Tortured teacher
It is hard to think of anything more boring than school in one's childhood. "Now we're going to have a math test... Lisa, please be quiet... Yes, you can go to the bathroom... I'm very disappointed in all of you..." drone a series of teachers for a dozen years or so.
Ah, but if we only knew what went on outside the classroom, we sometimes think. And then we lean back and think no way, teachers don't do anything at all. They've got to be the straightest people around to go on and on for hours about the square of the hypotenuse.
And so people ignore what frivolities and kinkiness teachers may have, and with good reason. But now and then, one of them breaks out of the shy, sensitive mold and, as if to compensate for the years of holding back the innermost feelings, lets go of the lust inside.
This is such a story, as Linda White finds a world inside herself that had been unimaginable. We are certain that anyone who has ever sat through class after class and felt a longing for the teacher, will appreciate her tears and laughter.
The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
Linda White pulled down her skirt so it would reach her knees as she began walking toward the administration building at Marley High School in Marley, California. If you didn't, she reminded herself, all the boys would be staring at your legs all day long.
Linda hurried into the building, saying, "Hello," to the few students she recognized from the first week of class. She wanted to keep making a good impression on the administrators, since it was her first job and she was years away rom getting tenure.
Besides, she and her husband Steve had sunk everything into this move into Southern California, leaving Ohio just a few weeks before. He'd gotten a job with a micro computing firm and after weeks of frantic phone calling around the Los Angeles area, she'd found this job of teaching world history to high school students.
It had been a change, a big one. The kids amazed Linda. Most of them, except for a few hippies and a sprinkling of blacks bussed into the school from downtown, tried to act and look like movie stars. They all had sun tans and blonde hair and expensive clothes that were usually worn as tight as humanly possible.
Well... it was a job that paid well and she and Steve needed every last penny to help pay for their house's mortgage. Besides, the staff at the school was pretty nice. They'd already been able to make some friends with a few of the younger teachers at the school.
She strolled into the faculty room and breathed a sigh of relief. At least in here you didn't feel like you were constantly on stage. Everyone was more or less equal and you didn't have the constant creeping fear that some kids might freak out on something.
"Hi, Linda!" five or six different voices chorused. "Hello, everyone," she said and flashed a big smile. People always told her it was her biggest physical asset, that smile. She was cute, they'd say, never pretty. Perhaps it was the smile that detracted from people noticing a nearly perfect body that was always clad in very sensible clothes. Like today, where she was wearing a white ruffled blouse and a plaid skirt. The one problem she'd worried about when she accepted the job at the high school was that there would be lots of big strong boys making eyes at her. It was silly, of course, but sometimes she'd feel oddly unprotected, maybe because her husband Steve was only her size about five-foot-five and not particularly muscular.
But everything had worked out fine so far she had no complaints, although it was clear to her that she was boring the daylights out of the kids in her class by talking about the Ancient Greeks and Romans. She'd always considered Alexander the Great one of the most fascinating figures in history. But the kids in her class, save just a few of them, would fall asleep if they had the chance. Since they had to sit, they'd pass notes instead. But Linda had been advised that as long as no one actually disrupted her lecture severely, there wasn't really too much to worry about.
"Let me tell you," Dan Jencks, who taught geography, said at the "Welcome Back Faculty" party a few days after school had started in early September. "As long as no one tried to hold you up with a gun, be grateful. Just keep on talking, make it as interesting as you possibly can and perhaps some of it will eventually seep into their thin little heads. You could do so much worse than this. Guys who I went to school with and are now teaching in the tough parts of town now tell me that they carry a gun with them at all times. Believe me, this is a school."
She couldn't really figure out why this man, who looked to be in his early 30's, was confiding in her. So she said, "Well, Dan, I appreciate your telling me that, but I'm not really sure why you brought it up, if you don't mind my asking you."
"Of course I don't mind," he said quietly, almost conspiratorially. "Look, you seem like a nice person. I just want to warn you that occasionally things go bad at this school. I can't really explain why except to say that Jack O'Neill just isn't cut out to be a principal. He won't crack down sometimes and none of us can figure out why. Also, he occasionally picks on some new member of the faculty if he doesn't think that they're obeying him to a T and really drives them crazy. The best way to avoid a hassle with him is to just be subservient as hell, if he says 'Jump!' then you be damn sure to ask him, 'How high?'"
She had only met Jack O'Neill twice and he seemed to be fairly harmless. A middle-aged man with graying hair and someone who could probably use some time running a few laps around the track she had concluded. Probably drinks too much and probably thinks he's really hot stuff for running this high school.
She hadn't even thought of him for a couple of days prior to that morning when he walked into the faculty room and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Mrs. White," he softly said, "if I'm not wrong, you've got second period free. Could you come by my office then for a conference? It's nothing urgent, but I'd like to discuss a few things with you, if you don't mind."
"Sure no problem, Mr. O'Neill," she said. And she thought nothing of it, as he walked out of the room until she noticed that the constant chatter in the faculty room had almost ceased. Everyone was not really looking at her, yet not looking away, either.
She walked over to Dan Jencks and Raymond Powell, a math teacher, aware that everyone seemed to be sort of looking out of the corners of their eyes at her. I'd better just talk about normal stuff for a while, she thought, this is truly strange. "Hi Dan," she said brightly as she slid into a chair. "Hi, Ray. How's it going?"
"Fine, Linda. Just fine. How are you? You're looking good today," came the replies.
"Just fine. So what's new?"
Dan took a breath and said, "Just watch yourself, Linda. O'Neill is just one weird cookie. Did he ask to see you this morning?"
"Yeah."
"Well, just don't do anything crazy," he said somberly. Then he laughed. "I'm sorry. You're smart. I know you won't do anything silly."
"Sure Dan, don't worry about me," she said as first period bell rang. All over the room, final gulps of coffee were thrown down throats and final puffs of cigarette smoke were inhaled.
"Lets go get 'em, team," said Bella Rogers, who taught girls Physical Education. This always brought a laugh forth even though she said it every morning. "Let's nail those little bastards good."
Well, that was normal, Linda thought, but Dan and Ray had certainly been acting oddly. "Whooaoh-oh, listen to the music," chorused the Doobie Brothers over the loudspeaker system as everyone rushed, to get to their first class. "Whooa-oh-oh, listen to the music, all the time."
It was a good song, she thought, and it made her forget any weirdness. God damn, but it was great to be out in California instead of freezing out in Ohio. It was about 80 degrees right now, and it would be 90 before the day was out. She could not remember anything like the Doobie Brothers or the Beach Boys being played over school loudspeakers or people at a high school feeling like they wanted to be there. How bad could Jack O'Neill be if he didn't mind letting a little music into people's lives to start the day?
It wasn't that being at school was the be-all and end-all of her life. If she could have, she would have rather just stayed cuddled in Steve's arms in bed. It was marvelous just to lie there and feel in love. "We take a walk, the sun is shining down, burns my feet as they touch the ground," sang the Beatles over the loudspeaker. "Good day, sunshine, good day, sunshine, good day sunshine..."
Steve was so nice. He'd read poetry to her, he'd play the guitar. They'd go to the beach together almost every free day. She was proud to show off in her tiny string bikini, keeping her arms wrapped around Steve's waist to emphasize that although anyone could look as much as they wanted, that had better be the limit of any approach to her. She loved it, getting a tan and feeling the anticipation of that night in bed building all afternoon as they sat on the beach, just sort of dozing in each other's arms.
Somehow, Steve never shared the same anticipation, although he never seemed to mind, either, that she would be getting excited through the day just by looking at his cute little body, almost like a boy's. Sometimes they would go days without making love. It seemed as if all Steve wanted to do was cuddle up with her. Linda never let this bother her, though. It would have been far worse, she thought, to have a sex fiend that chased after every skirt that he could catch sight of. The very thought that the man she married could be unfaithful to her, would send chills up her spine. So she was eternally grateful that she had chosen a man who was not wild and crazy, but one who just wanted to settle down and love his wife.
It was a great marriage. She'd only had two other boyfriends before marrying Steve and they'd only been interested in getting her clothes off, getting her into bed and dumping her as fast as possible. It had left her so cold, that when Steve had come into her life, she felt wonderful, since there was actually a man in her life who wanted to be with her all the time. She had always doubted she was really attractive until he had come along. She never would have worn a bikini anywhere until she met Steve.
It was odd how much time she spent thinking about Steve when she was in between times at school, such as now as she waited for the Pledge of Alliance and the morning announcements. As usual, there were about five boys in the front row of the class trying to look up her dress or trying to sneak a peak up the cut-offs of one of the nubile girls who'd stretch out oblivious of the stares of these tortured boys.
Finally, she began her lecture, reminding herself that the more she got out of the way, the nearer she'd be to being able to go home and see Steve. She always dressed up in a gown, something clingy, but tasteful, for when he came home, mindful that he would be seeing pretty young women in tight pants all day long, or so she imagined. They never talked about it. She was sure that talking about it would have embarrassed Steve to death.
"Everything leads to everything else," she began today, and she could feel a collective sigh pass through the room. These kids were so bored. They wanted to be outside at the beach or at least the parking lot flirting away with each other and getting loaded put of their minds. Just keep talking and maybe some of it will sink in, she told herself.
"The Roman Empire is a fine example of this. Of course, we look around and there's nothing left of the Roman Empire except for the Vatican City, which is the seat of the Roman Catholic Church, even now."
"Where's that?" asked Mark, one of the front row boys who always had a wisecrack.
"In Rome," she said to laughter. You always had to play straight man to these kids. God, Steve, I wish we could just go to the beach and get all tanned, she thought. "Now, one of the reasons the European part of the world remained pre-eminent for so long was the fact that even though Rome itself fell, the techniques developed for administering the empire had been passed on to such areas as Gaul, which we call France now, and Constantinople, which became Turkey."
"Don't they call it Turkey because turkeys live there?" asked Lenny, one of the other smart-sleek front row boys. This was typical.
"Nice going, Lenny. You're bound to get an 'A' with answers like that," she said. More laughter. "Actually I'm not sure why they call it Turkey. If you want some extra credit, Lenny, why don't you look that up and find out why? I'll ask you tomorrow about it. As I was saying or as I did say yesterday, the key to the collapse of the Roman Empire is the loss of the Eastern half of the empire, which meant that the same costs were still there, but there was much less for the empire to draw upon. This led to a decline in the ability and spirit of the rest of the empire, so when the barbarians showed up, there was not much resistance."
On this morning as others, she could feel the gaze of these hungry youngster satyrs, starving for any kind of sexual release. Their eyes burned into her ripe, full breasts, her smooth trim waist and her flaring hips, which were just big enough to accentuate her waist nicely. She only found the attention annoying. There were thousands of girls out there, she wanted to tell them. If you just wait for the right one to come along instead of forcing things to happen, you'll be fine. Instead, these boys undressed with their eyes any woman they saw.
She imagined it had something to do with the preponderance of half-clad females on TV and in the movies, along with all the creamy beauties on the soft-core pornography magazines in the grocery stores. She could almost feel them, these lustful boys, comparing her body to the pictures as she described how the barbarians had come from the Northern European steppes and Hungary and even as far away as the middle of Russia. I bet I look as good as those slutty girls in those magazines, she thought to herself.
"When the barbarians invaded a village in the Roman Empire, one of the methods they would always use in subjecting the local populace to rape," she said as she felt the class come to attention. No doubt it had been her use of the word "rape". Even Sally, the prototype of a dumb blonde, with huge breasts and a hookers wardrobe, stopped putting make-up on her face. Then Sally shut her compact.
"It was one of the more disheartening events in the life of a village in that it debased the lives of everyone associated with it," she continued. The class was actually paying attention. "It debased the rapers, of course. It ruined the lives of the victims and it made their husbands feel absolutely useless and powerless. The gradual result of the barbarian invasion, since they lacked any administrative ability to maintain law and order, was a general lack of respect for the individual, particularly since the hordes could do pretty much as they pleased as I've indicated to you..."
Gradually, as she began to describe the sequence of the final Roman emperors, the class began to lose the attention it had brought when "rape" was mentioned. She made a note to herself to be sure to mention that to her other classes later in the day. Maybe, just for the hell of it, she'd even undo a button or two at the top of her blouse. That would really drive the boys crazy. Maybe she'd even hitch up her skirt just a little bit. She couldn't help but feel a bit contemptuous of them.
But she made sure that her skirt was hiked down and that her blouse wasn't straining against her breasts when she went to Jack O'Neill's office. She didn't want to give him any kind of excuse to be upset with her. And she felt a little strange about what Dan Jencks had said earlier in the day as if she were going to be physically attacked by the man, although that seemed ridiculous.
She walked into his office and told the secretary that she had an appointment and the secretary gave her a sly smile. "My God," she thought, "I can't look that much like a pervert. These people are just plain weird. They've got sex on their minds all of the time. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it."
"He'll be with you in a second, Mrs. White," the secretary said. "I'm really pleased to meet you. Everyone says you're doing a very good job with the history classes, and I'm really glad."
"Thank you," she said, feeling relieved. She supposed that what had happened about mentioning the word "rape" made her a little bit on edge.
"You can go in now," the secretary said after her phone buzzed.
And it seemed that there was nothing to this meeting. Jack O'Neill simply said very perfunctory things about how she'd been doing a good job and how she should feel free to call on him or either of the vice principals if anything ever went wrong in her class, anything at all. How did she like Marley High?
She liked it fine, she said. That's good he said, because I really like to push for a family feeling here. Which is the real reason I called you in here, he went on. "I just wanted to find out a little bit about you personally, if you don't mind."
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "What would you like to know?"
"Well, what do you like to do when you're not teaching? I just like to have an idea about that sort of thing. It makes my job easier."
Well, there was nothing weird about that, she thought. "Oh, I spend a lot of time with my husband. We like to go to movies, and we go to the beach whenever it's nice. I guess we're really intrigued by the beaches out here, since we're both from Ohio."
"Yes, I know you're from Ohio. And I love beaches myself, just for people-watching. Tell me, if you don't mind, uh, what do you go to beaches for? I mean, are you trying for a sun tan?"
"Yes. My husband Steve and I love the sun. We usually go to Zuma."
"Zuma? Is that where they have a nude beach? I think sometime ago I read something about that. Do you sunbathe in the nude up there?"
So this is what Dan Jencks meant, she thought. Good Lord, what an odd question. But she searched his face for even the slightest clue of lechery and couldn't find even a trace of it. "No. I haven't yet seen a nude beach, sir. And I doubt that we'd, use one if there was one around for us to use," she said evenly.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "That's really none of my business. Tell me, what sort of movies do you and your husband go see?"
"We like comedies, anything that will make us laugh, which is just about everything."
"That's good," he said, with a fib of a flinch. "I guess I couldn't help but ask about your going to the beach because I can't help but notice your tan."
"That's very nice of you to say," she said, allowing a bit of sarcasm to creep into her voice. What a stupid line this creep was using, if he was trying to seduce her. She began feeling annoyed.
"I hope I haven't offended you," he was saying with a slight quiver in his voice. "Let ma show you to the door."
He came over to where she sat, one of his hands fooling with the change in his pants pocket, but at least not massaging himself like she had half expected.
In an instant, he had pulled a pair of handcuffs out of the pocket and snapped them onto her wrist and then onto his wrist. And as she stood with her mouth open in amazement, he drew a handkerchief out of his suit coat pocket and wrapped it around her head and mouth to gag her, then tied it, jerking her handcuffed hand up in the process. Then with his free hand he slowly ran his fingers over her blouse, and tried to locate her nipples.
"Oh, that feels good," he murmured.
CHAPTER TWO
Fear raced through Linda's body. She was going to be raped! She tried to scream, but nothing came out that could be beard for more than a few feet.
Jack O'Neill was now pushing her onto the floor, an insane grin on his face. "Oh, baby, baby, baby, light my fire. And don't yell any more. Don't worry, honey. I'm in love all the way."
Linda screamed again and Jack slugged her in the face, although he was still smiling when he did it. "I'm sorry. I had to do that, sweets," he said softly, as he rapidly tied up her other hand to a hook in the wall with a piece of red velvet cord. Now he tied the handcuffed hand to another book in the wall about four feet away and kept sitting on her thighs. She wriggled, but was powerless against his solid frame. She could feel his meaty erection pressing hard against one of her hips... She cried and cried and offered no resistance as Jack pulled off her high-heeled pumps, her skirt, her stockings, her garter belt and her panties. Now he tied the same kind of red velvet cords to her ankles and attached them on the other side of the office wall. So now, she was spread-eagled before this monster dressed in a blue pin-striped three-piece suit.
She closed her eyes, thinking that perhaps that would blot out what was surely about to happen. She would think of Steve while this happened and that would give her strength. She would think of Jack O'Neill getting hit by a truck. She would hope it would be over as soon as possible. Her body was rigid with tension.
So she hardly noticed a slight touch to her thighs, almost like a wisp of wind. It felt oddly relaxing as it traced a semi-circle up and down her thighs. So it was out of curiosity that she opened her eyes and saw something so amazing that she actually giggled a bit Jack O'Neill was touching her thighs lightly with a peacock feather.
What in the world was she doing laughing at a time like this, with this pervert having tied her up. Maybe he'd cut her up, like the girls in the Charles Manson family. Her mother had warned her against coming out to California, and said that there were so many kooks running around out there that there was no telling but that she might run into one of them. "Oh, Mom, you were right," she thought frantically as she looked at the maniacal glint in Jake's eyes. "This man is going to rape me at the very least. I should have never left Ohio. Oh Mom, oh, OH my God, I'm getting wet and I don't even want to! This is horrible!"
It was true, though. Jack had been moving the feather closer and closer to the kinky brown genital hair and now the fleecy curls had begun to moisten a bit. He started patting the feather right on the pubic vee and Linda could feel her buttocks tighten as a tiny shudder of -- could it be? How in the world could it be -- pleasure passed through her loins. "No, no, no!" she yelled into the gag. She began crying again, hoping that Jack somehow had a shred of sympathy somewhere in his dark, depraved soul.
An evil grin creased his face and removed the last flicker of hope from Linda's mind. He spoke now in a voice that sounded like gun metal. "You little bitch, with your ruffled skirt and your string bikini tan lines. I'm going to get you so worked up that you're going to be begging for it," he was saying. And he began stroking the feather right into her gradually warming cleft.
"That's it, bitch," he moaned throatily. "You want it so bad you can just about taste it, I bet. God, you are getting so wet."
Linda shook her head back and forth as if to say no, never, not in a thousand years, you cretin. But she knew that he was speaking the truth, too, she was getting very wet. That peacock feather was just driving her nuts. It was as if all the stored-up lust from hanging out at the beach and wearing next to nothing, with total strangers oogling her, was suddenly concentrated in between her ivory smooth thighs. The heat in her now-raging genital walls gave her, a delicious burning sensation.
Now she arched up her back and buttocks so as to get as much as possible of the silky, heavenly feel of the feather. Her now-sopping cuntal walls demanded that she grab and clench the feather to quell the boiling lust that made her shiver in every last cell of her being.
She had never had an orgasm like this one. Her inflamed pussy, begging for release, gushed forth with more and more of silky love lubricant. Her hips gyrated wildly, trying desperately to grab onto the feather that the principal held oh-so-closely to her fire-fed cuntal walls. She moaned lasciviously as wave after wave of orgasm pounded through her firm, ripe frame. All thought -- the office, Jack O'Neill, her job, Steve, Ohio, California -- had been totally removed from her mind except for one desire: to have another orgasm, even more powerful than the one that was now ripping through her body like a chain saw gone wild.
She lost track of time. Her musky juices seemed unstoppable, running down her thighs in rich profusion and filling the room with her pungent unmistakable scent. Finally, her frantic cunt stopped clenching uncontrollably and she felt almost as if she were floating on a very nice cloud, just moving along very gently.
That feeling lasted for about five seconds. Then she realized what had been done to her by Jack O'Neill and a sense of shame over her wantonness in having, indulged his perversions overcame her.
Now she began crying once more. The wetness between her legs was beginning to dry and she wanted nothing more than to be any place but this awful man's office. He was rummaging through his desk for something. Probably a knife to stab me with after he carves his initials on my belly and writes my name on the wall in blood. What a story that should make for the newspapers, she thought hysterically. And to think that I actually enjoyed what he just did tome God, she prayed, you know that I couldn't help myself, so please forgive me if now is the time for me to die. There was nothing else I could do. Maybe the secretary might have come in or some thing like that. God, I don't want to die. I'll do anything if you let me live, her mind screamed. Anything, anything at all.
But now she saw that it wasn't a knife that Jack O'Neill held in his hands and now she wanted to die anyhow. A knife at least would be quick and easy, but he was going to ram a huge stick -- a dildo, she had heard it called -- up inside of her and split her in two. God, that's going to hurt. Please give me strength, she asked silently.
The principal still wore the same maniacal grin on his face. "Now, just relax, honey. You think you liked the feather, you're going to love this. Let me just grease her up a little bit," he said softly. And with that he began to put some petroleum jelly on the dildo.
Again she closed her eyes, and within seconds, she could feel the plastic shaft pressing against her hair-ringed fissure. This guy must be out of his mind, ramming this thing up me, she thought frantically. They'll have no problem tracing it to him.
Now, though, she heard an odd, low hum like an alarm clock going off and the sound was so out of place that she broke out of her misery to wonder what in the world it could be. Then she realized that her cuntal opening was being tickled by the vibrations of the dildo. She realized this was a vibrator.
How very odd, she thought I can't stand the feel of that thing going into me, but it's starting to slide into me anyhow. God, I hate it so much, but it feels... it feels kind of interesting, too.
And without warning, her whole body began to quiver and shiver, completely out of control. Her face contorted into a mask of passion that had to be relieved right on the spot. Her firm tanned legs started to jerk, her toes curled and her hips began swinging up wildly as she completely lost control of herself.
This time, only one thought preoccupied her now almost blank mind. To get as much of that vibrating plastic cock inside her now-steaming pussy as she could possibly manage. The high voltage circuit of orgasm began bolting down to her slippery clitoral bud and jolted back to her cervix where her never-before-used cuntal muscles gripped the toy of joy in a hammerlock hold, instinctive in its nature with one and only one message -- don't ever let go.
And she did not let go, at least for quite a while. Her orgasm reached into the very depths of her soul and pulled everything out of her, leaving her completely dry. Her moans became animalistic, like those of a tigress in heat. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands and her eyes glazed over unseeingly. As many times as she'd lain with Steve, she'd never known anything approaching this. She'd never been fucked like this before and she knew it. Her thoughts were a jumble as the waves, seemingly endless, of orgasm roared through her four, five, six and now seven times.
The heartbeat of lust pounded through her now limp body as one more explosion ripped through her as she gasped for breath through the gag. The insistent drumbeat of lust built up by the vibrator thundered through her yet one more time. She loved every instant of it as the dildo, almost all of it squeezed into her dripping cuntal walls, gave her thrills beyond imagination.
It wasn't just Linda who was thrilled either. The sight of this raven haired vixen turned from a prim and proper educator, the very model of social decorum, into a seething volcano of lust had driven him up the wall. He had exploded into a sweet, long lasting easily 60 seconds worth -- orgasm that had blown him over onto his back. Such flaming, unleashed passion had been, he had always thought, the property of the actresses in the porno movies he and his wife would watch at home on the screen that pulled down from the living room ceiling. He'd always thought that it was just a matter of really good acting and photography.
Both of them remained supine for several minutes -- she from necessity, of course, and he from choice. Her anger and shame had returned by the time he stood up. Tears once again had welled up in her big brown eyes and were running down her cheeks.
"Now, understand something, Linda," he said very evenly. "I never technically raped you and there's no way that any of my semen will show up if you do go to a hospital. Secondly, if you do say anything about this to anyone, I'll get both you and your husband fired so fast that you won't know what hit you. So I strongly suggest that you keep this quiet I know you liked it, so I'm not going to apologize. I looked at you and I figured you'd really eat it up, which is why I had these hooks put in. And I was right. I was absolutely right. So just remember, people are going to be much more likely to believe a nasty rumor about you than they are ever going to about me."
Now he slowly pulled out the dildo, which he had turned off while he was talking. Then he began to undo the cords, which had left only slight indentations in Linda's wrists and ankles.
"You'd better get dressed," he said evenly when he was done. "Third period starts pretty soon and I'm sure you don't want to be late."
"No," she said and started to slip on her underwear and stockings.
"Do you hate me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You forced me to do that."
"It was for your own good."
"Look," she said coldly. "If you keep this up, I'll scream my head off."
"And I'll clobber you like before."
"Fine. I'll just say this. If you ever come near me again, I'll scream."
"I won't. This office is the only place I can get away with this. See how it locks from the inside. That way, I can't be interrupted."
"You are sick."
"Maybe so, but I'm still principal here, so I still have all my marbles working."
She was now dressed. "Goodbye, Mister O'Neill. I hope you rot in hell," she snarled.
"Tnt, tnt, Mrs. White. Let bygones be bygones. Most women are very grateful for what I do for them here. If you can't appreciate that, well, that's your loss," he said with a hearty sneer.
Then he opened the door and Linda walked out quickly. She felt terrible. Why did scum like Jack O'Neill have to exist at all?
She had planned to go straight to a telephone and notify the police about what had happened, but she felt O'Neill's words sinking in slowly -- that it would be her word against his, to say nothing of both her and Steve losing their jobs and the awful problems of having to go through a trial in a court.
God damn it, she swore, and ran into a girl's bathroom. She looked in a mirror and was surprised to see that she really didn't look as awful as she had thought she might. Maybe if he'd punched me harder and really given me a black eye, I could take the bastard to court, she thought. But it was useless. There was no way in the world she could win. History had taught her that the more powerful of two people generally is the one winning a confrontation.
She wiped herself dry with tissue from her purse, then combed her hair and wished she could be with Steve right now. Then she walked back to her classroom, just as class was getting out from second period to change over to third period with a short break.
No one seemed to be taking particular notice of her as she walked into the classroom, although one of the smart sleek boys immediately came up to her and said, "I hear you're going to tell us all about rape today, Mrs. White. I hear it's really good."
It was all she could do not to hit him. "Leo," she said tiredly, "it looks as if the only taste you've got is in your mouth." This crack got a big yuk out of what few kids had already arrived for the class and it made Linda feel a little better, too.
But it was ironic that she'd been talking about rape during first period, then just about gotten raped in the second period (what just about, she thought. That was definitely rape, even if he didn't get himself inside me). Now she wondered if she'd bring it up again. Probably better not to make as big a deal over it, she said to herself. If Leo had found out about her talking about rape, surely other people like Jack O'Neill could, too. Much as she hated the notion, it looked as if she were going to have to avoid doing anything that would bring her into contact with Jack O'Neill again.
So during that lecture and the next three after that, she mentioned rape as one of the devices used by the barbarians, but did not really elaborate at all. And no one asked her to do so either.
Actually, it was a good set of lectures, with the kids seeming a bit more attentive than usual, although one small girl who had smoked too much marijuana made a fool of herself by asking to use the bathroom and getting loot on the Marley High campus, which is somewhat hard to do if you've been there for more than an hour.
But it wasn't easy for Linda to stay calm for the rest of the school day. The only thing that kept her going was to think about how much she hated Jack O'Neill. If she thought about Steve, she'd be seized by spasms of guilt over what had happened -- that somehow, some part of her had enjoyed the abhorrent experience. All she wanted was to get out of school and go put the experience behind her as quickly as possible. In the future, she supposed, she'd have to be very careful about any sort of contact with the principal. Imagine handcuffing someone and then shoving a vibrator up inside of them, thought Linda. And deep inside of her, one curious nerve wondered about that and the sensations that she'd never felt before in her 23 years of fife.
By the end of the day, Linda had begun to feel these conflicting emotions of anger and lust start to slip away from her. She wondered why she kept picturing that awful vibrator in her mind's eye, but by now she had also begun, as she always did, to think of dear sweet Steve, who would get her slowly worked up and romantic throughout the evening. He was so cute and cuddly that it drove her mad.
She wanted to be all ready for him tonight so he could kiss away her problems, so she rushed out of school and drove home quickly once her final class was done, rather than staying to chat in the teacher's room. Besides, she knew she'd get hassled about what the meeting with Jack O'Neill had been like by the others. All she wanted at this point was to feel Steve's soft skin and hot breath and little hands and fingers driving her crazy.
She burst into the door of their home in Woodland Oaks, intent on putting herself together to look as sexy as possible for her husband. But she realized that although the dresses she had were nice, they weren't really knockouts, things that would make him drool for her. A look through her closet confirmed her suspicion.
So she dashed out to a nearby shopping mall, the kind that dot the landscape in Southern California, and found one blue silk dress that clung to her like a second skin after an hour of looking. It made her feel naughty and nice at the same time as she looked in the mirror. God, she looked like a high-priced prostitute with it on, with her perfectly rounded melon-like breasts just straining to be released from the gossamer-like material. Her now throbbing nipples jutted upward like cherries, poking seductively through the silk fabric. And the blue material grabbed at her hips, buttocks and crotch like a glove, bringing up the same wonderfully full sensation welling up between her legs. God, she loved Steve so much, even if he seemed a bit befuddled and confused at times when they were in bed together. It didn't matter, she thought, giving herself one more good look in the mirror. So that's what Jack O'Neill got so crazy about, that filthy pervert. I wish I could kill that bastard, she told herself, as the flare-up of raging genital heat now died down and shame once more washed over her. She had to have Steve now, like never before. Everything would be all right once she was with Steve.
She quickly changed back into her school clothes and paid for the dress -- $90 was what it cost, but as far as Linda was concerned, it would be worth every single penny. Then she drove home as fast as possible and took a bubble bath, then slipped into the new dress. Steve would be home in about half an hour to an hour, but she wanted to be good and ready for him. Dinner was a tasty casserole she could just pop into the microwave for a few minutes.
Then the telephone rang. She picked it up and a very proper woman's voice asked, "Is this Mrs. Linda White?"
"Yes, it is," she replied.
"Mrs. White, let me get straight to the point I'm Jack O'Neill's wife. I suspect that you have been having an affair with my husband, just from the way he's been talking to me about you. Is this true?"
Out of pure reflex, Linda giggled. The whole idea was so preposterous that she couldn't help it. This woman must be out of her mind just as much as her husband. And so she said, "You must be out of your mind, Mrs. O'Neill. I'm very happily married."
"I am not out of my mind, Mrs. White. My husband is a very fragile man and I'm afraid that you are pushing him over the edge."
There was a cruelness to Mrs. O'Neill's voice now that Linda found frightening. "Mrs. O'Neill," she said quietly, "if you knew what your husband had done, you'd not be calling me up, but you'd be making some sort of arrangement for him to receive professional help."
"I am a professional psychologist. You can look it up in the telephone book under Rosemary O'Neill, so I think I can say I've got a reasonably good handle on what's wrong with my husband."
"You do?"
"Yes. And I also have lots of powerful friends. I can get both you and your husband fired with the snap of my fingers. Do you understand?"
"Yes I do."
"Good. Now I suggest you get over to my house and we can work out some sort of... arrangement."
"What in the world do you mean by that?" Linda asked in a voice that shook with fright.
"I don't mean to frighten you, my dear," said Mrs. O'Neill, her voice softening a bit. "I'd feel much better about your assurances if I could meet you face to face. I don't think that's asking too much," she said.
"Will your husband be there?"
"Of course not. This won't take long at all, dear, but you are trying my patience."
"Alright. Uh, I'll be right over. Would you please tell me the address?" said Linda resignedly. There was obviously no way out from this madwoman.
After she got the address and hung up, Linda put on a light blouse and hustled out the door. With any luck, she'd be back in time to greet Steve.
She rushed over to the address, which turned out to be a big white colonial mansion-type house. The kinds of things teachers have to do, she thought as she rang the bell. I want to go back to Ohio.
A tall blonde haired woman, not much older than Linda, answered the door. "Are you Mrs. White?" she asked with a slight smile crossing her lips.
"Yes," said Linda meekly.
"Do come in."
"Thank you," said Linda as she stepped inside the opulently furnished home.
"I'm so glad you came by, Mrs. White," said Rosemary O'Neill, her voice a good deal warmer now. "Now please tell me what happened with my husband today."
CHAPTER THREE
Linda was having a hard time deciding what to do. She wanted to believe that this woman could somehow straighten out the mess with Jack O'Neill. And before driving the two miles to the house, she had sneaked a look at the phone book and found that Rosemary O'Neill was indeed a licensed clinical psychologist.
There wasn't much else she could do, she decided. Besides, Rosemary O'Neill seemed much easier to talk to in person than she had over the telephone. She was very tastefully dressed in a jumpsuit that showed off an athletic body and accented her long blonde hair.
"Well," she finally said. "I might as well tell you. I don't want to lose my job or for my husband to lose his job, either. I'm uh... I'm just not quite sure where I should start on this."
"I have all the time in the world, my dear. And let me compliment you on that lovely dress you're wearing. It is divine."
"Oh, thank you," said Linda, feeling a more relaxed now. "But, uh, tell me, uh, isn't your husband going to be home soon?"
"No. I know for a fact he won't be home for several hours at least."
"Really?"
"Yes. Now tell me. You'll feel much better if you do. Tell me," she said softly, almost pleadingly. It was a request Linda could not refuse, but no longer because she was worried about losing her job it was just a question of wanting to please this strange woman who could command her attention with merely the flick of an eyelash or the slightest turn of the mouth.
Now the story came pouring out. "It was awful. He called me into his office for second period and we chit-chatted for a minute or two. Then he wanted to know if I wore a bikini or went to a nude beach," she said, the words tumbling out in a great rush.
Rosemary nodded gravely, but approvingly. She did not seem shocked, but still generated a tiny fish line of sympathy to Linda, who kept on talking. "I acted as if I weren't too offended, but I wasn't exactly pleased about getting asked that sort of question. My husband and I love each other very much, but how we express that love is our own business and no one else's I think."
Linda could feel the tears once again well up in her eyes, but she kept talking. "And then he said I could go and came over to show me the door, which was fine with me. And then, just like that he'd handcuffed my wrist to his wrist. Can you believe that?"
Rosemary nodded. Linda wiped away a tear and continued. "Next thing I know, he's pushing me to the ground and getting me tied up to these little hooks in the wall, that is, from my wrists and he's sitting on my upper legs so I can't move. Oh, he's also gagged me and then slugged me in the face. Will you please say something?" she asked now.
"It's best that you just keep on talking and that I don't do anything to interrupt you at all," said Rosemary in an almost inaudible voice.
"OK," said Linda, pausing for a deep breath. "Then he took off all my clothes from the waist down and tied my ankles with the same sort of cord to some more hooks in the walls. Now I'm spread-eagled."
Rosemary seemed to be in a trance, with her head tilted back. "What next?" she asked in a whispery voice.
"Then he, uh, he got out a peacock feather and began stroking me... all over with it, including in my crotch. And I have to admit that I really liked the feeling of it. Oh, Rosemary, I'm so ashamed," sobbed Linda, bursting into tears. "I love my husband and this is just so awful that I can hardly stand it!"
"What was it like when he touched you with that feather?" Rosemary asked quietly. "I agree that my husband's a monster who should be put away, but I think I can work something out to fix his wagon, but good. You've just got to help me and trust me. OK?"
"OK. Well, the feeling was like... I don't know exactly... but like waiting for a big wave out at the beach to hit you. Yeah. That was it."
"You said it felt good."
"It did. I felt like some kind of wild animal inside me had been let loose."
"All right. I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on what you felt. Remember how you wanted it to go on and on. You can feel it. Breathe deeply. Relax. Just enjoy the moment now."
And Linda tried to reach back to that strange moment and for an instant she thought she was there. She even heard a "click" that was somehow familiar, somehow something she recognized deep in the pit of her stomach.
She opened her eyes and realized with a sickened feeling what had happened. She'd been handcuffed once more, this time by Rosemary O'Neill.
At first she thought it was a joke, but the sadistic gleam in Rosemary's eyes told her there was no reason to believe that Rosemary was any less of a pervert than her husband. Rosemary was now dragging her up the stairs by tugging at the handcuffs, which she'd managed to snap onto both of Linda's wrists. "You're going to be my little sex slave," were the first words out of Rosemary's mouth.
It was no joke. Linda screamed, "Let me go, you pervert!" and Rosemary slapped her hard across the face and kept dragging her, with a hammerlock across Linda's readily accessible breasts. The fullness of her creamy orbs popped free from the dress, her nipples at attention from being excited by the clingy silk fabric.
In just an instant, Rosemary had thrown her onto a huge four-poster bed and immediately sat on top of her waist. Rosemary's hands, itchily, grasping the pliant softness of the alabaster melons -- for Linda did not have the daring to sunbathe topless -- and kneaded their satiny warmth as if they were the greatest treasure on the planet. It was a startling contrast: Rosemary's gentleness against the pitiful struggling of Linda's compact frame under her. Rosemary had the smooth, but solid muscles of an Olympic swimmer and the soft, seductive manner of a big cat.
"Come on, baby," she purred. "I'll make you feel so good that you'll scream. Oh, ooo, I love your tits. And you're tan is so beautiful, baby. Jack said you were great and he was right."
Linda had been sort of drifting off, resigning herself to being abused by this creature with superhuman strength -- at least compared to hers -- but the mention of Jack O'Neill slapped her back into reality.
"Get your scummy hands off me, you slut!" she yelled. "I hate your guts."
Whap! Rosemary slapped her even harder this time, and Linda saw stars. "Listen, my little slave," she muttered, drawing out the word "slave" lasciviously. "You'll do exactly as I say or I'll beat you silly."
Linda said nothing. Whap! Rosemary slapped her even harder and growled, "Do you understand, slave? You are all mine and that's that."
Linda was seeing double. She meekly nodded her head and Rosemary tore off the blue silk dress Linda was wearing in a few easy motions. Sweat glistened from every inch of Linda's tanned and taut frame and she offered no resistance. She closed her eyes tightly.
Rosemary now began running her hands all over the firm yet baby soft flesh, hardly able to control herself at the delicious prospect of another trophy for her and her husband. This girl would learn to give her and Jack such unbelievable pleasure, she thought, her mind racing like a Grand Prix racer at 200 miles per hour.
But she noticed immediately that Linda remained motionless, dead almost. She must be thinking about that pretty-boy husband of hers, Rosemary thought. All right, we'll make it easy for her to forget. And with that, she got out her velvet cords, much like the ones Jack had used in his office earlier that day, from the night stand table drawer. In a few more seconds, she had Linda's ankles and wrists bound to the four posts of the bed, much like her husband had earlier in the day. Linda seemed in a trance.
Bursting with sexual heat, Rosemary could hardly contain herself at the sight of Linda's perfectly tanned body, stretched taut. She'd make this prissy bitch beg for it before she was through, she told herself. God, what a body! She started in by lightly licking Linda's puckered nipples, then blowing air over them.
Linda couldn't believe what was happening. Almost involuntarily, her hips began writhing in wanton arousal, despite the hatred she felt toward Rosemary. "Ohhh! God, help me... you bitch... please stop," she moaned. "Good Lord, that's, this is awful, please stop... ooo... oh, not my legs please, please stop."
Rosemary wasn't going to stop now as she began tonguing Linda's thighs. Her own loins began throbbing with the sheer thrill of the depravity she was forcing Linda to undergo. The wickedness of taking this gorgeous hunk of woman and making her submit to her wild whims made her own pussy cry out for release.
Very much against her will, Linda could begin to feel the heat radiating from her now damp cuntal walls, begging for more of the same throbbing tingle. Her mind was a quagmire of do's and don'ts, since this madwoman was obviously using her to satisfy a set of animal cravings that were not unlike those of that horrid Jack O'Neill. But again, she could feel herself wanting to get as much as possible of that warm, wet tongue alongside and into her now burning cuntal slit, which throbbed with an unceasing drum beat far beyond her own control now.
It was madness she wanted to imagine Steve doing this to her, just as she had this morning in the principal's office, but that was impossible. Her body broke out into a canvas of goosebumps and she literally trembled with passion. She had started breathing in short gasps and now began to arch her back and hips up so Rosemary would have no choice but to touch her where she had to be touched, along her now sizzling cleft. The excitement of being forced to do something absolutely forbidden made her smile slightly.
Rosemary noticed all this and felt her own desires well up like a Saturn V rocket about to lift off. This is one horny little cunt, she thought, even if she doesn't realize it. By now, Linda's inflamed pussy was literally sopping wet with love juice.
And Rosemary could resist no longer. Like a maniac who hasn't had a meal for days, she slid her tongue into Linda's steaming slit as if her very soul depended on doing so. Linda felt an electric shock course through her lissome body as Rosemary's magical hot tongue snaked its way along her burning clitoris. "Oh, God!" she screamed.
Now she began crying, for the shame over what she had allowed herself to enjoy overtook her. "Please, Rosemary, don't do that," she began sobbing. "I'll do anything if you'll stop. Please."
Rosemary stopped only for long enough to say, "You are so good, honey, that I'm not going to stop even if they declare nuclear war right now." And she went back to lashing away at Linda's enlarged fleshy lips, knowing full well that she was moving Linda toward a firecracker of an orgasm despite her protests.
And she was right. Linda now flexed and squirmed, writhed and twisted, her vagina frothing with lust. And she stopped asking for Rosemary to stop: "Oh yes, I... I'm cumming... ohhh baby... don't tease, now... more, more... yeah, here it comes... I... feel it... now, right there... ooo yes!!!"
Linda had clenched her eyes shut and was whipping her head back and forth, almost like one might imagine a mechanical doll with no resistance holding the neck back from twisting.
Yet immediately remorse washed over her. What was wrong with her? She had been tied up, all right, but she was acting like it was the finest thing in the world. And as Rosemary began inserting her index finger into her still white-hot pussy, Linda thought she would die from the pleasure of it. "Lord! That feels so wonderful! Oh, God, forgive me, I just can't help it! I never knew I could feel like this, oh my God, what is she doing to me now... it feels so hot down in my cunt and I'm so ashamed," she thought to herself, her mind now a total blank.
Rosemary was now taking off the super tight jumpsuit, which had featured her ice cream scoop breasts jutting into the material as if they were going to explode. Now they stood up proudly on their own with no outside support. The cherry-like nipples were on fire, as Rosemary found herself unbelievably excited over the idea of making this little prom queen become aroused against her will. She tossed the jumpsuit aside impatiently and crawled on top of Linda, who had just about stopped breathing, not believing what Rosemary was about to do.
Rosemary had never seen someone more turned on against their will, either and the very idea drove her wild now as she began rubbing her breasts and nipples all over Linda's tight, taut form. And now Rosemary could not calm her body down at all.
Every inch of her alabaster-smooth flesh was ablaze with need and screaming for release as soon as possible. Her love juices flowed so fast that she scarcely had time to think about Linda's fear and reticence. Rosemary's self control was about gone, for she and Jack had occasionally gone to bed with another woman, but Rosemary was now getting to explore another woman completely -- even if she was tied up -- and loving the sense of abandoned depravity that dominated her mind.
Linda's soaking pubic vee was now tender from the frantic ministrations Rosemary had poured onto it with the full force of her well developed muscles and as Rosemary began clawing at her downy curls and per nipples, Linda moaned, but not with pleasure but pain.
Rosemary hardly noticed as she slid her sizzling cleft all over Linda's thighs and quickly manipulated the soft flesh of her victim's cunt and breasts. Glorious sensation, much like pin pricks, danced under Rosemary's skin and she felt the welcome of searing hot flames licking at her cuntal walls. "God, I'm coming!" she exulted, and it felt heavenly as she played with Linda's body as if it were a musical instrument. Jack had never made her feel quite like this, as if she were totally in control. Now she knew why he liked being a high school principal so much. All these lovely young bodies at his beck and call and now, I too will have the same power.
Now she exploded into a series of volcanic eruptions, as her body felt electrified with the prospect of doing this again and again to Linda and maybe some other sweet virginal high school teacher. From her curled under toes to her throbbing nipples, she was one mass of taut shimmering flesh, finally receiving the satisfaction of having her all powerful lust sated at long last.
She let out a deep sigh of contentment. It had been so fine, almost like a dream. But now she noticed the tears running silently down Linda's cheeks and felt a slight pang of guilt. Linda had not enjoyed the final assault by a pleasure starved vixen, even if the first part had been, in a crazy way, somehow tolerable. Yes, Linda had found a spark of joyful eroticism in the animal hunger and heat that Rosemary oozed, but it had not lasted.
"Um... I, I'm sorry, Linda," said Rosemary softly. "I guess... I guess I kind of got a little carried away with you."
Linda closed her eyes.
Rosemary shrugged. Damn it, she thought. No one ever seems to like sex as much as I do. "Well, I guess I'd better untie you, OK?" she asked.
Linda still said nothing.
Now Rosemary felt annoyed, though she tried not to show it as she stepped back into her jumpsuit. "Linda," she said finally, "I am truly sorry. But I don't want you to think that I won't destroy you if you do anything against me. Do you understand that perfectly?"
Linda sighed.
"Goddamn it, talk to me, you little bitch!" yelled Rosemary. "I swear that I'll destroy you and your reputation so fast you won't-won't know what hit you. Now, answer me, bitch. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yes. Now would you please untie me. My husband will be wondering where I am," said Linda in a resigned tone. "I should have been home already."
Rosemary untied the cords quickly and Linda got up off the bed and slipped into her clothes. Now neither said anything until Linda began walking out of the bedroom and toward the front door of the house.
"I hope you understand," Rosemary called to her from the bedroom, where she had remained.
"Understand what?" Linda asked, picking up her purse by the front door.
"Understand why I did what I did, Linda. It wasn't just for me, you know."
"Yes, I know," said Linda impatiently. "I'm sure your husband will get a big kick out of all this when you tell him about it. I'm sure he will. Positive, as a matter of fact. OK? Now, will you please unlock the door so I can get out of here? I'm getting a little tired of waiting."
"Don't use that tone of voice with me, bitch. You're still under my thumb. Got that?"
"Got it," said Linda tiredly, "Look, I realize that you can destroy me, but that doesn't mean that I have to like you if I don't feel like it. Because I don't like you at all. I think you're quite evil."
"Oh, come on, Linda," said Rosemary, walking up to her slowly.
"Please don't touch me," said Linda between clenched teeth. "If I don't ever see you again I won't cry. I'd just like for you to leave me alone."
"All right, be like that," said Rosemary, stopping a few feet in front of Linda. "It's just that I want you to know one thing."
"What's that?" asked Linda with a mocking interest. "I'm dying to know."
"I just want you to know that I did what I did not just for me and certainly not for Jack. I also did it for you. Yes, you."
"That's garbage."
"No it's not."
"Yes, it is. You have no regard for my feelings what so ever. Goddam you. You really hurt me."
"I didn't mean to. Listen to me, Linda. You may feel badly now, but when you think back on what's happened, you're going to thank me."
"I'm sure."
"I'm sure too. You're going to be lying there in bed with that husband and wish that you could have something more than what you've got. You'll see."
"Please let me out now," came her reply.
"Sure thing," said Rosemary, quickly unlocking the deadbolt. In a flash, as soon as the door opened, Linda ran out, then turned around and said, "I hate your guts." Then she ran to her car and drove away.
CHAPTER FOUR
Linda raced home. She knew Steve would already be there. You could always count on good ol' Steve. Her mind was in an uproar during the few minutes it took to get back to her house as she wondered what in the world she ought to do about this mess with Jack and Rosemary O'Neill, those lousy stinking perverts.
There was not much she could do, she kept thinking. Were she to tell Steve, he'd go out of his mind. So then he'd call the cope and the O'Neill's would find out and fix their wagon as they both had threatened to do. No, she couldn't tell Steve. But she'd have to tell him something.
She decided as she pulled into her driveway that she'd tell him basically the truth, but not quite all of it. She'd just say that Rosemary O'Neill, the wife of the principal, had called her up just before be came home -- which was true -- and asked her to come over just for a friendly get-acquainted meeting for a few minutes. If it bothered Steve, he could check it out and, if anyone had seen her, she'd have her story pretty well substantiated.
Steve seemed a little annoyed when she walked in the front door. He was watching the evening news and didn't even get up to kiss her. "Hi," was all he said before turning.
"Hi, yourself," she said, forcing a big grin. She slid in next to him on the couch and cuddled up close. There was hardly any response. Geez, she thought briefly some response I'm getting after all I've been through.
She blew lightly into his ear and whispered, "It's so nice to see you, baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came home tonight."
"Why weren't you?" asked Steve, who was making no effort to hide his annoyance.
Why, you bastard, she thought. Christ, I could be dead and I don't get any kind of tenderness. Oh well, better say something quick.
"The wife of the principal called me up just about 34 minutes ago and asked me to come by to get acquainted with her. I felt like I couldn't really turn her down, Steve. You know I've got to make a good impression."
"Why didn't you leave me a note, baby?" asked Steve, softening a bit. "I was worried sick about you. I thought you might have been in an accident or someone might have grabbed you and raped you or something crazy like that."
Now she turned up the charm full blast and rubbed her torso and breasts into his side. "You're right baby," she cooed. "I'm sorry I didn't."
Steve chuckled. "Oh, you're so nice, babe. I'm sorry if I sounded mean to you just now."
"That's OK," said Linda, not sure if he actually meant it or not. Well, there was no point in dwelling on it, she told herself. "What would you like to drink, honey. How about a martini?"
So they had drinks and dinner and Linda tried hard to enjoy herself. But she somehow felt as if something had changed, that something would be forever and irretrievably changed and that there was not a thing in the world she could do about it. And so it was hard to keep happy. It was the same kind of feeling she had her wedding night, when she had given up her virginity -- gratefully and willingly, of course, but with a sense of sadness and loss of having left a part of her life behind, with no chance of ever coming back.
She thought it would have been nice to have had some love making that night, but Linda was one of those people who has to be in the absolute right mood to make love. Steve had always understood that. It never really bothered him, so it seemed, to Linda, and that was one of the many reasons she loved him.
As she tried to go to sleep, she found her mind racing all over the place. There was nothing she could place her finger on, just that she wondered and worried about everything. Would everyone at school be able to tell that the weirdos, Jack and Rosemary O'Neill, had worked her over? She remembered her girlfriend in college, Gina Townsend, telling her that once a girl made love to a boy, you just bad to look in her face to tell that things were now incredibly different with her. What happened, she now wondered, if you had been with a lesbian? But I'm not a lesbian, her mind screamed. Finally, she made it to sleep, just by praying continually for the better part of an hour. "Forgive me please, Lord," she thought while clenching her hands together. "I did not know what I was doing. You know that I couldn't help it."
She felt just plain tired in the morning and not in much of a mood for any cuddling, hugging or kissing that next morning, even though Steve was doing his beat together in a romantic mood by stroking her in the most tempting places. She almost gave in, but the guilt from the previous day and the desire to be at school on time overrode any animal impulses she might have given in to. Still, it was kind of a nice way to start the day, she told herself, getting into the most demure outfit she could find. The last thing she needed today was to have horny little high school boys lusting after her and undressing her with their eyes every time she made even the slightest move anywhere.
"Sex and drugs and rock and roll" was the first thing Linda saw when she got to school that day. Someone had painted that in 8-foot high letters on the side of the administration building. For some reason, such desecrations of school property didn't really bother Linda much. The kids, for the most part, didn't seem especially bothered, at least not nearly as much as the faculty and administrators were that day. Good, she thought. At least I won't get hassled again by Jack O'Neill. That's all I'd need.
O'Neill came over the school loudspeaker and threatened that that night's football game would be cancelled if whoever was responsible for the vandalism didn't turn himself in. But he later relented when some janitors traced the paint to the cars of a few of the long haired hippies in the school. The culprits had their names read over the loudspeaker during the middle of third period and Linda could see the football players in her class relax a bit. She wouldn't have normally cared, but tonight she was assigned to help provide security at the game by taking tickets and keeping an eye on the kids with Steve, but she would have much rather just spent the night at home with Steve.
As a matter of fact, there was dancing in the hallways during the break. Cheerleaders were leading cheers:
We are the Wolves
And no one could be prouder
And if you don't believe us
We'll yell a little louder
We are the Wolves...
Linda had to smile. This kind of unleashing of youthf
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I was never really the social outcast in high school; I was also never the one to start a conversation. I've always been a somewhat odd individual, but never felt like I was a deterrent to classmates; I just kinda kept to myself. Turning 18 years old
..continue reading Close up, wild west
It was a dark and stormy night...
That's a pretty trite way to begin a story, but it's true. The wind was howling like a son-of-a-bitch and the downpour outside was making life miserable for anyone foolish enough to venture out in it. I'd taken refu
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