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Porterville High - Chapter 1.6
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 1.6
Jim and Achilles returned the next day, Friday, to Sara's
house. This time she made sure she was prepared, with two
steak dinners ready and $500 cash sitting next to each plate.
She wore only and apron and made sure to say "master" and
"thank you" at the right times, and spoke only when spoken
to. It was, she thought, singularly humiliating, but she didn't
think she could take two days in a row of punishments,
punishments which she both dreaded and desired. Jim and
Achilles, for their parts, didn't seem inclined to push things.
They did tie her wrists together behind her back and cinch
her elbows together, which was painful at first and then just
uncomfortable, and they did make her squirm across the
floor and lick their feet, but otherwise they seemed content to
just fuck her. They used all three of her holes again, and left
her fully satisfied.
She was, she was afraid, beginning to get into it. She
had kept her three studs, as instructed, but found sex with
them to pale in comparison to Jim's torturous games. She
found herself getting excited thinking about the next
degradation he was going to inflict on her, rubbing herself to
orgasm thinking of him. Maybe she liked it so much, she
thought, because it was a new experience to her; before, she
had always been the one in charge, always the one whose
sexual appetites overwhelmed, and sometimes scared, her
partners. Here, Jim was in control, and Jim didn't give a shit
about her sexual appetites--to him, she was a piece of meat
to fuck when _he_ wanted to fuck it, and that excited her. He
used her desires to humiliate her, to rub her face in her
sluttish behavior; he laughed at her and beat her and bound
her desires to him. It was no longer a question of blackmail,
although she still hoped to get that tape back, just in case;
now she was a willing slave, willing to give him whatever he
wanted.
Achilles, for his part, found his experiences with Sara
exhilarating, and it gave him ideas about what to do with Amy
Sanders. That evening he climbed in through her window
and left his "requests" for the following week. They were
rather simple: on Monday at 4:00 they were to meet in her
room, and Wednesday and Thursday they were to meet in
the orange grove at 4:15. Monday, Achilles figured, was the
time for the open hand, the previous closed hand having
been her humiliating spanking. He wondered, though, how
long it was going to take before he could get down her
pants: he was losing patience.
Jim was satisfied. Sara was turning into a good little
slave. Her actions that Friday convinced him that it was time
to really start her training, and to that end he signed her up
for every night the following week, leaving him the weekend
free to prepare. He was glad he had told Achilles: that boy
had a certain something. You could have knocked him over
with a feather, though, when Achilles told him about Amy. He
wasn't so amazed at what she had done, but that Achilles
had been so quick to take advantage of it; his estimation of
the boy rose with each passing day.
Amy was the one person of the four who was anything
but enjoying herself. She had passed from a state of hatred
toward Achilles toward a state of dread. That Friday at
school she had been withdrawn, and quailed inside every
time she thought Achilles seemed to be around. She
constantly thought about turning herself in, and once or
twice even decided to do so, but then she discovered her
dread of jail outweighed her dread of Achilles. Once, in a
flash of insight which made her fear for herself, she realized
what her dread meant: that she had resigned herself to
Achilles' blackmail; she would no longer fight him.
While Ms. Ellsworth spent the weekend catching up on
her schoolwork, and Amy spent hers in a state of acute
depression, rarely moving from her bed, Jim and Achilles
went shopping. The went across the state line and hit a
number of pornographic video and book stores. They also
stopped by a couple leather stores and found one place
which specialized in bondage equipment. They managed to
spend most of the $1000 they had extorted from Sara; the
rest they spent at a hardware store, picking up the necessary
hardware to put all the new ideas they had formed into
practice.
Monday rolled around the schoolday passed pretty
much as usual. After school, Achilles met Amy in her room.
"Hello Amy. How you doing today?" he asked, looking
carefully at her, noticing the large bags under her eyes and
the listless way she carried herself.
"I'm okay," she replied without much conviction, sitting
down on her bed opposite him, yet not looking at him. "What
do you want today?"
"Amy, I'm really sorry about this." He got no response.
"You know I've always liked you," he kept at it, waiting for a
response, "and, well, I was kind of mad the way you always
ignored me, like you thought you were better than I was." He
made sure to stutter and look away, peeking at her from the
corner of his eyes. He was not disappointed to see her raise
her head and look at him now. "When I got those photos, I...
well... I kind of wanted to punish you for how you treated me,
you see?" He looked pleadingly into her eyes. She was
looking at him, but he couldn't see anything in those eyes
accept a mute despair. Well, he thought to himself as he
continued, I sure hope this works. "I feel really bad now,
especially since I've got a girlfriend now." He noticed her
start a little--good. "I thought maybe I should give back the
photos and everything"--she was interested now: life and
hope had come back into her eyes--"but, well, I don't know. I
still want to get to know you, without all this stuff between
us, and I'm afraid if I give you the photos, you'll just ditch
me." He looked up at her, trying to twist his face into his
most doleful expression.
Amy didn't react through much of this speech, her mind
was too dulled by despair. When he mentioned that he had a
girlfriend, though, she perked up: she hadn't known, and
was he saying that this might change things? Now what?
That he was going to give her those photos? Oh please,
please. No. What was he saying now--that he wanted to be
friends with her? That he wanted to put all this behind
them? Of course she would ditch him if she could! She
didn't hate him, but seeing him would remind her of the time
in her past when she had been completely and utterly
humiliated. So close to freedom! She forced herself to reach
over to him and take his hands in her own.
"Achilles," she said softly, looking him earnestly in the
eyes, "I'm sorry for making you angry. I'm sorry all this had
to happen between us. I can be your friend. Let's talk. Tell
me about yourself, tell me about your new girl. I want to
listen." She sounded convincing to her ears, she hoped she
sounded convincing to his; oh, how she hoped she sounded
convincing to him.
Achilles smiled to himself: hook, line and sinker.
"O... o... okay." He started out talking about his
photography, about how all hinted that he had secretly
taken pictures of her, so full of life and beauty. He talked
about how he saw each photo, how he could live or relive
each picture in his mind over and over again; how
intoxicating and wondrous it was. He led into his new
girlfriend (a complete fabrication), and how she too liked
photography. He had met her weeks ago, and he hinted that
they had just become intimate, sexually. He then
rhapsodized about how wonderful _it_ was, leaving it
unspoken; how it was the sharing of two souls, how it was a
union of minds. He spoke of how _it_ felt, so good, like she
had told him, like "taking and elevator up and up, faster and
faster, until it burst through the roof of the building and then
hung there, floating in the sky, finally coming gently to rest."
He told her what was special was that she had felt this, that
he had made her feel this. That was what he loved the most:
her pleasure in him. He petered out about then, inwardly
amused that she had listened so raptly to his every word,
and then asked, awkwardly, if she had ever felt anything like
that.
Amy at first listened to him because she had to if she
wished to get those photos back, but then she truly began to
hear him, and was amazed. He had been such a sleazeball
the previous week, and yet here he was, spilling his soul to
her, and it wasn't banal and uninteresting--it was, well, she
admitted to herself, deep. She was flattered by an oblique
reference to her, and listened, enthralled, as he talked about
sex with his girlfriend. He made it all sound so wonderful,
important and wonderful: the sharing, the feelings, the
pleasure, the tending to each other's needs. The way he
described it made her want to feel what he felt, to be on that
elevator as it burst through the roof. When he paused she
was lost in daydreams, and she blushed a little when he
heard him ask if she had ever felt that way.
She paused for a minute before answering, thinking of
her past sexual experiences. She had lost her virginity when
she was a freshman to a senior jock, her first boyfriend. She
remembered it had been extremely painful, but that she had
been happy that he had enjoyed it so much. Of course, he
had dumped her shortly thereafter, and she had been quite
broken up about it. Since then she had only had sex with her
last ex, and although it hadn't been painful, it had been
nothing special--in out repeat if necessary was what she
remembered about it. It had been, she reflected,
disillusioning.
"No," she answered him, "I've never felt that way
before."
He commiserated, shaking his head and wishing that
she could have the same feelings he had. He glanced at his
watch and jumped up suddenly, "I've got to go. We're
having company tonight." He gave her a quick peck on the
forehead and ran to the window.
The pictures..." she stuttered out before he was gone.
He paused for a moment as if considering, then said, "I
don't know, Amy, I don't know. Give me some time to think
about it?" With that, he smiled and slid down the tree,
running back in the direction of his house.
Amy lay back on her bed and wondered. She was
confused: was Achilles a psychopathic dweeb or was he
really a sweet guy? She didn't understand him, couldn't
make him out. He had been such an ass to her, setting out to
humiliate her whenever he could, but today he had been so
different, a sweet, shy guy who had fallen in love with some
girl. Would he return those photos to her, she wondered?
Was this all some bizarre plot to fuck with her mind? She
doubted it--he had been so sincere. Well, Wednesday would
tell.
Achilles was on top of the world: she was hooked!
Wednesday he would continue to talk to her, but he would
talk more explicitly about his sexual experiences, even if they
were mere fabrication. He might even hint that his girlfriend
was bisexual. He could go into more detail Thursday, and
then, next week, he would produce her, Ms. Sara Ellsworth,
playing the part of the love of his life. He didn't think it would
be long after that he would be porking Amy, sweet Amy. The
photos, now he would keep those--insecurity would be his
excuse, and one he thought she would buy. Everything was
working out as planned, and tonight was another night with
Sara.
Jim and Achilles showed up at Sara's with two duffle
bags full of goodies, and after dinner, Jim announced that it
was time for her cunt-slave training to begin. He began by
cuffing her arms behind her back and cinching her elbows
together, and then tying her down face up on the table, so
that her calves were tied to the legs of the table, spreading
them wide and bending them at the knee. He gagged her
with a large ball gag and then began binding her breasts
while Achilles ran a vibrator gently against her pussy lips.
When the tops of her breasts looked like enormous red
grapes about to burst, and her nipples were hugely
engorged with blood, he began flicking them, earning cries
of pain from her, mingled with moans of pleasure caused by
Achilles' skillful manipulation of her clitoris. Jim moved to
teeth and clothespins on her nipples, and then used rose
stems and finally needles. Achilles was by now slowly,
teasingly running the vibrator in and out of her sopping cunt,
occasionally working it under her body and pushing it
through her anus.
They worked her like this for close to 45 minutes, her
cunt yearning for orgasmic release and her tits near bursting
with overwhelming pain, a pain which blended with the
pleasure in her pussy to drive her crazy with desire. Finally
Jim mounted her, holding his body above hers while
jackhammering his cock into her cunt. She could feel her tits
and body throbbing with pleasure as her orgasm
approached, when, just before she came, Achilles cut
through the bondage on her breasts, releasing them. She
screamed through her gag as she orgasmed, blood flowing
swiftly back into her aching tits, blinding her with pain as she
bucked through her orgasm, the pain in her breasts adding a
delicious spice to her come.
They untied her from the table and carried her, her arms
still bound and her mouth still filled with the gag, into the
bathroom. There they gave her an enema, one that burned
like hot chili oil in the eyes, burned so that she sat moaning
and squirming on the toilet seat and tried to shit her guts out
while two strong pairs of hands held her down. They
dragged her to the shower and sprayed off her crack, giving
her some relief from the horrible burning in her ass and guts,
but not enough; she was in mortal agony. Laughing at her
plight they dragged her back into the living room where they
threw her over the back of the couch, her ass sticking high in
the air. Achilles coated his cock with ointment of some kind
and then forced it into her agonized, twitching anal passage.
The ointment cooled off her insides, making the sensations
assaulting her ass barely manageable. Then, as Achilles
began brutally fucking her ass and Jim grabbed her hair,
slapped her face, and pinched her still sensitive breasts, she
became consumed by a wild, animal passion. She came
three times before Achilles spewed into her, each orgasm
eclipsing the other, each orgasm painfully intense, centered
in her burning ass.
Finally they dragged her back to the table and bound
her stringently on her back, her shins and knees bound flat
on the table near her chest, her pussy and ass exposed in
the air, her head hanging back off the table. One of them slid
his cock slowly down her throat, his balls nestled against her
nose, and began fucking her mouth, while the other pinched
and slapped and squeezed her nether regions. Her clit was
pinched by strong fingers, nails cutting into her tender flesh,
until she screamed through the cock in her throat. Her labia
was pinched and pulled painfully, and her ass slapped and
poked and tugged. Every few minutes they would switch
places, and each time the one at her groin would rub it gently
for half a minute, sending pleasure racing through her body
only to be turned to pain as he switched tactics, assaulting
her about a half of an hour before they came down her
throat. They still hadn't let her come, and she began to beg
them, plead with them, to fuck her. Jim only smiled and
grabbed her clit between his thumb and forefinger, while
Achilles did the same with her nipples. Then they both
squeezed, hard, harder, making her scream in agony,
arching her back as she felt pain as she had never felt it
before. Right before it became unbearable, right before she
thought she was going to pass out, she came, screaming the
whole time, and she came harder than she thought possible,
seemingly forever. It only stopped a long while after they let
go of her, and then they untied her and left her lying there,
with a note from Jim beside her.
Later that night, before she dropped off to sleep, she
realized what they had done: not one ounce of pleasure had
she received without accompanying pain. Every orgasm
was accompanied by a delicious agony, turning the natural
reactions of her body topsy-turvy. She shuddered as she
realized their plan for her: they were turning her into a
pain-slut. Pain slut was the last thing she though before she
drifted off.
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