The excitement of the football game engulfed Linda White in about two minutes after she arrived at the stadium after walking in from the parking lot. There was something about the cheers – silly as they may have been, like, "Hit 'em again, hit 'em again, harder, harder!" – and the colors that had always entranced her. When the Marley High junior varsity scored a touchdown on a 40-yard pass to go ahead 13-7 Linda cheered as wildly as any of the rah-rah students did.
Since the teachers rotated the ticket-taking on the basis of one team of two every half hour, Linda was able to watch the junior varsity game for most of its second quarter. The idea was that the presence of teachers in the stands would keep fist fights, drinking, making out and smoking to a minimum, and that only having to take tickets for half an hour would keep the teachers from going out of their collective minds.
The junior varsity scored another touchdown on a spectacular 30 yard end-around just before the first half and by now, Linda had just about forgotten the very odd memory of her husband and Rosemary O'Neill going after each other like two caged tigers. And she would have completely forgotten about it, at least for a while anyhow, had Jack O'Neill not decided to come up to her seat and sit next to her seat and sit next to her without so much as an introduction, as if they were the best and oldest of friends.
"Hello, Linda," he said with a stupid smile he probably thought was sexy.
"Hello," she said between clenched teeth, trying hard not to look at him.
"Now, now," he said paternally. "We mustn't act snotty or we'll get fired faster than you can count to three, if you can count that high, my dear. I thought we already had this little talk."
"Go to hell," said Linda. She had decided now she on longer cared if Jack and Rosemary O'Neill rode her out of town with tar and feathers. At least, she'd still have her self-respect.
"So that's how it's going to be, Miss Sweet Stuff. You're making a big mistake," he said in a voice dripping with mock sweetness.
"Drop dead," said Linda loudly enough for the people around her to hear.
He leaned over to whisper to her and said throatily, "You still have a lot to learn, Linda. I could teach you so much."
"Get lost," whispered Linda. Then she noticed that several people were looking at her very quizzically, as if she had possibly lost her mind.
"Excuse me, Mr. O'Neill," she said in a loud voice, "but I've got to go meet my husband. It's been so nice talking with you."
"The pleasure was all mine," he said in his most friendly tone.
She wound up having to wait around the gate entrance to the stadium for the next half hour before Steve finally showed up, minutes before he was supposed to help her take tickets to the game.
Steve gave her the big kiss and hug that he saved for special occasions and Linda kissed him back perfunctorily. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry I'm late. I hope you're not too upset with me."
"A little bit. What in the world was so important that you had to run off like that?"
"Well, you want to know the truth?" he asked in his most sincere voice. Linda nodded yes. "Well, OK. I had to talk with a client whose going to pay me a lot of money if I de-bug his program. He needs it right away, so I'll have to work on it most of this weekend. It'll mean a lot of extra money to us, so I figured you'd understand. You do understand, don't you, Linda?"
Linda nodded her head again. But she was so angry that she could not talk. If only Steve had just admitted that yes, he had screwed Rosemary O'Neill and that he was sorry about it. But now he was trying to set himself up so he could go back and do the same thing again. But now Laura shed no tears, since she had cried so often in the last two days that she could hardly summon them up any longer. Instead, she began to plan how she might go about divorcing Steve. Damn it, if she'd only had a camera to shoot a picture of Steve and Rosemary O'Neill while they were rolling around on that living room floor. Then she'd be in Fat City.
It was as if Linda had finally left her childhood behind her and stopped trusting anyone but herself. All these thoughts ran through her mind as she sat at a card table with Steve and they both took tickets from high school kids. Many of them said, "Hello, Mrs. White," to Linda, which impressed Steve endlessly. "Oh well," he said to her, "I guess we won't have any real problems like they do at other schools with these games. I hear a teacher got raped at one of the games in the South Bay area a few weeks back." He was smiling as if he'd told a funny joke.
Linda couldn't take it any longer. "I've got to go to the Ladies Room, Steve," she said in a quivering voice. "I'll be back in a minute."
"You're not upset, are you Linda?" asked Steve as he stood up from his card table seat.
"Yes, I am. You men think sexual abuse is just one big joke," said Linda, her voice trembling.
"Oh, dry up," said Steve, looking annoyed that other people seemed to be taking in this discussion. If Steve hated anything, it was making a scene in public.
"Go to hell!" yelled Linda. And she turned and fled to the restroom, where she cried for a good five minutes. Men could be such horrible creatures. To run around like satyrs and then talk about rape as if it were just a scratch to the finger, just a minor annoyance.
The crying, as it usually did, made her feel a lot better. She'd better get back before someone hassled Steve, although their stretch was just about over with right now. Maybe she'd just go get a seat. She didn't really care if he found her or not.
When she walked out of the Ladies Room, she was met by a milling throng. It seemed as if everyone at the high school had decided to show up to this game, she thought, as she spotted the car-club boys, the pot heads, the scholars, and of course, the good kids who had a squeaky clean look to them. And oddly enough there were even a few of the hoody motorcycle-gang types there, the five or six burly guys who showed up at school in dirty leather jackets reading "The Blasters" and "Don't Mess With Us". Linda had gone out of her way to be friendly with them since she had three of them in one of her classes.
She stepped out gingerly, trying not to get knocked over by the surging crowd. "Hi, Mrs. White," said Pam, the cheerleader who had inside love to Gary, the football player, in her classroom earlier that day. Linda tried not to look shocked and smiled at her, then said, "You look very nice tonight, Pam."
Pam now came right up to her and asked, "Do you really think so, Mrs. White?"
Linda could tell that Pam was very serious, which surprised the dickens out of her. Pam was the kind of girl, with her long black hair and peaches and cream complexion, along with a body more appropriate for a Parisian prostitute rather than a Marley High School cheerleader, that inspired wet dreams and hiving her male classmates reduced to squirming in their chairs near the end of a class period. But Linda knew how insecure many teenagers were about how they looked, and knew that was why many of them did as a reaction was to show off their bodies even when there wasn't a need for it. So she tried to sound as sincere as possible when she answered.
"Why Pam, I think you're a very lovely girl. I wouldn't worry at all for you. You've got a real nice personality, too, so you'll do just fine."
"Thanks, Mrs. White," she said as if she'd heard this response many times. She still looked discouraged, perhaps even suicidal.
"Look," said Linda evenly, as tears began flowing out of Pam's eyes. She stifled the impulse to tell her to stop pulling down her pants for any hunk that might come walking along, like she had today during fourth period. "Pam, you've got a lot going for, you. There's nothing to worry about. It'll all work out, I'm positive."
And now she clasped her to her chest, because Pam was really crying now. "There, there," she said. "There, there. Just take it easy now."
In a few moments Pam stopped sobbing and started sniffling, so Linda felt much better. But all of a sudden she felt the oddest sensation – her nipple was getting tweaked sharply. She realized Pam was crunching her breasts with her own pair, and she could now feel Pam's nipples standing straight up like the tips on pencils. And the tweaking of her left nipple with Pam's right hand increased, sending electrical sensations into her brain that left her benumbed for a few moments. Now she saw Pam's face, all sadness dissipated from it, with I huge devilish grin, as if she had just pulled off a complicated practical joke. In a sense, that is exactly what she had done, for Linda would have never suspected that the same teenage girl who had actually made love to a football player in a classroom would now come on to a 22-year-old female history teacher.
Linda quickly regained her senses. "Stop that!!" she whispered fiercely to Pam, who seemed oblivious to everything except Linda's cantaloupes, which, very much against Linda's will, now sported rock-hard cherry-like nipples that could be easily seen through her wool sweater. Linda was very much aware that someone could easily see what Pam was doing and probably get her fired for becoming sexually involved with a student. Yet Pam had acted so quickly and inconspicuously in reaching out for Linda's breasts that no one really seemed to have noticed it at all. Pam backed off a bit and dropped her hands to her sides.
"Jesus Christ, Pam, what do you think this is?" asked Linda a voice full of incredulousness. Good God, it had been just one thing after another these last two days. She could hardly believe people acting like this, at least in the sexual way, especially with almost total strangers. "What is your problem, anyhow?"
"I want you and your body," said Pam in a low voice that only Linda could bear. "I want to make you come so hard, you'll absolutely scream."
"Why, you little slut!" she exclaimed. Fortunately, no one really looked at her, since Marley's junior varsity had just scored another touchdown in the closing seconds of their game, making the score 34-13 and the crowd roared its approval. Now she lowered her voice and said, "That's really disgusting, Pam. Now stop it!"
"But you really turn me on!" Pam purred. Now she stuck her tongue out and ran it along her lips. "Your tits are so fantastic. I think of them when I'm using my vibrator and it always makes me come."
Linda was dumb-struck, once more. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes bugged out.
"I know it seems weird to you," Pam went on, "but I know that if you tried it, you'd love it. The first time I heard about it, when one of my friends said the same things to me that I'm saying to you, I felt really disgusted. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. And I know I love it. I want to just jam my vibrator right up that little slit of yours. I'd make you come so may times…"
"That is enough, Pam," Linda said, cutting in on her. "Hasn't it ever crossed your mind that there are those of us out there who are perfectly satisfied with what we've got, just with men and not with women?"
"That's what they all say. Every single woman I've ever seduced says exactly the same thing you do. If I were you, I wouldn't put the knock on it until you've tried it. Like I said, if you try it with me, I'll give you so much, you'll be a new woman when it's over. You're just so good-looking I'm creaming in my panties right now over you. I want to suck you until you scream…"
"Shut up, Pam. You're making me absolutely sick. I think you ought to see a psychiatrist."
"That's what they all say, too. Don't worry. I can tell that you'll come around anyhow, and I've got to go show those junior varsity cheerleaders how to shake their booty for real right now. I'll catch you some time later, lover. You're gonna love it."
"I'm sure," said Linda sarcastically. "You make me want to puke."
Pam shook her head back and forth slowly. "Now, now," she said, forcing a smile but not really meaning it. "You're going to have to get punished for that. You just made a big mistake, Mrs. White."
"I'm sure," Linda repeated. "I am so sure. What are you going to do – rape me?"
Pam smiled at her with obvious pleasure. "You just gave me a great idea, Mrs. White," she said gleefully. Then she called out a couple of lines: "Barry, Stuart, get your asses over here!"
Linda had been smiling up to that instant, with a sense of having gotten the better of Pam. But all of a sudden, a blur of movement came up on her and grabbed her arms. With a sinking heart, she realized it was two of the motorcycle gang that were moving her into a door in the back of the stadium, next to where Pam and Linda had been standing and chatting.
In a flash, she realized that these two leather jacketed toughs, who looked even bigger than the football players, were going to rape her, just as she had dared Pam to do a few seconds before. "Please, let me go," she whimpered, as they dragged her into a little room where there were a few pompoms and old cheerleader sweaters – a small cement alcove, just slightly bigger than a broom closet, where the cheerleaders apparently stored their spare gear. Apparently Pam had give them a key, for one of them had messed with shutting the door once they had dragged her inside. The whole thing had happened so fast that few people, if anyone, would have seen her. And then she realized that she had just stalked off from Steve, so there was no way that he would possibly come looking for her for hours. He'd probably think she had gone home or maybe gone out to a bar.
"Please, please, please!" she now screamed. The response was a hard punch to her stomach by one of her captors. It sent her sprawling onto the concrete floor and knocked the breath out of her, so she spent the next minute gasping and choking and crying, just trying to catch her wind again and not pass out. If she pasted out, there was no telling what these animals might do with her – maybe carve their initials into her stomach, maybe slice off her breasts.
But now, Barry and Stuart had their jackets and dirty T-shirts off, revealing body-builders chests and torsos. Sweat gleamed from their pale skin. Finally, one of them spoke in a voice that sounded like gun metal: "Listen, bitch, if we hear one more peep out of you, we'll kill you. You got that? I'm not kidding about this, OK?"
"Yeah," said Linda in a quivering voice. Her stomach still ached from the punch.
"And what's more," said the other one sneeringly, "You'd better damn well enjoy it. We better hear some moaning and you'd better do a job of scratching our backs and blowing us and making us feel good. OK?"
Linda nodded her head miserably. If I had a gun right now, I'd kill these stupid idiots and then probably kill myself. I want to die, she thought.
Now the two gang members had pulled off their clothes, tossing their filthy jeans and underpants off into the corner. Both of them had huge erections, both standing up straight again their hard flat stomachs. The short hair that covered their bodies in a kind of fur, offered a stark contrast to the messy, greasy hair atop their heads, she had to admit at the immense shafts of their manhood, lancing out from their sparse pubic hair.
"Pretty little thing, ain't she, Barry?" asked the one who was apparently Stuart.
"I can dig it, Bro," said Barry, licking his lips. "She looks real tasty."
"Well, come on, bitch," said Stuart. "Let's get it on. Take those pretty little clothes off. I been dreaming about you all week."
"Wait a minute," Barry cut in. "I want her to suck me off right now."
"Good idea, Bro," said Stuart with a grin. "Bitch, get your ass over to this dude and get on your knees and show him how you suck your husband!" Horrified, but still scared of being beaten further, Linda complied. She decided that she wanted to get out of this alive. Never again, she vowed, will I ever be upset with Steve for anything he does.
In an instant, though, such thoughts were chased from her mind as Barry grabbed her by the hair and guided her face roughly into his blood-engorged member. In the back of her mind, she knew that the sense of overpowering maleness that pervaded the room was somehow fascinating her, despite the repulsion she felt. And it gave her the gem of an idea just as she started licking on the fully erect purple-veined cock in front of her.
"Why make me suffer, Barry?" she asked as nicely as she could. "I didn't mean to insult you. I like you, so maybe if we just take it slow…"
"Nice acting, baby, but it ain't gonna work," said Stuart, interrupting her. "You're gonna do exactly as we say, cunt. How do you think we feel sitting there in the class all day while you prance around in your tight little clothes and bore us with all this crap about Charlemagne and Julius Caesar and the Visigoths?"
"Well, I do the best I can. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but this is hardly the way to show it. I'd be happy to talk with you any time."
And she now gagged as Barry shoved the soft tip of his meaty thickness into her mouth as a he talked. "The only thing I want to hear from you is the sound of you sucking my cock," he said, then laughed evilly. "Now suck it hard bitch, or I'll make you really sorry!"
Damn, she thought. There was no way out of this mess! Steve would absolutely die if he knew that two teen-age punks with greasy hair were about to rape her, and probably just a few feet from where he was sitting.
Linda now closed her eyes. The humiliation, the debasement. Lord, she just couldn't go through with it. But when she refused, rolling her head from side to side to avoid touching the heated flesh with her lips, Barry grabbed her cruelly by the shoulders, digging his powerful fingers into her soft flesh until she cried out.
"Open up, you little slut!" he yelled. Then he grabbed her fluffy brown hair and yanked her head until she cried from the pain. "Now, just be a good girl and suck off Daddy and everything will be cool!"
Fear and mortification came out in a moan, but Linda did as directed, closing her succulent lips hesitantly around the spongy tip of his rock-hard shaft. Steve had never forced her to do anything this awful, she thought, but to her surprise, it didn't taste nearly as bad as she had expected. She could already taste the odd, salty flavor of the clear but creamy liquid now oozing out of the end of his cock.
There was an unmistakable tremor of excitement coming over her as she experimentally ran her tongue over the throbbing shaft. The response was immediate – a deep moan of excitement emerged from Barry's throat. "Good girl," he panted, obviously excited at the whole idea of seeing his eight inch tower of power stuffed inside the mouth of that unapproachable bitch, Mrs. White. Every day, she drove him damn near berserk as he watched her melonous breasts strain into her pretty little blouse. "Lick it all over, now cunt!" he commanded. "Lick it like an ice cream cone and open your eyes so you can see what you're doing!"
She opened her eyes and noticed that the skin of Barry's monolith was stretched so tight that it shone. The thick veins that covered it like a road map pulsed madly against the white skin. And a few inches away was two huge hairy testicles, each heavy with the raging sperm that boiled within, eager to get out.
She now felt a strange pleasure that she had not really felt in any other of the sexual escapades of the last two days, for these teenage punks were making no effort to stimulate her at all. There was something so very different in the sexual energy here, as if three animals from a different planet had somehow gotten together in this dank little concrete room under a football stadium. Deep in her smoothly muscled belly, she could feel a new sensation, a burning, churning heat, coursing its way from the center of her womanhood throughout her body. Rape, she whispered to herself, and the word somehow made her just tingle all over. The very perversity of what she was being forced to do, the novelty of it, made all other thoughts disappear from her mind.