PIETER'S BARROW

BY LOWLIFE
lowlife_@fastmail.fm

[ part 1 ]

Friday, mid-August

Pieter did the same thing every summer.

It was a pleasant way to spend the warmer days, outside in the sunshine and fresh air of the Dutch Nordsee coast, and it paid enough to keep him in beer and fags as well as food.

And that was after paying for the pitch in the far corner of the campsite, where his battered old caravan resided from the end of June to the beginning of September. The owner of the site was happy enough to accommodate his wish for privacy - nobody else would have wanted to stay in the grotty bit of the site beside the defunct and rundown old shower block and blighted by noisy pumping station the town authorities had built right next door.

The work wasn't difficult by any means and he liked the early shift - for eight hours a day, five days a week, he was solely responsible for keeping the busy seafront free from litter. He was given a battered old galvanised steel barrow, his own set of brooms and tools, and two clean sets of overalls each week and nobody bothered to supervise him, for he had been doing it every summer for years and was damned good at his job. The guys who covered the rest of the week wasn't so conscientious but what do you expect from casual summer workers?

The barrow was like an old friend - each year his heart gave a little skip when he drew it from the municipal stores - old and grimy, it had a chamber fore and aft of the central axle, each with a removable liner, and a smaller bin attached to the back, between the handles, into which he emptied the litter as he patrolled the seafront.

Even when the sea breezes struck up or a summer shower sent the punters scurrying to the cafes and amusement parks, he was very content with his lot. There was always plenty to see - the topless birds up the north end and plenty of innocent little ones playing around on the sand in their skimpy bathing costumes. Plenty to keep his imagination fired, he reflected contentedly, laying his broom into the clips along the side of the barrow and taking up the grabber pole to capture the chewed remains of a discarded hotdog.

Today was another fine day and all in all it had been a great summer so far: one of the best. The forecast was good and the popular seaside resort was packed.

He finished sweeping the area in front of the pier at noon, as he did each day, and moved the barrow to a quiet spot behind the ice-cream kiosk, so that he could remove the now full plastic bin from the back of the barrow and lift the lid at the front, to empty the contents inside.

He looked around before doing so - it didn't do to have an audience.

For when he pulled the handle and swung open the top of his cart and peered into the void into which he was about to tip the trash, a pair of moist, round blue eyes blinked back. Had anyone looked inside the front chamber of the barrow, they would have no doubt have been surprised to find that the eyes were those of a very small, very scared little girl, no more than eight or nine, wearing a filthy pair of pink patterned bikini briefs. Her skin was encrusted with dried grime; her shoulder-length blonde hair wild and matted, with wrappers and cigarette butts and God knows what embedded in it.

The reason she didn't make a sound was that around her mouth, tied so tight that her cheeks were white, was a filthy band of cloth that had once been the back of a man's vest. And her legs were crossed beneath her and were tied at the ankles with an old stocking and her hands were tied up behind her back with another. She sat in the stifling gloom, already up to her waist in crap.

She closed her eyes quickly against the bright sunlight, and to protect them from the torrent of filth being cascaded over her head and her shoulders and down her naked chest and back.

As he closed the lid, Pieter whispered into the hole.

"Only half an hour to wait, my pretty little one, and then I'll let you have your lunch."

In the evil-smelling blackness, the girl shook her head vigorously, to get the latest layer of litter off her head. Though her tummy ached constantly from hunger, the prospect of lunch was far from appealing - lunch for her simply meant spending five minutes sucking his willy and swallowing the thick smelly stuff that squirted out the end. The only consolation was that inside the shed where he took her, she could stand up for a few minutes and the pain in her bent legs and arms was temporarily forgotten.

Pieter smiled and pushed the cart back out on to the promenade. Life was good.

The little cunt in the barrow was the best yet - a pleasant surprise. He had not been too sure about getting a girl that old this year (hitherto he had liked them younger), but those extra couple of years had meant that her body was just a bit more able to withstand the treatment: with luck, this one would last the whole season.

And she had been so easy to find.

As always, once he had set up the van at the start of the summer, he had trawled the coast, way down into Belgium and up as far as Zandvoort. Obviously to abduct a girl in Katwijk itself would have been foolish and so he liked to get one from at least an hour away. He scouted the resorts and the usual adventure parks and residential campsites. This one had practically volunteered herself, walking back unsupervised from some Kids' Club in a place rather like Center Parcs. Security and cameras were an increasing hazard but Pieter was no novice and the girl was stashed in the boot and he was on his way, unobserved, in only a matter of moments.

That was a month ago and the media had long forgotten her.

Pieter's cock was stirring in anticipation of his midday break and he paused from picking litter from a floral display to recall the moment he first had her all those weeks ago. The first time was always special.

He had exclusive use of the old shower block - the owner lent him a key and he had fitted his own additional padlock just in case. Having brought her to the campsite, he had left her to settle down, untouched and untied, but with her ankle chained, in one of the shower cubicles in the women's side. He liked to give them 36 hours on their own, to adjust and fret. And he was considerate - he left the shower to drip, so she could raise her chin and let the water seep through the hollow ball gag, and in the floor of this cubicle there was a drain without the usual cover for when she needed to relieve herself and even a blanket for if she got cold at night, wearing just the cute bathing costume that she had been in when he snatched her.

She had made all the usual noises and of course cried a lot when he finally went back to her and in the dark, turned the shower on full - cold - to wake her up. For her debut.

He had been pleased to note that she must have defecated at some point during her solitary wait - the drain in the shower stank and he was glad to have given it all a good sluice down. Later her bowels would be conditioned via his special diet, to keep her ready to serve him at all times. Just enough nutrients to sustain her, with the added benefit that she would be perpetually hungry. Which gave him another thing with which to control her. He considered himself something of an expert in the conditioning of little girls.

Without speaking, he led her by the chain through into the changing area and tied her face down over the big plastic drum he had laid on its side in the middle of the floor. The loops of rough blue nylon rope looked great against her soft pale limbs, reddening it so satisfyingly where it bit hard. So frightened and bewildered was she that she had only needed the one good slap to shut up and cooperate whilst he prepared her.

First things first.

There would be plenty enough time to explain a few basic rules later, but her backside was what he needed right now: it had been a long time and he had anticipated this moment almost since the end of the previous summer.

He eased her bikini briefs slowly down her skinny legs, still cold and wet from the shower and covered in goosebumps.

Her cute little labia were posed between her upper thighs, fleshy, smooth, pink, squeezed like a ripe split peach and framed by her slim, pale legs.

With her pants removed, he adjusted the ropes so that her feet were now pulled and tied wide apart and he felt a thrill at the now wonderfully exposed little dimple of her anus, wrinkled and dark pink between the splayed white cheeks of her firm young bum. The little girl sniffled and whimpered but was given no choice other than have her body spread flat across the large drum.

He had all the time in the world. It was so exciting: forcing himself to take it easy yet having such temptation laid out before him. Self-control enhanced his pleasure. Pieter peeled off his own clothes, unable to take his eyes off the girl as he methodically hung his kit from a peg.

The small girl wailed and tried to beg him to stop, so he slapped her buttocks hard and informed her that he would not tolerate any more noise. Her wailing shrank to a miserable, sniffy snivel.

But she still screamed at the top of her voice when he sank the end of his cock deep inside her rectum for that first, painful, wonderful time.

-----

It was a warm Friday and inside the barrow, amidst the stinking trash, the temperature by noon was over 40 degrees. When he reached inside to lift the girl out, she was lolling drowsily and very dehydrated. Her skin was slick with sweat, greasy wet and gritty from the steady influx of litter that he had deposited over her during the course of the morning.

Pieter grunted: a nine-year-old was a lot heavier than a really small girl, even a chubby one like last year, especially when she was a hot, slippery deadweight.

At least she didn't coat herself in her own vomit any more, as she had done all through her first week.

He laid the filthy girl on the dusty floor. They were inside another favourite haunt: the council-owned shed at the end of the promenade that was only used in the winter, for storing signage and traffic cones, and like the shower block back on the campsite, it benefited from the addition of another sturdy padlock, for which Pieter had the only keys.

She stirred and opened her eyes and groaned as he released her bent arms and legs and the circulation slowly came back and the muscles throbbed. He straightened her body on the floor. Her white skin was streaked with dirt, caked in rivulets across her shoulders and bony chest, where a half-empty can of drink had emptied itself and the morning's muck had stuck and congealed on her skin.

He unfastened the tight gag and she gasped in the clean air, trying to purge her lungs and nostrils of the oppressive stench to which she was subjected inside the barrow.

Pieter knew she wouldn't make a sound. She had hardly said a word for three weeks. Not since she had tried to escape and been severely punished for it.

By now, she knew all to well that she was just another piece of trash.

He dragged her into the corner of the shed, the dank, smelly one where he placed her each day. He propped her up and passed her the large bottle of clean water and she sat silently, sucking on it like a baby at the breast. She always faced the same problem. If she drank too quickly, it made her tummy hurt so much. If she made it last, she might still be trying to drink when he did it and that might make her sick again and then she would waste the precious water.

Today she didn't quite judge it right, for just as she was lifting the bottle high, to drain the last of the tepid water, the jet of hot urine hit her square on the chin, splashing across her face and running down her throat and chest.

Pieter played the spurt up and down her small body, scourging the engrained filth from her and leaving her glistening wet. He was feeling charitable today and aimed most of it away from her head.

There was no spirit left in her, she just sat still in the corner as the trickles of piss wriggled down her and turned cold on her skin. She stared blankly at nothing in particular. She hardly bothered to think any more, to dare hope that she would ever be released from her living nightmare. She was immune to her own stink. She just sat and waited for her lunch.

That retribution for her bid for freedom had broken her completely and ever since, she had been almost robotic, silently compliant, as if she had resigned herself to her fate.

Not that Pieter minded. She was easier to manage that way. Nothing like the scheming little bitch she had been in the first week.

Although he would be the first to admit he had become a shade complacent this year and he had only himself to blame for the nasty scare when she made a bolt for it. He had been lazy and not bothered to padlock the shower block door behind him when he had taken her back there for the night. He had ignored the signs. All that evening, as they lay together, hot and sweaty and naked on the bed in the caravan, as they did most evenings, she had strained and fought against the ropes and even as he was climaxing inside her tight little ass she had been whingeing into the ball gag. It had irritated him, for he liked to listen to the wireless as he screwed her, taking his time, doubling his pleasure.

But later, as he was occupied arranging the chain inside the cubicle where she slept, she had made her move and before he knew it, she was out of the door and pounding across the campsite, still gagged but otherwise totally naked.

Thankfully in the early hours of the morning, there had been nobody else to witness the chase, nor the moment of capture, or the wild look of fuming anger in Pieter's eyes as he carried the squirming child back to his caravan.

He was livid with himself - never before had one of his little toys tried to get away like that - and he channelled his ire into making her pay for her folly.

Yet though his instinct had been to beat her, to scream and shout at her and give her the fright of her life, that was not Pieter's way and he willed himself to be calm, occupying himself with the details as she lay tightly bound back on the bed in the van, shaking and watching him with increasing dread, for she knew she had broken her promise to him, her sworn vow, and she had no doubt she would regret her bid for freedom.

Hers would be a calculated, unforgettable punishment.

During the rest of that night, she passed out three times and he had had to revive her with iced water, so that she would be fully conscious as he plied her with yet more pain. He said very little, calmly informing her every now and again of what he proposed to do next and occasionally offering her a murmured commentary, for as she was hogtied, face up, with her wrists and ankles bent agonisingly tight under her back, she could not actually see much of what he was doing between her legs.

But she was acutely aware of the pain.

Each time he pinched her swollen and tender little brown nipples and twisted them without mercy till her head thrashed from side to side and her throat burned from yelling into the gag. Each time he pressed the stiff bristles of the scrubbing brush into the sizzling skin of her inner thighs or tightened the ropes so that she was bent over backwards even more than she would have imagined were possible and her muscles screamed in protest. And each time the needles passed through the glossy pink skin of her cunny, and the raging red tidal wave rushed up through her nervous system and engulfed her brain. Her fleshy outer labia were spread wide, viciously clipped back by half a dozen spiteful metal clips that were attached to thin string passed beneath her. The shiny pinkness of her cunt was obscenely exposed like the innards of a blooming rose and across every square centimetre of the delicate flesh, tiny droplets of scarlet blood marked the progress of the needle, where he had pricked and wiggled it, savouring each moment her body whipped at the initial shock and writhed as the pain peaked and ebbed and came back with renewed vigour as he pushed it a little further in and moved it around to concentrate the agony, watching her helpless distress.

Normally a little girl's genitalia didn't interest him very much, yet he was fascinated at the way he could send put her through such unimaginable torment simply by sticking a few boiled needles from his sewing kit a couple of millimetres into the little bitch's cunt.

He saved her clitoris until the end, as the first light of dawn peeped around the thick blinds, and she was once again awake. Her small, drawn face was white yet her eyes were ringed red from hours of crying, her cheeks and forehead wet and caked with the streaks of the night's tears.

"I am confident that you will never again be so foolish as to try to run away - that is so, is it not? You will never again be so stupid?" he asked, in the peculiar, stilted language he affected.

From somewhere, she found the strength to shake her head.

"You will always be my little bitch and only do what I tell you?"

She nodded, trying to demonstrate how much she promised.

"For if you ever defy me, you will suffer in ways you cannot dream of. This will seem like a pleasant moment of fun compared to the torture I would put you through if you disobey me. Understand?"

Once more she nodded.

"We shall see. I can no longer trust you. You will have to convince me. And just to ensure you appreciate just how much pain you might have to endure if ever you displease me again, I shall spend the last few minutes before I have to get ready for work in a brief demonstration."

He knelt and crouched close over her crotch. Placing his arm over her lower stomach, he steadied her and his fingers pulled aside her tiny clitoral hood and he placed the needle precisely in the centre of the small, paler area of flesh beneath and pushed it in, very slowly.

She made a deep grunting sound at the back of her throat. Her head snapped back heavily against the mattress then like an oil well about to blow, an almost inhuman shriek formed deep in her chest and exploded through her mouth and nose. Her tightly stretched torso heaved and shuddered as she fought for breath and finally a thin jet of pale urine erupted from her urethra, narrowly missing Pieter as he stooped low over her splayed young cunt.

He ignored the distraction and the wetness on the sheet and the succession of small squirts that echoed each fresh prick of his needle. Pausing just long enough for her tiny body to stop bucking, sufficient for him to select another place to insert the needle, he tormented her for another five minutes until she slumped limp once more, unable to sustain the agony, overwhelmed by her senses and incapable of remaining conscious any longer.

All told, she had been very well behaved since then, he reflected as he ate his lunch.

Pieter finished the last bite of his sandwich and looked across the shed at her, and he congratulated himself on how successfully he had broken the little cunt that night, literally in fact. From then on, she had been utterly cowed, a pliant living doll, who silently allowed herself to be used however he chose and who was inordinately grateful for even the slightest signs of appreciation. Yes, despite that setback, she had been a lucky choice. He unzipped his fly and walked across to her. She instantly snapped out of her trance-like inertia and knelt upright and held out her hands and opened her mouth and laid her soft young tongue over her lower lips, ready to receive his hardening cock.

"Good girl," Pieter smiled and her sad eyes briefly sparkled with pleasure from his praise and she closed her lips around him and began her duty.

"This is the last lunch of the week, my pretty," he added, running his fingers through the gritty, tangled mass of blonde hair. "I can hardly believe it's the weekend already."

Despite herself, she felt her empty stomach tighten in an involuntary spasm. For tonight was her one proper meal of the week: real food instead of that thick liquid stuff she had to eat the rest of the time. And a break from the awful monotony of spending her days tied up inside the cart and her nights curled up, shivering on the hard floor of the shower cubicle.