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From: worthlesspainslut@hotmail.com (e. wolf)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 30 Dec 2001 17:11:31 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Jazz's Toys Part Eleven: Dexter (Mm/f, nc rape torture kidnap)
Date: Sun, 30 Dec 2001 22:10:05 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Disclaimer: Never, ever do this shit. It's illegal & immoral. So
don't.

Jazz's Toys Part Eleven: Dexter (Mm/f, nc rape torture)
by e. wolf

Jazz had been watching the young gas station attendant for more than
twenty minutes, pretending to flip through a skin magazine as he
surreptitiously stared out the window.
The kid was sixteen, maybe, tall and broad-shouldered with a hard look
on his face, pumping gas in the cold drizzle. The plastic tag on his
shirt said his name was Dexter.
After a few minutes Jazz paid for his gas, then moved his car across
the street to sit and watch until young Dexter got off work.
It was nearly dark as Jazz followed the kid away from the service
station, driving behind him slowly, to a swanky neighbourhood with
three-car garages and yuppies on lawn tractors. Jazz pulled the car up
alongside the kid and rolled down his window.
"Hey, Dexter," he called. "Whyn'cha come here a second?"
The kid looked up, startled, not remotely aware he was being followed.
He gave Jazz's rusty old car a critical once-over, sneered a little.
"Why the hell should I?" he shot back.
"I think we should talk," Jazz told him. "We could go someplace for a
burger and talk or something. Just step a little closer. Come on, now.
Let me get a good look at you."
The kid squinted at the hulking skinhead leaning out the window of the
massive car and suddenly his pale grey eyes grew wide.
"Who are you, anyway?" he said, his voice a near whisper. He stared at
the stranger - although he didn't look so strange now. Add some hair,
take twenty-five years or so from the man's face, and it was like
looking at himself in a mirror.
"Well, see, that's a good question," Jazz told him, a look of
incredulity on his own face. "I think I may be your father."

Fifteen more minutes and they were hunched over coffee at some local
dive, young Dexter pouring out his life story: his real mom was a
babbling idiot in some mental institution, his adoptive parents
religious fanatics who wouldn't let him out past ten o'clock, even on
weekends.
"They found my mom wandering in the woods in these skanky high heels.
I guess she was some kind of hooker or something, but she'd been beat
up and she didn't even know her name. So the local nursing home took
her in and then they found out she was pregnant with me. So these
total hosebags from the church offered to take me in, you know, the
whore's little bastard. They never stop reminding me I'm some kind of
charity case."
Jazz looked the boy over thoughtfully. He'd been in this area once
before, years ago, and dumped a well-used cunt in the woods outside of
town. She'd been a real highbrow cunt, all high and mighty in her red
four-inch heels. They were all he'd left her with, her spirit broken
and her body a mass of bruises and dripping with the cum of two
hundred men. How strange that of all that seed, it was Jazz's that had
taken root in the soil of her womb. There could be no doubt about it,
he thought - the line of the boy's jaw, the crease between his cold
grey eyes.
He smiled at his son.
"You could come with me," he said. "You know, if you're not happy
here. I could teach you the family business, as it were."
Dexter looked skeptical.
"You're in business?" 
"Yeah. It's a great one, too," Jazz said with a wicked grin. 
"What is it, drugs?"
"Even better," Jazz said. He leaned way over the table, leaned in
confidentially to whisper in Dexter's ear. "I fuck up cunts like your
mother."
The boy reared back, shoved away from Jazz.
"What? What's the matter with you? You're a sick bastard."
Jazz shrugged.
"What do you care about that bitch for? You said yourself, you never
even met her."
That disarmed Dexter somewhat, and he stammered and sputtered before
coming up with a reply.
"Well, yeah, but that's no reason to ... it doesn't make it right to
..."
"Oh come on." Jazz's voice was soft, even. "Surely you know that's
what they're there for. You don't buy all this women's liberation
shit, do you? What's the problem, did those assholes cut off your
balls when they adopted you?"
Dexter scowled, insulted.
"No."
"Well, then, you do know what your dick's for, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Fine, then, what is it?"
"It's for, you know, pissing and, um, having sex."
"Fucking, my boy. It's for fucking. Your cock is there for fucking,
and women are there to be fucked. They've got three holes for sticking
your cock in and a whole mass of flesh there to be tortured in
between. Tell me, Dexter, do you have a girlfriend?"
"Uh, kind of. We're not really, um, serious."
"Does she spread for you?"
"What? Oh, no."
"Suck you off?"
"No. She says she wants to wait."
Jazz laughed. "Wait until what? Until you're married?"
"I guess."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You're what,
sixteen years old?"
"Nearly seventeen," Dexter said defensively.
"Either way, you still don't want to marry this girl, do you?"
"Probably not."
"So why not find a girl you can get your dick into?"
Dexter shrugged.
"Maybe I want to get my dick into this one."
"So why don't you?"
"I told you, she won't let me."
Jazz grinned.
"She won't let you." He laughed. "Dexter, what if I told you I can
teach you how to get your dick into any cunt you want to? What would
you say to that?"
Dexter tried to look unimpressed but failed, his pale grey eyes
gleaming.
"I'd say that's pretty cool," he said.
"Great." Jazz pulled out his wallet, which was thick with twenties and
fifty-dollar bills. He found a ten, threw it on the table to pay for
the coffee. "Let's pay your girlfriend a little visit."

They picked her up at her house, where Dexter introduced her to Jazz
with a reverent, "Karen, this is my real dad."
She was a cute little thing, four-ten and maybe ninety-five pounds
with a shock of flaming red hair and tiny, wire-framed glasses that
made her look like a poster child for Bible camp. She looked about
twelve but Dexter said she was older than he was - seventeen and a
half.
She looked Jazz over like he was some kind of zoo exhibit, scanning
his muscles, his tattoos.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. ..."
"Just call me Jazz," he said, shaking her hand. It was more like he
shook half her forearm, really, and she shrunk away from him a little
as he gave her a lecherous grin.
"You want to go for a ride with us?" Dexter said. "I was just gonna,
um, show him around a little."
"Ah, are you staying in town for a while?" Karen said. 
"We'll see," Jazz said. "Before we do anything, though, I want to stop
by the place I'm staying and pick up one or two things."
They piled into his car, Karen in the backseat, and Jazz drove them to
a cottage forty-five minutes out of town. He'd rented the place with
the notion of picking up a local girl and working her over for a day
or two, but this was working out much differently - and better - than
he'd expected.
The place was way out in the woods, a good ten-minute drive off the
main road and another ten minutes walk to get to the ramshackle old
structure.
"You're staying out here?" Karen wrinkled her nose. Jazz nodded and
unlocked the door. He'd already spent a few hours fixing the place up
a little, adding some accoutrements that would make playing with his
new toy even more fun than it would have been ordinarily. They stood
in a small entranceway with three doors - one that led to a tiny
bathroom, just a chemical toilet, a sink and a shower stall - one that
led to a bedroom and one that led into the kitchen/living area. It was
this room where Jazz would be giving Dexter his first lesson in Sadism
101.
"I'm on vacation," Jazz said truthfully. "Just getting a little rest
and relaxation in, and I thought I'd stop by and pay Dexter here a
visit."
"Wow. That's so cool that you're his dad. I mean, I always knew he was
adopted but I thought nobody knew who his dad was. It has to be you,
though, I mean you look exactly alike. Even, like, your mannerisms and
everything ... the way you use your hands when you talk, everything.
You're so much alike."
"That's right," Jazz said. "And we're about to add a new dimension to
our family resemblances." He slid the door shut, padlocked it from the
inside so Karen wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. She cocked her head
to one side, still oblivious to the fact that things were about to get
very unpleasant for her.
"What'd you do that for?" she said, puzzled. "Aren't we just picking
up some stuff and going for a drive?"
"I don't think so," Jazz said. "I think me and Dexter can do some much
more exciting sightseeing right here. Son, let's go in the kitchen."
Effortlessly Dexter lifted the tiny girl and tucked her under his arm.
He and Jazz had discussed the plan of action before they'd picked up
Karen at her house, but now that it was actually happening, Dexter's
heart was racing.  He'd never wanted to admit his fantasies before -
always known they were evil, wrong. His entire life, every little step
he'd taken out of line, his adoptive parents had blamed it on his
unknown father and his vegetable of a birth mother. But here was his
father, his REAL father, telling him the urges and daydreams he'd had
were his birthright, his role in life. His cock throbbed in his
polyester gas-station uniform as he dumped his still-shocked
girlfriend onto the big butcher-block table that took up most of the
kitchen. As she saw Jazz and Dexter grinning at her, Karen suddenly
realized something was very wrong and began to struggle. It was too
late, though, as Dexter grabbed her left leg and tugged it sharply
toward the corner of the table, catching her ankle in a cuff that Jazz
had securely fastened to the table leg. Jazz took care of her right
leg, then her flailing arms, as Dexter stood amazed at his father's
skill.
"Wow, you really do this all the time, don't you?" he whispered.
"Let me show you something, son," Jazz said, removing his vest to
expose his tattoo-covered torso. It looked, really, like he was
wearing a tight-fitting shirt with some intricate design. Every square
inch of flesh was covered, from his waist to his neck, down his arms
to his wrists. He unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them, too. The
tattoos continued right down his legs, completely covering one thigh
and snaking halfway down the other. At first glance they just looked
like a mishmash of random designs, but at closer inspection it became
apparent they were some sort of intricate record-keeping system. There
were hundreds, thousands of tiny pictures intermingled with intricate
calligraphy - names, dates, places, seemingly random words. Jazz
pointed to a tiny square on his right flank, a pair of red high heeled
shoes labelled `Rich cunt, Sully's.'
"That was your mother," he told Dexter. "I've got a tattoo for every
cunt I've used. I lost count years ago, but if I look at any spot on
my body I can remember every last detail of the cunt it represents."
He took a step toward Karen, whose eyes flitted across his body to the
huge organ between Jazz's legs, his large, still-flaccid cock flapping
against his enormous ballsack. It was the only spot on him that wasn't
tattooed, it seemed, and as he approached her she could see it
beginning to twitch.
"Ever see one of these before, honey?" he said, stroking her long red
hair as she began to cry. He stopped right at her head, his cock
hanging at eye-level for the bound girl. "Dexter says you won't let
him show you his. Is that true, Karen?"
"P-please, don't do this. I don't want any trouble. I don't want
Dexter to get in trouble. Please take me home now."
"But I can't take you home now," Jazz said with a smile. "How is poor
Dexter going to learn the birds and the bees if you won't give him any
practical experience?"
He began to tug at the girl's clothing then, her conservative silk
blouse, the wool skirt she'd been planning to wear to her choir
practice that evening. He exposed her bra, opened the front clasp to
reveal her barely-there tits.
"Dexter, why don't you suck on this cunt's tits for a while?" he said.
"I'm gonna go take a piss."
Jazz went into the bathroom, but he didn't have to use it. He just
wanted to find out what young Dexter was made of, whether he'd chicken
out the moment Jazz left the room.
Sure enough, as soon as Jazz had stepped out the door the girl started
begging him.
"Dexter, come on, untie me. Please, you can't let him do this to me."
"Why not?" Dexter said. "My dad says this is your place. He says you
were born to be a cunt. Besides, I like the way you look right now.
All stretched out like that." He reached down to play with her tits,
running his hands over her belly, leaning down to kiss it gently. He'd
never seen her in anything more revealing than a conservative
one-piece bathing suit, and the soft curve of her stomach, the fine
coating of white-blond peach fuzz over her skin brushing against his
lips, nearly made him cum in his pants.
Jazz stepped back into the room to see his son eagerly kissing his way
down the girl's belly to the waistband of her skirt, sliding his hand
up from beneath to bunch Karen's modest skirt under her ass.
"Good boy," he said, treading naked back into the room. "Now let's see
what this little cock-teaser's cunt looks like.
Dexter gawked. He'd always been pretty pleased with the size of his
cock, which earned him hearty back-slaps and congratulations in the
locker room after football practice. But it was nothing compared to
his father's, which, now fully erect, jutted out from his belly like a
baseball bat.
Jazz lifted the girl's skirt all the way up, revealing pink cotton
panties with little blue flowers all over them. Nice-girl panties. He
ran his finger along the crotch with a lick of his lips.
"There's nothing sweeter than virgin pussy," he told Dexter. "I've got
quite a taste for it myself, but I'll leave this one to you. I'd hate
to deprive you two lovebirds of your first time together."
With that he gripped the waistband of Karen's panties in one hand and
tore them off her body. She shrieked, suddenly aware of exactly how
much danger she was in.
"Please! No! Anything! I'm not like those other ... girls you've hurt,
please, I'm going to Bible school in the fall, I have to be a virgin,
please!"
Jazz ignored her cries, stroking the soft white-blond hair of the
girl's pussy. Dexter scrambled to remove his clothes, dropping them in
a heap on the dusty wooden floor of the isolated cabin.
"I've wanted this for a long time, Karen," he said with a grin. "See,
this is what you get for being a tight cooze."
He climbed up on the table stroking his cock. Thick and uncircumsized,
it was certainly a respectable enough size, and would likely be a very
tight fit for the poor girl.
It was obvious the boy had never done this before, as he blindly
jabbed his hard-on toward the girl's crotch. She was clamped shut, of
course, and Jazz reached down between her legs to spread her cunt lips
open.
"You know what, honey? This is going to hurt a lot either way, but
it'll hurt a lot less if you try to relax while Dexter's fucking you.
Who knows, you might even enjoy it."
Karen sobbed, hatred searing from her eyes as she stared back up at
her molester. She felt Dexter's hands on her thighs, one of Jazz's
between her legs, his other kneading her small breasts. He leaned down
to kiss her, his face pressing her head back against the surface of
the table. Dexter's cock inched into her, feeling like a thick, dry
cable tearing into her vagina. Cunt, she corrected herself inwardly.
She wasn't a person, her body parts didn't have proper names. She was
just `cunt' to him. And now he was teaching Dexter to think of her
that way, too.
Dexter grunted with the effort of getting his cock into Karen, feeling
her flesh tearing, giving millimetre by millimetre until finally he
felt his journey getting easier. His cock was oozing precum, and that
combined with the blood from his girlfriend's torn innocence was
lubricating his path. He gasped and moaned with satisfaction as he
sank into her right to the hilt, his swollen balls slapping against
Karen's spread asshole as he began to fuck her with vigor.
Jazz smiled as he listened to the girl keening and moaning, his own
hard cock dripping pre-cum. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer
and he climbed aboard himself, straddling young Karen's chest.
"Please stop, ow, it hurts, I can't breathe, please get off!" she
gasped as he set his weight down on her, feeling her small firm tits
against the cheeks of his ass. He ground his ass into her harder,
making her strain for air.
"I'm not gonna get off you, little cuntlet," he said with a grin. "I'm
giving you my cock. You should be grateful." He stroked his massive
organ with his fingers, and Karen gaped at it. Jazz reached down and
gently removed her glasses. He set them on the table beside her head.
"I'd hate for these to get broken while you're sucking my cock," he
said.
Karen's lower lip trembled. 
"Please, no. I can't put that in my mouth, it's disgusting."
Jazz slapped her lightly - well, lightly for him, at any rate. He hit
her hard enough to leave a red handprint across her cheek.
"You should never tell a man you don't like his cock, darling. Now
start licking. Pretend it's a popsicle. Go on."
Karen's tongue snaked reluctantly out of her mouth and she touched it
to the tip of Jazz's penis. The taste of the precum wasn't as horrible
as she'd expected - a little salty, a little slimy, but not
unbearable. But the utter humiliation of what she was doing
overwhelmed her, and she sobbed and moaned as she licked the head of
Jazz's thick hard cock. He slid forward to slide the head into her
throat, his hand snaking down to wrap around her throat.
Dexter didn't take long to spurt his load of cum deep inside Karen's
tight cunt, a look of rapture on his face.
Jazz didn't take much longer himself - the girl's technique was
certainly not developed, but thanks to Jazz's weight on her chest and
his hand gently squeezing her airway, she was definitely enthusiastic
about her task. He sprayed his cum all over her face, and she coughed
and sputtered as it blocked her nostrils and dripped into her throat.
Jazz climbed off her and turned to face Dexter, who was slumped
between Karen's legs, momentarily out of steam.
"How was that, son?" he said with a grin. "Worth the wait?"
Dexter looked up, smiled.
"Definitely," he said. "I want to do it again."
Jazz laughed, ruffled Dexter's hair.
"Excellent. All in good time. First I've got other plans for this
cunt, though."
Karen began to tremble and sob as Jazz released her from the table.
Out of her mind with panic, she began to cling to him, begging him to
let her go.
"Oh, honey, we can't let you go yet," Jazz said, stroking her hair. He
smiled gently, kissed her forehead, then lay her back on the table.
"We're not finished hurting you yet."
Jazz opened one of the kitchen cupboards and brought out a huge coil
of jute rope.
"Karen, stand in the middle of the floor, please. Hands at your
sides."
Karen was bewildered, terrified. She had climbed down off the table
before it had even occurred to her to refuse. By the time the notion
hit her, it was too late. Jazz had knotted the rope securely around
her ankles and was beginning to wind it in tight spirals up her closed
legs, binding them tightly together. In the same way he bound her arms
to her side, continuing up to her shoulders before knotting the rope
at her neck.
"I have a little treat set up for you in the bedroom, Dexter," he
said, lifting Karen and carrying her into the other room. Dexter
followed along behind, his brow furrowed in puzzlement at the
apparatus that was waiting for them.
There were two chains hanging down from a beam in the ceiling, one
longer than the other, each with a hook at the end. Jazz had fastened
them securely when he'd checked into the cottage.
"These will hold my weight, Karen," he told her. "I tested them
earlier today. So you don't need to worry about falling from the
ceiling or anything. You just need to worry about how much it's going
to hurt when Dexter and I whip you."
She really started to squall at that, struggling so hard in her tight
bonds that she would have toppled over if Dexter hadn't grabbed her
shoulders to steady her.
"You can't do that! Why do you want to whip me? I haven't done
anything to you - you've already raped me, isn't that enough?"
"Oh, Karen, baby, it's not nearly enough." Jazz's lips brushed the
girl's neck as he leaned in to whisper to her. "You're a cock-teasing
little cumhole. You deserve everything we're gonna give you and more.
Now, Dexter, come on and help me hang this slut up."
They fastened the hooks to the ropes binding Karen, leaving her
dangling helplessly at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, her
feet near the ceiling and her head hanging down, her long red hair
sticking to the dried cum on her face.
"Let's gag this slut for this next lesson. I don't want my eardrums
pierced with her screaming."
He pulled a ball gag from the knapsack he'd tossed on the bed earlier,
gripping Karen's jaw in his fingers and forcing it open far enough to
jam the huge gag into her mouth. He fastened it around the back of her
head, leaving her mute and helpless. With her hair flopping down over
her face like that, she wasn't able to look and see what Jazz took out
of his bag next.
"Why don't you start with this," he said to Dexter, handing him what
looked like a bundle of leather strings held together with a braided
handle. "I've left her tits and ass nicely exposed. Now, a cunt
whipping is nice and fun, too, but obviously in this position that's
impossible. If you like we can tie her to the bed later and give that
a try."
"Yes, Sir," Dexter said, thrilled. He could already feel his cock
beginning to come back to life after his first fuck.
Jazz himself chose a nice single-tailed dog whip for his first
implement, and he showed Dexter how to raise a nice welt with it.
Karen squealed through her gag as the whip came down across the backs
of her thighs. She thrashed in mid-air, looking very much like a fish
on the line as Dexter raised his cat o'nine tails and brought it down
across her shoulder blades. They worked up a rhythm, the two of them,
overhand and underhand so they could redden her up nicely both above
and below.
After a half-hour or so of that, Jazz went back to his bag and pulled
out new instruments - a heavy leather strap for himself and a
ping-pong paddle drilled with several holes for Dexter.
"That cuts down on the wind resistance," Jazz explained. "Makes it
hurt a whole lot more."
Dexter swished it through the air, testing it with a grin. His cock
was definitely returning to life now, twitching like a divining rod as
he brought the paddle down across his girlfriend's dangling, exposed
body. It made a satisfying THWAP as it welted her already red skin,
leaving what would become polka-dot bruises.
Jazz brandished the leather strap.
"I have a bigger version of this one at home," he said. "But it's more
designed for breaking bones than just leaving marks. I think it would
snap this little slut in half if I used it on her."
"Don't break her in half, Dad," Dexter said with a wicked grin that
looked astonishingly like Jazz's. "I want her to be all in one piece
when I fuck her again. Hurting, but in one piece."
"Atta boy," Jazz told him. He brought the strap up across her belly,
so hard he nearly dislodged her from the hooks. Karen writhed in her
bonds, a string of drool hanging down from her mouth. Dexter
concentrated on her ass and her small tits with the paddle, leaving
bruises and blood blisters as he slapped her for another half-hour or
so.
Finally Jazz held up his hand for Dexter to stop. Karen dangled limp,
exhausted in her bonds.
"I think she's had enough for now," he said. "We'll give her a little
rest and continue a little later."
Dexter looked crestfallen, his erection jutting out at a right angle
to his body.
"Can't I just fuck her before we let her rest?" he said.
Jazz laughed.
"Now, how could I say no to that perfectly reasonable request?" He
unwound the ropes that held Karen with her arms pinned tightly to her
sides and put her on her knees on the bed. "Bend over, bitch. Doggy
style. Show Dexter your little asshole. Give him a nice tight cherry
to pop, there."
Jazz handed Dexter a tube of K-Y. "Here, put this on your cock. You
want to hurt her, not you."
Dexter eagerly knelt behind the girl and lined his cock up with her
last virgin hole. Despite the lubricant it was a tight fit, and the
still-gagged Karen was unable to do anything more than whine as Dexter
began to fuck her ass.
Jazz lay on the bed beside Karen and removed her gag. She was bawling,
beyond words, but quieted down enough to watch him nervously as he
leaned in toward her. He stroked her hair, brushed it from her face,
kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as his son fucked
her in the ass.
Dexter was in her a long time, his balls slapping against the girl's
sloppy cunt. Finally he pulled out, spewing his cum across Karen's
back, using his shit-streaked cock to smear it into her skin.
Jazz pulled away from the girl, stood up.
"Look at yourself, you disgusting whore. You're covered in cum, you
slut." He picked her up by the hair, shoved her toward the bathroom.
"Go clean yourself up. You have ten minutes. There's soap in the
shower stall."
He smiled at Dexter as the girl disappeared into the bathroom,
stretched his six-foot-five inch frame across the width of the bed.
"So, Dexter," he said, grinning. "Am I still a sick monster?"
Dexter grinned right back. 
"I guess that makes me one, too, doesn't it?" he said. 
When Karen emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later her bruised,
reddened skin looked like it had been scrubbed raw. As she walked she
tried to hold her hands in front of her tits and cunt, as if the two
men hadn't already seen plenty of them. Jazz smiled and grabbed her as
she approached, pressing his naked body against hers. She cringed as
she felt his half-hard cock against her belly, his coarse pubic hair
chafing against her welts.
"Do you know what we're going to do to you now, Karen?" he said.
She couldn't talk as he held her in a bear-hug, just managed to shake
her head a little, no.
"Dexter, what are we going to do to this slut now, do you think?"
"We're gonna hurt her some more," he said happily.

They used her the rest of the afternoon and well into the night, tying
her spreadeagle to the bed and whipping her pussy with a belt until it
had swollen nearly shut. Then each of the men fucked her again - her
cunt, her ass - and forced her to clean their cocks with her tongue.
Finally they collapsed atop her on the bed, and she lay all night
beneath them, crushed, sore. Jazz rolled over in his sleep and jammed
two fingers up into her swollen cunt, leaving them there for several
hours. Dexter slept with his hand on her right breast, and he kneaded
it hard as he slept. They even wanted to hurt her in their sleep, she
thought despairingly.
Jazz woke first, and climbed atop her to fuck her lazily. That seemed
to wake him up somewhat, and after he came in her cunt he slid up to
straddle her face again.
"I have to take a piss, slut," he told her. "Open your mouth wide."
Karen obeyed, her face contorted in shame and disgust as the acrid
stream trickled into her mouth. He seemed to take forever to finish,
and she tried not to gag as she swallowed it all down.
"Very good, Karen," he said, leaning down to kiss her mouth again.
"You make a very good toilet."
When Dexter awoke he wanted Karen to suck his cock. Then Jazz took her
asshole again, and then they hung her by her feet from the ceiling to
whip her entire body again.
By the time dusk was settling in that afternoon, Jazz announced it was
time to be hitting the road. "I have a job waiting about five hours
away," he said. "Some rich asshole wants his stepdaughter taught a
lesson."
"And he's PAYING you for that?" Dexter said, incredulous.
"Five grand. Of course, I may have to raise my fees, now that I have
an apprentice."
Dexter grinned. "You want me to come with you?"
"Of course I do."
Dexter glanced at Karen, who was now hogtied on the kitchen table.
"But what about her?"
"Oh, we'll bring her along part of the way. Untie her and leave her
naked somewhere along the road. Most of them seem to make their way
home eventually ... and if they don't, well, I'm sure some nice
trucker or passer-by picks them up and uses them some more. And
really, since that's why these cunts exist, there's no reason to worry
ourselves about it."
Dexter smiled, gave Karen a parting slap on the ass.
"You hear that, you little cock-tease? Maybe if you get home in one
piece you won't hold out so long on your next boyfriend. After all,
what else do you have to lose?"
They left Karen about ten minutes' walk from the next big town, where
she managed to creep through the bushes until she found an old ladies'
housedress hanging on a wash line in a backyard. She managed to get a
ride - not toward home, but as far away from it as she could manage.
Her shame was too great for her to ever face her friends and parents
again.
Of course, since Dexter had suddenly disappeared the same day, Karen's
parents - and Dexter's adopted ones - assumed they were together, that
the no-account bastard they'd never approved of had finally corrupted
their beautiful daughter and persuaded her to run away somewhere.
Karen wound up on the West Coast, selling her body.
Dexter, for his part, took to his new life like the proverbial duck to
water. The night they left Karen naked and squalling by the side of
the road, Jazz drove his son downtown to a seedy bar with a tattoo
parlour upstairs. His first tattoo - right over his left nipple, since
it was such a special occasion - was a small heart labelled "Karen."

End of Pt. 11
Comments/questions etc? let me know: worthlesspainslut@hotmail.com

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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