Vincent Church - Degraded teenager

"Ah! Too much! Too fucking quick, baby." Lew tried to slow down some, but he too was caught up in the frenzy; he couldn't resist. "Too fucking, fucking – oh! We're out of it now! Too – oh, Jesus! Oh, sweet little fucker. I…"

Wendy knew what the non-words meant: the cylindrical rod was about to spurt hot cream into her. And that, she now realized, was the only "good" that actually mattered. "Harder!" she managed in a strangled voice. "Oh, don't stop now. Fuck it to me. Stick it in! Stick your cock up there! Oh, just like that! All the – um! Up me! Up me! Up me!"

Trying to oblige, Lew fucked in so far that one of his nuts got wedged in the crack of her ass. She tightened her cheeks, holding it. She used her buttocks to milk, rolling the halves of her bottom on the sensitive sacs, savoring the feel of the wrinkled man flesh at the mouth of her rectum. She closed her eyes tight, screwing like never before. It was better that way – she'd read somewhere that the blind were gifted with heightened sensory perception. It was true, she decided, squeezing her eyelids shut so forcefully that it hurt. It was true because now she could feel every wrinkle, every hair on the trapped ball. Impulsively she wished for permanent blindness. She wished her body could be taken apart and put back together, leaving out all the unnecessary parts, all but her pussy and asshole. She wished she could somehow become cunt from head to toe, and a rod, a giant's huge prick, could fill her forever and ever, and never stop pissing hot liquid juice up her frantic cunt.

Suddenly Lew lifted her legs to his chest, so high that she was standing on the back of her head. His prick retreated one last, breathless time, and came pistoning back with the force of a torpedo, and blasted.

Her clit throbbed. It was such a marvelous load she could hear it – actually hear the cream spurting! Her cunthole became a pink velvet vise. The split up her ass nipped at his cubes. And her, hips! Her hips moved as if disconnected from the rest of her, slap-slap-slapping against his loins, fucking her toward the place where Lew stood pouring off jism.

"Roll it, baby. Twist!" Lew's knees buckled, and hit the edge of the mattress. But his prick refused to stop spitting. Gob after gob shot into her. "Motherfucker!" he groaned. "Sweet baby – fuck! GO!"

She didn't have to be told twice. Because now she too was cuming, the hot juice spewing out as if her cunt were a faucet. She couldn't breathe, and her lungs were about to burst through her tits. Her belly was about to explode and spatter cum all over the room, and her asshole – oh, her adorable prick-loving hole was about to drop shit on the bed.

"You little mother," choked Lew as the first turd appeared, inched out, and slipped slowly down his fat balls.

"I… I can't help it," sobbed Wendy, still fucking, unable to control herself from the waist down. Another shithall plopped onto the sheets. And another. "Owwwww!" she wailed, hating herself, hating him, hating God for having created big, lovely cream-pissing cocks.

Lew grimaced at the stink wafting up between them. His dick went limp. Abruptly he pulled out, dropping her bottom into the mess on the mattress which was oozing down onto the floor. "Stupid cunt! I should break your filthy ass!"

Wanting to die, cheeks burning anew, the hot shit spreading like a syrupy pancake beneath her weight, Wendy watched him move to the foot of the bed snatch her white knit from the post, and use it to wipe his nuts. "Not my dress!" she bellowed, sitting up in the gook.

"Dirty bitch!" Lew flung it at her.

She tried to duck, but she wasn't quick enough. The material wrapped itself around her head, smearing the brown, smelly slime all over her face. She hollered; she fought to dislodge the horrible thing, wrapping it tighter, getting the shit in her hair. It had been so wonderful there for a moment Lew humping it to her, her cunthole ablaze. And now this! Treating her as if she were not better than the shit itself. And still she wanted him, wanted his dick up her hole. She smelled her own awful stink, felt the slime beneath her buttocks and thighs, and could think only of how good it was when he lifted her onto her head and rammed it – his love dart, his long spitting dick – all the way home.

She'd forgotten about the parole, about the possibility of being sent back to the State Home for Girls. By the time Daddy found her – getting it out of Lew: beating him up some, she suspected – the grumpy old man she was supposed to report to each week had already signed the recommitment papers. Daddy was furious with her. But after the initial scolding and a kiss to make up, he suggested she hide, and go away to an aunt's home out of the state until she was eighteen. But that was no good, either, because the aunt was Mummy's kid sister, and she suspected there was more than blood ties involved in the summer vacation relationship.

"It won't be so bad," she told Daddy. "I know most of the girls, and – well, I don't know."

"Four years," he whispered, crushing her to him, tenderly patting her bottom. "They can keep you till you're an adult. It's my fault, honey. I shouldn't have whipped you that night. I wish… Goddammit, I wish we could turn the clock back. All the fucking way back to the day Lew and Penny Ogden told those lies about you in court."

Wendy rested her head on his chest, listened to his heart thump, and thought about what he'd said. It was almost a month since she arrived at the house and met Miss Alberta. A grueling month of fucking and sucking every way imaginable. A month of shame and wonder. She was exhausted, and needed a place to rest and think out the mixed feelings. She needed the home, she decided; it was a place where she could sit and evaluate the past.

"Four years isn't so long," she said at last. "At least I'll be grown up. There won't be any more parole, and then we – well, you and I…"

She looked long and lovingly into his tortured face. He wanted her, she thought, wanted to take her right there in the whorehouse. He was almost crying, and sorry, and worried sick, she could see. Still the hand on her ass was exploring, tracing the crack between her melons. The prick in his pants was growing, arid in another minute he'd have her bent over the foot of the bed.

"Then we can do as we please," she finished, pushing him away. "Me, you, 'n' Mummy. It'll be fun waiting for."

The State Home hadn't changed. The red bricks were still gray, and the halls still smelled of pissy disinfectant. The dorms were drab, and the girls still pushed mops that left muddy streaks on the scuffed floors. She was greeted at the door to the strip-frisk room by Crazy Inez, who, because the matron was watching, merely wagged a wet tongue suggestively over thick, painted lips.

"You know the routine," barked the same tank like creature who'd dug rough fingers up her pussy on the fateful day more than a year ago. "Take it off, honey. Strip."

Without hesitation, Wendy peeled. The tips of her breasts hardened as the nylon panties slipped from her hips, exposing the little red triangle that held the answer to all the confusion inside her head. She bent forward, spreading her cheeks, the hot blood of lust gushing into her pussy as the matron stepped close. She watched between her legs… watched the fingers. Then she bucked – purposely impaling herself on the inquisitive darts, sighing.

The ugly old woman seemed pleased. But she was one of the secret dykes, and the fingers remained only a second longer than was necessary to ascertain that there was nothing hidden up the tight niche. Then she stepped back. "Put some clothes on yer ass," she snapped, feigning indignation.

Wendy grinned. Everyone wanted her: men and women, young and old. Her little red bush was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She stepped slowly back into her panties. Glancing shyly over her shoulder, she watched the matron lift a hanky to her pug nose, pretending to blow as she drank the wet cunt juice from her hand.