Vincent Church - Degraded teenager

He fucked. He gripped the heavy lobes of Cynthia's ass, grunted and strained, and forgot all about the small, lovely girl he'd subjected to still another shameful experience: the girl who was at that very moment staring at the bedroom window, chewing her lip as she threw clothes into a suitcase.

She didn't know where she was going, or how she'd live once she got there. She knew only that Daddy was mean, as mean as could be, and she'd had enough of being belted around. She could imagine the guilt-ridden look on his face when he discovered the loss. No more Wendy! No more late-night-sneak-in-the-bedroom-fucking-her-cute-little-ass! It served him right!

She thought first of Larry. He belonged to a club, she knew, a gang of football roughnecks from school. But she couldn't go there. She supposed the boys at the point were members too, and she knew what to expect if she went looking for help there.

"Oh, darn them all," she sobbed at the starlit sky. She was only fourteen, after all. And now she was frightened all over again – almost as scared as she was the first day at the home.

She was blocks away from the house before she remembered the old army surplus cot in Lew Ogden's garage. She hesitated. Looking back the way she'd come, she tried to remember whether or not the station wagon had been in the drive. The garage was used mostly fur storage, she knew. It would be warm there, cozy and safe.

Chewing her lip, she hefted the small, bulky suitcase and tried not to feel the night chill on her legs. She considered the possibility of staying the night in the Ogden garage – she thought what a joke it would be on Mummy and Daddy if she spent the night right under their noses.

The sudden glare of headlights turning into the dark street startled her. Quickly she ducked behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges. A dog barked, and a light went on in an upstairs bedroom window. She held her breath, thinking for sure the two cops in the patrol car could hear her heart thumping.

It seemed to take forever for the car to cruise past, and she was beginning to wonder if running away was such a good idea. But she had to do something, she thought; she had to teach Daddy a lesson. The mere thought of the belt made her wince; her little round ass was so sore, and if she did nothing stayed there and let him do it again and again there'd be nothing but black and blue welts, ridges and bumps on her bottom by the time she was fifteen.

She waited for the taillights to turn the corner, and then stood and looked cautiously about. Now the street was deserted, almost spooky. She shivered. Clutching the bag to her breasts, she hurried back the way she'd come, deciding to chance the Ogden garage until sunup. She wouldn't sleep, just rest, she told herself. And she'd be on her way long before horny Lew Ogden left for work in the morning.

But she didn't just rest. She slept. She slept so soundly that she didn't see the sun come up, and creep like fine yellow gauze beneath the overhead garage door. In less than twelve hours she'd been fucked by six different cocks and a dildo, beaten and shamed in every imaginable way. She was exhausted, alone, confused and afraid, but most of all weary and sleepier than she'd ever been before.

Nor did she hear the wooden door being lifted, the pause, the sudden intake, of breath as Lew Ogden saw her there on the cot. Nor the door closing, and being locked from the inside. She was dreaming again, as she'd done with the elderly man in the car, the hands on her legs, the fingers. But as with the man in the car, the man who'd fucked her better than anyone else had, she slowly began to realize it wasn't a dream.

Wendy opened her eyes to find Lew Ogden grinning down at her from the edge of the cot. "Hi, baby," he said.

"Huh? I… oh. Oh, I only meant to stay a few hours," she offered, still half asleep, but knowing the look in his eye, recalling the day he'd tricked her into sipping the drink and baring her breasts for his kisses. She wanted to run, to get away from the hand rubbing her thigh. But there was no place to go.

"Couldn't stay away, huh kid?" He leaned close. His hand moved further up the inside of her thigh. "That's the way it always is, doll. The little girls just can't get enough of what old Uncle Lew has to offer."

Wendy held back her tears. Resistance was useless, she knew. They were locked away out of sight in the musty garage; there was no Penny Ogden to interfere, and Lew wanted what everyone else had been taking from her. She was almost used to it. Her body was bruised and sore, her bottom raw chop-meat. But that wouldn't stop Lew: nothing she ever said or did stopped anyone – men and women alike – from taking advantage of her weakness, her small size.

"Please don't," she tried anyway. "I… I had to run away because… because you started it all to begin with, and it hasn't stopped since, and, and oh! Oh, please, please, please don't do it to me."

Lew sat up tall and studied her. His hand came away from her thigh. A worried look replaced the scornful grin. "Sure thing, kid," he said.

Wendy blinked. It was her turn to study him: he seemed sincere enough, almost nice. Could it have been merely the liquor that had made him rape her? And now, after all the horrible things that had happened because of it, was Lew Ogden to be her only true friend? It was ironic: a fairy tale, where the wicked dragon suddenly becomes Prince Charming and rescues the maiden.

She sobered up. She wasn't a maiden, she reminded herself, suspicious again. And Prince Charming in this case – drunk or not – was the one who'd first fucked her pussy.

As if having read her thoughts, as if aware of her apprehension, Lew said, "Listen, you don't have to be scared of me. I feel guilty as hell about what happened – you know I would've said something if I could. But there was Tish to think of and all… my marriage… community property and like that. You know what I mean?"

She had no idea what he meant, nor did she care. But she nodded again, pretending to understand. She sat up, fluffed her hair, and stared wide-eyed at him. By now Daddy had discovered that she was missing, she supposed. And the belt would be waiting if he found her before the loss had a chance to sink in.

"So listen," said Lew, glancing conspiratorially around the dusty garage. "Are you really running away?"

"I… I…" Oh heck! she decided. She had to trust someone, even if it was the man whose big dick had started it all. "I don't have no place to go," she blurted, thinking how foolish it sounded, how utterly childish and ungrammatical. She searched her mind for something to add, but nothing came. Heat flooded her neck and face.

Lew patted her knee affectionately. "I owe you a favor," he said, grinning once more. "I've got this friend – a lady friend, that is. She owns a sort of house across town, and if I ask her to put you up…!" He left the provocative suggestion suspended between them.

Wendy wondered why he'd placed such emphasis on the word "house". She watched him fold his arms, cross his legs, and lean back against the splintery wall. The few hours sleep hadn't done her much good. Her body was stiff, and now, sitting up, she had to shift from buttock to buttock to keep from irritating the bruises. The thought of a warm house, a soft bed, and maybe even a bath, made her sigh with longing. Her belly growled. She was famished, she realized – that too! She was hungry and tired and vulnerable, and she needed a place to stay, at least until she could think it all out and decide what to do.

"So how about it?" Lew prompted.

"I… I don't know."

He laughed – not mocking, but a deep pleasant sound. He sat forward, put his arm around her waist, and lifted her up from the hard cot. "This lady friend," he said, "she's an understanding old gal. You just tell her your troubles. She's got a special place in her heart for runaway girls."