Copyright (c) 2014,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Thursday, January 30, 2014

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: theshaw1.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com




story_codes: MMM/ggg (11, 8, 4), first, molest, non-cons, cons

story_intro: When three young sisters in Victorian England find themselves suddenly orphaned, they must fend for themselves and avoid a workhouse with a sordid reputation. Their struggles lead to encounters both friendly and otherwise.

story_language: English






The Shaw Sisters, part 1

Written by madvlad


	If kindness is a virtue then the three sisters could have been judged to have been treated with very little virtue by Fate in the year of 1840. It began late one Saturday night when their father, John Shaw, spent a few hours with friends in The Dancing Crow, their pub of choice not far from the Thames where they labored as longshoremen.

	All who could remember agreed that John had departed by ten that evening to return home to the flat he shared with his wife, Nan, and their daughters. He was not seen again - officially - until he was discovered in an alley not two streets from his home with his throat slit and his wages for the week gone from his person.

	Nan carried on to her best, barely supporting her family with a job in a textile mill. The eldest daughter, Alice, was quite good at sewing and was able to supplement Nan's meager income by taking on mending for the various tradespeople in the building and surrounding areas.

	A downstairs neighbor, Philomena Wells, was a regular reader of "Master Humphrey's Clock", a weekly periodical produced by a popular young writer named Charles Dickens. When finished with each issue, she would give it to Nan so that she could read it to her girls. Nan had always been diligent about teaching her daughters to read and Alice soon took over as the primary reader as everyone listened to the latest struggles of young Nell Trent in "The Old Curiosity Shop". Occasionally, Lucy would try to read but rarely got beyond a few sentences. Patsy, the youngest, was still too young to learn.

	The early touch of winter was nipping at London when a series of unfortunate circumstances resulted in an accident at the textile mill. All those who spoke of it agreed that it was Divine Providence interceding that kept the death toll at only one. However, it was this one fatality that had the three orphaned sisters gathered at the hole in the freshly dug earth as the cloth-wrapped bundle that had been their mother was lowered to her rest.

	Alice flinched as the first spade full of dirt landed on Nan's covered body. She was eleven and now in charge of her dwindling family. Eight year-old Lucy was sobbing while Patsy, only four, did not quite understand the implications of the funeral rites and only asked Alice yet again when their mother would return home.

	"You're Alice, correct?" a dour man in a long frock coat asked.

	"Yes sir," Alice enunciated clearly - their mother had done her best to keep her daughters from acquiring the local cockney accent.

	"I should see you and your sisters at Bollingwood Hall in the morning. Eight o'clock sharp."

	"Oh, that shouldn't be necessary, sir," the sharp-witted girl said. "I've written our Uncle Ted and Aunt Maisy in Epsom. Aunt Maisy is - was - our mother's sister and we were to live with her if anything were to happen to Mother."

	"I see," the man huffed.

	His eyes roamed over Alice's thin body, seeming to linger over her chest where the barely beginning swell in the girl's bosom was hidden by her threadbare coat. Acutely aware of his gaze, Alice shifted her weight from foot to foot, fearful of further inquiry.

	With another huff, the man turned and walked away, evidently annoyed to have wasted his time. Lucy had been standing just behind Alice holding Patsy's hand. Her eyes, reddened from her tears, held a puzzled look as she watched the man leave.

	"But Alice," she said. "We don't have an Aunt Maisy. Or an Uncle Ted. Why did-"

	Alice spun around, shushing her younger sister for fear of her being overheard.

	"Do you know what Bollingwood Hall is?" the older girl asked in a fierce whisper.

	"Yes, it's where orphans go to live so that people can take care of them. And we're orphans now."

	"It's a horrible place," Alice spat. "A workhouse where you're hardly more than a slave. And I've heard tell of...well, indecent things. We're not going there."

	"Then where will we go?"

	"Home - our home. I'll spend more time sewing and we'll figure out how to make ends meet somehow."

	The winter passed with the girls empathizing with the orphaned and good-hearted Nell as Alice read aloud every week and sharing a good cry at her tragic end. Mrs. Wells, the downstairs neighbor, was privy to their secret of being parentless and had managed to drum up more sewing business of Alice. Much of it came from several prostitutes in the area, some in well-appointed brothels and others ordinary streetwalkers and tavern girls.

	To save Alice time, Lucy would deliver the completed work to the customers and make the rounds to collect more clothing in need to repair or alterations. And Alice was able to spare more time when Mrs. Wells offered to watch after Patsy in the small apothecary shop she ran just down the street.

	Philomena Wells was what would have been called a "wise woman" in earlier centuries, using age-old recipes for herbal cures for various ailments. She dismissed all commercially bottled medicines and tonics (and rightly so in about 98% of the cases) as vulgar mixes of cheap rye, sugar water, and a touch of coloring. Patsy was fascinated by the rows and rows of dried leaves, powders, and other strange substances that went into Mrs. Wells' array of bubbling pots. And many a night she returned Patsy safely to her home with a small pot of stew for the girls to eat.

	No one was ever quite sure how old Mrs. Wells was - somewhere over forty, perhaps, and most likely under eighty. And there was never a sign or mention of Mr. Wells. Patsy, in the forward manner of a typical four year-old, had asked the woman if she was a witch. Mrs. Wells didn't answer the question directly but assured the little girl that she did not have to worry about ending up in one of the pots for that night's dinner.

	Despite Alice's efforts and Mrs. Wells' culinary contribution, Alice struggled to support her and her sisters. She cut corners where she could, but if there was one thing she dared not skimp on was the weekly rent. She had never met the building's owner, but was deathly afraid of the rent collector, one Charles Carstairs. Among the inhabitants of the district of Lambeth, the tall, hard-muscled and hard-fisted man was better known as Black Charlie. To the observer, the name may have come from his coal black hair and the perpetual shadow haunting his cheeks regardless of how soon before he had shaved. To the renters and unfortunate debtors he frequented, his nickname was ascribed to the darkness in his heart.

	It was said that he did not know his own strength, but the truth was that he was well aware of it. The recipients of his beatings would have taken little comfort in knowing how Charlie rarely applied full force to his blows, preferring instead to keep his victims awake and in pain while he meted out his "warnings" and punishments.

	On evening, as Lucy and the newly arrived Patsy prepared to tuck in to the savory mix of chicken and potatoes courtesy of Mrs. Wells, the woman pulled Alice aside. She handed the girl a small object wrapped in cloth and told her to keep it safe. Curious, Alice lifted the cloth and found a dagger with a metal handle adorned with the image of a striking snake.

	"With you three on your own, you may well need this at some time," Mrs. Wells whispered in a dark undertone Alice had never heard before. "But handle it with care and don't let your sisters handle it because that blade is a wicked thing - I've seen to that."

	Unsettled by how Mrs. Wells had acted, Alice placed the wrapped knife on the top shelf of the cupboard and pushed it to the back. It would be hard enough for her to reach, let alone Lucy or Patsy, so she felt better about it.

	It was a Wednesday afternoon when Alice put her sewing down on the table to answer a knock at the door. She was surprised to find Black Charlie looming in the doorway but was grateful that Lucy was away delivering some newly mended and rather daring bits of lace clothing to one of the brothels.

	"I'll have the rent on Friday," Alice blurted, counting on the pennies Lucy would be receiving in payment today to meet the weekly required sum.

	"I'll be back for that on Friday," Charlie rumbled as he stepped inside and pushed the door closed. "But I'm here now so's ya can pay me to keep me mouth shut with the authorities."

	"I don't understand."

	"Really," Charlie said, turning on Alice with a leer. "I've heard yer mum's been in the ground these past few months. Such a pity with yer da getting' cut up like he did before that. So's now you and yer other brats is orphans.

	Now I just heard about yer unfortunate situation and I asks meself, why ain't the lot of ya in Bollingwood Hall? They knows how to take care of girls like you good an' proper, they does."

	"No, please," Alice begged. "We can't go there."

	"Have it yer way, then. But then you got to pay me for the privilege."

	"We haven't anymore money, I swear. But I could mend your clothes."

	"Now yer talkin'," Charlie said, stroking his stubbly chin. "We do payment in trade. Thing is, I've already got a woman doin' me sewin'. What else can ya do for me?"

	Alice thought frantically, but had no answer.

	"I don't know," she replied, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

	"Well I do," Charlie said immediately. "Payment is two cunts a week an' I'll take the first one today."

	Alice mumbled as she stepped backward. With one large stride, Charlie caught her and threw her on the bed. Before she could get off, he threw himself on top of her.

	As the girl yelled and struggled beneath him, Charlie laughed. If anyone heard, no one would dare to interrupt him in the course of his business. Grabbing the neck of Alice's dress, he pulled hard with both hands, tearing the fabric open down to the waist. Two small nubbins beneath each pink nipple marked Alice's modest start toward puberty.

	Charlie gripped each one, pinching it and making the nipple pop out a little more. The preteen cried as her tiny breasts were twisted and bruised.

	Charlie tugged Alice's dress further down, unencumbered by any widening at all of the young girl's hips. Hawking a gob of spit in his hand, he roughly smeared it onto the small hairless mound between Alice's thighs.

	"Ya feel all tight in there," he grunted. "Time to loosen ya up all good an' proper, then."

	Alice tried to resist, but there was little that a wisp of a girl could do against a large, determined man. Charlie unbuttoned his trousers and planted the purplish head of his member against Alice's delicate cleft. With no further delay, he lunged forward, ripping through the child's maidenhead. Alice's cried suddenly pitched to screams, but that did nothing to stop Charlie as he plowed his thick cock into her bloodied, virgin passage.

	"There's me juicy little tart," Charlie laughed.

	Alice thrashed beneath him as he bulled and tore his way into her unready cunt. Her small size and slenderness made her very snug inside, but Charlie was relentless in making her pussy forcibly enlarge to he could ram his prick in and out of her. The eleven year-old pushed at her rapist's chest, trying to get him out and off of her, but she could do nothing to stop the man as he brusquely rutted inside her taut young pussy. Her legs were pushed up and her wails rose and fell with each agonizing thrust that threatened to split her in two.

	With a loud sigh, he came, implanting his seed with a hot gush of slime inside the preteen's sullied body. Unschooled in sex prior to this encounter, Alice wondered at what kind of horrid stuff was now filling her sex. Pulling out his organ, Charlie casually wiped himself off on the girl's torn dress and looked at her blood stained crotch with satisfaction.

	"Ya should pay me for tearing ya open an' making ya a woman," he bragged. "Otherwise, ya may have ended up with some small-cocked yob that just couldn't do the job as good as me. But we'll just consider this me charitable deed for the day, right?"

	Alice only sobbed, her hands finding the sticky mess between her legs and clutching the ruins of her innocence. It affected Charlie not at all as Alice wasn't the first young virgin he had taken.

	"From here on out, I'll collect me cunts on Tuesdays an' then on Fridays with the rent," he announced. "An' of course if ya need me cock in between, just put the word out an' I'm sure I'll fit ya in to me schedule."

	Charlie whistled a jolly tune as he left. Alice sat up, moaning at the blood and the strange, white gunk polluting her private area. She didn't want Lucy to find her like this so she moved as fast as her aching body would allow. She cleaned as much as she could, tossing the rags into a bucket. Then she took her dress off and got to work on the large tear in the front.

	A half hour later, Lucy came bursting into through the door.

	"Miss Hattie gave us an extra ha'pence for your work and my quick delivery," she gushed as she proudly held the coins out in her hand.

	Alice was still sitting nude in the chair, mending her dress when she looked up with reddened eyes.

	"That's good," she said softly. "Now put it in the jar."

	Lucy did as she was told, subdued by Alice's odd condition. When she saw the bloody rags, though, she quailed.

	"Alice! What happened?"

	"Nothing," Alice said in that same, quiet voice. "Please fetch me some water."

	"But Alice, there's blood and-"

	"Just get the water!" Alice shouted.

	After her little sister scurried from the apartment, Alice took a moment to cry before wiping her tears on her dress. Then she continued her sewing, hearing her mother's patient instructions in her head and wishing other things could be repaired as easily as clothing. It wasn't until later that night that she remembered the knife that Mrs. Wells had given her. But Alice had no idea how she could hope to stab him and feared the consequences if he caught her trying.

	Over the next month, Charlie always came in the late morning and Alice was sure to send Lucy out with the finished work before he arrived. Alice would quickly disrobe to spare her dress any further damage. Sometimes Charlie quickly threw himself on her, jabbing a pit-soaked finger in her small hole before skewering her with his prick. Other times, he would enjoy himself first, making the eleven year-old stand naked in front of him while he toyed with her little mammaries and caressed and squeezed the smoothness of her mostly undeveloped body. But then it would be the same; with Alice pinned on the bed while the man pounded his hard cock into her tight pussy until he soiled her with a boiling load of jism.

	He was never gentle and Alice never found any pleasure in it, but at least there was no repeat of that horrific ripping she had felt that first time. Sometimes there was a little blood when he had been especially rough, but nothing like the mess from before.

	And life went on. The weekly "Master Humphrey's Clock" now contained episodes of a new story called "Barnaby Rudge".  Alice thought it odd that a story was named after a character who was a simpleton, but Patsy thought that Rudge's bird, Grip, was great fun.  Alice missed "The Old Curiosity Shop" and wished for a happier ending, but by the second installment of Rudge, had become intrigued by the new tale.

	On the early edge of Spring, they had a brief, but odd encounter with a country parson who had come to London with his family for a brief visit. The man's wife had fallen ill with a digestive order and the family had come to see Mrs. Wells upon recommendation of some friends.

	Alice had stopped by Mrs. Wells shop on her way home from purchasing some thread to find the parson's family there. Patsy had accidentally gotten some concoction on the front of her dress and Alice removed it so she could clean the stain using another one of Mrs. Wells' potions. The parson's eldest son, Charles (not Charlie), had chatted with her, telling her how much he liked her name. Alice thought he might be trying to flirt with her but as he was around Lucy's age, thought he was ridiculous.

	As her dress was being cleaned, Patsy roamed around the shop, completely naked and not at all bothered by it. Alice gently scolded her, telling her little sister it wasn't polite to do that and to go to the back room. Charles seemed fascinated by the four year-old in the nude and stared, as if trying to capture the tot's cute little body in his memory like those new-fangled photographs Alice had heard of did on glass plates.

	Mrs. Wells returned with a mixture she assured the parson's wife would calm her ailment. Then they left and Alice gave no further thought to Parson Dodgson and his family

	"Here you are, Mr. Leland," Lucy said as she handed the neatly folded waistcoat to the banker.

	The banker examined the silken lining of the inner pocket, finding no evidence that the original seam had ever become unraveled. One of his junior clerks had cheekily suggested that there was someone where he lived who was an excellent seamstress. Leland had a maid, but she was not very good with a needle and thread and his regular tailor was down with gout (served the man right for charging what he did). So he had tried the mystery seamstress and was quite pleased with the result.

	"Perfectly done," he declared before gladly handing a silver coin to the little girl who seemed to be a little bit of breath. "And promptly delivered."

	"Thank you, sir," Lucy said, managing an awkward curtsey.

	"I daresay she's as quick as any of those urchins we must often use to run a message," said Tobias Wortham, a lawyer who had been meeting with Leland.

	"I'm much faster than any boy," Lucy bragged, forgetting her manners from a moment ago.

	But Wortham just laughed as he walked with the girl from the bank.

	"You're faster and less grubby," he remarked. "And you must be reliable to be handling the money."

	"Oh, yes sir. Everything I get goes into the jar at home. We don't have enough for sweets so I stay away from Mr. Winchester's confectionary."

	"A good policy as life is rife with temptation. Tell me, are you always running back and forth with clothing?"

	"No, I only deliver once or twice a day when someone has requested it."

	Wortham stopped and regarded the child.

	"Then how would you like to be a messenger for me? I always have things to be delivered and you can still take time for your clothing routes. And I have a taste for sweets, so you may find a treat or two in my office - consider that a benefit of the job."

	Lucy thought how much Alice would like the extra money as she had been moody over the last few weeks, particularly on Tuesdays and Fridays. And there were sweets to be had! She readily agreed and started working for Tobias Wortham, Esquire, that afternoon.

	It was on the third day that Wortham called Lucy into his office and had her close the door. She was afraid she had done something wrong until he smiled and offered her a small cake with a generous dollop of whipped white frosting on top.

	"Now, remember we discussed confidentiality?" Wortham began was Lucy was finished devouring her piece of heaven.

	"Yes, sir."

	"Good. Please tell me what it means."

	"It means prisa-, um, privacy. It's so people can keep secrets. That's why I never open the envelopes you have me carry. It's not polite."

	"And are secrets bad?"

	"Oh, no sir. You said when a lawyer has a secret, it helps people. Like with their wills and business and all kinds of things."

	"Good girl! Now, I have another secret I will pay you to help me protect."

	Lucy stood proudly.

	"Yes sir!"

	Wortham motioned Lucy to stand before him. When she was close enough, he had her take the hem of her dress and raise it until it was over her face. Lucy thought that odd because then he would see her girl bits. Sometimes, a naughty boy tried to look up her dress. But Mr. Wortham was a lawyer and dressed nicely and was certainly not some dirty little boy. So she did as she was told, wondering why her girl bits were a secret.

	Wortham found himself breathing heavily as he gazed at Lucy's bald little quim. He gently touched it with trembling fingers, awed at how utterly soft and warm it was. Tracing the full, rounded edges of her labia, he slid his fingers to the bottom and toward the back. Then he pressed his fingers up into her flesh and pulled them forward, making the girl's pussy mound pooch out even more.

	With his fingers now steady, he cupped Lucy's mound, closing softly with gentle pressure while rubbing his thumb at the top of the slit. Lucy shivered at his touches.

	"Do you like that?" he whispered.

	"Yes sir. Your hand feels ever so nice on my girl bits."

	Girl bits, Wortham thought as he continued to fondle the eight year-old's pussy. Now there was a new phrase he liked.

	"Good. Now I'll keep touching you there and will tell you when I'm done. Just hold your dress up."

	Lucy heard the rustle of cloth for a minute before Wortham's hand returned. Then she heard a peculiar sound as her delightful molestation resumed. It sort of sounded like rubbing or tugging, but in a fleshy kind of way. She couldn't tell exactly but kept her dress in front of her face so she could help the lawyer keep a secret.

	As the minutes passed Lucy found herself enjoying the man's fingers on her girl bits very much - almost as much as sweets. She was moving her thighs a little, but Wortham didn't mind. And it felt like a hot bath farther inside and he wasn't even touching her there!

	With one hand busy on his penis, Wortham gradually slipped the forefinger of his other hand deeper into the child's feverish cunt slit as he wriggled it. Probing carefully, he managed to get through her small entrance before finding the virgin prize of her membrane. There was a small opening there and he was tempted to explore further, but he did not want to deflower the little girl just yet - that was a treat for later.

	The girl was clearly aroused as he felt the kiss of her juices on his fingertip. That and eight year-old was experiencing her first sexual arousal with his fingers gently mauling her cuntlet was too much to bear and he sent his semen jetting out, most of it landing on the inside of Lucy's raised dress while one gob smacked onto her left thigh.

	Taking out a handkerchief, he quickly dabbed most of the mess up. Once his trousers were buttoned, he told Lucy she could lower her dress. Her face was flushed from the mysterious activity. Wortham took her hand and dropped two silver coins in it, noting how the girl's eyes widened when she recognized the denominations.

	Now Lucy looked forward to their "girl bits secret" every day. It didn't take her as long anymore to get wet and Mr. Wortham enjoyed making her all gooey so he could slather her drippings all over her girl bits. The best day yet was a week later when he called her to his office. She had been thinking about what he would do and they were both pleased to find that she was already wet.

	She wasn't sure what exactly the wet stuff was that Mr. Wortham made, but it must happen when his man bits (as she called them) got excited like hers did. His just made more of a mess although Mr. Wortham now had to clean Lucy's juices from her legs because she leaked so much.

	Now that she was hotter and wetter than ever, Wortham's rubbing and fingering increased in pressure. Lucy's hand lowered her dress enough where she could look down and watch as her childish genitals were manipulated to the point where it seemed like she was bubbling inside. Wortham no longer cared that she could see everything he was doing - to both her and himself - as it was clear that she was as turned on as he was.

	Now Lucy moved her hips, trying to grind her small twat on the lawyer's fingers. Something flashed inside and she pitched forward, the hem of her dress slipping from her weakened fingers. Wortham awkwardly balanced her with the he hand on her pussy while she trembled uncontrollably; making small incoherent noises that told him she was having an orgasm.

	His balls clenched and he took his hand from her crotch, pulling her dress aside so the two of them could watch as the child's hairless cunny was bathed in his thick semen.

	"I couldn't stop shaking," she said as he had to use a second handkerchief from his drawer to get the entire mess this time.

	"That was called a climax," he explained. "It happens when you get touched enough in the right way.

	Lucy decided that climaxes were even better than sweets (though just a little better, perhaps).

	Sir Percy was in his chambers, studying earlier legal writings pertinent to the rather complex case he was currently presiding over in His Majesty's Court. No, he thought as he shook his head in annoyance. It was now Her Majesty's Court; had been for not quite three years now. Still, a lifetime of habits died hard.

	There was a short rapping on the door before it opened and one of his clerks poked his head in. Annoyed at the interruption, Sir Percy slapped the papers onto the desk.

	"My apologies, Sir Percy. But there is a messenger here for you. Quite odd in that it's a girl, but she has an envelope with Mr. Wortham's seal and insists it is of the gravest importance."

	Percy did not reply, only waving the man to send her in as he looked down at the papers. Small footsteps sounded and only when the door closed did he look to find Lucy standing by his chair, holding the sealed envelope out. Swinging around to face her, Percy plucked the envelope from her hand and opened it.

	The note was short, stating simply, "This is the one I spoke of."

	Percy folded the note and placed it on his desk. Looking down his long nose, he had the countenance of one of his biblical predecessors. The effect was lost, though, when he smiled and leaned closer to her.

	"Raise your dress, Lucy. That's right. Oh my, what a wet little girl you are!"

	While Lucy was learning all about the law as it pertained to her girl bits, Mrs. Wells had been careful to note how a small handful of her customers had seemed to take a special interest in little Patsy. There had been that pastor's young boy, but most had been full grown men.

	Of particular interest was Hiram Hanshaw, a stout gentleman in his sixties who frequented her store for a "restorative" to aid in getting an erection. At first, his attention to the little girl had seemed grandfatherly, but Mrs. Wells detected a more prurient curiosity as time went on.

	But she liked Hanshaw. Despite his social position, he had an earthy, good humor about him.

	She knew well enough that many a young girl, especially in this area of London, would be diddled or more by the time she reached puberty. From her own childhood experience, Mrs. Wells was quite sure that the right man could make this a very pleasurable experience. Better to have the likes of Hanshaw playing happily with her than to have a drunken lecher forcing himself on her in a filthy alley. While that might have seemed an appalling line of thought in polite society (which had more than their fair share of perversions behind closed doors), it suited Mrs. Wells' pragmatism just fine.

	"I've altered the recipe for this," Mrs. Wells said one day as she handed a bottle to Hanshaw. "But it may be a bit too strong."

	"I don't think that would be possible," Hanshaw laughed.

	"All the same, I think it'd be best for you to try it here first. There's a small storeroom off the back room you can use."

	"Why, Mrs. Wells," Hanshaw smirked. "Are you propositioning me?"

	"Nonsense!" Mrs. Wells snapped indignantly. "We simply need to test the efficaciousness of the medicine. I was not proposing that I apply it."

	Hanshaw stiffened and his cheeks reddened, realizing he had gone too far.

	"My apologies, Mrs. Wells," he stuttered. "I meant no-"

	"Besides," Mrs. Wells interjected with a wink. "That's what my assistant is for."

	Hanshaw knew the wily woman was up to something and was perfectly eager to discover what. His pulse quickened when she called Patsy to join them.

	"Patsy," Mrs. Wells said. "Mr. Hanshaw is going to sit on this stool and try his medicine. But it must be applied very carefully, so small hands are best."

	"My hands!" Patsy cried, waving hers so that they looked like white butterflies.

	"Yes, your hands are perfect, dear," Mrs. Wells continued. "But we should take off your dress so that we don't get anything on it."

	Patsy raised her arms and let the woman remove her dress. After Mrs. Wells left them alone, Patsy stood in front of Hanshaw wearing nothing but a huge smile.

	Hanshaw sat for a moment, pondering his condition. He had always been careful to hide his predilection for very young girls, yet Mrs. Wells saw right through it. However he doubted she would risk "corrupting" a child just to nab him in some extortion plot. And extortion simply didn't seem her style, so Hanshaw proceeded to enjoy himself.

	As Patsy watched with undisguised yet completely innocent curiosity, Hanshaw unbuttoned his trousers and produced his thin, limp penis. It was, he was sad to admit, completely unimpressive. But Patsy had never seen one and immediately lifted it with one hand on the head.

	"Is it sick?" she asked.

	"Yes, and you need to rub the medicine on it."

	Hanshaw poured some of the tonic on his withered member. No sooner than he was done when Patsy began to enthusiastically pat his penis with her hands, much as she would pat a dog on its head. Taking her hands in his, Hanshaw showed her how to run along his length. When he started to stiffen, Patsy crowed with delight and wanked him even harder.

	Although not spectacular, it was the strongest erection he had experienced in recent memory. And his balls responded accordingly, sending a couple of small splashes into Patsy's face. For a moment, he feared she would be frightened, but the little girl simply laughed, enjoying their game.

	From then on, Hanshaw was in three times a week for his restorative treatment. He took his time now with the little girl, having her sit naked on his lap while he cupped her tiny buttocks, tickled her round belly and tweaked her miniscule nipples. But the four year-old's favorite touches were when the nice man fondled her chubby little cuntlet.

	Another pleasant surprise came when he decided to put some of his medicine on her pussy. The solution warmed the sensitive skin, making her squirm in his lap while he fingered her, producing some lovely little shivers and a healthy amount of dew oozing from her four year-old snatch.

	They happily settled into their best game of all with Hanshaw holding the tot by the ass while her hairless cunny, slick with her juices, rubbed up and down along his prick until he rewarded her with a helping of warm, gooey semen. Patsy didn't know what an orgasm was and had never had one, but she enjoyed the happy feelings she got between her legs when she helped Hanshaw with his medicine.

	Alice turned her eyes slightly to the side, watching the ceiling while Charlie pushed the aching walls of her preteen pussy apart with his thick cock. It still hurt and she couldn't help the tears and the occasional, agonized groan, but she tried to remain as quiet and as still as possible, waiting for the disgusting burst of goo that would signal the end to the day's torment.

	After many more long minutes, Charlie emptied himself into the ravished child. He looked at her slender, nearly curveless body with satisfaction. The eleven year-old's little breasts were nicely bruised from his attentions and her hairless twat was reddened and leaking cum.

	"Ya should move around more when I'm doing ya," Charlie said. "With a cock like mine movin' in yer little cunt, ya should be screamin' me praises all the way to St. Paul's. And...hello? Who's this?"

	Alice turned her head to find Lucy standing a few feet away, stunned.

	Lucy had arrived earlier than expected, planning on keeping her sister company for her afternoon rounds and fun with Mr. Wortham and company. What she found was that very bad man with his pants undone on top of her naked sister, pounding his huge thing into her girl bits. Lucy had never thought about such a thing and none of the gentlemen who played with her had ever tried such a thing. It looked much too large to fit, but obviously it did. But it certainly hurt, if Alice's tears were any indication.

	Charlie got up from the bed, his huge, dripping cock twitching with anticipation. As he walked toward Lucy, she backed away until she was pressed against the cheap bureau on the far wall.

	"Maybe this one will be a bit more lively," Charlie said as he pinned Lucy against the bureau.

	He pushed one hard hand against Lucy's crotch squeezing her through her dress. Holding her by the neck, he reached under her dress, finding her hairless snatch and pinching it until the little girl screamed. Paying no attention to the racket behind him as Alice scrambled toward the cupboard, Charlie dropped Lucy to the floor and yanked her dress up to the waist. He licked his lips as he eyed the eight year-old's bare cunt.

	"Yer gonna bleed more than yer whorin' sister to get all of me cock in ya, but that's yer problem," he muttered, aiming his prick at the tiny, bald target. "We gotta make it quick as I've got some important gents to see."

	Alice got down from the chair, flinging the cloth aside as she gripped the dagger's handle. Charlie was pressing his head of his dick against Lucy's bald mound while the child sobbed and pleaded, but with the resistance of her small opening he hadn't been able to enter her yet. Alice swung with all of her might, burying the blade into the man's left shoulder.

	Charlie roared and swung his arm around, knocking Alice from her feet.

	"Ya filthy little cunt!" he yelled, kicking her in the side.

	Alice had already begun to roll out of the way, sparing her the full force of the blow and the broken ribs that would have resulted. From outside, the church bells tolled the noon hour, making Charlie pause and swear to himself.

	"I've got people I can't afford to miss, but we're not nearly at the end of this," he hissed. I want both of ya here on Friday while I break in this new cunt. An' there's another sister in this brood, right? Where's she whorin' herself?"

	"She's only four," Alice sobbed.

	"Then I might just be fuckin' her to bloody pieces unless ya two cunts treat me right."

	Charlie had to concentrate on buttoning his pants. For some reason, he couldn't quite focus. And his left hand didn't want to cooperate. He looked down and thought he had the job done. No matter, he couldn't afford to be late with these gents, no sir. Muttering more curses, he stumbled from the apartment and fell down the stairs. The knife handle caught on the banister and pulled the entire thing from his shoulder.

	Hurling more slurred invectives, he staggered out into the street, nearly knocking over a streetwalker who had been a frequent victim of his. She saw his bleeding shoulder and watched him acting as if he had been drugged. Sensing weakness, she called after him.

	"What's the matter Charlie? Somebody finally stick it in you for a change?"

	"Shut yer cunt, ya...cunt," Charlie growled.

	He felt feverish now. Bloody hell, the little whore hadn't gotten the angle right and the knife never went in that deep. He'd taken far worse before and had easily beaten those opponents bloody or outright dead. So why did he feel so fucking sick all of the sudden?

	Alice watched from the apartment's small window as Charlie disappeared around the corner. Something was affecting him and Alice wondered what kinds of devilish potions Mrs. Wells might have dipped the blade in. It would explain her warning in handling it.

	She left the window and sat on the floor next to Lucy to console her. The sisters held each other and cried, releasing their fear for the time being.

	The prostitute never left Charlie, continuing to needle him. When he stopped to swing a fist, his movements were too slow and clumsy. A crowd joined the woman - other women of ill repute, respectable if somewhat poor shop keepers, vendors abandoning their carts, street urchins, laborers - all those who had reason to fear Black Charlie. Now they saw him weakened after someone had finally worked up the nerve to strike the first blow.

	It never occurred to Charlie that he might have something to fear. With his fury adding a burst of strength to his failing body, he whirled on the crowd, fists ready, challenging someone to face him one on one. A stone hurled from somewhere struck him in the temple, evaporating his temporary strength and dropping him to his knees. The crowd surged forward, falling on him with pent-up hatred bursting forth.

	Alice, Lucy, and Patsy were seated at the table for another delicious stew, courtesy of Mrs. Wells, when there was a knock on the door. Alice answered it, ushering in Theodora Whiting, or Thea, as she preferred, into the apartment. Thea owned and ran one of the better brothels that bordered one of the better neighborhoods. The woman and many of her employees at availed themselves of Alice's sewing skills in the past.

	"I suppose you heard what happened to Black Charlie," the woman began.

	The two older girls nodded with Alice flicking her eyes toward Patsy, who was happily munching on a piece of bread and oblivious to the recent violence.

	"Rumor has it that we have one of you to thank for getting it started," Thea continued, settling her eyes on Alice, who nodded gravely. "Good, then many of us we owe you a favor. Black Charlie had been causing...difficulties even for me and I had begun to fear how long I could remain in my business.

	However, there are some who have become aware of your situation - parentless and alone. This includes Mr. Ambrose Dunwiddy."

	"Who is he?" Alice asked.

	"He's a tall, sour stick of a man who runs Bollingwood Hall. Taking money from charities and making more from the labor of the poor children trapped in that horrid place. And he and others take more from them than just their labor..."

	Thea trailed off but Alice nodded her understanding. It must have been this Ambrose Dunwiddy who had confronted her at her mother's funeral.

	"Did Black Charlie ever hurt you in a certain way," Thea asked gently.

	Alice nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Thea handed her a handkerchief.

	"Look," the woman said. "We'd best get the three of you away from here tonight before Ambrose and his "catchers" come round. I have a man outside who will help. I can make room for all of you at my place - it's the least I can do as I might not have had a place at all in a month if Black Charlie were still around."

	"I suppose I can sew for you and the other ladies," Alice offered.

	"And I run messages for Mr. Wortham," Lucy chimed in.

	"Med'cine!" Patsy cried.

	"Mr. Wortham is a lawyer and Patsy stays with Mrs. Wells at her shop during the day," Alice explained. "I don't know..."

	"Your sisters should lay low for a week or so before Ambrose turns his attentions elsewhere. I'm afraid he is never short on opportunities. Then they can return to their usual routines. And you can sew if you want to, but we may find something else for you if you want. Something better than a seamstress' wages, I suspect. But either way, you'll have a safe roof to live under and won't have to return here."

	Alice had an idea what that something else might be, but had no interest in being trapped under a rutting man after her ordeal with Charlie. Still, she had often heard the working girls chatting and joking about their adventures in bed on the few times she had delivered her work to Thea's brothel when Lucy wasn't available. Overall, they didn't seem to mind and often enjoyed themselves.

	While the sisters gathered their meager possessions, Thea eyed Alice critically. All three girls had varying shades of blue eyes and blonde hair. Alice could do with a few more pounds on her frame and with the proper care could be quite an attraction for many clients. The woman couldn't blame the girl for her trepidation after whatever Charlie had done with her, but she had done well in the past when picking the right people and suspected that she could bring Alice around in good time.





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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