         "She's coming!"
      Stephanie, who had been watching around the corner,
whispered the warning and stepped back, out of sight. Ashley
dropped Stacy from her mind and joined the group as they watched
expectantly.
      They didn't have long to wait. Karen Williamson walked,
unsuspecting, around the corner and up to her locker. The heavy,
dark-haired girl didn't notice Ashley's group as they watched
from the doorway. The trap was sprung! As she pulled the locker
door open, hundreds of sheets of paper slid out and onto the
floor in front of, and around, the locker. Each sheet had been
carefully torn from various Playboy and other,similar, magazines,
depicting beautiful women in some stage of undress. Karen
watched, stunned, as more and more paper fell out of her locker.
Ashley and her group could contain themselves no longer, and
finally broke out into raucous laughter as more and more people
in the hallway stopped and stared. As well as putting the loose
sheets in the locker, they had pasted up a number of pictures on
the door and walls of Karen's locker. The people in the hallway
began to laugh as Karen turned red, and then began to cry with embarrassment.
     Satisfied with the damage, Ashley led her group away from
the scene of their victory as more and more people joined the
crowd of students laughing at and taunting their unfortunate
victim as she crawled around on her hands and knees trying to
recover the pictures.

     If they had stayed a little longer, they might have noticed
Sharon Stevens, who had watched the whole incident develop, walk
up to the humiliated Karen and start talking to her in a hushed
voice.
      Karen quickly stopped crying and began to listen intently.

--

     Karen ran her fingers through her curly brown hair and
looked around the bedroom, feeling useless and out of place with
nothing to do. Neil and Gary were busily removing a shelf from
the second, smaller closet while Sharon wandered about the room
with a light meter, alternately taking readings and making
adjustments on the video camera set up on a tripod in the main
closet (no need to remove any shelves there). Even Stacy was hard
at work, albeit reluctantly; she was taking, trip by trip, the
small mountain of clothing which had previously filled the
smaller closet and carrying it to a different room. She was quiet
and sullen, but she did what she was told.
     It was all so unbelievable! Even after Sharon had told her
everything - even after they had showed her all of those pictures
- Karen still found it hard to credit the story. Stacy, the
Princess of Greenwood, the perfect Ice-Queen Bitch, being forced
to fuck dozens of different guys at school in order to keep
secret the fact that she was cheating on exams! If Karen had read
it in a story (and she had read a few stories of this type), she
would still have found it difficult to swallow.  Really, though,
it had been the pictures that had finally convinced her. After
Sharon had talked to her that day in school when Ashley and her
friends had stuffed Karen's locker with those magazine pictures,
Gary had shown her the set of photographs taken earlier in the
week at a downtown studio. There was no way that Stacy would do
something like that willingly, particularly the last two outfits.
The sight of Stacy in (and then out of) the black leather
mini-skirt and, later, in the pink latex dress had left Karen
damp with excitement, despite the fact that Stacy wasn't her
type. No, not her type at all. Karen preferred larger girls;
particularly brunettes. Girls like Ashley.
     When they had arrived at Stacy's house that Saturday
morning, the week after New Year's, Karen had been expecting
Stacy to slam the door in their faces. Even after all the proof
she had been shown, she had still expected that. It hadn't
happened, though. Stacy had opened the door and let them in
without a word. She looked angry, and more than a little bit
unhappy, but she let them in. Still, it wasn't until Neil put his
hand behind Stacy's neck and drew her in for a long, protracted
kiss that Karen at last fully accepted everything that she had
been told. Stacy didn't exactly co-operate, but she didn't pull
away either. And from the way her mouth was working, she was
definitely returning the kiss. Unbelievable! Yet it was
happening. And if that was happening, perhaps Sharon's plan for
Ashley might work as well. Karen trembled as a small shiver of
excitement shot through her pudgy body.
     Her type. Girls like Ashley...

     Neil removed the last screw and handed it to Gary who
carefully put it in his pocket. The final shelf slid out neatly,
leaving the bottom half of the closet completely open. (The
shelves on the top half were more permanently affixed.) There was
just enough space for one person if they sat down with their legs
curled up. That was going to be Sharon's post. Neil was thankful
about that. There was no way he was going to spend several hours
in that cramped space. He was going to be in the bigger closet
with Gary and Karen. There was really no need for him to be
there, as Gary had pointed out, but he wanted to be part of
things again.
     He wanted to see Stacy in action...

     Sharon looked critically through the camera's viewfinder.
The angle wasn't the best in the world - it wasn't even as good
as it had been in Neil's bedroom - but it would have to do. As
long as the light was OK, the pictures should turn out alright.
From where she would be sitting in the small closet, she could
get pictures of the bed and most of the bedroom, but she was a
little low to get the best angle for any action on the bed. And
the action on the bed, of course, was the whole point of these
arrangements. As well, she was forced to take the pictures
through the slats in the closet door. It worked fairly well as
long as she kept the camera flush against the door, but it
limited her options. It would also force her to lean forward
uncomfortably when taking pictures.
      It was, however, the best they could do, and there was still
the video camera in the walk-in closet. Perhaps if Stacy's
parents had left the night before as planned they would have had
time to make further modifications to Stacy's bedroom, but the
parents had delayed their departure until mid-morning on
Saturday. Hence, The three friends had only had a couple of hours
Saturday morning until Ashley was to arrive. Not the best of
circumstances in which to accomplish so tricky an objective, but
things weren't going too badly.
     Now, as long as nothing else went wrong...

     Gary finished giving his final instructions to Stacy and
gave her one final look. She appeared quite stunning in her short
skirt and pink blouse, her blonde hair combed in waves over one
shoulder. Sharon had both chosen the outfit and done up the hair,
treating Stacy like some big barbie doll to be dressed and
groomed at will. Stacy looked great and Gary approved; if that
didn't work, nothing would. A quick glance around the bedroom
revealed nothing out of place. Sharon was safely out of sight in
the small closet, and Neil and Karen were sitting side by side in
the back of the walk-in. A quick check in the upstairs bathroom
reveal that Karen's "props" were in place.
      Everything was ready.
     Right on cue, the doorbell rang downstairs. Gary looked
Stacy in the eye.
      "Showtime," he told her, smiling at the hint of panic in her
eyes. "You know what to do."
      Stacy swallowed nervously, but nodded her agreement. She
knew what to do; it had been made very clear to her. Gary
gestured for her to answer the door. When she left the bedroom,
he turned and squeezed past the video camera and into the closet,
pulling the door shut behind him...

     Stacy stopped momentarily on her way down the stairs to
answer the doorbell and took a deep breath; she needed to steady
her nerves. Of all the things they had forced her to do in the
last couple of months, this was quite possibly the most
difficult. As first, she had absolutely refused. Even when Sharon
had made all the usual threats, Stacy would not go through with
it. She had to draw the line somewhere. But when Gary had offered
her ten credits - ten less guys to fuck - she had wavered and
finally given in. She would do what they wanted. Ten less guys to
fuck! That would be worth it. That would be worth almost
anything.
      And besides, what did she owe Ashley anyway?
     Stacy was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of the
doorbell being rung a second and then a third time in quick
succession.
     "Coming," she cried, annoyed, as she quickly jumped down the
remaining stairs. Despite her irritation and nervousness, she
forced a welcoming smile onto her face as she pull open the door.
     "Ashley," she greeted her friend from school. "Come in."
     Ashley accepted the invitation, walking in through the
doorway. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a pink sweater
under an expensive leather jacket. (Her parents were rich, and
she always had the best clothes.) Her long, dark hair was done up
into a large bun on the back of her head. A large leather purse
was slung over her shoulder. The two girls exchanged greetings as
they walked upstairs to Stacy's room. Their meeting was
ostensibly to put together some arrangements for a class project
in the spring term, but neither expected much work to be done.
Particularly since Stacy's parents were out of town for the
weekend and Ashley was staying the night.
     Stacy led her friend into her bedroom, and the two girls
flopped down into comfortable positions - Stacy on the bed and
Ashley onto a large floor cushion - and began to talk. The
discussion at first centred around the recent holidays, and
Ashley told several funny stories about some visiting relatives
from back east. As usual, her stories were humorous at someone
else's expense, and she soon moved onto various people they both
knew at school. Soon, as usually happened, the talk zeroed in on
Ashley's unfavourable views on several of those people. Stacy let
Ashley carry the conversation, but talked just enough so that her
friend would not suspect that something was wrong. Just as Gary
had promised her a significant reward for success, he had
likewise made dire warnings regarding the consequences of
failure. Stacy was desperate to succeed.
     After about an hour, Stacy decided that the time had come to
set things in motion.
      "Want something to drink?" she asked, knowing the answer.
Ashley was staying the night; that would almost certainly mean
that the girls would get drunk on the contents of Stacy's
father's liquor cabinet. Ashley, in particular, enjoyed the
expensive brand of scotch whisky Stacy's father favoured. As
expected, Ashley answered in the affirmative, and Stacy left the
room to get the alcohol.

     Sharon sat up as best she could in the cramped confines of
the closet when she heard Stacy offer Ashley a drink. This was
what they had been waiting for. Gary had liberally laced Stacy's
father's scotch with his now usual mixture of drugs. With any
luck, things should be underway before long. And not a moment too
soon; Sharon's legs were beginning to cramp under her.
     She checked the settings on her camera...

     Stacy bit her lip with apprehension as Ashley took a sip
from the tumbler. Would she notice anything different about the
taste? The moment passed without incident, and Stacy sighed with
relief, taking a sip of her own drink. Of course, why would
Ashley notice anything? Stacy herself had twice been drugged in
this manner - she now realized - and she had never noticed a
thing. The alcohol effectively masked the taste of the drugs.
Stacy took another sip of her drink, willingly subjecting herself
to the effects of Gary's drugs - she would need all the help she
could get - and the two girls continued their conversation.
     By the end of the next hour, both girls were feeling the
combined affects of the alcohol and the mixture of drugs
dissolved within the alcohol. For Stacy, it was now almost a
familiar experience; the slight drowsiness, the sense of
dislocation and the increased sensitivity - she had felt it all
before. Ashley, on the other hand, had never previously
experienced the effects of these particular drugs. Hence, she put
the strange feelings down to the effect of alcohol on an empty
stomach (she hadn't eaten lunch). In a way, it felt kind of
pleasant, kind of like drifting, but with a sensual warmth down
deep in her stomach.
     "Another drink?" Stacy got up and took Ashley's now empty
glass. Ashley started to answer (in the affirmative), but before
she could say anything, Stacy had hurried out of the room, not
even waiting for an answer. Normally, Ashley might have found
this behaviour extremely puzzling - it was usually Ashley who
instigated and encouraged the drinking - but her powers of
perception were somewhat blurred. She got up to stretch her legs
and walked over to the window. It was getting quite hot in the
bedroom, she noticed, perhaps she should open a window. She
reached up and...
     "What are you doing?" Stacy had returned with the two
glasses and the bottle of scotch.
     "I'm just g-going to open the window," Ashley answered,
stammering slightly in an effort to enunciate the words. The
scotch was really affecting her. She took a deep breath. "It's
hot in here." Her upper lip was damp with perspiration.
     "I know," Stacy agreed. She put the glasses down on the
table and poured two more stiff drinks. "But you can't open the
window." She too was being careful not to slur her words. "My dad
gets pissed off about wasted heat during the winter." She crossed
the room and handed the full glass to Ashley. "He's kinda weird
about stuff like that." She shrugged her shoulders
apologetically.
     "But, it's fucking hot in here," Ashley whined, accepting
the glass. "I'm, like, melting." She swallowed a large mouthful
of scotch.
     Stacy appeared to think for a moment, and then put down her
glass and began unbuttoning her blouse.
      "Take your sweater off then." In a moment, she was stripped
down to her bra. Ashley hesitated for a second, but then put the
drink down on a side table and slipped her pink sweater up over
her head, exposing large breasts barely constrained by a bra. She
pulled the sweater free of her head and shook loose her hair
(partly destroying carefully constructed bun on the back of her
head) just in time to see Stacy unclip and remove her bra.
      "Stacy!" Ashley was a little embarrassed. They had seen each other
naked often enough before and after gym class at school, but not
like this. It seemed different, somehow, to be standing naked
like this in Stacy's bedroom, slightly drunk. Still... it was
quite hot... and the bra strap got more than a little itchy when
she sweated... Why not? Shrugging her shoulders, Ashley followed
suit, slipping the straps of her bra off her shoulders and
unfastening the bra, revealing her own breasts.
      Gary peered intently through the slats on the closet door as
Ashley's large, firm breasts popped free of confinement and into
view. Impressed, he brought his still camera up and snapped a
quick shot, making certain that Stacy, also topless, was in the
picture. It was almost time to start running the video camera. As
he took the picture, he felt a gentle shove from behind.
     "Let me see," Neil whispered, trying to look over Gary's
shoulder and around the tripod. Gary pushed him back, frowning.
He brought a finger up to his lips, gesturing angrily for
silence. Did Neil want to fuck it up for everyone? Gary pointed
towards the floor of the closet, where Karen sat in patient
silence. Neil looked like he wanted to argue the point, but gave
in and sat down, sulking.
     Gary turned back to the action in the bedroom.

     "Here, I'll put that away." Stacy reached over for the
sweater and bra, "accidentally" brushing the back of her hand
across Ashley's tits. Ashley flinched slightly, but handed over
the clothing without comment. She watched as her friend hung them
on a hook on the back of the door.
     "Thanks."
     "No problem." Stacy padded back across the room towards the
tall brunette. She crossed in front of her - once again brushing
against Ashley's breasts - and picked up her friend's glass.
"Here's your drink."
      As Stacy walked across the room, Ashley couldn't help but
notice how sleek and fit Stacy looked. Secretly, Ashley wished
that she had that kind of body - thin, muscular thighs, tight
stomach and smallish, firm breasts. Ashley, on the other hand,
was more lush in form, although her large breasts were firm
enough to stand up on their own without the aid of a bra. She
knew she was beautiful - indeed, she took if for granted - but
she still admired her friend's physique. If only...
     She was surprised to find her nipples hardening as she
watched Stacy. Suddenly embarrassed and shy, she turned away and
crossed her arms in front of her breasts, taking a large sip of
the scotch. She quickly regained her composure, and the two
girls, now topless, resumed their former positions and continued
the conversation. They carried on talking for another half hour
or so, with the conversation becoming more and more disjointed as
the drugs took their affect. Eventually, Stacy asked Ashley to
bring the now half-empty bottle to her on the bed. Ashley
complied, moving carefully in order to compensate for the lack of
co-ordination brought about by the alcohol,  but when she tried
to move away after handing over the bottle, Stacy gestured for
her to lie down beside her on the bed.
     "What?" Ashley's head was spinning slightly.
     "Just lie down," Stacy told her soothingly. "Relax. I think
the booze is hitting us harder than we expected."
     Ashley couldn't argue with that. They were only on their
fourth drink (or was it the fifth?), and she was feeling a
curious dislocation, almost like she was looking at events
through a long tunnel - as if her mind was somehow dislocated
from her body. At the same time, however, her nerves seemed
heightened and more sensitive and there was a curious tingle in
the base of her stomach. Better lie down, she thought, and
allowed Stacy to help her down on the bed. Stacy's hands felt
cool and dry against her hot skin. They felt good. That's better,
she told herself, stretching out with her arms by her sides. By
now, her bun had become unfastened, and her long, brown hair
spread out on the pillow behind her head. She closed her eyes and
relaxed.
     A few seconds later, however, she felt a movement on the bed
beside her. Opening her eyes, she noticed that Stacy was half
sitting up, looking down at her with a funny expression on her
face. Ashley, suddenly worried, tried to sit up, but Stacy put
her hands on her friend's shoulders and pushed her back down.
"Relax," she murmured, almost whispering. "Just lie there." Her
strong hands began to rub Ashley's naked shoulders. After a
moment, Ashley complied, lying back and enjoying the sensation of
having her shoulders massaged. It felt so good...
     It felt even better a few seconds later, as Stacy slowly
moved her hands downward across the top of Ashley's chest and
then down onto her breasts. Ashley instinctively tensed and tried
to jerk away, but once again Stacy calmed her down with a few
whispered words. Ashley relaxed again, closing her eyes, as Stacy
gently rubbed her large breasts, paying particular attention to
her now-hard nipples.
      Showtime!
     Gary had clicked the "play" button on the video camera as
soon as Stacy had begun fondling Ashley's shoulders. Things were
getting hot out there! After checking the viewfinder to make
certain nothing was being missed, he lifted the still camera and
began snapping shots as Stacy moved her hands downward towards
Ashley's tits.
     With any luck, Sharon was also getting some good material
from her place in the small closet.

     Eventually, Ashley began to moan quietly with pleasure. The
moans grew louder as she felt a new sensation on her now
ultra-sensitive nipples. She opened her eyes to see that Stacy
had bent over her and was licking her nipples with a small, pink
tongue which darted in and out of her mouth. Fully aroused,
Ashley brought up her hands and began to run her fingers through
Stacy's blonde hair; her beautiful blonde hair. Her hands stayed
there as Stacy slowly licked her way up along Ashley's throat
and, finally, to her face. After a brief moment of hesitation,
the two girls kissed each other full on the lips. The kiss seemed
to last a long, glorious lifetime, as their tongues entwined,
broke free and then joined again.
      Both girls were panting by the time their lips parted...

     This was great!
      Sharon snapped a close-up of the two girls' first kiss. It
couldn't have been any better if they had been posing for the
camera. Hell, she was getting hot just watching the action!

     "S-Stacy..." Ashley moaned. "I..."
     Stacy silenced her with another kiss. Once again, the kiss
was a long one, as they explored each other's mouths with their
tongues. Stacy resumed fondling Ashley's big tits. Whimpering
with pleasure, Ashley reciprocated, running the palms of her
sweaty hands up and down over Stacy's pert breasts. The two girls
continued kissing and fondling each other for a while before
Stacy broke away.
     "W-what is it?" Ashley asked breathlessly as Stacy sat up.
     "Just a second," her friend answered her. "This is going to
be so good." Stacy slipped off the bed wearing only her skirt and
looked over at Ashley lying spread out on the mattress. Her
friend's hair was in disarray, spread messily over the pillow.
Ashley's large breasts were covered with a thin sheen of sweat
which glistened in the light as they rose and fell in time with
her hurried breathing, the nipples standing firm on top. In spite
of herself - in spite of everything she knew was going to happen
- Stacy was becoming very excited. In the back of her mind, she
was aware of the presence of Gary and Sharon and their cameras,
but the drugs obscured that knowledge. The only thing that was
important was Ashley lying exposed on the mattress, and all the
wonderful things they were going to do with each other! But
first, she had to...
     "Take off your pants," she ordered, her voice thick with
lust. "I'll be right back." She moved quickly out of the room.
     Ashley complied, quickly slipping her jeans down her long
legs and kicking them free of her ankles and off of the bed.
After a moment's hesitation, she repeated this action with her
panties. Except for her white socks, she was now totally naked.
Anxiously awaiting Stacy's return, she moved her hand down over
her sweaty breasts and onto her moist cunt. Moaning slightly, she
rubbed her finger over her pussy.

     Gary zoomed in on her with the video camera as she
masturbated herself. After a close-up of her pussy, he panned the
camera up her sweat-glistening body to her vacant, panting
face...

     Stacy returned a few moments later with a small container
and a hand mirror. She stopped in the doorway to watch Ashley
masturbate for a few moments, but then walked forward and leaned
over her squirming friend. Ashley, keeping one hand on her pussy,
reached up invitingly, but Stacy shook her head. "Just a second,"
she said. "Let's do this first."
     Frustrated, Ashley stopped masturbating and sat up as Stacy
opened the container and spilled some white powder onto the
mirror. Her pulse sped up as she realized what Stacy was doing.
Ashley had smoked some pot and hash at school parties, but,
contrary to press reports about drug abuse in schools, cocaine
was still very rare. She had seen it once before, but never
actually tried it. The thought of it made her nervous.
     "Stacy..."
     "Just try it," Stacy interrupted. "It'll make the sex a
million times better."
      As if demonstrating, Stacy pulled out a narrow tube and
inhaled a line of coke up one nostril. After sniffing for a few
seconds, she repeated the action with the other nostril. Ashley
watched, impressed in spite of herself. She had no idea that
Stacy was so experienced!
     "Here." Stacy handed over the tube. "You try."
      Sharon took a picture of Stacy with the cocaine, and then
waited expectantly for Ashley to do the same. The cocaine had
been Karen's idea; a perfect way to strengthen their hold on the
two girls!
          After a brief hesitation, Ashley accepted the tube and tried
to inhale the coke. Her first attempt was a bit of a failure, and
a good portion of the coke ended up on her upper lip. The second
try went better, and the drug blasted its way into the back of
her head.
      "Wow..."
      She began to feel the rush as Stacy leaned forward and
licked the spilled cocaine off Ashley's lip. This struck the two
girls as very exciting, and they began to take turns spilling
small amounts of cocaine on each other's bodies and then licking
it off.

     Gary reached down and began massaging his raging erection
through his jeans as he filmed the action on the bed. This was
going much better than he had expected. Maybe this video would
have some commercial value! Behind him, he could feel Neil trying
to look around him again. This time he just squeezed to one side
- keeping an eye on the viewfinder - and let Neil take a look. It
seemed unlikely that the writhing girls on the bed would notice
any small noises they were making in the closet.

     Eventually, this game degenerated into straightforward sex.
First, it was Ashley, lying back on the bed with Stacy's face
buried in her crotch. The sensation of her friend's tongue on her
clit sent Ashley into a wave of screaming orgasms that seemed to
last forever. Then she was returning the favour, bunching up
Stacy's short skirt around her waist and  kneeling in front of
Stacy's widely spread legs, her tongue flickering in and out of
her friend's sopping cunt. This was followed by more fondling and
kissing as each girl, now sweaty and panting ran their hands and
tongue frantically over each other's body. Finally, they ended up
lying head to tail, simultaneously lapping at each other's cunts.
They came together this time, a clutching, writhing mass of
sweaty, panting female flesh.
     Finally, their lust subsided as the drugs began to work
their way out of their systems. When Ashley came to her senses,
she was lying arm in arm with her smaller friend, exhausted and
sticky. She lay there for a few moments, gathering her wits.
      Gary took one last picture, turned off the video-camera and
began to move the tripod aside. It was pretty much over now. Time
to come out of the closet...

     "S-Stacy..." Ashley stammered, suddenly embarrassed. "What
happened? What have we..."
     "Shh." Stacy interrupted, leaning up and giving her a kiss.
"It's alright."
     Ashley resisted, pulling away. "It's not alright," she
insisted. "What if someone finds out? I can't..."
     "What, " came a new voice from behind her, "if someone
already knows?"
     Horrified, Ashley whirled around on the bed in time to see
Gary emerging from the walk-in closet, camera in hand.
     "No!!"

     By the time Sharon shoved open the closet door with her
foot, straightened out her cramped legs and managed to climb
awkwardly to her feet, Gary was pretty much finished explaining
the situation to their horrified victim. Ashley had pulled up
Stacy's duvet cover to cover her nudity and was listening, wide
eyed, while Gary explained her options. As Stacy's had been a few
months earlier, they were pretty limited: either do as she was
told, or they would release the video-tape and pictures to
everyone who was interested. Sharon noted that Stacy had made no
attempt to cover herself; she just sat, silent and topless, on
the side of the bed, staring straight down at the floor.
     "Well?"
      Gary had finished his explanation, and was waiting for an
answer. Sharon noticed that Neil was looking on anxiously; even
he realized that Ashley could fuck things up for them badly if
she refused to co-operate.
     "What's it gonna be?"

     Ashley sobbed quietly on the bed. She looked over to her
so-called friend sitting beside her, but Stacy refused to look at
her. Bitch! It was all her fault! She turned her gaze to Gary,
Neil and Sharon as they stood by the side of the bed watching,
waiting for her answer - like a pack of vultures.
      What could she do? If she told them to fuck off, as she very
much wanted to do, they could ruin her life at Greenwood and
probably in Bakersville as well. The thought of those films and
pictures being made public made her want to throw up! The sex was
bad enough, but the drugs might even land her in jail. But the
alternative... was it any better? Gary had told her that if she
agreed to do what they wanted, the whole incident would be kept
secret. All she had to do was obey their commands for the rest of
the year; do whatever they wanted. But what else could she do?
She looked up at them, swallowing nervously.
      Her decision was made.
      Gary tensed as she began to speak, but he needn't have
worried.
     "Just for the rest of the school year?" she confirmed, her
voice trembling. "After that, I get the pictures and you leave me
alone?"
     He smirked. They had her! "Sure," he told her. "As soon as
school's over, you get everything, and no one will ever know this
happened."
     Ashley's face twitched with tension, but she forced the
hated words out of her mouth. "OK," she mumbled. "You win. I-I'll
do what you say."
     Gary's smirk widened to a grin.
      "Oh... not what we say exactly," he chuckled. "We're giving
our rights over you to someone else. A friend."
      As he said this, Karen walked out of the big closet.
Ashley's eyes widened with shock!
     "No," she almost screamed, cringing under the duvet. "I
didn't agree to that. Not with her!" She began to cry again.
      Gary was unrelenting. "It's her or we give out the
pictures." Ashley began to sob loudly, but after a few moments
she nodded her assent. She had no choice.
     Karen licked her full lips and moved forward towards her new
toy, her eyes bright with excitement. Gary looked around at the
others.
      "C'mon," he said quietly. "Let's leave these two alone. I'm
sure they have plenty to talk about." Sharon and Neil immediately
began walking out of the room. After a moment, Stacy got up and
followed them out, still clothed only in her short skirt.
      As they shut the door behind them they heard Karen's voice,
low and menacing: "Well, Ashley. First, we'll discuss that 'joke'
you played on me last month..." The door began to shut. "Then
maybe we'll try some of that stuff you and Stacy were doing a
little while ago... just to get started."
              The door shut on Ashley's sobbing.

     Outside, on the main upstairs landing, Gary and Sharon
sighed with relief. It had gone better than they had expected.
Neil had gone downstairs for a beer when Stacy spoke up.
     "G-Gary?" He looked over at the half-naked teenager. She
made no effort to cover herself, but wouldn't look him in the
face. Instead, she lowered her eyes submissively.
      "Yes?" His hand found Sharon's and held on.
     "That drug you gave us... I want some of it."
     "Huh?" Gary was puzzled.
     "That drug that makes me h-horny," Stacy explained,
trembling. "I want some of it. It will make it easier for me...
you know." She started to cry a little bit. "It h-hurts so
much... sometimes. If I... if I'm... excited..."
     "Ahh." Gary finally understood. He looked over at Sharon,
who smirked back at him. He shrugged his shoulders. "Alright," he
told her, "there's still some left in your dad's scotch. Use
that."
     "Thanks." Stacy brought her arms up across her chest and
started to shiver.
     "But first," Gary continued, smirking "you have to earn it."
Stacy looked up, her green eyes wide. "Come here." He and Sharon
led her into her parents' bedroom and shut the door behind her.
She began to tremble when they started to remove their clothes,
but she didn't cry out or protest in any way.
      She needed that drug.

     Neil ran up the stairs two at a time, beer in hand, only to
find the landing empty.
      "Hello?" He looked around, puzzled. "Where is everybody?" He
wandered along the landing until he came to a door. He opened it
a crack and looked in. A bedroom. Inside, he saw Stacy sucking
energetically at Gary's cock as Sharon straddled her head and
necked with Gary. Sharon's thighs tightened and loosened on
Stacy's head as the blonde teenager sucked for all she was worth.
     Quietly, Neil closed the door. Obviously they wanted to be
alone. He stood there for a moment, took a swig from the beer
can, and than walked back to the doorway to Stacy's bedroom. He
carefully opened it and peered in. He was greeted by the sound of
rhythmic slaps of flesh against flesh as Karen had Ashley, still
naked, over her knee and was spanking her vigorously. Ashley's
lush bottom was bright red and shining from Karen's attentions,
and the brunette was crying and sobbing as she squirmed on the
other girl's knee.
     "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... please, don't...
don't... I'm sorry, I won't... please..."
      The begging continued until Karen finished the spanking and
turned the older girl over, still balancing her on her knees.
Still sobbing and babbling apologies, Ashley offered no objection
as Karen cradled her in her arms and began caressing her large
breasts. Neil slowly closed the door.
     He stood on the landing for a few moments, undecided, and
then shrugged his shoulders.
      "Maybe there's some football or something on TV," he
muttered, walking slowly back down the stairs.

[8]

     NUMBER 34 & 35
     The "musicians" of the rock band thrashed away for all they
were worth on the tiny stage of the Greenwood High School
gymnasium, but their collective efforts produced nothing more
than a wash of reverberating mush as the over-amplified music
bounced randomly back and forth off the bare, wooden walls of the
box-shaped gym. The kids didn't care, though. They never did. As
usual, they just milled around, boys on one side, girls on the
other, with the few couples brave enough to dance bouncing
awkwardly up and down - more or less in time with the deep throb
of the bass - in the centre of the floor.
         The walls of the gym were festooned with bright pink
balloons; blue and pink streamers created a curtain over each
doorway; a number of bowls of pink grapefruit punch (three of
them now, predictably, spiked with vodka) sat on a long table
against one wall; and a large banner proclaiming "Happy
Valentine's Day" in large pink letters (the "i", of course,
dotted with a heart) hung over the stage where the band was
playing.
      A typical Valentine's Day dance at Greenwood High.
     In keeping with the theme, Stacy arrived at the dance
wearing pink and blue. She was beautifully decked out in an
extremely short pink skirt (no more than four inches below her
bum) and a sleeveless, powder blue blouse. This, along with the
pink knee-socks and white high-heeled shoes gave her an
appealing, little girl look, which was enhanced by the fact that
she was wearing her hair in a pony tail.
      The look, however, hadn't been her choice. Very little was,
these days. The outfit had been selected by Sharon to create this
effect. In fact, Sharon was now frequently picking out which
clothes Stacy should wear for specific occasions. Nothing too
startlingly different from Stacy's usual mode of dress, but
always a bit more revealing than Stacy would have chosen on her
own. Gradually, over the course of the last couple of months,
Sharon had been taking over various aspects of Stacy's life in
general. Stacy had objected at first, but Sharon had made the
usual threats, and Stacy had inevitably capitulated. As well,
Sharon was now able to compel Stacy's obedience by threatening to
cut off her supply of Gary's drugs. By now, Stacy was reliant
upon Gary's mixture, which allowed her to get excited when having
sex; without it, her enforced promiscuity would have been - and
had been, before the session with Ashley - extremely painful. She
was becoming, in Sharon's words, "well trained".
      A well trained slut.
     As it was, the combination of drugs and scotch allowed her
to get at least some enjoyment from the sex, a vital advantage
since she was having it so regularly. As well as the large number
of guys she was still required to fuck to meet her quota of
sixty-five before the end of the year, her blackmailers had
ordered her not to refuse repeat business. Every time someone she
had already had sex with asked for more, she had to say yes
(provided, of course, that the asker was willing to pay the five
dollars). As a result, she was now fucking and sucking daily,
sometimes two, three or even four times. Inevitably, this led to
her getting a reputation for putting out, which in turn led more
guys to try to fuck her. On the surface, nothing had changed, and
she still held her position in the school hierarchy, but among
many if not most of the guys at school, the word was out: Stacy
Richards was a hot slut, who dropped her panties at the slightest
pretext. This was not, strictly speaking, entirely true. In the
last couple of weeks, Stacy had stopped wearing panties (another
of Sharon's "suggestions"); it was too much trouble getting them
on and off, and too many pairs were ruined. Pants were also a
thing of the past; the new Stacy only wore short skirts.
     The new Stacy was also looking for a guy to fuck. She stood
in a corner of the gym next to the door leading to the boy's
locker room, playing absently with her heavily decorated charm
bracelet (thirty-three bright, shiny "F"s), and scanning the
crowd for a likely candidate. She tried to be inconspicuous as
she looked around; she had already run into one of her previous
"partners" in the parking lot, and had been forced, upon his
request, to give him a blow-job. A crumpled, sticky five dollar
bill in her purse testified to his willingness to pay. If any
others saw her in here - particularly dressed as she was - she
would probably have to serve them as well. The blow-job had been
made all the more unpleasant by the fact that she had been unable
to drink any of the scotch prepared for her by Gary. Without the
excitement caused by the drugs, it had been a humiliating and
painful event. She was not going to be caught unprepared again.
After wiping the sperm off her face (she had been unable to
swallow all of it), she had taken a number of swigs from the
flask in her purse. Already, she was feeling the warm tingle at
the base of her stomach, and her breathing was becoming quick and
shallow.
     She scanned the crowd, desperate as she became more and more
excited. Who to fuck?

     Gary looked on, smiling as he saw Stacy - dressed up like
some kind of wet dream - call someone over to her. It was Paul
Baxter, from grade eleven. A tall guy with glasses and bad skin;
kind of quiet. He watched as Stacy pulled him closer and
whispered something in his ear. A few second later, Paul blushed
a furious red, but allowed himself to be led into the locker
room. The couple disappeared from sight.
     "She's found one already?" Gary turned. Sharon had come up
behind him as he had been watching Stacy at work. The short girl
was holding a glass of punch. She was almost shouting to be heard
over the roar of the band.
     "Yeah," he answered, shouting in reply. "Paul Baxter; from
Rhenquist's French class."
      "Didn't take long," Sharon commented, taking a swallow of
spiked punch.
     Gary grinned at her. "Not the way you dressed her up
tonight. Nice job."
     Sharon nodded at the compliment, but didn't return the grin.
Something was bothering her. "You've made it too easy for her,"
she complained. "The drugs make it too much fun. She's enjoying
herself too much."
     Gary's grin just widened. "Well," he answered, "maybe I
should let you in on a little secret." He looked around, as if
anyone could hear them over the band. Sharon just stared at him,
waiting.
      "After the first couple of weeks, I stopped putting the
drugs in the scotch. Since the end of January, she's just been
drinking the scotch. Straight."
     Sharon's eyes widened in surprise. "But... that's two weeks
now. She hasn't said... she didn't..."
     "Right," Gary interrupted. "That's the beauty of it. She
gets horny now completely on her own. All it takes is a little
scotch, and she's ready to jump into bed with anybody. Soon, I'm
going to start changing the type of alcohol. By the end of the
year, she'll turn into a slut every time she touches a drop of
alcohol. It's all part of the training."
     Sharon's surprise turned into amusement. "Gary," she
chuckled, "that's perfect." She began to laugh outright.
     "What's so funny?" It was Neil. He was already half drunk.
      Gary looked over at the laughing Sharon. "You tell him," he
suggested to her. "I think I'll send a few more guys Stacy's way.
I think I see the Schaefer brothers."
     He turned and walked off as Sharon began to explain to Neil
exactly what it was that was so funny.

      Frank Schaefer shoved open the swinging door to the locker
room and ponderously squeezed his bulk through the doorway. He
was followed closely by his younger brother, Simon. The Schaefer
brothers were both extremely fat - each weighing over 250
pounds - and would have been fatter still if they had not been
quite as tall as they were. Still, even at well over six feet,
they were each enormously obese. They were a number of years
older than the other students at Greenwood, having been
frequently held back grades while their contemporaries advanced
and graduated. Their size was matched only by their stupidity,
and they had become something of a joke at Greenwood. Fortunately
for them, that same size protected them from any real bullying,
and they were generally left alone. That was why they were so
surprised when Gary approached them at the dance and suggested
that it might be a good idea for them to go into the locker room
"to check things out". They had been puzzled at this, but they
found most things puzzling, so they just shrugged their shoulders
and ambled into the locker room.
     They were greeted by the sound of a female voice as they
moved slowly down the short passageway leading to the main
changing room.
     "Oh... yes... yes... yes."
      The voice was low and hoarse with lust.
      The Schaefer brothers hurried forward as best they could and peered
around thecorner into the main part of the room.
      "Oh yes... fuck me... fuck me..." It was Stacy Richards! The brothers
looked on in amazement.
Some guy was lying back on a bench while Stacy Richards - THE
Stacy Richards - slid up and down on his hard cock. Her short
skirt was pulled up around her waist, and they could clearly see
where the cock slid in and out of her moist cunt.
      "Oh... oh... oh..." She had stopped formulating words, and was just
panting and
whimpering as the pace sped up. Stacy's pretty, blue blouse was
undone and she was frantically mauling her own tits. Her chest
glistened with sweat as her lithe body bobbed up and down like a
yo-yo on the impaling cock.
     "Holy cow!" Simon, the younger of the two brothers, was
unable to contain himself. Frank swatted him on the back of the
head, but it was too late; the damage was done.

     Stacy stopped bouncing and looked up in shock. Someone was
watching! Beneath her, Paul struggled, trying to sit up. She
fought to hold him down - he was just about to come! - but when
he saw Frank and Simon standing there with their mouths gaping
open, he cursed and scrambled back along the bench. His cock
pulled out of Stacy's sopping pussy just before he came, spraying
sperm onto her stomach and legs.
     "No!" Stacy grabbed at it and tried to push it back into her
cunt before it stopped spraying; IT DIDN'T COUNT unless he came
inside of her. But Paul was too quick, twisting out from under
her and scrambling quickly to his feet. Flushing red with
embarrassment, he pulled his pants up, pushed blindly past the
Schaefer brothers and ran out the door and into the gym. There
was a brief surge of bad rock music, and then the door slammed
shut behind him with a loud bang.
      Stacy sat straddling the bench, panting with rage and
frustration as the still-warm sperm dribbled down her stomach and
coagulated in her pussy hair. IT DIDN'T COUNT! And she was still
so horny...
      She heard a sound in front of her and looked up. The
Schaefer brothers, mortified and confused, were turning to leave.
     "Wait," she cried.
      Frank turned and looked at her. 'Oh god', she thought, 'the
Schaefers.' She felt like crying as she regarded their obese
bodies and vapid faces. Outwardly, however, she smiled her most
seductive smile and - feeling like an absolute slut - gestured
for the two brothers to come forward. Her left hand crept up and
tweaked her nipple; an involuntary shudder of pleasure ran
through her body.
     Maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

                                *****

     "The Schaefer's?" Karen burst out laughing. "That's great.
Just perfect."
     "Not only that," Gary continued, "but I think that the
younger one has fallen in love with her. He's already asked her
out for the weekend." He was lounging back in his seat with his
feet up on his desk beside his computer.
     "And?" The question came from Neil. He sat up beside Karen
on Gary's bed.
     "Well, she accepted," Sharon answered. "For five dollars, of
course."  The four teenagers burst out laughing.
      "Wouldn't want them to think she was cheap, or anything like
that."
     They were relaxing in Gary's bedroom, going over the updated
database on Stacy's "conquests" and entering new information.
Gary had been forced to add a new category for repeat
performances. At the top of the list was Tim Myers and Dennis
Baxter, two guys from Stacy's Recreation class; they had each
fucked her sixteen times.
     "But the best part," Sharon continued as the laughter died
down, "was that he wanted to take her out in public; to a movie
of something."
      This brought fresh laughter.
      "So what did she do?" Karen asked. The normally shy girl was
beginning to feel more confident around these people. They were
her friends.
     "What could she do? She came on all seductive and told him
how she would rather spend her time with him alone; in private,
so they could have more fun. So, he ended up inviting him to his
place for a little 'fun'."
     Another round of laughter.
     "So what about the latest round of pictures?" Neil asked a
few moments later. "The first set did pretty well. Any luck with
the new ones."
     Gary smiled crookedly. "Oh yes," he answered. "'Cumshot'
magazine brought the entire series we shot with her sucking you
off. You're going to be famous; or at least your cock is going to
be famous."
     Neil was impressed. "Cool."
      "How much?" Sharon asked.
     "Six hundred," Gary answered. "'Young Things' also bought
the set with her and the dildo. They'll also be publishing the
photos from the first set in this months' issue. That's another
$750 to split up. There's a couple others as well."
     Karen looked on unbelieving as Gary began to split up the
money. She had only become involved in the group's activities
after the first set of pictures had been taken, and she had no
idea they were making so much money.
     "Uh... guys?" She had an idea. "Maybe we can get Ashley
involved in this somehow. I could use some of that money."
     Gary looked up at her. "Would she do it? Would she pose for
pictures?"
     Karen thought for a moment. "Well, it might take some
convincing; particularly if she knows they're going to be
published..."
     "Oh, don't tell her that," Sharon interrupted. "Stacy
doesn't know. We got her to sign a release one night while she
was high on Gary's drugs. All she knows is that we're taking the
pictures for our own use."
     A slow grin began to creep across Karen's face. That was
possible... and she sure could use the money. "I'll see what I
can do."
     Gary nodded, and went back to counting the money. The four
teenagers sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating their
profits.
     "So," Neil said eventually. "What's this I hear about
another football party?"

                             *****

     NUMBER 37-49
     Stacy blew into the whistle, signalling the end of the
Recreation class. At the "request" of a couple of her students
(ie. Tim & Dennis) and with the subsequent "encouragement" of
Sharon, she was dressed in an ultra-short tennis skirt which
barely reached four inches below the bottom curves of her ass.
She had been wearing this outfit to Rec class for the last few
weeks, and the male contingent of the class had been enjoying the
show, particularly when she had to bend down to pick up sports
equipment. At first, she had been mortified, and flushed red
every time she caught some of her students staring at her, but
after a while she learned to ignore the attention, or, at least,
live with it. It might not have been so bad if she had been
allowed to wear panties.
     The class dispersed and Stacy wandered into the office space
set aside for the Rec instructors and began to prepare for Tim
and Dennis's inevitable visit. She had been fucking and sucking
them the both of them weekly ever since first term. Closing the
door behind her, Stacy walked quickly to her bag and pulled out a
thermos. She did not want to be caught before she could drug
herself with Gary's mixture. She knew it made her act like a
slut, but what else could she do? Sex without the drugs was
painful and humiliating; the drugs at least took care of the
pain.
      Stacy opened the thermos and took a drink, grimacing at the
taste. Beer! She hated beer. During the last couple of months,
Gary had, for some reason, been varying the type of alcohol in
which he mixed the drugs. At first, it had always been scotch
whisky, but lately he had gone through vodka, gin, wine and now
beer. Stacy had wanted to ask why, but was too scared. Of her
three tormentors, Gary was by far the scariest. Sharon was a
sadistic bitch and thoroughly enjoyed dominating Stacy and Neil
was constantly forcing her to have sex with him, but there was
something weird about Gary. Something dangerous. It was best just
to do what he said and not ask questions.
     She took another swallow of the beer and sat down on the
desk as the drugs began to take their desired effect. Slowly, but
inevitably, she felt the now familiar fog gradually envelop her
brain, disassociating herself from her body. Just as inevitably,
she felt the warm tingling begin in her groin and then spread
steadily upwards into her breasts. One more drink and then she
put the top back on the thermos; it was already over half empty,
and she still had a session with the Schaefer brothers later that
afternoon. Normally she wasn't worried about running out, but it
had been a busy day; Pat Saunders had fucked her up the ass in
the woods out behind the playing field on the way to school that
morning, and Neil had forced her to give him a blow job under a
desk in the Study Hall over lunch. Neither had counted. Just as
Tim and Dennis wouldn't count. Just as the Schaefer's wouldn't
count.
     The feelings of arousal began to increase. She looked over
at the clock, impatient. What was keeping them? If they didn't
come soon, she would be late for the Schaefers. An involuntary
shudder of pleasure ran through her body at the thought of the
two obese brothers. They were disgustingly fat and stupid, but
they could sure fuck! Stacy hung her head in shame as she
remembered her slutty behaviour at their place last weekend, but
she couldn't help it. She was still being blackmailed by Gary and
his friends, and it was the drugs which made it possible for her
to carry out her orders. She couldn't help it if she was turning
into a slut. But the Schaefers...
     Stacy glanced back up at the clock. Still no sign of the
boys. She reached down, hiked up her short skirt and began to rub
her fingers over her bare pussy...

                              *****

     "Have you seen Stacy?"
     Gary looked at his watch and smirked.
      "It's Friday," he answered. "She should be taking care of
the her Rec class 'students' right about now."
     "Oh, right," Sharon nodded, feeling dumb. Stacy had been
having afternoon fuck sessions with those two guys in her class
for months now. She would have to call her later.
      "Well, how about Karen?" she asked. "I've got to confirm
things for the football party next weekend. She has to make sure
Ashley is available."
     "I haven't... oh, there she is."
      Gary pointed towards the far end of the hallway. Karen had
just come around the corner, followed closely by Ashley. The two
girls seemed to be having something of an argument. Ashley seemed
to be almost in tears about something. A few seconds later, Karen
said something and pointed towards a side room - the biology lab.
Ashley shook her head at first, but complied a few moments later,
entering the room. Karen followed, shutting the door behind her.
     Sharon started walking down the hall towards the room, but
Gary grabbed her arm and steered her to a different door.
     "What are you doing?"
     "There's a storage room with a small window leading into the
biology lab," he explained. "We can get into it through here." He
led her across a different classroom and through a doorway in the
rear.
      "Let's see what's happening."

                               *****

     Mr. Edgar wandered about, confused and lost in the seemingly
endless maze of narrow hallways behind the school gymnasium. As a
math teacher, he had found little reason to venture into this
part of the school in the past, and he was having more than a
little difficulty trying to locate Mr. Sprauge, the football
coach. The two teachers were in the course of their yearly
argument regarding academic eligibility and certain members of
the football team. This year, Sprauge was particularly upset
about the failure of his star receiver to successfully complete
Mr. Edgar's remedial math course, and was making life difficult
for the entire faculty. Edgar was willing to compromise, but he
had to find the football coach first.
     The portly teacher came to a short hallway which ended in a
closed door. It looked like an office. He ambled down it and,
hoping to find someone to help him out, pushed open the door. He
poked his head in to look around and his jaw dropped open with
amazement. Sitting on the edge of the desk was Stacy Richards;
the beautiful, blonde Stacy Richards who had done so well in his
math class last term (highest marks ever!). The Stacy Richards
who had sat in the front row of the class each Monday, Wednesday
and Friday morning, with her golden blonde hair and her angelic
green eyes...
     She wasn't looking quite so angelic now.
     She had hiked up her short, white skirt, exposing her naked
crotch and was busily rubbing her left hand up and down over her
pussy lips. Mr. Edgar could see moisture glistening in the thatch
of blonde pussy hair. As he watched, she bunched three fingers
together and began to slide them in and out of her wet pussy. Her
right hand was similarly occupied with her breasts, which were
more or less fully exposed through the unfastened buttons of her
blouse. She alternately cupped, squeezed and pinched her tits,
paying particular attention to the firm nipples. Stacy's head was
thrown back, her eyes closed and her slightly lips parted as she
masturbated.
     The shocked math teacher froze, paralysed with indecision.
What to do? Should he rush in and put a stop to this outrageous
behaviour? His mind said yes, but his quickly hardening cock
argued otherwise. This situation could easily be mis-interpreted;
the wave of politically correct hysteria presently sweeping
through the schools could see him losing his position as a
teacher at even the slightest hint of impropriety. Best not to go
in, he decided. He could also slip away quietly, ignoring the
incident altogether. His timid nature preferred this course of
action, but he found that he was unable to draw himself away from
his viewpoint in the doorway. He watched as Stacy brought herself
closer and closer to an orgasm. What should he do? Best to slip
away quietly, he finally decided.
       Mr. Edgar turned to leave, but just as he did, he heard
footsteps behind him moving closer. Sounded like students.
Caught! Panicked, he looked around; there was nowhere to go
except...
      Stacy felt the pleasure from her masturbation just begin to
crest over into an orgasm when she heard a noise at the door. It
must be Tim and Dennis. Despite her situation, she found herself
welcoming their presence. She was so hot...
     She opened her eyes. OMIGOD!! It was Mr. Edgar, the math
teacher. All feelings of arousal fled instantly as she froze in
shock. What was he doing here? How long had he been watching? Had
he seen...
     Recovering the power of movement, she quickly allowed her
short skirt to fall down over her crotch, and - wiping her hand
on her skirt to clear away the pussy juices - she pulled shut her
blouse.
     She watched as Mr. Edgar quickly shut the door behind
himself and moved uncertainly towards her, his face flushed. He
looked angry, or... something.
      "M-mr. Edgar," she stammered, "I... I didn't know t-that..."

                              *****

     Gary, moving slowly and quietly, brought his face up the
small window set in the door between the biology lab class and
the science storeroom. He peered through, and, a few seconds
later, gestured for Sharon to join him at the window. Inside the
biology lab, Karen and Ashley were talking, maybe arguing. Ashley
was standing on one side of the room with her arms crossed in
front of her, looking away from Karen, who was leaning up against
a lab table on the other side of the room. Gary and Sharon could
just hear their voices, but they were unable to make out any
words, as the thick door effectively muffled the sound.
          Ashley sounded angry. From where they watched, the two
observers could see tears in her eyes. The beautiful brunette
turned briefly to spit something out at Karen and then turned
away again. Karen, on the other hand, was speaking slowly and
soothingly; she seemed to be repeating herself over and over
again.
     "What's going on?" Sharon whispered. "What are they fighting
about?"
     Gary shrugged. "Something about boys, I think. Karen's
telling her not to do something."
     A few second later, Karen straightened up and walked across
the room towards the older girl. Ashley turned away, hiding
behind a curtain of thick, reddish-brown hair, but Karen put her
hand on the taller girl's shoulder and slowly turned her around.
     Ashley was crying now, her eyes red and swollen. She dropped
her hands to her sides and said one word. Gary couldn't hear it,
but he understood well enough: "please."
      Karen slowly brought her hand up to the other girl's cheek
and brushed away a tear. Ashley flinched, but did not pull away.
They stood like this for a few moments, Ashley crying quietly and
Karen tenderly running her fingers up and down the other girl's
cheek.
     Then, slowly, Karen slipped her hand behind Ashley's head
and brought her face down to meet her own in a kiss. The two
girl's lips met...

                              *****

     The math teacher cast around for something to say or do, but
his tongue seemed frozen, thick and useless in his mouth. All he
could think of was the picture Stacy had presented a few moments
ago as he had spied upon her masturbating. Now, she was cringing
away from him, eyes wide with fear. What was he going to do? If
someone caught him in this position he would lose his job for
sure.
     Taking a deep breath, he gathered himself to speak. After
all, he reasoned, he was the teacher here. He was not the one who
had been caught doing something wrong. Her behaviour merited
expulsion, at the very least. He had a responsibility! Why, it
could have been one of the younger students who had stumbled
across the little slut rather than a mature adult such as
himself! This was a serious matter indeed.
     He opened his mouth to speak...

     Stacy watched apprehensively as a number of expressions
flitted across the Edgar's jowled face. He was beet red and
trembling, but she could see that he was working himself up into
a rage. In a moment, he would open his mouth and she would be
finished at Greenwood.
     "Miss Richards," he said at last, his voiced choking
slightly. "I'm afraid I have n-no choice but to report this
incident to the principal."
      Stacy sagged back against the desk. That was it; she was
screwed now. She almost burst into tears. To be caught now, after
all this time...
     "This sort of behaviour is not to be tolerated on the
schoolgrounds... or anywhere, for that matter. If someone else
had walked in..."
     Stacy looked up at him as he continued to rant: the rumpled
tweed suit; the thick grey mustache; the short, fat body... One
chance. She glanced over at the thermos sitting near her on the
desk, but there was no time for it.
     "Mr. Edgar," she interrupted, slipping her tits out from
under her blouse and cupping them upwards towards him. The
teacher stopped talking and stared at her, eyes bulging.
      "Do you like what you see?" Her voice was low and throaty as
she tried to sound seductive.
      Mr. Edgar could only stammer as he watched the beautiful
teenage student cup and massage her firm young titties for him.
Such beautiful tits! He felt himself being drawn in as she
straightened up and began walking towards him. It had been so
long!
      His hands itched to reach out and feel...

     Stacy's confidence began to return as she watched his
reactions. The math teacher had now stopped his attempts to speak
and was staring intently at her breasts as she massaged them.
Continuing to speak in a soft, seductive voice, she moved slowly
towards him.
      "I bet you'd like to touch them," she invited. "They're
your, if you like." By this time, she was directly in front of
him. She pushed her tits upwards, offering them to him. 'Please'
she thought, 'please take them.'
     Slowly, his hands reached up and took hold of the offered
tits. Stacy moved her hands away as he began knead them. Despite
the fact that she felt no arousal (the previous effect of the
drugs had fled completely), she forced herself to moan and writhe
as though his hands on her tits was getting her hot.
      In fact, nothing of the sort was happening, but she couldn't
let him know that. Without the drugs, the humiliation of the
situation was almost overwhelming, but she couldn't give into it;
she was fighting for her life at Greenwood, and she would do
anything to keep Edgar from reporting her. She was going to give
him the fuck of his life!

     Dennis grumbled angrily at his friend Tim as he ran across
the now empty gymnasium. If he hadn't wasted his time waiting for
the jerk, he would be with Stacy now. As it was, Tim had not
bothered to inform Dennis of the fact that he had a doctor's
appointment after class, and wouldn't be able to make their
weekly meeting with the bitch. Dennis would have to go on his
own.
     Dennis slowed to a walk as he entered the passageway which
led to the instructor's room. He hoped Stacy was still waiting.
She'd better be. He saw as he approached that the door was open a
crack; he pushed it open and peered inside.
      Stacy was there, alright, but she wasn't waiting. She was
perched, straddling, over Mr. Edgar (THE MATH TEACHER!) as he sat
behind the desk. Stacy was facing outward, with her back towards
the sweating teacher, so Dennis had an unobstructed view of her
cunt as it slid up and down on Edgar's erect penis. He also had
an unobstructed view of Stacy as she propelled herself up and
down: her flushed, vacant face; her hands, one furiously mauling
her exposed tits, which were already red and splotchy from abuse,
and the other bent over her shoulder and wrapped around Edgar's
neck to steady herself; her long, sleek legs, only partially
hidden by the short gym-skirt, alternately flexing and relaxing
as they moved her sleek body up and down on the math teacher's
impaling cock.
      She began to make small moaning sounds as she moved. A thin
line of drool escaped from between her pouty lips and glistened
on her chin as she squirmed and wriggled in lustful abandonment.
Beads of sweat...
     "What's going on?"
     Dennis tore himself away from the activities in the small
room and turned to see Ted Reed, a fellow member of the Rec
class. Ha! Grinning, Dennis put his fingers to his lips and
gestured for the newcomer to put his eye to the crack in the
door. Ted did so and almost chocked with surprise.
      Stacy seemed to be just mounting the crest of an intense
orgasm. She stiffened up and leaned back, lifting her legs from
the floor and bouncing energetically on the invading penis as it
squelched in and out of her gobbling pussy. Behind her, Mr. Edgar
grabbed her tits and held on tightly as she thrashed and wriggled
her pleasure. Moments later, he too came, shooting his load
straight into her sopping cunt.
     "Christ!"
      Ted's mouth hung open as he watched the action. He was
frozen in the doorway as Stacy slipped off the exhausted
teacher's lap and slid to her knees in front of him. Brushing her
blonde hair back from her face, she slipped her mouth over his
now-flaccid cock and began sucking it clean. Mr. Edgar could only
sit there and moan softly as the teenaged slut gently lapped at
his penis and balls.
     Then, the inevitable happened. Unable to contain himself,
Ted coughed. Stacy jerked her mouth away from the teacher's cock,
banging her head against the underside of the desk. Mr. Edgar
sprang to his feet, surprisingly limber for a man of his bulk,
and rushed out of the room, his face beet red and his pants still
down around his ankles. Ted saw him coming and stepped aside, but
Dennis was bowled over as Mr. Edgar rushed down the hallway and
out of sight.

                              *****

     The kiss lasted for a long time. When it finally broke,
Ashley was no longer crying, but, rather, had a strange look on
her face. She stared at her blackmailer, eyes wide and lips
slightly parted. Staring back, Karen brought her other hand up
and slipped it under Ashley's blouse and up to her tits. Ashley
tried to pull away, but Karen held her close. Karen began to
massage Ashley's breasts under her blouse. The other girl began
to tremble, but did not protest.
     Again, Karen drew Ashley down for a kiss. This time, Gary
thought he saw Ashley parted her lips in anticipation, but he
couldn't be sure.

                               *****

          Stacy crouched on her knees, trying to remain silent as she
hid under the desk. A thin trickle of sperm seeped out of her
cunt and began to run down her leg, but she ignored it. Who was
it? What had they seen? Furiously, she tried to do up the buttons
of her blouse and straighten out her short skirt. Her heart
almost stopped as she heard footsteps coming around the front of
the desk. A face appeared: Dennis! Stacy trembled with relief;
thank god it was someone who already knew about her.
      She started to back out from under the desk, but Dennis
gestured for her to remain where she was. What was going on? She
froze again as another set of footsteps crossed the room. Tim? It
must be... No, it wasn't. Another boy... it was Ted Reed, another
of her students, sat down in the same chair Mr. Edgar had
occupied a few moments earlier.
     "Go ahead," she heard Dennis say. "She loves to suck."
     Stacy flushed with anger. That asshole! She started to back
out again, but then stopped as Ted pulled his rock-hard cock out
of his pants. She stared at it; Ted was a student at Greenwood;
he counted against her quota.
     "C'mon, slut," Dennis ordered. He bent down and slapped her
hard on her exposed ass. "I promised my friend here a blowjob."
      Stacy gritted her teeth and tried in vain to recapture any
vestige of the arousal she had been experiencing a few moments
earlier with the math teacher, but there was nothing left. The
intense orgasm along with the shock of being discovered seemed
once again to have burned away the effects of drug. She thought
longingly of the thermos sitting on top the desk; she had been
lucky enough to get a swallow from it while Edgar had pulled down
his pants, but it didn't look like she was going to get the
chance here.
     "Stacy." Dennis leaned over and looked at her from the front
of the desk, "I don't have to make any threats, do I?"
     Groaning her disgust, Stacy leaned forward and slipped her
delicate fingers around the teenager's cock. Ted gasped and
tensed up as her pink tongue flicked out and began licking the
head. Her other hand went down to her cunt and began rubbing,
trying to get herself hot enough to tolerate what she was going
to have to do. Once again, she thought longingly about the
thermos, but knew that even if she could get to it, she should
save it for later on. She was due at the Schaefer's later that
afternoon.
     She slipped her experienced lips over Ted's leaking cock and
began to suck in earnest. This shouldn't take her too long.
     Behind her, Dennis began to play with her ass...


                       STACY'S SENIOR YEAR
                          (PART NINE-A)


     "Do you remember Peter Jenkins?"
     Sharon looked up from her position on the bed, where she was
skimming through the latest National Enquirer. Gary was sitting
in front of his computer with an old Greenwood school yearbook
open in his lap.
      "Huh?"
     "Jenkins," Gary repeated. "Peter Jenkins. He was in grade
twelve when you were in grade nine." He turned and handed over
the old school yearbook, pointing to a picture. "That guy. He
went out for Stacy for a little while, but she broke up with
him."
     "Oh... that's right. He's the one who got so drunk at the
Prom that he vomited all over himself; they had to throw him
out."
     "That's him." Gary took back the yearbook and gazed at the
picture. "He was fucked up over Stacy for months: a real basket
case."
     Sharon glanced back at her National Enquirer for a moment,
but then turned her attention back to her boyfriend. He must have
something in mind, even if it was taking him a little while to
get to it.
     Gary just stared intently at the picture for a moment,
saying nothing, and then went back to work on his computer.
      "Yeah?" Maybe a little prodding was necessary.
     "Nothing special." He hit the return button on his computer,
saving some work. That done, he turned back to Sharon.
     "I heard he was working up in Point Hope."
     Sharon waited silently for the other shoe to drop. This
time, it was not long in coming.
     "I was just thinking," he mused, gazing again at the
yearbook, "that maybe we're being a little greedy, keeping Stacy
to ourselves up here in Bakersville. Wouldn't it be nice if we
could get him back together with his old high school flame... at
least for one night?"

                              *****

     NUMBER 52 - 56
     The game was over, and the players had long since showered
up and left the building. Biff Talbot lead his four friends into
the now-deserted locker room. Together, they made up the first-
string offensive line of the Greenwood Bulldogs, the football
team at Greenwood High. As offensive linemen, they had not been
picked for their speed, dexterity or intelligence. No; they
occupied the position they did on the football team because of
their size. The smallest of them, Billy Paxter - "little Bill" -
was 6'2" and weighed just over 240 lbs. He received a lot of
ribbing on the team because of his size.
     Being an offensive lineman, even a good one, was not a
particularly glamorous position. It was pretty much all grunt
work - "down-in-the-trenches" kind of stuff. The type of football
that won games by attrition, not by spectacular solo efforts.
Hence, all the attention... all the acclaim; all the girls went
to the players in the flashier positions, such as the
quarterbacks and wide receivers and the like.
      Until today.
     Grinning his big, stupid grin, Biff flipped open the door to
one of the unused lockers at the end of the wall.
      "Holy shit!"
      Stacy flinched at the sudden brightness.
      She had been crouched in the locker for almost three hours,
ever since the end of the game when Barry Packard had hustled her
into the locker room just as the final few moments expired on the
clock. Barry hadn't been "using" her since early January, when he
had started going steady with another girl at school, but he
hadn't forgotten Stacy either. Particularly when Neil had
"explained" a few things to him. At first, he had been a little
depressed at the knowledge that Stacy had only been fucking him
because she was being forced to do so. Then he got angry; the
bitch wouldn't give him the time of day unless she had to! At
least he was seeing Heather now. And, he thought,
philosophically, Stacy was such a slut these days, he didn't
really want to fuck her anymore. She was used goods. Who knew
where her pussy had been?
      Nevertheless, although he might not want her anymore for
himself, he could always do favours for his buddies. Stacy hadn't
complained when he told her what she was to do, not that it would
have done her any good. He had been quite prepared to "insist".
She had just stared down at the ground and nodded her head
silently when he had told her what she was going to do; all five
guys were "new meat" (Sharon's term). Each fuck would bring her
closer to the end of her ordeal.
     "Get in," Barry ordered, opening up a locker. "Hurry."
      Stacy hesitated slightly - the locker was pretty small - but
then she obeyed. Making certain she had a firm grip on the small
flask (red wine this time), she wriggled ass-first into the
locker, facing outwards. Her tight little cheerleading costume -
green, sleeveless blouse and white skirt - rode up on her thighs,
exposing her bare pussy to the open air. Barry, unable to resist,
reached down and fondled it, slipping his middle finger into her
snatch and wiggling it around. Stacy had not yet ingested any of
the wine, and thus squirmed away. Barry didn't notice.
     A few seconds later, Barry stepped back to take a look.
Stacy was wedged backwards into the locker, crouched on the heels
of her feet, with her thighs splayed open. 'Looking good' he
thought. 'Just one more...'
     "Hold on," he muttered, moving away out of Stacy's line of
vision. Stacy waited nervously. The game must be over by now. Any
moment there would be...
     "Here we are."
      Barry had returned with a couple of handles for the barbells
in the weight room. He had taken the weights off, leaving a foot
long, hollow cylinder of shiny metal.
      "I know how hot you are," he muttered bending down. "I
wouldn't want you to get lonely down here while you're waiting."
He reached under her crotch and slowly inserted one of the metal
handles into her dry pussy. Stacy squealed and tried to wriggle
away, but the silver tube slid quickly up into her pussy until
about eight inches of it was lost from view. Barry propped it up
on the base of the locker. Stacy tried to push herself away, but
was only able to move up about four inches before her head hit
the top of the locker; she was now effectively impaled on the
handle until she left the enclosed space.
     Leering, Barry passed the other handle to her.
      "This is for your mouth," Barry instructed her. "When my
buddies open this locker, I expect you to be tonguing it the way
you sucked my cock a couple of months ago."
      Stacy looked up at him from where she crouched in the
locker, her eyes watering with humiliation. "If not," he
continued, unrelenting, "I'll have to complain to Sharon." He
smirked at her. " We wouldn't want that, would we?"
     A tear trickled down Stacy's cheek as she nodded.
     "How about a demonstration?" Barry suggested.
      Stacy hesitated momentarily, but then brought the handle up
to her mouth and began tonguing and licking it. She closed her
eyes as she did so, trying to imagine that it was a real cock;
that she was anywhere but here...
     FLASH!
      Stacy's eyes flew open. Barry was standing in front of her
with a polaroid camera. He took another picture while she stared
at him in panic and then lowered the camera.
     "Looking good," he laughed.
      Stacy turned red, but continued sucking hungrily at the
handle as she had been ordered to do.
      Still laughing, Barry moved forward and slammed shut the
locker door. Inside, Stacy pulled the handled out of her mouth
and reached down for the thermos, wincing as the slight movement
caused the unwelcome visitor in her pussy to grind itself in a
little further.

     Stacy had remained in the cramped confines of the locker for
the next three hours before Biff and the rest of the linemen
arrived. It had been quite hot in the locker room, particularly
as the boys were showering, and by the end of the three hours,
her entire body was damp with sweat. Her skirt was bunched up at
her waist, and the shirt of the cheerleading outfit, never all
that concealing in the first place, was now plastered to her
upper body, clearly revealing her rock-hard nipples.
     She had gone through most of the wine in the thermos, more
from thirst than anything else, and she was almost unbearably
horny. More than once during her stay in the locker, she had been
tempted to burst out and grab one of the cocks that floated so
temptingly across her limited field of vision (there were small
ventilation slits in the front of the locker), but common sense -
and a good dose of fear - had won out. There were over twenty
boys in the locker room. And she still had some pride left. Her
sluttishness was not yet common knowledge at Greenwood, and she
desperately wanted to keep it that way. Only another fifteen or
so guys to fuck.
     So, in the end, she had to settle for sliding up and down on
the now-slippery handle Barry had stuck in her pussy. By doing so
and wriggling around as much as she could, she managed to bring
on several small orgasms in the course of the three hours as the
boys of the football team showered and changed, unsuspecting, all
around her. At one point, she was afraid that her moans would
give her away, but she was unable to stop herself from sliding up
and down on the metal "cock".
     So instead, she stuck the second handle in her mouth and
began to suck, thus muffling any noises she might have made.
Three hour passed slowly...

     "Holy shit!"
     Stacy Richards squinted up at the surprised football players
from inside the locker. Her cheerleading outfit was plastered to
her sweat-soaked body. Her pussy, clearly displayed from in
between her splayed thighs, sucked hungrily at the shiny metal
cylinder as she slide herself up and down on it. Her hands
clutched another metal cylinder - barbell handle, Biff realized -
and slid it suggestively in and out of her mouth, between her
shiny, wet lips. Her charm bracelet jingled quietly as she moved
the metal handle up and down, all the while making quiet moaning
sounds around the object in her mouth.
     Biff tore his eyes away from this incredible sight and
turned to his equally stunned friends.
      "Guys," he chortled, "I give you... Stacy Richards. She's
ours for the evening."
     "Jesus."
      They couldn't believe it. Stacy Richards; the Stacy Richards
who had been flaunting herself in front of them from the
sidelines these last three years; the Stacy Richards who had
teased them, yet only gone out with the quarterbacks and other
stars; the Stacy Richards of their dreams. Bill moved forward
first, reaching into the locker.
     "Wait," Biff told him. Barry had given him some
instructions. "Just wait a second."
      Biff moved forward and looked down on Stacy. She looked back
up at him, tears of humiliation burning in her large, green eyes;
tears of humiliation... and something else. He reached down and
gently took away the barbell handle she had been sucking on. She
moaned softly, but didn't resist as he slid it out from between
her lips.
     "Stacy," he said quietly, "is there something you'd like to
say?" Despite what Barry had told him, Biff still couldn't really
believe she would say it. Once again, he was surprised.
     "Fuck me," she moaned, eyes closing as she ground the second
handled deeper and deeper into her sopping pussy. "I need your
cocks."
     This was enough for the guys, and they surged forward. Biff,
however, held them back again. One more thing...
     "What do you say?" he asked the desperate girl.
     She looked up at him for a few moments, but then glanced
away, unable to meet his eyes.
      "Please..."
     "What? I didn't hear you."
     Stacy looked up at him, lips parted. "Please," she said, her
voice louder. "Please fuck me. I need you all; I n-need your
cocks in me. Please fuck me... p-please shoot your sperm into me.
Please..."
     And they did.

                              *****

     Friday afternoon. 3:45 PM. The school cafeteria was almost
empty, as most of the students at Greenwood had, typically,
declined the opportunity to hang around the school after classes.
The weekend beckoned, and, with the wonderful late spring
weather, the beach was exerting its almost magnetic pull on the
teenagers of Bakersville.
     The cafeteria was not, however, completely deserted. Three
students sat, quietly talking, in a corner table. Gary, as usual,
did most of the talking. He was also the one who handed out the
latest round of money from the sale of pictures to various
magazines. May had been a good month for them as far as picture
sales went. Stacy had now unwittingly adorned the pages of over a
dozen magazines across the country, with more to come. It was
only a matter of time before she found out - before someone in
Bakersville saw some of the pictures and spread the news - but
they didn't really care. Their time with Stacy was nearly done
anyway.
     The main cafeteria door opened and Karen walked in, followed
closely by Ashley. The two girls had spent more and more time
together over the last six weeks as Karen tightened her hold over
the older girl. Like Stacy, Ashley was the victim of blackmail,
and, as had been the case with Stacy, events had quickly moved
beyond her control. Since the incident which put her in this
vulnerable position in the first place, there had been any number
of events which had deepened Karen's hold on her. All Ashley
could think of was the end of the school year and freedom. All
Karen could think of was how nice it was to have such a beautiful
girl as Ashley as a personal slave, and how hard it would be to
give it up.
     If she gave her up...
     "Wait here," Karen ordered, moving towards her three friends
in the corner. Obediently, but not without a flash of anger, the
tall brunette sat down on a bench near the door.
      "What's up?" Karen asked as she approached. "Neil said you
wanted to meet."
     "Just the final plans for tomorrow night," Sharon told her.
"The football party." She looked over at where Ashley sat,
staring at the floor. "Everything's cool with her? Did she cause
any problems?"
     Karen plopped herself down beside Neil. "No," she answered.
"No problem. We'll be there."
     "Great," Sharon smiled. "I've got the perfect costume picked
out; the guys are gonna love her." Neil chuckled at this, but
Karen only frowned.
     "Listen," she said tentatively, "she's not gonna get... you
know... hurt or anything like that?"
     "Ha," Neil laughed. "Just get her brains fucked out. That's
all."
     "No," Karen ignored him. "I mean like, beaten, or... well...
you know."
     "Huh uh," Sharon shook her head. "Nothing like that. It's
just a party; the guys on the football team at BCN just want to
celebrate the end of the season with a big blow out. Stacy was
such a big hit the last time, they want her back again." Sharon
looked over at Gary who didn't react. "I offered them Ashley as
well because you said you wanted the money. They were willing to
pay twice as much for two girls."
     Karen looked undecided.
     "There's not a problem with that, is there?" Gary asked.
Karen looked over at Gary, meeting his intense stare for a few
moments and then looking away.
      "No," she answered finally. "I just don't want her hurt.
That's all."
     The table fell silent for a few moments.
     "OK then," Sharon stated. "That's settled. You'll meet us at
my house at eight to get the girls dressed."
     "Yeah," Karen told her, getting to her feet. "We'll be
there." This said, she turned and walked away towards the waiting
Ashley. She walked straight past her and out the door. After a
confused glance at the three teenagers in the corner, Ashley
scrambled to her feet and followed her out.
     "What was that all about?" Neil muttered.
     "Dunno." Sharon shrugged her shoulders.
     Gary laughed. His two friends turned towards him. "It's
spring," he explained, grinning.
     "Huh?"
     "You know," Gary insisted. "Spring. Birds and bees and that
sort of thing."
     His two friends stared at him, blank looks on their faces.
     Gary sighed.
      "I think our Karen is falling in love..."
                          *****

     When Peter Jenkins had called to invite her to a party up in
Point Hope, Stacy had jumped at the opportunity. Peter was two
years older than her, and had been a senior at Greenwood when
Stacy had been in grade ten. They had gone steady for a little
while - about nine dates altogether - but Stacy had eventually
dumped him when the current captain of the football team had
expressed an interest in her. She had never really seen much of
Peter after that; she knew that he didn't get another girlfriend
that year, but never really thought about it. In her mind, the
split-up had been entirely natural, and, if it bothered him,
well... he'd just have to grow up a bit, wouldn't he?
     Thus, when he called her up, she had not hesitated to accept
his invitation. He had moved to the nearby town of Point Hope
after graduation, where he worked as a clerk in a department
store. For Stacy, it represented the chance to get away from her
present situation; to go to a party with people who didn't know
her and wouldn't force her to have sex with them. It sounded
perfect.
     She even bought a new dress for the occasion. A sleeveless
green dress with little ruffles on the shoulders. It matched her
eyes perfectly, and, she thought, it made her look a bit like a
little girl. She had made a mental note to do her hair up into a
pony tail. It was the sort of look which used to drive the guys
wild back when she had enjoyed that sort of teasing. Now, of
course, she was obliged, as often as not, to put out, so the
cock-teasing was not as much fun as it used to be.
     Not tonight, though. Tonight, she could be her old self. No
one in Point Hope knew her or went to Greenwood. It would be just
like old times.
     Peter showed up at 7:00 PM as planned. It was almost a two
hour drive to Point Hope, so he wanted to leave fairly early. She
had been ready a good fifteen minutes before he arrived, but she
still kept him waiting downstairs for almost half an hour; it was
just like old times.
     He hadn't changed much. Always rather short, the last couple
of years had seen his body fill out quite a bit until he was
beginning to show a bit of pudginess. Obviously, the clerking job
at the department store didn't involve much physical activity.
Stacy felt herself sneering a bit as he led her out to his car -
a somewhat battered Toyota Tercel; he was turning into a bit of a
slob. The way he looked now, he couldn't be getting too much in
the way of attention from any girls; that was probably why he had
turned to his old high school girlfriend for a date at this
party. No doubt he'd be so overwhelmed at having such a beautiful
date as herself, he'd do whatever she wanted. What a schmuck!
     The drive up the coast to Point Hope was not particularly
scenic. The only real nice part of the drive came just as they
passed by the Point Hope Maximum Security Penitentiary and
crested the hill leading down into the town itself. Point Hope
was a quiet little town nestled against the beach below the
sandstone cliffs. The view from the top of the hill was little
short of spectacular.
     Stacy, however, had seen it all before. Besides, she was
having too much fun annoying Peter. The two hour drive had been
marked by small talk and long silences, but Stacy had quickly
discovered that Peter was still easily upset by talk of their
brief relationship a couple years earlier in high school. He had
flushed an angry red when she had brought it up earlier in the
trip, and had, since then, shut up almost entirely. Stacy,
however, was enjoying herself immensely. She made a point of
bringing it up as often as possible. By the time they arrived at
the party, she was in a great mood, and Peter was quiet and
sullen.

     Peter fought to remain patient as he led Stacy up the walk
to the front door. This had better be worth it!
      He had received a phone call from a guy - some kid - at
Greenwood, telling him something about Stacy's recent activities,
and about her "weakness" for alcohol. The caller had suggested
that once she had a couple of drinks in her, she would do
anything, and that 'wouldn't it be nice if the two of them got
back together for a date.'
     Peter wasn't sure if he believed him, but it was worth a
try. Stacy had been an incredible bitch to him in high school,
and any chance to get even was well worth attempting.
     Since the phone call, he had been experiencing this
recurring fantasy...
          Stacy quickly realized that she was overdressed for the
party. Most of the guests seemed to be blue collar workers from a
local fish packing plant; the majority of them wore nothing more
fancy than jeans and tee-shirts. Stacy was the only woman there
in a dress. She was also the only one young enough to be in high
school.
     Peter immediately brought her a glass of punch. When she
sipped at it, Stacy discovered that it was a bit strong for her
taste, but not too bad. She took another, longer, drink from the
glass. The way things were shaping up at the party, a couple of
drinks might well be called for. The whole idea of coming to this
party with her ex-boyfriend was beginning to look like a bad
idea. A little alcohol never hurt anyone; she finished the drink.
Peter brought her another one and stood talking with her while
she finished that one as well.
     He asked her to dance.
     At first, everything went well. The music was up-tempo and
the dancing was fun, despite her inappropriate dress. After a
while, though, she began to feel a bit queasy. It must have been
the punch. In fact, she realized suddenly, if felt a little
like...
     A new song started. A slow song.
      Peter pulled her close, into his chest; instinctively, she
draped her bare arms over his shoulders and they began to dance,
slowly revolving around the dance floor. As they danced, Stacy
began to experience the now-familiar feeling of disassociation as
the room started to spin. She closed her eyes and held on to
Peter's shoulders, trying to fight off the dizziness. The music
and other noise in the room seemed to recede into the background.
The drug! They had drugged her; Gary must have arranged this.
      Panicked, Stacy tried to disentangle herself, but she was
unable to do so. Her limbs failed to respond properly, and it was
all she could do to hold onto her dance partner in order to keep
herself from sinking to the floor. Around and around they went,
each revolution sending Stacy's perception spinning, until all
she was aware of in the room was Peter. There was nothing else;
just a blur of sound and a solid object she could hang onto.
     She felt the warm tingling begin in her groin.
     "Stacy..."
     A voice! Her eyes opened and struggled to focus on the face
in front of her. Peter? Everything else was a blur.
     "Do you remember going out with me in high school?"
     Remember? Of course she remembered. Stacy nodded in the
affirmative, still trying to focus. Why was he asking? The tingle
in her groin grew stronger.
     "We went on nine dates," Peter murmured to her. "Nine
dates..."
     Stacy felt one of his hands leave her shoulder, slide down
the back of her dress and latch onto her ass. She felt that she
should make some objection, but...
      "And all I got was one kiss," the voice continued. "One
kiss..."
     The blonde teenager tried to focus on what Peter was saying,
but the hand on her butt was making concentration difficult. She
felt the hand pull away...
     "One kiss..."
     ...and begin pulling the zipper of her dress down her back.
She tried to wriggle free, but her arms remained wrapped around
Peter's shoulders.
     "I don't think that's fair. Do you?"
     "N-no." Stacy discovered that she could speak, although even
her own voice seemed distant to her. The zipper was now all the
way down, and she could feel the cool air of the room on the
small of her back. The feelings of arousal increased, spreading
up from her crotch into her belly. Involuntarily, she ground her
lower body against Peter as the dance continued.
     "So," Peter continued, "we're going to work through those
dates now. All nine of them. As they should have been."
     Stacy tried to shake her head, no. Not here; she wanted him
to take her to a bedroom or something... do what he wanted there,
but not here. Not in front of...
     "First date," he whispered, his tongue licking out at her
hear. "A kiss would be nice."
     Retreating from her ear, he brought his lips down against
hers. She moaned softly, parting her lips, but he quickly pulled
away. That felt so good, but not here. Please, not here.
     "Second date," he continued. One of the straps of the dress
slid off a shoulder. She tried to shrug it back on, but it just
slipped further down her arm.
      "Maybe some tongue."
     This time, he thrust his tongue into her willing mouth. She
kissed back, unable to do anything else as a wave of lust surged
through her body. Oh god...
      The kiss broke, but the dance continued. The dance continued through
the "third date", where he
copped a feel of her breasts through the fabric of her dress. Her
nipples hardened immediately when he ran his fingers over them.
     On the "fourth date", he removed her bra, unclipping it from
behind her back and sliding it off. By now, her dress had slid
down off the other shoulder, uncovering her back all the way down
to the top of her ass and leaving her breasts partly exposed...
     More of the same on the "fifth date". Some heavy necking
while mauling at her now almost-naked breasts. By now, Stacy was
panting with lust, all thought of where she was and who she was
with having fled her mind. All that mattered was...
     The dance. She missed what he said on the "sixth date", but
by the end of the "seventh", she was grinding her crotch against
him with abandon...
     "Eight date," he panted, hoarse. "It's time you felt my
cock."
     She didn't need to be told twice. Groaning with lust, she
disentangled one arm from around his neck and reached down to his
crotch. With an ease born of much practice, she pulled down the
zipper and slide his cock free of his pants. It was already damp
and rigid...
     "Ninth date," he gasped. "You need to be fucked." He looked
at her. "Beg for it."
     "Please fuck me," she moaned. "I need to be fucked. Please
put your lovely cock into me, Peter. Fill me up. Please..."
     Peter could take no more. He had been dreaming of this
moment for over two years. With a cry, he shoved her back against
the wall, pulled one of her legs up, and shoved his cock straight
into her dripping pussy. The dress, bunched up at the waist to
allow him access to her pussy, fell forward, abandoning any
pretence of covering her breasts.
     Stacy didn't care.
      Holding onto his shoulders, she wrapped both legs around
Peter's ass and fucked him right back as he drove her again and
again against the wall. She drooled and slobbered and squirmed
out her lust, all the time moaning and crying for him to fuck her
harder.
      He obliged...

     The last trembling vestige of orgasm rippled though her
beaten body. Groggy, she looked up from the floor where she sat,
propped against the wall. Just as she did so, a flash went off...
and then another.
     Dazed, the blonde teenager looked around. She was lying,
practically naked, against the wall, her green dress a shapeless
mess around her waist. A group of people - the guests at the
party - were standing around, looking down on her and laughing. A
few of them had cameras and were using them. She heard the word
"slut" and "whore" coming up in conversation.
      Were they talking about her?
     Just as had happened before, the orgasm seemed to have
burned away the effects of the drugs, leaving Stacy clear-headed
and sober. Sobbing with embarrassment, she stumbled to her feet,
breasts bobbing merrily, clutching her dress around her as the
crowd laughed.
      Another flash went off.
      The dress didn't seem torn, and she quickly had it back over
her tits, but she was unable to zip it up on her own. Eyes
downward, she pushed her way through the crowd, looking for...
     "Peter!"
      He was standing with a couple of guys near the entrance to
the kitchen, drinking a beer. "What... what are you..."
     He looked over at her and smirked. "I'd heard that you had
become quite a slut since my days at Greenwood. I just wanted to
see if it was true."
     Stacy stopped talking and began to cry. Yet another flash
went off.
     "Stop it," she cried, spinning around to strike out at
whoever was taking the picture. The blow missed, however, and she
succeeded only in letting the front of her dress flop forward
again. Two pictures were taken of her re-exposed breasts before
she was able to cover up.
     Furious, she turned back to Peter. "Take me home," she
ordered. "Now."
     Peter just laughed. "Are you kidding? Get home yourself, you
slut." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar
bill. "Take this," he said, handing it to her. "There's a bus
depot just down the block. There are buses to Bakersville every
couple of hours."
     Stunned, she held the ten dollar bill in her hand, staring
at him. Eventually, she turned and stumbled through the laughing
crowd to the door, still holding her unzipped dress around her.
     "And Stacy," Peter called out from behind her.
      She turned; maybe he was going to give her a ride after all.
     "You were worth every penny."
     The crowd roared with laughter as Stacy, tears running down
her face, ran out into the cool night air...


                       STACY'S SENIOR YEAR
                          (PART NINE-B)

     Stacy recognized the house.
     She had been there once before; the night of the "party" she
had attended. The party with the guys from BCN. She blushed
furiously as she remembered what she could of the events of that
night; the sight of the house brought them flooding back over her
in a wave of shame. Stacy looked at Ashley sitting beside her in
the back seat of Sharon's car. Ashley glared back at her. Ever
since what had happened last January - when Stacy had done her
part to render Ashley vulnerable to the blackmail - Ashley had
refused to have anything to do with Stacy. Stacy didn't blame
her. She just wanted the girl to drink the alcohol; to prepare
herself.
     She didn't know yet. She didn't know what was going to
happen inside the house. Perhaps that was why she was so
reluctant to drink when Sharon had handed them the thermos. This
time, it contained some sort of wine cooler. Stacy had sucked
hungrily at the alcohol. She had a pretty good idea of what would
be expected of them that night, and knew that she would need all
the help she could get from Gary's drugs. Ashley, not really
understanding what was going on, took a couple of sips when Stacy
handed it over, but had to be ordered by Sharon before she would
drink any more. Karen was also in the car - in the front seat
beside Sharon - but she was strangely quiet. She just sat there
in silence, staring straight ahead out the front window.
     "OK," Sharon ordered brightly, "let's go."
      She opened her door and slid out of the car. Stacy and
Ashley followed suit, but Karen remained where she was. Sharon
bent down and looked at her.
       "You sure you don't want to come in?" she asked. "It'll be
fun." Karen shook her head and looked away.
     Sharon just shrugged her shoulders and closed the door.
Gesturing at the two other girls to follow her, she began walking
up towards the house.

     The large living room had clearly been specially arranged
for the party. Most of the furniture had been moved out, leaving
only a big, yellow couch in the centre of the space. Instead of
the tables, chairs and other bits of furniture that had been
there a few months ago, the boys had laid out a bunch of bare
mattresses. The BCN Barracudas had just finished up a winning
season, and the guys were ready to party. They were crowded
around the big couch - all fourteen of them - beers in hand,
waiting for the big entrance. Sharon smirked at them as she stood
by the door. Perfect. Time to get the show on the road.
     "Gentlemen," she cried out theatrically over the catcalls
and hooting, "I give you your entertainment for the evening. May
I present..." She swung open the door. "Cumslut, who some of you
know from before..."
     Stacy - Cumslut - entered the room. She was wearing a short
black miniskirt and bright pink tank top. A pair of black
stockings ran from just below the hem of the skirt down to her
feet, which had been forced into bright red, four inch pumps. She
was having some trouble walking in them, but Sharon had insisted.
In fact, Sharon had fastened shut the ankle strap with a small
lock; Stacy would be wearing the pumps until Sharon chose to
unlock them. Her hair was combed out, flowing down over her bare
shoulders in a blonde wave, and her face was made up in the same
overdone, sluttish manner it had been done the first time she had
been here. She tried to force a smile and look sexy as she
entered the room, following Sharon's instructions, but it wasn't
easy. Thankfully, the drug was starting to have its customary
affect on her, and she began to feel the familiar, welcome tingle
in her crotch.
     "...and Melons."
     Ashley - Melons - followed close behind, wearing even less
than Stacy. All she had on was a red garter belt, which held up a
set of black, fishnet stockings. Her outfit was completed by a
pair of pink lace panties and a black, pushup bra. Her breasts,
always her most prominent feature, jutted out magnificently, the
nipples clearly visible over the top of the bra. Like Stacy, she
also wore a pair of four inch pumps, locked onto her feet by the
ankle strap. Ashley also tried to smile and look sexy, but was
unable to manage anything other than a frightened grimace. She
was feeling nothing from the alcohol they had been given to
drink. There was no comfortable disassociation or warm tingling
in her pussy.
     Just fear.
     With a cheer of approval, the members of the BCN Barracudas
surged forward to begin their party.

     It had been a good season for Terry Brooks. A freshman at
BCN, he had quickly found both a place on the first string of the
Barracudas and acceptance at the almost all-white school. Terry,
a tall wiry black boy from Oregon, had been expecting things to
be difficult at BCN, but that hadn't proved to be the case.
Everything had come together nicely. First, a place on the team;
then a winning season with him as the star receiver; and now
this: prime white teenage pussy. The kind of thing he could only
dream of at home. God, he loved California! Utilizing the speed
which had made him a star on the football field, he was the first
to reach Cumslut, the short blonde one. He liked them blonde;
young, blonde and horny.
      Like this one.
      He threw his arm around her and crushed his lips to hers.
She responded almost immediately, her tongue welcoming his into
the wet confines of her mouth. While they kissed, he slipped his
other hand down, under the miniskirt and up into her crotch. She
wasn't wearing any panties. He slid his finger into her pussy; it
was already wet. She moaned into his mouth as they kissed.
      What a slut!
     Unable to hold himself back, Terry pushed her down backwards
onto a mattress and climbed aboard. She fell back, legs spread
invitingly. He fumbled at his zipper until his cock hung free. It
was hard and ready for action. Cumslut gasped as he fell onto her
and jammed it into all the way into her cunt with one powerful
surge of his hips.
      Almost immediately, she began to pump against him, trying to
suck it in even further.
      Stacy felt the orgasm hit just as the black guy came. The
feel of his warm sperm boiling out into her pussy sent her over
the edge into a rising wave of pleasure that overwhelmed all
other considerations. All thoughts of shame, humiliation or pain
were washed away in the screaming, writhing, crushing surge of
ecstasy which slammed through her beautiful body. Gasping and
writhing, Stacy screamed her pleasure until she crested the top
and began to settle back down.
     The black guy, a strange look on his face, pulled out of her
and pushed himself to his feet.
      "Fucking hell," he called over his shoulder as he backed
away, "she's a hot bitch."
     In the back of her mind, Stacy realized she should be
feeling something at this, but couldn't remember what it was. All
she knew right now was that she needed some more cock. Now! The
guys were more than obliging. Almost immediately, she was dragged
onto her hands and knees, and a cock stuck into her sopping
pussy. She ground her tight ass back to meet the impaling thrusts
of the guy fucking her.
     Another cock appeared in front of her face. Instinctively,
she grabbed at it and began sucking...

     Sharon laughed as she watched Stacy writhe on the floor
under the black guy. She was observing the event through the
viewfinder of her father's camcorder. The guys at BCN had been a
little hesitant at her filming their party, but when she offered
them the girls at half price, they had quickly agreed. As well,
Sharon had assured them that the video was only for personal use.
And, of course, she had promised them a copy.
     She continued to film as Stacy's moans and cries got louder
and more passionate. Finally, Stacy writhed and screamed her way
through the biggest orgasm Sharon had ever seen; all captured for
posterity...

     Ashley turned and tried to run as the guys from the football
team surged towards her, but she was unable to move effectively
in the high-heels. She stumbled against a wall, and was quickly
caught. The football player who grabbed her was obviously a
lineman of some sort; he was well over six feet tall and must
have weighed close to 300 pounds. He spun her around to face him
and began to paw at her tits as they jutted invitingly over the
skimpy pushup bra.
     "Melons, huh?" he grunted, a stupid grin on his face. His
breath smelled of beer.
     "P-please..." Ashley began to whimper in fright. All
Sharon's instructions about how she was to behave... all the
warnings about blackmail and pictures fled from her mind. All
that mattered was getting away from this nightmare.
     The lineman moved one hand down and began to scratch roughly
at her crotch. Ashley, now crying, dropped her hands from where
they had been trying to protect her breasts and pushed at the
offending hand, but it was no use. Ignoring her attempts to stop
him, he grabbed at her panties and jerked them away from her
crotch. The delicate elastic held for a moment, but then snapped.
The useless panties were quickly dropped to the floor.
     "Please," Ashley whispered, trying to steady herself against
the wall. She tried to slide away, but she was unable to get any
purchase on ground with the pumps.
     The guy slid his cock free from his pants. It was rock hard.
     "OK, Melons," he sneered, "here it comes."
      Ignoring her cries, he inserted his cock into her dry pussy
and began to push. Pinned, standing against the wall, the tall
brunette could only wriggle in pain as the cock ground, inch by
painful inch, into her cunt.
     Finally, it was fully inserted. Grunting with effort, he
started to fuck it in and out of her as she stood against the
wall, moaning and crying on the impaling cock.

     Sharon filmed Stacy for a few moments more as the blonde
teenager eagerly accommodated the two cocks, one in her mouth and
one in her ass, and then stopped the camera. They had more than
enough material on Stacy; it was time they got a little more on
Ashley. Despite all that they had done for her, Karen had been
less then forthcoming about her activities with the brunette, and
Sharon wanted some dirt of her own. She looked over at the other
girl.
     Ashley was pinned with her back against the wall, being
fucked by a hulking brute of a football player. Sharon brought
the camera up and began filming just as he came. Ashley wriggled
around like a fish on a hook as her cunt was filled with his
sperm and then fell limply to the floor when he pulled away.
     The guy was immediately replaced by another "customer".
Ashley was pulled onto a mattress, rolled on her back and then
impaled by another cock while two other guys held her long legs
spread wide. Unlike Stacy, however, Ashley was clearly not having
a good time. She screamed and struggled as the football player
pumped his cock in and out of her pussy. Her fists were futilely
smacking against his muscular back as he fucked her, unaware or
uncaring  of her response.
     Sharon stopped filming.
      There was no point in filming a rape. The stuff with Stacy
was safe, as she was so obviously participating, but Ashley was
clearly being forced. While Sharon had no problem with that (in
fact, she kind of enjoyed it), such a tape could land them all in
jail.
      She bit her lip as the older girl was brutally raped in
front of her. Why was the drug not working on her?

     The cock twitched and then spurted warm, sticky sperm all
over her face, but Stacy didn't care. She just wanted more. By
now, she had serviced at least six guys: two in her cunt, another
three, four or maybe five in her hot, sucking mouth. Stacy didn't
care. She just wanted more. Her mouth hung open, tongue extended,
waiting for another cock to fill it up. She felt another guy
kneel down behind her. Spreading her thighs, the blonde slut
leaned back, her pussy aching to be filled. Instead, she felt the
cock push against her ass cheeks and then into her ass itself.
But Stacy didn't care; she just wanted more. Squealing with
pleasure, she eased herself back, impaling her nether-hole on the
cock. She heard the guy groan as he began to pump himself in and
out.
     Moaning with lust, she reached up a hand and began to use
her fingers to scrape the cum from her face and slide it into her
mouth.
     "God, what a slut!"
     But Stacy didn't care...
      Cumslut didn't care...

      The brunette - "Melons" the fat girl had called her - tried
to scramble away off the mattress after Jeff had finished with
her, but two guys grabbed her and held her down on her back. She
kicked and screamed, but was unable to fight her way free.
     Billy "Headhunter" Hawkins looked down on her as she
wriggled madly on the mattress. Her pussy looked red, raw from
Jeff's recent assault (Jeff was one well-hung dude! Wasn't that
the truth). One of her massive tits had popped free from the
questionable protection of the bra, and floppy freely as the girl
struggled to free herself.
      "Well shee-it," he drawled. "Looks like Melons here needs a
cock up her cunt."
     Melons stopped struggling and looked up, her eyes wide with
horror as the beefy linebacker undid his belt and let his pants
slip down to his ankles. His cock, its tip already glistening,
hung down in front of him.
     "Looks good, huh girl?" Hawkins played with it, stroking it
to its full size. It didn't take long. "Ten inches of prime
Mississippi man-meat."
     "Please..."
     Laughing, Hawkins lowered himself to his knees and fell
forward on top of her, crushing her breasts beneath his great
weight. It only took a moment before his cock was inside of her
tight, warm pussy...

     Something snapped.
     Maybe it was the cock in her asshole. Maybe it was the taste
and feel of the sperm which half-covered her face. But, something
snapped.
     A sudden, overwhelming wave of orgasms rumbled up from her
battered pussy and washed over her abused body as the lone cock
sawed in and out of her ass. Screaming wildly, Stacy - Cumslut -
thrashed about, orgasm after orgasm shooting through her. The guy
riding her asshole could only grab onto her thighs and hold on as
she bucked wildly beneath him...

     Hawkins looked up from where he was fucking brunette.
      She was no longer fighting, having given up the struggle as
another guy - Stadler, the centre - had shoved his cock between
those gorgeous lips and into her pleading mouth. She just lay
there now, limp and accepting as the two football players fucked
her helpless body.
     Someone was screaming.
      Hawkins stopped moving - leaving his cock buried deep inside
Melon's tight teenage cunt - and squinted across the room to see
what was happening. Stadler, however, ignored screaming; he just
continued sliding his spit-glistening cock in and out of the
brunette's mouth.
     It was the blonde slut. She was bucking and screaming while
Pete Brindle held on for dear life.
     "YES... YES... YES..."
      She seemed almost crazed as she bounced up and down under
Pete's dead weight. Finally, the football player was able to hold
on no longer. His grip on her sweaty thigh slipped free, and he
was thrown off. His cock flapped wildly in the air as he rolled
off the mattress and slammed into the couch.
     The girl stopped thrashing as the cock left her ass and
started to look about frantically, her green eyes wild with lust
and her left hand sawing in and out of her dripping pussy.
     "Cocks," she cried. "I need cocks... fuck me; fuck me...
pleeeeeeeeeze..." She looked about, but everyone in the room was
frozen with shock.
     Frustrated, she fell back on her ass and spread her legs
invitingly.
      "Please fuck me," she begged. Her other hand was now playing
roughly with her breasts. "Fuck Cumslut... fuck Cumslut..." She
continued to masturbate, muttering to herself as she reached
another, smaller, orgasm.
     "Please,"she begged quietly, shuddering in the aftermath of
the orgasm. "Please fuck me... fuck Cumslut..."

     Sharon watched open-mouthed as Stacy writhed sluttishly on
the mattress, mewling quietly and pleading to be fucked. She
would never have believed it if she hadn't seen it with her
own...
      THE CAMERA!
      Sharon looked down at the video camera as it hung uselessly
at her side. Fuck. Gary would kill her!
     She looked up. The room had gone silent as everyone stared
at the blonde teenager on the mattress. Stacy was now scraping
cum from her tits and licking it off her fingers. Even the player
fucking Ashley had stopped moving. The only movement from the
room came from the big guy pumping is cock in and out of Ashley's
mouth. He had his eyes closed, and seemed to be off in his own
world, as he fucked the beautiful brunette's face.
     No one else moved.
      'Christ,' Sharon thought. 'I'd better do something quick
before the whole night's ruined.'
     A groan came from the other end of the room. The guy fucking
Ashley's mouth finally came, shooting sperm into her mouth and
then onto her outraged face as she tried to turn away. She
coughed and choked, but wouldn't swallow.
     The guy looked up, opening his eyes. Everyone was staring at
him except Ashley, who was busy coughing up his sperm.
     "Jeez," he muttered, puzzled at the attention.
     Sharon had an idea.
     "OK," she cried, quickly moving forward to the centre of the
room. "So much for round one."
     All eyes in the room now turned to her. Nervous, she looked
about the room. Ahh... there it was.
      "Pull that coffee table over," she ordered. Two of the
football players obliged. The coffee table had been slid up
against the wall at the back of the living room. It stood just
over two feet off the ground and was about four feet long. The
guys set it down in front of her.
     "Good," she stated. "Now bring the sluts over here."
     The guy who had been fucking Ashley pulled out and dragged
her to her feet. The tall brunette stumbled on the high-heels,
but was able to remain upright as he dragged her across the room
to the coffee table. Sharon pushed Ashley down on her knees at
one end of the table, facing over the table-top. When Ashley was
in position, Sharon pushed the top of her body downwards, so her
upper body was lying flat across the top of the table.
     "OK, now..." Sharon turned, but no one had moved to get
Stacy. Everyone seemed a little spooked by her. She had been left
by herself on the mattress as she rubbed her fingers over her
inflamed pussy and muttered to herself.
     "C'mon Cumslut," Sharon called at her. Stacy looked up.
"Here Cumslut." Sharon talked to her as if she were a dog.
"C'mon. Come get fucked."
     "Fucked?"
      That got her attention. Scrambling awkwardly to her feet,
Stacy stumbled over to the coffee table. Sperm dripped from her
mouth and pussy as Sharon placed her, kneeling, opposite Ashley
across the coffee table. When she pushed the squirming girl down
onto the top of the table, Stacy's and Ashley's faces met almost
exactly halfway across.
     "Anyone got a couple of belts?" In short order, two belts
had been produced, and Sharon used them to secure the two girls
into position by wrapping them around their lower backs and under
the coffee table.
     Sharon leaned forward.
      "OK sluts," she whispered. "Lets see some lezzie stuff. The
guys need warming up."
     Almost immediately, Stacy reached up (as best she could,
strapped in as she was) and cupped Ashley's face in her hands.
The brunette tried to pull away, but her movement was restricted
by the belt, and she was unable to get free. Slowly and gently,
Stacy pushed her face forward and planted a soft kiss on Ashley's
cum-stained lips.

     Ashley quit struggling as she felt Stacy's lips, soft and
warm, on her own. She knew it was wrong, but it felt so good!
Particularly after all the rough treatment she had been
experiencing. Almost involuntarily, she parted her sticky lips
and moaned softly as Stacy's wet tongue slid into her mouth and
began exploring. In moments, the two girls were kissing
passionately, their tongues entwined. After the repeated, brutal
rapes of the past forty-five minutes, it seemed like heaven to
Ashley. The gentleness of the other girl's lips sent shivers of
pleasure shooting through her abused body.
     The spell was broken when Ashley heard the guys start
cheering. She opened her eyes; both her and Stacy looked around
in panic as the members of the football team formed lines behind
them and, one at a time, slid their re-aroused cocks into the
girls' pussies. Ashley started to struggle at this new invasion,
but Stacy brought her hands up and cupped her face.
     "Relax," the blonde teenager whispered. "It's easier."
     Ashley started to spit out a retort, but was cut off by the
feel of Stacy's lips once again meeting hers. The brunette closed
her eyes and tried to relax; shutting out the world - shutting
out the sharp pain in her asshole as one of the players brutally
rammed his cock in - as if nothing else existed other than this
beautiful girl in front of her.
      As if nothing else mattered other than the feel of her
soft, velvety lips as they writhed against her own...

     Hawkins watched, gently massaging his cock, as the two
teenage sluts necked together while simultaneously getting their
asses reamed out by one guy after another. Jesus, it was hot! He
didn't, however, join the queue. He had unfinished business with
the brunette - Melons - and wanted to make sure he had her full
attention when he fucked her. He could see the way Ashley's
senses were closed to the world while his teammates fucked her
ass and cunt. Not like the blonde bitch. She was hot. She was
moaning and wriggling back against each cock as it impaled her
from behind. As far as he could tell, she had come at least four
times since the fat girl had belted her down to the coffee table.
She was really into the lez-bo stuff too; her and Melons were
going at it like a pair of bitches in heat.
     Eventually, his chance came up, as the stream of football
players began to slack off a bit. They had each come at least
twice now, and those that wanted more were choosing the blonde
cunt. She fucked back, while the other - sexy a bitch as she
was - just lay there, unresisting.
      Hawkins waited until there were no more guys waiting and
then moved forward to unstrap the tall brunette. She struggled as
he tore her away from her kiss with her blonde friend, but
offered no real resistance as he threw her down on a mattress.
She just stared up at him, wild-eyed, as he lowered himself
between her legs and once again thrust his cock into her sopping
pussy. This time he was going to cum inside her. The bitch began
to cry as Hawkins fucked her, but he didn't mind that.
     Hell, it just meant she was paying attention.

     Karen sat, motionless, in the front seat of Sharon's car,
staring blankly out the front window at the house. It had been
over an hour now. She should have taken Sharon's advice and gone
into the house to watch, but just the idea of those guys and what
they would do to her Ashley...
      Karen shook her head, trying to banish those thoughts from
her mind. It had been a running battle to keep the brunette from
going out with guys from school. If that slut wanted cock so
badly, she was welcome to it. She would be getting a lot of it.
Karen would see to that. Even better, there was a lot of money to
be made, as Sharon had pointed out. Lots of cash.
     So, why did she feel so sick just thinking about it? Why did
the mere thought of some big shithead of a male sticking his ugly
cock into Ashley make feel like crying?
     Enough! Karen reached for the handle and pushed open the car
door...

     Sharon had videotaped the entire scene on the coffee table,
and was now focusing on Stacy as the blonde slut began servicing
two guys: one from behind her as she knelt, strapped in place,
over the wooden surface, and one in her mouth as he straddled the
coffee table in front of her.
      She continued to keep the camera away from Ashley, who
refused to become aroused. Sharon couldn't understand it; Ashley
had drank as much of the drug as Stacy, but she wasn't...
     Realization dawned.
      There was no drug! Gary hadn't been putting anything in
Stacy's drinks for three months now. The stuff in the thermos had
only been alcohol. Ashley was doing this straight!
     Sharon stared open-mouthed as the tall brunette, tears
streaming down her face, was being fucked on the mattress. Then
she looked back at Stacy on the coffee table. If Ashley was doing
this without the benefit of the drug, then so was Stacy. On the
coffee table, Stacy groaned with pleasure as her body was wracked
with yet another orgasm.
     The door behind her banged shut. Sharon whirled around to
see...

     Karen ran into the room, her pudgy face red with exertion.
Where was... She stopped in her tracks as her eyes lit on the
mattress where some asshole was lying between Ashley's spread
legs, pumping his cock in and out while the tall brunette cried
and struggled beneath him.
     Sharon reached towards her, but Karen shook off her hand.
     "Get off of her, you asshole," she screeched, running
towards the mattress. Shocked, the guy looked up from where he
was fucking Ashley just in time to see Karen come barrelling
across the room towards him. He only had time to throw up his
hands as the fat teenager slammed into him with enough force to
make him think he was back on the football field. With a shout,
he fell back, his cock sliding out of Ashley's sopping cunt just
as he came. A wad of sperm flew up and sailed across the room,
splattering against the back wall.
     "K-Karen?" Ashley looked up at her rescuer from where she
was cringing on the mattress, confused and frightened.
     "It's OK honey," Karen said soothingly, bending down to help
the naked girl to her feet. "I've got you now."
     The room fell silent as Karen helped the crying brunette to
her feet and then led her towards the door.
     "What the fuck?" It was the guy she had knocked off of
Ashley. Karen looked up at him. For a moment, it seemed like he
was going to go after her, but he quickly backed down. He cock
still dripped sperm as it dangled, limp and wet, before him.
     Karen led the trembling Ashley out through the front door
and into the open air.

     The door slammed shut behind them.
     Sharon, along with everyone else in the room, stood in
stunned silence. The only sound to be heard was a quiet slurping
from where Stacy continued to suck on the cock of the guy sitting
in front of her.
      "Hey!" It was the guy Karen had knocked over; Hawker, or
something like that. "What the fuck was that all about?" He had
wrapped a towel around his waist. "We paid for two whores
tonight, not just one."
     Sharon felt a moment of panic as the guys in the room turned
their attention towards her. She thought quickly.
     "OK," she cried, "Fair enough. I'll return half the
money..." 'Karen's share, she thought grimly. "...and the video
will be free." She looked around, experiencing a tense moment.
Would they go for it?
     Then the silence was broken as the guy Stacy was sucking
finally came, groaning loudly as he pumped his warm sperm into
her rapidly convulsing throat. Another guy cheered, and then the
tension broke as the guys converged on Stacy. The guy pulled his
now limp cock out of her mouth, and moved away.
      He was quickly replaced by another player.

     Karen helped Ashley into the back seat, slid in beside her
and shut the car door. She had draped her coat over the other
girl's shoulders, but, despite the warmth of the evening, the
tall brunette could not stop shivering. Besides the light coat,
Ashley wore only the fish-net stockings (now ripped) and the
locked-on pumps. Her upper body and thighs were covered with
bruises from where she had been roughly handled; her face and
tits were covered with rapidly-congealing sperm.
     Karen felt like crying.
      The heavy teenager reached up and put her arm around the
taller girl's shoulder. To her surprise, the brunette stopped
trembling and leaned into her. Ashley lay her head on Karen's
shoulder.
     "H-honey... Ashley," Karen felt strangely tongue-tied. Her
throat had gone dry, and she had to swallow before continuing.
"I... I just want you to know that... uhm; I'm, like, s-sorry
about what - what happened in... in there." A tear began to
trickle down her face. "I d-didn't mean..."
     She was interrupted by the soft touch of Ashley's finger on
her cheek, brushing away the tear. She looked over at the other
girl; she was so beautiful! Even through the tears and the
bruises and the dried sperm. She looked so...
     "Karen..."
      Ashley's voice was soft and hoarse.
      "Karen..."

     Stacy moaned and bucked as yet another of the football
players came in her pussy. The cock in front of her had exploded
in her face a few moments earlier, and she was still licking the
sperm off her lips. It had been over an hour since her last
orgasm, and the guys were at last beginning to slow down. She
must have fucked all of them at least three times. At least, it
felt like it. Her pussy had gone numb any number of fucks ago,
and the members of the football team had neither the skill nor
the inclination to give her clit the attention it needed to give
her pleasure. As a result, she was slowly coming out of the
pleasure-induced fog that had enveloped her mind earlier in the
evening.
     The cock slid out of her pussy, leaving her cock-free for
the first time in hours. Almost immediately, she felt a hand at
grab ahold of her hair and drag her painfully to her feet. Dimly,
she opened her eyes to see what was happening.
     It was Sharon.
      Stacy winced, but didn't offer any resistance as she was
pulled across the room and forced to kneel on top of the coffee
table. Her balance, always precarious on the four inch heels,
failed her and she slipped backwards. Sharon, however, caught her
and shoved her back upright. Quickly, she turned the blonde
teenager around and positioned her so that she was leaning back
on her heels with her thighs spread wide. Her sopping red cunt
glistened in the light.
     Sharon pulled the thermos out and handed it to the naked
girl. Anxious to recapture the pleasure she had felt earlier in
the evening, Stacy sucked hungrily at it, finishing what was
left. She burped slightly as Sharon took back the empty thermos.
     "Now listen," Sharon muttered to her. "You're going to put
on a bit of a show for the guys. They're getting a bit worn down.
Do you understand?"
     Stacy felt the now-familiar rush of the alcohol and drugs.
Confused, she shook her head as her well-used cunt began to
tingle.
     "I'm going to ask you some questions," Sharon explained,
"You're going to answer to the camera. If you don't get them
excited again, and quickly, I'll see that this tape gets spread
around a bit. Is that clear?"
     Stacy choked back the tears and nodded her head. She was
doing everything they told her to do; why the threats? She was a
good girl!
      One hand reached down and began rubbing her pussy. Sharon
slapped it away.
     "Not yet," she ordered. Obediently, Stacy let her hand fall
limply at her side. Sharon would tell her what to do.

     Sharon stepped back and surveyed the scene. The football
players were all lined up against the walls, out of sight of the
camera, watching Stacy as she perched on the coffee table.
Perfect. The video camera had been set up to cover the shot from
the front, framing Stacy directly in the screen. Now,just one
more thing and they would be set up...
     "Anyone ready for a blowjob?"
      One of the big guys - the one who had been knocked over
earlier by Karen - stepped forward. His cock jutted out in front
of him, ready for action. Sharon nodded him towards Stacy and
watched as he moved forward to stand in front of her. Stacy, once
again trembling with lust, took the cock in her mouth and began
slurping away on it. The slut's hand wandered down to her cunt
and began sliding up and down.
     Sharon moved in and whispered in Stacy's ear as she sucked.
     "Two things, bitch." Stacy's eyes rolled towards Sharon as
she continued to work on the cock.
      "First, you can play with yourself all you like, but don't
come until I say. Do you understand?" Stacy moaned an
acknowledgement.
      "Second, when this guy comes, don't swallow. Hold it in your
mouth until I say otherwise." Stacy's eyes widened, but she once
again grunted in the affirmative.
     Satisfied, Sharon backed away and watched as the blonde
teenager brought the guy to an orgasm and sucked his sperm into
her mouth. By the time he was finished, her cheeks were bulging
with the thick, white fluid.
     OK. Everything was ready. Sharon hit the "record" button and
began talking to Stacy as she crouched on the coffee table facing
the camera, legs spread and cunt glistening.
      "What's your name?"
     Stacy looked confused.
     "What's your name?" Sharon repeated, menacingly.
     "S-Stacy," came the uncertain answer. "Stacy R-Richards."
      A small trickle of cum dribbled out of her mouth and down
her chin. The blonde slut was still playing with herself and was
obviously very close to having an orgasm.
     Sharon shook her head.
     "What is your name?"
     Understanding dawned on Stacy's cum-encrusted face. She
looked like she was about to cry.
     "Cumslut," she answered quietly, trying to keep the cum in
her mouth. "My name is Cumslut."
      Sharon smirked at her.
     "What are you, Cumslut? What do you do?"
     Stacy moaned, trying not to come. She looked beseechingly at
her tormentor, but Sharon just stared back at her.
     "I'm a whore," the blonde answered, broken. "I'm a slut."
Her left hand, the one with almost-full charm bracelet, moved
faster and faster over her pussy.
     "Please..."

     "Karen..."
      Ashley looked over at the girl who had pulled her out from
under the guy who had been raping her. The girl who had rescued
her.
      "I... what you said about g-guys..." Karen's arm felt good
on her shoulder. It somehow made her feel safe and warm.
      "You were right..."
      The tall brunette fought back the tears. "You were right
about them..." She looked over at her rescuer. She saw the greasy
hair; the weight problem; the acne...
     "Ashley..."
      The other girl began to speak, but Ashley cut her off with a
finger on her lips.
     "Karen," she whispered, "I just want you to know..."

     "...let me come.
      "What are you?"
     By now, the cum was trickling steadily out from between
Stacy's lips as she babbled away.
     "I'm a toy; a sex-toy. I need to be fucked all the time. I
love to have cocks up my ass and in my cunt and in my mouth."
     Stacy - Cumslut - felt the waves of pleasure pulse up from
where her fingers rubbed frantically at her clit. In spite of the
humiliation - or as a result of it - she could feel another
orgasm building up inside of her.
     "Please," she begged. "Let me come..."
     "What are you?"
     "I love cum. I love to suck it out of big juicy cocks. I
love to feel it dribble over my lips and all over my face."
     She could feel her face reddening with intense humiliation,
but she was unable to stop herself. It wasn't her fault.
      "Shit on me... piss on me... come all over me..."
     It was the drugs. They did this to her. Gary and Sharon and
Neil could blackmail her all they wanted, but it was the drugs
that made her...
     "I'm a slut," she wailed, feeling the orgasm slowly build in
her body. She stopped talking and looked over at Sharon.
     "Let me come... please?"
     Sharon looked at her for a moment and then nodded her
approval. It was time to bring this to an end.
     Stacy brought her other hand down to her cunt and began to
thrust first one, then two and finally three fingers into her
hungry cunt, all the while rubbing furiously at her clit.
     "I'm a cunt... I'm a bitch... I'm... Ahhhhh..."
     Sharon watched in amazement as the blonde slut wailed and
cried her way into and through a massive orgasm. The sperm she
had been holding in her cheeks exploded outwards, drenching her
lower face and tits as she screamed and sobbed on the coffee
table.
      What a slut!
      Finally, Stacy crested the top of the orgasm. Sharon watched
as she slowly calmed down.
      "Cumslut..." the blonde teenager mumbled, over and over
again, her fingers hard at work in her dripping cunt.
"...Cumslut..."
     The room fell silent for a moment, but then Stacy began to
build herself back up again.
      Sharon bit her lip as she watched. The bitch was going to
come again!
     'I've got to tell her,' she thought to herself. Gary would
kill her, but...
     Sharon waited until Stacy was just reaching the crest of yet
another orgasm. Then, after shutting off the camera, she walked
slowly forward and leaned in to whisper something into the slut's
ear...

     Ashley hesitated momentarily, but then carried on.
     "D-do you remember that day... at Stacy's. Where... where
you, uhm... spanked me?"
     Karen nodded dumbly.
     "I... well..." Ashley was obviously embarrassed. "Would
you... would you do it a-again?"
     Karen just stared.
     "I... I know I've been b-bad," the brunette stammered. "I
need to be punished; I n-need you to spank me." Ashley flushed
and looked away.
     Karen felt a sudden flush of joy as she looked over at
Ashley. The brunette was looking down, unable to meet the other
girl in the eye. But that was alright. In fact, it was better
then alright!
     "Yes darling," Karen answered. "Of course I'll give you a
spanking." She shifted slightly in her seat.
      "Come here."
     Moving carefully, her flesh bruised and aching from the
rough treatment in the house, Ashley spread her long, luscious
body out over Karen's lap, ass upwards.
      Karen wasted no time. She immediately began administering
strong, rhythmic slaps to the well-presented ass. Soon, it was
shining red.
     At first, the pain was great for Ashley, but that was OK;
she deserved it. After a while, however, the burning seemed to
fade away somewhat, and was replaced by a slow wave of pleasure
which spread steadily outward from where her pussy rubbed against
Karen's knee.
     "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Ashley kept repeating this
phrase as the pleasure built up and then took her over the edge
into an intense orgasm.
      "Oh god..."
     Crying, the tall brunette trembled and shook on the other
girl's lap.
      Karen stopped slapping Ashley's ass and began to finger her
clit, quickly sending the other girl into a second, more intense,
orgasm.
     Finally, it was over.
      Ashley turned her tear and cum-stained face upwards and
looked Karen in the eye, her eyes wide with adoration.
     "I love you," she whispered.

     Hawkins slowly rubbed his hand along his rapidly hardening
cock as he watched the scene in front of him. He had already come
three times that night, but that blonde slut's performance on the
coffee table was making him hard again. Fuckin' A!
     She was perched up on the coffee table, masturbating and
going on about what a slut she was and other stuff like that, all
the while dribbling his cum down her chin. This went on for a
long time until the fat chick told the slut she could finally
come, which she did almost immediately. What an orgasm! The bitch
thrashed about and screamed like she was having her tits mangled
or something. Hawkins had never seen anything like it.
     After that, the fat girl turned off the camera and walked
towards the whore. She waited until it looked like the slut was
going to have another orgasm, then leaned in and whispered
something in her ear. Immediately, the blonde stopped frigging
herself and stared at the other girl, her eyes wide.
      "No," the blonde whispered. "You're lying."
     The fat girl just smirked and shook her head. Once again,
she muttered something to the slut on the coffee table, and then
turned to walk away.
     "You're lying," the blonde yelled at her retreating back.
"It's n-not true." She had started crying; tears streamed down
her face, making trails in the dried cum. Her entire body was
wracked with violent sobs. Hawkins noticed that her left hand
began to move again.
     The fat girl laughed. She picked up the video camera and
walked to the door.
     "You're lying," the blonde screamed from her perch on the
coffee table.
      "You're lying!"
     The other girl turned.
     "No," she said quietly, "I'm not. No drugs; not tonight and
not since January."
          Sharon paused and looked Stacy up and down as the bitch
crouched, wailing, on the coffee table. Her blonde hair was
matted with sweat and cum; her face, once beautiful, was red and
splotchy with tears and sperm; her lithe body was bruised and
caked with dried sperm. And, all the while, her left hand
continuously frigged at her exposed pussy, the metal charm
bracelet glinting mockingly in the light.
     "Slut."
      Sharon looked up at the football players standing at the
back of the room. To a man, they were hard again.
     "She's all yours," she said, smirking. "Just get her back in
one piece."
      She turned and walked out the front door.
     "Nooooo!!" The blonde bitch broke down, sobbing and crying
as the members of the football team moved towards her.

                         END PART NINE-B

====================================================
                     STACY'S REVENGE
                        Not by Parker

 I did not write this. It was sent to me by what I can only assume to
 be a disgruntled reader, unhappy with the ending of STACY10. The
 accompanying message made it clear that this was a joke and I take
 it as such. I have received numerous letters from readers who had
 wanted a happier ending for poor Stacy, and I am posting this in
 penance. Please... forgive me 

 ==================================================================

   Something happened to me this evening that is so mind-blowing
that I have to tell someone.  For reasons that will be obvious, I
can't do that, so I'm writing it down instead.

     My name is Parker and earlier this month I began working as an
estimator in a large city construction company.  The whole thing
started with a phone call this morning from Stacy Richards, a girl
in the payroll department at the construction company.  I knew her
by sight, but that's all, so I was a little surprised when she said
she had something personal to discuss with me.  She suggested that
we have lunch away from the office, so we could talk in private,
and I agreed to meet her at a little burger joint a couple of miles
from where we work.

     Stacy was already there when I walked in a few minutes after
noon, sitting by herself at a table in the corner. I'd never really
noticed her before, but now I took a look as I walked toward the
table.  She was about my age, maybe two or three years older.
Short light-blonde hair.  A white blouse with ruffles down the
front, primly buttoned to the collar, enclosed what seemed to be a
nice pair of boobs.  With contacts, or maybe a less librarianish
pair of glasses, I decided, she wouldn't be bad looking at all.

     I said hello and sat down.  We made small talk until the
waitress had taken our orders, and then I asked Stacy what she
wanted to see me about.  She said that she'd been working late the
night before, doing some month-end work, and her computer had
started to act up, so she had gone over to my desk to use mine. Not
wanting to damage any of my files, she had looked to see what was
stored on my computer's disk, and had noticed that some of the file
names didn't seem to have anything to do with the jobs I was
working on.  She said that she was especially interested in some
files that had used her name - STACY01, STACY02. . . STACY06.  In
particular, she said, she'd been surprised to find "these"; she
pulled a manila envelope out of her purse, opened it, and slid out
half a dozen sets of pages stapled together.

     I didn't need to look at them to know what she had. When I was
younger I'd thought about becoming a writer.  I've pretty much
given up on that idea, but lately I'd been working on a novel.
Nothing that Book-of-the-Month Club would be interested in--it was
pure, hard-core pornography, as raunchy as it gets.  I hadn't
decided whether to try to sell it to one of the X-rated book
publishers or not; for now, it was just a private exploration of
some fantasies.

     At least it had been private.  But now, here was Miss Richards
sitting across from me, holding printed copies of the first six
chapters of my X-rated book.  No doubt she'd copied the computer
files, too, so grabbing the hard copies wouldn't help.

     I was dizzy with both anger and embarrassment, and my face
felt about ten degrees hotter than the rest of my body. "You had no
business looking at those files," I said through clenched teeth,
"let alone printing them out."  Stacy looked at me coolly and
replied "It's the company's computer, and I don't think Mr. Moore
would appreciate what you've been using it for."

     Bob Moore is the founder of the company and still runs
everything with an iron hand.  He hired me right out of college,
even though I didn't have any real experience, and has seemed to be
pretty happy with my work so far.  He also happens to be the father
of Kathy Moore, who has been the principal love object in my life
for most of the last year, whenever she's home from school on
breaks or vacations.  Besides that, he's a deacon in the local
Baptist church, president of the Rotary, and a major contributor to
the Republican Party and the Moral Majority.

     I could see it now.  If Bob Moore knew what I'd been writing,
he'd fire me, forbid his daughter to see me, have me publicly
branded as a pornographer, and do his damnedest to see that I never
got another job in his town, or anywhere else for that matter.

     "And what about this Stacy Richards in the story?" she asked
in an accusing manner.

     "That isn't you." I managed to sputter.  "I started that story
before I even met you."

     "It's my name." she replied cooley.  "I think that my lawyer
might call this sort of thing 'libel' ."

     "What do you want?", I asked weakly.

     "Why don't you come over to my place this evening," Stacy said
sweetly, "about seven, and we'll talk about it." She wrote out her
address on a napkin and handed it to me.

     I stuffed the napkin in my pocket, dropped a five dollar bill
on the table and walked out.  I wasn't hungry any more.

     The afternoon was pretty much a waste.  I didn't know what
Stacy would demand, but I assumed that it would be money, and I
didn't have a lot to spare.  Even if I paid her off, how could I be
sure that she wouldn't keep a copy of the incriminating files and
hit me for more later?  I thought about going to Mr. Moore and
confessing everything, but I figured that even if he somehow could
be persuaded to let me keep my job, he'd put Kathy off limits.
That was an awfully high price to pay, and I decided that I'd
better find out how much Stacy wanted before I took that course.

     I knocked on Stacy's door at 7:00 sharp, and she invited me
in.  She'd changed into slacks and a T-shirt, and I realized that
I'd been right about her boobs.  She offered me a drink; I started
to refuse, and then decided that under the circumstances I needed
one and asked for a scotch and water.

     We sat on opposite ends of the sofa in her living room,
sipping our drinks and waiting, each of us, for the other to say
something.  Finally I decided to go first.  "I gather that you're
planning to give those printouts to Mr. Moore, and tell him where
you got them, unless I give you some reason not to," I said.  She
nodded.

     "You know what I make," I said, "and I don't have any savings.
I don't see how you could expect me to give you enough to make it
worth your while to risk going to jail for blackmail."

     "I don't want money," she said.

     "What do you want, then?", I demanded.

     "When I was growing up," she replied, "my parents were pretty
rough with us--with me and my brother, who's three years younger
than I am.  Whenever one of us got out of line, there was a
spanking, a paddling, a caning or a real whipping with a belt or a
razor strap.  If we got in trouble together, like if we were
fighting or something like that, my mom or my dad, orsometimes
both, would line us up and give it to the two of us together."

     "I don't get it," I said.  "What does your childhood have to
do with me?"

     "Just shut up and listen," she said roughly.  "A few times one
of us got a licking in the middle of the day, but usually they
waited till bedtime, when Jimmy was in his PJ's and I was in my
nightgown.  It was awful, knowing sometimes for hours that it was
going to happen, taking a bath and getting ready for bed, and then
having one of my parents come in, make me take off my nightgown and
work my ass over with a hairbrush or the strap or something like
that."

     I was listening but I couldn't help picturing Stacy stripping
off a little nightgown and presenting her developing young
asscheeks to her mother or father.  I could feel a definite
tightening in the crotch, and crossed my legs to hide the
situation.

     "It was almost as bad when Jimmy was going to get it," Stacy
continued.  There was just as much tension in the air, and when I
said good night to Jimmy, I'd know that in a few minutes I'd hear
him crying and pleading, and then there would start these terrible
alternating sounds as something smacked into his ass, followed by
his shriek of pain, and then another smack and another shriek."

     "The only times I could say I looked forward to it was when we
were both going to get it.  I'd get taken to Jimmy's room, or he'd
be brought to mine, and then we'd both have to strip.  One of us
would watch while the other got it, and then the other would watch
while the first one got it.  Once--I remember it very clearly,
because it was when I had my first orgasm--we both got it at the
same time; my mom had me across her lap and was paddling me with a
hairbrush, while my dad had Jimmy over the edge of his bed,
blistering his behind with a cane."

     Stacy paused and looked at me.  Her eyes were shining, and I
could see little beads of sweat on her forehead.  "I still don't
know where you're going," I said.  "I'm sorry you had such rotten
parents, but I don't see what this has to do with my stories."

     "It's very simple," she replied.  "We're going to do some play
acting.  You're going to be my little brother, and I'm going to be
my mother."

     It took a minute to sink in.  "Wait a minute!", I almost
gasped.  "You think I'm going to let you, uh, spank me? I'm twenty-
three years old!"  The idea seemed so ludicrous that I wanted to
laugh, but Stacy didn't seem to be joking.

     "Would you rather I had a talk with Mr. Moore in the
morning?", she asked.

     "Of course not," I blurted without thinking.  "But I'm too
old, I mean, I'm not a little kid!  This whole thing is too silly
for words!"

     "Jimmy wasn't a little kid, either," she said hotly. "He was
fourteen the time I mentioned, when I--when we both gotit at the
same time.  And Mr. Moore would think that your little stories were
a lot worse than anything Jimmy or I ever did!"

     "Anyway," Stacy added defiantly, "that's the price you pay--
either that or I go to Mr. Moore in the morning.  So which is it
going to be?"

     My mind was whirling.  If she went to Moore, it would be
practically the end of my whole world, and how bad could a spanking
be, anyway?  I could handle pain; I'd broken bones as a kid, and
played football in high school, until I had knee surgery and
couldn't run any more.  But on the other hand, how could I, a grown
man, stand the humiliation of letting a woman spank me? Then again,
was that really worse than the humiliation of being fired from my
first job and being denounced publicly as some kind of moral
degenerate?

     Finally, I told her "If I say yes, I'll want every copy of my
stories back--including whatever copies you've made of the computer
files".

     "When we're through," she answered, "I promise that you'll
have everything back, and you can watch me erase the computer
disks."

     "All right," I said grimly, "let's get it over with."

     Stacy stood up.  "Take your clothes off in here, and then come
back to my bedroom."  She pointed to the door that led into a hall
at the end of the living room.  "Through that door and turn right."

     "Just a minute," I said.  "If I'm supposed to take my clothes
off, then you should too."

     She laughed.  "You don't give up, do you?  You think I'll be
so impressed with your big manly body that I'll forget why you're
here and slip into the sack with you?  Well forget that idea."

     She started toward the hall, then stopped and turned back
toward me.  "I'm not getting undressed, but I do think I'll change
into something else."

     After Stacy left the room, I pulled my shirt off and sat down
to untie my shoes.  My socks came next, and then my pants.  I piled
my clothes on the end of the sofa, but decided to keep my jockey
shorts on.  I'm not ashamed of my body, but I wanted to keep
whatever dignity I could for as long as I could. Everything that
had happened since Stacy had called this morning still seemed
unreal, but here I was, standing almost naked in a girl's
apartment, heading for her bedroom.  It was a great scene, except
I wasn't going in to make love to her, but to let her spank my ass.

     I walked into Stacy's bedroom and my eyes almost popped out of
my head.  She was standing by the foot of her bed, and she had
indeed changed clothes--she was wearing one of the tiniest string
bikinis I'd ever seen!  It was an aqua color, and it covered only
a few square inches of an absolutely luscious body. Obviously, no
one at the company knew much about the uptight young lady who cut
their checks.  I stood theregaping at her, and despite the
absurdity of the situation, I could feel myself getting hard almost
instantly.

     "I told you to leave your clothes in the other room," Stacy
snapped.  I started to reach for the waistband of my shorts, but
then she noticed my erection.  "Keep them on," she said quickly.
"I'll take them off when I'm ready.  But from now on, you do
exactly as I tell you."

     She walked over to a dresser and picked up a wide, flat-backed
hairbrush.  It was made out of some kind of dark wood, and looked
heavy.  She went back and sat on the end of the bed, her legs just
dangling over the edge, knees about eight inches apart and feet not
quite touching the floor.

     "All right," she said.  "Get over here, across my lap, with
your head toward my left."  I obeyed, clambering over her until my
cock and balls settled into to the space between the middle of her
thighs and my head hung just over the side of the bed.

     "I've never felt so ridiculous in my life," I complained.

     "You'll feel a lot more than that, in just a minute," Stacy
responded.  "When was the last time you had a good hard spanking?"

     "I've never been spanked, except by hand, and the last time
for that was probably when I was four or five," I answered.

     "Well, so as not to shock your tender little ass too much too
soon," Stacy said, "I'll give you some warmups with your underpants
on."

     I held my breath as I felt Stacy's balance shift while she
raised the hairbrush.  It smacked down on one cheek of my ass, and
I grunted and jerked.  It stung quite a bit, and the burning
feeling radiated out from where the blow had landed.  Before I
really had time to think about the sensation, the hairbrush had
landed again, this time on the other side of my ass.  I jerked
again, and again as the heavy brush smacked in a different spot on
the other cheek.

     The blows went on until I'd received maybe twenty of them, and
I realized that each smack was a little harder than the last.  The
pain wasn't unbearable by any means, but by the time Stacy had
stopped my ass was really smarting and my breath was whistling
through my teeth with every stroke.

     "That's enough," I said, starting to slide off her lap.

     She grabbed me across the knees and pulled me back. "Oh, no,
it's not.  Those were just the warmups!  Now, before I take your
pants off and really get down to work, I'll give you just a taste
of how it's going to feel."

     She caught the leg opening of my shorts and pulled the fabric
up until it cut painfully into the crack of my ass and my right
cheek was exposed.  "Just so you remember, here's how it feels with
your pants on."  She brought the hairbrush down hard on the still-
covered left cheek.  "And here's how it willfeel with them off."
The brush landed on my bare right cheek and felt like a branding
iron!  I couldn't believe the difference one little sixteenth of an
inch of cotton could make.  Before I could react, the hairbrush had
landed back on the left, then on the right again.

     "That's enough playing around--now it's time to get serious,"
Stacy exclaimed.  She grabbed my shorts at the waist and yanked
them down in one motion to my knees.  I swore as the waistband
ripped past my balls, and it dawned on me that the erection I'd had
just a few minutes before was gone.

     "Such naughty language!," Stacy giggled as she brought the
hairbrush down with a fierce "whack" in the middle of my butt.  I
tried to squirm, but she had a firm grip and my legs were pinioned
with my shorts around my knees.  I knew I could get away, but what
was the point of putting up a fight? Either I'd leave and she would
go to Moore in the morning, or else I'd wind up back in the same
position.

     Again and again the back of the hairbrush burned into my ass.
I was determined not to yell or do anything else to let her know
how much it hurt, but I was beginning to wonder how much more I
could take when she finally stopped.

     "Halftime," Stacy said.  She put the hairbrush down and began
to knead the burning flesh of my ass with her fingers; under other
circumstances it would have been a real turn-on, but instead it
just hurt.  "Your ass gets numb," she commented, "and you don't
feel it as much.  We don't want you to miss out on anything, do
we?"

     "O.K.," she directed.  "Stand up."  My shorts dropped to my
ankles as I clambered to my feet.  "Leave your underpants on the
floor, and kneel on the bed, facing the side."  I did as I was
told.  "Now cup your balls with your right hand, and hold your cock
in your left hand."  I stared at her in amazement, but when she
said I'd be sorry if I didn't obey her, I decided not to take any
chances.  "Keep your hands where they are, and lie down on your
stomach," she ordered.  I flopped down, with both hands under the
weight of my body.

     "Spread your legs out--wider," she commanded.  "I want to be
able to see your fingers around your balls.  If either one of your
hands comes out from under you, I'll flatten your balls with the
hairbrush.  Understand?"

     I muttered that I understood.  The new position didn't make
much sense to me, until I realized that with me across her lap
Stacy could only lift the hairbrush about a foot, but now, with her
standing up, she could swing it three feet or more!

     I lay there, clutching my cock and balls, feeling ridiculous
and more than a little apprehensive about what the hairbrush would
feel like the next time it landed.  I didn't have long to wait.

     Stacy put her left hand in the small of my back, supporting
most of her weight with it, raised the hairbrush high with her
right hand and swung it down ferociously.  It landed with a crack
like a gunshot on the left cheek of my ass, and despite my earlier
resolve, I couldn't help crying out.  The pain was more intense
than anything I'd ever experienced before.

     I steeled myself for the next blow, which landed just as hard
on the right cheek.  That time I managed to limit the sound I made
to a gasping groan.  I was still marveling at that when the
hairbrush landed again.  After suffering through about six more, I
decided that I couldn't take it any longer.

     "Stop it, please, Stacy," I begged.  She stopped in midswing.
"Sure, I'll stop whenever you say," she said calmly. "Of course, if
you make me stop before I'm ready, then you won't have kept your
part of the bargain, and I won't have to keep mine, will I?"

     She let that thought linger for a bit.  "Well, what do you
say?", she asked.  "Shall I stop now?"

     I groaned and said "No, go ahead."

     "Go ahead and do what?", she demanded.

     "Go ahead and spank me some more."

     "A little more, or a lot more?"

     "A lot more!", I shouted.

     I had barely answered when the hairbrush began its drumming on
my ass again.  It was coming down so hard that my whole body was
bouncing off the bed, almost as though Stacy were dribbling a
basketball.  After thirty or forty of those, she stopped again and
asked if I were ready for her to quit. "Not until you're ready to
stop," I replied, and so she started up again.

     Finally she stopped, panting, and took the hairbrush back to
the dresser.  I lay on the bed, still clutching my cock and my
balls, my ass throbbing in time with my pulse, and watched her walk
across the room.  Her whole body was damp with sweat, her bikini
bottom dark at the crotch and along the crack of her ass.  I was
still alert enough to reflect on how incredibly sexy she looked,
but I couldn't have gotten it up if my life depended on it.

     Stacy looked down at me.  "Get up and get dressed," she
snapped.  "I'll see you in the kitchen."

     I staggered to my feet and went to pick up my shorts, glancing
in the full-length mirror as I crossed the room.  My ass looked
just the way it felt, an ugly purple from top to bottom and side to
side.  A good thing I had no hot dates scheduled this week, I
thought to myself.  I eased my shorts on and went out to the living
room where I'd left the rest of my clothes.  Dressing was agony,
but at last I finished getting everything back on, even tying my
shoes.

     Stacy was sitting on a stool in the breakfast nook in her
kitchen.  "Have a seat," she smirked as I shuffled in.

     "No thanks," I said.  "I'll just take my stories and all of
the computer disks and go."  I wondered whether I'd be able to sit
in my car to drive home.

     "I promised you could have them when we were through, didn't
I?", Stacy said thoughtfully.

     "You're damn right you did!"

     "Well, I'll keep my promise, but this was just so much fun
that I don't think we're through yet."

     "What the hell do you mean?", I demanded.  "You've had your
fun, now give me those files and those papers!"

     Stacy was opening the front door as I spoke.  She smiled at me
and said "Why don't you come over Friday evening, and we'll talk
about it then?"  She nudged me onto the porch and closed the door
behind me.

     I was tempted to kick the door in, beat the shit out of Stacy,
if necessary, and demand my papers and computer files back.  As I
stood there in the cool night air, though, I realized that I
couldn't be sure she hadn't kept copies somewhere else--and
besides, if she went to the police and gave them my name, I didn't
really want to tell them my side of the story.  There was no way to
keep it quiet in a town the size of ours.

     Cursing under my breath, I limped back to my car and eased
myself in.  Sitting down wasn't pleasant, and I wondered how much
better it would feel tomorrow.

     Well, that's the story for now.  Somehow, between now and
Friday (this is still Tuesday, for another few minutes) I've got to
decide what to do.  Whatever it is, I won't be able to tell anyone,
so I'll just have to continue to confide in this journal.

              September 24, 1993

     I'm writing this Friday evening, after coming back from
Stacy's again.  Emotionally, but not physically, I feel a lot
better than I did Tuesday night.  The story is, if anything, more
incredible than the first part was.

     My work suffered all week as I stewed about what to do, but I
finally decided there really wasn't much choice.  I'd have to
confront Stacy again if I were ever to be sure of getting all of
the incriminating evidence back.  I worked late Wednesday night,
and managed to check Stacy's computer and her desk to make sure she
hadn't kept any copies at work.

     I found nothing, and hadn't really expected to.  Stacy's power
over me depended on no one else knowing what she knew, so she
wouldn't take a chance on leaving anything at the office.  That
probably meant that everything was in her apartment, though she
might have put copies in a safe deposit box or someplace like that;
I'd just have to judge how sincere she seemed to be Friday evening,
because there was no way I was going back for a third session!

     Stacy walked by my desk this afternoon and murmured "See you
at 7."  I just nodded.  I didn't want anyone else to get the idea
there was something going on between us.

     I knocked on Stacy's door a few minutes after seven. She
opened the door, stepping aside as I walked in.

     "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," she said.
"I wouldn't have minded talking to Mr. Moore on Monday," she went
on, "but it sure would have spoiled my plans for this evening."

     I said nothing.  She looked at me for a few seconds, and then
went to fix drinks.  "How're the buns?", she asked in a
conversational tone.  "Bruises all gone?"

     I nodded as she handed me my drink.  "Well, we'll remedy that
in a few minutes," she smirked.

     "No more dirty tricks," I said.  "This has to be the last
time."

     "Okay," Stacy said--too quickly, I thought.

     "I mean it," I insisted.  "I want to see all of the hard
copies, and all of the computer disks, out here right now."

     "No way!", she snapped.  "I want you cooperating, and you
won't be if you know that all you have to do is come out here, grab
the stuff and leave."

     "How do I know you won't pull the same stunt as last time?",
I demanded.

     "You'll just have to trust me," she replied, "when I say that
tonight is it."

     That's not good enough, I thought to myself, but I'll just
have to find another way to deal with it.

     Stacy glanced at my empty glass.  "All through?", she asked.
"Good.  You can leave your clothes in here--all of them, this time-
-and meet me in the bedroom."

     She strode out of the room, and I was left to repeat the
bizarre experience of last Tuesday, stripping off my clothes to
meet a beautiful and sexy woman, for an experience that was going
to be anything but erotic, at least for me!

     I pulled my shorts off, leaving them on the sofa on top of all
of my other clothes.  My stomach felt hollow as I walked resolutely
toward Stacy's bedroom, my limp cock swinging in front of me and my
scrotum tight with nervous anticipation.  I wondered if Stacy would
be wearing the aqua bikini again; it didn't really matter, but
somehow I hoped she would be.

     When I rounded the corner and could see into the bedroom, I
was glad Stacy wasn't wearing the aqua bikini. Instead she was
wearing a red one, even smaller--if that were possible--than the
other.  The bottom covered less than half of each tawny cheek of
her ass, and when she turned to face me I could see her nipples
standing out sharply through the filmy material and the lips of her
pussy pressing tightly against the crotch of her bikini bottom.
Despite my nervousness, my cock began to salute the vision in front
of me.

     "You like it, I see," Stacy said.  "I don't get to wear it as
often as I'd like to," she added almost wistfully. Then she turned
all business.

     "I have a little surprise for you tonight," she said. "I want
you on the bed from the start this time."

     I clutched my cock in one hand and my balls in the other, and
lay down across the end of her bed, as I had last Tuesday.

     "Not like that--up in the middle, with your arms out in front
of you," she instructed.

     I obeyed, releasing my genitals and stretching my arms out as
I sidled away from the foot of the bed.  Stacy bent down in front
of me, giving me a magnificent view of her delectable tits as she
reached under the bed.  She sat back on her haunches, holding an
elastic cord about three feet long--the kind some people use to
strap luggage on the racks on the back of sports car trunk lids--
with metal hooks on each end, and began to wrap it around my
wrists.

     "What's that for?", I protested.  "I'm not going anywhere."

     "Just a little extra precaution," Stacy answered grimly.  She
stretched the cord as she wrapped it four or five times around my
wrists, clamping them together, and then fastened the hook on the
other end of the cord to some part of the bedframe.

     Stacy stood up and walked around the foot of the bed. I
thought she was going after the hairbrush until I suddenly felt her
wrapping another cord around my left ankle.  That worried me, and
I started to kick and struggle, but she was too fast and too
strong.  Slowly she dragged me backward across thebed, stretching
the cord that held my wrists as she pulled my left ankle down
against the cold metal of the bedframe.

     I tried to kick at her with my right foot, but she quickly
seized it, repeated the wrapping process, pulled my right ankle
down toward the head of the bed and hooked the end of the cord to
the bedframe at that corner.  Then she gripped me just above the
hips and dragged me back another inch until I felt my balls slide
free of the edge of the mattress.

     There was no way I could have been more helpless, or more
vulnerable.  My feet spanned almost the full length of the bed, my
ass just off the side of the mattress, cheeks spread wide apart, my
balls hanging free.  I swore furiously at Stacy, squirming in my
makeshift bonds.

     She ignored me for a while, then told me to shut up; I did,
but only after she'd reached down and given my balls a sharp
squeeze.  That really took the wind out of me, and I watched
silently as she walked over to the dresser and picked up the all-
too-familiar hairbrush.

     "I told you I have a surprise for you," Stacy said smugly,
"but I'm going to save it for a few minutes.  I think your little
bummy needs some spanks with this to warm it up." She brandished
the hairbrush as she walked toward the foot of the bed and stopped
behind my painfully twisted left knee.  "You don't have your
underpants to protect you, so I'll be very gentle," she added
mockingly.

     I craned my neck to look over my shoulder as Stacy brought the
hairbrush back and began to swing its lacquered face toward my
immobilized buttocks.  I lost sight of it before it completed its
swing, but my sense of touch told me exactly where the swing ended.
The hairbrush landed squarely in the middle of my right asscheek.
I gasped in pain but, remembering how annoyed I'd been with myself
on Tuesday, I managed not to cry out.

     The next blow smacked into the left cheek, and I bit my tongue
to keep quiet.  As Stacy continued to paddle my helpless ass, I
turned my head away and closed my eyes.  I squirmed and wriggled,
but nothing I did could deflect the hairbrush from whatever part of
the target Stacy selected.

     After about the fifth "SMACK" I'd started counting, mostly as
a distraction from the pain.  Thirty blows later, she stopped.
"There, now," she asked innocently, "weren't those nice and easy?"

     "You know they weren't, goddamn you," I spat.  "Now unhook me
and let me get out of here!"

     "But we've hardly started," Stacy protested.  "And I'm hurt
that you don't give me credit for being gentle.  Maybe you need a
real spanking to help you appreciate the difference."

     "NO!", I yelled, but it was too late.  The hairbrush landed
low on my right buttock, and even as I bellowed in pain I had to
admit that Stacy had been right--the first batch had been gentle in
comparison.  She settled into a slow rhythm, burning the hairbrush
into my ass every two or three seconds. I rocked from side to side,
trying to break the cords thatbound my ankles to the bedframe, and
cried out shamelessly with every blow.

     After thirty or forty of those--I stopped trying to count--she
paused and asked if I wanted a gentle one.

     "Yes, please," I begged, and she obliged.

     "What kind was that?", she demanded.

     "An easy one," I gasped.

     The next one wasn't.  I screamed again, and Stacy asked "What
was that one?"

     "A hard one!", I groaned.

     "Tell me what this one is," she commanded as the hairbrush
slapped again.

     "An easy one."

     "So you do know the difference," Stacy said sarcastically.  Do
you want some more easy ones?"

     "No, please, Stacy, no more," I pleaded.

     "Ten more," she said.  "Hard ones or easy ones?"

     "Easy ones, please," I answered.

     "I thought you'd say that," she snorted.  "I'll compromise
with you," she said.  "Half and half--do you want the easy ones
first or last?"

     I couldn't answer her.  I didn't want any at all, hard or
easy.

     "Hurry up," she demanded, "or there won't be any easy ones!"

     "Last," I answered quickly.

     The next five were the worst so far, and the final five
weren't much gentler, at least from my perspective, but Stacy kept
her word and stopped after ten.  I looked over my shoulder at her,
and saw that her bikini was almost transparent with perspiration.
My cock didn't respond at all; 99 percent of my attention was
focused on the pulsating pain in my butt, and the other one percent
on my aching knees and hip joints.

     "That's enough, Stacy, let me go," I pleaded.

     "We'll take a break for a few minutes," she answered, "but you
haven't had your surprise yet."

     I wondered what on earth she could be planning to top the
horrendous paddling she'd already administered, but I was sure I
didn't want to find out.

     Stacy walked over to her dresser and picked up a leather thong
that looked like a boot lace from a hiking boot. She tied a slip
knot near one end of it, passed the end through the knot to form a
circle about two inches in diameter, andwalked back over to the
bed.  I could sense her directly behind me and was mystified until
I felt her cup my balls in one hand and slip the leather loop over
them.

     "What the hell are you doing?", I demanded.  For the first
time I was really frightened.  A man tends to be really protective
of his testes, and not just to avoid the pain that comes from
mistreating them--probably some instinct provided by nature to
ensure perpetuation of the species.

     She tightened the noose without replying, and I could feel my
balls squeezed tight against the bottom of my scrotum. I tried
frantically to rock forward and backward, to loosen or break at
least one of the cords that held me, until Stacy yanked downward
sharply on the leather thong.  I screamed in pain, and Stacy said
calmly "Hold still, or you're going to hurt yourself."

     "You're the one who's hurting me, you fucking bitch," I yelled
at her.  "And why?  You've already got my legs tied up."

     "I'm going to take the cords off your ankles," she answered,
"but I don't want you going anyplace."  She tugged hard at the
thong again as she tied the lower end tightly to the frame of the
bed.  I groaned and tried to push myself backward to ease the
pressure on my balls, but the cord holding my wrists had already
been stretched to its limit.

     Then I felt first one ankle and then the other come free as
Stacy unhooked the cords and unwrapped them.  I gave a small sigh
of relief as I pulled my legs closer together and took some of the
strain off my knees and hip joints.  My legs were free, but the
rest of my body was even more tightly restrained than before; the
cord binding my wrists kept me from moving backward, and even the
thought of trying to move forward added to the constant ache in my
testicles.

     Stacy stood up from her labors behind me and walked over to
the closet at the far side of the room.  "Now for the surprise I've
been promising you," she said over her shoulder.

     She reached into the closet and came out with a thin rod about
three feet long.  "I took this with me when I left home," she
announced.  "A family heirloom, as it were, used on several
generations of naughty bare bottoms--mostly younger than yours, but
none more in need of it," she added.

     As she came closer I could see that it was made of wood, a
little bigger around than the diameter of a pencil. "It's a birch
cane," Stacy explained, "and I can tell you from personal
experience that its effects are really, um, exquisite.  "

     She walked around the end of the bed and I felt the muscles in
my ass shudder as she rested the cane across both cheeks.
"Listen," she ordered.  She lifted the cane, brought it back and
then swung it sharply toward me; it made a whistling kind of
"swish" as it sped through the air, stopping just as it tapped me.
I jumped at the contact, and Stacy giggled at my reaction.  "That
sound really turns me on," she exclaimed.  The cane whistled again,
and again it stopped with only the lightest touch on my expectant
asscheeks.

     My buttocks clenched and my legs twitched involuntarily, and
she laughed again.  "You'll know when its the real thing," she
said.

     "Listen, Stacy," I said, "this game has gone on long enough.
Put away the cane and let me go."

     "Oh, no," she responded.  "This is the best part, and I don't
care how much you beg, I'm not going to quit now."

     Her voice distracted me enough that I didn't hear the swishing
of the cane.  In fact, the next sound I heard was the echo of my
own surprised bellow of pain as the cane cut into both cheeks of my
ass.  The cane whistled again, slashing diagonally across my right
asscheek and forcing another scream from my lungs.

     The pain was beyond description.  Each time the hairbrush had
landed, pain had radiated out in all directions from the spot where
it hit.  With the cane, it felt as though all that pain, and more,
was concentrated in the tiny strip of bruised flesh right under the
cane.

     In the time it takes to tell about it the cane had cut into
the helpless cheeks of my ass a dozen times or more.  I was totally
out of control, screaming at the top of my lungs with every stroke,
kicking my legs and struggling against my bonds, oblivious to the
pain in my balls.

     Stacy paused until I quieted down.  "I don't care how much
noise you make," she told me.  "My apartment's at the end, and the
one next door is vacant.  But you ought to take it easy with that
kicking--if you're thinking of ever having a family, that is."  And
with that she resumed the caning.

     I screamed.  I begged her to go back to using the hairbrush.
I pleaded with her to stop.  I told her to go ahead and tell Mr.
Moore about my stories.  But nothing even slowed her merciless
slashing at my ass.

     Between yells I looked back at her, and realized that Stacy's
left hand was deep inside her bikini bottom.  From the movement of
her hand I could tell that at least one finger was plunging rapidly
in and out her pussy.  She had a rapturous look on her face, but
even that didn't interfere with the rhythm of the whistling cane.

     Suddenly the caning stopped, and I was dimly aware that the
telephone was ringing in the other room.  Stacy dropped the cane on
the bed beside me and said "Don't go away, there's more to come."

     "Saved by the bell," I thought to myself absurdly. Then I
realized that the interruption only made things worse. If Stacy
were planning to beat my ass and frig herself until she came, she'd
be a lot more strokes away from cumming when she came back from
answering the phone than she had been before it rang.

     There was no way I could endure more caning--I would literally
go insane if Stacy came back and started in again, I thought.
Somehow I had to get free.

     Breaking the thong that tied my balls to the bedframe seemed
out of the question; I would castrate myself before the thong
broke.  That left only the cord pulling my wrists toward the far
side of the bed.  I strained against it, that merely increased the
tension on the thong encircling my scrotum, until I almost screamed
with pain and frustration.

     But the alternative of lying there quietly until Stacy came
back and picked up the cane seemed even worse.  I braced my thighs
against the side of the mattress, in the hope that would keep me
from sliding forward, and tugged with all my strength.  The
mattress squeezed in some, letting me move forward until the pain
in my balls was almost unendurable.

     Just as I was deciding to give up, the hook that held the cord
to the far side of the bedframe broke off and my arms were free!
The cord was still wrapped several times around my wrists, but I
gnawed at one of the coils with my teeth until it slipped loose,
and then I had my hands free as well.  I picked for a few seconds
at the slip knot that was sunk deep into the skin of my scrotum,
and then realized that it would be easier to undo the knot at the
other end of the thong.

     I had just finished untying the thong from the bedframe when
I heard Stacy saying good bye to whoever had called.  I snatched
the ankle cords from the floor and the wrist cord from the bed and
hobbled stiffly to a spot behind the half-closed door, trailing the
leather thong from my ballooning testicles.

     Stacy gasped in surprise when she saw the empty bed. I should
have been too stiff and sore to move, but my desperation overcame
that.  I knew suddenly what I had to do to prevent any further
extortion.  In the half-second while Stacy was looking around the
room in confusion, I knocked her down with a tackle my high school
football coach would have been proud of.

     Before Stacy could catch her breath I had one of the ankle
cords wrapped neatly around her knees and hooked in place, and was
whipping the wrist cord around her wrists.  Then she started
thrashing at me with elbows and knees, and it was all I could do to
drag her over to the bed.

     By the time I had the wrist cord--with its one good hook--
fastened securely to the bed frame, Stacy had managed to throw her
legs off the end of the bed and was almost on her feet.

     I shoved her back onto the bed, dodged her flying feet, seized
her ankles and dragged her into the position--lying across the bed-
-that I'd occupied three minutes earlier. I made sure the remaining
ankle cord was fastened securely around her right ankle before
loosening the cord with which I'd bound her knees.  Stacy cursed,
screamed and kicked at me as I dragged her backward across the bed
and hooked the right ankle cord to the bedframe, but her resistance
only fueled the fury that had been gradually building up in me.

     I caught her flailing left foot, wrapped the last cord around
that ankle, and pulled her left leg inexorably backward and
downward until I could anchor it to the bedframe as well. Panting,
I stood up to survey the scene.

     Stacy's position wasn't quite right, I decided; her ass, even
her crotch, were still on the bed, because I'd started with her
wrists in the same position mine had been in, while her arms and
torso were shorter than mine.  I loosened the wrist cord a few
inches, then dragged her backward and took up the slack by
tightening the ankle bonds.

     This time the position looked perfect.  I debated a second or
two about whether to leave her bikini top on, but concluded that
since I'd been totally naked, she should be too. I untied the knot
in the middle of her back and jerked the top out from under her
boobs, provoking a yelp of pain in the midst of the ongoing stream
of imprecations.

     There was no question that the bottom of her bikini had to go-
-Stacy's ass was going to be as unprotected as mine had been.  I
undid the tie strings at each side and pulled the bikini between
her legs like a diaper.

     Now I had a pretty good idea of how I'd looked to Stacy an
hour earlier.  The crack of her ass yawned wide, with its darker
pigmentation spreading to encircle her puckered brown asshole.
Below that, the exterior lips of her pussy, glistening with the
products of her earlier self-stimulation, gaped where my balls had
hung.

     The thought of my balls reminded me that I was still dangling
the leather thong.  Gingerly, I loosened the slip knot, wincing as
the thong pulled at stray pubic hairs that had been caught in it,
and eased my aching testicles out of the leather noose.

     I walked around to the other side of the bed and tossed the
thong down where Stacy could see it.  "I'm afraid your ankles will
have to stay put," I told her.  "You seem to be lacking the
appendages to make this useful."

     "You son of bitch!", she snarled.  "You won't get away with
this.  I'll go to the police, I'll go to the newspaper, I'll--"

     "I don't think so, Stacy," I interrupted her.  "I don't think
you'll ever want to tell anyone about what you did to me, or about
what I'm going to do to you."

     "What--what are you going to do?", she asked.  The
belligerence was gone from her voice.

     "To begin with," I answered, picking up the cane, "I'm going
to let you decide whether this feels as 'exquisite' as you
remembered."

     "Please," she whimpered, "not too hard.  I didn't use it hard
on you."

     "Right," I said as I walked around the end of the bed. "So I
won't use it any harder than you did."  I laid the cane across her
ass and adjusted my stance so I could land the cane in any spot on
either cheek without moving.  Stacy started to sob quietly, every
muscle from her waist down quivering with dread.

     I decided not to tease Stacy the way she'd teased me. I lifted
the cane off her ass, brought it back, and swished itforward onto
the left cheek.  Stacy shrieked and wiggled her ass helplessly as
a dark red welt rose where the cane had landed.  I swung the cane
and gave her a matching welt on the other cheek.  Again she
screamed and struggled against her bonds.

     It wasn't until the fifth stroke of the cane that she started
pleading with me to stop, and it wasn't until the twentieth that I
did.  By that time, Stacy's beautiful bottom was crossed with a
network of red stripes, and her whole body was trembling
uncontrollably.

     I laid the cane gently across her ass again.  "Now," I said,
"I'm going to ask you a question.  If I like your answer, I'll ask
another question; if I don't, your little tush will get ten more
reunions with the cane.  And we'll go on that way until I have all
the answers I want.  Got it?"

     "Yes," she wept.  "What's the question?"

     "That should be obvious--where are my stories?", I demanded.

     "In a safe place, where you'll never find them," she said
defiantly.

     I was amazed; I'd thought she was ready to do almost anything
to stop the caning.  My earlier rage had been largely transferred
into the welts that now stood out on her ass, and I had no
particular desire to keep punishing her--but she wasn't leaving me
much choice.

     "I don't like that answer," I told her.  She stiffened as I
lifted the cane from her ass and raised it.  I selected a
relatively unmarked spot on her left asscheek and whipped the cane
down hard.  Stacy shrieked in real agony, the lips of her pussy
opening and closing as she flexed her muscles against the cords.
Nine more quick hard strokes of the cane, with the same reaction to
each.

     Again I asked her the same question, and again she refused to
tell me.  By the time I'd given her ten more strokes with the cane,
there was hardly a spot on Stacy's ass that wasn't part of one welt
or another.

     I rested the cane on her trembling ass again.  "This time," I
warned her, "if I don't like your answer it'll be twenty strokes,
not ten.  Are you ready to tell me where they are?"

     "All right," she sighed.  "I can't take any more.  The stuff
is all in my old briefcase in the closet."

     I put the cane down on the bed and went to the closet. The
briefcase was in the back, between two stacks of shoeboxes. I
pulled it out and backed into the bedroom, no longer conscious of
my total nudity.  I put the briefcase on the floor in front of
Stacy and tried to open it.  Neither latch would open; both had
little combination locks.

     "What are the combinations, Stacy?", I asked wearily. She
looked at me speculatively until I got to my feet and picked up the
cane.

     "O.K., O.K.," she said quickly.  "I was going to tell you."
She gave me the combinations and I set the numbers on the little
wheels.  This time both latches released.  I opened the briefcase
and found the manila envelope that Stacy had been carrying at our
first lunch "date".  Inside the envelope were the same printouts of
my six chapters and two computer diskettes.

     "How do I know what's on these disks?", I demanded
suspiciously.

     "My god, you ought to trust me by this time," Stacy cried.  "I
know when I've been beaten!"  It took a few seconds, and then she
gave a hysterical little giggle as she realized what she'd said.
"You can check them on my computer--it's set up where the pantry is
supposed to be."  Her voice sounded defeated but there was a glint
of triumph in her eyes that bothered me.

     I made sure each of the elastic cords was holding well before
went out in search of Stacy's computer.  I checked the disks one at
a time and they seemed to be right.  The file names were correct
and a quick scan of the contents looked familiar.  I'd shut down
the computer and was heading back to the bedroom when it dawned on
me--the diskettes were a different brand than we used at work!
When Stacy first copied my files she would have used disks from the
office.  She could have copied them onto her own diskettes and then
conscientiously returned the original diskettes to the office--but
the glint I'd seen in her eyes told me she still had the originals
hidden somewhere.

     Tiptoeing back to the bedroom, I glanced through the door.
Stacy was still on the bed, straining against each of her bonds.
I'd expected that, but I was pretty sure she wasn't strong enough
to break any of the hooks the way I had.

     She stopped struggling as soon as she saw me.  Her tentative
smile of relief changed to a look of alarm as I strode to the bed
and picked up the cane.  I took up my position behind her and
rested the cane on her ass.

     "What's the matter?  Those are the right diskettes," she
babbled.  "Did you have trouble with the computer?  Let me go, I'll
show you how...."

     "These disks are just fine, Stacy," I interrupted. "Now I want
to know where the originals are.  And before you answer, remember
the stakes are up to twenty now."

     Five seconds passed in silence.  "Those are the only copies I
have," she said carefully.  "I erased the originals and took them
back to the office, I swear."

     I looked down at her ass.  The welts had sort of run together,
so both cheeks were a nearly uniform reddish purple. "I don't like
it when you lie to me, Stacy," I said sadly.

     "I'm not lying!", she protested frantically.  "I'm telling you
the truth, I era--"  She interrupted herself with a howl of pain as
I lashed down with the cane.  I left a dozen fresh welts on Stacy's
discolored rump, and eight more on the backs of her unblemished
thighs.  Between screams Stacy beggedme to stop, assuring me that
she'd erased the original diskettes.

     I finished the twenty and waited for her sobbing to subside.
"Look," she finally gasped, "you can fuck me.  You can do anything
you want to me.  Just stop caning me, because there's nothing more
I can tell you."

     "We can talk about fucking after I get those original disks
back," I told her.  "Now where are they?"

     Again she pleaded that she didn't have them, and again I cut
her protests off with the cane.  This time I worked on the insides
of her thighs, moving upward in a steady pattern until, after
fifteen strokes, she could have no doubt that the next one would
cut squarely across her convulsing pussy.

     I paused.  "Five more, Stacy," I reminded her.  "You know
where they're going to be--or you can have them on your ass
instead, if you tell me where those diskettes are.  It's your
choice."

     "No, please don't, I beg you," she shrieked.  "I erased them."

     I wanted to believe her, wanted to stop hurting her, but I was
convinced she was still lying.  I shrugged mentally as I drew back
the cane.  Stacy had made her choice, and now she would suffer the
consequences.  The muscles bulged in her thighs as she tried
futilely to close her legs, to shield the most sensitive part of
her body, but the cane whistled cleanly onto its target, leaving a
furrow that cut diagonally across both lips of her pussy.

     The scream that tore its way out of the depths of Stacy's soul
was clearly more sincere than anything else that had come out of
her mouth all week, but it took another stroke of the cane in
almost the same spot before she finally gurgled "All right, I'll
tell you."  I'd promised her twenty, so I gave her three more
across the ass.

     "I'm waiting," I said, laying the cane down.  Stacy was
shaking all over as she tried to speak, but I finally understood
that she was saying "in the freezer".

     Sure enough, there were two diskettes, the brand we use at
work, sealed in a ziploc baggie, hidden between two diet dinners in
the freezer compartment of her refrigerator.  A very clever hiding
place, I had to admit--not where anyone would look for computer
diskettes.  I didn't bother to check them on Stacy's computer; I
was sure she wouldn't have held out on these for so long if they
weren't real, and the last real ones at that.

     I walked back into the bedroom.  This time Stacy wasn't
struggling.  "Will you please let me go now?", she begged.

     "Well, I've been thinking," I said.  "We're about even on the
caning, but you're a couple of hundred little love pats ahead of me
with that hairbrush.  Maybe we need to even the score before I let
you loose."

     "No," she wailed.  "My ass couldn't stand anything more."

     "You didn't seem very worried about what my ass could stand,"
I pointed out.

     "I know.  I'm sorry, but please, don't spank me any more."

     "All right," I agreed, "no more tonight.  "I'll come back in
the morning and we'll see how the situation looks then. Just to be
sure you're waiting for me, though, I'm going to leave you right
where you are now."

     Stacy pleaded with me to undo her bonds, but I ignored her.
I found an extra blanket on the shelf in her closet and spread it
over her shoulders and back--leaving her bottom exposed--said "Good
night, Stacy," gathered up all of the computer disks and printouts,
and turned out the light.

     I dressed in the living room, pocketed Stacy's keys, found the
thermostat and turned it up to 85 to keep the derriere next door
from getting too chilled, turned out the rest of the lights and
locked the door behind me.  As I got in my car and started the
drive home, I realized that I was leaving with a lighter heart--and
a sorer ass--than I'd had since Tuesday morning.

     Now that this is almost finished, I'm planning to sleep in
tomorrow.  Oh, I'll make it over to Stacy's, all right, but a
couple of extra hours won't make that much difference.  And I don't
have any intention of using the hairbrush on her, because I don't
get any special thrill out of seeing someone else in pain.  On the
other hand, the idea of her spending ten or twelve hours, realizing
how helpless and vulnerable she is--and worrying about how her own
hairbrush is going to feel on that already-bruised bare ass--
doesn't make me feel bad at all.

     Good night, Stacy, and pleasant dreams.


                   September 25, 1993


     The story continues.  I woke up around nine this morning and
took my time shaving and getting dressed--for obvious reasons.  My
butt is still the color of raw meat, and aches like hell at the
slightest pressure.  By ten I decided that Stacy was probably
getting pretty anxious to see me.

     I stopped by a fast food restaurant and picked up a couple of
scrambled egg and sausage breakfasts to go, and drove over to
Stacy's apartment.  She was begging by the time I got the door
unlocked.

     "God, I thought you were never going to come," she complained
as I walked into her bedroom.  She was still in the same position
as she'd been when I left the night before, though she had
apparently managed to squirm enough to make the blanket slide off
her back and onto the floor.  "Please, let me go--I've got to go to
the bathroom so bad I can taste it."

     I put the breakfast boxes down on the dresser and walked
around behind her.  Stacy's ass looked about the way mine had,
shading from dark red on the cheeks themselves to a series of
pinkish stripes on the backs and insides of her upper thighs.  The
lips of her pussy, already darker than the rest of her skin, were
crossed with two black-looking welts where the cane had done its
work.

     Stacy groaned as I released the cords that bound her ankles,
and stretched her legs out behind her while I loosened her wrists.
She crawled off the bed and headed stiffly toward the bathroom.  I
went with her, but once I'd glanced at the window and confirmed
that it was too high and too small for her to escape, I left the
bathroom and let her close the door.

     She emerged about five minutes later, having done at least
some minimal washing and combing.  "I brought some stuff to eat,"
I said, gesturing toward the dresser.

     "That's terrific!", Stacy exclaimed.  "Let me get a robe on."

     "Uh-uh," I responded.  "We've got some unfinished business,
and I don't want you skipping out the front door before that's
taken care of.  You look just fine the way you are."

     Indeed she did, especially from the front.  I hadn't had a
really good view of her boobs before, but the sight was worth the
wait.  They were round and full without sagging, and her trim waist
and hips were perfectly proportioned.  Perhaps because of the
caning I'd given her thighs, she walked and stood with her legs
well apart, providing a delightful view of her snatch.

     The smile died on Stacy's face.  "You're really serious about
the hairbrush, I mean, about getting even?"

     "Can you give me any reason why I shouldn't be?", I demanded.
I hadn't changed my mind about spanking her, but I enjoyed the
anxiety in her voice and saw no reason to relieve her worries yet.

     "I guess not," she sighed.  "I suppose I really do have it
coming."

     "Let's eat first," I suggested, handing her one of the boxes.
She took it and started to sit on the edge of the bed, but
immediately winced and jumped to her feet again.  "I can't sit
down," she cried.

     "You can do what I do," I suggested, sliding onto the bed and
lying on my left side, propped up on one elbow with the breakfast
box in front of me.  Stacy matched my position, lying on her right
side.  The top of the styrofoam box grazed her right tit as she
opened it.

     We ate the greasy lukewarm food eagerly without saying
anything more.  When we were both finished, Stacy gathered up the
boxes, plastic forks and knives, and napkins and carried them into
the kitchen.  Again I followed her; my cock stiffened as I watched
her ass muscles ripple, her wide-legged gait exaggerating the
transfer of weight from one leg to the other.

     Stacy dumped the breakfast debris and headed resolutely back
to the bedroom.  "Thanks for breakfast," she said.  "Let's get this
over with."

     She picked up the hairbrush from the dresser and handed it to
me.  "You're not going to tie me up again, are you?"

     "Not right now," I answered.  "We'll see how it goes." I sat
down on the foot of the bed, but scooted well back from the edge,
so both legs were straight out in front of me.  My ass throbbed,
but there was no other way to get Stacy into the position I'd
decided I wanted her to be in.

     I didn't have to tell her to lie across my lap.  She crawled
over my legs until her battered rump was over my right thigh, and
then eased herself down until her boobs flattened against the
bedspread.  "Not too much, O.K.?", she pleaded.  "I already can't
sit down, and I don't know how I'm going to make it to work on
Monday."

     Her ass twitched as I rested my arm across it.  "I don't feel
too sorry for you," I said.  "This whole business was your idea,
remember?"  Then I lifted her left leg at the knee and swung it
suddenly over my head, pulling Stacy closer to me at the same time.
She gave a startled yell and tried to pull her legs closer
together, but they were separated by my body.  "Put your head down
on my legs," I ordered.

     Stacy moved to comply.  "But why?", she wailed.  I waited for
those grapefruit-sized boobs to settle onto my shins, just below
the kneecaps, before I answered her.

     "I liked the view last night," I said, "but this is more,
well, personal."  It was, in fact, extremely personal. With Stacy's
thighs on either side of my waist, her legs were spread almost as
far apart as they had been when she was tied to the bed.  I could
have bent down and bitten--or kissed--either blazing asscheek, and
her bruised cuntlips were only inches ahead of the growing bulge in
the front of my pants.

     I stroked her ass and said "I have some questions for you."

     "Oh, Jesus, not this again!", she sighed.

     "Not that kind of questions," I soothed.  "If I hadn't gotten
loose last night, would you have given me the disks back?

     "Probably not," Stacy admitted.

     "Just how long were you planning to play the game?", I wanted
to know.

     "I don't know, as long as you went along with it, I guess,"
she replied.

     "Would you really have gone to Mr. Moore if I'd refused to
play?"  I continued to massage both of Stacy's asscheeks as I
spoke.

     "I hadn't really decided yet," she responded.  "I was pretty
sure you'd go along, at least for a while."

     "But why me?", I insisted.

     "You were in a bad spot--you were vulnerable," Stacy
explained.  She was beginning to squirm under my probing hands, and
I could see her pussy lips beginning to swell and darken.

     "I suppose a shrink would say I was getting back at my
father," she continued unexpectedly.  "I wanted to please him, get
him to care about me, but nothing I did was ever good enough for
him--and when I did something wrong, he really made me pay for it."

     "Am I the first guy you ever spanked?", I asked, running my
thumbs along the inside of her widely spread thighs.

     "The second," she replied.  "I lived with a guy for six months
or so, and I used to work him over pretty good."

     "What kind of hold did you have on him?"  Stacy was beginning
to push herself backward against my hands, and her cuntlips
glistened as the pressure of my thumbs at the base of her ass
spread them apart.

     "I didn't need a hold--he liked it," Stacy said
contemptuously.

     "How on earth did you find that out?"  I was astonished.  "I
mean, did he just tell you he liked it?"

     "Sort of."  Stacy was breathing faster as I ran my fingertips
down the crack of her ass, across her asshole, stopping just short
of her pussy.  "We were sitting in bed one Saturday morning.  I was
trying to read a magazine, and he kept reaching over and tweaking
my tit.  It really irritated me, and finally I told him that if he
didn't leave me alone I was going to paddle his ass.  He kept it
up, so finally I grabbed my hairbrush off the night table, pulled
him over my lap, and gave him ten or twelve good ones.  That made
him really horny, and we had a steamy fuck, and the next day he
went out and bought me the hairbrush I have now--the one I used on
you."

     "This one here," I said, picking up the hairbrush from the bed
and resting its cool, hard face against one of her hotass mounds.
Stacy's legs squeezed my waist as she clenched the muscles in her
ass.

     "Please," she begged, "not too hard.  I'm so sore from the
caning you gave me last night!"

     "Not yet," I said, putting the hairbrush back on the bed
beside me.  "So, he bought you the hairbrush and told you he liked
the way it felt," I prompted as I resumed massaging the bunched
muscles in her asscheeks.

     Stacy's ass relaxed and she said "Yeah, it got to the place
where nothing else turned him on.  I used a belt on him, then the
cane, even tied his balls up the way I did yours, and he loved it
all."

     "Sounds like a perfect match," I commented.  "Why didn't you
stick together?"

     Stacy moaned as I slid my thumb along the slippery length of
her cuntlips.  "I hated it," she answered.  "I needed him to hurt,
the way I had, but all I was doing was giving him what he wanted.
It got so I never wanted to see his ass again."

     My thumb slid into her heated pussy and she gasped. "Don't!",
she exclaimed.  "I'm getting so hot I can't stand it. Hurry up and paddle me with the hairbrush."

     I slid my thumb in all the way as I picked the hairbrush up
with my other hand and laid it atop her ass.  "Are you sure you
want me to do this?", I asked.

     "I deserve it," she insisted.  "I used it on you!"

     "I have a better idea," I said.  My thumb was still buried in
her cunt as I laid the hairbrush back on the bed and lifted Stacy's
right leg over my head, rolling her onto her back.  I fumbled one-
handed with my belt and fly and dragged my pants down over my
throbbing erection.

     "I never cum this way," Stacy protested, but her pussy sucked
eagerly as my rigid cock offered itself in place of my thumb.  Her
erect nipples were the size of gumdrops as I sucked at them,
feeling the walls of her pussy clenching at my thrusting penis.

     Stacy screamed and clawed at my back, arching her hips as her
orgasm started, and mine was only a few seconds behind.  Despite
the fog in my brain I heard a "thunk" as the hairbrush fell onto
the floor.

     Gradually our bodies relaxed.  "My God," Stacy gasped, "I
never felt anything like that before!"

     I kissed her mouth for the first time and slid off her.  I
pulled my clothes off, dropping them over the edge of the bed, and
then slid off the bed myself.  Naked, I fumbled around on the floor
until I found the hairbrush.  I picked it up and walked toward
Stacy's dresser.

     "Let's leave this over here where it belongs," I suggested.
Stacy nodded mutely and stretched a hand toward me as I came back
to bed.


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