Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Friday, June 22, 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: theguar5.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com


story_codes: MM/g Men/pre-teen girl (11), non-cons, first

story_intro: While Nick and Mal are tracking down some of his descendants, a young girl is being used as bribes or payments for services rendered by various men. 


story_language: English





The Guardian, part 5

Written by madvlad


	With his sister, Mal, Nick visited his descendants; or at least the ones that Mal's contacts had found living in America. With more than three thousand years between him and present day, his line had descended from him by at least two hundred and fifty generations. Mal told him that their dark hair and eyes often were passed on but aside from that, the physical attributes would vary.

	They were posing as reporters doing a study on how or if elementary school education influenced career choices. It was a benign enough concept that could be tailored for each individual they "interviewed". Recently awakened, Nick was curious about his "family" and Mal understood. While she had mostly been a loner as she lived through the centuries, every now and then she did feel the need to connect to the descendants of her nephew.

	A myriad of photos in frames lined the top of one book case in Sid Akers' office. They featured him and his wife and their four children. The earlier photos were of babies but now it looked like at least the oldest two or three were in their teens. Unlike the rest of the office, the photo area was clean and free of junk.

	The junk mostly consisted of various unidentifiable gizmos and some of them were badly charred. But at least those were in better condition than the blackened bits collected in Styrofoam coffee cups. Having a steady income from patents past, Sid had left the corporate world and set up his own shop as an inventor. He even made money at that although his greater satisfaction came from the tinkering involved.

	He gave his visitors a tour of his cinder block-walled shop where a machine of unknown purpose was running shakily. After pausing to make a few adjustments that didn't seem to make a difference, Sid escorted them back to his office. With his unkempt lab coat with pockets stuffed with gadgets and dark hair on the sides of his head (there was little on top) sticking out at all angles, Sid resembled an affable mad scientist.

	While they were talking, a sudden explosion from the shop interrupted them. Nick and Val instinctively ducked as metal skittered against the cinder block rear wall of the office. Sid, on the other hand, cocked his head curiously.

	"Did you hear that?" he asked in wonder.

	"Something blew up," Nick replied as he and Mal cautiously raised their heads again.

	"Yes, but the tone of it...oh, this is great!"

	Grabbing a notebook, Sid began to excitedly scribble in it. Then remembering his guests, he looked up apologetically.

	"Sorry, but I haven't had this project explode quite like this before," he gushed. "I think I've just opened up more possibilities. Um, but I'm going to be busy and..."

	"And we don't want to keep you from your work," a relieved Nick said as he hurriedly shook his many-greats-grandson's hand. While he was prepared to face the dark forces in the world, this place was rather unnerving.

	"It's been dangerous to meet you," Mal said with a warm smile as she shook Sid's hand.

	"There's someone else downtown - twenty-eighth floor of an office building so nothing should go ka-boom," Mal noted as she swiped a finger down a list on her iPad.

	"That would be nice," Nick said as he sped his Maserati away from Sid's place.

	Since he was eight years old, Dale Childress wanted to be an actuary. Had anyone else made this claim, Mal would have laughed. But after meeting this bland man in his bland office, she wasn't surprised. She would have liked to have been surprised at anything by now; even a mouse running up her leg - anything. But any hint of excitement was smothered in a blanket of blandness that made the world of Dale.

	Glancing at her brother, she saw that he was as still one of the seated stone statues of their father that was now on display in the British Museum. The likeness between the two was remarkable and...

	"Now this is particularly interesting," Dale continued in his unwavering monotone as he opened an old ledger filled with neat columns.

	Two hours later, they were blinking their eyes back to alertness in the building's lobby.

	"Coffee," Mal groaned. "I need coffee and something with peanut butter."

	"I think I liked the dangerous guy better," remarked Nick. "He was much more entertaining."

	Once upon a time, when Bruce Leahy was an idealistic young law student, he had visions of one day sitting on the United States Supreme Court. Somewhere between graduation and that dreamt-of nomination, he found that influence and back room payoffs in lower judgeships were more satisfying. This evening, in fact, he was receiving his usual honorarium for keeping the legal machine oiled for a businessman.

	He stood in a spare bedroom in the businessman's large and very nice house with his fly open and his erection out. Not much of the member could be seen as most of it was inside the warm saliva bath of a kneeling, eleven year old girl's mouth. She had been servicing him regularly for three years now and knew just how he liked her tongue sliding over his prick while her lips provided a fleshy vacuum along his sliding shaft.

	His glans was at the entry to her throat on each stroke which showed how skilled she had become. Her dark hair, silky beneath the man's hand that was controlling her head movements, was bound in a tight ponytail.

	As a convenience to her (or so he often joked) was that her working clothes were her day clothes. Attending an exclusive girl's school, she wore black leather shoes with Navy blue knee socks. Her skirt matched the socks as did the blazer which bore the school's embroidered seal on the left breast pocket.

	Tonight, though, the blazer was off because of a question he had asked her when she arrived to perform her duty.

	"You still look flat as a board," he remarked, pointing to the front of her white blouse that her open jacket displayed. "Haven't you grown anything yet?"

	The girl flushed and lowered her head.

	"A little bit...sort of," she admitted.

	"Are you wearing a bra?"

	The girl nodded, fearing what he might ask next. And he did.

	"Show your Uncle Bruce," he ordered, his voice dripping with artificial syrup.

	Reluctantly but obediently, the girl unbuttoned the top of her white blouse and opened it just enough so that he could see a bit of white fabric in the middle of her pale chest.

	"Take your jacket off, I want to see more."

	Sniffling, the girl slid her blazer off, carefully folding it and setting it on the bed.  Then she opened her blouse to display the flat triangles hugging her chest.

	"Is that a training bra?" the judge laughed.

	"Yes," she confirmed in a subdued voice.

	Bruce peered at the girl's chest and barely made out a slight puff in the middle of each triangle. He reached for one, pinching the titlet through the little silk covering and making the girl gasp. Shivering, she looked like she was about to cry. Bruce considered going further but he was pushing it now - everything was negotiated to the finest detail.

	"Go ahead and close your shirt, Sweetheart," he ordered. "Then get done on your knees and down to business."

	Now the blouse was primly buttoned all the way to the top. Peering to the side of the girl's head, he could see her bare knees poking out from the hem of her skirt; the only part of her legs that usually showed. Yes, she was the picture of a proper little schoolgirl while lewdly slurping on his meat.

	She was slightly built which meant her school uniform and other clothing were typically worn by girls a year or two younger. It gave Bruce an extra thrill knowing he was touching a shirt meant for a nine year-old, perhaps, while letting the fingers of his free hand brush over the young fellatrix's shoulder to feel the strap of the training bra that held her tiny nubbins securely.

	Bruce gave no warning that he was cumming but the girl, now well-experienced at pleasuring him, tensed as she tasted the bitter pre-cum that emerged. The judge ejaculated fiercely into the preteen's mouth, coating her tongue with his slime. The small, childish tongue slid against him rhythmically as she gulped down each spurt.

	When he finished, she daintily made sure he was perfectly clean with her tongue before leaning back. Perfectly trained, she tilted her head up and opened her mouth to show him that she had swallowed his kind gift. After zipping his fly, he patted her on the cheek and walked out. The fifth grader remained kneeling in despair for a few minutes longer while the judge's semen rested in her belly.

	In the glow of flickering torches spread about in the sands at early dawn, the followers cheered as the tattooed man they revered held aloft a fist at the end of a muscular, tattooed arm.

	"By the power of your god, Surfsup-Ra," he called out. "I declare this ocean our domain!"

	"Gnarley!" the crowd roared.

	Nick watched with folded arms as the man and the others picked up their strange-looking, colorful shields and took them in the foaming waves of the Pacific.

	"Surfsup-Ra," he repeated with doubt. "The god of...what?"

	"Surfing, good times, that sort of thing," Mal explained. "His real name is Terry."

	"He's my descendant and sacrilegious," Nick sourly retorted.

	"Our religion is an ancient artifact, dusty and largely forgotten," Mal reminded her brother. "And it's a coincidence he spoofed an Egyptian deity - he doesn't even know he has Egyptian blood. He meant no harm and he certainly follows his dictates of living for the moment."

	"Yes," Nick replied. "I heard your moments with him last night. Everyone here did, I should expect."

	"Hey, just enjoying a family reunion," Mal explained, wondering what had driven her brother into his funk. She was surprised at his prudish attitude.

	"I wonder what he'd think if he knew how old his Aunt Mallory really was."

	"He doesn't know I'm his aunt," Mal spat. "And I..."

	She stopped when she saw the sly grin on Nick's face. Okay, he was joking - a little. That was an improvement.

	Signaling a change in the subject, he gestured with his phone.

	"I appreciate your help in finding our family here. It's helped me become more...grounded in this place and time. But my purpose here remains and there are schemes afoot. Do you know if any others have sent people like me - like us - through the ages?"

	"Not that I know of," Mal replied as she looked at the information on Nick's phone. "Huh, this is Babylonian. Not surprising, there's been a lot of their artifacts out on the black market after Saddam Hussein was ousted. These guys probably don't even know the power they are dealing with - they just think they are some gold and jeweled trinkets good for money."

	"That could make them even more dangerous," Nick growled as Mal nodded. "I should intercede and make these people disappear. As for the artifacts, I know of a museum where they could be stored - people would never know they were there."

	Mal remembered Nick's tale of finding a spell-cast knife that practically throbbed with power. It was being used to spread peanut butter by workers in a museum's archives. It was also in this way that her brother discovered one of the true wonders of the  modern age - peanut butter.

	"You'll need a passport and credit cards," Mal said as she mentally made a list. "I'll get right on it. And when I have time, are you okay with me finding more of our family?"

	Nick nodded as he gave one last look out in to the water. Now Surfsup-Ra and his army were standing on their shields as the things skidded across water. Yet they had no swords or spears or even the modern weaponry of firearms. He shook his head. Perhaps Surfsup-Ra's tactics were to perplex his enemies into submission.

	The girl could not help the tears as he entered the room. Like the judge and others, she knew this man, too. She had known the touch of his fingers inside her panties, amusing himself with her private parts before she would lower her head to him. Evidently, he was worth more than any of the others, at least this night. Because the thing she was dreading would come to fruition.

	As she moved, she felt her pigtails brush along her shoulders. The flimsy pink and white baby doll dress she wore was thin enough for her to feel her hair through the fabric. Her legs were nearly completely uncovered as the hem of the skimpy thing barely covered her underpants.

	Pigtails. She hadn't worn her hair like that since before she came to this place. But he wanted her to look even younger than she was. Now she stopped; her feet frozen to the floor while she was trapped in his leering gaze. When he gestured for her to come closer, she did manage to do this with frightened, tottering steps that unintentionally resembled those of a toddler.

	He liked that.

	Walter enjoyed the privileges of exclusive access that his unique talents produced. This was often manifested in yacht cruises, preferred seating at the best restaurants, and the top tier of ski resorts and country clubs. Just this morning, he had arrived after three days of golf with a couple of Arab princes in Dubai. As was often the case, pleasure was mixed with business but the latter was also a pleasure unto itself.

	But he had come here to collect another unique benefit on top of the handsome commission he had received. This wasn't frivolous as this man was very careful with his assets. But Walter had earned exclusive access to this asset and he was here for strictly enjoyment.

	Although his hands were slow and gentle as he stroked her sides, the girl trembled. He was almost tender as he took her in his arms and carefully laid her on the bed. Her dark eyes sparkled with tears as he touched her neck. He gave just enough pressure to her throat to let her know how truly powerless she was. With just one hand, he could easily tighten his currently subtle grasp to an oxygen-depriving one and crush the life from her.

	But that would be a waste of a perfectly good asset. And bad for business.

	His other hand came to her neck but now he gripped the collar of her dress. With a jerk, he tore her dress open down to the waist, sending buttons flying from the bed. Despite anticipating something like this, the girl shouted one wordless syllable before going silent again. Walter grabbed the lower portion of the tear and ripped the remainder down through the hem and flung the sides apart. Only her panties gave her any modestly as she wore no training bra tonight. Two modest puffs barely pushed her nipples up slightly from the otherwise flat plane of her chest.

	Walter chuckled as he tweaked the tiny buds.

	"Are you trying to grow up, little girl? You're not doing very good job of it. But don't worry - I'll make you grow up plenty real soon."

	The girl whimpered at his words. When he tore her panties from her, her whimpers turned to sobs.

	While her chest had tried to develop, her vulva remained completely smooth. He roughly pinched her there, probing with an index finger to find the entrance that had yet to be used.

	"You don't get wet very easily," he observed with amusement. "So let's start with a little of this."

	He spit onto his fingers before rubbing them against the soft flesh of her cunny. She closed her eyes and turned her head at the touch, wincing as the spittle lubricated her bald slit. Then Walter pulled her legs around his waist where he knelt, drawing her crotch perilously close to his rampant erection before he aimed it at her.

	The thing whose touch she knew from countless times in her mouth now pressed between her legs. She desperately wanted to wriggle away from him, to flee from the room. But there would be no escape in the end and others might pay a price. So she didn't even protest beyond a frightened whimper as he bore into her, making her hairless labia open around the spongy head.

	Now he was at her entrance; his pressure there making it slowly expand. Her barrier was there as well, a flimsy thing that only enhanced his experience. He jerked his hips and felt the momentary resistance before the satisfying rendering of flesh again this cock head.

	The girl cried as she was torn open but like her ruined maidenhead, this only made her defloration more satisfying to Walter. He entered her fully, making her prepubescent pussy stretch to conform to the tool that was violating her. The eleven year-old clutched the sheets in her small fists, twisting them as the man filled her little virgin hole with his hard meat.

	When he pulled out for the next stroke, his shaft was stained with thin streaks of crimson while the bald lips of her skewered young sex clung pitifully around his rod. His next thrust was harder, making her hymenal blood gurgle warmly in a parody of juicy arousal. She made a wet coughing sound as her underage cunt was drilled again.

	The sheets in her sweaty palms continued to be turned and bunched as the man rutted inside her. The preteen squirmed but could do little else as she was pinned to the bed with the man's turgid prick battering her insides between her widely spread legs.

	He fucked her with increasing, lust-fueled fury. The eleven year-old's tiny breast buds jiggled, enticing him to lift one hand and play with one tender nugget of flesh while pounding his dick into her tight, squelching little cunt. She may have been unwilling but now her sex could only respond as it was meant to; to lubricate and prevent further harm from the friction of an adult cock driving inside the small passage. Her lower legs flopped limply against his hips while he enjoyed the slick, carnal oven of her twat.

	As much as Walter was reveling in his payoff, his young partner was unappreciative of her latest introduction into the uses of her female body. She was still making those odd coughing noises between sniffles; her distress goading him to use her with more force. She might have been unwilling but her snug fuck socket clamped on him when he rammed his dick into her and sucked at his tool when he slid out. He could only stand so much aching in his balls and he completed the sullying of her virginity with hot blasts of thick cream into her.

	The girl keened miserably as she felt the boiling mass flooding her deeply inside. Although she had yet to experience her first period, some of her friends now carried tampons in their school bags. With every surge of jism he poured into her, she felt as if his deliberate intent was to make a baby inside her.

	Walter leaned back, sighing as he dick popped free of the preteen's fuck-slimed cunt. He watched her lying there, weeping from pain or humiliation or her lost innocence - he hoped it was all of it. Her titty nubbins rose and fell rapidly with her hitched breaths. Between her legs, the fruits of his efforts leaked from her hairless slit - amazingly hot it regained its prim little shape after having been plugged with cock - and he watched the semen-diluted, reddish stain grow on the sheet beneath her crotch.

	It made him hard again and her eyes widened in horror as he took hold of her legs again...

	Mal had updated records of Christina Rivers, another of Nick's lineage. She and her husband had been dead for three years after a boating accident. While she felt a pang of sorrow for her un-met family member, Mal had experienced plenty of death in all manners over the years as her distant relations passed on to whatever lay in the afterlife. Having mastered immortality and other magic, she knew there was more to this life than the end of the flesh but had long questioned the precise dictums of the priests from centuries past.

	The couple had left behind three very young daughters who were now in the care of the husband's father, a wealthy business man named George Rivers. A quick check on him showed Mal the usual - ruthless, a little shady, and the veneer of respectability with endowments. She had known the type for generations. They often paid well, too.

	But she wasn't looking for a job from the grandfather when she went to find them; she only wanted to take note of the girls. Dressed in business attire more conservative than what she usually wore in the corporate offices, she looked completely non-threatening as she sat near a playground in a park located in a better part of town.

	There were several nannies talking on benches, occasionally casting a sweeping eye over their charges. One of them spoke to a dark-haired girl wearing a school uniform like several of the other girls were wearing. The girl nodded and jogged off with two friends.

	With preternaturally sharp senses, Mal could detect things that others couldn't. Perhaps it was something in the girl's blood that marked her just as it had other family through the years but Mal nodded. This must be...Jessie, the middle one. She would be eight but could have passed for a year or so younger. Mal made a mental note of that as she scanned for the sisters.

	A high, little voice called out as a large red ball sailed away from the group of preschoolers and one little girl in a green jumper scooted after it. Even without the resemblance to her sister, Mal would have detected her. Chloe was a baby when she was orphaned and was now four. Mal's eyes narrowed at she looked at her. Well, she was little - they all were at that age - and maybe she also had Jessie's small-for-her-age frame. Mal couldn't really tell.

	An older girl, wearing the same school uniform as Jessie, snatched the ball and tossed it to the girl.

	"Thank you, Brooke," Chloe sang and raced back to her group.

	And Brooke was the oldest. Mal sighed; the poor kid was also petite. Not that it was problem but at this age, girls became aware of their development and Mal didn't see anything pushing out under that white blouse yet. If she was coming along, she wasn't doing much yet. Hopefully, that wasn't a source of teasing for her. As Brooke watched Chloe rejoin her friends, there was sadness and worry emanating from her that Mal felt.

	Focusing her concentration, Mal thought it was first the typical angst that a typical 'tween might have in this era. But no, there was an underlying current of fear there. Afraid of her sister? No, Brooke was afraid for Chloe...and Jessie.

	Gazing about the serene setting of the upper class neighborhood, Mal knew she would not be flying back home tomorrow. Something was wrong in her family and she would have to dig more deeply.



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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