West Valley High Day

Melissa Mitchell screamed as she entered her kitchen and saw her ex-husband Marcus Torres sitting at her kitchen table. Seeing Marcus alone was enough to make her scream, but having him sitting in her kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when she didn't think anyone was in the house was especially unnerving.

"Good morning, Sissy," Marcus said as the woman caught her breath. He used the nickname he had given her when they had begun dating. Melissa said nothing in return, just crossing her arms in from of her body. She wished she had gotten dressed instead of coming downstairs for coffee in her bathrobe.

"C'mon, now, Sissy, there is no reason to be uncivil," the tall Puerto Rican said, a wry smile crossing his face.

"You've kidnapped and are torturing my daughter. You've raped me and let your pals rape me," Melissa answered. "I think I have reason to be uncivil."

"None of that is my fault," Torres countered. "You put yourself into this position and you dragged your daughter into it as well. Now, sit down. I need a progress report."

Melissa knew her ex-husband was speaking the truth. She thought about how her carefully planned scheme had unravelled. It had started rather simple. She had used the backdoor programs Marcus had created to take advantage of certain peculiarities in the global financial system to begin taking small amounts of money from the large client she serviced as a financial manager. At first, she only planned to take enough money to pay for Susan's tuition at West Valley Academy. Graduating from that prestigious school would set up Susan for life.

But then Melissa got greedy. It started when she learned her client was actually a major drug cartel, one of the largest in the Americas. She didn't know at the time that Marcus was actually the leader of that cartel. One of the ways her firm laundered money for the cartel was by moving the money through a series of accounts, never keeping large sums of money in any one account for long. Melissa set up a series of small accounts at a bank in St. Charlantia, a small island in the Pacific that existed mainly for its beautiful beaches and very lax financial laws. She slowly began moving the cartel's money into these accounts and used Marcus' software to mask the transactions. As far as the cartel was concerned, their money was still being shuffled through the financial markets when in reality it was disappearing.

Melissa knew now her mistake was locking the accounts into Susan's name. Her daughter was the only person who could access the money. Not even Melissa was able to touch it. At the time, Melissa thought it was a brilliant move. Susan was safe at West Valley, where tight security was the norm due to the number of sons and daughters of politicians and business leaders who went to school there. If the cartel caught on, Melissa knew she would be in danger, but she thought Susan would be protected.

She was wrong. Somehow, the cartel had learned of Melissa's deception, although apparently all the knew about was the money she had taken for Susan's tuition. They had infiltrated West Valley and placed their sadistic torturer Stephen Krutz in charge of the school and Susan had been suffering ever since.

Torres woke Melissa from her thoughts. "Status report, please," he said coolly.

"Everything is going as planned," she said. "Most of the cartel's funds have been transferred into the offshore accounts. The final contingency money will be transferred on Susan's graduation day. From there, it is up to you."

"Good," Torres said. "On that day, Stephen will fly with your daughter to St. Charlantia. As his obedient little slave girl, she will access the primary account and transfer control to Stephen and trigger transfer of the money to our accounts, taking his cut, of course."

"And how do you know you can trust him to not just take off with all of the money?" Melissa asked.

"I don't," Marcus said, surprising Melissa. "But Krutz is a moron and wouldn't know how to manipulate financial accounts. So I have set up the account he will transfer the money into. The moment my portion arrives in that account, it will automatically be transferred to me without him being able to do anything about it."

Melissa nodded. "What happens to me and Susan?"

"Shortly after your daughter's graduation, you and I will 'die' in a tragic boating accident. You can come with me or fend for yourself. I'd recommend you come with me."

"And Susan?" Melissa asked.

"That is more difficult. I have promised her to Stephen," Torres said. Melissa flinched when he said this. "It is possible we can renegotiate that, but, I have to say, your daughter's brain is going to be pretty scrambled by then. She may not even know who you are."

"You fucking bastard," Melissa screamed.

"You never should have involved her in your scam, Sissy," Torres said calmly. "You doomer her the moment you put the accounts in her name."

Melissa Mitchell knew her ex-husband was right and put her head in her hands and started sobbing. Torres got up from the table and approached his ex-wife. She lifted her head to look at him. "I will see what I can do, Sissy. Now, stand up and take off your robe."

The woman hesitated for a moment. She saw the look in her ex-husband's eyes. It was a look she had never seen when the two were married but one she had seen all too often since his return from the dead. She pushed herself away from the table, untied the sash on her robe and let it drop off her shoulders to the floor. Underneath, she wore a thin pink nightgown.

Torres scooped up the sash from her robe from the floor. He grabbed her wrists and tied them behind her back and leaned her over the table. Melissa didn't try to resist as her ex-husband unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor. He pulled down her panties with one hand as he stroked his penis a few times to stiffen it with the other. She felt it push against the opening of her vagina. She spread her legs slightly further apart and Marcus slid roughly into her. She fought back tears as he penetrated deep inside her. Torres pushed her head down and pinned it to the table as he started taking long, deep strokes.

Marcus finished quickly and pulled on his underwear and pants. Melissa did not move. He leaned over the table and said, "You can't afford any more mistakes. And don't forget to check your email."

Melissa straightened up. It took her several minutes to slowly work her wrists loose from the cloth sash she had been bound with. Her PC was sitting on the small workstation just off the kitchen. She really did not want to look at, but knew she must. She walked over and took a deep breath before opening her laptop. There was a single new email from an anonymous account with the subject line "Cheerleader Slut". Melissa did not want to open the email. She knew it would be a link to another video of her daughter Susan being mercilessly tortured by the sadistic headmaster at her private academy. But she knew she had to open it and acknowledge she had received it.

The video of a school locker room filled the screen. A single long bench sat in front of a row of lockers. A young woman, Melissa's daughter Susan, was lying face down straddling the bench, completely naked. She had been positioned at one end of the bench with ropes tying her knees to the poles supporting the end of the bench. Her wrists had been tied together under the bench so they were useless to her. A pair of metal clamps crushed the girl's nipples as her breasts hung on either side of the wooden plank. A silver chain connected the clamps under the bench to prevent the girl from lifting herself up. Susan's long blonde hair had been tied in a ponytail and pulled back and tied to a rope around her waist, forcing her head up so she stared straight ahead. A ring gag forced the girl's mouth open.

A clear plastic box rested on Susan's bare back with a small sign on it. Melissa zoomed in on the video and gulped when she read the print on the sign. "West Valley Foundation Winter Fundraiser. Mouth: 25. Pussy: 100. Ass 150. Special thanks to Miss Mitchell for volunteering her services." Melissa could see there were already a few bills in the box despite it being early in the morning.

A boy came into view dressed in a towel. He looked at the box and walked over to a locker and pulled several bills from a wallet. He deposited them in the box and took up a position behind Susan and dropped the towel. He rubbed himself against Susan's exposed crotch to harden himself before mounting the young woman. He was soon joined by one of his friends who dropped two bills into the box. The second boy straddled the bench and shoved his penis into Susan's open mouth.

Susan's body was being forced forward as the first boy pounded against her from behind. Meanwhile the second boy's cock was deep in her throat. She gagged slightly as she ran her tongue against his penis, desperate to finish him off quickly. She felt his dick start to throb and soon tasted his salty discharge. He pulled out as the first boy continued to slam himself hard against her. He left out a soft moan and she felt his cock stiffen and pulsate as he ejaculated into her. The boy withdrew and gave Susan a slap on her bare ass as he went back to his locker.

As another boy approached and held up three crisp fifties to the camera, the voice of Stephen Krutz could be heard over the video. "West Valley students, please don't forget about our Winter Fundraiser, going on until 11 in the men's locker room."

Melissa checked her watch as the boy approached Susan from behind. Her daughter had three more hours of this to endure. Susan's eyes went wide as the boy pushed himself into her anus. Melissa saw several boys enter the locker room ready for their turn. She clicked the small box in the corner of the video to acknowledge she had watched it and slammed the lid shut on her laptop. She had to find a solution, and rapidly.