AREN’T YOU COMING TO BED?

Feature Writer: Serum /
Feature Title: Aren’t You Coming To Bed? /
Contact: [email protected]
 /
Story Codes: Young, NC, Rape, Snuff, Violence /
Synopsis: A corrupt man of power finds help to pursue is murderous urges /
Warning: This is an interesting BUT intense story /
Author’s Note: I’d appreciate any comments you have.

Aren’t You Coming To Bed?

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” My wife asks through the locked door of my private office.

“Give me half an hour.” I call to her, sliding a pair of headphones over my ears.

The twenty-five year old, large breasted blonde was undeniably beautiful. She’s the ideal woman for any straight man, with a healthy sexual appetite.

I turn on the display to my computer, and with a few taps on the screen, I bring up the video. I’ve watched it hundreds over times of the years, and it still excites me.

Screams blare from my headphones as the little girl’s contorted face appears on the screen. The camera zooms out to show the naked child sprawled out on a medical table. Blood covers a white sheet under her. The camera steadies and a naked man steps into the frame. He mounts the weeping girl and begins to thrust into her violently.

I first encountered this video twenty-two years ago while working as a prosecuting attorney in D.C. This video was the key piece of evidence in the trial that made me a household name. The girl was ten-year-old Emily Merchant, daughter of star baseball player, Tommy Merchant. The man was a fan of Tommy’s that felt betrayed by a decision to retire early. The trial concluded with the man being banished to the out lands and me appearing on the morning shows with a very grateful Tommy Merchant. The public’s adoration for the athlete extended to me and made my eventual Senatorial run a cakewalk.

I now sit alone watching video of my friend’s daughter being violently raped. After five minutes of ravaging her vagina, the man flips Emily onto her stomach and forces his bloody cock up her tiny asshole. Her cries stop after several minutes, and the man continues to rape her as shock sets in. The man finally stops and walks to the camera. Blood covers him from his navel to his knees. He leaves the frame, and the camera shakes as it is lifted from the tripod. His breathing is loud against the camera’s microphone. He moves the camera closer to the girl and her bleeding anus fills the screen. The man inserts his fingers into her.

I am now almost fully erect.

The man works the child’s destroyed hole for several minutes, eventually fitting his entire fist. He goes deeper and deeper finally stopping after about two inches of his forearm have passed through her ruptured sphincter. He twists his arm and begins to thrust, the sound of the man’s excited breathing and the wet pounding of his fist are the only sounds the microphone picks up.

I am now aroused almost to the point of pain. Having served its purpose, I stop the video before its even more gruesome climax. My young wife waits for me as I leave my office and walk toward our bedroom.

“Finally.” She says as I walk in. “I was beginning to think you don’t want to make love to me.” She smiles coyly.

I smile back. “You look beautiful.”

She places a book on her nightstand, and gets out of the bed. Seductively, she walks toward me, the sheer fabric of her negligee gliding smoothly over her flesh. When she reaches me, she places her hand on my bulging crotch. She bites her lower lip and looks up at me.

I lean in for a kiss, and pull the thin shoulder straps of her negligee over her shoulders. The lace nightgown falls to the floor. We continue kissing as she unbuckles my belt and slides my pants and underwear to the floor. She goes to her knees, and as her lips surround my cock, I allow my mind to drift to a Korean girl from my distant past.

I was fresh out of law school and managed to get the appropriate credentials to venture out of D.C. Like D.C., Seoul was one of only thirteen walled of cities where civilization remained. It seemed like the perfect place to get away and unwind.

After three weeks in Seoul, I met a man at a bar. He \seemed to have an almost telepathic ability to get inside my head, and after an hour, he knew exactly what I was craving. Several shots of very strong soju finally rid me of my inhibitions and I followed the man through the streets of Seoul. I followed him through an underground drainage pipe, passed the city gate, and into the out lands.

He took me through a disturbing landscape of crumbling houses, dead trees, and rubble filled roads. I followed him into a large, dilapidated building. He took me up three floors, passing a stinking, disheveled man on his way down. We walked down a long hallway toward a door with light seeping out from the bottom. My guide opened the door to a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk. They exchanged words and the woman rose.

“Come.” She said, heavily accented.

I followed her through another door and was greeted by the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Five naked young girls sat on the dirty floor playing with old and broken toys. They stood and scampered toward me with cheerful smiles.

The woman spoke.

“Hundred dollars one fuck. Eight-thousand you buy.”

The offer stunned me. For what amounted to the price of a meal at a fine restaurant, I could buy one of these children. The girl I picked had beautifully plump pussy lips and hair down to the center of her back. I judged her age to be about nine years. The woman dressed the girl, and an hour later, I had her alone in my hotel room. I only had two weeks until I had to be back in D.C. to start working at the prosecutor’s office. There would be no way to smuggle her out of the country, so I would have to make the most of our time together.

For the first week, I was gentle, even kind. I woke the girl every morning with soft kisses and tender fingers. With an eager tongue, I mapped every pore on the beautiful child’s body. The salty taste of her fleshy, prepubescent cunt coated my mouth as she cried in pleasure, uncontrollably orgasmic. She’d suck my cock, eagerly swallowing every drop. I’d fuck her slowly and gently while kissing her soft neck. I slid into her tiny asshole only after she asked me. She bent over in front of me and put her finger up her ass, saying “here, here.”

For the first several days, I felt an urge growing inside me, a violent urge that disturbed me greatly. Four days before I was scheduled to leave, I finally succumbed.

While fucking the preteen prostitute’s tiny asshole, I grabbed her around the neck and slammed her face into the headboard. She went limp, and as her face slid down, it left a smeared trail of blood behind it. The site of the maroon stain, and the knowledge that I was responsible, invigorated me. I flipped the unconscious girl onto her back and continued to thrust into her. Her nose was obviously broken, a stream of blood poured from each nostril.

She awoke crying and screaming as I neared orgasm. I covered her mouth, and her nose gurgled with blood as she tried to breathe. She started coughing heavily. Air escaped through her nose, covering me with a fine red mist. Her legs and arms started flailing, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. The most intense orgasm of my life occurred when her small body went limp again. I knew things would never be the same.

As the day of my departure drew nearer, my behavior became ever more depraved. I beat her with my belt, a straightened metal coat hanger, and eventually resorted to using my fists. I sliced off her nipples, ears, fingers, and mutilated her genitals.

The final day of my stay was when I finally let loose. I started by throwing her dying body into the large bathtub, and slicing out her eyes. I tossed the bloody orbs into the toilet and slid the head of my cock into her gory eye sockets. As I skull fucked the child, she reached up and tried to push me off her, but she was so weak her desperate fighting felt like sensual caresses. After ejaculating into her head, I took my knife and began mutilating her even further.

I was erect again only minutes after splitting open her abdomen. I fucked her between the protruding coils of her small intestine and began slicing through her neck. When only the shocking strong bones of the little girl’s vertebrae kept her head attached, I began ejaculating into her bowels.

I spent much of the rest of the day dismembering her body, which was much more difficult than I ever imagined. With her body in manageable chucks, I cleaned up and walked to a store where I bought garbage bags and a large rolling suitcase. The corpse had largely drained of blood when I returned. I placed each section into a pair of garbage bags, and stuffed it into the case. After half an hour, her pelvis was all that remained. I eased myself into the tub, and flipped the small lump of flesh and bone over. As a final act of degeneracy, I fucked what remained of her asshole.

I used all the sheets and towels that remained in the room to soak up any blood that didn’t manage to flow down the drain. With the suitcase wheels squeaking behind me, I left the hotel. It wasn’t necessary to hide the body very well. All I needed was a few hours to get onto the plane back to D.C. I settled on a dumpster down an alley on a desolate street. Two hours later, I was on a plane, passed out in a deep, satisfying sleep.

Over the next twenty-five years, I made it a habit to take a solid month off every year. I’d travel to different cities around the world seeking release. London, Berlin, Shanghai, and Tokyo were the only other cities where I could find my preferred method of entertainment. Even after I used my popularity with the public to get a low ranking spot in the Senate, I traveled, year after year, leaving shredded corpses of little children in my wake.

I played on the prejudices and fears of the public and eventually became the highest-ranking member of the Senate. It was then when a member of The Umbra paid me a visit. He let me know that his organization, the true leaders of what remained of the civilized world, had chosen me to be the next Presidential figurehead to represent D.C. He told me I would need to find a wife as soon as possible, and two months later, I was dating my future wife.

That was five years ago. I haven’t been able to travel unteethered from her since.

My mind focuses on my wife below me, her large breasts heaving as I thrust into her.

I wish for anonymity. I want nothing more than to travel, find the perfect girl, and blow off five years of pent up steam. But that can’t happen. Not if I am to become President. The public demands that their figurehead be a morally firm family man, with a beautiful wife and children playing at his feet. So I am forced to rely on a few contraband videos. They worked briefly, but the urge is never truly sated. I’m sure how much longer I can hold out.

My mind wanders towards an idea that becomes more palatable by the day.

Senator Ivanovich is the only person who knows about my predilection. It’s a secret we share. I came to this conclusion after crossing paths with him a bit too frequently. It was at a lonely bar near the gates of Tokyo, where we both realized our meetings where not coincidental. We shared drinks and, as the sake took effect, shared our secrets.

It was through him that I learned about a place not far outside the gates of D.C. Ivanovich traveled there very frequently, and was always trying to get me to make the trip. I didn’t think it was worth the risk. D.C. is the most secure city on the planet, and I am much more prolific than my colleague is. To get into and out of the city requires passing through several checkpoints. Surely, people would talk and speculate as to why I, the Senate’s most outspoken crusader for moral purity, spent so much time among the sinful wretches outside the gates. Besides, my yearly excursion seemed to be enough.

However, things changed after my first year of marriage. Forced to play the loving husband, my months off became relegated to museum visits and sunsets on the beach. It became maddening and my small collection of videos could only do so much. At the start of my third year, I began considering Ivanovich’s offer. I asked myself, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Even if I was found out, I wouldn’t be sent to prison. The girls were outsiders, so crimes against them would barely rise to the level of animal cruelty. I didn’t care if the public wouldn’t elect me president, or keep me on as a Senator. I had plenty of money put aside. I’d finally be able to leave my wife and spend more time-

It was here where the fantasy always fell apart. Without my Senate credentials, it would be nearly impossible to travel anywhere outside of D.C. I’d be without power, and without the opportunity to indulge my wanton urges. Helpless depression would invariably set in.

So here I am, miserable and making love to my curvaceous wife, wishing for the pleasured smile on her face to be replaced by the agonized grimace of a helpless child.

I finally manage to ejaculate. Hoping she’d finally get pregnant so I can stop with the charade. I roll off her soft body and collapse on the bed.

Twelve hours later, I am in my office at the capitol building, putting the final changes on a bill. The proposal is a ploy designed to drum up support for my Presidential run a few years down the road. The bill increases the punishment for homosexual sex to include up to a year in prison. I obviously don’t actually care what homosexuals do, I just need more notches in my belt of moral superiority.

There is a knock at my door.

“Come in.” I say, not looking up.

Cynthia, one of the pages, enters. “A Mr. Chamberlin called and said your car is ready.” The attractive seventeen year old says.

Mr. Chamberlin is a member of The Umbra. They never give any notice, when they would like a meeting. “I’ll be right out.” I tell the girl.

The girl leaves and I reword the final sentence of the demagogic bill. Satisfied, I turn off my display and swallow the last of my coffee.

I stand and exit my office, locking the door behind me. I pass through the labyrinth of halls and reach the main lobby. Outside the main entrance, a black car waits for me. The door opens as I approach, and I see a figure obscured in the shadows. I slide inside and close the door behind me.

I look at the man sitting across from me. A small purple lapel pin on his pinstriped suit identifies him as a member of The Umbra.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Williams.” His voice is strong and deep.

I swallow hard. “Good afternoon.” The limo begins moving.

He stares at me for a few minutes while I wait to hear what he has to say. “We greatly appreciate your discretion over the last five years. It must be very difficult for you, not being able to, you know… do what you do.”

I’m sure his coyness is designed to put me on edge, make me wonder if he is really referring to what I think he is.

“Yes,” I reply, “it has.” I wait for him to speak.

“We fear it may be becoming a bit too difficult. It’s only a matter of time before you give in, and take up Mr. Ivonovich on his foolish offer. The fact that you haven’t shows your dedication to us.” He stares for several seconds. “The Umbra has decided to help you.”

I stare back at the man, my eyes squinting quizzically. “What do you mean, help me?”

“In a short time we will arrive at a small underground compound. Before the fall, it was a fallout shelter owned by a very wealthy family. Today, it’s used by the Umbra for interrogations.”

“Interrogations of who?” I ask.

“A variety of people end up there, mostly dissidents, nosy journalists, and idealistic first term politicians.”

The man is silent for several seconds, as I struggle to make sense of the situation.

“Things have been quite calm recently, so the compound is currently unoccupied.”

The corner of his mouth hints at a smile.

“Well, that is apart from the three young girls awaiting your arrival.”

I stop breathing, and my stomach begins to tighten. The man seems to enjoy the shock on my face. “What,” my voice shutters with excitement, “are you saying, exactly?” I ask, hoping I’m not mistaken.

“The girls belong to you, and over the next three days you are free to do whatever you please. You have unrestricted access to the facility and all that’s inside. I’m sure you’ll find the interrogation room quite interesting.”

I stare in stunned silence, my jaw hanging slack.

“At 6.00 AM, seventy-two hours from tomorrow morning, the car will return to pick you up.”

I close my mouth and lean back against my seat.

“You’re a valuable asset, Mr. Morgan, and we can’t have the public turn on you. Over your twenty years in the Senate, you have built the persona of a scrupulous moral crusader, and yet you lack any of the annoying convictions that go along with it. You’re the perfect puppet, if you’ll excuse the trite metaphor. As president, you could convince the public to go along with anything The Umbra decides, and make them believe it’s what they wanted all along.”

I know I should be offended, but all his words ring true. All I want is power, or the appearance of it, and I do whatever is necessary to get it. They hate homosexuals, so I fight to make homosexual activity illegal. They fear children are straying from god, so I work hard to establish compulsory prayer in schools. They hate outsiders, so I write a bill that prevents any form of financial aid from leaving the gates. Countless other actions like these serve only to keep me on top and The Umbra sees me for what I am.

The man speaks again. “As long as you act in The Umbra’s interests, you can expect this every six months. It’s a mutually beneficial situation, Mr. Morgan. You get public adoration as President and an outlet for your deviant desires, and The Umbra gets a public willing to do anything we want.”

We drive in silence for nearly an hour before the car stops.

“Well, here we are.”

He leans over and hands me two keys.

“Outside you’ll find a hatch set into the ground. Close it behind you. There’s a heavy locked gate at the bottom of a long staircase. Use the big key, and remember to lock it after you pass through. The small key unlocks the interrogation room.”

He leans over and opens the door.

I am motionless for a few moments and then step out. My stomach is in knots and my legs are unsteady with anticipation.

The door slams behind me and the car drives off. I am standing on the side of a desolate road outside of the towering wall that borders D.C. About ten yards past the embankment a hatch is visible in the dirt. I scan the area, and the only movement is the cloud of dirt and dust that trails the departing car. I walk toward the hatch, half expecting this to be some sort of trap. The door is very heavy, and squeaks loudly as I swing it open. I step inside and close the hatch behind me. Small lights along the ceiling barely illuminate the concrete stairs. I make my way down, careful to watch my footing.

As I near the bottom, I can see light leaking in from the bottom of a door. My mouth goes dry. I pull the larger key out of my pocket, and despite my trembling hands, I manage to slide it into the lock.

It turns cleanly.

I push open the heavy door and it slides with great ease. Bright florescent light burns my eyes. I step through the door and close it behind me. My eyes begin to adjust, and I think I hear faint whispers. I lock the door and slide the key in my pocket.

It is a very claustrophobic place. The ceiling is less than a foot over my head, and I can touch both sides of the hall with the fingertips of my outstretched arms. The floor is grey polished concrete, and the walls are a soothing, pale blue. I start toward the fork at the end of the long, empty hallway. At the fork, I look left. About twenty feet down the hall, is a study looking metal door. In front of it is an opened barred gate. I assume that is the interrogation room.

I hear a laugh coming from my right and turn toward it. There are three doors on the left side of the hundred-foot hallway, two on the right, and one at the very end. I look into the first door on the left. Overflowing bookshelves line the walls, floor to ceiling. A heavy mahogany table sits in the center and three large leather chairs rest in the corners. I look into the door across the hall. It is the same exact size of the library but has a pool table in the center and a well stocked bar against one wall.

I continue down the hall. On the left is a spacious, but otherwise unremarkable, bathroom with a corner shower.

I hear quiet talking coming from the room across from the bathroom. From the hallway, I can tell it is a kitchen. I step closer to the door and listen.

“Why do we have to wear these clothes?” A very young voice asks.

“I already told you.” A more mature, but still childish voice answers. “It will make the man happy. If he isn’t happy, he’ll tell Mr. Morgan.”

“Everyone else always wants us naked. Why would he want us wearing clothes?” The younger voice asks again.

“I don’t know, Annette. Just leave them on.” The older girl says with a hint of annoyance.

There are several seconds of quiet. I stand outside the doorway, allowing the pleasing, vibratory anticipation to overwhelm me.

Another young voice speaks.

“These things are really good. We should ask Mr. Morgan to get some.”

I finally relent and lean my head through the door frame. To my right, on the far end of the room, three young girls stand with their backs to me. They stand in front of a stainless steel table, sharing a can of peaches. The smallest girl reaches in with her hand and pulls out a dripping piece of the sweet fruit. She leans over the can and bites into the slice of peach, juice dripping to the table.

I speak. “Hello there, girls.”

They turn around quickly, their knee-length plaid skirts overshoot before spinning back. They wear white button up blouses with the emblem of McCarthy Middle School embroidered on them. I recognize the symbol immediately because the school is very near the capitol building and a coffee shop I frequent. Most mornings I sit by the window, and pretend to read the paper as I watch the girls stroll past, their skirts swaying rhythmically.

The three children smile at me as I walk over to them.

“Hello, sir.” The oldest girl says.

She was a beautiful redhead of about five feet. She looks about twelve, and has minor freckling on her pale, apple shaped cheeks. Her wide, round eyes are the color of vintage denim, and small breasts tent her blouse slightly. Vaguely pronounced hips signal the girl’s body has begun its inevitable decent towards woman hood.

The girl standing next to the redhead is definitely the youngest. She has jet-black hair hanging to her shoulders, and stands barely four and a half feet tall. I judge her about ten years old. She has a round face and dark brown eyes that droop slightly, so even smiling, her face has a hint of sadness. One by one, the girl sucks the sticky syrup from her fingers.

The final girl has dark blonde hair that she has tucked behind her ears. She is a couple inches shorter than the redhead is, and looks about eleven. She has a pointed, narrow nose and a thin oval shaped face. Her hazel eyes are almond shaped, and full lips give the girl a mature look that counters her undeveloped frame.

“What are your names, girls?” My eyes drift from one smiling face to another.

“My name is Becky.” The redhead says.

“I’m Brianne.” The blonde says.

The smallest girl wipes her hands on her skirt. “My name is Annette.”

I step closer to her and place my hands under her armpits. She giggles as I lift her to the table and shivers when her bare thighs touch the cold metal.

I smile at the girl. “How old are you, beautiful?”

She smiles back. “I’m nine.” Her eyes squint slightly. “How long do we get to stay down here?”

I look into her innocent eyes. “Do you like it down here?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she smiles wider and I notice a few missing teeth, “it’s really clean down here.”

I step closer and spread the nine-year-old girl’s legs apart with my own. “You’re going to be down here for a very long time.” She smiles and leans back slightly, resting her palms on the table. I place my hands around her waist and pull her toward me. I lean in and kiss her, her mouth still sweet and sticky from the peaches.

The two other girls understand that they have jobs to do. The redhead hops up next to the nine-year-old and the blonde begins fondling my crotch through my black slacks. I slide my tongue between little Annette’s sugary lips. She wraps her arms around my neck and our tongues brush against each other. I reach behind her and slide my hands under her blouse. Goosebumps form on her smooth back as the tips of my fingers gently glide up and down. I ease my right hand under her skirt and passed elastic band of her panties. My middle finger finds the small indentation that marks the beginning of her ass crack. I slip a finger down between her small ass cheeks and let them envelop it.

Brianne kneels in front of me, struggling with the zipper on my black slacks. She finally manages to pull it down, and slides her small hand through the opening. Her hand moves down and up the leg of my loose boxer shorts. Small, slender fingers wrap around my cock. It begins to stiffen rapidly. She moves her fingers in a rhythmic wave from the base to the head and within moments, I am fully erect.

Becky, the redhead, sits to Annette’s right and dangles her legs over the edge of the table looking left out. I reach over with my left hand and place it on her milky white thigh. She moves closer, smiling with anticipation. I move my hand up and down, her skin smooth against my fingers. She spreads her legs, and my fingers creep toward her young pussy. I gently caress her through the thin cotton of her panties. I succumb to temptation and reach under the elastic. The twelve-year-old’s cunt is warm and superbly smooth. It dampens after a minute of playful exploration by my fingers. I pull them out.

I pull my mouth away from Annette. Her eyes are closed and her mouth opens slightly. I place the fingers of my left hand, slick with the redhead’s arousal, into the nine-year-old’s mouth. Her small tongue wraps around each digit and sucks them clean. I remove my right hand from the back of the girl’s panties and ease her back against the table. My hands shake with excitement as I reach for the first button on her blouse. I undo it, and the experienced girl helps with the rest.

The redhead gets onto the table and kneels next to the nine-year-old. Brianne removes her hand from my pants and follows the redhead’s lead. She kneels opposite the redhead, Annette’s small body between them.

The small girl’s blouse is now fully open. The two other’s help pull her small arms out and throw the garment to the floor. Her chest is indistinguishable from a boy’s. Becky leans over and takes one of Annette’s small nipples into her mouth. Brianne presses her lips against the tiny brunette’s and the two children begin kissing sloppily. The back of the nine-year-old’s knees press against the edge of the table, her feet hang motionlessly. I grab the bottom of her plaid, wool skirt and flip it onto her stomach, revealing a pair of pattern less white cotton panties.

I pull them off.

The girl’s pussy is remarkable. Each lip has the smooth plumpness of unbaked bread. I probe it with an eager middle finger. She is moist and tight. Even though the prepubescent whore has probably been fucked a hundred or more times, she still has the elasticity that comes with such a youthful body. Palm up, I slide my entire finger inside her and bend the tip upward. The small girl quivers as I massage the sensitive patch of flesh on the wall of her vagina. I stoop down and flick her tiny clitoris with my tongue. Within minutes the nine-year-old is coming. She tightly grips the first thing her hands can find, which for her left is Brianne’s skirt, and her right, Becky’s wrist.

I continue sucking the girl’s cunt long after her orgasm passed. She breathes heavily, and the two other girls giggle at her.

I rise and wipe my mouth. The blonde and redhead sit up and look at me, eager to be next. I wonder how often their clients manage to get the girls off. Probably not very, I decide, based on the surprise and excitement on their faces.

Don’t get me wrong, the pleasure I give to my victims is not for their benefit. I love the idea of contrast. In music, art, food, and literature, I enjoy exploring how extremes can feed off and influence each other. The same way a salty cheese will make a sweet wine even sweeter, the pleasure and happiness I give these girls will only make their pain and terror more intense and satisfying.

I step away from between Annette’s legs and reach around the kneeling redhead. With extreme gentleness, I turn her ass toward me and guide her head and shoulders to the table. I flip her skirt up, and admire the paleness of her. Such flawless snowy white skin is rare among the girls I’ve had. Her white panties cling tightly to her wet mound, the smell of arousal faint but unmistakable.

I press my lips over her twelve-year-old crotch and inhale deeply, my nose forcing the white fabric into her asshole. After forcing her legs together, I pull the panties down. A small tip of her inner labia protrudes from the fat outer lips. I place a hand on each of her fair cheeks and spread them. Her asshole spreads slightly, its pinkness bright against her white skin. I encase the small hole with my lips and begin to taste it vigorously.

Becky’s hips buck. She makes a noise that sounds like a mixture of shock and ticklish laughter. Her back arches even further, forcing my tongue to further its descent toward her bowels.

The blonde girl moves closer. She leans over and sees what I am doing.

“Ewww!” She says with a laugh, “that’s gross.”

My tongue continues probing and swirling around the pink hole.

Becky moans. Her body shutters as she takes a deep breath.

“It,” the young girl pauses, “it feels so good.”

She laughs and I break the vacuum of my lips. I watch her slobbery asshole close. The darkness inside disappears like the hollow eye of a winking ghost. My lips move down, and I lightly bite her protruding inner labia. Her leg muscles tighten and I release the small piece of flesh. I take a long, doglike lick of her pussy, from her clit to her asshole. Finally, I begin working toward the young redhead’s orgasm.

She grinds her sopping cunt against my face. The blonde girl watches, gleefully waiting her turn. Annette lies on her side, her fingers moving over and into her prepubescent pussy. Juices flow from Becky’s pussy, and I gladly swallow them. I finally get her to cum after a few firm presses against her clit. She collapses onto her stomach, a puddle between her weak, shaking legs. I dip my fingers into the creamy liquid and bend over her. She sucks them clean.

Brianne is giddy. The other girls riding the wave of post orgasm euphoria, she knows it is her turn. I leave the redhead’s side and take the blonde’s hand.

Brianne jumps to the floor, and I pull her close. We kiss. The young girl struggles against my tongue for half a moment, probably still imagining it sliding into Becky’s puckered pink anus. She relents and our tongues collide in a sensuous embrace. I begin to undo the top button on her blouse. She helps me by working upward from the bottom. The white top hits the floor and I kneel to take her left nipple into my mouth.

Her breasts are very small, almost imperceptible. It is only after I turn my head, and look across her chest, that I notice the tiny protuberances. I flick her nipple with my tongue and bite it playfully. She laughs and rests her hands on the top of my head. I switch nipples. My mouth works downward and I kiss her flat belly. She squirms, my tongue tickling her bellybutton. I turn her around and bend her over the table. She gasps as her bare chest lands in a cold pool of sticky peach juice. I reach under her dress and knead her ass through her panties.

The two other girls are sitting up now. They smile at Brianne and me, their hands between their skinny legs. My hands continue fondling the girl, her body rocking against their strength. I reach around her and unbuckle the belt around her waist.

Her skirt hits the floor.

The white panties are lodged deeply in her ass, giving me a clear view of her fleshy buttocks. Like most girls her age, she is beautifully smooth. A small mole on the bottom of her left cheek is all that distracts from the pristine creaminess of her shapely ass. I grab the band of her panties and pull up gently, further burying the cotton underwear.

I lean over her, my still concealed cock presses firmly against her right cheek. I whisper in her ear.

“You want to cum, baby?” I ask, my lips tickling the cartilage of her upper ear.

I move her hair over her left shoulder, and kiss her right. Goosebumps form as my hot breath blankets the nape of her neck.

I kiss her ear and whisper, “Can I make you cum, baby?”

The girl’s head nods slowly. My left hand moves under her panties, forcing the fabric from the warm crevice. I run my palm over her pussy, making a circular motion, waiting for the moisture to come. The blonde girl looks to the right, her left cheek pressed against the table. On the stainless steel, a cone of condensation forms and disappears with each breath. I bend, kiss her cheek, and ease my middle finger inside her.

Her breathing shallows.

I bite her earlobe and whisper. “I want you to cum, Brianne.”

The pad of my thumb presses against her asshole.

It clinches.

“Relax.” I whisper. “Don’t worry.”

My thumb enters her anus with little resistance. She is breathing more rapidly as the thumb penetrates her fully. With some straining, I manage to reach her clit with my index finger. I rub it gently.

The child clenches her body. With three fingers, I stimulate three separate erogenous zones. A quiet squeal escapes the child’s lips.

I’m sure no one has ever made this girl feel so good. I look at the pleasure on the girls face. It isn’t a smiley faced, laughing pleasure, but rather a drooling, eyes rolled back into her head, babbling pleasure.

It’s remarkable how similar the face of extreme pleasure and extreme pain actually are.

I quickly bring the girl to orgasm. Her anus squeezes my thumb and her knees give way. I press my body firmly against her to keep her from hitting the floor, and continue stimulating her long after the orgasm passes. When I feel her regain control of her legs, I remove my hand from her soiled panties and stand up.

Brianne remains bent over the table for several seconds. I watch her back rise and fall rapidly. Annette and Becky sit cross-legged on the table, staring at the recovering blonde girl.

I lift Brianne’s weak body and sling her over my shoulder. Smiling, I turn to the other girls. “Now it’s my turn.” I say slapping the blonde girl softly on her ass. “We need a bed.”

“Oh,” Annette says hopping of the table, “this way.”

The shirtless girl scuttles toward the kitchen door. Becky glides her bare ass across the table and follows her. I walk behind them with the blonde girl hanging over my shoulder, like a Neanderthal returning with a freshly killed deer. The two girls turn right out of the kitchen and enter the room at the end of the hall.

It appears to be the living quarters of whoever is in charge of the facility. There’s a king sized bed, dresser, desk, and a private bathroom. I drop Brianne on the bed. She rebounds highly and giggles, her senses having returned. The others jump on as well, bouncing on their knobby knees.

“Not yet.” I tell them, taking Annette by the hand and leading her off. Becky and Brianne follow and stand at the foot of the bed. I kick my shoes off and nudge them under the bed. I unbuckle my belt and begin unbuttoning my shirt. Becky steps toward me, gets on her knees, and undoes the button on my slacks. She pulls my pants and boxers to the floor. The twelve-year-old redhead eyes my now flaccid cock. It swings pendulously as I kick my pants and boxers from my feet. I drop my shirt to the floor and lift my foot to Becky. She removes the tight black sock. I pull my undershirt over my head and drop it to the floor as Becky pulls the other sock off my other foot.

I stand naked before the girls. My tall, wrinkly, and hairy body juxtaposed against their own taut, tiny frames. I sit on the bed, my shoulders resting against the headboard. The girls look at me, waiting for direction. Apart from black socks and penny loafers, each girl is in a different stage of undress. Becky is without panties, put still wears her skirt and blouse. Annette wears only the plaid skirt and Brianne only damp white panties.

“Strip.” I order the children. “I want to see all of you.”

They kick off their shoes and socks, and throw any remaining article to the floor. I half expect them to do a sexy striptease, but as whores, they probably aren’t even used to wearing clothes, much less how to remove them in a tantalizing way. Their clothes fall unceremoniously to the floor. I see the blonde’s cunt for the first time. It gleams, still wet with her juices. She has gorgeous puffy nipples, pale pink against her white flesh. Her budding breasts are pointy and small.

“Get on the end of the bed.” I say to the exposed children.

Annette leaps on first. She crawls across my feet, and then up toward me. The nine-year-old kneels to the left of my waist, her hands crossed over her thighs. The two others position themselves similarly, Brianne between my legs and Becky to my right.

I nod at Annette.

She smiles understanding my meaning. “With my mouth or pussy?” She asks as a matter-of-fact.

“Your mouth.”

She leans over me and grabs the base of my cock. She takes the flaccid member into her mouth and sucks. My cock stretches as she moves her head up. It slides from her lips, and saliva splashes against my thighs and abdomen. She does it again and it rapidly begins to stiffen. When I get fully erect, she can barely fit more than the head inside her mouth. She tries her best. Her wet lips pass over the base of the helmet, and her tongue flicks across the tip.

I tap the redhead on the thigh.

“Suck the balls.” I say to her.

She obeys immediately, and bends down. Her face turns and disappears behind the bobbing head of the nine-year-old. I feel Becky’s wet tongue lapping at my hairy testicles. She licks them vigorously for several seconds before taking the right ball into her mouth.

This continues for a few minutes before I order a change in position. Annette is a gorgeous little girl, but she just can’t suck a dick. Child whores as young as Annette are never very good with their mouths. It’s best to utilize the astonishing tightness of their tiny pussies and assholes.

The redhead takes my swollen dick into her mouth. She is a much more skillful cock sucker and manages to fit quite a bit of cock between her lips.

Annette’s small tongue begins to taste my balls.

Brianne reaches out and brushes Annette’s hair away to get a better view. I catch her eye and tilt my head back, signaling for her to come to my side. She smiles and turns on her knees. I catch a glimpse of her asshole when her cheeks spread as she crawls off the bed. I place my hand on the small of the redhead’s back.

“Stick your ass up.” I tell her, pressing down.

She arches her back as Brianne walks behind her.

The blonde girl gets onto her knees next to me. With my right hand, I reach over and pull the redhead’s left ass cheek toward me.

“It actually tastes pretty good.” I tell the eleven-year-old.

It takes a moment for the girl to understand my request. When she does, a flash of reticence overtakes her smiling face. It disappears almost immediately, and she moves her face toward Becky’s presented anus.

I feel the vibration of Becky’s laugh though my dick. Annette looks up and sees what Brianne is doing to the redhead. She titters, and lowers her head back between my legs. I watch for several minutes. My gaze drifts from Becky struggling to take as much of my cock as she can and the mildly disgusted face of Brianne as her tongue tastes the most intimate part of Becky’s anatomy.

“Is she going deep enough?” I ask, placing my hand on Becky’s back.

My cock emerges from between her glistening lips.

She turns her head and smiles at me.

“Not as deep as you were.”

She takes my cock back into her mouth, and without direction, the blonde presses her face more firmly into Becky’s ass.

A few minutes later, I am very near orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum.” I moan. “Try to catch it.”

Brianne stops eating the redhead’s ass, and quickly moves to my crotch, lying between my legs. Becky grips the base of my cock between her index finger and thumb and continues bobbing her head.

I feel a tingle in my balls, and my legs twitch. My toes curl, and I begin to erupt. Becky coughs as the first salty wave crashes into her mouth. Her head stops bobbing, and she strokes my shaft between her two fingers. I continue to fill her mouth as more spasms shake me. Globs of semen flow from the corners of her mouth. Annette plunges her face into the puddle and slurps the spilled seed.

I relax, and Becky sucks my sensitive head like a straw, drawing every drop out. With my purple head still in her mouth, she clenches her lips, closes her eyes, and swallows.

Annette continues licking my semen dampened pubic hair. She’s well trained, I think as a deadening fatigue takes hold of me. The three girls climb up to my chest. Becky lies to my right, Brianne to my left, and Annette on top of me. My cock deflates between the tiny brunette’s thighs as her body rises and falls effortlessly with my breathing.

I fall into a deep sleep.

An unknown amount of time later, I awake from my dreamless sleep. The room is dark. Becky and Brianne sleep at my side and Annette lies at the foot of the bed like a spoiled dog. I carefully rise from the bed. The ground is surprisingly warm against my bare feet. I consider putting on my boxers, but decide it isn’t necessary. My knees crack as I walk toward the bathroom. After relieving myself, I go to my pants and grab the small key. I’m anxious to explore the interrogation room.

I leave the bedroom, and start down the hallway. I take a quick peek through the final, unexplored door. Four small beds and accompanying dressers are the only contents. I don’t bother going inside. When I finally reach the heavy door, I glance over my shoulder to make sure the girls aren’t following me. The hallway is empty, so I unlock the door and enter the room. I leave the key in the lock and flip a light switch.

The room is a terrifying sight. It is oblong shaped and appears to be a cave. The dark grey walls are rough and rutted. Small rocks lie on the floor along the base of the wall. I look up. The walls arch into the ceiling about twenty feet up. Along the ceiling are two parallel iron bars about two feet apart. At the end of each bar is a large gear and chain. The chains disappear into a large black enclosure embedded into the ceiling. I notice a lever next to the light switch. It’s pushed up as far as it can go. I pull down on the lever slowly. Nothing happens until the lever passes a point parallel to the ground.

A green light pops on and I hear the gears begin to turn. The lever is angled just barely toward the ground. I look at the ceiling and, after several seconds, realize the bars are descending. Six iron chains dangle from each bar, secured to it by a thick, stainless steel loop. At the end of each chain is an adjustable leather cuff. I lower the lever further and notice the motion of the bars begin to quicken. I wait for the bars to lower far enough for me to reach the leather cuffs. It’s almost a minute later when I finally move the lever into a neutral position, stopping the bars.

I turn to examine the rest of the room. Along the wall to the right of the door, there’s a large slab of rusty metal bolted to the wall. Dozens of iron railroad spikes stick out, welded sloppily in place. The majority support some sort of torture device. There are whips, blades, spiked clubs, and several other devices that I can’t immediately identify. I walk over and pick one up. It resembles a chainsaw, but instead of a guide bar and chain, a pair of two-foot narrow cylinders emerge into a V-shape.

Around each cylinder, there are coils of tightly wound wires. I lift it from the wall and examine it. There are three buttons near the handle, labeled “Heat”, “Contract”, and “Retract”. I push the “Heat” button, feel a slight vibration, and after a few seconds, the coiled cylinders begin to glow white-hot.

Even holding it far from my body, the heat is incredible. I push the “Contract” button and the searing arms begin to move toward each other like the blades on a pair of scissors. They overlap and stop parallel to each other. Floods of ideas fill my head, each more sick and depraved than the last.

I push the “Retract” button and watch the blazing cylinders separate. When they are at their original position, I push the “Heat” button and watch the glowing arms cool. I place the device on the ground and return to the wall to examine another item. I pick up what looks like a long, very slender microphone. At one end of the foot-long, middle shaft, there is a potato shaped piece of stainless steel. It’s about an inch and a half at its fattest point and there are about a dozen narrow slits on its surface. There is a small winding key sticking out of the other end. I turn it, and watch double-barbed hooks emerge from each of the narrow slits.

I turn the key back and the hooks disappear. I take the final unknown item from the wall. With a cursory glance, it might appear to be a simple whip, but a closer look makes it much more interesting. The lash is a rigid coil of wire that hangs toward the ground. I lift it from the wall, and the lash remains stiff, fighting against gravity. On the bottom of the firm leather handle, there is a switch. I flip it and after a few seconds, the lash begins to sag and after a few more, it glows a radiant red. It’s completely limp, the burning thong ready to inflict unspeakable torment.

I turn the electric whip off, hang it back on the wall, and step away from the buffet of torture tools. On the wall opposite the door, there are four small cells. While I walk around the room, I notice that the floor slopes very slightly toward a square grating in the center of the room. I walk to it, and slide the heavy iron grill away. A gentle cool breeze blows up from a natural looking hole in the stone floor. It’s completely black. I walk to the wall and grab a golf ball sized rock.

I drop it down the hole.

Three seconds later, I hear a distant splash. I replace the grate, and stand back up.

My mind is reeling with ideas of how to make the girls suffer. But, I’m not ready to act on them. Before the girls can know true terror and pain, I need to show them the opposite.

I start toward the door and see a shadow enter.

“Is this were the bad girls go?” Nine-year-old Annette asks, looking toward the whips hanging a few feet to her right.

She walks closer. “Mr. Morgan uses a paddle.”

Her hands move to her ass, and seem to rub a long healed injury.

“It really hurts.”

I stand in the center of the room and watch the child as she obliviously surveys, what I intend to be, the instruments of her death. She turns toward me.

“Erin had to get paddled all the time.”

The girl says, as if I should know Erin. Her eyes drift to my swollen cock, and she walks toward me.

“You want me to make you come?”

She asks with the tone and cadence of a waitress asking if I’d like cheese on my burger.

She grabs my cock, and I shove her to the floor.

She yelps. “I’m… I’m sorry.” She stutters, with a look of frightened confusion.

I get to the floor and wrap my hand around her neck.

“You fucking cunt!” I hiss into her ear, feeling myself begin to lose control.

“I’m sorry!” She begins crying, and I bounce her head on the ground. Her hands cover her face. I violently flip her onto her stomach. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She pleads repeatedly.

I jump on her back, and grip my cock with my right hand. I press it against her asshole and thrust inside. For several minutes, I rape the little child’s asshole dry. I struggle to hold back the desire to do anything more. Nothing would please me more than tearing the girl’s throat out, but it’s much too soon. True dread and anguish can only be appreciated when contrasted with pure elation and gratification. I need more time to assure the children’s descent to hell begins as close to heaven as possible.

I hope this small nibble is enough to keep my starving dog from breaking free.

Annette whimpers as my ferocious rape continues. Blood lubricates my cock and drips to the cold floor.

“Bitch!” I berate her and grit my teeth. “Vile little slut!”

I finally come. It isn’t as powerful as the one a few hours before, but it is much more satisfying. The rape seems to be enough to delay the inevitable. I roll of the girl. Blood and semen gurgle from between her firm buttocks.

“Go.” I say, closing my eyes. “Get out of here.”

The girl stands with a weepy groan and begins to walk away. She stops and I hear her walking back toward me. I open my eyes to see her standing over me. Her eyes are red, her stomach and chest scraped.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

I have no idea what she thinks she did, but I nod and close my eyes again. Her small feet patter from the room and my bloody cock shrinks as I begin to doze naked on the uncomfortable floor.

I wake myself with a snore, and get to my feet. A trail of blood droplets leads away from me. I leave the room and lock the door behind me. At the end of the blood trail is Annette. She has a large white towel under her hands and walks on all fours cleaning the bloody evidence of her brutal rape. The skinny nine-year-old resembles a newborn fawn, her arms and legs wobbling under her. I near her, and she straightens herself, but still stares at the ground. Her hair is wet and beads of water drip onto her bony shoulders. I stop in front of her.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes again, sheepishly. “Please don’t tell Mr. Morgan.”

Her eyes won’t leave the blood stained floor.

“Don’t worry,” I say, “I won’t tell him.” I assume Mr. Morgan is the man that runs her brothel.

She looks up at me nervously. “Really?”

I nod, and smile my most fatherly smile.

A relived calm comes over her face and her shoulders relax. She glances down at my cock and sees it smeared with her blood.

“I’m sorry.” She says again, bending over to pick up the towel. “I’m sorry for bleeding on you.” She presses the towel against my crotch.

“That’s okay, honey.” I step back. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh, okay.” She drops the towel to the floor.

I bend, kiss her forehead, and walk past her. After a few steps, I turn around. She continues to clean the floor and I see blood smeared in the crack of her petite ass. For a fleeting moment, I pity the child.

I shower and go back to the room. Becky and Brianne haven’t moved, and Annette has returned to the foot of the bed. I glance at a clock hanging above the door. It is 4:00am. I ease myself into the bed and fall asleep.

I spend the next day pleasing the girls as much as possible. I wake Brianne with a kiss on the cheek and tender hand on her crotch. I whisper for her to stay quiet as my fingers bring the eleven-year-old to orgasm. When the frenzy overtakes her, she can’t help waking the others. I do the same to Becky. Annette watches the moaning redhead tentatively, seemingly unsure if I am upset with her. After tenderly bringing the small brunette to an energetic orgasm, she seems to believe that I am not.

We shower together, and I prepare breakfast. I hold the blonde in my lap as we eat, my fingers massaging her clit as we share a bowl of fresh berries. After we finish eating, and Brianne has her second orgasm of the day, I lift Becky to the table and begin to eat her out. I stop for a moment, the flavor of cunt and strawberries filling my mouth, and tell Brianne to help Annette onto the table. The youngest of my future victims lies back and I pour residual berry juice over her puffy pussy. I place my hand on Brianne’s shoulder and ease her face toward Annette’s sweet, sticky crotch. She begins to perform clumsy cunnilingus on the prepubescent girl. I ease my tongue back between Becky’s swollen labia.

Becky and Annette breathe heavily as they each recover from a potent orgasm and Brianne wipes a variety of juices from her face. I tell the girls to go back to the room and take another shower. The blonde scampers off quickly while the two others toddle toward the door, their legs unsteady. I go to the billiard room and remove a couple bottles of scotch, and a bottle of vodka from the bar. I return to the kitchen and pour the vodka into a large pitcher. Fruit juice and ice top it off. I take the drinks and some glasses back to the room.

The next several hours are spent in bed, where I sip my scotch slowly, maintaining a relaxing buzz. However, the little girls drift rapidly from warm relaxation, to blissful intoxication, and finally settling into a state of rowdy drunkenness. I fuck the girls throughout the day, and spend my recuperation time using my mouth and fingers to give them countless exhausting orgasms.

The alcohol removes all inhibitions from the girls. They begin doing things to each other that I haven’t asked. After I ejaculate into Annette’s pussy, Brianne sucks the thick load of cum from the small girl and spits the white glob into Becky’s eagerly opened mouth. Annette eats Becky to an ear shattering orgasm while Brianne tongues the nine-year-old’s tight asshole. I wonder if they are behaving this way to please me, or if they are enjoying it as much as it appears that they are.

It’s 8:30pm and the girls are passed out it a drunken stupor. The room stinks of sweat, semen, and booze. My cock is raw and my aging body aches. The good, pleasant ache tells me I’ll sleep soundly tonight. I look at the unconscious girls. Smiles plaster their faces, as if today’s unrelenting euphoria has permanently frozen their muscles into a contented grin.

Tomorrow their smiles will contort into permanent, pain-filled grimaces. I rise from the bed and lift Becky over my shoulder. I carry her to the dungeon and lock her into one of the cages. Ten minutes later, all three young children are lying, unconscious, on the cold stone floor behind an iron cage. I return to the room and get into the bed, exhausted.

I pull a blanket over me and fall asleep.

I awake what seems like only a moment later. The clock reads 5:43am. My heart starts pounding with anticipation. I instantly feel wired, like a sleepless child waiting for dawn on Christmas morning. I get out of the bed and go to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. Within minutes of waking up, I am walking toward the interrogation room and away from any semblance of humanity I have inside me.

When the heavy door slides open, I hear cries coming from inside. I flip on the light and walk to the cuffs hanging from the ceiling. I slide two of them, one looped over each bar, to the center of the room, and approach the girls. Annette is motionless, a puddle of urine under her. Becky and Brianne both hold their heads, as strands of vomit stretch to puddles on the floor. The stench is over whelming.

“What’s going on?” The redhead cries through bloodshot eyes.

I decide to start on her, and unlock her cage. I take a handful of her hair and drag her out. She screams as her pale legs scrape across the floor as I pull her to the center of the room. I let go of her hair and her head smashes against the floor. She heaves, but her stomach must be dry.

“Get up.” I say to the sprawled child.

“What’s happening?”

“I said get up!”

I kick her in the side. She grabs her belly and rolls to her back. I bend and pull her to her feet. She stands unsteadily as I force the left wrist into one of the leather cuffs. I lock it and do the same with the other. She stands with her eyes closed as I move to the lever. I push the lever upward. The twelve-year-old’s eyes shoot open as the increasing tension on the chain lifts her off the ground. She starts kicking wildly. I move the lever back to the neutral position when her feet dangle about two feet from the floor.

I stand for a minute and watch the girl exhaust herself. When she stops struggling, I walk to the wall of toys and grab the electric whip. I flip the switch on the bottom and watch the lash as it goes limp and begins to glow. I laugh to myself and walk back to the hanging girl. She turns her head away desperately as I hold the burning wires to her face.

I brush it against her armpit. There is a wet sizzle followed by a deathly shriek. I lower the coiled wires and watch a patch of her skin blister before my eyes. I strike her across the stomach and she screams as a stripe of cooked flesh bubbles. Her face is twisted beautifully, her teeth are bared and a stream of vomit and drool falls to her chest. My cock throbs, and I hear a cry coming from the cages. Little Annette is awake and watching her friends torture with terrified dread.

I walk behind the redhead and strike her several times across the back. Just as the scent of cooked flesh fills the room, the burning coil of wire starts to cool. I shake the device, but it’s no use. I look at the handle and unscrew the bottom. Four D batteries fall to the floor and roll down the grate. Becky’s uncontrolled screeching drowns out the splashes. I circle the crying girl’s body, and admire the brutal effectiveness of the simple gadget.

I walk back to the wall and replace the whip. Becky’s screams meld with the caged girl’s weeping into disharmonious symphony of suffering. I close my eyes and let the wonderful noise envelop me. The burnt redhead erupts into a fit of coughs, ruining the mood. I sigh.

I walk to the lever and lower the bars. The crying redhead’s legs buckle under her as her feet hit the floor. I move the lever to the neutral position, walk to Becky, and force her to stand. She screams as my hands touch the crackling flesh under her arms. I step behind her and place my hands on her hips.

My cock charges dryly into her asshole.

If this causes her any pain, she doesn’t show it. I buck against her and dig my fingers into the burnt skin on her back. She reacts violently, kicking her legs back against me. Her fight makes the rape even more satisfying.

For several minutes, my cock punches in and out of the twelve-year-old. The chains clang rhythmically against the support bars, as her shrill squeals ease into a defeated whimper. I finally begin to come and I squeeze her tightly for support. For several seconds I fill the girl’s bowels as my stomach against her back rekindles her screams. The orgasm passes and I pull my cum slickened cock from the stretched hole. Pale pink globs drip from the redhead and I walk toward a coiled hose near the cages. I unwind it and turn the spigot. Icy water splashes powerfully against the hanging girl’s pale face.

She shakes her head away from the stream.

“Drink!” I shout at her.

I don’t want them dying of dehydration. How boring would that be?

Becky takes several gulps, but most of the water flows over her body and onto the floor. I point the hose at the two caged girls and allow them a drink. The piss and vomit flows out of the cages and I direct it down the center drain. I turn off the hose, and leave the room.

I return to the kitchen, starving, and make a quick sandwich. It’s completely gone by the time I walk back to the bedroom. I take a swig from the whiskey bottle, and head back to the girls. My bladder feels ready to burst as I walk into the frightful room. I approach the two caged girls and they look at me. Their eyes are wide, their lips tremble, and their muscles are stiff. Brianne screams as I unlock her door.

“Please don’t!” She begs. “Please!”

She turns and cowers in the corner. After a swift kick to her side, her cries change from fearful to painful. I grab her ankle and drag her out. She lies on her back and I straddle her chest.

“Open your mouth!” I yell.

She clinches her eyes and parts her lips.

I force the head of my cock between her lips and begin to urinate.

She turns her head and spits the warm liquid to the ground.

I force the stream to stop and grit my teeth through a moment of discomfort. I slap the blonde girl’s face, and backhand her across the eye.

“Open your fucking mouth!”

Brianne continues to shake her head, but after a few more slaps she stops resisting and opens her lips.

I put my swelling cock back into her mouth and allow my piss to flow once more. When her cheeks bulge, I stop.

“Swallow it.” I order her.

The eleven-year-old struggles, but eventually succeeds in swallowing the foul liquid. My bladder is empty after three more mouthfuls fill her stomach. I stroke by piss-coated cock to full erection, move down the child’s tremulous body, and slam into her cunt.

The girl doesn’t struggle against me. She just turns her head away and weeps. Her hips bounce violently against the hard floor as my thrusts intensify. I look over at nine-year-old Annette. She has her small fingers around the bars of her cage and her mouth gapes slightly.

Brianne screams under me as my cock rebounds off her cervix. She begins to struggle. I raise my arm and force my forearm against her throat. I am quickly approaching orgasm when the current focus of my abuse begins to turn blue. I raise my arm and she gasps loudly, before my elbow crashes down. It hit over her eye and I hear a crack. Brianne’s screams fill my head and pain shoots to my elbow. I groan as my second orgasm of the day overtakes me. My body tightens for a moment before I collapse onto the girl. A few straggling drops of semen drip into the crying blonde.

I roll off her and rise to my feet. Brianne covers her face with her hands and rolls to her side. I grab her by the hair and pull her to her feet. Assisted by a hearty shove, she stumbles into her cage and I lock the gate behind her.

Annette stares at me in wide-eyed silence. I glare back and her face clenches into a sob.

I turn away from the caged sluts, walk to the lever, and begin to lower the bars. When Becky’s ass rests on the floor, I stop the descent. I walk over to the redhead and she cries and babbles incoherently as I unlock her wrists. She falls to the ground and I pull her back to her cage. I force her inside and glance at Brianne. She turns her head away from me, but not before I see her right eye beginning to swell shut. I spit on the frightened child and she flinches as the gob lands on her outer thigh.

My attention shifts to Annette. The nine-year-old brunette continues to blubber. I unlock the gate and draw her out by the ankle.

“I’m sorry!” She screams, but doesn’t fight back. “I’m sorry! Please!”

I drag her toward the chains that previously held the seared redhead. I bind her ankles and turn to the lever. I stop the bars when her head is about even with my crotch. Nearly two feet separate the child’s ankles and her arms hang limply over her head. Her face reddens with tears and pooling blood.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpers quietly.

I walk to the wall, and contemplate my choices. Not wanting to escalate the festivities too much, I skip over the more destructive instruments, and settle for a simple plastic dowel. It’s about four feet long and is incredibly flexible. I walk back to the hanging child and run the tip of the dowel over her exposed cunt, across her flat chest, and to her chin.

She clenches her eyes as I flick her forehead softly.

I agonize over where my first strike will land for a few moments before settling on her inner thigh. I step back and take a few slow practice swings. Satisfied with my position and angle of approach, I swing. Annette lets loose with a satisfying screech, and begins flailing her upper body. The metal loops clang loudly against their support beams as the nine-year-old struggles futilely. I watch the girl’s small toes as they clench in pain. She eventually calms down, her shrieks now mere snivels.

I strike her thigh again, this time with the very tip of the dowel. It slices open a small gash in her leg. As the little girl screams and struggles, a small stream of blood starts flowing down her thigh. I smack her across the left side of her puffy mound. Her screams evolve into a frantic cough and I strike the other lip. I step closer to the girl and watch the two stripes over her cunt darken from pale red, to a plum like purple.

She pisses herself. The majority of the dark yellow liquid flows down her back before splashing to the floor, but a small stream creeps over her stomach, chest, and agonized face.

I walk around her back and give her a rapid series of blows across her shoulders. A mist of piss erupts from her wet flesh as I mercilessly beat her. I stop when I notice several swats have drawn blood.

She is no longer screaming. She swings back and forth in a breathless sob. A periodic gasp for air is all that keeps her conscious.

I go to work on her legs and only stop when I get tired. I realize that the girl has passed out and I step close to her motionless body. She stinks of piss. I run my hand up and down her legs, the cuts and welts feeling like a relief map of the Moon. After I wipe my bloody fingers on my thighs, I walk to the lever. When the girl’s shoulders rest on the ground, I stop lowering her and unlock her ankles. Her legs crash to the floor and I drag her back to her small cage.

I leave the room. After a shower, I lay in the bed. It’s only 10.00 AM and I need a nap.

I awake at 2.30 PM, ready to start again. After another quick sandwich, I anxiously stroll back to the waiting children.

I hose the girls down and allow each several gulps from the hose. The three girls look at me like frightened, abused puppies. I decide to continue with Annette.

The nine-year-old groans as my hand wraps around her welt covered leg. I flip her on her back just outside her gate and mount her. My cock rips into her dry pussy, but her face doesn’t seem to register the additional pain. I press my palms against her shoulders and apply my full weight, grinding her tattered back into the rough floor. The girl only winces. I pull my cock from the girl and kneel over her. She turns her face toward me and I wrap my left hand around her neck. I start slapping her with my right.

“Bitch!” I scream, continuing to swat the child’s round face. She begins to cry, and I close my fist tightly. I hear a crack as my fist lands on the girl’s nose. My hand leaves her throat and the screams return. The lovely, invigorating screams.

I reenter the girl and watch blood ooze from her crooked nose as I start to thrust. With eyes swelling, and her nose broken and bleeding, every feminine feature on this little child’s face is replaced with those of a worn out palooka.

I come into the child with the might of a teenager. She remains splayed on the floor after I stand. Her cunt is bruised and inflamed. I grind my heel against it, and shove the girl back into the cage.

I am immediately ready for the next girl. Becky looks at Annette as the tiny brunette screams into her hands, blood flowing between her fingers. I open the redhead’s cage.

“Get out!” I order her.

The twelve-year-old obeys and crawls out. She kneels before me, staring at me with wide, desperate eyes. I force her to her feet, and push her against the wall opposite the collection of toys. Bolted to the wall are several, neck level shackles, the shortest of which is perfect for the young girl. I restrain the girl against the wall and tighten the leather binding around her neck. She strains on her tiptoes in order to breathe. I walk across the room and grab a wooden club.

I return to the girl and stand before her. My fingers toward her chest and squeeze her small breasts. I allow my hand to drift further down over the black stripes of her burnt flesh. I grab her right wrist and stretch her hand out against the wall. Her hand clenched clenches into a tight fist. Leaning onto her wrist with my left hand, I swing the mallet with my right.

The redhead lets out a terrible scream and her knees buckle. She starts choking against the leather binding around her neck. I swing again before she has the chance to breathe. The sound of her crunching bone is beautiful, like an aluminum can being stomped. I swing two more times, each blow summoning more gorgeous sounds of disintegrating bones.

Becky begins to shake, and turn blue.

I look down at her feet. Her toenails are cracked, bleeding and bent upward. I drop her hand and lift the girl. When the tightness around her neck is relieved, she gasps and my ears ring with a violent screech. I drop the girl and swing the club into her stomach. She goes limp and her eyes bulge. Her mouth opens silently and she claws at her neck with her right hand.

I open the shackle around her neck, and she is screaming as her knees crash to the ground. She falls on her left side and takes her left wrist into her right hand. Her eyes are clinched shut as she continues to scream. She holds her hands stretched out in front of her. I step over her and stand with her hands between my legs. I raise the club and bring it down with nearly all the energy I can muster.

The hit is clean. I see and hear the destruction of the bones in her right hand. Her screams become coughs, and she starts vomiting. Copious amounts of blood is streaked in with the slimly stomach acid. That blow to the stomach must have been quite hard, I realize. She vomits again, and I step away quickly, hoping to avoid the retched mixture.

I walk around the girl and watch her pale body shudder. She lies in the fetal position, her back toward the center of the room. The bloody vomit pools at her chest. I raise the club again and shatter her right ankle. She lets out one incredible scream and goes silent. I push on her ankle with the tip of the wooden club. Her sole points toward the ceiling as her ankle bends unnaturally. I bend down and shove the clubs splintery handle into her ass.

I step away from the unresponsive redhead and walk to the lever. After lowering it as far as it will go, I move toward the cages. Annette wheezes loudly. I can’t tell if she is conscious because of her swollen eyes. I open Brianne’s cage, and drag the girl over to Becky. I kicked the redhead’s misshapen foot, and the blonde shrieks at the sight. I release the blonde’s hair and flip the redhead onto her back.

Bloody vomit had continued to pool under her and now covers her chest. I force the blonde girl to her knees and shove her face into the disgusting pool. She moans a revolted moan, and I lift her face. She spits the acidic liquid from her lips and gags. A thread of vomit stretches and splashes against her thigh.

I lift the eleven-year-old by the neck to her feet and force her to the center of the room. I throw her to her stomach and lock her wrists in the dangling cuffs. I walk to the wall near the cages and pull two more chains across the room. Brianne kicks as I try to bind her left ankle.

I kneel over her and shout into her ear. “Do you want me to get the fucking club?”

She stops resisting and I lock both her ankles. I walk to the lever and raise the blonde eleven-year-old off the ground. She now hangs by all fours, her belly toward the ground. I step back and admire the striking curve her body forms. Her chest sticks out, exaggerating the size of her tiny breasts. I go to the kitchen to get a knife. Nothing on the wall can offer the precision I need. After rummaging through a couple drawers, I find one that will work quite well. It’s a filet knife with a freshly honed edge. Back with the girls, I run the tip of the knife, delicately over Brianne’s young body. She weeps as the tip passes over her throat.

“Please!” She begs, screaming hysterically. “Please don’t!”

I sit on the floor directly under her head. I reach up and pat her bruised cheek. She clinches her teeth as I pinch her right nipple with my left hand. I pull hard, stretching her small tit away from her chest. She gasps as I place the sharp edge of the cold blade under her breast. I begin to slice up toward her head. Her wailing brings a smile to my face as blood begins to drip over my fingers.

The knife cuts very cleanly, and the lump of flesh falls from her body with only six strokes. I set the kiwi-sized lump on the stone floor and start work on the next. Her cries seem to fade away as I focus on the feel of the knife. I savor the tension of her skin as I press the blade against her flesh and the give I feel at the initial moment her skin breaks. More blood drips over me. It is only after I hold the other breast in my hand that I realize I have been holding my breath.

I inhale and I hear her pained screams once more. I sit and listen to her distress for several seconds before standing. With both severed tits in my left hand, I get to my feet. I walk behind the girl and force one of the bloody lumps into her cunt. I place the other against her asshole and grip the base of my cock with my free hand. My swollen cock head rests on the nipple and I start to thrust. The preteen’s severed breast passes her sphincter, forces through by my thrusting dick.

I continue fucking the child in the ass. With each thrust, her tit plunges further into her rectum. I am eventually balls deep inside her, the tip of my cock barely touching her nipple. I finally come. When I pull out, semen and blood splash audibly on the floor.

I leave the room, exhausted.

I shower away Brianne’s blood and go to sleep without eating. When I wake, it’s 7:15am and I am starving. I prepare myself a more substantial meal of steak and eggs before I returned to the room. Brianne still hangs with her legs and arms stretched behind her. She murmurs quietly, and seems barely conscious. She’s forced one of her severed breasts out from inside her. I walk behind her and lift it off the ground. The bloody mass is cold and sticky. I walk to her front and force her mouth open by pushing on her lower jaw. Her eyes open and I ram the disgusting thing into her mouth. I slap her face hard and walk to the broken redhead. As I near the sprawled out twelve-year-old, I hear a wet splat on the ground behind me and the blonde begins sobbing.

Becky had tried to crawl away, but she only made it a few feet. She lies unconscious on her stomach, her arms stretched over her head. Her hands are swollen to a comical size and her ankle is a stunning mixture of purple and blue. I step over her and walk toward the caged nine-year-old. She is the most awake.

She whispers something indecipherably quiet as I approach. I imagine it to be a plea for me to spare her anymore pain. I ignore her request and tear her from the cage. The girl mutters incoherently, blood spraying from her swollen mouth. I carry the girl, limp in my arms, as I position two more chains in the center of the room. I struggle briefly, but manage to get her left arm into a binding. She hangs by one arm for a second, before I lift the other and secure it. Her striped legs dangle like the hollow tubes of a wind chime. I walked to the shelf and pickup the device with the white-hot, scissor like arms.

The little cunt has no idea what’s about to happen.

I walk back to the girl and rest the device’s cold left arm against the inner thigh of her left leg. I push the “Heat” button. Within three seconds, the small brunette is screaming as flesh begins to sear. She kicks both legs uncontrollably, which only forces more untainted flesh to cook against the hellish device. I would love to savor the moment, but I remember the electric whip and can’t imagine the device’s charge would last very long.

I pressed the button to start the contraction. She continues kicking as the arms begin to close. I adjust the position to compensate. When the contracting arms begin to slice through her flesh her head shoots back and she lets loose with a series of animalistic screams. The acrid stench of burning blood coats my nostrils. The barbecue like sizzle stops as the arms near the parallel position. I feel the device snag very briefly before hearing a loud crunch.

The child’s leg falls to the floor.

After pressing the button to retract the arms, I examine her still smoking stump. It resembles the roasted ham hock I was served at a summit in Berlin the previous year, bone and flesh blackened. I position the still searing arms over either side of her other leg. Flesh still sticks to the coils and burns away in puffs of black smoke. I contract the arms, and my senses are flooded with the same glorious scents and sounds. Annette’s cries harden my cock, and the stench, which in any other context would be revolting, invigorates me. I’ve never encountered the smell of cooked little girl. Along with the sound of ear shattering screams and the sight of twisted, weeping faces, this smell is another piece of sensual evidence of my victim’s prevailing agony.

Her other leg hits the ground. I turn the heat off and throw the device to the ground. In a state of uncontrollable arousal, I step in front of the child and start fucking. Her still hot stumps warm my thighs as I reach around her waist and force her against me. I stare into her face and snarl at her.

Her head falls forward.

I continue fucking the nine-year-old as drool drips from her parted lips. I come ferociously.

I step away from the girl, and wipe small bits of her charred flesh from my legs. Her legs lay under her like two logs waiting for kindling. I contemplate what to do with them, as cum drips from between the girl’s burnt stumps. I decide to toss them into the hole. With the grate raised, I heave her right leg and wait for the splash. I do the same with the left, and replace the grating.

“You’ll be reunited soon.” I say to the senseless little girl, hanging like a slaughtered pig.

I walk back to the redhead. I reach under her and flip her onto her back. Her small breasts are scraped from when she tried crawling across the rough floor. I kneel down and squeeze her puffy right nipple between the nails of my thumb and forefinger. There’s a hint of pain in her face, and small beads of blood trickle down. I sit on my haunches and look toward the wall, searching for inspiration. A set of meet hooks seem to fit the bill.

I rise to my feet and retrieve them from the wall. The hooks seem to be formed from a solid piece of stainless steel. The tips are exquisitely sharp and have a mirror finish. If they have been use before, there is no evidence of it. I walk back to the helpless twelve-year-old and squat over her face. I place one hook down and, with my left hand, I pinch her left nipple and lift her breast so the skin was taut. With my right hand, I place the tip of a hook against the crease under her breast.

I pull the hook toward me. The tip punctures her pale flesh with ease. I force the tip further in until I feel the tip hit a rib. I pull it out slightly, and rotate the handle away from me. The tip tears through the child’s body before emerging a few inches above her nipple. I give the handle a few quick tugs to ensure the flesh will hold. Her body rocks and shows no sign of life apart from the slow rising and falling of her chest.

I repeat the process with the other tit and drag her body, by her skewered breasts, toward Annette. I go to the lever and lower the bars nearly to the floor. Brianne’s back straightens and Annette’s seared stumps dig into the ground. I pull two chains, each looped over the same bar, toward Becky. I place each handle through a shackle and tighten it, securing each meat hook. I go back to the lever and watch the three children ascend toward the heavens, ever closer to their final descent to hell.

The blonde girl is the only one with any cognizance. She whimpers and I can see the muscles in her face straining to clench her eyes. I look at her bent knees and grab a spiked club from the wall. It’s very strong, fire hardened wood and has, what looks like, a large iron shark’s tooth sticking out of it. The triangular piece of metal protrudes about two inches and has serrations ground into the edges. I walk behind the girl and line the tooth up against her knee.

She twitches as the point digs into her flesh.

I press harder into her kneecap and a moan escapes her lips. I swing with all the strength I can gather. The tooth pierces her skin, grazes the kneecap, and slices up toward her feet. I pull the tooth from her flesh. I move around her and take aim at her right knee from the side. I swing and hit my target. The tooth wedges itself into the cartilage. I move the club back and forth. The serrations further decimate ligaments and cartilage. Blood streams to the floor when I pull the tooth from between the bones of her knee. Without a second of hesitation, I plunge it back into her. This time, the tip of the tooth embeds itself cleanly into her upper tibia. I adjust my grip and begin rotating the club.

When there is enough torque applied, her bone split with a beautiful, pop and crunch.

She is no longer conscious.

I go to work on her other knee. The room is silent apart from my heavy breathing, the ripping of flesh, and the snap and crack of the eleven-year-old’s bones. After finishing with her legs, I move to her arms. I swing with more force than I thought possible and shatter her elbows. When I am finished with them, they are twisted disgustingly and bleed profusely.

When I finally put the club away, Brianne hangs suspended with her broken arms and legs stretched behind her back. I wish to hear her screams, but the sight of protruding bones will have to suffice.

I step back and survey the scene. The three young girls are hardly recognizable as such. The smell of charred flesh and blood fills the room like infernal incense. I know it’s only a matter of hours before the three children will be dead. I will need to finish this.

I walk back to Brianne and unlock the bindings around her wrists. She falls and swings back and forth. The broken bones in her legs grind against each other, sounding like feet crunching through freshly fallen snow. I walk back to the wall and grab a very long serrated machete. I step between the blonde girls legs and place the blade between her pussy lips.

I begin sawing through her flesh. Her clit tears away and her vaginal wall splits like the skin of a peeled banana. When I reach her pubis bone, I raise the blade and begin hacking into the child’s cunt. After three blows, I break through. I continue sawing through her vagina and rectum. The small teeth shred her cervix and rip open her uterus. Several more strong blows forced the blade through the coccyx and sacrum. I reposition the blade and continue sawing up the left side of her spine. Her tattered intestines fall to the floor and release the foul stench of excrement. I continue sawing toward her head. I tear open her stomach, split her liver, and slit open her left lung. Her ribs break easily as the blade destroys her heart. I finally reach her clavicle and after several blows, the girl split in two.

Her two halves swing and spin, chucks of organs fall to the ground while others hang from muscle tissue. Her neck and head are still attached to one lifeless half of the eleven-year-old.

I step back and swing at her neck. The blade sticks into the bone, and after a few shakes, it’s free. I swing again, but still her head remains attached. Finally, after two more blows, the blond girls head crashes against the stone floor, rolling several feet away. I hack at her ankles and the two slabs fall to the floor with a moist splash.

I walk over to the redhead. The hooks through her breasts have started to tear through her flesh. I sit of the floor in front of her and wrap my blood soaked arms around her legs. I hear tearing and a moan as I apply some of my weight. I continue applying more and more weight until I hear a ripping of flash, and feel Becky’s body fall on top of me. I push her off and get to my feet.

The twelve-year-old lies on her back with her breasts split open. I drag her toward the legless nine-year-old, still dangling by her wrists. From the wall, I grab the device that resembles a long, thin microphone. I walk behind Annette and shove the device, pitilessly, up her ass. It slides in with great ease, and I stop when only four inches of the handle still juts from her anus.

I start to turn the key. The hooks expand and press against the walls of her rectum. When the hooks expand fully, I rotate the device. There is a brief moment of resistance before the hooks slash through the walls of her rectum. Confident that the device has a firm grip, I start to pull the device back out. Blood drips and then streams onto the redhead’s face.

I feel the mass of tissue entangled in the hooks stop at her anus. After a few tugs, I realize that it won’t make it passed her tight sphincter. I force it back in a few inches and go to get the filet knife I used to remove the bisected blonde’s breasts. I place the tip of the blade against her anus and force it upward, slicing through the tight muscle. Three more precise slices open the girl’s anus like a blooming flower.

I begin to pull the device out of the little brunette. A ball of bloody rectum emerges from her anus and stretches like a sock. I use the knife to slice through the base of the prolapsed rectum, freeing the remainder of the little girl’s viscera from it. A few more light tugs and her colon emerges.

I let go of the device and walk to the lever. I lower Annette until the handle of the device is level with the redhead’s blood drenched face. I hurry back to the bedroom and grab my leather belt. When I return, I force the handle in Becky’s mouth and wrap my belt around her chin and top of her head. I secure the belt as tightly as I can and stand up. I go back to the lever.

Annette rises slowly and the slack between her prolapsed rectum and the handle stuck in Becky’s mouth tightens. Becky’s head rises slightly and more of Annette’s colon leaves her body.

As the nine-year-old rises higher, her large intestine uncoils and emerges like a snake from its den. When the bar reaches its zenith, a large percentage of her small intestine stretches out of her bleeding asshole. She resembles a kind of macabre kite, flying in the sulphurous sky of hell.

I adjust the lever to lower the girl as slow as possible. Annette’s digestive system begins to pile onto the redhead’s face as I mount her. I thrust, grab a hand full of large intestine, and pull hard. I continue to fuck Becky as more bloody guts cover her body.

I am approaching orgasm as the eviscerated girl lands into the pile of her own extruded organs. I take the knife and stab into her hollow abdomen as my thrusts intensify. Her descent stops and she slides over the slick pile before resting to the right of the concealed redhead.

I pull out before coming. I get to my feet and step back to admire my work.

Brianne is in three pieces. Her head sits across the room, and the two halves of her cleaved body resemble a slaughtered pig. Annette lies next to a pyramid of her intestines, the blackened stumps of her legs pointed toward me. Becky, the beautiful redhead, suffocates under the wet mass of the nine-year-old’s digestive tract.

I grab the redhead’s shattered ankle and pull her out. She is covered in a thick, sticky coat of blood, Annette’s colon attached to the device still stuck in her mouth. I take the knife and slice through the red flesh. I undo the belt around her head and pull the device from her lips. I retrieve the serrated machete. Sitting on her chest, I force the tip of the bloody blade into her mouth. With about four inches of blade passed her lips, I push the handle away from me. Her lower jaw dislocates very easily. Blood fills the girl’s mouth as I place tip against her neck.

I apply all my weight to the blade and it slices through her neck. The tip hits the stone floor under her, and I rock the knife left and right. Blood pools under her as I continue to carve through her neck.

Her head finally separates from the rest of her. I hold it up and look at it. Her eyes are open slightly and her mouth gapes incredibly wide. I lower it to my crotch and slide my cock between the dead lips. Blood covers me as I masturbate with Becky’s freshly severed head.

I come and drop the head to the floor. It rolls a few feet away, before settling with the bisected neck pointed toward me. Cum drips out of her sheared esophagus. I roll of Becky’s body and rest my head on her stomach. I blink at the ceiling as an inescapable fatigue overwhelms me.

I sleep for several hours.

When I awake, I begin to clean up. I toss the bodies down the hole and hose down the floor, careful not to miss any chunks of meat or bone. I bring the knives and clubs to the kitchen and scrub them clean before replacing them.

It’s almost midnight by the time I’m done. It’s only six hours until my car arrives. There’s no evidence that I was ever in the complex.

I shower and put my clothes back on. I gather the three pairs of panties and slide them in my pocket. The next few hours are spent shooting pool and sipping
a delicious scotch.

At 5:50am, I exit the complex. After waiting for a few minutes, I see a plume of dirt. It was the car, ready to take me back to my wife.
THE END