Chapter 1
"But Mr. Brockman," pleaded the little girl's mother, "wouldn't it be all right if I just sat in the room with her while you talk to her? Penny's always been a shy child. If she has to talk about the ugly things her dad did to her without me even being in sight-"
The burly, dark-haired man behind the desk interrupted Mrs. Livingston rather abruptly. "Sorry, lady," he said coldly, "but this office makes no exceptions. You think this is the first time the welfare department has had a case like this? We're plenty experienced with guys getting fresh with their daughters. Happens more than you think. And we interview every kid the same way. We know what we're doing. Having relatives present is no good. Keeps the kid from opening up and giving us the full story. Now please go get her and bring her in here so we can get on with this."
Mrs. Livingston reluctantly got up and started for the lobby. She wasn't about to give him any back talk. He might do something to keep her from getting her monthly check.
Mr. Brockman stopped her at the door with a few words of warning. "You wait out in the lobby, or go out for a cup of coffee if you get restless. It may take me quite a while to ask her everything I need to. But don't come back into this office until my secretary tells you."
The child was ushered in and her mother hastily departed.
The man regarded her from under shaggy black eyebrows and took a pencil in hand.
"So you're little Miss Livingston, huh? You know what we're going to talk about, don't you? We have to know exactly what your dad did to you, so the police will have the information when they catch him. You know what he did was bad, and that if they can locate him they'll put him in jail so he can't do it ever again, don't you?"
She nodded her head up and down slowly without opening her mouth. Her big black eyes were wide with fright.
"Let's see," he mused, glancing over a form on his desk, "you're just ten years old, aren't you? Wonder what made your dad want to fool around with a little girl as young as you? Usually the kids are old enough to have a little something under their blouses before their dads try anything funny."
Just being in his office was very disquieting to the youngster. The unexpected baldness of the man's speech made it even worse.
"Okay, Penny," he said, "let's get the facts, now. He did things to you that were nasty. How long ago did this start happening? You told your mom it wasn't the first time."
She spoke very softly. "Last week when Mom was at work. He ... he'd been looking at me kind of ... you know, kind of funny, for a long time. Ever since he got laid off his job and was home all day. That was almost a month ago. But he didn't do anything till just last week, when school let out early for a teacher's meeting."
Brockman jotted notes as she spoke, but he could hardly keep his mind on what he was doing. It so happened that the man harbored a secret desire for young girls himself and used his position to cater to the craving he felt. He was very careful to hide it from his superiors, but he loved interviewing incest victims and got a big thrill from forcing the details from the kids.
'What do you mean he looked at you 'kind of funny'?" he pressed, his face stern.
Penny fidgeted in her seat. She moistened her lips nervously and her face began to redden.
"Well," she finally said, "he'd get a dirty look in his eyes when I went up and down the stairs, for one thing. He'd spy up under my skirt and it seemed ... it seemed like he wanted to see more. You know, farther up my legs. He didn't think I noticed him doing it but I did. Pretty soon he started doing it without even trying to keep me from seeing him at it."
Brockman looked at the girl and thought of her dad's sick act, of how he must have loved getting to see up his little daughter's dress-for to him it wasn't sick at all. It was perfectly understandable. Brockman's face remained impassive, but he was becoming so aroused by the child's attractive features it was difficult to keep from letting his feelings show.
What a sweet little number, he thought to himself. Look at those cute knees sticking out from under her skirt!
He pretended to be jotting down more notes before asking her any more questions, but actually his brain was concerned strictly with thinking about how pretty she was. Penny was a slim child with coal-black hair that fell well below her shoulders and pale skin that made her look like a doll. Her legs were long and slender, not yet filled out at the calf, but perfectly formed and smooth as could be. Because her family was poor, she was dressed rather shabbily. Her skirt was topped by a plain white blouse and she wore black patent leather shoes and smudged white anklets.
Brockman liked them a little older, but he was quite happy to feast his eyes on even a girl as young as Penny. He also had a sadistic streak in him that made him enjoy embarrassing the girls he interviewed. It was more than just teasing, too. He liked to make them really squirm, and as his interviews progressed he became downright humiliating.
He leaned forward and got an accusing look on his face.
"Okay, now," he said to the little girl, "I'm going to ask you some things that are very personal. But don't try to play dumb with me or act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You may be only ten years old, but I happen to know that a girl your age knows a lot more about things than she ever tells her mother."
Penny batted her fragile lashes and became redder in the face than ever.
"You said your dad liked to look up your dress," he went on. "Didn't you make it awfully easy for him sometimes? Didn't you like to show off your legs to him?"
"Oh, no," she said, shocked, "I never did anything like that. That ... that would be naughty."
"How about the rest, then," he continued, his face registering clearly that he didn't believe her. "When's the first time he touched you?"
"One afternoon he told me he could see my slip," she hesitantly responded, "and said he bet boys at school had seen it too. He made me come to where he was sitting and had me stand still while he reached under my skirt and fooled around with it. He did more than just touch my slip though he let his hand brush my knees and even touched the back of my legs with his fingers."
"Sure you didn't move against him yourself?" said Brockman. "Sure you didn't sway a little so you could see what it feels like to have a man's hands up your dress?"
She balanced. "Why ... why no," she protested. No sir, I ... I'd never do anything like that."
She told him the next time her dad had touched her was when she was taking a nap. She had awakened to find him running his hands along her legs.
When she sat up in bed suddenly, he claimed he had been putting covers over her. But it hadn't been cold in the room at all, she added with certainty.
"Okay, okay," he said. "How about the time he got you down in bed and fingered you. Let's get to the main thing. I don't have much time, you know, there's another girl due in here pretty soon with the same problem you've got."
The youngster moved restlessly in the chair and it was clear she didn't want to speak. But she knew she had to.
"Daddy just grabbed me all of a sudden," she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "He said he'd been wanting to ... to do things to me for a long time and wasn't going to wait another day
"Come on, honey," Brockman broke in. "Your dad didn't just say he wanted to 'do things' to you, now did he? He didn't use words like that. What did he say, his exact words?"
"He ... he said he wanted see my-my-" she began.
"Yes?" pressed Brockman. "Yes? Your what, goddamn it?" He was flushed and damp in the face.
"My ... my cunt," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "He said he wanted to see my cunt and play with it."
Brockman felt his cock rise tight against his pants.
"Go ahead, what then?" he insisted. "Did you jerk your dress up and show it off to him?"
"No ... oh, no," she said, almost in tears now, "He made me do it. He picked me up in his arms and held me off the floor. And ... and while he was hugging me against him, he ran one hand under my dress and put his hand right between my legs. He grabbed my ... my cunt through the bottom of my panties and worked his fingers underneath."
"How'd you like it?" he posed. "Felt a little bit good, didn't it? Don't lie to me!"
She hung her head. "I ... I didn't like it at first," she said, "but after he put his fingers right on the naked skin without my panties in between, I ... I guess I did like it a little then."
"I thought so!" exclaimed the man, his eyes bright. "And you wanted more of it, didn't you? What'd he do then?"
"He laid me down on the bed and raised my skirt. He pulled it way up over my head where I couldn't see and yelled at me to hold still. I was trying to get up but he was too strong. He yanked down my panties and I felt terrible. I knew he was looking right at my naked cunt. He put his fingers on it rubbed them till I was ... uh ... 'til I got looser there. Then he hollered for me to spread my legs."
"You did it, too, didn't you?" Brockman cried. He was managing to keep the volume of his voice down, but the intensity of his feelings was very apparent.
"I had to," she wailed, tears now coming to her eyes. "I had to open up like he said. He ... he would have hurt me if I didn't do what he said."
She was so overwrought she was desperate to get the interview over with as soon as possible so she rushed on with the worst part as fast as she could talk.
"Then he got his thing out ... it was all big and hard ... and he jammed it between my legs and pushed it into me-it hurt real bad-and he fell on top of me and jabbed me with it till I felt a big wet bunch of gook on my tummy. He was doing it so fast and hard that his ... his thing slipped out at the end. He grunted and rolled off, then ran into his bedroom. I pulled my dress down off my face just in time to see him running out the door."
Brockman said, "I know the rest. He took the car and you or your mother haven't seen him since."
He sent the girl out, waiting only long enough to let her compose herself, then let her mother take her home. His impersonal routine was to call the parent later at home and tell what the disposition of the case would be-whether more money would be allowed in this event a spouse had fled the scene and was permanently missing, and what was to happen if he returned.
The next case was a slightly older girl, a beautiful child of twelve who was just beginning to have tiny swellings flower from her chest. He got rid of her mother fast and got right to the issue. His previous session with the young Livingston girl had made him very aroused and he lost no time discussing triva with the little angel.
"Your uncle slipped in bed with you and sank it in, didn't he?" he began at once. "I know that much. But there's things I need to know about what happened before that ... about what kind of girl you are and how much you know."
The young adolescent was shocked at his sudden familiarity. But her mother had told her to cooperate by answering any question posed to her.
Her name was Phyliss and she was a trim little blonde, long-waisted and slender of thigh. Brockman feasted his eyes on that portion of her anatomy at will, delighting in the fact that she had her legs crossed high and her dress riding up enough to allow it.
Brockman began firing questions at her rapid-fire, his cock pulsing against his pants hard and hot.
"You're twelve. How long you had those bumps on your chest?" he brusquely demanded.
"Almost a year," the girl retorted, "If it's any of your business, sir."
Here was something new-a kid with spirit, one who thought she could get sassy with him. He'd fix her little ass good. He'd forget about his usual method, which was rude enough, and simply humiliate the piss out of the little bitch.
"You know damned good and well it's my business, you little slut," he cried. "Unless you and your mom want to starve to death when your welfare checks stop." He knew she had no father.
The kid was shocked out of her senses, but she was also moved to go along with his perverse inquisition. She knew she couldn't clam up on him no matter how foul-mouthed he was.
"How come you don't wear a bra? I can tell your little titties are naked under there," he said accusingly.
"Mom lets me go without one," she replied, "because none of the girls I run around with wear 'em.
And some of my friends have bigger ones than mine."
"How about your cunt? Hairs on it yet?"
"Enough," she saucily answered.
"When did you get them?"
"I don't know. About the same time my titties started growing, I guess," she said.
Her easy use of the words for her secret parts aroused his lust to a higher pitch.
"What color? Same as your hair?"
"Yeah, blonde just like the hair on my head. Quite a bit more curly, though!"
The little bitch had a little grin on her face. She thought she could stay cool under his probing questions, huh? He'd show her a thing or two yet.
"Were you a virgin before your uncle got your cherry? Or had you already let some boy in your pants?"
"I was a virgin!" she stoutly maintained.
"Bet you'd played with yourself before though, hadn't you? You knew what it felt like to have your oivn fingers in that little pussy of yours a long time before your uncle ever stuck his there. Now didn't you-didn't you?"
The mention of masturbation had its desired effect. The girl's confidence faltered when he broached a subject that nasty.
"I ... I've fooled with myself a little, yes ... but listen, I've seen in books where it says nothing will happen to you for it," she answered with red-faced defensiveness. "Heck, I'm not the only girl that does it."
She had been coming on so confident and cool that Herman relished seeing her squirm a little. A real little spitfire, for her age, he thought. And apparently pretty sophisticated, too. Most kids her age were shocked into embarrassed silence the minute he mentioned the subject of masturbation.
"Oh, you've been reading up on it, huh?" said Herman. "You must have been awfully interested in fingering yourself if you even sneaked out a book about it. Don't try to tell me you read about it in Sunday school or in study hall! Where'd you cop a book like that, anyway, huh?"
She shifted uneasily, knowing she was caught. She hated his manner and the way he kept insinuating things about her, but there was nothing she could do. Her mother had told her how important it was to answer his questions and be as nice and cooperative as possible. The welfare money they received was nearly all they had to live on and they couldn't take a chance on getting it cut off.
She admitted she'd "snitched" the book from the apartment of a neighbor lady she sometimes babysat for. She added hurriedly that she had returned the volume without it ever being missed.
"I didn't do anything bad," she maintained. "The book was just the way it was when I got it ... I was real careful not to tear the pages or anything."
Herman's eyes narrowed. "You may not have torn the pages," he said, "but I bet you might have got them a little damp, huh?" He laughed scornfully, in a quiet way which seemed repulsive to the youngster.
She felt drops of water slide from her armpits as he stared at her. The nervous sweat flowed down her smooth sides and made her fearful it might soon be visible, forming telltale spots on the fabric of her thin dress.
"Wha-what do you mean?" she stumbled, for the first time losing her perky confidence. She knew good and well what he meant but she hated to think of it. She realized from the sick glint in his eyes that he was fantasizing something nasty about her.
"You know what I mean, honey," he said softly and insinuatingly, his lips curling in an oily grin. "You know just what I mean, now don't you? I bet that book made you so hot between the legs you had to finger your pussy right then and there, while you were still reading it! Isn't that right?"
His guess was so accurate that shame flooded her like fire. "I ... I-" she stuttered, her eyes darting frantically around the room. She wanted to look anywhere but at his steady gaze.
He saw at once how right he'd been. "Where were you while you were doing it, huh? In your bedroom? In the bathroom where you knew no one could see?"
The vision of her with her hand between her thighs-he could picture her fingertips gently massaging the soft folds of her curly-haired young snatch-inflamed his brain. He felt his cock go hard under his pants and began throbbing against the oppressive zipper like the beating of a drum.
"The-the bathroom," she mumbled, her spirit now broken. She was now so beleaguered by his probing that she felt constrained to admit everything.
"Uh huh," he triumphantly declared, "sitting on the John with your panties down around your ankles, weren't you? Pretending you were pissing, right? And thumbing the pages of that book as fast as you could go, reading about how nothing will happen to a girl if she frigs herself-isn't that what you told me it said?"
Now she wasn't up to speaking. She only nodded, keeping her eyes down to avoid his stare. Yes, she indicated, that was right. Her thick, silky hair bobbed up and down against her pretty little face, the cheeks flushed red as beets.
"Were you through pissing?" he demanded. "Or could you even wait? Did you read the book in there with the door locked and get so hot you forgot all about pissing with that little pussy of yours and just start right in playing with it instead?"
"No," she managed, her voice faint, "I ... I really had to go. I wasn't just pretending. I'd already p-peed before I did anything to myself."
He thought of her with her slim thighs spread and a stream of piss emanating from her pouting slit. It was a new thrill for him. He'd never given any thought to how it would be to see a girl piss, but hearing her talk about it excited him. It would be lovely, he thought, to spy on a girl like her as she pissed, and maybe see her wipe off afterward with toilet tissue and wiggle back into her panties when she was through. Even if she never put a finger to herself, or was too young to know anything at all about masturbating, it would be great to see one take a piss. He'd have to remember that, he thought to himself, for the future.
"You pissed and then you did it, huh?" he went on. "Well, honey, you'd have been plenty wet down there before long even if you haven't pissed, wouldn't you? Finger-fucking yourself would've taken care of that for you, wouldn't it?"
She nodded almost imperceptibly. It had been one thing, a few minutes before, to admit she masturbated-but to have him get so personal about it and go into such detail was quite another. She knew by now he must be picturing her doing it and the thought made more sweat roll down her sides. She felt her heart beating fast and hoped he couldn't see her tit quaking underneath the suddenly all too thin material of her dress.
"You didn't do it just that day, though, did you?" he said. "After you sneaked that book back where it belonged, you worked on yourself plenty of times after, didn't you?"
"I'd done it before," she feebly admitted, " ... that wasn't the first time. And after the book said it was okay, I guess ... I guess I did it ... uh ... a little more often."
"In the bathroom after you pissed," he asked, "or other places too? How about in bed? Ever do it there, when the lights were off and you were by yourself under the covers? "
She gulped. Her memories of doing it in bed were especially embarrassing to her. "Uh huh ... sometimes," she admitted. "Like, some nights if I couldn't go to sleep I'd ... you know, play with myself for a while. Then I could go to sleep easier. I was ... I don't know ... more relaxed or something."
Herman was anything but relaxed at this point. He shifted in his seat again behind the desk, feeling his rock-hard cock push almost painfully against his pants. He wondered vaguely whether she could sense what was happening inside his pants but quickly dismissed it from his mind. After all, he was the one in charge there, right? He was the one asking the questions and she was the one answering them-she damned well better go along with him even if she did know how aroused his organ was. Again he shamelessly gazed at the bareness of her knees.
"A little more relaxed, huh? I'll bet it did. I'll just bet it did," he said accusingly. "It made you feel a hell of a lot more than just 'relaxed,' you little slut, didn't it? It made you feel all hot and wet and it made you want to do it more and more, didn't it?"
Her head, eyes lowered in shame, turned aside and her lips displayed the beginnings of a faint tremor.
"I...." she began, this time unable even to go farther than a single halting phrase before her voice failed her completely.
Herman leaned farther across the desk, the edge creasing his stomach. Somehow the youngster's acute embarrassment excited him almost as much as the sight of her fresh, succulent little body and the thought of what she had admitted doing with it alone at night under the sheets.
"Turn around here," he ordered severely, "turn around here and look at me when I'm talking to you!"
With extreme reluctance the girl slowly faced him, though her eyelids remained lowered and it was obvious she could hardly bear to be confronted by her persecutor.
"I don't have time to fool around with you," he told her roughly. 'Tour mother brought you in here because of what happened between you and your uncle, and you'd better quit acting like a sweet, innocent little virgin if you know what's good for you."
Her eyelids fluttered and she forced herself to look at him. Her big, soft eyes were pained as she at last returned his gaze. Her earlier confidence and impudence had now altogether vanished. She was on the verge of tears.
"He did stick it in you, didn't he? That's why you're here, isn't it?" he reminded her. "So you sure as hell aren't a virgin anymore ... don't try to act like you don't even know what it feels like to have a man's prick inside your little cunt."
The sudden reference to her uncle sent a tremor of shame and fear through the young girl's heart. It had been bad enough to be forced into revealing the secret things she did to her own body-now the terrible subject of what she had allowed someone else to do to it loomed horribly before her. And that's how it had been, she had allowed some of what her uncle had done. Not all, not everything ... not the hurty part-but much more than she had let on to anyone besides herself. How much would he try to drag out of her about that, she nervously wondered, her heart pounding beneath her small breasts like a drum.
"He wasn't any kid either, was he?" Herman remarked, glancing at the report on his desk. He picked up an official-looking paper and shook it toward her. "Hell, the old fucker was a grown man." He looked at her in disgust and added, "Older than me!" He waited for her reaction.
She mutely acknowledged the truth of his statement with an almost imperceptible nod of her head.
"Let's get down to business now, honey. He's not around anymore, so you're the only one left to tell the tale. Report here says he flew the coop and headed for the highway in his car the minute your mom came home and found him giving you the business, right? Took off and left you bleeding on the bed before the police could make it to your house."
His words resurrected the ugly scene for her. She shuddered inwardly at the remembrance but he went on.
"Don't think I'm going to take your word for every little thing just because he isn't around to speak for himself though," Herman declared, his mouth sliding into a sly, oily smirk.
She felt her mouth go dry. He was pursuing exactly the course she had so fervently hoped he would not.
"Oh, he may have been a dirty old man, all right," Herman allowed, "he may have loved getting those little panties of yours down and seeing what you had in there, and getting his hands between your legs to see how juicy you were. I'm not denying that. He was probably a perverted old fucker, no doubt about that. But I'm thinking you just may have given him a little cause, huh? I'm thinking you just might have led him on a little bit, know what I mean?"
He paused meaningfully. The girl licked her dry lips nervously and her already red cheeks flamed scarlet. She moved her eyes away from his gaze and directed them fleetingly around the room in a desperate effort to keep from displaying the guilty truth. She shifted cautiously in her chair, inadvertently showing her upper thighs off several inches above her knees. If she had known how quickly his eyes darted up the newly exposed nakedness of the slim limbs she would have been even more uncomfortable.
"You know what I mean, don't you?" he repeated. "You know what I'm talking about now, don't you? How when a girl wants a man to do certain nasty things to her, she can act a certain way and show off a little in front of him so he knows she's just as hot to play around as he is?"
The youngster was forced to meet his eyes again because of the directness of his questions. But she managed, as her only reply, a weak shrug of her shoulders. Sure she knew, of course she knew what he meant ... but she wasn't about to admit any knowledge of such things. Her big eyes regarded him beseechingly, proclaiming her ignorance.
"You already admitted that you finger yourself," he persisted, delighting in the way she cringed at the rudeness of his language. "You must have wondered what it would feel like to have someone else do it for you. Someone like your uncle, right? A grown-up-someone who would know what to do with that hot little pussy of yours once they got their hands in your panties, right? Isn't that right?"
She hated the way he kept saying things she thought no one but herself could possibly know. She would have died before admitting how she used to get a charge from the way her uncle would crane his neck every time he went into her bedroom, trying to get a peek at her in bed. Sometimes in the mornings he even used to try for a peek through the inched-open door as she was getting dressed for school. She never let on to him that she knew, but secretly she often thought about what he would do if he ever really got to see something-like maybe what she looked like in nothing but her panties. She was actually old enough for her first bra, but her mother kept trying to pretend she was still a baby and wouldn't buy her one in spite of her rapidly budding little breasts.
She had lost herself in a daze of shame and bewilderment. Now she jumped to attention. The man had risen to his feet and was leaning over his desk. It was suddenly apparent that he had been talking to her and that he was angry with her for not listening...." so you better tell me everything," he was saying, "everything he did to you that night. And what led up to it, too-I know goddamn well he didn't just take a notion to jump in bed with you on the spur of the moment!"
She was absolutely against the wall and she knew it. She had to answer ... no more stalling.
In a weak, hesitant voice, the youngster admitted she had been masturbating under the covers just before it happened. With her mother gone for the evening, her uncle had an eagle eye cocked on the door of her room. She was so busy administering to the mounting desire of her hot, moist little cunt that she didn't notice him sneak into the room. She was lying on her left side, her back to the door, and was giving it to herself with the fingers of her right hand.
Her uncle's voice had startled her and it was too late to deny what she had been doing. He had already seen too much. He told her he would tell her mother what he'd caught her doing if she didn't let him in on the action and when she asked what he meant he roughly told her to turn on her back and keep her mouth shut.
He told her to just relax, that nothing was going to hurt, and that if she'd simply move her hand and admit his between her legs in its place that she'd like what she felt. She was scared, but also awfully horny. After all, she'd been diddling herself ever since she donned her flimsy little gown and popped into bed. She did as he said and felt his body sag down on the bed beside her. She kept her eyes closed out of embarrassment and shame-the very idea of having her uncle see her so nearly naked!
"He ... he rubbed his hands around on just the outside of my gown first," she explained, her voice barely a whisper. "But after he felt up my ... you know, on top ... he started talking real funny and making noises in his throat. Then he went under the hem and I felt his hand right on my ... on my "On your cunt? " broke in Herman. 'That what you mean, honey? How come you're getting so bashful all of a sudden? When you first came in you were talking all about your tits and pussy without batting an eye."
She knew he was well aware of the reason for her changed reactions and just wanted to throw the fact up to her. She just nodded meekly, indicating that yes, it had been her pussy she was referring to, then went on with her shameful story.
The man had tweaked the scantily covered swellings of her organs, ran the tips of his fingers through the silky fuzz just beginning to grow there, then inserted a probing tip inside. Herman stopped her and asked the youngster if she had liked the feeling and she shamefully admitted that she had. After that, her uncle had fallen on her, jammed his pants down to his knees, and plunged his stiff tool into her virginal flesh. He was too steamed up to bother with how she felt. He pushed on through her cherry and shot his wad in seconds, with her twisting and moaning under him from the pain. That's when they heard her mother's footsteps on the porch and he jumped up and went for his car. She was whimpering in bed with her crotch red with blood when her mother found her, and by the time the police arrived the man was long gone.
The young girl looked up at last, relieved that her tale was over. But she wasn't relieved for long. Herman was standing to one side of his desk now, and he had his right hand on the obviously protruding crotch of his pants.
"Then if I were to show mine to you," he suggested, his voice breaking with excitement, "it wouldn't be the first cock you ever saw, by a long shot, would it?"