Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Thursday, May 03, 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: wendria8.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: Machine/g(6), semi-cons

story_intro: Professor Ambrose Featherwinkle is an inventor of brilliant contraptions; that is contraptions that brilliantly go wrong. After his latest failure (which at least did not involve the injuring or odd coloring of innocent bystanders), he is consoled by a visit of his cheerful young niece. While exploring the magic of her uncle's laboratory, the little girl accidentally fixes a machine and becomes the unwitting subject of the machine's purpose gone wrong.


story_language: English





Wendria: Story 8 - The Professor's Laboratory

Written by madvlad


	Although he often felt awkward in social situation, Professor Ambrose Featherwinkle felt perfectly in control. The refreshments had been served without spillage and he had made his speech about his new invention to the business people assembled in his parlor. Now he led them to the basement where his laboratory was located and the prototype of his new invention lay polished and ready.

	Spring Melon juice was a popular beverage across the settled continents on Wendria. But it was expensive due to the delicacy and time and took to extract the juice. Beneath the pliant outer skin, the interior fruit bruised easily which produced a bitter taste in the otherwise sweet juice. Thus, the melons had to be carefully sliced open before human hands carefully kneaded the pulp to extract the juice in its pristine flavor.

	As his guests stared at Professor Featherwinkle's Refined Quality Spring Melon Juice Extraction System (a name he came up with himself), he felt as giddy as a schoolboy. In fact, he had been a schoolboy of twelve when he demonstrated his first breakthrough, a light spray that killed fleas and dogs and rendered their coats to a very glossy texture after an easy application that took about one minute.

	After showing this to people in his neighborhood while their canine pets were gathered in his yard, Ambrose knew the exhilaration of scientific and commercial success. It lasted a little over an hour before the dogs' fur changed to an array of Day-Glo colors.

	For the next thirty years, Ambrose continued his research in a variety of fields, producing patents, hilarity, and lawsuits but very limited success. But now he was on the cusp of his first huge breakthrough. In fact, the Spring Melon juice he had served upstairs had been produced by this very machine. Unlike some of his previous inventions, there had been no unwelcome aftereffects such as the growth of luxuriant beards (on the women) or the 48-hour transformation that made people behave like ducks. 

	Taking a large Spring Melon that weighed about twenty-five pounds, Ambrose placed it on a seat-like cradle, explaining how a full-scale production machine would have multiple cradles and extraction bores. In this case, the 3/4-inch-wide cylindrical bore was aimed at the fruit in the cradle. Although it had a metallic interior, the exterior was covered in a sheath of a rubber derivative.

	Turning just the bore on, Ambrose spoke as he demonstrated it workings. Interior pistons made the bore expand as the moved in and out to create what looked like a shifting, lumpy surface.

	"The kneading effect," noted one man as he puffed on his cigar approvingly. "The action looks perfect."

	Ambrose beamed as he flicked some switches and turned a few dials. Now the bore expanded even more - enough to work the entire interior of the melon.

	"But how does it keep from bruising the pulp?" a woman who was part of the fifth generation of a family in the Spring Melon business.

	"Pressure readings used through my patented SFCLD," Ambrose replied proudly, only to generate looks of incomprehension from his audience. He began to sweat. "Er, my Sensory Feedback Calculatory Linkage Device. Let me show you."

	He opened a door to expose a mass of whizzing gears, belts, bellows, pipes, rods, and gadgets that defied description. A few people stepped back in case something came flying out at a deadly velocity. But Ambrose closed the door again with no one being maimed. Yet another success on this fine day. 

	He stopped the bore and it smoothly returned to its original shape. 

	"Now, I shall juice this melon," he announced as he proudly stabbed a button.

	There was a hiss of vapor through pores on the front of the bore and Ambrose explained that this was to lubricate the bore to ease its penetration through the melon's rind. The bore then extended toward the melon, and began to spin rapidly after making a delicate initial contact with it. In a matter of seconds, it slid inside and began to work. 

	Juice dribbled from the hole in the rind but it soon started to flow in a steady stream. The cradle had a drain in it and everyone could see the juice flowing through a glass tube and into a waiting beaker. 

	"Very nice, so far," an older gentleman noted. "But how does the bore know when to stop? You could waste time with it trying to extract juice when none is left or it could still leave fruit-bearing pulp inside which would be a waste of product."

	But Ambrose merely nodded at the man's concerns and pointed to the cabinet beneath the cradle.

	"Each melon is weighed and another SFCLD takes that weight to determine how much juice should be inside. When the beaker meets that weight, the extraction will cease. Ah, here we go."

	The bore's drive shaft stopped spinning and then retracted. When the bore came out bearing the purple stains of the juice, Ambrose felt as if he was a father witnessing the birth of his baby. There was polite applause as Ambrose removed the hollowed melon and put another one in its place. After installing an empty beaker, he pressed the button.

	Nothing happened. 

	Chuckling nervously, Ambrose cycled a few switches and only managed to lower the bore a few inches. When nothing else happened, he fiddled with the dials but with the same lack of result. Finally, he gave his control panel a firm whack on the side. The panel made no complaint - nor did the bore move anymore.

	"Well," said another guest. "It works quite well if you only need to juice one melon. After that, the payoff on downtime and repairs just won't cut it."

	"No, wait!" Ambrose called as he opened doors on the machinery and frantically looked for anything amiss. 

	But his guests had businesses to run and they began to head upstairs. Wringing his hands, Ambrose followed and tried to convince them this would work. But the others had also seen other juicing machines fail miserably and they had little patience for yet another. And Ambrose's already dubious reputation didn't help. As they filed out, one portly, balding man stopped, withdrew the pipe in his mouth, and stabbed the stem in Ambrose's direction.

	"I should have expected as much from you, Winklefeather," he stated.

	"That's Featherwinkle," Ambrose meekly corrected.

	"Whatever. I knew you'd never amount to much since you were a kid and turned my Aunt Petunia's beloved Dalmatian orange."

	"With purple spots," Ambrose mused absently, his keen memory for detail overriding the common sense need for diplomacy as it often and unfortunately did. 

	"Yes," the man replied, dragging the word out into two syllables and a hiss. "Your first public catastrophe, was it not?"

	Ambrose sagged under the burden of the reminder as it came on top of his latest humiliation. The man left - the last of the guests - and Ambrose was left in the maddening silence of his defeat.

	He didn't know how long he stood there for he never noticed the shadows growing long as the afternoon passed into early evening. Only a rapping at his front door brought him out of his funk.
Trudging to the door, he saw a young woman there with a little girl with sandy hair and an almost ever-present smile. It was his younger sister, Elizabeth and her daughter, Sally.

	Reading the look on her brother's face, Elizabeth patted his arm and said nothing. Even kind words would only make it worse. It was such a shame as her brother was brilliant - just frequently undone by a small detail.

	"George and I were attending the theater, tonight," she reminded him. "But if this is not a good night for you to watch Sally..."

	"No, no," Ambrose said softly. "Who better to cheer me up than Miss Sunshine Sally?"

	The little girl giggled at her uncle's nickname, although it was quite apt. She walked into the house carrying a small valise as she would sleep over as she often did when her parents enjoyed a night out. 

	Since her home was just two blocks away, Sally had lately developed an independent streak and now would proudly walk herself back home in the morning as her uncle was usually either sleeping from a late night of lab work or already back in his lab and oblivious to the world and the time of day. As they lived in a genteel neighborhood on the outskirts of Charleston, East Vespana, there was no danger lurking about.

	Although Sally and her uncle had an enjoyable evening, she could tell something was troubling him. She had heard her parents talking about another one of Uncle Ambrose's unfortunate incidents. Sally on the other hand, thought her uncle's inventions were marvelous. 

	Her personal favorite was his Insta-Steamerator which was used for steaming clams in a mere thirty seconds that he demonstrated at the beach during last year's Mid-Summer Festival. It hadn't worked as planned but she thought it was great fun to watch the clams launch from the contraption while trailing a steamy vapor to mark their path until they exploded gloriously in mid-air. After that display, the later fireworks show that evening seemed quite tame.

	When bedtime came, Uncle Ambrose gave her privacy while she stripped down and put her nightgown on. After bidding her goodnight, he retired to his bedroom where he dozed fitfully.

	Unable to sleep because he she felt bad for her uncle, Sally arose and quietly padded to the basement so she could view Ambrose's latest accomplishment. It was certainly magnificent with all of the shiny metal and controls and such. There was even a chair of some sort that looked just her size. 

	Crawling into it, Sally looked around at everything else. There was a funny-looking thing sheathed in rubber pointed at her chair a little lower than waist height. As she pondered its purpose, she idly kicked her legs and thunked her bare heels against the control cabinet beneath the fruit cradle where she sat.

	She never heard the slight chink of the loose flywheel as her kicking made it vibrate before sliding back into place. But Sally was certainly aware of the whirring noises as the machine came to life. When the bore puffed its oil onto its nose, Sally laughed at its silliness.

	Then it started forward, extending between her slightly parted knees and brushing her soft little thighs. Giggling, Sally thought this was some sort of tickling machine and raised her nightgown to see where it might tickle her next. It looked like - goodness! - it was going to tickle her kitty. She knew strangers were not supposed to touch her there but this was a machine - and her uncle's machine at that. For comfort's sake, Sally rarely wore underwear beneath her nightgowns and this was aiding in a most peculiar predicament.

	When the bore pressed against the child's pudgy vulva, it began to spin. Sally squeaked as her hairless lips opened and let the thing tickle her just inside. It made Sally wriggle and the spinning thing flayed her clitty.

	"Yikes!" she cried and then bit her lip at the suddenly strong...something...that arose in her loins. 

	Then she realized it was moving further into her. Having never inspected her female anatomy, she felt something uncomfortably expanding as the oil-coated spinning thing pressed inward. She didn't know that it was her narrow entrance that was being forced. Encountering the little girl's virgin membrane, the bore halted its progression while it kept spinning while the feedback of the resistance was measured by the tinkling and humming apparatus.

	Calculating that more pressure was needed, the machine pushed the bore into the girl. The six year-old squealed as she was deflowered by the machine and tried to grab the bore's drive shaft. But she couldn't grip the thing running at over 100 rpm and wept as the hurtful thing penetrated her dainty little private place. 

	The pain passed but Sally was still quite frightened as she saw some of her blood trickling from the bald, spread labia of her defiled cunny. The thing inside her didn't hurt at all but she felt rather uncomfortable. Actually, it kind of felt good and those strange somethings were dancing all about inside her snug, freshly opened sex.

	The pistons and cams inside the bore shifted and began to spread beneath the rubber cover. Cycling in and out along the length, they kneaded the ripeness of flesh surrounding the bore. Despite the intricacy of the control mechanisms, the machine knew only what it had been made to do and now mindlessly worked inside the squirming child as it sought to bring out her juice. 

	Panting and sweating, Sally was losing herself in the sensations that wracked her body, centering on the heavily mauled place between her legs. With the bore rotating and pressing against the lining of her tight little pussy, the former virgin tyke shivered with her first ever orgasm. 

	Her mechanical lover continued despite the reactions it was causing and worked inside the tiny snatch with utter patience. Nectar trickled from the child's hairless cunt and found its way into the drain where it finally dripped into the beaker. Even this modest amount was registered by the scale. 

	But having weighed the object in the cradle, the machine controls calculated that there were still plenty of juice to be extracted. The bore continued to mine the six year-old's gooey twat.

	An hour later, Sally's hips bucked as she produced another burst of kiddy cunt juice to join the small but steady stream already escaping her very tender snatch. But the girl's head lolled to one side and her eyes were glassy with overwhelming arousal as her orgasm-producing rapes continued unabated.

	Ambrose woke fully now and knew that sleep would be useless. In his mind, he could hear his invention running smoothly and endlessly. After a few minutes, he realized that it wasn't in his mind.

	Bolting from his bed, he stumbled out into the hall and slowed so he wouldn't wake Sally in the room across from his. When he opened the door to the basement, he could hear everything more clearly. Part of him was elated and part of him wondered if the Fates were simply mocking him once more. 

	But he had to investigate and proceeded to the lab. Stunned, he saw Sally jerking spasmodically as she sat slumped in the melon cradle. Walking around toward her front, he was horrified to see his newest creation fucking his precious little niece. Furiously working the controls, he extracted the bore from the girl and sobbed when he saw her voraciously molested pussy oozing so lewdly from the bald and flushed little orifice.

	Sally mumbled blearily as he swept her up in his arms. Taking a wet rag, he cleaned between her legs and wondered how she would ever forgive him for this. She had always loved him and his crazy contraptions unconditionally, but this...this was beyond anything that could be dismissed. 

	The girl had passed out which was a blessing. Ambrose tucked her in, fetched a bottle of whiskey and retired to his room in a most wretched state.

	It was mid-morning when he awoke with a suitably punishing headache. Staggering into Sally's room, he saw that she was gone along with her small valise. At this very moment, the girl was most likely being comforted by her mother after recounting the horrors of the night. With the moaning of the damned, he went to the kitchen and sat at the table. There was a bowl of fruit in the center, stocked with items Elizabeth had bought him at the market. 

	Elizabeth. What would his sister say when she found out what he had done to her daughter? There would be no more inventions - ever. On this he would swear on his life - whatever little value that was worth. But what else could he swear upon - Sally's chastity?

	With another moan, he rocked in his chair. No, no more inventions. He would limit himself to teaching full-time at the university. After all, wasn't he one of the favorite faculty members of the student body?

	Ambrose pounded his fist on the table. Who was he kidding? His popularity was based on the fact that he often missed or was late to his own lectures because he was fiddling in his lab. This meant that his exams were quite minimal and easy to pass.

	There was a knocking at the front door. Of course, when that had last happened he only had to contend with a failed demonstration. In that long ago time of just one day earlier, Elizabeth was still on speaking terms with him and Sally still adored him.

	With a wretched weight in his gut, Ambrose went to the door. Perhaps Elizabeth had reported him to the authorities. He'd much rather face a phalanx of stern policemen than his sister. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open to face the fury of his own incompetence.

	"Hi, Uncle Ambrose!"

	Ambrose looked down to see Sally smiling at him with her usual solar-strength warmth. Clustered behind her were four other little girls around Sally's age. Some of them smiled shyly at him while a couple regarded him expectantly.

	"I told my friends all about your new invention!" Sally gushed. "Can we please play with it now?"


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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