Copyright (c) 2016,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Tuesday, December 27, 2016

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


story_codes: M/ggg (11, 8, 5), cons

story_intro: An aging rock star finds himself in the very much re-hashed "A Christmas Carol" scenario. It's been done so many times that he's rather bored by it all - until he finds just how very young his nocturnal visitors are.


story_language: English



Scrooge Rocks

Written by madvlad


	Once upon a time, Ken Banfield had a drink on Christmas Eve. "One drink" was a term of convenience, referring to one series of drinks if not an outright binge.

	Once upon an earlier time, Ken had been rhythm guitarist and lead vocalist for the revered and now defunct rock band, Steaming Engines. It was an epic name for an epic arena band but, in truth, the name was derived from the band's early, struggling days when both the car and the van they used on their road trips both overheated. Watching as wafts of steam erupted from dilapidated radiators and into the cold November night air, the band decided that their name was born.

	After Steaming Engines was towed to the junkyard, Ken had embarked on a successful solo career. Nothing could match the heady days of the band, but Ken packed the houses, made the charts, and saw numbers with commas get added to his accounts on a steady basis.

	He hadn't written anything new in three years but his past solo material, along with his time as principle songwriter for Steaming Engines, had left him with a sizable song catalog that a marketing company desperately wanted. Ken had no desire to sit for hours in a boardroom which was why his agent, George, and his lawyer, Nevin, (or was George the lawyer and Nevin the agent - Ken could never be sure as he always saw them together while he partnered with a drink on his side of the desk) were negotiating the sale of the catalog.

	Ken's ex-wife, Lorraine, would get a share of that money, but a surprisingly small one thanks to the legal deftness of George (or was it Nevin?) in the divorce settlement. Lorraine had paid Ken a visit today, screaming and waving papers while he fixated on the haggardness beneath her perfectly done make-up.

	The rich life is a hard one, baby, he thought as he took a long sip from his glass. And bitch life wasn't much better, if Lorraine was any proof.

	Ken snorted as he had that thought. Too bad he hadn't thought of it earlier in the day when she was ranting at the front door. Maybe he could use it in a song. Or not - collecting royalties from the impending catalog sale would be easier and not require an abstention of his eighty-proof lubrication. Regardless of the popular mythos, Ken damned well knew that songs written while drunk were not inspiring - they were shit.

	Setting his glass down on the polished wood sideboard, he contemplated another refill when he saw that it was now midnight. He was also tired and didn't it suck to be thinking of sleep at such an early hour?

	BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM-BEDOM-DOM-DOMMMM

	Ken looked up at the ceiling as the heavy bass chords sounded from somewhere upstairs. The ceiling, covered in white stucco, wasn't revealing anything if it did know something so Ken walked slowly upstairs to investigate the occasional bursts of low-scale tones. Pausing at the top, he realized they were coming from the zoo room. It was supposed to be a nursery at one time and Ken, inspired by Mr. Jack Daniels, late of Lynchburg, Tennessee, had bought furniture decorated in animal themes. But instead of pink and blue puppies and kittens, the upholstery was in psychedelic zebra stripes and leopard spots. Instead of a crib, the bed was large enough for a comfortable foursome of sex.

	Ken had thought it was brilliant, but Lorraine, haunted by the image of impending stretchmarks on her belly, had been furious. Being furious was good practice for her later state of mind. As there there were plenty of rooms, another room was selected and the zoo room remained intact.

	Ken entered the room to find DJ Wenzel, bass guitarist from Steaming Engines' halcyon days, sitting in a pink and purple striped chair while strumming his guitar.

	"Merry Christmas, bro," DJ said nonchalantly as he fiddled with one of the string keys.

	"You're looking good, Deej," Ken replied.

	He meant it, too. The last time he had seen DJ had been years earlier when the bass man took a dive into a hotel swimming pool. The problem was that DJ was drunk and had attempted the dive from the window of his room on the twenty-second floor.  He missed the pool by four feet.

	But DJ now was in one piece with no evidence of having his innards splattered outward. Ken's mind travelled back downstairs to that empty glass and the full bottles nearby. But DJ laid the guitar down on his lap.

	"So, you want to know why I'm here?" he asked Ken.

	"Hey, mi casa es su casa. It's always been that way. Of course, this had to be one long-assed trip for you."

	"No problem, bro," DJ said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Tonight, you are on the verge of changing your life in one direction or the other."

	"You mean my song catalog?"

	"Yeah, and all that will follow. Or you can go another way. You see, I'm now Jacob Marley to your Ebenezer Scrooge."

	"Dickens? Bullshit," Ken spat. "You know how many remakes of 'A Christmas Carol' have been done? Change a few characters and circumstances and, voila, you've got another two-hour long piece of crap on cable. Or some fourth-rate stroke story written by an anonymous hack who posts it online."

	DJ shrugged.

	"Can't speak to all that, bro. I'm just working from the original book."

	"I don't think you ever read anything in your life."

	"Certainly not that Caution notice on my hotel balcony," DJ laughed.

	That was DJ - never taking anything but his bass licks very seriously. Not even the circumstances of his demise.

	"So, if you're Jacob Marley," Ken pointed out. "Where are all those chains and lockboxes and shit?"

	"Not for me, bro. Just my axe here." DJ plucked a couple of strings and grinned as he continued. "Lots of fine little things died way too young over the centuries and they looovvve the bass. Man, those chickies from, like Ancient Greece and Rome, are practically fighting each other to show me their adoration."

	"You can't have sex in the afterlife," Ken said.

	DJ's eyebrows rose.

	"Bro, if you want to be a monk after you kick off, that's your business. Not me, though. Rock and Roll never dies - even in the afterlife. And there are more groupies then you could fit in the Rose Bowl."

	DJ was getting laid as a ghost? Ken shook his head.

	"So, what exactly is it like after you, you know, pass on?" he asked.

	DJ stretched and then scratched the back of his neck.

	"Ah, some of that is classified, bro. No Mortals Allowed. But I can tell you this. Part of it is what you earned while you were living and part of it is what you make of it."

	Knowing DJ as he had, Ken knew he'd being making the most of it.

	"So, back to this 'Christmas Carol' thing you've arranged for me. I get the three ghosts and then wake up in the morning a changed man? I go out and buy the big ham for Tiny Tim when he appears at my window and all is well?"

	"You'll get the three ghosts on the hour and every hour. If you change, bro, that's your decision."

	"Right," Ken sighed, thinking about the empty glass he had so callously abandoned.

	"Oh, and a few details, bro."

	"What?"

	"It wasn't Tiny Tim at the window. It was just a boy dressed in his Sunday best. And Scrooge sent him to purchase the large prize turkey which he had delivered to Bob Cratchit and his family, including Tiny Tim.

	Ken regarded his long-departed friend incredulously.

	"Holy shit! You did read 'A Christmas Carol'!"

	A smile played at the corner of DJ's mouth as he held a silencing finger in front of it. Then he and his guitar faded away.

	Ken stood alone in the zoo room and decided to go to bed, drink be damned. Still - hallucination or not - it had been damned good to speak with DJ again.

	
BONG!

	Ken bolted up in bed at the chime of the clock in the hallway. The grandfather clock had never woken him up before and has he rubbed his eyes, another thought struck him.

	"I don't even own a grandfather clock," he said in the darkness.

	But the darkness was no longer complete. Standing in a circle of glowing light that appeared to have no source was a little girl. Her blonde hair tumbled over a white, diaphanous gown and her eyes fixed on Ken with a shade of blue usually reserved for carefree summer skies.

	He could see the shape of her body through the gown, flat chest and belly and the curve of her rump as she stood at an angle to him. She was perhaps seven or eight and while Ken had enjoyed some young teen fans (and perhaps a few older preteens) in his day, he was really robbing the kiddy pool as he eyed her undeveloped yet oddly enticing figure.

	"I am the ghost of Christmas Past," she announced.

	"Right to script," Ken yawned as he swung his legs out of bed. "So let's get to it."

	When she reached out, he took her hand, finding it warm and substantial for a spirit. He was about to say something when everything shifted. Closing his eyes to blot out the dizziness, Ken waited a moment before opening them.

	They were standing in a dingy room with holes in the drywall and poorly illuminated by the bare bulbs in a pair of mismatched lamps.

	"They cannot see us or hear us," the ghost told him as she led him to a cracked and peeling naugahyde couch where they sat down together.

	The couch wasn't comfortable and Ken had remembered it as being rarely used even back in the day because it wasn't any better back then.

	"This was a happier Christmas Eve for you," the ghost observed. "Even when you had nothing but dreams."

	"And now I have everything but dreams," Ken whispered as he stared in awe the four young men and the young women with them.

	He couldn't remember any of the women's names but one may have been Cherise. But the guys...

	There was DJ, looking pretty much as Ken had seen him an hour before. After his death, the band still had contractual obligations to produce three more albums for their music label. DJ's replacement had been a solid enough bassist (and was record company-approved, meaning stable) but he could never match DJ's musical flare. The next three albums were done on schedule and generated some top ten hits but the music was not the same. Keith Richards had described the band's final trio of offerings as "masturbating with two fingers".

	Elliott Dixon was the lead guitarist and his head was lacking the bandana he has taken to wearing when his hairline had started to recede at an alarming rate. Slapping his hands on the impromptu bongo drum of a chair back was Manny LaRoche. Ken had forgotten how skinny the percussionist had once been.

	And then Ken saw himself. Sure, he was younger-looking; that was to be expected. But he was also so carefree. Ken hadn't been that way in...he couldn't tell how long. Not even when he was drunk.

	"Ladies and Gentlemen," Elliott shouted as he held a bottle of some cheap rotgut in the air. "Let's have ourselves a Merry Fucking Christmas and a Steaming Engines New Year!"

	Everyone else whooped and drank. Ken nodded in remembrance. It would have only been a month earlier that their tour vehicles died and the band's name was born.

	In the apartment, the drinking led to foreplay. Suddenly remembering the ghost next to him, Ken wondered if this was appropriate for her but she seemed keenly interested. But it wasn't the actions that held her focus; it seemed to be him - his younger self.

	Ken looked at her and saw how the gown had ridden up to expose most of her bare legs. Between her thighs, he could see the fleshy swell with a bit of cleft in it. He guessed that ghosts didn't need underwear.

	Well, if he was going to be kept up all night, he might as well have some fun. If the spirit world had an age of consent (and judging by DJ's earlier insinuation, it did not), Ken didn't really care.

	"If we're looking back at the old days, this is how I used to get girls warmed up," he said to her as he slipped his hand between her legs.

	Her thighs were warm like her hand had been, supple and smooth as he slid the very short distance to her crotch. The girl didn't move as he played his fingers over the bald, pudgy mound before he slipped a digit between the tiny lips. Being so small there she was easy to manipulate, While his thumb and other fingers kneaded her pliant cunny, his index finger stroked inside her slit.

	Her first reaction came a few minutes later when she spread her legs a little more. Not long after that, he found her wet. Encouraged, he inserted his finger into her, finding the little passage of her cunt to be delightfully well heated and lubricious. Working the finger, he made the child's pussy drool as he twisted and hooked his digit to get her sensitive areas going.

	Murmuring softly, the little girl leaned against him, limp as her hairless genitals were skillfully molested. Ken was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts and pushed them down to release his erection before guiding the child's face to it. She was unresisting as his glans butted against her lips and when he told her to suck it, she opened and welcomed him with pressing lips and a wet, sweeping tongue.

	The immature snatch was snug around his finger but Ken gauged that it could take more. The girl groaned around his prick as a second finger was introduced into her sultry quim. Ken diddled her harder, mauling the upper area of her cunny, just behind her pubic bone. In response, the girl lashed at his meat with her tongue and gripped his cock with both hands as she sucked furiously at him. Stimulation begat more stimulation and Ken couldn't be sure if his fingers or her mouth was doing the harder action that bordered on rape.

	His semen poured into her mouth and he held her head in a silent instruction to swallow it. He could hear her gullet working as she sucked even harder as if to draw a vacuum all the way to his spasming testicles in order to get every last musky drop out...

	
BONG! BONG!

	"Fucking grandfather clock," Ken murmured as two o'clock chimed. "That is, if I even had one."

	He didn't have a Christmas tree in his room (although there was one in the living room that the household staff had erected before they left for the holidays). But there was one now in his bedroom along with a huge pile of colorfully wrapped boxes.  Again, there was the odd, source-less glow.

	Perched atop the boxes was another little blonde haired girl. This one was younger than the last and couldn't have been more than an older preschooler or maybe in kindergarten. As she saw him, the tot's blue eyes sparkled and the toes on her bare feet wriggled.

	"I am the ghost of Christmas Presents!" she announced as she held a large goblet precariously in her tiny hands before sipping it.

	"You mean Christmas Present," Ken corrected her as he approached.

	She giggled and the chubby toes on her little feet wriggled again.

	"And in that cup you're holding," Ken continued. "Is that the milk of human kindness?"

	"No, it's milk from a cow," she replied. "And I have cookies. Do you want some?"

	Ken took a red frosted one from a plate she indicated and examined his latest visitor. She definitely had the present theme going as she was wearing nothing but a tangle of red and silver ribbons all about her. Recalling images of cherubs wearing skillfully located bits of cloth in classical paintings, Ken saw similarities in this ghost. Or perhaps she was a Christmas angel.

	As she reached for another cookie, a silver ribbon slipped and revealed a light pink nipple on her white, utterly flat chest. If she was aware of this exposure she certainly didn't care. Ken's eyes drifted between her legs where a red ribbon covered the center of her plump twat mound. But he could see the roundness of the outer portions and the hairless creases where her crotch bordered with her lush little thighs.

	"Do you like the cookie?" she mumbled through a mouthful of her own.

	"Yes," he affirmed as he drank from her cup. It was surprisingly good.

	When the girl set the cup down, he saw a line of milk forming a moustache above her upper lip. A tiny tongue slipped out from her red lips and swept the white liquid away before drawing it back into her mouth where it was swallowed. Ken's boxer's tented immediately at the innocently lewd sight.

	"Oh!" the little girl cried. "I forgot. I have to show you something."

	Ken closed his eyes as his fingers wrapped around her hand and avoided the dizzying effects of the transport. When he opened them again, he was standing behind the big desk in George's or Nevin's office. The girl was on her hands and knees on top of desk with her rear facing Ken as she watched the room's other inhabitants. The red ribbon had ridden up into the cleft of her fat baby cunt which Ken could see bulging from between her legs. She tugged it out but when she sifted, it pulled back in again. Ken had a good idea of what it was doing to her as she wriggled her hips as the fabric pressed into her slit.

	Her ass was incredible, too, and Ken could picture his dick sliding between those perfectly smooth little globes and into the embrace of back door tunnel. She'd probably even squeak like an angel as she was sodomized.

	His lawyer and agent (never mind the names again) were standing with two other men whom Ken recognized as being from the marketing company. One of them was pouring champagne into the crystal flutes that each person was holding.

	"To Ken Banfield's music catalog," Nevin called out as he held his glass in a toast.

	"Soon to be a wholly owned subsidiarity of PlaceCo," one of the marketing geeks added.

	"And to royalty checks for all," George concluded.

	After they drank their first sip champagne, the other marketing man shook his head.

	"Every time I look at that catalog list, I keep remembering how much stuff he used to crank out. Good stuff that will earn a mint. I am so looking forward to popping that catalog's cherry."

	They all laughed before George raised his glass again.

	"To popping cherries!" he proclaimed before they all took another drink.

	The little girl looked back just as Ken was once again contemplating the corruption of her adorable little rump - much more palatable than seeing his life's creations being offered up on a carving dish, no matter how well the compensation.

	"What's popping cherries?" she asked in utter innocence.

	It took a moment for Ken to remember that he and his guide were unseen and unheard. Rolling the girl onto her back, he pulled the ribbon aside to fully reveal the hairless perfection of her round morsel. The friction of the ribbon had made her cunny water and now her little girl meat looked delightfully basted in its own juices like a rare holiday treat.

	With his prick freed from his shorts, Ken took the child's thighs in hands. She was so small that her upper legs nearly completely disappeared within his hands. When his prick head pushed against her plush little mound, her labia flared and she cooed as the spongy flesh ground against her sensitive inner skin and clitty. Those toes wriggled more as she kicked the air above his hands.

	"Is this popping cherries?" she asked with giggles that may have pealed from miniature silver bells.

	"Not quite," Ken grunted. "When I go in, yours will be popped."

	"Oooo!" she said as her shoulders hunched with excitement.

	Ken could feel the resistance of size differential as the tot's nether lips were pried apart by his greedy glans. As his head barely started to squeeze in, he felt the kiss of her membrane against the tip. The girl had stopped moving and looked at him in puzzlement as she felt the pressure.

	Jerking his hips forward, Ken drove his prick into the wet little orifice, deflowering the squealing Christmas angel. Hers wasn't the first cherry he had taken but it was by far the smallest. Her face was screwed up in consternation from the sting of the entry but relaxed when he stopped and the pain faded.

	"After a cherry is popped, the fun begins," he told her.

	Her blue eyes were slightly watery as she met his gaze.

	"I want to have fun," she affirmed.

	With steady pressure instead of hammering thrusts, Ken slowly penetrating the tiny, virginal pussy. The child lifted her head to watch the man's cock sliding in between her bald cunny lips as far as her diminutive body could allow and moaned softly as the hardness filled her and reshaped her insides.

	Ken's movements were excruciatingly slow as he took his time moving inside the stretched, fleshy oven of the little girl's sex. Her clenching interior spasmed around his cock as it was rubbed; with juices gurgling out during the push and then fastening on with wet suction when the man pulled out.

	The tyke squirmed within her bonds of shiny ribbons, panting as her newly opened twatlet was reamed by hard man cock. It seemed as if her entire being was quivering as something grew in the juncture of her legs where another person was now a part of her. The slick, throbbing pussy of the child overpowered Ken's control.

	Groaning as the pressure in his scrotum intensified, he felt and saw the girl writhing, twisting the taut tissues of her cuntal tube around his prick as she came. Responding in kind, his loins pulsed as he heavily saturated with mewling angel with his seed, filling her relentlessly as he jerked with every burst of jism entering her...

	
BONG! BONG! BONG!

	Ken sat up in bed and stopped himself before he commented on the clock.

	"Not going there," he muttered as he looked around for the next bright spot of glow in his room.

	It was faint and a low, cancerous green that surrounded the shrouded figure. Ambling over, Ken snorted when he saw how relatively short the last phantom was.

	"Greetings, oh ghost of Christmas Yet to Come," he intoned. "So tell me, are you a skeleton under there like they showed in some movies or what?"

	Not waiting for an answer, he pushed the hood back to reveal the face of another girl. Like the ones before, the eyes were blue although this pair greeted him with icy regard. The hair, golden on the other two, was midnight black. She was bigger than Christmas Past but not full grown and her face, despite the Goth contempt, looked quite youthful.

	"I have met the future of Christmas and it is sullen," he remarked.

	Without a word, the girl grabbed his hand made him launch through the shifting existence before he could shut his eyes.

	"Nice," he croaked as he fought not to lose his dinner of take-out Chinese and scotch. "Oh, and nice weather, too. Couldn't have picked a better spot or Christmas?"

	It was raining and the girl silently led him through the grass until she stopped. Ken saw the rectangular hole in the dirt, yawning like a toothless harpy waiting to usher him into eternal damnation. Willing the coldness that threatened to wash into him to dissipate instead, Ken turned the tables on his last guide.

	"Oh no, the Ghost of Christmas Attitude has shown me my grave," he moaned in a deliberately unconvincing tone. "I'm going to die one day. Oh, curse my mortality."

	Maybe it was the murky moonlight but Ken thought something resembling a grin might have twitched across the girl's lips before she pointed a pale (but not skeletal) hand to the open hole. Then she slowly raised it up, making Ken follow with his eyes until he saw the tombstone.

	It was blank. Then it was shimmering before it coalesced into a video image. Cool! In the future, you got TV when you were dead. It had to make the funerals more interesting.

	There was someone playing guitar and singing on the tombstone-vision. The notes sounded familiar but were electronically synthesized with only a few jangles of guitar chords here and there for effect.

	As he had recognized himself in the past, Ken saw that it was him in the video. He was different again and he saw that his hair, which he had let begin to gray, was fully brown again. But it was a not-completely-natural looking dye job. And his face was wrinkle-free - way too wrinkle free. What happened - a gallon of Botox injections? He looked like a mannequin from Madame Tussaud's discount bin.

	The song came to him - a Steaming Engines classic from their second album. The song had been a chart-topper for six weeks straight, "Burning Relief". But the lyrics here were altered and the background singers (background singers?) were making certain gestures that... The song ended and the commercial's product appeared in a still shot.

	His future self was doing an ad for rectal itch cream.

	"Oh fuck me," his groaned as another commercial began. Wouldn't this tombstone short-circuit in the rain?

	"This is an option, right?" he said as the ghost turned and walked away. "This is what DJ said - a path for me to choose, right? Hey, come back here!"

	He strode after the ghost, who didn't seem to be in any hurry.  Catching the hood draped over her back, he gripped it only to have her walk out of her robe. She turned around in irritation, displaying some very modest breasts on her chest. But the hips had no maturity to their slight curves and she hadn't managed to grow any hair between her legs yet. But obviously, she was compensating all of this with attitude.

	With a sneer, she turned and started away again. As she moved, Ken saw the way her compact, preteen ass swayed ever so slightly. Remembering his prurient thoughts about the cute rear of the bubblier Christmas Present, Ken directed his rage of the future against its avatar.

	"What's the matter?" he said as he grabbed the girl around the waist. "You got a broomstick up your ass? You sure act that way. How about this instead?"

	He rubbed his hardness against her firm buttocks before pulling his shorts down so she could feel him skin to skin. She didn't move as he humped against her, remaining still even has his hands found her little chest mounds and squeezed them. Although she still didn't speak, her nipples responded by stiffening between his fingers.

	The rain raged as he lifted her slightly while he bent his knees. Inserting his soaked dick between the girl's butt cheeks, he found the indentation of her sphincter and pushed.

	The girl opened her mouth but if she said anything, he could not hear it over the storm. But he could feel her anus giving way, allowing him entry into her body as the muscular ring squeezed him as he passed. One little breast easily fit in the palm of Ken's hand and with his fingers, he could feel her heart racing as her anal penetration progressed.

	It took some effort to squeeze his bloated hard-on into the girl's meaty channel but the soft lining of her interior caressed and warmed him. She took most of his length before he started to wrench his prick in and out of her bottom. Her rectum wrung at his member as his careful movements became more savage.

	From where he stood behind her, he could see over her shoulder and saw her hand busy between her legs. It goaded him to bugger her more fiercely, pounding her tender ass with his tool. Her fingers flashed savagely and he felt her pushing back with her hips every time he slammed into her, willing him to ruthlessly impale her.

	The combined motion opened her further and he could feel the cushion of her ass cheeks as he now drove everything he had into the prepubescent vixen. Her teeth were bared in a needful snarl and her back arched as her climax broke. Her anus clamped hard around his prick before it convulsed and her shuddering created more friction between her rectal lining and his thrusting cock. At the peak of her orgasm, she took the first blast of semen in her guts. They both bent and swayed together like a two-headed carnal creature as she was relentlessly creamed in her ass until they were both spent.

	
Sunlight.

	Ken cracked open one eye to confirm the golden rays entering his bedroom. This was odd since he usually kept the light-blocking curtains closed and the maid knew to leave them as such. At least that fucking grandfather clock wasn't...no, wait. Never mind.

	"Good morning, Daddy," a soft voice said. "I really like what we did last night. Thank you."

	Now the second eye opened as Ken looked to the right to see the nude ghost of Christmas Past lying next to him. There was no doubting the face although he didn't recognize her last night as his eight year-old daughter, Nicole.

	His daughter who had swallowed his cum while his fingers were mauling her pussy.

	"I was afraid you'd be mad yesterday like Mommy was when she found Winnie and me kissing and doing stuff in each other's kitties."

	Memories of yesterday filtered into Ken's mind. Lorraine on the front porch screaming that two of them were depraved and the other would likely follow and how it was all his fault (never mind that they only occasionally saw him). The papers she had pushed against him as her voice grated on the inside of his skull - she was done with all of them and had forced custody on him so she could live on some island in the Caribbean or Mediterranean or something.

	"Uh..." Ken began. "You liked it...um...good."

	Lorraine would have his ass.

	But not anymore - she was out, tethered only by automatic payments that would suddenly shrink without child support.

	"Mom is such a dick," said a voice to Ken's left.

	Ken turned to see Christmas Future, clothed as much as Christmas Past, lying on his other side.

	Back when the girl was born, Ken had been too wasted to object when Lorraine saddled her with the name Winnifred. They called her Winnie but when her preadolescent angst set in about six months earlier, she insisted on going by Win. But she hadn't minded Nicole using the longer version. Now he wondered what kinds of stuff the two of them had been doing. He wanted to wonder in great detail.

	About the time she started her "Win" phase, the girl had also dyed her blonde hair black. Lorraine claimed she had only done it to anger her and Ken thought the kid had scored a slam dunk in that regard. Good for her. But there was something he needed to clarify.

	"Your mother is not a dick," he told Win.

	Shifting to her side to face him, she gave him a baleful look. She also gave him a look at her eleven year-old body including the budding breasts he had handled last night.

	"Why not?" she challenged.

	"Well, I don't think that women can be dicks."

	Win digested this for a moment.

	"Mom is such a cunt," she stated.

	"Point taken and accepted," he agreed.

	"Winnie," Nicole interjected. "Why did you take a shower in the middle of the night?"

	Win actually blushed a little - a rare and charming sight to Ken. Then he put the facts together. The shower....the rain. And he had ass-fucked his preteen daughter in the shower.

	"Well, Nicole," he began in an effort to spare Win. "She had a broomstick issue that I needed to help her with."

	Win burst out laughing. It was an unrestrained belly laugh - something he hadn't heard from her since she was younger than Nicole was now. Then Win's laughter faded and another miracle - a warm smile - lit her face as she sat up.

	"Hey," she said brightly. "Santa brought us a Christmas present in bed."

	Ken propped himself up on one elbow as a little blonde head appeared under a tent of the bedspread. Then the girl sat up completely, letting the bedspread slide off so that she was only clothed in her red and silver ribbons.

	Last night's Christmas angel.

	"Santa didn't bring me," Tiffany giggled. "You tied me up like this."

	Win had tied Tiffany in ribbons? His oldest had a kinky streak he was only just beginning to discover.

	"And then," Tiffany continued as she pressed her little hands together. "Daddy popped my cherry! That means he put his pee-pee in my pee-pee and we had fun."

	So Ken had taken his five year-old's virginity. Congratulations, Champ, he told himself. You just hit the incest trifecta.

	Neither of his other daughters seemed distressed by this. In fact, Win investigated by sliding a finger into Tiffany's hairless quim. The kindergartner squirmed in delight and Ken could see her toes wriggling on the one bare foot within his vision.

	"Oh, you're still gooey inside," Win purred as she withdrew her finger and sucked it clean. "Yummy. Daddy juice and Tiffy juice."

	Win fumbled with the ribbons, tugging on them until one of them slid. It had been fastened in a slip knot and suddenly Tiffany's wrists were pulled together by the ribbon wrapped around them. Win pushed the kindergartner onto her back before plunging her face between the tot's opened thighs. Tiffany squealed as Win began to slurp on her tiny pussy.

	Watching as his oldest daughter introduced his youngest to the Sapphic arts of pleasure, Ken recalled Tiffany from last night. She had been Christmas Present and he remembered what he had seen and heard in that office (besides his baby daughter's ass and other treasures).

	That catalog would not be sold. Get Mtley Cre or someone else to sing about ass cream. He thought about where his cell phone was because he was about to call George and Nevin and...

	His thoughts were derailed as an eight year-old's small lips closed around the hard-on that Win and Tiffany's show had inspired. As Nicole's mouth enveloped his head and her head began to bob, Ken relented.

	Tomorrow would be just fine. No need to call and disturb anyone on Christmas Day. Instead he stroked Nicole's silky hair while Win wet-vacuumed her littlest sister's delectable cunny.

	Somewhere else in the house, a happy riff of bass chords played for a moment before fading out.



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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