Jenny's Couch, Book 5 Chapter 32

As soon as the deacon set Karen roughly on her feet, the naked thirteen-year-old sank to the ground crying. She couldn't help it. The deacon's shoulder had dug into Karen's abdomen as he'd hauled her like a sack of fertilizer. She was already in so much pain from the repeated firing of the evil device clamped to the end of her clitoris. Each time it went off, triggered by an impending orgasm, the immediate effect was a terrible stinging on her oversized pleasure bud, but as it was triggered over and over, the pain spread back into the young teen's body. Karen knew the internal anatomy of a clitoris in an abstract way. When she was little she had sat with Renee as Mommy showed them diagrams of what their privates looked like inside. But right now all she knew was the increasingly sharp bites transitioned to a deep, long-lasting dull ache inside and wrapped around her vagina, increasing with each attack. She had been fucked repeatedly all morning, and each time she had felt her arousal surge and reach for the point of no return the device had done its evil work. Now she felt like a knife was being driven into her clit over and over while at the same time her vagina and all of her insides around it felt bruised and beaten. Coupled with the insane frustration of being denied an orgasm despite two days of almost constant sexual activity ("rapes" a small voice inside her whispered), it was more than the young girl could bear. She curled up into a fetal position on the ground. She smelled the fresh scent of pine, felt the cool breeze blow across her bare body, smelled the familiar mixture of her sweat and her cunt and semen, felt blades of grass tickling the soles of her feet, but none of it stopped the tears that squeezed between her eyelids and matted her lashes. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and rocked her body slightly, moving instinctively in search of comfort that was denied her.

"Karen." The voice came from above. "Karen." The voice was soft. It was masculine, but caring. After days of being treated like a slave, like a thing, a thing that had no right to any thoughts or feelings or desires of its own, Karen was desperate for a human connection. Rachel didn't count, not because she was on the spectrum, but because Karen had to treat her like a thing, a thing to be gotten out of this awful place, back to her daddy who loved her and where she could be a person. Lilah didn't count because...well, she was Lilah. She was a person but not the kind of person you could be a person with. All you could do with Lilah was, well, a month ago Karen would have said all you could do with Lilah was try to keep her safe and out of sight. Now she was thinking that all you could do with Lilah was stay out of her way.

"Karen," the voice said once more. Karen knew the voice. And even though she knew the owner of the voice was responsible for every awful thing that had happened to her since she got here, the allure of the voice, the way it was talking to her as a person and not a thing, was something she couldn't resist. She was so tired, and she hurt so much, she had nothing left in her. Karen gave in.

She opened her eyes and looked up. "Yes, Pastor Fustein," she said, blinking away her tears until his form stopped wavering.

"You poor thing," the pastor said, and got down on one knee. "Can you stand up, Karen?" He put his hands on her and they were soft and gentle as he stood, helping her to her feet. "Can you walk, just a little bit?" He put his arm around her bare shoulders, supporting the naked young girl as they walked slowly together. Karen whimpered as each step shot pain from her cunt up into her chest. It hurt to walk. It hurt to draw breath. But it didn't hurt so much that Karen didn't notice her surroundings, didn't look around with curiosity. She and the pastor were in the midst of the deacons. It looked like they were all there, all busy, all the deacons Karen had seen in the conference room. It looked...it looked like a company barbecue. There was large grills set up and some of the deacons were laying them with charcoal. There were coolers that Karen knew would be full of food to be cooked and beer to be drunk. There were picnic tables and benches scattered around the area, a rough circle edged by a low hedge. It looked like the company barbecues Karen had been to, with the people her mommy worked for - except it was all men, and they were all dressed the same, in the deacons' uniform of white shirt, black pants, and the large gold cross around their necks, and Karen was the only child there, and, oh yes, she was naked. The sun was warm on her bare skin but the air was chilled, reminding her that winter wasn't even fully over. Gooseflesh rippled across her naked body as the breeze freshened, and the cold of the sticky wet trails down the inside of her thighs set her to shivering.

The pastor saw and angled his body to protect Karen from the wind. "Here, poor girl, sit down," and he lowered her into a folding metal chair. Karen grimaced as her butt slid in the slimy goo leaking from her pussy. She curled her toes against the packed earth, feeling the damp on her soles. The pastor picked up a jacket someone had left on a nearby picnic table and draped it in her lap, tucking it around her solicitously. Then he pulled up another chair and sat down. They were almost knee to knee. Karen looked into his eyes. They were a light brown, she saw. She hadn't noticed that before. And his face was set in lines of concern and compassion. Karen blushed. Her crotch was covered by the jacket but her breasts were on full display and suddenly she was embarrassed to be naked before this man. She tried to cross her arms over her chest, but the chains binding her wrists were too short. They were long enough, however, that she could put her hands over her breasts. The pastor surprised her by breaking into a sunny smile, as if she were a favored student who had unexpectedly solved a difficult problem. "I'm so proud of you, Karen," he said.

"Proud of me?" she echoed. "Why?" And she really wanted to know. She wanted to know because something in her wanted him to be proud of her.

"You're covering yourself," he said. "Like Eve, in the Garden of Eden, do you remember the story? She ate the apple from the tree, and when God called her she knew she was naked, and she was ashamed." Karen's first impulse when he said that was to drop her arms, to display herelf shamelessly before this adult man - but she stopped in confusion. A moment ago she was embarrassed to have this adult see her breasts and now her impulse was to thrust them at him. Why did she want to do that? Her body answered for her. As she thought of herself naked and exposed there was a familiar tingling in her cunt. Unconsciously she tensed her thigh muscles, felt a dribble of hot juice squeezing out between her labia.

"But I'm not ashamed," Karen said, and dropped her hands, letting them dangle from the chain connecting them to the collar around her neck. Her nipples erected from the cold breeze and her growing excitement. She arched her back and pushed her meager bosom forwards.

The pastor's response was a sad smile. "Oh, Karen, I think you are ashamed. You've been in the grip of Satan for so long that you don't know your own mind any more. If you're not ashamed, why are you blushing?"

Karen opened her mouth, then closed it. Why, indeed? It was true, her face was hot, was in fact bright red up to the roots of her hair and out to the tips of her ears. And then she realized that the roiling in her stomach was not arousal. It was shame. It was a shame that she had learned to ruthlessly repress. Why? Because there was no choice. At first she had been given no choice. But then because she had felt there was no choice. Her cunt was so hot, she craved that overwhelming release so badly, that she would do anything, pay any price, to have it.

The shame that she felt had not stopped her from letting her uncle strip her, from sucking his cock the first time, naked on her knees in her elementary school parking lot, so intense had been the fire between her legs and the need for release that she had just learned he could give her. Shame had not stopped her from letting herself be persuaded to offer herself to Mister Nate. Shame and her fear and her tears had not stopped her from trick-or-treating naked, submitting first to sucking Paul's dick, then other boys' dicks, and then being fucked by all those teenaged boys until she hurt too much even to walk.

And after that, the shame had not stopped her from prostituting herself to hundreds - maybe by now thousands - of strangers. It hadn't stopped her, indeed it had driven her on. She turned the word "shameless" over in her mind and realized that for her it didn't mean to be without shame. For her it meant feeling the shame but doing it anyway. Why did she do that? Why did the shame make her cunt get even hotter, make her orgasm when it finally came even more intense, burning her like fire, consuming her, destroying everything in its wake, taking away shame, taking away thought, taking away her until there was nothing left but the pleasure.

Karen looked into the pastor's kind eyes and for no reason she could have said, felt her eyes well up and tears run silently down her burning face. "You know I'm right, don't you, Karen?" he said, but his voice was soft and kind like his eyes, with no challenge or derision in it. "It's okay. There's nothing wrong with being ashamed. When our behavior is shameful, that is how God helps us change."

"B...but I can't change," Karen said and now she was sobbing. "I can't. I've tried, oh God I've tried. But my c...cunt gets so, so, hot, and it won't stop, I've tried to make it stop, it won't stop, oh God why won't it stop?" She dropped her hands. Her face was blotchy and red, her eyes swollen and puffy and her expression contorted in something like a snarl as she screamed into the sky. "Oh God, WHY DID YOU MAKE ME A WHORE?" She buried her face in her hands and her whole body shook with the force of her crying.

"Oh, my child," the pastor put his hand on her shoulder and Karen just threw herself into his arms. She pushed her face into his chest and her sobs continued to wrack her body. "Shh, shhh, it's all right," the pastor murmured. He had one hand on the back of her head and his other moved gently up and down her back. Karen felt his fingers stroking over the knobs of her spine. She felt the tension slowly draining out of her. Gradually she got her crying under control - tears still ran down her face but her breathing quieted. "I want you to listen to me, Karen," the pastor said, and she felt his voice vibrating in his chest as much as she heard it. "God did not make you a whore."

Karen stiffened and would have sat up but the pastor's arms tightened around her, holding her in his embrace. "I know you're not ready to hear that, Karen, but it's true. God did not make you a whore. It's a trick, a deception. Because that's what the Evil One does. I want you to think back for me. How old were you when you first decided this?"

"Eleven," Karen sniffed.

"Ah, such a tender age," the pastor said. "But the devil has fooled some of the most learned men in the world. An eleven-year-old girl is no challenge."

"But...but...my uncle told me. He said I was a whore, and he wouldn't lie."

"He wouldn't?" The pastor let the silence stretch long enough for Karen to ask herself would he? and then he continued. "And let me guess, Karen, let me guess what happened soon after he convinced you of this. He fucked you, didn't he?"

Now Karen did jerk free of the pastor's embrace to stare at him. "How did you know that?"

Pastor Fustein smiled sadly and gathered Karen back into his embrace. The fabric of his shirt was rough against her nipples, and his hand resumed stroking up and down your back. "I knew that, Karen, because that's what men do to vulnerable young girls like you. Your uncle did lie to you, Karen. It was Satan speaking through him, and they lied together so that he could despoil you and use you for his own depraved desires."

"No," Karen insisted weakly. "No, it's true, my cunt's a whore cunt. It gets so hot. Even here, with this awful thing you put on me. No other girl I know, none of my friends, no one needs it all the time like I do." Karen felt herself blushing again, but she needed to make the pastor understand so she pushed through the embarrassment. Her chained hands grabbed his shirt. "If I can't...fuck, if I can't get a penis inside me every day, my cunt gets so hot that I can't think about anything else. That's how I know I'm a whore."

"That doesn't sound very pleasant, Karen," the pastor replied. "It doesn't sound like being a whore makes you feel good at all. I know you ignore the way it really makes you feel but you know deep down it's wrong and evil, don't you? Your body should be a temple to the Lord, Karen, and instead you're making it a filthy garbage dump. Deep down you know that, don't you?"

The pastor's words hammered against Karen's mind. He seemed so certain, and she was so sore, and so tired, and so confused. Her tears started to flow again. "Yes," she whispered.

The pastor's hand was making slow circles on her back as his other hand stroked her hair. "And what do you have to show for it?" he continued. "Oh, I know you have a lot of money. Worldly things. But what has it done for you, inside?" He tapped a finger on her bare back. "Has it bought you closer to the people you love? Has it felt good to keep this secret from your loving mother and father?"

"No," Karen whispered.

"You know what you're doing is wrong, Karen. Think of all the sins you've committed. Think of all the people you've hurt. Just think about them, now."

Karen's bare shoulders shook as she sobbed anew. "Moira," she cried, and pressed her face into the pastor's shirt, soaking it with her tears.

"That's right, Karen, let it out. Tell me how you hurt Moira."

"She...she was a whore like me, and she taught me how to find boys to fuck so my cunt wouldn't make me crazy. But, but we had a secret." She lifted her face to look up at the pastor. Now that she had started, the words just seemed to spill out of her, never mind that she was talking to a pastor. She couldn't imagine talking like this to Pastor Darknight at home. Not that they ever talked much anyway. He liked to get right down to business. "The secret was, she was the only one who could really make it stop. My cunt's always hot. Fucking boys makes it stop while I'm fucking them, but then afterwards sometimes it's hotter than ever. But Moira..." her voice softened and her eyes got dreamy. "No one ever made my cunt hotter than her but then when we finished, ohh..." she sighed. "Then it would stop." Karen was quiet, just breathing, remembering. "We got married," she continued. "We got married, and it was soooo good...but then I ruined it." Her voice caught. "I ruined it, and she died, and it's my fault."

The pastor held her and rocked her gently as if she were three instead of thirteen and let her cry herself out again. When her sobs had diminished to hiccups and gulps he resumed speaking. "It doesn't have to be that way, Karen. This swamp of depravity that you have sunk yourself into, you can break free of it too. You just have to decide to let us help you. The aversion therapy we've created for you is already starting to work. We're going to free your body from the Devil's clutches, and then we'll free your mind and your soul as well. It's never to late to return to purity in God's love."

Karen raised her head and looked at the pastor through puffy, red-rimmed eyes. The yearning for what the pastor said he could do was a physical force in her chest. What if she could stop being a whore? What if her cunt and the need to fill it every day didn't rule her life? What if she didn't have to constantly lie to her teachers, her friends, her parents? What if she were free of the shame she felt every time she disrobed before another adult stranger? What if she didn't have to constantly feel the disgust as she washed yet another man's cum from her body, off her face, out of her hair? The disgust at herself for letting it happen? Could it be done? She had to know. "How?"

The pastor smiled. "Just as we've begun, Karen. I know it's painful for you. Change is always painful. But you can stay with us, and eventually we'll break the chains the Devil has used to bind you to sexual depravity. By removing the pleasure, eventually your craving to defile yourself with sex will be gone. It's a hard road and it will be a long one, but it's only the first step. After that, with prayer and study and atonement, you will be able to return to your community and be saved in the love of Our Lord again."

Karen was tired, and cold, and she hurt all over and the pastor was offering her the end of all her physical and psychic pain. He was offering her the opportunity to be...to be innocent again, the way she was before that fateful day when she discovered Renee naked on the couch with her face glazed with her uncle's semen. In this moment she wanted that so badly that she thought her heart would burst. But then a thought struck her. "So...to break the chains I have to keep wearing this, this thing? And have sex with the deacons all the time?"

The pastor's hand stilled on her back. "That's right, Karen. It's the only way to convince your body that what you're doing is evil, is to punish you for it."

Karen sat back in her chair, pulling free of the pastor's arms. She scrubbed a hand across her tearstained face, the chain tinkling as it pulled through the ring at her neck. "But...this is even worse than at home. At home I have a choice. I can fuck who I want. The deacons haven't asked me if I wanted to have sex, not once they haven't. They chained me to a bed! And they hurt me! They hurt me, and they laughed about it! I should be punished, but not like that."

"Yes, Karen, exactly like that. I don't know about this Moira but if she is the one that pulled you down into this life of prostitution, that's an even bigger sin. Did she die without repenting?"

Karen could hardly get the words out. "She shot herself. It was my fault."

"And a suicide, too?" The pastor's voice hardened. "Then she's in hell, Karen, she's in hell where she belongs. You are lucky to be rid of her. She's dead and in hell where she belongs but her evil is still sunk deep into your heart. We have to purge that evil, and this is the only way." The pastor's voice had risen, and his hands clutched at Karen, digging into her bare back. "Karen, you have a choice before you now, if you will turn away from your sins of lust and depravity and walk back into the light of the Lord. Come back to us, Karen, and leave this Moira to burn for eternity in the lake of fire!"

"NO!" Karen cried, and threw herself back in her chair, out of the pastor's grasp. "You're lying! Moira is not in hell! I love her, and she helped me, and she fucked me so good, and she was my wife! She's not in hell!" She looked around wildly and all the fight seemed to drain out of her. She slumped back in her chair. "I'm the one in hell."

"What a disappointment you are." For a moment Karen thought someone else besides the pastor had spoken. The kindness was gone from his voice, and when she looked up at him in surprise, it had fled from his face as well which was now stony. His eyes, so warm and loving moments ago, were now cold and hard, like frozen mud in a winter field. "Well, that's all right then. You can still stay with us, for as long as your parents will pay. And maybe you'll change your mind, or maybe not. Worst comes to worse, you will serve as an example for the others, an example of what happens when you abandon your soul to Satan." He raised his voice. "Ezra!" And fear thrilled up Karen's spine as the older deacon, the one who had so enjoyed hurting her, looked up from where he was opening bags of charcoal. "Come here, Ezra, I need you."

Karen tried to stand, to run, to get away but quick as a snake the pastor's hand shot out and grabbed the chain where it passed through her collar and yanked her back down. "Owwww," she said as her butt slammed down onto the cold metal of the chair and her neck was tugged forward. Then a shadow fell over her and it was too late. She looked up into the cold eyes and malicious grin of the deacon.

"We have lost this soul, Ezra," the deacon said and while his words were regretful, was that glee in his voice? "Karen is a true child of Satan and if she won't turn from him voluntarily, we must force him out. You know what to do."

Karen shrank away but Ezra wrapped a meaty hand with scarred knuckles around her chain, taking over from the pastor, and pulled her to her feet, and then further. Karen choked as the metal collar bit into her neck. Ezra lifted her as if she weighed nothing until her bare toes barely brushed against the cool grass. Fighting for breath against the collar's constriction, Karen stumbled and was half-dragged across the grass, past the grills and the coolers and the chairs. The other deacons took no notice of the naked girl as Ezra wove through them. Karen lost her footing and Ezra dragged her up a small rise. Her hands went to her neck, trying futilely to tug the metal collar away from her throat. Black was gathering at the edges of her vision when Ezra finally stopped and released her. She fell to the ground, gasping. Her knees hit something hard in the grass and she looked down to see a long piece of unpainted wood lying on the ground. Midway along its length a smaller piece of wood like a piece of a broomstick emerged at an acute angle. She barely had time to register the crosspiece nailed near the far end when Ezra grabbed one wrist and yanked it upwards. He had a key in his hand. There was a click, and the cuff snapped open. Karen barely had time to register that her hands were unbound as the chain rattled through her collar and fell free when suddenly Ezra's hand was around her neck above the iron collar, his broad, rough fingers and thumb squeezing under her jaw. She looked up into his leering face as he dragged her back and bore her down to the ground, roughly slamming the back of her head against the wooden pole. Karen saw stars. As she blinked her vision clear she felt Ezra fastening something around her neck, below the iron collar. Leather pulled tight against her throat.

Karen grabbed at the new binding with her hands, or tried to. But Ezra intercepted her one wrist. He pulled her arm out straight to the side. Karen yelped as he slammed her wrist against the crosspiece. She tried to struggle but he put his booted foot on her forearm. She cried out again as he pressed hard enough that she felt the bones grinding, and then something was pulled tight around her wrist. As she tugged futilely at the new binding, Ezra repeated the process with her other wrist. Now she was bound with her arms outstretched. She looked frantically from side to side and a creeping horror began to well up as she recognized the cruciform structure. She had no time to consider the meaning, though, as Ezra dropped to his knees beside her and, that evil leer still twisting his feature, grabbed her legs and folded her over double so her knees were pressed into the cool grass on either side of her head and her ass was in the air. She heard Ezra hawk and spit and wetness splattered onto her exposed asshole.

Karen had time to think "oh, no, please," and then calloused fingers were probing at her sphincter. She groaned as they pushed past her resistance and she was violated yet again. But Ezra was neither trying to hurt her, nor to take his own pleasure from her. He handled her clinically, like she was a doll or a piece of furniture, rather than a person. After spreading the saliva around and inside her asshole, his fingers withdrew and he lifted her legs over and back down. Karen said "ow" as the angled stick struck the base of her spine. And then Ezra's hands were on her hips, adjusting her position. Karen tried to struggle as she felt the stick slide between her buttocks until it was pressed against her back door. She tried to struggle but it was futile. Ezra's hand was on her pubic bone, pressing hard. Karen screamed as her anal ring yielded and the stick slid roughly into her ass. "No! No! Oh, God, help me!" she cried.

She was stunned into silence when Ezra slapped her face hard. "Keep the Lord's name out of your mouth, you filthy whore!" He spat on her, his spittle flying into her eyes that she could only try to blink clear with her hands bound outstretched. She began to cry. Ezra stepped over her head where she lay spread-eagle and pinioned on the ground and then she shrieked as she felt him lifting the cross. As he raised her upright, her weight drove the stick more deeply into her rectum and a sudden stab of pain silenced her. She swung dizzyingly forward and back, and then Ezra did something to lock the cross in the upright position.

Karen fought for breath. She hung by the leather belts fastened around her neck and her wrists, and the wooden pole shoved up her ass. She was suspended, her toes a couple of feet off the ground. An ache was already beginning in her shoulders, spreading across her back. There was a pressure in her chest and her breasts wobbled and bounced as she arched her back, trying to breath. She raised her knees, kicking out, trying to get leverage to unseat the stick from her ass but it was impossible. She was crucified.

And all around her, the deacons continued the preparations for a barbecue. "Help me, please, help," Karen cried weakly, spending precious breath that was ignored. Smoke from the grills billowed over her, making her cough and her eyes sting and tear and her nose run. Her strength was soon exhausted, having been sapped already by days of trauma and abuse. The spreading pains from having her weight suspended joined the bruising on her body, the aches in her hip muscles, the pain of her sphincter forcibly dilated and the back passage overfull and, more than anything else, the stinging, searing agony that reached deep inside her cunt until her entire midsection felt like one huge sore. Her head lolled forward and her breath came in tortured gasps as the blond thirteen-year-old hung limply from the cross.

Karen fell into a daze, her mind so tortured that it recoiled from her reality. Faces seemed to loom out of the billowing smoke. There was her little sister Renee, first chiding her for being a whore but then leading her by a leash around Karen's neck, offering her naked body to a parade of men, laughing as Karen drove herself onto their cocks like a mad thing, Renee laughing as her big sister writhed and screamed in one tortured orgasm after another. There was Lilah, not the monster she was now, but the cute little girl that Karen babysat, the little girl that Karen felt compelled somehow to molest, Lilah crying piteously as Karen held her while her baby pussy was spanked over and other, Lilah crying and puking after Karen pissed on her and made her drink it, Lilah slowly losing her grip on reality from the drugs and the constant rapes, rapes that Karen had happily participated in, caring for nothing but her own pleasure, not caring that she had destroyed the innocent little girl and turned her into the monster she was now.

Karen sobbed as her mind replayed her life for the last two years, since the day her uncle had held her down and fucked her, had torn her own innocence away and replaced it with an endless well of need and lust. That was the start, wasn't it? If not for that - well, eventually she would've figured out how to make herself cum, wouldn't she? And once that happened there would've been no way back. She would've still become the filthy whore she was - except without her uncle and Renee to watch out for her, to teach her how to hide, she probably would've turned into the school slut, cutting a swath through boys until they all knew, until her teachers knew, until her parents knew. They would've all known.

Karen's throat was raw from crying and from the barbecue smoke still billowing around her. She blinked her eyes clear of tears, tried to shake her lank, dirty hair out of her eyes, and looked down to discover that deacons were milling around the cross she hung from, paying her no more attention than if she were another pine seedling on the grounds. "Help me," she tried to say, but all that came out was a wordless croak. She tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. Her tongue was like a lump of stone in her mouth. "Help me," she said again and this time one of the deacons looked up at her. "I'm so thirsty," she managed to force out.

"You're thirsty?" the deacon's booming voice turned heads all around. Karen nodded her head eagerly. Surely this man, this man of God with his golden cross would help her. But Karen's hope turned to dismay when he held up the red plastic cup he had been drinking from, then dashed its contents onto the ground. Dismay then turned to shock as the deacon lowered his fly right there and fished out his penis. "We know what a thirsty whore wants, don't we, brothers?" He began stroking himself as if it were nothing in front of the group of his coworkers. His cock rapidly inflated. His eyes roved over Karen's naked body, burning with lust and something else, some kind of mad ecstasy, something Karen had seen before only rarely in church. Before long the deacon grunted and ejaculated into the cup. It was a measure of the depth of Karen's thirst that she looked greedily at the small puddle of white cum in the bottom of the cup and writhed futilely on her anal penetration as if she could somehow reach it.

But the deacon merely handed off the cup to one of his brethren. Karen watched in growing desperation as one after another, a dozen of the deacons jerked off into the cup until it was maybe a third full of viscous protein. When the cup came back to the hands of the deacon who had first contributed his seed, he leered up at her. "I'll be right back," he said and Karen moaned as he turned and the cup carrying the precious liquid passed out of her view.

Karen felt a sick gratitude when the deacon returned after a few minutes. He was now carrying a stepladder in one hand and in the other - the cup. The cup was now full! The semen now floated in globs and clots in precious water. Karen's mouth dropped open and her tongue hung out as her entire body yearned towards the satisfaction of her thirst. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was the cup in the deacon's hand as he climbed the stepladder to bring his head onto a level with Karen's. He held the cup just out of reach at first, taunting her. "Please," Karen begged. "Please, oh God, please help me," So focused was she on the brimming cup that she didn't see the malice in the deacon's eyes as he brought it to her mouth and tilted it.

Karen choked and tried to scream as what flooded her mouth was not semen-flavored water as she expected, but some kind of burning liquor. Karen had been plied with alcohol by her tricks enough times that she knew the disgusting, bitter taste and the fire of it in her mouth. She would politely decline when it was offered, sometimes pressing her naked body against the man or woman to let them know it wasn't necessary, that no drugs were required to confuse her or weaken her resistance, that she was happy to be their shameless fuck toy - for the next hour, at least. Karen tried to twist away but the deacon pressed the cup against her lips, forcing her head back until her mouth was full of the horrible stuff. The welcome, familiar taste of semen moderated it not at all.

Before she could spit it out the deacon's fingers were under her chin behind the bone, forcing her head up and her mouth shut. Karen's blue eyes watered and went wide and wild as she was unable to expel the vile stuff from her mouth. She looked at the deacon with pleading eyes but saw no sympathy there, only disgust. With his other hand he pinched Karen's nostrils shut until there was nothing she could do but swallow. The alcohol burned its way down her throat. She gasped but as soon as her mouth opened the deacon poured more in, the sludge of cum and alcohol setting her sinuses afire as she coughed.

Karen was forced to drink until the cup was nearly empty and then, laughing cruelly, the deacon threw the rest of its contents into Karen's face. Jizz and alcohol ran into her eyes and set them burning. "Still thirsty, whore?" he jeered as he climbed down. Karen tried to focus her eyes on the mocking laughter rising up from the deacons around her. Her stomach burned and roiled until without warning it rejected the massive dose of poison. Karen vomited, bile, semen, and alcohol burning its way up into her throat and out, the disgusting mess spilling down the front of her body between her bare breasts and running down her belly. She heaved repeatedly, each spasm causing the peg to twist inside her rectum with a stab of pain.

As her body finished emptying itself, Karen raised her head but the world spun around her. Despite the violent expulsion enough of the alcohol had been absorbed by her body to render her quite drunk. Karen didn't mind being a little high - pot was better, but a glass or two of wine sometimes put enough of a cushion between her and her current trick, let her wall her mind and spirit off from the torrent of sensation her body was helpless to resist and the shame that threatened to overwhelm her every time she exposed her naked body to another adult. But this was far too much. Her head spun and her eyes wouldn't focus. But worst of all, she felt her control slipping. Despite the pain in her anus and the throbbing ache in her cunt, the heat and the need were welling up inside her. The breeze tickled her sweaty body. She felt it from her scalp down to her toes. Her nipples erected, crinkling and stiffening almost painfully. Gooseflesh rippled along her naked skin. The air moving across her bare mons made her shiver with delight and, yes, she felt her clitoris begin to emerge from beneath its hood.

Karen began to moan softly as the cool breeze coaxed arousal from her abused body. She couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself from trying to push herself up on the anal penetration from which most of her weight depended. She bent her knees, pressing her soles flat against the cross and in that way was able to feel the wooden peg sliding across her anal ring as it twitched and contracted. Then as she relaxed her thigh muscles she felt herself slide back down to the full depth of penetration. "Yesssss..." she hissed as she repeated the action, tensing and releasing until she was humping herself against the wooden invader.

But her clumsy, desperate self-pleasuring did not go unobserved. Another deacon stopped in front of her and pointed. "Look at the whore!" he called, and other deacons did. Karen's face flamed red. She was completely used to being naked in front of strangers, but being caught masturbating so avidly, even amidst the agonies of being hung on the cross, even as she had to fight for each breath - as so many times before, her shame echoed in her head. "I'm a whore, I'm a filthy whore." Her head drooped and tears leaked from her eyes. Yet even as the irresistible desire burned through her immature body, her mind reeled and recoiled. She looked up and saw, not the fence enclosing her prison, but Moira's face. Moira, the woman she had loved so desperately. But as she strained towards the vision of her dead wife she saw, not love or lust on Moira's face, but cruelty. Moira, laughing as he tied Karen to the bench in her apartment. Moira, snarling as she squeezed Karen's wrist until the bones ground together, demanding that Karen masturbate her. Moira, sneering as Karen begged for release and then screamed as Moira repeatedly pressed the burning coal of her cigarette against Karen's tender ass. And the hunger and lust in Moira's eyes as she forced Karen to torture poor Lilah, or suffer the torture herself.

It was as if a curtain had parted and for the first time Karen saw Moira not as her rescuer, the one who had taught her how to find boys and men to satisfy herself, but as her corrupter, the one who had made her nothing more than a tool for Moira to gratify her own perversity. "She didn't love me." The thought came unbidden to Karen's mind. Her uncle and her little sister had said it to her over and over but now, for the first time, she could see it was true. "She didn't love me, she only loved hurting me." The words echoed in Karen's mind and a chill spread throughout her body, the shock of truth. "She made me hurt Lilah, because she knew that would hurt me and she wanted me to hurt. And she made me cum so hard, so I would do what she wanted. She made me need it so bad, I did anything to have it again. She made me destroy Lilah." The little girl's ruined face with its missing teeth and its bizarre tattooing and its vile piercings swam before her. "I'm sorry, Lilah!" she cried. "I'm so sorry," and she sobbed for all the evil she had done.

So absorbed in her self-recrimination was she that Karen didn't see the deacon who had jeered at her leave, and return a few moments later. It was only when she felt a familiar electric buzz against her vulva that her head jerked up and her eyes opened wide. She blinked, trying to focus through her tears and the befuddling alcohol. She looked down and saw the deacon holding what looked like a spear. But on the end of it was, not a blade, but a device she knew all too well, as she had several hidden in her bedroom at home and even more in her office at the condo. A giant dildo, far larger than any man's penis, was taped to the end of a long broomstick, and the deacon was prodding at her privates with it. He nudged it clumsily between her labia majora. Karen felt the buzz intensify as he pressed upwards and then with a groan she felt her inner lips separate and the dildo slid wetly into her. The vibration filled her and she felt her cunt contract around it, felt the vibration against the underside of her clitoris, felt the pleasure begin to fill her. She fought against it desperately, knowing what would happen if she surrendered to the good feelings, but then the deacon began to stab the dildo into her cunt, shoving it in as deeply as it would go, so deep that Karen felt the vibration go right through her, felt it rattling against the wooden peg filling her ass and she couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the way it rose and thrilled along her limbs, her stressed arms and twitching legs, felt the familiar sexual heat rising, was helpless to stop what happened next.

"AIIIIEE!" Karen shrieked as the pain stabbed into her clitoris, like needles, like a knife, like actual flame burning her pleasure bud until it blackened and split. Through wide eyes she saw the deacon gloating, saw his malicious leer as he pumped the dildo into her immature cunt, pistoning it in and out. On top of the humiliation of being exposed like this, the deep burning ache in her rectum, the feel of her asshole twitching and clenching around the wooden invader, the friction and the vibration was too much. The pain was horrible but it couldn't stop the spiraling pleasure that uncoiled in her belly, expanding like the warmth of the summer sun to fill her. "AIIIEEE!" Karen screamed again, and again and again and again as the device delivered stab after stab, each one more intense than the last, until she was screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, fighting for breath, thrashing her legs, her whole body twisting and writhing on the cross, and still the pleasure burned through her, still it couldn't be denied. It burned from inside her cunt and raged up the length of her clitoris, seizing the pain and squeezing it, then exploding through her body until she couldn't tell where the pleasure stopped and the pain began. A ragged unearthly ululation tore itself from her throat. Her eyes slammed shut and she felt her whole lower body contract. Hot cream shot from her burning slit, catching the deacon full in his face and wiping the leer away. He stumbled back, gasping, leaving the stick dangling and jerking up and down in the iron grip of Karen's cunt as she writhed helplessly in the grip of her orgasm.

Then the world went white behind Karen's eyelids and she heard the first of the explosions. At first she couldn't even separate them from the explosions of pain and pleasure that rocketed through her tender young body. The sensations were all there were, and the blooming heat against her skin and light behind her eyelids were all part of it. And then she had reached the end of her strength. The pleasure and the pain still stabbed through her but she sagged in her bindings, her legs flopping loose as her weight pressed the stick painfully up her rectum.

There were isolated flashes, moments frozen as if in a dream. Young voices crying out. A terrifying feeling of falling as the cross was lowered to the ground. The agony of rough wood scraping against her abused anus as she was lifted free. A full, deep breath drawn as her neck was freed, and the shattering contraction the flood of oxygen brought, her hot juice spraying up in the air and splashing back onto her filthy bare skin and a voice she barely recognized as her own crying out in ecstasy.

When Karen came back to herself, she was lying on cold metal, on the floor of the same van that had brought her to this hellish place - was it only a handful of days ago? The van bounced and rattled down the road. She wiped sweat from her eyes. Rachel was there! Rachel was sitting against the wheel well of the van, her knees drawn up and her eyes wide. Karen followed her silent gaze - and it was Lilah. The tattooed nine-year-old knelt between Karen's spread legs, naked as always, staring down at her. Karen burst into tears and tried to sit up to seize the little girl in a hug, but the pain in her clit took her breath away and dropped her back down. "I'm sorry, Lilah!" she cried. "I'm sorry, I did terrible things to you, I was so scared of Moira but I shouldn't have, I'm so sorry..."

Lilah looked up, her spooky blue marbles staring into Karen's eyes, seemingly into her soul. Without a word she opened her mouth, her silver tusks clashing together, and bent down over Karen's crotch. Karen braced herself, Lilah was going to bite her, was going to bite her clit off, she deserved it...but there was only a sudden prick and a feeling of pressure released. Lilah raised her head, and the cap that had been fastened to Karen's clit was between her lips. She spit it onto the floor. "It'th okay, Karen. Moira'th gone now. Thee can't hurt uth anymore." And she bent her head back down.

Karen moaned as she felt Lilah's tusks nipping at her tender vulva. She reached down and tangled her hands in Lilah's flyaway gray hair as the little girl's tongue snaked out, pressing between Karen's swollen labia. The little nips and bites were just seasoning, a tiny bit of pain that made her growing pleasure all the sharper. "Oh, Lilah," she moaned, "Eat me. Eat my whore cunt, Lilah. I want it so bad, oh Godddd..." Karen blushed at the wet, sloppy sound of Lilah's fingers penetrating her. First the four finger's of the child's small hand, then Karen felt her opening forced further open as Lilah added her thumb. "Oh, God, fuck me, Lilah, fuck me, fuck MEEE!" Her legs came up and wrapped around the little girl's thin shoulders as she felt Lilah make a fist inside her, stretching her almost beyond endurance, and then the little girl was punching with surprising, wiry strength, shoving her fist up Karen's channel until her wrist disappeared between labia stretched to their limit. Karen writhed on the cold metal floorboards, abandoning herself to what was now pure pleasure. And then Lilah seized Karen's swollen, bruised and insulted clitoris between her bare gums and sucked and chewed and Karen exploded. The naked thirteen-year-old howled until her voice failed. Thick, pungent cream sprayed onto Lilah's face, soaking her hair and fountaining up almost to the height of the van's windows before splashing down onto Lilah's skinny naked back. As the orgasm crested and receded, Karen grabbed Lilah's shoulders and pulled her up. Lilah's fist slid out of Karen's cunt with a loud slurp. Karen held Lilah in a tight embrace, wrapping her arms and legs around the much smaller child, and pressed her lips against Lilah's, feeling the cold metal of Lilah's tusks pricking her skin. She held her like that, rocking her gently, as the van barreled down the road.

Karen's uncle drove until they reached the interstate and then stopped at a lonely motel there at the highway junction. His truck was there already and he had a room key. Karen spent most of the last two days of her supposed camping trip soaking in a bath and making love to Lilah. Sometime early on the second day Rachel's father arrived. He wrapped his daughter in his bearlike arms and cried. He took the keys to the van with the admonishment to get rid of it as soon as he got back to the city. Before they left Rachel sat on the edge of the bed where Karen and Lilah lay naked and entwined. Both children were damp and sticky and the room was redolent with Karen's cunt cream. Rachel reached out a hand and with a finger circled Karen's erect nipple, standing up proud and swollen. Karen sighed with pleasure and opened her eyes. Rachel examined the thick liquid, almost a paste, covering her fingertip. She put the finger in her mouth and sucked it thoughtfully. "Thank you for coming to get me," she said to Karen, and for just the briefest instant she made and held eye contact before her gaze slid away. "I'm glad you're a whore. No one else could have done it." Then she stood and took her father's hand and they left.

//

I closed the door behind them and then looked back at the bed. Karen had her arms wrapped around Lilah. She was kissing the younger girl. Her blue eyes were half-open and her tongue played around Lilah's mouth, caressing the chrome tusks and then darting between them to lick at the child's empty gums. She moved her body underneath the younger girl. Lilah was so much smaller that her feet were on the mattress between Karen's knees. Their skin was sticky with sweat and Karen's juices and their bodies peeled apart audibly as Karen undulated. She was humming to herself, sighing Lilah's name quietly as her hands roamed over the younger girl's tattooed skin. One hand trailed down over the gothic script "MONSTER" inked into Lilah's lower back, then between the girl's asscheeks, almost the only part of her body that remained pale, unmarred skin. Her middle finger burrowed between the white pillows, circling Lilah's asshole. Lilah only grunted softly in her throat as Karen's finger pushed through her anal ring. Then with her preternatural ability to sense people's moods and intentions - something she had no doubt needed to survive her time enslaved - she lifted her head and her solid blue eyeballs turned to me. She saw my burning eyes, the sweat gathering on my brow, the way I licked my lips as I stared at the two naked children, and of course she saw the raging erection I had freed from my pants. It was always hard to discern the child's expression behind all the terrible things that had been done to her face, the moreso when it was half hidden by a fall of lank gray hair. But her tongue darted out between her tusks and licked at her lips.

In two quick strides I was at the foot of the bed. I grabbed Lilah's thighs, my hands easily encircling the skinny limbs, and pulled her backwards and up onto her knees. She slid down Karen's body, the skin of their torsos sliding stickily together. Her tiny pussy was bright pink and puffy with arousal but the peach was still tightly closed. I swiped my cockhead up and down her slit and over her perineum, gathering sweat and Karen's natural lubricant from her skin, then pressed against the tiny opening. There was a moment of resistance, then Lilah's head jerked up and back as my cock forced its way in, stretching and overfilling her juvenile channel. She was hot and wet and the friction felt amazing. Lilah grunted as I bottomed out against her cervix, then I started thrusting fast and hard. The nine-year-old's body trembled and jerked as I pulled her onto and off of my hardon like a living fleshlight. Little groans and sighs were forced out of her, and then she dropped her face between Karen's spread thighs. Her jaw began to work and Karen's voice joined in harmony, gasping as Lilah suckled and chewed on her intimate anatomy.

I shifted my grip up so that my fingers were nearer to Lilah's slender waist and my thumbs pressed deep indentations into her asscheeks. Sliding my hands inward I was able to hook the tip of one thumb against her anal ring and then drove it through her clenching sphincter as I my cock distended her tiny peach. Then I brought my other thumb into play until I had both digits hooked into Lilah's asshole, stretching her wide open into an oval and using my thumbs to pull her deeper onto my cock as I thrust my hips forward.

Lilah began to make a high, keening whine as I fucked her and reamed her ass, pushing my thumbs all up and down and around inside her rectum. Her knees were off the bed and her feet slapped against the sheets. Her face was bouncing off Karen's crotch and she had to wrap her skinny arms around the older girl's waist to hold herself in place. Then she opened wide and clamped down on Karen's swollen vulva and Karen cried out in tortured pleasure as Lilah's tusks bit deep.

"Oh, yeah!" I grated out. "That's how you fuck a monster! You like this, Lilah? You like having your monster cunt fucked?"

"Yes!" came the cry and it was Lilah and Karen both, Lilah's voice muffled by her mouthful of smooth, hairless teen twat. Karen spread her legs as wide as she could and reached down to pry her lips apart, giving Lilah complete access to her. I felt myself building and stabbed my cock into the child in a frenzy, faster and faster, heedless of her cries as I battered against her cervix, until with a shout I buried myself in Lilah's feverish heat and froze. She jerked with each ejaculation as I inseminated her and Karen's cries became a long, low wail as Lilah bit down on her swollen inner labia.

Drained, I dropped Lilah onto the bed. She rolled over, again regarding me with the empty blue of her gaze. There was blood on her tusks and all around her mouth. Karen shivered and groaned through her own orgasm. There were fresh punctures on her vulva, each leaking a tiny rivulet of crimson. "Thankth, cunt monthter," Lilah rasped in her ruined voice. "That wath a good fucking." She reached down and pressed two fingers into her swollen and now gaping cunt, came out with them covered in fresh semen, and sucked them clean. "Yum, yum, monthter cum!" she sang, and then giggled.