NESSA'S PUPPY

BY LOWLIFE
lowlife_@fastmail.fm

[ part 1 ]

Though he was what political correctness would term a 'rough sleeper', Viktor would not mind if you called him by the more traditional expression of 'penne' (tramp). He had chosen this lifestyle. Though he was happy enough to spend his winter at a drop-in centre, and take his meals at the charity soup kitchen, he valued his freedom too much to be cooped up too long in a hostel with the druggies and layabouts.

Of indeterminate age, with just a hint of grey in his unruly hair, he was happiest with just his own company,. He usually spent as much time as he could out in the country, dossing down in outhouses or even hedgerows and finding casual work as a vegetable picker. Spring had been good to him - the weather was mild and the North Rhine Westphalian asparagus crop had provided him with several weeks of good cash. And he had been lucky - the loose box in the remote woodland clearing had been warm and dry, and he had been completely undisturbed. Just the way he liked it.

The loose box was no more than an upmarket timber shed, about ten by five metres, with timber lap walls and a pitched roof of wooden shingles. There was a single sliding door at the front, facing the paddock. The interior comprised three areas: to the left of the door was the stall for the horse, separated off from the rest by a half-height partition; then there was an open area used for grooming and at the opposite end, a cupboard had been constructed, to store all the paraphernalia required to keep and exercise a horse.

Viktor had laid out his bedroll across the wooden floor in front of the cupboard, preferring the dusty hardness to the dubious layer of musty straw inside the stall. It was quiet and free from draughts and he had spent a couple of undisturbed nights there already.

But now it was time to move on: head south, ready for work in the vineyards. He had celebrated his imminent departure with forty minutes under the shower in the local municipal swimming pool, followed by a bottle of peach brandy, and had slept like a baby.

So when his fuzzy head began to clear and he realised the sudden, unpleasant, cold wetness on his face was a small dog's nose, he was less than happy, for his head hurt and he was instantly cross at being woken before he was ready.

He sat up quickly and squinted at the little golden retriever that was eyeing him enthusiastically, tongue draped over its jaw and excited brown eyes twinkling. Where the fuck had it come from? Viktor saw that he had left the door slightly open last night after he had been out for a pee. There was a gap about a foot wide and a shaft of strong sunshine was streaming in.

He sighed. His back ached and his mouth felt awful.

The dog had begun nosing around his backpack. It stuck its nose into the open pouch at the side and tugged out an open pack of salami, that Viktor had intended for his breakfast.

"Hey, you little fucker, leave that alone!" he growled at the puppy, which had scurried into the corner of the large shed, next to the tack cupboard where the saddlery was kept, and was shaking the pack vigorously, trying to wrench the slices of meat from the cellophane. He leapt out of his sleeping bag and was about to pounce on the animal when he heard the girl.

"Kimmi! Kimmi! Here Kimmi!"

A young voice - a child's. Outside the box, but getting closer.

"Kimmi! Here, boy! Where are you?"

Viktor froze. This was not what he needed. Perhaps it was the loose box's owner. There had obviously been no horse in here for a few days but the place was in good order and the straw fairly fresh on the floor and so it was obviously not abandoned. He was trespassing of course and he could really do without the hassle, especially if the police were involved. Shit!

A few more hours and he would have been on his way. He heard approaching footsteps. Too late. All he could do was brazen it out. Apologise and leave. Charm often worked.

"Kimmi!"

The girl slid the big door open and peered inside.

Viktor eyed her up quickly. Early teens perhaps, short, with pale blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail with a pink velour scrunchie. An immaculate quilted jacket over a knee-length cord skirt. Designer trainers and tall, embroidered socks. Nothing cheap - what the English called ‘Sloane Ranger’. In her hand, a coil of narrow leather - a dog's lead.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw him and literally jumped back in surprise, pulling her hands up to her chest. Her jaw dropped, her big green eyes opened wide and her smooth, lightly tanned skin flushed with indecision.

He thought she was about to yell and he stepped forward instinctively.

Her surprise seemed to be turning to fear.

"It's OK, OK," he began, "Don't be frightened."

The small girl was unconvinced and took another step backwards, towards the door. Then she caught sight of her dog in the corner and called out to him. The retriever ignored her: it had managed to shake loose a slice of sausage and was munching it quite happily.

Viktor peered past the girl, searching for anyone else with her. Seeing no-one, he turned and said pleasantly, "Sorry. I didn't want to scare you. I've just been dossing here overnight and I'm off shortly. There's your doggy, as you can see."

She frowned at him.

"You shouldn't be here. This is Frau Weber's stable and you're trespassing. She lets me look after her horse when she's staying here and I'm going to go and tell her husband you've been in here. You're going to be in big trouble."

It was Viktor's turn to be surprised. Now he was able to reappraise his initial assessment: judging by her size and her voice, the girl could actually not have been more than about twelve. However her haughty tone and typically middle class reaction was not at all what he had expected from one so young. Fuck - and this bloody glorified shed was not even hers to get steamed up about and besides, apart from the padlock, he hadn't damaged it or messed it up at all.

Snooty little bitch!

"That's as may be, but that doesn't excuse your ruddy dog eating my breakfast," he retorted.

He made to grab the remains of his salami from the retriever’s jaws but Kimmi was having none of it and scuttled further away, this time into the stall, where he shuffled around in the straw and polished off the rest of the meat.

Viktor lunged at the dog and it ran through his legs again, back to the far end of the box, where the tack was kept, where it resumed sniffing around his pack.

"Leave my dog alone!" the girl cried.

She could not decide whether it was safe to come any further into the loose box to collect the puppy.

Viktor tried again defuse the situation: all he wanted to do was pack his stuff and be on his way.

"Listen, dear," he began, "I've not done any harm - all I did was spend the night in here. I'll roll up my bag and get going, you take your dog and Frau Weber will be none the wiser. How about it, eh?"

She paused to think and he continued.

"He's a lovely little doggy. Is her yours?"

"I got him for my birthday," she replied. Viktor sensed her relaxing very slightly and keeping his distance, he spoke in a soft, unthreatening way.

"Oh - you must be what: fourteen, fifteen?"

It worked. The girl laughed. "No, I'm only eleven."

"My name is Ziggi," said Viktor, "what's yours?"

"Nessa. Short for Vanessa."

"And do you live in the village?"

Whoops. He could almost feel the tension return. A question too far. She looked warily at him.

"Yes," she conceded cautiously.

Viktor pretended not to notice her change in attitude.

"I expect Kimmi loves walking in the woods, getting up to all sorts of mischief? Are you up here all morning?"

"I have to be back for twelve: we're going to Gran's this afternoon."

Viktor filed away that snippet. Already some dark thoughts were stirring in the furthest recesses of his mind.

Behind her, outside, there was no sign of another person: the girl was alone. And would not be missed for a couple of hours. A shiver sizzled through Viktor's guts: well? Should he?

"That will be nice, Nessa. So you like horses as well as dogs. Does Frau Weber let you ride her horse?"

That worked. She warmed to the subject, though she was still barely one step inside the gloomy shed.

"Oh yes,' she said enthusiastically, "She’s called Petra and she’s a showjumper. I feed her and muck her out when Frau Weber is away and at weekends I can ride her whenever I want."

Viktor smiled as the girl talked. He looked at her closely, imagining her naked. His eyes roamed over her small form: how big were the tits under that bulky jacket? Would she have any pubic hair, and would it be blonde?

'She's a big horse for me - 15 hands - but I can handle her...'

He let the girl ramble for a while, describing all about the missing equine occupant of the box, which was apparently away at a show in Münster that week. He enjoyed the sparkle in her eyes and the line of her proud cheekbones and the crisp profile of her lips. Again he tried to imagine her flat little chest and firm tummy and narrow little backside and his cock hardened.

He swallowed his saliva. He wanted to suppress the thoughts - he knew they were dangerous. Though the she was so young, so small. And oh, so very fuckable. And she and her dog had pissed him off, so maybe she deserved some comeuppance.

The girl was still burbling about the fucking horse. She was a proper cutie, even if she was stuck up.

No. It would be a stupid thing to do, wouldn't it? Best just to talk his way out of it and hit the road, he decided. It had been fun to let his imagination wander for a few moments. But he couldn’t let it happen again.

Stop, Viktor. Leave it; walk away.

And he probably would have done just that, had he not heard the distinctive sound of pissing.

Both Viktor and the girl turned their heads towards the noise.

Kimmi shook himself and lowered his leg. The whole side of Viktor's backpack was wet and now sat in a steaming puddle. Kimmi look pleased with himself and wagged his tail.

"For fuck's sake!" spat Viktor with genuine anger. "That's my gear your damn dog has just pissed all over! Jesus!"

Nessa made the big mistake of thinking it was funny.

She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Viktor swung round and saw her.

Now he really was angry.

Without warning, he took three steps towards her and grabbed her wrist firmly. He yanked her hard and she lost her balance and as she fell, he hauled her across the floor, on to his sleeping bag. Nessa was too shocked to react at first, but as she collapsed on to the musty bag, she squealed.

"Shut the fuck up!" warned Viktor. His mind was in overdrive.

The girl made to scramble up and he stood astride her and when she opened her mouth to say something, she saw him towering over her and thought better of it. Viktor pointed to his bag and the smug little puppy nosing around in the corner beside it.

"Clean it up!" he ordered.

Still stunned, Nessa looked between the damp rucksack and the menacing figure of the scruffily-dressed tramp and began to cry. Her pale lips quivered.

"How? What can I use...?" she blubbed miserably.

Viktor glared down at the tiny little girl, cowering on his sleeping bag. She was so slight and vulnerable, her earlier bravado having entirely deserted her so that she was just a scared child, at his mercy. His cock throbbed and swelled.

"Use your pants," he answered gruffly.

She was horrified - her downturned lips froze and her smooth brow creased in a disbelieving frown.

Suddenly Viktor bent down and grabbed the puppy. He held it out in front of him, holding it by the scruff of its neck.

"Get a fucking move on, you little bitch, or I'll wring this dirty little fucker's neck!"

She obeyed instantly, curling her legs up beneath her and wriggling her hands up beneath her long skirt, to tug her underwear down. He was secretly delighted at her difficult predicament and loved the way in which even under such pressure she was trying to maintain some decorum. No matter - he would so enjoy humiliating her properly: one step at a time.

Awkwardly, the roll of white cotton panties emerged below her knees.

"Take your trainers off first, stupid!" he taunted, “socks too, or you’ll get them mucky on this floor.” The puppy dangled precariously from his fist and she hurried to comply. "Rinse your pants in the bucket and wipe it down properly, then mop up the piss."

She shuffled around on all fours, her mouth wrinkled in distaste as she dabbed at the rucksack.

Viktor carried the dog to the horse stall and dumped it in a wire cage mounted half way up the wall, which was partially filled with hay. The stupid animal settled into the soft feed and watched proceedings with interest, its tail flicking happily. Viktor put the girl's socks and trainers in the cage and then went over to the door, sliding it closed and jamming it shut with the long handle of a rake. The loose box was plunged into a dusty gloom, lit only by the narrow shafts of sunlight now streaming in from the series of small windows set high up in the walls. At the sound of the slamming of the door, Nessa turned round in dismay.

"You'd better do a perfect job, cunt, or I will - I'll snap Kimmi's fucking neck!"

She quickly turned back to scrub the grubby canvas of the backpack.

Viktor stooped and gathered up the dog' lead from where she had dropped it. He examined it, looking back and forth at the girl, hunched as she worked to perform her task, her tight arse waggling provocatively inside the skirt.

Naked beneath her skirt. Viktor closed his eyes and repeated the phrase in his mind. Under that skirt, her little bum was naked.

Jesus! What was he doing?

She started nervously as he knelt behind her and peered over her shoulder.

"OK, that's enough."

She looked back, her face so pale, the tears glistening on her perfect cheekbones. Some strands of her soft blonde hair had escaped from the ponytail and hung across the front of her forehead, which was just developing a satin sheen of perspiration, from her fear and exertion.

"Take off your jacket."

The tiny girl was terrified, quite rightly sensing the danger.

"N-no, please, mister. Please don't hurt me. Please just let me go home. I promise I won't tell Herr Weber..."

Viktor cut her short.

"I shan't tell you again, bitch. Do as I fucking tell you. Get that fucking jacket off!"

Nessa's sweet young face again crumpled and she sobbed. Yet she sat up and her delicate fingers fumbled to pull down the zip at the front and then she yanked out her arms, all the time looking at the huge man who was holding her with such a fierce gaze. Her eyes flickered towards the lead he was stretching between powerful hands,

Viktor took the jacket from her, deftly rifling through the pockets, checking she had no mobile phone.

Beneath the jacket, she was wearing a simple blouse, lemon yellow, with a flower motif. Just discernible beneath, were the straps of a brassiere and the slightest of busts. Unconsciously, Viktor licked his lips.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

The girl did so, again pleading with him.

"Please, mister. Just let me go. I'm sorry..."

He clipped the back of her head with loose fingers.

"I told you to shut the fuck up! Any more back chat and I'll stuff those fucking knickers in your trap to keep you quiet!"

Her body was convulsing with helpless sobs as he took hold of her thin wrists in one hand and held them firmly together, crossed, whilst he wrapped and knotted the lead around them.

"Don't think you've made amends just by wiping away the mess your fucking dog's done to my stuff. Oh no, young lady. I want a bit of justice. You and your fucking high and mighty attitude... you deserve taking down a peg or two."

Viktor growled as he finished tying the thin leather strap tight about her wrists. When done, he gave her a push and she fell forward on to the sleeping bag with a grunt.

All the time, he was mulling over the options, as yet not quite sure how far he was going to take this. A good spanking would be the minimum, but the more he handled her little, light body, the more he looked at her skinny young frame, barely half the size of his own, and completely under his control, the greater the urge to satisfy his rock-hard cock. He had never experienced anything quite like it. Many a time on his travels he had watched little girls, stripped them in his mind, and imagined what it would be like to have his way with them, but he had always considered it just a very dangerous pipedream. Yet here was a truly exquisite little thing, a perfect eleven-year-old, locked in this place with him, available, not even wearing panties.

Fuck it: a once in a lifetime chance, surely?

But the risks? She might be missed? No - she had said herself she wasn't expected home for at least a couple of hours. Someone might come to the stable? Well nobody had disturbed him for a week and now he knew the owner was away in Münster.

It would be a long stretch in jail if he were caught. Yeah, but he had already gone too far and by the end of the day, he would be miles away.

Go on, Viktor. You know it has to be done.

He looked down once more at Nessa, squirming and crying, her face pressed into the quilting of his sleeping bag. He looked at her muscular legs beneath her skirt, her gorgeous backside and skinny waist, and the clean softness of her long hair.

His cock ached and his mouth was dry and his stomach was churning with anticipation.

He looked at the door - jammed tightly shut. He grinned at the stupid puppy, curled up in the hay, chewing its tail. Then he turned and registered through the slatted door the pieces of tack hanging from hooks in the cupboard. He looked up, at the beams in the roof.

Then he turned back to the girl again, and his fingers reached out for the hem of her cord skirt and as he peeled it up slowly over the backs of her thighs, he listened to her muffled squeal and he knew exactly what he wanted to do with her.