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Porterville High - Chapter 1.4
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Porterville High
Chapter 1.4
Thursday at noon, Achilles Brown, eating his lunch,
was quite pleased with himself. He had talked to Jim and
had arranged to be picked up at 7:40 near his house. From
there, they were going to pay a visit to Ms. Sara Ellsworth.
Achilles had been, and still was, a little nervous about it,
since it would be his first time with a woman, but Jim
assured him that he would take care of everything--all he
need to do is lay back and enjoy. He certainly needed some
relief, since his games with Amy were exciting him so much
he was having trouble holding back. If he did or said
something wrong, he knew he would lose her.
His "date" with Sara was not the only reason for his
smugness. Like he had guessed, Amy Sanders had chosen
today to test him: she had worn pants. They were those
loose, oversized, dirty pants which were cinched at the
waist, and that Achilles found so distasteful. Worst of all,
though, was that he had forbidden her to wear pants. He
found it amusing that she seemed to search him out and,
while at a comfortable distance talking to some friends,
parade her defiance in front of him. The one time he had
bothered to meet her eyes he had only frowned and shaken
his head sadly. Well, he thought to himself, he had planned
for this, and knew exactly what he was going to do. He
would be finished by five at the latest, which would give him
plenty of time to prepare for Sara Ellsworth. He savored the
sound of her name in his mind: Ms. Sara Ellsworth.
Amy Sanders had decided that she had enough. The
Wednesday picnic had been humiliating enough; she wasn't
going to put up with Achilles' bullying anymore, even if he
did have those pictures of her. He would never use them,
she thought, he wanted to play his little games with her too
much. Well, she wasn't going to have it any longer; she
would put up with some things to keep him quiet, but she
wanted some say in the matter. No more of this do as I say
crap. Still, she was nervous; she wasn't sure what he
_would_ do when he saw that she had decided to ignore his
demands and had worn pants. She tried to catch his eye all
day at school, but the one time she did all he did was look
glum and shake his head sadly, which just infuriated her
more.
Deciding he couldn't skip his last period class again, he
had to run over to Amy's house as fast as he could to make
sure he was there before she was. He was glad she had left
the window to her room open, since it made things easier for
him. He climbed into her room and rummaged through her
closet, picking out her sophomore cheerleading outfit (she
had quit, obviously figuring been there done that) and laying
it on the bed, large colored panties and all. He then sat
down on her bed and waited for her to come home.
Amy went straight home after class, wanting to
confront Achilles as soon as possible. She figured that she
would find him in her room: she wasn't disappointed. She
strode purposefully into her room, dropped her bag on the
floor, swung the door shut, and faced him from across the
room.
"Get out," she said assertively.
"I don't think you want to do that." He spoke softly,
menacingly.
"I said, get out," her voice raising.
"What's the matter, honey," a voice drifted up from
downstairs.
"Nothing mother," Amy called, turning back to Achilles,
who she found standing.
Before I go, you should listen," he said, looking her in
the eyes, stopping her before she could speak. "At 5:30 my
father comes home from work. He walks into the kitchen,
swings his coat over the back of a chair, puts his briefcase
on the kitchen table, then picks up the mail my mother and I
leave on that table. He immediately takes that mail and
walks the four blocks to the mail drop--he calls it
unwinding--and then returns." He paused. "Right now,
sitting on my kitchen table, are the photos of you I have, in
an envelope, stamped and addressed to the police. If I leave
now, I don't think I'll go home 'till at least 7:00, and by this
time tomorrow, you'll be under arrest."
She had stood there listening to him, anger and fear
warring within her as he spoke. She began shivering as
despair began to banish both as the stark reality of her
plight became clear to her: either do as he wished, or go to
prison.
He watched her carefully as he finished his speech:
"Now, if you do exactly what I say, I'll make sure to be home
before five, and you won't have to worry about a thing. Do
you understand?"
She stood there for a moment as he finished; she
wanted to cry. She nodded jerkily, and saw him motion to
her old cheerleading outfit on the bed.
"Put that on. And don't worry, I won't watch."
Not speaking, she picked up the uniform and went to
the corner of her room where she began to undress.
Turning around and grabbing a low chair, he sat down
facing the bed, his back toward her. He let out a sigh of
relief that his gambit worked: he had let her run and then
pulled her back in. He figured that she thought he would
never mail those photos in, and based her defiance on that.
He guessed that once he made it abundantly clear that she
could either obey him or have the police solve a murder, she
would break. She had, and he felt a surge of emotion at his
success. The next part he was going to enjoy immensely.
Amy finished dressing and turned around and faced
Achilles, who was sitting down with his back toward her.
She walked over, despairing at what he had in store for her,
and stood between him and the bed.
Achilles looked at her standing before him: her firm,
shapely legs almost completely revealed by the little mini;
her breasts straining against the sleeveless tee which was
now a little to small for her; her hair cascading around her
graceful neck, white as alabaster. He stared at her for a
moment, taking in her stunning beauty, and then
commanded her to turn on her stereo, and to turn it up
rather loudly.
"Now stand to my right, facing me," he told her when
she had turned on the stereo. "Kneel down."
Her head was now on the same level his was, and he
looked hard into her pale blue eyes which seemed to stare
through him.
"You've been a bad girl, haven't you Amy?"
He saw her lips move in a silent yes, but no sound
came out.
"I said, you've been a bad girl. Isn't that true?" he said
louder.
Again her lips moved, and this time he heard a quiet
"yes" come from them.
Lean over my legs. More. Put your hands flat on the
floor on the other side of me. Over more. Good. Stop now."
As she climbed over his legs, she knew what he was
going to do. She started crying silently, tears leaking from
her eyes. She remembered her boyfriend from freshman
year--he was a big guy--telling her one day that when he got
together with a couple of his friends to beat on someone, it
wasn't the physical damage they did that was worst--it was
the humiliation. The guy couldn't stop them: he was
powerless, and just had to take it. That was the bad part, the
helplessness, the impotence, knowing there was nothing
you could do. She felt just like that: helpless, defeated.
His penis was rock hard as he positioned her over his
thighs. Her breasts were hanging over the chair to his left,
her lower chest/upper stomach pressed against his left
thigh. She was balancing herself atop him with her hands
and the balls of her feet. Her back was tilted down to his left,
and he placed his hand between her shoulder blades,
holding her there. She was bent at the waist, her upper
thighs pressing against his right thigh, thrusting her ass out
and up. With his right hand he pushed up her cheerleading
skirt until it bunched at her waist, revealing the twin bulges
of her ass through her red underwear.
"I'm going to spank you now," he said, rubbing his
right hand over her ass, "and you're going to thank me after
each swat. Do you understand?"
He looked down at her head and smiled as she nodded,
her hair falling to the ground on either side of her face. He
thought her heard a sob, but didn't really care: she
shouldn't have challenged him.
Laying across his lap in this obscene position, her ass
thrust high into the air, she began sobbing quietly. It was all
too awful. Despair crowded in on her consciousness as she
felt him carefully pull her underwear around her upper
thighs, and a cool draft ran over her exposed asscheeks. He
cried out "One!" and a loud <SLAP> rung in her ears,
coincidental with a stinging pain in her left ass cheek which
caused her to gasp through her sobs. Horrified at what was
happening to her, her mind froze as he rubbed his hand
firmly over where he had slapped, and then called out
"One!" again, and then <SLAP>.
He was about to burst through his jeans while he
edged her underwear down over her ass, leaving it
encircling her upper thighs. Looking at her twin ass cheeks,
so smooth and white, firm and luscious, he couldn't resist
running his hand over their silky flesh. Hearing her sobbing,
he called out "One!" and brought his hand down hard on her
left ass cheek, stinging his hand as well as earning a gasp
from Amy. He rubbed her ass for a moment, waiting for her
to thank him, and then called out "One!" again and slapped
her other cheek.
For a moment Amy was confused, and then
remembered:
"Th... Thank... you" she sobbed out, loud enough to be
heard over the music.
"Two!" <SLAP>
"Thank you."
"Three!" <SLAP>
"Thank you."
By the tenth strike, her ass was a burning mass of pain
and her chest heaved in great sobs of pain and humiliation.
He was striking her hard, her body jerking in his lap each
time his hand came down across her ass. The worst part,
though, was the way he rubbed his hand all over her ass
between each blow, spreading a painful warmth throughout
her ass.
He watched as his hand turned her ass a dull red,
beautiful against the creamy whiteness of the back of her
thighs. He especially loved the way each blow sent her
asscheeks quivering, the firm flesh having given way before
his hand. His right hand was killing him, smarting from the
blows he had landed. Five more, he thought, to make fifteen,
then he would stop. He wanted so badly to just throw her
over the bed and fuck her--he quivered in desire at the
thought--but he resisted the urge; he couldn't afford to
spook her. He could get away with a spanking, but if he
tried anything more now, she was sure to freak out on him.
Oh well, he thought, this is good enough for now, rubbing
his hand over her ass once again.
She heard him call out "Fifteen!" and felt the familiar
pain of another blow on her ass. "Thank you," she replied
automatically through her sobs, her whole body tense and
on edge, awaiting more punishment. She jerked on his lap
when she felt him pull her underwear gently over her
throbbing ass, and kept her head down--she couldn't look at
him--as he helped her to her knees and then onto her bed.
She collapsed on it and curled up into a fetal position, still
sobbing out her pain and humiliation. Several hours later
she fell asleep in the same position, tears still coursing
down her face.
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