Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Mg, Mf, Mggg+, Mff, Mbf, etc.; inc; pedo, yng teen, teen; caution Iintro: "She liked two dicks in her, but had never done it with her brother. She had dreamt of this, of her brother feeling another man inside her, of her twelve-year-old brother fucking her while she was another man's whore." The story of how Marina Ivanovna's uncle adopted her when she was 6 y.o. and turned her into a prostitute. {AUTHOR'S NOTE: I had virtual troubles again, and missed a couple of months of mail. I'm deeply sorry if I didn't respond to you - I always answer letters when I get them, and hope I haven't offended anyone. Readers' mail is very important to me.} B L U E E Y E S A N D B L O O D Written by Silvio Stoker I INTROIT AND PIZDA Marina Ivanovna Vasilieva was as emotionally and physically immature as she was intellectually sinuous, sly, and downright dangerous. At fourteen years of age, the woman was a mere four and a half feet tall, fine-boned, weighing well under sixty pounds, and profoundly titless. She was curiously na´ve in some matters, yet disarmingly sage in others, just as her delicate and enigmatic face was by turns both childlike and uncannily ancient. Marina's bewitching voice still bore telltale traces of her native Russian tongue. She took great pains to look like an adult, yet failed. Instead, Marina Ivanovna often appeared to be a brilliant little girl pretending to be a woman. Seductive and sophisticated since the uncle who raised her began to lavish her with an evil sexual attention, Marina grew up despairing and confused, soon suffering from an implacable nymphomania. Beyond doubt she did possess a haunting beauty, with soft, inviting skin and silken, chestnut hair, very disturbing, azure eyes, and a strange grace to her diminutive body. x x x Her uncle was in his early fifties when she came to live with him, at age six. Aleksei Stepanovich Kirov took her in when Marina's father died of cirrhosis - a consequence of Gorbachev's campaign against alcohol, when men resorted to brake fluid in order to remain men - and her mother (Aleksei's half-sister, a common prostitute) went to live in Moscow. The beautiful and strangely mature child was delighted to be adopted by her Uncle Aleksei. He had a large apartment in Uzupis, an elegant but surrealistically run-down section of Vilnius, and was an appropriate guardian for the girl - a cultured and intelligent person, her uncle recognized Marina's intellectual precocity and vowed to help her develop her talents. He taught her to play the flute and the violin, played chess with her, bought her increasingly difficult books and often talked with her into the night. They strolled together through the glorious old Lithuanian capital, where the winds of change were just beginning to blow, and fell innocently in love. He began to molest her very slowly, almost imperceptibly. He started kissing her when she was seven, at first chastely, then with his tongue. Marina knew it was wrong, but she liked it. She felt very guilty afterwards, but her uncle explained to her that they were different from others and it would do her no harm. Aleksei was a keen photographer, and took lots of pictures of Marina. Not really erotic pictures, and never in the nude. In fact, he never allowed her to appear naked before him. The sexy shots started when she was eight. She was practicing the flute in bed, wearing her best clothes - white stockings, a dark blue skirt, a lacy white blouse - and he started taking pictures of her. Her skirt rode up her thighs, and he put down the camera and tongue-kissed her. "Marina," he whispered (in Russian, of course) - "I want to show you something." He took out an envelope of photographs he had taken years ago and let her see some of the less pornographic pictures. They were of a lovely pubescent blonde, perhaps eleven or twelve years old. She wore a short green dress, white socks, and a sad, wistful smile that turned into a grimace as she lifted her dress and displayed her panties. In the photos where she showed off her bare cunny - it was a hairless pink slit - the girl's green eyes were flooded with tears, and in the last picture Aleksei gave to his niece, where the blonde lay on her back with her coltish legs drawn up, touching her tiny poophole, her slender middle finger glistening with petroleum jelly, the tip just inside her anus, she seemed to be crying hysterically, as if something terrible was happening. "This is Oksana," Aleksei said. "She's pretty, isn't she?" "Wh-what is she doing?" Marina's uncle sat down on the bed and stroked her back while she examined the pictures. "This is what women do after they kiss for a long time," Aleksei said quietly. "When they're too young to have children, they... the man often puts his penis in her bottom. Her... her cunt... isn't big enough for him. A man's penis becomes very large when he is aroused. She licks it, sucks it, and then he sometimes puts it in her poophole." Marina was very small when she was eight, like a six-year-old, and already underweight even for her height. "I don't understand," Marina said. "Did you take these pictures? She... she's crying - does he... did you... make her do it? Who is she?" She wasn't afraid of her uncle, but the pictures scared her. "She was a girl who... who ran away from home," Aleksei explained. "Men do... things like this to... to girls like that. They don't want to hurt them. Some girls... become women when they are very young. Their fathers or other grown-ups like their bodies a lot, and turn them into whores. A whore is a girl or woman who lets a man do these things to her in exchange for money. Understand?" "Sort of... why... why do men want to do these things?" "Because the women are beautiful and arouse them... men love them, and their bodies need to. That's how their bodies show love. There are different kinds of love. Women's bodies need to do these things, too... especially some women's, some whores'. Sometimes, if grown-ups do sexual things with them when they are young - before they can have babies - the whore grows up... different. Either she hates these things, which isn't normal, or she needs them more than others, in other ways. That's not normal, either, but some men like it." "What does 'arouse' mean? And do you... like that?" "Yes, darling, I like it very much. I love it. I love whores. Many men... abuse... hurt them. Sometimes that is because they love them, though. I don't hurt them. I like to make them feel good. 'Aroused' is when a man or woman wants to do these things." Aleksei moved away from his niece, lit a Belomorkanal, and looked at her with a grave, worried expression. "I become very aroused when we kiss, Marina. I don't want to hurt you, but I love you... not only as an uncle. I love your body. You arouse me." "Am - am I a... a whore?" "I think so. I think you'd make a wonderful whore. If we keep kissing, you're going to turn into a whore. I know you feel bad sometimes, when we kiss a lot, but you shouldn't. You're a very mature... young woman, Marina. Being a whore doesn't mean disrespect... the finest whores are very proud of what they do. They're very beautiful, like you, and they know their bodies are special." "How come men hurt them? How can you love someone and want to hurt them?" Aleksei got an ashtray and sat down at the opposite end of the bed from the perplexed eight-year-old. "Sometimes whores want to be hurt... there are a lot of reasons. Some men have been hurt... rejected, maybe, and take it out on the whore. Some whores like to be hurt because they feel bad, like you do after we kiss... they want to be punished, and pain becomes part of their pleasure. Different people need different things... sexually... 'sexual' is anything to do with, well, arousal, or anything like this." "You didn't hurt her... Oksana?" Marina stared at the pictures again. "I did," he sighed. "I hurt her to turn her into a whore. A whore needs to know that her body is meant to give men pleasure... to make men feel good. If she's a good whore, she gets pleasure from making men feel good." "Did she want to be a whore?" "I don't know... we can't always choose what we become." "Was she a good whore?" "Yes... I like it when you say that word, darling. It arouses me." Marina's body felt funny. She wasn't frightened, exactly - she knew that her uncle was a good man, good to her... she liked kissing him, though it made her feel bad, like he said... ashamed. She couldn't imagine his penis, or him doing any of these mysterious things. "What happened to her?" "She went away... I didn't love her the same way that I love you, darling. I only wanted her body for a little while. She became a whore at the railway station. If you like, I'll start pointing out whores for you when we take our walks." "Uncle Aleksei... do you... are you going to hurt me?" "No, Marina. I want you to want to be a whore. If you don't want to do something, I won't do anything to you. If you do want to become a whore, I'll teach you... slowly, and I'll be very careful. But you have to keep it a secret, like our kissing. I could get into very bad trouble if anyone found out that we've been talking like this. I would go to prison. Understand?" "Yes." "I'm very aroused now, darling. What I'd like to do is take more pictures of you. Sexual pictures... not like these, not... yet, but different from what I usually take... okay?" His niece nodded, and Aleksei took her to his study, where the autumnal afternoon light filtered through the art nouveau windows. It was a stunning apartment, despite the condition of the building. High ceilings, a fabulous collection of books, carpets and vases and antiquities he had purchased on his frequent trips to what was then the Uzbek SSR, velvet couches he had bought at the Kalvarijos market... Marina was a lucky girl, especially considering that she was from occupied Lithuania. Her uncle gave her a deep kiss, then took her hand and guided it under her dark blue skirt, to her crotch. She was wearing a garter and white cotton panties that had become too tight for her. Marina shivered. "It's okay," he whispered. "I won't hurt you... we won't do anything that makes you feel bad. I want you to get used to touching your cunny, darling. When men look at you - and they look at you a lot, I'll show you - this is what they're thinking about. They're thinking about your body - your nipples, your botty... about putting their penises in your mouth - but mostly about your little cunny. It's the most important part of your body, Marina. When men look at you, you should concentrate on your cunny. After a while it will start to get wet. You're probably too young for that, but you're not too young to make it feel good. Whenever you go to bed, you should play with your cunny. Moisten your fingers in your mouth and stroke it. Get it wet, darling. It gets wet so that a man can put his penis in it. Get it wet with your spit and think about getting a man's penis in it. When a man looks at you like I'll show you, he wants to put his penis in there. In your wet little cunny. It feels good when he does it. Even if it hurts, it feels good because it means that he loves you. I think about your cunny all the time, even though I've never seen it. When I take these pictures, I want you to think about your cunny hole." "I... I don't know what a penis looks like!" Marina was getting upset. "Lie down on the sofa, darling... I'll show you, soon. It's okay... I won't hurt you. I promise." He led her to the blue velvet couch. She looked at the bulge in his pants. She had seen that before. Her uncle posed her with one leg extended on the sofa, her other foot hanging over the side, her skirt up around her narrow waist. Her delicate fingers were held stiffly against the velvet. She looked awkward, unhappy. Her fantastic blue eyes were suffused with fear and discomfort now, and her slender, muscular thighs were rosy above the tops of her stockings, the aureate light pouring through the diaphanous curtains bathing her nervous body and the fragile, intelligent face framed by her chestnut hair. Aleksei photographed her from different angles, then kissed her. She sucked his tongue like she always did, but tensed when she felt his hand between her parted legs. Her uncle gently fingered her slit through the cotton, pumping his tongue into her tight, wet mouth. She wanted he would stop. It felt terribly wrong. When his fingers snaked into one leg-hole, his thumb into the other, lifting the soft fabric from her slit, she shuddered and almost started to cry. He fumbled with the cloth so that it barely covered her cunny. It didn't feel good. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good. He stopped kissing her and drew her into a sitting position, placed her feet on the edge of the sofa and spread her legs, then fiddled with her panties again, twisting and stretching them so that they concealed only the gash. He took lots of pictures, then asked her to take off her stockings and shot her while she did. He had her unbutton the top four buttons of her blouse, suck her thumb, remove her skirt and sit with her legs to the side and her butt toward the camera, her panties twisted tightly in her crack. He made her hook her thumbs under the cotton, as if she were going to pull them down, looking over her shoulder and licking her lips. Aleksei stopped when she started to weep, hugged her, and promised her again that he would never hurt her. Then they went out for a sunset walk, climbing Gediminas Hill. When it got dark, her uncle to her to the restaurant in the train station. He let her drink some wine for the first time, and Marina relaxed. "You didn't like what we did today, did you?" His eight-year-old niece ate her cepelinai, huge, oily potato dumplings, sipped some wine, which she didn't really like but the idea of which excited her, and stared at him. She loved him so much. He was so much better than her parents had been. "I don't know," she finally said. "I don't think I understand, really." "You were very beautiful, darling. You aroused me very much. Very, very much. I had to go to the bathroom and play with my penis afterwards. I have to do that every night after we kiss. I look at your pictures and think about your body. Do you know what part of your body I think about?" "M-my cunny..." "Yes. I think about kissing you there. Now I'll have these sexy pictures to look at. It was very nice of you to let me see you like that." When they were leaving the station, he pointed out a sad-eyed adolescent who seemed to recognize him. She was dressed in a very short skirt and fishnet stockings. "That's Nastya," Aleksei said when they had regained the street. "She's a whore." x x x Home again, in bed, reading a book about the American Civil War, Marina was afraid of their goodnight kiss for the first time. But her uncle didn't come to her room, and after a while she began to worry. Had she disappointed him? Dressed in the little white nightgown he had bought for her at a hard currency store, she crept to the door of his study and knocked. "Come in, darling," he said. Her uncle was lying on the sofa she had posed on. He was nude. He had developed the photographs and was looking at them. His penis was enormous, like the big salami he had once bought, uncircumcised, erect in his bronzed, hairy hand. "Don't be afraid," he said in a low voice. "Come look at the pictures." Barefoot, she went towards him, unsteadily. He sat up and patted the soft velvet beside him. Marina sank into the indicated spot, trembling. He gave her the photos and caressed her bare shoulders, then started to kiss her, her mouth, her neck, his hands wandering under the silk, grasping her naked hips. She wasn't wearing anything under the gown, and suddenly she was in his lap. He fondled her skinny buttocks and she felt his penis against her thighs, her belly... She began to cry, but went limp, as if she had turned to liquid, and her uncle lowered her to the floor between his legs. "Touch it... darling... please... help me..." She grasped his stiff prick with both hands, staring at the strange, frightening thing. "Yes... oh, darling... yes, darling... I love you..." Marina didn't know what possessed her, but she leaned forward and kissed the purple bulb of her uncle's cock. Moaning, he grabbed her head and thrust into his niece's tiny mouth, spurting semen. She struggled as he stuffed it deeper and scalded her throat with the unknown substance, choking. Then he released her and drew her to him, embracing her. She choked, sobbing, spitting out the salty to her then vile stuff with which her uncle had flooded her. He held her and kissed her neck and shoulders, then sat her in his lap and kissed her eyelids. "It's okay... it's... it's okay... thank you... baby... it's okay. That's what babies come from, Marina. That's what happens when you... when you finish arousing me." Aleksei carried the weeping child to her bedroom and tucked her in. "We won't do this again if you don't want to," he whispered. "Uncle... Aleksei... I... don't... don't leave me... alone..." He crawled between the sheets with her and tongue-kissed her. Marina couldn't stop crying, and she didn't know what to do. She felt like she had when her father had died. But her uncle was _there_, kissing her... His penis rubbed against her calf. It was hard again. He started to nibble at her neck, then drew away the covers and disrobed her. She felt like she would cry forever. He put her on her back and licked her nipples, and then he was licking her... there... The awful feeling was suddenly different. It was nasty, overwhelming. She felt like the live carp they sold at the market, plunged into... into pee... she had to... pee... he... he tongued her poophole, then lapped at her slit again, and she didn't need to pee anymore, she needed... she wanted him to do this, she felt like the fish was... lost... far away, and then inside her, and then in the distance, floating in her pee... His tongue flickered at her anus again, and Marina felt the fish squirming in her botty. She flopped against the firm mattress, and he... it... was lapping at her cunny hole, and the pee feeling came back, and then she felt like the fish was falling in a shower of rain and she squealed and the fish fell into a deep pool of dark water, leapt, fell again... She was coming, and then the carp was rushing through a stream of sweet cream and was gone, and Marina was bathing in a vale of bitter and unfathomable tears, then sinking in a sunless grotto, her bodiless soul drowning in what the priest had called sin, drinking in the dark and sour water of a guilt that tasted like her uncle's sperm. "Suck, darling... lick it... get it wet..." She felt as though his penis was all there was in the darkness, as if it was poisonous but she had to live off it. She needed it. Without it she would die. She took it in both her little hands and sucked the monstrous member, barely able to get the bulb into her mouth, drooling. Aleksei caressed her damp nakedness. He could sense the horror in her disturbed body, the unbearable shame she felt in the weak pleasure that would pervert her. She couldn't handle it. What he was doing to her made her insane. It was as if he was fucking her psyche. He gently lifted her and kissed her mouth, letting her suck his tongue, and carefully fingered her cunny. Marina gave a childish moan in which he could hear the beginning of a desire she would never understand. "Darling... we need to do something now... wait here, okay?" She nodded. Her eyes were steeped in anguish. She was terrified that he would leave her, for some reason. Only he could know her now. Only he knew she was like this. Her uncle returned with a jar of petroleum jelly and asked her to lie on her back again. He dipped his middle finger in the lubricant and told her to grasp her ankles. Trembling, she obeyed. The goop was cold. He touched her tiny pink anus with his fingertip, then slid the finger into the opening as gently as he could. Marina shuddered as he invaded her rectum. It was as if he was removing a door from its hinges, the door to her few secrets, taking them away from her. It felt weird, though not physically unpleasant - like he was going poop with her body, backwards. She knew she was his. He could do anything he wanted to her. He wiggled the thick, long finger all the way into her, then slowly slid it out to the first joint, then in again. The fish swam slowly into a deep trench, the warm water filthy and embarrassing, like the bath was once, when Marina had gone poop in the tub. Clouds of semen floated through the maroon water now, and she waited for her father to yell at her for pooping in the tub but her father was dead. Her uncle's finger moved like the fish, and then his finger was deep in her botty, not moving, and he was touching her cunny with the thumb of his other hand, rubbing it softly, and the slit got slimy like when he had licked her. She moaned, not like before but wanton, like a woman, a girl-woman, needing him to do something, she didn't know what. The scales of the fish flashed in a cold, harsh light like mercury vapor, and she saw the whore he had pointed out to her in the train station, her pasty skin gleaming under the street-lamp, spread-eagled like the young girl he had turned into a whore, and Marina was a whore, and the fish smell was very strong now, overpowering, and he was whispering to her, calling her his whore and telling her to hold open her snatch. Marina spread the infantile slit with her fingers and then her uncle's penis was there. He wasn't going to try to put it in, the head was just pushing against the very beginning of her slippery hole, and it felt terrific, unbelievably dirty and arousing - this must have been what 'aroused' meant, sinful... it went away and she rocked her hips, needing to feel it more, wanting to be his whore if that's what this was, wanting him to push it a little deeper and squirt what he had squirted into her mouth in... there... "Marina... suck my cock..." Dreamily, the eight-year-old rose from the strange world in which she had been drifting and took the tip of his penis into her mouth again. He moved her hands on the massive shaft and she slobbered, getting him wet like he'd told her to. She needed this, needed to be his. He ran his fingers through her hair and caressed her cheek as she stroked and sucked. After a long time he put her on her back again, and again the head of his cock slid into her hole, a little deeper this time, hurting a little, and then it was gone and she wailed, wanting it, but instead he put her hand between her legs and the child tentatively fingered her slit... "Sit up... Marina..." She did as she was told, still masturbating, and he whispered to her to grease his penis and told her how much she aroused him and Marina smeared the hard cock with petroleum jelly adoringly and he asked her to lie down again and keep playing with herself. He slid part of the bulb into her slit again and then he was touching the tip to her poophole and suddenly she knew what he was going to do. She cried out and went pee, shaking, terrified and embarrassed at wetting herself and then his penis was pushing against her anus and there was nothing but pain, the fish flapping in a sea of boiling blood as the thing went into her botty. She jerked and shrieked as he forced his penis into her rectum, gripping her thighs, and then it was going out like burning poop and slowly back in again. She screamed and quivered as it entered her again like a harpoon, out again, leaving the flaming sludge in the gutted fish, in, deeper... blood spurted from her nostrils, and she nearly blacked out. She got cramps, and after a few minutes didn't feel the pain in her poophole so much, only the rest of her body, cold and soaked with sweat, and then her uncle began to go deeper and there was only her anus again, aflame with unbearable pain, half his penis at least in her ass, fucking her fast... He groaned and rammed it in. Marina convulsed as five inches of his cock were shoved into her shithole and then he was spewing the thick stuff he had squirted into her mouth, his fingers digging into her thighs as she felt his semen flood her tight, tortured rectum. He pulled out and slowly let her go. She was shivering, wide-eyed, the weirdly bright blue of her irises visible in the weak light of the single street-lamp beyond the gauze curtains. Her teeth were chattering, and her body, that of an undernourished six-year-old, was slick with sweat. She didn't close her legs. Blood from her anus stained the coarse white bed-sheet. Her uncle swept her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom - Marina vomited when he put her down, moaning weakly. Aleksei lifted her into the tub and adjusted the water. He fetched his cigarettes and ashtray, struck a match, lit a candle on the toilet and knelt near the bathtub, smoking. His niece farted in the warm, reddening bath-water, then went poop, wet feces and semen splurting from her wounded rectum. Her uncle kissed some Armenian cognac into her mouth, showered her - she clung to him; she had nothing else to cling to - dried her, and took the still shivering child to his bed. The fish stared. II THE ARYTHMIA OF THE ANCIENT MARINER Marina woke in delirium and darkness, rising from a nightmare as from the red sea, the sheets drenched with her sweat. Her uncle kissed and caressed her, sucking her tiny nipples and masturbating her. She shuddered as he stroked her slit, sobbing quietly, and then he slid his pinkie into her cunny hole. It was good. It was real good. It made her slimy, and soon he replaced the pinkie with his ring finger. She wanted to rock her hips, but the movement was met with a horrible stabbing pain in her botty. He attacked her mouth with his tongue, fingering her tight hole. "Move your hips, Marina," he whispered. "Make the hurt feel good." She tried again, but the pain was too much. She cried, and her uncle took his finger away. "Come on, darling... concentrate on your cunny..." Wincing, she shook her pelvis, and her uncle's finger returned to her slimehole, his middle finger now. It hurt, but it hurt less than agony in her anus, the pain there like a spear driven through her sphincter. Licking her feet, sucking her toes and diddling her, he had her wiggle her butt again and again, then hold it open. Marina whimpered as he tongued the torn opening, now and then running his tongue to her slit, then lapping wetly at her anus until she felt a strange need squirming under the pain there, as if she had shit her brain. Her uncle's tongue snaked into her rectum like a warm-blooded eel, and the eight-year-old threw her head back and spread her cheeks, gurgling, as a flood of saliva flowed into the dilated hole and he sucked it out, then spat it in again. She curled her toes and moaned as the thick drool streamed in and out of her like a distilled dream, as if the ooze from her cunny hole had form and was making love to her bottom, his tongue a boneless lamprey worming into her botty and then the spittle again, gushing deep into the dirty little muscle that drank it like a tiny mouth. Marina moaned. The pain there was only the surface, like the ice on the river Neris in spring, dark where it was thin, the water underneath sighing with pleasure. Beneath the pain was a wet tube that wanted him, as if he could fuck her in the past, as if he could put his penis in her diapers, or penetrate her before she was born. She thrust her botty against his invading tongue, groaning. She wanted him to fuck his baby, to do this to her when she went poop in the bath, because she couldn't hold it, because there was something inside of her that needed... his penis, playing with her dolls, putting them in her mouth, wetting the bed... His tongue flickered at her peehole then, and Marina went pee, whimpering. She diddled her favorite doll, squatting on the toilet and waiting for her poop... waiting for his penis, and then he was putting his penis in her doll... It hurt, it hurt so good... her whore doll was going poop with her daddy... she grasped her ankles and the thick cock slid into her slimy botty like she wanted, tiny fish flying from her mouth like desperate cries, her pink skin the slippery walls of her intestine, taking him deep, her little feet fluttering like flocks of moths in the moon's light, her dripping tongue stiffening in the wet gasps that rose from her craned neck, wild-eyed. The cock stretched her bottom, a bone stuffed into an eel-skin swollen of steaming cocoa, and Marina went limp, letting go of her skinny ankles and letting her uncle fondle her as the thing went deeper into her baby and a school of fish swam swiftly through the hot chocolate. It hurt her again like she needed it to, and clumps of raw meat rained down into the cocoa to boil. Marina wailed like a little pregnant woman, and her uncle forced his penis into the tangle of entrails, the ice on the river Neris splintering in flood as the soup in her tiny belly caught fire and the fish spewed from her guts. There was nothing to vomit. She flailed her legs and howled as he fucked her gut, night falling like a sodden net to the violent fish, clutching the sweat-soaked sheets as he possessed her - it - the drenched scarecrow writhing under the dirge of scarlet penis. The northern lights shimmered in the darkness, then, and the blood that was again streaming from her nostrils moistened her lips. The thing left her bottom, and her uncle fingered her mouth. Searing pain swept through her empty body - not the same as before, but deeper, deep in her botty, making her undulate as though it was still inside her, there, as if her doll was in her bowels, kicking. Her uncle touched his cock to her lips. She opened her mouth, instinctively grasping the filthy shaft with her sweaty hands. She couldn't suck him, she couldn't breathe, but she could stroke him, her lower body bucking against the cruel phantom that was ravishing her anus. He caressed her, taking his penis away and kissing her, licking the salty iron of the bright fluid from her face, tonguing her soiled mouth, nibbling at her neck and nipples, lapping at her taut wet belly. Then he held the jar of lubricant again, opening it. Sobbing, Marina greased his prick with her trembling fingers. Her uncle turned her on her side at the edge of the dirty mattress and folded her legs against her chest, stroking her bony back and her pretty little feet. Then he took her hand and guided it to her firm, round buttock, moving it against her pale skin. Weeping softly, she fondled herself like he showed her, caressing the beautiful curve. "Darling... show me where you need my penis..." Marina was confused. He had told her that she needed it in her cunny. She touched her cunny hole. "No, baby, you're too little... where do little girls need it?" Sobbing, Marina fingered her poophole. "Look at me, darling... play with it and look at me like need to have an ice cream." She stared at him through her tears. She couldn't stop shaking. He waited for her to stop crying, waited for her eyes to focus, azure pools beset by a heavy storm, waited until they wanted ice cream, her delicate fingers pointing to the bleeding hole. The fish rushed through her again as his penis slowly entered her, twisting in the brackish water. He was entering the baby doll at her toilet, sticking its legs and arms into the torn hole while it went potty, and the fish dove into the back of her brain, where no one had ever been. Marina struggled for breath as her uncle fucked the doll and pushed his cock into the mindless pottymouth balled up in the pit of her stomach, penetrating the dark, wet turd in her lungs. It went out and shifted her so that her feet dangled over the edge of the bed, her legs under her and posed her, it forced her fingers to fondle the taut cheeks, inviting it back where it belonged, like an ice cream cone, baked Alaska. Marina farted wetly and showed him where she wanted him to hurt her. The doll bathed in fudge and all of her friends squeezed in next to her, and the nice big cock filled the filthy hole again like a fiery monster dancing on her dolls, in her to the root. It slid from her and slowly returned, the head glaring at the wetness in her gut, again, out, back in, filling her puny body with warm blood, out again, emptying it. Marina moaned like an abandoned doll-house and the cock came back again, her belly sloshing like an aquarium teeming with guppies, out, empty, in, fucking her, impregnating the busted dolls, again, deeper, out, again, cramps, cramming it in, enraptured, the rag doll panting, harder, her blue eyes glowing madly in the deep, the squid, the squishing sounds from her rectum, mud crabs, catfish, shrimp, again deeper... She clutched the sheets and suddenly her uncle was slamming it in but slowly like trying to run underwater and he was taking her, ravishing her hard oh yes yeeeeeesssssssss in there in there oh God in there fuck it oh God fuck it - She screeched as it drove deep down into her very center like a lance and the seed surged through his shaft and struck her, there, wetting it, her uncle gripping her hips and the cock spurting again and again and she again fell back into her body in agony and the water closed around her like a trap. III SCHOOLING Aleksei Stepanovich Kirov had not intended to take his niece so far, so fast. He had done in a single day what he had intended to stretch across months, if not years, slowly corrupting her lovely body until it needed to be raped to survive. Marina Ivanovna gradually recovered, but part of her psyche was damaged irreparably. Where before she had been disquietingly mature, disdaining children's games and the like, it was now very difficult to coax her away from her dolls. Her azure eyes grew turbulent, disturbed. She threw tantrums, sulked, wet the bed, and lost her appetite, yet further retarding her growth. She masturbated. Marina hid from him when she did that, but when her uncle went away he often found her fingering her cunny upon returning, lost in a trance, her blue eyes suffused with needy misery, the tiny slit fragrant and raw. Her wounded rectum hurt a lot, and Marina held her poop in until she went in her panties or in the bed, calling for help then and bawling like a baby. He left photographs in her room - pictures of Oksana and other child prostitutes. She found erotic books in her bed. x x x Her uncle didn't sodomize her for several weeks, until one night when she cried out after shitting the bed and he found her caressing her buttocks like he had taught her, trying to look at him seductively, lying in her filth. "Darling," he whispered, "I want you to be a proper woman. Please clean yourself and the mess and then call me." "N-need... daddy... I... please..." "No. I want you to pull yourself together." Marina screamed and threw a clump of her shit at him, beat the mattress and wailed, smeared herself with her feces and finally collapsed, weeping. Two hours later she entered his study, naked. She had washed and perfumed herself, and her eyes were pink from crying. "I want ice cream." He hugged her, then held her until she cried herself out. Kissing her, he put her on the blue velvet sofa and took out the gifts he had bought. She was his again, and a whore. He gave her a sapphire choke and a matching anklet, three sets of sexy underwear from Paris, garters, black silk stockings, a revealing black dress, French cosmetics, three framed photographs of herself from that fateful day, and her first pair of high-heeled sandals. Marina paraded about the room in her finery, awkwardly, getting used to the heels, and then her uncle had her practice undressing like a whore. The eight-year-old was horny. She had hated him and feared him for weeks, but she was lonely, staying home from school, missing her friends... but thoughts came to her like clouds swollen with rain as she hurt less, especially when she drifted between dream and waking, or after she read the fuck books or looked at the dirty pictures. Of what he had been to her... who were her friends? They would never know what she had felt. They weren't whores. Only he knew her. When she masturbated, the fish swimming in stately schools of tarnished silver, their formations broken by stones sinking in the warm water, blue like her eyes, scattered by the memory of pain... but then there was a surge, a wave of bliss that threw her solitary onto a windswept strand of pumice, of insufferable guilt and shame - she was a whore - he knew she was a whore - she had done this, seduced him, just as she still fingered the sick little slit where it all began... And it began again and again. She saw terrible nightmares... and afterwards wished that he was there to hold her, she wanted to hold him, his penis, as she had held it when the nightmare was real, and held it in her mouth... She wanted him to make it all better. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her, like she loved him... to tell her that it was okay to feel this... need... Undressing for the fourth time, slowly, following his instructions, letting him tell her what to do again, Marina yearned for his approval. She concentrated on her cunny like he said, but she wanted his penis where little girls need it, in her poophole... She was scared of the hurt, but the loneliness hurt, too... she wanted him to take her where it didn't hurt anymore, to fuck her in the ass until she couldn't feel anything except how strong he was, his big cock deep in her botty, his fingers grabbing her brain... "That's it... yes, baby... stick your hand in your little panty..." She wasn't listening to him anymore. She turned around, undid the straps of her garter, slid down her panties and caressed her bottom, looking over her shoulder at him with her ice cream eyes. Marina had lost weight. Her buns were just that, the color of raw dough, tapering to the skinny thighs that disappeared into the loose black silk. The high heels emphasized her infantile proportions. She felt so good in these clothes, so sophisticated... "Yes... oh, darling... it's so beautiful there... you're so lovely... show me - is that where you want me? Get on the sofa and show me!" She staggered to the couch, trembling with desire and physical fear, climbed onto the blue velvet and moved her knees apart, gazing at him seductively over her left shoulder, her right hand holding the dark wood trim on the back of the sofa, the fingers of her left hand stroking her crack, the stockings slipping down her tremulous thighs. "Yes... Marina... lick your finger... slow... and stick it in... where you want me!" She gave a little moan, sucked her middle finger, and carefully slid it into her botty. She had been too scared to touch her poophole when she played with herself. Now Marina masturbated it as he undressed. Aleksei fetched the jar of lube and asked her to sit and suck him. He instructed her, getting her to play with his balls and squeeze the shaft as she licked and sucked the tip. Marina remembered about making it wet and dribbled saliva along the length of it, drooling, spitting on her hands and stroking it... He almost came, grunting. "Baby... stop... stop for a second..." She didn't until he took her wrists and gently put her on her back. She was small enough so that only her butt hung over the edge when her head was against the cushions. Marina grasped her ankles and waited for him to shove it in, whimpering. Instead he flicked his tongue against her cunny. She had an orgasm, almost instantly, and then he was licking her asshole, which had almost healed. "Pleeeeeeassse," she whined. "Pleeeeeeassse... pleeeeeeassse... pleeeeeeassse..." She needed him inside her. It was as though a desperate whore had suddenly reincarnated in her infant's body. Her uncle greased his cock while he lapped at her anus, and then she felt the bulb touch her botty, threatening, huge... She sprayed urine as he started to at stab the sore little hole, and then the thing hit her hard and went into her, hurting - hurting her so much... so, so much... she stiffened and sank down in the blue velvet sofa, struggling forward, to get it deeper - it was so good, so awfully good... The fishy dolls played dress-up for their daddies, kiddie-cunt hose and fuck-heels, turned-on eyes and fuck dresses, jewels at breakneck speed and wet, snuff-colored bungholes, take-out mouths and drug-butts dripping with come. Marina hadn't remembered that it had hurt this much. It was like he was turning her inside out. It was impossible for anything to hurt this much. She needed to get it to hurt deeper. She was a woman and her stockings said so. Her feet were damp, like penises. Scary men lived in the rubble, rapacious gnomes. "Look at me... stick out your tongue..." She had to obey. She gripped her ankles for dear life and opened her toilet eyes, extending the red carpet of her tongue. His eyes caught hers, steel gray. Piercing her, like his prick. "Look sexy, darling..." Fuck me. Put it in my fairy tale. Fuck me. I want your baby. He grasped her ankles then and told her to let go. He told her to play with her titties. She didn't have any titties. She started to cry. He released her showy legs and fingered her nipples for her. The girl-child with distant milk in its tiny pacifiers. The cocksucker needed to frig its mouth. She knew from his eyes when he needed her. She made the mouth all dirty for him, and his penis left her so that she could put it in there. She liked it from her bottom hole and licked the scum. He let her suck it like a whore. I want your baby in my mouth. Her ice cream eyes. Her whole body was guilty as sin. Her smutty fingers and fuck toy face. Her still sterile, shivering torso, her skinny little slave legs. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. She looked up at him, her azure eyes like cesspools, her tongue darting to his dirty glans, her titless treasure chest and nocturnal skin. She found the jar and slimed her uncle's stick, cast him another seductive glance and crouched down on the low couch caressing her crack, nasty. Please fuck me. Please, please fuck me. She loved these clothes. The silk made her legs like the child's in the train station, weak, nervous until someone did this to her. Marina opened her back door and it entered. Herring spawned in an open sewer. A naked chicken, her dreamy body down there. She had read the dirty books and had an orgasm. Her little death made him go deeper. She walked around the waiting room of the train station, nude. Seagulls perched on her shoulders and men stared at her. They wanted to hurt her because she teased them. She had an ass like a pair of peeled apples. He was hurting her so good. One of the books said she could make love to the other whore. The men wanted to see them play. It aroused them. She wanted to play with her. They both had bodies like street kids. Her mouth tasted like the toilet there. Girls like her drank urine. They did whatever men wanted. If they didn't, the men hurt them even more. They liked to be hurt. Sometimes they were naughty because they needed to be hurt. Her uncle was hurting her with his penis because she was so pretty. She was too young for him so he hurt her in the hole that made her be his baby girl. It was the hole that daddies used to destroy their daughters. The book said that kids who need it in their poopholes a lot never grow up. Marina needed it really bad. She went potty in bed 'cause she wanted her uncle to be her daddy. "Aaaaaaauuuuuughhh... aaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuughhhhhh..." He was going in so deep. She couldn't think anymore. His cock went into her brain again, then slid from her, leaving a hole. A deep hole for his cock. She arranged her dolls in the hole. "Nnnngh... aaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuughhhhhh..." He was stretching the hole, squishing her brains against their tiny skull. She got a nosebleed again. She felt like his penis would split her pelvis. It left again, and then the hole needed him, and chemicals like the ones in her slit seeped into her head, like milk filling a sausage casing. He slapped her butt and her brain drifted back there like a glob of blackberry jam, finding the pain in the tight little opening and reeling as his cock tore through it again, into her to the root, the bulb stabbing past the snaky curve of her insides and forcing more unimaginable torture into her first-grader's body, leaving a slimy afterworld as it again slid out, a dangerous little undercurrent of bliss. It went back into her slowly, and she struggled toward the tiny pleasure, gasping. She staggered through the waiting room in her high heels, disembodied, lost. The penis left her and her uncle lifted her and took off her sandals. She groped for his cock, her little legs jerking wildly as he lay down and lowered her to his chest like a poisoned insect. He put her hands on her chest and cunny. Howling, she tried to masturbate as waves of pain crashed against her entrails like acid. "Baby... suck me... suck your daddy..." Marina tried to turn around, shuddering, but he held her and pushed her back. "Get between my legs... I want to see your face, darling." Sobbing, she crawled down there and clutched his hard cock. She was dripping with sweat, her face wet with tears and blood. Her blue eyes were like a prison riot quelled. She sucked wildly, as if she was hanging from his cock. Umber drool trickled to her frantic hands. He pushed her head down, forcing it against her throat. She gagged. "Lick my balls... lick my balls, you whore..." He grabbed her hair. Yes... whore... yes... Marina licked and sucked his testicles. He forced her lips to his anus, the rank smell cutting through her torment like a glint of madness, and the eight-year-old lapped at the bitter opening, desperate. Then he pulled her to him by her hair and offered her the jar. Crying, she greased him again. He was going to make her put it in. She could hardly control her body. "Fuck me, Marina." Steady sobs, horror, his eyes like knives. She knew she had to do it facing him. Her baby face in intense concentration. Her glistening brow furrowed, her chestnut hair tangled, hanging like a dark veil across her bony chest. Her little nipples sore. Her eyes insane like the sapphire choke at her slender neck. Her black stockings had slid to mid-thigh. The anklet. Her wet hands sepia. Biting her lip. Marina made a sound like a struggling sea mammal and squatted over him, trembling uncontrollably. Her anus was open like the blow-hole of a tiny dolphin, incarnadine. She shuddered, tense, balancing, and squealed as she popped his penis into her brutalized butt. It didn't hurt very much! It hurt, but... she... she could move like she wanted to, now, and it hurt less, then, and she squatted down and felt it going in like... like she wanted it to, very, very, slowly into the tight curve. "Ennnngh... auwgh... ennngh..." She fell forward, and her daddy grasped her hips and helped her fuck him. The dangerous little undercurrent of pleasure was now a perilous undertow. He let go of her hips and took her tiny hands in his big strong ones and let her do it... Marina forced his cock into the curve again, then slid it out so that only the head was inside her, slowly, her silken feet against the soft velvet on either side of him, her slit open like a wet, pink fig, her damp hair brushing his chest. She felt a jolt of pain and took it back into her deep, shuddering, staring at the obscene bulge in her taut tummy, her little nipples hard. Grunting, she tried to fuck it into the curve and felt the monster throb, and suddenly her mind flew like a champagne cork and foam spewed from her mouth as a terrible light flashed up her spine and his semen spurted into her guts. She sucked in air and convulsed as the light splattered her intestines, and then something broke and it was as dark as it is in the belly of an aborigine and then another wet flash and then it was darker still. IV SUBMARINE In the belly of the whale. Winter came, and Marina Ivanovna studied hard. She didn't go to school ever again; Aleksei Stepanovich had changed her official residency to the apartment of a friend in Leningrad, paid the requisite bribes, and caused his darling to be stricken from the Book of Life. Now that she was wholly his, her uncle distanced himself from the wild child. He needed to be her tutor again, and that required a certain coldness. He still sodomized her, but it was as a stranger, not as her daddy. He needed to wean her from his penis, to teach her that any cock could and would do for her what his did. Aleksei had always kept his business interests and sexual life, which were intertwined, away from his private life, which was Marina. Slowly he prepared the girl for the unveiling of what he did for a living. He tied her premature bedroom philosophy into a tight knot. He gave her to understand that certain things were strung together - pleasure was important because it made her more arousing, but unimportant in of itself because it was immanent. Seductiveness led to love led to sexy clothes and more seductiveness in a vicious circle wherein lay perfect bliss, like the center of zero or the eye of a tornado. Love was something that could be taken away. Sometimes it simply went away of its own accord, like when her father died. At other times it fled, like her mother. True love, the kind that pinned her to the bed and came in her botty, was beyond time. It came and it went, but her butt and her slit would recognize it, crave it, go insane when it was inside her. Another thing was getting taken care of. That was what pimps were for. He would be her first pimp. She had to learn that her body was an object that belonged to him. Her emotional life - her dolls, her nightmares, her need to be punished - would be taken care of by her pimp. He would protect her. Her intellectual life was designed to be seductive. He had her play the violin and flute when naked. She talked about literature while she practiced her striptease. She masturbated during chess. When she had her tantrums, he raped her. Not the way she liked it - he beat her up and forced his cock into asshole without lubrication. She still had fits, but they came when she was alone, hiding in the closet and staying there until her solitude became an unbearable loneliness. Part of her came to regard him with an impotent hatred that was tinged with fear both rational and irrational. Part of her. Polyanna with both a spectrum and a speculum, most of Marina was madly in love with him. She didn't know who she was. A third-grader in a first-grader's body, she depended on him and the things he gave her for her sense of self. Other than when she threw her tantrums, he was good to her. He taught her how to use cosmetics, was a patient trainer, answered her questions in the style of their old, long, adult conversations, rewarded her with expensive clothes and trinkets, bought her books, and imbued her with a self-esteem that bordered on the obsessive and self-possessed. He was careful not to inflict severe physical damage, letting her recover after her ordeals and teaching her exercises to keep her little bottom hole tight. She had no secrets from him, and he drew from her even a description of the other Marina, the one who hid in the closet, playing with her dolls. That child, the one who hated and feared him, was an imaginary friend. She had named her Anastasiya - Nastya - after the whore he had shown her in the train station, and saw her as one of her dolls. Marina had taken things from the books he had given her and her imagination, and this Nastya slowly grew complex and very real to her. At first Aleksei tried to extract and destroy Marina's imaginary friend, but then decided to let her keep it and help her develop the character. Having a second personality might help her, later, when he wasn't around anymore. This Anastasiya was nothing like the real one. The imaginary Nastya was a dirty little girl who had seduced her daddy and was constantly being punished for it by brutal, faceless men. She lived off of semen and slept in the train station. She was raped in her sleep and got drunk on urine. Nastya hated her pimp because he wouldn't let her die. She wanted to die and be a little girl again, playing with her dolls and getting her daddy to use her botty. But her pimp - Uncle Aleksei - knew that Nastya needed it in her cunny 'cause she was old enough to make babies. Marina loved Nastya. Nastya hurt her and used her as a toilet. Marina danced for her and played with her titties while the men fucked her and knocked her up. She licked Nastya's poophole and told her how pretty it was and how much she loved her. She loved her more than anything because Nastya was herself, the self she couldn't get to. Aleksei was fascinated by Marina's fantasy - his niece had four or five years to go before she could have a baby, yet she was already thinking about it, dreaming about it. It was as if her dolls had become her babies and she had built a bridge of sighs from infancy to a terrible motherhood. He was also interested in the Sapphic aspects of her alter ego. Aleksei Stepanovich was indeed a procurer, but an exalted one. He sold Soviet children abroad - not many, not often, two or three a month. Primarily underage prostitutes, but also younger girls, pretty little blue-eyed blondes for the Japanese, helpless waifs from corrupt orphanages to Western European sadists, sometimes the dirty, defenseless daughters of drunks. He was preparing Marina - not Nastya but the somber and sexualized niece who already had the refined sense of her own charms that an exclusive courtesan from imperial Vienna might possess, despite a stature that was diminutive even for her age - for participation in the skin trade. Aleksei did most of his business at a third-floor apartment in Zirmunai, in one of the grandiose apartments built during the Stalin era. His partner was a woman, which was very unusual in the business, especially in the USSR. Svetlana Dmitriyevna Kirsanova was one of Aleksei's models for the future Marina he was molding. Twenty-two, sharp as a whetted dagger, green-eyed and agonizingly sensual, the tall brunette with her Vermeer skin, long, sinuous legs, taut, muscular and obviously desirous ass and firm breasts the size and shape of a cleft grapefruit, was what kept Aleksei from sinking into the more dire forms of pedophilia. Unfortunately, she was taken - her husband was Gregor Ivanovich Kirsanov, who was not nominally but actually Aleksei's boss. Lusting after Svetlana was perfectly acceptable - doing anything about it was death. Aleksei was not important in the hierarchy of Gregor's organization; he was useful because of his intelligence, amorality and linguistic abilities. Aleksei had many contacts in the West, was able to travel because of various connections to academe, and was more of a specialist than an actual member of the _mafiya_. Suicidally, Aleksei wanted - needed - an increasing intimacy with Svetlana Dmitriyevna. She didn't discourage him; Svetlana enjoyed seducing men almost as much as she enjoyed watching her husband destroy them afterwards. They were friends, though. Under her icy but curiously inviting exterior - the haute couture, the wildly expensive and carefully applied make-up, the incredible cruelty with which she treated their prey - Svetlana hid a young girl who was desperate for love. Gregor adored her. He spent most of his income on her. She despised him. He strove to obtain her affection, and when he couldn't get it he tortured her. She cried on Aleksei's shoulder, describing in detail the terrible thing he had done to her. "You would never do those things to me... Aleksei... kiss me... he puts his hands in me... feel me... feel what he did to me..." He couldn't resist her. She showed off her bruises and cried like a little girl when Aleksei fisted her. He had never met anyone so eager to be hurt... and so miraculously resilient. An hour later she was sheathed in ice, hurting the children they were selling. After each episode, Aleksei waited for Gregor's knock, for the knell of the butt of Kirsanov's Makarov against the door. And yet it never came. Svetlana did not betray Aleksei, as she did the other lovers she lured into her strange embrace. She kept him in fear, however... and after two years of working together, Aleksei developed a dangerous obsession. He wanted to steal her. He wanted to be married to Svetlana Dmitriyevna. It was absurd, but the fantasy grew like a tumor. He wanted her to educate his niece. He wanted to live in the country with her, somewhere in the Golden Circle, to live like the landed gentry of a century ago. Between finding men to abuse her and handing them over to her husband as rapists, and abusing the girls they exported, Svetlana made love - to prostitutes. Gregor permitted this - even if men participated, as long as they didn't touch his wife. The girls she chose were not common whores. Where she found them was a mystery to Aleksei. She had a thing for perverted adolescents, slutty, sexually sick creatures in their early teens. She teased him, then. Aleksei couldn't touch her during these orgies because one of the nymphs might inform her husband. He fucked her fallen angels while Svetlana caressed them and masturbated for him, thrilled that he couldn't take his eyes off of her even when surrounded by unbelievably beautiful nymphs who were available to him. Sometimes Gregor Ivanovich took part in these bacchanals, and then Aleksei had to watch him brutalize his forbidden beloved. Svetlana didn't like to be hurt by Gregor. He was the cause of her suffering, and Aleksei slowly learned that his inamorata identified her husband with her father. She couldn't leave him, not only because he would hunt her down but because she needed someone to blame for her depravity. Svetlana was sterile. She wanted children - she wanted to corrupt something. The girls they shipped westward were not good enough for her. She wanted a child like the adolescent whores who pleasured her, a being that was more than meat, or meat that was aware of itself, wanton. Aleksei was preparing his niece for the woman he loved. He wanted to share Marina, to make Marina the magical link that would bind Svetlana Dmitriyevna to him. x x x Marina Ivanovna Vasilieva's training followed a rigorous routine. She woke early - actually, she woke often, suffering from nightmares and frigging herself - and usually drifted from her disturbing dreams directly into a masturbatory trance, staying there until the alarm rang, sometimes longer, for which she was punished. She rarely brought herself to orgasm. Marina caressed herself softly, carefully diddling her anus with a wet finger, imagining Nastya's tongue there, then transferring her consciousness to Nastya's bruised, nervous body and leaving hers, cold, alone, imagining Nastya in the train station, naked, wiggling her butt for the different men who wanted her cunt hole. Nastya didn't want them in there. She needed them in her botty. But no one would ever do that to her. They all wanted to make her pregnant. Not because they wanted her to have their babies - she wasn't good enough for that - but because they wanted to hurt her. She was too small, and all of the dirty whores in her tummy kicked her until she squirmed sexy and more men made more babies in her until her belly burst. Then Nastya was in Marina's body and Marina was her phantom lover, playing with her botty for her. She would make sure she never grew up. When the alarm rang, at seven, Marina bathed and dressed and put on her make-up and made breakfast - oatmeal and an egg for herself, coffee and rolls with butter and jam for her uncle. She sucked him awake, licked his asshole, and begged him to pee in her mouth. She had to swallow it all. If she got any on her clothes, he spanked her, sometimes very hard, and peed on her for the rest of the day, making her wear the pissy things. She liked getting spanked, and sometimes she liked having to wear the urine-soaked clothing. But she usually threw a tantrum later, then, and sometimes he would pull her out of the closet and do things to her that hurt too much. So Marina usually struggled to swallow his bitter morning pee. Then she sucked him and swallowed his semen. Then they had breakfast. After breakfast, Uncle Aleksei often went to work or ran errands. While he was gone, she wrote in her diary, practiced the violin and flute, and exercised. 'Dear Diary. Today I am wearing a black minidress and Uncle will fuck his little girl. I had an accident in the morning but changed the sheets before my Uncle saw. I look like a little cocksucker for Uncle. I drank his pee. I got it all. He said I was pretty and put it in he fucked my mouth he fucked my dirty mouth. I can get it in so deep he fucked my mouth. I didn't gag and he said he will take me to the train station restaurant again tonight and show me whores.' 'Dear Diary. Today I missed the alarm because of Nastya and got a spanking and had an accident and another spanking and I was scared he would do it to me dry I pooped myself and so he whipped me and I was scared. He peed and I couldn't swallow it I was so scared. I had no clothes on and so he had me eat my poop and then wipe my dress in what I did and wear it. He peed again and I'm wet and dirty like Nastya now I write in my diary. I see Nastya and when he makes me eat my poop I eat her poop. She got another baby in her and I am going to pee in my dress be wet like her. I feel bad and I know Uncle thinks I am going to have a fit and I'm scared. He doesn't like me wet like this it's bad for my skin and I was so good yesterday he fucked me my botty nasty and took me to the restaurant and I wanted to see Nastya but she wasn't there and a whore Inessa was she was fourteen and she had titties and talked to Uncle she was pretty and she kissed me and Uncle told her that for my birthday he will do something special and she looked at me like I was pretty and Uncle said I was.' 'Dear Diary. I had a fit and went to the closet and played with the dolls and my cunny and my poophole and I was scared he would find me and do those things to me but he didn't and at night I took a bath and he let me suck him and said I was okay and my birthday is soon and then he took pictures of me sucking my flute and I put stuff on the end of the neck of my violin and put it in my botty and it was sexy and today he will show me the pictures and I feel good except my poophole hurts a little. Today I drank his pee and sucked him good and he loves me I mean like a pimp. Nastya needs other kind of love but she is bad. She needs to be a baby. Uncle said when I am nine I will have friends I was scared I'm scared nobody will like me but Uncle said Inessa liked me she liked my body and Uncle put his finger in me in my cunny hole when I did my dance and he said I aroused Inessa and fucked me with his finger and had me tell him all of the things I wanted to do to Inessa and how did it feel when she kissed me and the dirtier I said the more he played in there and I said I was a big girl with my pimp in my cunny hole and I had a come. I loved it when Inessa kiss me I want her to be my mommy but Uncle said I have a mommy I said she went to Moscow she left me but Uncle said not that mommy he said I have a mommy Svetlana I will meet on my birthday and she can do anything she wants to to me. I love my pimp. I love him he let me have my fit this time 'cause he said I am a big girl and I can do it but won't want to do it because I will have a mommy and real friends not Nastya and whores and cocks and but I need Nastya and I know he knows and I'm scared but I love him and when I love him and do good he is so wonderful to me and my body.' Aleksei encouraged her to keep the diary, and persuaded her that he would never read it. It would be her private world, the mature equivalent to the closet. He did read it, but never revealed that to her. Aleksei wanted her to reflect herself in the journal, to have her sense of self and the self's movement as reflected there become a replacement for Nastya the imaginary friend. When Aleksei returned, in the afternoon, she performed for him. He made lunch, and ate while she played her instruments, naked, danced, posed, and talked dirty about herself. Then she gave him a blow job, masturbating. He gave her language lessons - English for its usefulness and French for the sensuality of the tongue - tested her memory of the books he assigned, taught her math and talked. Often they had a photography session. In the evening, they watched videos together or read. The videos came primarily from his collection of kiddie porn, but included films of adults he admired - Tami Ann, for example, with her amazing asshole. They had a late dinner, made by one or the other, took a walk - in darkness, for at this stage she was not presentable, too obviously molested - and then, usually, they had sex. Marina was too young to understand what it was that he was doing to her. He was folding her like a pale omelette (never outside by day, the pink hue departed from her skin), the inside filled with living creatures, guilty selves isolated and entwined, while the outside gleamed wetly and read Vogue. In the evenings, which were almost serene until bedtime, he found it hard to keep his distance. His niece's receptivity to the treatment shocked even him; she was the perfect child, with an alluring veneer and still seemingly innocent sensuality and sophistication, an attractive seriousness, sitting primly with her hands folded in her lap while packs of dogs defiled virgins on the television screen, shifting when something aroused her, questioning him ("Uncle Aleksei, can she take the horse in her cunt?") and dissolving into a submissive and tortured schizophrenic when he fucked her. To keep up her spirits and self-esteem, he mostly let Marina lead in bed. She was insane, then, a pathetic infant riddled with shame, desperate to drown her puny, overexcited body in orgasm. He didn't like punishing her, and was glad that she seemed to be burying her torment deep inside, projecting the rest onto her dolls and into her diary. He hurt and degraded her to keep her from loving him except sexually and as her pimp; he was artful in this, he thought, and prevented her from becoming attached to him in a canine way. By the time she turned nine, on a rainy November night, Marina Ivanovna was almost capable of containing her many personalities in her seductive and difficult body. He could take her out in public, and most observers would not be able to recognize the causes of her oddity - there was much that was disquieting about her, particularly in her azure eyes, but it was not easily placed. He had her practice what they called 'off' - walking properly, not as though she needed to be fucked, avoiding a gaze, pretending to be a normal and well cared for child. Physically, Marina looked like seven-year-old street urchin in fabulously unusual clothes - in the Soviet Union of the mid-eighties, European garments were rare indeed. Four feet tall, she weighed only forty-three pounds. Her furtive eyes, however, when caught, were straight out of some from some macabre science fiction flick - they responded to strangers with a breathtaking and abysmal shame that then became an insane, obscene, obviously erotic and utterly unnatural need. If she asked for ice cream, it was as if she was begging to be pissed in. Underneath was a terrified infant. She had totally forgotten what life was like before her uncle began using her, and believed that everyone - men - wanted to hurt her. She didn't understand her fear, and it was as if she was playing with herself - as if her body was her imaginary friend. She wanted to offer it to men so that she wouldn't have it anymore. A few weeks before her birthday, Aleksei forbade her to masturbate. She still performed, but without touching herself, and slowly, mysteriously, Marina's little libido went berserk. He had threatened 'to do the things that hurt too much' if she touched herself, and that threat now worked like an order given a show dog. She actually leaked. Her slit, when they watched children fucking or Tami Ann taking two cocks in her ass, drooled like an abnormal adult's. 'Dear Diary. Uncle he I dance for him I need him I can't I almost touched it today I need him I was practicing for my birthday with the roses and everything I thought I would die. I want it in my cunny now not in my botty. I need it.' Birthday morning came at last. He gave her a glass of champagne for breakfast and a stunning new outfit - a little leather skirt and a skimpy sort of tank top of black silk. Then Aleksei presented her with a black velvet rope on which hung a single large sapphire. She had graduated to two-and-a-half inch heels, put on black stockings, a garter and g-string, and the sapphire anklet he had given her almost a year ago. They spent the day chatting, celebrating, and when evening came with a shower of rain, her uncle drove her to the apartment in Zirmunai that served as the office. Marina was nervous, scared. She knew that she had to make a good impression on Svetlana and that her uncle wanted to show her off, that today she would at last be used by others. She concentrated on her cunny like he'd told her to. Svetlana frightened her. The tall, green-eyed sadomasochist was dressed in a sleeveless silver dress. Uncle Aleksei kissed her on the cheek and introduced his niece. Svetlana stared at the strange child, studying her perverted body. Marina felt naked, and knew that she soon would be. "Mmmmm," Svetlana said, smiling. "You've been keeping her secret from me, Aleksei Stepanovich?" Marina saw that her uncle was in love with the weird woman. He had told Marina that she couldn't be loved, and he was in love. Suddenly Marina realized that her uncle didn't love _her_. Aleksei got a tray of glasses, vodka, and champagne, and they went into the bedroom. It was almost empty except for a video camera and an enormous bed covered with white satin. There was a girl there, too, a miserable twelve-year-old runaway from Kaunas. Svetlana's husband arrived with a faceless man and a sixteen-year-old whore. Inessa appeared, and a beautiful thirteen-year-old named Vita. A few others - business associates Aleksei had invited, and Svetlana's favorite whores - drifted in. The room reeked of criminality and perfume. Marina had been rehearsing for this day for a very long time. Svetlana and Vita started kissing, and Marina became aroused just as her body reeled at the prospect of what she had to do to herself to please them. Uncle Aleksei didn't really expect her to do it, but knew that an attempt would be fine anyhow. The birthday girl stripped slowly, caressing herself, flicking her g-string against her visibly damp cunny, fingering her nipples. Then she climbed into bed and posed, displaying her skinny little butt, showing them her slit, sucking her thumb. Aleksei took pictures, then handed her a huge, long-stemmed rose, the bud as white as she was, the stem thick and thorny. Marina held her breath, staring. She had to do it. He had threatened her and promised her the world if she... "Fuck me!" The nine-year-old stabbed the thorny stem into her cunny hole and deflowered herself, howling, blood gushing from her slit. Gregor's penis was next. The thug tore the flower from child's hole and tried to force his penis into her torn vagina. She wasn't big enough. It was far, far worse than anything had ever been in her ass. She screamed her head off and struggled as Gregor ripped her tiny slit with his thick, stubby cock, trying to force it deeper. He could only get about three inches inside her, but even that sent the victim into a paroxysm of unendurable, transcendental agony. Marina blacked out. x x x She came to, naked, in a white room, rising from a dream where she had been within the rose. Doctor Malevich was caressing her, gently running his fingers along her delicate ribs. Her blue eyes swam with morphine. She couldn't feel her bandaged snatch. "Beautiful child," he whispered. "How are you feeling?" She gave a little gasp as the gaunt, balding doctor fingered her nipples softly. This was a stranger. His touch was totally different from Uncle Aleksei's. He had a kindly face, with high cheekbones and cool gray eyes. He began to pinch her nipples very lightly, and Marina got a weird feeling in her bottom hole, a warm wetness, like milk chocolate melting on her tongue. He smiled at her, and the nine-year-old ran her tongue against her lower lip. Even drugged, her eyes were suffused with her shameful needs. Doctor Malevich leaned over the low, narrow bed and tongued her nipples. Marina moaned and drew up her legs, spreading her thin white thighs and lifting her perverted ass from the firm mattress, musk seeping from the tiny pink hole. He fondled her pale feet and stroked her calves. When he didn't touch it, she mewled and fingered her unnaturally aroused anus. He gently moved her hand away. "Not yet, Marina," he whispered. "Relax." She couldn't. The dirty feeling in her botty had become as dubiously voluntary as the need to go poop. She arched her back and whimpered, wiggling her skinny butt. The doctor unbuttoned his trousers and extracted his six-inch penis, turning her tormented face toward it. Marina gurgled and slithered to his stiff prick, slipping it into her wet little mouth and wrapping the tense fingers of her left hand around the shaft. This child exceeded even the doctor's daughters in her sexual abnormality. She squirmed desperately as she sucked him, clenching her perfect ass. Doctor Malevich backed away and undressed. The nine-year-old flew into a seductive fit, undulating and posing, caressing her buttocks and writhing as though there was someone inside her. He climbed into bed, and Marina spread her cheeks, looking at him over her shoulder and sticking out her tongue. He held a jar of Vaseline but it was almost unnecessary. The child's dilated anus oozed an opalescent substance that had the odor of a newborn girl. The strange creature took the jar from him, moaning in a ghostly fog of pleasure and misery, lubricated his penis and again crouched on all fours, offering her behind. He turned her around and she lay on her back. He wanted to see her face. Those eyes. The doctor teased her, kissing her feet, and gasped as a musky fluid trickled from the child's anus. She was panting, her shivering body bathed in sweat, her hands on either side of her contorted face, balled into tiny fists. Her bandage was soaked with cunny-milk, and Doctor Malevich almost tore it from her wounded gash. He licked her quivering thighs and lapped at her freaky butthole. The discharge had a nasty but hypnotic taste, like clam juice, brine, and strangely acidic phlegm. "F-fuck... fuck... me..." Marina had never been so aroused. Morpheus was making love to her on a vast plain littered with corpses. What the thug - Gregor - had done to her was an attack so swift that she could not... know it... and she didn't want it - but the idea that someone other than her uncle was going to enter her now was a dread ecstasy. She came as soon as the penis slid into her little hole. It slipped into the snug curve. She almost cried when she realized that he was all the way in, that it wouldn't go deeper like her uncle's did. "Fuck me... pleeeeeeassssse... please fuck me... I need... pleeeeeaaaassssse..." She rocked her hips and the man thrust into her tight rectum. She ripped the bandage from her slit and bucked against him, rubbing her mutilated cunny, then took her left foot in both hands and sucked her toes, drooling, staring at him, mesmerizing him... The man pulled his penis from her anus and touched it to her slit. She shuddered and let go of her foot, terrified, squealing. There was a sharp pain as he stabbed his cock into the mangled tube and then a sudden, insane craving inside her, there, in her tiny womb. She gasped as a spasm shook her and the man's dick struck her cervix. It didn't... hurt... it... did something... it hurt! It hurt! Her legs jerked as he slid from her and then it went in there again, deep, slowly forcing the little collar. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, her small hands on his hips, and pulled him into her, wide-eyed. Their eyes locked as she shook like mad and his semen gushed into her uterus. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhh, yessss..." Spurt after spurt of steaming fuck splashed into her womb, and Marina's orgasm surged through her like a sentient storm, then tossed her back into a mindless chaos of incredible pain. Doctor Malevich leapt from the bed and a few minutes later injected the shrieking child with another dose of morphine, running his fingers through her drenched hair. x x x Aleksei Stepanovich Kirov's dream had burst like a blister, like a sealed jar brimming with mercury. He felt as if he were waking from an interminable binge. He hadn't meant for Gregor Ivanovich to rape his niece, and he hadn't expected the birthday girl to pass out. And then it was over - or, it had become another orgy with Svetlana and her whores, Marina unconscious on the floor. Another exhibition in which he had to watch the woman he loved invaded by her husband. Svetlana Dmitriyevna was interested in Marina, yes. She was as interested in his niece as she was interested in Inessa or any other young prostitute, or the doctor's vile daughter, Vita Malevicha. He had been living a dream. Svetlana had been toying with him, relishing his love as if it were flattery. Vita called her father and Doctor Malevich came and removed her to his secret little infirmary, where the wiry addict dressed gunshot wounds and fixed the more expensive sort of whores for the organization. Aleksei didn't even know where the place was. He was an underling, a nothing. Rage ran through him like a rusty sword as he watched Gregor slap Svetlana's breasts. Impotent rage. He was a nothing, he could do nothing. They had laughed at his niece. They had laughed at the thing he had made by months and months of physical and psychological labor, at the insertion of the rose that showed how even her pain was his... He hated Svetlana, suddenly. He hated Svetlana and he hated Marina and he hated himself. After the orgy, when he was dismissed like a distrusted clerk, Aleksei Stepanovich drove to Trakai, where he knew a tochka, an underground distillery, and drowned himself in moonshine, the yellowish-brown liquor searing his bitter brain and tortured heart as he lay in the grass and stared at the blurry, ancient castle on the island in the cold, dark lake. x x x Doctor Aloysius Abrahamovich Malevich, a Lithuanian Jew on his father's side and a Volga German on his mother's, turned thirty-eight on the very day that Marina Ivanovna turned nine. A refusenik and dissident, drug addict and Baltic nationalist, pedophile and artist, his was a complex nature that often veered beyond his control. Unlike Aleksei, whom he disliked, Aloysius was trusted by Gregor Ivanovich and others even higher in the hierarchy. To Aloysius, the organization was not only an income but also another structure that kept him from the descent he both longed for and feared. He had lost his internship at the hospital at twenty-four. It was due to his political activities that he was forced out, not lack of skill... or other things. At twenty-four, Malevich was a virgin. He was shy to the point of paralysis, and his sexual life consisted of the barely perceptible molestation of his pubescent patients, both male and female - furtive caresses followed by furious masturbation in the washroom. On his last day at the hospital, his last patient was a sickly thirteen-year-old boy, a blue-eyed, raven haired child with a girlish body and red lips, caressing his belly while listening to his tubercular breathing with the stethoscope, when the youngster squirmed and gave a little moan. Aloysius blushed and took his hand away, but the boy moaned again caught the doctor's wrist, guiding the man's hand to his tented underwear. The doctor slid his fingers under the elastic, clasped the kid's erection, leaned over suddenly and took the stiff little penis into his mouth, coming in has pants as the boy ejaculated and Aloysius swallowed. Trembling with guilt and terror, Doctor Malevich stammered something unintelligible. Yuri sat up and wormed his way into the doctor's arms like a lost little girl. Aloysius embraced him, and the thirteen-year-old touched the doctor's crotch, staring up at him with his lips parted and his dark blue eyes plaintive, corrupt. The doctor kissed him, their tongues twining, and the boy fumbled with his fly. "N-no," Aloysius said, backing away. The boy blushed then, looking guilty, ashamed. He had a languid, androgynous body, long lashes, feminine feet and hips. The doctor kissed him again, tongue-fucking his mouth and fondling his little penis. Then he pushed him away, trembling. "I'm s-sorry," Doctor Malevich whispered. "D-do you love me?" Aloysius stared into the boy's big blue eyes, shocked. Yes, he loved him. He needed him. "Yes," the doctor answered. "Yes... I love you... I..." "Tell my sister," Yuri said. "What?!" "You need to tell my sister..." The boy dressed while Doctor Malevich whirled about the examining room in a panic. "What do you mean?" "She's in the corridor... tell her you love us and want to be our daddy." Yuri Boruhovich Rosenberg's half-sister Alexandra Boruhovna Rosenberg was thirteen. An anemic Jewess with a fearful, nubile body, slender and small-breasted, with her brother's dark blue, almost indigo eyes and scarlet mouth, Sasha was filthy and wore a ragged dress that was too small for her, an ill-fitting kurtka and a melancholy grimace on her aristocratic face. It was a harsh winter, but the poor girl was wearing sandals, her threadbare grayish socks drenched and evil-smelling. Her mother, who was her father's daughter, had died in childbirth, and her father or grandfather drank himself to death soon afterward, not before impregnating a whore named Galina, Yuri's mother. Galina hated Sasha and abused her, and when Yuri was six and Sasha seven, she married a vile alcoholic named Vladimir in order to get at his house, a ramshackle wooden dwelling without running water. Vlad molested both children, especially after their mother's death (she drank concentrated vinegar by mistake, thinking it was krutka). Illiterate and miserable, they somehow slipped through the Soviet net unnoticed. By the time she was ten, Sasha supported the family with her fragile, soon diseased and strangely beautiful body. She also made love to her brother while their stepfather snored. At first it was because she wanted to save Yuri from homosexuality, which terrified her, but later it was lovemaking. The thirteen-year-old loved her brother, and kept him sane in the midst of Vlad's violence by telling stories. She promised him that they would escape together, and escape was indeed her desire. She dreamt of giving herself to a man who would love them both. She told her brother that one of the men who used her would fall in love with her and rescue them. But the men who paid Vlad to fuck the pathetic child were degenerates. Even if they weren't, they saw Sasha as lower than an animal, partly because the waif took pleasure in her degradation. Her slimehole and her loose, vermilion anus were easily aroused, and once she was fertile, the thirteen-year-old was desperate to get pregnant, especially by her brother. Doctor Malevich opened stared at the urchin in the corridor and asked her to come into the examining room. The pitiful creature excited him even more than her brother had. It was his last day at the hospital, and Aloysius had lost all sense of reality. Sasha stared at the floor. She didn't know how to behave around men who hadn't paid her stepfather. She wrung her hands and held her breath, as afraid of the doctor as she was of the miltsiya, her toes turned inward, shivering. "What's your name?" "Alexandra Boruhovna... Rosenberg." "Where do you live?" "In... in..." She started to sob, as she had the one time she had almost been arrested, which had ended in rape. He pulled her to him, kissing her neck, breathing in the ratty smell of her wet, inky hair. She rubbed against him, her hand automatically squeezing the bulge in his pants, the pungent fragrance of her dirty cunt mixing with the faint odor of urine. "Love me," she whispered. "Love me... love me..." He kissed her mouth, then steadied her and looked into her smutty blue eyes. Doctor Malevich told her to wait in front of the pelmeniya a block from the hospital, with her brother. Sasha smiled at him, a true smile. He had fallen in love. Aloysius Abrahamovich lived alone, a luxury then, and he also had a stash of jewelry that his grandparents had somehow secreted through war and horror. He picked up the two children in his Moskvitch and drove them to his apartment in the old section of Klaipeda. He made hot chocolate, spiked it with the Cuban rum that was then available, and nervously sat between them on the old sofa in the book-lined room. Sasha was nervous, too. She didn't know how to act around him. She knew that he wanted her sexually, but he had treated her tenderly. She was afraid he would hate her once he saw her infected hole, and worried that he would despise her for what she did with her brother. "Your socks are wet," he said. "You'll catch cold." She took them off, simultaneously letting him see her stained panties. Her damp feet were stunningly beautiful, the white of evening milk, with long, slender toes. They stank, however, and the pink nails were broken and untrimmed. "You're very lovely," he said, touching her foot. She gave a little moan and spread her legs, lifting her dress. He feared that she didn't know what he had done with her brother. Then Yuri snuggled up to him and she smiled again. He kissed her, and Sasha sucked his tongue, squirming seductively and unbuttoning her dress, baring her breasts. The waif's titties were tiny, but her tumescent nipples were the size of quail eggs, a dark pink. Her ribs were not pronounced, but there was a deep depression down the center of her chest, turning shallow along her taut white stomach, and her navel was protuberant, the diameter of a twenty-kopeck coin. He fondled her little breasts and sucked them, then tore her dress completely open and peeled off her soiled panties. The strong stink of rotting sperm and urine in her drool was bestial, and the whimpering adolescent threw her right leg over the back of the couch and fingered her filthy gash, her other leg pushing against the side of the cushion, spreading her thighs obscenely wide, showing him the infected opening leaking in the sodden field of thin, matted, jet black hair, masturbating. Aloysius kissed her mouth again, still afraid, and Sasha undid his belt and trousers and extracted his aching cock, stroking it towards her slimehole. Grunting, he entered her, and the girl pulled him deeper, moaning, caressing his buttocks and finally slipping a finger into the doctor's anus. She wasn't tight, but he had never been in anything before. Suddenly her brother knelt beside her, naked, fondling her breasts. Sasha looked at Aloysius, afraid. "Yes," the doctor moaned. "Suck... him..." Sasha grasped her brother's penis gleefully and drew it to her scarlet mouth, her other hand wrapping around the base of Aloysius' penis. She was pushing the doctor out. He didn't understand, upset, staring at her skinny legs, until she stopped sucking Yuri for a second and whined. "I want you to buttfuck me," she begged. "Fuck my ass..." He had never even considered such a thing, and almost came at the thought. She lifted her butt, her long fingers wrapped around one slender cheek, showing him her sore, inviting brownhole. His penis dripping from her snatch, he stabbed it into her muddy bottom. Her brother's member jerked in her hand as she wailed, tossing her head from side to side and bucking violently against the doctor's cock as Yuri jerked off, caressing her shuddering body. "Tovarich," Sasha wailed, not knowing how to address him - "Comrade... please... please I... aaauuuughhh... yessss... unnnngh... please I... unngh... w-want both... both of you... in me... please..." Aloysius pulled out of her ass and Sasha got him to lay down, then drew his slimy cock into her cunt again, on top of him, whimpering and spreading her cheeks for her brother. She liked two dicks in her, but had never done it with her brother. She had dreamt of this, of her brother feeling another man inside her, of her twelve-year-old brother fucking her while she was another man's whore. Aloysius fingered her swollen nipples and caressed her face, staring into the strange young woman's dark blue eyes. He had never experienced such bliss - and Sasha had never felt such tenderness combined with the hard love she needed in her body. Yuri stuffed his three-and-a-half inch penis into his sister's bottom, and Aloysius felt it through the membrane. He strained not to come, wanting to give her pleasure. "Ooaaanngh... aughnn... oh... God! Is it good... Comrade?" "Yes... yes, darling..." A corrupt smile of fantastic ecstasy spread across her lovely face. No one had called her that for years. Her brother was feeling her, feeling his sister the way she was... his dirty sister with a man in her... "Oh, fuck," she moaned. "Oh, God, fuck... y-you... feel him... fuck me... fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck your... sister... yesssss... fuck her... shithole, oh, oh yes... yes... auwww... auwww... auwww-w-w... auwww... oh, yessss... auwww..." Yuri was usually too small to get her to feel this, what she felt with men, and yet she missed his love when she whored, and now she had both... and the man loved her, too, she could feel it, feel his wonder at the delight she felt... "Let go... let me go," she begged. "Let me go... a minute..." Her brother withdrew and Sasha shifted onto her back after casting a glance like a wet wind laden with some fabulous disease at the supine doctor, the smell of her genitals hanging in the air like a cloudy bordello. She drew the doctor's dick into her cunt from below, and cast the same glance to her brother. She wasn't afraid at all anymore. Yuri forced his penis in beside the doctor's. Now she was tight, and Aloysius felt the sweet little prick slide against his. "Yeeeeeeeesssssssssss... I want you to... feel it... feel each other... yes... feel your... cocks in me... I want you to... I want you to come in my shit! I want you to come in my shit but I need you... aaaauuuuuuugh... I need you... aaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuugh... I want you to come in my shit but I need your... baby... oh, fuck... make a baby in me... fucking come in me..." Her brother started to screw her hard, his little penis sliding against the doctor's shaft, stretching her, and Sasha's speech dissolved into incoherent grunts. The doctor wanted a baby. He wanted this baby and he wanted her baby and her brother and her shit. Yuri ejaculated against Aloysius' penis, and the doctor, too, came, and Sasha, the three of them howling as if the dreary room were a madhouse, the scent of her bodily insanity suffusing the electric air. x x x Aloysius Abrahamovich Malevich, when he needed money, sold the family jewels to an army major in Sovetsk, the old East Prussian town of Tilsit, now in the Kaliningrad Oblast. It was dangerous. It was especially dangerous then, when the mafiya was not yet the mafiya but a tangled web of KGB agents, corrupt military officials, and the nomenklatura. And it was suicidally dangerous for Doctor Malevich, who was already under suspicion for samizdat and compromised by his addictions. Major Ivaniuk was a beady-eyed man with a face straight off of one of the socialist realist victory monuments that were then ubiquitous. He gave Aloysius several thousand rubles - they were very valuable then, two bucks at the official rate - for various fine pieces, and blessed him with a cryptic smile. A Lieutenant Colonel appeared at the door of the doctor's apartment that very evening, his pants bearing the red stripe that spelled trouble. His eyes were a calm gray, and he was thin and small for an officer. His name was Mikhail Denisovich Valeyev. Sasha and Yuri had been cleaned up and floated in a stream of bliss. They had found the father and lover of their fairy tales. Aloysius asked his urchins to leave the room and waited in dread for his arrest. Lt. Col. Valeyev listed everything. They knew everything, but everything about him - the leaflets he had typed, the letters he had written, the cache of jewelry, the two children he had tried to pretend were relatives. When he was suitably terrified and resigned to a long sojourn in the Gulag, Mikhail Denisovich produced a bottle of fine Armenian cognac, offered Aloysius Abrahamovich a Cuban cigar, and asked about his career plans. And then the officer explained a few things to the disgraced doctor. Such as the fact that the Soviet Union would soon collapse, and that men like Mikhail Denisovich would remain in power under a different guise - not everywhere, not in Lithuania, for example - but in Russia certainly. Did Aloysius wish to profit by that power? It wasn't a question, of course. He would either work for them or be killed. It didn't need to be said. And so Doctor Malevich remained a medical man, even receiving adoption papers for Sasha and Yuri, and was given a fine apartment overlooking the river Neris. His morality was already in tatters, and there was really very little work. He drugged children before their export, dressed wounds, treated patients who weren't supposed to exist. He had a lot of time to raise the children. He taught them to read and write, cured Sasha's syphilis, and lived in a little world of sexual bliss. They acquired a dacha outside Trakai, and the two rescued adolescents flourished. When Sasha was fourteen, she gave birth to a daughter, Vita. It was the doctor's, not Yuri's. Then, at fifteen, Sasha had another child, Jurga. Sasha died in childbirth, but Jurga, her brother's daughter, lived. Griefstricken at the death of his dream girl, Doctor Malevich sank back into heavy drug use, and Yuri joined him, tormented by the loss of his sister. When Yurga was three and Vita four, tragedy struck again. Yuri overdosed, dead at seventeen. But the second tragedy revived the doctor. Aloysius lowered his dosages and tried hard to recover, to be a good father to the two girls. Yurga, the daughter of siblings, her mother inbred, was plagued by health problems. Anemic, with thin, pale lips and her mother's dark blue eyes, she was frail and epileptic, though without any physical deformity. She couldn't be toilet trained until she was five, however, and seemed somewhat crazy, with violent mood swings and frequently suffering from hallucinations. Yurga was intelligent, however, even above average. Her genitals were stunted, and she was allergic to many foods, underweight. Vita, his daughter, also blue-eyed, was brilliant. She seemed to grow in her sister's stead, five foot seven at age thirteen, with beautiful little breasts like a sliced dinner roll and dark red nipples almost the size of her mother's when hard. Her fuckhole, too, was womanly very early, a deep pink, with pouting labia and a clit like a two-inch rain-worm when it stiffened. Slender and athletic, she had also inherited her mother's perfect, long-toed feet and sensual red mouth. While Yurga's hair was a light brown, Vita's was jet black. She had coltish legs, muscular buttocks, wide hips and Sasha's navel, low and large and perfectly round. She even had the deep cleft in her chest that her mother had had. The doctor did not molest them, but they grew up in a household where child prostitutes and kidnapped children, pimps and perverts were frequent guests. They learned about sex when quite young, and Vita started sleeping around when she was ten. Yurga, on the other hand, was terrified of men, perhaps because her vagina was tiny, like an infant's. At twelve, she was less than four and a half feet tall, and her arms were little thicker than hot dogs, her thighs as thin as her calves. She masturbated, but shyly, locked in her room. Vita and her father started fucking when she was eleven, but abandoned it - she needed strangers, aroused by the process of seduction. He was afraid of her promiscuity at first, but Vita was careful, clever. She befriended Svetlana because she was bisexual and, at thirteen, Vita discovered that she liked to be hurt. The desire scared her... and then she found that fear turned her on. Like her mother, Vita loved to have sex with two or more men. Unlike Sasha, she was aroused by humiliation and abuse. Svetlana found her men who were more than willing to oblige. Vita took care of her body, however, and she was not a prostitute. She liked to be treated like a whore, but when she wasn't in bed she was arrogant and self-possessed. She had no sadistic tendencies, and was tender with the miserable creatures who were taken care of by the doctor. She loved and respected her father, treated her sister with care, and was both happy and serious, engaging in many hobbies, studying ballet and photography, playing the piano like a direct descendant of the muse, and frightening others with her erudition. Doctor Malevich, between mafiya and family, was quite content. Even his addiction to opiates pleased him, for it was under control... but what he missed was _dirt_. When he masturbated, or often even when he molested the victims who passed through his secret infirmary, Aloysius fantasized about Sasha, recalling her as she appeared in the corridor of the hospital, her drenched socks and smelly feet, her misery. And then he would drift into visions of Yurga, her sickly, anemic body, the abnormally tiny slit between her scrawny thighs, her bony buttocks little bigger than his fists, the smell of fear that emanated from her clammy skin when he looked at her... he didn't abuse her, but he wanted to, and she knew it. He wanted to piss on her, in her mouth, to see her wallowing in her own filth, to make her miserable... Doctor Malevich fell in love with nine-year-old Marina because there was something dirty about her - something that came from her, not what her uncle had done to her. The doctor hated Aleksei Stepanovich because he was doing to Marina what Aloysius wanted to do to Yurga. x x x Marina Ivanovna Vasilieva loved morphine. She dreamt as never before, swimming through lucid, sweet waters with her dolls and fish and imaginary friend, the doctor's semen in her prepubescent womb. She loved it in there, and imagined that she could feel the baby sauce deep in her hurt little fuck-tube, warm and sticky, the tiny sperm seeking the egg that she didn't have yet. She didn't want to go back to her uncle. She had seen the love in his eyes, the love for Svetlana, and it made Marina hate him. She wanted to be loved like that... and she knew she never would be. She was a whore. No one would ever love her. Not like that. If they did, she couldn't love them. They could love her body, though. The way the doctor did. Her uncle was training her. The doctor fucked her because she seduced him, because she had a dirty little body and he needed to put it in her slut hole. She could tell that he was fucking parts of her. He didn't care about her at all. She didn't care about herself, either, and when the doctor put his penis in her botty or her pretty little slimehole, it was like he was doing stuff to her dolls and she wasn't there. She liked not being there. On her third day at the infirmary, Marina met Vita. The doctor introduced his daughter, and Marina was awed by the thirteen-year-old. Vita was dressed in a green sequined dress and three-inch heels, making her five foot ten, and her father left them together. The nine-year-old didn't know what to do around a female. "I loved what you did with the rose," the teenager said, sitting down on the bed. "Th-thanks," Marina answered. "Did it hurt?" "Yeah," Marina said breathlessly, and spread her legs, letting Vita see up her hospital gown, trembling, afraid of rejection. "My father likes you," Vita said. "H-he... I like him," Marina said, sad that Vita didn't look at her cunny. "I think you remind him of my little sister." "Oh," Marina said. She knew that the doctor had to have a reason for liking her... that he couldn't like _her_. "Do you miss your uncle?" "N-no." "Would you like to stay with us?" "Yes!" "I have an idea," Vita said. "An idea that will make my daddy very happy." Vita was a genius. What she suggested to her father was that they keep Marina Ivanovna - that he tell Gregor and Aleksei that the girl had died. x x x And so Marina, nine years old, was dead. They took her to the dacha, where Doctor Malevich stripped her and led her to the outhouse. Marina wiggled her butt as he pulled up the planks from the seat, not understanding what he was going to do until the doctor lifted her and dropped her into the pit. She screamed and splashed in the pool of piss and excrement, sinking in the muck until the doctor threw her a rope. He yelled at her to float on her back in the miasma, then pulled her from it, took her outside, and whipped her. Marina didn't try to get away. She knew he was going to fuck her, and she wanted him to come in her cunny hole again. She covered her little butt with her hands when it hurt too much and struggled for breath as he lashed her bony back. The doctor threw a tin pail down into the pit and had her sit with her legs wrapped around it and drink the filth with cupped hands. She threw up, and then he dunked her head in the pail and whipped her chest, ordering her to keep her hands down. It was so good when he finally fucked her, her bottom hole first, hard and deep. Choking back sobs, Marina rubbed her slimehole, and then he went in there, shoving it through her tight little cervix. She tried to wrap her legs around him, and then he was squirting in there. She was coming when he stopped spurting semen and suddenly started to pee up her. She jerked frantically as he held her down, scalding her womb with his urine. He kneaded her belly and fucked into her pissy uterus again as she howled, thrusting in and out of the mutilated collar. Then he ejaculated onto her shivering body and slapped her violated slit until she passed out. x x x Doctor Malevich abused Marina Ivanovna every few days for almost a year. Afterwards he would wash her and give her medical attention, morphine, and... love. Not pimp love, daddy love. He bought her dolls and played with her and let her suck his cock. She would beg him to come where her babies would be, in her doll hole. In the course of that year, she matured not at all. Then, the following fall, not long before her tenth birthday, he raped his daughter, Yurga, the one he had been pretending Marina was. He brought Yurga to the dacha and the epileptic shared in Marina's fate. The doctor was crossing the square in front of the cathedral one morning and was struck by a passing taxi. Marina and Yurga went hungry. They made love. x x x When Aloysius did not appear, the girls dressed and left the dacha. People avoided them, crossing themselves. They took the train to Vilnius. V AN END, AND AN EPILOGUE Marina Ivanovna emerged from the abyss and her eyes deepened in color as she went off the deep end. Aleksei was struck by the same taxi as his arch-rival, but the cabby was not at fault. Svetlana was eaten by her compact. Vita and Yurga lived happily ever after. x x x And so I sat and stared at her, averting my eyes whenever she looked at me, and anyway she was far too old to be in the wading pool: she had breasts. Tiny, but already ladylike things. Every quarter of an hour there were waves - not in the wading pool, in the adult pool - and the maiden looked at them with terror in her periwinkle eyes. She was afraid of the water. The kind of girl who will grow up as what. I had gone to Garmisch-Partenkirchen by accident, really. Family business, really - a distant cousin of mine had died - of natural causes - and I was asked by lawyers and various estranged family members to deal with the dead girl's papers. _Estranged_ - 'tis a curious word, or process. "Strangers in the night, exchanging glances..." But, I mean, to know someone and then get rid of them? I mean, knowing someone is sort of final. Or, as some poet put it: "He was right: people don't change / they only stand / more revealed." So, if you know someone, they can never go away. They have passed through the permeable membrane that may never be restored. I was waxing philosophical, watching the Girl Who Feared the Water. I disapproved of the German-American Friendship Club. Yet I was at the pool because of a member of that club, my own (estranged) Aunt Brunnhilde, a beldame of some standing in this disgusting skiing community. Skiers, and the Base. Brunnhilde was married to an American officer. His name was, hilariously enough, Tommy. Tommy took me to the PX, a place where the GI's stationed in Garmisch could pretend that they were in the good old U.S. of A. Ketchup on the tables. Catsup. "I say toe-may-to, he says toe-mah-to..." She was fourteen, I said to myself. The girl, I mean. Her swimsuit was too tight for her. She looked like a cross between a female camel and a depraved aristocrat. Her body was as lean as wartime, and her eyes belonged in some towering asylum built before art therapy came into vogue. In other words, she was out of her mind, in a subdued, almost elegant and very alluring sort of way. "Let's call the calling-off off..." Brunnhilde tore me away from this sumptuous vision and I threw myself into the artificial waves. The chlorine stung my eyes, and when the beldame at last let me crawl ashore I wanted nothing other than a gimlet. I wandered, dazed, into the locker room - the showers were separated by sex, but the lockers weren't - and came face to face with the creature from the weird blue wading pool. Apparently I had not torn my eyes from her in time to prevent her from noticing my... desire? But desire is an idle thing. When desire is in the forefront of our feeble minds, it's nothing but an extension of ourselves. We meet folks, fear them, fuck them, and in the end we have only ourselves and insipid memories of our estranged kinsfolk. Do you desire something? Then I suggest that you go get it right away. There is nothing worse than waiting. If, however, what you desire is above or below what society allows, then I suggest suicide, or a fatal accident. Or, at the very least, a reappraisal of society and its norms. Now mind you I am not suggesting that you run out and rape the nearest squirrel, merely hinting that the fact that you are reading this makes you ill at ease in your body or brain... unless you, too, are a writer, constitutionally incapable of getting comfortable. We writers have it worse. We know that everyone we meet is only fodder for the novel we will never write, that a crisis is only firewood for the creative flame. As a consequence, we are assholes. And so I saw Marina and came face to face with a fundamental crisis - I wanted her... oh, I wanted her. When I want someone, it is a total, a totalitarian thing. I probably looked as if I were aiming a pearl-handled derringer at the Easter Bunny, and yet I would have been willing to lay down my life for a kiss. The young lady was dripping with invitation. By this I mean that I, fifty-six at this moment of sublime crisis, had journeyed long, singing a song, in search of Marina Ivanovna. Few females invite you in, and of those who do, few are inviting, and very few indeed are fourteen or offer skin that has more in common with an albino frog's than a barely budded human's. But crisis has another quality - adrenaline - and, after the initial shock, a man's parts tend to swiftly and desperately reorder themselves... a man's parts (in these here parts, in this neck of the woods) desperately seek their old state of endless sleep, and even lash out at any intruder. "Gruess Gott," I said, remembering that this was Bavaria. "Wie geht's?" "Zum aushalten," Marina answered. And then she was gone. I mean, physically she hadn't moved, but her enticing periwinkle eyes were veiled by a thin sheet of ice as soon as I addressed her. I was her Grossvater again, grand-papa. It was nineteen hundred and eighty something, anno domini. Do you remember the eighties, o whippersnapper? The Wall was still up, people danced to disco, cocaine spoons adorned the necklaces of the mindless and hideously moneyed, and an iron curtain had descended across the continent for a seeming eternity. She wore her hair in a long, thick braid, and I detected her Americanness - an ease and an uneasiness, with a Russian aftertaste - even in the two sparse words she had spoken. Her diminutive body was poised precariously on the cusp of womanhood, with a luscious little ass, budding breasts, and a slight artificiality to her grace, as if she were uncertain whether she was old enough to be sensual. "Do you live here?" I switched to English. "Yeah," she said, unlocking her locker. "I suppose it would be awfully forward of me to ask you to have dinner with me?" She dropped her clothes and blushed, shocked, I think. I suppose I might as well have asked her to strip or how much she charged for an hour. She picked up her clothes and walked angrily to the changing room, without looking at me. I opened my locker, tore a page from my notebook, and wrote her a note in my somewhat calligraphic hand: Dear Beauty, You shouldn't fear the water so much. I would truly enjoy your company for dinner this evening, say, seven o'clock at the Gasthof Sedlmeyer. You're under no obligation, Mademoiselle. However, looking into your eyes, I suspect that you might enjoy a serious conversation. Hopefully - at your service, The Man. I slipped the note into her locker, which she had not locked, and went to the changing room, staying in it until I was certain she was gone. That she came did not surprise me. There was a flagrant curiosity in those periwinkle eyes of hers, and daring. Marina Ivanovna not only came, she came wearing an elegant dark green dress, a fox fur coat, black silk stockings, pointy shoes with two-inch heels, emerald earrings and choke, pretty rings on her refined fingers and subtle make-up that made her look almost of age; sixteen in Germany. I stood and kissed her hand. She looked at me warily and sat down. I poured her a glass of Beaujolais and studied her anxious face. She was a disturbed child. My penis stiffened. Her hair was luxurious, loose. She had bangs, a long, slender neck, a weak chin and sensual lips painted in a curious shade of salmon. Her eyebrows began at her pupils. Delicate nose. Her hands were shaking. "Did you like my note?" She said nothing, and almost spilled her wine. I took her hand. She gasped and withdrew hers. "You're very beautiful," I said. "What's your name?" "Marina." "Look at me." There were tears in her eyes, and successive nights of unbearable misery. "Does your daddy do things to you?" Her lower lip trembled and tears streamed down her pale cheeks, ruining her mascara. She nodded and wiped her tormented eyes with the crisp white napkin. "In Russian, a wading pool is a 'lyagushatnik' - it's for tadpoles." "You shouldn't allow your father to keep you as a little girl, Marina. You're an adult, you know. What he does to you only makes you sexually interesting. That's all." "Excuse me," she said in a tiny voice, and went to the powder room. She came back almost as pristine as she had been when she arrived. The waiter took our order - I got ox tongue in Madeira sauce and Marina ordered Sauerbraten. "What do you want from me?" "I'd like to take you away," I answered. "I'm fourteen," she said. "That's an interesting objection. Have you ever had sex with anyone other than your father?" "N-no... and I don't want to." The crystalline maturity had returned to her face and voice. "Yes you do. You know you do." "Not with... not with a dirty old man like you!" "Good, Marina. Except that if you leave with me I'll give you more money than you've seen even from your daddy and you can do anything you want. I bet your daddy doesn't let you do everything you want." Our food came in a long silence. She ate gracefully and the wine relaxed her, but she avoided my eyes. "Where would you take me?" "Where would you like to go?" "Paris." "Paris, then." "When?" "After dessert?" And suddenly Marina smiled, a mischievous but genuine smile. We had Salzburger Nockerl and drifted into the snowbound street. I had rented a Mercedes for my stay, and we drove to Munich. On the way, I called Brunnhilde and told her of my departure. She screeched like a Valkyrie. I hung up. We checked into the Vier Jahreszeiten, and Marina's nervousness returned as soon as she was alone with me in the suite. And those eyes, then, not periwinkle but paranormal, the blue of a recent bruise. Copyright (C) 1999, Silvio Stoker. ALL Rights Reserved =========================================================================== ===== 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. =============================== Wish to read more texts of this writer? To load archive, pass to a file [0SilvioStoker.htm] in the same catalogue. Or on my homepage Sergdriver There more many fascinating stories of other writers and mine too! =================================