Wren

She cried when he gave her chains. That was one of her good memories. The wrist shackles were relatively light, at least compared to her leg shackles whose chain had thick heavy links.

The chain between her wrists was long enough so that she had to hold sections in her hands to keep from tripping on it while crawling. Brad, if he wanted shorter sections of chain, would gather it together and insert a padlock. Her ankles or wrists or both could be touching and if desired they could be locked together -- wrists to ankles but the ankle chain unshortened, for fucking -- or locked to some object like the wall hooks outside, the eaves, the horse or a piece of furniture.

The chains spurred them on to finding creative ways to use her or move her about from room to room, or outside in the back yard. When she was taken from her shed for general use, the chains clearly showed her state to all who saw her. Plus they meant Brad could nap outside and not have to watch over her.

Her cunt was to be untouched, by Brad's edict, and he hadn't told her she could come since that time in the yard before the men. Late at night now, when they were done with her and she was truly alone in her shed, she dreamed of fucking. Being unfilled this way, for so long, while being repeatedly filled in other ways, made the loss so much more noticeable. She was separate from her body, a bystander watching a complex performance but unable to appreciate the subtlety and sensations enjoyed by those involved. When she dreamed of fucking it was the same way. She'd wake up and have no memory of what it felt like or what it did to her.

Where before her dreams had been parallel to her experience, equal to what she went through in her waking hours, now she dreamed of the past. Past lovers fucked her and she didn't feel a thing. All over again she was able to lose her virginity to her brother's friends and now she dreamed it she was standing alongside, watching the thirteen-year-old lying on the stack of tires, rag in her mouth, as they took turns in her. Or she was in a forest tied to a tree and all she could feel as she was entered from the rear was the tree's bark as it rubbed her and his teeth as he bit her shoulder.

Her shed was still the center of her pleasure but it wasn't from taking it in the mouth or ass or the brief periods of solitude. Her shed was the vessel where she was cleansed of impurities. She didn't look forward to her use because of the pleasure it gave her, there was little, nor for the pleasure it gave Brad, who as near as she could tell could care less. It wasn't for the men and boys on the other side of the wall, another world far from her. Her use, she discovered, was almost the only pure moment in her life (she didn't think, plan, dream), when she did nothing but receive.

Outside, when they were watching, it was different from being in her shed. Other sensibilities kicked in, like her desire to be seen. She was the focal point in their midst outside, in her shed she was a void, an emptiness to be filled.

She saw the girl sometimes and was sure Brad had seen her too but he'd said nothing. When she saw the girl, she became the girl watching her. She saw the bruises and welts, the rusty chains, the dirt, the butchered hair and the eagerness with which Brad was followed by her. She'd lost weight and her skin had a dusty smudged look.

Everything glowed. She hadn't lost orgasms; they'd taken a new, continual form.

She woke to find the girl in her shed.

"Are you happy?" the girl asked.

She could see the girl by the light the girl gave off.

"What is happy?" she said. She remembered Coq telling her that her name would contain everything about her. Accepting that was the hardest. Accepting his callous inattention, his not finding her special or worthy. Not being able to read a book or talk to someone about something important. Not being able to see a sunset or drink a glass of wine or cup of coffeee. "Are you here to join me?"

"I'm just watching," the girl said. "What they have to give is for you, not me. At least not right now."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I was thirteen once." She wanted to touch the girl, show her she was real. "What's your name?"

"Wren."

"I had that name once. Now I answer to dog shit."

"I know. I wish my name was dog shit, too. I hate being called a bird name."

"It may not happen right away, Wren."

"Hank said he wants to do to me like they do to you."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm not sure I like Hank that much."

She wasn't sure if she liked them or not. Wasn't sure if it had ever mattered. Perhaps if she'd liked Brad, she'd never would have been put here. "I'm not sure liking matters that much, or love."

"You don't believe he loves you?"

"Probably not."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course I do. That's why I'm here. I love all of them and I love you."

"You love him because he put you in chains?"

"Before that I loved him."

"Because he does those things to you? Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes it hurts a lot. Maybe. I discovered some time ago that I loved them but I couldn't say why."

"You don't care when they do those things to you? You cry out."

"It hurts sometimes to be reminded what I am. It hurts to remember who they are. Sometimes I forget we're not the same."

"Does it feel good sometimes? When Hank does it to me it hurts."

"It feels good to be open and willing."

"You stink."

"I know. The come in my snatch ferments."

"I thought they weren't doing that any more."

"I know. There are stories of holy mystics in the desert who stank, battled demons all their lives and no one understood why they stank."

"I think something is rotting." The girl made a face. "You let them pee on you."

"I can't control what is done to me."

"That's gross."

She shut her eyes for a moment and when she opened them the girl was gone and someone was unlocking her door. On her knees, she waited, looking up.

"Hey," Luther said. "Brad said I could visit."

"Busy evening?"

He shut the door behind, leaving them in total darkness except for his glow. "Someone pee in here?"

"A while back."

"He said I could tell you you can talk but you're doing it anyway."

"I think I know why you're here."

"How's that? He say something to you?"

"No."

"Lie on your back."

She lay on the blanket, arms and their chains over her head.

Luther dropped his pants, climbed over her.

"You can't do it there."

"Fuck Brad," Luther said.

She tried to close her legs, move so he couldn't. His prick entered her cunt and she said, "I can't talk to you anymore."

She stood next to the girl and both watched Luther fuck. He was so fat everything jiggled.

Someone knocked on her shed. "Mouth, I said. You awake in there?"

She got up and took the proffered prick in her mouth. He came quickly, but stayed in her as she swallowed and touched his prick with her tongue.

She heard, "You're next."

"Ass," someone said.

She settled her ass onto the short prick.

"I can't feel anything," someone said.

"She's in there."

"Fuck harder," he shouted.

She bounced and squeezed as best she could.

"This is what I've been hearing about? Hardly seems worth the bother."

"Take her mouth. That's worth it."

"Mouth," he said.

She licked the prick then used her lips.

"That's better. Go to it, honey."

"I heard she's not bad looking at all."

"That's right, honey. What's that knocking sound?"

"Her nose hitting the wall. Just like a woodpecker." They gave the Woody Woodpecker cry, like in the cartoons.

He came and laughed. "The damnedest thing. She does this for free?"

"They don't care. The quarter thing is a joke I heard. I heard she's his girlfriend but she's a real whore so he keeps her locked up in his back yard."

She swallowed the come, heard them leave, talking about her. I'm his girlfriend, she thought. I'm not. She waited for a minute longer in case there were some others. When there weren't she laid down. He's going to get rid of me somehow. She thought that and wondered where she'd be able to go after this.

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