Copyright (c) 2014,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Wednesday, October 01, 2014

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: apocaly6.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com



story_codes: M/gg (7,3), lact, cons

story_intro: Casey, a soldier when The End came to be, has been working as a mercenary for the ten years since. Despite the collapse of civilization, Las Vegas still remains an entertainment paradise. When Casey prevents a sordid crime from occurring in the city, he is offered the chance to experience some of the best the place has to offer, including a most interestingly modified little girl.

story_language: English





Apocalypse Road: What Stays in Vegas

Written by madvlad


	The End, when it came, offered some great promotions. Take the man sitting now in an Army Black Hawk helicopter. He had been a member of the president's cabinet - one of those middle of the ladder people who largely went unreported by the media and subsequently unnoticed by the people. Oh, he had his perks - the limo, the Secret Service protection, etc., but he was hoping for the opportunity to move up the cabinet ranks when one of the other secretaries "reluctantly tendered their resignation" (forced out by the president or others), "failed to live up to their expectations" (caught in a scandal), or left "to spend time with their families" (an impending scandal they hoped would not be reported since they already resigned). Then he might be tabbed for a more high profile position.

	But then the dead came back. It could not be said they came back to life, exactly, so it was widely said they simply "came back". The Secretary wondered if a Department of Zombie Affairs would be created and where the head of it would be in the executive branch's pecking order. But the zombie hearings on Capitol Hill were one affair too many, leaving the president, vice-president, Speaker of the House and the President pro tempore of the Senate resting in pieces inside the rotting bellies of the walking dead.

	This left the line of succession to the members of the cabinet. This pool of prospective presidents was winnowed down by a series of incidents involving more zombie dinners, one genuine heart attack, and two deaths under mysterious circumstances that left the now former cabinet secretary taking the oath office from one of the surviving justices of the United States Supreme Court.

	Since Washington, DC was fast becoming a smorgasbord for the newly animated as they ran amok, he departed the rapidly disintegrating structure of the East Coast and headed toward one of the Doomsday bunkers in South Dakota. Various other government officials at all levels were trying to find safety and grab power at the same time, making the new president a rather uncomfortable target (with some whispers that he had arranged the deaths of other cabinet members). That he had a team of his own private bodyguards now instead of the Secret Service added to the suspicions. 

	He left the Air Force base aboard a Black Hawk along with his bodyguards and a young woman slightly less than half his age. For added protection, three Army soldiers also rode with them while eight more rode in a second Black Hawk with more supplies. The president had ordered that only enlisted men (except for the pilots) accompany him for fear that some officer might try to seize power. The senior soldier, a 30-year sergeant major named O'Halloran, had shown that the president had chosen the right men when he personally gave each of the bodyguards new types of submachine guns with explosive ammunition which he described as instant zombie killers.

	Still uneasy about the soldiers who seemed too serious for his taste, the new president spoke to the trio in his chopper, emphasizing how he respected their service while they were so unsure about their loved ones back home. To show his empathy, he noted that his own wife and children were not with him even now as he gravely undertook the responsibility of holding his shattered nation together.

	Jerking his chin in the direction of the young woman, O'Halloran stated flatly, "At least your, um, niece made it for the trip.....Sir."

	The president fumed at the remark which - correctly - insinuated that the woman was his mistress. But O'Halloran's face was as blank as a slab of granite. The other two soldiers, much younger men, seemed to have smirked for a moment before they too hardened their faces. 

	The awkward moment was interrupted when the pilot reported that they were in visual range. 

	"It's a good thing, sir," the pilot added. "Because our fuel is almost bingo."

	The president wondered why military people couldn't speak normal English. But he had overheard discussions about the flying range of loaded Black Hawks and accurately guessed that the pilot meant they were low on fuel. Just as the president had planned.

	After the helicopters landed, the president and his retinue stood near the locked entrance to the command bunker while the troops, including the pilots, unloaded the supplies. Although the bunker had plenty of food, medicine, medical equipment, and entertainment media to last for at least a decade, the president was particular about his wine and delicacies and had brought plenty with him. 

	As the soldiers set the last of the crates down, his bodyguards drew their machine guns while he unlocked the door with a key card. The soldiers showed surprise, except for O'Halloran who only regarded the private security men balefully. Their weapons were back on the choppers except for the pilots' side arms. But none of them were quick-draw artists.

	"Sorry, men," the president said with what he hoped was a 1,000-megawatt presidential smile. "But access in here requires presidential authorization and you're not authorized. I guess the clearance paperwork got stuck in the red tape somewhere. But I'm sure you can put all of those survival skills the Army taught you to good use on your way back."

	"But what about fuel?" one of the pilots shouted. "I've got a family back in Maryland."

	As the pilot began to lunge forward, the bodyguards raised their weapons. O'Halloran caught the pilot by the arm.

	"Easy, son," the old non-com said. "That's not the smart move."

	"Listen to the sergeant," the president said. "And don't get any ideas about an ambush because we have video surveillance and won't send people out to get these supplies until we know you're well enough away."

	The president, the Mistress-in-Chief, and the bodyguards went inside and the electronic lock of the door snapped in place with a defeating bang.

	"Grab what you can and let's go," O'Halloran barked. "We've got a shitload of clicks to hike."

	Once they had retrieved their weapons, two of the soldiers began to take aim at the crates of wine and caviar and other fine food, seeking to take revenge by depriving the president of his goodies. But O'Halloran stopped them.

	"Save the ammo," he grumbled. "We'll need every bullet."

	The group began to stride off, with one soldier asking O'Halloran if they should have charged the bodyguards.

	"Some of us would have died, but the rest could have taken them out and the prez would -"

	"Stow it, Dunbar," O'Halloran ordered. "Like I told the fly boy, it wasn't the smart move. You see, having my stripes and rockers just doesn't mean I get to shit all over you whenever I want. It means I've got connections all over."

	"You mean you've got choppers coming for us?" another soldier asked.

	"No, Romano. The way things are falling apart, I doubt there's much of any military left - or there wouldn't be by the time we got back to base. You can do what you want, but I say we stay together until we find some place to hunker down and ride out the storm, however fucking long it takes."

	"So what good are your connections?" Romano persisted.

	"Intel," O'Halloran replied. "We sergeant majors look out for each other. Anyway, you know the "instant zombie killer" exploding bullets I loaded for the president's goon squad? They're blanks, but I guess those people have figured that out by now."

	"What do you mean?"

	O'Halloran grinned for the first time in a week.

	"A buddy of mine at base told me that bunker had been overrun by zombies - infected CIA guys or whatever who thought they wouldn't turn into ghouls. Five will get you ten that the president and his pretty little bitch are on the menu as we speak."

	The soft tap of the glass on the table was matched a second later by the clink of silver coins on the waitress' tray. She nodded to the customer in acknowledgement of his subtle wave signaling the extra was a tip. In the decade following The End, silver, gold, and platinum had reasserted their millennia (at least in the case of the former two) of being the coin of the realm in nearly every civilization. Bartering of goods was still hugely common, but the larger surviving cities had more or less established the going rate in the purchasing power of precious metals. After all, they were easier to carry than a crate of chickens or a load of recovered batteries.

	Casey sipped from the glass - his second of the night and there be no more than four, as was his own rule. While beer still had to be imported into what remained of Las Vegas, they had done well in distilling some decent brands of bourbon at a fair price. Earlier in the day, the caravan he had been hired to help guide from Kansas City had arrived in old downtown Las Vegas with all vehicles and people still intact. 

	It had been a relatively easy trip with the obligatory zombie blasting, but the only raiders they had encountered had kept their distance, preferring to wait for easier targets who couldn't afford or wouldn't spend for mercenary protection. And now Casey was planning on a few days of downtime before looking for work with another caravan heading to established outposts or other safe havens. Anyone looking to start anew in some un-scouted place could do it on their own. At first, there had been a lot of that which meant a lot of unwelcome visitors - zombies, raiders, or just plain old whacked-out survivors. But now many establishments were known and he preferred travelling between those places. There was still adventure enough doing that (or else he wouldn't be needed), but he liked knowing the residents at the destination weren't going to try to eat him or burn him on an altar.

	When the shit had hit the fan ten years earlier, most of The Strip had become a zombie-fest. But the people had been able to barricade much of downtown and it had remained intact. At that time, there had been a huge bio-medical convention being held there. Many of the survivors were some of the best in their field. Now Las Vegas, along with its time-honored businesses of pleasure and entertainment, was also the premiere location for medical care and innovation. Casey had heard whispers of people coming here for some elaborate enhancements of various kinds. Doubtfully, these were not FDA-approved as there had not been the requisite testing and paperwork, but neither was there an FDA left to approve of anything.

	As Casey didn't feel the need to get his penis enlarged or his testicles tie-dyed (or whatever the hell they did here), he was content to sit in a lower lounge of the Four Queens, sipping his bourbon and watching some pretty hot and remarkably limber dancers on stage. The performers could be had for a higher price than the hookers who also worked the lounges and Casey had indulged once, stumbling around the following day with a light wallet, sore dick, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

	Other times, he watched his money more carefully. Over time, he had broadened his range anywhere from women in their fifties to a girl of ten. That youngest kid had been in Santa Fe and still had the fresh schoolgirl look from a more carefree age before the dead had returned. She had also been one of the best lays he had ever had and had taught him not to turn his nose up at some willing to spread her legs before she had grown any tits.

	Despite the atmosphere, he would still scan the room occasionally, looking for potential trouble. It was a lesson he had learned from the exalted Sergeant Major O'Halloran before and after The End and one he continued to employ in his mercenary trade.

	He spotted the guy quickly enough. Although the man was dressed in a golf shirt and slacks and looked like someone from one of the upper tiers here, he was carrying a military-style duffel bag which was odd since he didn't look like the manual labor type.

	Throughout Las Vegas, there was a system of tiers in place. Essentially, it was the cost of living and the level of refinement and luxury that determined the non-physical boundaries. At the top was a life that could rival the best before The End. From there, things became less refined and less costly as the tiers descended. But even the bottom tier, where Casey usually stayed, was pretty clean and safe. In contrasts to many other places, it was practically heaven.

	The guy didn't look happy to be carrying the bag, which Casey took as natural, but a closer inspection told him that he wasn't unhappy as much as he was very nervous. At first, Casey was content to just observe, but when something in the bag moved, Casey decided to intervene.

	"You need help with that, buddy?" he asked casually as he approached the man.

	"No," the man blurted, pulling the bag closer to him.

	The sudden movement made the bag thump against his leg, producing a noise - like a human complaint - from the bag.

	"You sure some help isn't needed?" Casey persisted, his voice still light but his eyes hard.

	Although he wasn't the type to usually interfere with others, Casey figured that anyone carrying a kid in a duffel bag was up to no good. Before the man could stop him, Casey leaned over and undid the clasp on the end of the bag, freeing the overlapped ends. When the man tried to jerk the bag away, the balance was lost and a small girl fell out, landing on her bottom with an indignant squeak.

	She jerked her head around, blinking in the light. Her eyes were very light hazel as they stared at the man with the bag. Whimpering, she scooted backwards on her butt. Casey figured she was really young, not much more than a toddler at best. Seeing Casey as the only one nearby, she assumed he had rescued her from the bag and quickly stood to hide behind him, clutching his leg. 

	Now Casey readied himself for a fight, which was going to be complicated now that the tot had her little arms wrapped around his thigh. But as long as Duffel Bag Man was unarmed, Casey thought he could still take him easily.

	"Roger Pendleton," an authoritative voice boomed. 

	Both Casey and his adversary looked to see a squad of Las Vegas security personnel striding their way. The man in front - a captain judging from his collar insignia - was the one who had called out.

	Duffel Bag Man - presumably Roger - paled immediately.

	"Now there, Pendleton," the captain said in a good humored voice that seemed all the more ominous in spite of its tone. "We have laws about taking things that don't belong to you. And taking people - that's even more...unfortunate."

	"Come on, Captain," Roger wheedled. "She's just an itty bitty one. What's the deal with one missing kid? I just want a companion and she's so soft and cuddly. And she's already giving blowjobs - I've heard."

	"But you wouldn't stop with her mouth, would you Roger? What the hell do you think would happen to a three year-old if a full grown man jammed his over-sized dick - yeah, I've seen you in the shower at the gym - between her legs? You might kill her or leave her wishing she was dead."

	"Wait, there's things I can get for you," Roger blurted desperately. "Things I can do...oof!"

	One of the guards jammed the butt of his automatic rifle into Roger, making the man double over. He was cuffed and marched off by the men except for the captain and one other guard who remained behind with Casey and the girl.

	The captain got to one knee and spoke to the little girl in a gentle tone.

	"It's okay now, Kyrie. You can let go of the nice man."

	Casey felt the pressure on his leg (damn, that kid had a grip!) ease and eventually the child walked toward the captain. She was only wearing a t-shirt with some little girl and a monkey on the front - something from a pre-End cartoon - and a pink pair of panties. Casey had to admit the kid had some sweet-looking thighs in the slightly fleshy fullness of the very young. Although his tastes had expanded downward in age, it surprised him that he was attracted to a three year-old.

	"Nice man," Kyrie announced, pointing a tiny finger at Casey and favoring him with a wide smile that displayed her square baby teeth.

	"Officer Preston is going to take you back up to the eighth floor, Kyrie. I'm sure Lila is very worried and we want her to know you're safe before she starts her shift."

	"Girl milk!" Kyrie cried delightedly and willing put her small hand in the other guard's palm and skipped beside him as they went to the elevators.

	The captain then turned to Casey and extended his hand in greeting.

	"Walt Berthold," he said. "Pleased to finally speak with you, Mr. Romano."

	Casey shook Walt's hand, the confusion on his face plain. Walt laughed.

	"Oh, we know about you. We've been watching you for some time."

	"Why? I'm a pretty low-key guy."

	"Exactly. You're ex-military and a mercenary who always arrives with most or all of his protectees with him. We're careful to note the ones who always seem to lose their clientele. Anyone that inept would be dead which means they're probably killing their clients and taking their cargo. You drink, but not to excess. And you fuck, but never get rough with the ladies."

	Casey might have been upset that he had been that closely watched, but he know you couldn't have a safe oasis like this in the zombie wastelands without keeping security tight.

	"Nice," he replied. "But it doesn't sound like my reality show would draw much in ratings."

	Walt laughed again. It was an easy laugh, not forced, which made Casey feel better. A lot of people thought security types (which included him) were humorless types with all their strings kept tight. He had seen enough of those who had gone completely bat-shit since The End.

	When Casey was about to ask a question, the captain held up one finger while he pointed to his ear with his other hand. Walt was wearing an old Bluetooth and had someone speaking to him through the device. Walt gave a couple of quick yesses before he looked at Casey again.

	"We looped the boss in on Kyrie's situation. Now that everything's settled, he wants to meet with you and see if you're interested in staying on here in Security. If nothing else, there's a couple of free drinks in it for you."

	"Lead the way," Casey said by way of agreement. When they boarded the elevator, Casey asked which boss Walt was referring to.

	"Ellis Wheeler." 

	Casey paused and looked at the guard captain whose face showed no hint of grin from a practical joke. Ellis Wheeler was the man who had taken charge of downtown Las Vegas when everything was going to hell ten years earlier. The downtown had been blockaded under his direction and he wisely put most of the people with guns on the barricades facing The Strip. The high-luxury end of the city had become a high-priced buffet and there were plenty more of the walking dead as the bitten survivors joined the ranks of their former hunters within minutes or days (depending on the strain of whatever caused the zombie thing in the first place) in search of more lunch.

	Legend had it that some pawn shop had a trove of antique guns and the owners had shown up to assist with the defense, having a hell of time popping ghouls with muskets, Civil War era rifles, and a cannon supposedly used in the Crimean war. Hey, just because the world was falling apart didn't mean you couldn't have a few jollies, right?

	Anyway, it was Wheeler who also put things back together downtown. With all of the medical researchers there for a convention, he had the vision of Las Vegas not only as a pleasure place, but as the biggest and best source of medical research and care in the new, half-eaten world.

	"Unless I'm taking your job, why would someone like Wheeler be interested in me?" Casey asked.

	"Mr. Wheeler knows what's important and what's bullshit and focuses his attention accordingly. In our case, he doesn't micromanage Security, but he wants to know when something serious is going down. In the case of Roger Pendleton, here was a guy who was likely going to do something brutally nasty to a little girl. 

	Yeah, she's learned how to give blowjobs and she'll learn how to turn tricks with carefully selected clients when she's a little older, but that's all controlled. Plus, Pendleton had some pretty high clearance and when someone like that tries to do what he wanted to do, that's pretty serious. 

	One other thing he insists upon is personally interviewing Security people from mid-level on up. If you stay on, you'll be starting as a sergeant - not at the bottom. Ah, here we are."

	The elevator chimed and they exited onto a higher floor. The atmosphere and furnishings immediately told Casey he was in a much higher tier than ever before. Probably the top if he was going to meet Ellis Wheeler.

	The man himself was seated at a round table in an alcove booth, sipping some amber liquid. Casey judged him to be in his early or mid-fifties with graying hair and pale blue eyes that could light up with laughter or turn ice cold in a split second. When he spied Casey and Walt, he stood and extended his hand to Casey.

	"Mr. Romano, I saw you on video. Very nice work. You stopped Pendleton without making a scene. Most people didn't even know it was going down. There are plenty of guys out there looking to get paid for thumping heads, but sometimes the subtle approach is best. Walt told me you were on his watch list for recruiting so we thought we'd pull the trigger."

	Wheeler motioned for him to sit and Casey listened to what he had to say. The idea of steady employment in one place had its appeal. Of the fifteen soldiers and pilots who had left the president's bunker, most of them were long gone. Three swallowed bullets from their own guns and other six got eaten entirely or bitten to where they had to be put down. O'Halloran had chosen to stay with a farming community that had plenty of ammunition but desperately needed someone who could organize a proper defense. The others had gradually drifted away in search of their new place in the world. Casey had seen Dunbar a few times in Kansas City, but the last had been two years ago. 

	A frosty mug was set down in front of him with beer foam threatening to slide down from the top. Taking a sip, Casey found it was nearly as good as he had fantasized about over the last decade. Although Wheeler insisted it was on the house, Casey plunked a little silver on the waitress' tray. It was then that he took a good look at her.

	Like the other female servers, she was wearing just a shiny bikini. The servers were as old as perhaps their thirties but this was one of the preteen girls he had noticed when he and Walt had entered the club. Casey judged her to be around eight or nine; a lovely thing with long, strawberry-blonde hair, but her bikini top was giving his age estimate a hard time. He wasn't sure how it was done, but the girl looked like she had a real pair of tits. Nothing enormous, but they looked incredibly real.

	Noticing Casey's stare, Wheeler chuckled and waved another girl over. She was a little smaller than the first one with a long flow of brown curly hair and pale blue eyes. But like the other girl, she appeared to have a small bust on a chest that should have been completely flat. The girl approached with a pleasant smile.

	"Lila, this Casey Romano - the man who saved Kyrie," Wheeler said to her.

	Now the girl's smile brightened immensely.

	"Thank you for rescuing my sister!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck.

	"You're welcome," Casey rasped, moving his neck to take some pressure off from his Adam's apple.

	He looked at her closely, seeing the resemblance in the facial structure between the two girls although their eye color was different and Lila's hair was a few shades darker.

	"Can I get you anything?" she begged. "Something to drink?"

	"Well, this beer was mighty good."

	"I can get you another one," she said. "Or...something even better."

	"Better, huh?" Casey countered. "I've been wishing for a beer like this since before you were born."

	"I'm seven years old," Lila giggled. "That's a long time to want a beer."

	"I've been waiting for ten years."

	This made Lila laugh again, a pleasant, almost musical sound. Casey found himself more interested in this girl but wondered if he could afford her.

	"Alright," Casey said with a grin. "What do you have that's better?"

	Lila bit her lower lip and lowered her head slightly while raising her eyes to look at him hopefully. The affect was adorable and it didn't look contrived.

	"Would you like some girl milk?" she asked in a small voice.

	"Huh?"

	Still holding her lower lip in her teeth, Lila reached around her back and pulled the strings on her top. It fell off and she stood before him, a seven year-old sporting a tiny pair of perfectly formed breasts. They weren't little buds like an older preteen might have, but round and firm like an older teen - only in miniature. Casey started to reach for one but froze his hand in mid-air, unsure of what to do.

	"Go on," Wheeler urged mildly. "They won't break of fall off."

	Lila's giggle tinkled in Casey's ear and he resumed his reach. The little girl's breast was warm and smooth, the flesh giving but still firm. He easily covered the entire thing with his fingers as he massaged it. While she was fondled, Lila closed her eyes and practically purred. Casey could feel the nipple stiffening between his fingers.

	"You know our bio-med industry is top-notch," Wheeler explained. "They've been working on zombies since nearly Day1, trying to find out what makes them tick. They've isolated a blood-borne virus, but the damn thing mutates like a son-of-a-bitch which explains why some people change over within minutes after being bit and others take hours or days. And there's some necrosis inhibitor that kicks in after a given time, which is why they don't disintegrate.

	But it's not all semi-dead cannibals. A couple of guys had been working on breast growth and lactation inducement before The End and six years ago, they had their breakthrough. It's an ongoing regimen to keep the process in place. Nattie, here, was the first preteen girl to get them and she was Lila's age. She's thirteen now - off the treatment when she started growing them on her own. No lingering or bad side effects."

	Casey looked over to see a young blonde girl with nice-sized, typical breasts of a young teen. She smiled at him before crawling under the table. Walt shuffled in his seat and Casey could just see the movement of a blonde head in his lap as the thirteen year-old began sucking the guard captain off.

	Noticing moisture on his fingers, Casey pulled his hand from Lila's breast and saw a small bead of white on one nipple. Locking her large eyes on Casey's, Lila explained.

	"I'm sorry, but I'm awfully full now and it would feel nice if you could get the milk out of me. Please?"

	Now he knew why Kyrie had mentioned girl milk before. His head spinning lightly, Casey leaned forward sucked the seven year-old's mammary into his mouth. She was full, the milk coming in small jets as he sucked long and hard. Between sucked, he flicked her nipple with his tongue, making the girl groan. 

	Lila put her arms around the mercenary's head, holding him fast while he drained her titlet, providing both relief and arousal. When he moved to the other one, she stepped closer to him, grinding her bikini clad crotch against his knee. By the time she had been completely milked, she had her bottoms pulled down and her dripping cunny had made a wet mark on the knee of Casey's pants. Lila put her hand over her mouth as she gave him an embarrassed smile before proceeding to unzip his fly.

	Casey's dick sprang loose as she fished around the fly on his underwear. Without a word, she climbed onto his lap, kneeling and pressing her bald and wet little pussy against the head of his prick. The child's soft folds parted, the smooth skin gleaming in the light as she moved her pelvis to work him into her sex. Feeling her body heat against his glans, Casey swallowed hard.

	She was slippery enough to be penetrated, but her small size made it difficult to get in. Lila took Casey's hands and put them around her waist. Understanding what she wanted, Casey pulled the girl down, making her grunt and gasp as her tight but flexible cunny was slowly invaded. Trapped in the fleshy grip of the child's tiny sex, Casey knew there was only one way to go - further inside. Lila made a long, breathy sigh as she was pulled down until she was completely filled. 

	Bracing her feet on the upholstered booth seat, she tried to push up. Casey assisted with his hands, aiding the movement as the man and girl copulated in slow, careful strokes. With every inward thrust of Casey's cock, the seven year-old's pussy oozed more juices out to coat his shaft and the stretched, hairless entrance to her tiny treasure hole. Lila's titties bobbed slightly with her movements, mesmerizing Casey until she shot his load inside her. It had been years since he had come so forcefully it felt as if the little girl's snug pussy was trying to pull everything it could from him.

	When he was done, Casey reached down to Lila's exposed clit which was pressing against the meat still embedded inside her and twiddled the little nubbin. Lila responded with more thrusts of her own, bringing his cock to life inside of her as she neared her climax. As she came, she said nothing, but her widened eyes and jerking pelvis told him enough. Her frantic movements subsided and she leaned against him, slowly using her legs for a gentler rhythm until Casey came once more. The little girl made a small, high-pitched sound as she was inseminated again.

	His senses returning, Casey took stock of his surroundings. Nattie must have finished, judging from the satisfied look on Walt's face. She was zipping his fly and then moved up to whisper something in his ear. Walt's grin widened substantially. Casey admired the thirteen year-old's sleek, toned figure as she backed out from under the table and walked away. She looked quite limber and no doubt had an interesting evening planned for her and Walt. 

	Meanwhile, another girl had joined the table, a little dark-haired girl about Lila's age but with a perfectly flat chest. Her bikini top and bottom were puddled on the floor as she stood next to Wheeler. The boss had his index finger working in and out of the child's juicy little twat, fucking her more forcefully than Casey had with Lila since his finger was smaller than a cock. The girl was panting as she clutched his arm, her little legs trembling when she came. But she managed to stay upright and gave Wheeler a grateful smile when he withdrew his finger from her hairless hole. She immediately began leaking her sex fluid down her thighs, but paid them no mind as she donned her scanty uniform and left the booth.

	Lila had also gotten dressed and gave Casey a peck on the cheek before going to Wheeler. The boss ruffled her hair in a familiar way and planted a kiss on her cheek before sending her off with a swat on her round little bottom.

	Wheeler sighed happily and used the finger he had embedded in the other girl's cunny to stir his drink before taking another sip. Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he said, "I love the House Special on the cocktail menu."

	Seeing how Wheeler's eyes twinkled when he said that reminded Casey of...

	"Oh shit!" he exclaimed. "Was this some kind of test? Is Lila your daughter?"

	Walt laughed at Casey's reaction before Wheeler responded.

	"No to the first question and yes to the second. But no worries - I've got plenty of kids by plenty of mothers. I don't order anyone to have sex with me, mind you. But when you're in charge, there is a certain magnetism. Lila's and Kyrie's mother works in Operations. She has no interest in rearing children so the girls live in one of our nurseries. 

	Although we have a good life here, it takes hard work. So kids are taught early on to help out as they can. Lila was fascinated when she saw some of the other little girls with boobs and wanted to go in that direction. So she wound up in the sex trade. If she wants to be a pastry chef when she's older, she can do that. But once Kyrie saw what Lila was doing, she wanted to be like her big sister, so she was taught how to use her mouth. But I think we'll keep her flat-chested until she hits puberty.

	Since their mother willingly gave up custody, I have say in what the girls can or cannot do. And prostitution is a viable trade here but we restrict access to the young ones. One of the perks of being Security is that you'll have access and since Lila has taken a shine to you, I'm sure you'll see more of each other if you decide to stay. Of course that means Kyrie will insist on tagging along."

	"I guess I'd better learn how to play with dolls," Casey replied before he realized his unintended double entendre. 

	The rest of the evening was spent with Walt and some of the other Security guys as they ate well, drank the good stuff, and gambled with some comp chips. Walt told him they'd take him on an operation the next day before he wandered off with Nattie on his arm. The youngster's lightly sunned skin gleamed golden in the casino lights as her hips held a provocative sway. Casey soon found himself alone and looked about for Lila before someone mentioned she was no longer working as it was well past her bedtime. 

	So he was quite content with a seventeen year-old who was fascinated with life out in the Badlands and kept peppering him with questions about everything. She loved his stories and showed her appreciation in some rather inventive ways.

	Casey was still dreaming about one position they had tried when it began to fade as he awoke. Clean linens and a good mattress were a rarity to him and he lay there enjoying it until he heard some wet noises and felt some motion on the bed. 

	He sat up to find a completely naked Lila sitting in bed. Cradled in her lap was an equally nude Kyrie who was noisily nursing at her sister's breast. When Lila saw he was awake, she gave him that same soft smile he was starting to love and explained what was happening.

	"I was full again and like to feed Kyrie. She likes it to"

	Kyrie's eyes found Casey and he could tell she was smiling from the way they squinted and her nose crinkled while she suckled on the seven year-old's titlet. Watching the girls made him hard and when Kyrie was finished, Lila nudged her toward Casey.

	"Kyrie knows how to suck really good. Can she do it to you?" Lila asked.

	"Sure," Casey said although Kyrie was already between his legs and reaching for his dick.

	The toddler pulled his member downward and quickly attached the lips that had just been on her sister's chest to his meat. She didn't get more than his head inside her mouth but Casey though she looked innocent and sexy at the same time with her wide eyes and button nose while she sucked his cock like she was nursing. Her lips pulled on him while her tiny tongue slid back and forth underneath his cock head. Two small hands gripped him along his length, just large enough to encircle his rod and they were warm and soft and felt perfectly fine where they were in contact with him.

	When Casey came in her mouth, Kyrie surprised him by swallowing. But here was more than she could take and much of it dribbled out of her mouth and onto her torso. Lila pounced on Kyrie, wrestling her baby sister onto her back while she licked the jism clean from her chest and tummy. They looked like little kittens playing and Kyrie giggled while her big sister tongued her cuddly little form.

	"Now you're clean" Lila announced as she sat up into a kneeling position.

	Kyrie rolled on her side to face Casey and spread her legs.

	"Kitty play?" the tot asked.

	When Casey looked at Lila, the older girl explained.

	"Kyrie likes to get her kitty rubbed and stuff until she cums."

	"At her age?"

	"Sure, I did too. But you can't put your finger way inside her 'cause she's still a virgin and you have to wait 'til she's six to do that. It's the rule."

	"Big girl kitty," Kyrie added. "Like Lila."

	Casey pulled Kyrie onto his lap while Lila hunkered down to watch, already fingering herself. It was obvious that this had been done before and the sweet little seven year-old clearly enjoyed watching her baby sister get lovingly molested.

	Casey took his time, running his fingers up and down the small, silky thighs of the tyke. Kyrie's mound was plump and pleasingly smooth to the touch. He lightly squeezed and manipulated the tiny thing, gradually spreading her outer labia until he could graze her clitty with a fingertip. This made Kyrie rub her ass against his re-emergent erection. 

	Spreading her hairless pussy open further, Casey looked at the delicate structure of the three year-old's cuntlet. Her entrance was pink and glistening as was the tiny amount of virgin membrane he saw behind it. Although he made no effort to penetrate her, he caressed her sensitive little areas until Kyrie was happily squirming in his lap while in the throes of a toddler-sized orgasm. 

	By then, Lila wanted to play as her oozing little snatch attested. She rolled Kyrie off of Casey's lap and the tot was content to watch as she sucked her thumb. But when Casey took her by the waist, she stopped him.

	"I'm kinda sore down there," she said wistfully. "It was really busy yesterday. Could you go in my bottom, please?"

	"How could I turn down a polite request like that?" Casey replied, making Lila giggle as she rolled onto her hands and knees.

	Casey thought he'd cum as he was entering the seven year-old's rear. Lila worked her anus, practically pulling him inside her where her oily rectum enclosed his cock. Casey worked in and out of the child's ass, going deeper than he could have in her pussy. With one hand, he held her hip while the other held her by one small titty.

	Lila worked a finger in her bald little snatch - no easy thing with a man driving in and out of her bottom - was masturbating with lewd, drippy noises from between her legs. The little girl's mouth was open and drooling as she was stimulated on three places at once. 

	Kyrie shifted, getting up on her knees while her thumb remained in her mouth, watching as Casey's cock slid in and out from between Lila's firm young buttocks. The three year-old was very intrigued by everything her sister could do and wondered how it would feel to have something that big in her tiny rump. She wasn't sure but Lila caertainly loved it.

	Casey was getting the same vibes from Lila, amazed that a little girl could get off on anal sex this much since most women that he had known either hated it or could have cared less. But this little thing was whining and grunting as she worked her small sweaty body, thrusting back against him. While he was encased inside her anal chute, Lila seemed reluctant to have him pull out, her underage ass squeezing at his cock while he moved out and then tightly greeting him when he returned. Lila jerked as she came, her ass muscles clenching around Casey's cock with even more force than before. The man's ball's reacted, erupting inside the seven year-old's rectum. He spurted his seed into the little girl's bowels, completing a fine early morning.

	"Ready for a Strip Safari?" Walt asked later as he and a squad of his men were gearing up.

	Casey had heard of these - people paid to see the remains of the famous Las Vegas Strip which extended southward from downtown. The area had been cordoned off with miles of chain link fence, keeping access to and from it very restricted. 

	Some people also worked deals to scavenge the area which was still loaded with luxury goods, turning over ten percent of their take to the city. Although the reward could be great, it was an extremely hazardous job due to the conditions of some of the buildings and the ever-present population of the walking dead.

	Casey was given some body armor and a riot gun although the bus they were using was heavily reinforced. He was also surprised to see no paying passengers. Roger Pendleton was there, clad in an orange Day-Glo jumpsuit instead. Then he realized that Pendleton must have been sentenced to "The Run".

	Depending on the nature of the crime, the more serious offenses would earn the convicted a sentence of being taken out to the Strip and having to work their way back through the ruins and the zombies. If they made it back to the gate to downtown, their sentence was complete. The worse the crime, however, the farther out you were taken. Since Pendleton had tried to kidnap and rape the boss' three year-old daughter, Casey figured he would be starting well south with a long way to trek.

	His hunch was confirmed when Walt spoke.

	"Roger Pendleton, you will begin your run at the Mandalay Bay. Congratulations, fucker, it's the farthest one out."

	Roger said nothing but only turned paler. If he looked any worse, he might be a zombie. He wasn't looking any healthier when he was booted off the bus by the resort's now empty shark reef exhibit. Before the end, it had housed numerous finned man-eaters but now the threat of becoming a meal lurched about on two legs.

	Leaving a terrified Roger Pendleton behind, they drove north to the Luxor Mirror. During The End, an airliner, possibly under zombie siege from within, had flown too low and clipped a tower of the Excalibur castle. The jet cartwheeled into the Luxor's iconic glass pyramid. The resulting heat of the burning jet fuel melted the shattered glass, creating a relatively smooth coating of glass on the street near the corner of Reno Avenue and Las Vegas Boulevard. The effect reflected sky from the glass made the horizon appear to be in several places as once depending on how you looked at it. It was spectacular and dizzying at the same time.

	The next stop further north was The Bellagio, its famous fountains dormant and the pool long since devoid of the water that evaporated under the harsh Nevada sun. The bus rolled down the log drive, turning around near the entrance so the nose was pointing outward if a quick escape was needed.

	"Do you like Elvis?" a security sergeant named Darren asked Casey.

	"Take him or leave him," was Casey's reply.

	"Ah, a Beatles man," Walt grinned.

	"Nope. More like Linkin' Park and Nine Inch Nails - are they playing here tonight?"

	"Nope, here at The Bellagio, it's Elvis for eternity, bro," Darren laughed as he pressed a button.

	From loudspeakers mounted somewhere on the bus, Elvis Presley's voice boomed "You Aint Nothing but a Hound Doug", which struck Casey as bizarre.

	"Wait for it," said Dingo, a former state trooper from Alabama, drawled. "Waaiiiiiiiit for it."

	"Here they come," another man called.

	Casey looked into the shadowy recesses of the resort entrance where shambling figures appeared. They were zombies, of course, but not the usual ones. Many were sporting dark hair or wigs, some with thick sideburns and about half in paste-jeweled, stained white polyester jumpsuits. Once out in the sunlight, the stopped, many gyrating an arm or lurching from side to side to shake their hips. They were holding fists close to their mouths as if they were microphones, many uttering unintelligible sounds.

	"You've got trained zombies?" Casey asked as he stared at the undead Elvis pantomimes.

	"Nope, not trained," Walt answered. "There was an Elvis convention here when The End came. At first, you'd see them wandering around like all of the others. But after, oh, two or three years, it seemed like a bunch of them got part of their memory back. But it's like a group thing - a lot of them together seemed to catch onto something they all had in common. I've heard stories of the same thing in other places. Not Elvis but other group memories."

	"Yeah, I saw something like that at Offutt - an Air Force base outside of old Omaha - a few years back," Casey said, unable to take his eyes off of the spectacle. "A bunch of Z's still in uniform acted like they were standing guard or walking around certain aircraft like they were inspecting them. Creepy as hell then, but these guys are fucking funny."

	"Oh yeah, we love our Elvises," Dingo said.

	"You're the best, man!" Darren yelled from a window as the bus started to leave.

	One of the zombies cocked his head and pointed a gray finger at Darren, mumbling something that might have been zombie-speak for "Thank you. Thank you very much."

	The bus roamed around some other resorts, letting Casey catch a glimpse of the bizarre aftermaths at each of the themed hotel-casinos. Then they turned south on Las Vegas Boulevard to check on Roger Pendleton, if possible. One of the men shouted and pointed a finger in the dusty yard of Caesar's Palace where there had once been manicured grass and flower beds.

	There was a cluster of zombies in white togas yanking on fresh, bloody entrails and stuffing themselves. Amid the gore were pieces of orange Day-Glo cloth. On the bus, men grumbled except for Dingo who simply grinned and held out his hand.

	"Pay up, boys."

	"Shit, I thought he'd make it as far as Treasure Island," groused Darren as he dropped a gold piece onto the small pile growing in Dingo's hand.

	"So the toga zombies - what's their story from The End?" Casey asked.

	"No story," Walt explained. "A month ago, some boys from Bravo Unit rounded up some chompers and dressed them up in sheets before dropping them off here. They said it added to the ambiance of the place. Funny as shit when we first saw the vids."

	"If I remember, Roger was kind of pissy about the whole thing," Darren said. "Improper conduct of personnel and a waste of time, blah, blah, blah."

	"Yeah, and I don't think he thought they were very funny today, either," added Dingo.

	"Long day, eh?" Wheeler asked that evening.

	"Yes, but interesting," Casey answered.

	"So you'll sign on?"

	"Yep. There's more for me here than out there anymore."

	Wheeler nodded and slid the contract across the desk. 

	"I've added some incentives for you if you stay on longer," Wheeler explained as he directed Casey to review the addendum to the contract he had already read. "Some of it I can do as the boss here, but I've added a couple of things I can only do as the sole custodial parent of Lila and Kyrie. Like I said before, you and Lila can have as much fun as long as you both want it. Same with Kyrie but we have some age limits just to prevent physical harm. At five, she'll be allowed to have anal sex and you get first dibs on her ass. When she turns six, you can have her cherry. Just be nice when you do it so she has a good time, too."

	Casey hastily scribbled his name to the contract and shook hands with his new boss. Walt and the others were throwing a welcome party for him and he didn't want to be late.

	The following morning brought thin shafts of sunlight through the blinds in his room. Thankful for the aspirin he had taken before going to sleep a few hours earlier, Casey kept his eyes closed. There was a sound - very faint. He was pretty sure it was the door to his room opening and closing. Acting as if he was still asleep, he waited for further evidence of the intruder. 

	There was movement at the foot of his bed when something crawled onto it and burrowed under the sheet and blanket. Grinning, Casey wondered if it was just something or if that something's three year-old shadow had also joined it. He got his answer when two wet little tongues began attacking his cock.



madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm





















This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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