Jenna Clarkeson and Celeste Du Pont were high school rivals, but at college fate has thrown them into a shaky alliance. Both need information on a crucial test paper and Tony Jensen, son of the department head, can supply. But Tony has a price. Party-time with him and his buddies in Tony’s Surf Shack – plus an anything-goes policy and a camera to capture it all. Will the girls run the gauntlet of these horny surfer dudes? And just what can they expect as reward?

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As Jenna peered through the viewfinder, getting a fix on the helpless Celeste, Tony rejoined her and guided her nude form closer to the rapidly unfolding action. The Fairfax High Queen of the Prom 2012, framed by two scruffy yet sculpted surfer dudes, was displaying a vulnerability very far from the fashion-conscious flaunting of herself around school corridors. Her fingers were scrunching the thin material of her dress around her thighs in contained panic, as Mike and Chad closed in— rushing back her hair so they could slaver over her face and neck, massaging one large breast apiece, grinding their crotches into the generous swell of her hips.

“Okay, look into the camera,” Tony instructed, and he brought Jenna up close, so that the blond girl’s fraught face was caught perfectly through the view. “Now introduce yourself, babe.” Celeste just looked harried and confused. “Just say your name for the camera. Full name.”

“I’m – I’m Celeste,” she managed, as the two guys continued to molest her through her clothing. “Celeste DuPont.”

“And tell me a bit about yourself, Celeste. Go on, don’t be shy.”

“What? I’m – I’m a student, I’m a Sociology student …”

“Wow, Celeste, you must be pretty smart. Who are your friends here?”

Celeste had Chad’s tongue in one ear, while on the other side Mike was pinching and twisting her nipple through the fabric. “They – they – I can’t remember their names,” she panicked. “We just kinda met …”

“Wow, you get friendly real fast. What’s your program for this afternoon?”

Celeste struggled to focus, as her two brawny playmates set about tugging the straps of her dress away from her shoulders. “Well, I guess we’re gonna fool around some.”

“‘Fool around some’? Say what you mean, Celeste. What do you think these dudes have got planned for you? Say it on camera.”

Celeste was squirming both from the guys’ robust attentions and from the glowing red light on the camera, that let her know it was all being captured. The boys were letting the wet fabric of her dress cling to her boobs, while they sucked on her graceful neck and explored her stomach and thighs. She was being reduced to porn-slut status by the tawdry pre-copulative interview and two-on-one groping, but also excited, disconcertingly so. “They’re gonna fuck me,” she confided helplessly to the lens. “I guess they’re gonna fuck me real good.”

Jake Malden is a freelance journalist and writer based in London. He has been experimenting with erotica both on the page and off for some years and has a growing number of titles available. His interests, aside from the staringly obvious, are theatre, cinema, literature, fitness-training and travel (particularly back to his native Ireland). He is an enthusiast of juicing, in every possible sense.

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