Quietly walking into the room, Pamela caught her husband just as he plowed his prick into the bald pussy of a struggling eight year-old. This was unexpected and the woman stopped cold.
"I thought you were going to fuck Giselle in the ass," she stated.
"Already done," he grunted as shifted his hips to force more of his meat impossibly deep into the little girl.
Under normal circumstances, the length of his member that was already buried inside of the child would have ruptured her cervix and her uterus and would be crushing some vital organs. But in their preternatural abilities, seasoned coven members could do the impossible by stretching their partners on the inside without regard to the small size of their bodies. Many creatures that existed in the dimension that bordered the Blackthorne Arms building in many ways were able to do the same thing with any humans, adult or child, that were occasionally sacrificed to them.
With another heave, Arthur bored the last of his dick into the third grader. Giselle's breath escaped her mouth with a winding groan as her young snatch was incredibly elongated and bloated.
Arthur pulled her up against him and turned around to face Pamela with the child impaled on his prick. Taking the girl's springy little buns in his fingers, he pulled them apart so that Pamela could duck slightly to see her husband's semen plopping from the eight year-old's fiery red asshole. There was a little blood mixed in with it as Arthur sometimes liked to add some damage for creativity's sake. As always, Giselle would neither remember anything nor have any injuries to indicate the foul abuse she had just suffered.
"My, that was quick," she remarked.
"You know how Darius likes his meat tenderized before a marathon rape. He and Elena should be here in an hour so I'd like to have Giselle properly ready."
"Of course, dear. I've had Simon uncork a bottle of the '69 Maison Sylvana to let it air. Elena enjoys that kind while watching her husband dally with a little one. You know, it really has been too long since we've seen them."
"How the years fly," Arthur agreed as he stroked his prick in and out of Giselle's little twat with thick, soupy noises emanating from the child's painfully spread cunt lips. "I believe the last time was in '37 or '38 with Joe at his dacha."
Pamela nodded. Mr. Stalin had been a lively host - a bit provincial perhaps - but earnest. And there had been that troupe of angelic little ballerinas who entertained them all quite wonderfully after dinner. Thinking back, Pamela couldn't quite remember if the tots had danced for them before the post-meal entertainment really got underway. Shrugging, she left the room to attend to some other business before she paused, sensing...pursuit.
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.
Mr Double's Palisade
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Changes last made on: Thursday, October 11, 2017