From: indexhtml@netscape.net   
      
   Story: A Young Girl’s Plaything   
      
   by Sarah   
      
      
      
   Story Codes: ggg/F, gdom, ped, nc, bd, sad, rim.   
      
      
      
   Warning: The narrative deals with underage persons; if you find this   
   offensive, then please don’t read it.   
      
      
      
      
      
   The following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to   
   any real person living or dead is absolutely coincidental.  The   
   narrative deals with underage persons and the author in no way condones   
   or promotes such acts, this is a work of fiction.   
      
      
      
      
      
   Summary: A piano teacher is abducted by her young, pre-teen female   
   students, then kept as a sex-toy and subjected to continued abuse,   
   torture, humiliation and degradation by the girls and their friends.   
      
      
      
   ?   
      
      
   Part One: The Licking-Pony Game   
      
      
      
   Jenny sat with her feet, in their pretty lace-topped white ankle-socks,   
   between the grown woman’s boobies. She had taken off her panties and sat   
   her little eight-year-old ass right down on the sobbing woman’s face.   
   Now she was busy wriggling her butt so her helpless slave’s nose and   
   mouth went deeper into her butt-crack. Jenny wanted her actual butt-hole   
   kissed and that’s all there was too it. When the girls wanted something   
   from their grown-up toy, they always got it.   
      
      
      
         ‘Kiss my butt-hole toy,’ Jenny giggled, ‘an that is sooo gross but   
   I’m gonna make you do much worse stuff after’.   
      
         Then the eight-year-old went back to lashing her captive’s breasts   
   with her riding-crop. Emily Devallier, at thirty-four, was enduring a   
   sudden and unexpected career change. From respected piano teacher, to a   
   real-live toy, used solely for amusement by a gang of spoilt   
   prepubescent girls. She was naked, and bound so skillfully that   
   movement, let alone escape, was impossible. She could barely breathe   
   now, then she felt her lips touch the horrid girl’s anus – and she   
   kissed it. Then the next instruction came.   
      
      
      
   Jenny squealed with delight as she felt her plaything’s tongue wriggle   
   and squirm its way deep into her ass. Even though Jenny was only eight,   
   she had masturbated about making Miss Devallier do this to her since her   
   first lesson. She even talked to some of her friends about it.   
   Stephanie, who was ten, said it was sick and disgusting, but only: IF   
   YOU WERE THE ONE THAT HAD TO DO THE LICKING!! And then they all laughed.   
   But Jenny now owned the useless thirty-four-year-old bitch, and she was   
   helpless and couldn’t say no - in fact, she couldn’t say no to anything   
   Jenny wanted anymore. Which was just sooo cool. So the poor wretch   
   squirmed under the little girl’s ass cheeks, desperately trying to jam   
   her tongue deeper into her pre-teen owner’s butt-hole all the while   
   trying to avoid the evil sting of the crop as it sliced at her breasts.   
   The toy’s pitiful screams and begging moans were muffled by Jenny’s   
   little ass as the sadistic young girl bounced happily on her new slave’s   
   face.   
      
      
      
      
      
   Jenny was a very naughty girl, and she knew it. But she had always   
   gotten away with everything – so why should now be any different? Life’s   
   very simple when you’re eight, mostly divided into what you can do and   
   what you can’t do, what you’ll be allowed to do, and what you wont – and   
   – what stuff you’ll get into trouble for. It seemed to Jenny that piano   
   teachers were boring and useless, so that was okay, and Miss Devallier   
   had no family or anything, so she was just being wasted really. Well   
   Jenny had solved all that. Now Miss Devallier was being very useful,   
   giving all the girls so much fun – much better than her stupid piano   
   lessons. And, although Jenny couldn’t be sure, maybe mom didn’t mind.   
   After all, when that man came asking about Miss Devallier mom had told   
   him that she never arrived for the lesson. That was odd. Anyway, this   
   was the best game Jenny ever thought up, and that’s all that mattered.   
      
   Teasing was always fun, so every now and again Jenny would lift her   
   little sweaty butt off Miss Devallier’s silly mouth just long enough to   
   listen to her begging and crying. Jenny loved to hear her do that, she   
   never answered though, she just giggled and sat back down again. Now her   
   butt was all slippery and squelchy from Miss Devallier’s licking and   
   from sweat – it was hot work riding the licking-pony (that was Lisa’s   
   cool name for this game).   
      
   Jenny reached for a Diet-Pepsi on the table by her bed. As she rolled   
   sideways there was a slurping sound as the licking-pony’s face pulled   
   out from her butt-cheeks – Jenny laughed, nearly choking on her Pepsi,   
   and some even came out of her nose. And Miss Devallier gasping for air   
   was funny too, but it didn’t last long as Jenny wriggled her hips and   
   settled down to play licking-pony some more. It was a totally cool game   
   and she would play it for hours.   
      
      
      
   Emily tried to concentrate. She was struggling to hold on to her sanity,   
   she knew instinctively that she had to reduce her new world to   
   manageable chunks if she was to survive. ‘The small picture,’ she   
   repeated over and over in her mind. Emily focused on pushing her tongue   
   out further, (ignoring the aching pain in her jaw). She also   
   concentrated on twirling her tongue as it went deeper into… well… just   
   deeper. Where her tongue was buried, and what was pressing down onto her   
   face making her struggle for breath, well, that was the big picture – if   
   she thought about that she would go mad. So she concentrated on the task   
   at hand, and stopping that whip. It was all about stopping that whip.   
      
   Three lessons was all she had given the children. They had seemed nice;   
   attentive; polite even, just as you would expect of girls from wealthy   
   families. The eight year-olds had asked her questions – was she married?   
   Did she have any children? Any little girls like them? Emily patiently   
   explained that she lived alone, and had no family, but that she wasn’t   
   lonely or sad, because she loved her work. And no (in answer to   
   Jennifer’s unrelenting questioning), she didn’t have many friends. She   
   was just too busy, that was all.   
      
   Everything had seemed normal. Twenty minutes into the third lesson the   
   girls had said they were thirsty. They ran through the large house to   
   the kitchen and came back with a glass of soda each, and one for Emily.   
   It was hot so she readily accepted, sipping at it while she explained   
   the importance of Middle-C, and then ran though the basic scales again.   
      
   After a while the keys blurred and Emily felt a little light-headed. It   
   was a hot day, but the house was well air-conditioned – perhaps it was   
   something she ate? Emily remembered asking one of the girls to fetch   
   Jennifer’s mother, but they seem to just stare at her, smiling. Then she   
   just sort of slid gently sideways from the piano stool and lay on the   
   floor. The girls helped her to her feet and said they were taking her to   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)