Copyright (c) 2017,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Thursday, December 21, 2017

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: wendria2.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: Creature/g(6), young girl(six), tentacles

story_intro: Like other street children, Joanna scrapes out an existence selling splinters of azurine crystal on the street. Then one night, she meets a stranger who is more interested in other wares the innocent little girl has to offer.


story_language: English



Wendria: Story 2 - The Splinter Girl

Written by madvlad


	Joanna smiled in the grayish blue of the twilight. The change from daylight to night was not only marked in skies above the Ettledowns district of Yorkton but in the people below. Gone were the factory workers and clerks, hurrying to their homes in other (but safer) working class neighborhoods and in their place came a more colorful lot passing through the dim blue pools of lamplight glow.

	Other areas of the city had the bright white of electric lights but here in Ettledowns, scrap chunks of azurine were used with low-grade alloys to give enough illumination to barely meet the city's standards (or somewhat close enough as city officials rarely ventured here). Joanna watched as the pageant of night people began to form. Out of habit, she patted the folded cloth in the buttoned pocket of her dress.

	She was not far from the brick behemoth of the CM Burns finishing factory where raw azurine was cut and shaped into faceted crystal for commercial and retail uses. For decades, local street children would scrounge the area beyond the fence where slivers and chips of the Wendrian stone could be found in the discharge streams of water used in the plant's handling flumes. Then they would sell there finds on the streets to the passing workers or even at night to the sidewalk business people and their customers.

	Their bits of azurine were not very valuable and there was often haggling over the miniscule pieces that would have to be modified for small devices by the buyers. The young entrepreneurs were often tagged as "splinter kids".

	Joanna was proud to be a splinter girl. It meant she didn't have to turn herself over to an orphanage where she would have to keep her face scrubbed and use polite words and endure other torturous regimens in exchange for being a ward of the city.

	No, Joanna could take care of herself, just like her mother had taught her. Her mother had been taken away by the coppers three months ago after she had settled accounts with a rival by using a well-placed knitting needle. Joanna knew her mother would be proud of her for taking care of herself.

	In fact, shortly before her mother's imprisonment, Joanna had fallen into a rather lucrative deal. A security guard named Artie who worked at the azurine plant had noticed her and made her a business offer. He could easily get the better slivers of azurine inside the plant - stuff that had no occlusions and thicker bits for quality use. And Joanna could have some in exchange for doing one simple task each day.

	Artie had this thing in his pants - something all men did, as he told her - that needed some special care. Joanna found it interesting the way the thing would harden and grow when she tugged on it. But what he really liked was when she used her mouth on it. Once it was erect, she would give it long, slow sweeps of her little tongue from bottom to top. He really liked that but what he liked best was when she would finally open wide and put the mushroom-shaped end in her mouth.

	It was part of a game - she would tighten her lips around the base of the head so he couldn't take it out. Once she had it trapped in her mouth, she'd suck on it, pulling hard enough to make her cheeks sink while she used her tongue to smother it with spit. Emboldened, she would slide her mouth forward, keeping her lips sealed on his meat as she carefully fit as much as she could without choking.

	At first, she had been concerned that she couldn't get it all in but Artie assured her that she did remarkably well for a six year-old. Artie was very nice - and understanding. When he started to pump his salty, funny-tasting goo in her mouth, she would take it all until he was done. Then she'd turn and spit it out on the ground.

	Although he had said he'd love to see her swallow his stuff, he didn't make her do it. In fact, he always had a butter-mint for her to suck on to get rid of the taste. Then they would exchange handkerchiefs. He would get his old, empty one back and give her one filled with those precious slivers.

	Joann had sold two pieces to workers on their way home from an alloy foundry (trying to sell to the azurine plant workers was a fruitless endeavor) but knew the good business was to be found at night. Down the block, she saw several brightly-colored dresses - standing out even in the low light - of the women she idolized.

	When she grew up, the little girl wanted to be just like them - a lady of the night. Joanna's mother had been one and she explained that her job was to look pretty and make her customers happy.

	That sounded like grand fun and Joanna looked forward to her time at this trade. She'd had witnessed a few transactions. They usually consisted of the lady raising her dress and letting the man hug her in various positions before bouncing against her. Joanna wondered if they weren't trying to knock the ladies over - something like they did in rugby games she sometimes saw in the park.

	No, she reasoned. That was not the purpose. When men played rugby with other men, they knocked them over. When they played rugby with ladies, they just bounced. And when they were done bouncing, they sometimes shouted like they had scored a goal. Although she only understood a little of the rules, Joanna considered rugby to be a most interesting sport.

	As Joanna yawned hours later, the tolling of the Bailey Wharf clock tower told her it was midnight. Although the weather was quite good, it had not been a particularly successful night for selling slivers. On the other hand, Joanna had heard quite a lot of rugby being played in the alleys and doorways. She sighed, wishing the years away so she could play the game for money.

	It was time to turn in. Some of the droog gangs would be out before long and they were not choosy about who they robbed or beat up. Once, Joanna had seen them corner one of the ladies before they played rugby with her. From the sounds she heard, Joanna knew the droogs played a very rough style of the game.

	But the droogs tended to stay away from a few abandoned buildings as they had been picked clean years ago. This was where Joanna and other splinter kids could safely sleep.

	As she turned to head for the cluster of buildings, she saw her customer. Even in the lamplight, his top hat and frock coat looked very fine. His gait was a bit odd but he used a walking stick and he moved along at a fair pace.

	Checking for any signs of droogs, Joanna was satisfied that she could try one more sale. Opening her handkerchief, she displayed her splinters beneath a lamp post.

	"Would you like some fine azurine?" she called in her practiced sales pitch. "I always have the best from Bailey to the Harrow Fields."

	The man stopped and turned her way, dipping his head courteously in assent. He was such a gentleman! Joanna stood straighter as he approached, trying to see his face in the shadows below his hat brim.

	When he reached out to lift and inspect a sliver of the mineral, Joanna was surprised when he suddenly grasped her arm instead. His fingers were unusually long, completely encircling her forearm in a strong grip. The movement made her drop her handkerchief, spilling the rocks onto the sidewalk. When she opened her mouth to protest, something was stuffed inside.

	For a moment, she had the impression of that thing of Artie's that went in her mouth. But it was moving in and out on its own, cutting off any words or scream that might have escaped. How had it gotten in there because her head was nowhere near the man's crotch?

	The faceless man's other hand was gripping her dress, pulling on it. As his digits worked, the fabric came apart in shreds and more his fingers groped against her panties. Too many fingers. How...?

	Joanna squirmed desperately as she felt him exploring the nakedness between her legs.

	Her legs - he was holding them apart, too. So many fingers. His coat and fallen open and more of those...not fingers... were all over her. Her tummy was brushed by the things and more were on her chest. They were pulling on her nipples and, even in her fright, the little girl felt the intoxicating frisson from those places as they stiffened.

	When she would begin to black out, the thing in her mouth withdrew from her throat long enough to give her breath before returning. Joanna's rolling eyes registered the change in light as she was carried away from the lamp and into the alley.

	The chubby little globes of her ass were squeezed and tugged apart while more slithering things crept between them. Something pressed hard and Joanna's eyes bulged as her anus was violently breached. Her throat expanded with a scream that allowed the thing in her mouth to fill it instantly.

	The little girl struggled fiercely but in vain. When her second tattered shoe was flung from her foot by the force of her thrashing, she was left utterly naked beneath the things coiling and crawling all over her young body. The member in her ass plunged in and out; driving deeper in her guts and making her formerly untouched rectum swell like an overstuffed sausage casing.

	Whimpering soundlessly, Joanna felt her cunny being rubbed. Small tendrils reached inside of her, finding her clit hiding within its sheath of skin. The tendrils wrapped around it, pulling and squeezing like she had done with Artie's penis. The results were the same as it became erect and protruded from the hood.  Something else fastened to it and suckled it in a way Joanna had known with her own mouth.

	Hard jolts of lust stabbed through her immature sex, making her snatch drool obscenely. Now familiar with the intrusions in her ass and her throat, Joanna felt a new dread as her hairless slit was pushed open. How could anything go into that little place where she peed?

	Something was making her delicate inner lips enlarge and then she feared she might break apart. The thing thrust forward and Joanna knew pure terror as she was torn open. But she was still alive, intimately sensing the slick friction inside as her virgin pussy was taken. The tentacle relentlessly forced its way into the six year-old's bloodied channel, stretching her and putting pressure against pressure as another member kept sodomizing her fresh little ass.

	It was the thing in her rear that did it first. Hard jets of boiling semen shot into her guts, making her more bloated than ever. Then the thing pulled out and she only knew a moment of the night air at her gaping asshole before another tentacle plugged her violated little bottom with thrusting efforts.

	There was no spitting out the issue when the thing in her mouth came. The little girl could only take the heavy flow right into her belly. Joanna's thighs were wrapped in tentacles, held widely apart not only for her buggering but for the thick flesh ravishing her tiny, deflowered cuntlet. She instinctively wanted to wriggle but she was too full of rutting tentacle meat in her stretched chambers to do so. And now that heavy flesh twisted and curved as it churned inside the childish body that had been so innocent less than an hour ago.

	Sometime during her rape, the pain became a needful entity of its own, feeding on the lewd movements inside her undeveloped sex. And as it fed, the ache transformed and scrambled the tyke's mind and flooded her perceptions with pleasure. While her throat was impaled, the two bizarre cocks in her ass and pussy thrashed against each other through thin walls of her snug little fuck chambers.

	It ejaculated fiercely, inundating the six year-old's womb and making the elastic chamber expand in a way meant only for pregnancy. The pressure and the wet, grinding contact made the little girl erupt in a prolonged, excruciating orgasm. When the thing left her violated young twat, she wordlessly begged to be filled again. And then she was.

	Only three orifices but she had a succulent little body that was also a joy to suck on all over. Not an inch of her smooth skin was left uncovered by the creature's ooze, something akin to saliva. But it was his semen that was thickest - and found in the deepest places her tiny recesses could manage. As always, he had her filled in all of her gooey holes, pounding and stretching inside her six year-old body with lascivious zeal. Each tunnel was perfect in its smallness but the most magnificent was the slippery little twatlet where a thrusting tentacle was tightly encased in tender young flesh as he made her expand just a little more.

	When he came there, he felt the satisfied push of her tummy as it swelled out in front. It had begun the encounter perfectly flat - a bit underfed. But now it was overly round from her oral servings of jism, her bizarrely inflated uterus and the pressurized bowels pushing behind it.

	In one of her last conscious moments, Joanna saw her tummy pulsing as the creature filled her from her cunny and more hot stuff shot down her throat together. Another climax struck her and she knew nothing else but utter carnal heat.

	Chief Inspector Wembley of the Bailey Precinct stepped between two police officers and into the alley to find Captain Jarvis of the night watch there along with Dr. Hiram Peterson who served the city as a medical inspector. Another constable was also there, ready to run any errand requested of him.

	From her size, the girl was one of the younger ones they had found like this. Wembley, Jarvis, and Peterson all knew it was the work of a being that officially didn't exist. Her eyes gazed sightlessly at the morning sky that peaked in above the high tenements on either side of the alley. But she was still alive - there was no clothing to mask the rise and fall of her sticky little chest as she breathed.

	Using a swab stick Peterson was dabbing at a bit of gooiness high on the youngster's thigh near the crotch with professional intensity. Jarvis looked up from the doctor's examination to nod a greeting to Wembley and then caught the young constable staring at the tiny, hairless mound which was still leaking obscenely into the puddle where her little buttocks were resting.

	"Join the others, Meadows," the captain barked. "We can't have people coming in here and gawking now can we?"

	The young man snapped his hanging jaw shut and reddened instantly. Sketching a salute, he spun and hurriedly joined his fellow officers at the front. Wembley chuckled.

	"I think that lad shows promise - quite a keen interest in police work," he remarked.

	Jarvis grinned and nodded before turning to Peterson.

	"Well, Doctor?"

	"Judging from the tackiness of the residue, I'd say the initial assault began at approximately midnight and continued for at least three hours. Rather typical for the old boy, whoever he is."

	Wembley peered at the small victim, still lying on top of a large, empty packing crate where she had been left.

	"So you'd say she'll be catatonic for another six hours or so?" he asked Peterson.

	"Quite right. And she won't remember a thing about anything since last night, the poor little urchin."

	Unbuttoning his fly, Wembley stepped closer to the girl.

	"Well then, gentlemen," he stated with authority. "Waste not, want not."

	"Agreed."

	"Hear, hear."

	Reaching for their trousers, the other two respectable citizens closed in on Joanna as well.




Copyright (c) 2017 

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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