Copyright © 2001,   rupert.  ALL Rights Reserved

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit or on another website 
without the written permission of the author.  The author may be contacted 
by writing mrdouble@mrdouble.com, mrdouble@mindspring.com, or mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.

Original posting date: 
Wednesday PM, September 12, 2001

A wildPage story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: sally2.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com
 

Story_codes: MMM/g/nc/tort/huml

Story_intro: The assualt on my seven-year-old daughter, Sally,continues. I aid her tormentors.



Sally, chapter 2

Written by rupert


As I returned with my collection of torture implements, I was greeted by a squeal, and then a  low moan from my little seven-year-old girl.
The reason was plain to see. Paul, the old man of the trio, was sawing a massively thick cock slowly in and of the blonde child's obscenely stretched rectum.
On her hands and knees, he was taking her doggy-fashion. His coarse thumbs were spreading her small pale cheeks, giving me a good view of the taut brown ring of her anus Sliding lovingly up and down his ancient but hard shaft.
Sally grunted each time the old man slid to the hilt inside her. It was hard to work out where all of his long cock could be going. It was obviously far to long for her tiny tube, but he insisted on slamming home to the hilt on each 'in' stroke, accompanied by a small grunt from Sally.
 I couldn't imagine what it must be doing to her bowels!
"Feel like yer shitting yerself, girly?" Paul laughed at my child's discomfort, tormenting her even further by pulling his cock almost out, and then allowing her anus to softly expel it like a giant turd, only to suddenly force it back through her closing brown bud to the hilt, accompanied by her deep grunt, time and time again.
"She's shitting herself daddy!" Paul roared. And indeed she was. His thick shaft was now coated in her preteen shit, and it clung steaming around the ridge of his oversized-cock head.. The stench only seemed to heighten the excitement further.
With a loud groan of pleasure, and gripping her puny cheeks hard, Paul finally pumped his load of thick white cum deep inside her bruised gut.
The tears streamed from her wide baby-blue eyes as the old man ensured that she licked and sucked his elderly penis clean of every trace of her own light brown shit.

That done, Sally was quickly thrown on her back, her knees bent up to her chest, splayed apart. She was quickly tied in that position, elbows to knees, resembling an oven-ready turkey. This left her tormenters free to sift through the items I had collected, and torture her with whatever they fancied.
Brian found the thin pencil first. And a bottle of hot chilli sauce.
 He coated the pencil in sauce, then, carefully parting her little bald slit, he sought out the child's tiny pee-hole. As he slid the pencil home, the pain of her tiny tube being stretched, quickly changed to the fiery burning of the hot sauce.
Sally's shrieks were ear-splitting, and her mouth was quickly stuffed with Dave's filthy underpants. As the writhing child lay there, one inch of the pencil sticking out from under her clitoris, and another three inches imbedded in her bladder,
Dave decided to fuck her. He quickly slid a condom over his rigid cock, and, lubricated it with more of the chilli sauce. I helped to align the head of his now dripping cock between little Sally's  puffy child's-size slit. With a groan he sank more than five inches inside her skinny body. Pulling back, he pushed again, and we watched the rest slide in, until his heavy balls slapped against her raised bottom.
She was screaming loudly into her gag now.
"SHIT! I can feel that pencil inside her!" Dave laughed, as he began to pound her with all of his might.
"Let's see how she likes this" Brian said, and reaching between man and
Little girl, he gripped the end of the pencil, fucking it in and out to match Dave's strokes.
"Hurry up and come in her- I want a ride next" Brian laughed.











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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.