No Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 07

"Oh I'm gonna put it away, Miss Anne, I'm gonna put away right up that sweet little pussy of yours." He was staring openly at the soggy patch of transparent fabric that was plastered to her womanhood. She felt horribly naked and exposed, and instinctively covered herself with her hand.

"You get out of here right now, or I'll see to it that you are expelled from this school first thing tomorrow morning." Her face was flushed with anger, and she was breathing hard. She rued the decision to leave her blouse in the bathroom with the rest of her clothes, because her breasts were rising and falling with the rapid motion of her chest and were working themselves free of her top.

He sneered at her and reached down to seize the nozzle end of his hose, which he lifted and pointed straight at the little triangle of her suit. "Now, just who around here do you think's got the balls to expel me, Miss Anne?"

"Mr. Justice, that's who, buster; now stand out of my way and let me by." She jumped to her feet, but he was standing between her and the only exit, and there wasn't enough room for her to pass. She started to go around him, but thought better of it, fearing that getting too close might cause her to brush against him, or worse. She froze, waiting for him to move.

"Rufus?" He snorted derisively at her. "That spineless cocksucker couldn't expel a fart in a hurricane, much less the mayor's only son. Get real, lady."

"He will, when I report your conduct tonight to him, and I'll press charges against you myself, if you so much as lay a finger on me, you creep."

"You're gonna have to do better than that." He took a step closer, menacingly, and stretched himself toward her. "Here, wanna pet it?"

"Get away from me!" She shrank back from him as he came closer. He nearly touched her, and she jerked away. "Alright, Archibald, you've gone too far this time; Mr. Justice's will hear about this."

"Oh yeah, lady, like I'm worried about what Rufus' gonna say when he hears I fucked his girlfriend like he told me to. He's gonna be real upset about that, ain't he?" His features were hard and cruel, and he enjoyed watching his words slash her confidence.

"What?" She was stunned and reached back to steady herself with the back of a chair. The sudden motion caused one of her breasts to slip free of it's cup. She blushed in horror, but was afraid to cover herself lest she draw his attention.

"You heard me. You may be dumb, but you ain't deaf. I said, `he told me to fuck you when you came down here tonight.'"

"You're a liar, you bastard. Rufus wouldn't do such a thing." She shook her head in denial. "Girlfriend." He had called her Rufus' "girlfriend." The implications rocked her back on her heels.

"Sure he would, if he had a good enough reason, and I gave him a real good one, teacher."

"Liar, liar, he wouldn't." Her head was spinning in confusion and horror. Why would he? How could he? He was cold tonight, distant and not himself, as if he was worried about something. Her stomach tightened sickeningly at the possibility of betrayal.

"Sure he would, teacher, if he saw these and wanted to keep his job." He reached for the brown towel under his arm and slipped his hand inside the folds. He withdrew two sheets of paper and thrust them at her. "Here you take a look for yourself."

She looked at the papers in his outstretched hand apprehensively. What could be there that would cause Rufus to betray her? What could be such a big deal? She argued the case in her mind, screwing up the courage to reach for them.

"Here," he said impatiently, shaking the papers at her.

An elephant was sitting on her chest, crushing the breath out of her. Her anger dissipated, and dread rushed in to fill the void. She looked at his hand woefully and took the papers from him. Her heart pounded like rolling thunder as she turned the paper toward the light. She bent to look closer. Her exposed breast jiggled as she moved, and he openly stared at it.

The picture was poor, fuzzy and indistinct. It had started out as a Polaroid, and somebody had blown it up and copied it on a copier. It was poor quality photography, but she could make it out plain enough, and her heart sank again just like it did when she had seen Cletus just a couple of weeks before.

The picture was of her and Rufus, in his office. She was lying on his desk, on her back with her dress up around her waist, and Rufus was standing between her legs with his thing in her. Her blouse was open, and her bra had been pushed up around her neck, leaving her breasts bare. The picture had been made from somewhere high above the desk near the ceiling. She flipped the page and looked at the second paper. It too had been taken from the same vantage point and showed Rufus seated in his chair with Anne completely naked riding his lap. She blanched and crumpled the papers with both hands and threw the wadded ball into the pool in disgust.

"Won't do you any good, teacher," Archie laughed smugly, watching the ball of paper saturate and begin to sink. "I can make more easy."

"Where did you get those pictures?" Her heart had sunk with the photos, and she fought through her loathing to speak.

"I took them." He smirked at her, gloating in her confusion and discomfort.

"How? When?" She stammered. Questions, doubts about Rufus's intentions jostled in her brain.

"From a ladder Jackson lent me during lunch the other day, that's how. Through the window in his office. It was easy; y’all were too busy to notice anything."

He was right about that; it had been too easy. They had been stupid and careless to keep meeting in Rufus' office.

"How did you find out about us?" Acknowledgment of her unmasking drained some of the defiance from her tone, and she blushed at the prospect of having to share so intimate a secret with the boy.

"Like I said, teacher, you're dumb. I watched you going into his office all the time, three of four times a day and watched you when you came out. The seventh graders in your class could have figured it out if they wanted to. You'd go in all prim and proper like, and, when you came out, your lipstick would be all over your face and your hair would be coming down. Hell, teacher, a couple of times your shirt wasn't even buttoned all the way to the top, and you forgot to put your stockings back on. You must have thought we were pretty stupid, huh?"

She staggered back, knocking over the chair behind her as she retreated. He used the term "we," she thought, recoiling. Her mind was racing, calculating the odds stacked against her. Were there more? Could there be a gang of them waiting in the boys’ locker room? A whole group of his buddies just waiting for his signal to rush in and rape her? She turned the possibilities over in her mind. No, he was alone, she was sure of that. The parking lot had been nearly empty when she went out to get her swimsuit, and, besides, none of the students liked him any better than she did. He didn't have any friends, nobody to share secrets like this with. No, he had to be acting on his own. But was he? He wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, that much she knew for certain. She guessed, shrewdly, that he was about the last person in the school who could put two and two together and come up with four where her activities were concerned. No, she was certain of it, he had help, a suggestion, a hint or two, someone planted the idea in his mind, but who? "Archie, you son-of-a-bitch," she screamed. She tried to use her words like claws to scratch his impertinent face. "Who put you up to taking those pictures? Who told you to watch me like that?"

"Now, now, teacher, don't you go callin’ my mamma no `bitch,' ya hear? You wouldn't want her thinking you did a bad job life-guardin’ me down here tonight, would you?" He took a step closer, menacingly, but he had a sort of puzzled look on his face.

With that swim cap and goggles on his head, and that monster in his hand, he looked like an alien fresh off a spaceship asking for directions to another galaxy, and she would have laughed in his face had she felt less threatened. Son of a bitch, of course, is what did it, she thought ruefully, don't begin a sentence with a pejorative or they never hear the rest of it, especially if they're dumb. Well, he is about as thick as a slab of bologna on a country store sandwich, she reasoned, and was about to rephrase the question when he reached out impatiently and seized her arm.

He yanked her arm, and she stumbled toward him. He was powerful, and his grip hurt her. He was agitated. His face contorted with befuddled anger, and he blurted out, "Enough questions, teacher, this ain't class down here.

"Archie, don't." She struggled to free herself, but he was too strong. She twisted her hips and brushed against him and felt his rubbery flesh against her thighs. He grinned and pulled her closer. She pushed against his wet chest with her hand, but he twisted her arm behind her back painfully, and she rose on her tiptoes to relieve the pressure on her shoulder. She stumbled toward him, and her breasts flattened against his chest. His hand guided him to her crotch, and he rubbed himself against her wet triangle.

"Noooo, Archie, please, not like this." Pain seared her shoulder and obliterated her resistance.

"I'm not supposed to hurt you, unless I have to, understand?" Her face was pressed against his throat. He was forcing her hand up the middle of her back, and she could almost touch the back of her neck. Her shoulder felt like it was coming out of its socket. He was scraping himself against her triangle, trying to force the material out of his way, and she was powerless to prevent him.

"Archie, Archie, please, you're breaking my arm." She was shrill in her anxiety and hopped on her toes for relief. Her covered breast slipped free of it's cup, and both breasts rubbed his chest as she moved. She felt him stiffen between her legs and felt a sudden chill at the possibility that he might like to take his pleasure by giving a generous helping of pain.

"I know, teacher, but you aren't being nice to me, like they said you would." Her arm lifted an inch, and she nearly fainted with pain.

"Arghhhhh, Archie, please," she begged, "please don't."

"I'll stop when you promise to be nice, teacher. It's gonna happen, whether you like it or not. I'm gonna fuck that tight little pussy tonight, and you're gonna let me, even if I have to break both your damn arms to do it. Understand?"

"Yes, yes, yes." She burbled, gnashing her teeth against the pain and the realization of her predicament. "Yes, I'll do it; just let me go."

"And, tomorrow, you'll keep your fucking mouth shut, ‘cause if you don't those pictures will be on every bulletin board in the school, won't they, teacher?"

Oh, sweet Jesus, her voices shrieked in her head; give him what he wants. He's right, he'll just take it anyway and probably kill you in the process. Give him what he wants, let him do it, or those pictures will ruin you. You'll be in disgrace and will never be able to find another job as long as you live. She writhed against his hard body in pain, and he rubbed himself against her wantonly. He pushed the fabric covering her crotch aside and violated her nakedness cruelly, and she spilled hot tears on his unyielding chest.

"Ok, ok, Archie, yes, yes, I'll do it, whatever you want, I'll do it. Just, please, let me go."

You promise?" His voice was rough with his desire, because the rubbing was producing a considerable effect on him.

"Yes, yes, I promise, please," she gasped breathlessly.

"Don't try to fool me, teacher. No tricks now, cause if I let you go, and you don't do what I want, I'm gonna really hurt you. They told me not to, unless I had to, you know, to make you do it. But, if you try to trick me, I'll hurt you bad and make it look like an accident, like you fell down the stairs or tripped over a chair and fell into the pool. You understand, teacher?"

"Yes, Archie, oh my God, you're hurting me, yes, I'll let you, please."

Slowly, like he was reluctant to accept her assurances, he lowered her hand and released the tension on her shoulder. He let go of her arm, and she dropped to her knees rubbing her shoulder with her hand and sobbing. Through her tears, she looked at his feet, standing in the water puddled around them, and she cowered there before him, afraid to look up or to move.

He towered over her, one hand on his hip, the other holding himself pointed at her like he was about to take a leak, and sneered at her misery. What a haughty bitch, he thought, just like so many of them; struttin’ around shaking their asses at you and pretending you don't exist. Well, we'd just see who doesn't exist around here.

He swung his meat like a bat and slapped her cheek with it, and she felt like someone had thrown a forearm to her face. Dazed, she looked up toward his face, and above her, he jutted out like an oversized limb from the trunk of a tree.

"Get up; let's go." He spoke brusquely.

"Where?" she answered abjectly, but struggled to her feet as he told her.

"Swimmer's lounge, right down the hall."

"Alright, Archie, take me there." She was resigned to what awaited.

He stood still, pointing himself at her, grinning salaciously at her bare breasts. "Take off your suit."

"Archie?" She protested. "Let me wear it going down the hall, won't you?"

"Take it off now, or I'll take if off for you. Bein neked will keep you from runnin off from me, won't it."

"Archie! I promised to let you, and not run away."

"Off, godammit teacher, you talk too much to suit me." He yelled at her in his urgency, and her hands jerked to spin her top around to release the clasp from the front. She leaned forward and pushed her buttocks out behind her and wiggled out of her bottom. Her face came perilously close to him, and he rubbed her lips with the tip. She jerked upright, wiping her mouth distastefully with the back of her hand and glared at him.

"What's the matter, teacher, don't want to suck my cock?" His words were derisive, and he waved himself at her teasingly. "Don't worry none, I guess he wouldn't fit into that pretty little mouth of yours, anyway."

She refused to respond, mustering what dignity she could, and tried to cover herself with her hands. She thought she could taste him on her lips and looked at him with hate and loathing. He would have been comical under other circumstances, with his cone headed hat, his goggles and that monstrous pubescence pointing at her like some secret weapon of mass destruction, and she would have giggled and asked him to take her to his leader, but this was real, and she knew he intended to use that weapon on her. She shuddered at the prospect and waited.

He reached for her and took her arm again, but less forcefully. "Come on then, teacher, this way," he said, and half guided, half drug her toward the exit. He banged through the heavy steel doors and jerked her into the hall. She squinted in the bright light and prayed that Jackson, or somebody, would come ambling down the hall to her rescue, but it was empty, and the only sounds were of his feet slapping wetly on the tiles as he propelled her toward the lounge.

He pulled her toward a closed door with a sign across the top that read, "Swimmer's Lounge - Swimmers Only," and he thrust her back against the wall beside the door, while he bent and hurriedly tried to punch in the code to activate the lock release. She glanced behind her shoulder at a bronze plaque which bore the inscription "This Lounge and It's Contents Are the Gifts of Nancy Farber and Jerry Farber, Mayor, In Loving Tribute to their Son, Archibald Farber," and it occurred to her that use of the singular in the sign identifying the location had not been entirely inadvertent.

At last, after several attempts, he succeeded in opening the door and pushed her inside the darkened room. He followed her and flicked on the light switch. A table lamp in the far corner lit and threw a small cone of light up the wall. She was amazed at the appointments. Though fairly small, the room was elegant and plush. There were a couple of leather sofas with end tables and coffee tables and an assortment of club chairs and stools. There were two, large screen televisions in a massive built-in bookcase, and a wet bar along the back wall. Above the bar was another lane indicator, a duplicate of the one over the pool down the hall, and on this one, too, a small green light was lit, indicating that lane three was in use. The walls were painted in the school colors and were hung with portraits of swimming legends like Mark Spitz and Johnny Weismeuller, and she thought it must have cost the Farbers a small fortune to furnish and decorate it.

She hadn't more than a second to admire the furnishings. He shoved her roughly and sent her sprawling onto one of the couches. The smooth leather felt cool against her skin, and soothed her nerves. He followed her and stood over her leering at her. She heard the clang and snap as the door closed and locked and felt the pangs of cold dread in the pit of her stomach. She dug into the leather with her elbows and tried to evade him. He grabbed her ankles and pulled her back, spreading her legs and exposing her. He stepped between her legs, and she tried to press her knees together to fend him off.

He slapped her thigh with his open hand, and growled, "You promised, bitch," and she recalled his threats to hurt her, and she forced herself to relax and allowed her thighs to fall apart. He stood between her legs, stroking himself, and watched her fear distort the delicate features of her face.

"You like it, don't you, teacher? You want a nice big cock to fill you up real good, don't you? You ain't ever had one like this here, have you?" He shook himself proudly as he taunted her, like he was jigging for fish with a crappie pole.

She stiffened, doubt crowding fear for space in her mind. Her nasty voice, usually so helpful at times like these, making up her mind for her and telling her what to do, seemed uncertain. Jeez, Anne, it whispered to her, I don't know about this, babe. Whatcha gonna do with that thing? Maybe you could just slip it between the cushions for him, and he could fuck the sofa instead. He's so stupid he probably wouldn't notice.

Archie mounted the couch, pointing himself at her exposed crotch, and knelt between her legs. His eyes were wild, crazed with lust, and spit drooled from the corner of his mouth. He leaned toward her, and she felt him pressing against her, seeking entry.

"Open wider," he grumbled in frustration as his first thrusts failed to gain a lodgment.

Dutifully, she opened her thighs and grimaced at the pressure on her sensitive flesh. She closed her eyes to shut him out, but the sounds of his grunting held her attention. Is this going to be it, she wondered? It this what he wants? No kissing, no touching or stroking, nothing, not a single caress to make her ready. She shivered in disgust, and he, stupidly, mistook her reaction for excitement.

She had known big men and didn't like them much. They were all alike; vain and proud, preening and prancing, exposing themselves, like their sheer size was supposed to make you swoon and fall over on your back with your pussy juice pouring out of you like Niagara Falls. They thought their dicks did all the work, and a girl was supposed to start cumming just at the sight of them. Their idea of foreplay was exposing themselves to you and pushing you over. Johnny had been like that. Nadeen brought him to her and told her to be nice to him, and she had tried. He was big, much bigger than Cletus, and nearly as big as Archie, and he loved to show it off and wave it at her. But he was a total failure in the bed, because he didn't know to do anything but shove it in and thrash away till he was finished. He got mad and called her a liar when she told him he hadn't done a thing for her, and the other boys, when they came to her in the night and crawled into her bed while Cletus and Nadeen were sleeping, told her that Johnny said she was frigid and probably was a lesbo. She would just laugh at that, and tell them to pay attention while she proved him wrong, cause she liked the boys with average sizes, who labored over her lush curves and soft skin with their tongues and lips and feathery fingers till the dawn was breaking. They worked so hard to make her feel good, and she returned the favor a hundred fold and held them close in her arms refusing to let them leave until each of them felt they were all the man they would ever need to be. She had loved them, in her way, because they had tried so hard, because their efforts confirmed their adoration for her and filled her heart with joy and comfort, and she yielded herself to that love with a power that left them breathless and amazed at themselves and feeling like they were the giants among men. Johnny hadn't lasted long, she remembered. Nadeen had shown a fondness for him that kept Cletus pretty riled up for a while, and one day Cletus caught them in the laundry room, only it wasn't the washer that was doin’ the agitatin’, and he marched Johnny right into the cab of his truck with his pants down around his knees and drove him off the property, and that was the last anybody there saw of Johnny. Nadeen was pretty glum about it for a while, but she kept her mouth shut and got over it eventually.