Chapter 4

Friday evening, Miriam bathed and changed from her sober wool suit she'd worn that day into a more informal short beige dress with buttons all down its front. She drove back to the high school building and arrived punctually at eight o'clock. The dance was being held in the downstairs cafeteria, which had a side entrance that opened out on the parking area reserved for the staff, but which already was lined with a few older cars and pickups she recognized as belonging to some of the students.

She could hear music as she walked inside the cafeteria, and saw that a five-piece rock group was warming up on the small stage near the back. They were obviously local talent, equipped with drums and electric guitars, and they were filling the low- ceilinged room with ear-splitting squeals, thumps, and twangs. Around the sides of the room, the usual dining tables and benches had been replaced by small round tables and folding chairs. On the tables were candles, the kind that were inside rose-tinted glass bowls, and the regular lights were dimmed almost to complete darkness, so that the cafeteria was bathed in a warm, romantically flickering glow. Bunting and streamers festooned the walls, and the snack-bar at the end had been converted into a gaily-decorated "bar," where a large crystal bowl of punch sat among stacks of glasses.

The dance was supposed to go from eight to midnight, and although there were some boys and girls standing around, Miriam didn't expect things to become fully swinging until eight-thirty or nine o'clock. She walked over to the punch bowl, and was dipping herself a glass of the non-alcoholic drink, when Harlow Cartwright and his wife came out of the door leading to the kitchen.

"On time, I see," the principal said, running his tongue around his lips. "Good. It looks better if the kids see us all in force when they arrive. Tones them down right from the start."

"You're not expecting trouble, are you?" Miriam asked nervously. "Surely the students wouldn't be=8B=8B"

"Don't be naive," Cartwright interrupted. "They would try anything. They'll sneak in liquor or even drugs if we let them. Times have changed, and where we were taught to know our place, nowadays they think they can get away with murder."

"Yes, sir," Miriam replied, not wishing to argue with him.

"You haven't met my wife, have you? Agnes, this is our new English teacher, Mrs. Dodge."

Agnes Cartwright was a round-faced, chunky woman somewhere in her mid-fifties. She was at least half a foot shorter than her husband, wore her coarse, graying hair in an old-fashioned bun, and layered cheap makeup over her age-lines and the sagging flesh of her cheeks. Her small, moist dark eyes bore an uncompromising expression, making her remind Miriam of the old pictures of Victorian suffragettes axing saloons and other devilish places.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," the woman said, appraising the blonde-haired teacher critically. "Harrow's description of you didn't do you justice. You seem so much younger and... prettier than he'd let on."

Her wet eyes continued to bore hostilely into Miriam with cold penetration. Miriam felt extremely uncomfortable, and she tried to think of an excuse to leave them. "Perhaps I should wait by the door," she suggested. "I could greet the students as they came in."

"Good idea," Cartwright said, nodding. "That way you can give them a quick glance to see if they're carrying any bottles or not. Damned marijuana, though. I can't find a way of stopping them from smoking short of stripping them down to their skin."

"Yes," his wife added. "You keep a sharp eye out, Mrs. Dodge. If you see anything or have any trouble, you find Harlow, you hear?"

"I'll know how to deal with those young whippersnappers," Cartwright promised, his lips taut and thin.

Miriam took her glass of punch and hurried to the side door. God, what an old-fashioned, narrow-minded attitude the pair of them had! No wonder juvenile delinquency was as rampant as it was, with such deplorable people as the Cartwrights in charge of education. She'd hate to have to turn in a child who'd committed some silly little prank, for she could see that the punishment would outstrip the crime. No, if there were any problems tonight=8B =8Bshe doubted that there would be=8B=8Bshe would try to find a way of handling them herself.

The auditorium gradually filled, the students filing in long streams through the door beside Miriam before finding tables and beginning to dance. The time sped swiftly for the blonde, curvaceous teacher, and soon she found herself enjoying the young teenaged scene. The band kept a heavy, throbbing beat which seemed to infiltrate through her body, even though the five boys of the band were playing with more enthusiasm than professionalism. The dancing was of the modern style in the small, open clearing surrounded by the ring of tables, the couples gyrating in arm-waving, leg-twisting abandonment. She'd read somewhere that this was the current form of ancient African Tribal fertility rites; a type of make-believe, clothed sexual mating=8B=8B and she could well believe it. Just standing by the door and tapping her foot in time to the music, she could feel a strange, light-fingered pulsing begin deep between her own thighs as though she were sexually responding to the heady, jungle-born rhythms.

Along about nine-thirty, when the room was thronged with kids she couldn't even remember the names of, Mark Trenton appeared at the door with his two buddies, Joey Gore and Don Watson. The sight of the three of them, especially young Mark, seemed to bring her back from her giddy enjoyment to grim reality with a sharp, shuddering jolt of pain.

"E-evening," Mark said in a low voice, turning his eyes away from meeting hers.

"Good evening, Mark," she replied calmly, even though his sudden presence was causing unexpected flutterings to ripple through her belly. "Didn't you bring a date for tonight?"

"Naw," Don Watson answered for the boy. "Ain't no girls we know pretty as you, Mizz Dodge."

"That's for sure," Joey chimed in. "You going to save us a dance, maybe?"

"I can't, she declined even though she loved to dance. "I'm supposed to be a chaperone here, not join in the fun."

"Aw, sure you can," Joey persisted. "All the teachers do. Look, even old Marble-hea=8B=8BI mean, Mr. Cartwright is having a fling."

Miriam turned to glance at the dance-floor, and indeed, the husky youth was right. Harlow Cartwright was holding his wife sedately at arm's length, attempting a jogging fox-trot to the music. She had a hard time stifling a giggle at the ludicrous sight. "Well, maybe later on then," she agreed. "I'll see how busy I am."

"Right on," Watson said. "I'll be looking forward to a dance, too. Come on, gang, I need some of that punch, first."

Mark Trenton didn't say a word, only following the other boys with his head hanging down sheepishly. Miriam watched the three of them disappear into the crowd, feeling a sigh of relief pass by her lips. God, poor young Mark must still be ashamed as she was of their naked coupling on her bed last Sunday morning. He was an innocent, sensitive boy, and it was obvious that he hadn't been able to bury what had happened in his mind and forget it any more than she had. Then, once more, the perverse memory of the lewd intercourse she had committed with him filtered once again through her head, reviving the tingling twitch between her thighs until she was forced to squeeze them tightly together in an effort to end the taunting sensations.

She was still squirming in her standing position at the door when Harlow Cartwright came up to her, his plump face reddened with exertion, and a fine sheen of sweat dotting his forehead.

"My, I see you haven't moved from your position, Mrs. Dodge," he said. "Conscientiousness is the mark of success, I always say."

"Thank you, sir, I thought it best to stay here, since you and your wife were inside," she said, wondering if the fat elder principal ever talked in anything but cliches. "I saw you dancing earlier. You made a distinguished couple, I must say."

"We did?" Cartwright beamed, adjusting his glasses. "Well, all work and no play makes Harlow a dull boy, I always say," and he chuckled at his bit of quaint humor. "Haven't you been dancing yet, a young woman like you?"

"No, I haven't. As I said, I thought I should=8B=8B"

"Well," he interrupted, taking her arm, "we'll rectify that right now, while Agnes is in the kitchen. After all, everybody who's coming here has come by now. No sense you standing by the door all night."

Before Miriam could protest, the portly principal was pushing her through the students to the polished dance-floor. There she followed him in a simple two-step, grateful that the band had slipped into a slow number as a change of pace. She was surprised to find that despite his girth, the rotund man proved to be an agile and smooth dancer, and they were able to keep together. But unlike he had with his wife, Harlow Cartwright attempted to press his flabby bulk against her tightly, until she was certain that she could actually feel a hardening bulge in the front of his trousers pushing into her abdomen.

"Please," she said, endeavoring to loosen his hold upon her.

"What's the matter? Don't you like my dancing?" he grinned at her, and continued to clutch her to him.

"No, no it's not that," Miriam replied weakly, afraid of offending her employer. "It's just that it's awfully warm in here." She was certain that she could feel his penis begin to throb against her lower stomach, and she struggled to back away from the frighteningly obscene pressure which rubbed sensuously against her thinly covering dress.

"Please, Mr. Cartwright, we have to set an example for the students. They're looking at us..."

"Nonsense," he scoffed, his breathing growing heavy as the pulsating of his now obviously rock-hard shaft beat hotly into the soft flesh of her belly. "What do they know?"

Miriam was about to risk offending him and insist he let her go, when young Joey Gore approached and tapped her obnoxious partner on the shoulder.

"Yes?" the aroused little principal asked him curtly.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Cartwright," the wiry, thin-faced youth said. "Your wife sent me to look for you. She wants you in the kitchen."

"Oh, she does, does she?"

"Yes, sir. She said to come immediately."

Cartwright glowered as he reluctantly removed his arm from around Miriam's waist.

"Don't ever get married, young man, or you'll be bullied for the rest of your life." And with a grunt, he turned and angrily walked away.

Joey Gore stepped in to take his place, holding Miriam in loose but firm confidence. "Figured you needed some help," he said, looking into her face. "So I went and told his wife on him."

"I'm glad you did," she replied, feeling a little confused by this odd turn of events. She could smell the odor of beer on his breath, and added; "But Joey, you shouldn't be drinking, you know."

"Sorry, Ma'am," he said, his face sobering quickly. "I just had a small one before coming here, that's all. Say, speaking of that, you look hot and thirsty. How about a glass of punch?"

"I would like some, at that," Miriam agreed. They stopped dancing as the band changed into a wildly jumping number, and Joey led her to where Don Watson and Mark Trenton were sitting at one of the small tables toward the back. As if he'd expected her to come, Joey handed her an already filled glass.

"Here you are, Mrs. Dodge. Don brought one too many back with him, so you might as well have it."

"Why, thank you," she replied, taking the glass and lifting it to her lips. She was thirsty, and the punch was very delicious. There seemed to be an odd flavor to this glass that hadn't been in her other one, but she dismissed it as being simply part of another batch made after hers.

"How about me having a dance now, Mrs. Dodge?" Don asked.

"Well, the music is awfully fast, and I've never learned how to dance the way you youngsters do."

"Heck, nothing to it. You just go out there and do your thing. That's what we all do. Nobody knows any particular steps. Come on, drink up and we'll give it a try, what do you say?"

"All right," Miriam said, smiling. "Why not?"

So she danced with him, and afterwards she danced with Joey again. Then came a succession of eager young boys, all wanting to have a chance of dancing with their English teacher. She found to her utter enchantment that when she did as Donald suggested and let herself go with the music, her natural instincts seemed to over-ride any hesitation she had from not knowing the proper steps, and soon she could dance with the best of the youths. She was having fun, more fun than she could remember since her own school days, and she jerked and undulated to the beat until her face was flushed and her head swam dizzily. And in-between times, she gulped the refreshing punch that the two lewdly plotting boys had spiked. She drank it in quantity, never occurring to her that the drink had achieved its additional tang because they had added potent liquor.

Eventually it took its toll, however, and Miriam suddenly began to feel dizzy and in need of fresh air. She excused herself from the boy she'd been with at the moment and staggered slightly as she headed for the entrance door. There she stood for a long moment, wiping the perspiration from her forehead and drawing in deep breaths of the cool, pine-scented night air. God, she was acting as if she was drunk! What a fine way to behave! What would Mr. Cartwright say if he saw her the way she was right now?

"There you are," she heard a high-pitched voice behind her, and she turned to stare at Agnes Cartwright, who was framed in the cafeteria's dim light. "I was wondering where you'd wandered off to, after dancing the way you'd been."

Somehow the wife of the principal had made it sound as though she might have wandered away with one of the students. Miriam couldn't help blushing in spontaneous embarrassment. "I... I only thought I should mix with the children, Mrs. Cartwright," she said in an effort to defend herself. "The way you and Mr. Cartwright were doing earlier."

"We were dancing proper," the older woman sniffed haughtily. "But, like everything else, dancing's degenerated into evil ways."

"It's different, I'll say that," Miriam said. "But when I was in school, we used to do the Lindy and the Jitterbug, and now the couples don't even hold each other."

"Really," Agnes Cartwright said through her nose, lifting it parrot-like an inch or so. "My upbringing was God-fearing and decent. We never indulged in such fancy carrying-on in my circle."

Miriam compressed her lips in tight little rings of lipstick, angered by the holier-than-thou attitude and prudish contempt she felt she was being subjected to. The liquor in her made her want to say all sorts of things, but she knew that one wrong word could lead to a scene that would mean her dismissal. "Mrs. Cartwright," she began in arched, virtuous defense of her actions. "I hardly see=8B=8B"

"That is obvious," the other woman snapped waspishly. "And a good-night to you, Mrs. Dodge." And with that, Agnes Cartwright turned on her heel and was gone, swallowed up by the dense crowd of students in the auditorium.

The now hotly incensed teacher could feel frustrated anger and resentment boiling through her like a well-stoked furnace. Who did that old biddy think she was? She had no right to insinuate she was acting immoral, no right at all! Why she had a good mind to go in there and tell that bitch where to get off anyway, and to hell with the consequences. She could certainly understand why Harlow Cartwright was interested in other women, after having to live with a wife like her for so long.

But the sudden thought of how he'd danced with her made Miriam mentally feel the impression of his long, hot penis jammed against her, and she shuddered at the thought of it again. It was obvious that she would have to be on guard every minute she stayed at this horrid school, not only against her own impulses, but against Cartwright's as well. As soon as she had enough money saved up, she would find another teaching position and leave Logansville immediately...

Mark Trenton interrupted her unpleasant stream of thoughts by charging out of the auditorium. Breathlessly, he shouted to her; "There you are, Mrs. Dodge! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Mark! What ever is the matter with you?"

"Not with me! With Don!"

"Don? Donald Watson?" She tried to get her wits together, her head still swimming from the alcohol-drugged punch. "What... What's happened to him?"

"We were... we were fooling around up in the gym, and he hurt himself!"

"Heavens! We better get Mr. Cartwright!" she said, aware of her own numbed inadequacy. "I don't think that I=8B=8B"

"But you have to, Mrs. Dodge! Don't get Mr. Cartwright! Please don't get him! We weren't supposed to be up there!"

Miriam paused, thinking of the terrible opinion the older principal had of his pupils, and of the way his wife had just snubbed her. "All right," she said suddenly. "Where is Don, did you say?"

"Up in the gym, Ma'am! Come on!" Mark grabbed her arm, propelling her around the side of the building toward another, dark and unused entrance. "I'll show you the way!"

As they hurried, Miriam worked desperately to sober herself through mental concentration, but the results were not very good. She still had no idea why she was feeling as though she had been drinking, and the answers from Mark when she asked what had happened were evasive and only served to confuse her further. Something was terribly wrong with this whole picture, but in her liquor-dulled mind, she couldn't figure out quite what it was...

She followed the young boy, stumbling up the almost pitch-black stairs and across to the gymnasium on the first floor. "How... how much further?" she panted, her breathing beginning to tighten across her chest.

"Just on the other side of the gym, Mrs. Dodge. In the storage room where the tumbling mats are kept."

"Goodness, what on earth were you three boys doing there... ?"

They came to the small closet-like room where all the athletic equipment was kept, and Mark threw open the door. "In there!" He gestured into the sweat-smelling, stiflingly cramped enclosure. Miriam could see the oafish Joey Gore standing beneath the room's single, exposed light, while at his feet was the moaning, prostrate form of Don Watson. My God, he needed a doctor, not a floundering, confused English teacher! Quickly she rushed to the "injured" boy, dropping to her knees beside him.

"What's the matter, Donald?" she asked anxiously, glancing along his body as he lay there looking up at her.

"It's m'leg, I think," he groaned, rolling his head.

Gently, she felt along the upper portion of his leg where she thought he had indicated. "Does it hurt when I touch it?" she questioned.

"No, not there..." he shook his head, a slow, wicked smirk stretching the corners of his mouth. "You've got hold of the wrong leg, teacher... It's this one!"

Abruptly, he reached down with both hands and pulled down the front of his already unzipped pants. Miriam gasped in surprised shock as she saw his hardened, stubby young penis leap out, its smallish, blunt head throbbing as though it were staring up at her with one tiny slitted eye.

Again she gasped, falling back upon her haunches as she stared in disbelief at the sight of him lying there, suddenly grinning lewdly and exposing his rigid young genitals up at her.

"What... what's the meaning of this outrage?" she demanded, snapping her eyes angrily from the taunting exhibition to the smirking face of Joey Gore standing over her.

"Why, Mrs. Dodge, Don's only trying to show you where he hurts," Joey said with mock seriousness. "Seems every time he sees you, he gets this pain in his cock, and=8B=8B"

"Joey Gore!" Miriam exclaimed, her startled face burning with the livid red of her fury. "How dare you talk like that to me!" She stumbled to her feet, her body trembling with rage. "Mr. Cartwright's going to have a complete report of this, and so will your father. And Mark, I'm surprised that you would be part of this awful, awful=8B=8B"

"Shut up," Gore suddenly snarled. He took a step toward her and caught her by the wrist, jerking her toward one of the thin, stained tumbling mattresses which lined the floor. He flung her down on it, snapping, "Don, lock the door so teacher can't get out!"

Miriam stumbled to one knee from the violence of his sudden, unexpected shoving. Her head spun with the force of his whip-like jerk, and she could only look up with dazed, terrified, eyes, her shock of the moment before giving way to the first stages of panic. She heard the storage room being locked with the hollow finality of a dungeon cell door, and she horrifyingly realized that she had virtually no chance of escape. The boys, young as they were could together easily overpower her even if she managed to unlock the door, and in this dark deserted corner of the school building, nobody would hear her muffled shouts for help. God, how right she'd been that something was wrong about Mark's urgent request! She'd been a fool, leading herself straight into a trap!

"But=8B=8BWhy?" she heard herself ask feebly. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Well, you're a fine English teacher, Mrs. Dodge," Gore said, the handsome youth's lips peeled back sharply from his teeth. "But Mark says you're good at another more basic subject, so we thought we'd like to see just what you know."

"Mark! You... you didn't tell them!" she gasped.

"Yeah," the boy said, chagrined at first. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dodge. It sort of slipped out." But in spite of his obvious shame for what he'd done, Miriam could see that there was a gleam of hungry arousal in Mark's dark young eyes, and a small, unhidable grin of licentiousness around his mouth.

Dear God, he was as much an animal as Joey or Don Watson! And then the ghastly truth struck her that she was the cause of his change from a once innocent child. She'd perverted him for her own desires last Sunday, and had taught him lust for lust's own sake without the tempering of mercy or compassion. She had nobody to blame except herself, and now she was reaping the rewards of her salacious lessons by an obscene three-fold vengeance!

Miriam heard the boys' laughing grunts, and a helpless sinking sensation gripped her insides as she speechlessly watched them strip themselves of their clothing before her. Her eyes remained fixed upon their naked youthfulness, her mind blanking from sensible reasoning as she stared at their virile passion- erect penises jutting lewdly out from their firm, hairless young abdomens.

"Don't... Please don't hurt me," she whimpered cringingly.

"I made them promise they wouldn't, Mrs. Dodge," Mark said reassuringly. "We just want a little fun with you, like I had. And Jesus, you sure seemed to like it then."

"That's right, teacher," Joey Gore added in a soothing voice. He moved toward her, lowering himself down to the mat to sit beside her. "You be nice to us, and we'll be nice to you. I mean... like this!"

Before Miriam knew what was happening to her, he was jerking her against his muscular, developing body, drawing his thick, long cock into the softness of her flesh as he crushed her tightly to him. Miriam wanted to fight, to scratch and tear herself free... But too suddenly for her to react against, he was kissing her, working his wet, pink tongue deep into her mouth while his friend Don laughed excitedly from above them.

No... Oh God, no! But the feel of his youthful rigid penis furrowing into the quivering flatness of her belly sent cruel shock-waves surging through her body. She sensed his one free hand smoothing around the back of her tight, thin dress and down over her buttocks, the other hand clutching her waist tighter against his throbbing, naked hardness. Finally, he lifted his mouth from hers and grinned lewdly down into her panic-stricken face.

"Now, that's more like it, Mrs. Dodge. But I can see that since you're the only girl we invited here, you're sort of uptight, right? We got just the thing for that. Don, get our pretty teacher here a beer."

"Pl... please, Joey, don't do this to me. I beg of you..."

"Why, Ma'am, you're getting yourself all upset over nothing," he said to pacify her. "We just figure since you like Mark fucking you, you should have your chance to get your fill of boys. Have you ever thought how nice it would be to have three cocks gang-banging you all at one time?"

Don Watson thrust an open can of beer at her. At first she refused to take it, and Joey grabbed it and shoved it viciously at her face.

"Please, I don't want..."

"Drink it," he snarled, his smile leaving him as abruptly as it had come. "Drink it, or we'll force it down your throat!"

Miriam felt her flesh crawl at his threat and again she sought for pleading words that might reach him. But she could tell it was hopeless, and that she was in the hands of a savage young brute, dull-witted and drunk. Trembling, she took the can from him and swallowed several deep mouthfuls of the warm, sudsy alcohol. There was a heavy whiskey taste to it and she could tell it had been strangely spiked to make her even drunker than she already was.

"That's more like it," he grinned once more, and his hand reached out to gently stroke her body beneath the dress. His long, thick fingers traveled softly, pinching and teasing at all the most sensitive areas he could find. "Go on, drink some more..."

Miriam did, feeling as though she was in some kind of terrible dream and would soon wake up safe and sound in her own bed.

She pleadingly looked up at Mark Trenton and then cringed beneath the self-confident smile on his handsome face. It seemed impossible that the boy she'd so ardently loved last week could be a part of such a filthy degrading rape=8B=8Byet it was true. Worse, she was beginning to wonder if this was going to actually turn out to be a rape. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the stiff boyish penises that jutted out from the loins of the other two young boys. Somewhere deep in her mind, she wondered if they would feel better inside her than Mark's slender young hardness had. Ashamed at her own weakness, she drank the last of the whiskey spiked beer and unwillingly accepted another can...

"Let's get her goddamned clothes off," Mark suddenly yelled out. "Jesus, I want to fuck Mrs. Dodge again!"

"That's the spunk, kid," Joey urged. "But I get to fuck her first this time!"

"Me, I wanna fuck her in the mouth," she heard Don Watson snicker excitedly. "Just look at them lipstick covered lips! Shit, I can feel them already around my prick, sucking like hell!"

As Miriam listened to the obscene conversation being spewed all around her, she tried to speak, but found that her words were stuck tight in her throat. She could barely breathe, she was so paralyzed with dread. A numbing sense of helplessness had overtaken her as she listened to the vile foulness that was being directed at her from the leering young teenage boys circling around the mat. Yet as Joey Gore began to touch the top button of her dress, she suddenly struggled insanely against the boy. She somehow broke free and leaped to her feet, her drunken mind reacting in one last desperate bid for escape. "Let me out!" she screamed as loudly as she could. "Help! Oh God, please somebody help me!"

She lunged for the locked door, but they caught her easily, and two of them held her pinned back down to the smelly, soiled mat as the third began unbuttoning her dress.

"Don't rip her clothes," Joey warned. "Remember, she'd doing this of her own free will... right boys?"

Miriam sprawled helplessly on her back as her dress was slowly removed from her cringing flesh... her brassiere was unsnapped roughly by a hand worming its way beneath her back... and then her thin white panties were rolled slowly down from around the fullness of her buttocks and slipped off of her legs... God, she was now as totally naked as they were!

Huddling, she watched in frozen horror as the boys moved in on her, their lust-contorted faces twisted with their animalistic desires. She could barely breathe the stuffy, unclean air of the storage room, and what she could inhale was pungent with the erotic scent of their virile young genitals. Don Watson slipped his hands down over her breasts, cupping and squeezing their firm roundnesses while his stiff, erect penis pressed along the smooth, tanned sides of her body. Joey Gore was on his knees in front of her, his big hands running obscenely down over her belly and thighs, while he crowded in as close as he could to rub his swollen hardness up against the nakedness of her satiny smooth hips.

"No... no, it can't be... God no..." she mewled fearfully over and over. She was helplessly locked in a cell-like room, to be plundered in their drunken, uncontrolled fury! Suddenly, her moans turned to sharp gasps as she sucked in a savage breath of air. Don Watson had closed his mouth over one involuntarily swelling nipple, biting it teasingly while his lips sucked hungrily at the white, throbbing flesh of her uplifting breasts! Weird, masochistic sensations began to seep through her body against her will as the boys continued to fondle her naked, exposed body. Her alcohol-dimmed mind was unable to cope with the tiny wisps of forbidden pleasure that were beginning to swirl up from deep within her defenseless loins. Shamefully, she had to admit to being unable to stop the rising excitement their youthful hands and lips upon her were triggering. Dear God! She must fight it with all of her strength! She must not succumb as she had last Sunday to the depraved temptation of sweet young flesh!