Chapter 1 - Opening Night

 

Schoolteacher Justine Grayson screamed again into the duct tape and insulation that was tightened so firmly around her lower face that it felt like her teeth would break and her jaw would crack. It felt as if her head of short-cropped light brown hair would explode every time the custodian rammed his cock up into her from behind while yanking on the dog leash he had affixed around her soft throat.

With his other hard, oily hand he gripped her swelling left breast like a dodge ball, riding her like a recalcitrant pony.

She was on her knees on his filthy cot behind the boiler, the too-tight school t-shirt pushed above her swinging breasts, and the too-tight cheerleader skirt bunched around her narrow, wonderful waist.

Her big eyes were blinded by a tight, dirty cloth, as sweat, hair, and tears flowed over, under, and through the material while he yanked on her and rammed into her with crazed abandon. His plan of keeping her ignorant of his identity was thrown out the window the minute he started fucking her.

"Ooooo," he cooed into her ear as the furnace throbbed. "You are so tight, so wet, so wonderful!" His accent was so thick and his voice so grating that she nearly heard him through her hysterical agony. The rape was so raw and the room so hot and airless, she thought she would die every second.

"And so pretty... like one of the students...!" he hissed, ignoring the terror which tore at her normally gentle features, and the way her pain and disbelief seemed to make her cheeks swell above the suffocating gag. "But you're softer than them, sweeter than them, smoother than them...!" And he rammed his knobbed cock up her again.

Justine writhed in the incredibly taut ropes which held her arms in the small of her back. This bastard knew how to still and silence a girl... keeping her secreted in the bowels of the school, raping her violently, as meetings, dances, and sports events went on all around them over the last two days.

Her mouth was stuffed so full of her own clothes she thought she'd choke. Her lips were covered so hard she thought they'd split. The cords were so tight she thought they'd cut her wrists. But she didn't and they didn't. Instead she had to struggle like a calf in mud, trying to pull her luscious form away as he fucked her like a donkey in heat.

"Oh, so nice," he moaned, dragging her up by her leashed neck and breast so that she kneeled in front of him on the cot. She was unaware of his ecstatic expression, as he was unaware of how tightly he held her leash. Dimly she could hear the gym's buzzer going off and distantly she realised she was going to lose consciousness.

Not fair, was her deep subconscious thought. Not after all she had survived. Seemingly years ago (though only a few days in actuality) she had been attacked by a brother and sister team of captors just before a parent/teacher conference, and secreted in her own classroom's bathroom. As the sister convinced the parents that she was the teacher, the real teacher had been raped a mere ten feet away and then imprisoned until the school emptied.

Then she had been moved from her class to the storage area beneath the auditorium stage, dressed in a student's cheerleader outfit, her breasts tortured with rubber bands. The monstrous brother had fucked her some more while cunningly tied gags and bondage kept her from escaping or getting help.

And now this... her "rescuer" had decided to keep her for himself, ravaging her curvy form every chance he got. Was this her fate, simply for being the cute girl with the bombshell body? Just because she decided to make a little extra money by posing for the most prominent men's magazine? To choke to death, or die from shock, in the boiler room of her own school, being raped by a lustful janitor?

Her consciousness didn't care. Her face got red, liquid poured down her skin, she made a sound like a drowning kitten, and her eyelids fluttered closed, as her body jerked, her tits jiggled, and the man rammed into her for the hundredth time.

"I'm coming," he exulted in Spanish, his head back, his eyes closed, as he squeezed and yanked, unaware of how her swathed head nodded...

"No," said a calm voice, also in Spanish. "You're going."

He felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, then a pressure, and then nothing more... ever again.

Justine Grayson fell into the arms of Cyndi Rowland. The nice-looking man with the single facial scar who had swung a silver-topped cane into the side of the janitor's head like Sammy Sosa stepped forward to place a finger at the insensible brunette's throat.

"There's a pulse," he said, in English this time, pulling a tiny phone from his pocket. "Call the hospital. If they're fast, she may avoid brain damage."

The beautiful blonde looked up in shock as he turned to go. "What are you doing?"

He stopped in the doorway. "Call!" he insisted. Then, as she did, he said evenly, "We were lucky to find Ms February..." He stressed the "Ms" sardonically, "... so quickly. The next time we may not be. Your dear stepbro and sis may not be so kind as to hide their victims so close by."

By then the emergency operators had answered, and he waited as she gave them the information. He admired her exacting calmness, despite all she had been through, especially the way she told them right off the bat that these were centrefolds they were dealing with. An ambulance and police cars would be here within minutes... may be seconds.

Cyndi clicked the phone shut and held it out to him. He shook his head. "It's yours now. Use it for calls like this one." He nodded toward the brunette. "Undo the gag. She may asphyxiate if her nose is stuffed."

Cyndi immediately started working on the sticky tape and sodden insulation.

"They have a head start," she heard him say quietly. "How many did they get before I found you, their original victim? Four, five? How many have they gotten since? Most importantly, how many can we find before it's too late?"

She heard him shake his head rather than seeing it. All she saw was the sweet young teacher as she tore and pulled at the stuff covering her lower face like skin.

"No," she heard him say. "I need help. I know that now..."

Finally the insulation tore open under Cyndi's hands and Justine's mashed mouth was revealed, her lips thickened and darkened by their ordeal. And behind the perfect teeth, a huge mass of sodden cloth.

"Jesus ..!" Cyndi breathed, clawing at it. "I had no idea what this all looked like until now. All I knew was how it felt to be sealed inside yourself... too stunned at the invasion to realise how your mouth was filled, your hands tied..." She finally yanked the last hunk of cloth free from Justine's lax mouth. The defiled brunette made a sound like a sex-toy deflating....

"Oh my God," Cyndi breathed, near tears. "What have they done? Megan... Clarissa... Kirby...!" She saw all their faces superimposed on Justine's unconscious features. Then a sudden thought stabbed at her. "Becky!" she blurted. She was the one who had been like a younger sister to her. "What could they be doing to Becky right this very minute ..!"

She looked up in shock... but the doorway was empty. She was alone in the room with a dead custodian and barely breathing, nearly naked young schoolteacher... the sound of sirens getting louder every second...