Annie had always been intrigued by the stage. The notion of standing before a large audience was daunting to be sure, but the young girl felt a twinge of thrill nonetheless whenever she thought of public performance. It was the same excitement she felt when riding a rollercoaster: heart-stopping excitement yet in a controlled environment. There was the scary anticipation before the moment and then the sense of accomplishment once it was over.
The nine year old was very happy, therefore, when she one of the students chose from her fourth grade class to volunteer at the Prescott Theater, an old establishment that dated from the turn of the century. Along with two dozen of her fellow classmates, each one clutching a signed permission slip, Annie excitedly scampered onto the yellow bus that would escort them to the theater.
As the bus sped along, the landscape gradually changed from suburban scenery to grimy industrial buildings. Finally, the bus arrived at the Prescott Theater. A tall and balding man in his late 40s waved at the bus as it pulled to the curb. In a noisy stampede, the kids disembarked as the teachers shouted ignored requests for calm.
Once the jostling group was escorted into the theater, the kids finally quieted down. Annie marveled at the ornate decoration of the lobby area. Thick red carpeting softened her footsteps while a highly detailed freco loomed overhead on the ceiling. The man who had greeted them outside the theater raised his hands for silence.
"Hello, children," he spoke in a thin, nasally voice. "Welcome to the Prescott Theater. My name is Mr. Bekman. I'm the Public Relations Manager of the theater and I'll be leading your tour today. This is a pretty big group so we're going to split you up into two smaller groups. Let's see..."
With the help of the teachers, Mr. Bekman was able to split the kids up into more manageable groups of fifteen. A theater assistant appeared to lead the tour of the second group. Clapping his hands loudly, Mr. Bekman herded his own group in a separate direction.
"Who knows when this theater was built?" he asked, as he led them down the main aisle of the theater. Annie gazed at the seemingly endless rows of empty seats that stretched high in the balcony area. Then she got even more excited as Mr. Bekman led them through a door and onto the stage.
The students were particularly impressed with the trapdoors beneath the stage and spent a long time experimenting with the pulley system that operated the curtain. A roomful of costumes and wigs occupied another twenty minutes. The prop room was next. While the boys were preoccupied with an enormous wooden horse (from the Troy production last year), the girls explored a small shopkeeper's set from Our Town. Mr. Bekman was just about to wrap up the tour when one of the boys pointed to something in the corner of the room.
"What's that?" The students turned to look at an odd wooden structure.
Mr. Bekman chuckled. "It's called a pillory."
"What's it for?"
"It built for a medieval play we put on several years ago," Mr. Bekman explained. "It's sort of a torture device that was used during the middle ages."
"How does it work?"
Mr. Bekman considered for a moment. "Can I have a volunteer?" No one made a move. He chuckled again. "I assure you. Even though I said it's a torture device, I promise that I won't use it to torture you. Anyone? I promise it won't hurt." Still, no one raised a hand. "All right," he conceded. "How about the volunteer will get to help out as a stage hand for our show this weekend. Anyone?"
Shyly, Annie raised her hand. "Excellent!" Mr. Bekman said, rubbing his hands together. "Come here please."
The nine year old approached the strange device. Mr. Bekman unlatched some metal bolts. The group watched with great interest as he detached several wooden boards. "Now Annie," he directed, "please kneel here. Kids, you'll see in this case the pillory has a soft cushion where she is to kneel, although that wouldn't be available in a true pillory. The device is meant to elicit as much discomfort as possible you see..."
Annie knelt as he directed. His hands directed her ankles into two notches in a sturdy wooden board near her feet. Then he had her place her head and wrists into similar notches on a wooden board at face level. "There we are," he said, moving briskly. "Now please don't move Annie," he warned. She felt another heavy wooden board slide into place above her. Alarmed, Annie tried to pull her head from the notch but found that she was securely held in place.
"Wait!" Annie panicked. But it was too late. Mr. Bekman swiftly moved the metal bolts back into place, locking the wooden boards that held her neck and wrists. Before she realized it, he latched the contraption at her feet as well, locking her ankles into place.
"Behold," Mr. Bekman said solemnly. "An authentic 14th century pillory!"
Annie struggled but it was no use. She could only move her head a few inches, just enough to raise her eyes enough to see her bemused classmates.
"So, it was like a jail back in the old days?" one boy raised his hand and asked.
"Well, sort of," Mr. Bekman answered. "Pillories were indeed used for criminals and prisoners, but the primary goal was to induce humilation. You see..."
Mr. Bekman launched into a detailed discourse but Annie was no longer listening. Her face was burning in embarrassment, partially because she was locked up but also because she had a deep secret that no one knew.
Her father. Her real father, not her stepdad. As Mr. Bekman droned on, Annie was suddenly having flashbacks to her father. The memories were fuzzy because he had left when she was so young. But Annie could remember a time when she was perhaps four years old...
It was just an ordinary day. That much she could remember. They were playing the tie-up game. Her father had bound her wrists and ankles with pillowcases, not so tight that it hurt but enough that she truly was bound. Annie remembered laughing. She remembered that this game was not uncommon, that it was something familiar to her. Something they did often.
He was tickling her. Everywhere. His large hands roamed her little body, tweaking and teasing. Bound like she was, Annie was helpless against him but she didn't care. It was a game after all. He tickled the bottom of her feet. Under her arms. Behind her knees. Even between her legs, which was, as best she could remember, not uncommon. All this had played out before. Annie shrieked, giggling, and slid away from him, propelling herself across the bed with her bent knees. The action made her pajama bottoms slip to her bound ankles. Yet still he tickled her between her legs.
Annie continued laughing and squirming. Though he had often tickled her between her legs, it had always been through her pajama bottoms or underwear. This was the first time he had touched her bare skin with no barrier between them. His touching suddenly changed. Instead of tickling, he was stroking her. Impulsively, Annie let her legs fall open as he touched her.
"Daddy," she giggled. "It feels nice when you touch me there."
She saw how the color drained from his face as he heard her words. He stopped immediately. He left the room.
Then he left the house. Annie and her mother never saw him again.
The young girl never understood why he left them, but her confusion never compared to her mother's. But over the course of a year, a new man entered her mother's life and Annie gained a stepdad to replace the man of whom she only retained skeletal memories. She never understood completely what he did to her, only enough to know it was out of the ordinary and best kept secret. She did, however, continue to play some tie-up games by herself as best she could. The sense of helplessness paradoxically brought back memories of her father. Happy memories... and warm feelings.
Back in the pillory, Annie was therefore feeling heavily conflicted. On the one hand, the helplessness of being locked in the pillory was far more exciting than anything she could conjure up by herself. On the other hand, she didn't exactly care for her classmates staring at her.
"Um, Mr. Bekman," she said tentatively, "could you let me..."
She was interrupted by a shout from another. Hurried footsteps came rushing to the prop room. "Mr. Bekman!" a teacher yelled. "One of the kids fell down the trap door!"
"Oh dear god," Mr. Bekman said softly, turning pale. He hurried from the room, followed by the shocked group of students.
"Mr. Bekman!" Annie screamed. "Wait! Let me out!"
Mr. Bekman, flustered by all the commotion, wheeled around to see Annie helplessly flailing in the pillory. "You boys," he directed, "go let her out." Then he ran from the room, followed by the group of students.
Locked tight in the pillory, Annie managed to turn her head enough to see two boys approaching her. Matt and Aaron sauntered up to the pillory, smirking.
"This is really uncomfortable in here," Annie said. "Can you guys let me out?"
"Why would we want to do that?" Aaron asked.
"Mr. Bekman told you to!" Annie angrily told him. Suddenly she felt something touching her feet. "Hey!" Before she knew what was happening, Matt had pulled her shoes and socks off.
"Are you ticklish, Annie?" he teased. She yelped in surprise as something soft touched the sole of her foot.
"Stop it!" Annie screamed, squirming helplessly in the pillory. She laughed uncontrollably. The nine year old's ankles tossed and kicked but it was no use. Her anger quickly gave way to frustration.
Aaron, meanwhile, was fussing with her hair, rearranging her blond bangs so they fell into her eyes. "Annie," he said in a mockly pitched high voice, "I think you need a makeover. Don't you think so, Matt?"
"You jerks!" Annie exploded. "You're going to be in big trouble when I tell the teacher what..." Her tirade was cut short when she felt her cotton skirt being lifted away from her legs. The sensation of the cool air on her bare thighs was unmistakable.
"Hey!" Annie shouted angrily.
"Nice underwear, Katie!" Matt jeered. He tucked her hemline into the waist of the skirt, leaving her very exposed. She realized with embarrassment that she was wearing an old and ratty pair of underpants. Her mom was late doing laundry so Annie had been forced to wear a graying pair that didn't fit right anymore. The elastic clung tight against her hipbones and the cotton material stretched taut against her crotch and bum. Annie was mortified because she knew nothing was being left to the imagination.
"Will you quit fooling around and let me out?" Annie demanded angrily.
"Maybe later," Aaron smirked at her. "C'mon Matt, let's go see the doofus who fell in the trapdoor." Laughing, both boys backed out of the room and slammed the door.
Dumbfounded, Annie stared at the closed door. A tear rolled down her cheek as she raged at the injustice of it all. She struggled again, trying to pull her wrists through the notches but it was no use. She was locked in the pillory. Helpless. Impulsively, she sniffled, "Oh, daddy..." True, he had tied her up but it was always in a sense of fun.
Taking deep breaths, Annie tried to calm herself. It's just a game, she told herself. Daddy just locked you up for a bit and then he'll let you go. The thought comforted her. Her mind returned to those fuzzy memories of how he tickled her. Even after all these years, she could still remember how nice it felt when he touched between her legs, especially that last time when she wasn't wearing anything at all.
She often remembered these memories during private moments, moments which usually ended with the nine year old reaching between her legs herself, trying to replicate the feelings and sensations. Self-consciously, she peered about the empty room as these same warm feelings flooded her now. Yes. The helplessness. The tickling. The inviting sensation between her legs.
Frustrated, Annie squeezed her thighs together, wishing she could rub her special spot. Whenever she played tie-up by herself, she was never really tied up, never truly powerless. This was the real deal. Annie knew that sooner or later, Mr. Bekman would find her and set her free but for now she was truly, utterly helpless.
The fantasy was complete. Her imagination conjured her favorite daydream, the one where her father returned home. He would tie her up tightly and tickle her. She wouldn't be able to stop him. Then he would touch her down there, make her feel nice inside. He would make her feel wonderful and she would be so happy because he was finally home again.
Annie sighed. She was rapidly squeezing her legs together, eliciting as much feeling as she could from between her legs. It didn't feel as nice as when she could touch with her fingers, but being bound in the pillory made up for that. Annie's mind was replaying her secret fantasies as her muscles pulsed, floating her up to cloud nine, when the sound of the door plummeted her back to earth.
Startled from her reverie, tried to raise her head but the pillory kept her gaze aimed at the floor. All she could see was a pair of legs walking toward her. "You still in here?" a man's voice asked, startled. She was relieved to hear it was an adult voice and not one of the terrible boys.
"Um, Mr. Bekman told the boys to let me out but they didn't," Annie explained. "Instead they just teased me and, um, pulled my skirt down." The man had now circled to the rear of the pillory. Annie blushed at the thought of what he must be seeing. "Will you let me out?" she squeaked.
"You just hold still there, sweetie," he answered. Greg was the janitor of the theater and adjoining elementary school. Just last week, he had freed a boy who somehow jammed his head between a stair railing so he was used to dealing with kids and their inexplicable situations. He was reaching for the metal bolts when he stopped short. Moving a little closer, he stared at the little girl's bum, her white panties stretched so tight that he could see the outline of her pudenda. Amazed, he noticed that there was a small wet spot right where...
"Uh, mister?" Annie asked. He had gone quiet and didn't seem to be making any move to free her. The young girl tried to see what was going on but the pillory wouldn't allow her to turn her head. She could however rotate her neck just enough to see, out of the corner of her eye, a wide floor length mirror just to her left. The man's back was to the mirror so she couldn't see his face but had an excellent profile view of the pillory. She stared at herself for a moment. It was like she was on all fours but instead of her arms supporting her, both her neck and wrists were attached to the wooden pillory. "I'd really like to get out of this thing. Hello?"
The janitor couldn't stop his staring. He had long harbored a secret desire for young girls. Up to now, the single greatest moment of his life had been helping a seven year old girl who had an "accident" in the girls' restroom. Even that had only been a fleeting glimpse. Now he had a beautifully unobstructed and patient view.
"Sure, uh, just a minute," Greg mumbled. "I, uh, got to find the key to this thing... just a minute..." Stalling for time, he pretended to fumble in his pockets as he stared. The little girl's squirming made her puffy lips bulge to and fro in her tight underwear. Unable to resist, Greg leaned over until his face was merely inches from her hidden treasure. He was now so close that he could practically see the texture of her cotton panties with its oddly darkened wet spot. Impulsively, he sniffed.
Greg had been expecting a urine scent, something he knew well from cleaning so many restrooms. Instead what greeted his nostrils was the intoxicating pungent tang of little girl pussy. He was familiar with the musky odor of woman but this was something different altogether. The little girl's scent was undeniably sharper and purer. She hadn't peed herself like he first assumed. Rather, the delectable scent he detected was her arousal.
This realization was too much for Greg. Ignoring the danger alarms shrill in his head, he reached forward and touched the little girl with a trembling hand.
"Hey!" Annie exclaimed, sensing something between her legs. "What are you doing?!" She tried to turn her head but the sturdy pillory kept her from craning her neck too far. "Stop it!" She could feel something tracing outlines on her most intimate parts. She struggled to no avail. "Mister? Mister! Stop it!"
"What's your name?" he asked. She didn't respond. His touching was bolder now as he explored her. "What's your name?" he repeated.
"Annie," she whimpered miserably. "What are you doing? I don't want you to do it anymore."
"Annie," he said. "Why are you so wet back here? Did you pee yourself?"
"No!" she denied vehemently. "I didn't!"
"Then why is your underwear all wet? You can feel how wet it is, can't you?"
He was right. His prodding fingers only amplified the sensation of the wet cotton against her skin. "I don't know," Annie whined. "Can't you just let me out?"
"I know why it's wet," he quietly informed her. "It's wet because you're turned on. Aren't you? You feel all sexy inside. Isn't that right? I bet you like being trapped in this thing. I bet it makes you feel really nice inside."
Annie was at a loss for words. He knew! She had no idea that her private feelings could be so easily broadcasted and interpreted by an outsider. He continued, reading her like a book and deepening her embarrassment.
"I bet you're the kind of girl that likes tie-up games, don't you? You like to feel all helpless, tied up as tight as a bug in a rug. It makes you excited and gives you the sexy feeling." He continued fondling her as he spoke. Annie felt shameful as his touching elicited little tingles in her.
"How did... how did you know?" she whispered.
"Because you're so wet," he told her. "When a girl gets wet, that means that she wants a man to touch her. And that's what you want, isn't it? You want me to touch you, don't you?"
"I... I don't know," responded Annie weakly. The little girl was mortified that a stranger knew her so well. Suddenly, she felt his fingers tugging at her underwear. Alarm bells rang. "Hey!" she protested. He pulled the elastic waistband of her underwear past her slim hips and bum until they rested at her bent knees. "Mister, please..."
Her words were cut short by the feeling of his fingers parting her hairless slit. Her cotton underwear had shielded her, albeit inadequately, and this new skin-on-skin contact was positively electric.
"Mmm, you're so wet," he commented, making her blush. His fingers rubbed against the spot that she was pulsing earlier, the spot where she knew the tingly feelings were most concentrated. "This feels good, doesn't it?"
Annie couldn't respond. Instead, shameful tears began rolling down her cheeks. It DID feel good.
"I bet I can make it feel even better," the man said. Suddenly, Annie felt something wet and warm writhing between her legs. Craning her neck, she raised her eyes to the mirror and was shocked. The man was now kneeling behind her. His face was buried between the spread cheeks of her bum.
GROSS! Annie never felt so revolted in her entire life. "Mister! Stop it! Please don't... do that!" She could now plainly feel his tongue lapping at her. That's where I pee, Annie realized with a sickening sensation. Why would anyone want to do that? She felt very exposed as he kissed her most intimate parts. The nine year old could even feel his nose pressing against her rosette. Disgusting.
"Please stop?" Annie begged. It was all too much for the young girl. The tremors began deep in her chest before welling up in tearful sobs. "Please..." she cried "Stop."
But he didn't. So for several long minutes, Annie's plainitive sobs echoed faintly across the room as the man continued his oral ministrations. She wept at the fear of being touched, the indignity of being locked in the pillory, the shock of receiving oral sex for the first time. And, after a bit, she wept at the creeping realization that her body was responding to him. Arousal flooded her body as he kissed and sucked and licked and nuzzled at her hairless slit.
"Eeee... eeee... eeee..." the nine year old girl's sobs were now replaced by a high-pitched keening. Annie couldn't help it. Suddenly, she didn't care so much that this stranger was molesting her. She forgot her initial revulsion over his mouth on her peepee. This felt a million times better than pulsing. Through a haze of arousal, her mind returned to her favored fantasy.
She could see her father now, slowly tying her up before slipping her underwear off. Helpless, Annie weakly tugged at the wooden posts that bound her ankles and wrists. It was no use. She was bound at his mercy. Her father was touching her now, making her feel so deliciously good. It was wonderful. And warm. And warmer....
"Daddy..." Annie breathed, her eyes closed. Suddenly it stopped. She felt him pull his face away from between her legs, leaving her aching and unsatisfied. Involuntarily, her hips jerked back and forth, her young body craving more stimulation but there was none to be found. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man stand up in the mirror.
"What did you say?" he asked softly.
"Umm... nothing," replied Annie meekly. Had he truly heard? She wasn't even sure herself if she had actually said anything.
"I heard you," he said. "You said, 'Daddy.'"
Annie flushed a deep shade of red. "I didn't," she contradicted feebly.
"Yes, you did," the man said firmly. "I heard it clear as day. Now why would you ask for your daddy right now?" He walked to the front of the pillory. Annie could now plainly see his grubby jeans, gray work shirt, and brown boots but that was all. She couldn't raise her head past his chest.
"I didn't say anything," said Annie. But her voice shook as she spoke.
"You might as well tell me," the man told her. "I'm not letting you out until you do anyway." He tapped his foot and waited.
Annie took a slow and long breath. What was the use? "My daddy," she admitted. Tears began rolling down her cheeks again. "He used to... to tie me up."
"And then what?"
"Then he would... touch me," Annie sobbed.
"And you liked it didn't you?" She didn't answer. "Didn't you?"
"Y-yes." Annie cried. She was nothing but a dirty, naughty girl. She felt so ashamed.
"Does he still tie you up and touch you?"
"No..." Her tears were now dripping from her chin. "He's gone. He left us. A long time ago."
"That's too bad," the man said. "Sounds to me like you were a good daughter, weren't you? Playing games with your daddy like this. Not every girl plays games like this, you know." Annie had long suspected as much. The confirmation brought fresh sobs to her constricted throat.
"Now, now," he consoled. "No reason to get bent out of shape. It just means you're a special girl. I said you were a good daughter for playing with daddy and I meant it. It's a shame he left you though. I bet if he hadn't he would have played this game next..." The man unbuttoned his jeans. Annie heard the sound of a zipper and looked up in time to see him pull his hard penis from his jeans. She stopped crying.
"Now I take it from your silence that you haven't seen one of these before. Am I right?"
"N-no," Annie answered shakily. He stepped closer to her face.
"Well, have a look then." He moved his erection so that it was inches from her face. The nine year old girl stared at this strange tool. She could see the strange purple tip at the end of it. She could see some veins running the length of it. She could even smell it, an odd musky male scent that was new yet not altogether foreign. He stepped closer and let it brush against her cheek. The pillory held her neck tight so the young girl was unable to avoid him.
"Annie," he said, "I'm almost sure your daddy would have taught you this game had he the chance." His penis felt hot against her cheek. He used it to prod at her ear, and then traced a line under her chin to her other ear. "But since he didn't teach you, well, I think I might as well. Don't you think so?" He didn't wait for a response.
"I'd like you to meet a man's cock, little girl," he proclaimed, a hint of laughter in his voice. He waved his thick shaft in front of her face. "You're gonna get to know it real well. And down here are my balls. See 'em?"
With no other choice, Annie listened and watched. He lifted his penis so it stood straight up and revealed a bizarre looking sack. To her surprise, Annie saw that he did indeed have some balls.
"Why don't you give these balls a little kiss, hmmm?" He moved closer and Annie suddenly found her chin pressed up against his fleshy sack, her nose pressing against the root of his erection. His male scent was overpowering now.
"Kiss it," he ordered. "Be a good girl."
Submissively, Annie pursed her lips and gave him a quick peck. The withered skin of his sack felt strange against her lips, it reminded her of kissing her elderly grandmother on the cheek. She could sense his spongy balls just below the surface too. Annie didn't like it but she kissed him anyway. It had been a long time since she had heard compliments from a male figure. In a funny way, this almost reminded her of playing tie-up with her father.
"That's a good girl," the man praised her. "Now kiss my cock too. Kiss it..."
Annie did as she was told.
The man sighed appreciatively. "Give me lots of kisses," he instructed. "Good girl. That's it. Kiss it like you mean it. Mmmm..." Annie meekly kissed up and down the length of his shaft. Sears catalogs represented the extent of her knowledge of male anatomy. From the underwear ads, she knew a man had something bulky between his legs but she had never see one. Idly, Annie wondered why there was a funny slit at the tip of his penis.
"Why don't you kiss the tip of it?" the man suggested. "Don't be shy. Your daddy would have taught you to do this too." He was encouraging her, not realizing that Annie was now as docile as a lamb.
"Good girl," he approved. "Kiss it real good. Like they do in the movies. You know what a French kiss is? Yeah, use your tongue. Good girl."
At first, Annie was just kissing the tip of his penis, or licking it when he instructed. But each time she kissed, he would push slightly and she would respond to the pressure by parting her lips. Bit by bit, the man began feeding the nine year old girl more of his hard cock. Obediently, she opened her mouth wider and wider.
"Mmm, good girl," he praised her some more. "How does that feel in your mouth? Can you suck it for me? Like a lollipop. No, don't use your teeth. Just your lips. Good girl. Good girl."
He was gently thrusting at her face now, and Annie's head bobbed as much as the pillory would allow. Her long blond hair fell forward onto her temples, blocking her peripheral vision. All she could see now was his crotch and the cock that filled her mouth. The inexperienced little girl followed his instructions as best she could, unaware of the oral pleasure she was giving him.
"That's nice," he said, stroking her hair. "Just like that, Annie. Suck me while I fuck your pretty little mouth. Suck, suck, suck...." Her ears pricked up at his swear words but she didn't stop. Her jaws started to ache a little but she was starting to enjoy hearing his praise. The young girl was crazy about the way he tasted but it wasn't too awful.
"Mmm, all right," the man murmured. He withdrew completely from her mouth. He stood for a moment, petting Annie's head like a dog. His glistening cockhead throbbed just beneath her nose. Impulsively, Annie craned her neck forward and gave it a kiss.
The man laughed. "You are a good girl, aren't you? The prettiest and most well-behaved girl in the world." Annie blushed at his admiration. "Well, I'm going to make you the happiest girl in the world."
He stepped away and moved behind her. Looking in the mirror, Annie watched as he knelt behind her again, his face disappearing between the cheeks of her bum again.
"Ahhh..." Annie sighed. His warm tongue caressed her special spot. It didn't seem gross at all this time. His lips kissed her warmly, making her shudder. Her yearning body picked up right where it left off.
"Oh da- ..." the young girl self-consciously cut herself off.
The man paused for a moment and chuckled. "It's okay. You can pretend." And then he started again.
Warm feelings flooded every inch of Annie's body. "Daddy..." she whispered, barely audible. His tongue snaked out, probing, before penetrating her lightly. Annie wailed in surprise and delight. It felt wonderful. She felt wonderful.
"Eeee.... eeee... eeee... " The high-pitched sound warbled from her throat again. He was nibbling and sucking at her special spot, producing the most extraordinary sensations. His thumb began tracing lazy circles on her rosette as well, heightening her pleasure. Again, his tongue thrust forward and penetrated her momentarily before returning to her special spot. The nine year old shuddered in response. He did it again. Another tremor.
Her wrists and ankles struggled as the pillory held her tight. It was so ticklish now that she wanted to get away. But she couldn't. She was helpless. Powerless. His tongue snaked into her again, but this time the pressure of his thumb against her rosette increased until the tight ring of muscle allowed him entry. Annie blinked in surprise at the anal penetration but she was too far gone to protest. The sensations from her special spot outweighed the strange pressure in her bum.
"Daddy!" she keened, no longer able to restrain herself. Her arousal burst forth like dam. "Daddy! Daddy!" the young girl repeated, crying out as her orgasm overswept her body. She twisted and bucked, the pillory holding her immobile, as well as his thumb which remained buried in her backside. Annie, reveling in the seemingly endless waves of pleasure, didn't care.
Her hair fell completely over her forehead, but Annie was already blind from the bright flashes of pure white light that clouded her vision. "Daddy..." Annie murmured as the last tingles danced along her spine. Finally, she slumped into the rough wood of the pillory, spent.
Drowsily, the little girl half-dozed, held up only by the pillory. She trembled in minor protest as he withdrew his thumb from her bottom, the delicate tissue tender against his rough skin. In her dream state, she could feel him rubbing something greasy against her bum but she was too tired to investigate. It wasn't until she felt the pressure of a blunt object against her anal rosette that sleepily blinked her eyes.
"Hey," Annie began. She tried to rub her eyes but could reach. "What are you - OH!" A sharp pain emanated from her backside. "What are you doing?" she screeched. Craning her head to her left, her eyes blearily focused on the mirror. She saw him standing behind her now, his hips pushed forward in a funny gesture. She could now feel his hands tightly clenching her own hips. Another sensation of pressure and then...
"Oh!" Annie grunted again in pain. Her eyes suddenly went wide with understanding. If his hands are on my hips, Annie thought, then... She cast her eyes to mirror again in despairing comprehension.
Though his hips were several inches from her bum, Annie could plainly see the bridge between her body and his. "He's putting it inside me," Annie realized. She saw him move his hips and another sharp pain caught her.
"Ow!" Annie moaned. "Stop! Da-" She caught herself guiltily. "Mister! Please stop! It hurts!"
"Now, now," the man grunted himself. Annie wondered if it hurt for him too. "I said you were a good girl and gave you a nice reward. Now it's my turn. Don't you think?" He slid forward another inch. Annie winced.
"No! Please! You don't understand. That really... OH!"
"Just a little bit more," the man said through gritted teeth. "I think you can handle it."
"No, I can't! I can't!" Annie panicked. But she felt another surge of pressure, another surge of pain.
"Ohhhh..." Annie moaned. Her bum felt very full now. It felt like he was going to split her in two. "Mister, please..." Her words were cut short as he withdrew. Annie sighed in relief at the evacuation, only to...
"OWWWWW!" Annie screamed as he buried himself to the hilt again. It hurt so bad that her vision exploded in white hot flashes of pain. He withdrew again, but this time she tensed, knowing better."
"OHHH GODDDD!" Annie moaned. "Please don't, please don't, please..."
"Annie," spoke in gasps as he penetrated her, "Be a... good girl. Good girls... let... their daddies... fuck them!"
"No!" Annie squeaked as he thrust into her again. The flashes of white light grew so bright that she closed her eyes. Still, they grew brighter and brighter until a complete darkness overtook her and she knew no more.
Groggily, Annie regained consciousness. Had she been dreaming? She remembered... she remembered... The nine year old hastily grasped at fading bits of memory. What happened? She felt a sharp constricting against her neck and a dull ache in her bottom. Her eyes swung open in alarm.
The pillory! Her vision focused hazily on the wooden structure. Blinking, she realized she was still in the pillory. The memories came crashing back to her. The boys locking her up, the strange man, her powerful orgasm, the blinding pain...
Annie coughed. Her throat felt very dry and she longed for a drink of water. Turning her head, she looked in the mirror but saw no one behind her. Cautiously, she wiggled her bum from side to side, wincing at the hollow pain in her backside. To her surprise, however, the slight motion allowed her ankles quite a wide range of movement. Slowly, Annie pushed against the slab of wood that rested on her wrists and was gratified to see it wiggle as well.
"Someone unlocked it..." Annie realized. She cautiously lifted the block of wood that entrapped her wrists and neck. The wooden board at her ankles was next. With a sigh of relief, Annie shakily stood up. Her white underwear was still bunched around her knees but she was too tired to pull them up so she just stepped out of them for now. The young girl gingerly descended from the pillory platform, wincing with each step.
As she walked, however, Annie felt a funny trickle. She reached back and discovered with horror that something was oozing from her bum. Gathering her skirt in a bunch, Annie waddled to the mirror. The few steps made even more fluid dribble from between her slim cheeks and down her leg. Pushing her bum to the mirror, the nine year old craned her neck to see her reflection.
With great dismay, Annie surveyed the damage. The tender tissue of her rosette was now a raw pink and it gaped slightly. The strange fluid leaking from her was white and slippery. There seemed to be a lot of it, for the trail dribbling down her leg now reached her knee and still more was coming. With some effort, Annie willed her muscles to close. She was relieved to see her anal ring clench and close, stopping the flow of the mysterious white substance.
"At least there isn't any blood," Annie considered. She was about to put on her underwear when she saw something else in the mirror. Lifting her skirt higher, she realized something was written on her backside The mirror made the writing backward so it took her a moment to realize what was written on her bum in black marker.