Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, April 16, 2018

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: orphant3.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: M/g(8) Man/young girl, FF/g(8) Women/young girl, mmm/g(8) young boys/young girl, dog/g(8), M/g(4), g/g, bestiality, non-cons, cons

story_intro: The lives of the former orphans continue on their divergent paths. Having made Mary pregnant after multiple daily rapes, Silas turns his sordid attention toward her younger sister, Elizabeth. Nell discovers even more ways to find pleasure while earning plenty of spending money. Little Clara grows ever closer to her loving Papa.


story_language: English





Orphan Train, part 3

Written by madvlad


	The child was pitifully thin, naked and crying beneath him - just the way Silas liked them. This one was about to be brought into her proper place as a slut good for servicing men. Usually, he didn't start on them this young, preferring them to be at or at least close to child-bearing years. (Producing children, along with household servitude, were their other functions.) But Elizabeth was his property already and he had her older sister, Mary, already carrying his offspring.

	There was a woman waiting for Mary, sent by Silas' sister. Mary would leave later today for Chicago where she would prove her worth as a brood mare and a whore in Silas' sister's bordello that was presented as a finishing school. In Silas' estimation, it certainly was as it produced girls who were set in their proper place. But at the moment, Mary was standing near the bed with the woman holding her back in case the girl had some stupid notions about rescuing her little sister.

	Having been witness to some of her older sister's degradations. Elizabeth knew the man would force himself against her - and somehow into her. She also knew that Mary was going away and their last moments together would be this vile act. The eight year-old shuddered as Silas knelt between her outstretched legs and pushed the end of his fleshy man-weapon against her hairless little slit. Then, as he often did, he referenced biblical stories as if to make what he was about to do some act of religious vengeance for the fall of Man.

	"Descendant of Eve, defiler of Adam, this is your worth," Silas snarled.

	He heaved himself into the little girl, making her shriek even as her maidenhead stubbornly resisted him. 

	"Babylonian bitch!" the man roared and forced himself against into preteen.

	This time, Elizabeth's hymen shredded and the man's cruel cudgel battered its way into her virgin pussy. Her cries seemed to fuel him as he slammed his way further inside, making her stretch tautly to provide a warm, wet sleeve to caress his conquering manhood. Ranting about the fall of Babylon, he pumped the little girl's violated snatch with his prick while her hands uselessly battered at his chest.

	Eventually, he tired of her futile resistance and pinned her wrists to the bed as he continued to rape her. Elizabeth's undersized twat bled from her defloration, lubricating her straining young tunnel for her master's pleasure. Turning her head, Elizabeth met Mary's horror-stricken eyes in a desperate search for any salvation. But Mary could only cry with her, held in place as she was forced to watch her younger sister's initiation into the vilest existence she could know.

	Silas' engorged member continued to thrust into the bald, forced-open mound between the little girl's legs. She was very tight but she was still nothing more than a whore and a cum-pit for him when she wasn't cooking or cleaning. Reaching his climax, he plundered her innocent young body further with heavy pulses of cream that doused her undready sex. Inspired by setting another virgin on the way to her true, wanton nature, he crooned his made-up passages from the Holy Book.

	"And Adam poured forth his seed into Eve to mark her as his property and to mark her as a lowly slattern, a filthy whore in the eyes of the Lord. And Eve became gravid and bore mankind, tainting Cain with her own evil," he panted.

	Then he looked down at the weeping eight year-old still impaled by his prick. Her smooth snatch was smeared with red, marking her as properly debauched. He knew she was in agony yet her quim still held him snugly. Of course it did - she would always need more of what the Lord had bestowed upon his loins. And he would give it to her with great and pious vengeance.

	"Huuuhh...ahhh! Oh God!" Henry croaked as his penis was enveloped by the sweet and slick embrace of an eight year-old's twat.

	"Mmmm..." the young redhead beneath him in the hayloft purred. "Don't stop. You feel so good in me."

	Henry moved in and out of Nell's undersized cunny, his virginity officially gone. The movement in the moist grip of the child's sex was so much better than he had ever fantasized when he had worked his tool with his hand for the last three years. Nell assured him he wouldn't hurt her and the fifteen year-old heartily fucked the little girl.

	Lifting her slim legs, Nell wrapped them around the humping teen's waist as best as she could, drawing exclamations of the other boys watching. It had never occurred to any of them that a girl would do more with her body than simply provide that mysterious hole for their eager boy-cocks.

	Today, Seb had set up some hay bales with a blanket draped to provide a makeshift bed. For Nell, it became more of a stage as everyone could watch her more clearly from all angles. She had found her own experience to be more satisfactory knowing she was on full display while making money for this act.

	Seb sat on another nearby bale having pocketed Henry's money which he would evenly split with Nell. When all of the boys were finished and departed, he would couple with her for free and bring her off. 

	But with the cluster of voyeurs observing her, Nell felt her arousal growing and knew she'd cum at least once before Seb had his turn with her. Seb, as usual, had hit upon another money-making idea. Not every boy could afford the dime to get laid by the randy little girl, but two cents would pay for a viewing admission. Nell thought the idea was grand but was now learning that a larger crowd also meant a better reaction in her own loins.

	Spurred on by her gaping audience, the preteen worked her little hips, rocking her ass and meeting every push that the panting Henry provided. He didn't last long - boys never did during their first time - and spewed his semen into her childish receptacle. 

	"Oh my!" Nell gasped. "That was so good! Henry Wilkens, I think you were fibbing about doing never doing this before."

	Henry puffed out his chest and announced, "Well, I've done it now."

	He staggered away, pulling up his britches as the waiting boys stared in awe. Swiveling her body to display her oozing snatch to them, Nell continued to perform. Licking her lips, she traced a small finger along the cum-shiny cleft of her hairless cunt.

	"Mmm....it's so good but it makes me want so much more."

	One of the boys who had paid a dime groaned as he came in his pants. Like the others watching, he had been rubbing his crotch furiously. Dropping to his knees, he sighed and looked at Seb. Seb nodded; wordlessly telling him that it was alright and he would still get his turn with Nell even if he had already cum once. After all, building customer loyalty was good for business.

	Another boy mounted Nell and the little girl squealed happily as a thirteen year-old's stiff pecker slid into her prepubescent twat. She arched her back, bringing her flat chest up and even that was erotic to the watching boys even if she had no tits yet. Then she gripped the shoulders of her new partner and worked her pelvis to urge him on to the rhythm she liked best. 

	"Haaa....aahhhh....ooohh!" she crooned as her clutching little honeypot burbled its juices out over her bald lips while the boy eagerly pounded her with teen meat.

	There was another moan from the audience that signaled another boy's clothed climax. He had only paid to watch and was certainly getting his money's worth. The idea that she could make boys do this by only watching her strummed the tight strings of lust in Nell's drenched pussy. If this boy could last maybe a minute longer, she might just get her first orgasm of the business day.

	With a mewl of despair, she sat up in the darkness with the cold clamminess of the Before Dream still wrapping around her like an unwanted cloak. The Before Dream didn't come as much anymore but she still knew it well. It was about her life before some ladies took her on a train ride where she got a grandmother and a new man to call Papa. 

	Grandmother baked all sorts of wonderful things and teased that she was going to fatten the girl up to roast for Christmas. But Christmas came (with more pies) and went and the girl had never gone into the oven, of course. And Papa was so wonderful and kind - so different than her Before Papa who still tried to hurt her in her dreams.

	As her eyes became used to the dark, Clara brushed a tumble of light brown curls from her eyes. In the summer, her hair had been nearly blonde but Papa told her about how the sun could make hair lighter and skin darker. Here in winter, the sun was seen less and wasn't nearly as strong but Papa explained with a globe how the summer would eventually return. 

	Papa was very smart and loved all kinds of things about science. He read lots of books and magazines and had once run big machines in the Navy that made even bigger ships (not boats, as Grandmother often said) move. To Clara's delight, Papa also knew about the science of the human body, especially the tiny bulge of delightfully smooth flesh between her legs. 

	Sliding to the floor, the four year-old quietly padded from her room to the one next to hers. There, Papa would make the Before Dream fade away.

	Papa was asleep, of course; untroubled by any Before Dream. Shucking her nightgown, Clara climbed into bed and slid under the blanket to nestle her bare body against the man. She waited expectantly for what must have been hours by four year-old standard timekeeping (it was actually not quite a minute) and he never stirred. Clara loved her dear Papa, but sometimes he needed extra help in doing his "Papa things". 

	She rolled from her side to her back and opened her legs. With one hand, she gently squeezed the plump jewel of her girlishness in anticipation. When he had put her in her own bed that night, Papa had put his mouth where her hand currently was. That was one of her favorite things and she even liked how the ends of his moustache tickled the insides of her legs while his lips were massaging her and his tongue tasting the dew that eventually emerged from her tiny slit.

	Finding Papa's hand in the dark, she took it and put it against her crotch. Now he murmured as his fingers moved and captured the preschooler's mons. 

	"Mruh?" Sam muttered as he emerged from his slumber. "Oh."

	His daughter's warmth lightly danced against two finger tips. He curled those digits, feeling her settle in and spread her thighs even wider. At first, Sam kept his touches light as he grazed across the hairless little curves of the child's pussy. When Clara started to hum tunelessly, he knew it wouldn't be much longer before the first of her lubrication seeped from her still-virgin cuntlet. 

	When two small, soft hands closed over his larger and slightly scarred one (courtesy of an explosion aboard his last ship in the Battle of Manila), Sam stroked with gradually increasing force. The tiny but plush labia spread like smooth curtains to expose the four year-old's pink and bubbling sex to the man's probing. 

	He burrowed inside, sweeping over her erect clitoris to make her whine. With an occasional variation, he pressed at her inner lips and twisted the very end of his fingertip to squeeze between them to feel the delicate veil of her virginity. Clara had yet to understand the mysteries of what lay behind her membrane but everything else she had experienced was perfectly divine.

	Her tight little buttocks scooted against the sheet as the instinctive, carnal motions began in earnest. Gripping his hand with both of hers, Clara grabbed at his forearm by clamping it between her silky thighs in an unknowing recreation of Nell's joyously saucy actions with the boys in the hayloft.

	With sounds of moist friction, the tyke's feverish twat was drenching Sam's finger. Her hands and legs tightened against him and she trembled with the orgasmic triumph in her tiny girl place. Clara loved those shivers very much - not quite as much as she loved her Papa and grandmother but they settled in a fine third place.

	With the lingering effects of the Before Dream vanquished, Clara snuggled up against Sam, pressing her sopping baby quim against his leg. This time, Sam's hand slid down her back and completely enveloped her soft little rump. With her cunny touching him and her rump secure in his hold, Clara was in the best place ever and returned to sleep with no worries of what awaited in her next dream.

	Elizabeth hit the bed with a jolt, exhaling loudly but not daring to move while her master unbuttoned his trousers behind her. It had been a recent thing he had done and at first she took some solace in the fact that she would not have his face above her, flushed and spraying spittle as he punished her between her legs because she had committed the sin of being a girl. But the new position gave him a new way to torment her and she shuddered at the hiss of his belt being slid from his pants.

	Silas hawked a gob of phlegmy spittle into his fingers and ran them along his rampant erection as he weighed the belt in his other hand. The nude eight year-old was bent over on the bed, ready to be used like the animal she was. On her back were the crisscross welts from the last couple of days when he decided to try it this way. Usually, he had his females bent over once they were well pregnant and were made to service him with another sinful orifice. 

	But using the child from behind allowed a thrill that he usually had before or after the rape. His eyes traveled over the preteen, noting the curl of her ass cheeks and then the small puffiness between her legs; the hairless lips pressed together as if to plead chastity. But she wasn't chaste - he'd seen to that while her blubbering cow of a sister watched. In a few years, the sisters would be reunited in Chicago, spreading their whorish young legs open for paying gentlemen.

	Gripping Elizabeth by the waist, Silas roughly entered her. She groaned as the spit-lubed cock forced her tender young snatch to expand abruptly. Despite Silas' devotion to purging his sins inside her immature body multiple times each day, the little girl still required several thrusts to get her tunnel spread enough for him to tap the entrance to her uterus.

	As he was about to send the first lash of his leather onto his back, Silas stopped. With her long brown hair pushed to one side after she had been thrown on the bed, the girl had the other side of her neck exposed. She looked so delicate there, even more vulnerable. Buried inside Elizabeth's snug little cunt, the man's dick throbbed in response. Looping the belt around her neck, Silas threaded the end through his buckle and pulled until the belt was tight.

	He gave the eight year-old a few more slams of his cock, feeling the results of the friction that forced her quim to lubricate. To Silas, it was more evidence of the inherent sluttish nature of any female. With each push into the child's twat, he tugged on the belt until Elizabeth dared to move her arm. She desperately fought to wriggle her fingers between the leather and the tortured skin of her throat as she was raped.

	Elizabeth was only able to make faint, rasping noises as the man bludgeoned her tight pussy with his meat. When those stopped, her panic elevated as she could manage to draw no new air into her. The little girl thrashed wildly, making her taut snatch grind more forcefully around the stroking member and giving Silas one of the strongest orgasms he could remember. After saturating the child's womb with sperm she could not yet use, he stepped back and let go of the belt.

	With her vision going gray and fuzzy at the edges, Elizabeth found she could finally loosen the belt and breathe once more. She greedily sucked in air, vaguely aware of the shameful wetness escaping her bald twat and running down her legs. Silas undid his belt, pleased with this new discovery, and yanked the girl off the bed so that she tumbled to the floor. Without so much as a word to her, he got into bed and turned the key to douse the oil lamp. Enveloped by the aura of the righteous, Silas soon fell asleep while his naked little servant crawled to a threadbare blanket which served as her meager bed and covering. 

	Despite her physical fatigue, Elizabeth could not sleep. Mary was gone - off to some large and - in her mind - gothically horrible place called Chicago where young girls were chewed up and swallowed with their blood spat out afterward. Her master had told her this would be where she would go once she carried more sin in her belly.

	The house felt claustrophobic and the little girl managed to get to her feet. Every step made her want to weep but she went outside, pulling the blanket more tightly around her in a futile attempt to stay warm. She looked at the sky, finding the sliver of moon and the stars beautifully distant in a place where hurtful things didn't happen. Walking aimlessly, she kept watching the sky and fantasized about Mary doing the same in the place she now lived. Perhaps some magic would bring the sisters together again as they gazed at the same sirens of luminescence. 

	"Chile, are you tryin' to catch your death out here?"

	Startled, Elizabeth turned to see Hattie, a black woman who did various work on the farm and in the house along with a genuine Indian woman named Bertie (which Elizabeth knew wasn't her real name but that was all anyone called her). The two women shared a very small cabin some distance from the house but now it was right here where Elizabeth had wandered. Hattie peered at her with sorrowful knowledge and shook her head.

	"Don't surprise me none if you was tryin' to catch your death. Got to be a choice between that and that evil man over yonder. Mos' girls, they aint here long before Mister Silas done sends 'em off. But you looks like you got years before you been gat with chile. An' you ain't much more than a baby yourself."

	Elizabeth wanted to speak but could not. Hattie took her by the arm and gently led her back into the cabin. Having been out in the night, Elizabeth's sight was good enough to make out a figure sitting up in the one-room cabin's sole bed.

	"I thought you were only going to the outhouse," Bertie said to Hattie.

	"An' I done brought us back a guest. This is Mister Silas' girl."

	Bertie merely nodded with understanding and took a bucket of water from the table and a rag. Elizabeth's blanket was removed and she was carefully washed. It had been so long since she had felt any touches that weren't cruel that she murmured and whined with gratitude as the two women cleansed her with rags. 

	Then the rags were gone and they were still touching her as they brought her to bed. Bertie was kissing her on the lips and then slid her tongue inside her mouth. At the same time, Hattie opened the girl's legs and brought her mouth to another place. The eight year-old gasped against one woman's tongue while another woman gave her the first experience of love she had known in her abused little mons. 

	Letting the child's nectar trickle over her tongue, Hattie paused and raised her head from the bald, glistening mound. Bertie now had one hand on Elizabeth's flat chest, lightly pinching a nipple to raise it so she could suck it the way she wanted. Hattie grinned and spoke aloud.

	"Chile, you are the tastiest lil' thing I ever had. After I gives you a cumming, Miss Bertie, here, is gonna do the same."

	It was still dark when Hattie woke Elizabeth. 

	"You best be getting' back to the house before Mister Silas wakes up. We can't do nothing' about how he hurts you in the day, but when he goes to bed from now on, you get yourself here for the night."

	During Silas' pre-breakfast abuse, Elizabeth finally had a mental rope to cling to, knowing it would pull her to safety at the end of the day.

	For someone with minimal schooling back in the Five Points district of New York City, Nell was becoming quite good with math. She could multiply by ten with ease and then divide by two to calculate how much money she made from each boy who put his winky in her muffin. She knew much coarser terms from her days back East, but she used the local vernacular now. 

	Then there were the boys who could only afford to watch and she got a penny for every one that did so. If there were an odd number of pennies at the end of the workday, Seb always gave her the extra one. Nell was happy to have such a wonderful brother - and business manager. Naturally, he and his brothers, Hi and Will, got to do her for free but they were all so good at making her cum that she didn't mind at all. Besides, she didn't feel it was right for a brother to pay to have sex with his sister.

	After they had finished at the Lewiston farm where the barn hosted Nell's makeshift bordello, Seb had gone off with some friends to go ice skating. Nell had tried it on occasion and found it tedious as well as making bruises on her bottom. She came back home and wandered into the barn in search of Hi or Will. 

	Will was the more likely of the two to be there as he used one corner as a workshop to build his various gadgets and gewgaws. He had even managed to repair Reverend Edgall's watch last week in one day after the man had resigned himself to mailing it off to Davenport in hopes it could be fixed. Will had refused any payment for it, much to the delight of his parents and the exasperation of Seb.  

	But neither boy was in there and Nell was greeted by a large mixed-breed dog named Bayou. The dog's name was a French word for a marsh. There were a lot of bayous in a place called Louisiana which Nell had never heard of until Hi showed it to her on a map. As a pup, Bayou had a predilection for getting into muddy and watery places near Benbow's Lake and that was how he got his name.

	Nell was enraptured by the sound of anything in that language. Even many of the cities in Louisiana had French names like Baton Rouge. She had no idea what that meant but saying the name was almost like a caress of the tongue and Nell loved to be caressed. And in France itself, there were ladies who danced something called a can-can and showed off their bloomers while doing it. Nell's mother had been shocked when Hi mentioned it one day and her father feigned the same reaction although Nell could see the ends of his mouth curling in amusement at such an idea.

	Nell wondered how old she could be before she could go to Paris and dance the can-can. Heck, she wouldn't even wear bloomers before she lifted her skirts. After all, she knew quite well how boys liked that view even better.

	At the moment, though, Bayou was nosing around Nell's dress with great interest. She had wiped herself off after the Lewiston barn show but knew there would be some residue still there. With his tail wagging, Bayou whined and pawed at the girl. 

	"Hey, boy," she giggled. "Do you smell something you like?"

	Bayou leapt up, putting his front paws on her chest. Nell got a glimpse of his belly when he rose and saw the protrusion from the furry sac near his hind legs. Back in New York, she had seen dogs coupling in the streets plenty of times (not to mention humans), so she knew what that was all about. Of course, a girl dog had to be positioned a certain way. Her mouth suddenly felt dry when she spoke again.

	"Do you smell something you want?"

	It was no trick to have Bayou follow her to a corner in the back of the barn. She went behind some hay bales which would shield her from immediate view if someone entered the barn. For a moment, she considered taking her dress off but it was still quite cold. She had done it, of course, in the other barn today so the boys could get a good look. But Bayou wasn't as discriminating.

	Shucking her bloomers off again, she lifted her dress while she got on her hands and knees. Yipping as she felt the cold touch of Bayou's nose on her dribbling little snatch, she waited for him to do something else. Then his weight was on her back and she felt something hot poking at the bald lips of her eager young cunny.

	With his hind paws scratching on the hay strewn floor, Bayou hunched against Nell in an effort to join with her. Finally, he found his mark and the little girl squeaked as her gooey quim was plugged with several inches of rigid canine meat. 

	Humping his little human bitch furiously, Bayou let his tongue hand from his mouth and drool. His knot swelled but the limits of Nell's pint-sized twat would let the ball of flesh inside. The girl grunted, though, as the speeding prick further heated her quivering cunt and felt the knot batting against the smooth, spread lips of her mound. 

	The mating continued, meeting the lusty needs of dog and girl alike. The eight year-old's pussy was slick as it clamped around the hound's cock that plumbed it so well. Like Bayou, Nell's mouth was open and she panted as her immature cunny barely handled the rapid thrusts of her animal lover. Her loins were on fire it seemed in every place and she could not contain the strangled yell that came as her climax pounded her preteen body. 

	She was just coming out of her orgasmic bliss when she felt Bayou growl. Biting her lip, she remained still before the hot and heavy gushes of dog jism filled her tiny sex before squirting out of her tight, carnal grip and poured down the insides of her thighs.

	While Bayou sat happily after dismounting her, Nell staggered to Will's work bench where she found a somewhat clean rag to give herself a better cleaning. It was going to take more than she could to here but at least she wouldn't be leaving a trail when she entered the house. Bayou regarded her with his mouth slightly open and his tongue protruding - a doggy version of a smile, she thought.

	Petting him on the head, she said, "If you can do that every time, boy, I'll never charge you a dime."

	Sam sat at his desk, reading an H.G. Wells' novel, "The Time Machine", published just a few years ago. Even though their work was fiction, Sam - still an engineer at heart - was fascinated by the visionary writings of Wells, Verne, Flammarion, and others. Over the last year, he had taken to reading at his desk with pen and paper at hand as he sketched ideas for novel inventions. One he had been toying with was a way to make baking an industrial endeavor due to the popularity of his mother's pies. 

	Of course, his machines would be too large to fit in his mother's kitchen and he could only imagine what she would say about having iron monstrosities doing the work of a baker's hands. Still, it was a pleasant pastime for him and he envisioned an age where automatonic machines might make today's Industrial Age look medieval by comparison.

	More recently, he only wore his dressing gown and nothing beneath it in the evenings in case Clara ventured from her bed in need of some "Papa time". He was scratching some notes about a pinion assembly when his daughter, as if on cue, came walking into the room. As part of the game, he pretended not to notice her but heard the rustle of her nightgown at is was removed and dropped to the carpet. 

	Only when Clara, wearing just a smile, clutched his leg, did he officially acknowledge her presence. When he lifted her into his lap, his gown fell open enough for her bare buttocks to make contact with his crotch. 

	"And what shall we do tonight?" he asked. "Perhaps a discussion of the practical applications of Bernoulli's Equation in a steam-engine plant? Or a theoretical exposition on Wells' time-travel paradigm?"

	Clara didn't speak her reply but made her preference clear when she guided his hand to the place where she liked it best. The four year-old's hairless slit bulged open as the man's finger gracefully slid between the pudgy labia. Cooing happily, Clara wriggled her bubbly rump against him and felt something hardening between it. 

	As she was moistening, he moved his hand away and kneaded the flesh of one small thigh. The other hand rubbed her torso with splayed fingers, covering most of her soft tummy and chest. Clara didn't mind the diversion from her girl place because Papa had such large and strong hands and she felt perfectly secure when they held her everywhere. 

	Now the apple-round cheeks of her ass parted like her cunny lips had done, only this time for her father's cock. Her tiny feet and toes were massaged one at a time before he slid his fingers up her other leg and once again found her dainty mons. The tyke relaxed as her pussy was fondled and her body was raised and lowered with the hand holding her torso. She was small enough to be easily maneuvered and relished being held and tenderly manipulated.

	Sam knew the reactions of his daughter's body as if she was a machine - a wriggling, delightful little machine. His engorged prick rubbed between the preschooler's soft buttocks while his one finger made her quim gurgle with dribbling juices. Now Clara weakly thrusted her childish hips to work her bottom against her papa's member and to grind her dewy pink parts on his finger. With a peep, she shuddered and felt the corresponding blast of wet heat as Sam exploded against her tiny rear end and lower back. 

	"Thank you, Papa," she whispered and leaned back against him, going limp.

	Sam knew by her body language that she would not move on her own. With a sigh, he left Mr. Wells to wait until the next night and carried his little girl to his bed.

	Henry Wilkens straightened his green coat and brushed a bit of snow that clung to a few brass buttons there. Adjusting his matching cap that completed the uniform of a Western Union delivery boy, he rapped on the door of the wealthiest man in Tylerville with what he hoped was professional authority. 

	It was not the man who answered but a little girl in a ragged dress. Her eyes looked so haunted that Henry was momentarily discomfited. 

	Clearing his throat, he announced, "Telegram for Mr. Silas Varney."

	Without a word, the girl disappeared inside. Rocking his weight from toes to heels, the teen waited for the master of this house to appear. At least he hoped he would. 

	What a strange, silent girl that had been, he thought. She might be the age of another one - a little vixen who was the opposite in demeanor. Henry's Western Union job kept him in dimes and kept his cock in Nell at regular intervals. It had been three times now with her and the remembrance of her sopping little cunny squeezing him just perfectly as he slid in and out of that tender hole was enough to make him adjust his trousers suddenly.

	As he was hitching his pants up, Silas appeared at the door, glaring at the intruder. Henry produced the yellow paper and said "telegram, sir" before flinching when his voice cracked high on the last word.

	But Silas had no interest in an adolescent's vocal issues or the condition of the front of Henry's trousers. He snatched the telegram and gave Henry another baleful look before closing the door in his face. Telegram boys were not supposed to accept tips although some people insisted and, on the advice of veteran deliverers, pocketed the occasional penny or nickel. Mr. Varney could have afforded an even more sizeable tip but had he offered one, but Henry shivered at the thought of taking a coin from the man's fingers in fear of some dark contagion.

	Inside, Silas paused before pulling a curtain aside just enough to watch the boy trudging away from the house. The bicycle that Henry had ridden would become more of an encumbrance than a help if this snow continued at this pace. But how he got back into town was no concern of Silas'.

	Ripping the envelope open, Silas knew of only one person who ever sent him telegrams - his sister in Chicago. The message was brief and Silas immediately crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fireplace. He paused a moment with thoughts swirling before uttering a loud and rather un-Christian oath.


Copyright (c) 2018 madvlad

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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