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 Archive name: phs08.txt (mf,blkmale,humil,sex slave)
 Authors name: Wiley06
 Story title : Portervill High: Just Desserts
 Part 8 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: Just Desserts
 Part 1.7
 By Wiley06

      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 rape she had been withdrawn and even more anti-social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 be-
 fore 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 duffel bag full of bondage and sado-
 masochistic 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 out-
 fit 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 repeated-
 ly for over three hours, then let her go home to col-
 lapse 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 duffel bag, looking, she
 thought, morose.

      "Sit down," he said, following suit and putting on
 his most depressed face.  He had rehearsed the follow-
 ing words over and over in his head all night; he hoped
 he wouldn't blow it.  "You know, Amy, I've been think-
 ing 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 think-
 ing, 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 for-
 ward 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 prac-
 tically 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
 disconsolately, 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 what-
 ever 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 duffel 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.  Punish-
 ment was punishment, but this was too much.  But when-
 ever 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 uncinched 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 gross,
 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
 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 ecstasy.
  The feeling of her tongue around his toes was sen-
 sational, 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 indenta-
 tions 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, increas-
 ing 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 con-
 centrated on the pain in her breasts.  Slowly she rub-
 bed 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 con-
 vulsively 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 sen-
 sations 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 satis-
 faction and lust, and felt victory as she came violent-
 ly 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 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.
 ______________________________________________________
 Kristen's collection - Directory 8 - Text 8415