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 Archive name: phs05.txt (mf,blkmale,spanking,humil)
 Authors name: Wiley06
 Story title : Portervill High: Spanking Amy
 Part 5 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: Spanking Amy
 Part 1.4
 By Wiley06

      Thursday at noon, Achilles Brown, eating his
 lunch, was quite pleased with himself.  He had talked
 to Jim and had arranged to be picked up at 7:40 near
 his house.  From there, they were going to pay a visit
 to Ms. Sara Ellsworth.  Achilles had been, and still
 was, a little nervous about it, since it would be his
 first time with a woman, but Jim assured him that he
 would take care of everything -- all he needed to do
 was to lay back and enjoy.  He certainly needed some
 relief, since his games with Amy were exciting him so
 much he was having trouble holding back.  If he did or
 said something wrong, he knew he would lose her.

      His "date" with Sara was not the only reason for
 his smugness. Like he had guessed, Amy Sanders had
 chosen today to test him:  she had worn pants. They
 were those loose, oversized, dirty pants which were
 cinched at the waist, and that Achilles found so dis-
 tasteful.  Worst of all, though, was that he had for-
 bidden her to wear pants.  He found it amusing that
 she seemed to search him out and, while at a comfor-
 table distance talking to some friends, parade her
 defiance in front of him.  The one time he had bothered
 to meet her eyes he had only frowned and shaken his
 head sadly.  Well, he thought to himself, he had
 planned for this, and knew exactly what he was going
 to do.  He would be finished by five at the latest,
 which would give him plenty of time to prepare for Sara
 Ellsworth.  He savored the sound of her name in his
 mind:  Ms. Sara Ellsworth.

      Amy Sanders had decided that she had had enough.
 The Wednesday picnic had been humiliating enough; she
 wasn't going to put up with Achilles' bullying anymore,
 even if he did have those pictures of her. He would
 never use them, she thought, he wanted to play his
 little games with her too much.  Well, she wasn't going
 to have it any longer; she would put up with some
 things to keep him quiet, but she wanted some say in
 the matter.  No more of this do as I say crap.  Still,
 she was nervous; she wasn't sure what he _would_ do
 when he saw that she had decided to ignore his demands
 and had worn pants.  She tried to catch his eye all day
 at school, but the one time she did all he did was look
 glum and shake his head sadly, which just infuriated
 her more.

      Deciding he couldn't skip his last period class
 again, he had to run over to Amy's house as fast as he
 could to make sure he was there before she was. He was
 glad she had left the window to her room open, since it
 made things easier for him.  He climbed into her room
 and rummaged through her closet, picking out her
 sophomore cheerleading outfit (she had quit, obviously
 figuring been there done that) and laying it on the
 bed, large colored panties and all. He then sat down on
 her bed and waited for her to come home.

      Amy went straight home after class, wanting to
 confront Achilles as soon as possible.  She figured
 that she would find him in her room:  she wasn't
 disappointed.  She strode purposefully into her room,
 dropped her bag on the floor, swung the door shut, and
 faced him from across the room.

      "Get out," she said assertively.

      "I don't think you want to do that."  He spoke
 softly, menacingly.

      "I said, get out," her voice raising.

      "What's the matter, honey," a voice drifted up
 from downstairs.

      "Nothing mother," Amy called, turning back to
 Achilles, who she found standing.

      "Before I go, you should listen," he said, looking
 her in the eyes, stopping her before she could speak.
 "At 5:30 my father comes home from work. He walks into
 the kitchen, swings his coat over the back of a chair,
 puts his briefcase on the kitchen table, then picks up
 the mail my mother and I leave on that table.  He
 immediately takes that mail and walks the four blocks
 to the mail drop -- he calls it unwinding -- and then
 returns."  He paused.  "Right now, sitting on my
 kitchen table, are the photos of you I have, in an
 envelope, stamped and addressed to the police.  If I
 leave now, I don't think I'll go home 'till at least
 7:00, and by this time tomorrow, you'll be under
 arrest."

      She had stood there listening to him, anger and
 fear warring within her as he spoke.  She began shiver-
 ing as despair began to banish both as the stark
 reality of her plight became clear to her:  either do
 as he wished, or go to prison.

      He watched her carefully as he finished his
 speech:  "Now, if you do exactly what I say, I'll make
 sure to be home before five, and you won't have to
 worry about a thing.  Do you understand?"

      She stood there for a moment as he finished; she
 wanted to cry. She nodded jerkily, and saw him motion
 to her old cheerleading outfit on the bed.

      "Put that on.  And don't worry, I won't watch."

      Not speaking, she picked up the uniform and went
 to the corner of her room where she began to undress.

      Turning around and grabbing a low chair, he sat
 down facing the bed, his back toward her.  He let out
 a sigh of relief that his gambit worked:  he had let
 her run and then pulled her back in.  He figured that
 she thought he would never mail those photos in, and
 based her defiance on that.  He guessed that once he
 made it abundantly clear that she could either obey
 him or have the police solve a murder, she would break.
 She had, and he felt a surge of emotion at his success.
 The next part he was going to enjoy immensely.

      Amy finished dressing and turned around and faced
 Achilles, who was sitting down with his back toward
 her.  She walked over, despairing at what he had in
 store for her, and stood between him and the bed.

      Achilles looked at her standing before him:  her
 firm, shapely legs almost completely revealed by the
 little mini; her breasts straining against the sleeve-
 less tee which was now a little to small for her; her
 hair cascading around her graceful neck, white as
 alabaster.  He stared at her for a moment, taking in
 her stunning beauty, and then commanded her to turn on
 her stereo, and to turn it up rather loudly.

      "Now stand to my right, facing me," he told her
 when she had turned on the stereo.  "Kneel down."

      Her head was now on the same level his was, and
 he looked hard into her pale blue eyes which seemed to
 stare through him.

      "You've been a bad girl, haven't you Amy?"

      He saw her lips move in a silent yes, but no sound
 came out.

      "I said, you've been a bad girl. Isn't that true?"
 he said louder.

      Again her lips moved, and this time he heard a
 quiet "yes" come from them.

      "Lean over my legs.  More.  Put your hands flat
 on the floor on the other side of me.  Over more. Good.
 Stop now."

      As she climbed over his legs, she knew what he was
 going to do. She started crying silently, tears leaking
 from her eyes.  She remembered her boyfriend from
 freshman year -- he was a big guy -- telling her one
 day that when he got together with a couple of his
 friends to beat on someone, it wasn't the physical
 damage they did that was worst -- it was the humilia-
 tion.  The guy couldn't stop them:  he was powerless,
 and just had to take it.  That was the bad part, the
 helplessness, the impotence, knowing there was nothing
 you could do.  She felt just like that: helpless,
 defeated.

      His penis was rock hard as he positioned her over
 his thighs. Her breasts were hanging over the chair to
 his left, her lower chest/upper stomach pressed against
 his left thigh.  She was balancing herself atop him
 with her hands and the balls of her feet.  Her back was
 tilted down to his left, and he placed his hand between
 her shoulder blades, holding her there.  She was bent
 at the waist, her upper thighs pressing against his
 right thigh, thrusting her ass out and up.  With his
 right hand he pushed up her cheerleading skirt until
 it bunched at her waist, revealing the twin bulges of
 her ass through her red underwear.

      "I'm going to spank you now," he said, rubbing his
 right hand over her ass, "and you're going to thank me
 after each swat.  Do you understand?"

      He looked down at her head and smiled as she nod-
 ded, her hair falling to the ground on either side of
 her face.  He thought he heard a sob, but didn't really
 care:  she shouldn't have challenged him.

      Laying across his lap in this obscene position,
 her ass thrust high into the air, she began sobbing
 quietly.  It was all too awful. Despair crowded in on
 her consciousness as she felt him carefully pull her
 underwear around her upper thighs, and a cool draft
 ran over her exposed asscheeks.  He cried out "One!"
 and a loud <SLAP> rung in her ears, coincidental with
 a stinging pain in her left ass cheek which caused her
 to gasp through her sobs.  Horrified at what was
 happening to her, her mind froze as he rubbed his hand
 firmly over where he had slapped, and then called out
 "One!" again, and then <SLAP>.

      He was about to burst through his jeans while he
 edged her underwear down over her ass, leaving it
 encircling her upper thighs. Looking at her twin ass
 cheeks, so smooth and white, firm and luscious, he
 couldn't resist running his hand over their silky
 flesh.  Hearing her sobbing, he called out "One!" and
 brought his hand down hard on her left ass cheek,
 stinging his hand as well as earning a gasp from Amy.
 He rubbed her ass for a moment, waiting for her to
 thank him, and then called out "One!" again and slapped
 her other cheek.

      For a moment Amy was confused, and then remem-
 bered: "Th... Thank... you" she sobbed out, loud enough
 to be heard over the music.

      "Two!"  <SLAP>

      "Thank you."

      "Three!" <SLAP>

      "Thank you."

      By the tenth strike, her ass was a burning mass of
 pain and her chest heaved in great sobs of pain and
 humiliation.  He was striking her hard, her body jerk-
 ing in his lap each time his hand came down across her
 ass.  The worst part, though, was the way he rubbed his
 hand all over her ass between each blow, spreading a
 painful warmth throughout her ass.

      He watched as his hand turned her ass a dull red,
 beautiful against the creamy whiteness of the back of
 her thighs.  He especially loved the way each blow sent
 her asscheeks quivering, the firm flesh having given
 way before his hand.  His right hand was killing him,
 smarting from the blows he had landed. Five more, he
 thought, to make fifteen, then he would stop.  He
 wanted so badly to just throw her over the bed and fuck
 her -- he quivered in desire at the thought -- but he
 resisted the urge; he couldn't afford to spook her. He
 could get away with a spanking, but if he tried any-
 thing more now, she was sure to freak out on him.  Oh
 well, he thought, this is good enough for now, rubbing
 his hand over her ass once again.

      She heard him call out "Fifteen!" and felt the
 familiar pain of another blow on her ass.  "Thank you,"
 she replied automatically through her sobs, her whole
 body tense and on edge, awaiting more punishment. She
 jerked on his lap when she felt him pull her underwear
 gently over her throbbing ass, and kept her head down
 -- she couldn't look at him -- as he helped her to her
 knees and then onto her bed.  She collapsed on it and
 curled up into a fetal position, still sobbing out her
 pain and humiliation.

      Several hours later she fell asleep in the same
 position, tears still coursing down her face.
 _____________________________________________________
 Kristen's collection - Directory 8 - Text 8412