("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW! Thank you... _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: phs02.txt (mmmf,ff,rp,v,blkmale) Authors name: Wiley06 Story title : Portervill High Part 2 of 11 parts ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ © 1998 This work is copyrighted to the author. No changes may be made to this story, and the author information must remain intact. This work may be copied freely for non-profit purposes only. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Porterville High - A criminal Act Part 1.1 By Wiley06 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 Porter- ville 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 trans- lucent white, with kinky sandy blond hair falling to mid shoulder. A sharp, thin nose divided her face in two, strangely 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 quarter- back 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 weight-lifters. 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 p.m., 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. Pre- sently he exited, slurpie in hand, and turned the corner into the darkness 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 insti- gation 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. Her boyfriend halfway to his truck, gun and paper bag in hand, with his two friends trailing him. Again. 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. Amy, small white hands gripping the wheel, driving off at full speed. 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 think- ing 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 sur- prised, 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 he 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 some- thing 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 slug- ged 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 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 be- tween 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 cop'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, un- reachable 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 some- thing 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 man- eater, 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 dark- room 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 boy- friend, 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 childishly scrawl on the front of the envelope, and with a growing sense of foreboding she opened the envelope. She looked inside and pulled out the set of pic- tures 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 occasionally. 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 re- cord 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 stealthily 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 book-bag 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 passenger 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 hor- rible. 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 un- locked 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 ter- rified 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 embarrassment. 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 ex- hausted, and a little flushed from the exertion of posing -- as well as a little excited -- not knowing what to do.