She filled me in as we went up the stairs. We'd tidied up the kids, with Carrie helping, and sent them off before I finished dressing, but there'd almost been too much excitement, while we were ail getting decent, to do much communicating. The problem (Thank God! I thought to myself) wasn't with any of the kids-Kenny, Caroline, Bobby, Kenny, Petey, Roger or Jana-that I'd been making it with there on campus. The trouble, it appeared, was with Percy-and with Ian. And the cat had been let out of the bag on both of them with their rea11y freaky obsessions, which were much farther out, I thought, than most of ours at about the same time.
With Ian, it had been a visit back home by one of the kids he'd "broken in," a ravishingly beautiful little eight-year-old girl named Stephanie who had come to Brightwater a few months before term ended last season.' Stephanie had liked what he'd done, it'd ‘seemed to Ian (he'd talked to Kate about that evening, after sending the little girl back to her room). But she'd had a sort of backlash thing about it. Perhaps it'd been the parents and their strict upbringing. They were some sort of fundamentalist religious sectarians, and God alone knew just what they'd been thinking when they sent their kid to Brightwater, of all places.
Anyhow, the girl had had all sorts of guilt feelings about doing "nasty" things. Ian had frightened her, coming on so strong. And we'd made a mistake in not following up that first evening; if you let them get to thinking about things, it seemed, they often had relapses into their former attitudes, whereas if somebody came along right afterward and gave them a good loving-up, they usually settled into a relaxed and guilt-free point of view and started enjoying themselves and their stay at Brightwater.
But we (I say we, even if I hadn't been in on it: by now I thought of myself as part and parcel of the place) blew our chance, and she started staying away from the other kids, and worrying and fretting, and nobody got to her and talked it out with her. And when the kids took a long weekend off to see their parents, she'd gone home with this big load of guilt and tension… and, under parental prodding, it'd come out. All of it.
But that wasn't the worst of it. Percy's kid had been a boy, and, confronted by the cops with overwhelming evidence, he'd broken. And he'd told all.
"Kate," I said, stopping dead. "You mean…"
"Yes," she said, looking me hard in the eye. "But we may have a chance yet. Some of us. It all depends on whether they believed Percy."
"Or whether we can shake him up on the stand," I suggested.
"Oh, Millie," she said, putting one hand to her mouth. "I forgot to tell you. It's past all that now. He slit his wrists. The first minute they left him alone. Re's dead. Percy's dead."
"Oh, no!" I said. But inside, I was secretly glad. One less witness! And now, if we could keep the kids cool and get them to keep their mouths shut…
As we came out of the building, though, I looked around. And, just as she'd said, the place was alive with cops. And-speak of the devil!-there went Ian, cuffed, head down, in the company of two oversized plainclothesmen. Their faces were grim; his was empty, disconsolate, dead. I remember thinking that, given half a chance, Ian would probably take Percy's way out. And, sure enough, only a day later, he hanged himself in his cell.
But right now my thoughts were only of myself. And I was rehearsing my story all the way into the big office where a police lieutenant named Myers was taking statements from faculty members and reminding them of their rights. By the time he got to me, I had a coherent story all rigged up, and was trying to think of how I could take the kids aside and get our stories straight. I went out of there thinking of myself as a pretty cool customer, able to deal with just about any situation, no matter the cost.
That feeling held up for a day, at least. School was suspended while the investigation went on, of course, and we were told not to leave the area. But I was sure that didn't mean I couldn't go to town and do a little shopping or go to a movie. And that's just what I did the next day. I picked up a dress and a nice pair of shoes, and I went to a matinee, with a real 1940's tearjerker playing, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. And when I came back to my room that afternoon I-was in as good a mood as I could ask to be in, considering the circumstances.
That's why I was so completely taken unaware by the envelope I found shoved under my door, with the words "Miss Ward" printed in block letters on the front.
I didn't even open it at first. I put away my new things, and I kicked off my shoes and padded into the bathroom and took a nice hot shower and washed my hair first. And it wasn't until I'd fixed myself a drink and curled up in my big chair in my robe that I noticed the envelope, still sitting on the bed where I'd left it.
Curious, I got up and went over to the bed. It was a big Kraft-paper envelope, nine by twelve or so, and it had some sort of stiffener inside. It was fairly heavy, as if there were quite a bit of paper inside. Still no more than curious, I sat, down on the bed and opened it.
And there it all was.
In picture one-they were eight-and-a-half by eleven glossies-I was lying on my back on a beach towel~, my boobs bare, and Gilbert, the fifteen-year-old I'd met on the beach, was playing with myself.
There was a look of aroused lust on my face: I was daring him to go farther. And be was enjoying the hell out of himself.
"My God I" I said, catching my breath.
In picture two I was naked, my back arched with pleasure, begging him for it. And he had just slipped his shorts down his legs, and there was that gorgeous young cock of his-fat, fiery red, hard as a stick, with the foreskin peeled back invitingly -pointing at me like a yardarm, and he was getting readier by the second.
I gasped.
In picture three we were tucking. Going at it hot and heavy. And I had both my hands down on the cheeks of his bard young ass, pulling him strongly into me. They were terrific pictures, and you could see the fine film of sweat on me as we rutted hungrily. My-eyes were glazed over with desire.
In picture four.
Well, here was where somebody started winding up the camera a little more often. The pix started coming thick and fast, with no more than a couple of seconds between shots in the photos I came across like a wild woman. There was a look of sheer animal heat and ruttishness on my face in every one of them, and the mad rush of lust and sexhunger that had come over me was apparent with every successive shot.
In picture four he was just lying there, exhausted. His dick was lying limp in a pool of wet jism on his belly, which was slick and wet with his sperm and with my own mixed-in juices. And I was bending over him, one hand barely touching the soft skin of his limp cock, my open lips groping for him in obvious hunger.
In picture five I was licking the cream off his soft little cock. From the look on my face, it was the most delicious stuff I'd ever tasted. And his cock was stirring slightly. It was a little bigger than in the previous shot.
In picture six I was licking the cream off his balls. There was a drop of sperm glistening on my chin. I was half-smiling. And his cock was sticking stiffly up against me, lying against my cheek, the glands poking proudly out of the peeled-back foreskin.
In the next picture he was sucking me off, and I was playing with his cock and having the time of my life.
And in the last, the unknown photographer had simply outdone himself. Re had caught the very moment of ejaculation, when Gilbert's cock shot off in my hand and the jism came rocketing out of the end of it and spurted all over my fingers onto the sand. From the looks of me I was having a fine time too, with his face buried in my cunt and his unseen tongue working away like crazy…
"My God!" I said, as soon as I could catch my breath. Who could have done it? Who could have shot this stuff?
And then I remembered. The two kids who'd been watching me before Gilbert had showed up. The ones who'd been making the suggestive remarks. I'd guessed they were Brightwater kids, but I didn't have any names. And now I simply had to get to them before the cops did.
But how? Most of them had been sent home during the suspension of classes.
I had another drink and started to worry. And that led to another drink. And I cried for a while. And then I sat and stared at the floor, and tried to think.
And then I. looked at the pictures again.
And… well, it was strange in the middle of my worrying and fretting, I started getting hot. Really! Those were fantastic pictures!
I got up and looked at them again.
And then I sat down on the bed and opened my legs a little so I could get at myself a little better. As I flipped through the stack with one hand, I slipped a. couple of fingers of the other inside my robe and found my own hot and suddenly juicy bush. And I felt a sudden rush of warmth in my lap as I stuck a finger inside my slit and started working on myself.
Jesus! Have you ever seen porno pictures of yourself? The effect is fantastic!
I flipped through pix one and two, lingering lovingly for a moment over the nice shot of that beautiful hard cock of his poking out at me in picture two before discarding it and getting down to the really nice stuff.
And sure enough, there were were in picture three, fucking away like crazy. Both of us naked.
Naked! I couldn't have imagined beforehand what the sight of my own naked body would do to me, right there, shameless on the open sand, with a naked boy on top of me, tucking the day lights out of me. It was marvelous! I stuck three fingers up my wet snatch and went to work even harder.
And in picture four… God!
There he was, lying exhausted on his back, naked as I was. And I was shamelessly bending over him, an eager and sexed-up look on my face, my mouth open, reaching for his cock!
And in picture five I was licking it! Licking the come off it! Getting it hard again! I was hot as a pistol now; I went to work on my cut, faster and faster. And to make things easier, I lay on my back, holding the photo up to look at it, spreading my legs as far apart as I possibly could, reaching inside myself to find wet juice to rub on my inflamed clit and grease it up for a nice slimy come..
And that's just how they found me when they pushed the door open. Both of them. With mean, confident smiles on their faces, they stood there, taking it all in. There I was, a porno picture in one hand, with my to be open all the way down front, legs sticking out and pussy wide open, trigging the hell out of myself and coming like crazy. And there, watching me, were the two guys who'd got me that way, with their damned pictures.
I was mad as hell. I jumped out of bed, pulled my robe shut, and confronted them. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here like this?" I said sharply. "Get out, both of you!"
The left-hand one smiled insinuatingly. "We came for our pictures," he said. "Or for whatever you want to pay for them."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"He means those," the other one said, pointing to the crumpled glossy in my hand. "The pussy pictures you just starred in."
"Oh, that," I said. "Here." I picked up the whole stack, ripped them into small pieces, and threw them at their feet. "That should show you what I think of them."
"Lady," said the first one, "that's gonna cost you. You know we still have the negatives in a safe place." He grinned meanly. "I got half a mind to send another set to the newspapers. Or have ‘em blown up for discotheque posters. Or put on T-shirts."
"What do you want?" I said. I wasn't so sure of thyself now. They had me over a barrel, with this scandal ready to break any day now and with my only hope being the fact that, so far, nobody had testified against me but poor Percy, who was dead and beyond the reach of any subpoena.
"I don't have very much money… "
"Well, I don't know," said the first boy. "Maybe you could work it out in trade. Somehow."
I gave him a look. "What do you want?"
"Well, just for openers, get that robe off," he said. He had a nasty smile on his face and he stood before me, hands on hips, dressed in funky jeans and boots. I did as he said. "Now," he continued, "get down on your hands and knees on the floor here before me and let's see if you're still as good as you were in the pictures. Eddie?"
The other boy went back out of the door and returned with a big suitcase. He put it on the bed and opened it as I knelt before the kid and looked up at him. Then I looked over at the other boy. He was taking out a movie camera and lighting equipment
"Not" I said, starting to get up. "I won't. You can't make me…"
He grabbed me by the hair with one hand and slapped me twice, hard, with the other. "Shut up," he said. "If you're good to us, maybe we'll only make one print of it to keep for ourselves. Maybe we'll give you the negatives of the stills and keep only one print. But there ain't no way you're going to get every last print of this, stills or movies. If we gave you every-thing we had, who's to stop you from going to the cops yourself to prefer charges for blackmail? No, we're gonna keep one each of everything. Maybe if you're good we'll give you the negatives, but in the meantime, baby, smile you're on candid camera."
I looked at him, thunderstruck. Out of the side of my eye I could make out the other kid setting up camera and lights. "Wait," he said. "I wanta get all of it on film. Don't start yet."
And I waited. But when I tried to sit down on my heels and rest for a moment, the boy standing before me yanked hard on my hair again and slapped me, even harder than before. "Wait," he said roughly. I waited. 4'Now," he said at last. "Now suck me off for the nice birdie."
I hesitated, suddenly seeing the years stretching out before me, the years of worry and fear, of payoffs made in frightened haste, of this eternal, degrading, dehumanized sex with a pair of perverted animals-the one a sadistic beast, the other a voyeuristic photo freak-and with no respite from their persecution, on assurance, ever, that I'd be free of their blackmail schemes or their threats.
I swear, in that one moment, I saw it all, condensed into a brutal and horrifying vision lasting no more than a second or two-all the years I've spent since, alone and on the run from them, from city to city, desperately trying to snatch a few weeks happiness, only to see them turn up once again on my doorstep, right at the worst possible moment, insistent and insolent.
I didn't see the details: the lovers lost, the marriage annulled, the jobs chucked down the drain. All I saw was the bard and unbending face of the future itself, of the cruel and heartbreaking years ahead of me. And I thought, miserably, what if…
But just then the hard hand swept across my face again, slapping me until my ears rang. "Now!" he said in a cold voice. "Get started!"
I reached for his zipper, my eyes wet and glazed. "Sure," I said bitterly. "Why not?"