Chapter 2

"You four morons," Grant Dexter accused, "are the most irresponsible students in the entire college fraternity. You're a disgrace to Beeches, and if I have any more complaints of this nature it will mean expulsion. Is that understood?"

Fletcher Boone regarded the dean contemptuously. Dexter looked older than his forty-five years. His hair was turning grey and there were deep lines across his wide forehead. Boone, tall and powerful, barely nineteen and in the full flush of youthful vigor, sneered insolently. He nodded curtly.

"Then answer me, boy," the dean demanded. Boon shrugged.

"All right—sir. Message understood. Can I go now?"

Boone grinned at his companions, all of them about the same age as himself. Dave Roach, a stocky youth with ginger colored hair, removed thick glasses and blinked owlishly. Jim Dent, a tall, fat kid with blond hair cropped short, winked at big, squat "Rocky" Mason. Like Boone, Mason favored shoulder length hair. His was lank and lusterless, a dark brown, unkempt tangle framing a white, blotchy face covered with acne. He had long sideburns, a cruel, sensual mouth, and enormous hands. Boone's ugly features were similarly afflicted by spots and pimples. Of the rebellious quartet he was the biggest, the undisputed leader.

All of them were cynical, reckless egocentrics, utterly depraved. Mason was an arrogant, conceited bully, Roach a coward with a particularly vicious disposition, Dent just a fat, uncouth lout who did whatever Boone told him to do without question. Their entry into Beechers Technical had been gained largely through the influence of their respective parents, but Roach and Dent had average intelligence and but for Boone's undermining influence might have amounted to something.

Boone was thoroughly bad, without any redeeming characteristics whatever, and no ambition apart from his declared intention of screwing more women before he reached the age of twenty-one than his old man (a notorious libertine) had laid in his brief but turbulent lifetime. Amory Boone had virtually shagged and drunk himself to death. Fletcher's mother was responsible for his admission to exclusive Beechers. Camelia Boone was a whore, but a whore with half a million in the bank carries a lot of weight, and she had bailed Fletcher out of one scrape after another, but did nothing to discourage his corrupt behavior.

Boone was a bastard, literally. He was ugly as sin but had a certain rugged charm the opposite sex found stimulating. There were exceptions. Phyllis Dexter was one of them.

Boone's brag that he had the largest penis among the entire student body was no idle boast. During ten months at college he had seduced practically every girl student above the age of fourteen, and certain female members of the teaching staff as well. Generally, "Bragger" Boone was despised by both sexes, but that did not interfere with his sex life. He had a way with women, and especially young, uninhibited girls. Older women found his virile attraction compelling, a kind of animal magnetism. His awesome reputation merely intrigued instead of repelling. Curiosity often contributed to their downfall.

It was a fact, remarkable but true, that there was hardly a female at Beechers and in the nearby village who had not at some time, willingly or otherwise, seen or handled Boone's abnormal penis. It was his proud boast that he had fathered more bastards among the wives and widows of Rexford than he had placed bets on horses—and Boone liked to gamble. There were, of course, exceptions to his philandering conquests. Staid, prudish Miss Garfield was one of them, and despite her physical attraction and Boone's repeated attempts to arouse her sexual interest, he had never succeeded in penetrating her icy reserve and frigid indifference.

Miss Dorothy Tremaine, another female member of the teaching staff, young and attractive, a tall, slender brunette, timid as a deer, eluded Boone's lascivious attentions, but she lived in a twilight world of her own, an environment shared by pretty, vivacious Phyllis Dexter, the dean's teenage daughter.

Practically every male student at Beechers had designs on voluptuous, haughty Phyllis. Just seventeen, she was tremendously attractive, a gorgeous creature with softly glowing auburn hair sweeping her shoulders, large grey eyes, and long, slender legs that merged into sumptuously flared hips and exquisitely rounded buttocks, small but prominent. Her over-developed breasts were high and firm, and she wore the kind of clothes that accentuated her superb figure.

Phyllis Dexter was beautiful and she knew it. But boys did not interest her. She was Miss Garfield's star pupil, extremely intelligent, first in everything. She had no friends among the male students, but had only to pass the campus to stiffen every prick in the vicinity.

Fletcher Boone was thinking about Phyllis as he looked disdainfully at her father. "Bragger" Boone was unaccustomed to being ignored, and Phyllis Dexter's disdainful demeanor was a continually sore point. He talked about screwing Prunella Garfield, of her enormous breasts and proud, protruding bottom, of what he would like to do to her, describing in lurid detail his imaginary, wishful enjoyment of her luscious charms, involving the licking and smelling of her gorgeous ass, curling his tongue round and into her great, hairy gash of a cunt, and finally ramming his formidably distended cock between her fat, quivering thighs and thrashing it into her until she screamed for mercy .. .

Boone often indulged in such flights of fancy while accepting the harsh fact that the rape of Miss Garfield must remain just a lecherous longing at the back of his depraved mind. But Phyllis Dexter was a mare of a different color. Boone was resolved to have her, one way or another. It was common knowledge that "Braggcr" Boone was committed among his friends to fuck "the queer" as Phyllis was known among the other girls. Side bets were laid on the outcome. Even the staff participated, for they knew everything that went on among the student body, and the dean was not popular.

Little Miss Abigail, who had slept with most of the male staff, supposedly in secret, and often became so sexually frustrated she left her pupils to their own devices and masturbated in the washroom while peering intently at glossy photographs of nude men and women engaged in varied and highly erotic sexual activities, witnessed another of Boone's carnal triumphs when, returning along the deserted corridor to borrow a book from Miss Joan Banstead—a mature woman built on extremely generous lines, long suspected of engaging in more than friendly relations with some of the students to whom she taught mathematics—and finding the door of the classroom locked, she peeped below the edge of the lowered blind and saw Miss Banstead in a bent-over position, clinging to her desk, with her clothing lifted up above her waist and her majestic, bare bottom, thrust out—Miss Abigail could see no undergarment in evidence anywhere, and assumed Miss Banstead had discontinued wearing panties, as she; herself had, for convenience—while Fletcher Boonev positioned behind Miss Banstead with knees bent and trousers down around his ankles, displayed an enormous, grossly inflated penis ending in a monstrous, purple knob that pulsed and throbbed in the dark cleft of Miss Banstead's broad ass. As Miss Abigail watched, fascinated, shocked, excited, and ecstatically demoralized, she saw Boone enter his rampant organ and lunge violently, heard Miss Banstead cry out, and promptly experienced a copious orgasm when "Bragger" commenced ramming his huge, bloated branch furiously in and out of the moaning, squirming woman's dragging, squelching fissure.

Back in her dismal accommodation, Miss Abigail promptly contacted Solomon Keys, who operated a spare-time bookmaking business, and (by proxy) speculated a whole month's salary, so confident was she on young Boone's ultimate success with Phyllis Dexter. She would, Miss Abigail decided, invite Boone to her room on some pretext and let him know she had seen him performing with Miss Banstead. Why, she thought, should that fleshy cow+ have all the fun? Thinking of Boone's penis dried her mouth and tightened her anus. God! He was magnificent! She was old enough to be his mother, but she had strong feelings, and anyway, what the hell? Everybody thought she was past it, but she. could still appreciate the phallic ritual.

Miss Abigail chuckled, gloating over her secret desires while kneading the slack, fleshy folds between her stringy thighs. Serve Dexter right if young Boone violated his daughter. Silly old bastard. What did he know? The girl was a bitch. A good, hard prick would do her the world of good. Miss Abigail squeezed her moist vagina, and sighed wistfully.

The dean, meanwhile, confronting Fletcher Boone and his three smirking friends, nodded curtly. He dismissed Boom: with an impatient gesture.

"Yes," he said irritably. "You may go. Get out of my sight. But a further word of warning, Boone. My daughter has complained again about your conduct. If there is a repetition of your disgraceful behavior I shall deal severely with you. Now go."

Boone slouched out ahead of his friends. Outside the closed door, they laughed boisterously. Boone mimicked the dean.

'TU leave the little cow alone all right," he declared.

"After I've fucked the ass off her. Every time she comes anywhere near me I get a hard-on. Her and that fat cunt, Garfield, they give me a bad time, but 111 get some prick into darling Phyllis one of these days even if Miss-cocksucking-Garfield is out of the—"

"Balls!" Dent interrupted scornfully. "They're all fuckin' Lesbians, her and Garfield and Tremaine. You'll never get near Phyllis Dexter, Fletch, unless you tie the cunt down."

"I might just do that, you fat bastard."

"You try it and you'll wind up gettin' kicked out on your ass, man."

"So what? You think I stay around this fucking morgue because I like it? I've had it—up to here. Who wants a career anyway? My old man left a fortune. If that tight-wad mother of mine would—"

Rocky Mason nudged him.

"Here comes Phyllis now," he said tersely. "Do your stuff, Fletch. Show her your "chopper". Flop your prick out and scare hell out of her."

"Get shagged!"

"You're chicken, man."

"I'm not fucking stupid. Ill show it to her soon enough, but not here, outside Dexter's study."

They watched the girl turn into a nearby washroom. Boone whistled, but she ignored him, slamming the door. Roach fingered the fat roll of his penis outlined against the front of his creased grey pants.

"I could do with my hole," he declared. "Let's grab that little cow when she comes out and take her to that waste lot back of the gymnasium. Well all screw her. Blindfold her and stuff a rag in her mouth. How about it?"

"I wouldn't mind slapping my roll between her ass cheeks," Dent agreed. "Let's do something. I'm bored stiff."

"She might even like it," Mason said, fondling his prominent genitals and sucking in his breath sharply.

"We'd never get away with it," Boone predicted. "Forget about her. Chase Jordan is showing that color movie tonight, the one he brought back from Denmark. It's a real whacker. Ill get around to Phyllis."

"I've got a bottle in my room," Mason said. "Real Scotch."

"What are we waitin' for?" Roach asked. "Let's go, man."

It was a lurid film. About twenty youths watched the screening of it, all crowded into Jordan's room. Several of them brought liquor. The atmosphere was thick with tobacco smoke. After the first few frames were projected every youth present had his penis out and was masturbating. Some compared pricks and whacked each other. A few indulged in sodomy. Long before the movie was finished the room reeked of spilled beer and whiskey, farts, body sweat, and puddled sperm. One drunken youth pissed in a corner. Another, unable to gain entry to the John, opened the bedroom window and squatted with his bare buttocks thrust out over the sill, then spattered a trail of liquefied shit down the side of the building.

When Boone and his three friends left the humid, stinking apartment after the show they were all drunk but still capable of coherent reasoning and in possession of their faculties. Only their reflexes were slowed. Liquor inflamed their lecherous minds and intensified the violent sexual reaction aroused by the erotic film. They sought a natural outlet for their lust, and it was inevitable that their unanimous choice should involve the object of their mutual frustration. Whiskey provoked a contemptuous disregard for consequences. They lurched along the dimly lighted corridor in an aggressively dangerous mood, jeering, vicious, argumentative, obsessed with sex, deliberately seeking trouble, determined to find it, to vent their lust on somebody, anybody, but particularly the Dexter girl.

In their drunken folly they invaded all her usual haunts. And finally, in the deserted approach to the teachers' quarters, they found her.

In the security of her silent room, Miss Prunella Garfield lay reading on the crumpled bed, trying to dispel the memory of the disgusting creature she had encountered in the park and failing miserably. She would, she was convinced, see his leering face the rest of her life.

She shuddered. Sexual thoughts persisted, turned presently to wholly feminine associations. Miss Garfield had long suspected a Lesbian relationship between Dorothy Tremaine and lovely, doll-like Phyllis Dexter, and often wished she had the courage to approach Dorothy herself, for there was something about Miss Tremaine that stirred pagan longings in Miss Garfield's mature bosom, a yearning for closeness, for intimacy. But she had never dared make the initial advances, fearing the shame of a rebuff, quite unaware that Dorothy Tremaine regarded her in a similar light and with equal tenderness. So the delights of love that might have been Miss Garfield's were squandered on spoiled, wayward Phyllis, and Prunella went her own lonely, frigid way, a paragon.

Phyllis Dexter was very highly strung, an emotionally unstable girl who, especially since the death of her mother, had led a very sheltered life. Her regard for Miss Tremaine had ripened gradually into friendship and, nurtured by the young teacher's amorous disposition, eventual slave-like devotion, until there was complete understanding and sexual freedom between them and all lingering feelings of guilt had faded. Their physical association was very discreet, and Phyllis adored Miss Tremaine, but was not altogether Lesbian in her outlook. Yet she denied herself any male society whatever apart from her father, and considered normal sex utterly repugnant.

Phyllis scorned the student body. They were beneath her. But she knew the facts of life and could not completely ignore the sexual interest focused on her or the vulgarity of its expression. She complained repeatedly to her father and to Miss Tremaine about lewd, disgusting incidents and the use of obscene language in her hearing. Each day in class was an ordeal. She endured taunts, sneers, indecent exposure, crude jokes and filthy suggestions, longing for the day when she left that obsolete, crumbling cloister of corruption forever. Soon, thank God, she was going to Italy to study art.

There was one youth in particular, big, spotty faced, with long, shaggy hair and a mouth like a frog, who persistently annoyed her and caused her acute embarrassment. Filthy pig! Always messing about with his genitals in class, rubbing the front of his pants and drawing attention to his private parts, as if she was interested in his vile organs. Beechers, she thought, was becoming more depressing every day.

Phyllis emerged from Miss Tremaine's room and paused with the door slightly open.

"Ill see you later, darling," Dorothy told her. "After the theater. I think I'll lie down. I have a headache."

"Can I get you something, an aspirin?"

"No, thank you. Ill be all right."

The door closed quietly. Phyllis walked along the gloomy corridor. She turned the corner, gasped as the light, such as it was, suddenly went out. She heard scuffling sounds. Furtive figures surrounded her, chuckling cursing, clutching. A hand was clamped roughly over her mouth. She was picked up, carried kicking and struggling frantically to a shadowy doorway, the dark entry of an almost empty storeroom. The windows, one of which was broken, had been boarded up, but pale moonlight shafting through gaps in the timber revealed familiar faces, young, grimacing, flushed with drink and desire.

As the powerful youth who held Phyllis helpless over his shoulder put her down he spun her round and hooked a thick arm round her neck, dragging her head back and cutting off her outcry. A hand delved under her short frock, displaced her clothing and was resolutely thrust inside the leg of her panties. Linen tore. Coarse fingers grabbed the fullness of warm, tender flesh and painfully squeezed the girl's soft vagina, gouging brutally. She heard excitable gasps, oaths, hoarse panting.

Other hands were tearing at her clothing, fumbling, jerking, ripping the dress open and exposing her ripe young breasts, clutching the exquisite mounds, squashing them out of shape, tugging at the shrinking nipples.

Her arms were wrenched behind her back and firmly held. The frock was torn completely from her, her panties swiftly jerked down and removed, her legs pulled from under her. That choking arm never left her throat. In the gloom she could just distinguish shadowy figures crowding round her, jostling, grabbing, mauling, probing, grunting. The strong animal odor from exposed genital organs assailed her nostrils, unmistakable and terrifying, the sweaty reek of vile flesh thrust close to her pale, twitching face, eager young pricks rearing, swollen, straining, hairy scrotums dangling, protruding from gaping flies, bulging knobs butting, jabbing, leaving trails of slimy semen.

Phyllis was hideously conscious of hard, pulsing flesh whacking and beating against her bared bottom, prodding the deep cleft and puckering her anal cavity, thrashing between her trembling thighs, in the valley dividing her breasts, in the hollow of her throat as the arm shifted, even into the gaping maw of her distended mouth, stifling her cries. The savage intrusion of rigid cocks into the secret recesses of her abused body provoked further desperate struggles. Phyllis went berserk. But the four youths merely increased the fury of their combined assault.

Horror partly paralyzed her vocal cords. Naked, bewildered, pathetically confused and terribly frightened, Phyllis heaved and strained frantically, moaning and writhing, and finally succeeded in eluding the loathsome penis battering her tightly compressed lips, a brief respite. She voiced a despairing shriek, then the cavity was promptly plugged and the cry smothered, and the fat, nauseating roll was filling her mouth, butting and jerking to the back of her throat, throbbing and expanding hugely.

Simultaneously, punishing hands pulled and probed at her private parts, splaying the cheeks of her bottom and the hairy folds of her tight vagina, brutally displaying the dusky crevice. A thick forefinger intruded sickeningly into her anus, gouged deep into the stretching pit and was wriggled about, sucking and squelching, widening the wrinkled hole. The girl farted, breaking wind sharply round the probing blockage. Coarse laughter resounded. She heard jeering remarks, hoarse gasping.

An enormous, stiff penis was thrust against ,her imprisoned left hand and her fingers curled round the torrid branch and dragged up and down its bloated length. Each time the immense organ protruded beyond the enforced funnel of her clutching hand the great, broad knob thrust wetly into the crease of her bottom and down over the shuddering slit of her cunt.

Abruptly, the shoving, panting youths abandoned mere diversions and forced the girl down on the cold floor. Two of them held her arms, a third grasped her head. The fourth knelt astride her slender waist, his balls trailing against her bruised breasts as he leaned forward and brought his jutting penis close to her face. The warm smell filled her flared nostrils. A trail of dribbling sperm smeared her chin. Whiskey tainted breath wafted against her strained, distorted face. The hot, rigid core touched her lips, jerked, stiffening spasmodically, was plunged at the twisted cavern of her mouth.

Strong hands gripped her ankles, forcing her legs apart. The weight on her belly was removed, and instantly replaced by a greater bulk that, sprawling on top of her prone form, drove the breath from her lungs. A naked figure squatted with knees clamped either side of her head, virtually sitting on her forehead, the ridged mass of his scrotum squashed against the bridge of her nose. Sweating flesh blocked her vision completely. The youth's hot, damp anus kept opening and shutting like a clam, pressing against her brow as he lunged repeatedly, striving to ram his thick, rampant penis into the girl's mouth from that awkward position, shuddering with eager frenzy and presently spurting hot, reeking fluid all over her cringing features and into the cleavage of her breasts.

Sperm spattered her heaving belly—and the fat youth endeavoring to shag his corpulent prick into her widened split. Her spreadeagled arms were numb, her fingers bloodless. Choking, sickened, retching, she lay there helpless, heaving and wrenching futilely, sobbing when she felt the bursting intrusion of a great, steaming penis into her virgin passage, the fiercely burning, tearing friction of its relentless, ramming fury. Her whole tormented body convulsed, thrashed about violently. Her eyes bulged beneath the compressing mass of splayed ass cheeks and swollen scrotum.

She screamed again as the youth squatting on her head raised himself. He was whacking furiously, extracting the last dregs of gluey sperm from his thickened roll and squeezing them onto her flushed cheeks, shaking his gross appendage, slapping the wet glans across her mouth and nose, but finally straightening from his crouching posture, meanwhile that cruel prick screwed deeper, battering tender, ravaged flesh aside and hugely distending the raw, reddened slit, stretching it agonizingly, twitching and lashing inside her quivering maw and swelling immensely with each remorseless stroke, flogging in and out with increasing savagery until her whole flapping quim was a mass of aching, throbbing, palpitating torment sucking in and out wetly, following every plunging thrust of that frantically pi stoning penis, until suddenly its seething load gushed, soothing the ruptured channel, flooding it, washing round the elongated stump of her clitoris and escaping back past the slightly relaxing stalk.

The revolting organ was withdrawn. The cruel pressure on the girl's wrists eased, was instantly applied by other hands. Another bestial form squatted, turgid prick jutting, leaking semen, butting avidly into her wet, cringing quim and shagging right in until the coarse hair on the youth's pelvis was crushed into the soft down covering the girl's pouting cunt. Her knees were bent, her legs forced up high. The youth's chest pressed Phyllis's limbs into her breasts and belly, restricting her breathing. His balls slapped her protruding asshole every time he buried his glistening, slimy prick.

He was horribly violent, crazed with lust and frustrated by whiskey and the urine bloating his bladder, and raved like a maniac when his penis slipped out and in the instant of climax he spunked in the crack of the girl's bottom instead of her gaping, squelching twat.

Three times she endured, sobbing, her cries muffled, her strength gone. Although the reeking prick no longer blocked her defiled mouth its foulness remained. There seemed no end to the ordeal. She uttered another piercing shriek in the instant that an even thicker, much longer penis stabbed her anguished vent and seemed it would burst into her knotted entrails. She suffered, head lolling, eyes closed, a hand again clamped over her mouth. The pounding continued, the wet smacking of flesh against flesh, the explosive grunting, the farts, the fiery torrent of sperm jetting, filling her flaming split.

She was pulled and shoved, positioned, slapped, mauled, and writhed as a long, broad tongue curled repeatedly into the reeking cavity and a questing nose bored into her anal pit, the youth's bony features spreading the cheeks of her ass away from the dark hole and the surrounding crinkly area. His breath hissed loudly as he sniffed, inhaling powerfully, muttering and slobbering, wallowing in the ruttish recess.

Then the last of her tormentors was boring into her bleeding, gaping fissure, fucking with all the brutal urgency of his irrepressible need, crudely, amateurishly, ruthlessly, battering callously, indifferent to the girl's squirming agony, shagging furiously until every nerve and fiber in her jangling body shrieked in protest and her jerking limbs flailed violently with every bursting intrusion.

He came, mouthing obscenities, spewing milky sperm all over her thighs and in the brown aperture of her taut anus, masturbating to obtain final, additional satisfaction.

Phyllis heard urine splashing, smelled its sour odor. She lay sobbing, thinking it must be over now, too exhausted and shocked even to utter further outcry—until she was grabbed and hauled to her feet, and she realized what she had endured was only the beginning.