Slowly, he emptied the ladle-spoon of hot steaming tar on the young girl's bruised and whipped back.

Her bound body spammed and leaped as the smouldering black ooze rolled down the centre of her whip-weald spine and she gave out a wild High-pitched shriek of pain, her blonde head rearing back, eyes shut tightly.

The scream reverberated in the cavernous depths of the abandoned factory and he smiled and licked his lips as the little bitch strained desperately against the bondage that held her....

The little slut.

He'd watched her for a week walking past the boys in the parking lot of the school with her teasing lilt. Prick teasing little tramp.

She always wore tiny skirts that allowed glimpses of her panties, or shorts so tight that every detail of her luscious young ass was obvious.

Her legs were long and smooth, deliciously flawless...and she knew it.

She knew her legs were fine and she loved to show them off. She shaved them carefully every night and afterwards, languidly, with slow circular movements of her slender hands, she would spread moisturizing cream on the warm smooth skin and then spray the knees and thighs with perfume before sliding into bed.

He'd watched her sashay around in that black, clunky, high-heel, strap-sandals that reminded him of the seventies, of the old bondage magazines which had fired his fantasies as a youth. He'd watched her long flowing blonde hair riffled by the warm spring breeze and his eyes were drawn to her purple-painted lips which accented her pale creamy skin and dark green eyes. He'd watched and he'd waited. And when the moment was right he drove his station wagon up behind her, got out, and grabbed her right off the street gagging her with a big black ball gag that stretched her painted little slut mouth wide. He pulled her arms behind her, lifted her right off her feet, and her school books and green shoulder-strap purse fell in a scattered heap on the sidewalk as he handcuffed her and dragged her into the back of the car and tossed her in like a piece of baggage, her eyes wide with shock, her cries muffled in her throat.

He'd driven her out to the old factory on Route 24 and he'd pulled her out of the car to make her walk unsteadily, unbalanced in those clunky whore-sandals, ahead of him on the asphalt pathway into the shadows of the dilapidated building. She wasn't sashaying much then. She kept trying to turn to look at him.

"Walk, bitch!" he'd ordered bluntly. "Just keep walking and don't look back."

On that day she wore a white mini-skirt and he watched her pretty legs moving in the high-heel sandals as he followed closely behind carefully studying the way her skirt weaved around her delicious thighs. She had very white skin. Skin that would mark easily and deeply.

His cock grew hard. He knew then he was going to kill her and kill her slowly. He was going to take his sweet time with her. He was going to make her suffer and pay and then he was going to snuff the life from her...and he was going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.

He'd begun by establishing complete ownership over her. He'd begun with the rape.

Raping a young teenage girl was an act of savagery that demanded almost artistic concentration. He was like a bullfighter in the arena and this was brutality elevated to its most sublime manifestation. Once he'd walked her past three large halls and they'd entered a shadowy smaller room where stucco had crumbled away in places to reveal the brick underneath and huge dark metal pipes ran the length of the ceiling or erupted from the ancient cracked walls, once there, he grabbed her shoulder and turned her around to face him. In the dim light from a cracked window-pane high up near the ceiling her wide-eyed fear was delicious.

He yanked her close to him, her arms helplessly handcuffed behind her, his hand at the small of her back pressing her slender body against his stone-hard erection. Her face cringed away from his and he leaned down to whisper in her pretty ear.

"Feel it, cunt? Huh? You feel that?" With his other hand he grabbed her face by the chin to turn it back to him. She smelled so clean. So goddamned sweet. "You feel how big and hard you make me, whore...Well...I'm gonna stick it up you, you bitch, and you're gonna feel it INSIDE you..." While he continued to press her against him his free hand trailed up her bare silky smooth thighs, up under her skirt, the tips of his fingers bumping up against the snugly cupped mound of her warm virgin cooze.

Her eyes opened in horror now and she gasped. "Yeah! Yeah! That's right way up inside this little fucking twat.

You're gonna find out what a real man feels like, you little ball-busting tease...I'm gonna own you. You're gonna be mine. All mine..." "N-nnngg!" she grunted into the gag, her shoulders jerking as she tried to pull her wrists from the metal grip of the handcuffs. She stopped struggling immediately when he pulled out the long serrated

Combat knife. "Stand still," he ordered coldly. Then, when she obeyed he just watched her and smiled, his mouth almost sneering, teeth biting his lower lip and her eyes fixed on his cruel lips, big lovely doe eyes awash with fresh young tears of terror.

Yeah, he thought to himself. Breaking this little cunt's gonna be real easy.

Taking his time and with measured patience he sliced off each button of her turquoise blouse working his way from the neck of the expensive garment down toward her waist, reaching forward to pull it out from where it was tucked into her skirt. His move made her take an unwilling half-step toward him and now she felt his hot breath on her face. She quivered with each slice of the knife and gave out tiny gasps as each button was sliced free to drop to the filthy wooden floor. Once or twice she felt the cold metal tip graze her warm skin and her eyes fluttered and her heart raced.

Finally he had her blouse open in front exposing her black bra underneath.

The girl was about sixteen but she already had a fully developed bust, big ripe melon-shaped tits held in the lacy lingerie. He put the knife at the junction band between the two bra-cups and with a quick motion he slit it open. Her big paps bounced free and she sighed and tried to back away instinctively.

He took her by the neck. "I told you not to move, you little scumbag!"

His eyes glared into hers and she sobbed a little and nodded and looked down.

Yeah. It was gonna be a real piece of cake. And killing her....that was gonna be real sweet.

He pulled the ripped brassiere and the open blouse back off her shoulders and began to cut them off her in strips. She stood motionless, paralyzed, eyes downcast, as he tore her blouse to shreds and then her bra. The tatters of cloth fell randomly around her to the floor. Black tear-streams of mascara ran down her angelic face, dripped down her long graceful neck and on to the tops of her mammaries.

When he finished with her blouse and bra he pulled out the waistband of her skirt, slid the knife blade between her belly and the soft cloth and sliced downward, ripping the seductive garment completely in half. As it slid to the floor he took her small panties and with a savage yank ripped them off her. She cried out in surprise and shame then stood tottering on her high heel sandals, naked, her face flushed, helpless, the way he liked it. Just the way he liked it.

He grabbed her by her hair angling his face to study it carefully, like a sculptor who is about to attack the stone. His cold eyes brought her to the edge of mindless terror. He was studying her the way a lion stares at the zebra before leaping from the grass. Still holding her by the hair he forced her to move slowly backwards into the shadows. She took uneven steps almost losing her balance as he walked her in reverse across the wooden planks that creaked and groaned. Her butt came up against a wooden object but she could not see it because he kept her turned to him. All she could see was his wicked face, his terrible sneering smile and her eyes kept jerking from side to side to avoid his. "Get up on the table, bitch," he said softly. His voice was so cold. She struggled to do as he ordered leaning back on the heels of her handcuffed hands to raise herself on to the wooden surface. He helped by pulling her upward by her head, his fingers snarled in her blonde curls. It took a few moments and she grunted with exertion, her soft delicate skin scraping on the splintered and filthy surface of the table. When he had her up there he let her hair go and it tumbled on to her white shoulders. He put his hand on her chest between her lovely firm boobs and pushed. She gasped and slid back to lie across the rickety table, her legs bent over the edge of its surface. She heard him moving about but dared not look and after a while he returned and she felt him wrap the hard leather bands around her ankles. She heard him go to the opposite side of the room and heard the loud click of a switch and the soft hum of machinery. From the shadows above her two chains dropped slowly downward. When they hovered just above her she heard him hit the switch and the motor stopped abruptly. She heard him returning to her. Handling her like a piece of meat he lifted her lovely legs and connected the leather bands to clip-hooks on the chains so that she lay on the table with her sandaled feet pointing upward to the ceiling and her thighs far apart. Her cuffed wrists were trapped under her and the weight of her body was making her arms numb. The factory was cold but she shivered more from dread than chill.

Again she heard him walk toward the wall and hit the switch. This time the soft whirr of the motor began to pull her legs upward and apart. She began to cry, then sob, then whimper as she was pulled into an impossibly wide and beautifully vulnerable position. It was like being on a gynaecologist's chair, her legs above her and wide apart, her back on the pressing into the wooden surface of the table.

Now his steps as he moved back toward her were slow and heavy. She heard him stop and raising her head from the table with difficulty, her chin pressed to her chest, her hair falling loosely over her eyes like a threaded curtain, her shoulder bones jutting upward, she looked at the towering shadowy figure of her attacker as he slid silently and quickly out of his flannel shirt and jeans and work-boots to stand naked over her.

She felt raw fear hollow and quaking in her belly and her gagged lips trembled around the black rubber ball. Her mascara-streaked face twitched and her brows arched and she made muffled pleading sounds as he stepped up to her. She could not make out his features in the shadows, only the slitted glare of his dark eyes, as his hands gripped her up flung legs at the knees.

The sounds she made reminded him of an infant who has not yet learned to speak but whose inflections are all perfectly understandable. She was like a little baby now, unable to move, unable to speak, laid out before him in tender helplessness as he went up slightly on his toes to put the head of his huge prick to her soft red slit, his calves rippling, the sides of his hairy legs flexing, his strong bare feet slightly apart on the wooden floor-slats. The little bitch really took care of herself, he thought. Her pussy area had been hot-waxed free of hair in preparation for summer, less than three weeks away. He could imagine her picking out the flimsiest of bikinis to stride up and down Oceanside for the boys and men to drool as her eyes sparkled mischievously. He could imagine her trying the bathing suit out in her bedroom mirror, her little shaved slut-puss getting wet just from thinking of how the hungry eyes would stare. Because he knew a little bitch like this one got turned on from seducing and not from delivering the goods she was advertising. The more she turned men on the more she got off and the more she denied them what they wanted. He gripped her strong legs firmly, warm pliant flesh in his hands, and he aimed the head of his huge erect prick at the base of her gaping slit. She gave out a breathless squeal as the cock head touched then entered her dry puss mouth. Her head dropped back on the table. Yeah, he could see her alright, strutting about the mall with her airhead friends, choosing all the right lipstick and eye shadow, the perfumes...charging it all on her daddy's plastic...CD's, posters, nail-polish, pink silky lingerie. Laughing so carefree...so innocent...He could see her grinding and bumping as the latest idiotic musical drivel thumped on the stereo speakers in her bedroom after school, alone or with her dimwit companions, her half nude body shiny in the kaleidoscopic collage of colours from the TV screen, her eyes glassy, distant, lips studiously pouting, as she imitated the high-priced models on the MTV videos.

He pushed the hard prick-meat up into her dry tight cunt-sheath. She shook her head trying to look up at the shadow-man between her wide raised legs. A single shaft of sunlight which poured in from a crack in the ceiling cut diagonally across her gagged face, across one tear-filled eye slightly blinding her. His fingers squeezed into the soft thigh flesh with bruising pressure as he came up hard against her hymen. She was so warm and tight. Her head shook back and forth faster knowing she was about to be taken, knowing this monster was about to finish her virginity forever.

The wooden table creaked under her as he pushed slowly forward. Slowly. Forward. Slowly. Slowly. Forward. "...uh-ughhhh!" she grunted, her eyes sliding shut suddenly. And again: "U-uh-uhhghhh!" "Yeahhhh!" he whispered savagely, hoarsely. "Yeaahhhh!" as his prick broke through now. "E-eeiiiiiiihhhh!" she cried pitifully.

"Fuckin' cunt!" he spat, spittle from his snarling mouth drizzling on her heaving belly.

And he continued to slide slowly forward. Slowly. Forward. Deeper.

Forward. Blood from her speared virginity now lubricating his merciless

penetration of the teenage bitch.

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The End