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   WARNING: This chapter includes a lot of plot recapitulation, plus use of
the term "cunt-punt".
Jenny's Couch Book IV: A House In Gross Disorder, part 3 (MMg, ped, inc,

oral, anal, cons, mindfuckery of vulnerable minors) by Rufus Fugit

   This was the weirdest peace conference I'd ever been to.  Of course, I
hadn't been at Yalta where the principals were a drunk, a cripple, and a
psychopath, so who knew?  Maybe this was just average.

   We were seated around the table in Rubin Dauberstein's kitchen.  Only
the overhead light was on; the work lights over the counter space, and the
lamps in the adjacent main room were off.  It still seemed too bright. 
Rubin sat with his back to the wall.  He had cleaned up.  His cheeks and
neck were freshly shaven, his beard trimmed, his curly black hair still
damp from the shower.  He was wearing his Shabbat suit, probably because it
was the only thing clean.  He had his elbows on the table, hands curled
around a steaming mug of black coffee.  He was smoking tobacco, which was
disgusting, and I had no idea when he had started that habit.  There was a
pack of Pall Mall straights and an ashtray at one elbow, slowly filling up
with butts.

   Moira sat to Rubin's right.  Her brown curls were tied back in a
kerchief.  Her face was a little pink from a morning of physical labor, but
on her it looked good.  It emphasized her youthful vigor.  The results of
her exertion were visible in the clean kitchen, the refreshed air of the
house, the quiet thump and swish of the dishwasher behind Rubin and the
different rhythm of the clothes washer from under the stairs.  Moira's
green eyes were bright and they darted to light on each of us at the table.
She was otherwise completely still, her hands folded in her lap.  She
seemed drawn in on herself and nothing like the brash, explosive,
hypersexual, sometimes violent young woman she had been before our camping
trip this past spring.  From time to time she raised her chin and cocked
her head slightly, as if she were listening to something the rest of us
couldn't hear.

   I was at Moira's right, across the table from Rubin.  At the moment,
having finished emphasizing a point, I was sitting back in the chair with
one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.  I noticed my fly was open, which
rather spoiled my dignity.

   And between me and Rubin sat Lilah, Rubin's seven-year-old daughter. 
She didn't take after Rubin.  She got her slight frame, her pale coloring,
and her elfin features from her deceased mother.  She sat forward on the
edge of the kitchen chair with her toes just touching the cool parquet
floor and only her head and shoulders above the level of the tabletop.  Her
hands gripped the edge in front of her.  Lilah was still naked, as we had
found her when we had first arrived at the house earlier in the day.  She'd
been filthy, bruised, and covered in her father's semen.  Her tiny bald
peach had been swollen and angry with rash.  There wasn't anything we could
do about the bruises that still discolored her waist, thighs, and upper
arms.  We'd put some cortisone cream on the itchy red bumps peppering her
vulva and lower abdomen.  She was clean, inside and out, thanks to her
babysitter.  Twelve-year-old Karen had given her a bath that had included a
good anal reaming with the same soft-bristled bottle brush that Karen used
to clean out her own ass after a typical afternoon of prostitution.  Of
course it was also due to Karen that Lilah's otherwise-clean skin and hair
were moist and sticky and reeked of sex.  Karen had been naked herself and
desperately masturbating when a freshly-fucked Lilah had leapt to the aid
of her beloved babysitter and molester.  Karen was only twelve, and despite
having been fucked by hundreds if not thousands of adult penises in the
year-and-a-half since she'd been a child prostitute, her vaginal channel
was still child-sized.  But Lilah was only seven and skinny even for her
age, and one of the first perverse lessons I'd taught her was how to
fistfuck the older girl.  She could push her whole hand past the wrist into
Karen's aroused sex, much to her surprise and the older girl's
uncontrollable pleasure.  Karen had climaxed with Lilah's hand buried in
her cunt and Lilah's teeth clamped on her oversized clit and she had
drenched the little girl in her ejaculate.  We hadn't bothered to bathe her
again, just set down a towel for her to drip on during the short ride back
to her house.

   Karen was standing behind Lilah now, as Karen's little sister, Renee,
was behind me, our little aides-de-camp.  Karen was absently running her
fingers through Lilah's hair.  It was fine and very light, almost
white-blond, cut straight at chin-length and still quite damp with Karen's
girl-cum.  It gleamed in the overhead light.  But mostly the sisters were
watching Moira.

   Karen watched with a kind of anxious yearning.  Moira's mental abuse of
the sixth-grader (fifth grade when they first met) had been coordinated
with me, at least initially, and only intended to ensure the child's
silence.  I had needed to keep her from reporting the sexual abuse that had
destroyed her emotional stability, devastated her faith, and turned her
into (as someone had said) a sex-crazed whore, totally at the mercy of her
body's precocious cravings.  But when Moira's own precarious pathological
equilibrium slipped she had turned to capriciously beating, raping, and
even burning the younger girl.  By that point Karen's emotions were so
twisted with yearning, fear, and perverse gratitude to the young woman who
had taught her how to turn tricks that she would cum on Moira's fingers
whether those fingers were stroking her clitoris or pressing a lit
cigarette into her flesh.

   Renee, at two years Karen's junior, was a lot less complicated in her
emotions.  She hated Moira.  She hated her, but not for teaching her big
sister how to sell her body.  Renee had her own complicity in that.  I'd
convinced Renee that Karen needed to learn how to couple with strangers,
with adults, lest sexual frustration make her unhappy her whole life. 
Renee loved her sister so, finding that thought unbearable, she became my
willing assistant in turning Karen into a child prostitute.  Indeed it was
the beatdown that Moira had given two ill-mannered frat boys who were
mistreating Karen (two out of dozens the eleven-year-old had fucked in a
cocaine haze over one subtropical December night) that had inspired Renee
to start learning martial arts so that she could protect her big sister
just like Moira had.

   Renee understood, as well as a ten-year-old could, that Moira's
volatility sprung from the sexual abuse in her own past - Moira's father
had first raped her when she was Lilah's age and had turned her out to his
friends within a year.  And before her bush had grown in, Moira had somehow
procured his murder.  The details weren't clear and probably never would
be, but during our visit to the illegal sex offenders' colony near the
state forest we'd learned that before her 13th birthday she'd persuaded one
of her regular tricks to kill the man.  So Renee might've had compassion
for what Moira had gone through, but her loyalties were simple and very
clear.  Once Moira started torturing Karen, she'd earned Renee's hatred. 
And it was that hatred (and opportunistic cleverness) that had led to Moira
unknowingly ingesting enough hallucinogens to make a herd of elephants see
Jesus, which had in turn led not only to the revelations about her father,
but had somehow changed her from the brassy party girl with the
hair-trigger temper to the quiet, introverted, slightly absent young woman
sitting at the table with us.

   Lilah had been following the conversation but not comprehending it. 
Partially that was just because she was seven, but it also had to do with
the remains of two pot brownies in her system.  "Moira's going to be your
nanny now, Lilah," I said, speaking slowly.  "Do you know what that means?"

   "Like Mary Poppins," Karen put in, bending to speak into Lilah's ear.

   "Right," I agreed.  "She's going to make sure you get off to school in
the mornings, and help you with your homework if you need it, and cook for
you and your Daddy, and keep the house clean, and do everything your Mommy
used to before she got sick."

   "Except fuck Daddy," Lilah piped up.  One bare, skinny arm reached out
to point across the table.  "I'm Daddy's whore, not you!"

   Moira nodded slightly and said, "I know," almost too softly to hear.

   "But you still have to listen to her," I said firmly.  "And if she says
you can't fuck Daddy until you clean your room, then that's that and no
backtalk!  You understand?" Lilah nodded but it was her father who looked
disgruntled now.  I kept my tone light so as not to complicate things with
Lilah, but I had to make sure Rubin understood just how precarious his
position was.  "No backtalk from you, either, 'Daddy'.  Moira's in charge.
You were three-quarters of the way to busted before we arrived today.  For
God's sake, you gotta keep your shit together.  And if you can't Moira's
going to do it for you."

   Rubin took a drag from his cigarette and, eyes downcast, muttered
something that sounded suspiciously like "fuck you".  He still didn't get
it.  I stood quickly, leaned over the table and slapped him across the
face. The cigarette flew out of his mouth and hit the wall in a shower of
sparks.  Karen froze, her eyes wide with shock.  Moira didn't react at all,
as if she were watching all this on television.  Lilah started to cry.

   "See what you've done now, asshole?" I demanded, sweeping my stinging
palm towards Rubin's daughter.  "I'm trying to be nice about this.  I'm not
even mentioning blackmailing Karen into freebies.  I'm definitely not
mentioning the pictures we have of you doing vile things to your poor,
innocent daughter.  And I found you someone who will take care of the
house, take care of the kid, take care of you; all you have to do is not
fuck your daughter until she literally cannot walk.  Jesus and Moses!"

   "It's ok," Moira spoke up.  She put a hand gently on Rubin's arm.  "I'll
take care of things.  I know how." She meant, she knew how to survive in a
house with terrible secrets.  Well, it's not a skill you put on your resume
but when you need it, you need it.

   "You better," Renee piped up.  "If Karen gets in trouble, if Mr. 
Dauberstein tells on her, if she has to stop whoring, I'll...I'll..." she
sputtered to a stop, her ten-year-old imagination failing at a fate dire
enough.

   Last year Moira would have laughed in the fourth-grader's face, and
maybe bloodied her nose and kicked her in the crotch besides.  But today's
Moira just nodded meekly, completely deferring to the child.  Renee's
triumphant look was not unmixed with uneasiness.

   First the stick, now the carrot.  I was getting to be a goddam expert at
this, not that I ever wanted to be.  All I ever wanted was to cum on a
9-year-old's face.  Well.  Achievement unlocked, but now look where we
were.

   Time to find out if it would work on an adult as well as a horny,
coked-up 11-year-old.  "Look.  All you have to do is just be gentle.  Yes,
your daughter is a whore.  But she's still only seven.  There's plenty she
can do without you messing her up.  In fact...Karen, help Lilah onto the
table."

   Puzzled but obedient, Karen hefted Lilah under her armpits.  The little
girl was so small that even Karen, a willowy twelve, could easily lift her.
Lilah curled her legs under her as Karen lifted and then set her down with
her knees on the edge of the table.  I pushed and moved the little girl
until she was on her hands and knees with her butt facing me.  And that
meant, of course, that she was eye-to-eye with her father.  Lilah giggled,
arched her back, and moved her skinny ass from side to side.  I think it
still felt weird to her to be naked and on display like this.  Or maybe she
was still having head rushes from the cannabis in her system.  Two of those
brownies was a lot for me, never mind for a seven-year-old child.  "Lilah,
have you sucked your Daddy's cock?" I asked.  My own organ gave a twitch.
As always, I loved being able to talk to little children as if they were
experienced hookers.  Which in this case they were.

   "Uh-uh," Lilah said.  "Daddy only fucks me."

   "Wow, Rubin, you are missing out.  You gotta get you some of this. 
Stand up, man." I urged.

   Rubin exhaled a lungful of smoke - right into his seven-year-old
daughter's face.  By the time he had stubbed out his cigarette and stood up
she was still coughing.  By the time the fit passed there was drool on her
chin and tears in her eyes.  But she was able to crane her neck back to
look at her father's face.  "Daddy," she drawled in a sing-song voice, "I
want your penis.  I want your penis, Daddy." And she lifted one hand to
squeeze the growing bulge in the front of Rubin's suit pants.  Rubin seemed
paralyzed as his daughter groped him, and Lilah wasn't able to manage the
pants closure.  Finally Moira leaned over and, good little helpmate as she
was going to be, pulled down the zipper.  Rubin's cock sprang free.  He
didn't appear to be wearing underpants - probably nothing had been clean.

   "Oooh, it's a nice one!" Lilah exclaimed in a perfect imitation of
Karen, so much so that I had to stifle a guffaw.  With a skill far beyond
her years, Lilah grasped the shaft of the penis that had made her, but only
long enough to direct the purple circumcised cap at her mouth.  She opened
her jaws wide and her father's glans slid between her lips.  Her cheeks
pinkened slightly and she made little "mmm, mmm" and slurping sounds. 
Rubin's eyes got big and round and he looked down.  Lilah's wide blue eyes
looked up at him.  His gaze traveled over his daughter's naked back,
undulating slowly on the table.  Lilah took in just an inch or two before
withdrawing until the bulbous glans just rested on her pointed chin.  "I
like your penis, Daddy," she declared, before dropping to her elbows so she
could paint her tongue from the very root back up to the top, and then she
stretched her jaws and took it into her mouth again.

   But this time she didn't stop at two inches.  Her lips inched forward
and further down, further down, until a muffled "Guk!" from the child's
throat told us that the tip had reached her soft palate.  Lilah inhaled
noisily through her nose.  Her eyes squinted in concentration, which looked
adorable on her, and her throat worked.  With more choking and gagging
sounds, the seven-year-old's lips descended further and further on Rubin's
shaft until, finally, her nose was buried in his thick, crinkled public
bush.  More saliva spilled from her lips as she swallowed repeatedly.  Her
throat muscles massaged the penis now completely lodged in her gullet.  I'd
observed before that Renee ate ice cream with her whole body.  Lilah sucked
cock the same way.  Her toes curled and uncurled.  Her skinny torso
undulated slowly.  And her pale butt was wiggling right in my face.  Her
legs were spread enough that I could see her pink little clam.

   I stuck my thumb in my mouth and got it nice and wet, then pressed it
gently against the second-grader's asshole.  I massaged it for just a few
seconds, then pressed.  Lilah made a strangled sound, almost completely
muffled by the thick flesh pole filling her mouth.  I slid easily into her
ass.  She started wriggling more energetically, then bounced on her knees
as the web of my thumb came to rest against her perineum.  Rubin put a hand
on the back of her neck to hold her in place, fully impaled with his pubes
sticking to her lips.

   I started stirring my thumb around in the heat of Lilah's rectum.  I
looked over her naked back.  Her pale hair had fallen forward but between
the damp white-blond strands I could see her face was dark red, trending
towards purple.  Tears were spilling from her eyes and running down her
cheeks.  Her chin was shiny with drool and there was a small puddle on the
table.  The humping motion of the seven-year-old's hindquarters was
pressing the tiny nubbin of her clit against my palm.  I seized it between
my first and second fingers and started frigging it mercilessly.  Lilah
responded with a louder series of muffled cries.

   Rubin threw his head back and grunted like a pig.  I hoped that wouldn't
spoil the kashrut of his kitchen.  His hand fell away from Lilah's neck and
she jerked back, just far enough to clear the flesh obstruction from her
windpipe.  Unfortunately, her first convulsive inhale was met with a bolus
of hot semen.  White goo sprayed out of her nose and erupted around the
thick erection still filling her mouth.  I could feel her asshole clench
around my thumb with each spasm of her coughing fit.  She expelled Rubin's
penis from her mouth, followed by a thick stream of cum that drooled into
the puddle of spit under her chin.  Her head hung down between her skinny
shoulderblades for a good thirty seconds as she fought to catch her breath.
Just as I was starting to worry, Lilah raised her head and sat back and up
on the table.  Naked, with her face smeared with tears and sperm, she
looked up at Rubin.  "Thank you, Daddy," she said, and smiled.

   "See?" I said to Rubin.  "That can be her breakfast every school day,
for all I care - as long as she doesn't miss her bus." I tipped my head at
Moira.  "But she gets the last word.  Do we understand each other?" Rubin
wouldn't meet my eyes.  He tucked himself away and left the kitchen.  We
heard him on the stairs and then the door to his room closing.

   I turned to Moira.  "Did you get all the liquor?"

   Before she could answer, Lilah burped, loud and long.  Then she giggled.
Her eyes were deeply bloodshot and her lids drooped.  She was clearly
exhausted to the point where she was having trouble sitting upright on the
kitchen table.  The overhead light played across her prominent ribcage and
her dime-sized pink nipples as she swayed a little.  "OK, kid," Moira said.
"You've been a busy little whore today.  How about a nap?" Karen watched
carefully as Moira lifted Lilah off the table and set her on shaky legs,
then took her hand and walked her upstairs.

   Renee slipped around my chair to sit on lap.  She looked up at me. 
"Thank you, Daddy," she mimicked, and smirked.  I kissed her forehead but
at the same time pinched her right nipple through her polo shirt.

   We sat in silence until Moira came back downstairs.  I repeated my
question.

   "Uh huh.  But he's a grown man with a drivers license and everything.  I
can't stop him buying more."

   "Whatever.  Really, I don't much care if he's shitfaced 24/7, as long as
you can control him.  If being drunk makes him easier to keep in line,
fine. Keep him presentable, keep him off her when she has to be somewhere,
don't let him mark her up.  You understand what's at stake here?"

   The old Moira would've had to smart off at that point, maybe even
cunt-punt Karen just to prove that no one was the boss of her.  The new one
just nodded.

   "Okay.  I'll check in on you guys tomorrow, make sure you have
everything you need to get Lilah to school on Monday.  I turned to my
nieces.  "You girls did good today.  Lilah's going to be okay now, and
maybe Mister Dauberstein will get better too." Karen glowed under my
praise. Renee just looked dubious at my last assertion.  We made our way to
the door.  As we were leaving, I glanced back.  Moira was standing in the
middle of the living room.  She had that lost, listening look on her face
again.
   To be continued...