Shortly after the twins finished their detailed financial analysis and determined that I was flat-broke, they dismissed me. In an overt display of control on their part, they remained in my office as I left quietly, with my tail between my legs. I have no clue how long they stayed in there, as I left the campus, and headed home to try and figure out my game plan.
It felt like my whole world was closing in on me, the cumulative result of my recent stupid decisions where the twins were concerned. I had crossed the line so many times, driven by my lust, and encouraged by their acceptance of my lewd behavior. I texted them numerous times, but they ignored my attempts to reach out, which elevated my anxiety level.
I had to face them the following day at school, and was not surprised when Erica and Jessica took control of the group and pretty much ran the show. I faded into the background, taking great care to address the five with the respect that they now felt entitled to. After class, the twins summoned me to the equipment room, and my heart sank as I entered nervously, and encountered the five, chatting excitedly, in a foreign language.
I stood awkwardly by the door as they continued to chat, barely acknowledging my presence. I understood the occasional word, mostly pejoratives like "pussy" and "bitch" that I had encountered before in porno movies, although I did hear my name mentioned numerous times.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the room went silent, and Erica spoke.
"We have decided to think about your fate for a week," she informed me dispassionately. "Then we will put it to the vote. There are five of us, so we will be able to come up with a majority vote, either way."
"Either way?" I asked nervously, once I was sure that Erica was done speaking.
"Yes, either we find some use for you, or we turn you in to the authorities and let the justice system punish you as it deems appropriate," she said confidently. "The Judge deemed four years appropriate for Garcia," she added cruelly.
"See you tomorrow, Oscar," Jessica said, letting me know it was my time to leave.
They let me stew in my own juices for a week, my anxiety level almost prompting me to seek medical attention. During that week, my leadership role in the classroom was usurped by the five, each of the stunning East European blondes taking turns to step up and run the practice sessions. I remained in the background, and was required to wear just my speedos for the duration of the day. I was relegated to taking care of the equipment, ensuring that after each session in the pool, everything was stored away correctly, the towels were laundered, and the female locker room was spotless.
I had been given complete autonomy over my swim program, and for this reason there were very few intrusions from other staff members or faculty. It seemed as if the privacy of the scantily-clad teenagers was of utmost importance, and so any interruptions were preceded by a warning. This gave the five time to yield the floor to me, so that it still appeared as if I was running the show.
After school, I was required to return immediately to my room, where I could take my meals. I was not permitted to masturbate and the twins removed all traces of theirs from my room, namely the scented panties and my latest beloved eleven by fourteen laminated photo. After two days, I was out of my mind with desire, having gone from jerking off four to five times a day, to complete abstinence.
On the third day, as I sat in my room trying to come to terms with my new reality, I got a text from Erica. My hands were shaking as I opened it, dreading the outcome of any decision the five may have made.
"Turn on the local news channel," the text read, "something of interest to you is on right now."
I complied immediately, not wishing to give the five any reason to turn me over to the authorities. The news station was reporting that the disgraced former swim coach of UIC Barcelona, Juan Garcia had been assaulted in prison, and was hospitalized for treatment of multiple injuries. The newscaster went on to say that Mr. Garcia had been attacked numerous times since his incarceration, despite having been assigned to a protective custody ward. As they detailed his injuries, which included stab wounds, broken ribs, and a torn rectum from a prolonged sexual assault, I broke down and began to cry.
For me, this news was the straw that broke the camel's back, and I sent a group text to Erica and Jessica asking them respectfully if they could meet me the following day. They kept me waiting all day, but finally after the last swim practice of the day, I was summoned to the equipment room. When I got to the door it was open, but I knocked anyway in order to convey my respect.
"Come," Erica said commandingly, as I slinked in wearing just my speedos.
The five were sitting in a row on collapsible chairs, having rearranged the room to allow them to wait in relative comfort. Erica motioned me over with a wave of her hand, much the way a diner would hail a waitress. When I stood before them, my hands rested in front of me, providing me with a modicum of modesty.
"Put your hands behind your head," Jessica ordered me, as the girls looked on, seemingly interested in my level of obedience.
I felt very vulnerable, stood before the five of them, clad only in my form-fitting speedos. I could see the girls checking me out, undressing me with their eyes as they came to the realization that they owned my ass.
"Kneel," Erica said, as I lowered myself to the ground before them.
The floor of the equipment room was constructed of large Spanish terra-cotta tiles, incredibly hard-wearing for commercial use, but also extremely uncomfortable to kneel on. As I squirmed around trying to alleviate the discomfort, Erica took pity on me, and tossed me a small hand towel to kneel on. Once I was comfortable, they began their interrogation of me.
"You texted us," Jessica began coldly, "what do you want, and what are you prepared to give up in return?"
I didn't know where to start. I hadn't formulated a game plan, or written a speech, or even drafted an outline. I was just so overwhelmed with anxiety, particularly in light of the fact that my predecessor had been assaulted multiple times, even while in protective custody. I was going to be fucked if I went to prison, literally and figuratively. I was looking at much more time than Garcia had been sentenced too, given the fact that I had apparently left five victims in my wake. As I knelt before the five, all of us aware that they held my future in their young hands, I started to plead my case, a disjointed, trembling protracted begging session, that meandered all over the place, in a stream of verbal diarrhea.
"Quiet," Erica ordered me, forcefully. "Focus."
As shocking as it was to be silenced by an eighteen year old, it was just what I needed. A mental reset, so that I could gather my thoughts, and make my plea for mercy.
"Please, guys," I begged. "I will do anything if you decide to settle my misdeeds in house."
As I prostrated myself before them, they extracted numerous compromises from me, each met with little to no resistance.
