Stacy’s senior year

Stacy was slumped forward on the desk. Her head was cradled sideways in her arms, spilling blonde hair in waves out over the wooden desktop. Outside the closed office door, the grade eight students she was supposed to be supervising were yelling and ru

She didn’t care. She was too tired to care. She hadn’t even changed into her usual gym outfit for the class, instead just stumbling around the gymnasium in her green tweed dress, barely getting the class started before retreating to the office. She just didn’t care anymore.

Last night she had attended Ashley’s Christmas party and, in the course of the evening, had managed to have sex with four different guys: two blowjobs and two fucks. Actually, it had been five guys, but one of them had turned out not to be a student at Greenwood, and Stacy no longer counted the non-students. That brought her total up to twenty: twenty different guys, and twenty shiny "F"s on her imprisoned wrist. Only forty-five more to go. Only! Her pussy ached at the thought.

As was happening so often these days, Stacy found herself fighting back the urge to cry. How had she fallen into this trap? How had such a little thing as cheating on a math test led her into the kind of life she was now leading? Looking back, she could see how Gary - it must have been Gary; Neil wasn’t anywhere near smart or subtle enough to plan this sort of thing - had slowly escalated the incidents of blackmail and humiliation until all her options had disappeared. Even now, if it had just been the original session at Neil’s, she might be tempted to rebel - perhaps even turn to the police - but Gary had since then taken it even further. Now, there were the pictures taken at the photography studio and the awful video-tape of that night at BCN, where Sharon had turned her into a whore! Sharon had shown the tape to her the day after the photo session. How could anyone believe her story after seeing her enjoying herself so much? She could barely believe it herself. What had happened to her? Sex was usually so degrading and painful; why had it felt so good? Still, whatever the reason, there was no way out; no one would believe her now.

So, she took the path of least resistance, and did what they wanted.

It had been three days since the session at the photography studio, and she was unable to get it out of her mind. It was not just the fact that the pictures had been taken. That was terrible enough, and she was thoroughly frightened about what would be done with the resulting photographs. Gary had told her that they were just for "personal use" (whatever that meant), but how could she trust him? It was not just the fact that she could no longer refuse to have sex with the guys she had already fucked; that was bad, but she thought she could control matters so that very few of them invited her out again. As long as it was kept quiet, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. It was not even the sex with Neil; he had fucked her a number of times already, and it was getting to be almost routine.

What frightened her about the session in the studio was the way she had responded to the situation, and, later, to Neil. By the time he had pushed up her dress and forced her to impale herself upon his rigid cock, she had been so excited that she had experienced an orgasm within seconds of penetration. In the fucking that followed, she had cum twice more, moaning and squirming like some kind of slut-bitch on Neil’s cock.

As was the case with the session at BCN, she was not sure how she felt about this. On one hand, she was being forced to do horribly degrading things and it was as if her own body was betraying her by allowing her to respond sexually. What kind of girl - what kind of a slut - would enjoy the kind of obscene activity which had occurred at BCN? On the other hand, it looked very much like she had very little choice in the matter. She was trapped, and would have to fuck countless guys in the next few months. Given that this was going to happen anyway, wouldn’t it be better to get at least some enjoyment out of it? If nothing else, she could do without the constant pain of her pussy being rubbed raw as a result of her being dry at the wrong time.

What she needed was some way to control the excitement. Some way to allow her to do what she had to do with a minimum of pain, but which would allow her to control herself so that her surrender would not be complete. Some way to…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was after 3:15; class was over. She patted down her green tweed dress and shook her blonde hair, unconsciously adjusting her appearance. That must be…

It was. The door swung open to reveal a gri

There must be some better way to deal with this!

Ashley Peters stood, giggling, in a cluster of friends in a doorway near the water fountain. The girls were pulling a nasty practical joke, and were waiting for the victim to arrive. Even among this group, basically the most popular (ie. beautiful) girls at Greenwood, Ashley stood out as something special. She was taller than any of the other girls, but still well-rounded in all of the important places, particularly her breasts. Indeed, the only other girl at school that was in her league was Stacy Richards, but while Stacy was small and perfectly proportioned, Ashley was big-boned and extremely well endowed, particularly for an eighteen year-old. Where Stacy had a finely chiselled face and high cheek bones, Ashley’s face was wide and generous, with thick, pouty lips and wide brown eyes. Where Stacy had shoulder length blonde hair, Ashley was a brunette, with a thick, reddish-brown mane of hair that fell halfway down her back. In short, Stacy’s was a hard, athletic beauty, while Ashley was softer and more luxurious: equally beautiful, but in an entirely different ma

The two girls were, of course, rivals, but only in a relaxed, friendly way. There was simply no need for them to compete, for boys or otherwise. The only real point of contention was the title of Homecoming Queen, and Ashley had - more or less - conceded it to Stacy the previous year. Stacy’s school activities, from cheerleading to the track and swim team to supervising the grade eight "Rec" class, made her almost certain to take the title instead of Ashley, whose list of school activities was somewhat shorter (or, in truth, non-existent). Life was too short, she figured. So, the two girls ruled over their little clique in a co-operative fashion, acknowledging the other’s attributes without conceding superiority.

Ashley noticed Stacy coming out of a doorway at the other end of the hall, followed by a couple of grade eight jerks. She looked a little dishevelled, but Ashley put it down to the activity of the "Rec" class.

"Stacy," Ashley called after her, eager to have her share in the joke, but Stacy didn’t seem to hear, and moved down the hall away from the group. The two boys followed close behind. Ashley narrowed her eyes as she watched her friend turn a corner and disappear from view. Stacy had been acting a little strange lately. She wondered if…

"She’s coming!"

Stephanie, who had been watching around the corner, whispered the warning and stepped back, out of sight. Ashley dropped Stacy from her mind and joined the group as they watched expectantly.

They didn’t have long to wait. Karen Williamson walked, unsuspecting, around the corner and up to her locker. The heavy, dark-haired girl didn’t notice Ashley’s group as they watched from the doorway. The trap was sprung! As she pulled the locker door open, hundreds of sheets of paper slid out and onto the floor in front of, and around, the locker. Each sheet had been carefully torn from various Playboy and other,similar, magazines, depicting beautiful women in some stage of undress. Karen watched, stu