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BODY DOUBLE I haven't lost the knack. I can still remember a face from way back and when I was in Chemnitz the other day, I recognised at once the attractive young mum, expensively dressed, proudly wheeling the buggy through the shopping precinct. Of course she didn't know me, but as I watched her go past, I was for a moment almost proud of the small part I played in her upbringing. That would have been about fifteen years ago. Let me take you back to 1991 or 1992, when I was still serving, and I'll tell you about it. In my little corner of Saxony, it was still a lot like the Germany my grandfather would have recognised. We've been through the Democratic Republic years, the euphoria of unification and the subsequent disappointment that our lives weren't suddenly transformed into a capitalist utopia. In fact we're so far out in the sticks that a lot of all that passed us by. That makes my life easier. I'm the local Polizeikommissar and I run the police detachment out here. It's hardly the most demanding of positions. I have a car, a van, an incontinent golden retriever, one sergeant and two young patrolmen and a huge stretch of sparsely populated countryside to look after, yet we get very little crime. Probably because nobody could find us, or even if they could, they wouldn't bother their arses to come here. Really, apart from a big increase in traffic offences and an encampment of tarts on the main road by the Czech border, it's not that much different to when I was first a raw Polizeihauptwachtmeister-Anwärter. Suits me though. I've always imagined myself as more like a British 'bobby' than a fanatical Vopo and when Germany was reunited, I had no trouble assimilating into the new police service, apart from the ruddy great questionnaire we had to complete - that took me two days! At least the radios now work and the new shirts don't chafe your nipples like sandpaper. I've lived here all my life and know most of the bad guys and a lot of the good guys. I'll share a drink with either if it promotes a quiet life. It was over a beer or three with one of the latter, Arne, that my new-found hobby first sparked into existence. I've discovered it late in life, and conveniently, it doesn't take up too much of my time, but if I was lacking some excitement to counteract the routine of my day-to-day life, then my new occasional pastime certainly fits the bill. Since Eva died, I've been without much of a focus to my being. It's brief, sporadic, but the thrill per minute ratio is out of this world! I digress. Arne Seifert. Bit of a wide-boy but his heart is in the right place. He went to my school and was a few years my junior. But he did very well for himself, and last year he married a rich divorcee, the lucky bastard. She had come up here from Westfalia to 'seek her roots', which really meant snapping up one of the big old neglected country houses we have aplenty. Very few Ossies could have afforded to do them up, but that's what she did, and how she met Arne - he's a builder. To cut a long story short, he wooed her over the plans for the swimming pool and ended up hitched to her. Trouble is, they're chalk and cheese. He's a bit of rough, really, and though they get on well enough, it's not a marriage made in Heaven. She seems to go back to her family a lot and he hits the booze. Stupid prat - he is obviously infatuated with her really. He was propping up the bar of my local one Friday night and seemed to appreciate my company. A lot of folk would rather not drink with a cop, so it suited me too. In his cups, he listed his woes. On the one hand, he had struck it rich: thanks to his wife's ample assets, he had been able to expand his business and could now take a back seat. Metaphorically that is, for he enjoyed posing in his flashy Alpina BMW too much to occupy anything other than the driving position. On the other, his home life was wretched, made that much worse by the presence of his step-daughter, who seemed to resent everything about living in our little backwater, him included. I commiserated, bought him another beer and left him to it. A fortnight later, he was there again and I half-listened all over again to his complaining. He showed me a creased snapshot of his family. Part of me was less than sympathetic, for he had a good-looking wife and no shortage of money, so he was not exactly desperate. By the end of the evening, I was his new best mate and it was then that he let slip a couple of nuggets that set my mind in motion. "Hardly get to shag her at all these days," he slurred, bemoaning his wife's diminished sex drive. "Practically have to beg for it." Too bad, I thought, at least you still have a wife. Eva was always dutiful in that department and I missed her greatly. "Then to make matters worse, that little bitch parades around the house in her short skirts and little vests and I'm sure she does it deliberately. Fucking tease!" At first I thought he meant his wife and then I realised her was referring to this troublesome step-daughter of his: the one in the picture. He was still rabbiting on. "She's untidy, disobedient and gives me back chat. If I try to tell her off, to get her to show some respect, her bloody mother always leaps to her defence. She has everything money can buy and yet she whinges all the freaking time. Moans about where we live, how 'unsophisticated' it is here. Fuck me, when I was thirteen, I'd never even heard the word 'unsophisticated', let alone used it! Stuck-up little bitch. Pushing out her little tits and wiggling her bum like she's something special. “Much more of this and I’m afraid Stefanie will have driven such a wedge between us that Beate and I will be beyond reconciliation. Christ, I hate that bloody girl! "Between you and me, I'd like to show her just how frigging special she actually is. Like to give her a sound thrashing then fuck the arse off the little cunt. That'd show her; wipe the smarmy grin off her face and teach her some manners." Now the policeman in me should have disapproved strongly of such words. I mean, I had a duty to prevent crime and I should have pulled him up for saying such a thing in my presence. But the gorgeous big brown eyes and high cheekbones and fine, soft, innocent lips of the immensely pretty young girl in his photo had not escaped my eye. Not just professional interest - the habit of studying a face - she was a proper cutie and I was a little surprised at my own reaction. I could quite understand how he felt. But I of course kept my opinion to myself. Until the following weekend, when chance dictated that we should both be attending some civic function and we independently gravitated to the bar and found each other. Arne was especially down in the mouth. "Had a row," he explained. "All the little bitch's fault. Beate's going to spend a few nights back in Münster and Princess-fucking-Stefanie threw a fit because she couldn't go. Trashed her bedroom, swearing and shouting. So I gave her a quick tap on the arse and her ruddy mother went loopy at me! Like it was all my fault! That's why she's not here tonight. The pair of the fuckers at home, sulking. "Fuck me, Uwe, I've had as much as I can take. If I didn't need her money, I'd get out, but she owns half the business and..." "Come on, Arne," I interjected, giving him a comradely punch on the arm, "count your blessings. Here - let me spell it out. One - you have a good woman, whom you clearly love and want to win back, and two - you aren't short of a pfennig or two, so you should enjoy life to the full: that's two reasons to be grateful and happy with your lot. But why aren't you happy? Seems to me that there's one person too many in this relationship. This step-daughter of yours appears to rule the roost. She plays you off against each other and twists her mother around her little finger." Beer brings me out in clichés but whatever - bear with me. "Strikes me if you could get a grip of the teenager-from-Hell, you could easily get things back to how they were. Take charge of your family, get to know your wife again, and all that." Unconvinced, he nodded, emptying his glass and thumping it down on the counter. I took my cue, ordered a refill and escorted him to a quiet corner. "Let me run an idea past you..." ---- It was another Friday. Several weeks later. The alarm was off, and the owner of the fancy big house in the woods had foolishly forgotten to bolt the french window properly, which offered the intruder in the balaclava an easy way in. He clutched the sports bag to his chest and slipped inside. The house was familiar, even in the half-light. It was shortly after two in the morning and Arne was sound asleep in the master bedroom. His wife, Beate, had gone back to see her family for the weekend (again) and the only other occupant of the upper floor, a slightly-built thirteen-year-old girl with long, brown hair, and an almost permanent sneer of distaste, was in a much deeper sleep, sprawled across the mattress in her huge, expensively furnished bedroom, mouth open and breathing noisily. Her quilt had been pushed down to her waist and the outline of her small breasts was clearly visible through her satin pyjamas. A mild sedative added to her soda earlier that evening helped deepen her sleep. The figure in black made straight for her room and eased the door open. Conveniently, the maid had been instructed to give the teenager's room a thorough clean and tidy up that very afternoon and so were missing the usual hazards of clothes and shoes and cassettes and magazines that usually impeded progress across the thick shag pile carpet. In the top of the bag were the two pieces of kit he needed first: the wide duct tape for her mouth and the plastic riot-cuffs for her wrists. He didn't foresee any problem getting them on her. After all, he had many years experience of dealing with difficult arrests. ---- Stefanie had hardly come round fully before she was firmly secured to the bed-head, her wrists bound tightly in the plastic loop, and also tied efficiently to the slats of the headboard with an old pair of tights. Her eyes were wildly open, flashing in fear, and from behind the strip of tape, she was squeaking unintelligible words of shock, terror, outrage - who knows? Her legs flailed and I sat on them until I had made fast the temporary restraints - two halves of another pair of tights, each half tied off to the leg of her bed, the other end wound around her ankle. But even when I got off her, she still bucked around and yelled into the tape until the two sharp, stinging sweep of my leather gloves across her cheeks snapped her out of her hysteria and granted me her full attention. Only then did I relax just a little, and the rapid pumping in my ears slowed and I could stand back and appreciate my own efficiency. I turned on the bedside light, to get a better look at her and when she saw me properly, a large, sinister figure dressed in black from head to toe, with a balaclava that revealed only my mouth and eyes, she reverted to what she actually was: a very small, very frightened little girl. There was not a hint of the smart-ass teenager Arne had portrayed, though I had no doubt she could be a precocious pain in the butt - you could see that in the set of her eyes. Excellent. Now all she needed was a bit of guidance, to learn respect for her elders and betters. I sat down again on the edge of the bed, looming over her so that I filled her vision. "Be still and be quiet, Stefanie," I began. Her wild-rabbit eyes flickered at my use of her name. "Oh yes, I know exactly who you are, Stefanie. I know everything about you. I know where you go to school, who your friends are, what music you like, and I know what type of cigarettes you smoke behind the woodshed, when you think no-one's looking." Her eyes, now fully awake, gave away her astonishment. I could see her thinking and not finding answers, wondering who I was and how I could know these things. And trying to work out what I wanted. "I know you so well, Stefanie. There's almost nothing I don't know about you. In that top drawer over there, you've got three bras: two white, one pink, with a nice little red bow on the front. You wore the pink one when you went to the swimming pool last Tuesday." I could almost see the stuffing knocked out of her. But that's what you do - let them think you know everything, so they don't know what to say, don't have any safe place to hide anything from you. Doesn't matter that you're bluffing. I continued my prepared speech. "The trouble is, knowing so much as I do about you, I really don't like you. In fact you are a nasty piece of work. Everyone round here thinks the same. You're a stuck-up, selfish, self-centred, moaning, vicious little bitch. You parade around school with your expensive clothes and your fancy Sony Walkman and look down your nose at the other kids. You disrespect your parents, you don't appreciate or look after your possessions, and you lack even the basics of good manners. "People here don't like you or your attitude, Miss High and Mighty. In these parts, we take care of each other, we help each other out and we don't gloat on those less fortunate than ourselves. We listen to and obey our mothers and fathers, and our teachers, and until we are old enough and mature enough to make a sensible contribution, we keep our stupid mouths shut and do as we are told. "Are you listening to what I am telling you, Stefanie?" She had shrunk back against her pillow and nodded quickly, quite understandably intimidated beyond measure by the hulking authority figure, who had tied her to the bed and was lecturing her so relentlessly. I leaned low over her, so that my balaclava was almost touching her horrified young face when I spoke menacingly into her ear. "You don't seem to realise that, you stupid little girl," I hissed through clenched teeth, as if barely able to control my anger. The kid was scared shitless. "And that's why I'm here. To show you how we deal with stupid little girls who can't accept our ways. You didn't think you could get away with being such an obnoxious little cunt did you?" She sniffed. Her face was wet and snotty from uncontrollable crying. All I could hear now was a faint, quivering cry of fear from the back of her throat. I cupped the side of her face in my hand and smeared a tear with my thumb. "So do you know what happens now?" I growled. As she shook her head miserably, more tears rolled down her cheeks, scuttling across the shiny tape over the lower part of her face. "I'm going to teach you a lesson. Give you a taste of what you can expect if you continue to be such a foul little brat." I reached in my bag and pulled out the thick cotton hood. Such items still survived, relics from the old days tucked into the back of a filing cabinet in my office. I should have destroyed them or handed them in when we joined the West, but I kept them, for a rainy day like today. I ignored her muffled protests and tugged the hood over her head. It was a shame - I would have preferred to see her sweet, terrified face, but it was important that she couldn't see what was going to happen. "This is just a taster, Stefanie. Remember, we know exactly what you do, where you go, how you behave. I can do this whenever and wherever I want, any time of day or night. There is no escape. You'd do well to bear that in mind the next time you swagger around the playground or back-chat your parents. Do I make myself clear?" She was panicking again, inside the darkness of the hood. Her squealing sounded like pleading but it didn't matter what she meant, for her punishment was inevitable. "This time it will be quite quick; just to show you what you can expect if you continue to behave so badly. The next time it will be much, much worse." There was a high-pitched roar of fear from inside the hood when she felt me tugging the tops of her pyjama trousers down her legs. My developing erection achieved unprecedented hardness as I surveyed the sweet delights between her legs: her labia had a sprinkling of wild dark wisps, thin and unruly, merging into a small patch above the juicy protrusion of her long clitoral hood. Her lips were tinted pink with pubescent upheaval. Beneath that, her inner labia were parted, revealing the deep inner blackness of her untouched vagina. My hand paused over it. No. Not yet. Let her feel exposed, let her imagination do the work. I spoke to her again whilst I very slowly unbuttoned her shiny, expensive pyjama jacket from the bottom up. "One more thing you must understand, Stefanie, is that at the moment, this is still a private matter. You have broken the rules of our community and very shortly you will be punished. But no-one else need know. If you take your punishment, and say nothing, you might be spared further pain." I spread the jacket wide open and ran my hand softly over her small, pointed breasts. She froze at my touch and my fingers teased her squishy nipples. Suddenly I pinched the tip of her tit and twisted it hard. Her body snapped taut and she screamed into the tape. "But be in no doubt that should you make the slightest mention of this to anyone, be it your mother and father, your teachers, your friends or anyone else, then we shall know about it and what I'm going to do to you now will seem like childsplay compared to what happens to telltales and squealers." I twisted the little nub harder. It felt so good in my fingers: warm, vulnerable. "Understand?" Her frantic squeaks confirmed that she did, although I was in no great hurry to release her. "And don't even think about going to the police. I am the police." She was blubbing helplessly. Her nipple was sore and red and I bent down and kissed it softly. She stiffened again. All I had yet to do was release her ankles and bend her double, so that I could re-tie her feet to the bed-head, exposing the backs of her legs and revealing in their full glory the intimate details of her tiny puckered anus and spread lips of her lovely young cunt. Her pyjama bottoms I discarded on the carpet next to the bed. I shoved a spare pillow under the small of her back, to perfect her position. "Smile for the camera," I bluffed. Of course I didn't have a camera. It would be stupid to create incriminating evidence, but I did have a small electronic box in my bag and I reached in and retrieved it and pressed the small switch on the top three times. The old walkie-talkies from my Volkspolizei days weren't much good, but they were easily able to work through a few walls inside a house. I was glad I'd hung on to them when my old colleagues wanted to send them to Berlin to be flogged off to the tourists. In his bedroom, Arne pressed three clicks in reply and we both switched off our sets. I had set it up, now he could take over. He had chosen to use a short leather flogger. I didn't need to know where he had got it but I was happy that though painful, it ought not to leave anything more than short-lived weals on her skin. I had no idea how he would react but I planned to stay in the room, just in case he became carried away. I pulled off the balaclava, switched on all the bedroom lights and opened the door, just as he made his way along the hall. His face was a picture - he simply couldn't believe his eyes, walking in to where his ill-tempered young step-daughter lay firmly secure on her bed, with her feet and wrists tied either side of her head, and her ass and snatch stuck up in the air, all ready for him. Silently, our palms met and he grinned gratefully, though his eyes were already turned towards the defenceless girl, leering and eager to begin. Arne approached the bed, then seemed to lose his nerve. He turned to me and I gave him a thumbs-up and waved him to go on. It didn't take much. Like me, he was captivated by the spectacle of her twat, spread and accessible. He sat on the edge of the bed and set the flogger down beside him and reached out and ran his hand up and down the inside of her thigh. She squeaked and whined inside the hood, distraught at her inability to do anything about the fingers that now stroked between her legs and pulled her wide open and poked and pushed and stroked and probed and explored. Voyeurism is not my cup of coffee but I had to remain, in case words had to be said. She would have had no idea that it was her stepfather's hands massaging her cunt and rubbing her clitoris. But clearly only my voice could be heard. I crept close to her and stooped, so that my voice would come from the right place. Arne and I exchanged conspiratorial winks. He held his forefinger up triumphantly and popped it in his mouth: the girl's vaginal mucus sparkled along the cleft of her cunny. "How does that feel, Stefanie? Seems to me your sweet young cunt rather likes it. Are you a slag as well as a spoilt brat? You really do deserve what's coming to you." She grunted and wriggled but the tights holding her were secure and her stepfather's hands had a steady grip of her lower regions. I nodded questioningly at the flogger, as if to remind Arne and her grinned as if to say he was having too much fun. I frowned and nodded again and he took the hint. He wiped his fingers on the front of his dressing gown and stood up beside the bed. I took my place close beside him. So I was there to witness the first stinging swing of the flogger across the backs of her thighs and to hear the startled yelp and wailing anguish as he rained blows down upon her upturned thighs and buttocks. And I had a grandstand view when he ripped through her hymen, immune to her writhing and crying. The new-found ease with which he could force himself deeper and deeper inside her simply gave him fresh impetus. His arse flexed and thrust and he banged her as hard as he could. He was getting carried away, and let out a long, satisfied moan. I put my finger to my lips and mouthed for him to shut the fuck up! He shrugged his shoulders and smirked. That was a close call, but she was making too much noise herself to have noticed. Arne gripped her bony hip bones and pulled her small frame hard against him, thrusting his hips forward and burying his cock as deeply up her as he could. That knocked the breath out of her and she snorted in pain. Then he began his final onslaught, thumping down at her, pumping harder and faster, in defiance of her desperate squealing. He shuffled forward and held her tiny waist, his huge builder's hands half-encircling the small girl's pale flesh. The bed was rocking and bouncing and despite himself, he could not help grunting with each lunge. Then it was over. He leaned back and gritted his teeth and emptied his balls into her. Or rather into the condom I insisted her wore. Still inside her, he slumped, panting, euphoric. Stefanie merely whimpered inside the hood, her little chest wobbling as she sobbed. Eventually he climbed off her and put back on his dressing gown, pocketing his condom inside a wad of tissues. He was flushed and sweaty, but absolutely exhilarated. The girl's vagina was still widely dilated, wet and framed in scarlet from her own blood. Her buttocks were smeared and the sheet beneath her was spotted. Her body shuddered and twitched sporadically and she sobbed silently inside the blackness of the hood. Once more I bent down and whispered to her. "Remember. Not a word to anyone. If you say anything, next time will be much, much more painful. You got away lightly this time." I so wanted to touch her, to run my hands over her skinny, abused body and feel for myself the tender softness inside. But that was for next time. This was Arne's show first time around. After all, she was his stepdaughter. I replaced my balaclava and cocked my head at Arne, who gratefully took his leave, creeping silently out and closing the door behind him. Stefanie moaned as I unfastened her legs and helped her straighten them, back down on the mattress. The remains of the tights I had used I stuffed into my bag, along with the hood. She blinked at the bright light then her face crumpled again and she buried her wet face in her pillow. "So now you understand, girl. Now you know what we do to spiteful, selfish bitches who show no respect." Stefanie shook her head in utter misery. "I'm leaving now. You'd better clean yourself up. And your bed. Think of this as another test. Count to a hundred and open your eyes. I've loosened the things around your wrists - you won't have any trouble untying them. Don't disappoint me. I might still be here when you finish counting and if you've got to a hundred before me, I may just decide to do it all over again. "This won't be the last time we meet, Stefanie. I shall be watching you very closely. I'll know if you say anything. And I'll know if you don't start acting like a well-mannered, respectful little girl. "I'll be back to see you again sooner than you think. To remind you that you're on borrowed time. Mark my words, girl." I finished fumbling with the tights and checked that I had left nothing behind, then slipped quietly out of her bedroom and out of the house. ---- Arne and I compared notes at a corner table the next Friday night. "Quite incredible," he beamed, "she's been as good as gold. Barely says a word, goes to her room when I tell her, keeps her stuff tidy. A total transformation." "What about the morning after - did she say anything?" He smiled and sipped his beer. "She could hardly sit down. She wore jeans and I just knew the backs of her legs were still flaming. She was ever so quiet and slipped off quietly to school. Spent the evening in her room, doing her homework without being nagged." He laughed. "Soon as she woke up, she even put her sheets through the wash on her own - first time ever!" We both chuckled. "So she's kept her mouth shut?" I pressed him: it was important to know. "Not even hinted that something was up. Beate came back yesterday and they've had plenty of chance to chat and I'm 99% certain the little brat will do as she's been told. Christ, you scared her half to death!" That confirmed my opinion. I'd left a voice-activated listening device in the girl's room (another Cold War relic put to good use) and the tape had recorded a couple of conversations between Stefanie and her mother and she had not made any indication there that she had recently been flogged and raped in that very room. Arne and I raised our glasses, to the next time. ---- This time it was my turn. Though we both planned to use her. I was waiting for Stefanie when she came home from school. Arne had confirmed that his wife had a late appointment and would not be back until the evening; he had gone on a day's 'business trip' and it was the maid's day off. The girl was alone in the house. Or so she thought. I grabbed her from behind the second she entered her bedroom and threw her on the bed. I was in my black gear, complete with balaclava. "Hello, Stefanie. Remember me?" She made an involuntary squeal and scuttled along the bed away from me, huddling her legs. Almost immediately I saw the flash of her panties and had to think hard, to prevent myself ripping them off her and having her there and then. "I know we're alone, so there's no point in making a fuss. Just do precisely what I tell you and very possibly, I might be gentle with you." This time, she had no gag and her quaky voice began to plead with me. There was no false bravado - just a very scared little girl who feared the worst. "I've done what you said. I've been nice to everyone. Look - I've even kept my room tidy..." "Shut the fuck up, you stupid little cunt!" My brutality silenced her. "Follow me," I ordered. This time Arne and I had selected the indoor swimming pool for our fun and games - there was a suitable place where he could hide and watch and emerge to swap places with me at the appropriate moment. It wasn't a big pool, but I liked the atmosphere: the echoing hardness, and thick, damp air. Along one side were large glass windows, which seemed to make her ordeal public, though in fact it was more or less impossible to be overlooked from outside. "Get undressed," I said, casually. There was the slightest of pauses and a dismayed expression but she quickly decided that obedience was the only sensible course of action. "I've been told you've been slipping back to your old ways," I alleged. In fact Arne had said she was still as good as gold, but that didn't matter." Stefanie, now beautifully naked and looking so very tiny, shook her head and bit her lip, tearfully frustrated that she was not permitted to respond. I walked slowly around her as I spoke, to build up the tension. "So I decided you needed a reminder; something to re-focus you. Something to make you stop and think the next time you try to open your stupid little mouth." I paused and stepped close behind her. "Something painful." I could actually see the shiver progress down her skinny young body. "You'd do well to remain perfectly still. This will hurt of course, but if you start wriggling around, you'll make the pain much worse. Understand, Stefanie?" She nodded stiffly, and she was actually trembling where she stood. Fantastic. The effect made me harder than ever. I decided it would worse for her if I put the hood on now, so that she would feel but not be completely aware of what I was doing. It was a welcome relief to be able to remove my balaclava. I grabbed each wrist and wrenched her arms up between her shoulder blades and clipped them into my old Vopo handcuffs, with the backs of her hands together and her arms painfully twisted up and bent behind her body. She wore her long, brown hair in a ponytail for school and I tugged it down sharply, snapping her head back. "Keep your chin up like that. Now squat right down. Lower yet, so that your thighs are perfectly parallel to the ground. Ankles together and push your legs further apart. Lower you little bitch! Look upwards and lean right back against the springboard. More - that's it - you won't fall over if you stay like that. Good: now keep that position." Her knees were wide apart and the muscles along backs of her legs were taut, supporting her in the uncomfortable stance, with her arse poised less than half a metre above the ceramic tiles. It was just a normal crocodile clip - a small, weakly-sprung one with serrated teeth of the sort that you can pick up from any electrical shop. But if you are a small, terrified young girl wearing a hood, forced to squat naked and already in fear for your life, and the clip is being clamped on your clitoral hood by a dangerous man whom you think has previously whipped and raped you, it becomes the most terrifying instrument of torture you could ever imagine. Her hysterical scream, magnified and echoing wonderfully through the pool room, was of course out of all proportion to the unpleasant yet not unbearable pain. I had to grasp her hips to keep her still and I yelled over her shrieks, demanding she shut up and stopped moving. It took the best part of a minute before she complied and even then her torso heaved with panicked breathing. Attached to the clip was a length of very fine copper wire and I passed it between her legs and up the crack of her arse and the along her spine, where I fixed it to a metal spring clip that I had previously applied tightly to her pony tail. "Listen to me carefully, Stefanie. I am sure you can feel what I have done. If you let your head fall forward or you try to stand up, or if you attempt to straighten your knees even a little, the wire will bite into your sweet little snatch and the spikes on the clamp will tear your tiny Kitzler to shreds." Obviously it wouldn't but she wasn't to know that, nor had she any intention of finding out. But just in case, I had filed the teeth smooth so all it gave her was a nasty nip: there was no point in risking a trip to casualty with a trail of difficult explanations to find. She gave a low moan from inside the hood. I could tell her teeth were chattering. "I'm going to whip your tits,” I informed her, rather casually. I heard her gasp and smiled to myself. “Just remember, keep your head back and your chest out and don't move your legs or you might split yourself in two. Show me just how obedient and respectful you can be and I shall be lenient." “But I promise you it will still hurt like Hell.” At that, she burst into tears yet again. I could still hear her desperate wailing when I had left the pool room. I would let her stew for a few minutes. Whilst I passed the baton to Arne. "Fucking incredible!" he whispered. I had taken care to position the girl so that he would have a grandstand view from the store cupboard in which he had been hiding. "She's practically crapping herself." "I do hope not," I replied dryly, "at least not until I've sampled her for myself." Arne chuckled and went into the pool room, carrying his flogger. I hoped he would keep himself in check, tempting though were the small girl’s upturned little cones, with their soft, spongy nipples simply begging to taste leather for the first time. All he really needed to do was pivot at the waist and almost drag the fronds of the flogger across her chest - that would have stung enough to send her wild, given that she had little alternative but to push herself forward and present herself for her own whipping, as if she were complicit in her own punishment. But Arne had it in his head really to hurt the small girl and he was quite vicious, snapping the flogger back and forth as she screamed and jiggled and yelled inside the hood. Her dilemma was almost comical. Reeling from each swingeing blow, she just wanted to curl up or dive away but the spiteful clip nipping her tenderest flesh tugged and tormented, and the thin wire pulled hard between her labia and over her anus and yanked down on her hair and she had no choice: thrust herself forward and take the next stinging crack across her nipples. I can’t deny that the image of her torment and the sound of the flogger on her tiny young tits and the helpless whimpering from the hood were all unbelievably stimulating. But I had to I intervene after a dozen or so really hard lashes, creeping up behind Arne and laying my hand on his arm. He was disappointed - he got a real buzz from thrashing his stepdaughter - but quite frankly, I wanted my share at long last. "OK, Stefanie, you've had enough," I said, covering Arne's retreat back into the store cupboard. It was just a precaution whilst I rearranged her for the second part of today's ordeal. Her little white body was quivering from top to toe, and she was grunting and spluttering and moaning within the hood. So weak and defenceless; so young and smooth and soft; so miserable and wracked by pain, from the screaming muscles of her exhausted legs to the smouldering narrow streaks of red stretching right across her bony chest, tinting her little breasts every shade of pink. And so crying out to be fucked, good and hard. I crouched down behind her and reached around her and cradled her sore tits. Small, yes, but so fabulously soft and hot in my palms. The skin was rough with welts and goosebumps and her puffy nipples were very red and noticeably swollen: good job I had stopped Arne when I had, for it might not have been easy for her to conceal the marks for more than two or three days. I spoke quietly at the side of the hood. "That was nothing, Stefanie, just another quick example of what becomes of nasty young girls who don't know their place. Imagine what might happen to you if you got me really cross. Such as if I found out you had told someone else about our little meetings. Do I make myself clear?" The hood nodded. I could not resist the soft, pale down at the nape of her neck. Her skin felt great under the brush of my lips, hot and tainted with the sweat of terror. She tasted delicious. "Be very, very still now, I'm going to loosen the wire." I unfastened the spring clip from her ponytail and smoothed the hood back down and readjusted the draw cord under her chin: it was important that she not have any chance to look down along her body once I set her down for her screwing. The crocodile clip was still nipping her clitoral hood and I took hold of the wire and gave a playful tug. She yelped in surprise. "That gets your attention so well, perhaps I should make it permanent," I taunted. "Maybe next time I'll bring a hole punch, you know - the thing you use to make holes in leather belts - and I could fit a little ring there and lead you around on a chain." A terrified whimper from inside the hood suggested she actually believed I might. I lifted her under her armpits and sat her on the very end of the springboard, which was like a plank a couple of feet wide, covered in a tight binding of corded hemp, which extended out over the edge of the pool. I released a wrist from the cuffs and she moaned as she was able to relax her arms and the blood flowed back. The board was about half a metre or so off the tiles, so that when I then lay her back down upon it, face up, her feet still touched the ground, either side of the small step. Her tight young bum was perched right on the end of the board, with her legs protruding beyond and I smiled when I saw how uncomfortable it would be when her backside was being pressed hard against the rough rope matting. Her wrists I re-cuffed under the board, so that she could do little more than flex her back or roll a bit from side to side. Nearly ready. "Open your legs wide. More!" She shuffled her feet across the tiles until her legs were almost perpendicular with her body, and that wonderful immature young pussy was splayed and inviting. She was shaking again and I realised that she was probably expecting to be whipped on the inside of her thighs, like the first time. Tempting though it was, I had other priorities. I knelt on the low, tiled step between her legs and stroked her labia and the delicate, translucent skin so smooth and inviting at the tops of her thighs. She jumped and moaned a low groan of complaint. Very carefully, I squeezed the crocodile clip open and shook it clear of the red, swollen flap of flesh. The skin between her cunny and tiny pale brown anus was sore and pink from the rubbing of the wire, but at least it remained unbroken everywhere. And she was wet. Very wet. I was astonished at the how much her inner labia glistened with pale creamy mucus, that had welled up from inside her slightly dilated vagina. Whether this was due to the rubbing of the wire or resulted from genuine arousal I did not know, but it prompted me to take her immediately, for there would be no need to masturbate or lubricate her, as I had expected. A truly unexpected bonus. I slipped off my tracksuit and used it to pad the step. The condom could wait - I wanted to rub the end of my knob over her first. Stefanie immediately realised what was happening and murmured a plea to stop but I slapped her thigh and she kept silent. I don't think my cock had ever been so hard and crimson, the foreskin already pulled fully back and straining, I was so engorged. Against the backdrop of her slim young hips and white skin, the wispy beginnings of her pubic hair, and the small, wet pinkness of that tiny snatch, my penis seemed so enormous and powerful. My pre-cum mingled with her juices and I leaned over her and pushed inside. Unbelievable. OK, so it had been a couple of years since my Eva passed away and I was out of practice, but I don't think I had ever enjoyed such a fabulously tight and responsive pussy. The sun was setting and I caught the reflection in the picture windows - this tiny little girl in the hood, with a comparatively huge man bent over, hips thrusting down at her. Kneeling was becoming uncomfortable, so I hooked my hand under her knee and lifted one leg up and continued to screw her from an angle. The way she made a hushed little whimper at each stroke was almost too much to bear. I paused and still inside her, ran my hands up and down her helpless young body. "Now we know what you're good for. You might be a spiteful, ungrateful daughter and a whingeing stuck-up classmate, but you make a great little slut." I leaned down to the hood. "Don't you, girl?" She moaned miserably. As I resumed a gentle, slow fuck, I continued to taunt her, intoxicated by my total power over her. "I think you're enjoying this aren't you, bitch? You like having a big cock shoved up between your legs, don't you? You're a dirty little slut aren't you?" I signalled to the storeroom door and Arne came back out. He had stripped and had rolled on a condom: his own erection quivered comically as he padded closer. We exchanged places on the step. There was something extra-special about taking turns to fuck her. When Arne had performed for a few minutes and pulled out to catch his breath, I knelt as close as I could to her and once inside, held the bottom of her rib cage and pulled her hard against me and pumped her hard until she was squealing with discomfort. I knelt up, so that my cock entered her from a more acute angle, ensuring that the top of it rubbed and tugged against her sore, tender clitoral hood and I ground down hard, round and round, pressing as hard as I could over her little clit. Within the blackness of her hood, she had no idea that the hard, stiff flesh pounding into her for such a long, relentless time, was not one but two. We kept it up, so to speak, for a full fifteen or twenty minutes, poking until we were either tiring or in danger of needing to cum, then withdrawing to rest whilst the other stepped in to continue inside her. We weren't too concerned that this inexperience young girl would cotton on that she had actually had two cocks separately climax inside her in quite quick succession. By then, she was out of it and just lay submissively, flopped over the springboard like a little rag doll, perhaps grunting a bit when a particularly deep lunge whacked against her cervix, but otherwise just a helpless, broken little girl entirely at our mercy. When I took my place for my last session, knowing that I just had to cum very, very soon, I growled for her to lift her legs and cross her feet behind my waist and I raised the lower part of her body up from the rough board as I drove my cock into her once more and powered my way to the most incredible climax, that had her gasping for breath inside the hood. Arne retreated back into the main part of the house when he too was spent, to re-appear much later back from his 'business trip'. I tidied up and reluctantly put on the balaclava. By now, Stefanie had stopped panting and flopped near-motionless, just a shallow rise and fall of her chest indicating she was still breathing. Her legs hung wide apart over the end of the springboard and her wet pubis was enflamed and gaping. Mischievously I reflected that when she eventually found a boyfriend or husband, she was bound to wonder why he would never be able to match the staying power of the man in the balaclava! I removed the hood and stowed it in my bag with the cuffs, but though no longer restrained, she had no strength to move. I squatted along side her and pressed my mouth to her lips and my tongue invaded her and I fondled her breasts as I kissed. Laughing, I sprang up. "You may piss your parents off, and be Miss Unpopular at school, but you have one friend and admirer here now: me! That was quite good; I want to do it again. And again. In fact I think I shall fuck you on a regular basis. How does that sound?" Her face, red and sweaty, creased and she turned away, unable to take any more battering, physical or emotional. "Oh dear: that's not the sort of respect and good manners I expect. And there was I thinking that perhaps you were learning your lesson and maybe I wouldn't have to keep dropping by to remind you how to behave. "I shall just have to continue to keep a close eye on you and so you can expect to see me again in the very near future. I’m never very far away from you. “That will be nice, won't it, Stefanie?" And with that I reached down and half-lifted half-rolled her along the springboard, then gave her a slight push and she tumbled into the water with a yelp and a splash. I chuckled and watched her panic and thump the water until she gained control and pulled herself to the edge. "Get out," I grinned. She hauled herself up on to the edge of the tiles. The effort was considerable, for her whole body ached and protested. She stood, shivering and huddled, dripping and nervously watching me with those big, tearful, frightened brown eyes. I looked her up and down - her slim hips and pink tits and that amazing pubic mound of hers, and I wished I could stay and have her all over again. Perhaps tie her up and watch the expression in those lovely eyes as I fiddled with and tweaked her cute young body some more. There would have to be a next time. ---- And so there was. Quite a few in fact. For over two more years, until Stefanie was sent away to a finishing school in Austria. Though Arne continued to report that this teenage minx had miraculously been transformed into a quiet, rather shy and entirely model stepdaughter, that didn't seem enough of a reason to stop abusing her. We were on to too much of a good thing. Stefanie no longer poisoned the air at home and he patched things up with Beate. Though he was happily back on regular nookie, he, like me, came to relish the two or three times a month when we took turns to sink our cocks into a compliant thirteen-year-old pussy. With some firm discipline as foreplay, just to remind her of her place. She never did tell anyone about the man in the balaclava who always seemed to know what she was doing and managed to catch her off guard (Arne would have of course known at home had she done so, and as I saw every police log, I would have been aware of anything official). So she kept her silence about the stranger who between sessions kept up the psychological pressure in case she should feel tempted to reveal all. For it was too easy for either Arne or I to slip a card inside her school bag ('I'm watching you') or leave a condom to fall out of her pants when she went to get them from the drawer in the morning, or to place a miniature black hood over the head of the childhood teddy bear she kept under her pillow. In time, I didn't even bother to surprise her any more - I would simply leave her a note and she would obediently turn up at the rendezvous and I would hood her and take her to another place where Arne and I could have our way with her. After a while, she even began to put the hood on herself before being asked. And on the few wonderful occasions when Arne was busy and I had Stefanie all to myself, and there was no need to conceal the fact that there were two of us taking it in turns with her, and so I was able to dispense with the hood and just keep on my balaclava to play with her, I was actually able to look into her big, wet, sad eyes as I tied her and caned her or tormented her body and had my way with her pussy, and I swear that sometimes, between the tears and the fright, they would still flash bright with a hint of her old teenage defiance. And occasionally, just occasionally, they would even soften and close in an expression of total ecstasy. |