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From: norluth@yahoo.com (norluth)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 5 Feb 2002 22:08:31 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Candy for Sale
Date: Tue,  5 Feb 2002 22:10:05 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Karen stood under the elevated train glancing nervously at the drivers
of cars that slowed down eyed her over, and then drove away. It was a
cold, drizzly, morning at dawn, and she was underdressed. Although she
didn't know it, the reason they drove by was because she looked TOO
good. The street prostitutes she was competing with were nasty things,
and at sixteen she had hardly been used by anyone, paying or
otherwise.

This hooker thing was new to her, and she was unfamiliar with the
game. She'd never tried it before, and was only out here because she
was knocked up and needed the money for an abortion. It had better
come quick, too, because if she got much further along, the clinic
wouldn't do it for her. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of
having to have sex again, when it had gotten her in so much trouble
last time. "My stupid boyfriend," she muttered to herself. He had
whined and pleaded and finally wore her down, and when he finally got
his way, the rubber broke. "Fucking retard" she thought to herself.

A van slowed down to look, and then stopped. The driver was clean
looking, and handsome for a guy in his late thirties. He reached over
and popped the passenger's side door open. Her eyes darted around,
scanning for police, and she hopped in.

"You're not a cop, are you?" She asked.

"No, no I'm not", he chuckled.

"My name's Candy, what's yours?"

"Bob." He smiled, thinking to himself of the absurdity of thier mutual
lame attempts at anonimity.  He was annoyed at having to make small
talk like this to gain her trust, although the information he obtained
was sometimes useful later. He looked over at her as the old van
glided along, and liked what he saw. She was young, maybe even
jailbait, and her pert little body made his cock hard. She wasn't
wearing anything flamboyant, the street girls never did, but the tight
t-shirt and jeans she had on betrayed a spectacular body underneath.
Perfect tits that didn't need a bra to stand up, and pants showing off
a nice round ass and chubby little cunt lips.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked. 

"Well, my tastes are a bit different than most of the guys out here. I
like to take my time, and really enjoy the experience. Of course, I
realize that it means I have to pay more."

Her ears perked up. She needed $300 for the abortion, and the more she
could get out of this guy, the fewer she'd have to do to get the rest.
A good proposition, considering he wasn't gross-looking. Most of the
guys she had made eye contact with under the El made her sick to her
stomach when she thought about the fact that she might have to let
them put their cocks in her mouth. This guy was pretty decent. He
reminded her of her father. She might even enjoy it a little. "Well,
where would we do it?"

"That's up to you," he answered. "We could do it in here, on the
mattress in the back, or we could go back to my house."

"The house sounds nicer."

"It is, but there's a catch. I don't want any working girls to know
where I live, so on the way over there, you'd have to ride in back,
where you can't see anything. The good thing for you is that you'd
make the most money that way."

Her mind raced. Going blind to his house was a bit of a risk, but the
sooner she could get this over with, the better. "How much money are
we talking about, here?"

"You tell me."

Now she was almost beside herself. Maybe there was a chance she could
get this over with in one shot. He might balk at paying for the whole
thing, but at the very least she could try, and let him talk her down.
"How about three hundred?" She waited in nervous anticipation.

"I guess I could do that."

Her heart soared. Soon this mess would be over with, and she could
pretend that the whole thing had never happened. As far as the rest of
the world was concerned, she was still a good girl, and life would go
on as normal. "Okay, let's go."

He had her go into the back, which was separated from the front seats
bay a curtain. She laid down on a mattress, which was nothing fancy,
but it had white sheets on it and was clean, as was the rest of the
windowless van. They rode for about half an hour, with her calling out
to him occasionally about how much longer it would take. He drove
consevatively, careful not to make her nervous by tossing her about
going into corners & such.

They arrived at the somewhat secluded suburban home, and without
announcing it, he hit the automatic garage door opener and pulled
around into the garage, which was part of the house's basement. He
clicked the overhead door shut and walked around to the back of the
van. He swung one of the doors open and helped his cargo out onto the
concrete floor.

"It's through here." He took her through a small door into the other
part of the basement, which was unfinished, and contained only a
queen-size bed, a couple of chairs, a TV set and a large armoir. The
floor was bare concrete. "How about you take off your clothes?"

"Could I have the money first?"

"Sure." He pulled out his wallet and handed her three 100 dollar
bills.

She started to undress. One by one the articles were removed, and she
folded each with great care, trying to through neatness to maintain
some shred of her dignity. First came the hooded zipper sweatshirt,
next her big-clunky 70's retro platform shoes. After that she peeled
off a pink tank top with lace around the edges. She unbuttoned the
waist of her pants, and her little belly popped out. It was a struggle
to remove the skin-tight jeans even after undoing the rest of the fly.
She stood, looking sheepish in her socks, panties, and bra. Her
nipples poked through the light, cotton material into the cold air.
"Can I keep my socks? My feet are cold."

"Yeah. Actually, I want you to put your shoes back on. Lose the bra,
though. You can keep the panties for now." She followed his
intructions, and was soon standing tall and bare-titted, facing him
and anxiously biting her lip. "Face the bed, please." She turned away
from him and heard a loud, angry voice, "Lay down, bitch!"

His open palm struck her between the shoulder blades, and before she
could react, she was face-down on the bed, and he was on top of her,
his knee bearing down hard on the back of her neck. She could barely
turn her face to squeal into the open air, and was partially muffled
by the bedding. His hands worked quickly to restrain hers, and deftly
tied her wrists together with heavy nylon wire ties, like narcotics
police use.

"Go ahead and scream, you fucking cunt. Nobody is near enough to hear
you." Even so, he quickly grew weary of her wailing and pulled out a
large pocket knife. Her eyes grew wide with terror when she saw it and
mere crying turned to deafening shrieks. He sliced loose her panties,
wadded them into a ball and poked them into her gaping mouth. A roll
of duct tape was pulled from under the bed, and a long piece was
wrapped around her head, pushing the fabric further into her mouth
with every winding. In her depressed state of mind over her pregancy,
she hadn't bathed or changed her clothes for days. The dried crust of
vaginal juices and shit stains now laid against her tongue and were
reconstituted by her saliva. The goo and juice that resulted trickled
down her throat, making her gag even more.

He pulled her upright by the hair on the back of her head, and she
yelled incomprehensibly through her underwear. Mascara tears drew
black lines down her cheeks, and snot ran from her nose. "Christ,
you're a fucking mess." He dragged her by the hair over to the armoir,
reached in and pulled out a pair of hard, wooden clothespins that were
tied together by a short length of string. He dragged her to an
exposed, vertical sewer pipe in the corner. He clipped one clothespin
to one of her very erect nipples, looped the string behind the pipe,
and clipped the remaining clothespin to the remaining nipple. Her
muffled bawling took on new urgency as the clothepins bit into her
soft, pink flesh. Each was exerting far more pressure than it was made
to, since he had bent the legs of the springs to that purpose with
pliers. The wooden tips of each device had also had small pieces of
coarse sandpaper glued to them. This increased their friction
exponentially, and meant that the only means of escaping them would be
to tear herself from them, leaving her nipples in their grasp, which
she would, of course, not do. Although had she known what awaited her,
she might have considered it. A pillowcase then slipped down over her
head, and was tied off with string. She was blind to the world, and
just barely able to breathe. She would remain so until allowed
otherwise.

_

When the hood came off of her sweaty face, the room looked very
different. The armoir had been emptied, and all manner of bondage gear
was set up throughout the room, plus a few items that had obviously
been dragged in from elsewhere. Several camcorders on a tripods
whirred quietly, taking in the action.

The wire ties cut into her wrists and were turning her hands purple.
Wiggling her fingers seemed to provide some relief, but only enough to
keep some of the feeling in her hands, which ached miserably. The
saturated remains of her panties wicked slobber out of her mouth, and
the slobber ran down her face. It felt good to breathe freely again,
if only through her nose.

"Here's the deal, cunt. I'll take the gag out, but if you start
screaming and freaking out, it goes right back in. Understand?"

She nodded her acknowledgement, desperate to be free of the hated rag.
He ripped the tape from her head, the last of which took with it a
great clump of fluffy hair. She squealed in agony.

"My hands hurt," she sobbed. 

With that, his palm crossed her cheek with a loud "Crack". "Shut the
fuck up. You'll speak when spoken to, or ask for permission to speak,
referring to yourself as 'the cunt'. Let's try it. Repeat after me:
May the cunt speak?"

"May the cunt speak?"

"Good. At least you can follow directions. Do you really want to say
anything, or should we just proceed?"

"How long are you keeping me here?" 

"Until I'm done with you, and that's all the talking you're allowed
for now."

He took her by the hair over to a low platform that was positioned in
front of a full-length mirror, that had two chrome leg irons at its
outer edges. He stood her on it, then kicked her ankles apart and
clamped a cuff to each leg. She stood with her legs splayed far apart,
faced the mirror, the cool air reaching her most private parts. His
big hand touched her there for the first time, massaging her clit, and
working his middle finger into her vagina. She was dry, but her forced
the digit in until he tapped wetness. He moved it in and out of her
roughly, dragging moisture to her labia until his finger was slick
enough to move freely. It hurt, but she didn't dare complain.

Her cunt hair was barely grown in, with no need for trimming. None
grew on the lower part of her lips, and they formed a nice round shape
together, like a little ass. From the items laid out on the bed, he
picked up a plastic thong and tied it to her. She winced and sniveled
as tightened its strings, the rear one digging deep into the crack of
her ass. Then he disappeared into another room and she heard running
water. When he came back he held a wet washcloth that was so hot it
was steaming. He pulled out the front of the thong's waistband and
dropped it in against her cunt.

"AAAAAAAAAH! Oh my god!" she cried.

The palm cracked again on her cheek. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her
head to his mouth, his lips to her ear. "I told you to SHUT - the FUCK
- UP!" Each exclaimed word was punctuated by the shaking of the
fistful of hair, her head being thrashed about with it.

He moved behind her and his hands groped her tits. His fingers
pinched, pulled and rolled her still-sore nipples between them. They
hurt so badly that she was afraid, or possibly hoped, she'd lose
consciousness. Fearing more smacks in the face, she allowed herself
only to emit a continuous, loud "MMMMMMMMMMMMM!"

When the washcloth had reached a tolerable temperature, it and the
thong were removed, and here pussy skin was bright red. Her pubic hair
was soft as down. From the bed he retrieved a can of shaving cream and
a disposable razor. He smeared a handfull of foam on her crotch and
went to work with the razor. Quickly, she was as bare as a baby. He
wiped off the stray cream with the now-cold washcloth, dried her with
a towel, and then spanked her cunt hard, for good measure.

He then produced a tray full of odd-looking items, the most fearful of
which was a pair of thin, wooden things, cut into the shape of
crescent moons. The inside curve of each had four clothespins attached
to it like the ones that had been on her tits. They all pointed in, in
a semicircle, and on the opposite side of each shape, there was a
small hole, and hooked in that hole there was a long wire, like
coathanger wire that had another, larger hook formed at the opposite
end. The rest of the tray held weights of different shapes & sizes,
all with wire loops on top.

He began attaching the clothespins to her cuntlips, each clamp
producing on her new facial distortions. When in place, the clips'
long wires waved about, and he set to work attaching the wieghts. Each
tugged at the iron grip of the clothespins, and pulled the edges of
her lips closer to the floor. She bit her lip and cried through her
nose as the wieghts moved from the tray to her. When her lips had
grown impossibly long, and the wieghts nearly touched the floor, he
pulled apart the distended labia to expose her clit. Experienced
fingers pulled back its outer skin, revealing the tiny protuberance. A
final clothespin snapped shut on it, releasing from her a shriek that
escalated in pitch and volume.

"Keep quiet," he admonished, and standing up, he pulled her head back
by the hair, as close to her shoulderblades as it would go. Her head
was so far back that she couldn't close her mouth, and he spat into it
as he pulled and twisted the clip on her clit. She gagged and nearly
threw up, and was at the same time nearly insane with agony.

A big bag of unmodified clothespins from the supermarket appeared, and
an uncountable number of them were attached to the smooth flesh of her
tits, and and pointed wildly about like pins in a pin cushion. Her
unoccupied nipples were still swollen from previous torture, and
pointed straight out, seeming resigned to thier fate. As the clips
over the rest of her body worked at creating the slow, grinding burn
of relentless, indescribable pain in her, he took out a pair of
clothespins that were as special as the others in their own way. Each
had a small hole drilled through it that went from top to bottom, and
passed through the surface in the jaws that exerted pressure on its
victims. One was clipped to each nipple. When in place, he produced
two large hypodermic needles, sans their cylinders and plungers. He
pushed them down through the hole in each clothespin, through each
nipple, and out the bottom.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Shut up, cunt," he laughed. "Talking means punishment."

Using a fat, black, magic marker, he wrote the word "WHORE" in big,
block letters all over her body. He reached down to the weights that
hovered above the floor, gently pulled them over to one ankle, and let
them go. They swung side to side like a pendulum, and she was
genuinely afraid that they would tear her lips from her body each time
they reached the bottom of thier arc. She began to shake all over, and
her knees gave way under her weight. With that she passed out.


_



When she awoke, she was without the array of clothespins, and blood
ran from where the needles had been down her tits and onto her
stomach. She was handcuffed now, and she was on her knees, her hands
and feet attached to a ring behind her. There was another steel ring,
this one in her mouth and it was held in place by a wide leather strap
that was buckled tightly behind her head. She could not close her
mouth. A long string of drool stretched and swayed between her mouth
and her lap.

Seeing that she was again awake, he stopped the VCR that was playing
tapes of previous victims. He had been beating off, and as he walked
over to her, his cock bobbed erectly. It was nothing special by porn
movie standards, but it was respectable and only having seen the one
belongiing to her needle-dicked impregnator, it seemed to her to be
monstrous.

Her eyes bugged out as he crammed it into her helpless mouth, and down
her throat. She gagged and sputtered, and twisted her head to resist
him. This only infuriated him. He grabbed her hair and pulled, and for
the first time, she realized that the platform she was now attached to
was on wheels. He towed her into an adjoining room, the one she had
heard the running water from earlier. it was a dingy, old, tile
bathroom, and it was filthy. The floor and walls around the toilet
were covered with curly, black pubic hairs trapped in crusted piss.
The stench was overwhelming, and she tried in vain to find a way to
cover her nose.

He pushed the cart with his foot up to the toilet, and she was
confronted with its contents: a reeking mound of long-unflushed shit.
It heaped up out of the water, and what of it was submerged had been
that way so long that it had become waterlogged and begun to break
apart and dissolve. The exposed portion had a dried outer skin that
had begun to darken with age.

He undid the ring from the platform, but left her hands and feet
connected behind her. He grabbed her by the hair and ass, tipped her
up and pushed her face down in fetid shit. She at once  began throwing
up, and her thrashing head served to agitate the putrid mess, mixing
it together, and getting it all over her head. It was in her mouth, up
her nose, in her eyes and hair. He pushed his painfully erect cock
into her bald pussy, stretching it a diameter she had not yet known.
He pumped into her, and his cock began to throb, leaking precum into
her unwilling slot. He allowed her to come up for air, and
simultaneously drove his cock, hard and unlubricated, into her ass.
She coughed up shit/vomit as she howled in agony. This inspired him to
pump even harder, slamming into her ass cheeks with one merciless blow
after another.

When finally ready to come, he withdrew from her, and jacked off into
a waiting mayonaisse jar that already contained the spoiled production
of the previous week's masturbation. He pulled her her sputtering head
from the toilet, and rinsed it off in the tub. He wanted very much for
her to be able to see. As she lay, face up over the edge of the tub,
she reopened her bloodshot eyes to see the rancid cum tripping from
the jar into her waiting mouth. Again she gagged and cried, but to no
avail. The stringy mess streamed into her mouth, where it bubbled as
she tried to spit and dry heave to repel it. Feeling almost lifeless,
she had no energy left to fight. She laid there and took it.

She had no energy either to stop him as he squatted over her and
produced an immense turd. After straining and groaning to pass the
largest part of its girth, it conveniently hung from his ass, alowing
him to calmly position it so that it would drop straight into her
mouth. It did so with an audible "gluck", and she lay there
motionless, with it hanging out of her mouth, unable to summon the
ability to even cough.

He stood back, admiring his work, pulled out a polaroid camera, and
snapped a few going away shots, one of which he'd make sure she had
for herself. He shook the turd out of her mouth, and dragged her into
the empty bay of the garage, which had a drain in the middle of the
concrete floor. He hosed her down with a piercing stream of cold
water, took the ring from her mouth, and loaded her into the van. The
ring that still secured her hands and feet was padlocked to a steel
loop welded to the van floor.

They drove back to the spot where he had picked her up and he unlocked
her. He rolled her out onto the muddy ground in an alley behind a
factory. The paper bag that held her clothes plopped on the ground
beside her. He pulled out his cock, and pissed in her face.

_



After sobbing quietly for a few minutes, she dejectedly began to
dress. As she put on her clothes, she realized, to her amazement, that
the $300 was still in her pants pocket. Back out on the street she
asked the time and was told it was 2 o'clock. She still had time to
make her appointment at the clinic. She took the next El train into
town. As she rode, she tried to convince herself that it wasn't that
bad, that she really needed the money, and tried to block the worst of
it out. It would be days before she would find the snapshot at the
bottom of her purse.

She just made the clinic appointment, and sat down with a kind, female
counselor who had a soothing voice. They filled out the necessary
forms, and when it came to the part about payment, Karen said "I'll
pay cash," and spread the three bills out on the table.

The counselor gathered them up, stopped for a moment, and said "I
can't take these dear. They're fake."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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