Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Tuesday, June 19, 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: theguar4.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: MF/g (10) Man/Woman/pre-teen girl, cons

story_intro: While Nick id getting used to the world and his life thousands of years after his birth, someone else is tracking him. And even his little house slave will not go untouched by this [pursuit.


story_language: English





The Guardian, part 4

Written by madvlad


	As the swivel chair creaked its familiar greeting beneath his ample weight, Steve settled into his seventy-seven by seventy-seven-inch slice of the corporate life. It may not have been much but within these cubicle walls, he was a knight, a bounty hunter, and a variety of other dashing adventurers as he cruised through the raging seas and dark labyrinths of the corporate network in search of precious caches of data.

	It was his specialty; arranging seemingly unrelated numbers into correlating trends that the people in suits whose windowed offices lined the perimeter of each floor could use in their meetings and such. Despite his prodigious skills, Steve would never occupy one of those offices. That did not bother him a bit as he shied away from suits. 

	Being a hockey fan, Steve's choice of shirt wear were hockey sweaters worn untucked over his jeans. His supervisor, Patricia, reminded him that his chances of promotion would increase if he dressed more professionally. But as she only did that when she was feeling bitchy which meant these lectures occurred daily.

	But her snide comments rolled off of Steve. Others in management, well above Patricia, appreciated his skills and saw to it that his pay raises and occasional bonuses exceeded Patricia's penurious recommendations. Along with his limited degree of autonomy, Steve enjoyed some colorful friendships in this drab sea of cubicles.

	"Ohhh...Steven...mm, mm, mm."

	That female voice came from the other side of one wall. Glancing up, Steve saw a brown hand with a thumb extended upward and acknowledged it with a nod that went unseen by its owner, Francine. He and Francine were "donut buddies", often buying two of the delicious treats from local shops in their respective neighborhoods to take to work for sharing with their pastry pal.

	"I've got jelly in my belly," Francine crooned, for today's special had been boysenberry jelly-filled donuts.

	Older than Steve by about twenty years, Francine was part friend and part surrogate mother to him. Her own kids were out of the house; two of them giving her grandchildren so far. But they all lived out of state so Steve had become the focus of Francine's maternal attentions now and then.

	"With loving like this," she continued around a mouthful of donut. "You'll make someone a fine husband."

	Steve chuckled. Not that he didn't like women, but he was content with bachelorhood and the freedom to lounge about in his underwear and eat last night's pizza (still sitting on the coffee table) for breakfast. His brother, Chuck, was the married one with kids and he was perfectly to have a family life as an uncle, brother, and brother-in-law. And when Chuck needed a break from domestic tranquility, he sometimes joined his brother at a hockey game.

	"No donuts for me?" asked a somewhat girlish voice outside of Steve's cubicle. 

	Steve turned around in his chair to see a petite, dark-haired woman standing there. 

	"You're sweet enough without any sugar, Mal," he replied.

	"Uh oh!" sounded Francine from behind the opposite wall.

	Mal batted her eyelashes coquettishly. At first glance, she looked like someone's cute kid sister. At second glance, she looked like someone's kid sister who was disturbingly hot because she must be jailbait. And at full realization, she practically oozed sensuality.

	"I need you Steve," she said as she stepped in and leaned over to put a folder on his desk. 

	The movement gave him a chance to see a little cleavage - which was all the small-busted woman could provide. One delicate, olive skinned hand stroked Steve's larger pink paw suggestively and Mal's wide dark eyes bored into his.

	Despite the suggestive play, they were friends only and Steve never tried to make it anything more than that as he sensed that it would do nothing but ruin their camaraderie. Mal worked in corporate security, doing investigations and other skullduggery that was rumored to be quite impressive for someone who might look old enough to have a driver's license.

	About a year ago, one executive did try to put the moves on her. After she gently rebuffed him, he tried again with no gentleness on his part. He out-sized her by over a hundred pounds and well more than a foot in height. Three surgeries later, he was nearing fifty percent use of his arm, now, and Mal never missed a minute of work.

	Occasionally, Mal needed Steve's data-mining skills and he happily obliged. It drove his boss, Patricia, batty but Mal did have a lot of influence. Still, Patricia always demanded that Steve provide an exact report on time spent for Mal.

	"I'm trying to track down the owner of this car," Mal said as she slid Steve a photo of a red Maserati.

	"Nice wheels, I nearly bought one of those last year," Steve remarked.

	"You almost bought this kind of car?"

	"Nope, just one of the wheels - it's all I could afford."

	Behind the wall, Francine groaned.

	"It's a sin to eavesdrop," Mal chuckled.

	"I'll repent on Sunday," Francine shot back. "Meanwhile, you're my favorite soap opera."

	Still leaning over the desk, Mal laughed. It made the taut curves of her rear do wonderful things beneath the tight red skirt she wore. Steve's eyes kept roving down past the hem to the black nylon-clad thighs before he caught himself.

	His ears burning, he returned back to the photo. Noting the crimson of his ears, Mal smiled. She didn't mind men or women looking and Steve would never dare go beyond that, unlike the recuperating ex-corporate vice-president.

	"Let's see, I've got two digits of the license plate and the rest is blurred," Steve mused as he enveloped himself in his task. "Must have been raining and this security camera wasn't the best. Looks like it was at a truck stop - that's no place for a Maserati. And of course this is one of those damned special license plates. Used to be, you could tell the state by the plate colors but now everybody has these special edition plates. This is going to take some time."

	"Go right ahead and do your magic," Mal purred.

	While waiting for one of the stealth and highly unofficial file retrievals from an out-of-state DMV, Steve glanced at another photo sitting in the folder.

	"Jesus!" he breathed as his breakfast gurgled uneasily for a moment. "Did something rip that guy's arm off?"

	"That was a someone," Mal corrected. "And he twisted the arm off instead of ripping it."

	Steve swallowed hard.

	"That's nice," he burped.

	After another few minutes, Francine sounded the alarm.

	"Battleship approaching."

	Patricia was inbound.

	"Great," Steve muttered. "Now she'll want a complete report from me on this. I hope it's official."

	"It's corporate security - she's not allowed to know the contents of it."

	"Yeah, but it doesn't keep her off my ass for a day afterward."

	Mal considered this and decided to keep Patricia at bay on this - especially since this actually was a personal issue. Petting Steve's arm, she urged him on as his fingers flew over his computer keyboard.

	"Ooohhhh! Oooohhh, Steve! Yes! Make your fingers do more! Oh Gaaawwwwd! Just like that! Mmmorrre! Yyyesssss!"

	In the aisle, Patricia made an abrupt about-face. 

	"You got room in there for a threesome, Stevie?" Francine teased.

	Steve was about to reply when a facial image and information appeared on his screen. Since the printer was a shared one, he downloaded it and e-mailed it to Mal for privacy. Now leaning over his shoulder, Mal blew in his ear while sliding a hand down over his chest. Then she released the envelope she was holding, letting it fall into his lap as she stood straight and left with her file folder.

	Patricia had been standing behind a column further down, intensely curious but lacking the nerve to approach Steve's cubicle during Mal's performance. As Mal passed Patricia, she licked her lips in satisfaction and made the supervisor scurry back to her office.

	Back in his chair, Steve opened the envelope and found two tickets for Friday night's Blackhawks game - corner ice. Premium seats and - what was this? - vouchers for concessions!

	"This is better than sex," he whispered in awe.

	Marcy was surprised to hear the chime of the doorbell. It meant that someone had arrived in the penthouse elevator. But access to the elevator was controlled remotely from Nick's penthouse - no one should be able to use it on their own except for Nick or herself. Perhaps her master had ordered a delivery without telling her. Sometimes, he got quite distracted when he was on his computer. For reasons Marcy didn't understand, he was fixated on ancient Egyptian princesses and was trying to track the history of some of them.

	When she started for the door, the ten year-old stopped as she saw her slim reflection in profile in the bedroom mirror. She was nearly naked with her flat tummy blending seamlessly with her boyish chest. Farther below, her slender thigh was topped in the back by the compact swell of her buttock. Just at the top of the pale cheek was where a shiny string of fabric crossed from back to front over her modest hip.

	Turning to face the mirror in full front, she saw where the strings from each side held the narrow triangle of metallic cloth - copper today - that tightly wrapped over her mons. Rather than providing her coverage, thong seemed to accentuate the bulge of her prepubescent sex, displaying the childish roundness of her labia and the cleft that Nick plumbed to great effect for both of their pleasures. 

	Although Marcy took satisfaction in her skimpy slave garb, she knew it would be inappropriate to answer the door wearing only that. Grabbing one of her long t-shirts that fell to mid-thigh, she slipped it on while walking to the door. 

	Outwardly, people who were introduced to her knew her as Nick's niece. But she was in fact a slave and didn't mind it at all as she was treated well and with affection. And the orgasms she received from her carnal duties were indescribable. She enjoyed her life of luxury; a far cry from two weeks earlier when she was forced to give blowjobs at a truck stop to keep her mother and stepfather in easy cash.

	Marcy opened the door and saw an apparent teenage girl in black leather pants and a matching jacket standing there. But the girl's eyes held a wisdom that told Marcy she was well beyond her teens. The woman smiled and playfully took Marcy's chin in her fingers and said something in a soft, melodious tone. 

	Marcy didn't understand the words but recognized them as sounding like the language that her master used from time to time - especially when they were having sex. Even these words from the woman made the little girl feel suddenly sodden in her crotch as well as strangely submissive. Whimpering, she stepped back to let the woman enter.

	Then the woman spoke in that language again, but only louder this time.

	"Greetings, Nehktu, my lost beloved one."

	Nick jerked in his chair at the words. He paused for what seemed like a millisecond although he was able to carefully process the voice and recognized it as physically present; not a phantom or a spell.

	Rising from his chair, he strode into the living room where Marcy stood still, clutching her crotch while looking at the young woman who then gained Nick's attention as well.

	"Has..." he began, thinking of elder of his two little sisters. What little of his family he had learned since awakening was that Hastiri had given birth to a son, the pharaoh's grandson, within a year (the closest that hieroglyphs recorded) of his deflowering and seeding his twelve year old sister. 

	But it couldn't be her. Yet the adult face carried hints of the childish one he had known and he pictured that face on a seven year-old. That had belonged to his other sister; the one whose maidenhead had also been offered to him and accepted on that final night before he slept for centuries.

	"Mafket," he whispered in wonder.

	"I go by Mallory, now," she replied, switching to English. "Or Mal, for short."

	Huddled together, they resumed their conversation in their native tongue. It was easier for them to put everything into words, especially for Nick who was still getting use to the strange vocabulary of American English. For Mal, it was merely one in a long string of languages she knew intimately - some of which hadn't been spoken in years or centuries. Marcy could only watch before retiring silently to another room, sensing things between her master and this new woman were far deeper than she could fathom.

	It had begun when Mafket was ten years old. Her nephew - the child of her brother and sister, was now toddling about their father's palace. While Hastiri, then fifteen, was a devoted mother who was also being considered for betrothal to other, politically advantageous suitors, the pharaoh had left Mafket out of the picture for potential marriages.

	When she reflected on this later, she understood that her father may have been deliberate in this as he might have known that she was also being recruited. It was a sect of priestesses who, while knowing of Nehktu's mission as guardian of the orbs, had not been allowed to be a part of the plans and rituals that sent Hastiri's and Mafket's brother into this slumber of millennia. 

	But the priestesses had abilities of their own and the sibling of the guardian was a perfect choice to be what they called the traveler. She would live for ages while waiting for the time when her brother arose. The dark forces in the world, while suspecting that there might be one to oppose them, would not be expecting two different people. At first, Mafket was excited that the possibility of the adventure but her excitement waned under the gravity of her purpose. She became more studious and trained relentlessly as she learned her own set of spells and physical prowess. 

	On the night of her transformation, she was first taken to a pool of scented water. With her plain cotton shift removed, she was carried into the water where the women lovingly partook of her prepubescent body. The girl's only other experience with sex had been when her brother took her virginity on the night he departed. Now in the warmth of the fragrant liquid, the ten year-old was embraced by loving fingers and lips as part of her final lesson - one of pleasure. 

	From her hairless sex, Mafket added her own aroused nectar to the sacred bath. After a little was allowed to leak into the water, the rest was taken in by priestesses who busied their mouths against the small mound between the child's legs. As her hands were guided to the female places of her new sisters, Mafket learned how to pleasure other women. Soon afterward, she learned to do the same with her mouth.

	She recognized the shapes made of polished alabaster - she had seen and known Nehktu's cock three years earlier. Her carnal exercises continued as she was taught how to use her muscles on them. She was enjoying the thrusts of the one in the place that her older brother had unsealed when the second phallus was introduced to her in a neighboring place. The preteen thrashed in the water as she was anally sodomized but quickly controlled her body using techniques learned earlier. When the third was pressed against her mouth, Mafket accepted it. She was comfortably taking it into her throat when the dual penetration in her other little holes set off another climax. But the work never stopped and she was diddled in three places at once for another hour while the hands kept fondling her buttocks and limbs and unseen lips pulled on the tiny, erect nipples of her flat chest.

	After the alabaster pieces were gone, the womanly touches on every part of her body resumed. The gray of the false dawn was lightening the sky when she stood nude on the polished floor of the temple and given the goblet. The drink tasted of honey and a blending of spices that constantly changed between sweetness and bitterness. 

	When the potion was gone, she felt a curious bubbling inside her. It wasn't just her stomach; it was everywhere. The bubbling became warm and popping grew sharper as her internal temperature rose dramatically. Struggling to remain on her feet, the girl felt the bubbles reach her skin where they burst in explosions of silvery powder. To her horror, her inner flesh was gone where the bubbles had travelled.

	This was some kind of mistake - some betrayal. Mafket wanted to scream but her lungs were nearly gone and what remained could no longer hold air. Raising her fists in futile defiance, she only saw the skeletal clenched outlines of her hands before they joined the rest of her bones in disintegration. 

	She was aware of being. Then the reforming began. It was more excruciating then her apparent demise as other energies threaded through her renewed flesh. She only knew shear, blazing agony until it ceased with a suddenness that momentarily left her overwhelmed by the familiar sights of the temple. Through the open entrance, she could see the first gold of the sun before regarding her restored body.

	She still looked the same but she understood she was different. 

	Recognized in the palace, she remained in the temple, seemingly a slave to any outsider who bothered to notice her. She watched her nephew grow through childhood and adolescence while Hastiri married and had more offspring. But it was the eldest, the product of brother and sister, which held Mafket's interest. 

	The great pharaoh, Imkehtot, lived to the age of seventy-two. He was succeeded by the first-born son of his first wife, as protocols dictated while his favorite grandson became a general in the army. Mafket, having allowed her appearance to age naturally, was one of the throngs who watched the funeral procession wind its way into the Valley of the Kings. No one paid any attention to the gray-haire woman weeping silently for the departed god-king.

	When Hastiri passed on at the age of sixty, Mafket decided it was time to move on. Hastiri never knew what had become of her little sister, accepting that there were great mysteries that could be deadly if revealed. The son of Nehktu and Hastiri was prominent enough that Mafket would be able to track his descendants even as they descended into obscurity. 

	The spell was relatively quick, returning Mafket's body to the one she had at age seventeen. She enjoyed that physical age; holding the maturity of near adulthood while retaining the vitality of youth. While most of the priestesses who had been with her that final night of her morality were also gone now, she still retained their preference for smooth vulvas as it made lovemaking more intimate. Over time, they had developed ointments to keep that place clean and Mafket maintained herself that way as she completed her journey from Egypt to the gates of Babylon.

	She lived many different lives, aging in appearance or not as she chose. She could reverse her physical self back to the age of her transformation. It was in her ten year-old body that she returned centuries later to the land of her birth as a common camp follower of the conquering Alexander of Macedon. 

	It was there that she spent several nights naked and bent over while one of Alexander's generals used her petite anus like that of a boy. His muscular thighs slapped against the girl's soft ass cheeks while he furiously buggered her. While enjoying the heated cutch of her prepubescent rectum, he would expound upon his plans for a royal lineage once the great king gave him this land. 

	Years later, Mafket wondered in amusement whether it was her ass that endeared Ptolemy to Egypt. He certainly made his plans come to fruition, establishing a line that lasted until the death of Cleopatra under the duress of that provincial upstart, Rome. 

	She was living as a thirteen year-old in Samarkand when the Mongols swept into the city. Her nubile little body was relentlessly pummeled by the hard cocks of the dismounted invaders. When she remained lively, they savaged her even harder, grudgingly giving the girl respect as she undulated to the rhythm of three turgid members plunging into her body at a time.

	The soldiers were finally spent and she left them where they lay in their stupors, stinking of sweat and airag - the fermented mare's milk which was their drink of choice. She was bruised all over and her small, budding breasts were peppered with teeth marks. Rubbing her cum-drenched snatch, the young teen felt horny for more.

	Remaining in the nude, she slipped past various guards until she made her way to the yurt of the Great Khan himself, Genghis. As she obviously wasn't concealing any weapons, the bemused khan took her in the dirt under the animal skin roof of his dwelling. By morning, he, too, was conquered by a mere slip of a girl who left the sprawling camp unmolested any further.

	"And there are more stories to be told," Mal concluded. "But I am famished. Can your girl fetch us something?"

	"Marcy," Nick called. 

	The girl came immediately and although Nick didn't notice, Mal was amused to see the flash of jealousy in the girl as she saw the woman now occupying her master's time.

	"This is my sister, Mal," Nick announced. "Make us something in the kitchen - those sandwiches I like - as a snack."

	As the girl left, Nick arched one eyebrow.

	"Odd," he noted. "She seemed somehow relieved when I told her who you are."

	"That's because she thinks we won't have sex because we're brother and sister," Mal giggled. "I'll go into the kitchen with her."

	Marcy did not hear the cat-like steps of Mal and nearly leaped in surprise when the woman suddenly spoke right behind her.

	"There is a food my brother should come to know," Mal said as Marcy opened the pantry door. "It is the thing of....Oh! He has discovered it."

	Easily half of the pantry space was taken up by peanut butter. 

	"What would you like?" the obedient girl asked.

	Grinning, Mal reached around the girl, putting her hand under the long t-shirt and finding one of the ten year-old's ripe little ass cheeks that her thong left bare. 

	"My brother and I shall have a peanut butter and girly sandwich," she announced.

	A week earlier, Marcy had creatively covered her upper body in peanut butter for her master's enjoyment as well as her own. Now Mal did the same but in sensual strokes that left the girl trembling. The woman varied the pressure, painting the preteen's skin in light finger strokes while in other areas she worked the stuff in hard. 

	When she had Marcy nearly covered, all that remained showing from the neck down were the nipples and cunny. Every time Mal had come close to slathering the spread over those areas, she would stop achingly short and leave the girl anxious and whining.

	Now Mal chanted softly as she drew patterns into the peanut butter. Marcy felt heat blooming in her belly and, not for the first time, wondered if there was magic afoot in her strange new existence. She found her nipples stiff and throbbing. While Nick had teased them to arousal before, this was far stronger. Now when Mal slathered some peanut butter on them, the girl let out a throaty moan that made Nick pause at his computer.

	Something else was happening in her loins. Like before, she knew the sensations there when Nick was preparing her but this was more demanding, more urgent. Sticky peanut spread was now swirled over her hairless mons. As Mal's fingers squished the pliant flesh while letting it absorb the peanut oil, Marcy came. The girl could feel the burst of liquid releasing in her snatch but it became cruelly plugged when Mal jammed a dollop of peanut butter into her slit. The effect seemed to make everything bounce back into her sex and Marcy cried out as her legs buckled. Only Mal's quick grab kept her from falling to the floor.

	Back in his Den, Nick turned his chair around after hearing Marcy's latest outburst. What was that girl doing in there? She sounded...sexed.  So what was Mal doing in there?

	"Nick," Mal called. "Our snack is ready."

	Marcy punctuated the announcement with a warbling groan. With one eyebrow arched, Nick got up from his chair and felt his cock thickening.

	Once, Marcy had a three-way at the truck stop that consisted of her giving one man a blowjob while his friend jacked off into her hair. Afterward, her stepfather, Jerry, had laughed and clapped his hands at the extra cash he got for his stepdaughter's labor. Of course, Jerry wouldn't be clapping as much anymore with only one arm left.

	This was entirely different. There was really little for her to do as the reunited brother and sister ravenously cleaned her body. When Nick's teeth found on of her engorged nipples, she nearly screamed with lust. Whatever Mal had done to her with those weird drawings and the whispered words, it left Marcy desperately needing to be touched everywhere. 

	Two mouths furiously met her needs, cleaning her everywhere. She was mostly clean when Nick and Mal started to suck on her toes. Marcy learned a new sensitivity as each digit was cleaned while the pair each worked on one foot. This left her legs wide open and when Mal finished first, she pounced on the last buttered place remaining - between the ten year-old's legs.

	Marcy had heard about lesbians - or dykes as her mother and stepfather called them - and wondered why women would want to do things with each other. The crushing embrace of Mal's lips and the sliding of her unnaturally strong tongue into the girl's preteen pussy gave Marcy some answers. She was being chewed now and humped her slim hips to urge the woman on. Sighing, Marcy tilted her head back and let herself be ravished there. She guessed it made her lesbian now and she didn't mind at all. 
But after Marcy orgasmically pumped her juices into Mal's demanding mouth, Nick showed her that she was to go both ways as the purple head of his prick battered the bald mound. She heard the whispered incantations of her master but still could not keep from moaning and squirming as the massive member penetrated her immature twat.

	The child's pussy flesh was slick around him as Nick made her stretch incredibly. He drove deeply into her body, making her lean belly rise along the path of his entry into her body. The swelling pulsed as he drove in and out of the tight tunnel of Marcy's sex.

	With the turgid mass filling the ten year-old's hairless quim, Marcy's agitated clit was pushed outward. Spying the treat, Mal once again brought her mouth to the preteen's smooth crotch. Licking and sucking, Mal mauled the tiny cum button while also tasting the siding hardness of her brother's cock which was well basted with girlish cunt juice.

	Marcy gibbered incoherently as she was grossly fucked and feasted upon. Somewhere, her mind shut down as her body was wracked with endless climaxes. Only the steaming pulses of thick jism invading her uterus brought the girl back to a state of semi-awareness. After the tool inside her left, the steady leak of goo from her cunny quickened as Mal, now with the little girl's pussy to herself, greedily sucked her brother's seed from it. 

	That meant more orgasms and after the second one, Marcy lost consciousness.

	The light was darker in the room when Marcy awoke. She must have been out for hours. Next to her, Nick and Mal were entwined and quite busy. Marcy considered that a brother and sister shouldn't do that but corrected herself when she was reminded that these were not ordinary people. 

	Noticing that Marcy was awake, Nick and Mal quickly brought her back into the action and slid her on top of Nick. Nick's rod slid between the girl's trim buttocks and Marcy grunted as she was anally skewered. While her brother anally sodomized the ten year-old from below Mal introduced one, then two fingers into Marcy's bald cunt. Already straining from the piston-like action in her snug rectal sheath, Marcy groaned and mewled at the double penetration. 

	Mal's mouth locked onto hers, her tongue elongating and wrapping around the smaller one while her fingers somehow flexed as they thrust in the child's compressed pussy. There was nothing the little slave girl could do as her sleek, sweat-shined figure was lustfully trapped between the two adults.

	The peanut butter was gone, Marcy blearily realized, but she was still a girly sandwich.

	With Marcy once again passed out, Nick and Mal paused from their action. He knew he had a son by Hastiri but did Mal know if that lineage survived?

	"Oh yes," she confirmed. "I induced a tracking spell into the boy when he was eight. He probably always remembered that night as a dream when I snuck into the palace. His cock was tiny but it certainly was stiff long before I made him cum. That's when I discovered how cute little boys are when they can't shoot but wriggle about so at their climax.  

	The last time, though, I had everything working and his reaction was priceless as his first sperm was produced. It was only for  that one time before natural puberty set in but in the way the spell worked, I would able to track his offspring by swallowing his offering."

	"Lucky boy," Nick mused with a grin.

	"And with a palace of slave girls, he often recreated his little adventure with me, even if he couldn't produce liquid again until he was older."

	Now Nick looked like a proud father for a moment before he turned to his sister with a more serious expression.

	"Where are they now? Our family?"

	"I don't track them all the time," Mal sighed. "But some of them came to America about, oh, a hundred and thirty years ago. I'm not sure where they are now."

	"A hundred and thirty years!" Nick yelped. "How could you ignore them for that long?"

	"Hey, while you were sleeping on the job, I was all over the place. So a hundred and thirty years is not that long for me. But don't worry, when we find them, I'll know."

	Nick had a good idea of how she might verify the bloodlines when she lasciviously licked her lips. 

	"So where do we start?" he inquired.

	"It's much easier now," she replied as she went in search of her cell phone amid the scattered clothing throughout the penthouse.

	"Uh huh...yeah...uh huh. Okay, I'll get started."

	Steve hung up the phone and looked at the notes he had jotted down. He had a name and an entry date. This was a few years before Ellis Island opened for immigrants so that meant he'd have to pull up the immigration records from Castle Garden Immigration Depot which had been in Manhattan. What this guy's descendants had to do with Mal, he didn't know - maybe she was getting caught up in the genealogy craze. 

	"You sound like a busy beaver," Francine noted as she heard his computer keyboard chattering. 

	"Yup," he confirmed. "And I may need your help."

	"Why am I picturing a dark-eyed pixie in all of this? Patricia's in a real mood this week and you might be playing with fire."

	"Yeah, well. If we get this done in a week, we'll be rolling in donut heaven for a year."

	"Count me in, Stevie."


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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