Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Copyright (C) 1999, Silvio Stoker.  ALL Rights Reserved







   Mf, Mff, Mg, ff; pedo, pre-teen, yng teen; anal, scat, pain, caution

   Ulrike, 13 y.o., is wandering around Berlin during the holidays, horny.
The green-eyed blonde is a virgin except in her mouth, and everyone wants
to fuck her.  Natasha, 12 y.o., who was first whored by her father when she
was 7 y.o., needs a new girlfriend...





   U L R I K E

   Written by Silvio Stoker



   Ulrike was thirteen when she realized that she could get men to buy her
things.

   The lanky blonde from Prenzlauer Berg had taken the S-Bahn to the Zoo
station when a Turkish man fell into step with her and told her how pretty
she was.  He had a low, beguiling voice and a nice smile and Ulrike was
starved for compliments.

   She knew that he wanted to fuck her.  Everybody did.  She had lewd green
eyes, soft skin the hue of linden-flower honey in cold milk, and an adult
mouth the color of ripe watermelon.  Under her shabby coat was a body she
didn't know what to do with.  Languid and disturbingly sensual, it was
almost mature, with aching breasts the size of dainty porcelain teacups and
pale nipples that stiffened as soon as the man spoke to her.

   The adolescent was menstruating.  Unlike many women, Ulrike loved her
period - the smell, even the cramps.  She masturbated more than usual when
the flow was heavy, finger-fucking her fragrant little slimehole and
sometimes sliding a candle into it, slowly, her slender thighs drawn up
against her swimmer's chest, playing with her bottom hole, gently working
the candle deep inside until the wick tickled her cervix.

   If she was very aroused, Ulrike carefully stuck the candle into her butt
afterwards.  She felt only slight embarrassment about playing with her
cunt, but a toxic, paralyzing shame when she put it in her anus.  She had
heard older boys talking about the kind of girl they could use that way,
and she was scared of the pleasure in there, afraid that those feelings
made her nasty.  But she couldn't stop.

   Ulrike was scared of men.  People had always told her she was pretty,
but she didn't realize what men wanted until she was eleven and her cousin
made out with her.  Margarete was fourteen.  She stayed over at their
apartment sometimes, in the same room, and told her about boys.  At first
they just kissed, but then Margarete started feeling her up.

   Ulrike liked it a lot.  Margarete talked dirty to her, sucking her
nipples and fingering her slit.  She went a little further each time, until
they were eating each other out.

   Margarete started licking Ulrike's asshole.  The eleven-year-old didn't
return the pleasure; it was too dirty, too awful.  'This is what you like,
isn't it...  you nasty girl...' Then her cousin slowly slid a wet finger in
there.  Ulrike squirmed, dying of shame.

   One night her cousin stuck a carrot in her cunny.  Ulrike screamed, and
her mother caught them.  She gave Ulrike a lecture about what kinds of
girls do these things and Margarete was never allowed to visit again.

   When Ulrike was twelve, she met Margarete secretly, but her cousin had
changed.  She was a slut, and wasn't interested in Ulrike except to get her
to go pick up men, wanting someone prettier with her as a lure.  Ulrike
didn't want to do that...  part of her wanted to, but she was too scared.

   The Turkish man walked alongside her, and Ulrike would have been afraid
if there hadn't been so many people around.  It was a few days before
Christmas, and the Ku-Damm was thronged with shoppers.

   "Will you drink coffee with me?"

   Ulrike said yes.  She felt flattered.  Grown up.  She wondered if he
knew how old she was.  They went to a crowded pastry shop, and the man
bought her a Negerkuesse and a cappuccino.

   She took off her coat, avoiding his gaze but wildly excited by it.  She
was wearing black pantyhose, ankle-length boots, a short wool skirt, dark
green, a white blouse without a collar, unbuttoned almost to her little
cream-colored bra, and a bright green silk jacket that set off her eyes.  A
single emerald hung from a black silk cord hung at her slender neck, a gift
from one of her mother's boyfriends.

   The man pulled out a chair for her and a stout Bavarian woman brought
her the cake and their coffees.

   Ulrike had never been so aware of her body.  It was as if it drank his
glances.  She had lovely hands, not at all childlike except in their
softness, with a pianist's fingers and carefully manicured, short, pink
nails.  She had spent an hour emphasizing her smaragdine eyes with kohl,
mascara and eye-shadow.  Her long legs were still girlish, but her hips
were wide.  Her waist was narrow, and her butt was skinny but inviting.

   "My name is Nadir," he said in German that was tinged with a Turkish
accent.

   "Ulrike," she said nervously.  "Do you live in Berlin?"

   "Yes...  you?"

   "Prenzlauer Berg."

   "Ah."

   She was embarrassed to be from the East.  The man studied her body
shamelessly.  Ulrike's slit dampened, and she wondered if he could smell
her menstrual blood.

   Ulrike didn't think she was a racist, but letting a Turk take her out
was somehow more arousing than if he had been German.

   She felt her slime seep from her hole, and was glad that she was wearing
a pad.

   She got wet a lot.  When her swim coach touched her, when the man who
often watched her at the Staatsbibliothek sat next to her.  She sometimes
went to the library only because of him.  She didn't even consider having
sex with him, an old man with an unpleasant odor, but the Staabi was safe
and she could even let him look up her skirt sometimes.

   This was different.  It was safe in the crowded Konditorei, but the man
was talking to her, unlike the one at the library, and she...  she had
agreed to come even though the Turk had invited her because she was... 
pretty.

   He seemed to be in his late thirties, and he was obviously rich, with a
gold watch and an expensive wool suit, gray.

   "Are you a model?"

   Ulrike blushed and shook her head.

   "You're very beautiful.  You have a beautiful body."

   Ulrike squirmed.  She knew that what she was doing was wrong, and
imagined her mother coming into the Konditorei and finding her.

   "Have you ever considered modeling?"

   "I...  I don't know."

   Not only was she often wet down there, her anus, too, became very
aroused, ever so slightly moist, dewy.  She ate her Negerkuesse and licked
her lips.

   "I have a friend who is a photographer," Nadir said.  "He's always
looking for models - for unique young women like you.  I saw you and
thought of him right away."

   "Oh...  I mean, thank you."

   Nadir touched her hand with his forefinger, lightly.  Ulrike turned pale
and her eyes closed as he gently stroked the underside of her arm.  Her
breath became shallow, and then she took her hand away, staring at the tile
floor, her green eyes wet with tears.

   "Would you like to meet my friend?"

   "N-no...  I..."

   She started to get up, and the man's fingers closed tightly around her
wrist.

   "Don't go.  Sit."

   She was drowning in a deep pot of cold, dark blue soup, as if he were
holding her underwater, her body a wad of white paper, soaked, yet
smoldering.

   The previous Christmas, when she was only twelve, her mother's boyfriend
had started touching her.  His name was Nigel.  A rich American who
traveled to Berlin frequently on business, he started staying at their
apartment, and she...  she flirted with him.

   Ulrike didn't think anything would happen.  Then, one Saturday morning
when her mother was out shopping, the wiry forty-five-year-old had kissed
her.  She kissed back, and Nigel undid his pants.  It was the only time he
ever kissed her.

   Ulrike started sobbing when her mother's boyfriend ordered her to suck
his cock.  He called her a whore.  He came in her mouth.

   She had cried for days, afterwards, ceaselessly, agonizing about whether
to tell her mother.  She didn't.  She couldn't.  She had wanted him...  to
do something - not what he did, but to keep...  kissing her - she
remembered what her mother had said when she had found them with Margarete,
the way her mother had looked at her as if she was trash.  Ulrike knew that
her mother would blame her for what Nigel had done.

   And...  she blamed herself.  She had seduced him.  He hadn't kissed her
because she was a cocksucker, a slut.  She hated herself...  but she had
_liked_ it, how it felt when he held her head, how he had looked at her,
slapping her face with his penis.

   Nigel never raped her except in her mouth.  She started to need it.  She
liked how he talked to her.  He made her feel weak, empty and hot.  It felt
good.  Sometimes he jerked off and came all over her face.

   She wanted him to fuck her but was too scared to say so.  He would come
into her room, late.  She would wait up for him.  Once he had Ulrike suck
him after he had buttfucked her mother.

   He made Ulrike lick his asshole and a couple of times he peed in her
mouth.  She cried a lot but she liked that, too.  Not how it tasted, but
how it made her feel.

   When the Turk grabbed her wrist, she felt like that.

   Then Nadir let go of her because someone was staring at them.  An old
woman, a tourist.

   The Turk got up and left without even another glance.  Ulrike stifled a
sob and wove through the crowded pastry shop to the washroom.

   Ulrike went into the stall and masturbated like crazy, rinsing the blood
from her hand in the toilet before she emerged.



   x x x



   After an almost sleepless night of self-abuse, Ulrike set out for
Bahnhof Zoo again.  She wasn't thinking very clearly.  She wanted to find
Nadir again, to be touched like that.

   She had sucked on the candle a lot, remembering Nigel.  He would hold
her head sometimes and stick his penis into her throat.  When he pissed in
her mouth, he had come in there twice, and Ulrike had opened her
urine-soaked dress, displaying her budding breasts, hoping he would fuck
her.

   Her mother stopped seeing Nigel, probably because she hated what he did
to her; she didn't know what he was doing to her daughter.  She could hear
her mother's screams through the wall.  'Don't...  no!  Not in there!  It
hurts!  Aaauuuuuugh!'

   She didn't know what he was doing until the night Nigel's penis was
covered with her mother's feces.  'I have a special treat for you,
Ulrike... a nice chocolate bar for my little cocksucker...  mmmmmm...  lick
it, slut...'

   She could still taste it, still hear her mother's pleas - 'not in
there.' Ulrike wanted it _in there_ more than anything.  When she pushed
the candle up into her poophole, the sensation was similar to being his
cocksucker - the shame she felt, the sense that her body was a stranger's.
Ulrike knew that she was beautiful.  The intense need she felt down there
was hideous, abnormal.

   When she had first heard words like 'slut' and 'whore', when she was
nine, she applied them to herself, in secret.  She hadn't done anything
yet, but she already had those feelings.

   The train station was busy.  Ulrike searched for the Turk, but couldn't
find him.  She gave up and walked all the way to the Staatsbibliothek.

   Despite her beauty, Ulrike had no friends.  People thought her strange.
She would be going to the Gymnasium next autumn, and dreaded it.  She
dreaded pretty much everything.

   The man who always stared at her in the library wasn't there, either. 
Almost in tears, she was looking at some art books when she noticed a
middle-aged gentleman in baggy gray corduroys and a charcoal sweater.

   This man, blond, pot-bellied, was sneaking glances at a girl who looked
fourteen or fifteen, sitting on the same side of a table as the teenager,
trying to see down her shirt.

   As though hypnotized, Ulrike took her books and sat down across from the
man, not looking at him.

   Gerhard Schuhmacher pretended to read the book about orchids, from which
the adolescent to his left had distracted him, and peeked at Ulrike.

   The girl he had been ogling paled before the vision who had seated
herself opposite.  The white gold of Ulrike's hair was in a thick braid,
and her eyes were smuggled emeralds set in the honeyed skin of her
childlike face.

   Ulrike was wearing a short leather skirt, black pantyhose, and a green
silk blouse, fiddling with the shiny buttons.  Holding her breath, she
unbuttoned it as if lost in the book on Fauvism she was reading.

   Ulrike wore the bra her mother had taken away.  She had fished it out of
the garbage and washed it.  The stiff black satin loosely covered only half
of her tiny, upturned breasts, and her stiff pink nipples peeked out above
a thin ribbon of lace.

   She glanced at the other girl and let the man see her titties for a
second, fearful, almost wetting herself.  Gerhard nearly gasped.  He had
never experienced anything like this.  He sneaked looks at young girls, and
that was it - a glimpse of some bare flesh now and then.

   He wondered whether she could be doing this intentionally when Ulrike
looked up at him for a moment.  Her eyes were frightened and unbelievably
filthy, as if infants were coupling in the green murk.

   Staring at her book again, Ulrike turned so that he could see her left
breast again, the pale, hard nipple above the black lace.  Her face was
almost that of a woman in orgasm, as though she were praying to some
unknown god.

   Ulrike slipped her hand into her blouse and caressed her breast, briefly
circling the nipple with a fingertip.

   The other didn't notice, but Ulrike wished she would leave.  If she
wasn't having her period, Ulrike would have slid her hand between her legs.
Instead, she sucked her thumb, squeezing her thighs together rhythmically.

   Gerhard smiled at her and dropped his pen.  The man who usually watched
her did that.  This time, Ulrike was desperate.  She spread her legs wide
and put her hand on her crotch when he bent to pick it up, rubbing the pad
against her soaked pussy.

   Almost panting, Ulrike stood and staggered toward the restroom...  and
the man followed.  Her arousal turned to panic.

   "Miss?"

   She froze.  There was no one around.  Nigel's voice pounded in her head.
Suck it, you slut.  That's it, you cocksucker.

   "What's your name?"

   "Ulrike," she answered in a tiny voice, staring at the floor.

   "Ulrike...  that's a very pretty name.  You're a very pretty girl.  I'd
like to go somewhere with you, Ulrike.  Perhaps to buy you some pretty
things?  A girl like you needs lots of pretty things, hmm?"

   He touched her shoulder then, gently but firmly.  Ulrike felt the same
kind of weakness she had known with Nigel, a weakness that almost made her
sink to her knees.

   She had forgotten where they were, and half-expected the man to take her
by the hair and shove his prick into her mouth.

   Instead, Gerhard looked about to see that there was no one around and
gave her a deep kiss.

   She opened her mouth for his tongue and swooned, rubbing against him,
whimpering.  She gave herself to him entirely in that one kiss, shuddering
as the yearning she had felt since Nigel had gone turned into a sudden
orgasm, the man's hands on her butt, his tongue filling her mouth.  She
wanted to beg him to take her, enter her, possess her...

   He released her and she looked up at him, standing unsteadily.  The
flood receded as their eyes met and she saw...  Nigel.  The man didn't love
her at all.  He didn't want to possess her, he wanted to use her, her body.
Ulrike's face contorted and tears came to her eyes.

   "Let's go," the man said, brushing her cheek, his thumb touching her
lips as if they were her labia.

   Dying inside, she followed him to the lockers where their coats were. 
He pretended not to know her, walking ahead.

   She felt like a mildewed husk.  She put on her coat and followed the
broad-shouldered blond man to the street.  It was snowing heavily.  His car
was parked several blocks away, a Renault.

   Gerhard tried to think.  He was afraid to take such a young girl to a
hotel, and he had told his wife he would be home for dinner.

   When Ulrike got into the car, he kissed her again.  She let him, sucking
his tongue into the horrible emptiness she felt.  The windows fogged up.

   "How much do you want?"

   She didn't understand at first, then started crying hysterically.  He
kept kissing her, unbuttoning her coat, feeling her titties, pinching her
nipples.

   Ulrike's arousal came slowly but heavily, the empty feeling transmuted
into a hollowness, a need.  She squirmed as her butt became aroused, then
her whole body, hideously, wanting him in her poophole.

   He tore her bra off and mauled her tiny breasts, hurting her.  Ulrike
reached for his crotch, and the man pushed her away and took out his cock.
It was small, maybe five inches, and his belly was big.  The position was
uncomfortable.

   She held the gearshift and sucked, stroking him with her other hand. 
The feeling of wanting to be possessed came over her again.  He pushed it
into her throat and ejaculated, holding her head as she gagged on his
semen.

   She was still choking when he took her by the hair and pushed her mouth
down onto the gearshift.  She struggled as he forced her head down hard. 
The cold plastic bulb filled her mouth, and the man moved her head up and
down, shoving it deeper.

   She screamed as he started lifting her by the hair and slamming it in,
and blood filled her mouth as he knocked out a tooth.  Ulrike threw up, and
the man began hitting her, her face, her breasts.

   Then he drove to the Tiergarten and threw her out of the car.  Ulrike
doubled over and vomited again, shivering.



   x x x



   It was dusk.  She washed her face in the snow.  Her blouse and her
pantyhose were torn, her lips swollen, and one of her front teeth was
missing.  She didn't button her coat, dazed, and staggered through the
slush, her breasts exposed with each step, hurting, but not as much as she
hurt inside, her soul.  She stumbled and fell several times, sobbing,
scraping her knees and the palms of her hands.

   When she reached the lights of Zoo she buttoned the ragged coat.  There
was no reason for her to walk all the way to the Zoologischer Garten
station except that she was afraid to go home.

   Headed for the S-Bahn, she saw Nadir.  Her emotions were overwrought
now, and her thoughts disconnected, wild, weird.  She was afraid, and at
the same time she felt...  desire, not for sex, not at all, but...  for a
man.

   Even...  raped - she thought of herself as raped - Ulrike needed...  she
needed...  She needed his cock.  It wasn't arousal.  Or it was - it was
like the shame she craved when she put the candle in her butt, but without
the wetness in her snatch.  That was the one clear thought she could
muster: I want his penis in my asshole.

   After that came the weakness again, only worse because she looked bad,
because she knew she wasn't the girl the Turk had followed the day
before... Under the blood in her mouth, she imagined that she could still
taste the semen from the blow job she had given to the man in the car.

   She staggered towards Nadir, who didn't recognize her at first.  When he
did, he nodded and moved off toward the exit.  Was she to follow him? 
People stared at her.

   Nadir almost disappeared under a sort of colonnade where there were
several sex shops...  but she saw him, his back in the camel hair coat, she
tried to run, in pain, and then he turned the corner and she did and he was
facing her.

   Crying, Ulrike opened her dark coat and showed him her titties, begging.
He slapped her lightly and buttoned it, then led her by the hand to a
silver Audi.

   "What happened to you?"

   His voice was concerned, fatherly, but all she could do was cry.  He
stroked her hair, gave her a handkerchief, started the car.

   They drove to Savignyplatz, into a dirty street, parked.  He kissed her
on the forehead, her eyelids.  She clutched his shoulders, weeping.

   Nadir got out, opened the door, helped her to the sidewalk, locked the
doors, and led her into a big old apartment building that was pure Berlin,
the massiveness, the heavy, umber doors, the weight of things.

   The apartment dazzled her.  She was poor - her clothes were all from
thrift stores - and this was not only money but taste.  Oil lamps lit a
large room that was a maze of low furniture, silk carpets, sculpture,
books.

   Near the windows, which were covered with thick drapes of a
salmon-colored satin, was a young girl who wore only white silk stockings
and a diaphanous string bikini bottom.  She looked about Ulrike's age,
twelve or thirteen, and her dark brown hair was done in tiny braids.  She
sat on a purple velvet chaise longue, clasping her feet, her thighs spread,
and stared at them as though she didn't know where she was.  Sloe-eyed,
with recent breasts, sepia nipples and a sad little mouth, her legs and
arms were slender but she had a slight belly, soft and white.

   "This is Natasha...  what was your name again?"

   "Ulrike."

   Nadir helped her out of her coat, and Ulrike blushed as she realized
that her breasts were bared before the other girl.

   The Turk started undressing her.  Ulrike wanted to protest...  but his
touch was gentle, kind.  Natasha stared as he stripped the confused
thirteen-year-old, taking off her boots, peeling the Maxipad from her dirty
crotch, removing her torn pantyhose and the ripped bra, fondling her
bruised breasts.

   She had never been completely naked in front of a man before...  or a
woman, not this way.  Nigel had only wanted to use her mouth, and Margarete
was her cousin and only a little girl.  Natasha was very young, but Ulrike
that knew she was a whore.

   Nadir caressed her like a sculpture, her tummy, then slid his finger
into her slimehole.  Ulrike gasped.  She knew he was checking to see if she
was a virgin.  She could see Natasha's slit through the whore's diaphanous
little panty.  It was hairless, and that made Ulrike feel like an adult. 
She liked his finger in her hole.  It gave her the nasty, empty feeling and
made her want to suck him.

   He rubbed her belly again, fingering her gash.  Ulrike realized that he
could make her pregnant - not now, not during her period, but soon.  She'd
never really thought about that before - how erotic that was.  He stroked
her clitty.  Ulrike whimpered and gazed at Natasha.  She wasn't old enough
to have the man's baby.  Ulrike wanted a baby in her empty body.

   Nadir fondled her buttocks then, and Ulrike moaned as he touched her wet
little asshole.  He took his finger from her cunt and had her lick the
blood off while he probed her poophole.  She squirmed, desperate to be
penetrated in her bottom, sucking his finger, holding his wrist.

   Natasha licked her lips and shifted on the chaise longue, showing Ulrike
her body.  Ulrike pushed back against the finger and the Turk wiggled it in
her butt.  It was so different from her cousin's, or the candle!  He made
her feel helpless, he had a penis, he could tell that she wanted him like
that...

   "Yesss...  please...  oh, God...  please..."

   Nadir put her hand on her gash and moved his finger in and out of her
butt real fast.  She didn't care about her snatch at all, only about what
he was doing to her shitter.  She moved her feet apart and bent her knees,
moaning, spreading her cheeks.

   "Aenngh...  I want...  I want you in there...  please...  yesss..."

   He took his finger out and draped her over the back of a couch.  She
stroked her cheeks and heard him undoing his pants.  He was going to fuck
her.  Someone would fuck her!  Natasha was masturbating, aroused.

   Ulrike ran her finger along her crack, inviting him in, touching the
sore little opening.  He slapped her ass playfully, then slid his penis
into her cunt.  Ulrike wailed.  She knew he was only getting it wet for
her, sliming it with her blood and juices before he buttfucked her, but it
felt good in there, too, the big, thick cock, her first, the man who knew
what she wanted, using her pussy to make his dick nice and slippery, the
cunt hole he could make a baby in.

   Natasha rose and came toward her, kneeling on the couch near her,
caressing her arms.  Ulrike had always imagined having to hide her needs,
and didn't feel anything now except pleasure, the slight pain of his shaft
stretching her almost unnoticeable, the young whore admiring her, kissing
her, tongue-kissing...  Nadir touched her anus with his thumb.

   "Mmmmmm...  aehhhmmm...  f-fuck...  fuck me...  fuck my ass!  Ohhhhhh...
my asshole...  please!  Pleeeeeeaaassse..."

   He thrust into her cunt a couple of times, then pulled out, slowly. 
Ulrike stretched, on her tip-toes, shaking.

   She felt a sweet, sharp pain as he pierced the sphincter, then something
indescribable, like a baby's arm pushed into soft, wet clay, hers, warm,
his hands on her hips, lifting her limp body, the thick cock hot like
cooked meat, tough, smooth game, a shank of venison, vermilion, fucking
into her, hurting her, turning her into a dirty little kid, pushing into
her poop, squeezing her poop up into her and forcing her hurt to come hard,
in her chest, her throat...

   And then he was fucking her rough and fast, holding her skinny thighs
under her while she kicked at the sofa and clutched Natasha, her kid body
shuddering as he shoved the wet pain deep inside her, giving her cramps as
if she was having his baby, as if she were about to give birth to herself,
the cock dry burning like a violent shit, scraping her sphincter while her
intestines swelled with what felt like boiling milk, blood, and his hands
slipped because she was sweating and the prick angled into her like a
flail, white pain, jerking her, grabbing her again her limbs the legs of a
horse on its back, a pregnant little horse,.

   "Aaaaaaauuuuuuugh!  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuugh!  Aaaaaaaaauuuuuugh!"

   He slapped her hard and thrust into her, kneading her titties as she
struggled to move so that it wouldn't hurt so much, treading fiery blood,
his dick as though it would split her hips.  She clung to the back of the
couch now, white-knuckled, as Natasha caressed her softly, swiftly, her
shoulder-blades, kissing her face.

   The cock slammed into her guts, slid out, slammed into her again, as if
she didn't have a hole, as if she was gutted, cut open, her entrails
stuffed with coals.  She howled, then started to retch, and then her body
cooled like lead poured into icy water, she got goose bumps and she was
cold except for the pain, twitching, her grunts timed to the terrible
thrusts.

   Suddenly she needed it to hurt more, as if she was floating above her
sick little body and wanted to beat it up.  She shook her pelvis like a
stiffening rag when he slid out, when the bulb was in there, and jerked her
legs up as he stabbed it back in.  She rocked her hips, her thighs
shivering, bucking as he slapped her buttocks.

   He yanked his cock from her rectum and Ulrike undulated, the pain too
strong without it inside her, crying.  She was too weak to move like this,
standing up, couldn't fuck him.

   He grabbed her and threw her over the couch, Natasha leaping out of the
way, Ulrike sprawled on the sofa, gasping, in agony, and then he was
entering her while she lay on her back, quaking, the way she would lie with
the candle only it was excruciating, Natasha playing with her titties while
his dick drove deep into her ravaged shithole again like a pillar of salt,
ripping her.

   Her legs jerked spasmodically as it reamed her, Natasha sucking her
nipples, biting, and then he was fucking her rhythmically again and she
went limp, his prick popping out and banging against her butt and slicing
into her and him holding it like a stick and stabbing it in again, like a
churn, her almost senseless body jerking against the sofa each time the
bulb banged into her bleeding bunghole, then a searing pain and a series of
spasms as it plunged deeper.

   Natasha was naked now and straddled her face.  She didn't smell like her
cousin, she smelled like water lilies in a sewer, like a douched beggar
child, and her poophole was wide open and stank like a baby's mouth full of
sperm.  Natasha rubbed her anus against Ulrike's mouth and grasped her
ankles.

   Ulrike slurped at the filthy hole and then Nadir stopped sliding out and
fucked her deep and steady, with swift, hard thrusts, forcing the sting and
colic all the way into her.  She sucked Natasha's ass as if her mouth
wasn't part of her, of the pain that was her body then, and the whore let
go of her left foot and clawed at Ulrike's gash, pinching her clitty and
sticking her middle finger into her cunt.

   It hurt until the prick started pounding her again and suddenly the pain
felt good, like it would kill her, the chafing of his root at the opening
and the bulb plunging into the tight intestine, the strange poop-sucking
feeling in her rectum the same as the suction in her mouth and Natasha's
spastic anus.

   The cock rammed her rhythmically then, like a stick puncturing a squid,
and something like a thick sauce surrounded the head, from her, and Natasha
stuffed another finger into her slimehole and then she was coming, Ulrike
was, her head thrown back and the whore's cunny against her chin, honking.

   She was almost unconscious as Nadir shifted them, and then she was
licking Natasha's slit above her and Natasha was tonguing hers and
fingering her bleeding anus and the man put pillows under her back and it
would have hurt but it was like she wasn't there and then she was and the
man's dick was in her mouth and she tasted herself, her shit, and the
blood, and then the shaft slid into Natasha's butt and she wanted it, she
wanted it in _her_ and the Turk was fucking Natasha's ass and the whore was
howling.

   The smell of Natasha's poophole mixed with hers and then the prick was
in Ulrike's mouth again feeding her the kid's scum and she swallowed and
the penis went down her throat.

   Natasha wiggled her butt, sobbing, and the cock slid back into her
asshole and Ulrike gasped for breath and whined until the penis went into
her mouth again, just the tip, just the head for her to lick, she ran her
tongue around it and sucked and cried when it went back into her friend's
butt.

   Ulrike managed to slip her hand around Natasha's thigh and touch the
man's balls, and then he let her suck him again.  She lapped at the whore's
filth, lost in a trance.

   Nadir fucked Natasha's ass again and Ulrike diddled her.  Natasha moaned
wildly and took it deep, and the man started to grunt.

   "M-mouth," Ulrike whined.  "C-come in my mouth..."

   The whore slapped Ulrike's fuckhole and bucked against the dick up her
ass.  The Turk groaned, grabbed Natasha's hips, and ejaculated in her
rectum as Ulrike wailed, deprived of this, Natasha screaming with pleasure.

   Then the cock slid back into Ulrike's mouth, softening.  The
thirteen-year-old swallowed it, sucking it into her throat.  Nadir put his
hand on her neck and then he was pissing.  Ulrike convulsed as a thick
stream of urine splashed down her throat, drowning her.  She snorted and
choked as he stiffened and raped her in there, fucking her throat.  She
couldn't breathe, then, and he pushed it deeper as the whore held her, his
penis forcing its way in as she tried to vomit, still pissing, then just
fucking her neck, ravishing her.

   He withdrew as she blacked out, spewing piss.  The maw of a caustic
darkness swallowed her whole, devouring her dreams that night, sheets of
black ice pressing upon her body like instructions written in a dead
language, the whore's hand at her breast as the Turk did his paperwork in
another room.



   x x x



   Natasha was only twelve.  Her father had started begging soon after the
Soviet Union collapsed, when she was only five.  He didn't hurt her, and
she loved him.  At first he would sit with her, near a metro station,
holding a little cardboard sign about his family starving, but when she was
six he left her alone.  He stayed nearby, though, sharing vodka with his
friend Masha, and until she was seven he didn't let anyone touch Natasha.

   The first man he let have her was a real gentleman, Alyosha.  It was
winter, and she was sick and dirty and cold, and the man took her to a
beautiful apartment in Sokolniki, like she had never seen before, with
central heating and hot water and pictures on the walls.  She was scared,
but her daddy had told her that the man would be very nice to her and that
she should be nice to him.

   The seven-year-old had never even seen a real bathroom before.  They
lived in one room of an old wooden house and she had to heat water on the
wood-fired stove because her daddy never bought propane for the other one.

   Her daddy touched her a lot and let her play with his thing sometimes,
but being touched by a stranger was strange and different.  He kissed her
and took off her wet clothes and then stripped.  They took a bath together
and she wasn't scared anymore at all.  His cock was smaller than her
daddy's, about as long and thin as one of the cheap little sausages wrapped
in plastic that she liked.

   Alyosha was transported into an ecstasy such as he had never known.  The
beggar child was unimaginably beautiful despite the ravages of her
miserable little life.  There was a sadness to her, but not as intense as
what he usually found in girls like her, and it melted in the warm bath and
under his tender caresses.  She had a slight rash from her dirty underwear,
but otherwise her white skin was flawless and soft as a baby's.  She was
trusting and even eager.

   He kissed her nipples and played with her cunny, then asked her to suck
him.  Natasha stroked him with both hands and licked the tip of his penis,
her dark eyes mischievous, then took the head into her mouth.  She never
did that for her daddy because he was too big.  Unlike her daddy, he tasted
good.  She was a little afraid when he put his hand on her head, but the
man was gentle and there was something nice about how much he needed her.
She could feel his need.

   He pushed her head down then and squirted.  She struggled but she was
tiny.  His come came out of her nose and when he let her up she was choking
and started to cry, but he held her and kissed her and said he was sorry
but she was so beautiful he couldn't help it.  He promised her candy.

   He washed her fragile, emaciated body again, lifted her from the tub,
dried her, wrapped her in a towel and took her to the bedroom.

   Alyosha didn't want to give her back.  He thought he was in love with
her.  But his wife, who was visiting relatives in Saratov, was the
obstacle. He gave Natasha a handful of delicious German candy like she'd
never had before and showed her pictures of pretty little girls playing
with wonderful toys in a luxurious bed in a palace, naked and in shiny
underwear like she had never seen.

   He tickled her and licked her all over and then he lapped at her cunny.
Her daddy did that sometimes, but never for very long, and the man ran his
tongue down to her poophole, too.  She started to get a funny feeling in
her lower belly and he licked her slit like a big cat and then he put his
pinkie in her botty.

   She got scared again for a second and then the funny feeling was
everything and he moved his wet finger in there and she flushed and thought
she would pee but instead she felt like when she ran real far and didn't
feel like she was running anymore and she gurgled and he hugged her.

   The man told her she was much prettier than the children in the pictures
and he put lipstick on her and painted her eyelashes like she was a big
girl, like the kids in the pictures had.  He showed her how the pretty
girls showed off their bodies.  He said that Natasha had a cute pussy and
told her men would lick it for her if she looked like the little whores in
the pictures.

   Then he took pictures of her.  His thing was hard and he taught her to
show off her body like they did, only sexier so she could get licked a lot
and get lots of candy and maybe some shiny underwear like they had.

   He gave her candy with some stuff in it that smelled like what daddy
drank and he trimmed her fingernails and toenails and painted them and
kissed her a lot and she started feeling funny again and a little sick.

   Then the man gave her a pair of earrings - his wife's - little strands
of rhinestones - and he said she needed holes in her ears if she wanted
them as a gift but it would hurt.  It hurt and there was blood but he kept
kissing her and she wanted the earrings.

   He told her that sometimes things hurt but felt better afterwards, and
if she was a big girl it was okay to get hurt a little if she wanted to be
like the girls in the pictures.

   Then he showed her some other pictures that were really scary.  They
were of one of the pretty girls, only she was doing the same sexy things
that the man had asked Natasha to do, touching her cunny and spreading her
cheeks, and she was crying.

   She was a blue-eyed blonde, five or six years old, and Alyosha told
Natasha that she got more candy than the other girls did and lived in a
nice house like the one in the pictures because she was a good girl who let
men hurt her.

   The blonde sucked cock and then there was a man whose face wasn't in the
picture and his thing was big like daddy's but shiny and he put it in the
little girl's botty.  The blonde looked like she was screaming and her eye
make-up ran down her face in thick dark lines and snot was dripping from
her nose and her toes were tightly curled and the man whose face you
couldn't see was gripping her skinny calves in his huge hands.

   Then there were pictures of him squirting on her and blood was trickling
from her nostrils and her botty and her eyes were open and she looked
terrified and hurt bad and then her cunny was red and he put it in there a
little while she screamed.

   Natasha was very scared and she felt woozy.  Alyosha started kissing her
again, and then he licked her cunny but she was too scared to like it.  He
told her to rub it while he rubbed his thing and had her say 'fuck me' over
and over.  She didn't know what it meant.

   Then the man touched her slit with his cock.  Natasha tried to jerk away
but he held her with one hand - she was so little - but he didn't try to
put it into her - he squirted - he squirted it into her, into her cunny. 
Natasha made a weird noise and pushed her pussy against his cock so that it
went in a tiny bit, squirting, and he pushed it in a little deeper.  She
squealed.  It hurt but the warm stuff felt so good in there, she got the
pee feeling again and gurgled and he pushed again, holding her at the
knees.

   It started to hurt bad, real bad, and she screamed.  He put his hand
over her mouth and moved out a little, then in again.  She kicked and
jerked as he pushed deeper.  It didn't feel good at all any more.  He
squeezed her throat and forced it in, tearing her.  Natasha passed out.

   Alyosha hadn't planned on fucking her.  He wanted to stop wanting her,
and so he wrecked her.



   x x x



   Natasha's father fucked her from then on.  He didn't want to hurt her,
but he needed to fuck his baby.  She was too pretty, too available, too
weak.  He was bigger than Alyosha, and her cunny was too small, so he
fucked her bottom.  He would give her some vodka, gag her and tie her
wrists to her ankles, put sunflower oil on his dick and stick it in his
daughter's poophole.

   She lived in a fog of unbearable pain, constipated, leaking, her soiled
panties plastered to her torn butt, suffering cramps, crying, peeing
herself, her cunny burning with gonorrhea, begging in the metro and running
from the police, freezing in her messed pants in winter, scratching herself
in the summer.

   He whored her, too, to men who stank of samogonka and old sweat, men who
didn't mind sticking their pricks in her infected pussy, who liked how she
moved when they hurt her.  By the time she was nine years old, Natasha was
more of a frightened animal than a human being.

   She was begging outside the pale blue and peeling Riga Station one
night, her father lurking somewhere nearby, when Boris Sverdlov spotted her
sucking a man's filthy fingers.  Natasha whistled for her father so that
the man could pay him, and Boris intervened.

   Boris was a stocky twenty-nine-year-old with hard gray eyes and an
expensive leather jacket.  He had Tanya, a fourteen-year-old call girl in
fishnet stockings, on one arm, staring at the ground.

   Natasha's father was afraid of Boris, and that made Natasha mistrustful,
too.  Natasha still loved her daddy.  She had no one else to love, and he
fed her.  She watched as her father emptied his pockets and Boris counted
the money she had earned.  The man who had put his fingers in her mouth
stole away, also scared of this Boris.

   She caught snatches of their conversation - 'my only daughter' and 'sick
cunt' - and then Boris was giving her father money, lots of it, and her
daddy walked away.

   Natasha followed Boris and Tanya, supporting herself on the whore's
perfumed arm it hurt so much to walk, and soon sat in the back of a dark
Mercedes headed for Moskvoretsky.

   She didn't realize then that she would never see her father again, but
was soon floating in a sort of dream.  Natasha had pangs, later, missing
her daddy, but the first few weeks were another world, and her senses,
which had been so tortured and deprived, blossomed in her new surroundings
- Boris' apartment was like nothing she had ever imagined, like an extreme
version of Alyosha's fairy tales about untold riches and relentless showers
of delicious sweets.

   They cleaned her up, took care of her little vagina, gave her sexy
underwear, fancy food, brightly colored cordials and, of course, candy.

   Then they sold her body to men who smelled good, who gave her presents,
who told her how beautiful she was.  Sometimes they hurt her, but she
wasn't in pain all the time anymore and knew that afterwards everything
would be lovely again, her girlfriends would fix her and make hot chocolate
with liquor and if she was badly hurt she would get a rest and maybe they
would give her the shots that made her feel nice, like she was floating.

   By the time she was ten, Natasha needed the shots every day.  She had a
lover man, Pasha, who she slept with, and a girlfriend, Klara, who was
thirteen then.  Klara was a green-eyed blonde and very expensive, with pink
skin and a salmon-colored cunt that smelled like shrimp in rose-water,
weird, high titties that hung down across her prominent ribs like tiny
pee-pees, the nipples swollen and sore.

   Natasha made friends with her in one of the bathrooms, when Klara asked
for an enema.  She had firm, boyish buttocks, but her anus was a deep
purple bung with folds of inflamed apricot dangling from the hole.  It
stung when she went poop, and most men fucked her in there.  She crouched
in the tub and whimpered as Natasha forced warm water into her bowels, then
howled as though in labor when she squirted it out.

   She begged Natasha to fill her again, holding her finger in the dark
hole and pleading for more until her belly looked like a pregnant woman's,
then screamed as a turd tore through her, dense clumps of ebony feces
falling between her perfect feet as she kneaded her tummy and wailed.

   The whore's poop stank like a dead body, and her movements turned
Natasha on - she had never had sex with a female, and never been so
strangely intimate with one.  Natasha filled Klara again, then climbed into
the tub with her and tentatively touched her back.  Klara squirted
forcefully, some gushing against Natasha's feet, and the ten-year-old
rubbed against the thirteen-year-old's bony back, whimpering.

   Klara turned around and kissed her, then told her to suck her mommy's
titty.  The bizarre breats were like limp penises, the soft, swollen
nipples peach with red bumps.  Natasha stroked and squeezed and sucked one,
and her mommy lowered her into the bath, moaning and putting poop on her
little girl's pussy, diddling her baby.

   Natasha came, and Klara gently turned her and licked her dirty cunny,
then slowly inserted the nozzle into Natasha's botty and filled it with
warm water.  Natasha came again as she squirted, and when Klara kissed her,
her mouth was full of poop.

   Natasha played with her mommy's pussy, kissing, and soon Klara was
coming, rubbing her clit as her little girl frigged her.

   Unlike Natasha, Klara could read and write.  She took care of her
younger friend, and they became inseparable except when they were working.
Sometimes they worked together; they were the only two whores there who
really liked girls, and performed for their men.

   When they were off, they were with each other, Klara kissing her as she
looked for veins, injecting the sweet smack into her little lover, teaching
her to read, peeing in her mouth, playing with dolls, telling her about men
and heroin, geography and history.

   Then, when Natasha was eleven, Boris shipped her to Berlin, separating
them.  Natasha was crushed.  They couldn't even write, because no one gave
them any addresses, and were only allowed to talk on the phone every week
or so until one day Boris told her that Klara was dead.

   Natasha was sad.  The only other whore at Nadir's was a fifteen-year-old
Hungarian who stole from her and resented her beauty.  She liked Nadir -
loved him, even - he was kind and cared for her and supplied her with junk,
protected her, fucked her good.  But she missed having a girlfriend.

   She fucked only one or two customers a day, and had become as addicted
to sex as she was to drugs.  Not allowed out of the apartment, Natasha was
a slave to her own perverted body.  She watched smut and preened, shot up
and lost herself in the currents of her slime, the deep orgasmic pain in
her poophole, the ache in her titties that meant she would be ready to get
pregnant soon.

   Afraid of herself, of her sadness, she fled into a desperate and
incessant arousal that resembled a void, exhausted by her own stimulation.
She spent hours preparing for men, applying cosmetics, braiding her hair,
worrying about her slightly flabby belly, dancing and masturbating.

   Erszebet, the Hungarian girl, did outcalls, mostly, and Natasha was
almost always alone until Nadir came with a customer.  She cried sometimes,
rubbing herself, staring at her favorite movies, one where a kid who looked
like Klara was pregnant, drinking pee, her immature body as though
uninhabited, wafting from penis to penis, thrusting her flat chest and open
mouth into the golden streams, puking piss, moving as though weightless
until the men took turns in her rectum, the red hole wet and open like a
toothless mouth.



   x x x



   Ulrike came to in Natasha's boudoir, a sumptuous and enormous room with
huge windows and white drapes, a massive bed covered with yellow silk and
down comforters, dolls strewn about, an expensive stereo and television,
heaps of porno videos, framed photographs of horrible things and a polar
bear rug.

   Everything hurt.  She moaned, and Natasha came to her, radiant, her pale
face set in a seductive mask, naked.  Natasha wiped the crook of Ulrike's
arm with a cotton swab and stabbed it with a hypodermic, the cool solution
soon keening up her arm and bringing bliss.

   The whore slid under the silk sheets and kissed her mouth.  Ulrike
kissed back, confused, in pain, her mouth swollen from the gearshift,
tasting of shit and blood and sleep.  Natasha moaned when Ulrike returned
her kiss, sucked her tongue and gently licked Ulrike's bruised little
breasts.

   It was so different without Nadir, without a man!  Natasha inhaled the
thirteen-year-old's menstrual odor and fuck smell, then whispered in the
blonde's ear, embarrassed by her bad German and heavy Russian accent.

   "I love how you licked my asshole last night, lover," Natasha whispered.
"Loved...  loved it, your tongue in my dirty asshole.  I loved it."

   "Yes...  I did, too," Ulrike finally said, Natasha carefully stroking
between her legs.

   Natasha's fingers were little and delicate.  Ulrike parted her thighs,
aroused as the pain dissipated in the drug, aroused by her new friend's
words.  Natasha slid two slender fingers into Ulrike's slit, receiving a
dollop of menstrual filth, then put it to her lover's mouth.  Ulrike licked
it off.  She often did that herself during her period, but had never even
fantasized about doing it with another.

   The twelve-year-old whore kissed her again, sharing the effluvia, then
slid between her legs and sucked at the dirty little fuck tube, feeding.

   Ulrike gasped as she felt the tip of her lover's tongue flicking against
her peehole.  Natasha teased her urethra, licking and sucking, and suddenly
Ulrike urinated, moaning.  Her friend swallowed it all, then tongued her
damaged anus, gently, drooling into her sore rectum and kneading her taut
tummy.

   "D-don't I have to...  poop..."

   Natasha sucked her spit from Ulrike's botty and dribbled her tongue into
the hole, then drooled into the cavity again and sucked, her saliva
sloshing between her mouth and the opening.  Ulrike spread her cheeks,
groaned, and farted wet feces into the whore's sucking mouth, trembling.

   Choking and coughing, Natasha struggled to spew the shit from her
throat, wild-eyed, snorting.

   "Auuurrrrgh...aeeechhhh...kh-khhh...d oh...  auyyywwww..."

   Ulrike stared at the freak and frigged herself until Natasha began to
kiss her again, transferring feces.  The pale blonde liked to taste herself
from the candle - and that one time she had sucked off Nigel when he dick
was slick with her mother's poop, and last night, Nadir's cock from
Natasha's ass - but she had never had so much, and from another's mouth, a
mouth that wanted her so much, so much...

   Then Natasha's slender thighs slithered between hers and she felt the
twelve-year-old's cunny against her cunt, Natasha's labia seeming to grab
hers like a slimy little mouth, another mouth.  Ulrike and her cousin had
never done that, and the feeling of another hole against hers was
overwhelming, the taste of her own waste in her mouth, and then Natasha
sucking her toes...

   "Yesss," Ulrike moaned.  "Yeeeeeeessssss, sssssuck, suck it..."

   She grabbed Natasha's pretty little foot and licked between the toes as
the whore squirmed and smeared Ulrike's foot with poop and licked it off,
rubbing their slits together, Ulrike's hair scratching Natasha's tender
skin.

   Natasha slid away and pressed her lover's toes to her snatch, expertly
masturbating Ulrike with her wet foot.  Panting, they got each other off,
howling in orgasm, then lay still.



   x x x



   Ulrike was unrecognizable by Christmas.  She was still beautiful - even
more beautiful than she had been; fixed up and beautified by Natasha each
morning after her fix, moaning as the Russian girl douched her pretty pink
pussy and gave her enemas until the water ran clear and her tight little
poop chute was clean and inviting, spreading her girlish legs so that
Natasha could shave her fuckhole and soothe the tender skin with lotion,
making her adolescent snatch look even younger than it was, giggling as
Natasha sucked her toes during her pedicure, gazing into the mirror as her
lover worked on her face.

   She was still beautiful, but had lost her sense of shame and lost
herself in love, become fearless.  There was nothing to be afraid of.  They
spent the day high, playing with each other, talking, and in the late
afternoon they dressed in skimpy underwear and reclined seductively on the
satin sofas, waiting for the men Nadir brought.  They had a little contest
going, which of them would be chosen the most.

   It was Ulrike's favorite hour, sunset, being on display, staring at the
men who studied their bodies, touching herself, parting her slender thighs
and smiling, or looking serious and hungry, drawing her legs up and letting
her panties slip down to expose the beginning of her crack, letting them
know that they could do anything to her, make her pregnant, fuck her ass or
throat, even hurt her if they paid the Turk an extra five hundred marks.

   Sometimes there were several men, and now and then they took Natasha and
Ulrike together.  She liked their initial nervousness, the first touch of
her lips to their cocks, the way they looked at her, like she was less than
human, her mouth and cunt and anus wet for whatever went into them, the
nasty, delirious feeling as her body anticipated their invasions, her body
interested only in that, recoiling a little at the initial pain, then
shuddering as she shook it like a white glove, writhing, begging, opening
to take it deep, to make it come and get their seed inside, thrusting
herself at the stiff pricks, wiggling her butt where she needed it the most
because it made her insane to feel it so deep and it turned her into a
little girl again.

   She needed to be hurt, too - not hit or anything, but asked to lie on
her back with her head hanging over the edge of the bed so that they could
stick their cocks down her throat until it was sore, cutting off her
breath, other cocks in her hands, keeping them hard until the one fucking
her neck slimed her throat with semen and they could do that to her, if
they did it for a long time she couldn't feel anything anymore and
sometimes it was like her throat was her cunt.  She liked to be leaned up
against the bathroom wall with Natasha and look into their eyes as the men
pissed on them, into their open mouths, swallowing it, playing with each
other's cunnies.

   By late evening Ulrike was in a trance, her body staggering to the next
man whenever someone came in her, rubbing against whatever she could find,
whimpering until she sucked someone back to erection, bucking against
nothing until someone would fuck her, piss in her, put it in her mouth. 
There was no difference then, as long as they did something to her, made
her feel again, slapped her titties, fisted her rectum.

   And then they would be gone and Natasha and Ulrike would make mad love,
moaning, spitting in each other's mouths, sucking the come from their
holes, going to the toilet, their six little mouths slimy with scum,
fingering each other's dirty tongues, hoping for babies.

   ========================

   This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.



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