After turning in her final grades, Marcie Phillips was feeling pretty good about her first year of teaching as she straightened up her desk and got ready to leave for the summer. She stood, looked around the empty classroom, closed and locked the file cabinet and turned to face the coach when she heard the door open. "Hi," she said with a wide smile, feeling just a trace of apprehension.

"Hi yourself, pretty one," the big man said. "I know you don't want any of our services, you've told me enough times, but, if you're not busy this summer, give this guy a call." He handed her a business card. "He books girls into modeling jobs for clothing catalogues and the like, and you've got the body for it, honey. You know, L.L.Bean, Tommy what's-his-name, Eddie Bauer, no trash, prime stuff. Pays good and its honest work." He did not tell her about the pornography.

She smiled and took the card, said "thanks" and walked out to her car, feeling the eyes of several boys and men on her as usual. Since she was twelve or thirteen, she had been able to tell when men were staring at her, undressing her in their minds. The feeling was not completely unpleasant; in fact it sometimes made her tits tingle. She tried to walk without hip sway, without jiggling. Marcie knew she was pretty; felt as if she had always known that, enough people had told her. And it was true. She was a wholesome, girl-next-door, American beauty, a breathing centerfold, a walking wet-dream with a smile on her fresh-scrubbed face.

She slid into the leather seat of her Mustang and sighed. A whole year and not one decent man, and if she had tried one, she had tried twenty, all duds, every damn one of them. Marcie was not aware that her beauty was part of the problem.

She shook her head tossing her blonde curls in disgust; just a boy who humped like a machine. She had been fucking Phil about once every two weeks, and it had been generally been enough, plenty in fact. The young woman shivered thinking about the size and strength of the youngster's male member. He was incredible and usually left her sore but satisfied.

She turned the key, backed out and as she was about to leave the parking lot saw gawky Phil at the bus stop. She stopped and waved, and he came trotting over and hopped in beside her, pulling the seatbelt and smiling. "Had to make up a test," he explained. "How'd it go?" Her wonderfully long legs were bare.

Marcie smiled and took a deep breath. "I got hired for the second year; that's about all they said. My supervisor had some suggestions."

"You're a good teacher. Don't let 'em bullshit you. Want a fuck to get you through the summer?" Phil smiled and hoped.

"Pretty crude, Phil," she said with a grin. "Pretty crude. Where do you live?"

"Not far from you, right on the way. How about it? I've got time?"

"I don't," she said. "But thanks." She felt her vagina tremble and become warm and moist. They rode for a while in silence, listening to the news and weather on the radio and then to her choice of music, soft rock.

"Hot date?" Phil asked.

"Something like that, fellow from Masonville, nice guy."

"Good luck," said Phil. "I can get out over there."

She pulled to the curb and he left with a wave. Marcie felt proud of herself, having resisted temptation, and drove to her apartment. She hauled in her stuff, stripped off her work clothes and jumped in the shower, trimmed her pubic hair, shaved her legs and then looked at herself in the mirror on the back of her closet door as she stood with her slinkiest underpants in her hand. "Not bad," she said to her image. No fat she could see. She bounced on her toes a few times and watched her big breasts jiggle, not a bit of sag.

She had kept her blonde hair trimmed short and it fluttered nicely about her ears. Her face was smooth and regular, her eyes icy blue, eyebrows nicely arched, nose straight and proud, lips full and chin firm. She stretched her neck, squared her shoulders and thrust out her high breasts, noting that the sensitive nipples were just a bit aroused, pointing up and slightly away from each other, pink and hard, the areoles the size of poker chips and slightly mounded. Her stomach was firm, her belly soft, her fuzzy mound fairly prominent and her vulva's lips just slightly puffy.

She hadn't had any sex for two weeks which was why Phil had been tempting, hadn't even used one of her toys, and she was more than ready. She palmed her firm mound and stroked her pussy two or three times, enjoying the tingle, eyes closed and a growl in her throat. Her legs were long and shapely, her thighs perhaps just a bit too muscular, but her buttocks were, she knew, prime. A great ass, her brother had crowed the last time she was home and then he smacked her hard right on it producing a whip-like crack and the squeal he wanted. She was five feet-nine inches tall, weighed about 130 most days and measured, the last time she checked, 37-25-36. She wore a 38C bra and filled it well, bulged out of the top in fact since her pectorals were so strong.

She stood on tip-toe and turned so she could see her round ass clench, making deep dimples. Then she pulled on the Vickie's T-string thong that left her buttocks completely bare and slipped on a lacy half bra that lifted despite its plunge between her full breasts. She took a deep breath and leaned forward toward the mirror. She smiled. That ought to get him, she thought, glancing at the clock.

She tried on three dresses before she decided on the little black dress that hit her about mid calf and was nearly backless. She tossed her bra aside and pulled on some knee high stockings and high-heeled, open-toed and sling-back shoes. The dress's soft material displayed her nipples clearly, and she smiled at her image and took a deep breath, rotating her hips to see the flared skirt sway. Lipstick was all the makeup she used and very little of that. She was ready with five minutes to spare. She was horny and she knew it. One dab of perfume for the final touch.

Jack Conway was also a teacher, a history teacher now in his third year at a nearby town's high school. He was tall, good-looking and very popular with the young ladies, a first-class stud Marcie had been told. Marcie had met him at a teachers' meeting, flirted with him and had gone to one movie with him, but tonight they were going out to celebrate the end of the school year, and the lovely young woman fully expected that she would end up in Jack's bed and under his muscular body with six or eight inches of manhood inside her.

In fact she did just that. After a ride into the city, supper at a very upscale place, then a noisy dance club, and a few kisses they grappled together in his apartment and wasted no time bounding into his big bed, his heavy cock rampant, her pussy wet. Jack pawed her breasts, fingered her vagina and drove his big ram into her, came on the third stroke into Marcie's fevered body and flopped back down beside her with a sigh after he emptied his balls into his safety-tipped condom, grunting loudly. "Oh, lord, " he gasped, "you are really something."

"Jack," she sniffed, turning toward him, "I need more than that. Please."

"In the morning, sweetheart, promise, promise," he said, turning his back to her, his brain filled with alcohol fumes.

Marcie rolled out of bed as soon as he started snoring, pulled on her dress, stuffed her panties and stockings in her purse, went down the stairs and walked to the main road, caught a bus, ignored the looks, and got home about two in the morning, angry and unhappy. She found her long vibrator, checked that the battery was still working, stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed, slipped the device into her vagina, adjusted the clit tickler and turned it on. Then she wept.

In the morning, as she dressed, Marcie noticed the business card the coach had given her and while she ate her breakfast punched the number. "Ajax Agents," said a female voice.

"Mr. Preston, please," said Marcie. The phone clicked and man's voice answered. "This is Marcie Phillips, I understand you are an agent for models."

"Uh huh, where'd you get this number?"

Marcie told him that the coach at her school had given her his card.

"Oh yeah, OK then, can't be too careful these days. You want to model; we take fifteen percent, guarantee you a minimum after some tests. You got a portfolio?"

"Minimum?" asked Marcie.

"Varies," said the man, "usually a hundred to two fifty an hour which means you get at least eight-five. You got pictures, a set, you know?"

"No, I don't," said the young woman, "Is that a problem?"

"Small one. Come on in and I'll sign you up and we'll make some." Marcie got his Baltimore address; the man said to bring a bathing suit with her, and she checked that her bikini shave was still Ok and poked her bright yellow suit, the smallest one she owned, in her big purse and headed for Charm City.

An hour later he walked into the plain office of a warehouse-type building and smiled at the bimbo behind the desk, her huge breasts nearly falling out of her scoop-necked blouse, her chewing gum snapping. She gave Marcie a clipboard and a form to fill out, and when she was done, the receptionist looked up, smiled, said, "Go on in," and went back to what she was doing, chewing gum and clicking keys. Marcie went in to Sam Preston's office and found him on the phone. She stood before his desk and watched him ogle her up and down. Sam felt his cock throbbing by then. He had hit the fucking jackpot.

When he put down the phone she handed him the clipboard, and he introduced himself and shook her hand, waved her to a chair and looked at the paper she had filled out. "Twenty-two, huh, pretty old for a first-timer. But you've got good posture. Walk over to the door and back, one foot in front of the other. OK. Take off your jacket and walk back. Nice, y'got a good pair a'jugs and a great ass. We'll get some pictures made. Go on through there." He pointed and got back on the phone.

Marcie, surprised by his crude langue, hesitated and then did as she had been told. After all, she decided, it might be an interesting experience and she had nothing better to do. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath.

Hot damn, thought Preston, that fucking coach is something. I haven't seen one this good for years. What a fucking beauty. He turned his old Rolodex and pulled down his zipper.

In the next room, which was very warm, Marcie met George and Mike, photographer and assistant. They put the young woman on a high stool, took her jacket and pocketbook, adjusted their very bright lights, tucked her shirt in tightly, opened two buttons and handed her a bottle of doctored water. Marcie, nervous as well as warm under the hot lights, drank, and they started taking pictures and telling her where to look and turn and raise her chin and George moved around her with his Hasselblad.

"Loose the shirt," George said after a few minutes, feeling his prick swelling, "give it to Mike."

Marcie blinked, bit her lower lip and unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, a bit uncomfortable. She had worn a new bra, one of Vickie's latest, a white IPEX with a soft pad over her hard nipples. Mike whistled and offered her the water bottle again. She blinked and drank, wondering why her pussy was weeping.

"Yes, thought so, what a pair," said George, adjusting a light so it hit the top of the young woman's golden hair and another to shadow her deep cleavage. Marcie drank the rest of the water laced with GHB. A few pictures more, and George had Marcie take off her bra. She reached behind her without hesitation, unsnapped the thing and shrugged it off. Mike put it in her purse and from the small refrigerator where film was stored handed her a blue plastic square and told her to ice her nipples. Marcie blinked and did as she had been asked, her system now filling with the drug that weakened her will and judgment.