There were occasional rustling noises all about and over the distant rumble of traffic, she heard a floorboard squeak somewhere behind her. She was not alone but that was more or less all she knew at that time. Everything else was a mystery, a terrible, unbelievable nightmare.

Becky had no idea how long she had been lying there but it must have been over an hour. Yet again she tried to make sense of what had happened earlier that morning.

There was still that thing covering her face but she could hear and smell and sense when they came close.

Whoever 'they' were.

She had no idea. Nor why they had taken her.

It had been an ordinary, sunny, morning and she was just walking to the other side of the ringway to wait in line for the school bus. Two more minutes and she would have met her fellow fifth-graders and joined in the banter and climbed on the yellow bus for a normal day at elementary school.

All at once there had been a sort of rushing sound in the underpass and suddenly something had been pulled over her head and very strong hands gripped her under her arms and lifted her right off the ground. She tried to shout but it had all taken place so fast she could hardly suck in enough breath to make much of a noise at all and then she was dumped inside some box or something and it banged around a lot but she couldn't work out where she was and when the box stopped jiggling around it was dark and smelly and her throat hurt from the yelling and the crying.

But nobody came.

At first she thought it was her stupid brother and his geeky friends, playing a stupid trick on her but now Becky knew different.

And she was absolutely terrified. Confused and frantic.

They were men, grown-ups, the people who had done this. She had heard their muffled voices when they put the box thing into a vehicle. Every time it went over a bump or round a corner she slid around inside it and banged her bare knees and elbows and the top of her head. She felt sick but suddenly it stopped and again she heard the voices when the box was lifted and she tried to bang on the sides and shout but nobody paid any attention and she rolled and thumped around in the dark as it was carried somewhere.

To wherever she was right now.

Becky wanted her Mommy. She had cried and called out but the box stayed shut and she was left in the dark. Then the noises outside had stopped and it was so quiet that all she could hear was the sound of her own sobbing and breathing. Her legs and arms hurt too, bruised from hitting the sides of the box and even her skin felt sore where it had rubbed against the smooth plastic.

She worried.

About silly things. She did not know where her satchel was, so her teacher would be cross if she had lost her new atlas. And she had promised to let Cindy have the words to the new Greenday single that morning: she had written them out the night before and the piece of paper was in her bag as well. So was her lunch box and she wanted a drink.

It was better than thinking about what was really happening. That was too scary. She had heard bad things about girls who went missing and she tried not to recall them.

Best to keep still and hope that Mommy or Papa would find her soon. Becky prayed they were already looking for her.

And she hoped no-one would hurt her in the mean time.

Each time she learned a little more, she wished she didn't. About the men. For they weren't nice men, she was sure of that.

One of them had spoken to her a while ago, after they had pulled her out of the box: told her to 'Shut the fuck up'. He sounded very angry and he used a bad word and she thought she had better do as she was told.

Becky felt another hot tear escape from the corner of her eye and tickle down the side of her forehead and hide in her hair. What had happened to her still made no sense. She remained still and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

She was flat on her back now, on some hard table or something, exactly where they had left her when she had been pulled roughly from the box. When at last the hot, stuffy air inside the box suddenly became cooler and fresher and she realised that it had been opened, she had called out. She had tried to be good and polite - her shaky little voice had asked nicely if she could go home, please, but the man had smacked her leg and shouted at her and she had cried again and kept quiet after that.

She was still hot, even though she was not in the box any more. The place she was in was very warm and the air still, and inside her school polo shirt, she felt sticky and dirty. Someone had pulled off her trainers but her feet were roasting inside her socks.

Best not to move. Just in case. Better not make the man cross again.

It was hottest inside the sack thing over her head. The cloth was soft like velvet but thick and she couldn't see anything at all. It made her hair feel sweaty and she had to twitch her face to make it loose over her mouth and nose so that she could breathe properly. The sack thing smelt old and a bit mouldy. She wished the men would take it off her head.

A board creaked again and the fine blonde down on the top of her tanned forearm tingled as she sensed someone right beside her.

She wanted to say something to the person, to ask again if she could go home. But she was too scared.

"Just you lie there and don't move a muscle."

A coarse, deep voice, talking at her. Not the same man as before but she had no intention of disobeying him either.

Then the hood was being pulled off at last and she raised her head to make it easier. For a silly second she thought she was being set free. It had all been a terrible mistake. She could get to school and it would all be OK.

The light was blinding, right in her eyes and she quickly shut them because it hurt. Even so, it was so good not to have the hot, tickly cloth against her face any more. She gulped in the cooler air, braced herself and then carefully cracked her eyelids open.

Becky's head smacked back against the hard table top as she instinctively tried to shrink away from the monsters.

Surrounding her. Horrible terrifying monsters!

Her heart pounded and she had blinked against the light and as her strained blue eyes adjusted and focused, she found herself staring straight into the face of an angry green zombie with slitty eyes and flared nostrils and big teeth. And there was another next to it - a long-faced devil with shiny, rough red skin and horns!

She snapped her head away and realised that on the other side of her was a ghost: an elongated pale grey head with a long jaw and sunken dark eyes, its mouth twisted into a terrible shape.

She could not help herself cry out - an almost silent, automatic, quivering squeak. There was nowhere to go and her head landed on the solid bench but she was simply too horrified to acknowledge the pain.

Instinctively, she tried to shrink away, drawing her knees up but already large, rough hands had grasped her ankles and another held her shoulder and two more pulled her wrists down by her side. The monsters were holding her down - she struggled but could not move.

And they were laughing.

Becky thrashed her head from side to side, from monster to monster and then as her nine-year-old's brain at last began to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing, she shivered and gave a moan of utter horror. The monsters were just silicon masks, but behind them were three big men, standing on either side of her, very close and pinning her to some sort of table, in the middle of some big, empty room.

Though she had realised they weren't actually monsters, it was no less scary knowing they were men. Because they were holding her down and there was worse. She froze in panic.

Her throat was tight with fear. This was unlike anything she had ever seen on TV or read or even imagined or had nightmares about.

For it wasn't just that she had been abducted or was being held down or was frightened half to death by monsters or nasty grown-ups. She had seen something else, something she knew only a little about because it was dirty and nice girls her age didn't ever think about stuff like that. Something which added a sinister new dimension to what was happening to her and it made her stomach churn.

For below the masks, the men were entirely naked and hairy and down there, between their legs, each of them had a great big wiener sticking right out from under his tummy. Really big, not like the boys in her class or her baby cousin, Lee, whose little willy she saw when her aunty changed his diaper. Bigger too than her brother's and he was sixteen. Last year she had gone into his room one morning to tell him breakfast was ready and he had been standing in front of the mirror and when he turned round, he was holding his thingy and it had been long and hard. She had gasped and gone red and run out and he had just laughed.

She knew that men's thingies got big when they did sex and that was dirty: Cindy had said so.

Wherever she looked, she just saw these huge things, dancing about in front of the men's tummies.

She thought she was about to be sick but her fears were interrupted again. She was still held tight but now something else was happening, to add to her terror.

Her little white socks were peeled from her feet and she glimpsed down and saw leather straps being buckled over her ankles. She winced as each was pulled tight, nipping the skin and pressing her heels to the hard wood. Her arms were lifted and guided firmly above her head and she tried to wriggle but it was too late, for the hands pressed down on her shoulders and the unmistakeable tightness of more straps closing about her wrists stretched her slim little body and held her uncompromisingly down so that even when she tried to wrench her hips, her hard young backside hardly lifted from the table top.

The ghost was grunting with the effort of fixing the straps. She could smell the musky heat of his body right next to her head; see the coarse black hairs spread over his large belly. He was tall and muscular and very dark-skinned and his willy looked like it was a foot long!

He had loads of hair all around his thing.

Becky did not want to look but she had to - it was so disgusting - so big and knobbly, with a shiny crimson head that wobbled as he finished with the straps.

What were they doing? Why was she being tied down?

"P..lease, don't hurt me," was all she could plead, her eyes round and filled with tears.

She turned her head and instantly her whole view was filled with the evil red face of the devil, its narrow eyes boring into hers with unbridled malice.

"Shut the fuck up, you stupid little cunt," it hissed, filling her nostrils with its rank breath. "One more peep from you and I'll slice out your tongue."

Becky pulled her face away, her mouth open and lips trembling.

She felt tugging at her waist. Lifting her head as best she could, she looked down, and saw two pairs of hands pulling her shirt out from the elastic of her school shorts.

It was all happening so quickly.

She could do nothing; just spectate as more hands pushed back down on her shoulders, holding her flat.

Then everything seemed to stop, as if the men had stood back. She lifted her head and quickly looked all around, before someone held her down again. She couldn't quite see to the edges of the room, past the big, sweaty chests and stomachs around her, but something glinted and caught her attention and she saw the camera pointing towards her. And the stiff thingy of the man holding it. A fourth man!

The camera came closer and she could see the man's thumb working a control and the lens rotated and she knew it was filming her face.

There was movement at her feet and she glanced down. The fat man in the disgusting green zombie mask was holding something shiny - a massive pair of scissors and she saw that the camera was following where they were going and some hands lifted up the bottom of her polo shirt and the scissors alighted over it and she could hear the crunching as they closed and sliced her shirt apart. The other men were close again. Fingers steadied the two halves of the shirt as the scissors progressed up her tummy and over her chest.

The cold, hard metal, brushed against the perspiration glistening on her skin, between her boobies, and a hand held her head back firmly so that the scissors could finish their work, crisply snapping as they dealt with the final few inches at the neck and split the shirt in two.

Then hard, hot fingers descended on her chest. One, two, three, and then it seemed like a swarm of insects were dancing over her spongy boobies. She cried out: her nipples were being pinched hard and pulled away from her chest. It was terrible - why were they doing this to her? What had she done?

Something tickled the side of her leg. Then the same metallic hardness pressed the outside of her thigh. The hands were still feeling her tiny breasts, squeezing and pulling but her attention was directed further down her body, at the sides, where the telltale pulling of her shorts and the distinctive sound of cutting told her what was happening.

Again she shivered. They were cutting off her uniform. What that meant, she dared not speculate.

The scissors moved to the other side and another pair of hands completed slicing through the sides of her thick shorts, from leg to waist.

The light was bright again as the masks pulled away from her and now she could see the man with the camera, pointing it at her tummy and the ghost had hold of the top of her shorts and was pulling the fabric. She felt it tighten under her bottom and she even tried to push down to stop it, but the dark blue material slid away from her and then the ghost was holding it up triumphantly in front of him.

He was rubbing it on his willy! Her shorts - wiping them over that horrid ugly thing! Ugh!

Becky was panting hard. Her boobies stung from all the pinching and pulling. She saw the camera pointing between her legs and felt the heat and roughness of hands stroking her inner thighs.

The tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Why? What was going on? She tried to think of reasons but couldn't. She had always been such a good girl. She worked hard at school and kept her bedroom tidy and went to bible class on Sunday mornings. Mommy and Papa said she was good and she didn't really hate her brother. She never got into fights at school and had plenty of friends. So why were these men doing this to her? What had she done wrong? What had she done to them?

Nothing made sense. Why were they doing this to her clothes? Touching her where they shouldn't? They were such bad, horrible men.

Becky was such a pretty girl, pale-skinned with well-defined cheekbones and the clearest pale blue eyes that were set off magnificently by her long dark eyelashes and fine eyebrows, but her cute face was now drained and twisted in helpless horror. As the countless fingers roamed over the crotch of her thin little pants, touching her private places and pushing the fabric into her crack, she rocked her head miserably from side to side and mouthed a plea that went ignored by the men.

But the camera was diligently capturing her distraught and twisted face, set as it was in a hopeless 'Noooo'. It panned back, capturing the way her soft dark curls fell over her narrow white shoulders and tracked down over the reddened skin around her small, hard nipples.

Then it zoomed in to record the unveiling of her sweet young pussy.

Two snips of the scissors, along the seams at the sides of her pink panties and it moved on for a close-up of the devil's fingers expertly taking up the elastic waistband below her belly button and peeling the cotton teasingly slowly down, down, until the deep cleft of her cunny was exposed to the bright light and the hot, fleshy lips were at last displayed to her appreciative audience. Smooth, soft and of course devoid of hair, her labia blushed a subtle shade of the palest pink against the ivory white of her groin.

With a flourish, the devil snatched away the remains of her pants from under her bottom.

Becky's head lay to the side and she sobbed quietly.

Mommy and Papa would be cross with her, for letting these men see her private bits.

Suddenly she was snapped from her misery and hopeless guilt: her head was lifted upwards and she heard the men chuckle as the crotch of her panties was pushed roughly against her face and rubbed over her cheeks and nose and mouth, mopping up the tears and wetness from her nostrils.

"Gotta clean you up, cunt, for the souvenir photo!" cackled one of the masks.

She looked around, as the remnants of her panties were cast aside and the men stood away from the table.

The man with the camera was standing to one side, watching her intently, with an excited smirk on his face. He had put the video camera down and she could now see that he was wearing a black leather hood-cum-mask that covered the top of his head and his ears and came down to just below his nose in a sinister beak. There were two small slits for his eyes and she hated the way he was looking at her, as if he was about to eat her, as if he was soaking up her terror. And his thingy was bigger, harder and nastier than any of the others. It was curved and reached his tummy button and it was almost blue, such was it so swollen.

Her head was swimming. She could not understand this. For a moment, her eyes rolled up into the lids and the room went dark. There was simply too much going on, too much to think about, to fear. Her brain was overwhelmed.

"Tell me, Becky, what was the most painful thing that's ever happened to you?"

Her world shuddered and the light returned and when she opened her eyes and came out of her momentary swoon, she came face to face with the demon. His head was down beside hers and he was talking to her, his voice smooth and calm and reasonable and she was glad he was not shouting now. Coming from inside that hideous, frightening red mask, the man's voice seemed so out of place.

She swallowed and frowned and tried to think. If she was a good girl then maybe the men would stop being horrid. She realised that the man in the devil mask had asked her a question and she tried to stop her brain spinning and willed it to find an answer.

The devil patiently watched her fine childish lips as they trembled before she spoke. He could see between them the brilliance of her new adult front teeth and the sweet little gaps each side where she was still missing the incisors. It made her lisp and the sweetness of her cracked little voice stirred in his balls.

He could hardly wait to hear her first proper scream. When they started on her. She was so small and pale and vulnerable. She would mark so beautifully and her skin would bruise easily. He would have to be careful: pace himself and stop the others getting carried away.

She deserved to suffer slowly. Better check there was plenty of videotape!

"Was it at the dentists, perhaps, or maybe one time you fell off your bike?" he prompted gently. "Something that was nasty and hurt you a lot. Can you remember?"

From somewhere in the back of her muddled mind, Becky remembered.

"When I was six I tripped over and broke my front tooth," she murmured.

"Oooh, nasty," said the man sympathetically, smoothing her hair from her forehead and resting his hand lightly on her head. "I bet that hurt and made you cry, didn't it?"

"Yeah. I had to go to the hospital and it bled a lot and then I had a crown. But it was a baby tooth and it fell out at Christmas and..."

She stopped. He had called her Becky. How did the man know her name?

The man seemed not to notice that she had dried up. He caressed her hair affectionately and leaned closer.

"Poor little Becky. How terrible. Can you remember how much it hurt? Was it really bad?"

Her mind whirring, she just nodded. She hadn't told them her name - how did he know who she was? She had no idea who these terrible men were.

His voice low, almost kindly, the man purred, "But then the nurses and people made it better?"

Again she nodded. Becky looked through the mask into the man's eyes, trying to read them.

"They made the bad pain go away?"

Another nod. She swallowed. She didn't want to remember.

"But imagine if they hadn't been able to do that, and so the pain didn't go away. Think what it would have been like if the pain just went on and on and wouldn't stop."

She frowned. That would be awful. Why was he saying these things?

Behind the mask, the man smiled at her. He loved the way her brow creased and her beautiful big blue eyes had so many questions. Her mouth was delicious and he wanted to press his lips over it and force his tongue deep into it, but that was for later.

"Do you want to know what's going to happen next, Becky?" he asked pleasantly and she turned her head slightly and nodded. Would she find out at last what this ordeal was all about? Maybe then they'd realise it was a mistake or something?

The demon mask spoke.

"Well, Becky. What happens next, today, tonight, tomorrow and for as long as it takes, you're going to find out just what it is like when you hurt real bad - and I mean rrr-eal bad - but the pain won't stop, won't go away. When it just goes on and on and on. Even when it feels a little better, you know that more pain is going to replace it, even worse then before, no matter what you do. And if you thought it hurt bad that time when you were little and you tripped and hurt your mouth, let me tell you that what we are going to do to you will be much, much worse. We know dozens of ways of hurting pretty little girls and we're going to show you all of them."

He paused, to let it sink in, to see those fabulous eyes widen and her jaw drop and he lips quiver and shake and the tears well up once more.

He cradled her jaw in his huge hand and studied the effect of his words on the terrified, uncomprehending child and his cock swelled and ached with the power he had over her.

Stroking the softness of her throat, his fingers slipped down, over her chest, pausing to cup her tiny breast and tease the nipple, then he ran it down over her firm, taut tummy.

"We have all sorts of really great toys we're going to play with. Oh yes, and when we?ve played with you a while, we're going to rape you and sodomise you - that means we'll put our cocks up your pussy and in your ass, and we'll show you how to suck our cocks too. You won?t believe how much cum we?re gonna put inside you. But all that's for later.

?First we want to take a photo of us all before we start. Whilst you still look nice and pretty. Right boys?"

He turned and the ghost and the zombie murmured their agreement.

The demon stooped close again. His had slid down and cradled her cunny and he pressed, squeezing the warm labia as his middle finger curled and pushed down between her buttocks and sought out her tiny asshole.

"That sound's exciting, doesn't it, Becky? Just imagine: soon we're going to lie you down on a big mattress and each of us will put our big, hard cocks here and we'll rip your sweet ass right open."

His finger simultaneously forced itself into her, to the first knuckle, and she squealed.

The tiny girl's face was totally drained of any colour. She began to tremble and sob and she whispered.

"Please don't hurt me, mister. Please. I never did you any harm."

"Sssh, there, there," he grinned, smoothing back her hair once more. "Just be a good little girl. Say your pleases and thank yous and enjoy the attention."

"Here," he said brightly, standing up straight, "whilst the nice gentleman is setting up his camera for the photo, let's show you a few of the toys. You'll like that. We'll lay them out on top of you for the picture, shall we?"

Becky felt the vomit rise in her throat and she fought it down. Her whole body was shaking. She could concentrate on nothing and her vision kept going blurry.

"Here, look at this, Becky."

The green zombie handed the demon a short-tailed flogger. He tickled the tips of the leather strands over her tummy and as he lowered it carefully, to rest under her rib cage, he explained.

"We have several of these. We're going to whip you with them, all over, to make you nice and sensitive. Oh and then we have this... and this... and this as well - all these are to hit you with."

As he laid the instruments on her chest, he identified each, holding it briefly before her horrified face.

"This is a neat little cane - I'm going to use this on your ass, and this is a paddle, for the same thing but when we want to spank you for a long, long time, and this is called a crop - people use it on horses but it's great for little girls too: makes 'em do as they're told. I specially like to use it here."

He reached down and ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh, across her pubic mound and down the other thigh. He leaned so close that she could see nothing except the evil red grimace of his mask.

"That's really going to sting," he grinned.

Becky felt her eyes close and her mind went blank. She could not listen to any more. She felt herself sinking into a deep darkness, which sealed her ears from the words and then she did not have to think any more.

She drifted. She was flying. She could see her home and her Mommy and her Papa and the kitchen and her little kitten. She could smell a cake cooking and the TV was showing an episode of The Simpsons. Mommy was hugging her and her Papa was holding her hand and she could hear his voice and she was safe. She was so relieved that she smiled. She must have dreamed all this terrible stuff.

Then she opened her eyes and the demon was still grinning at her and he was holding some shiny metal clips with serrated jaws and she heard him say 'nipple' and then she screamed out loud.

From the corner of her eye she saw the ghost, swarthy and tall and muscular, and he was pointing and laughing at her. His thing was gnarled and dark and was sticking up in the air and waving about as he laughed and she noticed the huge crimson end was all wet and shiny and there was a drop of clear liquid oozing from the hole in the tip and she tried to shrink back into the dark, where she was safe.

Nice girls shouldn't look at men's wieners.

Fingers were tapping her cheek, but it was OK because Papa had found her and was calling out to her, speaking her name. She reached out to hold his hand but it was too far away and his voice faded and it was light again and she opened her eyes once more.

She felt the things being placed on her front.

Squinting down, she saw items had been laid all across her naked body, from her chest to her legs. They were dreadful, nasty things, just sitting there on her pale skin. She saw the whip thing with the tickly leather laces and the knobbly cane the demon had shown her, and the clips with teeth and there were other things too - a big chrome medical instrument like giant scissors but with extra bits and a sort of screw piece to adjust the jaws; and between her breasts lay a disgusting black tube of plastic that was the same shape as the men's big wieners but it was shiny and was covered in little silver studs and it had a wire coming out of the blunt end.

She didn't want to play with any of these toys.

Becky blinked and now the comfortable darkness seemed so far away and she now couldn't see or hear Mommy or Papa or the kitten.

She looked to the side - all three men were standing beside her, facing the table, staring across her body and smiling - she could see their teeth through the holes in their masks. Worse was the sight of their three swollen, erect penises, side by side, inches from the side of her body, so close and big and she kept thinking about what the demon said they were going to do with them. She thought she knew what 'rape' meant. They wouldn't would they? Do that to her? But she was just a little girl! Little girls didn't do that sort of thing. And she was so small down there.

In total, mindless despair, she followed their gaze and saw on the other side of her a tripod and a light on a pole, like a big silver umbrella. The man with the leather mask was fiddling with the lens of a big black SLR camera, which looked just like the fancy one her Papa had bought a few weeks ago.

The fourth man looked up and smiled and as she studied his face, and the set of his mouth beneath the scary leather, she had a new, weird feeling deep inside her tummy.

He held a cord that worked the shutter and as he pressed the plunger, he spoke.

"OK guys - let's make this a good one for the family album! Keep still, Becky. OK everyone - smile for the camera!"

Becky could not breathe. Her incredulous eyes were fixed on the photographer and his face and his shape and the massive arc of his crimson thing, brushing up against his stomach. And in her ears, the sound of his voice was still ringing. Familiar. Unmistakeable.

The last frail thread of hope snapped.

Her muscles turned to jello; she seemed to be melting into the table top and her bladder emptied itself into a gushing yellow fountain, bubbling up between her legs.

And just before the sick rushed up her throat and burned through her mouth and nostrils and sprayed over her chest, she managed to croak one single word towards the man behind the camera.

"Papa?"