him. The missive was ignored. Meanwhile, Lupe cried herself sick, stopped eating, dressed in black and for a period of more than 24 hours, did not bathe. Losing interest in everything but her grief (and the novel Pamela) Lupe barely noticed or attempted to discourage the constant presence of Hector by her side. He was happy to be used as a sounding board, to furnish a shoulder to cry on, and revile the name of Clarence Gerard whenever it was spoken. But the afternoon she wore a grey shirt with a black jacket and trousers and forgot to shower, her fascination was too great to resist and he nearly attacked her in her room, begging her to surrender to his need with greater vehemence than it was in her power to repel in her weakened emotional state.
“Do what ever you like, I don’t care,” she sighed, laying back on her bed and gazing out at the slate grey sky through the mullioned window panes of her lilac dorm room.
Hector rolled her over on her tummy then pulled her up by her hips. Reaching around to loosen her trousers and pull them down he murmured with more honesty than cynicism, “perhaps if you pretend that I’m Clarence, you’ll get a thrill.”
“Then do it hard,” she advised, closing her eyes as she rested her weight evenly on her knees and the palms of her hands.
Hector didn’t need a second invitation to comply with her injunction to the letter. He wanted to fuck her hard. He’d been dreaming of doing nothing else since he’d first spoken to her. Nor did this determined young man, one of whose ambitions was to some day edit the National Enquirer, have the slightest qualm about playing surrogate to the girl that he desired above all others.
“You’re dry though,” he mused. “How do you get wet?” Unconsciously he stroked her bottom as he asked her this.
“Spank me,” she replied, though with relative disinterest.
“Really?”
“Go ahead.” She slightly rotated her smooth, slim bottom. The gesture added another inch to his already straining erection. He unzipped his jeans to liberate his cock. Out of curiosity she turned to regard the handsome pink specimen of masculine ardor. “Nice cock,” she mildly complimented him, dropping her head again with a sigh.
Hector tentatively caressed her bottom.
“That’s it,” she encouraged him. Her pain and disappointment at losing Clarence had left her too physically exhausted to be either embarrassed or protective about her fetish any longer.
“All right, young lady, you asked for it,” he told her, moving to one side and taking her by the waist to give her something like a proper spanking. It was true that she was up on all fours and under his arm rather than over his knee, but Lupe hadn’t reckoned with Hector’s ethnicity, which included strong spanking influences on both the Latin and European sides. He instinctively knew how to hold a girl for a spanking and how to apply the palm of his hand to her backside.
True to her word, Lupe became moist within moments. Hector ascertained this twenty or so swats into the spanking. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed Lupe as she surrendered to the fantasy that she was once again the beloved of Clarence.
Fifty or sixty smacks later, when Lupe’s creamy skin was fully pinkened, Hector found her to be sopping wet and proceeded with the more adult portion of the program, during which safe sex was achieved with characteristic teenage abandon. In spite of her detachment, Lupe succumbed to a climax moments before Hector’s. After which she promptly burst into tears.
Hector gathered her into his arms and comforted her, instinctively knowing that he himself was in no way responsible for her sadness.
All of this was duly reported to Diana, who, more shocked by Lupe’s taking to dressing in black than her new sexual decadence, seized the first opportunity to reproach Clarence with his dangerous neglect of her friend.
They met in the basement of their dorm while exchanging old sheets for new at the linen lockers.
“Good morning, Miss Stratton,” said Clarence, shades cooler than he had ever been with the small, sleek senior before.
“You’re very formal today, Clarence. Or are you angry with me too?”
“I’m not angry with anyone,” he bristled.
“Not even Lupe?”
Clarence collected his linen.
“Clarence, do me the courtesy of replying to my question.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I would like to know your intentions with regard to my dear friend,” demanded Diana imperiously.
“Intentions?”
“Yes. Have you abandoned her?”
Clarence slammed his locker closed.
“No,” he shortly replied.
“Then you still care for her?”
“Of course,” he reluctantly growled.
“Then why are you being so mean? Have you forgotten that she’s a novice in the scene? Ninety percent of why she went to the city was to give you a reason to spank her. Neophytes often behave that way. It’s something they grow out of.”
“Thanks for telling me that. It’s a big relief,” Clarence said, unimpressed.
“So I guess you don’t care that she’s crying herself to sleep every night and starving herself to death in the day?”
This made Clarence pause. He remembered that Lupe had looked utterly drained the previous morning at breakfast, dressed all in black, though with handsome slate grey accents. Her cheeks had looked hollow!
“Where is she now?” he suddenly asked Diana.
“I don’t know. Probably walking around in tears. It’s what she’s been doing all week.”
“All right. I’ll put a stop to that today. If you see her tell her I’m looking for her.”
It was one of those October days that start out golden blue and end up wetly grey. Somewhat revived by the impromptu spanking and rough, satisfying sex from Hector the previous day, Lupe had reacquainted herself with soap and perfume and outfitted in wool knickers, a sweater, thick sox and ankle boots, set out after breakfast to walk the entire day.
First she walked out to Vassar farm to stare at the scarecrows. Then she started down the densely shaded road to the Cider Mill, crunching leaves.
It took some time to reach the strange lodge and halfway there the clouds began to move in. Fortunately, in looking for Lupe, Clarence had run into Carl-Adam, who had just seen her walking on the road and Carl-Adam told Clarence exactly where he might find her. As the drizzle began, Clarence pulled up beside Lupe.
On noticing the handsome, tawny driver of the jeep Lupe’s heart contracted.
“Lupe, get in,” he stopped the car and severely frowned at her, opening the door. “Where were you going?”
“The Cider Mill.” She got in.
Clarence threw the car in gear and they started down the road. “You
