Twisted Fairy Tales

Twisted Fairy Tales: A Child Sold

Adapted from the story 'The Little Match Girl' from the Broth ers Grimm

Synopsis: What kind of treatment could a little match seller fear that would keep her from going home when night falls in winter?

Codes: M+/f, rape, incest, humiliation, torture, violent, nc

Dear Diary:

Winter is coming. There's a sharp bite to the air that's only present when the winter is on its way, and soon it'll be time for me to stop selling flowers in the marketplace and start selling matches. Father has gone to buy the matches today, and he'll be gone most of the day. I can lie here in the pile of tattered rags I have gleaned from the rubbish heaps about the town for my bed, and try to recover from last night.

Father needed some extra money last night; I don't know what for, he didn't tell me. But he brought six men home with him, and I was to entertain them, as usual. He sent me upstairs to change into my best dress (what for? It will only come off as soon as the men are ready to play) which was a sorry thing of red velvet, and far too tight. It makes me look like a four year old, instead of the ten year old I am. But the daddies like it.

I came down from my garret and greeted the men as my Father has taught me; a deep curtsey and a respectful 'Sir'. They were well into their first cups of the evening, two looked like they were on the second or third, and I knew the night would be bad. Still, I walked around the table with the decanter of wine, filling each cup and paused so they could slip a hand under my skirt to feel my legs and play with the thin cotton covering what Father calls my 'ass' and my 'cunt'. Several of them also took my hand from the flagon of wine and guided it to their laps, making me feel the size of the lollipop that will hurt me so cruelly later. And I had to submit, for if I don't Father would hurt me worse when they go. As awful as they are, sometimes one of them will take pity on me and touch me gently enough for me to feel a tiny bit of pleasure. Not all of them are cruel. And some of the kind ones come back again.

But none of the kind daddies were there last night; I only recognized two or three of the crueler ones, the ones who like to hit me and hurt me. Tears filled my eyes as one of them opened his breeches and pulled his lollipop out for me to look at; it was large, and growing larger, and my hand shook a little as he guided my fingers to the big knot at the tip of his lollipop and made me feel it. After that, all of them wanted me to touch them, and soon all the lollipops were exposed.

Father showed them into the locked room of our house, the room that contains all of the stuff they use to hurt me with. Then he showed me in, and told me to show them what a big girl I was getting to be. That was my cue; when he said that I took off my dress and other undergarments until I stood in front of them naked. The then commenced to pull their pants down.

The first man grabbed my hair and pulled me down on my knees in front of him, his lollipop only inches from my face. I opened my mouth and obediently took him in my mouth, trying to ignore the horrible taste and smell of his body. Father trained me on how to suck the love out of a man with my mouth by getting me to practice on him. He makes me practice so often that I am quite good at it now, and I can make a man give me his love in less time than it usually took. I hate the taste, the bitter saltiness; but if I don't do it satisfactorily, I'll get beaten by them and by Father later.

I went around to all the men and sucked their love from them; even Father. But as I finished with Father and sat back on my heels, wiping my lips and wishing for a taste of water to wash out my mouth with, Father slapped me hard across my face and told me I didn't do a good job, and I had to be punished. Several of the other men said I hadn't done a good job either, and they voted to give me a punishment to teach me a lesson.

Father pushed me face-down across the big desk in the middle of the room, tying my hands and feet to the legs of the table. I begged them not to hurt me because Father said they liked hearing me beg; I already knew it was hopeless. They would do whatever they wanted, because they were adults, and I…I was only ten.

They took their belts out of their pants, some of them taking the buckle end, two of them taking the strap end and letting the buckle swing free. Father told them each to punish me according to what the man thought I deserved, and he would go first.

No matter how often it happens, the first blow always catches my body by surprise. For some reason, each time the pain begins it's as much a shock as if it were the first time. I jerked against the leather belts that held me spreadeagled atop that table, and screamed as pitifully as I could. Sometimes a really energetic scream will make the man think he's really hurt me, and he'll be gentler with the next blow. But it was wasted on Father; he knows what real pain sounds like in my voice. Eleven more times he hit me, spacing the blows out from my shoulders to the tops of my thighs, under my buttocks. By the time he was finished I was in agony. And there were still six more to go.

The second man evidently thought I hadn't done a good job on him, because he laid into me with all his strength with the strap end of his belt. Twenty times he hit me, and I was almost fainting by the time the third man took his turn. He used the buckle; I could feel the hard edges tear into my skin, and my screams were real ones of absolute, mind-numbing agony.

I passed out in the middle of the fourth man's turn, and for a few blessed seconds I could retreat into darkness. Father brought me around with a lash across my buttocks with a whip made of braided cow's hide; it was the worst whip he had, and one that was guaranteed to wake me up. Which I did. And the belting went on. None of them were gentle; they wanted to make me scream as loud as I could. Which I did.

When they were all done with the belts, Father stepped in front of me and said, "Let's see if she learned her lesson." And he offered me his lollipop to suck on again. I worked even faster this time, trying to avoid another belt beating like I had endured already; but again, when I was one with all seven men, it wasn't enough.

Father laughed. "Well, if she's no good with the mouth, maybe one of her other holes will be better?" He unfastened my wrists and ankles, turned me over, and fastened me back down on my bleeding, throbbing, raw back. Then he climbed astride me and thrust his lollipop into my cunt.

I screamed, because the dry penetration always hurts. Father plunged in dry and pulled out, then did it over and over again until he spilled his love inside my cunt. Then he got down and another man got on.

When they were all done they sat and smoked a cigar as I lay on the table, my limbs aching from being spread and my cunt raw from being fucked so hard and brutally. It was easier after Father; his love in me helped the others get in, and the pain wasn't so bad…but it was still humiliating. I sobbed quietly until they finished their cigars and came over.

They had decided that I hadn't done a good job this time either, and they wanted to punish me. This time they elected to slap my cunt with their belts, and Father said they could each hit me as many times as they wanted to. By the time they were done that, I had passed out twice, and my cunt was raw, red, and inflamed, bleeding where the buckles and belt edges had cut into the swollen flesh. I could barely stand when Father released me, and fell to my hands and knees, crying in abject misery.

The third man, the first one who had used a belt buckle on me, said after a moment, "There's one more hole she can redeem herself with." I didn't understand what he meant, but apparently Father and the others did. Father bent me over a low ottoman, tied my wrists to the front legs and my knees to the rear ones, then stuffed my underclothing in my mouth.

I felt someone touch my back entrance, the one I go to the bathroom out of, and I tensed and screamed into my panties. He ignored my reaction and spat on my ass, swirling his spit around my asshole and slowly penetrating me with one finger. I screamed in agony and yanked desperately against the straps that held me down; not even Father's warning that I would get a beating from the cowhide whip could still my struggles. Unfortunately, I was secure; I couldn't go anywhere.

He pushed his lollipop insistently at my nether hole; I screamed in agony as it finally popped past my anal ring, plunging deep into my bowels at the first thrust. I screamed and grunted and cried in animal agony; I couldn't imagine anything hurting as much as this did. Surely something so big was never meant to go in there! He seemed to enjoy my screams, my struggles, my pain; he reached around and grabbed the tiny flat buds of my nipples and squeezed, pinching cruelly. My body spasmed in pain, and my anal muscles sent a pang of pain into my brain as they squeezed the lollipop involuntarily. The man groaned and began to pump in and out, faster and faster, tearing my poor asshole until finally he spilled his love in my ass with a grunt and a groan. When he got off me I could feel the hot, wet fluid trickling down my ass, and I knew he'd torn my ass. The next man mounted me, and started pounding into me.

I could not get up when they were done. I was so drained and exhausted I couldn't move. The men leaned over me and kissed me on the lips, hard and full, their tongues probing into my mouth, as a goodbye after they paid Father the money they owed him for the use of my body; then they were gone.

I lay in the corner for a long time, crying, as Father counted the money. "Not bad," he said finally, pocketing it and looking at me. "They really liked raping your ass," he said conversationally. "We'll start adding that to the list of things you'll do for them."

The thought of doing this again for more men made me whimper and curl up. "No, Father," I told him. "I can't do it again, it hurts, it will kill me, I can't do it again!"

He rose to his feet, grabbing the cowhide whip. "Are you telling me what I can or can't do?" he shouted at me, raising it and bringing it down on my already abused body. I screamed, surprised at the fact that I still could, and curled up against the wall, trying to protect my face. "You'll do as I say, you belong to me!" he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth as he lashed savagely at me with the whip. "Until you can make as much money selling matches and flowers as your body, you'll continue to take men in whatever hole they want to use!"

I know it's impossible; I could never make as much money selling matches as he makes selling me to those men to be hurt. But still, when he comes home tonight with the matches, I'll go out. I'll go out and I will sell at least a box's worth of matches; and I won't come back until I do. Even if I have to stay out all night in the cold and die trying, I'll sell an entire box of them tonight.