Achilles Brown did, in no way, live up to his name.  At 17 years 
of age, he was a scrawny 5'7 and had a face that was plain in the 
extreme.  Only his mop of brownish red hair distinguished him in any way, 
and that, usually negatively.  As a junior at Porterville High, he had no 
friends, and was considered creepy by the general population of the 
school.  He was not very bright, but neither was he stupid.  His one 
redeeming quality was that he could not understand why people were cruel 
in any way.
	Perhaps it is untrue that he had no friends; Jim, the school 
janitor, seemed to have taken him under his wing.  And his life was not 
empty, for he had two great passions:  photography and Amy Sanders.  He 
carried around a camera everywhere, even to school, and took pictures of 
everyone and everything.  This, of course, helped to lower his popularity 
even more, and he had been beaten up several times, narrowly protecting 
his beloved camera from damage.
	His other passion, Amy Sanders, was, as Jim was fond on telling 
him, way out of his league.  She was a junior also, but she was in the 
"in" crowd.  In fact, she was the most popular girl in the history of the 
school, and got to do pretty much whatever she wanted.  She had an 
unusual beauty:  her skin was a translucent white, with kinky sandy blond 
hair falling to mid shoulder.  A sharp, thin nose divided her face in 
two, strangly accenting piercing blue eyes.  Her mouth was small with 
thin, dull pink lips, adding a strange attraction to her face.  Her body 
was slender, and medium sized breasts were accented by a perfect 
posture.  The rest of her figure was boyish, with a narrow waist and hips 
and just barely thin legs.  She walked, head up, shoulders back, like she 
owned the world, and maybe she did.  Her father was the county sheriff, 
and her boyfriend was the quarterback of the football team.  She was 
getting straight A's in all her classes and her teachers loved her.  She 
was way, way out of his league.
	Achilles had, when he had accumulated enough courage, tried to 
talk to her a few times, but received the ice cold shoulder, as well as 
the dangerous attention of her boyfriend and his crowd of supermacho 
weightlifters.  Jim called her alternately the perfect little white girl 
and the ice queen, and her crowd the meathead brigade.  It didn't 
matter:  his two passions remained photography and Amy Sanders, and since 
he couldn't have one, he threw himself even more into the other.
	It was a saturday evening, around 9:30 pm, and the moon was 
full.  Achilles had been out with his camera, experimenting with 
different speeds of film in the darkness.  He was presently standing in 
the local seven-eleven sucking on a slurpy and watching the video game 
scroll through the high scores.  Presently he exitted, slurpie in hand, 
and turned the corner into the darkeness of the building.  Suddenly he 
heard a car screech to a stop in front of the store, and turned and 
peered around the corner of the store, careful not to be seen.
	He saw his passion, Amy Sanders, sitting at the wheel of her 
boyfriend's truck, looking a little jumpy as her boyfriend and two of his 
friends loped easily into the store.  Achilles quickly pulled out his 
camera--any picture of Amy was a good picture--and, steadying himself, 
began to take pictures of her.
	Amy, sitting behind the wheel, was hyped up.  The speed, she 
thought as she waited, the speed makes you fly.  Since she had taken the 
drug, everything had a crystal clarity to it, and time seemed stretched, 
as if she were squeezing more living into life.  It was the first time 
she had taken the drug, at the instigation of her boyfriend, and she 
wasn't sure she liked it:  it made her nervous and jumpy.  Like, what was 
taking those guys so long?
	Achilles started at a loud bang, and cursed under his breath at 
the ruined shot he had just clicked off.  He put himself back into his 
picture taking, and slowly shock registered in his mind.
	<Click> <Click> Her boyfriend halfway to his truck, gun and paper 
bag in hand, with his two friends trailing him.  <Click> Again.
	<Click> <Click> The door to his truck being wrenched open, a look of 
panic on Amy's face as she reaches over to help open the door, while his 
two friends jump into the back of his truck.  <Click>
	<Click> <Click> <Click> Amy, small white hands gripping the 
wheel, driving off at full speed. <Click>
	Jesus Jesus Jesus Amy thought, nearly jumping out of her skin at 
the sound of the gunshot, what the hell?  Then she was leaning over to 
open the passenger door as her boyfriend came scrambling through the 
door.  Oh my God he has a gun, ran through her mind, and then the truck 
was shaking as the three of them piled into the truck and she was 
pressing her foot on the accelerator, her hands clenched around the 
steering wheel as she sped away from the scene of the crime.
	Achilles slowly lowered his camera as he watched the back of the 
pickup speed away.  He couldn't believe it, he couldn't.  He turned and 
ran, as fast as he could, through the empty town of Porterville, only 
stopping when he reached his home.  He fled into his darkroom and began 
immediately to extract his photos, his heart still pounding from his mad 
dash and the realization that he had caught a crime on film.
	The next day he searched the local paper for news of the crime, 
but failed to find anything.  He spent most of that sunday looking at the 
pictures he had taken, staring for long periods of time at Amy's 
strained, beautiful face.
	Monday morning at school he heard all about it:  guy at 7-11 
shot...robbery...got away with $200...dead...police don't know....  He 
went through most of the day in a daze.  They had killed the clerk!  What 
should he do?  He would have gone directly to the police, but it was 
_AMY_, Amy was involved.  Whenever he saw her he stared intensely in her 
direction, trying to see what was happening in her mind.
	Amy had panicked all day Sunday.  She had gotten in a big fight 
with her boyfriend and dumped him:  he was dead weight now.  He had 
pleaded with her, threatened her, begged her not to tell what had 
happened, as if she would.  If her father found out she was even present 
he would kill her.  At the very least he would make sure she went to 
jail; he would show no mercy.  That she was his daughter would only make 
it harder on her.  No, she couldn't tell anyone, but she didn't want that 
loser hanging around her anymore; she didn't want to associate with 
criminals.
	Her first day back at school was torture for her, but, she felt 
sure, no one could tell.  She kept thinking that everyone knew who had 
killed that clerk, and who had driven that car.  It was silly, she knew, 
but she couldn't shake it, and read insinuations into every conversation 
anyone had with her.  What unnerved her most, though, was when she had 
caught that creepy Achilles staring at her; if anyone was to find out 
about what happened last saturday, it was him, always sneaking around 
taking pictures of everyone.  She shuddered at the thought he might know, 
but he couldn't.  No one had been there.
	When Jim heard about the shooting, he was surprised, but didn't 
think too much about it:  he was too busy with his own plans.  He had 
mailed a copy of the tapes to Ms. Ellsworth's home, mansion is more like 
it he thought, with a letter stating she was to leave her front door 
unlocked on this coming Wednesday at 9:00.  He smiled as he thought about 
the reaming he was going to give that bitch.  His mind wandered in 
pleasant fantasy for a while when he started thinking about Achilles.  A 
nice kid, Achilles, but stuck on that uppity bitch Amy Sanders.  A little 
idea came into his mind:  Achilles needed something to take his mind off 
that little cunt, and a cunt like Sara Ellsworth would certainly do the 
trick.  He smiled to himself.
	Achilles went through that monday in an agony of indecision:  
should he or shouldn't turn them in?  He still hadn't made up his mind by 
the time the last school bell rang, and he was surprised when Jim 
approached and asked him to meet him down in his unofficial office, the 
boiler room, in a few minutes.
	The boiler room was situated in the bowls of the school, and only 
Jim had the keys.  It was a private, spacious room of concrete and pipes, 
kept warm by the excess heat from the boilers.  When Achilles arrived, he 
was surprised to see a television and vcr set up on a wheeled cart 
against one of the walls.
	"Come 'ere and sit down," Jim said, motioning him to a seat in 
front of the tv.  "I've got a little something to show you."  With that 
he hit the play button on the vcr and sat down.
	"What are you up to here, Jim," Achilles wondered aloud.
	"Just wait, and you'll find out."
	The screen flickered and moving pictures appeared, without 
sound.  It was obviously an overhead view, and Achilles had trouble 
making out who was in the room.  There were three guys he didn't know, 
and he watched in growing amazement as Ms. Ellsworth followed Maria into 
this dingy little room.  He turned to Jim with wondering eyes, blurting 
"What the?!" when he saw Maria turn around and stagger backward as Ms. 
Ellsworth slugged her in the gut.
	"Just watch, Achilles," Jim nodded toward the tv, "it gets better."
	"Jesus," Achilles whispered under his breath as he saw Maria 
forced down on her knees by two of the boys.  He watched in growing 
horror and fascination as they held her down and stripped her.  He didn't 
know Maria personally, and, although thought she was somewhat attractive, 
she was nothing compared to Amy.  Nevertheless, he found himself becoming 
aroused as he watched the teacher reach between Maria's legs and begin 
playing with her pussy.  He couldn't take his eyes off Maria's body, her 
large tits, her smooth olive skin, her firm legs stretched apart, her 
whole body struggling against her captors.  It was quite a sight, and he 
was disgusted and turned on by it.  Revulsion and excitement strove 
within him as he watched one of the boys climb on top of her and begin 
humping furiously.  He was torn between wanting to take his place and the 
agony and humiliation clearly etched on Maria's face.  His eyes were 
glued to the set through Maria's triple rape, and then Jim hit stop.
	"Jesus Jim, what's all this about?  And where'd you get it?"
	"Where I got it isn't important.  What I plan to do with it is."  
He smiled, flashing large ivory teeth in a black face.  "You see, my 
friend, Ms. Ellsworth will do anything, and I mean anything, to keep this 
tape here out of the cops's hands.  You get it?
	Achilles got it all right.  Ms. Ellsworth, she was hot hot hot, 
and now she was going to be doing whatever Jim wanted her to do.  He 
didn't have to think about what Jim would want, not with a hot piece of 
tail like Ms. Ellsworth.  And Jim was obviously letting him on a piece, 
literally, of the action.  His dick grew hard just at the thought.  Then 
another thought intruded:  he had pictures!  Pictures of Amy Sanders as 
an accomplice to a crime!  If he played his cards right, he could have 
her.  She would do whatever he wanted.  His mind boggled--Amy, beautiful, 
unreachable Amy, was suddenly very reachable.
	Jim watched Achilles' face closely, noticing first the surprise, 
then the realization of what this could mean to him, and then something 
else, like wonder or expectation mixed.
	"So you want in kid?"
	"When," Achilles stuttered.
	"Well, I've set up a meet at the cunt's house this Wednesday at 
9.  I figure we present our demands then."  Jim put an obscene slur into 
the word "demands".
	"Jim, Jim, that's great, b..b..but I've got something important 
to do Wednesday...."
	Suddenly Jim grabbed him by the shirt, "You aren't going to tell 
anyone about this, are you?" he growled.
	"N..No Jim.  I've just got things to do."  He looked, a little 
frightened, into Jim's eyes, "But the next time you meet her, I do want 
to be there.  I want to fuck her, Jim, I really do.  Maybe I can tell you 
about this later, if it works out.  Okay Jim."
	Jim let him go, "Sure kid, I'll get in touch."  he looked over at 
Achilles, "you're a virgin, ain'tcha?"
	Achilles nodded, turning red.
	Jim laughed, "Well, don't worry, she may be a maneater, but 
Jim'll be there to watch over you.  See ya later."
	Strange kid, he thought, giving up a piece of ass like Sara 
Ellsworth, even for just one night....  He hoped he hadn't made a 
mistake.  He shrugged to himself and put it out of his mind; Wednesday 
was just two days away.
	Walking home, Achilles thought about his luck.  Jim had literally 
handed him the hot Ms. Ellsworth, and he himself was going to get Amy 
Sanders, his passion.  Once home, he went immediately to his darkroom and 
whipped up several more sets of the pictures of the robbery and murder.  
Putting one set in an envelope, he waited, running his hand up and down 
his penis as he thought about Amy under his thumb, Amy doing whatever he 
asked her too; and Ms. Ellsworth, he couldn't forget about her, with her 
brown hair and sexy body, he wondered how it would be with an older woman.
	That night he scrawled Amy across the front of the envelope and 
took it over to her house.  He knew her house like the back of his hand, 
having watched it, photographed it, and dreamed of it and the beauty it 
held for years.  On the side of Amy's room, outside her window on the 
second story, an old oak tree grew, spreading its branches right against 
the window.  It was a safe area, so Amy thought nothing of leaving her 
window open.  In the past Achilles had blessed that oak tree, as he sat 
on its branches late at night and watched her sleeping form through her 
window.  Tonight he climbed the tree with a purpose, and stole quietly 
into her room, stopping only a moment to gaze longingly at Amy as she 
slept peacefully in her bed.  He placed the envelope on her dresser and 
exited the way he came, excitement and expectation overwhelming racing 
through his blood.
	Tuesday morning Amy awoke, her mind settled over that horrible 
7-11 business.  She had dumped her boyfriend, had told him off, and found 
out that the police had no idea who did it.  Still lying in bed, she 
stretched her lithe young body, giving a start as she saw a plain white 
envelope sitting on her dresser.  That hadn't been there last night.  
Maybe her mother or father put it there when she was still sleeping; but 
that couldn't be it, since she locked her door every night.  With growing 
trepidation she stepped out of bed, her firm breasts pushing out her 
sleeping tee, which fell down around her upper thighs, revealing the 
smooth creamy skin of her thighs and her calves, her muscles sliding 
silkily under her skin as she walked to her dresser.  Her name was a 
childish scrawl on the front of the envelope, and with a grown sense of 
foreboding she opened the envelope.
	She looked inside and pulled out the set of pictures which were 
the envelope's only contents.  Fear and panic gripped her as she looked 
at the photos--they were pictures of the robbery.  She staggered back to 
her bed and sat down heavily, her mind numb.  She was caught; she was 
going to jail.  It was awful; she hadn't known what they were going to 
do.  Steeped in her misery she sat there for she didn't know how long, 
and then she began to think.  The person who had given her these photos 
had given them to her for a reason:  they weren't going to give her to 
the police, she hoped.  It was blackmail, she was sure of it, and she 
thought she knew who was responsible:  that sneaky little bastard 
Achilles.  She grew angry:  how dare he try to blackmail her, that puny 
shithead.  She would tear him apart, that son of a bitch.  Revenge 
fantasies running through her mind, she slowly came to realize that she 
couldn't do anything; she was helpless.  If she tried anything, he would 
simply hand the photos over to the police, and then she would really be 
in trouble.  No sympathy, no mercy is what she would get.
	Mechanically she began to dress.  If it was really Achilles, she 
wondered what he would want.  She knew he liked her, and boys were such 
idiots when it came to that.  Maybe she could convince him to give her 
the photos if she was nice to him--if only he weren't such a toad.  She 
went to school more unhappy than she had been in a long time.
	Achilles was ecstatic, although he strove hard to hide it, and 
pointedly avoided Amy all day, even though he saw her looking toward him 
occassionally.  Today, he thought, Tuesday afternoon, he would take the 
first step toward possessing, toward owning, Amy Sanders.
	He ditched his last class and made it home in record time.  He 
dropped off his stuff and picked up an enlarged photo of the robbery, 
which he rolled up and put under one arm.  He then walked eagerly over to 
Amy's house and climbed up the dependable old oak, climbing steathily in 
through the window and sitting down behind the half-closed door.
	Amy came straight home after school.  She had been wondering when 
the boom was going to fall all day, and was wracked with worry.  She 
relaxed a little as she walked into her room and threw her bookbag onto 
her bed.  She spun around when she heard the door close behind her, and 
let out a startled cry at the sight of another person in her room.
	"Wha...?"  she let out before realizing who it was.  Achilles, 
and he was holding an enlarged photo of the robbery, showing her reaching 
across the truck to open the passanger door while her boyfriend, holding 
a pistol, was running toward the truck.  She narrowed her eyes and 
compressed her lips, "What do you _want_?" she hissed.
	Achilles put his finger to his lips for quiet as he locked her 
door and walked over to her stereo and turned it on to a comfortable 
listening level, keeping an eye on Amy where she stood, shaking in 
frustrated rage and fear.  Finished, he turned, thoroughly enjoying 
himself, and sat down in a chair, adjusting his camera so it was hanging 
against his chest.
	"What I want, Amy," he said, "is...manifold."
	"You're a little son of a bitch," she said with feeling, glaring 
at him.
	"Now now Amy, you really don't want to upset me."  He waited to 
see if this got any reaction, but when all it got was a more vigorous 
compression of her lips, he continued.  "You realize that you are in a 
difficult position, yes?"
	She nodded, still glaring.
	"So you accept that you will have to accede to certain...demands 
I may make upon your person?" he said, tilting his head slightly to one side.
	She nodded again, wanting to rip his heart out, yet knowing that 
she was helpless to do anything.
	"Okay, then, let's get started," he said, standing up, "give me 
fifty dollars."
	Amy started.  Fifty dollars?  Was that all he wanted?  She could 
afford fifty dollars every couple of days.  She hoped that that was all 
he wanted.  Still shaking, she went over to her dresser and removed $50 
from the top drawer and handed it to him, glaring at him in hatred as he 
slowly counted it out and put it in his pocket, the big grin on his face 
infuriating her further.
	"Now..." he continued...
	Now! she thought.  Now!  Oh God.  This was horrible.  Her stomach 
gave a wrench as she listened to him silently.
	"Now I'm going to set certain rules for you to follow.  Don't 
worry, they won't be difficult at all.  Just do what I ask and I won't 
hand over the photos to the police."
	Rules.  She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet, then sat down 
on the edge of the bed.  It was getting worse.  Maybe she should tell her 
father about everything, then she would be free of this.  But she was 
afraid, afraid of her father, afraid of jail.  She would see what he 
wanted and then decide.  She listened to him as he continued.
	"First, no pants.  I don't want to see you wearing pants or 
shorts to school.  Only skirts and dresses.  Got it?"  He watched her 
until she nodded resignedly.  "Second, I want you to leave your bedroom 
window unlocked at all times.  Okay?"  She nodded again.  "That's it for 
the rules for now."
	She looked up hopefully.  Was that all?  What was he doing now, 
looking in her closet?  "Wha...what are you doing?" she stammered out.
	"Looking for something appropriate," he replied.
	"Appropriate?"
	"Ah, here we go," he said, pulling out a black sleeveless mini-dress 
with a scoop neckline, "put this on."
	"What?  Why?" she blurted out, confused and terrified of what he 
might ask her to do.
	"Come on," he urged, a bit of anger coming into his voice, "I want some 
pictures of you.  Why the hell do you think I brought my camera?  Oh, and 
don't worry, I won't peek while you're changing."
	Handing the dress to the stunned girl, he turned around and faced 
the door, not giving her time to argue.  He knew he was going to have to 
take things slowly and carefully with her:  she was like a 10 lb. fish on 
a 4 lb. line--she was hooked, but if you didn't give her room to run, 
room to wear down her resistance, then she would get away.  He knew that 
if he pushed her too far too fast, she would turn herself, and him, in; 
he didn't want that, he wanted her, and figured if he took things slowly 
enough, he could have her, body and soul.
	Amy stared stupidly at the dress he had given her, shocked.  Of 
course he wanted pictures, her mind told her, he was one of those 
freakiod perverts.  She didn't want to do it, but she liked the 
alternative worse, so she quickly stripped down to her underwear 
and put on the dress, smoothing it down so it reached just above 
mid-thigh and adjusting the shoulders so that her cleavage was not too 
obvious, since she had had to remove her bra--it just wouldn't go with 
this dress.  When she finished, she muttered, "Okay, I'm done."
	Achilles turned around and let out a long sigh at the sight of 
her:  the dress was form fitting, the black a beautiful contrast against 
her translucent white skin.  It hugged the gentle curves of her body, the 
top of her breasts two creamy white mounds above the neckline, her thin 
waist and flat stomach giving way to slightly wider hips.  Her thighs and 
legs were twin pillars of shapely ivory against the black of her dress.  
Beautiful, he thought, and took a picture of her standing there 
awkwardly, flushed with embarressment.
	Standing there barefooted, wearing a skimpy dress in front of 
this pervert, Amy blushed furiously.  She saw the lust in his eyes before 
he covered them with his camera and took a picture.  She wondered what he 
wanted now.
	"Okay," he said, "time for some poses."
	Poses? she groaned inwardly, but decided not to argue.  So far it 
wasn't too bad, although she felt humiliated.  She began following his 
orders as he snapped out a string of directions, moving around and taking 
pictures the whole time.
	"Okay, hands together over your head...stretch...arch your 
back...up on your toes...good...good...now bend at the waist...keep your 
back arched!...head up...look at me...lick your lips...good...legs apart 
now...stay bent over...good...now stand up straight, legs  
together...hands behind your head...bend your legs at the knees...now 
twist your body and push out your chest...good...good...pout...good...now 
kneel down...rest on your calves...that's right...legs 
apart...further...good...hands behind your back...good...arch your 
back...head up...pout...wet your lips...good..."
	Posing, the camera trained exclusively on her, Amy began to think 
that it wasn't so bad.  In fact, she thought, it might be fun, like 
being a model, and a little bit exciting, if it were someone else behind 
the camera, someone besides that worm Achilles.  She sighed to herself 
and tried to imagine it:  Luke Perry, or maybe her math teacher--he was hot.
	"Now pull up that chair...sit on the edge...cross your 
legs...good...throw your hair back...toss your head...sit up 
straight!...good...now scoot back on the chair and spread your legs to 
either side of it...grip the front end with your hands...show off the 
cleavage...look at the camera!...good...turn the chair around...straddle 
it...good...rest your arms on the back...tilt your head to one 
side...pout...good...now on your hands and knees...arch your back and 
toss your head back...good...now head down...hang it down...keep that 
back straight...good...good.  Okay, good, that's enough for now.  I've 
used up three roles of film."
	Amy quickly stood up and watched as Achilles put his camera down 
and smiled at her.  "Now remember," he said, "follow the rules and you'll 
do okay.  See you later."  With that, he climbed out the window, down 
the tree, and headed home, leaving Amy emotionally exhausted, and a 
little flushed from the exertion of posing--as well as a little 
excited--not knowing what to do.