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The Twelve Commandments - 3 - Thou Shalt Not Bear False
Wetness
By Peter Pan (uds3@hotmail.com)
***
When the Beach Boys sang "Help Me Rhonda" way back in
the sixties, no-one imagined it would be almost four
decades before schoolgirl Rhonda Mitchell would be
living up to her namesake. M/f-teen, ped, 1st, reluc)
***
Rhonda was a slut. Why deny it?
From eighth grade onwards - probably earlier, if you
couldn't score at the very least, a finger up her
pussy, either you had AIDS or you weren't able to
cobble together the two-buck asking fee. Either way, it
was no great loss, there surely being as many girls in
an Institute for Tourette's sufferers, who offered a
classier night out.
Every grade in every High School worldwide has its
'easy' girls. At Brookfield High in Ivanhoe Victoria,
it just so happened that Rhonda Mitchell, now in year
eleven, was Queen of the touch-ups.
Whilst the majority of girls at Brookfield were
undeniably of privileged stock – mothers from the
catwalks of Europe, fathers pulling down mega-bucks in
their stockbroking firms in Melbourne, poor old Rhonda
really was trailer-trash.
She could have just gotten herself a part-time job at
Maccas like everyone else though, instead of letting it
be known on the grape-vine that double English period
wasn't the only time you could slip your hand up inside
her knickers – or both hands if you wanted to pay
extra.
Thing is though, she liked it!
Left on her own as she had pretty much always been,
what with her mom entertaining down-beats at various
low-rent hotels in the area or hanging out with guys
half her age at the less salubrious wine-bars let's
say, Rhonda was an accident waiting to happen – the
girl most likely... to wind up barefoot and pregnant...
and that was the best-case scenario.
Many was the night therefore that a veritable conga-
line of boys and young men would find their way to 18,
Chernside Avenue for an evening of biological
indulgence that has never been graphically show-cased
on the Discovery Channel.
Until recently, Rhonda had never even thought of
tackling more than one paying-youth at a time and if
the truth be known, she had not even gone further than
allowing herself to be fingered and for the few with
unlimited ATM Access – to be stripped and occasionally
suckled.
With Geoff from twelfth grade however, business took a
turn for the better.
"C'mon Rhonda," he had urged, "Let me fuck you – you'll
like it. I'll give you a hundred dollars?"
THAT bit she did like!
Only sixteen still, despite her track-record of
unrepressed sexual indulgence, she was still
technically a virgin, well, up until the point she took
possession of Geoff's one hundred dollar bill anyway.
Didn't even hurt her much, probably because her hymen
had been rendered obsolete most likely, as a result of
so many inbound fingers over the years. Geoff was
correct too - she did like it! So much so in fact, the
lad was close to needing a paramedic on returning home.
The problem is when you become an entrenched teen-slut,
so many people want to make your acquaintance. In
Rhonda's case that unfortunately included Brent Carter.
Now Brent was not one of the planet's better
credentialled individuals. Diagnosed early with ADHD
(better known as 'Attention Deficiency Disorder') and
with a track record of violence, drug dealing and
bullying as far back as year eight, here was a grade-A
loser!
What he did have though was a big cock and a
willingness to use it in ways that many might consider
un-artistic, to say the least.
It was inevitable that fate would bring Brent and
Rhonda together.
Actually, it was Briony Roberts who can more accurately
make that claim. A classmate of Rhonda's, who was
having her seventeenth birthday party and more out of
misplaced sympathy than anything else, invited Rhonda
for the evening. Brent on the other hand lobbed up that
night on the arm of Jenny Crawford. It's doubtful if he
spoke to her more than twice after seeing Rhonda the
far side of the room, surrounded by multiple school
jocks – their allowances on stand-by one assumes!
No-one fucked with Brent and as he headed in Rhonda's
general direction, her entourage parted like the Red
Sea. The swagger was reminiscent of Tony Manero, the
leather jacket – pure Fonzie!
Making no effort to disguise his up-front analysis of
Rhonda's upper chest, Brent was not one to observe
social etiquette.
"Wanna come back to my place Mitchell?" he said, the
evolution of a cruel smirk in attendance. "Few things I
want to talk you about and anyway its gotta be more fun
than hangin' out with these dickheads." He gestured
around the room.
Never let it be said Rhonda didn't like her men
assertive, although those with one hundred dollar bills
still ranked pretty highly admittedly.
"Maybe," she replied, striving for an edge in the
balance of power stakes.
"None of that 'maybe' shit," he told her, "Either
you're coming or you're not – make your mind up!" He
turned to leave.
"I'm coming Brent," she called out, picking up her
things and scurrying after him. Constructed principally
for wiggling, that tight little skirt wasn't designed
for power-walking exactly.
Slumped into the front seat of his small coupe, Rhonda
was having trouble maintaining her hemline at a decent
level. Fact is, such proved impossible, forcing her to
wedge her clutch-bag into her lap to preserve some
modicum of self-respect. Brent drove on regardless.
Once at his home – a property at the lower end of
middle-class suburbia, Brent ushered her inside. Barely
pausing to acknowledge his parents huddled around the
TV in the small lounge-room, he indicated for her to
follow him down the hallway and into the room at the
end. His bedroom as it eventuated.
Seeing as there was but one chair across the far side
of the room – piled high with folders and other
educational discards, she sat down on the edge of the
bed.
"You wanna drink Mitchell?" he grunted.
"Oh, just a mineral water or Diet Pepsi if you got it
Brent please," she replied.
He glared at her.
"I said a drink Rhonda, not something from the fucking
health farm!"
"Ohhh Ok," she stammered, "Well maybe a bourbon and
coke then?"
"That's more like it," he grinned at last. "Make
yourself comfortable while I go get it," he added,
eyeing off the bedcovers.
Not sure quite what he meant, she just slipped her
shoes off and inched her way up to the bed-head,
propping one of the pillows behind her back for
support.
"Typical young man's room" she thought to herself.
Messy, empty glasses lying around the place, clothes
all over the floor, empty DVD cases stacked up on top
of the small TV that sat on the dresser at the foot of
the bed. The well-worn punching bag strung-up from the
ceiling near the window, seemed to add somehow just the
right macho touch.
Brent returned with their drinks. "You still dressed
Mitchell?" he laughed. "Figured you might be under the
covers by now."
"I don't do it for free," she replied, "Whaddya think?"
"Yeah?" he said, "And I don't pay for it either girl!"
She got off the bed.
"Where the fuck are you going Rhonda?" he stared at
her.
"Well lets see," she replied, "I hardly think you're
gonna try raping me with your mom and dad just down the
hall, so either you let me go now or I start
screaming."
"Look don't get your knickers in a twist Rhonda," he
said quietly... "I'm not going to rape you – here take
your drink, and let me explain what I brought you here
for."
Still trusting him no further than she could throw him,
she reluctantly took her bourbon and sat back down on
the edge of the bed. Brent seated himself alongside,
taking a healthy swig of the Cougar as he did so.
"Well it's like this," he paused, looking for the right
words, but finding none continued notwithstanding,
"Everyone at school knows you put-out... you know what
I'm trying to say Rhonda – like, if a guy pays you a
few bucks he can have a "feel"... stuff like that," She
blushed and looked fully indignant.
"Well it's true Rhonda isn't it?" he added, "No point
being all shocked and innocent about it – we all know.
The girls too," he grinned.
"What business of yours what I do Brent," she
protested.
"Well that's exactly my point Rhonda – it could be my
business – if you'd let me."
"I'm not following you," she replied.
"Look Mitchell," he took another swig of his bourbon,
"If you're going to "do it"... you may as well "do it"
properly – earn big money I mean.
"Couple of boys have paid me a hundred dollars," she
told him proudly.
"Yeah, that's right – a couple," he said. "What if I
told you I could organise for three or four at a time
to pay you double that?"
She gasped. "You mean, let four guys fuck me at the
same time? Are you kidding?"
"Not at the same time Mitchell, they take turns
obviously." He explained. "Look. If you're gonna do it
once... you may as well do it four times, right? And
earn four times as much – at least!"
She was quiet for a moment or two, the financial
rewards creating a plethora of possibilities in the
teenager's suddenly near-hyperactive mind.
"And where would all this be happening Brent?" she
asked. "I hope you're not thinking of my place?'
"Just leave the logistics to me Rhonda," he whispered.
"Nah, not your house silly – mine either, in case
you're wondering."
She finished her drink and for the first time that
evening – smiled at him.
"Now if I'm going to "manage" you Rhonda," he grinned,
"I really need to know exactly what it is I'm promoting
– don't I?"
She lay back on the bed giggling as he pushed her skirt
up, with not a little difficulty it must be said.
Wasn't exactly a case of a square peg in a round hole –
but not far from it!
Little more than a week later, Rhonda's cell showed
call-incoming.
"Hey Brent," she said.
"How ya doin' Mitchell?" he responded. "Ready for your
first try-out?"
"I guess," she answered almost shyly – certainly
nervously!
"I'll pick you up Wednesday around 7.30 p.m. OK? Just
three young guys my age and they've paid. The place is
only seven or eight minutes from your house, so you'll
be fine. In any case, I'll be waiting outside for you –
they have just an hour."
If the truth be known, come Wednesday afternoon, Rhonda
was as excited as she was apprehensive. The thought of
doing it with three guys definitely made the credit
side of the ledger.
The fact they were good-looking young men as it turned
out was no great hardship either. On unsure ground
themselves, they ushered Rhonda in and seemed reluctant
to make the first move... not the best strategy when
you only have an hour at your disposal. It was Paul, a
thin artistic-looking individual – not unlike Bob Dylan
in his teens, who finally asked tentatively, "Shall we
go upstairs guys?"
"Sorry the place is a mess," Bryce apologised, "We
didn't have time to clean up." he tossed what clothes
were scattered about the bed on to the floor.
Grant meanwhile was kissing Rhonda – most effectively
it seemed, judging by the way she was wriggling on the
edge of the bed. The other two knelt down on the carpet
and placed a hand each on the girl's thigh at which
point it became evident their financial investment was
looking a good thing.
Grant allowed a hand to drop to Rhonda's left breast
which brought forth not only a small gasp of pleasure
but an automatic parting of her legs – enough at least
that Bryce and Paul were able to catch a flash of
cream-colored panties.
"You're sixteen aren't you Rhonda?" Bryce asked. She
just nodded, her mind on other things at that moment.
"Can we take your panties off?" Paul asked, somewhat
hesitantly.
Unable to make much in the way of a reply, what with
Grant's tongue monopolising her airways, she just
wriggled her hips. Taking that to be a "yes," Paul
reached up beneath her skirt and began tugging her
skimpy briefs down with little finesse but a truck-load
of enthusiasm. Bryce meanwhile had her top buttons
undone and having exposed her frilly little matching
cream push-up, had a hand inside both cups now and was
enjoying himself to the max kneading those sexy little
nipples. The visuals let's say, already had the lads in
a degree of high expectancy, as was evidenced by their
collective sub-abdominal bulges.
As for Rhonda, this was definitely a step into dark
territory. Whether they spread her legs or she did it
herself, the fact remains she was most assuredly open
for business. Paul was the first customer of the day.
Thin he may have been, but as Rhonda quickly found out
– this did not translate necessarily to unskilled in
the vaginal pleasuring stakes. She was indeed
pleasured!
Preferring then to indulge their own masturbatory
pursuits, Bryce and Grant squatted on the covers
somewhat slack-jawed, as their friend compounded his
frontal assault before their very eyes. Holding the
girl's legs just below her knees, he spread her ever
wider as he thrust into that curly little minefield
with unchecked vigor.
Rhonda had been moaning, now she was crying out in
passion, her eyes closed and her breasts undulating
freely beneath those tight little 32B constraints. It
was too much for Bryce, who directed a sudden white
milky discharge across her exposed midriff. This in
turn catalysed Paul into ejaculatory mode and he found
himself with increasingly less oxygen as he pumped a
healthy serving of male DNA up inside that tight
channel.
Grant, on red alert certainly but not having heard the
starter's pistol as yet, hurriedly swapped places with
his friend and sank his instrument of phallic
destruction deep inside Rhonda's yawning slit, itself
discharging the occasional string of rather warm semen.
She let out a yelp of surprise, as opposed to
displeasure, but then settled back to accommodate the
inter-coital antics of her new partner.
It wasn't to be of any great duration however as Grant
was fully primed. "Oh God Rhonda," was the extent of
his verbal exchange and then he too succumbed to the
ways of the flesh and creamed the young girl's womb...
OK, well maybe that's taking biologically, a little
poetic license, having regard to a working knowledge of
the female reproductive system, but I think you get the
point!
Rhonda just lay there clutching at her pussy – Grant
and Paul meanwhile clutching at other things. Bryce
however, his erection returned to its former glory, was
still wanting his share of the action and positioning
himself now between Rhonda's rather damp legs, eased
his seven point five inch snap-on tool into what felt
like a cream-repository. As several filmy globs exited
between her legs – forced to do so by the inbound
member, Rhonda giggled.
"Are you going to fuck me now?" she asked, with every
appearance of being serious.
Bryce simply worked at his task. He was aided visually
in this, by having his two friends remove Rhonda's top
after which they unhooked her bra and extricated her
rather pretty little breasts, both of which played host
to as erect a girlish nipple as could be found at a
Roman orgy.
Lying there in just her scrunched-up skirt, Rhonda was
as arousing a sight as one might reasonably contemplate
– it is little wonder that Bryce found he was yet able
to make a secondary deposit for the night. The other
two, fully catalysed by their friend's finality,
spurted what jism they had remaining, and in the
process, redecorated Rhonda's breasts and face somewhat
artistically.
Far from reverting to damage control, Rhonda simply lay
there wriggling, whilst the trio of sperm-donors knelt
alongside her, suffering respiratory distress it
seemed.
Given but fifteen minutes remaining, Rhonda was quite
happy to allow them to completely strip her before
taking turns at suckling those hot little nipples
whilst she sat there giggling rather appealingly and
caressing their flagging erections by rotation.
**
"Wasn't too bad was it?" said Brent s little later,
handing over three crisp one-hundred dollar bills.
"Ohh, thanks," she said, having expected rather less.
"Yeah, well I told you they'd pay more if I organised
it, didn't I?" he added.
"I better be getting home now Brent," she replied, "I
really need a shower!"
"I can imagine," he grinned, leaning across and patting
her flush on the pussy. "You still on for the weekend
Mitchell?" he looked across at her expectantly as he
spoke. "Got a big one for you."
"Big one??" she asked him, betraying some nervousness.
"You mean like more than three guys?"
"Five men Rhonda," He responded. "But hey, you'll get a
grand out of it, they're paying three hundred each, ok?
You're on for 9 p.m. by the way and it's in the city,
so I'll be driving you again."
"Are they the same age Brent?" she asked with not a
little interest.
"Nah, bit older Mitchell," he kept looking straight
ahead. "But soo? their money's good – just enjoy it.
Like today, it's just for an hour and I'll pick you up
again okay? You'll be fine."
She was still pondering the situation when they pulled
up outside her house.
"It's cool Rhonda," he assured her. "Trust me... would
I let any harm come to you?"
**
Having slipped on the tightest little skirt in her
armory, then topping that off with a camisole that
revealed way more than it concealed, Rhonda dabbed a
few drops of "L'Oreal's" Entice on her cheeks and
behind her ears. Never having been one to observe
tasteful restraint, a couple more unsubtle applications
about her midriff and atop her cleavage completed the
tease.
"Whoa, someone smells hot tonight," Brent muttered as
she climbed into the coupe. "Shame you already have a
booking Mitchell!" he grinned as he swung onto the
freeway entrance not half a block distant.
The drive downtown was slow with the usual Saturday
night set clogging the roads around the central
business district. Passing the sixty-two floor Rialto
Tower, Brent made a left and then pulled-in suddenly
between a new Explorer and a stretch Caddy. All Rhonda
could see was a semi-darkened alleyway that she thought
was probably Little Collins Street.
"They'll meet you here Mitchell," Brent informed her,
"First doorway just down that alleyway." He saw her
trepidation. "It's OK Rhonda, it's all set up and I'll
be back in an hour or so." With that he took off
abruptly, leaving her alone and not too sure about the
"or so" comment. Peering into the near gloom she could
make out a doorway of sorts just a few metres ahead and
started to walk towards it.
The sound of a trash-can being overturned somewhere
close-by made her jump. She was almost at the door.
"Well hello there missy," a voice wheezed out of the
darkness right beside her. "What's a pretty little
thing like you doing here all on your own then?" She
could barely make out his features but he was an old
man and way too close for comfort.
"I'm w-waiting for some friends," she stammered.
"Are you now?" came the labored reply. "And what
friends might they be love? meeting a young girl like
you in this here alleyway... our alleyway you might
like to know."
Something in his tone frightened her and standing now
square-on with the door, she rapped on it.
"No-one's gonna answer that door love," he growled.
"It's been locked for six or seven years..."
"Would you just leave me alone please?" she told him,
knocking again – louder this time. She was beginning to
tremble.
To her horror, she was now able to make out other
shapes materialising behind her interrogator. She
turned to run but a pair of strong arms locked
themselves around her waist. She would have screamed
but for the hand clamped suddenly across her mouth.
"No point screaming," said a second man, as she felt
herself being dragged further along the alley. "We paid
good money for you girl, stole a lot of wallets to pay
for what that young man promised us. He told us you'd
be worth it."
Every city has its derelict buildings, the squats of
the homeless and those who have lost all hope. These
shadowy half-way houses exist despite Government funded
programs, town planning initiatives and all other
social reforms in place. No one really cares, the
homeless stay homeless whoever takes charge at the
ballot box!
Rhonda was due for the grand tour!
Propelled into what appeared to be some sort of long-
deserted basement, she was pushed roughly to the floor
– little more than dusty concrete really. The one
concession to comfort being what appeared to be a
filthy and worn single mattress that quite obviously
had once been someone's nocturnal pride and joy...
probably still was!
"Pleaaaase, Let me go," she begged sobbing, somewhat
hopefully some might say. She could see quite clearly
now by the reflected street light, her assailants –
five elderly men in various stages of sartorial
inelegance. All smelt like they had not partaken of a
shower since 9/11 and the stench of cheap booze was
unmistakable on their collective breaths.
"Now then missy, we were told you'd be co-operative.
You better give us what we paid for love." The speaker
was kneeling beside her now, sliding a long-since
washed hand, up beneath that tight skirt. She felt his
fingers intrude beneath the leg of her panties,
burrowing crudely towards her young sex.
She let out an involuntary gasp as her labia were
prised apart permitting the man to embark on his own
intense digital exploratory. His touch made her gag
almost. Other hands were forcing her back on to the
mattress – her breasts beginning now to be fondled if
not indelicately mauled by other members of the
geriatric miscreants.
"Can't remember when I last had a handful of hot titty
like this," uttered one elderly groper. The fingers
inside her vagina meanwhile were hurting in their quest
for self-gratification. Aware of her bricked-up
incarceration, she knew screaming would avail her but
little.
"He told us you were a real wet little slut," muttered
the obviously displeased owner of the invasive fingers,
"You're as dry as the fucking outback girl, best you do
something about that I'm thinking, else you could be in
for a real uncomfortable night - if you get my meaning.
"Get the little cunt's tits out," some derelict whined
from the shadows, "Let's at least see what we paid
for." General coarse laughter ensued after which
several pairs of hands ripped her camisole open,
exposing her skimpy nylon bra.
.
"Sexy little bitch," said a third man, thrusting his
hand down inside her left cup and roughly groping her
breast. Watching his wrinkled hand as it manipulated
her nipples she felt nauseous, but could only watch
helplessly as other hands tore her camisole and bra
off, leaving her topless and shivering before the
grinning assembly. She felt the fingers suddenly
withdrawn from her vagina.
"Strip the little cunt," ordered the group's evident
leader, fiddling between the folds of a putrid coat
that no self-respecting thrift store would be caught
dead with. They had her skirt off in seconds and with
three men holding her arms and waist, a fourth tugged
her panties down exposing her young pussy, encircled as
it was by neat, though far from prolific, light brown
curls. Her nakedness invoked a multiplicity of crude
comments and Rhonda could but sob at her unenviable
predicament.
"Well, we ain't got all night," muttered the man, "Hold
her for me men," he added, kneeling down on the edge of
the mattress as his two cohorts pulled the girl's legs
wide apart. To prevent her struggling, two more held
her arms tightly above her head. She stared terrified
as the man ushered from between the folds of his coat,
a grotesque and scabby looking penis, but yet partially
erect.
"Don't please," she whimpered, more out of vocal reflex
than of genuine hope for reprieve. Unhappily for Rhonda
though, God was not on site that evening.
She squirmed in abject horror as the old man worked
the head of his disgusting appendage the length and
breadth of her vaginal opening. At the point he tried
gaining initial entry, she screamed out for him to stop
and indeed her lips held fast against the would-be
invader. So completely un-lubricated was she, the man
could not even make ground pushing in hard with what
was now a veritably engorged seven inches of pensioned-
off phallus.
"Jesus," he said, "The little cunt's drier than the
Western desert, I can't even get it in her."
"Hey Bob," said the downbeat holding the girl's left
leg apart, "Got an idea," He leaned across and
whispered something to his friend who evidently liked
what he heard.
"Let's do it," was all he said.
Again taking up pole position between Rhonda's legs,
he extricated his penis, holding it some eighteen
inches above her fully visible pinkish folds. Grinning,
the men pulled her legs even wider.
As he began pissing over her, directing the flow
specifically up and down the face of her slit, Rhonda
gasped and shook her head in total shock unable to
grasp the degeneracy of what was being perpetrated upon
her young body. Piss was splashing across her abdomen
and running unchecked down both thighs. At the point he
began separating her lips with his fingers and pissing
directly between them, she cried out in both disgust
and embarrassed helplessness.
Still dribbling the remnants of his urinary discharge,
the old man once again commenced upon his quest for
entry. It was no longer a question of "I'll huff and
I'll puff 'till I blow your house down," his cock slid
into her piss-soaked doorway with but the slightest
resistance. Once inside, it appeared the old analogy
"you never forget how to ride a bicycle," was much in
evidence.
Though emotionally shattered and affronted, Rhonda's
body could not live in denial of the pleasures inherent
in having a man's cock thrusting deep inside her –
whatever its state of cleanliness and however
distressingly downmarket the circumstances. That was
something you could worry about later.
Eventually, her hips began to respond to nature's
blueprint and oblivious almost to the hands roaming at
will across her breasts, fondling and kneading her now
erect nipples, she began thrusting upwards with her
hips. The man felt the girl's vaginal muscles clamping
down on to his erection just up front of what was his
own approaching urgency.
"Fuck, is she a hot little slut or what?" he uttered,
just moments ahead of what was probably the biggest
sexual release he could even remember. Her eyes were
open as he pumped what he had to give her, way up
inside her vaginal cavity.
"Out of the way Bob," muttered the inbound rapist.
Breathing hard, Rhonda saw that he was marginally older
than Bob even – grottier too, if such be possible. Long
unkempt and stringy hair hung down from his temples,
the majority of his head long since bald. Hair
protruded from his nostrils and he smelt like a sewer,
mind you, so did she at this stage, with Bob's piss
glistening throughout her pubic hair and across her
upper legs.
"I want to piss on the girl too," he said and before
Rhonda could voice her displeasure, he had his cock out
and set in motion a golden shower he directed from her
sopping pussy in a sustained northerly direction that
took in both breasts and ultimately her face as well.
So shocked was the girl, all she could do was wriggle
beneath the man's insensitive hydrant, gasping as his
piss splattered off firstly her upper thighs, then her
pussy and then obviously knowing no shame, raining down
on her breasts and finally she was forced to close her
eyes as the hot urine cascaded across her upper chest,
both cheeks and her rather pretty little mouth. She was
still shaking her head in denial of such treatment when
she felt him thrust up into her.
Kneeling there, he had a hand on either knee, holding
her legs wide apart as he grunted his pleasure at
having so young a girl at his spread mercy. No longer
having to restrain her forcibly on the piss-sodden
mattress, the other men had simply formed now a guard
of honor around the disadvantaged girl, encouraging a
deeper acquaintance yet, between so youthful a girlish
slit and so antiquated a penile insert. Any third party
would doubtless have thrown up!
Watching his friend fuck the helpless girl, Bob saw no
option but to wank himself to the edge of sanity.
Accordingly, he knelt alongside the girl's soaked but
otherwise frenetically pleasured body, masturbating
with frenzied abandon so that as Rhonda's gaping pussy
was further topped-up with cum, he sprayed the remnants
of his own production-plant clean across her chest and
face.
By the time the third man climbed aboard, Rhonda was on
heat. No longer was she seeing a clutch of geriatric
paedophiles somewhat down on their luck, all she could
concentrate on was yet another cock lined up to take
her to where she definitely planned on going.
Number four had his own preferences but still had
little problem in coercing Rhonda to get on all fours
in the center of the mattress. She even knelt there
submissively as the man pissed long and hard all over
her curvy little bottom before emptying the remnants of
his bladder across her lower back and shoulders. What
she hadn't planned on was eight inches of wrinkled cock
seeking sanctuary in her up till now unused rear
tunnel.
"Nooooo, not there," she cried, as his helmeted drill-
bit intruded that first half-inch into her tight
channel. Even with urine running down her crack still,
irrigating both the used and the unused, progress was
minimal and Rhonda's discomfort at maximum pain-level.
Gripping her waist, the man forced himself into her as
she screamed out, "Stop it pleeassse, it's hurting me."
"Fuck her hot little ass Geoff," went up the chorused
encouragement drowning out the girl's pleas for mercy.
Once he was an inch or so in, the pain lessened
perceptibly, but still Rhonda was utterly humiliated
and being tunnelled with what felt like an electric
drain-cleaner. Nothing is forever however and although
it could not be said she found the experience enjoyable
as such, at the point the man spurted one ungodly
amount of semen into the depths of her sexy little
backside, she shivered uncontrollably in acceptance of
so perverted a finality.
The men stared, almost in stunned silence, at the young
girl still kneeling there before them, cum running out
of both rearward passages, mixing with the rivulets of
urine streaming down her legs and inner thighs. Her
piss-soaked hair even, glinting in the diffused light,
such that could penetrate that foul basement.
They weren't done with her of course. After the fifth
man had fucked her conventionally - albeit doggie-
style, she was made to suck the five of them one by
one. Some came again, some couldn't for obvious
physiological reasons. As she serviced each man,
kneeling before them, the other four would fondle and
finger her. On two occasions at least, she was almost
brought to orgasm by their paedophilic ministrations.
More than two hours had passed before they told her she
could clean up. The basement had in one corner so she
discovered, a decrepit and fully germ-ridden shower
that although offering only freezing cold water was
still a salvation of sorts. Tossed a grimy old towel,
she was forced to shower in front of the debauched
assembly – there being no door to the cubicle. Even in
that darkened niche, the men could clearly make out
every feature of the young girl's body. Most of them
wanked themselves uncontrollably, two however were more
highly motivated.
Her back to the watchers, she was just rinsing the last
traces of urine from her hair and cleavage when she
felt a pair of hands on her hips.
"Please, no more," she begged, turning quickly to face
as horrendous a sight as God has yet seen fit to adorn
this planet.
Physically, a man in his seventies is at his best
dressed let's say. These two would have graced the
devil's cauldron itself. Sagging guts, shrivelled skin
with liver-spots in profusion, wrinkled and gnarled old
hands pawing at her youth and sexuality whilst what
water was able to navigate those old pipes, streamed
down their craggy faces, plastering the few strands of
hair left, against their aged foreheads.
"Get off me," she pleaded, "I've done what you wanted –
what you paid for."
"Just want to fuck you once more," said Bob even as his
friend grabbed her arms and forced them behind her.
Even at the age they were, both men still retained far
too much strength for Rhonda to break free of.
"No more," she sobbed as Bob brought his erection up
between her legs. "Hold her tight John," he said, his
fingers already prising her lower lips apart. She felt
him enter her and then just shook as he thrust inside
with a vigor one could not normally ascribe a homeless
pensioner. What exactly he managed to spurt inside her,
is up for debate but orgasm he most definitely acceded
to.
John then forced her to her knees beneath the freezing
water and fucked her equally as hard. Mercifully she
did not have to look upon the flabby if not hideous
body wreaking its perverted sexual dominance on so
vulnerable and slight a young girl.
They left her then to complete her shower. Though
dusty, her clothes had been spared a urinary soaking
and having gotten as dry as that pathetic piece of
towelling would allow, she wriggled back into her
panties and hooked her bra back up. Throughout it all,
the five of them watched... some still stroking their
withered erections. Just how many suffered a heart-
attack in the coming days is open to conjecture.
Ten minutes later she saw Brent's coupe at the top of
the alley.
"You fucking bastard," was all she said, getting in the
car.
Brent just smiled.
© Peter_Pan December 2005
http://www.lulu.com/content/166938
"The Complete Harper Valley"
http://www.lulu.com/content/106537
Autobiography: "Cool Among The Flames"
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry
.asp?userid=PQ0lfOLCgC&isbn=1411624149&itm=1
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 40