GIRL'S CHRISTMAS

BY PENNY LEE

Girl didn't know it was Christmas Day.

In fact she had no idea if it was night or day, nor how long she had been here. Her world consisted of three rooms, none of which admitted any daylight through the boarded and sealed windows. No external sounds penetrated the thick, cold walls. All she knew was the small, bare room where she huddled under the musty, itchy blanket, the cold bathroom where she was sometimes allowed to use the toilet or stand under a weak, lukewarm shower and scrub herself quickly clean, and the nasty room where the Man did horrid things to her.

She was hungry and very thirsty, as usual. It was cold and she curled up tighter, rubbing her bare legs and arms hard to stop the shivering. Her back hurt - the Man had caned her again last time but instead of hitting her bottom, he had gone up and down her spine, leaving a matrix of raised welts all over it, so that she had to lie only on her sides.

She no longer spent her time alone, lying there in the dark on the hard floor, sobbing and crying out for Mummy. She no longer spent countless miserable hours asking herself why - why the Man had grabbed her off her bike as she cycled home from Nan's, why he was keeping her locked up, why he kept doing terrible things to her. For as long as she could remember, there had been no answers to any of her questions. Nobody had heard her screams and nobody was going to come to help. There was no point in asking, no point in crying out, no point in thinking any more.

The Man got very cross if she spoke, so she kept her mouth shut, because it was always worse when he was cross.

She had tried to plead with him at the beginning. She had tried to be nice and polite, and she had tried to be good, to do everything he wanted. Then she had tried being stroppy, but that proved a big mistake and she would rather not recall what happened. But she had learned that if she dared to speak other than to answer him ('Yes, my lord', 'As you wish, my Lord'), he would only glare and go red and punish her severely. He had told her the funny words to use, and so these were now the only ones that she had the courage to say out loud.

Perhaps it was night-time?

The Man had left her alone for a long time. She had finished the stale bread ages ago. And the plastic bottle of water. She was so grateful for that - one time he had not come to her for a very long time, but she had knocked over the jug in the darkness and so she had nothing to drink for maybe a couple of days. He beat her as usual, but the next time he locked her away in the dark room, she found the bottle instead of the jug.

That was a kind thing for him to do.

She tried not to think of home and her family - all that did was make her unhappier. She had some special places for her mind to visit, when she couldn't find the refuge of sleep. The Man didn't know about them. She spent hours there. She was in one now.

Girl felt him coming. The vibrations in the dusty, bare floorboards signalled that he was coming up the stairs. She didn't know what was at the bottom of the stairs. She didn't know if she would ever climb all the way down them. Once she got half-way. The Man was having a pee and she ran. He caught her and tied her to the table and hit the soles of her feet with a long ruler. Slowly. For an hour. After that, she couldn't walk for days - she had to crawl everywhere, over the dirty floor. But she never tried to run away again.

It was a good idea to be curled in a small ball in the corner furthest from the door: sometimes he was already very cross and just came in and began to hit her.

But he wasn't cross this time. She scurried across the room just before the door swung open, clutching the blanket about her. The light from the fluorescent tube in the corridor was painfully bright, but she peeked over the edge of the smelly cloth to see him. To try to judge his mood. He was standing in the doorway, smiling and swaying from side to side. That meant he had been drinking - she would smell the alcohol on his breath very soon. It was not a good sign - sometimes he was very nasty when he had been drinking. She could already feel herself taking faster, deeper breaths.

He was beckoning to her. 'Instant obedience' - that's what he kept telling her he expected, and she knew what would happen if she disappointed him. She leapt to her feet, letting the blanket go, and padded over to him, hands behind her back, as he expected.

He raised his hand and she instinctively flinched her head away. She heard him chuckling and warily opened her eyes and risked a glance at his face. He had a daft, drunken grin, that didn't bode well. He turned about and she trotted after him.

She knew the drill by now.

At least the nasty room was warm. The strong lights made her eyes ache. He had once told her they were there for the videos he took. She was glad she couldn't see his camera tonight, as that usually meant he was going to do something really bad.

Her tiny, naked body was chilled to the bone and as she waited on her spot in the centre of the floor, she couldn't control her shivering. A nervous glance around as she entered didn't reveal any obvious new horrors: there was the mattress, the table, the frame, the chains and shackles on the wall, the rack of crops and floggers and canes and things. And as usual, she had to stand there, facing the bench, on which was displayed most of the awful things he used on her. The shiny, chromed thing he used to open her private parts; the selection of long things he put inside her, besides his own thing. Tubes of gooey stuff. Sharp things.

The Man watched her, never tiring of her short, skinny little body and big, sad eyes. And well-trained little mouth. And fabulously tight little cunt and arse.

He had to be brief tonight. Back home, in a much grander house the other side of the park, his wife and two little 'princesses' were watching a movie on the new DVD, stuffing chocolate oranges and mince pies. But nothing seemed to deter Dad from his regular long walks with the family's golden retriever, even today's festivities.

He was standing behind her. She could feel his presence, smell the aura of booze. She tried to stay stock still as his rough hands curled about her bony shoulders and slipped down over her chest. At ten and a half, her breasts were flat - just small, slightly pointed pads of softness that had a fascination for the Man. He loved to paw and knead them, and toy with her pea-like nipples. And he liked to hurt them. He had used needles on them, whipped them, bitten them, twisted her nipples and put them in clamps for hours on end and even stuck crocodile clips on them, attached to wires that gave her agonising buzzes of electricity and once made her wet herself.

She tolerated his groping. At least his hands were warm and it didn't hurt. She knew that would come later and so she closed her eyes and tried to go to one of her secret places as his fingers roamed over her.

His hands were large - he could wrap them almost completely round her thighs: even more so since she was getting so thin. She was constantly hungry. He was so big all over. And hairy. When he lay on top of her, she often wondered if he would smother her. She hated it when he did that - she got sharp pains in her chest, the same ones that caused her such agony when she screamed out loud. So she tried not to, but sometimes he hurt her so much, she couldn't help it.

Girl didn't know it, but on the only occasion she was rash enough to answer the Man back, and he had gone ballistic and strung her up by her wrists and used her as a punch bag, two of her ribs had cracked.

He had to bend over her to reach down her front and fumble between her legs. Obediently, she moved her feet further apart.

She hoped he would use some of the greasy stuff when he put his thing up her. The previous time he had brought her in here, he had tried to put his thing in her bottom without using any, and he just kept pushing it in, even though it was making her cry out loud.

The Man moved around her and stood in front of her, smirking. Whilst he unfastened his trousers, he fumbled in his pocket. Automatically, she dropped to her knees, put her hands behind her head and opened her mouth, ready to receive his cock. He patted her on the head appreciatively.

She risked a brief glance upwards. He was holding a small twig over her head - a few leaves and a couple of white berries. But he had pulled his semi-erect thing out of his flies and she thought she had better start before he got cross. She was surprised when he laughed.

"That's it, Girl. Give your best friend a nice big kiss under the mistletoe!"

She did not understand. Her tongue flicked over the tip of his cock and she opened her lips, and pushed her soft, young mouth over the end.

"Hold, on, you little fucker," he slurred. "You haven't opened your present yet."

She pulled back, confused and scared. She didn't want to upset him, not like the time before last: he had slapped her face so hard that she fell back against the bench and knocked all the things on the floor and he had made her put each one in her cunny one after another, then lick it clean before putting it back in its place. There were eight things, and it made her very sore. Especially the horrid great orange one, with the knobbly bits sticking out all over it.

Her large, frightened eyes looked nervously up at the Man.

He was holding a long, thin package, wrapped in colourful paper, and tied with a pink ribbon. He held it out towards her.

Unsurely, she reached up and took the parcel from him.

"Go on then, Girl. Open your present," he chuckled.

Her small fingers picked at the ribbon until it gave way. The wrapping paper fell open and she pulled it away from the contents. Long strands of fine leather cascaded down, tickling the top of her thighs. She held the thick, hard bit - it was bound tightly all round in strips of leather. The long stringy bits were attached to one end of it and at the other, the leather was missing and instead there was polished wood that was about the same size and shape as the Man's thing. She held it loosely in her fingers, trying not to admit to herself that she already had a good idea what it was and what he was going to do with it.

The Man was giggling. His thing was poking out of his trousers and jiggling about.

"Isn't it lovely, Girl? Fucking expensive too. But I'm sure you'll love it and we'll have hours of fun playing with it."

She looked down at the vicious-looking whip with dismay.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I've only got time for a quick fuck now. But I'll be back again tomorrow, and we can spend a nice long time trying it out on you. Won't that be lovely?"

He took the whip from her and placed it on the bench. Turning back around, he held something else in front of her. It was her bowl. She could see some bits of pale meat, a potato and some green vegetables. And a small lump of dark fruit pudding, squashed into the middle of the mess.

"And I've brought you something special to eat after I've given you a good seeing to. See, Girl? I look after you well, don't I?"

"Yes, my Lord," she mumbled softly.

Finally Girl realised it was Christmas Day.