Chapter 4

Cindy was kept shackled to the wall in the punishment shed for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. There were no windows in the small building, and only by watching the light fade under the door did the chained, frightened girl know that the sun had gone down.

The shackles rubbed her wrists and ankles raw, and her hands and feet grew numb. Mr. Abbott's cum became rock-hard on her sweet face.

When Cindy grew tired of praying to be saved, she prayed simply to die and have it all done. But she didn't die, instead she hung there a few inches above the floor. She hung there, scared and alone, and then she no longer cared about being rescued. All Cindy cared about was being released from the painful shackles.

When the last of the light had finally faded away, the girl heard footsteps. The door swung open and James stood there, along with Mr. Keats, the ugly little man who had issued Cindy and Suzie their school uniforms.

"Look at that gash hanging there," Keats said with a snicker as the two men entered the shed and walked over to Cindy. "Nothing I love more than the sight of some fucking bitch strung up like a side of beef."

James pulled a set of keys from his tight black pants and knelt down to free one of Cindy's wrists. His strong hands massaged the girl's sore skin.

"Are you all right, Cindy?" the blond chauffeur asked.

"I think so," Cindy said with a nod of her head. "I'm numb."

James went about the business of releasing the girl.

"I'm sorry," he said, gripping Cindy's shoulders. "They never should have left you in here for so long."

"It's not your fault."

"Who cares what the little whore thinks?" Keats said as he grabbed one of Cindy's sore wrists and yanked the teen to her feet.

"Ouch!" Cindy said as she took a wobbly step forwards on her numb feet.

"Watch it, Keats," James said with menace in his deep voice as he turned toward Keats and made a fist.

"Don't tell me you've got a soft spot for this stupid bitch," Keats replied with a sneer. "You wouldn't want the headmistress hearing you talk like that."

"Grotten's not here, and if I were you --" James walked up to Keats and jabbed a finger into his chest "-- you'll be better off if you keep that big mouth of yours shut, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah," Keats mumbled as he turned toward the door. "You heard your instructions. We need to get this whore over to the gym and get her cleaned up fast. The show's going to be starting in less than fifteen minutes."

Ignoring Keats, James walked back over to Cindy and touched the girl's chin lightly. "Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?"

Cindy looked up into James' handsome face and smiled.

"Thanks," she said, batting her long eyelashes at James, "but I can make it on my own."

Cindy had noticed that Keats had wandered over to the door.

"They're really going to fuck me, aren't they?" the girl asked in a whisper.

James licked his lips and nodded.

"And you won't help me escape?"

Pain seemed to fill the huge man's eyes. He swallowed twice, then said: "I can't."

Cindy took a deep breath. "Then let's go."

They led Cindy into one of the back doors of the administration building, down a darkened hallway, and into the gym. Cindy could tell that they were behind a stage, and out beyond the thick velvet curtains the shapely youngster heard an excited murmur of voices.

Cindy stared at the curtains for a moment, both fear and excitement churning in her guts.

Mr. Keats stood behind her, grinning with a mouth full of yellow, ruined teeth.

"Come on, whore!" he growled, again grabbing one of Cindy's sore wrists and pulling her off into the wings on one side of the stage. "We need to get you cleaned up a tad."

Keats kneaded one of Cindy's firm asscheeks and planted a sloppy wet kiss on the back of the girl's neck. Cindy felt her skin crawl as she smelled his foul breath.

"Here, slut," Keats said as they turned into a tiny bathroom and he leaned forward and turned the water on in a rusty sink. "Wash old man Abbott's spunk off that face of yours. There's a hairbrush on the stand there, and some lipstick too. Mrs. Grotten said to give you five minutes. Try to make yourself look like somethin', you worthless shit. We want you to look real pretty now when you get the shit fucked outta you."

The foul little man giggled, then stepped back out of the room and shut the door.

Cindy proceeded to scrub her face over and over. She practically bathed in the sink, trying to wash off the cum and sweat, as if she could wash off her newly discovered lusts.

She rinsed off the last of the soap and was toweling herself dry when the loudspeakers crackled to life.

"Welcome, students and staff," said Mr. Abbott's amplified voice. "Tonight we've got a real treat for you to break up the summertime blues. One of our newly arrived students, Cindy Powers, is going to be put on display for your pleasure. Believe this or not, young ladies, Cindy is a virgin!"

As she stood in the bathroom backstage, Cindy could hear the laughter ripple through the crowd. The brown-haired beauty picked up the brush, ran it through her hair, then applied some of the bright red lipstick.

"So sit back, finger your little horny cunts if the urge hits you, and enjoy the show," Mr. Abbott said over the loudspeaker. "It will be fucking hot, I assure you."

The door to the bathroom swung open and Mr. Keats stood there leering at her. He let out a low wolf whistle, then grabbed one of Cindy's hands and led her from the bathroom.

"Let's go, little whore," Keats whispered as he guided Cindy out to the side of the stage. Cindy saw that a king-sized bed had been set up on the edge of the stage. The girl glanced out into the floodlights, but could see nothing but glare. She knew that people were all watching and waiting. Knowing this made the girl's heart pound, and her virgin cunt was starting to wake up again when the teen saw Mrs. Grotten climb up on stage and pick up the microphone.

The headmistress glanced into the wings. "Bring the cherry bitch out for all of us to see, Mr. Keats."

"You heard her, slut," Keats said with a growl, then gave Cindy's ass a rude shove.