Chapter 8

Sitting at his desk, wrapped in his robe, eating the remnants of his steak, Carolyn hadn't a thought in her head. It wasn't until he opened the door, bundle of laundry in hand, that it all came flooding back to her, making her feel all warm and wonderful, suffusing her cheeks with a girlish blush.

He said, "Here are your things, Miss Holm."

The flush left her cheeks. Her mind became very confused, and her face went pale as she stammered, "Th-thank you, D-D-D- ... Mr. Sloane."

He checked his watch. "You have three minutes till class starts. Please try to make it on time."

"Yes, sir. I'll be on time," she said, getting up at once, lowering her head so he couldn't see the tears shining in her eyes, though there was no need for that gesture as he'd already closed the door and left her alone.

Three minutes to go. She quickly tore off the brown paper from her bundle of clean clothes and rummaged through them for one of the four pairs of panties she'd sent in for washing. They were all there, but each of them had had the crotch cut out of them by one of the cruel boys who worked in the laundry. Close to panic, she sought for a brassiere, and found that those too had been mutilated by a scissors, for there were no ends to the conical cups. Grimly, however, she donned panties and bra of pale blue, trimmed with lacy edges, though the frilly lingerie gave no protection at all to the most modest portions of her anatomy. Her nipples stood out like beacons, and her entire vulval area was fully exposed to the warm mountain air. She shook her head in disgust, covered her face in embarrassment, then in renewed panic pawed through her outer garments that had been so trustfully given over to the diabolical hands of some juvenile jackal who worked in the laundry.

Sure enough, the first dress she pulled out—-one of her favorites--had been cut from bodice to waist and from hemline to waistband on both sides. It might be repaired, but certainly not in less than three minutes. A blouse had had large holes cut in it where her partially exposed breasts would show through and a skirt had the entire seat of it snipped away. With growing haste, Carolyn quickly went through the rest of the stack until she found a charming little summery yellow dress that was perfectly intact. She put it on as quickly as she could, ripping several inches of side seam in the process, for whoever had gotten his hands on the pretty little cotton garment had apparently boiled it in water, for it was shrunken several very vital sizes.

It was so tight she could barely get into it. It was the tightest thing she'd ever worn. It fit her closer than a second skin, and when she'd at last succeeded in getting the zipper zipped, she couldn't even get a deep breath for fear it would burst. In Mr. Sloane's mirror she saw that her buttocks were outlined in shocking clarity, as if she was a prostitute advertising her wares rather than a hard-working and dedicated schoolteacher.

The upper mounds of her breasts swelled out alarmingly over the square cut bodice of the little dress, and her nipples--not covered at all by her bra, and rigid in her panic--pushed forth at the thin fabric to show themselves in very clear bas relief. The skirt came up to just an inch or two below the big round swells of her buttocks, and each time she tried to pull it down in the back, it rose in the front to a point where her crotchless panties were in danger of being seen.

She couldn't possibly wear it, but when she tried to remove it, the strained zipper wouldn't function, and her efforts succeeded only in opening up the seam under her other arm, so that her ribcage was exposed on both sides. She was biting her lip and wringing her hands when the bell rang to summon the boys from their games and her from her luncheon period. She steeled herself, back rigid, and taking very small steps lest she rupture the dress farther, walked toward her classroom in her bare feet.

Carolyn was greeted by a chorus of whistles, wolf calls and words as she entered her classroom. As compacted as her figure was, her breasts and bottom jiggled tightly, and she felt more exposed than when she'd been racing naked across the field before the same eyes that were devouring her now. Cheeks flushed but head held high, she made her way to her desk, and felt another inch of seam open up when she lifted her foot in stepping up to her little platform. There was no way in the world she could sit down without her dress bursting like a balloon full of water, and so she picked up her history text and held it open before her placid but red face, and patiently waited for the insults to stop.

"Let's see you touch your toes now, teacher!"

"Man, look at her nipples sticking out, hard as rocks!"

"Let's see you squat down and take a leak, Miss Holm!"

"Hey, how about letting me suck your pussy some more?"

"I'd sure like to paddle her now!"

"What about it? Can I suck your pussy again?"

Eventually even jackals such as those grew weary of bating her, and Carolyn said, "Please open your books to page one-twenty-four while I read to you: The armament at the onset of the Civil War was relatively crude and unrefined. Both the Union and the Confederate troops were equipped with very few rifled weapons, and as a result the accuracy of the balls they fired . . ."

"You fire my balls, teacher!"

"Hey, let me kiss your box! Please!"

". . . left a great deal to be desired. Of necessity, this was quickly corrected and considerable improvements were made on the firearms and artillery used by both sides. Whereas at Fort Sumpter, cannonballs and musket balls were sent off with little hope of striking their targets, by the time of the Battle of the Wilderness the breech-loading. . . ."

"I'd like to load your breeches, baby!"

"She's got an asshole that's tighter than my hand!"

". . . rifle had been issued to the Federal forces and at least twenty percent of the Rebel troops had rifled firearms in their possession when they entered the thick forest for the bloody, week-long battle."

So it went for the afternoon. Carolyn had to stand erect before her demeaningly raucous charges while she read from the text book after text book, scarcely daring to move, growing faint and summoning up energies to go on from she knew not where. Her notion of depriving them the use of the rest room was gone, but only one boy asked to leave the room. When he did, she told him to take the key off the hook on the side of her desk and went on reading. The others, if they had to go at all, just held it, unwilling to ease any part of the burden of all those hot little eyes on her immodestly clad body.

Somehow she got through the afternoon without fainting, helped by the awful knowledge of what they'd do to her if she fell down in a swoon. Somehow she made it without taking that one deep breath that would show them her nipples and her crotch, inflaming them to the point where they'd all jump her at once and she'd have to somehow take ten hard cocks in her body, all at the same time. And somehow she made them all leave after she'd dismissed them, so she could sag against her desk and feel a seam give a bit more and not even care about it. She turned to go, to retreat in dignity, and saw the drawing she'd missed on the blackboard when she'd so distractedly entered the room.

It was her again, shouting, "More! More!", as four penises sprayed water on her smiling face and jutting breasts and outlandishly big buttocks. "Filthy little fucking bastards," she muttered, and carefully got down off her platform and walked with baby steps back to the sweet sanctity of her cabin.

As soon as she'd closed the door behind her she stretched very expansively, and the dress came apart at every seam. She picked off the shreds of it, took it completely off without even opening the zipper, pulled off her ruined lingerie and headed for the shower. She bathed quickly, efficiently, washing away the feeling of all those eyes on her naked flesh, using lots of soap and even more elbow grease until she was clean, clean, clean, and very very tired. She dried off perfunctorily and went yawning to the old chest of drawers that had been issued to her, climbed into a long black nightie that had been a gift from Iris, and got into bed and fell fast asleep.

It was well after dark when Carolyn awakened, hungry but entirely rested. She rose from her bed and turned on every light in the little house, for she knew that light staves off the attack of wild animals in the forest, and city girl that she was, she didn't know what sort of beasts roamed the night in these parts, but she was sure they were out there. She drew down the shades, too, for it certainly would do to have one of the boys seeing her in her nightie and trying to climb through her window.

It was truly a lovely nightie, representative of her friend Iris' good taste. Black, its satin ruffled hem just kissed the floor around Carolyn's bare feet, and it had matching satin ruffles around the plunging bodice of it and down across the very low back. It was sleeveless and it was so thin that it could clearly be seen through, but the night was nice and warm, and Carolyn was entirely comfortable wearing the long nightie, slit up its sides and further ruffled to a point very close to her hip.

Its gossamer folds swept about her as she moved about her little house in search of a bite to eat. She was thinking pleasant thoughts, picturing Iris lounging on the bed, watching her every movement through curling cigar smoke, and showing off a bit for her imaginary guest. There wasn't a bite of food to be found, however, and it was much too late for dinner at the mess hall, and so Carolyn's search was in vain, until she came across a bottle of gin in the bottom of her suitcase. There was no ice to be had of course, but she pretended she was mixing a pitcher of martinis as she poured out four ounces in an old jelly jar, held it out in question to the empty bed, then shrugged and smiled and drank it down. It warmed her further, and the hunger pangs stopped before it had all reached her glowing stomach.

"It's a lovely night, Iris," she said. "Here, I'll pull up the shades, throw open this window, and together we can look up at the stars. It's glorious up here in the mountains. I'm so glad you took me here, my darling. Come put your lovely arms around me and . . .

"Oh, how foolish," she said. "Iris is long gone, a dark dead part of my past, and here I am exiled to live in the middle of a pack of jackals, all because of her. Well, forgive and forget, and above all, make the best of things."

The window was open, the night was warm and clear, so Carolyn stood there and took the deep breathing exercises she'd missed that morning. She filled her healthy young lungs over and over, enjoying the soft kiss of the whispering nylon against her nipples and tummy and buttocks, refusing to think of how her body had been so cruelly abused by her students. She did think about David Sloane, a wonderful man, a mesmerizing man, who did things to her either in her dreams or in reality that she'd never thought she'd permit any man to do. She thought about him and she thought about a more tranquil existence for herself as she turned an about face and began touching her toes before the low-silled window.

She was breathless and glowing and happy when she'd finished her exercises. She let her laughter tinkle out through the night and said, "Who needs dinner? I've got everything I need right here in my snuggly little nest in the forest."

She went to where she'd left the bottle and poured out four more ounces of gin, opened her front door and strolled out onto the little veranda there. "Perfectly glorious night," she said, sipping and leaning out over the rough-hewn railing, "but we need a little music."

Inside was her transistor radio. She brought it out on the porch with her, tuned it to a station that had dance music with a heavy beat, and did a few turns and swirls on her front porch, glass in hand as her partner, humming along with the lively tune. The next tune was livelier still. She set down her glass on the arm of the porch chair, hiked up her nightie to her hips, and rocked on out with the music, throwing back her lovely blonde head and laughing, wholly exhilarated with the night and the gin and the music, not caring at all if there was a pack of bears out there in the darkness.

"Catch me and eat me if you can, you naughty things, you mean old bears," she called out, laughing and turning her back on them and the dimly lighted buildings beyond, hiking her skirts up higher and waggling her panty-model's fanny at them.

Again the music changed, this time to a gutsily romantic tune sung by a deep-throated contralto torch singer, and Carolyn hung on the upright post, hugging it pressing her cheek against it while she gazed up at the moon, as full as her bosom, as round as her bottom.

"Oh, David," she murmured, pushing her soft pube against the hard wood, "your cock's so big tonight, and I need it so bad, so very bad that I . . .

"Oh, crap," she said, and flounced over to the chair, knocked back the rest of the gin, and flopped down in it, legs wide apart and hands dangling over the arms. "I don't need asshole David, I don't need cigar-chewing Iris, I don't need anybody but good old me. Fuck the world, and FUCK EVERY ONE OF YOU BABOONS OUT THERE IN THE BARRACKS WHO TOOK OFF MY CLOTHES AND RAPED ME!"

She settled back feeling much much better, but still not good enough. In strange country, surrounded by terror and confusion, Carolyn set about to escape, at least for a little while.

Up came her nightie. She bunched the diaphanous folds of it in her lap, slouched lower on the cushions of the chair, and began pulling and rubbing at her clitoris. She sat there with her legs far apart, a twisted grin on her face, watching every movement of her fingers by the light that glowed out from her cabin, while she made herself feel good, while she let herself know for sure she was a self-subsistent woman.

"You don't need cocks or tongues or anything, baby, not when you've got these fingers. You're beautiful, you know that? I like you shaved. More to see. You're so damned pretty I can hardly blame them for wanting to stick their cocks and their tongues in you. Old asshole down there, you must be just as pretty, too. Shame I can't see you. I'll go get a mirror in a minute, but first take care of you, baby-doll, oh yessss, oh yes-s-s-s-s.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh! Fuck that finger, baby. Here's two of them, just have a ball. FUCK THEM, DAMNIT, GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR! Oooo-o-o-o-o! Ooo baby, that's it. Jesus, don't you look good when you're fuckin' something, anything, but 'specially these good ol' fingers.

"Fuck those fingers, clitty-poo, jam yourself right in there between 'em. Oh baby, does that ever feel good. Cum-cum-cum! Oh, yes, cum, cum, CUM! Uh! Uh! Oh God, I love it, love sex without pain, without hassle, without anybody but good old me! Uff! Uff! FUCK AND CUM! FUCK AND CUM! OOOO! OOooooooo! OOOooo-o-o-o-o. . . "

She lay back in the chair, panting and exhausted, knowing she'd had enough but unwilling to call it quits. Her tits were there, her lovely tits, rising and falling with her deep breathing, neglected while she'd been trying to please her pussy. She grinned as she slipped her hands inside the bodice of her nightie, squeezed them and pulled the nipples, watching through slitted eyes and pretending they were someone else's hands doing that to her. Whose? David's? Iris's? Spike's? No, not even the thought of him could bring the response Carolyn wanted.

She was getting discouraged, but she'd be damned if she'd quit, not with the night still young and the moon still full, the music still beating and her heart still pumping. But working at her cunt didn't seem to be the answer, either, for her clit lay sleeping, not raising its pretty pink nose even at the most intimate of touches from her fingers.

"I need another ounce or two of gin, that's my problem," she said, and rising from the chair, she smoothed the folds of her nightie down around her pale white body in lady-like fashion and went back inside her house.

It was filled with boys. There must have been at least a dozen of them there, on her bed, in her chairs, standing up, all looking at her and smiling. They were as naked--no more so--than before, for now in addition to their hard pricks staring at her, she could see their grinning faces, for not a one of them had a mask on.