You might want to first read:

Bethany Dreams — Part 1 of 3

Bethany Dreams — Part 2 of 3  

Mr. Lutz had pulled her up into a sitting position, then dragged a stool over from the workbench, on which he now sat in front of her. He rummaged around in a bag on the floor between his feet.

He started to lift something out of the bag, then changed his mind and set it back down. He straightened up enough to rest his elbows on his knees. "Now, I should explain," he said, "That I only said 'Bethany' earlier to get your attention. It's not really your name, as such."

Beth's brow knotted slightly as she she sat silently, doing her best to stay completely still, since any movement at all tended to trigger reminders of the aching soreness in her bottom.

"You see, ‘Bethany’," Mr. Lutz said, "is the name of some poor girl who's gone missing. She got separated from her friend at the mall after the movie let out. No one has seen her since."

He smiled a new smile at Beth. A smile that seemed genuine, and rather smug. "Her friend is quite distraught, and her friend's parents have been cooperating fully with local law enforcement. But, sadly, she will never again go home."

Beth closed her eyes. She already knew that. But hearing it out loud made her feel very tired, and very heavy.

"The question is," he said, and when she didn't respond he repeated it loudly, "The question is!" Her eyes opened again, but her head fell back, and bumped against the wall.

His voice came back down to a conversational level. "The question is, will they ever find that poor girl’s body?"

Beth just stared at him. He smiled some more, and tilted his head to the side. "Will they find dear Bethany's body? Beaten, strangled, maybe stabbed a few times for good measure? Mangled and mutilated, then dumped in a ditch along the road? In a ditch beside the road that her father drives every day to work?"

Beth wanted to say no. But she found that she couldn't remember how to talk. She tried and just grunted, "Gawnk."

He waited, watching her, and she stared into his eyes and tried again. "Gnot." He smiled, and tilted his head a little more. She swallowed, and the power of speech came back to her, so she said, "No."

"No... what?"

Beth thought for a moment. "No. No they won't find her... body." She dropped her head and stared at the floor between her thighs. What was that dark splotch? Was there a puddle forming there, under her?

"Where?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "What?"

"Where, exactly, is it that they won't find Bethany's naked, mutilated body?"

Beth didn't get the question. What did that matter? If she was dead, what did she care? "In a ditch?"

"And that ditch would be where?" he said, with the rising pitch of someone dealing with a special-needs child, or the extremely elderly.

And Beth understood. "Along the road that Daddy drives to work."

"Drives every day. Yes, indeed," Mr. Lutz said, and reached down into the bag, and lifted out a jar.

Beth dropped her head and looked down at the floor again. Oh, crap, that was a puddle down there. The cum was leaking out of her butt-hole and puddling on the floor. A dead body? She squeezed her legs together so that she couldn't see the floor. She wouldn’t mind being a dead body. But not out where her dad would see her. Every day he'd drive past and know what they'd done to her.

Would the cum keep leaking out of her corpse? Puddling on the road and leaving a white stain, for Daddy to see every day?

A smell cut through her spinning misery. Peanut butter. And her stomach was instantly awake and screaming, and hunger became all she could think about.

She looked up, and Mr. Lutz was leaned forward, pointing his finger into her face. There was a thick smear of peanut butter on the end of it. He wiggled it a little, and said, "Go on. Eat it." She licked a little off, and it was more wonderful than she remembered any food ever being. She put her mouth around his finger and suckled it. The peanut butter flooded her senses, and she found herself working his finger with her tongue to get every last bit of it.

And then, in her enthusiasm, she made a loud slurping sound, and froze at the harsh, tearing sound of it. Her mind snapped back into the core of the nightmare, and she jerked away from him, head banging against the wall, her mouth hanging open. She stared at him.

He just smiled that genuinely smug smile, and brought his hand back close to him. "Clean as a whistle," he said, and ran his finger around inside rim of the jar. He held out another smear of peanut butter to to her, on the tip of his extended finger. She just stared at it, but then a bead of drool formed on the edge of her lip, hung there for a moment, then began to roll down the side of her chin. She slurped and swallowed, shifted her gaze from the finger to his face, but didn’t move.

"It's easier with younger girls," he said, conversationally. "They don't have any idea where it's all leading. But teens like you, well, you get the idea right off the bat, don't you?"

He wiggled the finger. "Come on. If you starve, we can still dump your body in an appropriately unpleasant manner." He waited. She waited.

The smell didn't wait, but instead sidled its way up her nose and wheedled its way into her brain. Her stomach screamed. It smelled so good. She was so tired. So hungry. She dropped her eyes back to the finger, leaned slowly forward and put her mouth on it. She tried to get the peanut butter off as dispassionately as she could, but the only thing that worked were firm sucking motions. She closed her eyes and worked her tongue up and down it.

As she sucked his finger, he kept talking. "The slicks— that’s, like, seven and eight-year-old's? The slicks are the easiest. Old enough that they don't revert to shitting themselves as soon as you stress them, but young enough to be completely consumed with their immediate needs. Not to mention that they’re easier to acquire. No games, just grab and go."

The finger was clean again, so she sagged back against the wall. He admired the completeness of her work, then rimmed out some more peanut butter. "But that's a tough market," he went on, "They don't rent well. Everyone wants to pop the cherry. Pop the damn cherry. But there's only one of those per slick, right? Once it's been popped, the price drops to next to nothing."

He held out his finger again, and Beth gave up fighting, latched onto it with her mouth and sucked and sucked. "And there have never been many buying customers for the slicks. Slicks are a curiosity, a party favor, and you rent those; you don’t buy them."

She'd finished cleaning him off again. He sat back on the stool, and silently considered her for a moment. Then he picked up the lid for the jar, and started to twist it back on. "Nope, teen meat like you is where the market is hot. Always has been, always will be." He put the jar back into the bag. Beth focused on the jar, tracking its movements like a dog watching a visitor eating potato chips.

"Teen meat is useful from every angle and hard to damage so badly you can't keep using it," He put his hands on his knees and stuck his elbows out. He leaned down, like he was confiding in her. "Customer doesn't care that you take three times as long to train. That we've got to put in a goddamn month of back-story to acquire you. That by the time we break you, there may not be anything left but a piece of breeding stock."

He stood up. Looked down at her and shook his head. "You know, meat, I've been doing this for decades. So, take my advice. Forget Bethany. Pretend that poor, missing girl was never even born. Or that she’s still out there, somewhere, living some happy suburban life. She’s off doing her thing, and you? You’re just a dream she had.”

He moved the stool back to the workbench, came back and picked up the bag. “You shared her dreams for a while, and sometimes you confuse them with your own. But those things in your head? Those memories? They belong to Bethany, not you. You’re a piece of meat.”

He walked over to the stairs, but turned back to face her. "You're meat, right? Think of yourself that way. Meat don’t have a name. Doesn’t have memories, doesn’t have dreams. It just does what it’s told to do, doesn’t make trouble, and if behaves properly, it just might get fed a real meal every now and then."

He paused on the bottom step. "Stop fighting it. Any of it. You're going to do every depraved thing you can conceive of, and more, eventually, so why make the trip any longer or more painful than it needs to be? Suck it, lick it, eat it, spread it wide and squeeze it hard. Then forget about it. Let that girl Bethany worry about it, wherever she may be." He stopped sermonizing, and climbed slowly up the stairs slowly, shutting the door behind him.

In the shadows of the cellar the girl let her knees come apart and looked down at the floor. The puddle had stopped growing, and now there was a crust forming around the edges.

She slid over sideways to again lay on her side, and curled back into a tight little ball. She was still hungry. Three smears of peanut butter wasn't enough food. Anywhere near enough food.

What would she do for a whole peanut butter and jelly sandwich? On toasted bread, with butter melted into it? Her stomach growled loudly, then cramped, which somehow yanked on her butt-hole, making it sting, and turned the ache into a burning throb.

Hey, Mr. Lutz, wanna fuck me in the butt for a PB and J? Her butt had already been penetrated and pounded so many times she didn't even know if she'd notice it happening yet again. When all you could poop out was cum, what was one more dick up your butt?

Suck on your dick, Mr. Lutz? Just put some peanut butter on it, first! It'd be just like sucking his finger, right? Well, not entirely, but she could probably think of it that way. Just a different piece of his meat.

I'm meat? she thought. They're meat, too. Meat in my ass, meat in my mouth, and before too long they'll be pushing meat up my pussy. Meaty meat everywhere.

The tight curl of her body loosened a little. The top leg slid off and behind the bottome one. Her breathing slowed down and became more rhythmic. In her mind she saw her bedroom, lit up by morning sunlight. No, wait. She saw Bethany's bedroom. She saw Bethany, smiling, sitting on her bed and sorting her coloring pencils.

She smiled and drifted out of consciousness. Bethany really is a wonderful girl. A happy little girl who once dreamed my dreams. A pretty girl, living in a pretty world, her days filled with playing and laughing.

She's a happy little dream, the dream of some meat.

Bethany Dreams — Part 1 of 3

Bethany Dreams — Part 2 of 3