Monica had not entirely intended to lose her sister. She had planned sneaking up on Izz and scaring her from behind. She'd have been slapped, but it would've been worth it. The crowd was dense, though, and by the time Monica had circled back around to where Izz had been standing, she was gone.

Monica shrugged. She wasn't scared, she'd made it to eight without incident, right? And this was not the first time she'd been left alone.

On the one hand, Monica was a survivor. On the other, she hadn't experienced real pain before. Her sister would fuck her up a little as punishment, sure, but it was in Izz's interest to keep her little sister's body pristine. Strangers had tried to hurt her, and she'd nearly been stabbed a few times, but she was always too quick for them.

She was not, however, quick enough this night.

Monica felt a streak of warmth down her back that rapidly blossomed into intense pain.

She cried out, and fell forward, smashing her cheek against the filthy concrete.

Monica knew she had been slashed with something very sharp. Luckily for her, the strike had been clumsy and not particularly deep, owing to the fact that the greasy teenaged guy who had attacked her was simultaneously tackled by another, older man who had wanted her eight-year-old ass for himself. Monica saw none of this; she was busy scrambling across the floor, seeking cover beneath the bed directly ahead of her. She had almost reached her target when another patron accidentally stepped on her hand--and hard. Squealing, she managed to snake her way around the offending feet and beneath the bed. Now she just had to hope nobody knew, or cared, where she was hiding.

She lay there a while, nursing two broken fingers. She allowed herself to cry, but only a little. She wanted to be tough, and refused to betray her self-image even in private. She could hear fucking on the bed above, and then screaming, followed by a faint gurgling noise. She watched the blood drip on the floor through a gap in the bed's curtain and felt herself get wet.

She made for a pitiful image: curled up in a fetal position, and dirty from the concrete floor as she pounded her little cunt with two fingers. She was tight enough that this stretched her painfully--but it paled in comparison to her injuries, and she hardly noticed. She came shakily, biting down on her tongue to avoid crying out.

She figured she was safe for the time being, since nobody had come for her yet. After taking a moment to collect herself, she decided to run for it. She moved as fast as she could, bumping into other partygoers as she went. Thankfully, she was gone before any of them had noticed what happened. She could smell everyone's arousal.

She remembered back a few years ago, when she was about 5. At the time she was innocent, too interested in her colouring books to know anything about sex. Izz had let her be for the most part back then. Occasionally she'd make Monica eat her out, but the little girl never thought much of it. Gradually though, Izz exposed her to increasingly horrific blood, sex and death. Now as Monica ran, smelling the scents of sex and gore, she realised how irrecoverably fucked up she was. Her sister did this to her. Izz had fucked her up enough to make her masturbate while hiding from people who wanted her dead. Monica knew now that she'd always be her sister's little slut. Her life was contingent on it, now and forever.

Amazingly, she made it to the office without further incident, banging loudly on the door. Jess was there to let her in.

"I'm surprised you're alive," said Izz.

"Y-yeah. But," Monica said, turning around to show Izz her back.

Izz laughed. "You're lucky that's all you got."

Monica looked sheepish. "I got broken fingers too."

"Now you're gonna scar, and be a cripple. Great," Izz said, rolling her eyes. "At least let me clean you up."

Monica sat on the floor while Izz worked on her back. The little girl curiously watched Farah and Alice fuck. The sex was pretty vanilla compared to
what Monica had become used to; she thought it looked kind of nice. Alice, though, had other ideas, and choked Farah to the point of near unconsciousness before making her come loudly.

Izz roughly scrubbed the blood out of Monica's wound.

"Ow!" she said.

Izz scoffed. "Shut up, baby."

Monica looked around again, till something caught her eye that made her shiver with both fear and arousal.

Sophie and her chair had been pushed into a corner. Jess had opened Sophie's mouth and pulled her friend's tongue forward, in a crude imitation of an ahegao face. Sophie's corpse rested there for the entire evening, like a macabre sculpture; she certainly made a good conversation piece. Monica stared for a long while.

Izz finished wrapping her sister's wound, and painfully set her finger bones back in place. She reached around and pinched Monica's nipples.

"There," Izz said.

Monica gritted her teeth. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Izz replied, gesturing Erica over.

Izz pushed Monica on to all fours. "I think it's time you knew what cock feels like."

Erica positioned herself behind Monica, and with neither lubrication nor warning, shoved her girl-cock in the eight-year-old's ass.

Smiling slightly at her sister's screams, Monica wandered back over to Jess to continue their conversation.

"God, can I have her next?" Jess said, leering at Monica.

"Be my guest," Izz replied.

"Fuck yes," said Jess. "So anyway, I spiked about a third of the booze with DMT. Like, a lot of it."

Izz laughed as Jess continued: "Sophie was already high when she got here, and before I could tell her, she'd downed like four beers."

"Oh shit." Izz said, tearing up from laughter, "you're gonna kill half the people here."

Jess giggled, returning her gaze to Monica. At this point, the kid was weeping a little, but her cries regularly gave way to moans. The little shit was enjoying herself. Jess often wished she had siblings of her own, but she'd not been so lucky. She was, however, fortunate to have lived this long herself. Jess was 22 or 23, she forgot. Blessed with D cup breasts that were impossibly perky for their size, and platinum blonde hair, Jess had quickly risen to prominence in a culture that valued two things: sex, and killing. She was no slouch at the latter, either. Only last week, her and Izz had rounded up a gang of four tween boys who had been vandalising the exterior walls of Jess's compound. Jess had used them mercilessly. Izz was not interested so much in that part, but she did help Jess slaughter them.

They had shackled the delinquents in Jess's garage, stripped them naked and burned their clothes. The first boy--maybe twelve, with messy black hair and a skinny physique--was told that if he could take Jess's fourteen-inch dildo without screaming, he'd be set free. This had been a lie, but it didn't matter: his boy-cunt barely took the tip before he wailed hysterically. Izz and Jess made his friends watch as they severed his tiny cock with a blade that was not nearly sharp enough for the job. Then, Jess sat on his face and forced him to lick her cunt until he began to slow from the blood loss. She hopped off, and Izz, being sure that he was still conscious, took a cordless circular saw and forced it down between the terrified boy's eyes. He convulsed violently, and his blood sprayed everywhere, dousing Jess, Izz and the boy's now thoroughly traumatised friends.

The next boy was younger. Jess had managed to learn that his eleventh birthday was just last week. His hair was sandy blonde, and he was a little more muscular than his deceased buddy. Izz wondered idly if these kids ever fucked each other.

Jess wanted to try a little experiment on this kid. Her garage featured a winch firmly bolted to the ceiling, and Jess had installed steel anchors in the concrete floor below. She attached the boy's ankle cuffs to a pair of anchors, and his wrist cuffs to another so that he lay spreadeagled and face down. She looped the winch cable under his midsection, and took the opportunity to pat his firm ass. Even Izz had to admire a cute butt like that.

After a ceremonious pause, Jess engaged the winch. The whole thing went much better than they expected: his arms and legs held, but his midsection, raised by the thin winch cable, did not. After what seemed like an age, soundtracked by much screaming, the boy's body gave way and split in two about halfway up to the ceiling. His body fell violently back to the ground, each half making a loud smack as it hit the concrete. Jess grinned. She was not done with the boy yet. She grabbed his bottom half, unshackled it and propped up the boy's knees so his perky butt was raised in the air, right in front of his former friends. Jess buried her face in his ass, and lapped at the his hole.

Stopping for a breath, she said, "I bet he would've loved this, too bad he's too dead to feel it."

She grabbed the younger of the remaining boys by the hair, and shoved his face where hers had just been.

"Lick," she commanded.

The boy did so. Thirty seconds into his task, however, he vomited his lunch over his deceased friend.

Jess sighed. "One last game."

She handed a remote to the oldest boy, who was about fourteen. The other boy, who was his thirteen-year-old brother, was shackled to a nearby wall.

"The button will fire a bullet straight at your brother's head. Either you press it, or..." she said, reaching for her pistol, "I shoot you."

The boy agonised over the decision for a moment, and then shakily pressed the button.

His brother's head exploded, brains painting the wall behind him. His rudderless body pissed itself and convulsed momentarily before slumping down, held up
only by the shackles.

Jess let the last remaining boy consider his actions for a moment before unceremoniously firing two bullets into his belly. He died slowly and painfully, much to Jess's satisfaction.

Monica's screaming orgasm brought Jess back to the present. She admired the girl once more, before lowering her hand to her clit, and losing herself in pleasure.