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Morgan dreams of her mysterious captor.

ng my clit sucked?

I can't.

I catch Merritt's eyes, grab her slender, well-manicured hand, shove it inside the waistband of my pants.

She gasps, "Oh!"

And then, "Ellen!"

And then, breathy, "Really, Ellen? Your puss-puss?"

No, just dig the lint out of my belly button.

Merritt's high-IQ fingers find my clitoris and know that as long as it is swelling, and wet, keep doing what you are doing.

Here, I begin a flashback to distract you as the Sunday service for Sammy, in violation of the Geneva Accords, goes on teasing until he is ready for a straitjacket.

With Merritt and Hester, I rescued Sammy from the senior guy gang that had taken him into the beautiful autumn woods of Connecticut for his initiation. I happened to know, heard, what was going to go down. They say that schoolyards are a war zone. Not sure, but boarding academies, at least mine, made perfectly clear why William Golding wrote "The Lord of the Flies." Course those were English boys and a long time ago.

So, I got my girl gang and tailed them. In a clearing beside the Housatonic River, maybe half a mile from campus, they had stopped. The silliness began. First, Sam had to strip. This was stupid. The boys all saw each other naked in the showers at gym. Even stupider, this moment was known as the supposedly awful moment in coming of age at the Academy. Why?

But there was Sam, looking the part, his lips trembling. He was shaking his head, whining. After a moment, his hands went to his belt. When his trousers, along with his underwear, slid down to his ankles, we girls were mesmerized. But why the boys?

They said absolutely nothing; they stood staring at what Sammy had, staring and frowning, scrutinizing. Predictably, Sam looked ashen. Then, we noticed that his dick had started to swell. Still the guys stared straight at it. Sam's hands were moving spasmodically, little jerks, and I realized he was battling to keep himself from covering his package.

Okay, there was a certain boy-logic, here. He was being examined as a man. And someone had figured out that when a teenage boy has it "out there," the focus of attention for the first time in his life, he gets aroused. I could understand that.

The silent scene went on. Hester and Merritt and I were getting a little congested in our panties. I heard Sammy bleating: "Please, guys! Enough, okay? Please..." His thing kept levitating. The guys kept staring, not a smile.

Finally, someone said, "Okay, he's in." And then snapped, quickly, "No! Stay there!"

And then, "Guys, we've got to do something to get this down, before he goes back to campus. Don't we!" And quickly, "Shut up, Sam!"

Usually, the initiation ended, here. Stupid guy thing. All buddies, laughing, heading back for the Academy. But for Sammy, I had heard, it was going to be different. Everyone, guys and girls, whispered how amazingly well-hung Sam was. Never underestimate male competitiveness.

Sammy was going to get "poled." They already had lifted him, three on a side, supporting his body horizontal, legs wrenched wide apart. Amazingly, his dick still was stiff. The next step was to find a suitable "pole"-but out here, a modest tree trunk-and, on a count, swing Sammy's body back, then fast forward, on the count of "one!" so his balls slammed hard into the pole. I later heard that sometimes the count was three, sometimes 10. I bet no one walked away from 10! Probably squirming on the ground, weeping, then eventually crawling off to find cover and nurse himself.

We three girls stepped out and started to stride toward them.

When a guy spotted us, he shouted, "Hey! No girls! This is a guy's initiation! Get lost!"

We kept coming. More voices protested. The guys holding Sammy dropped him. Now, there were witnesses. We walked right up and I said, "We're taking the prisoner. He's assigned to us. Disperse!"

"Hey, fuck off, Melville!" said one guy, though tentatively, like a question. When I turned to face him, he lowered his face.

So, naturally, I started screaming, deliberately and unnervingly loud, because guys hate screaming women, "You fuc

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