A Fistful Of Sand Book 1Chapter 11: To Be A Queen, To Be A Slave free porn video

Charli wiped another tear off her cheek as the computer in front of her beeped, signaling it was time to swap disks again. Dr. Harrison's computer was taking especially long to upgrade — which was ironic since this upgrade was the first time it had even been turned on since the last upgrade more than a year ago.

'Fucking God damn sorority bitches!' Charli muttered under her breath, looking nervously at the door as if to see if anyone overheard. Even in the almost sound proof confines of Dr. Harrison's office, she couldn't bring herself to say those words at much more than a whisper.

Charli had been around the ESU campus for about a year now — at least part-time. The high school she attended didn't have the facilities to let her take the computer science courses she wanted, so they made an arrangement with ESU to let her take computer science and math on campus in the early morning three days a week and her high school classes in the late morning and afternoon. She graduated high school mere weeks ago with honors and dove right into college life by enrolling in a full-time summer program that let her live on campus in the dorms. Even though her mother and younger brother lived just a few miles away, she eagerly jumped at the chance to live on her own ... even if she still visited several times a week (after all, laundry doesn't do itself!). Her computer science professor put in a good word for her and she was able to get this IT work study job in addition to her academic scholarship. For her skill level it was menial labor, but it helped defray the

costs of living on campus when she could have been living at home for free.

She had only been a true college student for two weeks and she already had been put down as hard as ever when in high school. 'College was supposed to be different, ' she thought to herself sadly. 'Just because I didn't win the genetic lottery, doesn't give those ... those ... BITCHES the right to be so mean.'

Shutting down Dr. Harrison's computer to quietly collect dust for another year, Charli packed up her disks. 'Maybe I'll just head back to my dormroom. I'll tell Jim I'm not feeling well and I'll make up the hours tomorrow. Maybe Shin will want to play a little head-to-head Doom.' Chen Du was Charli's roommate in the freshman dorms. Both were computer science majors and both very shy. Charli initially thought Chen was a foreign hyper-genius and Chen thought Charli was a goth-freak. They had spent nearly two days in their room together, quietly clicking away on their respective laptops not saying a word to each other when Charli finally asked Chen if she played Doom. Soon both girls were laughing and giggling as they blew the snot out of the minions of hell. It seemed that they had more in common than they originally thought and in their online digital worlds, both were very aggressive.

But that's the virtual world — this is real life. 'If you don't have high cheek bones and zero-percent body fat, you'll always be in second place ... if you're lucky.'

Charli closed up Dr. Harrison's office and started to walk toward the elevator. She just made it around the corner when down the hall one of those blonde bitches exited Dr. Walter's — Gregg's — office. She wished she knew their names. Then she'd be able to get revenge ... maybe a burning bag of dog poo on their front porch. 'Jesus Charli, is that the best you can think of? Flaming poo?' Charli backpedaled back around the corner and peeked her head around just enough to see what was going on. 'If that girl comes my way, I'll just take the stairs, ' she thought, not wanting another run-in. She looked down at her watch and, to her amazement, realized that Little-Miss-Barbie-Doll must have been in Gregg's office for more than a half hour if she was just getting out now.

Charli was almost jealous until she looked more closely at the leggy pony-tailed skank. Even from down the hall, Charli could see that she was wiping away tears and holding her stomach, looking around nervously and walking on weak knees. No wait, she wasn't holding her stomach, she was holding her... 'What the hell— ' Charli's thought was interrupted as Gregg's door opened again and the first blonde's near-twin was forcefully ejected from the same room. The door slammed shut and Charli would swear that clone number two was looking longingly at the solid oak slab, even gently caressing it before realizing her partner in crime was standing there waiting.

Wiping away her own tear, the taller of the two — the one without the ponytail — seemed to draw up her strength and turned to her friend. "Not a word plebe. Not a word ... Let's go. You've got ... chores..." Her attempt at sounding forceful came out distracted as she again looked at Gregg's office door. The shorter of the two gulped nervously and followed her friend into the elevator that just opened up.

'I don't know what he said to them, but they certainly don't seem half as high-and-mighty as before.' Charli smiled to herself and decided she'd finish out the rest of the workday. She was looking forward to the next time she'd get to talk with Gregg. Maybe she could even convince him to give up that silly notion that thin-crust pizza was better than deep-dish.

Tonight, however, she was going to install that patch that transformed all the Doom demons into cheerleaders...

It was almost an hour later when Gregg finally emerged from his office. He was just too ... well... 'up' to get out in public. He typed up an email to Emily giving her a brief run-down of the morning's events (minus the mind powers stuff, of course). 'Won't she be surprised to get a dirty story from ME!' he thought, clicking the send button. Staring at the "message sent" window on this screen, Gregg realized that he really missed Emily. He was madly in love with Heather, no doubt about that, but Emily held a special place in his heart. It was Emily that had taken his virginity in the hospital bed where he recovered from the lightning strike. It was at Emily's father's house where he first made love to Heather, Emily later joining them. It was Emily who helped arrange his going-away party with Brenda, Jenny, and Chad. Since coming back from to the States, Emily had sent stories she had written to him and Heather almost every day. On days where she didn't have time to

write, she'd sent copies of stories that she found online that particularly intrigued her. Every story she sent was erotic. Some were sweet and romantic, others were very hard-core. In all the time since he'd left the Mediterranean, this was the first time Gregg had sent a story of his own. It wasn't nearly as well written — he had no flair for the written word — but unlike Emily's stories, everything he wrote was true.

Gregg forced himself to recite lists of dates and names of dynasties until finally he could coax his erection down. He may never have heard of the term "blue-balls," but the discomfort in his pants was exactly that. Packing up a few books and his legal pad, he decided to sit outside in the quad to do his thinking. It used to be that he preferred the flickering glow from a fluorescent over the sun, but today he just didn't feel like being confined in his box ... even if it did reek of sex.

Finding a bit of dry ground under one of the large oaks in the quad, Gregg cracked open the text book, post-it flags on hand for when he found items worthy of being repeated in his lecture. As was becoming annoyingly routine, girls passing by on their way to some building or another would giggle behind their hands or sigh lustily ... almost all at least looked in his direction. He could feel their desire as they passed — he could even hear some of their thoughts. Most involved "ripping bodices" and "palming milky globes of flesh..." These girls read too many romance novels!

Deciding to try an experiment, Gregg closed his eyes and did his best to tune them out and focus on un-sexy things: multiplication tables, conjugating Latin verbs, golf ... Opening his eyes, he noticed that the girls were, well ... NOT noticing him. That lasted all of about ten seconds until an attractive co-ed wearing a particularly tight t-shirt walked by. She saw him looking and winked, continuing on with an exaggerated sway to her hips. Gregg couldn't help but notice and once again, all around girls were turning their heads to take notice of the hunk studying under the tree.

Gregg sighed resignedly. 'Well, at least it's a start. I'm just going to have to learn to keep my thoughts under control ... no easy task with so much flesh around.' Just thinking about all the girls he wasn't supposed to be thinking about had them all looking at him that much more intensely. 'Before they chase me down the street, I better head back to my apartment for a long, cold shower ... maybe two.'

Gregg felt like a schlub. Dressed in simple khakis, a polo shirt, and loafers, he looked positively slovenly compared to the regal beauty sharing a table with him. 'When she said we were meeting at her favorite restaurant for dinner, I had no idea it'd be so upscale!' The restaurant Heather told him to meet her at was one of those family steakhouses that had been serving wealthy clientele for over a hundred years. He would have thought he was in the wrong place, but Heather gave very specific directions on where it was. It was inconceivable that someone working as a waitress could afford to eat here often — much less name it her favorite place. 'Maybe she once worked here? She's probably been saving her money just for tonight.' It was decorated with dark woods, had a wine list as thick as a history text book, and had a very doting wait staff. 'Then again, looking the way she looks right now, Heather would get very doting service at McDonalds!'

Gregg wasn't exaggerating. Eyes that were on him while he waited at the bar for her arrival all turned — male and female — when she walked through the door. Gregg almost dropped the club soda he was sipping when his eyes spotted her. She was wearing an elegant, but very tight strapless red dress that went from below her knees up over breasts. It showed a lot of cleavage, and constantly looked on the verge of bursting open. However, somewhat to his disappointment, it never did. Her feet were wrapped in matching red strappy sandals, she carried a tiny silver purse, and her lips were painted a bright, glossy red. Her hair was piled in a complicated knot at the top of her head that left wispy strands free to frame her face. She could literally stop traffic. Giggling, she used her thumb to wipe a trace of lipstick off Gregg's cheek when she kissed him hello. Gregg was still unable to utter a word. With her hair up, Gregg was reminded of just how long and graceful

her neck was — and it took every ounce of self-control not to ravage her on the spot.

The snooty maître d' who wouldn't seat him earlier (probably thinking he was a low-class tourist) hurried up to him now, apologizing for making him wait, finding that "their most romantic table" toward the back was empty.

Two hours and five courses later, Gregg and Heather were sitting cross-corner from each other, holding hands on the tabletop, both having satisfied one hunger while another simmered, threatening to boil over. Heather dominated the conversation — she talked about how cute the pre-frosh students were she gave tours to and how she was hit on by over-confident freshmen as well as a few parents. Heather really was a people-person and on days she gave tours or met with prospective students, she shone. Days she was stuck doing paperwork, she was miserable.

When Gregg asked if this restaurant was one of the places she once worked as waitress, she gave a quick response about having worked in the area before quickly moving on to other topics. Gregg would have pressed the issue, but her hypnotic gaze, her sultry smile, and her foot rubbing against his shin really didn't give his brain a fighting chance. While over the course of the meal he shifted positions several times (often in an effort to surreptitiously adjust suddenly snug pants), Heather maintained perfect posture — back straight, chest out. She only got up once to "powder her nose" and when she sashayed across the room, all conversation in the room stopped. Men openly gawked and women either glared angrily at the men no longer paying attention to them or they stared at Heather's perfect figure jealously.

It was only when dessert came that Heather finally allowed Gregg to speak at length. It was as if she knew that once he started talking about his adventure earlier that day, she'd be too excited to talk. "Now, I've been prattling on and on," she said somewhat nervously, refilling their wine glasses with the last of the deep red Syrah. "It's your turn ... tell me about the lesson you had to teach, dear Professor..." she said the last with a knowing wicked grin as she dipped her finger into her glass, tracing the rim a few times before sucking the wine off her delectable digit.

Gregg first relayed his meeting and conversation with Charli. Heather's excitement grew thinking that this was the student he had "taught a lesson" to but was mildly disappointed when he said that she left his office unscathed. While she was happy Gregg had made a friend ... she was anxious to hear about his other meeting.

Disappointment turned to lust when he told how he confronted the two sorority girls and brought them into his office. Gregg spared no detail, detailing how both girls sucked his dick and how he did his best to make the leader of the two, Laura, feel humiliated. For a change, Gregg was too excited by his recitation to be embarrassed by the words he was using. Heather's free hands were wringing her cloth napkin on the table with each new detail, her perfect poise marred as she licked her lips and fidgeted excitedly in her chair. When she spotted the waiter approaching she merely locked eyes with him and shook her head and he turned around to tend to another table.

In hushed tones so other patrons wouldn't overhear, Gregg continued the story — Laura on hands and knees under the desk while he ate her friend out. Forcing Laura to watch while Natalie got the fucking of her life. And the final indignation, getting a face full of sperm when he finished. His prose wasn't great and he stumbled over his words, only slightly embarrassed to be whispering phrases like "face full of sperm" to this fiery goddess beside him, but she could picture every detail of his actions in her mind.

It was all Heather could do not to reach under the table and finger herself. She could feel her heartbeat pound in her chest in time with the pulsing between her legs. Her self-control was a tad better than the couple seated near them who, for reasons they didn't understand, beat a quick retreat into the men's room to relieve their sudden and inexplicable lust. It was time to take her professor home and reward him for such a creative pedagogy. Heather raised her hand to signal for the check and when she looked up she paled visibly. Burning lust became an icy ball of fear as a man approached the table.

Gregg saw the color drain from Heather's face and turned to see what had caught her attention. A man dressed in an expensive looking suit with hair slicked back and plenty of gold around his fingers stood by the table, looking from Heather to Gregg and back to Heather again. Behind him, a woman with blonde hair and breasts so huge and obviously fake they bordered on the ridiculous stood staring somewhat vacantly into space.

"Raven? I almost didn't recognize you. What brings you back?"

"Pardon me sir," Gregg stuttered. "I think you must have her confused with someone else."

The man gave Gregg a look that summed up just how little he thought of him before returning his gaze back to Heather. "You cost me a lot of money Raven. You seem to be doing quite well for yourself, I'd say. What, did you abandon me in my hour of need to start turning tricks?"

Gregg eyed the man warily — who did this asshole think he was calling Heather a whore? "Sir, you're obviously mist-"

The blonde eye candy seemed to break through her daze and finally notice Heather. "Raven? I mean Heather? Is that you? It's me, Cathy! My God you look great! Vinnie, doesn't she look great? Then again you always-"

Vinnie cut her off with a snap of his fingers and a harsh, "Shut up slut! I'm talking here. The next time you open your mouth, my dick better be in it!" The blonde took a step back, her head hanging meekly.

Heather's eyes went wide with recognition and then sadness. Her one time friend and lover from the strip club circuit had been transformed into an over-inflated sex doll. Heather's eyes trailed down to Cathy's arms, verifying her worst fears. Cathy saw where her eyes went and self-consciously tried to cover up the track marks with her hand. "Oh Cathy, I'm so sorry..."

"Forget about her. She made her own choices. She's a big girl ... and I don't just mean her tits!" Vinnie smiled at his own witty comment.

"Heather, who is this?" Gregg asked, with surprising calm. "Do you know him from one of the restaurants you used to work at?"

That finally got Vinnie's attention. He turned his gaze to Gregg and looked at him incredulously before barking out a laugh. "Ha! Is that what she told you? That she used to work in a restaurant?"

"Please, Vinnie, don't..." Heather pleaded, knowing that Vinnie wasn't one to bestow mercy. He was a shark, and right now he smelled blood in the water.

"Heather ... or should I say, Raven — that was her stage name — used to dance at my club. She was the best stripper in town. Moves so hot that she could make the Pope pop his cork. Men would pay a hundred dollars just to let her shake her tits in their face or grind her cooch in their lap."

Gregg turned to Heather, whose head was hanging in shame. "Heather, is this true?"

Tears ran down her face. Unable to speak, she simply nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

Vinnie took in the scene with glee. He dreamed about running into Heather again — she owed him, and he'd make her pay. "Okay sweetcheeks, let's not make a scene. I made you famous, so if you're gonna be turning tricks, you're going to give me my fair share. It's the least you owe me. You come with me quietly and I won't have to mess up that pretty little face of yours. Your John can crawl home and jack off to memories of the sweet piece of ass he ain't never gonna get."

An anger like he had never known before began to rise in Gregg. Heather, filled with shame at both her past coming back to her, and Gregg finding out about her secret, couldn't look him in the eye. 'If I don't go with him, he'll hurt Gregg... ' Gregg heard that thought clearly and a protective instinct took control.

Heather grabbed her purse from under the table and started to rise. She had just pushed back her chair when Gregg's hand shot out and tightly gripped her wrist. "Sit."

Heather turned her gaze to Gregg, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Vinnie. When she failed to sit back down, Gregg tightened his grip and said again simply, "I said sit."

"Gregg, honey, you don't understand. He's dangerous. Don't be a hero — just let me go."

Gregg finally turned his gaze. Realizing Heather's hand was turning purple, he released his grip. While she massaged her wrist, he said calmly, "We're not done with our meal. I don't intend to leave until the meal is over. And when it is over, you'll be leaving with me ... not him."

Heather sat nervously down, knowing full-well what Vinnie was capable of. She had seen that wicked sneer on his face before as he leaned forward, resting his palms on the table, getting within inches of Gregg's face.

"Listen you putz, you picked the wrong day to mess with the wrong person. Since you don't know who I am, I'm giving you that one for free. That's the limit to my generosity. Now, go find yourself another high priced whore or I'm going to have to mess you up. Believe me, no one in this restaurant is going to call the cops. Little Miss Heather has a dick to suck tonight and it ain't gonna be yours."

Gregg had heard enough. Gregg quickly leaned over and kicked his foot out toward Vinnie's shins as hard as he could. It was a clumsy move, but Vinnie found himself unable to move a muscle. Gregg felt no dishonor using his power to give him an advantage — he had lost enough fights growing up to know when not to fight fairly. Vinnie's legs were shoved out from under him, sending him face-first into the hard table top. With a resounding thunk and a clatter of broken dishes, Vinnie rebounded backward and collapsed to the ground, his face a bloody mess.

Standing over the dazed and prone Vinnie, Gregg reached down and grabbed him by his necktie, pulling him up just enough to rear back and punch him across the face with a strength he didn't know he had. Two teeth that were loosened by his face-plant into the table flew across the carpeting with a spray of blood.

As quickly as it started, it was over. Gregg stood shakily, gasping for air. Every eye in the restaurant was on him, and it wasn't because of the usual reasons. Heather's eyes were perhaps the biggest, fear and awe battling it out across her wide green globes. She wanted to hold him, but she was too shocked to move.

Gregg shook out his hand, the pain from the punch starting to be felt now that the adrenalin was wearing off. He reached down and patted Vinnie's coat. Gregg flinched when he saw the shoulder holster, but moved past it. Finding a wad in one of the pockets, he pulled out a roll of money. Peeling off five one-hundred dollar bills, he put them on the table to cover the food and damages. "Thanks for dinner Vinnie." Then he handed the rest of the wad to Cathy.

"My advice to you is to take this money and get away from this asshole." Cathy gulped nervously and looked down at Vinnie's unconscious body before looking back at Gregg and taking the money with a trembling hand. "Now the meal is over. Heather?" He held out his hand and Heather took it, eager to leave the scene.

As they were leaving the restaurant, Heather looked back, dismayed to see Cathy crouching over Vinnie, trying to revive him. A spark of hope remained when she saw her slip the money into her purse. 'Use it to get help Cathy ... not more drugs ... please.' she pleaded silently as she was led out the door.

As the warm night air filled his nostrils and the realization of what he had just done hit him, Gregg's knees buckled. Staggering around the corner toward the alley, he doubled over, an exquisite meal threatening to return. Luckily after a few calming breaths, Gregg regained his composure and returned to Heather. Fear, awe, and pity all played across her face. 'Some hero I turn out to be!' He helped Heather into a cab and she scooted across the seat to make room for him, breathing a silent sigh of relief that he actually joined her. Gregg gave the driver Heather's address and they pulled away from the restaurant. For long minutes neither said a word. Heather was too stunned to speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she'd break down and cry. Gregg on the other hand was wrestling with a moral dilemma.

He was furious that Heather had been lying to him all this time. Gregg harbored no illusions that under different circumstances, they both could have winded up dead tonight. 'Is that why she wanted me to sleep with other women? To assuage her guilt over the secret she's been carrying?' His anger was tempered knowing that he too had a secret. 'Is it fair for me to be mad when I still haven't told her about my abilities? No. It's not the same. She blatently lied to me. I haven't told her about me because I don't even understand it myself. What would I tell her? Maybe. Someday ... If I live long enough... ' Gregg's thoughts turned morose as he remembered all those recurring dreams where he saw through the eyes of others with his abilities — all of whom died violent deaths.

Gregg's silence reached Heather's limit. "Gregg ... Gregg? I ... You shouldn't have done that. You don't know Vinnie ... he'll kill you ... he'll kill me."

Gregg couldn't explain to her that he took precautions to make sure Vinnie didn't seek revenge. Heather couldn't know that when Vinnie wakes up in the hospital, he'll have no recollection of how he got there ... He won't even remember running into Heather ... Raven ... whatever she called herself. "No Heather. He won't. You're safe."

Heather gulped. There was a steely edge to Gregg's voice that scared her, but his surety also comforted her. She knew he was right — she didn't know why, but he was right. But, he said "you're safe," not "we're safe..." The multiple meanings of that spun in her brain to the point of paranoia. She wanted to reach across the seat and hold his hand, kiss away the pain from his bloody knuckles, but she was afraid of him rejecting her.

"Tell me everything, Heather. The whole truth. You never were a waitress, were you?" To her surprise, she didn't break down in tears. In fact, the truth came spilling out matter-of-factly. It was like a final confession before being sentenced. While she hoped she was wrong, she felt that if things were going to end with Gregg tonight, they'd end with no more lies between them.

"I was a rich spoiled kid. I was also beautiful, and popular. I learned early on that I could get whatever I wanted with just a flirtatious glance. When I graduated high school, I went to college and quickly flunked out — partying instead of studying." Heather held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger almost touching. "I came this close to being just like your little sorority friends. My boyfriend at the time took me to a local strip club for an amateur night. If I wasn't drunk, I may not have gone ... but it was the easiest $1,000 I ever made. I had no real skills and Daddy was cutting me off from my allowance. If I could make that much in a single night just by showing my tits, then why not? Once Daddy learned how I was making money, he completely cut me off. It's been three years since I've spoken with him..." Heather paused for a moment, as if feeling that loss fully for the first time.

"But the easy life wasn't as easy as I thought it'd be. Sure, there was glamour — I got to party with rock stars, rub up against celebrities ... literally ... but I soon learned about the dangers. I few weeks after I started dancing full time, I was assaulted by a drunk patron. It was also the night I met Cathy. She didn't used to look like what you saw there. She was one of those strong-willed women who didn't take shit from nobody. Besides becoming my lover for a time, she also took me under her wing, kept her eye on me, keeping me away from drugs and shady deals that could get me in trouble."

Heather paused, collecting her thoughts. "Gregg, you can't imagine how many girls are chewed up and spit out by the system. I chose to do what I did — many of them didn't have a choice. They had kids to support, abusive boyfriends, pimps. I had plenty of opportunities to make amends with Daddy and go back to living an easy life, but every month that passed just widened the gap between us. Well, after four years of strutting my stuff on stage, I was burning out. I watched two of my friends die from overdoses and another got gang raped at a bachelor party ... she's so scarred up now no strip club will hire her. The guys had a high-priced lawyer and got off with community service. Many of the girls get addicted to drugs to wash away the humiliation of what they're doing and then become prostitutes on the side to pay for their drug addiction. Guys brag about nailing a stripper, but they'd never take one home to meet their parents. Once someone tags you with that label

, you can't clean the tainted lens they see you through. I knew I had to get out. That's when I decided to quit the business and go to college. The sooner I had a real degree, real skills, the sooner all this could be a distant memory."

Gregg had never seen anyone he loved die. His parents were alive, even though he didn't talk with them much. He never had any friends, but the thought of losing anyone who was close to him now was almost more than he could bear. Gregg reached out his hand and held Heather's. With a cracked voice he whispered, "Go on." Heather was almost overwhelmed with emotion. Gregg's simple gesture told her everything would be alright.

With barely contained tears, she continued. "Vinnie was — is — the owner of the club I worked at. He made a lot of money off of me, but like all men with money — he wanted more. More money and more of me. Cathy had warned me to avoid a relationship with him at all costs and I took her advice seriously. Some girls thought that their lives would be easier if they slept with the boss, but every single one of them just got passed around and ended up on the street, bitter and used. One day he pulled me aside to say he was starting his own porn production company and thought I would be the perfect star. I knew that once I crossed that line, there'd be no turning back. I refused ... something people just don't do with Vinnie.

"A few days later one of his mob connections comes into the club. Apparently this was the guy who was going to finance his movie business and I was going to be the down payment. Cathy found out about it and stopped me on my way to work. 'Heather, ' she says, 'don't go to work today. In fact don't come back ever again ... not even to pick up your last paycheck. If you walk through those doors, you're going to be pinned down, shot full of heroine and then raped on camera. You've saved enough money ... you're done here.' I hugged her goodbye, knowing that Vinnie would know who tipped me off."