Sex slave: Essy

Essy stands there, sixteen, clueless. Thinks she's dropping in for snacks. Lil Bitch lounges on the bench in a schoolgirl skirt, white socks up to her knees, all giggly—spot her trap until it's too late. Once Essy leans in, Lil Bitch snatches up the plastic wrap, winds it twice round the kid's face. The cling film tightens with every breath until Essy’s eyes go wide as dinner plates and her lungs burn. Lil Bitch grins harder, tonguing her teeth, nipples stiff under the uniform blouse. She fishes a long hairpin out of her up-do, touches the metal point to Essy’s left nipple, and twists, slow. Essy squeaks—half gasp, half plea. Then Lil Bitch hops up, grabs the two balloons she left on the nightstand and pops them right over Essy’s chest. Color explodes; little dots of red paper flutter over spent breaths, turn the panic party-bright. She’s still looking for air, but the only party favor left is more breath play and that wicked pin.