Prescription: An Enthusiastic Fucking
by Sterling

Chapter 5 of 11


Jon awoke in the night at 3:25, as the clock told him. Usually he was a sound sleeper but for some reason he was up, and he could tell it wouldn't be easy to get back to sleep. He decided to check his email in the study.

There was an urgent message from the agency. Following the link, he quickly found the girl's entry.

It was currently 33 hours since symptom onset, so it certainly did qualify as an emergency. Her name was Betsy, and she was 8 years old. The picture was of a beautiful blond cherub with a lithe, athletic body. Jon thought he would really love fucking her. What a crude, blunt thought. Whatever. His lust was a boon to society just now.

"Agent 300133 performed successful intercourse at 11:41, but ineffective. Perhaps too gentle.

"Agent 190072 attempted more vigorous intercourse at 1:13, but Betsy suddenly became agitated. She drew blood after a deep bite on the man's hand and he left for the emergency room without finishing intercourse."

Well, that was enough to give a man pause.

This girl needed some help. Not many men were awake at this time of the night, and he was up for a challenge. And she really was beautiful. He decided that Agent 300911 would accept the invitation and try to finish what 300133 and 190072 had started. He clicked to tell them so, returned to the bedroom and dressed as quietly as he could.

"What's the matter, Jon?" asked Alison from the bed.

"There's an emergency," he said. "A girl needs help. It's been 33 hours."

"All right," she mumbled on her way back to sleep.

Jon didn't share much about his volunteer work with Alison. She was better off not knowing, something she herself realized though it didn't stop her from being intensely curious.

He packed some heavy work gloves, some nylon rope, a garden lopper (or whatever it was called) and a roll of duct tape into a gym bag. Hopefully none of that would be necessary, but she had sent the last man to the hospital with her teeth. As he approached the front door with his bag, he imagined himself as a country doctor heading out on an emergency house call in the middle of the night. He smiled at the thought and at the contents of his medical kit.

The woman who answered the door was disheveled and dressed in a bathrobe with traces of throw-up on it. He knew she was Mrs. Janice Smythe.

"Thank God you're here!" she said. "I hope you're better than that last man. He called my daughter a dirty name! I couldn't believe it."

"The report said that an earlier attempt didn't work, and he was trying to be more 'enthusiastic and zestful' in his approach."

"I don't care -- there is absolutely no excuse for that kind of behavior!"

"OK, sure," he said. He'd cool it with the profanity.

"Would you like some tea?" asked the woman.

"Ummm, that's very kind, but no thanks. Can you introduce me to Betsy?"

"Oh, sure... this way."

The girl was dozing, but leapt up into a crouch on the bed when she saw Jon. She was in a stained nightgown herself, hair unkempt, and she regarded him with wild eyes.

"Betsy, sweet pea, it's Mr. Ferber. He's going to help you and you'll be all better in no time. Just lie back. He promises he won't call you any bad names like that last horrible man."

Betsy cowered back on the bed, eyes glued to Jon.

"Come on, dear, look at me!" she pleaded.

When Betsy's gaze shifted to her mother she calmed down a little.

"Now just lie back on the bed, dear, that's good. Close your eyes." Mrs. Smythe stroked the girl's forehead with one hand and held her hand with the other.

The mother turned over her shoulder and beckoned to Jon with her eyes. He approached, stripping. Betsy heard his zipper and sat up, tensing.

Then Mrs. Smythe screamed, "Hold still, will you! You have to hold still! Do you want to die?"

That did nothing whatsoever for Jon's erection.

"No," whined the poor girl. She lay still again.

The mother suddenly resumed her calm, soothing tone of voice. "I'm going to the living room, now, so you can be in private with Mr. Ferber. These things should always be done in private," she said, stealing a glance at Jon's limp cock. "Be a good girl, now," she cooed.

"Be gentle, now," she said to Jon on the way out, shutting the door behind her.

Betsy lay on the bed, unmoving, glaring at him with a stony face.

Jon had a bad feeling about this.

"Hi, Betsy, this must be an awful time for you -- I'm so sorry. No girl like you should ever have to go through anything like this. But -- I have to do it to you. I gather one man already did it, right? So you know what it's like?"

Betsy gave a small nod.

"Now pull up that nightgown, honey, so I can see your lovely private parts."

She raised the nightgown around her middle.

"Legs apart."

There were her luscious girl parts, on full display. That was where his cock was headed. He idly stroked his cock as it came slowly to life. He smiled at her pussy. He would soon be parting those lips with his shaft...

"Sorry, honey. Like I said, you shouldn't have to go through this. But you do. You're very sexy, you know. I've got to touch you now; just hold still."

He sat on the bed and slid her nightgown up further towards her neck, smiling. His hand glided to her left nipple, and he swirled his fingers around it.

Suddenly she writhed beneath him, grabbed his hand and brought it towards her snapping teeth. Unlike his predecessor, Jon was alert to the danger and yanked his hand out of her clutches. Betsy gave a blood-curdling scream.

The door burst open -- evidently Mrs. Smythe had been waiting right outside. "What did you do to my daughter?" she demanded. "What made her scream?"

"I was just touching her chest, I believe," said Jon.

"Liar!" she hissed.

"What did he do, honey?" she asked her girl in a solicitous tone.

The girl burst into tears.

Jon's cock was softening rapidly. Be patient, he told it, be patient.

The approved procedure at this point was for him to leave and contact the agency. He realized that in his haste he had forgotten his cell phone. Who knew what procedure the agency had? Probably someone would come to take statements from all the parties, and then they would debate what to do. Eventually someone would fuck crazy little Betsy. But how many hours would it take? He remembered Naomi.

Betsy sagged and began retching weakly. Her mother got her a well-used cloth to spit into. "There, there, poor dear. Oh, my darling..."

When Betsy had stopped her convulsions for the moment, Jon took his bag and said, "Could you come with me, Mrs. Smythe, I want to talk with you privately."

The woman followed him to the living room. He opened the bag and pulled out the items.

"What have you -- Oh my God, you think you're going to tie her up? That's it -- out of my house!"

"Yeah, well, I thought maybe I'd have to tie her up, but I've got a more immediate problem," he said.

He shoved the woman, tripping her over his foot, and before she could react, he had manhandled her to a face down position, his knee on her back, hands behind her.

The woman screamed. "You... you... you'll go to prison for this! This is assault and battery!"

"Would you just shut up? I'm trying to save your daughter's life, OK?"

"You're a psychopath! Look at you... naked like that! Look... just let me go now and I won't press charges!"

Fucking was often done naked, Jon thought to himself. Had that fact escaped her? He supposed he could have gotten dressed again while he subdued her.

He tuned out her heated threatening babble while he stretched to retrieve the rope, wrapped it tightly around her hands and did his best to make a knot -- he was no expert at this. He ripped off a few feet of duct tape and wrapped it around the rope, hoping that would stabilize whatever knot he had made. When he rose the woman immediately began squirming and trying to get up. He had to fasten her to something -- something sturdy.

For some reason what came to his mind was the grab bars built into the bathtubs of new construction housing. He got her to her feet and pushed her along to the bathroom, keeping his hands out of range of her teeth, just in case she had the same inclinations as her daughter. He shoved her into the tub, then took yards of duct tape and threaded it through the grab bar and between her arms and her back. The tape stuck to itself and he made a royal mess, but eventually he had enough of a sticky mess that it looked like she couldn't get away.

"You can't do this!" she said. "I'll scream!" She was as good as her word.

Hmmm. There were no neighbors close enough to hear, but it might interfere with his sexual performance. He stuffed a washcloth in her mouth and held it in position with a yard of duct tape around her head.

He sure hoped he was right about the legality of all this. Time was short, the crazy mother was going to keep him from treating the crazy daughter...

He gathered up his tools, such as they were, and went back to the girl's room. She was lying naked face down on the bed, fast asleep. That wasn't a good sign, given how loud her mother had just been shrieking.

"Betsy! Betsy!" he called.

She didn't stir.

He reached out to shake her, then in prudence took a moment to put on his work gloves.

The girl did wake up when he shook her, that crazed look back in her eyes.

He thought of gagging her like he had her mother, then realized she was likely to throw up, and that wouldn't be good combination.

How could he restrain her? She was not a large child. He was sure he could control her, but not at all sure he could simultaneously maintain an erection and create the appropriate aura of zest and enthusiasm for the fucking part. How did rapists manage it? He figured they probably made threats and the hapless females lay still in their terror. But poor Betsy wasn't high in the rationality department just now.

One standard technique would be to tie her to the bedposts, but there were no bedposts. Feeling short of brilliant ideas, he started with her as he had her mother, grabbing the surprised girl and pushing her back onto her stomach, careful to stay out of range of her teeth. She squirmed violently.

"Hold still!" he shouted, and she froze. He tied her hands together behind her back.

Now what? He thought he should do her from the rear. It would make it harder for her to bite. All of the material the agency provided assumed a missionary position, but he figured it ought to work this way too.

Now it was time to switch from wrestling to sexual arousal. He relaxed, and as she lay still, he caressed her, feeling the beautiful soft skin of childhood. He started with her back, but soon moved to her thighs and butt. There was her feminine opening. He gently explored with a couple fingers, keeping the other hand free to control her if she suddenly got violent.

"Betsy?" he said. He looked to see that her eyes were open. "I'm so sorry this has all worked out like this. But you've got this horrible disease. I have to fuck you. I have to be sure your body knows you've been fucked. I'm supposed to even be a little rough about it. You bit the last guy and you tried to bite me. I don't think you're quite in your right mind, so this is the best I've been able to think of, OK?"

Betsy actually nodded.

"Now spread your legs wide, so I can get a good look at you... Oh, you are sexy all right. Let me feel around down here. Mmmmm. Now my penis is getting hard again. We're on the right track. Ah, beautiful little Betsy..."

Now to consummate this union. He'd never worked quite so hard to get laid before, he thought with a smile.

Flat on her stomach, he didn't have a good angle.

"Let's scoot down on the bed, Betsy, so I can get at you better... Good girl."

With her butt right on the edge of the bed, thighs down over the edge and stomach flat, he ought to have a better angle, but it still wasn't good enough somehow. He needed some kind of beam or ridge or something. He had an inspiration.

"Come on, Betsy, we've got to find a better place to fuck."

She let herself be pulled to her feet. He guided her out of the room, staying behind her. She stumbled. He ignored the thumping and muffled vocalizations from the bathroom.

There was the living room sofa with its arms. He bent her over the arm, stomach down on the sofa side, thighs trailing down to the floor on the outside. Her butt was up in just the right position.

"OK, sweetie, now I think we're ready." She really did look luscious.

His cock was hard, her pussy was waiting, wet and wide open and angled just right.

"OK, in it goes, sweetie, here..."

He worked his cock all the way in. There were no teeth at this end, just hot, smooth, supple vagina, deliciously lubricated.

"How does that feel?"

"OK," she murmured.

He got into a good rhythm, enjoying the sensations her body gave his penis. It was exciting doing a girl this way. It was generally considered a humiliating position, but he had to protect himself. At some level he also felt like she deserved it since she had been so bad.

He recalled that she had already been fucked. Another man had successfully ejaculated into the very vagina he was now thrusting in and out of so vigorously. But that fuck had not been sufficiently energetic and zestful. The girl didn't have much time left, and it was his duty to make this as enthusiastic a fuck as possible. She and her body should be in no doubt whatsoever that they had gotten soundly fucked. Hmmm.

"Betsy," he said. "Do you realize you are being fucked?"

"Yeah," she said softly.

"Sexual intercourse. Screwing. Humping. Mating. My man cock is up your little girl cunt, right?" He felt a thrill as he used those words.

"Mmm Hmmm," she said.

He squeezed one of her forearms hard with one hand, then the other, keeping up his fucking motion. He thumped her on the back, gently at first, then harder. He reached one hand around under her and found a nipple. "Those are where your boobs will grow some day, right? Girl private parts. I'm a man and I'm messing with your boobs. Feel this?" he asked, and pinched her nipple hard.

"Ouch!" she cried weakly.

He worked his hands down her thighs and squeezed each one hard, digging his fingernails in a little.

Roughing up the girl, he had lost his concentration a bit, so he returned to enjoying the sensation of her delicious cunt as it enveloped his shaft. It felt so very good. A minute went by.

"Are you sure you get it? You're being fucked," he said.

The girl didn't answer. He looked down and saw she was asleep.

"Wake up, Betsy," he said, then followed up with a sharp bark, "Wake up!"

When she still didn't stir, he shook her shoulders. "Wake up!" He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked hard. Her eyes flew open.

"Owwww!" she cried weakly.

"You've got to stay awake so you're sure that you're being fucked. OK?"

The girl's stomach clenched as she puked again.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he said. "I'm so sorry." He was -- but was sympathy out of line with making sure she knew she had been fucked?

"Unnnnh, unnnnh, unnnnh!" he started growling with each thrust.

Betsy suffered through two more stomach convulsions.

The distraction gone, Jon turned his full attention back to the fuck. He had already poked and prodded her a lot, but he thought of a few more ideas. He reached his hand down to the junction where his penis was thrusting in and out of her. He slid his finger all along the edge, pressed quickly and rhythmically where he figured her clitoris ought to be for a while, moved back and fingered her butt hole. He thought of sticking his finger in, but decided he found it too gross. He leaned over and bit her neck, hard but not enough to draw blood. He chewed on her ear, and said right into it, "You've been a very bad girl, but I kept with it and fucked you anyway... You're being fucked, OK?"

She nodded.

Now it was time to finish her off. He brought his attention back once more to the exquisite sensations of her vagina as he stroked in and out. He lengthened his strokes to get his tip in as far as he could, and felt it finally bump against her cervix just at his deepest penetration. He sped up.

"Aaah, Betsy, you feel so good. Ah, I'm going to shoot my sperm up into your cunt. Oh, ahhhh, mmmmm, shit, it's great, honey."

He grappled her hips with his hands as hard as he could, digging his fingernails in.

"Oh, Betsy, you gorgeous sexy girl, you're getting very soundly.... FUCKED!" he roared as his first pulse shot deep into the girl. He kept up his frenzied pounding as he shot over and over. He kept humping into her urgently long after his penis tip had oozed out its last drop of sperm. He slowed only when his erection softened, then pulled out and staggered backward to land heavily in the armchair.

The girl squirmed sideways and rolled off the sofa onto the floor. Without the use of her hands to guide her, she landed with a thud on her back.

"Oooo, Betsy!" he said, sitting up a little, "Are you OK?"

She said, "Yeah." After a few seconds, she raised her head blearily and managed what was definitely a smile. "I've been fucked -- enthusiastically and zestfully."

Jon smiled. He had a hunch that that level of articulateness meant Betsy was on the mend. Then his eyes welled with tears and he started crying. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry." He had just raped a young girl.

"It's OK," Betsy answered from the floor where she lay, still trussed. "I know you had to."

He staggered to his feet and cut the tape to free Betsy's arms, giving her a hand up. She was unsteady on her feet and sat on the sofa.

But he couldn't face her mother again -- not just then, anyway.

He found the family's land-line phone and dialed 911, explaining briefly what had happened. He went back into the girl's bedroom and got dressed. Rummaging through her drawers he found some clean clothes: panties and a random shirt and pair of pants. Her body would make them dirty instantly, but he felt she needed to be clothed when the police came. There was a lot of laundry to be done in any case.

He roused her from where she had collapsed on the living room sofa, though she was more dazed than asleep.

"Here, get dressed," he said, then helped the exhausted girl into her things, one item at a time. Just like he might have done with Cathy a few years earlier.

Betsy looked very tired and pale, but her eyes were clear.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I think so. I know so. Thank ... thank you," she said, then paused, looking troubled. "Did I bite you?"

"No, you just tried. It's the other guy you bit."

"Oh, right. Oh no! I'm sorry. Why did I do that?"

"I think you weren't in your right mind."

"Oh," she said simply.

The story of Betsy and Jon made the news, one more instance of how the Lolita virus had turned the world upside down. Mrs. Smythe complained bitterly, but after anyone listened to her talk for a few minutes, they got a sense of what kind of a person she was.

Jon was a hero.


End of chapter 5

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(first posted 6/12/2011)



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