Chapter 13

John Smathers did come back, but not often enough to swell the "Escape Hatch" hoard appreciably. Others came, too, and Myra's young, slim body was busy, screwing a long list of men who, like Smathers, had become regular clients. She sometimes had as many as four and five customers a night working on her slender body until she fell asleep exhausted.

Once a group of eight had made an offer for her to come to a private stag party and screw each one in front of the others. That was a hundred dollars toward the "Escape Hatch" fund and she hadn't really minded. After screwing before an audience of kids at Uncle Ben's and out in the cemetery, this didn't seem much different. More comfortable by far. And cleaner. And her audience was more appreciative. They were all older men, gloating over her perfect little body, richly enjoying the moments they had with her.

But even Mr. Smathers extra fives and he sometimes slipped her another and the hundred dollars for the stag party didn't build the "Escape Hatch" fund fast enough. The "Escape Hatch" wasn't to be bought quickly, as she had once naively imagined. Nor would selling her body night after night accomplish it. She needed more. And for that she needed an education.

For nearly a year now she had been out of school, ever since Mommie had died. Uncle Ben hadn't considered education necessary. "Look at me. Did I ever go to school? No. So why should the kids ? "

The idea was slow in developing but once she had made up her mind she went directly to the Madam, arbiter in all affairs of the house.

Madam was astonished. "Schoolin'? What you need with schoolin' to lay on your back and open your crack? Screwin's good business, and don't need no learnin'. Plus you. got years ahead. You're young. Younger'n any of my girls."

But Myra displayed an unexpected stubbornness and got her way. She had to spend some of her precious hoard for clothes but that was all right since it was what she thought of as an "investment." And the Madam, once committed to the idea, was a cooperative partner. She went with Myra to select the proper school clothes. Her tastes were a bit odd, deeply conservative in the matter of clothes for Myra, though her own costumes were flamboyant.

Myra appeared at the school in an almost overly demure outfit, accounting for that intervening year on the Madam's advice as a result of illness,, which was accepted, though she looked the picture of glowing health. Just a very pretty girl resuming her education.

Mr. John Smathers got her transcript for her and even falsified an address one of the apartment houses he owned. It seemed to tickle his imagine that be was getting sucked off fairly regularly by a schoolgirl, for that was still his favorite means of sex, for which he was paying liberally.

School was a delight to Myra, though it was difficult to get back into the routine remembered from Mommie's time. And after Uncle Ben's troupe and the soda shop crowd, these kids seemed clean and fresh, almost unaware of sex except for occasional snickering references. And the Madam in her few spare moments there was a lot of work to running a house heard Myra's lessons, not comprehending more than half of them.

Mr. Smathers, if Myra had no more customers the evening he came, helped her with her lessons. Afterward, of course, he and Myra had what he called "a good session." It was a curious relationship for her, sex and school were quite separate though Myra saw nothing odd in it working with her shoulder sometimes pressed against Smathers, chewing her pencil and figuring sums. And John Smathers held the lessons strictly to avuncular standards, though more than once he glanced at her, sighing. He made Myra put on her school dress when they worked, though she would have been quite content to work naked, but he found that too distracting.

School was fine until the day Myra was called to the principal's office really the assistant principal. Ron Jackson was a nervous little man with a habit of running his finger around his collar and then inspecting it, as if to assure himself his throat hadn't been cut and was bleeding into his collar.

He met her at the door, staring owlishly down at her, and locking the door behind her. "So we won't be disturbed. This is a serious matter," he explained. He went back to his chair and sat there, pursing his lips in and out, staring at her, studying her. "You are doing remarkably well, Myra considering your evening er occupation."

Myra's heart sank. She hadn't expected this. School and her "work" were so far removed. She started a protest and realized it was useless. She would be expelled, if not worse. Possibly sent to some "home" or even thrown into jail.

Jackson held up a small pink hand against her protest. "You were seen there." He didn't mention he had seen her when on his weekly visit to the Madam's house. "And I have since verified it. You function as a prostitute." He coughed pedantically. "We can't have our youngsters, sweet, innocent children, contaminated by such a person." He tented his fingers. "I'm sure you'll agree."

Myra couldn't She now knew of at least five girls who were consistently screwing a small coterie of boys. And they weren't contaminating anyone so far as she could see.

"The usual custom in cases where a young female of the school is caught in adultery, is immediate expulsion. Only fitting." His eyes drifted to her breasts and roved on down to the slender, perfect legs.

Myra sighed. "Okay. I'll leave," and started for the door, forgetting it was locked.

"Not so hasty, my dear. Not so hasty." He half rose, beckoning her back. "As I was saying, that is the usual custom. However, in your case . . . " He coughed hiding it behind his hand . . . "In your case, there may be other considerations. You are an orphan, I believe, perhaps compelled to support yourself by this infamous trade."

Myra saw nothing infamous in it. Once you bad been screwed by a lout of a cousin and a flabby, obscene monster of an uncle, her "trade" looked clean, but she said nothing, standing there, a drooping little figure, head bowed.

"Extenuating circumstances, shall we say? Now, ahem . . . " He went into a lit of coughing and inspected his finger again . . . "I have it in my power to expell you or worse. Or ahem pass over the er incident. Wipe it out. Expunge it, as it were. I might do so if you ahem would agree to . . . well, I have certain physical needs and no means of gratifying them."

The language baffled Myra but the hungry look in his eyes was familiar. "You want to screw me."

Jackson sagged in his chair, gulping. "That's putting it crudely. But, essentially, that is it. You are an extremely attractive youngster I have watched you. And . . . yes, that's it. Will you?"

"Now? Right now?" Myra laid aside her books, sighing. This spoiled school for her. She had considered it something exalted, above such things. Now it was just like the rest of the world, the men in it ready to screw.

For an instant Jackson looked startled, as if he hadn't really expected such easy compliance. Then he looked at her breasts and the edge of her skirt.

"Yes. Why not now? School is over, closed. We will be private here. Yes, yes."

"You want it in the chair? With me nekkid?"

"Naked? Yes, yes. In the chair? I had thought of that couch but . . . yes, yes. In the chair. Novel. A really novel experience. I have never . . . "

He gasped as Myra peeled out of her dress, revealing the small pink perfection of her breasts, and watched with fascination when she wriggled her panties down and kicked them off. She straightened to stand before him, hands behind her back, a naked youthful nymph, oddly demure in spite of her nudity.

Jackson was breathing noisily, his mouth open, eyes darting over her body and then away and swinging back instantly, as if to reassure himself this vision hadn't vanished. "I had no idea you were so . . . developed. Your breasts."

He groped for her, sliding forward in the chair, as she came to his side, letting his hands wander across her back, over her breasts, knowing her body was once again beginning its subtle treachery. Her body was aching with desire, her small hips moving rhythmically, her breasts swelling, nipples stiffening, little amber-pink buds at which Jackson stared, touching them lightly.

He ran one hand down her stomach, setting it quivering, and touched her mound, starting juices. His finger explored her cunt, bringing a moan and a sagging at the knees. He leaned forward and kissed her breasts, sucking at her nipples.

Myra began her familiar, silent prayer to Mommie, except that she knew there would be no addition to the "Escape Hatch" hoard. Jackson would not pay, though he would pay off in the now almost sacred obligation of getting her an education. It was worth enduring his small, questing hands and what was to come.

He ran his hands over her little rump, but his hungry eyes stayed fixed on her little cunt, on her mound and the slit between her legs. Every now and then he ran one hand over her mound and down an inner thigh, seeming to gloat over the soft quivering of her flesh.

"Aren't you going to take off your pants?"

His eyes, glittering now with excitement, peered at her. "Eager, huh? That's the way I like 'em. Eager . . . Oh, pants! Of course. Certainly. Yes." His hands left her for a moment and he fumbled with belt and zipper, humping himself to slide out of his trousers, hitching down his shorts which, surprisingly, were a gaudy array of colors.

His pecker stood up, quivering. It had an odd little crook in it, as if it had never got quite straight. He stared at it for a moment as if hypnotized by it and then lifted his eyes to Myra's breasts. "Lovely! Lovely ! " he gasped and reached for her.

She came on to his lap, straddling his legs, sliding her own along the sides of the chair, feeling the quick additional rise of his pecker against her cunt, tapping an urgent message.

Jackson stared down at her mound, at his pecker so conveniently placed, breathing heavily. "Why didn't I think of this?" And humped his pelvis at her. His pecker slid to one side and he reached down with a trembling hand to guide it in, sighing as his bulb sank between the lips of her vulva.

She could feel it go in, look down her front, between her breasts and see it sinking into her. And felt the rising excitement within her. She humped her pelvis forward, driving that odd little crook deep within her. She slid farther forward, since Jackson didn't seem to know enough to grasp her buttocks and pull her. Instead, be lay back in his chair, his face flushed, hands working spasmodically as if ready to grasp something but what?

Her body was completing its treachery, urging her pelvis back and forth, moving it closer and closer onto him until his pecker was buried in her. As if that were the triggering mechanism, Jackson sat forward, clutching at her, muttering incoherently, pawing at her breasts, leaning forward to press his mouth against them, to gnaw at them with rabbity teeth, groaning and muttering, his pelvis pumping wildly, ramming that curiously crooked pecker up Myra's cunt in quick, short stabs.

She could feel it, oddly off center, rubbing the walls of her tunnel, stimulating her juices, exciting her body, bringing with it a sort of breathless tightness under her breasts, a quivering tension in the muscles of her stomach.

She knew he was coming. The sudden stillness before his final drive up her tunnel and the throbbing of that crooked pecker gave her body notice, and started her juices flowing, beginning the quick build-up to the ultimate tension.

Jackson tugged inexpertly at her small rump, gasping, pulling her toward him to ram his pecker that last exciting bit up her cunt, and held her, suddenly pumping wildly. as his come exploded far up in her. And her body answered, ramming her pelvis to meet him, writhing to extract the last morsel of delight from that bulb.

He pawed at her, digging his fingers into her flesh and then fell back in his chair, his usually pale face flushed and hectic, his hands pawing at his collar as if it were suddenly too tight.

Myra sighed deeply, her little cunt moist with juices, tensions within eased. She sat on his lap for a moment longer, just letting the juices flow, letting his little crooked prick slide out of her hole. Her head sagged forward and she swayed.

Finally she sat up straight, pulling herself backward off his lap, and stood up, hands clasped behind her once more, head slightly bowed, her young, nubile breasts held erect. She didn't really look at Jackson but she could see him. "Is that all?"

Jackson squeaked, "Is that all? Oh, my God! I have betrayed a trust. I have ruined a young girl. I have committed an unpardonable sin. And she says, 'Is that all?' Oh, my God."

He continued to sit there, without his pants, looking faintly ludicrous, berating himself. For his many misdeeds.

Myra slipped into her panties and dress, wishing she could wash her privates but not knowing quite how to interrupt Jackson's self-castigation. Somewhere down in the school corridors would be a bathroom. She gathered up her books. "I'll be going. Would you unlock the door?"

"What? Unlock the door? Of course, my dear. Of course. I never meant to keep you against your will. I hope you know that. This was entirely voluntary . . . " Jackson ceased pawing at his face and scrambled into his pants, muttering about his sacred duty.

He hobbled to the door and unlocked it, opening it cautiously to peer down the corridor and then flinging it wide for Myra. He stared at her breasts as she passed him, licking thin lips. "Monstrous! I have been monstrous! A creature beneath contempt." As her breast accidently brushed his shoulder when Myra sidled out, he gasped, his face turning red, "Next Friday?" Myra turned back, looking at him out of grave, soot-ringed eyes. "Friday," and moved down the corridor.