Unknown - Pony girl

She got up and stumbled to find a light, tripping as she looked over Buster. The flick of a switch revealed the dog lying between two legs: Lena's legs.

Lena lay on the floor as if unconscious while the dog ate her out, whining as it did so.

"Aaaaahhhh, everybody come see this!" Carol started screeching.

"What? What the hell are you shouting about?" Ret came reeling up behind her. He gazed down at the sight of the red-haired Irish setter slapping its big tongue all over the cunt of the spread-eagled girl, lying where she had last been fucked, by Ray.

He woke the others and they all came and peered over and stared at each other wide-eyed. Then, as they silently watched, the dog, his slimy wet dick dragging across the carpet, mounted the girl, putting his paws on her tits.

His dick fitted slowly into her cunt wet with the come of many fucks, and the dog too took his pleasure on the form that lay beneath him.

"Well hot damn."

"Now I've seen everything."

"Carol honey, you always do throw the best parties."

These were the remarks that escaped their unbelieving lips.

The dog came too, leaving his come as the final crowning touch on the layers of come caked between the girl's thighs.

The guests wandered off to fix themselves some fresh drinks.

The sound of the car honking in the driveway, and then of fists pounding on the front door, brought them slowly to their shaky senses early the next morning.

"Who's that?" mumbled Carol.

"Oh shit, it must be him," whispered Ret.

"Take her into the john and try to clean her up. Sober her up. It must be Pop come to pick her up."

Ret washed his own face quickly at the kitchen sink and straightened out his clothes. It had been years since he had seen his father. He felt queasy now at the thought of confronting this man whom he had hated all his life.

Carol had hustled Lena into the bathroom, and quickly washed her up in there. She fixed her own hair and dabbed her face with make-up. She'd had too much to drink the night before.

"Ret! Boy? Wake up in there!" The father pounded on the door. "I've got your money!" Hanson was red in the face from yelling. His eyebrows were deep furrows across his face and he barreled into the trailer past his son whom he barely took notice of.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "If this is some fool trick…"

"Hello Pop. No it's no trick. Lena will be right out, my wife is helping my friends, Sylvia, George and Ray. We had a bit of a party here last night."

"I'll say you did," said Roland Hanson, surveying the room in disarray.

He looked with disgust at the sprawling Sylvia as she attempted to button her blouse over her huge breasts. Ray and George didn't even merit glances from him.

When Carol brought Lena out, Ret introduced Carol to his father.

"Dad, this is my wife, Carol."

"Pleased to meet you sir, I sure have heard a lot about you," Carol cooed and shifted her hips. She was in the gold lame gown again.

"Please do excuse the mess around here. We had us a big shindig last night and…"

"Lena," the father said, brushing away Carol's words as if they were flies. Lena was looking sullenly, hopelessly, at the carpet. Her father put his hand under her chin and raised her face. The eyes that gazed at him were not the clear laughing blue eyes of before. They were dull and sullen and glazed over. It almost as if she didn't see her father, but she understood very well what was happening to her now.

"Uh, Pops, could you step over here a second…" Ret pulled his father into the kitchen area. "Now about that dough," he was saying and laughing foolishly.

"Yeah, here you go." Roland reached into his wallet in his back pocket and pulled out a fifty.

He slapped it into his son's hand. Ret stared at it with unbelieving eyes, waiting for more.

His father turned away as if to go back to the girl.

"Uh, Pops, this is only a fifty, you owe me 650 more," the son laughed nervously.

"I owe you what?" the father turned around with a snarl.

"Well, uh, er, the advertisement, that you put in the newspapers, it said $700 for the return or information leading to the return of…"

"Yeah, but I changed my mind," Roland Hanson sneered at his son. "Besides," he snickered, "she looks kind of used. You know what I mean?"

He left Ret standing open-mouthed in the kitchen, the paltry fifty lying limp in his hand like an old dick.

"Why, Mr. Hanson, you're just the spitting image of your son Ret there. Or should I say that Ret is the spitting image of you? I think Ret's one of the handsomest man I've ever known in my whole life." Carol picked up cooing at Hanson when he came back to where Lena stood by Carol.

Again he paid her no mind except to look at her once closely. His son's wife was a bad-looking old woman. "Shit, he never did have no taste," Hanson said out loud, and then he simply said, "Thanks for returning my daughter to me," and he took Lena by the hand and led her out the door.

Everyone was silent as they listened to the truck doors slam and the motor shift into gear. Then the gravel of the driveway spit as the truck backed up and screeched out onto the pavement.

Carol broke the silence with, "Yippee! Yellowstone Park here we come!"

"Shut up," said Ret going over to the picture window to watch the truck turn out of the trailer camp and disappear down the road.

"What?" said Carol. "How much did he give you hon?"

"I said SHUT UP!" shouted Ret, "and get out of here! All of you! Get out! Get out!"

The guests began hustling into their clothes and out the front door.

"Honey, what's wrong with you? What's wrong?" they heard Carol shouting inside as they piled into their truck.

Then they heard a scream inside.

"Fifty? He only gave you fifty? That BASTARD!! That BASTARD!! We'll sue him we'll…"

The gravel in the driveway flew again as George and Ray and Sylvia pulled out onto the pavement, with Sylvia at the wheel.

Lena and Roland did not look at each other. Roland kept his eyes on the road Lena, hugging the window on her side, watched the road too but was looking at nothing. She was in a state of trauma after the long weekend. They had a long drive ahead of them, but Roland could see by her condition, all her usual spunk was gone, that he would not have to worry about her trying to jump out of the cab and escape again. Besides they were going too fast.

After they had passed Lima and were really out on the open road, Roland said to his daughter, "Get down on the seat."

She turned and stared at him wordlessly.

"Get down on the seat girl, I say," he snapped nastily.

"Roland, leave me alone," she said wearily her blue eyes deep in haze.

"Get down on the seat with your little behind over here, close, where I can touch it, in 30 seconds. And if you don't move fast, do you know what I'm going to do to you? I'm going to have you committed for the rest of your stupid little life to a county institution for crazy people. I reckon you're just about crazy now, anyway. You look pretty crazy to me. And I guess Doc. Elbert would say you look pretty crazy too."

Lena just looked at him.

Roland looked at his watch. "I ain't jestin' girl," be said in a very low voice. "Thirty seconds," and he pointed to the seat.

Lena crouched as he had instructed her. She no longer cared at all what happened to her. Sexual abuse was becoming familiar. She could close her eyes and through most of it think of something else, waiting, hoping, and enduring until the end of it.

This time she closed her eyes and thought of life in a county mental institution. No, Lord, please not that. She had visited one once. The glazed looks in the eyes of the patients, who all had the same color, grey, in their eyes, their hair, their skin, their voices, their clothes, the very air had been grey: no she was afraid of that kind of existence.