A Young Girl’s Plaything

A Young Girl’s Plaything

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 see Jennifer’s mom, so she went, leaning on the little girls and struggling to take each stair at a time. Why were they going upstairs? Why didn’t Jennifer’s mother come down? Perhaps she didn’t understand how sick Emily was. The last thing Emily remembered was being lowered onto a bed; then she passed out.

Emily floated in and out of consciousness. She was dimly aware of being handled, someone was loosening her clothes – that was a good idea when someone faints… wasn’t it? There were sounds of giggling – young girl’s giggling – which was strange.

Emily came round slowly, at first confused, and then frightened. She thought she was paralyzed, she couldn’t move her arms or legs, there was something in her mouth. Then she was fully awake and her conscious mind pulled all the pieces together that her sub-conscious had treated as a hazy dream. She was tied. Emily could feel the thin cord on her wrists, which were behind her back. She could also feel it around her ankles, and she was gagged; cloth of some sort. As she jerked her head forward she could see she was naked. Then panic set in and she began to thrash, tugging at the rope, but that just made it tighter. Then Emily saw the girls, looking down at her with smug, pleased smiles.

‘Hi Miss Devallier,’ said a grinning Jennifer, ‘guess wot? You aren’t a boring piano teacher anymore, you are gonna be our new best toy’. With that they all laughed.

The idea that this was a sick joke wore off after a few days. Emily was kept naked and tied in Jennifer’s closet, amid a jumble of shoes, clothes and toys. The girls used extra rope to bind her to the lower rail of the clothes-rack so she could barely move – and the gag (which they had told her with much amusement was dirty, white school sock) was very effective. The only person (apart from the girls) who ever came into Jennifer’s bedroom was the maid, she never went in the closet, and if she ever noticed the muffled sounds she ignored them. Still, Emily felt this couldn’t go on long, by now she had left any ideas of punishing the girls behind and would just settle for an end to this humiliating prank, but things took a turn for the worse, not better.

They started beating her. At first it was on impulse – Jennifer, Lisa and another girl Emily didn’t recognize had dragged her out of the closet and were staring down at her grinning, which had been the routine for several days. Then they dragged her to the base of Jennifer’s bed, tying one ankle to the bed. Jennifer hesitated, as if she was just making this up as she went along, then she quickly untied Emily’s ankles. Emily tried to make her move but her legs were numb from not moving, and besides, her right ankle was still tied to the bed. The girls moved quickly, pulling their captive’s left leg wide, then tying it to the other side of the bed. Emily felt different almost immediately, acutely aware that things had taken a decidedly different turn, with her legs spread and her naked vagina completely exposed to the stares of the little girls the sexual overtones were hard to miss. Jennifer stepped between the helpless woman’s spread legs, and just stood there as if unsure what to do next. She was wearing white running shoes with pink stripes, and white ankle socks – then she just lifted one foot, and kicked Emily in the groin. The toe-punt caught Emily just below her vagina and she groaned in agony, lifting her shoulders off the carpet. The girls just laughed, which was worse then the pain and humiliation – they were enjoying it. Jennifer’s second blow was a stamping action, as if Emily’s genitals were a bug she was squishing.

Jenny had thought about hurting her new toy a lot, she had even sat with Lisa and Hannah drawing pictures of how to hurt a grownup. But now she was actually doing it… well… it was even more fun than she thought it would be. Watching Miss Devallier’s eyes roll back, and that stupid moaning noise was just too funny, and she burst out laughing. The prepubescent terror stomped her helpless victim’s cunny bits several times, then ground them with the serrated sole of her running shoe.

‘Cool,’ said Lisa, her eyes all wide and excited, ‘we should get a whip or something’.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Hannah. ‘Maybe we could train her to do stuff, like a pet or something.

Jenny laughed, and stomped menacingly to her closet, where she opened a drawer and took out her riding crop.

‘This will do nicely for toy training I think,’ she said, swishing the crop through the air. The girl’s new pet shut her eyes tight. ‘No!’ shouted Jenny, lashing the woman’s legs, ‘never shut your eyes less we tell you to, you got to look at us when we play wiv you – understand?’ The toy nodded and opened its eyes. Jenny gave the stupid woman her best angry stare, right in the eyes, with her cheeks puffed out and everything. ‘Good,’ the eight year-old said. ‘Now… what shall we teach her to do?’

‘Something gross,’ said Hannah.

‘Yeah, really gross,’ added Lisa. ‘Like… kissing our feet’.

The girls took off their shoes and socks and stood over their toy, who had started trembling and crying as she looked up at the three evilly grinning little faces. This just excited Jenny even more, it was cool knowing the toy was scared. Scaring her was nearly as much fun as hurting her – but not quite.

‘If you make a noise we will kill you an bury you in the woods,’ said Jenny in her most menacing voice. She wouldn’t really kill the toy, that was wrong, but it shut her up. Jenny bent down and untied the long sports sock from around the toy’s head, and pulled the little white one out of its mouth – it was wet and horrid so she threw it in the laundry basket. Then Lisa placed her foot over the toy’s mouth, Miss Devallier was whimpering a bit, but she wasn’t shouting or anything, just like she’d been told.

‘Kiss my foot toy,’ said Lisa, and the woman did. ‘Again!’ said Lisa, giggling.

‘Yuk that’s gross,’ said Hannah, ‘I would hate to be a slave’.

‘Let me have a go,’ said Jenny excitedly. She placed her naked little foot over Miss Devallier’s mouth and made her kiss the sole. Jenny wriggled her toes looking at the glitter-pink nail polish. It had taken her ages to put on, and she’d done it very carefully, it hardly went over the edges at all. Without warning Jenny shoved her toes in the toy’s mouth. ‘Suck them,’ she giggled, ‘suck my pretty toes toy’. Miss Devallier started making noises like when she had her gag in, but she just lay there with Jenny’s foot in her mouth. Jenny just grinned and whacked one of the toy’s boobies with the crop. ‘Suck!’ she commanded. ‘Suck your owner’s toes you loser’. The woman did as she was told and the other girls clapped and laughed.

‘What’s it like,’ asked Hannah excitedly.

‘Really cool,’ said Jenny, ‘it’s all warm an squishy, an you can wriggle your toes while they’re in there’.

‘Can I have a go,’ Hannah asked, placing her naked foot on Miss Devallier’s cheek.

‘Sure,’ said Jenny casually, ‘we can do it as much as we like – I’m gonna do it every day so my feet are always nice an clean’. She pulled out her wet little foot and dried her toes on the toy’s hair. Hannah stuck hers in so quick the toy hardly had time to let out a little moan. Miss Devallier’s mouth was full of little toes again and she looked really miserable about it, which made sense to Jenny because sucking little girl’s feet (especially when they haven’t washed them) was totally gross. But she liked it that her toy wasn’t having fun, that was how it was supposed to be. Toys weren’t allowed to have any fun at all, they were for having fun with.

(End of Part One)

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