Party Time/Party Time.iso/pt/story/senior.txt

Text File | 1994-01-26 | 34KB | 634 lines

                       STACY'S SENIOR YEAR
                           (PART FIVE)
                            By Parker

     WARNING: This story contains blackmail, humiliation, non-
     consensual sex, D&S and all that sort of good stuff
     (although not, of course, in every instalment). This story
     is NOT POLITICALLY CORRECT! If you do not want to read this
     sort of material, stop NOW, before it is TOO late! You have
     been warned.
     - This is part five of a ten-part series. If you can count,
     you should know what this means.

          Oh, I guess I should also mention that this story is
          copyright 1993 by me (Parker). Not that there's a whole
          heck of a lot I am going to do about it, I suppose.
          Feel free to distribute it wherever and whenever you
          like. I would appreciate it, however, if you would
          leave it unchanged, and leave the attribution (I want
          all the credit/blame). That's all.

=================================================================

     NUMBER NINE:
     Randy Marx stared down in disbelief as Stacy Richards sucked
hungrily on his cock as it jutted out of his pants; her mouth
made loud slurping noises as it worked its way up and down. He
was standing in the woods behind Greenwood High, just out of
sight of the main school building. Stacy, now on her knees in
front of him, had met him after class and had asked if he would
go with her into the woods; she wanted to show him something, she
had said. Randy, who like most of the boys at school only knew
Stacy as an object of unattainable beauty, had stammered
something in the affirmative, and the two of them had left the
school together after the final class. As soon as they had gone a
little ways into the forest, just out of sight of the school,
Stacy had turned to him, reached down and begun fondling his
penis through his pants. Randy, frozen with surprise, had just
watched in stunned silence as she sank to her knees in front of
him. The charm bracelet on her wrist jingled quietly as she
fumbled with his zipper.
     "W-what are you doing?" What was she doing?
     "P-please, Randy." She had looked up at him with her big,
green eyes. "I... I want your cock." Her voice was a hoarse
whisper, and she looked like she might cry.
      Randy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared down
at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
     "What?"
     "I w-want your... cock," she repeated haltingly. Her fingers
continued their work while she spoke. His penis was now free of
his pants and hung down in front of Stacy's face.
      "I want to suck your cock." She turned her head back down
and began licking his quickly hardening penis.
     Randy just swallowed and fell silent as Stacy got to work.
He looked around, frightened of getting caught, but there was no
one in sight. His gaze dropped downward, where Stacy was
servicing his cock.  First she licked and kissed it, starting
with the head and then working her soft, warm lips down the
shaft. Then, when it was rigid (no time at all, really), she
slipped her hot mouth over the shiny head and began sucking, all
the while bobbing her head up and down. From where he looked down
on her, Randy could only see her blonde hair sliding back and
forth, but he could hear the slurping and gurgling sounds which
accompanied the movement, and he could feel - oh god, how he
could feel - the inside of her mouth and throat as it quivered
and sucked around his trembling penis.
     Finally, he could take it no more, and began to come.
Instinctively, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled it
tight against his crotch, jamming his cock right down into her
throat as the sperm began to shoot out. Stacy struggled and
choked; her hands fluttered about wildly, pushing against his
legs, but she was unable to break his grip. Stacy's face remained
crushed against his crotch, her mouth and throat stuffed with
cock,  until he finished coming. Eventually, the spurts began to
lessen, and his penis grew soft. Randy relaxed his hold, and she
pushed herself away, gasping and choking up the sperm. Suddenly
embarrassed, Randy did up his pants, turned and ran away into the
woods.
     Behind him, Stacy lay on the ground, still choking up sperm
and gasping for breath.

                          *******

     The Greenwood school cafeteria was its usual noisy chaos,
with students running madly about, trying to fit in as much
eating and socializing before the bell went off to announce the
inevitable beginning of the afternoon classes. The main section
of the cafeteria was filled with rows of connected benches and
tables, where the students ate their lunches. The actual kitchen
and serving area was located along one of the walls; the students
picked up a tray at one end, and ran it along a metal track while
making their selections. The food was paid for at the other end
and a short section of railing led to the main part of the room.
     Karen Williamson stood, tray in hand, looking for a place to
sit. Her options were limited; the sitting areas were essentially
run by the various school cliques, and Karen absolutely did not
belong to any particular group. As a matter of fact, she was
commonly the object of derision of many of these groups. It was
not that she was particularly ugly, although she was a bit on the
heavy side and had something of an acne problem, or that she was
antisocial. Her isolation stemmed from a discussion in one of
last year's Social Studies classes. In a "Current Events" module,
the class had been discussing some recent controversies
concerning homosexual rights. Karen had been arguing in support
of those rights and had, in the heat of the debate, let slip the
fact that she herself was gay. Word had quickly spread, and
before long she was virtually an outcast at Greenwood. She had
quickly learned that if one is going to come out of the closet, a
high-school class is just not the place to do it. Her life had
been hell ever since.
      Desperately lonely, Karen had hoped that things would have
blown over by this, her senior, year, but that hadn't proved to
be the case. In fact, the abuse had even gotten worse. Just last
week, she had found her locker plastered with pictures of naked
women torn from a Penthouse magazine with the words "Dykes
Anonymous" scrawled all over them. As a result of these and
similar events, Karen had largely withdrawn from school social
life, and now spent much of her time alone, often drinking (an
activity which had helped neither her weight nor her acne
problem). In fact, she had been drinking the previous night, and
was now suffering from rather a bad hangover; this probably
explained her lapse in judgment in choosing and sitting down at a
table near the back of the room.
     Even before the table fell ominously silent, she knew that
she had made a mistake. A bad one. She looked up from her tray to
see who she was sitting with. Across from her sat Stacy Richards
and Ashley Peters, easily the two most popular girls in school.
The rest of the now-silent table was filled with students of an
equally exalted social level.
     "Well!" Ashley took the lead, as she always did in making
fun of Karen. "Aren't we lucky. A visit from the school dyke!"
Karen flinched as Ashley's cutting voice drew attention. The
other students at the table were smiling and laughing, knowing
what was coming.
      "What's wrong? No other dykes to eat with... or eat?"
Ashley's voice was getting louder. Students at nearby tables were
now looking over and joining in the laughter. Her face burning,
Karen stumbled to her feet and fled the table, leaving her tray
of food behind.
      "Come back anytime," Ashley called after her. "Feel free to
bring your girlfriend." The entire section the cafeteria was
laughing now, as Karen, now in tears, burst through the exit and
disappeared from view.
     At a table near the door, Gary and Sharon watched her run
out. Silently, they exchanged glances and looked over at Ashley
as she laughed with her friends. Stacy laughed right along with
them.

                           *******

     Tim smirked across the room at Dennis; the class was almost
over. The two thirteen year-old boys had barely been able to
restrain themselves during that afternoon's Recreation Class. Due
to the colder weather, the class was once again taking place
inside the gymnasium, and they had spent the entire period
watching Stacy as she supervised the other students. At this
particular moment, she was demonstrating volleyball techniques to
a group of girls in the corner. She was wearing baggy shorts
which came down to her knees and a loose sweatshirt, but that did
not deter the boys from imagining what was underneath. So far,
she had managed to avoid them, but Tim had plans to deal with
that.
     Finally, the bell rang, signalling the end of class.
      "OK, everybody," Stacy yelled, clapping her hands for
attention. "Into the dressing rooms. That's it for today." While
the rest of the kids ran into the dressing rooms as directed, Tim
and Dennis jogged over to where Stacy was bent over, putting away
equipment. She straightened up as they approached.
     "Yes?" She asked coldly. "What do you want?" She didn't seem
happy to see them.
     Embarrassed, Dennis turned to go, but Tim caught his arm
before he could get away. "That's not very friendly," he stated.
"You were a lot nicer last week." He was smirking again.
     "That was last week," Stacy told him angrily. "Don't expect
it to happen again." She put her hands on her hips and glared at
them. "I don't expect to hear about it again from either of you.
Is that understood?"
     Dennis flushed red and began to mutter an apology, but was
cut off by Tim.
      "OK, you won't hear about it from us, then," he told her.
"You'll be hearing about it from Mr. Tilby, though."
      The thirteen year-old grabbed his friend by the arm and
turned to go.
     "Wait!" Stacy, no longer confident, called after them. Mr.
Tilby was the teacher in charge  of the grade 12 supervisors.
"What do you mean?" She had a sick feeling that she already knew
the answer.
     Tim turned and faced her. "We're going to tell Mr. Tilby
what happened. I bet he'll be interested."
      Stacy felt her face flush with panic; Tilby would get her
expelled for sure!
     "Unless..." Tim's voice was sly.
     "Unless?" Stacy knew what was coming. Unconsciously, she
crossed her wrists in front of her and began fiddling with her
charm bracelet. There were now almost a dozen metal "F"s hanging
from it.
     "Unless you become a lot more friendly," Tim finished off
his sentence. "Like last week."
     Stacy looked at the two of them - Tim looking cocky and sure
of himself and Dennis looking both frightened and hopeful  - and
shuddered. If she gave in, she would become in effect the private
whore of a couple of thirteen year-olds. But what else could she
do?
     "If I agree," she said slowly, fighting back the tears,
"you'll keep quiet about it. No one else will know." Maybe she
could minimize the damage.
     Tim grinned in triumph; they had her!
      "OK. It'll be our little secret." A slow smile began to form
on Dennis's freckled face.
     "And just this once," she bargained. "After that, I don't
hear about it again?"
     Tim began to nod, flushed with success and ready to agree to
anything, but this time it was Dennis who did the interrupting.
"Once a week," he told her. "After class on Fridays." Stacy's
mouth fell open and she shook her head.
      "OK." Dennis shrugged and turned to Tim. "Let's see Tilby."
     He started walking, pulling an astonished Tim behind him.
This time, the two boys actually managed to get a few steps away
before Stacy called them back. Trembling, she agreed to their
demands; there was no way she could let them go to Tilby.
     Ten minutes later, she was stretched out naked on a pile of
stored gym mats, with Dennis pumping his thirteen year-old cock
in and out of her pussy while Tim waited his turn. The two boys
had wanted her naked this time, and she had had no choice but to
slip out of the shorts and sweatshirt. She grunted in time with
Dennis's thrusts and moaned as he mauled her tits, but did not
fight or cry out as he spurted within her.
     She did, however, start crying when Tim crawled on top of
her to take his turn at sticking his cock into her now sopping
pussy.

                            *******

     With the footlights shining bright and hot directly upwards
into her face, the men in the audience - she instinctively knew
that they were men - were visible only as vague outlines; dark
shapes and shadows which seemed to shift and pulse in time with
the thick bass throb of the cheap rock music. She could hear the
quiet rumble of conversation from beyond the lights, but as the
dance began, the shapes fell silent. They almost appeared to lean
forward towards the stage, focusing intensely upon the actions of
the dancer.
     On the precarious, well-lit catwalk, the dancer slid
forward, limbs writhing in time with the music. She wore almost
nothing: a pair of stiletto high-heels, black stockings, a
spangled, gold g-string and a pair of tassled pasties covering
her nipples. And a bright, shiny charm bracelet on one wrist. Her
tits, small and firm, bobbed up and down as she gyrated back and
forth across the small stage.
       The music drew her forward; bit by bit, piece by piece, the
minimal clothing came off until, finally, she stood naked and
exposed before the watchers. The shapeless mass of the audience
was no longer silent, but was instead calling out what seemed to
be a name, over and over again. Dimly, the dancer sensed that she
should be frightened, but she wasn't. Instead, she began to
become more and more excited. Rubbing her breasts with one hand,
she began to pant and moan as the shouting grew louder. The
colored lights above her began to move... rotating wildly...
pulsing on and off. Her pussy was damp and inviting when she
inserted first her middle finger, and then middle three fingers.
     Her excitement grew to the point of orgasm; the name chanted
by the audience became louder and louder... Suddenly, there was a
loud ringing sound, again and again as the lights sped up. She
tried to ignore it, concentrating on the swiftly approaching
orgasm, but it kept ringing and ringing... the hoarse chanting
became clearer until, abruptly, she could make out the name:
     "Stacy!"
      Stacy Richards sat bolt upright in bed, sweaty and
dishevelled. Her mother's voice had shouted out her name from the
bottom of the stairs. "Stacy. Answer your phone."
     The phone beside the bed was ringing. Stacy glanced over at
the bedside clock: almost 10:30 - a bit early to be calling on a
Saturday. She reached over and picked up the phone.
     "Hi Stace." It was Sharon. Of course.
      Stacy fought back an urge to slam down the phone. "What do
you want?" she asked, fighting to contain her anger.
     "Just to tell you that we're going out tonight; girl's night
out." Sharon sounded pleased with herself.
     "What are you talking about?" Stacy fought to clear her head
of the last vestiges of sleep.
     "There's a party at BCN tonight," Sharon explained. "We're
going." BCN stood for Bakersville College North. At the time the
campus was opened, there was a planned second campus to be built
south of the town, but that had never occurred. The one college
was still, however, called "North".
     "I can't do that," Stacy argued, fighting down a sudden
surge of panic. "I'm... uhm... busy tonight."
      "Do I have to make threats?" Sharon asked. "You know what
your options are. Besides, you might enjoy yourself."
     Stacy sighed with resignation. She knew very well that she
would have to agree with whatever Sharon said. If not, she would
be ruined at Greenwood. "OK," she muttered. "I'll be there."
     "Fine." Sharon was matter of fact; she had expected nothing
else. "Come to my place at 7:00. Oh... we'll be out all night;
tell your mother that you'll be spending the night at a friend's
house." The line went dead as Sharon hung up before Stacy could
reply or protest.
     Slowly, Stacy put the receiver down and ran a shaky hand
through her matted hair. Only then did she notice that her body
was covered with a sheen of sweat. The dream! She pushed back the
covers and looked down on her body: her nipples were firm and
erect and her pussy was slightly damp. Could that dream really
have been exciting her? All she remembered was being naked... and
all those men were watching! She placed a finger on her clit and
began to rub, moaning softly. Just the memory of the dream was
exciting! What was happening to her? Despite her confusion, she
continued to masturbate herself, quickly bringing herself to
climax.
     Just as the orgasm died away, the phone rang again. She
picked it up.
     "Hello?" It was Barry Packard. Just what she needed. She had
noticed that he was trying to talk to her at school, but she had
managed to avoid him successfully ever since they had fucked a
couple of weeks ago in the front seat of his car.
     "Hi Stacy," he greeted her. She remained silent.
      "Uhm... I was just wondering if you wanted to... like, you
know... go out tonight, or something."
     "Are you kidding," she laughed. "I wouldn't be caught dead
with a loser like you." All of her frustration and anger at what
had happened to her in the last couple of weeks flowed out of her
heart and down the phone lines.
      "B-but... I thought... what about what happened on..."
     "What happened in your car was a joke," she told him.
"You've got to be the worst fuck I've ever had." It felt a little
strange talking like that, but on the whole, it was good to be on
the giving end of some abuse rather than on the receiving end.
Besides, he was such a loser!
     "B-but..."
     "I don't want to hear about it, and I don't want to see or
hear from you again. Just fuck off!"
      Stacy slammed down the phone. That had felt good! Almost
like her old self. Cheered up, she got out of bed and went into
the bathroom for a shower.

                            *********

     As ordered, Stacy arrived at Sharon's house promptly at 7:00
that evening. Sharon's mother, a large, bleary-eyed woman
answered the door.
     "Is Sharon here?" Stacy asked timidly. The woman smelt of
beer and stale cigarette smoke.
     The woman took a drag from her cigarette and gestured Stacy
inside. Stacy walked into the house.
      "Sharon!" Sharon's mom was yelling down a flight of stairs.
"Your little friend's here." She turned back to Stacy. "Go right
on down. She's in her room."
     Stacy smiled weakly in thanks and walked down the stairs
into the basement.
     "In here." Sharon's voice came from behind a closed door at
one end of a short hall. Stacy pushed the door open and entered
Sharon's bedroom. The pudgy girl was talking on the phone; she
waved at Stacy to come in and sit down.
     "... Yes... I know. At the agreed price. I know... uh huh...
it's just for private use. Nothing else." Stacy sat on the edge
of Sharon's bed, careful not to disturb a pile of dirty clothing.
"No, that's fine. Yeah... as long as they don't mind... OK."
Sharon hung up the phone and turned to Stacy.
     "Well," she said, smirking, "let's have a look at you. Stand
up." Blushing, Stacy stood up. She was wearing a blue skirt which
fell below her knees and a yellow blouse. Her blonde hair was
done up in a tight, little bun at the back of her head. Sharon
shook her head as she looked the older girl over. "Huh," she
grunted. "That's not gonna do." She got up and moved towards the
closet. "Let's try these on." She pulled out a duffel bag and
handed it to Stacy.
     Stacy took one look inside and dropped the bag. "I can't
wear these. Not in public."
      Sharon just smiled and lit a cigarette. "Every time," she
rolled her eyes theatrically. "Every time
we go through this same game. First you say you can't do
something. Then we threaten to release the tape and the pictures.
Then, suddenly, you can do it." She looked over at Stacy. "Is all
that really necessary?"
     Stacy looked down at the duffel bag and began to tremble.
She fought back the tears.
      "Please..." How could they do this to her?
     Sharon wasn't moved.
      "Put these on, you bitch," she ordered, suddenly angry.
"You'll wear them tonight or by Monday night everyone in town
will know what a slut you are."
      The videotape!
     Reluctantly, Stacy reached down and picked up the duffel
bag.

     Ten minutes later, she was changed and ready to go. The
central item of her new apparel was a black, patent leather
skirt, which reached only halfway down her thighs. The tight
skirt was fastened by a zipper on the side. ('For easy access,'
Sharon had commented.) On top, she now wore a bright pink spandex
shirt. The sleeveless blouse hugged her upper body tightly,
making the most of her smallish breasts. On her feet, she wore
black leather, high-heeled boots, which covered her lower legs
right up to her knees. Thin nylon stockings completed the
ensemble. As well, Sharon had combed out her blonde hair, so that
it fell in waves across her now bare shoulders. A little extra
make-up (applied by Sharon) and she looked like "a proper little
whore" (in Sharon's opinion).
      Stacy fought to hold back the tears. She did feel like a
whore in this outfit.

     The two girls drove up to the College in Stacy's car, but
with Sharon at the wheel. When they arrived, the party was
already in full swing, with music blasting raucously out of
partially opened windows. It was located in a large, old house,
which served as rental accommodation for students at BCN. Sharon
parked the car on the street opposite the house and looked over
at Stacy. The older girl sat stiffly, looking straight ahead, her
arms crossed in front of her chest.
     "You're not going to have much fun with that attitude,"
Sharon chided. "You're too tense." Stacy didn't answer. Sharon
sighed theatrically and reached into her large purse.
      "Here," she said, pulling out a small thermos. "Have a
drink. It'll relax you." She poured a small measure of whisky
into the thermos lid and passed it over to Stacy. The older girl
looked doubtful for a moment, sniffing suspiciously at the
liquid, but then shrugged her shoulders and drank it down. What
harm could it do? Almost immediately, she felt the warmth of the
alcohol in her stomach.
     "One more?" Sharon asked. Stacy nodded quickly and held out
the cup for a second drink. Sharon poured, and Stacy once again
downed it. She felt much better already.
     Sharon smiled as she took the cup back and screwed it back
onto the thermos. This was the same stuff that Gary had mixed
that had got Stacy so hot that night at Neil's. With any luck, it
should make things go a lot better tonight, particularly with a
double dose.
     "Let's go."
      Sharon opened the door and got out of the car. Stacy
followed, moving a little slower on the high heels. The drink was
beginning to go to her head a bit, she noticed. She felt a little
unsteady. The two girls walked up the gravel driveway towards the
house. Even from outside, the loud pulsing music made
conversation difficult; the whole building seemed to shake with
it.
      Sharon banged loudly on the door. Nothing. She banged again,
harder this time. A few moments later, a young man opened it and
peered drunkenly outward.
       "Yeah?" His eyes quickly skimmed over Sharon, and came to
rest on Stacy's scantily clad body. Stacy shivered, only partly
from the cold as the man slowly looked her up and down. He liked
his lips.
     "Is Jim in?" Sharon was forced to yell over the music. "Tell
him Sharon is here." The man at the door tore his eyes away from
Stacy long enough to acknowledge Sharon's words with a nod, and
then disappeared back into the house.
     Sharon turned to Stacy who was still shivering on the porch.
"Remember," she said urgently. "This is a college party. Don't
start acting like a fucking kid. I have everything under
control."
      Stacy started to ask what she meant by this, but the door
swung open and another man came out. This guy was huge; he looked
like a football player.
      "Sharon," he called out. "Good to see you." His eyes turned,
inevitably, towards Stacy. "And you must be Stacy. Sharon's told
us a lot about you." Stacy knew that this sounded ominous, but
her brain was fogged up from the alcohol, and the drugs Gary had
added to it were starting to have an effect: her senses seemed
heightened, but her consciousness was starting to drift. A small
part of her mind recognized this feeling from that first night at
Neil's house, but she was unable to act on this knowledge. The
large man - Jim? - gestured for them to enter the house. Sharon
pushed Stacy through the door in front of her and then entered
herself.
      Behind them, the door slammed shut.

     Inside, the painfully loud music drowned out any possibility
of conversation. The foyer led to a short stairway which in turn
opened up into the main living room of the house. This room was
packed with sweating, dancing people, almost exclusively students
from BCN. The air was heavy with smoke, tobacco and other types.
     Jim led the way through the crowd, pushing and shoving a
path through the drunken, jostling crowd. Sharon pulled Stacy
along by the arm, following in his wake. Stacy got a lot of
attention from the men in the room, and one guy even reached out
to squeeze her tits as they pressed through the tangle. She
squirmed away, and he was soon lost in the crush. To Stacy's
blurred perceptions, the trip across the crowded room was a
nightmare passage of smoke and noise, with the occasional leering
face thrust out at her through the haze. She was thankful when
they reached the comparative quiet of the kitchen, but this too
was fairly crowded, and Jim continued leading them along. They
passed through the kitchen, down a short hallway and, finally, to
a closed door.
     Jim halted in front of that door and looked back at Sharon.
     "Everything OK?" he asked, glancing at Stacy. Stacy looked
around wildly, beginning to panic. What was happening here?
     Sharon pulled her head down and whispered into her ear.
"These are my friends," she hissed. "Keep them happy. If you're
smart, you'll relax and enjoy it. Fuck up, and..." Sharon looked
up and smiled at Jim.
      "Fine," she told him. "She's all ready. She loves this sort
of thing. She's really hot."
     Stacy started to mumble a protest, but before she could form
the words, Jim had opened the door and Sharon had pushed her into
the room. Jim followed her in, closing the door behind him.
     Left alone in the hall, Sharon leaned against the door and
pulled out a cigarette. She'd give them a few minutes to get
going and then head in herself. She reached down and patted the
bulk of the video camera in her purse. She didn't want to miss
any of the action.

     Stacy's memories of that night in the room consisted almost
entirely of a series of unconnected images and sensations, as if
her conscious mind had shut itself off, acknowledging sensations
only when they became too strong to shut out.
     The room had been full of men, many of them as big as Jim.
There was a large bed in the middle of the room. The men had
cheered as she had stumbled inside, and Stacy had immediately
been picked up and thrown down onto the bed. She tried to
struggle, but it seemed as if her limbs seemed so heavy...
     Jim was first.
      He pulled up the zipper on her skirt and tore it off. While
she had wriggled and tried to squirm away, he had pulled the pink
top up over her breasts, leaving it bunched up under her chin.
Stacy had moaned and cried as he began mauling her tits, but
everything seemed so far away. The next thing she knew, he was
inside her, impossibly big! She groaned as he pumped in and out,
first with pain, but then with something else. Her stretched cunt
began to tingle, and a warm feeling spread out through her
stomach and up into her breasts, causing her nipples to harden
and become ultra-sensitive. She fought the sensations, but it was
a losing battle.
     As he continued to thrust in and out, she slipped her arms
around his neck and crushed her face to his. Momentarily
surprised, he began to kiss back, and their tongues entwined
frantically. A few moments later, she threw back her head and
screamed as she was overtaken by an intense orgasm. The first of
many that night. He came a few seconds later, pumping sperm into
her wet pussy.
     After that first orgasm, everything became a blur...

     ...another man was on top of her now, pumping in and out.
His cock making a squelching sound in her wet pussy. She tried to
kiss him, wanting to feel his tongue on hers, but a second man
slipped his cock into her panting mouth. She fondled her own
breasts with one hand while holding onto the second man's cock as
it slid in and out of her mouth...

     ...the room seemed awfully bright all of a sudden, but
before her mind cold explore this thought, the cock in her mouth
began to spurt jism. Greedily, she sucked at it as fast as she
could, but some sperm spilt out over her face. She was scraping
it up with her fingers and stuffing it into her mouth when a
second cock slid in. She moaned and began to massage it with her
aching tongue...

     ...she was on her hands and knees now, her arms wrapped
around a pair of legs and her mouth wrapped around a thick cock.
Behind her, a man finished coming and pulled out. She whined and
wiggled her bottom, desperate for more cock. She felt man kneel
down behind her, but instead of putting his cock into her pussy,
he thrust it suddenly into her virgin asshole. She squealed and
tried to move away, but a pair of hands in her hair kept her face
firmly impaled on a cock.
      Eventually, however, the pain went away, and a new kind of
warmth spread through her. She came twice before the cock in her
asshole started to spray sperm up her ass...

     ...she lay on her back, her legs spread wide and bent
upwards over her head. A man lay on top of her, pumping
frantically. His mouth was wide open, and a thin line of drool
spilt out and fell onto her face. She opened her mouth to receive
it...

     ...she lay in between two men, impaled upon their cocks. One
man, the one beneath her, had his cock up her pussy, and the one
on top was thrusting in and out of her asshole. The combined
sensations sent her into a flurry of loud orgasms. A third cock
was stuffed into her panting mouth...

     Blackness...
      Stacy jerked suddenly awake as cold water splashed in her
face. She was lying on her back on a warm, sticky mattress.
Sharon stood over her with an empty cup.
      "Rise and shine," she said brightly. "It's time to go."
Sharon left the room and walked into an adjoining bathroom.
     Groaning, Stacy tried to sit up. The sheets stuck to her
back as she pulled herself vertical. Her body was covered with
bruises and scrapes, and her pussy and asshole ached as if they
had been scraped raw. Abruptly, she began to wail as the memories
of the previous hours' activities began to return. Sharon found
her trembling on the bed a few minutes later when she returned
with Stacy's clothes.
     "None of that," she admonished. "I know you had a good time
tonight. Don't start complaining now." She threw the clothing at
Stacy. "Get dressed. We're going."
     Still trembling, Stacy disentangled her battered body from
the sticky sheets. Her entire front was coated with a crust of
dried sperm. Slowly, she pulled the leather skirt on and zipped
it up. The pink shirt was ripped across the stomach, but she just
slipped it over her head and pulled it down. The boots went on
last. Shakily, she straightened up, and was led by Sharon through
the house and out the front door. The living room  was now almost
deserted, inhabited only by a handful of couples sleeping
together on the various couches. The two girls made it unobserved
to Stacy's car. Sharon started the car, and they drove off.

     Stacy finally managed to stop shaking.
      Sharon glanced over at her as she drove. "That's better.
There were only eight of them. Not much for a slut like you."
     Stacy looked over in disbelief. "E-eight?" The charm
bracelet jingled as she brought her hand up to her mouth. She
felt like she was going to be sick.
     "That's right," Sharon answered. "The offensive line of the
BCN Barracudas." The football team.
     Stacy leaned back and closed her eyes. "Eight more down, I
guess," she mumbled.
     Sharon laughed. "Nope. Those ones don't count for our little
game. They weren't students at Greenwood."
     Stacy sat up and looked over, unable to stop the tears
flowing down her face. "T-then why?"
     "I needed the money," Sharon answered simply. "They paid me
fifty bucks each." At this, Stacy began to wail and sob in
earnest. "Don't worry," Sharon comforted, deliberately
misunderstanding. "You'll get some of it. I'll cut you in for ten
percent."

     Stacy's tears had dried by the time the car reached Sharon's
house. Reminding the older girl that she was staying the night,
Sharon led her downstairs to her bedroom.
      "You'll be sleeping on the couch," she announced. Stacy,
exhausted, stumbled over and collapsed onto the small couch.
Chuckling, Sharon walked over and stuffed forty dollars down the
top of Stacy's shirt.
      "There you are," she whispered, running her fingers through
Stacy's sperm-encrusted hair. "There's your ten percent. Good
job."
     Stacy fell asleep crying, curled up on Sharon's couch...

                          END PART FIVE
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