Jim and Achilles returned the next day, Friday, to Sara's house.  
This time she made sure she was prepared, with two steak dinners ready 
and $500 cash sitting next to each plate.  She wore only and apron and 
made sure to say "master" and "thank you" at the right times, and spoke 
only when spoken to.  It was, she thought, singularly humiliating, but 
she didn't think she could take two days in a row of punishments, 
punishments which she both dreaded and desired.  Jim and Achilles, for 
their parts, didn't seem inclined to push things.  They did tie her 
wrists together behind her back and cinch her elbows together, which was 
painful at first and then just uncomfortable, and they did make her 
squirm across the floor and lick their feet, but otherwise they seemed 
content to just fuck her.  They used all three of her holes again, and 
left her fully satisfied.
	She was, she was afraid, beginning to get into it.  She had kept 
her three studs, as instructed, but found sex with them to pale in 
comparison to Jim's torturous games.  She found herself getting excited 
thinking about the next degredation he was going to inflict on her, 
rubbing herself to orgasm thinking of him.  Maybe she liked it so much, 
she thought, because it was a new experience to her; before, she had 
always been the one in charge, always the one whose sexual appetites 
overwhelmed, and sometimes scared, her parters.  Here, Jim was in 
control, and Jim didn't give a shit about her sexual appetites--to him, 
she was a piece of meat to fuck when _he_ wanted to fuck it, and that 
excited her.  He used her desires to humiliate her, to rub her face in 
her sluttish behaviour; he laughed at her and beat her and bound her 
desires to him.  It was no longer a question of blackmail, although she 
still hoped to get that tape back, just in case; now she was a willing 
slave, willing to give him whatever he wanted.
	Achilles, for his part, found his experiences with Sara 
exhilarating, and it gave him ideas about what to do with Amy Sanders.  
That evening he climbed in through her window and left his "requests" for 
the following week.  They were rather simple:  on Monday at 4:00 they 
were to meet in her room, and Wednesday and Thursday they were to meet in 
the orange grove at 4:15.  Monday, Achilles figured, was the time for the 
open hand, the previous closed hand having been her humiliating spanking.
He wondered, though, how long it was going to take before he could get 
down her pants:  he was losing patience.
	Jim was satisfied.  Sara was turning into a good little slave.  
Her actions that Friday convinced him that it was time to really start 
her training, and to that end he signed her up for every night the 
following week, leaving him the weekend free to prepare.  He was glad he 
had told Achilles:  that boy had a certain something.  You could have 
knocked him over with a feather, though, when Achilles told him about 
Amy.  He wasn't so amazed at what she had done, but that Achilles had 
been so quick to take advantage of it; his estimation of the boy rose 
with each passing day.
	Amy was the one person of the four who was anything but enjoying 
herself.  She had passed from a state of hatred toward Achilles toward a 
state of dread.  That Friday at school she had been withdrawn, and 
quailed inside every time she thought Achilles seemed to be around.  She 
constantly thought about turning herself in, and once or twice even 
decided to do so, but then she discovered her dread of jail outweighed 
her dread of Achilles.  Once, in a flash of insight which made her fear 
for herself, she realized what her dread meant:  that she had resigned 
herself to Achilles' blackmail; she would no longer fight him.
	While Ms. Ellsworth spent the weekend catching up on her 
schoolwork, and Amy spent hers in a state of acute depression, rarely 
moving from her bed, Jim and Achilles went shopping.  The went across the 
state line and hit a number of pornographic video and book stores.  They 
also stopped by a couple leather stores and found one place which 
specialized in bondage equipment.  They managed to spend most of the 
$1000 they had extorted from Sara; the rest they spent at a hardware 
store, picking up the necessary hardware to put all the new ideas they 
had formed into practice.
	Monday rolled around the the schoolday passed pretty much as 
usual.  After school, Achilles met Amy in her room.
	"Hello Amy.  How you doing today?" he asked, looking carefully at 
her, noticing the large bags under her eyes and the listless way she 
carried herself.
	"I'm okay," she replied without much conviction, sitting down on 
her bed opposite him, yet not looking at him.  "What do you want today?"
	"Amy, I'm really sorry about this."  He got no response.  "You 
know I've always liked you," he kept at it, waiting for a response, "and, 
well, I was kind of mad the way you always ignored me, like you thought 
you were better than I was."  He made sure to stutter and look away, 
peeking at her from the corner of his eyes.  He was not disappointed to 
see her raise her head and look at him now.  "When I got those photos, 
I...well...I kind of wanted to punish you for how you treated me, you 
see?"  He looked pleadingly into her eyes.  She was looking at him, but 
he couldn't see anything in those eyes accept a mute despair.  Well, he 
thought to himself as he continued, I sure hope this works.  "I feel 
really bad now, especially since I've got a girlfriend now."  He noticed 
her start a little--good.  "I thought maybe I should give back the photos 
and everything"--she was interested now:  life and hope had come back 
into her eyes--"but, well, I don't know.  I still want to get to know 
you, without all this stuff between us, and I'm afraid if I give you the 
photos, you'll just ditch me."  He looked up at her, trying to twist his 
face into his most doleful expression.
	Amy didn't react through much of this speech, her mind was too 
dulled by despair.  When he mentioned that he had a girlfriend, though, 
she perked up:  she hadn't known, and was he saying that this might 
change things?  Now what?  That he was going to give her those photos?  
Oh please, please.  No.  What was he saying now--that he wanted to be 
friends with her?  That he wanted to put all this behind them?  Of course 
she would ditch him if she could!  She didn't hate him, but seeing him 
would remind her of the time in her past when she had been completely and 
utterly humiliated.  So close to freedom!  She forced herself to reach 
over to him and take his hands in her own.
	"Achilles," she said softly, looking him earnestly in the eyes, "I'm 
sorry for making you angry.  I'm sorry all this had to happen between 
us.  I can be your friend.  Let's talk.  Tell me about yourself, tell me 
about your new girl.  I want to listen."  She sounded convincing to her 
ears, she hoped she sounded convincing to his; oh, how she hoped she 
sounded convincing to him. 
	Achilles smiled to himself:  hook, line and sinker.  
"O...o...okay."  He started out talking about his photography, about how 
all his life he wanted to capture life, to capture beauty.  He shily hinted 
that he had secretly taken pictures of her, so full of life and beauty.  
He talked about how he saw each photo, how he could live or relive each 
picture in his mind over and over again; how intoxicating and wonderous 
it was.  He led into his new girlfriend (a complete fabrication), and how 
she too liked photography.  He had met her weeks ago, and he hinted that 
they had just become intimate, sexually.  He then rhapsodized about how 
wonderful _it_ was, leaving it unspoken; how it was the sharing of two 
souls, how it was a union of minds.  He spoke of how _it_ felt, so good, 
like she had told him, like "taking and elevator up and up, faster and 
faster, until it burst through the roof of the building and then hung 
there, floating in the sky, finally coming gently to rest."  He told her 
what was special was that she had felt this, that he had made her feel 
this.  That was what he loved the most:  her pleasure in him.  He petered 
out about then, inwardly amused that she had listened so raptly to his 
every word, and then asked, awkwardly, if she had ever felt anything like 
that.
	Amy at first listened to him because she had to if she wished to 
get those photos back, but then she truly began to hear him, and was 
amazed.  He had been such a sleazeball the previous week, and yet here he 
was, spilling his soul to her, and it wasn't banal and uninteresting--it 
was, well, she admitted to herself, deep.  She was flattered by an 
oblique reference to her, and listened, enthralled, as he talked about 
sex with his girlfriend.  He made it all sound so wonderful, important 
and wonderful:  the sharing, the feelings, the pleasure, the tending to 
each other's needs.  The way he described it made her want to feel what 
he felt, to be on that elevator as it burst through the roof.  When he 
paused she was lost in daydreams, and she blushed a little when he heard 
him ask if she had ever felt that way.
	She paused for a minute before answering, thinking of her past 
sexual experiences.  She had lost her virginity when she was a freshman 
to a senior jock, her first boyfriend.  She remembered it had been 
extremely painful, but that she had been happy that he had enjoyed it so 
much.  Of course, he had dumped her shortly thereafter, and she had been 
quite broken up about it.  Since then she had only had sex with her last 
ex, and although it hadn't been painful, it had been nothing special--in 
out repeat if necessary was what she remembered about it.  It had been, 
she reflected, disillusioning.
	"No," she answered him, "I've never felt that way before."
	He commisserated, shaking his head and wishing that she could 
have the same feelings he had.  He glanced at his watch and jumped up 
suddenly, "I've got to go.  We're having company tonight."  He gave her a 
quick peck on the forehead and ran to the window.
	"The pictures..." she stuttered out before he was gone.
	He paused for a moment as if considering, then said, "I don't 
know, Amy, I don't know.  Give me some time to think about it?"  With 
that, he smiled and slid down the tree, running back in the direction of 
his house.
	Amy lay back on her bed and wondered.  She was confused:  was 
Achilles a psychopathic dweeb or was he really a sweet guy?  She didn't 
understand him, couldn't make him out.  He had been such an ass to her, 
setting out to humiliate her whenever he could, but today he had been so 
different, a sweet, shy guy who had fallen in love with some girl.  Would 
he return those photos to her, she wondered?  Was this all some bizarre 
plot to fuck with her mind?  She doubted it--he had been so sincere.  
Well, Wednesday would tell.
	Achilles was on top of the world:  she was hooked!  Wednesday he 
would continue to talk to her, but he would talk more explicitly about 
his sexual experiences, even if they were mere fabrication.  He might 
even hint that his girlfriend was bisexual.  He could go into more detail 
Thursday, and then, next week, he would produce her, Ms. Sara Ellsworth, 
playing the part of the love of his life.  He didn't think it would be 
long after that that he would be porking Amy, sweet Amy.  The photos, now 
he would keep those--insecurity would be his excuse, and one he thought 
she would buy.  Everything was working out as planned, and tonight was 
another night with Sara.
	Jim and Achilles showed up at Sara's with two duffle bags full of 
goodies, and after dinner, Jim announced that it was time for her 
cunt-slave training to begin.  He began by cuffing her arms behind her back 
and cinching her elbows together, and then tying her down face up on the 
table, so that her calves were tied to the legs of the table, spreading 
them wide and bending them at the knee.  He gagged her with a large ball 
gag and then began binding her breasts while Achilles ran a vibrator 
gently against her pussy lips.  When the tops of her breasts looked like 
enormous red grapes about to burst, and her nipples were hugely engorged 
with blood, he began flicking them, earning cries of pain from her, 
mingled with moans of pleasure caused by Achilles' skillful manipulation 
of her clitorus.  Jim moved to teeth and clothespins on her nipples, and 
then used rose stems and finally needles.  Achilles was by now slowly, 
teasingly running the vibrator in and out of her sopping cunt, 
occasionally working it under her body and pushing it through her anus.
	They worked her like this for close to 45 minutes, her cunt 
yearning for orgasmic release and her tits near bursting with 
overwhelming pain, a pain which blended with the pleasure in her pussy to 
drive her crazy with desire.  Finally Jim mounted her, holding his body 
above hers while jackhammering his cock into her cunt.  She could feel 
her tits and body throbbing with pleasure as her orgasm approached, when, 
just before she came, Achilles cut through the bondage on her breasts, 
releasing them.  She screamed through her gag as she orgasmed, blood 
flowing swiftly back into her aching tits, blinding her with pain as she 
bucked through her orgasm, the pain in her breasts adding a delicious 
spice to her come.
	They untied her from the table and carried her, her arms still 
bound and her mouth still filled with the gag, into the bathroom.  There 
they gave her an enima, one that burned like hot chili oil in the eyes, 
burned so that she sat moaning and squirming on the toilet seat and tried 
to shit her guts out while two strong pairs of hands held her down.  They 
dragged her to the shower and sprayed off her crack, giving her some 
relief from the horrible burning in her ass and guts, but not enough; she 
was in mortal agony.  Laughing at her plight they dragged her back into 
the living room where they threw her over the back of the couch, her ass 
sticking high in the air.  Achilles coated his cock with ointment of some 
kind and then forced it into her agonized, twitching anal passage.  The 
ointment cooled off her insides, making the sensations assaulting her ass 
barely manageable.  Then, as Achilles began brutally fucking her ass and 
Jim grabbed her hair, slapped her face, and pinched her still sensitive 
breasts, she became consumed by a wild, animal passion.  She came three 
times before Achilles spewed into her, each orgasm eclipsing the other, 
each orgasm painfully intense, centered in her burning ass.
	Finally they dragged her back to the table and bound her 
stringently on her back, her shins and knees bound flat on the table near 
her chest, her pussy and ass exposed in the air, her head hanging back 
off the table.  One of them slid his cock slowly down her throat, his 
balls nestled against her nose, and began fucking her mouth, while the 
other pinched and slapped and squeezed her nether regions.  Her clit was 
pinched by strong fingers, nails cutting into her tender flesh, until she 
screamed through the cock in her throat.  Her labia was pinched and 
pulled painfully, and her ass slapped and poked and tugged.  Every few 
minutes they would switch places, and each time the one at her groin 
would rub it gently for half a minute, sending pleasure racing through 
her body only to be turned to pain as he switched tactics, assaulting her 
tender flesh with fingers and nails and palms.  This went on for about a 
half of an hour before they came down her throat.  They still hadn't let 
her come, and she began to beg them, plead with them, to fuck her.  Jim 
only smiled and grabbed her clit between his thumb and forefinger, while 
Achilles did the same with her nipples.  Then they both squeezed, hard, 
harder, making her scream in agony, arching her back as she felt pain as 
she had never felt it before.  Right before it became unbearable, right 
before she thought she was going to pass out, she came, screaming the 
whole time, and she came harder than she thought possible, seemingly 
forever.  It only stopped a long while after they let go of her, and then 
they untied her and left her lying there, with a note from Jim beside her.
	Later that night, before she dropped off to sleep, she realized 
what they had done:  not one ounce of pleasure had she received without 
accompanying pain.  Every orgasm was accompanied by a delicious agony, 
turning the natural reactions of her body topsy-turvy.  She shuddered as 
she realized their plan for her:  they were turning her into a 
pain-slut.  Pain slut was the last thing she though before she drifted off.