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."