Programming: Chapter 1 - Butterflies
by The Pediatrician
mc; M+g; m+g; Mg; Mdom; oral; anal; mast; prost; caution
“Hold her down.” The voice of the leader of the gang, deep and dark and dangerous and thick with lust, gave the command like an emperor, and she felt a heavy hand press against the nape of her neck, forcing her face into the sludge-coated ground beneath her as her bruised and aching ass perched high in the air. She rolled her tear-watery gaze around and tried to focus on the looming, menacing figures surrounding her, sobbing at their laughter at her state, and tried not to vomit as what felt like a gallon of their cum sloshed and gurgled in her belly…
She hadn’t been paying attention, had been “staring at the moon” (as her mother would have said), and as a result had not realized the danger she was in until it was far, far too late. A hand flashed out of the darkness, a black hand that engulfed her twin blonde pigtails streaming down her back, and with a single yank had tore her off-balance and into the alley. She opened her mouth to scream when another hand was clasped over her lips, and as she was pulled deeper into the darkness she tasted the musky maleness of his palm on her tongue. She could do little but kick and squirm, but her resistance was futile as hands, far too many large, strong, black hands gripped her arms and legs, mauled her flat chest and her barely-there ass, and ran over her pale, lily-white flesh.
“Hey,” a cruel voice said, and then with a flash a booted toe kicked her in the side, the leader’s foot making a dull thudding sound as he brought her back to the here and now with a brilliant wave of pain. “Wake up, you little cocktease,” he sneered as he gripped her asscheek in his palm and stroked her pale white flesh. She craned her neck and saw that he was as dark as jet, his mouth a cruel slash that occasionally flashed white when he smiled, his eyes dark and menacing and filled with predatory lust. “You ain’t gonna slip away that easily. Not when the best part is about to come!”
One hard, vicious punch to her flat tummy had knocked both the wind and the fight out of her, and she dangled limply as they stripped her. She was so confused, so unsure of where she was and what was happening, so terrified! There were a band of them, maybe ten, maybe one hundred, all tall and strong and black, and as two of them gripped her wrists and two her ankles the others ripped her nice clothes from her body. She wanted to scream, wanted to hide her prepubescent body from their leering gaze, but she was helpless to do anything to prevent the horrors she was about to endure. They forced her down, the flesh of her knees being gouged by the rough surface of the alley, and one of them yanked her head back by her pigtails and shoved her head forward as yet another one shoved his large, thick cock past her lips and along her tongue until it banged into the back of her throat and made her gag…
She felt her hips being raised higher and one of her rapists sidle in behind her. She heard a rustle, and then felt the bulbous head of his thick cock press against her tiny, aching, no-longer-virgin asshole. They had treated her like a piece of meat, like a living and breathing fuck-toy, and had done horrible things to her, things that she had heard whispered rumors of slutty girls doing to get boyfriends. Too many to count had fucked her mouth, dumping load after load of their boy-cum into the back of her throat, and when she began to gag they had slapped some tape across her lips and forced her to swallow it all. And even more had fucked her tiny, tight, little-girl pussy, tearing away her virginity with wild, lust-fueled thrusts as they buried their throbbing pricks into her shrieking cunny, the tips of their manhoods slamming into her hyper-sensitive cervix, as she writhed and wailed and was forced to feel their seed spurt deep inside her womb, until her normally flat belly actually bulged with the sheer amount of rapist-seed inside her helpless body. And others had fucked her tiny little shitter, ripping open her butt with their shafts as they splurted inside another hole in her body. She had lost track of how many men had raped her – twenty? Fifty? A thousand? And ever the hands groped her body, twisting her nipples and slapping her cheeks and yanking her hair and letting her know in no uncertain terms that they intended on fucking her to death…
“You ready, you little cunt?” hissed her tormentor. She felt the pressure on her asshole increase, felt him start to shove his way inside of her, and it was big, far bigger than anything that had previously gone into her that evening, and her hole stretched wider and wider, stretching to the point of tearing, and then with a single vicious thrust he tore his way inside of her and the sheer agony caused her head to swim as she shrieked in animal pain and she felt the tearing as he destroyed her innards…
With a strangled scream of sharp terror, Chloe Bauer sat bolt-upright in her bed. The ten-year-old whipped her gaze around her bedroom, her semi-conscious mind still trapped in the throes of her nightmare, part of her confused as to why she was so frightened and another wondering where her attackers were hiding. Her pulse pounded in her ears and throbbed behind her eyes as she gasped for breath, her heart beating a slowly slowing staccato beat in her chest. “It was just a dream,” she gasped to herself, her high-pitched, little-girl voice whispering in her own ears. “It wasn’t real, it was just a dream.”
Chloe felt herself start to calm, felt the terrors of her dream fade further and further from her mind, bits slipping away like water down a drain as the details became murky. She was in her room, safe and sound, warm and dry and still in her pajamas – definitely not in a grimy alley being gang-raped to death! She curled her legs up and sat beneath the covers, their heavy, warm weight a comfort to her roiling emotions. She felt hot, sticky, sweaty, confused. She felt afraid and reassured, pure and dirty, innocent and forcibly adult, whole and damaged beyond repair. She felt it all, at the same time, one flash after another as her mind tried to make sense of it all.
Just like last night. And the night before that. And the night before that.
Wearily she flipped back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the mattress, and hopped off the bed. Her bedroom was still dark in the dead of the night, but enough moonlight leaked past the flimsy, gauzy curtains framing her window to allow her to see the looming shapes. The thick pile carpet felt soft and warm against her feet, and she navigated without error to the door. A quick turn of the knob, three steps across the hallway, and she was in the bathroom, quietly latching the door shut behind her with a tiny click.
Her fingers unerringly found the light switch for the bulbs above the mirror, and with a tiny flick the room was filled with a soft light. Chloe stood blinking at her reflection, and a small part of her mind jarred with unrecognition. There staring back at her was an image of how she always looked. Short, rail-thin, and oh-so-immature, clad in an oversized tee shirt that fell to her knees, her long blonde hair a tangled mess as it hung greasy and limp over her shoulders and down her back. She leaned in and didn’t see anything different – blue eyes dulled with the remnants of sleep (and sporting some truly disgusting white crusties in the corners and sticking to her long lashes), slight lips (with just a hint of sleep-drool dried in one corner), a dash of freckles sprinkling her otherwise flawless skin. But still, she half-expected to see the twin-braid pigtails, the slutty miniskirt, the filmy blouse, the grown-up makeup that gave her crimson lips and smoky eyes and turned her into an immature and helpless version of a sexual object…
Stop it, she told herself as she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and yawned. It was just a dream, that’s all it was. THIS is reality.
She pulled her toothbrush from her cup, filled the container from the sink tap, and drank deeply of the ice-cold water. Even though her skin gleamed with sweat and her skull felt hot, she shivered slightly as the liquid slid down her throat. With a tiny breath she filled the cup once more and drank, luxuriating in the feeling of the water flowing into her still-roiling stomach. She placed the cup back on the counter, braced her hands on the edge, and peered at her reflection…
…her normally flat belly bulging with the accumulated loads of rapist-seed inside her no-longer-virgin womb…
With an abruptness she retched, and managed to lean over the sink as she vomited. One hand quickly fluttered up to the nape of her neck and grasped her hair to keep her greasy blonde locks out of the filth filling the porcelain as she vomited once more, a thin, watery gruel flecked with bits of the dinner she had eaten hours before. A third retch, and nothing more came out, and she shivered and quaked with effort as her entire body tensed and she suffered through the dry-heaves at the memory of her violation.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. She wobbly braced herself back on the edge of the counter and gazed into her own eyes, desperately trying to see inside her own soul to find out why the nightmares had been plaguing her.
Three nights ago had been the first… She was at John Hancock Grade School, sitting in the lunchroom with her best “school friend” Harper and her best “Wilderness Girls friend” Erin (already weird, as the two didn’t particularly like each other and went out of their way to avoid meeting), talking about nothing at all. And then a steady stream of boys appeared, dozens, hundreds, each one with their boy-cocks hanging out, each one lining up neatly. And then one after the other they had stroked themselves, faster and faster, until they spurted their creamy-white boy-jizz onto the girls’ lunches, one after another, a new cock taking the place of a spent cock almost the second the latter had finished, and by the time they were done Chloe couldn’t even see the top of the table through the pearly glaze covering everything and oozing over the edges and onto the girls’ laps where it soaked into their clothing and bare legs. That was weird – but what was worse was that all three girls kept chatting and eating, swallowing their cum-soaked food without comment or even acknowledgement that something out of the ordinary had happened. She had awakened in the dead of night feeling sick and disgusted, and wondering how she could possibly know what a boy’s cock actually looked like.
The next night was worse. She was at the city arena, dressed in a dainty little dress and appearing every inch the proper young lady. There was – something – going on, an event of some kind that she wasn’t too sure about. She had walked down the steep concrete steps, down to the hardwood floor below, and stood in the center as the crowd cheered. And then she started to dance, a silly little dance to some silly little music, and the crowd roared its approval. And then they started to join her on the floor, all of them boys and men, dozens of them, hundreds of them, and they touched her body as she danced and swayed and moved, their hands running over her arms and legs and back, groping her ass and pussy and flat chest through her thin dress. And she pulled off the dress, and lay down on a mattress that just appeared on the floor, and spread her legs as wide as she could, and they fucked her, all of them, one after another, hundreds of cocks in every shape and size spearing into her and filling her little-girl pussy with their hot seed and spraying across her chest and face and gumming up her hair and eyes as she came over and over and over again, so much that she was literally drenched in the stuff as it dripped and oozed and flowed down her body. And through it all her very public performance was lovingly detailed on the jumbotron above, every fuck and every spurt and every spear of her pussy, displayed to the cheering crowd and simulcast throughout the world for everyone to see… And she had vomited into the sink, revolted by the sheer vile nature of the dream.
And the dream from yesterday was even worse. She was in the woods, camping with the Wilderness Girl and feeling oh-so-proud and pretty in her uniform. And then it was night, and she knew that she wasn’t alone, that there was a man, a demon, in the woods with her, and she was alone and scared and knew that her young life was almost over, and so she ran, careening off of trees and tripping over the uneven ground, and skeletal hands thrust up from the ground to grasp at her uniform, and the cloth tore and was ripped from her body and then she was nude. And then the hands gripped her wrists and ankles, dragging her to the dirt below, holding her tight as they roamed freely over her legs and arms and belly and chest and face, and then the demon was there, towering over her, his baseball bat-sized cock hard and ready, and he tore into her body, tearing her delicate flesh open as he raped her, and the pain was overwhelming and she could do nothing but suffer as he pounded into her and shot his load inside her body and she just knew that he/it had impregnated her and she could only lay limply and stare in shock as her belly started to swell as the demon-seed grew inside of her… And she had vomited again, and sobbed, and wondered if she were going mad.
Am I going insane? she wondered for not the first time. The dreams were so vivid, so real in the moment, that she thought that they were her real life, and the innocent school-aged girl staring into the mirror was the dream. How could I know those things if they weren’t real? she thought. I’ve never even seen a naked boy, so how would I know what a dick looks like? She didn’t know, and no answers were forthcoming to calm her reeling mind.
She ran the water into the sink to wash away the mess, and then wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to calm her stomach. You don’t need to check, she told herself. It hasn’t changed after the other dreams, so it hasn’t changed now. Still, the sensations she had felt while in the throes of her nightmare had seemed so real, so actual, that a tiny part of her mind jabbered with doubt. She turned and leaned against the counter, her face blushing with shame as he refused to actually watch herself in the mirror, and lowered her shaking hands. One gripped the hem of her tee and lifted it up to just below her ribs, while the other slipped down to the tiny, skin-tight, pink panties wrapped around her hips. Nimble fingers wormed beneath the elastic, slid across her smooth, hairless mons, and dipped into the cleft between her slightly-spread thighs. She slid down a bit further as she parted her knees just a bit more and pressed her fingertips into the tight little slit, feeling the soaking wetness on her digits as she probed.
A warm glow of happiness filled her chest as she poked the firm web of flesh just inside her pussy and felt the pressure of resistance. It’s still there, she thought. I’m still a virgin! Her fingertips glanced at her stiff clit as she withdrew her hand from her panties, and she shivered in pleasure in spite of herself. And fuck, I’m still horny, she added as her small smile vanished. That was the worst part about her dreams… though the acts she performed – or was forced to perform – disgusted her, they also made her hornier than hell. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she dropped her tee-shirt back down, flicked off the light, and padded back to her bedroom. She knew what would happen next… she would climb back in bed, curl up beneath the covers, and stroke herself through her panties, rubbing her pre-teen pussy as she ground the heel of her palm against her stiff little-girl clit, and she would crash over the edge into an explosive orgasm that would leave her gasping and trembling as waves of ecstasy roiled through her shivering body and her own girlish oils soaked the crotch of her panties so thoroughly that she would have to get up to change.
And then she would quietly sob, ashamed at her feelings, ashamed at her dreams, ashamed at the perverted mess she was afraid she was becoming. And she would eventually drift off into a light, non-healing sleep, and awaken the next morning, and everything would be fine and normal and there would be no clue or sign that what she was experiencing was anything other than her own vile imagination running wild. She would go through her day, and do her homework, and meet with her friends, and climb in bed and go to sleep… and everything would start again deep in the darkness of the night.
Am I going insane? she asked herself once more as she weight of the blankets settled down upon her and her hand sought out her pussy almost of its own volition. But then first hint of pressure against her clit sent bolts of pleasure shooting through her belly and up into her brain, and all of her fears vanished in favor of the sheer primal need filling her soul. Chloe spread her legs wider as tiny bolts of lust flashed from between her legs, through her beating heart, and into her brain as she raised her hips up off the mattress and prayed that maybe a good, hard orgasm would drive the dreams from her mind.
“Move it, halfie!”
Chloe half-heard and half-felt the presence behind her for an instant before a pair of hands bodily shoved her aside. As she staggered out of the way, her older sister Lisa charged past the still half-asleep girl in a flash of pale legs, saggy black boxers, and unwashed spaghetti-strap tee hugging her slim form as she darted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.
“Hey!” The blonde girl pounded her fists against the door, outraged at the usurpation of her rightful place at the toilet granted to her by being first out of her bedroom and into the hall. “Get out of there, death slut! I was here first!”
“Fuck off, you waste of jism!” Lisa shouted back through the door.
Chloe fought back tears of frustration and exhaustion as she slumped against the wall next to the door. It’s so not fair! she whined to herself. Just because her sister was four years older, the girl felt that she could treat Chloe and her brother as burdens instead of siblings. The blonde growled in annoyance as she pressed her thighs together even tighter, the sloshing of her bladder a constant reminder of her need.
_Too slow again, worthless._ The words floated across the hall, complete gibberish to anyone but she and her twin brother who were the only ones who seemed fluent in their own personal twinspeak. Chloe glowered down the hall to Dylan’s bedroom door, where he stood smirking. Dylan was born a mere two minutes before Chloe – technically making him older – and as a result he tended to act as if she existed only to serve him. The insults, the taunts, the sheer level of Cold War aggression the pair felt for each other was just as vicious as the hot war between the twins and their older sister.
In the Bauer house, sibling rivalry seldom rose to the level of fatality. Still, blood had been spilled during the ongoing conflict.
_Fuck off and die, princess!_ Chloe snarled back.
Dylan tsked and shook his head. _You shoulda moved faster. You were always just a bit too slow,” he added as he crossed his arms and leaned against the frame. _You know what she’s like in the morning._
_She’s fucking like that all the time,_ his sister grumbled. A tiny ache flared between her eyes, a perfect counterpoint with the grinding gritty feeling in her mouth that served as a reminder of her restless night. _I didn’t sleep much, so I’m not in any fucking mood, ‘k?_
Dylan’s smirk grew wider, and not for the first time Chloe was struck by how similar the pair looked. Both were slim (although the girl was far more skinny and coltish than he), both had sandy blonde hair (hers long and flowing, his cropped short), and the same piercing blue eyes. Anyone observing them knew in an instant that they were twins – and usually followed the observations with some inanity about how close the two must be.
_I slept just fine,_ Dylan sneered. _You’re so worthless you can’t even sleep right!_
_Fuck off!_ Chloe repeated. She opened her mouth to say more, but was interrupted as the bathroom door opened and Lisa emerged. The teenager was as different from the twins as night and day… dark where they were fair, pale where they were tanned, her green eyes glittered with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. She had recently hacked off most of her black hair to create a shaggy tangled mess that seemed to suit her mood, and worked to match her inner darkness through the use of heavy caked-on mascara, black lipstick, and clothes more suited to a long-deceased English gentlewoman.
That was outside the Bauer battlefield they called home, however. Having just rolled out of bed, her attire was more like that of a teenage boy. “Bathroom’s all yours, half-sperm,” she snarked as she roughly punched Chloe in the shoulder. “You can go on in and finger yourself to all your favorite boy bands now.”
“You’re a bitch!” Chloe balled up her hand, brought her fist back, and let fly… landing a half-assed, kitten-weak punch to her sister’s hip. “I hate you!”
“I’m fucking glad!” Lisa wrapped her arm around her sister’s neck and snugged the girl’s head against her hip, painfully rapping her knuckles on Chloe’s skull. “You and shit-stain are defectives. Mom shoulda aborted you two.”
Chloe flailed her arms and legs, and only managed to land a glancing blow against one small B-cup, braless breast. “I hope you get raped by a zombie, you psycho bitch! Ow! Let me go!” she howled.
“Fine.” With a sneer Lisa shoved Chloe down the hall, sending the ten-year-old sprawling onto the carpet. A flash of fire flared in her knee where the flesh scraped against the rug, and tears sprang into her eyes as white-hot rage filled her body. “I’ve got better things to do than to play with a bunch of half-sperm-cells,” she added as she stepped over the blonde’s sprawled form and entered her own bedroom. “So eat dead dog dick and die.”
“Bitch!” Chloe shrieked the name at the top of her lungs as she rolled onto her back, feeling the continued discomfort in her belly stemming from her still-full bladder. “I hope you get AIDS and DIE!!!” Lisa only smirked and slammed the door shut behind her. The little girl winced as she levered herself onto her knees and stood, her legs wobbly, as she took an unsteady step towards the bathroom…
Only to spot Dylan standing in the doorway. _Still too slow, worthless,_ he said with a wicked grin, and then slammed the door shut.
Chloe moaned in frustration as the pain between her eyes flared even higher, and she slumped back down to the carpet beneath as she camped out next to the bathroom door. I hate everyone in this place, she grumbled to herself. I wish they were all dead!
And then, just to make her suffering even worse… The sound of rushing, splashing water filled her ears as Dylan turn on the tap.
“Don’t forget, I have yoga class tonight,” Amanda mentioned as she bustled around the kitchen. “So you three need to be responsible. We’ll have dinner together, but after that you’re on your own. So,” she added brusquely as she turned and fixed her teenage daughter with a pointed stare, “no sneaking out, get your homework done, and be in bed by nine.”
“Nine?” Lisa would have shouted – that is, if pseudo-Goth chicks actually spoke any words louder than a morose whine/groan of effort. “Mu-om, that is fucked.”
“Language, young lady.” Amanda’s brow narrowed as she sternly glared at her daughter, and then turned her attention back to the counter. “Nine o’clock. And I mean it,” she stated bluntly as she finished shaking cut lettuce into the plastic container and reached for the small, round tomatoes. “Remember, your father is getting home from Japan on Saturday, and he won’t be as forgiving as I am when you skirt the rules.”
“Rules suck,” the teenager grumped as she slid further down in her chair.
“Daddy’s really coming home?” Chloe asked brightly as she scooped up another spoonful of breakfast cereal and brought it up to her mouth.
Amanda glanced at her youngest daughter over her shoulder and grinned. “Yes, he is. He sent me an email last night.” She turned back to the lunches, and the blonde girl could have sworn that her butt wriggled just the tiniest bit with pleasure at the thought of her husband’s return.
Not for the first time, Chloe felt glad that the woman was her mother. Amanda was way old – like, thirty – but it was obvious that she had kept her figure even after the ravages of time and three children. Slim yet curvy, she managed to juggle the responsibilities of work/children/wife/exercise with a grace and aplomb that the girl could only wish she possessed. With only the smallest bit of work she managed to maintain the hourglass figure that she possessed in her youth, and the girl hoped beyond hope that she too would sport the C-cups and flared hips that would only be enhanced by an elegant wardrobe.
“Jeez, it seems like dad’s been gone forever,” Dylan interjected as he inhaled his sugary-hyper flakes.
“He has been gone forever,” Lisa whined as she slouched even further down in her seat.
“Well, he’ll be back on Saturday, and don’t worry,” Amanda remarked as she put the finishing touches on Chloe’s lunch. “I’ve been keeping a list of who’s done what, and some of you will be in big trouble when he gets back.” The three kids all spoke at once, shouting and yelling and accusing each other of being the most heinous violator of the house rules, and the battle would have continued if not for a low rumble coming through the walls. “Whoops!” her mother said as she quickly stuffed the remaining foodstuffs into their bags, “there’s the bus! Go go go!”
With a flurry of activity everyone grabbed their lunches and bolted out the door. Lisa shoved her way outside first and made her way across the lawn toward a beat-up sedan from which dark and morose music flowed and against which a seedy-looking, gaunt teenager lounged. Dylan blasted past Chloe, scrambled down the sidewalk, and sprinted to the door of the bus, where a large group of like-minded ten-year-olds hooted and shouted encouragement to their tardy friend. That just left Chloe, who spared her mother one last glance before she closed the door behind her.
“New day, same war?”
The voice behind her was high-pitched, girlish, and filled with sympathy, and with a smile Chloe turned to her best friend in the entire world. “Same day, same war, it feels like,” she replied.
The tiny, painfully-skinny brunette grinned in response as she hoisted her backpack higher up on one narrow shoulder. Chloe had met Harper Dzunga on the first day of kindergarten when the pair discovered a shared love of paste, and the two girls had been practically inseparable since. “Cute outfit,” Harper nodded approvingly as she glanced up and down her blonde friend.
Chloe twirled and let her skirt flare up a bit even as she tugged a bit on the faux-silk blouse draping her torso. “Why, this old thing?” she asked with a grin. “I’ve had it for years. But you definitely look cute today!”
The brunette smiled and cocked one hip to the side. “It’s just jeans and a tee-shirt, Clo,” she said even as she preened. The jeans were new, tight, and obviously designed to give the impression that a pre-teen girl might have hints of hip and ass even where there was none, while the sparkly rhinestone heart of the black shirt seemed to naturally draw the eye to Harper’s flat, girlish chest. “I just threw them on today, whatever,” she said dismissively.
“Right.” Chloe grabbed her friends hand and pulled her towards the bus. “Let’s go, if we get left behind again my mom’s gonna be pissed.”
As the girls scrambled up the stairs and made their way down the aisle towards an empty seat in the middle, the bus started moving with a roaring rumble that seemed to shake Chloe down to her very bones. She made a face as she spotted Lisa sticking her tongue down the throat of her whatever-the-hell-he-was as her mother stepped out of the door, juggling briefcase and thermos and purse and keys even as she tried to tug the hem of her skirt down her toned thighs while shrugging her suit jacket over her shoulders. And she felt contented, the dream of the previous night all but forgotten as she and Harper chatted and she looked forward to a nice, normal, boring day.
“Harper,” Chloe said quietly as she pushed around the lettuce and tomatoes in front of her with her fork and eyed the three chocolate chip cookies in the small baggie to the left of her ‘lunch,’ “have you ever had… dreams? Like, really wild dreams.”
“What kind of dreams?” The brunette reached into her brown paper bag and withdrew her own lunch, lovingly prepared by her mother. The girl carefully laid out the contents – a bologna sandwich on wheat, an apple, and a small package of crackers – on the table in front of her, neat and tidy and organized from right to left. “Like, where you’re flying or something, or that you’ve forgotten your homework on presentation day, like that?”
The two girls were seated at one end of a long table, near the exit of the lunchroom. The cavernous dining hall was packed with children, ranging from the barely-out-of-diapers second graders all the way up to snotty, arrogant fifth graders (who, at eleven years old, never missed an opportunity to inform those in the lower grades that they were so immature!), and the buzz of conversation roiled and echoed around the pair. Chloe was glad for the drone around them – on the one hand it made sure that no casual observer could overhear her conversation with Harper, while on the other it gave her a plausible excuse to change the topic if the discussion got too uncomfortable.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Chloe stalled for a moment and rolled a cherry tomato from one side of the plastic container to the other, trying to find the words that would allow her friend to understand what she was implying without actually being forced to say what she really wanted to say. “I mean, a physical-type dream. Where you do stuff.” She paused for another heartbeat, leaned in, and quickly whispered, “With a boy.”
“With a boy?” Harper thought for a second before sudden realization dawned on her face. “Oh. Oh! You mean a kissy dream!”
“Not so loud!” Chloe hissed quietly as she blushed deeply.
“Chloe likes a boy-oy,” the brunette sang softly as she grinned, but the blonde was at least glad for the fact that she sang it under her breath in a voice too quiet for anyone else to overhear. “Chloe wants to ki-iss… Chloe wants to hu-ug…”
“Shut up, forget I said anything,” Chloe finally said as she pouted and slumped back into her seat.
Harper grinned wickedly for another moment as she basked in her friend’s discomfort, and then her face softened. “Okay, yeah, I’ve had kissy dreams too,” she admitted. She took another bit of sandwich and continued as she chewed. “I had one a few days ago, where I was with Bryan Tremont, and we were at the Hole, and it was all sunny and warm and he was being nice to me.” Her nose crinkled as she made a face, and added, “Instead of being a butthead like always. Anyway, he gave me a kiss and it was so nice, and I woke up and it was still dark and I was so happy…”
“Yeah, that’s sort-of what I’m talking about.” She regarded the dreamy look on Harper’s face and made a snap decision. “So, you guys were just kissing? That’s it?”
Now it was Harper’s turn to look embarrassed. “Well, no,” she admitted. “He also had his hands on my butt. But I think that was just ‘cause he didn’t have anywhere else to put them.”
“Were you naked?”
“What? No!” Harper shuddered and looked queasy. “Getting naked with a boy, and having them see all of my girly-parts… I mean, ew-city!” The brunette glanced around to make sure their conversation was still relatively private, and she leaned in. “Remember what Mrs. McCloud said two years ago, back when we were in second grade…”
“Yeah, I remember.” Chloe pursed her lips and scowled as she imitated the pair’s former teacher. “Remember, ladies,” she said, pitching her voice into something resembling a quavering, gravelly tenor, “boys only want one thing, and that is to see you naked. Good girls don’t let that happen.”
Harper snickered, and twisted her face into an imitation as well. “A boy’s thingy is the most dangerous thing that you’ll ever encounter,” she intoned. “And the substance that comes out will do more to ruin your life than any drug ever could.”
“If a boy ever says that he likes you, it only means that he wants to put his thingy in you, and ruin your life,” Chloe shot back.
“Ladies, you’ll see a lot of commercials on television that say that grown-ups only get naked with each other,” Harper raised. “But that’s not true!” Chloe chimed in, matching her friend word for word, as the pair leaned in close and whispered to each other, “Grown-up men also will do anything they can to put their thingies in you, and you should do whatever you need to do to make sure that never happens, or your entire life will become worthless and you’ll trade sex for drugs and money!”
Both girls dissolved into a fit of giggles as they remembered the sheer ridiculousness of Mrs. McCloud’s poor attempt to teach them about sex. “She was so stupid,” Chloe admitted. A few tables away Dylan caught her eye, and she scowled slightly at him in response. Butt-head, she thought for a moment before she put him out of her mind. “She probably had never even seen a naked man before.”
“Probably.” Harper dabbed one corner of her eye with a knuckle, popped two crackers into her mouth, chewed, and smiled softly. “So you ever think about doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Getting naked.” The brunette paused, and then added for emphasis, “With a boy. And do kissy stuff.”
“I…” Chloe had to admit that it was a subject that she had never really thought about before. Do I want to get naked with a boy, and do kissy stuff with him? she thought. “I… I guess I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “How about you?”
“Ew! No!” Harper got a disgusted look on her face and flicked a cracker crumb across the table at the blonde girl across from her. “We’re way too young to be thinking about stuff like that! I mean, we’re dreaming that stuff, right, but that doesn’t mean that we should do that stuff in, like, reality or anything like that.”
“I guess you’re right.” Chloe speared a few pieces of lettuce and a cherry tomato, popped the forkful into her mouth, and chewed while mulling over the conversation in her head. “So, these kissy dreams are probably just getting us ready for when we are old enough to actually do that stuff.”
“Yeah. At least, that’s what I think.”
The pair fell silent as they ate, and Chloe felt just the slightest bit reassured. That’s gotta be it, she thought to herself. Those dreams are just my girl brain trying to help me become a woman, or something like that. Still, another small, secret part of her mind just couldn’t get away from the aggression, the violence, the sheer degrading sex of her dreams. If I’m dreaming about that sort of thing NOW, she asked herself, what kind of woman will I be when I grow up? “How old do you think we should be before we do it?” she suddenly asked.
“How old?” Harper replied, seemingly surprised by the question.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, I don’t know.” The brunette chewed a bit of apple, her eyes distant as her mind turned over. “I’m thinking, maybe, something like sixteen? Fifteen, at least. I mean, think about it,” she added as she warmed to her topic. “All the shows on television say that boys like girls with tits, and let’s face it,” she added as she flicked her fingertips back and forth across the table to indicate the pair of them, “it’s not like we’ve got anything like those!”
“So, you want to wait until you get boobs, got it.”
“How about you?”
“I… haven’t really thought about it.” Chloe pushed around her salad while she eyed her cookies, idly debating whether to have one before finishing off her lettuce or not while she thought. “Fourteen?” she finally replied, her statement more a question than a statement. “Thirteen? That’s when my mom said her boobs started coming in.”
“Slut.” Harper’s easy grin took any possible sting out of her words as she leaned back. Beside her lunch her phone buzzed and let her know that she was receiving a text, and she palmed the device as she continued. “That seems a bit young to me. I mean, I don’t think I’ll be ready that soon.” She flicked the touch screen with one thumb and scrolled. “I’m planning on waiting until at least…”
Chloe was half in thought, chewing her salad as she considered the debate, and as a result she didn’t initially notice when Harper stopped speaking. She focused back in on the here-and-now, and peered across the table at her friend. The brunette was staring intently into her phone, reading the text with an inscrutable look on her face. “Hey, everything okay?” she asked. When Harper didn’t reply, she leaned in a bit closer. “Hey? Hello?”
Harper didn’t answer, but merely gazed into her phone… And then, without saying another word, she pushed back from the table, stood, and walked towards the cafeteria door. Chloe stared after her friend for a moment, her mouth agape, before she too pushed her chair back. “Harper, wait!” she called as she darted after the brunette.
Where the hell is she going? Chloe struggled to keep up with the brunette, who strode through the empty halls with purpose. “Harper, stop and talk to me!” she called, her words breathy as she half-ran after her friend. She managed to catch up to her at the bottom of the stairs and grasped her upper arm. “What is it? What’s going on?” she asked in a panicked voice.
Harper didn’t respond, but instead merely stared blankly at the softly panting blonde before her. Then, without another word, she pulled – tore – her arm from Chloe’s grip, turned, and darted up the stairs. “Jesus, Harper, slow down!” Chloe groaned as she too moved up, albeit at a much slower pace. At the top she looked left and then right, spotting her friend heading down the hall towards an open door half-way down. “I’m gonna fucking kill her,” the blonde muttered as she ran, her tennis shoes lightly patting on the tile floor as she scrambled to catch up. She was only a few paces behind when Harper spun and strode into the room.
“What…” Chloe ground to a halt and stood in the door to the classroom, her eyes wide and her mouth agape as she watched the young brunette saunter across the room. Seated at his desk was Mr. LaFonte – large, fat, oh-so-old, looking scruffy and tired as he always did. She didn’t know too much about him, only that he ran a fifth-grade class that always seemed to be filled with out of control, rowdy boys and girls who constantly sneered at the girls in the grade below them and usually hogged the mirrors in the second-floor girl’s restroom as they touched up their make-up between classes. That Harper was meeting with Mr. LaFonte was not what shocked her, though.
It was that the teacher was seated with his pants down around his knees, his adult cock hard and sticking eight inches straight up from his lap.
“I’m here, sir,” Harper said in a quiet, quavering voice filled with a touch of fear and – something else, something that Chloe couldn’t identify. The brunette had slowed her pace, and her narrow, denim-clad, pre-teen hips contained a bit of a roll as she slid across the cold tile floor. “I came as soon as you summoned me.”
“It’s about time you showed up, you little cunt,” Mr. LaFonte grumbled, his voice rough and gravelly. “Get your ass over here and do your job if you want to get paid!”
“Yes sir.” Harper meekly walked across the classroom and dropped to her knees before him, leaned forward, and grasped the cock in her hand. The size difference between the adult man and the little girl was enormous, so much so that she had to use both of her hands to even grip the shaft properly. As Chloe watched in horror her best friend leaned even closer, flipped her hair over one shoulder, and brought her lips to the cock before her. A tiny little kiss, and then Harper flicked the tip of her tongue against the thick, bulbous head, a quiet murmur of happiness issuing from her throat as Mr. LaFonte grunted. Harper began to double-pump the cock before her, working the shaft like (what Chloe assumed was) a pro, squirming and wriggling at the teacher’s feet like a happy puppy as she serviced him.
The tiny blonde slipped to the wall beside the open door and sagged against the painted cinderblocks, feeling a cold sickness in the pit of her stomach. What the hell is she doing? she asked herself as she took a deep, quavering breath and tried to steady her nerves. This is so wrong, he’s a GROWN-UP! From behind her she could hear wet smacks, slurps, and the sounds of Harper using her lips and tongue to pleasure Mr. LaFonte. Chloe bit her lip and tried to ignore the sounds of the brunette’s wet mouth on the man’s cock, the murmurs of her happiness as she degraded herself before the teacher, and the adult’s grunt-groans of sheer animal lust. “You’re just the perfect little cocksucker, aren’t you, you little shit?” she heard him growl through the open door.
“Yes, sir,” Harper replied. “You trained me right, sir.”
TRAINED her right? Chloe’s mind reeled at the implication as questions ricocheted through her brain at light-speed. When had Mr. LaFonte ‘trained’ her? Why had Harper gone along with it? How long has she been doing this? What has he been forcing her to do? And most importantly was the one question to which she kept returning, the question that made her sickest of all… Why didn’t Harper tell me? Or another adult, who could have stopped this?!?
“Lean back,” he grunted, and though she didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know, Chloe just had to find out what was happening. She leaned around the doorframe and locked her gaze on her best friend servicing the man before her. Harper had undone the front of her jeans and had slipped one hand inside the denim swath around her hips, stroking what Chloe could only assume was her own clit, as she gazed up at Mr. LaFonte with adoration. The teacher towered above her, one hand furiously pumping his saliva-gleaming cock while the other was planted firmly on the brunette girl’s head. “Keep watching. Keep those eyes open. Are you ready for your gift, slut?” he asked, his voice thick with lust.
“Yes, sir, please, yes!” Harper gasped. Chloe could see her best friend’s arms jerking furiously as she pleasured herself, rubbing her tiny pre-teen slit as she knelt in front of the masturbating teacher.
And then with a growl Mr. LaFonte came, depositing his load squarely onto the face of the brunette before him. The first blast shot up Harper’s face, crossing her forehead and splattering into her hair, and the second, arced across the bridge of her nose to paint both cheeks. A third spattered against one open eye and Chloe actually felt her own orbs water in sympathy, while a fourth load sprayed across the brunette’s tongue and onto her lips. And through it all Harper never stopped masturbating, never stopped pleasuring herself as she was humiliated and used by the grown man dominating her. And Harper loved every second of it, shuddering and shivering through her own pre-teen orgasm as the sensations from her stroking fingers combined with the feel of the male seed on her face to send her over the edge into a quivering climax.
… And even after, at the end, neither one of them acknowledged anything else around their own degenerate little encounter, both of them ignoring Chloe’s spying presence as if they were the only two people in the entire world.
What the fuck is this?!? Chloe couldn’t wrap her mind around what she had just witnessed. As she watched she saw Mr. LaFonte simply shake off the last few drops of jism onto Harper’s upturned face, grunt with satisfaction, and pull up his pants. Harper too acted as if this were nothing extraordinary, simply pulling her hand from her pants, wiping her fingers on the front of her tee shirt, and rebuttoning her jeans. As Chloe watched on in revulsion Mr. LaFonte pulled out his wallet, withdrew two dollar bills, crumpled them up and threw them to the floor in front of the brunette. “There’s your money, whore,” he said dismissively.
“Thank you, sir,” Harper replied meekly as she picked up the money.
“No need to thank me, you did your job. Now get out of my sight, you disgusting pig.”
Harper stood as Mr. LaFonte sat back in his chair and turned back to the papers on his desk in front of him. Slipping the bills into a pocket, the brunette spun on her heel and walked out of the room, past Chloe as if she wasn’t there, and back down the hall. Chloe snapped her head back and forth between the two for a moment before scrambling to catch up to her friend. Harper still didn’t acknowledge her presence but merely walked through the empty corridors, back down the stairs, and back into the lunchroom. Returning to the table, she sank back into her seat and stared blankly at the half-eaten sandwich in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, Chloe sat back down as well, staring at her spunk-covered friend in shock.
And then, almost as if a switch had been thrown, Harper started back up again. “I’m planning on waiting until at least fifteen until I even think about doing any grown-up stuff with a boy,” she stated bluntly as Mr. LaFonte’s spunk oozed down her face. Chloe watched in shock as a thick gob dangled from one side of Harper’s chin, swung a bit, and then plopped onto the collar of the brunette’s black tee-shirt. “I mean, I don’t think I’m anywhere near old enough to even think about that sort of stuff seriously.” She picked up her sandwich, opened her mouth, and took a bite, chewing as she looked at Chloe. “Hey, is everything okay?” she asked around the bread-and-bologna wad in her cheek. “You’ve got this weird look.”
“Harper…” Chloe didn’t know what to say. She knew what she wanted to say – Harper, you just sucked off Mr. LaFonte! You sucked him off for money! He paid you MONEY to SUCK HIS DICK AND YOU DID IT!!! His STUFF is STILL ALL OVER YOUR FACE WHY DON’T YOU REALIZE THAT?!? “It’s… nothing important,” she finally managed to choke out.
“O… kay.” Harper shook her head – an action that caused a few more dollops of LaFonte-jism to spatter against the top of her shirt – and went back to her lunch. “Anyway, let’s change the subject,” she finally said. “Talking about stuff like this is too weird for me, especially while eating. Say, did you hear about Missy’s birthday party on Friday? Are you planning on going?”
Chloe let one part of her mind follow the inane, pointless conversation (filled with who would be at Missy’s party, who shouldn’t be there, and who really, REALLY shouldn’t come), while another part of her mind wondered if she were truly insane. She sucked him off, and she’s just sitting there with his STUFF on her face! Chloe glanced at the girls seated a few chairs down – a quartet of chattering, nattering third graders who were spouting off about some actor on a tween television show – who were close enough to the pair so that they could not not notice the gleaming slime coating the brunette’s face. Am I the only one who sees it? she asked herself. Why isn’t anyone else noticing?!?
“I’m… I think that we should go,” the blonde finally said. She felt her stomach roil as another dollop of spunk dripped from Harper’s chin and landed on last little bit of her sandwich – and, without missing a beat, the brunette popped it into her mouth and chewed the combination bread and meat and sperm. This can’t be real! her mind screamed in shock. And finally, the one question that she dreaded facing…
What’s wrong with me? she asked herself as she pushed her lunch aside, her appetite gone.
“So, sweetheart,” her mother began as she used the spatula to place another piece of lasagna on Dylan’s plate. “Anything interesting happen at school today?” she asked as the ten-year-old boy tore into the meal before him.
“What do you mean?” Chloe snapped defensively. Oh GOD she knows she knows what happened I’m in so much trouble…
Amanda fixed her daughter with an odd look. “I was just asking how your day went, you know, trying to be a good parent.”
“Why start now?” Lisa muttered under her breath. The teenager slouched even further in her chair, her gaze fixed squarely on her smart phone as her thumbs became a blur of motion and she texted one of her various seedy friends.
“Lisa, why don’t you put the phone down and join us?” her mother asked in a plaintive tone. Turning her attention back to her youngest daughter, she continued. “Please, sweetie, I’m just trying to take an interest in your life. Did anything interesting happen at school today?”
“Nope,” Dylan interjected around the gargantuan wad of pasta/meat/tomato sauce wedged between his teeth. “Nothing interesting ever happens. That place is dull as fuck.”
“Dylan! Language!” Her mother sighed, took her chair, and fixed Chloe with a weary gaze. “Well?”
Mr. LaFonte towered above Harper, one hand furiously pumping his saliva-gleaming cock while the other was planted firmly on the brunette girl’s head to keep her in place. “Keep watching. Keep those eyes open. Are you ready for your gift, slut?” he asked, his voice thick with lust.
“Nope,” Chloe lied as she pushed her meal around with her fork. “Nothing interesting happened. Same old school, same old stuff.” For the briefest of seconds she felt bad about lying to her mother, but the truth would be far too painful.
After Harper’s little private encounter with Mr. LaFonte the day had indeed been unremarkable – a string of meaningless lessons that she honestly couldn’t remember. She had sleep-walked through the rest of school, her mind shocked into inactivity as she tried to make sense of what she had witnessed. Harper – indeed, the rest of the student body and faculty – didn’t even seem to notice anything wrong, anything different… but Chloe could barely stand to look at her best friend. The boy-cum had dried on the brunette’s face like a crusty mask on her cheeks and nose and chin, and little flakes fluttered down onto her spunk-stained tee-shirt whenever she moved her head. And nobody – nobody! – had noticed, except for Chloe. It was almost a relief to flee back home after the last bell, tossing a vague homework/mother calling/too much stuff to do excuse over her shoulder as she scrambled back to the relative safety of her house.
“That’s good, dear.” The table lapsed into silence as the four of them concentrated on their interests – Dylan inhaling the Italian meal so quickly he ran the risk of choking, Amanda glancing at her children one after the other with an odd, wistful look on her face, Lisa ignoring everyone and everything. And Chloe, trying to make sense of what she had witnessed.
“May I please be excused, mom?” she asked in a quiet voice. “I don’t feel too good.”
Her mother tsked and felt her forehead with the back of her hand. “Okay, I hope you’re not getting sick!” she said sympathetically. “You’ve got your homework done, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Why don’t you climb in bed and try to get some sleep? I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
_Probably looked at her own face_, Dylan remarked with a smirk.
_Fuck off, toad_, Chloe shot back. “Okay, g’night, mom.” She pushed back from the table, wearily shuffled across the kitchen and gently placed her food-laden plate in the sink, and headed upstairs to her room. Her limbs felt heavy, leaden, and it seemingly took all of her energy to undress and slip the sleeping tee over her head and down her body. A good night’s sleep, I don’t think THAT’LL solve anything, she thought as she slid beneath the covers and snapped off the light.
Her mind flicked from thought to memory to fear and back to thought, locked in a whirlpool of sickness and terror. The memories of Harper being a whore, the feelings that her dreams evoked, the sheer incongruity of it all, everything combined into a stew of confusion. Please, God, don’t let me dream again tonight, she begged silently into the darkness. Please…
She felt herself drifting further and further from consciousness as the stresses of the day finally caught up with her, and felt the cottony warmth of sleep start to envelope her thoughts as she calmed, and the weight of the covers felt so good on her slim body as she rolled onto her side and
She wasn’t sure where she was… From the furnishings it looked to be a very expensive hotel room of some sort, a suite that practically oozed money and power. The nighttime view through the open window was of the gleaming city, the buildings shrouded in darkness and bespeckled with warm glows of lit windows. Beneath her silk-clad feet the carpet felt soft and lush, almost as if she were standing on a pillow.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” the man asked. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit that looked to be more expensive than a car, the fabric of such quality that it didn’t show a single wrinkle from where he sat. Idly he swirled the cocktail glass in his hand, the amber liquid swirling the ice cubes as he regarded the little girl standing before him. “After all, you look rather… small,” he added, his gaze dubious as his eyes raked up and down her form.
Chloe knew exactly what he saw, and felt a small burst of pride flash in her chest at the knowledge. Elegance personified… From the high-heeled strappy shoes that she currently held in one hand, to the smoky nylons encasing her legs, to the filmy, silky dress flowing around her slim, pre-teen body, to the diamonds gracing her ankle, her wrist, her throat and her ears, her attire practically screamed exclusivity and wealth. Her hair cascaded down one side of her neck and flowed over her bare shoulder, her blue eyes popped under the dark eye shadow on her lids, and her lips gleamed in the dim light of the single-bulbed lamp next to the large king-sized bed. Everything in the room, including him, seemed so much larger than she, and that realization excited her even more. An elegant little girl, made up as a grown woman, dwarfed by everything and anything…
She shook herself out of her reverie. “You paid for me, mister,” she said, her high-pitched falsetto quavering ever-so-slightly with a combination of lust and fear. “You ordered a tiny little slut for your pleasure, and I was the tiniest that they had. Do I displease you?”
“No,” he smirked, “far from it. Although I do think that you might be stalling a little bit,” he added. He took a sip of his drink, placed the glass down on the table beside the chair, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “A good little girl would have gotten naked by now. So why are you still dressed?”
Chloe didn’t hesitate… She dropped her shoes to the carpet, slipped the spaghetti straps from her shoulders, and let the dress flow down her body in a rippling wave. Nude except for the thigh-high stockings spray-painted on her slim, coltish legs, she looked even more tempting than before – her hairless, undeveloped body not even containing the barest hint of puberty, laid bare to his leering gaze. “Have you decided what you wish, mister?” she asked shyly as she blushed. Between her legs her quarter-sized slit of a virginity-years-gone pussy moistened in anticipation.
“I think that I want everything, for twenty dollars,” he said bluntly.
His gaze was locked on her cleft, and she could almost feel the heat of his stare on her hairless mons – and her imagination aroused her even more, sending her higher. “Around the world for twenty dollars, yes sir,” she agreed. She stepped forward tentatively, feeling the war between her spiking lust and his sheer, overwhelming size battle in her chest. “You bought me, and my body is yours to do with as you please for the rest of the night. Tell me, mister, do you wish me to begin with my whore mouth?”
“Indeed I do,” he replied with a smirk. As he sat back Chloe couldn’t help but notice the massive bulge in the front of his slacks, his erection tenting the fabric and letting her know that his forearm-sized cock would require all of her professional skills to handle. She knew that she could do it, but she would have to be careful – a cock that sized could cause serious damage to her tiny, pre-teen form, and she had no wish to end up back in the hospital yet again, facing another round of internal surgery to repair the tears that had occurred the last time she had gotten too energetic in her job.
She sank to her knees and leaned in, her blue orbs locked on his crotch, her hands trembling as she worked the clasp of the leather belt, and with an almost violence his cock sprang forth, and she lowered her face to the shaft before her as she grasped the base, and her tongue flicked out and worked a tiny dollop of pre-cum out of his piss-slit and oh-so-relished the salty-sweet tasted on her lips. She closed her eyes as she felt his hand on the back of her head with his fingertips pressing against the butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck that was her master’s mark of ownership, and her glossy lips parted wide as she took all of him in her mouth and he forced her down upon his raging prick and she moaned with pleasure content that she had found a way to get paid to do what she loved and then she was gagging as he forced himself into her throat and she couldn’t breathe and it made her SO fucking hot
With a snap of sudden consciousness Chloe realized that she was once more standing before the bathroom mirror, the dim light allowing her to see her sleep-disheveled form clad in her nightshirt. She felt her gorge rise, and with a sudden violence she leaned forward and vomited into the sink, sickened by her latest dream. I’m NOT a whore! her mind screamed as she retched. I’m NOT a hooker, nobody has ever paid me for sex! I’m a virgin, I’m a good girl!!! One last empty retch, and she sank to her knees and sobbed, feeling the cold of the counter under her chin as tears filled her eyes. “What’s wrong with me?” she whisper-moaned, feeling the arousal between her legs, feeling the trembling of her limbs, feeling sick and aroused and disgusted and horny all at the same time as the tidal wave of conflicting emotions and thoughts washed over her. “I’m going insane, please, God, why are you doing this to me?” she plead.
In the silence of the dead of the night, nothing answered her pleas for clarity.
>>Chapter 2>>