The Girls of St Francis the Martyr. 1 The Field Trip

– Chapter One –
Thursday

They set off into the wilderness with bags packed. Samantha was the
prettiest, but Rachel was the most popular. Erin, athletic and
boyish, was the token black girl. Leah, armed with impeccable grades,
wanted to save the planet. Katy had dyed-black hair and wore too much
eyeshadow, but was otherwise unremarkable. They’d known each other
before the orienteering trip, had attended St. Francis The Martyr
together since kindergarten. Miss Arson was the newcomer. Two years
out of teaching college, she’d replaced St. Francis’s last teaching
nun. The girls loved her for this and she became their mentor.

None of them knew that fate would soon draw them together, forming
unbreakable bonds between them. It was just an orienteering trip to a
national park, one of six outdoor experiences to choose from. Each of
the five girls had chosen the orienteering trip because Miss Arson was
the chaperone. Nobody imagined what would take place over the course
of the coming weekend. Other than the lesbian incident, their last
day at school before the trip was as normal as any other day.

Erin Burgess and Leah Ormsby, both of whom were rumoured to like
girls, not boys, retreated into a vacant classroom during lunch break,
and probably not for the first time. The difference today was that
Rachel O’Connor, armed with a digital camera, followed them into their
hideaway and filmed their tryst. A week later, what was caught on
film would seem barely noteworthy. Leah sat on a desk in the corner
with her thin legs spread. Erin stood between them, one arm on Leah’s
hipbones, the other behind her head, laced in her long, wavy red hair.
They leaned together to kiss; Leah’s glasses slid down her nose,
supported between them as they locked together.

With strong, dark fingers, Erin undid the top two buttons of Leah’s
blouse and pressed her lips between the peaks of pale, revealed
breasts. Her hand found its way underneath the blouse. Rachel zoomed
in at this point, capturing the movement of Erin’s hand as she groped
Leah’s right breast. They were still kissing, dark lips on white
shoulders. Leah’s blouse slipped down over her shoulders and she was
left topless, a leopard-print bra revealed. Erin continued groping.
Then, Leah turned, pushed her glasses back up the length of her nose,
and looked at the classroom door. She must have seen Rachel filming
because she abruptly pulled her clothes back on, not before her entire
upper body blushed bright red, from her face to the flesh of her
breasts, exposed all the way down to her right nipple, pale as her
skin, which Erin had revealed and was leaning down to suck.

The video cut out at that point, but by the end of the day, the
entire school knew that Leah had chased Rachel down the hallway.
Erin, captain of the soccer team, might have caught her, but Leah,
pale and wispy, could not. Rachel used the remainder of lunch break
to show the video to her entire circle of friends.

In last period Health, which Miss Arson had taken on in addition to
Biology and Earth Science, she noticed the tension. Miss Arson had
been drafted into teaching Health, due to her willingness to utter
words like “penis,” “vagina,” “masturbation” and “menstruation,” and
didn’t like it much, seeing that the class’s mere existence drew
complaints from parents. The state, however, said that St. Francis
needed to teach sex education, and so Miss Arson weathered the
complaints and made sure to let the girls know that Mrs. Callahan,
teacher of Religious Studies, was always there to offer the church’s
viewpoint on any subject discussed in Health.

The girls were worked-up over something today, and Miss Arson could
tell that it was more than excitement about the trip. Rachel O’Connor
and Samantha Connelly sat with their desks pushed together, whispering
and occasionally glancing over at Erin and Leah. Each glance was
followed by peals of silent giggling. Erin returned the angry
glances, but Leah leaned onto thin, crossed arms, red hair flowing
around her lowered head. Yes, something was up and Miss Arson knew
it. She also knew that all of them, Rachel, Samantha, Erin and Leah,
were on her field trip. And so was Katy Flaherty, who seemed to be
uninvolved in the conflict.

Miss Arson didn’t let it affect her teaching. “Condoms,” she said,
slapping a banana onto Samantha and Rachel’s combined desk and setting
two condoms beside it. “It’s a good idea to know how to put a condom
onto a penis, so today, we’re going to practice.” Today, of course,
was a good day, because the girls would have less than twenty-four
hours to tell their parents about the lesson and because if there were
complaints, she’d be deep in the wilderness when they came in.

“To apply the condom, take it out of its package—careful not to tear
the latex. Place it at the head of the penis—or, in this case, the
banana, and unroll it with a downward motion.” She placed a banana
and two condoms between Erin and Leah. Samantha and Rachel started
laughing—out loud, this time. “It’s not funny, girls, it’s something
we should all know how to do. She looked over to Katy, who was
sitting alone. “Katy, work with Rachel and Samantha, please, and keep
the laughter at a minimum.” Miss Arson figured that the addition of
the moody and serious Katy would stop the giggling. She handed Katy a
third condom. “Each of you needs to apply the condom once and then
you’re done for the day. I know we’re all eager to talk about
tomorrow’s field trips.”

Miss Arson sat at her desk, watching the girls. Erin nudged Leah,
but she kept her head down. Erin methodically performed the exercise,
stretching the condom over the banana, then tossing it to one side,
still suited up.

Rachel made the show of it, taking the condom in her mouth and bobbing
down over the banana like she was taking an erect penis into her
mouth. After the condom was on, she gripped her hand around the base
of the banana, stuck out her tongue, and took it deep into her mouth.
Her rose-petal lips closed around it and her eyes widened as she slid
it in and out of her mouth. When she finally popped the banana out of
her mouth, it was dripping with saliva. Rachel swirled her long, pink
tongue around the condom’s reservoir tip.

Now, Samantha and Katy laughed, but it was pleasant laughter. Katy
asked for another banana so she wouldn’t get Samantha’s germs on her
mouth. This made even Miss Arson laugh. Katy tried putting on a
condom with her mouth, too, stretching her thin, crimson lips into an
“o,” but she was uncertain and clumsy, and ended up ripping it with a
pointy incisor.

“Don’t bite his dick off, goth girl,” Samantha said. Katy hissed at
her, green eyes gleaming, and the entire group laughed again.

Miss Arson was worried about Leah, though, and walked past her desk
just in time to hear Erin coaxing her up. “Just be yourself, girl,”
Erin said, rubbing one strong, bronzed hand down Leah’s back. “Don’t
worry what everyone says about you because it doesn’t matter.” Leah
raised her head and performed the condom task with an apathy similar
to Erin’s, pulling her condom on over the first one. Miss Arson
ignored this and moved on, confident that Erin was doing a fine job
consoling her friend. She heard some muffled laughter from Samantha
and Rachel as Leah finished her condom, but ignored this, too. She
was friendly with all of the girls, and if they needed her, they’d
come to her.

It was later, after the girls had gone, that Miss Arson found out
what the issue had been. In the staffroom, she overheard the very
religious Crispina Callahan, a woman who might have become a nun had
she been born ten years earlier, blathering on about something. “And
Rachel showed me the tape, and I nearly fainted. I told her to turn
that filth off. I’ve half a mind to go to the principal, but I
wouldn’t want to get poor little Rachel in trouble.”

She turned away from Mr. DeRose, the math teacher, who was only half
listening, and spied Miss Arson. “Oh, Emily,” she called out, “Have
you ever got a weekend ahead of you! Both of those little harlots are
on your trip!”

“Well, I wouldn’t call Rachel a harlot,” Miss Arson said, hovering a
bit closer to Mrs. Callahan, not wanting to sit down. She was
thinking of Rachel with the condom in her mouth, expertly unwrapping
it over the banana.

“I don’t mean Rachel,” Crispina said, almost scolding her colleague.
“I mean Leah and Erin. Rachel showed me a video of the two of them
locked in an…” she hesitated. “…Unholy union.”

“Meaning,” Miss Arson replied, even though she’d already caught the meaning.

“They’re dykes, both of them. Queer as they come.”

“Now, now,” said Mr. Derose, “sometimes young girls get confused.”

“Well, they didn’t look confused to me,” said Mrs. Callahan. “Just
know that you’ve got a long weekend ahead of you, Emily. Be sure to
educate them about… wrongdoing. That’s what health class should be
about, if you ask me—letting them know that it’s a sin. It’s right in
the Bible.” Laughing on the inside, Miss Arson excused herself. If
only Miss Callahan could have seen the class today, she would have had
a heart attack. As Miss Arson walked away, Mrs. Callahan called after
her, “Just remember, Emily, He lifts up the holy and punishes the
wicked.”

Miss Emily Arson remembered those words two days later at the oddest
moment. It would take years to regain the confidence to get
Crispina’s judgment out of her head.
“And out in the wilderness, too,” she heard Crispina continue. “Can
you imagine all of the ‘jungle love’ those two will get up to if
someone isn’t watching them? I’m so glad that my group is touring
cathedrals because we’ll be surrounded by….” For now, that voice
faded into the background.

– Chapter Two –

Friday Morning

Leah was tired of hiding her sexuality. She’d taken Erin’s words into
her heart. “Just be yourself, girl,” Erin had said, those big, dark
lips brushing the side of her head. Erin smelled sporty, like the
men’s deodorant soap she used in the shower, but on her, it was
strangely feminine and added to her mystique, even though she dressed
like a tomboy. With her camping gear packed, she donned a short,
camo-patterned skirt, her favorite belt, the one with an old school
seatbelt buckle at the center and recycled soda pop lids lining the
belt. Her T-shirt was vintage, green and fitted, and bore a peace
sign over her ample breasts. She showed up at church like this, red
hair tamed only slightly. It was Friday morning and the priest was
going to bless the Juniors before they embarked on their trips.

Leah turned heads. She’d expected to, of course, and made a
conscious decision to relish the attention, positive and negative.
Amid the sea of faces, some—Mrs. Callahan’s, in particular—judgmental,
some in awe, she found Erin. Erin was dressed in her usual street
clothes, jeans and a sports jersey, this one Magic Johnson’s. “Wow,”
Erin mouthed.

“I’m done hiding,” Leah whispered, embracing her friend. But her
voice was wavering already and she was wondering if she’d made a
mistake dressing this way, deliberately cultivating this sort of
attention.

“Okay,” Erin said, and by the apprehension in her voice, Leah could
tell that Erin wasn’t sure, either. They’d only been girlfriends for
a month or so, and the most they’d done was kiss and grope. Neither
of them felt any interest in boys. Leah couldn’t imagine laying down
and allowing some sweaty, teenage boy to stab her with his dick. Erin
was muscular, familiar, unthreatening and shared her sentiment that
penises were disgusting.

The priest delivered his blessing.

“Hear, O Lord, the prayers of Thy servants, the girls of St. Francis
the Martyr. Bless their journeyings. Thou Who art everywhere present,
shower upon them the effects of Thy mercy. Clothe them with your
invisible protection to keep them from all danger of collision, of
fire, of explosion, of fall and bruises, and finally, having preserved
them from all evil, and especially from sin, so that they may return
to offer Thee their thanksgiving. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

None of the girls appeared to be listening. They were lost in the
excitement of this trip. Of course, they were all listening more than
they were willing to admit. They were at an age when many young,
Catholic girls turn away from the Church, but, though these five,
Leah, Erin, Samantha, Rachel and Katy, had all begun to question the
church’s teachings, none of them had completely lost faith or respect.

“Amen,” they replied, all of them together.

The talk on the bus was still about Leah and Erin, who were seated in
the back row. It was one of the short buses the school used for
handicapped students, but for the purpose of this trip, it held the
five girls, their gear, and food that was to last the weekend. The
bus driver, whose name was Alexandro, spoke very little English and
would depart as soon as they’d set up camp. As soon as they pulled
onto the state highway, the girls began chattering, ignoring Miss
Arson, who’d brought a book.

“I swear,” Rachel said to Samantha, “Father Daniel was looking right
at her when he said ‘especially from sin.’ He knows.”

“It’s not like you’ve never done anything dirty before,” Samantha replied.

“Shut up,” said Rachel.

In the back seat, behind all of the gear, which took up the bus’s
third and fourth rows, Erin and Leah crouched in the corner. Now and
then, they whispered to one another. Just behind Miss Arson, Katy sat
alone, leaning back in her seat with headphones on. Her dyed black
hair was pulled into two braids.

An hour into the journey, Miss Arson stood up. “Okay, girls,” she
said, “Let’s listen for a moment. In an hour and a half, we’ll be at
the park. We’ll spend tonight at camp, then head out on our
orienteering trip in the morning. With luck, we’ll be at the top of
Ash Hill tomorrow night where we’ll sleep in our tents, or under the
stars, if you prefer. We’ll hike back down, rest up, and the bus will
meet us first thing Monday morning.” The girls listened attentively
and returned to their conversations.

In the back seat, Erin and Leah returned to what they’d been
discussing before. “Are you sure?” Erin whispered in Leah’s ear,
drawing red hair over Leah’s shoulder with one dark hand.

“Yes,” said Leah, firmly, then returned to her whisper. “No one will
see.” She leaned against the window, put her hands on either side of
Erin’s face, staring into her dark eyes, and drew her in for a deep
kiss. Erin’s lips felt warm and robust against Leah’s; Leah inhaled
Erin’s scent and leaned back further, legs spreading inside the camo
skirt. Erin’s hand snaked upwards, parting Leah’s legs. Leah felt
Erin’s thick fingers, skin rough, but moving gently, as they pushed
her panties aside and found her inner lips.

She felt hot all over, and wet down below. A burst of dampness seemed
to gather at the entrance to her vagina. It had all seemed so
clinical before—in sex-ed with Miss Arson describing it. In the
Bible, with its “he came into her” and “he knew her.” And it had
always been men and women. Leah shuddered as Erin found her clitoris,
rubbed it softly, touched it in ways Leah had never dared. Erin had
masturbated before—she’d told Leah that much, and the terrain of
Leah’s body, though more slender, must have seemed familiar. Erin
kept kissing Leah as her fingers circled the hardening bud. She drew
back and looked into Leah’s eyes as her index and middle finger moved
lower, her thumb remaining on the now rock-hard little button. She
delved two fingers deeply, parting Leah’s firm outer lips, then her
soft, inner ones.

Leah felt Erin’s fingers intruding, pressing against her hymen. This
was so bad and she knew it. She’d been taught in church and school
that her hymen was meant for her husband, but here was Erin pressing
against it, wanting to enter with her fingers. It was deliciously
wrong, and, at that moment, Leah wanted it more than anything. She
wanted those thick, bronzed fingers to thrust their way into her
dripping puss, and to move in and out like a dick was meant to. Her
own scent was intoxicating; she was surprised she could smell her own
arousal. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, Erin kissing her
neck, and prepared for penetration—but it did not come.

“Oh, SICK!” Rachel screamed. “SICK SICK SICK!” She dropped her hot
pink United Colours of Benetton suitcase, brand name garments
scattering over the floor of the bus, and turned toward the teacher
and bus driver, one accusing finger pointed at Leah and Erin. “The
lezzies are getting it on back there, Miss Arson! It’s absolutely
disgusting!”

With the exception of the bus driver, who didn’t know the Spanish
translation of “lezzies,” everyone in the bus turned and looked at
them. Erin’s hand slipped out from under Leah’s skirt and Erin
herself leaned in front of Leah, as though to block her from view.

“Miss Arson, do something!” Rachel wailed. “It’s against nature.”

“Actually, Rachel,” Miss Arson said, “it’s not. Homosexuality is
found in many species. In fact, many scientists believe it’s nature’s
method of population control, or a normal, harmless variation. “

“But the Bible says it’s wrong,” Samantha retorted, flipping her hair.

“Well, you girls can believe what you want,” Miss Arson said, “but my
way of thinking is this—the Bible was written before we understood a
lot of nature’s mechanisms. Evolution, which has now been accepted by
the Catholic church, is still denied by people in many other
religions. There are many places where we don’t take the Bible at
face value, and, besides, I’m not a nun, I’m a science teacher.”

Rachel slid back into the seat next to Samantha. Both of them looked
confused. At the very least, Miss Arson had given them something to
mull over. Katy put her headphones back on and looked out the window.
Miss Arson proceeded to the back of the bus where Erin sat beside a
red-faced and tearful Leah, clutching her hand. “Girls,” Miss Arson
said. Even Erin looked worried, like she knew she was about to be
punished. “I want you to know that what you were doing is natural and
normal, whether you’re really attracted to the same sex or just
curious. But maybe it would be more appropriate to explore in
private. All right?” With that, she stood and walked back to her
seat. Leah and Erin looked at each other. Miss Arson was a pretty
cool teacher.

– Chapter Three –

Friday Afternoon

Rachel didn’t consider herself to be a typical popular girl. Sure,
her father owned both of the town’s movie theatres and a chain of
Italian restaurants. Of course, she was beautiful, with long, golden
brown hair streaked with just the right amount of blonde. And, of
course, most of the girls in school wanted to be her. But Rachel
considered herself more than some plastic popular girl. She was
shrewdly intelligent—she needed to be, to keep the boys wanting her
and the girls admiring her. Her popularity, she figured, would last
well into adulthood when she would take over her father’s little
empire, and she knew that if she didn’t stay socially connected, she’d
end up answering to someone like her best friend, Samantha, pretty and
vacant.

Samantha demonstrated her mental inflexibility less than five minutes
after the girls arrived at camp. Camp consisted of two cabins full of
bunk beds, a stone fire pit, and a rickety latrine set ten feet into
the forest. An outdoor shower and water pump were located on the
other side of the camp. Miss Arson began to unlock the one cabin they
would be using, but found the door unlocked already. Samantha darted
into the cabin, searching the walls high and low. “Oh, no!” she
screamed, “no outlets! How am I supposed to dry my hair?”

“Hey, Samantha,” Erin said, “There’s no hot water here, either.”

“Oh, nooo!” she shrieked, louder this time, pressing her
neatly-manicured hand against her forehead.

Rachel had been thinking a lot about Erin, Leah and what Miss Arson
had said on the bus. She knew that homosexuality was forbidden by the
Bible, but she and Samantha had done some things that weren’t exactly
biblical. With guys, of course, but still. Let she who is without
sin cast the first stone, or whatever. This time, Rachel took Erin’s
side. “Come on, Samantha, it’s fun to be rugged.” She growled as she
toted her pink luggage into the cabin and set it beside one of the
bunk beds.

“Hey, Rachel,” Samantha said, flipping her blond hair from side to
side. Though usually straight and flowing, Samantha’s hair had been
mussed on the bus. This didn’t keep her from saying something to stop
Rachel in her tracks. “Two words: Damien. Flaherty.”

Rachel drew a tight breath into her chest; her body tensed from her
belly button up to her firm, rounded breasts. Her eyes darted around
the room until they focused on her bunk. “Hey,” she said, “There’s
someone else’s stuff in here. Look!”

“A Baptist group was here for a school trip earlier this week,” Miss
Arson said. “Maybe they left some of their things.”

“Well, the Baptists must be pretty rich, because if I left my
Walkman, sleeping bag and a hundred-dollar American Girls doll at
camp, I know what my parents would do.” Rachel crossed her arms and
released the tension in her chest.

“Nobody’s richer than your parents,” Samantha huffed, plopping down
on the top bunk.

Across the room, Katy had found something, too. “There’s a pillow on
mine. It’s dirty, though.” She tossed it aside. “Some people.”
Katy shrugged, her twin braids bobbing up and down.

Rachel folded the Walkman and doll into the pink sleeping bag and set
it in a corner. The girls laid out their sleeping bags, Samantha and
Rachel in one bunk, Erin and Leah in the second, Katy in the third.
Miss Arson opened up the other cabin, where she would have her
privacy.

Leaving Samantha sprawled on the top bunk, Rachel sprinted out of the
cabin and toward the water pump where Miss Arson had already filled
pitcher with water for the girls’ canteens. She was now working on a
huge bucket of water to put out the campfire at the end of the night.
Rachel was eager to help. She loved being outdoors, unlike most of
her popular friends, who’d chosen other trips, like Mrs. Callahan’s
tour of churches. The cool, spring breeze fluttered through Rachel’s
golden hair. She smiled. “Can I have a turn with the pump?” she
asked. Miss Arson stepped aside and allowed Rachel to pump. With her
long, lean muscles working on the pump’s metal handle, Rachel let her
mind wander back to the last few days of school. She’d been mean to
tape what Erin and Leah were up to, she realized. She’d just wanted
to detract from what she’d done with Damien Flaherty, an upperclassman
who happened to be Katy’s brother; she hadn’t wanted to be the talk of
the school in the days before the field trip. But she could still
feel his thin lips against hers, his tongue warm in her mouth. He had
dyed black hair like his sister’s, but shorter and slightly shaggy.
His eyelashes were long and dark, completely wasted on a boy, and as
they made out, Rachel had wondered what he would look like in some of
Katy’s mascara.

The crisp, woodsy smell of a growing campfire was in the air; it drew
Rachel back into the present. Leah and Katy danced around the stack
of kindling as Erin quickly gathered logs from a stack that looked to
have toppled over. As the brightness of day faded, the girls—even
Samantha—gathered around to roast hot dogs on sticks and watch three
cans of baked beans cook in the glowing embers that formed a circle
around the fire. Rachel joined them, lugging the bucket of water
against her designer jeans. Whoever said popular girls couldn’t be
outdoorsy?

They told ghost stories as they ate, the typical “things that go bump
in the night” stories that students and teachers have told on camping
trips for years, flashlights lighting their faces from below. Miss
Arson told the story of the escaped convict with the metal hand.
Katy’s was about a haunted hotel room. Leah didn’t have an urban
legend story, just mumbled something about Americans destroying the
environment. She was always blathering on about the beauty of the
wilderness and the fact that America was actively destroying it.

Erin told the one about the Smith-Jones family. Rachel’s was about a
dummy named Zebo who came to life. Finally, after Samantha’s story
about an imported Mexican dog that turned out to be a sewer rat, it
was Rachel who suggested Truth or Dare. After all she’d done to put
Erin and Leah on the spot, she was ready to open herself to criticism.
And talking about it would be fun.

“That was very enlightening, Samantha,” Rachel said.

“I know,” Samantha agreed, running her fingers through her hair.
Most faces look strange when they’re lit by a flashlight, but Samantha
looked angelic, like a porcelain doll. “That really happened to my
cousin’s friend’s sister,” she said, nodding her head. “It does
happen, you know. That’s why you should always buy American, even
when you’re buying a dog.”

Miss Arson concealed a chuckle. Leah said, “Didn’t you listen to my
story at all?! Buying American destroys the environment, and that’s
the real horror story.” Leah patted her on her back, then clasped her
hand.

Katy laughed out loud. “Samantha, I’ve been going to summer camp
since I was six. I think I heard your story first when Damien was
nine, I was seven, and he swore it was his bunkmate who’d brought the
sewer rat home.”

“Damien,” Samantha repeated, a smug and knowing smile on her face.
“Your brother, Damien.”

“Yeah, my brother, Damien,” Katy repeated, not understanding that
Samantha was baiting Rachel. “Are you slow or something?” She’d
taken her dark hair down; it hung down just below her shoulders and
had streaks of fire engine red, which she concealed in braids during
school hours.

“Yeah,” Samantha said, “let’s play truth or dare.”

Miss Arson yawned. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to turn in. When
you get this old, you really start to need your beauty rest.” Miss
Arson wasn’t old. She was twenty-five at the most, only one year out
of teacher’s college. Her hair was a plain, mousy brown, usually tied
into a cute, curly pony tail or a bun with tendrils of hair that
cascaded down the back of her head. She was a favorite among the
students, which often put her at odds with the administration.
Tonight, she had her hair hanging down in waves. She stood, smiling
at the girls, took her flashlight and headed to her cabin to read her
book. The girls all knew she respected their privacy, but, really,
she could have stayed if she’d wanted to.

“Okay,” Rachel said, rocking forward to place her elbows on her knees
and her head in her hands. The warmth of the fire and the
anticipation of the moment were making her sweat. “Erin, truth or
dare?”

“Truth.” Erin held her flashlight under her chin, lighting up her
cocoa-colored skin. “But we have to make a promise first. What’s
said here stays between us. I take enough crap at school for being
the black girl who beats everyone at sports. I don’t need people
making fun of me for being a lesbian, too, you know?”

“I agree,” Katy said. “High school sucks bad enough without everyone
making fun of you for being different.” She fluttered her eyelashes,
which were heavy with mascara. “So, is that a deal, everyone?”

“Yep,” said Leah.

“Sure,” said Samantha.

“Of course,” said Rachel, who then asked, “How many times have you
and Leah, you know, done it?”

“In the bus, in the classroom, and one time before that, I dunno,”
she said. “I know I’m not normal, but I just want to be me. Um,
Katy, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Katy said, grinning impishly.

“To the latrine and back, shirt off, no flashlight.”

Katy didn’t have to be told twice. She was as wild as her hair. The
tight, black shirt she was wearing came off, her silver necklaces
jangled down around her neck, and a black, lacy bra with a
heart-shaped clasp was visible. Her breasts were small and perky, the
nipples stiff under the lace. She was skinny; her ribs were visible,
and her stomach indented toward her bellybutton. In the glint of
firelight, the others realized she had a silver stud in her
bellybutton that they hadn’t seen before. Samantha gasped audibly as
Katy turned around twice, letting the others look at her for a few
moments before she took off running. Everyone watched her, little
breasts bouncing up and down, as she ran past the campfire and into
the darkness. Everyone could hear her footsteps, which slowed the
further she ran from the light.

“Tag!” Katy called when she got to the outhouse. The girls heard her
slap its side. She ran back, stepped into the golden light, and
pulled her shirt back over milky skin that now bore goosebumps. “That
was kinda freaky,” Katy said, crossing her arms over her now-concealed
breasts. “I can hear all the mice and owls and shit in the trees over
there.”

“Let’s just hope there aren’t any bears,” Rachel said.

“Brrrr,” Katy replied, shivering. “Okay, Rach, you asked for it.
Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What did you do with my brother that everyone but me seems to know
about?” She didn’t sound angry, just curious, though firelight can
contort the features.

“I sucked his dick,” Rachel said. Everyone gasped except Samantha.

Out of the girls on the trip, only Samantha had sex, and that was
common knowledge because she’d taken a “re-virginity pledge” at her
youth group soon after, and had done a presentation on this in
freshman health two years ago. If anyone else had experimented with
boys, they’d kept quiet about it, especially after Samantha’s tearful
confession that she could have, like, gotten pregnant, or ended up
with some icky disease.

The game degenerated. “What was it like?” Samantha asked.
Apparently her sexual experience had not encompassed dick sucking.
“Was it like the banana?”

“Kind of,” Rachel said. But it hadn’t been like the banana at all.
She’d started out just kissing Damien in the back seat of his car,
looking at his honey brown eyes, framed by those super-long eyelashes.
He’d smelled sweet, like sweat and anticipation, but he hadn’t forced
her, had just touched the right places—the nape of her neck, the
underside of one of her ample breasts underneath her shirt, her waist,
thumb just above her hipbone, index finger delving into her belly
button, at the exact spot where Katy’s had been pierced. She’d
reciprocated, touching his waist first, then snaking her hand under
the waistband of his jeans.

He had unbuttoned, unzipped and things had gone from there. “I just
thought I’d want to see it at first, but when he took it out, I
started touching it. I’d never seen one before.” She’d been
fascinated with it—the hard skin, stretched tight over the shaft, the
bulbous head, shining in the dim light from the top of the car, the
little hole. She’d run her fingers along the smooth, dry skin, from
the tip to the base, eyes locked on this thing she’d never seen
before. She looked at the testicles, twin orbs in their sack, but
didn’t touch them because she was afraid of hurting him. Damien told
her not to be so gentle, and she’d instinctively licked her hand
before grasping his dick. She’d moved her hand up and down, from a
sharp nest of trimmed, black pubic hair to his cock-head, spreading
lubrication, moving faster, smelling his excitement much more strongly
now.

Rachel’s pussy was getting damp now, just from thinking about it. “Do
you want to suck it?” he’d asked. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t
say no, either, just gingerly licked the tip of it. It tasted like
skin, though perhaps a bit more salty, was smooth like the inside of
her cheek, but was hard underneath. She curved her lips and took it
into her mouth, first just the head, then more of it. Damien had been
an excellent teacher. “Get your bob on, baby,” he’d said, and she’d
bobbed her head up and down. “Swirl your tongue, just like that.”
She’d sucked and licked, beginning to taste his arousal, learning that
the taste of pre-cum was both salty and sweet, and that the
consistency was that of egg whites. She hadn’t minded. She’d
swallowed his juices right down and kept sucking, getting his whole
shaft wet. Spit dripped into the evenly-cut thatch of pubic hair
below and Rachel kept going, using her tongue, listening to Damien as
he lost his voice, lost the instructions, and let her take over.

“Did you get anything out of it?” Leah asked.

Rachel wasn’t sure whether Leah was talking about arousal or getting
her pussy fingered, which was clearly one of Leah’s favorite
activities. “I got wet,” she said, “and he touched my pussy through
my panties. I wouldn’t let him take them off.” She tried to say this
without judgment, but she considered herself a good girl. Even though
she’d had his cock working in and out of her mouth, had him breathless
underneath her, when he’d put his hand up her skirt, she’d let him
touch for a moment before moving away. She’d worked on him more
diligently then, bobbing quickly, sticking her tongue out so his dick
would slide in and out of her mouth, slipping past her uvula and into
her throat now and then. The taste and smell were overwhelming now
and she felt her clit harden against her panties, which were soaked
through with her own juices.

Then, Damien leaned back and moaned. His thin, narrow body shook,
racked with pleasure. His hips thrust up and he grabbed the sides of
her head, pushing her down to take him more deeply than she had
before.

“Did he spooge in your mouth?” Samantha asked.

“Sick, Samantha, that’s my brother,” Katy said, trying to interrupt,
but Rachel answered anyway.

His jizz had come in four spurts, the first one the biggest, coating
her throat with its heat, sliding down. He’d pulled forward a bit,
then, and come on the back of her tongue, then squirted twice into one
of her tender cheek pouches. She didn’t think she’d like the taste,
but she found that she did. It was part of him, something she could
hold on to. She gulped, taking it down in one swallow. “Yeah,”
Rachel said. “It tasted good.” The girls all gasped again,
pretending to be offended by this dirty talk when, really, they were
all curious about sex. Rachel was so wet now that she came to a
realization. “I wish I’d let him finger me, or eat me out.”

“Guys do that? Like, lick down there?” This was Samantha, who’d
supposedly had sex. Rachel only rolled her eyes. Her best friend,
who purported herself to be more experienced than everyone in their
group, could be so naive.

As Rachel was mulling over what to say next, she heard something
scamper past in the bushes beyond the campfire. Leah whipped around,
trying to see what kind of animal was there watching them, but
whatever it was, it had gone before her head turned. “Well,” she
said, “I think that’s my cue to go to bed.”

“Yeah, let’s get this fire out and move this party to the bunks.”
Rachel made a show of tipping the huge bucket of water onto the fire,
which sizzled, popped, and died before them. The girls linked hands
and ran back to the cabin before any more wildlife could make its
presence known.

The campfire gathering, despite its abrupt ending, was not to be
forgotten. It was proof that there had been some degree of
togetherness even at the beginning of the trip, and that togetherness
carried on through the night

– Chapter Four –

Friday Night

Katy woke up with a start. “What was that?” she gasped
instinctively. She was a light sleeper. When she was a child, her
brother had played so many pranks on her that she’d learned to sleep
with one eye open, as her grandfather called it. “We could have used
you in the war,” he always said.

Katy was interested in the darker side of things—her grandfather’s
frightening war stories. Missing children, particularly the ones the
news didn’t bother to cover. Sylvia Plath and Edgar Allen Poe. She’d
dyed her hair black at age twelve. Damien, at fourteen, had copied
her, a fact she never allowed him to forget.

In the cabin, nobody stirred. Katy checked the room. She didn’t
know why, but she felt like someone was watching her. She’d heard
enough stories about perverts and serial killers that she expected to
see a shadowed figure in the corner or hunched over one of the other
girls’ beds. But she saw nothing of note, just the slow movement of
tree branches outside the cabin’s single window. Now and then, the
tip of one immature oak branch scraped the dusty glass. In her bunk,
Samantha snored in a most unladylike manner. Rachel slept below her,
brown hair spread over the pillow in perfect waves.

Then, Katy noticed something—Leah wasn’t in her bunk. Before she
raised the alarm, Katy remembered what had happened on the bus. Sure
enough, though Erin, turned on her side, blocked most of her view,
Katy could make out Leah’s auburn hair on the pillow, a soft movement
under a single sleeping bag turned into a blanket. If Katy could have
seen below the blanket, she would have noticed they were both naked.
She only realized this when she saw their pajamas crumpled at the foot
of their bunk. Now, Erin rolled onto her back. Katy focused in on
what was happening. Erin’s head was turned to one side, dark, braided
hair matted against it. She was locked in a passionate kiss with
Leah. Their lips moved in unison, heads tilting upward and downward
together.

Below the sleeping bag, their hands moved in a similar rhythm. Katy
realized that they were touching each other. Later, she would learn
that Leah, for the first time, had her hand between Erin’s legs. For
the first time, she felt her girlfriend’s pussy, which was like hers,
but different in some ways. Her pubic hair was thicker in the middle,
shaved on the sides. Her clitoris was bigger and had more girth; it
felt like Leah would have imagined a miniature penis to feel. Leah’s
outer lips opened easily and her inner lips were longer, protruding
slightly from her pussy even when it was closed. Erin had more sexual
experience than Leah, at least in the sense that she’d masturbated
more. Leah fit two fingers into Erin easily and was able to massage
her large clit with two curled fingers. She wondered what it would be
like to suck it.

Erin told Katy later that she’d enjoyed experiencing Leah more fully.
She started off gently, massaging just her tiny clitoris, then
penetrating with a single finger. She felt a giving way, a pushing
back, and Leah gasped slightly; perhaps, Katy thought, it was a gasp
like this one that had drawn her from sleep. Not realizing they were
being watched, Erin and Leah carried on. The sleeping bag shifted
upwards; Leah was spreading her legs to allow easier access to Erin’s
hand. “I want to eat you,” Erin whispered into Leah’s ear, her finger
still working in and out of Leah’s pussy, now covered with her
wetness. Leah was now working three fingers in and out; with three
fingers, she could feel the squeeze of Erin’s inner muscles in deep
ridges against her fingers. They could smell each other, a strange,
musky mixture of scents familiar and unfamiliar.

“Okay,” Leah said, withdrawing her fingers and bringing them to her
nose. Erin positioned herself under the sleeping bag with her head
between Leah’s legs. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the juices
that were dripping from her freshly-fingered little pussy. She turned
on her flashlight to get a better look at it. As she’d imagined,
Leah’s pussy had a sparse layer of auburn hair, the same shade as the
hair on her head. Her lips hung slightly open from the fingering, the
dampness matting the hair. Erin licked between the lips, getting Erin
even wetter, delving her tongue into the hole she’d just opened with
her fingers. Leah was sweet-tasting, but there was a slight tinge of
blood. Erin didn’t mind it and opened her mouth wider, licked harder
with the broad side of her tongue.

At first, she had the desire to get her tongue into Leah, to
penetrate her as a penis would do, but soon she realized that there
was no need to imitate a man when eating another lesbian. Instead,
Erin focused on the areas that gave her the most pleasure—the
clitoris, the thick, floral outer edge of the vaginal opening, the
area between the clit and the hole. From under the blanket, she felt
Leah twitching; her muscles tensed around Erin’s tongue when she did
choose to penetrate. Erin knew she needed to finish Leah quickly,
before her panting woke anyone else up. So she did what she did when
she was ready to come. She thrust two fingers directly into Leah—more
than she’d done before. At the same time, she continued licking her
clitoris, which felt engorged against her tongue. Erin accomplished
her goal. Leah bucked under her, squeezing Erin’s fingers so tightly
they hurt. Moistness gushed out of her and into Erin’s palm. Her
entire torso trembled. The bed creaked underneath the two girls.
Leah’s clit trembled against Erin’s tongue. But she covered her own
mouth so she wouldn’t make a sound; the rattle of her orgasm subsided
and so did the creak of the bed.

Katy watched as Leah and Erin both stopped moving. She needed to
pee, and badly, but she didn’t want the lovers know she had been
watching. Leah turned over and wrapped her thin, white arms around
Erin’s dark torso, which was glistening with sweat. She thought she
might have seen Leah’s pretty eyes peer over her lover’s shoulder and
meet her gaze for a moment, but nothing was said, so she must have
been mistaken.

Once Katy was sure they had drifted off to sleep, she stood up and
tiptoed to the door of the cabin. She closed the door gently behind
her. When she got down the rickety, wooden stairs, she took off
running—past the smouldering campfire to the outhouse. She closed the
door, no time to lock it, and sat down on the toilet. Strangely
enough, she was only able to squeeze a single squirt of urine out of
her bladder, but she still felt full and swollen inside. She sighed,
deeply, waited for more to come.

Then, the door opened quickly, slamming against the side of the
outhouse. Erin, eyes frantic, stepped inside and snapped the door
shut behind her.

“Hey!” Katy exclaimed, cupping her hands over her crotch.

“What did you see?” Erin asked. Her voice was sharp. “Leah is
terrified you saw… nevermind.” Her hands, extended, fluttered in
the air, then dropped to her sides. Katy, sitting on the toilet,
should have felt vulnerable, but Erin, so strong and athletic, was
melting in front of her.

“Hey,” said Katy, this time more gently. “You know me, Erin. I don’t
care what you and Leah do. I don’t care what anyone does. I don’t
gossip, I don’t judge, I don’t complain.” Katy stood up, pulled up
her pants, and flushed the toilet. “I can relate to you, actually. I
know what it’s like to be different.” She started to tie the
drawstring of her pajama pants.

Erin’s frown turned to a smile. She must have misinterpreted things,
because, before Katy could say anything, Erin put her hands on Kate’s
hip , drew her forward, and kissed her. Katy surprised herself when
she didn’t resist. It felt good, these soft, flared lips against her
own. She tasted sweetness and knew that she was tasting Leah’s pussy.
Moving her lips against Erin’s felt so good. Katy hadn’t considered
herself a lesbian, or even bisexual, but now she was beginning to
question. Her hand stopped fumbling with the string on her pajamas
and rose up to Erin’s breasts. She felt them through Erin’s top, soft
bulges Erin usually kept hidden in a tight sports bra when she was at
school and playing sports. They were easily C-cups, much bigger than
Katy’s little peaks, which she’d so bravely shown during Truth or
Dare.

Before Katy knew it, Erin’s hands were on her breasts, too, touching
what she’d seen earlier. That full feeling from earlier, when she’d
run to the bathroom, was back in full force, and now even stronger.
Down below, Katy was so wet that she thought she’d peed herself, but
realized now what that feeling had been.

“Can you do to me what you did to Leah?” Katy asked.

Erin was on it before Katy finished her sentence, kneeling down,
bringing her pajama pants down with her. With those pants around her
ankles, Katy spread her legs. She’d started shaving her pussy as soon
as she’d gotten pubic hair. She didn’t like the feeling of the hair
against her clothes. Erin didn’t say anything about this and Katy was
glad; she was a little embarrassed of it. Erin licked from Katy’s
pierced bellybutton down to her shaved lips, tongue feeling broad and
warm against skin that was getting goosebumps.

She went right to work, lapping at Katy’s wet pussy lips, which were
already covered with her own moisture. Her tongue knew just what to
do; Katy felt her pressure mounting when Erin’s tongue started
swirling around her clit, her fingers probing at the opening to her
pussy. “I don’t want to go too deep,” she said, running a finger
around the shaved girl’s hole. “But you taste good.” Katy had never
thought about her own taste, but this made her feel good. “Very
salty,” Erin said.

Katy was trembling already. The pressure had turned to pleasure and
it was nearly unbearable. Erin carried on, licking from her clit to
her hole, and even tonguing that place between her pussy and her
butthole; Katy had never imagined anyone would lick there, but it felt
intimate and good. Her hips jerked, her body braced against the
outhouse wall. “What’s happening to me?” she asked. She couldn’t
control her movements. She was dripping wet, sending more juices into
Erin’s mouth. Erin didn’t seem to mind; now and then, she swallowed
or licked her lips.

“Haven’t you had an orgasm before, baby?” Erin asked.

“Um,” Katy said. She thought she’d had one, alone, in her bedroom,
fumbling with her shaved lips, her tiny clit, with her own fingers.
But the excitement was nothing compared to this. Erin lifted her head
and smiled. “Don’t stop,” Katy said. When Erin stopped, all of the
spit and juices on her pussy began to cool, and she wanted to be close
to Erin. She wanted to be warm.

“We have to get back soon,” Erin said. “So get ready.” She kept
licking at full force, now concentrating on lapping at Katy’s clit,
even sucking it into her mouth and licking its little bulb directly.
Her finger was going, too, penetrating Katy’s tight little pussy to
the first knuckle. Moisture dripped down Erin’s hand. She was
slurping at Katy’s entire pussy now, and Katy’s body started to jerk
even more uncontrollably. Her legs turned into jelly and she slid
down the wall, trembling as her clitoris exploded into this firework
of pleasure unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It was a warmth
that spread through her whole body. Her pussy tightened and squeezed
again and again. Her hips shook. And something squirted out of her
in hot, gentle waves. It felt a bit like peeing, but she knew it
wasn’t.

When Katy stood, she saw Erin wiping her face. “You’re a squirter,”
she said. There was clear, thick fluid on Erin’s dark hand.

“A what? Did that stuff come from me?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about this. Some girls squirt. I’ll tell you more
about it later if you want. But I’ve got to get back to Leah.”

“Wait, Erin.” Erin turned around. She was smiling. “Please don’t
tell Leah about this.”

“I won’t yet,” Erin said. “Don’t worry, girl. But we were always
going to have an open relationship.”

“A what?” Katy asked. For all the pleasure she’d experienced, she was
suddenly confused. She didn’t know whether to feel anxious or happy
about what had happened, but at the same time, stirrings of pleasure
still coursed through her body. At least she no longer felt like she
needed to go to the bathroom.

Erin looked back at her. “You look tough,” she said, “but you’re so cute.”

Katy pulled up her pants, saliva and her own fluids still dripping
down her legs. She waited a moment before returning to the cabin. On
her way back, she stopped halfway, just before reaching the campfire.
She had the same feeling that she’d had when she woke suddenly in the
cabin and felt that someone was watching. “Miss Arson?” she rasped
into the darkness, but nobody answered, so she scampered back into the
cabin and tried to put all of this out of her mind.

– Chapter Five –

Saturday Morning

Morning’s light reminded Samantha of the disgusting surroundings.
She’d come on the trip because she admired Miss Arson and wanted to be
with her friend Rachel, but she hadn’t expected camping to be so
filthy. The ceiling was covered with grimy handprints, which the
rectangle of light coming from the cabin door only illuminated. The
floor was muddy. The smell around was especially woodsy and Samantha
nearly died when she realized that it wasn’t just the cabin that
smelled.

She smelled.

Her blond hair was greasy and matted to her head. Her armpits were
felt sticky against her pajama top. Even the place between her legs
felt damp and sweaty. Samantha wasn’t used to her own scent. It
wasn’t all that unpleasant, as far as body odors go, but it was still
a body odor, and so, minutes after sunrise, Samantha found herself
shaking Rachel awake. “Come on, we have to go shower. We stink.”

“Rawr,” Rachel said, stretching her arms. “Just be rugged for a few days.”

“But I’m DIRTY!” She was nearly wailing.

“Sometimes dirty is good. Besides, that shower is going to be really
annoying.”

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re tired of pumping water after last
night.” Samantha said, rolling her eyes. “You were getting wet over
it.”

“Fine,” Rachel said, sitting up. “Let’s go shower.” Samantha was
already prepared with shampoo, conditioner, body wash and two towels.

The way the shower was meant to work, you had to pump enough water to
fill its tank, wait for the sun to heat the water, and then shower.
They didn’t have time for step two, so once Rachel had pumped the
water, she was ready to hop in. As quick as a ready little slut,
Rachel had her top off and stood, bare-breasted, preparing to take off
her pants. “Fine, fine,” Samantha said. “You go first, I’ll stand
watch.”

“I only pumped enough water for one shower,” Rachel said. “I’m not
superwoman, you know. Just get in with me. It’ll be faster, anyway,
and I won’t have everyone else begging me to pump water.”

For all of the complaining she and Rachel had done about lesbians in
the past few days, Samantha found herself pretty eager to stand naked
in front of her friend. She rationalized things—it was a popular girl
thing. She wanted to compare bodies with Rachel, to see how she was
measuring up. Rachel was now naked, her pajamas thrown over the
wooden fence beside the shower. She had developed quickly, with
large, round breasts that jiggled when she walked, a narrow waist, and
hips that were both narrow and shapely. She hadn’t bothered to shave
her pubic hair before the trip, so she had a sparse, brown thatch that
covered closed pussy lips.

Samantha knew she was hotter. She fully intended on modelling one
day, once she was old enough to defy her parents’ wishes. Rachel
stripped off her clothes, smelling the soft, earthy smell of her own
body odor. Her breasts were larger and perkier, the kind of breasts
most women had to pay for, perfect globes that created cleavage even
when she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her neck was long, her shoulders just
wide enough to offset her boobs. Her trim waist and flat stomach only
made her breasts look bigger. Samantha wiggled her ass, which was
muscular and as well-rounded as her breasts. She had a light tan all
over her body, and her pubic hair had been waxed off.

She ran into the shower as soon as Rachel turned it on, turning around
and bouncing in the water. It was cold. She needed to keep moving.
She looked down at the water beading on her breasts, cascading over
them and down her stomach, over that smooth, shiny and hairless pussy
mound, and down her legs. As she lathered shampoo into her blond
hair, she kept dancing. Rachel, beside her, was much more calm,
soaping up her hair while looking at her friend. Samantha didn’t
mind. She knew she was something to look at. She was, however,
surprised when Rachel, brown hair still sopping wet, squeezed some
body wash into her hand and placed it not on her own back, but on
Samantha’s.

“What the fuck?” Samantha said. She covered her mouth instantly. She
didn’t like to cuss, but this situation certainly called for it.

Rachel didn’t move her hand. She rubbed it up and down Samantha’s
back, from her shoulder all the way to her tailbone, fingers moving
against smooth and perfect skin. She did this twice, then moved her
hand away. “I just wanted to know what it feels like. I wanted to
see if it was the same with a girl as it was with Damien. Are you mad
at me?”

Samantha examined her friend’s face for a moment. Rachel’s brown eyes
had grown big and forlorn. Samantha put her hands on her hips. With
her legs spread, water still dripping down her body, running over her
clitoris, which was getting hard and hot, she finally answered. “No,
I’m not mad. I liked it, too.” She reached out and touched one of
Rachel’s big, bouncy breasts, groping it with her hand. She squeezed
the tender flesh, thinking of the naughtiness of all this—what did
girls do with girls, after all? She’d had quite an awakening this
week. Though she was the only one of the five who’d had sex—actual
sex—she’d had no idea that a boy might willingly lick a girl ‘down
there,’ and still had no idea what lesbians got up to together.

Still, thinking of all this was making her tingle in a way she hadn’t
when Mason Cafferty, an upperclassman who had since graduated, had
brought her into the closet at a party, bent her headfirst over a
low-hanging rack of someone’s winter clothes, and thrust his long,
narrow dick into her. That had hurt terribly at first, like being
jabbed with a knife. He’d spoken in obscenities throughout the
process. He was all, “Fuck, yeah,” and, “Oh, shit.” And eventually,
all of that thrusting and grinding had felt quite good—his heat
against hers, her juices trickling down her legs as he rutted her
quickly and brutally. The thrusting seemed to make her slicker,
wetter, more ready. He was sliding in and out without causing her
pain now, and her little channel was beginning to pop and crackle
around him. His mouth was on her neck, teeth biting down. But his
hand, grasping her perfect breasts, had seemed so rough and imperfect.

It was nothing compared to Rachel’s hand, which was now touching her
tender, tan nipple, stroking under her breast with such slow, soft
precision before cupping it and bringing her lips to it. The water
bathed them as this happened. Samantha was wet down below, and not
just from the shower water that was crisp and cold, which had made her
nipples hard and beaded her with cold droplets of water. Rachel
kissed and caressed, first one breast and then the other. Samantha
felt her own hands reaching out, finding Rachel’s soft, large breasts
again, and the girls fondled each other without a word. Then,
Rachel’s thin, beautiful hand was on Samantha’s chin, raising her
heart-shaped face. Their lips met. Neither girl was wearing
lipstick, so it was skin against skin. Samantha tilted her head back,
letting Rachel kiss her, feeling the pressure, the pleasure of
Rachel’s tongue entering her mouth, then the yielding of Rachel’s lips
as she allowed her mouth to be explored. She tasted so good. Mason
hadn’t kissed Samantha at all, unless those nibbles on her neck
underneath swept-aside blond hair had counted.

Samantha felt Rachel’s hand moving back down, but it passed over her
breasts and found her perfect stomach, followed the water down to her
pussy. Rachel opened Samantha’s lips and expertly massaged her clit,
pressing it against her pubic bone with two small fingertips. She ran
her fingers from Samantha’s clit, down the path between her pussy
lips, and dipped them into the wet and dripping hole. Samantha
remembered how it had felt—both before and after Mason had fucked her.
She didn’t like the word, but it described what he had done—all of
those pornstar thrusts, her feet lifting up on the ground, her hips
supported against his, her once-unopened little hole impaled on that
thing he bragged about to all the girls. Now, Rachel penetrated
just once with the two fingers, all the way to the second knuckle,
perhaps to see if it was true. She’d been fucked.

But Rachel was full of surprises. She washed her fingers off in the
shower water and took Samantha’s hand in hers, brought it to her
pussy, with its thin coat of down. “Show me how you touch yourself,”
Rachel said. Samantha blushed slightly, but any redness in her face
was hidden by the cold water.

Her shampoo bottle was long and narrow at the top. “I use this,” she said.

Rachel grinned. “Use it on me, then. And for you, I’ll use my hands.”

Samantha couldn’t stop this. Rachel leaned back against the wooden
wall of the shower stall, legs spread. Samantha took the bottle in
her right hand and moved the top of it—contoured lid on, the way she
did when she masturbated, up against Rachel’s puss. She rubbed from
clit to hole, the way Samantha had done with her, focusing her eyes on
the beautiful sight of her friend, opened up and pink on the inside,
being rubbed by the bottle. The neck of the bottle was smooth,
penile. Rachel’s hands reached out and she rubbed Samantha’s clit as
Samantha used the bottle on her. Then, Samantha positioned the bottle
at the opening to Rachel’s pussy, thrust upward, and impaled her on
it—the neck was only a couple of inches long, but Rachel gasped.
Samantha turned the bottle in a circle, working it around on the
inside, exploring her slowly before beginning to thrust.

Rachel was thrusting, too—two long, narrow fingers thrust smoothly,
cleanly, then three. Her knuckles hit Rachel’s toned, shaved puss
with every upward movement. They were covered with juices. Rachel
found herself gasping in excitement as she was penetrated. She
thought of Mason’s penis, that nine-inch monster that had turned out
to be so narrow. Rachel’s fingers were more skilled. They explored
her, inside out. They sensed and felt. Rachel made sure to bump
Samantha’s clit with her knuckles every time she got those fingers all
the way inside.

In the meantime, Samantha was hard at work with the bottle, moving
those two inches in and out, in and out, watching the bottle get all
steamy on the inside. She got her thumb working on Rachel’s clit,
circling it to get her hotter. She spread Rachel’s lips with two more
fingers, stretching her pussy opening wide, allowing for deeper
penetration with the bottle. Samantha heard a creak, off in the
distance, near the cabins—someone else was awake. But rather than
being frightened, she was turned-on. Her panting became louder, and
her hips began to move up and down with Rachel’s thrusts. She grunted
as she felt her orgasm building. She released, throwing her head back
to yell out, “Yessss,” the way Mason had done. Her pussy felt like it
was collapsing on itself, squeezing Rachel’s fingers out. She hadn’t
cum with Mason, but had cum thinking of him later, thinking of what
she could have done to that narrow dick with those muscles of hers.

Rachel rode her out, still thrusting, though the pressure on her
fingers kept her from moving them much. “Wow,” she said, “That’s…
something. Now, my turn. But quick, before anyone comes over here.”

Samantha had stopped using the bottle; it hung in one limp hand. She
found that she wanted to finish Rachel off, the same way Mason had
done her. “Bend over, bitch,” she said, but there wasn’t any
domination in her voice. She really did want to see Rachel bent over,
ass and pussy spread wide, in the running water. And that’s how they
did it. Rachel grabbed her ankles, revealing her flared, muscular
butt. She kept her legs spread wide, her pussy open, showing its pink
interior now rubbed red from all of the sex. Samantha jammed the
bottle’s neck right back into her. The juices running down Rachel’s
legs reminded her of the way she’d felt with Mason that night—all
moisture and gushing and excitement. She did remember the gushing—the
way her juices had gushed out with each thrust of that dick, the way
his cum had gushed out after he’d ejaculated inside of her. She
hadn’t known it was going to happen; she’d assumed he would pull out.
She felt his thrusts growing more rapidly, but assumed, again, that he
was going to wait until she’d cum—after all, with her tight little
hole and muscles that could crush an aluminium can, it would have been
a treat. But, no. “Fuck, yes!” he’d groaned, and he’d cum inside of
her in warm, wet waves that were too much for her to hold inside,
which slopped out and ran down her legs. She remembered smelling like
him the whole way home.

Here in the shower, with a girl, things were so much cleaner. But,
still, she simulated what she’d experienced with Mason as she pushed
the bottle in and out of Rachel’s pussy. She quickened her rhythm.
She slapped the side of Rachel’s firm ass. She reached forward and
groped her breasts, which felt full and heavy in her hands. She
pretended she had a penis, knowing this was sick as she did it,
holding the bottle to her clit and moving against the back of her
friend. This did it for both of them—Samantha didn’t cum again, but
she felt a tingle, another gush of wetness from her own pussy. And
Rachel came like a firecracker, pushing the bottle from her pussy,
falling forward so she had to support herself against the shower wall
with her hands. She came silently, entire body shaking, legs
trembling more than anything, before bracing her head on the wall of
the shower as well.

Then, the water ran out. “I’m still dirty,” Samantha realized.

“Yes,” said Rachel. “You are.”

They heard the same creak again—now, at least two more girls were up.
Samantha and Rachel dried quickly in fluffy white towels, then pulled
their clothes over still-damp flesh. On her way back to the campsite,
Samantha finally got Rachel’s joke. She was dirty. Ha, ha, very
funny. But by the time she’d reached the campsite, she was agreeing
with what Rachel had said when she’d woken. Sometimes, dirty is good.

– Chapter Six –

Saturday Afternoon

Erin knew too much. She knew what both Leah and Katy looked like with
their pants down. She knew the taste of them; the contrast of sweet
and salty was in her mind even now. And she knew that Rachel and
Samantha had fooled around in the outdoor shower that morning. When
the two of them heard the door creak open, it had been her. They’d
failed to hear her footsteps. An athlete, Erin was light on her feet,
and had stood, peeking through a knothole into the wooden shower
stall. What she’d seen had amazed her and given her ideas of what to
get up to if Leah was up to it. She’d never have thought of a shampoo
bottle herself. Vapid Samantha was good for something after all.

But Erin kept her thoughts to herself, thoughts of bending Leah over
and humping her from behind as though she had a penis. They were
hiking now, on a path leading up a hill, Erin lagging behind and
watching the other girls’ asses. Katy’s bony, little ass would look
great spread out, tight, shaved pussy open from behind with that
shampoo bottle sticking out of it.

Like Katy, Erin often kept to herself. As an athlete, she was loud
and boisterous. As a team captain, she was a natural leader. She
could organize a play or cheer her teammates on. But as a person,
Erin was reserved. Most people didn’t notice that she never talked
about herself because they were too busy talking about themselves.
People hadn’t known when she, at age twelve, had masturbated to
thoughts of other women or when she’d first kissed Leah earlier that
year. She knew about their first kisses and backseat fumblings, but
her life hadn’t been on anyone’s radar until that video had been
taken.

Erin could have thrown Samantha and Rachel’s experimentation back in
their faces, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want them to know
that she knew. It was the same with Katy—though Leah had agreed to an
open relationship, she didn’t want to tell Leah. She didn’t want to
make waves. She wanted this trip to pass her by like a pleasant
memory—no conflict. And the fact that she knew too much, but was
keeping her mouth shut, was going to ensure that.

Or so she thought.

Miss Arson was leading the girls in a song about a boy and a girl in a
little canoe. Katy mentioned that she and Damien had written a dirty
version at camp when they were little kids, but she wasn’t sharing the
lyrics. She kept looking around, like she had seen something
strange—a bear, maybe. Or perhaps she was just uneasy or tired of
walking. Katy wore so much eyeliner that it was difficult to tell.

Now, Leah lagged back and took Erin’s hand. “Had fun last night,” she
whispered. She was still dressing slutty, which Erin loved. She was
wearing her shirt from the bus, but had swapped the skirt for jeans.
They were walking uphill, in the shadows of pine trees. The air
smelled fresh, like Christmas morning. Erin cleared her throat and
inhaled deeply.

They reached a clearing at the top of the hill. A rickety park bench
and the remains of a campfire sat there, in an area where the trees
had been cleared. “Okay, girls,” said Miss Arson. “Let’s reapply our
sunscreen and have some water.” Canteens and bottles of sunscreen
came out of backpacks. Erin took some water, but she never wore
sunscreen. It was possible for her to get burned, but it had only
happened once in her life.

This didn’t stop her from slathering sunscreen on her friends, first
on Leah, starting with her freckled shoulders, exposed by a tank top.
Erin rubbed her hands over Leah’s collarbone twice, rubbing sunscreen
into them, smearing it down her arms. She paused for a moment to
press her thumbs under Leah’s sports bra, easily visible under her
tank top, rubbing sunscreen in, making sure she wouldn’t be burned if
the fabric shifted. She ran he thumbs up and down on the sides of her
soft breasts. Leah smiled at her. Erin moved on to the exposed skin
of her belly and back. She liked the contrast of her skin against
Leah’s.

She did Katy next, making things look casual even though Katy shifted
toward her, leaning her head back on Erin’s broad shoulder as Erin did
her arms. Katy sighed. “Is something wrong?” Erin asked.

“Not really,” said Katy. “I just feel like there’s something following us.”

“A bear?” Erin had worried about bears before coming on this trip.
Leah had convinced her that they were unlikely to encounter one. But
Rachel’s mention of bears at the campfire had put her a bit on edge.

“I don’t know,” said Katy. “It’s probably nothing. But when I hear
it, it’s more like footsteps. Maybe I’m going crazy.”

Katy wasn’t going crazy. As they walked up the next hill, Erin
thought she heard footsteps, too, light and secretive, the way hers
had been in the morning. It was like someone was walking parallel to
them, off the path in the woods. When they moved, it moved, whatever
it was. When they stopped, it stopped and didn’t move again until
they were on the move, chattering to each other. The next time they
stopped from water, Erin pulled Katy aside and looked into her
dark-framed eyes. “I hear it, too.”

Neither of the girls said anything. They were nearing the summit of
the hill; there was no way they could turn back. Neither of them
wanted to worry the other girls. In fact, Katy suggested a game.
“Let’s play ‘this or that,’” she said. “I’ll start. Samantha—go
three days without showering or kiss a girl?” Erin did a double-take.
Had Katy seen Samantha with Rachel, too?

“Kiss a girl, I guess,” Samantha said, surprisingly unshaken. “Leah,
eat a hot dog or suck a dick?”

Miss Arson’s head whipped around. “Should I have brought my
earplugs?” She was smiling. She walked a bit faster, separating
herself from the girls, but only by five feet or so. There was a
chasm ahead of them, a deep cut in the earth. Miss Arson crossed
first, over a rickety bridge that was missing one handrail. “Be
careful here, girls,” she warned, but kept walking, giving them their
privacy.

The girls crossed, looking down. There were trees and brush growing
up and down the chasm’s sloping sides, and they could hear water
running below. “That’s a long way down,” Leah said. “I can’t even
see the bottom.”

“Come on, Leah,” said Samantha. “Hot dog or dick?”

“Hot dog,” Leah said, but she sounded uncertain. “Rachel, who’s
hotter, Damien or Pierce Brosnan.” Rachel had an inexplicable
attraction to pierce Brosnan. In middle school, she’d carried a
picture of him around in her wallet.

“Bite me, Leah,” said Rachel. “I’ll have both, in a hot tub, thank
you very much. But if I have to choose, Damien, I guess.”

“Eww!” Katie cried, walking a little faster. She was smiling now,
too. Erin had nearly forgotten that she was worried. Then Rachel
asked her a question.

“Erin, who’s hotter?” Surprisingly, she left Leah out of the
equation. “Katy or Samantha.”

“Ummmm,” Erin said. She didn’t like being put on the spot. Finally,
she decided. “Samantha,” she said. She figured Katy would rather she
didn’t even hint at their attraction to each other, and she wouldn’t
mind finding out what Samantha tasted like, or penetrating her with a
shampoo bottle. She wouldn’t wash it in the water afterwards, either,
as those two had done. She’d lick it off with her tongue.

Just when everyone had completely forgotten about the footsteps and
Katy’s feeling they were being followed, they noticed that Miss Arson
had stopped. “Wait a second, girls,” she said. “There was just
someone in the path. He was standing up there, but he ducked into the
bushes when he saw us coming.” She held her hands out and stepped
backward toward them.

The wind blew, rattling tree branches above them. “Maybe he’s from
another group,” Erin said. “The summit must be just ahead.” But she
hadn’t seen this man.

“Are you sure there was someone there?” Samantha asked.

Katy answered for Miss Arson. “Yes, there was.” Erin looked into her
eyes; even with all the make-up, it was easy to tell now that she was
terrified. Katy continued, “And he didn’t look like he was part of a
school group.”

“What did he look like?” Leah asked.

Miss Arson replied with one word. “Dark.” But after a few moments,
her breathing settled down. “We’ve got to carry on, girls. He
probably didn’t mean any harm. We’ll get to the summit, but we’ll
keep an eye out and we’ll use the buddy system while we’re gathering
wood, and even when we go to use the bathroom during the night.”

The group started walking again. Erin felt her own heart pounding in
her chest, pounding in perfect rhythm with the footsteps that had
started up again—faster, faster. Someone was coming through the brush
beside the path. Branches cracked under his feet, and then he was
there among them, a man dressed in black jeans and a ragged, brown
shirt, with long, brown hair tangled and hanging down below his
shoulders. He had an unkempt beard and moustache and a wild look in
his squinting black eyes. He didn’t speak, just held out a knife
which gleamed as the afternoon sun reflected off of it.

He pointed it at Miss Arson, then brandished it at the girls. Leah
and Samantha screamed and jumped back. Erin pushed in front of Leah,
instinctively, and then took Katy by the hand, too. She, Katy and
Rachel stood strong, glaring at the man. Erin knew she should make a
move, a last ditch effort to save all of them, but this wasn’t a
playing field. She found herself paralyzed. Her legs, though strong,
were shaky. She felt unsteady. Staying in place in front of Leah
took every bit of her energy. She suspected that Katy and Rachel felt
the same way, even if they weren’t showing it. Samantha couldn’t stop
screaming. Erin’s ears were ringing.

For the longest time, nobody moved. The man, who stood at least six
foot four, was all muscle, was covered with mud with brambles stuck in
his beard and hair, glared at them. He gestured with the knife, as
though he wanted them to follow him into the woods. They weren’t sure
what he wanted with them, so they stayed still. And then, Miss Arson,
who was still standing between the girls and this monster, stepped
toward him. “Take me instead of them,” she said. “If you need
someone, take me.”

The man took her by the hand, pulling her against him. He pressed
the knife against her throat. Erin thought he was going to kill her,
but he didn’t. He turned, Miss Arson marching in front of him, knife
still at her neck, his hips pressed against the flare of her butt
through her jeans, and forced her off the main trail and down another,
a crude trail of dirt that led into the forest. None of the girls
were able to move or speak until they were out of sight.

– Chapter Seven –

Saturday Evening

At least the girls were okay. It was a small consolation when one
was marching through the woods with a knife at one’s jugular, but
there it was. She’d saved the girls, who she loved, and they would
send for help. It was 1989 and surely the bus would have some way of
phoning home when it arrived and the girls let the driver know there
was a problem. They’d be there in time to find what was left of her
body after this mud-caked man sliced her into little pieces and tossed
her into the woods. She thought this dryly as a wooden shack came
into view.

The afternoon sky was beginning to dim. The shack didn’t have any
power lines going in or out, but red-orange light flickered in the
windows and smoke puffed out of a rickety chimney at the top of the
cabin. Miss Arson hadn’t spoken during the walk. She didn’t want to
enrage him to the point where he would go back looking for the girls.
Now, with the girls certainly out of sight, she spoke. “Why are you
doing this?”

She couldn’t see her abductor, but she could smell him, overripe like
rotting flesh. Couldn’t hear him except for the deep rasping of his
breath. He didn’t answer her, but she sensed movement, something
swinging through the air—a tree branch, maybe. It struck her in the
back of the head, hard, and she was out.

Once upon a time, Miss Arson was not Miss Arson. Of course, it’s
hard for a sixteen year old to picture this, to picture Miss Arson as
little Emily. Even harder to picture Mrs. Callahan as little
Crispina, though they’d wondered, occasionally, if she’d been called
Crispy as a nickname. But Miss Arson had been Emily, simply Emily, no
nickname required. Emily had slept under a pastel pink comforter and
kept a light-up pink pony on her bedroom shelf for when she had
nightmares.

Like Katy, she sometimes woke up feeling like someone was watching
her, and not in a Santa’s Elves through the window way. There was
always something sinister following her through her mostly-pleasant
childhood. The monsters had caught up with her once and only once
and, like now, she had given herself over to them deliberately. There
had been a house at the end of the block, haunted, all the children
said. Emily said she didn’t believe it. She was raised without
religion—no angels watching over her. So she scaled a rickety, wooden
fence and knocked on the door. It wasn’t locked, wasn’t even closed,
so she, seven years old, stuck out her tongue at her friends and
walked inside.

She was wearing a pink dress and ballet shoes she almost never took
off. She was going to steal something from the house and run back
outside, but in the front room, there was nothing to steal. She was
headed into a dirty kitchen when the man grabbed her from behind,
lifting her, filthy hands under her arms, into the air.

He hadn’t done much. He’d brought her into a living room, sat down
in a musty, brown chair. The pink shirt was pushed up to her waist
and a dirty finger had prodded her, parting just the outer lips of her
pussy. “Nice little girl,” he said. She hadn’t screamed—in
hindsight, she should have screamed. The man moved his finger up and
down, brushing against her underdeveloped clitoris. He took her other
hand, forced it between his legs until it came to rest on the spongy
surface of his semi-erect penis. “You like that, little girl?
Because if you come back here again, that’s what you’re going to
get—this inside of here.” He pressed his finger upward; the pressure
hurt.

But he let her go, almost instantly after he’d said it. He let her
go and she ran out to her friends with the verdict—yup, haunted!
She’d tried to forget what happened. She knew she couldn’t tell her
parents, her sister, or the other children. Not if she wanted to move
on, that was. If she told, the incident would define her forever.
Even at the age of seven, she knew this. She didn’t want to be the
girl who got felt up by the creepy guy in the haunted house. So she
went on. She didn’t cry until she was in the shower, parting her
childish, hairless vaginal lips to wash them and found a cake of mud
from his fingers.

She collapsed there in the shower, huddled up with her knees to her
nose and let the stream of shower water wash over her until it went
cold. She felt alone and small as she stood, at last, to clean
between her legs.

As she’d promised herself, she hadn’t let the incident define her.
When the man from the haunted house had died alone and the body had
rotted for weeks before anyone noticed him gone, she was sixteen. At
that time, she realized that no one would ever know. She barely
thought of it, but maybe it was one of the reasons she had moved so
quickly away from everything that did define little Emily. She chose
a profession where her first name would seldom be spoken. She became
Miss Arson.

But now, as she woke up inside the cabin, in a cot by an open
fireplace, she felt like little Emily again, curled up in the shower.
She was naked, covered only by something pink like her old comforter.
Her head rested on a smelly pillow, slightly damp. There was
something hard beside her, hard and plastic. Her vision was still
foggy from being hit, but as it returned, she realized that the pink
blanket was actually a pink sleeping bag and the object beside her was
a doll, one of those expensive, German-made American Girls dolls that
could only be ordered from a catalog.

She didn’t want to be raped. She’d escaped rape once. That old man
hadn’t found a way to force his limp noodle into her, hadn’t even
tried. Maybe this would be no different. Maybe she could just run.
She couldn’t see the man anywhere. If she could just sit up and make
her way out of the cabin, she could disappear into the woods and make
it back to the girls. Her head was spinning as she sat. Still no
sign of him. She swung her feet off of the bed and stood. “Going
someplace?”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It could have
been the voice of God. She still didn’t see him as she tried to
stand, didn’t see him as he reached out from under the cot, grasped
her ankle and pulled her down to the ground. He’d been crouched
there, listening to her, passed out in the bed above. She was at his
eye level now as he crawled out, one hand reaching forward to grasp
her breast. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch,” he said, his fingers
rough against her. He was surprisingly agile. He sprang to his feet
and she realized he was also naked. She pictured her childhood
tormenter with his flaccid penis. This was different. Her
abductor’s penis was massive, nearly eight inches long, thick like a
small tree trunk, rock hard with veins bulging.

He reached down with a large, dirt-caked hand. She thought he was
going to touch her breasts again, but instead, he laced his fingers
through her hair and yanked her upward, straining its roots. She
screamed as he brought her to her knees, then pulled her onto the cot,
face down. Beside her, the doll dropped to the floor.

He gave her hair one last twist before he growled, “Don’t move.” Her
head was swimming again. She pressed her face into the fabric of the
pink sleeping bag, hoping for unconsciousness, but she found only
fetid dampness and body odor. The stench choked her, but she was
still awake to feel the knife pressing against her back, drawing one
line down, one line across her trembling backbone, her shoulderblades.
“Please,” she said. She’d heard that if you tell an attacker about
yourself, they won’t want to hurt you, so she gave it a try. “My name
is Emily. I’m a teacher at a Catholic school.”

“Shut up,” he said. Now, she felt his member against her slit. She
kept her pubic hair neatly trimmed. She felt him rubbing against it,
the clean-cut ends prickling the delicate skin underneath. There was
nothing left to say. Emily let her body go limp against the bed as
she felt the man penetrate her, the head of his cock forcing its way
into the dry channel of her vagina. She tried to think of it
clinically—it’s just skin against skin. But the smell of him, the
feeling of his hands, kept her in the moment. She felt every inch of
him stretching her and the sick feeling of the dirty moisture from his
penis lubricating her on the inside as he pressed deeper.

He worked himself into a rhythm, forcing his way in, then pulling out,
the raw flesh of the inside of her coming out with him. She felt like
she was being turned inside out like a used sock. His hand twisted in
her hair again as he kept fucking her—that was what he was
doing—fucking her like an animal. She screamed into the night,
knowing nobody would hear. She felt his hand come down on the back of
her head, on the sore and throbbing spot where he’d hit her with the
stick outside. She sank down—face onto the bed, mind into darkness.

The crack of a whip woke her. She’d been moved fireside, and was
splayed on the floor. Her pussy felt raw. It ached and throbbed in
time with her heartbeat and the spot on the back of her head. Semen
dripped out of her, growing cold against her chafed pussy lips. “Wake
up, bitch,” the man said, and cracked the whip again. Emily looked
over to the cot. The American Girls doll had fallen to the ground.
The blanket was twisted. A puddle of blood and semen dripped from the
edge of the sleeping bag, forming a sticky puddle on the floor—she
must have lain there on the side of the bed, face down, but she didn’t
know for how long.

Now, the man knelt beside her, tossing the whip to the side. “Clean
me,” he said, holding his limp dick, wet with her blood and his own
putrid juices, toward her mouth. She turned her face away, refusing
to give him the satisfaction of an answer. As quickly as he’d tossed
it away, he grabbed the whip again and slammed the butt of it against
her ribcage, knocking her breath out of her. She didn’t say anything,
but there was no avoiding it; she was at his mercy. She opened her
mouth. The deflated penis was inserted into her mouth. She gagged on
the rotten taste. He plugged her nose, giving her no choice but to
swallow.

He got hard again. She knew it would happen. Soon, his cock was
rutting in and out of her mouth. He withdrew it now and then to slap
her cheeks, to run it through her hair. She smelled like him now,
like spoiled meat and sweat. Every breath she took was laden with it.
She gagged, vomiting into her mouth. When she tried to spit it out,
he slapped her, rammed his cock down her throat again, and she felt
her head spinning. Choking on her own vomit, she lost consciousness
and yielded herself into his grasp.

When she woke up, she felt the prickle of wind against her skin. She
was outside, outside in the darkness, with shackles around her wrists
and ankles. When she tried to rise up, she could only get to her
hands and knees. Off in the distance, beyond a line of pine trees,
she saw the man standing, a silhouette, a shadow. She drew in a deep
breath. Her throat was now as sore as her pussy. The air was heavy
with smoke and fragrant pine. It was the first breath of fresh air
she’d had since… she could barely remember, she found. She couldn’t
remember where she’d been before this, how she’d gotten here. This
was survival. This was forcing air into stinging lungs even though
she didn’t want to breathe any more.

In and out, in and out, she breathed. She’d felt so many times during
this ordeal that she was going crazy. She would maintain her sanity
now, by breathing in and out, in and out. She would get through this.

It was then that she heard movement closer to her, something padding
through the trees, its steps softer than footsteps. The dog, a great
dane, barked its greeting and sniffed the used and dripping patch
between Emily’s legs. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She felt the
dog licking her, clit to asshole, sticking its tongue into her tight
rosebud to get her taste. She felt its claws on her back as it began
to mount her, the hard dowel of its member between her legs. But it
wasn’t her. This body wasn’t her, wasn’t Miss Arson, wasn’t even
Emily. It was only a body. Emily was somewhere else, hiding in the
trees, perhaps, watching the dog unsheathe its bright red penis and
press it into the pitiful woman kneeling in the mud.

There was feeling there, of course, a feeling of being overly full,
of being stabbed by a long and narrow dick. There was pain when the
dog’s claws ran down her arched back. But she wasn’t there. She
really wasn’t there. She told herself this throughout the rutting, a
different kind of in and out and when the dog tied with her and she
felt she was going to burst open from the inside out. This was a
disjointed fear, because it was just a body, not her body.

Not her body that was unshackled and dragged back into the house to
lay underneath a filthy and stinking man once again. As the man
fucked that empty body again, Emily, now floating somewhere on the
ceiling, looked down at the woman, covered with bruises, mud and
sweat, and laughed. She laughed until the woman was shackled again,
this time to the bed, kept laughing, laughing into the night, a sound
more terrifying than a scream.

– Chapter Eight –

Saturday Evening

There’s a moment after something traumatic happens where you just
freeze. It doesn’t matter that you’re supposed to be the strong one,
the stoic one, the morbid one. It doesn’t matter that your script is
written out for you—you can see your lines there before you, the
things you’re supposed to say. But you don’t say them just yet. You
stop. You freeze where you’re standing and taste the adrenaline in
your mouth for just one moment before you’re able to react, to read
those lines, to be yourself.

Leah figured this was the feeling animals got when they were being led
to slaughter. This was one of many reasons she was a vegetarian. Now
she knew the feeling firsthand and so did the others. One of their
number had been picked off, taken away, knife pressed to her back.
The girls all froze. Leah froze longer than the rest of them. She
watched the others react before she was able.

Samantha and Rachel laced their skinny arms together and cried into
each other’s flowing hair, the way popular girls do after high school
tragedies, crazy geeks shooting students or car crashes that take out
a cheerleading squad. Leah didn’t think of this comparison herself;
she’d heard Katy make it before when comparing high school tragedies.
Now they were in the midst of their own.

Erin stood with clenched fists. She was the tough one, was supposed
to be strong. Her emotions, however, betrayed her. Tears streamed
down her dark face.

Leah, of course, was frozen.

Katy was the only one who looked normal. She was breathing deeply,
almost rhythmically, but there were thoughts in her head, Leah knew
it, and those thoughts weren’t as shallow as comparing Samantha and
Rachel to girls who’d survived that Spencer girl school shooter who didn’t like
Mondays. Finally, Katy broke the silence. She took a deep breath and
said, “We need to go after them. We need to have a plan.”

Samantha looked up from her embrace. “Are you crazy? We have to go
for help.”

“There has to be a gas station or something if we walk to the main
road,” Erin said. Her words surprised Leah. She expected Erin to be
her protector, but she was trembling as hard as Rachel and Samantha.

Katy interrupted her thoughts. “There’s not time for that,” she said.
“And, besides, were you guys not on the same bus ride as I was?
There’s nothing for at least fifty miles. We’re literally in the
middle of nowhere.”

“We can wait for the bus,” Rachel suggested.

“The bus isn’t coming until tomorrow morning. Miss Arson will be dead
by then.”

“Look,” Samantha said, “She’s my favorite teacher, too, but I don’t
want to die.”

“Me, either,” said Erin, and Leah couldn’t help but think that this
wasn’t the Erin she knew so well, the Erin who she’d had inside of
her, first her hands and then her tongue. This scared person was
someone she didn’t know at all.

Katy sighed. “There’s five of us, six counting Miss Arson. There’s
just one of him. And we’ll have the element of surprise if we can
catch up to them. But we’ve got to go now.” All the fear had gone
out of Katy. She looked positively determined, like she knew what to
do, what was going to happen. She just needed to convince the others
to see what she saw so clearly in her mind.

The other girls were frozen again, their minds churning. It was a
scary thing, for certain, Leah thought, still isolated and silent.
She looked at Katy again and wondered what Katy’s lips would feel like
against hers—her upper lips and her lower. Then, guilty for that
thought, guilty for thinking about sex at a time like this, she
unfroze and spoke up. “Katy’s right,” she said.

– Chapter Nine –

Saturday Evening

Following Miss Arson wasn’t as hard as it looked, or so it seemed when
they started out. They didn’t remember how long they’d stood still
and argued amongst themselves, but she was well and truly out of
sight. However, Rachel, who’d been on her fair share of camping
trips, pointed out a poorly-beaten path that started in the ravine
below them. The brush was heavy, but there was a distinct, narrow
line of trodden dirt to walk. They traced it downhill until it
disappeared. Not even Rachel could find the path.

Katy took charge, pointing dead ahead. They followed her and found
themselves listening to the rushing sound Rachel recognized as the
chasm they’d crossed earlier. Here, Katy sat down and put her head in
her hands. The others sat down, distancing themselves from Katy,
breaking into couples. They dangled their feet over the chasm.
Rachel dropped a stone. She sighed, waiting for a splash, but it
never came. She waited at least an hour, watching the other girls
trembling on the edge of the cliff.

“What are we going to do?” Rachel asked, finally. She looked over at
Erin and Leah, who were clearly losing their drive, and Samantha, who
was now sprawled out, sleeping restlessly.

“We have to help Miss Arson,” said Katy, standing up. And there, in
front of her, was one of Miss Arson’s shoes. Katy’s eyes lit up.
“Look! She must have left this so we could follow her!” From the
location of the shoe, there was enough broken brush to lead the girls
back onto the path. Rachel put on her best girl guide act, which
seemed to reassure everyone else.

Katy took the lead, of course, Rachel behind her, only helping when
asked. Rachel led a reluctant Samantha by the hand. Leah and Erin
followed. Both once again looked ready for a fight. That was a good
thing, Rachel figured. They’d seemed so estranged earlier. The two
lovers hadn’t even hugged after Miss Arson’s kidnapping.

The sky was darkening. Flashlights came out of knapsacks. There were
severed tree branches on the ground all around them, which were hard
to walk over. The path became more difficult to follow and more
brambles and burs got caught in Rachel’s flowing hair. She swept it
back over her shoulder just as a rickety shack came into view. It
would have looked abandoned if not for a light in the window.

“She’s in there,” Katy said. “I know it.”

Erin grabbed one of the tree branches. “We’ll need weapons,” she said.

“Right,” said Katy. “Rachel, Erin and I will carry tree branches.
Samantha and Leah, if he manages to get close to us, it’s your job to
kick him in the nuts, claw his eyes, anything that will make him drop
to the ground so we can beat the hell out of him. If he drops the
knife, it’s also your job to grab it, because your hands are free. We
need to approach quietly, though, because we don’t know where he is.
And we can’t be detected, so I need all lights off.”

“But—“ Samantha started.

“But nothing,” Katy said. “We need to get Miss Arson out of there.”

She grabbed a tree branch and started out on tiptoe, steady and
certain on her feet. The others followed suit, staying in single file
in the same order they had on the path. They didn’t get far in
silence. They traced the treeline, moving toward the right side of
the house and suddenly, something ran toward them in the darkness on
four legs—a dog. It barked and snarled, bearing fangs that were only
just visible in the moonlight. “Back, back,” Katy whispered, guiding
the party back into the trees. “Let’s approach from the other side.”

They doubled back, then approached the house, this time without
disturbance. Without meaning to, they’d become a team. They worked
together as a unit, wordlessly, one following the other.

Rachel took a deep breath before crawling forward, the unofficial
scout. Slowly, she raised her head and peered into the window.
Inside the cabin, there was a fire flickering in an open fireplace.
Splayed in front of it was Miss Arson’s abductor, fully nude and
stretched out across a pink blanket of some sort. Rachel was both
enthralled and disturbed. The man’s heaving chest and belly were
covered by a thick pelt of dark, curly hair which thickened around his
groin. From the forest of pubic hair grew his penis, long and hard,
with veins popping up from under the skin. It was like a tree trunk,
thicker and larger than Damien’s dick, and was glistening with
something, she didn’t know what.

It kind of turned her on, made her get a shaky feeling in her legs, a
wet feeling in her pussy, and she felt guilty thinking it. It was the
same guilt Leah had felt thinking about Katy, but Rachel didn’t know
this yet. She turned her mind back to the task at hand. She scanned
the cabin, but didn’t see Miss Arson anywhere. She also didn’t see
the knife.

She reported this to her friends. “He’s in there. He’s naked and
sleeping in front of the fire. Unarmed, far as I can tell. I don’t
see Miss Arson, though.”

“All right,” said Katy. There was sweat beaded on her face, but her
eyes showed her determination. “We’re going in. Storm the door
first, and if that’s locked, we go for the window closest to it, break
it open and climb in. Remember our plan, girls.” She didn’t give
anyone time to protest and perhaps none of them would have. Erin
kissed Leah on the side of the head, then turned her head forward
again. Rachel stooped to smear lines of dirt onto her cheekbones,
like war-paint. She looked into Samantha’s eyes and saw her fear.
She didn’t want anyone to know what they’d done together, or that it
had bonded them to each other, but now, in mortal danger, she raised
her hand to her friend’s face and touched it lightly, from Samantha’s
high cheekbones to her regal chin. She left a muddy handprint. She
hadn’t meant to, but there it was.

That was all they had time for. “Go, go, go,” Katy whispered, and
charged toward the door.

It was unlocked, of course. The girls weren’t dealing with the type
of man who was afraid of anything or anyone. The door flew open and
the girls entered the cabin, single file, tree branches waving. There
was sweat running down Rachel’s face, gathering under her eyes,
dripping off her chin. She was terrified as she clutched the
splintered surface of the branch in her hands. The man wasn’t a light
sleeper. He was springing to his feet before she caught sight of him.
As he slept, he’d cradled something in his arms, something Rachel
hadn’t seen through the window.

Until he tossed it to the side, she was afraid it was the knife. He
looked like the type to sleep with a weapon. It wasn’t the knife,
though. What the man tossed to the side was an American Girls doll,
the same one Rachel had found in her bunk bed. Now, dread joined the
fear in the pit of her stomach. This man had been watching them,
following them. She looked over at Katy, who seemed to be coming to
the same realization.

They didn’t have much time to think about it. In front of them stood
the man in all his naked glory, arms in the air, legs spread with his
penis bouncing up and down between them, dangling like a pendulum,
rigid and perfectly timed. A drop of something—probably jizz—dangled
from the hole at the end of his dick-head. The hole looked big,
bigger than Damien’s, at least. There was a horrible, animal
expression on the man’s bearded face and he howled at the girls.

It wasn’t Katy who reacted first, but Erin. She swung her tree trunk
like a baseball bat and it landed right on the side of his head,
mashing his ear against the side of his face and displacing his jaw.
The girls watched as he fell to the floor.

Katy stepped forward and whacked him in the jaw for good measure. She
didn’t need to. Erin’s aim had been dead-on. His jaw had already
been broken and the man was out cold, lying beside his doll on the
floor with his arms and legs splayed and limp. The only life that
remained was in his dick, which had stayed hard. It twitched and
bobbed against one of the lifeless legs. All Katy had done was knock
out eight of the man’s front teeth, top and bottom. They scattered
across the carpet like dirty, yellowed pieces of a broken necklace.

“That was easy,” Erin said, but Rachel could tell by her voice that it
hadn’t been easy at all.

“Now,” said Katy, “Where’s Miss Arson?” While Rachel and the others
stood, gaping mouthed, over the body of the man, wondering if he was
dead or not, finding their answer in the heave of his chest, the bob
of his dick, Katy followed a faint sound into the night.

Later, she would tell Rachel about it before she told the others,
because Rachel had been so helpful in keeping them on the trail to the
cabin. Because Rachel had been the lookout and Katy needed a lookout,
because what she’d seen was so terrible she could no longer keep it to
herself.

The cabin had a back door, which stood open. Without the glow of the
city, the moon and stars shone brightly, casting a glowing light onto
the scene before Katy. Miss Arson hung limply by her wrists between
two trees, chained with handcuffs to a branch on one side, a tight
knot of rope on the other.

At first, Katy thought she was dead, but then she heard something deep
and guttural. At first, she thought Miss Arson was crying, but as she
inched closer, she realized she was laughing maniacally. Like the man
inside, she was completely naked. Like the man, she looked
unconscious, but her eyes were open and she was staring blankly at the
ground, laughing now and then. Blue bruises bloomed at her hairline
and on her cheeks, only just visible in the moonlight. Her large
breasts were black-and-blue, as well. Her legs were spread out, just
barely supporting her, and her pussy was visible, hanging open like a
gaping wound. Under her spiky pubic hair, she’d been rubbed red, and
blistered in some places. Her vagina had gotten the worst of it. Her
inner labia were caked with dried blood and opened to reveal a
stretched and bleeding hole. Gobs of semen leaked from the hole,
tinged with bright red blood, trailing down her legs to the ground.

“Did you really see her that vividly—all the colors, the dried blood
and the bruises, in just moonlight?” Rachel asked when Katy told her.

“Yes,” Katy said, “And if you’d have followed me out there, you would
have seen it, too.” It was an image Katy would never quite get out of
her mind.

Katy moved forward and put her hand on her teacher’s shoulder. “Miss
Arson?” Miss Arson bucked backward, now done laughing and trying to
scream, but all that came out was a hiss of air. She couldn’t back
away from Katy; the trees were strong and did not bend. “Miss Arson,
it’s Katy.” As Miss Arson leaned forward, a lattice of whip marks was
revealed, along with deep, animal scratches that led from her
shoulders down to her hourglass hips and the indentation that marked
the top of her buttocks.

Katy pursed her lips when she told Rachel this part. Rachel knew
exactly what Katy had realized at that moment—he’d had the dog rape
her, too. Strong as she was, Katy wanted to throw up. She choked
back the bile in her mouth as she untied the one wrist, leaving Miss
Arson standing like a zombie, one hand raised and handcuffed to a tree
branch.

She ran into the room. “We need to find a handcuff key. Miss
Arson’s out back.” The girls rifled through the cabin; Leah looked
through animal bones on rustic shelves, Rachel looked under one cot,
Katy looked under the blankets on another. Finally, Erin found them.
The keys were hiding in plain sight, sitting on the bearskin rug
beside the still-unconscious man.

Katy released Miss Arson and led her into the cabin, still zombie-like.

This was the first look the rest of the girls got at her. They were
shocked. Rachel, in particular, started crying all over again.

Miss Arson was indifferent to them. Her eyes were blank and now she
was staring up at the ceiling, even though nothing was there. “Come
on,” Katy said. “Miss Arson, please, we need to get going.” Miss
Arson tried to hiss something, but her voice was still gone. Her face
was so pale, her body so shaky. Katy found her clothes stashed in a
corner and began to dress her, bra first, then shirt, then panties
over the horrible and weeping wound between her legs. As she was
trying to get Miss Arson into her jeans, Samantha spoke.

“We can’t just leave this… thing,” she said, gesturing toward the man.

“What do you mean?” Katy asked. “We need to get Miss Arson down the
hill so we can get her to a hospital.”

“I think we’ve got time enough to make this fucker pay,” Samantha
said, an evil grin on her face. “Do to him what he did to Miss
Arson.” Rachel thought she knew her friend, especially after their
filthy episode of shower sex. She knew that Samantha was sexually
experienced but a bit naive about the kinkier side of things. She
also knew that Samantha was up for nearly anything; her work with the
shampoo bottle proved it. What she didn’t know was just how twisted
Samantha would get. She was about to find out.

– Chapter Ten –

Saturday Night

Samantha was thinking of the way Mason had fucked her, in more ways
than one. She was thinking about his big, long dick, which he’d named
“The Monster.” Lying on the floor at her feet was the real monster.
Two monsters, really—the man and his dick. The second monster, the
one Samantha was interested in, twitched between the man’s legs, long
and hard, tantalizing, already dripping with cum. Samantha had been
fucked by a guy. She’d fucked a girl with a shampoo bottle. She’d
never fucked a guy, never been in control. She was about to. For
revenge, for pleasure, it didn’t matter. She was slick inside, slick
and smooth and wet. She could feel her body pumping hormones, pumping
adrenaline. She wanted to ride this man until his cock broke off.

“Do to him what he did to Miss Arson,” she repeated, and started to
unzip her pants.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rachel. “Do what? Torture him?”

Samantha was more blunt about it. “Rape him,” she said. “And torture him.”

Katy, who was struggling to get Miss Arson’s shoes back on feet
swollen and covered with claw marks, looked up for a second. “That
sounds fair, Samantha,” she said. She stood, leaving Miss Arson to
struggle with her own shoes. “Move the cot to the center of the room.
Tie him to it with the same rope and handcuffs he used on her.”

It took four of the five girls to lift the man. Samantha ended up at
his head, hands under his big, sweaty shoulders. She peered down at
the man’s face, his toothless lips sputtering as he breathed. He
didn’t deserve to breathe, she thought. Not after what he’d done. In
the meantime, Katy led Miss Arson into a corner. Samantha heard Katy
speak gently. “You stay here. You don’t need to see this, but we’re
going to get him for you.” Miss Arson, who had yet to say a word and
was still drooling and barefoot, obeyed and Katy rejoined the group.

The girls dropped the man onto the cot. Katy returned with the rope
and handcuffs, which they used to hook the man to the cot—cuffs
locking his arms underneath it, rope securing his legs. His penis
stood erect, the highest point on his body. “Look at that monster,”
Samantha marvelled.

“We should cut it off,” said Katy.

“Oh, no,” said Samantha. “Not until I get to ride it.”

“What are you, sick?” Rachel asked. “A soap bottle is one thing, but
that’s really, really big.” Luckily, nobody asked about the soap
bottle; Samantha wasn’t quite ready to explain what had gone on in the
shower yet. She was, however, ready to take her anger out on this
guy, and boy was she angry. She finished unzipping her jeans, kicked
them to the side along with her underwear, and lifted her shirt. The
other girls stared at her as she stood there, wearing only her black
sports bra, gazing down at the man she held captive.

He was quite disgusting, really, except for his marvellous cock. He
was fat and stinky, covered with hair. While Samantha was deciding
where to start, Katy brushed her arm. “Here’s the whip he used on
her,” she said. They joined hands and whipped him together, starting
at the chest and moving downward to the man’s legs. When the third
blow landed, the man’s eyes snapped open and he looked right at
Samantha.

Samantha squeezed the whip harder and gave him ten more blows. The
whip left red, angry cuts with ragged edges. The man groaned in pain.
“You sorry for what you done?” Erin asked, stepping forward. Leah
huddled behind her. The man clenched his teeth—or, rather, the space
where his teeth should have been, gum on gum, and shook his head no.
Erin unzipped her hiking shorts and tore off her shirt. She took off
her bra, as well, letting her pert, athletic, caramel-colored bosoms
bounce free.

She ripped off her underwear, balled it up, and stuffed it into the
man’s mouth. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say on any
subject unless you’re ready to confess your sins.” Samantha couldn’t
help but smile. She sounded just like the teachers at school—all of
them except Miss Arson.

And, while they might have implored the man to confess, they wouldn’t
have approved of what she was about to do, for as soon as Erin stepped
away from the man, Samantha climbed onto him. She straddled his hairy
chest; the hair tickled her shaved, little pussy. She left a slimy
trail of her juices along his chest and got her bearings by gripping
the man’s wrinkly, brown nipples. Erin’s underwear muffled his scream
as Samantha twisted the tender flesh. Now fully balanced, she leaned
back, unhooked her bra, and let her tanned and shiny breasts loose.

Though he was clearly in pain, still bleeding from the whip, the man’s
penis only grew harder. He couldn’t help but be turned on by this
beautiful girl who was riding him. Samantha lifted her body, giving
the man’s nipples another rough twist, and eased herself down on his
penis. She felt it penetrate her, leaking pre-cum already, which
soaked her hairless outer lips. Feeling the full girth of him, she
bore down, shifting back and forth on her hips as he entered her more
fully. It was different being on top. Samantha was in control now.
If she wanted, she could tease this man forever, just allowing the
head of his penis to enter, then drawing back, abruptly, forcing it
out of her body with an audible pop.

But Samantha wanted the whole thing. After teasing for a few moments,
moving up and down, controlling the shallow penetration, she pressed
down as hard as she could and his cock—she’d heard that word
somewhere—slipped all the way inside, opening her up, filling her as
she had never been filled before. She felt rip-roaring pressure on
the walls of her little pussy and her cervix, and had to wait for her
body to adjust before getting into a rhythm with this monster, moving
up and down, up and down, letting the huge member slide all the way in
and then all the way out, twisting the man’s nipples as she moved
along.

She felt the monster cock’s juices mixing with her own. The gooey
mixture slopped out of her, tangling in the man’s thick pubic hair.
Samantha kept riding, using all her force on him. She’d been
powerless before, but now she held the power. She’d been fucked, but
now she was fucking. She didn’t notice Rachel beside her until she
felt a gentle hand under her chin. Samantha turned and Rachel’s lips
met hers. They kissed passionately, moving their lips hard against
each other. Samantha no longer cared if people thought she was a
lesbian, but how could they when here she was, filled to the brim with
dick.

When Rachel finally broke the kiss, she said, “Ride ‘em, cowgirl.”
And Samantha kept riding, taking every bit of her aggression out on
this man who had hurt Miss Arson. She bounced her way to her first
orgasm; her body curled at the spine and she shook from her head to
her toes, shrieking and throwing her head back at the height of it.
Her pussy squeezed the man’s dick so tight that she thought she was
going to burst it if such a thing was possible. The dick didn’t
burst. The man didn’t even cum. So Samantha kept riding.

She might have gone on all night with the rest of the girls standing
and watching, Katy cracking the whip against one of the man’s arms now
and then, Erin slapping his face to make sure he stayed awake and
focused. But Leah, timid Leah, took her arm, not to tell her that
enough was enough, but to ask for a turn. Samantha slid off of the
monster penis reluctantly, her pussy leaking pre-cum and juices.

Leah had been touching herself and Erin had been fingering her, so she
was ready for it—at least somewhat. She’d never had a dick before, so
she was understandably nervous. But if she was going to be a lesbian
for the rest of her life—and she was pretty sure she was—she needed
to try straight sex at least once. Or at least that’s what she told
the others later when explaining her logic. With Erin guiding her
hips down on the man’s cock, Leah looked terrified as he penetrated
her. “It’s okay, baby,” Erin said, pushing her hips down. The entire
group heard the head of the huge cock pop into Leah. Leah gasped.

And then she was off like a madwoman.

She fucked the man every bit as relentlessly as Samantha had done,
twisting his nipples out of spite, following her friend’s twisted
suit. She didn’t take the dick quite as deeply as Samantha had, but
she took it, let it stretch her, and, just as the man’s hips were
tensing, she sprang off of his dick before getting a shot of cum in
her pussy. She smiled. “Dodged a bullet there,” she said, making a
fist and punching the man’s penis.

The man sputtered and tried to shout through the undies. He’d wanted
to cum inside the pretty little hippie, of course, and he hadn’t been
able to. Rachel stepped forward. She had other plans for his cum.
She stood over the man, opened her mouth, and gave him a toothy
blow-job. He tasted terrible, she would tell the others later. The
only redeeming part of it was the residual taste of Samantha and
Leah’s sweet pussies. Once that was gone, it was like eating
half-liquefied rotten fish that filled her entire mouth. But she
wanted to do it, wanted the pleasure of driving her teeth into this
guy’s dick as he tried to hold back his orgasm.

He lasted about forty seconds. Rachel applied just enough pressure to
his cock, sucking and swirling her tongue around the dickhead between
nibbles into his flesh—that he burst shortly. She held just the head
of his dick in her mouth, wrapping her hands around the monster cock
as she guided it through its orgasm. Rachel didn’t swallow a drop.
She held it in her mouth and proceeded to yank Erin’s panties out of
the man’s mouth. Then, she kissed him roughly, not the way she’d
kissed Samantha at all, and spat all of the jizz into his mouth. She
replaced the panties and let him choke on it.

The girls watched the man’s eyes turning red. Samantha climbed up and
sat on the man’s face, choking the breath from his nose with her
well-used, hairless pussy. She held herself over his nose until he
was out.

“Let’s flip him now,” Samantha said. “So we can whip his back.”

All five girls flipped the heaving man over. He was taking halting
breaths through his nose now, still alive, but not happy. Katy handed
the whip to Erin, who streaked his back with the same gaping wounds
that graced his front, focusing on his ass, already lumpy and pimpled.
Nobody noticed that Katy had gone outside.

Samantha had found a poker from the fire—not heated up, but still long
and uncomfortable, and was probing the man’s asshole when Katy
returned. “I’ve got a better idea than that,” she said. She had the
man’s dog, its penis hard and angry. At first, it took no interest in
the man, but Katy knelt beside it and massaged its penis with her
hand, drawing the bulbous red head even further out of the dog’s
foreskin. She rubbed the penis and its sheath until the dog was
ready, looking around for anything to fuck. Katy was left with a
juicy hand full of dog smegma. Samantha guided it onto the man,
holding his ass cheeks open for easier entry. The dog’s dick was long
and narrow; it found its mark and stabbed.

The man’s scream could be heard, even through the cum-soaked panties.
Katy wiped her smegma-covered hand across his nose. That shut him up
for a while; he gagged into the panties as the dog continued its anal
attack. The girls watched in amusement as the dog pummelled the man’s
anus with his dick, stabbing in and out, changing direction and
eliciting more muffled screams. The dog’s claws traced ugly scratch
marks down the man’s back, crooked series of lines like the girls had
seen on Miss Arson. Amid the pleasure they found in watching the man
get brutally raped, they understood that this had happened to their
teacher.

By the time Samantha remembered that Miss Arson was right there,
sitting with her head turned to the corner, the dog had shot its wad
and withdrawn, dragging a trail of blood, shit and cum that trickled
down the man’s hairy inner thighs. Samantha looked to the corner.
Miss Arson had turned and was staring at the man’s violated backside,
nodding her head. She had one hand in her jeans; she was touching
herself.

“I think it’s time,” Katy said, finally. Flip him back over.

Samantha had lost track of Katy while the dog was doing its business.
She’d gone back toward the cabin’s rudimentary kitchen, but for what,
she was not sure. The girls followed Katy’s command, however, and
flipped the man onto his back once again. He was too weak to resist.
His penis had softened, but kept some of its length. It lay, coiled,
in the thatch of pubic hair. Katy took it in her hand, spat on it,
and moved her fist up and down, working him til he hardened again,
against his will.

His ass must have been stinging because he kept wiggling his hips,
trying to get away from Katy’s hand. Nevertheless, his penis sprang
alive, almost immediately reaching its full length. Samantha was
surprised when Katy climbed onto the man and impaled herself on the
newly hardened penis, but she wasted no time in getting behind her
friend, in between the man’s parted legs, and helping her bounce up
and down as she lost her virginity to the monster. It was an angry
fuck, like Samantha’s had been, and Katy kept her shirt on for it.
Samantha, feeling out of control and incredibly horny, tried to get
the shirt off, copping a feel of Katy’s perky tits as she did. That’s
when she felt it—something hard nestled under Katy’s arm.

Before she realized it was a knife, Katy popped off of the man, penis
sliding out of her, coated in blood and juices. He probably thought
he was going to shoot his load into the crazy goth girl, but he was
wrong—and how. Katy revealed the blade the man had used to kidnap
Miss Arson. She held it in front of his face. And promptly brought
it down between his legs. Without hesitation, she gripped the head of
the man’s penis, brought the knife to its base, and cut it right off.

The gush of blood was instant and overwhelming. It came out in a
pressurized spray, coating the man’s body and the entire cot with
freshly-spilled plasma. Katy held the severed penis over the man’s
face as it softened in her hand. The man was able to see what she’d
done as he lay dying. Erin pulled the panties out of the man’s mouth.
“You sorry now?” she asked.

The man grunted. “Yes,” he said, or at least that was what the girls
would believe he’d said.

“I don’t forgive you,” Katy said, and she shoved the man’s dismembered
penis into his mouth.

Death came quickly. The pressurized spray of blood, which had been
like a firehose, slowed to a pulsating gush, then a trickle, and then
stopped altogether. The man’s eyes were open, pleading with the girls
for a mercy they could no longer offer. Choking on his own penis,
bleeding from the gaping hole between his legs, he breathed his last
and died in front of them.

Katy, covered in blood, hugged Samantha to her, forming a blood
sisterhood, a twisted sisterhood that would last the rest of their
lives. The others joined them in their embrace. They’d all been
there, had all participated, even if they hadn’t been penetrated.
They hugged tightly, covered with blood and mud, only breaking the
embrace when Katy said, matter-of-factly, “All right, girls, we’ve got
to get down the hill by morning. And we’ve got a body to get rid of.”

Chapter Eleven –

Sunday Morning

Katy didn’t realize she’d formulated a plan until she spoke. She’d
never wanted to become a leader; she preferred to stay in the shadows.
But this situation had been forced upon her and she had led her
friends to this strange and bloody victory. She wasn’t about to let
things go wrong at the end.

The man’s body was heavier now that he was dead. They wrapped him in
his own sleeping bag, leaving him handcuffed, keeping his legs tied.
There would be no horror movie scene with this asshole waking up and
staging a final attack. This body would not disappear until she
wanted it to. Erin and Rachel dragged the body along the path while
Leah and Samantha lit a campfire. All of the tension between the
girls had gone, especially now that everyone realized Samantha and
Rachel were just as queer as Erin and Leah. Katy ensured that
everything bloodstained or cumstained went into the campfire, from the
cot’s dirty pillow to Erin’s panties. When the fire was out, all that
remained was ash.

Katy took a final sweep over the cabin. One of the cots was empty.
She glanced back at the other one; they hadn’t touched it. She,
Samantha and Leah, aching to the bone, led Miss Arson down the path to
where Erin and Rachel had the man’s body. They stood at the edge of
the gaping chasm they’d passed before, ready to roll it in. “One,
two, three,” they counted, and they pushed the body over. When they’d
thrown rocks into the chasm, they’d heard nothing—not a crash or a
splash. This time, they heard both—the sound of breaking trees and a
hearty splash as the body hit the water. They stood for a moment,
surveying their work, the utter lack of evidence.

“We must never tell anyone about this but each other,” Katy said, and
knew that the rest of them understood. They were bonded by these
events, sisters forever, in a way. All of the girls answered in the
affirmative. Only Miss Arson had failed to respond. “Miss Arson, are
you in agreement?”

Finally, the teacher spoke, softly, as though the word caused her
great pain. “Yes,” she said. The speech barrier broken, she
continued. “It’s best if we pretend this never happened.”

But the girls, Katy in particular, knew that was impossible. They
would need to talk about it, would need to support each other through
the memories and protect each other from any other threats that came
their way. Having lived through this together, it was the least they
could do.

Katy led her band down the hill, Miss Arson beside her, hands on her
shoulders for balance. She felt the sun rising, sunlight on her face.
Less than half a day ago, she didn’t know if she would live to see
another new day and now there were thousands of new days before her.

Back at the cabin, the shower was pumped and Katy watched as her
friends used it. There was no privacy now. She got a look at
everyone naked, from Erin’s body, dark and athletic, but somehow
gentle as she washed Leah, head to foot, to Rachel and Samantha in
their skinny, valley girl beauty as they kissed passionately under a
stream of water. Katy was back to her role as observer.

She watched Erin rinse the disgusting woodsman’s pre-cum out of Leah’s
vagina, fingering her tenderly, spreading her lips and whispering
something in her ear. Leah responded in turn, fingers inside of Erin,
fucking more roughly. “It was like that,” Leah said, this time out
loud. “It hurt, but it felt good, too.”

Katy watched Rachel lick Samantha’s pussy clean, Samantha grinning a
twisted and toothy grin as she spread her thin legs further, letting
Rachel get right into it, get all of the sweat and stray hairs out.
She’d ridden the man the hardest and longest and was the dirtiest on
the inside. Rachel didn’t seem to mind, went after her with a broad
tongue in the big places, and the tip of her tongue in the little,
tiny ones. They finished off with a deep kiss and several mouthfuls
of water to get the taste out of their mouths.

When it was Miss Arson’s turn, Katy gave her some privacy. It was
what she felt her teacher would want. She’d always considered herself
a little bit twisted, maybe not as twisted as Samantha turned out to
be, but twisted. She got off watching her friends fool around after
killing someone and disposing of the body, but watching a raped woman
was just too much.

Finally, it was Katy’s turn to shower. She thought over the sexier
events of the day, even thinking back to her encounter with Erin in
the bathroom, and she rubbed her own hardened clit, pressing it
against her pubic bone. She pressed two fingers into her newly opened
vagina, satisfied that she’d lost her virginity on her own terms, and
that something good had come of it—the man’s punishment, the girls’
friendship. She came quickly, water rushing over her, and leaned back
against the shower wall to ride out her orgasm. Fluid squirted out of
her, mixed with the stream of water from the shower, and sank through
the porous surface below.

By the time Katy pulled her clothes back on, she was completely
satisfied, and the school bus had rolled into view. Newly washed, the
five girls and Miss Arson didn’t betray what had happened to them.
The bus driver noticed nothing amiss. He kept his eyes on the road
and pulled away from the campsite.

Katy looked around the bus, at Erin and Leah cuddling together, Rachel
and Samantha whispering secrets in each other’s ears, and finally at
Miss Arson, who looked almost normal. Now and then, she cringed
slightly, a painful memory crossing over her face like a cloud briefly
overshadowing the sun. Katy worried about Miss Arson, and would
continue to worry about her more than the other girls.

And now, thinking back, she was worried about something else. She’d
been sure to burn all of the evidence. The man’s body was rotting in
a river. But something in the cabin left her uneasy—the second cot.
Why would a solitary woodsman have two cots to sleep in? Had there
been someone else living in the cabin? She tried to dismiss her fear,
but no matter how she tried to control her mind, it kept wandering
back to that second cot, made up with another set of blankets. She
bore these thoughts, like a penance, the entire way home.

Epilogue

From behind a rock, hidden amongst the trees and undergrowth, he watched.

He listened and he learned names and places. From the side of the
bus, he learned not only the name of the city but also the name of a
school.

It will take planning and caution, but he will do what must be done.
If he bides his time, vengeance will be his–vengeance for his brother
and vengeance for himself.

Without his brother to rein in his demented and tortured mind, he will
tear them limb from limb. And why not have a little pleasure along
the way?

He reached down and stroked his American Girls doll against his erect
cock as the dust from the departing bus settled on the ground.

End