Copyright (c) 2017,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Wednesday, December 06, 2017

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: hisgodde.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: M/g(8), bondage, non-cons

story_intro: Emma thought she was just an ordinary little girl. Then came the day when she was taken and secreted away in a hidden "temple" by an obsessed admirer. There she would be worshipped in the most profane ways.


story_language: English




His Goddess

Written by madvlad


	With her worn sneakers almost gliding along the sidewalk, Emma hurried away from the bodega with the peanut butter and quart of milk. They had run out and her mother left money on the kitchen table for Emma to get more at the small store four blocks away. Her toe caught on an uneven portion of concrete where the slab had cracked and shifted. Stumbling forward, she panicked as the bag with her purchase swung precariously in front of her. But she maintained her grip and restored her balance and kept moving.

	The man waiting outside had frightened her. His smile seemed greasy and so were his words as he complimented Emma on her looks, telling her how hot she looked.

	Emma didn't think of herself like that. Certainly, she dreamed of being glamorous but her thin, eight year-old body was a far cry from that of the pouty women who graced the billboards all around her. 

	A city bus passed by her and on the side was a dark-haired woman with a generously displayed cleavage advertising perfume. Emma didn't know what boobs had to do with how you smelled but the flat terrain beneath her own t-shirt put her a fair distance away from the model. 

	Of course, the contrasts didn't stop there. Emma's hair was light brown, a little streaky in color with dark blonde mixed in. And it wasn't long and flowing like the perfume lady's - just pulled back straight in a head band.

	Having slipped down her nose during her near tumble, Emma's glasses were in danger of coming off. She pushed them back in place with a practiced gesture; her finger pressing against the bridge of the cheap plastic frame. From behind the lenses, her hazel eyes - nowhere near the deep dark that Ms. Perfume used to produce a sultry stare - swiveled for any sign of further trouble.

	The man's voice slithered through her memory again as it replayed itself against her will. He had especially liked her rear end although he had used a cruder term for it. From there, he went on about how sweet it was for such a little girl to fill out her jeans so well. The touch of his words made her feel slimy all over.

	There was her apartment building ahead. Comforted by the dirty brown brick structure, Emma risked a look back and did not see her creepy admirer. She turned her head around and began to take a deep breath of relief. 

	That was just before the cloth was clapped over her nose and mouth. She knew a moment of panic and a whiff of something vaguely sweet and then...nothing.

	The grab - no, the rescue - had gone smoothly. Of course it had - it was meant to be. This strengthened the acolyte as he carried her from the threats of the soiled world into the sanctuary of the temple. 

	Laying her out on the bed, he paused to bask in her presence. They were together at last. It was no coincidence that he had first discovered her on the day of the summer solstice three months ago. Certainly, he had seen her before but then the Sun and the Earth had aligned to illuminate his new path.

	Being unworthy of her at the moment, he had studied her carefully. It was easy to observe her and he had even taken photos so that her image might be with him at all hours whenever they were apart. His favorites had been a set of her wearing slightly baggy shorts. No, her garments did not need to be tight to show her beauty like the cretin by the store had alluded to. 

	In his cherished photos, Emma's slender legs were slightly tanned. She was climbing on a playset in the park near the prison she had been forced to call home and her legs were at all angles as she moved about. 

	When her thighs were bent upward, her shorts slid down to reveal an even lighter shade of golden tan higher up those precious limbs. From one of his shooting angles, he had a view of the inside of her thigh, her skin becoming perfectly pale just inside the loose leg of her shorts. And he even caught a sliver of pink - of the garment that covered her holiest of places.

	He frowned now as he looked at the cheap clothing that covered her meager frame. Pig Mama had clothed the child in poor rags. Oh, the woman claimed to be the girl's mother but he knew, he knew that there was no way that such a tawdry lump of flesh could produce this wondrous being before him. When the media came, Pig Mama would be famous but they would never find the baby she had stolen from the heavens and she would eventually go away.

	Using a knife he had carefully honed, he cut away the clothing from the girl. They would be disposed of discreetly and as he stuffed them into a trash bag, he paused. In his hand was the last bit - the shredded white panties with red polka dots. They were unworthy of her, to be sure, but they had touched her flesh much like the Shroud of Turin had touched the body of Jesus. No, he would keep this for himself - an icon to be worshipped. 

	Regarding the small glasses, he put them aside as well, although he couldn't explain why. Perhaps in the future she would let him laugh with her as they regarded this bit of the disguise she had been made to wear before he set her free. 

	Unfortunately, she wasn't quite free. He knew she would be confused from her time spent among the human squalor. And he had no doubt that Pig Mama had tried to pollute her mind with hatred toward those who only wished to serve her. But he had chosen the silk with great care; long strips of shimmering gold secured on each end to the bed frame and which he fastened around her wrists and ankles.

	Now her flawless form was before him in its entire sleek, young splendor. Beneath her was more silk - sheets of white. With trembling fingers, he caressed her skin which rivaled the material under her and securing her limbs. But the cloth did not carry the warmth she had nor did it pulse with the actions of her heart as his hand pressed between her unformed breasts.

	Reluctant to leave the blessing of her pulses, he continued to absorb her radiance with his hands. Although thin, her thighs were firm with muscle with just the slightest covering of softer flesh beneath the skin. The tiny mound at the apex of her legs was as smooth as the rest of her but was so plump and pliant beneath his adoring touches.

	When she began to stir, his pulse quickened. He could feel the perspiration on his face, trickling down his neck. And he felt another reaction as he prepared to greet her. The eyelids fluttered open, showing confusion. As the hazel orbs cleared from the drug she had inhaled, he saw the expression as she noticed him.

	She recognized him! Oh, blessed day!

	Shock turned to panic as she tried to move her limbs. Yes, the confusion was there, planted by Pig Mama. Moving quickly so that she would understand that she was with her faithful, he knelt on the bed and began to worship her.

	Emma couldn't be sure if this was real. Everything was kind of fuzzy and then she saw him. For a moment, it was alright until she realized she was tied up with her arms and legs spread. Why was he looking her like that?

	Then she realized that she was naked. And he was looking at her like...like... she couldn't explain it. He got onto the bed and bowed on his knees, his head lowering until his mouth was between her legs.

	She writhed when he touched her there. His lips were on her private place and...Oh God, he was licking her there. Sobbing, she tried to beg him to stop. She wanted him to let her go, to let her get dressed, to...something was happening...

	The child was perfect in his mouth. Her little vulva compressed under his oral kneading and the fleshy labia opened for her tongue to taste her. Holding her waist as she squirmed, he dug into her, feeling the untouched portions of her, the fine edge to her inner lips and the hooded nubbin at the top. 

	It stiffened under the strokes of his tongue, the agitated flesh poking out from the protective sheath of skin. His heart leaping, he trapped the clitoris between his tongue and upper front teeth, suckling as if at the breast of a timeless mother. In response, her keening wails signaled her approval. Then the first of her precious nectar graced his tongue and he drank of her blessing.

	Pig Mama's hold on her was slipping. He could tell by the way her frightened cries transformed into kittenish mewls. Sucking mightily on her sex, he felt the spasms and the way her body stiffened as her orgasm crashed through her. When it passed, she went limp in his hands. He let her go and she lay there in silent, unmoving invitation.

	Which he accepted.

	The girl blinked as he touched her there again, this time with his erection. She mumbled a question as the head slipped between the hairless folds of her mons. The small opening was elastic, expanding around his glans as he felt the part that had kept her ready and untouched for him. Of course no one else would have been allowed inside although Pig Mama would have invited all callers in there had he not rescued the child. 

	With a grateful smile, he thanked her for her gift. 

	She looked puzzled but he paid it no mind as he plunged through her maidenhead. Holy virgin blood anointed his member, signifying it was the first to partake of this communion. She screamed as she was relieved of her barrier. Had others heard, they might have tried to interfere but he knew they were safe here below the earth. 

	So this was heaven. Her channel was so tight; the heat of her pulse beating against him through the stressed flesh clamped around him as he moved in and out of her. Partaking of the pleasure her body offered him, he could not imagine that she would let anyone else have her like this. Pig Mama would have tried. She would have taken money to allow unworthy men to pollute her daughter's fresh form.

	Eight years old was beautiful. No deformation marred her perfect chest as it rose and fell beneath him. Around his penis, her newly deflowered, childish sex clung to him with slippery embrace and her bell-like voice sang to him in concert with this thrusts. He was nearing his point and shouted in ecstasy as he released into her. She accepted his seed, shivering as his ejaculations pulsed into the life-producing place inside her. 

	It was over but he wasn't done. Reinvigorating his spent erection still implanted in her body, she widened her eyes at her own work. He thickened and lengthened inside of her and he knew what she wanted. This time would not be sanctified. This time would just be sex. 

	He pounded her little twat, telling her in the filthy street words just what she was getting; a cunt full of cock, slamming into her to the bed like a common whore. Her bald, bloodied twat got the reaming it deserved. Plowing through the rape-slimed hole, he came again, filling the third grader's pussy with thick ropes of jism.

	The heat of his lust faded and his gut became ice. What had he done? In his greed he had used her like...like she was a baby Pig Mama. Her tear-stained face was red and he crawled from the bed. Now it was his weeping that filled the room as he drew the knife across his chest in atonement. A thin bead of crimson formed where the point had passed and he understood it might not be enough. 

	Holding the blade to his throat, he begged her to give the command and he would end his service to her. He was unworthy to serve. The girl screamed and shook her head. In his darkening misery, he understood her. She didn't want him to leave. With fresh tears, he dropped the knife and knelt by her side in thanks.

	Emma's mind was spinning, perhaps spinning away entirely. The man had done that awful thing to her and she shuddered at the vivid memories of something ripping apart inside of her. Then he was in her, moving and stabbing and making her push apart in that place farther inside of her. Something hot had burst inside of her and she had feared it was new blood.

	But then he went quiet before it started a second time. This time he reminded her of that man outside the bodega in the way he spoke to her - the words, the tone. But when he finished, he wanted to kill himself. In a different frame of mind, she might not have minded but she was horrified at the idea of anymore violence, even upon the man who had taken her here.

	Now as he knelt beside her bed, sobbing, a new fear wormed its way into her. If he did kill himself, who would ever find her? She didn't even know where she was. 

	Emma understood that she needed him alive and at peace so that she might survive. Then she wept for herself and her hopelessness.

	Detective Junior Grade Anton Bertrand wanted to slump against the wall, but that would not be "good optics" at a press conference. What had started as a missing child call had turned into a firestorm when it was clear that the kid had not simply run off or was hanging out with a friend. The neighbors were stunned and people were nearly begging to help. The building superintendent had taken him on a tour of the building's basement level, staying late on his own time without complaint when Anton had suggested that the girl might be hiding or even hurt in the warren of storage and utility areas.

	While he was still on the case, he now had every other free detective, not to mention uniforms, involved under the direction of the precinct captain. In fact, it was his captain, Peter "Hal" Halstrom who took to the podium while Anton and others flanked him with stony expressions. 

	There was no good news at this point, only vague references to leads that wouldn't hold an ounce of the bad coffee in the squad room. Had there been good news, the kid found and returned to her mother, it would have been the chief of police up there front and center with Hal in the background.

	Hal gave his speech, praising the efforts of his men and women before taking questions. It was mostly the same recycled shit as every other time but when there was no new information, there weren't going to be any new questions. 

	That was until Elaine Guildford-Martinez spoke out. Anton's jaw clenched as soon as she opened her mouth. Two years out of whatever passed for journalism school, she had already established herself as a spokesperson (more like screech-person) for any politically correct agenda floated in the vacuum between her ears.

	"Captain Halstrom," she called. "Emma Anderson came from an economically-challenged environment. Had she been middle or upper class, how many more police would have been assigned to the case?"

	Hal kept his voice even as he replied.

	"Financial circumstance or neighborhood has no bearing. What we have here is a missing child that -"

	"That is part of an under-represented and under-served class. Clearly the police presence has been underwhelming."

	Anton bit back a pungent interjection of his own. Cancelled vacations and overtime - and that was underwhelming? This was the same bitch who thought that one cop in ten blocks was a tyrannical presence.

	"I can assure you..." Hal continued coolly before being interrupted again.

	"How can you have any empathy?" Ms. Guildford-Martinez triumphantly chirped. "Do you have any children?"

	If she meant to strike home, she had done it. It was no trick to research a career police officer. When Anton was a rookie, then Lieutenant Halstrom's wife had died of cervical cancer. It was a particularly cruel form of death considering the couple's years of trying to have a child.

	Anton could see the anger emanating from the other cops as he felt it fuming from him as well. A muscle in Hal's jaw twitched as she addressed her.

	"We are missing one of our own here. And we will do everything in our power to get her back and safe."

	Sensing blood, Guildford-Martinez opened her mouth to speak again when another female reporter - one who was often critical of the police as well - put a hand on the back of the younger woman's neck and firmly steered her away.

	He watched the scene replay on the news that night with giddiness. All that drama - and for what? They would never find her. Not here. Not in this sanctuary although they had passed maddeningly close by. No agents of Pig Mama would interfere in this sactuary.

	And it was coming along so well in these past two days. She had completely forgiven his transgressions and accepted his worship. The silk had been removed from her wrists and ankles so she could move about within the bolted confines her secure chambers. Fresh silk sheets were on the bed while one of the first one was hung on the wall to display the sacred stains of her sacrificed virginity.

	Even this moment marked a new progression for them. While he stood, it was her kneeling before him to show her appreciation of his worship. He had humbly explained his idea which she obediently followed and allowed him to commune with her in her mouth. Boldly, he put his hands on her head, silently suggesting with his control as to how she should be bobbing on his shaft. Occasionally, her lips lost part of their suction with a loud slurp but how could it be anything other than endearing from her?

	Feeling the twitching, he knew the surges would be arriving soon. While he tightened his grip on her head, he loudly prayed that she would accept his mortal offering.

	Heavy pulses of semen entered the child's mouth and, in answer to his prayers, she swallowed every drop he had to give.

	On the third day, he presented her with the gift of jewelry. Nothing less than twenty-four carat gold, of course. But even that would look cheap on her form, degrading it unless the precious metal could be merged with her. 

	It had been a labor of love and he took his time as he sucked one tiny nipple to erectness. She had wept a little as the pin pierced her flesh and he had licked away the beads of blood. But when he was done, her immature breast was crowned with a small thin hoop dangling from the pink center. 

	After he completed his adornment of her side, he could hardly speak. Yet she understood and allowed him to commune with her. Forgetting himself, he spoke of the future and how he hoped she would reward his faithfulness by conceiving a child - their own sacred offspring.

	The poor girl did not understand the power of her womb - no doubt kept from that knowledge by the jealous Pig Mama. He explained as he stroked his member inside her sultry, prepubescent tunnel. When he erupted inside of her, he told her how he was offering his seed into her. One day, those little nipples would become engorged as her young, milk-laden tissue bloomed on her chest. Their child would nurse there, knowing the taste of gold and her mother's sweet milk at once.

	It was too much, he realized. He had made assumptions he was unworthy to make. He had the knife and was ready to rid the child of his presence when she begged him not to. She was so kind, so understanding of his shortcomings. He felt blessed, especially when he communed with her again.

	Emma watched him leave, unable to discern the numeric code he used on the keypad to unlock the door. She was pretty sure it was seven digits, but that was all. Understanding that he would never use the knife on her was of cold comfort. For if he killed himself, who would let her out? Who would even know she was there?

	Rolling to her side in the silk sheets, she curled into a ball, feeling his semen oozing from the bald slit of her ravished little cunny. One hand slid over her flat tummy and she wondered if, having just told her the purpose of the seed he ejaculated into her, he had put a baby in her tonight. She didn't think that eight year-olds could have babies, but then again she didn't think any other girl her age had this bizarre act done to her. Shivering, she feared not only for her life, but for the possibility of another one that might grow inside of her.

	The following day, she bestowed a gift on him. It was her last remnant of her virginity and he accepted it on the altar of her bed. Being imperfect, he couldn't help but to touch the firm little globes of flesh as she presented herself to him as he had asked. She remained still on her hands and knees, allowing him to caress and knead the perfection of her tight rump.

	He applied oil until they were both prepared. The muscular ring of her orifice only resisted him enough to make a symbolic challenge. Ever faithful, he breached it and the taut ring squeezed him mightily as he entered her final, untouched area. She greeted him with the velvety moistness of her place as it nearly melted all over his throbbing member.

	There were mirrors everywhere, of course, so that he might admire her small form, so childishly sleek and yet nubile in a breathtaking paradox. His gifts of gold danced and swayed on her chest and she was so touched by his worship that she wept as he communed with her in great, vigorous thrusts.

	As she was anally sodomized, Emma had to concentrate to breathe. Her captor's prick burned and scraped at her cruelly stretched anus. Her softer interior felt mashed by the hardness working against it. Was he going to put a baby in her that way? The third grader didn't quite understand the process and the workings of her body although she was now intimately familiar with how she could be used.

	So heavy was the force of his strokes into her stretched rectum that she feared she might break apart. But instead it was a series of heavy surges inside her bruised bottom as his slimy injections invaded her that told her he had achieved what he wanted - for now. Fearing a repeat of his odd remorse, she managed to croak an invitation for him to have her back there again. The knife remained where it was and he accepted.

	"God bless the IRS."

	Hal looked up from where he was reviewing a report with another detective and focused on Detective Bertrand.

	"Come again? Bless?"

	Anton looked up at his captain and waved a sheaf of papers. 

	"The super's tax records. His employment paperwork says he's forty-eight, which seems about right. But according to the federal government, William Harrison McCauley has been faithfully filing his taxes for more than seventy decades as a law-abiding ninety-four year-old would."

	Hal chewed his lip.

	"I'm guessing the super got the name and social when McCauley kicked the bucket. The question is, who is or was the real Bill McCauley and who is the super?"

	Anton shook his head.

	"I don't know, yet. He seemed okay when he showed us around the basement. But damn it, I'll take anything that looks like a lead now. A stolen ID could mean anything, but..."

	Hap held up a finger to stop his detective.

	"Most supers live in the place where they work so they are available some emergency hits - busted pipe, whatever. "What about our guy?"

	Anton riffed through the papers.

	"Yeah."

	"And did you look in his apartment?"

	Anton looked stricken.

	"No, but..."

	"But you would have had no reason. He wasn't a suspect. Get some back-up from Sgt. Meigs - I'm going to get a search warrant."

	The man who called himself Bill McCauley looked up that black detective came striding into his office. A bunch of uniformed officers stayed just outside the door. Bill guessed they wanted to look all over the basement again. Hell, there were come crawl spaces even he had never checked out before. But then the guy held out a piece of paper as if he wanted to shove it up Bill's ass.

	Bill read it, only seeing words in his sudden panic as Detective Bertrand told him what it said. 

	"My apartment?" Bill asked in a voice that was too high for his own liking.

	Bertrand turned to an open key locker that held each apartment's spare key on a numbered hook. Plucking one from it, he nodded.

	"Apartment 109, just like the paper says," Anton stated and left with the officers in tow.

	He was down the hall, putting the key in the lock when Bill's shrill voice rang out. Attracted by the commotion of the police visit, several residents were looking out through open doorways when the familiar ratcheting of a shotgun sounded.

	"Fucking pigs!" the super screamed as he lowered the barrel of the shotgun toward the cluster of police. 

	By the time Anton had drawn his weapon, three officers had each fired one shot, dropping Bill McCauley with three lethal wounds to the chest. The detective was stunned, but then remembered there might be someone in need. Unlocking the door, he entered while escorted by one officer. The other four remained at the scene of the shooting.

	He found nothing of note in the living room and kitchen. There were two bedrooms and one had the door locked. When he tried to kick it in, it remained where it was and nearly sent him tumbling backward onto his ass. Shooting locks off was for the movies and he hurriedly sent the officer with him to get a battering ram from the trunk of his cruiser. When the man returned, two more accompanied him. 

	The door was strangely solid but on the thirst hit, the latch began to give. After the fourth hit, the door swung open. Anton rushed in with the officers behind him. When one of them found the light switch, they all froze and started for a moment.

	"And with Day Five in the disappearance of Emma Anderson, the only police response has been the shooting death of one outnumbered man, the building superintendent for the apartment building where the little girl lived. This is Elaine Guildford-Martinez, Channel Five News."

	Anton slumped in the doorway of his precinct captain's office as Hal clicked off the TV with the remote. Hal turned to him and spoke in a near monotone.

	"It was a clean shooting. Sure, I.A. is interviewing but there were plenty of witnesses who saw the thing from their doorways, including one guy with a sizeable rap sheet. Even he says it was righteous."

	"I'm sorry captain. Nothing yet. Just the collection of underwear he was guarding with, well, his life. From the size and designs of them, we're looking at teens and maybe older preteens. Our girl would be younger than that range."

	"Or she could have been a victim of opportunity. Your report said that most of all of these had been worn?"

	Anton nodded.

	"Lab results will confirm it. Don't know if any of them were obtained first-hand. Looks like at least some of it came by mail. You know you can order this shit from Japan?"

	Hal grunted wearily.

	"I've been in contact with the Tulsa PD. That's where the real Bill McCauley, veteran of Normandy and Bastogne, lived until he was killed by a stroke at the age of ninety two. It gives them about a year history to find our shit-bird between then and the day that the new McCauley was hired on as super in our city last year. His driver's license was also issued then and, surprise, the state doesn't have a record of his old license."

	"So where do I start on this end?"

	Hal looked at the younger man, noting the darker circles around the eyes in Anton's deep brown face. He didn't have to recite the stats to the detective of how the likelihood of finding a missing child decreased with each passing day. Now he feared that Detective Bertrand was about to get his first personal cold case. 

	They all had them after a while- cases that were officially "cold", or suspended due to lack of progress but ones they kept digging at anyway. Hal had three. The first had been during the first year of his detective career - right about where Anton was now. 

	She had been a pretty blonde, just twenty years old and studying pre-med. He had arrived after a neighbor, finding her apartment door open, had checked in to make sure all was well. It wasn't.

	She was lying with her head on the table, turned sideways atop a neatly-folded sweater. Later examination would show that the sweater was hers and had not been worn since it had last been laundered. What didn't need much examination was the cause of death - her throat had been opened from side to side by a sharp knife or box cutter. 

	As brutal as the gaping wound in her neck was, her face was untouched except for the paleness of death. What had struck Hal were two things - someone taking the time to place the sweater under her head (blood spray would be found on the table under the garment) and the expression on her face of someone about to ask a benign question such as what their guest would like to have to drink.

	That question was never answered, nor was the motive or identity of the killer. Now Hal saw the same experience building in Anton's face. And there was damned little he could do about it but to keep the man clear-headed and upright in the here and now.

	"Where do you start?" the captain asked. "You start by getting out of here. Go to a bar, get laid, I don't care. But get some sleeping while you're at it. We're not going to have Tulsa getting back to us today as they've got plenty of work to do on their end. So I don't want to your ass in here for sixteen hours. Got it?"

	Anton started to protest but didn't have the strength. He nodded and slunk away. Once he was out of sight, Hal put his head in his hands.

	This was more than just his precinct. Those people out there were his people and he made it a point to be out there among them. He shopped in their stores, had coffee with them in the local diners and gave talks to their kids in the schools. 

	Hal's eyes felt gritty as he rubbed them. Dropping his hands, he sighed wearily. He needed to take his own advice and go home. Grab some real food and a shower and sleep in something other than his office chair. It would do him so much good for such a small amount of hours. 

	And of course, his goddess awaited him in the basement.



Copyright (c) 2017 

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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