("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `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!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Marcie's Special Summer by Old Bill (address withheld) *** A pretty young teacher tries modeling and unwillingly ends up a porn star and a sex slave. (MMF, nc, exh) *** After turning in her final grades, Marcie Phillips was feeling pretty good about her first year of teaching as she straightened up her desk and got ready to leave for the summer. She stood, looked around the empty classroom, closed and locked the file cabinet and turned to face the coach when she heard the door open. "Hi," she said with a wide smile, feeling just a trace of apprehension. "Hi yourself, pretty one," the big man said. "I know you don't want any of our services, you've told me enough times, but, if you're not busy this summer, give this guy a call." He handed her a business card. "He books girls into modeling jobs for clothing catalogues, and you've got the body for it, honey. You know, L.L.Bean, Tommy what's-his-name, Eddie Bauer, no trash, prime stuff. Pays good and its honest work." She smiled and took the card, said "thanks" and walked out to her car, feeling the eyes of several boys and men on her as usual. Since she was twelve or thirteen, she had been able to tell when men were staring at her, undressing her in their minds. The feeling was not completely unpleasant; in fact it sometimes made her tits tingle. She tried to walk without hip sway, without jiggling. Marcie knew she was pretty, felt as if she had always known that, enough people had told her. And it was true. She was a wholesome, girl-next- door, American beauty, a breathing centerfold, a walking wet-dream with a smile on her fresh-scrubbed face. She slid into the leather seat of her old Mustang and sighed. A whole year and not one decent man, and if she had tried one, she had tried twenty, all duds, every damn one of them. Marcie was not aware that her beauty was part of the problem. She shook her head tossing her blonde curls in disgust; just a high school boy who humped like a machine. She had been fucking Phil about once every two weeks, and it had been generally been enough, plenty in fact. The young woman shivered thinking about the size and strength of the youngster's male member. He was incredible and usually left her sore but satisfied. She turned the key, backed out and as she was about to leave the parking lot saw gawky Phil at the bus stop. She stopped and waved, and he came trotting over and hopped in beside her, pulling the seatbelt and smiling. "Had to make up a test," he explained. "How'd it go?" Her wonderfully long legs were bare. Marcie smiled and took a deep breath. "I got hired for the second year; that's about all they said. My supervisor had some suggestions." "You're a good teacher. Don't let 'em bullshit you. Want a fuck to get you through the summer?" Phil smiled and hoped. "Pretty crude, Phil," she said with a grin. "Pretty crude. Where do you live?" "Not far from you, right on the way. How about it? I've got time?" "I don't," she said. "But thanks." She felt her vagina tremble and become warm and moist. They rode for a while in silence, listening to the news and weather on the radio and then to her choice of music, soft rock. "Hot date?" Phil asked. "Something like that, fellow from Masonville, nice guy." "Good luck," said Phil. "I can get out over there." She pulled to the curb and he left with a wave. Marcie felt proud of herself, having resisted temptation, and drove to her apartment. She hauled in her stuff, stripped off her work clothes and jumped in the shower, trimmed her pubic hair, shaved her legs and then looked at herself in the mirror on the back of her closet door as she stood with her slinkiest underpants in her hand. "Not bad," she said to her image. No fat she could see. She bounced on her toes a few times and watched her big breasts jiggle, not a bit of sag. She had kept her blonde hair trimmed short and it fluttered nicely about her ears. Her face was smooth and regular, her eyes icy blue, eyebrows nicely arched, nose straight and proud, lips full and chin firm. She stretched her neck, squared her shoulders and thrust out her high breasts, noting that the sensitive nipples were just a bit aroused, pointing up and slightly away from each other, pink and hard, the areoles the size of poker chips and slightly mounded. Her stomach was firm, her belly soft, her fuzzy mound fairly prominent and her vulva's lips just slightly puffy. She hadn't had any sex for two weeks which was why Phil had been tempting, hadn't even used one of her toys, and she was more than ready. She palmed her firm mound and stroked her pussy two or three times, enjoying the tingle, eyes closed and a growl in her throat. Her legs were long and shapely, her thighs perhaps just a bit too muscular, but her buttocks were, she knew, prime. A great ass, her brother had crowed the last time she was home and then he smacked her hard right on it producing a whip-like crack and the squeal he wanted. She was five feet-nine inches tall, weighed about 130 most days and measured, the last time she checked, 37- 25-36. She wore a 38C bra and filled it well, bulged out of the top in fact since her pectorals were so strong. She stood on tip-toe and turned so she could see her round ass clench, making deep dimples. Then she pulled on the Vickie's T-string thong that left her buttocks completely bare and slipped on a lacy half bra that lifted despite its plunge between her full breasts. She took a deep breath and leaned forward toward the mirror. She smiled. That ought to get him, she thought, glancing at the clock. She tried on three dresses before she decided on the little black dress that hit her about mid calf and was nearly backless. She tossed her bra aside and pulled on some high stockings and high-heeled, open-toed and sling-back shoes. The dress's soft material displayed her nipples clearly, and she smiled at her image and took a deep breath, rotating her hips to see the flared skirt sway. Lipstick was all the makeup she used and very little of that. She was ready with five minutes to spare. She was horny and she knew it. One dab of perfume for the final touch. Jack Conway was also a teacher, a history teacher now in his third year at a nearby town's high school. He was tall, good-looking and very popular with the young ladies, a first-class stud Marcie had been told. Marcie had met him at a teachers' meeting, flirted with him and had gone to one movie with him, but tonight they were going out to celebrate the end of the school year, and the lovely young woman fully expected that she would end up in Jack's bed and under his muscular body with six or eight inches of manhood inside her. In fact she did just that. After a ride into the city, supper at a very upscale place, then a noisy dance club, and a few kisses they grappled together in his apartment and wasted no time bounding into his big bed, his heavy cock rampant, her pussy wet. Jack pawed her breasts, fingered her vagina and drove his big ram into her, came on the third stroke into Marcie's fevered body and flopped back down beside her with a sigh after he emptied his balls into his safety-tipped condom, grunting loudly. "Oh, lord," he gasped, "you are really something." "Jack," she sniffed, turning toward him, "I need more than that. Please." "In the morning, sweetheart, promise, promise," he said, turning his back to her, his brain filled with alcohol fumes. Marcie rolled out of bed as soon as he started snoring, pulled on her dress, stuffed her panties and stockings in her purse, went down the stairs and walked to the main road, caught a bus, ignored the looks, and got home about two in the morning, angry and unhappy. She found her long vibrator, checked that the battery was still working, stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed, slipped the device into her vagina, adjusted the clit tickler and turned it on. Then she wept. In the morning, as she dressed, Marcie noticed the business card the coach had given her and while she ate her breakfast punched the number. "Ajax Agents," said a female voice. "Mr. Preston, please," said Marcie. The phone clicked and man's voice answered. "This is Marcie Phillips, I understand you are an agent for models." "Uh huh, where'd you get this number?" Marcie told him that the coach at her school had given her his card. "Oh yeah, OK then, can't be too careful these days. You want to model; we take fifteen percent, guarantee you a minimum after some tests. You got a portfolio?" "Minimum?" asked Marcie. "Varies," said the man, "usually a hundred to two fifty an hour which means you get at least eight-five. You got pictures, a set, you know?" "No, I don't," said the young woman, "Is that a problem?" "Small one. Come on in and I'll sign you up and we'll make some." Marcie got his Baltimore address; the man said to bring a bathing suit with her, and she checked that her bikini shave was still okay and poked her bright yellow suit, the smallest one she owned, in her big purse and headed for Charm City. An hour later he walked into the plain office of a warehouse-type building and smiled at the bimbo behind the desk, her huge breasts nearly falling out of her scoop-necked blouse, her chewing gum snapping. She gave Marcie a clipboard and a form to fill out, and when she was done, the receptionist looked up, smiled, said, "Go on in," and went back to what she was doing, chewing gum and clicking keys. Marcie went in to Sam Preston's office and found him on the phone. She stood before his desk and watched him ogle her up and down. Sam felt his cock throbbing by then. He had ht the fucking jackpot. When he put down the phone she handed him the clipboard, and he introduced himself and shook her hand, waved her to a chair and looked at the paper she had filled out. "Twenty-two, huh, pretty old for a first-timer. But you've got good posture. Walk over to the door and back, one foot in front of the other. OK. Take off your jacket and walk back. Nice, you got a good pair a'jugs and a great ass. We'll get some pictures made. Go on through there." He pointed and got back on the phone. Marcie, surprised by his crude langue, hesitated and then did as she had been told. After all, she decided, it might be an interesting experience and she had nothing better to do. She lifted her china and took a deep breath. Hot damn, thought Preston, that fucking coach is something. I haven't seen one this good for years. What a fucking beauty. He turned his old Rolodex and pulled down his zipper. In the next room, which was very warm, Marcie met George and Mike, photographer and assistant. They put the young woman on a high stool, took her jacket and pocketbook, adjusted their very bright lights, tucked her shirt in tightly, open two buttons and handed her a bottle of doctored water. Marcie, nervous as well as warm under the hot lights, drank, and they started taking pictures and telling her where to look and turn and raise her chin and George moved around her with his Hasselblad. "Loose the shirt," George said after a few minutes, "give it to Mike." Marcie blinked, bit her lower lip and unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, a bit uncomfortable. She had worn a new bra, one of Vickie's latest, a white IPEX with a soft pad over her hard nipples. Mike whistled and offered her the water bottle again. She blinked and drank, wondering why her pussy was weeping. "Yes, thought so, what a pair, ay plus," said George, adjusting a light so it hit the top of the young woman's golden hair and another to shadow her deep cleavage. Marcie drank the rest of the water laced with GHB. A few pictures more, and George had Marcie take off her bra. She reached behind her without hesitation, unsnapped the thing and shrugged it off. Mike put it in her purse and from the small refrigerator where film was stored handed her a blue plastic square and told her to ice her nipples. Marcie blinked and did as she had been asked, her system now filling with the drug that weakened both her will and judgment. She could feel her vagina pulsing with need. Her nipples jutted and she looked down at them and lifted a breast to lick one. She gave George a silly smile when he petted her boobs and then hefted them with both hands. A few minutes later, after she had twisted, turned and leaned back and forth for the photographers, George told her to put on her yellow bikini, and he and Mike stood and watched her do it, taking a few shots as she peeled off her shirt and tiny underpants and checking to make sure the two small TV cameras were properly aimed. Marcie tied the top between her aching breasts so that both the lower and upper halves of her lush mounds were bared and pulled the bottom tightly to her hipbone so her pouting lips were clearly defined, what some called a cameltoe. Then they posed Marcie in her bikini and took some more pictures and then had her take off her suit, slowly and piece by piece. By then both men were fully aroused. When she was bare and on her knees, pouting up at the camera, her forehead beaded with sweat, Mike produced his sizeable cock and fed it to her lips. Marcie sucked, her mind confused, and ovaled her lips around his stalk as he held her head, moving slowly in and out of her mouth until he ejaculated and she swallowed and gagged. George then had her get on her hands and knees, took several shots of her dangling globes and while Mike shot frame after frame, the photographer drove his blood-heavy prick into her vagina from behind, both hands on her shoulders, and fucked her hard and fast, grunting and heaving. Marcie closed her eyes and enjoyed it, moving her hips back against his thrusts and wishing she could come. After George fired several ropes of jism in the young woman, he got her another bottle of water. Then he walked her down the hall, still wearing her heels, got her into the smelly dance-hall costume and pushed her onto the small, Western barroom set in the far corner of the shabby studio. Marcie stood, a bit wobbly, drank the rest of the water in her bottle, and wondered what was going on. She was wearing a white off-the-shoulder blouse with its string dangling and a squash-blossom skirt of purple and red. Three cameras were rolling when the pair of rough looking cowboys wearing six-gun, their spurs jangling, came into the fake room with Marcie, grabbed her, kissed her, tore off her clothes, pushed her down on one of the tables and while one man forced his huge cock into her from behind the other used her mouth, banging her head rapidly against his hairy belly as he face fucked her, her blonde hair flying. When they were done, they knocked her to the floor and the switched places to rape her again, crying out with pleasure when they came into the limp female, spraying her lush body with their spend. "Enough," said the man behind the cameras since they accumulated plenty of tape for a 24-minute porn movie. By then Mr. Preston had made contact with the Emir's representative in New York and one of the cowboys was having himself a fine tit fuck on Marcie's chest while she stroked her own pussy and finally managed to achieve a painful orgasm, writhing on the dirty floor. "Yeah," said Preston, "I sent you the pictures didn't I? You can see she's a beauty, can'cha? Right? OK." He listened to the man who had bought women from him previously, mostly whores but a young girl or two as well. "Yeah, I know, she was seventy-five, but she was only sixteen, that last one; this one's twenty-two, full grown. Great jugs." He listened and nodded, scratching his balls, smiled and said, "OK, OK, we'll take a hundred thousand for her. You going to pick her up? Yeah, yeah. OK. Tomorrow morning. Nine, right? We'll have her ready to go." While that was going on, all three cameramen had fucked Marcie missionary style on the studio floor, and the battered woman had managed, despite her hazy mind, to climax once again, nearly jolting off the young man pounding into her, his hands on her firm breasts, her red nipples jutting out between his grasping fingers. George had wriggled and pushed to get his cock down her throat during one of those rapes by bending her head well back and going in from behind her, her nose pressing his scrotum. Marcie wobbled into Mr. Preston's office wearing just her unbuttoned blouse, and George was right behind her with her clothes and pocketbook. "She done good," he said with a smile. "And she's hot and tight and doped to the gills." Marcie wiped the sticky cum from her mouth and shook her head, confused. Five men's semen oozed down her thighs. "Got a rough cut for me to look at?" the man asked as Marcie leaned on his desk, her mouth slack and eyes unfocused, her lovely breasts showing some teeth marks and scratches. She now had twice the usual dose of GHB in her system and had no idea where she was or what she was doing or even what had already been done to her. Preston stepped behind her, admired her rounded buttocks, unzipped his pants, held her hips and drove his thick rod into her dripping pussy. When it was well lubricated with other men's sperm, her pulled it out, watched her inner labia stretch, and shoved it into her pink anus. Marcie lifted her chin and gasped, "Don't," as he began to fuck her deeply, grunting and slapping her ass as he enjoyed himself, lifting the girl off her feet from time to time as he ass raped her, his other hand on the small of her back. After he came in her colon, he wiped his cock on her leg and pulled her over to a chair facing the wall. A panel slid back to show a wide-screen TV and it filled with scenes of Marcie's last hour or so, having her picture taken while stripping for George and Mike and then the Western scene followed by the cameramen's' wild series of rapes, and George's cock disappearing into her mouth and making her neck bulge. Marcie sat and watched, wondering what she was seeing and who the pretty blonde girl was. She fingered her battered pussy. When the tape was done, Preston got the girl's skirt on her and took her downtown to his club, installed her in a private room and rented her out to his friends at a hundred dollars for fifteen minutes. Sometime after two in the morning, Preston pushed the girl into the shower and turned on the water. By then the drugs were starting to wear off so he gave her some Ecstasy and a sleeping pill and took her to bed, fucked her sore vagina fiercely while mauling her battered breasts, ignored the blood on the sheets and slept while Marcie whimpered. In the morning he gave her two tablets of Rohypnol and made her get dressed after he fucked her as she stood at the foot of the bed, shaking her head and drooling, her brain comprehending nothing. Someone had taken her bra, but she dressed herself carefully, wondering what was going on, and went with the man back to his office where a black Cadillac limo waited idling at the curb. Preston opened the door and pushed Marcie into the back seat. He was handed a metal suitcase and then the door slammed closed and the big car roared away. Inside a man who called himself "Jim" and was in fact the oldest son of his nation's ambassador to the UN started undressing Marcie while his stoic bodyguards watched from the jump seats. When Jim got Marcie stripped and impaled on his upright cock, he offered his security men her luscious breasts while the girl sat on his lap, eyes closed, deeply penetrated from beneath as the man bounced her on his stiff horn. The hefty men facing her savaged her tits and produced a throbbing orgasm in a few minutes which they seemed to ignore. But Jim noticed when Marcie creamed, pushed her up and then pulled her back down on his rod so that penetrated her anus. The young woman shuddered as one of the security men rubbed her clit with his thumb and dug two fingers into her pussy. Stimulated by the drugs she had absorbed, the young Arab prince and his two guards enjoyed Marcie almost all the way up the New Jersey turnpike and barely got her back into her clothes by the time they reached the legation's brownstone. Then Jim gave her a shot of tranquilizer in the hip and hauled her in and presented her to his father, explaining that the girl had been drugged when he got her in Baltimore. The bearded man did not seem to notice the slime flowing down Marcie's legs For the next month, Marcie was the house whore at the legation, serving anyone and everyone the envoy chose. Few days passed that she was not raped three or four times, often by more than one man at once. "Jim" the envoy's son took special pride in how many times he could make her scream for mercy during a single session after he put electric clips on her nipples. Marcie was kept on a light dose of Ecstasy for the whole period and suffered almost continuous chills and often found herself clenching her jaw when being used sexually. She ached all over and had trouble sleeping. On the first of August a new envoy arrived. In being shown around the building, he encountered Marcie who was wearing only a t-shirt and some flip-flops at the time and had just serviced a pair of young translators. When he asked who she was, he was told she was the resident slut who provided sexual relief to the staff. Unbelieving, he had the young woman brought to his office and began inquiries. Before the end of the day he knew that she had been purchased from a Baltimore provider for a hundred thousand U.S. dollars, that she was being given drugs against her will, and that she was a public school teacher. The sheik took action at once. The previous ambassador for forced to repay the treasury ten times what Marcie had cost out of his own pocket. His oldest son, who had known what was going on and had kept the girl drugged, was castrated by his father in a public ceremony on the patio behind the embassy. As he left his club one evening, Sam Preston was blinded with carbolic acid which disfigured him grossly. And Marcie Phillips was detoxified and given a week to recover at a very upscale spa. She was allowed to keep the Dior dresses and Channel suits purchased for her so she could attend UN functions and her car was retrieved from Baltimore. By mid-August Marcie was well enough to return to the embassy and receive the representative's apologies and a gold ring and $9,990 in cash. "It is a gift," said the ambassador. "You need not report it on your income tax form." Marcie smiled and thanked him, her memories of the previous six weeks spotty at best but sure her body and mind had been mistreated. She drove back home with the top down, wearing one of her Dior summer dresses and honking back at passing truck drivers. When she thought about it, she knew she had been mistreated, but she also knew that she had been sexually satisfied many times over. END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 54