Copyright (c) 2019,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, May 13, 2019

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: theguar8.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: Man/young girl, M/g (11), rape

story_intro: Nick flies off to Russia in an attempt to obtain an ancient relic which holds immense power. The current owner, a Russian oligarch, also has other interests such as the gymnastics academies for underprivileged children. And in this case, a preteen girl who is not performing her gymnastics to desired standards gets her body used for another physical activity.


story_language: English






The Guardian, part 8

Written by madvlad


	As Steve's fingers flew across his keyboard, other fingers kneaded his fleshy shoulders. He could detect the light fragrance of some perfume that only she wore - one of Mal's many unique qualities. The image appeared on his monitor; a dodecahedron made of stone with some sort of writing on each hexagonal face.

	"Here it is," he said. "Some kind of artifact that no one can explain. It was excavated last month during road work near the Russian city of Arkhangelsk. Let's see..."

	Another series of key strokes opened another tab in the web browser detailing the location.

	"That's on the coast of the White Sea, hm, never heard of that" Steve continued. "And the White Sea is connected to the Barents Sea and...whoa, that's way north. The city itself is just barely south of the Arctic Circle but it still must be pretty frosty there."

	Switching back at the previous tab, Steve squinted as he peered at the photo. 

	"I can't read Russian but those words on the stone - if that's what they are - don't look Cyrillic."

	"They aren't," Mal confirmed. "The Cyrillic alphabet originated in the ninth century AD and this writing goes way back into the BC years. Who has it, now?"

	Steve glanced up at Mal, disconcerted by the intensity of the young woman's dark eyes as they were fixed on the image. Mal may have been very petite, but there were times when she radiated a kind of unseen power that made the back of his neck prickle. Returning to his computer, he scrolled down the page in the article. 

	The article itself was originally in Cyrillic. There were a few seconds of lag time as the computer translated the wording into English and he wondered why someone in corporate security was interested in old rocks. Then again, much of what Mal did - and why she had Steve track down owners of fancy cars and news of any unearthed rocks in remote locations - was a mystery. But he did know she was a mover and a shaker in the corporation despite her young age.

	"Okay, it has been moved to Moscow. The owner of the construction company that found it, one Ivan Kuznetsov, reportedly has it in his possession."

	"Kuznetsov," Mal repeated with a frown tugging down the corners of her mouth. "An oligarch big into construction and utilities plus international trade worth a lot of rubles but no one knows exactly what he's selling. He's also a pal of Putin's so he's pretty untouchable without causing a heap of trouble."

	"Why would you want to...?" Steve began before trailing off. "Never mind, if you told me, you'd have to kill me, right?"

	Mal's eye's twinkled with the return of her usual good humor. 

	"No," she replied. "Not anymore. Human Resources sent out a memo last week - homicide is now against the company's employee relations procedure."

	"Lucky you, Stevie," Francine called out from the other side of Steve's rear cubicle wall.

	"So I can't kill you," Mal continued. "But I can take away your donuts."

	"Eeep," Steve croaked, seemingly shrinking in his seat - no mean feat for a man of his size.

	Francine stood up and looked over the wall with a mock-scowl on her mocha-hued face. 

	"You mess with his donuts and I will take you in my lap and whup your behind," the older woman threatened.

	Mal held up a hand in surrender before opening the briefcase she had set down on top of Steve's L-shaped desk. She removed a paper bag with a distinctive, elegant "L" on it, drawing gapes from Francine and Steve.

	"From Leonard's," Mal told them, referring to the upscale bakery in one of the city's finest hotels. 

	"C-creme filled?" queried Steve.

	"What else? Just a simple way of saying 'thank you'," replied Mal before she closed her brief case and left.

	Steve leaned back in his chair to catch a glimpse of Mal's backside as it did incredible things beneath her short skirt as she walked down the aisle. There was never any harm in looking. Then he opened the bag and reverently removed to donuts. After he handed one to Francine, they touched them together in a toast before devouring them.

	"Everything matches," Mal said into the phone. "It's the Ishrik and this Kuznetsov character has it. I don't think he understands what it can do - he's just looking to make money from an ancient artifact."

	"Then this should be easy," Nick replied.

	"No, this guy is too well-connected. I'm talking about Putin's inner circle. No dismemberments or any other funny stuff or will have the Russians digging into everything. You don't understand how wide and how deep they can go."

	"Okay, then, the money angle should be fine."

	Nick had plenty of that, thanks to several of his vanquished foes. Chief among them was the late (although still officially listed as missing) George Rivers, a very wealthy man with a great number of off-the-record assets which now belonged to Nick. It was only fitting after what the man had done and was planning to do to his little granddaughters who also happened to be Nick's descendants via George's previously deceased daughter-in-law.

	"I'm using one of the other passports you obtained for me," Nick told her with a sudden addition of an accent in his perfected English. "So I'll be very low profile but I will have a back-up plan if I need to escape."

	Mal acknowledged this and hung up. That Nick had mentioned escape was a promising sign. Her brother was still, at his core, a proud prince of Egypt and it was a difficult thing for him to simply walk away from anyone who dared to challenge him.

	Among the long queues in Customs and Immigration at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport, no one paid any attention to the man with the glasses and shaved head. The jacket of his moderately-priced suit was wrinkled as coach class passengers did not have their outerwear hung in a closet like those in Business of First Class. 

	The bored clerk took the man's American passport and flipped it to the identification page. Davit Petrosian was Armenian by birth but now was a U.S. citizen. The clerk didn't mind that - Armenians were a nuisance and if America was taking them in, that meant they were farther away from Russia. Then the clerk thumbed through pages of immigration stamps carefully forged under the direction of a woman named Mallory and found a blank page. A stamp slammed down, brusquely welcoming Mr. Petrosian to Russia. 

	Davit took his passport and walked past the booth. Although the clerk never gave him a second look, he did slip a cell phone from his pocket and sent a text to a man who paid him to inform him of certain entries. That this information would go to Ivan Kuznetsov himself was unknown to the clerk. But even if he did know, the clerk could have cared less. Turning his practiced, dull glaze to the line feeding all of the booths, he tiredly waved for the next visitor to step forward.

	Ivan Kuznetsov took the drink from Kas without acknowledgement. Kas did not take offense - he simply took orders. As Ivan's primary driver and bodyguard, he was used to plenty of orders as well as the perks that went with being in proximity of the great man. 

	At the moment, the men were in a gymnasium, watching as young girls in leotards responded to blown whistles or shouted instructions from their coaches. This was one of Ivan's public philanthropic endeavors - providing schooling and possible Olympic dreams for the children of the poorer classes. 

	The boys had a separate gym and some of them that failed to progress still found useful work as athletically trained enforcers in Ivan's myriad of underground businesses. Here in this gym, there might be a girl or two that would make it to international competition. As for many of the others...well, flexible little girls and teens had their uses, too.

	The gymnasium's colors were silver and red and the leotards that clung to the lithe young bodies were red on the lower part with a diagonal border with the silver reaching up to the right shoulder. Sometimes, important clients or partners of Ivan's would visit and select a girl they wanted. The thin garments created a perfect display of every intimate shape of the prospective sex toys.

	At the moment, the only men present were Ivan and Kas. As usual, Kas was hungrily scanning the little gymnasts and stretching the limits of his limited imagination with lurid details. Ivan was pleased to find two inquiries into purchasing that odd rock his workers had stumbled upon in Arkhangelsk. There was no intrinsic value in the mineral content of it nor did it appear to have any valuable metallic ore in it.

	But it seemed to be quite old and there were some curious nibbles of inquiry into obtaining it for museums or private collections. As Kas only wanted serious buyers, the people would have to fly to Moscow. He enjoyed this little game, acting like a king with subjects bearing gifts in exchange for hopeful favors. He didn't give a rat's ass about the rock's historic or even artistic value (the latter was pretty negligible, anyway). But there were two buyers coming here.

	Not far away, a brown-haired preteen flipped gracefully from a balance beam but stumbled slightly on her landing.

	"Gavrila!" shouted a red-faced woman who was built like a tank. "You are a human - stop landing like a hippopotamus!"

	"Gavrila's not progressing with her dismounts," Ivan casually observed. 

	Kas growled in acknowledgement. 

	Elsewhere, a group of the smallest girls, those just starting kindergarten, were using the vault. In deference to their age and inexperience, they would land in a shallow pool of soft foam blocks. The tots thought it was great fun and laughed merrily as they flew through the air and thumped to a well-cushioned landing.

	One of the little girls detached herself from the group and scampered over to an extremely attractive, expensively attired woman sitting in the viewing stands. The woman had barely looked at the girls, paying more attention to whatever she was doing on her phone.

	The little girl's hair was light blonde, nearly white and her blue eyes were startling deep in color. Although the woman's hair was more yellow, it was clear that they were mother and daughter. But where the little girl's eyes were bright and inquisitive, the woman's matching ones were harsh and calculating.

	"Mama!" the child laughed. "I keep landing on my bottom! Isn't that silly?"

	"No!" snapped the woman. "That is incorrect. If you don't learn how to land properly, you will be selling yourself on the street by the time you're ten."

	The girl's delighted expression vanished and her lower lip trembled as if she was about to cry. Without a word, she wiped at her eyes and trudged back to her group. Her buttocks were like two firm apples beneath the red spandex of her leotard and Ivan could see Kas eyeing them.

	"She has a great ass for such a little kid, no?" Ivan asked his henchman.

	"For eating or for fucking," the man confirmed.

	"I'll take that as a compliment, then. After all, I helped produce her - my sperm, you know."

	Kas said nothing but Ivan could see him stiffen with that bit of information. It was never a good idea to tell your boss how you'd like to violate his daughter. But Ivan only chuckled.

	"You've only been with me for two years since your promotion," Ivan said in good humor. "You were doing the more common dirty work in the streets when I was fucking Karina, over there. When she got knocked up, she wanted to abort, of course. But she was even more vain than she was beautiful and I thought it a good idea make her carry the child to term with an appropriate warning if she were ever try to terminate the pregnancy.

	As you can see, Karina never took to motherhood. She's never kind to our little Polina and blames her for every faint stretch mark or bit of sag in her tits even though she gets plastic surgery for it. I haven't fucked her since before Polina was born but I keep her dependent on me. Polina didn't even know I was her father until a month ago when she started at the gymnasium."

	"She is a beautiful little girl," Kas noted woodenly. 

	Having already stepped in it, he wanted to be complimentary without appearing obsequious. Ivan would see right through that and Kas would find himself back working the streets, shaking down filthy whores for a take of their earnings. 

	Ivan had taken no offense at Kas' earlier remark, anyway. It was an honest answer and he liked to know what his man was thinking. To Ivan, Polina was merely an amusement - something like her mother but in a different way. He had known Karina since she was thirteen and even then and she had been a bitch even then. That's why enjoyed subjugating her to his will.

	Polina had inherited her mother's beauty but with none of the inner ugliness. That was nice but Ivan had no paternal feelings toward her. She was an asset and nothing more.

	Ivan's first prospective rock-buyer was the Armenian from the United States. Having had the man tracked upon his arrival, Ivan knew that he had flown coach and was staying at a mid-grade hotel in Moscow. He was representing some museum and Ivan didn't expect much from him in the way of an offering price. Still, the rock was an accidental find and even a handful of rubles would be more than he got for the other detritus that got plowed up for the road. 

	"Mr. Petrosian," Ivan greeted the man in his office. "Please sit down."

	The girls were still practicing below and Ivan's office overlooked the floor but it also allowed for privacy. 

	Davit nervously adjusted his tie and made his bid for the stone. He rambled on about the history of the stone - certainly pre-Novgorodian and was probably native before the first Viking arrivals in the mid-800's. Finally, he got to the part that Ivan cared about.

	"I am, uh, authorized to purchase this stone for thirty thousand dollars. Uh, American dollars."

	"Yes, American is the best kind of dollar," Ivan smoothly replied. 

	The visitor was probably some history professor who was more at home among ancient artifacts than in front of a classroom. Ivan was unimpressed with the man except for two things. One, he was too much of a novice to try to swindle anyone. And two, the man had money to offer. 

	"There is another party looking to purchase this," Ivan explained. "Before I hear their offer, is there a chance that you could go higher in price if they offer more than thirty?"

	Davit paled and fidgeted with his tie again before shaking his head.

	"N-no, the trustees only authorized the thirty thousands, plus my expenses of course."

	Considering the man flew coach and was staying in a hotel that was well past its prime, Ivan knew the expenses weren't much.

	"Thank you," Ivan said as he rose with Davit following suit. "I will call you tomorrow with the news of whether you are flying home with the stone or your museum's thirty thousand dollars."

	They shook hands and Davit left. Ivan stared at the man's back with a smile of contempt.

	Nick snorted with contempt once he was out of sight from Ivan and his pet gorilla, Kas. He paused to briefly admire the young gymnasts in their costumes. When they were in the apartment, Nick kept his ten year-old slave, Marcy, in shimmering little thongs which the girl enjoyed. But there was something to be said for leotards. He walked out of the gym with his dick hardening as he recalled how he had the girl moaning and clutching at him while he drove into her snatch the night before he left for Moscow.

	"The other one is here," Kas announced with a peculiar expression.

	Ivan scanned his e-mail again for any updates on his next guest. There were none.

	"So is this really his name?" he asked Kas.

	Kas nodded sourly.

	"Nechestivy," he confirmed. "And not Mister - just Nechestivy. I frisked him but he had nothing but papers on him. There is a hired limo outside - from one of our companies no less. I checked with them and he paid cash. He's staying at the Royal Aurora."

	Ivan gestured for Kas to escort him in. Nechestivy - it meant 'unholy'. What was this guy - the lead singer in a goth-metal band? Perhaps Mr. Petrosian would get his precious rock, after all.

	Ivan's prejudice gave way to astonishment when Nechestivy entered the room accompanied by Kas and...presence. The man certainly had an aura that extended beyond his physical appearance which was remarkable in itself.

	The visitor was powerfully built but his face beneath the large dark beard was pale and gaunt as if the flesh between the skin and the skull was dissolving. Like his beard, the man's hair was long and dark and was brushed straight back and hung to his shoulder blades. He evoked an image of Rasputin, the mad monk who had mesmerized his way into Tsar Nicholas' family and was, not intentionally, a part of what eventually led to the violent death of the Romanovs. 

	Rasputin's hair, Ivan recalled, had been parted instead of being brushed back but that was a minor thing. He couldn't recall the color of his eyes but the black and white photograph he remembered showed an intensely piercing gaze. Nechestivy had the same thing emanating from his disconcerting, pale yellow eyes.

	"I wish to have the stone," Nechestivy began, taking control of the conversation. "I offer this in exchange."

	He handed Ivan a manila envelope containing, on the top of a small sheaf of papers, color photos of an exquisitely enameled and jeweled egg with gold work scrolling in delicate patterns. Another photo showed the egg open to reveal the surprise - in this case, a tiny but detailed tea set. It was amazing but Ivan's mind scrambled when he thought of specific eggs. More than ten were lost since 1917, presumed destroyed. But if this was one of the lost ones... Or perhaps it was a fraud.

	"This is Faberg?" Ivan asked with a note of challenge in his voice.

	Nechestivy shook his head. 

	"From the same period but designed and crafted by Henrik Wigstrm in 1894. In later years he became the head craftsman for the House of Faberg. The other papers show the provenance of the piece and naturally you'll wish to have it inspected."

	Ivan scanned the other papers with haste. Even an egg partially associated with Faberg would be worth millions. Among Russia's elite, though, possessing such an object meant more than just money. The Armenian waiting in his moldy hotel room could go get fucked. Hell, Ivan was feeling giddy enough to send him a whore with his compliments. 

	But he had to focus and not appear to be a schoolboy gushing over a toy car or other nonsense. Putting the papers back in the envelope, he handed them back to his guest. Nechestivy continued to hold Ivan in his inscrutable stare.

	"The stone is worth that much to you?" Ivan asked.

	"I know the egg's attraction," Nechestivy replied in a way that hinted that he could see Ivan's need for the thing down in the wells of his soul. "But it is a mere bauble to me. The stone is...weightier in more than its physical form."

	"Spiritual, you mean."

	"Yes."

	Ivan wondered what gods Nechestivy prayed to but thought it wise not to inquire.

	"So we will do a straight trade?"

	"The stone for the egg," Nechestivy agreed. "And a trifle thing added."

	When Nechestivy's sentence was finished, the room was silent save for some shouts and laughter of the girls below. The timing was perfect and completely understood.

	"You can take your pick. I will have an authenticator here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. The stone will also be here and we can conclude this transaction."

	Nechestivy gave a light bow and left without another word. Kas escorted him back to the waiting limo. When Kas returned, Ivan was looking down into the gymnasium where a different coach was now yelling at Gavrila.

	"I see no hope for our Gavrila as a gymnast," Ivan sighed. "Perhaps she would better serve as a warning for the other students to work harder."

	Kas' grin was feral but silent. Nevertheless, Ivan could hear the growl hiding in the man's throat.

	Gavrila blubbered as she hung from the gymnastic rings. The rings were actually only for male competitions yet there had always been a pair here in the girl's gymnastics academy. At the moment, she was starting to learn their purpose as her hands and wrists were duct taped to them and she hung from them helplessly. In front of her was that scary man who always accompanied the school's benefactor.

	When Kas produced a knife from his pocket, the eleven year-old struggled in mid-air out of panic. Grinning coldly, Kas caressed the girl's throat with the flat face of the blade before slipping the tip inside the leotard's neckline. With slow, methodical moves, he worked the knife around, walking in a circle as he separated the shoulders and sleeves from the rest of the leotard. Then he pulled down the front to reveal the preteen's chest.

	Like the other girls, Gavrila was kept in trim shape. There was only a slight expansion of her nipples and a bit of swelling beneath them. Kas casually leaned in and pulled one soft nubbin in his mouth and chewed while girl cried harder. The man bit a little harder and Gavrila got the message - keep still or there might be more damage. 

	Satisfied that he would leave a bruise, Kas moved to the other tiny bud and gave it similar treatment. He also sucked harder on the skin, leaving it red from the hicky he gave her. The coloring between her two little titlets would be a little different but Gavrila would soon enough have other problems besides mismatched mammaries. 

	Kas used the knife again, tracing the point over the swelling between the girl's legs where the leotard was pulled taut over her sex. Gavrila was petrified and didn't move even when he maneuvered the blade and sliced the fabric open at the crotch. He pulled he cut bottom of the leotard and pulled it up. The spandex was now bunched around Gavrila's belly where it had been pulled down from the top and up from below. 

	Putting his knife away, Kas fingered the smoothness of the girl's pubic mound. Digging between her lips, he found her entrance and then what was blocking it just inside. He could have pushed then but there was a far better way to rectify this condition. Unzipping his pants, she gave Gavrila her first look at an erection as he smeared some spit on the head. When she squeezed her eyes closed at the sight, he laughed.

	"Don't worry, little girl. You won't see it much longer. But you'll feel it."

	Taking Gavrila's firm, slender thighs in his hands, he pulled her legs around his hips and mashed his crudely-lubed head against the youngster's hairless slit. The girl tried to squirm away from the contact but the man was too strong. He yanked her toward him while giving a hard shove with his hips. Gavrila screeched at the horrendous ripping inside her cunny as her virgin membrane was breached. 

	The blood of the eleven year-old's defloration allowed her rapist to thrust his way into her small, heated passage. As she was fully entered, Gavrila's eyes rolled wildly at the unimaginable sensation of the hardness battering and bruising her inside her body. Uninformed about sex, the girl thought the man was trying to kill her.

	Kas had literally fucked a girl to death once - the thirteen year-old daughter of a bookie who had been short-changing Kas' crew captain. That had been his intent and the bookie had learned his lesson while being forced to watch. After all, he had a younger daughter who was six at the time and Kas made it clear that he wouldn't mind fucking something even tighter. 

	Gavrila was certainly tight. In her agony, she was twisting which made her clenching snatch slide against him in a different direction while he plowed in and out. The heaving and rubbing in her brutally stretched pussy was making her lubricate automatically as a preventive measure. Reddish fluid splattered over the insides of the preteen's spread thighs and the white, bulging lips of her no-longer-virginal pussy.

	Kas laughed as he held her legs against his sides. She might be crying in protest, but her body was positioned like a whore's as if urging him on. And on it went. Gavrila's crying became more like an animal's moans while her young cunny was pounded. She was nice and slick now, her abused tunnel still squeezing him until he erupted and debauched her with his sperm.

	Feeling the invading slime inside her where she hurt, Gavrila made a choking sound. Kas yanked his prick out and the girl automatically looked down where she had been injured. She immediately wished she hadn't as she saw the blood stains and something white with threads of red dripping from her chaffed cleft. 

	It only took a couple of minutes for Kas to recover and he walked around behind the girl. Gavrila helped when he grabbed her hips and lifted her just a little. Something touched her bottom and slid between her cheeks. It was hard and slimy and Gavrila begged him to stop when she understood what it was. 

	She couldn't fathom why he had put this thing in the place that he had before but now he was going in back there. Desperately, she clenched her bung hole shut but Kas had encountered this before and had an excellent remedy. Keeping one hand on her hip, he clouted her hard in the head with the other one. The girl went woozy for a moment which was all he needed to tear his way through the pink rosebud of her untouched ass.

	Gavrila wailed but could do nothing to stop the painful rutting in her rectum. The man stabbed at the tender flesh inside with his cock, getting massaged by the gripping ring of her anus while the deeper tissue provided a warm and snug socket for his pleasure. Having forced his meat deep into the girl's pert little rear, Kas slid his hands up until his fingers were covering her orally mauled titlets. He squeezed and twisted at the barely budding flesh while continuing to rip away inside her ass.

	While the man anally sodomized her, Gavrila felt the stickiness of the drying goo in her exposed twat. The gym was cool but she was sweating. Sometimes, a particularly hard push inside her straining rectum made a little more jism spurt out from her violated pussy. The girl's tears became a mixture of pain and humiliation. 

	Feeling another orgasm building, Kas rolled his hips to churn Gavrila's asshole even harder. When the moisture appeared around the clamp of her distended asshole, he figured that he was making her bleed a little there. That was good - it might help her remember her first time, he thought with amusement.

	Then all of his concentration was swallowed by the near painful burst in his balls as they convulsed. Thick ropes of semen invaded the eleven year-old's ass but Gavrila managed only a defeated murmur as the stuff was jammed into her.

	It was eight o'clock in the morning as the girls in their leotards saw their former classmate on display. Some were stunned and others were weeping as Gavrila was still taped to the rings. When he was finished with her, Kas had pushed some mats under her until her feet were resting on them. Leaving Gavrila suspended by her arms would have been like crucifixion and she could have suffocated. But Ivan wanted her to be a living example. 

	Now in full view of the other girls with her tattered leotard still clinging around her middle and the dried stains on her private areas and legs, Gavrila may have wished for death. At Ivan's nod, two men entered the gymnasium to cut the tape from Gavrila. By nine, the girls would be practicing again and their coaches would see to it they practiced hard.

	"What do you want to do with the girl?' Kas asked while Karina stood behind them staring at the scene with no pity.

	"Have her sent to our whorehouse in Grozny," his boss replied. "Chechens will pay good money to fuck a little Russian girl."

	Kas made a phone call while Karina turned to Ivan, ready to pounce.


Copyright (c) 2019 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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