That Monday evening, all thoughts of Achilles were driven from 
Amy's mind when her father came home and told her that he had arrested her 
ex-boyfriend and two of his friends.  They had, he told her, gotten into 
a fight in a bar, and her ex had shot someone dead with his father's 
rifle.  Oh god, she thought, please don't let them find out about the 
store robbery.  Her father, though, was telling her that the police 
thought the boys might be connected with the store robbery, but they 
couldn't prove anything, yet.  Amy didn't fall asleep until late that 
night, worry eating up her stomach.
	The next morning the news was all over the school, and when 
Achilles heard it, he was at first worried for Amy, but then he became 
ecstatic.  This was the final nail in the coffin for her; he knew exactly 
what to do now.
	Maria heard the news and didn't care.  Since her rape she had 
been withdrawn and even more anti-social than usual.  She was surprised, 
then, when Jim approached her at lunch and asked her to follow him.  She 
didn't know Jim well, but she knew his reputation, so didn't hesitate to join 
him.  If he chose to speak to her, she could learn something.  She 
shivered, though, and almost balked, when he took her down to the same 
room in which she was raped.  She entered anyway and was surprised to see 
two chairs set up before a tv and vcr.
	"Sit, sit," he motioned, and turned on the tv screen and started 
the vcr.
	"Oh Jesus," she whispered softly as she recognized herself on the 
tape, herself walking into this very room and being grabbed by Ms. 
Ellsworth's three bully boys.  She was frozen with shock, and she stared, 
transfixed, at the screen while Jim spoke to her in the background.
	"I thought you might like to see this, Maria," he said, watching 
her closely.  "With this tape you can put that bitch away for good.  You 
know that.  But I don't think that's good enough for her," he emphasized, 
leaning closer to the girl, "I don't think she deserves to get off easy 
with just going to jail.  I want to see her punished, in pain, screaming 
for mercy.  Maria?"
	Maria tore her eyes from the video of her rape and turned her 
head slowly toward his.  Her large brown eyes bore into his as she spoke, 
her voice loaded with passion.  "Anything, anything you want.  Just give 
me the cunt."
	Jim let a smile grow over his face as he stared back at her 
impassioned face.  Sara, he thought, was going to be in for a big surprise.
Before she left, he gave her a duffle bag full of bondage and 
sadomasochistic books and magazines, all, he said, to give her ideas on 
how best to torture Ms. Sara Ellsworth.  One last thing he gave her 
before she left:  a new outfit she was to wear when she came down to the 
boiler room on Friday afternoon, where her teacher would be waiting for her.
	That afternoon, instead of heading home, Sara went down to the 
boiler room to await Jim and Achilles.  She didn't have to wait long, and 
wasn't at all surprised at what they did to her.  There was a lot more 
bondage and a lot more pain than pleasure than the previous evening, but it 
didn't matter, because already she was having trouble telling the 
difference.  They whipped her, pinched her, slapped her, and fucked her 
repeatedly for over three hours, then let her go home to collapse 
exhausted on the couch.  She was out another five hundred dollars, but, 
she thought as she lay there, her body still buzzing from pain and 
pleasure, it was worth it.  She almost couldn't wait for the rest of the 
week, all down in the boiler room.
	Wednesday was a school day like any other, and Amy started to 
relax when she realized the boom had not yet fallen, and from what her 
father said, probably wouldn't fall.  Her mind started to drift back to 
Achilles and what he had told her about himself and about his sexual 
experiences, and she obliquely questioned her girlfriends about their 
experiences.  She didn't get any satisfactory answers, and almost looked 
forward to meeting him in the orchard that afternoon.
	Four fifteen rolled around and she stood in the orange grove 
waiting for Achilles.  He showed up a few minutes later carrying a duffle 
bag, looking, she thought, morose.
	"Sit down," he said, following suit and putting on his most 
depressed face.  He had rehearsed the following words over and over in 
his head all night; he hoped he wouldn't blow it.  "You know, Amy, I've been 
thinking a lot about the robbery.  I've been feeling really guilty about 
not telling anybody about it--I mean, a man was killed.  No, don't 
interupt.  Then, when I heard about those guys getting arrested for 
another murder, it was like a great weight was lifted from my shoulders.  
You know?"
	"I...I understand, Achilles, and..."
	"Wait.  I haven't finished.  I felt better because they weren't 
getting away with what they did--they were going to be punished now, and 
they deserved to be punished.  Then I thought about you, Amy.  You did 
this horrible thing, Amy, and you got away scot free!"
	"Achilles..." she wheedled.
	"No!  It's true.  Nothing bad has happened to you.  Sure I 
spanked you and took some money from you, but what is that compared to a 
man's life?  So I was thinking, you know, maybe you should tell everyone 
what you had done, or else I could maybe send in the photos.  You know?"  
With that he looked up at her with his best sad eyes.
	Oh my God! she thought.  He couldn't!  He simply couldn't!  She 
was in misery:  to worry about the doom of jail and then to escape, only 
to be told that doom still awaits--it was too awful.  She stared at him 
with horror, her mind working frantically to get her out of this.  He 
didn't _want_ to do this; he felt he had to.  She could use that.  She 
could.  He also wanted her--she knew that.  Even with his girlfriend, he 
wanted her.  But he wanted her punished too; she knew he wouldn't be 
detered from that.  How then?  How to escape this trap?  Suddenly an idea 
hit her:  it was awful, but it was her only way out.
	Slowly she got up onto her knees and leaned forward onto her 
fingertips until her face was only a foot away from his.  "I...I don't 
_want_ to go to jail Achilles," she said softly, "but you're right, I did 
screw up, and I shouldn't get away with it, but you don't have to turn me 
in."  He was looking at her now, curiosity replacing the sadness in his 
eyes.  "I have," she swallowed, "I have a better idea, Achilles.  
You...you punish me.  Please," she cried as she saw the look of surprise 
in his face, "please, do it for me.  I don't want to go to jail!"
	Achilles did his best to look surprised when she said the words 
he oh so much wanted to hear.  Oh yes, oh yes he would punish her, but he 
said, standing and looking confused and embarrassed, "I don't know Amy.  
I don't know.  Let me think about it.  Let me think.  Come down here at 
six and I'll tell you.  I have to think."  With that, he half stumbled 
half ran off, leaving her with an agony of waiting.
	He practically ran all the way home, he was so elated.  She was 
his!  Finally she was his!  He practically jumped with joy at the 
thought.  Sure, he was going to have to miss his fucking Sara tonight, 
but he would be punishing his dream girl, Amy Sanders.  He already had 
some good ideas.
	Amy stood in the orange grove for a few more minutes, fretting 
worriedly.  God she hoped he took her up on her offer, but she was 
apprehensive too.  Too have him punish her....  She knew if he decided to 
he would humiliate her and degrade her like he had when he had spanked 
her.  She wandered back to her house disconsoletly, thinking in her mind 
anything he could do to her would be better than jail, no matter how 
humiliating.  She started thinking, too, of what he had said:  was it 
true that she should be punished?  She had left a man to die, and then 
told no one who had done it--wasn't that deserving of punishment?  Didn't 
she deserve whatever Achilles was going (how she hoped he would decide 
so) to her?  It wasn't only the robbery, either.  How about how she 
treated her friends, like they were there for her, like they weren't even 
human?  And how about how she thought about everyone else, thought 
herself above them, smarter and more attractive than them?  She was going 
somewhere, she was a winner, they were all losers.  Wasn't she only now 
getting her just desserts?  She didn't like thinking all these 
things--she wasn't naturally introspective--but she couldn't stop 
herself; the tension of the past week had made her wonder about herself 
and her place in the world.  She shuddered at the thoughts she couldn't 
push out of her head as she lay on her bed awaiting Achilles' decision.
	Six o'clock rolled around and found them both standing among the 
orange trees in the waning light of the day.  He had accepted her 
proposition and was now telling her to remove the flower pattern summer 
dress she was wearing, which so complimented her figure.  She obeyed 
meekly; she had known something like this was coming, and had made her 
decision:  she would do whatever he asked.
	Achilles watched with growing excitement as she stepped out of 
her dress and handed it to him.  He stared at her lithe body for a 
moment, letting his eyes travel over her jutting breasts, encased in a 
push-up bra, her smooth white skin firm across her stomach and hips, a 
few curling pubic hairs peeking out from her white panties, and her 
perfect, long legs with shapely calves and thighs.  He sighed and gently 
placed the dress near the duffle bag he had brought and took out several 
of the things he had brought.
	Standing in just her bra and her panties, Amy hung her head, 
feeling the cool breeze of the evening caress her body and knowing, just 
knowing, that Achilles wanted to do the same.  She shivered, then.
	"Amy," Achilles spoke, "I found some things down in the basement 
which I thought I would use."  He reached across to her and handed her a 
studded leather collar, padded on the inside, with four metal loops 
ninety degrees from each other on the outside.  "Put it on."
	She glanced up at him, but couldn't look; she was too ashamed.  
With her left hand she lifted her kinky sandy blond hair away from her 
neck and hooked the collar around her neck, clasping it shut in front.  
It was so demeaning, she thought, so demeaning to be standing her like 
this with this collar around my neck.  Like a dog; like some animal.
	"Here, put this on," he said, handing her a small padlock.
	She obeyed mechanically, feeling awful, feeling like she knew she 
should be feeling for what she had done.
	"Now put this in," he continued, handing her a somewhat 
wedgeshaped piece of pink plastic which fit in her palm, with two 
supple leather straps connected to the larger end by metal rivits.
	She gazed at it for a minute then looked at him, confused.  What 
was this thing? she wondered.  Her light blue eyes widened in surprise 
and she blushed as she saw him motion toward his mouth and say, "You 
don't deserve to speak, do you?"
	She shook her head and looked down again, opening her mouth and 
sliding the plastic in.  It was cool and tasteless, but it stretched her 
jaw wide, the thin end fitting snuggly against her back molars while the 
rest made sure to fill her mouth.  Thankfully it left her tongue enough 
room so that she could swallow, even if it was pressed down against the 
bottom of her mouth.  The whole thing didn't fit in her mouth, so her 
lips were bunched up uncomfortably around the end.  She reached around 
and cinched the leather straps together at the top of her neck, her hands 
running up against the collar she was wearing.  A wave of mental anguish 
washed over he then, but she pushed it back resolutely; it was no more 
than she deserved.
	Achilles watched her put the gag in, imagining it was his cock.  
He watched as she worked her jaw wider and wider to accomidate the gag, 
and then jiggle it around so it was its most comfortable.  He liked the 
way it made her face look:  it softened the harsh angles of her face and 
distended her lips obscenely, the leather straps pulling the sides of her 
mouth into hollows, accenting her anguished eyes.
	Amy stood there, her feet rooted to the ground, her body shaking 
with humiliation, as he slowly walked a circle around her.  She knew his 
eyes were exploring her near naked body, knew he was appraising her even 
as she stood there in shame.
	He went back to the bag and pulled out a riding crop and slid it 
through his hand before looking over at his prize.  Her eyes were wide 
with surprise as he approached her, and she jerked back her head as he 
ran the crop gently against her cheek.
	"None of that now," he said, smiling at her as he began gently 
stroking her face with the crop.
	"AAAAAHHHHH...UUUUUUUUHHHHH" she grunted through her gag, scared 
now as she felt the crop run gently across her cheek, her forehead, down 
her neck.  She couldn't stop her body from shaking; the crop was like a 
little charge of electicity wherever it touched, leaving a tingling trail 
down her neck, her arms, the top of her breasts, her stomach, the tops of 
the thighs and around to the back of her thighs.  Now to her buttocks, 
the small of her back, between her shoulder blades.  She was still 
shivering when the crop lifted, and she almost jumped when she felt his 
hand lay on her shoulder.
	He watched the reactions of her body as he gently caressed it 
with the crop.  She was shaking, scared, terrified and nervous, 
adrenaline coursing through her blood.  She was on edge, standing on the 
tip of a needle, ready to fall whichever way he pushed.  He smiled as she 
jumped at his touch, and whispered into her ears, "Down, down on your 
hands and knees."
	She jerkily obeyed him, her whole body tight, her gut churning 
with nervousness.  She had gotten herself into this, she thought.  It had 
been her decision.  The dirt, leaves and twigs felt rough under her hands 
and knees, and her breasts felt pendulous as they hung down beneath her, 
barely within her bra now.  She closed her eyes; it couldn't get any 
worse.  Then she felt his hands at her neck and something click shut, and 
she looked up to see him holding a leash.
	"You're now my bitch," he said, and she didn't even mind, she was 
so numb--numb and tense, strange her mind told her.  "I need to give you 
a name....  How about Princess?  Do you like Princess?"
	She nodded dully, accepting her fate.
	"Let's go for a walk, come on Princess, let's go for a walk."
	He felt a surge of power as he shuffled along with Amy crawling 
by his side, looking down at her back and gazing longingly at the side of 
her breast as it swung freely within her bra cup.  He could make her take 
off her bra, he knew.  Could probably even fuck her right now, but she 
wouldn't be into it, wouldn't like it, and he didn't want a motionless 
piece of ass.  He wanted her to give herself to him willingly, to beg him 
to take her, to own her.  This was just the first step.
	Amy shuffled along beside him, feeling degraded, lower than a 
dog.  It was awful:  her knees and hands hurt from the clods of dirt and 
twigs digging into her skin, and she told herself she should get up and 
tell Achilles she wasn't taking any more of this.  Punishment was 
punishment, but this was too much.  But whenever she thought this, her 
mind went back to that night in the truck, the gunshots and her panic and 
a man lying dead in the store, and she remembered they way she had 
looked upon Achilles and others at her school, as not human, as below 
her, and she didn't stand up and tell him off; she continued crawling on 
the ground like the dog she was--it was only right and fitting.
	He led her around like that for ten minutes, tugging at the leash 
whenever he turned.  He brought her back to their original meeting place 
and said, "Stay!"  He then walked ten yards away and took off his shoes 
and socks and sat down on the ground, his feet in front of him.
	"Down on your belly, Princess," he called out.  He was going to 
love this part.
	At the sound of his voice Amy looked up at him sitting on the 
ground in the distance.  She groaned a little as she lay down on her 
stomach, thankful that her weight was no longer on her knees and hands.
	"Now crawl to me on your belly, my little bitch," she heard him 
call out and she groaned inwardly.  Hadn't he punished her enough yet?  
But no, he hadn't, and she knew it.  She began squirming across the 
ground, using her thighs and upper arms to drag herself across the dirt.  
She felt the dirt roll and scrape against the flesh of the thighs, her 
stomach, and her breasts.  As she made her way slowly toward Achilles, 
she felt her bra pull down off her breasts, exposing the nipples to the 
harsh earth beneath her.  She didn't stop, though, even though she 
whimpered in pain and humiliation through her gag at the earth tearing at 
her tender breasts.  It hurt and was humiliating crawling across the 
ground like this, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.
	It seemed an eternity before she reached him and looked up to 
stare into his bare feet.  Her breasts, stomach and thighs, as well as 
her upper arms, were hyper sensitive, tenderized by the pebbles and dirt 
clods and twigs and leaves which rolled and pressed against her body as 
she squirmed across the ground.  She was finished now, thank god, and 
rested her cheek against the ground, grateful for the cool earth against 
her face.
	"Good Princess, good," she heard him say.  "Now back up on your 
hands and knees and take out your gag."  Thank you thank you, she 
thought, looking at him gratefully as she uncinched the ties behind her 
neck and gently removed the gag, her jaws feeling strange as they closed 
for the first time in a half hour.  She massaged her jaws for a minute 
and looked at him and was going to speak, but he put his finger to his 
lips and quieted her.
	"Now Princess, give me the gag.  Good dog.  No, don't adjust your bra, 
I like it so I can see your nipples.  That's right.  Hmm...I think I'll let 
you lick my feet now, Princess," and he smiled.
	She looked at him, shocked now.  She had been so relieved to be 
allowed to take out the gag that she hadn't even realized that he could 
now see her breasts.  She wasn't surprised when he had demanded that she 
leave them exposed, but lick his feet?  That was grose, disgusting.  She 
shivered and half shook her head; she wouldn't do this.
	He leaned forward and spoke to her, his voice hard:  "Aren't you 
forgetting something, Amy?  _You_ were the one who decided you needed to 
be punished; _you_ were the one who chose me to do it.  You _will_ let me 
do it.  Do you understand?"
	She quailed inwardly at the tone in his voice:  it was hard, 
commanding.  Her face took on a scared, confused expression; she had 
chosen this as better than jail; she deserved this, she did, she really 
really did.  Without a word she got back down on her hands and dragged 
her tongue across the bottom of his foot, tasting the stale sweat of his 
shoe and the musty dampness of the earth.  She kept at it, running her 
tongue between his toes and around his ankles and against his arch.
	Achilles was in heaven, his legs numb with ecstacy.  The feeling 
of her tongue around his toes was sensational, and the view of her 
breasts, dangling now against the ground, was too much.  He let her lick 
his feet for almost thirty minutes before he couldn't take it any 
longer.  He stood up quickly, panting with the effort of denying himself 
her body, and rummaged around in the bag before taking out a bottle of 
water, which he handed to her after telling her to get up.  He had to 
take out his pent up sexual energy somehow, and looking down at the 
riding crop still in his hand, figured he knew just how.
	Amy eagerly sucked down the water he gave her, gratefully washing 
the taste of his feet off her tongue.  She looked at him, wondering what 
he was going to do next, dreading it, when she saw him gazing strangely 
at the riding crop in his hand.  He looked up at her, meeting her light 
blue eyes with his, and said, "Up against the tree."
	She hesitated, then obeyed him, her back against the tree and her 
breasts standing proudly before her, still partly supported by the bra 
rolled up underneath them, her legs apart for balance.
	"Have you been a bad girl, Princess?" he asked, running the crop 
gently across her nipples, making them swell with blood and sending her 
heart racing and her breath come quicker.
	"Yes."
	"Yes what?"
	"Yes, I've been a bad girl."  He kept brushing the crop against 
her now ultra-sensitive nipples, engorged with blood, making her shake 
with forbidden pleasure.  It felt _so_ good she thought; she never knew 
her breasts could feel so good.  All the little indentations from the 
dirt, all the pain from squirming over the ground seemed to be absorbed 
into the incredible pleasure engulfing her breasts.  She couldn't let him 
see, couldn't let him know what he was doing to her.  It was bad enough 
as it was, but how humiliating if he discovered how she was reacting.
	"Close your eyes," he commanded, taking away the crop.  She 
closed her eyes, trembling from the reaction of her body to its caresses, 
trying to bring herself under control.
	Suddenly she heard a whistling sound and a thin *thwack* and pain 
exloded across her right nipple and she screamed, her eyes popping open 
and her hands going up to protect herself, her knees bending and her body 
twisting away from him.  Her breast was on fire with pain as great as the 
pleasure it had just felt--it felt like it was burning, and blood pounded 
painfully across the red slash on her breast and nipple, increasing the 
agony.
	He just stood there, the crop in his hand, as if he had done 
nothing.  She was scared and in pain.  The way he looked at her, like she 
was just an animal, an animal to be punished for doing something bad.  
"Bad girls have to be punished," he said.  "Present your other breast for 
punishment."
	She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but his tone, his 
stance, his attitude of complete assurance, of command, forced her to 
obey.  Besides, her mind told her, it's what you deserve.  You felt 
pleasure in your punishment, its only right you feel pain now.  She 
straightened back up against the tree and brought her hands down.  She 
closed her eyes; she knew what to expect.
	Achilles looked at her, impressed.  He wasn't sure if she would 
accept another stroke of the crop, and her poise surprised him.  He took 
a moment to gaze at her breasts before he struck, noticing how they were 
a little larger than Sara's, and more conical, but just as firm, if not 
firmer.  The nipples on both were still hard, even the one with a red 
mark through it and across the breast.  He brought his arm back and 
slashed the crop against her other breast, making sure to hit the nipple, 
and listened to her as she choked back a cry.
	Pain flashed through her again, but she was determined not to cry 
out, and strangled back the cry which sought to escape her lips.  She was 
gasping now, leaning back against the tree, her mind totally concentrated 
on the pain in her breasts.  Slowly she rubbed them, gritting her teeth 
as she massaged the burning pain into a dull, throbbing ache concentrated 
in her still hard nipples.  She looked up at Achilles, pleading with her 
eyes for him to be finished, for him to let her go.  He only stared 
mercilessly back at her and told her to turn around and hug the tree tight.
	"Hug it!  Tighter.  Now hug it with your knees.  You're not close 
enough to it.  That's better, much better."
	She was gripping the tree as if she were going to shimmy up it, 
her arms two thirds of the way around the trunk.  Her torso was smashed 
against the rough bark, which further tormented her nipples and breasts, 
and scraped her stomach as she flexed her muscles to keep close to the 
tree.  Her inner thighs were also scratched up by the bark of the tree, 
and her skin prickled at tiny splinters and edges in the bark.  For the 
first time she saw how she must look, with her cheek pressed up against 
the trunk:  she looked as if she were trying to fuck the tree.  With that 
thought, her face turned crimson and she became conscious of her mound 
pressing through her panties against the hard wood.  It was so obscene 
what she was doing, with her breasts free and throbbing.  What was he 
doing to her.
	She cried out in pain and jerked her hips into the tree as he 
brought the crop against her covered ass.  She moaned at the senstations 
sparking from her groin as it ground itself against the rough bark of the 
tree.  Again he struck her ass, causing her hips to jerk convulsively 
forward, sending more sparks of pleasure coursing up from her vagina.  
She didn't know, didn't understand, what was happening to her.  Her ass 
was on flame with the pain of his whipping, but the blinding flashes of 
pleasure blasting from her vagina each time her hips jerked against the 
tree were like nothing she had ever felt before.  As he kept striking he, 
the pain and pleasure both built up, spreading first to her breasts as 
she squirmed against the tree, scraping them violently against the rough 
bark.  The tree became a brutal lover as he brought the crop against her 
ass again and again, scraping roughly against her inner thighs and leg, 
bruising her mound and tearing at her breasts and stomach.  It was all 
too much for her, she was swirling in a fog of incredible sensations.  
She no longer felt the crop against her ass, she only felt the rough bark 
against her body as she ground mindlessly against it, sparks going off 
before her eyes as sensations she had never felt before assaulted her 
whole body.  More sparks and a blinding white flash lit up her vision as 
she body tensed and she screamed at the breaking tension which poured 
wave after wave of fire through every nerve in her body.  She bucked and 
shook and spasmed against the tree, engulfed in a world of her own 
pleasure, before she slowly slid down to the ground and lay, limbs 
akimbo, half conscious, on the ground.
	Achilles watched her growing orgasm with satisfaction and lust, 
and felt victory as she came violently against the tree.  She was his 
now.  He wasn't going to fuck her now--it was too soon.  Let her think 
about how she had reacted, how she had come for the first time in her 
life in this orange grove, how he had made her shake violently in 
orgasm.  Silently he handed her her dress and said, "I want to see you 
tomorrow in my room at 4:00.  Don't be late," before walking off to the 
school, hoping he wasn't to late to catch the last bit of Sara's 
torture.  He needed a good fuck right about now.