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   Jenny's Couch Book III, part 8 (M+g, ped, cons, nc, drugs, strip, exhib,
humil, anal, ws, pierc, tort) by Rufus Fugit

   Karen was clearly high when she came to see her sister and me right
before the band started.  The twelve-year-old's breath and her thick blond
hair reeked of marijuana but even without the olfactory clues it was
obvious in her liquid eyes, her giggly mien, her softened posture and the
way her upper body melted against me when I reached up under her skirt and
tickled her perineum.  The little band of flesh was stretched tight by the
giant buttplug stuffed into the sixth-grader's anus, but all the tension
had gone out of the rest of her lanky body.  She tucked her face into the
hollow of my throat and purred as I caressed her most intimate parts.  My
other hand went under her cutoff tshirt, thumb and finger gently pinching
and tugging on a hot, swollen nipple through the thin bikini top.  I didn't
ask permission to molest the child.  It never hurt to remind her that her
body was no longer her own, that it was public property to be used by
anyone who paid.  Convinced that God had called her to be a child
prostitute, Karen believed that her bodily autonomy was reduced to setting
prices.

   With my middle finger busily massaging the drumhead-taut skin below her
asshole, my thumb trailed up, tracing the hot, slick flesh of her
undeveloped inner lips.  Then my thumbnail clicked against metal - the
steel hose clamp collaring Karen's clitoris, holding it pinioned in the
center of the twelve slender metal shims piercing her vulva and spreading
it wide, exposing her inner lips, themselves flowered open around her
oozing preteen vagina.  Karen moaned into my neck and hot cream dribbled
into my palm as I twiddled my thumb around the straining bundle of nerve
endings, feeling the hard ridge of scar tissue twisting around it.  I
tugged gently on one of the shims and this was the proof, if more were
needed, of how high she was, that her resulting gasp was of pure pleasure.
The weed made the pre-teen's skin tingle, intensified every sensation but
also confused them, mixing the pain of her fresh wounds with the sexual
fire she was so used to and turning it into a melange of heat and lust that
burned through her whole body.  No twelve year old was equipped to cope
with this level of abuse.  The last year-and-a-half had made the child
completely helpless to resist her arousal but able to withstand extremities
of sensation that would reduce most adults to whimpering agony.

   I gave Karen's clit and her breast a goodbye tug, then took her
shoulders and held her away from me.  Her blue eyes looked into mine,
heavy-lidded and slightly bloodshot.  She swallowed and licked her full
lips, then broke into a stoned smile that lit up her whole face.  "I'm
going to dance," she said.  Her bare feet were already shifting on the wet
grass as she began swaying to some internal music.  "I'm going to dance,"
she repeated and then leaned forward to whisper in my ear, "Naked!" as if
it were some big secret.  She giggled and then turned and danced away, the
stiff tail attached to the green plastic protruding from her ass whipping
from side to side as she bounded off behind the flatbed trailer that served
as the stage.  I licked my palm clean as I watched her go.

   The flatbed was crowded with amps and other equipment, a guitar and
Paul's 5-string bass, a larger and a smaller saxophone on stands, drum kit,
a simple lighting tree to one side, and a table with a keyboard, a laptop,
a turntable and a bunch of effects boxes, some obviously homemade.  A young
redhead, late teens or early twenties, was tapping at the laptop, her hair
falling forward to cover her face.  The breeze blew it aside for a moment
to show her round face fixed in concentration, heavy red brows knitted and
lips pursed.  Paul and the others were behind the stage, tuning up,
talking, occasionally sparing a glance for Karen as she pirouetted around
them.

   I had commandeered a collapsible canvas camp chair for Renee and myself.
This one reclined.  The arms had drink holders and there was a sling
footrest that locked into place.  I'd put it well off to one side, out of
the direct line of the amps - I remembered what their practice had sounded
like - so I had an oblique view of the stage as well as the area behind it.
Heavy cables snaked hither and yon between the stage and a rattling
generator.  A tiny tent, no larger than a portapotty, served as a dressing
room.

   I sat down which mostly hid Karen and the band from my view behind their
equipment.  Renee was curled on her side reading her book - I had to nudge
her with my butt to make room for me.  Once I sat down she rested her head
on my chest, curled one bare leg over mine, and carried on reading with one
side of the book lying on my chest next to her nose and the other held
open. Her body was warm against mine which was nice because as the sun
declined towards late afternoon it was cooling off and the gusty breeze was
getting downright chilly.  I put my arm around the ten-year old, absently
stroking her thick brown hair.  Renee was clean now and her hair was almost
dry.  She was barefoot, dressed again in her shortie overalls.  As my hand
moved to the bare skin between the front and back flaps of the overalls and
I gently traced her ribs and the muscles beneath her firm, warm skin, her
eyelids began to droop a little.  She'd had a busy day so far and was worn
out.  She smiled faintly as she brushed her knee over my crotch and felt me
respond.  I kissed the top of her head and inhaled the clean, slightly
fishy scent of her lake-washed hair.  I trailed fingers across her jawline,
gently circling the two little moles I knew and loved so well.

   The band took the stage and the noise started.  Surprisingly the mix was
not bad but all that meant to me was it was very clear and crisp noise.  I
was instantly glad I'd chosen to sit well off to one side.  But there's
something for everyone in this world and within moments there was a small
but enthusiastic group in front of the stage having a group grand mal
seizure - no, wait, dancing.  The group was mostly male so the seizure, I
mean dancing, was aggressive and powerful.  Not a mosh pit but you could
see one from here.

   And then Karen came out on stage.  I swear the clouds broke for just a
second, long enough to spear her with a golden ray of low-angled afternoon
sun.  Her hair shimmered as she tossed it over the shoulder bared by the
wide neck of her cutoff tshirt.  Her painted face and belly sparkled with
body glitter.  She lifted one long, long leg and pointed her toes at the
audience briefly and then bent the knee, spun around on her other foot, and
shimmied her way to center stage.  The small crowd cheered.  Karen danced
hard and fast, stomping her feet, thrashing her head to send her blond hair
flying, throwing her arms up to the sky.  The sparkle of her body glitter
was soon enhanced by a sheen of perspiration.  As the - well, let's call it
a song as a courtesy - as the song built to a climax she began to spin
around, faster and faster, drawing in her arms, gradually crouching lower.
Her hair flew out as she maintained her spot somewhere out over the
audience's heads, the ends of her mane almost grazing the redhead working
her electronics right behind her.  One hand went to the back of her neck
and only because I knew what was to come, I saw her pull the string on the
bikini top, undoing the knot.  The music crashed to a halt, Karen flung up
her arms and then collapsed into a ball.  A green scrap of fabric sailed
out over the crowd.

   The next song was, to me, indistinguishable from the first, but Karen's
dancing was now slow, sinuous, with lots of bending over and arching her
body.  The lighting, which I gathered was being operated by the redhead,
turned to blues and purples where the previous song had been mostly yellow.
It made Karen's painted skin seem to glow like a blacklight poster.  The
boys at the front of the stage gaped, then cheered as they were able to see
down the front of her cutoff shirt.  They cheered louder when she turned
around and bent backwards, maintaining her balance as she leaned impossibly
far, and then farther until the shirt fell down around her neck and, for
the first time, her immature breasts were bared.  She quickly straightened
but not before the small audience realized there might be something extra
in today's performance.  Karen confirmed this by turning her back to the
audience and bending over.  She rotated her skinny but increasingly-shapely
ass, slowly at first but then adding a shimmy until the edges of her
miniskirt-length beach wrap fell open.  A boy at the front gaped, then
nudged his buddy.  It was plain that the costume tail whipping back and
forth at Karen's shoulder height was not attached by ties, but protruded
directly from between her cheeks.  As Karen spread her stance her
stretched, reddened asshole was plain to see.  More and more of the crowd
realized that the dancer was wearing an enormous buttplug.  Phones came
out. People started calling their friends over and the crowd swelled.

   Karen was reveling in the attention.  Her smile was wide and unforced,
her eyes alight with pleasure.  The blush coloring her cheeks was
excitement, not embarrassment.  This was the adult approval she craved, and
maybe it was a little naughty to go naked, to show her bare body to
strangers - but it wasn't sex.  It wasn't taking money to be fucked.  It
wasn't filling her mouth with the cock of some grownup whose name she
didn't even know, taking the blast of his semen into her throat (and more
often than not up into her sinuses).  She was still terribly conflicted
about her career of prostitution, not least because she needed that daily
orgasmic relief so badly.  As much as I had worked to convince her that God
wanted her to be a prostitute, her belief still faltered.

   At the conclusion of the second song Karen bent backwards into a
four-point arch and let the scanty tshirt fall down over her face, down her
arms, and off.  She straightened slowly, showing the strength in her abs
and thin legs until she stood, arms out, her painted upper body bare to the
crowd.  Her nipples were swollen, bright pink cherries pointing at her
admirers.  The applause and cheers definitely had something extra in it,
something just for a half-naked pre-teen displaying herself shamelessly. 
For all that I'd seen this display many times before, it never failed to
affect me.  Beneath the warm weight of Karen's little sister, I felt myself
start to stiffen inside my trousers.  Renee felt it too and she shifted her
leg to rub against the growing bulge in my crotch.  I restrained myself
from feeling up the ten-year-old, satisfied just to gently stroke her face,
neck, and hair for now.

   She might have been only twelve but Karen instinctively knew how to play
to the crowd.  She teased the growing, increasingly rowdy audience
relentlessly for the next two songs, but her miniwrap stayed on.  That
didn't stop her dance from being blatantly sexual.  She came up to the edge
of the stage again and again, shaking her shoulders to make her pert little
breasts jump and shimmy, letting some reach out to touch her and then
leaning back out of reach at the last moment.

   More than once she turned around, spread her feet wide and bent over,
parting the wrap and exposing her obscenely stretched asshole.  She even
reached back and tugged on the buttplug, stirring the enormous bulb inside
her rectum.  My sidelong view let me see Karen's face contort, her eyes
glowing with pleasure even as her lips twisted into a grimace of
discomfort. Her display got more wanton as the child got more and more
aroused and her movements got less precise - not sloppy, but more fluid and
less playing to the audience.  She was becoming trapped in her own
sexuality, losing awareness of anything but the need clawing at her belly.

   I was glad Nate had painted a mask onto her face because it seemed
nearly every spectator had a phone out now.  Many of them were watching,
not the nearly-naked sixth-grader right in front of them, but her
attenuated image on their screens.  Karen seemed to find this funny.  She
danced up to the edge of the stage, hooking her bare toes over the lip and
leaned over to snatch a phone right out of someone's hand.  Grinning
lewdly, she stuck the phone under the wrap.  She held it there for a
minute, rocking her pelvis forward, grunting in her throat.  Then she
handed the phone back.  A puddle of thick white cream covered the lens and
dripped off the sides of the case.  "Can't wait to see that on Youtube," I
said wryly to Renee.  The only answer was a soft snore.  The younger girl
had fallen asleep with her head pillowed on my chest.

   The music was building to some horrific climax, like if the end of the
Beatles' "A Day In The Life" grabbed you by the hair and was banged your
head against a concrete wall while screaming Finnish swear words in your
ear.  As the noise spiraled upwards, Karen faced the audience and slowly,
slowly spread her legs, dropping into a controlled full split.  I hadn't
realized how flexible her dance classes had made her.  She balanced on her
heels, toes pointed straight up, hands on her upper thighs.  Her torso was
upright, her little titties heaving.  Sweat was running off her face and
over her ribcage now as she strained to hold herself with her crotch inches
from the grimy surface of the flatbed.  Her legs trembled with the strain
until finally the music crashed to a halt.  At that second Karen let
herself drop those final inches and at the same time ripped off the beach
wrap, tossing it over the heads of the crowd.  A hand reached up from the
back and snatched it out of the air.  And there Karen was, fully naked,
exposed before dozens of pairs of eyes.  Cheers cut off into an awed
silence as those eyes zeroed in on the sixth-grader's hairless cunt.  It
was split wide, the twelve metal piercings pointing out and slightly
forward like beckoning fingers.  Some of the wounds had opened again and
little trails of blood marred the smooth, flushed skin of her bald vulva.
Her clit was a swollen, uneven purplish bulb above its metal collar.  In
the sudden silence a liquid farting sound was clearly audible and a fat
bubble of sex juice spluttered out of her vaginal opening and puddled
beneath her.  That seemed to abash Karen - she kept her smile but, blushing
furiously, covered her face with her hands and broke her dancer's pose,
drawing up her knees so she was simply sitting spread-legged and bare in
front of the crowd.

   But the band launched into a fresh cacophony and Karen moved with it. 
She rocked forward, put her palms flat and pressed herself upright, her
body straightening gracefully.  She stood stock still for a handful of
seconds, a pubescent child naked save for cats painted on her sweating
skin. A cool gust of wind blew her thick golden hair aside and raised
visible goosebumps on her arms, legs, breasts.  The metal slicing through
her vulva trembled and glinted in the watery late-afternoon light as a
shiver swept through her body.  Then a blaze of lurid red light painted one
side of her body and she was dancing again.

   The freshening breeze seemed to bring Karen back to herself somewhat, or
maybe her buzz was starting to subside.  It became clear that her
discomfort was mounting, the combination of cramping in her rectum, the
sting and pull of her bleeding piercings, the scraping of the hose clamp at
the root of her swollen clit, and the chill of the cooling air against her
sweaty bare body.  Her smile faltered and her movements became less smooth.
More than once her mouth formed an "oh!" of pain, an exclamation that went
unheard over the music.

   But as her discomfort grew so did her arousal.  Her clitoris visibly
swelled out of the steel collar holding it, and little bits of purpling
flesh bulged through the slits in the clamp's circumference.  Her inner
lips, exposed to the cool air by the piercings that stretched her vulva
apart, became bright scarlet.  The color stood out starkly in contrast to
the black cat painted on her torso and the blued steel of her vulval
piercings.  Her fluttering labia and throbbing clitoris made the painted
cat whose mouth and nose they comprised seem to be sniffing and tasting the
air.  A thick, constant dribble of her preteen secretion kept her labia wet
and no doubt chilled.  The froth merged with the narrow drips of blood
inching down across her vulva, making a slow, winding trail of pink foam
that oozed down her thighs, to her knees, her calves, down one ankle to her
heel and across the top of her other foot between her toes.  When she
pirouetted she flung droplets into the audience.  I saw more than one
person wipe preteen sex cream off their face.

   Karen's rising arousal took her focus off her audience, off anything
external to the uncontrollable heat from her pubescent sex organs.  Her
dancing became less stylized, less of an erotic ballet, and more overtly
self-pleasuring.  She ran her hands over her painted, sweating skin.  She
cupped her perky breasts, tweaking and tugging on her swollen nipples with
thumbs and forefingers.  She lost her professional smile.  Her blue eyes
turned dreamy and her mouth dropped open as she began to pant.  She turned
towards Paul and began mimicking his bass playing, but where the boy was
plucking at the strings of his instrument, Karen's fingers began furiously
strumming at her clit.

   How many times had Karen masturbated over the past year and a half,
since the day I had tied her to the child-size wooden chair in Renee's
bedroom, stripped her naked and brought the then-shy little girl first to
hysterical tears and then - with the assistance of her electric toothbrush
- to her first orgasm?  It had to be hundreds.  Thousands, even.  How many
hours had she spent in her bed under the covers, or in a stall in the
bathroom at school or church, or hiding behind a tree in a park or
playground, biting her lips to stop her moans, desperately chasing her cum?
It was never enough.  No matter how hard she rubbed herself, sex had
kindled a fire inside her that was never quenched.  Since that fateful
night on the beach when she had surrendered herself to her body, it was
never enough.  Her twelve-year-old body needed it; no matter how intense a
climax before long she would feel the flame burst to new life.  Karen had
woken this morning with a cunt sore from hours of pounding it had taken
from my penis and from her own little sister.  She had started her day
screaming and sobbing in agony as her tender vulva was pierced and
mutilated and her anal sphincter stretched to its limit.  Then she'd been
penetrated by the largest penis I'd ever seen, leaving her bruised and
weeping.  And now, mere hours later she was eagerly dancing naked before a
crowd of strangers and had aroused herself to the point where not even the
pain and blood leaking from her pierced vulva could stop her.  Her clitoris
was collared and constricted by a metal clamp and each of the twelve steel
shims piercing her vulva were hooked to it, so every flick of her fingers
across the swollen nub had to be causing her wounds to sting terribly, but
that couldn't stop her.

   Karen's right hand became a blur as her fingers battered and mashed her
oversize clitoris.  Her other hand was mauling her breast as she mirrored
Paul's bass playing.  She was looking up into the older boy's eyes.  From
where Renee and I were sitting I could see her face getting red.  Her eyes
began to fill with tears and her mouth stretched in a grimace of pain and
pleasure I had seen many times before.  Her knobby knees began to tremble
and her whole body to shake as she drove herself closer and closer to yet
another climax.  Her chest heaved and, though the music was far too loud to
hear, I knew she was groaning.  And then her mouth stretched open in a
scream...

   ...Just as the music crashed to a halt.  "MY BABYCUNT OH JEEEEEEEEEEEZ!"
Karen wailed into the sudden silence.  She dropped to her knees and elbows,
limbs jerking as her orgasm broke over her.  Cunt cream poured from her
gaping hole and ran down her shaking thighs to the corrugated metal of the
flatbed.  "AAAH!  AAAH!  AAAIEE!" the twelve-year-old screamed as a
firestorm of pleasure burned along every nerve.  The audience was treated
to the sight of her inner labia quivering rapidly as her scream became a
long, drawn-out moan, ending in a sobbing intake of breath.

   Through the roaring in her ears Karen realized that the music had
stopped.  She craned around to look at the audience, just one eye visible
through her tousled, tangled, sweat-dampened hair.  Paul spoke into his
microphone, breaking the silence.  "I'd like to introduce our special
guest. This is Karen." Someone in the audience let out a whoop and then
everyone was cheering.

   "Take a bow, kid," the guitarist said.  Karen tried to stand but she
didn't get very far.  Another wave of pleasure swept through her body and
her legs gave way.  She thumped back down onto her knees, shivering
violently.  A quavering moan forced itself from her lips.  "My
baaaaabycunt, ooooohh, aaaaahhh," she groaned.  Her head drooped as one
hand stole unbidden to her drenched and bloody sex.  Groping fingers
collided with the metal stockade around her center and the unexpected sharp
sting shot through her body.  The spasms wracking the twelve-year-old grew
so intense that her joints popped.  Her arms gave way and she fell forward,
her breasts pressing into the cold corrugated metal of the stage.  The tail
emerging from her backside shook wildly as her asshole quivered and
clenched around the buttplug stretching it to the limits of her tolerance.

   "Karen would like you all to know -" Paul said into his mic.  His lips
curved into an expression of amused contempt as he looked down at the
naked, shivering preteen at his feet.  Karen's head jerked back.  She
looked up at her customer - her first customer ever, I recalled - with a
pleading expression.  "She's a whore," Paul pronounced.

   "Nooooooooooo," Karen cried.  Tears overspilled her wide blue eyes and
tracked down her cheeks, and I realized something about the contours of
Karen's damaged psyche.  Stripping, dancing naked, she clearly loved. 
Exposing her body to strangers gave her the sexual gratification she had
come to need, but it also kept men at a distance.  After all she was only
twelve, still in elementary school, and even after fucking hundreds of
adult men they were still scary.  She had never really learned to cope with
the fear, especially after the trauma of her first few customers - instead
it was simply overwhelmed by her desperation for sexual satisfaction.  So
dancing was her compromise but it only took her so far.  Eventually the
need for physical contact, for penetration, for the hot friction against
her delicate internal tissues would become irresistible.  It was a terrible
position to be in, trapped between two contradictory but overwhelming
emotions.  Adults trapped in such a dilemma were driven to mental breakdown
or worse.  And she was a child, barely into puberty, her mind a turmoil of
surging hormones.

   Paul continued, either not noticing or just ignoring Karen's upset. 
"We're gonna take a break, but Karen's here to keep you guys occupied." He
reached behind him and picked up a gallon glass jar, the word "TIPS"
scrawled over the label for dill pickles, and clunked it down next to
Karen's trembling backside.  And with that, the band left the stage.

   Before Karen could react, a young man stepped out of the crowd and
grabbed her bare calves, pulling her backwards until her knees were right
at the end of the flatbed stage.  If not for the slight lip on the bed he
would've pulled her knees off the edge and smashed her piercings into the
stamped steel.  That would've been ugly.  Karen winced as her knees scraped
and opened her mouth to protest but all that emerged was a shaky moan as
another climax ripped through her.  The moan became a shriek as the man
grabbed the knob of the buttplug and pulled.  Her sphincter resisted,
stretching even further but not enough to release the plug.  Karen's thigh
muscles tensed as she clenched and clamped down, resisting the pain.  The
young man's cruel sneer turned to astonishment as the plug slipped from his
grasp and was pulled back into the young girl's rectum.  He tried again,
and then a third time with the same results: a howl from beneath the
sixth-grader's tangled blond hair, a visible tensing of all the muscles in
her lower body, and then the plug reseating itself firmly, leaving Karen's
asshole stretched to two inches in diameter.

   I watched, bemused, as the guy called over his buddy.  Before I could
move the sleeping Renee off me and intervene, or even say anything, the
second man hopped up on stage, straddling Karen's naked painted body with
his clodhopper boots.  He went down on one knee and wrapped one muscular
arm around her midsection.  Karen squirmed weakly, reflexively.  Her hands
scrabbled at the platform, but then her moan rose to a screech as the first
man grabbed her buttplug again, this time getting the fingers of both hands
underneath the shelf that sealed it against her anus, and pulled.  "NOOO!
AIEEE!  It HUUUUURTS!" Karen shrieked as the two played tug-of-war with her
twitching body.  Slowly, agonizingly, Karen's sphincter dilated further as
the plug started to emerge.  Her muscle ring clung to it, making a bright
red circle everted away from her crack.  As it stretched wider and farther
from her body Karen's shrieks climbed the scale higher and higher.

   I didn't like to see Karen mistreated by others.  I levered myself out
of the chair, letting Renee down onto the canvas as gently as I could.  But
before I could do anything, physics took over.  The men managed to extract
the buttplug beyond its thickest diameter.  Freed of the resistance that
had kept it solidly seated inside Karen's stuffed colon and propelled by
the sudden contraction of her sphincter, it shot backwards through the
man's hands, ricocheted off his face and flew off over the heads of the
crowd, trailing the faux-fur tail like a jet exhaust.  He fell heavily onto
his ass.  Karen's sweaty body shot forwards out of the other man's grip,
her head banging hard against an amp cabinet.  Her voice cut off.  She was
quiet, trembling, her butt in the air, her suddenly vacated asshole gaping
wide like a red, lipsticked mouth.  The man standing over her pointed and
laughed at his buddy sitting on the ground.  He shook his head, dazed,
looking even more confused.  Then he spit out a tooth.

   "Renee, wake up," I shook the fourth grader's bare shoulder.  "Your
sister needs you." As always, those were the magic words.  Renee sat up,
blinking.

   Twenty minutes later, Karen hadn't moved.  She was still on shoulders
and knees with her feet dangling off the end of the stage.  Her arms were
limply at her sides.  Her face was mostly hidden under a tangled, sweaty
mop of thick blond hair.  What could be seen of her features were slack,
her generous mouth open, a puddle of drool beneath her cheek.  Rhythmic
grunts emerged from beneath her mane, in time with the fifth - or was it
sixth?  - man gripping her slender waist and vigorously pounding her in the
ass.

   Renee had sprung into action when I woke her, going immediately to her
sister's side.  The ten-year-old had quickly assessed that her big sister
was helpless in the grip of her extended orgasm - "whory", as she had first
learned to call it - and was defenseless against the men crowding around
her trembling naked body, gazing hungrily at her gaping anus and weeping,
bloody clam.

   I don't know what it was about the younger girl.  She looked like a
normal little kid - a little shorter and a little stockier than average for
her age, maybe, with a little muscle definition in her arms and shoulders
if you looked really closely - but she just had presence, somehow, that
could get even a crowd of horny men to obey her.  Maybe they somehow saw
the confidence from her self-defense lessons.  Maybe they just wanted a
piece of her big sister so badly they'd do anything for it.  Who knows?

   Either way, Renee had organized a queue, set the price, and made sure
that everyone understood they were paying for anal only.  One after another
she'd pointed at an adult and he'd obediently dropped money in the tip jar,
opened his pants, and shoved his erection into Karen's waiting back
passage. Renee had even borrowed a watch from the guy who'd lost his tooth
to Karen's butt-missle and was telling each man in turn, "Time to squirt!"
after four or five minutes of thrusting.

   So now Karen's buttocks and the back of her thighs were splattered with
multiple strangers' semen, churned into a froth inside her pulsing rectum
and splorted out around the imperfect seal of her sphincter against the the
cocks of various descriptions.  Her asscheeks jiggled and jumped with each
slap of the man's thighs against her.  Karen took it all passively, with
only an occasional moan and shudder as yet another orgasm swept through her
tender body.  She was lost, lost in her endless animal pleasure.  The one
blue eye visible through the mess of her hair was blank, bloodshot and
shiny with unshed tears.

   The sixth-grader's current customer thrust brutally into Karen and
grunted out his ejaculation.  Karen yipped and struggled to escape the
painful depth of his penetration but his fingers sank deep into the soft
flesh of her waist and he held her fast.  She was going to have fingerprint
bruising all over tomorrow.  Jizz squelched out around his pistoning organ
with each thrust until finally he was done.  He stepped back and clumsily
tucked his deflating organ back into his trousers.

   Karen moaned and at the same time let out a long, stuttering fart,
spraying globs of smelly jizz onto her twitching, upturned soles, her
calves, and the ground in front of the stage.  A thick stream of tainted
semen ran out of her distended anus and down over her vulva, dripping down
to thicken the sizable puddle between the shivering child's knees.

   Paul stepped up put his hand on Renee's shoulder, stooping to speak into
her ear.  Renee nodded then held out her palm like a traffic cop at the
next man in the line who was already holding out bills to drop them in the
jar.  "More music soon," Renee said simply.  The man looked dismayed. 
Renee hopped up on the stage and bent to lift her big sister under one
armpit.  Karen rolled unresistingly to a sitting position though she
groaned when her punished bottom came to rest on the cold metal.  Renee
tenderly brushed the older girl's tangled hair back from her face.

   Karen's eyes were blank.  She stared uncomprehendingly around her.  I
knew that look.  Karen was gone, gone to her "floaty place" as she'd
described it to me once, where she went when the sexual abuse to which she
submitted got too much, the torturous pleasure got too extreme.  She was
watching herself from somewhere far away, watching the whore give herself
over and over to adult men while the little girl she had once been was
somewhere safe.  From her floaty place Karen could take the pleasure her
body gave her without taking responsibility for willingly defiling herself
in ways no twelve-year-old should have to suffer.

   I don't think Renee understood all that psychobabble but she understood
that when her sister got so whory that she needed Renee to help her and
take care of her.  She started to help Karen to her feet when another man
stepped out of the group surrounding the two children.  "Looka that mess,"
he exclaimed in a thick accent, pointing at the disgusting puddle of filthy
semen between Karen's thin feet.  Renee shrugged but the man went on, "Ima
lose mah deposit onna trailer, it ain't clean." He pointed at the
shivering, naked child.  "She gotta clean up her mess." Which kind of
ignored the fact that the mess was mostly not Karen's but from the men
who'd assfucked her, but he was holding up a hundred dollar bill.  "Ah
wanna see her clean up her mess," he smiled, gold teeth glinting.  I found
it difficult to believe the deposit was more than a hundred dollars, which
made me doubt the purity of his motivations.

   Renee looked up at the money in his hand, down at Karen's slack face,
and back up at the money.  She shrugged and, with the excellent hand speed
that served her so well at the dojo, snatched the bill and stuffed it in
the tip jar.  She squatted down next to Karen and whispered in her ear,
pointing at the mess between her bare feet.  Karen's eyes looked straight
ahead.  She shook her head vaguely but it wasn't a negative, more plain
incomprehension.  And even that was washed away as another spasm swept
through her body.  Her eyelids fluttered closed, her arms and legs
twitched, the metal piercing her vulva and squeezing her swollen clitoris
quivered, and more aromatic liquid oozed from between her dripping labia.
Not even the stiff, cool breeze could disperse the smell of Karen's aroused
cunt.

   Seeing that her big sister wasn't responding to language, Renee simply
gathered the hair at the nape of Karen's neck into her fist and gently
pressed forward.  The bigger girl was supple enough to simply lean, back
straight, without moving her legs.  She didn't balk until her nose almost
touched the disgusting puddle of sperm and anal juice, then she half sat up
with her nose wrinkling.  But Renee had all the leverage and so she just
pressed harder until Karen's face was in the slime.  "Clean it up, whore,"
Renee said, not a little theatrically, but convincingly enough that Karen
made a little gurgle of humiliation.  Still, she obeyed.  Her tongue snaked
out of her mouth and she swiped it through the sticky fluid.  With Renee
holding her hair I could see her face contact in a rictus of disgust at the
taste, but she obeyed.  "Damn, looka the little whore go!" the putative
truck renter guffawed.  Some others in the audience reacted the same way,
laughing at the naked, shivering child licking up a puddle of semen that
had all sprayed out of her own ass.  Karen's face flamed at the laughter -
but at the same time another full-body shiver swept through her and more of
her pubescent cunt honey dripped to enlarge the puddle she was trying to
remove.

   At length, the slurping sounds became interspersed with gagging and
Renee judged that Karen had had enough.  The small but defined muscles in
her arm swelled as she lifted Karen's head and let her sit back up.  Her
face was a mess, smeared from the bridge of her nose to her chin with
pearly grey spunk and flecks of grime and worse, thick enough to obscure
the painted black cat mask.  Tears ran from her eyes and snot from her
nose, cutting trails through the globs of sticky goo.  Her ears were bright
pink.  I didn't think anything could shame a girl who had spent the last
year and a half selling her body to strangers, often in groups, who
frequently blew five or six men in the park after school, popped a tic-tac
and then went home to finish her homework, but Karen kept surprising me -
and I guess surprising herself, the way the depths of humiliation propelled
her to new heights of tortured pleasure.  She gargled cum and a watery
trail ran down her chin as a ragged moan was torn from her throat.

   It wasn't until Renee looked over and gestured at me impatiently that I
realized I'd been staring.  And not just staring, gaping like the a rube
who'd never seen a naked twelve-year-old before.  Just because she had
beautiful body-paint emphasizing that her cunt was multiply-pierced, her
vulva stretched open and her clitoris squeezed and swollen, just because
her face was soiled with cum and her own anal juices, and just because she
was locked in an apparently continuous series of multiple orgasms - well,
that was no reason to neglect my in loco parental responsibilities.  Yet
there I was, gawking with my mouth literally hanging open and an
almost-painful erection straining against my jeans.  I shook myself.

   "Paul says, Karen has to get clean, they're going to play some more,"
Renee said.  We each got a hand under one of Karen's armpits and hoisted
her to her feet.  Her skin was hot and slippery with sweat.  She stood,
shivering, her head down and her tangled hair hiding her face.  Then she
moaned again and her knees buckled.  I held her up as a stream of clear
juice ran from her cunny and down her thigh.  I lifted the child off the
stage.  Her recent growth spurt had been nearly all up, and she was still
light.  Together Renee and I half-walked, half-carried her big sister
around the stage and a little distance away from the changing tent where
there was a small standpipe with a hose attached, and a basin on a heavy
old iron table.  The hose was capped by one of those old-fashioned metal
sprayers.  I turned it just barely on to a fine mist, but Karen recoiled
from the water.  It was from a well, I recalled, and icy cold.  It's not
easy to persuade a child to take a shower when she doesn't want one -
especially if every few seconds you lose her attention because she can't
stop cumming.

   "No way!" I heard Renee say behind me, and turned to see her shaking her
head determinedly, looking up at a small group that had followed us, five -
no six - teens and young men who'd been in line when time had expired on
Karen's asshole.  One of them, a fat doofus-looking guy wearing a
Confederate flag seed cap and, I swear, Cheeto-dust stains on his grubby
white tshirt, smirked down at Renee and tried to step around her.  The
ten-year-old slide-stepped to stay between him and her big sister.  Looking
annoyed, fat boy reached out to push her away.  It was a textbook setup. 
Quick as a flash Renee had hold of his hand and twisted and then he was
down on one knee with his arm bent back.  His companions busted out
laughing at the sight of him brought down by a little girl probably a fifth
of his weight.  That got him mad and he tried to shake her off, but a
little pressure on his elbow quickly convinced him otherwise.

   "What's up?" I called, keeping ahold of Karen's wrist but turning away
to address her little sister.  Renee told me.  "Oh, well, we could do that.
Karen won't mind," I said, completely unconcerned as to whether she would
or not.  "We're going to wash her off anyway.  As long as he asks politely.
And pays." Renee was still dubious.  "You're right," I answered, "But that
time no one asked."

   "Oooo-kay," Renee said, still not completely convinced.  "Are you going
to say 'please'?" she asked, putting a little extra pressure on the fat
guy's elbow, just enough to make it creak.

   "Please!  I said please!" he yelled, and Renee disengaged and stepped
back.  Tubby heaved himself to his feet as the other men - part of his crew
or not, I couldn't tell and didn't care - had a good laugh.  Renee placed
herself between them and Karen.  Her face was set and unreadable.  She held
out her hand, palm up, in the universal gesture for "fuck you, pay me". 
And by golly, they did.

   While Renee was collecting the money, I reached into the back pocket of
her overalls - unable to resist a quick squeeze of her supple butt - and
came out with the fur-lined handcuffs we'd bought for Karen last Christmas.
I'd had her take them out of her pack when she got dressed, just in case.
When Karen saw them, she flinched a little but held out her arms
obediently. They were thin, and pale, and goosebumped in the stiffening
breeze.  She was well-trained.  But instead I got down on my knees.  I
regretted that right away, the grass was wet and chilled, but it only took
a second to close one cuff around Karen's thin ankle and then, pulling her
stance wider so it'd reach, close the other around the standpipe.  Karen
tugged at it, starting to look a little alarmed beneath her painted mask
and the globs of drying semen liberally smeared across her cheeks, lips,
and chin.

   Renee finished counting a small stack of bills, folded it carefully and
tucked it into her bib pocket, and stepped aside.  Her face was still
grave. The group was larger - a few more had come along to see what the
commotion was when she'd taken down Mister Cheeto-dust - and they pushed
past her, advancing on her naked older sister.  A few were already opening
their pants.

   Karen quailed instinctively and tried to step back but the cuff anchored
her in place.  She slipped and fell down.  "No...please...no..." she
whimpered as first one, then another penis was fished out.  Her whimper
turned to choking as the first stream of rank beer-urine hit her right in
the face.  It was joined by a second, third, fourth, and more as everyone
who'd paid crowded around.  They hosed her down thoroughly, spraying
stinking piss on her face, in her hair, all over her body.  She yelped as
the acid urine splashed onto the fresh cuts all around her vulva.  I bet
that stung.  Before everyone was done she was thrashing ineffectually,
smeared with pee-smelling mud, her cuffed foot yanking hard at the pipe,
sputtering and crying and gagging.  A few paces away I noticed the two
little girls Renee had been playing with earlier.  They stood stock still,
their eyes as big and round as dinner plates, watching the "big girl" get
urinated on by a crowd of grownups.  As one of the men stepped back and
tucked himself away the smaller girl said in a confused voice, "Daddy?" The
man's head whipped around, his cock still half out of his pants.

   Renee had come to stand next to me.  She took my hand and squeezed it,
hard.  "It's ok," I whispered in her ear.  "You know Karen likes it when it
hurts, sometimes."

   Renee nodded slightly, but her face was concentrated.  "She doesn't like
this," she said flatly.  "And you didn't ask." Before I could respond she
went on, "She's not your whore today.  She's Paul's whore.  You should've
asked him if you could borrow his whore."
   To be continued...