Pedo Stories

I leave Chloe in one of the living area chairs, nylon clad legs tucked under her with the earbuds in, playing on the handheld and lead Debbie over to the bed. From my robe pocket I take the syringe and, once more, hold it up for her to see.

She gives a dreamy little smile, eyes almost wistful.

‘Take of my robe,’ I tell her and she looks delighted to do so, stepping forward to release the knot at the front and then easing it back and off my shoulders, picking it up and laying it over a chair.

I stand there in my boxers, the unmistakable bulge of my cock showing clearly. She looks at it then up at me and, like the whore she is, flicks a pink tongue over her red lips. Predictable enough but pleasing, nonetheless. But still, that furtive, hungry look dances behind her eyes. She waits to be told what to do, wants to be told what to do, to know what is expected here and what acts or tasks stand between her and sating the itching burn gnawing at her nerves.

‘What do you get called the most, Debbie?’ I ask, tracing a finger along her cheek.

‘Lots of things…’ she says softly.

‘Such as?’ and my voice is a whisper.

‘Slut… Whore… fucktoy…’ comes the reply, corruption from what should be innocence, obscenities from the mouth of a child, and she rolls the words in her mouth, as if savouring a rare treat.

I trace my finger to her painted mouth and she parts her lips, accepting it in to the warm wetness inside, hot tongue curling and entwining.

I smile. ‘Do you know why they call you those things?’

She shakes her head in wide-eyed innocence.

‘They call you those things because they think you’re better than you are, Debbie,’ and I smile pleasantly as I say it. My finger slips from her mouth and my open palm strokes her face.

She smiles a dreamy smile, reacting to what I say before she understands it and I know that in her head there’s a script playing, an expectation of me and of her and what will occur between us.

And she’s wrong. My words sink into her dullards mind and comprehension dawns across her face. And now she knows she’s wrong.

She has time for a ‘Huh?’ before my hand draws back and I backhand her, hard and as fast as I can. Debbie gives a gasped cry as she spins round and onto the bed. In a second or two, I’m on her, kneeling over her legs, hand round the front of her throat pulling her bodily back to me.

‘To me, Debbie, you’re none of those things,’ and I squeeze the sides of her slim neck until she gasps and begins to mottle around the face. I release her throat and take her by the hair instead, dragging her off the bed, her legs hitting the floor and kicking, struggling for purchase.

‘In my eyes, Debbie, you’re meat. Nothing more, nothing less,’ and at the foot of the bed I pull her up onto her knees and deliver another slap across her face, palm this time, the sound flat and solid and her eyes blink slowly closed and then open again, eyeballs lolling around in her their sockets.

‘You want this?’ I demand, and hold the syringe up, ‘but to get it you’re going to have to be such a good piece of meat, you vile little cunt.’ I toss the needle into the folds of my gown on the chair and release the stunned Debbie. Again by the hair, I haul her upright and throw her down over the edge of the bed, her sweet little ass barely covered by the flimsy fabric of her panties.

Kneeling alongside her, I pin her head to the bed with a hand round the back of her neck and lower my face to hers.

‘You so much as move without my say so and I’ll shove your fucking head down the toilet and drown you, clear?’

She nods as best she can, lips trembling, eyes already running with mascara tainted tears. Her eyes are wide and full of fear. This worn out little toy becomes more desirable with every passing second and it thrills me.

Rolling from the bed I fetch the toy box from the walk-in, put it on the side table, flip it open.

‘Let’s see what we have,’ I mutter to myself.

Sitting beside the prone, trembling Debbie, I put the plug I chose by her mouth. ‘My advice? Suck it, lick it. Make it as wet as you can.’ I say with a grin and Debbie briefly looks like she might start vegging already. Instead, and finally showing some smarts, she takes my advice and does the best she can.

I loop an arm round her waist, drag her to me and over my lap as if to give her a spanking. A pair of light tugs and I pull her panties fall away to be cast aside. My left hand parts her ass cheeks, my right holds the spit flecked red butt-plug. Pressing the bluntly rounded end to her anus, I can tell firstly that she’s tensing up and secondly that, even if the plug were well lubed, which it isn’t, that it’s not going to go in easily.

Good.

My first push and Debbie gives a cry of pain and fear and confusion. It doesn’t make any headway into her. I push again, harder and she starts to give, her voice a shriek as she feels her body fold under the pressure. I spit at her tight, puckered asshole, move the plug around in it and then shove, hard and with a steady increasing force.

Debbie doesn’t even bother with words, not so much as the common long, drawn out ‘noooo’. She just cries out with great racking sobs, her body twisting in my grasp like an eel, my warning to not move forgotten, her every nerve and fibre trying to get her away.

And then her body gives in and the butt shudders dryly into her ass. Debbie just gives a great wail of anguish that tails off into choking and gasping. After pushing the plug fully home, I turn her head to look at me and her eyes are a red-rimmed mess.

I shove her off of my lap so she’s half on and half off the bed.

‘Stand up, cunt,’ I say and she does so, shaky arms pushing her up onto her knees and from there she stands, unsteady and wincing in discomfort.

‘Hands behind your back,’ I say and then attach the nipple clamps. They’re vice clamps, a tumbwheel closing the serrated jaws together to compress and bit into the flesh. As I tighten them, squeezing her flesh in their grip, Debbie’s initial hiss of pain becomes, by the end, a shuddering gasp of pain, her knees even buckling slightly as I ensure the clamps won’t easily be pulled loose. I tug on the linking chain a few times to be sure, though.

I roll down my boxers, kick them away, and sit on the edge of the bed.

‘You know what to do…’ I say simply and I’m right. Debbie sinks gently, cautiously to her knees in front of me, reaches her small hands out and curls her finger round my shaft. Leaning forward, her lips part wide and she takes the tip of me into her mouth. I sigh in pleasure at the sight and feel.

Her tongue curls around my cock, her teeth gently rubbing my flesh as she dips her head up and down with a kind of desperate eagerness. I smile at her as she looks up at me from the position she was born for. Hands and mouth, tongue and lips; all work together for my benefit, for my pleasure but mostly for my appeasement. The desperation she was earlier feeling for something she needed is now feeding her desire to keep me content and stop me abusing her further.

Not likely.

 

Before I become too seduced by her well practised talents, I sit forward and push her back, a ribbon of drool running appealingly from her wet lips to the slick tip of my cock. She looks at me dumbly as I reach for the nipple chain and then gives something akin to a whimper as I lift it up, bringing her flesh along for the ride, and loop it over the tip of me, sliding it down to the base of my shaft.

I smile at her, lean back. ‘Continue, cunt.’

Before long, Debbie is openly weeping. Each descent and rise of her mouth pulls the chain up and down with it slightly, tormenting her and making her technique sloppy and hesitant.

I shift my foot, nudging her thighs apart and pushing it between her legs, the warm smoothness of her cunt on my skin. And in that position I arc my foot back on itself and press the plug hard into her. Debbie just gives a low wail of discomfort and I figure her nipples aren’t yet numb enough to let another pain take centre stage from them.

And it’s in that position that I reach both hands around her head, wrap my fingers into her hair and with as much force and brutality as I can manage, begin to skull fuck the 13 year old piece of meat kneeling before me.

She makes a sound halfway between a retch and a gulp each time my cock-tip smacks the back of her throat, her hands on me trying to push back from the onslaught with a lack of conviction borne from fear of the consequences if she succeeds. Spit trickles from her mouth in increasing quantities and long, thick trails of it begin to hang and flick around her mouth.

I let go of her hair with one hand, grip the chain and pull, hard, upwards. As I do so, I drive my cock as deep as I can and hold it there. The effect on Debbie is dramatic and intensely arousing; she gives a choked squeal of agony even as her throat and jaw work frantically to dislodge me and get air into he lungs.

Still I hold it and her face begins to darken, nostrils flaring wildly, like a deer that smells the wolf. I let go of the chain and use that hand to pinch her nostrils shut.

Now there’s panic, her hands batting at me ineffectively, all thought of consequence gone as she fights to push away from me, trying to kick her legs out and get purchase somehow, struggling, terrified, to draw a breath.

‘You are a dumb, worthless little cunt, Debbie, and there’s a long way to go before I’m done with you.’ Leaning forward, I spit into her face, smear it into her skin and then let her go.

She collapses to the side, gagging and retching even as she tries to suck in air. I lift her like a ragdoll, all the strength gone, and throw her across the bed.

Off to the side of the bed, mounted above a long table, is a good sized mirror and I pull the shattered Debbie onto all fours facing it. I make sure we both have a clear view of her face before I move round to kneel behind her. I grip the base of the plug and, with a good, hard tug, pull it out with an almost comic ‘plop’. Debbie gives a sharp cry as it comes free and her anus gapes, wide and pink, contracting slowly even as I watch. I spit heavily into my hand, smear my shaft and, gripping her hips, put my tip to that freshly opened entrance.

She lowers her head to the bed as she feels me there and I give a sigh of pure bliss as I see her little hands curl, white knuckled, into the sheet.

I push in slowly, carefully, savouring the way her body grips me, tight like a lover’s embrace. She is exquisite, a feast for my senses, all heat and sensation and my head swims with it. I ease into her, inch by inch, until the sweet curves of her ass cheeks but against me. And then I hold it there, just delighting in the sensual joy of being embedded in this small, vulnerable, easily abused meat. And then I withdraw, right to the tip and slide back in. I spit again and smooth it over my shaft and the smooth pushing in and out of her becomes easier, rythmical almost, a languid stroking in and out, her ass shuddering slightly with each impact against me, a flat grunt coming from the otherwise silent and still Debbie.

And then I begin to fuck her.

I push in and out with increasing speed and force until she is slapping against me, flesh on flesh, loud and flat with each thrust into her. Her flat grunts rise in pitch to a short, sharp yelp and from there to an increasingly desolate gasp of pain.

By the end, my hands have gone from her hips and, once again, find themselves enmeshed in her hair. I yank her head back and hold it there as I assault her delightfully fuckable ass. In the mirror I can see that she is looking at herself, at the ruined and smeared mascara, the sore, crushed nipples and reddened cheeks of her face. I see her look and I wonder if she’s ever seen herself as she really is before. The thought spurs me on and I make sure she sees herself in true pain.

The sensations reach a critical mass in my flesh and I feel my orgasm looming over me like a wave about to break on the shore. I know, instinctively, I neither want nor am able to push it back. It’s time has come and, to be patient, it’s been very patient to wait so long. I increase my speed in one last dash for the finish line and that familiar pressure builds up inside me. Release beckons me like a siren call.

With one hand, I reach round Debbie and spin the thumbwheels on her clamps and ease the pressure. Debbie cries out in pain as her tormented flesh starts to feel sensation again. Then, making sure she sees me do it, I wrap the chain into my fist and pull it tight.

‘Please,’ Debbie whispers, our eyes meeting in the reflection. It’s the first intelligible word she’s managed to say since the first blow across her face. ‘Please… Don’t… Doon’t do that… Please…’ and her face is a portrait of dejected suffering, resigned and accepting but hoping for some degree of leniency, some hint that she is worth mercy.

I delight in disappointing her.

Withdrawing to the tip, I feel my pleasure burst it banks and rush through me like a flood. I drive as hard as I can back inside her and, as I do, I tear the clamps from her skin.

Debbie screams, a full throated, unrestrained howl of utter abject misery and her body tenses every muscle with it. The effect for me is indescribable and I cum, hard and fierce and with almost silent intensity, holding myself into her and feeling my seed spill thick and hot and shameless. Pulse after hot, urgent pulse spurts from me, her body held hard against mine until I’m finished and I shudder in relief and release, letting Debbie fall forward as I fall to the side, gasping and feeling that euphoric burst of high, light pleasure.

For her part, Debbie curls into the familiar foetal ball and sobs quietly to herself. I gently pat her hip.

‘That’ll do pig,’ I say, ‘that’ll do,’ and I almost laugh aloud. After a few minutes lying in peaceful bliss, I give a sigh and roll to the edge of the bed and sit up.

And when I do so I see Chloe standing off to the side at the foot of the bed, and I realise she found an angle where I neither saw her approach or her presence, not even in the mirrors large field of relection.

I smile at her and she holds up a hand and gives a silent wave. She looks an odd mix of pleased and concerned, the slight smile on her lips at odds with a noticable degree of wide-eyed apprehension.

‘How long have you been there, sneaky?’ I ask in wry amusement.

Chloe shrugs. ‘A little while. Not too long.’

‘Enjoy what you saw?’ I ask and meet her placid gaze with a calmness of my own.

Her smile briefly fills out and she nods. ‘Yes. I think so, anyway.’

I nod thoughtfully. ‘Want to talk about it a bit?’

Hesitation, a shadow of disquiet passing over her face. Then she nods and, adorably, bites her lower lip.

‘You’re not tired?’ I ask and she holds her hand up, thumb and forefinger a few millimetres apart.

‘Little bit,’ Chlose says, ‘but I’m ok.’

‘Fair enough. Let me get Debbie settled for the night and I’ll be right there. I might even send down for some hot chocolate. How’s that sound?’

Chloe nods vigorously and skips off to her chair.

 

Later that evening, I take the soiled, abused Debbie and put her in the large shower cubicle. The shower head slides on a vertical rail and, after giving that rail a few hard tugs, I decide it’s fit for the purpose I have in mind.

After binding her ankles and knees together, I kneel Debbie in the shower and do the same to her wrists before running a length of rope from her bound hands up to the shower rail and securing tight enough to pull her arms back just enough to be uncomfortable and raise her knees until they barely touch the tiled floor. A thick, wide leather collar goes round her neck and is buckled snug but not tight in place. Another length of rope goes from that, under her bound hands, to be fixed to her ankle bindings. This one is pulled taut enough to allow her to let her head drop just a little but much beyond that and the collar pulls against her throat and restricts her breathing.

This means that to reduce the strain on her arms and ankles and throat, Debbie has to maintain as upright a kneeling position as she can. Once she starts to relax, to fall forward, her body weight acts to tighten the rope between her ankles and collar which, in turn, lifts her arm rope and all three experiences a discomfort that grows and grows. It’s a catch-22 bind; she’s suffering, regardless.

Before I leave I balance the syringe on top of a shampoo bottle at the opposite end of the shower, and then I shift the shower to a suitable position, turn it to cold and open the tap just enough to start a heavy dripping on to the top of Debbie’s head. I want her to stay awake or, if she does nod off, for her rest to be so slight, so intangible that she may even be worse for it. I’m not finished with her by far, especially if things begin to develop as I hope they will

With that in mind, I leave her there and rejoin the far more interesting little girl in the living room.

We have, I think much to discuss.