Copyright (c) 2014,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, February 17, 2014

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: worldwar.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com







story_codes: MMMM+/ggg (11, 8-9, 7), g/g, first, oral, anal, rape, semi-cons, cons

story_intro: In Vienna during the closing days of World War VII, an intelligence officer befriends a nine year-old prostitute with a mysterious past. Eventually he hears of her friends and their life from being one of the selected cream of society to becoming a sex slave to liberation and to life on the streets.

story_language: English





World War VII: Lines of Defense

Written by madvlad


	"Hello, Major. We can be warm together?"

	Simon looked in the shadows where the dim ambient electric light filtered through in thin lines below the fire escape platform. The girl was there, of course - her usual place, at least that's where he always found her. Perhaps she had other usual places for different "regulars". 

	With Vienna occupied by Allied forces, there were plenty of horny soldiers far from home looking to spend months of combat pay on local hospitality. Much of the same services could just as easily be bought with non-lethal military supplies - food, canteens, first aid kits, and a multitude of other items that had left the books of the Quartermasters' Corps.

	The girl stepped closer to him. She was thin, as most denizens of the street here were. Her flaxen hair fell straight and well past her shoulders, fairly gleaming in the alley darkness. Her blue eyes, huge in her face, also seemed to glow as they fixed on him. 

	She was nine years old, which was one of the few things he knew about her. Her clothing was much the same - the short black skirt and badly worn black shoes that would have been more appropriate for a school girl instead of a working girl. But war created new professions for many people. But her dress and face were clean and her shoes were polished with water and a rag. 

	It was rather strange how she was quite fastidious despite her lot in life. Other street girls her age usually spent what they could on make-up and more flashy clothes but this one was more concerned with cleanliness. And there was the ever-present Stalk, the latest street drug that was cheaply manufactured and purportedly enhanced sexual pleasure. Many young girls working in the trade had become addicts, but this blonde did not have the yellowish fingernails indicative of the addiction - another oddity. Perhaps it was her little mysteries that added to the attraction.

	Simon knew he was average-looking at best and he paid the girl decently for her services. But likely his best feature in her eyes was that he never got rough or too kinky during their sessions in an abandoned building they usually used. These kids were desperate but also wary. 

	She had hinted of him providing a more permanent place where she could be "kept". It was not uncommon for soldiers to get a place where their women (or girls or boys) could safely stay in exchange for exclusive access to their bodies. A dry bed and a steady supply of food were some of the best currency these days. 

	Back home in Boston, Simon wouldn't have looked twice at a preteen with any lurid thoughts. Not that anything consensual was illegal anymore, but wooing a child was something ridiculous for a grown man to do, in his opinion. He had heard all kinds of bawdy tales from a few others who had sampled the younger set of civilian populations as the Allies pushed eastward. Simon had to admit that the descriptions of tight little cunts had stoked his interest. And since they were here for the choosing, why not indulge as the embers of the latest "Great Conflict" were beginning to cool?

	Major Simon Adams was a Massachusetts Yankee through and through, loyal to King and Country as his family had been for generations. His direct ancestor, John Adams, had been an instrumental part of the American Revolution. The great traitor, Benedict Arnold, had rallied ungrateful subjects to his cause of overthrowing royal authority in the New World. 

	The Royal Colonial forces rallied and had fought the rebels to much of a stalemate. At Saratoga, Arnold's army was of the verge of defeat when a surprise attack from Arnold's secret allies, the French and Iroquois, out-flanked the Royals. General George Washington had managed an orderly retreat to prevent a full-scale massacre, but the general's obstinate refusal to leave until the last of his men were on their way to safety had cost him his life.

	Compounding the problems of the colonies were the logistical and communication problems of a faraway government across the Atlantic. The financial and governing infrastructure was collapsing and the now leaderless Royal Colonial Army was running short of supplies.

	With no official authority, John Adams had convened a congress of representatives of the sixteen British colonies (from Ontario to Florida) in an attempt to establish a temporary central government to support both the army and the rule of King George the Third. Many had quailed at first, thinking Adams was trying to usurp the authority of the king. But with the aid of the publishing magnate Ben Franklin and a previously unknown pamphleteer named Thomas Paine, Adams had gained the necessary support from the colonies.

	Success on the home front was matched months later when the army, under the command of Mad Anthony Wayne, reversed the fortunes of Arnold and his confederates. Aiding his efforts was another Adams, John's cousin Samuel, who had journeyed west to meet with the Shawnee. The Shawnee had plenty of old axes to grind with the Iroquois and now had New England-made muskets to accompany those axes. 

	In two years, the rebel forces were defeated. Arnold had attempted a daring, last ditch counter-attack; slipping his forces through in small numbers before gathering them en masse to cross the Delaware to attack Trenton. But Wayne had been shadowing him and was ready. Under the command of Wayne's artillery commander, a former bookseller named Henry Knox, Arnold's forces had been shelled while in their longboats and the treasonous general himself had perished beneath the ice floes of the river.

	John Adams had humbly presented himself for any justice that King George would pass, having known he was risking this when he had convened the Continental Congress. But His Majesty had seen the wisdom in this and appreciated the risk that Adams had taken. Recognizing the need to have a more formal and permanent governing body in America, the king and his ministers established the Royal States of America, with Adams appointed as the first governor-general. 

	The Shawnee expanded their influence north and south, with the vertical boundary between their territory and the RSA mutually respected. After all, both parties had benefited from cooperation during the Revolution and had seen their long-time nemeses, the French and Iroquois, no longer a power on the continent. Quebec had become the seventeenth state of the RSA and the Shawnee Empire had eventually expanded to the wastelands of the north and to the dusty lands south of the Rio Grande. The Shawnee lands also stretched westward to the war-tested borders of the Russians in the northwest and the Spanish in the southwest. There was also the troublesome Comanche Nation in its own thorny bubble between West Hispaniola (the Spanish territory) and the Shawnee Empire. Every decade or so, the Comanche were at war with either the Spanish or the Shawnee. They were troublesome in that they favored guerilla warfare and their lands made it impossible to root them out when invaded. Although they never said so in public, the leaders of the RSA and the entire British Commonwealth were quite content to have the buffer of their Shawnee allies between them and the other native nation.

	In the three hundred and fifty years since the founding of the Royal States of America, the Adams family had been quite prominent. John's son, Charles followed in his father's footsteps at governor-general a few decades later and three other Adamses had also held the post, the most famous perhaps was a charmingly eccentric member of the clan, Gomez, who for some reason had decided to add an extra "d" to his part the family name. Then again, that entire branch of the family was a bit "different". Simon had many amusing childhood memories of his great-aunt, Wednesday.

	Other people of the Adams line had also done well in business and in public service. The original Samuel had remained in the Shawnee Empire as ambassador. So popular had he been there that years later a Shawnee entrepreneur had started a line of whiskeys using Sam's image and name for marketing that still remained popular today.

	Simon wasn't sure if he would be making any great contributions as an intelligence officer in the army, but he did his best and was quite content at that. Over the past few years, his primary concerns had been sneaking about and deciphering and analyzing information of all kinds. Much of this had been in the Gallic Theater where the armies of France, Spain and the Scando-Germanic Regime (SGR) fought against the British (including the RSA), Shawnee, and Egyptian Empires. 

	It had been a vicious struggle between evenly matched forces until Spain erupted in civil war when the Portuguese decided they wanted Portugal to be a free and separate country again after decades of occupation by their Spanish neighbors. Whether by plan or by taking advantage of the timing, the Basques also arose in revolt, seeking to carve their homeland from their rejected parent, Spain.

	To the East, it had been utter mayhem as India, Tibet, Manchuria, China, Mongolia, Japan, and damn near everyone else went after each other, pretty much ending in a bloody stalemate until Tsar Boris IV thought the battered nations were ripe for the picking. Russia was a nominal ally of the British but had done little in the war until then. They gained a little land in their Eastern foray before the smaller nations ground them to a halt. 

	With the SGR in slow retreat from its crumbling Spanish ally, Boris turned his greedy eyes west and finally decided to create a new front in the European war. His forces quickly swept through Hungary and Austria (carefully avoiding Poland and its satellites of the Czech Republic and Slovakia, which were neutral and had long taught other nations the folly of trying to invade them). 

	Then the SGR counter-punched, driving the Russians back before Britain and her allies swept north and drove the SGR back to the southern borders of the German states where a truce was in place while a potential treaty was being negotiated. Holding only a northeastern section of Hungary, Boris was howling for more territory to be given to him in the treaty, but there was little chance of that. With both Allied and Russian forces in the Hungarian capital of Budapest, Simon figured the city itself might remain permanently divided along its river by war's end. It had happened to other cities after other world wars and when the ink was dried on the diplomats' paperwork, this latest conflagration could be officially titled World War VII.  

	The SGR would be unhappy, Spain would be unhappy, Russia would be unhappy, and who knew about Asia? It looked like Siam would be the big dog there. Western Hispaniola was now a much smaller part of the American continent after the Comanche to the south and the Shawnee to the north had kicked some rear ends there. And in another few decades, there would be another war to redress old grievances and create new ones and the map makers would break out their erasers once more. 

	Now, the old hands in the intelligence branch were talking about the "Pottsdam Days" approaching now. This was a term from a few world wars ago when old allies would be looking for an edge in the vanquished territories while casting a wary eye at some of their "friends". It would keep Simon busy and he wouldn't mind spending a few more years here, making connections and pursuing opportunities in the newly drawn-up world - whatever it was.

	"Hello, you," Simon said as the girl approached him. "I thought we'd try someplace different tonight."

	The girl halted, carefully more than an arm's length from Simon. This was something new and she was ready to bolt if needed.

	"Where?" she asked with an edge to her voice.

	"Why, your place, of course," he replied, flashing a key card in his hand.

	The girl's hand darted out before she stopped and jerked it back; her caution overriding her eagerness. 

	"You will keep me?" she asked carefully. "Safe?"

	"Yes, once the door is unlocked we can program the scanner to simply accept your handprint on the lock."

	"And how many other men will get to use me?"

	"Just me."

	"We'll go now," she said, plucking the card from his fingers and taking his arm.

	Simon led her to a building that had taken some damage as various armies swept in and were swept from the city. However, most of the inside had been diligently restored by Army engineers and contractors. It was structurally sound and the apartments were quite secure. The purpose was to house locals who were needed to help with the occupation and restoration of the country. Simon was not the only one, however, who had managed to get an apartment for his own purposes. Not that it mattered as this sort of thing had been going on long before Julius Caesar had shacked up in the palace with Cleopatra.

	The place was small with only a kitchen with a small video console, a bathroom, and a single bedroom. But it was perfectly adequate for the girl and Simon would be living in quarters on base when he wasn't here. After Simon and the girl had registered her handprint in the lock's scanner, she turned to look inside the kitchen.

	"Supers!" she gasped in English, her eyes as large as saucers.

	Simon looked at the stacked tan and gray packages with utilitarian markings. Self-Preparing Rations or SPR's, were the latest in field grade nutrition for the military. Conveniently introduced shortly before the war, there were twenty-three varieties of meals. The packages were small, but when activated, they would cook or chill the various individual contents in usually less than a minute, expanding as the hydrating agents in the food and beverages were activated and the cooking (or cooling) progressed. 

	Simon had to admit that most of them were actually pretty good - not gourmet, but something you'd get at a decent diner. This of course created a dilemma for soldiers who had a centuries-old tradition of grousing about the food to uphold. Fortunately, the two breakfast meals containing eggs had come though, producing something that vaguely appeared to be made of eggs but had the taste and consistency of toxic rubber. Stories of a tank crew using said eggs to patch a broken track in the field had floated all over, and most were inclined to believe it just might be true.

	With most of the food being good and easy to prepare, the rations had acquired the acronym nickname of "super" among the hungry civilian populations the army encountered. 

	"Are these all mine?" the girl asked, gazing at her new treasure.

	"Yes, and getting more is no problem," Simon assured her.

	"We get warm together now?" she asked, hiking her skirt and reaching for her panties.

	"Yes, but we have a bed now. We can take our time and don't have to just rearrange our clothes to get the job done."

	Simon went to the bed and began removing his uniform. In the past, he had only unzipped his fly and the girl had only raised her skirt and lowered her panties to consummate their transaction. To remove anything more was risky as they were never anywhere very safe. Now that they were in a secure place with a warm bed, the rules had softened.

	Simon detected a slight blush on the girl's face as she stripped her dress off. She was obviously experienced, but had likely rarely been completely naked with a man. Once her panties and shoes were off, she slowly walked to the bed. Her thin frame had none of the voluptuous curves of the women Simon had enjoyed during rare breaks in the campaign. 

	Her chest and belly were flat with only the small punctuations of her navel and pale nipples as features. Although thin, her arms and legs showed definite traces of musculature from plenty of healthy physical activity - perhaps something from before her entry into prostitution. Her buttocks were small and pressed tightly together. In front, her childish vulva retained a bit of puffiness and was as smooth as the rest of her body. 

	She climbed onto the bed and lay on her back, parting her legs as she stared at the ceiling. So she had been in bed with man before, but judging by her facial expression Simon guessed that it had not been an enjoyable experience. In there past encounters, he had fingered her small hairless mound a few times before entering her, but he always had to be quick about it because of their environment. 

	Now he took his time, testing the pliant flesh and amazed that such a little slit and the tunnel beyond it could stretch to accommodate a man. He squeezed her soft labia and diddled the tiny button of her clitoris, eventually drawing a pleased murmur from the girl. The tenseness left her body and she smiled slightly at him. It was a sweet smile - the first time he had ever seen it. And it looked more like the smile of a little girl who had just received a new doll instead of a preteen hooker who was getting her twat molested. 

	Her breathing quickened and Simon nudged a finger inside her, finding her moist. Instead of mounting her then, he added his digital penetration to the fondling, prodding and kneading the girl to an eventual climax.

	"Was that your first orgasm," he asked, pleased that he had brought her off successfully. 

	"My second," she answered, her face clouding with a memory. "But this one was good - not the first one," she added quickly.

	More mysteries to solve, Simon thought as he positioned himself over her. He lifted her legs bringing them to her chest. Her pussy was perfectly exposed to him, the bald lips bulging slightly and the small cleft oozing from her pleasure. 

	Simon entered her carefully, listening to the pattern of her breathing as her cunny expanded around his cock. Experienced she might be, but she was still only nine and he was always careful about when taking her. Her thin chest rose and fell as she was penetrated fully, taking most of Simon's average length before he touched her cervix. 

	Using the luxury of a bed, Simon rocked back and forth, moving the girl with him as her vaginal walls clasped his member. Gradually, he moved his prick in and out in increasing strokes while they rocked until only the head of his prick remained inside her before he pushed back in. The girl was completely relaxed and likely taking more pleasure now that it wasn't a hurried affair in the shadows. The taut, wet lining of her warm quim caressed Simon's cock as it burrowed into her over and over before he finished in a series of surges that left her cunny overflowing. 

	Simon rolled off her and lay next to her, perfectly content. The inherent curiosity that had guided him to his posting in Intelligence now tapped in his mind once more. 

	"Not that I want our relationship to end now that it's getting good," he said. "But is there any family of yours I might be able to track down to let them at least know you're alive and well?"

	The girl sat up abruptly, her back stiff as if she were at attention.

	"I am a Daughter of Freya," she announced with a hint of practiced arrogance. "The Regime is my..." her prideful countenance faltered. "...is my...family."

	She began to weep and Simon pulled on her shoulder, drawing her back next to him. As she struggled to regain her control, Simon considered what she had said. Daughter of Freya - that was most intriguing. In the GSR, Regime officials selected children of "pure genetics" (the old blonde-haired, blue-eyed thing) six months after birth, removing them from their families (those families without political connections)  to be raised as the next generation of elites. At age seven, they were separated into two paramilitary youth groups - the Daughters of Freya for the girls and the Sons of Thor for the boys. Suitably Wagnerian, Simon mused, but he was thankful he had grown up within the loving bonds of his family.

	But how in Hell did a little girl from such a prized organization wind up selling her meager body on the streets? Like much of the information he received in his line of work, one small piece of information produced even more questions begging to be answered. 

	Simon let the girl calm herself while he stroked her back, pausing now and then to enjoy the texture of her rump. When he felt she was ready, he spoke again.

	"Let me ask another question - something much more simple. Now that we have a place together, what is your name?"

	"Mari!"

	The girl tugged at her black body suit, the shiny exterior gleaming as she got the skintight garment into place before reaching for her black uniform jacket. She was proud of her Daughters of Freya uniform, but was thankful the jacket reached the upper thighs. The body suit really clung and showed the contours of her butt and more private area in perfection. She knew the body suit was supposed to be snug yet yielding so as to allow full body movement, but she thought it odd that her "parts" were on display.

	She shrugged. It was the same with all of the girls' uniforms, of course. Drawing her jacket on, she paused to admire the shiny metallic badges she had earned so far. Not bad for someone just short of nine years old. She was sure if she kept up at this pace, she'd make squad leader at age twelve.

	"Mari! Come on! We're gonna be late!"

	"Coming!" Mari called to the older girl. 

	Giving herself one last check in the mirror, she dashed out of the room and joined the other girl, Gerda, in the hall as they hurried to the assembly area. Gerda was eleven and Mari was sure she'd be a full squad leader in another year. Gerda's uniform was decorated in neat rows of badges. And in the last few months, two other budding decorations beneath the uniform had begun to push the girl's jacket outward ever so slightly at the chest. 

	As they joined the other girls in formation outside, Mari could hear the distant crump of explosions from the East. Smudges of smoke trailed into the sky from what be an approaching battle. 

	"What's going on?" Mari asked Gerda, who seemed to have an ear for good rumors. 

	There had been talk and now the more obvious evidence of the war coming to their doorstep. Of course, this was only a temporary setback for the Regime - one that would be corrected in short order, Mari knew. 

	"We're gonna get to kill Grendels, for real this time," Gerda whispered.

	Russian soldiers were reported to be big and brutish and foul-smelling and so had acquired the nickname from a mythical monster among the ranks of the Regime's youth groups.

	"The cannons? Us?" a small voice behind them squealed. 

	It was a girl who had only been with their troop for a month, having "graduated" from one of the nurseries. She was incredibly enthusiastic about everything, often hopping in excitement. It earned her the nickname Bunny within the troop. 

	"You monitor the tracking scanners, my little rabbit," Gerda replied. "Leave the big guns to the big girls."

	"Awww, I want-"

	"Attention!" the troop matron barked. 

	The girls fell silent as the base commander and other senior officers approached. With them were their attendants - Daughters of Freya who had been selected as personal assistants to the men. Marti had wondered what that would be like - they got to eat in the command dining room and be privy to all kinds of exciting things. They even slept with the officers who had chosen them in sumptuous quarters with silken sheets. 

	Mari had been on mid-watch one chilly night and had to deliver an urgent communiqu on a secure chip to one of the officers. He was a very nice man, she thought, because he had been on top of his attendant while under the covers, obviously trying to help keep her warm. It looked like he was doing small push-ups above the girl and Mari wasn't sure how that helped keep her warm, but they were both sweating so it must have worked. She might have inquired further but didn't have the nerve to ask the brigadier about it, especially since he seemed a little annoyed at having his exercises interrupted.

	There was another brigadier, this one in charge of Regional Intelligence. General Gutheim hadn't chosen an attendant yet, but he was always friendly with the girls and often stopped to watch them while they did calisthenics which they did only wearing their body suits. If he minded seeing how their crotches were displayed in such daring detail, he was too polite to say anything about it. Mari thought it was awfully nice of him to be like that. 

	The base commander gave a rousing speech about how their troop had been chosen to defend the area against the invaders. In the distance, Mari could hear the whine of airlift transports warming up. The officers had to go to regional headquarters for urgent meetings while the regular soldiers were being stationed elsewhere. 

	Since the troop had practiced regularly with the pulse cannons, they would have the honor of slaughtering the enemy. Every girl puffed up with pride and anticipation. After the commander finished his speech, he and his officers and their attendants left for the transports. 

	Mari was now glad she wasn't an attendant. They had to leave and would miss all of the fun.

	After checking the harness straps securing her in place, Mari looked to her right and gave Gerda, who was manning the next gun, a thumbs-up. Then she powered up the gun, watching the targeting screen illuminate. As the anti-gravity generators kicked in, the gun rose from its pedestal by half a meter - just enough to allow for full swivel and elevation ranges. 

	The gunnery seats were molded to conform to the shape of whoever was using them. Part of it pressed between Mari's legs and when the anti-gravs were on, she could feel the vibrations there. While she had always enjoyed her gunnery training, Mari had a special secret about how those vibrations made her feel. After every practice, she found her form-fitting panties, made of a seamless ultra-thin material, were wet in an odd kind of way. As this went on, she wondered if perhaps some of the other girls had the same experience as many of them were always reluctant to leave their seats after practice was done.

	"The Grendels are coming!" Bunny squeaked over the comm unit. 

	Despite the fine ergonomics of the gun control cockpit, the younger girls were still too small to properly man the guns. Instead, they were at the tracking stations which used simple touch screen interfaces to send target locations to the individual gunners. An older girl was always stationed there to keep the little ones focused. 

	"Just give us the numbers," Gerda said evenly, always the cool one.

	As grid coordinates marched across the top of her targeting display, Mari aimed her gun, watching as the video feed zoomed on the bulky shapes of armored vehicles and men. In spite of her confidence, Mari shuddered briefly as she gauged the size of the soldiers against the size of the vehicles. Either the vehicles were rather small - which she knew from class they were not - or the soldiers were quite large. But they were all Grendels and that was all that mattered.

	She squeezed the trigger, sending a pulse of energy that vaporized man and machine alike. Pausing to watch as chunks of flaming metal and meat bounced on the charred ground as they landed, Mari was mesmerized - partly in shock from actually killing someone and partly from the sheer power she had unleashed. 

	"Wake up Bravo-Seven. The battle's not over yet," the squad leader at the tracking station admonished over Mari's comm set. 

	Mari quickly broke her reverie and set her gun to the next coordinates. The thrill of the battle gave way to the routine of following coordinates and then fine tuning the aim at specific targets and then to fire. 

	Despite the horrific carnage unleashed into their ranks, the Russians kept coming. As they moved, they began weaving and darting, taking quick cover in the craters created by the cannon hits or behind smoking wrecks. The heat from the blazing vehicles played havoc with the infrared targeting and Mari found that each shot was hitting fewer targets than the last.

	"Filthy Grendels," she spat, using the harshest oath she knew.

	It wasn't until an hour later that the changing coordinates were coming dangerously close to the base's perimeter. Mari shot with more desperation, her sweaty hands sometimes slipping on the firing grips. She heard an odd whistling from above and started to look up when something suddenly burst in a wave of lightning and shockwaves.

	The gun tilted oddly and Mari saw nothing at all.

	She was at the beach because she could hear the calls of sea gulls all around her. But they sounded odd, as if she was hearing them from underwater. Yet she was still breathing.

	Mari opened her eyes and quickly shut them again. It was very bright at the beach. And she was strapped into her gunner's seat. Why were the guns at the beach? The ocean was an awfully long way from the base and those guns were big. 

	The gun was on its side - that wasn't right either. Rough hands suddenly were working at her harness, freeing the straps and pulling her from the gun. She opened her eyes - more carefully this time.

	Grendels. Grendels were here and all around her. That wasn't good. Their soot-smeared and bloodied faces made them look even more monstrous. Yes, Grendels were definitely ugly. And they were on the base. And the seagulls were still here because she could hear them. Perhaps this was a dream - an odd dream of sideways guns and noisy seagulls and ugly Grendels. Everything seemed to have that floating, not quite distinct feel of some of her dreams, so she must be dreaming.

	Mari's uniform jacket was being pulled from her. She tried to stop them but moving was difficult with Grendels all around her and holding her. Even struggling was difficult because her limbs felt kind of floppy. 

	Why were they taking her jacket? It was just like a Grendel to steal anything that wasn't nailed down. And it was much too small to fit any of them.

	Stupid Grendels. 

	Now her body suit was being ripped away. They were going to see her in just her panties. It was just the sort of thing that would flash through their dirty little Grendel brains. She could feel the air on her bare skin as the suit was shredded. A hand grabbed the side of Mari's panties and tore them, jerking them down so that they hung by the one intact leg hole by the knee. Mari said something to them but couldn't quite hear what she was saying. All they did in response was to touch her private parts.

	Dirty, perverted Grendels.

	Pyotr watched as his men spread the girl's legs as they held her at crotch level. She was definitely concussed from the shocker round that had knocked her cannon from its anti-grav mount. But Pyotr wasn't particularly interested in making conversation. 

	She was much like the others - milky skin, blonde, blue-eyed. And so young - which meant she was going to be so tight. They all were, the little purebred bitches. They thought they were part of some master race but they were all getting a good lesson on who the real masters were.

	Her plump, hairless snatch looked good enough to eat, but Pyotr was in no mood for niceties. Since he was the sergeant, he had first dibs. One of the men tilted the girl's head up so she could watch with her glazed eyes as he pushed his dick against her innocent little cuntlet. The child's flawless skin practically kissed his head as her mound spread apart for her grand despoiling.

	He rammed inside, feeling the momentary elastic stubbornness of the girl's hymen before it ruptured. She screamed as he buried his meat into her virgin cunt, teaching her what it was like to be truly vanquished. As he brutally filled her vise-like tunnel, her blood ran hot, pouring out and staining her pure white, grossly stretched cunt lips. With each savage thrust, her body undulated, making her slick, deflowered pussy push against her other innards as it was forced to accept the conquering prick. 

	Pyotr came as violently in the child as he had raped her, with furious jets of semen violating her young womb. While pulling his virgin-stained cock from her wounded fuck hole, Pyotr doubted this little one could get pregnant yet. But if it was possible, she'd certainly get her chance by the time he and his men were dome with her.

	The ripping in her private place was horrendous as the Grendel slammed his nasty Grendel thing into her. Mari felt something flowing inside of her and had the sick feeling she was bleeding. Another seagull was closer as she could hear it calling. It was so close. And then as her muddled mind cleared just a little more, she realized it was her own screams. All around her, the seagull sounds became the cries of her friends and comrades. 

	Something else, much more powerful, flowed deep inside of her. It felt hot and somehow vile. The Grendel pulled his nasty thing from her, saying something in his Grendel gibberish as he waved it at her. It was bloody and had gobs of white stuff on it. Then another Grendel took his place and Mari's horror began again.

	She looked away, spotting Gerda on her hands and knees. The eleven year-old was naked as well with a man behind her grabbing her hips. He was so large that he lifted her knees from the ground as he rammed her from behind. Gerda screamed but judging from the red streaks and other vile stains on her thighs, it was far from her first time. Her small breasts jiggled back and forth as the Grendel rutted her and Mari could see how bruised the tender mounds were. 

	Gerda's cries suddenly became muddled as another Grendel put his nasty thing in her mouth. He kept pushing and pushing and Mari could see her friend gagging and her neck bulging as it was filled. Through the searing agony deep in her own genitals, Mari thought how awful Grendels must taste. 

	A Grendel stepped into Mari's line of vision and waved his nasty thing in her face. A hand closed on her neck and he spoke to her. Mari didn't understand Grendel-talk but the meaning was clear as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to learn how Grendels tasted.

	It went on and on, Grendels in her privates and in her mouth; pouring their vile Grendel liquid into her. When she could, Mari desperately looked around to see which of her friends had survived. The fifteen year-old squad leader at the tracking console appeared to be staring at her, but her neck was at an odd angle. Her clothing was still intact so she must have died during the attack which Mari now wondered may have been a better option.

	Nearby, she saw Bunny bouncing. It didn't make sense at first as Mari's still injured head took longer to process what she was seeing. The seven year-old was naked and in a different position than Mari. A Grendel was on his back, bouncing the little girl on his ravaging prick. Bunny's eyes were huge and her mouth hung open and her bald, chubby little cunt was stretched grossly around the bloodied prick driving into her. Another Grendel knelt beside her and turned her head toward him and away from Mari. This was merciful as Mari could not see as the Grendel forced Bunny's mouth onto his cock.

	It was now late afternoon and Mari's torment continued unabated. Her jaws were sore and her mouth encrusted with dried jism. A Russian soldier came walking by with Bunny's limp form slung over his shoulder. As he passed, Mari could see how the younger girl was bleeding not only from her pussy but from her ass as well. 

	Not too long after, Mari was turned over, the rubble biting into her knees and chest as her buttocks were pulled apart. The eight year-old shrieked as her anus tore but her sodomy continued deeper into her guts, burning and ripping and new blood flowed.

	Everything throbbed - those places below the waist, her throat, and her head. Mari was in a prison cell on the base. As it was in the basement, she had no idea how long she had been there. By a stroke of luck, her torn panties had somehow remained on her leg, having slipped to her ankle but never falling off. She pulled it up and tied the torn pieces of the side together to restore at least some of her modesty. 

	After another horrid meal of unknown origin and quality, Mari was taken by a guard from her cell. She looked at the other cells, seeing other girls. All were nude and some were obviously freshly used. 

	In one cell, Gerda sat with her back to the wall. She looked at Mari with a mixture of fear and pity in her eyes. In another cell, Bunny lay on her stomach where she had been dropped, unconscious. Her bubbly buttocks bore purple marks where hard fingers had dug. And the sticky gunk in between them told Mari how the younger girl had been most recently taken.

	Mari was led up to where the senior officer's quarters had been, right to the room where she had found the general on top of his attendant that one night. Realization now dawned as to what kind of other duties the attendants had to perform. An officer was in there now, waiting for her. Judging by the grey in his hair and the elaborate shoulder boards on his uniform, he must have been high-ranking. 

	After the guard left, the officer walked up to Mari and eyed her closely up and down. Without a word, he ripped the damaged underwear from her and nodded in satisfaction as he surveyed her bald little pussy. 

	"I am Colonel Strassky. I have chosen you to be my personal whore. You will obey me to the letter. If you don't, I'll make you a morale booster to the enlisted men. I'm sure you know how that will go for you. Now get on the bed and spread your legs you little cunt."

	Mari did as she was told. At least this Colonel Strassky had bathed. He was still a Grendel and not quite as disgusting. She also noted that he was shorter and slighter of build than the brutes who had raped her. That might mean his nasty thing wouldn't be as big and hurt as much. 

	But after Strassky had undressed, he pridefully displayed an erection that was easily as big as the others she had been forced to take. Noting the girl's expression as she gazed at his cock, Strassky grinned.

	"We'll start with something rather basic before we progress to more specialized acts," he said as he got onto the bed and pulled her to him. "I'm sure that you will be amazed at the sort of things we will do together - things I'm sure your blessed Regime never taught you in all of your indoctrination sessions. And to get one formality out of the way, I grant you permission to scream as often as you feel it necessary."

	And she did.

	When the Russian army moved west to Austria, the girls were taken along. Dressed in ragged clothes, they were chained with collars in a truck whose suspension had seen better times. The days on the road were spent with their bones getting rattled by the ill-maintained vehicle and damaged roads. And the nights were spent with far more injury to their flesh.

	Once in Vienna, it was more of the same as it had been at their old base. The girls were locked in the basement of a hotel and taken to their officers at random times to be raped in the plush luxury suites on the upper floors. Strassky enjoyed contorting Mari into uncomfortable positions with the aid of bondage gear. Just as Mari thought she was reaching her breaking point and would pass out, the rape itself would begin.

	One night, after he was done with her, he had finished undoing her bonds and was ringing for the guard to take her back to the basement when gun and cannon fire erupted somewhere close by in the city. Strassky cursed and went to the window.

	Less than a minute later, the window pane shattered and Strassky jerked his head away as shards flew. It wasn't quite right and it took Mari a split second to realize that only half of Strassky's head had jerked away. That was the half that sprayed against the wall and landed in clumps on the expensive carpet. The other half remained more or less attached to his neck as his body collapsed to the floor. 

	Mari hurriedly grabbed the rags she had been issued and bolted from the room. It was pandemonium inside the hotel and officers raced about, pulling on their uniforms and shouting orders to guards who were more interested in taking cover. The frightened children didn't know what to do. Mari put her rags on and found Gerda herding Bunny to the stairs. 

	"Where do we go?" Mari shouted over the din as the hotel shook from a cannon hit. 

	"Out of here. This place is a target!" Gerda yelled back.

	They made their way down the stairs, getting pushed and clouted out of the way by soldiers running up and down. The stairway got progressively more crowded near the bottom as the elevators were being overloaded but they finally reached the ground floor. Other girls joined them as they went to the kitchen and found a rear exit. They didn't get far before a stream of tracer-fire from a hovercraft raked the lot; the energized pellets chewing holes into the concrete. 

	"That's a Mark V Raven," Gerda said, pointing to the hovercraft. "One of ours."

	"Why are they shooting at us?" another girl asked. 

	"It's war - they're shooting at anything that moves right now. We'd better go to the basement," Gerda said.

	Several girls moaned at the prospect of returning to their dungeon but followed Gerda back inside. 

	The fighting lasted for two days, but the girls had been quickly forgotten as more pressing matters occupied the commanders' time. Mari had ventured up to the kitchen and found it deserted. Calling for help, she and others emptied all kinds of food from the refrigerator and pantries before returning to the basement. It was like an odd celebration as the girls feasted on all kinds of exotic food while the sounds of heavy battle rumbled above them.

	On the third day, they crept from the hotel again, delighted to find flags of the Regime aloft in the city. Unsure of what to do next, they split up, looking for someone to report to. Gerda, Mari, and Bunny stayed together.

	"Look!" Mari called hours later. "That's General Gutheim from our base!"

	The girls ran up to him as he stood at an intersection littered with two wrecked tanks, startling his aides. The general looked at the filthy, rag-attired urchins in confusion until they told him who they were.

	"We were captured, sir," Gerda reported. "But escaped during the fighting here."

	"Captured, eh?" Gutheim mused as he looked at the girls before drawing his face into a snarl. "So then you were Russian fuck rags for the last few weeks. Well go chase after your tsarist pimps because no one in the Regime will want anything to do with you."

	"But we were forced..." Gerda started before one of the aides drove a boot into Bunny's stomach, making her tumble to the street. 

	It took a moment for Bunny to regain her breath. Then she burst into tears as Mari and Gerda led her away, each of the other two weeping along with her. 

	They learned to live on the streets. Begging produced nothing as anyone not in uniform or well connected was barely subsisting and had nothing extra to give. Stealing worked better. 

	On the third night, two SGR soldiers on patrol offered the girls some food in exchange for their services. In a dark alley, Mari and Gerda were on their knees, discovering that Regime cocks and the stuff they spewed were no different than that of the hated Grendels. After that, all three girls knew how best to survive, on their knees with sucking mouths or leaning against a wall to allow entry in their lower orifices until the men they needed left their seed in their young bodies. 

	Mari awoke one morning to find Gerda gone. Careful not to wake Bunny, she soon found the older girl in conversation with three SGR soldiers. One of them gave her a pale green pill which she swallowed. The men also downed a pill each. Then the soldiers took Gerda into an alley. Fearing for her friend who was alone with three men, Mari snuck into the alley. 

	It soon became evident from Gerda's moans that she was enjoying herself as one man viciously rutted from behind. The other two were no more gentle - in fact they seemed as merciless as the Grendels who had raped them after the battle. But Gerda was clearly enjoying it, even pushing back with her body for more. And the men kept giving her more and more, never seeming to tire after they had cum in the preteen multiple times.

	After taking hard fucks in the ass and cunt, Gerda was judged ready to take two at once. Mari stared as the eleven year-old's lithe body was speared in both places, sandwiched between the muscular soldiers who were cramming their sex-slick meat into her tight, dripping holes. Suddenly, Gerda stiffened and then shuddered, issuing a warbling cry before she went limp. The men came shortly after and then dumped her to the ground. 

	The third man pulled Gerda up to her knees, slapping her face with his cock. She greedily sucked it, swallowing all of his cum before the satisfied soldiers strolled away.

	"Gerda! Are you alright?" Mari asked as she rushed to her friend. 

	"Better than alright," Gerda said dreamily. "I'm so fantastic I could burst. Mmmmm."

	"What was that pill they gave you?"

	"Something called Stalk. They said it would make everything so much better and they were right."

	Mari helped her friend with her clothes before they returned to Bunny. She wouldn't have minded something that would make her feel better, but the not-quite nine year-old shuddered at the thought of enjoying what was virtually another gang rape.

	During this period of "liberation", the SGR kept watching to the east where their forces were driving the Russians back across much of Hungary. But the rapid disintegration on the Spanish Front brought an unexpected and powerful counterblow. The speed and the ferocity of the attack was fronted by the Royal American's 3rd Armored Cavalry led by the audacious (and possibly insane, by GSR analysis) General Richard Patton Lee.

	It had been only ten days since they took control, but now the SGR was being driven out again, although this time by the British Alliance. During a lull in the fighting, the three girls crept along a street, foraging for rations among the dead soldiers and ruined vehicles. They were about to pick through an overturned armored car when they heard a groan a few meters away. A SGR soldier lay in the street, motioning weakly to them. When they approached, they saw it was General Gutheim. The lower right corner of his tunic was drenched in blood and he was sweating profusely.

	"I know you girls, don't I?" he rasped. "In the car, there's a med pack. Bring it here. It has bio-plast I can use to stop the bleeding. It's a belly wound, I think."

	Mari started toward the car but Gerda grabbed her arm.

	"No," the eleven year-old said; a feral gleam in her eyes. "No one in the Regime would want anything to do with us, isn't that what you said? Oh, and you can have what you gave Bunny."

	Gerda kicked the general in the stomach. Gutheim howled hoarsely and dropped his head to the crumbled pavement, kicking weakly in his agony. The girls left.

	After a week, it was evident by the build-up of forces that the British and their allies would not be retreating. The girls continued turning tricks for food and money - and Gerda for Stalk. Several times, they had been approached by international aid workers who wanted to put them in an orphanage but the girls would not hear of it.  

	Despite the best of intentions from these new people, neither Gerda nor Mari wanted to return to anything that might resemble how they had lived as Daughters of Freya. In their minds, it would only lead to betrayal. Bunny didn't understand, but was perfectly happy to stay with Gerda and Mari as her protectors. 

	But after another month, things were changing. Now there were people ("do-gooder catchers" was Gerda's term) actively seeking street orphans and placing them into administered facilities. They weren't bad places - the food was nutritional and the beds were clean and they received proper schooling. But life in the war-torn gutters had bred a deep distrust among many of these urchins and they strove to stay away.

	One refuge was the brothels and sex clubs. Somewhere, Gerda had been introduced to Hans, who offered beds for the "stage performers" at his club and would provide food at reasonable (meaning only mildly extortionate) prices. The girls would work the stage in exchange for their beds in a relatively safe place, entertaining customers who paid hefty cover charges and bought drinks. Any tips or other wages for "personal services" were kept by the girls. It was a great arrangement for Hans and others like him, who in return always drew large crowds in their clubs.

	What especially attracted Gerda to Hans was that he also was a steady supplier of Stalk - the prime stuff, not the ersatz knock-offs. She decided to stay on but Mari was leery of staying at the place and chose the streets. Bunny was heartbroken but was tired of finding a new place to sleep every night, so she stayed with Gerda. Mari promised she would see them when time and circumstances allowed. 

	One evening, shortly after Mari had turned nine (her birthday "celebrated" by earning two SPR's, a chocolate bar, and a little cash in exchange some blowjobs, a half hour of anal sodomy and a quick pussy fuck from behind), Gerda approached her. 

	"We're a little short tonight and Hans is looking for someone around your age to do a show. No strings attached. In fact, I'll be on stage with you."

	Mari looked at the dull yellow of Gerda's fingernails and sighed.

	"Gerda, I wish you'd stop taking that stuff."

	"Don't say that!" Gerda yelled. 

	"But it's poisoning you."

	"No it's not. It's not!" Gerda said frantically. "It's okay. "Really, it's okay, it's okay. You have to know it is. Can't you see it's okay?"

	Mari was taken aback by the desperate, pleading tone in her friend's voice. Gerda had always been the cool-headed one, the dependable one. Now she was about to fall apart.

	"Alright," Mari replied, holding her hands up to placate Gerda. "It's okay."

	Gerda's demeanor instantly turned sunny.

	"Yes, it's okay. It's even fucking great! So you'll do the show with me?"

	"Sure," Mari muttered, hoping she wouldn't regret it.

	The place was packed, as usual and Mari had some time to kill. She was looking for Bunny when one of the other girls pointed to a large round table in a corner where eight soldiers were seated. One of them suddenly shouted and they all cheered, drumming their hands on the table. 

	From underneath the table, a small figure in blonde pigtails and wearing a set of pink and white rabbit ears in her hair popped up. It was Bunny, of course. She went around to each man, who patted her head and handed her money which she put in a small purse. After she was done, she saw Mari waving and scooted over. She was wearing only a pink g-string that barely covered her chubby vulva and gave those behind her a view of her wonderfully round ass.

	"I sucked them off all by myself," the seven year-old said proudly.

	Mari took a napkin and dabbed a gobbet of semen from the corner of Bunny's mouth. 

	"You seem happy here," she noted.

	"I am!" Bunny said with her usual enthusiasm. "Sometimes I get a little sore, but I have lots of fun and get stuff from the men. They're not mean like Grendels."

	Mari sighed with relief. Bunny was one of those blessed souls who would find happiness wherever they went. And judging by her normal-looking fingernails, she didn't need any narcotic aid to do it. Mari just hoped it would last.

	"I like your bunny ears," she said.

	"Thanks! And I have a bunny tail, too! See?"

	Bunny jumped and spun in a half circle. At the top of the back of her g-string was a large, white fluffy ball. She shook her little bottom, making her tail and buttocks jiggle and drew applause from nearby customers. 

	"I gotta put my money away," Bunny said. "Come up with me."

	Mari followed Bunny to a room on the upper floor where rows of beds were placed. Ropes were strung across so makeshift curtains made from old blankets could be drawn across for some minimal privacy. At the head of each bed was a locker with a cheap lock activated by a single fingerprint. 

	Bunny hopped onto her bed and bounded her way to her locker. Opening it, she sorted the cash from some other objects in her purse and put it in a metal box. Then she took out a painted wooden box that was originally made to house a single bottle of Sam Adams Premium Stock.

	"I also earn badges like we did in Daughters of Freya," she said with a huge smile. "Look what I've got!"

	She tipped the box to dump the contents on her bed. Then she emptied the remaining items from her purse onto the pile. Mari examined various pieces.

	They were all military in origin, from the various British, RSA, Shawnee, and Egyptian branches now inhabiting Vienna. There were enlisted and officers' rank insignia, unit emblems, specialty badges, and curiously enough, a Good Conduct Medal.

	Mari agreed that it was quite an accomplishment, making Bunny beam. Then Gerda came up and told Mari it was time. 

	Both girls disrobed and came out on stage, Gerda pausing to take a Stalk. Mari looked for the men who would join them but didn't see anyone else. She could practically feel the eyes of the men in the crown on her and she felt very exposed. Over the speakers, Hans' voice boomed. 

	"Most of you know Gerda. Joining her is her friend Mari and Mari has a problem. She's never cum. Now let's watch Gerda work her magic."

	Gerda turned to Mari and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn't long before her tongue snaked between Mari's lips and ravenously explored her mouth. Whistles and catcalls surrounded the two youngsters, but the barely registered as noise to Mari. She had heard of women having sex together but hadn't given in any thought. But here was Gerda, kissing her licked this while rubbing her chest and her belly and...she was moving lower.

	Gerda's fingers played over Mari's bald pussy, evoking in Mari memories of the cannon's vibrations through the seat and how her panties would get wet. Memories became reaction just as Gerda bent to take one of Mari's stiffened nipples in her mouth. Gerda's searching finger found the nectar oozing in Mari's quim, drawing it out and smearing it over the nine year-old's smooth mound. 

	Mari did not resist as Gerda drew her to the floor. Gerda's mouth left her chest and trailed over her flat stomach, always moving until she was on her back. Gerda pushed Mari's feet, bending her legs at the knees and spreading them so that the younger girl's juice-drenched quim was facing the audience. 

	The men watched as Gerda's fingers skillfully manipulated Mari's cute little twat, making the rounded, bald surfaces gleam wetly as they were painted with more of Mari's nectar. Gerda moved her mouth back onto Marti's kissing and licking wantonly, the saliva-rich smacks accompanied by the gooey squelching of her fingers in the nine year-old's pussy. 

	Mari felt so warm and tight down there. The tightness was getting unbearable and she moaned loudly around Gerda's sweeping tongue until the tightness released in a hot fury, making Mari shiver. 

	The crowd cheered and Mari regained her senses, suddenly aware of how she had been positioned for the audience to see. Money was thrown onto the stage but Mari wanted none of it - not from this act. The physical part had been incredible, but now she felt used - betrayed - by her friend. Gerda looked at her in triumph and then reached for a proffered long-necked beer bottle an audience member had placed on stage. Gerda chugged the bottle, arching her back and letting her still modest but growing breasts stand out as she finished the contents with a loud sigh. 

	On her knees, Gerda pushed the bottle neck into her moist cunt. Her smooth, rubbery cunt lips were already damp and they easily spread as the preteen fucked herself with the bottle. 

	"Ask for a beer, Mari," she moaned. "Someone will give you one. And we can give each other our bottles right in the pussies. They'll fucking love us and I'll love you like you can't believe."

	Gerda rocked her hips ferociously, licking her lips as the Stalk aided her rapid progression to orgasm. Then she wanted more but Mari was no longer on stage. Gerda shrugged and threw herself onto one of the front table, offering herself to all comers. 

	Mari was ready to leave, but Bunny begged her to stay, pleading how much she missed her. Several men approached Mari with cash but she waved them off. 

	"I do one act a night but Gerda does a bunch of things on stage every night and doesn't stop much in between," Bunny explained as they ate in the kitchen. "She really likes those pills and takes more and more. But sometimes they make her kind of crazy but she gets mad if you say something about it."

	When it was getting close to her time on stage, Bunny asked Mari to stay and watch. It was bizarre, but the little girl was happy and proud to be a star, whatever the sordid circumstances. Mari thought about men who provided for their sex mates and had wondered if she would find one who would do that without trying to owner. She wished the same for Bunny. 

	Mari went back to the main room, staying close to the wall. On stage, Gerda was back, this time copulating with a large dog. Mari closed her eyes but could hear Gerda shouting for "more" and "harder" as her little preteen cunt was stretched by a thick canine cock. She came twice while the hound mated with her. Guessing it was done, Mari opened her eyes only to see Gerda still on stage, displaying her reddened twat dripping with dog sperm.

	Bunny's act was with two paying members of the audience. Tonight's guest stars were a pair of Egyptian hovercraft pilots. There was little build-up before Bunny's pale, wriggling form was hanging horizontally while strong dark hands held her. One man was sawing his cock in and out of her mouth, reaching into her throat while Bunny clamped her lips around his shaft. He paused occasionally to give her a chance for a breath. The other one was sodomizing her cute little ass, getting quite a lot into the child and feeling the churning tightness of her rectum all over his prick. 

	Mari could hardly believe that Bunny could take that much into her without distress and unwittingly shared the same amazement as many of the men who watched her nightly. 
After more than fifteen minutes (the men were well practiced), the man in her mouth pulled out and sprayed his goo all over Bunny's face and hair. The other one unleashed his semen into Bunny's rear, producing a torrent of the stuff from her gaping orifice when he pulled out. 

	The crowd was roaring as the ass man held the little girl's cum spattered body up before them, turning her so they could also see the mess draining from her bottom. Bunny smiled weakly and waved to the crowd. She was a hard little worker but the two-on-one always wore her out. Hans would let her sleep and let her butt return to normal and the many in the audience thought it perversely adorable to bid goodnight to a sweet little girl after a terrific double-fuck. 

	As she was helped off the stage, the two co-stars pulled their wallets from their discarded pants and gave her some extra money along with items from their shirts. Mari accompanied Bunny back to her bed, watching as the smaller girl put the money in her box. Then she added her new trinkets to the wooden box - a pair of ornate, Egyptian pilot's wings. 

	Mari insisted on wiping the slime from Bunny's face and butt before the little girl dropped into a deep slumber. She sat there a while, watching Bunny sleep with a look of pure innocence on her face. Sighing, Mari finally got up to leave. She was well past any innocence herself. 

	It was the next night that she met an American major, who noticed that she looked a little chilly and suggested they could find a way to make each other warm. It became a regular greeting between the two of them.

	"And that's my name and my story," Mari concluded, resting her head against Simon's shoulder.

	Simon lay in silence. There was so much there that he would spend days thinking about it. Interesting enough, he thought he might have missed meeting all three girls by less than an hour after he accompanied a recon team and discovered General Gutheim lying in the street, badly bled out. They tried to save him, with Simon recognizing the intelligence gold mine inside his head, but he was too far gone. The only thing Gutheim kept repeating over and over was how "the girls wouldn't help me". 

	Uncomfortable with the silence, Mari looked for a diversion.

	"I left you a mess," she said and took Simon's limp prick in her hand.

	She cleaned him with long, languid strokes and soon he was no longer limp at all. Taking his head in her mouth, Mari commenced to suck him, slowly lowering her head before Simon stopped her.

	"How about you getting on top?" he suggested.

	"I've never done it like that - like I'm in control." 

	"Up you go then, that's a good girl."

	Mari blushed as she knelt over Simon's erection. But she was looking forward to it. Lowering herself, she grunted as his hardness entered and stretched her. But she controlled her rate of descent and then the speed of their copulation as she used her legs to lift and lower herself.

	Simon watched in contentment as his cock slipped in and out between the smoothness of the girl's sex. It was fascinating to watch most of his length disappear into Mari's slim, childish body. He reached out with one finger and began to stir her clit. 

	"Ummm," Mari crooned as his finger increased the stimulation of her slow cock ride. 

	Fresh cunny juices made her more slippery and her vaginal muscles clenched and released around his member. Simon wanted them to cum together, but the nine year-old's taut little pussy was milking him and he let himself go. But as the first hot jet of sperm erupted inside her sensitized cuntlet, Mari came right after him. 

	When they were done, she knelt there, woozy and unsure of what to do next. Simon guided her forward and down, letting her rest on top of him while their bodies remained joined. Drawing the covers up over them, Simon caressed Mari's bottom as the youngster drifted off to sleep. Just before she completely went out, she mentioned something about a man for Bunny and left her lover to contemplate so much.



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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