Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (49 page)

She tried to speak but her dry mouth emitted unintelligible sounds.

“Of course, you've put on a little weight, since then. We'll have to work on that."

“What ... what do you want, Mr. Adams?"

“Wait. There's more.” He pulled a videotape from the vinyl bag and waved it at her. “
Debbie Does Dixie
. Ring a bell? Does your VCR work?” he asked as he moved toward it.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Don't. Please. Try to understand. We were dirt poor. My parents could not help me financially. I was desperate for money. I put all that behind me when I graduated."

“You want me to give you a break, don't you?"

She nodded vigorously.

“You didn't give me a break four years ago, Teach."

“It's not the same thing."

“The hell it isn't."

Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. “Mr. Adams. I'm truly sorry if I mistreated you as a student. During my initial years in the profession, I acknowledge I may have been a little overzealous."

“You destroyed my life, Teach. Now I'm going to get even."

“As you know,” Deborah said as her mind raced, “most of my money is tied up. I can write you a check for two thousand dollars."

He smiled. “I don't think so."

“If you will wait until Monday I can cash a certificate of deposit for ten thousand."

“Your reputation is important to you, isn't it Teach?"

“You ... you're going to kill me, aren't you?"

“I've thought about it. I've thought about getting revenge for four solid years, Teach. One of my favorite fantasies is to suspend your naked body from the ceiling by your wrists, slicing off your pussy lips and tits, rubbing salt in the wounds and listening to you scream in agony as you slowly bleed to death. However, killing's no good—too fast and easy. I want you to suffer like I have suffered."

Deborah swallowed and her voice trembled as she said, “It will take a little longer, but by the end of the week I can have a million dollars for you."

“A million bucks,” he said as he smiled. “Come over here, Teach.” He pointed to the floor immediately in front of him.

God help me, she silently prayed as she approached him.

“Stand at attention, Teach. That's it. Suck in that gut. Stick your chest out."

She picked out a spot on the far wall and focused on it.

“Tummy needs trimming, Teach. Remain at attention. Using just your fingers, pull your skirt up to your waist."

Slowly she inched up the ankle length shirt until it reached mid thigh.

“Up to your navel, Teach."

Her face turned crimson as she complied.

“Damn, Teach. Did you piss in your panties? They're pasted to your pussy lips.” He moved behind her. “Shit. You have a fat ass on you now, Teach."

He left her standing in the middle of the room and returned to the sofa. After sitting and stretching out his long legs, he bellowed, “Who told you to drop the skirt?"

She quickly gathered it back to her waist. He's going to rape me, she thought as her heart thumped against her chest. Damn it, I want him to rape me. What's happening to me?

“I went by the
Courier
office this morning and used their machine to make five hundred copies of those photos. Over the weekend, I will make copies of the tape too. By Monday morning, the photos and tapes will be all over town. It shouldn't be long before the school board and newspapers have their own copies. Then you'll learn what it's like to have your dreams ripped away from you."

Her chin dropped to her chest and in a faint voice she said, “Mr. Adams, I'll do anything."

He leered at her. “What did you say, Teach? I didn't hear you."

“I'll do anything."

“Louder, bitch."

“I'll do anything!"

He smiled and licked his lips. “You say school starts the fourth week in August?"

“Yes. The teachers return the third week of August."

“That gives us three weeks before you get busy again—really busy. Two ... three weeks with a slave might be fun. What do you say, Teach? Three weeks of absolute obedience sound good to you?"

I can stand anything for three weeks, she thought as her fingers continued to hold her dress above her hips. I've worked too hard to let it end like this. He'll use me—probably abuse me. It might not be too bad. God, I hope he doesn't have any diseases. She nodded her assent.

“Absolute obedience, Teach?"

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her shoulders back. Maybe, if I'm very cooperative, he'll go easy on me. Do I remember how to please a man? “Absolute obedience,” she replied.

He strolled to the sofa and pulled a long metal object from the vinyl bag. He returned and stood so close he was almost touching her. He held the object in front of her eyes. “You know what this is, Teach?"

“No, Mr. Adams."

“It's a little souvenir I picked up in Texas. It's called a cattle prod. I found it in the basement yesterday and charged it overnight. The damn thing still works."

He rubbed the cold, metal point against her cheek. “They use these prods to force cattle down the chute to the slaughter house. It has three settings: low, medium and what, Teach?"

“High?"

He smiled. “Suck in that damned gut."

She obeyed.

He moved the tip of the prod inches from her eyes and pulled the trigger.

She shuddered, but nothing happened.

“It doesn't do anything unless it is in contact with flesh,” he explained as he touched the tip to her lips. “Suck it, Teach."

She trembled as she opened her lips and allowed him to force the metal inside her mouth.

“Want to feel it, Teach?"

She shook her head.

“Wonder how loud it will sizzle when I apply it to your asshole or your nipples?” He pulled the probe from her mouth.

Tears flowed from her eyes.

“Every time you even hesitate to obey me, I will punish you with this thing on your delicate body, Teach. You understand me?"

“I will obey you absolutely and without hesitation for three weeks, Mr. Adams."

He walked around her. “Damn nice legs, Teach, but your thighs are getting flabby."

“I ... I'm sorry, Mr. Adams."

“Do you remember Coach Duckworth at Charlotte High, Teach?"

She nodded. He was standing so close. Why doesn't he fondle me, she wondered as she felt the crotch of her panties grow heavier with her own moisture.

“You remember his nickname?"

“Duckwalk Duckworth,” she said.

“You know why we called him Duckwalk?"

“Yes, Master."

“What did you say?"

“I said yes, I know why everybody called him Duckwalk."

“No. Repeat exactly what you said."

She hesitated. “I believe I said, ‘Yes, Master.’”

He grinned and placed his hands on her flaming red cheeks. “I like that, Teach. From now on, you call me Master when we are in private. In public, call me Buzz like everybody else does."

His hands on her face made her gasp. “Okay."

His eyes widened. “Okay what?"

“Okay, Master,” she said, lowering her head.

He slid his hands to her shoulders, over her breasts and ripped open the blouse.

“Suck in that gut, get those shoulders back."

“I'm sorry Master. I forgot."

He pulled off the blouse and removed her bra. He touched the prod to her right nipple.

“Please, Master,” she pleaded.

“Old Duckwalk used to make us duck walk around the gym once a day. It hurts like hell but really builds up the leg muscles. You know what a duck walk is, Teach?"

She nodded again.

“Answer me, Teach."

“Yes."

“Yes, what?"

“Yes, Master."

“Strip, bitch, and show me how to duck walk,” he demanded, “and don't stop until I give you permission."

Deborah struggled with the button at her side and pushed down the zipper.

I can't stand this, she thought as her face flushed. He's making me strip like a common hooker. The skirt puddled around her ankles and she kicked it aside. She could feel his eyes burning into her bobbing breasts as she danced on first one foot and then the other, removing her low-heeled shoes. She squatted and moved forward one step.

“I said strip, bitch!"

Tears dislodged her mascara and formed a jagged stain down her cheeks as she stood and rolled down her panty hose. She straightened, took a deep breath, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and pushed down. They clung to her crotch and turned inside out. He was still laughing at her when she stepped out of the soiled silk. You can do this, Debbie. You must do this, she admonished herself.

Pain shot through her thighs as she moved to a squatting position and spread open her knees. “Please, Master. It hurts so bad."

He leered at her. “That's the idea. Move, Teach."

He sat at her desk and grinned as the defeated school principle painfully waddled towards the sofa. “Move faster. I want to see those tits bouncing,” he demanded.

Tears were cascading down her cheeks as she turned and started back towards the sofa.

He sifted through the pile of applications on her desk, looking only at the attached photographs, and placed seven in a separate pile. “Hello, what's this?” he asked holding up a document.

“That ... that looks like Mr. Skinner's contract,” she said as she continued to move.

He nodded and quickly scanned the pages. He watched her reach the sofa and painfully inch herself around.

“Please, Master,” she sobbed. “I can't take any more of this."

“Stand up and run it out,” he demanded as he jumped from the chair and demonstrated the exercise he wanted.

She continued to sob. The new exercise did seem to relieve the pain in her thigh muscles, but her heavy breasts registered their own agony as they bounced up and down.

“By the time we're through,” he laughed, “you'll be able to duck walk for an hour. Okay. That's enough. Stand at attention."

“Thank you, Master."

“For what."

“For letting me rest."

“Drop and give me ten,” he demanded.

She tried, but collapsed before she completed the fourth pushup. She saw the prod lying on her coffee table and trembled with fear. “I'm sorry, Master,” she cried. “I tried."

“I know you did,” he said as he held out his hand to help her stand up. “Attention."

She returned to her spot, sucked in her stomach and pulled back her shoulders. Her legs trembled. She was not sure how long they would continue to hold her up.

“Play with your nipples. I want them nice and hard,” he said.

Her facial expression betrayed the terror she feared as the cattle prod danced in her mind's eye. “Yes, Master” she said as she forced her hands to her sore breasts.

He eyed the moisture on her thighs. “Is that sweat or cunt juice?"

What's happening to me? she asked herself. How can this humiliation excite me sexually? “C ... c ... cunt juice,” she replied, afraid to lie.

He shook his head. “You are a slut, Teach. Squat and masturbate, bitch."

I haven't felt like this since I used to watch Buzz play football, she thought as pain again shot through her thighs. He's right. I am a slut, but I'll be damned if I'll let him watch me have an orgasm.

“Shit!” she cried as the lightening bolt of pleasure surged through her loins. She pitched forward, sobbing and screaming at the same time.

“Go home, Teach. Put on some sexy panties and cutoff jeans. Leave off the bra and wear a halter top."

“Master, I don't have any of those things,” she gasped as she sprawled obscenely on the floor beneath him.

“All you own are ugly female professional outfits?"

She nodded.

“Attention."

She forced herself to her feet.

He returned to the desk and sat down. “Get those shoulders back."

He pulled a pad from her desk tray and began to write.

When she could stand it no longer she said, “Master, I need to use the bathroom."

“You need to what?"

“I need to use the bathroom."

“You need to what?"

“I ... I need to pee.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“You need to what, damn it?” he shouted as he tossed the pen on top of the pad and stood up.

“Master, please, I need to, uh, piss."

He smiled and nodded towards a narrow door. “Is that your private restroom?"

She nodded.

He opened the door. “Damn, all the comforts of home. You even have a shower.” He turned and looked at her. “Well, get in here."

He lifted the toilet seat and relieved himself. He turned and saw the focus of her eyes. He wagged his penis. “You like this, don't you, Teach? You should see it when it's hard—twelve inches and big around as a silver dollar.” He laughed as she watched him stuff his penis back into his pants and zip up. He stepped aside. “Your turn."

He washed his hands as she emptied her bladder. Why isn't he looking at me? she wondered. Why doesn't he rape me instead of admiring himself in the damn mirror?

“Don't touch the fucking handle,” he barked as she stood up. “You thirsty, Teach?"

“No, Master."

“You
are
thirsty, aren't you, Teach?"

“Yes, Master."

“Lap it up like a dog,” he demanded.

The thought caused her stomach to churn, but the threat of the cattle prod searing her tender flesh was more powerful. She knelt before the porcelain bowl, held her hair with her left hand and lowered her face to the yellow liquid.

“Freeze.” He grabbed her hair and gently pulled her erect while flushing the toilet.

She looked up at him, not understanding. “I was obeying you, Master."

“I know,” he smiled. “Your willingness to obey pleases me. Remember that. Pleasing your Master has its rewards."

She struggled to her feet, thinking he was about to fondle her. He didn't.

“Go to your desk,” he demanded and followed as she complied. He reached over her shoulder and pointed at the stack of seven applications. “Those are your new teachers. Sign whatever documents are necessary and get them in the mail."

“Master, are you sure?"

“Are you disobeying me?"

“No, Master,” she said as she reached for a pen. “It's just that I should interview the candidates before recommending their employment."