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   Jenny's Couch Book III, part 4 (Mg, ped, prost, exhib, humil, oral,
mast, toys, drugs, tg-play) by Rufus Fugit

   I had given up trying to understand all of Karen's mood swings.  Not
half an hour ago she had been happily gamboling naked in a field surrounded
by houses, from which she would have been plainly visible.  And not just
prancing around - anyone in those homes could have seen her on all fours on
a picnic table, performing fellatio on one young man while fucking another
doggy-style.  It hadn't bothered her to walk through the neighborhood with
fresh semen decorating her face and hair, diddling herself through her
shorts which, already sheer, were made completely transparent by the
wetness leaking from her aroused cunny.

   And yet, after her grand entrance to the barn, tripping and going
ass-over-teakettle in front of Paul and the other five members of her band,
her face had blushed a brighter pink than I had perhaps ever seen.  She had
gotten shakily to her feet, looked wildly around, and then fled up the
crude stairs leading to what had been the hayloft, her high-heeled sandals
clop-clopping on the raw wood.  The sixth-grader was all arms and legs as
she crouched on the rickety loft floor, elbows akimbo resting on her knees.
She had one hand covering her face, smearing the spunk decorating it into
an even glaze over her heavy makeup.  The other was stuffed into the
waistband of her shorts, the moving knuckles plainly visible beneath the
semitransparent pale green fabric.  Her fingers made a wet squelching sound
as she thrust them between her swollen labia.  A gooey thread of her
secretions hung out the open leghole, swinging with her movement and
gradually stretching towards the dirty wood.  Karen was grunting softly in
her throat as her thumb strummed back and forth across her shiny, straining
clitoris.  The tendons in her thighs tensed and relaxed as she shifted her
balance.

   "C'mon, sweetie," I coaxed.  My hand was stroking the generous amount of
bare flesh revealed by the low-cut back of her babydoll nightie.  Her skin
was feverish, hot and slightly damp with sweat.  My lips were almost
touching her ear and damp wisps of hair at her temples tickled my nose.  My
voice was loud, almost a shout, to be heard above the cacophony below.

   Paul's band was horrible.  I mean, they were all proficient musicians.
Paul's bass was fluid, with little unexpected runs and odd notes from
outside the standard blues-rock scale.  But their material sounded like
free jazz and thrash metal had met at a party, gotten smashed on coke and
Southern Comfort, hate-fucked, and this was their abused-and-neglected
baby. Suffice it to say, it was not really my thing.

   It took a while, but eventually I convinced Karen that falling down was
not the total and irreparable social destruction she seemed to think it
was, and she let me lead her back downstairs.  She even took her hand out
of her pants and - finding nothing else to use - wiped it on her thigh,
transferring the white cream from her private place from one patch of skin
to another.  She walked timidly down the steps behind me, the tip of her
tail bobbing over one shoulder and then the other.  As we reached the
ground floor she went and knelt on the sprung, dirty couch facing the
practice area.  She had to kneel rather than sit to protect the buttplug
filling her rectum and the wire-stiffened fake fur tail sticking out from
between her cheeks.  She settled, arms crossed across her perky pale
breasts, hardly daring to raise her eyes to look at the band.  She needn't
have worried.  Their music might sound like a jet turbine throwing a blade
but they were serious about it, and no one spared a glance, not even for a
tall, slim, beautiful, blond, nearly naked elementary school child.

   Paul looked to be the youngest person in the band; everyone else was in
at least their mid-twenties, I guessed, except for the drummer, a tiny
woman with a shaven head and bulging arm muscles that twisted and knotted
beneath sun-roughened skin.  She might've been a well-preserved sixty or a
really hard-living thirty-five.  The guitarist and a fiddler looked to be
brothers, tall and barrel-chested with thick, wild, dyed black hair.  There
was a heavy girl playing a saxophone, and another young woman with a
turntable for scratching, a keyboard-sampler, and a laptop covered with
stickers.  She stayed bent over her equipment so her long bright red hair
completely covered her face.

   Now that Karen's emotional crisis was resolved, I took a look around the
room.  The retrofitted barn was taller than its footprint.  Half the floor,
where the band played, was an inexpertly poured concrete slab, cracked and
uneven.  The rest was packed earth, mostly covered by several layers of
old, faded carpet remnants, smelling faintly of mildew.  The loft Karen had
fled to was decrepit and had been partly taken down; only a large corner
was still safe, with a steep staircase, almost a ladder, leading up to it.
Aside from the late afternoon sun slanting through gaps in the plank walls,
the only light was from two long fluorescent tubes with a tin shade hanging
down from the roof peak.  One of them was flickering annoyingly.

   Aside from the ratty old couch, there were a couple of high stools and
some hay bales scattered haphazardly around as seating - it was one of
those Karen had tripped over.  Renee was currently draped across another
one.  Her knees were on the ground on one side, her dress-covered bubble
butt up in the air pointing at the stacked amplifiers and equipment at the
other end of the room.  She had her arms crossed with her hands under her
chin, elbows pointing down to where her book was open on the carpet in
front of her.  She had tucked her long brown hair beneath the collar of her
jacket to keep it from spilling forwards over her face.  She was absently
moving her feet as she read, bumping the heels of her sneakers together and
digging her toes into the dusty old carpet.

   I sat down next to Renee, raising a cloud of straw dust from the old
bale.  "Whatcha reading?" I asked, putting my hand companionably on the
fourth-grader's tight little butt, so invitingly presented.  The child
rolled half onto her side, lifting her book so I could see the cover. 
"Hitchhiker's Guide, huh?  I really like it.  Have you seen the movie yet?"

   "Huh-uh," Renee replied.  She pushed her hair back behind her ear, in so
doing exposing her jawline and the two tiny moles at the curve just below
her ear.  That sight was oddly erotically charged for me.  I inhaled
deeply, getting just a whiff of the little girl's clean scent mixed with
the dust and damp.  I shifted on the bale, feeling a familiar stirring in
my jeans.  Of its own volition my hand stroked the soft cotton of her dress
then dipped down to her bare thighs beneath the hem.  At first Renee spread
her legs slightly as I moved my hand up under her dress to rub and gently
squeeze at her tight little bum, but she demurred when I dipped down to the
crease below.  I just had a second to feel the rubber scrotum bulging out
her panties at the crux of her thighs before she clamped them shut. 
"Nuh-uh," she grunted.  "I'm reading." She lowered her voice so I could
barely hear over the band.  "We can do sex tonight.  I'm going to put my
new penis back in and fuck with it.  I liked that a lot.  But now I'm
reading," she repeated, and turned back to her book.  Her artless delivery,
completely typical of any ten-year-old and yet on a topic so wildly
inappropriate inflamed my ardor rather than cooling it.  I couldn't help
but lean over and nibble at the exposed nape of the child's neck.  Renee
literally shrugged me off, clearly annoyed, and ostentatiously returned to
her reading.  She didn't insist, however, that I remove my hand entirely
and so I continued to lightly fondle her panty-clad ass as I watched the
band.

   I was looking past Karen's bare shoulders.  Her head was nodding and she
was starting to bounce lightly in her seat - I assumed in time to the music
though I couldn't really discern a steady beat.  Her tail bobbled back and
forth as she moved.  Every so often she gave a little extra shiver as if
the buttplug had shifted unexpectedly or something.

   After entirely too long the song, or whatever it was, that the band were
working on staggered to an end.  They fell into a discussion over the song
structure, arguing good-naturedly about whether a certain section should
come before or after another.  As the discussion went on I noticed the
beatmaster - or whatever the hell they call them - sneaking glances at
Karen through her heavy curtain of red hair.  Karen was oblivious, with
eyes only for Paul.  The music had stopped but she was still wiggling in
her seat but now with a slower, more purposeful, almost sinuous motion.  As
I watched she tilted her head back.  The streak of dried semen in her hair
glinted in the light.  Her heavily-blackened eyelids were half-closed and
her mouth slightly open.

   The discussion finished and practice was apparently done or at least in
recess.  The boys set down their instruments and one of the brothers lifted
a tall bong from behind an amp.  The snick of a lighter and the familiar
burbling sound brought Karen out of her sexual reverie.  She bounced to her
feet and practically threw herself into Paul's arms.  "Can I have some? 
Please?  Can I?" she demanded, bouncing up and down on bare toes.  She had
taken off her sandals while sitting.

   I think her ignorance of pot-smoking decorum - you wait to be invited by
whoever has the stash - embarrassed Paul a bit in front of his older
bandmates.  "This is Karen," he introduced her.  "She's...um..."

   "I'm his whore!" Karen finished brightly, turning her wide, opaque smile
on the nonplussed group.  "See?" She leaned forward, fingering the engraved
heart dangling from her choker.  The brothers almost banged their heads
looking at it, or rather leaning in to take advantage of the clear view of
her bare titties exposed down the low-cut nightie.

   That got the redhead's attention, finally getting her to throw her hair
back from her face.  She had strong features, not what you'd call pretty,
but quite attractive.  High forehead, wide-set green eyes, a strong Roman
nose and a deep dimple in her chin.  "You're really a prostitute?" she
asked.  Her speaking voice was low and sweet, quite unlike the high,
crackling register she had sung in.

   Karen's response was forestalled by Paul offering her the bong.  He held
and lit it while Karen put her lips in the end of the tube.  She exhaled
through her nose and then began a long, slow inhalation until the entire
length was roiling with blue smoke.  She exhaled again and then sucked
hard, clearing the tube.  She threw her head back, her throat working as
stray wisps of smoke curled from her nose.  It was a massive lungful but
the twelve-year-old held it in with no apparent discomfort even though as
far as I knew it had been months since the last time she'd smoked
marijuana. She never coughed, either, just let the smoke slowly trickle out
her nostrils.  Still, it was clear the drug hit her hard.  I could see her
eyes getting dreamy, her posture softening and her whole body relaxing.

   I joined the group as the bong went around once and then again.  Karen
had a second hit, just as large as the first, though I stopped at one,
feeling my responsibility for the two children.  Renee ignored us, lost in
her book.  Karen got giggly and then clingy, pressing herself against Paul
and a little too obviously hunching on his leg.  She wasn't oblivious,
though, and when Paul went outside to pee she turned boldly to the redhead.
"Do you want to see my cunt?" The older girl spluttered but Karen just
giggled some more.  The pot was doing what I had seen it do before,
dissolving what little inhibition the poor child had left, after all the
abuse she had been subjected to.

   "It's okay, I saw you looking." Karen padded barefoot on the uneven
concrete, her balance wobbling a little.  "You can look.  I show my cunt to
anyone because I'm a whore.  I think my cunt is pretty, what do you think?"
Not giving the girl a chance to respond, Karen prattled on in her high,
stoned voice.  "I call it my babycunt, and I'm a whore, so it's my whore
babycunt.  And it gets hot, especially when I go naked, so then it's my hot
whore babycunt.  Go ahead, take a good look." She was standing right in
front of the girl now, her feet slightly spread.  She arched her back and
pulled the crotch of her shorts aside, baring herself shamelessly.  Her
labia were swollen and puffy and flushed dark with blood, which made the
fine dusting of blond down more visible.  Her slit was open, her petals
thickened and spread with her arousal.  The bright red of her passage was
obscured with the milky cream filling the clean hole where once - a long
time ago - her hymen had been.  And standing out proudly at the apex was
her clitoris, erected and twisted to one side, glistening with moisture,
throbbing slightly and looking almost black in the harsh, flickering
fluorescents.

   "You want to touch it, don't you?" Karen lilted.  The redhead stared
down at the sixth-grader's open crotch as if hypnotized.  "Go ahead, touch
it," Karen urged breathily.  "Touch it!  Touch my babycunt, touch my
babycunt, touch my babycunt..." her chant trailed off as, slowly, the
redhead raised her hand and pressed her palm against Karen's aching sex. 
"Yesssss..." Karen hissed.  "That's it, touch my whore babycunt, oh, yes,
it's hot, that feels good, use your fingers, put your fingers in, oh,
ohhhh...OH!" She stiffened and almost shrieked as the redhead's thumb found
her pulsing button and first rubbed around it in rapid circles and then
pushed it against Karen's pubic bone as she slowly pumped two fingers in
and out of the young girl's welcoming hole.  Karen was panting now, and she
put her hands on the redhead's shoulders for balance.  She canted her
pelvis and began to bounce on the balls of her feet, forcing the girl's
fingers more deeply up inside her.  "My babycunt, my babycunt, my hot whore
babycunt," she was chanting in her high, stoned voice.

   "Uh...guys?" Paul said from behind me.  Five heads jerked up guiltily.
Everyone else in the band had been entranced by Karen's wanton display. 
The redhead snatched back her hand.  Karen staggered and caught herself
against an amp, her chant trailing off in a frustrated moan.  "We were
going to work out the harmonies on "Slavonian Death Macabre," he added.

   The band got back to business, but Karen didn't sit back down.  She was
too worked up and too high to stay still now.  She stood in front of the
practice area, taking the full blast of the atrocious noise, first swaying
and then gradually beginning to dance as the band stopped, discussed,
started and then stopped again, tried alternate arrangements and generally
did the things bands did during rehearsal.  Somehow Karen managed to find
rhythms that entirely eluded me in the clamor, her lithe preteen body
gliding from step to step.  First one, and then both spaghetti straps of
her nightie slid down her shapely upper arms.  She made no attempt to put
them back in place.  Instead, accidentally-on-purpose it seemed to me she
let her arms droop so they slid clean off and the thin fabric bunched
around her waist.  She continued to dance with her tiny breasts bared. 
They jiggled and bounced with her movement.  As she slipped by me her scent
was strong, not just the perspiration that glowed on her skin or the pot
smoke clinging to her thick blond hair, but also the cream oozing from her
pulsing hole, the sharp tang of her arousal.

   Karen's dance got more and more overtly sexual.  She cupped her
teacup-sized breasts in her hands, tweaking and pulling on her large, puffy
nipples.  She got down on the floor on her elbows and spread her knees
wide, pulling aside her shorts and exposing her dripping cunny.  She stood
up and twerked, making the tail emerging from her anus lash and bounce
wildly.  She bent over from the waist, looking upside-down between her legs
and pulled her cheeks apart with her hands, exposing her sphincter
stretched open by the buttplug seated in it.  She reached back and grabbed
the plug, easing it out partway so that its widest diameter distended her
anal ring, then letting it go and showing off the control she had
developed, to where she could gradually pull it back in using just her
rectal muscles.

   It was another half-hour or so before the band quit for good.  The bong
went around again, Karen again taking a huge hit and then continuing to
dance to music now only she could hear, mumbling and laughing to herself.
There was an awkward pause; with the exception of the sax player and the
guitarist everyone's eyes were tracking the stoned, half-naked
twelve-year-old wriggling her undeveloped body in unconscious parody of
adult sexuality, but no one wanted to make a move in front of their
bandmates.  Finally Paul said with hearty false confidence, "You know we
were talking about finding a dancer for the next show."

   "We were?" blurted the redhead, causing the drummer to bust out
laughing.

   "Sure we were," the drummer said sarcastically, the first words I'd
heard her utter.  Her voice was exactly the kind of husky
cigarettes-and-whisky growl I would've imagined.  "You ever dance in front
of people, kid?"

   Karen stopped stock still, one leg raised and bent at the knee, arms out
forming a circle - she had been about to execute a pirouette.  Her
expression was concentrated.  Then she broke into a wide grin.  "Sure I
did! It was great, everyone got to look at me, and I was naked, and my
babycunt was really really hot..." She stopped as if a thought had struck
her.  "But...only if I can keep the money."

   "What money?" the fiddler asked, probably thinking she meant their door
charge or however they were getting paid.

   Karen looked at him as if he were an idiot.  "You know, from whoring.  I
put their penises in my mouth or my butt, and they get real excited and
then," she giggled, "their juice squirts, yummy yummy spermy juice.  That's
what a whore does, silly!"

   With that explained, it was soon agreed that I would bring Karen to
their show tomorrow.  It was at an outdoor pig roast, something that had
started as a private party on private land several years ago and had grown
by word-of-mouth until they were charging admission though the event was
still nominally private.  There would be food and kegs and bands playing on
a trucked-in flatbed stage.  I had gone either the first or second year, I
forgot which - I knew one of the hosts slightly.  It was originally a
celebration-of-spring party after a particularly brutal winter.

   Then it was time to go.  Renee refused to be dragged out of her book,
which made me smile.  She ended up walking with her nose literally stuck
almost against the pages - it was close to full night and the streetlights
weren't really enough to read by.  Karen was so high she forgot her shoes -
I carried her sandals in one hand dangling from their straps - and forgot
as well that the whole point of the visit had been to have sex with Paul.
He'd expected us earlier, before band practice, and while he was perfectly
willing to get his ashes hauled by a sexually insatiable elementary school
child, he turned out to be unwilling to do it in front of his bandmates. 
Karen stumbled barefoot and half-dressed down the dark street, giggling and
muttering to herself, her breasts still exposed and her hand shoved down
the front of her now-soaking shorts.  The fabric clung to her knuckles as
she masturbated with increasing intensity.

   It wasn't far but it took longer than it should've.  Both girls were
dawdling.  Renee tended to walk more slowly whenever she was in the cone of
the streetlights where she could read better.  It wasn't conscious but she
was so wrapped up in her book that I had to keep nudging her along.  Karen,
on the other hand, was getting more and more aroused.  The random sex she'd
had on the way over hadn't much affected her, but having the chance to
dance again, to expose her preteen body to strangers, had taken a powerful
hold on her erotic imagination.  She was masturbating more and more
vigorously.  The fingers of her one hand were pistoning rapidly and deeply
in and out of her weeping snatch.  Her other hand was behind her, gripping
the anal dildo, twisting, pulling, and pushing it.  She started to walk
bowlegged, pumping her hips back to press the invader even more deeply
inside herself.  Her eyelids drooped and her mouth dropped open.  Her
titties jiggled as she panted harshly in the quiet spring evening.  Her
path became erratic, wandering from one side of the road to another.

   By the time we were walking up the path to my door Karen's pants had
turned into soft moans, gradually rising in pitch with her excitement.  But
then the motion detector snapped on my security light and Karen froze.  She
was walking almost in a half-squat.  Her bare feet were dirty and dusty
from the road.  The pale green shorts were two shades darker now because
they were dripping wet.  Karen's hand was covered with her sex honey and
there were smears and runnels oozing down the insides of her thighs.  Her
vulva was even more swollen, the fat outer lips distended by the three
fingers she had stuffed inside herself.  Her face was as red as her greasy
labia, deeply flushed beneath her heavy makeup.  Her mascara was starting
to run at the corners of her eyes.  Her eyes were wide open now and panicky
in the bright light.  Bloodshot white showed all the way around her blue
irises.  She yanked her hand off her crotch with a loud squelch and bolted
awkwardly for the front door, pressing herself against the brick wall and
cowering.  The tail emerging from her ass trembled from her shivers of
fear.

   I hugged Karen as I unlocked the door.  "Nothing to be scared of. 
You're a big bold brave whore, remember?" She ducked out of my embrace and
scampered into the house.  "Wash up and get ready for bed!" I called after
her.  I suddenly realized Renee wasn't at my side any more and looked
around.  She had stopped in the driveway under the security light, holding
the book away from her body and the shadow cast by her head.  "Renee!" I
called sharply to get her attention.  "Come on inside, you can read a
little more while Karen's in the bathroom.  Then it's bedtime." Reluctantly
the ten-year-old folded down the page and trotted after me.

   I heard the bathroom door slam just as Renee and I walked into the
house. She shed her jacket, dropping it on the floor - right in front of
the coathooks, of course - as I shut and locked the door.  Another time I
would've reproved her and made her hang it up properly, but I was impatient
to get my hands - and my mouth, and my cock - on her beautiful preteen
body. So instead of picking up her jacket I put my leg behind hers and
tripped her backwards and lowered her down onto it.  "Hey!" she yelled as
her book went flying.

   "Do you want to read, or -" I pulled up her dress and spread her thighs
apart with my hands.  She was solid, soft like a little girl but with
smooth muscle moving beneath.  She kicked her legs, not really fighting,
but letting me know she could resist if she wanted to.  I exposed her
panties, her belly, her strapon held against her lightly-defined abs by her
underwear's elastic waist.  "Do you want to read, or do you want to sex?" I
demanded and without waiting for an answer I pulled the rubber shaft
straight up and stuffed it in my mouth.  Her panties slid down, exposing
the top of her smooth mound and the crotch plate to which the shaft was
attached.  "Mmm, yummy cock, yummy Renee cock" I mumbled as I slobbered and
slurped at the molded tube.  I wrapped my hand around the base of the shaft
and from there I could worm my little finger behind the plate and flick it
back and forth across her little bean.  Her labia were bald and smooth
under my touch, warm and a little damp.  The direct stimulation was a
little too much.  With a wordless protest she wriggled away from my
questing finger, or tried to.  I took my finger out but pressed down harder
on the base of the shaft, pressing against her vulva.  "Give me that cock,
Renee, give me your big hard cock!" I demanded, raising up and wiggling my
hand to bop myself on the chin with the rubber glans before taking it in my
mouth again.

   "Take my cock!  Suck it all!" Renee looked down at me, her eyes dancing
as she played along.  "You suck my cock so good," she sang, the contrast
between her high, childish voice and the dirty words making my own organ
strain in my jeans.  "Eat it, eat my penis, you're making it so hard, I'm
going to squirt in your mouth!  Squirt!  Squirt!" She thrust her pelvis
upwards, miming my ejaculations.

   I pretended to swallow.  "Mmm, yummy yummy Renee cum juice!" I crawled
up the length of the child's body, pushing my hands up under her dress and
groping her tiny new boobies as I did.  I kissed the little girl's neck,
her chin, and then I sought her lips.  She opened her mouth as she had been
taught, thrusting her tongue against mine with more energy than finesse,
but I liked it that way.  Her arms went around my head, hands tangling in
my hair.  We smacked and kissed as I rolled her so we were side-by-side.  I
reached down and unfastened my jeans, freeing my penis with a sigh of
relief.  A moment later I felt Renee's small hand worming between us, her
warm fingers caressing my glans and the top of the shaft, all she could
reach with her ten-year-old stature.  I dribbled pre-cum onto her palm. 
She rubbed it all around, making me groan from the added pleasure.  She
lifted her hand and playfully smacked my cheek with the slippery fluid. 
Then, breaking our kiss, she wriggled down so we were waist to waist
instead of face to face.  I buried my nose in her hair and closed my eyes
as I felt her hand close around my erection again.  I flexed as she she
squeezed gently, and then I felt something else - Renee had aligned her
artificial penis with my real one and was squeezing the two together with
her hand.  She hummed deep in her throat.  I wrapped my arms around her,
pressing her body against mine as I felt pleasure start to build in my
abdomen.  The perversity of our action, the ten-year-old and the adult, was
rapidly bringing me to the point where I would spoil her dress.

   But then I realized something.  We'd been messing around for a good
fifteen minutes, and I'd been hearing the water run in the bathroom for
that long.  Karen should've finished her ablutions long since and joined
us. Reluctantly, I got up on my knees and then stood.  Renee held onto my
penis for as long as she could until it was out of her reach.  Not
bothering to zip up, I went to knock on the bathroom door.  "Karen?" No
answer.  "Karen, are you all right?" Still no answer.  I tried the knob. 
Locked.  "Dammit," I muttered, and went to root through my desk to find a
little screwdriver to pop the lock.

   The door only opened a few inches before hitting some obstruction.  What
the...?  I stuck my head in and looked down.  The door was blocked by
Karen's legs.  Alarmed, I shoved hard and burst in to the small bath. 
Karen was naked.  She was lying half-curled up on the floor, her discarded
nightie and shorts a reeking ball in the corner.  She was staring intently
at her own crotch.  I followed her gaze and my heart stopped.  She had
taken my beard scissors from the vanity.  With two fingers of her left hand
she had her labia spread, exposing her clitoris as far down towards its
root as she could.  With her other hand, she held the scissors with the
swollen purple bud clamped between the blades.  Before I could move her
grip tightened convulsively and she gave a howl of agony.
   To be continued.