Thursday at noon, Achilles Brown, eating his lunch, was quite 
pleased with himself.  He had talked to Jim and had arranged to be picked 
up at 7:40 near his house.  From there, they were going to pay a visit to 
Ms. Sara Ellsworth.  Achilles had been, and still was, a little nervous 
about it, since it would be his first time with a woman, but Jim assured 
him that he would take care of everything--all he need to do is lay back 
and enjoy.  He certainly needed some relief, since his games with Amy 
were exciting him so much he was having trouble holding back.  If he did 
or said something wrong, he knew he would lose her.
	His "date" with Sara was not the only reason for his smugness.  
Like he had guessed, Amy Sanders had chosen today to test him:  she had 
worn pants.  They were those loose, oversized, dirty pants which were 
sinched at the waist, and that Achilles found so distasteful.  Worst of 
all, though, was that he had forbidden her to wear pants.  He found 
it amusing that she seemed to search him out and, while at a 
comfortable distance talking to some friends, parade her defiance in 
front of him.  The one time he had bothered to meet her eyes he had 
only frowned and shaken his head sadly.  Well, he thought to himself, he 
had planned for this, and knew exactly what he was going to do.  He 
would be finished by five at the latest, which would give him plenty of 
time to prepare for Sara Ellsworth.  He savored the sound of her name in 
his mind:  Ms. Sara Ellsworth.
	Amy Sanders had decided that she had had enough.  The Wednesday 
picnic had been humiliating enough; she wasn't going to put up with 
Achilles' bullying anymore, even if he did have those pictures of her.  
He would never use them, she thought, he wanted to play his little games 
with her too much.  Well, she wasn't going to have it any longer; she 
would put up with some things to keep him quiet, but she wanted some say 
in the matter.  No more of this do as I say crap.  Still, she was 
nervous; she wasn't sure what he _would_ do when he saw that she had 
decided to ignore his demands and had worn pants.  She tried to catch his 
eye all day at school, but the one time she did all he did was look 
glum and shake his head sadly, which just infuriated her more.
	Deciding he couldn't skip his last period class again, he had to 
run over to Amy's house as fast as he could to make sure he was there 
before she was.  He was glad she had left the window to her room open, 
since it made things easier for him.  He climbed into her room and 
rummaged through her closet, picking out her sophmore cheerleading outfit 
(she had quit, obviously figuring been there done that) and laying it on 
the bed, large colored panties and all.  He then sat down on her bed and 
waited for her to come home.
	Amy went straight home after class, wanting to confront Achilles 
as soon as possible.  She figured that she would find him in her room:  she 
wasn't disappointed.  She strode purposefully into her room, dropped her 
bag on the floor, swung the door shut, and faced him from across the 
room.  
	"Get out," she said assertively.
	"I don't think you want to do that."  He spoke softly, menacingly.
	"I said, get out," her voice raising.
	"What's the matter, honey," a voice drifted up from downstairs.
	"Nothing mother," Amy called, turning back to Achilles, who she 
found standing.
	"Before I go, you should listen," he said, looking her in the 
eyes, stopping her before she could speak.  "At 5:30 my father comes home 
from work.  He walks into the kitchen, swings his coat over the back of a 
chair, puts his briefcase on the kitchen table, then picks up the mail my 
mother and I leave on that table.  He immediately takes that mail and 
walks the four blocks to the mail drop--he calls it unwinding--and then 
returns."  He paused.  "Right now, sitting on my kitchen table, are the 
photos of you I have, in an envelope, stamped and addressed to the 
police.  If I leave now, I don't think I'll go home 'till at least 7:00, 
and by this time tommorrow, you'll be under arrest."
	She had stood there listening to him, anger and fear warring 
within her as he spoke.  She began shivering as despair began to banish 
both as the stark reality of her plight became clear to her:  either do 
as he wished, or go to prison.
	He watched her carefully as he finished his speech:  "Now, if you 
do exactly what I say, I'll make sure to be home before five, and you 
won't have to worry about a thing.  Do you understand?"
	She stood there for a moment as he finished; she wanted to cry.  
She nodded jerkily, and saw him motion to her old cheerleading outfit on 
the bed.
	"Put that on.  And don't worry, I won't watch."
	Not speaking, she picked up the uniform and went to the corner of 
her room where she began to undress.
	Turning around and grabbing a low chair, he sat down facing the 
bed, his back toward her.  He let out a sigh of relief that his gambit 
worked:  he had let her run and then pulled her back in.  He figured that 
she thought he would never mail those photos in, and based her defiance 
on that.  He guessed that once he made it abundantly clear that she could 
either obey him or have the police solve a murder, she would break.  She 
had, and he felt a surge of emotion at his success.  The next part he was 
going to enjoy immensely.
	Amy finished dressing and turned around and faced Achilles, who 
was sitting down with his back toward her.  She walked over, despairing 
at what he had in store for her, and stood between him and the bed.
	Achilles looked at her standing before him:  her firm, shapely 
legs almost completely revealed by the little mini; her breasts straining 
against the sleeveless tee which was now a little to small for her; her 
hair cascading around her graceful neck, white as alabaster.  He stared 
at her for a moment, taking in her stunning beauty, and then commanded 
her to turn on her stereo, and to turn it up rather loudly.
	"Now stand to my right, facing me," he told her when she had 
turned on the stereo.  "Kneel down."
	Her head was now on the same level his was, and he looked hard 
into her pale blue eyes which seemed to stare through him.
	"You've been a bad girl, haven't you Amy?"
	He saw her lips move in a silent yes, but no sound came out.
	"I said, you've been a bad girl.  Isn't that true?" he said louder.
	Again her lips moved, and this time he heard a quiet "yes" come 
from them.
	"Lean over my legs.  More.  Put your hands flat on the floor on 
the other side of me.  Over more.  Good.  Stop now."
	As she climbed over his legs, she knew what he was going to do.  
She started crying silently, tears leaking from her eyes.  She remembered 
her boyfriend from freshman year--he was a big guy--telling her one day 
that when he got together with a couple of his friends to beat on 
someone, it wasn't the physical damage they did that was worst--it was 
the humiliation.  The guy couldn't stop them:  he was powerless, and 
just had to take it.  That was the bad part, the helplessness, the 
impotence, knowing there was nothing you could do.  She felt just like 
that:  helpless, defeated.
	His penis was rock hard as he positioned her over his thighs.  
Her breasts were hanging over the chair to his left, her lower 
chest/upper stomach pressed against his left thigh.  She was balancing 
herself atop him with her hands and the balls of her feet.  Her back was 
tilted down to his left, and he placed his hand between her shoulder 
blades, holding her there.  She was bent at the waist, her upper thighs 
pressing against his right thigh, thrusting her ass out and up.  With his 
right hand he pushed up her cheerleading skirt until it bunched at her 
waist, revealing the twin bulges of her ass through her red underwear.
	"I'm going to spank you now," he said, rubbing his right hand 
over her ass, "and you're going to thank me after each swat.  Do you 
understand?"
	He looked down at her head and smiled as she nodded, her hair 
falling to the ground on either side of her face.  He thought her heard a 
sob, but didn't really care:  she shouldn't have challenged him.
	Laying across his lap in this obscene position, her ass thrust 
high into the air, she began sobbing quietly.  It was all too awful.  
Despair crowded in on her conscousness as she felt him carefully pull her 
underwear around her upper thighs, and a cool draft ran over her exposed 
asscheeks.  He cried out "One!" and a loud <SLAP> rung in her ears, 
coincidental with a stinging pain in her left ass cheek which caused her 
to gasp through her sobs.  Horrified at what was happening to her, her 
mind froze as he rubbed his hand firmly over where he had slapped, and 
then called out "One!" again, and then <SLAP>.
	He was about to burst through his jeans while he edged her 
underwear down over her ass, leaving it encircling her upper thighs.  
Looking at her twin ass cheeks, so smooth and white, firm and luscious, 
he couldn't resist running his hand over their silky flesh.  Hearing her 
sobbing, he called out "One!" and brought his hand down hard on her left 
ass cheek, stinging his hand as well as earning a gasp from Amy.  He 
rubbed her ass for a moment, waiting for her to thank him, and then 
called out "One!" again and slapped her other cheek.
	For a moment Amy was confused, and then remembered:  
"Th...Thank...you" she sobbed out, loud enough to be heard over the music.
	"Two!"  <SLAP>
	"Thank you."
	"Three!" <SLAP>
	"Thank you."
	By the tenth strike, her ass was a burning mass of pain and her 
chest heaved in great sobs of pain and humiliation.  He was striking her 
hard, her body jerking in his lap each time his hand came down across her 
ass.  The worst part, though, was the way he rubbed his hand all over her 
ass between each blow, spreading a painful warmth throughout her ass.
	He watched as his hand turned her ass a dull red, beautiful 
against the creamy whiteness of the back of her thighs.  He especially 
loved the way each blow sent her asscheeks quivering, the firm flesh 
having given way before his hand.  His right hand was killing him, 
smarting from the blows he had landed.  Five more, he thought, to make 
fifteen, then he would stop.  He wanted so badly to just throw her over 
the bed and fuck her--he quivered in desire at the thought--but he 
resisted the urge; he couldn't afford to spook her.  He could get away 
with a spanking, but if he tried anything more now, she was sure to freak 
out on him.  Oh well, he thought, this is good enough for now, rubbing 
his hand over her ass once again.
	She heard him call out "Fifteen!" and felt the familiar pain of 
another blow on her ass.  "Thank you," she replied automatically through 
her sobs, her whole body tense and on edge, awaiting more punishment.  
She jerked on his lap when she felt him pull her underwear gently over 
her throbbing ass, and kept her head down--she couldn't look at him--as 
he helped her to her knees and then onto her bed.  She collapsed on it 
and curled up into a fetal position, still sobbing out her pain and 
humiliation.  Several hours later she fell asleep in the same position, 
tears still coursing down her face.