Chapter Text
The handover happened fast.
Her father didn't kneel down or say goodbye. He just pushed Alice forward at the door and took the envelope the man held out. Thick, white, unsealed. Her father's fingers closed around it and he stepped back inside without looking at her. The door shut. The lock clicked.
Alice stood on the porch in her t-shirt and pants and velcro shoes, holding her bag of crayons and coloring books against her chest. The night air was cold on her bare arms. She looked up at the man who'd bought her.
He was big. Taller than her dad by a head, wider across the shoulders by half. Dark suit, clean shaven, dark hair combed back. He looked down at her with an expression she couldn't name. Her dad looked at her with anger or annoyance, and she knew those faces. This man's face was different. Still, something about the way his eyes moved over her made her skin feel prickly.
He held out his hand. She took it because she didn't know what else to do. His hand swallowed hers, warm and dry, and he led her to the black limousine waiting in the driveway. The driver didn't get out. The man opened the back door himself and lifted her in, his hands under her arms, setting her on the white leather seat like she weighed nothing. She kind of didn't.
The door closed. The interior lit up in purple neon that ran along the base of the seats and the ceiling, reflecting off the white leather in soft violet. It was pretty. She'd never been in a car like this. Her bag of crayons sat next to her on the seat. The leather was cool and smooth under her bare thighs.
He slid in beside her and the car started moving.
For a while he said nothing. She sat with her hands in her lap, her small feet dangling off the seat, and stared at her velcro shoes. The car smelled like new leather and the chemical tang of the air freshener clipped to the vent. Her heart was beating fast in her chest and she could feel it in her throat.
"You will no longer need clothing while living with me," he said.
She looked up. His voice was calm, even, not loud. He wasn't asking.
Alice frowned. She opened her mouth, the beginning of a word that wouldn't come, and closed it again. She'd stopped talking when she was three. She could hear words fine, could write them at school, could read them. But speaking them out loud was like a door that wouldn't open. The word was right there, she knew what she wanted to say, but her mouth wouldn't make the shape. So she just frowned at him.
He didn't glare. He gave her a look, quiet and steady, that made her whole body go stiff. It wasn't anger. It was worse than anger because she didn't know what it meant. With her dad, at least she knew the rules. Hit, yell, hide. This was something else.
"Remove your clothing."
Her lower lip trembled. She'd been told not to take her clothes off in front of people. Her teacher at school said that. But her teacher wasn't here, and this man was looking at her with that steady gaze, and she was scared of what would happen if she didn't. She reached for the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head. The leather stuck slightly to her arms as she moved. She set the shirt on the seat beside her.
The velcro shoes next. Riiip of the strap on the left, riiip on the right. She set them on top of the shirt.
Her pants. She stood up on the seat, wobbling, and pushed them down. They caught on her knees and she had to sit back down to pull them off the rest of the way. Underwear followed, plain white with a small flower print. She shoved everything into the pile with her shoes and shirt and sat with her hands in her lap, covering herself.
The man watched. His eyes moved down her body slowly, and she felt the prickle again, like being looked at too closely at the doctor's office but worse.
He reached for her. His hand closed around the back of her neck.
Not squeezing. Just holding. His fingers were warm and his palm was dry and his hand was so big that his thumb and middle finger nearly met at the front of her throat. He tilted her head. She went stiff because when her dad grabbed her neck it meant hitting was next. But his grip didn't tighten. He just held her there and turned her face to the side, then the other side, looking.
His other hand moved. Down across her chest. She was flat there, just two tiny pink nipples, barely raised, the size of a pencil eraser. His fingers brushed over one and she shivered. Down to her belly, soft and slightly rounded in that little-kid way, the skin pale and smooth. He pressed his palm flat against her stomach and she felt the warmth of it spread through her.
His hand moved lower. Between her legs. She pressed her knees together but he nudged them apart with his wrist, gentle but firm. Her pussy was puffy, the outer lips plump and closed, smooth, no hair. The slit was small, tight-looking, the skin pink. He ran his thumb over the mound, just the surface. She squirmed. It felt weird. Like being touched somewhere private, which it was, but also something else, a little tingle that she didn't have a name for. She didn't like it.
He turned her around on his lap. She went stiff again, not fighting but not helping. His hand stayed on her neck. His other hand moved down her back, over the bumps of her spine, to her bottom. Her little ass was round for her size, full and soft and squeezable despite being tiny. He cupped one cheek, squeezed. She felt his fingers press into the soft flesh. He spread her cheeks apart with his thumb and forefinger and she felt cool air on her holes. Her asshole was tiny, pink, puckered tight. Below it, the puffy lips of her pussy from behind, the slit barely visible between her closed thighs.
He made a sound. Low, satisfied, quiet. She didn't know what it meant but it made her stomach feel like it dropped.
"Good," he said. Just that. Then he let go of her neck.
She sat where he'd turned her, facing away from him, small and naked on the white leather. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders, fine and straight, almost white in the purple light. She was shivering. Not big shivers, just a fine tremor in her arms and legs. Forty-five pounds of pale, smooth skin. Tiny nipples, flat chest, puffy pussy, round little ass. His hands had looked huge against her. They were.
He rummaged in the cubbyhole beside him. She heard the sound of things being moved, and she turned to watch because watching was better than sitting with her eyes closed and thinking. He brought out a little pink thing, pill-shaped, with a wire coming from one end. He set it beside him along with a bottle of something.
"Turn around and bend over the seat in front of me, pet."
She didn't move for a second. She didn't want to. But she remembered the look he'd given her, and she didn't want to see what happened if she didn't listen. She turned on her knees and knelt on the floor. The carpet was rough against her bony kneecaps. She bent over the seat in front of her, her small body folded forward, her round little ass presented. The seat was far back enough that she didn't touch it. Her knees were on the floor and her top half rested on the leather.
His hands were on her hips immediately. Warm, big, wrapping around her thin waist. He stroked up her back, slow, pressing into the muscles along her spine, and back down to her bottom. She tensed. The touching felt strange, not like the hitting she was used to. This was deliberate and patient. He massaged her cheeks, squeezing with his fingers and the base of his palms, digging in, taking his time. She was soft under his hands. He spread her cheeks apart and the cool air hit her holes again. His thumb circled the rim of her anus, tracing the tight pink puckered skin in slow circles.
She's tighter than I expected. This will take work.
She didn't move when the hands left her. She didn't want to be hit. She laid across the seat, small and still, her blonde hair fallen forward over her face, her ass in the air. She heard him open the bottle. A wet sound. Then his fingers returned, slick and warm.
She jumped when the wet finger touched her hole. She tried to stay still but her body flinched. The finger just rubbed the area first, circling, pressing, spreading the wetness. Then he pushed. His index finger pressed against the tight ring of muscle and she whimpered as it gave, the tip of his finger sliding in past the first knuckle.
It was thick. His one finger, to her, felt like something big. She was six and tiny and his hands were adult-sized and the stretch burned. She pressed her face into the leather and made a small sound, "nnh," muffled against the seat.
He thrust the finger in and out, slow and shallow. Just the first knuckle. The muscle clenched around him, hot and tight. She was trembling, her thin legs shaking.
He pushed deeper. Second knuckle. She cried out, a thin high sound, "ah—!" Her hands fisted the leather. The stretch was more now, the burn sharper. His finger was thick inside her, filling her small canal. She could feel it pressing against the walls, the wetness of the lube making it slide but not making it less.
He pulled out. She exhaled, shaky, relieved. The relief lasted two seconds.
Two fingers pressed against her hole. She heard herself make a scared sound before they pushed in. Both fingers, slick with lube, sliding past the muscle. She cried out, louder, "ah, ah—!" and surged forward, trying to get up, trying to get away from the thick stretch of two adult fingers inside her tiny body.
His free hand shoved her back down. Flat against the seat. She felt the leather stick to her cheek, warm and damp from her breath.
"Stay," he said. Calm. Like he was telling a dog to sit.
She stopped fighting. Tears leaked from her big blue eyes, rolling down her round cheeks, and she lay still while he thrust his two fingers into her. The wet sound was loud in the quiet car. Schlk, schlk, schlk. She could hear it and feel it and she hated both. The fingers separated inside her, spreading wider, and she squealed, "eeh—!" a high thin sound. He twisted them. The muscle stretched in every direction. She could feel the burn radiating outward from her hole, up into her tummy.
"Do you like crayons?" he asked.
She blinked. The question came from nowhere. She sniffled. The fingers pulled out and she felt the gape for a second, her hole open and empty, before it clenched back.
She nodded into the seat.
He reached over and grabbed her bag of crayons. She heard the rustle of the paper bag. Then the wet sound of lube being poured. She turned her head, wet cheek sticking to the leather, and saw him slicking up a handful of crayons. Long ones, new, the ones with sharp points.
"Don't move," he said.
She didn't understand why he was putting lube on her crayons. They were for coloring. She watched him over her shoulder, confused and scared, and then she felt the first one press against her hole.
It went in halfway. The wax was smooth and cool and thinner than his fingers but still felt weird. She made a sound, "nhh," and pressed her forehead against the seat. One crayon. Okay. That was weird but okay.
A second one. Pushed in beside the first. She felt the two of them side by side in her canal, the pressure of them together wider than one. She squirmed.
A third. In the middle of the bundle. Three crayons in her ass. She could feel the wax ends pressing against her muscle, the colorful tips poking out of her. She started to understand that this wasn't about coloring.
Four. Five. Six. She had six colorful crayons poking out of her asshole. The stretch was constant now, the muscle stretched around the bundle of wax. Her hands gripped the leather seat, knuckles white, eyes squeezed shut. She didn't like crayons anymore.
Seven. He pushed another in, watching her muscle stretch tight around the growing bundle. The burn was sharp and steady. She whimpered, "nnhh, nnhh," small sounds through her nose.
"Good girl," he said. He looked at the remaining crayons. Three more. He pushed the eighth in, the ninth, and the tenth. She cried out, "ah—!" her whole body tensing, her legs kicking against the seat. She struggled against the hand he pressed flat on her lower back, holding her down. She tried to push the crayons out like she was going to the bathroom, her face scrunching up with the effort, but he pushed them in further and she yelped, "ah, ah—!" and tried to crawl forward, away from the pressure in her bottom.
He held her still. She whimpered, hiccupping. She couldn't get away. She stopped fighting and lay there, the ten crayons deep in her ass, her hole stretched around the bundle, the colorful tips poking out between her cheeks.
After a few minutes he pulled the crayons out. One at a time. Slow. She felt each one slide out, the wax catching on her muscle, the slight pop as each one emerged. The last one fell from her ass with a wet sound and landed on the seat next to her pile of clothes.
He lubed up the pink bullet vibrator. She felt his fingers return, spreading her again, and this time he didn't go slow. He shoved the bullet into her quickly, one hard push, and she shrieked, "AHH—!" her whole body jerking forward. He pushed it deep, past the muscle, into her canal.
He grabbed tape and stuck the little controller box to her ass cheek. Patted her bottom.
The bullet started vibrating.
She gasped. Her whole body went rigid. The buzz was inside her, deep in her bottom, vibrating through her walls. She could feel it in her pussy too, the puffy lips trembling.
"Kneel," he said.
He guided her off his lap and onto the floor. She crawled between his legs on the rough carpet, her bony knees pressing into the pile. She looked up at him with scared blue eyes. The bullet buzzed inside her, making her thighs shake.
The driver knew not to open doors. The man always handled that himself, and the limousine was always parked in the garage before he did. There was no rush.
He unbuckled his belt. The sound of leather through loops, then the zipper. She watched with blank confusion. He pulled his cock free. Ten inches, thick, half-hard and growing as he wrapped his hand around it. She'd never seen one. She didn't know what it was. It was big, bigger than his fingers, bigger than the crayons or the bullet, and it was getting bigger.
"Open your mouth."
She shook her head. A small, instinctive refusal. He looked at her. Just looked. That steady, calm gaze. She opened her mouth.
The gap where her baby tooth was missing showed on top, the dark hole in her upper row, her small teeth framing the empty space. Her pink tongue sat behind them. She was looking up at him, mouth open, tears on her cheeks, the bullet buzzing in her ass.
He pressed the head of his cock against her lips. It was too big. The thick tip pushed against her small mouth and her jaw had to stretch wide, wider than she'd ever opened it, the corners of her lips pulling thin. Her top teeth scraped along the top of the shaft. Her bottom teeth pressed into the underside. The head slid past her teeth and onto her tongue. Her mouth was full. Just the head filled the space, pressing her tongue flat, the thick tip pushing against the back of her mouth. She made a confused sound, "mmph," around it.
He pushed deeper.
She gagged immediately. Her whole body convulsed, her throat spasming around the head as it pushed past her tongue into the back of her mouth. She tried to pull back but his hand was on the back of her head, holding her. Her hands came up against his thighs, small palms pressing against the fabric of his pants. She couldn't breathe. She choked, "gkk, gkk," wet sounds from her throat. Her eyes watered hard, tears spilling down her round cheeks, her nose running.
He pulled back. She gasped, sucking in air, coughing. Strings of spit connected her lips to his cock, thin and wet, breaking and falling to the carpet. Her face was red and wet. She looked up at him, terrified.
He pushed back in. Slower this time. She felt the head slide past her teeth, over her tongue, into the back of her mouth. The shaft followed, stretching her jaw wide, her lips thin around the girth. He hit the back of her throat and she gagged again, "glkk—" but he kept pressure, not pulling back, waiting. Her throat spasmed. Her body fought it. Then, slowly, the head pushed into her throat. She felt her neck stretch from the inside, the thick shape visible from the outside, bulging slightly under her skin. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes were wide and wet and scared. Her small hands gripped his pant legs, knuckles white.
He groaned. A low sound, almost like the one he'd made examining her but deeper. His head tipped back, eyes closing, and he held her there, her nose pressed against his stomach, his cock buried in her throat. She was shaking, her body buzzing from the vibrator in her ass and the lack of air and the thick thing filling her neck.
He pulled back enough for her to breathe. She sucked in air through her nose, a wet snorting sound. Then he pushed deep again. His head came forward and he looked down at her, watching her face. Red, wet, eyes streaming, her small lips stretched around his shaft, the gap in her top teeth visible. She was struggling. She was crying. She was choking on his cock.
"Good girl," he said. His voice was rough now, not calm. "That's it. Take it."
He started moving. Fucking her mouth. Not fast, but steady. In and out. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet car, "gllk, gllk, gllk," her small throat stretched around his girth. Drool ran down her chin, onto her flat chest, over her tiny nipples. She was crying and choking and buzzing all at once. Each thrust pushed into her throat and held for a second before pulling back. She learned to breathe through her nose when he pulled back. She learned to swallow when he pushed deep. She didn't know she was learning. She was just trying not to choke.
His hand on the back of her head guided her. Sometimes he pressed her down and held her there, his cock throbbing in her throat, her face pressed against his stomach, and she'd struggle and make sounds, "nghh, nghh," and he'd groan again, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Then he'd let her pull back and gasp.
"You look so pretty," he said. His thumb brushed her wet cheek. "Such a pretty little mouth."
The pressure built in him. His thrusts got faster. His grip on her head tightened. She didn't know what was happening, just that he was moving faster and his breathing was different and his hand was pushing her down harder. She gagged with each thrust, "glkk, glkk, glkk," drool and tears everywhere.
He pushed deep and held. His cock throbbed in her throat. She felt it pulse, once, twice, and then warmth flooded her mouth. Hot, thick, salty. It came in spurts, filling her throat, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow fast enough. She choked, cum leaking from the corners of her stretched lips, running down her chin. He pulled back and the last spurt landed on her tongue. She tasted it. Salty, bitter, thick. She didn't know what it was. Some kind of pee? Some kind of something. Her mouth was full of it.
"Swallow," he said.
She did. She didn't know why. He told her to and she did. The thick stuff slid down her throat and she gagged again but kept it down. The taste lingered.
He pulled out. She gasped, coughing, spit and cum on her chin, her face a mess. He wiped her cheek with his thumb, looked at his hand, and wiped it on her hair.
"Good girl," he said. "Stand and follow me out, pet."
She took nearly half a minute to obey. Her arms were shaking when she pushed herself up from the floor. Her knees trembled. She stood on wobbly legs and felt the thing inside her, solid and deep, still buzzing. She noticed the car had stopped. She could see trees through the tinted windows. They were parked in a garage, the door closing behind them automatically.
He made her walk. She followed him out of the car, naked, shaking. The vibrator buzzed inside her and she could feel it everywhere, in her legs, in her tummy, between her legs. Her body was shaking like the vibration was strong enough to rattle her whole frame. He held her hand and she held his because she had to. The cool air of the garage hit her bare skin and she shivered.
They walked down halls. Her bare feet on cold tile. The house was big and dark. She couldn't see much. He stopped at a door, opened it, and pushed her gently inside.
The room was bigger than the one at her dad's house. Maybe ten by twelve feet. The walls were pale lavender, the ceiling white with a star-shaped nightlight plugged into one corner. A white bedframe with a canopy stood against the far wall, gauzy curtains tied back with ribbon. The bedspread was pink with white polka dots, the pillows lacy and frilled. A small white shelf held a row of stuffed animals, bears and bunnies and a plush cat with yarn whiskers. A tiny desk with a chair sat under the window, the window covered by sheer curtains printed with butterflies. A pink rug covered most of the floor, soft and fuzzy, though the tile showed at the edges. There was even a little bookshelf with picture books and a small lamp shaped like a mushroom.
It looked like a room for a normal little girl. It smelled like baby powder and fabric softener.
Alice stared. She wanted to touch the stuffed animals. She wanted to stand on the fuzzy rug. She was naked and shaking with a bullet buzzing in her ass, and the room was pink and soft and pretty.
"I'll train your anus for deep insertions later," he said, pushing her toward the bed. She stumbled and fell against the pink bedspread. He pressed her forward so she was in the same position as in the car, bent over, on her feet, her face pressed into a lacy pillow that smelled like lavender. Her round little ass was presented. The controller was taped to her cheek, the wire running to the bullet deep inside her.
"Stay where you are. I'll be back in a minute. If you move you will be punished."
She heard the door close. The lock clicked. She was alone, face-down on the pink bed, the bullet buzzing inside her.
She cried quietly into the lacy pillow. The buzz was constant, deep in her bottom. Her tummy felt fluttery. Like needing to pee but different. Her pussy felt tingly and wet and she didn't know why. Nobody had touched her there.
She stayed still because he told her to. The minutes passed. The buzzing didn't stop. The pressure in her tummy grew. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her thin legs trembling. Her breathing got faster, little huffs against the pillow. Something was building. She felt like she was going to burst. She clenched her eyes closed and tried to stay still because he told her to stay still and she was trying, she was trying so hard—
Her body seized. Her hips jerked, her back arched, her pussy clenched on nothing. A small squirt of wetness ran down her inner thigh. She made a sound into the pillow, "ahh—nnhh—" and she didn't know if it hurt or felt good. The pressure broke open into something warm and pulsing and tingly, spreading from her tummy down between her legs. Her body shook in waves she couldn't control. She was trying to stay still but she couldn't stop. The feeling was big and scary and it also felt good and she didn't understand how it could be both.
The door opened.
She flinched hard, her body still twitching. He stood in the doorway, watching her. She looked back at him over her shoulder, eyes wet and huge and scared, her face red, her legs trembling.
He walked over. She tensed, expecting to be hit for moving, for shaking, for whatever her body had just done. But he just touched her face. His thumb brushed her cheek.
"That feeling," he said. "That big feeling that just happened. That means your body is learning to be a good girl." His voice was soft. "That's what happens when good girls do what they're told. You'll feel that a lot from now on."
She stared up at him. The feeling had been scary but also good and he was telling her it meant she was good. The feeling meant good. Good meant safe. Safe meant no hitting. And maybe the good part meant her body agreed somehow, even though she didn't want it to. Something in her small, confused mind filed that away.
He closed the door behind him. His hands were on her again. A rag went between her teeth and he tied it behind her head. She tasted fabric, rough and dry. He pulled her arms behind her back and tied her wrists together. The rope was rough against her skin. She whimpered but didn't struggle. The knot was tight. Her arms were pinned.
He poured lube over her ass. Cool liquid ran between her cheeks, over her asshole, down across her pussy. His fingers returned. First he tugged the wire of the bullet, pulling it free. The pink shape slid out of her stretched hole with a squelch and the buzzing increased in volume. Her hole gaped slightly where the bullet had been.
Then three fingers. He pushed them in together and she squealed into the gag, "mmph—!" Three adult fingers in her tiny hole. She was looser now from the bullet and the crayons but still tight. Her body was still sensitive from the big feeling, still twitchy, and his fingers made everything sharper, the stretch and the burn mixing with aftershocks that rippled through her tummy. He spread his fingers, stretching in all directions. She tensed and tried to pull away but his other hand held her hip. Her asshole burned around his knuckles.
He used the index finger of his other hand to stretch her wider, pressing in alongside the three. Four fingers. She screamed into the gag, "NMMH—!" The stretch was too much, her hole stretched wider than it had been all night, and her oversensitive walls pulsed around his fingers.
He pulled his fingers out. She heard the unbuckling of his belt. The zipper. Fabric. Then the wet sound of him stroking himself, shlck, shlck, shlck.
She was face down on the bed, arms tied behind her back. She couldn't see what he was doing. She felt him step close, his body heat behind her, his thighs against the back of her legs. Then something thick and blunt pressed against her hole. Bigger than anything yet.
She whimpered, a high thin sound, and wiggled her hips, trying to move away. His hand held her still.
He pushed.
The tip of his cock pressed against her tight muscle. She clenched, her whole body tensing, her small fingers curling behind her back. The pressure increased. Her muscle fought it. Then it gave.
The head popped in. She screamed into the gag, "AHH—!" her asshole stretching wide around the thickest part. She clenched hard, her body fighting the intrusion, her legs kicking against the bed. He didn't stop. He held her hip with one hand and pushed deeper.
She bucked, trying to crawl forward, away from the thick thing splitting her open. Her tied arms twisted behind her back. Her small feet pushed against the mattress. But he just held her in place, his big hand on her hip, and fed more of his cock into her. She sobbed into the rag, "mmph, mmph, mmph," each push drawing a new muffled cry.
Inch by inch. She could feel every bit, the thick shaft stretching her walls, her muscle burning around his girth. He was ten inches and she was tiny and her body was trying to push him out but he kept going. Four inches. Five. She felt the head press against a curve inside her, a bend in her canal, and she whimpered because it felt like he couldn't go any further.
He pushed harder. The head slid past the curve and deeper, into new territory. She shrieked, her back arching, her small body convulsing. The stretch was different now, deeper, and he pressed his palm against her belly from behind. She felt his hand flatten against the bulge, the pressure of his cock pushing against his palm through her skin. The ridge moved under her tummy as he went deeper.
"Look at that," he said. His voice was rough, not calm anymore. "I can feel myself in your stomach."
She couldn't look. She was face-down on the pink bedspread, crying. But she could feel it. Eight inches. Nine. The pressure moved higher inside her. Her tummy pressed out against the mattress, the outline of his cock visible where her belly pressed into the bed. Ten inches. His hips pressed against her round ass, his balls resting against her pussy, hot and heavy. He was all the way in.
He groaned. "Good girl. You took it all."
She couldn't stop the quiver in her limbs. She was so full she couldn't breathe right. His cock throbbed inside her, deep in her colon, and her walls pulsed around him. She felt like he was in her chest.
He pulled back. Slow. She felt every inch dragging out, her walls clinging to him. Then he pushed back in, one long thrust, and she screamed again, "ah—ah—" her body jerking. He started fucking her.
The first few thrusts were slow, deliberate. He pressed his hand against her belly each time, feeling the ridge slide back and forth under her skin. Then he went faster. The wet sound of his cock in her lubed ass filled the pink room, schlk, schlk, schlk. His hands held her hips, his fingers nearly wrapping around her thin waist, holding her still while he used her.
She fought. She couldn't help it. Each thrust pushed her forward and she tried to crawl away, her tied arms pulling against the rope, her legs kicking. But he just pulled her back onto his cock and fucked her harder. Her struggling made her ass clench around him, and he groaned, his head tipping back.
"Keep fighting," he said. "Feels good when you squeeze."
She didn't want to squeeze. She wanted him out. But her body wouldn't listen. Every time he thrust deep, hitting that spot past the curve inside her, her muscles clenched involuntarily. The bed creaked under them, the pink bedspread bunching under her knees. Her toes barely touched the floor. She was sobbing, her whole small frame jerking with each impact.
"That's it," he said. "Take it. Good girl. Take it all."
The pressure built in her tummy again. The same as before, when the bullet was inside her, but bigger. The pain was there, the burn, the stretch. But something else was growing. Her pussy was wet, the puffy lips slick, and every deep thrust sent a jolt through her that was sharp and tingly and not just pain. She didn't understand why her body was doing this. She didn't want it to feel good. But it did, and that was the worst part.
Her body didn't give her a choice. The orgasm hit her like the first one but deeper, fuller, starting in her belly and spreading outward. Her back arched off the bed, her tied arms jerking behind her, her legs going rigid. Her asshole clamped down on his cock so hard he groaned, a loud raw sound, and his hips stuttered. Her pussy spasmed, clenching on nothing, her whole lower body pulsing in waves. She made a sound into the gag, "NMMH—ah—nghhh—" her thin legs shaking, her toes curling. The feeling was huge, bigger than the one from the bullet, and it crashed through her and wiped out everything else. She couldn't think. She could only feel. And then she couldn't even feel much, her body going limp and heavy, her mind going somewhere far away.
He felt her clamp down on him, the rhythmic squeezing, and it pushed him over. He thrust deep, holding, his hips pressed against her ass, and she felt his cock thicken inside her. Then warmth. Hot, thick, flooding her insides. She felt it filling her up, the liquid spreading deep in her canal, pooling inside her. It kept coming, pulse after pulse, his cock twitching inside her, and she felt the warmth spread through her tummy, the fullness growing.
He held there for a moment, breathing hard, his hands still on her hips. She was crying softly, her body trembling with aftershocks, barely conscious. She'd gone somewhere else in her head, somewhere fuzzy and far, and she was only vaguely aware of his cock softening inside her.
He pulled out. She felt every inch sliding free, her muscle stretching around the head one last time before it popped out with a wet pop. Her hole gaped, open and raw, cum leaking from it immediately, running down across her pussy, over the puffy lips, dripping onto the pink bedspread. She was empty now. Just the warm cum pooling inside her and leaking out.
She went limp on the bed. Her face was pressed into the lacy pillow, wet with tears and drool from the gag. Her arms were still tied behind her. She was trembling all over.
He untied the gag. Pulled the wet rag from between her teeth. Her lips were red and raw. She closed her mouth and the gap where her baby tooth was missing showed on top.
He untied her wrists. The rope had left red marks on her skin. She pulled her arms to her chest and curled onto her side on the pink bedspread.
He sat on the edge of the bed. She flinched when his hand touched her face, but he just wiped her cheeks with his thumb.
"Good girl," he said. "You did so well."
She looked up at him with wet blue eyes. The feeling had happened again, the big one, and he was still happy with her. The feeling meant good. Good meant safe.
He stood. He picked up the rope and the rag. He walked to the door. He looked back at her once, curled on the pink bed, tiny and naked, cum leaking from her gaping asshole onto the polka-dot bedspread.
"Rest," he said. "I'll come for you in the morning."
The door closed. The lock clicked.
She was alone in the pretty room. His warm stuff leaked from her bottom, running down over her pussy, pooling under her on the pink bedspread. Her hole hurt. Her wrists stung.
She pulled her bag of crayons from where she'd dropped them on the floor and held them to her chest. She didn't think about the wet ones still laying on the car seat in the garage.
She curled up smaller, her blonde hair falling over her face, her blue eyes closing. She pressed her face into the lacy pillow, which smelled like lavender and his sweat, and she cried until she fell asleep.