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Porterville High - Chapter 1.7
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 1.7
That Monday evening, all thoughts of Achilles were
driven from Amy's mind when her father came home and
told her that he had arrested her ex-boyfriend and two of his
friends. They had, he told her, gotten into a fight in a bar,
and her ex had shot someone dead with his father's rifle. Oh
god, she thought, please don't let them find out about the
store robbery. Her father, though, was telling her that the
police thought the boys might be connected with the store
robbery, but they couldn't prove anything, yet. Amy didn't
fall asleep until late that night, worry eating up her stomach.
The next morning the news was all over the school,
and when Achilles heard it, he was at first worried for Amy,
but then he became ecstatic. This was the final nail in the
coffin for her; he knew exactly what to do now.
Maria heard the news and didn't care. Since her rape
she had been withdrawn and even more anti-social than
usual. She was surprised, then, when Jim approached her
at lunch and asked her to follow him. She didn't know Jim
well, but she knew his reputation, so didn't hesitate to join
him. If he chose to speak to her, she could learn something.
She shivered, though, and almost balked, when he took her
down to the same room in which she was raped. She
entered anyway and was surprised to see two chairs set up
before a tv and vcr.
"Sit, sit," he motioned, and turned on the tv screen and
started the vcr.
"Oh Jesus," she whispered softly as she recognized
herself on the tape, herself walking into this very room and
being grabbed by Ms. Ellsworth's three bully boys. She was
frozen with shock, and she stared, transfixed, at the screen
while Jim spoke to her in the background. "I thought you
might like to see this, Maria," he said, watching her closely.
"With this tape you can put that bitch away for good. You
know that. But I don't think that's good enough for her," he
emphasized, leaning closer to the girl, "I don't think she
deserves to get off easy with just going to jail. I want to see
her punished, in pain, screaming for mercy. Maria?"
Maria tore her eyes from the video of her rape and
turned her head slowly toward his. Her large brown eyes
bore into his as she spoke, her voice loaded with passion.
"Anything, anything you want. Just give me the cunt."
Jim let a smile grow over his face as he stared back at
her impassioned face. Sara, he thought, was going to be in
for a big surprise. Before she left, he gave her a duffle bag
full of bondage and sadomasochistic books and magazines,
all, he said, to give her ideas on how best to torture Ms. Sara
Ellsworth. One last thing he gave her before she left: a new
outfit she was to wear when she came down to the boiler
room on Friday afternoon, where her teacher would be
waiting for her.
That afternoon, instead of heading home, Sara went
down to the boiler room to await Jim and Achilles. She
didn't have to wait long, and wasn't at all surprised at what
they did to her. There was a lot more bondage and a lot
more pain than pleasure than the previous evening, but it
didn't matter, because already she was having trouble telling
the difference. They whipped her, pinched her, slapped her,
and fucked her repeatedly for over three hours, then let her
go home to collapse exhausted on the couch. She was out
another five hundred dollars, but, she thought as she lay
there, her body still buzzing from pain and pleasure, it was
worth it. She almost couldn't wait for the rest of the week, all
down in the boiler room.
Wednesday was a school day like any other, and Amy
started to relax when she realized the boom had not yet
fallen, and from what her father said, probably wouldn't fall.
Her mind started to drift back to Achilles and what he had
told her about himself and about his sexual experiences,
and she obliquely questioned her girlfriends about their
experiences. She didn't get any satisfactory answers, and
almost looked forward to meeting him in the orchard that
afternoon.
Four fifteen rolled around and she stood in the orange
grove waiting for Achilles. He showed up a few minutes
later carrying a duffle bag, looking, she thought, morose.
"Sit down," he said, following suit and putting on his
most depressed face. He had rehearsed the following
words over and over in his head all night; he hoped he
wouldn't blow it. "You know, Amy, I've been thinking a lot
about the robbery. I've been feeling really guilty about not
telling anybody about it--I mean, a man was killed. No, don't
interrupt. Then, when I heard about those guys getting
arrested for another murder, it was like a great weight was
lifted from my shoulders. You know?"
"I... I understand, Achilles, and..."
"Wait. I haven't finished. I felt better because they
weren't getting away with what they did--they were going to
be punished now, and they deserved to be punished. Then I
thought about you, Amy. You did this horrible thing, Amy,
and you got away scot free!"
"Achilles..." she wheedled.
"No! It's true. Nothing bad has happened to you. Sure
I spanked you and took some money from you, but what is
that compared to a man's life? So I was thinking, you know,
maybe you should tell everyone what you had done, or else I
could maybe send in the photos. You know?" With that he
looked up at her with his best sad eyes.
Oh my God! she thought. He couldn't! He simply
couldn't! She was in misery: to worry about the doom of jail
and then to escape, only to be told that doom still awaits--it
was too awful. She stared at him with horror, her mind
working frantically to get her out of this. He didn't _want_ to
do this; he felt he had to. She could use that. She could. He
also wanted her--she knew that. Even with his girlfriend, he
wanted her. But he wanted her punished too; she knew he
wouldn't be deterred from that. How then? How to escape
this trap? Suddenly an idea hit her: it was awful, but it was
her only way out.
Slowly she got up onto her knees and leaned forward
onto her fingertips until her face was only a foot away from
his. "I... I don't _want_ to go to jail Achilles," she said softly,
"but you're right, I did screw up, and I shouldn't get away
with it, but you don't have to turn me in." He was looking at
her now, curiosity replacing the sadness in his eyes. "I
have," she swallowed, "I have a better idea, Achilles. You...
you punish me. Please," she cried as she saw the look of
surprise in his face, "please, do it for me. I don't want to go
to jail!" Achilles did his best to look surprised when she said
the words he oh so much wanted to hear. Oh yes, oh yes he
would punish her, but he said, standing and looking
confused and embarrassed, "I don't know Amy. I don't
know. Let me think about it. Let me think. Come down here
at six and I'll tell you. I have to think." With that, he half
stumbled half ran off, leaving her with an agony of waiting.
He practically ran all the way home, he was so elated.
She was his! Finally she was his! He practically jumped
with joy at the thought. Sure, he was going to have to miss
his fucking Sara tonight, but he would be punishing his
dream girl, Amy Sanders. He already had some good ideas.
Amy stood in the orange grove for a few more minutes,
fretting worriedly. God she hoped he took her up on her
offer, but she was apprehensive too. Too have him punish
her... She knew if he decided to he would humiliate her and
degrade her like he had when he had spanked her. She
wandered back to her house disconsoletly, thinking in her
mind anything he could do to her would be better than jail,
no matter how humiliating. She started thinking, too, of what
he had said: was it true that she should be punished? She
had left a man to die, and then told no one who had done
it--wasn't that deserving of punishment? Didn't she deserve
whatever Achilles was going (how she hoped he would
decide so) to her? It wasn't only the robbery, either. How
about how she treated her friends, like they were there for
her, like they weren't even human? And how about how she
thought about everyone else, thought herself above them,
smarter and more attractive than them? She was going
somewhere, she was a winner, they were all losers. Wasn't
she only now getting her just desserts? She didn't like
thinking all these things--she wasn't naturally
introspective--but she couldn't stop herself; the tension of
the past week had made her wonder about herself and her
place in the world. She shuddered at the thoughts she
couldn't push out of her head as she lay on her bed awaiting
Achilles' decision.
Six o'clock rolled around and found them both
standing among the orange trees in the waning light of the
day. He had accepted her proposition and was now telling
her to remove the flower pattern summer dress she was
wearing, which so complimented her figure. She obeyed
meekly; she had known something like this was coming, and
had made her decision: she would do whatever he asked.
Achilles watched with growing excitement as she
stepped out of her dress and handed it to him. He stared at
her lithe body for a moment, letting his eyes travel over her
jutting breasts, encased in a push-up bra, her smooth white
skin firm across her stomach and hips, a few curling pubic
hairs peeking out from her white panties, and her perfect,
long legs with shapely calves and thighs. He sighed and
gently placed the dress near the duffle bag he had brought
and took out several of the things he had brought.
Standing in just her bra and her panties, Amy hung her
head, feeling the cool breeze of the evening caress her body
and knowing, just knowing, that Achilles wanted to do the
same. She shivered, then. "Amy," Achilles spoke, "I found
some things down in the basement which I thought I would
use." He reached across to her and handed her a studded
leather collar, padded on the inside, with four metal loops
ninety degrees from each other on the outside. "Put it on."
She glanced up at him, but couldn't look; she was too
ashamed. With her left hand she lifted her kinky sandy
blond hair away from her neck and hooked the collar around
her neck, clasping it shut in front. It was so demeaning, she
thought, so demeaning to be standing her like this with this
collar around my neck. Like a dog; like some animal.
"Here, put this on," he said, handing her a small
padlock.
She obeyed mechanically, feeling awful, feeling like she
knew she should be feeling for what she had done.
"Now put this in," he continued, handing her a
somewhat wedge-shaped piece of pink plastic which fit in
her palm, with two supple leather straps connected to the
larger end by metal rivets.
She gazed at it for a minute then looked at him,
confused. What was this thing? she wondered. Her light
blue eyes widened in surprise and she blushed as she saw
him motion toward his mouth and say, "You don't deserve to
speak, do you?"
She shook her head and looked down again, opening
her mouth and sliding the plastic in. It was cool and
tasteless, but it stretched her jaw wide, the thin end fitting
snugly against her back molars while the rest made sure to
fill her mouth. Thankfully it left her tongue enough room so
that she could swallow, even if it was pressed down against
the bottom of her mouth. The whole thing didn't fit in her
mouth, so her lips were bunched up uncomfortably around
the end. She reached around and cinched the leather straps
together at the top of her neck, her hands running up
against the collar she was wearing. A wave of mental
anguish washed over he then, but she pushed it back
resolutely; it was no more than she deserved.
Achilles watched her put the gag in, imagining it was
his cock. He watched as she worked her jaw wider and
wider to accommodate the gag, and then jiggle it around so
it was its most comfortable. He liked the way it made her
face look: it softened the harsh angles of her face and
distended her lips obscenely, the leather straps pulling the
sides of her mouth into hollows, accenting her anguished
eyes.
Amy stood there, her feet rooted to the ground, her
body shaking with humiliation, as he slowly walked a circle
around her. She knew his eyes were exploring her near
naked body, knew he was appraising her even as she stood
there in shame.
He went back to the bag and pulled out a riding crop
and slid it through his hand before looking over at his prize.
Her eyes were wide with surprise as he approached her, and
she jerked back her head as he ran the crop gently against
her cheek.
"None of that now," he said, smiling at her as he began
gently stroking her face with the crop.
"AAAAAHHHHH... UUUUUUUUHHHHH" she grunted
through her gag, scared now as she felt the crop run gently
across her cheek, her forehead, down her neck. She
couldn't stop her body from shaking; the crop was like a
little charge of electricity wherever it touched, leaving a
tingling trail down her neck, her arms, the top of her breasts,
her stomach, the tops of the thighs and around to the back
of her thighs. Now to her buttocks, the small of her back,
between her shoulder blades. She was still shivering when
the crop lifted, and she almost jumped when she felt his
hand lay on her shoulder.
He watched the reactions of her body as he gently
caressed it with the crop. She was shaking, scared, terrified
and nervous, adrenaline coursing through her blood. She
was on edge, standing on the tip of a needle, ready to fall
whichever way he pushed. He smiled as she jumped at his
touch, and whispered into her ears, "Down, down on your
hands and knees."
She jerkily obeyed him, her whole body tight, her gut
churning with nervousness. She had gotten herself into
this, she thought. It had been her decision. The dirt, leaves
and twigs felt rough under her hands and knees, and her
breasts felt pendulous as they hung down beneath her,
barely within her bra now. She closed her eyes; it couldn't
get any worse. Then she felt his hands at her neck and
something click shut, and she looked up to see him holding
a leash.
"You're now my bitch," he said, and she didn't even
mind, she was so numb--numb and tense, strange her mind
told her. "I need to give you a name... How about Princess?
Do you like Princess?"
She nodded dully, accepting her fate.
"Let's go for a walk, come on Princess, let's go for a
walk."
He felt a surge of power as he shuffled along with Amy
crawling by his side, looking down at her back and gazing
longingly at the side of her breast as it swung freely within
her bra cup. He could make her take off her bra, he knew.
Could probably even fuck her right now, but she wouldn't be
into it, wouldn't like it, and he didn't want a motionless piece
of ass. He wanted her to give herself to him willingly, to beg
him to take her, to own her. This was just the first step.
Amy shuffled along beside him, feeling degraded, lower
than a dog. It was awful: her knees and hands hurt from the
clods of dirt and twigs digging into her skin, and she told
herself she should get up and tell Achilles she wasn't taking
any more of this. Punishment was punishment, but this was
too much. But whenever she thought this, her mind went
back to that night in the truck, the gunshots and her panic
and a man lying dead in the store, and she remembered they
way she had looked upon Achilles and others at her school,
as not human, as below her, and she didn't stand up and tell
him off; she continued crawling on the ground like the dog
she was--it was only right and fitting.
He led her around like that for ten minutes, tugging at
the leash whenever he turned. He brought her back to their
original meeting place and said, "Stay!" He then walked ten
yards away and took off his shoes and socks and sat down
on the ground, his feet in front of him. "Down on your belly,
Princess," he called out. He was going to love this part.
At the sound of his voice Amy looked up at him sitting
on the ground in the distance. She groaned a little as she
lay down on her stomach, thankful that her weight was no
longer on her knees and hands.
"Now crawl to me on your belly, my little bitch," she
heard him call out and she groaned inwardly. Hadn't he
punished her enough yet? But no, he hadn't, and she knew
it. She began squirming across the ground, using her
thighs and upper arms to drag herself across the dirt. She
felt the dirt roll and scrape against the flesh of the thighs, her
stomach, and her breasts. As she made her way slowly
toward Achilles, she felt her bra pull down off her breasts,
exposing the nipples to the harsh earth beneath her. She
didn't stop, though, even though she whimpered in pain and
humiliation through her gag at the earth tearing at her tender
breasts. It hurt and was humiliating crawling across the
ground like this, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.
It seemed an eternity before she reached him and
looked up to stare into his bare feet. Her breasts, stomach
and thighs, as well as her upper arms, were hyper sensitive,
tenderized by the pebbles and dirt clods and twigs and
leaves which rolled and pressed against her body as she
squirmed across the ground. She was finished now, thank
god, and rested her cheek against the ground, grateful for
the cool earth against her face.
"Good Princess, good," she heard him say. "Now back
up on your hands and knees and take out your gag." Thank
you thank you, she thought, looking at him gratefully as she
un-cinched the ties behind her neck and gently removed the
gag, her jaws feeling strange as they closed for the first time
in a half hour. She massaged her jaws for a minute and
looked at him and was going to speak, but he put his finger
to his lips and quieted her.
"Now Princess, give me the gag. Good dog. No, don't
adjust your bra, I like it so I can see your nipples. That's
right. Hmm... I think I'll let you lick my feet now, Princess,"
and he smiled.
She looked at him, shocked now. She had been so
relieved to be allowed to take out the gag that she hadn't
even realized that he could now see her breasts. She wasn't
surprised when he had demanded that she leave them
exposed, but lick his feet? That was gorse, disgusting. She
shivered and half shook her head; she wouldn't do this.
He leaned forward and spoke to her, his voice hard:
"Aren't you forgetting something, Amy? _You_ were the one
who decided you needed to be punished; _you_ were the
one who chose me to do it. You _will_ let me do it. Do you
understand?"
She quailed inwardly at the tone in his voice: it was
hard, commanding. Her face took on a scared, confused
expression; she had chosen this as better than jail; she
deserved this, she did, she really did. Without a word she
got back down on her hands and dragged her tongue
across the bottom of his foot, tasting the stale sweat of his
shoe and the musty dampness of the earth. She kept at it,
running her tongue between his toes and around his ankles
and against his arch.
Achilles was in heaven, his legs numb with ecstacy.
The feeling of her tongue around his toes was sensational,
and the view of her breasts, dangling now against the
ground, was too much. He let her lick his feet for almost
thirty minutes before he couldn't take it any longer. He
stood up quickly, panting with the effort of denying himself
her body, and rummaged around in the bag before taking out
a bottle of water, which he handed to her after telling her to
get up. He had to take out his pent up sexual energy
somehow, and looking down at the riding crop still in his
hand, figured he knew just how.
Amy eagerly sucked down the water he gave her,
gratefully washing the taste of his feet off her tongue. She
looked at him, wondering what he was going to do next,
dreading it, when she saw him gazing strangely at the riding
crop in his hand. He looked up at her, meeting her light blue
eyes with his, and said, "Up against the tree."
She hesitated, then obeyed him, her back against the
tree and her breasts standing proudly before her, still partly
supported by the bra rolled up underneath them, her legs
apart for balance.
"Have you been a bad girl, Princess?" he asked,
running the crop gently across her nipples, making them
swell with blood and sending her heart racing and her
breath come quicker.
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I've been a bad girl." He kept brushing the crop
against her now ultra-sensitive nipples, engorged with
blood, making her shake with forbidden pleasure. It felt
_so_ good she thought; she never knew her breasts could
feel so good. All the little indentations from the dirt, all the
pain from squirming over the ground seemed to be
absorbed into the incredible pleasure engulfing her breasts.
She couldn't let him see, couldn't let him know what he was
doing to her. It was bad enough as it was, but how
humiliating if he discovered how she was reacting.
"Close your eyes," he commanded, taking away the
crop. She closed her eyes, trembling from the reaction of
her body to its caresses, trying to bring herself under
control.
Suddenly she heard a whistling sound and a thin
*thwack* and pain exploded across her right nipple and she
screamed, her eyes popping open and her hands going up
to protect herself, her knees bending and her body twisting
away from him. Her breast was on fire with pain as great as
the pleasure it had just felt--it felt like it was burning, and
blood pounded painfully across the red slash on her breast
and nipple, increasing the agony.
He just stood there, the crop in his hand, as if he had
done nothing. She was scared and in pain. The way he
looked at her, like she was just an animal, an animal to be
punished for doing something bad. "Bad girls have to be
punished," he said. "Present your other breast for
punishment."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but his
tone, his stance, his attitude of complete assurance, of
command, forced her to obey. Besides, her mind told her,
it's what you deserve. You felt pleasure in your punishment,
its only right you feel pain now. She straightened back up
against the tree and brought her hands down. She closed
her eyes; she knew what to expect.
Achilles looked at her, impressed. He wasn't sure if she
would accept another stroke of the crop, and her poise
surprised him. He took a moment to gaze at her breasts
before he struck, noticing how they were a little larger than
Sara's, and more conical, but just as firm, if not firmer. The
nipples on both were still hard, even the one with a red mark
through it and across the breast. He brought his arm back
and slashed the crop against her other breast, making sure
to hit the nipple, and listened to her as she choked back a
cry.
Pain flashed through her again, but she was
determined not to cry out, and strangled back the cry which
sought to escape her lips. She was gasping now, leaning
back against the tree, her mind totally concentrated on the
pain in her breasts. Slowly she rubbed them, gritting her
teeth as she massaged the burning pain into a dull,
throbbing ache concentrated in her still hard nipples. She
looked up at Achilles, pleading with her eyes for him to be
finished, for him to let her go. He only stared mercilessly
back at her and told her to turn around and hug the tree tight.
"Hug it! Tighter. Now hug it with your knees. You're
not close enough to it. That's better, much better."
She was gripping the tree as if she were going to
shimmy up it, her arms two thirds of the way around the
trunk. Her torso was smashed against the rough bark,
which further tormented her nipples and breasts, and
scraped her stomach as she flexed her muscles to keep
close to the tree. Her inner thighs were also scratched up by
the bark of the tree, and her skin prickled at tiny splinters
and edges in the bark. For the first time she saw how she
must look, with her cheek pressed up against the trunk: she
looked as if she were trying to fuck the tree. With that
thought, her face turned crimson and she became conscious
of her mound pressing through her panties against the hard
wood. It was so obscene what she was doing, with her
breasts free and throbbing. What was he doing to her.
She cried out in pain and jerked her hips into the tree
as he brought the crop against her covered ass. She
moaned at the sensations sparking from her groin as it
ground itself against the rough bark of the tree. Again he
struck her ass, causing her hips to jerk convulsively
forward, sending more sparks of pleasure coursing up from
her vagina. She didn't know, didn't understand, what was
happening to her. Her ass was on flame with the pain of his
whipping, but the blinding flashes of pleasure blasting from
her vagina each time her hips jerked against the tree were
like nothing she had ever felt before. As he kept striking he,
the pain and pleasure both built up, spreading first to her
breasts as she squirmed against the tree, scraping them
violently against the rough bark. The tree became a brutal
lover as he brought the crop against her ass again and
again, scraping roughly against her inner thighs and leg,
bruising her mound and tearing at her breasts and stomach.
It was all too much for her, she was swirling in a fog of
incredible sensations. She no longer felt the crop against
her ass, she only felt the rough bark against her body as she
ground mindlessly against it, sparks going off before her
eyes as sensations she had never felt before assaulted her
whole body. More sparks and a blinding white flash lit up her
vision as she body tensed and she screamed at the
breaking tension which poured wave after wave of fire
through every nerve in her body. She bucked and shook
and spasmed against the tree, engulfed in a world of her
own pleasure, before she slowly slid down to the ground
and lay, limbs akimbo, half conscious, on the ground.
Achilles watched her growing orgasm with satisfaction
and lust, and felt victory as she came violently against the
tree. She was his now. He wasn't going to fuck her now--it
was too soon. Let her think about how she had reacted,
how she had come for the first time in her life in this orange
grove, how he had made her shake violently in orgasm.
Silently he handed her dress and said, "I want to see you
tomorrow in my room at 4:00. Don't be late," before walking
off to the school, hoping he wasn't to late to catch the last bit
of Sara's torture. He needed a good fuck right about now.
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