This is a story. It never happened and never will. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

BR&T date: summer 1995

A mob of tourists gathered in front of the hotel, waiting for a shuttle bus to the nearby ancient Incan temple. (Actually Moche, but no one outside of Peru has ever heard of them, so they call it Incan for business reasons.)

Two particular tourists had been there before, very recently, and urgently needed to return. They'd left their nine-year-old daughter, Sara, there by mistake.

"Well, was that fun, or what?" Jim Carson asked his wife. "Everything worth seeing and doing in six foreign countries in two weeks. Except for the one side trip in that horrible bus, packed in like sardines, that they advised us not to take, but you said you wanted to anyway, that was the best guided tour we've ever been on. Am I right?"

"Of course you are, honey," Lady Carson answered. "But it's also the only guided tour we've ever been on, and the only foreign countries we've ever seen. The side trip let us see Ecuador. At least, look at it from across the border, and that's good enough. It's still too bad Sara missed it."

Jim shrugged. "Better than all of us missing it, dear. Besides, she probably had more fun on her own. Imagine the stories she'll be able to tell her friends when we get back home. 'I spent two weeks in an ancient temple in Peru!' I'll bet not many girls her age can say that, can they? The bus seems to be running late, naturally. I'm anxious to find her."

"I doubt Sara will even recognise you, with that native hat, sunglasses, Bermuda shorts, the crazy shirt, your tan from two weeks in the sun, and the beard you decided to grow. You look like a stereotypical tourist, not a businessman in a suit. She'll hardly know you until you speak! I hope we can find her without too much trouble. Oh good, here's the bus," she said with relief. She rolled her eyes. "Oh grief, not this again."

Typical of certain places, eighty people boarded a bus only designed to carry forty. The Carsons got on in the first wave, so they were able to sit on the seats, but that wasn't necessarily luck, since they also got sat on. Luckily for them, a slender woman and her daughter boarded the bus, and hadn't found anyone they dared to sit on yet. Lady Carson insistently waved to them, fearing worse choices getting on later. Despite half the seated bus occupants doing the same, she succeeded in getting the woman to stop at their seat. Perhaps that wasn't difficult, since most of the bus occupants were men, with only a couple of other women, and some small girls already on men's laps in the far back of the bus.

She didn't want another woman sitting on her husband's lap, though, so she passed the shy girl along to her husband, and gave her own lap to the girl's mother.

Jim Carson took the girl from his wife, and quickly noticed how nice and soft and warm and light the girl felt, sitting on his lap. Her short dress allowed her bare legs to touch his. Her bare knees, her small fingers and wrists, even her neck, looked so delicate, reminding him a little of his own daughter at that age. He wrapped an arm around her slender waist, then his other arm.

"Been here before?" Lady Carson asked the back of the head above her.

"No, but we're excited to get the chance!" the woman said, turning to talk to all of her seatmates. "We're from the cruise ship in the harbor, and came ashore for the day while it's in port. Some guy at the dock handed us this brochure and two free tickets for admission to the temple! Said he couldn't use them, due to a family emergency or something, I didn't ask what, even when I saw him still on the dock when we came back ten minutes later. I think he was still handing out brochures and free tickets. Not that we're complaining! It's about the same way we got the tickets for the cruise, come to think of it. Some guy at a park gave us the tickets, saying it says on the tickets they're for a woman and a girl so he couldn't use them. We're on a lucky streak, getting to see the temple the same way!"

Jim gave his wife a puzzled look, but neither of them mentioned that they'd gone to the temple two weeks ago without seeing anyone collecting entrance fees or tickets. As far as he knew, you could just walk in. "May I see the brochure?" he asked. "I'm Jim Carson, by the way, and this is my wife, Lady."

"I'm Ida Jones, and this is my daughter, Tina. She's six. Say hello to them, Tina." She handed over the brochure. "I'd like it back, to keep as a souvenier, of course."

The girl raised her head, showing a cute impish face surrounded by straight bangs and straight light brown hair past her shoulders. "Hi," she murmured, and lowered her head again.

"Nice to meet you, Ida," Lady smiled at her. "We have a daughter, too, Sara. She's nine."

"Is that with or without an 'H' at the end?" Ida asked.

"No H, just S, A, R, A," Jim said. "She's at the temple already. We're going back there to get her today. Say... take a look at this, dear," he continued, handing his wife the brochure opened to the second page. "Did you know about these mud baths?"

"That's what I'm going there for!" Ida cheered. "I want that Hot Mud Beauty Treatment!"

"No, we didn't get much information the first time," Lady said. "The hotel desk clerk recommended the temple tour to us but didn't say much." She read the brochure quickly, and soon agreed, "That sounds terrific! There's only one problem, Jim. It's for ladies only, so you won't be able to join us."

"I wasn't really interested in the mud baths anyway," he laughed.

"It even says age twelve and up, so that excludes Tina, too," Lady added.

"Oh my, I hadn't noticed that," Ida lamented. "It really says age twelve and up? If they won't let Tina in, I won't be able to go in either. And I had my heart set on it."

"I could take care of her, if you wanted," Jim offered. "Since I'm not going there anyway. The tour groups going through the temple are all organised at the entrance. As long as she gets in my group, she'll be fine, staying with me. Since you'll be with Lady, we're bound to meet up again somewhere."

"Oh thank you!" she exclaimed. "You've saved the day! Now I won't have to miss the mud baths while you take my little girl."

A man in the seat behind them chuckled, as did another beside them, then a couple of others ahead of them.

Tina just sat silently as adults made all of her decisions for her. Since she'd never had a chance to make any for herself, it didn't surprise her or occur to her to be annoyed that no one had asked her opinion.

"Jim, listen to this. The last page of the brochure also says, I quote, Parents who have lost any children today should go to the Lost Parents area and wait. We'll locate her, calm her down, and bring her to you. Little-known fact: the word 'sedate' derives from the temple builders' ancient language, in which it means 'calm down.'"

Mr. Carson nodded. "Well, dear, we didn't lose her 'today' like it says. She's been here two weeks. A couple more hours won't matter, so there's really no reason for us to waste our time sitting around some Lost Parents station waiting for them to bring her to us. You can go to the mud baths, and I'd like to see some of the temple that we didn't get a chance to see last time. I'm sure I'll find her pretty quickly, and if not, I'll ask one of the temple tour guides if he's seen her."

The bus took hours to reach the temple from the port city. The scenery along the route began beautiful, but soon deteriorated into parched hills. The only highlight during the last half of the trip was a reservoir that the girl stared at with fascination as they passed. The adults didn't see anything interesting about it, and figured it was just the first one she'd seen.

The bus arrived at the temple and disgorged its overload of passengers. A tour guide stood directing the crowd, waving the men to the left, toward the temple. He saw Lady and Ida, and approached them. "May I sugg-" he began.

"Where do we find the Hot Mud Baths?" Ida asked excitedly.

"Ah! You've already heard of them. Good! The Mud Baths are that way," he waved the women to the right, toward a gate in a tall fence covered in vines. "I'm sorry, though, the little one can't go with you, but there are special tours designed for girls her age. I'll see that she gets taken on one..."

Ida glanced back at Jim, who nodded, then the ladies rushed off to bury themselves in hot mud, leaving Tina there.

"...numerous times," the guide whispered to himself.

Tina just stood silently as adults made all of her decisions for her, like always.

Sara's father stepped up and took Tina's hand. He looked at the tour guide and offered, "I'll take her."

"You're not 'with' anyone, are you?" the tour guide asked.

"No," Jim answered, perfectly true as of the moment his wife disappeared through the gate.

The tour guide pointed toward the gate and winked. "They always think that's their idea," he whispered, "but it was the Incan men who came up with it. The women, anyone with bulges or hair below the neck, get sent off to the mud, so the men don't have to see it. They spend all day keeping it hidden, and most even plaster mud on their faces, too, thank goodness. They think it makes them beautiful," he chuckled, "but only the beautiful ones like this little sweetie," he stroked Tina's hair, "go into the temple!"

Sara's father didn't quite get what the guide meant, but he remembered that his Sara made it into the temple last time they were there, and that thought made him feel proud.

"This one's ready to go!" the first guide called and waved to another guide once he had a large group assembled. Tina, Mr. Carson, and the rest of the tour group followed the second guide down a long sloping stone passageway into the temple.

They entered a chamber with a low wooden table, ornamented with naked figures of primitive art on the sides of the table, and also all over the walls and ceiling. Most of the figures were very obviously male, and very obviously happy. Upon close inspection, a few figures, much smaller than the rest, were definitely female, and definitely unhappy. The room looked familiar to Carson, though he'd only seen it briefly during his last visit. The guide began a familiar speech, too, welcoming everyone to the ancient Incan temple, Agaddabiggabona, then apologising for calling it Incan when it was actually a Moche temple.

"I'll need a volunteer," the guide said. "No, a female volunteer. Looks like there's only one choice," he nodded. "That's how we like it. Come on up here, cutie," he said, reaching out a hand to Tina. "What's your name?"

Jim released Tina's hand and nudged her forward. The guide took her hand and led her to the long narrow table, lifting her a little so she could sit on it. He leaned close and spoke to her, leaned closer to hear her reply, asked another question, leaned even closer, and asked more questions. He knelt and pressed very close, with his arm around her waist, and asked more questions, while tipping her over to lay down on the table. "Save some for us," a man beside Mr. Carson said quietly, getting a few chuckles from men nearby.

The guide finally stood and addressed the tour group. "Gentlemen, and not-so-gentle men, our volunteer for this demonstration is Tina Lilianna Jones of Kentucky. As you might have guessed already, she's a little over six years old, and rather shy." The guide grinned widely. "She also has no idea what she's just been 'volunteered' for. That's how we like it!" Several men in the tour group laughed.

Tina just stayed silent.

Sara's father mused to himself, 'Say, wasn't Sara the volunteer for this very exhibit, just before we got separated? I think so. I wonder how she liked it?'

"Now I need five volunteers," the tour guide continued. "If you've been here before, please stand back and let other people go first." He quickly picked several nearby men, including Mr. Carson, who'd held his ground, since he hadn't seen enough of that exhibit the previous time to count.

Under the tour guide's direction, four of them, including Jim, tied Tina's wrists and ankles to the table, using ropes they found attached to the corners. He remembered her soft warm body sitting on his lap on the bus, her pretty neck exposed by the loose dress. Now he noticed how pretty her right arm was, as he tied her wrist and pulled the rope to pull her arm down off the edge of the table. Still, he glanced enviously at the men tying her ankles, since they got to see her bare legs up close. Her dress was so short and loose, he thought, they could probably see her bare legs all the way up. He could see even from where he was how pretty her legs were, too, and he wished he had that view of her, instead of only getting a close look at her wrist and arm.

Tina squirmed, not quite silently, wincing and whimpering softly as the ropes strained her arms and legs into an uncomfortable position. "Uunhh," she moaned weakly as a man yanked her left wrist down. "Uuuhhhhnn! Uuhhn!" Still, she said nothing in protest, having no reason to expect any adult to care what she thought or wanted, since none ever had before.

"Take her shoes and socks off now," the tour guide instructed. "That's very important for realism. The rites always started with bare feet, at least we assume so. Yes, you folks can keep anything you pick up."

Mr. Carson felt even more envious. He could see even from that distance that Tina had pretty toes, but he supposed he'd have to settle for seeing her pretty slender elbow bent over the edge of the table, and her slender fingers curling and uncurling.

He saw with surprise what the tour guide meant by 'keeping' things. Two men and two boys grinned as they grabbed Tina's loose shoes and socks like trophies. 'Is she going to have to be barefoot the rest of the day, or will they give her something else for her feet?' he wondered.

"There are four stone knives in the ends of the table, two on each end, one for each of you. Take them out. They're very sharp, so be careful with them." The tour guide tapped one man's shoulder. "Admire the workmanship, if you must, but not too long. Most of us are in a hurry. Now use them to cut off Tina's dress and panties. Once again, yes, the rest of you may keep whatever you can get."

Mr. Carson nervously hesitated. Not that he didn't want to cut off the girl's dress and panties, of course, but it seemed very unusual for someone to let him - or tell him - to do so, even in an ancient temple. He saw that none of the others had hesitated whatsoever. The man who tied Tina's left wrist had already cut through her sleeve and pulled her dress open on that side, revealing her bare shoulder and chest. The two by her legs had already moved up and were busy slitting her dress up from the hem. Tina squealed in surprise and struggled weakly, but didn't say a word of protest. The other three men glanced at him, looking impatient. "Better get busy, or they'll do it for you!" the tour guide chided.

Amazed that he was in a place where he could, apparently without worry, he took his stone knife and sliced through Tina's right sleeve, throwing her dress aside, down to her waist, fully exposing her slender chest and the six-year-old's tiny little titties. Two other men finished slitting through the dress on the sides, up to her waist, as the third man sliced through it from above.

They paused, waiting for him, and he stopped hesitating. He slit through the last place, and a man yanked the front of her dress off of her. The instant the audience had it, Jim heard sounds of shredding cloth. Other men pulled the back of the dress out from under her and sliced it into pieces with the sharp stone knives. Men and boys in the audience cheered and grabbed the pieces of her ruined yellow dress.

Tina lay on the table, helpless, spread out by the ropes on her wrists and ankles, in just her cream-colored panties decorated with multitudes of small yellow flowers. "Nuhhhn, nnooohh," she cried, whining softly.

Now he had the best view of her, but he knew it wouldn't last long, since the others had already grabbed her panties and slid the knives inside. 'I have got to be dreaming!!' he marvelled. 'I might as well make the most of the dream while it lasts,' he decided, so he grabbed Tina's panties by the waistband, slipped his knife in, and quickly sliced down to meet the other man on her right halfway through. The man took the front half of her panties and held it out to him. They stretched the piece between them. Jim cut through it with one swift stroke, and the two men tossed the pieces to the audience. Another man yanked the rest of her panties out from under her and held both sides for the fourth man to cut.

Only a few were still paying any attention to the panties.

Tina's panties shredded and gone, she lay on the table helpless and fully naked while the audience cheered.

The tour guide had the men by her knees pull out sliding sections of the table, swing them up, and lock them to hold her knees as wide as they could spread the little girl.

"Eeeaayahh!" she squealed and squirmed. "Eehh ehhhhnn eeennnh!" she softly whimpered as her pussy opened up. "Uuaahh, uuuaaaww," she lay there crying and pulling uselessly at the strong bindings.

"Tighten that rope on her wrist a bit more," the guide said, pointing to Tina's right arm wiggling back and forth.

Jim looked down and noticed the slack he'd left her, that no one else had. She had no chance of pulling free of the ropes, he just hadn't tightened it up so much that it would hurt her. The other three men had. He pulled the lever to take up the slack. She turned and looked at him and whined as her arm pulled painfully hard against the side of the table. "Yyyyaahh!!" Tina whimpered. "Yaauuhhw!"

He looked at the terrified helpless naked six-year-old girl who had got on a bus and sat on his lap for the trip to the temple. He looked around the room at a dozen men and a few boys, all grinning in anticipation, all watching Tina squirm and cry and squeal. 'Now I know I'm dreaming,' he thought. 'No one would ever be able to do this back home.' He tightened the lever one last click.

"Aauuuyyaaauuhhww!!" Tina screamed.

Not to be outdone, the other three men tightened theirs one last click.

"YYyaaahhhhwww!! AAauuuwwww! HHuuaaauuuwww!!"

The tour guide stepped forward, visibly pleased. "Very good, Tina! Very authentic! Keep doing that! And I'm sure you will. Form a line, now, folks. You first, then you four with the ropes, you follow in the order you were picked. Don't worry, we have two hours. Everyone will get two turns, except Tina. She'll get a lot more than that! Right, guys?"

Suddenly Jim Carson remembered that his daughter, Sara, had been the 'volunteer' for this exhibit, in a room full of men and a few boys, when they'd been separated. He imagined Sara on the same table, tied the same way, just as helpless, just as naked, and surrounded by men just as eager to begin as these men were. As eager as he was.

He wondered how the men had liked it. He wished he'd been able to watch.

"Come on in, plenty of room in here!" the tour guide shouted back down the narrow hallway at his tour group. Mr. Carson, having left Tina tied naked and spread on the table in the first room a couple of hours ago, had seen and thoroughly enjoyed many other temple exhibits since then. He moved up closer to hear his tour guide better in the noise from the many activities in the huge underground stone room. Several tour groups gathered around their guides, who led them around the room like clumps of seaweed stuck on separate pier posts, always shouting at them to be heard over the din. That made up less than half the noise.

"This temple exhibit reenacts the semi-annual Incan leatherworkers fair!" his guide yelled. "Leatherworkers from all over the Incan empire brought their wares to the fair to show how strong and durable they were. Each leatherworker marked his wares with a unique pattern of stones, as his signature. Every leatherworker had to submit four straps with loops on the ends, plus a fifth strap. There were no metal buckles back then, so those four straps had to hold when woven together and release when unwoven. They would be tested for strength by putting them under enormous strain while the fifth strap got tested for durability." He led his group past a signpost showing various ways the straps had been used.

"For example, over there," the guide gestured across the wide torchlit room, "you can see how the first four were put under strain," he joked. "Watch, and you'll see how the fifth was tested for durability!"

The tour group followed the gesture over to a girl who could have been from seven to eleven years old, tied between two stone columns by four leather straps on her wrists and ankles. She saw them looking her way, and looked back at them, sobbing miserably, wordlessly. No one expressed any surprise that she was naked, or that she'd been spread about as wide as the girl could possibly be stretched. The four straps were definitely under a lot of strain.

A man beside her, in a pith helmet, safari shirt, and shorts, swung his arm. Jim's tour group got a glimpse as the fifth strap got tested for durability, but only a glimpse.

"YYYyaaaaauuwww!! AAAaauuuuuwwww!! YYAAaaauuuwww!! Aaaawww!" the girl shrieked and screamed, then resumed sobbing miserably. A tour guide stepped up and took the strap from the safari guy and handed it to another man from the same tour group. The girl looked across the room at Mr. Carson then shrieked madly, her eyes squeezed shut, as the next man eagerly tested the strap for durability.

"Do we get a chance to try that?" another man in Mr. Carson's group asked excitedly.

"Of course!" the guide assured him. "Once we get around there, that one will be our last on the way out. We have twelve other leatherworkers fair exhibits to show you first, and you'll get to try out every one of them! This one is the urn durability test, in which leatherworkers used their skills in cooperation with pottery craftsmen."

Jim glanced back at the girl between the posts. He thought for a moment that she looked familiar, but it was hard to tell by torchlight, especially from that distance. The group moved with the guide, and Jim kept up.

A couple of hours later, Jim's tour group made it to the other side of the leatherworkers fair. To his surprise and delight, he found that Tina had been moved from the ornate table exhibit to the stone columns beside the girl he'd seen on the way into the room.

His guide picked two men to put the four straps on her. "You two, there! Put one end of the straps around her wrist and ankle on your side, and tie the other ends to the levers. Then pull them up until you can bring the lock down to hold them. Pull those levers hard!! You're not even taking the kinks out of those straps, let alone testing them for strength! Put your backs into it!"

"EEeeiiiiiiaaahhh!!! Ahhwwww staahhp staaahhp!! Ohhhawwww please pleeease stAHHhhhp!" It seemed that a few hours in the temple had cured Tina of much of her shyness, Jim chuckled.

The guide chuckled also. "You should be used to it by now, Tina. The other girl isn't screaming that much, though I admit it isn't her first time at the leatherworkers fair. You two on the levers: don't slack off now! Get those locks in place!"

Tina turned to the men holding the levers that kept the straps on her wrists and ankles tight. She cried and pleaded, "Aahhhhw aahhhhww aaahhww don't no don't ohhwww ohhhww ohh pleeeeease don't don't donnnn't ohhh nooooohhh!"

One man smiled at her and put his back into it as the tour guide had asked.

The tour guide took a strap from half a dozen available straps. "This unique one is the legendary Curt strap," he said while handing it to a man in the group. "Notice how the thin metal bands of black wind back and forth making seven sharp ridges across the business end of it." He waved the man toward Tina, urging him to "Give it as good a test as you think it needs!" The man needed no further encouragement.

Tina added considerably to the din in the room, but no one understood a single word she shrieked.

With the first man still busy, the guide turned and picked up a particularly thick strap from the rack. He led his group to stand behind the girl who had already been in place. "Now, this famous strap," he explained, "is called the black rock strap for the leatherworker's signature stones. It has never lost a stone in all the centuries it has been used. That may be because the leatherworker who made it used pointed obsidian stones instead of the rounded stones typical of other straps, who knows. There's a reward for anyone who can make it lose a stone in three tries. Do your worst, but don't count on it. We figure other leatherworkers tried it a million times, just like we're doing today, hoping theirs would replace it. Come on! Let's see you put these stones to the test!" He handed the strap to the man beside Jim.

"Say, would you mind taking some shots for me?" the man asked Jim, holding out a camera.

Jim nodded, took the camera, and moved around the girl, stepping off the low balcony she was on to get a much better angle for the photos: directly in front and slightly below her. His smile slowly grew wider as he looked at her through the viewfinder and snapped pictures. He realised he would see her better if he removed his sunglasses, but decided to leave them on. He took a shot of the man grinning over the girl's shoulder, one of her face and bare chest just as the strap struck, then two more a few seconds apart, full body shots as she screamed and wailed, straining desperately against the cords on her wrists and ankles.

The other man tested the strap twice more, trying very hard to knock off a stone in three swings and win the reward.

"YYYAAAAAAAWWWHWHHHWWW!!! AAUUUWWWWWWHHHWW!! Huhh- HAAAAWWWHHHH!!"

Jim continued snapping shots for him on the camera. He thought the ones the man would like the best were with the girl's mouth wide open in a howl of anguish. Just in case, he took several others, showing all of the girl's facial expressions in between swats, including staring straight at the lens with a look of complete despair and misery. He clicked a close-up of her tear-soaked face, her bare arms raised on either side, as he passed her on the way back to the group. He thought it would go well with other close-ups he'd taken of her from below, since they hadn't included her face. With a cheerful wink, he returned the camera to the other man.

"Not bad," the guide praised, taking the strap back. "The cheers are for you! Well, some for Sara, too, of course. Maybe the next one can do better." He looked around at the group. "You, the one with the crazy shirt, hat, and sunglasses," the tour guide pointed. "Here, give it your best shot. Make us cheer!"

'Man, would you listen to those cheers!' the man in the crazy shirt, hat, and sunglasses thought, 'and I haven't even swung yet. I can't tell if this is the longest and best dream I've ever had, or if it's real. This could never happen at home. Unfortunately.'

He gestured to the guide, who approached, and they whispered back and forth awhile. The guide, with a wide grin, had half of the group move to stand in front of the girl to watch, while the rest stayed to watch her from behind, beside the man holding the black rock strap.

When Sara first saw the man entering the room in yet another tour group, she thought that at last her father had come to rescue her. From behind, the man seemed to be the right height, and his hair color and style matched. But once he turned, following the gesture of the tour guide pointing her out to his tour group (as all the tour guides had done every time she'd been at that station), she decided it couldn't be him. Her father had no beard, for one thing, and more importantly, he never would have worn such bizarre and tasteless clothing.

"Uhhhnnnn uuuhhhhnnn, uuaahhhhhn," Sara cried. A moment later, the man standing behind her snapped the strap again. "YYYyaaaaauuwww!! AAAaauuuuuwwww!! YYAAaaauuuwww!! Aaaawww!" she shrieked and screamed, then resumed sobbing miserably. The guide took the strap and handed it to another man as Sara's bare back and shoulders trembled. Still hoping to see her father, she blinked away her tears and tried to watch the entering tour group. She looked right at the strange man with the beard, and he looked right at her.

Before she could find a more plausible possibility in the new group, the terrible stone-encrusted leather strap smacked her bare ass hard. Sara wailed and screamed, her eyes squeezed shut, her head thrown back. The man who had swung it laughed, as most had done, there or anywhere else she'd been used at the temple.

By the time she could see again, the man was gone, hidden among the crowds enjoying the many 'exhibits' at the fair. All of the men (and a few boys) anywhere in the room could see Sara standing naked, fully exposed, if they cared to look, since she stood near the edge of a balcony, between two stone columns, facing the center of the room. She was sure once her father found the room, he would see her and rush to her and rescue her, and her days of torment would finally be over. But none of them there seemed to notice her any more often than the rest, confirming that the man couldn't have been him.

Most of them were too busy with the closer exhibits, like the little girl spread face-up over a large urn, her slender arms and legs stretched out to other urn handles. Men were whipping her little pussy slit with small thin braided leather whips, ornamented with small stones to make them hurt worse. Sara had been there many times herself in the past two weeks, either to be whipped as the little girl was getting then, or raped, as they would likely do there very soon, with that girl or some other. That was one of the worst exhibits she'd been at. Even worse than her head being upside-down, and even worse than having to lay bent over the urn with her pussy fully displayed, spread wide open for their entertainment, was that she couldn't see who was about to rape her, or have any warning that someone was about to snap a narrow stone-studded whip down hard on her pussy. Worst of all was the loud laughter and applause she heard whenever some man succeeded in hitting her right on her tender clitty, which they could always tell from her long unstoppable shriek of pain and wild straining at the cords.

Even from across the room, Sara heard frequent laughter and applause centered around that exhibit, always after loud frantic high-pitched shrieks of anguish. She knew exactly what the little girl there now was feeling, but couldn't do anything to save her, no more than she could save herself from it, or save herself from the cock-sticks as tourists passed her in the stone hallways, or save herself from the horrible stone spindles, or save herself from this, the stone columns and the thicker straps.

None of her desperate pleading and desperate struggling and desperate wails for help had saved her. Every day began with her being taken, screaming and struggling, to whatever temple exhibit the guides wanted her used at, then being moved from one exhibit to another during the long terrible day. When at last the temple finally closed and the tourists departed, the tour guides took her to their quarters and used her any way they wanted, as much as they wanted, until morning brought on the next terrible day at the temple exhibits, where she was mostly reserved for the tourists. She'd already been there two weeks, and had no idea when or if it would ever stop. After the first week, she'd most often been taken to the leatherworkers fair and stretched between the stone columns, and kept there the longest of all the places they wanted her.

After being the 'demonstration model' at the stone columns for unbearable hours, Sara once again saw the man in the tasteless tourist get-up. She didn't know how she could have ever mistaken him for her father. This time, he stood right in front of her, smirking at her from behind a camera as he took pictures of her with the man about to whip her. There was no way her father would have ever done something like that, Sara was certain, nor let anyone do anything like that to her. Sara stood stretched painfully between her aching wrists and ankles, unable to hide anything from the camera, dreading the other man and the horrible leather strap he held.

"YYYAAAAAAAWWWHWHHHWWW!!! AAUUUWWWWWWHHHWW!! Huhh- HAAAAWWWHHHH!!" Sara sobbed, and screamed, and shrieked, and bawled again, as the smugly grinning tourist took picture after picture of her nakedness and her torment for the man causing it, never pausing or lowering the camera.

"UUUHHhhhhww! HHHHUUuuuhhhwww! UUuhhhnn!" she bawled, nearly beyond hope. 'When, oh when, will they come and rescue me from this??' she cried to herself. "Oh please, Daddy, helllp! Pleeeeease!" Sara whimpered, inaudible among the incessant noise of screams and sobbing, applause and laughter in the room. As a final insult, the tourist took one last picture of her wet face on his way by. "Huhhnn uuhhhhnn uhhhn," she whimpered, and waited for the next man to take the strap to her, knowing it would thrill him to do so, and thrill everyone watching and cheering. 'Daaaaddyy!! Please hellllp meeee!' she cried, too quietly for anyone to hear her but herself.

Strangely, half the current tour group took up positions in a circle in front of her and got their cameras ready while waiting for the next man to begin. Sara wondered why that group did what no others had done. Half a dozen men lecherously stared at her, her pussy wide open before them all, as Sara stood bawling, stretched out helpless and naked, overcome with despai-

" HHAAAUUUWWWW!! YYAauuw! Yyaaauw! Yaa-HHAAUUWWwww!! Uhhhn- uhhhhn uhhh uhhh-HHAAUUYYYAAAUUUUWWWW!!! "