This is a work of fiction and imagination, a fantasy. The author does not condone the torture or abuse of any person.

Mary Ann was out of breath, running between the sparse skinny trees, her feet hurting. In fact, her shoulders hurt worse, and her fingers were numb. She had broken a bit of a sweat under her hairline, even though it was chilly.

She was completely naked. Not even a pair of shoes. The leaves and little sticks and the occasional rock hurt her feet. There was no real path to follow, but the trees were far enough apart and the other vegetation sparse enough to allow her free passage without using her hands to push aside branches.

Which was a good thing. She couldn't use her hands. They were fastened behind her back with those awful plastic things, the ones that would get tighter but not get loose unless you cut them off. Her arms, just above the elbows, were also fastened, each with one of the zip-ties, with another zip-tie between them, pulling them back so that they almost touched, only about five inches apart; at least they were'nt pulled all the way back like they had been when Amy ...

She stopped. Listened. Gasped for breath. No, it was just the sound of her own feet. The girl took another direction at random and continued. She'd been running for probably about an hour, stopping for brief rests, terrified she'd be found.

* * *

Mary Ann's parents were killed in a crash when she was only nine. Through long months of confusing procedures, she finally ended up with John and Anne Hess, a couple in their fourties. John worked at some kind of store, and Anne didn't work at all. They were foster parents, and they let it be known right away that they were doing Mary Ann a great favor, that she could be sent back to some kiddy prison, and that they were getting paid to take care of her.

Now ten, her long red hair had been cut rather short, just to the bottoms of her ears. She'd had such pretty long red hair, and cried when the foster parents made her get it cut. They gave her few things to wear, always something wrong with them. Shoes with broken laces; socks that had holes in them, pants that were too tight or too short, things Amy had outgrown.

Amy Hess was the couple's biological daughter, and Amy dearly loved having someone else with less status than she. Even when Amy discarded a piece of clothing, she'd do something to it to make it less than perfect. Not much, just enough so it didn't look new, usually so it made poor Mary Ann appear as if she were slovenly or messy or a poor dresser. Shoe polish on a white blouse never comes completely out. Mary Ann almost never got anything new: Anne Hess never threw anything out.

Mary Ann was often refered to as a "red-headed-step-child" even though she was a foster child. The Hess family wasn't completely cruel to Mary Ann, though she did more than her share of the chores, sometimes to the detriment of her school work. She had her own room, tiny though it was, with a twin-size bed and a dresser and a little table that looked like it came through a fire. There was a door leading up the steps to the attic, so that anyone going to the old attic would have to come through Mary Ann's room to do it. Instead of a closet, a couple of nails and hangers on the back of the attic door served to hang her few hangable garments.

By the time Mary Ann was twelve years old, her breasts were the size of perhaps a softball, cut in half, and the halves put on her chest. Stingy old Hess wouldn't buy her a bra, and somehow none of Amy's old bras could be used; they were either too big or strangely torn. She had to go to school without a bra and had to hide her bralessness from the teachers, usually keeping on her old thin jacket even when it wasn't cold, or two shirts.

Amy, two years older than Mary Ann, and not as slender, had shoulder-length dark brown hair. Sometimes she played with Mary Ann, but often ignored her or insulted her.

* * *

Five weeks after Mary Ann's 12th birthday, Amy came barging into the younger girl's room. Amy wore the low-rise pants and too-short tops that were in style, but over the past year she'd developed just a little bit of a belly, and the sides of her waist protruded from the waistband of her jeans. Today she wore a rather low-cut t-shirt and her jeans appeared brand new.

"Mary Ann, we never got to celebrate your birthday," Amy declared.

"But I got presents. That was a month ago," Mary Ann replied, looking up from her social-studies book.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna make it up to you. I wanted to do this earlier, but didn't have the chance. You know my friend Lakisha? She got her driver's license and we're going to go out tonight."

After MaryAnn was convinced that indeed they were going to go out to the mall, and have ice cream and maybe watch a movie, Mary Ann brushed her short hair. She looked for her best-fitting clothes: a pair of worn-out blue bikini panties that were really too small, a pair of maroon denim pants that were probably a bit too tight, and Amy even let her borrow her red-and-white running shoes (the girls were within half a shoe size of each other) and a pink t-shirt with sparkly things on the sleeves and several sparkly star-shaped designs on the front. Mary Ann frowned because her breasts and nipples were visible, but Amy assured her that it looked "sexy" ... Amy was showing off her own breasts, through the low-cut top she was wearing, nipples protruding noticibly under the thin material.

Mary Ann smiled because the top fit so well, not baggy at all. Just a little bit of her tummy and belly button showed; her tummy was flat and her waist slender and she indeed did look quite sexy.

John and Anne were out for the evening, out drinking as they often did, and when Lakisha, a 16 year old blonde girl who was overweight and had pimples drove up in her mom's old Dodge, the three girls were off to the mall, the two older girls speculating as to what kind of boys they'd meet.

First it was video games. Poor Mary Ann sucked at video games, having never really played them, never being allowed to carry more than her lunch money and not having any money of her own. Then it was to the pizza stand where the older girls bought her pizza and Pepsi. Just one slice for now, though (Lakisha being even more disappointed than Mary Ann) as they were going to have a bigger meal later. Apparently Amy had saved up her baby sitting money.

They went to see a movie about a husband and wife who were spies and were trying to kill each other. Afterwards, they went out to the back of the mall. By then, only the movie theatre was open, as it was after 10 p.m.; the other stores had closed.

"We'll go down to O'Bryan's," Lakisha suggested. "They're open late and they have great food. And you don't have to be old to get in."

The girls laughed and went out the back way from the mall, the big doors closing behind them. They walked along a wall, toward the parking lot, and that's the last thing Mary Ann remembered.

* * *

Mary Ann woke up. She was on a wooden floor. Her sparkly top was gone and she was cold. She was also barefoot. She regained her senses all at once then, it seemed: Amy and Lakisha were looking down on her, Amy holding the red-and-white shoes by their white laces.

Mary Ann's arms immediately moved to cover her breasts ... but the hands didn't come around. They were tied together behind her back with some kind of rope.

"Amy, please ... where's my shirt? I need my shirt! What's wrong with my ... why can't I move ... why are my hands all tied up?"

Amy and her friend laughed. "Well, I'm not going to lose this shirt ... it was my favorite when it fit! And I'm taking my shoes back, too. What's wrong, your boobies all uncovered? That's what you get for not wearing a bra!"

Mary Ann begged and tried to stand up, but the girls laughed and pushed her back, Lakisha even grabbing the pre-teen's breast and shaking it a bit, remarking about the "tiny little titties". Mary Ann began to cry.

The small empty room was obviously old and in poor repair, though at least the floor was clean. And a door opened. To Mary Ann's horror, two men, both tall and both in their thirties, entered, one dressed in a blue work uniform, the other in a jacket and tie.

"Very nice," the man in the suit said. "Stand her up."

"No, please, I'm .... I don't have any shirt on ... please ... ow!"

Amy slapped the girl across her face, squatted down, and assured Mary Ann that she'd better stand up and be still and not talk at all, or she'd be chopped up into pieces. Mary Ann, crying, had no real choice but to comply, and as she stood, Lakisha stood behind her holding her arms so she couldn't bend over.

The men appraised the girl in the light of the single bulb. She was only five feet tall. She was very slender. Small developing breasts with little pink nipples, pale skin, red hair. "No freckles," one man observed. Short red hair that didn't even hide her slender neck.

"Where's the rest of her clothes?" The man in the suit asked.

"They're here, but I loaned them to her. You can't have them, only the girl," Amy replied, with a sideways glance at her foster sister.

"She won't need 'em," the second man said, and counted out several bills into Amy's hand. Four hundred dollars. Amy immediately gave a hundred to her "assistant" and without another word, the two older girls sat in chairs while the men got out tape measures.

"But won't your father be mad for not getting money for the foster kid?" Lakisha asked.

"Naw, see, they passed a new rule," Amy explained. "You can't keep foster kids if you smoke. Dad said he's not giving up smoking, and the state will probably come in the next week or so to take Mary Ann to a new foster home. We'll just make it look like she ran away."

Lakisha laughed, remarking about it's ok to get drunk and keep booze and beer in the house, and even have drugs, but not to smoke. Both girls knew many homes where the refrigerators were always well stocked with beer.

Mary Ann begged and pleaded, but to no avail. First the men secured her hands better, using plastic zip-ties. Mary Ann had never seen them before but figured out what they were. She also knew she wouldn't be able to break them or even cut them without a substantial knife, or some cutting pliers or something. Mary Ann cried when they took her pants and panties, leaving her naked, one of them quite pleased that she had no pubic hair yet.

"We won't have to shave her," he said.

And they began measuring her with the tape.

"Speaking of beer . . . " Amy said, and the girls walked back to the old Dodge and drove to a place they knew would sell to them, not giving Mary Ann a backward glance.

* * *

The men then chased her around the small room and into another, but there was no escape. They seemed to be holding back; enjoying watching the naked twelve-year-old girl running around, crying, her hands behind her. When the girl finally sat down and scooted into a corner, they loomed over her until the one in the suit said, "Hey, wait, no you don't!"

MaryAnn had tried to get her zip-tied wrists over her little butt, to at least have her hands in front of her, and this angered the man in the suit. The other man grabbed her, threw her to her belly on the hard wooden floor, and the one in the suit produced another of the wicked zip-tie devices. In a moment, Mary Ann was crying louder; the man had wrapped it around her arms, just above the elbows, and zipped it til her elbows were touching.

As the men grinned, the one wearing the work uniform rubbing the front of his pants, Mary Ann discovered three things: her arms and shoulders hurt, she couldn't move her arms really at all now, and that she'd never get her hands in front of her.

Finally the men took her into another room. There, sitting on a bed which looked nice and clean and warm in comparison to the rest of the house or building or whatever it was, was a boy. He was perhaps fourteen. Skinny. Wearing glasses. He had no shirt on, nor shoes nor socks, and for a moment Mary Ann thought he might be captured, too. But he stood up, wearing blue sweat pants, and his hands weren't tied.

His hands weren't tied. Oh no, she thought, starting to back up as he approached.

"Happy Birthday, son," the man in the work clothes said, pushing the girl in and shutting the door behind them.

In the momentary silence that followed, Mary Ann heard the men commenting that they should have a birthday present like that.

The boy wasn't too rough, though he wouldn't (if he could) unfasten her wrists. He hugged and kissed her and ran his eager hands all over her naked pale skin, kissing her breasts and feeling them and finally going after her naked cunny, the girl softly crying the whole time.

The boy wasted little time. He pushed her back onto her aching arms, kicked her legs apart, and clumsily but persistantly began to rape her as she cried and cried. Her hymen broke, to the boy's disgust, but he wiped up the mess with a cloth he got from somewhere and ended up cumming into her three times, the last time not hurting so much.

He said little to her, telling her to shut up when she begged too much. He seemed to like it that she was captive, bound, and very frightened.

Mary Ann was calculating the days since her last period. She'd only had three, but knew from her reading when her fertile time was. It kept her mind busy while her body was being abused.

When the boy was finished, he kissed her several times, cuddled her, even kissed her little breasts, licking the nipples. A knock on the door and the boy grabbed his pants, put them on, and left with the two men.

* * *

The men had assured her there was no escape and with some kind of pliers or side-cutters cut her arms and wrists free. Oh, they hurt so much Mary Ann could hardly move them for awhile.

There was an old bathtub. The water never really got hot, and she was instructed to take a lukewarm bath. She shampoo'd her hair, rinsing it with the rubber hose that was attached to the faucet. She dried on a towel. A nice clean towel. She wrapped the towel around her, covered for the first time in several hours. She couldn't see out the window, it being very opaque, but knew it was still dark.

She needed clothes and shoes.

The men came back, ignoring her pleading, threatening her if she didn't shut up, though they seemed to tolerate her sobbing and crying. They gave her a sandwich, just one slice of bread folded in half over some peanut butter) and a glass of KoolAide. They took her towel. They put her in a blanket on the floor with a chain around her neck, locked with a padlock, attached to the floor to some kind of piece of pipe that was a couple feet away.

She was asleep before she knew it, and after a few hours awoke again, groggy from the drug in the KoolAide.

One of the men came into the room, the one in the suit, though he was wearing jeans and a sweater now. He made her get out of bed. Naked. She was instructed to use the bathroom. She did, glad that there was at least toilet paper to wipe her butt. He gave her a drink of water. He produced another of the hated plastic things, the ones that would get tighter but not loosen up. She barely resisted as he fastened her wrists, crossed, behind her back, using two of the nasty devices, one each way, so she had to keep her wrists behind her. She begged him not to do her arms, but as a kindness perhaps, or out of practicality, he wrapped one around each arm above the elbow, and used a third to fasten them together, about five inches apart.

"You will not have your hands in front of you, do you understand?"

She nodded.

"You made a good present for my son, but unfortunately I can't let you go. Don't worry, you won't be killed or anything. But a new man will come to pick you up and you must go with him."

"But why? Why can't I go home? Why do I have to stay naked? Please let me go, give me some clothes and ....MMMmmppph!

The man shoved a round object into her mouth. There was a hole in it for breathing, but she could not talk, at least not intelligibly. It was bucked behind her short red hair, rather tightly, pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She didn't understand the ball-gag, but cried anyway because she didn't like it, and it hurt. And she couldn't get it out.

The man told her to sit quietly on the floor and he left the room. He came back about ten minutes later, she crying and pleading with her eyes, and she nodded when he asked her to promise not to talk any more.

He took out the gag and she breathed, wiping her mouth on her shoulder where her spit had come out, she not being able to swallow with her mouth held open. He produced a handkerchief and wiped up the spittle, smiled, and left again.

She waited. And waited. She tried to free her arms. At least it didn't hurt nearly as bad as it had when .. when.... that mean boy ... she cried a little more, not wanting to remember it.

It was cold. Her little nipples were hard. She knew about that, never having enough to wear in the winter time. The red-headed-step-child.

After about an hour she stood up, easily, much more easily than she had imagined. It was simply a matter of getting to her knees and pushing first one leg then the other. Still naked, hands and arms behind her, she walked around a bit. She was not bleeding any more. She was clean. But she was naked and cold and she wanted her hands back.

The door was not locked. She waited. She tested it. She walked into a hallway. There was a window at the other end. It was morning.

She carefully walked down the hall. She would say she was looking for the bathroom. No one was there. She looked out the window. Woods. Not thick ones, and most of the leaves were gone, the many skinny trees (and an occasional big tree) over fairly flat terrain.

She went to another door in the hallway. Locked. Another. It opened. She carefully peered inside. It was the room she was in last night, the very small one. The one where Amy took her shirt and shoes. She tiptoed into the room and to the door. It was locked, but she could reach the lever that unlocked the deadbolt. She opened the door.

Tire tracks. Many of them. Which had been Lakisha's car? It didn't matter. She stepped outside. She couldn't run away, not like this.

No clothes No shoes No money No hands!

She was also sure that a piece of rock wouldn't cut through the thick plastic of the nasty things that held her arms helpless. She was frustrated to anger. How could anyone do this?

She couldn't run away. She'd never get far.

No clothes, naked No shoes, barefoot No money or purse or anything. Hands fastened behind her, and she wasn't going to get them free without help.

She ran.

* * *

It was nearly noon. She'd been gone for several hours, she guessed. It was a cloudy, overcast day. She had no idea where she was, but guessed that if she kept going in one direction, there would be a better chance of escape. Even if she died out here, of starvation or cold or whatever, she wanted to be far away from that place.

Then she thought the men might have just allowed her to leave, maybe out of cruelty, maybe because they'd hunt her down and shoot her like ... like a deer.

She was hungry and cold and her feet hurt and her arms and shoulders hurt and even her fingers were getting numb again. She kept going. She managed to avoid all but a few scratches on her thighs and legs, and as far as she could see there was no one else.

Then she heard it. Again. She froze, squatting as if it would hide her pale-skinned body and short red hair. Something moving. A deer? Another animal? Or those terrible men? She almost held her breath, then almost gave herself away gasping.

Voices. Men's voices. Coming from over there. Not too far away. She looked around for a hiding place, found none, and then began running, naked, arms behind her, sobbing, tears blurring her vision a bit, trying not to fall like the silly girls and women in the movies who ALWAYS fall at least once when being chased.

She ran, slim body moving this way and that, occasionally vocalizing surprise or pain at a stick or rock that particularly hurt. Still she ran.

After she could go no more, she fell into a pile of dead leaves. They itched her body and she couldn't scratch. She was sweaty now, despite the cold, but still shivered. Her nipples were very sensitive. Even when she ran, though her breasts were small and firm, she could feel them shake around and jiggle and it was beginning to get quite uncomfortable.

She had a couple of cuts on one foot. She panted and rested. She couldn't hear the voices.

She recalled, laying on her side, arms behind her, tears still flowing, chest cramping, shoulders aching, some conversations. She calmed herself by trying to remember and organize her thoughts along several subjects.

She remembered the talk among kids, a couple of years ago, about foster parents, how all they wanted was slave labor, about how they just wanted the money to take care of the children instead of working real jobs. That they'd never permanantly adopt children. She of course knew this was not always true. She'd met one boy who was a foster son who was adopted by loving parents. He told her of others.

She remembered that she was soon to be sent to another foster home. She remembered the news story some months ago, while reading in front of the TV, about foster parents who smoke. Too much of a health risk for children, secondhand smoke is worse than smoking. She didn't believe it, but then she hated the smell of Anne's cigarettes and John's cigarettes and cigars. It made her cough. Especially when John blew it right in her face. Yuk.

And the conversation Amy had with Lakisha. Amy could stay, Mary Ann would have to leave. Apparently the law allowed you to poison your own children with smoking, but not a foster kid. Hess's would not give up their cigarettes even to keep Mary Ann and the state money they got each month.

No where to go, really.

She didn't want to go back there, anyway. Even if she could get her hands free and find something to wear.

She'd been ... raped.

She cried at the thought, cried because now she was a raped girl. She didn't care about not being a virgin anymore. After all, Amy wasn't a virgin. And the raping was over, the boy really not hurting her too bad.

But still, she was a raped girl, and anyone who found out about that would not like her. They'd treat her ... like a red-headed-step-child. She'd rather be a whore than raped.

But she wasn't going to let those men, who GAVE her to a boy, sell her to another man. Bad enough that a boy got a birthday presnt and Amy got money ... no one else was going to get money for her!

Where were the voices? Did they go off in another direction? Did they not hear her? Did she outrun them? (Not likely.) Or maybe they were playing with her.

She decided to cry for five more minutes. And after five minutes, she got up, stumbling a bit, and began to walk quickly in more or less the same direction she was going, knowing she'd be at the complete mercy of the first man, woman, boy, or girl she encountered.

She hoped it would be a woman.

* * *

It was getting dark. Mary Ann was itchy, scratched up just a bit, quite dirty, still naked, and her wrists were still crossed at the small of her back, her elbows held back about five inches apart. She was chilling now as the sun was going down.

She looked down at her slender body, very slim, just some shape and curves on her hips and butt, flat tummy in front with a small "innie" navel, her breasts the size of a softball cut in half and pressed to each side of her chest in front. Her nipples ached. Her skin crawled and itched. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears. Her short red hair had a few twigs and even a briar or two in it.

She'd walk til she could not see any more, then sit down. She would have given anything, if she'd had it, to have her arms free, to hug herself, scratch her skin, or gather up a pile of leaves to sleep on.

There was not so much as a piece of litter or a cigarette butt in these woods. She had no idea where she might be.

Her cunny itched, too. Even though she washed afterwards, it still itched. And she couldn't wipe it after she peed. Fortunately, she hadn't had to "do number two", as she was sure she couldn't wipe herself with her arms restricted.

She didn't really ever get to sleep, but after dark, she found a larger tree and kicked some leaves toward it and lay down on the scratchy stuff and tried to rest. She squirmed a bit more with her hands but didn't want to cut her wrists on the damned plastic stuff... she could not afford more injuries.

* * *

Mary Ann alternately wept, slept, cried, tried to get loose, tried to scratch, and listened to her stomach growl (she'd only had that part of a peanut-butter sandwich yesterday and a little water later) and she knew she'd have to go to the bathroom soon, dreading it. And a couple of times she was sure a small animal was inspecting her quite closely.

Once she looked up and there was some daylight, shining through the mostly-bare branches through some clouds. It looked like rain. She got up, too tired to cry, determined not to be caught by the men she was sure were following.

She staggered on, driven only by determination. She didn't even curse the sky when it began to drizzle cold rain on her, and, her teeth chattering, she went on for another hour or two until she collapsed, put her back against a tree, and passed out.

She awoke some time later, she didn't know when. Still daylight, but with the clouds & rain she'd have no idea as to the time. And she smelled ... food!

She looked up, her eyes bright for the first time in 2 days. Her fingers were numb. She turned this way and that and saw something that made her heart leap.

There was a small fire burning, surrounded by dirt & rocks, probably to prevent spreading of the fire. Beyond that was a green thing, rectangular, a tent. A little tent set up. She slowly managed to get to her feet, groaning in the rain ... and stepped a little closer to the fire.

As she rounded the tree, there sat a figure. Oh, no, not one of those men! But she saw that this man was different, with dark hair and no moustache or beard. He wore a western-type hat, gray in color, and a gray jacket and gray pants and black boots. He was sitting in the drizzling rain, with some object in his hand from which he tore pieces and stuffed them into his mouth. She moved a bit closer. She could smell his coffee.

The man heard her, looked around. He appeared to be, well, surprised by what he saw, but didn't make a move toward her. He just tore another piece of the food from the larger piece and stuck it into his mouth.

The girl made no attempt to cover her nakedness. Her eyes were fixed on the food.

She stepped closer. He glanced at her, looking her over without staring at her.

She got closer still, dropped to her knees, staring at the food, which appeared to be a big flat piece of bread.

Then the man did something unexpected. Had MaryAnn been a little less befuddled, she might have expected him to get up and question the situation, or grab her and feel her body, or throw a blanket or something over her.

Instead, he tore off another strip of the bread and held it out toward her.

And she leaned foreward and took it in her mouth, sat back, and chewed it. She would have stuffed it into her mouth had she been able to use her hands. He was still eating when she swallowed the last bit and stared at him some more, between his eyes and the diminishing food supply.

He offered her another piece. She took it. She ate it. She scooted closer. He placed a canteen to her lips and she swallowed, once, twice, three times, and he lifted it away.

Finally, after another bite of bread and another sip of the water, she spoke.

"Um, uh, please? Please? Can you ... can you help me?"

The man didn't speak. He glanced over at her.

"P-please, sir, I'm ... I'm ... I got captured and I got away but ... I can't move my arms! Please?"

The girl spoke a little more now, a little louder, turning to show the man the cruel things which held her arms.

"Who captured you?"

"Two men. I don't know. They ... they ... they ..." she faltered, not wanting to tell the whole story, at least not now, about her foster sister, the birthday boy.

"... they were going to sell me. For money."

And the girl broke down crying, the man's arms around her, holding her, kissing her hair and cheek, picking stuff out of her hair. Her arms were freed, aching, but somehow holding onto him as if he might leave her. She felt herself carried to the tent, placed inside, and she babbled on about everything from the foster home, the smoking ban, her sister, the rape, the bath, the bondage, the escape.

* * *

She woke up in the tent, naked, but clean. A couple of band-aids on her thighs. Her feet with some cream on them. Her hair brushed out. Her face washed, her body washed ... and her arms untied!

She sat up. The tent was larger looking on the inside, more octagonal, with a higher middle. A sleeping bag was under her. One hand went to her cunny, another across her small breasts, as she realized the man was there with her. He was holding a big bottle of liquid, from which he allowed her to drink greedily.

"Please save me," she finally said.

"The two men are after you?"

"Yes," she began to cry, "and I don't have anywhere to go. Please, can I come with you? I'll do anything."

She began to kneel up. "I'll do anything. I'll work for you. I don't eat much, see how skinny I am? I can work real hard. I'll ... even ... not wear any clothes for you."

And she dropped her hand from in front of her body.

"I'll even marry you," she said. "Or even just ... have ... sleep with you. Anything. Just please, don't let them get me."

He held her in his arms again while she cried.

A little later, it now getting dark (as she'd slept most of the day), he gave her some more food, a stew with vegetables and meat, not too much. He let her wash up in a cold stream not far from where they were. He was freshly shaven and his hair nice & fluffy and dry, not very long at all, just over his ears. He might have been thirty.

When she returned, he was standing on the floor of the tent, wearing a pair of pants that looked like green pajama bottoms, from his waist to his ankles. No shirt. She was still naked.

"Can I have something to wear?" she asked.

"I thought you said you'd stay naked."

"Then you'll save me?"

"Yes"

She ran into his arms. He was slender, not like Mr Hess who had a beer-belly; the man in gray had defined abdominal muscles and chest muscles and muscles in his arms and back. He looked like a sportsman or one of those guys from the ninja cartoons. She didn't mind at all that her small boobies were pressed against his chest. She didn't object when he climbed into the sleeping bag and invited her to join him. She cuddled up to him and he wrapped his arms around her and she slept, for the first time in a long time, warm and safe.

* * *

Mary Ann was in the house, naked. She'd just dried and put away the breakfast dishes. The scratch marks on her pale skin were gone. Her red hair was clean and fluffy. She walked up the stairs and into the man's study-room.

The news was on. Not much on the disappearance of Mary Ann, the foster girl who disappeared the day before her sister Amy Hess, also missing. John Hess was being investigated; apparently he was arrested for drunk driving the night Mary Ann disappeared. Police suspected his involvement.

Mary Ann smiled, thinking about Amy, who, the news reports were saying, never came home that night. No mention of Lakisha. Apparently no one had made the connection, and the girl certainly wasn't offering anything.

"I'm ready, Master," she said.

"Preceed me. I'll be there in a minute."

She walked into the next room, a room that had at one time been a bedroom. She got out the collar and chains. She fastened the collar about her slim neck, chain hanging down in the back. It went almost to the small of her back. She reached behind her and locked her wrists in the cuffs, not hesitating at all. She rendered herself naked and helpless for her Master.

The man came in, shirtless, wearing black jeans and black boots. She smiled. She loved to look at him when he had his shirt off. As he approached, she ran to him and kissed his chest and belly and his chest again. She declared her love for him.

And he lay her on the bed.

"Why are you chained up, my pet?"

"Cause I did it to myself," she answered.

"Why are you naked?"

"I took off my clothes for you," she said.

He nuzzled and nibbled and kissed her entire body: her tummy, breasts, waist, buttocks, thighs, and yes even her cunny. She moaned ... she wanted him inside her again. But she couldn't put her arms around him, to hold him to her. She depended on him to shower her with affection, which he did for over an hour before mounting her and fucking her to two orgasms.

When he unlocked the chains, she begged him to take her to bed tonight, tied up. And she slept, wrists bound behind her, ankles tied, naked, in his arms.

* * *

In the basement of the house, in a room that might have been a storage room at one time, stood a fourteen-year-old girl. Her dark hair had been cropped very short, almost like a boy's. She was thinner now than she had been two months ago. She shivered because she was naked.

She would like to have slept on the floor, but her wrists were held behind her in handcuffs. Her arms were pulled back and locked together at the elbows by handcuffs on her arms. The cuff chains were bound securely to a metal pole, the knots where her fingers could not reach.

Her pubic hair had been shaved. Her ankles and knees were strapped to the pole. She must remain standing for the entire night. Her shoulders ached. Her nipples were aching from being erect in the cold basement air for hours. Her thighs and legs ached from being chased around, handcuffed, for hours with a rod with some kind of shocking device on it. Her feet were cold, as the cold tile floor sucked the heat from her soles.

And about every ten minutes, cold water would shower down on her, making her shiver and cry even more. The water would fall for a minute or two, then stop, and trickle down the floor drain, and about 10 minutes later start up again. It was like stepping out of the shower spray and getting cold and having to get back in the spray again. Only this was a cold shower.

She wondered how much money Mary Ann would get for her.