"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."