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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.


     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



     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


     "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


     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


     "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


     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


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.


     "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


     "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


     "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



     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


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."


     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


     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


     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.


     "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


     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


     "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,


     Gary smirked at her. "You should be getting used to it by

now," he joked. "That cupboard a couple of weeks ago was no


     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


     "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


     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


     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."


     "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


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.


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


     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,


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...


     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


     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


      "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-


     "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


      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


     Stacy stared in disbelief. "You must be joking." Even after

everything she had just heard, she couldn't believe what he was


     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.



     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


      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...



     "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


     "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


     "Belling the cat," Gary chuckled. "I like it."

     "Not the cat," Sharon disagreed, "the pussy. Belling the


      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.



     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."


     "You can't do that," Stacy exclaimed, horrified. He


     "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


     "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."


     "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.



     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.


     "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


     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



     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


     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


     "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



     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 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


     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!


     "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


     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


      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


      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


     ...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...


      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


     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


     Stacy fell asleep crying, curled up on Sharon's couch...



      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


      "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


     "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


     "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.


     "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."



     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.


      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


     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


       "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


     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


      "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


     "Besides," Gary continued, "it's not all bad news. We've

decided to let you earn some pocket money while you're doing it."


     "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


     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


     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


      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


      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


      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


     "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


     "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.


     "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


     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.


     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


     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.


     "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.


      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.


     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.


      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


     "Just for the rest of the school year?" she confirmed, her

voice trembling. "After that, I get the pictures and you leave me


     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


     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


      "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


     "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.


     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


      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


     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,


      "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


     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


     Karen thought for a moment. "Well, it might take some

convincing; particularly if she knows they're going to be


     "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


     "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


      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


     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


      "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


     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


      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


     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


     "What's going on?" Sharon whispered. "What are they fighting


     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


     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


     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


      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


     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.


      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


     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.


     "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


     "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


     "That's him." Gary took back the yearbook and gazed at the

picture. "He was fucked up over Stacy for months: a real basket


     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...


      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."


      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


     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.


     "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.


     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


     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


     "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.


     "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


     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


     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


     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


     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.


     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


     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


     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


     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


      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...


      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


     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


     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


     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


      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


     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


     "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."


     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


     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


      "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



      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."


      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


     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


     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


     "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...


      Ashley's voice was soft and hoarse.


     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


     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


     "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


      "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.



      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


      "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...


      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


      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.


     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


     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,


     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.


      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


     "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


     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


     "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


     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


     "When we're through," she answered, "I promise that you'll

have everything back, and you can watch me erase the computer


     "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


     "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


     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


     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


     "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


     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


     "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


     "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


     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


     "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


     "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


     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


     My buttocks clenched and my legs twitched involuntarily, and

she laughed again.  "You'll know when its the real thing," she


     "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


     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


     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


     "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


     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


     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


     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


     "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


     "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


     "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


     "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


     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


     "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


     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


     "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


     "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


     "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


     "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


     "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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