Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, January 15, 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: wendria6.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: M/g(8) Man/young girl, F/g(8) Female/young girl, g/g young girls, non-cons, cons

story_intro: In the seamier streets of the city-country of Hoganville, Trixie is taken out nightly by her grandfather to be used for the sexual gratification of paying customers. In the plush arcades of Hoganville's finest club, Penelope experiences a party every night while securely under the protection of her gangster uncle. Neither little girl can fathom what the other's life is like until...


story_language: English






Wendria: Story 6 - Reaching for Heaven

Written by madvlad


	Seen from the huge, arched windows of the boss' penthouse office, the approach of the airship over the afternoon sun-dappled ocean was truly magnificent. Mikey and Leo couldn't help but to stare as it homed in on the mooring towers. But at a mild clearing of Rico's throat, they abruptly returned their attention to the big boss himself and looked suitably chastened.

	"So I wanted you here in person to show that I have an interest in all facets of my businesses," Rico continued smoothly as if his subordinates hadn't been distracted. 

	"Oh, yeah."

	"We 'ppreciate dat."

	The two men straightened in their chairs and nodded vehemently. They were young, low-level street lieutenants whose responsibilities included bringing their territorial weekly book earnings from the back-room parlor card tables, dice, and numbers rackets. Rico went on, talking to them as id he were their direct mentor instead of having several layers of underbosses, captains, and the like between his office and their grubby turfs. 

	On one side of Rico's massive, carved blue-oak desk, his accountant, Rutherford, peered over his half-moon glasses as he riffled through the tally sheets with one hand. His other hand, or rather three fingers of it, was plugged into the brass calculator. With metal keys replacing the end joints of those three fingers, he could manipulate the machine at a far faster and more accurate rate than by pounding the keys of an adding machine. The calculator's gears fairly hummed as Rutherford made them whirl and shift with minute muscle movements.

	Only the best accountants had those implants - ones who needed their machines to run in synch with their quick minds and running several equations at once. Some people were uncomfortable at the sight, reminding them of the graft droog gangs in other continents like Anglia and East Vespana. Those were punks who had metal implants for the purpose of decoration, intimidation, sex, and violence. 

	Although teeming with slums and low-income areas, the city-island of Hoganville had never produced any homegrown version of these gangs. Several years ago, a small horde of nearly fifty graft droogs from Anglia decided to set up shop. The police were at wits' end in trying to handle them but Rico and the other executive board members of the Hoganville Merchants' Benevolent Society had addressed the situation directly. There was some confrontation, of course, but in the end, the matter was settled rather quietly as four dozen weighted canvas bags gently drifted to the bottom of the ocean.

	When the calculator stopped, Rico finished his sentence and turned to the men.

	"South Docks at minus .27 below standard mean and the Garibaldi district is at minus .43," the accountant announced.

	Mikey and Leo shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Their haul was slightly below the norm this week but still within the acceptable margin, as Rico had already anticipated. Along with giving them a rare bit of personal face time with the big boss to motivate them, Rico also wanted them to learn.

	"So we're good," he said to the two men as Rutherford extracted his fingers from the calculator and began packing up. "Not every week can mean a rise in profit, but we're still earning well."

	"Yeah, boss."

	"Sure ting. Waddevuh we can do for's yah."

	Rico eyed the men's cheap woolen suits. Undoubtedly, they were  the best they owned, but the  matre d' and wait staff at Rico's Heaven Club, located in the levels just below the office, wore much better. Still, it was passable enough if they were sitting in a lower lit area off to the side.

	"Well, gentlemen," Rico announced. "I thank you for coming and please, enjoy a dinner and drinks on the house. Seamus will show you to the executive entrance."

	Mikey and Leo were surprised at the appearance of Rico's tall, angular majordomo who had entered the office at the far end and had walked the length without a sound. The low sun lightened Seamus's moustache with gold tones which also shone from his thinning pate. They turned back to Rico, murmuring effusive thanks as they were escorted away to spend a few hours in the place of legend. They had some promise, both of them. But poor Leo would need some elocution lessons if he was to rise any higher in the organization.

	Rutherford needed only a simple nod to know that he was dismissed and he left in his usual efficient manner; nearly as economical in his stride as he was with his calculator hand.

	Left alone, Rico swiveled his leather chair so he could admire the view of the airship as it settled in. In truth, he never tired of watching them come in and leave. But he made it a point to disregard it when he had company in his office -even subordinates - to show that business came first. 

	The azurine-powered engines would be settling to idle now that the great propellers had stopped. The airbags were deflating as well since the hard frames of the top decks and lower gondolas were secured to the towers. The engineers were doing a good job with the controlled bleed-off of the heated air. If it was done too rapidly, the air was expelled with a noticeable bilabial fricative sound. And the next time the ship came in, they would be greeted with a number of "No Farting" signs from the grounds crew and other air yard workers. 

	Gantries for cargo and foot traffic were already in use as the ship's officers and the first-class passengers were proceeding directly to the Heaven Club. The newer Endeavour-class airships carried more luxury accommodations which meant it should be a good night at the club.

	Farther below, crew and, standard, and steerage class passengers would be headed for the streets for other levels of entertainment; none of which as refined as the Heaven Club. While Rico would make money from several of those ventures, his personal interest was with those who came to the Heaven Club, where business would be allowed to mix with pleasure.

	Walter nodded as he eyed the masses on the lower gantries. Although too far away to count individual bodies, he could see the moving mass of color and knew it was going to be a good night for business. Closing and latching the wooden shutters of the glass=less window, he barked out to his wife.

	"Is she moving yet? We're gonna lose money."

	"Trixie, get yer lazy bones down here!"

	The shoddily maintained ladder leading from the crawl-space loft creaked even under the light wait of the small girl as she climbed down. As usual, her long blonde hair was a matted mess. Walter's wife grumbled as she tried to lessen the mess on their granddaughter's head. Spitting into the locks, she used the moisture to sort out a few nots before Walter said it would be enough. 

	"Yer getting' to be more trouble than you earn," she snorted in a familiar refrain as he lifted his crackle stick from the wall pegs. 

	Crackle sticks were used by farmers on continents with open land to control livestock or local wild animals. Walter had obtained one for use against the two-legged variety of animals - customers who tried to get more than they paid for.

	Carrying two lanterns, Trixie followed her grandfather without a word - the less she had to say to him and vice-versa, the better. The sea breeze tugged at her thin, tattered dress and her shoes (a size too small, but Walter would decide when she needed another pair) clacked against the cracked pavement. 

	As they neared the mooring towers, young men stood outside of alleys. Walter called to one of them who turned and nodded. After pushing some soiled bills into the younger man's hand - the nightly rent for the alley - Walter gestured for Trixie to enter. 

	Trixie set the lanterns down and pushed the lever on each that inserted an alloy rod into the small, light blue crystal. The azurine began to glow enough to adequately illuminate the deep end of the alley. Already, several people were approaching her grandfather. Without even a sigh, Trixie removed her dress. Since she wore no underpants, she was nude except from her shoes and socks. The first customers approached and she focused on a bare spot on one of the walls so she wouldn't have to see their faces as they ogled the meagerness of her naked, eight year old body.

	Only two people were allowed to enter Rico's office without knocking. One was Seamus. The other came in just now - a small figure in a shiny silver top hat. Looking up from his desk, Rico smiled. It wasn't a condescending smile that he gave to people who were trying to deceive him, nor was it a predatory business smile. This was one of genuine warmth.

	Four years ago, Rico had been named the guardian of the daughter of his youngest sister who had perished in a train accident on one of the sparsely settled continents in the Outback Zone that acted as a buffer between the Federated Continents and the largely unexplored Mithlands. Up until that time, he was scarcely aware that she had had a child. Suddenly, four year-old Penelope was exploring every place she could squeeze into within the rambling pleasure palace of the Heaven Club.

	Although he had maintained a reserved attitude around the girl at first, he had to admit he was growing fond of her. One day, while meeting with some important partners from Anglia, the door to his office opened and the men turned to see a black top hat made by the Lock & Co branch in Yorkton bobbing above the floor at a relatively low height. 

	Beneath the hat was the chubby body of a child wearing only pink panties as the bare feet padded along on the fine, freshly -brushed carpet. The hat's conveyance was obviously unguided dine the brim of the hat rested on the small shoulders. Only when the hat came thudding to a stop against Rico's desk did the strange creature stop. Little hands raised the hat enough to reveal a smile full of tiny baby teeth and a pair of sparking light gray eyes.

	"Hi!" Penelope said to the clustered men.

	Rico gently took the fine hat from the girl. He, like most others in Hoganville, favored fedoras. Setting the hat on his desk, he turned to his guests. 

	"I believe this belongs to one of you?" he asked.

	"And never did it look at any finer than it did just now," replied Simon Fox, a gentleman of society and a man who could ship nearly anything nearly anywhere without questions from anyone. Fox winked at the tyke who giggled and waved.

	At that moment, the office door opened again. This time, it was Seamus. Normally, he was the model of calmness and cool organization, but obviously nothing in Rico's empire could match the complexity of wrangling a lively preschooler. The exasperated man managed to slow to a walk as he approached his boss in front of business partners. Meanwhile, Penelope climbed into Rico's lap, curling up and resting against his stomach as she closed her eyes.

	"My apologies," Seamus rasped as he came near the desk. "I was trying to get Penelope ready for a nap and she suddenly vanished. I-"

	"I think she's down now," Rico said calmly as he pointed to the still figure in his lap.

	"And I was missing my hat," Fox added. "And she quite thoughtfully retrieved it for me."

	"Uh, yes...well, if there will be nothing else..." Seamus said uneasily.

	Rico bowed his head slightly and his very loyal majordomo departed with his dignity bruised but still intact. The rest of the meeting was successfully conducted in low tones so as not to disturb the child's nap.

	"A Penny for my thoughts," Rico said as his niece arrived, playing on her name.

	As the club would be opening soon, Penelope was in some of her usual attire. Having developed an affinity for top hats since the day she met Simon Fox's chapeau, she usually wore one that matched the rest of her outfit. Today's was a silver dance leotard similar to what the club's show girls wore - form-fitting with a tuxedo-like top. Over it, she wore a silver cutaway coat with tails that reached nearly to her calves. A pair of silver dance slippers completed her ensemble. All were custom made with the compliments of the clubs chief costume designer, Reynaud.

	In her early months with her uncle, Penelope had become the unofficial mascot of the club, often practicing with the dancers. During the hours before midnight, Rico would often bring his niece with him in the club where she would charm high-profile guests, business partners, and even rivals. 

	By the time she was six, she was often keeping her uncle's hours of sleeping through most of the day and staying up all night. And by then, she had nearly free reign of the club, going about unescorted as she watched the action and visited the customers. While many of the stage shows were tastefully risqu, the entertainment in the private rooms was fairly unfettered (unless it involved bondage - in that case fetters were sometimes employed).

	Many people would have been aghast at the idea of having such a young child exposed to all of this. Rico, though, understood that there was no better education than seeing the world as it was. And with sex and booze on the menu in endless quantities, Penelope saw it all without the masks and prudery of society.

	And she never lost her spark of playful innocence. She understood that this was what people liked to do and every night at the Heaven Club, with the amazing food and the atmosphere and the ladies and gentlemen in their finery, was like an exciting party. She became well-known to the regulars who would inquire about her on the rare nights when she wasn't in attendance. Often, she could be found sitting in someone's lap or bouncing on their knee as she chatted with them.

	Rico knew there were those whose attraction to the scantily clad little girl was prurient. But with the security in the club and the ever-mindful staff, Penelope was likely to be safer here than if she was locked away in a mountaintop convent.

	"Can I buy you a drink, mister?" she asked before she gave Rico a peck on the cheek. 

	"Ry and twins," her uncle replied.

	Penelope went to the bar against the wall and clinked two ice cubes into a heavy glass before pouring Ryerson's whiskey, some of the best coming out of West Vespana, over them.

	"It's the Auckland," she noted as she looked at the mammoth vessel moored beyond the office windows. The name wasn't visible from this angle and light but Rico knew she could tell by the nuances in the deck structures. She handed Rico his drink before sliding up onto his lap. "So you don't have business with anyone on the ship, this time?"

	"Oh, are you helping Seamus with my appointment book?"

	Despite the top hat adventure, from early on, Penelope and Seamus got on quite well and were very fond of each other. 

	"No, I can just tell," she said simply, brushing a hand through the glossy dark brown hair she wore long and straight down her back.

	Rico grunted an acknowledgement. That was another thing. Penelope was unusually sensitive and perceptive to the moods and feelings of others and her time around all kinds of people had only sharpened her uncanny abilities. That would serve her well in her adult years. In fact, Rico anticipated at he would hand the reigns to the Heaven Club over to Penelope by the time she was in her early twenties and he would watch his highly successful establishment bloom even further.

	"If there's no one I need to pay attention to you for you tonight," Penelope went on. "I'll stop by Captain Heaverlo's table first tonight. I heard the Auckland was skirting about the edges of the Mithlands before their voyage here. I want to hear all about it."

	"There may not be much to tell," Rico advised.

	"Or not much they're allowed to tell," Penelope sighed as she removed her hat and fiddled with it.

	Rico patted one of the girl's bare knees.

	"Are all eight year-olds this cynical?" the man laughed.

	Penelope looked up at her uncle and grinned before a brief cloud of a troubled expression flitted across her features. Then it was gone.

	"I don't know any other eight year-olds," she answered. 

	Knowing her uncle was busy - visitors or not - she kissed his cheek again before sliding to the floor and scampering off. Now it was Rico who sighed. If it was possible to get anything from the seasoned airship captain, it would be his niece. Even at her precocious age, Penelope knew how to handle people well.

	Trixie knew what was coming. After all, these were just people. At first, people paid her grandfather to watch her. Trousers were unbuttoned or unzipped or dresses were lifted to make way for busy hands. But the lookers were kept at a distance of a few feet.

	When he judged that there was enough interest, people could pay to move closer. They could not touch the girl - at least not with their hands. A wad of semen arced and splattered against Trixie's immature chest, just below the left nipple. Regardless of how many times this had happened, she always shuddered as the warm slime soiled her skin.

	A burst from someone else landed on her pubis and she could feel some of it trickling down onto her smooth vulva. It's didn't get into the cleft but trailed along the fleshy edge of one of her lips. There would be more for another couple of hours as the eight year-old was subjected to what some of the customers laughingly called "target practice". Again focusing on the wall, she avoided seeing them but could hear their panting and the fleshy sounds of hands working on hard members.

	Captain Heaverlo and his senior officers were, as always, avuncular with the little hostess of the Heaven Club. But they politely avoided any inquiries into anything related to the Mithlands. Still, Penelope enjoyed their company and stayed with them for a while (to leave abruptly would also have been rude) and spied a quartet of men huddled at the table - more recent arrivals from the Auckland. 

	To Penelope's practiced ears, their accents gave them away - two were from Anglia - one from a big city and one with a brogue from the northern farmlands. The other pair was from the Vespanas. One had the nasal speech of East Vespana while the other spoke with the peculiar twang of southeastern West Vespana.

	Penelope didn't know what exactly they did, but it had something to do with governments of several continents and things people could not talk about. Undoubtedly, they had been to the Mithlands but they seemed quite serious and grim as they spoke in low tones. To the girl, these governments from other places seemed to be unusually complex and secretive. Hoganville had a mayor and city council, of course, and they carried out their instructions from Uncle Rico and the other members of the Merchants' Benevolent Society. It was quite a simple and easy operation.

	Since her attempts to charm information from the captain hadn't worked, Penelope tried a different tack. Having learned, literally, at her uncle's knee, she decided a direct opening might throw them off.

	"Good evening gentlemen," she said, flashing them a beautiful smile.

	They perked up at her presence and she moved in for the kill. Leaning languidly over the table as much as her limited height would allow, she batted her eyes.

	"So, what's going on in the Mithlands?" she asked.

	There was a pause as one of the Anglians - the farmlands one - picked her up and put her on his knee, bouncing her.

	"Mermaids," he said.

	"Cute little ones with little top hats and tuxedos," replied the East Vespanan.

	"Which of course, blows your cover," added the other Anglian as he spoke around the pipe in his mouth. "Now we know you're really a mermaid in disguise."

	Penelope tried to frown but could only giggle. There would be no secrets revealed here tonight. So she gracefully returned to her usual role in the nightly grand party.

	The sense of eagerness among the customers in the alley was thick and cloying as Walter arranged some filthy crates against a wall. Gesturing for his granddaughter, he pulled out a roll of adhesive tape and tore off a strip. He placed it on the girl's bald cunny so that it covered her slit. 

	"Her cherry is more than you than any of you can afford and this is to make sure there are no accidents when you aim," he growled. 

	Trixie - and many of the customers - had heard this warning before. Walter tamped the end of his crackle stick against the alley's cracked pavement to add emphasis. For reasons Trixie didn't understand, there were men who were willing to pay a very high price to be the first to use a little girl's kitty. Walter had been talking about selling her virginity for a few years now but only recently had begun to make inquiries, judging the girl should be able to take a man there in full. 

	But she had another opening that was already for sale. Trembling, she climbed onto the crates and faced the wall before leaning forward and planting her palms to hold her up. Walter inserted a finger in her asshole to make sure the girl had properly lubed herself before coming out. Trixie grunted at the intrusion and Walter grunted his satisfaction that she was ready.

	More money was exchanged now at a higher price to physically use the child. The first customer, a rotund man smelling of motor grease, grabbed Trixie's slim hips and used his thumbs to pull her small buttocks a little apart. As his prick mashed between her smooth globes, Trixie pushed with her bowels to loosen herself up for the entry. 

	It helped, but the eight year-old's anus was still a tight thing and the man leaned heavily as he worked his hardened dick into the pint-sized prostitute. Sweat from the rolls of his chin dripped into Trixie's back, reminding her of the semen that had landed on her front side. With porcine grunting, he forced his meat through the clasping ring of the child's anus until his unwashed pubic hair was scratching her little ass cheeks.

	Trixie had been holding her breath as she was penetrated, never able to shake the dread of someone actually stabbing through her guts and into her belly as they initially jammed their cocks into her. Now that he was all the way in, she released the air in sharp exhale. Now the painful, sodomizing strokes began, scraping and burning her tight ass ring and battering the small chamber of her rectum. 

	Trixie looked straight down at the dirty ground beneath her, searching for patterns amid the cracks and bits of debris with which she could create an imaginary place to where she could partially escape while one man after another foully used her little body. Bits of glass resembled faerie wings. Yes, a place of magic where thick members weren't pushing into her and bruising her...

	More sweat dripped from the customer and onto the girl who was enduring his anal copulation. His heavy meat sawed in and out of her snug young rump, experiencing both the compression of her little sphincter and the moist, velvety interior of her ass. That she looked so pitifully small and thin as he rutted with her added spice to his pleasure. 

	Off to the side stood several more men. While they could afford to have Trixie's ass, they had paid to watch as a series of men pumped their cocks into the childish, naked figure with her hands spread against the wall. Ever the entrepreneur at his granddaughter's expense, Walter raked in a fair amount each night from the people who looked on as other men buggered the little girl.

	The man currently fucking Trixie's ass cursed loudly in victory as his semen released in spasms. The stuff came in waves, polluting the eight year-old's anal tubing with hot stickiness until the last of it was emptied into her.

	After he pulled his wilting dick free, Trixie could feel his jism leaking from her chaffed asshole. It was no matter as another man quickly took his place and sealed her abused orifice with his meat.

	"Well if it isn't Little Lady Luck!"

	Penelope flashed a wide smile as she neared the applauding crowd at the craps table on the gaming floor. Then she spun twice, making the tails of her coat fly out and give those who were interested a look at the perky little curves of her rump as they were tightly contained beneath the shiny silver of her costume. And there were plenty of those who were interested.

	That was something Penelope learned at an early age. At the time she thought it was very silly that men and women liked her bottom so much although she enjoyed the affectionate pats and the occasional, more furtive squeezes her adorable behind received. Reynaud, the costume designer had frequently sighed that it was such a shame that such a work of art had been wasted on a girl instead of a boy.

	By the time she was five, Penelope had already witnessed some of the private sex shows in her uncle's club and saw what sometimes happened to women's bared asses. Reynaud was fitting her for some new outfits one afternoon. Penelope never wore anything beneath them as both Reynaud some of the dancing girls had told her about the unsightliness of panty lines.

	As Reynaud's sexual attractions ran in a decided different vein, the naked little girl was never at risk as the man's hands roamed over her to take measurements. Patting one of her compact but bubbly buttocks, he had once again commented on the artistic masterpiece that was her rear end. Quite innocently, Penelope turned to the man and made him an offer.

	"You can put your penis in my bottom if you want," she said sincerely. "Lots of grown-ups have fun when they do that with the ladies in the club. Men put their penises in and other ladies put funny toys in."

	Reynaud thought he would faint. Even if he merely attempted to tray such a thing with Penelope, his termination from Rico's employment would be immediate - and quite ghastly. And even if his attractions ran to the female set, he would never take advantage of this sweet little girl even if she was a homeless orphan.

	"It was lovely of your offer, Penelope, but I couldn't possibly do that."

	Keeping her light gray eyes on him, Penelope didn't miss a beat and she pointed to the smooth, fleshy mound of girlhood between her legs.

	"Do you want to put it my kitty?"

	"Good heavens, no!" he blurted before pausing to get himself under control. He put his hands on her shoulders while she looked at him curiously. "Penelope," he continued more evenly. "Has anyone else done...these things to you?"

	The girl shook her head.

	"Everyone has fun doing it and I'd like to play, too. But no one has asked me to play."

	Feeling his blood pressure easing down toward the normal range again, Reynaud let out his breath slowly.

	"That's a good thing," he said. "I know it's fun to watch. But you're still a child and no one should take advantage of you like that. If anyone tries to get in your panties-"

	"I don't wear panties with my costumes. They have panty lines."

	"Right. Er, if anyone tries to get where your panties would normally be if you're not in costume, you come tell me or any of us who work here, okay?"

	"Okay," Penelope chirped before she pointed to one of the new tuxedo-styled leotards. "Can I try the pink one?"

	Reynaud's advice from three years ago still stuck with Penelope. One of the men lifted her up and set her on the corner of the craps table. She straddled the wide edge that contained trays for casino chips and  let one leg dangle on the outside and the other on the inside, resting her slippered foot on the green felt of the table. 

	From the side, the bottom of the silver leotard could hardly be seen as her bare thigh transitioned smoothly to her waist which was partially revealed by the high-cut leg of her costume. Her round little buttock was now compacted at into the tight curve of her sitting position. Those looking from down the table could see the shiny silver as the material snugly covered the tiny, feminine bulge of her crotch. 

	She was becoming more aware of how some people - both men and women, admired her. It made her tummy fluttery and her head warm - sensations she enjoyed. Although she had been with some guests while they watched some private performances, none of them had ever tried to get her to participate. Penelope understood what was off-limits and never felt less than perfectly safe as her young eyes witnessed all kinds of creative variations when it came to sexual coupling.

	But here in the casino, she didn't mind if people thought she was a cute little girl or a sexy little girl - she enjoyed the attention. The gambling was always exciting and even Uncle Rico didn't mind if people won big at his expense. He had explained to her that it only attracted more people into his place because they knew he ran honest games and thought they'd get a win, too. 

	Here at the craps table, the visitor whose turn it was to roll the dice held them out to her in his open hand. Penelope pursed her lips as if to make an exaggerated kiss and blew on them, her breath also tickling the skin of his palm. She was always thrilled to blow on the dice for luck but she never even suspected how even the touch of her air gave the man a thrill of a different type. Cheering every roll with the crowd, she passed the time in light-hearted gaiety.

	In many respects, the walk home for the little girl was worse than anally servicing the long parade of men who had filled her grandfather's hand. Trixie's bowels ached and throbbed, nearly matching the cadence of the thrusting she had endured. And now she leaked as she walked, feeling the sticky filth as it trickled down her legs. With her dress so short, the results of her lurid activities were plain for everyone to see. Some stared, others leered or snickered and some turned away in pity. It didn't matter to Trixie - she hated any attention when she was like this. But she had to concentrate on keeping up with Walter's pace or he'd give her a thrashing when they got home.

	Turning a corner, Trixie looked up to see the glow of colored gas lights, a bright rainbow in the grubby gray of the early morning sky. She had heard of the place - fantastical stories of endless celebration and merriment in a place called the Heaven Club. Trixie had heard of the other Heaven, but had never seen any signs of angels or the hand of God. Perhaps the levels where she existed were beyond His reach. But the Heaven Club seemed to tantalizingly close...

	Trixie sucked in a breath. She had fallen too far behind. She trotted quickly, gritting her teeth against the shards of pain protesting inside her bottom. When they arrived at the shanty, Walter went inside without a word. Trixie knew she was not allowed in until she cleaned herself. 

	There was a cold water spigot on the side that she turned on. Water spurted for a moment before settling into a stream. Trixie waited a minute until the color recessed to a light brown, indicating that there would be as little rust in the water as she could hope for. Lifting her dress, she turned her rear to the water and washed between her buttocks and wiping more water down her legs. 

	A couple of the neighborhood boys were watching her but there was nothing she could do about that. Still, her stomach burned with humiliation. Once, some of them had approached her with a few coins and asked to take their pleasure with her ass. Trixie had no intention of doing such a thing but Walter had come out and had seen it. After chasing the boys away with curses and threats, he had turned on his granddaughter and had beaten her for trying to whore around behind his back. 

	Trixie turned to the front, letting the water spray over the tape covering the cleft of her vulva. With a grunt, she tore the tape off, wadded it up, and tossed it to the ground. Then she turned to water off and went inside where Walter was waiting in his chair with his erection in his hand. Wordlessly, Trixie sank to her knees before him and took her grandfather's member in her mouth.

	Keeping her lips clamped, the eight year-old worked her mouth up and down on the hardness, dabbing it here and there with the tip of her tongue just the way Walter liked it. Her grandmother knew about this but didn't care - once Trixie had mastered the art of fellatio when she was five, the woman had one less onerous task she had to perform for her husband.

	Walter ejaculated in his granddaughter's mouth, feeling her muscles working as she swallowed his seed. It hadn't taken the whoring little bitch too many lessons from his hand to learn that she was never supposed to spit it out. Trixie's mouth was solely his - the dicks of the low-lifes in the alley could have their way in the child's ass, but Walter insisted on keeping her mouth clean only for him. And once he found the right buyer, Trixie's hairless little cunt would be available for a better-paying class of clientele. 

	When Trixie stood up, Walter handed her a dollar. It wasn't for her to keep - she knew that. She took the dollar and picked up the small, lidded wooden bucket near the door. Once outside, she began her three-block journey to the nearest pub to get her grandfather's beer.

	She was one block on her way home and walking carefully as she lugged the now heavy bucket. The girl didn't dare lose any of it to a sloshing spill and was very sure of her footing as she took each step.

	"Let me have a swig."

	Trixie paused and turned her head to see a scruffy young man standing at the corner. She didn't know his name although she had seen him around enough.

	"This is for my grandfather," she replied and tried to take another step.

	The man bolted toward her and grabbed her elbow, jostling the bucket. Trixie gasped as a dollop of suds escaped from under the lid.

	"I think it's an early bird special," the man said. "Cunt and beer for breakfast."

	He snatched the bucket from the stunned girl's hand and used his other hand to clamp her mouth shut. Trixie struggled but quickly found herself dragged into an alley. Setting the bucket down, the man tossed Trixie head-first against some trash cans. The lids rattled noisily, further disorienting the girl. 

	She felt herself being lifted and then was slammed on top of the can lids. A handle bruised her back but she immediately had other concerns when the man pushed her dress up to reveal her naked, childish sex.

	"So pretty when they're bald," he murmured as he groped the little girl's snatch. "The old man won't let the likes of us around here have it. Thinks it's too good for us to have. Even says you still have your cherry - a pimp's lie if there ever was one."

	When Trixie tried to protest that she was intact, the man took an old newspaper jutting from under the lid of an adjoining can and stuffed what he could fit into her mouth until she nearly gagged. 

	"Begging your pardon, miss," he said as he unbuttoned his fly. "But I didn't invite you to my parlor for conversation."

	He hacked up a gob of mucus and spit and smeared it on the head of his penis. It was an angry red and Trixie feared for a moment that it would burn her when it touched her. Instead it slipped between her smooth lips, making them bulge apart as he butted up against her small entrance.

	"Well, damn," he muttered. "You haven't been used much here."

	Squirming uselessly, Trixie could do nothing to stop him. She could feel herself opening there but he wasn't able to get inside yet. For a moment, she was giddy with the thought she was still too small and he would have to give up. But with a huge heave, the man bulled into the child's tiny font, making it erupt in crimson as her membrane was sundered. The newsprint that held the stories of murder and corruption now captured the screams of an eight year-old whose last claim to innocence was ended.

	"Shit," the man giggled. "You really were a virgin. Never thought I'd have one of those who hadn't been one of my little sisters."

	He kept forcing his way into the little girl's untried quim, ripping and searing her snug passage as it was pressed into service. Hot beads of blood trickled over her pale loins, staining a bit of her buttocks. Breathing loudly, the man humped his little victim, making her violated young twat squelch with every inward punch. 

	The tiny tunnel of prepubescent flesh wrapped around the sliding prick, compressing against it with a warm, slick grip. Mauling the eight year-old's deflowered little pussy with his hard meat, the man found the pressure in his scrotum reaching a fevered pitch. Surrendering, he pumped with such force that it was deliriously, beautifully painful as his cock throbbed with the heavy jets of semen. 

	Trixie knew the touch of semen well but gagged as she was inseminated in a new place. The hot filth soiled her undeveloped place that was meant to bring her joy in her young adult years. Now, she only knew of it as another receptacle in her body meant to take the issue of a man's lust.

	The newspaper was soggy in her mouth and she used her tongue to keep it from dropping into the back of her mouth. After buttoning his trousers, the man lifted the bucket.

	"Virgin busting is thirsty work," he remarked before swallowing great draughts of the stuff. Then he dumped the rest out and tossed the bucket against one of the cans on which his little rape victim was lying. Whistling a happy tune, he left the alley.

	"Where the hell have you been?" Walter barked when Trixie came staggering in. 

	The girl looked even rattier than usual and she dropped the bucket to the floor. It landed on its side but nothing spilled out. Walter's eyes narrowed. No beer and...what were those marks on her legs?

	Bolting from his chair, he yanked Trixie's dress up. The bloody ooze of semen weeping from the hairless slit told Walter all he needed to know about his little granddaughter's violation and the money he could not make for her first time. He sent her tumbling with a vicious backhand across her face.

	"WHORE!" he roared. "You fucking, thieving, cunt! Giving it away to the first filthy dick you could find, eh?

	Walter's boot came down between Trixie's legs, making her wail as the heavy leather made contact. More kicks came her way and she tried to turn the door handle to escape. As it was, Walter helped her, throwing the front door open and botting her backside to propel her onto the grimy black top outside.

	"You're through!" he shouted. "We gave you everything but you had to give your little cunt away. Well if you love it so much, give it away some more. You're not wanted here, you filth."

	Walter slammed the door and stormed inside. 

	"Could have gotten a hundred, easy, for her cherry," he fumed.

	"So now what?" his wife asked dispassionately.

	Walter grunted.

	"She'll be back, groveling for forgiveness. I'll make sure that cunt makes us money every night as well. Can charge more for it than her ass. Of course, that will still be for sale, too."

	His wife nodded. Pimping Trixie had been easy money for once in their lives. Besides, she had no desire to resume her oral duties with her husband. She just hoped their granddaughter would be back in a day before Walter's urge became too much.

	Trixie limped away, unsure of where she was going. Her grandfather had often threatened to throw her out on her own and here she was. 

	After an hour, she stopped to take her bearings and realized she had no idea where she was. Looking up, she saw those lights again just as they were being shut off. Now she could see the building - white with silver trim. Were those doors up there? Yes, they looked golden. 

	Heaven - that's where she would try.

	Although she took dinner in the club's first class dining room when she ate with her uncle, Penelope preferred having her afternoon meal in the kitchen where she could watch all of the activity as the place geared up for the night. The hiss of steam, clattering of cookware and shouted instructions and replies sounded like a discordant cacophony yet the results were impeccably prepared plates of exquisite food.

	Penelope was at one of the employee's tables, polishing off her second vlenberry tart (another perk of eating in the kitchen - seconds on desserts) when she heard a commotion at the kitchen's rear door. She knew that beggars sometimes came to that door but this seemed like it was something more. Stuffing the last bit of tart in her mouth, she scooted toward the cluster of people gathered there and slipped between the adult bodies.

	It was a girl there - one about her age. There was bruise on the side of her face and she was huddled on the ground, shivering. One of the waitresses was kneeling at her side and Penelope immediately joined her.

	"What happened?" she asked. "Did someone hit you?"

	"I-I can't go home anymore. Not allowed..." the ragged girl gasped.

	"She's got a bit of a fever," Norma, the waitress said. "Perhaps we can find a cot in the..."

	"She can stay in my room," Penelope said. "I've got a big bed and we can share."

	"But your uncle-"

	"Uncle Rico will let me. I'll tell him."

	Norma was about to make a cautionary remark when she noticed the bloodstains on the little girl's legs. There was no way they could turn this waif away but they needed someone who could take care of these things.

	"Henry," Norma said to one of the waiters. "Fetch Maxine."

	Maxine was the woman in charge of the "club girls" who provided private entertainment for customers. She returned with two younger women in tow, Gertie and Hattie. Penelope often chatted with the pair when Reynaud was getting costumes and hair done. The two women often performed together for clients. Penelope had been quite surprised when she learned what two females could do together, especially when they had one of their aravine roots together.

	Gertie winked at Penelope when they arrived.

	"How's tricks, kid?" she asked.

	"There's a girl there and she's hurt and she's gonna sleep in my bed," Penelope explained breathlessly.

	Maxine hovered over the girl, blocking the view of others as she lifted the girl's dress. When the child whimpered, she gently shushed her and stroked her brow as she examined her. Then she turned to the others after lowering the dress.

	"She mostly needs some rest for now. Hattie, run a bath. Gertie go with Penelope and get one of her a nightgown for this girl."

	Maxine lifted the girl, cradling her against her ample bosom. The kitchen workers began to disperse as Trixie was carried into safety.

	It was unlike Penelope to go into her uncle's office before she was dressed for the night. She also seemed agitated and Seamus thought it best to follow her as she raced through the door.

	"Uncle Rico! There's a girl named Trixie and someone hurt her and she's eight just like I am and Maxine gave her a bath and some medicine and now she's wearing one of my nightgowns and I said she could sleep in my bed and she says she doesn't have a home and can she stay here with me? Please? Please? Please?"

	Rico blinked as he tried to sort out his niece's rapid-fire narrative. At a slower pace, he managed to get the story - or as much of it as Penelope could provide. Seamus stood behind the girl, unmoving but listening carefully. Rico knew he was mentally recording every detail to perfection. 

	"So can she stay here?" Penelope asked again.

	"For now. We have to sort this out and-."

	"In my room?"

	Rico dipped his head.

	"Yes, in your room. But we have to find out where she's from and everything that's happened before I decide anything for the long term. Now, I...uff!"

	Penelope had launched herself into his lap and gave him a huge hug. If Seamus found the sight of one of the most powerful bosses in Hoganville being waylaid by a little girl to be humorous, he gave no sign. After Penelope released him and went on her way, Rico turned his attention to his major domo.

	"Get the full background?" Seamus asked.

	Rico nodded.

	"Take care of this yourself. I want to be discreet in the inquiry."

	If Trixie had ever owned a nightgown, she couldn't remember. But the one that Penelope loaned her felt luxuriously soft on her injured body. And the bed! So comfortable with sheets and a quilt! She was getting sleepy and the bowl of hot broth now in her belly was helping that condition along.

	Because of the hours that her grandfather had made her keep, Trixie never had any friends. But Penelope insisted that they were now friends. Penelope said she had plenty of grown-up friends in this place but confided to her that she didn't know any kids her age and she was so happy to have Trixie here. 

	Trixie learned that Penelope also kept odd hours, apparently as a hostess or something in the club. Whatever that entailed, Penelope's excitement about it obviously meant she didn't have to do the kinds of things that Trixie had been forced to do.

	When Penelope went to dress for the night, Trixie tried to rest. As tired as she was, the horror of the morning still looped in her mind. And to go from that to the comfort of this strange place...

	"Do you like it?"

	Trixie's eyes fluttered open and then she stared. Penelope was wearing a tuxedo - she had seen pictures of those. But it wasn't really one. Penelope showed off her costume; a leotard with a black shiny bottom and the top looking like a white shirt. She wore a cutaway black coat with tails over it and a sequined black top hat. Penelope explained that she usually didn't wear tights but tonight she had a pair of black fishnet ones that went with the rest of her outfit and her black slippers. She looked so very pretty and Trixie was mesmerized.

	"When you get better, Reynaud can make you costumes, too!" Penelope gushed.

	The bedroom door opened and a tall, mustachioed man entered. Trixie was nervous but Penelope seemed happy to see him.

	"Seamus, this is my friend, Trixie."

	"Hello, Trixie," he said with a slight bow. "I need to ask you some questions so I can help sort out your situation."

	Seamus was about to sit on the edge of the bed, but noting the girl's trepidation, chose a chair instead to keep a little distance.

	"Seamus will help you. Really!" Penelope assured her. "I have to go now. But I'll visit you a lot."

	After Penelope left, Seamus began asking his questions in a low, calming voice. He didn't react to any of the answers except to politely offer Trixie his handkerchief when she needed it. When he was done, he quietly left, softly closing the bedroom door. Trixie heard it close and was asleep soon afterward.

	Rico said nothing during Seamus' report but Seamus knew his boss' body language enough to know the rage the man was feeling.

	"I suppose," Rico finally said. "That it would do my niece some good to have a girl her age for companionship. It was nothing I ever considered before. Now about this piece of garbage who pimped his little granddaughter - have Vincent come here to see me tonight. Although this Walter should be dead in the gutter, I don't need any unnecessary investigations. Then questions about the kid's whereabouts may come into play. Even with my influence..."

	Rico shrugged and twisted his hands as if there even limits to his power. Seamus knew that Rico could take care of this any way he wanted, but preferred subtlety wherever possible. People under him or on his unofficial payroll tended to remain more loyal if there weren't too many unnecessary messes to clean up. Nodding to Rico, Seamus left to make a call to Vincent, one of Rico's underbosses. 

	Penelope received welcome news from Captain Heaverlo. The Auckland's stay was extended for upgrades to the ship's azurine interface systems, thanks to some kind of deal made by her uncle. Penelope didn't understand much about power systems and the conversion of the crystal's energy into electricity, but she was excited to have such a magnificent ship remaining longer in panoramic view of the club.

	The four agents seemed indifferent to the prolonged visit although they treated her with good humor as always. They could have booked direct passage back to Anglia on another vessel but they had cargo that needed "special provisions" in a secure hold aboard the Auckland and they would remain with it. Penelope just new it had to be something from the Mithlands, but if course they wouldn't discuss that.

	As she continued to make her rounds, she was called over with a wave of a bejeweled hand belonging to Deirdre Chenoweth, a fabulously wealthy widow in her late thirties. Penelope had thought it would be a fine thing if the woman were to marry her uncle and had suggested it to both of them a year earlier. With some coughing and chuckles, the adults suggested that friendship was better for both.

	Now Penelope had a better understanding as to why her matchmaking plans had come to nothing. Entering the private suite rented by Mrs. Chenoweth, she saw Gertie and Hattie warming up for their act. Mrs. Chenoweth preferred female company (although Penelope wondered why she had married Mr. Chenoweth in the first place).

	Lately, Deirdre had taken a lascivious interest in having the ravishing little girl join her while watching lesbian sex. She would ask Penelope how she felt while stroking the child's limbs and body. While she never attempted to get inside Penelope's leotard, she did learn where the girl was sensitive and where she liked to be touched. Hattie and Gertie were aware of this and seemed to be intrigued as they spared glances during their acts. Deirdre wondered if someday the pair would bed the girl down for a hot and dripping lesson in Sapphic pleasures.

	Tonight, the fishnet tights were simply luscious. It was if Penelope's legs were encased in intricate bindings. Between the black webbing, the smoothness of the girl's skin was tantalizing. When beads of perspiration began forming on Penelope's forehead, Deirdre kindly helped her out of her coat. Now she could admire the eight year-old's buns where they pushed against the shiny black material, shifting as Penelope moved. 

	"Oh, look now," Deirdre whispered in Penelope's ear, her tongue darting ever so briefly to taste the lobe. 

	Hattie had inserted a piece of aravine root into her vagina, bending it to right angle as she prepared to mount Gertie, her on- and off-stage lover, from behind. As she was entered, Gertie moaned, her tongue extending slightly from between her open lips. Hattie took her with slow strokes, making Gertie's small breasts sway.

	Deirdre curled a hand around one of Penelope's ass cheeks fondling it as she turned the girl's face from the action in front of them to face her. She kissed the girl on her lips before gently poking her tongue against them. Having been taught this by the woman before, Penelope opened her mouth enough to let the questing tongue inside.

	While she frenched Penelope, Deidre kept both hands busy on the girl's ass. Kneading the firm little globes, she kept pulling on the leotard's material, cinching it tightly against the child's pussy. From how Penelope's breathing grew deeper, it was having an effect. Both the woman and the girl kept darting their eyes to the sensually interlocked Gertie and Hattie as they shifted positions.

	Both young women were humping their pelvises at each other, ravishing themselves and the other with the sopping aravine root. Deidre ended the kiss, pulling back but licking Penelope's lips and nose playfully. 

	"Does all of this make you wet?' she asked the girl.

	"I...I think so," Penelope croaked. 

	"You think so?" Deidre chuckled. "It sounds like you're not sure."

	She reached between Penelope's legs and clutched the bulge of the childish snatch beneath the leotard. Penelope gasped - no one had ever touched her like that. When Deidre squeezed her cunny mound, the little girl shivered.

	"Are you sure now?" the woman purred.

	When Penelope nodded, Deidre shook her head.

	"No, tell me. Say it."

	"I...I'm wet."

	"What made you wet?"

	"Kissing and how you touched me and seeing Gertie and Hattie...it made me wet."

	"Did you hear that?" Deidre asked the two performers who were now sauntering toward her for a threesome. "We've corrupted her."

	"Wanna stay?" Gertie asked the girl with a playful wink.

	When Penelope's blushed deepened, the women laughed gently.

	"Don't worry," Deidre assured her. "You'll know when your time had come."

	Penelope nodded and wished them all good night. As she turned, Hattie copped a feel of her rump and the little girl felt the reaction to the lewd touch in her crotch. Exiting the suite, Penelope took a deep lungful of cooler air. It had been so strange, yet exciting. But she was glad to be back to what was more normal for her.

	Scowling, Walter opened the door to answer the knocking. He had hoped it was his no-good granddaughter, desperate and submissive. Instead, there was a short, wiry young guy in a striped suit with wide shoulder and wide lapels. His fedora was cocked at an angle and he had a wise-ass grin on his face. Walter had several inches of height and at least thirty pounds of weight against the guy.

	"Yeah?" he asked the flashy-looking twerp.

	The man smiled and pulled an envelope from his coat as he walked past Walter into the shanty. As he looked around, his grin expanded as if he found the interior laughable. However, Walter was in ill-humor. 

	"What the fuck are you up to?" he growled.

	The young man held his hands up defensively and took a step backward.

	"Hey, no problems from me, Champ. I've been sent here to congratulate you on account of your retirement. Here."

	Puzzled, Walter took the proffered envelope and opened it. Inside was a cheap watch plated in low-grade gold and a five on hundred dollar bills. 

	"Retirement?" Walter asked, more puzzled than annoyed at the moment.

	"Yeah, retired from pimping your little granddaughter."

	"Where the fuck is she?" Walter exploded, raising a fist to pound the guy right in his smug face. 

	Walter's blow never landed but the unseen one from his visitor did, driving the air from him as Walter staggered back before falling seat-first onto the floor. His wife just stared.

	"Let me explain things," the young man said in a reasonable tone. "You can either accept your retirement package that my boss so thoughtfully provided, or I can make you fuck yourself up the ass."

	While's the man's voice remained slightly jovial, his eyes took on a feral cast as he went on.

	"Now how do I do a thing like that? How do I make you fuck yourself up the ass? First, I rip your fucking dick off and then I shove it your fucking mouth. Then I take your fucking head and jam it up your fucking ass. See? You'll be fucking yourself up the ass. Easy-peasy. So what's it gonna be, Champ?"

	Walter may not have been the brightest man on the block, but he understood a barely restrained threat when he saw it. Afraid to speak for fear of setting the man off, he clutched the envelope to his chest.

	"Attaboy, Champ," the visitor said. "Don't get up - I'll let myself out."

	As he stood in the open doorway, the man turned and looked at Walter's wife.

	"You may want to get that cunt of yours fumigated," he helpfully suggested. "On account of that you may have to get into the trade, now."

	After a few days, Trixie was walking about and Penelope took her to see Reynaud. 

	"He's made costumes for you because I told him you like faeries and stuff," Penelope gushed. "Then we can go around the club together. We're going to have so much fun!"

	Trixie nodded and followed. While she seemed excited, Penelope, having honed her perceptions by observing people, picked up on some sort of reluctance. But she hoped that once Reynaud was done with her, Trixie would be bubbling over.

	But Reynaud was certainly not bubbly when he first encountered Trixie's hair. Despite Maxine's ministrations, the long locks were unruly and still somewhat tangled. The man rubbed a few strands between his fingers in disbelief.

	"I know Maxine did her best to rescue this, but who's been doing your hair all these years?" he asked.

	"My grandmother," Trixie replied, confused by all of the fuss.

	"Ugh, you need an herbal fusion conditioner in the worst way. What did she use?"

	"Spit."

	Reynaud grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. 

	"Lewis!" he called to one of his assistants. "Clear my afternoon!"

	Penelope was delighted with the results while Trixie looked at her own reflection in astonishment. Her hair was still long but much shorter - only reaching her shoulder blades. With the bulk and the tangles gone and a proper cleaning, her blonde hair hung in shimmering loose curls. Reynaud was equally impressed with his work.

	"If this isn't making a diamond from a lump of coal, what is?" he gloated.

	"Certainly a better outcome last Saturday when you tried to make an Adonis from that stevedore you met," Lewis jibed.

	Reynaud hooked his fingers into claws and swatted the air in Lewis' direction, mouthing "Meow". Then he returned his attention to his reclamation project and had her don her outfit. They were green tights over which she wore a form-fitting emerald green tunic that nearly matched the color of her eyes. Then Reynaud slipped thin straps over her shoulder and under her arms to attach a set of light green gossamer wings on wire frames.

	"Trixie the Pixie!" Penelope laughed.

	"No, she's a faerie," Reynaud corrected. "Because she has wings."

	"Aw, but pixie rhymes. Don't some pixies have wings?"

	"No. If they have wings, they are faeries," Renaud stated before he hugged both girls. "Trust me; I know what it takes to be a faerie. Now, run along."

	As the pair scampered, Reynaud sighed. Trixie's rear end was nearly as cute as Penelope's. Such a waste.

	The regulars were enchanted with Penelope's new friend, although she tended to stay quiet and remain close to Penelope. To have two little girls in costume (Penelope with yet another tuxedo leotard and top hat) added an air of innocent fantasy in the midst of the high class, libertine environment.

	When they visited Captain Heaverlo's table, Trixie was amazed as the captain described what it was like aboard a massive vessel like the Auckland. All she had known of the big ships was that when they arrived, she had often spent longer bent over in an alley while men from the lower ranks and passenger classes took their pleasure with her from behind. 

	The next table they visited was occupied by the four agents. Penelope had told Trixie about her fruitless attempts to learn about the secrets of the Mithlands. 

	"This is Trixie," Penelope told the quartet. "Do they have faeries in the Mithlands?"

	"Oh yes," said the man from East Vespana. "It looks like one of them had gotten loose. Obviously she's doing recon for an invasion of faeries and mermaids."

	Penelope and Trixie giggled as they left.

	"Why does he talk like that?" Trixie asked once they were out of earshot.

	"Who? Mr. Barrow?" Penelope asked. "He's from Boston on East Vespana. They all have that accent from around that city."

	"If it's a city, why does it have a different name than East Vespana? I mean, Hoganville is Hoganville."

	"Oh no," Penelope explained. "Hoganville takes up the whole island - it's all one big city. Lots of other places are bigger - called continents. And each one has a bunch of cities and farmland and mountains and stuff. We get a lot of people visiting from East and West Vespana, Anglia, Languedoc, Cadiz, Bavaria, Byzantium, and Danube Land. And other places, too."

	Trixie's head spun with all of these exotic names and places. Until now, her life had existed solely in the grubby streets and alley of a few blocks in Hoganville.

	Penelope was happy to explain things like this through the night and share the party life of the club. Trixie enjoyed herself but Penelope could still sense some sort of sad reluctance with her new friend. At the end of the night, they returned to Penelope's room and prepared to go to bed.

	Trixie seemed reluctant to join Penelope as she snuggled into bed.

	"Penelope," she said quietly. "Maybe I can find some other place to sleep."

	"Why? It's fun and there's lots of room here."

	Trixie shook her head, her eyes tearing up.

	"But I'm not like you. I'm just trash."

	"No you're not! Who called you that?"

	"My grandfather."

	"But he was mean to you and hit you."

	"But it's true. I am trash because of what those men did. And really because of what that last man did to me."

	For all of her exposure to the licentiousness in the club, Penelope didn't understand. Weeping, Trixie described her past life, including that morning when she was vaginally raped and deprived of her last piece of innocence. Penelope was aghast - never had she considered those things that grown-ups did something that could be forced or be made to hurt. She cried with Trixie and insisted that she stay with her.

	Trixie agreed, only because she was exhausted. Despite Penelope's pleas to the opposite, she insisted that she wasn't good enough for Penelope and would find someplace else soon. 

	While Trixie lay sleeping, Penelope was wide awake. She didn't know what to do and this was a rare time when she knew it was something that Uncle Rico or Seamus could not help her with. When it was afternoon, Penelope slipped out of bed and went to visit Gertie and Hattie in the rom they shared. There, she tearfully explained Trixie's situation.

	The two women did have a daring suggestion and explained how it should be done. Later, a wide-eyed Penelope left their room carrying a small box.

	For once, Penelope found herself anxiously wishing the night would come to an end. Although she had some trepidation about what was to come, she wanted to get it done. Finally, at four in the morning, she couldn't wait any longer and suggested to Trixie that they go to bed. 

	Trixie followed to Penelope back to the bedroom they were currently sharing. They undressed and as Trixie was reaching for her nightgown Penelope stopped her. Trixie saw that Penelope was also completely nude. 

	"Please, let me do something," Penelope whispered.

	Then she knelt down in front of Trixie and put her hands around the blonde's waist. Penelope had seen Gertie and Hattie performing and the two women had given her a few tips that afternoon - along with other instructions. She gazed at Trixie's cunny for a moment - it was hairless and soft with the lips pressed snugly together just like hers. Why should Trixie be different because some bad man hurt her there? Then Penelope gave it a lick.

	"Wh-what are you doing?" Trixie stammered.

	Penelope looked up for a moment.

	"I have to make you wet," she said before she returned to her task.

	Stupefied, Trixie looked down at the top of the other girl's head as Penelope nuzzled her quim. She was being kissed between licks and then....oh...Penelope's tongue was digging into her slit.

	Penelope felt odd as she mouthed her friend's little pussy. Trixie was squirming as Penelope explored her sex. Finding the nubbin at the top of the Trixie's slit, Penelope gave it extra attention. Trixie was making keening noises but ceased her wriggling as Penelope's oral love gave her new sensations between her legs. 

	Something was oozing from Trixie's cunny hole and Penelope tasted it. It made her tingly and she took one hand from Trixie's waist and began playing with herself so she could moisten as well. By the time she was dribbling on her fingers, Trixie was flowing nicely.

	Penelope got to her feet and retrieved the box she got from Hattie. Inside was an odd-looking cylindrical thing about six or seven inches long and perhaps an inch in diameter. It appeared to be made of smaller, intertwined cords.

	"This is an aravine root," Penelope explained. "It's what ladies use together. This is a little smaller because were just little kids."

	"What...why?" Trixie asked, her head reeling from the reaction in her loins that Penelope's mouth had wrought. 

	Penelope locked her gray eyes on Trixie's green ones.

	"I'm going to put this end in you. It won't hurt. Gertie and Hattie showed me how to do it on them."

	Trixie whimpered as one end of the root was pressed against her damp vulva. Penelope took her time, slowly slipping it between her bald lips. As the thing entered her, the braided surface agitated her lining in a scratchy but pleasant way. When Penelope reached bottom, a little more than half of it was protruding and she bent it to the angle she had been shown earlier.

	Then Penelope got onto the bed, lying back with her legs spread for her friend.

	"Put it in me," she begged.

	"But...no...I can't."

	"Please."

	"It will hurt and you'll bleed and..."

	"Please, Trixie, I want to be just like you."

	Trixie was stunned by the revelation. When she managed to take a tentative step toward the bed, the motion made the root rub inside her quim. She trembled at the stimulation. Penelope looked at her with huge eyes, nodding.

	With awkward movements from both girls, Trixie got into place with the root jutting and against Penelope's untried cleft. Trixie noticed that her friend was wet there, too. Each girl was afraid to speak and Trixie finally pushed. 

	Penelope flinched as the thing pressed against her membrane but she reached up and grabbed Trixie's shoulders. Trixie pushed again, this time a little harder and she felt the resistance give way. Penelope gave a short cry and a tear rand down one cheek but she didn't let go of Trixie. Slowly, Trixie sank the root into her only friend's virgin pussy, completing the defloration of the other eight year-old. 

	Having swelled after absorbing some of Trixie's fluids, the root remained in place inside her snatch as she pulled out of Penelope's hole. Two trickles of blood leaked from Penelope's bald cunny, rolling over the white, rounded flesh of her mons to show the effect of her opened maidenhead. More liquid, this stuff clear, was also dribbling in the aftermath of one stroke in Penelope's cunny. Penelope hunched her hips up, wanting more. 

	Trixie penetrated her again and this time to two little girls remained interlocked as they made love. The root swelled some more, taking both of their juices and further stimulating their prepubescent cuntlets as the irregular surface shifted and scraped inside their tender tunnels. Their pace quickened as lust inflamed the intimacy they were sharing.

	Trixie thrust furiously against Penelope as the other girl humped her hips up to meet her. In their frenzy, the root worked a little deeper inside their stretched, slippery little twat holes. It became buried enough so that their pussies mashed together. They froze for a moment as they each felt the other's bald snatch pressing against her own. 

	Changing their movements, they shifted and squirmed, maintaining the gooey contact between the slick, smooth surfaces of their preteen cunnies. Then they discovered the added thrills of having their clits flick and press against each other. All the while, the completely buried root ravaged the soupy interior of their tiny pussies. Mewling and moaning, the conjoined eight year-old's desperately rubbed against each other as they boiling bubbles in their young sexes reached the crescendo and burst.

	The simultaneous convulsions of the two snatches violently pressed the root, making it release much of the absorbed liquid with bursts that came in time with the compressions. Penelope and Trixie felt their childish pussies get inundated with the mixed juices of their lovemaking. With high-pitched cries, the eight year-olds shared their first orgasms.

	Trixie fell against Penelope. As their flat chests came together, they could feel their hardened nipples agitating each other's. Trixie slipped her hands under Penelope's bottom and rolled over so that Penelope was on top. Still holding her friend's rump (my, it felt nice) Trixie wordlessly implored her to take her. She wanted to have it done lovingly. 

	Penelope understood and the heated lesbian copulation between the little girls resumed.

	Outside the bedroom door, Gertie and Hattie put their hands over their mouths as they heard the renewed sounds of sex. Obviously, everything had turned out well and each of the women wondered if there might be a foursome in the future.

	In his office, Rico watched as the lines were cast off from the Auckland, with the airbags fully inflated, the craft gently lifted away as the propellers and rudders helped it execute a long turn that displayed its magnificent profile. Usually, Penelope was here to watch the launches. Rico thought about that. Now that she had a friend her age, the pair was probably playing whatever games little girls played.

	Liam Barrow stared out of his cabin window had Hoganville disappeared as the Auckland turned. The unplanned stay had been a pleasant diversion - an unexcused to unwind and unload following the expedition he and his three colleagues had made on one of the continents in the Mithlands. 

	When the pilgrim ships arrived from Old Home centuries ago, one was supposed to land on this place, designated now as XW-15. When no signs of habitation were ever found during early sailing ship voyages in the decades after arrival, it was assumed that the ship had crashed. After all, it was known that several had.

	Liam had been a former welder and then promising engineer for a metal works firm in Boston when men in dark coats had recruited him for what was euphemistically called "The Service". He knew the intricacies of vessels and, having studied the surviving prints and schematics of the pilgrim ships, understood their hull designs fairly well.  

	The Auckland had deposited them on the northern coastline of XW-15 and returned six weeks later to retrieve the men and crates of samples and artifacts they had with them. What wasn't included in the crates were the photographic plates that Liam had kept in a leather shoulder bag that he either had with him or locked in a safe. 

	Although he had replayed the images in his head many times, he found himself sifting through the plates again. They had found the landing site and the remains of the pilgrim ship. The landing gears were still half-buried in the ground in the exact pattern of them all being fully extended for a controlled landing. Taking the soil beneath them into account, the penetration of the gears showed normal force upon contact - this was no crash.

	The hull was in pieces but plenty of them were large enough for inspection and photography. There were gaping holes and tears but no carbon scoring indicative of an explosion. Additionally, the direction of the damage was all wrong. Liam's fingers drummed the desk and he found himself wishing for another stiff drink from the Heaven Club. The hull had not been blown or burst apart. Something or things had broken into the vessel from outside and then tore everything out of it. And likely every living soul on board as well.


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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